Another accident on our way back to Manila. The driver was trying to pass on the shoulder, but couldn't make it around the bus.

When it came time to leave Tubas, many tears were shed. Some of the family was so worked-up that they didn't even show themselves. However, especially notable were JingJing and Mylene, Lyn's younger sisters, who cried rivers. We boarded the Jeepney and started out on the trip back to Manila for the New Year festivities. This time, the jeepney has only 18 passengers. It took us 8 hours which was 2 or 3 longer than it should have. We passed 3 or 4 accidents and who knows how many we didn't see, but whose effects slowed us. Most of the highway was 2 lanes, but sometimes traffic our direction made use of 4. They drove on the shoulder to the right of us; they drove on the shoulder to the far left of us; and, sometimes, they drove in the opposing traffic lane - trying to swing back into our lane to avoid head-on collisions. Sometimes, they didn't succeed. I have never seen any other place in the world where this much disorder would be tolerated.

We eventually arrived back at the Galeno's house and at about 3 o'clock the fireworks started. By 6 o'clock, the noise was non-stop and at a deafening volume. I put cotton in my ears and sometimes even tightly pressed my hands over them. It seemed like World War III. Explosions were going off everywhere. Eventually you couldn't see sky rockets going off in the distance because of the thick smoke cloud that clutched the entire city. I wore a surgeon's mask to try not contaminating my lungs too much. We kept in the house and watched the spectacle from doorways and windows. We didn't go out onto balconies for fear we'd be hit by a stray bullet. On television, commercials appealed for people to be careful with fireworks and not shoot off guns. Unlike America, they showed you the grim results past years - missing fingers, missing hands, etc..

Shanty homes in Manila

When we left the next morning, the smoke was still present, sensed by both eye and lung. People were sweeping up the strips of charred paper and ashes. As we drove past the shanties, I still couldn't take pictures of them. I wanted visual proof of the horrible environment these people lived, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't find the strength to lift the camera to my eye. It seemed like I would be making light of their misfortune. That's how I felt, but I don't think they feel that way. I really think to them it is merely home. Their neighbors live the way they do. Sure, just like Lyn's family, they know they are monetarily poor, but, maybe like Lyn's family, they are emotionally wealthy, because of the support and love among them.

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