Halls for Heroes

Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall

"It's so wide," are the first things out of my mouth. Everything was wide, and grey, and quiet, as if everything was built for remembering. We think back to the shrines we built for our own heroes back home, how they had no room for remembering; no room even, for themselves.

Begnas di Yabyab (Written last Nov 2013)

 

Little cutie all dressed up for the Begnas di Yabyab

It was not strange to find the street empty. Thousands of miles above and away from the lowlands where I was raised, the people of Sagada rose before the sun did, and at almost 8am I had already missed them by hours. It was the morning after a storm, and plants that had been too weak against the rain and wind lay helplessly in the mud. The air hung warm with the steam of the wet earth, relief from the cold. Minutes ago, a friend had said brusquely through the phone, to come out by the road and wait. Not knowing what to expect, I drifted into a nearby weaving shop to pace, first out of faith, and then desperation. The storeowner, amused at my unease, later took me aside, asking if I was there to watch the indians, and, confused, I stood with him by the door as he explained what warranted my waiting.

After the River

Once upon  a time, a great, grand, raging river

At first we had no words. Instead, we stood close together and stared and stared and stared. And the air was so dry our lips cracked as we gasped.

"Can you imagine, people lived here hundreds of years ago?" and people used to--still did-- in the wake of an ancient river. In the museum, they saved the little burros made of twigs that the Havasupai inhabitants made--and the dry, dry air kept safe for 800 years--in little glass boxes for the rest of us to see.

i cant design things for sh--

so I changed the vivacious orange background to the plainest layout in the world ever. I figure that I might compensate with pictures.

Along a shop-lined street in Naples, in 2010

Above used to be the background. Thank you for reminding me that not all pretty things suit everyone. The picture itself was taken in 2010, as my Aunt and her partner were looking around in the dress shops and I had found myself gravitating towards the cheerful visual chaos that was the tile shop where a lone yellow labrador sat ever so still. I was reminded of Rex, our own labrador, at home, splayed over the cold tiles. Italy reminded me of home in more ways than one, and it baffled me to no end. 

(My mother would then chastise me for not buying at least a fridge magnet. Is it or is it not a unique Filipino trait to know how far one has traveled by the magnets one has on the fridge? I'm not quite sure myself. 

Seriously considering featuring that one of these days. But then, one can argue that keychains are also another yardstick through which worldliness is also measured.)