Ponying.
I met someone new today. I was having my routine caramel macchiato break at Starbucks, browsing through the latest Preview and munching on my walnut brownie, when someone asked if the seat from across my table was taken. It was an old guy--white hair, Visayan accent and kind eyes. I told him the seat wasn't taken and he sat down. And then came what probably was the most refreshing conversation I had in God knows how long.
His name was Ponying. Lolo Ponying. He was 86, a native Boholanon, and just came home from the US a week ago for Holy Week. He was very soft-spoken, but there was a sense of humor about him that wasn't anywhere near annoying or worse, leacherous. We talked about a lot of things, mostly about himself and his family. It was in the course of me getting to know this old guy that I came to realize a lot about myself--all in a matter of a couple of hours.
Realize what, you say? Many things, from the trivial to the, well, deep. Like for instance how I liked cold coffee more than the hot variety--and not because the coolness was an indication of what you ought to be when you're young. Hot : old geezers needing their caffeine fix to stay awake, as opposed to, cold : young, nubile bodies at the prime of their beach-bound lives.
Then there was talk of where I was from, what I did. I told him I was graduating with my degree in Architecture from UP. He said he had a son who took two years of Architecture in Adamson before dropping out and joining a dance troupe that travelled all over Asia in the 70's. How cool, I thought to myself. Having the guts to come up to your parents and tell them how you want your life to be and actually stick by it. He couldn't have been more than 18 years old then, I imagine. And now he was a realtor in San Francisco, earning a good deal of money. How fortunate of some people to discover what their life's passion was at such a young age, to actually follow their dreams, and then settle down to their very comfortable real lives. If my life was half that interesting I don't think I could ever ask for more, I thought.
Lolo Ponying asked me where I'd be spending Holy Week. I offered him the usual answer--nowhere, just in Manila, as I didn't have a province. Then I realized that aside from Caloocan, where I lived all my life, I was from nowhere else. Brings me back to an incident last Saturday at the beach. We were having dinner with Lozzie's family and this tai-chi master guy, when Lozzie's lolo asked Mr. Tai-Chi where he was from. He said nowhere and Lozzie's grandpa, being the old box of wit that he was said, "What? You sprang out from a bamboo shoot or something?". I realized I didn't want to be like that--just a fixture in one environment, never seeking different (but not necessarily greener) pastures. Unlike Lolo Ponying, who had been all over the Philippines, and all over the US.
He told me his surname (which now escapes my memory) and told me he was from Bohol, a place 18 kms. from Tagbilaran (which is probably the only town/city I know in Bohol). I mentioned I knew of someone who was from there and he said he was familliar with their family name, Redulla. We talked of the Visayas and then of Cebu, and I asked him if he'd heard of the name Espina (my Cebuano professor's name) and he again recognized it. He asked for my surname and when I told him Vasquez he said, "Oh, like the bookstore?!". I was stunned. See, my dad's family did own a bookstore many years ago--Vasquez Bookstore. I was nothing short of amazed that someone actually remembered, and pleased to have somehow been reminded of the past.
Lolo then asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I answered him (again) with my usual answer--"It's complicated." He told me he had a son who was 44 and had never been married--he often wondered why many people now have that choice. I don't know, lolo. Neither do I know why some people (such as myself, and many that I know of) choose to complicate their relationships--or lack thereof. Why can't it be as easy as 1,2,3: meet and fall in love, get married, live happily ever after?
I asked Lolo if he was with anyone, and he laughingly told me that his wife was at home, too lazy to get up and take a stroll at the nearby mall. Funny how young people who have tons of things to do can make singit the slightest hint of gimik, while old people who have all the time in the world to spend refuse to go out and get a whiff of the modern gimik-crazy world.
Of course it had to end, as all good things must come to an end. We said our goodbyes and wished each other well. It was bittersweet seeing this little old man amble slowly about in such a fast-paced world. Sweet, getting to know someone wizened with old age and experience and realizing a few things about young, "I'm-old-enough-I-know-what-I'm-doing-but-yeah-right" me. Bitter, for I'm left wondering when I'll have another conversation like that again.
A little twinge of guilt was also left in me, about how much penchant and patience I had in me to hold what seemed to be a marathon conversation with an old guy I barely knew--and how I sometimes don't for the old guy waiting for me at home, my own Daddy. Then I got thinking how very Joan of Arcadia-ish this all seemed. Maybe Lolo Ponying was my own "God", reminding me how I ought to be with Daddy. And now I'm certain. Lolo Ponying was the "moral lesson" personified, just like in all those Joan... episodes where God shows up in a manner of appearances just to make Joan realize her mistakes and teach her a thing or two about life. How very timely for Holy Week, huh?
Thanks, Lolo Ponying. Now that's one guy I'll never forget.
Growing up, I've always been taught not to talk to strangers. Today, I'm glad I did. :D
His name was Ponying. Lolo Ponying. He was 86, a native Boholanon, and just came home from the US a week ago for Holy Week. He was very soft-spoken, but there was a sense of humor about him that wasn't anywhere near annoying or worse, leacherous. We talked about a lot of things, mostly about himself and his family. It was in the course of me getting to know this old guy that I came to realize a lot about myself--all in a matter of a couple of hours.
Realize what, you say? Many things, from the trivial to the, well, deep. Like for instance how I liked cold coffee more than the hot variety--and not because the coolness was an indication of what you ought to be when you're young. Hot : old geezers needing their caffeine fix to stay awake, as opposed to, cold : young, nubile bodies at the prime of their beach-bound lives.
Then there was talk of where I was from, what I did. I told him I was graduating with my degree in Architecture from UP. He said he had a son who took two years of Architecture in Adamson before dropping out and joining a dance troupe that travelled all over Asia in the 70's. How cool, I thought to myself. Having the guts to come up to your parents and tell them how you want your life to be and actually stick by it. He couldn't have been more than 18 years old then, I imagine. And now he was a realtor in San Francisco, earning a good deal of money. How fortunate of some people to discover what their life's passion was at such a young age, to actually follow their dreams, and then settle down to their very comfortable real lives. If my life was half that interesting I don't think I could ever ask for more, I thought.
Lolo Ponying asked me where I'd be spending Holy Week. I offered him the usual answer--nowhere, just in Manila, as I didn't have a province. Then I realized that aside from Caloocan, where I lived all my life, I was from nowhere else. Brings me back to an incident last Saturday at the beach. We were having dinner with Lozzie's family and this tai-chi master guy, when Lozzie's lolo asked Mr. Tai-Chi where he was from. He said nowhere and Lozzie's grandpa, being the old box of wit that he was said, "What? You sprang out from a bamboo shoot or something?". I realized I didn't want to be like that--just a fixture in one environment, never seeking different (but not necessarily greener) pastures. Unlike Lolo Ponying, who had been all over the Philippines, and all over the US.
He told me his surname (which now escapes my memory) and told me he was from Bohol, a place 18 kms. from Tagbilaran (which is probably the only town/city I know in Bohol). I mentioned I knew of someone who was from there and he said he was familliar with their family name, Redulla. We talked of the Visayas and then of Cebu, and I asked him if he'd heard of the name Espina (my Cebuano professor's name) and he again recognized it. He asked for my surname and when I told him Vasquez he said, "Oh, like the bookstore?!". I was stunned. See, my dad's family did own a bookstore many years ago--Vasquez Bookstore. I was nothing short of amazed that someone actually remembered, and pleased to have somehow been reminded of the past.
Lolo then asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I answered him (again) with my usual answer--"It's complicated." He told me he had a son who was 44 and had never been married--he often wondered why many people now have that choice. I don't know, lolo. Neither do I know why some people (such as myself, and many that I know of) choose to complicate their relationships--or lack thereof. Why can't it be as easy as 1,2,3: meet and fall in love, get married, live happily ever after?
I asked Lolo if he was with anyone, and he laughingly told me that his wife was at home, too lazy to get up and take a stroll at the nearby mall. Funny how young people who have tons of things to do can make singit the slightest hint of gimik, while old people who have all the time in the world to spend refuse to go out and get a whiff of the modern gimik-crazy world.
Of course it had to end, as all good things must come to an end. We said our goodbyes and wished each other well. It was bittersweet seeing this little old man amble slowly about in such a fast-paced world. Sweet, getting to know someone wizened with old age and experience and realizing a few things about young, "I'm-old-enough-I-know-what-I'm-doing-but-yeah-right" me. Bitter, for I'm left wondering when I'll have another conversation like that again.
A little twinge of guilt was also left in me, about how much penchant and patience I had in me to hold what seemed to be a marathon conversation with an old guy I barely knew--and how I sometimes don't for the old guy waiting for me at home, my own Daddy. Then I got thinking how very Joan of Arcadia-ish this all seemed. Maybe Lolo Ponying was my own "God", reminding me how I ought to be with Daddy. And now I'm certain. Lolo Ponying was the "moral lesson" personified, just like in all those Joan... episodes where God shows up in a manner of appearances just to make Joan realize her mistakes and teach her a thing or two about life. How very timely for Holy Week, huh?
Thanks, Lolo Ponying. Now that's one guy I'll never forget.
Growing up, I've always been taught not to talk to strangers. Today, I'm glad I did. :D
posted by anj at 1:03 AM
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