In the loop

Dubai, UAE — If you’re in the loop, you’re in the loop. If you’re a journalist, you may get sudden invites to media fam trips that take you to strange new places. Possibly at inadvertent times, except that when a window of opportunity opens, you take your chances, in the hope that you won’t be that distant from pressing concerns of the moment.

Indeed, O Momentous Day today! You’ll be back in time for history, be part of the proverbial last two minutes of a cardiac finish — not because you’re unsure of a win, but remain concerned that it’ll be officially recorded.

Your bet isn’t playing before a rival hometown crowd. In fact, a plurality or majority of that crowd is the team’s for the taking. But the officials are another matter. You can’t help suspect them of being in cahoots with the league commissioner, who has an agenda to protect, and/or advance. And so you hope — for the change that in your heart of hearts you know will matter.

“Change that we can believe in.” — So went the battle cry of the Obama camp, as you were reminded by a riveting docu you chose to watch as your first film among many during the nine-hour flight to this desert kingdom.

You marveled at how Barack’s spinmeisters and speechifiers — in sheer earnestness and inspiration buoyed by the very idea of idealism — kept apace with the collective dream and supplied effective rhetoric.

“They said this day would never come. They said our sights were set too high...” Etc. Iambic tetrameter. The prosody and cadence rang and reverberated in the hearts and minds of followers and converts, indeed a global audience of hope for tomorrow. Now you wish that similar memorable refrains could be voiced out soon, in your own homeland.

For now, as you write this, you’re on an apparent junket, off with a DOT team to cover the ATM — that is, Department of Tourism officials and travel industry reps pushing good ol’ RP in the Arabian Travel Market conducted at a humongous Convention Center, one of a myriad of splendid edifices in this showcase of cutting-edge architecture in the Gulf.

Wall-to-wall is the daily sked: Checking out our proud booth with its adjunct Relaxation Zone manned by Wellness Spa attendants who minister to a long queue seeking to avail of 15 minutes of a back massage and maybe a sample Ventosa session in a curtained cubicle; lending support to the four-person Sindaw Philippines Performing Arts Guild that mounts a crowd-drawing half-hour of dance and song daily at the hall’s Culture Zone; sidling over to the Indonesian booth for Kopi Luwak; indulging in the Internet at the Buyers’ Section, so you can keep abreast of fast-breaking developments back home...

Aieee! Faulty flash cards usher in a slew of hair-pulling: Will this Monday’s exercise push through at all? A weeks-old text blast is resuscitated and makes the rounds anew, re Defense Sec. Bert Gonzales taking charge of “Project Full Moon in favor of Villar...” You text friends and relations back that that likely canard about a Korean computer hacker is appreciably outdated. In turn do you pass on the latest speculation, that an Atty. Makalintal may be floating a straw of Palace desperation in opining the inevitability of a polls postponement. Mayhaps joining the gullibility brigade, you say the secret support for MV has been junked in favor of the official Admin candidate, and any deferment may be seen to give Gibo some more momentum.

But the latest survey figures belie even that wild scenario. It’s a pull-away triumph just around the corner, and the primary concern now, before the event of trench warfare should capitulation not come easy, is to ensure that the unity ticket makes it. Mar Roxas has to beat back that seemingly incredible charge mounted by Ladlad’s boy. 

Even far away in a kingdom by the sea, you believe you can continue to do your part. At the convention center’s vast lobby, a large whiteboard has been set up, womanned by a couple of lovelies urging the curious to “Lend a Hand” by choosing from among a set of wooden cutout hands dipped in various colors. You choose yellow, of course, and apply it on the board. Better than that, you pick up a paintbrush and add your candidate’s name to the grand graffiti.

You are not yet done. You take a tour, head for the prime tourist draw that is the 7-star hotel right on the sea, the Burj Al Arab that resembles a dhow’s sail. After marveling at its exterior design, you gulp at the over-the-top amenities of its interiors, inclusive of 22-carat-gold columns that look like fat sausages girding the atrium. Why, this is fantasy land, thus bordering on supreme kitsch, sort of out-Vegasing Vegas. 

But intent on keeping within the loop of your own country’s dreams and hopes for meaningful change, you head for the beach to perform a gesture.

A fortnight ago you were in Calatagan, trying out a prototype yellow kite in the Batangas wind. The weekend following, you joined “Araw ng Dilaw” at the People Power Monument on EDSA corner White Plains Avenue. And there you saw how friends lofted that fluttering symbol against a blue sky. A horde passed you by and demanded to be part of the performance act. You gave away hundreds of Noynoy kites in celebration of a possibly jubilant Maytime.

Now here you are on Jumeirah Beach, with that landmark/seamark marvel of an architectural sail as your backdrop. And you proceed to fly... your Noynoy kite. It is one way you can still be at one with kindred dreamers.

The steady wind from the gulf grabs at the blur of yellow, spins it into a loop until it holds steady. It is a good sign.