Fiesta!

Netnet Camomot

“OUR house, in the middle of our street.”

More particularly, Dad’s ancestral home where his elder bro, Msgr. Teofilo Camomot, also grew up.

It was fiesta time at Dad’s hometown and there we were again for a long weekend of lechon, chicharon, and humba. Eating pork should have stopped years ago the moment I started collecting anything piggy, but lechon is simply too yummy to resist.

Another tradition in that house – my cousin inviting Cebu bands for a mini-concert in the garage the whole day. The garage that’s right beside the house. These are the bands a tourist may get to watch while in one of the hotels and bars in Cebu.

Cebu is known to have the best singers in the country, so, that concert is definitely one thing we look forward to each fiesta, in addition to the family reunions and the lechon.

And on Saturday morning, music was already echoing to the bedroom where I was having a cup of tea. Four pigs were then going through the rigors of morphing into lechons, one turn at a time, the pigs whose cries woke me up at dawn as they pled to be pardoned a la the turkey that the US president pardons for Thanksgiving.

Upon arriving on Thursday, my sis’ immediate observation was, Wala na tay aminan. Tia Medios, the last surviving sibling of Dad and Tito Lolong, passed away last March. We, the next generation, are now the ones nga gaaminan. Definitely an aha moment: Gosh, time flies so fast. My cousin’s youngest child was still a little girl in 2009, the first time we honored our promise to Dad that we would go to the fiesta each year. Now, she’s looking for work as a registered nurse, and has pink hair, which prompted us, the older ones, to vow that we should be more daring, too, with our hairstyles – if not now, when?

The way the Cagayanons in the clan address our elders can be confusing. When we’re in Cagayan de Oro, it’s  Tito or Tita. Once we’re in Cebu, it’s Tio and Tia.

At least by now, our cousins already know what tsada means. Years ago, they would ask, Tsada? Me: Nindot ba, Dai.

We have many Angels in the family – Inday Angelita, Angeli, Angie. Francis and Dennis are also popular. Our parents’ generation probably had a convention and voted for Angel, Francis, and Dennis as their children’s and grandchildren’s names.

Two of our Manila-based cousins, one of whom is a Dennis, ended up marrying beautiful women named Angeli and Frances. Hard habit to break I guess.

I don’t know if Tatay and Nanay, Tito Lolong, Tio Dado, other Titos and Titas, and our parents are around whenever we gather at our ancestral home for the fiesta. But we’d like to think they are, happy and assured that the family tradition will continue.

With red meat as the main ingredient for the fiesta menu, the family’s “inheritance” is expected to be excess body weight and the resulting afflictions of that excess – bad knees, for one. If you happen to see us walking ever so carefully, you’ll also have an aha moment: Aha! Cousins!

For a while there, I did wonder from whom I “inherited” my mile-wide hips. Until I saw my cousin’s hips. We were slimmer once upon a time, so…

Since most of them have lived in Cebu, the question now hovering above their heads was, Musta na ang Marawi? Hmmm. Where do I begin to tell that story?

They also ask about Iligan and of course Cagayan de Oro – the perks of belonging to one of the two families that chose to live outside Cebu.

We’ve been going to the annual fiesta for many years now, but we still couldn’t dare sing with the bands that perform in the garage. Well, they’re professional singers and musicians; we’re, hmmm, videoke singers. Ulaw oi. I did ask my sis if she wanted to sing, and she was shaking her head for her no, the way I also say no to ampalaya, our way of saying, Que horror!

We’d rather listen to and savor the music. Bliss. Even way much yummier than the lechon. And that’s for a city known for its lechon and chicharon.

The rain was on and off last Saturday, otherwise, the weather would have been excruciatingly humid – the usual Cebu weather. But we were able to listen to the rain only before dinner, when the bands had to eat and leave for their weekend gigs in Cebu City.

That’s Dad’s ancestral home in the middle of Msgr. Teofilo Camomot Street. It’s easy to find, and pilgrims have been visiting to see the house where Tito Lolong grew up. My cousins who live there are now the ones tasked to take care of the house, and also to answer questions from the pilgrims and media – a responsibility that my minute brain and senior moments won’t be able to meet since I can’t even memorize which is which – March 3, Sept. 27 – for Tito Lolong’s birth and death anniversaries.