A little background, Madonna’s “This Used to be my Playground” was the graduation song of my high school batch. For someone who went to this much-touted school for the nerds, and for the grandiose love affair that I had for “A League of Their Own”, the only lines I could muster remember after hours of practice were the following:

This used to be my playground

This used to be my childhood dream

This used to be the place I ran to

Whenever I was in need of a friend

I lipsynced my way to the last few official moments of my secondary education. What I lacked in musical talent, I made up with graceful arm movements and slow sway of my hips or so I claim. Hahaha.

This used to be my playground also refers to my actual childhood playground.

When I was ten years old, my family transferred in a sleepy neighborhood whose street was named after a saint. It was one of the only two public roads in our town that had that distinction. The sprawling property where our modest home stood (still stands) was surrounded by diverse flora and fauna that taught me not to be afraid of our botany class experiments in sophomore year.

The place was densely populated by greenery so much so that it almost looked haunted. However, it became decent once we rooted out some of the vines choking the trees and it was only when its real beauty shone. There were coconut trees (one of which unfortunately stood beside our kitchen and its coconut shells hit the roof of our kitchen numerous times until it was cut down by a chainsaw), bananas that seem to multiply, jackfruits whose produce were as huge as my ten-year old self, ceresas that grew horizontally and served as the perfect sleeping place for precocious children, suha, Indian mangoes, and a mango tree that defied the typhoon that uprooted it.

Growing up, I thought it was normal to climb a tree, grab its fruit for snack, and eat it sitting on one of its branches. Or get camote tops and papaya from the backyard to cook with the native chicken that used to chew the worms that crossed my path. Or harvest the saba banana two meters from my bedroom, boil it, and eat it for breakfast.

Years of staying in Quezon City have taught me that my childhood experience was a very promdi (from the province) upbringing. This promdi experience came front and center when I came back to my town in Iloilo a few days ago.

We got to sample the camote tops that crawled between the water tank and the laundry area, ate the freshly-picked saba bananas for breakfast, and used the jackfruit in the front yard to liven up the pork and beans combo for lunch.

To show my gratitude to the fertile soil that was my stomping ground when I was younger, I took the time to stay outside (yes, under the blazing summer sun), smell the relatively fresh air, and admire the beauty of trees. Fruit-bearing trees that I do not see in Metro Manila.

The first one that grabbed my attention was the flaming red estewetes (atsuete in Filipino and annatto in English) that grows beside the water tank. It looks like a cousin of rambutan (one of the fruits I cannot say no to) and it is as photogenic as Pia Wurtzbach. It has been the same spot for years and I am glad to see that except for a couple of dried up branches and “fruits”, it looks healthy. Estewetes is a natural food coloring that lends the chicken inasal and pork barbecue that popping red color.

Beside the estewestes is the cacao tree my grandmother planted years ago. The top part of the cacao succumbed to the summer heat, but two of its fruits look like Tom Brady’s deflated footballs in size and vibrant. I was tempted to pry them open and eat the cacao inside but I was too full. Cacao is the main and sometimes only ingredient of tablea.

To the right of the cacao tree is the kabugaw (citrus) that has been providing shade in what used to be our poso (water pump), now a faucet. Last year, three of them were huge and ripe enough for consumption and they became part of my luggage. They are not as sweet as Davao suha, but they were so damn close.

Going back to the jackfruit that garnished the pork and beans dish, there are two of them that flank the iron gate. One provides shade for my cousin’s dog kennel and the other provides much needed respite from the heat for those using the faucet in the front yard. The fruits look so green and juvenile but the cooked sliced jackfruit tastes sweet. I cannot wait to taste the ripe ones. 🙂

That is the story of my playground. Well, one of them.