HAVE you seen the movie version of the Inferno? If so, you must have rued the exclusion of some scenes vividly depicted in the Dan Brown novel: six-hour traffic jams, suffocating pollution, crimes and a horrifying sex trade in Manila.
Otherwise, the movie version could have discouraged probinsiyano movie viewers from coming to Manila and becoming part of the problem.
On second thought, we already have had Filipino movies exposing poverty and criminality in Manila. One of them is the award-winning classic Maynila sa Kuko ng Liwanag, directed by the late Lino Brocka.
Having worked as a journalist for 11 years in Metro Manila, I know from personal experience that the scenes in the old Brocka movie mirror realities. A morbid one I personally witnessed while walking on Rizal Avenue, near Galaxy theater. The crime unfolding a few feet away from me was that of a man stabbing another man. The victim, clutching his bloodied chest, managed to run to the front seat of a passing jeep but died before he could be taken to a hospital.
A few years later, while walking out of my office on Ronquillo Street, I met a group of knife-wielding teenagers. To my surprise, they surrounded me. Remembering the Galaxy stabbing incident, I thought the end was near.
“Hindi ‘yan,” one of them shouted, apparently realizing they had mistaken me for someone else. I heaved a sigh of relief when they ran away.
There was a time when I woke up looking for my cash-full wallet. My wife confessed that she had not fished it out of my hanging pants. On later noticing a window wide open, I knew a thief had invaded our apartment in Caloocan City while we were asleep. I appeased myself with the thought that something worse could have happened had we awakened while the thief was at work.
A police officer came. He agreed with me that one of the men living in a squatter area and working for a vulcanizing shop had committed the theft.
I opted to forgive the man and wished that my money had solved his financial problem. He had thin and sickly children with bloated bellies; they obviously needed medical attention.
The second time I lost a wallet was in a moving jeepney when I fell victim to a “laglag barya” gang of pickpockets. Seeing some coins fall, I bended toe pick and pass them to the driver. I found out later that my wallet had disappeared from my back pocket. Apparently, the passenger at my right had deftly pulled it while I was picking coins.
The aforesaid experiences were among the reasons why, in April 1981, I responded to the invitation of the Fajardo couple to come home to Iloilo City to edit their new newspaper, Panay News. How could I refuse? Maria Santillan Fajardo had been a classmate from elementary school to college. Moreover, I figured out Iloilo City would be a safer place to work in.
Ironically, I almost fell victim once more to the laglag barya ruse while riding in a jeepney here in Iloilo City. Somebody dropped coins, but this only prompted me to feel my right back pocket and aborted the attempt of my seatmate to beat me to my wallet.
This Manila boy felt good in learning from experience. (hvego31@gmail.com /PN)
