Campaign Wife: Wild Ride

It’s the middle of the week, sometime Tuesday or Wednesday, I couldn’t tell right away. I remember telling myself, now that’s odd. There was never a time I didn’t know which day it was.

Ordinarily, days and dates holler out like ringing alarms, you can’t miss it. Rather, you can’t afford to miss it. In the corporate world, particularly in broadcasting, dates and days are the mantle of history as it unfolds and is chronicled. It’s the first thing you shout out over the microphone, “Magandang Martes ng umaga mga kababayan, ngayon ay ika-tatlo ng buwan ng Marso, 2010...” Wow. It’s been a while since I last barked out for the start of another radio day. I have been on leave for almost a year now from my work as newscaster, chief correspondent and radio commentator for ABS-CBN’s news division. My husband is running for Vice President under the Liberal Party in May. The Division requires distance so as not to be perceived as guilty of conflict of interest. I temporarily bid goodbye to deadlines by the day, the hour, the minute even. After more than two decades of knowing exactly what I would be doing the next day according to schedule, plan, and formula, life in this political vortex has been some kind of a major blur. Anything goes, however you want to do it, whenever. Simply said, the target is to win. The deadline is May 10, 2010.

This Tuesday or Wednesday morning is far different. By this time of the day I should be on the road, often burning the tires, catching my daily morning radio show. But instead of being on solid ground, here I was — floating. Literally floating. At 8 a.m. we are on a boat ride to the island of Siquijor. The team is half asleep, reeling from the late hours of a town fiesta in Dumaguete the night before. There was a fashion show of local designers with wedding gowns modeled by the daughters of local high society. Take note, I am never at fashion shows and hardly ever mingle with high society. I either work, or would rather rest. But there I was, and it had to be front row. People had to see me there. It was pleasant for the most part, even as I knew everyone who saw me there had his or her own thought bubble answering the same question: “Why is she here?” Smile and wave, smile and wave, hello-hello, kiss-kiss — what else is an ambassadress to another universe to do? I could not figure how a wedding gown could be in red and black with stuff hanging from both ends of a long horizontal piece of wood on top of the bride’s head — much like a taho vendor balancing his merchandise on his shoulders. But this is art to its creator and this event is main to its constituency. I smile and politely applaud for about 20 designs, some more “abstract” than others. At 10 p.m. the party’s local political officer thought it would be a good idea to start a buzz among the local folk by weaving through hundreds of fiesta guests. I found myself either stepped on or stepping on someone’s foot in the dark. The bright lights of very red, salitre-dyed hotdog, very pink, food-colored popcorn, or very orange, atchuete-tinted barbecued innards lit my face bright enough for someone, possibly very sleepy, to start saying, “Hoy! Diba ikaw si... si... Mel Tiangco?” The smile on my face threatens to melt as my eyes almost turn ice-cold. Someone saves the situation, “Hoy, hinde! Si Rated K ‘yan! Diba ikaw si Kurena? Hoy, nandito si Kurena Chanchis! Si Kurena! Si Kurena!” After about 20 other sorties to different parts of the country you’d think you were used to all that attention, as if you really needed it. But I’m not sure if you ever quite get the hang of it. The band vocalist on stage heard about the small commotion and made sure it turned into a big one. “We would like to welcome Miz Kurena Chanchiz to our town pyestaaah! Welcome Miz Kurenaaaah! Nasaan naman zi Mizter Palingki, our honorable zenator Mar Roxas?” The fiesta crowd goes “Uuuuuyyyy!” Talk of our upcoming wedding was ripe after a thousand stories about it on The Buzz and SNN. Touchdown, my team and I thought. Now, the harder part. Heads turn from the stage almost simultaneously to our little corner lit by the pink popcorn stall. “Pa-picture naman, Kurena, pa-picture, sige na naman last na, isa pa!” After about a thousand or so photos, it should be time to go. Ah, yes, the art of escape. There is no such thing. You literally have to have someone say, “Tama na, okay na...!” and then be bodily snatched from where you stand and pushed towards the vehicle. At one point I remember hiding behind the thick, smelly smoke of burnt laman-loob until the vendor started yelling, “Nandito siya, nandito siyaaaa!” Many times, it feels like how James Bond would probably feel once finally in his car after escaping imminent death — wide eyes, short, deep breaths, disheveled hair and all. The ride back to the hotel should be a short one. That is, except for sudden invitations from your local host to have a late night merienda or cocktail in the “hottest place in town.” At this point, I am torn. I could be sleeping in 10 minutes. Or I could unwind and treat myself to a glass of wine well deserved. Here, I thought, business and pleasure can mix and the diplomat in me prevails. “Where are you off to tomorrow?” my host asks. “I’m not really sure, what day is it today anyway?” I ask back. He laughs at what he thought was a joke. “Anyway, anywhere, whenever, I am ready,” I said to a toast to end the long day.

It is apparent this line has become my battlecry. Whenever discombobulated by the utter lack of structure, the absence of predictability and the anxiety from a virtual upheaval, I rediscover how I’ve most times managed to come out proud dragon slayer. Whatever it is, I’m ready for it. Such have been the scenes in my existence the past year. And now, the home stretch. Just one month more to go.

Jackie Kennedy, wife of then Senator and destined-to-be 35th President of the United States John F. Kennedy, is the original author of a series of columns published and syndicated in 1960 called Campaign Wife. Finding out about it, I have so far failed to get a copy or read a sample of these columns. I thought it best not to read and be influenced by her content. I have a pretty good idea how I’d like to share and relay experiences both from the political field and from the home of a newly-installed, struggling and awkward misis (a.k.a. former Miss Sanchez). I always say that 25 years as a journalist and TV producer had given me the ride of my life. Well, you must know that a year into a political campaign as a newlywed is nothing short of W-I-L-D. The schizophrenia, the small battles lost and won, the inflictions of adjustment, the joy and misery that people can bring, the comedy of playing house and the action-adventure of a full-blown political campaign. You’ve got to live it to believe it. But for the next few columns, I guess you just have to take it from me.