AN ORDINARY DAY

An ordinary day in the small city I call home would begin with a struggle winding through the streets and avenues practically appropriated by tricycles, trisikads, bicycles, motorcycles, pedestrians all jockeying for whatever space could be grabbed.

Bacolod City boasts of her wider streets and long broad avenues, but soon this will become more of an eyesore. The wider the streets and sidewalks the more they breed shanties, stalls,  shelters, makeshift dwellings, literally choking up  the walkways.

The drivers in this city have developed a culture of rudeness, road rage, and insensitivity that road courtesy or whatever is left of it has completely vanished. 

How I miss the old days when the town was slow, and sleepy. When people preferred to walk, than ride, pause to chat,  help an old woman cross the street.  

The old days when the streets were deserted and everything stood still because no one dared to blaspheme the venerable siesta. I long for the days when the city was slow to wake, to move, unhurried relishing every moment of passing time.