| Clark, Angeles City |

The gate shrieks as I step outside. It is freakish, reminiscent of the wail of despair that lingers in the air and haunts the hearers. 

If not for that sound, I would not be able to see the rusts and peels that have splotched its black paint. I would not be able to realize that in 15 years since my transfer, I had never bothered to check it, not even once, with its facade now resembling the other gates in the street that have known no care, gates that have been forgotten and have gotten embroidered only by the thickening rusts and moss.

Beside the gate, under the thick metro smog that levitates like the possessed, three kids are slumped on the pavement, without masks, unfazed by the unceasing awful stories about the ravages of the pandemic. I watch them laugh their asses off as they parrot the corny lines from an ad of a loser hell-bent on staging a political come-back. They have opted to just surrender their fates to the saints and those with superpowers, I suppose, just like their recently laid-off mothers, who walk miles and miles every day searching for a job while reciting the sorrowful mystery. 

A few meters away from the young daredevils, I already sense the larger-than-life presence of Kuya Nonoy, from the smoke he emits that clouds the half-empty store of junk food and sanitary napkins behind him, and the crescendo of shrieks he produces that shake the neighbors on siesta. I can hear his laments, the curses he profusely showers to Duterte and Duque, his promise to throw rotten eggs at them as simple payback for the negligence and further misery the two have inflicted on the poor like him.

As I walk past the swelling crowd that gets engrossed in Kuya Nonoy’s perfervid monologue, I notice him looking straight at me, bearing the eyes of a child asking for a candy for a job well done. I give him a sweet, approving smile.    

The crowd is still raucous with a cacophony of cheers, jeers, and sneers when I reach the corner of the street. I stand facing what was once the melting pot of all that had been ignored, abused, and rejected – the broken vases, unupholstered sofas, stale sodas, spoiled food – often swarmed by flies, cockroaches, and other weird-looking insects. It now houses the well-maintained, fully-embroidered grotto that has become the convergence point of people who feel unloved, unappreciated, and neglected, consistently abuzz with lamentations, intercessions, petitions, and grievances from its frequent visitors – Kuya Nonoy and his gang, the desperate job-seeking mothers and the kids they leave behind, at the hands of those who give a damn. 

Across the street, I glimpse at the sign tacked at the window of the water refilling station that reads “permanently closed,”  at arm’s length from the wall lamp striped with blue and red beside the ajar door of the barbershop that has seen better days. There is nothing in there other than the unswept strands of hair from its last customer.

After a brief pause,  I continue to make my way towards the next crossroads with heavy steps, crushing the fallen leaves from the lonely, imposing tree and stones chipped off the cracks in the pavement. I chance upon the 90s matinee idol flashing his killer smile in front of the onetime flower shop that no longer sells flowers and bouquets but promises fully ornamented with colorful words. As I get closer, I find out that I am smiling back at a standee of a virgin trying to penetrate the tempting yet filthy world of politics.

I haul my body that suddenly becomes exhausted, not from the short walk but from the feel-good platitudes that I just read, the over-the-top recycled promises that are as treacherous as the pervasive virus. At last, I can now see my destination, standing proud before the spot-less, rust-less cars that have probably never experienced any forms of neglect.

I flump into my favorite spot in my old haunt and breathe in the smoke from my cafe americano. I gulp down as much liquid as I can to immediately wash away the shrieking, haunting, and lingering images of neglect and misfortunes from the world that has promised its people the opposite. I then close my eyes for their much-needed break. 

 My eyes have traveled a lot just from a 5-minute walk.

Images from:

https://www.pexels.com/photo/monochrome-photo-of-girl-s-eyes-2083932/

https://www.popsugar.com/fitness/how-taking-midday-walk-helped-ease-my-work-anxiety-47700301