Warm pan de sal, thick cheese slices, and fresh carabao’s milk. Sometimes, it came with a big serving of the sauciest pansit luglug I have ever known from a neighbor’s carinderia.

This feast was what I would usually call breakfast whenever I was in my father’s hometown in Bataan, as lovingly prepared by my grandmother Erlinda Adraneda, who we lovingly called Inang.

Some days I would rise up early and smell the aroma of coffee that wafted out of the kitchen because Inang was pouring a freshly prepared concoction of coffee, evaporated milk, and sugar into small-sized glass jars that used to be coffee containers.

She would cover the jars and put them in a basket, and then place a pile of cloth on top to keep them warm. In another basket were the breakfast fare composed of pan de sal, fried egg, fried fish, and sinangag. With each basket on each arm, and one hand clutching one of mine, my Inang and I would go to the farm to bring Tatang’s breakfast.

Many summer days of my youth were spent in the farm – playing with the brown hen and her chicks, napping in the small hut surrounded by coconut, santol, and mango trees, picking vegetables like eggplant, tomato, long bean, or gathering fruits that fell off the stems from the ground or joining Tatang catch tilapia or dalag for lunch.

Inang was a constant figure in my pleasant childhood. I even suspect that she may have had played a significant role to my being an annual participant in the town’s Santacruzan since I was about four years old. I think the only part I was not able to get in the yearly May event was being Constantine the Great, and only because the character requires a male consort.

Tatang left us in 1981, and forthwith, Inang evolved into being the clan’s “Mother Superior.”

Mess sergeant

She was an indefatigable doting mother to six children and grandmother to a dozen grandchildren and great grandchildren. She was the de facto superintendent of the tribe – a powerhouse figure for every generation in the family.

Inang was a versatile mess sergeant. Her morcon was like no other. A hurriedly deep-fried fish and halabos na hipon (shrimp half-cooked in salt and water) already tasted delectable, but she would make it even better with a heaping portion of my all-time favorite burong kanin (fermented rice).

And what’s for dessert? The crowd favorite and to-die-for ube halaya. I had watched her many times patiently create her masterpiece – no cook book to follow; ingredients and measurements only etched in her brain. Long before the violet starchy root crop took the culinary world by storm, I had already stuffed myself an immense amount of the gooey sweet treat, thanks to her.

Apart from being a homemaker, who did chores with a high level of precision and speed? It was Inang. She was also our caregiver who just knew the powers of every plant she had in the backyard to cure any pain and discomfort.

In trouble? Inang also had the answers. She’d definitely help – go the extra mile even. She could be a fortress, an arbiter, sometimes a righter of wrongs. She could pamper just as much as she was ready to bring out the rod.

Her children knew so well that her commands were not conveyed to be taken lightly. She was able to hold her ground through most of everything, being a solo parent for nearly 40 years.

But she would melt for anything chocolate. In the last decade prior to her death in 2020, our provincial visits would not be complete without gifting her with chocolate cakes, chocolate bars, or any confections in the shade of brown. Her beaming eyes and toothless grin upon seeing our chocolatey presents were always the sweetest.

The Big C

Last May 3, Inang would have been 88 years old had she managed to survive the Big C. She passed away on a November morning surrounded by all her grandchildren.

I was clutching her hand when she took one last breath and a nurse-cousin heard her last heart beat. It was the darkest day for a big family whose happiness as a bunch mainly depended on the smile of the beautiful woman who pulled the house together.

This year’s celebration of GrandParents’ Day would have been another occasion to bring her chocolates and see her charming eyes and loving toothless grin.

Her passing still leaves a painful pinch in my heart. I find solace, however, knowing that she’s no longer in pain and that she’s reunited with Tatang (I see them in my dreams!). But in bouts of grief, I would close my eyes and recall our days in the farm and remember my Inang’s fortitude to face and live the life she was offered.

EDV