A is for Abdon and Alejandra

The ABCs of Recovering Ilocano

Jun 02, 2024

My parents came from the northern province of Ilocos Sur, Philippines. They met in Baguio City, where I was born and raised. Recovering Ilocano is my passion project. Starting this month, I will share random snippets of my work in progress, running the gamut of the alphabet. These touchpoints help me reclaim my childhood stories, understand myself as an immigrant, and discover my genuine Ilocano identity.

My maternal grandparents Alejandra Benitez and Abdon Vergara, on their wedding day. San Esteban Fiesta, December 26, 1921

I chose this photograph of my grandparents, even though other versions render an artist’s enhancement and the magic of digital restoration. This photo shows the ravages of time and termites that plagued the ancestral house in San Esteban, Ilocos Sur. The house deteriorated over time and was razed and rebuilt by my engineer and architect cousins. When relatives post pictures on social media, I still see the essence of the house where I spent my childhood summers. I know the rooms by the way the light falls. The front entrance faces east, a sign of good luck. Though the furnishings are modern, I can evoke the old house as it was imprinted in my memory.

My family gathered there during the fiesta, every year on December twenty-sixth. The day was even bigger than Christmas. The perya came to town, setting up rides and the Ferris Wheel in the plaza bordered by massive acacia trees. Colorful banners stretched from the Municipio to the Catholic Church. We enjoyed dance performances, rondalla music, and stage plays. We tasted snacks from all the vendors. My favorite was the roasted garlicky peanuts poured into cones made from newspaper.

At night, we held a family program. All thirty-nine first cousins were called to the front to perform a song, a dance, a poem—talent was our entrance fee to this family.

Lolo Abdon and Lola Andang were teachers, trained by the Thomasites who came to the Philippines in the early 1900s. They prized excellence above all. Lola’s favorite expression was, “One word is enough for the wise.” Mama wrote a short biography of her parents below, so I will not repeat their accolades.

Lola demonstrated an excellent memory. She could recite long verses and ended the evening programs with her rendition of Jose Rizal’s Mi Ultimo Adios—in Spanish and English.

I remember little of Lolo Abdon, as he was a quiet man, and had suffered from a stroke. In his last years, he regressed into a “second childhood,” in what might be called Alzheimer’s or dementia these days.

Lola Andang imparted more, her name to begin with. Mama named me Alejandra in her honor. I went by Rachielle in school and followed my older siblings' use of their second names. In San Esteban, they called me Little Andang.

I grew up in the mountains, and could not tolerate the lowland heat. I broke out in heat rashes whenever I went to San Esteban. I sought relief at the beach and under the acacia trees, but most days, I stayed home with Lola. She sat on her butaca, and I sat across. We played endless games of sungca, distributing the shells over the seven holes on either side of the board, and our home base. We went round and round until it was time for dinner. Once in a blue moon, I won.

“Sika ti immala kaniak,” she beamed. I inherited her mind. This pleased me no end, as it was the only thing I had. I was shy as a child and cringed every time people compared me to my older sisters. They always took center stage—star dancers and choir members. I trailed them like a saling pusa, a little stray kitten needing attention.

Works in progress