Travel to Manila yesterday was blessedly painless. Usually something unpleasant happens (sick seat mates, catcalls from drunken men) but not on this occasion. It was off the trike, on the bus, in the jeep, out the shower, to the restaurant. Wonderful.

I am as satisfied with the state of things as I can be. There's not enough time for "could have beens" and "maybe I should haves". What's done is done. I'll deal with it upon the return.

My flight leaves in two days. Whoa.

Finished Midnight's Children. Awesome.

Heavy bags, bad food, and strange hours await me over the next few days. I resist the urge to hum "Coming to America".

Thankfully some Filipinos have a sense of humor similar to my own, otherwise we’d all be in trouble. Weeks ago I had fermented a jug of pineapple hooch only getting around to sharing it last evening (this batch ended up sour, too). When surrounded by Ilocano speakers I am usually content to simply listen to the talk around me (contrary to my attitude with English). While watching with my ears, the conversation eventually turned into an exchange of Ilocano puns. They were funny enough (the ones I understood in any case), though I’m sure that the English equivalents could measure success in attrition won laughs and rolled eyes. That a good half of the puns incorporated English and Tagalog words, not only Ilocano, is a testament to the polyglottous nature of this island nation.

Let’s attempt a simple transliteration: The English words “spade” and “speed” have similar sounds which are greatly enhanced depending upon your pronunciation. So, what then does “spade” mean to an Ilocano? A fast shovel (Napartak ti palla). Ho. He. Ho, ouch my side! I’m thankful to find fodder for rolled eyes and grudging laughs. Why? Bad humor has thus been validated and vindicated, by virtue of the newfound cross-cultural truth of funny unfunniness, from all groans and cries weak jokes have ever received! I count myself among the newly justified and righteous adherents of slapstick comedy and indecipherable smiles. Don’t understand? You haven’t yet been indoctrinated.

(I will say that a darker undercurrent of humor exists…the kind that laughs when someone falls off a jeepney or what not. These laughs are not sanctioned by the church of funny unfunniness; do not be mislead. Those programs of videotaped mishaps and accidents could garner quite a following in the barrio…)

The Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year, passed by three days ago (the internet has been unavailable from that time up till now…). The sun has been rising at 5:30 AM and setting around 6:30 PM, and for the last month I have enjoyed the longer days. The sunsets have been especially pretty as of late – all sorts of oranges and reds, bouncing off the corrugated rooftops, making even the river stand still (last night the river reflected a solitary patch of icy blue back to the sky, offset by the black of the riverbed). The sky to the northeast often brings intimations of rain, while the southwest sits awash in layered clouds.

The evening is my favorite time of the day. I love the bats catching bugs against the darkening sky (though the enjoyment eludes me while they fly into eyes while riding bike…) and the mountains falling into shadow. All things seem to slow down, take on a more leisurely tone, soften, blend until eventually the darkness equalizes everything. I find morning to be the polar opposite – the day sharpens people and events until anonymity is gone, everything is plain, mystery is lost. Maybe sleep lessens my ability to welcome the break of the day – as it stands, I’ll stick with the night.

Projects. There isn’t much to report here – for every step forward it seems that two are taken backwards. This can’t go on ad infinitum, but there is little evidence of the trend reversing. Even by telling community members of my “vacation” a noticeable change in attitude or effort has not been effected. That statement was not completely true. Through the lens of frustration and disappointment it is often difficult to see the glass as half full. Certain folks have been incredibly helpful and as befuddled as I at our apparent difficulties – when not everyone is on board, it is difficult to accomplish tasks.

Current Reading: The Freedom of the Hills by the Mountaineers and Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie. It’s a bit strange to read about mountain climbing, crampons, and crevasse
rescue technique when there isn’t a snowflake in sight (sightings have been reported, but remain unsubstantiated), but that’s what I’m doing! Two years away from snow is quite enough, this is for sure.

Salman Rushdie can write. His characters are incredibly lucid and real – I’ve found myself thinking of them as actual people rather than inhabitants of an imaginary world. His narrative is also quite striking, moving throughout temporal boundaries like air, making connections between characters and events that weave through time in quite unexpected and surprising ways. The protagonist, Saleem Sinai, fluidly shifts between hero and anti-hero being in turns pitiful, acquiescent, beautiful, and ugly. His sensitive and volatile nature is meant to reflect the contradictory forces and desires that wage war within us all. There are times where Sinai waxes Whitman (“To understand me, you must swallow the world”) and wanes self-recrimination (as he claims responsibility for the death of Nehru). Terribly imaginative and original – story of the 1001 gifted children born on the eve of partition between India and Pakistan; and their purpose? To fail.

GMA is president, but voices are already being raised in opposition. Better luck next time, FPJ – then again, maybe this was all part of the script...

It’s amazing how easily and completely one event can envelop your world. Things that have not yet occurred tend to preoccupy me, rather than things that have already happened. I vacillate between acceptance (“This is how I am!”) and frustration (“Why am I like this?”) when faced with this fact. Despite the cliché of “the moment”, something important and valuable is contained therein. Those who have access to it avoid (or seem to do so at least) the dangerous narrowing of focus that plagues people who cannot divorce themselves from either the future or the past. Thinking about the future or the past is not a necessarily negative activity, but viewing them to the exclusion of the rest of reality is. At the moment I’m swinging frustration at the future like a bat.

I had hoped to set things in motion prior to July so that upon returning, we’d be ready to rock and roll. In doing this I neglected to account for many factors which has resulted in rescheduling, surprise attacks by the accounting fairy (who says, “Oh! That grant is no longer available. I guess you’re SOL!”), and a general shrugging of the shoulders. What a lesson: no amount of desire or planning can push, pull, or confuse people into going where they don’t want to go. The time has to be right, and if the time isn’t right, you wait until it is.

Watching the days slip by last March was a bit like lazing in a canoe on a reservoir – no particular hurry; might as well relax and read a book. Apparently, the canoe has now sprung a leak and is racing towards a cataract below the dam’s burst wall – at least it’s a little more exciting! Of the several things on the to do list (project proposal, world map, mud oven, chicken coop, watershed management workshop, so on and so forth) perhaps one will run the gamut and survive. Melodrama. I keep hoping that a deus ex machina waits to rescue me still - I will ride an airplane soon enough…

In less dramatic news: I’ve been practicing the songs that Mike and Leah would like me to play for their wedding. The music is coming along, which is good. Typhoons continue to keep the weather cooler, and the rain turns everything such a lovely, deep shade of green. The fact that the river between the barangay and central Bayombong has swelled to four times its normal size makes things more interesting (and gave birth to the canoe above…). It is always something to wade through a dump on the commute to “work”.