Small-town City

What do you love about where you live?

I live in a small city at the edge of the National Capital Region of the Philippines. Even though it’s part of Metropolitan Manila, it still retains the charms of its small town past.

The founding clans are still present and active. They are also kith and/or kin to each other, related by either blood or marriage. Since I’m a descendant of the early settlers, I have a deep affection for the collective identity of the city’s residents.

The original families are rather identifiable by shared facial features. The Chinese presence in their lineage is quite evident. For many, the European mix manifests as well. And, for some reason, a prominent chin seems to be quite prevalent too. Genes or habit, who knows which one is the culprit. I like to imagine that a settler with Jay Leno chin passed this feature on to his children who then spread it to the other clans. Now, we are all carriers of the chin.

Our people do not only share a similar look but other traits as well, including a sweet tooth. When somebody says that they’re not really fond of desserts, doubt is immediately cast upon the legitimacy of their identity as a true-blue spawn of a city clan. No kidding. Diabetes is a clear and present threat around here.

I must admit that I can’t help but be fond of this unhealthy trait, not only because I obviously have it, but also because it makes me feel connected to my late grandmother. She was the real deal. Her favorite sweet was pressure cooked cans (plural) of condensed milk turned unto really decadent yema. She sprinkled nuts on top so they wouldn’t be too cloying. As if!😂

Not many, even among our people, were brave enough to consume more than a spoonful, but Nanay and I were hardcore. We could consume one whole can each, and have another one the next day – or a little later. The next day was really too long a wait. I was young and could get away with it. Nanay, on the other hand, did have diabetes.

One more shared trait – arguably also unhealthy – I like is the love for gab. This is evidenced by the presence of lamyaan in our culture. It’s a kind of rustic shed present on most streets. The men would congregate in them in the late afternoon when it’s much cooler to trade tall tales and decades-old gossip. The women preferred one of their own verandas, but the agenda would be the same. Chitchat never ran out. It might have been repetitive, but it was an ever-flowing fountain.

Besides the quirky people, another thing I love about this city is its name, Marikina, and there are various versions of its origin. There are legends about a beautiful woman (María Quina), the reply to a Spanish official asking after the condition of the settlement (Marikit na = already pretty), a Spanish naval officer named Felix Berenguer de Marquina, and a town in País Basco named Markina.

Even if the city was probably named after the Spanish naval officer, the last version is the one I prefer. I like to think that some Jesuit friar, who originally hailed from Markina in the province of Biscay, saw the verdant valley nestled in the bosom of equally green surrounding hills and mountains, its river winding a path down from the Sierra Madres and then out to Manila Bay. He took note of the parallel features between his own hometown and the new parish and decided to pay homage to that beloved Biscay river valley by naming this promising river valley in the tropics after it. Since the natives couldn’t blend consonants, another syllable materialized for easier enunciation.

When I was in Bilbao, I had planned to take a bus to give the original Markina a visit, but it was a wet afternoon and I had class the next day in a whole other Spanish province so I curbed my sense of adventure and limited my exploration to the Guggenheim.

I think I can still ramble on, but this is long enough.😁