Before I had a memory

My mother told me that I was born at the height of a typhoon during the night. I was born in the town of Naga, now a city, in the province of Camarines Sur, in the Bicol region, which is in the southern part of Luzon, the biggest island in the Philippines. That particular night was on June 29, 1946. A midwife surely delivered me at my parents' house, as was the common method of childbirth at that time. I could imagine that it was a dark night, the rains pouring and some parts of the nipa-thatched roof leaking, and the branches of the trees outside swaying.

My mother's name is Gloria and my father, Roman. My father is from a family of landowners in Camarines Sur while my mother grew up in Marikina, Rizal which is a province nearer Manila, the capital of the Philippines. I am their fourth child, the eldest being my sister Lydia, then my brother Ruben, then my sister Norma and after me, my brothers Erwin and Virgilio.

It was already liberation time when I was born. The Philippines got involved with the war of the Americans with Japan and the Japanese defeated the Americans and occupied the Philippines for a number of years. So my mother often told me I was lucky because the Americans came again and liberated us. I got to be fed with milk and stateside food. However, the nine months I was in her tummy was a different story, and I may mention it again in another part of my story.

I was baptized Eleanor, from the First Lady of the United States at that time, Eleanor Roosevelt, my mother often told me. But sometimes, she mentions that my father's favorite actress at that time was Eleanor Parker and so they got my name from two famous people. However, when I saw the picture of Eleanor Roosevelt when I was still a child, I thought she wasn't so pretty, so when the occasion arose, I would tell everyone who asked me that I was named after the actress. However, when I was older and I read how intelligent, bright and smart Eleanor Roosevelt was and how good she was as the First Lady of the land at that time, I never hesitated anymore to say that I was named after her. And I am overwhelmed with pride everytime she tells others that that was the reason, too, that I grew up smart, bright and intelligent.

However, most people called me Eleonor instead of Eleanor, or they pronounce it the filipino way, so I had problems with my american name when I was a child. My mother would always tell me when I complain, that it was because the priest who baptized me made a mistake and pronounced my name Eleonor, too.

I was a beautiful baby, she said, very fair for a filipino but very, very quiet. When I was older I would try to recall my earliest memories, I mean, how far back in my childhood could I remember. And I was amazed to realize that I could remember even those times when I was very, very quiet.

intro

I just got a package in the mail from a vietnamese friend of mine who at present resides in Italy. It is a book entitled 'traveling with rice'. It has simple yet very thoughtful articles about his job and his travels. When I finished looking it over and reading a few chapters, I thought, I should write a book, too. Will I finish the novel I started, will I try and write a book of poetry with photos I took? Then I decided it would be easiest for me to write about my childhood and write it for my grandchildren. How will they know how life was in their grandma's time if I don't relate it to them? How will they know of her country and the people she grew up with? How will they know of their roots?