Drifting Thoughts 06

Last February 23 to 25, I was in Baguio. It was my second visit to the City of Pines; the first one was 18 years ago. Eighteen years! What a loser. That's what happens when you're born last in the family, at a time when your parents have long settled down and fended off the travel bug, parents who are overprotective to the point of locking you up. (Sorry, just had to rant about that frustration of mine. Anyway, I'm on my own now so no there's point in blaming the past if I still keep myself from discovering the world.)









This particular weekend was the time for Baguio's Panagbenga (Blossoming) Festival, which is highlighted by a parade of flower-decked floats similar to the one in Pasadena, California. I actually learned of the schedule only at midday of February 23 and, with nothing¹ to do on a three-day weekend, decided within minutes to join the trip that would be leaving five hours later. This was quite uncharacteristic of me, who would usually plan trips more than a week beforehand. One consequence of this would be forgetting to bring a jacket!

Aside from my failure to bring a jacket, the trip was riddled with bloopers. There was this two-hour delay when a rendezvous that supposed to take place in Trinoma ended somewhere in Balintawak.² Then there were a series of wrong turns along the highway as well as driving in circles in Baguio City itself.³ These extended the usual six-hour trip into eight, and at three in the morning hotels were fully booked, of course, so we opted to sleep in the car in Burnham Park. This had given us a good chance to acquire a great vantage point for picture-taking, which we eventually got at the overpass of Abanao Square. The series of unfortunate events continued after the parade: a lost wallet, a corrupted memory card, allergy-induced colds and a vehicular parking mishap. Nothing to worry about, I keep mentioning in my mind like a Zen mantra, I'd experienced worse,⁴ it could have been worse.⁵

Indeed there was not much to worry about. Baguio's temperature at that time was a little higher than 20 degrees Celsius, which incidentally puts it in the same temperature range at the office. I felt like a native when walking around in a T-shirt. The coldness only bothered me twice: the first was when it rained on the parade, which is easily solved with an umbrella purchase, the second was when it got windy at night when I was in the cathedral, oh how I wished to huddle up with that cute lady sitting beside me at Mass.⁶









My sightseeing was partly an attempt to relive some obscure childhood memories. This time I got to enjoy the view at Camp John Hay and posing on horseback at Mines View Park while back then my childhood fear of heights actually got me agitated. Some childhood memories can't be relieved, though, not during Panagbenga anyway. The influx of tourists practically filled up Burnham Park, and shops crowded Mines View.⁷ If I want to enjoy the place, I'd have to visit some other time, when there would be not that many people from where I come from (the "lowlands"). The swollen number of vistors actually amplifies the fact that the city is overpopulated. Going through downtown, I had this impression that this supposedly tourist city is no different from a congested, dilapidated urban area in the lowlands. Then there's the pollution. Old vehicles contribute much to it; thus, it's a spark of hope that the electric jeepney was introduced to the city and featured in the Panagbenga Parade.<sup>8










1</sup>Actually, I could've written a blog entry.
²What do you expect from people unfamiliar with the place?
³Substandard road signs disappear at night. Add to that the observation that most drivers in the North keep their headlights at "high" for maximum glare. Drivers in the Bicol area would be courteous enough to switch to "low" upon meeting oncoming vehicles.
⁴I was thinking of my three-day trip to Catanduanes ten years ago, where I got badly seasick (but didn't puke, hah!) and, being another trip taken on a whim, I brought no luggage whatsoever.
⁵Like falling down the mountain range.
⁶Virtuous maiden, please comfort your shivering brethren.
⁷Not unlike what happened to the view of the Cagsawa Ruins in Albay.
⁸It's interesting that the electric jeepney can actually handle the sloping streets of Baguio.

-oOo-

I know it's already Holy Week, but I'd just want to let it out my system. Valentine's Day just came and went last month. There should have been part 10 of Fantasia--that love story I'm writing for over a year now--released for the occasion, but inspiration became scarce. My IM status message indicated that the current unattached space was a bug in the program that is my life. 'Twas Singles Awareness Day indeed. Thankfully, by the afternoon of V-day, I had wizened up to admonish myself not to let Valentines ruin my ideals on love. The hopeless romantic lives on.

The Day of Hearts seemed to be a non-occasion this year. Some couples I know had avoided the date and its accompanying high prices and full bookings. Back then, my friends and I, made it a point to have some celebration. A simple lunch or dinner would do. The most memorable among them was what we in DS made up as a week to show our love to our organization. It was complete with an exchange gift, a Cupid courtship service and a big concluding party.

We also had some Valentines celebration in our office last year. Unbelievably, I won a dating game consisting of multiple choice questions to determine compatibility. I stayed on the conservative side, and it cracked me up to discover that the secret searchee was none other than a batchmate of mine. No romance in there, but I could've appreciated a "dinner" compliments of the company (too bad there's none).

Maybe those little distractions were all that I need to keep away from the V-day blues.

-oOo-

It dawned upon me that summer is here when the recent readers stumbled upon this blog when searching for Casa Remo Apartelle. They all end up to this entry of mine.

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Hold On

My Fantasia fantasizing was interrupted last March 10 by a far more pleasant matter, a fantasy-turned-reality, so to speak. This activity was so compelling that for the first time in months, I woke up earlier than eight in the morning, just to make sure I wouldn't be left behind even if I knew from past experience that things like these follow an extreme form of Filipino time. However, it turned out well and good that I woke up early; since, to my surprise, everyone had also been up and ready early enough, enabling the trip to commence in record time by eight. After a hurried breakfast and a few minutes wait by the C5 road, I was all smiles when the rented van approached, and, once inside, I chatted with dear friends I had not seen for a while. The places whizzed by: South Luzon Expressway, Star Toll Way, Lipa City, Padre Garcia town, San Juan town, Laiya Beach. In a little less than four hours (another record time, thanks to a driver who's too fast, too eager for comfort), I was back at the Casa Remo Apartelle.

Now approaching its first year in business, the apartelle had maintained the no-frills approach that would appeal to tourists simply in need of a clean and safe place to sleep, eat and leave their things while they explore the beach and the sea. Why bother with amenities like cable TV, which are supposed to be left behind in the city? Doing away with these fancy stuffs to lower the room rate would be far more reasonable for me. Besides, the real priceless treasure would be the warm service provided by the caretakers.

Speaking of the beach and the sea, Laiya had staved off at least for this year the commercialization plaguing other more famous beaches in the Philippines. There was still none of those in-your-face beachside rows of restaurants and videoke bars. Heck, there's even a 10 pm moratorium from the videoke-induced ear torture, at least in Casa Remo. Also, the boats ferrying people to snorkel sites were still occupying a small stretch of beach; thus, they bother only those who swim within their territory. I was able to take one such boat ride and finally saw fishes, colored yellow, silver and blue, swim up close to feed from the bread crumbs we offered. I was even more delighted that two shortcomings I had pointed out in my Laiya post last year were somehow absent this time around: the sea was cleaner now while the stronger pressure of the plumbing system provided enough flowing water for me to have a decent shower.

Curiously, I am giving Laiya and Casa Remo a rare all-glowing review. Perhaps it is due to the timing of our outing; since, this time we got there before the end of classes and the Holy Week vacation. Meaning, we arrived weeks before hordes of tourists from Metro Manila spoil the place with their wasteful habits (city-dwellers, bah!). Furthermore, unlike last year, there was no typhoon the week before to mess up the area.

I think, though, that I tend to gloss over trifles simply because I was in good company last weekend. As I had said in my post last year, if I wanted to make a pilgrimage reliving all those exhilarating emotional memories of college friendship, I should have done it so with these friends. Well whaddya know, good things do happen if one fervently wishes for them to happen.

I was with my friends from the college organization we fondly refer to as DS. There were only six of us in that outing: Maan, Malen, Niña, Ruth, Jacob and I. Others have been tied up with other commitments in home, school or office, on matters that were either scheduled way beforehand or cropped up at the last minute. Due to a routine overtime, even I almost didn't make it if not for a change in the outing's schedule.

From about twenty or more potential attendees, the fact that only six made it is admittedly disappointing for me somewhat, but I do acknowledge, reluctantly, that ever since graduating and being entrenched in our respective work or further education, it is inevitable that we would part ways. It has been two to three years since dispersing to pursue our individual careers. Although we do meet up once in a while, it would never be the same like in college, where every day we would drop by our little org room either to fulfill our "shifting" for our various services or simply to seek amiable company. Gone, too, would be those weekly meetings where we discussed, in no particular order, organization stuff, the latest gossip or what gimik we would do afterwards. When once we thought that the different schedules of classes and locations classrooms already make meeting up quite challenging, even more varied schedules and locations of the different companies and schools we are in now make meeting up almost impossible. Ah, I remember myself one March morning two years ago, also here in Casa Remo. We were wrapping up our penultimate official activity for DS, all huddled in prayer. It was at the point when I contemplated this impending prospect of separation that I was driven to tears: bittersweet tears they were.

Though unavoidable the drifting away would be, I hope we do so with the ties still intact, in such a way that when the call for a reunion such as this arrives, and barring no conflict in schedules nor logistical concerns, almost everyone would attend.

In this outing, one thing reminded me why these are great friends beyond sharing common interests, beyond sharing common opinions, beyond sharing fun moments together. The fact that we can express our misgivings of each other, without the ill feelings is, I think, proof of a mature and strong friendship. More than acceptance, there is that desire to make friends grow. Being on the receiving end of constructive criticism from friends like these have made me aware of weaknesses, an awareness that is more acute than if the remark is coming from, say my boss or even my parents.

It was amusing that even until now, there can still be new things we discover from one another: from confidential interrogations, discussions on love and friendship, and actuations by the beach we got to know of changes, intrigues and the like. Among the discoveries, the most striking and at the same time comforting for me, in the sense that they resonated with my own sentiments, were that we share the gratitude of how this companionship had contributed to our growth to the better as well as the desire to preserve the friendship for the rest of our lives.

The outing was only an overnight stay, and our reunion ended too soon. With a sigh, our present commitments crept into our consciousness. We traveled to Manila in silence, to each his or her own thoughts. We were going back to the "real world" and wallow there until the next fantasy-turned-reality.

-oOo-

Apologies for the delay of this write-up. Immediately after the outing, instead of resting for the week of work ahead, my laptop and me myself was commandeered in the preparations for another journey, this time to a big destination come May, and when I say big I mean literally and figuratively big. To avoid being jinxed however, I won't mention it yet, just stay tuned folks!

(Pictures from Ruth)

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From the Fall to the Legacies

It was just within this month when my brother and I were discussing safety in tall buildings. My brother remarked that the buildings in this housing complex of ours were much more safer than the ones in other places he had visited. To illustrate, he said that the presence of canopies, pot holders and raised windows, although unable to completely eradicate accidents, would ensure that only the really darn frisky children would encounter the most severe consequences.

Yesterday, one darn frisky two-year-old boy did suffer the most severe consequence of falling from the fifth floor.

My first inkling of the accident was a terrified wail from the boy's mother. She bawled out loudly and continually of how she was about to prevent it all but was still too late. When I peeked out of our window, the boy was already whisked away for treatment; instead, I saw dazed onlookers staring from their own windows and a throng of kibitzers at the ground. A crying, ballistic four-year-old stares and jumps at a spot surrounded by scattered bougainvillea bracts. He most probably witnessed it all and was heavily traumatized. From the scattered bracts I pieced out in CSI fashion how the boy might have been outbalanced from the fifth floor, plummet through the overhanging bougainvillea branches at the third floor, bounced off the canopy roof of the ground floor entrance, before falling on the cement walkway. My brother's wife, who was at the window before me still saw the immobile body, the right side of the face blackened and bruised, the mouth oozing with blood, and was shakened by the vision for the rest of the day. Actually, everyone in the vicinity were shaken for some time. Even my brother who missed the whole episode by a couple of hours would not bring himself to play the piano. "Play a somber piece, say, the Moonlight Sonata," my wisecracking self still managed some dark humor.

What frustrated me in this incident was that, of the large number of military personnel and nursing students in this housing complex, the first one on the scene was an idle bystander (tambay) who was clearly ignorant of first aid procedures. In a seemingly heroic gesture, he cradled the boy in his arms and rushed him to some transportation to the hospital.

Pathetic and downright wrong!

To manually carry the victim in this instance is the last thing anyone with even the faintest first aid knowledge (that includes me) would do! Doing so may potentially exacerbate any injury to the head and neck like for instance, completely severing the spinal cord leading to paralysis. Instead, one should check on the pulse and breathing while another looks for a stretcher and a neck brace and calls for transport. Lack of pulse and breathing will necesitate CPR like in all those TV dramas. Stop external bleeding by applying pressure with a clean cloth. Etc, etc... Consult a more reputable and updated source for first aid techniques, save lives and be a real hero, not just on style but substance.

It is fortunate that with the help of prayers, building safety features that prevented a direct slam to the ground, and the fact that growing children are more robust than we consider them to be, x-ray results as of this writing amazingly indicate no fractures to the skull and the boy is now responsive to stimuli.

-oOo-

Ugh, what a gloomy entry! Allow me to lighten things up:


At around the same time as the falling incident, I was engrossed with a five-CD Click-Art and font collection from the mid-1990s. It came with legacy software for viewing and editing the numerous images in the CD along with instructions for installing in Windows 95, imagine that. In fact the viewer program was clearly of a different era because it uses a different window theme, a more primordial one. The most funny thing about it was the eye icon for its View button: like a precursor to present-day cheesy Flash objects, this eye follows the mouse pointer around and blinks randomly.

Creepy.



I don't know why, but encountering relics of electronica, especially those of the 90s, gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. Perhaps, it's because of the fact that these were the very first objects that have captured my imagination, and launched me to a quest of knowledge from MS-DOS to Windows to Unix; from Game & Watch to Brick Game (Tetris) to PC games (note the jump, no Famicom to Gameboy to Playstation for me, loser); from QBasic to Turbo Pascal to Java to Unix scripting; from dBase to Access to SQL; from copy con file.txt to Wordstar to Word to Blogger; from 256 KB floppies to 1.44 MB disks to CDs, hard drives and USB drives.

Sigh.

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More Random Dump of 2006 Stuff -- Picture-perfect Scenes

I'm no Señor Enrique, who's always ready with his camera to snap a photo whenever he sees a compelling scene. I can only attempt with words to share whatever vision has graced mine eyes...

My return after five years to the Peñafrancia Fiesta was like a prodigal son of Bicol once again visiting his Mother. This mother-and-son theme were what binds the two moments I witnessed back then. I saw the first scene at the end of a pontifical mass in the honor of Inâ (that's how Bicolanos call Mama Mary). The bishop and his entourage of diocesan priests have left the altar save for one young priest. He was holding his cameraphone up, doing what every other person with a cameraphone or digicam was doing: taking a picture of Inâ enshrined at the foot of the Cross in the Naga Cathedral. Here was a showcase of how the latest technology has been integrated into an age-old Bicolano tradition.

The other scene in Bicol has a more secular and general appeal, but great nonetheless. It happened when I visited my brother and his wife's music studio cum home. My sister-in-law, by the way, was the music teacher. Tired from fiesta music engagements, she was taking a nap upstairs, so I interacted with my brother and his two children, both showing prodigious musical talent. (The mathematician in me also saw their talent in numbers when they demonstrated some mental arithmetic and when I gave each a P500 bill--I grinned ear-to-ear when they discussed how many 20s were there in 500. Too bad I couldn't be there to nurture it. Oh well, they can't have it all, a bromide said so.) A while later, the younger one went upstairs and started playing his violin. I also went upstairs and saw him playing to his mother who was probably half-awake by then but still laying on the sofa with her eyes closed. I watched inconspicuously, hoping to prolong this poignant vision of a son serenading his mother.

The third scene I want to share was during the first few days of darkness after the typhoon Milenyo. The night sky was still overcast with low cloud cover while I was walking home from work. The sound of a 737 taking off from NAIA made me look upwards. From my vantage point, I watched as it climbed seemingly straight up into the clouds. In doing so, I noticed a strange illumination effect its headlights were making on the wispy clouds. With the plane at the center, most of the light beam spread out downwards, bearing an appearance of a long white skirt or tunic. At the same time, the light illuminated an area emanating from both wings of the plane, appearing like white wings of a bird. Taken together, it was like the wings and clothing of an angel! I thought it was the one comforting sight for me in the aftermath of the typhoon.

Too bad for all cases, I cannot collect photographic evidence for sharing with others. I hope words can suffice.


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Random Dump of 2006 Stuff

I'm the kind of writer whose inspiration does not come as often as daily or weekly. If it comes, this writer then rambles on with kilometric prose (again taking his sweet time to type out the words and sentences), edits, hesitates, contemplates, and edits some more before finally coming up with a masterpiece of a blog entry. Consequently, some entries that are in the pipeline suddenly become outdated, or some parts are edited out lest the entry becomes a boring full-length essay. Thus, before these thoughts become so last year, I present to you the never-before-written paragraphs and deleted parts of Highway Drift for the year 2006 (Ugh, it sounds like a DVD special feature!)...

-oOo-

I went home to Naga City last September for the Peñafrancia Fiesta after five long years of missing its fun and blessings. I could've churned out lots of entries exploring different aspects of this nine-day-long festival, but I didn't. Fortunately, it's an annual thing, so I most probably have another shot at it next September. If you can't wait, well, check out the links in this paragraph.

What was the thing about this year's fiesta? It's the time I seem to have reached the culmination of a trend I've noticed in the few times in the past five years that I managed to go back home. It's as if the city has moved on without me. Significant changes have taken place among my relatives and old friends, in the schools I have gone to, and in the city itself. Changes I am not party to. Changes I approach as a stranger, and in turn these changes also consider me as one, an oddity from a different time, five years ago to be exact.

At the same time, it's as if I have moved on while the city stood in time. My friends and relatives speak with an ennui that makes me think of them as static beings. (What's up, I ask. Nothing new, they answer. It's always like this.) While I contemplated moving back to take a break from polluted and hectic Metro Manila living, I was confronted with the fact that I have to deal with baggage from unresolved feuds (petty, childish feuds as I view them now) and unchanging attitudes of long ago (and I when I say long ago, I mean way before I was born). Then I'm hearing of rumors that I was spared, for now while I am away, from new baggage that formed in my absence. Perhaps this disconnect is partly my fault too. I am not the person that would burn the phone lines to keep in touch. I operate more on the mantra out of sight, out of mind.

Perhaps it's a way of telling me that Metro Manila, how ever resentful I am with it, is where I belong now, where I have friends from college and in work, where I have a job and other business opportunities, where I can avoid the mistakes of the past, where I can make for myself a new life. I guess, for a change, it's time to keep in touch with these friends, and not lose them this time, not with all the technology available to connect, not with all those fond memories formed back then, not with more great memories to be formed in the future. It's time to take the job seriously, or at least do what I'm supposed to do while still avoiding stress; else it'll be tough if I get booted out. It's time to make new friends with the neighbors and with the officemates.

And lay off the drama, geez...

-oOo-

I didn't blog about my birthday, for crying out loud! That was last October, by the way. "I'm 22 for a moment," the song 100 Years by Five for Fighting croons with melodious melancholy, and that's the only part of the song I can relate to; I'm deprived of being "on fire" with a significant other, more so "making our way back from Mars."

On a positive note though, some people still think I'm a college student, like the jeepney drivers, for instance, who charge me with the student's fare. And I can still blend in whenever I visit my college to bask in nature and nostalgia. The one particular episode I remember was when I bought tickets for Da Vinci Code in Market! Market! The sales lady, who appears to be of the same age as I asked how old I was. Rather than be immediately flattered, my first reaction was to be slightly irritated by the fact that I will have to compute for/recall my real age. Then I was annoyed that Dan Brown's thriller was R-18 primarily due to hype and unfounded fears. "T-t-twenty," I stammered. "No! I'm twenty ... twenty-one. Yes, twenty-one going on twenty-two," I managed to mutter. Then I was flattered.

But all these mean nothing when the children I'm tutoring exclaim "You're only 22! We thought you were..." Kids don't lie, do they?


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Drifting Thoughts 03

I'm currently in an insecurity funk, blogging-wise. It all started last month when I was searching for a blog from a current student in the high school where I spent the last of my "boyhood days" and the beginning of my "manhood years," as I sung its song back then. Now it's a gender-sensitive "childhood days" and "youthful years" due to a shift into co-education two years, mere two years, after I graduated. Indeed within that year, my school underwent even more changes like a move into a new campus and the return of a well-respected principal. I would've thrived in those changing times, but unfortunately for me, I was in Manila by then, so I can only monitor the issues and milestones at a distance. Ever since I started blogging, I knew that the next best thing from being there is to read about the perspective of someone in there, a high school student like I was before. I was specifically looking for their opinions and pictures on a real gritty competition for my own blog entry that I hope would give my high school justice amidst the hyped competition my other alma mater had recently figured in (the plan is shelved for now, partly because I found no pics, partly because of that typhoon again) . In my search I found this, which opened me up to a blogging network of sorts of students in that school (where this one, by the way, rocks and has potential to rock even harder when she grows up). They, in turn, appear to be fans of this Manila-based high school blogger, who I think had fared well in Pinoy Top Blogs. This is where my insecurity surfaces: why do these kids' blogs, judging from the comments and hits they receive, appear to be more prominent than mine? Well, a quick answer would be because they have a readily available audience: classmates. And from these classmates the network would easily spread to their friends, then friends of friends and so on and so forth. As for me, I started blogging more than one year after graduating, enough time for contact with college friends to diminish significantly. Ironically, one of the purposes of this blog is to let these friends know what's up with my life and allow them a peek into other facets of my self that they failed to see in that introverted fellow they knew back then. Sigh. Officemates? No, I'd rather not let them know of this blog, just in case, if you know what I mean. That's why I would never mention my company, or my officemates' names here. Perhaps when I'm in another job, I'd mention them. Family? Same reason.

Another reason for diminished hits in this blog would be my infrequent posting. Like a former senate president, I may say "quality over quantity," but as with that legislator, I am not excused with this pathetic attempt to gloss over the preoccupation of probing other people's blogs instead of writing my own. Instead I should admit that inertia has me fixed on the blog-reading and an external force should act upon me to make me write. Well, I think this insecurity funk has nudged me somewhat.

I shall soldier on my blogging, slowly but surely. In fact I'm brewing an entry of apocalyptic proportions. No, it's not the third part of my Milenyo series although that one's also in the assembly line (attributing that typhoon to the Apocalypse is so pathetically naive. Bato-bato sa langit ang tamaan 'wag magalit, baka yang ibato sa'yo pang-Apokalipsis na nga). It's supposed to be my Halloween entry but it's also related to the winter solstice, so the delay may be justified.

-oOo-

Last month, the world was in furor over the nuclear testing of North Korea. But underneath the crazy hair, this Dear Leader guy sure had some crazier wisdom in timing his latest belligerent act as the last among those of his co-"Axis of Evil", somewhat recognizing that the nation who had the biggest axe to grind against them would be too busy wielding its big stick against the other two to use it against him. That's why, barely a month afterwards, the noise died down--a record time for a news event like this. This is good though, the world doesn't need another war, especially not in the neighborhood at this time of the year.

In hindsight, I remember the anecdote our Israeli guest trainer shared last month about his stint in South Korea. He was amazed at how seriously the people there took their preparations for war. He said there were frequent reminders over a PA system on what to do in case of attack, presumably from the North. In his country, he compares, they may discuss it now and then, but never in a frequency and scale of that magnitude. It may be a cultural difference, but given his country's past and recent experience, we tended to agree that indeed it was a curious paranoid behavior.

Two days later the test happened.

-oOo-

Sanamagan! Manong Max is now gone! Indeed, as someone had said, he has left a void difficult to fill.

I shall write about him and another Philippine Star great, the late Teddy Benigno in another entry. This Drifting Thoughts entry is not worthy to bear tribute to them.

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Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 5 of 5)

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

Laiya, San Juan, Batangas

This was the outing that nearly failed to push through.

It was a tradition among the young ones in our IT department to have a summer outing as a bonding activity. In previous years, they had been to La Union and also to White Beach, Puerto Galera. Calls for organizing this outing came more than a month ahead of schedule so that we could mark it off our "busy" calendar. Consistent with our "workaholic" lifestyle though, we put the issue of organizing the outing at the back of our minds. Only later did it dawn upon us that we will have to reserve a venue in advance. Numerous suggestions have been thrown, but in the end they chose mine: Laiya Beach in San Juan, Batangas.

Obviously, I suggested this place since I had been there before--twice in fact--and both were bittersweet but predominantly happy memories nevertheless. On both occasions, I participated in my capacity as core group member in the year-end evaluation seminar of my beloved college organization, the Department of Student Welfare and Services (fondly called as DS). Ah, those were times of heightened emotions ranging from bored to solemn to reflective to cheerful to funny to sad to hopeful--all of these a testament to the friendship (or such) of a group that was formed between acquaintances and even strangers who were given tasks to fulfill in twelve months, and in the end will have to bid farewell to graduating members and give way to the next core group. Therefore, for me, this outing would also be a personal pilgrimage to relive those memories.

Alas, the year 2006 was out to prove itself as a rain-drenched year and it started early with its bid. There was a tropical storm in May, and it struck Batangas right during the weekend of our supposed outing. Thus, aside from the strange schedule for this spiraling cloud of bad weather, it had a quite unusual path (they usually pass by Bicol and Northern Luzon). We were forced to reschedule to June, even if we'd paid a 50% down payment, a transaction I personally handled through a dinner with my DS friend, Maan, whose family owns the place we will be lodging (perhaps the spilled glass of water in that dinner was an omen). Thank God, they're very accommodating, and our schedule was modified without much incidence.

The storm still dealt some damage to our plans. It, and its message that summer is over, drenched the enthusiasm of some of the dismal few who cared to join. From a measly 15 out of 40 potential attendees, our numbers dwindled down to six, with some, including me, still threatening to back out. I would lose face to my friend. From reserving two rooms, we would end up canceling it altogether. Even if it was not embarrassing (Maan says she understands), we would still lose the down payment (as she pointed out too). Attempting to salvage this outing, my officemates relied on their significant others. Still, this wouldn't obviously work for me, and, faced with the inevitable torture of watching lovebirds go mushy (among other things), my threat to back out remained. I changed my mind when one of them finally agreed on bringing her two kids along. At least the outing wouldn't be entirely a lover's trip. With the numbers assuring a critical mass of attendees, the outing pushed through, albeit with only one room this time.

The ten of us left one rainy Saturday morning aboard an old van that bravely moved along under the collective weight of our luggage. The clouds soon cleared when we have left the metropolis, and in no time we were rolling along the idyllic Batangas countryside. The trip itself was like traveling back in time. With the Eraserheads Anthology and Ultraelectromagnetic Jam CDs playing in the background, we were back in the 90's reliving school time fun. Yup, it was regression galore, making me wonder who the real kids are: the two girls silent/sleeping/bored at the front or the yuppies cracking up at any inanity that arose along the way. When the list of recent songs was exhausted, our time travel was pushed back further when we strangely agreed to play a digital preservation of an obscure artist of the Sixties. If we painted flowery patterns on the rickety old van and wore bell bottoms and oversized sunglasses (wait, this one's in style again), we'd be cruisin' along like the hippies of old. Peace mehhnn...

The trip was longer and farther than expected. In the first place, I, who reserved the venue, only have vague memories on how to go from Lipa to San Juan. Rakenrol! Thank God, one remembered a web site that gave directions to a neighboring resort and connected to it using his Nokia Communicator. Whaddya know, cutting edge technology did save the day. The last kilometer of the trip was a dirt road towards Laiya, the beach of white sand and fond memories.

The Filipino-style two-storey Casa Remo where I stayed for the two evaluation seminars still stood proudly. Upstairs, the sliding doors of the bedrooms were ajar. Downstairs the inhabitants were lounging by the sala, the same place where we held meetings and watched DVD movies. Others were playing cards by the long dining table. Beside it stood also the tamarind tree, decked with multi-colored lights that had dazzled us at night and a bamboo hammock that had lulled us to sleep as we whiled idle moments away. Ah, memories! This time, however, we would be staying in a two-storey concrete Casa Remo Apartelle beside the house. Built just two months ago, this would be for commercial use while the old house would be for exclusive family use.

We made the trip without aircon (lest the van overheats more frequently than what we experienced); thus, the air conditioned room was a welcome place of rest. We decided to let the hot afternoon pass first and focused on establishing territory. The room was actually designed for eight people, but with the kids being, well, small and the three couples having a propensity to stick close to each other, our group managed to fit in it nicely.

We joined the setting sun in taking a dip in the sea. The water was not as crystal-clear as in White Beach, but it sure appeared clean enough to be swim-able unlike that of Nasugbu. I smilingly remember how last year I filled a bottle with the white sand of this Laiya beach as a memento of that great evaluation seminar I attended. Indeed, the white sand makes Laiya similar to a Puerto Galera beach, and the resort owners here were making an effort to enhance that similarity. Multi-colored flags line a wide stretch of the beach and beach volleyball sites emerge from the sands. Moreover, there were boats offering transportation to snorkelling sites, and their docking and undocking also interfere with swimming. If the trend continues, perhaps rows and rows of seaside restaurants will be grilling seafood in the near future. But before that, perhaps it would be wise also to have a Bantay-Dagat to monitor the cleanliness of sand and sea. At the time of the outing, there was some trash being swept by the waves into shore. They might also want to do something about rocky portions in the beach. Lastly, the town of San Juan might have to expand the capacity of their plumbing system to handle the increasing numbers of resorts, since the large demand will reduce the flow of tap water to a trickle.

As expected, the couples swam as pairs like ... wait, what's the marine equivalent of lovebirds? I guess there's none so humans like these are setting an unprecedented marine behavior. As for the rest of us, the presence of the two kids was a constant and effective reminder that this was not exactly a lover's outing. Aside from their mother, we never thought their silence and lethargy during the trip actually meant they were merely preserving their energy. By the time the sun disappeared, the boundless energy they release made them so adorable that you'd want them to quit it. The younger one, in fact, reminds me of Taz of Looney Tunes. After the swim, we showered and dined, still the kids remained bouncy and zippy as ever. Even when we left them in the room for the perfunctory drinking session cum bonding activity, they continued playing on the two joined king-sized beds. Their rowdiness made me comment that they might be more drunk than we were. The couples contemplated the possibility of having similar lively offspring in the future.

In the end, I realized that this outing was not exactly the pilgrimage to the recent past that I wished it was. If I wanted that kind of pilgrimage, I should have done so with the friends I have shared this pleasant recent past with. Instead, the outing was an introduction to the possibilities of new friends, new loves and the fruits that these would bring.


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Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 4 of 5)

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

White Beach, Puerto Galera

I had gotten used to Mt. Taal's eccentric charm, just as I had gotten used to Mt. Mayon's symmetric beauty way back in Bicol. Repeated trips passing that location were the culprit. Still, it was a sign when a Tagaytay stopover seemed a welcome consolation from unfulfilled expectations of the beach resorts. There had to be deliverance from these sorry mishaps.

It took an officemate to organize my best trip of the summer. Using his memories and contacts of the previous summers, he scheduled our outing two weeks after the Holy Week in White Beach near Puerto Galera. We would spend the Sunday and Monday there, admittedly a quirky schedule but this enabled us to avoid the crowd as well as the heavy traffic to and from the place. White Beach is not actually inside the "Port of the Galleons" (Puerto Galera), that maze-like enclosure (lagoon?) that, for centuries, had protected ships from destructive typhoons. It is located about two hundred kilometers further to the west. Still, it seems to be included in the Puerto Galera group of beaches, if there ever is such a thing, judging from brochures and the souvenir being sold there.

I think I'm getting ahead, though; better start with the journey that Sunday morning. We would all park our vehicles overnight at the Batangas Port (and the schedule worked to our advantage in finding parking slots). We were expecting a fairly large ferry to bring us to White Beach, but we discovered that big ships go only to the port of the capital city, incurring an additional four hours of a trip on land. For direct transport to White Beach, we rode a big-enough outrigger boat to cross the strait between Batangas and Mindoro.

The first part of the one-hour crossing consisted of an uneventful treading of an all-blue expanse. Thankfully, it was sunny that day. There were constant waves, but not the towering ones. The wind blew just strong enough to keep us cool. The air wasn't really salty, and it was the cleanest I had inhaled for quite some time. Near Mindoro, we encountered about five islands not far from our boat. White sand adorned their edges and foliage crowned their center. We would quip that the boat may drop us there, in other words, "Para po, dyan na lang sa isla."

Finally, the boat throttled straight to a wide white strip of sand. White Beach slowly revealed its scintillating details. First to be discernible was the foliage behind the beach. The greenery covered the island's geography, which, like a natural wall, quickly climbed towards the clouds. Then there were the boats that were berthed on the white sand. Then the variety of beachside inns presented their facades. Then there were the people frolicking, swimming, idling by this marine wonder. The most pleasant of all, was the fact that the sea vessel we were riding was consistently surrounded by clear blue waters from a few kilometers away from the beach up to the few splashes on one's feet upon alighting. I'm gonna like this, I mumbled under my grin as I took in the scenery from the cloud-covered trees down to the sand that I could clearly see through the purest body of water I beheld in quite some time.

Indeed, there were pleasures big and small in White Beach. Some pleasures were obviously gastronomic. Numerous seaside restaurants serve generous amounts of grilled fresh seafood. Ah, nothing beats the rustic charm of simple provincial eateries and their home-cooked fare. The crowning glory of the food we ordered would be this seven-fruit shake consisting of mango, papaya, banana, cherry, melon and watermelon deliciously served with representative slices of the mentioned fruits adorning the rim of the tall glass. Ohhh yeahhh! Considering that fruit shakes had recently become my comfort food, consumption of this wonderful concoction left not just my stomach but more so my soul greatly fulfilled.

Another big thing was, of course, the boat ride to the snorkeling sites. In one site, the corals were farther out into the sea by about 20 meters from a remote beach. It was my first time to snorkel so I cannot do comparisons, but I sure heard myself say "whoa" underwater. It was a novel experience for me to see colorful and spiky fishes swimming in the wild. The other corals site was actually nearer to the beach. I mean, the corals were less than a couple of meters away from the shore! I never knew there could be coral reefs underneath waters so shallow. This second site had a larger area reef, where the senior ones among us gleefully explored. The others who dived vigorously in the first site were already tired. I wasn't so adventurous without the snorkel gear, so I just swam along the shore. Still, there were corals and exotic fishes along the fringes. When not swimming, I enjoyed the feel of large-grained sand between my feet. From 30 meters away, an excited yell startled everyone, "Dito! Maraming fish!" We never knew our boss, the soft-spoken leader of a soft-spoken team, can shout so loudly.

As for small pleasures, one of them happened after I chickened out of a banana boat ride since the tale of the Deadly Banana Boat Ride was fresh in my mind. I just swam around the crowded beach instead. Lo and behold! A submerged piece of paper that looked like money floated in front of my goggled eyes. I grabbed and inspected it and indeed it was a hundred peso bill! To be fair, I asked those swimming nearby if they had happened to lose 100 pesos to the sea. When they said no, well, this sea treasure financed my snack of isaw and my officemate's bottle of beer. Perhaps if I swam near the foreigners, I might snag a floating $100 bill, which was more than enough to pay for my total expenses in this trip.

Of the few things that I take issue from, one was the commercialization of this strip of white sand. Even with clear waters and white sand, serious nature trekkers would find it hard to take solace and commune with nature; since, it was as if a commercial district in Metro Manila was transported to the main beach. That was one more reason why the boat rides to the snorkel sites were more enjoyable: no crowds, no blaring music, no torturous videoke singers, and no smoke from dozens of barbecue grills from the numerous restaurants that line the beach. Speaking of restaurants, it would be wise to order even before the onset of hunger; because, the restaurants, or at most those we've tried out take a notoriously long time to cook those orders. Speaking also of crowds, it was not just people and establishments that crowd the main beach. Along the shores were docked boats awaiting snorkelers, and, even more irksome, were the outrigger ferries that regularly arrive and depart to load and unload passengers right on the beach. The swimmers would have to give way to these vessels: there was never a good time for an idyllic swim on the main beach.

Moving on, the important thing was that White Beach delivered on what I was expecting--clean and clear waters--and more. With nearby less crowded alternative swimming sites reachable by boat or by traversing rocks, the shortcomings are more than compensated. I'll be back, definitely.

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Photo Credits: The high-quality ones I got from what my boss shared in our internal website.

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Drifting Thoughts 02

Superman started flying again in theaters everywhere today, spreading a message of hope, and blanketing everyone with his protective light. I, however, felt inclined to brood and over-analyze just like Batman, which, by the way, is my favorite superhero. It didn't help that I felt signs of an onset of colds when my nostrils started getting itchy. It didn't help that I'll further subject my poor nose to the ravages of rush hour pollution later in my commute home. It didn't help that I stumbled upon a college friend's blog, got updated on her life after college, and felt a tinge of bitterness. Perhaps, it was not just a tinge, only that I suppressed it and prevented it from growing. It's a complex situation (damn, if this was a diary, I'd tell all); what I could tell is that I just felt left out.

It was raining when I left the office. Talk about being dramatic, but drama was the least of my concerns when the rain and winds strengthened, drenched my pants and socks, and weakened my already embattled immune system. I felt stuck in a trap, but unlike a Joker-ensnared Batman who would coolly think of a way out, I acted like a kryptonite-caged Superman who is helplessly weakened, waiting for intervention (preferably from Lois, so she can comfort me too) or luck (like Lex, whose brilliance is eclipsed by his megalomania, throwing the key within my visual range then leaving me alone, allowing me to think of a Batman-like escape).

Okay, I was starting to exaggerate.

-oOo-

Speaking of friends, the discussion topic for the "Bottom Three" night show in Magic 89.9 FM tonight was the worst thing one did to a friend. One listener texted, "the worst thing I did to my best friend was to marry her." My first reaction was to crack up. Thank God there's Magic to give me a break from brooding. On the other hand, the text message seemed like a warning message. I know, the ideal is to be friends first and then let the luhve grow into the picture. But one blunder would destroy everything in the worst possible way. The synergy of love and friendship is a very powerful positive force that emanates from, unites and maintains the relationship. Yet that same powerful force could also do the opposite to the couple. Yep, the texter said they eventually separated. Now that's hard. I mean, when you lose a lover it hurts, but it's still fine; you can still be friends. However, if you lose a friend (and I don't mean a casual friend), the pain is more gut-wrenching, the loss more profound. I guess this is what happens in bad break-ups: you lose a lover and friend.

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Civic Duty

The following anecdote would be my Independence Day contribution.

It happened in the late seventies, more than a decade before it was my turn to play and learn in grade school, which in turn was more than a decade ago today. Back then there was this principal whom they call as Mister Badong. It must had been a strange name for a principal even during my grade school days, but maybe not during the seventies. Or maybe kids really didn't find it strange, and it was just me and my supposedly adult pseudo-sophistication. In fact, in this story the kids would be the one teaching a lesson they had learned from Mister Badong.

The seventies, as the oldies allege, seemed to be the time when this grade school deserved to be called the premiere elementary school of the city. The educators were very serious in their duty and teaching as a noble professions was the reality and not just as an utterance of the ideal. The present local political and business leaders, whom some have gone national or international, trooped to this grade school for their basic education. (Okay, some of them had gone corrupt, so the school was not that much of a premiere school eh. Then again, there had been other influences in the community, so...)

Mister Badong is one of those serious educators of long ago. He was into the observance of civic duties and other Boy Scout basics. He trained the little men on tying knots, starting fires and other fun survival techniques. In flag-raising ceremonies, he would be very particular about a certain line in the Lupang Hinirang, "it's sa langit mong bughaw, not mo'y!" he would repeatedly point out to the student body (I imagine him grabbing the microphone immediately after the National Anthem and speaking in a stern voice).

Mister Badong died in the seventies, but his influence lived on for quite a time. This was made evident one gray morning a few years later. The kids were lined up in the open field for the daily flag-raising ceremony. In the middle of singing the National Anthem, there was a sudden downpour. But, having been taught respect for the Flag by the departed principal, the children remained standing with their right hand over the left chest. They sang until the last note, then and only then did they run for cover.

Mabuhay!

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On the Way to Work

I am a regular witness to a lovely scene along EDSA, in the stretch of Wheels-to-Go, between Robinson's Hyper Mart and the Guadalupe Bridge. It is an especially refreshing sight for me since I am in the last part of my travel to work, having spent the last twenty minutes in the jeepney, enduring the pollution and traffic jams along the way.

Around eight in the morning, a motorcycle would stop at the EDSA entrance of the Hyper Mart parking area. Although the occupants, a man and a woman in their early twenties, may be relatives, I prefer to think of them as a couple. He sports a pambahay casual look with his jacket, T-shirt, shorts and sandals (maybe he goes to work later in the day) while she is in her office attire: blazer over blouse and skirt or pants. She alights and changes her footwear from comfy to corporate, then after the perfunctory goodbye peck on his cheek, she walks down the entire stretch of Wheels-to-Go. She turns left before the bridge, taking the riverside road that would presumably take her to her workplace in one of those factories and warehouses that line the bank of Pasig River in Mandaluyong City.

Meanwhile, he does not turn and leave like an ordinary family driver would. Instead, he stays by the entrance, standing, watching over her as she treks by EDSA. Only when she turns left and out of his sight that he rides his motorbike and goes perhaps back home.

Her Chinese-mestiza looks make her attractive, and this must be why he guards her, lest danger might befall her or she be taken away from him. Oh, that would be selfish reasoning. Maybe he simply cares for her. It's simply love. But how would I know; I've never been in such situations: to love and be loved back, to feel the care and the joy I give being returned to me.

I wonder when I would be in that situation.

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