Piy Margal

Floods are not uncommon in where I live. As a kid, the mere sight of roads submerged in knee-deep waters thrilled me, especially when the jeep I was riding would have to wade across its murky depths. When a heavy downpour threatened to overwhelm our house in Santa Mesa with brackish water overflowing from a nearby kanal, expect the elders at home scrambling to stack the cushions found around the sala and the kitchen on top of one another upstairs. Meanwhile, we kids would sneak out of the house on our boots or slippers to waddle and dash across the baha as its waves splashed against walls and passing people obviously upset for being hit most likely, by fecal materials floating in those waters.

Back then, we never realized how gross our activities were. And to think, I used to sail my toy boats in a flooded basketball court in our neighborhood.

Two decades later, the sight of muddy water overflowing from manholes and open canals, or cascading from a higher place to the catch basin below still thrills me. This time however, the thrill doesn't come from the thought that I could waddle across knee-deep floodwaters again, but from the thrill of leaving the scene without having to walk on those waters that used to be my monsoon playground.

All for the things that is holy, it is never my dream to get sick just because a rat piss entered the pores of my skin.

There was a brief downpour in parts of Quezon City and Manila this afternoon. Fortunately, I was already inside the FX going to Philcoa when rains began to fall somewhere in UN Avenue. However, realizing that we have to pass Espana in order to get to Quezon Avenue; and knowing how notorious Espana is for being submerged even in the slightest of drizzles. I knew I would be in deep trouble.

And thigh-deep trouble it was.


A few steps away from Blumentritt, the FX began to jerk as if its engines would go kaput.

Not now Lord... Not now.

"Pasensya na po pero mukhang titirikan tayo sa gitna ng daan. Konting unawa na lang po pero meron sa ating kailangang bumaba at magtulak."

Not in this flood please. I don't wanna die!!! This is the first time this week that I wore my slightly new leather shoes. I still have to find a new sponsor to buy me a new one if I have to dip it in these waters.

"Sigurado kayo manong, kailangan naming bumaba?" Asked one of the passengers behind the driver.

"Nakikita niyo naman, dumudulas na ang transmission ng sasakyan?" No, I cannot see how the transmission slips. I don't even know where the transmission is.

"Paano yung binayad namin, ibig sabihin eh hindi kami makakauwi?" Asked a female passenger seated in the trunk seat.

"Ano hong magagawa natin eh sa talagang ayaw na umandar ng sasakyan." The driver was insistent that there's a problem with his vehicle.

"Manong naman, Philcoa pa ako! Wala pa tayo sa Rotonda eh masyado na akong lugi niyan!" I finally butted in.

The argument went on for a few minutes with the driver blaming the traffic, his jerky FX, his operator and even Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo for the floodwaters. Had he mentioned Global Warming as the bane of our suffering, I would clutch the door handle and walk out of the vehicle for being well-informed of manong driver about global issues.

And then there was silence. Manong driver made another attempt to wade his vehicle across the knee-deep black waters. This time he succeeded.

The story ends with me asking the driver to stop the FX just behind PLDT Tower in Espana. He made a wrong turn and instead of finding his way to Mayon Street, we emerged on a one-way road that leads back to Blumentritt.

No way will I ever let myself come close to those virus-infested waters again.

For his efforts, I never asked manong driver for a refund. It was enough that he sacrificed his engines just for us to be spared from pushing the FX, as waves upon waves of floodwaters hit our legs.


I left Malate at around 2:30. Classes begin at 4 in the afternoon and I arrived in Diliman 15 minutes before 5.