THE 'LUGAO' VENDOR OF YLAYA STREET

By Philip M. Lustre Jr.

THIS narrative is not about Vice President Leni Robredo, who was maliciously tagged as “lugao queen” by paid propagandists and bloggers of the madman and BBM. This is about the comely vendor, who sold congee (lugao), fried tofu, and lumpia at the sidewalk of Ylaya street in Tondo in the mid-1970s.

I was then a college student at the University of the East. After my evening classes, I would take a jeepney ride on my way to Divisoria and go to her makeshift stall along Ylaya to eat lugao mixed with shredded pieces of cow’s innards (isaw, tualla, or heart) and a piece of fried lumpia. For a while, I was one of her regular customers.

After taking my little meal, I would take another jeepney ride to go home in the sub-district of Gagalangin in Tondo. I normally took my dinner at around 11 pm, when I was deep in my books and studies. That was part of my daily routine during those days.

As a regular customer, I came to know her name: Lorna. I must confess I was drawn to her because of her “morena” (brown) skin complexion. She looked like a piece of art with her smooth brown skin glistening under the shining moon. She appeared like a brass goddess to my eyes. I liked her. I was mesmerized by her brown beauty.

Lorna noticed the heavy books I usually carried and borrowed from the school library.  She perfectly understood I was a college student. When I asked her if she was going to school, she told me she stopped after completing her elementary education in one of the public schools in Tondo.

“Nagtrabaho na lang ako. Eto nagtitinda ng lugao (I went to work instead. Here I am selling lugao), Lorna said. “Ang hilig ko’y maghanapbuhay hindi mag-aral (my preference was to work, not to study),” she said, as he shredded with a knife a small piece of meat to be mixed in a bowl of lugao. It cost me a peso for that bowl.

She told me her daily routine was to bring at least two big cauldrons of lugao from their house in the old Kagitingan street, two kilometers away from Ylaya, using a four-wheeled pushcart (cariton). By sundown, they would put up the makeshift stall on the busy street, which is part the busy Divisoria commercial district.

I must confess that I was a little intrigued by Lorna’s beauty. So, I flirted. Every night I dropped by her stall, I whispered a single line, which I felt somehow registered my presence in her consciousness. It was a single line, which I felt tickled her heart.

I would go near her to whisper that devastating single line: “Ang ganda-ganda mo naman (you’re too beautiful).” Afterwards, I clamped down and said nothing until I finished my bowl of lugao, and, if my personal funds permitted, a piece of fried lumpia or tofu mixed with suka’t toyo (vinegar and soy sauce). Then, I bade her goodbye and quietly left for home.

I habitually whispered those words every night I dropped by her stall. I saw her smiling, obviously scintillated by those little words of admiration. Although she preferred to ignore me for whatever reason, we did not exchange words after I delivered the little message of the night.

But she did her own quiet repartee for my advances. I noticed that the size of the piece of meat she mixed with my lugao was getting bigger every night. At a certain point, I noticed it was more than double the regular size. How lucky I could be, I told myself. For about a month, this was the unmistakable trend.

One night, I failed to drop by her stall. I was with my co-majors doing a group paper in a certain major subject. I was the group leader and I had to be with my fellow students. Indeed, I was majoring in sociology in my undergraduate studies.

The following night I drop by to eat my usual bowl of lugao. Lorna met me with a big smile and said: “Uy, bakit hindi ka dumaan kagabi (how come you did not drop by last night)?” I was stunned by her remarks, but said I was busy doing our group works. Yes, she seemed to have been checking my attendance.

Quietly, I was telling myself I was already a winner and my devastating single liner was effective. I was on her radar. She was indeed checking my presence in her busy soul. “Tsinetsek pala niya ang attendance (she was checking the attendance),” I told myself.

No, I did not have the heart to court her. I was just a little mischievous during those days. Mi corazon caraja (my foolish heart), so they say in Spanish. It was enough for me to flirt.

But it was something that was not meant to end on a good note. One night, while eating at her stall, one of the street toughies of Ylaya quietly went to my side and whispered: “Pare, hawak ng siga iyan dito iyan. Huwag mong ligawan. Baka magripuhan ka (she’s the girlfriend of the street toughie here. Don’t dare to court her. You’ll get a leak in your body).”

I tried my best to appear calm and poised in that situation. I replied: “Ah, ganoon ba? Walang problema (so, that’s it? No problem).”

Next day, I did not dare to go again to her stall. I perfectly understood the message. The jealous lover could be after my neck. After all, it was not my intention to pursue her. 

I deliberately avoided that street and pass by another street to go home. No more lugao for me. No more those little acts of flirtation.

In my mind, it did not pay to go against the flow when I did not have the will. I quietly finished my studies and pursue a career in journalism.