Anew

Recently, A gifted, wise and kind priest told me to vent out my emotions and not to suppress and stifle them.

Such words felt like a splash of icy seawater straight into my weary eyes...


I have neglected my inner life for so long and in consequence the best part of me, the believer, died. And so the pen was buried alongside the faithful one . . . I floated in oblivion, alienated, disconnected, alone, forsaken...Nothing is worse than living and not finding anything or anyone worth living for. No other truth is harsher and more isolating than the fact that your cherished idealisms, beliefs and all other maxims you have believed in and lived by so deeply and faithfully have been shaken, shattered, mocked and melted right before your wide wakefulness. As Anne Frank once said it "It is hard to stand your ground when people are showing their worst side" and it is exponentially hardest when even your very self have seen your worst and most nefarious being.


I have wandered into the deepest and darkest sector of my inner universe, my soul.


I have been floating for far too long but now I am learning to swim once more and may this note be a life-long testament of my utmost gratitude to all who have helped me -the Ruelos and the Perez, my fellow Dazers, my KHF benefactors, my ThePillars family, friends, teachers and mentors at ADNU & MSS and most especially to the people who are tagged here, with, of course an even more special emphasis on my newfound friends and confidants, Karla and Fr. Ritche and with much affection, to my wife Bang. ;)


Thank you everyone for making me believe again that despite the many stupidities of and countless differences in religion, political beliefs, ideals, experiences and our ways of doing things, we can still be really good friends.


And I want you to remember always that of all the treasures we can have in this world, nothing is more invaluable than our fellow humans.


I love you all.


Live well.


Laugh often.


Love always.


To live is to dream.

To dream is to hope.

To hope is to believe.

To believe is to live.


-ReX-

Tolkien's

From the LOTR's Return of the King


Samwise to Frodo:


It's all wrong. By right we shouldn't even be here but we are.

It's like in the great stories, the ones that really mattered.

Full of darkness and danger they were and sometimes you didn't want to know the end

because how can the end be happy?

How can the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened?


But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow, even darkness must pass.

A new day will come, and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.

Those are the stories that stayed with you, that meant something even if you are

too small to understand why. And I think... I do understand, I know now.

Folk on those stories had lots of chances of going back only they didn't, they kept going

because they were holding on to something...


That there is some good in this world...

and it's worth fighting for.

_______________________________________________________


Frodo's Memoir


How do you pick up the threads of an old life?

How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back?

There are some things that (even) time cannot mend,

some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold...

Heck!

It's Maundy Thursday and after explaining to, which ended up in debating with,
some friends and acquintances about the traditonal "Alay Lakad" to a famous pilgrimage site,
I felt exhausted but relieved.
Heck, I did want to be with them but the critic in me is heating up again.
Why would I walk looooonnnnnnggggggg kilometers if I can reflect in silence?
That's got to be more meaningful than spending three hours walkling and talking
about such trivial things like the lives of someone's neighbors like they do on
SNN and other entertainment show garbage.

I miss writing so darn bad that it feels like having a constant and nagging toothache
and I wish that this abhorent writer's block will be expelled out of the realms of my universe.
It's been almost a year since I wrote anything worthy
and I don't even know that this piece isn't a crap!

Oh dear, I guess I have been to immersed, seeing the worst side of people.
I find it ridiculous how people go so gaga over how the world will end in 2012 in some apocalyptic
interference of the cosmic forces.
Give me a break, humans do not need help in destroying this only habitable planet in the solar system,
we are doing an excellent job already.
We will bring the apocalypse if we don't stop adhering to that golden rule of self-preservation,
thinking of nothing and no one else but ourselves.

...Perhaps I've grown tired of believing that supposedly, men are good by nature, when all around I only see savages in human form, unable to think for themselves, always and forever trying to please, to conform and to appear agreeable. Whatever happened to individualism? I hate the sight of those robots walking around in similar ways as if they were programmed to do so. I always value independence of thought and detest all forms of standardizing rationality, after all
"It's way too easy to live our lives by default. If we are not careful, we can become the sum total of all the expectations others impose on our lives." (E.R. Mcmanus)

Well, at least it's good to know that I'm still my own master and still resistant to ridiculous maxims of this society like it's mangled ideas of success, heroism and progress. And oh yes, the next time someone tells me my ideas are too radical or "it would do no good to be a fundamentalist these days", maybe I will show him the devil that I am...LOL...

Ang Kalbaryo Kan Dating Maogmang Kabayo

Sabi kan kadakulan sainda
Dai ko na daa sabihon saiya
Mayo man daang point
Ta dai ko man ngani ipu-pursue


Naiintindihan ko man sinda
Habo lang nindang maging kumplikado ang sitwasyon
O siguro habo lang nindang makulugan pa ako...

PERO, PUNYETA!!!

Tano pagmati ko garo mansusulot lugod ako
Pag sinabi ko saiya
Or even worse, pag pinursue ko siya?

Don't I have the damned right?
Am I just an expendable pawn in this war game?
Tano garo mayo man lang nakaisip na magsabing
Take your chance, man?

Dahil aram nindang kaya kong magsakripisyo?
O dahil obvious na magiging "olats" ako digdi?

Ta daw ta kaipuhan pang may mga hapot
na arog kang "sigurado ka dyan sa namamati mo?"
NI INA NIYA, bakong pwede man na himation asin riparuhon na lang
ang pagsakit sa kada hinangos ko?


Aram ko man ang lugar ko
Pero masaklapon lang
Na garo malinawon sainda
Na ako talaga dapat
ang magrayo, magpaubaya
asin magpasan ning kalbaryo.

Sabagay, kasalan ko man
na magsuksok sa shit-hole
kaya dai man pwedeng mambasol
why I feel like the stinkiest of shit.

Pabayai na, ini man lang garo talaga ang silbi ko,
ang magsurat, magkua nin litrato, maglapigot
para sa ibang tao...
pirmi para sa ibang tao...

Pero kung aram lang nindo
ang gabat, ang lanit, ang pait,
ang kulog
siguro dai kamo mangalas
kung tano,
DIPUTA, gadan na naman si rex...:'C


DISCLAIMER: This is not intended to state or imply any grudge to anyone I beg your indulgence to understand that this is just an expression of a soul's lament...And please excuse my profanity, it wouldn't have the same impact without them...On last note, please try to steer clear of having the same fate as I, it's unbearable...

An Maogmang Kabayo

Sabi kang beer na iniinom ko, (punyeta, happy horse pati baga ini!)
maray man daa ta binakal ko siya ta kaipuhan ko talaga daang masipa,
matamaan para magimata sa kahibangan ko.

Pero ang sabi ko man: pumundo ka,
dapat pinapabagol mo ang sakong
mga kakulugan para makaturog na ako.

Alagad, sa paghigda ko, dai naiwasan na maghurop-horop...
Tano daw ta inaapod kang tawo na kahibangan an pagpadangat
na tataong maghalat, na udok sa boot na mapahunod kung kinakaipuhan?

Ini na daw ang kahulugan ngonyan kan satuyang pagiging tawo,
an magtubod na kita natural na makasadiri asin mayong
capacedad na magsakripisyo para sa iba?

Inda, makadisganar pagpara-isipon ang mga kahaputan
na ang mga kasimbagan lantadan na sinasampaling
ang mga natatadang pang may pagtubod sa kamarayan
kang mga aki ni Adan.

Kamarayan na sa pagagi kang panahon
garo bago pinili ta nang lingawan
arog kang paglipas kang mga bagay-bagay na uso.

Uso pa daw kaya ngonyan ang mga amigo asin amigang
mayong ibang kamawotan
kundi an saimong pagtalubo sa katanosan?

Igwa pa daw mga barkada na dai
maduwa-duwang pilion ang tama
maski makulgan ka pa
para sana maibalik ka
sa dalan na dapat mong
lakbayon?

Inda, punyeta nagsasakat na sa sakuyang luong
ang tama kang sikad kang pulang kabayo.

Basta, ang aram ko lang
dai ako mabasol
ta ako nagpahunod
para sa sarong barkada
asin para sa tawong
nagpamati uli sako
pagkatapos nin limang taon
kan hamis asin pait
kan danay na pagkamoot.

Siguro, tama na sa ngonyan para sako
na ako may namati giraray na pagmakulog,
na ako nakanuod giraray na
minsan mas maray na buhian
an sarong bagay
na dai mo kayang butasan.

Tanganing sa tamang panahon
kung magbalik man iniyo
mas malinaw na saimo
an saiyang halaga
asin mas malinaw saiya
kung gano mo siya
tinawan asin tinatawan
importansiya...

The Many Damned Hows

How do you convince a man whose head has outgrown his hat
that he is not the center of the universe?

How do you persuade the rest of the Homo Sapien race
that laughter is not the end all of this shitty world
and that it is not a damned sin to be emotional at times?

How do you cope with your need to recuperate
when the cause is also the cure
and you are too afraid, too weary and just too damn tired
to even consider it exists?

How do you find it in your heart to trust people once more,
when those closest to you have failed you, betrayed you and left you hanging?

How would you muster the courage
to pursue the one who makes you happy
when that very same person
is also the source of your dear friend's joy?

How can you let go of everyone you treasure,
how would you remain unattached to things
and still be human?

How can you make people listen,
when it has been ingrained in their minds
that talking is better?

How can you seek for answers, venture into this risky world
when your brain is wrung, heart is maimed and your too petrified
that the very breeze might extinguish
the dying embers of your soul?

How do you prevent yourself from being a stone?
How do you resist the curse of being unmoving, unfeeling and withering
when the forces of the earth have pulverized your once unquenchable spirit
and sent you back to join the soil, forever indistinguishable
and eternally bound to be trampled on by passersby?

My Undying

My Undying

IT WAS A POINT in my past where I shouldn’t be wallowing in anymore, what with all the excruciating pains it has caused me - vows that were made and eventually broken, friendships that were lost and never been fully restored and precious ideals that were almost deserted. I guess I needed to seek the path back to my old life to be able to fully comprehend why I am here and who I am. Heck, God knows mine was a journey with perils of losing the part of me which you and I love the most. I was an Anakin on the verge of morphing into a Darth Vader, perhaps, even worse. It was everything but easy, and now, as I continue to immerse myself in the subtleties and stupidities of the everyday world, the best and worst of me is yet to come.

I posted this as a note on Facebook more than a month ago. For my acquaintances, these words are quite mystifying but for those who have the slightest idea of my past agonies, these are but understatements. As my mind drifts back to the chain of events that has profoundly changed my life, I cannot not feel wistful.

It has been four years since I suffered one of the most devastating maelstroms of my life. It happened on a clear day on a beach on the twentieth of May. The cheerful weather was a sardonic irony of the boiling tension between us, like a volcano that has been filled with the wrath of the underworld, a looming pandemonium which guarantees to liquefy the solidarity which we have taken so much pain, time and effort to build. If I had known what would happen and how I would be shattered that day, I would have chosen to be in isolation rather than be in that attempt for reconciliation, which have turned into an outright and bitter separation.

Hell, we screwed up like the hypocrites we have become! Perhaps we did deserve such torment or maybe we were just victims of our pride, our temperament and our youth. Could hypocrites be really victims? Or is there no need for euphemism as it was just plain hypocrisy on our part, nothing less. One thing is certain though - it was tragic. It was tragic how two people, whose lives, minds and character are so intertwined, have managed to use words to lacerate each other as effectively as stabbing with poisoned knives. The absence of blood in a fight doesn’t make it less damaging after all, a disproof to the cliché “Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you.” Yeah right! Words may not hurt you, but it can make you feel dead, which is worse than being dead because it makes you nothing more than a cold stone – unmoving, unfeeling and withering, until the forces of the earth pulverized it and sent it back to join the soil, forever indistinguishable, eternally bound to be trampled on by passersby.

I guess it is best to reveal how I got acquainted with her in the first place, which reminds me how agonizing it is to inscribe these poignant memoirs of mine. Here I am, after a bottle of beer, which was supposed to sedate wounds that have never quite healed and have been reopened in the process of this script and still, I find myself sighing after every sentence. If only my monitor has hands, it would have strangled me for my unintentional and brutal way of bombarding it with constant and hanging suspense.

Dear me, did I say I would declare how I met her?
Okay, enough introductions then.
And now, to the start of the story.

Elated, I was greeted by arched hallways and ancient architecture which complements the eon of my new college school, Universidad de Santa Isabel. The excitement I felt was a mark of my enthusiasm to see the world again after years of being out of school and ages of hibernating. I wasn’t really expecting to see familiar faces since I have never set foot on this university. So you can imagine my relief when I found out that at least a quarter of my classmates were my acquaintances back in my highschool years at the Ateneo. . I was early, so I killed a couple of minutes chatting with them, mostly about our mischief in secondary years.

When the bell rang, a petite, brunette and shoulder length haired girl strut her way in front of me and settled in the seat directly ahead of mine. Striking hair, I thought and behold she glanced in my direction and waved. I was dumbstruck, feeling like my mouth have just been sealed with an adhesive tape. But before I could utter a word or wave back at least, my seatmate, Mitch, said “Oi” to her in response. And that was how I made the acquaintance of my little princess (go ahead laugh at the term of endearment), I will imply later, why I preferred to give her that title, which, shaking out all cliché and mushiness, really are such precious words for me.

In the next few days of our class (block section), she would sit with Mitch and talk to her within the brief minutes before our class periods. The next weeks, I was already included in their chitchats and would have a sense of frustration with the seating arrangement when our class starts and she would have to return to her seat.

It was when Mitch was absent for the first time that we had the chance to talk a little longer than we used to. Ah, that blessed day. I was about thirty minutes early, which was unusual, what with my excessive lateness in high school. She arrived five minutes after I did, well there’s nothing odd about that, as she was always prompt, prim and proper. What caught my attention however is the “little” white book in her hand.

Do you like it?” I asked.

“Nope, I love it!” she exclaimed.

From that moment on we became good friends, the best of friends and you know the rest.

I do want to emphasize that I tried to steer clear of us being more than friends, not because I wanted to, but because I thought I have to. You see, I promised myself, more than anybody else, that I would not get anyone or anything divide my attention on my studies, after all the mess I have made in my academic life – incurring enough AFs (absences leading to failure) to make even the most kind hearted dean or department chair frown.

But I guess it was hard, if not impossible, not to adore this girl, with her jet black hair, rich sensuous lips, narrow waist, big, round, brown eyes and curious baby blue dental braces. What even drew me closer to her was the seeming balance of her desire to speak and her admirable patience to listen. But what struck me the most was how in many ways she is – like me.

She is, as Antoine de Saint Exupery said in his beloved fable, “The Little Prince”, “someone whom I could really talk to.” God knows how hard it is to find someone who knows what you’re trying to say before you even finish deciphering it or how you feel even without putting it into words. It seemed our cerebral channel is of the same wavelength, until we caused too much fatigue on our cardiac muscles and lost control of our emotions - the sweet and sometimes wild emotions that have enabled us to tame each other’s restless and aloof spirit.

So here I am now, writing all this down, plunging back into my first experience of figurative hemophilia, finally unveiling one of the most momentous episode of my existence and hoping that it would somehow answer people’s queries about my solemnity and sometimes utter grimness. As I always say “I am serious most of the time, funny sometimes and pensive all of the time”. I just wish that people will finally understand why I am not so fond of surface talks and the accustomed Pinoy manner of “hear me I am so funny” stories anymore. It is not that I find humor a waste of time; it is just that I do wish that people will be sensitive to others’ hardships. After all, life is not all about hearing hilarious antics, in great part, it is about listening to the troubles of wounded hearts and easing the weariness of battered souls. So long as we think that there is nothing more admirable than one’s loud and unquenchable cheerfulness, even if it is nothing more than a bravado, we would fail unceasingly to perceive solace in sorrow, humility in loneliness, endurance in suffering and wisdom in failure, that are almost always present in the quietness of a thoughtful being.

This has been my account of a tragedy, of a loss so agonizing that it caused me the wavering of my faith in everything good, in people and worst of all, in Him. I was broken. The bereavement I had was so grave that I grieved for it, that I was driven to walk away from everything and everyone that I hold dear, trekking for three consecutive days under the sun, rain and stars, armed with only a score of pesos, an umbrella and a shabby and thin jacket against the inclement weather of December. Out of the goodness of strangers who fed and gave me enough money to be able to come back home, I did survive to tell this tale.

Now, my wounds are starting to heal and I must say that it was all worth it, for my life roadmap was enriched with every stopover, dead end, U-turn, detour and refueling station I encountered. The emotional roller coaster ride made me puke and faint. I was bruised, scratched, scarred and scathed but I also learned to deal with them (much later). If there is one thing I could asks for, it is that my would-be readers will not take these revelations lightly. This was a hellish torment for me, disclosing all these details. Four years proved too short a time to mend hurts that run too deeply. But I do hope that this story, my story – of agony, mirth, folly and glory will remind me, as well as others, of the individual that has to stand firm, of the soul that needs constant pruning, of the being who has to remain afloat no matter how unfathomably immersed he is in misery, of succor that is unending, of resilience that is unrelenting and of hope, that is and will always be, undying.


(Note: This is a Confessional Feature Article I have submitted for my Finals Portfolio in Feature Writing Class)

Pasig’s Floating World « Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism

Pasig’s Floating World « Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism

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My Undying

It was a point in my past where I shouldn't be wallowing anymore, what with all the excruciating pains it has caused me - vows that were made and eventually broken, friendships that were lost and never been fully restored and precious ideals that were almost deserted. I guess I needed to seek the path back to my old life to be able to fully comprehend why I am here and who I am. Heck, God knows mine was a journey with perils of losing the part of me which you and I love the most. I was an Anakin on the verge of morphing into a Darth Vader, perhaps, even worse. It was everything but easy, and now, as I continue to immerse myself in the subtleties and stupidities of the everyday world, the best and worst of me is yet to come...

I posted this as a note on Facebook more than a month ago. For my acquaintances these words are quite mystifying but for those who have the slightest clue of my past agonies, these are but understatements. As my mind drifts back to the change of events that has profoundly changed my life, I cannot not feel nostalgia and sorrow…

It has been four years since I suffered one of the most devastating maelstroms of my life. I still remember it quite clearly like it was just yesterday. It happened on a clear day on a beach on the twentieth of May. The cheerful weather was a sardonic irony of the boiling tension between us, like a volcano that has been filled with the wrath of the underworld, a looming pandemonium which guarantees to liquefy the solidarity which we have taken so much pain, time and effort to build. If I had known what would happen and how I would be shattered that day, I would have chosen to be in isolation than to be in that attempt for reconciliation which have turned into an outright and bitter separation.

Hell, we screwed up like the hypocrites we have become! Perhaps we did deserve such torment or maybe we were just victims of our pride, our temperament and our youth. Could hypocrites be really victims or is there no need for euphemism as it was just plain hypocrisy on our part after all? One thing is certain though- it was tragic. It was tragic how two people, whose lives, minds and character are so intertwined, have managed to use words to lacerate one another as effectively as stabbing with poisoned knives. The absence of blood in a fight doesn’t make it less damaging after all, a disproof to the cliché “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me”. Yeah right! Words may not hurt you but it can make you feel dead, which is worse than being dead because it makes you nothing more than a cold stone – unmoving, unfeeling and deteriorating until the forces of the earth pulverized it and sent it back to join the soil, forever indistinguishable, eternally bound to be trampled on by passersby. Whew, such melancholic memories…

I guess it is best to state how I got acquainted with her in the first place, which reminds me how agonizing it is to inscribe these poignant memoirs of mine. I mean, here I am with a bottle of beer as a sedative to wounds that have never quite healed and have been reopened in the process of this script and still I find myself sighing after every sentence. If only my monitor has hands, it would have strangled me for my unintentional and brutal way of bombarding it with constant and hanging suspense.

Dear me, did I say I would declare how I met her?

Okay, enough introduction (Oh my, I really suck at narratives).

And now, to the start of the story.

Elated, I was greeted by arched hallways and ancient architecture which complement the eon of my new college school, Universidad de Santa Isabel. The excitement I felt was a mark of my enthusiasm to see the world again after hibernating for ages. I wasn’t really expecting to see familiar faces since I have never set foot on this University. So you can imagine my relief when I found out that at least a quarter of my classmates are my acquaintances back in my high school at the Ateneo. I was early, so I killed a couple of minutes chatting with them, mostly about our mischief in secondary years. When the bell rang, a petite, brunette and shoulder length haired girl strut her way in front of me and settled in the seat directly ahead of mine. Striking hair, I thought and behold she glanced in my direction and waved. I was dumbstruck, feeling like my mouth have just been sealed with an adhesive tape. But before I could utter any word or wave at least, my seatmate, Mitch said “Oi” to her in response. And that was how I made the acquaintance of my little princess (go ahead laugh at the term of endearment), I will imply later, why I preferred to give her this precious title.

In the next few days of our class (block section), she would sit with Mitch and talk to her in the brief minutes before our class period starts. The next weeks, I was already included in their chitchats and would have a sense of frustration with the seating arrangement when our class starts and she would have to return on her “supposed” proper seat.

It was when Mitch was absent for the first time that we had the chance to talk a little longer than we used to. Ah, that blessed day. I was about thirty minutes early, which was unusual, what with my excessive lateness in high school. She arrived five minutes after I did, well there’s nothing odd about that, as she was always prompt, prim and proper. But what caught my attention was the “little” white book she was carrying.

“Oh, the little prince,” I said.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“Nope, I love it!” she exclaimed.

From that moment on we became good friends, the best of friends and you know the rest.

I do want to emphasize that I tried to steer clear of us being more than friends, not because I want to but because I thought I have to. You see I promised myself, more than anybody else, that I would not get anyone or anything divide my attention on my studies after all the mess I have made in my academic life – incurring enough AFs (Absences leading to failure) to make even the most kind hearted dean or department head frown.

But I guess it was hard, if not impossible, not to adore this girl with her jet black hair, rich sensuous lips, narrow waist, big, round, brown eyes and a curious baby blue dental braces. What even draws me closer to her was the seeming balance of her desire to speak and her admirable patience to listen. But what struck me the most was how in many ways she is – like me.

She is, as Antoine de Saint Exupery said in his beloved fable “The Little Prince”, “someone whom I could really talk to.” God knows how hard it is to find someone who actually knows what you’re trying to say before you actually finish deciphering it or how you feel even without putting it into words. It seemed our cerebral channel is of the same wavelength until we caused too much fatigue on our cardiac muscles and lost control of our emotions - the sweet and sometimes wild emotions that have enabled us to tame each other’s restless spirit.

So here I am now, writing all this down, plunging back into my first experience of figurative hemophilia, finally unveiling one of the most momentous episode of my existence and hoping that it would somehow answer people’s queries about my solemnity and sometimes grimness. As I always say “I am serious most of the time, funny sometimes and pensive all of the time”. I just wish that people will finally understand why I am not so fond of surface talks and the accustomed Pinoy way of “hear me I am so funny” stories anymore. It is not that I find humor a waste of time; it is just that I do wish that people will be sensitive to hardships. Life is not all about hearing hilarious antics, in great part; it is about listening to the troubles of wounded hearts and easing the weariness of battered souls. For as long as we think that there is nothing more admirable than one’s loud and unquenchable cheerfulness even if it is nothing more than a bravado, we would fail unceasingly to perceive solace in sorrow, humility in loneliness, endurance in suffering and wisdom in failure that is almost always omnipresent in the quietness of a thoughtful being.

This has been my account of a tragedy, a lost so agonizing that it caused me the wavering of my faith in everything good, in people and most of all, in Him. A lost so intense that I grieved for it, that I was driven to walk away from everything and everyone else that I hold dear, trekking for three consecutive days under the sun, rain and stars, armed only with a score of pesos, an umbrella and a shabby and thin jacket against the inclement weather of December. Out of the goodness of strangers, who fed me and gave me enough money to be able to come back home, I did survive to tell this tale.

Now, my wounds are starting to heal and I must say that it was all worth it for my life roadmap was enriched with every stopover, dead end, U-turn, detour and refueling station I encountered. The emotional roller coaster ride made me puke and faint. I was bruised, scratched, scarred and scathed but I also learn to deal with them (much later). If there is one thing I could ask for, it is that my would-be readers would not take my revelations lightly. This was a hellish torment for me, disclosing all these details. Four years proved too short a time to mend hurts that run too deeply. But I do hope that this story, my story – of agony, mirth, folly and glory will remind me as well as others of the individual that still stands firm, of the soul that needs constant pruning, of the being who has to remain afloat no matter how unfathomably immersed he is in misery, of succor that is unending, of resilience that is unrelenting and of hope, that is undying.

The Struggle

It was a point in my past where I shouldn't be wallowing anymore, what with all the excruciating pains it has caused me - vows that were made and eventually broken, friendships that were lost and never been fully restored and precious ideals that were almost deserted. I guess I needed to seek the path back to my old life to be able to fully comprehend why I am here and who I am. Heck, God knows mine was a journey with perils of losing the part of me which you and I love the most. I was an Anakin on the verge of morphing into a Darth Vader, maybe even worse. It was everything but easy, and now, as I continue to immerse myself in the subtleties and stupidities of the everyday world, the best and worse of me is yet to come...

Tongue Tied

Tongue Tied

Faber Drive



Bright cold silver moon
Tonight alone in my room
You were here just yesterday
Slight turn of the head
Eyes down when you said
I guess I need my life to change
Seems like something's just aren't the same
What could I say?

I need a little more luck than a little bit
Cuz every time I get stuck the words won't fit
And every time that I try I get tongue tied
I'll need a little good luck to get me by

I need a little more help than a little bit
Like the perfect one word no one's heard yet
Cuz every time that I try I get tongue tied
I need a little good luck to get me by this time

I stare up at the stars
I wonder just where you are
You feel a million miles away
(I wonder just where you are)
Was it something I said?
Or something I never did?
Or was I always in the way?
Could someone tell me what to say to just make you stay?

I need a little more luck than a little bit
Cuz every time I get stuck the words won't fit
And every time that I try I get tongue tied
I need a little good luck to get me by

I need a little more help than a little bit
Like the perfect one word no one's heard yet
Cuz every time that I try I get tongue tied
I need a little good luck to get me by this time

I know it feels like the end
Don't want to be here again
And we could help each other off the ground so we never fall down again
What it takes I don't care
We're gonna make it I swear
And we could help each other off the ground so we never fall down again
Again

I need a little more luck than a little bit
Cuz every time I get stuck the words won't fit
But every time that I try I get tongue tied
I need a little good luck to get me by

I need a little more help than a little bit
Like the perfect one word no one's heard yet
Cuz every time that I try I get tongue tied
I need a little good luck to get me by this time

I know it feels like the end
Don't want to be here again
And we could help each other off the ground so we never fall down again
What it takes I don't care
We're gonna make it I swear
And we could help each other off the ground so we never fall down again

Immersion

NSTP-CFFP
2009 Immersion (3RD Batch)
Brgy. Sibaguan, Sagñay, Cam. Sur
February 21, 2009



“A Testimonial”



Ang pamilyang “umampon” sa amin ay may limang supling: sina Analito, labing tatlong (13) taong gulang, Analiza, 11, Anamarie, 8, Anthony, 5 at Albert, 3. Sa kanilang lima, kina Anthony at Albert ako unang napalapit. Kahapon kasi, pinahiram ko sila ng aking maliit na teleskopyo at nalibang akong panoorin sila sa paglalaro nito. Aliw na aliw sila at muntik pa ngang mag-away dahil sa pag-uunahan sa pagsilip sa mga lente. Nakakatuwa talaga ang mga bata, napakadali nilang pasayahin. Nakamamangha ang pagpapahalaga nila sa mga mumunting bagay, tulad ng isang laruan…Ako kaya, kailan pa ba ako huling naupo, nagalak at nakontento sa mga simpleng bagay sa paligid ko? Napapansin ko pa kaya ang bawat pagsikat at paglubog ng araw? Nabibigyan ko ba ng pagpapahalaga ang bawat minutong patuloy na pinahihiram sa akin ng Maykapal? …Sumisira ba ako ng pag-asa ng iba o nagbibigay ng lakas sa aking kapwa? Sadya nga kayang napakahirap sagutin ng mga katanungang ito?

Ang aming “foster father”, si kuya Marlon, ay isang “cook” sa Coco Café sa aming paaralan. Bihira lang siyang umuwi, siguro dahil sa layo ng lokasyon ng kanyang trabaho. Kaya si ate Liza ang tumatayong ama’t ina kapag wala siya. Naglalako siya ng isda para makatulong sa kanyang asawa at para na rin mapa-ikot ang kanilang pera. Bilang isang anak na lumaki rin na malayo sa ama, ‘di ko maiwasang maki-simpatya. Ganonpaman, di ko pa rin mahulaan, kung anu-ano ang mga naiisip at nararamdaman, ng mga tsikiting sa tuwing nakikita nilang may bakanteng upuan sa hapag-kainan.

Dinaranas rin kaya ni ate Liza ang mga hirap na patuloy na pinagdaraanan ng aking ina, o baka naman mas malala pa? Hindi ko alam ang sagot sa tanong na ‘to. Ang tanging alam ko lang ay tinanggap nila kami nang bukas palad at buong puso sa kanilang bahay at buhay, kahit pa nga panandalian lamang, sa kabila ng hikahos nilang kalagayan.

Noong unang beses pa nga lang naming nananghalian sa kanila, ay hindi na sila nag-atubiling ipagamit sa amin ang mga natitira nilang kubyertos. Dinala raw kasi ng mga bata sa eskwelahan ‘yong iba, kasama ng kanilang mga baon. Kaya nga, nahiya talaga ako noong nagsipagkamay na lamang sila sa pagkain. Gusto ko rin sanang makiisa at ipakitang “cowboy” din ako, kaya lang, mahaba na ang aking mga kuko at ‘di naman mainam kung magkakamay din ako. ‘Di ko na kasi nagupitan ang mga ito dahil medyo tanghali na ako nagising kahapon, dala ng kakulitan ng kaibigan kong insomya.

Marahil, ganito talaga tayong mga Pilipino, sobrang maasikaso at maalalahanin sa ating mga bisita. Lagi rin tayong may baon na ngiti sa ating mga labi at halakhak sa ating mga puso. Sa gitna ng kahirapan, pangungulila at kalungkutan, titiisin at kakayanin pa rin natin ang lahat para sa ating mga mahal sa buhay, at kahit ano pa mang kalamidad ang sa ati’y sumalanta, hinding-hindi pa rin tayo bibitiw sa ating pananampalataya.

Sa lahat po ng mga magulang na naririto, at sa mga anak na balang araw ay magiging mga magulang din, sana ay ‘wag nating kalimutan, na anumang karangyaang ating makakamtan, ay mawawalan ng kabuluhan, kung ang pamilya’y ating mapapabayaan.

Sa lahat po ng Bicolano at Pilipino, alalahanin natin na bukod sa pamilyang ating kinabibilangan, parte rin tayo ng isa pang mas malaking pamilya. Kaya nga, nararapat lamang, na ang ating kapwa at lahat ng Kanyang nilikha ay ating mahalin at pangalagaan, sapagkat tayo’y mga tagapangalaga lamang…Sa gitna ng pandaigdigang krisis sa ekonomiya, at mga ingay at away pampulitika, na bumabalisa sa ating bansa, sana’y, hindi tayo magsawa na gawin lahat ng ating makakaya, upang ang Perlas ng Silanganan ay muling hangaan. Manatili sana sa atin ang paniniwalang, sa kabila ng lahat, likas na mabuti pa rin ang tao at maganda pa rin talaga ang mundo.

At sa aking mga minamahal na mga kapwa Atenista, binabati ko kayo, dahil tulad ko, naranasan niyo na ang isa sa pinakatatanging Ateneo tradition, ang Immersion. Nawa’y ang ating mga nasaksihan at naranasan ay lalong magpa-igting sa ating adhikaing “Preferential Option for the Poor” at sa ating hangaring maging “Men and Women for Others”. Minimithi ko, na balang araw, ang ating Diyos, bayan at pamayanan ay lubos nating mapaglingkuran. Sana, pag dating ng araw, na kinakailangan na nating tahakin ang daan, palabas sa mga mapagkalingang haligi ng ating Alma Mater, ay mapatunayan natin, na tayo’y nabiyayaan ng edukasyong nagturo, hindi lamang kung paano maghanap-buhay, kundi pati na rin, at lalong-lalo na kung paano dapat, mabuhay.