By Butch Galicia
An FB friend posted a photo capture of a recent weather report in graphics that showed a reading of +32 degrees Celsius (feels like 41 degrees Celsius).
Her ka-post retorted: Wait till the mercury drops to -32 degrees Celsius (feels like -41 degrees Celsius) in a few months.
She replied: So, who’s complaining?
*****
It is midsummer. Have you had any fun yet? Before my granddaughter’s wish for that inevitable snowfall takes place, join those who dare go outdoors, who commune with nature, and who beat the heat. Be refreshed and exhilarated. Enjoy what is left of summer, the season of bun, run, sun and fun. Rise and shine!
*****
Summer Break: Be seen, be heard, be one with the Filipino-Canadian community. Be at the Taste of Manila, a premier summer street festival in Toronto, at Bathurst and Wilson on August 20 and 21. Re-live what it is to be a Filipino with the festival’s sights, sounds, and food. See you there, buddy.
*****
The family trip to the Food Truck Festival at Woodbine Beach and a picnic at the nearby Ashbridge Bay Park on two successive days was just too overwhelming. As I looked at my happy brood and the other people enjoying around us, vivid memories of those great days of yore kept streaming into my consciousness.
Surveying the food trucks to carefully pick the healthy eatables that were delightful to our taste buds and could fill our bellies, I recalled those times when my friends and I would sit on wooden benches circling a cart that served kanin (rice) and an array of ulam (viand) or mill around a smaller cart that sold fishball, kwek-kwek (fried orange quail eggs) or tokneneng (fried orange chicken eggs) and other bite-size stuff that needed a dip or two in a variety of sauces. Yes, buddy, those carts were gastronomic hits that lined up in major and strategic streets back home. Then, hepatitis was just one of those alien medical terms. We rarely had indigestion, after washing down the food with San Miguel (could be either the beer or the gin) that always seemed to fix any scary malady.
While walking across the expanse of Woodbine Beach to reach a children’s playground and the bench-laced fountain-profiled promenade where an elder like me could sit and give his tired and wobbling knees a well-deserved break, I recalled how I ably hiked long distances through asphalt jungles, muddy fields and cogon-topped mountains. Not anymore. A song’s line aptly said: “Those were the days, my friend, we thought would never end.” Rio 2016 had a clear message: When men compete against time, the clock always wins.
Ditching folding chairs, I laid my back on Ashbridge Bay Park’s grass, under the shade of a big tree. I then stared at the heavens, awed by the animation created by birds and clouds in motion. I recalled doing this back in the days, when the shade of a balete tree provided sanctuary for a nap, without fear of eviction from either the mythical kapre (a dark-skinned giant smoking a cigar) and tikbalang (human horse) or the white lady (ghost) said to dwell in balete trees. The hantik (weaver) ant, higad (big hairy caterpillar) and gagamba (spider) were more worrisome. Too bad, insects do not know what “Do Not Disturb” means.
How I felt joy when I saw my grandchildren running through the park, skirting trees to keep a plastic kite in flight. When I was their age, my friends and I would go to an open field and pilot our boka-boka (a poor kid’s kite crafted from a piece of paper). Getting older, we made kites from old newspapers and discarded mahjong paper mats. We felt endless thrill when we engaged in kite dogfights. Our kites always went alagwa (broken away), but not until we learned that opponents used stronger thread coated with tiny glass shards. Only when I brought home my first winner kite did my mother, a dressmaker, sense where her missing spools of sturdy thread went.
Looking at my grandchildren play catch ball and badminton filled my soul with euphoria. I firmly believe in starting them young in sports, which teaches physical, mental and spiritual balance. There was a time when athleticism ran in my veins. I used to compete in individual track and team ball sports. Although I never had a medal, a ring or a trophy for all to see, I stand proud to have played the best I could. BTW, I still would like to know and understand how the popular game called cricket is played. Perchance, I might still also learn how to skate on ice.
More than anything else, I hope to teach my grandchildren how to play native Filipino street games I used to play — patintero, luksong tinik and luksong baka, tumbang preso, bati-kobra, jolens, and piko, to name some. It would take a lot of patience and time to convince them to drop their i-pods or stop looking for Pokemons with their parents’ i-phones. But I am determined to do it before thick jackets become vogue again. Meanwhile, I am very happy with their vocal styling of Bahay Kubo (Nipa Hut) and May Tatlong Bibe (Three Ducklings).
*****
Rekindling and strengthening ties between and among friends and peers had been the be-all and end-all of reunions that many Filipino groups in the Greater Toronto Area had since the start of summer. Some had been doing it yearly for quite a time; others are glad to have begun such a memorable milestone.
Reunion 1: Such was the atmosphere when former residents of Cotabato City and the once empire province of Cotabato met with Orlando Cardinal Quevedo, OMI, the current Archbishop of Cotabato in Southern Philippines.
Joining Cardinal Quevedo in a dinner at the Yeuh Tung Restaurant, a walk through Elizabeth St., and a spirit-lifting respite at Nathan Philips Square were Malou Tajanlangit, Peter Paul dela Cruz, Rafael and Nilda Balanag-Regular, Rene and Neng Maata-Ty and son Jasper, Peter Banlawi and children, Larry and Nanette Riego de Dios-Pey, Doy and Cynia Cruz-Sanchez, Benedict Castro and family, Jae Jae Pasco and family, Bong Ortuoste, Angel Santiago, Louis Costales and my wife Evelyn Dacanay-Galicia and I.
We knew a lot of city and province mates would have come, had it not been for the short notice about the cardinal’s presence in Toronto and the midweek schedule of his stay in the city. Cardinal Quevedo was among 12 Cardinals of the Holy See invited to attend the 134th Knights of Columbus Supreme Convention.
Having done his apostolic and pastoral work in Cotabato for decades, Cardinal Quevedo never floundered to name the kin of those who reintroduced themselves to him. He knew everyone.
I had the honor to have him re-sign at its back two honor cards he signed as then rector of Notre Dame University to me and my wife almost 45 years ago. Except for the title Cardinal in between his first and last names, his signature has not changed since.
I asked him if he still played basketball. “A priest is always requested to play ball during fiestas and big village events,” he quipped. I played basketball with him when I was still a seminarian in the early 70’s. I remembered him to be the agile and spirited little guy who could run, dribble, pass and shoot the ball from downtown. Sad to say, many will miss his hardcourt antics, as he said he stopped playing five years ago. He was 72 years old then.
Cotabatenos exchanged lively anecdotes and stories with him. The reunion was short but very blessed.
Reunion 2: Such was also the atmosphere when I met up with University of Santo Tomas-Education High School (UST-EHS) batchmate Rick Rivera, who came from New Jersey for the first birth anniversary party for his grandson Mateo. Rick and I are of Class of 1970, together with Etobicoke resident Tony Borja.
But there was a bonus. Scarborough resident Jasmine Claudio-Adriano (Class of 1969) and New Jersey resident Cesar Sebella (Class of 1971) were at the party too. Jasmine is the sister of Lito Claudio, our batchmate.
The hearty laughter was there when we shared stories of high school life. Even though we just met, it seemed that we have known each other for years. It, perhaps, could be due to the similarity of our experiences those days.
*****
Speaking about Rio 2016, I join the community in Canada in congratulating Hidilyn Diaz for lifting the Philippines to a silver medal finish in the 53-kg. division of the women’s weightlifting competition at the Olympics in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil.
As such, the 25-year old airwoman from Zamboanga became the first Filipino to win a medal in Olympic weightlifting, the first Filipina to win an Olympic medal, and the first Mindanaon to win an Olympic medal for the Philippines.
Diaz ended the Olympic medal drought of the country, which last won one in 1996. She also was the first non-boxer to earn a medal for her country since 1936.
Best wishes and congratulations too to Team Canada, which has been excelling in various sports competitions in Rio 2016. They have all brought honor to the “true North, strong and free.” butchgalicia@yahoo.com
