It was a fine February morning. The twenty-second day of that month was filled with bright rays from the tropical sun. A gentle breeze spreads through the horizon. The arid air streams warmly like a jet cruising over the blue skies. Below thick dusts spirals as trucks, jeepneys and tricycles ply their route. From the unpaved roads to the narrow streets, people and machines scrambles to get to their destinations.
Hot and humid. Fair and flank. Dry and damp. The weather is as unpredictable as people’s tempers.
Time ticked so fast oblivious to the slow pace of a second class (medium size) city setting. An idyllic scene landscaped around the nearby rolling hills. A city situated in the land of sugar mills. Everyone seems laid back and devoted to the Roman Catholic teachings and hierarchy.
Precisely Tuesday at about 10:45 am. Many ordinary folks strides the old Spanish-era colonial downtown. With and without purposes they venture to the plaza, the colonnade, the stores. Another tropical day. Business people display their wares. Drivers of jeepeys (with an extended seats in the back) and tricycles roam the narrow corridors. On the fringes outskirts farmers plowed. Sugar planters planted. While others stood by to watch and talk. Most of them seem to enjoy laughing and just simply doing nothing. Many are carefree. Few are employed. Others strive while Majority don’t. . . (To Be Continued)