It was only such a brief time that we had there in Venice. Though as stunning the city of Venice as it could be in every seasoned traveler's lips, it is indeed a hundredth fold better once you travel down its cobblestone alleys, explore its myriad of canals or browse its centuries-old Venetian apartments.

The beauty of Venice has been visually immortalized numerous times - as far as I've become aware of, in various travel television programs and magazines.

The evoking image of Grand Canal with the Salute Church as backdrop; gondolas gliding over the sparkling emerald water; the numerous stilts sticking out and lined-up by the side of the Grand Canal corralling those idly-docked gondolas. Truly, they depict and represent the stunning uniqueness of the city of Venice that have spell-bounded its visitors throughout the ages.
Saint Mark Square - the place where we emerged from our last phase of strolling, faces Venice's main train hub from a distance, separated only by the Grand Canal itself.

Out here, there seems to be no decline of crowds. A scene that ironically went in agreement with the settling late afternoon sun so hesitant to descend yet out in the horizon. It was a bit overcast and foggy, but the orangey hue of sunlight blanketing a whole expanse of the Square, the Canal, and train terminal subdues a rather gloomy atmosphere. It did not seem to matter anyway, since most of the oblivious crowd were busy clicking the shutter of their cameras to capture the frozen-in-time beauty of the place; we were one of them.

From Saint Mark Square's open court, we continued to lazily stroll along the Grand Canal. At one point we just sat close to the waters and listened to the serene sound of gentle waves - rippled and generated by each passing gondola, lapping and breaking off right before our feet against the concrete wall and affording us even to relax further watching activities in the Canal.

Gazing out from our where we were - the emerging outline of Salute's dome-shaped roof and a series of apartments adjacent to it, was strikingly formed by the settling sun behind them. It reminded me of asymmetrical figures you would see peeking from a kaleidoscope. We stayed a good one hour there.

Although the breeze turned-out colder at the onset of the early evening, that did not diminish the number of people wondering to and fro. I actually thought it was busier than it had been during the daytime we were out.
Heading back to my friend's place for dinner, we again followed those whimsical narrow alleyways cautious not to depend too much on street names, but depended wholly on whatever sort of specific points of interest we've remembered on the way out earlier that afternoon. (to be continued...)

It was a heart-wrenching sight that evening when I saw my cherish pet, a 20-inch dragon fish - or what is commonly known as Asian Arowana - belly-up and lifeless on what has been his rectangular world of 180-gallon aquarium tank I set-up for him. He's Sam.

My relationship with Sam was not as it had been in the beginning. He's a pet I acquired unplan at the start. A young professional Vietnamese in our neighbourhood decided to sell him before moving to the US; being a fish-keeping hobbyist myself, I jumped at the offer.

Sam was impressively agile when he swims. And with his carefully arrayed golden scales don perfectly on his well-projectiled body that shimmer from underwater like metal of some sort, it was enough to slid out of my sleeve my bargaining prowess and persuaded the owner for a deal to take him home. Not that I was totally sold out to Sam’s previous owner sales pitch claim that upon getting Sam he won the lottery twice, but rather, it was because there’s something different in him.

My basement improvement and half-done others were fruition of Sam’s arrival in the house including the tank’s upgrade and countless over-the-phone haggling from other hobbyists to bring Sam a bigger abode, if not decent. And not to mention, my then frequent shopping at pet stores for his rudimentary wellness necessities. Since his arrival, I put on more knowledge of rearing a specimen like Sam such as the ideal water chemistry for his tank, the PH balance, and right temperature, etc. And that is not everything, I spent more time in the basement than before just to be pathetically mesmerized at his enigmatic ways.

As days passed by, the involvement I had with Sam turned out to be a concern since I thought the time I spend with the "affair" may have had been longer than I was with my wife. Eventually, I felt it was becoming a daily onus on my part. So taxing that I had to practically dragged my feet down to the basement to do a water change, to see whether water’s alkalinity was balance, to prepare his meat diet, etc.

I was never more afraid one night when I saw him flipping and gasping for air, his body almost stiff and splayed helplessly down on the floor, gills oozing with blood and smearing throughout the carpet. He jumped himself off of the tank! After putting Sam back in the aquarium, he swan back and forth from one end to the other as if nothing happened and I could only tell after his acrobatic jump-off adventure, he made a self-reflection on himself: “Next time, I’ll see that I don’t go over my boundary! Whew! That was a real thrill, man!”

He’s always been as inquisitive as I expected him to be. For example, when I came face to face with him the first time, he hovers at one spot of the tank and his eyes fixated on me swaggering in his massive fin tail as if to impress me. I knew we’re going to be together at one point in his life.

He was such a delight. I remember him being jolted out mildly (similar to us when we tickled by someone) when I patted his lateral side of the body by the back of my hand. Surprised and annoyed, he would follow me incessantly from end to end of the tank as if wanting to get even to his aggressor, only he was barred by the tank's glass wall.

Once, I was startled in return when he jumped out of water and snatched a chunk of meat from my hand I was about to drop in the tank for him. I ended up laughing while he lap swims back and forth holding his enamored prize meat on his mouth and his caudal fin fanning gracefully as ever - like a kid who wouldn’t want to share his candy and would enticingly run away. He’s never been afraid to go out on a limb, so to speak, just for the sake of his own curiousity and playfulness. I really miss him for that.

And then there was tear in my wife’s eyes, and mine was glazed to the point of being so as I scoop up his lifeless body from the tank; gills protracted, all fins fanned out, and his body almost petrified. I wrapped him with care, placed in the chest freezer overnight, and sent him away to the garbage truck on the following Saturday morning.

He was not too old to leave, but his demise I suspect was from my end. He was just a fish, but the occasional brief time of hard laughing at his antics as well as us to ourselves were precious.

The lesson I learned from him was eye-opening: in life, taking an extra mile to see what you might end up someplace else is worth the effort. And not to worry if you think you’ll be asking for help, Someone will be there to pick you up. Trust me, Sam was - at one time - in the same situation, and so was I.

I loved Sam, my magnificent fish. He was my buddy.

" ...it is where the good-hearted souls flourish, but ill-spirited ones tend to exist; it is where opportunities lie, so are misfortunes; and where glories are given, so are pains. Yet in all these 'splashes' of colourful contrasts, one thing remains unchanged of her children: the (Filipinos) profound sense of forbearance and resiliency."

One of the most famous rock bands in Manila during the 70’s era had this particular song titled after the Philippines capital city. “Manila” tells of a jet-setting lad who’d been to several cities around the world, but at a later stage of his carefree vagabonding still chose to be at the bosom of a place that he truly loves – the city of Manila. The song is a fitting ode to that city and something that I was able to relate to during my recent trip back home.

I left Manila and immigrated to Canada in the late 90’s. My wife always having a more upbeat optimism than myself of starting our married life in Manila grew tired of my reasoning and finally gave me a sullen look on the day I was told by the Canadian embassy that my permanent resident visa was approved. Hers is a clan of family close-by in times of needs; however, I was more adventurous and the fact that I had become tired of seeing big disparity happening in our country’s rich/poor societies – too cliché, but truth to be told: rich gets more and the poor gets less – that was worsened by various political fanfare and scandals. I justified to her my selfish goal and somehow wanted to get this going after all.

“Hon, we have our family here and our house loan was just approved,” says my wife with a hint of painted guilt put on me, she continues, “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

I wanted that question to sink-in and haunt me, and to finally look at her face afterward and say: "I’m staying!"

Still, I became unsympathetically deaf. Part of me wanted to stay, but Canada is a bigger-than-life dream that I didn’t want to ignore. In Canada opportunities are great, a country that inspires any hardworking individual. I was younger and had bag full of dreams and motivation to be successful, I surmised.

There was a bit of bitterness leaving my wife and the city. I didn’t like to just leave behind the warm and uplifting tropical sunlight, the unrelenting fresh shower rain during monsoon season when folks had to, sometimes, wade through a knee-deep flood, nor my childhood memory running around in a hot, dusty, and humid park on my flip-flops.

Fast forward to 2009, after a grueling 14 hours flight from Vancouver to Manila, our aircraft was slowly darting down through thick fluffy white clouds descending shortly to the city I half-heartedly left. It was a trip I made primarily to visit my mother; going places was not really so as I only had one week vacation arranged from my employer.

Though my lingering desire - to see a place and relive the amusement of a six-year old child visiting Luneta park for the first time with cousins on a balmy April 1976 evening playing around several colourfully-painted made-up dinosaurs at children's park, and dining-out with cousins jaw-dropped with thrills at a restaurant whose conversation between patrons and waitresses (they're the most hardworking hearing-impaired workers I've seen) had to be by anything-goes-sign language, and watching roller-skaters on a rink around globe water-fountain - as a child, was simply immense.

After my jet lag subsided the following day, I indicated my wish to my sister that I see the park once again. She happily obliged.

En route to the park, the breeze of a typical Manila that I grew accustomed to at one point in my younger years hinted its presence; white and sweet yet heavy and repugnant. How can I forget the familiar city air with its purity that has long been espoused with the collective breath of smoke of Manila's iconic jeepneys billows its way up to the city skyline so proud and unapologetic?

"Classic!" I thought.

There was a feast building up in my eyes as we passed by along the streets of Manila. The mingling and interlocking play between my memories of Manila years ago and the rolling assortment of displays right before my eyes fell fittingly at each corner of my head, as if they were there all along: the heavily snarled phone lines of PLDT (the national telecommunications company) and Meralco (Manila's electric power provider) hopping haplessly from stoic wooden post to the next, the orphaned puddle of water from underground water line breakage, or even gritty walls in some public places that's somehow had turned out casualty of numerous Philippine elections judging from overlapping oversized posters - torn and discoloured - of local politicians' faces vying for government seat.

The raucous orchestral auditory display of honking, beeping and screeching from public transportation all over was admittedly annoying - where the sun-blanched jeepney barkers, the animated kunduktor with his masterful finger-clipping ability to hold paper bills, and his ever hardworking partner, the driver all seem to be oblivious to the noise, yet needful for an appreciation from someone like me who was equally desiring to be satiated of all these. I closed my eyes momentarily.

This is Manila. A stark contrast to other global city, yet her charm is still so lovingly different. Manila is an artful multi-colour canvas where the posh and the wealthy thrive; but relatively visible are the marginalised individuals of society.

Manila is where the abundance is, but where hunger also freely pins the unfortunate down; it is where the good-hearted souls flourish, but ill-spirited ones tend to exist; it is where opportunities lie, so are misfortunes; and where glories are given, so are pains. Yet in all these 'splashes' of colourful contrasts, one thing remains unchanged of her children: the (Filipinos) profound sense of forbearance and resiliency.

"Tutuy, gising na...malapit na tayo sa Luneta!" my sister whispers as she gently and excitedly shakes me to my shoulder from the backseat and telling me to wake up as we're getting closer to the park. I was never asleep though. Closing my eyes for a moment and letting my free-spirited mind 'tango' with the memory of Manila was only my better way of reconnecting to the city that I long missed, a country that became a part of me. To be continued.

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"...and the cold breeze comes freely into the whole expanse of the room from an open window; the gentle sway of curtains belies its phantom entry. Though cold, I still welcome the breeze`s unsolicited entrance to our private moment." 

The room I entered in is wide with large windows open on the west side. A set of sliding capiz-window fully retracted on both sides. The wide-planked hardwood floor is immaculately glossy though dents and scratches due to its age are apparent in some areas. From the hallway, the occasional sound of footsteps is muffled by the room`s thick wall.

It was almost twilight, and the cold breeze comes freely into the whole expanse of the room from an open window; the gentle sway of curtains belies its phantom entry. Though cold, I still welcome the breeze`s unsolicited entrance to our private moment. Somehow, it masks the repulsiveness of antibiotic and medicine permeating the air inside the whole room, and distills my own mixed and unlearned feelings of the situation.

I sensed it was trying to let me do the right thing.

"Go hug your dad! It is cold; he is cold. Don`t you see?"

I would have hugged my father right away and long enough to know that I love him for he must have been cold and empty. No one was there. Laying in bed with disarrayed assortment of medicine on top of a metal side table at the hospice was my father, all smiling and looking at his youngest son. It seems that forgiveness and calmness has already settled on his spirit.
 
That would be the last time I'd seen him. It's been 22 years since then.

I miss you so much Tatay!

Gumulong-gulong,  kumalabong,
Puson-g sa  patibong nalulong
Tuksong mapagkanlong sumuong
Puso-ng libong* pilit sumabong
Lagablab ng tukso ayaw maparong**
Mapag-udyok na linamnam bumalong
Puso-n-g nakulong doon nahantong
Ubong timyas nagmistulang hibong-rosas
Mapangutyang aliw bumalumbong
Sa mayabong na karimlan patuloy umung-ong


----
*hilo
**maparam