My Hometown

Yasmin D. Arquiza

A five-star hotel has risen on the very spot where our house in Davao City used to be. I
literally grew up in that place, having spent the first 18 years of my life there. Since I left, I have
travelled and lived in various places, but I’ve been back almost every year. There’s a tinge of irony
in how my roots and peripatetic ways seem to be reflected in the fact that the hotel was named after
Marco Polo, one of the most well-known travelers in history.

Happily, some of the old landmarks are still there. Despite the entry of numerous shopping
malls, the bargain hunters’ paradise called Aldevinco shopping center has survived and remains in
the same location. During my elementary and high school days, “sa harap ng Aldevinco” was my
stock answer whenever somebody asked where I live.

Another building that withstood changes in the community is Ateneo, although some of the
stores surrounding it have come and gone. Because of its proximity to our house, and the fact that it
offers the highest quality of college education in Davao, I would have studied in Ateneo except that
they would not give me a scholarship. I landed in UP instead, and began my journey to other cities
and other worlds.

Childhood memories came back when I noticed, with a chuckle I might add, that this tiny
eatery called Pilotos managed to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb right beside the high wall
of Marco Polo Hotel. I asked my sister what happened to the filthy canal at the back of the eatery
that wended its way through a row of squatter shanties. She said the hotel had placed culverts and
conveniently covered the muck. I remember our entire brood making a pilgrimage to Pilotos for its
special haluhalo on summer afternoons when we were kids. Once, my brothers raced me to Pilotos
from our house and I fell from the single plank that we had to negotiate to cross the canal. There I
was, hanging with both hands on the plank while my ankles and feet got soaked in the brackish waters
with its yucky creatures. That’s the origin of my phobia of flimsy bridges, which is a real hassle in
Palawan where we usually have to walk on slippery logs and broken planks to cross rivers and
streams.

These days, there are more changes than familiar places in the neighborhood. A bakery and
coffee shop has replaced Dueñas store and the old beerhouse has gone through several incarnations,
from restaurant to something else, before it became the landscaped garden in front of the hotel. Two
decades ago, there were an ally between Dueñas and the beerhouse that led first to our house, and
then on to other houses in the small neighborhood sandwiched between C.M Recto and Ponciano
streets. The area was razed in the late ‘70s, forcing residents to scatter elsewhere. There were rumors
of arson, but as far as I know, this was never proven. All the things I wrote in my first 18 years were
lost in that fire. To this day, I still get nervous whenever I smell something burning.

A small shopping mall has long replaced the old boy scout building (although oldtimers still
refer to the general area as boy scout), and the post office has since undergone a much-needed
facelift. The “island” between the hotel and the mall is now called Clifford Park. This used to be the
playground of most kids in the neighborhood, the only open space where they could fly kites and
watch the stars in the evening.
 On the street where I grew up, jeepney drivers impatiently honk their way and try to
outmaneuver each other in the one-way traffic. This is certainly a far cry from the days when the
jeepney driver would wait for us as we straightened our pleated uniforms and slowly sit down before
setting off again. Up to the early ‘80s, I still remember describing Davao City as a quiet place with a
very slow pace. These days, it is the same old rat race one finds in Manila, Cebu, and other big cities.

Revisiting my hometown has made me think the concept of home. It is funny how a place
can be so familiar and yet so remote. The sight of ICC building (now UIC since it became a
university) on the hilltop near Bankerohan market brought nostalgic memories of medals won and
speeches nervously delivered. Traversing the same old streets in speeding jeepneys and taxis, I
looked for scenes from the past but found myself getting lost in the vastly changed cityscape. In the
street and the malls, faces from my childhood and the not-too-distant ‘80s called from the sidewalk
and the stalls but I could no longer relate with them. The past seems so far away, and the present
has become a stranger. I find myself wondering if it is possible not to feel “at home” in one’s
hometown. The thought seems almost sacrilegious, knowing the Filipinos’ deep sense of affinity to
family and one’s roots.

In the era of space travel and migration, whether forced or voluntary, there are growing
numbers of “citizens of the world” whose concept of home must have shifted from the traditional
view to a purely personal definition. Home is where the heart is, the romantics would say. For people
who are used to “living out of a suitcase”, home is wherever they are at any given time. It is like the
T-shirt I once saw that read “Wherever you go there you are” or something like that. It is a popular
phrase in the US where travel and moving to other places is a way of life for many people.

It is funny how we can feel so at home in far-away places and not in our own hometown. It could
be the sign of the times, and then again, maybe it is just me.

(First published in Bandilo ng Palawan Magazine, July 1999)