Aswang in the City

My mother from Bacolod visited me and my family here in Cavite weeks ago.  It was a great to time to get in touched with a family member you love so much.  It was only last year that I had a two-week vacation in the province but that seems like decades already and you are already longing to go back to where you came from and breathe some fresh air free from lead and dust and foul smell.

Since I was so busy this summer, my mom was the one who visited me instead.

One great moment with my mom is her sharing of stories ala-Lola Basyang on the whereabouts of people and relatives in the province to keep me updated:  like my father who had beaten up a very bad young boy; my sister who had to break up with her first boyfriend lest I know it and stop sending her allowance; my brother who is planning to go to Iloilo to pursue his luck on making nude paintings and sculptures; and my uncles who are still with their old ways of spending the afternoons drowning themselves with “tuba” side-by-side grilled catfish and roasted grasshoppers.

But one story that my mom shared to me and never fails to share to me every time she visits me is the update about rumors of “aswangs” in our town.

The new thing she said is that one of our neighbors is an aswang; that they hear the sound of a “tik-tik” during the creeping of the night; and that a pregnant woman most recently died because of an aswang.  And my usual reply?  My usual kind of loud laughter.

Stories about “aswangs” made my pants wet during my childhood days, and now I know that they were all just but stories forcing me to go to bed early.  But these “aswangs” seems to never die, huh.

Though I never believe in “aswangs” and some say belief on them indicates the failure of education; the stories that my mom indefatigably shares to me seems to give me some anchor to where I came from despite the fast-paced life of the urban jungle that venerates facts and figures.  The scary creatures who transform into different kinds of animals and eat the innards of its poor victims give me a sense of rootedness and bond to a culture and life that extols myths and legends to bring about the beauty and simplicity of rural living.

All of us, each region and culture have its own stories and myths and legends that are slowly being eaten away by the prominence of myth busters and science.

But “aswangs” will continue to exist, even on cities and metropolis especially when we try to find some answers to phenomena we cannot explain.

As for my mom, she already went home to Bacolod, and will face the “aswang” with stingray’s tail on hand.

I wonder if “aswangs” do blog and play Farmville too…

Do you believe in “aswangs”?  What were the stories and myths and legends you grew up with that never seems to die even with the prominence of internet and science?

Image from Grass Hut Corp

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