Of photographers and strangers

My jeep died on me this afternoon, just a few meters after the turn to the Leon-Cordova-Tigbauan Road. Radiator leak. Engine overheat. I refilled the radiator and waited an hour for the engine to cool down before starting for Leon again. The one-hour delay proved to be fateful. Cruising carefully, slowly, in the middle of Cordova (afraid the engine will die on me again), I passed by an old popsicle vendor on his bike. His white beard looked familiar. Looking at the rear-view mirror, I realized it was him. 

Knowing I have a printed copy of his photo inside my bag, I stepped on the brakes and the jeep came to a halt. Boy, was the popsicle man surprised when I handed him his photo. 

 

He wanted to give me a popsicle; I obliged and handed him 10 pesos. The popsicle was frozen buko pandan salad. Its coldness seemed to douse the heat off my engine.

I ran the jeep again, realizing that the strangers we take photos of do not remain as strangers. Even without names, they become the photographer's friends.

(Link of his photo from January 27, 2012 here)