Interpreting "The Interpreters"

I received the copy of Wole Soyinka’s The Interpreters 2 weeks ago. Little by little, I devour its page until the nagging and persistent boredom attacks me. Bit by bit, I try to understand its meaning. Whether I’m sitting aboard the usual morning jeepney ride, or standing in the LRT, I read it as I used to read C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia. The difference is, I’m quite dead bored. I CANT interpret The Interpreters.

That I am lost somewhere in pages 40-50 after a two-week period of possessing the book is a proof that I am losing the grip of reading it. Of course there are books that lasted up to 3 months before I finish them (like the Fountainhead) but this book is a required reading for me. It is going to be my first report in my Masters’ class. To think that I still have to read tons of short stories and poems, and yep, my second report, James Joyce’s A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man (immaturely chosen, simply because it is quite familiar).

Yesterday, I had tried to cheat the report by asking Ashyah, if she knew anything about it. She said she knows the plot. She denies up until now to tell the plot since it is my report and I’m responsible for reading it. Guess that’s a fallback of having a super honest friend. Besides, I am not supposed to break what I am trying to teach to my students: READing THE NOVEL.

depresssion, revealed

When peers asked me if i was sure of staying for three years in the work place, I used to firmly answer "yes" for two reasons: first, I would still prove my worth, and 2nd, i made a promise. But nowadays, I feel as though staying would mean my personal destruction.

It is not a secret that I had depressions this November. In the past few days i woke up asking myself if I would go to school or not. I often reasoned I needed to. But last 13th and 19th of the month, I answered the question with "No, I would not. I am TIRED." People often mistook this for laziness. When I told them it is one of disappointment, they answered they understood. Money, pressure and studies, yep, who wouldn't be depressed.

But those aren't even my reasons.

I have no problem with my salary since I am supporting only myself and my brother's education. I am also able to give my family a feeling of stability since I provide our basic needs. I don't feel that much of a need for money even though saying I don't have my material needs is a hypocrisy. Aside from that, the salary is enough for me.

In terms of pressure, yes there is pressure in the work place. tons of it. But I have already accepted that. There is no job in this earth without pressure.

As regards my masters classes, honestly,I feel energized every time I remember that I have studies during Saturday. I enjoy every minute I stay in the classrooms and learn everything about literature.

The greatest factor of my depression is my dear set of irresponsible students.

I hate irresponsible students because they have the guts-which I don't- to waste time and money that they don't really own. The result, an unending clash in the class.

I give them extensions and a considerable number of considerations and when they step another toe out of the line, they expect me to understand them. When I don't, they accuse me of inconsideration. I am not MOTHERLY enough.

I don't argue because it is true. I haven't been a biological mother but I am a daughter and a student. I know my responsibilities to my family, my school and myself. I don't think it is my fault giving my best in a job that I half-heartedly like.

Somehow, subconsciously, I am looking for a symbiotic relationship between us. I understand them since I have undergone and I am undergoing the same measure of requirements.

And I end up getting depressed because they can't do it for me, nor for themselves.

But yes, I also have to think of my other students who give their all, who understand that I am not giving the standards to spite and punish them. I also have to think of those people who continuously support me in my endeavor like:
my family-understanding that I don't like teaching in the first place, they still encourage me.

Mrs. Tiu--from the start, she has already warned me of my level-headedness.

Mrs Brown- she spared a time of her busy schedule to listen to my woes.

ace and allan--my witnesses and my friends, my mediators..


At the end of the day, I ask myself yet a gain, "Am I still going to stay?"

they make me cry

I cry for severe reasons. I do not merely cry to ask for pity like girls do in televisions. I cry out of anger, frustrations, sadness. i cry out of laughter. I cry out of happiness (the last time I did, it was when !V-9 batch 2008 won the best section award). I cry out FOR salvation.

If I would allow it, the list will go on and on and on. But basically, at the top of my list is not the tear-jerking dramas or books but infuriating close-minded people.

No matter how much I make them understand and see things objectively, they beat around the bush and attack my affective side which according to argumentation is wrong. They tell me every thing depends on me but when I read between the lines they tell me otherwise. Oo nga naman...I'm not supposed to make them see things right because they are, simply because they are...and they are older...yup.

So what happens to me...

It is simply annoying that I cry for their kind of people. waste of buckets of tears...waste of boxes of tissues and waste of tanks of oxygen.

audio books

as i am addicted to facebooks, i'm half as well addicted to audio books. I figured that to keep myself insane of real english without bothering my father if i could use the dvd, I have to maximize the net...I'm using two hours of my time on useless things anyway (yeah, i can say facebook-ing is useless specially for a teacher-student like me but it doesn't stop me from using it anyway) so spend the same two hours listening to audio books... and yep, my selection of movie served as my basis in selecting the audiobooks. The things i'm listening to right now? hehe...guess what. title starts with HP....hehe

loving facebook is a crime

with all the time i spend in facebook, i neglect posting anything decent in my blog...and if ever i post anything it is about facebook.....grrrr.

while i was on my way to the nearest net shop, i calculated the hours i actually spend playing farmville, sorority life, school of wizardry and the you know what in facebook. two hours a day. 14 hours a week..and yep...for a month now i don't have a good blog entry yet even though october offered me favorable(?) circumstances and inspiration to do so...


i can't believe im spending money for games...

discovering vapid

now i know who VAPID is.

after reading a comment here in my blog, i asked some of my students who, as far as I am concerned, are following my blog. they were not vapid, they didn't knwo him...

i settled to the probability that i wouldnot be able to find who the mysterious commentator is and i let the days pass by.

finally, one day, as i hitched my way through facebook, logged-in in pet society, i saw the name...and i figured it out..hahar

the scream of silence

...funny that through turbulent times I find myself silent. Quiet. Intense emotions grope my heart that not a word escapes my mouth.

I find myself fascinated by the way things move about, interlaced, tangled,bound to lead from one thing to another. I feel that if I say something, do something, these moving things, these course of events will change their paths. So I keep quiet. And I accept the pounds, the scratches, the punches with open arms.

and I find myself satisfied. Somehow I begin to uderstand that the world is not about ME only. I am but a piece, a minute piece of my own existence. I can control my decisions, my choices. But I cannot control how the world moves.

I am an individual. But I am a part of the world.

mental dialogue II

In all the things I am going through right now, I am grateful that I have friends who never tell me what to do and what not to do. I am thankful that inspite of the negativities I have, they continue to encourage me.

giving a damn to quitters

I have never been a fan of quitters. Being competitive, I excel more when I a challenged, when I am bullied. I don't stop until I get my own share of the cake. That is why I can't understand people who quit without trying. I hate weaklings who half-heartedly do things they are asked to do--just because they don't like to? They don't have the potentials? Their groups mates don't like them? to hell. They haven't even tried doing the tasks. In their minds they limit themselves to a category and never venture into deeper waters.

It's foolish. They keep on saying "Knowing what you cannot do is more important than knowing what you can do." Well, that's a whole lot of a crappy alibi. It doesn't give them a sacred reason to refuse a task. As if everyone is asking them to jump from the King's tower and die.

Haven't I quitted once,you ask? Of course, I have. I am a human being. I used to quit in a lot of things before I learned that " The words 'I CAN'T' are better used sparingly. I give importance to the things I can't do but I don't let them stop me. I don't give a damn if it is hard as long as I have to do them(and if the task is worth the try) then I will.

Should I care if people don't like me? I won't let them affect me. I won't give them a reason to like me either. I don't care if they have stayed longer in the workplace. I am given the opportunity to stay in the same area because I am worthy and I must show that. They might as well die in frustration of kicking me out. When I have to leave--WHEN I REALLY HAVE TO QUIT, I'll make sure that I will leave something good, something to amrk the place that I once have been there. I WON"T LEAVE WITHOUT A FIGHT.

ka-CORNY-han

One of my many flaws that students point out at me is my ka-CORNY-han. It didn't come as a surprise because--surprise!--I am. I didn't learn the art of throwing jokes nor cracking one. When I was in high school, I already chose to be a wall flower. While my brothers liven up the party by joking, I usually end up making a fool of myself trying to make them eat their hearts out. I may even think of some thing funny but it never sells in the market because i don't have the proper medium of expressing it. I dropped Joke 101 and entered the Pun 101 class but the dean kicked me out....pity. So i ventured in another use of language--and this is quite a different story altogether. As much as possible I don't show my ridiculous side (except when i need it) Whenever I "joke" I am merely voicing out the thoughts that I find funny. I rather join in the audience laughing at funny people (if they are indeed funny) than be laughed at. Suffice it to say I understand my students since i myself only laugh at things that may make me laugh.. It is just a pity that they have to bear with a corny teacher until march 2010.

i am wondering who knack really is

I was in high school when I started to write petty "novelettes" that run from 16-24 episodes. Why episodes? I was thinking of becoming a professional manga writer that time so my plots were episodic--divided into scenes even.

I 'finished' three 'books': MWF Knights which I dedicated to some peers, MickDenz which I did when I was still cheesy and all, and Azalea Azure (Strips of Light) which I am currently editing.

I asked my high school classmates to read my works since I was craving for attention--being a member of the honor society had its advantages and one of them was being socially unaccepted.

It was a good thing that the females reacted good naturedly about them. They were even decent enough to ask me what I planned to do next. Imagine the horror and disappointment I got when I asked the guys to criticize my works.

I would no thave been half so sad had I been close to the girls (which I was but not quite). However, being surrounded by overprotective boys at home, I felt it was asecond nature for me to be close with some of the boys at school.

Close as I was to them, they did not spare me and my humble masterpieces. they did not even glance at them.

Grr.

But my disappointment and frustration is not what I am supposed to write about here.

So moving on...

I settled myself asking girls about what they thought of my projects. They were able to get me through my first 2 works. I was so proud of myself back then that I forgot to breathe and started a new one, Azalea Azure.

Azalea Azure was supposed to be about a transferee adopting to a new school which is somehow similar to the story line of High School Musical. The difference is Azalea doesn't sing. She dances. And she transfered to Centerville High in her third year.

Also, Vim Havey is not the super bascketball player of the school--he's the vice captain unlike Troy Bolton who is always in the limelight.

One of the characters in Azalea Azure (Strips of Light, the edited version of AA is coming soon) is Knack Kaiser who is originally an imitation of Rukawa Kaede of Slam Dunk. He is a freshman competing against Vim in basketball.

knack- ability
kaiser- German emperor

One thing I put into Knack Kaiser is my voice. He is my mouth piece in the story. It is just unnerving that I had to put him somewhere at the 5th chapter just to establish the Azalea-Vim story (I am editing it now, most probably he'll come a little bit earlier).

As far as i can remember, I wasn't really the grade conscious girl that they thought I was. Probably just along the competitive line. Grades don't matter to me much up until now. What I was and still am after is the praise and acknowledgement that go along with the grades. In short, I could not be Azalea.

Next, although I am a fan of basketball, I could not and cannot find the proper words to use in describing the intense emotions evoked by the game. Definitely unlike Vim Havey. For his character I had and have to consult my brothers, watch NBA, and rewatch events in Slam Dunk.

So where does Knack come in. He comes in at the part when things become cofusing. He was and still is the silent type. One that intimidates without doing anything. That is how I like to picture myself. All my frustrations, all my angst and all my moodswings are vented out through him.

At the time my classmates read the (original) chapter 5, they figured out one thing.

Before I graduated from high school, a number of classmates already had tagged me as 'Knack' which was and is an advantage. I need not fuss over people claiming difficulty in pronouncing my name since I have a nickname I can boast. That is one of the reasons I use "knack"

The problem I see now is I am lost in using the name. Am I still to use it when I edit the story or should I use another name?

I am lost: am I trying to live up to the name or I am simply trying to tell every one that there is one one word that sums me up.

not worthless.

but knack.

Rock with You

He had just been back from Taiwan last Friday when I asked him for a favor: a performance. I knew it was too much to ask since he isn’t my student anymore, he isn’t a part of the MASCKS anymore, and lastly and most importantly, he had just been back.

But I assure myself, it was just right.

First, he was and is one of the best dancers I know (even Eds says so). I still can't imagine the Movers without him.

Second, he needs to have exposure. He isn't doing anything anymore and he told me once that he still wants to dance and perform on stage. He needs to be visible in school naturally to help us in our rehearsals. At least, he won't feel bored. And actually I believe that I am doing him a favor and not the other way around.

And lastly, it's no use denying it, I do like to see him dance. It is not because I simply adore him--doing so is a crime against the Magna Carta (although he is not a student anymore...hm...hehe) People who can do things unexpected of them are more interesting for me than people who can do what is expected of them. In his case, he was one of the lousiest students in my class last year. Back then, I had gotten so angry with him and his peers that I had almost condemned them to hell. I had consoled myself by concluding that I wouldn't care for people who are of no use and couldn't help themselves. How surprised I had been to know he was one of Edsie's best dancers.

First impressions really don't last as my first impressions of him spilled from my brain when I first saw him on the dance floor.

Fromthen on, I supported his dancing endeavors.

That's the main reason I had when I had asked him to dance (which he humbly accepted)

He had had a night of preparation, but goodness knows had he been more prepared, the cool, slow and quite sexy "Rock with You" could have been flawless.

In my addiction, I was even singing MJ's song up until I was eating with a friend in BK Glorietta 4(she promised to smash me with her leather purse if I would whistle the tune).

Whether my request was for personal gain or simply a way for him to get back, I don't know. Up until now, I'm guilty of child abuse. All i know is i'm anticipating a lighting bolt to struck me any time...hehe

libro na naman

"relations insist in giving me books when all i want is a decent conversation"

...he used to be a crush. then he became someone dear to me. then we parted...
...there were long days, months, and years of silence...
...and i was entertained by others...
...and then he came back, after his solitary shell..
...only to give me a book "love in the timeof cholera"
...and after a year...just an hour ago, he visited, just to give 7 books...

...bother...
PMTO

patrick jane smiles and i sigh

"I don'tcare about the law. I care about justice."

In the midst of controversial issues on political killings and advertisements, I went on watching The Mentalist. Not only it saves me a lot of trouble thinking of unthinkable things, it distracts me from the constant pressure the work place is giving me (I'm loaded, pff).

Last night, Mr. Jane tried to crack series of arson cases. He was doing quite well then when he had a fair argument with a team mate. The argument was about "law vs. justice vs. vengeance."

I couldn't help thinking of my "debate" days when The PNU Debate Team would hold series of conferences and try-outs (FYI i never became a main debater--at least the team did boost my confidence). Oneof the hottest topics that time was doing something wight vs doing something that you think is right.

The "law vs. justice vs. vengeance" not only echoes the memories of the past but the current status of governance whether local or national. It is quite unnerving to think that we have laws but we don't have justice. We have documented ideas but no lasting actions.

Somehow it dictates to me that whoever we place on the highest position in the Executive Body of the Government must be a man of justice and not just a man of law.

But duh?! Who cares!

I had seen Patrick Jane smile and I had a good dream...

editing the past

...nice title for a worthless blog..harhar..
...i just tried editing my past friendster blog account. goodness,i learned they have more themes..grrr....but anyway...at least..

singing "drops of jupiter" instead

..I felt like singing "hanging by a moment".but decided against it..

Last sunday, after the dreaded but not so dreadful GCAT exam, I called him up--just checkin out if he would care to answer and he did. as usual, he said he missed me...for heaven's sake a lot of people miss some other people--wouldn't he make me feel any betterthan the rest..and to think he used to make me feel i was the best--without him knowing it and that's the problem.

.he did in a way, telling me he'd like to see me. but of course, not this weekend. he has to meet that special someone...and ofcourse....here i am, the understanding friend who has waited for him for a year when he was out there searching for something, and he goes home, misses another girl and guess what, i'm kicked out of his priority list(when i was in it, i was at the bottom, second from the bottom...make that third...drat...somewhere at the bottom).

Fine...so i thanked him for congratulating me in my decision to take up MA Lit. Nice...but that' s a crap as compared to the s compared to things i want to tell him face to face, the things he's supposed to understand without me saying them to him.


. While i was holding the phone, i couldn't help feeling like Michael Berg (The Reader).


"the only way we would be free is to disclose something needed to be disclosed but we'd rather keep it hidden."

mask

I am wearing a mask that says nothing.

I have waited and I have found out

That I have waited for nothing.

All I have is this mask

and some memories.

getting political

… I honestly don’t think his blood-relationship to the former Pres Aquino and celebrity Kris can guarantee him a good number of voters in the 2010 Presidential Elections.

… Also, I may sound know-it-all but for me, Mar Roxas’ giving way to Noynoy isn’t a good move. The latter hasn’t even given his confirmation yet. my first reaction to that was “napaka-disorganized naman nila..” They are in the same party anyway. They could have talked over the matter first, announced Mar Roxas’ decision, and put Noynoy Aquino in the limelight. it would then sound like a bomb.

…pero yun nga nangyari tapos the senator himself told the public that he isn’t sure yet. It was like estinguishing the fire of their party. I felt like watching a very pathetic stage play…

Drowning in Dostoevsky

I have started reading(and fooling myself) Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov as part of my monthly book escapades. I chose the book not because it was recommended-- which reminded me of The Fountainhead..arggh.Maria can kill me now. I promised her I would finish the book come September, and September indeed came. Wake me up before september ends...

I just take pride in reading Dostoevsky. In all honesty, I got sick of devouring American and English Literature--as they are required in our majorship. I even got tired of Black Literature after being comatosed in reading Alice Walker's The Color Purple (her "In Our Mother's Garden" is terrific!). I thought a breather would do--Russian authors! Speaking of which, I'm thinking of reading Turgenev next.

Other than my first reason, reading a text that not just anybody would read makes my heart beat faster than reading an already familiar book which everybody could relate with.Ayaw ko makiuso...ayaw...hehe

Dostoevsky never lost a nerve to use long paragraphs that intimidate readers and writers alike. Just the thought of those long paragpraphs is a sneering "boring" to me. I got teary-eyed in reading the first three paragraphs, and I am still in the first chapter, The Family Background. It is not actually boring, yes intimidating, but not boring, and tiring to read long sentences in longer paragraphs. I'm just thankful I'm reading other books in between paragraphs...haha.

other books I'm reading this month:
The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
The Book of Lost Tales by J.R.R. Tolkien
Martin Eden by Jack London
Becoming Neomi Leon by Paz Mu�oz
The Lost Boy (Sequel to a "The CHild Called 'It'") y David Pelzer

the mentalist part II

..so I got addicted to a t.v series which I have only seen once. But i can't help falling in love with a modern-Sherlock Holmes (have I said I'm addicted to Doyle's most famous character? OH, Maryl Amarante, my former classmate introduced me to him and since then on, i've been his huge fan...and a fan of characters who resemble him, even just a bit)

.amidst my mother's plea "Magpahinga ka na, baka mabinat ka, yung ngipin mo, may pasok ka pa bukas" i watched the tv series while i propped my head on a lousy pillow, trying to numb a little bit of pain.

.Simon Baker plays the indifferent Patrick Jane well enough to convince my poor hypothalamus that all indifferent detectives are really thinking....hehe .

..last night's episode was about the battle between a psych and a mentalist. both were trying to solve a murder case. the psych was somehow related to the victim since the latter used to be the first's client.She was able to help the detectives solve the case through her "visions" which were true enough. However, she was still no match for the Mentalist. She was able to point out who the murderer was by putting up a "spirit summon". PAtrick, the mentalist, on the other hand had already known the murderer from the start of the investigation. He only needed some help in "persuading" the person to confess as she was the daughter of the victim.


.probably what enticed and entices me the most in watching the series is the power of words themselves(It was amazing how Patrick Jane was able to point out who the murderer was through words...).. Also, how gifted people are able to decipher different meanings of sentences based on how they are delivered puts me on the "follow-up" mode for the next episode... .i so love it...can you tell?...hehe

darts

"I'll give you my three reasons for not conceding to your 'suggestions'...
"First, you are younger than I am--you absolutely don't have any power or authority over me.
"Next, you don't pay me--I am not your employee.
"Lastly, I am the teacher here. I am the one in charge.
"So when I say you have to leave at 1:50 p.m.,you will leave this room at exactly 1:50 p.m."

-My response to a student who had a "seat-on-fire" during the National Career Assessment Examination.
-Perhaps, I could have thought of nicer words or nicer ways of saying my retort--but hey, I didn't shout. But I think I had every reason to say those things since I had let the student complain for the nth time before I dropped the bomb.

prof ybasco is growing wisdom

...not during but after the 1st session with my 10 college students did i realize that it's real, i'm teaching in college (while i'm still teaching in high-school). so i got the jitters that i know anybody could have, given the opportunity of handling such a special class composed of HRM students.

...My immediate assistant supervisor herself had told me about it last monday. I couldn't react properly then. I was thinking that there are other seasoned teachers to choose from.

...I've never expected this to happen...point is I haven't taken up my GCAT yet (not until next week). I don't even have master's units yet...ok,,,so I get the point that they trust me--that much?

...and so i had my first day and it went on incredibly. It's as if, i was just hanging out in my dear old university (which i would probably do every weekend), talking with knowledgable enough people --not the --know-it-alls-...

so far so good...the only thing that ruined it is my tooth..literally.

i'm growing my wisdom tooth and it hurts...grrr

Writer's Block: Good Days and Bad Days

most exciting day is Sunday--since it gives a whole lot of anticipation

most energetic day is Monday--energized after slumber weekends

....nastiest day is Tuesday...it makes me think of the rest of the week. pretty boring...after monday all my energy is drained already

most promising day is wednesday--get to think of the plans i have for the weekend..it makes the week shorter (according to perspective that is)

most seat-spoiler day is thursday--get pretty much excited, can't stay in my seat...haha..

favorite day is Friday because it holds a lot of promises.harhar

most peaceful day is Saturday---i get to sleep all day (unless i'm called to this club meeting)

crests and troughs

...i wouldn't say that the entire day was spoiled...almost, though..
well, here it goes
..woke up early(we had a flag ceremony)
..facilitated a game that i think and hope my classes enjoyed.
...started writing the grades of my students on their cards.
....accepted another opportunity of teaching students, this time in college's language lab. (Thanks be to God)
.
..
...only to accept a scolding while walking along the corridors, thinking of being a professor even without a master's degree yet.
....and there...i wasn't even aware that i had been scolded at until it slipped in.

Slow to Speak, Slow to Wrath

I see dawn on the curtains of your hair
Blood pulsing, fast and slow.
The glow of your skin, it's making me wonder
How can life be so miserably sweet--

As Shakespeare's Romeo said
"Give me my sin again"
Divine is us, you once sang

Pleasure is a taste or so of your lips.

An issue of fire burning my soul
Followed by the light from your eyes.
If I could die now,
Don't stop me from falling.

Hush

Hush

I see

No word is needed

Just give me my sin again.

their fantasies

...so while they were off to their fantasies of ruining my life, i'm here updating my blogs and whatnots. i honestly don't care (although writing about 'em refutes my statement). ...gone were the days when i would just say yes to whatever they wanted me to do... they went away with the wind after i have succeeded the LET exam... ...i'm professional enough to know what i can and cannot do, what my expertise are and my waterloos. so if i say i can't and i don't want, i mean it.

just another blog entry

...im thinking of a title for a piece i'm currently editing...i have been laboring on it since i was in 3rd year high school.i just can't think of a proper title...just the title..actually, i've been considering "azalea azure" or azure azalea...but those are cheesy and so out of date.....grrr..

RECORDED VALEDICTION*

Tears welled sa mga mata ko
When I first tried to write this one.
Malay ko ba na someday, I have to say this to you
And end this and everything with a period.

Para na siguro akong sirang plaka—
No, I mean, pirated C.D.(wala na nga palang plaka ngayon)
Sa kauulit gaya ng Gin Blossoms’
“Repeating as if it matters everything I wanna say”

All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go
So babayoo na nga sa’ting dalawa.
I left a letter inside your drawer
Para naman(kung sakali) at least you’ll remember me pa.

Partida friend, masakit pa ang pisngi ko nyan.
And, nga pala, I emptied your concealer(pasensya).
I even used the cap you bought for me
And the make-ups na hindi ko pa nagagalaw.

Lantang-lanta na ang mga cactus that I bought,
Galling pang Baguio yan so please don’t forget
You have to water them twice a week
Para hindi sila mag-end(ouch…)

Don’t worry, sinusunod pa rin kita
Although medyo mapait at mahirap
Silang lunukin. Tinalo ko pa ang uminom ng rat killer
at ng isang latang insecticide.

I hope you’ll keep our old pictures
Na sobrang contrast sa new ones natin na parang
Tumanda tayong bigla at nangayayat…ay..ako lang pala…

Ayan, bumagsak na ang tears ko.
Ang hirap pala nito, I didn’t imagine.
Tama nag si Celine Dion when she sang
“Goodbye’s the saddest word I’ve ever heard”

“Goodbye’s the last time I will hold you near” na nga
I didn’t know may senti-side pala ako.
Nga pala, don’t forget our deal:
Plain black ha, ‘wag yung mamahalin.

As I end this record (ang hirap nga eh)
“I made a wish for you” to “remember me this way”
As I succumb to my favorite color,
I bid you a line of a revival(don’t cry please…yun ay kung may balak ka..)

Goodbye to you my trusted friend…


*saludo kay Rolando S. Tinio

PAPET SHOW

Paki-adjust yung antenna, malabo eh…

Pero kahit anong adjust ang gawin,
kung hindi mo gusto tingnan,
hindi mo makikita.

Ayusin mo yung frequency, nagsta-static…

Bakit hinihintay mong iba ang mag-ayos?
Gaya ng nasa patalastas:
Wala ka bang mga kamay?

Wala akong naiintindihan—pakilipat nga…
Hindi mo man lang ba iintindihin?
Humahanap ka ng iba na makakaaliw sa’yo
pansamantala
Hindi ng mga magpapaunawa sa’yo

Ayan na lang, puppet show.
Bagay sa’yo pero…
Kawawa ka naman.
Hinihintay mong may magpaunawa
Magpalaya sa’yo gayong takot kang lumaya.
Umaangal sa kahirapan
Nagrereklamo sa maling sistema
PERO WALA KANG GINGAWA
Nakatanghod, naghihintay
Dahil nais mo doon sa manlilibang sa’yo—pansamantala
Hindi sa magpapalaya.
PILIPINO: hindi ka pa ba sawa?

PWEH!

Isang pagpupugay sa mga kapita-pitagang tao na kayang itaya ang kanilang posisyon, katungkulan, para ipaglaban ang kapakanan hindi ng sa marami kundi ng sarili at piling mga tao.

Nakakamanghang kaya pa pala nilang kumain at matulog, lumunok at magpahinga, na hindi nababagabag ang kanilang kaluluwa. Hindi ba’t ekstraordinaryo na ang mga taong nababansagan—at nagsasabing sila ay—eksperto ngunit ang mga ekspertong ito mismo ang bumabali sa propesyong dapat sana’y itinatatag nila hindi para sa kanilang sarili kundi para sa karamihan. Nakakatuwa. Isang saludo para sa mga ekspertong ito.

Sining—hindi…hindi sapat ang salitang ito upang mabigyang hustisya ang walang kapantay na galing ng mga propesyonal na ito. Tama na ba ang sagradong sining? Sa sobrang sagrado pili lamang ang mga taong nabiyayaan ng ganitong kakayahan. Yung mga tipong nakapagtapos ng higit sa labingdalawang taon ng pag-aaral ngunit tila walang natutunan(saying naman ang matrikula ng mga taong ito). Sa sobrang sagrado kakaunti rin lamang ang nabibigyan ng benepisyo ng kanilang katangi-tanging serbisyo. Hay…

Ang hangaring mapabuti ang karamihan ay malayo na sa kanilang isipan. Nasa pangakong sinumpaan na lamang ang katagang serbisyo(hindi katulad ng mga dukhang nagnanais maglingkod ngunit tila tinanggalan ng karapatang maglingkod). Hay…

Ito ang mga kapita-pitagang taong ating ginagalang na dapat sana’y ating hinahangaan.
Bakit hindi natin sila palakpakan? Para man lang sa nakadidiring direksyon na tinutungo ng kanilang mga buhay, may baon silang pagsamba na hindi nila makukuha sa impyerno.

BROKEN REPLICA

Smile as the camera zooms in.
After the flash, get going.

No one knows—
It’s ok.

Pose as the film rolls.
After the take, set your soul.

No one suspects—
It’s all right.

Sing as the tape records.
After the music is over, hop aboard.

As long as no one sees
You’ll be fine, absolutely fine.

At least, on picture, on film, on tape…
You are whole.

DRUNK: UNPUNCTUATED

The greatest masterpiece
Yet ever made
Whats in the dark
That makes thousand people
Scream to death
Cringe in fright
Dream like hell
Curse like fire
By the pitch black
Lay quietly
Hush darling hold on tight
It really feels right
The solitude of the night
Theres no sense
Making sense
Yet wonderful
Brilliance makes everything glow
Bright
Like lost dream suddenly found somewhere
Within the orbs of the sky

written: 12 february 2006won: GEMS award 2008 Collection of poems

COOL OFF

The wind blew it's lungs out, muting the other sounds that might had been heard during a fair weather. The trees doubled their heights, fighting the force. Adults held their umbrellas tightly, young women in skirts clutched their billowing garments. The rain continuously pelted and poured hitting the world like bullets sent by God to punish sinners.

I watched the street scenes from a pavement. I had been waiting for several minutes then but still the jeepneys to my part of the country were coming already full. The furious wind whipped my already wet hair. My damped clothes hugged me closely. I shivered. The biting cold crept to my spine. My feet were sore from walking and standing. I didn't have protection except my clothes, my umbrella, and a small tree planted on the left side of the pavement.

It's not that I didn't like it. In fact, I love rain. However, being exposed to its power for nearly an hour wasn't a good idea. The dark, heavy nimbus clouds loomed above while lightning flashed across the sky—very beautiful but frightening. As a thunder rolled and rumbled, my stomach grumbled. I was hungry. I looked back at the mall where I had been earlier. I had gone there to send some bad moods out of me but I had to leave to go home early.

I wished I had stayed a little longer. At least there, I had protection from the forces of nature and there were lots of things to see. Being at a pavement with the elements at their fullest couldn't be endured by a night student who had her own pandemonium inside. As I watched the steady fall of rain drops, memories of the events earlier that day spilled inside my head.

The rain didn't want to stop. I sighed, thinking that I should just walk a little further and see whether at the next block, I could get a ride. If this is punishment, I wish he gets more than I do, I thought. Nature continued pouring his wrath on man as I went on my way, engulfed by storm in and out. It's his fault, not mine.

*written last 06 august 05

*won me GEM's Award last 2008 under Essay Category

ITINAE NG PANULAT

Hindi ito ang unang beses na ginusto kong mangarap sa ilalim ng bilog na buwan. Tawagin na akong baliw at mapanaginipin, sentimental at kung anu-ano pa. pero hindi ba kahit sinong pintor maakit sa ganda nito lalo pa’t full moon sa alas dose ng gabi. At pwede ba, hindi ko kailangang magpaliwanag na hindi ako aswang at kung anu-ano. Alipin ako ng sarili kong kasamaan, tanggap ko yun at dahil sa pagkakaaliping ‘yun, lagi kong gusto makita ang kagandahan ng gabi.

Liwanag sa gabi, at dilim sa umaga, ang mga tanging bagay na gusto kong Makita sa mundo. Mga bagay na kadalasang wala ngang kwenta gaya ng mga pangarap na hindi man lang nagkaroon ng pagkakataong maging totoo, mga bahagi ng isipang hindi man lang maigawang mailabas, mga bagay na pinaghirapang tunay, pinagaksayahan ng panahon, pawis na sa huli ay basura lang: bulok, mabaho, nakadiri.

Iniisip ko: nagpapakamakata ba ako para saw ala? Lagi na lang akong aasa—hanggang saan, kelan, ako aasa—hanggang pangarap na lang ba ako?
Tama nga ba si Rizal na ang manunulat ay kalaban ang lahat maging ang sarili? Kung talagang ganun, masasabi ko talagang bigo ako. Dahil sa pagpipilit kong makaahon, pilit kong inabot ang mga pangarap ko nang sabay-sabay. At nahulog ako.

Oras na para tumayo.

Pagkatapos lumubog, kailangan na akong lumabas at maghugas ng kamay. Hindi lang para umiwas sa responsibilidad na ako mismo ang kumuha kundi upang magsimula uli.

*originally written: 15 april 2006

A Book

Bound, I am, with so much and nothing.
Many have tried to read, plenty of interpretations
Yet completely nil;
A child’s eyes know me, the gentle elder’s palm endure by heart,
A lot of teens despise, some ignore.

Laid down,in some corners rusty or clean.
Open or close, see my covers can be immaculate
But sometimes can scare a priest. Sacred and blasphemous.

I am more than a clown. Entertain, horrify, educate,
Ridicule and insult, make people fall in love,
Make myself loved, and hated, I do.

Patience, to see what’s lurking somewhere,
waiting stupidly for the next coming day
when someone will endure sleepless nights thinking of reading
so shallow and deep.

Of the millions, I am one of them; fascinating,
Wonderful, worthless, rotten, appreciated, destroyed.
Who knows? It has always been in the eyes of
The Beholder.

Ain’t it funny?
The more you tell me you know me
The more you proclaim you have read me
The more you prove to me
You do not know a single thing.

It Was All A Joke

“How will I use this one, hey! How will I use this mahrt(s)elyo?”

“Ah! Don’t question me again. Mind your own business, will you, Vicente?”

That was very Vincent Vicente. I remembered seeing him the first time when I came to the construction site one Saturday evening when the moon was out, full of glory. I stood facing the wall, estimating the length of a particular wood. I didn’t take a good notice at him when I stepped in for the nightshift. However, one couldn’t ignore an accentuated sentence—a foreign-American-accent at that. I was no exception. I looked back and saw a bald dark man, about twenty-eight years old, and lean. He wasn’t at all tall, only five feet, eight inches, and he had a mole between his upper lip. The queer thing was, he didn’t at all look like a foreigner. How queer! I asked the nearest soul to me, “Who is that?”

“Oh, new ...”

“I know he’s new, but who is he?”

“Vincent Vicente: executive turned to construction worker.”

“Where did he come from?”

“I’m sure from where he came from,” he said with finality.

Suddenly, without warning, a gust of wind blew hard and closes the aluminum door toward the kitchen. The men, construction workers, shuddered. A thick cloud covered the bright moon; a shrill howl from a mongrel could be heard. We stopped, alarmed. The construction had been going on for its thirteenth week and by that time, no one was new (except may be for Vincent Vicente, the FilAm) to the rumors about the Balete Drive.

On that night, obviously, everybody remembered the ghosts, kapre, manananggal, tikbalang, dumende, and other supernatural beings believed to be roaming around New Manila. The new one Vincent Vicente looked around with disbelief. “What happened to you?”

“Hush! Close your mouth or the gods will cut your tongue,” one said in the bravest sound he could muster.

Tok, tok, tok, tok, tok.

Someone knocked at the door. Petrified by the memories of the ghost stories, no one moved (spare Vicente) even an inch to answer the door. Vicente looked at each stupefied face.

“Oh! It’s only a knock! Are you all doe-wagsz?”

Vicente turned and headed towards the door. He was only a step from it when a big voice, muffled because of the door, boomed: “Ngngabbii nnaahh ... nah nah ... Mmaakit nanditohh pa kayo … yo yo yoh.”

Vicente stepped back and shivered.

“W ... wa ... what was that?” he asked in a whisper.“Oh my ...”

“Bathala save us ...”

“Oh Lord, I have a family ...”

“Mary, Mother of God ... oh ...”

“St. Katherine ...”

Krash!

The door opened with a smash. An ear splitting yelp broke the silence, almost like an animal but it’s not because it had an American accent. Ghosts or not, each one saw how the aluminum door jammed on Vicente’s face and knocked him down. Blood issued from his broken nose. His eyes stared widely at the ceiling. Screams erupted inside the room. We obviously didn’t know what to do. Some shivered at a corner, cried for mercy, and asked for the forgiveness of their sins. Some (including me) went to Vicente. I looked at everyone’s faces. They were concerned. I asked the very same being I had asked earlier.

“Dead, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” he said, gave me a ghastly look he always wore and went away...

There were murmurs. One brave soul knelt and felt Vicente’s neck. He looked up gravely and announced, “He’s gone.”

Those who were at the corners moaned and pleaded to the heavens. Those around Vicente made a sign of the cross. I being a, well, former Catholic, was compelled to do the same.

“Oh my ... Nid I ngkil ngim?”

We turned to the direction of the voice. The person who smashed the door open was a stout man, had a very big nose, chipped front tooth and a slit, cutting his upper lip to the left hole of his breathing organ. He was carrying a big yellow candle and wearing a white nightgown.

Louder screams filled the night. I looked to the left and to the right and all around. Men scampered until only I, standing in the middle, the stout man at the door step to the kitchen, and Vicente lying dead on the floor, remained. I could still hear the construction people’s cries and yells for help to the moon and the vast sky, only to be answered by the howl of the dogs lurking in dark places.

“Mest nu ngkol da molis,” the stout man said, got his cellphone, and called. “Ngello, wan wan seben, imestigador?”

He turned away leaving me there and then, asking myself why he was calling the Investigator. I shook my head and “Tsk tsk tsk” was all I could muster. I looked at Vicente. Slowly, very slowly, a replica of him sat, then stood up. He brushed an invisible dust on his black, almost transparent (that makes it translucent) pants. He touched his face with his left hand and felt for non-existing blood. He looked at his hand.

“Oh, my ...”

Through his hand, he could see my shoes and through my shoes, he could see a pair of feet, lying on the floor. He looked down.

“Oh Lord, that’s me,” he gasped as he saw his face with blood staring at him. Vicente attempted to walk but found himself floating instead. He came face to face with me and I saw how brown his mole was, how abnormal his right eye winked, and how Filipino he looked; even he said mahrt(s)elyow. He gaped at me stupidly as if he were seeing me for the first time.

The dogs howled to the full moon again; bats danced and made a shrill music. Vicente swallowed as he looked at me from head to foot. I swear he saw the deep portion of my temple, almost the size of the mallet’s head that I’d be carrying all my life (if I still have a life). He swallowed again and said, “Are you tutuohw?”

Oh, how I pitied him! I rolled my eyes upward and asked why this FilAm was so stupid. I fixed him with an exasperated look before saying: “Isn’t that obvious? What do you think?”

who would you like to meet and spend the whole day with

Some people would call choosing one among my family members hypocricy. Obviously they expect me to choose my former-or-current-or-future knight on a white steed--I do not deny that. I hope to meet "him" one day. However, if i were given a chance to meet and spend the whole day with someone, I would definitely choose my grandmother.

Lola Pacita Ybasco y Frio brought me up. She never told me than "honesty is a virtue" and "time is gold." She showed me how to live.

There was even a time when I gave more importance to her than to my own mother. But that ended sometime in 2004 when I learned that I needed to move forward and tears could not bring her back. And probably, she wouldn't like me to be too hard with my mother.

Not a day passes by that I wouldn't regret that I didn't tell her how much she meant and means to me before she died.

So given a chance like that, I would want to hold her hand again as we walk along the streets of Makati at dawn. and simply tell her that she was and still is my childhood. and I could only look back at my childhood with her in mind.

My lola shared a part of her life with me and I am proud to choose her against princes-or-knights on horses in the world.

Nunc Luyx, Munc Nox

Now it is Light, suddenly it is Night.

A line taken from a book called Lightland by HL McCutchen.

Pretty nice book: short enough to be interesting. Not the typical thick novels anybody can buy but nobody can read.

what i liked about this book is the choice of characters: a girl who wears pajama to school, Charlotte Cook, and a boy who doesn't talk, Lewis Weaver. Nice match.

Also, it's a breather considering the vampire stories that dominate bookshelves today.

yellow

.'twas the first thing i heard this morning. I was still picking my eyes and yawning--y'know the routines in waking up. and there, my bro's voice rang in my ears: patay na raw si Cory.

.and we immediately checked the tv. there, Vicky Morales and Arnold Clavio confirmed the news.
.and they flashed some scenes from the past.


.and i cried--not of course like she was a relative.
. and i wore black today ...but of course, i always wear black; i myself wouldn't call that significant.
.until now, after going to the crowded SM North Edsa (it's the great northern sale), i still don't know why i cried for her.and goodness knows how i wondered in the mall why there were still a lot of people in SM despite the news--some of 'em even wore red! (really, do i have to react like this...)
.the sooner that i'll find out the better.