The River

The town of Tagudin lies in the southernmost tip of the province of Ilocos Sur. It got its name from the Ilocano word "Tagudan" which means "the place where threads of cotton are laundered, bleached, starched, dyed and made ready for the weaving looms". The noun "tagud" is the tool or implement made of coconut shell and husk used to scour the cotton threads. The verb "agtagud" describes the action of scouring the stretched threads of their excess starch as part of the processing. The people of Tagudin were once expert weavers and merchants. Theirs was a thriving business community. Tagudin was once the center of religious activity for the region of Nueva Segovia. But all that changed when the Amburayan River, a major river that runs between the provinces of Ilocos Sur and La Union, decided to change its course.

Much of the neighboring town of Bangar in the province of La Union was spared as a result of the river making a right turn towards the town of Tagudin. It was not too good for the town of Tagudin because that turn eroded much of Tagudin's southeastern flank. A concrete dike was constructed to keep the river from inundating the town in the future. Today this huge concrete dike stands silent and mute covered with thick green moss, much of its visible surfaces decaying and completely covered with vines and various tropical shrubs. It is so hidden now that I doubt many of the town's folk would even know it's there. Perhaps only those who use the remaining stream for washing clothes still know it's there. Of course those who must traverse the dry river bed to go back to their villages after spending the day in town surely must know it's still there.

There were rumors this huge dike was constructed in haste. The town labored day and night to finish this huge wall. They poured concrete at all hours and it was rumored that it was at night that the mortar mixed with the blood of innocent young children kidnapped throughout the neighboring villages was poured under cover of darkness. This was horrifying to hear and at six years of age I was petrified with terror each time I heard of these accounts. I remember this "cautionary tale" was one of the biggest deterrents with which my parents discouraged us kids from going to the dike and engaging in activities such as diving and swimming in the deep waters.

It is a known fact that over the years many a young person had drowned in that swimming hole. Some say the water was so deep you can vertically submerge three, thirty-foot poles of bamboo tied end to end and still would not touch the bottom of the hole. Some declared the water to be as deep as 20 fathoms. Some claimed that at 50 feet there was a cross current of cold water that would pull a swimmer down so deep into the cold that it would be impossible for the swimmer to swim back up. None of the drowning victim's bodies were ever found. The popular notion was that those who drowned are forever entombed in the depths of the waters. To my knowledge no divers were ever dispatched to check what could be underneath this water hole.

Today both the river and the dike still hold on to their secrets. I stood on that dike that last time I went home for a visit. I still felt chills as my feet touched that moss-covered mortar. The once rampaging river has now been reduced into a small stream. The dry riverbed is strewn with polished rocks and bleached stones. I could still hear the wind whistle through the hardy banyan trees that once stood at the foot of the dike. Now there was only quiet. I walked away wondering what that old, moss covered concrete dike knew, what the river remembers.

The Final Battle

There was a man who listened to nobody. He read no books. He talked to no one. He lived in a shell, in a hut tucked away from the beaten path, away from the roaring sea, under the canopy of tall trees deep in the forest.

He grew old never seeing the world, never experiencing the rain, never feeling the heat of the noonday sun. He never knew his maker. He lived in this cocoon separated from the world.

Yet this man's savior knew who he was. The savior sought him and tried time and again to make contact with him. But the man besides being blind was deaf as well.

One day as the man lay on his deathbed the evil one came and tried to make a grab for his soul. Seems that the place down under needed more residents. But the Savior was there as well. A fierce battle for the man's soul ensued.

The evil one tried to win with horrendous power and with overwhelming strength. The savior alertly just stood there looking at the dying man with a tender gaze and love in his heart. The savior touched the man's forehead with his hands. "Do not be afraid," the savior whispered, "no harm will come to you."

The evil one ultimately ran out of steam and fuel and collapsed into a heap of black soot. With one breath the savior blew the evil one's remains back to where it came from.

Extending his hand to the dying man, the savior escorted the man's soul upwards, heavenward to the land above the clouds - there to live happily everafter.

Once again, love triumphs over the way of the world.

The Filipino

I have heard people compare him to a lowly dandelion, a plant that is considered a weed, a pest and a nuisance in some circles. In other circles this same plant is a green leafy vegetable used to spruce up the appearance and taste of a garden salad. Still some say its brightly colored yellow flowers can be made into good sipping wine.

Upon closer investigation, perhaps the dandelion parallel is appropriate to describe a people that are broadcast and dispersed all over the world. Like the spores of the dandelion that can explode at the wafting of a summer breeze, Filipinos can be found flourishing in every corner of the known world.

Like the dandelion plant that creeps close to the earth for survival even during drought years, the Filipino remains humble in his trade, be it as a medical professional or working as a domestic. Often he will take several smaller temporary jobs rather than go into the welfare line. Like the dandelion that's often trampled underfoot, no amount of socio-economic downturns can discourage the Filipino from giving it a good shot.

Even the deepest root remover cannot completely and successfully eradicate the dandelion. Its tap root runs deep into the ground. This is its secret to survival. In the same sense, Filipino family roots run deep. It's not unusual for Filipinos to trace their kinship all the way to the fifth and seventh degrees.

The Filipino survives because like the dandelion, he is endowed by the Almighty Creator with unequaled resiliency and the will to keep trying.