Tuesday, April 24, 2012

When the word of God met the head hunters of Macchu Picchu



I was anxious to go home so I caught the bus passing through Tanauan because it was the first to get out of the station.  But because it was not passing through the STAR Tollway, the trip was expectedly longer and slower.  It was a good thing that the Apocalypto kept the ride tolerable.  Otherwise, it was supposed to be a routine bus ride home.

That is until the word of God came.

Upon reaching Tanauan a young lady boarded the bus, and instead of finding a vacant seat she occupied the middle aisle and propped one side of her body on the upright of the seat on the third row.  I was on the fifth row.

She pulled out a bible and began praying for the safety of everyone on board.  Jaguar Paw, the movie’s lead character, has just escaped from a sure beheading and his Mayan captors were mighty pissed off, and I was wondering if the lady was also praying for Jaguar Paw’s safety.  I have watched this movie before but the blood and gore that come in plenty never cease to pique my interest.


She must have noticed that I tilted my head to the right so I can catch a better view of the movie, which she was already blocking because after reading a passage from the bible that said how lucky we were that the Lord has spoken, she began a rant that it seemed that we were more interested in entertainment than in listening to the word of God.

I didn’t know if I should feel guilty for cheering for Jaguar Paw after he escaped his pursuers by jumping over a raging waterfall, or feel offended because I am being accused of turning a deaf ear to a sermon that I did not ask for.

Then the lady turned her attention to the guy next to me who, aside from watching the movie, also had his earphones on.  The preacher said, “Ang ilan dyan mas pipiliin pang makinig ng musika kesa sa salita ng Diyos!”

When I noticed the guy’s brow move I knew he was multi-tasking – watching Jaguar Paw throw a swarm of venomous bees towards his predators, listening to his music, and getting irked by the verbal jab thrown at him.

Then the lady began recalling the many instances when she experienced people mouthing insults at her willingness to spread God’s gospel in exchange for a small sum for their sect’s missions.  As she was sharing this, I can sense the hurt in her voice that I half expected that she would break down into tears.  It was good that I didn’t have to follow any dialogues as the grunts of the bad guys as they took in poison darts told me all I needed to know about what’s happening in the movie, so I can still devote two sympathetic ears to the lady preacher.



Then she segued way to how in the time of Noah, God punished mankind for not listening to his warnings.  Now I don’t want to be punished like that, not when Jaguar Paw just took an arrow to his sternum.
I know God will not take it against me for paying attention to a movie that fully displays the fight or flight instincts of man.  So here’s a desperate man fleeing the hell out of his feet and fighting his heart out when cornered.  It is primal survival at its finest.  And it’s not even killing for killing’s sake because he also wants to rescue and protect his young family.

Then the lady preacher began distributing donation envelopes.  I didn’t know why I had to get it when I had no intention of putting something in it, but I did.


She left after collecting all her envelopes.  And soon the movie was also over.  To be followed by the demise of the great Inca and Mayan civilizations as the white people have come to shore, bringing with them the word of God and ravenous rats from the old world -- hosts of the bubonic plague virus that would end the lives of millions of Incas and Mayas.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Trash talk


Photo from eslspeak.wordpress.com
I just hate it when people treat every open space as one big garbage can.  You would expect that in this age and time that people would know better.  Apparently, it is just wishful thinking.
I rendezvous with my zipline crew atRobinsons Lipa's parking lot.  While waiting I have witnessed some scenes that made my blood boil just for the utter disregard and cluelessness of some people.
One time a mother, with a daughter in tow, nonchalantly threw a plastic cup to her side just right after taking a last swig of its content.  The manner by which she did this told me that it was her second nature, pretty much like how everyone puts a foot ahead of the other when walking.
Ahhh.... infuriating!
Another instance, I saw a good looking guy whose get up -- turbaned head, dri-fit Columbia shirt, Ground Zero trekking shorts, Vibram-soled shoes and fancy pocket-rich The North Face backpack -- convinced me he was a mountaineer.  His action though betrayed the truth.  He was just one pretentious S.O.B.
After stepping out of Mini Stop, this guy tossed to the pavement a freshly peeled Magnum wrapper without breaking stride, as he proceeded to where the rest of his similarly-garbed gang were.
Damn this pretentious SOB!
A true mountaineer knows by heart to take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints.  I just hope that his group is not like him.  Or else, only God knows how much garbage they would have scattered all over the mountain.
Ahhh... infuriating!




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Monday, April 2, 2012

Trees of summer


Summer, ever since I can remember, offers the best time to create perfect memories.  More so when you are young and have nothing but time and curiosity to go with energy bottled up by ten months of school.

When I was young, there was no technology or malls to help me pass away time, or money to buy toys that made playing at home an attractive option.  What I had were excitable limbs and the great outdoors.  When I got tired of playing and running under the sun in the playground or in the open fields, my favorite haven would be atop a tree.

In fact, some of my fondest childhood memories were formed suspended in air, up a tree branch.

I remember spending hours alone in the old santol tree in my folks' backyard in Pangasinan, some 30 feet above the ground, taking my pick of the choicest fruits as large as a baseball, with very sweet and succulent pulpy seeds leaving bits of flesh between my teeth.  I'd devour up to a dozen fruits up the tree. When I had my full, I would simply wedge my body on a sturdy branch and watch birds fly by,  or simply listen as bamboo leaves swirl to the breeze.

It was so peaceful and calm.

One time I remember climbing a guava tree in the early morning after a rainy summer night.  Just when I grabbed a nice yellow-green fruit, my grip and foot hold slipped and I fell to the ground back first, back of the head second, hitting an opportunely located rock.  I still had the fruit in my hand, which I promptly let go when I touched my head with my other hand and found it bloody.  I cried and learned my lesson: Guava tree after rain -- slippery.  I still have a scar to remind me of that split-second flight.

I also remember climbing together with my playmates a very large duhat tree inside Fernando Air Base.  The tree was very generous with its dark, fleshy fruits, covering almost the entire canopy.  Problem was the fruits were often located at branches or twigs that were the slightest.  I remember that to reach those fruits I would drape my body on a branch, wrap my legs around it, and embrace it with one hand as the other  is outstretched to reach the smaller twigs where the duhat fruits were.

When we went down the tree, our bodies would be full of small scratches but we would have big smiles on our faces because we knew our teeth, lips and fingers would soon be stained in black.

I remember climbing many trees: Ka Norma's massive mango tree, our ant-infested langka, the Bonilla's Macopa, my relative's chico, a wild black berry tree inside the military base, and countless other trees whose names I could no longer remember.  I climbed them all and went down with memories I still carry today.

Now that I'm much older and can't afford to be seen climbing trees if I feel like doing so, life has become more complicated.  There are now goals to reach and plans to make, bills to pay and people relying on you to pay theirs, plus personal problems and issues to straighten out.

Today, as I was atop my zipline perch at El Grande Resort, I can see from afar, beyond the wall of the resort a tree with about a dozen kids either swinging on its flimsy branches or on the ground, sitting on the roots, or sprawled on the dusty earth.

I can tell from the small barong-barongs near the tree that these children have no technology, no toys, or money to go to the mall to pass away their summer time.

But they have their tree and I know that they are perfectly happy, in the middle of creating memories.


I'd love to hear what you think of this post.  Please leave a comment or reaction.  Thanks!