It Smelled Like Coffee

I’m back to my coffee drinking mode. Here at a coffee shop along F. Ramos St. I patiently waited for my brother Lester to get off from his duty at a government hospital. I missed this joint for several months already. Somehow, I was drawn back to the loving aroma of coffee.I thought it was coffee.

I thought I smelled roasted beans mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed Arabica. I got inside the shop and thought about ordering a nice cup of mocha froccino. Just as I was about to say “one froccino mocha tall” to the barrista, I noticed a very strong odour hovering about the coffee counter.

I realized that the smell wasn’t that of the coffee but from something else. Or from someone. Instinct would tell a person to scan the place and pin-point the source of such sensation. My nose was searching the entire coffee area and it pointed toward the direction of a man sitting at the corner of the shop. At this point i wont be discussing anything about the man’s physical trait. I feared that many might brand me as racist or something.

Anyways, the smell of “coffee” thus emanated from him. He sat comfortably alone in a corner where empty tables and chairs surround him. He had his earphones on as he stared blankly at the window, oblivious to the stern eyes of other customers. I, as a customer was deeply troubled by the smell. It was like vanquishing the supposedly “inviting” smell of coffee. I totally feared that if I light a matchstick, the entire place might explode.

People inside the shop were just too shy to ask the guy to leave. The barrista and the crew could not even make him take a seat outside. It’s impolite to do so. I looked into their faces and I could see how distracted they were of the smell. His was so intense and offensive that one could feel like rushing out of the shop to breathe fresh air.

It was so powerful and disgusting that I almost forgot what coffee to order.I remembered froccino mocha and then I made a mad dash to the exit. I had no choice but to sit outside. I rather let the rain fall and drench me to death than be a hostage to the terrible stench from a clueless man.

As I decide on where to sit, I told the crew that they may have suffered temporarily because only a few customers came. Certainly no one wanted to sit around a cloud of disgusting aroma.

So it smelled like coffee: a disturbingly rotten coffee.

His Name Is Rusty, He Was A…

Across a TV station, a few blocks off the major thoroughfare, and after the Kamuning flyover, we were brought by a taxi driver to a known stripping joint, a club where men perform on-stage with nothing more than just their smiles.

We were dropped off at the very steps of the club. It’s 11.30 pm, the show was already ON when we got inside. The place was filled with people, mostly women and it was pitch-dark. Only the stage was visible and the colorful lights hanging above it had hit upon the man gyrating and undulating on the platform.

We settled in our seats. Our table was just several meters away from the stage, a bit distant from the tentacles and tails of the midnight dancer. As we sat down, Mr. January was on stage, in his very short cut-off denims, high boots and tight brown shirt. He was dancing slowly to a recent R&B song. He was not staring at anyone. He simply watched himself dance.

Our drinks came. I was with my friends and we talked about things in between performances. The gay bar was somehow not the best place to talk about each other’s lives. One of my friends had been single again after she called it quits with her husband. She got pregnant a couple of times but then they were not as lucky because the babies died even before they were born.

She said her marriage was doomed to fail. It took her several years to realize that her marriage to the guy was wrong. Her husband was into drugs. Often times she was beaten hard by the crack head. In spite of the beatings and the terrible fights, she tried to hold on to what she thought could be fixed.

Yet she decided to let go. Her marriage was beyond repair. After giving birth to a dead child for the second time, she split up with her husband and she moved back to the arms of her older sister. She had slowly built back her life again. Her life had since been different. She’d never look at a man the same way as before.

During the dance interval, I asked her where her ex-husband had gone. She said she’s not quite certain where the guy was. It had been 7 years since she last saw Ronnel. And if by any chance she’d meet him again, she said she’d be ready and okay to face him.

Several dancers had performed. Some of them were in hideous costumes and routines. Others made pathetic efforts to dance and look sexy. But most of them were just too plain and boring to watch. Their tacky song choices did not even matter.

I remembered her story several months ago in one of my business trips to Davao City. She told me that her husband may have worked as a macho dancer in some clubs. Someone told her about it. She was also told that her husband was seen dancing under the stage name RUSTY.

We tried a couple of times to look for RUSTY in some gay clubs in Mindanao. We could not find him in General Santos City and even in Davao City. Finding RUSTY was not our mission at all. It’s just that every time we went inside a strip club, we wished that no RUSTY would be called to dance on-stage.

Now, my friends and I got inside the popular club in Timog Ave. We still were hoping that no RUSTY would perform in front of us. More than 20 dancers had performed already. It’s past 1 am when we were about to leave and hit the road again. Then the DJ introduced a dancer by the name RUSTY.

I saw how shocked my friend was when she heard the name. It took her a moment to look at the stage and check if the dancer was her husband. I watched a guy go up on the platform. A female ballad song was played. He wore a white printed top, short denims cut and folded way up above the knees. A thick silver chain was dangling from the waist to the side of his jeans. He wore a camouflage bandanna on his colored hair.

I looked back at my friend and I saw her gone from pale to dead white in shock. I waited for her to say something. I saw how terrified she was. A long pause.  “Yes, that’s him. That is Ronnel, my husband.”

The story was finally confirmed. Now we were placed in a very awkward position: us, sitting in the audience watching him dance and strip to the music. I was praying that he would not go all the way. He danced his way through the song, staring straight towards us. My friend was wondering if RUSTY was able to recognize her. He was able to finish the song; at least he didn’t take off his shorts.

Quite unbelievable but it was so true. My friend had crossed paths with her former husband. Of all the possible places, they met again in a strip club. I could see that my friend was ready to talk to her husband again; in fact she wanted me to call the club manager and request for Rusty.

Before we could even ask for Rusty, it was Rusty himself who approached my friend and said hello. And they talked for about half an hour. Their conversation was drowned by a Bryan Adams song. A few more dancers performed one after another. Rusty sat beside my friend and they were left in their little world, trying to catch up with the times. I let them be.

I turned my head back to the stage and saw Mr. January perform for the second time. You may wonder what happened after the encounter. Nothing. My friend told me that the guy had been in a relationship with another girl and is now a father of 2 kids. She’s happy that Rusty has moved on. I was happy that both have finally moved on.  

Fly, Touch Down, Taxi, Hotel

The plane touched down at 6pm. Tuesday Feb 19. I availed of the airport taxi service after claiming my handbag from the carousel. I wasn’t in a hurry to proceed to the hotel for at that time, it was raining like crazy and I thought that the streets may be filled up completely with traffic.

I took my time, walking out of NAIA Centennial Terminal as if walking through a field of periwinkles and lavenders while the sun smiled at the horizon and the birds and the bumblebees basked in the rays of light. I woke up from my dream as I bumped into the airport taxi dispatcher. He pointed me to a taxicab several feet away.

The driver in a neat gray uniform approached me smiling and took my hand-carry bags from me. He opened the cab door and I got inside in a ‘lady-like fashion’ but no I was just imagining things. He closed the door after me but I rolled down the window and asked the dispatcher if the car plate ends with a 3 or 4. Cars with those ending numbers were banned in Makati every Tuesday. He answered no and thus the cab sped away and proceeded to the exit. The conversation had begun.

Cab Driver : Sir, saan po tayo sa Makati?

Takeshi Bear: Benavidez St., malapit sa AIM. Can you issue receipts?

CD: Sir, wala po akong dalang resibo. If its okay sa iyo po, I need to pass by the old airport and get the receipt stub.

TB: Ok, to the old NAIA then.

CD: Sir pasensya na po sa abala. I apologize.

I could see only his eyes through the rearview mirror. It’s rare to have a courteous taxi-driver. Most of them are ill-mannered and scheming. This one seemed to be very polite. I noticed a backpack at the front seat. I wondered if a passenger left it there.

CD: I was supposed to pick up a passenger today. But he called me up and told me that he couldn’t come.

TB: Oh really. So you got me instead.

CD: He’s a big wig. I often brought him to an expensive hotel in Makati. He always calls me to pick him up at the airport. I use a Toyota Camry to drive him up to his hotel.

TB: Wow. So you have one loyal customer then.

CD: Yes sir. And he’s generous too. He even gave me free airline tickets to Hong Kong.

TB: He must have been very satisfied with your services. So did you go to Hong Kong?

CD: I did. Last December. My girlfriend was working there. But I went home heartbroken.

TB: Why? Did you break up?

CD: Sir, seems to me that you got interested with my story. If it’s okay with you, could I talk about it?

TB: I’m sorry for intruding, but then I had this feeling that your story may be juicy. Ok, why not?

CD: Anyways, since I don’t know you and you don’t know me either so I guess its okay to talk to you about my life.

TB: So why did you split up?

CD: She had a lame reason that her mom disagreed to our relationship because they found out that I am separated from my wife and my 3 kids.

TB: Didn’t you tell her beforehand that you were married and fathered 3 children?

CD: I did. But I told her when we were already 2 months into the relationship. I broke up with her because she never stood by me and she never fought for our love. I decided to let go of her when I was in Hong Kong. We tried to talk things out. Even our friends were hoping that we could patch things up. It was irreparable.

There was a long pause. The cab turned left to Magallanes and ran parallel to the train tracks. His story was like any other taxicab  driver’s story. A Soap Opera.

TB: So how did you meet this girl?

CD: I met her at the airport. She was my passenger then. We hit it off because we had things in common. She’s from my town in Pangasinan and she knows how to cook. I also have a passion for cooking which was why we clicked.

TB: Would you ever consider winning her back?

CD: I was really hurt by the breakup. It’s still fresh. I gave all of me to that relationship. Now I’m left with nothing. I spent so much for the long distance calls and the text messages. Everything I earned I spent in calls and texts. I don’t want to her anymore. I am moving on.

The conversation shifted to his ex-wife and how they got separated. The traffic was a bit heavy indeed because the cab driver was able to talk about his being separated from his wife. From what he told me, he gave up on the relationship because he couldn’t understand why she would always go out to party and come home early dawn. They always fight because one got jealous of the other because of some text messages and calls. He said technologies like the internet and mobile phones are agents for destruction of marriages.

CD: I’m really sorry if I poured my story to you. I just wanted to spill my problems out. It drives me crazy.

TB: Well, it could drive your passengers crazy too. What if you couldn’t concentrate well on your driving?

CD: I’m okay. I could still manage to drive safely and well.

TB: So do you always tell your stories to your passengers?

CD: I don’t. I choose people whom I’d like to talk to, those who I think I could trust and those who I think have the patience and the time to listen to my story. People like you.

Ok. So I asked myself why most strangers share their life stories to me. I don’t look like a counselor, a psychologist or a priest. Do I look gentle and approachable that people tend to flash their lives at me?

Then I learned that the cab driver had some college degree. He worked for 4 years as a graphic designer in some ad agency and he spent most of his time in ink and printing department. He loves to drive, which was why he works part time as a cab driver. He is currently waiting for his work visa for Dubai. He may be flying to the Emirates next month.

TB: I think it would be helpful also if you could hang-out with your friends. They could make you forget your problems even for a sec.

CD: Sir my friends have no time for that. And besides they all are working and have families of their own. Well if you like sir, we could hang out.

TB: Hmmm, as much as I want to but I’m just here for a few days. I may not have much free time to spare.

CD: Okay lang po. No problem. 

It sounded odd and awkward. I couldn’t quite figure out if the cab driver was flirting with me or not. I got a little suspicious. I don’t know. Was he trying to be friendly or was he trying to talk me into availing some extra services from him? Weird. Could he possibly knew that I was a fairy and he just tried to lead me on? How judgemental of me?

The thought was cut off when we finally stopped in front of the hotel at Benavidez St. He got off the car and opened the door for me. Then I waited for a second as he scribbled something on the receipt. I handed him the money as he exchanged it with the receipt. He smiled and uttered his name. I looked at the receipt and turn back as A. Bautista began to roll the taxi cab away from Benavidez St.     

Run, Catch, Fly

I had ample time in my pocket to wait for my flight to Manila. February 19, Tuesday afternoon, a rainy day.

I always arrive early for my flight. Aside from the fact that airline companies require confirmed passengers to be at the airport 2 hours before their scheduled flight, I impose upon myself that I should always come to the airport as early as possible. What I meant about early is that I should be at the terminal just in time the check-in counters would open.

I’ve learned from my previous experiences. I do not want to participate in a ‘photo-finish’ run to the check-in counter, much more having to sprint to the boarding gate with luggage in tow just to make it to the flight, or at worst case, missing the plane. I remember how it was when I was at the LAX decades ago where, in my confusion, I couldn’t locate the check-in counter of Northwest Airlines. Turns out that I was at the wrong building and the airline personnel pointed me to the other end of LAX. Guess who made a 100 meter dash?

In a nick of time, I found the right counter and I was apprehensive when I realized that there were no people falling in line for that counter. I was worried that I was going to miss the plane because first, I could no longer afford to buy another ticket and second, I didn’t have relatives there. And so I was fervently wishing that I could still catch my plane.

After a few minutes, the check-in personnel handed me my ticket and my boarding pass. I was relieved. Even though they stamped my pass with a reminder to check-in at least 45 minutes before the flight, I was totally relieved. And because I ran late in checking-in, they gave me a seat nearest to the emergency exit. I couldn’t complain. The door of the aircraft swung close the minute I stepped in. I was the last passenger to board.

It is to my advantage to check-in early. For one, I could choose better seats. In most cases, I prefer aisle seats because that would only allow me one seatmate. It is difficult to have people sitting at your sides and within spitting distances from one another. In any public transportation, one could not choose seatmates, unless of course you were born with or had acquired power to influence the check-in personnel.

So it’s tough luck if you have cute and handsome guys for seatmates. That would really make the flight comfortable, relaxed and interesting. But on several occasions, my seatmates were old women, perhaps retired with big tinted hair and scary tattooed brows. Most of these seniors have distinct ancient smell. They would always remind you of menthol-based products like “white flower” or “efficascent oil” or “the omega pain killer.”

One time, I had a screaming, crying baby at my side. She cried so much that I wanted to open the emergency exit door and throw her above the clouds. I also had one seatmate who spilled her guts in a trajectory at some point in the 16-hour flight to California. At that time I also wanted to throw her out of the plane.

It is also good to come early for check-in because you may never know if you are still holding a valid ticket. Apart from the fact that the airlines may cancel your confirmed tickets if you arrive less than 45 minutes before the flight, tickets may be deemed invalid if there were instructions for it to be cancelled.

It happened to me last month. In my previous blog, I mentioned about my cancelled ticket for Cebu-Davao and that I found out that it was nullified when I was already at the check-in counter. Good thing that I arrived early because I had the time allowance to figure out why my ticket was cancelled.  It turned out that there was miscommunication between my boss and the one in-charge with the ticketing. I ended up purchasing one out of my personal money.

I think it’s a good thing if one could come early for the flight because it gives you instant calmness and ease. Would you rather see yourself running like crazy from one gate to another? Would you want to be in a terrible position of not knowing if you could still get in the plane? How would you like to feel you blood rising from your neck up to your scalp?

A racing heart is not always a good thing. People who often do things in the very last minute often experience palpitation and perhaps become petulant.Whereas if you arrive early, you could have peace of mind as you wait for your boarding time. The pre-departure areas of most airports are like reflection halls for passengers.

Unless you travel with a companion or with a friend, most of time you are alone. And with no one to talk to, you either take a nap or take a corner to reflect and recall your past deeds. The time lapse from checking in to the boarding time offers opportunities to get into spiritual regression. And because of this luxury of time, it’s highly possible that one could finally know who he/she really is.

I’ve been through a lot of experiences in airport terminals. Ang given more time to wait for my flight, I may have the chance to understand myself even more.          

I’m 80 and Was Born in 19129…

After hibernating for almost a day, I woke up and prepared myself to visit grandma at the Capitol Site. It’s her birthday today and dad has invited us to come for lunch in her house. Grandma’s birthday is on the 19^th yet but since everybody would be busy on a weekday (the word busy is an understatement), it has been decided to celebrate it today.

Grandma with Dad

It was a simple lunch party with lechon, puso, pancit bihon and ginamay. All local dishes prepared by my uncle, except for the lechon (roasted pig) and puso (steamed, boiled rice on palm leaves) which were bought nearby.

Lunch was almost over when I arrived at the party. I had to drop by a mall to mail some important documents to the head office. Grandma was still eating. At the same time mom and my cousins were at the table talking to her. I greeted her “Happy Birthday” and then I asked her the requisite question: How Old Are You?

It took at least a decade for her to answer. She said she’s turning 80 yrs old by Tuesday. Wow. In Filipino standards, that’s a pretty long life. I asked her what year she’s born and she said “nineteen one hundred twenty-nine.” Owww. My lola seemed to forget the year she was born. So guys, just do the math.

At the age of 80, her memory starts to fail her. Not to mention that her eyesight is as doubtful as the year that she was born. She had glaucoma at some point, she experienced poor vision until my mom decided to accompany her to the hospital and have her left eye treated.

My brother came a little later in the day. And when he greeted her, Lola couldn’t recognize him, more so, remember his name. She just smiled and said thank you. I told her that he’s dad’s youngest child. And oh she remembered instantly that Lester’s the small kid.

A few minutes more, my sister Christine and her husband along with the little rockstar Diva arrived fashionably late. My niece Kim came with a wide smile and a silver teddy bear bling bling which she grabbed from her mom. Little Kim was a bit overwhelmed to see a lot of people in the party. And so she began her usual acts.

With Grandma are Dad, Mom, Tita and her kids

After watching portions of “Alvin and the Chipmunks”, some picture taking and some siesta conversation, we finally said goodbye to Lola and thanked her for the wonderful lunch. As we began to leave, Grandma started to cry. She said she’s happy that we came but she would be feeling the loneliness again.

It’s sad seeing her cry. She may have missed Lolo so bad. It’s tough to live in a house all alone. Growing old and older could be very difficult without anyone to grow old and older with. I am scared for my life too. I’m 30. Will I live to see the day I turned 80 or will I ever get to the point that I could not remember the year I was born. Right now, I know it’s 1978.

Just Had To RE-XXX

It was Saturday. A weekend. I didn’t go out, didn’t drive somewhere. I let the time pass me by. I didn’t care. I spent the entire day in my room, unmindful of what happened outside. I spent the day by doing this:

  

Outside, Harry was barking like crazy. Our laundrywoman made noises as she washed our clothes and at the same time talked with my mom and gossiped about our neighbors. I didn’t care if Frodo and Harry had eaten. I didn’t care if they stunk or if they had taken a bath. I know  I didn’t. I couldn’t gather my strength to even ask my mom if there’s food on the fridge to be reheated for my breakfast, for my lunch or for dinner.

I was totally drained last week.  From the travel, to the client calls, to my ridiculous and OC boss, to my stay at a strange business hotel, to a cancelled Manila trip which automatically cancelled my Valentines Day date with Bro Bear, and to the weird unpleasant weather in Bacolod. It’s just draining.

And I had no strength to enjoy this weekend. I just wanted to rest and relax and recharge. I just had to. The week ahead promises to be more arduous and draining and stressful. I just smiled and said ‘the best of luck’ to my self.

The Bus Trip to Bacolod

I’m in Bacolod City once again. This trip is all about working my ass off and making a big ass of my self. The urgency to conduct client calls and visits to prospect buyers in the City of Smiles had left me no option but to go to Negros Occidental and get things done.

That time, the most practical way was to take a bus ride to a northwestern town of Cebu, cross the Tañon Strait to the port of Escalante City and then travel for about 100 km to my final destination. This segmented trip would take up at 6 hours of my time or half of my office hours. Had my boss approved my request for airline ticket, then it would just take me at most an hour only to Bacolod City.

At 5 in the morning, I strut my way out of the house and waited for a Ceres Bus to take me to Sugarlandia. 30 minutes after, I hailed a non-aircon bus and started my journey to my birthplace again. The ride going to the port of Tabuelan was okay except for a bumpy, dusty road section as we approach the port.

The bus was jampacked with people and bags and cargos. A few seats in front of me sat a woman with her kid sitting on her lap. This woman held a piece of cloth to wipe the puke from the mouth of her boy. The disgusting smell of puke had scented the bus like crazy. So everybody decided to open the windows and braved the coolness of the wind.

When the bus navigated the un-asphalted section of the highway, we were all covered with limestone dusts. We arrived at Tabuelan by 8am. Our faces had turned white from the road powder and we smelled like we just barfed on ourselves.

As we waited for the bus to be loaded on the barge, I looked around and see if there were other buses waiting. I wanted to transfer to an air-conditioned bus so that I could ride comfortably. The barge left the port with only the non-aircon bus and a couple of 18 wheeler trucks as load. I realized then that it’s the only trip to Bacolod City.

Tabuelan Port

It took two hours to cross the waters that separated Negros and Cebu. We would be docking at Escalante City by 10 am. I remembered how I used to take this exact route to visit my grandparents in Hinigaran. In those trips I was accompanied by either my mom or my aunts. I remembered how I used to feel dizzy and nauseated when I travel by land to Negros. I even puked once because I got dizzy from watching places and towns that the bus would pass by.

I thought that the bus could take off at 10 am. But delays were incurred as some crew from the barge had difficulty in securing the vessel to the pier. It took almost an hour for the barge to finally open and let our bus go. People were already eager to reach their destinations. My self included.

Port of Escalante City

Negros Occidental had the most number of cities in the country. There were a lot of town converted to such status for the past several years. I think turning towns into cities was the favorite past time of their lawmakers. Heading for Bacolod City, one could pass by the cities of Escalante, Cadiz, Victorias, Silay, and Talisay. And one could pass by endless tract of sugarcane plantations.

I slept for almost the entire stretch of the trip. At 1pm, I reached Bacolod City and began my mission. My 3 days of stay there had been very strenuous. It was tiring. I’m just too tired to talk about it right now.   

Turning One, Four to GO

In a few minutes, I will be flying back to Cebu and close my first year of employment in Merck.

 

I started working in the sales and marketing last February 9, 2007 and it was a hell of a roller-coaster ride for me. But in general, the job is like no other. Suffice to say that I’m happier with Merck than with my previous jobs.

I’m still at the Iloilo airport, waiting for boarding time. It’s a bit cloudy and rainy outside. Through the glass walls of the terminal, I saw a rainbow. One end is hidden beyond the greens and the paddies of Cabatuan, Iloilo. The airport, relatively new, is but a contrast to the agricultural terrain of the province.

Sitting here at the pre-departure area, I remembered the airports that I’ve gone through. I remembered the small airport of Caticlan, the old terminals of Tacloban, Bacolod, Dumaguete and Tagbilaran. I remembered how far the General Santos and Cagayan de Oro airports were from the city proper. I also had vivid image of the set up of Davao International Airport, particularly the durian sculpture made by Kublai Millan as well as the manicured elevated lawns that spelled out the name of the airport.

I realized that I have traveled far and wide last year. I’ve been to places which I have never been before. My job has afforded me to go to places like Isulan and Tacurong in Sultan Kudarat, Cotabato City in Maguindanao, the geothermal power plant on a mountain range in Leyte, The remote town of Quiamba in Saranggani and the starting point to Mt. Apo ascent in Kidapawan, North Cotabato. They may be the unpopular places to go, yet I was able to set my feet there.

For me, the most important thing about going to these places was the opportunity to explore and understand how and why people continued to stay, as well as to know the things that made the places survive. I do love to walk and visit places that interest me. I took pictures of old houses, churches, schools, historical places and scenic spots. I also visited known or popular restaurants and food joints.

Every place is unique. Every experience is different. Some places were dangerous, some were lackadaisical. Others have seen the best of times while some places still couldn’t kick off for progress. Every place has its own culture. I valued the country’s diversity and tongue.

For the past year, I was faced with a lot of humbling experiences. From rejection of proposals by prospect clients to unsatisfied customers, to angry distributors and frustrated end-users, all these experiences happened. They stretched my patience. They tested my ego and pride. But it’s part of the grand scheme of being a peddler of goods. And I’ve learned to give respect to those who really mattered.

I’ve ridden a motorcycle in my business clothes. I have reached far-flung mountainous places on a rainy day. I learned to wait for my turn to talk to the client on a long line of suppliers and distributors. But I’ve been trying very hard to manage my time.

I’ve experienced sexual harassment. And it scared the hell out of me. Salesmen are mostly at the mercy of customers at times. But it’s the prerogative of every peddler to give in or not to the demands of clients. Indecent proposals, dirty transactions, crab mentality in the workplace, they all happened in the sales and marketing world.

I know now that there are no immaculate offices. No organization will ever be perfect. And no matter how hard the people try, office politics would never get pretty and nice. But I learned not to be affected by it. At least I’m based here in Cebu. I am several miles away from the mother ship. I have my time, I have my own schedule, I have my own self to prove my worth in the company.

And I also gained friends. I thought my officemates were monsters. I had pre-judged some of my comrades but later, I figured out that they were sincere and supportive. I am quite lucky to have great people around me.

So one year has passed, I have the second year ahead of me. All I should think right now is that I’m lucky to have this kind of a job. And I’m grateful to have reached this far. One year may be short but hopefully, there are still a lot more years to experience and learn more tricks of the trade.

Meantime, it’s time for me to board the plane.    

Ash Mercredi in Iloilo

For the start of the Roman Catholic’s Lenten season, I decided to take the afternoon flight to Iloilo City. It’s not because I wanted to have my wrinkled forehead marked with cinder but because of my scheduled visit to my distributor in the area.

Iloilo’s New Airport Building

I just had to. My distributor would be booking orders for about 1.8M and it would be one of the most important transactions for this year. In my excitement, I forgot that when I stepped in the city of Iloilo, I would see people with black marks on their temples.

Excluding my trips to the mother ship, this is my second business travel for the year. I am not familiar yet with this western visayas city but since the opportunity presented itself, I explored what was there to visit. And in my little ‘exploration’, I discovered something about the former Queen City of the South.

After my important meeting with my distributor, I hurriedly changed outfit and went around the city. It was late in the afternoon already and the sun was almost down, I decided to take a jeepney ride to the city proper.  My first stop was the Provincial Capitol of Iloilo. The structure looked old and vacant. It reminded me of the old city hall of Kuta Wato but only cleaner and it didn’t reek of urine or feces.

Note that the cathedral is in Jaro but my jeepney was heading to the opposite direction.

I wanted to visit the metropolitan cathedral next and so I hailed a jeepney again upon the instruction of a hotel security guard but then the short ride took me someplace else. I realized that my ride wasn’t taking me to the cathedral. It took me to another church though.

Fronting Plaza Libertad, several blocks away from the capitol is the Church of San Jose. I’m not sure if this is the Pavia Church because it is somehow Byzantine in form and red brick in nature. If this is the Pavia then this could be the one that was used as a garrison by the Japanese during the war. I saw people coming out of the house of the almighty with black crosses on their faces. I got in and got on queue. The priest uttered ‘Ashes to ashes’ and marked my forehead. Then I turned to the side and said my prayers.

 

Plaza Libertad was the mark where the flag of the First Philippine Republic was raised soon after Spain surrendered to Iloilo. From Plaza Libertad, the PUJ took me to the old district of Jaro and I got off a few minutes later when I saw the tall landmark of the historic place: The belfry. Rising high at one side of the Plaza Lopez Jaena, the structure looked dramatic from afar. It was attractive especially when viewed late in the afternoon.

 

My advice is that you watch and appreciate the tower from afar. Keep your distance and do not go anywhere near it. I went too close to the belfry and got frustrated. People in Jaro may have been avoiding the landmark because it smelled like hell. It reminded me of the rotting old city hall of Kuta Wato. The belfry was literally left to rot. I needed to avoid hell. So I crossed the street and knocked on heaven’s door.

Jaro has one of the few churches in the Philippines with a bell tower built and erected detached from the church. I remembered Loboc Church in Bohol where the belfry is also a few meters away. The stinky bell tower of Jaro may have served as a watchtower, protecting people from any attack coming from the mighty river.

I realized that the smelly belfry belonged to the Metropolitan Cathedral of Iloilo. The sun was about to set when I took pictures of the cathedral. Outside, it’s an old structure. The parish had recently celebrated its fiesta in honor of the Virgin of Candles. The feast marked the last Sunday before the Lenten Season started.

I could see people going up the old flight of stairs to a platform at the front of the church. One could see an old stone figure of Virgen de la Candelaria, clothed in fabric and adorned with gems and was housed in glass. In front of the image was a box full of lighted colorful candles. I paused for a moment and gave my thanks.

 

And then I walked away. I haven’t had the time lately to exercise. I decided to find my way back to the hotel on foot. It must have taken me an hour to reach Highway 21 Hotel but I didn’t mind at all. I saw some interesting sights.

I noticed that there were several old mansions with huge lawn and wrought iron gates and bricked perimeter walls. Especially in Jaro, each block seemed to have huge period and colonial houses that were either abandoned or maintained. Some houses were made to rot while some were well taken cared of.

There were old commonwealth-era buildings too. One could see old structures with dates that fell between 1920 and 1935.  The schools have old buildings too.  Iloilo is saturated with dated establishment. My roots are perhaps from Iloilo. I was born in Negros to a mother whose relatives were from Panay. My grandfather was from this section of the island and may have in some way or another, traversed the old streets of Iloilo.

I walked on and passed by Muelle Loney, named after the Englishman Nicholas Loney who was considered the father of the Philippine sugar industry.This section of the city reminded me of the old Manila where bridges cross the Pasig River, linking Luneta to Binondo.

 

In the city proper of Iloilo, there are several bridges that span the Irong-irong River. The Muelle is near the new Provincial Capitol building as well as the majestic Aduana. Somehow, it could look romantic at night.

The New Iloilo Capitol Building

Beside the capitol is the old functional fountain fronting the old one. It looked amazing at night. I just don’t know if the Ilonggos appreciated its fuente as much as I did. I wonder what the fountain symbolizes or whether or not it means something to the people. Watching and taking pictures of the fountain made me remember Fuente Osmeña of Cebu City.

I walked and walked until I reach the hotel with my tongue sticking out. The hike had stripped me of any strength and I was sweating like hell when I asked for the room key from the front desk. The receptionist was a bit puzzled from the sight of the sweaty me. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I looked at my hand and realized that the black cross had been erased from my brows. I remembered Ash Wednesday and I got hungry.

I ended up the night with a necessary dining at an authentic Iloilo Batchoy. I recommend Deco’s at Valeria Street. Others may have ended the night with a big bang. It’s the eve of Chinese New Year by the way. The Chinese community in Iloilo awaited the coming of the Year of the Rat.              

174-35-16

At a cordoned section of the hall in front of the platform where the speaker of the house would stand up to preside the session and to symbolically bang the gavel, Representative Jose de Venecia finally realized that he will no longer be given the privilege to suspend or adjourn the session of the lower house. Not anymore.

February 5, at 12:55 am, the last congressman stood up and explained his vote. After which de Venecia was officially ousted by his colleagues and he couldn’t do anything about it. With a sullen face and defeated heart, he humbly stepped down and nominated Davao Representative Prospero Nograles to the throne.

I watched how the turn of events unfolded in front of me. But unlike the impeachment trial of the then president Joseph Estrada, this ‘mutiny’ in the congress lacked the drama and the emotional element of a soap opera. The event today was predictable and bland. When congress resumed its session yesterday, it was already expected that a new speaker will be elected before the session adjourned. Frustrated groups in the lower house had been trying to unseat the speaker for years.

I didn’t plan to get hooked to the long and boring process of voting to vacate the position of the speaker. I just arrived from an internet café because the broadband was down and I needed to send important mails to my colleagues. Well the voting started at 4pm and because there were more than 220 members of the house of congress and each member was given 3 minutes to explain his or her votes, the process took a very long time.

Watching this event was not at all painful and sad. Watching de Venecia’s facial expression, as he listened to the comments and remarks of his fellow representatives, was quite interesting. Perhaps he may be puzzled as to why he was being overthrown. Perhaps he knew why he’s being made to step down. Perhaps he’s wishing that they would still make him the Speaker of the House.

I was waiting for de Venecia to make some last ditch effort to hold on to his position. But I realized that it was in his privileged speech before the voting began that he rocked his boat and defended himself from the issues that were hurled to him before. It was soon after Rep. Abaraham Mitra of Palawan had moved for the position of the speakership to be vacant, that JdV attacked the president and her family, with several political issues and corruption.

But it’s 174-35-16.

I think it was painful to hear de Venecia talk about his achievements as a Speaker of the House for several terms. He enumerated his accomplishments at the time when he was only asked to nominate a fitting congressman for the position. It took him some time to nominate because he talked about the projects he had done, the reforms that he had carried out and efforts he had made to improve the image of the Lower House.

To him, it’s an accomplishement to raise the floor of the assembly hall of the Batasang Pambansa by at least six inches. It’s an accomplishment to lay out the communication network inside the house so that each congressman could be linked through the laptops issued to them. In JdV’s point of view, it was an accomplishment to build a gymnasium and to make some savings on the some other projects pertaining to house of congress.

But not everyone was happy. Most of them were not listening. He may have had some projects done but then some congressmen had none. The representative from Basilan and lady congressman from Taguig-Pateros received nothing for three long years. Most of 174 lawmakers who voted yes wanted change. And change it was that happened in early Tuesday morning.

At 1:30 am, de Venecia saw Speaker Nograles take his oath in front of the former governor of Cebu, Pablo Garcia (his suspenders were quite awful to watch through his Barong) and he listened well to what the congressman said. Nograles did not forget to mention him. JdV heard him say “Thank You” for all the reforms and the projects that he had begun. He heard the speaker speak no promises. And he listened very well to what Nograles said.

One can only guess what’s on de Venecia’s mind when he listened to the speech. “What have I done wrong to merit this kind of distrust?”, “what have I done to make my colleagues lose their confidence in my leadership?”, “could this be because I went against the president and attacked her and her family with issues of corruption” or “were my eye bags really that heavy and large or were my ears jutting out from my temples far and wide like an elephant?”

“It’s time to get back to work!,” Prospero Nograles said. Applauses and howls soon followed. JdV had come to his senses. It’s the end of his political career. For Nograles, it’s an uphill path ahead.

My impression about Nograles is that he’s a no-nonsense, serious kind of a person. His experience in congress and/or in handling key committees in the lower house may have weighed in much to earn a nomination from the ousted speaker. And he was voted upon unanimously. I just do not know how effective Nograles or de Venecia was in their districts. I wonder what  the Davao City mayor’s reactions would be.

Even so, a change in leadership does not necessarily produce a positive result in terms of raising the respect and credibility of the Lower House. It’s a challenge for Nograles now to reform the monkeys and the crocodiles in the House of Representatives. Otherwise, it’s pointless to have a 174-35-16.