I like walking down the Mission District because there’s so many houses that have sampaguita flowers growing in their yard. I have no idea what this flower is called in English, and I don’t really care. It’s just not the same, you know, if you call it a different name from the one that I’ve known all my life. It’s like saying cumquat instead of kalamansi. Yuck.
The scent of the flowers always brings me back to the same place: Sunday morning outside of Christ the King Parish in Quezon City. The scent of sampaguita floods my nose as a dozen or so vendors pass by me, white garlands strewn about their arms, thrusting it in my face as an attempt to entice me into giving up my coins in return for a lei.
Coz’ that’s what good Christians do, right?
It’s almost an abomination to enter the church without some sort of floral offering to the saints and statues that adorn the building. Am I really ready to doom the rest of my life at the tender age of 6? Lola’s gripping my hand hella hard because she doesn’t want to lose me in the crowd, and my frilly Sunday dress is itchy. She presses a big coin into my palm, and points to a little girl not that much younger than myself, with so many sampaguita garlands hanging on her little body that I was sure she smelled permanently of the sharp flowery scent.
Pabili ng isa / I’d like to buy one
Bakit isa lang? / Why only one?
Okey sige, dalawa na nga. / Ok fine, I’ll get two
Ang ganda ng damit mo / Your dress is nice
Salamat. / Thank you
I look back at her as I walk away, and glace at her big dirty shirt (probably a hand me down) and striped shorts. She’s not wearing tsinelas and her hair, pulled back in what must have earlier been a neat ponytail, is now straggly and unkempt. I wonder how long she’s been up selling sampaguitas?
I go inside the church and run straight for the statue of Mother Mary. I wait patiently for my turn. I light a small candle, hang one strand flowers on her hands and kneel on the pew. I clasp my hands tightly and pray.
Mama Mary, sana meron palagi akong magandang maisusuot. / Mother Mary, I hope I always have something nice to wear.
I stand up, and hang my second sampaguita garland around my neck.
I love the way sampaguitas smell. And every time I walk around the Mission District, I pick a flower from someone’s yard and put it in my hair.
--laine
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ReplyDeleteI love this story. It's like I can see, feel, and even smell everything that's happening. One thing I really like is how i think this story is really multilayered. All of the more political themes (or at least that I'm seeing) are implicit. Critique of church, class struggle, the importance of home language, and probably more that I may not even be seeing are all underlying the emotions, thoughts, relationships, etc.
ReplyDeleteI do have a question. It seems like you are saying something more when you start the story by talking about sampaguitas that you smell through the mission district. This person looks back at a memory that she seems to be fond of and then the person puts the flowers in her hair. Is there a significance to putting it in her hair? is this symbolic of something or maybe I'm reading too much into it. haha. I have my own interpretation, but not sure about it.
Anyway, did you edit this at all? I think it's really well written!
-freya
i think putting the flower in the hair is a way to take the memory with her and help it last. what's your interpretation??
ReplyDeletei did a mild edit..as in i changed one word. haha. this was more of a freestyle write.
that was beautiful and for some reason it sparked a memory of mine when I lived in the Philippines.. will be writing about that for my entry.
ReplyDeletei agree with freya.. like once I read sampaguita i could already smell the flower. it was easy to imagine your words in my head. i kept thinking about creating a film.
haha, yes, I did overthink. To me, the flower symbolized change, or lack of change. either way.
ReplyDeletei agree with freya and aiza. this piece is very vivid and layered in subtle ways. i like that the story rests on the relationship between scent and memory, and that the object that triggers the narrator's memory isn't something you might usually expect to do that, like a photo.
ReplyDeletei also enjoyed the interaction between the two young girls. i like the contrast between the narrator's pretty dress and the sampaguita girl who is pretty much wearing what she's selling, and how these details suggest more about each of their lives without hitting us on the head.
This needs a reading, too. What I "hear" is: Mexican music! It segueways into Quezon City sounds - that are muffled within the cavernous church, church bells that segueway into Mission Dolores bells. "something nice to wear" - flashes to the street girl in shirt and shorts. But she smiles, disappears. I'm commenting on what I "hear" or "feel" (temperature) as most of these entries are like swirls of senses. I hope this can be transferred to your stage piece.
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