50 Days to 50 - Day 10

 Sep 20 - Day 10 to 50

My paternal grandparents were Brigido Linco and Rosa Logrono.  We called them Lolo Brido and Lola Rosa, or sometimes, Mal-am Rosa.  It was a puzzle to me in my toddler years to discover that my Lolo Brido lived with us, his in-laws, and my Lola Rosa lived separately.  She’d come to visit and share news but they did not live under the same roof.  So I got to know my lolo more than my lola in my father’s side of the family.

My earliest memories would be waking up, maybe I was 2 or 3 years old, smell the coffee and breakfast being prepared.  I’d go down the stairs by our kitchen to the ground looking for my older brother, Manoy Allan.  Still sleepy, I’d scan our field – trees and vegetables abound – and I’d see my lolo, looking ancient already at that time, just finished weeding the vegetable plots.  He’d have his loyal dog beside him.  When he sees me, he’d give a tiny basket to his dog and send it towards me.  In its mouth, the basket would be filled with tino-tino (physalis fruits) freshly picked, just for me!   I’d pop the greenish covering and eat the tangy fruit yelling my greetings to the old man who picked them just for me.

He was a man of few words and soft-spoken.  He was really happy tending the land, a farmer by heart.  He had dark skin, like a negro but had really Hispanic features.  He said the Casas’ come from Iloilo and that the first Casas to come from Spain was a scribe of the priests, a learned man.  He’d had many sons, my uncles whom I’ve never met.  Thanks to Facebook, I’m friends with some of them.

When I was in Basilan on a Unicef-funded research project, we had to be given military details to guard us from being kidnapped back in early 1990’s.  One of the army soldiers assigned to us was Casas based on his tag.  We discovered we were related sharing the same grandparents! 

Stories about my Lola Rose painted her as a stern but smart woman.  She had an abundant amount of sons and raised them all to be rough and tough…feared by many in downtown Bacolod’s 2^nd Street.  The handful occasions I’ve met her, she seemed stiff and distant and the childhood me never really got to bond with her. 

Lolo Brido died in his sleep.  It was my Manoy Allan who went into his room, to wake him uo for breakfast one day, when he came running out crying, “La, patay na si lolo!”  Calling out my maternal great-grandmother Lola Peling to tell that Lolo Brido is dead.  We all went to his room.  He was already stiff and cold, my first memory of a loved one’s dead body.  His dark skin was grey and there were ants running up and down his arms.  The adults around me were crying and were clearly distressed.  I was just 3 years old then…I was trying to figure out who’d bring me my tino-tino now that Lolo is gone.