I used to think that a jackfruit was a 1,000-eyed animal or monster. The year was 1984. I was seven years old, and it was the very first time I came to Dumaguete from America.
Oh, back to the jackfruit. I’d never seen such a scary thing. My young imagination concluded that it wandered about in a rolley-polley kind of way, similar to an amoeba or jelly sea worm. It was also a distant relative of the hedgehog or porcupine. Curious, I took a long stick to it and poked it. I didn’t move. Was it dead? And was its mouth hidden somewhere underneath all the eyes?
I also thought that my parents were hairless Ewoks, the furry brown creatures from Star Wars that lived in treehouses. Ewoks spoke a funny foreign language, and so did my parents. Thus, my parents were Ewoks… without all the fur, and Dumaguete was a giant hairless Ewok village. This made me very happy.
At the time, the only thing I knew about being filipino was pancit, bago-ong, and eggrolls. My parents did not prepare me for 1000-eyed jackfruit monsters or Ewoks.
As well, my relatives didn’t know what to do with me. To see a 7-year old filipino looking thing speaking english was a novelty. I think they were disappointed that their American cousin didn’t have white skin, blue eyes, or a long nose. “Na, pislat di-ay ang iyang ilong…” [His nose is flat] The running joke was that I was “Amerikano’ng hilaw” [a raw American]. Shame on my mother for not putting enough dough on the end of my nose or bleaching the flour before she cooked me.
Fast forward. It is 2013. 15 months ago, I left everything I knew behind, friends, the familiar city of New York, work, friends, family, to follow a dream and travel around the world. I never looked back.
14 countries later, I’m typing away at the friendly Bean Cafe here in Dumaguete. I wanted to spend 4 or 5 months of my trip here. To know a city and culture I’ve always known but never really knew.
Travel is but a reconciliation between the idea of a place and its reality. I cannot smell or taste a picture or a map. Dumaguete is not the Boulevard or Silliman University. My time here reconciles my past experiences and merges them with the present.
It’s my 5th visit here, but it still feels like the 1st. I have changed each time and so has the city. Old dusty streets are now covered with concrete; The boulevard has a scenic sea wall with faux lamps; There is a mall and internet cafes; Sing-a-long is now videoke (the uncles are still yabag).
But some things still say the same — The comic putt-puttering of the pedicabs as they slowly scuttle down the street; The undulating waves of the Boulevard ocean at dusk still wipes away messages written on sand with sticks at high tide; Coconut leaves still wave at me on my morning walk, while whispering windy songs to blue skies; The heat… ‘sos-mari-osep, ka eeee-neeeeet ka-ayo. mora’g mo patay gyud ko sa ka init! Still the same…
These precious childhood impressions still travel with me. Through memory.
I still see a 1000-eyed animal monster when I encounter a jackfruit, and when I hear bisaya I still think I’m talking to hairless Ewoks…
And the gentle people Dumaguete boasts of… are still quite gentle…
There are couch potatoes and travel potatoes. J.P. is the latter. And he likes to boogie.
J.P. Regalado is a Filipino-American from New York City with Dumaguete roots, on a year one half around the world sabbatical.
In a nutshell, J.P. is a writing artist, yoga, rock climbing, travel agent, but he is many other things as well.
Like he is a nomad. He likes to take siestas. He used to live in New York with a television, and 4 1/2 pairs of mismatched socks. He picks up thought ingredients, while wandering around the gritty streets of planet earth. He is prone to bouts of Awaysickness, and travels often.
His style is glitch, film noir, dada, and super sexy. And he would say, “You’re welcome!”
