The mother-in-law from Bulacan was afraid that her son would follow his lover to Iloilo to live with his wife, so she hurriedly took a bus straight to the in-laws’ house. As soon as she reached the gate, her face turned pale when she saw the banana grove surrounding the house; 5 minutes later, she bowed her head and turned back quickly because in the banana grove there was…

Mrs. Nena – the mother-in-law from Bulacan, was old-fashioned and proud, always afraid that her son would be looked down upon by the girl’s family if he “lived with his wife”. Hearing that her son was determined to follow his wife to Iloilo, she flew into a rage, did not bother to call to discuss, and immediately took a long-distance bus (van/bus, then RORO ferry) straight to the in-laws’ house.

All along the way, she angrily thought of hundreds of words to scold, and even hatched the idea of ​​forcing her son to pack his suitcase and return that same day.

However, as soon as she stepped foot at the gate of the in-laws’ house in a barangay by the river, her eyes widened when she saw the entire banana grove surrounding the house. The green banana leaves covered all the paths, making the scene somewhat creepy.

Mrs. Nena immediately changed color, her lips pressed tightly together, and then she said nothing, just standing there for a while. Five minutes later, she bowed her head and turned away, hurriedly going out to catch a bus back to Bulacan, leaving both her son and daughter-in-law bewildered.

It was only when a neighbor in Iloilo ran out in panic that everyone understood:

In the banana bushes behind the garden, people had just discovered a row of broken ceramic incense burners, buried with some yellowed orasyon (ancient prayer charms) and a few rusty agimat (protective charms)—things left behind by the previous homeowner long ago.

Mrs. Nena, who was extremely superstitious, was so terrified upon seeing that scene that she did not dare to step foot in the house for another minute.

PART 2 — “Bananas Surrounded, Secrets Buried Deep”

The next afternoon, the Iloilo sun was pouring down like honey. In the yard, the pungent smell of young banana leaves mixed with the dampness of the earth. Paolo stood with his hands on the porch, his eyes still fixed on the empty space outside the gate where the van carrying his mother — Mrs. Nena — had hurriedly turned around yesterday. Mika, his wife, poured a glass of cool water and placed it gently on the wooden steps.

“I texted Mom,” Mika whispered. “Last night she only saw but didn’t reply.”

Paolo sighed: “Mom is really scared, not angry. Since she was little, she’s been superstitious — whenever she hears orasyon, agimat, she trembles.”

Just then, Kap Lito, two tanods, and the neighbor Mang Rolly stopped by the gate. Following them was Tatay Sesto, a silver-haired albularyo, carrying a bottle of coconut oil, a bunch of tanglad leaves, and some coarse salt in a cloth bag.

Kap laughed heartily: “We heard the kids say there’s some old stuff behind. Let’s clean it up, we’ll do it in accordance with the law and make the old lady worry less.”

Mika nodded, quickly inviting everyone in. At the end of the banana garden, broken ceramic incense burners were exposed, dirty, mixed with some yellow papers with faded letters and some rusty black metal pieces — with crosses engraved on them over strange symbols. Tatay Sesto clasped his hands, mumbled a few dasal: “Hindi para magtawag, para lang magpaalam.” Then he sprinkled salt into small circles, burned some dry leaves to let the smoke out, and told everyone “not to say bad things.”

Mika picked up the phone and called Father Benji at the nearby parish. “Father, we want to bless the house and garden for peace of mind.” On the other side, the priest smiled gently: “Okay, come by this afternoon, praying is good.”

In Bulacan, Mrs. Nena hugged her cloth bag to her chest, squatting on a bench in the market. She had just stopped by the botika to buy some holy water and a bundle of incense. From the phone, Aling Mercy’s voice — a close neighbor — wailed: “Nena, their children are different now. It doesn’t matter whether they live with their husbands or not, as long as they are kind to each other.”

Nena bit her lip. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. She was just afraid that her son would lose his power, that the bride’s family would look down on him. But the image of the broken incense burners among the banana trees kept popping up in her head, making her heart pound. “Let me call him,” she muttered, dialing.

Paolo picked up almost immediately. “Mom, my family will be pa-blessing later. If you’re worried, just come. I’ll wait for you.”

Putting down her cup of water, she stood up abruptly. “Iloilo is far away, my dear.”

“I’ve sent you the QR code for the plane ticket. Just go to the pier, someone will pick you up.”

She fell silent. Her fear suddenly mingled with something else:… longing. I miss my son who only knows “ma, mano po” when he comes home, I miss my gentle daughter-in-law who always wraps kakanin and sends them to her. She turns the car around.

In the afternoon, the river breeze is cool. Father Benji arrives first, in simple robes, holding a small book. “We start with a prayer,” he says. Everyone gathers around. Father recites prayers, sprinkles holy water from the porch to the banana grove. When he reaches the bank behind the house, he stops: “These things, if they are old religious objects, we will collect them all, bury them neatly, or take them to the parish house to handle. The important thing is that this house will be a place of peace.”

At that moment, Tatay Sesto coughs softly, holding out a small shovel. “Before burying them, see if there is anything underneath. The ancients used to tago things.”

Paolo knelt down, carefully digging the soil under the largest banana hole. The shovel blade touched something hard. A rusty tin box the size of two hands. He pried open the lid. Inside, besides the smell of damp rust, was a stack of old glass paper, a yellowed piece of survey map, a few old salapi coins, and… a piece of paper scribbled in English: “To the next owner: the backyard line is here.”

Kap Lito frowned, pointing to the red chalk mark on the map: “The real boundary runs two meters deeper than the current fence.” All eyes followed the map to Mang Rolly’s garden — where the bamboo fence encroached.

The air paused for a beat. Mang Rolly scratched his head, confused: “I didn’t know. The previous owner told me to fence this right. If the boundary is wrong, we’ll fix it.”

Father Benji smiled: “That’s good. We can pray and fix it right — peace is better than anything.”

Mika turned to Paolo, eyes wide: “Maybe that’s why the front house was planted with banana trees — both to cover and to keep out the mold.”

Paolo nodded. Everything suddenly made sense.

As the fence was temporarily re-measured with a rope, there was the sound of a tricycle stopping in front of the gate. Mrs. Nena stood there, her face still as green as a leaf. She didn’t dare to step further, her eyes fixed on the banana garden. Seeing Father Benji, she clasped her hands: “Father… I’m sorry, I was so scared yesterday.”

Father invited her into the porch. Paolo ran out to take the bag, Mika quickly poured water. Mrs. Nena had just sat down on the chair when she jumped up, looking out into the back garden again. There, Tatay Sesto was burning a bunch of aromatic leaves, Kap Lito was laughing and talking, the children were running back and forth shouting, and the tin box lay still on the table — revealing old, wrinkled papers.

“Wh… what is that?” she pointed.

Paolo explained everything: the broken incense burner, the orasyon, the agimat, the tin box, the land map. He spoke slowly and softly. After he finished speaking, he paused for a second, then suddenly bowed his head: “Mom, I know you don’t like me living with my wife’s family. Actually, we planned to stay for six months to take care of Mika’s grandmother who had just had surgery, and then rent a small apartment outside — just a few hundred meters away. I don’t want you to think I abandoned you.”

Mrs. Nena was speechless. The scolding words she had prepared all along the way suddenly… were useless. She looked at Mika: “You don’t blame me, do you?”

Mika shook his head, pulled the chair closer: “I’m just afraid that you’ll get cold. We’ve already blessed you. Can you stay here for a few days? I’ll make the tinola you like.”

Mrs. Nena pursed her lips. In an instant, the vague fear from last night gradually dissipated like incense smoke. She exhaled: “Mom… I’m sorry. I’m just afraid of losing my son.”

“No one has lost anyone, Ma,” Paolo replied, gently holding her sunburned hand. “This house is also yours.”

In the evening, the whole family gathered around the dinner table. Hot tinola, fragrant ginger, young green malunggay leaves. Kap Lito leaned over to say hello, Mang Rolly also brought over some river fish as a way to… “redeem the land.” After the meal, Mika laid out the tin box to dry, and flipped through each document. In addition to the map, there were a few land tax receipts from a long time ago, with the faded seal of the old town.

“Kap, will this help?” Mika asked.

“Sure,” Kap nodded. “I’ll take it to the municipio tomorrow to check. If it’s right, we can adjust it. How lucky — it’s tiring to meet people who won’t give in.”

Mrs. Nena sat quietly in a corner, fingering her rosary. Suddenly she looked up: “Tomorrow… can you take me to the municipio? I’m old, talking about land… I guess I have experience.” Her voice sounded strange — both confident and… excited.

Paolo laughed: “If ghosts came along, there would be nothing better.”

That night, the banana yard was quiet. The river wind played through the leaves, the incense smoke faded thinly. Mika spread a mat on the porch to cool down. Nena lay next to her, tossing and turning for a long time before speaking:

“Mika… if we move to a small house of our own as you wish, I will be less afraid of ‘living with my husband’. But… remember to come back to Bulacan with you this weekend.”

“Yes, Mom,” Mika replied softly, then turned to her: “Since when have you been afraid of bananas?”

She laughed awkwardly: “When I was young, I went to the village temple. A shaman said that banana bushes often had ‘lamang lupa’. Since then, whenever I saw bananas, my hair stood on end.”

Mika held her hand: “Tomorrow, I will cut some down to make it more airy, leaving the row outside to block the wind.”

“Okay,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “But… leave a few for mom to use as leaves to wrap sumán.”

They both laughed. The gecko on the roof “gecko… gecko… gecko… gecko…” was a steady sound like a lullaby.

The next morning, Kap Lito brought a worker to measure the boundary. Just like the map, the land behind the house had deepened by two meters. Mang Rolly took the initiative to remove the bamboo fence and asked Paolo to put it back up straight. While digging for a new pillar, Paolo’s shovel stopped on something hard again. This time it was a flat glass bottle, stained yellow with soil, inside was a folded piece of paper tied with a red thread.

Mika held her breath and opened the cork. The paper came out — not an orasyon, but a rough hand-drawn drawing showing the location of a small stream running diagonally across the corner of the garden. Next to it, a short line read: “Don’t build heavy here. Keep it airy. Water nourishes the plants.”

Kap nodded: “It’s no wonder bananas are good here. Don’t pour concrete. Let the soil breathe.”

Paolo looked at Mika, then at his mother. Nena smiled and nodded firmly: “Keep it. We’ll plant more saging na saba. With water, the bananas will be sweet.”

She turned to Mika, suddenly solemn: “Tonight, I’ll call some kumares in Bulacan to send you the sumán recipe. This weekend, we’ll wrap it up. Sell it in front of the house, raise funds… buy a new cabinet for you guys.” The whole family burst into laughter. The fear of bananas… had turned into a gift.

In the afternoon, when the whole family was preparing to go to the municipio with Kap Lito, Paolo’s phone vibrated. A text message from an unknown number: “I’m a representative of Riverview Estates. We’re interested in your land. Let’s meet to negotiate?”

Paolo frowned. Mika glanced quickly at her mother. Nena’s eyes flashed with a familiar… sharpness. She put down her rosary and slowly said:

“The land has a water source, the boundary has just been remeasured, and there are delicious banana trees in the garden. If anyone wants to buy it… they have to talk to me.”

Paolo laughed, relieved. Perhaps, “living in the son-in-law’s house” or not was no longer a thorn. The family — the Filipino way — sits down, joins hands in prayer, re-measures the boundaries, and… prepares sumán for the Sunday market.