Marinduque and the Chinese Pot

At the weary end of World War II, my mother's family moved to the island of Marinduque in the Philippines. They were using up time on my grandmother's family's coconut plantation while waiting for things to return to normal.

There is very little detail that I know about the daily life of my great grandmother, Gavina Verdote, who perished in the Battle of Manila and was buried in a mass grave. I read about the war, trying to wrap my mind around the magnitude.

Then, there was this pot, sitting on the steps of a house long ago and far away. It was covered with moss. My grandmother scraped off some moss and this pot was revealed. The pot made it up to Baguio, where it waited until I met it in the 1960's. The pot was around me through all the upheavals, and survived a move to Hawaii.

Then finally it came to me in New England. It represents endurance to me, that civilization may fall, yet there is something that remains and flourishes. This pot holds the secrets of the family. It is witness to countless steps walking past it, emotions and shouts, and celebrations. It is a witness to that portion of my life that was lived within ten feet of it. It is a comfort to me to see it every day.

The house it lived in came down in the big earthquake in the 90's. The house it spent sleepy generations in facing the South China Sea is long gone too. It lives now on top of a bureau of a one hundred year old house that was built for a whaler's daughter. From where I sit right now, the creature's eyes gaze solemnly at me.