Invalid Children's Exhibition by Norman St. J. Stevas. A moving and desperate occasion. One of the prize winners, sitting in his chair like a piece of crumpled-up paper thrown into a wastepaper basket, emits regular whoops of (I hope) pleasure. The pride of the parents, teachers and helpers in the achievement of their charges brings tears to the eyes.
Sir Hugh Casson
April 28, 1980
We know this chore. We take a vehicle to somewhere, thinking of a place that is neither the coming from nor the going to. We understand this moment: not being in three places at the same time. Especially poignant when something is happening in that place where the mind lingers. A birth for example, a wedding or a graduation. This afternoon, the latter, that all-important and futile exercise we call "commencing;" and call thus with some taste for the ironic and the fond. This afternoon, a particular batch - pride and bane both, house of my anger and my love - shall be destroyed before the steps of the Umali Theater. This familiar theme of mustard seed and rotting elephant: destruction, else nothing will grow. This afternoon too, after my sister returns from the seamstress, after my brother switches off basketball television, after my other other sister wakes up; I take that singular jeepney ride of at least three places. Despite the first idea of poignancy, there is a situation more notable: when something is happening in more than one of the three places. In more than three places really, so that only the vehicle is thought to hold everything together. Yet, if we do suspect such a center, we suspect wrong. Therefore, despite pride and memory, I attend to more solemn errands this afternoon.