Payag

One stormy night, mama gathered all of us in our living room as she wanted us to sleep all together. She was so afraid that the huge tree in our backyard gives in and hit our house. We were all excited, 'though, about sleeping together as that meant endless story telling.

Mama told us that when she was a child, my grandfather used to gather them all in a "payag" (small nipa hut) during a storm. The payag had no floor so they had to sleep on the ground, and it was built so low so that wind will just pass over it. Grandpa told them that if the storm crushes the hut they can still survive because the materials were lighter compared to their house. It was, however, so cold inside the payag and with water coming in, they all got soaked.

My grandfather owned a lot of payags. One of them was built beside his house just like what my mother and her siblings own now. The rest of the payags were built in Grandpa's farms which were used as resting places after his hardwork in the farm. Grandpa was an excellent farmer such that most landowners in our barrio preferred to hire him over others. He had been farming all his lifetime so he had also built countless payags.

Payag is still part of our daily lives now. Owning a payag runs in the family. We all love to spend our summer afternoons in our cool payag. It is a place where the neighborhood gather together to chat, rest, play and feast... yes, feast! There are times when our neighborhood cook “otan” (vegetable soup). They gather all the vegetables they can get. Usually, they get banana hearts, coconuts, jackfruits and even bamboo shoots. There are also lots of green leafy vegetables available in our area which they can use in cooking otan. After cooking, they bring in dried fish, ginamos and bahaw to the payag. They all eat together with laughter and merriment.

We also do our chapel preparations in the payag from planning to execution.

My father, too, celebrates his birthdays in the payag. Actually, he has no choice. He wants to cook carabao meat on his birthdays but my mother did not like the smell of it. She did not allow father to cook it inside the house and even use our utensils. Good thing that our neighbors volunteered to cook it for father using their own utensils. All in all, the celebration ends up as a memorable bonding as it brings us more closer and united.