Homecoming

by Adonna See Ronquillo (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Philippines

My first visit to Dauin was one of belated discovery. The marketplace in a perpetual state of reconstruction. The large acacia tree that marked our upcoming turn to get home. The unassuming, dark sand beach whose waters host in impossibly vibrant reef. We spent most days exploring this reef extracting ourselves only for equally worthy pursuits – a hike to waterfalls and hot springs, and sipping brewed coffee on a small plantation. Silently, between walks to the beach and instant coffee at breakfast, I regretted not coming sooner. My second visit to Dauin was altogether different. My father and aunt had almost finished building the small bungalow that replaced my grandmother’s ancestral home and along with my cousins and brother, we descended into the small town to try and make the place our own albeit temporarily. Does being a second generation immigrant mean twice established or twice removed? Probably both but being in Dauin this time around felt more like the latter. My parents had been in town for a few weeks ahead of us and had scheduled a sort of house warming party and because dad was related in some way to a majority of the town (and very likely the next two towns down the highway), that made for a busy day. A beach visit was scheduled first thing in the morning, followed by cleaning and sweeping and a delightfully cold shower. Caterers had set up tables in the space that separated our house from another aunt in the family and these held up a few dozen chafing dishes filled with humba, pancit, rice and an assortment of other Filipino dishes. We ate well that night. As guests filed in through the gates, my dad and aunt introduced them to us children – aunties and uncles, second and third cousins, neighbours, former school teachers. Mama Maria, my grandmother’s sister, made an appearance in her wheelchair, giving her hand out to younger cousins and relatives for a mano or greeting. Not having met all of her children yet, they followed closely behind her sometimes with children and grandchildren of their own. Hello, lovely to meet you. Nice to see you, thanks for coming. Yes, Dauin is wonderful! I mustered my best Tagalog, resigned to the knowledge that they don’t even speak Tagalog all that much there. A few of Mama Maria’s children huddled around my parents and aunt, a little away from us and we could hear them talking. A few hushed whispers and some pointing my way and I understood from my dad’s expression – in Cebuano, they were saying I looked like my grandmother. Besides the high cheek bones, I never really felt that I did and the comments caught me so off guard that I could barely contain my tears. Mostly it was the memory of trying to reach her to say goodbye but arriving too late that was streaming down my face. I turned and headed inside our house, her house, to wait for the wave of grief to recede like I had done a few times for the past two years. My husband gently wiped my face and my younger cousins held me. They had lived with my grandmother most of their lives and knew the wave all too well. She stayed on my mind for the rest of our trip. I imagined her swimming in the calm ocean waters. The large acacia tree was probably what stirred her fantastical tales of dwarves. And the coconut trees dotting the shores were the same as those in her drawings she used to give us as children. When it came time to leave, my father reminded us that this was our home now too and we could come back anytime. I’d made a home elsewhere but I realised that in Dauin the memory of my grandmother was made alive by the whole town. And so in a way he was right – I could always come home to her.