Change

From her mountain village in Bukidnon, Neneng, all of 13 years old and soon to be married, contemplated the nature of change. Not change in general but change in the most profound everyday sense. The elders of the village held on to the old traditions translating these into the cycle of rituals that defined their lives. But Neneng was old enough to know the world was bigger, and the better part of it was out there. There were the lowlands and beyond that, the sea, and still beyond that, the winds that could carry you away. They carried away friends and kin usually till forever just like death. The villagers rarely thought the same seas and winds could also carry anyone home. This was an event that had yet to happen.

But her father’s sister was coming home. She found this out by way of a letter delivered to her school that day. It might have been the first letter the village ever received. It was addressed to Datu Juan, Neneng’s father. And as Datu Juan could not read, it was Neneng’s privilege to read its contents to a gathering that included the village elders, the priest and a parade of curious people who followed her home that day.

Joysie left the village many years ago. Like Neneng, she was one of the few who persisted with walking the long arduous distance to school on class days. Her persistence paid off. In time, she graduated grade school then moved to the city to finish high school. In the city, she worked as household helper for a doctor. She graduated high school with honors and proceeded with the help of the doctor to get her degree in medicine from a government school. She went to America to be a doctor there. That was the last they heard of her.

She became for the village a mere memory, a small family tale of Datu Juan’s youngest sister who went away to succeed in life. The old datu told this tale to his household to encourage the children to persist with their studies despite difficulties, for that was the right way to go about life. He told this tale with a strange dispassion and he always came out sounding like a god telling his children some great commandment to go by. But Neneng could tell the hidden irony in the tale, could see through her father’s stony countenance into a deep personal pain that hid somewhere inside him. She perceived the paradox.

The letter began with an apology. Dear Manoy Juan, I am sorry I did not write earlier and many more times than I did. This is not the first letter I sent. But I hope this will be the first you receive and answer. I am sorry I am writing to you in a language you do not understand. But I do believe that you will find someone there who can read these words. I have faith that I was not the last young child you ever ordered to go to school. It will take too long to write to you the story of all that happened to me after I left the village almost one lifetime ago. But I am coming home before that lifetime ends. I come home not to die but to live the rest of my life. After everything this is what I most like to do with my life. I leave many things here that are important to me. I know the village will be greatly changed by the time I get there as you will find me greatly changed also. But still, I pray to God you will still be there to receive me as you always did. Love, Joy

The late afternoon was moving into dusk. Datu Juan on the suggestion of the priest dictated to Neneng a letter in reply. She wrote this by the flickering light of a pocket-size rum bottle, which native ingenuity had transformed into a kerosene lamp. She wrote with pencil on intermediate pad. She wrote the words as carefully as she could in a cursive, which the priest said was excellent.

Dear Joysie, I thank the Gods I am still alive this afternoon to receive your letter. I always knew it would come. Your niece Neneng read it to me and the rest of the village. She is writing on paper my reply. Yes, we await your return and will be happy to receive you. Tomorrow we will kill a pig to thank the Gods and celebrate your letter’s arrival. The village is still here as it always was and hopefully will always be. Your oldest brother, Datu Juan

Datu Juan placed the letter into the envelope that came with the letter. On the priest’s instruction he licked the envelope flap and then sealed it. He spat the remainder of his spit out the window and then handed the letter to the priest who volunteered to go down to the city to mail it. The event ended with a clapping of hands and the village went home that night with something to talk about. The priest travelled by moonlight. Except for Neneng, nobody saw him leave.