Panagpesak ed Ilog: A Living Memory of Community and Courtship in Manambong Sur

Panagpesak ed Ilog: A Living Memory of Community and Courtship in Manambong Sur

In Manambong Sur during the 1950s and 1960s, the river was more than a natural resource—it was a gathering place where daily labor unfolded into shared memory. Known as panagpesak ed ilog, the traditional practice of washing clothes along the riverbanks formed part of the community’s social fabric, blending work, companionship, and storytelling into a single, enduring ritual.

Women of the barangay, including elders remembered today such as Mrs. Leonita Baroga, Mrs. Rosita Baroga, and Mrs. Lilia Dagoros, would come together on weekends to wash clothes using a locally fashioned wooden tool called tabig (palu-palo in Tagalog). With patient, repeated strokes—often twenty to thirty times per garment—dirt was beaten away, not merely through effort, but through knowledge passed down by practice and example. Clad in tapis, the women worked side by side, their movements synchronized with conversation, laughter, and quiet reflection.

Beyond its practical purpose, panagpesak ed ilog served as an important avenue for social interaction. The riverbanks became a space where relationships were formed and strengthened, not only among women but across the wider community. Stories shared by informants recall how gentle romances blossomed between the mangpesak ed ilog and the managbalatok—men who filtered river sand in search of gold. These chance encounters, born of daily routine, are believed to have given rise to many enduring love stories in the barangay.

In retrospect, panagpesak ed ilog stands as a bridge connecting lives and generations, reflecting a time when simplicity defined contentment and communal presence outweighed haste. It offers a quiet testimony to how ordinary practices once carried extraordinary meaning—shaping relationships, nurturing community bonds, and revealing the grace of a life lived closely with nature and with one another.

The Sirena (Sample Mermaid Story): A Living Lore

The Sirena (Sample Mermaid Story): A Living Lore 

In earlier years, in the quiet stretches of rural Bayambang along the Agno River, claims of sirena or mermaid sightings are often repeated in whispers by residents.

It was here, amid the whisper of leaves and the hush of flowing water and boulders shaped by time and tide, that stories of the sirena—the mermaid—took root in the collective imagination of the community.

Though the river today is quieter and less frequented, the belief associated with it continues to circulate not only within the barangays but also in neighboring areas of Bayambang. Elders recount the tale to children; friends retell it in hushed tones during gatherings. The site has become more than a physical landmark—it is a cultural memory embedded in place.

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Across civilizations, the mermaid has long occupied a liminal space between myth and morality. From ancient Assyrian legends of Atargatis to European maritime lore, the mermaid—half woman, half fish—has symbolized beauty, danger, enchantment, and the unknowable depths of water. In the Philippines, she is known as the sirena, often associated with rivers, seas, and lakes, embodying both allure and peril.

In Bayambang, the mermaid narrative is not merely inherited folklore—it is localized belief. The old story gains renewed force each time a tragic event occurs.

According to a random oral account, a young bird-and-fish hunter once ventured to the river. On one occasion, he saw what he described as a magnificent, shimmering fish—large, beautiful, and unlike any he had seen before. Excited, he recounted the sight to his grandparents later that day. The elders, drawing from long-standing local lore, cautioned him: what he had seen might not have been an ordinary fish, but a sirena. Many before him, they said, had claimed similar encounters in that very place.

The young hunter dismissed the warning. To him, mermaids belonged to television screens and fantasy—not to the quiet riverbanks of Bayambang.

The next morning, without breakfast, bringing only a small meal and his trusted slingshot, he returned to the river, determined to find the creature again. By late afternoon, he had not come home. Concerned, his family and friends searched for him. He was found in the river, kneeling in waist-deep water, arms curved forward as though embracing something unseen. Though attempts were made to revive him, he was declared dead. Strikingly, no water emerged from his body—an unsettling detail that deepened the community’s conviction that his death was not an ordinary drowning.

From that day on, the river changed in meaning. What was once a lively natural space became a place of caution and reverence. Fewer people ventured there. The story of the mermaid became inseparable from the story of the hunter.

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The mermaid tale in Bayambang apparently serve several cultural functions:

As moral instruction, the story reinforces respect for elders’ wisdom and warnings. As a form of environmental reverence, it reminds the community of the mysterious and potentially dangerous power of nature. In terms of collective memory, the narrative binds generations through shared storytelling. In terms of spiritual awareness, it reflects a worldview in which natural spaces are inhabited by unseen beings deserving of caution and respect.

In many Philippine folk beliefs, bodies of water are liminal spaces—thresholds between the human and spirit realms. The Bayambang mermaid narrative aligns with this broader cosmology, where rivers are not merely ecological systems but spiritual landscapes.

A Framed Memory of Valor: The PEFTOK Certificate of Mauricio V. Beltran

 A Framed Memory of Valor: The PEFTOK Certificate of Mauricio V. Beltran

Among the treasured archival holdings of a family in Cadre Site, Bayambang, Pangasinan rests a modest yet powerful document: the PEFTOK certificate awarded to Mauricio V. Beltran. Dated April 20, 1951, this 8.5 x 11-inch paper certificate stands as tangible proof of the Philippines’ participation in the Korean War through the Philippine Expeditionary Forces to Korea (PEFTOK), under the banner of the United Nations Forces.

Mounted in a simple wooden frame, the certificate bears the marks of time. The backing, ingeniously replaced with a scrap of magazine in lieu of a modern support board, reveals the family’s determination to preserve it despite limited resources. The paper has faded into a soft brown hue, with foxing and faint signs of wear, yet the printed text remains legible and dignified. At its top are two insignias flanking a banner boldly declaring “Korean War Veteran.” In the center, an eagle spreads its wings between two flags—on one side the Philippine flag, and on the other, a global emblem representing international solidarity. Superimposed before the eagle is the photograph of Mauricio V. Beltran himself, his name inscribed below, along with details of his service in the 2nd Battalion Combat Team (BCT).

This document is not merely a certificate; it is a testament to history. When North Korean forces crossed the 38th parallel on June 25, 1950, igniting the Korean War, the United Nations called upon member states to defend South Korea. The Philippines responded by deploying PEFTOK contingents—young Filipino soldiers who journeyed far from home to uphold democratic ideals in a distant land. Mauricio V. Beltran was among them.

As recounted by his son, Eduardo Beltran, who was only a child at the time, his father left for Korea while his children were still very young. For the Beltran family, the framed certificate symbolizes not only military service but paternal sacrifice—a quiet departure into uncertainty, motivated by duty and courage. Hung on the wall of their home and carefully wiped clean during family housekeeping, it has remained a silent yet constant presence through generations.

Historical and Cultural Significance

Historically, the certificate affirms the Philippines’ active role in international peacekeeping efforts during the early years of the Cold War. It embodies the country’s commitment to global responsibility and solidarity under the United Nations. More intimately, it personalizes that history. Instead of abstract dates and geopolitical movements, it presents a face—a Bayambangueño soldier who once stood on foreign soil in defense of freedom.

Socially and culturally, the certificate represents the valor of ordinary Filipinos whose contributions often remain unsung. It transforms global conflict into local memory, anchoring world history within the walls of a Pangasinan household. As an archival object, it carries strong interpretive potential: it invites reflection on themes of bravery, nationalism, family separation, and the cost of peace.

Conservation and Continuity

Today, the certificate shows signs of aging—fading ink, brown spots, possible mold growth, and vulnerability to humidity, pests, and natural calamities. Yet its survival for more than seven decades speaks to the devotion of the Beltran family. Though conservation measures remain informal—primarily framing and routine dusting—the act of preservation itself is meaningful. It signals recognition of the document’s value not only as a family keepsake but as part of Bayambang’s historical narrative.

In its fragility lies its strength. The PEFTOK certificate of Mauricio V. Beltran bridges the personal and the national, the local and the global. It reminds us that history is not confined to textbooks or monuments; it is also framed on living room walls, safeguarded by families who remember.

Through this single sheet of paper, the story of a Bayambangueño soldier continues to resonate—quietly affirming that courage, once given in service of peace, deserves to be remembered.

The Tambuyog: A Horn that Calls a Community Together

 The Tambuyog: A Horn that Calls a Community Together

In Brgy. Bongato East in Bayambang, Pangasinan, there endures a humble artifact locally known as the tambuyog—a local version of the ancient tambuli or blowhorn (tangguyob in Ilocano), fashioned from the horn of a carabao. Estimated to be 90–100 years old and carefully preserved by Mrs. Florida V. Alvarez, the tambuyog measures approximately 22 centimeters in length and 19 centimeters in width at the widest end. Dark in color, naturally curved, and polished by time and touch, it embodies both resourcefulness and rural craftsmanship.

At first glance, the tambuyog appears simple—merely a hollowed carabao horn. Yet in its form lies a profound function. Before the advent of electricity, mobile phones, and sirens, the tambuyog’s deep, echoing call cut across rice fields and clusters of nipa huts. Its sound served as an urgent guide in moments of impending danger: a warning of approaching calamity, fire, or threat. In an agricultural community where distances were measured by footpaths and open fields, this resonant horn became the village’s living alarm system.

Beyond its practical role, however, the tambuyog carried deeper socio-cultural meaning. It was not only a signal of alarm but also a call to unity. When blown, it summoned neighbors for tagnawa or the local version of bayanihan—that cherished Filipino tradition of communal solidarity. The people of Bongato East would gather at its sound to help transfer someone's abong (nipa hut or bahay-kubo), assist in harvesting crops, or extend aid to a family in need. In this way, the tambuyog did more than communicate; it convened hands and hearts.

Its significance lies precisely in this duality: it warned of danger, yet it also awakened a community's resolve through collective action. The horn’s echo was a reminder that no household stood alone. Each reverberation across the fields affirmed a shared responsibility and a shared destiny. The tambuyog thus became an emblem of unity—a sonic thread binding the community together.

As an ethnographic object, the tambuyog reflects a way of life shaped by nature and mutual dependence. Crafted from the horn of the carabao—an animal central to agrarian labor—it symbolizes the intimate relationship between the people and their environment. The same creature that tilled the soil also provided the material for an instrument that safeguarded the community.

Today, though modern communication devices have replaced its practical necessity, the tambuyog remains an inspiring cultural heirloom of Bongato East. It stands as a testament to a time when sound traveled through wind and will, when a single note could gather a village, and when unity was not announced digitally but breathed through a horn shaped by nature itself.

In preserving the tambuyog, the people of Bongato East preserve more than an artifact. They safeguard the memory of a community that listened—and responded—together.

Panagkargay Barya ed Lapag ya Abong: Coins Beneath the Threshold of Fortune

 Panagkargay Barya ed Lapag na Abong: Coins Beneath the Threshold of Fortune

Across many Filipino homes, particularly in parts of Pangasinan, one may find an unassuming yet meaningful detail embedded in the cemented floor: old coins carefully set into concrete. Known in Filipino as paglalagay ng barya sa sahig ng bahay para magsilbing pampaswerte and in Pangasinense as panagkargay barya ed lapag ya abong ta pampaswerte, this quiet tradition reflects a deeply rooted belief that prosperity begins at the very foundation of the home.

A Belief Cast in Concrete

The practice traces its origins to the wisdom of elders who upheld the conviction that coins placed on the floor would invite good fortune to the household. When traditional bamboo houses gradually gave way to cement structures in the latter half of the twentieth century, this belief adapted rather than disappeared. As families poured concrete floors—symbols of permanence and progress—they embedded coins within them, sealing prayers for abundance into the very structure of their dwellings.

Old coins, often forty years or older, made of copper, nickel, or silver alloys, are typically used. Their shapes vary—most are circular, while some are polygonal or decagonal. Though modest in material value, these coins are rich in symbolic meaning. Positioned permanently in the cement before it hardens, they become part of the house itself, visible reminders that prosperity is not only earned but also hoped for and invoked.

Custodians of the Tradition

The practice is not confined to a particular era. Houses built decades ago and even those constructed from the year 2000 onward continue to bear this mark of inherited belief. Its persistence underscores the role of culture-bearers—parents, grandparents, and respected elders—who transmit the custom through storytelling and lived example. Children grow up seeing coins embedded in their floors, hearing narratives of luck and blessing associated with them, and eventually replicating the act in their own homes.

Transmission occurs primarily through oral tradition and observation. There is no written manual, no formal ceremony required. Instead, it is the gentle authority of pamahiin—folk belief—that sustains the practice. As long as stories are told and examples remain visible beneath one’s feet, the custom endures.

Layers of Significance

Historically, the embedding of coins reflects a transitional moment in Filipino domestic life—the shift from bamboo dwellings to concrete homes. It symbolizes continuity amid modernization, demonstrating how intangible beliefs find expression in new material contexts.

Aesthetically, the coins lend subtle ornamentation to otherwise plain cement floors. Their metallic sheen contrasts with gray concrete, offering a quiet charm that blends faith and design. Yet beyond appearance, the deeper value lies in the spiritual and social dimensions of the act. It is a gesture of hope, a declaration that the household aspires toward prosperity, harmony, and stability.

Socially, the tradition strengthens intergenerational bonds. It affirms respect for elders’ wisdom and connects present families to ancestral ways of thinking. Spiritually, it embodies the Filipino inclination to harmonize the physical environment with unseen forces of luck and blessing.

Present Condition and Future Safeguarding

The practice remains observable in many homes in Bayambang and neighboring communities. However, like many intangible cultural traditions, it faces the quiet threat of fading through neglect. Modern architectural preferences, changing beliefs, and diminishing attention to oral traditions may gradually erode its presence.

Safeguarding this heritage depends on continued transmission—through documentation, storytelling, and conscious practice. Community mapping efforts, such as the profiling conducted on September 23, 2018 in Bical Norte, Bayambang, Pangasinan, ensure that the tradition is recorded and remembered. Key informants like Violeta Datuin, aged 73, serve as living bridges between past and present, preserving collective memory through personal testimony.

A Foundation of Hope

Ultimately, panagkargay barya ed lapag ya abong is more than a superstition. It is a metaphor made tangible: prosperity laid at the foundation, hope sealed into the home. In a world of shifting values and rapid change, this small act reminds us that culture often resides not in grand monuments but in humble details—coins pressed into cement, carrying with them the quiet wish that every household may flourish.

Kuripot (Stingy) in Pangasinan

Kuripot (Stingy) in Pangasinan

It is funny how we, Pangasinenses, have invented a number of words and expressions for "kuripot" (Tagalog) or "stingy" (English), yet only have one word for "generous" ("maiter"), with at least only one synonymous expression -- and of notable length too: "no mangiter, mabulbulos ed linawa to").

Kuripot (stingy) 

Awet (tough) 

Malet (sturdy; matibay) 

Kemkem (has closed fist)

Boksingero (boxer)

Wala'y bulsa to'd katat (has pocket in his skin, meaning "mayaman naman pero madamot o kuripot")

Aralem ya impanbulsa, Aralem so bulsa (has a deep pocket, deep-pocketed). Example: "Ayan too et aralem so bulsa to." (This person has a deep pocket.) - "This person is thrifty (or stingy)."

Maigot (?)

Magimper (?)

'Cory' (shorthand for kuripot, used during the time of President Corazon 'Cory' Aquino)

Growing up, I also kept hearing people say, "Ilocanon talaga" to mean "kuripot." I am not saying it is true, just a typical Pangasinense's view of the stereotypical 'GI' (ginuwayn Ilocano). 

Dr. Jayson Ibanez

 Dr. Jayson Ibanez

Environmental Conservationist

For nearly three decades, Dr. Jayson Ibanez has devoted his life to protecting one of the Philippines’ most powerful symbols — the critically endangered Philippine eagle — and the forests that sustain it. A conservation biologist of international standing, Dr. Ibanez’s career reflects a rare blend of rigorous science, community engagement, and deep personal integrity rooted in his hometown of Bayambang, Pangasinan.

Dr. Ibanez has spent 27 years studying and conserving the Philippine eagle, the country’s national bird and a key indicator of forest health. Since 2012, he has served as Director of the Philippine Eagle Foundation (PEF), a non-profit, non-governmental organization at the forefront of wildlife research and conservation. As PEF’s chief scientist, he has led field research projects across the country and successfully secured more than 40 conservation grants to support long-term biodiversity initiatives. Alongside his NGO work, he has been shaping future scientists as a Senior Lecturer at the University of the Philippines Mindanao and an Adjunct Professor at UP Los Baños.

A graduate of UP Los Baños and Ateneo de Davao University, Dr. Ibanez earned his PhD in Natural Resource Management from Charles Darwin University in Australia through an Australian Leadership Award scholarship. His academic and field work has produced landmark contributions to conservation science. He pioneered the systematic, long-term study of Philippine eagle home range, survival, and habitat use using radio, satellite, and GPS/GSM telemetry—tracking 26 eagles with state-of-the-art technology. This work significantly expanded scientific understanding of the species and culminated in a paper published in the prestigious journal Animal Conservation, which now serves as a blueprint for the national species action plan for the Philippine eagle.

Equally influential is his PhD research on knowledge integration and indigenous planning, which laid the foundation for PEF’s “culture-based conservation” approach. This model promotes fair, meaningful, and respectful engagement with indigenous communities and has become a benchmark for inclusive conservation in the Philippines. Through this approach, conservation is not imposed but shared — anchored in local knowledge, traditions, and stewardship.

Dr. Ibanez’s work has earned both national and international recognition. He received the Biodiversity Recognition Award from the DENR’s Biodiversity Management Bureau in 2015, the Bronze Award from the BP Conservation Programme, and honors from the Yale International Society of Tropical Foresters. He is also a recipient of the Whitley Fund for Nature awards — often called the “Green Oscars” — which recognize conservation leaders making real-world impact through science and grassroots action. His story and work have reached wider audiences through documentaries by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, international wildlife filmmakers, and national media.

Beyond awards, the true measure of Dr. Ibanez’s contribution lies in its impact on public welfare. By protecting eagle habitats, his work safeguards forests that serve as watersheds, carbon sinks, and natural defenses against disasters — while sustaining the livelihoods of upland communities. His conservation efforts directly support climate change mitigation, ecosystem resilience, and sustainable development.

As an educator, public speaker, and mentor, Dr. Ibanez inspires young Filipinos to pursue science, service, and nation-building. He has co-authored at least 36 scientific papers and written dozens of popular articles that bring conservation issues closer to the public. His commitment to service is further reflected in innovative community programs such as forest guard initiatives that provide income to poor uplanders, and youth engagement programs that train out-of-school youth and young professionals as conservation workers.

Humble, principled, and people-centered, Dr. Jayson Ibanez carries with him the values he learned growing up in Bayambang — respect for others, a strong moral compass, and a commitment to the common good. Whether in remote forests or international forums, he remains a quiet but steadfast champion of nature and people, proving that meaningful change is built through science, compassion, and service.