It’s a beautiful Sunday morning and you wake up to the sweet sounds of the Maya birds fluttering just outside your bedroom window. You give yourself a good stretch, reach for the curtains and push them aside so that the morning breeze fills the room with its soothing touch. You can already hear the laughter of children pulling their yayas (nannies) as they make their way to the park, and you yourself remember that you ought to be going someplace as well. You are now at the breakfast table with your siblings, passing around the freshly toasted pan de sal (a kind of bread), and after a few bites, the man of the house arrives. He has had a good game of golf with the guys and is ready to join his family. Mother is all dressed and fully made up as she places the last tray of oatmeal cookies on to the table. It is almost 10:30am, and all of you decide to tidy up and make your way out the door and into the car. Your family gathers with the rest of the community and together celebrates the Holy Eucharist in the church. After mass, you head for lunch at the club and spend the rest of the day together laying on mats in the middle of the park, just a few streets away from your home. As you lay there, you look around and admire how the light touches each of their faces, and how it gives a warm glow to everything else in sight. You can’t help but feel so thankful and blessed, and you say to yourself, “I am home.”
Looking at the gates of Ayala Alabang from the outside gives you a tingling sensation, and you just know that to be inside is such a thrill. As you enter, a burst of nature spreads out like a thick blanket and from the looks of the long road ahead, there is more to see. The windows of your car roll down and you feel the brush of wind sweep your face as you inhale the fresh air. There is a row of houses lined up beside one another and as you pass each of them, you simply can’t help but wish you owned them all. The sound of a tiny engine approaches the side of your vehicle and you see a cream-colored golf cart on your right. A middle-aged man is driving with his young boy on his side and the two are wearing matching shades while bringing with them their golf bags at the backseats. They turn into the entrance of what the golden label says, “Ayala Alabang Country Club.” Your car goes straight ahead at 20kph and to the right there is a school populated by young girls in white blouses and checkered skirts; you continue to make your way through the wide roads. On the sidewalk, a couple married for over 25 years is briskly walking with their two golden retrievers, and further down a group of Korean children dressed up in basketball gear are gathered with their basketballs. A variety of trees continue to occupy the spaces in between the succession of houses, and the smell of fresh air lingers on as you go by your day. A flock of birds flies across the windshield, and makes their way back up to their nests in the trees. You even come across several decorated electricity boxes and colorful fire hydrants in almost every other sidewalk. You look around and notice how everything is clean and well-maintained. The empty lots with grass are freshly trimmed, the streets are clear of leaves, and the front yards are free of scattered garbage. It also seems like the road you’re on never seems to end, and this doesn’t bother you at all.
The street curves into an area with Filipino houses, and your eye catches the sight of some sort of castle with statues coming closer. The first stop is the cathedral-like building called The Saint James the Great Church, with its majestic gray walls and colored stained glass windows. You stare in awe as you take a step inside and see the magnificent golden altar at the far end. A few friendly faces greet you and soon you’re back on the road. You find the need to have a snack, so you drive up to Rustan’s supermarket. You notice that the store is located in between a playground and a basketball court. A security guard greets you as he opens the door for you. Inside, there is a bubbly worker waiting to be asked for any assistance, a chubby 6-year-old whining to her yaya about wanting candy, and a bunch of sweaty boys heading for the Gatorade fridge. On the second floor you bump into a family friend who is buying a pack of tissue rolls because he had just run out. You think to yourself how funny it is that everywhere you go, you bump into someone familiar. It is a nice feeling that tends to happen often.
The road is about to end now and you park just in front of a brown gate and next to a blue and salmon colored mailbox. Stepping out of the car, you take a deep breath and look around. It is quiet and kind to the ears as you watch the trees sway ever so gracefully with the wind. The sky is a soft blue as a few birds soar across it. Finally, your eyes are set on a house that you seem to recognize. It has white walls, a maroon roof, a Mediterranean looking door and a small lawn in the front. You have never seen a more comforting sight, and your neighbors who also have just arrived possess faces of relief as well. The house reads: Home sweet home. A security guard on his motorbike drives passed you and gives a friendly smile and continues on to the other streets. You are safe and satisfied inside the walls of Ayala Alabang village.
It is an escape from the hustle and bustle of the world outside, isolating you from the pollution the contrary gives. In a plate of delicious goodies, it is like the only cookie that no ant dares to go near to. When you enter its gates, you are greeted by a vast row of acacias leading to the heart of a community who knows nothing but bliss coupled with serenity. The wind envelopes you in a familiar warmth only love can make you feel, and suddenly you stop and realize that you are where you are supposed to be. You are standing amidst a place where you belong and without a doubt, you are home.
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Christina D. Ramos
In the Photo: House inside the village, St. James the Great Church
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