The Vens

Bohol

October 18, 2008
Bohol Island, Philippines

I was in Bohol for only five hours. If I knew it was that short a trip, I could have spent more time with Hans last night instead of spending two hours packing for things I didn't even use.

It was a hot and annoyingly humid day. I started sweating once I stepped out of the plane. My wristband came in handy to conceal my pearls and to dry my sweaty face.

When we were waiting for our bags to come out of the conveyor belt at Tagbilaran Airport, an old man approached me. He was neatly dressed in a beige linen shirt and white oversized pants.

"Ikaw ag igsoon nga baje ni Melissa? Anak ni Linda og Jaime?" the old man said.

"I'm sorry. I don't have a sister." I politely replied in Bol-anon dialect.

I was startled at what I said. The old man asked me if I was the sister of Melissa, the daughter of Linda and Jaime. When did I learn to speak in Bol Anon? How did I understand what the old man said? How did I know the dialect is called Bol Anon?

"Miranda. That is your name. Your mother's name is Linda. Your father's name is Jaime. I will never forget your face. You're the one who broke my grandson's heart," the old man said.

What? I stared at the old man. He looked normal. He was well-dressed, clean and wrinkly but the healthy-looking kind of an old man. I wouldn't categorize him as someone who has dementia but he was crazy to think I was this Miranda heart breaker.

"My name is Betinna. My mother is over there," I said pointing to where Mama was.

Again I spoke in Bol Anon. How the hell did I learn it? When? I was shaking my head wondering how I know the words?

The old man was shaking his head in disbelief.

"I never forget a face. I never forget a name. Miranda. That is your name," the old man said.

"I'm sorry. I am not Miranda," I said again in Bol-anon.

That was strange. I was strange. I could speak Filipino, English and Korean. I self-studied a bit of Japanese and Spanish but never Bol Anon. I haven't spoken it until today.

"Sorry. You are mistaken. I am not Miranda," I said and walked away.

A headache was building up as I walked towards Mama. I sweated more and started to feel dizzy.

I couldn't believe I understand Bol Anon. How could I understand the dialect I don't remember learning? How could I speak it when I have no recollection of having spoken it before?

I couldn't stop sweating.  My face and arms felt sticky. I wiped my sweat with the back of my hand and swayed my hips with impatience. Where were our bags?

"I will be at the ladies room," I informed Mama.

I splashed water on my face and wet my neck. It was a humid cloudy morning. I was sure the heat caused my headache.

I stared at my reflection on the small mirror atop the sink. I looked awful.

I grew up speaking three languages. Mama spoke to me in English. Papa spoke to me in Korean. Grandmammy spoke to me in Filipino. I had a Japanese friend when I lived in Korea and she taught me a bit of Japanese. I didn't know anyone from Bohol. I had no recollection of even hearing any word in Bol Anon and yet I could speak it.

I splashed more water on my face. I was tying my long wavy hair up when a girl came out of the toilet cubicle. She was delightedly surprised when she saw my reflection on the mirror.