Nothing complicated, just chill

Growing up in Ormoc, I remember how Daddy would come home, either from his rounds on the farm or from his tennis match, a blind man plus his young companion/guide in tow. Daddy would gather us around and, like a jukebox, the blind man — Mang Carding is his name — would sing good stuff, the standards, like I Left My Heart in San Francisco or Misty; music from the past that stands on its own against the newer ones, replete as they are with beautiful melodies and with no poverty of thoughts. He would sing and sing, as he strummed his very old guitar, and we would listen. At the end of his set, Daddy would give the blind man through his companion some money, plus some clothes.

There have been several “home” singers like this, of the informal variety, no professional background, just a voice and raw, organic talent. I took it for granted growing up, but now after being exposed to a life outside the simplicity of one that is innate in the province, I relish it. Such that when Mang Carding comes by while I am there, I sit still, to listen to his vibrato, as he sings joyfully, his face beaming. His guitar and his voice — always, those two alone are enough to clock in its own special kind of happy at any given day.

The last time I was in Ormoc, there was a random breeze, as I sat in the front porch of my sister’s house in Ormoc, taking it all in, waiting for the latest possible moment before I absolutely had to up and go, to take a two-and-a-half-hour road trip to Tacloban, and ride a plane that would take me back to the random busyness of life in the big city.

We celebrated Richard’s birthday quietly a few days back. Each year, there is never any plan for a party but after almost 17 years of being married to him I know it’s better not to totally not have a plan.

See, I have a husband who grew up with his Lola Lydia and his friends. Yes, a greater chunk of it was with Lola Lydia but the “friends” part is also a significant

episode in his life. He is big on friends, takes them in like family. So at any given day someone (more often, a whole bunch of them) may just drop by the house. But more so on the occasion of his birthday. They come — at least 20 or 30 or 60 of them that just remember his birthday. And so I prepare a feast of sorts, basically straightforward stuff that big boys will enjoy for sure. And then a party spontaneously happens. Nothing fancy, just chill. No need to dress up, just come as you are. The menu jumps across many themes, because aside from what we’ve prepared friends come by bringing with them their own favorites as well — lengua, balbacua and biko from Emily, burong mustasa from Nani, galantina from Boyong. Choco cake, caramel cake, white cake with marshmallow frosting, cupcakes, fruit and cheese from Gretchen.

We sit together under the stars of a nice night, we talk and laugh, and soon enough singing happens. I sit under the shade of our mango tree, lit by capiz lanterns that look like many little full moons. There is a soft breeze. I pat myself on the back for having the good sense to hire an acoustic brotherand-sister duo. They were wonderful, Carlo and Nicole. Aside from them, Gretchen, luminously beautiful, sang, and then his fencing coach, Benny, three of his volleyball teammates — Sammi, Kring, Angelo, Richard himself, plus Bugoy, a professional singer/artist who also moonlights as a volleyball player. It was a very nice evening, uncomplicated and chill, just like the celebrant.

At night’s end, and after a nice glass of wine, I lamented (yet again) the fact that I do not know how to sing. I’d love to learn even just one song, and if I am ever fortunate enough to learn a repertoire of five songs that I can sing decently, I’d love to climb up on a piano, like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker

Boys. I will probably be 85 by the time I have the guts to do just that. There would be a smoke machine and I would have on red lipstick, my hair in soft curls, my feet in high heels, a nice dress. But before that even happens, I’ll be just as happy to sing alongside Mang Carding. Maybe one day life will find me doing just that.