I will be reading this piece for the Women on Writers appearance on the Literary Stage at the San Mateo County Fair on Sunday, June 16, 2012. It is the fifth sketch in my new work-in-progress, Four Flip Flops and the House that Fried Chicken Built.
Four Flip-Flops and the House that Fried
Chicken Built
Story
#5: Beep-beep Bahala na (what will be will be)
© Lisa
Suguitan Melnick
Our
first orientation to Philippine traffic happens on Araneta Street in the old
town center of Bacolod, a lovely provincial metropolis also known as “The City
of Smiles.” Brown-eyed, dark-haired, smooth-skinned, we four American-born
Filipinos – known as Fil-Ams-- blend
in and feel so comfortable because we are surrounded by others who look just
like us. Or, should I say, we look very
much like them? The mundane task of crossing a street is
bringing out the clumsy foreigner in me here in my ancestral homeland. I try my best to appear familiar, at least
imitating the ease with which people weave in and out between so many honking
cars, jeepneys, pedi- cabs, taxis and vans whose drivers randomly “beep-beep” their horns for no apparent reason.
It
is Day 3 of our first time arrival in the Philippines and the Question of the
Day is: What is the meaning of the beep?
I
force my feet forward, command my body to refrain from rearing
back and halting like a Frankenstein doll when a car comes within half a meter
of my face. The driver’s window is so close that I could actually whisper in
his ear! But instead he speaks. “Ah, you are not from around here.” He smiles. Eye-to-eye, here in the middle of the road, we
look at each other and laugh.
Many novel kinds of vehicles approach: jeepneys
dressed up with Mercedes Benz insignias or adorned with full-length portraits
of Mother Mary on one side of the door and Jesus on the other; or a loved one’s
name- Marie or Meynard- shimmers on chrome in the sunlight; pedi-cabs, three-
deep and swerving about like swarming mosquitoes; delivery trucks spewing black
exhaust in answer to grinding gears. All of them beep continuously in
staggered staccato patterns whether in intersections or not. Drivers beep while turning left into a
two- lane street that morphs into a three-lane, and then bottlenecks into one-lane. Then, “beep-beep” again when they’ve finished
turning.
Within
three days of my arrival I already discover that the Philippine Islands are a
bright, vibrant place. In an e-mail from
California, a cousin of mine who was born in the Philippines but has lived in
the U.S. for over twenty years writes, “The Philippines is a feast for the
senses, isn’t it?”
“Yes,
indeed,” I answer out loud as I read at her message in Bacolod’s internet café,
joyful that her e-mail echoes what I have just freshly discovered. The
Philippines offers a banquet of bright tastes, lush green surroundings,
exploding aromas and gentle fragrances. I am aware that there is still so much
more to experience.
But
for today, I just wanna know: what is the meaning of the beep?
Well
I can tell you what it is Not. It is not
a warning that the driver of the vehicle has any intention whatsoever of
hitting you. In the Philippines, vehicles
and people move along, well, not relaxed
but more in cooperation with each other.
Still I was surprised that I never
witnessed anyone getting hit but maybe it’s good that I didn’t watch the news.
Crossing
the street is like a dance. Our guide, Oscar, says that the pedestrians and
vehicles move in harmony. If there is a space, one of them moves to fill that space. If there’s no space, they wait. Yes, the cars, like the people, are
stereotypically equipped with rhythm and good timing.
Thus,
at this point, my take on the
meaning of the beep? “I’m not beeping at
you. I’m beeping just because …I’m
alive.”
One
month later, now in Metro Manila, I feel ten times more closed in by the crazy
cacophony of horns and farting exhaust from the jeepneys and cars and scooters
and pedi-cabs. A feast for the senses? Yes, but I’m beyond being able to digest
any more noise. If I had known the incredible level of intensity of the Manila
streets, I might not have attempted this adventure alone, from Makati to Cubao one
day. If I knew what I was doing, the 7.3
kilometer trip might take about an hour, but I’ve already been gone for three
hours! Sweating and facing nightfall, I decide I’d better text my companions to
tell them I’m running a little late. Alas,
my cell phone reads, “Low-batt.”
While
I stand on the corner thinking about what to do next, the noise envelops me.
The thoroughfare is four-lanes wide moving in three different directions with
no painted lines, with signaled intersections but no crosswalk. I step out into
the street and pull back. I do this a few times. Oh my God I’m roadkill. I must
calm myself, get my rhythm. First, I have to filter out the noise! Sigh. What/
is the meaning of the beep? I breathe. Whatis /the meaning of the beep? Breathe. What/ Is/The
meaning/ Of the beep/? One foot. In front of.
The other. One foot. In front of. The other. After six false starts, I still can’t see
a way to get all the way across to the MRT station without getting sandwiched in
by metal.
I
decide to walk back half a block to ask the armed guard in front of a Mini-Stop
market, “Guard, where can I cross?”
“Ah,
you are not from around here,” he yells
above the traffic.
“You can cross over there.” He motions me back
toward the stop light where I’d already been standing for ten minutes, gripped
by the incessant flow of heat, exhaust, vehicles, and shouting jeepney drivers.
I
am so close to asking him to use the rifle that’s slung around his shoulder to
stop traffic for me just for a minute so that I can cross the street! If he walks in front of the cars and waves his
rifle around, you know, as if he’s just lightly directing them, like with a
smile and a shrug, will the drivers at least pause and not overreact to the
weapon? Hmmm.
Instead,
I say, “Okay, Salamat po (thank you),” and I walk away, using the rhythm of the
words to keep me visibly NOT like someone who “is NOT from around here.” Ay
nako. What/ is the meaning of the beep?
I
can’t help but look back at the guard, hoping he’ll confirm that I will get
across this time. He is looking. And he smiles. He motions again, coaxing me toward
the crosswalk, as if to say, “Go ahead. You
can cross there. You are not going to
die today.”
