A Series of Unplanned Events
Story — redesigndavid @ 8:00 am

SUBic 200x150 A Series of Unplanned EventsDecember 27, 2004. Just a couple of days before the turning of the year. I woke up to a regular holiday in our home in Marikina. It was chilly, with the helpers cleaning the house, my Mom supervising and making things hard for everyone, my sister in front of the tube, my brother somewhere in the house, and me, in front of the computer, trying to fix my blogging template when my Dad arrived from Planet Infinity. The only thing I had planned was the Christmas party the next day with Citylights. He brought home a quarter slice of jack-fruit and had us munch into it and then he said “Get dressed! We’ll have an adventure today.”

No one knew where we’d go. He said it’s best to do things unplanned. We were like fugitives who were just found out by the authorities and we had to leave before the cops roll in to block all ways to the neighboring states.

A couple of hours later, we were, 5 of us, in Subic. The family got off the vehicle in front of the Courtyard and left me with the task to park.

Some day today turned out to be I told myself. My butt was numbing after that long ride. With the sun down, the night has just started, anything could happen and will happen.

There were no available slots near the hotel so I had to go far a bit to park. When I got out of the van, what I saw touched my heart. I landed on sand with my first step. I heard the whisper of waves caressing the sand. I wanted to drop and worship the Lord on the spot. It was one of those moments, if you have someone special held in your heart, you remember them. I wanted to remove my shoes and play ’silly’, wade in the water.

The Sun was completely gone. And it seemed as if the stars have gone to follow, putting the horizon under a mist of mystery and elusiveness and invisible sunshine.

We had dinner and dessert. Now, we are all in our rooms getting ready to sleep. I sleep beside my brother and we share a suite for two with dimming lights and mirrors and all. Is this a honeymoon suite? I’ll ask the front desk tomorrow. I’m too sleepy now.

I think of things I won’t tell you about and I wish you were here. It’s fun. It’s always fun.

✒ ✒ ✒

I woke up, 5:30 am. The first thing I noticed was the aircondition. The hair in my legs stood so high, it pinched. The strands were all about to jump and leave my legs bald.

My brother, Matthew was facing me now. Hugging his blanket. I had been trying move as far away from him as possible without falling from the bed. I did not want to be found caught in his arms, by mistake.

We stood up and went to the beach. On the way, I paced and chanted ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ with each step. My Dad looked at me and smiled. I overtook him and got beside my sister and shouted ‘Yes!’ I removed my slippers and touched the waters with my feet. It was low tide. We all paused for a moment and took a deep breath. ‘Swish. Swish.’ we heard the waves. We couldn’t see much, but we felt like exploding inside. It was a perfect moment.

We began to wade in the water as the sun lit the sky above us. We went northward and saw a lighthouse above a hill. The place was unkept, but the lighthouse looked strong and dignified.

On our way back we saw some Plovers that I thought were ducks from afar. Pacific Swallows were swooping for fish around us.

Then we saw a group of men in the bay with baskets. They were feeling the sand with their feet and were taking bows to get crabs. My Dad said we should take some pictures because we were witnessing a slice of a life different to ours. Those crabs they got served as their primary source of protein. It was 6 am in the morning and already they’ve had their fill.

We had breakfast in the courtyard-something. I had french-toasts. Then I saw a big bird that was all blacked gliding from one of the trees to another. I freaked out and got my binoculars. I followed it and saw there were two of them. They were a lot like the bird I could not identify in the Park near our house one early morning because it was too far. Only this time, it was just a couple of steps away from me.

It flew to another tree and I noticed it’s wings looked like it had fingers spread out. It flew slowly, slow enough that you could see its head look left and right as if crossing a busy street. Then it made sounds that gave away it’s identity. It said ‘Aaak! Aaaak!’ It was a crow. My life bird, today. In total, I saw Orioles, Povlers, Kingfishers, and some weird black ones, I really couldn’t identify. Mind you, my bird id’s are terribly faulty, so don’t get surprised if they get contested.

✒ ✒ ✒

We went to the second floor of building number 622 to hire a guide to give us a tour of Subic. His name was Lester, a volunteer. When he got inside the car, I introduced him to the family. Then my Dad introduced him to my brother. He said, “Behind you is my son, Matthew. He is retarded.” Which was of course, is not true. We all laughed and my brother crossed his hands and said “foul! foul!”

This guy Lester believed my Dad and spelled the word gullible. He wore a polo, a bit oversized. His haid was thinning and he spoke softly. He had a crush on my sister and wasn’t really successful in concealing his feelings. When ever We would make a stop he’d give particular attention to my sister. If we did not think being a volunteer tour guide was noble, my sister would have been freaked out. I would. I sometimes was.

From one of the main roads, we took one of those turns that led to a road flanked by thick shruberries on both sides. Then we stopped to what they call were bunkers. They looked like elongated mounds. If you looked at one from its sides, there was an opening. We went in, and saw what looked like the insides of half-canister made of pure hard cement laid flat on the ground around 30 feet in diameter.

We stepped inside this cement tunnel with the echoes so intense, all sounds reverberated at least fifty times before dissipating. The walls were rock solid and accoring to Lester, they were bomb proof, earthquake proof and everything proof.

✒ ✒ ✒

On our way out from a picture taking beside a century old tree, the keepers of that particular patch of land caught our attention with a hello and asked us where we were going. Then she scolded Lester in front of us. She was mad because Lester did not call before bringing us there, which he usually did whenever touring big groups.

Lester was just a volunteer and he was getting a scolding from this old hag of an employee for not doing something he never should have done. And if ever he should have done it, it is always wrong to humiliate a host in front of his guests.

To lessen Lester’s humiliation, we hid in the car and closed the doors while he got the beating outside. When he got in, he couldn’t look at us straight. When we asked him about what happened, he told us the story, and how hurt he felt with his usual soft voice.

We were enjoying a lot, except for my Mom who was having stomach problems.

We went to the insect museum, the butterfly garden, a bird zoo, and other places, and all through out, Lester played gentleman to my Mom.

He’s a good kid. During lunch I broadcasted how high I looked up to Lester and his kind. I told them, if only Lester had a little more energy, he’d be influencing the Manilenos into living Subic style in Manila for maybe a week.

Spirit of Christmas
Story — redesigndavid @ 8:02 am

90 15 57 Christmas Tree web Spirit of Christmas
The Spirit of Christmas is about giving, not receiving, they say. I disagree, or rather, I think it doesn’t cut it quite yet. It’s too small scale, too temporal. The Spirit of Christmas is more about sacrifice and growth. Which I think explains the recurring motif of reds and greens. Reds represent blood and sacrifice, while the green represents growth. Remember its about the King of kings stooping down and giving life and light to the world? Reds and Greens.

Yes, He gave. But He did not give to make friends happy. He gave because he loved and His love corrected plenty. Giving to carolers only encourage them to ask some more. In their heads they’d do this again next Christmas and they’d invite more friends and invite their children and everyone in the family. It’s like a disease.

And what happens between Christmas Seasons? They slack around, going with the flow, relaxing. They don’t feel bad about their condition and they feel no conviction to improve life. Next Christmas they’d be back in your doorstep, asking for more, and if you ask why they did not do anything about their condition? They say they chose this lifestyle, a lifestyle of alms.

You want to celebrate Christmas? Bite your lips and say ‘no’. It’s painful. But it has to be.

Instead go get those policemen gifts. Guards deserve them, they keep you safe and secure all year round. Teachers, taught you life. Gasoline boys work 8 hours a day for a measly 200 pesos that could only pretend to satisfy the bills they’d get once the effects of the fumes they inhale from work kicks in. Janitors watch their employers lifestyle and can’t help but compare, but they do their jobs with heavy hearts still. The difference between these people and the carolers, these people, they work their asses-off, and they don’t ask.

I believe the Spirit of Christmas is carried by those who spend these hours working, while hearing fireworks and laughs and jeers from outside, so other members of their family could enjoy, even if they aren’t exactly in good terms with each other. They understand sacrifice, and I understand them. God bless you!

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