The Sprinkles: The Distinct Joy of Being Invisible

Bloggers Note: This blog post below is the very first post that gives spotlight on the things that are usually not given importance. The blog also comes with photographs that break the rules of photography, in the blogger's pursuit to take his penchant for documentary photography into a more serious level. This blog post (and the upcoming posts of this sort) also comes with a supplementary mini-magazine posted online which will serve as an online portfolio of the blogger. This, above all, is the product of a dream finally coming into fruition. As what the tagline of this blog masquerading as an edict: Leave no Story Untold.

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Dark clouds enveloped the sky one night in Tagum, promising a cold night in this part of the planet. Soon after, droplets of rain started to startle everybody in this place called the Night Market where the heavy downpour of rain poses a grave threat to the merchants and an equal dismay to their patrons.

And this is where I found myself one night--amazed with how a busy street in broad daylight transform into a bustling night market at the fall of dusk. From the moment the sun kisses the western sky, stalls sprout in the busy streets like mushrooms and leave in the wee hours of the morning, just before the mighty sun rises up and brings in a new day full of hope. The usual sight of people from all walks of life happily dining or haggling over pre-owned clothes or designer bags or branded shoes would surely leave an impression that night life is more fun in this part of the world.

The strong wind or this excessive energy present in the area probably blew the dark clouds on that Sunday night. This is also when I felt I was invisible. My romance with my camera, I then realized, was a travesty of invisibility.

I am adamant that it is this invisibility enabled me to see things on a large scale and differently. My amazement of the place was only short-lived as my attention was grabbed by persons selling customized balloons. This scene exudes a patina of happiness in a place where people seems to brush it off. Except for children, of course. As usual, and as each of us could have experienced then, the radiant glow of excitement and happiness is evidenced the moment a child lets hold of the tiny string of the balloon and making sure it doesn't let go up in the air. To put it succinctly in our own tongue, hawak mo na happiness mo, bakit ka pa bibitaw?

It is in this premise that my concept of happiness comes in: to claim the things and to hold dear in our hearts the persons or things that make us happy. It is a state of one's mind; a choice rather than fate. But we must also acknowledge the fact that the world that we live in is not perfect. Jose Mari Ugarte complained that we are born into it through the pain of our mothers and raised in it suffering failures, disappointments, sadness, prejudice and hate.

But since the world is not perfect, it cannot be perfectly bad. We also have triumphs, joys, tolerance and above all, love. And it is love that makes this journey through this vale of tears a wonder. As what they say, without pain, the heart is hollow.

By choice, or perhaps by default, my frames were dominated by pictures of balloons on that Sunday night and enjoyed the feeling of invisibility like I never experienced it before. Past sweet couples holding hands while walking, past family members and circle of friends grinning, past people bordering on the obnoxious was me and my camera– savoring that distinct happiness of snapping photographs in this happy place.

The moment you find yourself gallivanting in this place or in any other public place, take a moment to observe things and realize the richness of stories that can be found in each person or things that thrive here. Bring a camera if you please, preserve memories and be charmed with the same spell of invisibility that I enjoyed. If you do, do it with a light heart and without a doubt, you can never go wrong.

L.