A New Year’s Eve fire

There are two reasons why I love staying in my halfway house. One is that it is in the center of things – being situated in Greenhills. I can take in an early appointment in Makati, come home to nap and change, and from there I can go some place else feeling recharged and refreshed.

The other reason I like this halfway house is that it offers a spectacular view of Mt. Arayat in Pampanga on the north (from my bedroom), Mt. Banahaw in Quezon on the south (from the kitchen), Sierra Madre on the east (from another side of the bedroom) and Corregidor and Mt. Samat (with the cross on a clear day) in Bataan on the west (from the living and dining areas). Looking down, you also get a nice view of the municipal cemetery of San Juan.

On New Year’s Eve, it offers a front seat to the colorful fireworks display in Metro Manila – even as far as Cavite. Those nightly pyrotechnics competition last week in Pasay – the one that caused a lot of traffic – I enjoyed just by staying and watching it at home.

In the months before or after the holidays – and especially during summer – I would also know which Metro Manila district was having a fiesta just by monitoring the fireworks displays at night. But on many nights, it’s not just fireworks that I see, but fire – oh those terrible fires that hit every so often the different parts of the metropolis, especially in the congested areas like Manggahan in Quezon City.

That horrible fire that hit Barangay Escopa I saw from my bedroom window in the early hours of Dec. 26 and watched with terror in my eyes as thick black smoke covered part of the dark skies on the cold night. In the silence of my heart I whispered a prayer so that lives may be spared. (I later read in the papers that a mother and her child had died in that fire.) I also worried for our ozone layer that must have been damaged again because of all the smoke that came from the fire.

Actually, even the smoke from all those New Year’s Eve fireworks must have wreaked a lot of havoc on our ozone layer. And it is for this reason that I frown on it, except that how do you fight tradition and superstitious belief? From my end, I just don’t light firecrackers (except when I was in my teens and didn’t know any better) and had never sent fireworks up in the sky because I know it is harmful to the environment and could even hurt, maim or kill other people in the process – just like what we read in the papers year in and year out. My only participation in the annual fireworks display is as a spectator and, yes, I admit that I gasp in awe at the sight of those pyrotechnics show on New Year’s Eve.

And so on New Year’s Eve I make it a point to stay in my halfway house – especially since there are people who drop by not necessarily to partake of my modest media noche, but to watch the fireworks all over Metro Manila. I have to say that it is the safest place to view the pyrotechnics display because the living room has a floor-to-ceiling glass wall this thick to serve as protection and so you won’t get hurt even if the fireworks explode right on the level of your nose. And then you don’t get to inhale the smoke from all over because I see to it that all windows are closed hours before the New Year’s Eve countdown.

Last New Year’s Eve, my guests hardly ate because, as usual, they only came to marvel at the fireworks display, which I have to say wasn’t as spectacular compared to the past few years – blame it on, or rather thanks to the rising cost of fireworks.

By 12:30 a.m., the fireworks display had ended almost completely, except for one or two in the vicinities of San Juan and Mandaluyong. At 12:45, I left the house to bring something to my mother’s house in the Valle Verde area and to drop off a couple of car-less guests along the way.

I made that trip in about 10 minutes or so because I had the road to myself. On the way back, I did what I always do when I get to the top of the Robinsons-Ortigas flyover. I checked my house because from there I can see which light in what room was left on. Well, I had left all the lights on because tradition dictates that you should do that on New Year’s Eve. When I saw that everything was in place, I descended the flyover and drove merrily back home.

When I reached the corner of my street, however, I was surprised to see several fire trucks blocking the road. Immediately I learned from one of the bystanders that it was my building that was on fire, but it was already under control. No, I did not panic because only minutes earlier I saw that my unit was okay and I assumed correctly that my place had been spared.

But I still jumped off my car fast to check if everything was okay and at the building entrance I saw San Juan Mayor JV Ejercito with the nephews of Susan Roces (one of them actor Renzo Cruz).

I thanked Mayor Ejercito and the firemen for the quick response (and also the building security men for having been so alert) and later I discovered that the cause of the fire was due to stray fireworks that had managed to land on the balcony of a 23rd floor unit that had an aircon compressor that quickly burst into flames.

Later, with my neighbor, brilliant lawyer Harry Roque, we checked the unit that had caught fire (I’m withholding the name of the fire victim because he may not want his name in the papers) and we were greeted by water, water – water all over. The sprinkler system in the unit’s living room had set off and bathing in water were the crystal chandelier that was huge enough to be hung at the lobby of the CCP, a large flat TV and several books and DVD and VCD copies.

With water flowing from the 23rd floor, we were worried that the units below would get flooded – and we were right. Water went down all the way to the 15th floor. Since I am on the 36th floor, I didn’t have anything to worry about and so with lawyer Harry Roque’s wife, Mylah, we knocked from unit to unit to warn them about the flooding. Some were not even aware that there had been a fire. Other units didn’t have the owners there because they were either abroad or in Boracay. We tried to protect some units by stuffing old newspapers under the door. I don’t know if that worked, but that was the best we could do at that point.

When I returned to the 23rd floor, the flooding in the corridor had gotten so bad that at one point I felt like I was Jack Dawson trapped in floodwaters inside the doomed Titanic. That thought was easily shaken off my head because I quickly realized that the floodwater I was traversing was only ankle-deep and there was absolutely no way you could mistake me for Leonardo DiCaprio – no, not even on your 15th round of New Year’s Eve vodka.

At 3 a.m., I decided to return to my unit, but not before I was able to reassure a Korean kid staying in the building that everything was okay and that he could return to his 25th floor bi-level home.

When I told friends about the New Year’s Eve fire in the building, I heard a round of I-told-you-so. In the past, people had been telling me that it wasn’t safe for me to be staying in a high-rise building. On the contrary – I shot back. With the sprinkler system efficiently working, the fire was contained only within minutes. Sure there was water damage all over, but that’s not really so bad if you think about it.

If I stayed in my real home, which is a conventional house and lot tucked away somewhere in the suburbs, I would die anyway… of a heart attack – given the traffic and the distance.

No way can I give up this halfway house, which is so conveniently near everything.

Besides, it’s already fully booked for the next New Year’s fireworks display.