Salagubang Helicopters

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

WE finally met for the first time after the lockdown at Matzzip Korean Restaurant beside what used to be Mr. Park’s Bread And Cake, which closed like most of the small cafes at Timog Avenue. Not only are most restaurants closed at Timog, but also along Mother Ignacia Avenue. Fe Mangahas and I used to see each other regularly for lunch on Tuesdays, before we watch a marathon of movies at either The Gateway Mall or the Fisher Mall.   At the Gateway Mall, we would move around the Penthouse where the work of Filipino painters and artists are on permanent exhibit. At the Fisher Mall, we would order half a kilo of Elar’s Lechon and bring it to Pancake House where we eat it with molo soup, banana pancakes and brewed coffee while discussing future writing projects. That was our normal itinerary, before the quarantine.

The moment we saw each other, she lit up like a little girl. She was carrying a book, her gift for my birthday with a huge greeting card. It was the first time in a long time that I received such a big card, larger than the book she carried, a book entitled, “How to Make a Salagubang Helicopter & other poems” by Jim Pascual Agustin.

“Nag-effort ako, I walked from Victoria Towers to Fisher Mall to get you a poetry book you will like!”

“Thank you, basahin nga natin.” (Thank you, let’s read it.)

“Di tayo nagkita nung birthday mo kasi lockdown. Akin na muna yan, kunyari, ngayon yung birthday mo, susulatan ko ng dedication”. (We didn’t see each other on your birthday because of the lockdown. Give me the card, let’s pretend that today is your birthday and I am going to write a dedication.)

In it, she wrote: 30 April 2020 Dearest Gie, Hope your day is nothing short of beautiful. Much love, Fe,

For years, Fe and her husband Roger (Rogelio G. Mangahas) always invited me to lunch or dinner in celebration of his birthday (May 9), and to treat me in advance for my birthday (May 13). The lockdown must have switched the dates in Fe’s memory because she called to greet me on April 30, the same date that she wrote in the card. Perhaps that was my cosmic birthday in another lifetime.

As we waited to complete our order for lunch, we read poems from the book. Fe took a video of me reading “If Words were Stones” which could not be uploaded because of the muffled audio. It sounded like a reading from one buried deep under “rough stones”. She read “Breathing Hole”, which truly felt that finally, she had rumbled “out of that suitcase”.

The book cover brought me back to my childhood. My father used to catch salagubang (beetle), and tie a string on its neck and make it fly like a helicopter. On one occasion, after the “show”, he could not untangle the string from the beetle’s neck to set it free. He ended up cutting the string, leaving a permanent “necklace” on the beetle. He stopped catching salagubang after that. Instead he made other toys: small replicas of airplanes from galvanized sheets.

“Imagine,” he said, “Uncle Opie will land his airplane on the roof, bigger than this one! Better than a helicopter! Just imagine, it will happen.”

As a child, I watched the sky mostly at night with my mother, looking at distant stars. It was my mother who woke me up at dawn to watch the tail of a comet. But an airplane landing on our roof? That was my father, dreaming “Opie in the Sky with Diamonds.”

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