blackout sessions.

Lights off.

Only, this isn't a theatrical production, or a simple bulb-switch test for that matter. You know it the instant the electric fan also stops humming, the instant your beloved PC switches off without warning. It's every urban denizen's regular pain in the neck – a blackout.

Or here, what we usually refer to as a "brownout" (Honestly, how did the term come about?), one of two unwanted phenomena we've been getting a lot of lately (the other one is intermittent water shortage.) Last April, we experienced almost weekly blackouts, most of which just struck from out of nowhere. The worst one – lasting almost a hefty 30 hours – put the last straw on the patience of the otherwise mild-mannered Ilonggos, creating such a huge public uproar that the city government, under attack from angry complainants, threatened to slash the budget of the National Power Corporation (Napocor) should the latter fail to put its act together in the nick of time.

Fortunately after that the frequency of blackouts was significantly reduced – until yesterday that is, when we found ourselves enduring not one, not two, but THREE successive sessions in the dark, a pitiless cycle of lights on-lights off and jubilation-frustration episodes that took place arbitrarily in the store, at the dinner table, and in the bedroom, all unexpected and much more unwelcome when you already see yourself drenched in sweat and intensely yearning for that moment of electrical reemergence to show up like an oasis in the desert.

But that was too much of wishful thinking, I guess – not necessarily a good thing lest “wishful” turns to “wistful” in the long run. If there’s a side to blackouts that people don’t readily acknowledge, it’s that it can make you realize that electricity is such a huge necessity, but that we can also do without it – many thanks to emergency lamps, flashlights, and the trustworthy candle whose services to humankind cannot be simply undermined. True enough, as I stole a quick glimpse out the window into the next household, I beheld a lone candle bravely permeating the otherwise bleak monotony of a powerless landscape, its own steady strand of light defying the harsh environment. And again, you realize that contrary to what your own childhood made you believe, the dark isn't so frightening after all.

Blackouts take the edge out of our perfect everyday routines. It can give you the opportunity to make proper use of your time, having the conversations you never had, picking the chance to reflect and pray, taking a leisurely walk around the house, listening to the sounds of nature predominating. And it just struck me how the night could seem so much purer and unspoiled when there are no sounds of technology to clog your ears, when all you hear are crickets and birds, forgive the occasional vehicle passing by.

For almost five redundant hours, we waited eagerly for that ecstatic shout of joy from neighbors proclaiming the good news, which would then be accompanied by the welcome glowing of streetlights in succession, and ultimately, the resumption of life temporarily driven to a slight yet sudden pause with the (non) electrical interference. What irked us even more was that rain suddenly fell, prompting us to close the windows and get deprived of the infrequent summer breeze. When the day is hot, the rain is even more humid; and the raindrops didn't exactly alleviate the situation as they made their way onto the pavement, falling at the height of the sweltering summer heat.

It was almost midnight when power was finally restored, but long before that I had already made up my mind to just sleep it off till morning. And far from knowing it, someone next door might still be fully awake, perhaps already rejoicing, that lone candle perhaps already extinguished.