my addiction

I love condensed milk. And if you ask me what’s my favorite sandwich spread for my pan de sal and pan de leche, Liberty tops my list with Star Margarine sprinkled with brown sugar as close second.

My mother made desserts that required condensed milk like leche flan or buco salad. And every time this happened, we---the six of us---would squabble for the empty Liberty can. And when it got rowdy, mother would invoke my being the youngest. And so I’d repair to one corner of our kitchen where I would spoon whatever remained of the creamy, sweet, yellowish viscous liquid into my mouth. Other times I’d pour hot water into the can, stir, and shake it before drinking the contents straight from the can’s jagged edge. Thinking about this now felt strange because I was the kid who hated drinking Nido and American Tiki-tiki.

My memory bank is crammed with images that include a can of Liberty with twin punctures plugged in by its own dog-eared label, sitting on a saucer that contained water to keep the ants at bay. (There was no ref yet!) And just before it turned sour, we’d make pastillas—milk candies---out of it.

Most of my baon as a kid went to my classmates who sold pastillas. Placed inside a Nescafe glass, these pastillas were shaped in circles and dusted with white sugar so they wouldn’t stick together like goat dung.

Pastillas became my drug of choice. Sometimes the craving grew beyond quelling that I had to buy them on credit. But knowing there would be hell to pay if my parents found out, I had to make my enterprising classmates promise not to seek me out at home for payment. But because all promises are made to be broken, my parents found out and made pastillas of my butt!

I went cold turkey and joined Pastillas Anonymous! No, scratch that; I’m hallucinating.

I went through college clean of my addiction. But every time I saw a can of Liberty, I had this compulsion to open it and pour its contents on a hot oiled pan to make pastillas that I would have wolfed down in one go!

Years rolled by. Then recently, and just like that, my drug of choice started appearing on the shelves of big stores in Tandag. They may now come wrapped in water cellophane and shaped in tiny squares but they are as yummy and sweet as the pastillas of my youth.

I’m on relapse!