Writers in Bacongham

The word “Bacongham” resonates in my head, partly because I do not know if I should laugh or cringe. It’s so Pinoy noh? That allusion to the Buckingham Palace, and the already done spin-off with David and Victoria’s Bekingham.

But then again, I could always justify it with Atty. Frank and Whelma Yap’s wielding of both beauty and power in this corner of Bacong, Negros Oriental.

Right from the gate, with its “By Appointment Only” sign, to the gumamelas, bougainvillas and birds of paradise greeting the guests going through its long pathway, Bacongham holds back its treasure of a view and whimsical structures, and allows only a select few to discover.

As a fellow to this year’s National Writers Workshop, I am one of those grateful few.

With panelists Gemino Abad, Krip Yuson, Butch Dalisay and Marjorie Evasco, we sixteen fellows from Silliman, UP, Ateneo and La Salle made our way to the second floor of a bamboo hut overlooking the sea. Flowers burst everywhere I looked.

As we settled down on our chairs for the workshop itself, the floor mildly shuddered with the crash of waves. Our noses anticipated lunch with the beginnings of barbecue smells billowing downstairs. In the background, clouds formed on the horizon, and fishermen in yellow boats bobbed along. When Sir Jimmy started talking about the importance of “language, kaibigan”, I told myself that if I could freeze a moment when I felt most at home during the workshop, it was during that time.

After we talked about two poems and two prose works, we savored the perfect blend of their lechon manok, their awe-inspiring lechon, their fresh fish and abundant mangoes, as waves, especially those rolling past the nearby marine sanctuary, beckoned to us.

What was it really about Bacongham: the Yaps’ residence with it’s A-like roof framed by pink flowers and vigorous vines; the tiled picnic tables and creaking, red swing; the half submerged stairway to the sea below?

What was it about the building across our bamboo hut, the one undoubtedly with character? Atty. Frank Yap designed and conceptualized it himself, from the recycled, colorful tiles forming a mosaic pattern on the floor to a staircase made of rocks all the way from Bindoy (the Yap’s hometown) stacked together with smooth bamboo. Colorful, texture-filled, sense-stimulating.

At the end of that day, Bacongham was really about the Yaps themselves—Atty. Frank and Whelma Yap, who most likely traveled 9 kilometers from their law office in Dumaguete to welcome us, and who jokingly referred to us as the “starving artists” they had the pleasure of hosting in their beloved Bacongham before proceeding to fill us up to the gills with their delicious food and hospitality.

When we started boarding the Silliman bus for home, I looked at everyone’s faces and felt their contentment and intellectual satiation.

It was a beautiful day for writers.