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Among the lavish variety of splendid and beautiful sceneries characterizing Cordillera Administrative Region (CAR) and Region 1, there cannot be found a more enchanting home of picturesque and the lovely, that mark these beautiful lands, enhanced by resiliency of its residents to the admiration of visitors –  and residents themselves as well.

Yes, jolly readers, how many times you’ve taken to walking, slurping in the splendid and beautiful sceneries, eyeing everyday life activities and describing them in your mind from out of ordinary thinking?

That, indeed, you have done so, say, fine reader, you are what learned mortals define as “of sober mind to paint life scenes into patches of good spirits.”

Take, for example, Burnham Park lake as splendid and beautiful scenery into life’s scene as you reflect while stretching your legs for your walk.

It’s a lake of silver mirror, as it were, set in an exquisite and diversified framework of lawn-like strand, its flowery borders lipping the slumbering water like a passing smile from the face of a friend.

Think of the beautiful varieties of summer when you cut across Burnham Park and always stole a glance of the lake, assuring yourself that come tomorrow, the lake will still be there.

Sometimes, there’s this mysterious feeling that frequently passes like a cloud over the spirit, when one gazes at Burnham Park lake.

It treads upon the soul in the busy bustle of life, in social circle, at any moment, in the calm and silent retreat of solitude.

At one time, it may be caused by the flitting of a single thought across the mind, like a cloud dimming the sunshine of the lake.

Although sometimes Burnham Park lake may be casting a momentary shade of sadness, still, it enhances the beauty of returning brightness, like dapples of laughter borrowed from the sun’s wrinkled but amiable face.

With the returning brightness, you notice, in your reflection while walking, young, unmarried daughters who have an inclination to be private, take delight in private walks at Burnham Park where both sexes meet and mutually serve to lose themselves in the windings and turnings of the park.

That even the most experienced mothers of the young ladies have oft lost themselves in the park trying to locate their daughters.

As it happened last Monday, Berto Sandoval, senior citizen, longtime Baguio resident, of serious character but with laughter to share, took a stroll at the Park with a daily laborer notorious for absence of mind.

“See there, Ah Kong,” said Sandoval, “what a bevy of gallant ladies are in yonder; some laughing, others singing, others tickling one another and all devouring something.”

“See that lady,” Sandoval continued, “was ever anything so black as her eyes and so clear as her rosy cheeks? Beautiful Igorota dayta, or Baguio lady, kunam man!”

“Ever wondered if Baguio’s weather has something to do with the rosy cheeks of our ladies, Ah?” Sandoval asked.

“Never thought of it,” Sandoval’s absent-minded companion answered, and continued, “What I know is, we have both highlander and lowlander women who are good-natured wives, politick ladies, spirited ladies, superstitious ladies, fashionable ladies, comic ladies,  cunning ladies and critical ladies of mothers-in-law who love to pester no end, the faults of their sons-in-law.”

“Nonetheless, Baguio women look as blooming as carrots freshly dug from the vegetable gardens of Buguias,” Sandoval’s pal echoed.

“On second thought, “Sandoval’s companion mused, “any lady for that matter maybe the reason any hard-working laborer may strive to work harder to plant sayote.”

“How is that?” Sandoval asked.

So Sandoval’s companion related:

He related: “Waray gardinero kono, shemamba ni presyo ni sayote. Dinmaw kuno disco an, kuwan kuno nonta waitress, Kuya marami kang pera ah, balik ulit ha!”

“Kuwan to kono sumbat gardinero, “Huwag kang mag-alala, at babalik ako sa susunod na buras ni sayote.”

Indeed, reflection is the frame of our natures, both joy and the not-so-joy alternately thumping in our bosoms. Bright sunlight of pleasure and dark shades of gloom are so happily intermingled as to produce a placid equilibrium that permits us to stray from the path once in a while, just like that likable gardinero.

Then it is.   Who cannot say, among us, that as we grew older, we were once in a most delectable profusion of blissful reflection and anticipation, and reveled through all the fanciful mazes of chivalry and romance, raised high hopes, and promised to ourselves in the future, the enjoyment of permanent felicity?

Ha-ha! We were once that gardinero! Only to wake up one morning and rouse ourselves to the truth that “sa susunod na buras ni sayote,” we’d rather save for a rainy day, plod the unbeaten path rather than go gallivanting around.

Sandoval and his companion who has this habit of not taking bath, rounded a bend at Burnham Park that Monday and met George Malpaok, a friend of Sandoval’s companion. Malpaok stays in La Trinidad, Benguet.

The three wended their way to a cafeteria somewhere at Baguio’s Market Section. As they chatted, Sandoval’s companion couldn’t help but reflect on the  funny and untrue tale of Malpaok he related two years ago.

Sandoval, Malpaok and Ah, by the way, are blue-blood Igorot. But Malpaok, true to his indigenous wit, can swing a funny swipe at his co-tribe folks and reflect on it with laughter.

He related two years ago this: There was a bunch of highlanders who wanted to get rich the easy way and decided holding up a bus full of passengers:

Igorots: Itaas ang kamay dahil hold-up na!

A Victim: Igorot kayo, ano?

Igorots: Tagalog kami! Walang magloloko at papaytok sa tawa din bus! Kunin ang mga alahas at ilagay lahat sa sambag. Pati sinelas, alisin ta osalen di odom!

Victim: Yan gait kayo baw yan  adi yu ammo ay mantagalog!

Igorot: Hindi, adim ipilit! Hala, lahat ng pera , kunin tako!

Victim: Tulong!!!

Igorot: Oops! Walang menbugaw, tay inayan! Baka darating ang Philippine National Police (PNP) ya dakami din managtag!

We reflect, or recollect because the associations, the alliances and endearments fix a deep and lasting impression that envelops a pleasing blandishment around the heart.

It happens in various changes and vicissitude of life. Grandparents, for one, love to reflect. It’s true that Lolos and Lolas hold dear their apos. And their love radiates and reflect over their grandchildren that sometimes grandparents become overprotective.

As what happened some time ago in the Cordillera when a Lolo said to his apo, “Apok, mantabon ka tan inmalin maestram. Nanlangan kas duwa ay agew.

Apo: “Lolo, sikay mantabon ta inbagak ken maestra ay natey ka, isunga nanlanganak!”

Sometimes, in reflecting to do something with heightened zest, our relish stumble along the path.

It happened to a health pathological diagnostic clinic somewhere in the lowlands when posted its billboard for the public to see.

The billboard stated: “We taste Blood, Stool, Urine, Etc., in this clinic.”  What’s wrong with the billboard statement. The word “taste,” should instead be test.

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