mariangmalaya

[mariangmalaya]

Pilipinas, ang hirap mong mahalin

[mariangmalaya]

At first glance, Malawig was like any other village in Central Luzon. A narrow, winding road covered with thick, yellowish dust. Rows of bamboo groves, mango, coconut and acacia trees. Nipa houses, most of them old and with sunburnt roofs and sides. Here and there, a wooden house, tall and unpainted, or a store which defied detection until one came up against it. Beyond the sparse rows of houses, glimpsed now and then, the bountiful, life-giving fields. And over all, smiling and full of the morning's splendour, the vast blue cloudless sky.

"There's nothing beautiful here except the sky," the driver of the caretela in which they were riding remarked jokingly.

Danding stifled the surge of disappointment in his heart.

"No . ." he protested softly.

He was thinking that it was in such villages as Malawig that Del Pilar and other heroes of his race were born, that it was from such fields as he was now gazing upon that the spirit of the Revolution drew much of its purity and strength. The thought solaced him and gave a new aspect to all the things around him.

Excerpt from Native Land by Narciso G. Reyes

photos from UW-Madison Libraries Pinterest

[mariangmalaya]

Hindi ka maralita at lalong hindi ka nagkasala, ipinagkait kasi sa'yo ang hustisyang dapat nakahain sa masa.

Anong magagawa, manggagawa? Nakakaawa.

[mariangmalaya]

gusto ko nalang maging maayos ulit

[mariangmalaya]

[mariangmalaya]

salamat

... kasi lumaban ka ngayong araw.

[mariangmalaya]

Pagod na'ko sa kalagayan ng aking pag-iisip

[mariangmalaya]

"Musta?"

Eto, ayos lang sa ilalim ng lupa. Pinaglamayan at inaagnas pero wala ng dusa na dinaranas.

[mariangmalaya]

hindi ko na rin alam kung saan at paano ko hahanapin ang aking sarili

[mariangmalaya]

"It was the beginning of my life in America, the beginning of a long flight that carried me down the years, fighting desperately to find peace in some corner of life."

Quoted from Carlo Bulosan's short story, entitled Why Had I Left Home?

Photos of an estimated 17-20 y/o OFW circa '80s-'90s.

Found these while I was rummaging through the main cabinet. I stopped midway to ponder upon how a lady of such young age managed to lived in another country, alone and empty-handed.

Here's to our Modern Heroes, our Overseas Filipino Workers.

[mariangmalaya]

At first glance, Malawig was like any other village in Central Luzon. A narrow, winding road covered with thick, yellowish dust. Rows of bamboo groves, mango, coconut and acacia trees. Nipa houses, most of them old and with sunburnt roofs and sides. Here and there, a wooden house, tall and unpainted, or a store which defied detection until one came up against it. Beyond the sparse rows of houses, glimpsed now and then, the bountiful, life-giving fields. And over all, smiling and full of the morning's splendour, the vast blue cloudless sky.

"There's nothing beautiful here except the sky," the driver of the caretela in which they were riding remarked jokingly.

Danding stifled the surge of disappointment in his heart.

"No . ." he protested softly.

He was thinking that it was in such villages as Malawig that Del Pilar and other heroes of his race were born, that it was from such fields as he was now gazing upon that the spirit of the Revolution drew much of its purity and strength. The thought solaced him and gave a new aspect to all the things around him.

Excerpt from Native Land by Narciso G. Reyes

photos from UW-Madison Libraries Pinterest