Section: Background | Sample Chapters| Contact Information
chapter THREE - ANNA
I was seated on my bed, tapping on my notebook and marking out today’s to-do list. Finish unpacking, checked. Sort giveaway schoolbooks from those to keep, checked. Tally store inventory, unchecked; that would have to wait for tomorrow.
I rubbed my eyes, closed my list and looked at Bumbles, my little bumblebee pen cap and charm, as he lay upon my notebook. Bumbles had been with me ever since high school—through exams, love letters, and even now during post-college to-do lists.
I put aside my notebook and pen cap and I glanced at my bedside clock. Eleven forty seven PM. I stretched and slumped to the sheets.
That fifteen-hour bus ride from Manila earlier was grueling. But when I passed Laoag City, fatigue left me as I gazed at the rural scenery. The long stretches of green fields, the coastlines and beaches—as this panorama swept by, a wave of nostalgia coursed through me.
Beautiful Ilocos.
I turned to one side and closed my eyes. But I wasn’t tired. Despite that long bus ride, I was up and about. I then recalled that boy I met earlier at Manang Auring’s. What was his name again? Arnie? Arvie…
It was Archie. How could I forget. That very attractive Filipino-American—who oozed with exceeding arrogance. Nonetheless he struck me as quite intelligent, and despite his pretense, even kind… I recalled his eyes, that open, honest way he smiled… But no; he’d much rather play the jerk. I shook my head. That boy wasn’t worth my thoughts.
I left the bed, curled up on my window-side chair, and stared into the night.
Here in the province, the evenings were tranquil, serene; my thoughts could wander endlessly into the night. In Manila, I couldn’t sit by my window and let my thoughts wander, for they’d wander straight into a red brick wall that lay one meter away.
In the city, I lived in a dormitory jammed between buildings. Everyday I’d hear neighbors hurl profanities at each other, walk the streets as kanto-boys whistled at me, and bear rush hour commutes with jeepneys and buses spewing carbon monoxide at people who actually paid them for that service.
In my hometown, there were no screaming neighbors, no buildings crammed like Metro Rail commuters, and no shrouds of respiratory death across the horizon at six AM. All around me was the stillness and calm of a long summer night.
I was born in the province. My father was a shipman, and returned home only for a few weeks before heading back to sea. My memories of him were as distant as the oceans he traveled all those years. When he finally settled home, he unexpectedly passed away one year later. Father was, and always will be, all but a stranger to me. And although I grew up with mother for a time, I eventually left my hometown when I was ten, for mother had me move with my aunt to Manila to better my education.
The big city was difficult at first. My classmates called me names like promdi, because I was from the province. And while they were brought to and fetched from school in fancy cars, I had to take public transportation. They had all the latest toys, while I had only a few dolls to my name. I despised them for having so much, for I had too little.
Yet I learned to cope. As they enjoyed their dollhouses, I concentrated on my studies.
I graduated as the top of my class and earned a scholarship from St. Scholastica, where I easily won my peers’ respect due to my academic competency. Moreover, high school was when I learned all about boys.
Boys. I smiled.
Although I had many admirers, I never had a boyfriend, at least during those years. Given my priorities, I had little time for little boys.
Nonetheless, high school wasn’t simply about studies and boys; there was much I learned, the most pivotal of which was that fateful afternoon of my second year.
I had just come home from school when I received a call from the hospital—my aunt died in a car accident. Suddenly, I was alone in the city. I had no other relatives who’d take me in and support me. I panicked and fled to Bangui that same night.
Mother was furious! She scolded me for leaving without a care for my aunt and schooling, and dragged me back to the Manila. She stayed during my aunt’s wake and made arrangements for my new dormitory. The night before she left, she said to me, “Life will test you and hurt you, but remember—these are gifts. Your aunt is gone, but she left you her final gift—a chance to be strong and independent. Take this, Anna. One day, you’ll be rewarded.”
She then left the city, and I spent three days in my room, crying. I remembered my aunt who tried to give everything I needed. Now, she was gone. I also remembered my mother—her words, how safe I felt in her arms—but she left me, too. I then realized mother was right. This was my aunt’s final gift. I had to take it.
The next morning, I went to class. That was a turning point in my life. When I finished high school, I was the model student: Class president, head of the Debate Team, and honorary member of two prestigious academic guilds. Plus, I graduated with the highest grades out of four hundred girls. Mother was right.
I was then offered scholarships to several top schools in Manila. I chose the University of the Philippines, for I received the Presidential Scholarship. Not only was my education free, but a stipend meant I was literally paid to study there.
And now, after four long years, I finally received my college diploma along with one of the university’s highest of honors, Magna cum Laude.
Mother was very proud of me. Word spread fast of her daughter’s achievements. Soon my entire hometown knew of my success. “Anna,” the townsfolk said, “when you take your place in this world, always remember your roots. Tell everyone where you’re from, so they’ll know what outstanding children we Ilocanos have.”
Indeed I’d make them proud.
I was going to be their finest daughter.
A ROOSTER crowed in the distance. I snapped out of my reverie. My clock said it was eleven past one. I returned to bed and began a short prayer, thanking God for His guidance—from my earliest days in my village’s small school, to that moment I took my honors under the high pillars of the University of the Philippines.
After my prayer, I let my thoughts wander as I drifted off to sleep. I pictured the farmers who tilled the rich green fields of the province, the Cordilleras looming behind them. I thought of the fishermen who pushed their small bangkas to the sea, and how they’d pull in their nets at sunset, rich with the ocean’s yield. I heard the laughter of children as they ran around the poblacion’s little park, their eyes sparkling with carefree innocence.
I smiled at these thoughts, and once more, I thanked God for taking me home.
