It is the divine attribute of the imagination that when the real world is shut out, it can create a world for itself, and with necromantic power, can conjure up glorious shapes and forms, and brilliant visions.- Washington Irving
I like Saturday afternoons because I know this is the help's time off. It means Aling Luring will be writing the requisite letter to her mother in the province, but after that it's movie time at the Cine Rosie.
I patiently wait for her to finish. Are you done yet? I say with a pout. Ay, be patient, she answers with nonchalance. I keep tugging at her skirt until she finally folds and posts the letter. Can we go now? I ask eagerly. Oo! she finally declares.
The cinema is only a few blocks from the house, but we always ride the jeepney. Mummie always gives us an extra ten centavos for fare, so I don't have to sit on Aling Luring's lap.
As we enter the lobby, I stand, open-mouthed, at the larger-than-life scenarios featured on wall posters. I cringe at the sight of a large hairy ape menacing City Hall. He has a distressed damsel in his clutch. I hear in my mind the throbbing music from young pop stars emulating the likes of Amrikan singers. In the dark corners, I can swear that I can detect koboys whose faces shine with savage glee, lying in wait for the Indyans on horses, skittering and neighing.
Once inside, I focus my eyes in the darkness. Presently I see the pretty face of the leading lady of Because Of A Flower. How gently she gazes at her newfound love, both of them caught up in the naive excitement of first love. He whispers to her in a reassuring, trite way.
A half hour into the movie and I am already lost in another world filled with life's intricacies - the shadows peeled back and redeemed by a layer of reality of grownup concerns and foibles.
I squint in befuddlement trying to understand some of the dialogue and the events laid out on the screen. I can gather as much that something sad is happening because not only the characters but Aling Luring and some of the women nearby are crying as well - sighing and discreetly wiping a tear with a flowered hankie or the corner of a rumpled blouse.
But all movies end happily, it seems to me. I know enough that when the music plays, the lovers will hold hands and kiss. That's when I cover my eyes but still manage to look between the space of my fingers, while suppressing a giggle of shy delight.
Th' end. The lights come up. We emerge into the sunburst of the afternoon.
On the way home and some days after, I ruminate on the colors, the images, the words of what I have just seen. I review in my mind the expressive faces, imitate the twitch, speak as in an angry growl, fancy how it is to cry and kiss. I pucker my lips, but no! - too gross.
It is one perfect day that I will keep in a private nook of my mind and relish for many days after.
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