blame my gun

(O huwag mo kalabitin ang aking gatilyo)

"The lesson today is how to die..."
Which Strange Little Girl would you be?
You have a strong sense of justice, and believe that ultimately people should pay for their crimes.

Bukang-liwayway sa Hacienda Luisita

Marahan pinapaslang
ng bukang-liwayway
ang nagdaang karimlan
sa Hacienda Luisita.

Humihigop ng kapeng mainit
ang mga welgista.

Hindi malasahan
ang itinimplang asukal
dito sa ilalim ng itinirik na toldang
bihis-bahaghari--
sa harap ng pabrikang lumpo
sa paglayas ng mga ginupo,
sa gitna ng bakanteng tubuhan
malaon naging piitan.

Sa umagang ito,
lumalalim ang bagong taon
kumukupas ang pitong itim na parol.

Pero dugong-martir na tumagas
hinuhulmang bakal
ang hanay ng mga bisig
nag-ensayong magkapit-kapit.

Bato'y mga tatsulok
kinumpuni't hinanda,
duhapang sa tirador
tiyak kung manudla:
COJUANGCO
BERDUGO
GMA PASISTA
PAHIRAP SA MASA

Maya-maya pa, nariyan na sila.
Mga hari ng karimlan
na sa simbuyo ng naliwanagang uri
ay patay na.

Sinong mag-aakalang
may bukang-liwayway
sa Hacienda Luisita?

Enero 22, 2005

posted by: ilangq at 14:29 | link | comments |
malikhaing pagpanggap

Pamilya Adan (Sudden rush of affection)

Hindi ko maalala kung kailan ako nag-umpisang magising sa saliw ng gitara at paghuhumiyaw ng aking nakababatang kapatid. Basta't isang araw nabatid ko na lamang na hindi eksperimental na pagkalabit ng kwerdas na lamang ang aking naririnig. Parang bigla-bigla, bumibira na siya ng sunod-sunod na mga kanta sa isang boses na di ko mawari kung maganda ba o ano (pag kapatid mo kasi, ang hirap mag-isip). Nase-sense ko na nga ang mga paborito niya--"Your Love" (Alamid), "Elesi" (Rivermaya), at iba pang Pinoy classics. At least hindi siya tulad ng pa-sosyal na acoustic singers ala-Paolo Santos (whom I realize I hate, by the way). Wala akong reklamo sa kapatid ko. Mabuti nga at pagigitara ang kanyang naging outlet at walang bisyo na aking nalalaman (take note: na aking nalalaman). Daing ko lang: Bakit ang bilis nila tumanda? Hayun, nago-OJT na siya sa, ano ba yon, fuji-something, isang japanese computer company. Bumili si nanay ng pizza para mag-celebrate ng kanyang first day. Naisip ko tuloy, teka lang, bakit ako walang pizza nung first day ko ng OJT noon sa Ibon Foundation? Bakit, pareho namang hindi nagsesweldo ng OJT ang kapitalista at NGO ha? Oo nga pala. Favorite ng nanay ko itong kapatid kong ito, paano siya lang ang lalaki, ang tanging puno sa hardin ng mga bulaklak (hahaha, sana alam niyo ang ibigsabihin ko). Naaalala ko nung baby pa siya na maitim pero laging pinupulbusan kaya nagmumukhang maputi, pag nagising yan at wala si nanay sa tabi niya, kakatukin niya kahit nasa loob ng banyo, iiyak. Tapos ito, weird (wala na itong kinalaman sa pagiging mama's boy niya). Nung bata pa kami alala ko na pinangalanan namin dalawa yung mga unan at kumot naming paborito, tapos tinawag namin na "Pamilya Adan." HAHAHAHA!!!! Walang sense!!! Basta alam ko, yung favorite pillow niya yung blue na manipis na mabaho na, may pangalan yon, nakalimutan ko na. Meron pa akong pinagagawa sa kanya noon pag walang magawa dahil pilit pinapatulog ng magulang. Na mag-"cute face" siya (meaning, naka-kunot ang ilong at nakapikit ang mata), at mahulog ng patalikod sa kama nang naka-derecho ang katawan. Tapos iyon, tawa na ako ng tawa, ilang beses ko pinapagawa yon, wala lang. The tyranny of the older sister. Bakit ko naisusulat ito, hindi ko alam. Sudden rush of affection of one who now only goes home maybe twice, thrice a week. Which is still often, considering. Still, it would've been very easy for me to miss that pizza, ang other little "family highlights" that I've only started to notice with everybody growing up so fast.

posted by: ilangq at 17:52 | link | comments |
tao sa buhay ko

Testing lang

Ahehehe...Testing lang sa pag-post ng pix. Syempre dapat yung bongga na yung setting diba? In the place where the bones of Mary Magdalene purportedly lie...

posted by: ilangq at 10:23 | link | comments (1) |
paglalakbay

The groom dies

Maybe because I took their picture that I thought they would be, as a couple, immortal. Or, more accurately, since they were fighters, that they would enjoy the fruits of their marriage before an enemy's bullet fells either one of them-- for that had to be, considering the consolidation of the guerilla base and the excellent composition of the unit, a rather rare tragedy. But tragedy does fall.

I remember, the enthusiasm of the masses who gathered for their wedding, they who said they were willing to nurture and take into their collective fold the comrades' offspring, if they should have one. I remember their sweet, shy smiles, as they emerged in identical blinding white kamiso-de-chinos, patiently waiting for their late "priest" (a balding commander) to begin the ceremony. And when it was over, holding a rifle above their heads, I remember how they didn't need much cajoling to deliver the requisite kisses needed to unlock the maze of arms in their path. They were very much in love, that was evident, and the people were very much in love with them.

Barely two weeks after, the groom dies. The death of a fighter is always a great loss. But the death, also, of a husband fresh from his vows, is unspeakable grief.

I took a beautiful candid picture of the couple, one which I was proud of and fond of showing the others. It was of the groom saying something of joyous value, the sharp features of his face softened by light that filtered into the picture from the sun above. The bride, beautiful, listening with her head bent, smiling happily. "Parang kukunin na sila ni Lord," a comrade commented.

I didn't know him much, he who "was taken." Only that he was a worker who grew concious of his class' historic mission and died a hero. And that he fashioned the necklace he and his wife wore by engraving Mao's head on a flat piece of wood. Yet his death tears at my heart.

It must, too, for the young local girl who gathered wild flowers on the way to the wedding at the camp, for the comrades who performed a long balagtasan telling of the gory details of the couple's relationship, for the bride's brother who sincerely bade the couple good luck and said good things about the revolution. 

For the bride, who is made of stronger stuff than most but still very much human, I can only wonder...

posted by: ilangq at 17:16 | link | comments |
malikhaing pagpanggap

A belated Christmas thought

"Nicene Christianity is the religion of Christmas and Easter, the celebration of a Jesus who is either too young or too much in agony to
shock us with his revolutionary rhetoric. The adult Christ who calls his followers to renounce wealth, power and violence is passed over in
favour of the gurgling baby and the screaming victim. As such, Nicene Christianity is easily conscripted into a religion of convenience,
with believers worshipping a gagged and glorified saviour who has nothing to say about how we use our money or whether or not we go to war."

~Empires Prefer a Baby and the Cross to the Adult Jesus by Giles Fraser, The Guardian U.K.

posted by: ilangq at 17:57 | link | comments (1) |
okasyon

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