This Ilonggot female prepares to eat her meal. Notice the metal bangles that to her were inherited from her folks. (Photo by MARIA CONGEE S. GOMEZ)

The heartland of the Sierra Madre Mountains will always bring fond memories of how I spent my past Christmases. During that awful stage of youthful aggression, assertion, and wanting to discover life’s various situations, nothing seemed so impossible.

I was fortunate to have met the Ilonggot cultural group of the Sierra Madre location in my volunteering heydays. There are not too many literatures about them. Such paucity, I suppose, isolated them from lowlanders and the immediate attention of the local government. For the longest time that I have been there, remote was so exact a description as I would not have any report on the conditions in the heartland.

But once I got there, I thrived in the remote situation that challenged my ways and etched a lifelong result in the long run, a sanctum I could turn to during upheavals.

Christmas memories have something to do with this. Spending it with the Ilonggot head-hunters made it all the more a generation of spirit.  These are Christmases that tell something about my interaction with the Ilonggots – the countless struggles to assimilate their ways, the piercing truth about loneliness, and the subsequent reality to turn to humility in order for me to cope with the changes.

The names remain clear in mind: Rudy Kaanawan, who turned out to be a kumpadre by virtue of my being the godmother of his daughter, Solita; Tanita; Pasiguian; Lindeb; my able guide and, who I heard developed a feeling for me, Bagsikal Lamet; and Solgid, whose inclusion in my list I have now forgotten.

While some may opt to spend the holidays in a quiet place or choose to simmer down in the cool breeze, I should say either way is significant.

But mine were Christmases of full intent to discover life. It is about the essence of living, personhood, and my whole being. The memories of Ilonggot villages sporadically distributed near waterways are part of my Christmas experience. There were Ilonggot huts and fireplaces I have built myself and where I kept my cold bruised feet warm and snug.

The Ilonggot females, however, were in sharp contrast to the hospitality of their counterparts.  They stayed aloof until my last days but were always delighted at the bag of assorted sweets and chocolate bars I offered them.

Then, I would engage the children in light banter, horsing around. and wailing akin to a hooligan.

To me, this sheer excitement of pure heart is all about Christmas. The myriad stories of wondrous ancestral times never bored me. The lively exchange of lines in wagging tongues understood only by them unravelled such a fascinating stretch of history of conversion,  Christianity, and the gory accounts of their headhunting practices.

Ask what Christmas and New Year mean to Ilonggots, and the answers would only range from plain to simple, talking of simple thoughts, and jocular spirits without the trace of a bitter mood culled from the past.

The once-feared head-hunters make the most of what they have. At dusk, deep in prayers they wish for peace, strength to finish their tasks and guidance from heaven.

Frankly speaking, the long and tortuous journey to the Ilonggot heartland did not end where the last details of my contact had ceased, or where I stood and precisely said my “goodbye.” My youthful agility enabled me to come back during the holiday season to sort out the cobwebs of my soul. Naturally, there would be misunderstandings. I would write back and tell home exactly how I have far thus learned the facts of life, of living and loving and keeping faith alive.

My vision of a Christmas was not far behind in the hinterlands where I longed to be, free from the eccentric citified ways. I have frankly lost count of the times I have been there but have kept some of the names in a journal now as rusty as a colored brown paper. Glee was etched on my face as I wrote this piece and something worth falling back on when emotions go haywire. 

This is more than saying, “I have spent a unique Christmas.” But how this enriched my life truly measures the worth of this experience.