Tito Genova Valiente

Sorsogon is now a city. I realized that when I went there last week to evaluate a non-governmental organization. With that appellation comes the expectation of a busy place and people with some sort of sophistication in taste. We expect angst in the crowd and pollution around. And yet, the citification of towns and communities are not exactly promotions in status; they are predictions of more problems of all forms.

I do not know whether I should be rejoicing that the “Sangkaka” is now “malled.” But I would continue writing and investigating its provenance and temperament the same way I would devote time to Chilean and South African wine. After all, to write about the lowly “Sangkaka” is infinitely more rewarding and gratifying than struggling with the death of a General and the overrating of a day called Valentine’s Day.

Jessie was first a cousin. But she became a poet, a good one, published and winning many awards. When presented with a choice between medical internship and a fellowship at Silliman University, she opted to postpone her medical studies in favor of a summer with poets and writers.

I always get this feeling horoscopes have gone already the way of the postage stamps (the kind one licks and pastes on an envelope) and telegrams (the proto-form of texting). And yet horoscopes are having resurgence over radios and in televisions.

It is the last day of the year and even if this terminating of the year is a fairly recent human invention, we are convinced really that the 31^st of December of any year is the last day of the year. And, sorrow and regrets are fashionable and smart response to this realization.

Some people have New Year’s Resolutions and some people buy round fruits. If I may borrow a classic comment from Cristy Fermin who is consistent with her abhorrence of Kris Aquino, which I share: Kris is someone who, it seems does not have New Year’s resolutions. The punch line is this: kaya si Kris inuulit niya ang sarili na parang kasaysayan.

Each living day we destroy a significant building and put up one more unnecessary deceiving source of material convenience, we sever a link to the past and assure ourselves a terrible rupture from a future that will have meaning for us all rather than a one-sided contribution to the coffers of a government that is local in the limited sense of that word.

Long before the City of Baguio invited everyone to witness snow in the Philippine highlands, we had snow in our home. My aunts would spend the whole afternoon after the celebration of the Immaculate Conception to whisk a drum-full of snow. I do not know the recipe for that snow; all I recall is that the main element was soap named Perla, and some salt.