Mutiny and the Bounty

Coming to Iloilo City in 2005, something immediately caught my attention.

Passing General Luna Street, I saw streamers and makeshift tents in front of the University of San Agustin. From friends and new acquaintances I would learn that the union employees of the university were protesting unlawful acts committed by the administration against them and their members.

For the succeeding months, I would see [and read] these streamers denouncing the administration for having been unjust to the employees who had served the university for a period of time; the streamers and protests also raised a number of other issues against the administration.

It was the first time I saw a dramatic interplay between two forces going on. I would see the same setup, up to the time the streamers became soiled and muddied that I could not read the words in them anymore, or that I found them annoying—because they would block my view of the university.

But the sight only drew my attention and scrutiny.

Once, I saw a public meeting by a number of people in front of the university gates, rallying aloud for their concerns. From other people I would learn that the strike by the employees was without basis; and that some of them were reinstated in their service to the university; and that others were relieved from service.

It was only later—in the official statement of the university published in the local papers that the facts became clearer.  The court finally denied the legality of the employees’ mobilization against the university.

Even before the court handed down its decision, a friend confided to me once how he pitied the union employees because despite legal assistance, their acts and even the subsequent measures they took were baseless, lacking ground and orientation. 

It does not require anyone to be a lawyer to understand an issue like this. It is easy to articulate how and why these things are made of, only if we were more than observant. 

For one, unrest in the labor sector might stem from people’s discontent. Administration, any status quo, for that matter, naturally defends itself because it normally conducts matters with much discretion and decorum, and utter deference to the people it serves—thus, its confidence in the manner of doing things is simply effortless.

Meanwhile, social realities like labor unrest do not fail to interest artists because they involve the dynamic interplay between elements in the society. 

Scenarios like this must have given inspiration to age-old masterpieces as French naturalist Emile Zola’s Germinal, a turn-of-the-century novel about the miners’ unrest against their employers in a French coalmine. The same reminds me of Mike de Leon’s Sister Stella L., a film which looms large in the social realist genre.

Artists, writers, film directors, and people of similar occupations can consider the subject for a more incisive study, so they can later put forth something from which people can learn and be inspired further.

Such experiences merit a more incisive introspection, a careful study that renders more truth. 

If rendered more truthfully, their act of writing—the work itself created after having been moved, inspired or bothered by these realities—can make persons out of individuals, or turn souls out of institutions.

Ki Protacio, Gadan Sa Edad Na 38

Garo man nanggad ribo-ribong dagom an duros ngonyan na banggi—siring sa ginhalâ niya saimo kaidto. Tinuturusok kan kada panas an pusikit mong kublit; kinikiriblit ka; pinapasalingoy na paminsaron mo idtong mga aldaw na dai kamo nagpopondo kangingisi. Kawasa ika an saiyang pirming binabangít—sa kapikunan na naturalisa mo, ika man biyóng naiingít; minangiriil sa sinasabi tungod sa imo kan bâbâ niyang matabil. An pagkamoot abaanang kapeligroso. Tibaad igwa kamong namate sa kada saro poon kadto—kung kaya an puso mo nawaran nin diskanso. Siya man nagparalagaw, nagparatrabaho; kadakuldakul inasikaso; garong an iniisip nindo pirmi kun pâno makapalagyo. Mayo na siya ngonyan; sa mga kabukidan kan Kabikolan, igwang kung anong kapaladan an saiyang napadumanan; sarong aldaw sa Juban, kaiba kan saiyang mga kasama, siya ginadan kan saiyang mga kalaban. Mayo na siya. An parasuba sa buhay mo nagtaliwan na; mayo nang maolog-olog kan saimong ngaran; mayo nang malapaskan saimong mga kanigoan; mayo nang malangkaba kan saimong kamahalan. Bwelta ka na naman sa pangabuhi na tibaad igwang kamanungdanan. 

Sinurublian sa Hiligaynon 

ginhalâ, sinabi

paminsaron, pag-iisip

naiingít, nababalde

bâbâ, nguso

makapalagyo, makadulag

nagtaliwan, nagadan

Songs of Ourselves

Words and Music through Love and Life

Part 4 of Series

Besides my other brothers, Mentz has influenced my penchant for music, even as he has wonderfully sung and danced his way through love and life. 

Though he was not much of a child performer himself, he later has taken to the family program stage like a natural, class act as he has done to presiding matters for (the rest of) our family.

Years ago, I called him to be the Speaker of the House—i.e. our household—because he has hosted and also literally presided our family (gatherings) since 1996. One with a quiet and unassuming disposition, Mentz has always taken to the microphone as if it’s public performance.

Through the years, Mentz has been trained to become a very good public performer. At the Ateneo high school, he led the Citizens Army Training (CAT) Unit’s Alpha Company, a well-respected group finely chosen to parade to give glory to Ina (Our Lady of Peñafrancia) in September in Naga City.

Then in college, Mentz did not only win a Rotary-sponsored oratorical contest; he also served as junior representative in the college student council. And before graduating in 1994, he won a graduate scholarship at the University of the Philippines where he would later obtain his graduate degree. And because he went to Manila all ahead of us, I always thought he has been exposed to the world way before his time.  

In the late 80s and early 90s when he was making the transition from being a high school achiever to a college heartthrob at the Ateneo, Mentz played Kenny Rogers and Tom Jones on Manoy’s cassette tape. Sweet sister Nene and I would always joke at how he covered a singer's song better than the singer himself.

In those days, he deftly worded the first lines of “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town” as he cleverly impersonated the speaker in “The Gambler”—sounding more Kenny Rogers than the bearded country singer himself: "on a warm summer's evenin, on a train bound for nowhere..." For us, his siblings, no one did it better than Mentz. Not even Kenny Rogers.

Perhaps because I listened to him passionately crooning away Tom Jones’ “Without Love” that I also heard the lyrics of that song after the overnight vigil of the Knights of the Altar inside Room 311 of Santos Hall. I thought I was dreaming but it was in fact Mentz’s tape playing on my classmate Alfredo Asence’s cassette player. Truth be told, I could not do away with the passionate singing that I had carted away Mentz’s tape for that one sleepover in the Ateneo campus.

In 1995, Mentz brought Enya’s “The Celts” and Nina Simone’s collection to our new household in Mayon Avenue. He bought these tapes to fill in the new Sony component secured from Mama’s retirement funds. Most songs of these women sounded morbid but I loved them. Because I so much liked the voice that came and went in Enya’s “Boadicea,” I played it the whole day on my Walkman (which Mentz kindly lent to me) while writing my thesis on F. Sionil Jose’s Rosales saga.  

In early January of 1996, Mother would pass away.

When I played Nina Simone’s “Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair” one night during mother’s wake, one of my brothers asked me to turn it off. Perhaps it was too much for him to take. That black woman’s voice was too much to bear. But away from people, listening to these women’s songs did not only help me finish my paper; it also helped me grieve. 

Among others, Mentz adored Paul Simon’s “Graceland.” Because this was the time before Google could give all the lyrics of all songs in the world, Mentz knew the words to the song by listening to cousin Maida’s tape many times through the day. While every piece in the collection is a gem, “Homeless” struck a chord in me that years later, I would use it to motivate my high school juniors to learn about African culture and literature. Talk of how the South African Joseph Shabalala's soulful voice struck a (spinal) chord in both of us.

Years later, when we were all working in Manila, I heard him singing Annie Lennox’s “Why” and miming Jaya singing “Laging Naroon Ka.” At the time, I could only surmise that he was humming away his true love and affection which he found with his beloved Amelia, a barangay captain’s daughter whom he married in 2001.

With my sister Nene, the household of Mentz and Amy in Barangay San Vicente in Diliman would become our refuge in the big city. Though Nene and I worked and lived separately from them, it was where we gathered in the evening as a family. Even as Mentz and Amy gradually built their own family, their growing household has become our own family. Through years, it has not only become the fulcrum of our solidarity; it has also become the core of our own sensibility.

Many times, I would be told how Amy and Mentz would go gaga over live musical performances by their favourite local and foreign singers. Once they told me how they enjoyed the concert of Michael Bolton, whom the couple both loved. I would later learn that Amy had a very good collection of Bolton’s albums from “Soul Provider” to the greatest hits collection. I wouldn’t wonder about it even as I have always liked the white man’s soulful rendition of Roy Orbison’s “A Love So Beautiful” since the first time I heard it. (But I think I wouldn’t trade off the Roy Orbison original.)

Years have gone by fast, and three children have come as blessings to Mentz and Amy. Once I heard him singing with his firstborn Ymanuel Clemence singing Creed’s “With Arms Wide Open,” indeed their anthem to themselves. Yman, now a graduating high school senior, has likewise taken to performing arts as a guitarist and an avid singer of alternative rock and pop. Mentz’s firstborn is one soul conceived by his father’s love for lyrics and heartfelt melodies and his mother’s love for Michael Bolton and a host of many other soulful sensibilities.

With Yman, and now Yzaak and Yzabelle, their vivo grade-schoolers (like the rest of today’s youth who can hardly wait to grow up) singing the words of Daft Punk and Pharell Williams from the viral downloads on YouTube, this tradition of song and sense and soul is subtly being passed on, with each of us now and then singing our own ways through joy, through love and through life.

Songs of Ourselves

Words and Music through Love and Life

Part 2 of Series

Manoy Awel, our eldest brother, has had the biggest influence in each of us, his younger siblings. 

While brothers Ano and Alex strutted their way to get us equally break-dancing to Michael Jackson and his local copycats in the 1980s, Manoy’s influence in the rest of us, his siblings, is indispensable. Being the eldest, Manoy held the “official” possession of Mother’s pono (turntable) like the two Stone Tablets, where the songs being played later became the anthems among the siblings. 

On this portable vinyl record player, every one of us came to love the acoustic Trio Los Panchos, Mother’s favorite whose pieces did not sound different from her aunt, Lola Charing’s La Tumba number which she would sing during family reunions. 

In those days, Manoy would play Yoyoy Villame’s rpms alternately with (Tarzan at) Baby Jane’s orange-labeled “Ang Mabait Na Bata.” But it was the chorus from Neoton Familia’s “Santa Maria” which registered in my memory, one which chased me up to my high school years. 

Manoy’s pono music would last for a while until the time when there would be no way to fix it anymore. A story has been repeatedly told of how Manoy dropped the whole box when he was returning (or maybe retrieving) it from the tall cabinet where it was kept out of our reach. Here it is best to say that I remember these things only vaguely, having been too young to even know how to operate the turntable. 

Since then, we had forgotten already about the pono, as each of us, through the years, has gone one by one to Naga City to pursue high school and college studies.  

One day in November of 1987, Supertyphoon Sisang came and swept over Bicol. At the time, I was still in Grade 6 staying with Mother and brother Ano in our house in Banat; while my brothers and my sister were all studying in Naga.

The whole night, Sisang swooped over our house like a slavering monster, and in the words of our grandmother Lola Eta, garo kalag na dai namisahan (one condemned soul). The day before, we secured our house by closing our doors and windows. But the following morning, the jalousies were almost pulverized; the walls made of hardwood were split open; and the roofs taken out. But our house still stood among the felled kaimito, sampalok and santol trees across the yard.

Among other things, I remember brother Ano retrieving our thick collection of LP vinyl records. Most if not all of them were scratched, chipped and cracked. In a matter of one day, our vinyl records had been soaked and were rendered unusable. Ano, who knew art well ever since I could remember, cleaned them up one by one, salvaged whatever was left intact, and placed those on walls as decors. 

The 45 rpms and the LP circles looked classic like elements fresh out of a 1950s art deco. On the walls of our living room now were memories skillfully mounted for everyone’s recollection. And there they remained for a long time.

By this time, Mother had already bought a Sanyo radio cassette player which later became everyone’s favorite pastime.

Soon, Manoy would be glued to cassette tapes that he would regularly bring in the records of the 1980s for the rest of us. The eighties was a prolific era—it almost had everything for everyone. Perhaps because we did not have much diversion then, we listened to whatever Manoy listened to. On his boombox, Manoy played Pink Floyd, Depeche Mode, Heart, Sade, America and Tears for Fears, among a million others. Of course, this “million others” would attest to how prolific the 80s was.

In those days, Manoy recorded songs while they were played on FM radio stations. It was his way of securing new records; or producing his own music. Then he would play it for the rest of us. Music was Manoy’s way of cheering the household up—he played music when he would cook food—his perennial assignment at home was to cook the dishes for the family. 

Manoy loved to play music loud anytime and every time so that Mother would always tell him to turn the volume down. Most of the time, Manoy played it loud—so that we, his siblings, his captured audience in the household, could clearly hear the words and the melodies, cool and crisp.

While Mother and Manoy would always have to discuss about what to do about his loud records playing, we, the younger ones, would learn new sensibilities from the new sounds which we heard from the sound-box. We did not only sing along with the songs being played; we also paraded nuances from them which we made for and among ourselves. Out of the tunes being played and heard, we made a lot of fun; and even cherished some of them.

When we were very young, I remember hearing a cricket when Manoy played America’s “Inspector Mills” every night, which lulled my sister Nene and me to sleep. Nene and I asked him to play it all over again because we would like to hear the cricket again and again in the said song. (Later, I would be aware that it’s not only a cricket but also a police officer reporting over the radio.)

During those nights, Mama was expected to arrive late because she worked overtime at her father’s house that hosted Cursillo de Cristianidad classes, a three-day retreat seminar which the family committed to sponsor for the barangay Bagacay through the years.

Sometimes, it was just fine even if Mother was not there when we slept. At times, we knew she wouldn’t be able to return home for that weekend, so we were lulled to sleep in Manoy’s bed listening to America and his other easy-listening music. Because he played these songs for us, the lonely nights without Mother in our house were made bearable by Manoy Awel. 

When Manoy was not around or when I was left alone in the house, I would go to his room and play his records to my heart’s content. Because he would leave his other records at home, I equally devoured them without his knowledge. None of his mixed tapes escaped my scrutiny.

Through the years, Manoy would later be collecting boxes of recorded songs and later even sorting them according to artists and genres. 

 One day, I saw these recorded tapes labeled “Emmanuel” on one side and “Mary Ann” on the other. It wouldn’t be long when I learned that Manoy had found his better half, his own B side—in the person of Manay Meann, his future wife. 

Kristo sa Daghan

Igwang mga Kristo sa daghan an mga tugang mo.

Enot na enot, nagpoon sa magurang nindo an ining Kristo sa daghan—ki Manuel dangan ki Emma. Sa Kagurangnan, idinusay nindang duwa an saindong mga pangaran—bagay na nariparo kan saindong lolohon na si Ramon bago siya nagpaaram. Saysay ni Lolo Amon mo, mayo sa saindong anom na magturugang na an pangaran harayo sa istorya kan Kagurangnan sa Banal na Kasuratan.

Yaon ini malinaw sa matua nindong si Emmanuel, na an gustong sabihon, “Kagurangnan yaon satuya.” Sa panduwang pangaran na Neil Romano yaon an pundasyon kan saindong pagtubod asin kan saindong mga ginikanan. An panduwang kangaranan sa Alex Apolinario na iyo an saindong pantolo gikan sa búhay kan sarong santo. Dangan kangaranan kan sarong bayaning nagin panalmingan kan mga Pilipino.

An Clemente, kangaranan kan mga banal na lideres sa simbahan kaidto. Siring ki Rosario, an bugtong na tugang nindong babaye, pinangaran an saindang pagtuo kag pagsarig sa kapangyarihan kan pangadie sa paagi ni Santa Maria, an Iloy ni Hesu Kristo.

Dangan man an ngaran mo.

Sa saindo pa sanang mga pangaran, yaon na an krus sa daghan, an Kristo sa buhay nindo. Yaon an pagma’wot kan mga magurang mong gibohon kamong mga panalmingan kan kabo’tan kan Kagurangnan. Dinidekar kan duwa nindong magurang—sindá Manuel sagkod Emma—kamong mga aki ninda sa saindang dakulang pagtubod sa Kaglalang.

Dios mabalos ta saimong nariparo—na mismong an saindang mga pangaran, “Emma” kag “Manuel”—iyong gayo an duwang bahin kan “Immanuel,” an mismong pangaran kan Kagurangnan sa Hebreong pagtaram.

Tibaad nahiling kan duwa mong magurang na an pagsaro ninda asin kan saindang pangaran iyo an paggibo kan katungdan kan Diyos na Kaglalang. Dangan biniyayaan sindá kan saindong anom na búhay, na magpoon kadto sagkod na sinda man magtaliwan, idinusay sa pag-omaw sa Kagurangnan.

Ngonyan na sindang duwa mayo na digdí sa daga, yaon rinirimpos nindo sa búhay kan kada saro an saindang katukduan na mamoot sa kapwa asin magsarig sa Diyos na iyo an poon asin kasagkuran kan gabos na ginigibo digdí sa dagâ.

Sa siring na biyaya kan Diyos saindo, kag ngapit sa mga dalan kan búhay na saindong inaagihan, dai kamo maglihis o mawarâ.

Asin ngonyan na mga panahon, hinahangaan mo an mga tugang mo sa saindang mga nagkagirinibo, sa saindang mga ginigibo. Nin huli ta sinda nagigin panalmingan mo sa kadaklan na bagay sa saimong buhay. Nagpapadiosmabalos kang marhay. Sa búhay kan mga utod mo, yaon nahihiling mo an krus sa daghan kan kada saro sainda, an biyaya kan Diyos na Bathala sa duwa nindong magurang na ipadayon an saindang napu’nan sa tabang nin Kagurangnan.

Emmanuel. Yaon ki Manoy Awel mo an pagiging tiso, an kapas na magkulibat sa estado kan ispiritu mo; iyong gayo, enot niyang konsiderasyon an nasa saboot mo. Sarong bagay na an dakulang kahulugan, sa kapwa asin orog na saimong tugang niya, an pagrespeto.

Sa dakulon nang inagihan si Manoy mo, nahihiling mo saiya an sarong marhay na tawo. Sa dakulang harong kadto duman sa Libod, siya pinapaluhod sa asin o monggo kan saindong Lolo Emiliano ta ngani sana daang magtiso—kaibahan kan ibang mga tugang—na iyo, saiya nag-idolo.

Poon kaidto, nakanood sa pagpadakula kan Lolo nindo; natukduan magtaong-galang sa darakulang tawo, nakanood magpahunod sa saradit na tawo. Dahil kaiyan, yaon saiya an paggalang; an pagtao nin kusog sa kalag kan saiyang kapwa, orog nang gayo kadtong kamo entiro nang magkairilo.

Yaon sa saiyang daghan an ipadagos an pagsarang sa estadong pigdumanan. Saiyang tutungkusan asin susustineran an kapakanan kan kadaklan na saiyang pinu’nan.

Sa simpleng búhay kan maogmahon niyang agom asin mga kabuhan, yaon ki Manoy mo an kaogmahan.

Neil Romano. Nahihiling mo ki Ano an higos kan sarong tawo—yaon saiya an abilidad na magtabang dangan makapauswag bako lang kan mga mahal niya sa buhay kundi kan kadaklan. Siring ki Manoy mo, yaon saiya an pagma’wot na mataparan ano man na bagay na saiyang napu’nan.

Dangan yaon ki Ano an dai pagsagin-sagin na rimposon sana an mga namamatean kun an mga ini makakakulog sa kalag kan saiyang mga mahal sa buhay asin mga tugang. An pagpadangat niya sa mga nguhod na tugang, orog na sana man. Kan mga aki pa kamo, an turno kan Ina nindo saiya binabayaan. Araki pa kamo, siya na man an dakulang sarigan kan saindong magurang—nagmamanehar kan kapakanan kan kadaklan. Kaya sa saiyang mga aki, ipinapagiromdom, ipinapaarog an siring na kamalayan. Yaon, iyo ini, an biyaya kan Diyos na saiyang tinutubudan. Kaya na sana man yaon saiya an kaogmahan.

Alex Apolinario. Ki Irmanong Alex, mayo nin dakul na taram, kundi katiwasayan; bako man na pirming rarom, kundi baga kahulugan. Saiya, an magagayon na mga bagay sa kinaban igwang tamang kapanahunan, bako gabos na bagay tinataram ta nganing maintindihan. Bako na habo niya lang man nanggad magtaram, kundi na para siya tibaad yaon sa linong, yaon sa tuninong an hararom na kahulugan.

An simple niyang búhay ngonyan minapagamiaw saimo na tibaad bako gabos tinataram para maliwanagan. Yaon an katiwasayan—aram niyang an pagsakripisyo igwang balos na kasaganaan. An paglapigot, sa katapusan, nagiging kaogmahan.

Siempre sa tahaw kan ribok kan mga tawo, yaon an silencio kan tugang mong ini ho—bakong padalos-dalos kun siya magdesisyon sa saiyang ginigibo. Gabos na anggulo ririkasahon niya antes mag-abot sa pwedeng mapapangyari asin maginibo.

Tuninong, hipos na nagmamasid, dangan nakikidungan sa hulag kan banwaan, yaon sa saiyang daghan an biyaya kan Diyos na magtios dangan magpadagos magbaklay sa pinili niyang alagyan. Siya madagos-dagos asta makaantos sa saiyang papadumanan.

Clemente. Ki Mente, saboot mo, igwang orog na biyaya an magin nguhod na tugang kan nagkaerenot na tolo—yaon saiya an biyayang tiponon an gabos nindang ugali dangan isabuhay sa saiyang sadiring pakahulugan para sa saiyang kapakanan. Nagiging panalmingan niya an saindong mga matuang tugang.

Yaon ki Mente an pakikipag-ulian. Actualmente, minarhay niyang makauli dangan makapagpoon sa banwaan na saindong dinakulaan ta nganing maging harani sa pamilya asin mga tugang. Yaon saiya an paghadoy na kamong nagdadakulang pamilya pirming magkairibahan. Dawa kaidto pa, aktibo siya sa pag-urulian. Kun igwang tiempo haling Manila kaidto, siya mauli ta mauli ta ngani sanang kamo gabos magkanuruparan, magkairistoryahan. Mayo siyang panama sa pungaw sa siyudad—pirming an puso niya minabuwelta kun sain asin kiisay ini igwang lealtad.

Ki Mente yaon an pagkamatinao, an pagma’wot makatabang nang gayo sa siisay na nangangaipo. Iyong gayo an naiisip mo, sa ngonyan na mga tiempo, garong kandidato, nagpapanao nin kun ano-ano sa kada barrio—alagad pagmáte mo, an padangat mong tugang na ini ho, bakong pulitiko.

Sa eskwelahan sagkod sa barangay kaidto, natawan siya nin pagkakataon na magdalagan sa lokal na pwesto—alagad garo bagang dinehado. Duman siya nakanood na dai niya kaipuhan nin hagban na puwesto ta nganing matuod na magserbisyo—“to serve and not to count the cost,” nanu’dan niya sa sarong dating poderosong militar na an ngaran San Ignacio kan pagkaadal niya sa Ateneo. Garo nabasa na nindo an istoryang ini’ho. Iyo, tama an iniisip mo. Sa saiyang daghan, yaon si Kristo.

Yaon ki Mente an paggalang sa mga tawong nasa katungdan—an pagbisto sa kapasidad kan katungdan para sa kapakanan kan kadaklan; bako kan partikular na tawong yaon sa pwesto. Siring niya ngonyan na yaon sa gobyerno sa serbisyo publiko—siya ngonyan iyong tinutubudan, pighahagadan nin tabang, sinasarigan.

Rosario. Ki Nene mo, yaon an kaogmahan nindong magturugang. Yaon saiya an pakikipagsapalaran. Pagkaagom ni irmana mo dangan kan magpamilya na, nahiling mo saiya an isog kan sarong babaying igwang paninindugan. Sa sibot na siyudad na saiyang dinayo, nagpundar siya duman dangan nagpadakula nin pamilya—katuwang an saiyang mamomo’ton na bana. Nagdadakula an saindang pamilya dangan padagos na nagdadanay sa biyaya nin Diyos.

Yaon saiya an pagkamaginibo. Siring man nindo, sa ara-aldaw na ginibo nin Diyos, nagtatrabaho. Siring man saindo, nagseserbisyo-publiko, nakikiulay sa mga nangangaipo, sa maraming tao’y nakikitungo.

Dangan man an pagkamatinao. Dawa kadtong daraga pa sana siya—hugos nang entiro sa saiyang mga sobrena asin mga sobreno, napapaogma ining mga kaakian sa harong man o sa tinampo. An pagtabang sa tugang na natitikapo—yaon na gayo. An paghadoy sa arog mong nasasakitan garo niya na baga naging pangangaipo.

Siempre yaon saiya an pagkamainamigo. Sa dakul niyang naging amiga sagkod amigo—yaon an mga pinsan, mga kairiba sa kwarto, mga dating kabiristo—ngonyan siya asin an saiyang pamilya nakakapadayon, matiwasay na nakakadungan sa buhay sa siyudad na pano nin gamo.

Ngonyan sa saimong pagsosolosolo, nadumduman mo an mga tugang na kairi-iriba mo sa harong nindo kadtong nakaaging tiempo—alagad ngonyan yaon na sa saindang sadiring mga estado. Gabos na sainda pamilyado; dangan man saimo. Namamatean mo an siring na biyaya orog ngonyan na ika harayo na sainda, sindá na sa ining dalagan kan búhay, iyo an saimong mga parte-daryo.

Napagamiaw saimo kan saindang mga agi-agi—pagkatapos kamong magkairilo pagkagadan kan ama mo saradit pa sana kamo dangan pagtaliwan kan Iloy nindo kadtong darakula na kamo—na nungka kamo liningawan kan Diyos na saindong tinutubudan.

Dios mabalos sa mga Kristo sa daghan na iyo an mga tugang mo.

Biernes Santo

Calle Fatima, San Vicente

Diliman 

On Turning Ten by Billy Collins

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I’m coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed. 

 

Billy Collins, born 1941, American