REGION 1

Ilocos Sur
Ilocos Norte
Ilocos

Iloko is derived from the word Ilocos, which uses either the letter c or k. The Ilocandia
Region 1 comprises of Abra, Benguet, Ilocos Norte, Ilocos Sur, La Union, Mountain Province,
and Pangasinan. It has the following cities: Baguio, Dagupan, Laoag, and San Carlos. Iloko also
iluko is the language spoken by the Ilokanos sometimes spelled Ilocanos or the inhabitants of
these provinces and form the third largest linguistic group in the Philippines, after Tagalogs and
Cebuanos. The Ilocos region is located in the northwestern coast of Luzon. It is a narrow strip of
land, with the China Sea to the west and the Ilocos mountain range to the east. Basically
agricultural, its generally arid and barren soil has made the Ilocanos one of the most migrant of
Filipinos. They are found in many parts of the Philippines, in Hawaii and in the West Coast of
the United States.

Iloko Literature

Among the writers associated with Region 1 are Crecencia Alcantara, Edilberto Angco,
Rogelio Aquino, Manuel Arguilla, Hermogenes Belen, Crispina Bragado, Jose Bragado, Leona
Florentino, Marcelino Foronda Jr., Juan S. P. Hidalgo, F. Sionil Jose, Jacinto Kawili, Peter La
Julian, Benjamin M. Pascual, Sinanar Roblanes- Tabin, Agustin D. C. Rubin, and Carlos Bulosan.

Among the literary forms found in Region I are burbutia, pagsasao, arikenken, dalot,
daniw, dung-aw, and sudario.

TOPIC 1: BIGONG PAG-ASA

Leona Florentino

Ipinanganak si Leona Florentino sa Villa Fernandina (ngayon ay Vigan), Ilocos Sur noong
ika-19 ng Abril 1849 at namatay noong ika-4 ng Oktubre 1884. Siya ang nangungunang makata
ng kanyang panahon na pinatunayan ng pagkalathala ng kanyang mga tula sa Bibliotheque
International de Ouvres de Femmes noong 1889. Na-exhibit din ang kanyang mga likha sa
Exposicion General Filipinas na ginanap sa Madrid noong 1887. Binansagan siya na “Inang
Feministang Makata ng Pilipinas”. (Source: Philippine Literature by Linda R. Bascarra et. al.)

BIGONG PAG-ASA
sinulat ni Leona Florentino
salin ni Isagani R. Cruz

(1) Anong saya at ginhawa

kung may nagmamahal
dahil may makikiramay
sa lahat ng pagdurusa.
(2) Ang masama kong kapalaran
walang kapantay-
wala akong alinlangan-
sa dinaranas sa kasalukuyan.

(9) Kahit na ako ay magmahal

sa isang musa
wala namang hinuha
na ako’y pahahalagahan.

(13) Isumpa ko kaya ang panahon

nang ako’y ipinanganak
higit na mas masarap
na mamatay bilang sanggol.

(17) Nais ko mang magpaliwanag

dila ko’y ayaw gumalaw
nakikita kong malinaw
pagtatangi lamang ang matatanggap.

(21) Ligaya ko sana’y walang kapantay

sa kaalamang ikaw ay minamahal
isusumpa ko at patutunayan
para sa iyo lamang ako mamamatay.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
 1. Describe the poem’s tone.
2. Characterize the person speaking in the poem.
3. How did the poet assess the situation?
4. Are economic status, religious affiliation, and ethnic status factors to consider in
loving someone? Why or Why not?
5. To what poetic type does the poem belong? Give its characteristics.
Literary Review: Reading the Poem

1. Read the poem more than once. This will help you get its full meaning.
2. Keep a dictionary to learn the meanings of unfamiliar words.
3. Read to hear the sounds of the words in your mind. Read as slowly as
possible. In ordinary reading, lip reading is a bad habit; with poetry it is not.
4. Be attentive to what the poem is saying.
5. Practice reading poems aloud.
6. Read it affectionately, but not affectedly.
7. Read the poem slow enough to make each word clear and distinct.
8. Read the poem so that the rhythmical pattern is felt, not exaggerated.

(Source: Interactive Reading-Responding to and Writing about Philippine Literature by Ida

Yap Patron)

Task/Activity

ACTIVITY 1
Individually, discuss and share to the class your saddest experience in life in three
minutes. Then group yourselves into five and discuss the similarities and/differences between
your saddest experiences. Then, present your output in the class.

ACTIVITY 2
Read the poem and follow the ways on how to read a poem then, give the message of
the poem “Bigong Pag-asa” by Leona Florentino.
______________________________________________________________
 ____________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________

ACTIVITY 3

Divide the class into two and prepare for the composition of your own poem, it should have the
same theme with the poem “Bigong Pag-asa”. Following the literery guidelines, as a team, you will
create your own poem. Your team must come up with a title and the first member of the group will
write the first line of the first stanza, followed by the other team members until the last member of the
group, your poem must have four-five stanzas having four lines each.

TOPIC 2: MY FATHER GOES TO COURT

Carlos Bulosan
Carlos Bulosan was the most popular Filipino short story writer in the United States. He
was born in Binalonan, Pangasinan in 1914. He wrote for the Saturday Evening Post and was
included in American anthologies and listed in Who’s Who in America.
Vocabulary List:

enchanting – captivating; delightful

bent double – to curve, to twist the body in midsection or stomach.
grotesque – distorted; misshapen; out of place
seals – fish-eating marine mammal with a sleek body adapted for swimming and living in
cold regions.
morose – gloomy

MY FATHER GOES TO COURT

Carlos Bulosan

When I was four, I lived with my mother and brothers and sisters in a small town on the
Island of Luzon. Father’s farm had been destroyed in 1918 by one of our sudden Philippine
floods, so for several years afterwards we all lived in the town, though he preferred living in the
country. We had as next-door neighbor a very rich man, whose son and daughter seldom come
out of the house. While we boys and girls played and sang in the sun, his children stayed inside
and kept the windows closed. His house was so tall that his children could look in the windows
of our house and watch us as we prayed, or slept, or ate, when there was any food in the house
to eat.
Now, this rich man’s servants were always frying and cooking something good, and the
aroma of the food was wafted down to us from the windows of the big house. We hung about
and took all the wonderful smell of the food into our beings. Sometimes, in the morning, our
whole family stood outside the windows of the rich man’s house and listened to the musical
sizzling of thick strips of bacon or ham. I can remember one afternoon when our neighbor’s
servant roasted three chickens. The chickens were young and tender and the fat that dripped
into the burning coals gave of an enchanting odor. We watched the servants turn the beautiful
birds and inhaled heavenly spirit that drifted out to us.
Some days the rich man appeared at the window and glowered down at us. We were all
healthy because we went out in the sun every day and bathed in the cool water of the river that
flowed from the mountains into the sea. Sometimes we wrestled with one another in the house
before we went out to play. We were always in the best of spirits and out laughter were
contagious. Other neighbors who passed by our house stopped in our yard and joined us in
laughter.
Laughter was our only wealth. Father was a laughing man. He would go into the living
room and stand in front of the tall mirror, stretching his mouth into grotesque shapes with his
fingers and making faces at himself; then he would rush into the kitchen, marring with laughter.
There was always plenty to make us laugh. There was for instance, the day one of my
brothers came home with a small bundle under his arm, pretending that he brought something
good to eat, maybe a leg of lamb or something as extravagant as that, to make our mouths
water. He rush to Mother and threw the bundle into her lap.
We all stood around, watching Mother undo the complicated strings. Suddenly a black cat
leaped out of the bundle and run wildly around the house. Mother chased my brother and beat
him with her little fists, while the rest of us bent double, choking with laughter.
Another time one of my sisters suddenly started screaming in the middle of the night.
Mother reached her first and tried to calm her. My sister cried and groaned. When Father
lighted the lamp, my sister stared at us with shame in her eyes.
“What is it?” Mother asked.
“I’m pregnant!” she cried.
“Don’t be a fool!” Father shouted.
“You are only a child. “Mother said.
 “I’m pregnant, I tell you!” she cried.
Father knelt by my sister. He puts his hand on her belly and rubbed it gently. “How do
you know you are pregnant?” he asked.
“Feel it!” my sister cried.
We put our hands on her belly. There was something moving inside. Mother was
shocked. “Who’s the man?” she said. ”There’s no man,” my sister said. “What is it, then?”
Father said.
Suddenly my sister opened her blouse and a bullfrog ripped out. Mother fainted. Father
dropped the lamp, the oil spilled on the floor, and my sister’s blanket caught fire. One of my
brothers laughed so hard he rolled on the floor.
When the fire was extinguished and Mother was revived, we return to bed and tried to
sleep, but Father kept on laughing so load we could not sleep anymore. Mother got up again
and lights the oil lamp; we rolled up the mats on the floor and began dancing about and
laughing with all our might. We made so much noise that all our neighbors except the rich
family came into the yard and joined us in loud, genuine laughter.
It was like that four years.
As time went on, the rich man’s children became thin and anemic, while we grew even
more robust and full of life. Our faces were bright and rosy, but theirs pale and sad. The rich
man started to cough at night; then he coughed day and night. His wife began coughing, too.
Then the children started to cough, one after other. At night, their coughing sounded like the
barking of a herd of seals. We hung outside their windows and listened to them. We wonder
what had happened. We knew that there are not sick from lack of nourishing food, because
they were still always frying something delicious to eat.
One day the rich man appeared at a window and stood there along time. He looked at
my sisters, who had grown fat with laughing, then at my brothers, whose arms and legs were
like the molave, which is the sturdiest tree in the Philippines. He banged down the window and
ran through his house, shutting all the windows.
From that day on, the window of our neighbor’s house were always closed. The children
did not come outdoors anymore. We would still heard the servants cooking in the kitchen and
no matter hoe tight the window were shut, the aroma of the food came to us in the wind and
drifted gratuitously into our house.
On morning a policeman from the presidencia came to our house with a sealed paper.
The rich man had filed a complaint against us. Father took me with him when he went to the
town clerk and asked him what it was about. He told Father the man claimed that four years we
had been stealing the spirit of his wealth and food.
 When the day came for us to appear in court, Father brushed his old Army uniform and
borrowed a pair of shoes from one of my brother. We were the first to arrive. Father sat on a
chair in the center of the courtroom. Mother occupied a chair by the door. We children sat on
the long bench by the wall. Father keep jumping up from his chair and stabbing the air with his
arms, as though he were defending himself before an imaginary jury.
The rich man arrived. He had grown old and feeble, his face scarred with deep lines.
With him was his younger lawyer. Spectators came in and almost filled the chairs. The judge
entered the room and sat on a high chair. We stood up in a hurry and then sat down again.
After the courtroom preliminaries, the judge looked at Father. “Do you have a lawyer?”
he asked.
“I don’t need any lawyer, judge,” he said.
“Proceed,” said the judge.
The rich man’s lawyer jumped up and pointed his finger at father. “Do you or do you not
agree that you have been stealing the spirit of the complainant’s wealth and food?”
“I do not, “Father said.
“Do you or do you not agree that while the complainant servant cooked and fried fat
legs of lamb or young chicken breasts, you and your family hung outside his windows and
inhaled the heavenly spirit of the food?”
“I agree, “Father said.
“Do you or do you not agree that while the complainant and his children grew sickly and
tubercular you and your family became strong of limb and fair of complexion?
“I agree,” Father said.
“How do you account for that?” Father got up and paced around, scratching his head
thoughtfully. Then he said, “I would like to see the children of the complainant, Judge.”
“Bring in the children of the complainant.”
They came shyly. The spectators covered their mouths with their hands. They amazed to
see the children so thin and pale. The children walked silently to a bench and sat down without
looking up. They stared at the floor and moved their hands uneasily.
Father could not say anything at first. He just stood by his chair and looked at them.
Finally he said,” I should like to cross-examine the complainant.”
Proceed.”
 “Do you claim that we stole the spirit of your wealth and become a laughing family
while yours became morose and sad?” Father asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you claim that we stole the spirit of your food by hanging outside your windows
when your servant cooked it?” Father asked.
“Yes.”
“Then we are going to pay you right now,” Father said.
He walked over to where we children were sitting on the bench and took my straw hat off my
lap and began filling it up with centavo pieces that he took out of his pockets. He went to
Mother, who added a fistful of silver coins. My brothers threw in their small change.
“May I walk the across the hall and stay there for a few minutes, Judge?”
Father asked.
“As you wish.”
“Thank you, “Father said. He strode into the other room with in his hands. It was almost
full of coins. The doors of both rooms were wide open.
“Are you ready?” Father called.
“Proceed,” the Judge said.
The sweet tinkle of the coins carried beautifully into the court room. The spectators
turned their faces toward the sound with wonder. Father came back and stood before the
complaint.
“Did you hear it?” he asked.
“Hear what?” the man asked.
“The spirit of the money when I shook this hat?” he asked
“Yes.”
“Then you are paid,” Father said. The rich man opened his mouth to speak and fell to
the floor without a sound. The judge even came down from his high chair to shake hands with
him. “By the way,” he whispered, “I had an uncle who died laughing.”
“Do you like to hear my family, Judge?” Father asked. “Yes I do”, the judge replied.
“Did you hear that, children?” Father said.
 My sisters started it. The rest of us followed them and soon the spectators were
laughing with us, holding their bellies and bending over the chairs. And the laughter of the
judge was the loudest of all.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. Compare the two families in the story.

2. Cite instances that made the poor family happy and contented.
3. Describe the author’s father. What was the complaint filed against him? How did he
depend himself?
4. Was the judge just enough in his decision? Justify your answer.
Literary Review: Guidelines for Reading

1. Observation for basic understanding.

a. Explain words, situations, and concepts. Write down words which
are new and unclear. Use your dictionary.
b. Ask these questions:
1. Where do the actions take place?
2. What do they show?
3. Who is/are involved?
4. Who is the major figure?
5. Why is he/she the major figure?
6. What are their concerns?
7. What do they do?
8. Who says what to whom?
9. How do the speeches advantage the action and reveal their
characters?
c. Trace development patterns. Make an outline for the main idea.
What conflicts appear? Do these conflicts exist between
people/groups, or ideas? How does the author resolve these? Does
one side/idea emerge as the “winner” Why? How do you feel
towards the winner? The loser?
d. Write messages that are important. Memorize them if you can.
e. Note any questions for further study.

2. Notes on First Impressions

a. In your marginal notation, record you first responses to the work.
What did you think was funny, memorable, noteworthy, or
otherwise striking? Did you laugh, smile, worry, get scared. Feel a
thrill, learn a great deal, feel proud, find a lot to think about?
b. Describe interesting characterizations, events, techniques, and
ideas. Use your own words when writing your explanation.

(Source: Interactive Reading-Responding to and Writing about Philippine Literature by

Ida Yap Patron)

Task/Activity
ACTIVITY 1
The class will be grouped into five and each group must choose one interesting scene
from the story My Father Goes to Court and prepare a role play and present it in class.

ACTIVITY 2

With reference to the selection “My Father Goes to Court” by Carlos Bulosan
give the information being asked in the following questions. Work in pair.

1. Where do the actions take place?

2. What do they show?
3. Who is/are involved?
4. Who is the major figure?
5. Why is he/she the major figure?
6. What are their concerns?
7. What do they do?
8. How do the speeches advantage the action and reveal their characters?
9. What conflicts appear?
10. Do these conflicts exist between people/groups, or ideas?
11. How does the author resolve these?
12. Does one side/idea emerge as the “winner” Why?
13. How do you feel towards the winner? The loser?

TOPIC 3: GRADUATION

Francisco Sionil Jose

Vocabulary List:

doffed – an act of removing one’s hat

– to take off
paunched – a large, round stomach
coops – an enclosure or hut in which poultry is kept
loafers – lazy persons who avoid work and waste time
portentously – very serious and significant.
sieving basket – a meshed utensil; used to separate solid objects from liquids.
raucously – unpleasantly loud and hoarse.

GRADUATION
F. Sionil Jose

I always knew that someday after I finished high school, I’d go to Manila and to college. I
had looked ahead to the grand adventure with eagerness but when it finally came; my leaving
Rosales filled me with a nameless dread and a great, swelling unhappiness that clogged my
chest.
I could not be sure now. Maybe it was a proud, stubborn girl with many fixed ideas and
she even admonished me: “Just because you have so much to give does not mean all the things
you give will be accepted.”
It was until after sometime that I understood what she meant and when I did, I honored
her all the more. She was sixteen, too, lovely like the banana when it’s in bloom.
I did not expect her to be angry with me when I bought her a dress for it wasn’t really
expensive. Besides, as the daughter of one of Father’s tenants, she knew me very well. Better
perhaps than any of the people who live in Carmay, the young folks who always greeted me
politely, doffed their straw hats then, closed-mouthed, went their way.
I always had silver coins in my pockets but that March afternoon, after counting all of
them and the stray pieces, too that I had tucked away in my dresser I knew I needed more.
I approached Father. He was at his working table, writing on a ledger while behind him,
one of the new servants stood erect, swinging a palm leaf fan over Father’s head. I stood beside
Father, watched his shirt down with sweat.
When he finally noticed me, I couldn’t tell him what I wanted. He unbuttoned his shirt
down to his paunch. “Well, what is it?”
“I’m going to take my classmates this afternoon to the restaurant, Father,” I said
 Father turned to the sheaf of papers before him. ”Sure, he said, you can tell Bo King to
take off what you and your friends can eat from his rent this month.”
It was March and the high school graduation was but a matter of days away. “I also need
a little money, Father,” I said. “I have to buy something.”
Father nodded. He groped for his keys in his drawer then he opened the iron money box
beside him and drew out a ten- peso bill. He laid it on the table
“I’m going to buy ….” I tried to explain but with a wave of his hand, he dismissed
me. He went back to his figures.
It was getting late. Sepa, our oldest maid, was getting the chickens to their coops. I
hurried to the main road which was quite deserted now except in the vicinity of the round
cement embankment in front of the municipal building where loafers were taking in the stale
afternoon sun.
The Chinese storekeepers who occupied Father’s building s had lighted their lamps.
From ancient artesian well at the rim of the town plaza, the water carries and servant girls
cackled while they waited for their turn at the pump. Nearby, traveling merchants has
unhitched their bull carts after a whole day of traveling from town to town
and were cooking their supper on board, blackened stones that littered the place. At Chan Hai’s
store there was a boy with a stick of candy in his mouth, a couple of men drinking beer and
smacking their lips portentously, and a woman haggling over a can of sardines.
I went to the huge bales of cloth that slumped in one corner of the store, picked out the
silk, white cloth with glossy printed flowers. I asked Chan Hai, who was perched on a stool
smoking his long pipe, how much he’d ask for the material I had picked for a gown.
Chai Hai peered at me in surprise; “ten pesos, he said.”
With the package, I hurried to Carmay. In the thickening dusk the leaves of the acacias
folded and the solemn; mellow chimes of the Angelus echoed to the flat, naked stretches of the
town. The women who had been sweeping their yards paused; children reluctantly hurried to
their homes for now the town was draped with a dreamy stillness.
Teresita and her father lived by the creek in Carmay. The house was on a sandy lot
which belonged to Father; it was apart from the cluster of huts peculiar to the village. Its roof,
as it was with the other farmer’s home, was thatched and disheveled, its walls were of battered
buri leaves. It was prominently alone near the gulley that had been widened to let bull carts,
and carriages through when the bridge was washed away. Madre de cacao trees abounded in
the vicinity but offered scanty shade. Piles of burnt rubbish rose in little mounds in the yard and
a disrupted line of ornamental San Francisco fringed the graveled path led to the house.
 Teresita was sampling the both of what she was cooking in the chicken. There was
dampness in her brow and redness in her eyes.
“What are you doing here at this hour?” she confronted me. In the glow of the cracking
stove fire, she looked genuinely surprised.
I laid my package on the wooden table cluttered with tin plates and vegetables.
“It’s for you.” I said, my face burned like kindling wood.
“I hope you like it.”
Her eyes still on me, she opened the package. When she saw what it was, she gave a
tiny, muffled cry. She shook her head, wrapped it back then gave me it to me. “I can’t.” she said
softly. “It does not seem right for me to accept it.”
“But you need it and I’m giving it to you, “I said firmly, the burning in my face eased at
last. “Is there anything wrong in giving one a gift?”
And that was when she said,” There are things you just can’t give away such as you are
doing now…”
I think it all started that evening when we were in the third year and Teresita recited a
poem. It was during the graduation exercise and she was the only junior in the
program. I can’t remember distinctly what the piece was about except that it was something
that tugged at my heart. She spoken of faith and love and as she did, clamminess gripped me,
smothered mw with a feeling I never felt before. I recall her edged resonant voice cleaving the
hushed evening I was silently one with her.
We didn’t go home immediately after the program for a dance in honor of the graduates
followed. Miss Santillan, who was in charge of the refreshments, asked me to
wait for her so she would have company when she’d go home. Teresita helped serve the
refreshments as usual. I sat on the one of the school benches after I got tired watching the
dancers file in and out, giggling. When most of them had eaten, Teresita asked permission from
Miss Santillan to leave.
“My father, Ma’am,” she said. ‘He doesn’t want me to stay out very late because of my
cough. Besides, I have worked to do early tomorrow.”
“Going home alone?” Miss Santillan asked.
“I’m not afraid,” she said resolutely.
 I stood up, strode past the table laden with an assortment trays and glasses. From the
window, I saw the moon dangling over the sprawling school building like a huge sieving basket
and the world was us, pulsating and young.
“I’ll walk with you. I said.
She protested at first but Miss Santillan said it was best I went along with her. After Miss
Santillan had wrapped up some cakes for her, we descended the stone steps. The evening was
clean and cool like a newly washed sheet. It engulfed us and we didn’t speak for some time.
“I live very far,” she reminded me later. She drew a shabby shawl over her thin, wasted
shoulders.
“I know,” I told her, “I’ve been there.”
“You’ll be very tired.’’
“I’ve walked longer distances. I can take Carmay in a run.” I tried to impress her.
“I’m very sure of that.” she said.” You are strong. Once, I was washing in the river and
you outraced the others.”
‘I didn’t see you,” I said.
“Of course,” she said bitingly, “You never notice the children of your tenants, except
those who serve in your house.”
Her remark stunned me and I couldn’t speak at once. “That is not true, “I said meekly. “I
go to Carmay often.”
She must have realized that she had hurt me for when she spoke again, she sounded
genuinely sorry. ”That was not what I meant, “she said. “And I didn’t say that to spite you.”
Again, silence.
The moon drifted out of the clouds and lighted up the dusty mud. It glimmered on the
parched fields and on the Burt palms that stood like hooded sentinels. Most of the houses we
passed had long blown out their kerosene lamps. Once in a while, a dog stirred in its bed of dust
and growled at us.
“You won’t be afraid going home alone?” she made light after a while.
“There is a giant ‘Capri’ nears the bridge which comes out when the moon is full,” I said, “I’d
like to see it. I’ve never seen a ghost.”
”When I die,” she laughed, “I’ll appear before you.”
“You’ll be a good ghost and I won’t be afraid,” I said.
On we trudged. We talked more about ourselves, about to where the row of homes receded
and finally reached her house near the river that murmured as it cut a course over reeds and
shallows.
When we went up the house, her father was already asleep, In fact, he was snoring
heavily. At the door, she bade me goodnight and thanked me. Then slowly, she closed the
door behind her.
So the eventful year passed, the rains fell, the field become green and the bananas in
yard blossomed. The land became soggy and the winds lashed at Rosales severely, bowling over
score of flimsy huts that stood on lean bamboo stilts. Our house didn’t budge in the mightiest
typhoon: with us, nothing changed. The harvest with its usual bustle passed, the tenants –
among who was Teresita’s father – filled our spacious storehouse with their crops. The drab,
dry season with its choking dust settled oppressively and when March came, it was time for
Teresita and me to graduate.
Throughout a whole, hot afternoon we rehearsed our part for the graduation program.
We would march to the platform to take our high school diplomas. When the sham was over,
Teresita and I rested on the steps of the crude school stage.
She nudged at me: “I will not attend the graduation exercises. I can say I had a fever or
my cough got worse – which is the truth anyway.”
“Why?”
“No one would miss me in the march if I don’t come.
“You are foolish,” I said.
“I can’t have my picture, too, I suppose.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I can’t come. I just can’t she repeated with finally.
She didn’t have to say anything more. I understood, and that afternoon I asked money
from Father to buy a graduation dress for Teresita.
And that same week, Father ordered Teresita’s father, who farmed a lot in the delta in
Carmay, to vacate the place as Father had sold it. Teresita’s father had to settle in the hills of
Balungao where there were small, vacant parcels, arable patches in the otherwise rocky
mountainside. There, he might literally scratch the earth to eke out a living.
April, and a hot glaring sun filtered rudely through the dusty glass shutters and formed a
dazzling piddle on the floor where Father lounged. The dogs that lolled in the shade of the
acacia trees struck out their tongues and panted.
 The smudges of grass in the plaza were a stubbly brown; the sky was cloudless and
azure. From the kitchen window, Sepa, the maid, asked me to come up the house. Father, she
said, had something important to tell me.
He was at the balcony reading and fanning himself languidly. The question he asked
stunned me. “When do you want to leave for the city?”
For sometime I couldn’t speak; the summer vacation has just started and the college
opening was two months away.
“It all depends upon you, Father.”
“You’ll leave tomorrow then,” he decided abruptly.
“But, Father,” I object,” June is still weeks away. College doesn’t start till then.”
“I know,” Father said. “But I want you to get well acquainted with your cousins there.
You don’t know much of each other.
In the street, the heat waves rose up like little angry snakes, all swallowed up by the
dust that fluffed high when a passenger jeep lumbered along.
Father’s arid voice: “You will grow older. “He hammered this notion into me. “You will
grow older and realized how important this thing that I’m doing is. You will leave here many
faces. You will outgrow boyish whims. In the city, you’ll meet new friends.”
I did not speak.
“The time will come when you will return to me-a man,”
“Yes father.” I said as he, having spoken, went on with his reading.
The dark came quickly the sun sank behind the coconut grooves of Tomana and
disappeared below the jagged horizon. Before the twilight thickened, I left the house and
journey into a world where the houses were decrepit, where the urchins were clad most of the
time in unkempt rags and when a stranger would stumble in their midst, they’d gape at him
with awe. Beyond the squat cluster of homes came the barking of dogs lying in the dust.
I went up the ladder that squeaked and when Teresita’s father recognized me in the
light of the flickering kerosene lamp hanging from a rafter, a shadow of a scowl crept into his
leathery face. When I said, “Good evening,” He retained his sour mien. He returned my
greeting, and then he walked out and left us alone.
“I’m leaving,” I began. Teresita wiped the soap suds from her hands. She has just
finished the dishes. ‘I’ll go to the city tomorrow – to study, Father is sending me there.”
She said nothing; she just looked at me. She walked to the half-opened window that
bared the benighted banks of the river and the clack fields.
 “We’d soon leave, too.” She murmured, holding the window sill. “Your father sold this
place, you know.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“Yes, there are many things.” I said.
“Won’t you go to school anymore? “I asked. She was silent again and I didn’t prod her
for an answer.
‘What course are you going to take?” she asked after a while.
“I’m not very sure,” I said. ‘But maybe, I’ll follow the advice you gave me.”
“Please do,” she said. “Please be a doctor.” With conviction: “You can do much if you
are one and you are so good.”
I didn’t know what else to say.
“Don’t write to me when you are there,” she said.
“But I will,”
“It will do no good,” she said insisted. ‘Besides, it will not be necessary. Thank you very
much for coming to see me.”
“I have to, “I said.
She followed me to the door. The floor creaked under my weight. She called my name
as I stepped down the first ring and I turned momentarily to catch one last glimpse of her young
fragile face and on it, the smile, half born, half free.
‘Please don’t write,” she reiterated, wiping the soap suds on her hands with a piece of
rag. “It’s useless, you know.”
“But I will,” I said, and in my heart, I cried. “I will”
“I’d be much happier and so would Father if you didn’t.” she pressed on.
“And besides, I wouldn’t be able to answer your letters. Stamps cost….”
‘I’ll send you…” I checked myself quickly.
The smile on her face grew wan but, anyway she went down the flight and walked with
me as far as the gate.
The children who played raucously nearby stopped and ogled at us. And in the other
houses, though it was very dark. I knew the farmers and their wives watched me leave, knowing
how it was going to be with us, how I would leave Teresita and thus make Father happy, how, I
will forget everything: the orchids I gave her that now adorned her window and which, I am
sure, would someday wither, the books I lent her which she rapaciously read, the neat eager
laughter that welled from the depths of her. I would forget, too, how we hummed to the music
of the tow’s brass band and walked one sultry night from the high school to Carmay.
The night was vast and deep and the starts were hidden by clouds. In the darkness, I
couldn’t see the bananas along the path, and the bright purple of their blooms.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. What are the phrases sentences which show that the story happened long time ago?
2. To what object did the narrator compare his beloved Teresita? Was the comparison
fitting?
3. Point out the social distance in which separates the two characters.
4. What was his gift? Why did Teresita refuse to accept it?
5. If you were the main character, who would you please, Teresita or your father? Why?
6. How did the story end? Give further explanation of the last paragraph.

Literary Review: Annotating a Text

If you own your book, mark it up by highlighting, underlining or making

marginal notes about what pleases you, what interests you, what pleases you or bores
you. Think of your possible responses, asking yourself as you reread the prose.
One kind of annotation is a question mark in the margin, jotted down in order
to indicate uncertainty about the meaning of the word. You should have a dictionary
on hand to help you know the precise meanings and implications of the writer’s words
in order to feel and appreciate the effect he or she is trying to create.The more you
become aware of how richly meaningful words can be in a literary text, the more
sensitive you will be about the words you use in your prose.
(Source: Interactive Reading-Responding to and Writing about Philippine Literature by
Ida Yap Patron)

ACTIVITY 3
Write the essence of Graduation in the life of a parent or a student.
____________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________