The place we call home has been littered with varying levels of realities grossly entwined that defined a major fabric of every single maconian character. True to the sense that a quintessential maconian, when confronted with a mirror of life, may reflect that the topmost strands of his hair down to the bottom tip of his toes, the highs and lows of his innermost thoughts and feelings, the depth and breadth of his inclinations, the bits and pieces of his intellect are influenced in one way or another by the town’s all-encompassing natural landscape, people, friends, socio-economic strata and external factors.
From all corners of Maco, when lit by the early morning sunshine that peep through the dew of the dawn of a new coming day, spells a new beginning of a daily grind where hopes and dreams may walk along with every town folks oblivious of the tough challenges that will face them ahead of the day.
At the hinterlands, a reverberating echo of sounds can be heard from parents urging their young one’s to tend their live stocks or attend to their farms. Bequeathed by the songs of birds and staccatos of wild faunas, they lie in wait the produce of farms often swayed by the gust of wind that teach the heart that life is all about patience and simplicity.
Down below at the bay side, mothers and their children commence their day meeting their fisher folks and expecting good catch hauled at dawn. Others just flex their muscles, grab their fishnets and good to go for a day’s catch. Those employed either self or not follow their body clock and find their way to their workplace saved from the hustles and bustles of life.
How sleepy our town may seem to the most developed world out there, the spellbinding realities that confront every single individual, family of social unit can offer a fertile rich challenges that can form a momentous experience, not unlike those living elsewhere who either have’s or have not’s every possible resources, that could make the best of their growing up years.
Wherever we are now, where fate or choice has led us, the very constitution of our inner beings, moulded by the essentials of our youthful days, continue to follow us and inviting an insurmountable reflections of our town memories that often times refresh our inner souls who sometimes weary of the toils in mustering stuff essentials to our very own existence and those to our very own emotive contentment.
Maconians are classified as those who chose to remain living at home, or close to home, in some archipelagos elsewhere around the country or those scattered across the globe all of whom spent the tender part of their childhood in the town that will never cease to be an integral part of their existence.
Maconians are also those people whom we esteemed and hold dear to our hearts, who literally and figuratively exhaust all means to walk so we their children could run, and, those who literally and figuratively run so we their children could fly. Their parental love, words of wisdom, sacrificial acts also will be enshrined in the some pages of this site.
This site attempts to catalogue some images, viewpoints and experiential stories that may remind us of our growing up years. Along with them were our hopes and dreams when we were still young, living and thriving somewhere in our town. It is simply an on-line tribute for those who are mindful of their distant past and long to cherish them – may it be memories of gleeful interactions with those boisterous elementary and high school friends, a sigh of those past struggles of poverty and resounding cheer of triumphs out of financial quagmire, an escape from socio-political turmoil, and re-evaluation of those who attempted to motivate us – may it be our parents, neighbours and known local figures.