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pahina 1
2 Bisucay now
* An essay written at the height
of internal and social conflict.
*Written February 1999, Brgy. Balading, Bisucay, Cuyo Palawan
So here I am with a pen and battered journal, the shadows from my candles swaying as I pour out my thoughts. I have just the right ambiance: crickets chirping, two grotesque candles I desperately conserve for the sheer pleasure of preventing the wax from dripping, coconut trees and families of giant bamboo dancing the tango with the northeasterly winds (Amihan), Mr. Rat Patrol lurking on my room’s window sill getting ready for his midnight snack of instant pancit (let’s see if he finds it this time), ‘Tay Thelmo snoring to the tune of Englebert’s “Please Release Me”, legions of mosquitoes field testing in search for a spot where the insect repellent on my legs has worn off, while the waves come crashing onto the island shore just 194 sleepy strides from home. Where exactly is home? Home to me for the past 9 months is an island named Bisucay, 20 to 40 minutes by pumpboat from Cuyo island in Palawan depending on the waves. If you have a rather detailed map of the Philippines, the Cuyo group of islands will be dots in the Sulu Sea between Antique and the mainland of Palawan.
I am a volunteer teacher under the Gurong Pahinungod Program. I am one of 49 college graduates fielded around the country to teach in local high schools of places such as Tawi-tawi, Apayao, Sultan Kudarat, Batanes and Bohol, to name a few. All of us have a story to tell and this is mine... I used to get up at the break of dawn but the cold of Amihan has kept me in my bed’s cuddle many precious minutes deeper into the schoolday. I build a fire to cook rice or soup or fried egg or talong, fetch water from the balon, and do some backyard sweeping (good exercise!). In desperate situations, I punch in half an hour of frantic laundering. After breakfast, and other morning rituals accompanied by DZRH news and regular time checks, I rush out to an island morn. Sometimes I’m barefoot when last night’s rains have awakened the shoe-eating putik monsters along the path to school; or in slippers when the light drizzle just about pins down the soil; or in shoes when the mud allows a leisurely stroll in the cool of the early morning dew. My brown suede shoes are brown. My black suede shoes are brown, too.
Students with familiar shy smiles and innocent glances join us for the
morning parade to school. Each elementary and high school student greets
my partner and myself with their right hand pressed to their chest, a slight
bowing of their head and a galloping “Good morning Teachers!” We answer
in their vernacular “Mayad da!" (Same to you.)
My lesson plans are seldom perfect. Have you ever thought back and realized
“I should have done this,” or “I should have said that.” Happens to me
everyday, everytime. Ha! That must indicate that I’m still learning and
thinking. I review what I had prepared the night before. A medley of motivation
techniques, stories, visuals, demonstrations, activities, books, props,
projects and assignments. During hectic days, my preparations are reduced
to outlines. And in extremely enlightened cases (sorry po, wala akong lesson
plan), I bring the Philippine Almanac and tell stories to tickle them into
finding out more by reading on their own. They ask me if it is written
in English. I say yes, then they retreat, markedly intimidated, awaiting
the next page’s story. Last week, I brought along a three day old copy
of the Inquirer (fresh news for an island with no newspaper stands) and
we discussed Leo Echegaray’s case. A meek debate transpires. To most, the
deliberations happen in the confines of their own mind.
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