Traveling

 Of all your activities in a year, traveling tires you the most.

It requires you to do the things you don’t usually do, or want to do.

The night before you take the early morning flight, you pack a set of clothes and things. You become critical which wardrobe to use—which shirts to bring for the simbang gabi or wear during the family’s media noche, which jacket to leave behind because it weighs more than the bag itself. You do not bring gadgets that won’t serve any purpose during the family reunion. You need to bring only the things you need.

In the black duffel bag which weighs less than a kilo, you accommodate all your sensibilities. You like the bag very much because it is too light, yet it cannot make room for some 20 things you have acquired in the past twelve months—clothes, gadgets, books and personal accessories. You wonder then where you can put your food—solid or otherwise—so you don’t get hungry along the way, so your ulcer doesn’t worsen. You see you cannot bring a lot of things. You realize you need not be attached to them even as Nene, your sister always told you.

Traveling from Visayas to Luzon and back, you badly need to travel light. But you know you won’t be able to. After putting inside the bag only the stuff you need, other things would turn up and “bring” themselves to you as you further prepare to leave. The one bag of all your necessities becomes two plus three “hand-carries” so that they contain the pasalubong and other holiday gifts.

You look at the trinkets and accessories and handicrafts made from coconut shells by your humble farmer cooperator Nong Bebot and his wife and children in the sleepy town of Ivisan in Capiz. You cannot just leave them behind because months ago yet, you already prepared these masterpieces as gifts to your brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces. You miss them dearly you have not seen their persons lately you will give them things to remember you for.

The next morning, you catch the shuttle van from the mall and off you go to the Santa Barbara airport—along with three big bags and some heavier anticipations. Some 27,000 feet up in the air, you think of Manoy, your eldest brother, brandishing the souvenir toy car made from coconut shells as his prized possession. You remember how you insisted on Nong Bebot to personalize this sort of gifts by writing the names of your brothers and yourself on the toys’ little hoods and bumpers.

  

The effort and the artistry involved in making these novelty products are essentially what you want to share to your family. For you, such are the best things to share. But you also think maybe just like birds and such other animals scattering branches and things from one habitat to another, you act as an agency of trade but also a messenger of the arts. You act as a middleman good for someone’s business but virtually you are also an agent of sharing in the holiday season.

You anticipate how euphoric Manay, your sister in-law, will be once she tries on the three-layered necklace made from coconut shells and beads. You imagine her welcoming the New Year with all these circles and similar things on her; you wish she will be more financially secure this time because you have always been told it is best to meet the New Year with ball-like fruits and spherical things in people’s pockets and dining table. You combine superstition with religion. Yet, even when you cloud your faith with some Jojo Acuin rhetoric, one perennial truth remains—you long for the family you’ve missed all these months you have been away from home.

Sooner, you will hear thank you from them but maybe what you will get is utter silence. Maybe their being quiet means they want something else from you. Maybe they will want what they have always wanted from you year in year out. Something more than what you can always give—they will want you to be happy. And perhaps their silence will say they are not convinced that you are.

Of all your occupations, going home thrills you the most. You always want to bond with the family you missed once you’re given the chance. Year in, year out, you appreciate it is the best and only space that you are born to fill. You are only their own blood, nothing else.

Your plane landed quite ungracefully it almost wanted to smash the passengers’ bodies on the ground, but then you thank the Lord for having inspired the pilot to have taken the safest air paths faithfully. The entire trip, you have kept your fingers crossed. The crew announces you have arrived five minutes earlier than expected. Thank you, Sir, the flight attendant says as you disembark. You smile and yawn.

As you now greet the smoggy air, you see Manila, the noisy, sprawling metropolis. The sight of tedium and traffic greets you. You shake off some jetlag by humming with Julio Iglesias on your mp3 player. But you see you need to be more alert. You have to keep an eye on your valuables, because you remember this is Manila.

You wouldn’t want the three bags to be reduced to two or one as you make your way further out the terminal. Even though you badly wanted to travel light, it should be okay for you to bring these other luggage for the sake of family.

Far beyond the traffic inching its way through Pasay Road, you picture Maria and Xhanemma, your nieces opening their gifts back in your brother’s house in San Vicente, breathlessly trying on the quaint bracelets, and pairing them with the equally artful earrings made of payaw seeds. Where else would you want to go?

Traveling

Of all your activities in a year, traveling tires you the most. It requires you to do the things you don’t usually do, or want to do.

The night before you take the early morning flight, you pack a set of clothes and things. You become critical which wardrobe to use—which shirts to bring for the simbang gabi or wear during the family’s media noche, which jacket to leave behind because it weighs more than the bag itself. You do not bring gadgets that won’t serve any purpose during the family reunion. You need to bring only the things you need.

In the black bag which weighs less than a kilo, you accommodate all your sensibilities. You like the bag very much because it is too light, yet it cannot make room for some 20 things you have acquired in the past twelve months—clothes, gadgets, books and personal accessories. You wonder then where you can put your food—solid or otherwise—so you don’t get hungry along the way, so your ulcer doesn’t worsen. You see you cannot bring a lot of things. You realize you need not be attached to them even as Nene, your sister always told you.

Traveling from Visayas to Luzon and back, you badly need to travel light. But you know you won’t be able to. After putting inside the bag only the stuff you need, other things would turn up and “bring” themselves to you as you further prepare to leave. The one bag of all your necessities becomes two plus three “hand-carries” so that they contain the pasalubong and other holiday gifts.

You look at the trinkets and accessories and handicrafts made from coconut shells by your humble farmer cooperator Nong Bebot and his wife and children in the sleepy town of Ivisan in Capiz. You cannot just leave them behind because months ago yet, you already prepared these masterpieces as gifts to your brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces. You miss them dearly you have not seen their persons lately you will give them things to remember you for.

The next morning, you catch the shuttle van from the mall and off you go to the Santa Barbara airport—along with three big bags and some heavier anticipations. Some 27,000 feet up in the air, you think of Manoy, your eldest brother, brandishing the souvenir toy car made from coconut shells as his prized possession. You remember how you insisted on Nong Bebot to personalize this sort of gifts by writing the names of your brothers and yourself on the toys’ little hoods and bumpers.

The effort and the artistry involved in making these novelty products are essentially what you want to share to your family. For you, such are the best things to share. But you also think maybe just like birds and such other animals scattering branches and things from one habitat to another, you act as an agency of trade but also a messenger of the arts. You act as a middleman good for someone’s business but virtually you are also an agent of sharing in the holiday season.

You anticipate how euphoric Manay, your sister in-law, will be once she tries on the three-layered necklace made from coconut shells and beads. You imagine her welcoming the New Year with all these circles and similar things on her; you wish she will be more financially secure this time because you have always been told it is best to meet the New Year with ball-like fruits and spherical things in people’s pockets and dining table. You combine superstition with religion. Yet, even when you cloud your faith with some Jojo Acuin rhetoric, one perennial truth remains—you long for the family you’ve missed all these months you have been away from home.

Sooner, you will hear thank you from them but maybe what you will get is utter silence. Maybe their being quiet means they want something else from you. Maybe they will want what they have always wanted from you year in year out. Something more than what you can always give—they will want you to be happy. And perhaps their silence will say they are not convinced that you are.

Of all your occupations, going home thrills you the most. You always want to bond with the family you missed once you’re given the chance. Year in, year out, you appreciate it is the best and only space that you are born to fill. You are only their own blood, nothing else.

Your plane landed quite ungracefully it almost wanted to smash the passengers’ bodies on the ground, but then you thank the Lord for having inspired the pilot to have taken the safest air paths faithfully. The entire trip, you have kept your fingers crossed. The crew announces you have arrived five minutes earlier than expected. Thank you, Sir, the flight attendant says as you disembark. You smile and yawn.

As you now greet the smoggy air, you see Manila, the noisy, sprawling metropolis. The sight of tedium and traffic greets you. You shake off some jetlag by humming with Julio Iglesias on your mp3 player. But you see you need to be more alert. You have to keep an eye on your valuables, because you remember this is Manila.

You wouldn’t want the three bags to be reduced to two or one as you make your way further out the terminal. Even though you badly wanted to travel light, it should be okay for you to bring these other luggage for the sake of family.

Far beyond the traffic inching its way through Pasay Road, you picture Maria and Xhanemma, your nieces opening their gifts back in your brother’s house in San Vicente, breathlessly trying on the quaint bracelets, and pairing them with the equally artful earrings made of payaw seeds. Where else would you want to go?

 

Guernica*? Bako, Gueta. Gueta Garbo.

[Guernica*? No, Gueta. Gueta Garbo.]

Usip-usip Ninda Niño Manaog sagkod Cesar Gueta 

[Interview with Cesar Gueta]

Ano an pagpinta segun ki Cesar Gueta? What is art for Cesar Gueta?

Art is my lifelong engagement. Making an artwork for me is beyond the visual. I consider other aspects like metaphors and complexities of life—love, tragedy, etc.

Ta’no ta nagpipinta si Cesar Gueta? What motivates Cesar Gueta to paint?

What’s important to me is my feeling. I actualize it with the use of my mind and hands. My heart dominates the rest of my senses.

Kun igwang ibang pagkakaabalahan si Gueta apwera sa pagpinta, ano ini? Ta’no? What would Cesar Gueta do if he wouldn’t paint? Elaborate.

I could engage myself in product designing, architectural works or academe.

Kun dai naimbento an pagpinta, ano kuta an ginigibo ngonyan ni Cesar Gueta? If art were not invented, what would Cesar Gueta be doing?

I would have been a priest.

Sairisay an mga impluwensya ni Cesar Gueta? Siisay an saimong hinahangaan, kinokopya, o gustong malapawan sa kinaban nin pagpinta? Nata’ man sinda? Name the painters whom you idolize, copy or desire to dethrone. Why?

Cezanne was a forerunner of impressionist art. Scott Burdick is a modern impressionist (who uses) purely brush strokes.

"Manobo," Oil on Canvas, 2" x 2"

Ano na an nahaman ni Gueta sa pagpinta? Karapatdapat ka man daw? Cite your highest achievements in visual arts. Do you deserve them?

In my 3 decades in art in which I had my ups and down—I could say engaging in art has made me a better person.

Ano an dai pa nahaman ni Gueta sa pagpinta? Maaabot mo an mga ini? Pa’no? What have you not yet achieved in visual arts? Will you achieve them? How?

Destiny leads me wherever my heart goes. I believe in myself and family’s support for this endeavor—this is a journey that is never ending.

Igwa na daw nahaman na Guernica si Gueta? Kun dai pa, nuarin daw ni? Have you made your obra maestra? If not yet, when will this be?

In some art competitions, I made original entries that people consider remarkable.

Ano an grand plan ni Gueta sa pagpinta? What do you want to achieve as a painter? (Being a painter is one ambition, though.)

I never have a grand ambition in life. In my career as a painter, my fulfillment is when my artworks touch the lives of many. 

Para sa mga bohemio sana man daa an (pag-in)arte. Nagtutubod ka digdi? Pakipaliwanag. Art is for bohemians—elites, etc.—only. Do you believe so? Please explain.

Art foretells history. If historians are considered elite, so is art. But that is not the case; art is a statement of time. 

Pa’no magiging kapakipakinabang sa sociedad an parapinta? How does a painter become socially relevant?

He does when his artwork touches many lives.

Ta’no ta kaipuhan ta’wan nin atensyon si Cesar Gueta, kun iyo man nanggad baga? Why (do people have to) pay attention to Cesar Gueta, if at all?

If the writer writes, it’s the painter that paints.

*A painting by Pablo Picasso, Guernica shows the tragedies of war and the suffering it inflicts upon individuals, particularly innocent civilians. This work has gained a monumental status, becoming a perpetual reminder of the tragedies of war, an anti-war symbol, and an embodiment of peace. 

Cesar Gueta, "Subliminal," 2010

Cesar T. Gueta is a Legazpi-City based painter specializing in the use of water color as medium. He is currently an associate professor in Fine Arts at the Aquinas University College of Architecture and Fine Arts (CAFA). He is also a product design consultant for export for the Department of Trade and Industry. The 36-year old artist honed his natural talent in the arts during his formative years in childhood, making arts as a child’s play. His artistic talent was further enhanced during his time in college at the Aquinas University CAFA. He joined various national art competions, making it to the finals of the Shell and Metrobank National Arts Competition in Manila sponsored by the Spanish Embassy for his painting entitled “Domestic Helper”. Gueta sees his combined knowledge in Architecture and Fine Arts as an advantage, seeing things in a different perspective, and knowing that “art is a living inscription of time, visual statement of recent history and a reference for future use.” Gueta hails from Monreal, Masbate. (Bionote from dagospo.com)

Check out Cesar Gueta's watercolorworld. Visit http://www.dagospo.com/ or http://cesargueta.webs.com/.

Guernica*? Bako, Gueta. Gueta Garbo.

[Guernica*? No, Gueta. Gueta Garbo.]

Usip-usip Ninda Niño Manaog sagkod Cesar Gueta 

[Interview with Cesar Gueta]

Ano an pagpinta segun ki Cesar Gueta? What is art for Cesar Gueta?

Art is my lifelong engagement. Making an artwork for me is beyond the visual. I consider other aspects like metaphors and complexities of life—love, tragedy, etc.

Ta’no ta nagpipinta si Cesar Gueta? What motivates Cesar Gueta to paint?

What’s important to me is my feeling. I actualize it with the use of my mind and hands. My heart dominates the rest of my senses.

Kun igwang ibang pagkakaabalahan si Gueta apwera sa pagpinta, ano ini? Ta’no? What would Cesar Gueta do if he wouldn’t paint? Elaborate.

I could engage myself in product designing, architectural works or academe.

Kun dai naimbento an pagpinta, ano kuta an ginigibo ngonyan ni Cesar Gueta? If art were not invented, what would Cesar Gueta be doing?

I would have been a priest.

Sairisay an mga impluwensya ni Cesar Gueta? Siisay an saimong hinahangaann, kinokopya, o gusting malapawan sa kinaban nin pagpinta? Nata’ man sinda? Name the painters whom you idolize, copy or desire to dethrone. Why?

Cezanne was a forerunner of impressionist art. Scott Burdick is a modern impressionist (who uses) purely brush strokes.

"Manobo," Oil on Canvas, 2" x 2"

Ano na an nahaman ni Gueta sa pagpinta? Karapatdapat ka man daw? Cite your highest achievements in visual arts. Do you deserve them?

In my 3 decades in art in which I had my ups and down—I could say engaging in art has made me a better person.

Ano an dai pa nahaman ni Gueta sa pagpinta? Maaabot mo an mga ini? Pa’no? What have you not yet achieved in visual arts? Will you achieve them? How?

Destiny leads me wherever my heart goes. I believe in myself and family’s support for this endeavor—this is a journey that is never ending.

Igwa na daw nahaman na Guernica si Gueta? Kun dai pa, nuarin daw ni? Have you made your obra maestra? If not yet, when will this be?

In some art competitions, I made original entries that people consider remarkable.

Ano an grand plan ni Gueta sa pagpinta? What do you want to achieve as a painter? (Being a painter is one ambition, though.)

I never have a grand ambition in life. In my career as a painter, my fulfillment is when my artworks touch the lives of many. 

Para sa mga bohemio sana man daa an (pag-in)arte. Nagtutubod ka digdi? Pakipaliwanag.

Art is for bohemians—elites, etc.—only. Do you believe so? Please explain.

Art foretells history. If historians are considered elite, so is art. But that is not the case; art is a statement of time. 

Pa’no magiging kapakipakinabang sa sociedad an parapinta? How does a painter become socially relevant?

He does when his artwork touches many lives.

Ta’no ta kaipuhan ta’wan nin atensyon si Cesar Gueta, kun iyo man nanggad baga? Why (do people have to) pay attention to Cesar Gueta, if at all?

If the writer writes, it’s the painter that paints.

*A painting by Pablo Picasso, Guernica shows the tragedies of war and the suffering it inflicts upon individuals, particularly innocent civilians. This work has gained a monumental status, becoming a perpetual reminder of the tragedies of war, an anti-war symbol, and an embodiment of peace. 

Cesar Gueta, "Subliminal," 2010

Cesar T. Gueta is a Legazpi-City based painter specializing in the use of water color as medium. He is currently an associate professor in Fine Arts at the Aquinas University College of Architecture and Fine Arts (CAFA). He is also a product design consultant for export for the Department of Trade and Industry. The 36-year old artist honed his natural talent in the arts during his formative years in childhood, making arts as a child’s play. His artistic talent was further enhanced during his time in college at the Aquinas University CAFA. He joined various national art competions, making it to the finals of the Shell and Metrobank National Arts Competition in Manila sponsored by the Spanish Embassy for his painting entitled “Domestic Helper”. Gueta sees his combined knowledge in Architecture and Fine Arts as an advantage, seeing things in a different perspective, and knowing that “art is a living inscription of time, visual statement of recent history and a reference for future use.” Gueta hails from Monreal, Masbate. (Bionote from dagospo.com)

Check out Cesar Gueta's watercolorworld. Visit http://www.dagospo.com/ or http://cesargueta.webs.com/.

Miling

Ni Raphael Francis Saavedra

Kan aldaw na magadan si Miling, nagkakurubhan si mga taga-Bagacay sa kurahaw ni Eta, an saiyang esposa.

Tanda ko pa si kinurahaw ni Eta kan aldaw na idto—“Miling, dai ko na ika mahahadukan sa saimong payo!”

An payo kaya gayod ni Miling ginikanan kan manlaen-laen na dunong kan saindang anom na aki—Emma, Junior, Salvador, Ofelia, Manuel sagkod Antonio. Sinasabi man na an payo ni Miling nanganaan kan mga illegal logger asin ginibo ining airport.

Si Miling. Beterano, maestro, ama, lolo. Principal kan barrio. Bantog si Miling sa Bagacay sa apod na “Sir”—idolo kan mga tao, idolo kan mga engkanto.

Dai ko man nanggad malilingawan si Miling—kinakatakutan nin mga paratatsi; linilikayan kan mga mayong ugali. Dawa sa mga makuapo niya an pagdisiplina sagkod na sana.

Sarong beses, pinaruluhod niya si apat kong tugang sa atubang kan Sagrado Corazon—dahil sa sala kan saro nadamay si tolo ta nagpaparangirisi kaya. Nagparangisi man ako alagad dai ko nakabale ta nagsasapna kaya ako.

Igwa man vez na ako an igwang nakadulak na tugang. Kaya pinaarapod niya kami sa libod. Poon alas nueveng agang sermon abot sinarom, saro sana an nasabutan ko sa halabaon na sermon—pasensya. Dawa daa agrabyado, [mag]pasensya.

Dai ko ito naiintindihan kaidto alagad kan mawara na siya, saka sana tuminadom an hulit niya sako. Pasensya. Dapat halabaon an saimong pasensya. Iyan gayod an dahilan kun ta’no dai siya malingawan kan mga tawo digdi sa lugar mi.

Kan siya magadan sa Aldaw nin Pagkamoot, nakatiriwi, mangkakanos kan mga lalawgon kan mga taga-Bagacay. Kan magadan si Miling, pati an kinaban nakisumaro sa paghibi kan mga engkanto.

Kan aldaw man na idto, nakanood ako saiya—tighurophurop ko si mga tigsabi niya sako. Ngonyan siya saro na sanang istorya.

Dios mabalos po, Lolo Miling.

Sarong pagsalingoy sa nakaagi ni Emiliano Saavedra, Sr., sa minsan na pag-iribahan mi duman kun saen ako nagpoon.

 

Emiliano Salvosa Saavedra, Sr. (05 Enero 1915–14 Febrero 1997)

Carbon Dating

I first saw Lolita Carbon and her band perform at the Bahay ng Alumni in UP Diliman in 1999. There they rendered a few numbers in a concert for a cause along with True Faith, Parokya ni Edgar and Eraserheads. 

There and then, I found her voice indispensable.

And on this one fine evening, in Poblacion Mambusao, Capiz, she opened the night with “Masdan Mo Ang Kapaligiran,” a rather slow tune to start the ball rolling. After singing the piece, she said everyone must have known the song. True, it reminded me of my childhood. The piece was widely played on the radio when I was a grade-schooler. And it has never been as relevant as today—as perhaps countless climate change activities would make use of the anthem in all efforts toregain Mother Nature.

After the first two songs, she asked if the audience was still there. The audience was shockingly quiet, as in composed. The space inside the Villareal Cultural Center bordered serenity. Perhaps the Mambusaonons only liked to listen, I thought.  The performer casually talked as she tried to engage the audience who hardly reacted. With a few applauses here and there, Lolita Carbon perhaps leveled off to her audience. Yet, it must have come effortlessly as her repertoire of songs consisted more of anthems of the soul, not the outbursts of a drug addict.

I supposed Lolita found it hard to have rapport with the audience, who perhaps expected a rather solemn repertoire. We, the crowd, were made to sit on Monobloc chairs—as in a graduation rites or a political rally, which is a rather awkward arrangement for a concert that you could possibly head-bang on. Well, what can you do? The concert was for a cause.

The audiences were old folks, perhaps religious men and women and their families who came in droves to support the fundraising. I came to the concert with Jennylen Laña, my teacher friend. Jenny joined me the entire evening.

I found myself singing along with Lolita Carbon, much to Jenny’s delight and awe. She was surprised that I know the lyrics of most of the songs by heart—some words across the lines I could barely recall. Having listened to Asin through the years, I told her some of their songs even became my anthems.

Lolita Carbon wrote and sang the songs from her heart—she sang “Magulang” and “Itanong Mo sa Mga Bata” to probably inject some morale into the audience. “Usok” reminded me of the nights many, many years ago when I would seek refuge from the tedium of city work. I remembered how the karaoke nights along Visayas Avenue just made me go on. That was before. That was before.

Have you ever roused someone from sleep, she asked. Perhaps the most difficult person to wake is someone who is wide awake—nagtutulug-tulugan lang. Lolita then sang, “Gising Na, Kaibigan Ko” which made me sing with her all throughout—“Nakita mo na ba ang mga bagay na dapat mong nakita? /Nagawa mo na ba ang mga bagay na dapat mong ginawa? /Kalagan ang tali sa paa; imulat na ang iyong mga mata; /Kaysarap ng buhay lalo na’t alam mo kung saan papunta.”

The song did not need Lolita Carbon’s conversation or explanation; her incantations were enough to make someone reflect. It also reminded me of the recent Nescafe TV ad—which asks, “Para kanino ka gumigising?” A purposeful life is worth living, it said.

Later in the night, Lolita related that many, many years ago, she wrote “Tuldok” with Cesar “Saro” Bañares, Jr. “Tuldok” said everyone has to be humble because compared to the whole universe, we are infinitesimal. Some years ago I learned how Bañares was knifed to death in a bar brawl somewhere in Mindanao. No amount of stardom can make someone supernova, indeed.

Towards the end of the evening, Lolita featured a song “Pagbabalik,” which she said won for her a music award back in the late 70s. Immediately, the song made me recall Ninoy Aquino’s plight when he was exiled to the United States—“Bayan ko, nahan ka?/Ako ngayo’y nag-iisa/Nais kong magbalik/Saiyo, bayan ko/Patawarin mo ako/Kung ako’y nagkamali/Sa landas na aking tinahak.”

Having read much of the national hero’s life and works, I could picture Ninoy’s famous last TV footage before he was gunned down in tarmac in 1983. I felt alive that I just do not exist—having these recollections and the ability to remember something significant beyond myself, I thought I proudly belong to history.

Some indistinct voices at the back requested for more numbers from the band. That’s why the last number was rendered with the sponsor priest. But soon after that, the night was over.

The concert wrapped up with Lolita Carbon singing with the sponsor priest, Fr. Banias, who sang “Dahil Sa’yo/Because of You” with the rock star. The last piece was more of a prayer, as it was sung with a priest. I heard my voice singing to God. “Dahil sa’yo, nais kong mabuhay/Dahil sa’yo, handang mamatay.” When the priest sang with the rock star, the melody, the harmony created went up the air as in “Usok,” in utter prayerful fashion.

It was too early to finish the concert. Yet, the husky voice of Lolita Carbon [when she said thank you and good night] told me two things. One, the Mambusaonons could have jammed with her the whole night long if they wanted to—her singing voice could simply relax anyone’s nerves. Her chords and her band’s drums and percussion will surely make one grab the next Red Horse bottle, and he could simply start to want to talk about something worthwhile.

Or, was it now the best time to end? The audience barely reacted to her. And the solemn concert arrangement disabled any wild audience to break out to head bang or something. Perhaps because the songs were just enough to make the audience recall. To make them recall is enough to make them quiet and spend their own spaces throughout the evening.

It was as if the audience came from an opera. Everyone was quiet and composed as the time they went in. All throughout the concert, Lolita engaged the audience, and made them sing with her and her band. The songs and their themes, I suppose, were more moral than musical, spiritual than synthetic. It was one of the most serious concert audiences I have been with.

“Kung tunay man ako ay alipinin mo/Ang lahat sa buhay ko’y dahil sa’yo.” I thought Lolita Carbon’s voice rose not only from her diaphragm but from her soul. I also thought perhaps if my soul has a voice, it would be hers. I thought I could tell her that.  I told Jenny I would want to meet the rock star at the backstage. I realized that I was one of her biggest fans. I wanted to talk to her. I asked one of the organizers if they sold CDs or stuff. There was none, I was told. It was simply a concert for a cause, I thought. 

Two weeks ago, Mrs. Erna Ticar, my fellow employee who works for the church, handed me the ticket labeled “Biyaheng Langit: Lolita Carbon of Asin and her Band in Concert.” The five hundred-peso ticket came with the privilege to donate for the reroofing of the church of St Catherine of Alexandria parish of Mambusao, Capiz.

Proceeds of the event will go to the renovation of the house of worship of the Mambusaonons, I thought. Or the ticket must have meant—perhaps Bro wants me to take things easy in my new work environment—and is probably telling me to relax and slow down. Really slow things down. I was right on both.

I thought that Lolita Carbon just sang it right, “Kaya wala kang dapat na ipagmayabang/Na ikaw ay mautak at maraming alam/Pagkat kung susuriin at ating isipin/Katulad ng lahat, ikaw ay tuldok rin.”

When Jenny and I stepped out from the crowd, it was still evening.

*For more information on how to donate for the St Catherine of Alexandria Parish, you can visit http://sanctacatalina.blogspot.com/