Friday, January 18, 2008 Obenieta: Some kind of seasonal ode By Myke U. Obenieta So to speak
NOTHING'S harder to hide than one's inner child. It keeps breaking out no matter our best behavior on any given Sunday, no less contrary than an infant's wail or a toddler's who-the-hell-cares prattle on the midst of a homily.
Didn't you hear somebody sing about the world gone wild? No sweat to blame it on the brats who now call the shots, as if power were a piece of toy, a privilege just as disposable as an overnight diaper.
It takes a village to raise a child, affirms an author. But in the book of every Bisdak worth his faith and festival-perfect friskiness it takes a city like Cebu to lift up its voice—-"Pit Señor!"-—and reckon only a child can hold the world.
A small God, we believe, would liberate us from our giant-sized worries. Amen, we say: There's rhythm or choreography in the cosmos that abides against our planet's chaos.
It's a warm January in our soul, suddenly.
It happens when even those behind bars—--out of the bowels of the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center (CPDRC)—--get their toes all tuned up for another terpsichorean offering after their global breakthrough via a YouTube video.
It happens as warring local leaders found a common ground behind their barangay's contingent of dancers. "Sinulog once again showed the unity and strength of the Cebuanos," gloats the city's vice mayor regarding the annual celebration's sway over festering political differences.
Never mind if presidential hopefuls for 2010 are reportedly poised to make a spectacle of themselves in the mardi gras. Babes in the woods of propriety, most of the high and mighty.
Indeed, not only pickpockets and snatchers wade in the swells of opportunity where the throng of the gullible goes.
The Sinulog, despite its undercurrent of religious frenzy, has always stomped its feet in the puddle of childlike abandon. Remember the street carnival several years ago where a bevy of badings flaunts their show-stopping antics, nearly naked atop a Sinulog float?
In the heat of revelry, there's also no stopping the truants along the parade routes, chock-a-block with beer-soused brawls and every pagan-worthy pranks. Look, ma, no tears down cheeks smeared with the bravado of a tattoo.
How tricky when, the morning after the dancing along the celebration of child-like belief amidst blinding costumes and theatrics, it's up to the streetsweepers to see reality check. Or, how far the edge of innocence has been stretched with the dusty remains of their patience.
