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.

Health Resolution No. 1

Today was a good day.

My mother's tumor, extracted through a major operation this early morning, turned out to be benign. Non-malignant. The ten-centimeter lump, which had lodged deep into my mother's thyroid and looked so scary in x-rays, shrunk to a harmless pea as soon as it was exposed to expert scrutiny.

I can honestly say that I didn't expect it to be otherwise. I was truly paranoid about two weeks ago, when I first learned about the impending operation. Suddenly my mother suspiciously seemed to be a lot thinner. Horrible scenarios started feasting on my imagination. I began to feel guiltier ang guiltier about how I've always treated her fussing irritably and how I don't make too much of an effort to "reach out" (a concern that I have discovered to be common among children who have gained lives relatively "independent" from their parent's stronghold.)

But just as she, a devout Catholic, seemed to surrender her fate to the will of God by going to Baclaran Church every Wednesday and purchasing a bottle of "Santo Niño's Holy Oil" (the mystical use of which I have yet to ask), I also fell back to an easy "Tiwala lang" attitude. Such an attitude is simply an adherence to the scientific brilliance of the adage: "Do not worry about the things that you can't control."

After her successful operation, I cut my work short. I immediately rushed to the hospital, only to be greeted by a warm throng of relatives crowding her small room (no matter, it was blissfully air-conditioned). There was lots of food and chatting. My huge family, which has a knack for turning each and every gathering into a picinic, did not disappoint. And my mother was in top form. Weak and drowsy from having her throat slit open and anesthesia pumped into her veins, she was, incredibly, sending my father and I frantic hand signals to get some utensils and feed our guests.

I sense that I must treat this moment of profound joy of my mother being cancer-free, with the thoughtful respect that it deserves. So as my father babbled on about how he vows to make regular family trips to a nearby organic farm in order to eliminate the toxins that we ingest in our food, and mused about how lucky we are to be able to afford treatment in such a nice place unlike the horrors the common public endures in budget-starved public hospitals, I made a decision.

Henceforth, I shall live my life as healthy as possible. Yes I shall try my best to give prime importance to my health, despite the fact that it sometimes dwindles into unimportance given the pressing duties of exposing and opposing society's far graver ills and the natural hazards of the trade. I realize that I should not kill myself before my enemies do. Certainly, it is cruel to consciously harm myself under the noses of my parents who would give life and limb to ensure that I would not one day be at the mercy of disease or the fear of it. 

If a few weeks pass and I don't look back at this blog entry bowing my head in shame and saying, "What the hell was I thinking?", I honestly would surprise myself. Frankly I can't remember the last time that I did that.

P.S. For those who know me, this resolution means what it means.

posted by: ilangq at 19:15 | link | comments (1) |
lifestyle check

Pananalig

Ang mga mangkok ng banal na tubig ay nanunuyo

habang bumubuhos ng panalangin

sa loob ng simbahang bato.

 

Sa isang dako, proteksiyon ang mga puting belo

sa mga ulong bugbog

sa araw-araw na pang-aapi.

 

Nakatungo, ngunit nakikita sa mata ng isipan

ang mga santong nananatiling bato,

ang mga demonyong naglalakad ng hayag

sa kanilang milyong kuwarto't lupa,

pinagtatapakan ang espasyo't buhay ng iba.

 

Nakaluhod, na parang mga anghel

na humihiling ng mga pakpak

patungo sa kapatawaran.

 

Kasalanan kaya ang hindi makisalo

dito sa pistang-dasal

na hindi nakabubuhay sa anumang paraan

liban sa puslit at manipis na ostyang

kapag komuniyon ay diretso sa tiyan?

 

Ang mga mangkok ng banal na tubig

ay nanunuyo katulad ng aking pananalig.

 

- Vigan City, 2001

posted by: ilangq at 12:44 | link | comments (1) |
malikhaing pagpanggap

Seriously, Martial Law

My father, an ardent activist since Martial Law years, is in distraught shambles over the recent spate of assassinations that have descended upon the ranks of progressives. News of the latest HRV (human rights violation) victim came to him by text message. "O, may pinatay na naman!" he exclaimed.

It turned out to be Atty. Charles Juloya of La Union, who luckily survived eight bullets. He was shot on his way to a meeting with investigators of the just-fallen Bayan coordinator Romeo Sanchez. 

It really is getting ridiculous, I thought. I know that "Martial Law again" is a mantra (accurate enough) that is hurled against every seated President since the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos. But this time is unprecedented in state brutality and repression.

Human rights groups have totalled a record number of 40 HRVs from January and February alone this year. The Arroyo government, it seems, was undaunted by the vicious lashing it received from the people for last year's Hacienda Luisita massacre of seven workers and farmworkers. It wasn't even ruffled by earning the title of the world's most dangerous place for journalists after Iraq (13 were killed last year). No, that wasn't enough for the President to put a leash on her vicious fascist dogs. It even seems that she fed them some special vitamin that invigorated a sinister hunt which now includes government officials (Bayan Muna councilor Abel Ladera), priests (Fr. William Tadena of Tarlac), and lawyers (Atty. Fedelino Ducut of Tacloban).

Interestingly, such a crackdown (which everyone assumes to be related to the increasing unpopularity of the government bent on increasing taxes amid a crisis magnified by pilfering of public funds in the last elections), is coupled with a blatant effort for artificiality.

As we drove home I pointed out a rather funny change in the urban poor dwellings that lined Sucat and MIA roads, the roads that carry people to and from the international airport. The facade of all the houses were being painted with colors of pastel blue, pink, green, and yellow, walls were being re-baptized white, and the pavements layered with red tiles. Palm trees and pink fences sprouted from the islands. In lampposts were banners welcoming delegates of the IPU (International Parliamentary Union Assembly).

The IPU is bringing together in Manila about 1,500 parliamentarians from around the world. The Senate and the House of Representatives, hosts to the events, are agog with the preparations and will be spending P37.7 million of the nation's money for sprucing up our surroundings.

"Sus, parang 'yung ginawa ni Imelda," my father said.

And I could sense the hilarity of it, the off-track betting stations, videoke bars, carinderias, money changers, humble stone houses shocked with their suddenly cheerful garb. In fast fancy cars that would brisk the foreign heads of state in that stretch of road for less than a couple of minutes, no one would get a glimpse of the real disarray of gray shanties that throbs and lurks at the narrow side roads. No one would be bothered by the ugly, pockmarked face of poverty they surely must know exists.

I didn't live through it, but I trust my father's words. It's looking a lot like Martial Law.

posted by: ilangq at 12:39 | link | comments (1) |
political chuvachuva

Paghangos

Bangkay na humahangos sa araw na ibinaon ng yamot,

nilumot na halinghing at balitang siniil ng hangin,

pilit kong dinudungkal ang mga sariwang bagay:

 

Asin ng luha bago idinildil sa kanin,

uhay na kumukunday sa balse ng matabang lupa,

isdang pumupusag-pusag at may matalas na palikpik

katulad ng diwang isinuka ng puganteng bituin

sa paanang maliksi sa daang tatahakin.

Pinagpag ko ang duming kumulapol

sa ugat ng letsugas na nginatngat sa dilim,

binunot ang ngipin sa nayong naglilimahid,

mga paru-paro'y pinahagod sa bukirin ng liryo

para sa mga salitang iyong binigkas

na tila unang patak ng ulan sa mga labing walang halas.

 

Kumikinang pa kaya ang mga matang noo'y natagpuan 

sa rabaw ng malusog na kamatis? O sadyang nilukob na

ng amag, agiw, nakapiring at hindi man lang gumigibik?

 

Heto ako ngayon, naaabo sa nakatirik na muhon,

at sinisimsim ang malawak na guwang.

Naagnas ang mga bisig habang hinahalukay

ang mga lasog na alaalang kasing-sariwa

ng biglang puwing sa mata.

posted by: ilangq at 09:33 | link | comments |
malikhaing pagpanggap

Quest for Mayon

Certified of a two-day stay at Ragay province in Bikol because of a speaking engagement at a university, I really planned this time, to see Mayon. I have been to Bikol several times but never quite reached the province of Albay to bask in the majesty and pride of the famed volcano. Once, in a fact-finding mission in Camarines Sur, the volcano passed into view during the long and bumpy jeepney ride to one of the mountain barrios. Unfortunately, I was drooling contentedly asleep at that particular early morning moment. I woke up only to exclamations of "Sayang, hindi mo nakita ang Mayon!" and could do nothing more but stare hopelessly at treetops and cliffs.

And so with hopes high, I tagged along with a friend to an errand in Naga City, dropped hints as to my real wish, and innocuously said yes when he asked if I wanted to go to Albay since anyway, it was only 1 1/2 hours from Naga. Unfortunately, the bus we rode on was the passenger-hungry type. It made lots of stops and ran so slow that the journey took us three long hours. When finally, we arrived at the Cagsawa Ruins, it was nearly dusk. The beautiful, clear blue sky had turned to a fury of clouds and grayness. And so where Mayon should be, I saw...nothing. Everything, except maybe 1/8th of its slope, was wrapped up in impenetrable mist.

Such cursed luck. Well, anyway, I met this cool bunch of kids eating mangoes, who were at first camera-shy but later on implored me to take more pictures of them and would laugh themselves silly and amazed at the instant (digital) product. I also got to purchase two very nice abaca bags at the souvenier stalls, bags which were sold at department stores in tripled prices.

It feels good buying stuff lower down the local consumer chain, because you know that your money justly compensated hard labor instead of just disappearing down the drain of profits of big business. The bag-sewers, I learned, earned only about P20 per bag that they make for an hour. Imagine, then, what farmers earns for a kilo of abaca that they spend the whole day extracting, or what weavers earn for every yard of abaca that they intricately dance their fingers and arms stiff to create.

There's so much to know about Bikol, one of the country's poorest regions despite the abundance of its natural resources and the hard-working grit of its people. Just as my quest to see Mayon is not yet over, surely, I will not tire in searching for the Bikolano's majesty and pride in themselves, and telling of their varied stories of exploitation, resilience, resistance and strength.

posted by: ilangq at 18:11 | link | comments (2) |
paglalakbay

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