Monday, August 31, 2009

Dreaming Awake

Why “Heroism” Today?

“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”
– George Santayana

“The Filipinos had only one general, and they have killed him.”
– General Hughes, commenting on the death of General Antonio Luna.

Being a child of the 1990’s, I have for role models the confluence of cultures and the overbearing presence of the neo-liberal economies that have been deemed to be the new rulers of the world. I have been exposed to the outlandish narratives of Tenchi Muyo, Zenki, Saber Marionettes, and yes, even Sailor Moon. I dreamed of bringing about world peace through fighting enemies of humanity in various monstrous shapes, together with the friends I have, whenever I see Laser Squadron Maskman, Masked Rider Black, and Space Sheriff Shaider are running around the streets. I once dreamed of terminating terrorism whenever I watched G.I. Joe, Rambo, and Chuck Norris, as well as other vigilantes like Batman. And for once, I actually became acquainted with the insanity of human existence with ABS-CBN making the (fatal? stupid? mistaken?) decision of showing Neon Genesis Evangelion, where Third Impact became an almost certain reality and will wipe out humanity at the flick of a switch.

I am of a generation that grew up in fantasies, but not those of the magical prairies of old as shown by the Grimm Brothers and Walt Disney. I am of an older breed: those of Hans Christian Andersen, those where Little Red Riding Hood was eaten, where the little match girl died on the streets. It was an older ethic of harsh reality but with the grit and shimmer of the new era, the dawn of the metal behemoths.

We graduated from these immersed into the seedy and tumultuous hormonal imbalances of adolescence. As a young man I have strived to contain myself with reading all the texts I have imposed on in classes, taking refuge in the images of pure, unassailed, unadulterated existence. The portrayal of saints as heaven’s messengers incarnate in the flesh, solid without misgivings, tender despite their fierceness, were taught to me hand-in-hand with the pantheon of the heroes of my nation, paragons of selfless patriotism and are honorable in defeat to work with their enemies for the betterment of the nation, in the process becoming brothers who work for the spread of democracy worldwide.

All fantasies which have been dashed when the grim reality of adulthood looms its head above us. All these beliefs and naïveté which has eventually sapped the life away from us, something which reduced us into jaded husks of our former selves spouting the very same things that our failed and tragic first President Emilio Aguinaldo would hold throughout his life: “better be not rash like the moth who died in the flame; it is bad to be learned, you will be hanged; remain little and stay out of trouble.” Yet we glorify now this littleness and claim it as a way to salvation! I will be the change. I’m asking the man in the mirror to change his ways. Ako mismo. Narratives which claim to emancipation but are actually more boxing and therefore more oppressive in their very nature. That "the subaltern cannot speak."

Never have we become so jaded with changing the world than thinking that we ourselves are the center of the world. We have become so much caught up in the necessities and our fears of our daily lives that we have become too deeply anxious of everything, losing our capability to see and hear what is really around us. How it is that our world is not really a small space, but a place big enough despite everything. How science and technology, despite its promise of bringing everything together, only drives everyone apart. All abstractions reduced to a science, an existence predetermined and could therefore be manipulated even before you were born, condemning you to a pathetic existence which all your feel good mechanisms will not at all save you from. And any attempt at audacity is downplayed by the very callous and sarcastic words only George Estregan Jr. could deliver with such gusto you will want to strike your TV screens:

“Nagpapakabayani ka ba? Gusto mo bang magkaroon ng monumento sa Luneta? Laos na yan boy!”

It is because we have been defeated by Jareth, the Goblin King. We have been amazed by David Bowie’s Area so much that he succeeded in taking away what was our most powerful weapon: our dreams. (For the uninitiated, that’s an allusion. See how people who will read this need a joke to be explained to them? That’s how bad it is today.)

We have lost imagination, trembling and fascination. We see life as a game and we want Walkthroughs before we play it. And then we complain that life seems so dull and without mystery? Why of course, you have not just blinded yourself to the glaring truth that you are fatally bound to it, but that you even enjoy such a condition. We have denied the power of dreams and the human soul, and its capacity to steer beyond what appears to be impossible to surmount in order to win and assert our humanity and right to existence. Something which Martin Seligman probably never considered. Something which Gaara rightly rebuked his elder Kages in deciding that only murdering an outlaw could be the solution to saving their villages who lived off the expense of others:

And this is why we need heroes. This is why we need narratives. This is why despite the call to get real, we need flights of fancy. They say poets and writers are madmen who are a threat to society and must therefore be eliminated for stability. Why yes! They are the most dangerous people on the planet and they are proud of it. They do not want monuments; their danger lies not in the constructs but in the ideas and emotions they inspire. Isabel Allende once wrote of an aged fencing master, Manuel Escalante, who believes that “the highest pursuits are not those that have tangible products.” They never were, because only the magnanimity of the human soul willing to break free from the bonds of oppression it was cast into can be deemed the true ethic of human life. Only a person who acknowledges his paradoxical existence of wanting to be free yet as well binding himself to the constructs of what he deems just can dream and be part of the movement to a true liberating society.

Only dreamers will be able to move the cosmos, whilst acknowledging they can never change it but be stewards of the wonders we have to those coming after us. We acknowledge an end, yet it is an end that is never in our capacity to hold back, being finite beings in an infinite plane.

Heroes are not white cloths: they are rags, but they are rags that can be hurled at the face of prevailing oppressive circumstances. They know they are only one but are one; that they cannot do everything but can do something with everyone. They have broken ties with their family because they have espoused a cause: that of the people. They might not have known it, but however dirtied their lives might have been with their failings, they have become sign posts calling us to learn and go on. Postmodernism is a tool, but not an end to emancipation. Caroline Hau has shouted of necessary fictions, and they have been always been an effective rallying cry. It is not without reason Martin Scorsese made Paul speak of truth as “what the people need to believe.” Symbols might be nothing, but they can be everything to a soul who is ever wanting and willing to take the path of responsibility with the free will given him, however painful it might be.

A curious change came over me which I have always noticed in myself whenever anything has stirred my feelings. The flame and the moth seemed to go farther away, and my mother's voice sounded strange and uncanny. I did not notice when she ended the fable. All my attention was fixed on the fate of the insect. I watched it with my whole soul. It had died a martyr to its illusions.

It was a long time before I fell asleep. The story revealed to me things until then unknown. Moths no longer were, for me, insignificant insects. Moths talked; they knew how to warn. They advised, just like my mother. The light seemed to me more beautiful, more dazzling, and more attractive. I now knew why the moths circled the flame.

Jose Rizal, Memorias a Un Estudiante de Manila

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Flashes

The metal behemoths and puppies
still snake around the concrete pastures
While the faces of deranged hippies
Fly about the back of my head in raptures

They warn me like persistent fireflies
That the hour of Cromwell's passing is nigh
Yet I'd rather remain here with my cries
And wait for him to help me, and then die.

For hope is gone.

A picture...
A memory long frozen in the recesses
A soul...
A perpetual desire to break free
A screen...
A manifestation of portents unfathomable
A heart...
A particular blob of flesh we always cry on

The pitch-black canopy of the night sky
Of the ghetto of wisdom and capitalist excess
Ironically baptized after a revolutionary society
Rejected by these ghettoes and wenches

Plays its colors and produces illusions of that color
That Hitler's acolyte splashed on our sidewalks
That indicates health, fertility and excitement
That is the rallying call of my queer siblings
That is the color of the yogurt which reminds me of you.

Yes you. You never left my mind, though you never acknowledge it.

My cruel Rosalind, you are not imagined.
You are in the same plane of existence as I am
Yet I have been as significant as a dead ram
To my greetings you give a mere blank stare
In the room of the deceitful master that I dare
Stand up, sit down and try to comprehend
The words of a sage that I have not a hand
Kill me with longing, yes, I have expected
But with empty eyes, worse than executed.

Or maybe it is just the conceits
Of my soul's countless defeats
That asks the sage biting his nails
To be more benevolent with his hails

Or perhaps it is about time
Of my demise dictated in rhyme
To let go, go on, on with the flow
That shall make me bury my sorrow.

Yet how could it be?
I cannot forget thee.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Sa Kapitalistang Pag-Iral at ang Subconscious

May mga pag-iisip at pag-iral talagang sabihin na nating sa sobrang radikal, posible nga sigurong nakakawasak siya ng pagkilala natin sa ating sarili. Yun bang sa labis na tila pagkakalas at pagkasalungat ng mga bagay na nais mong pagsama-samahin sa iyong buhay, maaaring isang malaking implosyon ang maganap... pero iyan naman ay sa aking pagpapalagay lamang, na marahil bunga ng walang-wawang displacement na aking naranasan sa mga nakakaraang araw.

1. Aminin na natin, maraming mga naganap na may halaga sa pambansang kamalayan na hindi ko lubusang napahalagahan ni nagawan ng karampatang pagkilala sapagka't ang mga sektor pribado na aking kinabibilangan ay hinatak ako nang madalian. Hindi ko naman masisi, pero hindi ko rin magawang matino. So, ano ang magagawa natin kundi ang sinabi ni Shakespeare:

Macbeth: If we should fail?
Lady Macbeth: We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail.
...
Macbeth: If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly.
- Macbeth, Act I

Pero kung ako ang tatanungin mo, hindi masama ang sitwasyon: napakaganda nga e. Na hindi ko na natapos ang pagsasanay noong Miyerkules para sa pagsisilbi ng ACMG sa Simbahan ng Gesu ay hindi na ganoon nakakapanghinayang ng oras: yun na lamang maging guro mo sa pagsasanay na ito ang kamangha-manghang si P. Timoteo Ofrasio, S.J. ay isa nang napakalaking salpok sa iyong pagkilala sa Liturhiya. Kaya sa mga giliw na kapatid na nagsisimba sa Gesu, kung mapapansin ninyo na ganito na ang lokasyon ng servers' base area, huwag na kayo magtaka:

At ano ang paliwanag ni P. Tim kung bakit inilipat ang servers' base area:

Tandaan ninyo ang Liturhiya maraming mahahalagang simbolismo iyan, na hindi itinuturo sa inyo sa Teolohiya. Hindi naman alam ng mga pari yan kung hindi mo pag-aaralan. Bakit kayo maglulunan bilang magseserbisyo sa kaliwa ng altar, e hindi ba ninyo alam na hindi dapat nilalagyan ang kaliwa? There is
DEXTER, the Right where Light inhabits, and SINISTER, which is the habitation of evil. THE LEFT IS THE SYMBOL OF EVIL.

Marahil isa sa mga magandang argumento kung bakit hindi mabuti ang pagsamahin ang politika at pananampalataya sa isang kilos.

2. At muli, kahapong Huwebes sa aming klase sa Ph 101 - JJ kung saan naligtas na naman ang aming pangkat sa pag-uulat pero kami naman ang unang-unang mag-uulat ng aming mga artikulong pagsasanggunian ng aming sari-sariling papel. napaisip na naman ako nang malupit ni P. Luis S. David, S.J. nang biglaan ukol sa power in the margins:
We use to think of margins as beyond the edge of the earth, you look at the table top, we look at margins as somewhere to fall off. But that is a mistaken notion: power is getting to be exercised… look at how we see more dollar remittances despite global economic downturn. What keeps you afloat, ARE THE OFWs! Not Ayala, not Gokongwei, not Henry Sy, not Enrique Razon, not Arroyo’s know-how in economics. What is keeping us afloat is OFW REMITTANCE! From those sending us remittances, we should be appreciative of them. Why is it that we devote one page to people working on the margins, the deceased 24 marines, yet we always devote to Gloria’s dinner?!

The real movers are as close as where you are standing! Isn’t that a correct way of how things really work? That 80 million families do not wait for the government, we’ll be working for ourselves. And that is where the action really is!
Why focus at celebrities’ lives when they show you nothing to understand your lives better? The lives of Sam Milby and Bea Alonzo are not real lives, so bakit tayo nakatutok sa mga pantasya na yan?! Nakatutok tayo sa isang drama ng teleserye na hindi naman tunay na buhay? So why treat it as if it is the Holy Grail?! Hindi naman totoo, court proceedings are mediated by money and connection, and yet you have the drama of the blindfolded Lady Justice. Why do we spend too much time on fictions that we do not need to live?

That is why we should look at disciplinary power arrangements. We should call capillaries major arteries, they are the fiction. Major capillaries are the major arteries. Let’s pick up the end of the stick, not its fantastical romantic end. The present system as configured is the fantasy.
We are talking of strategies supporting populations which are administrative matters. A population is a country trying to run itself. Maybe nearer its beginning, it may have some efficacity, but we appear to have moved beyond the point where it had been efficacious so now we are at point of diminishing returns. A disciplinary regime is built like Transformers: not as fast, but as dramatic. Maybe it’s time to transform, and there’s no shame to do that because the disciplinary regime expects you do that. It is a structure completely of tin that throws out can openers. It teaches its denizens to use them: it gives us tools, but it also gives us can openers. The disciplinary regimes teach them to do the masters’ house, but it can also unmake the masters’ house and build a new structure altogether.

Maybe we can have amalgams, combinations that way, but we cannot allow things to stand when they have stagnated. That is the context in which we explore other possibilities because we do not want stagnation. The disciplinary structures precisely take away your fixation from empty panopticons. It is the miracle of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit is most effective when it is gone without a trace. Foucault says power is most effective at the capillaries. In a way it’s very counter culture because we tend to fossilize central authorities, generally the fare we are brought up on and accustomed to. It is the irony: it does not correspond to anything real yet we focus. GET REAL. We expect you as denizens of disciplinary society TO GET REAL.

- Fr. Luis S. David, S.J., Lecture, August 20, 2009
Muli, tila baga binibigyang-pansin natin ang pagtatakdang pansarili upang lumikha ng mga pamamaraang tagakalas mula sa mga perspektibang nagkakahon sa atin sa mga mapaniil na lipunan. Tila baga sinasabi nating naiwawaksi talaga natin ang mga paniniil ng sentro kapag tayo'y nagtatatag ng kataliwas na mga pag-iral. Nguni't marahil, tila nakakalimutan natin na ang mismong pagwawaksi sa sentro ay ang pagkilalang mayroon ngang sentro, na mayroong dapat iwaksi. Masakit sa ulo, ibigay natin yun, pero hindi maiiwasan ang dikotomiya, hindi natin marapat iwan ang pagtanaw sa soberanyang kapangyarihan dahil tanging dito natin makikita ang isang malinaw na pagkilos. Mahirap umusad kung walang homo sacer.

At marahil, sa konteksto ng aming pagpupulong noong Miyerkules, hindi talaga ang "pinaka-crucial" na salik na dapat pag-alalahanan ay hindi ang miyembrong marami nang nagawa, kundi ang miyembrong wala pang nagagawa.

3. Sa pag-uwi ko habang tinatalad ang kahabaan ng Makati, naunawaan kong muli kung bakit nga ba napakahusay ng kapitalismo na panghawakan ang buhay nating mga bahagi ng "henerasyong MTV": mga batang ang aktibismo ay pagsusulat sa blog, pag-superpoke sa mga networking sites, pagsusuot ng mga statement shirt, at pagyayabang na ang pakikipaglibing ay "pakikisali sa isang mobilisasyon."


PUNYETA, NAPAKABABAW NATIN. MASYADO TAYONG NATUTUWA SA SENSASYON. MASYADO TAYONG NAKISAWSAW SA ETIKA NI HEATH LEDGER NA HINDI NA NATIN KILALANG KAILANGANG MAGING SERYOSO... SERYOSO SA PAGWASAK HABANG TUMATAWA.


Kagaya nito. May ipinagyayabang ang Ayala Malls na gift of over 1000 choices:

May ibinibigay na discount ang Figaro basta P200 mahigit lang ang bibilhin mo...

Sa Yoshinoya naman ay patitikimin ka ng green tea at bibigyan ng free fruit jelly basta sagutin mo lang ang survey...


Hihiritan pa ko ng mga ito para namang hindi mismo ako nagsusurvey...


So ano ang punto ko? Ipinagmamalaki sa atin ang ating kalayaan, ang ating demokrasya, dahil nakakapili tayo ng maaari nating gawin. Sapagka't nakakapili tayo, ibig sabihin malaya tayo. Dahil kung pipilitin tayo sa isang pagpipilian, hindi tayo malaya, di ba?

MALI!!! BAKIT KAILANGAN MAMILI? Ang pagpili, sa kanyang naturalesa, ay sinasabing nakakahon lamang tayo, limitado lamang tayo ng mga pagpipilian. So, paano tayo naging malaya?

At ito ang ating nakamit na "demokrasya," pagkatapos ng EDSA.

Kung saan ang isang maituturing na mabuting pagkilos ng emansipasyon para sa mga kababayan nating dukha ay banyaga pa ang nagbigay ng paraan, na malamang sa malamang kuwestiyonable pa rin dahil Kanluranin ang konsepto, Kanluranin ang namamahala.

(Kung gusto mo malaman kung ano ito at kung paano ka makakatulong sa ating mga kumpareng mahihirap, tumungo DITO.)

Maganda sana, pero imposible ang iwaksi ang mga pagkakahiwa-hiwalay ng mga bansa. Imposible ang huwag tignan ang lahi, ang bayan. Sa ugnayan at kaayusan ng mundo, WALA TALAGANG PUWEDENG ITURING NA SUI GENERIS. Kaya sa mga ganitong pagkakataon, puwede kong sabihin isa sa mga tagapagpalaganap ng BS ng makabagong panahon si Michael Jackson. At hindi siya dapat mas mataas sa estante kaysa kay Corazon Aquino.


Oo, kamamatay lang niya, demmit, pero namatayan din ang bayan ko ng isang ina.

Minsan tuloy, sana nga, dumating ang bayolenteng pagkakataon na ang lahat ng pinanghahawakan kong pumipigil sa akin na ibigay ang sarili kong buong-buo sa pakikitalad ay mawala sa akin... at matira na lamang sa akin yung mga maaari kong gamitin para sa pakikibaka. Kagaya nila:



4. Oo, nakapagshoot kami ng proyekto namin ngayong araw na ito. Oo, kahit medyo problematiko ito mamayang umaga pagbyahe ko pabalik ng Katipunan, nasa Muntinlupa akong kasama ang pamilya bago magtrabaho para sa aking JEEP Insertion (na sobrang naaaberya na). At oo, tulog ako maghapon kaya wala rin ako nagawang pag-aaral.

Pero hindi ako tinakasan ng TV Patrol sa aking subconscious. Nakakatawa man, napapanood ko at naririnig ang broadcast sa aking panaginip...



At nabalita sa akin ang mga remix ng mga kanta. Mga pag-alala sa mag-asawang Benigno at Corazon. Minsan ko nang sinabi na hindi natin maikakalas kay Benigno at Corazon Aquino ang kanilang pinagmulang elitista, pero sila ang naging imahen ng demokrasyaong popular. At kung bakit tayo narito... sa mismong kalagayang nilabanan nila



at sa ilalim ng isang walang-hiyang Pangulo na may kapal ng mukha na huwag kilalanin ang sigaw ng mamamayan para sa kanyang pagkawala. Maski yung in-your-face nang pagtuya ng Kamikazee at yung garapalan nang pagkondena ni Conrado de Quiros (na nasundan pa!!!) e hindi tatalab sa tigas ng mukha nitong aleng ito. Kaya tuloy hindi ko alam kung matatawa ba ako o maaawa sa mga nakakatanda kong nagtatrabaho sa ilalim ng opisina nitong walanghiyang ito e.


OO, NAAWA TALAGA AKO. DAHIL HINDI KARAPAT-DAPAT SA DEDIKASYON, TATAG NG KALOOBAN AT KARANGALAN NG ATING MGA KAPATID NA SUNDALO ANG IPAGTANGGOL ANG SOBERANYA NG ISANG OPISINANG BINALAHURA SA LOOB NG LABINDALAWANG TAON.

Pero hindi na sapat ang awa.

Tama na ang pagkaawa.

Sobra na ang pagkaawa.

Sumuko na tayo sa pagkaawa.

DAHIL SILA NA ANG MAGIGING KAWAWA.

But they never cease, for a single instant, to instill into the working class the clearest possible recognition of the hostile antagonism between bourgeoisie and proletariat, in order that the German workers may straightaway use, as so many weapons against the bourgeoisie, the social and political conditions that the bourgeoisie must necessarily introduce along with its supremacy, and in order that, after the fall of the reactionary classes in Germany, the fight against the bourgeoisie itself may immediately begin...

In short, the Communists everywhere support every revolutionary movement against the existing social and political order of things. In all these movements they bring to the front, as the
leading question in each, the property question, no matter what its degree of development at the time.

Finally, they labour everywhere for the union and agreement of the democratic parties of all countries.

The Communists disdain to conceal their views and aims. They openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions. Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win.

WORKING MEN OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE!

- Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The Communist Manifesto
~O~O~O~

Postscript: Okey, given, masyadong caustic, mahaba, at ngumangatngat ang pagsusulat ko, pero ito lamang ang mailalabas ko sa pagkahalo-halo ng samu't saring mapait, masakit at nakapambubuwisit na suliraning bumabagsak sa buhay ko ngayon. Wala akong aasahang iba pa, kundi tanging ang aking panulat lamang.

Friday, August 14, 2009

� la recherche du temps perdu: The Logic of Operation Pi

No, I am not ripping off Marcel Proust's famous semi-biographical novel even though I will not be quoting from him, similar to how Gabriel Marcel (see the dissonance?) quotes from his plays when he writes his books. What I am really interested right now, however, is the dynamics of Marcel's (or whatever little I have been able to garner from sitting in Mr. JC Uy's Ph 101 class) representation of phenomenology. As we have been told, whereas Martin Heidegger would begin from astonishment, and while Descartes begins such from the commission of a mistake, Marcel would root it from the desorbitation de l' idee de fonction, that is, a detachment from one's functional idea of reality. Initially, desorbitation was translated as misplacement, but most have already agreed that it is insufficient (even my own word "detachment") to encapsulate the implication of desorbitation, which is easy to visualize through the heavenly bodies.

It is probably this grave and violent detachment, separation, from one's initial and original perception of history and one's place in it, that makes us look for the questions and the answers that are fundamental to our existence. In a sense, despite our need to maintain a sense of mystery with regards to our persons, we ourselves also are becoming willing subjects and objects of the process of labeling and restructuring of the body. In seeking to learn, we also suppress information, reflection and wisdom. Yet despite this suppression, the means of information are als transformed and becomes a vital means of expressing our selves. It might sound paradoxical, but then again it is these presences of paradoxes and dichotomies that history is made to live out and become that space by which people are becoming part of a narrative.

There are questions, however, wherein the accountability of people are becoming more and more subject to question in the aftermath of being part of history. Due to the behemoth numbers of those who are part of history, the pockets of power and relationality are therefore not clear: these assemblages mask each other.

But perhaps it is not actually a valid question if we are going to consider the very typecasting nature by which we consider the human condition. If we will say it this way, it is as if we are actually espousing the belief that humans are actually mere components, elements that are only good for being part of assemblages which have no dynamism.

I got a potential answer in Dr. Gus Rodriguez's own Ph 101 class. Which is why we look to the question of value. Value, despite its highly commodified nature, is actually among those conceptions which makes us reflect and be aroused by its very presence. It inspires trembling and fascination simultaneously, for it is the culmination of the condition of nature which is made manifest in itself through the senses of the sensing. And it is this definite reason why value is a conjunct concept to love: that is, it is only through love by which we can actually affirm our capability to sense and be sensed, to value and be valued, to feel and be felt, to show true emotion and be shown true emotion. Which is why despite basketball being an extension of tribal wars, and a ritualized system of murder set into play, people are still enthralled by its allure, due precisely to its allowing emotions be set loose and free from problematic value judgments.

And maybe, just maybe, this is why we have philosophy in the first place. Because we are part of history, and love is the impetus by which history flows. But then again, our definition of love being a violent act, it is no wonder history is replete of violence as well.

~~~~~~~~

Operation Pi is my personal project of sitting in in various Ph 101 subjects taught by different faculty of the Philosophy Department. Reflections or importat points will be reflected upon, interspersed with all teachers I have been able to hear so far. Obvious concepts attributed to Foucault and my own professor, Fr. Luis David S.J., will no longer be mentioned as this is my default lens of analysis.

Friday, August 7, 2009

With The Sons of Zephyr

As the shrine of wisdom named
after the saint who became among the heathens
closed its doors and shut down its last lights
I have been driven the to pitch-black
corridors of the abandoned shallow halls.

Listening and feeling the flow of ages
Spirits howling in the midnight skyline
of the bacchanalia of lights and sounds
Never failing, ever flailing, souls craving
the hopelessness embedded in the prison of the heart.

His sons, brash yet brilliant as they are
Shakes the boughs in perfect unison
Creating the melody of the din of insanity
The melody heaved from the bosom of Orpheus
As he wept the loss of his nymph

The fluttering of feathers of chlorophyll
and the shards of crystal needles
Piercing and stabbing from all directions
Without respite, without regret.

They illuminate the images of the Titans
the idols of a polis and Piraues in one;
they appear like angels for whom we swoon
yet they are no better than fair demons
who spell out our doom.

The flaming lights of the deserted jungle
Where beasts of alloy and behemoths of refuse
Excite my feverish brain in search of the dragons
Who have laid down to rest in the earth's recesses
To rumble and shake our foundations tomorrow.

And yet, despite the mirages, aside from all pains
I still hesitate to deprive myself of one indulgence;
Of searching for the rays of pensive and gloomy Luna,
I always wish she would glisten with crescent blades
And show me the smile of my lady, my Verona.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Madilim Man...

Mahirap man,
Malabo man,
Nakakaasar man,
Nakakapagod man,
Nakakayamot man,
Mapanghamon man,
Sino man,
Kailan man,
Saan man,
Ano man,
Paano man...

... hindi sila mga superhero.

Pero sabog man, ang malinaw, hanap ko pa rin ang ngiti mo
Sa malamlam at nagbabadyang sinag ng buwan.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

A Mother Not Like Any Other: Postscript to Cory Aquino

Look around you! Look at these people. Do you see the suffering and unhappiness in this world? Their only hope is the Resurrected Jesus. I don't care whether you're Jesus or not. The Resurrected Jesus will save the world -- that's what matters...

I created the truth out of what people needed and what they believed. You don't know how happy he can make them. Happy to do anything. He can make them happy to die and they'll die… all for the sake of Christ. Jesus Christ. Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God. Messiah...

My Jesus is much more powerful.

- Paul the Apostle, The Last Temptation of Christ


Nick Joaquin, in an attempt to placate the anti-clerical bent of the traditional reading of the Filipino revolution, once proposed that we look kindly on our culture of festivities as it is these that bred the preferable ground for the Katipunan to launch their revolt on the eve of their discovery. We Filipinos, despite our pervasive liberal-democratic institutions, nevertheless have a legendary penchant for communal activities. We appreciate and bask in festivities not just because we swallow the shallow one-liner of John Donne of “no man being an island,” but because we value familial ties so much we want the familial mode of relations to be the dominant paradigm of transaction in any context. We have established superiority and authority in the parental figure, infusing it with such attributes that the private sphere has already become the priority of people, an ethic of sincerity and relationality.

These thoughts run in our mind in witnessing this week’s proceedings within the confines of La Salle Greenhills and its culmination from the Walled City of Intramuros. Truly Filipino, we find ways to solemnize any particular event with the air of a festivity, whether for revelry or reflective grieving. The funeral of the woman we have hailed and have been proud of as “the mother of democracy,” Corazon Cojuangco-Aquino, despite efforts to render her a simple human being like all of us in that last journey of her earthly existence, has not dimmed nor effaced the gravity of her impact on an entire generation of Filipinos in their continuous, drudging, desperate, yet ever-hopeful struggle for a truly democratic society.

For all means and purposes, we do not exculpate our beloved Tita Cory from the many other questions regarding her tenure of office that have not been given satisfactory resolutions up to today. We never discount the fact that she, being a Cojuangco and a Sumulong, married to an Aquino, is inherently a part of the systematic (and, shall we say, chronic) dysfunction of our popular democratic institutions. We never forget her inabilities and shortcomings which found her in a compromising position with the very people to whom she owed her chance at proving her dedication to destroy all ramparts of the Marcos fascist-crony-capitalist state. We do not forget that she has a bumbling senator for a son and a deranged excuse for a daughter.

And yet, as Ambeth Ocampo would always reiterate, it is precisely these limitations, these failings, that make them all the more admirable for trying to dare the impossible. We have a culture of seeking to comprehend in the midst of incomprehensibility. Despite our penchant for jumping at the bandwagon to condemn incompetents, we never immediately blast somebody for trying to reach the goal through the more ambitious aim. In fact, we have an automatic identification and solidarity with them because we see ourselves in them, and therefore our capacity for greatness.

Corazon Cojuangco-Aquino embodies, in ways that people would be hard-pressed to actually articulate, the revolutionary trajectory of the Filipino in their quest for self-realization and the establishment of a true government of the people, for the people and by the people. We see in her the personification of what can be done to make the best out of a bad situation. It has not been new to us. Emilio Aguinaldo was thrust in the global political sphere in the aftermath of the Spanish-American War, and exhausted every effort he can in order to maintain the independence his people were able to grasp from Spanish hegemony, if not for the tragic mistake of trusting the “cold, calculating Sons of the North.” Manuel Quezon, for all his flair, pushed on the platform of immediate independence despite its unfeasibility not just solely because he wished to strengthen his political acumen but because he is also among those who wanted a Philippines that truly speaks for itself.

Cacique democracy, it must be admitted, can never be separated from Tita Cory’s political identification. And yet despite this, it appears that, similar to that a creole like Quezon gained Malacanang at the downfall of the Federalistas, she was able to achieve what before seemed already a hopeless effort: an inauguration of a new revolutionary tradition. Though many would say that, in her later years, she is a fading voice of conscience in a society that has already lost its own and is apathetically (and pathetically) bumbling towards a hand-to-mouth existence, no one can claim that all that effort for re-imagining and reinstating what the people seeks for themselves did not make any relevant impact on the people’s fight. Her humble demeanour, never the first to impose but willing to strike back (as witness her denouncement of her own Vice-President, Salvador Laurel, after his turnaround during the Christmas Coup of 1989), appeals to our masses in the same way that we have a fanatical devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary (she herself being one), the essential mother figure. That Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo attempted to ape it (and ultimately failed to do so) shows us how permanent an image she has imprinted in our cultural consciousness.

Political analysts might highlight repeatedly (as we have done) her shortcomings, but the people will always give primary importance to her confrontation with the unlamented dictator Ferdinand Marcos, and how she supposedly was able to return “democracy” back to the people. It might also have been helpful that the dichotomies of good and evil are quite clearer then, and thus was able to strike our fellow Filipinos close to home and join the fight that has been protracted for so long. Our inability to fully relive the spirit of the EDSA Revolution is because we do not only have anxieties regarding our ability to do so as long as we fight for democracy, but because we have been kept in such mechanisms of docility stemming from the government created by the EDSA Revolution.

Time and time again, mythology has given us an enslaved community being liberated by a hero. Today, our narrative is no longer epic, but the value of communal commitment is actually stronger than ever: the late Fernando Poe Jr.’s penultimate film Alamat ng Lawin recognizes that only if the people themselves will join the fight will the willing heroes succeed. We have cried at the testimonies of Tita Cory’s friends and relatives. We have worn yellow and have enthroned her in our regard together with her husband Ninoy, the quintessential Filipino martyr in our imagination after Jose Rizal, “the only queen the people recognizes” as Fr. Catalino Arevalo, S.J. would reiterate in his homily during the mass. We have seen her body delivered to her resting place flanked by the very institutions that have been guilty of brutalizing the Filipino nation for two decades and have snuffed the life out of her husband. “Nothing else could be said about her,” the good priest said. But it should it end here?

She has become an ideal. She did not ask for it: we gave it to her. Therefore, this ideal shall only remain potent and serve as a beacon light for our children’s future if we ourselves would use it as our guidance, our source of hope, and our primary weapon against the forces of pervasive, perverted liberal democracy. This is the only, true and befitting tribute we can give her: protect the nation she has thrown her lot with and her whole life into.

And that might just stop the failed impersonator from “materializing” in our midst after 2010.

Gotham needs its true hero... "You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." I can do those things because I'm not a hero... I killed those people. That's what I can be... I am whatever Gotham needs me to be...

... Sometimes...the truth isn't good enough. Sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded.

- Batman, The Dark Knight



Creative Commons License
A Mother Not Like Any Other: Postscript to Cory Aquino by Hansley A. Juliano is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Philippines License.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Hinahabol A/NG Nakaraan

Isang di-mapigilang pagkabog ng dibdib. Tuloy-tuloy na daloy ng mapagbigay ng buhay na dugo na umaagos sa aking kalamnan, isipan at lahat ng kasu-kasuan.

Ganoon kita nakita sa iyong pagdaan sa pasilyo patungo sa dambanang kaytagal kong ninais marating nang kasama ka.

Napakatagal na rin noon... ilang taon? May ilang araw na rin iyon mula ng huling araw ng Agosto na tayo'y nagkita, nagkagalit, nagkasigawan at nakatanto ng matagal na nating itinatanggi sa isa't isa...

Ang tagal na kitang di nakikita... nasaan ka ba nitong mga nakaraang buwan?

Narito lang naman ako lagi e... ikaw lang ang hindi nakakakita sa akin. Alam kong masaya ka ngayong mga nakakaraang buwan, kaya naman iniisip ko na mukhang hindi mo naman ako kailangang makita para manatili sa tabi mo.

Anong sinasabi mo, tila may pag-aalinlangan mong tinuran. Bakit ang talim yata ng pananalita mo sa akin?

Matalim? Bakit, masakit na ba ako magsalita ngayon? Hindi na ba ako iyong kilala mo, yung taong lagi mong kukulitin kapag nahuhuli sa mga proyekto? Yung pagagalitan mo dahil hindi mo mahagilap kung kailan kailangang-kailangan ng magpuno sa pagkukulang ng iba? Yung kahit kailan mo naman tawagin ay bigla na lang lilitaw para sa iyo? May pait sa aking dila. Para saan at mag-aalala ka kung ganito ako? Hindi mo naman ako kailangan di ba? Alam ko, masaya ka ngayon, kaya nga pinipili ko ring maging masaya, para sa iyo, para rin sa sarili ko... kahit kahit anong gawin ko, hindi ko rin magawa.

Ano bang alam mo sa akin ngayon, ha? Bakit parang alam mo ang nangyayari sa akin? Akala mo ba masaya akong nahihirapan sa bawa't ginagawa ko? Akala mo ba ninanais ko ang buhay na ito? Alam mo namang hindi ko ninais to di ba? Alam mong kung ako ang papipiliin wala ako dito sa takbo ng buhay na ito, dahil hindi ako natutuwa! Kung totoong alam mo kung ano ang nararamdaman ko hindi ka ganyan magsalita ngayon...

Paano ko nga ba mauunawaan kung hindi mo naman ako kailangan? Ayoko ipagsiksikan ang sarili ko sa buhay ng taong mahalaga sa akin kung hindi naman niya ako pinapahalagahan... alam mo ba kung gaano kahirap sa akin gawin iyon, dahil ayaw kita masaktan, kahit bawa't gabi lalo lang pumapait ang pakiramdam ko?

Ikaw lang ba ang nahihirapan? Bakit, sa palagay mo ba hindi kita hinahanap? Hindi ko magawa, dahil maraming pumipigil sa akin. Hindi madali sa akin ang hanapin ka, dahil baka ako lang din ang masaktan. Antagal na kita hinihintay bumalik. Pero lalo mo lang ako sinasaktan...

Oras ko naman ngayon para matameme... ang tanga-tanga ko pala.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Narito ka na, palapit ka na sa akin, pero tila naninimdim ang paningin ko... nagdidilim ang paligid ko. Nalulusaw ang paligid, ang dambana, ang mga bulaklak, ang mga tao, ang liwanag nawawala sa aking paligid... lahat liban sa iyo, papalapit, papalapit, papalapit...
... sa kabilang dulo, ang dambana, naroon, ang lahat, naroon, ang ilaw, ikaw, papalayo, papalayo, papalayo, papalayo, papalayo... hintay, saglit, hintay!

Nakita kitang inabot ang kamay niya, ang taong matagal ka nang hinihintay, pero hindi ako, iba, itim ang suot niya, maputla ang balat, kulay tala ang buhok... hindi ko maaninag, hindi ko makuha ang kanyang titig... nguni't nababasa ko ang nais niyang sabihin.

HULI KA NA.

HULI KA NA.

HULI KA NA.

HULI KA NA.

HULI KA NA.

HULI KA NA.

HULI KA NA.

HULI KA NA.

At narinig ko na lamang ang isang tili sa kalayuan. Matinis, malinaw, nanghihilakbot. At ang huli ko na lamang naramdaman ay isang mainit at basang butas sa aking kaliwang dibdib at ang maamo mong mukha't mga kamay na tila itinigil ng panahon, ang iyong mala-anghel na kasuotan ay nabahiran ng pulang karimlan, ng buhay na inagaw sa aking mga kalamnan.

- Isang panaginip, Agosto 4, 2009 Mula alas-nuwebe ng gabi ng nakaraang araw hanggang alas-dos ng madaling araw na ito

~O~O~O~

You are far apart because you both do not know what to do and what you want. You are apart from her because you are not yet clear with your purpose, and you are being held aback by time. She, on the other hand, is not even clear on what she is looking for.

- Isang hula, Agosto 3, 2009
Mula sa isang nakakatandang kaibigan

~O~O~O~

Postscript: marahil tunog nagbuhat ang sulating ito mula sa isang nag-flop na telenobela, pero hindi ko rin alam kung paano ko ipapaliwanag ito. Totoo ang panaginip na ito. At magpasahanggang ngayon, hindi ko malaman kung paano ko ito dapat harapin, o kung anong kilos ba ang nararapat kong tunguhin.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Luhang Karayom

Hindi kita inaantay ngayong umaga ito
ng ilang ulit na alalahanin.
Ayaw kong maramdaman ang dampi
ng iyong matutulis na dulo.
Nguni't lumitaw ka.

Matapos mo akong lunurin sa alimuom
ay bigla kang lilisan
At isasabog sa akin ang walang-wawang
sinag ng araw ng alangaang
Na saki'y sumusunog.

Sapagka't ang pagdilig mo sa aking bayan
ay hindi hiningi
Nguni't nagdudulot sakin ng di-kawasang hapis;
ngayong kami'y nilisan
Ng isang inang naipit sa gitna.

Sa akin ay iyong pinaalalang walang paglimot
kung bakit ang puso ko
Kahit umiiwas, ay sakbibi ng panibagong kirot
Lalo't ang pagsintang iwinaksi
Tila magbabalik upang bigyang muli ng pait.

Hindi kita nais makita.

Hindi kita nais makita.

Hindi kita nais makita.

Hindi kita nais.

Hindi kita nais.

Hindi kita.

...

Nais.

Kita.

Makita.

Sapagkat.

Ikaw.

Ang.

Bunga.

Ng.

Paglayo.

Plurk