From the Fall to the Legacies

It was just within this month when my brother and I were discussing safety in tall buildings. My brother remarked that the buildings in this housing complex of ours were much more safer than the ones in other places he had visited. To illustrate, he said that the presence of canopies, pot holders and raised windows, although unable to completely eradicate accidents, would ensure that only the really darn frisky children would encounter the most severe consequences.

Yesterday, one darn frisky two-year-old boy did suffer the most severe consequence of falling from the fifth floor.

My first inkling of the accident was a terrified wail from the boy's mother. She bawled out loudly and continually of how she was about to prevent it all but was still too late. When I peeked out of our window, the boy was already whisked away for treatment; instead, I saw dazed onlookers staring from their own windows and a throng of kibitzers at the ground. A crying, ballistic four-year-old stares and jumps at a spot surrounded by scattered bougainvillea bracts. He most probably witnessed it all and was heavily traumatized. From the scattered bracts I pieced out in CSI fashion how the boy might have been outbalanced from the fifth floor, plummet through the overhanging bougainvillea branches at the third floor, bounced off the canopy roof of the ground floor entrance, before falling on the cement walkway. My brother's wife, who was at the window before me still saw the immobile body, the right side of the face blackened and bruised, the mouth oozing with blood, and was shakened by the vision for the rest of the day. Actually, everyone in the vicinity were shaken for some time. Even my brother who missed the whole episode by a couple of hours would not bring himself to play the piano. "Play a somber piece, say, the Moonlight Sonata," my wisecracking self still managed some dark humor.

What frustrated me in this incident was that, of the large number of military personnel and nursing students in this housing complex, the first one on the scene was an idle bystander (tambay) who was clearly ignorant of first aid procedures. In a seemingly heroic gesture, he cradled the boy in his arms and rushed him to some transportation to the hospital.

Pathetic and downright wrong!

To manually carry the victim in this instance is the last thing anyone with even the faintest first aid knowledge (that includes me) would do! Doing so may potentially exacerbate any injury to the head and neck like for instance, completely severing the spinal cord leading to paralysis. Instead, one should check on the pulse and breathing while another looks for a stretcher and a neck brace and calls for transport. Lack of pulse and breathing will necesitate CPR like in all those TV dramas. Stop external bleeding by applying pressure with a clean cloth. Etc, etc... Consult a more reputable and updated source for first aid techniques, save lives and be a real hero, not just on style but substance.

It is fortunate that with the help of prayers, building safety features that prevented a direct slam to the ground, and the fact that growing children are more robust than we consider them to be, x-ray results as of this writing amazingly indicate no fractures to the skull and the boy is now responsive to stimuli.

-oOo-

Ugh, what a gloomy entry! Allow me to lighten things up:


At around the same time as the falling incident, I was engrossed with a five-CD Click-Art and font collection from the mid-1990s. It came with legacy software for viewing and editing the numerous images in the CD along with instructions for installing in Windows 95, imagine that. In fact the viewer program was clearly of a different era because it uses a different window theme, a more primordial one. The most funny thing about it was the eye icon for its View button: like a precursor to present-day cheesy Flash objects, this eye follows the mouse pointer around and blinks randomly.

Creepy.



I don't know why, but encountering relics of electronica, especially those of the 90s, gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. Perhaps, it's because of the fact that these were the very first objects that have captured my imagination, and launched me to a quest of knowledge from MS-DOS to Windows to Unix; from Game & Watch to Brick Game (Tetris) to PC games (note the jump, no Famicom to Gameboy to Playstation for me, loser); from QBasic to Turbo Pascal to Java to Unix scripting; from dBase to Access to SQL; from copy con file.txt to Wordstar to Word to Blogger; from 256 KB floppies to 1.44 MB disks to CDs, hard drives and USB drives.

Sigh.

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One Last Random Dump of 2006 Stuff -- The Christmas That Was

From mosquito kill counts to carolers to adventures in a motel and a race track...

Digression: mosquito kill count

two nights ago = 7 sighted, 6 killed
rating: Raid, keeps mosquitoes (thud) dead.

last night = 5 sighted, 5 killed
rating: Dreygohwn Khetowl, bhestah lehmowk teypowk!

What curse has fallen upon us? Last weekend marked the start of an invasion of mosquitos in our unit. It's a strange phenomenon, considering that for the past three months that we started living here, we have almost no flying, whining visitor. Now, not even the afternoon spraying of Baygon could deter them. That's why whenever I see them, I transform into a combination of the Incredible Hulk and the Amazing Spiderman: aside from enhancing the already-occurring Tobey Maguire geeky cuteness and Eric Bana angsty passion (minus the muscles, sad), these pests have provoked my spider-sense, sharpened my spider-like reflexes and fueled the raging urge to kill them all in a rampage.

-oOo-

Applied effective begging

The carolers were at it last Christmas, and I was on my toes dodging them. On one occasion, I espied carolers at the upper floors of our apartment. Instead of proceeding to our unit, I stayed at a lower floor, staring outside, waiting for them to come down. To my annoyance, they lingered at my back instead. One of them finally said, "kantahan na lang natin si kuya dito," then they started their modest singing. I asked them if they had sung at the units on this floor. The one on the left had given them something, they replied, but the one on the right had no one home. I said the generous unit's offer should suffice. They asked me if I was from that unit. I lied pointblank and they knew. However, I insisted, so they left empty-handed. In hindsight, I should've given them something since, at least they still have genuine smiles and enthusiasm. In fact they were slightly better than this one caroler who cornered me in our unit one afternoon earlier. He gave me an envelope, saying that he was from some youth group, and then started a dominantly nasal rendition of perhaps their original Christmas composition. I winced some more when I saw his strained effort to smile. I scanned the envelope for some semblance of legitimacy like organization name, address and phone number, but all I saw was a long Christmas verse I did not bother to read. But since I noticed that his companions were also singing in the lower floors, I, having done some organized "begging" before, gave him a piddling 20 pesos to shoo him away.

I'm a Scrooge therefore? I beg to disagree: I am merely disappointed. Disappointed that the majority of carolers now do not recognize their unwritten duty to uplift, entertain or infuse into the fortunate listener of the Spirit of Christmas. Sadly, the smelly, breathy monotone I hear from kids--from kids, of all the people here on earth!--does the contrary. Please! It's Christmas, keep your depression and despair to yourself!

(Suddenly my conscience whispers, "then do something to remove their despair." And I know it's not about giving them a huge amount. That's like rewarding their current depressed behavior. I know it has to be something else...)

-oOo-

Christmas mini-adventures with officemates

Inside Victoria Court Pasig: I thought it was a strange, perverted activity to do in a motel, but there we were, all 30 of us, men and women, young and old, all raring to do the act. We deviants might have been a sight to behold to the usual couple finding a room for a little tryst. Our collective prying eyes must've made them zoom their car into their room's garage, the door immediately covered so that their persons will not be seen alighting from their vehicle. Privacy Guaranteed, Shh. The usual couple would value this business proposition, but we do the taboo by throwing it to the air, like me sharing things here in my blog. Some are even ready with their cameras. So what did we do? We succumbed to our primal urges. We splurged on food, liquor, and the videoke. The older ones sang their videoke piece while gyrating inside a cage amidst our lusty cheers. Some satisfied their need to rest by wantonly lying on the circular bed. Our material desires were met with raffle prizes. That's it. Now what primal urge were you thinking about?

Go-Kart Racing at The Fort: I was leisurely driving around the course when--BAM!--somebody considered me too slow and bumped me hoping that it would induce more kinetic energy within me. What the...! Oh, yeah, this was supposed to be a race. We were clumsy, bumpy amateurs frequently pulling over for some driving "seminar." When our time was up, a caretaker sought out one particular kart driver who turns out to be me, and told me, in a low and serious tone, that I nearly got him back there in the course. Honestly, I didn't know what he was talking about; things were all whizzing by at 20 kph. Maybe I should've told him I was dizzy from my own driving, at least he might laugh (or he might actually lose it and sucker punch me while shouting to the whole world what a murderous incompetent bastard I am). It's doubly embarrassing given the fact that before our turn, a bunch of pros (I think) showed us how it's done, with all the excitement of neck-to-neck aggressive racing, sharp turns and the occasional acrobatics. And when these racers emerged from their karts, we discovered that, dammit, they were grade school kids!

-oOo-

A blessed new year to all you readers and may the spirit of Christmas still be with you all throughout the year! Salamat Sa Tumatangkilik (SST)!


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More Random Dump of 2006 Stuff -- Picture-perfect Scenes

I'm no Señor Enrique, who's always ready with his camera to snap a photo whenever he sees a compelling scene. I can only attempt with words to share whatever vision has graced mine eyes...

My return after five years to the Peñafrancia Fiesta was like a prodigal son of Bicol once again visiting his Mother. This mother-and-son theme were what binds the two moments I witnessed back then. I saw the first scene at the end of a pontifical mass in the honor of Inâ (that's how Bicolanos call Mama Mary). The bishop and his entourage of diocesan priests have left the altar save for one young priest. He was holding his cameraphone up, doing what every other person with a cameraphone or digicam was doing: taking a picture of Inâ enshrined at the foot of the Cross in the Naga Cathedral. Here was a showcase of how the latest technology has been integrated into an age-old Bicolano tradition.

The other scene in Bicol has a more secular and general appeal, but great nonetheless. It happened when I visited my brother and his wife's music studio cum home. My sister-in-law, by the way, was the music teacher. Tired from fiesta music engagements, she was taking a nap upstairs, so I interacted with my brother and his two children, both showing prodigious musical talent. (The mathematician in me also saw their talent in numbers when they demonstrated some mental arithmetic and when I gave each a P500 bill--I grinned ear-to-ear when they discussed how many 20s were there in 500. Too bad I couldn't be there to nurture it. Oh well, they can't have it all, a bromide said so.) A while later, the younger one went upstairs and started playing his violin. I also went upstairs and saw him playing to his mother who was probably half-awake by then but still laying on the sofa with her eyes closed. I watched inconspicuously, hoping to prolong this poignant vision of a son serenading his mother.

The third scene I want to share was during the first few days of darkness after the typhoon Milenyo. The night sky was still overcast with low cloud cover while I was walking home from work. The sound of a 737 taking off from NAIA made me look upwards. From my vantage point, I watched as it climbed seemingly straight up into the clouds. In doing so, I noticed a strange illumination effect its headlights were making on the wispy clouds. With the plane at the center, most of the light beam spread out downwards, bearing an appearance of a long white skirt or tunic. At the same time, the light illuminated an area emanating from both wings of the plane, appearing like white wings of a bird. Taken together, it was like the wings and clothing of an angel! I thought it was the one comforting sight for me in the aftermath of the typhoon.

Too bad for all cases, I cannot collect photographic evidence for sharing with others. I hope words can suffice.


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Random Dump of 2006 Stuff

I'm the kind of writer whose inspiration does not come as often as daily or weekly. If it comes, this writer then rambles on with kilometric prose (again taking his sweet time to type out the words and sentences), edits, hesitates, contemplates, and edits some more before finally coming up with a masterpiece of a blog entry. Consequently, some entries that are in the pipeline suddenly become outdated, or some parts are edited out lest the entry becomes a boring full-length essay. Thus, before these thoughts become so last year, I present to you the never-before-written paragraphs and deleted parts of Highway Drift for the year 2006 (Ugh, it sounds like a DVD special feature!)...

-oOo-

I went home to Naga City last September for the Peñafrancia Fiesta after five long years of missing its fun and blessings. I could've churned out lots of entries exploring different aspects of this nine-day-long festival, but I didn't. Fortunately, it's an annual thing, so I most probably have another shot at it next September. If you can't wait, well, check out the links in this paragraph.

What was the thing about this year's fiesta? It's the time I seem to have reached the culmination of a trend I've noticed in the few times in the past five years that I managed to go back home. It's as if the city has moved on without me. Significant changes have taken place among my relatives and old friends, in the schools I have gone to, and in the city itself. Changes I am not party to. Changes I approach as a stranger, and in turn these changes also consider me as one, an oddity from a different time, five years ago to be exact.

At the same time, it's as if I have moved on while the city stood in time. My friends and relatives speak with an ennui that makes me think of them as static beings. (What's up, I ask. Nothing new, they answer. It's always like this.) While I contemplated moving back to take a break from polluted and hectic Metro Manila living, I was confronted with the fact that I have to deal with baggage from unresolved feuds (petty, childish feuds as I view them now) and unchanging attitudes of long ago (and I when I say long ago, I mean way before I was born). Then I'm hearing of rumors that I was spared, for now while I am away, from new baggage that formed in my absence. Perhaps this disconnect is partly my fault too. I am not the person that would burn the phone lines to keep in touch. I operate more on the mantra out of sight, out of mind.

Perhaps it's a way of telling me that Metro Manila, how ever resentful I am with it, is where I belong now, where I have friends from college and in work, where I have a job and other business opportunities, where I can avoid the mistakes of the past, where I can make for myself a new life. I guess, for a change, it's time to keep in touch with these friends, and not lose them this time, not with all the technology available to connect, not with all those fond memories formed back then, not with more great memories to be formed in the future. It's time to take the job seriously, or at least do what I'm supposed to do while still avoiding stress; else it'll be tough if I get booted out. It's time to make new friends with the neighbors and with the officemates.

And lay off the drama, geez...

-oOo-

I didn't blog about my birthday, for crying out loud! That was last October, by the way. "I'm 22 for a moment," the song 100 Years by Five for Fighting croons with melodious melancholy, and that's the only part of the song I can relate to; I'm deprived of being "on fire" with a significant other, more so "making our way back from Mars."

On a positive note though, some people still think I'm a college student, like the jeepney drivers, for instance, who charge me with the student's fare. And I can still blend in whenever I visit my college to bask in nature and nostalgia. The one particular episode I remember was when I bought tickets for Da Vinci Code in Market! Market! The sales lady, who appears to be of the same age as I asked how old I was. Rather than be immediately flattered, my first reaction was to be slightly irritated by the fact that I will have to compute for/recall my real age. Then I was annoyed that Dan Brown's thriller was R-18 primarily due to hype and unfounded fears. "T-t-twenty," I stammered. "No! I'm twenty ... twenty-one. Yes, twenty-one going on twenty-two," I managed to mutter. Then I was flattered.

But all these mean nothing when the children I'm tutoring exclaim "You're only 22! We thought you were..." Kids don't lie, do they?


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