It was wet weather when we got to New York so we missed going up the Empire State Building now tragically the tallest building here. It would have been too cold and we would not have seen much of anything. Still, looking up from the busy sidewalk, it was a wonderful sight I had not seen before, buildings disappearing into the clouds made it seem as if the world was smaller than it actually might be.
And the famous building enveloped in fog reminded me of King Kong. Like you, I have seen New York before though it is the first time I am here. I had seen it in countless movies. They come quickly to mind as we get to the tourist spots, Times Square, the Madison Square Garden, the George Washington Bridge where they, if memory serves me right, killed Godzilla.
It is, of course, a wonderful experience; something to reassure us that what we know viscerally of the world is actually real. The museums in a sense are really a device to do just that. But there is a gap between reality and our preview of it from books and media. Art suffers always in translation.
The Van Goghs and Duchamps look nice on a book page but it’s a different type of enjoyment entirely when you see them hanging from a wall or rising up from a pedestal lit to perfection. Only in a few cases do they lose their mystique.
And so it is with people and your memories of them. After the Metropolitian Museum of Modern Art, with its awesome collection of Modern and contemporary art; after St. Patrick’s Cathedral with its tall spires, after quite a long walk we came finally to Tina and Jovy’s flat. Tina is a writer and Jovy an artist who had been my co-teachers at UP Cebu College, once, many years ago. In a most romantic twist of fate they got married and moved here to New York where they now have 2 children, Kino and Todge. I am with Jim, Payat and Londong, my siblings and co-travelers.
It was too wet to have outdoor barbecue so they order food from a nearby restaurant. We drink wine and talk about old times. As expected the conversation fades into future plans and possibilities. Perhaps we could return here. Perhaps an exhibit at the Philippine Center would be nice. When will they visit the Philippines? What if they moved to the Hong Kong office?
What is being said may not at all be as important as the fact we are conversing at all. We have, after all, crossed great unimaginable distances to be here and the blank space between now and the last time we met is lost to us forever. But to be here in front of each other is like a painting coming to life from the depths of memory into reality. It is a wonderful feeling. But it works like a mirror. To be in the home of close friends talking with their children cannot help but remind us of home.
Thus, after the ride through the subway in the rush hour, after the ride in that infamous New York yellow cab, after the Guggenheim, which is the temple to Frank Lloyd Wright; and the walk through Central Park on our second day when the weather quite suddenly became bright and sunny; and after coming across a group of our country-persons baby sitting their wards through a karate session at the park; we came finally to missing home.
It is something of a universal feeling in all of us, not exclusive only to the visitor but inclusive also of those we are visiting. In this forest of concrete and glass reaching up to the skies, in this city of art, this city that never sleeps, the big apple where one may possibly get to the top of hill and become king of the heap, what do we do but miss the home-country? We begin counting in units of days.
No comments:
Post a Comment