People pushed forward. “Akong tiil! Ayaw kuno mo panukmod diha! (My feet! No pushing!)” a woman lashed the crowd behind with expletives. Inch by inch, the grand parade’s lane got narrower. “Atras! Atras! (Move backward! Backward!)” someone would shout. But the crowd often dismissed the futile attempts. It necessitated a figure of authority
To work in a place where preparations for any city celebrations pulsate with urgency, I find it rather rewarding to see the diligence of ordinary people that are blurred in the grand celebration itself. Three nights ago, yellow-and-red banderitas started canopying the whole stretch of Gen Maxilom Avenue.
DECEMBER is sweltering like mid-May. Along General Maxilom ave., passengers and motorists squinted as the sun gradually descended behind the Christmas tree at Fuente Osmeña Circle. From where I stood—in the middle of the street near a food mart waiting for the perfect time to jaywalk—the unlit Christmas tree looked foreboding, even apocalyptic—the late afternoon sun looming behind it. With the dissonance of the road congestion, it would be surprising if the pedestrians and motorists even notice it.
It was my first day of school, which was perhaps the fifth for my classmates. Surprisingly, I enjoyed the class. Perhaps because I was not as narrowminded as usual. Perhaps because it was a great motley of old and new faces.