I AM THE LUNETA

            My name is Luneta. I am a park. They say that I’m a soothing balm for world-weary souls and I’m terribly flattered. Every day about 30,000 persons, young and old and from all walks of life, visit me. So there must be some truth to what they say.

            My physical fitness buffs come even before I can recover from my yawns. There are cyclists, exercising men and women with pounds to shed or coronary symptoms to rid off, joggers and even yoga enthusiastic. Oh many of them are cabinet members, justices of the peace, professors and other big shots. But some of my best pals too are cab drivers, policemen and students.

            Suddenly I’m a giant gym: karate teams, basketball players, jai-alai pelotaris, boxers and martial artists position themselves in their favorite spots and practice their forms unmindful of others. What a sight. The T’ai Chi they’re so concentrated, precise and graceful:

            Until my favorite boxer has perfected his punch, the yoga freak has communed with the sky, the fresh dew and a blade of grass and everybody else has shed their sweat…

            The sun is out. Manila has perked up and stirs with life. Except for the drone of traffic, all is quiet in the next few hours. Later in the morning, there may be some excitement at the Monument. Bulbs flash as the cameras record an important visit. Another foreign dignity has come to make a floral offering to Rizal.

            Oh but I’ve seen grander occasions: William H. Taft was here once. And of course; there were those happy carnivals. Those were the days: plus I’ve been witness to every Philippine President’s public oath of office.

            Yearly I play host to the national celebration of Independence Day, and how I’d burst at my seams. Mammoth crowds cheer as a passing parade reenacts our historical epochs and the events that led to June 12, 1896.

            But I’m digressing again.

            And so the morning gives way to noon. Office workers take a break from their cramped quarters to be seduced by my tempting greens and cool nooks. Groups claim their “Terrotories” and turn the one-hour respite into a picnic”. Sometimes, I can’t resist pampering overstayers with soothing music and bird chirps until they’re lulled into a nap.

            It’s three o’clock. Employees from nearby offices (on their nth coffee break), tourist, businessmen seeking prospect, a boyfriend who came too early for a rendezvous, all discover a cool and breezy place to sip a tall glass of kalamansi juice at the café run by deaf and mute.

The photographers take their positions. “Kodak, man?" My favorite one says, thrusting a yellowed sample photo in front of an unconvinced prospect.

Then a funny parade of men bearing musical instruments and rattan chairs appear from nowhere. It’s the Rizal Park Band getting ready to give the late afternoon a rousing welcome. From 5:00 to 6:30, a 45-man ensemble treat my promenaders to a cacophonomous harmony of jazz, pop or kundiman.

I was really happy that they revived the “banda sa glorietta” session. Do you know that this music-in-the park tradition was started by Col. Walter Loving way back in 1902?

Now it’s sundown. Of course, I offer the best view of the majestic sunset over Manila Bay. Try it from the coconut-lined seawall.

At night, I’m in my best shape. The lights playing on the bay, sparkling stars, shadows, the mood music, the dancing fountains and the drone of cicadas give me a high which seems to easily rub off on my might visitors. You see, I’m an incurable romantic. And today, as in yesteryears, I’m partial to lovers, but how the art of flirtation has changed.

My day ends when the last pair of lovers have left dreamy, holding hands and more in love with each other than yesterday.

Well, that’s it – a day in the life of a park.

But there’s a question that’s been in my mind for a long time now: where do tired parks go?