Monday, 18 June 2007


Post 2: Lolo Ramon's Story
I’ve read great stories that started with, “ I believe each one of us has his own story to tell. “ For one who reckons the said phrase, here's one I came up with during one of my nocturnal madness brought about by pee retention intolerance worsened by baby kicks.

I may get different reactions, naturally. Like, "here comes the sender of topics to the pit of the archives" as I observed when I do my postings here. But what the heck, I'll go on! Some people have the time to read.

Ideally, a child's bed time story are that of prince and princesses or Cinderilla’s dysfunctional family. But for me and my siblings, it was The Story of Ramon, my grandfather. A drama, a fairy tale , a parable or it depends on how my father will end it. I guess it wouldn't harm if I'll tell it here in preparation for retelling it to my sons when they can finally understand.


A curse, that's how my great-great grand parents called it during the late 18th century. An outbreak of a disease described as "Peste" (endemic disease) in Tinoc Ifugao

People were dying. It starts with fever, chills, diarrhea and vomiting then they eventually die within a day. My Dad's grandparents decided to leave when one of their 10 children was taken by this disease.

They left and just walked, uncertain where to go. A couple with nine children . 4 months is the youngest, 2 in their teens and the others were below nine years old including Ramon, my grand father.

I can't exactly tell how many kilometers is Tinoc from Buguias Benguet . Its in that town where they buried the 4 month old baby. What Ramon remembered was her mother’s cry. Tightly she held the lifeless baby as his father was taking it from her.

" As we walked with blisters on our bare feet, my mothers sobs were making me float. Float to go fast and run away from the curse that may come and dig my grave. I might be the next." Ramon remembers it vividly.


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