*written by the Edge
1991. Tacloban, Leyte was the farthest place we’d ever been. But there we were, Filoy, Allan and I for the National Secondary Schools Press Conference. Astray, we were awestruck by its people and history. While the place seemed great, the food sucked. But one nasty lunch unexpectedly etched our memories there (and friendship too) in stone.
After getting our fill with silent fury (we actually heard our esophagus cursing), we callously mixed what was left of our food, water and soda in one bowl (partly out of frustration over the scarcity of a decent meal and partly because of our failure to make a dent on the bounty of pretty delegates before us). Without a sound, our little culinary affair rolled like a wordless script (like a Chaplin act). We stirred our potent brew to a boil like cloaked warlocks on a spell. Only our eyes spoke, our thoughts scattered.
Unmindful of the world and the crowd milling about, one after the other we took a swig of the silly concoction with eyes closed like neophyte wine connoisseurs. With one gulp the world suddenly made no sense. Chaos thumped reason. Dumb and foolish, the mushy blend somehow established a distinct fraternity. Funny, but a pact was sealed. And it wasn’t with blood nor tears.
Andres and his buddies forged their pact by drinking their own blood. Let’s give it to them for being bold and fearless. But we have a stronger stomach to forge ours by chugging hog chow.
(Postscript: Deo was also a delegate but wasn’t with us during that fateful meal. However this writer shall consider him a brother pending his day with the hog bowl.)
1991. Tacloban, Leyte was the farthest place we’d ever been. But there we were, Filoy, Allan and I for the National Secondary Schools Press Conference. Astray, we were awestruck by its people and history. While the place seemed great, the food sucked. But one nasty lunch unexpectedly etched our memories there (and friendship too) in stone.
After getting our fill with silent fury (we actually heard our esophagus cursing), we callously mixed what was left of our food, water and soda in one bowl (partly out of frustration over the scarcity of a decent meal and partly because of our failure to make a dent on the bounty of pretty delegates before us). Without a sound, our little culinary affair rolled like a wordless script (like a Chaplin act). We stirred our potent brew to a boil like cloaked warlocks on a spell. Only our eyes spoke, our thoughts scattered.
Unmindful of the world and the crowd milling about, one after the other we took a swig of the silly concoction with eyes closed like neophyte wine connoisseurs. With one gulp the world suddenly made no sense. Chaos thumped reason. Dumb and foolish, the mushy blend somehow established a distinct fraternity. Funny, but a pact was sealed. And it wasn’t with blood nor tears.
Andres and his buddies forged their pact by drinking their own blood. Let’s give it to them for being bold and fearless. But we have a stronger stomach to forge ours by chugging hog chow.
(Postscript: Deo was also a delegate but wasn’t with us during that fateful meal. However this writer shall consider him a brother pending his day with the hog bowl.)
3 comments:
i remembered this one. di nga talaga masarap ang food nun.
excuse na lang sa mga taga Tacloban, Leyte pero yung natikman ko dung chicken soup was THE worst! yung sabaw, lasang tubig na pinagtubugan ng chicken para matanggal ang mga balahibo nya.
may 2 memories pa ako ng NSSPC na yun, nung nagalit si Mr. Santiago sa amin 3 at yung isang pretty manila girl (cherry pie maranan) na nakasama namin nila edge pagto-tour sa leyte. but that's a story worthy of a future post for itself hehe
rawrrrr...
huh!? akala ko, allan ikaw ang sumulat ng blog?
sabi nga sa kanta, inosente lang ang nagtataka hehe
si edge ang sumulat ng piece na to.
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