WHY I PREFER WALKING THAN RIDING

By: Iris P. Concepcion

And thus: the three muskeeters, hatched from a giant egg, decided to hold a meeting and played instruments. They likewise held their own tea party at the backroom though in different attires.

I was fed from where I am at in the morning and had my fill of jolly passing around of food. I attended a rally for those who want to oppose the Reproductive Health Bill and instead found a fleet of helicopters hovering on top like giant toys. They muffled the sound of the mass in the grandstand. I saw streamers but not for opposing the law. They were saying Yes to Life and No To Abortion.

I saw one t-shirt that caught my attention as far as taglines go. It says in proud green: If You Want Peace, Protect Creation. It was worn by a young man who was sitting on the ground leisurely in a picnic mood. I am reminded of my ever evolving hateful, better other who made me laugh today. I do not know from where he gets his wondrous gamut of expressions. I have only three; he has like gazillions.

I left the place hurriedly to catch a guitar presentation. The three guys just made my tummy ache out of laughter. The featured singer was doing an exaggerated rendition of soulful performing. I could not understand why I was laughing. The performer was Irish. I told you, the children of the corn also hate their Mom.

The playlist was a mixture of old songs. I wondered if Minnie Ripperton will ever wake up learning to love her famous song once again. Everyone was into the groove of muzak. By the time the fourth song was belted out, I just had to laugh. It was really weird. Especially when the featured hottie started doing a belly dance to "Ghost". I am keeping a chortle on hold as I am writing this as the facial expressions of these otherwise wonderful performers (Mike Villegas can do a superb Chaplin kind of strums if I may recall) surged again. The violinist is a superb, class act. If I were a director, I should cast him on the spot. The lead guitarist is, plainly, a virtuoso in the art of strings. This reminds me of another string gig of kundiman that was a confessional melody thread that we have beautifully-composed Tagalog songs. The singer has a deep, emotive voice. The bahista was struggling with his instrument. The lead man, nonetheless, instructed him to improve his sockets. He played similar to Chet Atkins and he did it like peanuts. It was an ode by a Dad to his daughter.

I left the place like I had been gagged. What remained always was the laughter. And how the merrymaking adornments in heaven tweaked their fate again to become masters of the universe as if nothing, nothing, really happened.

Try walking along Palanca to the Ayala Bridge and you shall experience why I skip riding any form of public transportation whenever I go to Taft Avenue. You could not miss it at night. It is brightly lit; it does not smell of urine or dung. You can meet the face of the President once you descend upon it.

Afternote: I had been wondering about the new mood of the mob. They mouth this: "Di mo kaya si.....(mention the name)". I always know they are in the same cluster group. It baffles me though. The man on top is silent doing his thing while those below are buzzing in sentences that are overtly similar in superb direction. I rest my case. Thank you to the corn kids for providing their mother provisions. Two of them gave me my fruit just now. Great duet of name.