By Foot or By Bike! One woman's journal on the perils and joys of walking, jogging and biking through Metro Manila…

I once lived in a lavish home, with an address most people would associate with wealth. At the time, I was free from financial stress and just about all material lack. The house had a pool, expensive wood-work, a huge garden, and even a large patio one could relax in. I had everything I ever wanted. But I was also very sheltered and the attitudes of the persons who lived with me, made it a prison sometimes.

So I decided to go exploring and to follow my heart. Lately, in fate’s bid to save me from my ignorance and my lack of a place to stay, a friend invited me to live at her home with her family. Here, life was simple, noisy and…well, unusually comforting. The love of her family and the hearty welcome helped me decide that yes, this will be my new home.

There was no lawn or gate to speak of when one stepped out the front door, only a long stretch of road which connected rows of houses to each other, to the basketball court, and to the local market. It wasn’t the seat of luxury; there had been times when both my friend and I slept on the floor or languished in the unbearable heat during the summer.

People woke up early to go to work or to school. The streets bustled from sunrise ’til sunset, even deep into the night when cock-fights or basketball games were held at the basketball court (which was almost always everyday!). The rowdy audience would keep me awake hours at a time.

Unlike the rhythmic, relaxing progression of activities in my former home, it seemed that everything came and went randomly (and noisily!) in my new abode. Lunch could be eaten at 4 in the afternoon. Dinner at 2AM. Laundry could be started after all the establishments had closed, to end when the sun rose. It all depended on one’s schedule at work, as though life revolved around the workplace and habits of the workers. Perhaps it did. Everybody here lived practically for the moment, hand to mouth. A day without work could mean a day without food.

On a few occasions, I look out of our small balcony and realize a world experienced by more than 98% of the Metro’s population. It is beautifully ugly. It is hard. It just won’t let up. Life seems to close in upon itself to make or break those who live in it. The attitudes here, so very different from my middle class values, could very easily shut me in a box. But I’m made to think that more dangerous boxes are also available to those who are better off.

Amidst all that, both worlds have taught me the joy of widening my horizons and of meeting friends from different walks of life. Most of the people I’ve met are refreshingly down-to-earth, rife with experiences and struggles unknown to me. Come to think of it, I’m probably the one with a large chip on her shoulder.

It’s a rather complicated place for simple living. Right now, it’s my home. This is Barangay Libis, Quezon City. I’ve only been here a few months but my affections are growing for this vibrant, strange and sleepless neighborhood.

Today, I took a walk along the Marikina River.

Arriving at the river’s banks, I was greeted by a riot of smells. My eyes took in a ghostly landscape of light, greenery, and the indelible imprint of humanity: a brown, noiseless river crawling with janitor fish and plastic faura. I’ve heard that it was akin to a cesspool once; I’m glad that today at least fish can still survive. Bridges dig their concrete feet into the riverbed, roads tower over the river surface, men who hunt with airguns and ride on bikes tarry by the river to shoot fish.

Every morning, joggers, bikers and even mothers with their babies take to the banks to exercise and have their fill of the sun.

Suddenly, I felt a strong longing for a river with clear water and unsoiled banks. I wanted to be able to drink from it, swim in it, sit by it and not be grossed out by the flowing debris. Perhaps it was asking for too much, after many decades of abuse and just a few years of rehabilitation. My elder companions were speaking of days when they could see the river bottom or jump into it with glee; I was green with envy. Imagine what that could’ve been like! I wouldn’t have to take a two hour car ride out of Metro Manila to be calmed by nature.

My forefathers made a terrible mistake by poisoning this river. I will be making a terrible mistake by thinking that I, too, will not be made accountable for my apathy or inaction. Someday, my children will be standing on these banks asking the same questions; the only difference may be the answers.

Well, I did find an answer. The city of Marikina first took steps to reviving the river with the Save the Marikina River Program. It started in 1993 with a humble vision and a meager budget. Strong political will has eventually rid Marikina River of its black waters and replaced it with…well, this:

Parks and communities. Biking and jogging trails. Recreational centers. Marikina River is definitely fun. But is it clean? Relative to other rivers in Metro Manila, definitely. Relative to my dreams and desires, no. But that is what drives me to think about what I can do.

Have you ever thought of what you can do for your rivers?