Yesterday I was stuck in the rain on Session Road without an umbrella. I wasn't the only one feeling stranded. Dozens of people without umbrellas lined the sidewalks, standing under awnings, or dashing out desperately into the rain to hail a taxi that always turned out to be occupied. I stood there for about half an hour, watching people compete for cabs, inhaling the city fumes, absorbing the sound of all those cars and all that chatter, amusing myself by noting the colors and prints of all the tsinelas flipflopping by, and watching my time drain away like all that rain rushing through the gutters. I had with me a painting that I had just picked up at the framers and it was swathed in bubble wrap. After making sure the rain wouldn't seep in, I hoisted the painting unto my head and made my way back towards City Hall, whereabouts my trusty steed awaited my return.
When I got home my feet felt cold, wet, and gritty. I slipped out of my plastic flats (the WRONG shoes for a rainy day) and was dismayed to see my feet smeared with an ugly, thin paste of rainwater, dirt, and grease. I was -- still am! -- disgusted, angry, and sad. Why do I think this is newsworthy? This is not about my feet! (Man, think about all those people in their fashionable tsinelas getting all that muck between their toes and in their toenails. Ugh.) It's about the rain -- Baguio rain, the rain that falls on our streets, our homes, our heads, our kids' heads! This is our rain and this is our city: Dugyot. Filthy. Unhealthy. Sad. This is NOT normal! This is an aberration of the Baguio I love.
Today I am staying in my hideaway while it rains outside. I'm blessed to be surrounded by trees here and all I can hear is the sound of the rain falling through the thick, lush foliage, making my surroundings greener and more alive. THIS is my Baguio. This is the Baguio I want people to demand and create for themselves.
But where do we begin?
When I got home my feet felt cold, wet, and gritty. I slipped out of my plastic flats (the WRONG shoes for a rainy day) and was dismayed to see my feet smeared with an ugly, thin paste of rainwater, dirt, and grease. I was -- still am! -- disgusted, angry, and sad. Why do I think this is newsworthy? This is not about my feet! (Man, think about all those people in their fashionable tsinelas getting all that muck between their toes and in their toenails. Ugh.) It's about the rain -- Baguio rain, the rain that falls on our streets, our homes, our heads, our kids' heads! This is our rain and this is our city: Dugyot. Filthy. Unhealthy. Sad. This is NOT normal! This is an aberration of the Baguio I love.
Today I am staying in my hideaway while it rains outside. I'm blessed to be surrounded by trees here and all I can hear is the sound of the rain falling through the thick, lush foliage, making my surroundings greener and more alive. THIS is my Baguio. This is the Baguio I want people to demand and create for themselves.
But where do we begin?
Comments
"Where do we begin?" Let's rally for a green Baguio. Maybe you can come up with a mission statement that is easily understood, even for some folks up at the hill.
Will a firebrand candidate to save us all emerge in the coming elections? Nope. Not if every one wants to just play along with the status quo.