glorietta 2

a bomb went off in makati yesterday. it happened at the mall near shangri-la. it happened while i was at my friend, rowell's, voice recital at UST. while i was feeling swoozy and wooed, temporarily transported to the world of spurned lovers and longing, a bomb ripped through three floors, killing nine, wounding more than a hundred.

oblivious of this, and still high from the concert afterwards, another friend, reimon, and his family dropped me off in quiapo.

i wanted to go to the bead store. i had gone there once before with ged.

for those that don't know, quiapo is a bit of a madhouse. it's a mass of outdoor stands that sell everything from herbs, to fish, to pirated dvds, porn, santo ninos, anting-anting, flowers, fruits, vegetables, underwear, plates, pots, pans, tabos, jewelry, baskets, bags, dishtowels, tsinelas... basically, anything that you may need and more of what you don't, you can find at quiapo.

it is teaming with people and vendors and palm readers. and pickpockets. and beggers. and life. in addition to the stands, there are stores selling electronics, plumbing, eyeglasses, cellphones, umbrellas...

the air is thick with smoke and smog. there are vendors selling all sorts of candles outside of quiapo church. each color means something. some are the shape of people. people buy color combos depending on what they are praying for. the people shaped ones, i think, are used in determining what parts of a person's body is ailing. or is it that when you burn them, the illness is, in effect, burned off, helping a person to heal?

anyway, there are dozens of candle vendors, burning candles that give off thick black smoke. the streets are jammed busy with jeeps and cars billowing out black diesel exhaust. depending on where you are, you are lucky if you can smell the sweet sampaguita wreath "necklaces." or sometimes it is the sharp tang of bangus marinated in vinegar and garlic. or the thick oily smell of frying calamares and fish balls. and sweat. and melting wax. and diesel fumes. horns honking. motorcycles rumbling. catholic mass blaring from the speakers outside the church. the cd stalls blaring the latest pop songs. the dvd stalls blaring the latest movies.

bodies bumping up against each other.
(is my wallet still there?)
often, my senses feel assaulted.

trash litters the sidewalks and gutters. half crushed plastic cups with a few strings of buko stubbornly hanging on, candy wrappers, cigarette butts, banana peels, discarded bamboo skewers still slick from oil and flavored suka, plastic bags of every color...

i had no idea where the bead store was. i wandered the streets for a bit. nothing looked familiar. my backpack was a frontpack, as it always is in quiapo or on the mrt or lrt. street after crooked street lined with stalls. i thought, if i get lost, i just need to find my way back to the church. kids playing in the street. women chatting. men staring. tricycles, pedicabs, taxis, cars, weaving in out pedestrian traffic. no street signs. they wouldn't help anyway.

after twenty minutes of wandering off in the wrong direction, i found my way back to the church and started over. don't ask me how, but amidst all the chaos, i ended up finding the bead store. milagro!

bought some beads and things. am determined to learn how to bead. it's the main livelihood project for the mothers in madapdap. must be a billion beads in this place. all kinds. pearls. wood. glass. crystal. agates. rocks. silver. brass. plastic. all shapes, sizes, colors. and then there's the different clasps. and wires. and fasteners. and crimps. and chains. and i don't know even all the names of the things that i saw. i was laughing because i was buying this stuff and i don't even know how it all fits together, yet. ah well, that's how my life is here. jump in the middle, find a beginning, a new middle, and then an end. will assemble all the parts, make do, and weave it all together. that feels familiar, too.

while i was perusing all of this, my friend alan, texted. hadn't seen him in four months. he's been so busy with film school.
while deciding between this shade pink or that shade brown, we agreed to meet up for dinner. this is all done by text. at a minimum, it's at least six back and forths.

after negotiating, we decided to meet at greens in quezon city. we considered cubao. we considered makati.

after figuring out the underground passageways and figuring which jeep to take back to quezon city, wondering how long it will take me to get to greens at 5pm on a friday, i settled into my seat.

then alan texted, "good thing we didn't go to makati. there was a bombing at glorietta. 7 dead, 80 injured."

i felt sick.
my throat was already dry.

i felt scared.
i looked around.
mind racing.

naku. bombing. it's so close. i could have been there today. wait, wasn't reimon and his family going there after they dropped me off? god, i hope not. what about gayia? and rofel? i was just there not two weeks ago, eating thai food with nathanel and troy. shit, i was just at quiapo. if there were a bombing there...naku. mass casualties.

i looked around at my fellow passengers. did anyone know what had happened? everyone looked, well, tired. it was 5pm on a friday. paranoia started sinking in. i have to get out of manila. the province is looking better and better. who is on this jeep with me? i sized everyone up. looked at their packages. what's in that bag? what about that box? are you a bomber? are you going to hurt me? don't want to be out in public. it's not safe. maybe i should cancel dinner with alan. naku. it's not safe. i'm not safe.

stop.
please.
please stop.

this is not useful.
getting lost or being swept away in this line of paranoid inquiry will not help anyone, anything...
it is the suffering that leads to more suffering.

exhale.

i went to dinner. alan and i caught each other up on our lives. we talked briefly about the bombing. around it actually. i texted my friend reimon. he texted back that he and his family are fine.

still moving through these feelings about what has happened.

there's talk that the bomb was made of C4 explosive, whose access is limited only to the philippine military here. there is talk that the bomb was planted by the government because of all the scrutiny that malacanang has been under this week regarding bribes and corruption in congress.

who knows?
i don't.

this bombing feels awfully close though.
closer than usual.
closer than i'm used to.
so, this is what that feels like.