BLUES

On a blue Saturday morning, upon learning that our classes had been suspended that day I headed to downtown Borongan, a fledgling city which has been stripped of its cityhood a couple of times because of the Supreme Court’s ambivalence. I was appalled by the rather late announcement, which came through a text message, while I was impatiently waiting for my classmates who were nowhere to be seen. The thought of driving twenty-nine kilometers back home for a futile trip made me even more frustrated. The state university I’m attending is about eight kilometers north of the city and I have to pass by the latter on my way back home to Maydolong – an idyllic town twenty kilometers south of Borongan.

Upon reaching the city’s downtown area, popularly known as Sawang to many, I decided to stop by one of its oldest and most iconic establishments – Blue Room – for a quick refreshment.

Blue Room, a bakery and snack joint which brings nostalgic memories of my childhood, is located right across the whitewashed Borongan Cathedral. When I was still a kid, the bakery served as a silent witness to the cautionary pinches my mother occasionally gave me at times I threw tantrums whenever we visited Borongan for the customary weekend shopping. Most of those tantrums resulted from my defiance over my mother’s refusal to buy me a new toy or a shirt which was the “uso” (fad) at school then. Blue Room served as my mother’s haven during those times and the bakery’s assortment of delights never failed to placate me.

Upon entering the bakery’s threshold I immediately ordered a bottle of cold Sprite from one of the bakery’s frowning tinderas who must have already been exhausted from the early morning rush of church-goers. I settled on one of the bakery’s tables (which was actually two tables joined together) and started gulping my Sprite.

Halfway through my bottle, amid the bustle inside the bakery and the city outside, a mother with her two boys sat on the empty chairs on the same table I was occupying. Each one had a bottle of Coke and the mother had a bag of monay with her. Upon setting the bread on the table, the three kindred spirits started feasting heartily on their monay and soft drinks. They were suddenly plunged into a world of their own – a world whose center was a hard, white bread whose top resembles that of a woman’s bosom and a carbonated drink. 

I intently studied the three. The mother had a speckled face and occasional streaks of white hair which clearly showed years of toil. The look on her eyes seemed to be distant and absent. The older boy must have been eleven or twelve years old and his younger brother was about two or three years his junior. Each time the older brother guzzled his Coke, he would exhale heavily through his mouth – “Ahhhh..” –  as if he was letting out a deep sigh, only it was a sigh of fulfillment.

What caught my attention was the younger brother. He was gaunt and it was obvious that he was underweight. His head was bald and it was unusually big for his frame. His eyes were deep-set and like his mother, they had the absent and distant look in them. Unlike his older brother, the younger boy silently wolfed his monay just as his mother did.

The solemn feast was interrupted by an inquisitive voice from the other table. It was a woman with her own child – a boy who was about three years old. The boy who must have been amused with the other boy’s (the older brother) “Ahhh..” reflex was now doing the same sound every time he sipped his Coke.

The woman from the other table, clearly acquainted with the mother and her two boys, asked the latter where they have been. The mother replied, “Tikang pala kami ha bukid. Maiha na kami nga waray pakakadulhog.” (We just came from our farm. It has been a while since we’ve been to the city.) The conversation between the two mothers immediately ceased and the three fellows on my table once again resumed their silent feast.

Soon, they finished their snacks, which could easily pass as a meal to the older brother as he was now enthusiastically burping. Before leaving Blue Room, the mother bought two pieces of monay from the same frowning tindera who earlier gave me my Sprite, which was now almost empty. The mother mentioned something about giving the monay as a pasalubong to someone left at their bukid. I surmised it must have been the father.

As the mother and her two boys were leaving the bakery, a limping mendicant approached them at the doorway. The beggar’s hand was perfunctorily outstretched, his palm open, mumbling something which I assumed was a plea to “Spare me some coins, Mana, please.” The beggar then looked at the younger boy who was holding the bag of monay his mother bought as a  pasalubong.

The boy, now looking utterly confused, looked at his mother. With a reassuring look, the mother’s eyes met the boy’s as if to say, “Go ahead my son.” Without any hesitation, the boy handed the bag of monay to the limping mendicant. Looking pleased, the beggar took the bag and set off looking for the next kind soul. A warm smile appeared on the mother’s face then she patted the boy’s head and that of the older brother’s. She was obviously brimming with pride. The three fellows continued walking until they disappeared from my line of sight.

As I was on my way back home, I pondered on the events that transpired on that blue Saturday morning in an old bakery called Blue Room. I came into a realization that the greatest deeds in this world can come from the smallest beings, figuratively and literally. Who would have thought that a boy, emaciated from chronic hunger and destitution, would find it in his heart to share what meager food he has to someone who badly needs it as he does. And it never it dawned on me while I was feeling blue in that old bakery called Blue Room that fate would show me one of the most colorful lessons in my life. Indeed, life works in mysterious ways.

(Originally posted on my Facebook account)