Doble Cara

Wala sa hinagap kong magsulat ng erotika. Pero unti-unti, may isang parte ng aking pagkatao na kanina ko lang nakilala na kaya palang humabi ng ganoong klase ng literatura.

Isa iyong katotohanang hindi ko alam kung paano tanggapin. Wala sa personalidad ko ang pagiging sensuwal. Pero base sa naging reaksyon ng mga kaklase ko sa workshop sa tula kanina kay Dr. Marj, iba ang naging pagbasa nila sa aking tula. Inaamin kong sobra ang hiya ko kanina. Nahihiya ako dahil baka isipin nilang bastos ang tula ko o ang mas ikanatatakot ko, isang pornograpiya. Mabuti na lamang, malalawak ang pang-unawa ng mga ito. At nang sabihin ko nga kung ano ang gusto kong ipahiwatig sa aking tula, lubusan nilang tinanggap ito na aking ikinatuwa.

Ang payo sa akin ni Dr. Marj, kailangan ko na raw lumabas sa mga tula kong tila lagi na lang nagtuturo. May isang persona sa akin na nais kumawala at hindi ko ito kailangang ikahiya. Nais rin ng buong klase, at pati na rin mismo ni Dr. Marj na isulat kong muli ang aking tula nang hindi nahihiyang mapabilang ito sa mundo ng erotikang literatura. Nabuhayan ang aking loob at inaamin kong malaking bagay sa akin ang paniniwala ng aking mga kaklase at ng aking mismong guro na kaya kong pumasok sa isang mundong ngayon ko lang kikilalanin. Nadagdagan din kahit paano ang kumpiyansa ko sa aking sarili nang sabihin ni Dr. Marj na maraming mga sikat at magagaling na manunula ang sumulat ng erotikang tula gaya nina Sappho at Denise Levertov. Ngayon, ang kanilang mga tula ang aking kaulayaw-- makikipagniig ang utak ko sa bawat letrang bumubuo sa mga salitang pinili nilang ipanganak ng kanilang mga likhang magiging batayan ng isang hamak na manunulat na gaya ko.

Molting

I've learned something new today.

Crabs are shedding their shells!

Yes, you read it right. I thought only the snakes are shedding their skin. I've learned it through my classmate's poem. Oh well, maybe I was just unaware about it but I was really amused to know that fact so I googled it. And i found out 'molting' is the term for the process. I was really amazed especially when I saw the pictures of the crab really shedding its shell!

You can check this url: http://www.dnr.state.md.us/baygame/bbc_molting.asp

Hello, Banker

Isang linggo na ang nakararaan nang mag-text ako sa Kapamilya, Deal or No Deal. Oo, isa ako sa milyung-milyung Pilipino na umaasa sa suwerteng hatid ng mga game shows. Sa panahon ba naman ngayon na halos ilibing na ang bansa sa putik na kay tagal din nitong kinasadlakan, lahat na siguro ng pwedeng salihan sasalihan ng bawat Pilipinong ang ninanais lamang ay guminha ang buhay.

Hindi ko inasahan na makalipas lang ng pitong araw ay magkakaroon na 'ko ng tsansang maging milyonaryo. Noong una, akala ko hindi totoo ang text message na natanggap ko. Uso rin kasi ang scam sa text. Kaya kahit desperada na 'ko, sinigurado ko pa ring totoo ang natanggap ko. Tinawagan ko ang tanggapan ng nasabing programa at totoo ngang kasama ako sa napili. Kung tutuusin, sobrang suwerte ko na dahil computer ang pumipili ng mga posibleng maglalaro sa game show.

Kaninang alas nuwebe ng umaga ang pre-screening. Dumating ako sa Abs-Cbn nang eksaktong alas nuwebe. Akala ko, kakaunti lang kami. Mahaba-haba rin ang pinila ko. Dalawang oras din akong naghintay habang tinitiis ang hapdi ng hagupit ng sikat ng araw. Pero maano nang umitim nang kaunti kung kapalit naman nito'y pag-asang maging kalahok ka sa programang magsasalba sa 'yo sa hirap?

Sa kasamaang palad, hindi ako nakapasa. Sa totoo lang, hindi ko alam ang naging pakiramdam ko kanina. Noong nakapila ako at tahimik na napagmasdan ang bawat taong nagtitiis na pumila roon, isa lang ang pumasok sa isip ko: kalat na kalat na ang kanser ng bayan-- ang kahirapan.

Lahat kaming nakapila roon ay may kanya-kanyang kwento ng kahirapan. Iisa lang naman ang dahilan ng bawat isa sa amin kaya sumali roon. Lahat kami'y nagbabaka-sakaling suwertihin nang matapos na lahat ang problemang pangpinansiyal.Siguro, kung makikita lang ng bawat opisyal na komportableng nakaupo sa Malacañang ang pilang daig pa ng mga pumipila sa trabaho, baka sakaling makuha nilang tumayo saglit sa kanilang komportableng buhay. Pero hindi ko lang alam. Dahil marahil, masyado ngang makapal ang sementong nakapalibot sa Palasyo kaya't hinding-hindi nila maririnig ang hinagpis ng bawat mamamayang Pilipino.

The Birth of Venus

She was in love with colors. She used to have dates with her crayons, watercolors, colored pens and pencils, and oil pastel. Clean bond papers used to court her. ‘Though she hadn’t met canvas, she didn’t mind giving sheets of papers her attention. She preferred to see them gleaming with bright colors than remaining dull and dead. She liked adding color to their rather dreary guise.

At a very young age, she learned to handle with her little fingers that big black pencil she used in drawing anything on her room’s wall— the wall which she considered her confidante for it had seen her both at her best and worst. If she had tantrums, the wall would let her draw with her big black pencil what she was feeling, how sad or angry she was. But when she was in high spirits, she was fond of the little brush found inside the case of her cheap watercolor. She would get water in a small cup, dip the tip of the brush in it first then plunge it in her precious watercolor. Her little eyes would grow big in amazement as she had seen how those colorful gems were being dissolved when added with water. She would then excitedly paint rainbow, sun, grass, and flowers on one portion of her room’s wall.

For every stroke she made, it’s as if she was playing with a group of children outside their house. For a moment, she would forget how she felt bad when the children in their neighborhood didn’t let her to join patintero. She had her own set of friends— her room’s wall and her coloring materials. These were the friends that would never make fun of her.

After playing with her friends, she would be very delighted by her ‘work of art’. It was beyond compare with Picasso’s famous abstract painting. For a minute anyone would hear her hearty laughter. Then another minute would pass and the whole house would be filled with her painful cry. Why, her fuming mother didn’t like her ‘masterpiece’. Instead of admiration, what she got from her mother was a couple of smack in the butt plus a glorified pinch in the arm. In front of her friends she was humiliated. And worse, her mother didn’t let her play again with them. She kept them locked in her cabinet and she was only allowed to see them on Fridays when everybody in school was required to make an art work.

Friday had been her most awaited day of the week. She considered it her reunion with her friends. That’s why whenever she was meeting them she would make it a point to play with them at her best. At the end of the day, it was her work of art that was hanging first on the teacher’s wall of fame.

Every year, she would be getting certificates recognizing her talent in the world of arts. It was only her mother who usually accompanied her upstage. Her mother was glad to have someone in the family who knew how to draw. ‘Though sometimes, she was wondering if her mother would again be fuming red if she would draw or paint something ‘nice’ on her room’s wall. But this time, she would really have to make it more exquisite than that of Picasso’s. Her mother could not afford to spend again a single penny just to have her room’s wall be painted in white.

When she was missing her friends, what she would do was sneak a pencil from her younger brother, get her notebook and lock herself in her room. She would try to draw a rainbow just like what she did on the wall. But she was not satisfied because she could not see red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. All she could see was the dry shade of a pencil’s lead. She would then carefully tear that page from her notebook making sure that all her notebook’s leaves would not be detached. She would start all over again. But this time, she would not draw. Instead she would write what she was feeling at the moment. But before finishing her composition, she would then realize that someone might read what she had written. Without second thoughts, she would again tear that page apart.

During her friends’ absence, she wasn’t totally alone. Words kept knocking on her door offering friendship. She wasn’t disturbed at first. But when she was on her own, these words would never leave her. What she hated the most was when she was in the lavatory and they kept on running inside her thoughts. She wanted them to just evaporate but their too strong and stubborn. She could not contain them in her mind that’s why she had no choice but to hurriedly go out and release those demanding words into whatever piece of paper she would find. She wanted to be as accommodating as she could but she wasn’t happy with them. She thought words were very unfathomable. They were very mysterious and it’s too risky to trust them unlike her friends whom she had known from the very beginning. So every time words would try to invade her thoughts, she would avoid them as hard as she could.

It was established in their school as well as at home that she was good in arts. When there were competitions in and outside school, she would usually be the representative. When she was in the sixth grade, she placed second in a poster-making contest held for the Nutrition Month. In high school, her design for the Intramurals t-shirt won. Hundreds of students and the faculty had worn her design.

Her friends didn’t only help her leave a legacy in the school. They even helped her financially—there were occasions like Mother’s Day and birthday of her father when she didn’t have enough money to buy gifts, so what she did was buy a white cartolina, cut it in half and drew their portraits. Her mom said it was the best gift she had ever received and her father was pleased as well.

It was settled then on the young lady’s mind on what course she would take in college. Even her teachers expected her to take Fine Arts. However, her father didn’t approve. She tried to get support from her mother but she didn’t succeed. Her parents thought Fine Arts was not a practical course to take. Instead, she was asked to take Journalism as a prelaw course. Her parents wanted her to pursue Law afterwards. Bearing her silent protest, she abided. And she had lost her first love.

For the second time, words tried to befriend her. She thought of giving them a chance. She learned later on that they were not as indecipherable as what she thought at first. She was having fun exploring them— their form, their structure, how they could be in the same sentence and yet having different meanings. She was dumbfounded by the versatility of each word. For every piece she would compose, it’s like she was painting or drawing all over again. She would write straight news just like she would draw a grass or write feature article just like her rainbow on her room’s wall. Unconsciously, she was enjoying the craft.

It was one ordinary day in November 2005 when she clearly heard a calling. She saw an announcement posted in one of the bulletin boards in the university where she was studying inviting all who have penchant for writing to join the university-wide literary contest. At the sight of the announcement, ideas immediately rushed into her mind. And these ideas became words. And these words formed her short story which was her entry for the contest. When she was writing her short story, she wondered if Juan Luna felt the same way as she while he was painting his Spoliarium— the intense feeling that you have a responsibility and it is your duty to make your audience see the truth that lies beneath your work of art.

Her entry was recognized in the competition. It was her first time to receive such recognition using only pen and paper as tools. At first she thought it was just her luck. But when she joined again in the following year and won for the second time, she somehow gained confidence in her writing. Nevertheless, she believed she still has a long way to go. Writing is a continuous learning and it needs incessant practice to improve, develop, and be able to come up with a masterpiece— a work of art that would inspire others. Somehow she didn’t lose her first love. It was just transformed into another form where she could better express her own voice. She realized she could do a lot with only a pen at hand. She need not have anything colorful to make something colorful. Words are the best art material that could make the best painting in the world.

Adik ako!

Sa tuwing napapagawi ang tingin ko sa istante ng aking mga libro, hindi ko mapigilan ang mapailing. Nakasalansan ang mga libro ko ayon sa uri. At napapailing ako dahil malaking espasyo ang inookupa ng mga Tagalog pocket books.

Inaamin kong dito ako nagsimula. Ang mga Tagalog pocket books na nabibili sa halagang 35 pesos ay kinahiligan ko nang basahin simula pa noong nasa elementarya ako. Ang pinsan ko ang nagpakilala sa akin sa ganitong uri ng mga libro noong nagbakasyon ako sa kanila. At dahil nga hindi ako ang tipo ng taong palalabas, lalo akong naengganyo sa pagkukulong sa kwarto dahil sa pagbabasa ng mga ito.

Nalaman ko ring mahilig magbasa ng ganito ang aming mga kasambahay. Madalas ngang maghiram ako sa kanila noon. At sa tuwing nagpupunta kami sa palengke, doon na 'ko natutong bumili ng mga ito.

Dinala ko na ang hilig ko sa pagbabasa ng mga Tagalog pocket books hanggang ngayon. Iyon nga lang, unti-unti na 'tong nababawasan. Kailangan ko rin kasing magbasa ng ibang libro. At gusto ko rin naman talagang magbasa ng kahit anong libro.

Hindi ko naman ikinahihiya ang pagkahilig ko sa mga ito. Katunayan, kalahati siguro sa library ko'y puro ganito ang laman. Isa pa, nakapagsulat na rin ako ng ganito na nagustuhan ng isang publisher. Siguro nga, jologs ako. Ang sabi nga ng iba, 'bakya' raw ang mga ganitong uri ng babasahin. Minsan nga'y pinagtatalunan pa kung literatura nga bang masasabi ang mga romance novel na nasulat sa Tagalog. Eh ano ngayon? Jologs na kung jologs, bakya na kung bakya. Eh bakit ang mga romance novel sa Ingles iba ang pagtanggap sa mga ito? Dahil ba Ingles ang mga ito kaya maituturing na itong 'literature'?

Siguro, isang dahilan kung bakit ko gustong-gusto ang pagbabasa ng mga Tagalog pocket books ay dahil nagbibigay ito ng pag-asa sa mga mambabasa. Abot din nito ang masa kaya't kahit gaano kahirap ang buhay tulad ng mga karakter sa mga librong ito, nakukuha pa rin nilang lumaban gaya ng mga bida sa mga libro. Natutuwa nga ako sa tuwing nakakakita ako ng mga nagbabasa ng Tagalog pocket books kahit na nasa dyip pa. At kailan ko lang nalaman na hindi lang pala para sa mga kababaihan ang mga Tagalog pocket books. Pati kasi ang mga asawa ng mga kasambahay namin ay mahilig palang magbasa ng mga ito.

Marahil, hindi ko na maiaalis sa akin ang pagbabasa ng mga ito at paminsan-minsa'y pagsusulat. Hindi naman ako nahihiya. At hinding-hindi ko ito ikakahiya dahil malaki ang naitulong ng mga ito sa akin sa patuloy kong paghubog sa aking sarili bilang isang manunulat.

I want to have a 'head'

I was reading one of Truman Capote's stories, The Headless Hawk. A passage from the story caught me. It says:

"he was, he said, a poet who had never written poetry,
a painter who had never painted,
a lover who had never loved (absolutely)--
someone, in short, without direction, and quite headless.
Oh, it wasn't that he hadn't tried--
good beginnings, always, bad endings, always..."

I just love the ironies enclosed in the passage. It's as if I saw myself in those lines (headless!). Until now, I'm still at a loss-- lost in the career sense. It's not that I didn't try to find my 'ideal career'. But later, I found out there's no such thing since it is only in my imagination, hence the word 'ideal'.

Sometimes, it's just really depressing that at the age of 23, I'm still dilly-dallying on what I really wanted to do. I want to have a sense of direction. I want to have a career that would give me both happiness and security.

Pagtanggi kay Poseidon

Masayang humalik sa aking mga pisngi ang hanging hatid ng malawak na karagatan sa Olongapo. Tila sabay-sabay na nagpakitang-gilas sa aking harapan ang mga alon na walang tigil sa pag-indak sa saliw ng malikot na pagaspas ng hanging habagat. At unti-unti, lumukob sa aking kaibuturan ang walang-pagsadlang takot na tila ba ako'y unti-unting dinadala sa palasyo ni Poseidon sa pusod ng dagat.

Nagkayayaan kami ng dalawa kong kaibigan kasama ng aking kabiyak na mamasyal sa Olongapo. Nagkasundo kaming apat na tumawid sa kabilang isla gamit ang isang bangka. Nakasakay na 'ko dati sa barko pero hindi sa isang makipot na bangka na karaniwang ginagamit ng mga mangingisda. Nang makita ko ang bangka, ginapangan ako ng matinding takot. Noon ko lang naramdaman ang ibayong takot sa dagat na akala ko'y wala ako. Nagtalo ang aking isip. Naroon iyong gusto kong maranasang pumunta sa isla sakay ng bangka pero naroon din sa dibdib ko ang matinding tensyon na nakapagpanginig sa akin nang husto. Umayaw ako pero napilit din ako ng mga kaibigan ko pati na rin ng asawa ko.

Akala ko kaya kong labanan ang takot. Na kaya kong paunlakan si Poseidon at bisitahin siya sa kanyang kaharian. Hindi pala. Wala pala akong kwentang bisita.

Nang paupuin ako sa makipot na bangka, saka naman parang gustong makipaglaro sa akin ng mga makukulit na alon. Lalo akong natakot at nagsimulang manigas ang mga kalamnan. Unti-unti, lumalakas na ang pakiusap ko sa aking mga kasama na ipatigil na ang bangka at bumalik na kami sa pampang. Hanggang ang pakiusap ko'y naging naghuhumiyaw na sigaw at pagmamakaawa. Humalo ang pagtangis ko sa nakabibinging tunog ng motor ng bangka. Pinangangapusan na 'ko ng hininga at parang hinahabol ng mga pating ang tibok ng aking puso. Niyakap ako ng aking asawa dahil nagwawala na ako. Hindi lang mga kaibigan ko ang nabahala kundi maging ang mga nagpapaandar ng bangka. Akala ko malalagutan na 'ko ng hininga hanggang sa makabalik kami sa pampang. Nanginginig pa rin ang buo kong katawan. Halos buhatin na ako ng aking asawa mula sa kinauupuan kong bangka. At doon lang ako nahimasmasan.

Doon ko lang napagtanto na may matindi pala akong takot sa dagat habang sakay ng maliit na bangka. Noon ko lang din kasi nasubukang halos mahalikan ko na ito sa lapit habang nasisilip ko ang kalaliman nito. Nakakatakot ang pakiramdam na manipis na kahoy lang ang pagitan ko sa napakalawak na karagatan. Hanggang ngayon, nasa dibdib ko pa rin ang takot. Para kasing nakikita ko pa rin ang aking sarili na nasa gitna ng dagat, mag-isa at pilit na pinapapasok ni Poseidon sa kanyang kaharian. Pero hindi niya ko mapipilit. Hindi ko alam kung hanggang kailan mananatili sa akin ang takot ko sa tuwing nalalapit ako sa dagat. Pero sa ngayon, nasisiguro kong mamamatay muna ako bago ako tuluyang makuha ni Poseidon.

Going back to my Mother Tongue

TWENTY-NINE years ago, a struggling Engineer from Guagua was smitten by a dainty lass from Bacolor. The two, coming from the same province of Pampanga, shared their vows of loving each other for the rest of their lives. And from them came forth eight children.

And I am one of them.

I am a true-blooded Capampangan.

I grew up in our nest in San Fernando, which was built by my parent's sacrifices. I studied there until high school before I moved in Manila to enter college.

I am one of the daughters of Pampanga.

Pampanga, which was known all over the world because of the devastation it went through as Mt. Pinatubo erupted, is now flourishing particularly its capital that is now a city, San Fernando. Flyover, buildings of various companies not to mention malls, were already in the heart of San Fernando.

I am Capampangan by blood. I speak well of the basic language and can read as well.

But I have a revelation-- a revelation that might disappoint my forefathers: I am a Capampangan but I know nothing of its literature. I haven't read any of it. What a shame on my part.

I boast that I've read famous local and international writers but did I ever bother to read any from my own province? I don't even know any of the Capampangan writers.

Yes, how dare me for studying other's literature without even knowing my own. And how come I could write well in Tagalog? How come I can write in English? Those two languages were not even my mother tongue.

It matters to me because I am a Capampangan. As a writer, I challenge myself. It is now my call to make Capampangan Literature alive again. Not for others. But for my fellow Capampangans so that, before they could discover other's literature, they have known their own by heart.

I am deeply inspired by one of my professors, Dr. Marj. If she could write in Cebuano (her mother tongue), why can't I?

I still have a lot of time. And I should not waste it.

Usapang kalyo

Ang mga kamay kapag nasobrahan sa trabaho nagkakakalyo. Gayundin ang mga paa, kapag nasobrahan sa lakad, nagkakakalyo rin.

Ang puso kaya kapag nasobrahan sa sakit, nagkakalyo rin? Iyong tipong ‘singkapal ng aspalto sa highway ang kalyo nito kaya’t kahit ilang beses itong masaktan hindi na nito mararamdaman ang nakalalapnos na pasakit na hatid ng bulok na sistema ng pag-ibig?

Oo, hindi lang si Pulitika, Hustisya, at Gobyerno ang may bulok na sistema. Kahit si Pag-ibig. Siguro marami ang magtataas ng kilay sa binanggit ko. Hindi naman perpekto si Pag-ibig. Ang konsepto nito ang perpekto pero nagiging bulok ang sistema nito dahil na rin sa tao o mga taong mali ang pamamaraan pagdating sa pagmamahal.

Ang sabi ng ilan sa mga manunulat, ang puso raw ang pinakamainam na pagkuhanan ng mga magagandang bagay na pwedeng isa-tinta. Siguro nga. Dahil naglipana ang mga librong tampok ay mga istorya ng pag-ibig. Pero karamihan sa mga ito ay puno ng ideyalismo. Malayo sa reyalidad dahil wala namang totoong ‘happy ending’ ika nga sa mga fairytales. Kung tutuusin, sino namang sira ang tuktok na nanaising lagyan ng tuldok ang isang masayang pangyayari?

Tungkol naman sa pagkakaroon ng kalyo ng puso, hindi ko alam. Ayokong maging corny at magpaka-senti. Sana nga, nagkakaroon na lang ito ng kalyo. Para kahit ilang beses itong malapirot sa mga relasyong kinasusuungan nito, hindi na nito mararamdaman ang sakit. Hanggang sa kumapal ang kalyo nito’t matanggal na ang makapal na balat. Nang sa gayon, may maisusukli pa itong pagmamahal sakaling ambunan ito ng isang pagmamahal na may respeto—isang pagmamahal na makapagbibigay sa ‘yo ng tiwala at respeto sa sarili.

A Marshmallow Story

School was my biggest nightmare.

For some reasons, unlike any other six-year-old who excited to wear her new school uniform, new pair of shoes, and use her new bag and lunchbox, I was scared to go to school. Maybe it was because at the back of my mind, I created a world wherein the villain was an old woman with stiff features who wore thick eyeglasses, her hair meticulously tied in a bun, and who held a long wooden stick that anytime could touch the trembling little hands of a group of children she’s eyeing intently. That’s how I pictured my teacher. Of course, I learned later on that she was contrary to the monster I made out of her.

I can never forget my first day in preparatory school; how I cried at the top of my lungs when my Mom forced me to wear my school uniform. It was as if I was about to be offered as sacrificial victim in a cult and the good days of my childhood had suddenly come to a halt. She was crazy mad at me and may have wanted to give me a tweak in my ear. My Mom thought that I simply didn’t want to go to school. What was in my young mind, however, was play, play, and play. I guess my Mom failed to realize that I didn’t even know how to write my own name!

But there she was, enrolling me in a preparatory school without even knowing that I didn’t know how to write nor read. Although I knew how to count from one to a hundred and I had memorized the alphabet, I still didn’t know how to write my own name in my own pad paper. She didn’t enroll me in a daycare center or nursery school before prep school. What then could she expect from me?

I don’t even recall if she had taught me before how to write my name. And this was what horrified my innocent mind. Truly, it was not just because I’m afraid of my teacher whom I hadn’t seen yet; but because I was afraid I would never make it in school. However, I could not tell this to my Mom’s raging face. And so my Dad came to talk to me.

Like a diplomat, he talked to me and explained how much fun it was to go to school, meet new friends and learn new things. He gave me the assurance that once I entered my classroom, I would have the best time of my young life. He even volunteered to bring me to school and fetch me after class instead of riding in our school bus.

Maybe it was the way my Dad talked to me, in the mild but firm tone of his voice that assured me everything would be alright. Or maybe it’s just him that made me decide to wear my school uniform obediently, as meekly as a sheep.

However, when I went to school I learned that what Dad told me was partly lies, as far as my experiences were concerned. It was not fun to go school. It was I who had been made fun of by many of my classmates who were not-so-friendly. I can never forget how they laughed at me when one school day I went to school wearing mismatched socks. It was also that same day when my teacher scolded me for not wearing socks. I removed them when the class laughed at me.

I tried to reach out to them and befriend them. But oftentimes they would shut doors at me. They didn’t talk to me even when I shared my new pencils with them. At a very young age, I learned what isolation meant.

Sometimes I would think my classmates didn’t want me for a friend because I didn’t know how to read. Whenever my teacher asked me to recite what she had written on the blackboard, my face would automatically turn red from embarrassment. For I knew that her thirty-minute period was not enough for me to finish reading the five-sentence paragraph she wrote about the ‘frog jumping in the lake’.

I felt hopeless then, especially when I was always getting zero in our spelling exams. How could I spell a word correctly if in the first place I didn’t even know how to read it? My teacher talked to my Mom several times. And several times my Mom scolded me for ‘not learning anything’ according to my teacher. She then started teaching me my lessons.

Every night my Mom would ask me to pronounce the letters in the alphabet. Then she would ask me to read the things she would write in a small blackboard she bought. On her left hand she was handling the blackboard while on her right was the ladle. When I mispronounced or misspelled a word, I would surely get a strike from that callous thing. That’s why even if I would have amnesia, I would never forget how to pronounce and spell the words bat, mat, and pat. I never got a homerun; instead I got three strikes from my Mom for these words.

Several times I tried to ask my parents to spare me from going to school. One night, I heard them talking about me, about taking me out of school. But there’s one strange thing that kept my parent’s faith in me. I didn’t know how to read and spell words but whenever we have quizzes (except for spelling), I was always getting perfect scores.

I myself didn’t know how I perfected those quizzes. What I remembered the most was the pack of marshmallow my Dad would give me once I showed him my paper with a one-hundred percent mark written in red ink. That luscious, soft, and smooth marshmallow with various colors was my reward from my Dad whenever I went home with a perfect score. Its gentle feel that leaves a mild taste in my palate as it melts in my mouth was the only thing that made me crave for more quizzes regardless of my difficulty in reading.

Ang Pagninilaynilay ng isang Tambay (gaya ko)

Babala: 'Wag basahin kung ika'y may trabaho.

Sa mahigit na tatlong buwang kawalan ko ng trabaho (kusa akong umalis, hindi ako pinaalis), may ilang mga bagay (importante man o hindi) na napagtanto ko:

1. Sa una lang masaya dahil makakapagpahinga ka, makakapagpuyat ka nang hindi mo na kailangang gumising ng maaga, at pansamantala kang makakahinga nang maluwag dahil wala kang iisiping trabahong nakatambak.

2. Malaya kang makakapanood ng mga palabas sa Kapamilya channel, Qtv network, Lifestyle network at pati na rin Cartoon network nang ano mang oras mong naisin hanggang sa ikaw na mismo ang sumuko-- tipong gusto mo na lang ipatanggal ang skycable ninyo.

3. Magkakaroon ka ng katiting na social life. Siyempre sa una maeengganyo ka pang lumabas lalo na 'pag nakuha mo na ang back pay mo. Pero sa huli, mas nanaisin mo na lang mag-ala mongha dahil manghihinayang gumastos sa kakarampot na natira sa ipon mo. (Nakakahiya namang humingi ka pa sa mga magulang mo.)

4. Kung kailan kare-resign mo lang, saka naman tatawag sa 'yo ang mga employer na hindi mo naman pinasahan pa ng resume (dahil wala ka pa ngang balak mag-apply). Pero kung kailan handa ka nang magtrabaho ulit, at pinamudmod mo na ang resume mo, saka naman tila nilalayuan ka ng trabaho. Dahil doon, maiisip mo ang mga pinalampas mong pagkakataon at tuloy mababaliw ka sa panghihinayang.

Marami pa 'kong baon na reyalisasyon. Pero sa ngayon, ang mga nasa itaas ang ibabahagi ko muna.

Starstruck

If only my sandals have wings so I could fly as fast as I could to go to Ariston Estrada Seminar room. We were told to be there at 5:30pm for the Norton Anthology book launch and poetry reading by the country's finest poets and writers-- Dr. Gemino Abad, Dr. Marjorie Evasco, Alfred Yuson, Marne Kilates, and Edgar Maranan. I had only fifteen minutes before the hands of my wristwatch turned to 6pm. Fortunately, the angels were on my side. When I opened the door, the event haven't started yet. There were only a number of strangers inside so I decided to wait for my classmate and friend Irish outside the room. Then a dignified-looking man who is in his fifties I think, smiled at me and asked if that was the room for the book launching. Since I didn't know about the book launch 'cause I honestly thought it was sole poetry reading, so I asked him back, "Yung poetry reading po ba?" I courteously asked and he smiled again and said, "Yes". So I told that was the room. He asked me again if it is okay to go inside and I answered him, "Opo, may tao na rin po sa loob." He sincerely thanked me and went inside. After a minute or two, I decided to go inside and fortunately I saw my other classmate. A few minutes later, the room was filled with so many people, most of them I only knew by face except of course for Dr. Marj. Then, after the invocation and introduction, the poetry reading began.

One by one, the five poet-writers I mentioned earlier were being called to read their chosen poems. Dr. Marj was followed by Marne Kilates and then the emcee after a quite long biographical introduction, she called for Edgar Maranan. I was surprised when the man who stood in front of us was the same man who asked me few minutes ago! Suddenly, I realized I was awe-struck or maybe starstruck! How lucky I am to have conversed (If I may say) or exchange words with someone like him. Eventhough he only asked me if that was the room for the book launch, I still consider myself lucky. It isn't everyday that I meet someone like him. I mean, I only know his name, see his name under his works just like the characters in fiction. It's as if he's not real. But now, I've seen him in flesh! I am also lucky that I've seen Dr. Abad, Sir Marne, and Sir Alfred Yuson. Before, I was only reading them, seeing their names on papers. That's why after the event, I didn't go home without having pictures with them.

Trapik sa aking Kamalayan

Hindi ako naniniwala sa writer’s block o ang kawalan ng manunulat ng maisusulat dahil hindi gumagana ang kamalayan nito. Pero sa mga oras na ito, parang gusto ko na yatang maniwalang dumadaan nga sa kahit kaninong manunulat ang ‘sakit’ na iyon. Kahit kasi anong gawin ko, parang may banggaang sasakyan sa loob ng utak ko kaya't hindi gumagana ito. Marahil, dala na rin ito ng matinding pagod. Buong araw kasi akong naglinis ng kwarto at patapos na ang I love Betty La Fea nang bumaba ako para maligo.

Literal na pwedeng magtanim sa loob ng kwarto namin. Noong nakaraang taon ko pa huling nilinis ito kaya't hindi na katakatakang tila nagsaka ako. Idagdag pa ang gahiblang mga buhok ko na dinaig pa ang tag-lagas dahil sa kakasuklay ko. Siyempre, hindi por que't wala akong trabaho kaya't puro kain, tulog, at aral lang ang gagawin ko. Bukod sa pagbabantay ng munti naming negosyo, kailangan ko ring asikasuhin ang mumunting bagay sa inuupahan naming bahay. Hindi ko naman kasi gawaing iasa sa kasambahay ang paglilinis ng aming kwarto hindi dahil sa kung anupamang dahilan bagkus mas madali sa akin ang maghanap ng mga gamit kung ako mismo ang nagligpit ng mga iyon. At dahil dumating na ang taong makakatulong namin sa aming negosyo, malaya akong naglinis nang maghapon. Kaya nga wala akong maisip itala rito maliban na lamang sa mga sinundang programa ni Betty. Para ngang ipinatapon ako sa malayong sibilisasyon dahil sa Bandila ko na lang nalaman na may isyu na naman pala sa mga pagkaing galing Tate, gaya ng peanut butter. Gusto ko pa man din magpaluto ng Kare-kare bukas. Sabagay, hindi naman kailangang imported pa ang ilagay sa Kare-kare. Mas masarap pa nga ang giniling na mani na lang.

Ganito nga siguro ang tinatamaan ng 'sakit' ng mga manunulat. Ito na nga kaya ang writer's block?

Remembering a loved one

I have dreamt and it was no ordinary dream. In my dream, my husband who just came from abroad and I, have to attend his niece's baptismal day. I refused to go with him due to my personal reasons. It's not that I'm not in good terms with my in-laws but I have some errands to accomplish. Then, as if lightning struck me, the fluorescent lamp located in our bedroom suddenly blinked in ritmo. My head felt like exploding and I had goosebumps all over me. I never saw her, but the thought of her rushed through me. I realized she wanted me to go with my husband.

She's none other than my husband's Tita, Ninang, and most of the time, his second Mother. And among my husband's relatives, she was the one who treated me a real family. And she is our Tita Betts.

With her figure ala Ruby Rodriguez, no one even I, suspected she's suffering from an ailment-- the treacherous kind of illness known as Cancer. In her case, she had colon cancer. On July 05 this year, we will be remembering her third death anniversary. Tita Betts supposedly be one of our principal sponsors in our wedding late last year. She never witnessed it personally but we know, she's happy from above looking down on us as we exchanged our vows.

I told my husband about my dream. I told him I wanted to visit Tita Betts before going to the baptismal of our niece. I told him we should go to Dangwa, buy flowers and candle. He immediately agreed. It has been two months since he came back from his work abroad but he never thought of visiting her.

Tita Betts made us remember her through my dream. We admit we've been very busy in our lives that we forgot to remember such a wonderful person like her. And now, she's giving us the chance of making up for the times we never visited her or offer her a prayer. I know she understood. But somehow, maybe she missed us so much just like our realization that we missed her presence too, in our lives...

Trabaho, nasaan ka?

Kasalukuyan kong nagmumunimuni sa FX na sinakyan ko. Mahabahaba rin ang biyahe papuntang Vito Cruz dahil medyo trapik. Gusto ko sanang umidlip pero natatakot akong lumagpas sa destinasyon ko. Mabuti na lang at masigla ang istasyong pinakikinggan ng drayber kaya't kahit paano'y naaaliw ako. Isang patalastas sa radyo ang nakakuha ng atensiyon ko.

"May trabaho na 'ko!" sigaw ng lalaki sa ere. Buti pa siya, sa loob-loob ko. Ako heto't tatlong buwan nang nakabakante. Tila narinig ng lalaki sa radyo ang sentimyento ko nang sabihin niyang "Maglog-on ka sa MayTrabaho.com"

Hindi ko alam ang website na 'yon. Ito lang ang mga nasubukan ko at awa ng Diyos, wala pa 'kong trabaho:
http://www.jobstreet.ph/
http://www.jobscentral.com/
http://www.workabroad.ph/

At ngayon, may maidadagdag ako sa listahan ko--
http://www.maytrabaho.com/

Kahit paano'y malaking bagay na bukod sa mga nakapaskil sa mga pahayagan ay may isang website na mapaghahalungkatan ko ng trabaho. Kamakailan lang, nabasa ko ang isang kamangha-manghang istorya sa isang pahayagan. Namangha ako dahil ang isang may doctorate sa Physics ay nag-apply bilang taga-walis. Nakabase sa China ang taong ito. Ilang taon na raw tapos sa kurso ang lalaking ito pero hindi niya nagamit ang kanyang pinag-aralan. At dahil sinubukan na niya ang lahat para makakuha ng trabaho'y wala pa ring nangyari, nakuha niyang patulan ang pagiging 'sweeper'. Binalewala niya ang taas ng kanyang pinag-aralan para lamang makapagtrabaho.

Ayoko namang humantong sa ganoon ang kapalaran ko. Pero kahit paano'y kinakabahan na 'ko sa pwedeng itakbo ng napili kong propesyon. Tatlong taon na rin akong tapos sa kursong Journalism. Pero maliban sa OJT ko, hindi ko na muling nagamit pa ang pinag-aralan ko. Nakapagtrabaho na 'ko pero puro pang-opisina ang mga ginagawa ko. At ngayong kumuha ako ng Masteral sa Malikhaing Pagsulat, hindi pa rin ito ginagarantiya na makakakuha ako ng trabahong nasa linya ng propesyon ko. Siguro nasa akin din ang problema. Marahil, kulang ako sa lakas ng loob at determinasyon. Pero dalawa lang naman ang gusto kong gawin: ang magsulat at magturo. Pero bakit tila kay ilap sa akin ng mga oportunidad?

In a rush

I set the alarm last night at 9am. Still, I woke up three hours late at my desired waking time. After buying Spanish bread and milo sachet, I went upstairs to do my reading for our Poetry Workshop class. I finished my reading an hour ago. Whether I like it or not, I have to finish it. Otherwise, I won't have time to write in my blog.

I just want to share my reading in one of the collections I've read. From Mookie Katigbak's Proxy Eros, I find the 16-line poem "Here Is the Chisel and Here Is the Mallet" striking. It gave me clear images of the things utilized in the poem—Chisel and Mallet. I didn’t only see the images but I heard the pounding of the mallet as well through the arrangement of the texts. The poet left counted spaces or tabs between some words (likes up against, hand a mallet, and so on.)

In addition to this, I find Chisel and Mallet symbolical. Chisel and Mallet complement each other. Their use is more effective with the presence of each other. There was a molding or shaping involved in the poem and as far as my own interpretation is concerned it is between a man and a woman. It could be a molding in their love relationship or shaping each other’s character. The Chisel could be the woman who points out the necessary parts to be molded or reshaped and the Mallet could be the man who would do the action. The Chisel thus caters to the intellectual and emotional part while the Mallet is to the physical aspect.

May pag-asa sa likod ng camera

Magmula nang magbitiw ako sa aking trabaho tatlong buwan na ang nakararaan, naging panghimagas ko na ang ‘programa ng masang Pilipino’ ang Wowowee. Hindi naman dahil sa fan ako ni Papi pero dahil lahat ng programa sa Kapamilya ay pinapatos namin. Isa pa, aminado akong marami ang natutulungan ng programang ito. Hindi na kaila na minsa’y dito nadidiskubre ang ilang kababayan nating may angking talento sa pag-arte, pagsayaw, o pag-awit. Sumasaludo ako sa ganoong aspeto ng programa.

Ang ayoko lang sa Wowowee, masyadong ma-drama ang karamihan sa mga kalahok na sa tingin ko’y taktika lamang nila para lalong maawa sa kanila si Willy. Masyado na kasi silang OA, tipong ang lakas ng pag-atungal nila ng ‘iyak’ pero walang luha ni pawis na tumutulo. Kapag ganoon na ang eksena, nawawalan ako ng gana. Mahahalata naman kasi kung sino talaga ang naghihikahos sa mga gusto lang makarami ng perang ibibigay ni Willy. Pero kanina, ibang drama ang nasaksihan ko. Kinabog pa nito ang MMK ni Charo kaya pati tuloy si Willy, napaiyak nang todo.

Naaawa ako sa isang kalahok kanina. Kung susuriin ang pisikal na anyo niya idagdag pa ang kulay ng balat niya, mahuhulaan agad na isa siyang black American. Ito pala’y tubong Olongapo. Isa ngang black American ang ama nito na hindi na niya nakilala pa kahit kailan. Ang mas nakapagpaantig sa aki’y ang kaalaman na namatay ang nanay niya noong limang taong gulang pa lamang siya kaya’t lalong umikli ang tiyansa niyang makita pa ang ama niya. Nakadagdag din sa bigat ng kalooban ko ang hinanakit niya dahil minsa’y nakararanas din siya ng diskriminasyon dahil sa kulay ng balat niya. Mabuti na lamang at napapanood na sa iba’t ibang bansa ang programa. Kanina, kasabay ng pagsungaw ng mumunting tubig sa gilid ng aking mga mata ay ang aking piping hiling na sana nanonood ng mga sandaling iyon ang kanyang hindi pa nakikilalang ama.

Justice 'n Jail

Amid the roaring sound of the Osterizer as I was making strawberry-banana shake for our merienda, the news that ex-Batangas City Governor Antonio Leviste was guilty of homicide breaks out. I am familiar with his case way back then when he surrendered for killing his employee delas Alas for self-defense. But the issue had its natural death. And now, for the victim's family justice had prevailed. Ironically, for Leviste's side 'Justice in the country sucks'.

I'm not in the position to judge. For one, I am but a spectator just like anyone else. But a spectator with feelings. I felt pity for Leviste. Maybe because he was and still a somebody and he ended up in jail. Of course I'm not saying rich and famous has no place in jail. Yet, when I saw his face when he was interviewed by a reporter, a sudden rush of melancholic emotion came through me.

If that's what Justice is all about--leaving families in pain, then, I'm not sure if I can embrace it... wholeheartedly.

Kahit gising kapag nahuhumaling, parang tulog na rin

Malamig ang dampi ng hanging hatid ng kalaliman ng gabi. Marahil tumutulo na ang laway ng ilan sa sarap ng kanilang tulog habang kami ng aking kapatid ay kasalukuyang binabagtas ang daan pauwi sa Pampanga, ang aming probinsya. Ilang oras na lang at maghahasik na ang galamay ng haring araw. Kung ang ilan ay nag-iipon na ng lakas para sa pagsalubong ng bukas, kami naman ay tila gaserang unti-unting nawawalan ng gasolina.

Alas dose ng madaling-araw namin sinara ang aming tindahan. Alas dose y media ay humalo kami sa mga naglalakihang bus at traktora sa kahabaan ng expressway. Dala ang aming sasakyan na minamaneho ng aking kapatid, minabuti kong kausapin at kwentuhan siya sa aming paglalakbay kahit pa kalahati na lang bukas ang aking inaantok na mga mata. Katwiran ko'y kailangan ko siyang 'aliwin' upang hindi siya antukin sa daan. Umuwi kami dahil kailangan naming bumili ng mga paninda na nanggagaling pa sa aming probinsya. Kung ipagpapabukas namin ang pag-uwi at pamimili, masasayang ang isang araw naming kikitain dahil kakailanganin naming isara ang aming tindahan.

Sandali lang naman ang biyahe mula Maynila hanggang Pampanga. Pinakamatagal na ang dalawang oras. At dahil madaling-araw 'yon, kakayanin ang 45 minutong biyahe dahil madalang lamang ang mga sasakyan. Ngunit hindi 'yon ang nangyari.

Dala marahil ng sobrang 'pagkaaliw' ng aking kapatid sa mga kwento ko, lagpas ala una na nang madaling araw ay nasa daan pa rin kami. Marahil siya man ay nagtaka kaya't sinipat naming mabuti ang aming dinaraanan. Laking gulat nami'y nakarating kami hanggang Angeles! Malayo na 'yon sa aming destinasyon. At dahil wala kaming mapaglilikuan, kinailangan pa naming lumabas sa may toll ng Angeles pabalik ng San Fernando.Magkahalong inis, irita, pagod, at panghihinayang ang naramdaman ko ng mga oras na 'yon lalo pa't sumobra sa inaasahan ko ang binayaran namin sa toll gate. Ang 45 minuto naming paglalakbay ay umabot ng dalawang oras! Wala sanang kaso 'yon kung kasing bagal ng kompyuter ko ang daloy ng trapiko. Pero hindi. Nasayang lang ang gasolina at ang mahigit isang oras na madadagdag sa aming pahinga.

Dahil sa pangyayaring ito, isang aral ang napagtanto ko: bawal ang masyadong madaldal kung umuuwi ka ng madaling-araw.

Going back naked

My heart was beating fast as I stepped my way through the overpass. Wearing only big t-shirt, short pants, and tribu slippers, I was on my way to my previous working place. I resigned three months ago as Operations staff in a review center not because I didn't like my job nor my colleagues. Salary was not an issue. My superiors were also the best I had. The only reason I can think of at the moment why I left my job for one and a half years was that I felt the job was not for me. Although I really enjoyed it, still at the end of the day, I was asking myself why there was still lacking. Could it be because it was not a writing job? I was not sure.

It was a strange feeling as I returned to the place to get my certificate of employment without wearing my office uniform. But when I saw my colleagues especially the people in our Operations department, cliche' it may seem but the memories I had with them came through me like an erosion. They were as exuberant as I was when we saw each other. They treated me just like before, with or without wearing my office uniform I felt and still feel that I belong not just in the company but as well as in their lives.

Bagong Makabayan

Isang nagngangalit na tunog ng telepono ang gumising sa akin. Linggo at nasa plano ko ang humilata buong araw. Halos magbubukang-liwayway na nang matagpuan ako ng naliligaw kong tulog kaya't makatarungan lamang sigurong pagbigyan ko ang hiling ng aking namimigat pang mga talukap.

Galing sa kaibigan ko ang tawag. Darating daw siya bitbit ang asawa't anak. Mabilis kong tinapos ang pakikipag-usap at wala sa sariling dumiretso sa banyo nang makapaghilamos. May muta pa ang kaliwa kong mata nang dumating sila. Matapos bigyan ng maiinom, hindi na nag-aksaya ang kaibigan kong i-kuwento ang mabilis na pagdating ng sulat galing sa nag-aayos ng papeles nila upang makarating silang mag-anak sa Canada. Matagal na raw ang dalawang taong paghihintay bago sila makarating sa itinuturing ng maraming Pinoy na makapagsasalba sa kanilang mahirap na pamumuhay dito sa Pinas. Habang ikinukuwento niya ito'y ewan kung bakit tila mga gintong barya ang nakikita ko sa kanyang dalawang mata. Masaya ako para sa kanya. Para sa kanila ng pamilya niya. Masaya akong isipin na naroon pa rin ang pag-asang gaganda ang takbo ng buhay nila. Ngunit sa kabilang banda, nakalulungkot isiping sa karamihan, para gumanda ang buhay nila'y kailangan nilang lumayo at manirahan sa isang estrangherong lugar. Pero masisisi ba natin sila? Aanhin mo nga naman ang pagiging 'makabayan' kung kumakalam naman ang sikmura ng karamihan?

Hindi naman masama ang umalis at hanapin ang ikot ng kapalaran sa ibang lugar. Sa katunayan, tinanong ko sa kanya ang proseso para makapag-migrate sa Canada. Hindi naman ako ipokrita para itangging gusto ko ring mangibang-bansa. Pero malaki ang aking paniniwala na maikot man ng Pinoy ang buong mundo, mananatili't mananatili pa rin sa kaibuturan nito ang pagiging Pilipino.

To drop or not to drop...

...that was the question I had in my mind as I wake up awhile ago. It was the first day of school and my body wasn't cooperating with me. I slept late last night thinking whether I'll drop the subjects I enrolled for my MFA class or not. Out of nowhere, the idea that 'writing isn't my life' whipped me thus leaving a scar of doubt in my belief (and my family’s belief) that I can prove my worth as a ‘writer’. Yet, my feet seemed to have its own brain. I suddenly realized as I stepped inside the freezing classroom of our University that as Blaise Pascal puts it, "the heart has its reasons which reason knows not of."

I'm not in a hurry to discover why I'm still craving for words to construct a thought, or in a bigger perspective, a story. It is enough for me to realize what I wanted. I had the chance to drop my subjects awhile ago and choose another path. But then, my fingertips were excited to tip my keyboard in order to fill this blank page-- or rather, this page.