The disappearing act can be considered as a staple in every magician’s repertoire. I remember growing up watching shows of people disappearing behind the cloth, while inside some minuscule boxes buried under the ground, and even against a thick fog. Not until Breaking the Magician’s Code came on Philippine TV that I realized that I was being fooled all along. It was a grand business of foolery I must say. And to date, many are still victimized (especially the young innocents).
As far as I know, my parents never ventured in the sphere of magic. They had normal jobs in the past and continue to have normal jobs until now. But even though their jobs are normal, I still find it amusing that they can perform their versions of the disappearing act.
About a week before this week, my mom went to Naga. The only information that I know is that it is work related and she went to … Naga. She spent her whole weekend there and came back Sunday night. The thing is, I wasn’t really informed beforehand that she was spending her weekend in that far away land. My father even got irritated when I asked him where Mama was.
When she came home, she had with her a bagful of pili nut delicacies in variations – there’s pili brittle sticks (I invented this term), pili tart, crunchy pili, and coco jam with shredded pili forced against the jar.
Then the next weekend, I was surprised by the fact that my father was asking me to do too much. After you do this, do this. I left something blah, blah, blah. I won’t be home by blah, so blah, blah, blah. All of this boiled down to one point: your mom is not going home this weekend. She went to Naga. I was like, huh?
Good thing I bond with the boob tube a lot so I figured that it is Peñafrancia. Credit the fact that we don’t have relatives there (as far as I know). So by the process of ethnomethology, I came to the conclusion that she went there for work. I know. The idea is so … profound.
Monday night I saw her again on the grounds of our humble home. She had with her again a bagful of pili nut delicacies in variations – there’s pili brittle sticks, pili tart, crunchy pili, but sans the coco jam with shredded pili forced against the jar. I don’t know what else she got from Bicol, but upon arrival, she was bibo enough to request for a collaborative effort to wash our clothes. (Just so everybody knows, we don’t have maid/s.).
My father, on the other hand, likes to disappear on weekdays. Last night he left for Dagupan to fix some unknown matters after his phone kept ringing earlier that day. Good thing my father likes to travel during the wee hours of the night (he says it’s faster) and so I was able to know that he was going to disappear. Of course my mom also knows.
Just like in a magic show, he reappeared on the same day in the most unlikely time – that time when he expects our home left in solitude. I decided to go home early. So the person who saw him disappear also saw him reappear. I was like the assistant of the magician.
When he came home, he had with him tupig(s). If you’re not familiar with it, I can say that you’re missing something in your life. Tupigs are made up of coconut shreds, sugar, and malagkit rice. They’re wrapped in banana leaves and then cooked on a hot plate with scorching coals below. For reference, these pictures below were taken from a trip almost a year ago.
Let’s also mention that with tupig comes, kilos of kalamansi, garlic, and some things I didn’t bother asking about.
To this point, I don’t know how to end this entry. Thoughts, apparently, also learned the trick to disappear suddenly. But before I officially end, let me share brilliance. Earlier this day I used the CR in FC (the one near DECL). I don’t know why people stood aside as I passed, but I was delighted they did. When I came out I heard someone ask, “CR ba yan?” Wow.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
