Palacpalac, My Cosmic Tree
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Except for Barangay Palacpalac, no town in Pangasinan is named after a tree. And out of the more than a thousand and five hundred barangays in Pangasinan, only Palacpalac is named after a tree. Here in Palacpalac, local folks have never seen a shadow of this tree, except for a few old men who had already died. Like the rest of them, I have not seen this tree. Perhaps the tree has seen me.
It was believed by some local folks that during the war, the Japanese invaded Pangasinan and settled there. They have employed local spies to assist in identifying local American collaborators and also dug up several wells where they dropped them after being bayoneted. Because of the number of people being dropped in the wells everyday, the originally clear water from the well became red from the blood of the dead. Later on, the townspeople named the place Pozorrubio, or red well, in remembrance of the gory history of the place.
According to my aunt who died, a special well was dug up for women and children in one of the barangays, located in what is now Palacpalac. It included those that were raped and later on killed by the Japanese (or were they Korean?). Some of the rape victims still live to this day, preferring to hide their scars, but scars remind them that the past was real.
Several hundred years ago, by some mysterious act of the gods or by the droppings of a bird, trees started to grow in this land. They grew so tall as if to bridge the space between the humans and the gods who dwell beyond the sky. Some people claimed that the spirits of women and children danced around the huge trees, in upward motion, and in all directions, defying the theory of gravity, and proposing new theories which the scientific world will never be able to fully comprehend. The tree seemed to invite new beings to come to life and strange creatures came to rest underneath its shade. A child thought she saw little children with little lights on their bellies frolicking at night. They called these trees, palacpalac.
Yet, it is not entirely impossible that they thought they saw what seemed to them to be palacpalac trees. Perhaps they saw a mirage of a cosmic tree. For how can one account for the total disappearance of this tree from where it was supposed to have lived in abundance?
My grandfather has another theory. The local folks cut them all down out of fear because the trees grew so tall they have appeared only slightly smaller than dwarves. Not one tree survived to write its own story.
It was believed by some local folks that during the war, the Japanese invaded Pangasinan and settled there. They have employed local spies to assist in identifying local American collaborators and also dug up several wells where they dropped them after being bayoneted. Because of the number of people being dropped in the wells everyday, the originally clear water from the well became red from the blood of the dead. Later on, the townspeople named the place Pozorrubio, or red well, in remembrance of the gory history of the place.
According to my aunt who died, a special well was dug up for women and children in one of the barangays, located in what is now Palacpalac. It included those that were raped and later on killed by the Japanese (or were they Korean?). Some of the rape victims still live to this day, preferring to hide their scars, but scars remind them that the past was real.
Several hundred years ago, by some mysterious act of the gods or by the droppings of a bird, trees started to grow in this land. They grew so tall as if to bridge the space between the humans and the gods who dwell beyond the sky. Some people claimed that the spirits of women and children danced around the huge trees, in upward motion, and in all directions, defying the theory of gravity, and proposing new theories which the scientific world will never be able to fully comprehend. The tree seemed to invite new beings to come to life and strange creatures came to rest underneath its shade. A child thought she saw little children with little lights on their bellies frolicking at night. They called these trees, palacpalac.
Yet, it is not entirely impossible that they thought they saw what seemed to them to be palacpalac trees. Perhaps they saw a mirage of a cosmic tree. For how can one account for the total disappearance of this tree from where it was supposed to have lived in abundance?
My grandfather has another theory. The local folks cut them all down out of fear because the trees grew so tall they have appeared only slightly smaller than dwarves. Not one tree survived to write its own story.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/inkriver/91262182/In a book published in 1845, Blanco said that palacpalac trees are being cultivated at the Lamao Experimental Station. Officially, it is called Palaquium philippense, one of the tallest trees. The word palacpalac evolved from the Tagalog/ Pampango term palakpalak, a name used in reference to malakmalak. Malakmalak is a tree reaching a height of about 25 meters and a diameter of about 80 centimeters. The leaves are usually 16 centimeters or more in length. The lower surfaces are about 1.5 centimeters in length, and are borne on long stalks in small clusters. The corolla is white, the calyx brown and velvety. This species is widely distributed in primary forests at low and medium altitudes from northern Luzon to southern Mindanao. The fruit of this species is oval, similar to chico in appearance, about 3 to 4 centimeters or more in length, with an edible pulp of good flavor, and contains a single seed. The seed yields a limpid, odorous oil which is employed in food as an illuminant. This oil is known as Palaquium oleiferum Blanco, a species apparently confined to the Philippines.
So this tree existed in 1845. Maybe some of them survive to this day but we just don’t recognize it. Perhaps it is the tree in Lola’s backyard, or in an urban jungle somewhere. Maybe it thrives precisely in anonymity to bind me to my roots.
So this tree existed in 1845. Maybe some of them survive to this day but we just don’t recognize it. Perhaps it is the tree in Lola’s backyard, or in an urban jungle somewhere. Maybe it thrives precisely in anonymity to bind me to my roots.
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