The streets where we
live
By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo
I am walking through
the streets today, in the rain. After transacting with Bank of Commerce Philcoa
Branch, I start to walk on Masaya
Street. The street is busy moving people. It has become the station for
tricycles to and from the three villages (UP Village, Teachers Village and
Sikatuna Village) and two communities: Krus
na Ligas and San Vicente. It is
the stopping point for all public transport vehicles passing through
Commonwealth Avenue. The street should be renamed to “Abala” (busy), or “Maabala”
(bothered) to reflect its current character, which is far from its original
name Masaya (happy). It is host to a
few “carinderias” (street food stalls)
offering various inexpensive things to fill a need, enough to give some
happiness, to those accustomed with modest expectations.
A few steps and I am on
Mayaman Street, a more affluent part
of UP Village where there are still old trees, but transforming itself into
restaurants and dog food stalls. In front of them, on the other side of the
street, are several ambulant vendors selling avocado, santol (cotton fruit), bananas and other fruits. As vehicles are
constantly moving, people walking take the risk of crossing over, signaling cars
to stop. Some drivers have good manners and stop. The others just speed away,
so I stop in between cars honking like mad.
I make it to RCBC Kalayaan Street, a minute before closing
time. I am the only client and I am done in a minute, but it is raining hard
and I decide to stay for fifteen minutes, which prevents the guards from
closing the door fully. When the rain loses its wind, I walk towards BDO Matalino Street, past cars parked on the
walkways and spilling through the streets. Again, I compete with the cars
trying to squeeze themselves on the remaining space on the street. At the bank,
I am ushered in by a smiling guard. Again, I am the only client and am out in a
minute.
Passing Sulo Hotel, I
feel the urge to take coffee and pansit
sotanghon (bean-thread noodles or vermicelli), but some plants that line
the perimeter distracts my attention, reminding me of our house in Pangasinan.
I forget about coffee and realize I am almost at PLDT. I make a mental note to
bring a cutter on my next trip. I am sure these plants will be happy living in
the gardens of Daisy Langenegger, Yolanda Salcedo-Sia, Marites Austria Viado and my own garden, instead of
inhaling the toxin on a busy street.
Going back, I cross
over to Matahimik Street, wider than
most of the streets in the villages, with some very huge trees. What is missing
are the old coconut trees which were felled because they kept falling like
raindrops on top of parked cars. I still feel shivers passing by an old house
whose wooden windows used to be half-open, with an old woman peeping through
its darkness. The house had since been renovated, and the old woman seemed to
have vanished in the brightness of the fully opened windows.
Turning left on Malingap Street, newer restaurants are
replacing others that opened only six months ago. Except for Pino and Fariñas Ilocos Empanada, restaurants seem to exist like mayflies,
fluttering beautifully for a day and die.
Leisurely, I saunter
in the rain towards Mapagkawanggawa
Street, where the cosmos flowers are waiting to bloom. I breathe in the fresh
air and smell the raindrops, finally folding my umbrella to feel the drizzle.
That feeling of quiet and serenity, amid the noise of the city, has come back
to me again. I feel my existence, among the many things that are happening at
the same time.
At this moment, I am happening, with the rain.
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