It was raining intermittently. It rained hard last night leaving some puddles and broken branches on the streets. PAGASA said typhoon Kiko had returned.
As I drove to the highway, I saw some bouquets of yellow flowers beside the road. I thought parang libing ni Cory. Sa Iloilo ini. But then I saw straight ahead some posts with yellow ribbons tied around them. They were few but they stood out. And yes they were there in honor of Cory Aquino. Who says that only Manila felt the loss? Carwash boys and ordinary sreet vendors gathered and arranged yellow flowers in softdrink bottles to be placed along the road. Petty things from small people, but commendable acts still.
The rains were pouring. Yellow bouquets fell on the pavement beside yellow dead leaves obviously felled by the passing storm. Wet yellow ribbons stuck to the house railings. Yellow torn plastic hang on fences. Some meant as offerings, others were plain dirt. But the Cory occasion blurred the distinction. Indeed, nature and the scum of the earth, too, could mourn with the nation.
Cory's funeral was also felt in Iloilo as shown by the above photos.
I was back home in time to watch the requiem mass on TV. It was solemn and orderly. The subsequent military tribute was worth watching. This was the first death ceremony for a former Philippine president that I had seen. Ferdinand Marcos and Diosdado Macapagal also died during my time. But Marcos was not buried but refrigerated up to today until he gets a state funeral. And Macapagal… well I was somewhere across the globe and I was really not interested.
The funeral cortege left the Manila Cathedral with thousands of people marching with the flat bed truck carrying the flag-draped coffin. It was past 11:30am.
The funeral march and services lasted over 8 hours. And it was worth watching. In the course of the funeral I had eaten a hearty lunch with the kids, some snacks of Skyflakes, and later another hearty dinner with the family. Then I realized that majority of those with the funeral had not yet eaten their lunch. They were drenched and been walking for kilometers. I was so guilty I nearly vomitted.
It was supposedly a private and not a state funeral. But all the trappings of a state funeral were there, excluding a Malacanang wake, a necro program attended by the incumbent President, the Senate President, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, and other government bigwigs. But the absence of these personages especially the incumbent President made Cory’s funeral more memorable and truly for the people, by the people, and of the people.
With a funeral like that, who wouldn’t like to be the one in the coffin? I like to imagine that my funeral would be like Tita Cory’s. I also like to be the son in law of Cory. Watching the TV coverages, the sons in law were regarded as Cory’s royal children even if they could have been raised in less affluent surroundings. I like to be one of the VIPs sitting near the bier especially where the TV cameras were aimed. It would have been a celebration in my impoverished barangay to see one of their own seen on national TV sitting beside those reeking with wealth and power. This feat would make me a celebrity in my barangay worthy to be namedropped, to be taken as a godfather, and to be invited as commencement speaker in the local Mababang Paaralan Ng Aming Barangay. I like to be one of the many who were actually beside the streets of Manila and witnessed history unfolding before their eyes. I like to be one of the soldiers executing with precision all the rituals given to Presidents. I like to be one of the masons in the Manila Memorial Park – that inspite of my humble job I was an important part of the funeral service, as without me the funeral would not be officially ended. And the VIPs could not go home, eat, rest and sleep in the comfort of their beds. I like to be all these.
But I didn’t like to be one of the four honor guards posted beside the coffins atop the flat bed truck. Perhaps, I could stand immobile for more than eight hours. But I was in and out of our comfort room more than 10 times during the length of the TV coverage. And the honor guards could have been inserted with catheters or had worn diapers with their uniform. Whatever way, I didn’t like to have any. I couldn’t imagine what they did after their duty. While others scampered to the nearest food stall, the four honor guards could have ran to the nearest CR. Or the nearest tree.
Astig gid.@
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