The Climb

The Climb…

I first saw the looming figure of Mt. Matutum on my first visit to Dole Philippines School. As the shuttle snaked through the pineapple fields, I marveled at the majestic dormant volcano. The behemoth stood there with an overwhelming presence as if with probing eyes, taunting me, breathing down on my spine, beckoning me to conquer it.

It had stood there almighty through the ages mocking at puny mortals that stood before its presence. The mountain stirred something primal in me. An inner animal was awakened and despite ages and ages of evolution, the potency of the urge was undeniable, so raw, so instinctive. Nature was calling on to me and I had to respond to the call.

And so I made a pact to myself - I had to reach the peak of Matutum before my sojourn in Mindanao was over.

It was beyond rationality that I did the climb alone. Only the experienced or the suicidal would have done that. Looking back maybe I had been a bit naïve not to have foreseen the torture that was lying ahead. Had I gotten a glimpse of the pain that I had to endure I might have had reconsidered.

It didn’t start out as like that. My fellow project engineers at Dole Asia had an agreement that we were to climb Mt. Matutum together.

But I knew human nature too well. Oh yes. Something always comes up at the last minute. One by one, my colleagues came up with excuses why they couldn’t make it – some were pretty lame actually. Even Jessve, my best bud at that time, who had had been roaring to go, had to work overtime at the last minute.

And so in the end, it was a tough choice of canceling the climb altogether or me braving the mountain alone.

But I had a pact with myself. And it was a pact that I had to keep, no matter what.

As fate would have it, I conquered Mt. Matutum – my first mountain- on a Good Friday. It also fell on a Friday the 13th. Superstitiously, the attempt was unthinkable. God was dead at that time (from the words of the elders), not to mention the unlucky Friday the13th.

But luck had nothing to do with it.

It was by sheer force of will that I made it through. True, there were times along the path that I was almost tempted to give up. It was a long, arduous 9 hour-hike, that seemed like an eternity. Legs buckling from the weight of my pack, lungs screaming for air, body begging for water; the climb was all about pain.

But when I reached the summit an incredible sense of euphoria wrapped my whole being. No words could aptly describe the happiness, that I felt. All the sufferings that I went through were worth it. It was as if my heart would burst for joy. I felt one with Nature and for that brief moment, time stood still and I was on top of the world.

It has been six years since I conquered Mt. Matutum yet I could still feel the sense of achievement as if it only happened yesterday.

Which was why when Jesse James invited me to climb Mt. Sembrano…I knew that Nature was calling on me once again.

The call was blaring, so compelling and relentless. I just knew I had to respond to the call…(to be continued)

Tour of Panay Part Six

It was a blessing in disguise that my butt was getting numb. At least it was distracting my mind that something horrible was going on in my alimentary canal. The distraction has done the trick because miraculously we were able to reach Kalibo without me dislodging a gruesome concoction of biological warfare.

Despite the stomach upset I still managed to appreciate the plaza of Kalibo. It had a huge resemblance to Baliwag, Bulacan - the way the church, the town hall, and the Jollibee store are intimately huddled around the plaza. We went to Jollibee thinking it had the prime seat in town, but a quick trip to the washroom revealed a rather jaw-dropping display of humungous IFO’s - “Identified Floating Objects” in its lone toilet. Good thing my intestines still had some class- they refused to budge, obviously horrified at the dismal sight.

Notwithstanding what I just saw, I was still able to eat. I only ate light. I did not want to exacerbate my digestive organs. I totally lost my appetite when I noticed the striking similarity of the hues of Jolly Cheezy Fries and the IFOs. Bon Appettit !

Libong suggested that we proceed to the bishop’s house which was also in front of the plaza. Bishop Romy Lazo, the current bishop of Aklan used to be our parish priest in San Jose. He was a ninong on Libong’s wedding and our kuya’s playmate in tennis. Unfortunately Bishop Romy was in another town that day and there seemed to be no one inside the bishop house.

My bro prodded me to try the toilet at the gasoline station instead. From previous experience I knew that gasoline toilets would be far much worse. I assured him I could still manage it and then gulped down another tablet of Immodium.

He advised me to buy adult diapers just in case my “baggage” becomes unbearable along the way. I thought he was joking. He was dead serious. He warned me that the rest of the way would be mostly boondocks.

I assured him that in case things start to get out of control I would put to test my interpersonal relationship skills. This would mean randomly selecting a decent household and warning them that all hell will break loose if they don’t allow me to use their CR.

At times like these I get to fully comprehend Khalid’s eternal dilemma. Khalid used to be my housemate in Krus na Ligas. He arguably has the appetite of a velociraptor but his stomach is belligerent. In almost all the gimmicks of the KnL gang, Khalid would always have an intimate session in the washroom after every meal. It came to a point that folks called him Mr. Tae – Ang taong kumakain para tumae, at tumatae para kumain. ( Hi Khalid!!! Hehehe)

As Dennis would jokingly say, Khalid’s life cycle is about eating and defecating.

But my life cycle is about adventure. I have a tour to finish. And no uncooperative what-the-f*%k-is-wrong-with-you-why-are-you-doing-this-to-me-now stomach is going to stop me from finishing it.

Tour of Panay Part Cinq

Boracay didn’t disappoint me. I just stood in awe at the white sand that seemed to stretch endlessly. It was truly a spectacle to behold and the next thing I knew I was lying down on the sand feeling being one with nature.

But the island was so touristy. Lots of people were walking by and somehow it spoiled my commune with nature. I’m a people person but there are times when I wish I were just alone to contemplate in silence. The beach and the flock of people somehow just didn’t jibe together.

I had a good time contemplating. At those precious moments of silence I feel that the past and the future melt away and the only thing that mattered was being.

My still-elusive dream of building a house beside the sea came back to haunt me. I felt sad that for the past few years I have deviated from my long-term goal. Maybe I got so myopic and became part of the rat race in the metropolis. Sigh..

I never really had the chance to enjoy the night on the island as my tummy ached. Good thing my bro brought loperamide tablets. I would have wanted to check out the best shakes that Aimee recommended or pass by Cocomanga’s with famed row of drinks good to make the next 3 days of your life hell as my sensei claimed. Instead I spent the night lying on the bed with frequent trips to the CR.

We left the island around 9 am. I felt that one night in Boracay was too short (and too lousy considering the stomach upset) but in my mind I knew I would surely get back again.

As the boat was leaving the Boracay port I received a call from Lester. We discussed mostly work but I took time to gush in the highlights of the tour so far. It felt surreal hearing his voice on the other end. Manila which has somehow faded in the deep recesses of my mind suddenly jutted unto my consciousness. I once again had to grapple with the coexistence of two contrasting worlds.

We went on our way. Dark swirls of clouds gathered from the distance and the seas were rough, we barely had time to pause and take good shots. We had to stop twice because of the downpour.

One of my biggest regret was not being able to get a picture of a creepy house somewhere between Tangalan and Makato. The house loomed ominously amidst gnarly acacia trees. Defiant, it had withstood the wrath of time. Even from a distance I felt a chilly presence that lurked behind its grey walls.

If I were a horror movie writer I would explore the plot of motorcycle riders forced to set camp in an abandoned town without electricity. Unbeknownst to them the place is aswang-infested. And the action would happen at nighttime. There will be chase scenes ala-Blair witch project on a motorcycle. One by one the travelers would meet their doom as they fight to stay alive until daylight. Of course the protagonists would have to make it. That would be me and my bro. And the shooting location would be the house I just saw.

However at that time, a different horror story was unfolding. It involved my stomach and two tablets of Immodium I took that morning. The rumbling I heard inside indicated that the tablets might not have been effective at all. We had to reach Kalibo fast. Or else….

Tour of panay

The year was 1995. My college bud Anton and I were planning for one great adventure. It would have been Tawi Tawi but he missed the Solar Eclipse Expedition.
We knew life isn’t going to be as exciting after college. Job. Marriage. Kids. Saving the world.
So we planned for one big high before we finally take on bigger responsibilities.

In college, you have the time and the energy but you don’t have the money. So gradually we came up with a grand plan that in 10 years time once we set aside a considerable amount of money we were to take 2 weeks off from our jobs and take a tour of Panay by foot. It seemed to make sense. We were both from Panay Island, I from Antique, He from Iloilo.

Who were we to claim we have conquered the world when we haven’t claimed our own backyard?

The plan was simple. Tour Panay Island by foot. We would walk along the shores and set camp along the beach. The entire island in 2 weeks. Our last hurrah.

Simple yet brilliant. It all seemed fascinating and achievable back then…

Fast forward to 2006. After I went to Mindanao, Anton and I lived on different planets. We would occasionally meet and catch up when I pass by Manila or when I pass by Iloilo
Anton and I have long abandoned the idea. (More like, we have totally forgotten about the said plan). Looking back, it now seemed pretty foolish. Two weeks off the job? That would have been asking for the moon.
But last April when my brother Orville proposed the idea of a tour of Panay by motorcycle, the boy in me couldn’t resist the idea of one great adventure. It was like getting in touch once again with the idealist in me.
So on the morning of December 27, the 2-day tour of the island began… (to be continued)
(Tonio, lam kong mababasa mo tong blog… Di man natupad yung great plan natin noon, this I think is a worthy replacement, don’t you think? Pagbalik mo galing Tate someday, bili ka kotse and we'll tour Panay...Yeba !)

Ramblings of a Bond Afficionado

I’m all revved up for the upcoming James Bond film… “Casino Royale”, the 21st in the most successful movie franchise of all time. (The film “Never Say Never Again, although a Bond film is not included because it was not part of the Broccoli series)

Watching a Bond film has always been an intimate experience for me. Hell, I could even recall which movie theatre I was in and who I was with when I first watched the film.

The first James Bond movie I watched in a movie house was “The Spy Who Loved Me”. It was in Fatima theatre (now defunct) in my old hometown in Antique. I was with my dad, my uncle and my younger brother. The scene where Jaws’ car fell on top of a hut still lingers on my mind. I was probably 4 years old at that time.

The next Bond film I saw in the same moviehouse was “ For Your Eyes Only”. I was with my Mom and my Kuya. I could still recall that day because my brother and I had to cut classes when Mom picked us up. (My Mom also a teacher at that school had to work undertime for that day)

The rest of the Bond films, Sean Connery series, George Lazenby’s On Her Majesty Secret Service, Roger Moore’s other series I got to see in Betamax and VHS. Even and Timothy Dalton’s “The Living Daylights” I only got to see on tape. (But I recall the first time I saw “The Living Daylights” on tape because my kuya pointed out that A-ha, our favorite band was playing the theme song)

The next Bond film I saw in a movie house was License to Kill which I watched alone at SM City. That evening Jiggs my high school roommate and I talked for hours about Bond stuff, girls, gadgets and goons.

And then after that, it had been a long lull before a new Bond movie came up. ( Normally a Bond movie is offered on the summer of an odd-numbered year. Broccoli had some legal battles with distribution rights which put the franchise on hold)

Naturally I was teeming with excitement when “GoldenEye” was finally shown in 1995 with Pierce Brosnan as the new Bond. I watched it at SM City with my high school and college buddy Jazz. Whew, I could still feel the adrenaline rush when the heart pumping intro of the theme song sounded off. (Even now I could still feel that rush, whenever the theme song plays on my car I unconsciously step on the accelerator and increase my cruising speed by 20 kph.) It felt like the 6 loooong years waiting for a Bond film was worth it. Our hunger was such that we stayed for another screening.

Next came “Tomorrow Never Dies in 1997. My schedule did not quite jibe with my roommates hence I had to watch the movie alone (They were available the following day but somehow I just couldn’t wait that long). I recall waking up early on its opening day and arriving at the movie house half an hour before the first screening, my packed lunch already prepared in my backpack. Knowing the long lines in SM on the first day, I chose the movie house in Ever Gotesco Commonwealth which turned out to be a good decision.

The next Pierce Brosnan’s film, “The World is Not Enough”, 1999, I watched in a moviehouse in Victoria Plaza in Davao City with Ms Doctolero, my science co-teacher. I was in Mindanao at that time working as a teacher. We were in Davao City for that day to buy supplies for the Science laboratory. I recall my dad kidding me over the phone because he got to see the film first in Iloilo City; the screenings in Davao and Gensan were a bit delayed.

For “Die Another Day” 2002, the honor goes to Pazette and Darwin, my hosts in Singapore. It was the first Bond movie I watched outside the Philippines. Pazette, my college batchmate was gracious enough to treat me for the advanced screening of the movie in Tang Plaza. It was also so sweet of her to give me a to-die-for Die Another Day poster which now hangs perfectly in my living room (Damn, Thanks Pazette !!!!) .

And now after 4 looong years, a new Bond movie is coming up. I was quite disappointed at first that they didn’t renew Pierce for the 21st film. There were rumors before that Aishwayra Rai would have been the Bond Girl, had Pierce accepted the offer. At any rate 4 long years is worth wait.

Clive Owen and Julian McMahon were considered before but I think the new Bond, Daniel Craig is worth a shot. A lot including my friend LesMatu were complaining that the new Bond is so un-Bond, lacking the required pretty boy features and suaveness, that previous Bonds exuded. But after watching the trailer, I think there is something elemental, cold-blooded and dangerous about the approach of Daniel Craig to the Bond character- it’s Bond at its rawest form.

At any rate whether the public agrees with me or not… damn, Casino Royale, you are worth the wait. What took you so long ?

Answers

We live our lives searching for some answers. They come in various forms and various disguises depending on the questions we ask

Some come piecemeal as if pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, others come whole, blatant and crystal clear.

Some come at unexpected times, others never seem to come at all – or perhaps they had but we never acknowledged them.

Some answers are so surprisingly simple we failed to notice they have been there all along. Most remain elusive - only the patient eventually find them.

Some answers are comforting we find refuge in them, others are so painful we summon the courage to embrace them.

Some seek answers for contentment. Others for enlightenment. Still others for liberation.

Lucky are the ones who ask and get to receive their answers early on. Sad for those who spend an eternity chasing for their own answers.

But nothing can be more tragic than for those who spend their lifetime seeking and eventually finding the answers, only to realize upon looking back that they have asked the wrong questions.

Part Diz

There’s no better analogy the way Mike has aptly put it - if New York city is a fun guy to be with, San Francisco is a beautiful lady. And my what a beautiful lady, San Francisco turned to be.

The last leg of my journey before I head back home.

Although I was still booked in an airport hotel, the trip this time to downtown was much faster and convenient. Save for a pathetic name – The BART ( Bay Area Rapid Transit) proved to be an efficient ride.

I was not set to meet my two batchmates in the area until the next day so I spent the early part of the evening roaming around the Fisherman’s wharf. The Cable car ride was not to be missed. I really enjoyed the ride since the streets in the area were very steep. I passed by the Ghirardelli square- VJ told me that the chocolates there were heavenly – so I bought several bars for the folks back home.

The following morning I left my stuff first at the stock room after checking out. I roamed once again the streets surrounding the Fisherman’s wharf. This time I walked from the train station to the wharf and casually took photos along the way. Had a glimpse of Alcatraz and a quick tour of the city on a double deck bus.

At 5 pm my Pisay batchmates Jand and Pat came by to pick me up at the hotel. We went to a nearby village and had a sumptuous treat of Japanese food.

Jand was the most religious guy I’ve met during my freshman year- always praying intently before and after his meals. He moved to the US after high school. I always thought he would make a brilliant priest. The next time I saw him (which was in college when he bunked in with my roommate Daj, another batchmate), Jand was casually flipping the pages of Penthouse.

Pat still had the devil-may-care attitude when it comes to expressing herself. The only vivid thing I remember about her was a Pinoy group practice held in Biology room. We were groupmates for a radio play of Arriverderci, during our sophomore year; she pushed the wrong button of the cassette player and shouted “Ay p*keng malaki”. I used to be shocked back then.

We were never really close in High school –each one had his own clique- but somehow having been exposed to the stress of the science high school environment we realized we had a lot in common. We had a bond that cannot be denied.

Our topics, ranging from the cerebral to down right kababawan, revolved on the very thing that bound us - our 4-year stay in Pisay.

I found it amusing how a single line from an obscure play – “Them’s not spiders dearie, them’s people, little people, hexed people” - can quite suddenly zoom us back in time. We talked as if we haven’t aged a bit. The conversation was very fruitful that Jand even got a thesis topic from the discussion – “why girls always fall for bad guys”

And then before we knew it was time for me to go.

On the way to the airport, Jand and Pat tempted with the idea of making a crazy move – stay there as “TNT”. Well I can’t say I did not consider the thought….

But then again I said to myself there’s always a proper time for everything.

Maybe next time around, I would stay there for good.

But right now, my heart lies where my home is.

A bite of the Big Apple (part sept)

A heavy downpour greeted me, as if to assert the weather’s inherent unpredictability, on the Friday morning I checked out of Connecticut Hotel. Just when the personal leg of my journey was starting, Mother Nature was showing its overwhelming support. Great.

Fortunately a few hours later, the grey swirls of clouds retreated, the rain petered out and my hope of having a swell time in the Big Apple – earlier dashed by the downpour- came back as quickly as it had gone out.

With tons of office work waiting back home, I only had a day; -definitely not enough time to have a taste of the Big Apple -but the vision of my boss giving me the basilisk look, the kind that would put to shame Lord Voldermort’s lethal stare, made the idea of a hastily extended vacation unpalatable.

I arrived at the NY airport hotel around 10 am and was greeted by the devastating news that the check in time was at 4pm. What the *&*^%%^. I’ve heard of check in times as late as 2pm. But 4 pm???, you gotta be kidding me. It was the normal check in time all over the city, I was told. Oh great, thanks for telling me that now.

Fortunately the hotel manager allowed me to leave my stuff at their warehouse. With my luggage secured (i.e. squeezed in an inconspicuous corner of a cramped sundries room), I was free to roam around the city. Clock was hitting 12, when I got back downtown. On hindsight I should have checked in instead in a downtown hotel.

The rest of the day passed like a blur. The twists and turns of the New York subway were more confusing than I had earlier thought; a big chunk of my time was eaten up deciphering the routes. Twice I boarded off at the wrong station. It didn’t help that I was foolishly proud enough not to ask for directions.

With my ever-reliable MP3 player and killer shades, I gallivanted through the stretch of Sixth Avenue, gawked at the looming edifices, browsed through thrift shops, and despite lingering thoughts of muggers lurking nearby, scampered through the dimly-lit alleys, dousing off the persistent fear that I might end up in the operating table of a CSI analyst or in a tubful of ice minus my kidney and pancreas.

My digestive organs were not as adventurous; for lunch, instead of having a taste of the famous Manhattan hotdogs by the stands, I decided to settle for a McBland, Mctasteless Big Mac Meal. It was at that rare moment, that I craved for Chickenjoy despite the annoyingly pacute Aga Muhlach as its endorser.

It finally hit me that I was not Superman (despite the obvious resemblance, ..cough cough). The itinerary I originally set would have rendered any mortal exhausted. Grudgingly, I crossed out the Metropolitan Museum and the Boat trip to Staten Island from my things to do and instead spent the afternoon at the Rockefeller area.

I passed by the infamous “Museum of Sex”. It was not as controversial as I expected it to be but it was nonetheless informative and entertaining. A smattering of contraptions -stuff that Marques de Sade’s dreams are made of - were proudly displayed in one level, definitely not for the prude and the weak-hearted. I remembered Gil Grissom’s line to Madame Heather “I find all deviant behavior fascinating, in that to understand our human nature, we have to understand our aberrations.”

My trip to the Top of the Rock was the highlight of the tour. The elevator ride offered a thrilling view as we zoomed to the top. Just as exciting as the ride up, the view on top didn’t disappoint me. Skyscrapers I only got to see in the opening scenes of CSI NY were suddenly right there in front of my very eyes. Alive. It couldn’t get any more real that that.

I definitely had to have a photo with the Empire State building at the background. I befriended some tourists by offering to take their photos (with their cams of course). Quid pro quo they returned the favor by taking my shot.

I headed back to the hotel at 5 pm for I had an appointment with NY-based relatives at 7. At the subway while I was peering over the map, an old man approached me.

“ Can I help you young man ?”

He was probably in his early sixties, graying hair, decently dressed. He had an umbrella in one hand which he used as a cane when he walked. Something about his features reminded me of the actor that played Jim Phelps in Mission Impossible. Although he limped, there was an air of dignified dapperness in the way he walked.

Hesitantly I answered. Yeah I am headed for Jamaica station and was wondering which train to take.

I am headed that way. You can take the train I’m taking.

A stranger in the NY subway offering for help would probably raise some internal alarms. It didn’t help that I had some preconceived notions of New Yorkers being haughty and inhospitable people. After all this was a fast-paced city, and people here would never stop for a moment to get out of their way to help someone.

I couldn’t bank on my gaydar either; oftentimes screwed up and pathetically calibrated, someone would already be hitting on me before I would have an idea of what’s going on.
But something told me, (probably my inclination to believe in the goodness of others) that this man just wanted to help, pure and simple, with no ulterior motives.

I took his train. For the next 45 minutes or so, we exchanged stories. For that brief span of time, I got a glimpse of his world, he got a glimpse of mine. He would have never thought I was a Filipino if I hadn’t told him. Yes he knew some Filipinos in his work and found them to fun-loving and hard-working people. He had a house in San Francisco but was working in NY as Vice President of a bank. He recounted his days in the Vietnam War and mourned the loss of his comrades. Somehow I noticed a woebegone expression, as he talked about his kids who were all grown up (as if everything happened in a blink) and now living on their own.
Despite the setting, it felt as if we were on a lake and he was teaching me how to fish.

Before he boarded off the train, we exchanged business cards and he wished me the best.

As the train doors were closing I somehow felt some pang of loss, the kind that you feel when two friends part ways at the inevitable end of a journey. For a moment, I hoped that our paths would cross again, but knowing life, it seemed a remote possibility.

I realized there’s a gem in the saying that you can be with someone for 30 years, yet still remain acquaintances, and be with someone for 30 minutes and remain friends for a lifetime.

In this whirligig called life, I am just thankful that occasionally we meet such persons albeit briefly, who make the journey more meaningful.

The Flight Out (part neuf)

My flight to San Francisco the following day was at 11 am. As always, there was no opportunity for serendipity. It had seemed to be an unlucky ride. Although I got a window seat, I got seated next to a frail seventy-ish lady who I suspect has a severe respiratory problem. Her coughs were loud, incessant and deep like her ribs were hollow.
She kept on coughing so forcefully I wouldn’t have been surprised if her dentures or esophagus shot out of her mouth.
Something did shoot out. It was probably Quaker oats she had for breakfast. Good thing she managed to catch the vomit deftly in her handkerchief- not deft enough though to hide the sight from me. I stared at the window and tried to forget what I saw. “Oh boy, it’s gonna be a looooong flight to San Fo”
Her white gnarled hands reminded me of my Lola Olive. I still have vivid memories of my Lola’s hands when she gave me her rosary. The same hands that used to clutch a white hanky which she also used as her improvised wallet; bills neatly folded, secured by two square knots
The hanky of the old lady beside me contained something else. And the thought of it and the long flight ahead made me uneasy.
During our ascent she started out a conversation. She was from Kansas. I told her I was from the Philippines. I did not bother asking how she ended up taking a San Fo Flight from New York. Normally I would have lots of follow up questions to keep the ball rolling but I was half-tired, half-squeamish. Somehow the old lady felt that I was uninterested so the talk ended up abruptly. I decided to browse through the magazines to alleviate the air of uncomfortable silence (save for the occasional coughing).
When the plane steadied and the seat belt signs were off, I stood up and checked out for vacant seats. Great ! Our flight was only half-full; there were plenty of vacancies in the middle. The old lady’s companion, a lady probably in her forties- a caretaker maybe- occupying the aisle seat, somehow read my thoughts and understood my predicament. “ It’s alright young man. You can transfer anytime”. I excused myself from the old lady and clutched my jacket. As I was easing out of our row she threw me a question. “From which part of the Philippines are you?”
“I am from the Philippines” And my mind was like “Yeah, like an old lady from Kansas would have an idea of the places in the Philippines”
“Yeah I already know that. I mean which place? Like Manila for instance”
I was somehow surprised that she knew something about the Philippines, more that it just being a country in the Far East. (Yeah, I know it’s rather mean of me to have underestimated her). It would have taken a lot longer if I told her “ I actually grew up in Antique an island in the Visayas blah blah” so I just said “Yeah I’m from Manila”
I just had to get out of there. And fast.
But then for the first time I stared into her eyes and held her gaze for a moment. She had a deep and penetrating look and it was welling with sadness. There was something about it that tugged the depths of my soul.
What was she conveying? What was it that I saw? What was it that struck me? Sorrow? Pain? Fear? Longing?
Was she afraid of her impending death?
Was she crying for her unbearable loneliness, the kind that you feel when you’ve lost a loved one?
Was she pleading for companionship, like when you’re lost, alone and cut-off from the world ?
Was it really sorrow in her eyes that I saw or maybe it was my own sorrow reflected?
I did consider going back to my seat. For some strange reasons I felt pity to the lady. But I was already on my way and I disliked the idea of appearing foolishly ambivalent.
I transferred to the middle section of the plane where everything was peaceful. I could have easily taken my respite. Yet the pleading look from the old lady haunted me.
There she was, lonely, afraid, longing for a kind soul to talk to and I, the one person who could have made things easier for her, abandoned her.
I felt at that instant that I was the meanest person on earth.

Die Hard in New York (Part huit)

“Die Hard” was a term coined back from Pisay days. We refer it jokingly to players who would exert their last ounce of effort to save the ball – never mind if you dive like a kamikaze, go skittering across the pavement, and risk breaking a limb, if it all meant saving a single yet crucial point for the team.



By all means, I was making my NY stay the “die hard” way. Time was the enemy and any moment spent resting is precious time lost. By the time I got back to the hotel, my entire body was already protesting and craving to rest. The comfort of the soft pillow, the wooly blanket and the cold blast of the aircon was sooooo tempting you could have Anna Nicole Smith naked in there and I would still opt to have a long and deep slumber. After all when push comes to shove, sleep comes first in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
But I promised my Tita Acay Remy that I would pass by their place. It was in Mushulu Parkway which was on the other side of New York City and it meant going back downtown again. (Damnit, next time never book in an airport hotel). I was almost tempted to cancel the appointment- I was too damn exhausted.
But the other side of me thought that I rarely get the opportunity to meet my relatives in New York, whereas I could have all the rest and sleep I want back in the Philippines. (I am glutton when it comes to sleeping.)
So I did it the Die Hard” way and headed back to downtown at 7 pm. There was only one train exchange which was convenient as I was dozing off the entire time. As the train was approaching to Moshulu parkway, which was at the near end of the Bronx area, I noticed during my torpid state, that the passenger skin tones became darker and darker.
I’ve heard lots of crime stories in the Bronx ( the Tondo version of New York) so I was really wary when I boarded off the station. The site was an awful mess really -skewed turnstiles, busted phone booths, dimly lit stairways, graffiti on walls, stench of urine and alcohol – the typical NY subway crime scene you get to see in movies. I ran as fast as I could and only stopped when I saw a well-lit convenience store with a phone booth a block away from the station.
My Tito Bubot picked me up. Their place was a little bit cramped but I was somehow amazed that they were able to fit all their butingtings in the apartment. You know, the usual Pinoy accoutrements- an altar, Sto. Nino, a painting of the last supper, souvenir items from long forgotten weddings and debuts, photo albums.
Tito Bubot and Tita Acay Remy used to be teachers in my hometown and had moved to the Big Apple about a decade ago in search for the American Dream. They are third degree cousins of my mother. Tita Acay Belen, another relative was staying with them. My mom and the 2 Tita Acays were co-teachers in my Alma Mater. I was quite amused to recall that these Tita Acays were the two teachers I feared most – their strictness was well known among my schoolmates. Hell, I could still even recall the two instances Tita Acay Belen scolded me in class.
How quaint, my elementary years were sandwiched by two terror teachers: Tita Acay Remy, kindergarten; Tita Acay Belen, grade 6. Never would I have ever imagined when I was in Elementary that I would someday be having dinner with them in New York City.
A feast they served and how - crabs, prawns, tuna, chicken- it almost felt like I was back home eating at Kamayan restaurant. The trip was well worth it. Tita Acay explained that it’s almost like the Philippines there with all the ingredients of typical Filipino food available and reasonably priced.
We exchanged stories. I gave them updates of the hometown happenings. They recounted their tales – the difficulties they had to go through until finally getting the sought-after green card. In true Filipino fashion, they gave some pasalubong for the folks back home. It was almost midnight when they drove me back to the hotel
And so came the end of my New York journey. I was just happy to finally get some shut-eye.
In the movie Die Hard, Bruce Willis saves the world, kills the bad guys and gets the girl.
In my life story, at least in this episode, there’s no world to save, no bad guys to kill, no girl to get. But at least, the good guy, after a long and tiring yet eventful journey, gets to have the rest he well deserved. That I guess makes a good happy ending for now.