Home for the old

I woke up at 3 in the morning today. Maybe because I am getting older. That's what old people do. Sleep early. Wake up early. But I did not sleep early.

Somewhere in this urbanized neighborhood, I can hear the chickens crowing and the birds chattering, ending in a beautiful chaotic chorus as the early morning lightened up and the lights turned off. The pigs getting alive grunting and begging for food, perhaps. I am so glad I can still sense the provinciality (is there such word?) in this part of metro Cebu. Just like home.

When Daughtry belted out Home, suddenly I miss Batuan, my true home.

I know Tatay would now be preparing the food for our pigs. Or for the chickens robbers loved to snatch when my parents are sleeping. Mama, the ever hardworker amongst us, may have prepared our food already with the thermos full of hot water ready for the coffee-hungry in the family.

The entire surroundings in Batuan would be alive by now. Just like any other town. The city morning life is so different from the province. That's what I really missed. The burning of leaves in the mornings seems so hallucinatory and refreshing as compared to the smoke the cars are giving off outside.

I would now be having my second cup of coffee as I make tambay outside and being greeted by farmers on the way to their lands, some of them with a carabao in tow. Nong Uriel, the local baker, would be offering me his pandesal. His daughter likewise would be smiling at me with her bibingka, knowing the fact that I love bibingka. And I would be buying from them.

I miss home.