As I was driving today, I heard the news over the radio about the case of a Sangguniang Bayan member doing all the nasty things a trapo (shortcut for traditional politician; but also means in English a dirty linen which many believe signifies the dirty antics and personality of politicians) is supposed to do, to have his daughter elected as an SK (Sangguniang Kabataan) Federation President of his locality.
http://www.bomboradyo.com/index.php/news/regional-news/ilonggo-news/30482-mag-amay-ginreklamu-bangud-sa-pag-house-sang-mga-sk-chairman-kag-pagpanagtag-sang-cellphone-kag-kwa
The issue was again tackled blow-by-blow by the radio commentators until the evening, calling the SK as Sangguniang Kamal-aman.
I was interested in the issue not because the names mentioned seemed familiar as it happened in my hometown, but also because it just bolsters my stand that the SK is just a training ground of would-be trapos and therefore needs to be abolished for good.
I too was once an SK chairman. But it was much different during our time. Our election was never like the election of the olds. We were all friendly to everybody and our elders never got involved. We never had any money from the LGUs (local government units) but we made many projects which were wholeheartedly supported by our elders. We were in the SK because we wanted to serve the community. We didn't have any allowances, scholarships,travels, perks and other priviledges. We were in the SK because the young people in our locality were looking up to us. And we thought we ought to be examples to others.
But now it's different. The SK is just that - a training ground of future trapos. Teach the youth how to house or corral possible voters prior to election for a sure vote. Like a real trapo. Show them the glint of money. Just like a trapo. Give them a hint of the meaning of 'What are we in power for?'. Just like a trapo. Kapag trapo ang tatay, trapo na rin ang anak. Possibly, many will say nakakasuka ang gakatabo sa Cabatuan. And well-meaning citizens may hope that the incident is not replicated in the other parts of the country.
Let's all pray for our children and the future of our country. Let's all pray for the abolition of the SK.
@
Showing posts with label what you will miss when you go abroad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label what you will miss when you go abroad. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Corrupting the youth
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Spiderfighting or 'paupas ka damang'
I got entangled into the web of this kid stuff called paupas ka damang when I noticed some kids skirting the perimeter fence of my farm, intently looking for something among the shrubs and trees. I asked my caretaker what the kids were doing. He answered that the kids were looking for spiders as paupas ka damang is currently the favorite past time in schools.
I approached the kids and asked them if they had already caught some spiders. They showed me matchboxes, with partitions inside, containing spiders. I told them about the role of spiders in nature and that we need to protect them. I didn’t know if the kids heard me.
Paupas ka damang, with two spiders jousting on a stick.
‘Sir, raku damang diyan sa inyo, paupas ta.’
Well, I didn’t like to be killjoy. So I asked them to show me how to do paupas ka damang. They readily agreed. And the paupas started. It was fun, though I pity the spiders.
In a spider match, a kid must be skillful to hold the stick without touching the spiders.
It was not the first time I witnessed paupas ka damang. When I was a kid in Iloilo years ago, one of our past times was paupas ka damang, or spiderfighting - a version of cockfighting where, instead of cocks, we used spiders as the centerpiece of the action. We caught wild spiders and let them fight on a foot-long stick. The winner was the spider that successfully subdued its opponent and subsequently wrapped the victim with its web to become its meal. I remember how we cheered when this happened. We usually did paupas ka damang after the harvest season when the rice fields were either covered with weeds and shrubs, or replanted with corn.
A deadly finale. At the end of the fight, the victor throws its sticky web upon the immobilized loser.
When I outgrew this macabre sport, I discovered that my nephew who was in the elementary grades, was also hooked into this activity. He was studying at the Colegio de San Jose in Jaro, Iloilo City. The school may be in the city and ran by Catholic nuns, but the students were not spared from the popularity of spiderfighting, which I thought was only popular among kids in the rural areas who could easily catch spiders from nearby fields. My nephew saved his pocket money intended for food in school, and used it to buy wild spiders from enterprising boys loitering outside the school’s gates. Other boys, and even girls, in his school were also buying spiders – the boys bought spiders based on the length and size of its legs, while the girls chose the spiders with the cutest and the most likeable colors. My nephew would go home and boast of his spiders he kept inside a matchbox. He would slowly open the matchbox to show us the spiders, while at the same time slightly blowing at his prized possessions so they would continue curled inside the matchbox and would not scamper away. One time, one of his spiders escaped and was seen by a niece, his cousin, crawling on the floor. Though slightly frightened, my niece stepped on the crawling insect, and turned it into a splattered mesh. Seeing his prized spider – equivalent to a healthy serving of sandwich and juice in the school canteen - turned into a drop of ketchup, my nephew cried and rolled wildly over the floor as if his purpose in life was to polish our floor with his school uniform. Amidst wails and tearful threats to destroy all the barbies and toys of his spiteful cousin, my nephew threatened with finality that he would only stop crying if he was given another spider. So, together with my sister who was the mother of the spiteful cousin, we scoured the back of our neighbors’ houses, hoping that they were not cleaned for years so a spider would find it conducive to spreading its web near the mouths of its cindered and dusty crannies. Alas, we caught not just one, but three plump house spiders – their bodies bloated by so much food from such a dirty place, and their limbs so short and skinny with not so much exercise as food was literally crawling to their mouths in such a darkened place. And my nephew stopped crying as his eyes twinkled upon seeing what to me were yacky creatures. Whether he became popular in school because of the house spiders was another story.
When opening the matchbox containing the caught spiders, a kid must gently blow the spiders to keep them from escaping.
But my nephew too outgrew spiderfighting as he graduated to internet networking sites. Like a spider, he stays sedentary in front of the computer virtually surrounded by his web of sites, and patiently waits for whatever spook or interesting visitor that gets stuck into his webby rants.
The common container for spiders is an empty matchbox with built-in partitions inside.
A stylized container for spiders.
I don’t know if kids in other countries also enjoy spiderfighting. What I know is that foreigners are aware of the poisonous venom spewed by wild spiders, while the National Geographic Channel would warn people to keep away from wild spiders. And NG was not particularly referring to tarantulas. I also know that kids and high school students in the provinces continue to love paupas ka damang inspite of school topics like animal conservation and efforts of LGUs (local government units) to ban catching of spiders because the activity disturbs the ecosystem in the fields. Spiders are also considered farmer-friendly, as spread around through LGU seminars on Integrated Pest Management.
Damang. Following the glint of its web against the sunlight, I discovered this wild spider, curled up under an orchid petal.
When will the paupas end? I reckoned that when I was a kid, our past times or games changed with the season. Perhaps, it would be paupas ka damang today. Next it would be bug-oy ka sigay…. then, pityew… then tayhup and pitik using rubber bands… and bug-oy using patani… then taksi… kag damo pa. Yes, we didn’t have computer games and cellphones. But we enjoyed our childhood days just the same.@
Originally posted: November 11, 2009; 10:12 PM
Common things we fail to see
It's rainy season. The plants are green and the wild flowers are bursting with colors.
Lantaw ako sa ugsadan. Just then I realized, ang dami ko pa lang na-miss. Colors are everywhere. Sobrang ganda pala ng mundo. I missed the simple things. Sobrang busy kasi in making a living. Always busy. We have to make money. We have other priorities. We have to look at bigger things to make life better for everyone. We are too important to see and enjoy the trivial things.
Then I remembered my high school Literature. Yon bang poem ni Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ang The Rhodora. Until now, memorize ko pa rin. Actually, ang memorize ko lang ay ang linyang '...if eyes were made for seeing, then Beauty is its own excuse for being.' But who cares? The lines had become so popular, Emerson could have meant the colors in my backyard.
Here's Emerson's poem. And the pictures of what he could have meant. Enjoy.
The Rhodora
by Ralph Waldo Emerson
On being asked, Whence is the flower?
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.
@
Originally posted: July 27, 2009; 2:42 PM
Friday, September 10, 2010
Of local royalties and royal marches
September 10 is the patronal fiesta of the town of Cabatuan in Iloilo. The patron saint is St. Nicolas de Tolentino, who is also the patron saint of the towns of Lambunao and Guimbal. Both towns which are also in the province of Iloilo, are also celebrating their fiestas today.
People run out of their homes to see a pirate ship sail on the streets of Cabatuan, about 30 kilometers away from the nearest navigable sea.The ship, with trapunto-like bellowing sails and sturdy cannons may have snatched some attention from Their Majesties, The Fiesta Queen and Her Consort. But it sure adds a lot of drama and novelty to the otherwise staid annual festivity.
What's a fiesta without the parades and the fiesta queens? In Cabatuan, traffic has to be re-routed, offices are closed, and most of the populace troop to the poblacion to join the parade or to gawk at the fineries of the royal princesses and entourage. The food, the bazzar, and the perya are just side dishes to the smorgasbord of sights only witnessed during the fiesta.
Part of the royal entourage are the singit boys. They are the ones who carry long bamboo poles to reach out to the overhead electrical wires for the safe passage of the royal floats.
Little princes and princesses.
Seasonal fruits are refreshing sights on the sidelines.
Tan Tono, the mythical founder of Cabatuan, may have wondered at all these ordered chaos. He may have founded the town, but only a few knew the actual date he formalized this sitio. And I never heard of any activity to celebrate Tan Tono's efforts. His cold statue under the shadow of the towering Catholic Church and the expensive patronal fiesta are reminders that religion is primordial in the lives of Cabatuananons.
All the pictures I took from the vantage point of the ordinary mortal who could only be in the sidelines and never near touching distance of the royals; and outside the coronation shrine. My feet are still caked with clay. (As a consolation, I was given an invite to sit beside the royals inside the covered gym but I got cold feet as I was informed I could only mingle with the royals if I wear a 'coat and tie'. Well, I have my mothballed americana hanging in my car in peparation for the main event. But the sweltering heat and humidity reminded me that americana is not the tolerable wear of plebeian Pinoys. So I donned my Tshirt and just took pictures along the route of the procession and outside the coronation shrine. I just thought I could never be a royal; I will never be invited to any royal gathering again; and I will never have a chance to rub elbows with the royals during the lifespan of my camera.)
Below are more pics I took during the royal parades. (If you don't see the slideshow, please click on the link you see below. The link is only shown in the absence of the slideshow.)
@
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Fields of bariri
Today we went to the old barrio of my parents and great forebears. I got a sense of deja vu as memories of years long gone flooded my mind. More so as I heard my sister narrated to my daughters the experiences we had when we as kids romped accross the fields as a short cut to the house of our grandparents. Passing this way was a shorter route. But not necessarily a shorter length of time. Because along this way we bathed in shallow pools we fancied, and climbed guavas or lomboy or any tree laden with fruits, and followed the scent of ripe wild pineapples under the clamps of bamboos. With all these activities, we reached our grandparents house just before the sun set. And no one worried that we could be victimized by mad dogs, drug addicts or sex maniacs. Those times, our only worry was if we met an aswang.
The setting was the same. The place hardly changed at all since the time we passed here when we were kids. Yes, it hardly changed especially after I saw the hills strewn with bariri.
The kids hardly paid attention. They were more interested in the newness of the surrounding. We live in the city. And the vast expanse of open fields was new indeed.
The wind was blowing and the carpet of bariri seemed to wave at me to stoop down and look closer. I wore walking shorts which the bariri pins could not reach. But I felt the itchiness as the bariri touched my bare legs.
I remembered my father. I knew he just came from his farm because of the countless bariris pinned to his pants and his shirt. He looked like he was attacked and got hit by the arrows of a barangay of Liliputians. I looked up to those times when he went home with bariris. Tatay would give me five centavos to pick out the bariris from his pants. Those days five centavos were all I needed to get the best merienda in the nearby sari-sari store.
Then there was our elementary school teacher. She was late in our class. And the hemline of her teacher uniform was filled with bariri. She asked many of my classmates to clean her skirt from bariri. Afterwards, she boasted in front of the other teachers that she was late because she just came straight from the city. And she had a sumptuos breakfast in a restaurant in the city. Then my classmates who overheard her laughed. 'Ma'am, you couldn't have been from the city because your dress was filled with bariri when you arrived,' my classmates corrected. And our teacher was very embarrased.
In high school, I had a male classmate who lived in the barrio. Each morning, when he came to school I noticed his pants were filled with bariri. Before he entered our classroom, he passed by the back of our building. Afterwards, when he joined our class, he was beaming with nary a sight of bariri on his pants. For four years he endured this morning ritual. And in our senior year, he was voted by our teachers as the Neatest Lad in our class.
My kids called my attention to hurry up. They were far ahead now. I could hardly hear their conversation. Maybe they were wondering why I was taking pictures of the grasses. Possibly, they thought the grasses were no big deal. But for a farmboy that I was, a bariri is a link to the past. Something I would like to go back to, even just in my mind. @
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Santacruzan sa banwa ko
I consider May the month of debutantes – when awkward girls metamorphose into poised and pretty ladies to enthrall the world. At least, this happens in my side of the world in the flower month of May.
In the Philippines, May is not complete without the Santacruzan or the culminating activity of the Flores de Mayo – when young boys and girls offer flowers to the altar of the Virgin Mary in a month-long novena. Santacruzan is a religious festivity which re-enacts the journey of St. Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great, to Calvary to look for the cross used in the crucification of Jesus Christ. In every Catholic parish in the Philippines, the Santacruzan is re-enacted in all its splendor, to give color and worthwhile activity to the sometimes humdrum existence in the provinces; and lately to raise funds for the church.
To re-enact St. Helena’s journey, a retinue of beautiful girls wearing the most beautiful and colorful gowns, parade around the poblacion to embody the entourage of St. Helena and the virtues of the Virgin Mary. This is why I call May the month of debutantes – because the girls are just stunning, while a day before, they are just common students or errand girls of their parents. And not because of their make-up or get-ups.
Just look at the pics!
Ang rebulto ni Tan Tono (siya ang nagtukod kang banwa ko nga tinuboan) nagalantaw sang mga maanyag nga mga lin-ay sang banwa sa ginahiwat nga Santacruzan.
Ang Santacruzan ginakabig nga hirimuon kang mga kababaihan. Gani ang mga lamharon nga kalalakihan nga dya, giya lang sa gwa kang simbahan nagahulat. Samtang ang mga kababaihan naga lantaw kang pag-korona kang Reyna de las Flores sa sulod sang simbahan.
Please click on the arrow to play the slideshow.
After more than 2 decades, this was my first time to witness a Santacruzan in our town. Maybe there were changes made in the festivity since my last outing. But the Santacruzan is about St. Helena, or Reyna Elena. And the focal character in a Santacruzan is the Reyna Elena and her escort, the Constantino. But in the Santacruzan that I just witnessed, why was there no Reyna Elena?
Of course, whatever. Nobody cares. As long as all the girls and their proud parents had their moments of fame.
But, really? Was the Reyna banished during the long interregnum?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Rains at last!
After the summer months of too much sun, when many complained of the oven hot temperatures and drying wells, it was indeed a great blessing to hear the raindrops pummeling our roofs the other night. And this morning, it rained hard again. And for a change, it was impossibly awesome to see the leaves drenched with water and not with dust. It was wonderful to see the streets dribbled with quenching rain.
Before the rains, I was in our farm. It was heart-wrenching to see trees baked under the sun. Avocado trees, mangoes, calamansi, poncan, guavas, jackfruit, tambis, coconuts, chicos - all were already fruit bearing yet it was sad to see their leaves in different shades of brown. Grasses and flowers had dried. My once green farm had gradually turned into a virtual kaingin.
Just yesterday, the radio stations were inundated with complaints of residents that for the first time their wells had dried up. They surmised that underground water was being sucked away to the wells of some of their enterprising neighbors who were selling water to commercial establishments in the city. The neighbors cannot stop their activity because, as they explained, many hotels, restaurants, hospitals, etc. will be deprived of water. And it didn't help when experts warned that when underground fresh water is used up, salt water seeps in. And when salt water settles in the water table, it will no longer go away.
In our house, it never happened before that air went out of our faucets, instead of water. Parang magic. Metro Iloilo Waterworks District was helpless. They were even clueless as to why the bills of their clients reflected exorbitant amounts even if the clients had not seen water from their faucets for months.
Indeed, you would never appreciate the importance of water from the taps until you're deprived of it. Since last March, we seldom had water from the faucets. Lately, the faucets stopped giving out water for more than 2 weeks straight. We were thankful we had a well inside our compound. But it was hard to handle our jurassic pump connected to the well. Parang antiquated na gym device which would create a painful bulge in your testicles (hernia) rather than create the manly bulge in the arms and the shoulders. Transporting the pails of water to inside the bathroom was equally demanding to the lungs. Mas OK mag-jogging. While jogging, puwede ka magpa-porma. But how can you do porma when you are fetching water for your bath? In our barriotic culture, we take a bath first before we do porma. Diyahe naman maligo sa labas. Hindi ako si Manny Villar. Dahil siya naliligo sa dagat ng basura.
After watching the rains outside today, lo and behold, water came out of our taps. Allelujah! We filled all the containers in the house. We cleaned everything that needed to be cleaned. I had a very long bath. Possibly I lost 5 pounds as I really rubbed my skin of pounds of libag with a flat stone I picked up from the riverbank near the farm. It was the first time in months that my body had a thorough rinsing. Hindi na ako nangangati sa residual soap na dumidikit pa sa balat ko dahil sa kawawalan ng tubig. Sarap ng feeling. I smelled great. And our bathroom smelled clean after so many months.@
Monday, May 3, 2010
Piyesta sa Tiring
May 3 is Bgy. Tiring's fiesta. It follows the fiestas of Bgy. Talanghauan (May 1) and Bgy. Pamuringao-Garrido (May 2). Tomorrow, May 4, is Bgy. Duyan-duyan's fiesta. In the sleepy town of Cabatuan, famous for being the repository of the thunderous noise and the toxic fumes of the jet planes landing and taking off from the New Iloilo Airport, everybody is looking forward to the fiesta month of May as a month to socialize and to gain extra pounds for free, in preparation for the lean months of tag-kiriwi or tag-gurutom. Such is the fun of the fiesta month. In the morning, everybody rushes out to pig out on cornucopias of catered or home-cooked dishes. In the afternoon, many rush to buy Diatabs; or complain of dizziness or difficulty in breathing. It could be heatstroke. Or worse, high blood or heartstroke due to uncontrolled intake of estofado, sarciado, letchon,a cocktail of softdrinks and a hodgepodge of salads laced with artificial flavorings. But still many go home with smiles on their faces. As their horde of children and pet dogs walk after them, with bloated tummies and pork oil stains on their lips. The day has passed with free delicious foods only a fiesta could offer. Ahhh... life is good when food is free. Tomorrow there's another fiesta. Makalibre na naman.
I was in my farm checking the soil whether it was ready for plowing after a heavy downpour. (PAGASA announced that it seeded the clouds to produce rains. The seering El Nino dried the rivers and lack of water had become a serious issue among local politicians in this election season.) I thought that the soil was not ready. Indi na lang ako mag-arado. Much to the glee of my friends who had cajoled me since yesterday to go with them to attend Tiring's patronal fiesta. To my friends' minds, fiestas are the best legacy of Spain to the Philippines. I donned my shorts and tshirt with a portrait and signature of Jose Rizal emblazoned in front. I wondered if my friends really liked to bring me to the fiesta or they just wanted a free ride in my airconned car. Grabe gid man kainit ang panahon.
I grudgingly went with the group. They planned to go to the house of a friend of a friend of a friend of my cousin. In our impoverished village, a friend of a friend to the nth degree is also a friend worth sharing your house and your meals. I went with them because they assured me that we were going to the house of a friend (to the nth degree) which was located across the river and about a kilometer from the main road. A virtual adventure. Sounded exciting. And I liked going to fiestas where food is served not on metal chafing dishes but on platters or bowls used during family meals. Daw kilala ka gid sang tagbalay because with ordinary serving dishes, the ambiance is homey and personal. With chafing dishes, I feel like, nagakaon ako sa himatayan. Or in commercial establishments. (Even if I pay in restaurants, at least aircon. Wala heatstroke. And I can complain endlessly about the food with too much salt, too much oil, too much eVAT. And which I can not do in fiestas where the host could have probably nangutang pa sa bombay para mapakaon ang mga estranghero kapareho ko.) Therefore, during fiestas I avoid the fancy houses along the roads. Just like in Tiring. Almost always, in these fancy houses, the hosts display their chafing dishes as if they use these everyday at mealtime, even if their dapli is baringon, pinakas, o pinamarhan nga sapsap.
It was really a fiesta ambiance in Tiring. The road was festooned with colored banderitas and streamers to welcome guests to the fiesta. Both sides of the main hi-way were converted into parking areas. The air smelled of letchon baboy.
We turned towards the river. We had a hard time passing through because of the parked vehicles beside the narrow dirt road. And when I got near the river, we just parked our vehicles on the bank as we were sure no flood would happen that day. It was nearly 1 pm and was scorchingly hot. Grabe. It was good that this place was far from the other houses and we seemed to be the only souls lost in this part of Tiring. I didn't like the sight of us mature people braving the heat, the dust and the far distance just to eat in the fiesta. Mga mal-am na pero dalok pa. Can we not afford the food and therefore we went through this hardship just to have a taste of it? But when I see the young ones, walking in groups even under the noonday heat, daw nami tanda lantawon. Daw bagay kananda maglagaw, ma-miesta kag mag-enjoy. Pero ang mga mal-am, daw mga dalok lantawon.
We parked our cars beside the river. And we negotiated the far distance to our destination as if this was our only chance to taste fiesta food. But we were relieved by the thought that nobody knew us and we were the only souls lost in this part of Tiring.
Finally, we arrived in our destination. We were introduced to the hosts and they were very accomodating. They regarded us as friends they've known for years even if we've just met. Di ba we were friends to the nth degree? When the other guests before us finished eating, the hosts offered us plates and usherred us to the dining table laden with food. And, yes, there was no chafing dish. I felt I was part of the family. I learned from the hosts that this place was already Guiboangan, a barangay adjacent to Tiring. But eversince they came to realize it, they were making handa during Tiring's fiesta and not during Guiboangan's fiesta.
It was easy to identify a house with lots of handa by looking at its backyard.
This house was our destination. We were given a warm welcome by our hosts.
We ate heartily as if we had not eaten breakfast. And as if we also ate our fill for dinner. Mga dalok gid. Then as we were about to finish eating, we were given glasses of punch with freshly squeezed orange juice. May pulp bits pa. When we were through, another batch of newly arrived guests took their positions beside the table. And the platters and bowls were refilled with putahe from a nearby big caldero. It was already past 2pm and it seemed that the stream of manugpamiesta had not abated. Grabe. The humble house had more handa than we ever had in our house during Jaro fiesta!
Estofado.
KBL - kadyos, baboy, langka
Valenciana
Morcon
Ice drop, or belbit, sold in front of the house. It seemed that the ambulant vendor was also a guest in the house. And while enjoying a free meal, he too earned from selling belbit to other guests. Practical and enterprising, indeed.
I went out of the house to have fresh air. You don't know what's going to explode from the guts of newy fed people. Especially people who ate as if they were born solely to eat. The humble house could just explode with hydrogen sulfide!
Outside the house there were still many guests. It seemed they came ahead of us and they'd already eaten but were just resting and waiting for the next wave of famishness so they could again attack the bottomless servings on the dining table.
Outside the house, guests were still arriving. While others were resting and waiting for another serving.
Some guests were also leaving. Possibly they were going to other houses of their friends to the nth degree. And taste a different set of dishes. And compare who had the best valenciana, the best letchon, the best salad. Or they could use the comfort room to unload their guts for another chance at pigging out.
As we went home, we passed by happy old people going home. And happy young people resting under trees and without intention of going home. To them it was still happy hour. Groups of happy men huddled in front of houses with bottles of beer and cheap liquor. I think this is the spirit of a fiesta - just be happy irregardless of your status in life. Be happy. Tomorrow will take care of itself.
It was still early but we headed straight home. Wala pa mga hubog. So it was safer. When I was a kid, after a fiesta, news would filter out nga may napatay sa fiesta. Kon waay napatay, indi sadya ang fiesta. That was my belief then. And today the fiesta was really masadya. Halaaaa....
There used to be a hanging bridge in this place. It was very useful to the residents of Tiring and Guiboangan. But the floods brought by typhoon Frank destroyed the bridge. Now, the people are using this tied bamboo poles that float when the water rises.
Living driftwood.
Top, serisa or aratiles. Above and below, kamonsil or camachille. Both fruits abound in the riverbank.
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