Two nights ago I found myself walking with Dave along the east side of Teacher's Village. We decided to take that road from Likha Diwa since Dave is looking for a new place in the area; after about 3 minutes into the walk/scan, we both decided he should look somewhere else.
It was a dodgy-looking place: dark, with this smell coming from God-knows-where, eyes following us as if studying our stride. I stuck close to Dave without looking nervous (which I was). I think it was about a 5-minute walk; it was probably the most uneasy 5 minutes I had that entire day. (For a different, horribly twisted, incredibly WRONG take on my experience, go
here.)
That strip of street with houses along the sides had always been there, I know. The thing is, it was so hidden that you wouldn't really notice it if you were zooming along the main road. It was the kind of street that stems away from the road, and nobody would notice unless they took a good long scan of the place and followed the edge of the concrete. And should one do that, upon looking up that person would be greeted by a street alive with people. It was almost like a hidden chamber, and you had to find the right book to pull on the bookshelf before the entire wall revolved and this place was revealed to you.
I don't know if I'm in any place to say something like this, but thinking about it now, I wonder: just how many times have people passed the area without knowing this street was there, behind all the buildings? The place is a community, a stretch of life tucked away to the sides of the road that will ultimately lead to Katipunan Avenue -- Starbucks, Tia Maria's, high-priced condominiums, Ateneo. Of all the people who zoom past in their cars on their way to Katipunan or Eastwood, how many have actually turned their head and squinted their eyes enough to catch a glimpse of a group of boys playing with the gutter water, or a shirtless man with his voice booming while he walks aimlessly with a cigarette in his hand?
Look at it from a larger scale: how much of this country do we see, and/or how much of this country do we
let ourselves see? The place was incredibly overlooked, and to be honest I wouldn't have turned my head towards that direction had Dave not led me to it. A dingy strip of what Quezon City holds in secret, the stretch was incredibly present and (almost dangerously) alive. Hidden from view, it showed me what I had never seen before, let alone been around. I don't remember the last time I had been to a place such as that; I don't even think I have, ever. What of the rest of Manila, the rest of the country? How many times have we unconsciously veered away from certain places, ignored certain situations, waved off certain thoughts that we simply did not have enough time (or interest) for? Has this country found itself where it is at now not because of lack of anything other than awareness for the issues?
A place barely lit by streetlamps in the night, that street at the east of Teacher's Village is the other side of the supposedly sunny city. And that unseen side was not dead, but brimming with life. The people packed away in that road, away from the outside view, watch you as you, a trespasser, walk their territory and pretend to be calm and composed as you wipe your forehead and subdue your trembling. And a few nights after you still hold the memory, as the memory holds you. Yes, I was scared; for a few minutes they were not the misplaced ones, the lost ones, the outcasts -- I was.
That place stands there still, and I can only wonder how much longer it will remain hidden. I do not feel pity for that place and its people; instead I have this eerie sense of respect. It's the kind of feeling that goes with the line "You don't see us, but we see you. We're watching you; we're always watching you."
As I sit here in an air-conditioned room, warmed by my Tommy Hilfiger jacket, I wonder: how long will the memory of that walk stick with me? Will I even have these same sentiments next week? How soon before I go back to my regular life, unknowingly forgetting about that street, those people, the lesson I'm still trying to find from the experience? I try to be aware of the community with no discrimination whatsoever; but even I know that there are times when I fall short. I wonder how much?
In his article in the September 10 issue of the Inquirer, Raymond talks of something similar. Give to Caesar his due, and so I shall say that it's worth reading.
Check it here.
So how do all these things add up? I don't even know. I just wanted to write about an uncomfortable experience, but in the middle of my typing this up I started thinking and the thoughts started making my fingers move.
Take what you want from this post; I shall go and take with me whatever memory of that place I have left, before I fall asleep and forget all about it.
