Tagaytay Tales
Aida CF. Santos in Ang Pinoy Stories
Jan 17, 2020 • 3 min Read
Years ago, my friend Sandra and I dreamt of owning a place in Tagaytay. It wasn’t as crowded as it is now. We hopped onto her chauffeur-driven car, ready to seek for our early “retirement” shared property. She is much more liquid than I was (or would ever be) and I had saved from my on-and-off better-than-NGO-pay consultancy. Put together, we could likely afford a small property in Tagaytay. And we dreamt of putting up a place where she could mentor children and adults to become artists—she had made a name in the artistic world; I can hold writing clinics much lìke the workshops I held in earlier years.
We only agreed on a basic thing: the property should have a good view of Taal, the volcano.
We were greenhorn in real estate matters. We simply had a dream.
One of the properties we saw was a small, hut-like structure facing Taal but with a slope quite steep to traverse. Never mind, we said, we could make “tambak” eventually. We shouted out tao po! to an old man in a worn-out basketball shorts and sleeveless undershirt.
You are the caretaker?
A dog fiercely started to bark, and we asked the man, indeed the caretaker, to hold the dog because we wanted to go down.
The man asked why and we said we saw the sign “For Sale” on a wooden signage near the road. The caretaker looked hostile, and after an exchange of whispers we decided that he was not in a hurry to help his landlord make a few more bucks. No, the owner does not have a phone for further inquiry. Yes, the caretaker was the one a potential buyer talks to.
After all, it looked like he had found a scenic spot fronting Taal—with free board and lodging.
We left, pissed off, muttering sayang… sayang.
We saw more properties for sale or lease. Many were truly priced beyond our reach. Sandra would have to paint and sculpt and sell a thousand pieces, and I will need to have students to teach for the next 50 years.
We went around until we reach Alfonso—where not even a shadow of Taal could be seen—near clumps of bamboo and trees. We knocked on a door—a humble abode where a woman in her 50s wearing a typical “daster” emerged. She sounded so real, so convincing. She owns the property and if we have P50,000 she could begin the process of selling.
Sandra and I stood by the street, surveyed the property. It’s near Taal and we could always drive there, we consoled ourselves.
My half of the duplex would be on the left side, and you could take the right side. OK, I said to Sandra, and I will have my kitchen door also opened to your side and I could bring you bread in exchange for a freshly brewed coffee.
Oh, I would build a tilapia pond, a small one, at the back. Sandra had just completed a short course on home-based tilapia breeding. Won’t it be smelly? Sandra starts to lecture me about tilapia breeding.
We are good friends, so we managed to settle some differences about the structure of the duplex-type future abode.
When planning started to flow into the bedrooms, the ongoing negotiation bogged down. I collect chimes—and I like chimes in my window, dancing by the breeze and lulling me to sleep.
Sandra vehemently said, no chimes! I cannot sleep!
Chimes! No chimes! Chimes! No chimes!
Friendship had reared its ugly head.
I would not have my kitchen door open to your unit!
I would not give you any tilapia!
The old woman looked at us, bewildered at the verbal tussle.
We decided not to give the P25,000 goodwill money. The chimes did us in.
Years after, looking back at that experience, Sandra and I would laugh so hard. Our friends found the story funny and cute.
Taal was to be a dream.
