Let it snow 

We are still into the “frozen” ambience as snow covers the ground in Dong Bei, though not as much as the dumping North America got of late. 

With the 15-day Spring Holiday observed (my language studio is closed the 13th to the 27th as two of my three partners went home, one to Hangzhou in Zhejiang near Shanghai, and the other to Shanxi west of Beijing; the latter stranded in Beijing for two days down with colds as there was no seat on the train), I’ve kept indoors these snowy days of spring.

Which is just fine. It allows me to digest the recent trip I took to the Philippines where I tasted the cool ambience of rich Tagaytay highlands, munched lunch (not much to write home about) at the Escudero estate in Quezon while cool water ran through bare feet (now that was quite a tickle between toes), and got colds in Greenhills’ Ortigas overlooking old Shaw Boulevard built up after I left Mandaluyong (labas ‘di loob) in the ’70s.

I boarded a Victory Liner for a midnight trek to Metro Baguio that now extends its suburbs to Benguet’s La Trinidad, once the vegetable capital of the region; the surrounding hills ascending to the summer capital have houses to the border of La Union. A local bus line took passengers with six backpacking Dutch-speaking Netherlanders from Baguio all the way to Episcopal well-mannered Sagada.

My eldest sister, one of five siblings who opted to remain in Pea Eye with retired husband, ex-radioman to Danding Cojuangco’s corporate needs during the martial law reign of Ferdie and Meldy, proffered the welcome mat at their Parañaque dwelling. Of her other four siblings, three moved to Hawaii and I am a peripatetic pedagogue adventuring in China. 

My sister and her husband gathered brood and feted me to lunch at the Dampa in Parañaque where customers buy fresh produce and sea creatures at the nearby market, then turn it over to an eatery that prepares the viand to feast on. Absent was a niece who lawyers in Melbourne with husband and young son. Her brothers are in electronic manufacturing in the Cavite-Batangas area, well off enough for one of the two to pick up the lunch tab, equivalent to two months of my pay in China, without batting an eye. 

I holed out in Parañaque for a couple of days, nursing the cold that got worse in the Baguio trek before hitching a ride with PAL to the emerald reunion of class INHS60 in Laoag City.

At the main reunion event, I counted 30 female classmates and eight male, so we were about 70 with guests and spouses. The venue had a minimum charge for a 100 heads so I expected the class treasurer to remind me of the “out-of-country” fee that the rich Norte Americano gladly doled out.

Having originated from China, the treasurer did not bother to remind me of my attendance “fee” and knowing the state of my bank account, I sidled up to the only classmates who married each other (they have a house across the Hudson from Manhattan and a Florida winter home) and asked if they would cover for me moolah-wise. They graciously smiled their assent! 

The treasurer was my secret crush back in high school who did not give me the time of day when my heart was helplessly pining for her attention, but in the last five years she and I nursed the possibility of the Argentine tango, complete with teeth-clenched red rose that two classmates do not tire to provide, but we keep the prospect in the mythical realm. I am sure the treasurer is confident in her skills on the dance floor, but I am not sure I can rely on mine, not to mention the tuhod strength to execute the requisite swirls and dips. 

I stopped in Buenos Aires once and watched the airport storm troopers march like they were ready to “Heil Hitler” the Fuhrer. Viewing the rather beautiful but brutish hedo-masochistic precision of the tango, I decided it best to keep it in my imagination rather than “execute” it on the dance floor! 

As snow fell this week, folks observed Spring Festival with boom-booms in red wrappers to loudly welcome the Lunar New Year, China’s combined celebration of “Christmas/New Year.” Folks headed home to hearth to share niangao (rice cakes) and jiaozi (dumplings) with family. It is an ingrained reflexive act. I joined my host family for dinner on New Year’s Eve and watched the midnight display of sparklers’ flare, cracked the fireworks’ noise, and waved red banners to scare off malignant spirits (while my hosts snoozed the bottled spirit away). I ushered my lonesome to the Year of the Lamb.

My bulong (whisper) to high school classmates for financial assistance (and my mention in this reflection) gave and gives permission to everyone, lambs and rams alike, to shun the Pinoy preoccupation with “face,” the “ano na lang ang sasabihin nila” syndrome (what will people say), and just be who we actually are, regardless of social standing or status, forsaking anxiety over the financial health of the phooey bank account!

“Let it snow” is my affirmation of the cold. Of that, I am richly endowed with!