Life of most ordinary Cordilleran or lowlander, however humble his/her station in life, and however insignificant he/she may be, possesses something or other which is worthwhile observing and knowing, and which, if recorded, may give pause for reflection.
Faces of Cordillerans and lowlanders are more various than their fortune, characters and something happening daily to them, which often can be a topic of conversation in domestic circles.
We dwell, for example, taking a public utility ride, be it a jeep, bus or taxi.
For ordinary Cordilleran and lowlander who couldn’t afford to own a private vehicle when going outside the house for some piece of business – be it serious business, monkey business or what’s your business poking into my business – we take a public utility vehicle.
Within that public vehicle, it contains a little society, group of passengers to be exact, brought together by incidents, but foremost of which they rode on that vehicle for an underlying reason: they’re going somewhere else.
That’s what happened to three friends last Sunday morning, who went on a Holy Week trek to Daclan, Tublay, to test whether they still possessed the will to fast (ag-ngilin, in Ilokano) by not eating too much, until Easter Sunday will come.
The three were Cido Gelwa, 63, Baguio resident; Runos Sabillio, 59, lowlander and residing in La Trinidad and their unidentified friend, a suspicios-looking character and barbasan.
Because come Easter Sunday, the three, having done ngilin, hoped they will either gorge themselves with food or disappear from their homes and go gallivant around the city, never mind the consequence.
Speaking about gallivanting and its consequence, the three remembered an instance last year about Dalgo Alketa, a friend of theirs who was then newly married, who wanted to gallivant around Baguio City, come Easter Day. It happened this way:
Dalgo’s wife asked her husband: “What are your plans for Easter?” Dago said, “Same as Jesus.”
Dalgo’s wife arched her eyebrows and questioned, “What do you mean same as Jesus?”
Dalgo responded, “I will disappear on Friday from Baguio and reappear on Monday.”
Dalgo’s wife said, “That’s AWESOME! If you do that I will also do a Mary.” Dalgo shot back, “What do you mean?”
Dalgo’s wife simply said, “Do a Mary by showing up pregnant and untouched by my you, my husband.”
Result? Dalgo stayed home all Easter.
The three rode in a jeep from the city, going to Daclan, Tublay, Benguet. The jeep was full.
The three, in backpacks, have mapped a route that after stopping in Tublay Central, they will hike their way back to La Trinidad, to test their physical stamina and how long they can endure hunger.
They decided on this because it was only Saturdays and Sundays that afford them respite from their daily labors.
They, too, decided they’d only take a loaf of sweet and saliva-causing banana bread to appease pangs of hunger on their trek.
Anyway, they contended, they can always buy something to eat along stores at Tublay if worms in their stomachs yell for food.
But before reaching Daclan, the jeep they were riding was stopped by a passenger lady seated beside Cido who hailed the driver, saying, “Para, manong, ditoy akon.” The driver stopped. She alighted.
Then the driver proceeded towards its destination.
Along the way, the passengers realized the woman who alighted forgot her umbrella. It had fallen and rolled under the passenger seat. One-woman passenger exclaimed, “Ala piman, nabati diyay balasang ti payong na!”
That started the passengers’ conversation on what to do with the forgotten payong.
As the passengers pondered about the umbrella, one of the passengers said, “Alakon a ta iyawid ko dayta payong, nu awan mangkayat mang-ala kanyayo. Sayang met. Isu pay nga usaren dagiti ubbing ko.”
All the passengers agreed to the request of their- co-passenger, nobody contradicting the woman.
The conversation inside the jeep brought the thoughts of the barbasan about umbrellas.
There is this one piece of property, which can be somebody’s property, nobody’s property, everybody’s property or isn’t property at all. And that is the useful umbrella.
You might say that this curious piece of property has become slave to thousands, nay, even millions, of mortals who’d say, “This umbrella is his, or, this umbrella is hers, or, this umbrella is mine, or, whose umbrella is this? May I borrow it?”
Piman met aya, the umbrella or the payong, continually going or flying about in the hands of this person, that person, or downright stolen.
Who among you there can actually say that you have owned an umbrella that have stayed with you for, say, five years or more? That’s the puzzle of the umbrella.
For umbrellas are properties which have no power of sticking to one human being. Somehow, sometime, they just get lost along the way and there you go about it, saying, “Where is it? (Napa nana didyay?)”
Somehow, umbrellas have this very nasty habit of eloping away with another owner. They grow wings and fly off, forgetting you forever. Until someday, somehow a blast from a typhoon will finally wrench it away from the hands of the new owner.
You might just say that umbrellas are like unfaithful lovers, that flit from one lover, este, owner to another lover, este, owner. Righto! Umbrellas are faithless.
The barbasan also remembered another friend (a lady) who, making sure her umbrella will not elope to another lover-owner, had her name engraved on her umbrella.
One month later, the umbrella got tired of her and decided to skip away, by downright losing its way and eventually landing in the hands of a new lover-owner.
Your adventures in life cannot compare with the adventures of umbrellas. Because the adventure of an umbrella can be compared with the adventures of our coins, that go from one hand to another.
The labyrinth adventures through which umbrellas travel can really be astonishing.
You can agree with this barbasan that in the Cordillera, the lowlands, as well as the whole of the Philippines, there are two kinds of mortals: the ones that buy umbrellas and the ones that don’t.
There is no difference among the two, except that those who don’t buy umbrellas often make the mistake of taking away the umbrella of those who buy. Such scenes are often repeated in public places.
During rainy days, you might see someone try to pick up an umbrella in public places where it says, “Put your umbrellas here. “Ti Kaso, another person just behind that someone’s back will yell, “Hoy, manong/manang, payong ko met dayta al-ala-em.”
Then that person will grudgingly murmur to himself/herself, “Bwisit ka, apay dika gumatang payong mo. Payong lang, padasem pay la a sanik-waen!”
Such things have been, and they are but examples of the common wonders that enter into the fates of umbrellas.
When you lose your umbrella in a public place and make inquiry, you will learn that the missing article was taken by somebody and in all probability, it will never come back to you.
And have you ever believed that when you lend your umbrella, the borrower will return it? Maybe, to some yes. But to a majority, umbrellas seem to give them a sickness of amnesia (forgetfulness).
Such is the power of the umbrella that when you ask for your umbrella from the person who borrowed it, the person will laughingly say,” Ay, adda idyay balay. Nalipatak!” See, what an umbrella can do make one forget?
Your umbrella, promised to be returned, will not re-appear, as, indeed, you never expected that it would, for it is not in the nature of many a human to return an umbrella, and that’ the end of it.
So, without your umbrella, as the rain is worse than ever, and without defense against the weather, you yourself will become obliged to become an abductor of another mortal’s umbrella, or borrow one, and forgetting to return it. . .
The barbasan’s thoughts about umbrellas were interrupted when his friends, Cido and Runos, nudged him in the ribs and announced, “O, nakadanon tayo ditoy Daclan. Para, para, apoh.” The jeep squealed to a stop.
The three alighted.
Taking pictures of the scenic scenes in Daclan for more than an hour, the three then decided it was time to trek on foot towards La Trinidad, as their self-promised ngi-lin for the Holy Week and test their stamina to uphold their ngi-lin.
Midway in their trek around past 2 o’clock P.M., near Shilan, clouds above ominously turned thick and the winds murmured uneasily. The three shifted their backpacks and hastened their steps.
But the clouds refused to be denied of their wish. More than ten minutes later, the clouds opened up and dumped their contents earthwards.
Caught in the middle of a flash rain, the three hurried towards a store along the road, for shelter.
They unburdened themselves of their backpacks and groped for their folding umbrellas they stowed. Cido and Runos got their umbrellas out.
But their barbasan friend couldn’t find his folding umbrella. Somehow along their way, the barbasan’s umbrella decided to skip away and elope with another lover-owner.
He raised his arms in a sigh and said, “Oh, well.” He looked skywards pouring its drenching water and somehow heard Mama Nature laughing to him, soothingly saying, “Blessed are those without umbrellas, for they will be blessed with the rain!”