After Making Love, You Hear Footsteps*

dawa garo mayo man; huna nindo lang

pirming igwang nagdadangadang. Ika

handal tibaad an saimong kasaruan,

sabi mong haloy nang nawara, basang

na sanang magbutwa; siya man masundan

daa kan ilusyon na an sugid haloy niya

nang itinalbong, alagad ngonyan saiya

tibaad nag-iidong-idong.

Sa laog ka'ning kwarto garo igwang

nakahiriling saindo. Sa saindong pinapaiplian

garo man sana dai kamo nalilipudan. Pagmati nindo

pirmi kamong linalamag kan kun anong duwang kalag.

Dai man daw basang na sana sinda nindong binarayaan

ta nganing sa kada saro kamo magpasiram-siram?

Sa saindang kasuyaan, dae ninda aram

kun sain maduman. Yaraon sinda bisan diin

kamo magduman. Sa saindang kasusupgan,

dai ninda kamo tinatantanan. Mga kalag sindang

dai nagkamirisahan. Ara-aldaw ninda kamong

sisingilon kan saindang kamurawayan.

*Dispensa ki Galway Kinnell

King of Pain

I saw Pepeng Kaliwete starring Fernando Poe, Jr. when I was a first-grader.  In those days, Mother was fond of movies that on weekends, she would bring her children to downtown Naga and there we watched all kinds of movies—in Emily, Bichara, Alex or Vic—the movie theaters owned by the Bicharas in Naga City.

Nothing reminds me of the movie except cringing at the sight of Pepe’s hands being twisted by a moving wooden motor—by the goons of the kontrabida led by the proverbial villain Paquito Diaz. Who can ever forget the ngilo just watching that scene? Since then, I have looked forward to watching FPJ’s movies.

Enough said.

Some thirty years later, I feel fine because it is now official. This year, President Benigno Aquino III conferred a posthumous National Artist award to the late Fernando Poe, Jr., King of Philippine Movies.  Aquino’s Proclamation No. 435 only confirmed an earlier declaration of Poe as National Artist in 2006, two years after Poe’s death. But at the time controversy took over.

I recall the award was refused by FPJ’s family from then President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, whom they thought, rigged the 2004 elections in which FPJ ran for president. This year, the family has accepted the recognition from the current president.

I suppose the national recognition of this prolific artist is appropriate. For one, a National Artist is one who has helped “build a Filipino sense of nationhood through the content and form of their works.”  Through some 50 years of his career in the movie industry, FPJ had been a household word for his honest portrayals of the plight of the Filipino, particularly the underprivileged and the marginalized.

An average Filipino like me knows an FPJ movie or the role he portrayed simply because he portrayed the life of the ordinary people, who compose the lot of the population. Whether in film biographies—from Pepeng Kaliwete to Eseng ng Tondo or other movies he produced, directed and acted in, it's he who sacrifices for the other person.

Up to his sixties, FPJ’s roles had been consistently that—particularly favoring the underprivileged or defending the marginalized, but all the while lionizing the good. If at all, FPJ’s movies melodramas helped define the generation to which I belong. But because his roles have been mimicked and parodied by other fellow actors, it only goes to show they touched a chord in the Filipino everyman.  

In some 250 movies where he probably punched all the thugs and gave back the stolen candy bars to their rightful owners, his character was not only our muscle but also our soul, a Robin Hood of sorts in our part of the world who delivered justice for the poor because it was denied them by the privileged and the greedy. His manner of delivering justice the Christian way did not only save us from boredom or tedium, but also “redeemed” us.  And for this, FPJ can hardly be replicated.

We confer on him the award because we seek to immortalize a paragon of the good—whose pains and struggles inspire us to always seek what is just. We choose to do this because we humans need a(nother) Christ-like figure whom we can emulate.  We take to placing one FPJ as such only because we need to remind ourselves that in everything we do, or despite our perennial struggles, we can always choose to do the good.

King of Pain

I saw Pepeng Kaliwete starring Fernando Poe, Jr. when I was a first-grader.  In those days, Mother was fond of movies that on weekends, she would bring her children to downtown Naga and there we watched all kinds of movies—in Emily, Bichara, Alex or Vic—the movie theaters owned by the Bicharas in Naga City.

Nothing reminds me of the movie except cringing at the sight of Pepe’s hands being twisted by a moving wooden motor—by the goons of the kontrabida led by the proverbial villain Paquito Diaz. Who can ever forget the ngilo just watching that scene? Since then, I have looked forward to watching FPJ’s movies.

Enough said.

Some thirty years later, I feel fine because it is now official. This year, President Benigno Aquino III conferred a posthumous National Artist award to the late Fernando Poe, Jr., King of Philippine Movies.  Aquino’s Proclamation No. 435 only confirmed an earlier declaration of Poe as National Artist in 2006, two years after Poe’s death. But at the time controversy took over.

I recall the award was refused by FPJ’s family from then President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, whom they thought, rigged the 2004 elections in which FPJ ran for president. This year, the family has accepted the recognition from the current president.

I suppose the national recognition of this prolific artist is appropriate. For one, a National Artist is one who has helped “build a Filipino sense of nationhood through the content and form of their works.”  Through some 50 years of his career in the movie industry, FPJ had been a household word for his honest portrayals of the plight of the Filipino, particularly the underprivileged and the marginalized.

An average Filipino like me knows an FPJ movie or the role he portrayed simply because he portrayed the life of the ordinary people, who compose the lot of the population. Whether in film biographies—from Pepeng Kaliwete to Eseng ng Tondo or other movies he produced, directed and acted in, it's he who sacrifices for the other person.

Up to his sixties, FPJ’s roles had been consistently that—particularly favoring the underprivileged or defending the marginalized, but all the while lionizing the good. If at all, FPJ’s movies melodramas helped define the generation to which I belong. But because his roles have been mimicked and parodied by other fellow actors, it only goes to show they touched a chord in the Filipino everyman.  

In some 250 movies where he probably punched all the thugs and gave back the stolen candy bars to their rightful owners, his character was not only our muscle but also our soul, a Robin Hood of sorts in our part of the world who delivered justice for the poor because it was denied them by the privileged and the greedy. His manner of delivering justice the Christian way did not only save us from boredom or tedium, but also “redeemed” us.  And for this, FPJ can hardly be replicated.

We confer on him the award because we seek to immortalize a paragon of the good—whose pains and struggles can inspire us to always seek what is just. We choose to do this because we humans need a(nother) Christ-like figure whom we can emulate.  We take to placing one FPJ as such only because we need to remind ourselves that in everything we do, or despite our perennial struggles, we can always choose to do the good.

Ehersísyo

Buot silingon an pisikal na pag-ehersisyo, nalangkaba na man na marhay kan iba. Siring kan ibang tawo, an mga inaapod na atleta o mga parakawat, nagkakagaradan man—bako man talagang mas haralawig an buhay ninda. Pwede nganing mas amay sindang magadan kawasa kan ehersisyo. Dangan kalabanan, bako man sindang orog na mabaskog ukon mas maogma kaysa sa iba. Matuod nga mas marhay gayod an pamatyag ninda—mas marhay an pagturog sagkod normal an timbang ninda.

Alagad mas orog na may kwenta an maayo nga pamatyag sang kalag. Marhay-rahay na mag-unat kita kan kalamias ta, alagad orog na igwang saysay an mag-unat kita kan satong panumduman, o paayuhon an salud kan satong kalag. Orog na igwang balor an magin baskog an satong kalag sa atubang nin Dios asin tawo.

Pansegunda sana digdi an gabos na ehersisyo kan lawas. Igwang merito sa baskog na lawas, alagad mas igwang biyaya sa mabaskog nga kalag. Kadakul sa makukusog na tawo mga berdugo; darakula mga kalamias ninda alagad an ugali daingdata.

Sa pag-ataman kan lawas, bastante na gayod na sa araaldaw, nakakapamus-on ka; kag nagpapalas ka kan kuko mo kun an mga ini haralaba na.

 

Sinurublian sa Hiligaynon

buot silingon, gustong sabihon

kalabanan, kadaklan na beses

ukon, o

matuod, tama

nga, na

maayo, marhay

pamatyag, pagmati

sang, kan

paayuhon, pakarhayon

baskog, marahay an salud

baskog, makusog

nakakapamus-on, nakakaudo

Susog sa “Exercise” na yaon sa Worldly Virtues: A Catalogue of Reflections ni Johannes A. Gaertner. New York: Viking Penguin, 1990, 100.

Paghâdit

Úkon muya mo sang mas námî nga terminolohiya—angst—(hambál sa Aleman), saro sana ining normal na ugali kan tawo. Sa katunayan, susog ki Martin Heidegger, sarong pilosopong Aleman, kaipuhan ta man nanggad an maghâdit sa satong buhay. Siempre an sobrang paghâdit—dawâ ano man na bagay na sobra o labaw, bakong marhay. An marhay kaiyan, susog sa sako nang inagihan, kun kita naghahâdit, maghâdit lugod kitang sagad. Kumbaga, sa modernong paghambal, career-on ta an paghâdit. Sabihon ta sa sadiri ta na naghahâdit ako ngonyan, dangan paurogon ko gid nga mayád an paghâdit na ini. Nin huli ta nag-aaram kitang marhay na naghahâdit kita, tulostulos ini malalampasan ta. Nagiging kabudláyan an paghâdit kun madangog kita sa ibán nga nagasilíng indî kita magparápanumdóm. An matúod sinâ, maghâdit ka kun gusto mo, alagad magparahâdit kang mayád sagkod na mag-abot an tiempong dai ka na naghahâdit.

Elmer Borlongan, “Grass Fire” 

Sinurublian sa Hiligaynon

úkon, o

sang, nin

námî, marháy

nga, na

hambál, apód

gid, nanggád

mayád, marháy

kabudláyan, sákit

ibán, ibá

nagasilíng, nagsasábing

indî, daí

magparápanumdóm, magparahâdit

matúod, totoó

sinâ, sa árog kaiyán

Susog sa “Worry” na yaon sa Worldly Virtues: A Catalogue of Reflections ni Johannes A. Gaertner. New York: Viking Penguin, 1990, 38.

Airport on Mactan Island

Rating:	★★★★
Category:	Books
Genre:	Literature & Fiction
Author:	Leoncio Deriada

In Leoncio Deriada’s “Airport on Mactan Island,” a family who has lived near the Mactan airport for a decade, is presented with a number of dilemmas.

One day, the mother, unable to stand the noise of the “steel monsters” or airplanes, frets and desperately wants to leave their house. The father’s dilemma is caused only by the dilemma of the wife. His wife pressures him to consider moving out despite the lot’s sentimental value to him. He is torn between leaving the land—which he inherited—and helping his wife ease her troubles. Their son, meanwhile, is caught up with his own problem. He is exploring the possibility of getting a job in the factory and at the same time is helping his father sell guitars. He is more inclined, though, to get the job rather than help his father.

After I asked my juniors class to stage it in the classroom, three students turned in noteworthy insights, clarifying a number of realities raised by the literary work.

In a piece titled “Just the Way It Is,” Irene Grace Lim begins, “In a usual family setup, the man’s decision is final. At times, his decision is unchangeable. We see the same in Deriada’s “Airport on Mactan Island.”

“The husband’s decision was still the final decision for their family. And although the wife was already starting to lose her mind, out of desperation she wanted to get out of that place, the husband still stood with his unshakeable decision to stay. For him, there’s nowhere to go and there’s no one interested in their land. The man said they could get used to the noise of the airport just like the way he did.

“Though his wife was already desperate, driven to leave the house and even the man she married, the man stood by his decision, which shows that essence that while woman wavers, man maneuvers, then prevails.”

Lissa Angela Suyo, meanwhile, focused on the wife’s character, labeling the piece as a matter of “Faith vs. Fate.” She writes, “Like most Filipino Christians in Cebu, the mother’s faith in the Divine Being is on the Sto. Niño. She prays fervently to the statue so that their condition will improve and so that her son’s job away from their place could somehow change their fate. Unfortunately, faith alone did not help her get what she hoped for. With her husband not cooperating, her son getting rejected, with their home daily bombarded daily, she broke down. She lost faith even in her own self that she could maintain her sanity. She was disgusted with her fate. She hoped that by being a wife, her life would change. She wanted to change their fate, but she did not take action to do that. All she did was to complain.

“The wife was so desperate for a new life that she fell apart when she found out that her son, their last chance, didn’t get the job. She believed that to live in poverty was their fate. She thought that by having faith in the Sto. Niño, her fate will change. In the end, she broke apart...she has lost faith in the Sto. Niño, which strengthened her belief that this was, indeed, her fate.”

Then, in a more sweeping effort to read the piece, Casten Guanzon writes, “Leoncio Deriada opens our eyes to some of the more overlooked aspects of the marginalized poverty, what goes on in the home. The play does not focus on poverty or exploitation but rather the domestic scene in a family whose lives have been twisted by progress. The play starts building momentum when the wife and the husband are left alone in the house and it is here that we see two things in contrast: desperation and action.”

For Guanzon, “Desperation is displayed by the wife who nags the husband to leave the place, eventually hating him as much as the airport and its demonic noise. Her husband, almost her exact opposite, is always controlled and calm in his replies except for some emotional peaks on his part. In the end, she breaks down when the Sto. Niño fails to help her son get the job ultimately failing to deliver her from her own hell. She is distraught and unstable, eventually driven to attempt desecrating the statue as her final act to stop the noise.

“But what of action? After all, is it not the wife who starts making plans and suggesting other places? Yes it is; but it is the husband who has done something and, having failed, focuses on adapting to the airport and improvising for anything in their life it has changed. The husband is the one portraying action here. He is practical. Having tried and failed to sell the land, he focuses instead on maintaining their status of life. The wife, on the other hand, is prepared to make blind leaps in her eagerness to escape that hundredth circle of hell filled with its unholy abominations of steel. She is blind to her husband's reasoning because she, in her state, does not or chooses not to see its sense.”

While Lim and Suyo recognized the distraught character in the wife and the composure of the husband, Guanzon saw the play’s binary opposites—the husband’s action and the wife’s desperation.

All of them agreed on how the dilemma of the wife, which embodies the tragedy designed by the author, is not resolved at all.

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

Servicio

“Ich dien,” iyo ni an panáta kan prinsipe kan Wales—maserbe ako. Sabi ni Jose Ortega y Gasset sa libron Invertebrate Spain, kadtong panahon an pagserbe bako sanang kagalang-gálang sagkod magayon gibohon kundi iyo sana ini an paagi ta nganing an tawo makapadágos, ta nganing an katawohan makaantos. Ngonyan na sana man an servicio bako nang gustong sabihon regalo,  kundi sarong kontrata; ngonyan saro na sana ining obligayon na an katumbas kwárta. Ngonyan na sana man an inaapod na servicio igwa nin presyo—kadaklan na beses halangkáwon pa an singil sa kagamáy na gibo. Alagad an totoong kantidad kan servicio sa tawo bako sanang kwarta, kundi an saiyang kalipayan, an saiyang kaogmáhan. An ginasiling tang servicio nagi na sana ngonyan isa ka produkto—ginapangdalok kun bagaman ipabakal, kaya tinatawad, binabarát—parating linalangkába sa mga karatula sagkod media na dai na man makatutubod.

Sinurublian sa Hiligaynon

kagamay, kadikit

kalipayan, kaogmahan

ginasiling, sinasabi

isa ka, saro na

ginapangdalok, pinapan-imot

Biligaynon [Binikol sagkod Hiniligayon] kan “Service.” Yaon sa Worldy Virtues: A Catalogue of Reflections ni Johannes A. Gaertner, Viking Press, 1990.

Pagtábang

Kun an tábang líbreng itinaó (mas marháy kun iyó), dángan man binísto kan nangaípo kainí, masasábi tang sarô ning kláse nin pagkámoot; dángan kun síring, iyó na gayód ni an pinakamarháy na giníbo kan tawo pára sa saíyang kápwa.

An mga darakulang táwo daí man nakakaántos kun sindá nagsosoroló-sólo. Alágad an mga pigádong nagtatarabáng-tábang, dawâ anóng óras nakakásaráng. Pero bakô man gabós na pagtábang marháy. Dai ka man maoogmá kun sa pagtábang mo napipirítan ka saná. Kun minatábang ka man na naghahalát nin balós o karíbay, mababaldê ka sana.

Kalabánan gánî, an pagtábang sa kapwa máyong naitataóng marháy. Kan áki pa daá si Hitler, naherákan siya dángan tinabángan kan nagkápirang mabobóot na Hudyó. Kan siya nagdakúla, naungís siya saindá dángan pinagaradán niya an pagkadakúl-dákul na mga Hudyó.

Sa pagtábang mo sa ibá, hingowáhon mong daí na siya giráray magsárig saimo. Magtábang kang sarô o duwáng beses saná, dai na diyan labí pa. Daí ka man maghalát nin anó man na balós. Kun iká man an natabángan, magpasalámat ka tulos; ma-ogmá ka. Dai man paglingawí an sábi kan mga guráng—kun an búlig itinaó mo sa oras mísmo nin pangangaípo, dóble an tábang na naitaó mo.

 

Sinurublían sa Hiligáynon

nakakaántos, nakakatíos

nakakásaráng, nakakaráos

kalabánan, kadaklán na béses

gánî, ngánî

búlig, tábang

Susog sa “Help” yaon sa Worldly Virtues: A Catalogue of Reflections ni Johannes Gaertner. New York: Viking Press, 1990, 111. 

My Christmas Rack

Songs They Sing for The Son 

“Sing a song of gladness and cheer!/for the time of Christmas is here!” sings Jose Mari Chan, in his all-time favorite anthology “Christmas in Our Hearts” (1990). Very well, these words spell my mood, inspired by listening to these heart warmers in my Christmas collection. 

Through the years of Christmas celebrations, holidays and December vacations, I acquired them. Every year, I have continually appreciated what they offer to the soul. They share grace and joy to whoever can listen to them. How these albums got into my rack or how I got these masterpieces I have yet to recall.

But regardless of their history and motivations, in all their original selections and covers of traditional songs—they offer one and the same message— ceremoniously and soulfully they pay tribute to Baby Jesus, the Lord of All.

Bonding with the Boy

98 Degrees, "This Christmas," MCA Universal, 1998

Boy band, boy bond—whatever term you use, Nick Lachey and his friends give us all the reasons to celebrate Christmas as they render cool covers to most traditional Christmas carols like “Silent Night,” “O Holy Night,” “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” and “Little Drummer Boy.” Here, they hardly resemble NKOTB, evading the boy band image by hitting notes that spell sweet things like “mistletoe” and “chestnuts roasting on an open fire.” The solos in some songs display vocalization and rhythmic intonations that remind us of more solemn choirs in churches. Surely, such style does not fail to send shivers from the spine to the soul.

Little Redeemer Boy

Glenn Medeiros, "The Glenn Medeiros Christmas Album: Recorded in Hawaii," Amherst Records, 1993

This 90s Leif Garrett is more than a heartthrob when he croons way, way beyond his pretty-boy image. When he reaches high notes, he is surely pop. He sounds like a lad who has seen the Baby Jesus so he doesn’t need to act silly—he just sings holy. His “Feliz Navidad” and “Ave Maria” are choice cuts, baring innocence and jolliness in varying degrees. He does away with his shrill voice when he allows the instruments to do it for him—he focuses on hitting the emotional rises of the lyrics to render a slightly pop finish. In all, Hawaii-born Medeiros’ almost girlish voice makes recalling the Nativity a simply light moment—just like the playful child Who shall redeem us from our lack, or utter loss of innocence.

Persons are Gifts are Instruments

Ken Navarro, "Christmas Cheer," Galaxy Records, 1996

This virtuoso acoustic guitarist offers an alternative way to remember our salvation. It sets your Christmas mood through an instrumental overload—with some traditional songs like “Angels We Have Heard on High” and “Silent Night” as choice pieces. Listening to Navarro’s one-of-a-kind strummings may tell us that salvation—by the Holy Child—need not be brought about by pain and suffering [like rock or harsh or hard sentiment]. Rather Christmas is all about cheer. With Navarro’s work, Christmas has never been so jazz, light and easy. For sure, you would want to play this bunch before you go to that Christmas party in which you’d render a surprise lousy fox trot number for all of them to see!

Cowboy Christmas

Randy Travis, "An Old Time Christmas," Warner, 1989

You would easily know how an ordinary Christmas carol sounds—but add to it some cowboy or any colloquial twang, then you get Randy Travis. But you do—not just for nothing. Here is one cowboy—whose stereotyped licentious lifestyle may tell you otherwise, whose pieces might ring a bell because they match with those of other CMT favorites—Travis Tritt, Allison Krauss or Garth Brooks. With this album, Travis proves that something more can be done beyond saddles and stall. He lets loose his soul when he chants both holy and hallowed. While his “Winter Wonderland” may perfectly fit the Marlboro ad in Time’s December issue, his reconstructed “Oh What A Silent Night” allows the guitar to sway the thoughts of the soul lulled to slumber. This cowboy’s treatment of traditional songs affords us easy cool and listening that can make us even remark oddly, as “Cowboys have Christmas too!"

Rebels We’ve Heard On High

Various Artists, "Christmas on the Rocks," Viva Records, 1994

This album hit the stands during the grunge and rock era—a time when anxiety and discord were the heyday. It gathered mostly artists and rockers who were perhaps angry at how Christmas was usually celebrated. Featuring covers of songs composed by National Artist Levi Celerio and other traditional Filipino compositions, it portrays and documents the consciousness of a more realistic Christmas, at least as defined by Filipino experience. For one, Sandugo’s “Pasko ng Mahirap, Pasko ng Mayaman” sings away a social realist stance—perhaps a self-talk on the part of the oppressed class who claims it’s also Christmas in their part of the world, despite their poverty and forlorn state [or even state of mind]. 

While DJ Alvaro’s “Gabing Tahimik” is a more soulful rendition of ”Silent Night,” which hit playlists and charts in 1990s, Ang Grupong Pendong’s “Ang Pasko Ay Sumapit” completes this collection to compose a sort of a Lino Brocka’s counterpart opus—it collectively makes a statement on the dismal social realities brought on to Filipinos at Christmas. You may not necessarily be one of those donning a cheap Che Guevarra T-shirt to appreciate its message; but one’s own salvation, according to the album, is simply working for social justice—and all it entails.

True, my collection is not the one you may have to die for—it is neither hard-to-find, for these artists are not as popular as, say, Ray Conniff and his singers, Chipmunks, Destiny’s Child, Frank Sinatra or even Nat King Cole. Yet, in this season of cheer and giving, their music all the same strikes chords in my heart and mind; when I play them,  I do not fail to realize all of mankind intensely desires to share the innocence, the joy, and the promised redemption by the Holy Child.

Good news from heaven the angels bring,

glad tidings to the earth they sing:

to us this day a child is given,

to crown us with the joy of heaven.

                                                      ~Martin Luther