marching march

There are people who have special fondness to a certain month, or in some cases, months. December is well celebrated because at Christmas day, families gather all over the world to celebrate. In fact it is the busiest month of the year for many of us. June and May is proven to be the best months for a wedding. The time is caught between dry and wet season so it is perfect for the honeymooners to stop the world and let it melt in envy of their sweetness. And of course not to mention, the beautiful blossoms that summer brings. What would a wedding be without the hues and colours of flowers?



But luckily for me, the month I deem very significant is the month of March.



Except that it is the month exactly next after February, where most budding love and love relationships come into full bloom, and could be used to evaluate whether the previous month’s hullabaloo about St. Valentine lasted another month long, March for me has become my hint to a year-end ever since I was a school kiddo: no more exams after this month, no more late night studying, no more terror teachers and irritating bully classmates. March, instead, inculcated that mantra in my young mind that it is the month to prelude summer! March is synonymous to fun and frolic in the beach, partying, countless sleep-over at a friend’s house, outdoor outback adventure, camping and simply the only legal alibi to wake up slow in the morning and to couch-potato in a lazy afternoon.


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March is also the summary of a student’s quest for knowledge and education all throughout the school year. In fact, it is the month normally when graduations are commenced. Just a few days ago, I covered the graduation exercises of the only night high school in the Eastern Visayas. Most of the graduates were working in different blue-collared jobs by day and went to class by night. Most of them were even older than I am while some, based on a person’s age, should have already been in college.



I felt goose bumps while I was listening to the speech of the class valedictorian who returned sincere gratitude to his teachers and to his Alma Mater, who, according to him accepted the rejects of the society. I felt shame for myself as he went on delivering his proud oration because I do not exactly remember the last time I was so thankful to my university.



The outpour of emotions went on when all the graduates went up the stage to render their graduation song. From where I stood, I saw clearly the pregnant 16 year-old girl whose toga gown could not help hide the mishap she got from her step-father. The next row behind her is where the 47 year-old woman, in a burgundy bob-cut, held hands with her closest classmate in class; I took photo of earlier in the ceremony where she received Class Service Award.



Some students were already crying, some just held their tears. But all of them nonetheless, looked righteously radiant in their white toga gowns, faceless before us and holding nothing for their future but pocketfuls of hope and unabashed willpower.



“I never dreamed that I will be here today. But today is my now and thank you for believing”, echoed in the air.
Right then I stopped taking photos. I just listened to their singing and marvelled to a real life spectacle happening before my eyes.



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This month I also turned another year older! (confetti and fireworks, included!)Perhaps that will explain why I am biased with March.(rofl!) No, I do not really celebrate my birthday. I mean, yeah I recognize it as the day for what it is, and of course I self-proclaim it that I get an all-access pass with anything and everything that day, devil may care! But its just that I think I am not a kid anymore to embellish some fancy on my birthday.



However, I am still thankful to the people who surprised me with a birthday cake, in the bedroom, just a minute after midnight, eve of my birthday,that is! I was in boxers already when they barged in, Mama Mia! Good thing I was not watching porn (bluff!) online that night! Que horror!



And then when I woke up the same morning, they prepared a sumptuous potluck of lechon, shrimp, kinilaw, grilled fish, BBQ…another birthday cake, black forest this time and a set of delectable flavors of ice cream. So sweet of these people. But I thought I just did not deserve the warm attention.



Anyhow, the day finished with a bang! And I found myself busily replying to all the birthday SMS’ I received since last night. Thank you pips!



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Collectively, March has been pretty blissful for me. I have had so many realizations, chance encounters, inadequacies and failures and happy thoughts in my pockets in this month alone. And I guess, it will suffice for now to keep me grounded and going.

faces ( mga hulagway)

Three days ago, through constant prodding of a friend, i joined a local photo contest hosted by a college here in the metro. it was so 'last minute' that i just browsed through my chest of old snapshots i took last year without any single idea what to submit for entry. truth is, i do not memorize by heart all the photos i took though i could easily identify what is mine, without batting an eyelash, that is.



anyhow, i submitted three entries that were supposed to convey a photo story relevant to the theme : technology and society. i had high-hopes about my entries. no, i was not focused on winning. i am still a newbie, and learning still, though i already won 3rd Place in a local amateur photo contest during the Oktubafest in Tacloban.hehe.


instead, i was more excited about being able to join a photo contest again and get the chance to tell people stories i chanced on the streets and captured them in pictures.


these were the entries i submitted.



In His Eyes.



Mother and Child.



A Taste Of Life.




i was elated when my friend told me about the results this morning. i thought it was a good kick-off to make my day. and it did.



pardon my boyish pride but i just could not contain my inner joy about winning the photo contest. i know this is so silly! but hey, let me own this.


this is my Grammy, my Tony and my Oscars or could be my Olympic gold.


p.s. thanks diane.

ikaw

Dumating ka sa buhay ko ng hindi mo sinasadya. Maging ako. At alam ko yun. Wala sa plano ang pagtatagpo natin noon sa ilalim ng sungit ng panahon at manaka nakang ambon. Nakakatuwa yun. At dahil matagal akong dumating sapul sa ating pinag-usapan na oras, pumasok ka ng simbahan upang makinig sa misa. Sana hindi mo ipinanalangin ang pagdating ko. Sana hindi mo ipinanalangin ang araw na yun.

Sinabi kong malapit na’kong dumating kung kaya’t lumabas ka ng simbahan at hindi mo na tinapos ang misa, upang muling maghintay pa dahil ang totoo’y hindi pa ko umaalis ng bahay nun. Hati ang isip ko nun kung magpapakita nga ako sayo.

Matapos ang palitan ng text at tawaran kung tuloy ba ang pagkikita o hindi, nauwi ang usapan sa pagkain ng fishball at malutong na tuksuhan sa bagong bili mong wrist watch sa Everthing 100. Ang cute naman, sabi ko. Sana tama ang hinala kong sinadya mong dumaan na lang sa shop na yun at sinadyang bumili ng relo, kahit wala sa plano, dahil nagbabakasakali kang dumating pa din ako. Sana naghinala ka nun na dadating pa din ako at hindi ako nang-gugudtaym lang.


Masaya ang hapon na yun. Sabi mo pa nga perstaym mo tumambay sa park kasi hindi mo trip. Salamat naman at una yun. At ako ang kasama mo. Pilit kong isinaulo ang mukha mo kasabay ng pagdilim. Nakakaaliw ang mga mata mo. Nakakabaliw ang mga mensahe sa iyong balintataw. Malalim. Malungkot.


Bago ako nakatulog nang gabing yun nagtext ka pa ng “ happy ako knina. Enjoy ako. Astig.” Napangiti lang ako. At sabay yakap sa unan na naghintay sa akin buong araw.


Muling naulit ang mga pagtatagpo. Lunch out. Tambay sa park (ulit!) at laro sa swing. Hanap sa ukay-ukay at bumili ng mga kahit anung kapwa natin gusto. Nood ng sine. Ikot ng downtown at bunuin lang ang maghapon ng walang kapararakang mga bagay-bagay.

Nakakatuwa dahil parang matagal na tayong magkakilala. Parang matalik na magkaibigan na muling nagkita paglipas ng may kung ilang mahabang taon.

Patlang.

At nagkwento ka ng mga karanasan mo at sa mga bagay na mahalaga sa’yo – pamilya, trabaho, kaibigan pati mga bagay na natutunan mo nung mga panahong akala mo kaya mo na ang lahat. Lahat yun.


O kaya’y lahat lamang ng mga bagay-bagay na kaya mong ibahagi at ikwento sa’kin sa ngayon.

Madami yun. Samu’t-sari. May kakatwa. May nakakamangha. May ilan na hindi ko akalaing pinagdaanan mo.

Patlang.


Sini-sino ko ang bawat ngiti mo. Ang mga sulyap mo. O ang mga miminsan mong maiiksi ngunit malulutong na mga tawa. Pinipilit kong namnamin ang mga pagkakataong yun kasi alam ko sa likod nun malungkot ka. At ang mga tawa mo’y baka hindi na maulit pang muli.

Alam kong simbilis ng pagtatagpo natin ay simbilis din ng pag-alis mo.

Kahit ayaw ko.

Alam ko namang hindi kita mapipigilan. Dahil may natural na yabang ka sa katawan. At armas mo yan sa biyahe mo at sa walang katapusan mong paghahanap ng mga sagot sa tanong mo.

Alam kong ang mga bagahe mong dala-dala ay simbigat ng mga karanasan mong pilit mong kinakalimutan. Ngunit hindi mo kayang bitiwan. At iwanan sa nakaraan.

Matapang ka, alam ko. Matalino at maabilidad. Para kang damong ligaw na kahit saang sulok man mapadpad – sa batuhan, sa parang, sa makipot na daan, sa may malapit sa tubigan, sa siwang ng punong tood o sa mga bahagi ng kalupaan na aakalain ng iba’y wala nang pupwede pang mabuhay pa – andun ka. Kasi nga magaling ka. At singlakas ng isip mo ang loob mo.


Patlang.


Pero sana habang nandito ka pa sa tabi ko – nakakaulayaw at nakakalaro. Bayaan mong hilutin ko ang mga bali mo sa pakpak. Hayaan mong paghilumin ko ang mga sugat mo puso at gamutin ang mga pasa sa iyong pagkatao.

Bayaan mong umiyak ako kasama mo at sabay tayong magalit sa kanila.

Umiyak tayo buong araw. Kahit hanggang gabi. Kahit hanggang muling magparaya ang buwan sa muling pagsibol ng bagong araw.

Hanggang wala na tayong iluha pa.

Hanggang ang lahat ay wala nang saysay.


Patlang.


Andito lang ako.

Hihintayin kita.

Hihintayin ko ang pag- uwi mo. Kahit saan ka pa man dalhin ng mga pangarap mo.






The Firefly

I thought I caught a fragile firely
When it beckoned to me with its light last night.
But no, it was the elusive dream that fled when I closed my eyes.

Until it stops burning its little torch,
I shall keep imagining it in my hands
That the world ain’t dark
After all it has done to our innocence.


-cte

waray taytol

akon pagbabataktasan an lima ka-tuig
naton tipakadto ha Magsaysay
pagpapahanginan ha Balyuan,
pagpapahungawan ha may haruhagdanan.
iyawat la bisan lima ka-oras
mahingalimtan ka kadaliay.

mistakes

"i got dirty, i got stinky but see, i learned!" sabi ng bata sa commercial ng gatas.


sana ganun lang kadali. sana ganun lang kabilis pawiin ang mga mali na nagawa mo kahapon.


kaso hindi.


whether you have asked for forgiveness already from people you have wronged and have forgiven yourself, too, in the process, the mistakes are still there. the damage still remains.



and as you go through the long and winding highways of your life, these mistakes remain. only this time with a new-found label - 'bones in the closet'.



but if you choose to live life the hard way and the hard way that it is, then these mistakes should be nothing more than mere bruises.


as for me,the bruises may have hurt me so badly and may have left some serious marks in my young skin, but hey i am not hiding them. i am not ashamed.


these bruises - both the visible and the unseen - have become my new found badge of honor. a constant reminder that i am a soldier. a fighting soldier, no less.


i will fight life. i will fight it hard.


i will give it its game.


"sorry na ha?" sabi ng isa pang bata sa commercial ng gatas.


kung mabasa mo man ito ngayon. o kung hindi man ay bukas. o kaya'y sa isa pang bukas.


sori na ha.





caught at daybreak photo by:joeljosephopinion

ako

Hindi ako mahirap maging ka-close. In fact ako na yata ang pinaka-friendly na tao sa buong Tacloban City. Pwedeng iba-iba ang basa ng tao sa bawat isa satin kasi nga may tinatawag na individual differences. At habang kino-consider mo ang basic principles sa Psychology 101 about Indiviual Differences, bayaan mong i-enumerate ko sa inyo ang mga mumunting bagay-bagay about sa'kin.



Siyempre sasabihin mong weh anu naman kong ganun ako, hihinto ba ang global warming effect sa mundo kung isaulo nyo ang enumeration ko? Ewan ko. Malay natin. Malay mo may gift akong 'divine intervention". Hehe.




Basahin na nga lang kasi.



1. I sleep on prone position. I know it is weird and unconventional but it is just how I keep my slumber. At consistent yan. The same position buong gabi. Kaya madalas pag gising ko, parang may konting stiff neck ako. Hehe.



2. I love ice cream. Trip ko syang palaman sa tinapay. Hindi nga, totoo! Kung food worship ng iba ang ice cream lalo na sa mga depress-depresan, ako naman iba. ke depressed ako o hindi eh talagang fanatic ako sa ice cream! E sa masarap syang palaman eh, bakit ba?

Ang normal na pagkain ng ice cream ay pagnamnam nito sa loob ng bibig habang nagpipiyesta ang mga taste buds mo hanggang matunaw patungong lalamunan. Pero ako, trip ko yung pakiramdam na kinakagat mo ang tinapay at sumasabog ang tamis, lasa at lamig sa ngipin mo hanggang gilagid. wala lang. jina-justify ko lang.



3. I have an unusual bathroom ritual lalo na pag napopopo ako. Before I take the royal seat, binubuksan ko ng tamang-tama lang ang shower at pati ang lavatory, syempre naka-cover naman, hanggang mapuno na sya at umapaw. Saka palang ako uupo sa royal bowl. At take note, I don’t sit. I squat on it at ipinagmamalaki ko yan. Nothing fancy I know. I just feel comfortable on that position. Feeling ko mas malakas ako at mas sigurado ang buwelo in case masyadong malaki ang lalabas na sorpresa. Try nyo lang.



4. Mas feel ko pag umuulan. Hindi naman sa pawisin ako at hate ko ang mangamoy daing sa ilalim ng araw, mas gusto ko lang ang ambon at mga pabugso-bugsong ulan kasi nagkakaroon ako ng legitimate reasons na isuot ang mga jacket ko. hahahah. ang selfish di ba! eh syempre lampas sandosena na yata ang jacket ko, yung iba may hood, yung iba wala. ang nakakainis lang kasi minsan ang gang-gana kong magbihis kasi alam kong umaambon. alam mo yung feeling na ang sarap buksan ang drawer mo at kunyari i-scan mo ang nakahanger mong mga jacket para makapili. at tapos habang nakasakay ka na sa multicab o kaya sa tricycle papuntang trabaho, at feel mong magmalaki sa mga katabi at kaharap mo sa sasakyan na 'well, anu kayo. mabasa kayo ngayon sa ambon at mamatay sa lamig dahil ako ang ganda ko at prepared ako". tapos biglang mahahawi ang mga nangingitim na ulap at liliwanag ang kalangitan. parang sa commercial ng sprite dati. yung may linyang 'anu ang gaagwin mo?' hehehe.


eh bakit ba. fashion saver din naman ang jacket kasi it can easily complement one plain T-shirt or top at bongga na ang porma mo bigla. pero syempre, i may be stubborn sometimes pero hindi pinangarap malitson sa init para lang pangatawanan ang pormang jaket ko. heheh.


i still love the rain. mas senti ang mood at mas feel kong magsulat, magbasa at makalikot ng mga articrafts ko.i love the rain. kaya love din ako ng mga farmers sa bukid.



5. trip kong iprito ang paksiw, isda man o baboy. sabi ng nanay ko, habang pinagbubuntis nya ko, nakahiligan nyang lumamon ng pritong isda. pero sa pinya at sa dalandan talaga ako pinaglihi. kaya mataas ang dosage ko sa tamis-asim ng pinyang Ormoc at dalandan. at nangangasim-laway ako habang sinusulat ko ito.


masarap talaga ang prito. minsan nga imbyerna ang mga kasama ko sa staff house kasi deadma ako sa ulam na niluto ni Manang kesahodang calderetang baka yan o calamares na dinosaur dahil ang hinahanap ng bibig ko ay ang simpleng pritong isda lamang. tapos ako pa daw ang pinaka maarte sa ming lahat. Ewan!



6. mahilig ako sa kape. actually, understatement yan kasi ADIK ako sa kape. sa umaga, hindi ako makakain ng breakfast kung wala pang kapeng dumadaloy sa lalamunan ko. ke alas onse ng umaga na ko magising at lunch break na ang topic ng mga kasama ko sa bahay.


and when I am compelled to go about with my activity for the day kahit wala pang kape, pagsapit ng alas tres para na akong bangag na aso na hindi mapakali at makapag decide kung sa pader o sa gulong ng kotse ba iihi.alam mo yun? i just can't do without coffee.


may sarili akong timpla. pasintabi sa 'think tank' ng mga coffee companies pero talagang wa epek sakin ang mga 3-in-1 chuva na mga ganyan. Mas gusto kong ako lang ang magtitimpla ng sarili kong combination ng kape, cream at sugar. gusto ko yung lasa na nag-aagaw yung pait ng kape, linamnam ng cream at tamis ng asukal. at syempre dahil exxaaaddddjjjjj ang coffee ko, hate na ulit ako nga tao sa mesa.


na-try ko na rin pag haluin ang Ovaltine at kape. O kaya Milo at kape.Sinubukan ko na din ang tableya, cacao powder, at kape...minsan din tinutunaw ko ang choknat sa kape.wala lang, so far buhay pa ako. at sinasabi ko sa inyo, masarap sya. iba sa mga kapeng nilalantakan ko at ng mga friends ko sa Jose Karlo, sa Bo's o kaya sa Gloria Jeans.


siguro ganun talaga ang kalakaran anu. sarili mo lang ang makakaintindi sa mga gusto at sa mga hindi mo gusto, sa mga craving mo, wierd man o kahit abnormal, and when you meet people will be able to understand all these peculiar stuff about you eh plus na lang yun.

salamat

i chanced with this poem today from an old,old file in the desktop. i thought it is still mushy till now though I penned it exactly two July years ago. i think one beautiful side of writing a poem is that one gets to both express and impress genuine feelings through it despite broken thoughts and broken sentences. oftentimes, it just does not make sense to the alien reader anymore but however means heaven and earth to the one who wrote it.

yes, hearts' day is over i know but i am posting it because i just love to. nothing more, nothing less. i guess there will be no other valid reason than just that. lol.

and to you, wherever you are now, thank you. thank you.

Thank you..

sa lahat ng ginagawa mo para sa akin

sa pagiintindi sa mga sumpong ko

sa pagbibigay ng mga yakap na totoo

sa pgluluto mo ng arrozcaldo

sa pagtatanong kung ok lang ako.

Thank you..

dahil naging matapang ako

dahil sabi mo iba ako sa lahat ng nakilala mo

dahil ramdam ko ang pag aalaga mo

dahil alam kong totoo ang pagmamahal mo.

Thank you..

kahit hindi ako perpekto, mahalaga ako sa'yo

kahit kaya mong mgloko, pinipili mo pa ring hindi

kahit mahirap at walang kasiguraduhan tayo

nakikipusta ka sa pagbabakasakaling tayo nga sa huli.

kahit minsan may duda tayo.

Thank you..

hindi man lubos

hindi man talos

hindi man akma

ngunit ito ang paraan na alam ko

at ito ang totoo: i love you.

23 July 2007

macro

camouflage. a praying mantis discreetly hides under this yellow dumbcane leaf mimicking the midbrib lines to confuse its attackers.



no, these are not green Malaysian mums you would often see adorning the bride's bouquet but young rambutan fruits.


i know its a different view from the top this time. this is a young native pineapple shot in a very enticing angle. i so love this shot!


these are just few of my ambitious attempts to capture the beauty of nature. these pictures were taken at closer look to details and angles the naked eyes would normally overlook. (naks!) i am a newbie in photography and with no formal training at that. with the little knowledge i know in manipulating the Canon 400D, i can only fall under the hobbyist category (lol!). i only have a pocketful of enthusiasm and willingness to direct my sails towards the power of photo magic.

happy find

I cleaned up my room today and chanced with an old book I got from a garage sale 5 years ago. It’s called Living, Loving and Learning by Dr. Leo Buscaglia. The book is actually a collection of Buscaglia’s speeches and talks over the years of traveling across countries and visiting campuses and churches to deliver inspiring talks with topics just about anything between love and life as a whole. His books are actually categorized as self-help books. It may not seem to be a technical term for books that has sold many copies over the years and still gaining Buscaglia recognition and respect. Whatever label befits it, one thing is sure – this book is a worthwhile read.

Perhaps, these books are called self-help books because the readers are inspired by the author’s anecdotes of fun and misadventures that are embedded with wit and that natural flair of a boy who had a very rich childhood.

Living, Loving and Learning has become my refuge and I could even trade it for my religion and the things I believe in.

The book will leave the reader with an indelible message of hope, love and life in general. It will encourage the reader to find solace and meaning in little things and being happy and fulfilled about it can be the one’s Nirvana.

Buscaglia’s unsurpassed unique writing and speaking brings different hues to the rudiments of rhetoric. His way of narrating things resembles like one who is talking to a friend about his summer vacation. His words come to life as the reader savors line by line, page by page.

Obviously, rediscovering this book is a happy find. For the next few days, it will lie next to me in my bed or it will be kept under my pillows. Or anywhere at arm’s length so it will come handy to me whenever my soul needs the quiet time or when my spirit asks for rekindling of my inner flame.

the art of free running

I passed by one time a vacant lot along Maharlika Highway where culverts, boulder rocks and metal scaffoldings are all piled up and by the look of the place, I inferred it was a tambakan of construction supplies and equipment. In fact there was a rustic bulldozer in one corner that perhaps have been not in use for a couple of years since some parts of the operator’s seat have been invaded by wild vines in the area already. But that was not the catch of the moment in the scenery. I couldn’t take my eyes from a group of boys, six-teeners perhaps, who were jumping off and over the culverts and running all through out the area like unleashed monkeys of some sort. I thought they were just playing a different version of the luksong-baka I used to play with my cousins and my childhood friends in the neighborhood.

I mused myself and decided to linger some more just to spur the moment. Andun na rin lang ako, aba’y makinood na nga. I also used to perform gymnastics in my elementary intramurals complete with the ball and ribbon exhibition on the floor so I thought these young boys were good at jumping over the culvert and off to the scaffoldings for a quick hand swing and then jump to the ground in a calculated footing. I thought these boys were amazing. And I could do that too. Lolz.

My officemate said he has a brother who is also into the same new found sport. For the more courageous type of teenagers, I suppose. He said it is called free running. It has long been practiced in western countries as a past time. Although it is often times confused with Parkour, another discipline of movement from one place to another and follows a more established philosophy and discipline such as reach – meaning to quickly access places or elevation that may seem impossible to achieve and escape – meaning to run away from chasers or attackers, free running however has followed a unique philosophy and purpose of the movement. The goal of free running to keep on moving from one spot to another elevation without going back.

With these basics put in mind, free running can be incorporated with the runners own movement and style thus achieving the aesthetics of the movement, which happens to be the ultimate purpose at the onset.

Free running uses the obstacles in the environs to execute the tricks and stunts and the challenge of execution is another ingredient why this new form of freedom in physical art execution has taken the popular culture by storm. And because this is considered as an art form, its proponents do not yield to the idea of making free running as a competitive sport as it will diminish its aesthetic purpose.

This can practically be used to keep one’s body in the right form and I would like to believe that executing the course of movement does not only entail agility and strength but also some serious brain cells so that movements are executed well and ends in a calculated landing.

Akalain mo ba namang biglang nagkaron ng philosophy and aesthetics ang dating luksong-baka lang.hehe. I think I will try this new passion sometime and see if I can lure my friends to try it too. Watch out Gagambino!

Here is an amateur video of siblings, Yan-yan, Gogo and Momo Noel going loco with free running.

pananglit

I received a SMS this afternoon from an old friend. It surprised me more because i apparently didn't have her number in my phone book anymore. i swear by the name of my loud-mouthed neighbor but i do not recall deleting her entry. of course i had to save face lest i be accused of burning bridges.


I used to be fond of her most among the other members of the youth group in the church. maybe two years of willfully ignoring youth group invites' and practically choosing to drift away from the group slowly ensued such a happy exchange of SMS.

the short conversation through text messaging went like this:


K: hi bert! :)

B: Hi. hu is dis pls?

K: Kim ini. ;)

B: Kim C******? anu ka na? musta k na? hehe.

K: ok la.kaw musta?

B: ok la gyap. anuman ninong na ako? haha.

K: kalurong nim.dire.haha.. ako ninang na?

B: baog ako.hehe.

K: ako liwat. mag-angay daw la kita! hehe.

B: haha. amu ba? anu k na? musta na balit? anu nga hangin nag paabat k man?

K: waray la. na miss ko la ikaw.

B: saba daw ngada! kairinit ka man.


_end_


once upon a time,(hehe) i played sweet music with this girl. it was one platonic boy-girl understanding that led to a more serious exchange of sweet nothingness. sadly, the story did not end up to our good advantage since most of our friends were not in favor of the idea. they thought we were better of as friends. she thought the same and i respected her for that. we remained good friends and we still exchange the same silly conversation when time permits and i still keep the little secrets she confided to me.


for some good reasons, i still wish i did not break the silence about how i felt for her then. i still wish she did not return the same sweet gesture to me then because it did not ensue into something romantic anyway. truly, there are just things better left unsaid and undone. tsk!tsk!

and then it struck me point blank. how would one react to the situation if somebody from his past returns to him down on bended knees and vulnerable saying she is not happy with her present love now, the one she chose over you and caused your life almost during the basted, and that because it dawned on her now that she happier and complete with you instead?


it will be a chaos of emotions, of course.


i wrote this Siday a few months back and i have been really eager posting it despite the not-so-good review of a trusted friend, who has actual learning about the principles of writing and reading the art of Siday.



Pananglitan


Magkita iton aton mga bayhon utro

Magkatapo iton mga siplat

Maghampang iton mga sugbong

Magbag-iray iton mga dughan.

Matood pa ba ako

kun magyakan ka

nga mabalik ka na

ha akon

pagbantay,

pagtimangno,

pagpalangga


Kay dire ka na malipayon ha iya?

An Pagsurat

“Kinahanglan ko magsurat para makayakan.”


Sangtop ako hit kamatuoran nga dire sugad kasimple iton disiplina hiton pagsurat. Waray ako pormal nga pagturun-an hin pagsurat amu dire ako sigurado kun iton akon mga ginsurat, ginhuhuman pagsurat ngan iton akon mga igsusurat buwas magsusubay hiton mga displina ha pagsurat hiton mga kamag-araman.

Madali magsurat kun pagsurat la iton paghihimangrawan pero sayod ako nga an pagsurat hin mga barasahon ngan ideya nga magpapahimulos hin bag-o nga mga iristoryahun ngan mag-aabre hiton himuok nga hunahuna hiton kadam-an ngan magbibilin hin bag-o o kun dire man kakaiba nga panlantaw ha kinabuhi an mas makuri nga dapit han pagsurat.

Signgon pa han usa nga kamag-araman, kun diin nakikipagpuniti pa ako hit kalag hit iya libro agud mahuman ko na pagbasa ha ungara nga ha katapusan nga paypay niya, ugsa ko ipahuram liwat ha iba nga gingigidkan magsurat, iton pinaka makuri nga dapit hiton puniti hiton nagsusurat ngan hiton kagawasan hiton iya igsusurat amu an dapit kun diin nakaatubang ha iya nawong iton blanko nga busag na papel samtang naghuhulat masuratan hin kun anuman.

Ha sungpay pa nga kabahin, kun usa man nga puniti iton pagsurat, an pagdarag-an han nagsusurat dire ginsusukol ha kabug-usan han iya artikulo o siday o short story ngan kun anu ini kahusay ngan anu karasa kaunon iton kada linya hin ideya ini may-ada, lugod para hin sugad ha akon nga dire pa hamtong an kinaadman ngan nag-aambisyon pa la mag-surat, karuyag ko huna-hunaon nga an padarag-an hin usa nga mahusay nga sinurat ngan nagsusurat in ginsusukol tikang han mga kapait ngan katam-is han mga ideya nga sumulod ha iya huna-huna ngan dayon nag-aaragaway ha sulod han iya utok para asihon han nagsusurat agud amu an maging pangulo nga emosyon ha pagtikang han artikulo. Dinhi na nga dapit masulod an ikaduha nga pahutnga-ay hin kusog han nagsusurat ngan iya ginsusurat, amu nga an mga emosyon han kapait, katam-is, kahangit, kakuri, kalipay ngan kagawasan ngan kadaugan o kun an pagdurungan hini nga tanan man amu an tinikangan han pagsukol tubtob ha kun anuman iton masupsop nga ideya hiton magbabasa hini nga sinurat amu an suklanan.

Karuyag kun mag-aro hin pasaylo ha mga kamag-araman nga nagpukaw ha akon tikan ha akon himuok nga katurog ngan padayon nga nagiging surok hit akon ambisyon kun dire ko maakos tagan hin hustisya ini nga akon mga ungara, sugad kan Prof. Merlie Alunan, usa nga bag-o nga crush ko ha UPVTC, kan Voltaire Oyzon nga nagbilin ha akon hin girhang ha bitiis ngan ha bayhon hadto pa tikan han akon mabasahan an iya *siday ha UP Vista ngan kan Makabenta, author hin usa ka diksyunaryo nga Waray, kun diin naghatag ha akon hin ideya nga marisyo, kumplikado ngan makaruruyag igsurusalakot iton diyalekto nga Waraynon.

Dire ako hanas magsurat. Pero karuyag ko magsurat kay karuyag ko magyakan.

cluttered thoughts

INK AND VAIN ASPIRATION

Come forth to my embrace you elusive wisdom

Let the ink of my pen mark another thing

Depart not from my miserable bones and flesh

You fame of the velvet curtain that waits amidst.

My chary hand scribbles the first words

Of an embarking ship to a voyage of no return.

The waves are gold and fine dusts are the bubbles

Of this navigator’s fate to the fervid abyss.

I wander my eyes to these aghast lines

And feel the beating of my blood in horror.

The honest clock must break the monotony

Of this night of my solitude and grief.

Let no one forbid my soaring with the eagles

And allow me to dream before I move on to my grave.

For my soul is beaten finer than dust

Borne to the wind to perish.

My ink has given me extreme thirst to pant like the deer;

To stab the green bushes and stand before the heights.

So let me then recognize my mighty prints into laurels

Or burn, instead, with me my will power to ashes.

I display and pour forth unfathomed speeches

To champion the footprints of my long-forgotten mentors

Who saw the world like a fragile sphere of heavens twisted.

Revising its fictions and authenticating the Apocalypse.

But if you just perceive the chariots and the horsemen

Yet not my arms which bent a bow of bronze.

Let then, instead, this victory be spared to the fools

Than for me to seek vengeance from a shallow heart.

_*_

NAKAW

Buksan mo ang isip kong tulog,

Nakahilata sa kasinungalingan

At hayaang kumawala hanggang

Sa dako pa roon.

Pilitin mong mamulat ako

Sa katotohanang

ang lahat ng ito

ay pawang hiram lamang.

At ang pagniniig nating ito

Sa loob ng magara mong

Revo

Ay karaniwang libog lamang

At talulot lang ng pangungulila

Sa iniirog

At hindi na mauulit pang muli.

_*_

Huling Gabi Ng Pagniniig Sa Lilimampu’t-pitong Araw Na Pag-irog

Buhatin mo ako ng may pagmamahal

At mahigpit an ikanlong

Sa iyong mga bisig.

Bayaan mong damhin ko ang init

Ng iyong balat

At ang mga masilakbo mong titig

Na tumatagos sa aking kaibuturan.

Himayin mo ng iyong masiil na mga halik

Ang bawat hibla ng aking pagkatao.

Magniig tayo

Hanggang maabot natin ang rurok

Sa marahan

At mapangahas na bawat pag-ulos.

Magpaulayaw tayo

Sa piling ng mga hamog

At sa balintataw ng buwang naninilip

At nagkukumubli sa ulap

Na para bagang nahihiya sa kanyang

Nasaksihan.

Hugutin mo ng walang kimi

Ang aking nalalabing limos na dangal

At pikit-mata kong susundan

ang anino ng iyong

pag-alis

patungo sa kanyang piling.

Pilitin mong huwag nang lumingon

Upang hindi mo masaksihan

Ang pagpatak ng mga luhang

Lalamunin lang ng gusot na panyong

Tangi kong alaala sa iyo.

_*_

HAIKU ATTEMPTS

The cold rain kissed the dry earth

Softening its cheeks

Like a homage to its own

_*_

The vain waves touched the sad shore

Painted it bright white

Drifting back to nothingness.

_*_

Treat

Every Saturday afternoon, just about when the sun is caught between mid-afternoon and dusk, I always find time to visit Rizal Park. It’s a family leisure park just across the famous Sto.Nino Church in Tacloban City, a metropolitan city along a fish sanctuary, north western part of the Leyte Gulf. For a yuppy like me who would choose to exhaust myself with work during the long weekdays, a lazy visit to the park is already a treat that could not amount to any. While some will muse themselves over window shopping in the city’s department stores or kill time inside the theater with the latest cinema, a quiet time in the park has become my religion.

I always pick on the wooden benches between the swing area and the huge fountain. I sit there clandestinely as if I wait the floating debris inside me to settle first. Then I let my eyes pass through the images before me: a family in a weekend picnic over pansit bihon, puso and barbeque; a young couple in their blossoming sublunary love; a group of teenagers packed on one corner of the park goofing around while another clique of young blood enjoys the guitar. Some pubescent are biking while still some play badminton. Some children flock the swing and slides and just somewhere under the low hanging Gemelina tress, I thought it was a lovely sight to see a young father guides his infant to start walking on solid ground. The child’s feet were woggly but they were covered with white soft walkers. When the child started to make his first step, his little fingers held his father’s thumb tighter as if seeking affirmation for his father’s love and security. I thought the father felt it because his face showed up a radiant smile. And so the child attempted for the second step and then the next step, and the next step after that. Soon the little unsure tip toes became little paces of determination. In turn, the father was indulging his young son with more little steps as they walked beside each other. When I saw the ecstatic feel on the young father’s face, I thought my heart melted. Something inside tickled my kindred spirit.

For a hopeless romantic such as I am, these are the moments that say I love being human. I love the feel of the grass when I step on it barefoot and how I enjoy the ticklish touch. I love the smell in the air of the newly baked ensaimada of Panaderia San Pablo or the inviting crispy crust of bibingka in Paterno. I love ginat-an and the beauty of the collision of the colors from several root crops bathed in the milky river of coconut cream. I am in love with the countless lazy walk along Magsaysay Boulevard and how the serene acacia trees bring petal showers of pink when the lazy wind whistles to the beat of the howling waves of Kankabato. I am just madly in love with everything in this city that may have been small or less important but speaks enormously how the city started from a quiet community to a bustling metro now.

Today, the city has started implementing the electronic traffic system in the metro and eventually in the city outskirts, as planned. This improvement was born with many other good signs of modernity. Two giant malls are expected to be operational by January 2009. Another international call center outsourcing agency will be in business by October this year. These and many more will determine the new pacing of the city lifestyle. While I’m not against the progress of the city by the bay, I am on the other hand afraid to see that the Taclobanons get lost in the process of the urbanization. I am scared that people will soon forget their identity as a group of people and soon become oblivious with what used to be good: bibingka, ginat-an, Mags, Kankabato and the lazy afternoons in the park.

We need to remember what used to be good for it might hit us in the eyes and fail to recognize it. We need to search our hearts and recall its own beauty after all, what used to be good brought us to how we live now, what we believe in and why we keep the faith even to the littlest of our own causes till now.

Writers' Stigma

Most of those in the know call it writer’s stigma. It is when the writer hibernates on his penchant towards writing. It is the sudden stagnation of a writer about scrutinizing the creative side of every situation and the sloth-like ceasing from collecting concrete ideas from both the simplest of things to the myriad of many other thingamajigs yet unexplained by the naked brain.
I cannot call myself a writer per se so that when I stagnated from scribbling ambitious words in this blog spot since I impulsively created this a year ago, I cannot be accused of a writer’s stigma. Instead, I would prefer to call myself a rebel who chose to shy myself away from the maddened crowd so that I may be able to search my thoughts well and good. But let me just put it on the record that when I hibernated for quite sometime, I was out in the killing field. It was a tumultuous battle fighting my own demons. I fought a good fight.


But what makes a prolific writer and effective writing come into unison? Is it purely about narrating into beautiful words all the fancies of this life, both the good and the ugly? Is it taking into account all the misadventures of man and making the record indelible enough so that all information is understood and learned by the readers? Is it about looming ideas carefully so that it ends up into an intricate piece of cloth of lofty-minded essay? I remember a senior communication arts student from UP Tacloban Campus during the event of their short film festival having been awarded as best director aptly said that once the article, essay, poem or a short film is out in the open ready to be devoured by the public, the author loses control over his piece of art. No matter how wonderful it was written, it is inevitable that it will be perceived differently by the audience. Thus lies the responsibility of understanding the essence of the artwork in the hands of the beholder, or the readers for that matter. In the shortcomings of the audience, any piece of art suffers.

It also speaks the same about this page. While I am caught in the limbo of issues about being guilty of a writer’s dilemma and the indecisiveness whether I keep this page limited to my personal journal of misadventures, demons may care, or must I keep this simply as a photo blog where literary bouts are supported with relevant, if not journalistic photos at that, I remain steadfast with my Zafra-ish obligation of being accountable with my storytelling.



I’m not a prolific writer. Or at least, I cannot qualify to be hailed like one just yet. Neither am I your typical yuppy photo blogger. I am not even close to being an online poet con lensman. But in the trials of times when one must rise up from his sloth and defy the odds against those who have slapped the cheek of the weak or in the event that tact is more powerful than truth but prudence argues with sobriety, then I can let loose of my own leash so that I become, nonetheless, the rebel that I am.

"From The Apple Of Your Eyes"

My family moved from the country to seek better fortune in the city back in 1985. I was 5 years old then. And until now, it is still customary for my family to watch the Pintados Festival Parade during the city fiesta come end of June. Though in my growing up years, I have chosen a rather boisterous and free – spirited company to watch the parade with now that I am old enough to verbalize my choices with friends, issues to argue about and even acting out my very personal endeavors. Just like my fancied adolescent years in the city, the Pintados Festival would always showcase the best that the region could offer championing the historic and colorful culture and its humble beginnings. It keeps getting grandiose and much more festive every year, thus, tourists both foreign and local alike would grace the festival with beautiful words of review to bring home.

Indelible sights and sounds had been documented to my memory as to how the slow but precise paces of development had changed the city by the bay through the years. Tacloban does not tail behind the queue of national candidates for urban progress. And the leaders who sat the local government seats could only profess to have done so much good for the city and for its people caught in the limbo called urban poor.

There used to be a slum community surrounding DYVL radio station called Rimas Colon. I had elementary grade classmates who used to live there. And following the layman’s definition of a slum area as a place of none- permanent settlers with no valid address, let alone a sane system of human waste disposal then at least I will not be vindicated of being unpragmatic about my choices of words. I could very well describe a slum area coz I used to live in one too. And there was also a Muslim mosque amidst the small houses and humbled shanties where our Muslim brothers, who have settled to Tacloban City, worship their own divinity. Perhaps, just like my family, they also sought for a better life in the city.

Exactly two years ago, that area was cleared out to make way for an amusement venue for the local folks. And as far as the comprehensive plans of the city is concerned, a baywalk park will be built along the serene Cancabato bay line in such a way that a walk from Balyuan Tower, now towerless, to the recently opened Tacloban Convention Center will become a leisurely saunter. Only the radio station remained when the families were moved to a resettlement area at the city outskirts.

The erstwhile mayoral administration of Bejo Romualdez was bombarded with repercussions from the local media men and self-confessed political analysts (READ: mga paragsuson) alike before there was a clean and spacious bus terminal along Maharlika Highway and an efficient shuttle service from the terminal to the heart of the city courtesy of these neon green multicabs ; a two- storey public market reviewed as less – unhygienic, at least, compared to the former; a beautified Rizal Park and the proud Tacloban Convention Center, a first of its kind in the city and will soon become a landmark in the region. In its effect, new establishments and commercial buildings started to mushroom. The thrive of the student populace from all over the region to the city colleges and universities became evident. The same administration saw the realization of a privatized solid waste management and the more systematic electric cooperative thus resulted to well- lit streets, highways and main thoroughfares secured from unwanted menace. The community folks also became up and about with the community- based medical, dental and social services in a mobile operation called barangayan and still many other city ordinances that aimed to promote the welfare of the happy Taclobanons.

During this year’s festival parade, floats of private establishments and some government offices also joined the busy streets merrymaking. The FM Romualdez convoy of high-end cars and buses, while the infamous former campaign jingle was playing in the air, were donned in colorful tarpaulins bearing the Congressman’s wide-smiled face greeting “Happy Fiesta Taclobanon… from the apple of your eyes, Cong. FM Romualdez and Family.” The convoy drew more attention as the hired men threw away Fuji apples to the parade spectators. But of course, who would not be delighted to such unique freebies. It was a rather much favored gimmick from the usual flyers and leaflets and or candies thrown away from the float as goodies during the parade. Well, sardines are also a treat in the previous years.

Far from the maddening crowd, I couldn’t help but notice the group of people busily and frantically following the solon’s float for the closer chance of catching the apples it almost resembled that of the zealots during the Feast of the Black Nazarene. Among them was this forty-something man whom I particularly kept my fancy with. His worn-out slippers revealed his cracked and calloused heels that might have told me his meager job requires rigorous walking every single day. He wore a stained white sando and a pair of faded corduroy pants and a knap-sack in his back bulging with apples he had literally won in the catching match over the others. His wrists were adorned with colored rubber bracelets, another fad freebies given during the previous election campaign. Etched in the rubber bracelets were names of now elected senators and a certain partylist. He kept a perfect proximity from the float like a hungry hound, toungue- out panting, waiting for a tender piece of meat.

Such sarcasm. It tore my idealistic heart to see the common tao, whose mandate to elect his leaders to the highest form of government is as sacred as the Constitution, begged for apples like alms and cursed the man atop the float every time an apple failed the grip of his soiled sweaty hands. Such irony knowing the fact that the sanctity of one man’s vote was peddled for 200 Php one fateful night before the election day. Likened to a cautious thief through the night, he waited for midnight to fall and thus received the cold cash discreetly from the disclosed precinct leaders of the Apple Man and other characters of Ninja Turtles and even from members of the uncanny X-men. Rates are varied depending on the source. But I was inclined to believe then that rates were pre-determined to equate the amount of his basic human right. I cried in silence.

I abhorred the idea as to how the men atop the float played sarcastically with the crowds’ taking chances with the imported fruit. Taclobanons do not grow apple trees in their backyards, and the fact that money is hard to come by these days, why would they not just grab their chances right there and then.

To many, it was part of the merrymaking because it was the city fiesta after all. To some idealistic few, it was a mockery full of taunting to the preceding floats of the Department of Tourism promoting the rich and unique culture of the region, including the ways of its diversified people, whether they had apples on their hands or none. To that man of my fancy, whose unwavering gusto was remarkable, his story was one I knew of so well.

Perhaps, he had 12 children and the apples in his swollen bag would not suffice just yet so that he was following the mob faithfully for more. Perhaps, it was his self-proclaimed day-off from his blue collared job and took full advantage of the idea of selling the catch for his family’s meal for the day. Perhaps, it was his own understanding of the Romualdezes gratefulness for having been elected to the office again, because he was one of those who voted for them. Or perhaps, there were unfathomed reasons I for one may never fully understand.

If that picture depicted a thousand of stories, then here is one: that man who sold his vote obliviously is the same man who owned the knapsack full of apples. Such a preposterous fate for a man who had the power to select his leaders he could have hoped for to bring him to a productive society.

If the government would only be truly sincere about eradicating poverty and carrying out instead the people’s best interest, then perhaps no ethnic minorities would settle from city to city to seek for a pasture that rightfully belongs to them. Perhaps no families would leave the countryside to seek opportunities in the densely populated sub-urban. Perhaps no man will swallow his pride and mock his own self with an apple without actually knowing it.

02 july 2007
* This article was written following the Pintados-Kasadyaan Parade of 2007, the first city fiesta after the 2007 National Election.