Diri Lang sa Tagum City

If one is aiming to create a piece that resonates with the lived experiences of the people that they write for, one must have not just 'enough', but full immersion of it, from the culture, the people, the way of living and every bits of it. Because if the I, as the writer feel displaced of my own writing, it will reflect the reader as well. Like a food without effort, it will be bland and tasteless.

My 'lugar lang' has always been my mother's hometown—Tagum City. It's not where I was born, I'm born and raised in Davao City in Boulevard Trading, Tagum to me is like a new world that I can't relate with, I used to not want to relate to it either. When my family and relatives go there to visit my Lolo, I don't really like to involve my self, our 'bukid' is very grassy, very cold, the people there is so involved with each other almost as if the neighbours are our relatives too, it feels suffocating, it feels away from civilization—a concept my younger self is afraid of, the life without tech and the big city.

My Lolo refuses to get the house renovated, he insist that we build a new one instead if we want to stay there permanently, I remember him saying that the memories of my Lola has engraved itself there, and since he's old, and even when his sons and daughters can finally afford it, he vowed not to, the younger me that cared about cellphone signal couldn't understand that it was that sacred, sacred enough that he would eat with the plate on the floor.

But I felt like a liar, back when I write about our summer experiences, I glaze too much about Tagum City, I tell story as if I was personally there every summer, I used to lie that we have a comfortable resthouse in Tagum, not admitting that it was made of rattan, holding that place altogether and the memories that was there. I couldn't be more guilty of denying my identity, I refused to acknowledge that I'm not just a Dabawenya by default, my family is not constrained by the busy city of Davao, but also lives in the heart of Tagum.

Tagum is indeed the place where my identity also belong, that is the place where love bloomed between my Lolo and Lola, gave birth to my mother, and brought me into this world to live comfortably. My roots belong there, I deeply regret the times that I fail to sympathize and see that our house in the bukid was built on love and will also for sure, die with love. I focused more on things that wouldn't even last long, I failed to see that the community in our bukid is a community not build in obligation, but the fact that what they have is each other.