Anibersaryo

Ito ang ulat ko sa taong ito na magtatapos. Ito ang mga bagay na napanood ko pero hindi ko nasaksihan.

Nang bumisita si Pope Francis (na minura ni Davao City Mayor Rodrigo Duterte dahil sa trapik na tulad din ng sa APEC), nais ko sanang tanungin sa kanya iyong tanong na itinanong din ng isang bata. Kung may Diyos, bakit Niya tayo pinababayaan?

Pinabayaan nga ba ng Diyos na mamatay ang SAF 44? Habang iniisip ko ang nangyari sa kanila ay iniisip ko rin kung lahat ba ng namamatay sa bala ay nagiging bayani tulad na lamang ni Jose Rizal na ipinagdiriwang ang kanyang kamatayan sa araw na ito? Ipagdiwang din kaya ang kamatayan ko? 

Sa pagtatanong ko ay naluluha ako. Ang mga luha kong dumadausdos sa aking pisngi at mga labi ay tila lason na inihalo sa Milk Tea. Hindi pa ako nakakatikim nito pero nang may mamatay dahil dito ngayong taon ay parang ayoko na.

Nang matalo si Pacquiao kay Mayweather, napaisip nga ako. Magkakaroon pa kaya ng rematch? Ng second chance? Ako kasi gusto ko rin ng second chance. Kapag ako nabigyan ng second chance, tutuparin ko na talaga lahat ng New Year's resolution na ginawa ko noong mga nakaraang taon pa.

Marami akong pangarap tulad ng gusto kong makita sa TV. Gusto kong sumikat tulad ng El Gamma Penumbra sa Asia's Got Talent. Kahit anino lang ang makita sa akin, ok na! O kaya ay gumawa ng sariling video tulad ng Pabebe Girls! O kaya ay mag-dubsmash para ma-discover ng GMA sa tamang panahon? O kaya ay gumawa ng pastillas para ma-discover naman ng ABS-CBN? O kaya man lang ay maging ekstra sa isang pelikula sa MMFF? O kaya ay gumawa ng kung anumang world record tulad ng Felix Manalo na nagkamit ng pinakamaraming audience for a screening and for premiere?

O kaya ay makiisa sa mga makabayang adhikain tulad ng panggigisa kay Vice President Jejomar Binay, makakakuha ng pinakamataas na GWA tulad ng isang estudyante sa UP na nakakuha nga ng pinakamataas na GWA since World War II? Pangarap ko lang na kapag ako nagtalumpati ay hindi ako paupuin kapag binatikos ko ang sistemang namamayani sa paaralan at pamahalaan. At sana rin pwede akong mag-hover board habang nagtatalumpati at hindi awayin tulad ng isang paring nag-hover board.

Sumikat naman ako pero sa maling paraan. Minsan gusto kong tanungin ang estatawa ni Rizal sa Luneta. Sumikat ka ba dahil namatay ka? Hanggang kailan sikat ang mga namatay? Ang mga namatay ba ay katulad ni Rizal na gagawan ng rebulto para manatiling buhay sa ating gunita o katulad lamang ng isang Torre de Manila na isang photo bomber na pilit umaagaw ng atensyon pero kahit anong gawin ay nasa likod pa rin at handang alisin?

Gaya bang gawing posible ang mga imposible tulad ng buhayin ang mga namatay na minamahal? Ang pagbuhay ba sa mga namatay na minamahal ay kaya ring gawin tulad nga ng nagawang aprubahan ang same-sex marriage sa America? O pwede man ba sanang i-postponed ang kamatayan tulad ng kay Mary Jane Veloso? Sana ganito ang nangyari sa Paris. Sana ganito ang nangyari kay Joselito Zapanta, isang OFW sa Saudi na pinugutan.

Napaparusahan ba talaga ang mga nagkasala tulad ni Janet Lim-Napoles na naparusahan ng reclusion perpetua at ni Pemberton na napatunayang guilty sa pagpatay kay Jennifer Laude.

Nangangapit ako sa pananalig kong posible pang mahanap ang hinahanap ko pa rin at ng pamilya ko, tulad ng may pananalig akong maaayos ang pagkahati ng Iglesia ni Cristo, ng pananalig ko sa mga kandidato, ng pananalig ko sa pangako ng tuwad este tuwid na daan ni PNoy, ng pananalig ko sa isang mapayapa at maunlad na 2016 mula sa isang matapat na eleksyon!

Matutulad na lang ba ako kay Pamana na pinalaya sa mundo upang tumuklas at maglakbay pero mababaril na lamang at hindi matatagpuan ang kumitil? Dahil nga sa naramdaman ko na ang mawala sa piling ng minamahal ay naramdaman ko rin ang poot at pighati ng mga Lumad. Gusto kong sumigaw ng punyeta tulad ni Heneral Luna!

Magpapagala-gala na lamang ba ang kaluluwa ng mga namatay na walang katarungan tulad ni Jirio Manio sa NAIA? Maghihintay na lamang ba sila sa limos na hustisya, maghihintay tulad ng isang roller coaster sa Olongapo?

Pwede bang ulitin ang buhay tulad ng naulit ang pagkapanalo ng Pilipinas sa Miss Earth sa magkasunod na taon?

Maaari bang malaglag ang bala mula sa balat na tinamaan nito tulad ng mga nalalaglag na bala sa airport?

Kailan nga ba ang tamang panahon tulad ng sa AlDub (na may pinakaraming tweets at pinaka-box office) para hanapin ang hinahanap ko at ng pamilya ko? Para bang naghahanap kami ng mga nawawalang kapamilya tulad ni Senadora Grace Poe? Maghihintay na lamang ba kami nang matagal tulad ng ginawa ng Pilipinas sa Miss Universe nang sa wakas may manalo ulit (controversially) after ilang dekada? Maghihintay tulad ni Pia Wurtzbach after several trials ng pagsali?

Pero ika nga ni Alma Moreno, dasal lang. Sa bawat kalungkutan at kamatayan ay may kasiyahan at buhay, tulad ng kasal at anak ni Marian Rivera. Sana ay gumaling ang pisikal na sugat at maging ang emosyonal, tulad lamang ng dengue na sa wakas tayo pala ang unang makakagamit ng kauna-unahang bakuna!

Nangyari na ang lahat ng ito subalit hindi ko pa rin nayayakap ang aking nanay, ang aking kapatid. Nangyari na ang lahat ng ito pero hindi pa rin namin mahanap ang nagpakawala ng kamatayan sa akin.

Isang ligaw na bala. Ang kasiyahan at katangahan mo, kapalit ay buhay at pangarap ko.

Primers for Lovers

One Valentine's Day, we were married-- after years of living with and loving each other., years of courting, cuddling, and slight fightings. We were happy but back at home, when we were talking about everything, my partner reproached me for loss of new topics to talk about and overdose of I love yous. We both turned silent; we tried not to sleep in the same bedroom and instead separated ourselves from another so that we could contemplate new topics. But I could not sleep. I felt a deja vu in my head. The loss of topics already happened between us two for a lot of time but I felt that it also happened already a long time ago.

Then someone slipped a letter to my door.

* * *

Dear Lover,

A long time ago, lovers around the globe complained in two things:

First, lovers already exhausted all kinds of topics that they could talk about. One would be irritated how a partner would repeat the same topic they just discussed a day or hour ago. Of course, this problem emerged when the lovers were always together or perhaps, a better way to put it, the trouble came when lovers "badly" miss each other that they have to meet, text each other, chat each other, and write letters to each other.

They will talk about sex, their parents, their jobs, their hobbies, their problems, some news, gossips on friends, their dream houses, their dream families, their life plans, their childhood, and everything under the sun and under the stars and under the bed and under the blanket and under the bedrock of topics. Just simply under everything.

Not that they talk all the time-- because of course lovers would not just talk but also eat, have sex, but they just simply cannot think of new topics to talk about. When they already run out of new topics, the only resort for couples is silence, a dreadful silence, a dreadful game of saying we run out of topics, a dreadful way of asking a partner whether or not he or she could formulate a new topic and if not, let us end this freaking date and call it a day or even better (or worse) let us divorce or separate. Well, divorce or separation is a fear among couple. The loss of topics increased the rate of divorce and separation.

In order to address this, the government established online exchange forums and even seminars, and research conferences to talk about the said problem. Here, couples gathered and traded new topics (some for free and some with payment). Contests were also held to devise new topics and winners were rewarded with great prizes. Intense lessons on history were done so that couples would talk about past historical events. History lessons were then followed by other subjects that couples would study to learn so that they could talk about new topics.

A sociolinguistic economist declared that topic was a resource already exhausted universally. Also, space administrations all over the world are sending rockets, satellites, and spacecrafts to discover cultured humanoid lifeforms to whom they can collect new topics. Sociolinguistic zoologists were even studying animal language to find out if they can learn new topics from animal couples. Astrologists and prophets proclaimed that the scarcity of topics was not just a sociolinguistic apocalypse but a cosmic symptom of the nearing Doomsday. The loss of topics, they said, were divine punishments for man's greed to name everything when the world was created.

In connection to this is the second problem. When lovers ran out of topics, they, as stated earlier, resorted to silence but of course, lovers would prefer to exchange I love you just to break the silence between them and lovers would of course use the magic sentence in every greeting and every goodbye.

Lovers ran out of words and ways to say I love you. I love you seemed to become a robotic and programmed automatic response among couples who ran out of topics to talk about and were tired of blurting to each other the dreadful "next topic please." Oh dear, only if topics were mugs of beer ready to be ordered in bars.

Couples loved each other so much that when they fight, they used to say I love you to say sorry and to renew or resume their love. When they part ways, they substitute I love you to take care, honey I gonna miss you. When they are apart, I love you means I miss you. When they meet again, I love you means I missed you, honey.

The world had enough I love yous. The world was deafened and trashed with many voices and letters with these words and its variations such as 143 (sometimes affixed to a colon plus asterisk), abbreviated ILY (sometimes added with SM or SO MUCH or other abbreviated adverbs, compliments, superlatives, and modifiers), and AlDub You.

And of course, I love you would always have the robotic and programmed automatic response I love you too and 1432. Cliche responses to the question, how are you, also brough troubles as they became robotic, programmed, and automatic. How are you? I am okay. I am fine. They were vague and lovers would interpret at some times as their partner's way of saying I am not okay or I am not fine; I am just pretending that I am so I say the opposite. Lovers would even discover that it is their partner's way of saying do not talk to me; I am busy; I want to end this conversation; can we talk later?

Plus, invitations to cinema, roses, teddy bears, love letters, Cupids, hearts, flash mobs, kneeling to propose, weddings, surprise weddings, weddings with twist, weddings in unusual venues and costumes and themes-- all symbolic ways to say I love you-- were exhausted. They all became cliche.

Couples already tried the sign language and even attempted creating new sign languages for them. The problem was confusion among couples especially those couples with two different cultures. One sign means I love you in a culture but in another, it means fuck off. Some tried to upgrade the non-verbal way in saying I love you by inventing dances and learning the Braille. Almost every couple already learned new languages just to say I love you. But languages were exhausted too.

Mathematicians tried to create formulas and codes that when solved would mean I love you. The problem was that many couples hated math or were too busy to solve them and these formulas and codes were also exhausted. Every partner already knows every formula and code that means I love you.

One mathematician even attempted to solve the final digits of pi just to tell his wife that love was like his pi, endless. Cheesy! Couples competed then to solve the final digits of pi to surpass what this mathematician did-- the longer the digits were, the greater the love. This was fun until they realized that this was endlessly tiresome and were becoming cliche.

Scientists even created pick up lines based on scientific concepts such as the theory of relativity, radiation, nuclear fusion and fission, the natural selection, genetics, oxidations, etc. One would hear, "Oh you increased the rate of my dopamine, serotonin, norepinephrine (and other love-causing hormones)."

To solve the scarcity of topics and death of I love you concerns, the government strictly imposed that whoever would deliver cliche topics and cliche ways of saying I love you to his partner would be executed.

Thousands of couples were executed not only because they violated the law but because when one's partner was in the death row, the partner could not help it but to beg for execution too. Many became single while many also used the law against their partner. They would complain that their partner talked about a cliche topic or gave them a cliche way of saying I love you. This is because some partners were not faithful or were just driven by money to find a partner.

But she and I joined the Alliance of Silence and Separation (ASS), an underground movement of couples who would not talk to partner for a long time either through silence or through separation. Mute and deaf couples took advantage. The group was underground because the government treated silence and separation as a symbolic way of saying I love you and because the group grew larger, the government treated silence and separation as symbolic manners of saying I love you that would later become cliche. The members were gradually exterminated.

And she and I escaped and hid to invent a memory-remover. We removed everyone's memory, without a trace that memories were removed (like in my favorite movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind), so that everyone would forget not only the cliche topics and cliche ways of saying I love you, but everything that happened. Funny that they were having deja vu over some things familiar.

So you, dear reader, I am sending this letter as a wedding gift just in case you and the world would need this. Spread this. Follow all attempts we had. And before the government impose that law, get the memory-remover in the attached address I sent.

This worked with your ancestors, your grandparents, and your parents. Their memories were removed and when they woke up, they start anew with the same old topics.

Good luck.

Sincerely Yours,

Friend

P.S.

I was running out of ways to end this letter.

* * *

The letter had no name of its sender. I was thinking of this and thinking of keeping this letter a secret in the wastebasket. (I was a bit surprised to find another copy of the letter in the wastebasket.) In fear that my wife would find them, I burned them.

I am blessed already. We are a perfect couple. She's having Alzheimer's at her age (an unusual yet benign case for she is not that jumpy like old people are), memories gradually escaping her, while I am a freak by accident. Every day I wake up without recollection of yesterday's events. Yeah, just like 50 First Dates.

A friend suggested to me to make a video that would recall that my wife and I are lovers, and a video of yesterday's recap or even recaps in greater span of the past and not just yesterday. And so I do them-- with packs of newspapers for current events update-- every day at 11 pm, just before 12 am and just before my disease strikes-- the two videos compressed in 10 minutes. I never cheated or messed up our memories or any information on yesterdays. I never failed to make videos. I have to stay awake or find time to create them. Also, no one ever messed up our conditions in some crazy way like making us believe that yesterday is three weeks ago. At the same time, we were patient, whenever one forgets or repeat old topics.

(Anyway, the friend who suggested to me to create videos of recaps, is a bit crazy. I saw  him this afternoon kissing my wife claiming that my wife already forgets that they are once lovers. Yuck! Earlier, this morning, this friend kissed me too and said that he used to be in some videos "we" create but he decided to burn when I met my wife. How confusing! Is he a maniacal gay? I think he is messing our relationship! Thanks God, he was already out of our sight. Thanks God I would not remember him tomorrow.)

So who needs new topic if all we have to do is to express our love to each other and have a chitchat no matter how cliche and old the topic is? After all, we won't remember them and after all, we all gonna die someday. Who the hell needs a memory-remover? We were just enjoying each other, the moment, the remaining time.

We do not need topics. We simply need each other.

I entered her bedroom, had sex, and after that, sat beside each other-- our faces smiling then becoming blank then smiling again then back to blank-- speechless. The unspoken is more than words. Words and silence may be cliche. We may run out of topics. But we would never need to "start anew." We simply have to take a rest, take a break of silence, take a vacation from each other for a while, and when we return, we have new topics to talk about, new stories to tell, and new memories to make. We would just keep on moving forward. After all, if one indeed love someone, no matter how repetitive and cliche one is, he or she would stay.

Expression is never the problem. Staying is. 

Re-fattened

I killed and ate Santa Claus. Do not fret. I’m not a cannibal.

Mother used to say that I used to be fat. I was born fat but as I grew, it turned out that I was destined to be a skinny, not a fatso. This went perfectly with the decline of my sight. The same happened to my faith to Santa. It grew thin until its width is akin to a thread which I could barely see with my no-glasses eyes.

I could still how my mother suggested to me to write letters to Santa and hang stockings to our windows. Looking back, I could not believe how I fell to that trick because after we wrote the letters, my mother vanished into thin air. Of course, she went to the mall to buy "my wishes."

Night came; drowsy from the Noche Buena, I tucked myself into bed and cocooned myself into the blanket. Santa might be late due to traffic, Mother says. But little did "Santa" know that I was insomniac. Then I saw an adult’s shadow approaching our stockings and filling them with chocolates.

At first I thought it was a thief because there were cases of burglars disguising as Santa to fool children "home-aloned" by their parents. I stealthily took a wali-tambo, and hit Father Christmas until she squealed to reveal that she was my mother, done in placing a toy robot under the Christmas tree and putting new a goldfish in our aquarium.

As a child, anger surged from me. Tears sprinkling my eyes, I bellowed the word "fake." I did not even care that Mother was also crying while uncloaking the Santa attire and the pillow in her tummy. She fulfilled two out of three wishes-- a toy robot and a new goldfish. But she of course could not accomplish the last-- bringing the absent father who later in my life I realized should have been the Santa that night.

Since then, the fat bearded old man in red with sacks of gifts and reindeer-operated sleigh, is but a figurine. I stuffed my gray cells with the belief that people just rationalize the existence of such childish image and I jammed into me interrogatives. How could an old man live in North Pole with a factory of gifts? Who is Santa's mailman? How could the reindeers magically defy gravity? Most of all, how could he fit himself into a sizzling chimney?

I became a scrooge, turning the TV and lights off whenever I hear the voices of children caroling, and if caught, I have the choices: (a), giving them a "piso," (b) chanting the word "tawad," (c) demanding difficult songs, and if persistent (d), telling them that singing for money is an insincere way of celebrating the occasion. After all, our ninongs or ninangs were nowhere to be found. I was frustrated also in the misa de gallo as I soon discovered some religious hypocrites (prayerful inside, profane outside), and some who were simbang lugaw, simbang bibingka, simbang landi, simbang tabi.

Can the belief to Santa save the country from poverty and corruption? Can it even help us choose the right candidate? An atheist friend once raised, Christmas is for Christians and contrary to the common belief, it’s not the occasion everyone’s entitled to celebrate. A sociology teacher observed that people in crisis are more likely to believe in "invisible things" for they need something to cling onto.

I could still remember how a kababata named "Naomi" lost her mother from cancer and last time we talked, she would wake up every Christmas night to catch Santa because she believed that Santa took her mother away. She often cursed the song "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus."

Her Grandma told me that in the night of the mother's death, the father who was abroad donned himself with Santa costume during his return. It just so happened that the mother fell ill after kissing "Santa." The father called for an ambulance and carried his wife to the hospital still wearing the outfit.

I could not even forget the fire, caused by defective Christmas lights, which took away the lives of two children. Aling "Belen" told her surviving daughter that Santa took her siblings to North Pole and that amid the smoke, she saw Saint Nick’s silhouette. Mang "Lito," the husband claimed that it was not Santa but Jesus who fetched the children, the same image in Daniel 3:14-29.

Santa was also the image of my kababata, "Joy" to the white-bearded foreigner to whom her mother was having an "affair" through the webcam. But of course, the neighbors know that the affair is nothing but business. I just hoped that time that "Joy" was not involved in the "affair."

And there were too many Santas but no one to gamble my faith on. Until one Friday.

On my way to a mall to buy a gift for our party, an old, bald, and coughing Santa-ish guy wearing a shirt and a Puruntong shorts sat beside me in the jeep. A kid came and distributed envelopes while singing "Santa Claus may Facebook ka ba?" To my astonishment, "Santa" clapped his hands to the beat of the song to match the kid's tambourine. He even turned himself into a conductor using his black umbrella. To everyone's surprise, when the song ended, he gave the boy 500 pesos plus an ensaymada. "Santa" showed the same energy when he left the jeep with "Merry Christmas!"

Going home, when I forgot to buy myself a new umbrella, I decided to buy it in a marketplace. I approached a boy and when I was about to pay for the umbrella (the color similar to "Santa's"), he called me "Santa" and smiled to me while adding "Thank you po talaga." The word "talaga" meant something. I asked him why.

He narrated how he needs the money to put his lolo in the home-for-the-aged facility. He said that his already senile lolo was roaming the streets and there were even times when he would see him in the jeepney terminal near the mall, coughing from fumes. He even added that his lolo was nowhere to be found at that time. "He wore an orange shirt and brought with him a black umbrella. I lost him earlier when I had to find a change for 1000 pesos. I would find him later.”

A connection came in me. Perhaps, it was just me who assume the connection between this boy and "Santa." But it was an epiphany.

I went home and if only I did not make the oath of donating some books to my alma mater since I cleaned my mini-library, I gave them to the boy. Nevertheless, I gave him an extra 50 pesos.

I just found "Santa" not in North Pole, but in me. I found him in the hopeful and hardworking people of every day.

I ate Santa but did not excrete him at all. He remained inside me, alongside my faith to Jesus who’s probably the shaved and thinner version of Santa.

I was blind but now I see, was thin but now re-fattened.

Requiem Duets

KZ Tandingan and the Ghost

Wag ka nang umiyak

(Kay daling sabihin)

Sa mundong pabago-bago

(Sa mundong pagago-gago)

Pag-ibig ko ay totoo

(Sinungaling ka)

Ako ang iyong bangka

(Bangka na walang direksyon)

Kung magalit man ang alon ng panahon

(Wala nang panahon)

Sabay tayong aahon

(Pero sasama ka rin ba kung lulubog ako?)

Kung wala ka ng maintindihan

(At kung wala nang umiintindi sa akin)

Kung wala ka ng makapitan

(At kung wala nang kumakapit sa akin)

Kapit ka sa akin

(Patalim ka ba?)

Kapit ka sa akin

(O baka baril)

Hindi kita bibitawan

(O siguro ay lubid)

Wag ka nang umiyak

(Kay hirap tumigil)

Mahaba man ang araw

(At ang mga gabi)

Uuwi ka sa yakap ko

(Kung hindi ako umuwi?)

Wag mo nang damdamin

(Wala na akong damdamin)

Kung wala ako sa iyong tabi

(Nagsasawa na akong masanay)

Iiwan ko ang puso ko sa iyo

(At iiwan ko ang bangkay ko)

At kung pakiramdam mo

(Wala na akong pakiramdam)

Wala ka ng kakampi

(Bakit mo pa pinapamukha?)

Isipin mo ako dahil

(Sana iniisip mo rin ako)

Puso't isip ko'y nasa iyong tabi

(Alak, yosi, ang nasa aking tabi)

Hindi kita pababayaan

(Salamat na lang)

Hindi kita pababayaan

(Huli na ang lahat)

Kumapit ka

(At ako ay bumitaw na)

* * *

I. Sarah McLachlan and the Ghost

Spend all your time waiting

(Waiting does not kill, loneliness does)

For that second chance

(And some other chances)

For a break that would make it okay

(But always has not)

There's always some reason

(I wish I knew)

To feel not good enough

(And to feel worse)

And it's hard at the end of the day

(It is never easy)

I need some distraction

(And attention)

Oh beautiful release

(I am thinking about Aokigahara)

Memories seep from my veins

(Blood seep from my wrist)

They may be empty

(Not a maybe)

And weightless and maybe

(Memories are heavy)

I'll find some peace tonight

(If I find no one)

In the arms of the Angel

(The Angel of Death?)

Fly away from here

(Fly me to Aokigahara)

From this dark cold hotel room

(To the bridge or a balcony)

And the endlessness that you fear

(When many fear their end)

You are pulled from the wreckage

(And pushed through my peace)

Of your silent reverie

(Amid the noisy chaotic world)

You're in the arms of the Angel

(Later in the arms of them)

May you find some comfort here

(Where is here? Where is limbo?)

So tired of the straight line

(Tired of running)

And everywhere you turn

(When I turn there's no one at all)

There's vultures and thieves at your back

(Or sometimes there's no one at my back)

And the storm keeps on twisting

(While the sun keeps on hiding)

You keep on building the lies

(And lies build me)

That you make up for all that you lack

(And all that I have)

It don't make no difference

(For everyone is the same)

Escaping one last time

(At last)

It's easier to believe in this sweet madness

(It's harder to believe in bitter truth)

Oh this glorious sadness

(Oh glorious indeed)

That brings me to my knees

(That brings me to my grave)

You're in the arms of the Angel

(And now I am an angel myself)

May you find some comfort here

(I can them from here)

* * *

II. Sarah McLachlan and the Ghost

Sunday is gloomy,

(So is everyday)

My hours are slumberless,

(But still better to sleep than to stay awake alone)

Dearest the shadows

(Dearest, you are one)

I live with are numberless

(I live with no one)

Little white flowers

(And even the

Will never awaken you

(Yes they will never)

Not where the black coaches are

(Nowhere to be found they are)

Sorrow has taken you

(For they took me to it)

Angels have no thought

(They have no thought)

Of ever returning you

(Of ever remembering me)

Would they be angry

(Would they even miss me)

If I thought of joining you

(I will be the king, you the queen)

Gloomy Sunday.

(Gloomy everyday)

Gloomy is Sunday

(Gloomy is everyday)

With shadows I spend it all

(With tears I left them all)

My heart and I have

(If I still have the heart)

Decided to end it all

(A new beginning for us)

Soon there'll be candles

(Soon there'll be freedom

And prayers that are sad,

(And playing in clouds I am glad)

I know, let them not weep,

(I know, they will not weep)

Let them know

(They won't even care)

That I'm glad to go

(And I am glad for you)

Death is no dream,

(It is indeed a dream)

For in death I'm caressing you

(Can we make love in death)

With the last breath of my

(Can we breath in death?)

Soul I'll be blessing you

(Can life sprang from two dead?)

Gloomy Sunday

(Gloomy everyday)

Dreaming

(And never waking)

I was only dreaming

(No you are not)

I wake and I find you

(I am here)

Asleep in the deep of

(I reside in the deep of)

My heart

(Your heart)

Dear

(Oh yes my dear)

Darling I hope that my dream

(Darling I hope that your dream)

Never haunted you

(Always haunted me)

My heart is telling you

(Your heart is telling me)

How much I wanted you

(How much you wanted me)

Gloomy Sunday

(Gloomy everyday)

*A year later, the lines in parentheses would be found buried along a corpse. They are isolated poems and never a part of a duet at all.

Trip to Jerusalem

Hindi ko alam kung ano ang nasa itaas subalit kung ito man ay ang matabang matanda o ang payat na lalaki o ang mga taong may pakpak o pawang mga tala lamang, nagtataka ako kung bakit hindi ko pa rin sila kapiling.

Saan nga ba napupunta ang mga katulad ko?

Hindi ito kasing dali ng sagot sa bugtong na ano ang matangkad kapag nakaupo subalit maliit kapag nakatayo. Hindi rin ito kasing dali ng paghahanap sa tinig ng taong una kong napakinggang nagsabi nito.

Subalit tuwing sumasapit ang Pasko ay nabibigyan ako ng pagkakataon na hanapin nga ang taong iyon. Natutupad ang kahilingan ko at sa pamamagitan ng katuparan nito ay nabibilang ko ang mga taong nagdaraan. Sa haba ng panahon ay marami na akong natutunang mga salita at mga bagay.

Nagagawa kong gumala sa mundo, parang malamig na simoy ng hangin na nararamdaman lamang pero hindi nakikita. Subalit mabuti pa nga ang hangin at nararamdaman ako. Ako ay hindi na nga nakikita, hindi pa nararamdaman-- lalo ng taong hinahanap ko.

Nagkalat ang mga balat ng kendi at mga pudpod na upos na paputok sa aspaltong daan. Nakasaboy rin sa lupa ang maraming mga gift wrapper na pinunit mula sa mga natapos na party. Hindi man nakikita ay nangangamoy ang mga tira-tirang pagkain, ang mga panis, at mga mumu, ng okasyon.

Nakasisilaw ang Christmas lights na kumukutitap kasama ang mga parol, tila sumasabay sa mga batang nangangaroling. Nakakainggit sila. Naroon din ang daluyong ng mga tao sa mga mall at bumibili ng Christmas tree o ng mga ireregalo. Marami rin ang nasa may simbahan at may ilan ding dinaragsa ang mga nilulutong kakanin at mga litson.

Subalit hindi ako dapat mawala sa aking tunay na hangarin-- ang hanapin siya.

Tulad ng dati ay maraming nakaupo.

May mga magkakamag-anak na nakaupo sa sofa at nanonood sa telebisyon. May iba namang nasa sinehan. May iba namang nasa may damuhan at may nakalatag na tela upang magpiknik. May iba namang nasa hapag-kainan at mahaba ang mesa. May iba namang pamilyang sa kariton at sa karton nakaupo habang nagsasalo sa mga napulot.

Sa kabila namang dako ay may mga batang nakaupo sa mga plastik na upuan para sa isang party. May ilan namang nasa desk pa, nasa silid-aralan ng paaralan.

May iba na nagpapadentista. May iba na nagpapagupit ng buhok.

May iba na nakaupo sa loob ng taxi, sa tricycle, sa habal-habal, sa bisikleta, sa dyip, sa bus.

May isang babaeng walang suot, nakaupo sa isang lalaking wala ring suot maliban sa ari niya. May isa namang nakaupo sa opisina. May isang nakaupo sa toilet bowl. May isang nakaupo sa silya elektrika. May nakaupo sa trono. May nakaupo sa wheelchair. May nakaupo sa bangka. May nakaupo sa swing. May mga nakaupo sa isang bangko at tumatagay. May mga taong nakaupo pa sa opisina. May mga taong nakaupo sa pabrika.

Marami ang nakaupo subalit wala roon ang hinahanap kong tao. Wala pa rin at wala na naman. Wala ang taong sumambit ng bugtong na iyon. Wala si Mama. Wala ang karugtong ng aking pusod na pinutol at itinapon katulad ko.

Matapos ng aking isang gabi na naman ng paghahanap ay uuwi na ang mga tao, sabay-sabay silang hihiga at dahil dito ay pakiramdam ko, may kasama ako at hindi nag-iisa.

Ano ang mas matangkad kapag nakaupo kaysa nakatayo? Nagbalik na ako sa aking higaan subalit naroon pa rin ang asong binubungkal ang aking lupang kinahihigaan.

Naririnig ko pa rin ang lakad ng maraming mga tao, mga lakad na hindi ko nalakad, ang kanilang mga hilik, mga hilik na hindi ko nahilik, ang kanilang mga salita, mga salita na hindi ko nasalita, ang kanilang mga hininga, mga hininga na hindi ko nahinga, mga buhay na hindi ko nabuhay dahil nabuhay ako subalit hindi naisilang.

Nakahiga na ako-- noon pa man. Subalit alam kong lahat ay hihiga rin balang-araw-- sa aking tabi. Balang-araw, hihiga rin sa tabi ko si nanay. Hindi ako mag-iisa. Balang-araw baka tayong dalawa ay magkatabi na.

Mapu[t]la

Maagang bumangon si Tony. Itinupi niya agad ang kanyang kumot at iniligpit ang unan at higaan.

Madaling-araw pa lamang at tulog pa ang kanyang nanay at kapatid. Nauna siya ngayong nagising sa nanay niya.

Agad siyang nagsalang ng sinaing na ang tubig ay sinukat pa niya gamit ang kanyang daliri. Habang nasa apoy ang sinaing ay sinimulan namang paghiwalayin ni Tony ang mga puting damit at de kolor. Matapos ay ibinabad na ni Tony ang puti.

Kasabay rin nito ay naghanda na si Tony ng ipapakain sa kanilang dalawang asong nakakulong sa labas. Madalas mag-away ang dalawang ito. Dahil dito ay itinatali nila ang mga ito sa magkahiwalay subalit magkalapit na dako ng kanilang bakuran. Sayang kasi ang pagkain kapag natatapon lamang dahil sa nasasagi ng mga ito sa kanilang pag-aaway.

Naitali na ni Tony ang mga aso nang maalala niyang dapat hinaan na ang apoy ng sinaing. Mahirap na at baka masunog ito tulad ng dati. Tinanggal niya ang takip ng saingan at nang makitang tila kulang sa tubig ang sinaing ay nagdagdag siya mula sa kanilang gripo.

Nang mahina na ang apoy ay nagsalang naman ng pagpiprituhan si Tony sa isa pang kalan. Madalas ay nilalakasan niya ang apoy upang madaling uminit ang mantika subalit sabi ng nanay niya ay hindi raw dapat dahil hindi raw naluluto ang loob ng ipiprito kapag ganito. Mas madali raw maluluto kapag katamtaman ang lakas ng apoy at hinintay na uminit ang mantika.

Ganito nga ang ginawa ni Tony at naglabas siya ng tatlong itlog at anim na hotdog mula sa ref. Nang makitang wala na halos laman ang isa nilang pitsel ay nilagyan niya ito ng tubig mula sa kanilang galon.

Isang itlog sa bawat isa sa kanila at tigdadalawa namang hotdog para sa kanilang tatlo. Ganito ang agahan nila madalas.

Habang naghihintay sa pag-init ng mantika ay inurong muna ni Tony ang washing machine palabas ng kanilang bahay. Sa labas kasi sila naglalaba para deretso na ang sampay at gayong may gripo naman din sila sa labas. Inilagay niya sa isang basahan ang washing machine upang hindi nito magasgasan ang kanilang tiles na sahig.

Itinulak niya ito kahit mahirap. Nag-ingat siya at baka masagasaan nito ang mga paa ng natutulog pa niyang nanay at kapatid.

Nang mailabas niya ito at pabalik na siya ay gising na ang kanyang nanay na nagtutupi na rin ng kumot niya. Binalikan ni Tony ang kanyang nakasalang. Binasag niya ang mga itlog. Madaling naluto ang mga ito. Paborito niya ang pula ng itlog subalit kahit paano ay kinakain na rin niya ang puti. Dati kasi ay hindi. Isinunod ni Tony ang mga hotdog. Pinaghiwalay naman ni Tony ang mga batch ng mga damit, kung paano ang pagkakasunod-sunod ng mga ito sa pagsalang sa washing machine. Inipon niya ang lahat ng damit na marumi at maging ang mga basahan ay papalitan na rin nila. Isinama na rin niya ang itiniklop lang nila kaninang mga kumot. Maging ang mga kurtina ay pinitas niya na para malabhan. 

Kumakain na ang kanyang nanay at ito ang nagpaalala sa kanyang dapat na niyang patayin ang apoy ng sinaing. Tiyak naman din ni Tony na maliligo ang nanay matapos kumain.

Naglagay na ng tubig at pulbos na panlaba si Tony sa washing machine. Naglagay na rin siya ng mga tubig sa mga balde at palangganang pagbabanlawan. Nagsimula na siyang maglaba. Naroon na habang umiikot ang washing machine ay nagbabanlaw naman siya ng mga damit. Matindi ang kanyang pagpiga. Limang banlaw bago ibabad ang mga ito sa palangganang may tubig at may fabric conditioner na halo. Matapos nito ay isasampay.

Dahil kaunti ang damit at noon ay Lunes gayong Sabado sila naglalaba, patapos na si Tony nang aalis na ang kanyang nanay na mabilis kumain at maligo. Sa gitna ng paglalaba ay nagamit ni Tony ang mga marumi nang pinagbanlawan upang linisin ang dumi at ihi ng mga aso na winalis niya rin ng walis-tingting. Sa gitna ng paglalaba ay ibinigay na rin ni Tony ang mga bote ng mantika, ketchup, at softdrinks sa isang batang madalas kumolekta naman ito sa kanila.

Pasikat na ang araw nang matapos si Tony. Mga kumot na lamang ang nakasalang sa fabric conditioner at matapos ay ang mga kurtina at matapos ay ang basahan. Nilinis na ni Tony at naibalik na sa lugar nito ang washing machine at matapos ay isinampay na rin niya ang mga nabanggit pagkatapos padaanin sa palangganang may fabric conditioner.

Saglit muna siyang bumalik sa kusina upang kunin ang pagkaing tinakpan niya upang hindi kainin ng mga pusa. Binigyan na rin niya ang mga ito ng pagkain. Sa puntong ito ay ang kapatid naman niya ang gising na. Naabutan niya itong kumakain, nakakamay. Naghugas na siya ng kamay upang saluhan ito.

Matapos kumain ay naligo na ang kapatid. Matagal itong maligo kaya naman ang inatupag muna ni Tony ay ang paglilinis sa mga tokador at kabinet na nasa harap ng kanilang sofa. Gamit ang isang pinigang basahan ay sinaid ni Tony ang alikabok ng mga tokador at kabinet, ng mga libro, ng mga picture frame, ng mga CD, ng TV. Nagtapon na rin si Tony ng maraming mga scratch paper, mga babasahin na hindi na gagamitin, at mga burloloy na nagpapasikip lamang sa tokador.

Dahil sa nalaglag ang mga alikabok ay doon lamang naisip ni Tony na magwalis na. Winalis niya ang mga sulok, ang ilalim ng sofa, ang ilalim ng tokador, ang mga kwarto nila ng kapatid niya na naging bodega na dahil sa dami ng gamit na binibili ng pamilya nila. Naglampaso na rin si Tony ng sahig gamit ang mop na binasa niya.

Matagal ang paglilinis na ito, sakto sa paglabas ng kapatid niya mula sa banyo. Matapos kasi nito ay ang banyo naman ang kanyang lilinisin. Isinabay na rin niya rito ang paglilinis sa tatlong electric fan nila.

Bihis at paalis na papuntang trabaho ang kapatid niya nang ihanda na ni Tony ang mga gagamitin sa pagpapaligo ng mga aso.

Matapos magpaligo ng aso ay naglinis naman si Tony ng mga sapatos niya. Naghugas na rin siya ng mga pinggan, ng mga kubyertos, ng mga baso, ng mga kutsilyo.

Nang matapos sa mga paglilinis ay natulog muna sa sofa si Tony habang hinihintay na matuyo ang mga damit na nakasampay gayong tirik naman ang araw.

Isa o dalawang oras pagkatapos ay gumising siya upang sungkitin na ang mga tuyong damit. Saglit siyang lumabas upang mag-facebook sa isang computer shop at matapos ay magpagupit ng buhok.

Alas kwatro ang dating ng kanyang nanay at noon ay alas tres na. Maaga niya nang pinakain ang mga aso at mga pusa. Maaga na rin niyang nilinis ang litter box ng mga pusa.

Pagkatapos sa mga ito ay nagtext na siya sa kanyang nanay. Pag-uwi raw nito ay may sorpresa siya rito. Pag-uwi raw nito ay may dala siyang mabuting balita.

Kumain na ulit si Tony. Nagluto na lang ulit ng mga hotdog.

Naligo na si Tony pagkatapos. Panay ang kuskos niya sa sarili, tila tinatanggal lahat ng libag at dumi sa katawan. Panay rin ang kamot niya sa ulo sa pagdampi ng shampoo sa buhok. Naggupit na rin siya ng mga kuko. Hindi na niya kinakagat ang mga kuko gaya ng dati gayong natutunan na niyang gumamit ng nailcutter. Naglinis rin siya ng tenga at nagpabango pa. Aba at nag-gel pa si Tony.

Saka lamang siya nagbihis pagkatapos ng mga ito. Isinuot niya ang kanyang puting long sleeves at ang kanyang slocks. Ngumiti siya sa salamin. Matapos ay nagsuot na siya ng medyas at black shoes.

Ni-lock na ni Tony ang pinto at nagtungo sa dapat puntahan.

Nagsara si Tony ng pinto pero hindi siya umalis ng bahay.

Naglinis na nga si Tony ng sarili at ng bahay pero nang dumating ang kanyang nanay ay marumi siya at makalat ang bahay, marumi at makalat mula sa dugong umaapaw sa kanyang katawang sinaksak niya mismo ng kutsilyo.

Blurred and Shattered

There lived a mechanical god. He is a head on the top of the paper hills surrounded by mist.

His heart, an underground cellar, pumped the ink of stories while his head is but an attic of thoughts and dreams.

The eyes were fragile windows, the ears are flapping portholes, and the nose a mysterious sort of ventilated room. The tongue, although twisted, is but a staircase of the mouth which is the exit of the unseen visitors who regularly arrive at some time in such clandestine passageway either through the cellar or the attic, although some visitors never leave when they enter as they choose to reside in the mechanical god or the mechanical god imprisoned them.

But in the mechanical god lived the Muse. No one ever saw Her before. No one knew Her routine, Her time of sleep in the mysterious ventilated nose, Her hours of hunger and eating in the basement and cellar, and even the potential end of Her life. What we knew was She just appeared one day in the mechanical god, in the mysterious ventilated nose.

She was there sewing. She was there going to the cellar, then going to the basement, then back and forth. She was either the controller of the mechanical god or the slave of it too. What was clear was Her existence and drive to do what She does.

But one day, the Muse saw a faceless being. That was the first time She wanted to leave the mechanical god. The faceless being, wandering, attempted to enter the mechanical god through the gaping mouth but it closed to deny entrance. It was entering the wrong way. Or perhaps, the mechanical god's clandestine passageways were too clandestine or just closed. Maybe, the faceless being just came in the wrong time.

It walked a small distance from the house then despite its faceless nature, it looked at the windows and waved to the Muse before wandering to the mist of nothingness.

The Muse continued living but this time, She was haunted by the face of this faceless being-- however could that be-- and even the wonders of the mechanical god regarding visitors and residents.

Time went by and the mist cleared to disclose more beings similar to the one that the Muse saw. The only difference was they have faces. She was certain that they were residents and visitors in some neighboring mechanical gods yet undiscovered.

Amid these beings were giant feet blindly passing the hills, stomping on some of the poor beings while giving some fortunate ones a ride upwards through their shoes.

The Muse grew questions. How come that Her mechanical god have unseen visitors and residents? How come that no one ever saw Her like the faceless being? Whose feet were these?

So every night, the Muse longed to go out so that She could seek answers but the eyes were too thick, or perhaps even too opaque. The Muse, for the first time, attempted to find her voice but she realized she was either mute or deaf.

But the Muse never gave up. Until one night, the Muse went out. She shattered the eyes of the mechanical god and the broken brittle pieces of the eyes scattered through the hills. The Muse approached the beings with face but they were ignoring Her as if she was invisible, or inaudible, or both. The giant feet might even stomp Her to death.

That was the time She realized that the only one who could answer Her was the faceless being she saw before. The Muse, afraid, attempted to return but the mechanical god could not recognize Her. The eyeholes of the mechanical god might either be blurred or blinded. She came into the understanding that she knew how to leave but not to return.

She needed to find not only the faceless being but even the shards of the windows. The Muse began her journey and in a few steps away, she found a bridge, half-started or half-finished.

She looked at the bottom of the bridge and saw the familiar sparkle of the windowpanes. She was certain that they belonged to Her mechanical god. When she straightened back Her look, there it was, the faceless being waving at Her at the other end which was an unknown dimension. It was curiously peering at Her, beckoning at Her to follow and upon finding out that it was impossible for Her, the faceless being turned its back to Her.

The Muse, frustrated, released a loud cry. The walking strangers and visitors around stopped. The giant feet paused. The faceless being did not take another step. The giant feet, the walking strangers and visitors, and the faceless being, were slightly trembling as if to signify that they would move again in just a couple of minutes.

Did they hear Her? Or did the mechanical god hear her?

Or was it simply the mechanical god, operating its heart cellar to pump ink of stories, and its head to manufacture thoughts and dreams, performing with utmost exertions?

Yes, it therefore heard Her.

It was trying to feed its unseen residents and visitors. Consider it a miracle but the mechanical god, using what was left of the sewing materials of the Muse, was printing faces into them, stuffing them with form, clothing them. They entered the mysterious ventilated nose and when they came out, they were alive and ready to go.

They were ready to go, ready to fetch the Muse, ready to help her find or maybe pick the missing shards, ready to halt the giant feet and even climb them as they would dare, ready to capture or perhaps befriend the faceless being at the other side of the hill.

The eyes of the mechanical god were blurred and shattered but never blinded.

The mechanical god in his blurred and shattered vision watched the new beings depart for their mission. They were alive and ready to go. The mechanical god would continue producing these new beings with the left-overs of the Muse.

I am the mechanical god. Blurred. S h  a  t t   e r   e    d.