My first brush with the Spanish alphabet was when I was in Grade II. I was late for admission in my well-known elite English-speaking Grade I school and my parents took the quick and easy way out of the situation by enrolling me in a downtown public school nearest their workplace. That was about the time the Philippines had its first Miss Universe, and I had my first out-of-my-world encounter.

When the time for language class came and I heard all the children rattle off in unison: a, be, ce, che, de, e, ca, jota, i, hache, ge, efe, ele, elle …, I was in delirium tremens. Never heard anything like it before and my ABC accustomed mind could hardly make sense out of what I was hearing. If listening for me was bad enough, asking me to follow suit was pure torment. As far as I’m concerned, it was nothing but alien. My brave young heart had a sudden loss of courage and confidence and I dreaded ever having to go to school.

Happily, my awful fear of the abecedario wore off in time. I began taking an interest in and an appreciation for it the instant we started reading in class. The teacher would pass around newsprint booklets of stories written in the Chavacano vernacular which as you know has its roots in Spanish. I marveled at the stories of Pepe and Pilar and stories about different birds, animals and places.

Unlike in my former private school where a whole set of brand-new books were acquired from the school’s book custodian, one could shop for public school reading materials from the school supplies section of downtown department stores. I spent many noon breaks in these stores browsing for new titles of Chavacano booklets hanging on display like they would comic books. Even if I went back to my private school the next school year, this learning experience, harrowing prelude included, was one I fondly remember.

In those days, both the common spoken language (Chavacano) and the official formal language (English) are taught in public elementary schools. Although, in my experience, I would say, public school’s bent is toward the former. My private school then took to English exclusively as a medium of instruction and communication and would fine students speaking in the vernacular.

To this day, controversy rages as to which language to use and promote in our schools. On one side there are those who push for the use of Filipino as it is part of our national identity, on the other, there are those who support English as a means to gain competitive edge in the increasing global economy, and somewhere in between are those who encourage the use of the mother tongue (dialect one learns at home) and those who undertake to have foreign languages such as Spanish added in the curriculum.

While each has its own merit, the crying need of the time is quality. There is a need to develop the competence and proficiency of the students in the use of any language. The students must have enough skill in one that they can transfer to another. A practical and sensible approach is to start with the first language that one is most familiar with as a bridge to learn a second language.

Use of the mother tongue in pre-school can help kids understand, think better and learn faster, which are essential before we let them master our country’s two official languages: Filipino and English. Foreign languages can come later in high school or college when they are equipped and ready to expand their language arsenal. The insistence of introducing an unfamiliar language at an early age can be counter productive as it can cause confusion that hinders a child’s critical thinking - the sort that turns an otherwise friendly ABC into a menacing Abecedario.

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Why do people take up biking? A lot of good reasons have been given. Those reasons include: environment, economy, exercise, ease and efficiency. This makes me wonder why all the e-words are showing up. Anyway, these reasons hint on what I believe is the one reason - that it is human friendly.

I personally owned bicycles since I was a kid ranging from recreation, utility and race bikes but for a long time after; I took to motor vehicles in commuting to and from work. So when I gave up my salaried job and my visiting youngest brother brought home a mountain bike I wasn’t fit enough to take up cycling again. One attempt to go to the nearby drugstore a kilometer away found me huffing and puffing when I got back. I locked up the bike in the garage where for several months it gathered dust and cobwebs.

Then combating a lousy feeling, I decided to reacquaint myself with the bike. I washed and pad dried it, greased it, and fixed a flat tire. I took many short rides with it to the beach and later pedaled farther up west to scenic coastal and rural villages. Since the day I remounted that bike, I begun to appreciate more and more the countless reasons why many people enjoy biking.

There are of course, obvious health benefits from biking. It does make you feel better and invigorated and can surely drive the blues away. Health experts also say it provides better muscle tone, improves bone mass, good for the cardio-vascular system and therapeutic for the mind and spirit.

Needless to say, it is economical and efficient, won’t badger you with costly insurance and maintenance, washing queues or tight parking space, and won’t give a crap about rising fuel prices. Bicycling is low impact on the environment. It reduces air, water and noise pollution, and greenhouse gas emissions. It won’t cause road kill and maim persons or animals. Not only is a bike environment friendly, it is user friendly too. It is safe for humans to handle and able to perform a useful task for humans. It never complains when an errand needs to be run.

It is a great family and friends activity, a nice way for family bonding, camaraderie, or meeting new friends with a similar interest. Even if you are your sole company, your bike is your steady companion and teacher as you travel the trails together, discovering something wonderful in every unexpected swerve off the road.

It’s closest to the action of walking, it takes you wherever you like to go, whenever you want it, but with increased mobility. It allows you to appreciate more the nuances of the natural and built environment around you - the sky is bluer, the air is fresher and the hillsides are greener. Never does life seem as good as when you are riding your bike, with the warm breeze touching your face and the wind tickling your ears, on your soul-satisfying forays into the countryside.

I have been told about a Zamboangueño cyclist, featured on local TV news who cruised from Mindanao going from city to city and from island to island all the way to Visayas up to Luzon with his bike. How I wish I could go on such a tour of the country. And I just might do it.

So, for all intents and purposes whether health or wealth, sport or transport, endurance or enjoyment; biking is good for humans, truly and wholly human friendly.

Many great cities of the world have taken responsive actions and made strides in promoting healthier and more active bicycle lifestyles. Up on the list of bike friendly cities are many European cities like Amsterdam, Berlin, Barcelona, Paris; US cities such as New York, Chicago, Colorado, Oregon, California; and elsewhere like Ottawa, Tokyo, Beijing, Cape Town and Perth. In the Philippines, Marikina takes pride in being an award winning bicycle friendly city. Other cities like Quezon City, Makati City and Naga City have bicycle lanes too. Of late, Iloilo City is up and moving to construct its own bike roads.

I hope Zamboanga City can improve the situation for bicycles hereabouts, by giving priority to bicycle traffic, bicycle safety and bicycle infrastructures to one day make this city a bicycle friendly city.

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In one of those lazy Sunday mornings, I decided to perk up my day by going on a look-see at the Yakan Weaving Village located on hilly ground alongside the road to the west coast of the city. The sheer blaze of colors, imagery and atmosphere that greeted me there did wonders to brighten up my day.

One of the first things you’ll notice is the jovial and friendly people in this village. You’ll soon find out that each of them is in one way or the other related to one another. They are Yakans, one of the moro tribes people of Mindanao, originally from Basilan who have resettled in this area.

Their houses are simple wooden structures, some noticeably ornate with folk-Islamic designs on their rafters. The fronts of their homes invariably serve as shops for their handcrafted arts and designs ranging from shell inlaid wooden chests, Kris dagger and swords, brass ornaments, shell trinkets and of course, a dazzling array of their famous hand-woven fabrics and their derivative products.

Yakan weaving is awe-inspiring, formed from various patterns like rainbow, python skin, diamond and bamboo reed; rendered in interplay of colors; creating designs that may be similar in basic patterns but each uniquely its own. The Yakans are truly gifted people with a passion for their art, an art that is somehow thriving but caught in the crossroads of the past and the present.

After taking ample shots of their display and shop-hopping from home to home, I got into a casual conversation with one lady shop owner while viewing one of the most intricate cloth pieces on display. I learned that this piece of design is called the “Sinaluan” one of the finest and hardest to weave among their tribe treasures of woven cloths. This cloth is used to make the traditional pants of their menfolk.

I also learned that it is now rarely being done by any of their weavers not only because it is painstaking and arduous but the threads available now are of the slippery texture and no longer of the quality that makes for this fine weaving.

She confided that her mother is one of the very few living artisans who can make this kind of weave and that she herself has not taken the art from her mother. The children of other weavers she knows, from here or in Basilan, have likewise chosen not to continue their parents’ craft in favor of more lucrative jobs in the nation and abroad.

I cringed at the thought that the art that created that beautiful piece of fabric on my hand will one day no longer be available. My sense of regret turned to a longing for the preservation of this art, a wish that this art will be handed down to the next generations. But how do we do that? I’m afraid we are in a dilemma. Yet my hope is, we can find a viable solution while there’s a fighting chance, something that will uphold the proposition that “a stitch in time saves nine”.

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