by Mariegold Jabla

In the light of the hot afternoon sun, with the dust from the ongoing traffic settling down, this once-majestic house looks gloomy, alone in its melancholy, abandoned like the many dreams that lived and died within its walls. I marveled from across the street at the romantic idea of the loves that came into this old structure. I tried to take a glimpse of the festivities that may or may not have taken place and of the point when people decided that it is time to move on.

What made them leave? I wonder.

What made them decide to leave this great beauty? After the years of loving and tears, of raising children and of losing loved ones, what made them decide to depart?

I went to ask an elderly tri-cab driver as to the whereabouts of the previous owners. According to him, ever since he was a child, all he could remember is that this house has been abandoned, and he added that it probably dates back to the Spanish era, which is not hard to believe because of the similarity of the structure to other old houses built during that particular time. The lack of information made me feel like there is something more to be discovered than what meets the eye, but heavy clouds loomed overhead and put a pause on my inquisition … maybe another time.

From the church of San Isidro Labrador where I rested under the lush shade of the gigantic mahogany trees, I can see the window of the old house thrown wide open, welcoming the grime and decay in silent surrender. Even without setting foot inside, I can imagine the smell of the wood and the chipped paint with the heavy musk of yearning for a good scrub.

How come life is so closely familiar with this old house’s destiny? Perhaps like this house, we go over a period of our lives when we allow people and dreams to reside within us as we savor every moment of happiness until eventually, they disappear or move on to another host.

I feel a familiar tug of sadness as I watched the old house. There is something painful about observing something so grand and important transform into a dilapidated used-to-be.

I have been to a lot of trips in my lifetime, and as far as I can remember, I have been obsessed with the sadness of a house that once was a home. Do they feel betrayed, or are they grateful to have served their purpose well? Within its empty walls echo the laughter of children raised with love, the hushed voices of arguments that hope to be hidden, promises of love and prayers for a better future and those fleeting memories that make a person whole. Like many other municipalities along the way, Naawan, Misamis Oriental is famous for a lot of things, but it is indeed odd how my eyes and my heart always search for the sad-looking houses and remnants of great things that no longer hold the glamour they used to have.

There is a constant tug of war in the heart of each person between staying where comfort is overwhelming and redundant or venturing toward the thrill of new beginnings when the surge of excitement rushes through the veins with the blind trust that the future will work out fine in the end. Whichever emotion wins will be the one that will dictate the course of the future.

Perhaps, so much like love and life, we go through the motions and wake up one day, needing something better for ourselves and for the people around us.

Needless to say, no matter how painful or uncomfortable, leaving means growing.