Malilong Isberto SONA and a Sunday in Cebu City

On an overcast and windy Sunday morning, I woke up to the sound of someone playing a harp. I rushed out of the bedroom to ask the musician to stay longer and to play more music. He obliged.  I also brought my one-year-old baby near him to listen to him play. The baby was enthralled and stayed still as the harpist played. The power of music, I thought.

The harpist was a slight man who looked like he was in his fifties, but that could have been the effect of staying under the sun too long. He said that his name was Paul and that his grandfather taught him not only to play the harp but also to make one. His harp looked rough, battered, and improvised and was slightly taller than he was. It was reddish brown and he claimed that it was that color because it was made of mahogany wood.

In “The Prophet,” Khalil Gibran wrote:  “And if there come the singers and the dancers and the flute players, - buy of their gifts also. For they too are gatherers of fruit and frankincense, and that which they bring, though fashioned of dreams, is raiment and food for your soul.” Paul’s playing reminded me of Christmas as that is usually the time that we have carolers going around the neighborhood.

I paid Paul what I thought was a fair price for the pieces that he played. They were popular classical tunes but I’m not very good with titles and composers so I can’t say for sure. It is a reminder to myself to pay more attention to the commentary when I listen to the radio station that plays classical music.

A minute after Paul the harpist left, I heard cries of “Budbud! Puto!” I rushed out of the house again and called the vendor. It had been a while since I ate budbud. I usually buy a lot from the Salcedo Saturday Market in Makati and put them in the freezer. I microwave one or two pieces and eat it with ripe mangoes when I get homesick and miss Cebu. Until I learn to make them myself, having freshly made budbud is a treat I could only enjoy if I stay in Cebu.

The budbud vendor was a young man in his twenties who dyed his hair light brown. The red plastic tray where he kept his goods was almost empty when he reached my parents’ home. He stuck the folded bills between his fingers and expertly balanced the tray on his knees as he got the change for the budbud we bought. He looked satisfied. His budbud business must have been good that Sunday morning.

Later that day, we decided to attend mass at the Redemptorist Church. As we walked from the parking lot to the church, a barefoot and unkempt man accosted us and demanded that we give him money to buy food. He looked like he was in his twenties, was slightly chubby, and did not appear to be suffering from any disability or ailment. He said that he was not harming anyone or committing any crime. He just wanted our money. His statement felt like a veiled threat, the “or else” if we refused to give him money unsaid.   We kept walking and ignored him. I wondered if I would have been able to do the same had I been alone.

I thought of the three men I met that Sunday and remembered a banner that protesters brought to President Noynoy Aquino’s State of the Nation Address. The protesters asked for inclusive economic growth. The three men seemed to be getting by as part of the underground economy.  Maybe the improved Gross Domestic Product that President Aquino boasted about meant more consumer demand for the harpist’s music and the vendor’s budbud and more alms for the threatening beggar. Even if that were true, things could certainly be better for all of them. 

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