The sun had already stretched its myriads of rays to the earth. The birds were busy hopping and flying in the innocent pine trees, the flowers of the wild sunflowers were already in full bloom while the waters coming from the small, narrow waterways just underneath the earth was silently rushing down the small village catering the bushes, grasses, and a variety of plants growing under the tall pines trees near the houses.
It took the sun a little angle again to see the clinging vines of the chayote which was being hidden by this boarding house. But the cold spell was still making me freeze while I was in the blanket cuddling a big pillow to repel the chill. Just a few minutes sitting beside the window, I finally jumped out of the bed and took a shower.
Nothing was in my mind. It was just an ordinary day in an ordinary week of an ordinary month. But I paused for a while to think again. I thought I was never thankful with every day that comes, blessings I forgot to count. Anyway, I whispered and thanked God. Yes, although I was thinking if things will get any better this day. Surprises. Maybe.
I pulled a leather jacket from the hanger and got a last sip of my coffee. It already got warm so I finished it easily. The hallway was still dark. It gave me chills while walking. I heard my own steps echoing. It always gives me the feeling that someone is beside me. Well, I walked fast for I could not beat the rush. So, I just dealt with it.
The jeepney station was already busy. The drivers were sitted on their favorite seats while chattering to each other. They were again speaking in their dialect which I did not understand. I never get any effort to learn at least a word. I just ignored them and entered into the available one. Only a woman with his child was inside, meaning, the jeepney was still not full so I had to stay near the entrance. I don’t want to go further inside.
While waiting the jeepney to get full, I grabbed my phone from my pocket and checked some messages. No new messages appeared.
Suddenly, an old woman entered the vehicle. She held a stick which helps her in walking and carrying a small bag which is rugged and worn out already. She wore a thin shirt and a dirty, long skirt. Her slippers were already deformed and seemed like a small pressure will end the life out of it. She looked familiar to me. But I couldn't remember when and where did this old woman has come across my life.
I thought deeper as I secretly stared to this woman. She had this faint smile in his face and had her dimples still noticeable even though her face is already skinny and old. She held her stick tighter, bowed and closed her eyes for a while maybe in a prayer. I admired her even more because her oldness seemed not to bother her a lot or not at all. Only her physical strength had deteriorated but not her mental guts and her sense of life. I saw in her eyes the sadness of being old but at the same time, saw hope and a lot more of wishes she wanted in life. She is maybe older than eighty but she still lives like a youth, an eagle soaring in the sky, and a bird waiting for another day to enjoy the sun after it sets and finally cave in behind the dark, blue mountains of the Cordilleras.
I saw the early days of this mountainous place, how people live before without this fast changing development and progress which had somehow affected them a lot. Some of the old places they like to go to before might have been replaced by tall buildings now. Their cool, green playground before might have been already covered by concrete. Worse, they are all gone and only the memories are an only way to get back to those feelings, those joys, those laughter, those sadness, those romantic dating, the dancing, the walk, and all those experiences. That forest has totally changed into a cockpit of buildings, subdivisions, malls, houses, and deforested private land areas.
This old lady seemed undaunted by time. She just have to live while she has still this power and courage to walk again above the ground where the trees which in her days of youth still lie, harmless. Her small voice echoed a lot to me. Although I hear noise outside, what reverberated in my ears was this small voice –strong and loud at its fullest fifty years ago, the time when she was still a young adult who can move a mountain with her cry, a bursting one. Her murmurs were the songs of the tribes, the sound of the gangsas and the low and high pitched sounds produce by the bamboos being struck. The songs of the different rituals and ceremonies go along with the sound she produced.
Her body is now fragile and weak. She even needs this stick for support. This stick is so loyal like a servant to his master. He never leaves his master but his master can just leave him if he broke. He doesn't want to break nor be left and or even thrown in the ground. I see in her stick the people of the old Cordillera – unrelenting, supportive and had a great sense of camaraderie and oneness, able to sacrifice for the sake of other people and would do everything to vanquish the enemy. Their deep devotion to their gods shows their loyalty. Disasters may come along the way, their life remained the same, they do they rituals again and again hoping that they please their gods. Time is of importance to them while they do not forget to enjoy their meals and time with other people. As long as this old woman holds this stick, she will not lose hope, and she will still have the rights to feel young even though in reality, she is not.
I know she will remain like this. I hope so for her attributes are unique without any blemish of what is happening today. I am sure she will but she going with us. She is with the people she doesn't know, people who embraced globalization. We are going to the city—was once a mountain of trees. Building have budded and a lot of establishments started to thrive the city.
A lot of the poor pines trees were already sacrificed to give way to the needs and demands of people. However, many people have not lost their love to this city. Baguio is indeed lovely just like the first time it offered its arms to me when I took my first step on its ground. It was cold and I was struggling but I loved it as I took a stroll along the pristine scenery. I strutted as if I was familiar already to the place while seriously looking around. I felt good. I told to love this new home, and after that, I never stop loving it.
As we entered Burnham Park to unload, the old woman was still sitting comfortably on her seat. She held tightly to the cold slim metal to revert the forward force. I didn't know where she was going. Is she going home? I didn't think so. Then where? I was baffled a lot. I could not stop myself from asking.
The jeepney stopped. My time with this unaware old woman now being clouded by my thoughts and conclusions had to end. I got out first and assisted her to get off the ride. She thanked me but I had to fix a look at her for the last time. I might not see her again so I whispered my best wishes to her and handed her something. She might not appreciate it but it was from my heart, and wherever she is today, I will not forget her last words—Thank you.
November 15, 2012.
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