And there's my
photograph there wearing a long floral dress and pulling the tail feathers of a fighting cock! I believe that photo was taken during the time when we were still living in the Jordana Compound in Naga City, the same compound that's the setting of the very first scene in
"At Merienda."This is so exciting! I've always enjoyed browsing Nostalgia Manila. It's a blog about all things from the seventies and eighties, which includes bell-bottoms, large collars, teased and hairsprayed hair, old Nintendo games, Voltes V, the Bagets, box-type Nissan sedans, That's Entertainment, Vilma Santos in her twenties, Metro Manila streets before the fly-overs, and so much more. It's the home of vintage Manila, and the photos are fantastic! This is the Manila of the legendary films "Manila by Night" and "Maynila Sa Mga Kuko Ng Liwanag," the Manila of a country on the brink of collapse, but not yet quite, giving everything the texture and color of a grainy, uncertain dusk. This is the Manila we will never behold again.
Indeed, Manila has come a long way. We are given a chance to relive that past, collectively, and online, through
Nostalgia Manila. And I'm their featured
Nostalgia Bloggista for the day!
Being a true child of the seventies -- and alternately an old fogey, a groovy mommy, and, well, a girl whose head is always somewhere in another decade -- I can still remember Hotdog, Mike Hanopol, Flordeluna, and Guy and Pip. And since my nickname is Annie, sometimes I've been called "Annie Batumbakal," although in true old-family fashion, I did ballet instead of disco when I was seven.
In the Nostalgia Manila feature I talked about Caraycayon, because I've lived there the longest, and had the most memories. But from the Jordana era I remember the strangest, most disconnected things, perhaps because I was very young. I remember having rabbits underneath the house. I remember a pair of elderly male helpers who I used to think were twins because one had a large bump on his forehead (we called him Pato) and the other one had the exact same bump, but over his clavicle (we called him Tilyo). I remember the maids throwing white sheets over their heads and pretending to be ghosts. I remember a young aunt with very long curly hair and who we thought was the monster called "Arka." I remember the women, the mahjong, the plates and the matching cutlery, my little cousins, the mornings with our mothers, and afternoons of trotting behind our fathers as they took walks around the compound checking on the roosters after
siesta.
But I have forgotten a great deal, too. Mama Eden says we have lived there two years and all I could remember were certain days. I don't remember who my yaya was. I don't remember if there were parties there or crying or telephones. I don't remember the color of the sofa or the bedsheets or the bathroom tiles. I don't remember which great aunts and great uncles I saw there, and I don't remember what I dreamed of at night.
Oh, the things we remember, the things we forget. But between remembering and forgetting, there's always
Nostalgia Manila.
