Memoirs of an Amnesiac

One of my fondest childhood recollections was that of spending summer afternoons at my grandfather's farm. At a young age, there I first learned to be a botanist. I learned to identify the time when a tree is about to give off its yield of fruits. The signs that flowers bloom in a tree meant time for me to look out in the succeeding days the fruits that would come out, much to my grandfather's chagrin because he always finds the fruits that he himself waited to sprout already gone. (I think I could be the best botanist there is given my experience.) And instead he finds me perched on a branch, already licking my hands off the remains of a succulent fruit.

At other times, when there were no trees that yielded any fruit (not showing any flowers even), I would scavenge for "singkamas" or the Philippine Mexican turnip underneath the ground just by simply looking for its leaves. (I told you I could be the best botanist.)

I already climbed a caimito tree and stopped doing it when my cousin had his chin stitched for falling off the tree. I tried a coconut tree but stopped midway through because I heard a gecko's call. (My uncles told me that when geckos stick to one's skin, they get stuck there forever. The only way one could take them off is when one lets the gecko smell the smoke of a tobacco.) I tried climbing a mansanitas tree also because I fancied the little fruits as cherries which pictures I always saw on my grandfather's prized magazine on plants collection. My grandfather prohibited me from climbing them because their fruits are eaten by the bats. He said if I eat them, it is like I'm dining with them and I might meet a bat up. I tell you even when my grandfather already dissuaded me into climbing and by sheer desperation actually cut it, I still continued to salvage it with its fruit when it was already lying on the ground. I tried climbing a papaya tree, too. But when the skin on my thighs got scraped, I stopped the idea. The same also happened with me when I climbed the guyabano tree. I have the scars as the uneraseable proof to those misadventures.


Of all the trees I climbed, I loved climbing mango trees most, especially when I climbed and inspected them for possible fruits and what awaited me are those sweet-smelling flowers. Much to my disappointment, yet I stay perched on a branch because I love the view and the breeze up on trees, most especially when everything is hot (including my grandfather's head).

It makes me wonder how many of the young generation these days get to climb trees. No amount of thrill could replace climbing trees. There is that feeling that somewhere up there, a prize for the climb awaits. The oxygen that one gets from the climb is priceless (no tank, no matter how expensive could replace the oxygen provided by nature). One gets to value patience, as when one waits for the season the trees bear fruits. One gets to be educated also about plant growth and reproduction (thus, my becoming a botanist and biologist, maybe). And most importantly, one cultivates RESPECT for something that gives and provides for what young curious beings like me need.

This brings me to my musings about the trees here in Bislig -- so green, varied and tall. While riding a habal habal (those single motor vehicles which are the means to get to the next purok or barangay) to our destinations, I chanced upon different kinds of trees and often asked about their names. There were those whose pictures I took that I fancied climbing in my mind.

Yet with all their majesty, they are already facing extinction. Much of the city is giving way to industrialization and government efforts have been minimal in solving problems about illegal logging.

I'm glad I still get to see them even when I don't get to climb them anymore. My heart goes out to the young generation whom I believe will only get to see them in books.

Sad. It makes me want to climb a tree now.