It was a few dots before eight, and there was already a buzz of activity in the highway roadside in Cabad, Balilihan.
A lady, wielding a midrib broom, was sweeping the grass in the lawn, the sweet rustic aroma of freshly mowed grass rise in contra-point with the scent of cooking caramel and burnt grass.
Moments later, men carrying a collapsible tent marched in to put up a makeshift sunshade for the early morning activity.
Judging by the number of monobloc chairs arranged under the tent, this would be a social event.
Activity buzzed in the dainty green-painted native house of woven bamboo and finished hollow blocks peeping behind a closed and abandoned shop, in front of the tent set up.
Ladies hang curtains, swept the cement floor, while in the kitchen, on a low fire was a vat where biko was cooking.
Married after being swept off in a chance romantic encounter with a betrothed guy from Desamparados Calape, Manang Cristobala or Bala to her neighbors, sure knows that the handsome Juan Lozada, with a bagful of cash for his supposed wedding, can only be serious with her, if he persists.
A full summer of courting, staying with her family in Balilihan for the fiesta, their Bohol vacation ended with a civil marriage that marked the end of their commitment to live through thick and thin, with a thick wad of prayers everyday.
Now, with their five children already having families of their own, the bouncy Manang Bala, who wears a crown of silver hair, can hardly be imagined to be turning 70, something a stressful life could not give.