I have no idea what’s going on in our neck of the woods. We have the ongoing impeachment trial against Vice President Sara Duterte in the capital, class suspensions in towns and cities affected by the ashfall from the eruption of Mt. Kanlaon on the neighboring island of Negros and what appears to be the final nail in the coffin for the Cebu Bus Rapid Transit project in Cebu City.
We got a temporary breather during Alex Eala’s fairy-tale run in this year’s Wimbledon, where she upset the defending champion and the world’s No. 3-ranked player, Iga Swiatek, but it’s unfair to place a whole country’s sense of well-being on the shoulders of such a young girl.
Then I read the news about a local government’s plan to distribute 100 metal detectors to public schools in the city on or before July 20, 2026.
Seriously?
No mention of addressing the classroom shortage, improving the teacher-to-student ratio, increasing the staff’s pay, or buying more supplies to augment the students’ learning. Nada. But because of one isolated school shooting that claimed the lives of three students and injured 20 others in faraway Tacloban City, all the other far more serious concerns have all of a sudden been shelved.
That’s why this week, I refuse to write about politics, social issues, or anything considered “for adults.” I just want to sit back, relax and recite my favorite mantra: “Proud to say I have never put a single drop of alcohol in my mouth. A liter, yes, but a drop? No.”
With that said, let’s go back to my favorite subject. It has been a while since I’ve done this. But let’s look back at what happened on July 10 in history.
Mind you, I didn’t pull the information out of nowhere; I have Britannica.com to thank for it all.
Let’s start, shall we?
Did you know that on this day, back in 1040, legend has it that Lady Godiva rode horseback naked through the village of Coventry to fulfill an agreement with her husband, Leofric, the earl of Mercia (a kingdom in what is now England), to reduce the heavy taxes imposed on their people?
It may not have been “for art’s sake,” but at least her intentions were truly noble.
Can you imagine the spouse of a Filipino politician willingly undergoing such debasement to ease the suffering of the hoi polloi? Don’t answer. It’s a rhetorical question.
Did you know that the first communication satellite to transmit live television signals and telephone conversations across the Atlantic Ocean was also launched on this day in 1962, thereby “inaugurating a new age in electronic communications”?
That I didn’t know because, you see, I wasn’t born yet. I came much, much later. But I do remember the black rotary phone in my grandmother’s house on Urgello St. and how I used to pretend to be a grownup, using a pencil to dial the number.
And since I am waxing nostalgic, the French novelist Marcel Proust, best known for À la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time), a seven-volume novel based on his life, was born on this day in 1871 — the same year that France was forced to hand over Alsace-Lorraine following its defeat in the Franco-Prussian War. Just in case you were looking for context.
Speaking of Proust, I’ve been recalling certain childhood memories out of the blue lately. Perhaps it’s my way of finding sense in all the insanity that is going on around us by seeking refuge in the past. However, I have to be wary of false memories. Trust me, my childhood wasn’t all that perfect, but I was better off than most. Sometimes I tell a story from the past, resolute in thinking that it happened exactly as I recount it, only to be gently reminded that it didn’t happen the way I thought it did. So imagine my surprise. Don’t get me wrong — I don’t mind getting corrected. Anyway, I don’t offend easily.
So before I drift off talking about how simple life was and how great things used to be, did you know that on this day in 2019, the German automaker Volkswagen finally ended production of the Beetle, the first model of which had been introduced in 1938?
The Beetle was a common sight on Cebu’s streets back when I was growing up in the late 1970s. We didn’t have one, but my father drove its cousin, the Volkswagen Brasilia. If my memory serves me right, the car was gold with silver stripes on the side before it was repainted red when we left the country. I learned how to drive in that car during our summer breaks here back in high school. It had no radio and no AC. It often broke down in the middle of the street. But we didn’t panic. One or two of us would get out of the car, get behind it and start pushing. And the engine would miraculously roar back to life.
At least, that’s how I remember it.