Untitled

1985

 

“Mama…,” little Melinda cried as the luster from her mother’s eyes faded into a dull dark well. She was still holding on to their mother’s hand when her grandmother closed her mother’s eyes and hugged Melinda to her. Melinda kept calling for her mother over and over until the hospital orderly came and put a yellowing white blanket over their mother’s now lifeless body.

 

She was still ten, and already she knows that life dealt her a big one, if not the biggest. As she sobbed and called over and over for her mom, Melinda looked at the three blurry images of her three siblings amidst her tears. The three were all huddled at the other side of the bed, their Aunt Myrna behind, trying to hug all three of them. Anna squirming from her aunt’s embrace, her brother Astro clutching his aunt’s arm for support and Lily staring at everybody, a cookie suspended on her left hand, uneaten. Her brother Astro is seven, Anna is six, while their youngest, their baby, Lily, was only three and a half. Astro, Anna and Lily already started sobbing and all of a sudden, Astro started wailing as the reality sunk in.  

 

Melinda was the one who called her grandma who was doing the laundry at the washing area at the back of their bungalow. Melinda, white as a sheet, teeth chattering and barely able to breathe, told in halting words how their mother, 35 years of age, is now sprawled in the master’s bedroom, long black hair glistening with her own blood. Her mother’s image was imprinted on her mind and clear if she is still in the room. Her mother’s left hand is holding a yellow and black cutter and her right wrist was gushing with blood which is slowly spreading on the floor and staining the immaculately white marbled floor with deep crimson. She followed at the heels of her grandmother who rushed to her dying mother. Her lola was surprisingly calm and after hastily wrapping her mother’s gouged wrist with a silk scarf she found draped on the chair in front of her mother’s dressing mirror. Her grandmother then ran to the living room and rang the emergency number for the hospital that’s tapped to the wall beside the landline. The rotary phone couldn’t be fast enough as its sleepy turns were wasting the precious seconds as her mother’s life trickled away on the cold floor. After her grandma’s distraught call ended, her grandma immediately went out the gate and shouted her plea for help with all her might for everybody in the village to hear. Several people immediately responded and as their neighbors rushed to their house one-by-one, Melinda suddenly felt light in the head, her knees seemed to have their strength seeped out from them and before her lithe gymnast’s body would clatter on the floor, a stocky neighbor caught her fall. The neighbor carried her to the sofa while an elderly neighbor fetched a White Flower ointment from her pocket and used it to revive her.

 

Melinda had eaten some bad meat the night before when she ate some pork barbeque sold cheaply at the plaza. She had gone there with her two friends Lito and Amanda to watch a singing contest for the town’s fiesta. There were 12 contestants in total and all of them but for one had been mediocre at best. The exception to this pool of mediocrity was their neighbor Teresa who wore a silver gown with a sweetheart neckline. Her hair was cut short, in the style of the American singer Madonna. Teresa’s voice was the voice of an angel that coated the humid night February night with her heavenly melody. Their favorite bet sang the Cebuano Kundiman, Paglaum. Melinda thought that it was all she really needed. “Ayaw ug hunong. Naa pa’y Paglaum ang tanan.” Do not despair. There is hope for everything. As the trophy was given to Teresa, who accepted it along with a cash prize of five hundred pesos, the thunderous claps of the town’s people of Barangay Caballero was deafening. Melinda and her two best friends made their way home quickly as it was already coming close to 11 in the evening and they were sure to get a pinch in the ear at least, if not a beating on their backsides with their respective parent’s leather belts. Melinda’s was the first house in the block and she quickly bid goodnight to Lito and Amanda as she quietly slipped in their gate. When she arrived at the door, she could hear her mother screaming at her father. She listened for a moment, not moving in the dark living room as her mother’s voice escalated into full blown hysterics. “You bastard! Don’t think I am going to forgive you this time! I am going to kill you and that whore! I am going to—” There was a loud thud as her father’s right fist landed on her mother’s jaw. Melinda heard a crashing sound and with her heart beating loudly she tiptoed towards her parent’s room and slowly opened  the door a crack. As she peered inside, she could see her mother half sitting on the floor with her right elbow supporting her body and one hand cradling her jaw; most of the contents of her dressing table in a wild disarray around her. “Not if I kill you first!” her father hissed to her mother in a steely voice and eyes flashing red in loathing. Her father suddenly turned to the door so Melinda flattened herself on the wall in the corner where the door opens to. She was glad her father did not slam the door or else she would have been hit and found out to be spying. As she listened in between the door that was ajar and the wall, she heard her father open the gate and start the car and loudly drove away. She emerged from her hiding place and slowly went to her battered mother who was by now staring out into the window looking at her father’s fast disappearing tail-lights. She gingerly touch her mother’s arm and as her mother turned to look at her with her face swollen twice it’s normal size, she hugged her tightly never letting go until her mother told her to go to bed. When she would not, her mother got angry and practically dragged Melinda outside her door and closed it on her. She awoke that morning with a bad stomach and she ran to the toilet to relieve herself. Her stomach was aching so bad she did not eat breakfast but instead stayed in bed curled into a fetal position while her siblings bustled about preparing for school. By seven, her grandmother appeared on her doorway with a herbal remedy made from the water of boiled guava leaves. She made her drink the awful concoction and half a diarrhea tablet for good measure. Her grandmother then told her that she could skip school that day. She was not so happy to miss school since it was her turn to lead the prayers that morning. Maybe she could ask her teacher to let her do it the next day, she thought before drifting back to sleep. She slept for two hours and woke up again with the same feeling in her stomach. She almost didn’t make it to the toilet. She shouted for her grandmother and asked if there’s another medicine to take away her stomachache. Her grandmother shouted back from what seemed to be their laundry area, and told her to go check with her mother. She quickly remembered about the events that happened between her parents last night and was a bit scared to check with her mother because she would surely be in a foul mood as is always the case after a fight with her father. She remembered the time when her mother hurled a chair at her but missed, when she refused to go out her mother’s room until her mother gives her the money she needed for a stationary she fancied.  As she arrived in front of her mother’s door, she didn’t bother to knock but tried to open it immediately but it was locked. She tried again to no avail. She called her mother but no answer came. Instead, she could only hear faint sobs from the inside. Something told her to look in the jalousie windows in her parent’s room from the outside, so she went to the front of their house and went in to look. She made out her mother’s figure lying on the floor seemingly unconscious. She knocked on the window and shouted for her mother but she was not responding. Melinda got scared. She knew something was wrong. She knows that the spare keys in every room and lock in the house are in the bottom kitchen drawer where small broken kitchen utensils are kept. She learned this one day when she saw her father look for the spare key for his tools cabinet in that drawer when he lost his bunch of keys one drunken night. Her curiosity got the best of her and she spied on that drawer one afternoon and tried all the keys to every keyhole she could find and by the end of that week, she had mastered all the keys and even with a blindfold, she’d know which key fits where. Her skill came in handy on this specific day when it matters most. As she opened her parent’s door, the blood had already puddled on the floor. She let out a small scream and quickly stifled it with her mouth, keys clattering to the floor. Shock has descended on her for about two seconds but she quickly recovered and spun on her heel and ran to her grandmother. She had saved her mother’s life, but not for long. As she awoke to consciousness after she fainted on the day of her mother’s suicide, her mother was already strapped on a stretcher and was being deposited on the mouth of an old ambulance van where her grandmother was already seated and crying loudly while repeating her daughter’s name. As soon as the ambulance doors were slammed shut, the driver hit the accelerator and the sirens went in full screaming mode. The van quickly sped around the maze that is their village leaving stunned Melinda and their neighbors behind with only the quickly fading sounds of the siren to suspend them in the reality of that afternoon’s tragedy.

 

Lily was too little yet but she is beginning to understand what’s happening. Initially too engrossed with her half-eaten cookie to care, she somehow shifted her attention to the situation when Astro’s wailing hit fever pitch. She somehow forgot about the cookie, dropped it subconsciously and quickly glanced at everybody in her life that she knows by name. Her grandma looks funny, her face contorted like she’s eaten that horrible dark green wrinkly-textured vegetable the nanny also forces on her. Melinda, whom she loves more than her mini-bolster pillow, Kiki, looks really like, like somebody deigned from reading to her her bedtime favorite story. Her brother Astro whom she hates but sometimes also likes when he defends her from Anna’s bullying which makes her cry like a big baby. She looked up at her Aunt and from her angle; her face does not look good. She looked like a bloated chin with over-producing tear ducts. Seeing everybody looking like they desperately wanted milk and clean diapers at the same time, she concluded that it’s probably a game on who could cry the loudest. To join in the fun, she drew back her breath and counted to one and willed her eyes to turn into two waterfalls and away she screamed for good measure. She had initially thought that their mom, had just nodded off to sleep like she sometimes do at school, but now, maybe something serious has happened to her. Is she this thing called dead? It happened to the pet fish that they had last summer, Narnia. Anna had named her after her favorite book, although if she secretly called the black molly fish, Dina. She thought the fish’s gorgeous black scales are like her mom’s shiny locks. Now she’s loudly crying not because she thinks it’s still a game but because she knows something deadly serious has happened to their mother. She’s still three-and-a-half but already she knows that life would will be ever more confusing and complicated with the company she’s have to deal with.

 

Astro couldn’t understand why he is wailing like a stupid pig but he just can’t stop. Every time he tells himself to get a hold of himself, that horrible ear-piercing wailing sound from inside of his tummy just starts out again, louder and stronger than the last one. He also couldn’t help it, but he cannot hold back the pee anymore. As it started to trickle down his short pants to his socks and shoes and starts to create a yellow puddle on the floor around his tiny school-shod black shoes. He realized his mother is going to be angry with him again for not being to control himself. His father would surely be. He would call him again that hateful term, bayote, just as he always does when he wets his bed, when he fails to tie his shoes properly, or even simply when he picks at his food. When Anna tells their father that he peed in his mother’s hospital room today, he will surely be in great trouble. His father’s anger is different from her mother’s. Her anger subsides quickly, especially when he makes her laugh with his witty jokes and comical impressions. His father’s on the other hand is trigger-happy. At his slightest mistake, his father’s anger bubble up and explodes and it is entirely focused on him. He is always the target directly and indirectly, whether his anger has been triggered by him or any of his three sisters. His father’s anger is a given, he realized. His mother however, can dead people, whom his mother had just become, still be angry? Are they allowed to? Shouldn’t she have sprouted wings already and all heavenly business they are always telling you about, the human siren wonders. He is just seven, in second grade, and his supposedly best friend stole his candy at recess that morning and already he knows the life he is dealt with is nothing like his favorite candy.

 

Anna is angry. As she is, most of the time. She’s angry at Lily; her attention-seeking, narcissistic baby sister whom she wished hadn’t been born at all. Astro, her stupid brother who’s always destroying her toys and stealing her dolls and dunking them inside the toilet bowl. Her big sister Melinda, who is alright most of the times especially when she braids her hair and draws her funny faces. She is alright except when she takes Lily’s side. That evil baby is always ruining her life, and she’s just a year old! Her mother who never gives her enough attention who couldn’t even be bothered to take Anna to her painting classes, her favorite time of the week, so grandma had to take over. Taking the jeepney to Mr. Chui’s art studio is just not like the drives with her mom who always pops in an Abba CD and away they’d sang like lunatics the whole way. Grandma, like Melinda, is alright too. Except when she always dotes on Lily. She most especially hates it when Grandma says Lily looks like mom when she was still a baby. A spitting image. “Yeeeck, I could spit on that thought,” she thinks. And finally Aunt Myrna, tsk, tsk, tsk, where does she even begin. Does she start with her aunt’s utter lack of fashion sense? She is a walking flea market disaster in all her long quilted skirts and oversized printed blouses. Who wears shell necklaces and plastic flowers on their hair? It’s 1985 for god’s sake’s! And, are you wearing blue eye shadow? Because, I couldn’t tell if it’s royal blue or baby blue from a 100 meters away. She wasn’t always like this to her maiden aunt, she thinks. She still remembers the days when she was so sure and confident that she was her aunt’s favorite. They would go out to get groceries together and she always let’s her have a secret cone of mango ice cream, her favorite. So one day, specifically on her sixth birthday, when all the cakes have been eaten and the guests save for a few of her mom’s college friends, have gone, while she and her then beloved Aunt were licking the remaining buttery icing from the cake pan, her Aunt asked her THE question. “So, Anna, what did you wish for when you blew out your candles?” She’d simply told her the truth with just a tiny hint of bashfulness, “I wished that you’d adopt me.” Her aunt didn’t speak for a few seconds, icing streaked face apparently in shock. Anna started getting scared. Did she wish the wrong wish? Finally, her aunt started laughing her hearty-from-the-belly laugh. That’s a good sign, Anna guessed. Her aunt was now starting to cry and laugh at the same time. Now, it was Anna’s turn to get shocked. Is it possible to cry and laugh at the same time? Sad and happy at the same time? Finally, her aunt wiped away the tears and tried to control her laughter. And she looked at Anna with a rather sad look on her face. “Anna-nipot, pot-pot.” She hates the nickname her aunt calls her. She is not dragonfly after all. But her aunt says it with love that she usually doesn’t mind. “You know I love you so much. But, I just can’t. Sorry baby…” her aunt apologized while she caressed her cheek. Her hands felt soft and somehow comforting, but what she heard just crushed her plans for their future together. What will happen to the future pet puppy that they would name Rainbow, her plan for her aunt to buy her a big slide and put it inside her new green room? But she won’t actually have to sleep there, because she will sleep beside her aunt, without fail, every night. Forever. Her aunt doesn’t understand. She is horrible and mean and wants to ruin her future. “Why not?!” She screamed at her aunt as hot tears started welling in her eyes. “Anna-nipot, you have a mom who loves you. But, we could still have those sleep-over’s, you know. It would be the same,” her aunt explained desperately. “No, it’s not!!!” and away she ran to their backyard and climbed on the avocado tree to hide. Her aunt watched from the window, she knows that the best way to make Anna stop from being angry at you is to just let her be. Anna is still six and gravely mad at her aunt for being such a big party-pooper, but already she knows that life is not going to be party that she was hoping for.

 

The four Biliran children, first fatherless, and now motherless. All they have now are each other. Whether they like it or not. The family left by Dina, who all but two short weeks ago attempted to take her own life and who had now finally succeeded. All this tragic event because because of an adulterous husband. The Biliran children cried in perfect un-harmonized rhythm. The four children and two adults left behind cried for Dina’s wasted life, and cried with all their might for the future without Dina.

 

(To be continued)

Manal Al Sharif on TED

Manal Al Sharif on TED.

Dear Saudi Boys

Some Mat Time in Your Vacation Time? Yes, Please

Yoga Journey

Our Journey to Yogi-hood

If you have done yoga on a regular basis, your body will simply crave for it. We don’t want to sound like pretentious bitches, who only do yoga because it’s the in thing. We just love yoga. Period.

We were on a holiday for Maunday Thursday until Black Saturday and the yoga place we frequent, Yogahub, was also closed the entire four days until Easter. So before leaving for Southern Cebu, we decided to sneak some practice in while on vacation and brought our mats with us.

What we have are department-store brought mats : mine, a hand-me-down from my sissy; our friend badz’s a P500 mat (the most expensive in the lot); and mara’s a P300 mat that’s so light it could easily get blown off by a soft breeze.

But, a mat’s a mat and whatever it looks or feels like, it should not sidetrack us from our…

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The Smile

 

She washed her face in the sink using a hypo-allergenic liquid soap. She likes the velvet feel of the soap as she scrubs her face free from the heavy make-up she applied that morning and the grime accumulated during the day.

 

She rinsed and compulsively did the whole process again. As she closed the lid of the soap bottle, she examines the 29-year-old face staring back at her, looking all fresh, young and unbelievably wrinkle-free, if you don’t linger too much that is. The dim lighting helped her inherited genes, sure. But it could deceive. Somehow, there is a faint innocence that pervades, keeping the cynicism from jutting out.

 

She continued scrutinizing the face for a minute and admired it as it glistens with dampness. Arched eyebrows, a small nose, dark brown eyes. A pretty face that could easily be loved.

 

“Why are you not in a relationship yet?”

 

The girl smiled her trademark, flexing the sides of her mouth into a mockery of a happy gesture. Hers is never genuine. It is a doomed act that is a glimpse into a hurting soul. She doesn’t notice this though.

 

“How long has it been?”

 

Silence. Her questions echoes in the small confines of her bathroom, ignored.

 

She turns to leave, to leave the girl and her forced politeness when suddenly the wrinkle-free face calls after her and blurts out a delayed answer.

 

“Maybe I’m still waiting,” she pleads as if bargaining with her.

 

Without warning, the memories flash. Of her laughing, dancing, of them kissing like there’s no tomorrow, a walk in the beach, lying on the grass and talking about the future and unimportant things, the glowing faces of new love, an impish mouth, guileless green eyes, icy blue eyes, premature white hairs on blonde, a kind face with a head of wavy brown hair, a generous grin, airtight hugs, a turned back, a lone figure walking away, one last smile, one last wave.

 

Fake smiles is not a way to live a life.

 

She slowly turns around, looks herself directly in the eyes and answers…

THE DETOUR

How I came to Nong Khai was kismet in more ways than one.

After an amazing gastronomic week in Penang, I rode the train for 24 hours non-stop to Bangkok. I crashed the couch of a friend from Pakistan who lives in a large house with people from the different continents of the world. As my travel plans are obscure, I gladly took my friend’s advice for Laos and his housemate’s advice to stop for a night in Nong Khai on the way.

I did as told and checked myself into a lovely garden hostel by the Mekong river. I found joy in the perfection of life, the serenity of a garden by the brown river and a view of Laos beyond.

Three weeks later, in Vientaine, straight from a bus from Vang Vieng, I boarded a tuk-tuk to take me to the airport to catch my plane to Singapore. In the middle of nowhere, the driver suddenly told me that I need to pay twice the agreed price. Instead of giving in, I disembarked and walked until I had a sense of where I am but the flight was missed. Just the second missed flight since my journey, the first being my return flight home a month ago. I celebrated my 28th birthday in the bowling arena of Laos with other backpackers before resolving to trace back my way to Nongkhai.

Sitting in the garden of Mut Mee, I got to chatting with the owner and he asked whether I had concrete travel plans. Of course I had none! And so he offered me a job to run his floating bar for a couple of months for a percent in the profit, free board and food and by far one of the greatest experiences of my life.

I ended up running the bar for four months and met some of the most impressive personalities. I had crazy, hilarious and unforgettable experiences. I fell in love, gained life-long friendships with travelers, locals and expats. I lived on a boat, explored the Isan province extensively on my days off and understood happiness seeing the sun set everyday.

Nong Khai was the best detour of my life and the reason why I will always choose the roundabout instead of the main road.

CHILDREN AND HUMAN RIGHTS

When you say Human Rights, how many think of children? When you think of the Constitution, how many think of the future generation? When we think of INJUSTICE, do we think of children?

Children, as it should be, should be promoted as the emblem of human rights, the epitome of the human race. In a bigger picture kind of view, children are the reason why we continue what we do. We continue research in the different fields, we continue improvements in health and sciences, we pen literary masterpieces, we create timeless art, music and dance all for those who will succeed us in this world.

In the Philippines, people and families are too consumed with looking for the next grub to eat to pay attention to children’s rights. A parent’s duty does not only revolve around the premise of providing food for their children. Along with their responsibilities is also the unwritten task to feed their child’s heart and the soul. Yet, harrowing reality will tell us how many parents fail in this.

There is child slavery and labor, child trafficking and prostitution, and all kinds of blatant verbal, sexual and physical child abuse committed by the parents themselves and other adults. Before authorities come to these children’s defenses, adults have witnessed the crime and are familiar with the perpetrators but they chose to do nothing. The ignorance and indifference in our society to abuses against children has become the norm. And how many children’s lives have been lost and ruined because of this.

One time, I was at a grocery and coming outside I saw a lady and a child of about eight along with people. The lady was berating the child and hurling insults at him, the child did not say or do anything. He just stood there pale, meek and motionless. The lady’s verbal abuse escalated into physical abuse in a few seconds and before long the child was crying while trying to fend off the lady’s slapping and punches. My heart was breaking as I saw this scene and my anger was boiling. I however chose to just stay where I was instead of defending the rights of the child. A mistake. A mistake I will carry for the rest of my life.

A story by Benjamin Pascual from my third year high school book in Filipino shows us the usual indifferent adult all too common in our lives. I intend to make an adaptation of this story into film to make up for my inaction and in a way to serve as an apology from me and in behalf of all the adults of the world who chose to look the wrong way when transgressions are committed against children, the future.

ANG KALUPI

ni Benjamin P. Pascual

Mataas na ang araw nang lumbas si Aling Marta sa bakuran ng kanilang maliit na barung-barong. Aliwalawas ang kanyang mukha: sa kanyang lubog na mga mata na bahagyang pinapagdilim ng kanyang malalagong kilay ay nakakintal ang kagandahan ng kaaya-ayang umaga. At sa kanyang maninipis na labi, na bahagyang pasok sa pagkakalapat at maputla, ay naglalaro ang isang ngiti ng kasiyahan. Araw ng pagtatapos ng kanyang anak na dalaga; sa habing iyon ay tatanggapin nito ang diploma bilang katunayang natapos niya ang apat na taong inilagi sa mataas na paaralan. Ang sandaling pinakahihintay niya sa mahaba-haba rin namang panahon ng pagpapaaral ay dumating na: ang magkaroon ng isang anak na nagtapos sa high school au hindi na isang maliit na bagay sa isang mahirap na gaya niya, naisip niya. Sa mapangarapin niyang diwa ay para niyang nakikita ang kanyang anak na dalaga sa isang kasuotang puting-puti, kipkip ang isang libro at nakangiti patungo sa lalo pang mataas na hangarin sa buhay, ang makatapos sa kolehiyo, magpaunlad ng kabuhayan at sumagana. Maaaring balang araw ay magkaroon din siya ng mamanuganing may sinasabi rin naman. Nasa daan na siya ay para pa niyang naririnig ang matinis na halakhak ng kanyang anak na dalaga habang paikut-ikot nitong isinusukat sa harap ng salamin ang nabuburdahang puting damit na isusuot sa kinagabihan. Napangiti siyang muli.

Mamimili si Aling Marta. Bitbit ng isang kamay ang isang pangnang sisidlan ng kanyang pamimilhing uulamin. Habang daan, samantalang patungo sa pamilihang-bayan ng Tundo, ay mataman niyang iniisip ang mga bagay na kanyang pamimilhin. Hindi pangkaraniwan ang araw na ito at kinakailangang magkaroon silang mag-anak ng hindi pangkaraniwang pananghalian. Bibili siya ng isang matabang manok, isang kilong baboy, gulay na panahog, at dalawang piling ng saging. Bibili rin siya ng garbansos. Gustung-gusto ng kanyang magtatapos na anak ang minatamis na garbansos.

Mag-iikasiyam na ng dumating siya sa pamilihan. Sa labas pa lamang ay naririnig na niya ang di-magkamayaw na ingay na nagbubuhat sa loob, ang ingay ng mga magbabangos na pakanta pang isinisigaw ang halaga ng kanilang paninda, ang sali-salitang tawaran ng mga mamimili. Linggo ng umaga at ang palengke ay siksikan. Sa harapan niya piniling magdaan. Ang lugal ng magmamanok ay nasa dulo ng pamilihan at sa panggitnang lagusan siya daraan upang magdaan tuloy sa tindahan ng mga tuyong paninda at bumili ng mantika. Nang dumating siya sa panggitnang pasilyo at umakmang hahakbang na papasok ay siyang palabas na humahangos ng isang batang lalaki, at ang kanilang pagbabangga ay muntik na niyang ikabuwal. Ang siko ng bata ay tumama sa kanyang kaliwang dibdib.

“Ano ka ba?” ang bulyaw ni Aling Marta. “Kaysikip na nga ng daraanan ay patakbo ka pa kung lumabas!”

Ang bata ay nakapantalon ng maruming maong na sa kahabaan ay pinag-ilang lilis ang laylayan. Nakasuot ito ng libaging kasimeta, punit mula sa balikat hangang pusod, na ikinalitaw ng kanyang butuhan at maruming dibdib. Natiyak ni Aling Marta na ang bata ay anak-mahirap.

“Pasensiya na kayo, ale,” ang sabi ng bata. Hawak nito ang isang maliit na bangos–tagbebeinte, sa loob-loob ni Aling Marta. Ang bata ay takot na nakatingin sa kanya. “Hindi ko ho kayo sinasadya. Nagmamadali ho ako, e.”“Pasensiya!” sabi ni Aling Marta. “Kung lahat ng kawalang-ingat mo ay pagpapasensiyahan nang pagpapasensiyahan ay makakapatay ka ng tao.”

Agad siyang tumalikod at tuluy-tuloy na pumuasok. Paano’t paano man, naisip niya, ay ako ang huling nakapangusap. Higit kong daramdamin kung ako na itong nagawan ng di-mabuti ay sa kanya pa manggagaling ang huling salita. Mataman niyang inisip kung may iba pang nakakita sa nangyari. Marahas ang kanyang pagkakapagsalita sa bata at maaaring may kakilala siya na nagdaraan na nakarinig sa kanyang mga sinasabi. Dumating siya sa tindahan ng mga tuyong paninda at bumuli ng isang kartong mantika.

“Tumataba yata kayo, Aling Godyang,” ang bati niya sa may kagulangan nang tindera na siyang nakaugaliang bilhan. Nakatangi siya at ang babae ay ngumiti rin.

“Tila nga ho,” ani Aling Godyang. “Tila ho nahihiyang ako sa pagtitinda.”

Natawa si Aling Marat at pagkaraan ay dumukot sa bulsa ng kanyang bestido upang magbayad. Saglit na nangulimlim ang kanyang mukha at ang ngiti sa maninipis niyang labi ay nawala. Wala ang kanyang kalupi! Napansin ng kaharap ang kanyang anyo.

“Bakit no?” anito.

“E … e, nawawala ho ang aking pitaka,” wala sa loob na sagot ni Aling Marta.

“Ku, e, magkano ho naman ang laman?” ang tanong ng babae.

“Ang tanda niyang laman ng kanyang kalupi ay pitumpong piso na siyang bigay na sahod ng kanyang asawa nang sinundang gabi, Sabado. Ngunit aywan ba niya kung bakit ang di pa ma’y nakikiramay nang tono ng nagtatanong ay nakapagpalaki ng kanyang loob upang sabihin, “E, sandaan at sampung piso.”

Nanatili siya sa pagkakatayo nang ilang saglit, wari’y tinakasan ng lakas, nag-iisip ng mga nakaraang pangyayari. Mayamaya ay parang kidlat na gumuhit sa kanyang alaala ang gusgusing batang kanyang nakabangga. Tumama ang siko nito sa kanyang dibdib, sa kanyang katawan! Dali-dali siyang tumalikod at patakbong lumabas. Hindi pa marahil iyon nakalalayo; may ialng sandali pa lamang ang nakararaan. Inisip niya kung ang kasuotan nito na maaari niyang pagkilanlan, ang tabas ng mukha, ang gupit, ang tindig. Sa labas, sa harap ng palengke na kinaroroonan ng ilang tindahang maliliit at ng mangilan-ngilang namimili at mga batang panakaw na nagtitinda ng gulay, ay nagpalinga-linga siya. Patakbo uli siyang lumakad, sa harap ng mga bilao ng gulay na halos mayapakan na niya sa pagmamadali, at sa gawing dulo ng pusisyon, na di-kalayuan sa natatanaw niyang karatig na outpost ng mga pulis, ay nakita niya ang kanyang hinahanap. Nakatayo ito sa harap ng isang bilao ng kangkong at sa malas niya ay tumatawad. Hindi siya maaaring magkamali: ang wakwak na kamiseta nito at ang mahabang pantalon na wari’y salawal ding ginagamit ng kanyang ama, ay sapat nang palatandaan upang ito ay madaling makilala. At ang hawak nitong bangos ng tigbebeinte.

Maliksi siyang lumapit at binatak ang bata sa liig.“Nakita rin kita!” ang sabi niyang humihingal. “Ikaw ang dumukot ng pitaka ko, ano? Huwang kang magkakaila!”Tiyakan ang kanyang pagkakapagsalita; ibig niyang sa pagkalito ng bata sa pag-aappuhap ng isasagot ay masukol niyang buung-buo. Ngunit ang bata ay mahinahong sumagot:

“Ano hong pitaka?” ang sabi ng bata. “Wala ho akong kinukuhang pintaka sa inyo.”

“Anong wala!” pasinghal na sa abi ni Aling Marta. “Ikaw nga ang dumukot ng pitaka ko at wala nang iba. Kunwa pa’y binangga mo ako, ano, ha? Magaling, magaling ang sistema ninyong iyan. Kikita nga kayo rito sa palengke.”

Marami nang nakapaligid sa kanila, mga batang nagtitinda, lalaki at babaing mamimili. Hinigpitan ni Aling Marta ang pagkakahawak sa liig ng bata at ito’y pilit na iniharap sa karamihan.

“Aba, kangina ba namang pumapasok ako sa palengke, e, banggain ako,” ang sabi niya. “Nang magbabayad na ako ng pinamili ko’t kapain ko ang bulsa ko, e, wala nang laman!”

“Ang mabuti ho’y ipapulis ninyo,” sabing nakalabi ng isang babaing nakikinig. “Talagang dito ho sa palengke’y maraming naglipanang batang gaya niyan.’

“Tena,” ang sabi ni Aling Marta sa bata. “Sumama ka sa akin.”

“Bakit ho, saan ninyo ‘ko dadalhin?”

“Saan sa akala mo?” sabi ni Aling Marta at pinisil ang liig ng bata. “Ibibigay kita sa pulis. Ipabibilanggo kita kapag di mo inilabas ang dinukot mo sa akin.”

Pilit na nagwawala ang bata; ipinamulsa niya ang hawak na bangos upang dalawahing-kamay ang pag-aalis sa mabutong mga daliri ni Aling Marta na tila kawad sa pagkakasal sa kanyang liig. May luha nang nakapamintana sa kanyang mga mata at ang uhog at laway ay sabay na umaagos sa kanyang liig. Buhat at sa likuran ng mga manonood ay lumapit ang isang pulis, na tanod sa mga pagkakataong tulad niyon, at nang ito ay malapit ay sinimulan ni Aling Marta ang pagsusumbong.

“Nasiguro ko hong siya dahil sa, nang ako’y kanyang banggain, e, naramdaman ko ang kanyang kamay sa aking bulsa,” patapos niyang pagsusumbong. “Hindi ko lang ho naino kaagad pangkat ako’y nagmamadali.”

Tiningnang matagal ng pulis ang bata, ang maruming saplot nito at sinimulang mangapkap. Sa bulsa ng bata, na sa pagdating ng pulis ay tuluyan nang umiyak, au lumabas ang isang maruming panyolito, basa ng uhog at tadtad ng sulsi, diyes sentemos na papel at ang tigbebeinteng bangos.

“Natitiyak ho ba ninyong talaga na siya ang dumukot ng inyong pitaka?” ang tanong ng pulis kay Aling Marta.

“Siya ho at wala nang iba,” ang sagot ni Aling Marta.

“Saan mo dinala ang dinukot mo sa aling ito?” mabalasik na tanong ng pulis sa bata. “Magsabi ka ng tatoo, kung di ay dadalhin kita.”

“Wala ho akong dinukot na maski ano sa kanya,” sisiguk-sigok na sagot ng bata. “Maski kapkapan ninyo ‘ko nang kapkapan, e, wala kayong makukuha sa akin. Hindi ho ako mandurukot.”

“Maski kapkapan!” sabad ni Aling Marta. “Ano pa ang kakapkapin namin sa iyo kung ang pitaka ko, e, naipasa mo na sa kapwa mong mandurukot! O, ano, hindi ba ganoon kayong mga tekas kung lumakad … isa-isa, dala-dalawa, tatlu-tatlo. Ku, ang mabuti ho yata, mamang pulis, e, ituloy na natin iyan sa kuwartel. Baka roon matutong matakot iyan at magsabi ng totoo.”

Tumindig ang pulis. “Hindi natin karaka-rakang madadala ito nang walang evidencia. Kinakailangang kahit paano’y magkaroon tayo ng maihaharap na katibayang siya nga ang dumukot ng iyong kuwarta. Papaano ho kung hindi siya?”

“E, anompang evidencia ang hinahanap mo?” ang sabi ni Aling Marta na nakalimutan ang pamumupo. “Sinasabi ko nang binangga akong pasadya, at naramdaman ko ang kanyang kamay sa aking bulsa. Ano pa?”

Sa bata nakatingin ang pulis na wari’y nag-iisip ng dapat niyang gawin; maya-maya’y muling naupo at dumukot ng isang lapis at isang maliit na kuwaderno sa kanyang bulya.

“Ano ang pangalan mo?” ang tanong niya sa bata.

“Andres Reyes po.”

“Saan ka nakatira?” ang muling tanong ng pulis.

Lumingon ang bata sa kanyang paligid, inisa-isa ang mga mukhang nakatunghay sa kanya. “Wala ho kaming bahay,” ang sagot. “Ang tatay ko ho, e, me sakit at kami ho, kung minsan, ay sa bahay ng Tiyag Ines ko nakatira sa Blumentritt, kung minsan naman ho, e, sa mga lola ko sa Kiyapo at kung minsan naman ho, e, sa bahay ng kapatid ng nanay ko rito sa Tundo. Inutusan nga lang ho niya akong bumili ng ulam, para mamayang tanghali.”

“Samakatuwid ay dito kayang mag-ama nakatira ngayon sa Tundo?” ang tanong ng pulis.

“Oho,” ang sagot ng bata, “pero hindi ko nga lang ho alam ang kalye at numero ng bahay dahil sa noong makalawa lang kami lumipat at saka hindi ho ako marunong bumasa, e.”

Ang walang kawawaang tanong at sagot na naririnig ni Aling Marta ay nakabagot sa kanyang pandinig; sa palagay ba niya ay para-para silang walang mararating. Lumalaon ay dumarami ang tao sa kanilang paligid at ang pulis na umuusig ay tila siyang-siya sa kanyang pagtatanong at pagsusulat sa kuwaderno. Nakaramdam siya ng pagkainis.

“Ang mabuti ho yata dalhin na antin iyan kung dadalhin,” ang sabi niya. “Pinagkakaguluhan lamang tayo ng mga tao rito ay wala namang nangyayari. Kung hindi naman ninyo kaya ay sabihin ninyo at tatawag ako ng ibang pulis.”

“Hirap sa inyo, e, sabad kayo nang sabad, e,” ang sabi ng pulis. “Buweno, kung gusti n’yong dalhin ngayon din ang batang ito, pati kayo ay sumama sa akin sa kuwartel. Doon n’yp sabihin ang gusto n’yong sabihin. At doon n’yo gawin ang gusto n’yong gawin.”

Inakbayan nito ang bata at inilakad na patungo sa outpost, kasunod ang di umiimik na si Aling Marta at ang isang hugos na tao na ilan ay ngingiti-ngiti habang silang tatlo ay minamasdan. Sa harap ng outpost ay huminto ang pulis.

“Maghintay kayo rito sandali at tatawag ako sa kuwartel para pahalili,” ang sabi sa kanya at pumasok.

Naiwan siya sa harap ng bata, na ngayon ay tila maamong kordero sa pagkakatungo, sisiguk-sigok, nilalaro ng mga payat na daliri ang ulo ng tangang bangos. Luminga-linga siya. Tanghali na; iilan-ilan na lamang ang nakikita niyang pumapasok sa palengke. Inisip niya kung ilang oras pa ang kinakailangan niyang ipaghintay bago siya makauwi: dalawa, tatlo, o maaaring sa hapon na. Naalaala niya ang kanyang anak na dalagang magtatapos, ang kanyang asawa na kaipala ay naiinip na sa paghihintay; at para niyang narinig ang sasabihin nito kung siya’y uuwi na walang dlang ano man, walang dala at walang pera. Nagsiklab ang poot sa kanya na kangina pa nagpupuyos sa kanyang dibdib; may kung anong sumulak sa kanyang ulo; mandi’y gagahanip ang tingin niya sa batang kaharap. Hinwakan niya ito sa isang bisig, at sa pagdidilim ng kanyang paningin, ay pabalinghat niyang pinilipit sa likod nito.

“Tinamaan ka ng lintik na bata ka!” ang sabi niyang pinanginginigan ng laman. “Kung walang binabaing pulis na makapagpapaamin sa iyo, e, ako ang gagawa ng ikakaamin mo! Saan mo dinala ang dinukot mo sa ‘kin? Saan?”

Napihiyaw ang bata sa sakit; ang bisig nito ay halos napaabot ni Aling Marta sa knayng balikat sa likod. Ang mga nanonood ay para-parang nangapatdan ng dila upang makapagsalita ng pagtutol. Ang kaliwang kamay ni Aling Marta ay pakabig na nakapaikot sa baba ng bata; sinapo ito ng bata ng kanyang kamay at nang mailapit sa kanyang bibig ang buong panggigigil na kinagat.

Hindi niya gustong tumakbo; halos mabali ang kanyang siko at ang nais lamang niya ay makaalpas sa matitigas na bisig ni Aling Marta; ngunit ngayon, nang siya ay bitiwan ng nasaktang si Aling Marta at makalayong papaurong, ay naalala niya ang kalayaan, kalayaan kay Aling Marta at sa dumarakip na pulis, at siya ay humanap ng malulusutan at nang makakita ay walang lingon-likod na tumakbo, patungo sa ibayo ng maluwang na daan. Bahagya na niyang narinig ang mahahayap na salitang binitiwan ng humahabol na si Aling Marta, ang sigaw ng pulis at ang sumunod na tilian ng mga babae; bahagya nang umabot sa kanyang pandinig ang malakas na busina ng isang humahagibis na sasakyan. Sa isang sandali ay nagdilin sa kanya ang buong paligid at sa pagmumulat na mula ng kanyang paningin, sa pagbabalik ng kanyang ulirat, ay wala na siyang nakita kundi ang madidilim na anino ng mga mukhang nakatunghay sa kanyang lupaypay at duguang katawan.

Hindi umiimik si Aling Marta habng minamasdan ang bata. Maputla ang kulay ng kanyang mukha at aywan ba niya at pati siya ay tila pinanawan ng lakas. Malamig na pawis ang gumigiti sa kanyang noo at ang tuhod niya ay parang nangangalog. Hindi siya kapag-angat ng paningin; sa palagay ba niya ay sa kanya nakatuon ang paningin ng lahat at siya ang binubuntunan ng sisi. Bakit ba ako manganganino sa kanila? Pinipilit niyang usalin sa sarili. Ginawa ko lamang ang dapat gawin ninuman at nalalaman ng lahat na ang nangyaring ito’y pagbabayad lamang ng bata sa kanyang nagawang kasalanan.

Ang pulis ay nakabalik na sa outpost at sa isang ospital na tumatawag. Ang bata ay napagtulungan ng ilan na buhatin sa bangketa upang doon pagyamanin at ipaghintay ng ambulansiya kung aabot pa. Ang kalahati ng kanyang katawan, ang dakong ibaba, ay natatakpan ng diyaryo at ang gulanit niyang kamiseta ay tuluyan nang nawalat sa kanyang katawan. Makailang sandali pa, pagdating ng pulis, ay pamuling nagmulat ito sa paningin at ang mga mata ay ipinako sa maputlang mukha ni Aling Marta.

“Maski kapkapan n’yo ako, e, wala kayong makukuha sa akin,” ang sabing pagatul-gatol na nilalabasan ng dugo sa ilong. “Hindi ko kinukuha ang inyong pitaka.”

May kung anong malamig ang naramdaman ni Aling Martang gumapang sa kanyang katawan. Ang bata ay pilit na nagsasabi ng kanyang pahimakas. Ilang sandali pa ay lumungayngay ang ulo nito at nang pulsuhan ng isang naroroon ay marahan itong napailing. Patay na, naisaloob ni Aling Marta sa kanyang sarili.

“Patay na ang dumukot ng kuwarta ninyo,” matabang na sabi ng pulis sa kanyang. Nakatayo ito sa kanyang tabi at hawak na naman ang kanyang kuwarderno at lapis. “Siguro’y matutuwa na kayo niyan.”

“Sa palagay kaya ninyo ay may sasagutin ako sa nangyari?” ang tanong ni Aling Marta.

“Wala naman sa palagay ko,” ang sagot ng pulis. “Kung may mananagot niyan ay walang iba kundi ang pobreng tsuper. Wala rin kayong sasagutin sa pagpapalibing. Tsuper na rin ang mananagot niyan.”

May himig pangungutya ang tinig ng pulis.

“Makakaalis na po ako?” tanong ni Aling Marta.

“Maari na,” sabi ng pulis. “Lamang ay kinakailangan ninyong iwan sa akin ang inyong pangalan at deriksiyon ng iyong bahay upang kung mangailangan ng ulat ng pag-aayos ay mahingan namin kayo ng ulat.”

Ibinigay ni Aling Marta ang kanyang pangalan at tinitirhan at pagkatapos ay tuwid ang tinging lumayo sa karamihan. Para pa siyang nanghihina at magulung-magulo ang kanyang isip; Sali-salimuot ng alalahanin ang nagsasalimbayan sa kanyang diwa. Lumakad siya ngayon ng walang tiyak na patutunguhan. Naalaala niya ang kanyang anak na ga-graduate, ang ulam na dapat niyang iuwi na, sana’y naiuwi na, at ang nananalim, nangungutyang mga mata ng kanyang asawa sa sandaling malaman nito ang pagkawala ng pera. Magtatanong iyon, magagalit, hanggang sa siya ay mapilitang sumagot. Magpapalitan sila ng nahahayap na mapilitang sumagot. Magpapalitan sila ng mahahayap na pangungusap, sisihan, tungayawan, at ang anak niyang ga-graduate ay magpapalahaw ng panangis hanggang sa sila ay puntahan at payapain ng mga kapitbahay. Katakut-takot ng gulo at kahihiyan! sa loob-loob ni Aling Marta, at hindi sinasadya ay muling nadako ang pinag-uulapang diwa sa bangkay ng batang natatakpan ng diyaryo, na siyang pinagmulan ng lahat.

Kung hindi sa tinamaan na lintik na iyon ay hindi ako masusuot sa suliraning ito, usal niya sa sarili. Kasi’y umbi, walang pinag-aralan, maruming palaboy ng kapalarang umaasa sa tabi ng iba. Mabuti nga sa kanya!

Kinakailangan niyang kumilos, umisip ng paraan. Kinakailangang kahit papaano’y makapag-uwi siya ng ulam sa pananghalian. Pagkakain ng kanyang asawa ay malamig na ang kukote nito at saka … saka niya sasabihin ang pagkawala ng pera. Maaaring magalit ito at ipamukha sa kanya, tulad ng madalas sabihin nito, na ang lahat ay dahil sa mabilis niyang paghahangad na makapagdala ng labis na salaping ipamimili, upang makapamburot at maipamata sa kapwa na sila ay hindi naghihirap, ngunit lahat ay titiisin niya, hindi siya kikibo. Ililingid din niya ang nangyaring sakuna sa bata; ayaw ng kanyang asawa ng iskandalo at ano mang pangangatwirang gawin niya ay siya rin ang sisisihin nito sa dakong huli; at kung sakali’t darating ang pulis na kukuha ng ulat ay ililihim niya ito. At tungkol sa ulam, mangungutang siya ng pera sa tindahan ni Aling Goryang at iyon ang kanyang ipamimili; nasabi niya rito na ang nawala niyang pera ay isang daan at sampung piso at ang halagang iyon ay napakalaki na upang ang lima o sampung piso ay ipagkait nito sa kanya bilang panakip. Hindi iyon makapahihindi. May ngiti ng kasiyahang naglalaro sa maninipis na labi ng Aling Marta nang ipihit niya ang kanyang mga paa patungong pamilihan.

Tanghali na nang siya ay makauwi. Sa daan pa lamang, bago siya pumasok sa tarangkahan, ay natatanaw na niya ang kanyang anak na dalaga na nakapamintana sa kanilang barung-barong. Nakangiti ito at siya ang minamasdan, ngunit nang malapit na siya at makita ang dala ay napangunot-noo, lumingon sa loob sa kabahayan at may tinawag. Sumungaw ang payat na mukha ng kanyang asawa.

“Saan ka kumuha ng ipinamili mo niyan, Nana?” ang sabi ng kanyang anak na ga-graduate.

“E … e,” hindi magkantututong sagot ni Aling Marta. “Saa pa kundi sa aking pitaka.”

Nagkatinginan ang mag-ama. “Ngunit, Marta,” ang sabi ng kanyang asawa, “ang pitaka mo, e, naiwan mo! Kanginang bago ka umalis ay kinuha ko iyon sa bulsa ng iyong bestidong nakasabit at kumuha ako ng pambili ng tabako, pero nakalimutan kong isauli. Saan ka kumuha ng ipinamili mo niyan?”Biglang-bigla, anaki’y kidlat na gumuhit sa karimlan, nagbalik sa gumita ni Aling Marta ang larawan ng isang batang payat, duguan ang katawan at natatakpan ng diyaryo, at para niyang narinig ang mahina at gumagaralgal na tinig nito: Maski kapkapan niyo ako, e, wala kayong makukuha sa ‘kin. Saglit siyang natigilan sa pagpanhik sa hagdanan; para siyang pinangangapusan ng hininga at sa palagay ba niya ay umiikot ang kanyang buong paligid; at bago siya tuluyang nawalan ng ulirat ay wala siyang narinig kundi ang papanaog na yabag ng kanyang asawa’t anak, at ang papaliit at lumalabong salitang: Bakit kaya? Bakit kaya?

44 Pounds

(June 20, 2010)

As Slovakia and Paraguay are starting to slug it out in South Africa, I have no other impulse than to pack my suitcase and while doing so I am hoping that it would not exceed the 20 kilo mark. Then a vision appears of a road, long and empty. No scary, not boring, simply empty. And I wonder whether I should consider getting a proper dinner at this point.

To travel is every person’s destiny. It is for every man and woman to fulfill akin to a Muslim’s pilgrimage to Mecca. Your financial status does not exempt you from that duty. We live in a world to not stand apart but to walk hand in hand together. Our destiny is to experience each piece of the world one single step at a time. The cultures exist for other cultures to take part in. Other languages exist for other nationalities to learn. Our differences exist to be understood. And it is our sacred duty as humans to understand someone different from us. Skin color and gender are not to be used as means for division. Rather, they must be used as tools for the celebration of the uniqueness of every soul scattered in a hugely amazing expanse of land.

Division and Exclusion are the biggest transgressors against humanity. Religion might be an expression for some, a way of life for others, non-existent for some others and still for others it is the ultimate definition of their being. However, when religion begins to exclude simply by basis of a person’s uniqueness, that religion has transgressed humanity. It stunts humanity from flourishing and realizing its purpose and we stop learning about one other. We are not so different beyond the color of our skin, beyond our way of clothing, beyond our religious affiliations. All of us eat, all of us love, all of us want for a better life, all of us respect our family and all of us watch the world news, simply because we do care about others at the other side of the world. Boredom is just an excuse. You do care; other people different from you interest you. Give it a chance and you would know that we share the same sentiments and values though expressed in different languages and in different ways.

It pains me that some culture looks down on others. It pains me that a culture physically separates two souls who have found each other. And it pains me that these souls will never get to spend their life together because uniqueness is transgressed upon. The universe is accepting and so should we. The very powers that exists to make our existence possible would never discriminate or why else did it put us here very different from each other as night and day. It placed us here as different as can be and that’s what we ought to be naturally. We cannot turn each other into our clones but we need to let each other in and learn. That power wants us to stand beside each other and realize that we are one and therefore need the other.

I am more ready than ever to accept the world. I am more ready than ever to accept my destiny. As Mohammed had said, “Don’t tell me how educated you are, tell me how much you traveled.” It will be up to me to fill up that empty road. And maybe if you realize my uniqueness and understand humanity, you would fulfill your duty too.

http://images.travelpod.com/bin/tripwow/flash/tripwow.swf

Half-a-Year Around Asia Slideshow: Mara’s trip from Cebu City, Cebu, Philippines to 29 cities Bangkok, Hong Kong, Kuala Lumpur, Lao Peoples Dem Rep (near Laos, Laos), Macau, Sabah, Selangor, Kota Kinabalu, Brunei (near Brunei Darussalam, Brunei Darussalam), George Town (near Georgetown, Pulau Penang, Malaysia), Sarawak, Ko Chang, Luang Prabang, Vientiane, Davao, Bohol, Ayutthaya, Batangas, Tagaytay, Ban Na Phu (near Udon Thani, Thailand), Subic, Ban Chiang Klom (near Loei), Nong Khai, Labuan, Vang Vieng, Nakhon Pathom, Sakon Nakhon, Bantayan (near Batad) and Ban Bueng Kan Klang (near Paksane) was created by TripAdvisor. See another China slideshow. Create your own stunning slideshow with our free photo slideshow maker.

New Game. New Rules.

(May 10, 2010)

Karim Raslan, a Malaysian writer, on writing before the conclusion of the Philippine Election had said that, “Indeed, the Philippines has become Asean’s ghost: a country that’s almost totally forgotten about… As 50 million or so Filipino’s line up patiently to vote, the questions on everyone’s minds are multiple… Can one of the contenders shake off the stain of failure? Can the Philippines regain the lustre and influence it once possessed back in the 50s and 60s?”

I share the questions that Raslan was asking and I assume that millions of us insiders are asking the same. Are we about to be redeemed or to get sucked back further to the Black Hole Marcos left us in.

We were already at the top and just look at where we are now. If I may go on further, this country has become a joke… a big joke not only in the ASEAN, but in the whole world. It was very frustrating that we did not have a good line up of presidential candidates to choose from and it is harrowing how Gloria botched the entire electoral process with the passage of the problem-filled Automated Election. As expected, it was hysterically disappointing, to say the least.

What can Noy-noy’s election to the highest seat of the land mean for us? Is he the best choice at this time? If I remember it correctly, he was not an exceptional anything in his life. He did not excel in anything in Congress and absolutely not while he was in Senate. Oh, there is one single achievement that he did make… to be born to Ninoy and Cory. But that also means that Kris inherited him as a brother. Which I am sure every sensible Filipino would agree is a crazed state to be in.

Would Gibo have been a better choice? The man is like a breath of the freshest air amidst all the corrupt faces marring the presidential race yet this demonic shadow of Gloria follows him around everywhere he goes. Gloria fed and clothed him and as he proclaimed during one debate, he will not bite the hands that fed him. So it must have been a blessing then that he lost, for the demonic shadow will tail after him until the ends of the earth and to hell and back.

The Billionaire Villar. What can I absolutely say? Good riddance, old man. You are the very epitome of a traditional politico set about a Mafiaic way. You are a force in business and I am glad you will not be able to fully have control on my country’s coffers.

And lastly, ERAP. My god Erap, you awaken me to the saddest fact that my kababayans are so poor that they willingly exchanged their souls for a meal that would fuel them for a day. I have no humanly words to describe the repugnance I feel every time I hear and see you. You are something that should not have happened in Philippine politics. You greatly disgust me and I abhor you with every ounce of cell in my body and that will be so until the day I die and until my children’s children die. I cannot express the joy I feel now that you have no chance to rule my country AGAIN. Until the 2017 elections, that is. I hope with everything I have that you will not make it by then.

So going back to Noy-noy. Will he endure? Will he deliver? Or CAN he deliver. Where will we be after six years of a clueless President’s reign?

I hear you Conan, that the youth must not be cynical but you don’t understand these things because you don’t reside in a third-world country like I do. You don’t see people dying from lack of food and you don’t see your government turning a blind-eye on them. The days go on for us enduring lack of the most basic needs and this translates to lack of hope. But be glad because we are surviving still.

That’s our specialty.

The Loving

She stood in silence in the middle of herself and looked around. She did not like what she is seeing. It was all rubbles in a background of black emptiness — the color of death and of her. The color of her soul to be exact. No wonder he did not like her anymore. No one would, and surely not him.

 

In the warzone that is herself nothing could survive. It is too chaotic and more violent than a real war. At least in real wars there is a chance of peace as it often comes after wars. But within the realms of her, all hope is lost. Peace could never be brought forth. She is condemned to a passion-filled psychological violence against herself and towards others. She has been in that state for the last half of the decade or perhaps longer. She has been in denial for so long that time has become irrelevant. It felt like she’s been swimming in dark bottomless waters, she keeps drowning but she never dies, so she has to endure the pain of drowning over and over again. She wishes the suffering would stop and she would be free.

 

Yet somehow, something always pulls her back from pulling the plug. Is she waiting for the proper timing? How hypocritical of her. The fake concern for what? She laughs. No wonder she hates pretentious people! She is the greatest pretender among them all. She laughs some more. And predictably she cried next. She cannot stand herself anymore. It must end now. She must make it right.

 

She stood amidst all the destruction she has created and slowly realized it all. She can never be free to love another until she frees herself from herself.

 

And unlike most people, her fairytale came true. She ended up loving herself first.

 

 

The Leaving

No matter what she does, she could no longer impress him. She has lost her place and her bargaining power has diminished completely.

 

“Sometimes, a girl’s got to take what a girl is given,” she thinks. Even her pride was gone and pride, once gone, could never be retrieved (in her opinion, at least).

 

She wished she had done it differently and had done it the right way. She wished she had given back as much as she was given and she would give anything to take back the pain she has Lovelorn and stricken-wild of agony, the lioness (or as she once was) retreats and vows to never see the light of day.

 

It is ironic how you never really see the things that you have until it is taken away that you realize they have been there all along.

 

And sometimes, you realize you want those things back and that you have wanted them all along. But sometimes, you cannot have them again and you have to live with the fact of that loss. Perhaps for all of your lifetime.

Serotonin V Dopamine

My crowned iconoclast at the moment, Helen Fisher, had this (at first unthinkable) idea that constant intakes of serotonin might jeopardize ones ability to pump up the dopamine system in the brain, or in lay speak: one’s ability to fall in love and/or stay in love. You gotta love the 21st century, with a net book and super brains (or okay just a creative mind), nothing is ever too complicated to dissect. So anyway, instead of intense emotions you will only feel blandness (Like eating paper instead of chocolate perhaps?).

 

Well at first it was unthinkable but then the media picked it up and people have come out supporting her theory (Seriously man, they chose paper over chocolate).

 

But I think it’s brilliant.

 

What do you get when you feel intense romantic feelings anyway. Refer to the paper err.. song “I’ll never fall in love again” for a more detailed and scientific explanation about the pains and sorrows of dopamine overload or to the other song of equal importance and value “Alone Again… Naturally”. If I was giving a lecture on this, that song would be playing in the background.. OR NOT. Besides, the extremely bright anthropologist has a conclusion on a another study on the Anatomy of Love wherein she has proven that Romantic Love is merely an addiction. It has the same characteristics: Obsession, Withdrawal and Relapse.

 

So what is love anyway but some idiot brain’s foray into the troubled bridge of no return. No return, ya hear! But Fisher might counter that with: What is a world without love. Whatever Fisher. Uh-oh, I am hearing voices in my head: “How do you measure, a year in the life. How about love? How about love? How about loveee… Measure in love… Seasons of love…” Shut up Rent people. A year in the life is measured by your net worth. Depressing, isn’t it.

 

So every time you get that warm feeling inside thinking of someone, STOP. Think of all the valiant men and women throughout history who have fallen prey to this brain malfunction. Highlight those fuzzy feelings and press delete, okay you’re making progress… Now, go back and grab some anti-depressants.

 

Race you!

 

Take One

We sleep under the same big sky and

Probably see the same bright stars

But I will never see you again in this life

My soul is swimming in the 8th ocean

I feel cheated by the universe

The universe is bringing me down

 

That bastard!

 

Life was the sky and you were that one star

But the gods had brought down Egypt’s Plague of Darkness on my sky

 

The universe wants to teach me something

Like a child needing to be disciplined

That I am too spoiled

Too used to having my way and getting what I want

I pleaded with the council of the gods but they rejected my motions

 

Actually, you did

The universe was just an excuse

 

There is no compromise with you

You had priorities pre-ordained and you are too weak to break them

Priorities just written in the sand

Like sandcastles

But no you must have them petrified

Petrified and framed and hung in your room

Right above the headboard of your bed where you would see it when you wake up

You even made a replica of it and hung it by your bathroom door

So you would be reminded everytime you take your morning piss

 

I will probably love you until I can

But I’m not fixed on waiting for the change to overcome you

Because it most probably won’t

Never will I guess

 

So, here is your ticket

Go home now love…

And when you remember me and smile – I would feel it

We are connected like that, you and I

 

I see your train

It is waiting.

 

Did you wish you had them back?

Innocence
Pride
Ideals
the first jewelry from Mother

Youth
Lack of inhibitions
Naivety
Recklessness

The first matchbox car
The first Barbie doll
The first award
The Uncanny X-men

First book you bought
First bicycle
First best-friend
Childhood

Curiosity
Love for Life
Romance
The previous summer

Time
Love ones who died
Love ones who left
Favorite childhood book

Beauty
Effortless charm
Confidence
First thing you bought with your first salary

Optimism
Passion
A direction
Grandfather

Friends you lost in the maze of life
Your childhood mission,
The love of your life,
The old you…

the last day,
the last embrace,
the last kiss,

the ONE that got away.

Catching up with each other

Perhaps it’s true what they say, that its not how long you spend with each other that matters, but the quality of time together. I have long been a believer of the opposite but Benjamin Button changed it for me.

I would always want to be with my guy everyday of our lives, every breathing moment, every waking hour, every fleeting second whatever the circumstances might be. I am obsessed about the idea of togetherness. Love is defined by the number of hours punched in for the day. Each and everyday I mean. Overtimes are entitled to extra TLC. Absences (and lates) are subject to a love meter deduction. Certainly no rest days and f*ck those holidays. No reason is excusable except death.

Benjamin and Daisy may not have spent their whole lives together, but they spent it together at the peak years, when their ages have finally caught up with each other. At a time when their minds and hearts and conditions are at last attuned to the reunion of their souls; When it was perfect for Daisy to ask him, “Sleep with me,” and for him to answer “Absolutely.”

They may had led separate lives after that but no matter how brief their encounters were, no matter how short-lived those moments are, the memory of those happy times, the ecstasy of those feelings, the reality of those precious years linger forever. A constant that stayed with them thoughout the remainder of both their lives, a grounding essence through everything they got in the box of chocolates.

Addiction

Few people don’t have a morbid fascination with food. As a member of the majority, I confess to frequent bingings and overly excessive sprees. By frequent, I mean two to three times a week. I confess to being a voracious eater; a shameless glutton. As with addiction, I think of food always. By always, I mean every 3 to 5 minutes.

Even when I sleep, I dream of it. I dream of giant Snicker skyscrapers and Cadbury roads and trees (inspired by the ad) and Toblerone people and pets. When I’m awake, I buy all the junk food I could afford and stuff them as fast as I could.

My fascination with food has recently escalated to obssession. Even when I’m not hungry, I eat. And if I am, I eat as if I’m eating for two. Or three. And if that’s not enough, my favorite channel is now the Food Network.

I look forward most to the times before or after meals. Breakfast, lunch, dinner — they’re predictable, thus, not so fun. Its the non-meal times that I love. A chocolate bar or two at 3 o’clock followed by a bag of chips. A burger and some fries before dinner and maybe a pie or two at 10pm. A late night pizza or another chocolate bar before going to sleep is just heavenly.

But hey, don’t think I’m not paying for this craziness. My weight fluctuates, my mood swings, my teeth are more prone to cavities, my skin is bad, and my health is deteriorating.This is not healthy obviously, but I have never been health-concsious. I am a hedonist. So, I don’t care. I’m adopting the Amy Winehouse attitude.

I have even already planned what I’d love to have to culminate my life and addiction — the most sinful moist chocolate cake, the creamiest blueberry cheesecake, spicy roasted suckling pig, a bucket of extra spicy fried chicken and a Philly cheesesteak. The perfect goodbye party is a Cholesterol Fest!

Who snatched my sleep?

I’ve been up since 12:00 midnight. It is almost 5:30 pm but my brain is as hyper as a 5 year old ADHD child. I must be on drugs or something. But hey if I am, I am totally innocent about it. Our cook must have added ground Ecstacy into the Lumpia I had for lunch. That manang!

Maybe it was the tons of chocolates I had for snacks every two hours. Yea, that must be it. Okay, I admit. I’m an addict. I know I would get fat and poor if I eat too much of those little hersheys, M ‘n Ms, baby ruths, butter fingers. I’d get fat because of the extra calories of course and poor because I wouldn’t fit into my old clothes anymore so I would have to buy new clothes, but i would not be able to afford that also because I’m now fat and I would need to maintain the daily dosage of junk food that fat people crave for. I’m just speaking for myself, okay? I know other curvaceous babes can afford to look fat but still hot. It’s just that, at my financial situation right now, I would not be able to. So, all my money would go to food and none for clothes. So, I would have to make do with shabby hand-me-downs that is fit to wipe the tiled floors. That’s how I will become poor if I don’t quit.

Is there a Chocaholics Anonymous somewhere? Where would I find my support group for this addiction? Maybe I should get into a rehab or something. Do a Lindsay for two months. Great, just what I’d need. Yay.

Going back to the main point of my topic, who stole my sleep? (Just to have a resolution..)

Snickers, it was you!

Search for the Perfect Shoes

my search for the perfect shoes began even before i knew it began. of all the things most important to a woman, shoes are the hardest to find. it’s even harder to find than men.

i had found the perfect pair.. it was just the right size for me and it felt so comfortable on my feet. best of all, it was black.. which means, it would be perfect for whatever outfit that i would pair it with. it had stilleto heels and the cutest soles ever — black, grey and white retro prints; which means i could wear it with a funky or glam outfit. it had a thong strap which was elastic and it perfectly cocooned my feet. i was the most comfortable thing ever! i was so attached to those perfect heels that it got worn in less than a year. i would wear it everywhere. it only cost me about a thousand — a thousand that brought me happiness for many months. i was so proud of those shoes. i thought of buying another pair for emergencies but my rational side got the best of me. i still regret not buying another pair until today. i would have been the most contented shoe-searching woman on earth.

so now i’m back to the search… it has become an endless search now. it has been 3 years since my first perfect pair but there are times when i think that i am not over it yet. i thought about going to the boutique where i got it and ask for a custom made one. would they actually do that? would they reproduce one of their old designs by request? i have yet to find out. this has become a problem. i was supposed to get over some stupid heels. i have to find my “2nd perfect shoes” before i go crazy. i have been to countless shoe boutiques all over but nothing compared to my perfect shoes.

i miss you shoes… hope i’ll meet something like you again someday.

Aksel Sandamose and the Law of Jante

Aksel Sandemose first put into written expression the Law of Jante. I won’t be talking much about Mr. Sandemose but I will share what the Jante Law is. I just feel that Sandemose did the world a great favor by including the concept in his novel, hence, the title.

The name Jante is the name of the town where the story of Sandemose’s novel is set. The town has ten rules, which are:

1. Don’t think that you are special.
2. Don’t think that you are of the same standing as us.
3. Don’t think that you are smarter than us.
4. Don’t fancy yourself as being better than us.
5. Don’t think that you know more than us.
6. Don’t think that you are more important than us.
7. Don’t think that you are good at anything.
8. Don’t laugh at us.
9. Don’t think that anyone cares about you.
10. Don’t think that you can teach us anything.

The Law works very well until today. That is why we see mediocrity everywhere. People who keep silent, people who suffer, people who allow others to reduce them to mere followers or worse, puppets. Since you feel that you are unworthy and unspecial, what is the point of evoking change? What is the point of being different?

Later in the story, Sandemose added the ELEVENTH and most important rule, in my opinion:

11. Don’t you think we know something about you?

That is the threat of punishment; since they know something about you, they can easily easily hurt you. So you would say, “I don’t want to be different. I don’t want to challenge anything. I just want to be like everybody else and be left alone.”

Then you would be living not a life but the shadow of a life that you could have lived.

The Unbeliever

I could not bring myself to write down my new year’s resolutions. Its not like I have been devotedly doing that anyway since I’ve scrapped that practice years ago. But for this time I thought of being traditional. At first, I thought I could do 10, then I brought it down to five and finally to only two — that which I can’t tell you. I’d have to kill you if I do. Anyway, the whole point of the matter in writing resolutions is to make a pact with the devil (uhh, no.. that means your..self?). How convenient! You would just break it in no time and who knows you are a master in forensic? How could you come up with 67 excuses/ justifications in a minute for being a bad bad girl? You should have been a litigator. Wow! You are unbelievably resolved in breaking your resolutions.

If I resolve to join the gym, I might actually. Enrollment is not so hard you wouldn’t break a sweat by doing that, but would I actually be present at the gym? If I am present, would I actually try on the machines or pick up the lightest weights? If I do get on the exercise machines would I be able to make the trek to gym thrice a week? There are a thousand other ways to break your resolutions by the simpliest of your actions.

So, there. I could not fool myself. I could maybe fool the Pope but not myself. I will just go with whatever I will feel like doing. I will try to proceed with actions which would be more beneficial for the people surrounding me. TRY, okay? keyword is TRY? It might be overrated but you just have to follow your heart. In your quest for a better life, there’s no other path to take but the one led on by your heart.