Rough Groove

In memoriam

How quick time flies. A year ago, I was at home in Makati sleeping when my mobile phone rang. At the end of the line, my mother was crying. My father died that day alone in his room in far away Mumbai, India. He suffered a sudden cardiac arrest.

Those were hard times. Painful times when one tends to remember the past years with ones loved ones. Of regretting things that one would have wanted to say and do and sharing ones dreams and plans but alas! It has come to naught and I just have to say them silently through my dreams, through my prayers.

Cebu Pacific’s onboard eats

When Cebu Pacific started offering flights many years ago, they were known for Chippy (and other junk food snacks) and softdrinks for their free onboard eats and these were all from other Gokongwei products. Later it was just down to highly sugared C2 juice drink. Lately, especially this year which I only noticed, they’ve gone away with their free onboard eats and instead offered these for sale. Just look at the price list from their new Smile magazine (sorry, just took this with my camera phone) at left.

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A new beetle species

I just got a confirmation email from my Italian entomologist friend, Fabio Cassola: the tiger beetle species, shown at left, collected many years ago in Bukidnon (while the rest of the specimens in the forested mountains of Gingoog City in Misamis Oriental) is new to Science! As he wrote in an email before, the nearest relative can be found in the island of Sulawesi in Indonesia which is way too far to be the same species here in the country.

Fabio will describe this species in a scientific journal, date of publication not given, and will name it Calomera cabigasi. Hehehe, another new beetle under my name.

Check out also the gallery page where the above photo can be found with the label Calomera sp. 1 at my salagubang site. Another page, under FEATURES lists some of the cerambycid (longhorn) beetles that I have contributed to Science can be found here.

Infanta flagellant-penitents, 4

Continued from Infanta flagellant-penitents, 3

Break of dawn as the first rays of the sun is piercing the sky and already a throng of curious onlookers have gathered ogling at the spectacle of skirted men with floral hoods flagellating themselves as blood oozes out from rows of neatly lined cuts. Some are leaving the group to walk the streets to the church, bow their heads, kneel and supplicate while others just came from doing that. At a given signal unknown to me, one by one, the men started walking to the other direction following the highway north.

What a scene! The first golden rays of the rising sun touching the earth and grasses and leaves still wet with dew as the flagellants, now a seeming throng, are trudging along a narrow dirt road with the saturated colors of the flowers and green hoods contrasting with the brown skirts and bloodied backs. Their individual panghampas swinging in every direction, unsynchronized but strangely choreographed. A few vehicles and people followed with those in the cars snapping photos.

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Infanta flagellant-penitents, 3

continued from Infanta flagellant-penitents, 2

The click clacking of the panghampas woke me from my slumber. Not that it was deafeningly loud but ironically, it reverberated in my head, faint but eerie, floating above the slight din of occasional tricycles passing by as some of the denizens of Infanta are slowly awakening and preparing already for the coming day, a Good Friday. 0300H, and the cocks are starting to crow like imploring the town to arise even if the sun haven’t yet arisen. But only a few, heeded their call.

The image of the flagellant is something that stays in your mind, searing deep into one’s consciousness, ever present, like an apparition. I can’t just forget the sight: a starless and moonless night, the rather narrow streets illuminated with the yellowish glow of sodium lamps while people, albeit few, are going about their pre-dawn business. Some are tricycle drivers, smoking a few sticks of cigarette while chatting with fellow drivers while some are just lying on the top of their motorcycles, dozing off. The bakery is already well lighted, busy as the first batch of fresh pan de sal is finding its way to the glass display. Farther off the road, much less lighted, a lone figure, skirted with wilted banana leaves and hooded, is slowly trudging, hitting his back and bruising it. The click clacking breaks the silence as the flagellant turns left at a dim corner on his way to the church.

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