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Sunday, March 17, 2013

The Lice

The Church bell tolls,
     she pays a heavy price.
Fingers in empty holes
     she begins a life of lies.


Her story is never told--
     the Filipina and her rice.
For no one was so bold
     to admit she had a price.

For centuries She suffered
     dominion of other race,
Freedom maybe encountered
     but not by her pretty face.
At poverty's brink cornered
     a life led disgraced.

Imprisoned by her own designs--
     a life of sorrow and despise
     release from capital ties
Until finally at last, in her demise
     half-truths revealed to their eyes
     sees only old rich men that dies
          in loving arms of, truly, a lice.
 
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Poetry, despite my ability to be able to comprehend and interpret them clearly, is not actually one of my best suits in creative writing. So here's one of my crude poetry which I hope will be understood. 

Friday, February 15, 2013

Farther

     A vision... 

     A distant foreign land whose image is only familiar to me from a flat box of moving pictures. 

     The street lamps...
     The scent of spring blossoms... 
     The rustling of the trees... 
     The aroma of freshly cooked steak... 


      
     New York. Somehow I am in New York. 

      But no excitement fills me with that thought. It is insignificant. It is nothing but the background to this tall, lean image of a dashing man as dark as the emptiness of my soul. 

      He turns, sees me and smiles... And oh, what a smile! 

      Bliss surges in my body -- emanating from a glowing ball in the deepest recesses of my being -- ready to burst! 

      I must grip my bag, if only to help hold in this emotion. 

      Damn these involuntary muscles on my cheeks! Stop! It must not show! 

      My God, I can't! 

      He is ten feet away. I run to him! Unyielding feet! Not so fast! 

      ...Hah! Hah!...Panting. I bend over, my bag slung to my arm while I grip my knees as I catch my breath. 

      I cringe at my own folly. Such lack of poise and finesse. What he must think of me! Desperate? 

      But... Be strong, ask. It is a mater of life and death now. 

       Lunch? 

      Thank goodness he said yes.
    
       He holds my hand and brings me to my seat. He truly is what I thought he was -- a gentleman -- a dying breed. 

       He seats and opens his mouth. The sound of his low enchanting voice asks how I was doing, what am I up to, what do I think of New York. So many questions...

       ...Too many questions. I don't want to answer a single one; for every word only hinders me from listening to him. 

       I'm okay. Not so much. It's okay. Everything is okay... 

       Yes, that's it. I must be brief. No long and winding answers. How are you? What are you up to? How long have you been in New York? 

       I must keep him talking. 

       His eyes glistening in delight. 
       His brow raising as he speaks with confidence. 
       His lips pressing against each other with every other syllable. 
       And at the end of each sentence -- and how I long for the end - his lips move apart and arches up revealing that smile. 

       Sighs... That smile. 

       Wait! Is that smile for me? Is that smile only for me? 

       He is happy that he's with me. That hand ... His hand laying across the table, should I... For a long time, I've waited for this. 

       For the second time, in the hour, I must call upon my strength once more. Be strong! Be brave! 

       ... And here I am, my fingers interlaced with his. New York maybe a better city for love. 

       I awkwardly smile back -- embarrassed and proud; nervous and calm; flirty but aloof; certan but uncertain all at the same time -- a conundrum of emotions, a paradox of thoughts, a contradiction of beings --- a psycho. 

      Wait! He is leaning forward. What's happening? Is there something on my face? 

      His finger rests below my chin. His face... His face... So close! 

      Don't... Breathe... He might die. 

     ... A moment of silence... 

     I'm silly, he says. I'm aware. 
     Just relax, he says. I'm incapable. 
     He won't bite, he says. I'm disappointed. 

     He leans in even further for a kiss, I'm certain it's a kiss, and I lean forward to meet him half-way just as I have always done. Just as I always will. Besides, what's an inch to crossing the world. I've gone this far and I intend to go farther. 

     His lips... His tongue. Such a bitter-sweet taste. 

     He is sitting back down. I press my fingers on my lips still wide-eyed and mesmerized. I linger... 

     Sighs... Lunch. I ordered steak... Why steak? I should have ordered something else. Why don't I like salads? 

     But this steak is invigorating. My knees have gone weak from the running, the smiling and the kissing...
     
     What a wonderful lunch. I'm so happy, I could die. 
     Is what some poor stupid soul would say. But I'm only a silly little psycho, who knows moments like this are rare but it can be prolonged. Tomorrow when I wake up, I pray, that I can see him, run to him, smile back at him and kiss him. 


     I brought some souvenirs for him which are in my hotel room. 

     We are talking, walking and holding each other's hand until that spiteful minute of searching for the card key. He lets my hand go but why can't he hold it again? 

      I'm thinking too much over it. I should probably give him the souvenir. I hope he likes it. 

      I 'm walking and glancing all over the room to find the bag with the souvenirs. He stands right behind me. I hear him sigh. He must be bored! I see the bag! 

     I take a step forward then stopped! What's this? I can feel his warmth on my back. His left hand hugging my waist and his right hand on my neck, his arm draped on my chest. 

     He whispers in my ear. 

     Love... For so long... To hear it from his lips. I've always known. I've always felt it despite the oceans that separated us. But to hear it while he's so close.... I can't help it. A tear falls and runs down on my cheek and unto his arm. I grip his arm... 

    I grip his arm... 

    I grip his arm... 

    Why can't I hold him? 

    Open my eyes! Open! 

     ... A vision. 
___________________________________________________________
This piece was inspired by a dream I had on the eve of St. Valentine's Day. 

After a hard day's work and getting wet by the rain, I had a cold. I wanted to go to work by the next day so I had taken two tablets of Neozep, so I can at least breathe (really not something I would recommend). I believe as a result of that (again, it's unadvisable to do what I did), I had this very vivid dream. 

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for taking the time to read it. 

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Reminiscing 9/11


September 11. I remember waking up after a short afternoon nap from 6p.m. to the sound of sirens in the television many years ago. I was going to complain to my father about how loud it was. But after seeing the thick smoke that emanated from the Towers, the first words that came out of my mouth were "Is that for real?" Then I sat there with my family with concerned and wondering eyes... "What the hell was going on?" 




Even now, even as investigations make sense of it all, I find myself still baffled as to how... I'm sorry. But I just can't find the word equivalent to describe how evil that act was. The word "evil" is not enough. It is not nearly even a quarter. 

I may not be an American. But every year, I remember and I mourn not only for the loss of thousands of lives but for the loss of good will, conscience and HUMANITY of Al Qaeda and the distrust towards the Muslim community. 

It is incredibly heartbreaking how one group has tainted the reputation and beliefs of a community which when seen through an untainted, unbiased spectacles is also God-fearing, family-oriented and people loving. 

I condemn Al Qaeda, I condemn their act. I condemn all those who thought and continue to think their act was just. But despite the great tragedy of it all, let no one forget what they have done and the heroism that sprung from that catastrophe. Rather, let it inspire us to be better. 
The victims of 9/11



Family and friends... I hardly ever pray. Because I believe that in life, you get what you get not from praying but from doing. But this is an exception. I hope that many of us could say a prayer tonight for those who lost their lives in 9/11 and the families that they left behind.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

My First Speech as a Guest Speaker


To the magnanimous Prof. Virginia Ecat, Principal of this institution; to the benevolent Ms. Elizabeth Pitoy, Guidance Counselor; to the astute Mr. Nestor Badillos, OSS Coordinator; to the diligent faculty and PTA; and most especially to you the students, my future co-alumna, good evening.

I feel incredibly honoured to have been invited tonight as your guest speaker. It has been several months since I last stepped on the grounds of this school and before that it has been almost a decade.
I have many fond memories of my elementary and high school life in this school. Over there by that tree, while I was in my 3rd year in high school, I had advised a friend on how to pursue the girl that he admired and has been going steady with her ever since then. By the left staircase leading to the computer room, my classmates in second year offered me a stray cat which I named Ceres and kept as a pet until I went to college in Manila. ON that pathway, I shed a tear after finding out I passed the University of the Philippines exam and four years before that, on that same path, I rejoiced as I won the mayoral elections. By the Girl Scouts of the Philippines monument beside the stage, my friends and I used to pretend we were Sailor Moon and the Sailor stars going, “In the name of the moon, I shall punish you!” I was the cute Chibi Moon, if you can imagine that. Now I’m more chubby than anything.
It was so long ago and I still have them in my head and in my heart. I have so many memories of this place – there are those in the four corners of the classroom that I used in my pursuit of higher studies; and there are those memories of my friends and I gallivanting about on the school grounds. All of these memories are dear to me and has helped in molding the person you see today.
But of all these memories, none if quite like those when I was a grade school kagawad, the mayor of the elemtnary students, the yaer level mayor and board member in high school, a writer and later on editor-in-chief of The Gold and as the high school governor. And that is because those are the memories I made serving my school – serving my fellow students. Those are the moments that I was able to give something back to friends and classmates who built memories with me, to teachers and administrators who built my confidence, skills and knowledge; to an institution that has given me so much.
I was in the position, with the opportunity, to say more than just a thank you.

I am certain that your newly elected officers feel the same way as I did, and understand what I mean when I say, “ It is a duty and a privilege to serve those that serve you every day.”
No matter how busy you get, how annoyed you get how utterly and completely stressed you get from everything you have to do as a student and as a leader, as a daughter or a son and as a friend, at the end of the day you know that you love it all. It gives you a sense of purpose and it just feels so good to finish and achieve something that benefits not just yourself but other people. Just remember that the other people is more important than yourself. And that when you do something for the, you don’t just do it. You do the right things in the right way.
Like, for example, sustaining the pride that echoes when we say, “ I am a product of Abaño!” You know what I’m talking about. Say it with me! “I AM A PRODUCT OF ABAÑO!”

Everyone knows that when you come from this school, you’re not just some plain student. You are one of the best that Camarines Norte has to offer – one of the best leaders, one of the best students, one of the best minds in the province. And you should be proud of this and maintain this reputation. And if you will allow me to be so bold to say, that we should allow ourselves to accept this reputation – embrace our greatness and inspire others to be one of us – to be a leader, to be great, to be a product of Abaño – to be who we are.

One day, I hope that some of you will have this same opportunity that I have now – to be able to reminisce on the beauties of high school life in this school and be thankful. But most of all to be beaming with pride.
I hope you all will enjoy this evening, because I certainly already have. Thank you once again and good evening.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Moving On

After losing my mother, after losing a lover, after losing my innocence, after losing a dream, after losing hope... I've realized that it's never an easy or pretty process moving on.

It feels like sometimes you need a hundred thousand years and that you're fighting a hundred million men. But the harsh truth is that moving on may take an entire lifetime and you're only fighting with yourself. Sometimes you win but more often you lose.

It's hard but it's necessary in a life filled with loneliness, grief and despair if only to find that one true place where bliss lies.

Good luck to us all.