Enter the Rainforest of My Ancestors
Uncle points to a thick, unmarked tree stump standing off the side of the trail.
“This is where your land begins,” he says.
It’s Christmas morning and my family has taken the opportunity to fly to the Philippines to see the land that was passed down to us by my great-grandfather.
With machete in hand, Uncle hacks away at jungle vine and overgrown brush. Mom, Dad, my brother, and I trudge behind him up the muddy hill. We step past that unmarked tree stump. At last, here we are, standing on our land by birthright.
I never thought that I’d be spending Christmas in the middle of a jungle.
While on the dirt trail, I imagine running downstairs in my childhood home back in California, bursting with anticipation for Santa’s presents. Still in our pajamas, my brother and I would rip the wrapping paper off of the latest video game console. Our parents would revel in our high-pitched laughter while cardboard crackles in the fireplace.
I look now at my muddy boots and to the opening in the thick brush up ahead. There, we are greeted by a dark green forest that stretches as far as the eye can see. Coconut trees sway in the valley below. A stream cutting through the land reflects a flicker of sunlight.
A young farmer in his twenties like me walks barefoot beside the flowing stream with his water buffalo.
In another life, that very well could be me.
Uncle soon leads us back down to the farmhouse. Exhausted, we are looking forward to a cool drink and a plate of food. Inside, we are greeted by smiling aunties, uncles, cousins, grandmas, and grandpas.
Instead of the usual smell of turkey and potatoes, we are introduced to a massive rainbow assortment of fruits that I’ve never seen before.
There are no radio speakers around to blast Jingle Bells or White Christmas. All that can be heard is the warm sound of Tagalog, familiar but indistinguishable to my American ears. I see the eyes of my lolo, my grandfather, in each of their faces.
One of the elder aunties opens up an old photo album and gestures to me and my brother to come near. She points to a picture of a handsome young man in a school uniform.
“Your Lolo!” she laughs. “We were classmates.”
“Wow, he’s so young in this photo,” says my brother.
With a wide smile, Auntie replies, “We were best friends.”
7,200 miles from California — in this home lit by flickering ceiling light enveloped by this vast, dense forest — there is an unexpected and wonderful feeling of family.
Jarrod is a writer and editor at Monito and is the co-host of the Makers on a Mission podcast.
Follow him on Medium for more short stories about the life-affirming people he meets on his travels, political philosophy, Japan, and other topics.
