to be a farmer and a father...

back in the old days, families thrive on farming as the most basic and dependable means of livelihood. one hectare of land plump for cultivation is more than enough to raise a family of 5. plus the fact that mealtime is the best time for brewing surprises--you'll never know what your backyard has in store for lunch or dinner.



my dad was born and raised with a 'wooden' spoon. he wakes up very early in the morning to see to his and his siblings' breakfast. he would climb a coconut tree just to have something edible for lunch. he did most of the errands for his family, that's why his feet were dirty most of the time. this also explains why at a young age of 57, his hands are already dark and wrinkled. the sun was mean to farmers like him. but he remains to be the handsome debonair underneath the colorful caps he wears in intervals to parry the sun's rays.



nowadays, land is used on a more commercial scale. if you want to find vast tracts of well-cultivated land, you'd have to travel to far away provinces. but for me and my family, a bowl of bulanglang is only a few steps away. sili, kalamyas, papaya, malunggay, luya, calamansi and kamatis to name a few, are meticulously grown at our backyard.



my dad needs to have some 'activity' to last him throughout the day. being idle brings out his different illnesses rather furtively. from going to and from the market to washing the dishes (and clothes too!), his idea of a break is having a drinking spree with his childhood friends. my dad's a staunch probinsyano, he doesn't carry a balisong for nothing.



sometimes when i look at my dad, i want to cry. he looks older than usual. other fathers may have dark skin, but it's due nothing more to playing golf for hours. my vanity stretches out to him with a bottle of baby lotion, but it wouldn't soothe his already tired skin cells to maximum softness. my heart reaches out to him in silence...wondering where i've gone all these years and why i left my dad to endure the heat of the sun by his lonesome.



so i try to make up for my indolence by not missing mass (every thursdays and sundays), by washing the dishes (religiously after meals), and by making my lingering presence in this house known (clearing the clutter, washing my own clothes).



because of my dad, there's no tough measure of survival i can't brave. God knows how much i love my father, and how much pride i have in me for being his daughter.