Summering
A crimson punch of ice-cold watermelon, freshly juiced with orange cantaloupe and garnished with some finely julienned strands of it, sweetened, then flavoured with just a hint of pandan, is possibly one of the most refreshing things that one is able to enjoy abundantly, on a hot summer afternoon as this. Mmm.
Nor there is no kind of suffering from heat that will not be appeased by the immeasurable pleasure of eating a ripe Philippine mango, now beautifully in season, which truly spoils the tastebuds to that kind of delicacy, after partaking of which, one is never the same ( pity you, Pinoy expats and foreigners). I tell you that I, being used to it, still get epiphanies, thinking how the fruit unfriendly, but proven to work, Southbeach Diet can be of any good, if it bans you from the exploding feast in the mouth, when one sinks teeth into the golden flesh surrounding the bone of a sweet, juicy, velvety textured, perfectly ripened mango. And I haven't even began to tell about the many delights of the green ones yet.
I am first to say that I'll be last to be found basking under the sun (I dream of Alaska and aurora borealis, you know), but there is just something about Filipino summers that I love that makes it hard for me to imagine living anywhere else. This was probably what the good writer, Conrado de Quiros, was thinking, when he took a respite from his usual Gloria Arroyo agony (can't blame him though), and got inspired, instead, to write "10 Things To Love About Being In The Philippines" Part 1 and Part 2, and to all his ten, I heartily agree.
Summer. What is it about summer that evokes mental images of bursting colors, certain feelings, these smells, so quaint and summer-peculiar, seemingly borne in the air, that is just so familiarly close to home? It must be those many happy vacations I remember from childhood. Scenes of colorful fiestas to honor the patron saints of faraway hometowns (which I now realize are not really that far), celebrated in every welcoming home, hosted by numerous distant relatives from both sides of the family, all of whose names, one is hardly able to recall, but whose hospitalities gave adequately to leave a lot to keep in the memory.
That big, old acacia tree, I remember, outside of an aunt's house, underneath the shade of which the children played; The soot-stained house at the corner, where you buy pastillas de leche, these heavenly milk candy wrapped in tissue paper with delicately stenciled design, belying the labor behind making them, from a vat full of freshly squeezed carabao's milk, added with copious amounts of sugar, and the decadence geniusly cut by the zing of dayap zest, tediously cooked over slow heat by firewood, and constantly stirred by a big wooden paddle till it reaches a firm but pliable consistency, and yielding the best pastillas in the whole world; The unmistakable aroma of stewing over-ripe guavas, wafting from another neighbor's kitchen window, and you know them to be cooking milkfish with those guavas, to serve in a lilac colored soup, eaten with lots and lots of rice for dinner; The thick shrub of dama de noche, lining the wall of that house across the street, those little white flowers so fragrant at night, and particulary during the Good Friday processions, with that remarkable smell intermingling with the burning odor of thousands of brightly lit candles, the heady combination of which, one will forever associate with the gigantic santos of the stern countenances, in various tableaus, atop flower decked, motorized floats, that sowed an awe-inspiring, godly terror in every naughty child's playful heart. I remember.If there was a way to impress one's own memories into another like in a cut/paste manner to make sure that these are passed on in the way that they're captured in the mind forever, how I would love to pass mine on to my daughters, as indelible mementoes. Surely they will marvel, and regret the world of a difference a generation makes. And then, like I did, as my mother before me, they will realize that this is how things will always be for all time. But then, I'm sure my kids are busy making their own memories, these so painfully different from mine. And then I think, what's to stop me from making memories with them, to be part of what they will fondly remember a long way from today? Absolutely nothing. So then, from time to time I look back, and yet live in the day, and then I know I got the best of both worlds, still. And, did I mention how much I love beautiful summer afternoons such as this?
Filed Under: Favorite Things
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