Stories of Quirino (one)

The water from the irrigation canal I could see rushing below my feet. I was standing on the steel bars used as cover, and one can see through it for farmers to check the water system. It is a project DAR funded and implemented by the National Irrigation Administration, and we were there to dedicate it to the God, turnover the project to its righful owners, our farmer-beneficiaries. And so I stood there, listening to the pastor pray over the project before the ceremonial ribbon-cutting. I could feel the energy of the water rush, up to my spine. I looked below, through my red shoes, and felt like I would fall in and drown. The feeling is much like when I look down from a glass elevator, there are not just butterflies in my stomach. I think there are a mighty barrage of many more creatures in there all scratching their way up my throat and make me vomit. Cold sweat started to form at the back of my neck, so I gestured towards Leonelle and mouthed, 'maulawak', which means 'I am dizzy' in Ilocano. I tried to calm myself down, thinking I did not want to make a scene. Goodness, an Undersecretary was there in the ceremony, it would look really tacky if I keeled over and fainted.

Leonelle rushed from the audience to my back, together with Manong Bong, our driver. I slowly eased my way down the elevated structure of the irrigation system and sat by an edge of cement somewhere. My world was turning, and I demanded that Leonelle pour water over my head and neck. She was hesitant as my clothes would get wet, but I insisted. I did not want to wash my face, my eyeliner would be messed up. Water trickling from my head and neck made its way to my blouse and my pants, and I probably looked like I was a budding starlet trying to look seductive with the lush mountains and lovely rock formations in Quirino as my background. I asked that they walk me farther than where the action was, to avoid the attention but my staff could not help but check on me. And so all of them gravitated towards me, leaving the important program going on, with fans in their hands to give me air. I remember sitting on the edge of yet another boulder, pushing my two feet against the ground so intensely so I would not lose balance. Manong Bong and Claro, our other office driver, took the pick-up we rode on the way from where it was, nearer to me so I could walk there and be enclosed in aircondition air. I walked towards the pick-up holding on to Manong Bong. I could barely raise my feet up to get in the pick-up. Manong Bong, of course, did not want to push me up: that would mean he would touch my butt, and he was too much of a gentleman to do that. I felt hands on my butt, though, I think it was Nenette's, one of my chiefs. I thought I would be relieved by hugging my travel pillow at the back seat while laying down. Wrong. My world upside down, yet again, and I started to vomit. 

To be continued.