Mang Duliong

I was walking home today and I passed a construction site. The smell of sawdust brought back a fond memory. A memory of a man who used to come and work for us every summer during my childhood. His name was Duliong. Everyone called him 'Mang Duliong'. Back home, 'Mang' is a title of respect used with the first name of a man.

Mang Duliong was a carpenter, but I came to think of him as our carpenter. He would periodically come to our house, mostly during the summer, looking for work. He was old, thin, toothless and bent but he always had a ready smile. He wore a shirt that looked like it needed washing and a pair of pants that had seen better days, with a rope as a belt. His worn feet were adorned by equally worn slippers. My mom would always welcome him and find things for him to fix or make when he came to visit. He would stay for several days to a couple of months, depending on how long the work took. As kids, we were used to having guests and unexpected visitors, but Mang Duliong we always welcomed with delight. We loved to watch him repair and make things. During our breaks from playing, we hung around the garage and prodded him with questions endlessly. He was not very talkative but tried to gently field every one of them.

He made my first bed. It was white, with a high headboard, footboard and fancy railings on half of each side. He built our fence and our gates. He even rebuilt our garage. When I got tired of my 'little girl' bed, he made me and my brother matching headboards that had neat compartments and drawers. Yes, he was old but years of hard labor had kept him strong. At nights, he would relax by buying himself 'Shoktong'. I never saw anyone else drink that but apparently it was Chinese wine. He would sing, "Happy, happy all the time, drinking Chinese wine..." And we would always laugh and sing along with him. He had become a sort of a fixture during our summers. Mom would offer him used clothes that were in great condition. My Mom fondly chuckled when he refused a pair of flare pants because it was demodé! The 'in' thing then were the tapered legs cut. The man was fashion conscious! When his work was done, he would pack up. We were always sorry to see him leave. But he would always pick up his tools and move on, like a nomad, until the following year brought him back to us again.

Only years after did I find out that during his younger days, Mang Duliong used to work for my grandfather in his sugar plantation in Bacolod. He and his wife, Pining, were workers who lived in the farm so he practically saw my Mom grow up. Because of his carpentry skills, he and his family were transferred to Manila when my grandfather bought a property for my Mom after she got married. His daughter, Teresita, even became the nanny of one of my brothers. From then on, even when he was no longer under my grandfather's employ, he managed to find my Mom wherever she lived, and would show up at her doorsteps looking for seasonal work. That's how the whole routine stayed for years, so he saw me and my brothers grow up too. He seemed to consider us his family.

One year, he failed to come. And the next, and after that. We could not ask after him as we did not have a telephone number. Where he lived, there were no phones. I doubt they had proper addresses either where he came from, probably just unpaved roads and landmarks like trees and hills to refer to the direction of a person's dwelling. We longed to know how he was and what his circumstances were. We made up reasons for his absence, but deep inside we knew the inevitable had happened. He was, after all, a very old man.

I still think of him through the years. I wonder about him, how he spent his last days and how he died. I regret not getting to know him more. I regret not asking him about my Mom's childhood and adolescence. I regret not asking more about his family. I regret not knowing where he lived so we could have gone looking for him when he did not show up. I regret not being able to thank him for everything that he did for us and for being that strong and quiet presence in our lives, even as he caused a ruckus with his hammer and saw. I never had a photo, but I will never forget his face. I haven't heard his voice in decades, but I will never forget him singing that happy song. Salamat, Mang Duliong! Thank you for enriching my life!