City Girl
“Come! Come see the view of the city from up here,“ Amy shouts from the top of the mound.
“Coming!” I reply with a big smile. I stood there for a moment looking up to her, assessing the small hill of dirt I have to trek. The earth is rich brown with green grass and patches of colorful flowers, and a little path ascending to its peak. Truthfully, I am scared. I am lost. I have no clue how to navigate this small hill of dirt and get to Amy as I had promised.
With a deep breath I begin, putting one foot in front of the other. Yikes! I cry to myself. Ouch! That bush needs to be trimmed. Uh-oh! My feet are getting covered in dirt. I shouldn’t have worn my flip flops. I’m starting to sweat and pant, am I there yet?
“Girl are you ok?” asked Amy as I joined her at the top. “Uh huh,“ I utter in between breaths. “My, my! It truly is a magnificent site,” I remark, diverting Amy from the sad state of myself.
“This is all of Los Angeles. On a clear day you may even see Orange County from here,” Amy proudly says. “Ok,” she sighs, “Let’s get out of here.”
What? I say to myself. But I just got here. Too late. With a hop, skip and a jump, Amy is at ground level. She turns around, looks at my perplexed face as I make a feeble attempt to descend, and busts out laughing. “What?” I ask, holding on to a twig to steady myself. “You are such a city girl!” Amy manages to mutter in between fits of laughter. “You can’t even come down from a heap!”
Yes I am a city girl. I would rather tread the pavement of a shopping mall than walk a trail in the foothills, or climb the apex of a skyscraper in the elevator than hike a hill. When someone suggests pitching a tent, I say, “Pitch a what?”
But before I put an absolute period to my statements, let me explain. I do know what a tent looks like. I have hiked and camped on a mountain once. I just prefer to live in the city with all its amenities than in the raw wilderness.
But when situations call for roughing it up, I can make it through.
1995 was one such year. I was at the right place at the right time. World Youth Day was to be celebrated in Manila that year. That same year, I was also a member of a Catholic organization at the University who was invited to be a part of the World Youth Day Opening choir. I was blessed to be a part of this occasion. Everyone in our organization put in all the time we had, between classes, exams and papers, in our practices. And we sang our hearts out on opening day. It was a wonderful experience, young people from all over the country singing and praying together. I felt the energy and love all through my bones.
This energy snowballed the next day, as we welcomed Pope John Paul II in our country. I was one of the million plus people who lined up the parade route, hoping to get a glimpse of my spiritual leader. I remember walking along Roxas Boulevard with my friends. We all had our little radios by our side, listening for minute by minute accounts of his Holiness’ arrival. Soon the radios were deemed useless, because one could hear the roar of the crowd growing louder as the Pope mobile came closer.
I found myself staring at the backs and heads of the people in front of me. In an instant, the crowd has grown to six people deep. And I was at the end of the line. I couldn’t see the street anymore. I could hear the cheers growing louder. I knew he was near. I had to see the Pope. I did not come here for nothing. I ran up the sidewalk a few feet. No use, I still can’t see anything. I ran back down. Still nothing. I stood in silence for a second and looked up. A tree! I don’t know how, but the next thing I remember, I was sitting on a branch up on the tree, high atop all the people. With one hand holding on for dear life, I had the other hand frantically waving at the man in white inside the Pope mobile. I saw his face and he waved back at me! I felt his love. Tears were streaming down my face, as all my emotions overflowed. I saw the man I admired and he waved back. A moment in my life I will always cherish. Now I know what Zacchaeus must have felt as he climbed that sycamore tree just to see Jesus.
“Coming!” I reply with a big smile. I stood there for a moment looking up to her, assessing the small hill of dirt I have to trek. The earth is rich brown with green grass and patches of colorful flowers, and a little path ascending to its peak. Truthfully, I am scared. I am lost. I have no clue how to navigate this small hill of dirt and get to Amy as I had promised.
With a deep breath I begin, putting one foot in front of the other. Yikes! I cry to myself. Ouch! That bush needs to be trimmed. Uh-oh! My feet are getting covered in dirt. I shouldn’t have worn my flip flops. I’m starting to sweat and pant, am I there yet?
“Girl are you ok?” asked Amy as I joined her at the top. “Uh huh,“ I utter in between breaths. “My, my! It truly is a magnificent site,” I remark, diverting Amy from the sad state of myself.
“This is all of Los Angeles. On a clear day you may even see Orange County from here,” Amy proudly says. “Ok,” she sighs, “Let’s get out of here.”
What? I say to myself. But I just got here. Too late. With a hop, skip and a jump, Amy is at ground level. She turns around, looks at my perplexed face as I make a feeble attempt to descend, and busts out laughing. “What?” I ask, holding on to a twig to steady myself. “You are such a city girl!” Amy manages to mutter in between fits of laughter. “You can’t even come down from a heap!”
Yes I am a city girl. I would rather tread the pavement of a shopping mall than walk a trail in the foothills, or climb the apex of a skyscraper in the elevator than hike a hill. When someone suggests pitching a tent, I say, “Pitch a what?”
But before I put an absolute period to my statements, let me explain. I do know what a tent looks like. I have hiked and camped on a mountain once. I just prefer to live in the city with all its amenities than in the raw wilderness.
But when situations call for roughing it up, I can make it through.
1995 was one such year. I was at the right place at the right time. World Youth Day was to be celebrated in Manila that year. That same year, I was also a member of a Catholic organization at the University who was invited to be a part of the World Youth Day Opening choir. I was blessed to be a part of this occasion. Everyone in our organization put in all the time we had, between classes, exams and papers, in our practices. And we sang our hearts out on opening day. It was a wonderful experience, young people from all over the country singing and praying together. I felt the energy and love all through my bones.
This energy snowballed the next day, as we welcomed Pope John Paul II in our country. I was one of the million plus people who lined up the parade route, hoping to get a glimpse of my spiritual leader. I remember walking along Roxas Boulevard with my friends. We all had our little radios by our side, listening for minute by minute accounts of his Holiness’ arrival. Soon the radios were deemed useless, because one could hear the roar of the crowd growing louder as the Pope mobile came closer.
I found myself staring at the backs and heads of the people in front of me. In an instant, the crowd has grown to six people deep. And I was at the end of the line. I couldn’t see the street anymore. I could hear the cheers growing louder. I knew he was near. I had to see the Pope. I did not come here for nothing. I ran up the sidewalk a few feet. No use, I still can’t see anything. I ran back down. Still nothing. I stood in silence for a second and looked up. A tree! I don’t know how, but the next thing I remember, I was sitting on a branch up on the tree, high atop all the people. With one hand holding on for dear life, I had the other hand frantically waving at the man in white inside the Pope mobile. I saw his face and he waved back at me! I felt his love. Tears were streaming down my face, as all my emotions overflowed. I saw the man I admired and he waved back. A moment in my life I will always cherish. Now I know what Zacchaeus must have felt as he climbed that sycamore tree just to see Jesus.
The city girl climbed a tree for the first time in her life, and made it down whole.
In Memoriam
Pope John Paul II
April 2, 2005
In Memoriam
Pope John Paul II
April 2, 2005
Comments
Post a Comment