The Ronsing Household

I have been blogging for more than a decade talking about myself, what I do, where I am and my little family. I realized that I have not shared here the kind of upbringing my siblings and I received. I rarely talk about my parents here, not even on social media, when a huge chunk of who we are is because of them. So in this entry, I will introduce my parents, Mokiin and Asnawil, to you.

c. 2017

MOKIIN

She's Mama to us, Nannie to her siblings and cousins, and Moki in her workplace. She's a baby boomer who grew up at the beginning of Marawi's progress. She is one of the many products of the post-world war II parents' dream to finish an education. During my grandparents' generation, very few of them were given Western education. Only the rich can afford to bring their children outside Lanao del Sur for schooling. My mom was a little girl when Mindanao State University was established in our hometown. Since then, the educational landscape of the Meranaws had changed tremendously. She worked as a librarian for more than 40 years, her work hugely contributed to my love for books and reading. 

My mom is famous in the family for her temper. She can't seem to communicate without yelling. She yells a lot that when she suffered from goiter in her late 40s (she underwent total thyroidectomy), my grandma attributed it to her yelling.

My mom's ultimate talent is cooking Meranao dishes and socializing, she seems to know the genealogy of everyone living around the Lake! I'm not saying this because I'm her child, but really, I have not tasted any Meranao dish yet that is as good as my mom's.

I think I am my mom's exact opposite in a lot of aspects but my husband says otherwise. 

ASNAWIL

Papa to us, Nawil to his friends and colleagues, and S'ma to his immediate family. Papa grew up in the mountains of Nunungan, Lanao del Norte, where according to him, the best place in the world. His family was struck by series of unfortunate events which molded my father and his siblings to be tough guys. I don't know anybody who matches my father's emotional strength and resilience. Whatever "hardships" my siblings and I went through pales in comparison to what my father and his entire family went through. They were victims of the Martial Law regime. My father fought against the government in search of freedom and peace, yes he was once a rebel. Yes he knows a lot about warfare, the real deal. An entire book will not be enough to tell his story. It must be in series, like : The One in Nunungan, The One Where We Won Against The Government Forces, The One Where The Government Forces Plowed Our Cornfields, The One Where I Cracked The Head of my Schoolmate in Boriasan, The One Where I Found Education. The major plot twist in my father's life was when he realized that fighting against the government will never bring peace and, ultimately, freedom to his people. It is in education where freedom and peace lies. So he went to the university, Mindanao State University, finished college and a degree in Law. That's where he met my mom and they lived happily after.

My father is a bookworm, quite the opposite of my Mom who is, by the way, a librarian. My librarian mom brings him books that he devours. He is one of the most wise people I know. He seems to understand everything and he always says the right thing at the right time. He thinks a lot and he taught us how to think. As a little girl, he taught us a lot about consequential things even those beyond the bounds of our understanding.

He encouraged us to pray together in a congregation especially during Maghrib. In between Maghrib and 'Isha, he gathered us to talk about his life and his understanding of how the world works. It's so boring sometimes because he tells us the same story a thousand time already, some of my siblings get sleepy every time he opens up the topic. Haha! Then he gets mad if we don't listen to him. I haven't had any appreciation of his story until I was old enough, and then I pester him to tell his story over and over again.

Given my parents' background, we were raised in a strict, traditional Meranaw home. Both of my parents are practicing Muslims. Islam was introduced to us as early as infancy. Growing up, we were expected to be at home as soon as school is done and we all have our fair share of household chores. We were never rich so our parents taught us how to make ends meet. We were never given more than what we need.

Looking back, our entire childhood was to prepare us for adulthood. That's why when I went to med school and lived by myself, my parents never worried because they knew that I can feed myself and I can clean my rented apartment. Much more when I got married and have children of my own, my parents only checked on their grandkids. They perfectly know that we can handle our own business.

My childhood is waaaaay far from my children's childhood, we belong to a completely different generation. I want to raise them the way I was raised but I don't know if my parents' strategy will work on them though. One thing for sure, they'll only get from us what they NEED. They gotta work their ass off to get what they WANT. 

On another news, I miss my person. :)

Caught unaware at BenCab.

It's been two weeks since he left. I cannot believe that my first ever relationship would be a long distance one. An enormous test of strength and character. We need to keep ourselves busy to become oblivious of the passing of time. So long, my love. Be back soon. :)

Another Goodbye

          Ramadhan’s almost to end and I haven’t written about it as I was planning. I have always been looking forward to this Holy Month insofar as I can recall. It’s not the “starving” part that elates me but the exquisite dishes my mom prepares for Iftar. I used to imagine that Ramadhan is for her to showcase her culinary skills. Come to think of that, thirty unintermittent days of my favorite dishes on the dining table and after-Tarawih desserts. No kid wouldn’t love that!

          Children are exempted to fast for the whole day so I liked it when my parents wake me up at three in the morning for the Saum meal, I felt like an adult who is compelled to fast, I felt important. At twelve noon, when my father notices my lips turn to grey he orders me to break my fasting and assures the seven-year old me that my half-day starvation would still count. I would do the same the following day and he tells me that my two half-days equate one whole straight day of fasting like an adult does. So apparently by that, I would still receive divine reward for my “fasting”.

          Nearing puberty, my parents got stricter on my Ramadhan habits. I was no longer allowed to break my fast at twelve noon, I need to complete the whole day without having anything by mouth—nil per orem. Initially, I liked it for I was treated like an adult—being served like a VIP during Iftar in consideration for starving for that day. Mid-month came and daytime cravings surge up, that’s when I knew how it is to be hungry, heard my stomach grumble and felt abdominal burning sensation. This time, I was the one begging my parents to allow me to break my fast.  They warned me that should I break my fast without their knowledge, it is not them who’re going to punish me. It is Allah. And I cannot hide from Him because no matter where I am, He is seeing over me. He sees everything I do and knows everything in my heart and mind. Alhamdulillah, never did I made an attempt to secretly eat and break my fasting. None that I can remember of.

          Step by step, I got educated about the significance of Ramadhan into each and every Muslim’s life. Why do we starve ourselves and hold steadfast to our prayers? We are not ordered to starve for punishment, we are to fast so we will be able to feel how the miskin—the poor, the needy, the homeless—feels like inorder for us to have compassion towards them and this teaches us humility. We are deprived of worldly things so we learn self-restraint. By this, we learn self-discipline and empathy which are expected for us to continue all throughout the year until such good qualities that the Holy Month taught us will be instilled into our personality thus making us better Muslims. It is during this month that we do not only detoxify our physical bodies but also our souls, we ask forgiveness from Allah and to all the people, who one way or another, we have wronged. We clear our hearts from all the grudges and envies that are residing therein. At the end of the month, we give Fitra (charity) to the needy in any form and any possible way we can.

          Having a greater understanding of this Holy Month’s meaning makes me look forward to it annually. The magic of this month triggers me to start anew (albeit one needs not to wait for Ramadhan to turn over a new leaf), get closer to my Creator and become a better person and a Muslim.

          For three years now, I have been spending Ramadhan away from home. It is difficult not being with my family during Saum and Iftar meals, there are even nights when I am eating alone and worse, nights when I wasn’t able to wake up to eat Saum meal. I got used to it eventually so long as I can spend the first and last days with them especially the Eid. As the Holy Month bids farewell, I ask for forgiveness from those who, aware or unawarely, I have wronged as I have forgiven all those who have caused me heartaches.

To Ramadhan, ‘til we meet again!

EID MUBARAK everyone!

Maratbat and the Maranao by Nainobai D. Disomangcop

*i chanced upon this while doing my research for my BehavScie research proposal. Aunty Nancy is a close relative of mine. :p i'm so in love with her article that i copied it without her permission. hehe. i hope this extends a broader understanding about the Maranaos.  
The Maranaos are traditional people whose rich cultural practices continue to perplex even social scientists. Their resistance to change is seen not only in their slow modernization process, but also their continued faithfulness to customs and beliefs.

Their practice of the maratabat is a mark of distinction which makes them unique among all other ethnic groups. Maratabat is equated with “hiya” or shame, honor and dignity, rank, self-esteem or “amor-propio,” reputation and “face.” But maratabat is more than any of these. There is no single word or phrase that can clearly define maratabat, for the Maranaos have surrounded it with many socio-psychological concepts of their own. It is directly proportional to a person’s social rank. One social scientist views it as a blind, irrational pride of clan and tribe and a deep sense of personal honor and face. The substance of maratabat lies in the symbols, shared beliefs, images in the collective reputation, and in public morality of the Maranaos. When positively directed, it gives them unity, strength, and identity; it serves as a driving force in Maranao everyday life, be it social, political, or economic.

To some Maranaos the practice of maratabat is instinctive, but to others it is a learned cultural practice picked up by the children from the elders. One Maranao claimed that he never remembered being taught by his parents to do this or do that for it was expected of him, but rather he learned it gradually through observation from the old Maranaos. To give a better understanding of the process, here is an illustrative case:

Abdul was surprised one day to see his father together with some other male relatives, bringing guns, and crossing the lake. He was then in the grade school. Later, however, that one of his uncles had been killed. His father had gone out to get his uncle’s killer or any of his relatives. However, upon the admonitions of his father’s father, the relatives of the killer were spared from the vendetta.

The practice of maratabat does not bar a person with high educational attainment from killing another person once his maratabat has been transgressed. There was one law practitioner who was compelled to kill the brother of his brother’s killer because of this.

Vengeance for one’s sullied maratabat is one of the reasons why there are many army soldiers who have died in the Lanao area, explained a lady informant. The soldiers were just so trusting that they did not know the fellow next to them was their enemy. They thought that because they had not done anything (directly) to him, he was not involved. But in Maranao society, once a member of the family is in trouble, all of the relatives are on his side to protect him.

Maranaos who are enemies in Lanao would temporarily forget their animosity and become friends especially when they are in a faraway place. There are several Maranao warring families in Lanao who are close friends especially when they are in Manila. The common cause for this change of attitude is the necessity to group together when a Maranao is involved involve in some trouble.

But a Maranao does not just kill a person without a reasonable cause. Insult or defamation could goad a person into killing another. Once this is inflicted on him, he is ready to face his enemy just to uphold his “dirtied maratabat.” Trouble arising because of girls is a very common case. Even a wolf-whistle from a man could cause him trouble once a girl would inform her family of such things. This would set the scene for killing and counter-killing.

Oftentimes, because of the desire to uphold their maratabat, a killing could cause a vicious cycle for vendetta and counter-vendetta, one family avenging death of a relative until a solution is arrived at. This is where the datus play their role. Normally, marriage is one of the best solutions to the problem. A daughter or a son of the erring party is married to the son or daughter of the other party. In this way, the series of killings would be stopped. The girl, however, may have no right of her own regarding the ceremony. In many instances, though the girl feels some resentment over the arrangement, she would finally coaxed into getting married, because it is only through her that the conflict would be settled. There are some rare cases, however, where the girl would stand firm on her decision not to marry and would refuse to cohabit with her husband after the wedding ceremony. In this case, the expenses incurred during the ceremony and the bride-price is returned to the groom’s family.

An outsider to Maranao society would be surprised to find out that to work as maids, which is very common especially among urbanized Christian groups, is unknown among the Maranaos. Household servitude among Maranaos is not in accordance with the accepted mores of their society. Accordingly, financially hard-pressed individuals are prevented by well-to-do relatives from rendering household service in return for money, because it is the duty of the well-to-do relatives to extend help to their misfortunate kin. Another reason, perhaps, is the idea that working in another’s house for money would, in some way, degrade an individual. This is especially true when the individual comes from a higher stratum in society.

It is not surprising, therefore, that there are Maranaos who are poor but acquire high education, especially in the field of medicine, engineering, and law. Some of them even study in prestigious universities in Manila. This is possible because relatives contribute to the cost of education of a member of their family who desires to study. It only needs a little coaxing on the part of the individual concerned for there relatives to chip in for his education. Every now and then, regular help would be given until that person finishes his degree.

Another reason why relatives are willing to help other relatives to finance their education is the fact that extending help to these people is like an investment: financially, socially and politically, their success means raising the family maratabat.

It is not uncommon to hear some Maranaos worry because a relative is getting married. Sometimes even a close friend would show this concern. The explanation for this kind of attitude may be gleaned from the practice of maratabat. Occasions like these serve as a channel for a Maranao to assert his maratabat in the community. As such, the relative concerned is expected to contribute his share of the expenses during the ceremony. Actually, not only do these relatives extend their help on such occasions but indeed whenever the situation requires it.

The Maranao’s desire for larger family groupings works not only in the traditional context, but even in the modern legal political structure. Having a large family would give one the chance to run for an elective position in the modern legal political system because the more the followers, the better the chances of winning the race. This is achieved in the usually large Maranao family group that places importance not only on the consanguinal relationship, but affinal line as well. Through inter-marriage, a Maranao family could become a big political group that gives it the chance to wield political power and therefore dominate any political election. Relatives contribute not only their energy but also their wealth.

Furthermore, these bigwigs in local politics are also the leading social figures in the society. This is because they have the basic social economic roots that support their political careers on the local level. With economic and political influence in society, they are able to control the people, using them to advance their ambition, while the common people in turn receive help in the form of employment.

Employment is the most common way to help. Whoever is in power usually sees to it that most of his supporters, who are his relatives, get employed. In fact, a Maranao would expect an administrator who is his relative, to have him employed, whenever this is possible, regardless of his qualifications for the job. Extending help to an unfortunate raltive in terms of employment is normal in Maranao society. This, after all, is part of the maratabat of the clan.
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So Long, Rajee

I never imagined that my recent preoccupation by DEATH would actually happen to my family. What's sad about it is that it happened in the middle of our family's mini-reunion at home. Death transformed itself into a dengue fever and has taken away my three-year old (turning four) cousin, Rajee.
He's the youngest child of my Aunt Fatma and perhaps the most lovable kid since at such juvenile age he's capable of conversing like a big boy. Although he lasted only three years on earth, he has left our hearts an indelible deep mark that will forever hold dear to us.
Ba-bye arikulay, be our guardian angel for as long as we live.