Balconies, Cliff Tops, and High Places:

A Philosophy of Looking Down

Kevinn Friedrich Chan

At the corner of Yulo and Arroyo in downtown Iloilo City is the four-story high V&V Building
where I spent the first 10 years of my life in Room 202. Right across the Iloilo River, this periwinkle
blue apartment building on Muelle Loney St. was home to my closest first cousins, my first
childhood friends Janine and the Muñon siblings, Humphrey and Hoelle. Right outside of every
apartment front door is the central balcony, where clothes are hung to dry, where the house help
gather to gossip about the latest celebrity happenings and about who’s sleeping with whom among
their employers, and where the children play on weekends, after class, and long summer days.

Before technology took over and kept children in their homes for play time, it is often said that
children used to play outside, on the streets. For me, my older brother Kankan, my cousins, and my
neighbors, this 50-square-meter balcony was our streets. When the floor is wet from the drippings
from newly hung wet clothes, hide and seek was the game of choice. There were no limits to our
hiding places, as long as we stayed in the building. For me, my parent’s closet always my favorite
spot.

But when the floor is dry, when Manang Melda begins stripping the sundried clothes form the metal
clotheslines, when the sky is light blue just like the walls of this building, when clouds are light and
thin but the Sun isn’t too bright, this is perfect time for tumba patis or langit lupa or marbles.

A four-foot high, 12-inch wide concrete wall separates the balcony from a 20-meter fall down to a
wide alley, 7 times as expansive as the balcony, between this building and the next. In this alley lives
around 30 families of informal settlers who have built homes of wooden walls and rough metal
roofing. At barely over four feet tall, I would have to jump to see over this wall. Pulling myself over
so my belly rests on the wall, I drop my arms, embracing the other side of the wall. My fear of
heights overwhelms me but I stay on, hanging precariously over the divide between safety and
disaster. A mix of fear and the wonderment of looking down from a high place. I tilt my head to the
left and I get a glimpse of Iloilo River from across the street.
Over at Room 202, the view over the Iloilo River is unblocked. Before the mayor ordered the major
cleaning of the river and banned the docking of pump boats along the riverbank, fishing boats
would line these banks and at a certain point, they just never left.

After years of looking down at these boats, I’ve always suspected that prostitution and drug trading
happened in these boats. But I welcome their presence. They gave Muelle Loney and the river a
certain character. The boat men were rowdy as they spent long afternoons on the barrier separating
the river from the street, eating their pandesal, while they push each other around like children. They
would cross the road to the tiangge store right beside our apartment building to buy 3-in-1 coffee that
they would drink with their pandesal. They were the life of lazy Muelle Loney Street.

*
During times of combat and war, the battalion who gains higher ground always has an advantage.
With a higher vantage point, line of vision is expanded and cover is maximized.

For older civilizations, tribes often fight for the higher point to set up their camps. Rivers flow down
from a higher water source. With control over the source of the flow of water, a tribe can choose to
keep the water clean or poison it for enemies.

To be up a higher point, to be able to look down, is to be in control.

*
If you’re an Ilonggo, there’s one place that you know better than you know your own home. For
weekends with the family or with the barkada, SM City Iloilo is the place to be. The We’ve got it all for
you theme song is embedded onto each Ilonggo heart. SM City is the tambayan ng bayan.

For my friends and I, if we’re not in school, in one of our houses, or on the road, we’re in SM City.
But after years of strolling this mall, visiting the Nike store every week, playing NBA 2K in the
Timezone at the lower ground floor, and watching movies, it can get pretty boring. But when I’m
alone in the mall, I simply go up a few floors and walk to the nearest handrail at the edge of the
flooring, overlooking the lower floors. Here I can lean on the railing for a good amount of time just
observing people going about their own lives, moving to different speeds and directions, towards
various destinations, yet somehow they find themselves right under my nose, subjects of my viewing
pleasure.

*
When at a higher point looking down, the neck is not strained as compared to when we look up.
Our eyes maintain a relaxed positon. We may lean over and relax our bodies on a railing or
balustrade or stand still while our heads are slightly bowed down. It’s a stance that relaxes the body
and allows it to take a breather.

Other times, we look down while we are not on higher ground. This occurs when we feel defeat,
loss, or disappointment. But these are mere instances of inadequacy. These are only temporary.
Therefore, we look down only for a moment so that we can look up again. We look down to give
our bodies and minds a respite from negativity and stress.

Looking down keeps the body sound, at ease. In its element.

*
On the Eve of Christmas 2010, we moved to a subdivision in Molo, the home of the Pancit Molo.
Our house was designed by Mr. Tiampong who is a family friend. My parents were all for the
minimalist/modern type of home, clean lines, no curves. It’s a small house, but with my brother and
I barely at home to crowd the place, it’s more than big enough for the family.

Through the ladder-like gates, which I would climb over when no one is awake to open them for me
at 2 AM, leads to the front yard where my sisters would play picnic on Sunday afternoons. It’s the
same front yard where my friends and I would take shots in during chillnumans at home. At back are
the bunnies, which my dad raised simply because the rabbit is his Chinese Zodiac sign. Inside is the
usual living-dining-kitchen set-up that is essential to every home but what is special about this house
is the library. It houses the family’s book collections, yearbooks, photo albums, classics, and my
dad’s law books.

Upstairs are the bedrooms. My room, where my cousins would dogpile in during family gatherings
while the grown-ups stay downstairs. My sisters’ room. where my brother sleeps in when he goes
home during the breaks. My parents’ room, where we would gather after dinners and during
brownouts.

From my parents’ room, a separate door leads to the back terrace. The original plan was for this
space to be my brother’s room but my parents couldn’t afford to build another room so they opted
for a balcony for the meantime. Although I don’t think a room is to be built to fill this space ever in
the future. My parents use the balcony for their weekly Sunday breakfast dates. The balcony
overlooks a pond, where 2-foot tall white birds would flock in line every morning and, after a couple
of minutes, fly away like an orchestrated performance.

On the other end of the house is the main balcony, perfect for reading books, sipping coffee, and
taking naps, in the afternoon, great for kuwentuhans and beer at night. From up here, the view is quiet
and calming. Cars pass by at the rate of one car every 5-10 minutes. Neighbors walking their dogs.
Old couples brisk walking together. Dogs trying but failing to crawl into our gates. Cats climbing
over the same gates.

*
The breeze is often much stronger and feels much fresher when at a higher point. The higher up we
go, the cooler the air, the quieter the atmosphere. The cool wind calms not only the nerves but also
the heart and the mind.

Looking down calms the self.

*
On one cold night in sophomore year, my friends, Pat and Luigi, and I decided to go for a run
around campus. It was 8 PM and the campus was fast asleep. We ran at varying speeds, mostly so
that Pat could catch up with us. First to Moro, then around Bel Field a few times, then towards
Xavier Hall, then slower towards the covered courts, then to the Manila Observatory. We turned
around towards the Loyola School of Theology.

Across LST are sets of picnic tables and chairs right at the edge of a cliff overlooking Marikina City.
Upon our arrival, three of these chairs are positioned to face Marikina and are distanced from one
another in a way that makes them look like three thrones overlooking a kingdom, one for each of us,
like they were placed there just for us.

From that position, Marikina is a field of blinking and moving lights. The sound of cars honking and
breaking can be distinguished from the distance. Whistles from traffic enforcers echo towards us.
Stoplights blink at us. The city feels like a living thing, a single unit with various moving parts. It’s a
busy thing. And the contrast between this busyness and our relaxed after-run, cool down is quite
consoling.

*
Looking down from the distance, we see people as specks and cars as flashes of little lights. And we
are reminded that from another person’s point of view, we are those traces of light. In a cosmic
sense, we are insignificant specks of energy and dust. But as we look down from a distance, we
recognize the gap between our selves and the rest of the world and as a result, we become more
aware of our own selves.

As I look down, I distance myself form the rest of the world and feel only myself.
I individualize myself.

*
We met up at McDo Katipunan at 5 in the morning for breakfast. I was up early enough for this. I
wasn’t going to miss my first climb. Pico de Loro was rated with a hike difficulty of 2, which was
right for beginners such as me and and my roommate Dale.

After breakfast, we rode to Batangas to reach the foot of Pico. Two liters of water, two chicken
burgers, two face towels, two extra shirts, an umbrella, I came prepared. The trail started out fairly
gentle, just a walk through some forest in Batangas. Through caves and over dead logs, the trail
gradually got steeper as we moved up the mountain. Through dry dirt and over streams, my
backpack began to feel heavier as we closed in on the peak.

Two hours into the hike, we reach the final climb up to the peak. I begin to feel like Bear Grylls
rushing through steep terrain, grabbing hold of vines and branches to get myself moving up. Foot
holes are not always easy to find. Some are traps that crumble as weight is applied to them. Every
foot up the mountain becomes that much more difficult to attain. At this point, looking down is not
a good idea. One careless slip, it’s a long way down.

Upon reaching the top, the view takes over. It’s beautiful from all angles. From this height, the
breeze overwhelms the senses, numbs the pain in my soles and calves. From this height, my fear of
heights is at its peak. From this height, looking down becomes a gift.

*
We can only look down if we are at a place where we can look down from. And getting to this place
requires us to keep going up. At times, we are tempted to look down while on our way to the peak
but this only adds fear and angst to our hearts. Before we look to see how far we’ve come, we must
first go far. Otherwise, it is not yet time to look down.

Before we are able to look down, we must first go all the way up.
We must first look ahead.