Sa Liwanag ng Buwan

Tula

Mayo 6, 2012



Sa Liwanag ng Buwan




Nais kong abutin
ang bilog na bilog,
bagong buwan
Dahil ang larawan mo
ang aking
Nakikita.

Nais kong igapos ,
Hulihin ang iyong mga mata
Higupin ang bolang Kristal nito
Tulad ng malinamnam
na booba.

Nais kong pihitin
ang susi ng nakaraan
Upang ipinid ang lahat ng tabing,
Ikubli at itago ka
sa dilim ang buwan

Nais kong sipsipin,
matamis na nektar
Awayin ang bubuyog
ng iyong halakhak,
mataginting,
awit sa pandinig.

Nais kong sisirin
ang perlas sa kailaliman,
Hindi na umahon
at magising,
Malango
sa alak ng kaligayahan

At muling matutong
umawit,
humabi ng rima
sa gitna ng dilim
sa iyong nagkalat na liwanag.

ApG
6/6/12

"

Writing

Short Story
May 8, 2012


Writing


He wanted to be poet. He never wanted to be a writer.


But later he learned he had to write poems to be a poet and he needed to write. But he was never comfortable writing in another language rather than his native tongue-Tagalog.

So, when they offered elective subjects in high school, he chose Pilipino as an elective in journalism. He wrote poems and he put his heart on it.

Unluckily he had a journalism teacher who plays favorites. She never printed a single poem he wrote or article he has written. But everything that the two other classmate of his wrote, she published in the Pilipino high school newspaper.

But he was not discouraged. He played along even to the point of being mediocre and insulted.

But the last of his tether went off in his third year. He was running for valedictorian, the only chance that he can go to college for free. He cannot afford low grades even his electives. Those were counted and averaged.

So he made a hard choice. Even to the point that it hurt him, he dropped his Pilipino electives. He had to stop writing poems.

But true to the saying, a windows open when the door is closed on you,” One of his friends who was the incoming editor of the English school paper offered him a slot.

“ You are good in sport, you loved sports, why not write and be the sports reporter for our paper.” An offer he readily accepted.

He was a sports writer for a year and to his surprise, he was asked by their adviser to be the sports editor of their high school paper for the next year. And he liked it because it was an excuse for him to go and watch the games and be excused from his classes.

Later, when there was a need for articles, his friend who was the literary editor asked him;

“Bok, we need a filler, can you write something—a poem or an essay about any movie you have watched. A movie review of any movie you have watched.”

And he liked it. And they liked what he wrote. He writes as he writes.

But still he is not happy for he feels he cannot express what he feels in another language. He still yearns to write in Tagalog.

In college he stopped writing. Kept himself busy with school until he became involved with the Pilipino club. There he met the famous Pilipino poets and writers, both old and young and his passion for Pilipino was enflamed.

This time, when the First Quarter Storm came, he became an activist until he met an activist who was very instrumental to his being in the movement. He was recruiting him from high school until college and he became one of them. He asked him about something he can never forget.

“ You are a good speaker, why not write?”

“ I don’t have the gift for it. And besides, I just want to talk."

“If great people did not write, we will have nothing to read and discuss. Remember that. I know you love reading, then learn to love writing.”

“But you know I am an introvert. I don’t want to be like Alan Poe or Shelly who exposed themselves and their feelings. I am a private person.”

“Then write about the society. What change you want and convince people about the change you want to happen.” He was floored with that.

“ People will remember how good you speak. But they will remember you more if they can read what you write. We don't know, you might be another Mao or Lenin in the future. ”

He ended smiling, knowing that he will think about it.

His first try to write an essay in Pilipino. He joined an essay writing contest for the first time.

He was with his friends, all Pilipino writers and they were engaged in a bitter debate about the winner in that essay writing contest. He was surprised to find out they were the judges in that university wide contest.

“ I am still against declaring that writer the winner we do not know him.” Said one of his friends.

“ Well, that is why we will only know them by numbers. That is to avoid partisanship” one of his high school friends declared.

“ But what if he is not one of ours. If he is not an activist or an ND like us. It will be a shame if we let a no-activist win. ”. The older guy said. He was the son of a famous Pilipino poet.

“Hey”, he told them. “Can you tell me what is the title of the piece you are arguing.”

When they told him he laughed and said: “Don’t worry, It is I who wrote it.” And he laughed aloud.

“ Well, that settled the case, I knew it…the style was familiar. ” his high school friend laughed the loudest.

“We never knew you can write that well. Congratulations!” and they all hugged him.

Most of his life . he wrote in Pilipino and other dialects and very little in English. But every time he wrote he remembered him.

He still remembers his Pilipino teacher who rejected him and others who help and encourage him to write.

Yes, now he must have to write in English. For him, writing is not only a gift but a passion. He learned that one must have passion and love to write.

For him that is that is writing.


******

Short Story


May 10. 2012





A Fil-Am Friend





She was one of his first Filipino-American friends.





She happened to be one of his friends because she belongs to an activist organization in America. It was his first year in America and he did not know how to make friends with “Fil-Ams.”





But because they are in a movement (that’s what he thought), they are all “comrades” the way they are in the Philippines. Later he learned it in the hard way that friendship is different from comradeship. A friend is different from a comrade.





She was a daughter of a navy man. Her parents were both Filipinos. Later when he talked to her parents she was able to learn so many things he never learned from her. As usual you have to go to the roots to learn how the tree grew up.





The first thing she said to him was “ I am afraid I cannot hang out with you. I am not your age and we have different cultures.”





He answered, “ We don’t need to hang-out so often, our relations are political, remember we are comrades.”





All things changed when she went to the Philippines. Her attitude changed. But that was only for the short time. He recalled when they arrived from Seattle; she stomped out and left her father behind.





“ Very disrespectful. Well there goes, the spoiled brat” He said to himself as he just wiggled his head as he looked to the father running after her daughter at the arrival area. They did not even bother to looked back and say bye to him.





He did not let it go and criticized her for her attitude.





When he talked to the dad he learned many things. And he sized himself up and said: “ Maybe my daughters will also be like her because we both are always away from them.”





He hears out the old man’s lament: “ I did not choose to go to America . We are too poor. My parents were fishermen and we have to look for our future. I don't want to be a fisherman for the rest of my life.





I joined the navy and I rarely see her. I blamed myself for what she is now. She is looking for a country that I left behind and she blamed me.” The old man said.





“Just promised me one thing. That she will not change her citizenship. I fear for her life.” The told man repeated that until they dropped him to the train station.





Their relationship was purely political. They argue a lot especially on issues and some of her side activities. Until one day, she called him, DAD”





“Oh my god, I can’t believe I called you that.”





“What” he was surprised.





“I cant’ believe I called you dad! I did not mean it. That’s what I do when we argue , my dad and me about something.” He looked at her with surprise and amazement.





She was very apologetic. Thinking maybe he will be offended. That she was being ageist (a term he did not know by then). Or she feels she disrespected him because he was older or too old?





He just laughed and said. “ No problem, that’s nothing.”





And that’s only the start.





Another time they were arguing, he got piqued he walked out on her. And he was jolted when he felt a shove over his pack. She was so angry that she hit him at the back. He just looked back at her and with angry eyes; he left hurriedly without even looking.





He understood her more when he talked to her mother. That is one time when they visited her house when she was away in the Philippines.





" Her dad was always away. You know the life of a US Navy man. That is why when he comes home and try impose his discipline in the house I always remind him that he has been away and he does not know his children. So he must rest and just keep quiet and enjoy the company of his children.





My girl, she was an achiever. She played basketball even I told her not. Oh, if you just see how she played, even when those Black girls in her high school play dirty, clawing her face and her eyes, she kept on playing. She was intrepid" her mom proudly told us





" The only thing i always remind her is she is too loyal to her friends. That is why she suffers for her friends. And that is not good. I've been telling her it time to love yourself."





He believes it, she is extremely loyal. One of the pitfalls he saw in her. But cannot correct and never tried to corrct. He told himself: "Let her figure it out for herself."





But honestly he enjoyed being with her because he learned many things from his Fill-Am friend.





And a smile on his lips will always be seen, when he remembered her.





*********

Poem
May 12, 2012

Tiring?

1.

I am tired of loving people,
Who don’t love me,
I am tired of caring for people,
Who doesn’t care,
I am tired of fighting for people,
Who don’t want to struggle,
Who betrays me,
Who cheated on me,
Who tried to sell me,
Who don’t want to free,
Yet I have to be with them,
Still love them, care for them,
They who made cry,
They who laughed at me,
They who rejoiced when I failed,
They who never cared
And used me
I thank thee
For you made me
Strong;
And stronger
Than ever.

2.

They who gave me food
Instead of feeding themselves
And their love ones;
They who gave their lives
For me and chose to die
Without saying any word
And never betrayed me
To their last breath;
They who were
my mothers and fathers,
who gave me home
their homes as my own,
Who nursed me back to life,
Who carried me through,
They who prayed and laughed
With me,
Played their music,
Their gongs and drums
To their hearts and war beats;
They who died for me

3.

For they are my people;
I will fight for them;
I have to,
And I will..

Apg
May 12, 2012

"