Traffic jam is the new norm in Cebu. This is true not only in Cebu City but also in Consolacion town as we go up north and Carcar as we go down south of the main city.
The traffic situation in the area surrounding SM City Cebu turned every commuter’s day into a nightmare as more people flocked to this side of the city when Ayala Center Cebu temporarily closed its doors for 12 days following the massive fire which hit the neighboring Metro Department Store and Supermarket.
The reopening of Ayala Center Cebu last Thursday had redirected foot and vehicular traffic back to its previous flow. But this does not mean that our traffic woes are over.
I have accepted the fact that solving Cebu’s perennial problem on traffic management will take a long time to address.
As a resident of Liloan town, I encounter this scenario almost every day.
In the interim, I decided to change the way I respond to being stuck in a traffic gridlock. I have learned to cope by reading a book and by writing stories using my phone inside a moving vehicle.
Last week, I decided to stay in the city— and not go home to Liloan — following several deadlines and work-related responsibilities.
For one night, I went around the area which surrounds SM City Cebu and reminisced my days as a young reporter; those times when it was alright to sleep at the newsroom for three straight days to finish a special report; those years when I lived alone in a cramped room in Barangay Lahug; those nights when my body can still manage to wake up early even when I was out partying the night before.
I was 20 when I became a “resident” of Cebu City’s North Reclamation Area (NRA) by virtue of my employment at CDN.
I was then living in Barangay Lahug, which was only one 04L jeepney ride to CDN. In 2007, there were only two iconic landmarks in the area, SM City Cebu and Sungold.
The property, which later became Radisson Blu Cebu, was empty. Rumor has it that it was haunted. From CDN, we could see the building standing tall and silent.
I did not see any ghosts or white lady though. I was told by a businessman, one of my trusted sources, that the only ghost in that building is the memory of the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis which affected businesses and investments.
The jeepney driver said ghosts do not just show themselves to the unworthy ones. I guess, I am unworthy.
In 2007, there was no Bayfront Hotel, no APM Centrale, no Robinsons Galleria Cebu. The areas, where these establishments now stand, were either inhabited by stray grasses or homes to mobile sari-sari stores and makeshift eateries.
The landscape has changed in the last 10 years as more establishments sprouted in the area. I made the observation as I walked from the CDN building to the massage center at APM mall.
It was 9 p.m.
The world was wide awake as people were out on the street waiting for jeepneys and lining up for taxis. There was very little room for people as vehicles of all shapes and sizes invaded the highways.
At the space sandwiched between APM Mall and (I guess what is now called) APM Centrale, there were three groups of youth practicing the Sinulog dance. I paused for five minutes to watch them.
I was the curious onlooker eating a bag of potato chips smiling at the sight of dancing youth. There was so much life in each one of them, so much enthusiasm, so much vigor.
After a 90-minute massage, which had me scolding six Korean men for being disrespectfully loud as others were trying to relax, I walked to my suki pungko-pungko vendor situated on the sidewalk of Juan Luna Avenue extension.
He ran out of onions for the infamous liquid sauce made of vinegar and soy sauce. I told him I am fine with a no-onion sauce.
He warned me that 12-oz softdrinks is now at P15 from P10 because of “balaod sa gobyerno” (government law). I told him I have my bottle of water so he need not worry about me complaining of the five-peso increase.
As I sat down to enjoy my meal of chicharon bulaklak (deep fried pork intestines) and pusô, my fellow diners discussed the impact of the Tax Reform for Acceleration and Inclusion (Train) law to their lives.
The six of them – who circled the white container containing the unhealthy, deep-fried treats – are now exempted from paying taxes. But what about the impending fare increase? What about the woman’s electric bill?
How soon can they feel the change?
By the end of the meal, they agreed that the world is a cruel place to live in, and the only reason why they continue to survive is because of chicharon bulaklak and conversations like the one they just had.
“That is,” one man noted as he stood up, “if the high cholesterol, from all that chicharon bulaklak, won’t kill us.”
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