Old Catarman Church


At the Ruins, I meet Jimboy, a part time tour guide. I wonder about his ethnicity, his skin sunburned but still fair, his eyes hazel brown.

He tells me his father was pure Chinese. His mother a native from Camiguin. He knows of these details only through pictures. He has never really seen them, not really.

His father, he says, died when he was very little . His OFW mother, he saw once, vaguely.

“Makahindumdum ra man kaha ka nila?”, I ask him.

“Usahay.”, Sometimes, he answers.

I ask him how usahay is usahay. He shrugs and runs off.


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