The Conceptual Continuity of A Cold Weather

FALLING DOWN Raining on their parade

from A Journal To The Plain Year

TIRED All of a sudden I got so tired after a day’s work. Don’t know the reason why. Maybe it has something to do with the weather. In contrast though, Manila is in shambles right now because of “Gener”, believed to be a super typhoon, but in here, not a stir, not a rain falling, just the utter hell of it. I felt heavy late in the afternoon. Fire in my nerves, I want a cold beer or a cool place to unwind.

CRAZY For days Manila was ravaged by a great flood. There were no typhoons, but it had been raining for almost 2 weeks, the reason why there was so much spilling either from a dam or a river. Many people were displaced, forced to sleep inside a tight evacuation center. There were casualties, too, but not like Ondoy in 2009. Sick, traumatized, hungry—these are just some of the emotions felt in its devastation. Some even posted such depressing messages on Twitter, “Wala po akong balita sa family ko sa Cainta since yesterday. Basta ang alam ko ay nasa Marcos Highway sila,” You could just imagine the anguish, distraught over the possibility of something bad might happen to them. Here in Caraga, however, rain’s been absent for weeks now. The polarity of this whole mess, flood in the north, drought in the south, I think, drives everyone crazy. Everything’s gone crazy lately: weather, bills, relationships, and even some of our bosses. I wonder what it would be like if that flood runs its course right in here, say, in a couple of weeks? I bet all of Agusanons will be “number one” again. Sounds crazy, right?

GLOOM There’s an impending storm coming. It has been raining for two days now. Gloomy, dark, cold, not a warm feeling around; I went out of my house without wearing any protection, like a coat. All the roads are covered with mud. Typhoon Signal No. 1 all over Caraga. I would rather stay in the house, on my bed, watching reruns of these NBA preseason games. A perfect time for some coffee, update entries on my blog, write a couple of notes for my next meeting. And because the office is air-conditioned, I have been “suffering”, so to speak, with its coldness freezing, sometimes a coat and a coffee won’t do. Drizzling outside, gray sensibilities, breeze chilling--- everything but a warm hand and a tight hug. And as I heard the news, this is going to be my situation for the next two days. It is not safe to do some traveling at this time of year, highways are slippery, and trees might come crashing in front of you, landslides at the side of the road, sinkholes. Wet season but dry in every person’s heart. Not much activity, sheltered existence, in need of perking up (sex perhaps), anything just to put some friction in those damn nerves. Yes, there’s a storm coming, time to make love before it gets frigid.

COLD The weather is not particularly ideal the past few days. In fact, I haven’t seen the sun for nearly a week. But an ideal time to stay at home, catching up on some reading, brew some coffee and engage in a lengthy conversation with my son perhaps. Bonding time. I wish we don’t have work today so I could attend to my books, dusting solemnly in my cabinet. Having my sporadic reading lately, just nit-picking on something that catches the eye. Been reading three books at the same time: the Chekhov plays, a marketing book, and a coming-of-age novel. Frankly, I wouldn’t think of doing my books if only for the weather, otherwise, I won't read. Thanks to the weather actually. Anything “cold” is not so bad after all. It gives me the reading habit I need for my writing supplement. Let it rain still, so I could lock myself in my room and be a prisoner to those books. A typhoon is a blessing in disguise, at least from a reading standpoint. Geographically, of course, especially in this country, is a disaster. Mud, flood, and brownouts are a recurring phenomenon. Today, however, I could use some coffee, munch on some muffins, read Chekhov and expect the rain to generate some warmth like a tight hug under the sheets.

HOLDUP After two days of cemetery time (Thursday and Friday), I went back to work. It’s been raining since early morning; it’s supposed to be a perfect time to stay indoors. Two nights ago, however, there was a shootout in Poblacion San Francisco. There has been a series of holdups happening in the town for almost a month, and apparently, they have been apprehended by some police officers who had been manning their moves since their “operations” started. Two police officers were wounded during the shootout, and the prime suspect, Ondo Perez, who was responsible for at least a couple of hostages in the region before the shootout, was in the hospital right now, recuperating from a possible gunshot wound. Some people are convinced though that Perez should not be allowed to post bail if and when he’ll serve time behind bars. A lot of people had been traumatized by Perez’s exploits, at some point they had been doing their holdups almost every day, even small-time businesses had been a victim of his and his cohorts. At the cemetery two nights ago, the electricity had been fluctuating; maybe it has something to do with the shootout since it took place at Center Island, the business center of the town. I do hope though this would be the last of Perez and his illegal activities in the province. Folks in San Francisco can now feel at ease with what happened to him, and just savor the cold breeze brought about by this cool, mild rain. There’s a lot of drama the past few days, culminating perhaps with Perez’s dramatic capture.

I. T. C. Z. Bound for Butuan later in the day. But the weather is so bad am thinking of canceling it. I bet Prosperidad right now, and Butuan perhaps, are already under water. It’s been raining since dawn and it’s showing no signs of letting up. I wish D. would cancel our meeting. It seems like it is too risky for me to go to Butuan with almost zero visibility on the road all because of this heavy downpour. If this rain keeps pouring steadily until tomorrow, or perhaps in the next four hours, the local government will definitely declare a state of calamity within those low-lying areas. If and when I do hit Butuan early evening, it’s going to be one hell of mud and flood for me. Butuan is not a sight to see when it comes to rain, especially when you get to visit that area around the bus terminal, the mud is already black. Too risky right now, considering that San Francisco alone is almost underwater, most of its tributary creeks around the office are so close to inundation, an indication that any minute would eventually spill over. I am still waiting for D.’s call or text message that he would cancel the meeting in lieu of this weather depression. I wish he would text me sooner so I could attend immediately to my itineraries at home, and prepare in case there will be flood later in the evening.

PASSING It seemed like an eternity. The last time I had an entry in my journal, the country was typhoon-free and Pacquiao was, well, Pacquiao still. Let’s start with typhoon Bopha (Pablo). Though relatively mild in San Francisco, but in other areas, especially in the southeast, Bopha was wrecking everything in its path like there’s no tomorrow. The towns of Lingig, Boston, Cateel, parts of Davao Oriental and Compostela Valley in Mindanao was never the same again after Bopha lashed out a severe whipping on the land. Thousands were left homeless, hunger invaded the suburbs, depression was rampant, and nobody seemed to have a clue about resuscitating these areas from utter destruction. There was even a town in those areas mentioned that was almost wiped out, blown to pieces, just like Pacquiao a couple of days ago. But Pacquiao’s case was deliberate. He had it coming, I should say. His downfall, face first, on that canvas Saturday night at Las Vegas was like a tree falling down after a wild, strong wind rammed right on its path. Bopha and Marquez’s right jab was so strong it rocked the living hell out of most Filipinos. It left a bitter taste in the mouth. Pacquiao dedicated this fight to the typhoon victims, but it was more like a commemoration. The passing of Pablo and the passing of that boxing torch to our ultimate nemesis in Juan Manuel Marquez was a punishment unlike anything since the declaration of martial law, or words to that effect.

BOPHA (PABLO) Many things happened in less than a month, the most significant of which was Typhoon Bopha (Pablo). The island of Mindanao is not known for typhoons, but when Bopha struck earlier this month, the devastation was beyond words. We see towns almost wiped out into oblivion, traumatized and displaced families, dead people. With its 260 km/h wind and rain, Bopha, by far, was the strongest typhoon ever to hit the southern part of the country. The regions of Agusan, Compostela Valley and Davao Oriental suffered severely with Bopha, and an estimated 34.4 billion pesos was lost as soon as it went out of the country. I was there a couple of weeks ago, and I was awe-struck at its destruction, trees falling indiscriminately, houses in holy shit, lives wasted, victims begging for food. I guess it would take years before these areas could rise up from the ashes of that super typhoon. Too painful to watch, like when all those shanties had been shattered to pieces as if it had gone through a battle, reduced into rubble. Those who survived could not help but cry foul over what happened in there. Bopha changed the lives of many of us, myself included. I couldn’t find any words to describe the horror I saw in there. If I were in their shoes, I would have gone nuts about the possibility of being hit by a flying roof or a falling oak. Bopha has a way of mending our ways as far as our relationship with the environment goes. There has been a news blackout in Diwalwal, I guess, a place where mining activities are at its highest and where landslides and mudslides occur almost every day. I wonder what happened to that place when Bopha hit the land. Judging by its neighboring towns, the destruction, I guess, was simply off the hook.  As I said, many things could happen in less than a month.