Chapter XI: Artes The early morning sun pours through the windows, casting warm rays onto the tiled floor of the old yet charming ancestral home. The air is alive with the distant hum of preparations in the neighborhood. Vigan's much-anticipated Binatbatan Festival iss approaching, and the town seems to be buzzing with anticipation. In the kitchen, Christine flips the pancakes while Benigno brews coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed barako fills the room, blending with the sweet scent of caramelizing syrup."Magising na kaya si Isko?" Benigno asks, pouring the coffee into three ceramic mugs."Mamaya na natin siya tawagin," Christine replies, carefully plating the pancakes."Bigyan natin siya ng oras, baka... busy." She chuckles, shaking her head."Alam mo naman 'yang bata na 'yan, laging may kinukutingting." After setting the table, Christine calls out,"Isko! Kakain na!" Silence greets her. She calls again, louder this time. Still no response. Christine glanced at Benigno, her brow furrows."Tignan mo nga, baka natutulog pa.""Sige, samahan kita," Benigno said, setting down his coffee and following her upstairs. The house creaks under their steps, a testament to its storied history. Christine gently knocks on Isko's door."Isko? Andyan ka ba?" When no answer came, she turns the knob and slowly opened the door. What she see, stops her in her tracks. Isko sits cross-legged on the floor, hunched over an illustration board. Spread around him were small bags of seeds—mung beans, sesame, sunflower, and others—along with a glue gun and tiny bowls of adhesive. His fingers move meticulously, placing each seed with precision. The image forming on the board is nothing short of breathtaking."Wow," Christine whispers, stepping inside."Isko, ano 'yan?" Isko looked up, startled, then relaxed when he saw her face."Ah, Ma'am. Sorry, di ko narinig tawag n'yo. May ginagawa kasi ako.""Ano itong ginagawa mo?" she asks, crouching to get a closer look. The picture on the board is intricate: a night sky speckled with stars, a serene lagoon rippling with soft waves, and a silhouette of a family—a mother, father, and child—holding hands. Below this serene scene iss a stark contrast: the figure of a teenager with streaks of red across his body, as though marked by invisible wounds."Para sa festival," Isko explains, carefully placing another seed onto the board."Gusto kong gumawa ng art na may koneksyon sa alaala ko noon." Christine's eyes soften as she studies the artwork."Alaala? 'Yung nasa taas, parang ang saya... pero bakit parang malungkot naman 'yung nasa baba?" Isko pauses, as though deliberating how much to share."It's a rendition of a memory," he finally says."Yung nasa taas, it represents hope and family. Pero 'yung nasa baba... it's about pain and sacrifice. Kasi minsan, di ba, ganun naman talaga ang buhay? Masaya, pero may lungkot din." Christine's breath hitches. The composition reminds her of Regie's paintings back in Manila, masterpieces that had recently been sold."Ang galing mo, Isko," she said softly. "Alam mo, itong ginagawa mo? Parang 'yung mga gawa ni Regie. Iyong ganitong klase ng art, may puso. May kwento." Isko's lips curves into a small smile."Salamat, Ma'am." Benigno, who had been standing by the door, finally steps in."Parang Starry Night ni Van Gogh itong itaas. Pero may sarili kang twist," He observes, his voice filled with genuine admiration."Saan mo natutunan 'to?" Isko shrugs."Nasa isip ko lang. Gusto ko lang i-express 'yung nasa loob ko." Christine sits beside Isko, her hand gently resting on his shoulder."Ang talento mo, Isko. Napakaganda nito. Alam mo, may kakaibang kuwento ang gawa mo. Kapag nakita 'to sa festival, siguradong mapapansin." Isko's face brightens at the encouragement, but a flicker of uncertainty crosses his features."Ma'am, sa tingin mo ba... maiintindihan nila?""Oo naman," Christine said with conviction."At kung hindi nila maintindihan, ipapaliwanag natin. Kasi ang tunay na sining, hindi laging madaling intindihin. Pero laging mararamdaman." After a few more moments of admiration, Christine stands up and clap her hands."Ngayon, bumaba na tayo. Pinaghirapan namin ni Ben ang almusal, at hindi ka pwedeng hindi kumain!" Isko chuckles and nods, carefully setting aside his artwork. The three of them head downstairs, the aroma of pancakes and coffee waiting to greet them. Over breakfast, they discuss the upcoming festival, their voices alive with excitement. Christine couldn't help but bring the conversation back to Isko's artwork."Kung ilalaban mo 'yan sa Binatbatan Festival, sigurado akong maraming hahanga," she says, cutting into her pancake."Basta gagawin ko lang po ang best ko," Isko replies, his eyes sparkling with determination."At iyan ang mahalaga," Benigno added, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast."Sa sining, sa buhay, at sa lahat ng bagay." The room filled with laughter, the kind that lingers long after the sound have fade, weaving itself into the tapestry of memories they are creating together. The morning sun rises over Vigan, casting its golden light on the historic streets. Christine, Benigno, and Isko prepare themselves for the Tres de Mayo Eucharistic Celebration at Simbaan A Bassit. Isko carefully carries a small basket of white flowers, while the couple marvels at the colorful streamers adorning the ramadas, the arches along the streets. As they approach the church, Benigno glances at the bustling crowd."Ang daming tao," he mutters, looking around."Bakit kaya ganito kahalaga itong araw na 'to?" Christine nods, curiosity evident on her face."Oo nga, Isko. Anong kwento nito?" Isko smiles, always ready to share."Noong 1756 at 1882, tinamaan ng matinding epidemya at tagtuyot ang Vigan," he begins."Dinala nila ang Miraculous Image ng Sto. Cristo Milagroso de Sinait dito, at biglang gumaling ang mga tao. Tumigil ang epidemya, bumalik ang ulan. Kaya ginawa nilang tradisyon na ipagdiwang ang Tres de Mayo bilang pasasalamat." Christine's eyes widen."Grabe pala 'yung nangyari noon. Kaya pala sobrang solemn nitong event.""Oo," Isko confirms."Yung mga prutas sa stage? Alay 'yan sa Sto. Cristo bilang pasasalamat. Mamaya, may prusisyon din. Dadaan ang imahen sa mga ramadas para sa pagpapasalamat." The Eucharistic Celebration begins with reverence. Hymns echo through the air as the choir sings, and the aroma of fresh flowers fills the grounds. Christine and Benigno watch in awe as the priests and servers perform the rites, their movements deliberate and solemn. After the mass, the trio wanders around the church grounds. Vendors sell candles and rosaries, while families take pictures near the ramadas. By afternoon, they join the grand procession. As the image of Sto. Cristo is carried beneath the ramadas, Isko points out the intricate decorations made of bamboo, flowers, and fruits. The couple gazes in admiration, soaking in the sacred atmosphere."Parang may iba talaga dito," Benigno remarks."Iba 'yung bigat ng pakiramdam. Pero hindi masama, ha." Christine nods."Tama ka. Parang ang lapit mo sa Diyos kapag nararamdaman mo 'to." As they turn a corner, a familiar figure greets them."Isko!" calls Fr. Crisostomo, the parish priest."Kumusta na kayo?""Okay naman po, Father," Christine replies, smiling."Ang ganda po ng celebration." The priest smiles warmly."Masaya ako't nasa mabuting kamay na si Isko. Kitang-kita ko na nagiging masaya siya kasama kayo." On May 4, the Binatbatan Street Dancing competition brings life to the streets. Early in the morning, the trio gathers for breakfast at the table. The savory aroma of Vigan longganisa fills the air. Christine, curious as ever, asks,"Isko, ano naman ang Binatbatan?" Isko explains as he takes a bite."Ang binatbatan ay 'yung pagtanggal ng buto ng bulak para sa Abel Iloko. Dito nanggaling ang street dancing na nagpapakita ng kultura natin sa paghabi. Ang mga galaw sa sayaw, parang kwento ng buhay sa industriya ng paghabi." Benigno nods, impressed."Galing ah. Kaya pala ang daming tela dito na sobrang intricate." The afternoon is alive with music and color. Dancers in Abel Iloko-inspired costumes move gracefully to the beat of traditional gongs and drums. The streets are packed with spectators, cheering for their favorite groups. Christine watches in awe."Ang ganda ng choreography nila, no? Parang bawat galaw may ibig sabihin.""Ganun talaga," Isko says, his eyes gleaming with pride."Hindi lang ito sayaw. Kwento 'to ng kultura natin." The next day, the trio heads to Plaza Burgos to register Isko's Buklan Art for the festival competition. Christine carefully carries the wrapped artwork, while Benigno fills out the paperwork."Sa tingin mo, mananalo kaya?" Christine asks, glancing at Isko."Panalo na 'yan sa mata ko," Benigno replies confidently. Isko, though shy, smiles."Salamat po." At the awarding ceremony, the crowd erupts into applause as Isko's name is called for first place. Christine hugs him tightly, her voice brimming with pride."Ang galing mo, Isko! Talagang may talento ka!" Benigno pats him on the back."Tuloy-tuloy lang, Isko. Malayo mararating mo." Isko, overwhelmed with emotion, can only nod. For the first time, he feels truly celebrated—not just for his talent, but for who he is.
