Commotion Blog

by Justin Gatuslao

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Having served this publication as Associate Editor over the last couple of months I am now considering a demotion.

It has nothing to do with being remiss of my responsibilities or that my commitment to the publication is in question. I guess this writer just wanted to write more and shy away from the possibility of bludgeoning articles, which would have been fun but quite unnecessary in COMMotion. Without a doubt, a demotion to ordinary staff writer will serve my purpose greatly.

Now free of my editorial obligations, I can devote my time and energy to my new-found passion: Travel writing.

Aside from taking me to all sorts of places both wonderful and mundane, travel writing has given me a chance to (re)connect with the city or whatever place in a different light while the stuff of my future memoirs slowly fill my leather-bound portfolio.

Taking hints from the COMMpass articles I edited, my adventures around the metro begun to take shape. The Pasig River Ferry Service, the “Cruise for Juan de la Cruz” I called it, allowed me a glimpse of the metro from its first nautical highway. From the oil depots of Pandacan, Santa Ana’s majestic riverside estates, children and teenagers splashing about naked in the murky waters and the beautiful yet crumbling edifices along the once-fashionable Escolta, the Pasig cruise allows one to reflect on the way things were and hazard a guess on where we are leading towards.

When I was sent to Cubao’s Fiesta Carnival, which was already derelict and abandoned, chills trickled up my neck as the remnants of childhood memories were scattered all over. Rust slowly eating up the mangled steel frames of rides, a clown with holes for eyes and his nose cracked open like the shell of a red egg greeted passers-by as the stench of burnt diesel filled the air.

All around enigmatic Cubao, the mysterious and exotic defies even the keenest of senses. It changes and spins at dizzying speeds, at first an artist’s haven then a bargain center for shoes, furniture and do-it-yourself household fixes, all this as the unusual tide of blue, green, red, yellow and maroon flows in and out accompanied by the thunderous roar of drums.

It is in both examining the different ingredients of each place – the sights, sounds, smells and tastes – and savoring the bigger picture that an exciting gastronomic adventure, literally and figuratively, begins.

Perhaps this provinciano from the sugar baronies of Negros wanted to do more than check grammar, nix articles and clean up copies, he wanted to go places and write about what most jaded residents and natives no longer see – the chaotic beauty of the big city.

So until my next travel assignment, this is not “adios,” it is “hasta luego.”