Text and Photos by Malou L. Sayson
Note: This is the first part of the two-part travel memoir written by my friend and The Gypsygals first ever guest poster – Maryland-based Filipina writer Malou Sayson.
HerStory is a new section in The Gypsygals, a space for my fellow female travelers to write about their solo journeys. HerStory is a celebration of the travel narrative and of the inspiring and empowering stories of female travelers who craft their own journeys.
Want to contribute to HerStory? Send me an e-mail at primeandnina[at]ymail[dot]com and give me a one graf synopsis of your proposed guest post, a short bio of yourself and your website. Sorry guys, but I will only accept contributions from female travelers.
Today I was torn between two worlds, here in the tranquil part of Worcester County, Maryland and in a barrio, which used to be nestled in coconut groves and bamboo patches in the now bustling city of San Carlos, Pangasinan, up in the northern portion of the Philippines. I found myself thinking of home, but the reality is I’m home, here in this part of the Eastern Shore, where there’s still a healthy forest line standing as a beautiful backdrop in rather flat grounds of Maryland.
My home in the barrio of Manzon, San Carlos City, Pangasinan has undergone a lot of changes. The foundation is still in the same spot as I’d known it when I was a kid, but the structure had long conformed to the dictates of the changing times and needs. But embedded in my memory was our nipa hut, which lured morning doves, mayas, pigeons, even hummingbirds and fruit bats. There wasn’t any morning I woke up without enjoying a variety of bird songs, and to this day I could still hear them sing in my mind.
I can’t wait for the warm days to come. While I was missing home, out of the blue the winged creatures came. In the corner of my foggy mind, still trying to wake from a restful night sleep laced with dreams of places I’d been before, I saw flighty movements among the branches of trees, still looking craggy and old in the freezing lingering cold.
The aroma of freshly pressed coffee, which Dave prepares every morning with a dust of cinnamon and a pinch of anise seeds, woke me up. I was thinking of the big ivory cup of coffee steaming off its robust smell, pervading our small house, ah, I couldn’t wait to get out of bed. Thought it was just the coffee that would bring my day to life today. Grabbed the mug. Memories flooded me as I think of my loved ones back home. I do miss home, but you know this place in Worcester County is my home too, with Dave, for several years now.
My life here is not as fluid as how the seasons come and go. In fact, it’s very testy. So you see, my waking moments are like a rough ride through ebbs and tides that eventually carry me to the quietude of thoughts and feelings, just like today.
As a result of my backyard work, years of mulched leaves and debris were brushed off exposing the persistent thorny vines, moss and even mushrooms in orange and yellow, tan and brown, and surprisingly blue, and minute tunnels and crevices where insects and worms have taken refuge for the winter. Pardon me! I’ve disturbed their humble abodes. I didn’t realize my toils have prepared a gastronomical platform for my visitors. Of course, I made piles and piles of debris mixed with fallen branches around some trees, providing refuge and perhaps warm beds for creatures that for one reason or the other couldn’t push further in their journeys to the warmer regions.
Oh back to the morning coffee ritual, I thought I couldn’t survive yet another of those dreary days up until I sensed some flighty, flirty, curtsy stirs among the line of hollies, giant gums, oaks and sassafras, and the evergreens that start to thicken further back in our yard. Lo and behold, it’s not just on the trees, but the shrubs and bushes, their bare skeletons sticking out, and down unto the ground were hundreds of birds.
The saying that birds of the same feather flock together… it’s moot, hahaha! I was blown away to see sparrows and some swallows carpeting my backyard. Tedious and oblivious! Poking their minute beaks into the soil, devouring every bit of morsel they could find in between leaves and grass, not minding the other birds’ business.
And the robins, a huge flock of them, cavorting, playing hide and seek up and down the branches of century old trees, swooping down into the shrubberies. Some had already amassed in the yard, front and back. They were everywhere. So magical!
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About Malou Sayson:
Malou L. Sayson has worked as a writer/journalist for over a decade, after spending some years teaching English and Literature in two universities and engaging in advertising, marketing and promotions in the Philippines. She was a founding reporter/editor of the Palau Horizon in Micronesia and wrote for a local newspaper in Ocean City, Maryland.
Malou resides in the Eastern Shore and works as a freelance writer in a magazine.
