i fondly remember this one vacation at my mom’s humble barrio in Pilar back when i was a kid. the barrio was called Banuyo, then a classic set up of a community where bayanihan was still a common practice. houses were nipa huts built moslty out of bamboo, coco lumber, buri and anahaw leaves. life was simple and easy, there were no TVs or any gadgetries to pass the time, only komiks, chats and folklores. they had no refs, only “dulays”, a jar made out of clay, which kept the water cool. the food were delightful, the freshest you could get, fresh fish, “sugpo”, “gulays”, native chicken, and many more, they all tasted great. no preservatives, very healthy. after every major munching, the only thing i wished they had was something equivalent to a modern bowl, a toilet bowl. yup. and the real story begins here. i had eaten rather too many one morning that my stomach was demanding a quick release. that i told Malol, but was overheard by Paold, funny how young they were then. Malol asked me to wait as someone was still using the “comfort room”–more like a small, roofless enclosure made of woven anahaw. moments later, Paold approached and asked me to follow him, which i did. his one hand carrying a large white plastic container filled with water and the other his “sagwan”, a boat paddle. the latter triggered a sudden burst of excitement in me, an anticipation of yet another joyous boat-ride. as he prepped up the boat, a small one similar to a wooden canoe, i noticed two planks sitting infront of me. i had no idea what those were for. Paold asked me to refrain from moving too much or shifting weight to either side of the boat lest we capsize. young as i was, i quickly understood his instruction. i hadn’t learn how to swim yet then and capsizing, i recognized, was not a good idea. with a single stroke of his paddle, the boat slowly and smoothly eased forward. headed to a place i didn’t know. seating behind, Paold expertly navigated the narrow ways crowded by “bakawans”, mangroves, on each side. i was on the mid-part of the boat, moving as little as possible, just tilting head actually, enjoying the mid-morning view of the sea, the skies and the trees before me. the boat-ride lasted just ten minutes or less and we alighted to a nearby small island filled with mangroves and trees. paold took the water container and the planks with him. he then headed for, i guess, his familiar place and set the planks about a meter away from each other, satisfied at the position, he then put the container near one of the planks. he asked me to stand on one of it while he did the same on the other. then out of the blue he dropped his shorts, to my amusement, and started whistling. i did the same and we shared a moment of silence. and not so pleasant scent. after some minutes the ceremony was finished. he washed his, i washed mine and i looked at him and smiled, well, just my way of thanking him. we brought back the planks with us, the empty container and our empty and relieved selves. the boat-ride back was just as pleasant. after reaching home i quickly joined a gang of kids, mostly cousins and neighbors, that were playing. eased from a burden dispatched on a nearby island, i bet i was able to play better and ate even more after. this has been a childhood memory i never shared or told anyone. my very own quick trip to the shitter with my very own, beloved Paold. i miss you pa and thanks.
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