Martyrs

It has been a long time since I've written on this blog. 

And maybe I should start writing here again with an overview of the things that have literally flooded every aspect of this country -- Pork Barrel rallies everywhere, a war in the South and the floods that left many homeless. What a whopper. And all these have things have one thing in common: The people have been turned to martyrs by their own leaders. 

The Pork Barrel rallies showed how the people are now waking up; the masses now cry for reforms and they are now very much awake, aware and critical of the people they have "enthroned" to power. They do not want to be sacrificed for somebody's pleasure now. It is a pleasing thought, how the people now are critical thinkers and not mere usizeros (although the latter still exists) who relish and believe in every chismis they hear. 

But, of course, like all fads... things got forgotten really fast.

After the million people march in Luneta, the people started to lay low again and watch telenovelas. 

We see the thieves roaming around, not inside jails, but inside the sacred halls of the Congress and Senate! And it's a pity. At this rate of the investigations, the hype is just going to die down and the judiciary is just waiting for that moment when the amnesia of the masses settle in.

***

On another note, we have floods. 

We have been having them for glob-damned decades now, centuries even. And why does no one ever try to make and act on it? Last year, we had floods here in Bacoor City. The government then dug the nearby estero. Now we still have floods. 

Why? Because it still overflows. 

In Manila, a few minutes of rainfall will guarantee a flood. And for eons, no one responded on this issue. Asphalting won't solve this nor would wifi sheds ever be effective unless proper security is enforced in the bowels of the capital. What we need is an effective drainage system that goes to cleaned-up and squatter-free esteros of a plastic-free, pollution-free city. 

It's really nice to daydream, right?

***

Bonifacio would've loved change. He called for that a century ago. 

He was quite a martyr. Killed for his beliefs by people who hungered too much for power. Killed for exposing flaws in the system of the traitors. One must remember that the Aguinaldo Government was one voted for solely by the people of Cavite in Tejeros and that Supremo dismissed the proceedings upon the knowing of fraud and cheating in the elections. 

He was killed for planning an elections with the representatives of all the peoples of the revolution, knowing the the government that will lead the republic must be voted upon by all its people, not only by Cavite-citizens. He was a martyr for change and justice and I wonder now as then, could we look with hope for brighter and fight for it like he did?

I hope we could.

Let there be hope for this nation.



***



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Immaturity and "Nationalism"

IMMATURITY

We take pride as a nation from the accomplishments of some. Yes. There is something wrong with that.

Now, not everything is. We can claim that we are proud of them and that we support them as representatives of our nation but why is it that all of that support and pride in our athletes only appears when the athletes are winning? Where were we when they were still struggling to train? Yes. We can be proud of our race, but not for this reason alone. 

The immaturity part, now, hails from the fact that there are is a majority among this nation that chose to seek revenge by bullying the winners of the recent game between Smart Gilas (Representing the Philippines) and The Iranian National Team, they themselves working hard for their accomplishments, and in bitterment have gone to extremes by attacking the other team by insulting them. 

Why is it that there are some of us that act like kids? Where is our "pride"? What "pride" do we have now that there is a majority among us who lack sportsmanship?

 RACISM

On another note... there is something wrong with how racist some of us are -- how biased we tend to become. We hate it when other nations bash us but we feel pride when we defend our nationalism by insulting a single race due to a basketball game? Seriously? When did we have a right to call names and bully other nations? 

Does being nationalistic equate to us downing our fellow humans because of their race?

WE NEED REAL PRIDE AS A NATION. One that does not insult other nations and is defended fairly. We need to be a nation that recognizes that we are all humans and that we should treat other nations with respect due to fellow humans. We need to be a nation with real nationalism, one that cares and loves and takes pride in one's race during all times, not only during the times we are down. We need to be a nation that stands up when we are down, not pull others down while we are down.

We need to change.

***

SOUTH BIKE fully supports any inquiries on the facts noted on this page or for any question regarding this article, the pictures and other materials on this blog. All pictures are property of South Bike and Midsummer Daydreams Film & Photography and may be used for any non-profit material, post and/or article. Information stated here in this blog have been culminated from research.


SOUTH BIKE BLOGS also conducts tour-for-hire. See the official facebook page of SOUTH BIKE BLOGS atwww.facebook.com/SouthBikeBlogs for more details and for inquiries.


MIDSUMMER DAYDREAMS FILM & PHOTOGRAPHY is the official amateur photography blog/page used by the administrator of South Bike blogs. It also runs as an unofficial photography company of above-mentioned individual and may be hired for any local photography shoots for assorted purposes. For details regarding this, e-mail MDF&P at jhonlerygorme@gmail.com

Ang Aking SONA

I am no expert in law nor economics. But I just want to point out who we are as of late, our state as a nation:

We are a nation that has little to no love for culture nor an appreciation of it's past, neither are we one that draws inspiration nor wisdom from this illustrious past that we claim as Filipinos. How can we, therefore, move forward when we can't clearly see the past that we have gone through and how can we ever claim love for this country when we can't even claim any love for the people that have shaped our past. What nationalism can we ever have, or even claim?

We celebrate our past in ways that perfectly conceal it: ignoring the main sense of the celebration. What more is there for the people to celebrate occasions like flag day when the people that celebrate it don't have even the slightest idea about the importance of the history of this holiday nor any knowledge about the flag that embodies the very blood and soul of this nation.

The statues we build to honor the men and women that sacrificed everything for this nation are being turned into seas of filth -- the public urinals and toilets of the common people and the trashcan of the society. How can the people appreciate its past when the things that their government build to remember it is being ignored and left to be ruined slowly, dying in the congested metropolitans of this country?

The remaining places of beauty of times of old and the last gems of our cities are being left to rot to a stinking pile of refuse. And the people around them do not even care for whatever happens to these things.

How could the people feel safe in the cities and towns of these places when the police force cannot protect the people they are sworn to protect, evidence of this is the increasing number of crimes in the metropolitan and the suburbs, and when there are people inside the inner workings of the government who are blatantly protecting the people that commit crimes and are perpetrators of the crimes themselves?

We let the people destroy the remaining sites that hold anything of value in our cities... and we keep voting people who let other people break the law right beneath our noses or, in most cases, even right in front of our faces. And we still have this large majority that lets this happen over and over again.

Sure there is improvement: There might be traffic and all, there might be cleaner rivers in some towns and cities and other programs that help the nation...

but we usually forget that the problems are not always caused by those we elect, nor by those put there to manage and protect people, but by the people themselves. There is still a majority that cause problems and have the guts to claim the government as the sole source of all problems.

We forget to demand change and to seek out what is truly beneficial for all of us. We glorify dynasties and we still let them rule no matter how wrong those dynasties work: 

letting them rule for decades even though we ourselves see no change nor development under their rule in exchange for money that some of us get in exchange for votes --- for the future of the cities and towns.

And still we continue.

I hope our nation changes, not just this government. I hope we will all work towards a brighter future.

God Bless Us All.

In pictures:

1. The Fr. Mariano Gomez monument in Bacoor City which was covered by political posters and tarpaulins

2. Wagayway Festival (National Flag Day/Battle of Alapan Anniversary) 2013 in Imus City which was used by the city officials as a political event

3. The Legazpi-Urdaneta Monument, one of the oldest of it's kind in Manila. It is currently damaged by vandals and ignored by the city.

4. and 5. The GOMBURZA (Gomez, Burgos, Zamora) monument in front of the National Museum. Virtually unknown by many, the place stinks and the pond around it is color green due to the mass. Fr. Mariano Gomez, Fr. Jose Burgos and Fray. Jacinto Zamora happens to be the people whose death inspired the revolt of 1896 and many heroes, including Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio, who honored them in their own ways.

6. The Manila Metropolitan Theatre sits in the heart of Manila and was once one of the jewels of pre-war Manila. An art deco theatre designed by Juan M. Arellano and Otillio Arellano and was built in 1935. The structure has sculptures by the Italian Sculptor Francesco Monti. The theatre is now unused and generally neglected.

7. The Carriedo Fountain found in Plaza Sta. Cruz, Manila was built in 1882 to honor “Manila's greatest benefactor” Francisco Carriedo y Pedero who donated Php 10,000 to install the very first water system in Manila. The fountain originally stood in Rotonda de Sampaloc until it was transferred to its present site in 1978. The fountain is currently full of dirty water that happens to be filled with trash.

8. The Meralco Headquarters was the masterpiece of Monti and Arellano, a structure that was home to the original Meralco. The building's demolition was halted temporarily. 

9. Aguinaldo Highway is one of main highways of the South. It is plagued by traffic.

10. Estero De Bacoor used to be filled with garbage until it was recently cleaned by the city government to prevent the floods that plague the city.

11. A jeepney loading besides an unloading/loading sign no explanations needed.

12. Bacoor District Hospital is the city government's hospital. Starting construction last year, not much has changed and up today only the ERs are finished.

The rest of the pictures The statue honoring Sen. Revilla Senior, who founded the ruling dynasty of Cavite by fathering children who soon became politicians under his care. The statue marks how the government can spend funds to honor themselves and their family and not the real heroes of the city (ie. Fr. Gomez et al)

SOUTH BIKE fully supports any inquiries on the facts noted on this page or for any question regarding this article, the pictures and other materials on this blog. All pictures are property of South Bike and Midsummer Daydreams Film & Photography and may be used for any non-profit material, post and/or article. Information stated here in this blog have been culminated from research.

SOUTH BIKE BLOGS also conducts tour-for-hire. See the official facebook page of SOUTH BIKE BLOGS atwww.facebook.com/SouthBikeBlogs for more details and for inquiries. 

MIDSUMMER DAYDREAMS FILM & PHOTOGRAPHY is the official amateur photography blog/page used by the administrator of South Bike blogs. It also runs as an unofficial photography company of above-mentioned individual and may be hired for any local photography shoots for assorted purposes. For details regarding this, e-mail MDF&P at jhonlerygorme@gmail.com

Missing Identity: Filipinas

What is in a name?

It has been decades now since we last used the name Filipinas. 

During that time we were still under the powers of a colonial power that our ancestors fought against... when there was still a government under the General Emilio Aguinaldo, who had himself declared the national president via an election of his province folk, and we were still struggling to stand on our two feet. We have thought of changing it, from the American Philippines and tagalized Pilipinas to the former proposals of using Maharlika and Rizal as the name of our country... and still we are not sure of what our name is supposed to be.

But this recent change speaks in volumes. It just shows everyone that we, after more than a century, still have no definite identity.

We keep on looking for who we are. For who we truly are. We still are reeling in from our days under the flags of different nations that left us scorching too long under suns and stars that we ultimately get blinded by it. We have no concept of what we are now and what we were that we still keep on holding to the culture of others in search for who we are. We are still the "brown Americans" and the "Indios" based on the way we act and define ourselves.

Yes. It is important to look at the past and learn from it but is it really necessary to be stuck in it? Is it really necessary that we have this terrible amnesia that makes us forget the remaining decades beyond those years?  The reason why we can not move on and not move forward is because we keep glorifying our past without making the steps to go back and regain that former glory. 

Look at our music, our films and our telenovelas. We say it is Original. That it is Pinoy. But is it, really?

Beyond the name

It is not the name of our country that needs changing. It is our nation that needs the scrubbing down.

Sure, merge our cultures. But never forget who we are.

This Gap: The growing indifference of the people

We have become indifferent.

There's no denying this... that there is this large majority among us that has turned blind and deaf with the plight of the people around us, especially the things that our poor brethren face in their daily. The society has taught us, as always, to be insensitive and to justify our actions by saying that they may just be con artists; thieves who use deceit to steal. In a world were we don't give a damn about others and only care only about our own needs, what could you expect?

There is this large lack of love, a large gap in our compassionate actions; we choose who to help, who to understand and who to share our pain with -- things that command that we help only those we can trust in this country so ironically called as the only "Christian" country in this region surrounded by peoples of different beliefs... a twist that just says that we are a people that's full of talk but lacks in any action. Religion aside, Christian or not, why do we not care about the people around us?

We say do this, share this, give this and that to help... but behind this mask of "kindness" what have we become? We only help the poor when everyone is looking at us, judging our every movement but when the spotlight is gone, how many among us could shed a light in this dark alley of hunger? We only help the people that we consider as friends, but how many among us care about the outcasts, those faces that we see each day but don't even bother to know?

We only care when people see.

How blind have we become!

We only hear once the worst has come.

How deaf of us!

We only act when disaster has struck... when the visible disaster has happened. But, beyond that, we make ourselves useless.

When will we change?

Flowing politics: The state of today

Why, oh, why would you start fixing the roads and making solutions to our flooding problems only when the need for it arises? 

The problem in our society is that we fail to foresee the future, and in doing so we are risking it for the pleasures (or problems) of now. We only act once the worse of the beast has shown itself, when the enemy has arrived and has carted its victims away and thus we are never truly prepared for anything. Look at Manila, the "great" capital of this dear country, it has been facing floods for decades now and still, there is no concrete action to fix this problem. 

And now, as always, there's always the blame game for every situation that arises: The people that prided themselves as heads and chairmen of departments pointing fingers at each other in the quest to finding the culprit! The drainage system of most of Manila, and probably the general islands of this country, are terribly inadequate to the amount of rainfall these areas face annually. Far too inadequate! 

Moving on, why do the problems persist? Or why in goth's sake do we fix the roads of Aguinaldo Highway over and over again at that very crucial area that dictates the outcome of the traffic in Cavite? Yearly, we do nothing! Or what we do is just not enough. Those living in esteros and the areas near it continue to throw waste to the waterways, the people continue on using plastic recklessly and we keep on using an inferior system in drainage. 

Wake up and smell the flood waters!

Malaya: A Definition of Freedom

Freedom: A question of Nationalism and Definition

"Hunyo a-dose, huwad na kalayaan!" (12th of June, fake independence!) They shouted as I looked forward. A sudden burst of noise in the somber celebration of the 115th anniversary of the declaration of Philippine Independence. Being the nosy person that I am, a news writer for some time for my school, I rushed to the back of the crowd to see the protesters being carted away and captured. (The video is on top)

What is freedom? The man being driven away by the police shouted at how we were not free. That this day is nothing more than a sham. That this day is nothing more than a show because how can we ever free if we cannot speak? To voice our problems, so he claims. They continued to shout, the teenagers struggled even as the cameras of different news networks pointed at them and even as the people blocked their faces, their mouths.

"Are we free?" The question lingered on as the speech of Senator Drilon blared through the speakers of the whole plaza of the Emilio Aguinaldo Shrine, once a simple home where independence was proclaimed from a humble window; the only act that I would ever admire from the man who killed and took the power of the masses for his own selfish purposes. 

Back to the 28th of May, there was nothing more than a small celebration for the rest of the country, a big party for the people of the City of Imus. Flag Day, so they called it, as it was the very day a century ago that the current Philippine flag was raised after the victory in the battle of Alapan; A marker and statue barely known to many stands proudly in the quiet of the school that now stands on what was once a battlefield. 

Flags waved, the colors the embodying what blares inside my chest: That want for a united Philippines that moves forward collectively and does not forget those that died when the light of independence was still dawning in the horizon. And that I am proud of me and the blood that flows through my veins, the blood of the heroes, the blood that flows through each and every pinoy's body.

I celebrated Flag Day with my flag. I waved it from my home to Imus City where I proudly waved it from my flag: some cheered, others murmured and some still sang the National Anthem as I passed by. From Alapan I biked on to Baldomero Aguinaldo's home: The home of the general-cousin of Emilio Aguinaldo, the falsely recognized first president of the country.

The first thing that greeted me are the flags the filled the outside of the house. And the flag that hung inside. 

Both flags being were from the war, the Old Glory and the Philippine Flag, I stood at gazed at it reverently... feeling the presence of the people that fought for it and died for the sake of this piece of cloth that embodies the body and soul of this humble nation and thought about the reverence people had for this flag: depending it and even displaying it even if went against the law of the American's during the occupation.

And now... well...

After that I went to the old city hall of the city of Imus, an old building from the days when the Americans governed this country, an evidence of this was the old seal of the commonwealth of the Philippines of the ceiling above the hall of the mayor. Everywhere, all around the city square there were flags that waved proudly atop every pole and every fence, they were there. 

Part of the celebrations, as always, was the performances and the concerts. The night lights glowed on the plaza dedicated to General Topacio, who would've been the candidate for presidency if he had not backed down. It was once beautiful, declared as one of the most magnificent ones in the whole archipelago the time it was built. Now it was the battlefield in the recent power struggles, defaced by the personal whims of the people that ruled the land.

I wondered, from my view of everything from the city hall's balcony, if they really understood what they were celebrating? Is this nothing more than a show of who is in power now like what they did later that night, announcing the winners of the recent elections on that very day? I went home, thinking about all this as I waved my flag, the flag that I loved for 11 years since I was a kid.

I was now used to the whispers. The ugly things they said as I passed by. But one comment stuck with me, and just hit me dead on: "Basahan lang yan (That's just a dirty cloth)." Something that a random citizen; a tricycle driver said as I passed by him. I dreaded it. Dead on, I just heard how some people see the flag I so much adored, this thing that people have fought for just to keep flying!

It pains me. Really. I asked to myself and to others: "What, to you, is this flag? Does it mean anything to you?"

Fast forward to the 12th of June. I wore my blue polo and leather shoes as I stepped on the wet ground, watching the parades as it passed in front of the crowds and the TV crews, carrying flags and banners of their own.

But what is freedom? Is it nothing more than a symbol? Are we, now, truly free?

There were still many questions from the crowds: From the internet and the people that protested there on the June 12th in Kawit, from moving the independence to the 4th of July once more to the protests of dismantling the government and the "imperialistic" system of this country.

For me, freedom is defined and can only be defined by the individual itself. 

Just like most things under the sun, we can define anything by our own standards. If we keep on defending the view that the government is at fault for the big number of unemployed people, does that not show a sense that you are dependent on the system? Then, in a sense, you are what makes you a prisoner. If you keep on blaming the system on your current financial standing, if you keep on saying that the government is why you are poor, then you are still dependent.

Because an individual is freed only by action made by oneself. We are what makes us free; but we are also what makes us prisoners, shackled by our own hands and made slave by our own desires. In the end, we are the key to freedom. If we keep on waiting for someone else to free us, then what's the point of seeking freedom?

To end this article, I would like to mention that the great Supremo, Andres Bonifacio, acted towards that. He was radical enough to see that change is in our hands. We can stop making the flag and the days that we celebrate as mere symbols, we have what we need to make them meaningful. We can have change ONLY if we move towards it.

We are change. We are freedom.

***

SOUTH BIKE fully supports any inquiries on the facts noted on this page or for any question regarding this article, the pictures and other materials on this blog. All pictures are property of South Bike and Midsummer Daydreams Film & Photography and may be used for any non-profit material, post and/or article. Information stated here in this blog have been culminated from research.

SOUTH BIKE BLOGS also conducts tour-for-hire. See the official facebook page of SOUTH BIKE BLOGS at www.facebook.com/SouthBikeBlogs for more details and for inquiries. 

MIDSUMMER DAYDREAMS FILM & PHOTOGRAPHY is the official amateur photography blog/page used by the administrator of South Bike blogs. It also runs as an unofficial photography company of above-mentioned individual and may be hired for any local photography shoots for assorted purposes. For details regarding this, e-mail MDF&P at jhonlerygorme@gmail.com

Can you C what I C? A review of Juana C. The Movie

Comedy as always is the key to the heart of the Filipino

It is so evident in the films that gain popularity in today's silver screen: Ranging from fantasy films and drama interlaced with humor to the slapstick comedy of the yesteryears. It lives, it is praised and it is remembered by the countless of the youth and the old alike. We even praise the kings of the art of comedy! But it is very rare that a film so filled with humor would scream the harsh realities at your face at the same time.

Juana C. The Movie is probably the most perfect comedy for my taste. It truly is. With its frank description of the political scene and of how we Filipinos truly are. It calls for action beyond the theatre and makes you feel the need to make a change in a society that has lost all hope for change. Frankly, it caters the taste for humor of the typical Filipino (as judged by the laughter of my sister) and the part that looks for something deeper, something more behind all this comedy... though I particularly regret how only a few are watching this film.

It just says we need change: both in our ways and in our society... and our taste for films. How I wish all films were like this!

It is not shallow. It is more than a movie about laughs. And for that, I love it. Kudos to the people behind this film!

What's left?

T'was confirmed: They're saving the theater, but not the building.

The theater, with its near perfect acoustics, has long been the beloved home of the artists: singers and actors, will be "saved" by the company that bought the place. "Save" is too big a word, who knows what their plans really are after news broke out that SMDC, the property arm of the largest mall chain in the country, is planning and going to build another condo in the heart of the metro.

For what? Do we not have enough condominiums? And can a condominium match the beauty of the present one there? 

The building will be torn down. That modern looking building from the 1960s that was once featured in an architecture magazine in it's glory days due to its wonderful design that incorporates a harmony between the metal of industry and the greenery of nature will be gone forever and be replaced by the generic looking condo that SM is too proud of: I wonder, now that this will be a condo, will they even make it a decent looking condominium?

Because they build boxes to live in, not beautiful homes but boxes. 

In my train of thought, when the condos reign in the metro, what character would we have? Will we be someday be a city without character, no colorful past nor soul? Will we be soon known as the city of boxes? Or will we, truly, continue our march into becoming the real "Gates of Hell" described in Dan Brown's "Inferno."

So now, I say, good-bye, Philamlife Building. And Hello, un-interesting condo-addition to the gates of hell.

***

SOUTH BIKE fully supports any inquiries on the facts noted on this page or for any question regarding this article, the pictures and other materials on this blog. All pictures are property of South Bike and Midsummer Daydreams Film & Photography and may be used for any non-profit material, post and/or article. Information stated here in this blog have been culminated from research.


MIDSUMMER DAYDREAMS FILM & PHOTOGRAPHY is the official amateur photography blog/page used by the administrator of South Bike blogs. It also runs as an unofficial photography company of above-mentioned individual and may be hired for any local photography shoots for assorted purposes. For details regarding this, e-mail MDF&P at jhonlerygorme@gmail.com

Eh Leksyon? A final note on the elections

Campaign Material At Voting Precint

PCOS Machine

I was there...

May 13, at a voting precint in Bacoor City... I was guarding votes from sun-up to moonrise. It was my job, my solemn work: To ensure that no monkey business goes on in my beloved city. I was a witness to the handshakes and the smiles of the candidates, the sweet promises and the brown envelopes of money, to the grind of campaign cars and the noise of the jingles that filled the air, the posters plastered on every wall in sight and the news of arrests and trouble.

I was there...

Standing there, observing every move they made. Reporting each one that I found wrong. Risked my life for what I think was right. Taking pictures of the posters that violated rules, typing out each protest to every single one I knew. 

I was there...

When the vote buyers won. When the people I rooted for lost. When life continued. When the hype has died down and only a few ghosts of the rallies remain. When the billboards and thank you notes filled the spaces. When every thing went back to its normalcy. When the high hopes and expectations slowly ticked away like the grains of the sand that fall from the hourglass. 

I was there...

And I hope that someday that single day that will define our future will show us and lead us to a brighter one.

Supremo: The Maragondon Trip (Part 1)

History repeats itself 

There are many things that look ugly in our past; nothing is perfect. With all the shadows lurking in it and the schemes and bloodshed. Such is our past, the pages of history drip with blood and gore. Last 10th of May, out of respect for a man so misunderstood and so ignored by our people, the hero called Andres "Maypagasa" Bonifacio, and rode a bus from my Bacoor home to Maragondon; a place terribly uncharted for me and is the site of the trial and execution of Bonifacio.

Mini busses always ply this small route that travels between the two cities, separated by long highways and mountains. With the small number of these busses, I had to wait for a long to ride a bus and to let it be filled with an adequate number of passengers. SM City Bacoor, as I would learn later on, was one of the boarding areas of those air-conditioned busses.

Years ago or rather decades ago, when there were no mini busses and barkers wearing campaign vests with names of politicians, people would either walk on forested roads or ride horses and caribous. I thought about the journey Bonifacio took from his quarters in what was once the suburbs of Manila, that fateful trail that led him to his death. I wonder, what did go on his mind when he walked/rode from there to the city I'm headed for?

In 1897, he was called to settle the dispute of the Magdiwangs and the Magdalos. Both were factions of one group led by the Supremo. But the results of that meeting that sealed his fate was disastrous, a stain that would forever echo down the pages of history. In Naik, in the friar estate house, Bonifacio nulled the results of the elections due to the parties not complying with the rules he himself have set and of the rampant cheating then; with ballots filled up before the elections.

I missed my bus stop, I walked from the welcome arc of Ternate to the Municipality of Maragondon, the streets filled with names and pictures of smiling people wishing for a seat to govern the people. I wonder, did the people of 1897 do the same for that Naik election? Did promises of power and bribes mar then as now the elections of that time? Alas, the whispers of the past are muted slowly.

Maragondon, with its sunny heat and cool winds, led me to the trial hose of Bonifacio; a place away from the city square. 

The house where Bonifacio was court martialed

The doors were open, so I peeked inside, the bronze lion-head knocker stared at me as I did so. The room, dark with wood and metal windows, had flowers from officials and exhibits that explained the life of Bonifacio. I climbed up, with no one interrupting me or any curator leading me. I relished the idea that decades ago he himself climbed these steps and that I am seeing the place where he once stood... this testament to the injustice of our society that reigns up to now. 

The wooden planks, new from how it looked in contrast with the log posts, shone bright with the sun. I peeked at each room, looked at the art and listened to visitors (a couple and their kid) talk and take pictures. The sound of the kids below banging and jumping above a campaign car unison filled the hallow halls of the shrine. The curator, who was sitting in one office, talked to me about how Oriang (the wife of Bonifacio) searched the mountains of Maragondon for her beloved for a month. 

I pitied her, then, seeing her sculpted in a scene of the trial as she listened to her husband being condemned for crimes he did not commit. The curator himself believed that, according to a folk tale, Oriang looked for Bonifacio with a companion. Our talks, of me and the curator, led to him giving me flyers of the Historical Commission and to join their contests and him telling me of how Bonifacio is very much dismissed by most people. I left, taking pics of the house and the politician's car with the kids flashing an FU sign, smiling as if they knew fully well the history of the house they played in.

From there, I walked to the city square and on to the church. Aged by the centuries, it has withstood the fiercest of storms and faced the most interesting stories and intrigues of the citizens of its land. The church was a sentinel, closed as it faced the heat of the sun and faced the old-house and tree-lined roads of the town. 

A National Heritage, the church has undergone a terrible lot of renovations; including the plastering of its bell tower.

The afternoon being hours away, I just loathed the plaster and took pictures of the outside as the heat beat down on me. The whole town had this province feel that most parts of the province has fought to maintain from the jaws of industrialization. Moving on, the door is one of the most admired feature of the wonderful church. 

Beside the church, as in most churches throughout the archipelago, a school owned and managed by the parish stands. It also has this old world charm that is so fragile and so important and yet so frequently destroyed by people I could never understand.

A meal after, I journeyed to the Bonifacio shrine in the mountains. 

And on my way, as unexpected as it is, I found a working well beside the road: with water and plants inside it. Asking around for the directions going to the shrine was not that difficult, what was more tiring was hearing how everyone says that it is too far and that I should ride a motorcycle. I refused the all, knowing by heart that the motorcycle fares are much too high for the average traveler. 

All the asking and walking lead me to this

A long hanging bridge that spanned the whole river! It creaked and swayed as I walked, fueling my fears of it snapping and falling to the waiting river. I even encountered people crossing it, making the whole trip a difficult and dizzying one.

Amid the asking, the hot trails and the nature noises I found my way upwards; to homes and streets that led up the mountains. The roads were cemented, making it more an easy trip to the shrine. I asked almost every one for directions, showing them an invitation with the picture of the monument on the mountain. One person, a woman who sold me a bottle of softdrinks, pointed me to a mountain trail that led to it; it is what they called a shortcut.

The dusty roads, with all its markings, was impassable to cars. A pleasant walk, the trees and the bamboo shoots make it an ideal nature walk for the earth-lover. It was terribly silent, with no one around and with the solitude of Mount Nagpatong acting as my companion. A sweaty distance away was a clearing, with a hut beside it and an old man walking, his bag slung on his back and with dogs following him.

Showing him the invitation, he led me there, telling me that he was the caretaker of the area and that no one was visiting the shrine; the very reason he decided to go home. Pity, I thought, no one even visited where the city remembers the death of him who once rallied the masses to revolt. It was near from there, with an entrance fee of twenty pesos: an act of pity on the cow-shit filled road...

And the Bamboo gates that locked a portion of the trail, which we can quickly just pull out. The guide told me about how little the number of people were visiting the shrine lately, and from the neglect of the roads that lead to it I could clearly see that even the locals don't give much ado over this place.

Metal gates, which he quickly unlocked, closed the last part of the road that led to the shrine. It had two features: The marker-monument and the reception area.

The latter is more neglected than the monument. Mostly unused, there were function halls and offices inside the reception building that faced the monument.

The guide left me to walk there. The monument, known but not that visited, had this massive marble walls and bronze sculptures of the revolution, the life of Bonifacio and his fateful demise in the very mountains that we walked that formed the words BAYANI (Hero) and KKK, which is the shortened version of the society that he and his companions founded.

He stands, his brother dead at his feet, defiant...

Which is in every way contradictory to the stories; the other ones -- with him lying in a hammock before he was brutally killed.

Beyond that, the halls fronting the monument had pools for public use: unused and dirty.

It was a pity the facilities are neglected.

As I left the shrine, among all things, I saw this fire tree. It must be symbolic... but I saw it as a symbol of the men that shed their blood for the nation; the blood that trickled out of Bonifacio's stab wounds years ago on this very mountain.




End of Part One of Supremo: The Maragondon Trip

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