A quiet spell has gone on through the metro this weekend. Quite surprisingly, the roads are not as traffic-laden as expected; people appear to be more agreeable. There?s a general feeling of solitude mixed with a badly-hidden tension foreboding a great event.
The change of moods has been recognizable of late, and is all too evident in spite of the long holidays of the previous weeks and the expected pre-Christmas madness. Like the telltale signs of an impending outbreak of rabies in a street dog, foam is starting to form in the mouths of an otherwise hospitable, mild-mannered, and apathetic citizenry. But in a good way.
Number one pound-for-pound best boxer, Lineal Champion, Eight-division World Champion, Super Champion, Super Athlete ?the titles and awards that Manny Pacquiao have earned are a triumphant stellar constellation of what an athlete can achieve. More importantly, they are an inspiring and uplifting hymn to what a poor Filipino can attain by sheer grit and determination.
And what makes it better, what makes his tale scintillate, is that the Man before the Myth, while still being a flawed and human, is nonetheless a genuine hero.
On Sunday, he will again strap on the leather and engage in legalized fisticuffs to the mad and delirious cheers of millions of Filipinos. The quiet before the storm felt this week can only be attributed to this coming bout with his only real nemesis for the past few years. For each and every time a fight looms, this trend of quiet yet palpable tension appears days before and not without notice.
Has it really been that bad?
Does it really take a former baker?s assistant, slugging it out and laying out life and limb, to build a sense of nationalism in a malformed social conscience bred by more than 300 years of colonialism and ineptitude?
The Philippines needs a hero. Badly. And only because what and who we have outside the squared circle, pales in comparison and fails most expectations.
We turn to the commoner only because the land owner?s scion, who rode into office on the white horse of his father?s ghost and his mother?s wealth, so meekly takes to his chores and pretends to be the leader he is not. This is one who could have, should have, reunited the country. He, after all, has had all the opportunities: a historic clan, a predisposition for politics, a grand entrance into power, and a wagonload of cash to strong-arm an archipelago into some form of nationalistic pride.
A legislature ready to do his every bidding, 15 million votes, and 500 days later?he hasn?t.
We have to wait every three or four months to gain a form of national unity, and pray that Pacman?s shelf life as a boxer would run forever?if only to afford us something to be proud of.
