Food memories with my father
I want my father to die tomorrow.
We are poor. We don’t have our own house or car. We never ate in Jollibee or McDonald’s or any fancy fast-food joints that other children my age enjoy.
I have nothing but memories. And these memories are my vehicle as I wander into the past when I — with my mother, my siblings and my father — ate happily. Five different foods, five different memories. Simple but happy memories.
Papa was a carpenter, and he was aware of our family’s situation. He knew that we were not rich, he knew that his salary of P180 a day was not enough for us to survive. That’s why he worked harder.
He repaired umbrellas during the rainy season; when he had no work as a carpenter and there was no one with a broken umbrella to fix, we would sell rags in the jeepney terminals. He did all of it to earn an extra penny so that we would have something to eat.
Adobo. My mother loves to cook this dish. She knows different variations: adobong sitaw (string beans), adobong itlog (egg), adobong talong (eggplant), adobong galunggong (round scads), or sometimes, just adobong toyo (soy sauce).
We were always eating adobo — not because this was our favorite, but because we had no choice. This was the best food we could have for only P80.
When payday came, Papa would often bring home a small bundle of string beans or half a kilo of galunggong that my mother then cooked for that night’s meal, and for breakfast the following day.
Grilled salted round scads, aka tuyo. Every time there was a typhoon, Papa didn’t have work. This meant only one thing — we won’t have any money. When that happened, there was no other way of surviving the day but to borrow money or goods from our neighborhood sari-sari store owned by Manang Goling.
Tuyo usually served our empty stomach, making us feel full even if only for a short time.
You might ask: Why grilled? Simple: We didn’t have cooking oil. Thank God, Papa was creative!
Bangus, tilapia, sirena. My siblings loved them, but not me. We ate sirena with vinegar and rice. This could be one of the cheapest foods I ever tasted, worth P1 per pack.
When I was in elementary, these cheap fish crackers were always on our table every lunch. This may be absurd for others, but as I recall our past, I could see us eating happily, teasing each other not to eat Dyesebel.
Hotdog. One of my best memories. I can still remember how one-fourth kilo of hotdogs made a big difference in our house. It was like a feast when we had hotdogs, even if there was only one on each of our plates. We would go to sleep smiling.
The following day, I would boast to our class what we had for dinner by drawing hotdogs in my notebook. But my classmates just ignored my art; I realized afterward that what was rare gold for me was a common rock for them.
“GG.” They call it “fish for the poor.” But when my mother cooked galunggong, I felt like we were one-day-billionaires.
But it was in those times when we ate delicious food that Papa tasted the most bitter part of his life — he suffered from pneumonia.
All those years, I did not appreciate Papa’s effort. I forgot that the reason we had whatever little we had was because of Papa’s hard work.
I didn’t want to see my own father in pain. I didn’t want to eat hotdogs anymore if it meant my loved one’s good health. It would be better to eat common fare with my family complete, than to have a feast without him.
I want to turn back time, but it’s too late now. Papa passed away 10 years ago. I was 9 when he died. I want him to be alive even for just another day. I want to appreciate his hard work, his love and his concern for us. I want to tell him that I love him more than all those delightful foods he sacrificed for us.
I want him to die tomorrow. Not 10 years ago, or not 10 years later.
He was tired his entire life on earth. A short moment with him would be enough to say what I want to say: Thank you, Papa. Maybe we didn’t have enough, but I am satisfied and grateful.
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Ian Joseph Angel, 19, is a Grade 12 student at Maria Assumpta Seminary in Cabanatuan City, Nueva Ecija.
