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Last Sunday afternoon in yonder Session Road, along its sidewalk, four women and four males stood, huddled, wishing for the rain to lessen so they can cross towards Malcolm Square and proceed on their way.
Apparently, the rain, sensing the four’s wish, decided their wish, be denied.
In one looooong swoop, the troop of rains got stronger, giggling their way earthbound and teasing the four like, “What’d you say, guys, that we lessen? Aw, gosh, but you four can be royal jokers,” the rains seemed to say.
One of the ladies, staring at wet Session Road muttered a statement that made her friends oddly stare at her. Ah Kong, happened to be standing near them.
Said the lady, “Apay ngata nga nu basta napigsa unay ti todo ket kasla umad-ado ti ulok ken kasla lumalaing!”
One of the lady’s friends commented, “Apay, pabagtiten naka ti todo?”
Answered the lady, “Saan met, mayat met ta agtodo, ta panawen na.” She then waxed poetic, saying, “Nu malpas ti todo, rum war ni apo init, ket adda ti biag. Malpas diay ar-areng-engen a sakit, ragsak ibati na (the rain) kadatayo.”
Then she continued, “Malagip koi di kinaubing ko, padasek igaman ti todo, ngem ag-isem a pumanaw iti imak.”
Her friends looked at each other, their faces grumpily showing they thought her head skewed. But not Ah.
Ah, who has a useless head, smiled inwardly and said to himself, “Oh boy, I mean, oh girl, whatever head is on your shoulders right now, as you say rains give you many heads, is truly excellent head. For we know not why, but rain comes into the heads of many the minute they think of their childhood.”
Why rain evoke nostalgia in many, Ah can’t answer.
Just hearing drizzle of the rain is like a memory that taps the shelter of one’s mind. And when you gaze beyond Baguio’s rain-drenched streets, the rains fall like leaves seeking entrance to roofs and walls like unwanted visitors.
As if sensing Ah’s thoughts, the lady swiveled her head in his direction, stared at Ah for long, then slowly, a smile crept on her face as she beamed at Ah like he was her long-lost erring she lost but now found.
As the cluster of rains began to ebb, one of the eight adults said, “Entako et adi, (Let’s go) binmassiten di udan (rain).”
They crossed the road, was in the middle of it when the lady abruptly turned and headed back where Ah was. She stood before him, drew forward her palm to Ah, who hesitantly shook hands with her.
Then she smilingly said, “Thank you, Sir, for understanding my thoughts.”
She gave her name, Sarah Demising, half-Cordilleran, half-lowlander, but prefers Mountain Province, her province. Ah told his name but didn’t ask her age. You don’t ask women their ages. Men who insist doing so can be knocked on the head.
Then Sarah left, leaving her trace of perfume and lingering smile that made Ah wish for more rain.
Ah was dumbstruck by Sarah. No, not because she was very pretty. For how in dang tarnation was she able to read what was in Ah’s head?
Talk about ESP (Extra Sensory Perception). Maybe Sarah possessed ESP? Ah read somewhere that some people possess a so-called “sixth sense.”
Ah firmly believes humans have different blood types so swarms of dengue-carrying mosquitoes brought about by rains can deliciously taste different blood type flavors, but ESP? Ah’s an unbeliever.
Ah felt something creep in his spine, wondering how Sarah’s head read what passed in his head.
Left at Session Road, Ah got to brooding how July can be pitiless with rains and no matter we bet with Mother Nature with our coins for, “head or tail,” we’d lose to Nature which is merely doing what she has to – drench us from head to toe.
Occasions are there in life in which the head lives of rapt enjoyment in a moment. Ah can only fancy the emotions of many CAR and Region 1 dwellers who are level-headed and have patience, and, others, impatient their heads pine, “Rain, rain, go away, come again another. . .”
Still, others can stare headlong into the rain and whistle, “Raindrops are falling on my head, and just like the guy whose feet are too big for his feet; nothing seems to fit. Raindrops keep falling on my head, they keep falling. . . But I’m never gonna stop the rain by complaining. . .”
Ah, who never can hit a nail on the head, once read of a statement that says, “Let rains kiss you, beat upon your head. . .let rain sing you a lullaby.”
Ya! Rains really do two things on people’s heads. Rains either hearten or dissuade lots of heads, Ah thought so at Session Road.
Standing there, with the rain trying to washout the brain in Ah’s head, he got being too presumptuous pretending to know about other people’s heads.
Then he paused, thinking, if he pretends to make free with other people’s heads while it’s raining hard, it should be at least proper to speak something about his own head, if there’s any of purpose about his head. Apparently, there’s none. None at all.
Ah wished, as the rains began building up, to have a head on his shoulders like the heads of our own Baguio City Mayor, Benjamin Magalong and Vice-Mayor Fautino Olowan.
For the heads of mayor Magalong and vice-mayor Olowan spring forth a temple to originality, where intelligence, understanding reside, and from their union sprang the privilege to do a job to better the lives of others, rain or shine.
Just take a sampling about Magalong. Rain or shine, happy he is, unencumbered by inoffensive cares, spends his time going around the city to correct what needs to be corrected, his aim not to be admired for a false glare of admiration, but to do for gentle and sober luster of wisdom and goodness.
For while the heads of Magalong and Olowan could be dead serious when business is on hand, they, at the drop of a coin, er, rain, can nonetheless show their infinite wit and most excellent fancy that can set constituents on a roar with flashes of merriment.
These attributes of these two, fine gentlemen, like the sun, brighten the rains of life with mild, but cheerful beams.
Unlike Ah, whenever it rains, easterly winds roil at left of his brain, prevailing at the area of responsibility at the right of his brain, thereby lowering his body’s temperature which from the normal 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, to 21 degrees Fahrenheit, Baguio City’s cold temperature.
As a result, Ah, too, is motivated, like Magalong and Olowan. Only, his motivation on rainy days is do absolutely nothing and just wish for the rain to wash all his worries away in a landslide.
Some say rain is nature’s way of saying, “Go take a walk in the rain and if you feel like crying, weep, for no one can notice your tears.”
Ah would like to do so, but can’t, for Mother Nature has filed a court restraining order for Ah not to do so. Violating the restraining order will force Nature’s lawyer to file charges against him.
Nonetheless, Ah and the rest of folks Cordillera and Region hope that by next week, the rain with kindly disposition, would be so gracious to let the sun beam his smile to look favorably upon the fortunes of the highlands and the lowlands.
Meantime, Ah’s head and heads of others out there will continue to experience isolated showers or thunderstorms during days and nights that could generate in moderate to rough condition with your umbrellas, blown askew by the northerly winds.
By next week, warm weather is expected to affect every Cordilleran and lowlander Missus, their body temperatures rising from 25 to 34 degrees Celsius, prompting them to berate husbands who secreted themselves in bars to drink the rain blues away.
Yet all’s well that ends well because understanding husbands know that stormy weather of the Missus will come to pass, just isolated thunderstorms of the women that eventually will bring generally fair weather.