Ngayong wala pang kalsada, paano kung mayroon na?

I am watching this night's episode of The Correspondents about Palanan, Isabela's beauty anchored by Dominic Almelor. As words which comprise the documentary's lead enter my ears and register its meanings, I imagine myself in the television: I am Dominic Almelor, I have traveled to Palanan to paint a picture of the place in the map of Philippine broadcast. I unravel its virgin spots, interview the Agtas - the first settlers in the island - ask about the Palaneño's health concerns, and analyze their trade and commerce.

A thought came into my mind: it only takes a concrete bridge to modernize and industrialize a specific region. Palanan is still remote - considering the absence of any concrete infrastrasture with which travelers, tourists and products can traverse. Nevertheless, if the prospected bridge project will push through, the place will also already be considered an accessible region. Hence, domestic tourism, modern trade and commerce will emerge in the place.

Probably, this can be a good angle in comparing and contrasting two places - a modern and a remote one - in a documentary. Hmmm....

Almelor implicitly states it, "Ngayong wala pang kalsada, paano kung mayroon na?"

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Currently in Aksyon Radyo, DZRH for my Internship. Pressure, but fun. I reported in radio a while ago. More to come, more to come :)

An Irony

I climbed to our rooftop, bearing the inconsiderate heat which caused the uncontrollable drops of sweat on my body. Radio tuned in to a mellow station; music phones plugged in to my ears. The moon hid behind red-tinted clouds. Darkness engulfed the surroundings. It was 10 in the evening.

As I penetrated onto the door that separated the staircase from the rooftop, I felt the temperature drop notches lower. Magically, the drops of sweat on my forehead and at my back seem to dry up like a salt water evaporating because of heat. This time, though, it was the cool temperature that dissipated a matter and converted it to another form. I felt the hotness of my body mix with the temperature of the slowly opening environment. Seconds later, I motioned towards the pavement - my right foot first, then the left. I was already outside our rooftop.

I was home still, but out of it. I was outside while still inside.

I felt the evening air embrace me like a father who had not seen his daughter for years. I gazed at the sky above me - hovering red and orange clouds. I watched the heaven move the clouds swiftly like a chess master positioning pawns until it reached the other edge of the board. I witnessed the huge buildings slowly dim as it turn off lights bit by bit every window. I smelled scents of sweat and disposed garbage mixed with aroma of cooked food and sampaguitas. I felt the environment open itself to me.

I was home still - but out of it. I was outside while still inside.

I took the music phones off my ears and listened to what the world was uttering in the darkness of the day. Radios sang out loud; singing voices amplified from videoke machines. Neighbors bickered over improperly placed objects that blocked their gates. And simply, the stories of silence which the evening air usually share to the busy and dozing off mankind. I heard our community blabber its grievances from the sounds that emanate from below - from the pleasant humming of mothers escorting their babies to sleep to the boorish shouts of drunk men.

I was home still - but out of it. I was outside while still inside.

In the middle of silent stories which the evening air was imparting, I sensed a booming sound coming from afar. Seemed to be coming from a big moving machine, I turned back and saw the LRT line 1 dash its way towards its destination. Truly a booming sound, but I have never heard this in the middle of any noisy and busy day. Amazing, a new yet old sound.

I saw and felt the wonder of the open environment at 10 in the evening. I was outside while still inside. I went back inside our home, climbed down the staircase and felt the inconsiderate heat again.

The Accident of the Tea

I just finished dining with a piece of chicken and washing dishes. I was enjoying the tea that I made in the middle of my hot summer night. When I decided to go to my room to get my Didache.

While walking along our small home's corridor, I suddenly bumped one of the posts that was standing peacefully at my side. I was holding my glass filled with tea at my left; hence, when I bumped the post, the glass was put into motion - tea spilled on the floor. In impulse, my favorite drink during hot summer nights was uncontrollably thrown off the ground. At an instant, I caused mugginess on our smooth and well-polished floor.

Instead of heading directly to my room, I went back to our kitchen to get a rag and wipe off the sticky liquid on our floor. I mopped it once, twice. On the third time, the spilled tea was completely wiped off; I washed the rag, refilled my glass and proceeded to my room.

But this time, I decided to leave my glass on top of our dining table. That is the proper place where a glass of sticky liquid must be laid. Assuming that it could be brought in a bedroom, a stable hand and well-balanced built was needed in order for it not to be brimmed over along the way.

I knew I was clumsy: I didn't have a stable hand; I walked with less care. It wasn't my intention to spill the tea, but it did happen. It was an accident.

And I learned from it. Now, I must walk more carefully, look at the walkway with focus - aware with the position of the posts and walls - and close-fittingly grip whatever I was holding in my hand. This must be done in order for my intention to be fulfilled the way I planned it to be. That way, there would be less accidents and delays.

From my room, I walked back to our living room with the Didache on my hand. I got my tea on the table and sipped some to ease the heat of the night.