Pasalubong

(Based on Panaderya by Manuel Roxas)

Manny's reasons for trekking up the bakery are not limited to mouth-watering bread and pastry aromas. The sweet colors of daybreak are a well-known means of gratification, a perfect complement to the panaderya’s resident ube hopias. After all, his sunrises are made most delectable by the smile of the baker's daughter. It's the 41st month he'll be biking up the hill to meet that smile, and Manny decides it's time for an opening of hearts.

Door chimes greet him when he makes his way in. They accompany the rainbow plethora of pasalubong boxes that line the glass counter. Though the sight is engraved in his memory, Manny still marvels at how pristine they all look.

He sees Divine hunched in front of the cooking furnace, and Manny is suddenly aware of all the nerves in his body. He fidgets with his khaki beret as a futile means of comfort. Divine notices his presence and smiles, all while chucking a pan half her size of their signature pastry. Manny’s cheeks burn like the furnace’s embers. Yet he’s to ask her about her morning, when he hears rubber screeching against concrete. A tricycle, drunken driver and all, zigzags towards the young boy playing by the sidewalk. Manny lunges out and pushes the child without a second thought.

He's okay, despite the tattered cap and a gash’s sting on his forearm. Divine tends to Manny's wounds, her means of gratitude after he valiantly saves her younger cousin. Divine raises an antiseptic-soaked cotton with tweezers. Manny grins to himself at the gesture of care, then grimaces at the memory of his low pain tolerance.

He is not okay.

Yet bless the heavens and bless Angelic Divine who notices the tension on his brows. She teases and he blushes. She whispers and he sinks. She tells him they should date. He sees rose tint.

Divine rubs the cotton to his skin and not one bit of pressure nor pain had come. Manny regains his senses and colors to a tightly-bandaged arm and Divine’s number scribbled on the cloth.

Manny almost has the inkling of framing the bandage.

TW: MENTIONED DEATH

i. Palabok ng mga Pinoy

Bihon noodles, atsuete, Sarsang gawa sa hipon at baboy, Ang ilan sa mahahalagang sangkap Sa paggawa ng palabok na masarap.

Kahel ang kulay ng putahe, Pwedeng lagyan ng kalamansi, Pandagdag lasa Sa espesyal na handa.

Tuwing kaarawan o Kahit anong okasyon pa’y nakahanda ito sa mesa, Nakabilao man o sariling luto. Pwedeng pang-almusal o merienda, Bente bente lang sa karinderya.

Nilagang itlog, bawang at sibuyas, Chicharon at paminta, Patis at mantika, Siguraduhing meron ka.

iii. Palabok sa aking alaala iii. Palabok sa aking alaala

Ilang taon na ang lumipas Ilang taon na ang lumipas

Nang pumanaw ang aking ina, Nang pumanaw ang aking ina, Maraming nagbago ngunit Maraming nagbago ngunit

Palabok pa rin ang paborito kong handa. Palabok pa rin ang paborito kong handa.

Batid ko na kung ba’t ako tinuruan

Batid ko na kung ba’t ako tinuruan

Kung saan pwede bumili ng bilao Kung saan pwede bumili ng bilao

O kahit pang-isahang tao. O kahit pang-isahang tao.

Alam ko na kung ba’t ako tinuruan

Alam ko na kung ba’t ako tinuruan

Mamili ng mga sangkap sa palengke Mamili ng mga sangkap sa palengke

At lutuin ito, pang-isahan o pang-marami. At lutuin ito, pang-isahan o pang-marami.

Ilang buwan pagkatapos niya ‘ko turuan, Ilang buwan pagkatapos niya ‘ko turuan, Bumigay ang kanyang katawan, Bumigay ang kanyang katawan,

Palabok ang pagkain sa hapag

Palabok ang pagkain sa hapag

Matapos namin siyang ihatid sa huling hantungan.

Matapos namin siyang ihatid sa huling hantungan.

Ang pagluluto namin sa kusina’y Ang pagluluto namin sa kusina’y

Ilan sa mga huli naming alaala, Ilan sa mga huli naming alaala, Sa puso’t isip kailanma’y ‘di mawawala. Sa puso’t isip kailanma’y ‘di mawawala.

Naaalala ko pa noon nang una kong makilala si tita. Basang basa ng pawis ang mga palad ko habang hawak-hawak mo ang mga ito nang araw na ‘yon. Hindi ko rin naman makakalimutan ang matamis mong mga salita na nagpagaan ng loob ko. “Parehong pareho kami ni mama at kung mahal kita, alam kong mamahalin ka din niya.” Ano ba naman ang puwede kong isagot sayo kundi ang isang ngiting maraming gustong iparating; mahal kita, iniibig kita, pinapagaan mo ang loob ko. Sana ay ‘sing tamis ng pasalubong ko ang mga salitang gusto kong sabihin sa’yo kaso para akong pipi na di makasalita kapag nandiyan ka na.

“Nice to meet you, Joy.”

Naalala kong niyakap ako ng babaeng kamukhang kamukha mo. Niyakap niya ‘kong mahigpit na para bang inintay niya ‘kong dumating. Hindi mo man nakuha ang mga mata ni tita, pareho naman kayo ng ngiti; matamis at maamo. Bitbitbitbit ko pa rin ang supot ng leche flang pasalubong ko sa kanya nang binanggit mo ‘to. Paborito mo kasi ‘yan at hindi ko rin alam ang ipapasalubong ko kay tita. Sabi mo naman na parehong-pareho kayo diba? Nagbaka-sakali akong magustuhan din niya ang pasalubong ko.

“Paborito namin ‘to.” Tama ka nga, pareho nga kayo.

Naglabas siya ng tatlong kutsarita at umupo sa tabi ko. Kwinentuhan ako ni tita ng mga ginawa mo noong bata ka pa. Naalala kong binilisan mong maghugas ng plato noong kinuwento niya kung pano ka manamit noong grade 1. Mahilig ka palang magsuot ng bandana? Nakaka-astig daw? Buti natago pa ni tita yung paborito mong bandana, may remembrance tuloy ako ng araw na ‘yon. Kapalit daw ng leche flan, sabi niya.

Umalis akong may pangakong babalik ulit, may bagong paborito yatang anak si tita. Abot langit naman ang ngiti mo, mas natuwa ka pa yata kesa sa’kin. Ang baduy mo talaga.

Bumalik ako sa kaarawan ni tita. Syempre dala-dala ang paborito niya, hinding hindi mawawala. Binati nanaman niya ‘ko ng isang yakap at ng isang nakakahawang ngiti. Pinasok niya agad sa kusina ang pasalubong ko, sa amin lang daw ‘yon at t ganon nga ang nangyari. Nang mawala na ang mga bisita, nilabas niya ‘to kasama ng tatlong kutsarita para sa’ting tatlo. Nagtawanan at nagkwentuhan tayo hanggang alas-diyes ng gabi.

“Salamat, anak.” Naging ina ko na rin siya ng gabing ‘yon.

Tatlong buwan akong linggo-linggong bumibisita sa inyo. Linggo-linggo ring binabati ng isang ngiti at tatlong kutsarita sa pagpasok ko sa pintuan ng tahanan mo. Sapat na ang buhay na ‘to sa akin pero hindi pala ‘to ang gustong mangyari ng mundo.

Tatlong kutsarita pa rin ang bumabati sa’kin pag bumibisita ako. Isang ngiti at isang yakap pa din ang naghihintay sa’kin pagbukas ng pinto ninyo. Pero sana tatlong kutsarita pa rin ang nagagamit at mga mata mo sana ang nakangiti din sa’kin sa bawat bisita ko.

Nagawa ko tuloy pamunas ng luha ang paborito mong bandana.

‘Di bale, ‘di ko makakalimutang magdala ng pasalubong sa bahay.

Paborito mo ‘to diba?

You brought them home, once and something about it felt like being dragged out of the water. I check for sand under my fingernails, just in case and sink deeper into the afternoon; the empty space beside me sits thick and humid, but

the day turns into a waiting game for the next box of wonders you bring home, because what child doesn’t like to play pretend? Today I find bite-sized crowns, pointed tusks the color of gold, clothed in crinkly red cellophane

standing upright in this cardboard fortress which calls them special. The great pyramids, only sweeter; the eighth wonder of the world. And I know them like the back of my teeth

but I also know you’re home when saltwater in my eyes feels like a Tuesday. But that’s okay, because in times of fear I call for every god who knows me, including my father. And if I say grace I get to stay for another day or two.

Or three. But I was younger then, and knew nothing of the strange string of curses this box would unleash; and here I am reaching deep in a bottle for a memory I am still not sure really happened, but why bother, I ask if I could simply savor the stain that one piece of the afternoon left in my mouth, the sweet, sticky memory on my tongue, as if the abundance of rich, shiny sweetness contained in this rockhard clamming outer shell is enough to let my breath bubble. You wouldn’t know his reflection in the water, nor sugar from salt when it dissolves. You wouldn’t recognize him anywhere, if not for his sleeves.

When Mikey was younger, there was always a specific order of events that transpired right when the lazy lull of the afternoon was just about to begin.

At exactly 3:30 pm everyday, the door bolts will clack and the doorknob will click as a low voice—sometimes interrupted by a voice crack—will announce, “I’m home!” This is immediately followed by the rapid patter of small feet on the vinyl floor, accompanied by a symphony of giggles and two tinny voices yelling, “Kuya!” Kuya Shin will then set down his bag by the doorframe, and there will be much commotion by the door as he is tackled by two gremlins who do not waste any time in demanding for their pasalubong.

“Oo nga, wait lang, wait lang,” Kuya will chastise the two little children who impatiently tug at his school slacks. “Eto na, o.”

Kuya will seat the young ones at the table, but not before reminding them to wash their hands before eating. Once everyone’s hands are clean and the table has been set, he will ask the five-year-old boy to say grace before meals, which elicits a string of complaints. Kuya will patiently explain that their four-year-old sister has yet to memorize the prayer, so Kuya Mikey should set a good example for her to follow. And so the petulant boy will comply, but not without making Kuya promise to give him the first share of their merienda.

Now—the exciting part.

Two pairs of round eyes will eagerly watch as Kuya extracts a brown box from the plastic bag he was swinging out of their reach minutes ago. They follow the movements of his hand as he unties the straw ribbon and lifts the cover.

And, voila!

There, in the box, seated in all its warm glory, is the Santos siblings’ all-time favorite merienda: buko pie.

The excitement of the two younger siblings is palpable as they watch Kuya carefully cut into the pie. Golden flakes scatter around the inside of the box, and as Kuya lifts a slice up and onto Mikey’s plate, the little boy starts to salivate at the sight of the glistening custardcoated coconut meat. Kuya will then cut their slices into smaller bite-size pieces and blow on them.

“Careful, mainit,” Kuya tells Mikey as he blows on a piece for the tenth time.

Sometimes, Kenn, the boy next door, will come over at Kuya's invitation, and eat a slice or two with them.

(It doesn't take long for 'sometimes' to become 'everyday', and for neighbors to become best friends.)

Those were simple times, just the three of them—or four—at home while Mama and Papa were at work and Lolo was busy instructing his afternoon martial arts classes.

"Kumain ka na ng merienda, Mik?"

Mikey hums noncommittally in response. He's currently cramming the paper he's working on with Kenn, who's sure to yell at him if he ever finds out that Mikey procrastinated because he stayed up all night playing games.

Something scrapes on the dining table. Mikey spares a glance to the space beside his laptop. A slice of buko pie rests warmly on a small white ceramic saucer.

"Kain ka muna," Kuya Shin says, smiling and ruffling his hair. He sets a fork down beside the saucer and follows up with a glass of apple juice, before he leaves Mikey to his devices in the dining room.

For a while, Mikey just stares blankly at the plate of food.

He suddenly starts to cry.

Maybe it’s the stress of having to do so much in school. Maybe it’s because of the fear of disappointing his best friend who’s told him time and again to “be more responsible.” Or maybe it’s because he’s stressed and he’s scared and he procrastinated even if he didn’t mean to, and now all the emotions are whirling around inside his chest like they’re trying to make an emotional milkshake.

He doesn’t know why he’s crying, nor can he fathom why the most mundane act of being given food made him cry.

Mikey frantically wipes at his tears and does his best to choke down his sniffling. Apparently, it doesn’t work, because within mere minutes Kuya’s head pops back in through the door frame and he’s rushing over to the dining table. At this point, Mikey can’t help but let his older brother wrap his arms around him, even with Kuya still in his work clothes. Kuya smells like the bike shop, all oily and greasy, but they somehow help ground his emotion-addled mind.

Once Mikey’s calmed down, Kuya wipes away the remaining wetness on his cheeks with the ball of his hand.

“Sabi sayo kumain ka muna eh,” Kuya Shin gently admonishes him, lightly pinching the bridge of Mikey’s nose. “Empty stomach equals empty mind.”

Mikey wants to retort, but his heart’s not into it at the moment, so he stays silent while Kuya busies himself with the slice of buko pie.

Kuya hovers his hand over the pie. “Lumamig na tuloy. Iinitin ko—kumain ka.”

Mikey nods.

Moments later, the buko pie is back on the table, steamy and golden. True to his love language of food, as Mikey munches on the soft, custard-coated coconut flesh and makes a mess of the flaky crust, he knows he’ll never tire of asking Kuya to bring home a box of edible love.

Kuya Shin was the absolute worst companion one could ever pick to bring to a wedding.

Aside from his nonstop bemoaning of how he wished someone would love him enough to commit themself to him for the rest of their life, he cried a lot.

And by a lot, it meant that Mikey never knew that he’d be finishing an entire six-pack of Kleenex for one wedding.

So when Emma’s wedding comes around, he’s not at all surprised to see Kuya bawling his eyes out. Their little sister’s getting married, after all.

(Mikey cried too, but he swears he’ll turn into a coconut tree first before he’ll ever admit it.)

The reception commences soon after, and just as Mikey’s about to take a seat with Kuya at their designated table in the front, the groom pulls him aside. At exactly 3:30 in the afternoon, Mikey arrives at the address Kenn texted him and rings the doorbell. The door bolt clacks and the doorknob clicks, and Mikey can hear a low voice muffled by the door. It sounds stern and seems to be reprimanding someone, so he can pretty much guess who he’ll see when the door swings open.

“Wow, parang masarap yan ah,” Kenn says, taking the plastic bag from Mikey’s hand and beckoning him inside his home.

“Ah grabe oh, wala man lang ‘hello’?” Mikey jokes, putting a hand to his chest and dramatically adding, “‘Di mo na’ko love, pre.”

“Love kita bossing,” Kenn tells him, “pero mas love ko si Emma.”

Mikey pretends to be disgusted, sticking his tongue out and exclaiming, “Yuck!”

“Para namang bata. Eh kapatid mo ata yun?”

“Kahit na!”

Their conversation is interrupted by the rapid patter of small feet on the hardwood floor, accompanied by a melody of giggles and a tiny voice yelling, “Tito Mikey!” A little girl emerges from the living room, a carbon copy of his dear sister running towards Mikey at full speed. Mikey grins at the sight of her, quickly kneeling and opening his arms to receive her leaping figure.

Mikey opens his mouth to greet her back, but she beats him to the punch, wasting no time in demanding, “Tito, where’s my pasalubong?”

Mikey’s jaw drops and his face contorts into a slightly offended expression on instinct. His best friend roars with laughter beside him.

“Pati ba naman yung pamangkin ko?”

His complaint falls on deaf ears as his niece repeats, “Tito! My pasalubong?”

Her father laughs even harder, and Mikey pouts.

“Nakooo, pasalamat ka talaga na cute ka at love na love kita!” Mikey digs his nose into his niece’s cheek and picks her up into his arms, eliciting giggles from her.

The three of them march into the dining area, where Emma has just finished setting the table. Once everyone’s hands are clean and grace has been said, led confidently by Mikey’s niece, they dig in.

For as long as Mikey can remember, buko pie has been an integral part of the Santos family.

Sitting with his sister and her family, telling stories and watching as golden flakes scatter across the table and custard-coated coconut meat glistens in the afternoon sun, a thought crosses Mikey’s mind.

He whips out his phone and dials a number he hasn’t called in a while.

Riiinggg. Riiingg. Ri—

“Hello, this is Santos Motors.”

“Oo Kuya, alam ko,” Mikey jokes.

Kuya Shin just laughs, humoring him as always. “Oh, bakit?”

“Kuya, bago ka umuwi mamaya…”

“Hm?”

“Yung pasalubong ko, ha?”