In the Eyes of a Farmer’s Daughter

By Estephanie Bucog

“Wake up! Wake up!” my mother shouted while shaking my shoulders. Although I
hesitated, I had no choice but to wake up as she brutally shook my shoulders in urgency. I
wondered why she is on such a rush. The cocks haven't even sang yet. I looked over our
clock and saw that it was exactly 2:45 in the morning before I realized that today is Sunday,
the most important day of the week.

I looked through the window and saw my father outside, packing ampalayas in huge
baskets. He can barely sleep on Saturday nights because he’s busy preparing for the big day. I
walked towards the kitchen and saw my mother boiling water. Seeing my approach, she
offered me a cup of coffee to ease the cold and hunger since breakfast won't be ready anytime
soon. We needed to leave the house by 3 o'clock to catch the earliest tricycle ride since we
also have to walk for ten to twenty minutes to reach the highway with my father carrying the
heavy basket on his back.

We arrived in San Pedro in about thirty minutes. The streets were filled with vendors
and farmers displaying their harvested vegetables, crops and spices. My father then starts to
display his ampalayas along the road, while I help my mother arrange the things that we
needed to start entertaining customers. Some buy in bulk, though they do so mostly buying
per kilo until it runs out. When it does run out, we take it as a signal to have our breakfast by
a store at the corner that sold puto maya and painit. Then we head back home bringing a kilo
of fish and packs of bread as pasalubong.

The rest of the days are ordinary and routines are repetitive. My parents would wake
up before the sun rises to plough the field and obtain water from the well to sustain the
drainage and fertilizers. They stay under the sun for the whole day until the sun finally sets.
Afterwards, they go back home to rest after an exhausting day's work. Their life has been like
that ever since I developed my senses.

For many of us, the life of a farmer may seem like such a distant and abstract concept.
However, even if these stories remain untold, and even if they remain in the abstract, their
profession and work will continue to be noble, and their sacrifice and hard work, which I’ve
seen with my own eyes, will remain unparalleled. Pagadian will always be a home - not only
to those who are living in urban areas but especially to those in the rural areas who make up
the agricultural sector. They say change is inevitable and that change is the only constant. As
Pagadian ventures out into a new era of progress and development, it is important not to leave
behind the Pagadianons whose sacrifice built our great city and served as the backbone of our
economy.

Growing up seeing the world in black and white made me anticipate living life in a
more colourful perspective. When you don’t have to worry what to eat for the next meal and
when Sundays will only be rest days, as it should be. Even so in the waiting, Pagadian and its
people makes everything bearable. I live in a city with a lot of stories to tell and cultures to
share. This place won’t surely remain as just another nostalgic trip down my memory lane
when the time comes, but wherever I go my eyes will tell people how worthwhile it is to
arrive at your destination while looking after what kept you going.