Gelyka Dumaraos Part of me being a little too nostalgic can be traced back to my childhood. Back then, goodbyes and hellos were part of my life. They tugged at my small heart, yet somehow molded the way I see life today.
I’ve written about Burgos in Pangasinan, my childhood hometown, more times than I can count. But I haven’t really written about another town that shaped me just as much—San Pablo City, Laguna.
This was my father’s hometown, the City of Seven Lakes, the place we’d retreat to during the summer and holiday breaks. Our family would spend long weekends in the house my parents built when they were a young married couple. It’s a located in a sitio called Sandig, perched on a gentle slope at the foothills of Mount Mabilog. Here, neighbors knew each other, sometimes everyone’s a relative of someone. Mornings are breezy, days are slow, easy, and gentle.
Life in San Pablo meant time around the seven lakes that surround it. It’s a childhood memory that my sister and I would always look back on in days when we just wanted to reminisce.
Sampaloc Lake is the biggest, stretching over three kilometers and touching several barangays. On a clear day, Mount Cristobal rises in the distance, with Mount Banahaw peeking behind. I remember afternoons renting bikes with our cousin Ate Nedz, looping around the lake until the sun sets. We were high schoolers back then.
Street food in hand, we’d stop for a picture at the giant tilapia statue as we finish our loop. During Christmas, the lakefront would sparkle with colorful lamp posts that we’d love taking pictures at from our old film camera, and we’d wander through the bazaar and buy some trinkets with the pamasko budget we had on hand.
When it’s Ate Nedz’s payday, she’d invite us to the lake, and if she had spare, we’ll go to Prosperity, a local eatery in the city where we’d eat pancit. It was a core memory.
Palakpakin Lake holds another kind of memory. It’s where a neighbor harvests fresh tilapia, selling them in tubs as she goes from house to house. We’d peek into those tubs, fascinated and a little horrified as the fish jumped out of the water. I still only eat tilapia from Palakpakin Lake, and only when I’m back there.
My Tita Lela would cook a simple pesang tilapia, with ginger and cabbage, and it’s the comfort food I looked forward to, as much as sinaing na tulingan or sinantomas.
There’s also Mojicap Lake, this is about a kilometer away from our home. It’s the smallest and more secluded. As a child, I loved this lake because it’s near resorts where some reunions and excursions happened.
Then there’s Bunot Lake, known for its tilapia farms, as well as the twin lakes, Pandin and Yambo, famous for raft dining. They are known as a tourist attraction for their peaceful vibe and amazing waters. Calibato Lake is another, surrounded by large rocks and requiring a short trek to reach.
Papa would tell stories of his childhood around these lakes and beyond. Wandering around the foot of the mountains, climbing coconut trees, jumping in these lakes, and finding something to sell or do in exchange for some cash. I listened, though not always closely enough. I wish I had listened harder. I would have had more memories of him for sure.
Mornings at Sandig were chilly, and one memory that sticks is sipping coffee with a serving of sinukmani, a sticky rice treat, while at our veranda. I’d listen to the elders as they had discussions about work, life, and happenings.
The last Christmas we spent in our San Pablo home, when our family was still complete, was more than seven years ago. Papa was still there. We celebrated his 60th birthday, cooked his favorite dishes, sang karaoke with relatives. It was the last Christmas we had in that house. Three years later, he left us after his battle with chronic kidney disease.
Since then, our San Pablo home has grown quieter as the years have passed. We’re full grown adults now. Our Ate Nedz, our dear cousin who cared and loved us so much as young girls, now has her own family. She’s now a doting mother and a wife, living and teaching in Calamba. My sister is busy with work and her family, my mom is ageing, and I have just entered married life. My nieces and nephew haven’t experienced wandering around the lakes or handing out treats to carolers on Christmas morning. I wish they could, if only it’s that easy.
Life has moved on, and our family is in Rizal, we haven’t gone to San Pablo for almost two years. Our old house has stood empty for quite a while, and we’re thinking whether we’ll have it rented or sell it. The idea of selling it hurts.
Now that I’m an adult, I appreciate San Pablo a little more. Having a house sitting at the foot of a mountain, and the fact that you can find seven lakes surrounding your city, is amazing.
If only I could live three lives. Maybe I can live in Burgos, another one in San Pablo, and the other, just traveling somewhere. Funny, but it’s a fantasy.
Ah, life. It’ll never be the same, yes. People have changed, and perspectives have shifted. Even so, my memories of San Pablo linger. I’ll come back, although no longer as a kid, but as an adult retracing childhood. It will always have a special place in my heart. And just like the seven lakes and their quiet and enduring presence, it will never leave.
