Walk and Talk

I walk every afternoon. I developed this habit not because I want to lose weight (I accepted the fact that I am genetically fat) but because I needed a little exercise. I take my walks in a circumferential road in the unfinished part of Greenland Subdivision in Taytay where there is still a remaining rice field. The afternoon breeze there reminded me of the rural atmosphere we used to have here in Estrella. The smell of burning hay and the sound of tractors made me wished that I am a farmer--close to earth and very near to nature.

I had been walking for almost two years now. Rain or shine I made it a point to do it every afternoon. There are many people who also take walks in Greenland usually the elderly. I met this old lady who walked counter my direction. If I were going clockwise she would go counter clockwise and if I were going counter clockwise she would go clockwise. She would smile every time we met. I noticed that she always carry this piece of stick and she would draw a line every time she passes a turn--she was counting laps. One day she asked me what time it was and this started a little chat. She told me that she was suffering from diabetes and high-blood pressure. The doctor advised her to exercise to maintain her sugar level and blood pressure. Her husband would bring her there to walk while he chats with his buddies in the unfinished drainage canals. She was getting paler and thinner as the days passed by. I haven’t seen her for almost two months now. I don’t know what happened to her but I hope she’s still alive or much better I hope she’s already dead.

During summer the circumferential road is a magnet for kite fliers and bikers--reminds of our backyard before the invasion of the squatters. People of all sorts of life go there because space is becoming a scarce commodity in Cainta. The exclusivist attitude of the executive villages made the homeowners selfish closing their gates and requiring a battery of IDs just to pass thru their subdivisions how much more to promenade in their private roads. This is insulting since most the residents are not even from these towns or they’re not even from Rizal, yet here they are acting as if they own even the entire village. Original residents of Cainta are now the strangers in their own town. They are now the second-class citizens, why, even the mayor is not an original of the town. It hurts to think that before the development of these agricultural lands

Cainta had a rural atmosphere and the people were the kind of people that you can leave your house open unattended without worrying. But development brought with it moral degradation brought about by materialism. I am thinking of how will the future be for my daughter. With the Filipino’s disrespect for nature and their propensity for disregarding city plans, I am looking at the bleak reality of my descendants living in Bronx like environment similar to the 70’s B-movies I used to watch as a child.

There is an owner type jeep that I regularly see with my walks. I think there are three generations inside that jeep. There is the lolo the driver, her two daughters, and her daughter’s children. This summer was the first time I saw them. The lolo loved flying kites while her two daughters chat atop the concrete pipes. I can imagine what the subject of their conversations. Who knows they might be talking about this guy who does nothing every afternoon but walk aimlessly back and forth. But since it’s starting to rain they stopped going there. It is lonely walking there during the rainy season.

But there are surprises walking in the rain. I had this strange experience one late cloudy afternoon. I strayed from my usual routine and instead of walking I rode my bike on the newly cemented highway connecting San Isidro to Floodway or what they politically call “Highway 2000”. The road was closed to heavy vehicles. Pedaling leisurely I noticed that it was getting dark but it was too early for sunset. So I alighted from my bike and observed the sky and the cloud movement. It was amazing. The cotton candy like clouds are merging with the water filled darker clouds. It’s like the clouds are battling among themselves with the darker forces winning. What made the movement of the clouds seemed like war was the lightning show. I can see (in my imagination) the dark clouds releasing their energy beams against the docile white clouds while the white clouds fought back with their own energy beams. It’s not difficult to understand why the primitives thought of the sky as the home of the gods. I was so enthralled by the show that I forgot that I was in an open field. I was a sitting duck for lightning strike. I once read that when you’re in an open field and you felt your hair standing it is one sign that lightning is about to strike within your immediate vicinity. Your first defense is to lie face down and pray to God that you will not get hit. (Which reminded me of Martin Luther and the reformation.) How will you know when you got hit or not? If you saw flashes of light that means you’re not hit, but if you saw darkness that means you’re hit. You’re either unconscious or dead. I‘m still alive and not a Martin Luther at that.

Taking a walk after the first rain is very rewarding. Mushrooms sprouts emerging from the cracked dry ground, seeds breaking open with their leaves, and the smell of thirsty earth being quenched by the first rain of May. These things open up a lot of memories from my high school days. I remember when my friends decided to go trekking at Maya-maya in Valley Golf. We slept in Aris’ house so that we wont have to go house to house to wake everybody up. Aris’ house has an unfinished room that temporarily served as their balcony. That’s where we slept that night. I can’t forget the way Randy mimicked Brother Mike Velarde on the radio, which Ka Este listened to. The poor lady just kept on hissing to quiet the laughing irreverent gang. I think that night was the most traumatic for Dude. What happened was, he was taking a leak outside when Eding Lugaw spotted him and asked him what’s he was doing. He answered respectfully for he noticed that Edi was drunk. He went back to sleep after that. But a few minutes later here was Edi pulling his legs and trying to yank him outside. So we were roused from sleep and run like hell for our lives. Edi was crazy drunk and out of his mind. He was giving us the trip.

Rainy days remind me of freedom. I was biking home and was admiring the beautiful homes of the subdivision. I can’t help but feel sad for these people. Here they were in a beautiful neighborhood with the landscaped gardens and concrete pavement. But their houses looked more like a prison house than a home. Their windows had iron grills and they had double doors that will beat a time delayed equipped bank vault. I will not exchange a nipa hut home than live in a beautiful house that reminds me of Bilibid prison. These people spend money to enjoy a prosperous life but they were virtual prisoners of their own prosperity, insecurities and fears. There is comfort in thinking that all my problem is how to get by day by day, surviving on what was available, and not spending sleepless night thinking of how to make more and more money, and later spending it trying to buy back the time I’ve lost. People are trying their best to prepare for financial security. They spend the best years of their lives working their butts off to prepare a comfortable life for their children and prepare a comfortable nest for their old age. They take the risk of working overseas to achieve this only to realize later that they even barely made it even. Yes, there is financial prosperity but at what cost. Usually it’ the relationships that first suffers. No amount of financial success can compensate for a broken family.

There is no such a thing as security. I read a biography of Howard Hughes, once the richest man on earth, and despite his money he lived a miserable life. Money is good but not the ultimate good. On reflection, maybe I’m writing all of these to rationalize my situation-- I have no money, not even a single centavo in my pocket while writing this essay.