Ice, 5 pisos. The Contentment is Free.

October 29, 2010

I tried not to wake Emelie as I crawled over top of her to get out of bed. But she moved her legs just as I was delicately trying to avoid touching her. She went right back to sleep.

The watch told me it was 6:13 in the morning. I got myself ready: first pee of the day, inhaler, full glass of water (I’m making a conscious effort to drink more). I was dressed and out the door in 45 minutes. (Hey! I’m not in any hurry!)

It had rained in the night, making the morning a little cool, which was fine for me, since I usually work up a sweat biking. I had my keys and cell phone in the basket over the front wheel, and a towel to provide some cushion for the phone. My plan was to ride to Malabuyoc and buy a bag of oatmeal I had seen in the sari sari store there. The round trip is about 15 kilometers, a comfortable ride on mostly flat terrain.

In the Philippines, people are always outside doing various chores: washing clothes in a bucket, taking a bath, walking here or there, burning leaves, etc. or just chatting with neighbors and friends. They start before dawn and continue mingling until sunset and beyond. 

Most Filipinos want to acknowledge a foreigner with a hello, good morning, hey, or just a smile. It’s the Philippine way - to be friendly - especially to foreign visitors. It’s nice to be immersed in this environment, and bike riding is a great way to maximize contact with people. I wave and say hello to everyone. My wife says I am just like a politician.

The ride felt good in my legs and lungs. I wanted to push myself but I held back, knowing I have a tendency to overdo and then feel exhausted the next day.

I got back home about forty five minutes later. Dragging the portable stove and LP gas tank outside, I put the burner on its perch - the cement railing that runs around the porch. I love chocolate oatmeal so I got out the tablia and put it in a pan of water on the stove, to boil. Tablia is made from the dried, roasted seeds of the cacao tree. After roasting, the seeds are then ground and formed into cakes. This is the tablia, straight from the cacao tree, unadulterated and ready to use. Chocolate!!

I put in too much. Perfect! When I added the oatmeal, it wouldn’t absorb all the water. We ate it anyhow. Emelie said it was a 1 on a scale of 1 to 5. I said it was a 4. She remarked that my 4 was only because it tasted strongly of chocolate and had nothing at all to do with the oatmeal. I only smiled, chocolate on my grin and half-cooked oatmeal stuck in my teeth.

A cup of instant coffee - for "real" coffee we have to take a boat to the neighboring island of Negros - tasted pretty good along with the simple breakfast. Afterward, I washed dishes then took a long nap. When I got up, it was time to head for Rose’s carenderia, at the market; get some lunch for En En, then head to the shop. En En operates our internet café from 9AM each morning till 7:30PM, seven days a week.

Throughout the Philippines, it is customary for business owners to provide meals for their employees, which we gladly do for En En. She runs the shop smoothly; handles anything that crops up, and never complains. 

From the shop we headed for Central School, where my Cebuano teacher, also an elementary school teacher, was in meetings and training with teachers from the other schools in Ginatilan. She was at lunch, so I dropped off the book she had loaned me to help with my Cebuano lessons.

On the way out, we met Susana Belacoura, the school system’s administrator who was conducting the training seminar. She invited us to the school office where she was eating lunch with her husband, Vincio. He and his son, Calvin, are friends of mine. He invited me to sit with him and chat for a while. We talked for half an hour about Philippine and American politics and customs, starting with a description of Philippine All Souls day and its American counterpart, Halloween.

Vincio is a former school principle who took up politics, at the request of Ginatilan’s mayor, shortly after he retired. He ran for town council and won in the last election. He had ridden his bicycle to the school, to bring lunch for him and his wife. Vincio is more savvy about both American and Philippine politics than I am. I always learn something about my own government’s goings-on when we talk.

When we left the school, we drove our scooter back to the shop and I walked over to the sari sari store of Calvin and his wife Nancy, located across the street from our Internet Café. The variety store sells sundries, snacks, and 50 kilo sacks of pig food. It’s on the bottom floor of a very old, two-story house, made of wood. The store is small and dark, and it looks and feels like something from a past century. The smell was of earth, ancient wood, dust and the wisdom of age.

I needed ice for my cooler back home, where I keep my meds that need refrigeration. Since we eat only fresh food, we don’t need a fridge. The cooler was cheap and it only costs me five pisos a day for ice.

I stopped to talk to Irene, Nancy’s younger sister and the operator of their store. I chatted with her and her helper, Lillian until it started to pour down rain, so I sat down in a plastic chair near the door and waited, watching the rain and listening to the downpour on the metal roof. It lasted only about 5 minutes. I was sorry it stopped. I enjoyed sitting there, peacefully enjoying a cold drink I had bought from Irene. The quiet after the rain was like a vacuum. The stillness had a feel to it that invited more peace.

I was reminded of a small variety store back home, in Ohio, when I was growing up. We kids would ride our bikes to the store for a special treat. I got the grape pop and some penny candy. It seemed as big an adventure as traveling across the world, and in retrospect, just as satisfying. Maybe even more so. As a child I didn’t know about the troubles of the world. I didn’t know its pains. I was thrilled with things, without the disappointments that dull the adult perspectives, the kinds of things that wear a person down with the passing of years; taking all the excitement out of just being. But in Nancy’s store I was reliving the excitement. Years were stripped away and I was happy once again, without the need for a reason to be happy.