By J.D. VELEZ | Published in Sun.Star Live, Feb. 4, 2005
I’m not a sports-oriented guy as I’ve said here some time ago. But one doesn’t have to be in order to take a chance at some sports. One can put on a pair of sneakers and be off running at the City Sports complex. Or hie off to a billiard hall somewhere say, the one at Fruits and Foods behind Iglesia ni Kristo Church.
So after work, one cold dawn, me and my friends rode on our colleague Khalil’s multicab nicknamed Joel (after some smart aleck pasted a sticker of a political candidate during the last elections on its glass windshield and door.)
The multicab, which had its share of misfortunes at the no parking area near the office - and for that, had been in and out of the CITOM compound - managed to transport us to Fruits and Foods. If it were an animal it could have coughed and collapsed at the sheer weight of five artists and three writers.
We took advantage of its functional presence for we know not when is its next trip to the kulungan. We are therefore enjoying its Laya days. I don’t intend to be using a lot of Tagalog terms here but (I don’t mean to be condescending) it is the language of Visayan ex-convicts and domestic helpers who’ve been to Manila and returned to the province afterwards.
Anyway, we were at Fruits and Foods and played billiards with three players playing at a time. For a few hours, one forgets ground problems and just concern oneself at sinking the ball in one of the six pockets. There’s just the sheer joy and exhilaration as one with the right trajectory successfully pockets the balls one by one.
We were kids again. For every remarkably difficult shot, a yell of acclamation, for every blunder for what would have been an easy shot, a guffaw of amusement.
In between shots our friend Insoy would treat us to a few dance steps (like maybe when he’s on his Missing Felimon concerts). We in the group are particularly fond of his song Inday. I told him he should be writing more love songs. We would sometimes break into a rendition of the song. Read these: "Inday please don’t say to me goodbye/unless you want to see me cry a river/ tanan nga gusto mo inday ihatag ko / maputos man ko sa utang okay lang / sulngon ko ang panggubatan / pakamatyan ang buwan / kabukiran latason adlawng tanan… "
We went outside the billiard joint at around three in the morning to a deserted street named after my great grandfather Peping’s sister’s husband, Don Felimon Sotto. He never had a child with my lola’s Tia Carmen but had three illegitimate children. He stood as godfather in my Tio Venal’s baptism. There are many stories in our family of the past and they’re passed on like heirlooms. And I too would pass on the stories to my kids as I share a few here.
We rode aboard Joel and headed for Abuhan restaurant where Jobanni treated us to Pochero. I often wonder where is the Abuhan everytime I’m there. I miss that ash-filled hearth where one cooks with firewood. One goes there to eat beef or pork like pre-Spanish natives maybe with a bowl of huge bone chunks and gorge on the morrow and the rich meat that remain on them. Then take a sip of the hot soup filled with young corn, some chopped bamboo shoots, squash and cabbage.
We don’t know what exactly we were celebrating. It was just one of those times one breathes the city of our ancestors, family and friends before life’s journey take us to new lands, new lives, new beginnings.
So after work, one cold dawn, me and my friends rode on our colleague Khalil’s multicab nicknamed Joel (after some smart aleck pasted a sticker of a political candidate during the last elections on its glass windshield and door.)
The multicab, which had its share of misfortunes at the no parking area near the office - and for that, had been in and out of the CITOM compound - managed to transport us to Fruits and Foods. If it were an animal it could have coughed and collapsed at the sheer weight of five artists and three writers.
We took advantage of its functional presence for we know not when is its next trip to the kulungan. We are therefore enjoying its Laya days. I don’t intend to be using a lot of Tagalog terms here but (I don’t mean to be condescending) it is the language of Visayan ex-convicts and domestic helpers who’ve been to Manila and returned to the province afterwards.
Anyway, we were at Fruits and Foods and played billiards with three players playing at a time. For a few hours, one forgets ground problems and just concern oneself at sinking the ball in one of the six pockets. There’s just the sheer joy and exhilaration as one with the right trajectory successfully pockets the balls one by one.
We were kids again. For every remarkably difficult shot, a yell of acclamation, for every blunder for what would have been an easy shot, a guffaw of amusement.
In between shots our friend Insoy would treat us to a few dance steps (like maybe when he’s on his Missing Felimon concerts). We in the group are particularly fond of his song Inday. I told him he should be writing more love songs. We would sometimes break into a rendition of the song. Read these: "Inday please don’t say to me goodbye/unless you want to see me cry a river/ tanan nga gusto mo inday ihatag ko / maputos man ko sa utang okay lang / sulngon ko ang panggubatan / pakamatyan ang buwan / kabukiran latason adlawng tanan… "
We went outside the billiard joint at around three in the morning to a deserted street named after my great grandfather Peping’s sister’s husband, Don Felimon Sotto. He never had a child with my lola’s Tia Carmen but had three illegitimate children. He stood as godfather in my Tio Venal’s baptism. There are many stories in our family of the past and they’re passed on like heirlooms. And I too would pass on the stories to my kids as I share a few here.
We rode aboard Joel and headed for Abuhan restaurant where Jobanni treated us to Pochero. I often wonder where is the Abuhan everytime I’m there. I miss that ash-filled hearth where one cooks with firewood. One goes there to eat beef or pork like pre-Spanish natives maybe with a bowl of huge bone chunks and gorge on the morrow and the rich meat that remain on them. Then take a sip of the hot soup filled with young corn, some chopped bamboo shoots, squash and cabbage.
We don’t know what exactly we were celebrating. It was just one of those times one breathes the city of our ancestors, family and friends before life’s journey take us to new lands, new lives, new beginnings.
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