Migs Bassig

Forget what mathematical logic ordered. I wished that 23 –and not 22– came after 21. It was, after all, Michael Jordan’s (or LeBron James’ if you’re a next-generation basketball fan) number that was printed on the piece of cardboard I had taken from the counter of Mercury Drug, and which would then give me the right to face the lipstick-smeared lady by the cashier and order my paracetamol.

But 21 was taking long. Too long. Whoever had taken that number must have been filling a really odd prescription. Maybe a technical problem was holding up the cash registers. Or was it that they were determining what the order was: Simeco, Senecot, or Xenical? They all sounded the same. Whatever the case was, neither my bladder nor my patience could take it anymore. There was no bathroom in sight. The rest of the employees in uniforms all looked busy doing something else. And, based on the snail-like pace at which the drugstore’s transactions were being made, 22 seemed an eternity away. Thus 23 seemed two eternities away.

Priority Numbers. I used to encounter them only whenever I would book and buy a plane ticket out of town.

Now, the system is being applied everywhere – well, not everywhere, but increasingly more prevalent in the Philippines than how it used to be. Sir, Madame, please take a number and we’ll serve you later. Whether I go to a drugstore, a photocopying centre, a computer service shop, an airline ticket office, the Dickensian post office, the barber’s, the savings bank, enrolment at the university, neighbourhood-friendly Bayan Wireless, the local water supplier, or even the blood bank, I’d have to wait in line with a number to hold and a paperback to read. There’s no getting around or ahead of the line, no matter what your name is and how much money you’ve got. In today’s digital age, you see, we’ve turned even ourselves into digits.

Not that I’m against it; the early bird, of course, always deserves to catch the worm. A fantastic justice system! In fact, I am waiting for the day when taxi queues would employ the same scheme. No more long-, smooth-, bare-legged women or wealthy-looking Caucasians with fat wallets for the drivers to give a lift before me. Forget sophistication, eliminate discrimination. Arrive first or wait your turn.

But I am not going to wait to pee in my pants before I am called. No matter if the order is paracetamol or a cross-country trip, “Priority” should just as much be the operative word as “Numbers”. Otherwise, a 23 flashing across the screen will mean nothing at all.

When you walk outside the humid, tranquil streets of Baler in Aurora province, you’ll notice that there aren’t any lampposts. Instead there are only buzzing bees by day, only fluttering fireflies by night. But go further along, past the village verandas and humble tourist inns, to the shores of the nearby sea – then prepare your senses to a whole new world pulsating with life.

You’ll step into a scene that speaks for itself. Waves crashing against the rocky reefs; multi-coloured surfboards resting on brown muscular shoulders; children paddling the waters with their Styro boards; locals, several of them in dreadlocks, dressed in authentic Billabong shirts, Quicksilver board shorts, and Sanuk sandals; rthe long-legged beat of reggae and ska and Red Hot Chili Peppers beating harmoniously with the sound of the waves.

Welcome to one of the best surfing sites in the Philippines. Sabang Beach. 

This was the site of the Longboard Summer Jam, a surfing competition organized by the Aurora Surf Riders Association, Inc. (ASRAI), co-presented by Aloha Board Sports, and co-sponsored by Sanuk Sandals. The three-day event gathered over 200 local surfers –from Baler, La Union, Zambales, and Manila– as well as foreign professionals from Japan and Australia. It was also supported by a formidable network of sponsors that included major industry players like Southpoint Epoxy Surboards, Sticky Bumps, Dakine, Tribu Outdoors, Sector 9, Badfish and Billabong. Throughout the competition, all kinds of vacationing families, sightseers, media, and domestic and foreign tourists were there to beat the heat.

Longboards are substantially more buoyant and easier to balance and propel than the traditional surfboard, enabling riders to increase their chances of catching the waves. “Basically the longboard is a type of surfboard ranging from 8 to 14 feet long,” said event director Tsuyoshi Takahashi. “So we judge the surfers based on their control, their techniques, their speed, positioning, balancing, and of course, their ability to execute maneuvers such as turning and carving.”

There were four divisions of heat in the Summer Jam: Grommets (for younger boys), Wahine / Women’s, Men’s Open, and the Invitational Men’s Open. The last division was well-represented by the country’s top talents, and they performed in front of international competitors like Luke Landrigan of the Billabong San Juan Surf School; Cory Wills, a professional Australian surfer and commercial model; and Marco Villareal, who himself gives surf tours and lessons all over the country. Here, I noticed, the big names were never hesitant to give the young guns some shine.

“Surfing is fast becoming a lifestyle in this country,” said Villareal. “You see a lot of kids eager to learn the sport at such a young age. The Aurora Province LGU has been very supportive, the market is increasing, and global trends are pointing towards greater interest in the sport.”

By global trends, we mean global warming. Climatologists and weather forecasters are saying that ocean levels will continue to rise – and that the waves will only get bigger.

Aside from the competition proper, the Summer Jam side activities highlighted the essence of the surfing culture and lifestyle. Yes, there were mandatory beach volleyball games and night parties. But don’t say “Boo, how Boracay!” just yet. There were also the enlivening celebratory bonfire, palo sebo (greased bamboo climbing), games that raffled off skateboards, and free surfing clinics, all of which serve to show that surfing is –by all means and to each rider, his own– the definition of fun.

“This is why we support regional activities like this,” explained Vangie Chua, Marketing Communications Officer for Sanuk Sandals. “Sanuk, after all, is the Thai word for ‘pursuit of happiness’. We want to embody a lifestyle that is at once outdoor, adventurous and laid-back.”

According to Mooney Castillo, Executive Vice President of Aloha Board Sports, Inc., “There is a culture that follows in surfing, and the Philippine community is very passionate about it. Because our surfers are very talented, we want to fine-tune their skills and support their climb to the international level; this, through our grassroots programs. And the Summer Jam is one of our efforts to do just that.”

Besides the fun to be had, the games to be played, and the trophies to be won is a camaraderie shared by beginners and veterans alike. And it’s as authentic as their Sidewalk Surfers, as passionate as the cheering volume of the Baler crowd.

Throughout the event, I saw that the surfers exchanged glances at their un-tanned ankles – “our trademark,” as they say. And those who own surfboards –be it top-of-the-line or second-hand– care for their possessions like jewelry: cleaning it, washing it, eyeing it meticulously for inspection after a ride. Surfers in their late teens are veterans and those a little younger are considered prodigies. Whatever their ages are, don’t be surprised if upon winning a Sector 9 skateboard or a Southpoint surfboard, one chokes through uncontrollable tears at his thank-you speech. These people know their stuff; more importantly, they value it like a most memorable wave.

Fifteen-year old Wilson Faraon, Aurora’s Grommet defending champion, is one of those who embraces the thrills of a surfer’s life. And he hasn’t forgotten who has helped him along the way. “I’ve only been surfing for a year and a half,” he said. “The local lifeguards were the ones who taught me. And then I was given free surfboards by an Australian named Bruce and a Japanese guy named Kazu. I’ll always remember these people who have helped me.” This just goes to show that in surfing, no player is bigger than the game. (Or is it that no rider is stronger than the wave? But you get my point.)

In a circle with the surfing community, on a stretch of sand, by the crashing waves of the sea and around a heap of woods constantly stoked by glowing embers of fire…I immediately felt I was part of something special. I felt I was part of The New Wave.

Happy father’s day to every father in the Philippines!

You must be quite special to be able to play that role, especially here, given the tough times and extra pressure on family values. You must be carrying such a heavy mantle on your shoulders. You must be more than the “World’s Greatest Dad”: the phrase printed on so many of the gift items that I, thinking of something to get you, have seen here in the mall.

What if I get you a “World’s Greatest Dad” coffee mug? Not that you need one. You start every day earlier than the rest of us, cockerels included. You get up at half five, or six, or half six, or seven, but never later than eight in the morning. To maximize productivity, you usually skip breakfast –but not the Nescafe 3-in-1– and that’s why I wonder how, on that empty stomach, you can brave such rush hour traffic as people outside of the Philippines wouldn’t believe, and I mean really wouldn’t believe. Anyway: no, a coffee mug wouldn’t be a good idea, for you already have a natural wellspring of patience, hard work, and caffeine.

Maybe a “World’s Greatest Dad” picture frame? You don’t have that yet. I noticed that you’ve kept Fujifilm pictures of your sons and daughters in your wallet –as currency for memory– and even though time may crease the edges of these prints and blur its colours, you’d still hold on to them as though these were beer money.

Or a “World’s Greatest Dad” mouse pad might do you even better. That’s a nice little aid for when you work hours at the computer, and know more and understand better the quirks –among them, technology– that make my generation different from yours. A friend of mine says: “So much of later learning is taken up with connections that are still very difficult to express in known languages (in this case, the language of point and click).” Don’t you agree? Fathers may stand as the tower of wisdom but even so, you are open and you listen.

Well, how about a “World’s Greatest Dad” baseball cap? Something to shade you from the severe sun. After all, the climate here has been very disagreeable. Right now it’s hotter than summer, and I am surprised that the heat could be so ferocious at this time of the year. Only the calendar is proof that it’s June. Yet you toil on anyway –driving the jeepney, planting the rice, attending the meetings, taking the live calls, wheeling your patients to the emergency room, whatever it is that you do– so that at the end of the day, you can go home with a promise that no one will go hungry tomorrow.

Perhaps you’ll appreciate instead a “World’s Greatest Dad” fridge magnet. From the shadows of the staircase your children watched you work on an adobo recipe like a piece of cake and make something wonderful out of a can of Ligo Sardines. You’d never utter a word whilst cooking, never sang, never whistled; you’d be lost in concentration, or in a state of prayer, as if in another world, roasting, frying, steaming, dutifully tossing salt and garlic chops into a pot until without warning the telephone rang. Or sometimes it was a neighbour looking to borrow the toolbox. In any case, you’ve taught us the value and intimacy of a home-cooked meal – sprinkled with love and served with affection. Aww.

But I’ve run out of time, typing this, so I guess my Father’s Day gift will be a Swiss Army Knife. One can never go wrong with that.

“I dont want to scare you,” warns Meyan Aclan, 2005 Batch Head of the Philippine Underwater Hockey Confederation (PUHC). “But accidents do happen, as in any sport. If the fins on the heel of your opponent hit you in the face, you’re at the risk of getting your nose broken.

“And when you’re new, you get hurt a lot.”

Mayan is speaking of the same sport described in Wikipedia as a ‘non-contact sport’. She’s speaking of the same game which combines swimming, skin diving, and ice hockey in one; the same water sport bound to explode with its rapidly growing popularity in the metro. She’s speaking of the amazingly intense fitness activity which, in her own words, has “steam literally coming out of my head and a tremendous amount of sweat given off even while in the water.”

Underwater hockey, folks. And it is, literally and figuratively speaking, perhaps the coolest and most breath-taking sport of all.

Meyan is only one of the increasing number of die-hards of underwater hockey in the Philippines. “Octopush”, as the sport is also called in other countries, is a game played at the bottom of the swimming pool by two teams competing to maneuver a 3-lb. rubber-coated lead puck into the opponent’s three-meter, L-shaped metal goal. There is a world of difference between hockey on ice and underwater - aside, of course, from the length of the sticks and the playing field.

Granted, everything will seem to be in slow motion while under a pool. But it is in this very fact where the game’s real challenge lies. No player can hold his or her breath forever, and as such, underwater hockey forces one to constantly rise to the surface of the pool during gameplay. As Meyan asserts, “Timing is very important. You need to know when to be at the bottom of the pool and when to be on the surface. You have to be able to hold your breath, handle the puck, protect it, and think - all at the same time. Of course, it is also essentially a team sport.”

More Filipinos than ever are starting to take notice. PUHC was born sixteen years ago, and now it is fully recognized by the Philippine Olympic Committee and an affiliate of the Philippine Sports Commission. There are also affiliates in Bacolod, Angeles City, and Davao, and games are now being played regularly at the pools in La Salle Greenhills, PhilSports Arena (formerly ULTRA), and the AFP Armypool in Fort Bonifacio.

“It’s for everyone - you don’t even have to be a good swimmer in order to play underwater hockey. You just need to be comfortable in the water,” Meyan notes. “When you start, it’s a little frustrating because your movement can be awkward. But regardless of strength or size or speed, you’ll soon learn to position yourself, adjust with your team, use the fins, and maybe even make the puck fly.”

This learning process is a beauty to behold. As Meyan and her team put on their gear by the ULTRA swimming poolside, the evening grows cold and breezy. But the players brave the eight o’clock chill. As the action commences underneath, one is treated to an aquarium’s view of sorts - athletes turn and flip and move with unbelievable grace. Indeed, the sport is poetry in riveting underwater motion. And this only reflects what’s in store for PUHC members and their shared passion in the next several years.

“Hopefully, with our training - fitness, endurance, and game - we can join the World Championships soon. Filipinos, after all, are blessed with the potential to become very good underwater hockey players. So I wouldn’t be surprised if the sport becomes really big here.”

The rest of the country wouldn’t be, either. And that’s withstanding Wikipedia and broken nose anecdotes.

For more information on underwater hockey and the PUHC, visit the official website at http://www.puhc.com.ph/, or contact Nikki Navarro via phone (0917-8902330).

Have you read any Paul Theroux? One of the American writer’s more recent novels is Kowloon Tong, a story about a forty-something Brit who has lived all his life in Hong Kong, and whose escapades include being “entertained” in dark clubs by a Filipina from Manila named Baby.

Following is a passage from the novel, chosen for its description of Manila:

Luz (Baby’s friend) was from Manila, city of bangers and jitneys. They were single-minded, and credulous, and you could never please them, and that was why a million was meaningless, just funny money.

Here’s another:

He considered this (going to Manila) in an idle way, inventing a life, hypothesizing his moves, from arriving there and meeting someone like Baby, to raising children and perhaps starting a business. He got that far and then became obscurely anxious – was it the children or was it everything he had heard about the Philippines, the danger and dog-eating and disorder?

I do not know what to think. What do you? Mr. Theroux’s image of Manila is not inaccurate, but it certainly isn’t complete. I, for one, have not eaten and will never eat my Japanese Spitz. So I do hope that any one of our realist fictionists would soon offer a magnified glimpse of our city, its sights and sounds: from the enchanted, to the ugly, both the beautiful and the honest. Just like how Lino Brocka depicted old Manila in his films.

By the way, Mr. Theroux kind of looks like Orhan Pamuk, don’t you think?