Gate Pass

Entering a posh subdivision like Ayala Alabang Village (AAVA) may bring a lot of inconvenience to a commuter especially when he or she is a non-resident. Imagine you have to fall in line to secure a piece of paper allowing you entry into the subdivision. Upon entering the gates, you get off the jeep to show your entry pass or any recognized ID; the security officers check your belongings as well. It is pretty much like the airport, minus the frisking and the metal detectors. And since the jeeps take specific routes, you will have to walk some more if your destination is not along that route. Oh well.You are lucky if you are exempt from this security ritual. I cannot completely blame the AAVA for the measures they undertake; the residents pay big bucks for them to bask in their expensive southern Manila sun.

I remember a few years ago, the AAVA implemented tighter security measures. Few days earlier, there was a reported 'robbery.' Since it was a big incident that concerned some important people, the security personnel took precautions and inspected everyone --- anyone who did not use a private car when entering and exiting the village gates was a suspect. I felt more poor and low every time they would inspect my bag in hopes of finding loots. They failed all the time. In my mind, the thieves were those with cars and not the helpless bag-toting commuters! Later I found out from an AAVA resident and neighbor of the victims that it was a family fight over money that had gone violent. To add credibility to the true story, I read a similar blind item/story on a daily that week. Sad story.

Poor rich people, poorer poor people.

to be continued...

feet

I managed to inherit my dad's Chinese genes, thus, my complexion - not yellow, but lighter than most. It follows that my feet are white, and I love these mobile appendages that carry my whole self. I enjoy seeing my soles redden after a long walk or from the immense pressure of the whole 149 pounds of me. I don't need 'mertiolet' (if that is how you spell it). Aesthetically, I don't have a bad pair, in fact, my college classmates' sole recollection of me is my white feet! hehe. But what I am very thankful for is that they take me everywhere. Walking is my passion. I simply love walking. I remember in college, I go to Intramuros for walks; to be around history was a spiritual journey. In my one of my walks, I decided to go to Fort Santiago. We were to have a 'Rizal' test the next day. I told myself "there is not a place more fitting to study Rizal than in Fort Santiago." Clutching my Rizal book and a few pesos and using my ever-dependable rubber slippers, I headed to the the park.

"Ok. I shall study here" I said.

The lady by the gate asked for an entrance fee. I refused to give her that much. I told her I was a student but couldn't provide her with an ID. Will I bask under history and go home penniless or keep whatever money I have? I decided on the latter. I was a poor student!

I was a bit frustrated; I continued walking along A. Soriano Street; Manila Cathedral, Palacio del Governador were in sight. I saw an exit; its name I can't recall. The 'puerta' was an unchartered territory for me. Beyond the gate were big trucks which I infered came from the port. I heard stories about the port area; the stories were not very friendly to red-soled teenagers. But by some instinct, I trod to that direction. There was fear I had to admit. From a distance, I saw streetchildren and some 'streetadults.' How I could possibly protect myself from the forces that be was a concern of mine. I was checking the dust that had enveloped my feet from the walk when I noticed bronze footprints on the pavements. I took a few steps farther to realize I was walking on the path Rizal took before his execution. I was enthralled at this thought. I couldn't hide my smile from the good fortune I was experiencing. Every few meters or so was a marker highlighting Rizal's accomplishments and life experiences. "Boy, I am lucky." Not having anyone to talk to, I kept these comments to myself. Every marker I saw, I read; I was reviewing for the test. Rizal's steps took me to Rizal Park. His journey to Bagumbayan marked the end of his life; my journey was a greater realization of how I love my feet! hehe.

As for the test I took after, guess what happened?

Where to now?

Destination. Where? Getting there might be one problem; going where is a more difficult problem. What is there beyond the picture?

There is a time in your life when you start asking where you want to go. Sure you have ideas, but everything is always clouded with mixed thoughts. We think positively but we cannot discount other possibilities. Which way? How do we get there?

A trip to town, to market, to school, to mall - all these are defined destinations. Do we make one for our life?