By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

EVERY time a classmate travels to the Philippines, we make sure to get together as much as possible. Since three of them were coming in the first quarter of 2025 at different months, we deferred the event three times to wait for another one whom we have not seen for years. In short, I suggested the last Saturday of February, on the 22nd, as one of them will be traveling back to Spain in March.

On February 17, Imelda, the host of the event, asked me when I was going to Baguio.

“Victory Liner is full. We’re looking for the sleeper bus where there is a comfort room. Our reunion coincides with Panagbenga.”

 “I can take any aircon bus going up on February 21. If I can’t get a reservation, I can wait as chance-passenger, or take a bus bound for Dagupan, get off at Urdaneta, and take a connecting bus to Baguio from there.”

 “Hala, it’s different now, kasi Panagbenga. Tried that long ago, we transferred so many times, hahaha!”

In my desire to accommodate the possible arrival of William, I pushed the date as far back in February, when Lily and Primo are still in the Philippines. I was unaware that the date coincided with one of the most attended activities of the Panagbenga Festival (a.k.a. Baguio Flower Festival). In any case, I trusted my luck, got inside the bus as a chance passenger, occupying the front seat, arriving an hour earlier than Imelda who arrived an hour after.

The festival derived its name from the Kankanaey word “panagbenga” meaning “season of blossoming, a time of flowering”. Held in February, it was created in 1996 as a tribute to Baguio’s flower industry and as a way to rise from the devastation caused by the 1990 Luzon earthquake. The 2025 Panagbenga had 43 entries in the Grand Float Parade and 24 entries in the “Rhythm of the Highlands” dance showcase, breaking last year’s record of 34 entries in the float competition. The Baguio City Police Office (BCPO) estimated the crowd at 120,000, which prompted them to keep their megaphones blaring:

“Not all those who watch Panagbenga came to watch the festival. Among you are pickpockets, robbers and lawless elements. Watch out for your cellphones, your bags, your children!”

 Lily and I wilted in the crowd where nothing seemed to move, and no amount of shouting from the police controlled an excited crowd. Lily decided to go home, too exhausted to watch the remaining 23 floats. At the foot of Session Road, I wanted to take a shot at Imee Marcos riding in a float, diverting the attention to herself, defying the prohibition of politicians in the flower festival, but I couldn’t raise my arm to take the shot, my body was “sardined” in the crowd. At that point, all I wanted to do was to fly away, but I am not a butterfly rising from the limitations of a cocoon, I am a desperate human being trying to run for safety, inch by inch, until I saw a small opening and dashed my way out. I successfully wiggled away from the bridge on Magsaysay Avenue and landed in Sunshine, where I bought embutido for my sister Emma, and pancit canton for myself. Suddenly, just when my mobile’s battery was at 1%, a lifeline, Primo called!

“We’re waiting for you at Shell Abanao. We were not able to watch or take photos. The crowd was so thick, let’s just go home!”

I was very tired, my feet refused to budge, but I dragged them up Abanao Street, with my backpack and heavy handbag. I crawled, a wounded worm glimpsing the top, imagining myself a butterfly, hovering over the floats, finding solace in the smell of the flowers.

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