gian can’t dance,

“The symbol of the city of Panangtucan in Bukidnon is a white stallion that, according to legend, saved their tribe from an approaching enemy.”

in our country, when our settlements turned into cities, horses were the first things we tossed aside. they didn’t fit in our towns. we wondered how they would ever fit in with our roads, our homes, our sidewalks – or or how they used to fit in with our plates or flower vases or windows – which we inherited from the Chinese tradesmen before we even called them plato, florero or ventana. we inherited the horse, too, or perhaps the idea of befriending the horse – which we’ve lost; somewhere in the fields, in some province, somewhere. what did we call the horse again before caballo?

now we see horses only in the Chinese areas of the city; blind, walking like slaves, slaves to walking – have they forgotten how to gallop? their keepers peddle their labor to the highest bidder; and we begin to forget the story of one heroic horse in Bukidnon, back when it could have been called a Stallion still, giving a warning of invaders arriving — its memory just the sound of footsteps in the distance.

the invaders have come and gone, and the Indios conspire with them. behold, our culture: the Indio offers a ride on his horse. the visitor asks what we call this mode of transportation and the Indio answers calesa before he whips his blind horse, who is waiting, loyally, for its keeper to take both their blindfolds off.