Forpus Misti and kasama
My spiraling sense of home
When I got off the plane in Corpus Christi, Texas last week, I had a spiraling sense of déjà vu. Perhaps it was the heat. The humidity. The proximity to the Gulf of Mexico.
I felt at home.
These recalls of home, I am sure, vary person to person, moment to moment. But I’ve experienced them a lot of late. Before an event in Charleston two weeks ago, Chef Nikko Cagalanan of the award-winning Kultura brought me a simple bowl of sinigang, and I almost wept. The broth, pale, light and exquisitely sour, tasted so close to my mom’s, it felt transportive, on a “Ratatouille” type level (though Anton Ego’s mother doesn’t seem like the BB-gun-wielding kind).
In “The Mango Tree,” I wrote about flying to the Philippines at age 11 and stepping onto the tarmac in Manila. The heat, the humidity, the proximity to Manila Bay — I felt at home then, too. A feeling I sense my mother may have had when her plane landed in Fort Myers in 1978, before the reality of Lee County, Florida hit her full force.
Corpus Christi’s hominess didn’t stop at the tarmac. It continued with beautiful tacos from Buen Provecho and smoke-lacquered brisket from Julian’s BBQ that all but melted under the weight of my plastic fork. It kept going with stunning art, warm breezes, and glasses of wine that never seemed to empty. I felt it with my hosts for the Corpus Christi Literary Reading Series — with Pam and Joe, with Mary, Daryl, Alex and everyone else, all of them lifelong/long-time Corpus Christi-ans eager to share their hometown with me.
That might have been what felt most familiar: the earnest desire to show off a medium-sized place (not small, not large) that has shaped you in countless ways, to show that these now-majority red states contain multitudes and should not be defined by their majorly flawed politicians.
As a born-and-raised Fort Myers-ian, I know that feeling well.
I was in Corpus Christi to take part in said Reading Series, which launched in 1987 as a grassroots effort to bring interesting and diverse voices to the area. I am honored to be among an historic lineup that includes Sandra Cisneros, George Saunders, Junot Diaz, Elizabeth Strout, and so many other incredible authors. I’m even more honored to have been welcomed into this Gulf Coast city with such open, generous arms, to have been made to feel so entirely at home.
The concept of “home” has been nagging me lately. We recently sold my mom’s house, the house our family moved into in 1987 (The same year Corpus Christi’s Reading Series debuted!), the house that played such a central role in my book and my childhood — hence, perhaps, all this recent nostalgia. I’ve been ready to let that house go for a very long time, but watching it pass into new hands was still … weird.
In an early version of “The Mango Tree,” before I’d considered the possibility of my words becoming a book, let alone a book that more than nine people might read, I wrote about how my mom chose that house because of the name of its street.
Kasamada.
I’ve heard, from some of the street’s earliest inhabitants, that it was supposed to be Casamada, with a C, a Spanish-ish word meant to blend in with the other Spanish-ish avenues and lanes nearby — Loma Linda, Via Flores, Alhambra. But someone somewhere recorded it wrong, so Kasamada it became.
In Tagalog, “kasama” means a companion or friend, it also means “together,” as in the act of being together and not alone. My mom liked that about the street. I remember her telling me that it was an important word, that it meant something special in Filipino (the blanket term she used to describe her mother tongue). “Kasamada” is what changed my mom’s ever-thrifty mind about the house, which was one of the more expensive ones on my parents’ list. I think she hoped it would be where she could piece her family back together, moving them one by one from San Andres Bukid in the heart of Manila to what she hoped could be a new heart.
The brutally sad irony of it all is that my mom spent the vast majority of her last 15 years in that house very much by herself.
Alone.
I deleted these paragraphs from the book at some point in the revisions process, worried that someone might have a problem with my mom’s actions — which, to be fair, were highly problematic — find this Kasamada house and exact some sort of revenge (lol good luck getting her to answer the door).
Now that the house is no longer hers, I feel OK writing about it. Or at least safer writing about it. I also feel sad. Tremendously, almost exquisitely sad. Sad for my mom. Sad for my dad. Sad for my little sister and brother. Sad for this idea of kasama that never quite came to be. And maybe that sadness, that vast yet delicate and near jewel-like sadness, is the most nostalgic feeling of them all.
It’s the feeling that most reminds me of home.
In book news
“The Mango Tree” keeps on going, and thankfully I get to keep going with it. This month has been my busiest since the booked launched last spring. Which, wow.
Fort Myers: On May 3, the kind people of the Southwest Florida Historical Society hosted a mango tea for me and some of the area’s longest-tenured residents. I wrote this book as a love letter to this complicated hometown of mine, so it is especially meaningful to see it being received here so warmly.
Charleston: On May 9, I had the thrill of joining authors Kristin Harmel, Brad Meltzer and Jim Axelrod, along with 700-some hugely avid readers for The Post and Courier’s Book & Author Luncheon. Kristin’s bestselling books have more than 1.8 million reviews on Goodreads (!!!). In addition to Brad’s many bestsellers, he gave the viral commencement speech at a little school called the University of Michigan last year. Jim is an executive editor for CBS News who has narrated us through wars, tragedies and the thousands of joyous moments in between. And then there was me and my mangoes. What a world y’all.
While in Charleston, I got to dine at the aforementioned Kultura with none other than my mentor and friend Cinelle Barnes. Cinelle wrote “Monsoon Mansion” and “Malaya,” books that made “The Mango Tree” feel not just possible but … needed. To finally meet her in person, to share plates of kinilaw, adobo, arroz caldo and even a perfect scoop of mango sorbetto — that also felt like being home.
St. Petersburg: Speaking of mangoes (which, I guess, is what I’m almost always speaking of), the wonderful folks with Florida Humanities hosted an all-mango-everything night for me and Dalia Colón on May 14. The chefs of Good Intentions restaurant crafted delicious mango recipes from Dalia’s award-winning “The Florida Vegetarian Cookbook,” and she shared the stage with me to talk mangoes, moms and all things Sunshine State. It was the sweetest event. I wish we could do it every Wednesday.
Corpus Christi, Texas: In addition to everything mentioned above re: Corpus, I must thank Diandra Spicak. Diandra introduced me before my reading, and her words brought me to tears. Also a half-Filipina, also a native of a medium-sized Gulf Coast town, also a former Gannett staffer (who actually designed and laid out some of my News-Press columns back in the day), Diandra and I share so much connective tissue. Her intro made me feel the way I felt when I first read Cinelle’s books — like someone else saw me, got me, understood me; which is all we want in life. Diandra helped me realize that I’m paying Cinelle’s work forward. That too has me spiraling. In the best way.
Also, I got to go to the world’s largest Whataburger (in the birth place of Whataburger!!), so, please, a round of applause for Corpus.
What’s coming up?
Speaking of plant-based Florida cookbooks (life is a balancing act, eh?), Ellen Kanner’s latest “Miami Vegan” is now available. I had so much fun chatting with Ellen for her Broccoli Rising newsletter and podcast. She has supported the mangoes and me from our earliest days, and I am delighted to return the favor. Can’t wait to get my hands on this cookbook!
June 11 — The Alliance for the Arts is hosting its second annual Mango Night Market, and I’ll be there, in some capacity, I think?! Details to come.
June 28 — Tasting the Tropics @ Naples Botanical Garden, 9 a.m.-2 p.m.: NAPLES!!! I haven’t swung down your way often, so please come say hi at this fantastical event. I will be at the Naples Daily News tent signing books, which the Daily News will have for sale. While you’re there, sample tropical fruits from around the world, discover fruiting plants grown in the Garden, watch live demonstrations, and take a fruit-themed tour. More info here.
July 28 — Camden Public Library, Camden ME: Let’s all summer in Maine! Join me and James Beard Award winner Abi Balingit, author of “Mayumu: Filipino American Desserts Remixed” for a sweet evening filled with food and fun. Details to come.
What a beautiful essay, Annabelle. I wish it had made it into the book, but maybe it's meant for your next one :)
Loved reading this and your book! That unexpected but welcoming feeling of "home" is always a good thing especially as you notice those elements that make you feel that way. I love when that happens to me too!