G Spot

Canal Grande di Venezia

By Virginia J. Pasalo


IN Italy, Canal Grande di Venezia (Grand Canal of Venice) has inspired the creative energies of many, owing to its artistic heritage and history. Juxtaposed against the complexity of the modern times, it remains “the most beautiful road in the world”, the center of popular life not only to the residents but for many artists, poets and writers, representing a constantly changing pattern of elements, concepts and humanity.

Venice, a city in northeastern Italy, “has no roads, just canals – including the Grand Canal thoroughfare – lined with Renaissance and Gothic palaces. The central square, Piazza San Marco, contains St. Mark’s Basilica, which is tiled with Byzantine mosaics, and the Campanile bell tower offering views of the city’s red roofs.” Each year, the 50,000 residents of Venice receive 20 million tourists ferried by boats, not buses.

I think of Venice when I see Dagupan City being cradled by the flood. Perhaps this is because, in the midst of disasters, I tend to imagine the brighter side of possibilities in the worst circumstances. On top of this tendency, the poetry in the madness of its slow transition to usher the conditions it finds itself in, and its efforts to mitigate the impact of the thickness of the mud and the decay that callousness and indifference nurtured over time, I see the beauty of Dagupan’s soul, slowly being polished ironically, by the constant beating of the murky water, that serves as a brew to its own awakening.

Dagupan has always risen. How it rises from drowning would depend on the unselfish, imaginative, long-term vision of a cross-section of its citizens working together, setting aside petty political divisions. For this, Dagupan needs unselfish leaders collectively thinking and acting together, unifying and integrating creative inputs backed by scientific research and experience from institutions and citizens who have surmounted similar challenges around the world.


The body

the remains, remain
waiting for the drain, to drain
the sky weeps, it rains again


The hearse

slowly, it wades
through the murky streets
a debris among debris
kissed by the flowers



the bride marched down
dragging her gown
on a flooded aisle
flashing a smile

the groom wears a frown
as he took her hand
doubting, to swim away
or to drown

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