Monday morning I am in the restaurant by 5 am. Once again everyone is asleep, so I help myself to the coffee. Someone comes in with a paper, and I read it. Rick arrives at 6, and we talk for awhile about the business and what he needs to do after I leave. He thinks he can handle the details without me.
I take a taxi to the airport and I'm off. Once again, I had an uneventful flight. At least, it must have been uneventful because I don't remember it.
I get off the plane in Manila and start walking toward the expressway to catch a bus to my friend Nick's house in Tagayatay.
I have knbown Nick from the internet and phone calls for nearly 3 years, but we have never before met in person. Some old timer mag anak people may remeber him also, he brought his fiance over at the same time I brought Myrna over, in October of 2000. His relationship fell apart as fast as mine did.
So, I am walking down the street where I had tried so hard to have a good time 10 days ago in the karaoke bars. I come to a side street and stop. There is a rickshaw coming toward me and it starts to turn into the side street. On the front of this rickshaw is something that catches my eye. It appears to be a prize belt, the kind given to world class Karate champions. I have seen only one of these before, and I look it over pretty good. Then I look from this to the rider of this rickshaw, and straight into cold dead eyes full of hatred and malice.
He stops in my path, and gets off the rickshaw. I put down my luggage and backpack, and sat them on the curb, then I took 3 steps out into the street to meet him in the midddle. He comes toward me.
He is a small, ageless man, probably around 5' and 100 lbs. He could have been anywhere between 40 and 70 years old. He starts a martial arts kata directed at me. He is very good. I am just good enough to know when I am out classed, and I am badly outclassed now. What immediately goes through my mind is that if he were to attack me my only hope would be to get ahold of him fast and wrestle him to the ground where my weight and sheer strenth woud be to my advantage. I'm sure he had the same thought.
His stlye is one that I have seen before, but it's name and origin elude me. It is a very soft, fluid style, similar to Tia Chi or Judo. A small crowd gathers to watch where this will go. Several cars have stopped in the middle of the street, waiting, watching. He put on quite an impressive demonstaration that lasts for several minutes. I do not take my eyes from his, I do not blink, I do not flinch when he mock jabs and kicks at me, I do not move a muscle other than my eyes following his.
When he stops, I bow to him in my own traditional Goju Ryu style and scream, "ONEGAI SHIMASU!"
Then, he smiles and bows back. Then we both bow in unison, both smiling now. There is no longer hatred in his eyes, but rather now there is respect, humor.
He gets back on the rickshaw, and pedals slowly up the side street. The crowd stands transfixed, as if hypnotized. I put on my backpack, pick up my luggage, and walk on. I do not look back.
