It
must be summer; I’m sure of the time. Those were the only times I remember I
could live for an extended time in the embrace of – nature. The river runs wild,
trees thrive towards the skies while grass and flowers bloom freely. It was
where birds soar to the heavens unmolested, singing their chirpy, freedom songs.
I
must be no older than 9 because I would engage the summer in more enterprising ways in later years. I shine shoes in the market – call it my regular source
of income. Still, when opportunities came along, I would sell fruits on the sidewalk or vented peanuts, cigarettes, candies, and PX (brand of chewing gum) at
political rallies. Wherever there was
gathering of people for reasons I could care less; I would engage the crowd in
an enterprising way.
Lumbayan-a-Gui
is a small village that can be reached by walking less than 2 km from
the highway. The unpaved road was always muddy. The village name literally
means “where tall grasses blossom.”
The
story is long, the narrative of which I have already laid down in my book about how we came to live in this village of not so many houses. The following narrative happened long after we abandoned the fields of green grasses that blossom to a man’s height, fields of corn, and shrubs of wild sunflowers.
My
eldest brother married into the village, prompting him to make it his home. We would come to spend weekends and, in summer, spend longer time helping him tend to his farm and graze the animals, especially the Philippines' quintessential beast of burden—the water buffalo.
I
left my beast to graze, but it was always a stone's throw away in case the animal saunters to the newly cultivated corn fields. Idling the time away, I would aim my slingshot at any object I fancied that crossed my field of vision, but birds
- that would be a dream shot for a budding hunter of my age. It was late
afternoon. Birds, many of them, were hopping in short flights between grasses. They
were near and far, constantly in motion, hopping, always in flight – a moving
target that was hard to hit.
I
froze; I thought I hit one. With adrenaline rising, I ran towards my fallen prey, leaping over the grasses. I have never been so thrilled in my entire life—at least of what I have lived so far, that moment, something like 8 or 9 years. Anyway, my excitement was indescribable—euphoria would be more
appropriate.
The
grasses blossomed to about 2 feet in height. It took only a few minutes to find what I thought was my first hunting trophy, but my thrills turned to – horror.
A tiny bird with a broken wing was caught between the stems of the grasses that I needed to nudge aside. My heart sunk to a halt; I thought my heart skipped a
bit from absolute grief. It was moving. It was alive. Gently, I picked it up. Probably
in shock, it showed no resistance to my handling. It was so fragile I thought I
would hurt it even further by a simple touch. I held it in my palm like I was
holding water that would slip off between my fingers. It was the cutest thing I
ever had in my hand. Except for the broken wing, I could see no other injuries.
If I took it home – I thought, it would certainly die.
Growing
at both sides of the country road were wild sunflowers that were so adapted to
the climate; they bloomed so wildly beyond human heights and in clusters, creating undergrowth one could actually take shelter under it. Lanao is most probably
the Philippines’s wettest province. It is no myth that if you cast the seed of the
fruit you eat in your backyard, you will find it growing a few days later.
I
waved aside the sunflower’s thick foliage and crept under
the shrubs. With so many insects and tiny worms in the undergrowth, my tiny bird would have a better chance to survive without the benefit of flight. The foliage serving as a canopy would also protect it from the elements of nature. I wanted to nourish it back to health, and I knew that only nature could provide the healing.
Every
morning, I would wave aside some of the flowers and look in the undergrowth. The bird with the broken wing seemed to be recovering fast, hopping among the Flowers' overgrown branches. On the third day, it wasn’t there. I searched the ground for what I hoped I would not find: a dead bird. I like to believe that since there was no body of evidence, it fully recovered and had taken flight to
freedom.
The
horrific experience was a turning point in my childhood because it would
unconsciously define what I would eventually become.
NK
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