A piece of New York in Laoag (A Repost)

October 2. I am inside a car right now which will bring me, Fr. Joel, Fr. Nars and Lo Dennis to Niagara Falls, Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec City. It is a great time to go up north when leaves start to turn yellow, orange and red. I am a nature-lover, and it has always been my wish to see North America in autumn. Although summer seems fighting to keep itself felt and green is still the dominant color, I’m just glad to be on this road where the beauty of autumn is now written on the trees.

I, together with Fr. Joel, strolled through the streets of Manhattan yesterday, as we did last year. I love New York. What makes the home of the Knicks amazing to me is that, although downtown Manhattan is a jungle of skyscrapers, tall, verdant trees stand majestically along the streets which waves of men and women in suit as well as those trying hard to live a New Yorker’s life traverse every day of rat-race. When I walk amid pairs of maple or elm trees that line busy streets, I feel I am on that spot of the world where I just want to be.

We took the subway to 96th St. to go to Central Park. That street hits the middle of the park. We could have gone as far as 106th St. in the north and stroll all the way down to the southern tip of the park, but because it is so vast a park an hour would never be enough to enjoy it, we decided to go down at 96th. I missed Central Park last year, and I was not going to let this opportunity to enjoy nature in the middle of Manhattan, including the possibility of spotting at least a couple of Hollywood stars, pass me by a second time. And there I was relishing every inch of that American parks system masterpiece. The trees, the ponds, the bridges, the cafes are exactly where they should be. No actor appeared yesterday, but being at Central Park was joy enough. I was just a tourist in New York, but something told me this is paradise for New Yorkers and even for tourists like me, a haven amid the hustle and bustle of exhausting American life so characteristic of the metropolitan northeast. It is an oasis in the desert of what would otherwise be boring buildings. It is the crowning glory of the financial capital of the world, not the New York Stock Exchange Building on Wall Street, nor the Empire State Building, although New York is called the Empire State. New York is not New York without the Central Park. Well, that’s according to me.

I sat beside, well, not too near, a young lady who lay herself on the bench. She was reading a book. Several were just lying on the green carpet. A black man was walking his two dogs. European and Asian tourists, including a Filipino couple based in California, walked past me. A pair of what seemed to me were teen couples were enjoying their walk while chatting. Birds and squirrels had their own ways of relishing their moments. Further away, the big pockets were sipping their whisky, brandy or cognac in the café. Everything was perfect.

What if the space was used to hold more buildings and not the 26,000 trees it now protects? It could have meant more money for the city and the state. But the powers that be, visionaries as they were, opted to dedicate this portion of the land for the creation of a park, thus hallowing it, for by its ponds, on the benches, along its pathways or upon its green spread, the God of creation might be encountered.

And then I suddenly felt the intense desire for a Central Park in my home city of Laoag arrest me. I wanted to see a park, a greenery, a huge garden, in the heart of Laoag where the young and old, the big pockets and those who can hardly make both ends meet, relax and just be themselves, as I was doing.

The space where I am imagining the Central Park could be is presently the site of the Central Elementary School. There are now talks about moving the school to a more conducive location. If the transfer is carried out, I’d be jumping about to see a Central Park there, and not anything else.

It’s autumn in America. The idea of putting a piece of New York in that little space of Laoag may be nothing else but wishful thinking. Be that as it may, I’m still like a leaf holding on to the tree about that wish, praying not to blown away by a heartless, tempestuous wind or to be left taken for granted until it falls. I’m not about to hoist the white flag of surrender. Autumn may turn to winter, when everything would be frozen. But who knows, there are still people somewhere whose hearts aren’t and who share my wish of seeing spring come alive on that space in Laoag.