Joross Michael D. Bongcarawan
Beep… beep… beep… beeeeeeppppp…
The rhythmic pulse on the monitor disappeared, replaced by an unbroken flat line, signaling the end.
“Time of death, 5:20 AM,” the doctor pronounced.
“Doc, what’s happening?” exclaimed Mother with her voice trembling. “Can you tell us what’s happening, doc?” “Doc?!”
One question after another, but the answers eluded her. My mother can’t seem to make things sense. She couldn’t believe it. Neither could I nor my family. She was fine and looked so strong a few days ago.
Everyone started to weep loudly, filling the room with anguished sobs.
“Ya Allah! Ya Rahman!” my uncle shouted while gently patting my mother’s back in an attempt to comfort her.
We went to Tawi-Tawi just yesterday. She told us about the great things about Tawi-Tawi. Honestly, she was more excited than us first-timers. On the journey there, it was as though she had become younger again. Her voice was so bright and full of life with all her chitchats and loud laughs.
“I can still remember when I was 18,” Grandma had shared. “we went to Simunul Island. Did you know that it is believed to be the birthplace of Islam in our country?” We just nodded because none of us had heard of it before. She added, “And the oldest mosque?”
I raised my hand eagerly as if I were a student being called by a teacher in an oral recitation. “Sheikh Karimul Makhdum Mosque!” I answered enthusiastically but in an ear-piercing way. As a prize, she gave me a tight hug. A hug that is tighter than usual, as if she knew it would be the last time. Her grip lingered a little longer, as if she was trying to hold onto every moment she could have before things finally slipped away.
With nothing but her happy-go-lucky and compassionate personality, no one would have imagined that her time would come way too early. It was quite hard for us to accept her sudden death.
“Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji-un,” whispered Grandpa, who was clearly trying to hold back his tears. I had never seen his eyes look so sorrowful and his usually steady voice falter. “May Allah grant her the highest place in Paradise. Ameen,” he added softly, his wish to ease the pain.
Grandma was the sweetest person I’ve ever known. Though we now live in Binangonan, Rizal due to my father’s work, every year, we pay a visit to my father’s hometown, Marantao, to spend some time with family and relatives.
It was the 31st of January, we traveled to Marantao, and as always, Grandma couldn’t contain her excitement. Grandma kept on calling Mother multiple times, asking the same thing.
“Where are you now? Almost there? Khaliq, is he with you?” she asked. “Not yet. I’ll give you a call to let you know. Yes, Khaliq is here,” Mother reassured her.
Grandma talked to me, and as expected, she bombarded me with a lot of questions. She asked if I had found a girlfriend and if I didn’t, I should find one.
“You must be very tall now, ikaritan ko,” she told me as if I were growing an inch every night to grow that big in a span of a year. Well, I didn’t. I smiled and told her how tiring it had been at school, in addition to my extracurricular activities. I had been so busy that I could barely give her a call, even during weekends.
1:35 PM. We are almost there. I could feel it. The bustling city lights and polluted air began to fade away and the streets are slowly becoming quiet. I started seeing the soft, calming green of the trees with their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. And the fresh air? It smells like heaven! I could smell the refreshing scent of nature. I could feel the excitement rising inside me as we drew closer to the warmth and comfort of our home.
Grandma was well-known in our community for her exceptional cooking skills. Her specialties are asked for by many people in different parts of our municipality. One time, she was even featured in local news for her mouthwatering pastil. It was our proudest moment, I can say.
1:50 PM. Calls echoed from one phone to another, everything was ringing and vibrating. Grandma certainly could no longer wait to see us after an entire year. The moment I stepped outside the car, the surroundings went silent when I saw her face. Her wide, beaming smile stretched all the way to her ears.
“Naow, so ikaritan ko! When did you get so tall and handsome? Someone has been making you blush? Ah! I see! You’re inspired! Tell me about it!” Grandma told me rapidly, barely catching her breath. For a second, I thought she was a retired professional rapper in her days.
“What’s this smell?” Mother asked, sniffing the air. “Wait… Ome, piyaparan a badak!?” Father exclaimed, with his eyes wide open with surprise, as if he had smelled something he never had before. “Let’s get inside, kids,” he added, his voice full of excitement, eager to devour every single dish that Grandma cooked for us.
PIYAPARAN A BADAK
Ingredients:
500 grams of young, unripe jackfruit
2 tbsp. of palapa
200 grams of dried fish
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 bell peppers, chopped
1 spring onion, chopped
2 bowls of coconut milk
1 tsp, black pepper
1 tsp, turmeric powder
1 tsp, salt
2 cups of shredded coconut
2 cups of water
Procedures:
- Put all the ingredients together in a cooking pot, except for the coconut milk for the first layer.
- For the second layer, repeat the first step to ensure all ingredients are well combined.
- Pour one bowl of coconut milk on top of the ingredients.
- Cook for 20-30 minutes over medium heat until the jackfruit becomes soft. Make sure that it doesn’t dry out.
- After it is boiled, pour the second bowl of coconut milk.
- Cook for another 10-20 minutes or until the jackfruit is completely cooked.
As we stood on the doorstep, Aunt Asiya, Mother’s sister, welcomed us warmly. “Aydow, it’s been such a long time. Is this Khaliq, you’re oldest?” she asked with a smile. “Yes, but he’s the youngest. You must be referring to Khalid,” Mother replied. “Ehh, subhanallah! Yes, I remember Khalid,” Aunt quickly corrected herself, laughing lightly. “Pardon me, I must be getting old now,” she joked, shaking her head.
“Can’t you wait until we’re seated, Asiya?” Grandma teased her. “I’ve got plenty of questions for the family, too,” she added, making everyone laugh.
“Ibrahim, you can put your baggage in your old room. We cleaned it the whole day, so I expect you’ll be comfortable with it after all these years,” Grandma explained with a proud smile.
“Ome, why are you making it sound like it was my first time here?” replied Father with a laugh. “This is where I used to–” “Eh, karoo dn,” Grandma interrupted him before he could finish, cutting him off playfully.
Mother and I went first in the dining room and…
“Allahu Akbar! Ome, what’s with all of these foods!” Mother complained upon seeing the long table filled with various Meranaw dishes. My eyes dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Palapa? Piaparan a badak? Tiyateg? Dodol? Inaluban a sda? It felt like we were celebrating something big.
“Aren’t these too much, Ome? You didn’t need to prepare a lot. There are only five of us,” Father said in wonder, looking astonished. Grandma remained silent as she knew Mother and Father would never stop asking her about it.
“Untod kano, so that we can eat. You must be very hungry after the long travel.”
I cannot choose which to eat. “Can I have the dodol first?” I thought to myself. “No, it’s too sweet. I might lose my appetite.” I reluctantly put the dodol back, only to find myself returning to it. I can’t. I just can’t resist it. The sticky texture, the sweetness– it was too perfect to be resisted! “Dodol, I will never leave here without bringing some of you!” I said loudly, which brought laughter to the table.
“So, how’s work?” Grandma asked Father, shifting the conversation. “I don’t know how should I put it but something has caused quite a stir in our municipality,” he replied in a somber tone.
Father works as a government employee at the municipal hall. Lately, there have been rumors circulating in several barangays in our place. Reason? It didn’t come as shocking to many of us, though. Even I could sense that something was wrong with the system.
With the election coming up in a few months, tarpaulins were being put up here and there. They were literally plastered everywhere. Some people were excited about it because of the money they would get from different candidates. To us, it was yet another round of choosing leaders who can actually lead the people into betterment but have 0.5% of winning.
We couldn’t deny it. Some people are just blind, deaf, and allergic to good governance grounded in integrity, accountability, and transparency. They prefer short-term happiness without considering the long-term consequences of their thirst for money that can never be extinguished. They exchange small sums of pennies with years-long of bad governance.
And when these candidates manage to get a seat and act foolishly, these fanatics who blindly support them will either speak ill about them OR remain silent as they can blame no one but themselves.
PALAPA
Ingredients:
2 kg sakurab, sliced
4 pcs ginger, sliced
4 tbsp chili pepper
1 tbsp salt
1 ½ cup cooking oil
2 bulbs garlic, chopped
Procedures:
- Using a mortar and pestle, crush sakurab, ginger, and chili peppers together.
- When everything is crushed, add cooking oil to a cooking pan over medium heat.
- Add chopped garlic and cook until fragrant.
- Add the sakurab mixture.
- Stir it from time to time to prevent the mixture from sticking to the pan. Keep stirring for 15-20 minutes until it changes color.
“What do you want to be in the future?” Grandma asked out of curiosity as she chopped the sakurab and ginger. “I want to become a politician,” I replied, watching her intently as she worked on the palapa.
Grandma paused for a moment, her knife still in mid-air. “I thought you hated politics?” she added, her eyebrows slightly contracted.
I nodded. She’s right. I do hate politics of all things. It is dirty— full of lies, deception, corruption, you name it. My voice faltered a bit, but I was determined to get my point across.
“I can’t just let it continue to be dirty. I want to make a positive change in our community. I want to make a difference in how things are done.”
“What do you think you can do if ever you become one?” Grandma continued, setting her knife down carefully. She looked at me warmly. “Do you think you can change it?” she asked thoughtfully.
I pondered. What could I really do? If I hate them because they are barely doing their responsibilities, do I also have what it takes to change a system that has been corrupt for so long?
My mind was racing. I thought about all of these politicians in our community who promised change but never delivered, how power was abused for selfish reasons, and how the poor were left to suffer while the elite continued to thrive.
I stared at the chopping board, my mind working through every possibility. “I don’t know. But I think if I had the chance, I’d focus on the people. Not on power, not on prestige, but on the people. I’d work to make sure that the promises made aren’t just words—they’d be real. I want to help the poor, build better education systems, improve healthcare, and ensure that everyone can enjoy the freedom and rights they are entitled to.”
Grandma watched me quietly as I crushed the ingredients altogether. “You’re not wrong,” she said softly. “But you must remember that change doesn’t come easy. It won’t happen overnight, and it won’t be without challenges.”
“I know,” I said, my voice steady but filled with uncertainty. “But if no one tries, nothing will ever change. I don’t want to sit back and complain like everyone else. I want to be part of the solution.”
Grandma smiled then, a deep, knowing smile that seemed to reflect both pride and concern. “Naow so ikaritan ko. You really have grown a lot.”
She said I have the heart and mind, but politics can be a heavy burden. I have to be prepared for the sacrifices, for the compromises. “But if your heart remains true to your purpose, then it will guide you. Never lose sight of why you started,” she added while stirring the mixture continuously.
I nodded slowly. The steady and rhythmic sound of the ladle against the pan echoed throughout the kitchen. “Well then,” Grandma said, breaking the silence, “if you want to make a difference, you’d better learn the ropes. You can’t change the world sitting on the sidelines.”
I smiled, knowing she was right. “I’ll learn. One step at a time.” Grandma’s eyes twinkled. “Good. And don’t forget the most important thing: Always stay grounded. Never forget where you came from, and always listen to the voices of the people. They’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
APANG
Ingredients:
2 ½ kg of rice, ground
2 cups of coconut milk
2 cups of water
2 ½ cups sugar
1 tbsp of baking powder
3 large eggs
Procedures:
- Soak the rice in water before grinding it for 3-4 hours.
- Mix the ground rice with all the other ingredients, then leave it overnight or for 6-7 hours.
- Heat the pan and grease it with oil (for better taste, you can use a mixture of eggs and oil).
- Add the rice mixture in a circular motion to form its shape.
- Wait for 2-3 minutes. Once the top of the mixture is cooked, remove it from the pan.
The sun has risen unusually brightly today. The morning breeze was cool and refreshing. It seemed like it was not just me enjoying the fresh air; the trees seemed to be enjoying it too, swaying gently as if dancing with the soft blow of the wind.
A delicious smell escaped from the corners of the kitchen, filling the air with a mouthwatering scent that was both buttery and creamy at the same time. I quickly turned my head, unable to resist whatever Aunt and Grandma were preparing.
From a distance, I could hear the faint sizzle of something cooking on the stove. As I approached the kitchen, the aroma grew stronger—there was no mistaking it. Grandma must be making her top-tier apang again. The sweet scent of her cooking always seemed to make the world feel a little brighter as if the whole day could only get better from here.
“Mapiya kapipita, Grandma!” I greeted her cheerfully. As usual, she replied to me with a big, warm smile. “Are you making apang?!” I shouted in excitement. “I knew it. I knew it was apang just by the smell!”
Grandma chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling. “Yes, it’s apang. You have a good nose, ikaritan ko. Go, and wake your Father and Mother and tell them the breakfast is ready.”
I shook my head and hurried to the bedroom, with my excitement growing with every step. As I entered, I saw them already making their beds and preparing our things. “Grandma’s almost done with the apang! It smells so good, you won’t believe it!” I said brightly.
“We know, son. We can smell it from here,” Father replied. “We’ll go downstairs in a bit.”
I rushed back to the kitchen and saw Grandma wiping her hands on her apron. “Where are they?” she asked. “Asiya, can you bring the native coffee here?”
I told Grandma that Mother was already packing. We might have to go back today as Father was summoned to the municipal hall due to an urgent matter.
“You’ll have to leave, then?” Grandma asked, her voice tinged with concern. “I guess so, Ome. We were planning to stay a little bit longer but I guess it can’t be helped,” Father replied, giving her a gentle smile. “It’s important. But don’t worry, we’ll make sure to stay longer next time. I promise.”
Aunt Asiya, who had been quietly sitting at the table, spoke up. “Well, I guess we can’t stop you. But you better come back for another round of kandori-like preparation.” She winked at me playfully.
Grandma laughed softly, shaking her head. “If only we had more time, I’d make sure you ate your fill. But for now, have some breakfast. After that, you may go and take care of things, Ibrahim.” My father nodded, his expression softening as he stood up. “Thank you, Ome.”
While we were eating, Grandma stood first to prepare the extra food she’d been wanting us to take home– piyaparan a bakas, dodol, palapa, and biyaring.
As we made our way out the door, there was a combination of melancholy and happiness. I saw Grandma for the last time. Her lips curved up gently as if the smile was trying to hold back tears. There was a softness in her eyes, a sparkle that hinted at happiness, but beneath it was an unspoken sadness.
My thoughts still linger on the comforting warmth of Grandma’s kitchen, and the way her laughter always made everything feel bright. Even though we were leaving for now, I knew that we would come back, soon.
But…
where do we return now that…
Grandma has peacefully rested?
The food she prepared wasn’t just to fill the stomach; it was to fill our hearts and minds with memories worthy of remembering.