The last time I was in Bacolod, I said good-bye to friends at the old airport. This time around, I am welcomed at the new one.
From there, we drive on a highway surrounded by unending stretches of sugar cane fields. This cool, refreshing place is definitely not Manila.
On second thought, it is Manila—when Tony and I were setting up our first home four decades ago. It is also my little hometown, Umingan, four decades from now. Bacolod is beautifully in place, between urban noise and rural quietude. When we get to the commercial area, I still see the quaint old houses. People are sparse but familiar Manila sights like Jollibee and big malls now populate the place. Modernization is taking place. I hope it doesn’t go too fast and furious.
I missed my deadline for a newspaper column because there is no internet connection in the hostel where I am billeted. Well, the world can wait. I am in the midst of quiet soaking in new friendships with women of faith. I am here to listen to their grace stories and tell my own.
We will be enriched by the exchange.