Only In Sagada
February and March were not very pleasant months for me. I thought the cosmic universe was trying to teach me a lesson or testing my strength. First, I lost my wallet that had cash, all my Ids (SSS, company ID, CAP insurance, etc.) and my ATM card! A few weeks after, I lost the cash from the sales we had during late nights and early mornings of our Flower Festival stall, right inside our house! I was getting downright pissed. In less than a month, I lost about ten thousand pesos, which to me is a humungous amount, and some of the moneys were not even mine! (Our Flower Festival stall was composed of investments from a group of friends…)
Kigao suggested that we get a chicken as an offering. “Ag-pitik” or “peltik.” Paul Fianza, suggested that I break a clay pot to stop the bad luck. And though I've been meaning to do it, something just kept coming up and I admit I keep forgetting my vow to do something ritualistic about my curse. Schedules were hectic and I was very much under a lot of stress so I thought the training in Sagada, Mt. Province that April 9 to 11 would serve as a sort of reprieve. We were to give a training for young people, sponsored by Ford Foundation and held by Ebgan, a baguio-based NGO working on gender and development issues, and Women’s Feature Service (WFS), an international women’s media outfit.
The bus ride to Sagada was a dusty-I-don’t care-if-it’s-bumpy-I’m-sleepy one. It was the week of the alumni home coming of the St. Mary's. On the 8am Baguio-Sagada-Besao bus, right across from where I was sitting was a man with two kids. Judging from the way the little boy of about 8 or 9 was wondering about the length of the trip, I would say that it was his first or very few times to go to Sagada. The little girl, of about 7 or 8, was in between marveling the sights, sleeping and getting dizzy. The father of about late thirties or early forties was helping her during the dizzy spells. I thought the father would probably be attending the homecoming since he was obviously from Sagada, judging from his ample knowledge on the length of the trip, the way to the north, the places we passed, as I overheard him telling his kids.
I stopped minding my celfone right after Atok, Benguet, about three hours after we left Baguio, where it ceased to be useful because there was no signal for Globe phones up to Sagada. After about eight hours, I got off at St. Joseph, the training venue, got settled in, saw my fellow facilitators, checked out the training venue and what we needed during the workshops, and started looking for bathroom slippers, which I forgot to bring.
Lynn and Day, my fellow facilitators, were both on Smart phones with a strong signal in Sagada. They were texting constantly. I wanted to report home through text so I decided to borrow their phone. Because I am not in the habit of memorizing celphone numbers, I had to check my phone’s contact numbers.
I realized that I haven’t actually held or seen my phone since arriving. I looked through the bag of training materials, nothing. Then I checked my jacket and turned the pockets inside out. Nothing. Next was the big bag of clothes, which I never opened during the trip. Then I panicked. My celphone is missing.
Getting a bit frantic after dinner, I asked Rodel, the young man helping in the kitchen and the dining area. In between wipes of the table, I told him my tale, and he blinked, once or twice and looked at me seemingly excited. A man was there that afternoon claiming that somebody left a celphone on the bus. But Rodel was only a second hand source. The man talked mainly to Tan-ay, the girl in charge of the dorm. By that time, Tan-ay had gone home.
After a fitful try of sleeping, and wishing this was not part of the bad luck cycle, which meant I will be getting the celphone back, I waited for Tan-ay in the morning. She told me about her conversation with the man with the celphone. She said the man described someone that fitted my description. He said he’d be back that night. But the night passed and nobody came with a Nokia Celphone with Tasmanian Devil for a wall paper. I had to be assured that he was from Sagada, that I can still look for him during my stay there. Although Tan-ay did not know him, she assured me he is from Sagada. She said the man looked like Vincent, someone she knew, and she suggested that we go ask at Vincent’s house first. I asked Tan-ay if she can go with me and look for the phone first thing the next day.
We started our search that did not take long. Just a few steps away from St. Joseph, we walked a pathway and just as we turned, I saw the little girl right across my seat on the bus, without the traveling paleness, playing with a pile of sand, and the little boy who was admiring the view. Then a man looked out the window and Tan-ay announced, “That’s him.”
Ronald Andawi related how a man found the phone at my seat and Ronald volunteered to give it to me, claiming that he knew me lest the phone gets into someone else's hands. Ronald, is indeed the brother of Vincent Andawi, the guy whom Tan-ay thought looked like him. Though originally from Sagada, Ronald now resides at Gibraltar, in Baguio. Their mother, Mary Jones Andawi, was very gracious as we talked while the family got ready to attend the graduation of Mary Jone’s grandson, who finished grade school as valedictorian.
Had I left the phone anywhere else, I may not have gotten it back. But on second thought, if it had been anyone else who found my celfone, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten it back, either, even if it was in Sagada. Losing and getting back a celfone could only happen in Sagada, if one has a certain Ronald Andawi finding it.
Back in Baguio, I told Kigao and my friends the story and declared that I should really get down to the chicken and clay pot thing. Then I added thoughtfully, “Maybe the bad luck was broken already when I got my celphone back.” Maybe Ronald Andawi did not just return my celphone. I actually think that what he did broke whatever bad luck I was having. And for that, I am ever so grateful. Thank you very much, Mr. Andawi. And it did happen in a power spot like Sagada.
April 17, 2003
Published in Zigzag Weekly
Kigao suggested that we get a chicken as an offering. “Ag-pitik” or “peltik.” Paul Fianza, suggested that I break a clay pot to stop the bad luck. And though I've been meaning to do it, something just kept coming up and I admit I keep forgetting my vow to do something ritualistic about my curse. Schedules were hectic and I was very much under a lot of stress so I thought the training in Sagada, Mt. Province that April 9 to 11 would serve as a sort of reprieve. We were to give a training for young people, sponsored by Ford Foundation and held by Ebgan, a baguio-based NGO working on gender and development issues, and Women’s Feature Service (WFS), an international women’s media outfit.
The bus ride to Sagada was a dusty-I-don’t care-if-it’s-bumpy-I’m-sleepy one. It was the week of the alumni home coming of the St. Mary's. On the 8am Baguio-Sagada-Besao bus, right across from where I was sitting was a man with two kids. Judging from the way the little boy of about 8 or 9 was wondering about the length of the trip, I would say that it was his first or very few times to go to Sagada. The little girl, of about 7 or 8, was in between marveling the sights, sleeping and getting dizzy. The father of about late thirties or early forties was helping her during the dizzy spells. I thought the father would probably be attending the homecoming since he was obviously from Sagada, judging from his ample knowledge on the length of the trip, the way to the north, the places we passed, as I overheard him telling his kids.
I stopped minding my celfone right after Atok, Benguet, about three hours after we left Baguio, where it ceased to be useful because there was no signal for Globe phones up to Sagada. After about eight hours, I got off at St. Joseph, the training venue, got settled in, saw my fellow facilitators, checked out the training venue and what we needed during the workshops, and started looking for bathroom slippers, which I forgot to bring.
Lynn and Day, my fellow facilitators, were both on Smart phones with a strong signal in Sagada. They were texting constantly. I wanted to report home through text so I decided to borrow their phone. Because I am not in the habit of memorizing celphone numbers, I had to check my phone’s contact numbers.
I realized that I haven’t actually held or seen my phone since arriving. I looked through the bag of training materials, nothing. Then I checked my jacket and turned the pockets inside out. Nothing. Next was the big bag of clothes, which I never opened during the trip. Then I panicked. My celphone is missing.
Getting a bit frantic after dinner, I asked Rodel, the young man helping in the kitchen and the dining area. In between wipes of the table, I told him my tale, and he blinked, once or twice and looked at me seemingly excited. A man was there that afternoon claiming that somebody left a celphone on the bus. But Rodel was only a second hand source. The man talked mainly to Tan-ay, the girl in charge of the dorm. By that time, Tan-ay had gone home.
After a fitful try of sleeping, and wishing this was not part of the bad luck cycle, which meant I will be getting the celphone back, I waited for Tan-ay in the morning. She told me about her conversation with the man with the celphone. She said the man described someone that fitted my description. He said he’d be back that night. But the night passed and nobody came with a Nokia Celphone with Tasmanian Devil for a wall paper. I had to be assured that he was from Sagada, that I can still look for him during my stay there. Although Tan-ay did not know him, she assured me he is from Sagada. She said the man looked like Vincent, someone she knew, and she suggested that we go ask at Vincent’s house first. I asked Tan-ay if she can go with me and look for the phone first thing the next day.
We started our search that did not take long. Just a few steps away from St. Joseph, we walked a pathway and just as we turned, I saw the little girl right across my seat on the bus, without the traveling paleness, playing with a pile of sand, and the little boy who was admiring the view. Then a man looked out the window and Tan-ay announced, “That’s him.”
Ronald Andawi related how a man found the phone at my seat and Ronald volunteered to give it to me, claiming that he knew me lest the phone gets into someone else's hands. Ronald, is indeed the brother of Vincent Andawi, the guy whom Tan-ay thought looked like him. Though originally from Sagada, Ronald now resides at Gibraltar, in Baguio. Their mother, Mary Jones Andawi, was very gracious as we talked while the family got ready to attend the graduation of Mary Jone’s grandson, who finished grade school as valedictorian.
Had I left the phone anywhere else, I may not have gotten it back. But on second thought, if it had been anyone else who found my celfone, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten it back, either, even if it was in Sagada. Losing and getting back a celfone could only happen in Sagada, if one has a certain Ronald Andawi finding it.
Back in Baguio, I told Kigao and my friends the story and declared that I should really get down to the chicken and clay pot thing. Then I added thoughtfully, “Maybe the bad luck was broken already when I got my celphone back.” Maybe Ronald Andawi did not just return my celphone. I actually think that what he did broke whatever bad luck I was having. And for that, I am ever so grateful. Thank you very much, Mr. Andawi. And it did happen in a power spot like Sagada.
April 17, 2003
Published in Zigzag Weekly
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