The Magic of Kurt

My hunger had brought me back to Koreen’s Grill last night. I was drained from what had happened to ZeeWee early in the morning and I basically spent half of my day in the traffic police office to report the accident involving my car and an owner type jeep. This jeep was driven by a senior man and it nudged ZeeWee from behind. My car was once again damaged.

In sheer sadness, I skipped lunch which was why that night I craved for grilled tuna belly and the seafood soup. At Koreen’s I had dinner with the manager and the chef and talked about what vacation and trips to do this year.

After dinner, the chef summoned the on-the-job trainee and requested for a magic trick. His name was Kurt, a graduating hotel-and-restaurant management (HRM) student. I sat at one end of the table and I saw him ran to the kitchen and emerged from it a few minutes after with a deck of cards in his hands.

People began to gather around as he started his card trick on me. As he was describing the trick, I saw the cards being shuffled in a unique manner. The cards were moved too fast. I could not follow how the cards went out from the deck and swallowed back in a flash. His hands were too fast.

He spread the cards like fans and had me pick a card. I was told not to flash it to him because the trick was to guess what card I picked. He shuffled the cards the instant that I drew one and had me insert it back to the deck. I chose 9 of diamonds and I had it stored in my mind. Kurt wanted me to think about the card I picked and to think of nothing else.

He shuffled the cards once more. As he spread the cards on the table, he asked me to hold his left arm with my right hand. He kept telling me to think about the card I picked. I was informed beforehand that Kurt could read people’s mind. So I was trying to test him if he could still guess the card I picked. I knew that holding his arm has something to do with the telepathy that he’s trying to utilize and so I thought a different card instead of the 9 of diamonds. But I was a bit confused. If it’s telepathy, then why do I need to hold his arm?

From the spread cards, he pulled out the 9 of cloves. I told him that it’s not. the card I picked.  My hand was still holding his arm as he asked me to think about my card again. I thought of other cards instead. I blocked my mind from thinking about the card I picked.

Then he pulled out another card. For the second time, he was wrong. I saw beads of sweat on his face. He was embarrassed for picking the wrong cards. I was amused of what just happened. I thought his magic trick failed him.

He asked me to let go of his arm. I removed my hand from his arm and I freaked out. On his arm I saw the figure 9 and a diamond. The quad figure was quite unclear but the figure nine was very visible. Chills went up my spine. How on earth such a mark would be made on his arm when I didn’t even move my hand when I held him.

He explained why he picked the wrong cards. The diamond was a bit indistinct because he noticed that I did not focus on the card I picked. He said that I thought of something else which is why it was all the more difficult to point the right card.

I wondered what other tricks he had up his sleeves.

The restaurant manager mentioned that Kurt could solve the Rubic’s cube in a flash. Less than 10 seconds and blindfolded at that.

 

And he claimed to have telekinetic abilities too. He demonstrated it on several occasion at Koreen’s Grills. A couple of weekends back, Kurt would move from table to table, asked the customers if he could show a trick or two and then perform magic to their delight. One of his tricks was to make the lit cigarette dance in air. A group of young ladies freaked out when they saw a cigarette stick making somersaults unheld.

After his trick, he would then make a pitch and urged customers to order for more food and drinks. Talk about marketing tactics too.

Kurt showed me at least 10 tricks that night. I was so amazed by what he demonstrated. It switched on my probing nature. He said that he knew he had the so-called gift ever since he was young. His first trick involved the use of rubber band. He claimed to have been self-taught and he never had formal or serious training on magic and tricks.

But what did I think about his magic? I was made to believe that it’s the real deal. But deep inside, I had reservations about the whole thing because I might have been tricked. To see is to believe but then I doubted what I saw.

Magic to me is not only when something impossible happened but also when I was there to see, hear and feel it happen. I could say that there was magic when I saw the figure 9 and a diamond as marks on Kurt’s arm. There was magic when he solved the Rubic’s cube at a nick of time. And there was magic when he let the cigarette stick float in air.

Magic to me is a race between the senses of the magician and his audience. In Kurt’s case, I think it was a question of whether or not the magician’s hands were faster than the eyes of the viewers. Kurt’s hands were fast. I bet his eyes moved faster than mine.

It is a matter of how the eyes could quickly follow the motion of the magician’s hands. Whereas the eyes move slower than the hands, the limbs on the other hand were made to keep the eyes from catching the twist of the trick. Most of the tricks were about letting the eyes focus on something while the magician’s hands were busy doing something else.

It’s like pulling the rug under our feet and yet in shock, we wondered how it happened. Magic is a puzzle, a trick. It’s how the eyes were fooled and how the mind was made to believe that impossible things could happen. Oftentimes what is visual could trigger the mind to accept it as real even though they weren’t. Magic hoodwinks our eyes. It hoodwinks our soul and mind.

 

To MOM & DAD:

Happy Anniversary! This is your 34th! More anniversaries to come!!!!

With much love from the Little RockStar Diva, The Prodigal Daughter and Drew, Lester, Pretty Ken, Emo, Christine & Arniel and Takeshi Bear!!!!!

The Street Has A Name: Maxilom

There are streets in Cebu City that were named after those who took part of the resistance against American occupation at the turn of the 20^th century. Of these streets, that of Gen. Maxilom is the longest stretch of road that starts and ends with something Osmeña:  one end is the rotunda or the Fuente Osmeña and the other is Sergio Osmeña Boulevard near the harbour.

 

Mango Avenue was changed to Gen. Maxilom and it snaked through numerous establishments of uptown Cebu such as private learning institutions, a cemetery, bunch of hotels and the north reclamation area. Heavy traffic at Maxilom Avenue implies that the street is a major thoroughfare, that even if it’s three-lanes on both directions, the traffic is huge. The road is an important access to the economic excitement and business to-do in Cebu City.

But do we at least know who Gen. Maxilom was? What’s his part in the history of Cebu and his significance to us Cebuanos? Are his contributions as major and important as the avenue that was named after him? Do we even care to know who he was? I would be surprised to know if more than a handful would be interested in the life of this general.

I gathered from the net that in August 1924, Maxilom’s burial was attended by figures from the revolution, including Emilio Aguinaldo. From San Nicolas, the funeral cortege stretched for about 4 km and they came to bury the leader of the resistance.

Buried with him were his contribution to the cause for the liberation and independence of the Philippines. Just like any Katipunero, he had dreamt of an independent Philippines. His dreams had prompted him to lead the revolutionary army soon after Leon Kilat was ‘assassinated’ in Carcar. Buried also with him was his importance to Cebuano history.

Only the hills of central Cebu remained witness to the resistance against the Americans. Barren and mute, the highlands of Sudlon, Pardo and some northern towns were venues for guerrilla battles and insurgent activities. These were the places where the revolutionary army led by Maxilom engaged in fights against the much heavy and powerful American forces.

Arcadio Maxilom was a son of Tuburan, Cebu. Although historians claimed that he was not at all popular in his hometown, in spite of the fact also that he was a son of a gobernadorcillo, and, himself, being a school teacher his role in the resistance against the American occupation of Cebu made him prominent.

But soon after the war in the island began to thin out in 1901, Maxilom became conscious of how hopeless it was to get real victory. The revolutionary movement in the country was crippled even more when Emilio Aguinaldo was captured. All the tactics and the options had dissipated and Maxilom had no other recourse but to express desire for peace and accept the American’s offer of amnesty.

He had seen how all the efforts to win the war dissolved in time. He had fought against the colonial Spaniards during the historic Tres de Abril encounter which started the revolution here in Cebu. Before the Americans came, Maxilom was made the Councilor of Police of the Revolutionary Katipunan and had led some military zones in Cebu. The Philippine Government under Emilio Aguinaldo was short-lived. The Treaty of Paris on December 1898 was a bitter pill when the Philippines was sold by Spain to the United States for a mere 20 million dollars.

Soon after, Cebuanos were shocked when the U.S. gunboat Petrel approached the harbour. The Americans would be taking over the island. They planned to raise their flag at Fort San Pedro as a symbolic rite to occupy the island and claim it for their country. Gen. Maxilom opposed the occupation of Cebu. He did not accept the decision to surrender the city to the Americans.

He moved out of the Cebu City to protest the act of surrender to another colonial giant. He along with Climaco established headquarters in Pardo the very same day when the Americans raised the stars and stripes at the fort. They continued on with the Filipino government with the formal recognition from Mabini.

The battles did not happen in the streets of Cebu City. Exchanges of gunfire went off on the hills of the island, in places unfamiliar to the enemy and where the terrain was to the advantage of the revolutionary army. Maxilom led his army to combats in the hills of Sudlon, Pardo and as far as the towns of Sogod and Catmon. He continued on with the fight for real freedom even with dwindling resources, support and hope.

That in spite of the harsh reality that other Cebuanos collaborate with the Americans for their own interest and survival Maxilom was determined to win the war for them. The Battle of Bocaue in Central Cebu became the point when he shifted tactics to guerrilla warfare. He ordered his men “to die on their feet in trenches.”

He fought a losing war. There were problems of loyalty, of collaboration with the Americans, of dissipating mass support for the resistance. Cebuano’s cooperation to the revolution began to wane. To the points of view of the American supporters, Maxilom and his men had become insurgents. People no longer believed that the war could still be won. Maxilom knew the results of the resistance but he continued to fight.

He fought on, until such a time when Cebu was placed in military rule in 1901. The Americans ransacked several towns in the hopes of capturing him and his men. Lives were lost during the raids of towns believed to be harbouring insurgents and rebels. So many people died, mostly civilians. The claws of the colonizers had grown big, the talons had gone sharper. General Arcadio Maxilom had seen the end of the struggle. The republic could no longer continue.

His surrender in October 1901 marked the start of the road to peace. He laid down his arms for the healing of the island which for years had been wounded from the resistance and which at the turn of the century had been shocked by the turn of historic events where the Spaniards flee but only for the Americans to take over. With Maxilom’s surrender, Cebu had started to feel out of political, social and cultural harm’s way.

A century after, Cebuanos ought to remember how this general carried on the Philippine Republic here in Cebu. He fought dearly for the cause to free the island from foreign control, for independence. His name and his contribution to the history of Cebu should be given much importance much like the way Maxilom Avenue had become vital to the economic life of the city. 

 

Ay Batugan!

Sa susunod na buwan ay magdadalawang taon na ako sa tinutuluyan kong kumpanya. Actually hindi naman literal na pumapasok ako sa opisina namin araw-araw, lunes hanggang viernes, dahil naka-base naman ako malayo sa head office namin sa Makati. Kung iisipin, hindi naman dapat ako mapapagod at mawawalan ng ganang “pumasok” dahil nasa Cebu lang ako at ang boss ko naman ay naandun sa “kabisera.” Ahaha. Kabisera. Gumagamit pa ba tayo ng salitang “kabisera?”

Pinipilit kong intindihin kung bakit ako nagkakaganito ngayon. Di porque na magtu-two years na ako ay mag-aasal batugan na ako.  Marami dapat akong gawin pero panay surf ko na ngayon sa internet. Laging bukas ang facebook ko, ang multiply account ko at ang wordpress blog ko. Lagi na akong on-line sa Yahoo Messenger at sa Skype. Halos lahat ng oras ko’y nagugugol na sa harap ng computer. Adik na nga ako. Ni wala na nga akong time para matulog.

Feeling ko iniiwasan ko lang ang mga kailangan kong gawin sa work. Naguguluhan na nga ako. Minsan tuloy, naiisip ko na ang work ay isa lamang distraction sa mga gusto kong gawin. Dati, gustung-gusto kong magtrabaho. Pero ngayon, sa tindi na ng proseso at sa klase ng ugali ng mga nakakasalamuha ko sa trabaho, tila nagsisipaglayas na ang mga butil ng enthusiasm sa katawan ko. Madugo na kasi ang mga pinapagawa sa akin ng boss ko. Di ko rin siya masisisi. Ika nga, trabaho lang at walang personalan. Pero ako, namemersonal na. Pano kasi, kahit weekend, binubulabog nya ako. Kesyo ganito kesyo ganyan, dapat gawin ito at ganyan. Nagtitext pa kahit gabi, kahit lingo, kahit tulog na ako. Hay.

Mas gugustuhin ko na lang gumala sa kung saan-saan. Masaya kasi yun. Wala kang ibang iisipin kundi ang magpakasaya. Iba rin naman kasi ang feeling kung magfa-file ka lang ng vacation leave or sick leave kasi mag-iisip ka pa kung ano ang gagawin mong dahilan kung bakit ka magli-leave. Mag-iisip ka pa kung nagamit mo na ang mga dahilan na iyon sa mga nauna mo nang nai-file. Baka kasi isipin ng mga taga-HR na lagi na lang ako may LBM or diarrhea or lagi na lang not feeling well ang palusot di ba? Pwede naman din kasing i-arrange na lang ang trabaho na maisabay sa pagbabakasyon. Kaya lang kung minsan, nawawalan ka nang ganang magtrabaho dahil mas excited ka nang maglamyerda sa beach or kung saan mang sulok ng Pinas gusto mong puntahan.

Aynaku. Two weeks pa lang ang lumipas pero parang tingin ko ay mag-e-end na ang 2009. Adik. Hindi pa nga nag-chinese new year eh.  Ano ba? Ayaw na atang gumana ng mga brain cells ko. Gusto na ata nila magresign at magretire na sa pag-iisip ng mga diskarte sa trabaho. Mukhang nasanay na rin ang utak ko na pa easy-easy lang. Hay, ano kaya kung i-shutdown ko na lang ang career ko?

Alam ko naman na marami akong frustrations sa style ng pamamalakad (ay seryoso) ng kumpanyang pinapasukan ko. Hindi pa kasi tiyak kung ano ang magiging direction namin ngayon taon sa sales and distribution ng mga produkto namin. Alam ko naman na ang general goal is to increase sales and the market share. Di ko lang feel magwork ngayon. Nakakatamad kasi. Malamig din ng konti ang climate kaya mas maigi na lang siguro magtigil sa loob ng bahay, humigop ng mainit na sabaw ng tinolang manok at magdamag na mag-iinternet.

Sarap siguro ng buhay na ganun noh?. Kaso lang, magugutom ako pag di ako magsipag. Hindi naman kasi ako mayaman. Proletariat lang ako. College graduate na balbas sarado at balbon sa kamay, sa dibdib at tiyan. Kailangan kong kumayod para makapagyaya sa mga family and friends na kumain sa mga magagandang restaurant at pagkatapos hingin ang resibo for reimbursement. Kailangan ko magwork para makalibre ng gasolina at makapagbiyahe kung saan-saan na naka-wheels. I need the job para maka-punta-punta sa mga lugar at magside-trip sa mga tourist spots.

Sayang din kasi ang miles. Napapadalas ang lipad ko kung saan-saan. Feeling ko, ako ang frequent flyer sa Cebu Pacific.  Halos alam ko na ang flight assignment ng crush kong FA na si Carlo. Sa pagiging adik ko sa pagbabiyahe, mukhang napapaligaya ko si Ace Durano. Turing ko tuloy sa sarili ko ay isa akong “working tourist” na papunta-punta sa mga airport, magbayad ng terminal fee at saka likumin at itago para isama sa expense report. Perks nga naman yun because of the nature of my job di ba?

Kaso tinatamad ako. Sa ngayon, gusto ko lang mag-upload ng mag-upload ng mga picture sa multiply at facebook. Sulat ko kaya sa Facebook status ko ang Addie is a lazy sloth. Hahaha. sloth na nga eh, lazy pa. 

Kung lilipas man ang feeling na ito, well and good. I could pick myself up at mag-revert to work mode na ako next week, next month or next time. Wish ko rin naman na phase lang ito. And of course, hope ko rin naman na maglalaho rin ang pagiging nega ko about my job. Pero di ko lang maitago ito ngayon. Trip kong magpaka-batugan muna.

Ang style ko muna ngayon is to put myself in the bandolino shoes of a jobless man and imagine my life like an istambay. Ang hirap siguro nun. But for sure, kung unemployed ako, di ko na maafford ang mag-internet ng open time. At paano na lang ang blog ko di ba? So good luck na lang sa akin.

Ati-Atihan in Kalibo

A huge traffic had formed at the bridge. We were cramped in a tricycle which in turn was cramped on the bridge along with hundreds of other trikes and vehicles. Traffic was no longer moving. The sounds from the vehicles were drowned by the beats of the drums. The major streets remain blocked for the main event. Ati-atihan was on its final and major day.

 

 

We walked half of the length of the Kalibo Bridge. Just like every body else, Paul, Apo and I crossed the big Aklan river and reached the town of Kalibo. We walked towards sound of the drums at the town square. We were drawn towards the beat of Ati-atihan. Several bands played their own rhythm; they played and marched to the convergence point of the festival.

 

Kalibo or Calivo, is the capital of the province of Aklan. Its name may have been derived from the phrase ”sangka libo” (one thousand) probably because about 1000 Ati people attended the first Catholic mass in that area.

People swarmed the main street of Kalibo. Ati-atihan was celebrated on the street through dance and drumbeats, with several groups clad in fancy and themed costumes, the party was a like a crude merry-making scene.

Ati-atihan itself started as a pagan activity. The Ati people being the early settlers in this part of the island were generally dark-skinned. When the Malays from Borneo came to their shores in the 13th century, the Ati offered the migrants some lands. The Malays in turn, celebrated this gesture by painting themselves with black so that they look like the Ati people.

The gesture to “look like the Ati” is called Ati-Atihan. This festive activity carried on but had since transformed into a Catholic event when the Spanish missionaries infused religious meaning to the Ati-atihan to honor the Holy Child Jesus.

   

Thus the current Ati-atihan had become a unique blend of pagan and Catholic elements celebrated through rhythmic music, chants, prayers, outlandish costumes, beer and alcohol and of course street dance.

 

Unlike other well-organized festivals in honor of the Santo Niño, Ati-atihan was more of an interactive affair. People were not limited to stand and watch the parade at the sides. Everyone was in fact encouraged to join and dance to the beat along with the costumed participants.

 

It was a mix of animist display and catholic expression of faith. People dressed in tribal costumes made of indigenous materials danced in unison to the beat. The dancing groups usually formed 3 lines to cover the width of the streets. People were drawn and pulled to fill the spaces in between and to dance to the sounds of the bands.

Also in the group were the devout men and women with images of Sto Niño in their hands. The culminating parade was actually a long religious procession of different images of the Holy Child placed in various carozas or carts adorned with flowers and lights.

Each caroza had its own playing band and or a performing contingent clad in colorful costumed and covered in soot or black. There were no chants of prayers. Only the hypnotizing rhythms pulled everyone to join in the fun.

Finally, I have witnessed the mother of all Philippine festivals: the Ati-atihan

HALA BIRA! HALA BIRA! 

 

 

 

  

Hala Bira!

Dad was in shock when I asked him to bring me to the airport last Saturday. He wondered why I needed to leave Cebu on a weekend when the major festival would take place the following day. I lied a bit when I told him that it was way cheaper to get tickets for a Saturday flight out of Cebu than on Monday. The airport might be too busy and wild after the Sinulog festivity.

I also told my mom about my flight. Of course she was worried because the weather did not look too good. The skies remained overcast and the sun never had the chance to break the darkness and the showers. So mom advised me not to go to Boracay. She did not want me to cross any sea or take a banca ride to the island. In all honesty I told her that I would not be going to Boracay. I did not have plans to go there either. I just did not tell her that I would be going to a place that is only 70 km away from Caticlan, the jump-off point to Boracay.

I was very happy with my decision to be in Kalibo for the Ati-atihan Festival. It coincided with the Sinulog Festival of Cebu. For this year, I wanted to check out what Kalibo has to show to honor the Holy Child Jesus.

From Iloilo, I hurriedly got into a van, got off at SM Jaro a few minutes after and transferred to a PUJ that would take me to the bus terminal at Tagbak. When I got off at the bus depot, I saw a Kalibo-bound bus exiting the terminal and I hailed it. The bus driver saw my flailing arm and my blue-purple layered tops and halted the bus for me.

The four-hour journey to Kalibo began. I would be meeting my friends Apo and Paul in the capital of Aklan which was about 145km from Iloilo. My friends had spent the night in Boracay and had left the island after lunch. They were already on their way to Kalibo.

The funny thing about the bus driver was that he had this huge mirror over his head. I could not help but noticed that he would look at the mirror for almost every minute. In my amazement, I forgot that I stared at the mirror for quite a time. And it was too late when I noticed that the driver looked at the overhead mirror again. I did not look away. I just continued to stare at the reflection.

So our eyes locked but I did not react until he winked and raised his eyebrows at me. I froze a bit from the shock I got from the reflection at the mirror. I turned to my sides to check if the driver was trying to communicate with someone such as the bus assistant or the trip checker. I saw none of them at my sides. The driver was basically winking at me.

I did some self-check. I tried to think that the driver was not flirting at me at all. I tried to think that he was just trying to be pleasant with someone who could pass as a Japanese tourist. I could not think of any other reason why this driver would be staring and smiling at an unsuspecting passenger like myself. If you ask me how the driver looked like, I could say that he’s not homely at all. He’s average-looking and his huge eye bags cover half of his cheeks.

So I just veered away from the mirror. I was more excited about what the Ati-atihan would be like when I would watch it the following day. Four hours in a bus plying the Iloilo-Kalibo route was taxing. Sections of the highway especially in Passi City was terrible. I could see that there were cement laying that went on in some parts of the stretch and somehow, they promised a lesser bumpy ride in the coming months.

I reached Kalibo before the end of the day. I could hear some drumbeats already when I stepped out of the bus. The main roads leading to the church and the plaza had been closed to traffic. Human traffic on the other hand was heavy and huge.

I decided to wait for my friends at a nearby fast food joint. At that time, I did not know where they were. I waited for them to call me or text me but they never came. I waited a bit and called Apo several times. His phone was ringing but my calls were unanswered. I got a bit frazzled from the situation so I just took it upon myself to search around town for a place to stay.

Instead of searching the streets for Apo and Paul, I searched for a room to spend the night. I asked around and people pointed me to a two-storey building at a corner near the bridge. An effeminate guy showed me the unoccupied room at the second floor. It was a small room with two double-deck beds. The guy would give me the room for two thousand pesos (US$40) per day with free meals. Right on, I realized how room rates shoot like rockets during festivities like that. I told the guy that I need to tell my friends first before I’d get the room. At the time I still did not know how to find them.

I left the establishment and decided to hail a tricycle for Numancia. It’s 5 kilometers left of Kalibo and is the first town you’d pass if you’re going to Caticlan. My friends had already booked a room at Doña Crispina Resort and I was taking the only chance of ever staying in Aklan for a night. I told myself that I would take the next trip out of Kalibo if I would find out that they did not check-in at the resort.

To get to the resort, I had to negotiate with the tricycle driver and the dispatcher to lower down the fare. I managed to pay 120 pesos for the ride to the resort. I never thought that Doña Crispina was that far. I thought it was just a short ride from Kalibo. It took me 20 minutes to reach it.

The trike ‘chauffeur’ stopped in front of a closed gate. I stepped off and asked him to wait for me for a sec. So the question would be if my friends checked in at the resort. I scrambled to look for a doorbell. I pressed on the button several times. A resort staff approached the gate.

I was relieved when he told me that my friends had checked in a few hours ago. But he told me that they left as soon as they dropped their bags in the room. I told the trike driver that he could leave already. I decided to wait for Apo and Paul at the resort. I would be spending the night in Aklan. From then on, it was pretty certain that I would be experiencing Ati-atihan for the first time.       

 

 

 

 

 

IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!

Yehbaaaaaaaaaahh! I just turned 31 and the weather is not cooperating. I’m still here in Ozamiz. Don’t ask me why I’m working on my birthday. But yes I am and I don’t have a choice, do I?

 

 

I don’t have an answer if in case you ask me how it feels to be 31 already. Hmmmm. The stormy weather in this city just makes me want to summon more for the rain.

I thank everyone who greeted me on my birthday. Merci beaucoup tout le monde! C’est ma bonne anniversaire !!! Mais je ne pas heureuse. Hahaha. Pardon my french but I feel like going home and celebrate my birthday with my family and friends.

But I am still here in Ozamiz. And it’s raining for ages. How should I celebrate my day away from you all?

Starting My BirthWeek with Fear

C’est lundi. I’d been waiting for the boarding announcement for several decades. Some of the passengers had boarded their plane already. while others went away because their flight to Cagayan de Oro, Butuan and Surigao got cancelled. I noticed how dark the heaven was and the weather looked terrible indeed.

I was with my dad and my sister at the airport. They flew to Manila today. I was scheduled to depart an hour after their boarding time or so I thought. As I waited for the 10.10am boarding time, a lot of passengers swarmed the gate counter. I heard some raised voices. I heard some buzz and some angry notes. These people just wanted to go home.

They were anxious to return to their families yet their flight got cancelled. Anxiety was thus prolonged. The skies remained bleak. Their hope of flying went dimmer than bleak. Hope had escaped them. The heaven would not allow itself to clear up even for a bit.

I would be flying to Ozamiz today. It’s one of my scheduled trips for January and I needed to be there to accomplish Merck’s side of the transaction. I forgave Cebu Pacific this time. The bad weather hampered the air traffic operations. As reported in the news, there had been a lot of delays because of poor runway visibility brought about by the poor weather condition.

At almost 11 am, passengers bound for Ozamiz exited Gate 8 and were brought to the ATR 72 500 aircraft that was parked at the side bay.  I was given the aisle seat of the last row. It’s the nearest seat to the only door of the twin prop plane. The cabin crew counted the passengers on board. The count was 34.

I overheard from the flight attendants that they were waiting for instructions either to let passengers stay inside the plane or let them get off the aircraft and return to the terminal building and wait for further announcement. The flight captain was still waiting for status from the air traffic control and from the weather bureau. The flight crew members were lingering at the rear door, as they talked about the poor weather conditions in Bacolod and in Cagayan.

30 minutes had gone by and we were still inside the plane. People became worried. The captain was explaining through the intercom that they were waiting for clearance to take off. We were told to sit back, relax and wait. I looked through the window and watched the dark clouds swept by the speed of the wind.

I wanted to get off and go home. I got scared of flying in such a terrible weather. I was also worried if the small aircraft could really brave the storm and bring us safely to Ozamiz. I was worried, probably because I’ve seen a lot of episodes from National Geographic’s Plane Crash Investigations and I would never wish for something like that to happen.

The captain instructed the cabin crew to close the door and get ready for departure. The propellers started to gather speed. I on the other hand started to gather fear. Taxiing to the runway, I kept hoping that somehow the weather in Misamis Occidental would be better. I kept on hoping until the aircraft got off the ground and pierced through the gloomy heavens of gray clouds.

The flight was smooth for the first few minutes. In fear, I dozed off the sleep. I was just stirred a few minutes after when the aircraft pilot announced that touch down would happen in a jiffy. Of course we did not land so soon. Almost half an hour, the pilot could not locate the airstrip. We were hovering above the province of Misamis. The plane went in circles for more the 10 times but still the visibility was really terrible.

I look down from a window and I could not see the land from there. It was completely covered with rain clouds. Even the high mountains of Misamis were obscured from view. I was about to throw up when the plane made another loop. It would tilt so steep as it leaned down in its attempt to break through the clouds and down to the landing strip. But the skies were so cruel and unforgiving. Each attempt to land was like a throwing a dart to the target, where bull’s eye was the strip. The clouds would always keep the target out of the pilot’s sight.

Thank god for small mercies. The ATR 72 was able to catch a break from the carpet of clouds and dove to a visible path. It touched down the Ozamiz airstrip under a blanket of rain. My fear had gone down the moment I stepped out of the plane. I looked around and got worried about the weather again. I feared that it would be the mood for the rest of the week.

 

 

The Ox and the Wheel

Why of course. I am seeing 2009 as a giant wheel to turn. It’s a wooden cog of sort with a diameter as large as life itself. I could not help but see myself attached to the cog. Me, looking like a beast of burden, a bored ox or a water buffalo who needed to walk a circular path and push the cog to rotate. In pushing, I made an orbit without even noticing that the wheel follows me like a shadow. That somehow, the same part of the giant wheel is following me in my path.

The wheel and I are moving in similar pace.

Indeed there’s a wheel and there’s me attached to the cog. But why the hell are we moving about a common point? Why do we rotate on the same axis? To orbit on a single point creates a cycle, precisely because things often go back to where it started. As long as the momentum is there, things would always register a trend. There would always be a sequence of start and end, of high and low, of positive and negative and of good and bad.

Now I am wondering if the giant wheel is depending on me for its spin. The wheel that I perceived now as my life may somehow entrust its motion on me. The manner in which the wheel rotates is based on how much effort I poured into my actions.

How this wheel rotates leads to how I could sustain the juices of life. The wheel allows the cog to churn my life and then squeeze out the extracts of happiness, of triumphs and of successes. This kind of set-up is comparable to how the sugarcane got pressed and squeezed by a beast-driven press to extract its sweet juice. It would continue to produce the extract for as long as the beast continues to turn the wheel around.

The thought sends me spinning. I am sitting here at the coffee shop once more for my fix of mocha latte. It’s only the second day of work for 2009. I don’t want to move just yet. I am still in a daze. I could not cleanse my system from any lethargic bits. I am still sluggish. I do not want to set the wheel in motion but then it’s there, jerking and trying to yank out of place.

How I wish that I do not have to work.  How I wished that I’m detached from my wheel so that I could step aside and watch it turn from a distance. I know it’s impossible. The wheel would not spin without me. The question is, what would it take to push me to move? What would fuel me to keep this wheel from turning?

I need to survive. For me to hang on to my job which in general I do not abhor, I need to keep moving. I need to set a lot of things in motion. At this time of the year, business is still lean. The business climate is sleepy since people had just recently gotten off from the yuletide season. And the cycle has just started. Things are expected to be slow and sluggish. There’s an overwhelming drag and somehow, the machinery must have to bear with it for a period of time.

No matter how much I would exert for my wheel to turn, I guess at this time, the impact wouldn’t be significant. I may need to make up my mind soon and decide on the time for me to continue on with this cycle.

I should not let myself be astonished on the things that may happen within the succession. I must have to accept the thought that in life, there are things that diminish the monotony and the weariness. There are several things in life that drag us down and often times these attacks of laziness happen at the start of the year.

If I let these things yank me out of my spinning then I would be very unsure where I would pick myself up. I would not have an idea where my wheel would go. But definitely the cycle of life would terminate at such point of letting boredom dictate the spinning.

I could still see the wheel at my side. I could still see myself as the beast of burden. The yoke is upon my shoulders. It’s getting heavier by the moment. Spinning would allow me to unload and pass on the stack to the cog, hoping that it would transform the energy through its movement.

I know the wheel is still waiting for me to continue with the turns. I’m quite uncertain of what the juices of life would be in 2009. 

 

  

I Promise to Break my Promises

C’est Janvier. I am contemplating about enrolling into the second module of French at Les Amis de la France. I met my former classmate at a restaurant today and he said that he’s still thinking about enrolling since he has been very busy with work and stuff. My work has also kept me busy the last few months. I do wish I could still squeeze in this foreign language class this year, even if it takes me to block all mornings of my Saturdays. 

I would not want to put to waste the things I have learned at Les Amis de la France. I thought of it as a sweet torture. I remember that in my Saturday class last time, I often found myself in awkward situations. I often get my tongue caught between my teeth and the nasal sounds that I generated were often got laughed at. 

People may ask me if enrolling to a French class is part of my resolution for 2009. Maybe. But it’s not the only thing I had in mind. There are so many things that I want to happen this year. I put pressure upon myself now because some of these things did not happen last year though I made several attempts to make them happen. They just did not materialize in 2008. 

I make personal resolutions in the hopes of ever realizing it within the year. But I never reached to the point of being too serious about the whole promise-to-myself thing. There are just too many distractions and too much work. The demands of my job often consume a huge chunk of my time. 

It’s always during Janvier that I get to the point of weighing things again and again. Maybe I should not make any more resolutions. Most of them did not happen anyway. I may just have to go about my activities, day after day, focus on my work and not on stupid diversions or past times. This way, I let myself in for some surprises.

Definitely there would still be some travels and visits to places that I’ve never set foot in my entire life. I am looking at the opportunities to visit Zamboanga City, Palawan and Siquijor. Developments at work would require me to visit Misamis Occidental more often now. I would also be visiting Tacloban more than ever because of a new distributor for the area. 

I do not have updates on the friends I made through the years, most especially those I forged in Cavite when I used to work at the petrochemical plant. I also miss a few of my friends in Imus, in Camarines Norte and in my socio-civic group Rotaract. This year, I hope the heavens would allow me to meet them again. At least at the start of the year, we had a small reunion among high school mates. It was nostalgic, rich in issues but fun. 

I’m at a coffee shop again. I do not know how much coffee I would drink for 2009. I had been to a lot of meetings in coffee shops last year. I lost count of cups of mocha frappes and lattes I ordered as well as the oatmeal cookies that I munched. It would still be the same this year. My self at a coffee shop in Cebu or Davao or Bacolod or even in Butuan, the cafés would still be a venue for the passing of time, my own time. 

Not to forget the dinner meetings, parties and eat outs, it’s alimentation galore. Food remains as my killer weakness. I would love to see myself less distracted by chicharon, by spicy fried chicken, by an 18-inch pizza and by CnT Lechon. Steamed Rice is also a killer. I hope I snap out of the carbo-cholesterol indulgence. 

In shying away from the things that would bloat me the most, I wish my physique would improve. I was too lenient on exercising. I limited myself to a plain hip exercise and brisk walk around a block at I.T. Park. Other than those mentioned, I was less serious about going to the gym to do some presses and curls. I had a pair of dumbbells at home but I just let them accumulate rust and cobwebs at the corner of my room. My excuse was always because I was busy with work. 

Last year, for lack of commitment and determination for the resolutions to materialize, I did not make promises to accomplish what I promised to do. It had left me in a terrible physical state. I did not have control and I broke the promises I made. Broken promises led to an increase in waist size and a whole month of medication for liver ailments and gouty arthritis.

Wish I could bring out the commitment and the will to accomplish the things I promised this year. I know what it felt like to fall short of the expectations and certainly I would not like to experience it again this year. Who knows what I would need to stop these promises from breaking?