There's unusual activity on Diokno Bridge. Half of the road leading to Mall of Asia is occupied by painters working on their murals. I asked one of the guards what's going on and he said they're preparing for a running event on Sunday morning. It was fascinating to watch the artists demonstrate their virtuosity with various graffiti font styles. I frequent this bridge when I bike my morning loop from CCP to MOA, and the change in scenery came as a surprise. This organized art activity reminded me of the more organic street art I've encountered while biking Metro Manila's streets.
One of my favorite murals, and perhaps the most memorable - is a "Manila" piece found in the walled city. It was only my 2nd day biking with my Brompton, and it was my first unescorted outing, my first time to explore all alone without my husband's guidance and protection. Biking from Manila Cathedral, heading towards San Agustin church, I was just nearing the Catholic Bishops Conference Building, when I saw the artful wall at the corner of the parking lot. I biked in, and stopped to admire how a mural in black and white captured Manila's colors! It showed the music scene, the theater life, the artistic roots that gives Manila its soul. Like strings on a guitar, each section of the city is enumerated - each strand contributing its unique tone to give Manila its distinct sound: Binondo, Ermita, Tondo, Paco, Quiapo, Intramuros, Santa Cruz, Santa Mesa, Malate, Pandacan, Santa Ana, San Andres, Sampaloc, San Miguel... I have many places I need to see! That mural stirred in me a biking dream - to check out each area, one by one - to hear what each has to say about who we are. I whispered a vow to my bike: "we will see all those places dear friend".
I know it is a scary proposition. To go to the parts of the city well-known for grime and crime sounds more like a nightmare, rather than a dream. But the mural right next to my favorite "Manila" piece, helped clarify my vision for my biking future. This mural in shades of grey and blue, featured a mother and child set against a congested cityscape. I could feel the pulse of my busy, unruly, cluttered city - I could sense in the tangled mess of electric wires, the unbridled development and the pervasive poverty in our streets.
I think of Metro Manila as my mother, and I, her child, and how I am nurtured by her love amidst all this. The streets are her arms, and she rocks me to her peculiar beat. In biking, I immerse myself in my mother's rhythm. I can bike alongside jeepneys, and pedicabs, and tricycles, and horse-drawn kalesas - because we are all attuned to our mother's dance. I am on my guard, of course, because anyone of us can lose our step or skip a beat - an accident is always a possibility. But I dive into city traffic the way a toddler jumps into his mother's arms - full of faith, and always, with joy.
The more I bike, the more I find my city's true colors. I am surprised at how much more there is to see. I drive around a lot every day, to bring my kids to and from school, to work, to run errands - but the perspective from a driver's seat is a very limited one. I tend to look up and ahead - and see only strategically positioned billboards, placed precisely to dominate my line of sight. Like a horse with blinders, I only see enough to get me from point A to B, but I see little else.
But with biking comes the precious gift of limitless perspective. I see the road beneath my feet, and notice the patina of manhole covers. I look to my sides and see the pleasant surprise of artwork on city walls. I also see an abundance of poop on the ground, from various species - and I steer clear when the men and women in roadside shanties splash water with their tabo, dustpan or hose, to wash the poop away. I see the bright colors of clothes hanging out to dry, and could smell their laundry soap scent as I bike by. Driving in my airconditioned car, I could have missed all these sights and scents.
I continue to bike because I see so many things above, around, and below... Things that surprise, excite, and inspire me at every turn. Some things I see are depressingly sad, some are remarkably edifying - all of them, equally enlightening.
No comments:
Post a Comment