Cat Valley

words and illustration by Prince Ric Emmanuel Paciente

Tippy toes as she goes down her grandmother's halls. It was dark, but the colors burst. The little girl can't seem to remember how many footsteps of hers have been laid in these marble floors waxed into gleams. For all the times her father tagged her along into this house, numbers aren't coming into her. All she knows were her being friends with all the paintings, antique busts, and statues of both men and beasts – or animals. Cats in particular.

She loves going back to this beautiful mansion as much as she loves her grandparents. Even though she just saw her grandpa when she was a toddler. Her grandmother was lovely. A kind soul. A fae. A treasure. She's taking every chance to see her. But she has also been up to something.

This visit isn't new to her. These adventures alone in these titanic chambers ain't that fresh to her. She has all her permission granted. And the last thing she worries about aside from not seeing her granny is not able to complete her quests inside every corner of this mansion – just like her previous visit. "Alright," she murmured into a big, red, Russian doll sitting nonchalantly on a drawer. "Where was I?" They stared at each other for a good minute until she smiled in realization. Off to the seventh door, she goes.

Pastel hems swaying, small feet skipping, brown locks bouncing, and door keys clanking. Every door she counts and thinks they're all unusually carved. Her eyes sparked upon the sight of her target - a variation of an unusually carved wooden door. She glanced into her keys. Her grandma's maids lent her and looked for that one with the "7" engraved on it, "There you are."

She fed her key into the knob, and with her soft hands, she twisted it open. Not knowing the wonders lying inside the labyrinth disguised as a simple room. Fear wasn't in this little girl's veins. Will fuelled with curiosity, heart with wonders; her flames burn wild. She stepped inside like a conqueror, ready to lay her tiny hands-on everything.

Magic's everywhere, or so she thinks. Dark and mischievous yet covered in utopian secrecy. Graveyard of forgotten dreams solidified through antiques. Everything looks like they came from someone's dreams. Hers.

Gold lionesses, porcelain fairies, ceramic cats, iridescent mirrors, glistening paintings, and sempiternal sprays of roses, violets, and lotuses - an overwhelming sight for a pair of juvenile irises. The quest is slowly fading away from her mental list. This room was a quicksand. These aromas are luring her deep. Golden rays still peek inside, kissing every surface they're directed at. And that just means time is on her hands. It all feels surreal. Her soft skin tracing different textures of beauty before her very own. Her mind was wandering along with her physical body. There's just something leading her into something hitting home. A few steps, two more, and a last one.

Before her eyes was a piece of fabric, knitted intricately, framed preciously and hanged with endearment and consciousness. Each thread laced faultlessly, forming into figures and stories. She was astounded. Her grandmother must've made it. There was a valley: flowers, cotton ball

clouds, and synchronized herons. Sun and moon hand in hand. A snake and a Pegasus. The lionesses she saw. And the fairies? It all seems alive and moving. Most were gigantic cats, and there's a strange man.

She feasted on such belle. She had never seen anything like this piece of art. She was thrilled. Exhilarated. And her fingers can't wait to taste the feeling.

Slowly.

Delicately.

Everything went ebony black.

Sudden blows of wind came from nowhere. Almost carrying her fragile body, and it seems she can't find something to hold onto. And it stopped. Then the floor disintegrated under her feet' grasp. It became empty—a blank space. Pounds almost tore her chest. There weren't any sunrays, no small glint of light reflecting from anything inside that room, or any sound except for the deafening silence this empty dimension gives off.

Is she in outer space?

Why isn't she freezing?

She must be dead right now. But how?

Why is she feeling something blooming?

A jolt touched her soles and ran through her veins up to her head. This wasn't what she was anticipating. She tilted her head, and on the corners of her pupil is an unveiling occurrence.

A fade-out. It started gradually until the light devoured the night warp like a wildfire. And it was blinding. Even as she covered her eyes with her subtle hands, it was glaring. It set off.

Through a peek with her small windows, she lost count of her reality. Why is this feeling so peculiar? She knows she was lying down but not on a hardwood floor. It's soft like her bed. But it wasn't this bright. And definitely does not have a sky blatantly plastered above the ceiling. Wait…

She rose, eyes wide open. This isn't her room. Nor the seventh room she went into just a while ago. Where were the walls? The mirrors? The porcelains? The antiques that are almost dulled out by the shadows? The paintings? The knitted fabric hanging on a wall? Wait, THAT fabric! She looked around to find something. This place is insanely vast. And entirely blurred, or is it just her eyes adjusting? Why are mountains shaped like cats… CATS?

Everything is green. And cyan. And coral. And yellow and rose-colored… "Vibrant!" That's the word!

Where did that come from? "Over here, child!"

It was a man. The man on the fabric is wearing a black top with a black fedora. Did she just get sucked inside that hanged blanket? How?

Why? "Are you lost?"

"I suppose, mister," she replied, administering her familiarization to the man that's talking to her—a strange stranger. But somehow, a fragment of her seems to know him.

"You must be Isabella," he bent down. "I've heard so many things about you, brave maiden."

How did he just know her name? She thought. He just smiled at her stance, and everything became clear before her eyes. "Welcome."

They were in a valley. A soft carpet of grasses spread throughout. The herons fly in shapes and patterns—clouds of cotton with hues of yellow gold, lilacs, and flame red. A giant snowy snake sleeping, and a Pegasus extends its wings on a mountaintop on the far right. Once were porcelains now in the flesh are wide-eyed fairies leaving trails of glitter. Golden lionesses are running in packs. On the left were iridescent waters and glowing bunches of flowers in a field. Cats of different sizes looked like they rule this place.

This is a dream. "This isn't a dream," the man said. "How is this real?"

"You're in a world made with pure love and cherished memories," he took off his fedora, revealing a mullet of golden locks. She can't quite pinpoint the resemblance this man has to a

person she might have met. But she knows it's uncanny.

"You're growing up so fast and lovely young lady." "How do you know me, mister?" "I know you very well ever since you were born, my dear."

She saw him pick a glowing violet and tucked it on her ears. "But… you are just from a world inside this crafted blanket," she said as she saw the sun extend its rays towards the shy moon. "How do you recognize me?" She added.

Big eyes from big cats around this cat valley mirror their reflection. The breeze was something she found so soothing and serenading. Everything's at peace. In their very own paces, they make her very comfortable.

"You are a special girl with wonders as broad as this valley. Bravery is your nickname. And kindness flows inside those veins as you walk and live," he said to her. "You look so much like your grandmother." "You know her?" "I do." "She knows you?" "She's coming here very soon," he said as he looked up at the sky shifting colors in adagio. She was confused.

"But she's with my father right now," she told him. He looked at her endearingly. There was a moment of solitude. An ease. Then he looked up.

The sky is entirely purple in contrast to its original azure hue. And it leads to something shining bright on one side. Every creature in that world shifted their gazes and turned it upon on the scene. Something is coming as it seems. "Let's welcome her," the man said cheerily.

She tagged along, not knowing anything. But all she knows is that there's a familiar figure coming down—a woman.

"My dear Iris," she heard her voice. That voice she's known in forever. "You found it."

And then the awaited reveal happened. It was her grandma. Giving her her beloved smile. She's in her dress Iris saw her wear long before she entered that room. But her appearance is slowly changing. "Grizelda," the man in fedora spoke. Is it possible that he could be? "David!" They ran towards each other. And as soon as they're inches away, they caress each other.

"My love, it's been a long while," David told her. "I know. I'm here," she replied, caressing his hair. She completely changed into her young self.

They broke the hug and looked at Iris' way. They approached her. She was still confused.

"How are you here, Grandma? I… I don't understand," she spoke, clueless. "I just went inside a random door in your house's hallway and… and everything happened in a flash… and I just found and touched a framed fabric that looked exactly like this place… and I don't know anymore."

Her granny hugged her and told her she's alright.

"You entered the world I made for both your grandpa and me, my child," she explained to her. David kneeled his knee and wiped the tears her eyes unconsciously shed out of some feeling she can't explain. Sadness. Longing. She doesn't know.

"You… You're my grandfather?" "Yes. Yes. Hush now, little angel. You're alright," he told her. "I think it's time," he added.

Knowing what he meant, she had a sudden thought. There's something in this place that makes her want to stay. "I wanna stay grandpa. I find it more fascinating here," she unexpectedly pleaded. Her grandparents were just looking at her. Contemplating. But the cats strolling around lined up behind her in a pack and formed a circle.

"My beloved grandchild," her grandmother said. "You can't. You need to go back."

She held her hand and led her to the cats singing in sync along with the fairies spraying glitter dust on the circle.

"Remember us. Remember, you are loved. Valued. And don't let anyone's words define you or your life. You are precious and treasured," she now held both of her hands. "Live."

She let go of her, and the circle began to radiate. Brighter. In a yellow gleam. She looked at her grandparents. She saw them smile at her for the last time. And everything was gone.

Black.

Everything went dark once again. But she knows her eyes are open.

She's back but not in that mystical room. She's back but not as the bright child that she was in her fantasies.

She feels heavy.

She forcibly made her sore, grownup body rise from her bed. Gasping for air. She looked outside, finding a scene of a dull night sky so different from that of her vivid dream.

Her heart was pounding so hard.

This is her reality—a broken one. She shifted her eyes towards her desk, filled with cigarettes and pills.

She shoved them all with rage and regret.

She was numbed, but she screamed so hard.

She was numbed but…

She cried.

fin

Traditional Textiles of the Philippines

courtesy of Tatler Philippines

PINILIAN

Community: Ilocano Origin: Ilocos Region

The Ilocano of northwestern Philippines is well-known for their handweaving, a tradition with ancient roots, with the kapas or cotton as the main material.

They use the pedal loom, locally called pangablan; employ several weaving techniques; and have numerous designs/patterns. Different weaving techniques include the basic plain weave, the double-toned basket weave or binakul, and the multi-heddle weave (binetwagan or tinumballitan), among others. Among the complicated one is the brocade weave or pinilian, which uses sticks inserted on selected warp threads to create designs that float on the threads.

There are two kinds of pinilian: scattered and continuous supplemementary weft techniques. The weavers of Pinili, Ilocos Norte, are said to be adept in the simultaneous warp and weft-float type of pinilian called the impalagto, a technique unique in the town.

PIS SYABIT WEAVE

Community: Tausug Origin: Sulu Archipelago

The Tausug women are experts in tapestry weaving and embroidery, while men do the large hanings in appliqué. They specialise in the production of pis syabit (head scarf) and kambot/kandit.

The pis syabit is traditionally worn by men and warriors. A most complicated design technique, the pis syabit tapestry weaving of Tausug has no preset pattern sticks or pre-designed warp yarns into which the weaver inserts the desert yarn.

The weaver has to clearly imagine the pattern in her mind as she inserts one coloured weft yarn one at a time to fill up the space in the warp, in a sequence her mind only knows. The weaver creates a perfectly symmetrical composition of squares and Xs with hooks, and in seven to eight colours.

SAPUTANGAN TAPESTRY WEAVE

Community: Yakan Origin: Basilan

Known for being highly-skilled, with impressive weaving repertoires, Yakan weavers produce textile with five different kinds of weaving, often differentiated by technique, pattern, and function. The bunga-sama is a supplementary weft weave, made by using pattern sticks or heddles in the loom to produce the pattern. The colourful striped siniluan is characterised by warp-floating pattern. Saputangan is a square cloth best known for its intricate and rich design, involving optical illusion to create depth in the patterns. The inalaman is made using an elaborate supplementary-weft technique, and often used for women’s wraparound skirt. The pinantupan, which is also used for the wraparound skirt, utilises simple weft pattern arranged in the bands.

The saputangan is an example of a tapestry weave, considered the oldest and most traditional technique in producing ornamented woven textiles, aside from the plain weave technique wherein stripes and plaids are formed. The saputangan is worn by Yakan women in different ways depending on the occasion such as elen-elen (for everyday wear), hap tabuan (for going to market) and ginuna sipagkawin (worn like a veil when attending a wedding).

T’NALAK

Community: Tboli Origin: South Cotabato

The traditional textile woven by the Tboli women, t’nalak represents birth, life, union in marriage and death, and shows the uniqueness and identity of the indigenous group. It is often utilised as blankets and clothing, and used in royal wedding ceremonies on rare occasions. The Tboli weavers are often called “dream weavers” but this applies only to a few dedicated weavers. It is believed that the designs and patterns are bestowed on them by Fu Dalu, the spirit of abaca, through their dreams.

The tedious creation of the t’nalak starts with extracting the abaca fibers, which are them combed to remove the sap. They are connected from end to end, and knotted and prepared for design prior to resist-dyeing, known as the ikat method. A t’nalak traditionally has three colours: black, red, and white. The fibers are then woven using the backstrap loom. The textile is then washed in the river, beaten with a wooden stick to flatten the knots, and burnishing the surface with a cowrie shell.

The late Lang Dulay was widely regarded as one of the best weavers and was bestowed the Gawad sa Manlilikha ng Bayan in 1998. Pictured here is one of her creations.

KALINGA TEXTILES

Community: Kalinga Origin: Province of Kalinga

The Kalinga textiles exhibit motifs executed as though they are embedded in the geometry of weaving itself. It has a distinct dialogue between red and blue, expressing itself in broad red and blue bands of plain or twill weave, and creating densely-composed groups of tight stripes.

The Kalinga weavers, particularly in the upper Kalinga area, put textures on the striped bands using twill-weave technique. Tiny motifs, patterns, and embellishments have characterised Kalinga textile, including miniature lattice, continuous lozenge pattern locally called inata-ata, and pawekan or mother-of-pearl platelets, among others.

MABAL TABIH

Community: Blaan Origin: Sarangani and South Cotabato

Tabih, in Blaan, refers to the native tubular skirt, and also to the textile, while mabal means “woven” or “to weave”. The Blaan weave the tabih using abaca fibers and the back-strap loom. The fibers are dyed using the warp tie-dye resist ikat technique and natural dyes from native plants. Designs usually depict crocodiles and tiny curls. The Blaan are also known to be accomplished embroiderers and the tabih is often meticulously embellished with embroidery. A practice traditionally reserved to women of high status, weaving has a strong spiritual context in Blaan society, believed to be the gift from Furalo, the goddess of weaving. Aside from the tubular skirts, the abaca textile is used for making garment for men, as well as covering for important materials such as knives.

MËRANAW TEXTILE

Community: Mëranaw Origin: Lanao del Norte and Lanao del Sur

The Mëranaw of Lanao del Norte and Lanao del Sur know a wide range of weaving techniques including the weft and warp ikat tie-dye resist and continuous and discontinuous supplementary weft design.

They are know for the malong, a tubular lower garment. Among its several types, the malong a andon is the most highly valued. This is followed by the malong a landap, which is known for its tapestry bands called langkit, often used to join the broad panels of silk together. Another kind is the malong a bagadat, made from similar wide bands in contrasting colours and separated by narrow bands of warp ikat.

Made using a narrow, specialised kind of tapestry loom, langkit, usually comes in two kinds: tabrian or the narrow panel, and lakban or the wider panel. Beautifully designed, the langkit has distinct Maranao okir designs including potiok (bud), dapal or raon (leaf), pako (fern), pako rabong (growing fern) and katorai (flower). These intricate designs are made using discontinuous weft.

BONTOC WEAVE

Community: Bontoc Origin: Mountain Province

The Bontoc textile revolves around the idea of centeredness, which symbolises permanence, order, and balance, key factors in the life of the Bontoc people. Weavers demonstrate this idea through the direction of their weave, from the edge to the middle, to the symmetry of the cloth construction and the repeated warp-striped design.

Bontoc weavers learn the craft through various stages. Young Bontoc girls usually start their training with the simplest part of the cloth, the langkit or edging. Next, they move on to pa-ikid (side panels), learning simple designs such as fatawil (warp-bands) and shukyong (arrows). After mastering this level, they move on to the most challenging part, the sinangad-am design which represents the Sinamaki weaving. Here, they incorporate designs on the bands such as tinagtakho (human figure), minatmata (diamond), and tinitiko (zigzag). The pa-khawa (the center panel) is the next thing they have to master. The center panel features a band in the middle and a kan-ay (supplementary weft) at its end.

Because of the complex process of adding the kan-ay, the center panel would be woven last. When all the parts are ready, they would be sewn together in the reverse order of their creation, ending with the langkit.

DAGMAY

Community: Mandaya Origin: Eastern Mindanao

The Mandaya, which can be found in the provinces of Davao Oriental, Davao del Norte, Compostella Valley, Surigao del Sur, and Agusan del Sur, have a strong weaving tradition as seen in their coarsely textured dagmay, handwoven using a special kind of back-strap loom, made from abaca fibers, and following intricate designs revolving around man and nature, specially the crocodile.

They use a mud dyeing technique. Used to obtain black, the technique is based on the reaction between the tannins applied on the the yarn before treatment, and the iron found on the mud. The bark of the tree, which contains tanninsm is pounded to a pulp and boiled together with the abaca yarn. The mud is then added to the mixture. The yarn is steeped for one to several hours for the best results.

Dagmay designs usually tell the story about the weaver and her community, as well as the spirits that live on Earth. The dagmay is usually used for women’s skirt, but it is also used as blankets or wraps for the dead.

HABLON

Communities: Kiniray-a and Hiligaynon Origin: Panay Island

Hablon is Hiligaynon for “something woven,” from the root word habol, “to weave.” It refers to the hand-woven textiles by Kiniray-a and Hiligaynon weavers.

In a Panayanon legend, ten datus from Borneo landed on Panay Island, established settlements and ushered in an era of development. One of the legendary datus was Datu Lubay, who is said to introduce the art of weaving textiles.

Weaving using the pedal loom had been common in the provinces of Iloilo and Antique until the arrival of mechanised weaving. Now, there are very few places where traditional weaving is practiced, notable of these are Miag-ao in Iloilo and Bagtasan, Bugasong in Antique.

The hablon is usually a plain weave and has plaid and striped designs. It is usually used for the patadyong, the Visayan wraparound skirt, and panuelo.

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epilogue

To humans, spiders are nothing more but vulgar creatures that would use their tiny little legs to crawls into nightmares.

To humans, spiders are nothing more but vulgar creatures that have the strength to bring down the mightiest of men.

Be that as it may, there was once a curious little spider who was enamored with humankind. Every day she would peek out of a tiny crack of the walls of the dilapidated tavern she resides in, just to catch a glimpse of the villagers. Despite her tiny frame, she was always careful. She made sure that she was tucked enough between the darkness but not too much for the dark may obscure her sight. On some days she would be too afraid to step out of her lair but one day, she felt a rush of bravery.

Using her skills, she spun a bridge out of her web far enough to connect with the lone branch just outside the tavern. She situated herself on atop of such branches while making sure that a leaf is close by. "You’ll never know when you’ll need a place to hide,” the Little Spider mused.

Little Spider looked around with curiosity as humans with their long limbs navigate through the bustling streets. She spots a boy with eyes that shone like tiny gems under the sunlight as he holds hands with his sister. For a split second, Little Spider thought that she made eye contact with the boy with gem-like eyes but she eventually brushed off the thought.

Today was the first time the Little Spider had experience the everyday life of humankind. She immersed herself among the noises and the sound of shoes clicking against the stone pavements as humans pass by. The bright smile and joyous laughter of the villagers infected everyone around her that even she struggled to hide the twinkle in her eyes. The wind blew, bringing with it the smell of fresh grass and the brief whiff of the fumes of ash from the shops that used coal. It was a beautiful day, a day for everyone to enjoy the warm sunlight as the sound of the gem-eyed boy’s giggles drifted past everyone's ears like the tune of a bell.

To humans, spiders are nothing more but vulgar creatures but to the little spider who was drawn to humankind like a moth drawn to a flame, such sentiments fall to deaf ears.

For as long as the rush of bravery she lasts, she preoccupied herself with the sound of human voices, clicking shoes, fresh grass, and fumes of ash.

For as long as her rush of bravery lasts, the little spider allowed herself to imagine what it feels to be one of them.

IMAGINE NATION

2020

imagine nation

vol 110 no 2