Aláya

1. Aláya Lucía

Featured track:
“Atin Ku Pung Singsing”
Performed by Ysagani Ybarra

1. Aláya Lucía

There was a time in my childhood when my parents would often tell me the story behind my name.

Aláya was given by my father in honor of our Kapampangan roots; Lucia, by my mother, in observance of the old Catholic naming tradition. They would add that my name was based on my birth date, December 12th. It happens to fall between two significant dates in our province's calendar of events: December 11th is the commemoration of Pampanga Day while December 13th is the feast day of Santa Lucia de Siracusa, the patron of Sasmuan town where my mother was born and raised.

Both of them take pride on how they named their only child. Whereas I-I guess I was too young to fully appreciate what I have learned from my parents. I ended up becoming ashamed of it when I started going to school.

After we introduced ourselves on our first day, some of the kids in class started making fun of my name. Aláya also sounds like "ala ya"-meaning nothingness, or "there is nothing there." These bullies probably thought it was clever of them to overtake me during the roll call of attendance, blurting "Ala ya pu i Lucia!" (Lucia is not here!) after our teacher called my name.

Their constant teasing made me uncomfortable but I didn't know how to push back. I endured a whole school year trying to ignore my classmates' constant bullying without telling anything to my parents. So much for the history behind my given name which I couldn't even bring up to defend myself.

It wasn't until second grade when our teacher taught us "Atin Ku Pung Singsing" and the story behind it. Ma'am was already aware of my laughing stock of a name among my classmates. Perhaps that should explain her discussion of the song.

"Did you know that the word aláya is part of the lyrics of 'Atin Ku Pung Singsing'? 'Me-ala ya iti, e ku kamalayan.' Me-ala ya... Aláya. As we all know, this line is about the moment when the ring got lost. But it is believed that the song and that "aláya" have much deeper meanings, and that they are all connected to the sacred beliefs of ancient Kapampangan people. Right now maybe you are still too young to understand all of it.

"But I hope that from now on, when we see or hear anything new or maybe even strange, let us not be quick on making fun of it. Just because it sounds funny, doesn't mean it has to be made fun of all the time."

I suppose my classmates were indeed clever enough, this time to grasp what our teacher meant. They didn't dare utter a word, though I saw the wary look on their faces and the glances they exchanged the whole time.

Looking back, I find it ironic when my teacher offered to call me by my then lesser known nickname, Aya, just to distract the rowdy kids in our class. Along with the song discussion, the nickname helped as well, to my huge relief at that. They never made fun of my name again.

Since then, people who knew me would call me Aya. Everyone save for my Ingkung, my paternal grandfather. I have no idea how he knew all about my previous situation in school because of my Kapampangan name. A few months later, while having our afternoon snacks, he confirmed that everything my teacher said were true.

Ingkung has his own take on Aláya as my name. According to him it was the old name of Mount Arayat-Bunduk Aláya. For our ancestors, the said mountain was sacred. He claims that the deities residing in Bunduk Aláya also helped in protecting our home and our family during the Pinatubo eruption in 1991. My mother was already pregnant with me then. My birth exactly six months after the first of the eruptions was a testament to that protection given to us.

Years later, shortly before he started becoming less and less lucid, my Ingkung would also reveal that I was born during daybreak. Which is still a reason for naming me Aláya, for its other meaning is "dawn".