Tuesday, August 14, 2007 Velasco: Party pooper By Diana B. Velasco Grain of salt
IT HAPPENS to all of us; there just are times when everything goes wrong that we have to drastically change our daily routine simply in order to keep up with the rest of the world. That was exactly what happened a few weeks ago. A recent illness in my family necessitated that we relocate to the hospital for three weeks and meant that I needed to take a leave of absence from work.
Between talking to doctors, praying vigilantly during my father's surgery, getting food and supplies, receiving visitors, buying medicine and waking up every two hours to make sure everything was in order, it would not be too dramatic to say that it was an emotionally, physically, and mentally draining time.
Nevertheless, the silver lining did appear. My father was cleared and my entire family was ecstatic to be finally leaving the antiseptic confines of the hospital. We were eager and raring to pick up the things we put on hold for those three weeks. And we were all ready to go back to our home sweet home.
Our first day back at the house started out pleasantly and we were comforted by the familiar surroundings. It took us several hours to get settled and after all the cooking, cleaning and rearranging, I was ready to get some real sleep. It was about nine in the evening when I was finally snuggled in bed with my pillows. Off to dreamland, and finally.
It started out as a low thumping. Suddenly, the silent night was pierced by the screech of an electric guitar. Wonderful, I thought. I was a zombie from sleep deprivation and there was a concert in my neighborhood. Grrrr! The electric guitar was joined by an irritating base line and the singing of a reggae song by a vocalist with horrible enunciation. It turns out that the mall near my house was indeed holding a concert in line for the Kadayawan. I didn't believe it would be so bad. But when the loud ruckus continued until two in the morning, I was livid.
There were "festivities" the next night...and the next. I couldn't sleep. The racket was horrible. What's worse, it was the same band singing the same Bob Marley covers night after night. I called 911, only to be told that they would check on it IF a mobile were available.
Besides, the mall probably had a permit for the event. That may be true, but were they also permitted to pollute the air with horrible noise until 2 a.m.? I wailed at the injustice of it all, and took to stuffing my ears with cotton balls while gnashing my teeth.
I usually write about the Kadayawan with anticipation and excitement. But after realizing that the noise pollution would go on for one more week, I found myself wishing for the time when the annual festival would finally, mercifully be over.
The Kadayawan does not give anybody carte blanche to do whatever the hell they want, especially when these establishments are adjacent to residential areas. If they want to make noise until 2 a.m., couldn't they at least confine them within their parking lot slash party areas?
That way, people can have fun while others can actually get some much-needed rest; everybody is happy.
I have softened up on the issue, though. I have decided against writing a formal complaint upon discovering that the situation is the same in several locations in the city. Besides, it's just for one more week, and I don't want to be a party pooper. I also discovered last night that a parking lot slash party area is actually a good place to let loose and dance.
Yes, I had fun. And my dad is better. So, sige na nga. Have a happy Kadayawan!
(You may email missabsinthe@yahoo.com for your comments and reactions.)
