Biernes Santo

 

Natapos na an gabos na pabasa

Sa barangay ngonyan na Huwebes Santo.

Maimbong an huyop kan duros,

Nag-aagda sako para maglamaw sa turogan.

Sa harong na malinig, mahalnas, makintab,

Naeenganyar akong maghurop-horop nanggad

Kan gabos kong nagkagirinibuhan—magpoon

Kan nag-aging Biernes Santo kan sarong taon

Asta ngonyan—penitensya ko an maihatag sa iba

An gabos na maitatao—boot, bu-ot,

Kapakumbabaan, pag-intindi, pasencia,

Kasimplehan, pagtiwala o kumpiyansa

Libertad, leyaltad, kusog, kalag.

Mahigos an isip kong maghurop hurop

Kan sadiring sala. Kaya dawa dai pa ngani

Nakabayad nin income tax—mayong tawong

Mamimirit na singilon ako kan sakong moroso

O ano pa man na kautangan ta an mga ini

Binayadan na—ako binalukat na

Kan sarong tawong nagsakit, pinasakitan

Ginadan—haloy nang panahon

Sa Kalbaryong sakong dinudulag-dulagan.

 

 

Bitoon, Jaro, Iloilo

Good Friday 2008

 

Sa Mga Huring Aldaw kan Marso

Sa mga huring aldaw kan Marso, maimbong na an paros hali sa bukid kan Buyo—minahugpa ‘ni sa mahiwason na natad kan eskuwelahan abot sa may parada, asta magsabat ini kan maaringasang duros hali sa baybayon kan San Miguel Bay sa may parte nang kamposanto.

Sa panahon na ini, duros an makapagsasabi kun ano an mga disposisyon kan mga tawo sa Bagacay—kadaklan sainda mahayahay, an nagkapira trangkilo sagkod maboboot, pero an iba man maiinit an pamayo ta kulang—o minsan sobra—sa karigos.

Kun ika tubong Bagacay, pamilyar na saimo an mga pangyayari sa palibot kan sadit na banwaan na ini—an kasiribotan, an kariribukan, o maski ano pa man—aram aram mo na an mga likaw kan bituka kan mga tipikal na ka-barangay. Mabibisto mo an kakaibang parong kan duros, mamamati mo an aringasa sa tinampo ta bantaak an saldang. Mabibisto mo man an korte kan niisay man maski na ngani nagdadangadang pa sana siya sa tinampo, ta an amyo kan tunay na buhay mahihiling sagkod maiintidihan mo sa lambang istoryang ini.

An aking daraga sa kataid na harong na nagpasuweldo sa Manila maduang taon na man bago nakauli giraray—mapution na an kublit pag-abot ta an tubig sa Nawasa halangkaw an chlorine content—nom! Dai na lugod nabisto kan kaklaseng nagdalaw sa harong ninda. Sa Martes ang balik ko sa Kuba-o. mabait naman ang mga amo ko—pinapasine nga ako pag Sabado, kasama ko ang kanilang matuang babae. Let the Love Begin nakita ko si Richard Gutierrez saka baga si Angel Locsin, pangit man pala siya sa personal. Nom! Nagtatagalog na! Pag sinisuwerte [o minamalas] ka man nanggad talaga!

An mag-inang parasimba nakaatindir pa kan pagbasbas kan mga palmas. An mag-irinang hali pa sa Cut 12 [basa: kat dose] mapasiring sa kapilya sa boundary pa kan Iraya para duman mapo’nan an entirong pagpangadie sa mga santo. Linakad kan mag-irina an mainiton na tinampo hali sa harong ninda antos duman sa malipot na baybay harani sa kapilya. Nag-uurunganga pa si mga ibang aking kairiba ta pigguguruyod man na yan kan relihiyosang ina. Bara’go pa man an mga bado ta iyo man an ginaramit kan mga eskwela durante kan closing sa eskwelahan—alagad muru’singon na an mga aki

An mga aki kan mga mayaman na pamilya sa may pantalan nag-uruli man. Tulong awto an dara pero dai pa nanggad kumpleto ta si tugang na abroader dai nakahabol sa biahe haling airport. An dakulang pagtiripon kan pamilya madadagos ta madadagos nanggad maski na ngani hururi an ibang miembros kan pamilya. Hain na daw si mga makuapo na nag-ayon sa mga ralaban sa UNC; o si sarong pinsan niya man nanggana sa arog kaining contest sa Colegio. Haraen yan! Padirigdiha lamang daw ta mag-iristorya kan saindang mga maoogmang nagkagirinibo. Ay, iyo, hay, magayonon an trophy sa UNC. May kwarta man ni, ano? Hahahahaha! Iyo man po. Thanks very much and I love you all and gabos ini po saindo, Lola!

Igwang bayaw na nag-uli hali sa siyudad—an agom na iyo an tugang kan pinsan may darang ba’gong omboy na primerong pakadalaw sa mga apuon. Napoon pa sana man an duwa sa pagpapamilya kaya padalaw dalaw pa sa mga magurang kan esposa. Cute-on baga si baby, hay? Sain mo ni Manay pinangidam? Cute-on. Bebe, bebe… O Rosalyn, nuarin na an bunyag ki Nonoy? Imbitari man daw nindo kami, puwede man pating magtubong si Dorcas! Saen na ngani si apartment nindo, Glen? Sa Calauag baga, bakong iyo? Itukdo mo ki Lino tanganing aram niya pagduman. Iyo po, Ma.

Igwang mag-ilusyon na dai makatios na dai magkahirilingan ta si urulayan sa Katangyanan dai nagkadaragos ta pinugulan si daraga kan inang may hilang.

Maski an sarong tiyo-on na igwa pang kulog boot sa mga sadiri niyang tawo ta dai sinda dai nagkairintidihan sa kontratang pinag-urulayan, magkakaigwa pa siya nin panahon para tapuson an ika 14ng altar na portrait kan Mesias—na nagpapahiling kan pagdara kan bangkay ni Mesias sa lubungan ni Joseph kan Arimatea. An mga materyales na ginamit para sa abaanang magagayon niyang obra maestra dinonaran pa man hali sa simbahan kun sain siya lektor. An taon-taon niyang panata napapadagos nin huli sa huyo kan saiyang boot, sa pagpangadie niyang daing ontok, nagngangayong dai man lugod pabayaan nin Kagurangnan an saiyang pamilya na ngonyan nagdadakula na ta an saindang maboot na manugang-agom kan mahigos niyang matua—maaki na kan saindang panduwa. Siisay pa man daw an mas masuwerte sa mga tawong ini?

Nagsisiribot an sarong pamilya sa Banat ta iyo an toka ninda sa prusisyon sa Via Crucis, maharanda ta mapa-basa—mapatarakod nin kuryente sa mga harong na igwang mga linya nin Casureco, para dayuhon an pabas[og]. Aaaaaaa, si Eba natentaran kan demonyong halas kaya kinakan niya si prutas kan poon na ipinagbawal ni Bathala. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, kaya an gabos na tawo nagkasa-la-la-la. Daraha na daw digdi mga salabat sa nagbabarasa-kansubago pa iyan! Aaaaaaa….

Sarong gurangan na kantorang taga Iraya, na agom kan sarong mahigos na Cursillista—sinubol si mga aki niyang daraga para magkanta sa Via Crucis magpoon sa kapilya antos sa Calle Maribok dangan pabuwelta—alagad atakado an pamayo ta dai magkakurua kun haraen na an mga daraga. Haraen na sa Imelda? Si Belinda? Pasugoi na daw ta si mga aki duman, iwaralat mu’na digdi. Ta diputang agom yan ni Belinda! Nagpaparainum na naman sa may ka–Tampawak? Ta kun ako pa an mapauli diyan sa bayaw mo, titibtiban ko talaga man nanggad yan! Mayo na sana man maginibo pakakatong-its, mainom! Susmaryosep! Noy, paulia na ngani si Manoy mo! Sarong parasira pagkatapos niyang magpangke—mala ta nakadakul sinda kan bayaw niya kansubanggi—sa may tanga’ sagkod sa rarom sa may parteng Caaluan sagkod Tinambac—nagdesider na mag-pasan kan krus sa Via Crucis. An solterong ini haloy na man nagsisigay-sigay sa aki ni Balisu’su’. Pero korontra baga an sadiri niyang tawo ta diyata gusto man nindang makahanap nin trabaho ini sa Cavite. Dai man ngani nag-anom na bulan baga—nagbuwelta ngani ta garo nagkairiyo na man sagkod an maputi-putting aking daraga ni Balisu’su’. Ano man baya an nahiling mo diyan Polin sa aki ni Tsang Sining? Bados na gayod si Joralyn?

Ciudad Iloilo, Abril 2009

Life With America

The music of Dewey Bunnel, Gerry Beckley of the folk group America has affected my sensibility all these years. Playing my pirated copy of their greatest hits has not failed to amaze me and for life, I think, it won’t.

Inspector Mills
The unnamed cricket in this song has been my and Nene’s friend ever since. In the ‘80s, I and Nene had great time listening to such sound when Manoy Awel played the song to lull us to sleep because Mama would arrive later in the night because she still worked in her father’s house that hosted Cursillo classes, a three-day Christian renewal made famous to most Catholics through her father’s and his family’s efforts. What else was there to say? We couldn’t ask for more. It was just fine even if Mother was not there when we slept. We were lulled to sleep in my dear brother’s bed. Though I never saw the cricket in my dreams, I had something else that made me just sleep on it. The cruel nights without Mother were with one tender brother, Manoy Awel.

Special Girl
One particular Jenny would come to mind whenever I played this ballad during my board work as disc jockey in FBN’s DWEB-FM back in 1996. Once I knew one special girl. And I must have played this song many times for her—without her knowing it— without her knowing anything at all. What did I do? As if I could ever tell her anything when we worked together for the English department’s pathetic newsletter. Or that something mattered more than the verses which I’d hand to her after Rudy Alano’s class. In fact, nothing special happened in that lazy afternoon while Enya’s Shepherd Moons played in the DevCom laboratory. How could she ever know?

I Need You
I never liked this song. I never wanted to listen to it; I always skipped this cut. The funeral tempo makes me paler. It embarrasses me to no end. “Like the flower needs the rain... you know I need you.” As the song goes on though, in times when I could not help but not skip a shuffle setup, things start to make sense. The second voice sounds clearer and it’s the one I’d hear. The voice spells my detached involvement in the dismal situation presented by the singer. And the litany of “I” needing “you” simply fades senselessly. After engaging me to listen to one heart’s song, it drops me nowhere. This song is the ugliest in the album.

Sand Man
Since the day my college buddy Arnold Pie sang its lyrics—“Ain’t it foggy outside…” then the mention of the “beer” in the song—which must have reminded him of something in his young drinking life, I became curious about the song. But the slow introduction hasn’t appealed to me much; my illogical prejudice against anything unfamiliar because it’s something Western did not at all help me appreciate the song. One day after we found out ourselves that we’re working again in the same corporate complex in Pasig, I realized we have yet to have these unconsummated “bottley” and bubbly sessions—for some issues in the past that were never addressed, the time when we badly needed each other’s company but never did because we could not. Either we had no time or did have much of it.

You Can Do Magic
When cousins Shiela and Achie mastered the steps and strutted and danced with verve and grace in one of our reunions to the tune of this song, I was amazed by such a spectacle. They even knew the lyrics. Do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, and “when the rain is beating upon the window pane and when the night [it] gets so cold and when I can’t sleep, again you come to me, I hold you tight [and] the rain disappears; who would believe it? With a word, you dry my tear… You can do magic… You can have anything that you desire…” The show of my cousins just went on, and it’s still going. Now, the London-based Achie, an overseas nurse, just cannot help but do magic with her work; all her toil and diligence are simply paying off. Her generous earnings now can indeed help her have anything that she and her folks desire—new car, new house in the city, and hundreds of euro-pean possibilities for her siblings.

Right Before Your Eyes
My cousin Jokoy—who has adored anything Western from Vanilla Ice to HBO to Michael J. Fox to Sean Connery—knows the lyrics by heart, or at least the “revolving doors” part. We used to listen to it in Bong’s room in Naga, which he then acquired when his Ania Bong went to Manila. Of course, the Life pictures of Rudolph Valentino flashed in my mind, and Greta Garbo stared at me like there’s no tomorrow—a haunting photograph of one celebrity whom I hardly met. I scowl at the thought that I could hardly relate to them. I have yet to live a diamond life like them to simply live. Though no other memory follows, “do- do-do-do-do makes much sense. And emotion? Er.

A Horse With No Name
Effortlessly, I imagine the Assembly Hall of my Ateneo High School, where I picture the city, the sea, and the horse finding itself after being freed by the person who rode him. The original radio version—and not the live version—renders more sensibility. I also sing along this one of the longest codas to date—la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la” “After nine days, I let the horse run free ‘cause the desert has turned to sea.” There were plants and birds and rocks and things…” and many other things. I have yet to see these hundreds of things which I have long thought as an overachiever in high school. I have yet to free my own horse, though my deserts have long become oceans of uncertainties.

Never Be Lonely
This is my recent favorite—my pirated anthology is a rare find because it has this cut. When I was younger, this was hardly played over the local FM radio stations. My cousins who had the LP because their father was an avid fan would know better. “Got you by my side, I’d never be lonely; got you by my side, I’d never be afraid.” Never be lonely tells me that I am. I even once sang along accidentally, “Got you by my side, I’d rather be afraid.” This after realizing many times how relationship with someone makes you feel more alone than being literally alone. The song is a futile attempt to avoid being sucked into an emotional vacuum.

Tin Man
The impressive introduction plus the cool mumbling of brilliant lyrics prods this genius composition. Of course, I hardly knew the lyrics especially—tropic of Sir Galahad, soap sud green light bubbles, oh, oh… Oz never did nothing to the tin man”—“ but the tempo, the music is enough for me to like it. And adore anything that went with it, including all subconscious memory it reminds me. The bubbly keyboards at the last part— plus the na na na na na simply define how life is beautiful. Yes. It’s amazing how ignorance [of the lyrics, of artist’s realities] makes you know too much [of your own, which are more essential things].

Sometimes Lovers
“Sometimes there are teardrops across your face; sometimes there are rainbows in the same place… I don’t which way to turn.” “Lovers hiding in the covers of innocence and pain. No love, no pity in this town.” Of course, Jokoy always festered me with this relationship with Anna, one that mattered to him more because he did not like her for me. Or he preferred other girls for me. This sad song is sadder because I just cannot seem to relate to it because a certain Maria cannot just be it. After hurling the worst and best curses and cusswords in the world which tore both our hearts because they were swords that lashed out at our souls, nothing just seemed to matter more but ourselves apart, not ourselves together. The bridge—hold on tight… oh, oh, oh—makes everything more intense—“I will lay beside you till the night is gone…” when? When? When? Sometimes, indeed the song makes you think of many other things, such as not being able to forgive yourself for anything you’ve done. And you just stop loving. You stop caring for anything. Something just dies. Something just happens abruptly as the final beat of the drum.

Daisy Jane
The plane is leaving. My Dulce Maria knows the setting so well. The lyrics she even braved to articulate to me and relished with me because she liked the song so well. And I think they were accurate, every time she’d leave me in this sordid city for her cozy Iloilo home. “Does she really love me I think she does. Like the stars above me, I know because...” There’s not much to say on these, because she’d left me many times in the airport. “But the clouds are clear and I think we’re over the storm…” And I just gave in many times that I have gotten used to I see her off every time she did. One time I did not. I did not choose to. I had reasons and I did something else after that. “Daisy I think I’m sane. And I guess you’re ready to play.” I did something that indeed made her leave. Since then, she has always left me every time.

Don’t Cross The River
Yes, I can hear the river; it’s burbling; and I can’t help but row on it. “There’s a little girl out lying on her own, she’s got a broken heart.” “She knows and plays it smart.” The drums and the guitars are the water streaming down the gorge so fast—in cadence with my heart—racing past something like a void, racing past a cracked rock serving no definite purpose comes any tide— high or low. I have always raced with something— perhaps a memory all the time. But never the present reality. The past always has a way to catch up with me. And I am always sinking, but I keep on singing, “don’t cross the river if you cant swim the tide…”

Ventura Highway
The road that one man traveled was paved and the day before him was too long—the sun stood long hours. The freeway was a winding road, a blind curve. Later that day he was killed around the bend. It was a wrong turn. He never came back. Where did he have to go? After all the numerous places I traveled and chose to travel, I have yet to see this one highway. After all those persons I have been given chances to meet, I have yet to find someone important who will have to make me see. Whatever happened to the father whom I never had, the one who would have rather told me that I can “change my name,” or the one with whom I can share some “alligator lizards in the air”? I have yet to meet him. One fine, long day.

Lonely People
The guitar introduction thrills me to no end. The low vocals—“this is for all the lonely people, thinking that life has passed them by”—never allowed me to know why I was literally lonely in those days after my mother died. I desperately listened to it in the afternoons when I was jobless and desperately seeking any work that would pay—after my scholarship’s graduation stipend were depleted, spent for mailing my essays and poems to Manila-based magazines, that never even saw much publication. Writing never did pay, and that time I hardly knew that it didn’t or that it could. “This is for all the single people, thinking that love has left them dry.” Yeah. What could be more heart-wrenching than being ignored by one Anna who could hardly care about how I chaliced her. Nothing follows. The guitars, keyboard, and the dismal vocals just had to fade. Please.

Muskrat Love, etc.
Unimaginable characters which could have just existed in my mind—never a reality—thus the vague memory. Does the character look like Stuart Little? Ben? Why is Sam skinny? Is Susie fat? Does it matter if she is? For one, I can’t care much. I can hardly relate. My other favorites “Stereo,” and “The Border” are not in my disc while “Jody” “Only In Your Heart,” “Sister Golden Hair,” “Woman Tonight,” and “You, Girl” have yet to present my own realities to me, if any.

A Good Year

 

It has been a good school year.

 

After some ten months of working and being with my high school students, I cannot help but look back to the good days.

 

Nothing has been more remarkable than the days lived with eager, wonderful students who made me realize a lot about many things. These are some of the many things I will not leave behind— these and other stories I will not ever trade for any other value in the world.

 

The Sapphire students whom I “advised” [I was their adviser for some two quarters, substantially] are a good, growing lot. Led by their president Ann Marielle, the class have already been lauded by their subject teachers who just find them easy, light and manageable.

 

For one, Sheena’s bubbly attitude complements her classmate’s love for humor. If at all, Sheena has enjoyed the mango float given by the class for a job well done during the Do Day—after tirelessly cleaning the classroom for almost a day, she and her classmates Kay and Pearl, to name a few, did not deserve anything less than that sumptuously delicious treat which they themselves prepared. Talk of being and acting out of [a strong sense of] independence—or more aptly, responsibility.

 

Along with the other boys, Ruzzel, Elton and Albert have all been a good part of the Sapphire team who have exuded the bright aura every Monday morning. This figured well especially in the flag ceremony leadership which was lauded by the school director, Dr. Biyo herself. I know the best is yet to come for them.

 

I appreciated my junior student Femm when she consulted me through a text message on a particular term in her Research paper. I was enjoying the Dinagyang night when she texted me, asking for the right word to use in her report. I was flattered that this junior student from Palawan counted me in as her dictionary. Fair and kind, she must have been flattered when I told her in front of her classmates that she has been very disciplined in my English class.

 

Meanwhile, I have always considered Femm's classmate Leonard’s amiable and warm company fairly enough to properly set the mood of the Lithium class. Along with the rest of the boys, his light and smiling face has not failed to set the best mood for the rest of his classmates. Perhaps one of the tallest boys in the batch, his optimistic countenance cannot simply go unnoticed, especially in his senior year.

 

Ever since I got to work with the scholpaper’s editors, I have always known Mark to have the critical eye. The boy’s meticulousness was confirmed to me by Mr. John Siena, Mark’s previous adviser who now works as superintendent in Sagay City. When we didn’t hear Mark’s name announced in the regional contest for editorial writing, I realized then that the boy is fit for some other, loftier things. He must have taken the editorial writing skill to heart, that in no time he rewrote his contest piece on Consumer’s Rights Act for the schoolpaper issue. He surely deserves an award for such an effort.

 

I am equally happy for Cynthia and Sofia, Mark’s fellow editors who laboriously took to editing the many articles of the schoolpaper. Though I could just be apologetic to Sofia in learning that her front-page article was “murdered” in the press—there is perhaps no one to equal Sofia’s enthusiasm to finish the work she is assigned to do, given the time constraints and a whole lot of other workload.

 

Their fellow senior Cynthia, meanwhile, is one success story—what with her all-out smile when she was cited for her outstanding performance in feature writing in the Punta Villa regional writing tilt last December. I relish in Cynthia’s newfound skill as she should be lauded for the two substantial feature stories—the school gym article and the coach’s story—that must have made the school aware and feel more privileged for such two blessings.

 

Also, I will remember the generosity of spirit of one Zeke, a Manila-born freshman who sustained the odds of being in a new environment, eager to learn new things and share life with his new found friends. Zeke’s politeness and composure have always amazed me to say that the boy is very well ahead and well prepared to undertake bigger tasks in the future. I believe he will do well and he can pull through.

 

Among other things, these are only some of the many stories—call them blessings—which I cannot trade for other values in the world. The days with my junior, senior and freshmen students will not be forgotten. I am sure they are here to stay wherever I go. As long as I live.

 

After some ten months of working and being with my high school students, I cannot help but look back now in regret. Regret because I do not intend to pass this way again—regret because I am finally calling it “quits”.

 

After all, it has truly been a good year.

 

How Public Like a Blog

I love blogging. It is my new found way of communicating especially now that I am away from my family and my familiar friends.

Even now with my new found friends in Iloilo, I make blogging count as an indispensable means of connecting with people, and staying connected with them in the truest sense of the word.

I maintain accounts in multiply, friendster, flickr and flixter. There I post pictures of the past—family photos, workplace, graduation, wedding, etc.

Now with my newly acquired, hard-earned digital camera, I post photos more often than I did in the past. Aside from having them published in the local dailies, I post online film and theater reviews, solicited and unsolicited commentaries on pressing issues, or just about any article I wrote.

Blogging has been a way of life for me since 2005, ever since I came to know friendster and began to love its wonders of communicating fast. It is soothing to know every single day—whenever I get to check my account, my contacts, or just about anyone online, have read my posts. What more can I ask for than reading the replies of my cousins, my high school students and even long lost friends, who found me on the net. They would reply about an old photo which I scanned and made available online, or an article which I have revised.

It is more wonderful to know that at least one person gets to visit my multiply site. I make it a point to attach photos with the text so that any reader would have one more reason to look it up. I also post pictures with social relevance. I take pictures of poverty in the marketplace, old age, and stuff like them. “Stark Realities” I call them. But these photojournalistic projects hardly elicit Internet surfers' attention—perhaps because they appeal to their conscience. These pictures incite pity in them or make them uncomfortable. Maybe, images of the poor and the underprivileged make them do something about which they cannot do anything significant.

Among the things I post online every now and then, the most number of visits would be in the family photos. For a set of photos in multiply.com, which I titled, “Portraits” or “Reunions” or “Bonds” or “Nonoy Mi” (Bikol phrase meaning Our Dear Son, Brother, Cousin), I have gotten almost 40 replies from my siblings, cousins and anyone else who viewed it.

As human nature would allow it, my friends online—brothers, sisters, cousins, etc.—usually reply to the posts about them—certainly not about my own privations and personal writeups.

Once I wrote an epic-length poem about my own hometown barangay Bagacay—one of my cousins was so moved that he wanted me to post more articles of that kind. My cousin Glen knew very well the Bagacay I was talking about--the sights and the sounds my words created evoked in him his own Bagacay experience.

Also, on my grandfather Clemente’s death anniversary, I wrote something about him—though I hardly knew much about him, except for the stories in the family which I recollected. My sister, brother, and cousins were so touched that they gave rave reviews and comments below it to the extent that they would want to read more about my other lolo—my maternal grandfather Emiliano “Meling” Saavedra.

I am amazed at the thought that—in the past, we would play taraguan [hide and seek] in Lolo Meling’s backyard from afternoon till dusk—never aware that one day we would really "find" each other somewhere else. Despite the fact that we “have gone everywhere” or “chose to hide” from each other, Internet and blogging--like the one I’m doing now--has been the best way for me to find my cousins and stay close to them.

Internet for me has been a way to preserve whatever family values I have retained—the phrase “family solidarity” for which my mother Emma is known to all of us, her children. As my sister Nene has cited in one of her online replies, she is so grateful to the Internet for keeping us together despite the distance between us. Especially she finds it so useful now that she has chosen to settle down and has started her own family now based in Bagumbong, a sleepy district bordering Caloocan City.

I cannot help but cry at every moving reply posted by my siblings or cousins online—about how they remember events in the past or how memories swell into them at the sight of the particular pictures I post. For every posting that my friends read and replied to, I feel a strong sense of fulfillment. I believe I get my good message across.

Homecoming, things in the past, and the like are my favorite subject. I write about and take pictures of the past. Not just because it is how I as a family member could recollect for myself the innocence I must have lost through the years—but also because through it, I and my siblings and cousins come together. Online like this, we share something which is hard to forget—in so doing we come to share ourselves. I am happy that when we do, that is simply unforgettable, especially now that we have gone everywhere.

If in the past, clan reunions would only happen during December or when mother’s youngest brother Uncle Tony arrives from Saudi Arabia, Oman, etc., now, a familiar company is very accessible in one click of the mouse.

Companionship is never a luxury anymore—I can easily reach family at my fingertips. With Internet—I, Nene, my brothers and my cousins—can be together, especially now that I am very far away from them. With blogging—with Internet and with all the wonders of digital technology, I connect with my family and friends in no time.

Online they get to know how I am faring. How I am doing. Online they get to know that most of the time I am not doing well. Online they get to know that, just like the Internet signal, most of the time, I flicker.