Norhasnie Curo
The clanging of kulintang still resonates in my ears as if those days were from a distant yesterday. Our house was teeming with cousins, in-laws, and people clouded by hazy memories. The house’s interior radiated golden yellow textiles and dangling mamandiyang. I remember the damask patterns on the linens enswathing the rustic chair slats leaning against the sidewall, leaving a narrow walk-through space in front. I liked the faint scent of camellias adorning the wooden tables, only that was neither too overwhelming nor too boring to me. Several pieces of silver tabak aligned along the living room to the balcony. For an average fifteen-year-old like me, everything seemed vibrant and ostentatious.
Amidst all that merry, my sister was weeping in front of her casket beaming with bangles and brooches, gifted by aunties before walking out of her room. She was wearing a beige chemise underneath the maroon landap muffling her petite body. Trinkets bedecked on her necklace were glinting along with her silver headdress. Her pale skin complemented the piercing colors around her. She was beautiful. But her expression was stubborn and somber, a fever of madness that left me stunned.
I knew that she was not happy about the marriage. She did not love her betrothed and she knew her dreams were now long buried beneath the soiled sheets in her bedroom. I also could not do anything for her when she was forced to marry a man she met once in the diyalaga before the wedding ceremony. A socially inept sister like me can only be of use when guests are over the house. Not just me, Meranaw women are predetermined to act this way. We tend to our brothers and parents, take care of the household, and clean men’s spittoons (bamaan).
Where is the bride? Auntie Raysa, who was peering from the bedroom door asked.
You’re here auntie, my sister is inside. I responded while waiting for her to walk in.
Get in first. I prodded her.
Everyone looked so happy to see the eldest daughter of the family getting married. Distant cousins started calling each other gari and daani as if those people had been living together since forever. I did not like the jaunty atmosphere. I was getting tired of it and snuck inside Kaka Rocaya’s bedroom.
Kaka. (Sis). I called out to her.
Have you seen mother? She asked.
No, she is probably blathering about you again to Uncle. She looked worn out.
Her eyes were swollen red. The garish clothes didn’t help to make her look less devastated.
Be happy. I was not trying to comfort her.
You don’t even know how I feel. She muttered.
You should wear those bangles now.
I flopped on the couch across the window. The golden hues of sunset silhouetted my sister who was hunkered on the bed. Her grimace was so unfit in the picturesque scene.
I don’t like wearing these bangles. It feels like I am getting sold off.
You are getting sold off. Auntie Faisah said those gifts show your value, so you need them with you later for display.
Even you think that women are only worth the gold, huh?
We are always prickly around each other. There was no way to keep up a conversation between us. We differ in personality, principles, and perceptions. We argue all the time. Even in this place, where we have no one else but each other, seems to cripple simple words of affection.
Why haven’t they considered this marriage carefully? She began her rants again.
She would circle around the same arguments for hours and it was sickening. I never felt bad for her. She’s annoying.
If you don’t want to do this, then why are you still here? Should I help you get away from here? My voice could not hide the sarcasm. I hated talking to her.
There you are again. You talk like everything is a child’s game. It’s not as easy as you think it is. You think like a toddler.
I was not being sarcastic when I told her to run off. Adults think that young people’s decisions are always confined to their emotions. I seem more like the older sister between us two. My brothers will never manhandle her. She could have gotten married to someone else, or she could have taken all her belongings and gone off somewhere. She did not. She could have made a different choice. I knew how things were going to turn out when she decided to do so. Familial relationships would hit rock bottom. Relatives will get too rowdy, and she will lose her home. It would not be easy for someone like her to end up that way.
You’re all dolled up and let our aunties paint your face, yet you’re telling me you don’t want this? I retorted.
You don’t understand a thing!
You don’t understand me either! I am not saying that our brothers did nothing wrong, but that is why I am telling you that you have a choice here!
I was furious. I was on my feet shouting at my sister. I could feel the seething rage behind her blank gaze.
Have you gone mad? Why are you arguing on such an important day? Auntie Faisah, one of my closest aunts stormed inside after hearing us from outside.
She towed me away from the room and I could feel my sister looking at me with daggers.
By the way, have you already hugged your sister? She is about to be taken away now.
Auntie Faisah chuckled as we watched my eldest brother, Kuya Monib, and the groom’s father, Bapa Satar, face each other with their right hands stifled underneath a white cloth.
Men in polos and guras (headwear) were gathered around them while women, mostly my aunts, were huddled up a few meters away from the po-faced men while wallowing in muffled tears and some smiling out of fascination.
My sister is not a convenient woman. She is smart, does good work, and a pretty one at that. She lacks nothing if you compare her to other Meranaws. Yet she can be dumb sometimes, on the most important events like this where she has gotten tied up with old practices.
You are also a smart girl, you know. But your sister has the heart. She can’t stand a life that brings pain to the people she loves.
What’s the use of all that when she’s the one who suffers. I furrowed my brows.
That’s because she loves us. She says a lot against this, but in the end, she chose to be with us. Love makes women strong.
That’s dumb. I sneered at the thought.
The bangles around my sister’s wrists caught my eye again. They must be so heavy when worn.
Why do women have to wear too many bangles? They don’t really make her look any costly. I was desperate to act haughty in front of my aunt.
Bangles are not supposed to raise women’s value, sweetheart. They show their strength. When a woman wears a bangle, it shows she can attain riches by themselves.
I looked up to see my auntie’s visage. She wore an expression I doubt any Meranaw man would ever want to see. She was a proud woman.
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Banggel is a Meranaw word for bangle which refers to an ornamental bracelet that is worn by Meranaw women. It is often used during special occasions such as weddings, formal meetings, and enthronements to show power and wealth.