Netnet Camomot
ON Monday night, I had to go out of the house and walk a few kilometers to see and take a photo of the supermoon. The view from the house is obstructed by trees—that’s how I’ve acquired this habit of staring at trees once seated in front of the laptop to write this column.
I’ve already told the architect that once the P1,000 needed for the bahay kubo is available, he should include in the design a room with the same view, because I gotta feeling it’s the trees helping me write this column.
Yes, P1,000. We can dream, can’t we? Or should it be, Dream on!
There was a time when my room had another view, when looking out the window would mean staring at another house which morphed into a hotel. And years ago while in another room, the view was a wall.
Those who have travelled all over the world surely remember more rooms with a view which may require reconciling a particular room with a certain view: that was the room where if you look out the window, you would see Central Park. Uh, no, it was the Eiffel Tower. Oh, hmmm, the Twin Towers? Too many memories, not enough brain storage. That’s why the need for photos, that is, if you have the patience to search through many albums filled with travels.
There are people who travel for the sake of ticking off a place from their bucket list. Arrive at Iraq, take a photo of Iraq, leave Iraq, tick it off the bucket list. Arrive at Afghanistan, take a photo of Afghanistan, leave Afghanistan, tick it off the bucket list. Arrive at Aleppo, take a photo of Aleppo, leave Aleppo, tick it off the bucket list.
That’s when the bucket list morphs to the “bakit” list. Bakit?! Why bother to travel if you can’t savor the place.
If you decide to write about the places you visit and email your pieces to a newspaper, you can morph into a journalist because that’s what the latter does—he has no choice but to arrive, gather data, take photos, write, email, leave. Or leave right after gathering data and taking photos, then write and email from a safer place. Unless he chooses to be embedded with one side of a war’s equation—the military or the rebels—which naturally requires staying longer, without leaving for months or years.
An embedded journalist may have no rooms with a view at all as he squeezes himself into trucks, planes, choppers, boats, tanks—tangke de guerra—and sleeps when he has at least a wall to lean on.
That’s why whenever there’s a question on whether a columnist is a journalist, I would be the first to say, No, I’m not. I write from a room with a view. It would be unfair to journalists who have been there, done that with their many years of experience and risking their lives to cover wars, conflicts, raids.
Traveling to the US now in the Donald Trump era may also require the non-journalist to be ready with wars, conflicts, raids. But then, Pinoys are probably ready to face that kind of US, thanks to the last five months with President Rody Duterte. But Duterte doesn’t discriminate—his focus is on drugs. If you’re connected with drugs, better hibernate in Aleppo where he will still find a way to find you anyway.
Trump, on the other hand, has a discriminating… No, not taste. He blurts out statements that may endanger the lives of women, non-whites, LGBTQs. Protests have been ongoing in the US since he was declared as the winner.
Well, I gotta feeling there are club presidents whose reigns have also been met with protests—haha! But a country’s president has more roles and responsibilities, with the possibility of affecting the whole world with his decisions.
Trump will soon have the key to… No, not a beloved’s heart. It’s not a key, but a “biscuit” or card which has the nuclear launch codes, and a “football” or briefcase containing the rest of the tools for a nuclear launch. Talk of having the world’s future in his heart. Let’s see—pronounced as the Spanish word for milk—if that heart agrees with his statements. If it does, que horror!
When the US became stricter with visas after 9/11, travelers said they would rather travel to Mars or even the Moon. Yup, even the supermoon. Still, Pinoys continued to line up for US visas because there’s no place like home. Er, no place like colonial mentality. Er, no place like a room with a view.
If you live in New York, the view is a wall. A wall with its own window framing a naked guy on his way to the bathroom. Talk of the most spontaneous next-door neighbor! Good thing it was late in the evening, his place was dark, I didn’t have my specs on, and staring at the Twin Towers was more entertaining than a guy with no clothes.
Kind of like “The Emperor’s New Clothes”? Nah.
The naked emperor believes he’s wearing new clothes that could not be seen by those “unfit for their positions, stupid, or incompetent,” until a little boy yells, “But he isn’t wearing anything at all!”
The naked guy framed by the window simply wanted to go to the bathroom. He wasn’t pretending to be an emperor.
If Trump turns out to be the 21st century’s reincarnation of the emperor with new clothes, let’s see—pronounced again as the Spanish word for milk—who will yell, “But he isn’t wearing anything at all!”
