so called comfort at Sagada - 12/15/08
The bus ride to Sagada was an exercise in meditation. You cannot read anything; there is too much bouncing around but I enjoy the frequent bathroom stops every few hours, one in particular at the local Comfort Room. This facility was very raw. I never sit on the toilet seat; squatting and peeing as fast as I can insures me a good isometric workout. Afterwards, I dip one of the old plastic jugs into a drum of water and flush my waste out. There are several women around, all doing the same; wanting to be liberated from this ridiculous act. The bus ride is long and winding and the small breaks; seeing the town folk, the farmers, the old wrinkled sun drenched women and men coming toward our bus, each with their fruits of labor to sell for small change, beautiful foods, plenty of green all stirs me and engulfs me. It is breathtaking and at the same time painful experiencing this landscape. Some of the small shacks that I see, their homes would not be imaginable to live in and the wretched poverty upsets me. I see a group of laughing young girls mount the stairs of our bus to catch a local ride and one teenager was missing her two front teeth. This stirs an anxiousness in me, a weird disconnect and I keep trying to reassure myself with nagging questioning if this is all okay with me. 
The bus ride to Sagada was an exercise in meditation. You cannot read anything; there is too much bouncing around but I enjoy the frequent bathroom stops every few hours, one in particular at the local Comfort Room. This facility was very raw. I never sit on the toilet seat; squatting and peeing as fast as I can insures me a good isometric workout. Afterwards, I dip one of the old plastic jugs into a drum of water and flush my waste out. There are several women around, all doing the same; wanting to be liberated from this ridiculous act. The bus ride is long and winding and the small breaks; seeing the town folk, the farmers, the old wrinkled sun drenched women and men coming toward our bus, each with their fruits of labor to sell for small change, beautiful foods, plenty of green all stirs me and engulfs me. It is breathtaking and at the same time painful experiencing this landscape. Some of the small shacks that I see, their homes would not be imaginable to live in and the wretched poverty upsets me. I see a group of laughing young girls mount the stairs of our bus to catch a local ride and one teenager was missing her two front teeth. This stirs an anxiousness in me, a weird disconnect and I keep trying to reassure myself with nagging questioning if this is all okay with me. 
1 comment:
i enjoyed your stories from the phillipines.
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