Smoke

Outgrown

She would take the seat everyone feared to take:
the one nearest to the professor
(farthest from the rest of the class)
She loved that, she thought she stood out.
Well, she did. In many ways.
I flinched whenever someone pats
her on the back for a good job,
frowned upon her merit awards
rolled eyes on her smiles.
My grade school teacher
used to pat me on the back.
Excellent, she would say
as she stamped a star on my palm.
I would go home to Mama’s rehearsed spiel:
Drop your bag and wash that dirt away.

It was Thursday and the front seat was empty
She skipped class for the first time.
Good, said the others, no teacher’s pet today.
Meanwhile, a mob in the comfort room
stood dumbfounded at the sight
of our dear achiever,
cold and hanging.
Why did she do that?
Oh, don’t ask me, I skipped class that day too.
I had complete rest at home
She was too heavy I broke a bone.

Paper Boats

Floods have always been beautiful for us.
I remember how you teased me
when you knew I didn’t know
how to fold papers into them.
Such grace when you started creasing
my math quiz papers into little boats
and from then on, I made millions of them.
The image of us by the gutter
is still vivid, and the hollow feeling
I had when the first one sank after seconds of floating
You immediately made another one
at the sight of my thinly-veiled sadness
A paper boat’s life is temporary
And we let it float. You knew it was the last one.
I didn’t.

You sank too soon.
I looked for you, and for years I have been making
paper boats, letting them float on gutters during heavy rains
Temporary, indeed.
Each floating, happiness
Each sinking, letting go.

Short Death

The show commences at the clicking
of the light switch: pitch black—
the thin line between the conscious
and what is not is elusive.
Dream overlaps reality.
Eyes grope for images
And see a scraggy child
by the bed, turning round and round
with eyes closed.
A lady, a fork at hand,
approaches, gouges the child’s eyes.
His pupils, seen for the first time, dilate
The silver object
Crimson fluid
A soundless wail
He holds his eyes
as she pierces my eyelids
with the cold fork.
She spares my right eye.
“Three for dinner tonight,”
She walks away.
He disappears.
It is impossible to move
Screams are stranded in the throat.
Yes, they still exist
Age can’t slay them
They come from under my bed
to kiss good nights
good night.

Every Round an Epiphany

    for Dadoy

The wonder it brought
when you drip liquor
on the ground before the first round
Why pour it away?
I asked,
then the grin
and the glistening eyeglasses:
You give back to the earth
What it is you get from her.
While some said we drink
from its cup
and must consume 
to its fullest,
you told about dripping some
onto the earth—
words weaved in decades.
And through this dripping,
you had it
and now in another.
Through this dripping
you are back to her womb
for unending birth.

Ozone

Yellow checkered pants
tank top, the euphoria
lemon-flavored cigarette filters
tequila shot after tequila shot
youngsters shat money
night after night
howling growling in each scratch
on the disk, the DJ in bliss
music was toxic
bolting beat elated veins,
dripping sweat, ecstatic.

Then warmth, then heat,
tapping, then stomping
stampede
scratch and beat, now crackling
the DJ in blaze
flames were fierce
gorging youngsters
howling growling for escape.

Then smoke, then ashes
Twelve years, cries crackle:
to heaven
through hell.

Stain

There they were, one rainy afternoon,
a cemented sidewalk
and a mud pool.
I thought of the sidewalks
I followed that day,
wondered where they led,
and decided, nowhere.
I stepped on the toe-deep slime,
its warmth penetrating my foot’s veins.

I forgot about pavements.

Now I stare at the filth
that splattered on the hemline
of my skirt.
I will head home and scrub it
very, very gently
for it not to disappear.

The Jeepney

 

Nagsimula ang kwento nang nagbukas ako ng bagong account sa BPI sa Park Square sa Makati. Pagpasok ko sa mall, tinanong ko yung guard kung nasan ang BPI. Wala pong BPI ditto. Minsan hindi rin sila mapagkakatiwalaan kahit na mukha silang hari ng mall. Nasa loob talaga yung BPI. Sa tabi ng “Suncillular”, sabi ng mamang napagtanungan ko sa labas.

Pagpasok ko sa mall, tumambad sa akin ang isang itim na pull-up banner  na may nakalagay na The Jeepney sa pulang tinta. Okay, mukha namang hindi real estate sales booth. Parang organization para sa AIDS. Lumapit sa akin yung isang babaeng sa kalkula ko mga 40+ taong gulang. Maam, saglit lang po ito. Magazine po ito na tinawag na The Jeepney. Bago pa niya buksan ang magazine, Mamaya na po. May gagawin lang po akong importannte sa bangko. Yes naman. Importante. Sigurado ba akong mas importante yun kesa sa gustong sabihin ng ale. So lumakad na akong mabilis papunta sa BPI, pirma-pirma, fill-out, explain explain si teller, at tapos na. May bago na naman akong ATM card. Wala namang laman.

Pagbalik ko, sinalubong pa rin ako ng ngiti ng ale. Parehas nung kanina, kahit dinedma ko siya.

Nakinig na ako. Alam ko yung pakiramdam ng hindi pinapansin. Nagtrabaho ako bilang ahente ng Ayala Land. Minumura ko yung mga hindi pumapansin sa akin sa booth.

Binuksan niya yung magazine pagkatapos niyang ulitin yung spiel niya kanina. Pinakita niya yung litrato niya doon. Ako si Aling Baby, biktima ng sunog sa Quezon City noong June 2009… Ang magazine pala na yun ay isang street paper. Noon ko lang narinig yun. Layon nitong palawakin ang kaalaman ng mga tao tungkol sa tunay na kalagayan ng mahihirap, ng nakararaming Pilipino. Ang mga nag-aalok ng mga magazine ang yung mga mismong tauhan ng cover story ng bawat issue. P100 ang isang kopya, kalahati nun e mapupunta sa kanila.

Nagkwentuhan pa kami tungkol sa nangyari sa kanilang sakuna. Naibahagi ko rin na biktima ako ng Ondoy. Naisip ko, reklamo ako ng reklamo sa ginawa sa amin ni Ondoy pero kung tutuusin, di hamak na mas magaan sa damdaming maglaba ng mga putikang gamit kaysa magwalis ng abong natira sa natupok na bahay.

Bumili ako ng tatlong issue. Humingi rin ako ng business card ng project manager nila para makapagtanong ako kung paano makatulong sa pagpapalago ng magazine nila.

Nalapirot ang puso ko ng konsepto ng The Jeepney. Nakapagpalaganap na sila ng kaalaman tungkol sa mga katotohanan sa lipunan, naisiwalat nila ang kwento ng mga walang boses at nakapagbigay sila ng trabaho.

Binilang ko ang pera ko sa wallet. Okay, makakauwi pa naman ako. Minsan kapag gusto mo nang magwala dahil walang wala ka na, ang gagawin ng Diyos eh ipapamukha sayong wala kang karapatang magwala dahil may mas walang-wala pa sayo.

Bisitahin: www.thejeepney.com

5 2 23

 

5 months.

2 days.

23 hours. 

       I never thought I could bear the distance. It is indeed true that in love, you break your own rules. I have always told myself that a long distance relationship will never work and that I will never let myself be involved in one. I swallowed my own words, and I tell you, it was hard and, yes, a bit shameful.

       I can always remember how it felt as I saw her walking away from me at the airport. It almost killed me, because I know it would take a long time before I can see her again. Deep inside me, I felt a certain kind of reassurance knowing that everything that we have started will not end there. The relationship is not bound to end, but rather to expand across oceans, across continents, and across time.  

       I asked God about the reason behind all that’s happening and he flooded me with lessons everyday. This experience made me more aware of what I think and feel. It gave me the opportunity to be in-touched with myself in such a way that I find it easier to deal with my emotions, no matter how bad they are. Yes, God is sweet. Sometimes, the curriculum that He uses to teach a lesson is hard to bear, but He surely knows that every test that we encounter is always within our capabilities. 

       I learned about the importance of tears, because there are times when we really need to shed them in order to know what things are really important to us. 

      I learned about the importance of having doubts, because it can be a way of praying. It is a season of questioning and digging into the meaning of life. For as long as we direct our doubts to heaven, we are sure to be enlightened. 

       I know I can get through this. God blessed me with a family and a lot of friends who never fail to inspire me everyday. He blessed me with Pam who consistently reminds me that I am so much loved. 

       I just want to share these lines from a poem we once discussed in Lit class. John Donne said it best:  

Dull sublunary lovers’ love

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doth remove

Those things which elemented it. 

Ang Malamig at Matigas na Tikoy sa Fridge

Kanina pa ko nakatunganga sa harap ng kyomputer (ang tawag ng pinsan ko sa computer). Hindi ko alam kung bakit hindi ko magawang i-shut down na lang ang bagay na ‘to na siyang nagpapalabo ng mga mata ko bawat segundo. Kanina, kumain ako ng tikoy na malamig. Tira lang yun sa foodtrip namin ng kapatid ko nung nakaraang linggo. Medyo sumakit ang tiyan ko. Haha. Lamig ba naman eh. Ang tigas pa.

 “Lumalakad akong magaang-magaan,

binubusog ang dinaratnan at nililisan.”

– Rebecca Añonuevo, Saan sa Katawan.       

Iyan ang sabi ng kapirasong papel na nakadikit sa pabalat ng planner ko ngayon. Mahilig talaga ako sa quotes. Ang turing ko sa kanila ay vitamins. Hindi na maiaalis sa akin ang magbasa araw-araw. Magbasa ng mga reminders sa post-it, mga nakasulat sa likod ng bote ng catsup, generic name ng gamot ko, nutrition facts ng Lily’s peanut butter, tag price ng sapatos kong ngayon ko lang naisipang tanggalin kung kailan Marso na, bibliya, notes sa Theology class, short story ni pareng Steinbeck, liham pang-kaibigan galing kay Cakee, road signs ng MMDA, basta kahit anong binubuo ng titik, lahat ng maaaring basahin. Kung may pagkakataong makakuha ng “words of wisdom”, hindi dapat palampasin yan. Para sa akin, paraan ng pakikipag-usap sa akin ng mundo ang mga iyon. Paraan ng pagsasabi na kinikilala ako ng mundo bilang kasapi nito. Ano naman ang kabuluhan ng linyang nasa itaas? Galing yan sa tula ng isang premyadong makata. Napakaswerte kong naging guro ko siya noong isang taon. Hindi ako sigurado sa kung ano’ng ibig sabihin ng mga salitang iyan. Pero ika nga ng isa kong prof, “a poem, once published, has a life of its own.” Kaya kung anong kahulugan ang makuha mo sa pagbabasa ng isang tula, yun ang panghawakan mo, dahil ikaw ang nagmamay-ari ng interpretasyon na yun.        

Nagustuhan ko ang mga linyang ito dahil binubulong nito sa akin ang isang payo. Paano nga ba ako mabuhay? Paano ko nga ba inuumpisahan at tinatapos ang araw ko?        

Lumalakad akong magaang magaan.  Parang sinasabi sa akin nito kung paano ko ginugugol ang araw ko. Kadalasan ang bilis bilis ko kumilos. Nagmamadali maligo, kumain, magsuklay, maglagay ng lip balm, dahil may hinahabol na oras. Hinahabol na oras. Hinahabol ang isang bagay na parehas lang naman ang bilis (o bagal) ng takbo bawat araw. Magaan bang matatawag yun? Hindi. Pilit kong pinapabigat ang mga oras ko dahil sag a deadlines, sa mga “to do” sa post it, sa mga kailangan gawin, bilhin, kausapin, tapusin. Mabigat dahil karamihan sa mga gawaing yun ay hindi ko naman talaga gustong gawin. Karamihan ginagawa ko lang para may magawa at para makalimutan ang halimaw na umiiyak sa dibdib ko. Mabigat lalo na sa gabi. Mabigat lalo na ‘pag walang kasama.    

Binubusog ang dinaratnan at nililisan. Hindi ko alam kung nagagawa ko ito. Marahil ay hindi. Isa itong tanong kung binubuhos ko ba ang buong puso, lakas at kaisipan sa lahat ng ginagawa ko? Lahat ba ng taong nakakasalamuha ko bawat araw ay nabibigyan ko ng halaga at pagmamahal? Lahat ba ng lugar na nararating ko tinatala ko sa isipan ko? Lahat ba ng karanasan ko, kinapupulutan ko ng aral? Ang mga lugar, karanasan, at tao bang nadatnan ko at nilisan ay naiwanan ko ng kahit kaunting bahagi ng pagkatao ko? At kung tatanungin sila (kung makakapagsalita man ang karanasan at mga lugar), masasabi kaya nilang, “Oo, dumaan si Arleen, at marami kaming natutunan sa isa’t isa.”?        

Sana dumating ang araw na masabi ko ang dalawang linyang iyan sa aking sarili. Hindi sapat ang matapos ang araw sa pag-iisip na may kinabukasan pang darating. Mas mainam na mabuhay sa isang buong araw na parang wala nang darating pa sa pagtapos nito.   

Tinitigan ko ang natitirang tikoy sa Tupperware. Masaya siya dahil minsan niyang nasaksihan ang pagmamahal at kasiyahan sa pagitan ng dalawang magkapatid.