Ube versus mango part 2

LAST Monday, a little birdie told me that a friend is now wearing the ube shirt.

A Cagayanon who’s aware of the political climate in Cagayan de Oro of course knows that ube refers to the violet political party, and that there are only two parties in the city: violet and yellow. Unless the orange party will have a belated realization they won’t end up meeting with fellow cabinet members in 2016 and therefore should better join the local fray and run for city mayor, too.

Violet and yellow are two colors that can work together. They even look yummy when served together as ube and mango ice cream. I used to order that way back when, during our college days in Manila. The dorm had a suki sorbetero who would wait right outside the main door after dinner, always assured that dormitorianas would buy ice cream as dessert after the usually blah menu that the dorm’s chefs, er, cooks could whip up with the malnourished ingredients that the nuns were willing to buy.

We could afford to have dinner out at the start of the month when the allowance was still alive and kicking, but once the end of the month was around the corner with an allowance reduced to its last centavo, we had no choice but to eat dinner at the dorm. Orange, however, doesn’t go with ube and mango ice cream. I’ve not even tasted an orange ice cream yet. Have you?
Anyway, yesterday morning, the morning after hearing the news about the friend who’s now supposedly wearing an ube shirt, I went out walking.

Another friend has been advising me to go back to walking again especially in the last few weeks whenever I’d tell him about all the sh*t I was going through. I was having sleepless nights while working on something I really hated, and he became the shock absorber of my woes. Good thing he’s gifted with the most positive outlook in life, the sort who always looks at the bright side, and his advice somehow kept me going.

But walking after a sleepless night? How could I walk after sleeping at 6:30 am and waking up at 8 am to answer a phone call from the resto about my reservation?

It was the news on the friend’s jumping to the other side that finally made me walk again in this village of early-morning exercisers.

I didn’t call her last Monday because I wanted to free my mind from anything after September 5. All I wanted to do on Monday was to buy groceries. Please, no chika, especially political chika.

But yesterday, after the walk, while having breakfast, I finally asked her. And the answer was, No. No jumping, for she was never in the yellow party and she’s willing to help anyone worth helping.

This was the friend who at the last minute decided to say no to the yellow party in 2013. I was in Manila then, and I kept telling her, Say yes na! Go! If only I could yell that to her face then. Hehe. But I was many kilometers away. Besides, who was I to force her to say yes? It’s her and her family’s decision. As always.

It’s easy to group all politicians into one and accuse them as pareha ra na sila tanan. And the “pareha” of course means they’re all corrupt. The only thing that can make a politician’s corruption acceptable is when he’s able to share the loot with his people. No, not his constituents. People. The people who are loyal to him–politicians, department heads, employees, etc. That could be the reason why this one particular former CDO mayor still has loyalists willing to prop him up no matter what. If he wins in 2016, it’s back to… hmmm… back to what? Can you even imagine going back to that?

The yellow party has had its chance and it should avoid turning that into wa-chance. One of the questions it’s expected to face is this, Where are the fountainheads? The fountainheads of Gaston Park, that is.

Ayn Rand’s “The Fountainhead” happens to be my most favorite book so, hmmm, I can relate? If only we could advise our friends to never join politics, then this world will be a better place. But join they must in one way or another for it’s a calling I guess.

One may run for city councilor. Another is definitely running for congressman–finally, it’s about time!––after staying in the background for far too long. If they both end up in the same political party, at least there won’t be any awkward moment for the berks. They may be in the party whose color I’ve stopped wearing since after Sendong, but still, I’m voting for them. Does that make me balimbing? Well, I don’t see the political color but the person wearing that color. So, that does not make me balimbing. They both know where my heart is. As I was saying… Oh, do I have to repeat what I wrote earlier?

There’s that potential candidate whose yes any political party would always want to have. He’s the influential Cagayanon with the right connections that can make the world go round. Or crazy. Depending on which side he’s on. His resources are not limited to money, and he’s not the kind who flaunts those resources. The party that woos him to their side is aware of this and lucky is the party that’s able to convince him to join them. But once he’s with them, that party should take care not to even allow him to think that the grass is greener on the other side. Lesson learned for the political party that the potential candidate will leave behind.

Meanwhile, feast on all kinds of ice cream, don’t limit yourself to ube, mango and orange. Open your eyes to all the possibilities. Hey, you can even run under your own political color. Strawberry ice cream, anyone?