Raining June

Its June already. and as you know, in our country June is the beginning of the rainy season, where the bright blue sky and vivid white clouds is now covered with dark gray sky (or at literally clouds, but at time the clouds looks more of a sky). It is such a wonderful thing since during afternoon you can hear the dropping water into your roof while you are in your bed and about to sleep.

Rain has so many memories of mine. It reminds me yearly that school year is about to begin (where I always experienced wet socks inside my shoes during my grade school days). When I was younger me and my siblings used to bath at rain during mid-May. My mother said, which came from grandma, that the first rain in May is where grace is being showered from Paradise. But during that time, I only just enjoy of running in the streets while the rain pours from the sky rather than what mother told me.

Someone also told me that rain is a gift from God, that He throws coins of grace from the heavens. But when it became louder and wilder and stronger, it is no longer coins but babies being cast out from heaven. This are the unbaptized babies who are quite unfortunate enough to refuse to enter to paradise.

I don't sure who told me this story but it is such a sad story. But then, it is not a barrier to unlike rainy days.

Things we usually do during our free time.

We went to a local church called San Agustin in Manila last time (the one I told to you before). We are mesmerized with its old beauty, despite that it is now poorly maintained. The Bunny and I were always fascinated with old structures, especially when they are mashed up with other foreign cultures since the church is mixed with Spanish Colonial style and native styles. When the Spanish came in our country a long time ago they brought their culture in here and mixed with the native tastes.

We saw this around 18th century painting of Christ in a dimly lit stone hall (so we need to picture it with flash). According to the Bunny, grotesque paintings like these were made by the natives who had only slight idea about what Christ might look like, as well as the Romans and their costumes. And they only rely on printed book from Europe.

An around 19th century statue of Virgin Mary that is very much look like a Guanyin statue

Waiting for the Carillon to ring in 5 in the afternoon

Spending time appreciating the beauty of the trees and green fields.

The Trip, the Lake, and the Moon and Venus

Yes, those are my feet, as I was standing at the lake shore (moments before I took a plunge into the water). The other week, my family and I went to the province of Laguna for a two-day vacation at an almost isolated, man-made lake resort called Caliraya, which was located on top of a mountain. And at last! I experienced staying in a place cut off from most noises and electricity; and where, at night, you can only see about 7 or 8 flickering lights from the other side of the lake, and the lights on our side was from our lamp in our cottage, a bonfire, and the stars that are usually barely seen in our well-lit city towns.

And of course, I didn’t miss the opportunity to take a swim in the calm waters of the lake to fight the heat of the sun (and that's our tent in the third picture).

***

At the other side of the world, the Bunny took these pictures of an amazing model of an old building.

Of course, she takes pictures of old, brownish and umber-ish buildings, and other places which we both like. This the courtyard of the Colegio Fonseca, an actual part of the edifice miniaturized above.

And I would like to leave you for now with this recent photo from a friend of the Moon below Venus. Such a wonderful sight, and I also witnessed it! It is said that it has portents of the coming of something long-awaited for. :)

Tales from Far Far Away..

There is a place where walls of stone, lime, and ash were left behind by time, many paths are still green, and many olden oaks yawn sleepily under the shifting light, there was a Bunny who came from a far, far land. She was there because a bird came to her one day and spoke of the place and took her away before she could nod her head.



Whatever she did, however she asked, she would not be sent back until many days had set. To bide her time, she fills her head with words from dead men, for she thought them very wise, that had not reached her ears before.

She walked around town on her own often. First, she came across the old and huge church. The pride of the town.

She was amazed by its grandeur and magnificence that she felt she is being in a grand palace of someone who is as great as this church.

She looked about in a meticulous manner and saw things of equal majesty as that facade. Among them was a Tree of Life. Yet this tree had no leaves, but many branches in the shapes of ancestor after ancestor, until it reached the capital, where sits the fruit of this tree, One who is prayed to in such places.

A grand organ that was incomparable to all of the organs they had in her land.

The gilded throne worthy of the loftiest being, resting on such slender creatures but with the surest shoulders, who never quivered in this canopy of opulence.

The Master of the cathedral's structure sits behind the doorway's arch, listening and looking at the passers by under weary lids of marble. For it was noontide, the Bunny saw him asleep in the shelter of the shadows, away from the scourging sun outside. She slipped away before he could reprimand her for disturbing his nap.

The Bunny went out of the church and walked around the town, looking at the strangers and the houses as old as the looming church.

From the heart of the town, she decided to have a tour at the outskirts, away from these looming, silent stones, where the landscape gradually turns to greens and golds.

She walked in a narrow path lined with trees in their smattering of moss and shy buds, and proud, proud daffodils. The flowers smiled at the Bunny as she stopped by to take a look at them.


When Spring enters this place, the Daffodil is one of the flowers who greets her and sings aloud of her beauty.

Among the myriad of trees, she saw a hill with a chapel on top of it(You can see it through the trees).

“What a lovely scene it is!” said the Bunny.

And when she went there, she met at the doorway the statues awaiting in boredom.

She looked at them closely, the dogs looked at her back with inquisitive eyes.

"What are you waiting for here?" the Bunny asked.

"Nothing, just waiting for nothing." said the dogs. "And you? What are you doing here? Are you a visitor?"

"Oh, yes. I came from far, far beyond two oceans to the East."

"Really? I went there before." said the beasts, quite smugly.

"How come? Haven't you been stuck there for a very long time?"

"And so? Does that mean I can't go anywhere?"

"That's enough! Don't trust them, young lady. They just trying to fool you." said the lady atop the doorway. The bunny looked up to her, and saw the lady was looking down on her as well. The beasts snickered from her side, but continued to peer at her.

"Oh! There you are, ma'am." the bunny said when she looked at her.

"We are very glad that you came here to our door," the lady said with a smile.

"Well, I am also happy to pass by your place." the bunny said.

"Young lady, we are very happy because our place quickly growing forgotten," the lady nudged at the folds of her skirts, flecked with pigment. "This place is becoming abandoned. Long time ago, when this place is still new, people flocked together to see our beauty and magic. But as the time pass by, the people gradually lessened. Until no one came here for some time until you did. Still, they will forget us anyway..."

"Such a sad story for a very beautiful place, " the bunny said.

"I hope you speak of us to other people and to your homeland."

"I will. and I promise that I will return with my Cat. I'm sure he will love this place." And so, the Bunny left the chapel and continued her walk. By mid-afternoon she became tired so she searched a place to refresh herself.

Some distance from the chapel's lair, a small fountain with a head of a man poured water from his mouth. The Bunny approached him and have a drink. But as she came closer, she heard the fountain crying while pouring water from his mouth. She didn't hesitate to ask.

“Are you crying, sir?”

The weeping man said, “I was a tippler before. When my family left me, I went here to cry and cry, but I can’t! So I just pour my tears from my mouth. See how long I have cried! That I have turned into stone!”

“Pity for you, sir.” said the Bunny.

"Will you share my tears?" he sobbed.

The Bunny took a handful of them and drank. It felt cold and sank to a place within the dark of her chest. It tasted of stone and regret.

And she realized that in this town, not all is happy. And she missed her far, far land, and her Cat waiting there.

She bade her farewell to the man and walked some more, then saw a sad serpent with a plant blooming from its mouth.

And heads stuck in the walls, looking at the passersby, waiting to be recognized by someone. But somehow, the people who walked beneath them had lost their names. The years had washed them away. They were simply heads. The bunny spied them sighing to each other. No one other than her seemed to look up to them. A thought crossed her. If any longer, these graven heads would become gargoyles who spitefully spit at the people in the rain.

"Here is Isabella, and her spouse Ferdinand. And here is Cardinal Alfonso, and there is Old Triton." The Bunny rattled off abruptly, to their surprise.


"And me?" said the woman at the rightmost post.

She paused, and then remembered. "Melusina, perhaps?" The bunny smiled at them, but they could only sigh more.

With that, she lifted her lips in a weary effort of a smile. "Why is it that a stranger knows but none from here?" The other heads nodded.

Melusina then asked: "Are you lost?"

"No... and yes..." She trailed off and looked to the sky. By now the sun was trudging to the horizon, so she said, "I best better be going..."

"Do not forget us!" They implored as she took her farewells.

It is almost evening, and the sun was setting in the west. The bunny came back to her room, where from her window she can see the small monastery and the whole town of Santiago from the distance. She stored her memories and stories in a book and fell asleep...

There, in her dreams, she gave the book to her Cat, who is in the other side of the world. When the Cat woke up, he was inspired to the stories that he wrote it on this blog and tell the stories for those who pass by here.

***

And there you go, the last of the four-part series of the Bunny's tales from the far far land. Or should I continue this until her final day at the far far land. Any suggestions? And sadly, I couldn't post any of my latest illustrations today since I still have not scanned them yet. :(

I hope you liked this little tale of sorts, though! This shall do for the meantime.

Churches and a Monastery

Recently, Mama and my sister did a Visita Iglesia, an annual tradition during the Holy Week when people visit seven churches, one after another (though I’m not sure if there will be seven wishes since there is also a tradition of someone went to a particular church for the first time, they could pray for something to be granted unto them). It is somehow connected to the Catholic prayer "The Way of the Cross," in which the devotees reflect and chant a litany that follows the last days of Jesus, also known as The Passion. It's not really for the simply curious, at it IS a pretty long prayer (or, to be correct, set of prayers), involves a lot of kneeling and standing and kneeling. But it's supposed to get you into the Lenten spirit of penance, which, surprisingly, the elderly have the knack in doing. Although you can imagine the pain in the knees afterward. Visita Iglesia is doing pretty much the Way of the Cross, but in seven churches. It's for the faithful alright. In the past centuries, this might have been a whole day affair, that involves walking across seven towns to get this done, and then back home again. Despite not having churches at every town anymore, this tradition had been cut to a half day affair since there is, of course, the comforts of modern traveling in between. (The bunny says, in Compostela, aside from going to the big cathedral, this would have been fairly easy since you'd come across a church within 10 minutes of walking inside the Old Town, which she hunts down for their grotesques and Spanish altars, the retablos. I wonder if she'll record her church hunting soon.)

As you know, I like old churches. And I sometimes imagine myself waking up in the morning with the ringing of old bells in the distance from an old church in a hill, surrounded by trees and green fields. Anyway, back to the church visits, the ones my mother and sister visited, most of them are quite old (and somehow it is quite unfortunate that I didn’t come with them).

This is a picture of one of the church façade doorways, with a curious masonry emblem as the keystone. Probably it is that of one of the donors to this church, or that of the order who oversaw the church. Mama told me that this edifice has very thick stone walls that, according to her, was once a bastion of some sort.

They also encountered some ruins that is long abandoned but almost attached to the main church. Ruins are interesting site that sometimes it fills my mind with such stories behind the ruins. Did they abandon the site? Was it destroyed by fire or earthquake, or bombed in a battle or a great war? Most probably it was not an earlier version of the church, if it was ruined some time ago. If that was the case, the architect would rebuild it directly over the original foundations. It might have been the convent connected to the church. Traditionally, the residence of the priest and his staff is housed beside it, for convenience's sake, clearly.

Along their way, they also passed by at an old cemetery of priests and some rich people near the place. Each church they visited has its own story, though most of them now forgotten among the ruins or in the dark halls of the large stoned place of worship.

***

And speaking of dark halls and thick walls, I would also like to show you another pictures from the bunny in Spain. This is part of her series in Spain. You might wondering why I am the one who is blogging her stories there. That is because the Bunny is one of the most infrequent bloggers. And, believe me, every work she does, whether pencil drawings or paintings or stories--even our art projects (which she nearly had reductions in everything due to late submission)--she takes long, long hours, days, months, or years to complete. But despite that, these works are worth waiting for. :)

In her very long stay in Santiago, from her room's window, she could see a small former Romanesque hermitage, and later monastery, called Pazo de San Lorenzo. It is once belonged to the line of the Counts of Altamira, who delegated a Franciscan order to run it, she is not sure what it was before since it is always closed. She watches over it during night time, when the night lights would open. And during 12 to 6 am, hourly, it would ring. Like I told you about the bells in the morning, she experienced it there, listening to the small bell ringing from the isolated tower there. Perhaps the present owner still wants to continue the medieval tradition of bell ringing during morning. And it is now open for wedding events, but she conjectures it might be for the elite only, since she never sees their gates open, not even for the church. But she swears it is active. That Easter, it rang from early morning until a few hours later non-stop.

Such monastery stories are also not new to me. I studied in a Catholic school during my high school years and there is also monastery there. If you could walk there the small quarters, it is seemingly unoccupied. And interestingly, you can see from the distance the old city of Santiago, with the beautiful church looming through its towering structure.

***

Recently I finished a new painting. I will show to you probably on my next post since I had it scanned in one of my sister's house, and she is still busy with other things(I do not have a camera this time, which would explain my delay in uploading my artworks).

A Memory of Somewhere

Three years ago, my family and I went to my mother's province in Tarlac. We spent our Christmas there. But the pictures suddenly disappeared. But recently, during our house cleaning which I told you last time, I just discovered it along with other old CD's. I was delighted about this and I can now see again the places we went to. And I'd also like to share to you some of the pictures and the memories from our vacation then.

One early morning, when the sky was still dark blue, we packed our things and started our trip.

We passed by the mountain that I always see every time we go there. And that is Mount Arayat. I've never been there before, and I only see it in the far, far in the horizon.

By noon, we had reached our destination. And interestingly, almost nothing had changed since I set foot on our ancestral house several years ago.

The three decade-old fan that was bought for Grandpa to relieve the scourging heat of the afternoon sun is still there, and it still used by my Aunt Rosalinda, the current resident of the original house.

The window and the old wooden cabinet at the upper room still haunt me. The window is of a style that is very common of ancient houses; you can see that it has shell panels, which allow light to pass through even when the windows are shut. This was popular since glass was not yet widely used. When I was younger, my aunts usually told my siblings and me that beyond the window is a lot where a dwarf lives, and other creatures that will bite us when we dared to come there. The lot is a bit small and abandoned and nothing is there except some plants and old rustic roofs that were stacked from a long time ago. The cabinet has no particular story, but when I used to stare at the large mirror, I can’t help but think that something, or someone, might pop out from behind me.

The religious statues are still there, covered with dust, almost long forgotten. Most of them had been removed and distributed amongst my uncles and aunts, here are the few remaining ones. Often did I draw them when I was younger.

And the picture of grandparents, Mercedes and Eulogio Tanglao, unchanged. It is still hanging on the walls, together with other old pictures with people I couldn't recognize. Perhaps some of them are still alive, and are the elders within the family's compound but were still young in the pictures. I have never met them personally, but my older siblings and my mother said that they are very, very kind in person.

After Christmas day, we requested Uncle Antonio to accompany us to the fields. We managed to convince him, but we must at the crack of dawn since he always goes there when the whole town is still sleeping.

It was early and a bit hazy when we set march towards the hilltop in the middle of the rice fields. It was a lovely scene! Walking in the green landscape and air is cool, and also the sky is quite vast that you can clearly see the gradient in it from the glowing east to the dark blue west. We passed by a rugged trail with flowers that bordered the way.

After a long walk we reached our destination at the top of the hill, where a nipa hut sat, and it looks like a straw hat for the hill. We had our lunch there, with my cousin cooking some wild greens and young ferns that I was not so familiar with. But it was delicious.

I saw this bird’s claw on the doorway of the hut. Uncle said that it is placed there to ward off evil spirits. Well, I guess that is not so effective because, on our last night at that time, a robber broke into the hut and stole the casserole dish. After our rustic lunch, we went to the outskirts of the hilly field (that I realized was a set of them, but the one hill where the was hut is the highest I guess.

We saw a muddy pond there where the water buffaloes usually take a bath during the hot afternoons.

And there you go, the water buffaloes! Since I seldom go to our province, seeing a huge carabao is still an unusual sight for me. Randomly, a funny old tale about them just passed into my mind. A long time ago, they said, carabaos were white, and he had a friend, the Brahman bull who was black at that time. One day they decided to take a bath in a pond, perhaps just like the one above. They took off their clothes and laid them aside. When they were called by their masters, they quickly went out from the pond and put on their clothes. In their hurry, they exchanged clothes unconsciously. And so that's why the Brahman calf has loose, white skin (or clothes :)) and the water buffalo had tight, black skin.

Back to the trip, my sister also took some pictures of plants, flowers, and a mushroom within the hill.

We also met a cat that belonged to one of my uncles, but I can’t remember her name right now, or is it that Uncle never mentioned its name to us or any of my cousins?

And here is she in close up, I can't help petting her. We gave her some food since she didn't eat in the past night.