Oda Sa Kape

Naaalala ko lamang sa iyong halimuyak
ang mga alaala ng isang hacienda
Lunan ng mga multo ng encomienda
Na sumisikil at nag-iipit
Sa aming mga amang kuba na sa bukid
Sunog sa init ng araw, utak ay tinunaw
Habang ang salaping aming ninais
Ay hindi sumapat kahit kailan
Kahit pa pinag-usapan
At sa bawa't pagsipsip ng likidong
Nakuha mula sa mga buto ng ani
Ay inyong sinasaid ang aming dugo
Na matagal nang dinilig ang lupang ito
sa oras ng pagsusumikap
Sa panahon ng pagkamkam at paglipol sa amin
Kaya sa tuwing ako'y makakatikim
Ng mapait na nektar na iyan
Ako'y sumusumpa sa bawa't patak
Na ang katarunga'y sasakanila
Kungdi ang mga sugat ay aantak.

Ang Maglakad Habang May Bitbit Na Rosas

May mga pagkakataong kailangan magsama-sama ang mga hindi dapat magsama para may sumabog at lumabas ang isang hiyas. Parang paglikha lang ng granada: mga kemikal na hindi talaga pinagsama ng kalikasan pero ginagamit natin sa pagmina ng mga mahahalagang bato. Kaya eto, nagbabalik ang inyong sabog na blogger upang muling magtala ng mga pananaw sa buhay.

Sa tagal ko ring hindi nakapagsulat tungkol sa kalagayang pangkaraniwan, para uli akong natututong magsulat ng a-ba-ka-da. Para uli akong ginagabayan kung paano humakbang gamit ang mahihinang yapak. Para uli akong natututong magmahal.

Simulan natin sa isang awiting matagal nang hindi naririnig ng mga bata ngayon:

Ang problema natin, kung tutuusin, hindi naman ang kawalan ng magagawa sa buhay. Sa totoo lang, masyado nga yata tayo maraming ginagawa sa buhay kaya nga tuloy hindi na natin maisipan ang maglakad. O sa ganoong pananaw, ang magmuni-muni ukol sa mga bagay-bagay na napapansin sa ating paligid. Dala ito ng agam-agam nating tayo'y mahuhuli sa ating mga tungkulin o, kung hindi man, ay ang mabalaho/magulo sa ating mga sariling suliraning dinadala at hindi maiwan sa bahay o sa pook ng trabaho.

Kagaya nito. Binilinan ako ng aking gurong si G. Rene Raneses na magsanay magsalita ukol sa isang salita nang walang tigil sa loob ng 20 minuto para maayos ko ang aking sabog na paraan ng pagsasalita. Pero sinira ang aking konsentrasyon sa pagsubok magsalaysay sa halaga ng tsokolate sa ating kasaysayan nang makita ko ang mukha nina Willie Revillame at ni Georgina Wilson na magkasama sa billboard ng Bench. Maski nga si Ms.Lia Cruz, hindi napalagay. Kumbaga, parang I Love You, Goodbye lang ito:

Naghahalikan sina Gabby Concepcion at Angelica. Ano na nga bang spelling ng DOM? Ang tunay na lalake, hindi gumagamit ng Lucida. Tanginang kumot yan lagi na lang may kumot na nakatakip kay Angelica Panganiban.

~O~O~O~

Mga ganoong kawirduhan, ganoong kasabugan, bilang halimbawa lang, ang nararanasan ko sa lahat ng kamalasan at stress na inabot ko sa loob ng mahigit magpipitong linggong pagbalik ko mula sa bakasyon tungo sa lahat ng proyektong pasakit ng ulo. Medyo lumaki ang dissonance ng aking kakayanang mag-isi at magsulat lalo't nasanay yata akong nagtatala gamit ang laptop. Hindi ko na tuloy magagawa ang aking proyekto na mag-contribute sa mga posibleng maging Festschrift nina Fr. Luis David o ni Sir RR. At ano ang mas nagdusa? Ang aking pagsusulat. Daig pa ang kinahig ng manok. Sa isang banda, hindi na ko mahahassle ng mga humihiram ng tala pag lumiban sa klase at kailangan gumawa ng absence report. Sa kabilang banda... yun na nga. Hindi na ko makakatulong sa kaklase bilang mabuting kaibigan. Labo.

Dahil din dito siguro, lutang din akong parang signifier sa buhay ngayon. Hindi ko rin malaman ang identidad ko, papalit-palit ang nais ko ngayon sa buhay. Minsan iisipin ko maging Jesuita, at magagalit naman ang aking pamilya dahil ako nga naman ang pumilit sa kanilang suportahan ang aking layon mag-abugasya. Minsan (actually, hindi minsan, halos araw-araw) iisipin ko nang magbigti o magpatiwakal para takasan ang lahat ng punyetang responsibilidad na hindi marunong ilugar ang kanilang sarili nang hindi sabay-sabay. Ewan ko rin, nagtataka ako kung paano nga ba ako nakarating sa puntong ito na hindi marunong ng time management o organisasyon ng buhay (kahit sabi noon ang galing ko daw dito. Mukhang wrong perception nga). Minsan iisipin kong seryosohin ang panliligaw (o pagbigyan ang mga nagpapaparamdam [KAPAL LANG, HUNGHANG, PARANG MERON, ANG KAPAL LANG] sakin), pero iisipin ko rin, makakasira lang ako pareho ng buhay ko at nung babae. (Sa kabila ng kabaklaan ko sa katawan hindi ko pa feel magpakamujer).

Kaya siguro mas trip ko na lang ang magpakalat ng bulaklak sa mga kaibigan. Dahil sa totoo lang, parang cheap thrill na ang Valentines sakin sa mga ganitong pagkakataon. Para masabi na lang ba na may binigyan (o kung hindi man, para naman pagtibayin ang mga mabuting pagkakaibigan, sa seryosong paraan). Lalo na siguro, siya na dapat kong binigyan talaga ng isang pumpon ng pulang rosas ay hindi ko na yata talaga makakasalubong sa loob ng silid-aralan upang makasama at sana, mahalin. Taeng kamalasan. Naghahanap ka sa labas, hinahanap mo sa loob, e bakit kasi naghahanap kung ang pag-ibig talaga ay darating na lang basta? Exactly. Ang dahilan ko, BASTA. At sabi ni Roberto Guevara: "kapag dumating ka na sa puntong BASTA, pag-ibig na yan." Kaya anlabo. Kaya putang-ina. saka na nga lang kaya.

Mukhang te-take 2 ako ng guidance counseling. At sa dami din naman ng problema ng bansang ito, na tungkulin kong labanan at panindigan bilang mag-aaral ng politika at nagsusumikap maging tunay na aktibistang mamamayan, sana nga ganito lang kadali pagsabayin:

"Ako'y nangangarap na ika'y makasama
Taglay ang pangakong iingatan kita
Ang ganda mong nahubog sa piling ng masa
Hinding-hindi kukupas, di malalanta;
Gaya ng pag-ibig, na alay ko sinta..."

"Ako'y nagagalak at tayo'y nagkasama
Sa bawa't pangarap, sa piling ng masa
Magkahawak-kamay sa pakikidigma
Para sa isang lipunang malaya;
At isang pag-ibig, tunay at dakila..."

Para sa mga nag-iisa (at iniwan) at mga nangagarap magmahal, siguro isabuhay muna natin yung kagaguhang pantasya ng mga istoryador na hindi puwede magkaasawa si Rizal dahil "kasal siya sa bayan." Minsan, sabi nga ng mga pilosopo, kailangan pairalin ang kalokohang paniniwala sa TRANSCENDENSIA para magkaroon pa tayo ng romantisismong lumaban kahit wala nang pag-asa sa ilang pagkakataon.

Patuloy lang tayo magmahal.

To the Ends of Eternity (Or Why Love is Timeless and Time Cannot Diminish Love)

Perhaps we can set the parameters so that we know what understanding of love we are operating from, and thus we can see whether it is affected by time or it affects our perception of time. Through this exercise, I might actually propose the definition that love makes time pass (sometimes irrelevant as a whole) yet time cannot make love pass.

A definition of true love is provided via M. Scott Peck, as "not a feeling by which we are overwhelmed [but] a committed, thoughtful decision." (Th 131 Sourcebook, 42). We might be going counter to the set statements in class that "love is not a conscious choice," but perhaps we can nuance it better to arrive at a reconciliation.

We say that love is not a conscious choice because more often than not, our perception of love is that which is something beyond our plans, and something that cannot be planned. Similar to that philosophical concept of bulagang heto ako (people, please help me out who actually made this concept as I have not been studying that tradition under my philosophy classes), the presence of love is something that simply manifests itself, calls you when it deems right (even if you believe it is not because of your own plans and commitments) .

Nonetheless, love is something that does not forces itself, as mentioned by the Apostle Paul in this Sunday's gospel: "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." Despite being a non-conscious choice when you are the one being handed the loving relationship, it becomes a committed choice once you enter it. Perhaps it is no wonder that Theology professor Roberto "Bobby" Guevara (as related to me by my seniors) would characterize it this way: "Kapag dumating ka na sa puntong ang dahilan mo e BASTA, pag-ibig na yan."

True, the acts of love (or rather, those acts that make a loving relationship truly loving for reinforcing mutual growth) is bound by time and space, but how can one say that love ends at a certain point in time (unless the object of love is already in another state [i.e. DEAD], which terminates the validity of the loving relationship already)? King Solomon has made that clear in Ecclessiastes 9: 5-6 that a loving relationship perishes in our demise. But the intensity of that feeling does not die, and it may well be love despite that.

The devotion to the memory of a deceased loving husband and continuing their vocations is applauded by Paul, and loving such an abstraction is almost similar in line to the vow of chastity that our ordained brothers and sisters have chosen. They shower their love to Christ and His body, the Church: love of an abstraction that is rendered concrete each day of loving service.

Our existence in the concrete world renders us unable to measure abstractions, as the question on the proportionalist heresy on our discussion of sin has shown. To say that time has made the loving relationship cold and almost non-existent is already the responsibility of those in the relationship: they were not vigilant to keep the embers of their relationship alive.

We can, however, confuse loving feelings for some intense emotions. UP Professor Rolando Tolentino (in his book "Sipat Kultura") and Fr. Nono Alfonso, S.J. (in the homily at the end of the Vocation Seminar I attended this Sunday) both expressed our propensity to "be unable to distinguish love from hatred." It is perhaps in those conditions that we think that love can die down, because we view love as a simple emotion, something rooted in our appetites, which it is not.

Let it not be said that love is rendered cold and dissipated by long existence. A true loving relationship renders death, and the bounds of time and space, irrelevant. The presence of love in a relationship only disappears when both parties have become unable of loving, maybe through death or mutual understanding of failure. To hold on to a love that was faithful but severed by death is possible, but nonetheless should not be indulged too much lest it stymie the growth of the person left behind.

Phoenix Plumes

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for returning to me my pen. I have longed to speak and yet you deemed it fit for me to rest my weary brain. Through the hope of a vocation, may I once more take it up and write, in omnibus amare et servire et Domino; ad majorem Dei gloriam.

Epitaph to Two Years

Dear blog,

I have definitely neglected you for quite some time now. You might have had the impression that I left you and my desire for writing with the end of the year 2009. Let me say that is not true. I only have been undergoing a rigorous regimen trying to understand the problems that I have faced all my developed life. Like someone undergoing pregnancy, there is a need for me to desire and wait and hope and battle out whatever challenges are coming to me and hopefully, I could come back and make things new. I know, good friend (together with the handful of readers that I might have attracted), that my inkwell is dry and reserved for the routinary purposes of my discipline. I know how I have lost touch with my muses and my desire for expression, only using you as a pulpit to mount when I need to make a point. I have stayed with you for these two years. How long has it been? Yet I abandoned you without notice, without much reflection, in circumstances I could have foreseen but did not prevent.

So, as a word of notice, I am silently withdrawing from the blogosphere for some time. I hope this respite will not mean the end of my online journal, but I do believe I need to recuperate. I need to write once again not just because of routine, but because I hope to once again make beautiful music of prose with you.


Here is a plea, which I hope most of you would understand not by mind but by heart.


Not a word, not a command, please.
Silence, an eternity of slumber, do not deny me.

I have worked all my life, written everything,
Said everything, praised everything, condemned everything,
Seen most things, heard most things, smelled things,
tasted things, felt a few things.

I have lived as I am supposed to live
A pathetic lump of dust, a mole in the distance.

I have laughed as men do
I have cried as those who mourn
I have gritted teeth in rage
I have lamented in losses
I have shouted in triumph
I have groaned in defeat
I have exalted those who strove
I have slandered the worthless

Yet I do not know who I am.

An officer. Student. Tutor. Fellow. Friend.
Enemy. Competitor. Bastard. Douchebag.
Judge. Warrior. Slanderer. Murderer.
Philosopher. Scholar. Dumbass. Idiot.
Amateur. Professional. Ne'er-do-well. Genius.
Comrade. Criminal. Marshall. Prisoner.

I have been called many names.

I sought for one that I would carry all my life.

I have not found it.

A man with no name.
Therefore of all names.
A man with no hope.
Therefore of all faiths.
A man with no life.
Therefore of all tombs.

I have long forgotten Your Judgment and Your Plan.
Enough of Judgment and Plans. Enough of your good-for-nothing
demand for sacrifices which You do not appreciate anyway.
Why continue a covenant when You do not fulfill your part?

It's always about us. What about You?!
Someone created You: do not deny that.

One flicker of light is denied.
One puff of breath stolen.
One whiff of flowers hidden.
One lick cut short.
One kiss blown to nothingness.