So many people have been asking me, "Aren't you tired of floods?" Truthfully, I am. But Malabon has a certain charm. And it's my home. The only home I've ever known. You can say it is also my comfort zone. I lived here all my life and my support system is here. I can't imagine living any other place even if there are occasions when flood waters would enter our house. Call me masochist but I find flood-traversing as an indulgent adventure.
I don't think any people can really describe a flood unless that person lives in Malabon. And really, I don't think many people have a fond childhood memory of bathing, swimming and catching tilapia (and torture them later) in a long stretch of flooded streets. I am so used to floods. I think it upped my survival instincts some notches.
But I would want a flood-free Malabon. I dream of that too. I hope that there would be rainy seasons without any flood. I hope that calendars with a record of high tides and low tides wouldn't have any impact on the lives of the people of Malabon. I hope that our leaders would work double time to find the solution to our perennial problem. And that the people of Malabon would do their share in ending their misery (e.g. not to throw garbage anywhere, or not to make the river their own comfort room).
I'm not putting a period on my sentence. Who knows, I might leave Malabon someday. But while I still live here, I'll just savor the experience. Below is one of my past times while riding a pedicab on Malabon's flooded streets... taking pictures with my cellphone.

I never considered myself to be an artist. NEVER. But something in me these past few days made me think of that. I never really tried being an artist. I couldn't draw nor paint decently. When I mean decently, I mean according to society's perception of what is an art piece. But I have colors in my head. Colors that I knew I would want to see on canvas. It was probably serendipity that I needed to go to National Bookstore to buy some props for a work-related video shoot. Then, on impulse, I decided that I wanted to try some painting. I bought an acid free sketch book, a set of oil pastels, brushes and water color pencils. I think it was one of my boldest moves to conquer the fear of scrutiny, of rejection, of ridicule. I wanted the colors in my head to be translated on paper no matter what other people would say. So here they are. A pigment of my artistic self. Five "art pieces" done in a day (with three made just before the break of dawn while my husband and daughter are asleep).

