Domesticated

As I do my chores on this golden Saturday afternoon, I contemplate on interesting things to write about on my blog, and take a break as I ingeniously decide to chronicle my tales of rousing the domestic diva within.

It’s been a little over a month since I started my new “job”. I don’t really know what to call it, but I guess others would describe it as an extended vacation, or a hiatus from the real world. I quit my job last July and decided to take a few months off before re-entering the school/work force to accompany my dad at the farm in the island. To do what exactly? Think. Contemplate. Introspect. Ponder. (Hahaha)

So here I am, enjoying what my mind can only seem to process as summer vacation. Ten hour sleeps, flip-flops, long summer dresses and floppy hats, yoga and tea by the sunset, and finally being able to read the stack of books I bought last year and promised to “get around to someday”. Except that, since I am technically the lady of the house, I have a few -ugh- domestic responsibilities.

This weekend alone, I harvested (yes, I used that word) basil leaves and made my own pesto sauce. I painted the bed frames of our room gold (oh my perfectly-manicured nails…) and swept (with a broom!) the house clean in the absence of our caretaker, whom I babysat for while she got admitted to the hospital for being hardheaded and insisting to use freaking “albularyo medicine” on that knee infection. With single-handed effort, I attempted to squeeze three extra mattresses under the bed- pushing and pulling, at one point desperately yelling, “Sadie, help me!” as my dog sauntered in the room (Yeah right, like my 4-pound miniature dachshund could do much damage. What was I thinking?). And finally, lying down on the floor in spite of my white peasant dress to give it the solid hard kick that ended the struggle in success. I also just barely escaped having to take out some poor fish’s innards because of the paint I got on my nails. And to my horror, I found myself volunteering to Papa that I would do it next time. Ack! Where’d that voice come from?? Hmm… Have I really changed that much?

Had my younger, wilder days really made me desire this transformation? (Next blog, maybe. hehe)

One thing is for sure, island life has improved my Bisaya greatly. Okay, that’s an overstatement, but at least I don’t sound that out of place here anymore. My tone is beginning to resemble those of my Cebuano cousins’, opting for “Ambot ra. Wa man siya sa ba’y ‘ron” when asked by the farmhelp where my Dad is, instead of what should have been my usual response “Wala man siya sa house”.

Of course it still needs work. Earlier, I asked the sota to place the fallen coconut leaves on one pile outside the gate. Seemed basic enough but somehow the conversation went like this:

“Maiko, kuwa’a nang mga… mga (gesturing to the leaves)”

“Kanang bukay?”

“Huh?” I stared, dumbfounded, really not knowing what on earth “bukay” was and no thanks to my delayed deductive skills, managed to reply with, “Uhh… Yeah, kanang ana sa coconut unya ibutang sa gawas sa gate.”

Some save, but points for the EFFORT!

What a far, far cry from my former city life. But I LOVE IT!

I just remembered this was supposed to be a short break and my fingers are getting a little carried away. Besides, the horse needs to be ridden and the dead bugs ain’t gonna sweep themselves.

P.S.

I’ve just been informed that it’s lukay, not bukay. Sheesh. Not only am I sort of illiterate, I’m sort of deaf too. I stand corrected.