Carless Sunday sa Intramuros

Linggo, hapon.

Matapos ang isang buong semestre, muli akong lumuwas sa Intramuros. Carless Sunday sa General Luna, kung saan bumulaga ang lahat ng bagay na mahiwaga. Una sa lahat, ako ay nagmistulang saling-pusa sa lakad na ito. Pero, pinush ko pa rin dahil napaghalataan ko na wala nang aaya sa akin na gumala ngayong bakasyon, matapos kong indian-in ang youth gathering ni Mico (malay ko ba kasing spiritual retreat yun!) at ang book signing ni Lourd de Veyra sa SM North (nag-abala pa naman akong basahin yung libro niya). Ito na, hindi ko na pinalagan.



Pagkatapos ng mahabang panahon, nasilayan ko muli ang aking alma mater primera. Hindi ba't parang heaven nang bumaba ako sa Plaza Lawton pagkatapos ng isa't-kalahating oras na byahe (kung saan ako natusta ng init sa loob ng FX)? Charot lang, kasi hindi naman heaven ang pag-akyat sa mapanghing underpass, pero kunyari nalang.

Nahiya naman ako at ako lang ang hindi nag-initiative mag-bestida!

Ang pambungad sa akin sa General Luna ay walang iba kundi si (drumroll please) Carlos Celdran!!! Kahit buong araw lang siyang palakad-lakad sa lansangan ng Intramuros, parang nakakahiya pa ring magpapapicture kasi ang dami niyang kausap. Pero iba talaga kapag makapal ang mukha.

Natutunan ko na hindi ka dapat pumunta sa mga ganitong okasyon kung wala kang pera. Bagaman magaganda at marami ang mga bilihin, wala ka ring mapapala kundi postcard na tig-lilimang piso at isang libreng brochure.

He he, talagang halungkat lang ang gagawin natin dito 'no?

Pakay namin talaga ang Manila Collectibles - para sa pot painting na isang linggo nang pinagnanasaan ni Bet. Nadaanan na namin at lahat-lahat, hindi pa namin napansin...

Road to paradise... charot

Hindi maipaliwanag ng damdamin ang kanyang nadarama sa tuwing ako ay napapadpad sa mga lugar sa Intramuros na gaya nito. Sadya akong nahuhumaling; parang mayroong gayuma na umaaligid hanggang sa pagtulog hanggang sa paggising sa susunod na umaga. Hindi kaya'y masyado nang mapusok ang aking kasigasigan para sa sining ng Pilipinas? Wala naman sigurong masama doon.

O eto, photo-op muna...

Mas gusto ko bang maging si Daryl Dixon...

... o si Michonne?

Sa wakas: ang pot painting corner! Kung saan ko natutunan na wala akong ka-talent-talent sa pag-kulay.

Tanghalian/Hapunan. Ewan ko ba. Sa paghahanap ng masarap na makakainan, napadpad kaming apat sa pinto ng Ristorante delle Mistre, na dating kainan ng mga fraile noong panahon ng mga Kastila. Sa labas nito, habang pinagmumunihan namin ang aming pagkakataon, agad kaming nahimok ng isang kochero na kumain na sa loob ("mura lang diyan! Ako nga nakakakain diyan eh!"). Sige, kuya, masubukan nga...

Ito na ba yung menu na pang-masa??

Ito ang nasa kisame ng aming kainan...

... ito naman ang nasa dingding!

Sabihin nalang natin na huwag kang papasok sa magagarbong kainan kapag wala kang pera. Iyong tipong walang-wala. Iyong tipong hinahalungkat mo na ang kasulok-sulukan ng iyong kalupi para lang sa barya (totoo!). Pero siyempre, kalma ka lang kasi #yolo! Charot. "Eat, drink, for tomorrow we die". At tandaan: laging magbibigay ng tip. He he, sana na-appreciate naman ni Kuya Waiter iyong smiley face na iniwan namin para sa kanya.

Gabi na nang makaalis kami. Tuloy-tuloy pa rin ang okasyon sa lansangan. Sadyang maganda pa rin ang General Luna sa gabi. Kung umuupa pa rin ako, panigurado, nakapanood pa ako ng Genghis Khan.

Salsa Sunday!

Gayunpaman, matagumpay ang eksperimentong ito. Ngayon ko lang ulit napahalagahan ang kulturang aking kinalakihan. Sana marami pang ganito! Babalik ako kapag nagkaroon ulit ng oportunidad.

At sa susunod, sisiguraduhin ko na may maiuuwi akong derby hat - terno kami ni Carlos Celdran!

more pictures:

Carless Sunday

mood - happy

Mga dahilan

CHAMPIONS. (photo not mine)

Dahil maganda ang bunga ng araw.
Dahil maganda ang musikang iyong naririnig.
Dahil maganda ang alon ng tubig kahit na sumablay sa ikahuling pagsubok.
Dahil huling pagkakataon.
At dahil sa pagkakataong ito ay bahagyang sinagot ng mga santo ang iyong mga dasal.
Dahil sa kay haba-haba ng iyong paghihintay ay sa wakas at ramdam mo na rin ang saya.
Dahil lahat ng bagay ay may katapusan.
Dahil kayo ang nagwagi. Kampeon.

At sa wakas ay iyong napagtanto na ang pagsusulat ay para na lamang sa mga nag-iisa. Upang hindi masira ang pagka-puro ng mga salita. Upang mas maintindihan mo ang nais ipahiwatig ng mga titik na sumisisid sa iyong isipan. Sapagkat, ang makapangyarihan para sa iyo ay mababaw para sa iba.

Tara - lumayag at lumangoy patungo sa ating mga pangarap.

Grotesque

It is the night of the grotesque. I cannot seem to remember what date it is today. But, if you could only see this night and reflect with me, you might understand why this is so.

I am sittng at a ledge outside the SM Fairview mall, illuminated by one lamp post that is soon bound to extinguish. It is half past 10 in the evening and the mall is closing down, calling it a day; unfastening its individual parts as one would do Lego blocks. I hear the sound of tires skidding in the highway right outside, their horns blowing for who knows what. I am writing. I seem to have lost interest in that one craft.

I feel mad writing about the abstract. Whoever reads this the first time will never understand. I have learned recently that there are many things in the world to which we give space even though it is never absolutely necessary. This is one of those things.

I say that it is the night of the grotesque (or the Night of the Grotesque, it doesn't matter) because of the uprising in my core of a number of things that I could only surmise as so painstakingly real yet hauntingly surreal that I cannot quite put a finger on them within the lobes of my brain. They are my definition of the grotesque. I do not heed them very often. Yet, intriguingly, they are very real, ready to eat at me, whether I permit or not, to show me how things are and how much I am trying to refrain from their reality.

I write romanced by a play - a theatrical act, the first one I have watched in the beautiful haven that I can finally call my alma mater. I am laded with the word "Oresteyas", hanuted by beautiful concepts of love and hate; salvation and revenge. The very first play of my stay and I feel enamored with the diversity of emotions spewing at me at a night like this. I had felt this way the year before about an art exhibit. I feel stronger coming head to head with what is Filipino: Filipino art at its best.

The city lights of Katipunan could not compare to those of Intramuros, not even of Vito Cruz, if only in the sense that I felt more sentimental walking away from them an hour earlier. I was cold yet whole. Unafraid; free, as though I could do anything. Fluttery, along with the roaring of the trucks as they whirred down the avenue. No picture could speak on its behalf. I felt great coming out of that gate tonight. Uplifting to the soul; sacred to the heart. I had lost this feeling recently that I had forgotten how it felt to be romanced. I never wished for it anymore. Or maybe I did, more and more each day, but could never quite admit it to myself. Perhaps, I didn't want to be disappointed.

Yet, here I am, reminiscing about it. Knowing that it is real. That the InTACT session was real. That Block TR is real. That the CBA was real. That catching up on RAW at the Rizal Lib was real. That the buildings and the benches and even the trees are real. That getting the call last summer was real. That the Ateneo is real. That everything is just so completely and absolutely real that I could never figure out what it was that I was doubting. What was I so afraid of? I am here. This is real.

The flower in my hand smells sweet. It's the perfect flower. It's a sampaguita, the national flower. I could never feel more at ease knowing that I had bought it from her: the young lady that was trying to sell it to the last groups of people exiting the mall. I had made the mistake of sitting far from her, thinking that she would be stubborn. I made another mistake when I did not go to her when I asked how much the flowers cost, prompting her to walk towards me. She is pregnant, I realize. Then, I made the next mistake of getting so dumbfounded that I eventually forgot to offer my wafer, though I had it prepared.

She left after the next sale. I watched the transaction, and it made me sad. I wish to see her again.

This is the uderlying ugly usually associated with what is grotesque. Unadulteratedly ugly. If only people could see how much people like her work hard for the money - no drama, just the flowers and the child in her womb - then maybe, the world would be a much better place. If people just see people, and surrender to this notion. If people could just try.

I feel sad and ugly because of what transpired. Guilty, for lack of a better word. Guilty, in the sense that I do not quite understand. Is it because that I have so much? Is it because of the nice home, nice clothes, and even a good, if not, the best education? Is it wrong for one to have all these things when here are these people, striving to achieve ends meet? Trying to actually exist? Was it some act of God to be randomly selected this way? To become the person writing this useless prose and not as the next girl inhaling the sweet whiff of sampaguita which she relentlessly offers to all these people that seem too busy to even acknowledge her diminutive presence?

I am ending this recollection with the cars still whirring, theirs horns still blowing. The rate has slowed down. The wheels easily slipping down the road. The lights are fewer. Everything - a quite drab of the city - a nostalgia within nostalgias, masked by the heaviness of one heart. Rapid walks towards home. A night's reflection, one that refused to appear for so long, illuminated by freedom and glory and independece and everything realistically ugly that accompanies them.

The world surely could not be worse. The world should be so much better than how it is now. We just have to look towards what is more out there, and make it real.

The flowers smell really nice.

Justine @ 18

Unang totoong MC gimik, na tinanggap ko lang naman dahil (a) matalik kong kaibigan ang nag-debut at (b) makapal ang aking mukha. Nakakatuwa nga naman kasing dumalo sa mga debut dahil ito ay nagmimistulang high school reunion. Charot lang, hindi naman kasi ganoon kasaya ang hayskul. Pero masaya yung debut, pramis!

Wops, ito na yung future seven-feet tall stewardess. Dalaga na siya, friends!

Salamat nga pala sa masarap na handa ng City Buffet (wow, sponsor?)!

Syempre, proud si Mommy Jeanny. :)

Wala lang akong video pero ang taroosh kumanta ni Ate! Hintayin niyo siya sa Star Records...

Masyado naman akong natuwa na sa kay laki-laki ng espasyo sa restaurant ay talagang dito pa kami sa banyo nagkumpulan.

Basta masaya.

Ang bilis nang panahon pag naiisip mo na isa-isa na kayong nagdadalaga.