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A Portrait of a Young Man as a Banak

Nonfiction by Jade Mark Capiñanes | September 10, 2017


(This Essay was first published in Cotabato Literary Journal)

From time to time, almost to the point of rarity, a school of peculiar banak visited Panacan, the
place where I grew up. They were a spectacle: if they had visited more often, the place would
have been a tourist spot. Unlike the common one-footers that could be caught using lanit, they
were roughly two feet long and swam in a group of around twenty to thirty. Nobody knew when
they would visit, and when they did the place would immediately come to life: the children,
barely catching a glimpse of them, would run over the wooden bridges that connected, like a
web, our little coastal community; the fishermen would hastily equip themselves with harpoons,
although nobody, as far as I can remember, would catch a single one of those elusive banak.
Nobody was ever prepared for their swift, unannounced appearance.

Our community was a small purok in Panacan, a barangay in Davao City, but to this day I still
wonder whether the purok was named Jasa or Jacona. When somebody asked me where I lived, I
found it difficult to answer. Perhaps it is one of the usual difficulties you encounter when you
live in an informal settlement, in which you develop a rather unusual sense of home. ―Sa Trese,‖
or at Trese, was the most convenient reply, but it was not that specific. So most of the time I
would say, ―Atbang lang sa Macondray,‖ or just in front of Macondray.

Over the phone Mama told me she would meet me at 7-Eleven, in front of the flyover at Agdao,
Davao City. I had just arrived after a three-hour ride from General Santos City. Standing in front
of Ecoland terminal, I told her I did not exactly know where our meeting place was.

―Naunsa. Taga-Davao ka unya wala katuod?‖ she said. She meant I should know where our
meeting place was because I‘d been born and raised in Davao.
―Ma, dili baya ko diri nagkabuot,‖ I said, clarifying that I had not matured in Davao.
―Pangutana dira. Tigulang na baya ka.‖ She said I should know how to ask people for directions
because I was old enough already.
I crossed the street and went to the jeepney stop. When the jeepney came I hurriedly got in and
sat in the front seat. Pretending that it was my first time in Davao and stretching the act a bit, I
handed the driver a twenty-peso bill and said, ―Kuya, saan po ba banda ang Agdao? Doon lang
po ako sa may flyover bababa.‖

The driver looked at me for a second. Patay, I thought, basig mahalata na Bisaya kog dagway. I
was afraid the driver had noticed that I looked and sounded Bisaya. He did not say anything. He
just handed me my change.

It took only a few minutes for the jeepney to be full. The time was 6:30 PM, and Davao was
filled with urban lights. In a single glance, Davao was a mixture of colors: it was a sky full of
fireworks, notwithstanding the irony of the metaphor. Behind the red, blue, orange, and yellow
sparks and specks, however, the black mantle remained: the night sky, the dark alleys. But like
little moths, we were drawn to the light. So we went on amid and through the traffic that was
already building up. While jeepneys move slowly, I thought, Davao changes very fast. I looked
outside the window and an unlit building caught my attention. It was not there the last time I had
visited Davao, or at least I just had not noticed it.

The jeepney stopped near a flyover. ―Dito na,‖ the driver said.

―Thank you po,‖ I said. Apparently my plan worked.

I searched for the 7-Eleven Mama talked about and saw it on the opposite side of the road.
Across the road and under the flyover, I walked, carrying a bag that contained five sets of
clothes, just enough for my five-day stay in Davao. I entered 7-Eleven, found myself a seat, and
looked for Mama. She was not there.

―Ma,‖ I called her. ―Naa na ko diri.‖ I said I was already in our meeting place.

―Paspasa ba? Padulong na ko.‖ Mama wondered why I had gotten there so fast and said she was
on her way.

―Asa na diay ka, Ma?‖ I asked her where she was exactly.

―Duol na lagi ko.‖ She said she was almost there.

And Mama arrived after about thirty minutes, which made me think about her sense of time and
distance. She looked significantly older and more haggard than the last time I saw her. I was
quite sure I was not getting any taller, but Mama seemed like she was getting shorter all the time.
Just when I was about to say it to her, she said something first, as if surprised: ―Naunsa diay ka?
Bunguton na man lagi kaayo ka?‖ She asked why I had grown a thick beard.
―Ma, tigulang na baya ko,‖ I said, meaning I was old enough already.

Several years ago I went to Sulit, Polomolok, South Cotabato, to spend my summer vacation at
my grandparents‘. It was supposed to be just a visit, but after some time I decided to stay there
for good.

Sulit was totally different from Panacan. While Panacan had the sea, Sulit had the earth. While in
Panacan I kept fish in an aquarium, in Sulit I kept fireflies in a jar. While in Panacan we shared
the same wall with a neighbor, in Sulit we shared the same empty space within which we could
exchange echoes with a neighbor. I may be exaggerating in the last one, but you get the point.
Curiously, though, when it came to gossip, an empty space seemed to be more efficient a
medium than a shared wall. In a week the people there already knew about me—and some pretty
accurate details about my family.

Staying in Polomolok, of course, meant leaving Davao, where I had spent the first thirteen years
of my life. It meant that I would possibly have to spend the rest of my life there too. Whether it
was overfamiliarity of the known, or the desire for the yet unknown, or just plain teenage
hormones triggered by a pretty girl named Angelyn that pushed me to come up with the decision,
I am still quite uncertain. I am certain, however, that it was my first major decision in life.

Years later, after finishing the third and fourth year of my high school there, I moved to the
nearest city, General Santos, to pursue a college degree. It is where I live now. General Santos, I
think, is Davao and Polomolok combined.

Mama said we should celebrate because it was the first day of Kadayawan. She suggested that
we drink at Matina Town Square, but I told her that I did not feel like drinking. Besides, I was
still dizzy from the three-hour travel and was already starving that time. A simple family bonding
would suffice, I told her, like a chat over pizza or something. (When was the last time we bonded
as a family? I could not remember.) We went to Roxas to meet Justine, my younger brother, who
now worked in the call center during the night and went to school during the day. He, too, looked
smaller than the last time I saw him, perhaps because of lack of sleep. After that we went straight
to Gaisano, or as they elegantly put it, ―G-Mall.‖

We ate in a burger house. Waiting for our order, which seemed like forever, Mama and Justine
took some selfies. Later on they invited me for some group pictures. Looking at the photos we
had taken, Mama again pointed out my beard. I needed to shave, she said. I needed to eat, I said.
I might have seemed distant in all of those photographs, but I was there, with them, my seizing
the moment being not necessarily said by my frowns the camera captured.
When our order was finally served, I ate immediately. Before having their share of the gigantic
burger, Mama and Justine—again—took some selfies. While eating, we talked about how we
were doing, how our studies were, things like that.

Papa texted, asking me where I was. I replied I was having dinner with Justine and Mama. He
said okay. I called the waiter and had a take-out order for Papa. Justine had to go first because he
already had to work. Mama and I stayed and talked for a while before finally leaving.
―Uli na ko, Ma,‖ I said as we went out of the mall, meaning I had to go home.
―Dili ka muhapit kadali sa akong ginatrabahuan?‖ She asked me if I wanted to go to where she
worked.
After three years in the Accountancy program, a failing mark in a major subject, and several
bouts with boredom and restlessness, I decided to shift. It was my second major decision in life.
In my Philippine Literature class, which I took up in my first year in my current course, our
professor once assigned us to research on the origin of the name of the place where we grew up.
That time I had no recollections whatsoever of stories about Panacan. I tried to remember the
times the old folks had narrated tales of yore to us children during those long, cozy afternoons,
but what I could only retrieve was the story of how Barangay Tibungco got its name (Tibungco,
they said, came from the word trabungko, a mutya or a jewel taken from the head of a mythical
giant snake that once roamed the place). Unfortunately, I had not grown up in Tibungco, a few
kilometers away from Panacan, although I have fond memories there (I had studied in F.
Bustamante National High School, a school at Tibungco, for two years: first and second year
high school).

But of course the information was just on the tips of my fingers. I found the etymology of
Panacan in a site in the Internet. The site says that Panacan can be traced back to the Cebuano
word banakan, an affixed form of the word banak (a kind of saltwater fish; ―grey mullet‖ in
English). Therefore, Panacan roughly means ―a place teeming with grey mullets.‖ A very long
time ago, the site adds, Panacan was famous for its grey mullets; due to their abundance,
fishermen from all around the area could easily catch a lot of them. But due to unmitigated
fishing, perhaps, their population significantly decreased in number, and through time they
became fewer and fewer.
The story almost appears to be a myth, but myths have a certain nugget of truth in them. It can be
summarized thus:

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there were many banak swimming in the sea and
those many banak that were swimming in the sea left the place named Panacan…

Panacan was their home. But after many years they became just visitors.

―Diri ko nagatrabaho, nak,‖ Mama said as she pressed the doorbell of a two-storied house. She
said it was where she worked.

A boy opened the gate. The son of her boss, Mama said.

―Hello,‖ the boy said. ―You‘re tall.‖

―He‘s my son,‖ Mama said to the boy.

As we entered their front door, we came across a foreigner, perhaps around forty to fifty years
old. Mama introduced me to him. The boss, she said.
―So you‘re Annabelle‘s son?‖ the foreigner said. ―Are you the one with the allergies?‖

That moment I knew whom the foreigner meant. Justine has skin allergies. Ever since he was a
child, it has been his problem. Mama, I thought, is still the same. She shares too much
information. That moment, too, I was afraid she had divulged to her boss some embarrassing
facts about me.

―No, no,‖ Mama said, ―he‘s my eldest son.‖

The foreigner shook my hand.

After that encounter I sat in their living room, which was bigger than our whole house. I looked
at their wooden ceiling, which was very high. From it I could hear footsteps. Going down the
stairs, a woman stared at me. She turned out to be the foreigner‘s wife, a Filipina. I also met their
other kids, who were all chubby. I tried to be nice. I glued a smile on my face.

The built-in thesaurus of my computer lists the following words as the synonyms of home:
house, residence, abode, habitation, domicile, dwelling, etc. But some nuances of words, and
language in general, cannot be fully captured by a thesaurus or a dictionary. Assassinate and
butcher, for instance, are synonymous, but while you can butcher and assassinate people (which
is not to say you should), you can only butcher, but not assassinate, a goat (unless it‘s a
prominent goat, which is still highly unlikely). As terribly clichéd as it may be, a house is not
necessarily a home.

I once asked Papa if he thought about buying our own house. He did, he said, but his income as a
glass installer was just enough for our daily expenses. A house for now was a luxury, he tried to
tell me. ―Kamo na siguro bahala ni Justine,‖ he said, meaning it was up to Justine and me.

―Unya asa man ka mupuyo, Pa?‖ I asked him where he would live.

―Depende. Mahibaw-an ra na.‖ It depends, he said. We would just know it soon.

―Dili na diay ka gusto mupuyo kauban ni Mama?‖ I asked him if he still wanted to live with
Mama.

As of this writing, Mama still works as a housemaid in that two-storied house. Before I left there,
however, she told me about quitting her job and finding a new one. ―Kapoy kaayo, nak,‖ she
said, meaning she was tired of her work. ―Ako ra juy katabang diri, all-around pa jud. Luto,
silhig, laba. Kapoy kaayo saka-kanaog ug manglimpyo sa ilahang balay.‖ She was the only maid,
and she did everything from cooking, cleaning, to doing the laundry. She was so tired of cleaning
their up-and-down house.

―Isa na lang bitaw ka tuig, Ma, mu-graduate na mi ni Justine,‖ I said, consoling Mama that a year
from now Justine and I would graduate from college. ―Makapahuway na ka puhon.‖ She would
take the rest she deserved very soon.

It was not totally different from Mama‘s former job. For two years she had worked as a domestic
helper in Kuwait. When she came back she had nothing to do, nowhere to go. Since she had no
stable income, her savings ran out, and her few pieces of jewelry were pawned.

Mama and I once had a misunderstanding when I found out she lost her money and necklace in
tong–its, a game she had promised not to play again. Papa said that her gambling, which I think
was on the verge of being pathological, was the reason why he decided to settle for good with his
new partner. He could not even remember the last time Mama cooked for him, he said.
But, as Mama would say, Papa‘s infidelity was the reason why she gambled.

Mama had to look for another job, which brought her there.

―Kamo na lang jud ni Justine akong pag-asa, nak,‖ she said, meaning Justine and I were her only
hope. ―Dili na ko muasa pa sa imong amahan. Lipay na siya didto ni Fe.‖ She had stopped
expecting anything from Papa, because she believed that he was already happy with Fe.

―Ingnan bitaw mangita na lang kag kano, Ma,‖ I told her in jest, teasing her to look for a
foreigner. ―Tan-awa imong amo. Nakakitag kano, kwartahan na kaayo.‖ Look at your boss, I
said. Married a foreigner, now rich.

Mama just laughed. She accompanied me to find a ride home. Before saying goodbye, we went
back to 7-Eleven. Mama bought some chocolates for James, my youngest brother.

Papa now lives in a house at Dose, particularly Sto. Rosario, just a kilometer away from our old
place. Here are some facts: one, the house is rented; two, I refuse to call it an apartment, for it is
far away from the connotations of luxury the word apartment has; three, it is plagued by small
ants that bite into clothes, leaving tiny holes on them; and four, it is where Papa‘s live-in partner
also lives.

It is not the first house they have moved in since the demolition of our house in Panacan. The
first one was in PDRHAI Village, which was also rented. But while it had no ants that ate clothes
little by little, it had no clean source of water, either. (Maslow said that water, a physiological
need, must be answered first before clothes, a source of comfort. He was right.)

Sometimes Justine stays at Papa‘s, especially on weekends. On weekdays he stays in a boarding


house, near USEP-Obrero. He spends a lot of his time in his studies and his part-time job. Until
now I still wonder how he manages to do both at the same time. Perhaps he is more responsible
than me. James, on the other hand, likes to stay in my aunt‘s at Panacan, because there he can
play with our cousins. But whenever I go to Davao, James goes home.

On the way to Papa‘s, I was engulfed with apprehension. Several years ago when I had gone
there, I was surprised to see a woman cooking in the kitchen. The woman, as I had discovered
later, was Papa‘s live-in partner. Papa had kept it from me—and until now he has never talked
about it with me. I could not do anything about it but to accept it. Last time I had visited Davao,
the woman, Mama had said, was months pregnant. I had believed it, too, for I could see her
enlarged belly. It had been months since then. During the time I was away, I had never really
asked anyone about it. I had not confronted Papa about it too, and something in me had waited
for him to be the first one to open up. But Papa was Papa. Whether or not the woman had already
given birth, I did not know.

Now was the moment of truth. I knocked on the door and Papa opened it for me. He looked at
me for a while and said I looked like a hermit because of my beard. I said nothing in response
and handed him the burger I had taken out for him. James, who had gone home and waited for
me, was already asleep on the foam on the floor. The woman was beside him, her body covered
in blanket. I was looking for someone else. I was looking for her child.

But I did not find one.

I went straight to the bedroom and changed my clothes. Taking a deep breath, I flung myself into
bed. I could not sleep. Later I went out and watched the late night news. Papa was eating the
burger I had bought for him. Except for the news anchor in the television, nobody was talking.
Papa broke the silence when he asked me about my studies.

I said all was fine.

Now and again I looked at the woman. Later on the blanket slid off her body and I saw her
tummy, still enlarged. If she was pregnant for months the last time I went here, I thought, how
could she still be pregnant? Puzzled, I turned off the television and went to the bedroom. ―Pa,‖ I
said, ―matulog na ko.‖ I told Papa I was going to sleep.
I fished out my phone from my pocket. Lying in bed, I texted Mama: ―Abi nako buntis si Fe,
Ma?‖ I thought Fe was pregnant, I texted Mama. Moments later I fell asleep.

The following morning, upon waking up, I saw James sleeping beside me, holding my phone.
Perhaps, I thought, he played games. I kissed his cheek and slowly pulled out my phone from his
grip.

I read the text messages, one of which was from Mama: ―Naa man diay siyay myoma, nak.‖
Mama texted that Fe had myoma.

I lay in bed for a while, eyes focused on the nonfunctioning fluorescent light on the ceiling.
Afterwards I heard a knock on the door. I knew what it meant. Going out of the room, I saw the
woman preparing our breakfast. Papa was already at the table, taking a sip of law–uy, a
vegetable dish, his favorite meal.

―Kaon na, Gong,‖ the woman said, inviting me to eat. She called me by my nickname.
I did not say a word. I found myself a seat, trying not to look at her.

James Joyce calls it a ―voluntary exile,‖ an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms. Joyce lived an
itinerant life, but all of his literary works, it can be said, hark back to Dublin, Ireland, his
birthplace. ―If [Dublin] one day suddenly disappeared from the earth,‖ he says, ―it could be
reconstructed out of my book.‖ The book Joyce is referring to is his novel Ulysses, whose
characters and events parallel those of the epic Odyssey, and those of the life of Joyce himself.
Like Ulysses, Joyce was in his own physical and spiritual odyssey, and he remembered the
shores of Dublin, his Ithaca, wherever he was.

The final part of Ulysses is titled ―The Nostos,‖ a reference to the Greek literary theme of nostos,
which means ―returning home,‖ or in the case of the Odyssey, ―returning home by sea.‖ The
Greek word is also one of the origins of the word nostalgia. Home, perhaps, is just a
reconstruction of the past, which encompasses all our staying and going, our arrivals and
departures. It is created by piecing together bits of hazy images, faint scents, bland tastes,
indistinct voices, and clouded emotions, which altogether constitute what we call memory. It is
never fixed or certain: like water, it slips out of our hands the moment we think we have grasped
it. Like the sea, it changes its form, has its own tides, and has its own waves. What we visualize
when we think about home, perhaps, is just the sea in its quietude.

I am writing this in my room, in a boarding house near the university in General Santos City
where I study, two weeks after my visit in Davao. I have been alone here since my two
roommates left a couple of months ago: one graduated, and the other one had to find another
work someplace else. The room contains two double-decked beds. I sleep in one bed, leaving the
other one empty. Living alone, having a bigger space for oneself, is tricky. Most of the time it
just means a lot of empty spaces to fill in.

The place of my childhood faced a part of Davao Gulf whose blue waters stretched towards the
shores of Samal. Our old house, like everybody else‘s, stood proudly above the waters, supported
by wooden stilts that raised it considerably higher than the sea level during high tides. One time,
however, the seawater was so high it reached our tabla floor; fortunately, it did not cause too
much damage. Several years ago it was demolished, alongside some of our neighbors‘ houses
and some of the wooden bridges.

But a little part of the place still remained.

For the last day of my visit in Davao, I decided to see that place. In my visit I would feel that
even though the majority of it had been turned into a seaport, it was still the same. There I would
see some of my childhood friends and would be reminded of the things we used to do: how Ada,
Alicon, and I once went boating and had the boat sink; how we were once chased by police
officers when we joined a gang war of luthang and pellet guns; how we went caroling with
friends, most of whom were Muslims, in Decembers; how they would invite me, a Christian, to
partake in the food they prepared during the feast after Ramadan; and so on. There I would look
at the sea and fancy that those peculiar banak were also on their own odyssey, still uncaptured,
constantly looking for their home, but found it important to visit the place from time to time.
I got in the jeepney and sat in the front seat. I handed the driver a twenty-peso bill. ―Asa ni?‖ he
said, asking where he should drop me off.

―Sa Trese,‖ I said. ―Atbang lang sa Macondray.‖ At Trese, I said, in front of Macondray.

And I knew where it exactly was.


Aden Bon Besen Uyag-Uyag (Mga Buhay Pa Pala)
Nonfiction by Mubarak M. Tahir | December 17, 2017
(Nanalo ang sanaysay na ito ng ikatlong gantimpala sa Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards
ngayong taon.)

Kilala ang bayan ng Maguindanao na isa sa mga tampulan ng gulo o digmaan tulad
ng Maguindanao Massacre. Ito ang pagkakakilala ng hindi man lahat ngunit ng karamihan lalo
na sa hindi bahagi ng kuwento ng bawat may buhay sa Maguindanao. Mga kuwentong maaaring
maunawaan at mas marami ang hindi makakaunawa dahil sa kawalan ng kamalayan sa kanilang
bayan. Hindi maiintindihan dahil sa hindi pagkakapantay-pantay ng estado sa lipunan. Hindi
mauunawaan dahil sa hindi magkaparehong pananaw sa pananampalataya at paniniwala. Isa sa
mga baranggay ng Maguindanao ay ang Kitango, Datu Piang. Ito ang bayang kinamulatan ko,
ang bayang humulma sa aking pagkatao. Ang bayang humubog sa aking prinsipyo, pananaw at
paniniwala sa buhay. Ang bayang nagbuklod sa aking pamilya. Ang bayang yumapos sa
katotohanang sa kabila ng lahat maaari akong mamuhay at magpatuloy sa buhay.
Pitong taong gulang ako nang magsimulang mahubog ang aking pananaw at pagmamahal sa
Kitango, Datu Piang, Maguindanao. Wala mang kamuwang-muwang sa tunay na imahe ng
buhay. ay patuloy na naglalayag ang aking kamalayan sa aking kapaligiran.

Malaki sa populasyong bumubuo ng Maguindanao ay mga Muslim na Maguindanaoan. Kaya


naman ang kultura, tradisyon at paniniwala ng lahat ay nakabatay sa pananampalatayang Islam.
Isa sa mga pinakamahalagang araw sa buhay ng bawat mananampalatayang Muslim ay ang pag-
aayuno na tinatawag na Saw’m. Kabilang ito sa limang haligi ng pananampalatayang Islam.
Hindi ganap ang pagka-Muslim ng sinumang nag-aangking Muslim ang hindi pagsasagawa rito.
Ang dakilang buwan na ito ay tinatawag na Ramadhan, buwan ng pag-aayuno, pagsasakripisyo,
paghingi ng kapatawaran at paggunita sa Allah. Ang lahat ng mamamayan ng Kitango,
Maguindanao, bata man o matanda ay naghahanda at nasasabik sa unang araw ng pag-aayuno.
Bilang Muslim, inaasahan na mag-aayuno ang lahat. Ngunit hindi lahat ay kinakailangan o
obligadong magsagawa ng pag-aayuno tulad ng mga batang hindi pa umaabot ng pitong taong
gulang, matatandang wala ng kakayahan o mahina ang pangangatawanan, mga nagdadalang-tao,
nagpapasuso ng sanggol, babaeng may regla at bumibiyahe sa malalayo.

Bilang bata ay hindi ako obligadong mag-ayuno, ngunit bilang paghahanda ay sinanay ako nina
A‘ma at I‘na kahit hindi man ito maisagawa ng buong araw. Dahil nasasabik sa unang araw ay
isinama ako ni A‘ma sa padiyan upang bumili ng kakailanganin sa unang araw ng pag-aayuno.
Habang nakasakay ng bisikleta si A‘ma at ako‘y nasa kanyang likuran, masaya kong
pinagmasdan ang kabuuan ng aking bayang sinilangan. Laking tuwa ko nang makita ng ang
aking kapaligiran. Bilang paghahanda, napalibutan ng makukulay na banderitas o pandi ang
bawat kalye na tila kumakaway ang matitingkad nitong kulay na pula, dilaw at berde habang
hinahampas ng hangin. Hindi rin nakatakas sa aking pandinig ang mga tunog ng kulintang at
agong na lalong mas nakapagbibigay buhay at sigla sa lahat. Paminsan-minsan ko lang naririnig
ang mga instrumentong ito dahil pinapatugtog lamang ito tuwing may mahahalagang
pagdiriwang gaya ng kasal. Kasabay ng bawat ritmo ng tugtog ay ang kagalakan ng bawat isa sa
bayan. Halos lahat ay abala at nangingibabaw ang ngiti at tuwa ng bawat imahe ng bawat tao.Ito
ay ngiti ng kapayapaang namumutawi sa puso ng bawat Maguindanaoan.
Nang makarating kami ni A‘ma sa padiyan ay abalang-abala halos lahat ng may paninda sa
pagsasaayos, pagpapanday at pagpapatayo ng barong-barong na paglalagyan ng paninda. Habang
hawak-hawak ako ni A‘ma ay hindi miaalis sa aking paningin ang mga batang kasing-edad ko na
tumutulong sa kanilang mga magulang sa paghahanda. Lalo akong sumaya dahil ramdam ko ang
katiwasayan ng pamumuhay naming lahat.

Magdadapit hapon na nang makauwi kami ni A‘ma mula sa pamamalengke. Hindi pa man
nakaakyat sa hagdanan ay narinig namin ang panawagan ng pagdarasal na tinatawag
na bang o adzan. Nang mailagay sa hapag ang mga pinamili ay agad naming tinungo ni A‘ma
ang balon na pagkukunan ng tubig na panghugas ng katawan bago magdasal. Habang nagdarasal
ay abala naman si I‘na sa paghahanda ng hapunan. Ginisa na sariwang kangkong na
nangingibabaw sa amoy ng tanglad at pritong galunggong ang inihanda ni I‘na. Tanging ilaw ng
lampara ang siyang nagbibigay liwanag sa aming hapag habang kumakain. Habang ninanamnam
ang pagkain ay hindi ko naiwasang titigan ang bawat mukha ng aking mga magulang. Bakas ang
katandaan ang kanilang noo. Ang mga mata nila ay kasasalaminan ng katiwasayan ngunit
nangingibabaw ang pagkabahala‘t pagkatakot ng kahapon. Hindi ko man lubos maunawaan ang
mga ito ngunit naniniwala akong may kapayapaan sa bawat ngiti nina A‘ma at I‘na. Pagkatapos
maghapunan ay muli kaming nagdasal para sa I’sa: dasal sa gabi. Nakaugalian na sa aming
nayon na bago pa man lumalim ang gabi ay nasa loob na kami ng aming kulambo bilang
paghahanda na rin sa unang araw ng pag-aayuno. Masaya ako sa ganitong mga oras dahil alam
kong ligtas at panata ang aking kalooban dahil napapagitnaan ako ng pagmamahal nina A‘ma at
I‘na.

Nagising ako sa mainit na dampi ng kamay ni I‘na bilang hudyat na ng pagkain. Kahit hirap at
pilit na iminulat ang mga mata ay masigla akong bumangon. Agad tinungo ang bangang may
tubig at naghilamos. Habang kumakain ay pilit na niyayapos ng antok ang aking balintataw kahit
mabilis ang bawat pagsubo. Kinakailangang bago pa man sumapit ang adzan sa pagdarasal
ng Sub’h, dasal sa madaling araw, ay tapos na kaming kumain. Nangangahulugang hindi na kami
maaari pang kumain at uminom ng anuman hangga‘t hindi sumasapit ang adzan sa pagdarasal
ng Maghrib, pagdarasal sa gabi. Pagkatapos kumain ay hindi na muna kami natulog upang
magdasal sa umaga. Muli kaming bumalik sa aming higaan at natulog.

Sa buong araw ng pag-aayuno, maliban sa pagdarasal ng Duh’r; ang dasal sa tanghali, As’r;
dasal sa hapon ay kinakailangang laging gunitain ang Allah gaya ng paulit-ulit na pagsambit
sa Allahuakbar; dakila ang Allah, Subhanallah; sambahin ang Allah, Alhamdulillah; ang
pasasalamat ay sa Allah, at La Ilaha Illa Allah; walang ibang Diyos na dapat sambahin maliban
sa Allah. Hindi rin dapat kaligtaan ang pagbabasa ng banal na kasulatan ng Allah ang Qur’an.
Ang banal na kasulatang ito ay ibinaba sa pamamagitan ni Anghel Gabriel sa sugo na si Propeta
Muhammad (sumakanya nawa ang kapayapaan). Naniniwala kami na ang bawat titik ng salita na
nababasa sa aklat ay katumbas ng sampung mabuting gantimpala. Maliban sa hindi maaaring
pagkain at pag-inom ng anuman ay hindi rin pinapahintulutang magtalik ang mag-asawa. Ang
mga maliit na kasalanan gaya ng pagsisinungaling ay binibgyang pansin din.

Dinadalaw man ng pagkagutom at pagkauhaw ay pilit ko itong nilalabanan. Minsan ay hinayaan


ko na lamang ang aking sarili na dalawin ng antok upang hindi mabatid ang pagsasakripisyong
dinaranas sa buong maghapon. Ramdam ko ang katahimikang bumabalot sa buong pamayanan
dahil sa panatang ginagawa. Walang ingay. Tanging langitngit lamang ng kawayan at lagaslas ng
tubig ang siyang yumayakap sa aking pandinig. Sinyales ng katahimikan at kapayapaang
namumutawi sa aming bayan.

Pagkatapos magdasal ng As’r ay inaanyaya ako ni A‘ma na sumama sa padiyan. May kahinaan
mang dinaranas ay sumama na rin ako. Muli ko na namang naulinigan ang bawat ritmo ng
kulintang at agong habang papunta sa padiyan. Napawi ang aking panghihina nang masilayan ko
ang kasiyahang taglay ng aming bayan. Nadatnan namin ni A‘ma ang padiyan na halos hindi
mahulugan ng karayom sa dami ng tao. Bata at matanda, babae at lalaki ay abala sa pamimili ng
mga ihahanda para sa buka o iftar. Nakikipagsiksikan si A‘ma na bumili ng mga sariwang isda
gaya ng tilapia, hito, hipon, at iba pang uri ng isda na karaniwang matatagpuan sa ilog ng
Maguindanao. Hindi rin nakawala sa aking paningin ang pangkat ng mga matatandang lalaki na
abala sa pamimili ng tabako. Nakita ko si A‘ma na nakisali na rin at marahang itinaas ang isang
hibla ng tabako. Mababakas sa mukha niya ang pagkasabik sa paghithit ng tabako. Kasabay nang
pag-angat niya ng tabako ang akmang lalanghapin na sana nito ang halimuyak ng tabako ngunit
agad na rin niya itong inilayo sa kanyang ilong dahil bawal ang kusang pag-amoy sa anumang
bagay na makakapaghatid ng tukso, na maaaring maging dahilan ng kawalang-balido ng pag-
aayuno. Habang namimili ay binigyan ako ni A‘ma ng limang piso upang bumili ng bloke ng
yelo. Kung may mabenta man sa lahat ay yaon ang yelo na halos pinag-aagawan ang lahat. Ilang
minuto rin akong nakipagsiksikan makakuha lang ng yelo, pampatid sa uhaw. Nang pauwi ay
huminto kami upang bumili ng mga kakanin. Hindi kompleto ang handaan kapag walang
kakanin ng Maguindanoan gaya ng dudol; gawa sa katas ng niyog at pulang bigas, inti na yari sa
katas ng niyog at bigas na kulay dalandan, plil na hinulma galing sa dinurog na hinog na saging,
at tinadtag na gawa sa harina na hinulma na parang bihon. Ang mga kakaning ito ay tatak ng
aking bayan. Magdapit hapon na nang makauwi kami ni A‘ma sa bahay.

Bang! Bang! Boooom! Bang! Ang mga tunog na gumising sa amin nang madaling araw bago pa
man sumapit ang Saw’m. Mga tunog na kailanman ay hindi ko pa narinig. Mga tunog na
gumimbal sa katahimikan ng buong bayan. Napatakbo si A‘ma sa labas ng bahay at tinawag ang
kapitbahay. Ilang beses nagtawag si A‘ma ngunit mga putok lamang ng nagsasalubungang bala
ang bumalot sa aming pandinig. Mas lalo pang lumakas ang putukan. Napagapang si A‘ma
palapit sa amin ni I‘na na nagyakapan sa isang sulok ng bahay. Gumagapang kami nang biglang
mabuwal ang haligi na aming kinalagyan. Natagpuan namin ang aming nagimbal na kaluluwa sa
banggerahan. Nakita ko si I‘na, namumutawi sa kanyang mga mata ang pagkabahala at takot
habang mahigpit niya akong niyayakap. Tanging Allahuakbar, Subhanallah,
at Astaghfirullah ang mga katagang nasabi ni I‘na. Niyugyog ng ingay ng malalaking sasakyan
na may lulang mga sundalo ang aming bahay. Balot na rin ng alikabok ang labas ng aming
bahay. Bilang ko na rin ang mga butas sa bawat bubong at haligi ng bahay na dala ng
nagsisulputang bala. Sa mga butas ko rin naaninag ang silahis ng araw, ngunit mahapdi sa
paningin. Umaga na pala…

La Ilaha Illa Allah! Alhamdulillah! Dalawang salita na nakapagpanatag sa aming kalooban nang
sambitin ni A‘ma. Narinig namin ang sigaw ng isang lalaki na ceasefire. Hudyat na panandaliang
tumigil ang labanan at putukan. Nagmadali kaming lumisan sa bahay sa takot na maabutan kami
ng kasunod na bakbakan. Tinunton naming tatlo ang mabato at maalikabok na daan patungong
bayan. Habang naglalakad ay natanto ko ang malaking pagbabago sa kapaligiran. Kay tahimik.
Wala na ang tugtog ng kulintang at agong. Tanging alingawngaw na lamang ng putukan sa may
‗di kalayuan ang nakisabay sa pintig ng aking puso na nagbigay buhay sa aking pandinig. Doon
ko rin lamang napagtanto, na ang tanging dala ko ay ang sambayangan o sajadahna karpet na
ginagamit sa pagdarasal maliban sa suot kong luma at punit-punit na damit. Magkahawak kamay
naming tinunton ang daan patungo sa padiyan.

Pagdating namin sa padiyan, akala ko ay araw ng pamamalengke. Doon pala nagtipon-tipon ang
mga taong apektado ng bakbakan. Isa sa ipinagtataka ko ay tila walang naganap na kaguluhan sa
bawat reaksiyon ng bawat isa. Hindi kasasalaminan ng pagkabahala at pangamba, ngunit hindi
ako, hindi ang musmos na katulad ko.

Ilang oras lang mula nang lisanin namin ang bahay ay muling sumiklab ang bakbakan sa pagitan
ng Moro Islamic Liberation Fronto MILF laban sa mga sundalo ng pamahalaan. Hindi ko man
naiintindihan ang dahilan ng hidwaang ng dalawang grupong iyon, alam kong marami ang
apektadong mamamayan. Sa araw na iyon ay hindi ako nakapag-ayuno ngunit hindi sina A‘ma at
I‘na. Ipinagpatuloy nila ang pag-aayuno kahit hindi sila kumain sa madaling araw, hangga‘t kaya
nila ay maaaring ipagpatuloy ang pag-aayuno.

Nanatili at pinagpahinga ako nina A‘ma at I‘na sa isang barong-barong sa padiyan. Ilang araw
din kaming nanatili sa padiyan. Minsan ay natutulog sa mga paaralang nagsisilbing kanlungan
namin. Kapag ceasefire naman ay paisa-isang kinukuha ni A‘ma ang gamit namin sa bahay.
Minsan pa ay naisipan kong maglakad-lakad sa padiyan. Pinagmasdan ko ang kapaligiran ng
aking kinagisnang bayan. Tanging buntong hininga ko na lamang ang aking naririnig habang
pilit na bumubulong ang mga putok galing sa kabilang bayan. Tanging alikabok na amoy pulbura
ang aking nalalanghap at hindi na ang iba‘t ibang amoy ng mga kakanin. Wala na rin ang mga
nakikipagsikikang mamimili, tanging nakaharang na lamang na mga sasakyang pandigma ang
nakatambay sa bawat kanto. Tanging wasak na mga kawayan ang kumakaway at hindi na ng
mga makukulay na mga bandila. Mga anino at imahe na lamang ng kahapong matiwasay ang
siyang yumayapos sa aking isipan. Ngunit mas natatakot ako sa kaisipang ang imahe na iyon ay
mananatiling imahe na lamang at hindi sa reyalidad.

Kasabay nang putukang nagaganap sa may ‗di kalayuan ay naukit sa aking isipan ang
pangyayaring yun. Isa lamang ang aking napagtanto sa pagkakataong yun, maaari pala kaming
mabuhay sa bayang binabalot ng gulo. Nabubuhay sa musika ng mga bala, humihinga sa usok ng
pulbura. Patuloy na mamayagpag ang katiwasayan ng buhay sa kabila ng suliraning kinakaharap
ng aming bayan. Patuloy sa paglalayag ang bawat mumunting pangarap ng mga Maguindanaoan
sa kabila ng katotohanang kay hirap abutin ang paghahangad namin ng kapayapaan.

Wala man kamuwang-muwang sa lahat ng kaganapan ay batid kong hindi ito tama, na hindi ito
ang hinahangad ng bawat isa. Ang kaganapang ito ang magpapatibay at lililok ng aking
pagkatao. Ang kaganapan sa aking bayang sinilangan ang siyang huhulma sa aking kinabukasan.
Ang bawat putok ng bala ang siyang tutugtog habang tutuntunin ko ang daan tungo sa hinaharap.
Ang amoy at hamog ng pulbura ang siyang magbibigay anyo sa aking mga pangarap. Ang kislap
at tilamsik ng bawat bala ang siyang iilaw sa aking landas, sa aming bayan.

Simula pa lamang ang lahat ng masalimuot na kaganapan tungo sa pagbubuo ng sampung titik
ng salitang kapayapaan. Umaasa akong sa bawat titik ng salitang ito ay hindi tunog ng baril ang
maririnig kundi ritmo ng kulintang at agong, na tanda ng minimithing kapayapaan. Darating ang
panahon na ang bawat mamamayan ng Maguindanao ay magtitipon-tipon muli sa padiyan, hindi
dahil kami ay nagsilikas kundi dahil ipinagdiriwang namin ang salitang kapayapaan. Umaasa ako
na ang bawat banderitas na nasa gilid ng daan ay patuloy na tatayo at maiwawagayway na
kailanman ay hindi kukupas ang matitingkad nitong kulay, tanda ng aming pagkakakilanlan at
hindi ng kasarinlan.

Samakatuwid, ang bayang aking kinalakhan at kinamulatan ay hindi naghihingalo. Ang bayan ko
ay dinapuan lamang ng matinding sakit na hanggang ngayon ay hinahanapan ng panlunas.
Hangga‘t tumitibok ang puso ng mamamayan ng aking bayan ay patuloy itong hihinga at hindi
hahayaang tuluyang malason ng pulbura ng digmaan. Hangga‘t umuusbong ang mapa ng
Maguindanao sa rehiyon ng ARMM, magpapatuloy na makikilala at tatatak ang pangalan nito
dahil may buhay at mabubuhay kami sa kabila ng suliraning kinakaharap.
Looking for Words
Nonfiction by Joanna Paula Cagape | February 21, 2016

1. Mother (noun) – Ina


Growing up amidst small hills was a gift —flipping pages of books and getting wrapped with orchestras
of words each time. My mother told me once that she placed a souvenir of my first haircut inside an
English- Tagalog dictionary, the sole book in the house three years before the world hit the millennium
mark. A friend suggested that to her, so the baby would love books.
I remembered Papa in his school uniform, standing by the door. My brothers, Brandon and Patrick, ended
their Pokemon card battle. The three of us raced toward him, placed his right hand on our foreheads one
by one, and grabbed the bag of candies from his left hand.
―Let us eat first,‖ Mama said, gazing at us from the kitchen.

2. abide (verb) – umalinsunod


Mama enrolled me at Calinan Central Elementary School since she worked there as a teacher
in Edukasyong Pantahanan at Pangkabuhayan and Musika, Sining at Edukasyong Pampalakas. The class
adviser greeted us with her kindly smile. She placed a Manila paper on the blackboard and asked us to
repeat after her, pointing the stick on the first word, ―ab-ide‖.
―Make sure you‘re at the top of the class.‖ Papa was kind and patient, but he expected much from us in
terms of our studies. Despite the hardships he faced , he was an honor student all his academic life in
Surigao del Sur. During meals, he would narrate how they needed to wake up at three in the morning, do
chores and prepare for school, otherwise they would be forced to kneel on the floor with outstretched
arms. He also shared how fishing helped him with his studies until he became an educator. ―You are
provided with almost everything. All you have to do is to ask and study,‖ he would frequently tell us.

When the teacher posted the class ranking, I didn‘t know what to say. I was second.

3. page (noun) – pahina


―I‘m disappointed. Your mother told me. ‖ Papa said.

―I‘m sorry. I did what I could. But Troy was proficient in all subjects. I kept struggling with Math.‖

―But the school sent both of you to the Math contest, right?‖

―They did, because they knew you were my father.‖

―What‘s not to understand?‖

―I tried. I was second.‖

―You could‘ve just asked for my help.‖

―You were busy. ‖


―Why were you afraid to approach me?‖

―I asked you once about a word problem Papa. You taught me how, but I wasn‘t able to get it. You got
angry.‖

―What? You know… all that I did and said was for your own good. I hoped you will see that one day.‖

Papa went out of the room. I cried. It wasn‘t 65 or 75 but having the grade made me feel like I was falling
from a cliff. The fog blurred my sight. The rocks pierced my back.

I opened the notebook and let fear and sadness scribble themselves. In writing, I never had to ace all tests.

4. sea (noun) – dagat


Summer arrived in a flash. I woke up at seven, drank milk, and walked toward the living room, avoiding
to create a sound.

―Good morning Ate,‖ Patrick said, holding the remote control, eyes glued on the scene where Batman
was chasing a thief. I wanted to watch fairytales. Should I exercise my power as the eldest child? I
thought.
Brandon came out of the bedroom, grabbed the object from Patrick and raised it in the air. Patrick
reached for it but he couldn‘t, so he covered the television button instead.

―I want to watch Sineskwela, ― Brandon said.


―You too, stop. Brothers should not quarrel with each other. Give me that,‖ I said.

―But…‖

―I‘ll tell Mama and Papa about this.‖

Brandon gave me the remote control. He went back to bed. The show ended, and Patrick decided to play
basketball next.

I watched Grimm‘s fairytales on television. The episode was based on Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm‘s Little
Mermaid. Sirenetta exchanged her voice for a pair of legs since she wanted to be with the prince whom
she had rescued from a shipwreck. When the prince took her to the palace, she found out that he was
already engaged. In her sorrow, she went to the shore, and there she heard her sisters‘ voices, urging her
to kill the prince with the dagger so she could return to her old self. However, love and pity conquered
her. She ran and let herself be one with the sea once more. Fairies saw her and they carried her body as
they flew to the skies.
Tears formed bubbles around. I wanted to give Sirenetta a happy ending she deserved. Writing gave me
power to change and create, to make the impossible possible.

5. walk (verb) – maglakad


My parents enrolled me at Daniel R. Aguinaldo National High School under the Engineering and Science
Education Program (ESEP). I didn‘t know of schools here in the city that offered Writing curriculums, so
I obeyed my parents‘ wishes. The first few weeks were fine, but learning science required the skill and
precision in doing laboratory experiments, which I lacked.

―Class, I will divide you into five groups. You will present a chapter of Ibong Adarna,‖ the Filipino
teacher said. That was the sweetest news I heard for the day. The teacher assigned the last chapters to
us — the part where Don Juan chose Maria to be his wife and queen of Berbanya.
Writing helped me fare in the program.

6. candle (noun) – kandila


I was confined at Brokenshire Hospital, the only place with vacant rooms during the outbreak of dengue
around July 2010. Every now and then, medical technologists would get blood samples. None of my
fingers were spared.

―You were being prayed for. But you should also pray for yourself,‖ Papa said.

―But who could pray at this state?‖ I said in a low voice.

The next day, Mama left for home since my brother had a fever also. I was scheduled for a heart
examination that afternoon. A medical technologist came into the room two hours earlier than he was
supposed to.

―Her platelet count dropped to four and we need to get a blood sample right now.

We said our prayers. The schedule for blood transfusion was cancelled. People never had the ultimate
control of their lives, I thought. No one knew when would death break in or knock on the door. I realized
I had to make the most of every minute, and make the right choice.

7. rose (noun) – rosas


The classroom seat plan changed by the time I came back to school. I was transferred to the fifth row. Ian,
a tall lean guy who I met last year in a spelling bee contest, greeted all of us at the back.

Antoine de Saint Exupery‘s The Little Prince was the next reading material for our English class. The
teacher tasked us to read and perform a scene from the excerpt. Christine and Ann already had their
partners, so I asked my seatmate Marie instead.
What is essential is invisible to the eye. I pondered on those words. This world needed peace, I thought.
―That was good,‖ Ian said. He was a literary writer from the school paper. The way he used mundane
objects — the leaves, for instance as metaphors for his thoughts fascinated us.

Ian would share his poems to me every lunch break. That started the bond only the two of us had then.

8. detour (noun) – magditur


Classes in ESEP ended at six in the evening. Almost all jeepneys were filled with passengers. By the time
I reached home, my family was already in their bedrooms.
―Are you all right?‖ Mama asked.

―We were thinking of transferring you to a nearer school.‖ Papa said.

9. gift (noun) – regalo


Adjusting to a new environment in Davao City Special National High School was not that difficult since I
had known some of my classmates there from elementary.

I joined the school publication in Filipino, and worked as a News writer. It paved the way for more
writing opportunities for me. My Filipino teacher sent me as the school‘s representative for the University
of the Philippines Mindanao Communicator‘s Guild First Mindanao-wide On-The-Spot-Essay-Writing-
Competition in Filipino.

The topic was about our stand on the government‘s decision to pardon suspects of the Maguindanao
massacre . I said in the essay that I was against it because it was unjust, and I showed how the youth could
take part in this issue by raising awareness, for instance. Results came out after a couple of days. I
received a medal and a cash prize. Being the champion made my parents happier, and proud of me once
more. God willed it, I was certain.

10. face (verb)- harapin


―Take up Architecture.‖ Papa‘s words made me think. I sketched a little but I still doubted whether I
could do it. I feared contradicting him.

They enrolled me at the University of the Philippines Mindanao. From a distance, the building looked like
an unfolded scroll. This was the start of my new journey — the road to the future.
Being in the Architecture program made me feel like I was a fish out of the water. Orthographic
projections, for instance, tormented me. Analyzing how a three-dimensional object‘s top, front and side
view would look like in two-dimension was hard for me. The rest of my classmates were receiving A+s
in their plates. My usual grades were B-s.

11. zone (noun)- sona


It was about seven in the evening when I came home. The T-square, triangles and tracing papers waited
for me. I stared at the Bachelor‘s pad plan for almost an hour. Perhaps I could add spaces like a bar or a
library. I was crying inside. I lifted the technical pen and sketched a zoning diagram — similar to an
outline of a piece.
Mama entered the room, bringing a cup of hot chocolate, biscuits, and storybooks. She placed these on
the table by the bed. The warmth of her palm soothed my shoulders.

―You should rest.‖

―I just have to finish this.‖


―Okay then. Please read this in your free time and write additional questions. I will give this as an activity
to my pupils.‖

I left the tracing paper by itself. I picked up the book Why the Town Is Sleepy. Reading it reminded me
who I was, what I could and could not do.

12. shift (noun) – turno


I gathered my courage and opened the door to my parent‘s room. My chest was pounding. Mama was
lying in bed, watching a television show.

―Mama, I have something to tell you. ‖

―Yes?‖

―Ma, you have seen the days when I am almost sleepless. I cannot draft fast and accurately at the same
time. I want to shift.‖

―You are already there. Your father would not want you to do that. Try to work faster, do not mind the
pressure.‖

―I can‘t. I tried.‖

―Did they fail you?‖

―I did in Math. Almost in Drafting.‖

―Why would you give up? All courses are difficult.‖

―I know Ma and it seems harder for me because I lack the skills.‖

―Did they kick you out?‖

―No, Ma.‖

―The expenses.‖

―I cannot go on like this‖

―What course are you planning to shift to?‖


―Creative Writing.‖

―I‘ll tell your father about that.‖

13. voice (noun) – boses


―Why?‖ Papa asked.

―I‘m sorry Papa. I did what I could.‖

―I‘m sorry I did not ask you.‖

―I‘m sorry I did not tell you. I was afraid to go against you.‖

He embraced me tight. I felt I was a young girl once again.

14. force (noun) – pwersa


I remembered making Newton‘s cradle for our final project in Integrated Science in my first year in
highschool. I asked Papa to buy me a piece of styrofoam and string. I picked up thin pieces of wood in the
backyard and borrowed marbles from my brothers.

I attached the thread of the string on the hook at the top of the marble. Then, I glued it on the wooden
horizontal bars, and placed it on the styrofoam. I pulled the first string and released it. The last ball was
supposed to move but it did not. For several hours, I modified the length of the string and tried until the
last ball swung, moving at least an inch. ―For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,‖ Isaac
Newton once said. The cradle taught me that one‘s decisions lead to more of it, pulling and then releasing
three balls meant that three balls would swing forward in return.

15. flow (verb) – dumaloy


Carlos Angeles‘s ―Gabu‖ was one of the literary works that struck me most. The poem depicted an image
of a wave coming back to the sea as soon as it reached the shore. It reminded me of the moments when I
had to return to where I came from, and to face, examine, and conquer the pains of the past, in order to
find purpose in this life, and to move forward.
Of Remembering
Nonfiction by Zakiyyah Sinarimbo | November 8, 2015

The only sound that resonated in one of the crowded rooms inside the lonely mansion at Lugay-
Lugay Street was her loud, ragged, and pained breathing. It was 9:45 in the evening, the night
after Christmas in 2007. Families, relatives, and friends, rushed from different distant cities and
countries to Cotabato City to be with her in her final moments. The golden silk curtains were
drawn, the air-conditioning unit was turned off, all the lights were switched on—brightly
illuminating every inch of every face, and of everything—in the house, and the white narra door
that was always locked was now left wide open for the people to enter and see her in such a
heart-breaking state.

She was lying on a hospital bed bought by her eleven children, six sons and five daughters. IV
needles were injected on her bruised right hand. She was wearing an oxygen mask that did
nothing but to amplify her agonized gasping for air. Her black, thinning hair was tied into a
messy knot. Here caramel skin was too big and too loose for her now thin body. As I sat silently
in a corner, my back against the whiteness of the walls, she looked very small and shriveled as a
leaf that had fallen from the mango tree her firstborn son had planted in her garden.

The hushed sobbing of the crowd. The soft rustling of clothes being smoothed down and
brushed. The anxious patting of the bare and naked feet, as the people in the room shifted their
weight—left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. The holding of breaths. The passing of time.
Her breathing slowly fading away. Silence. Her youngest daughter‘s horrified wail followed by
her youngest son‘s urgent warning, ―Stop it, stop it. Do not cry.‖ Her husband‘s nervous laugh as
he tried to crawl out of the room. These were the sounds that pulsed in the room as my heart
thumped heavily in my chest.

One by one, the people left the room to privately mourn. Some went out to smoke. Some went
home. Some went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. Some made calls for the preparation of
the funeral the next day. Only a few remained to gently touch her face. Only a few remained to
remove all the pins that left purple stains on her hands and skin. Only a few remained to
smoothen out the tangles of her hair. Only a few remained to blanket her hair with a white face
towel to let her finally sleep.

I went with her grandchildren to one of the rooms in the house. It was the room of her son in
Japan, Bapa Pe, which was unoccupied, unused, and almost empty the year round except for
casual visits from relatives who would sleep there a night or two from the farm. On the floor, a
blanket was spread out by one of the silent boys, her fourth grandchild Hassan. There, they lay
motionless, wide-eyed, and speechless. A knock came from the door. Hannan, a sweet-faced girl,
got up and opened it. The person who entered was one of the deceased‘s older daughters, Babo
Babai, a thin woman in her trimester. She lay down beside her nephews and nieces and asked,
―Did you know what her illness was?‖ No one from the group answered.

She calmly offered her answer. ―Cancer.‖

―What type?‖ I asked.

―Colon.‖

―What is that?‖ It was Hassan who asked.

―It is the type that attacks a person‘s large intestine.‖

―Stage?‖ Dia, the deceased‘s first grandchild, asked.

―Four.‖

Their questioning about their grandmother‘s illness lasted for an hour. That night they learned
the depressing truth about their grandmother‘s condition and struggles. Stage 4 colon cancer had
no cure; it was one of the types of cancer without the tell-tale signs and symptoms like the
unusual yellowing of the skin, weight loss, and weakness. The chemotherapy sessions their late
grandmother took only worsened her condition.

―But I thought chemotherapy killed cancer cells,‖ Hassan protested, hard-voiced and confused.

―It does, but the healthy cells also die in the process for because they too are exposed to the drug
that prevents the cancer cells from dividing uncontrollably.‖

Babo Babai also told them about the attempt of removing the malignant tumors in the deceased‘s
large intestine by means of surgery. But that too proved not helpful in saving her mother‘s life.
The tumors cannot be surgically removed because they grew too close to each other and on the
most sensitive part of the large intestine.

That night, no one slept. All were anxious for the funeral next day. In Islam, a dead body should
be buried within twenty-four hours after the soul has left the body. Otherwise, the burial would
be considered as haram. But there are exceptions to this rule. For example, if the dead body still
needs to be travelled from one place to another because the mourning family requests so, then
the funeral can take place after the body‘s arrival where it would be buried.

At the deceased‘s lawyer son‘s house, I stayed with her grandchildren privately mourning her
death. Hannan retreated to her side of the room that she shared with her two silent brothers. Her
part of the room and her brothers‘ were separated by a patterned pink curtain. Hussayn, the
oldest of the trio, climbed to the top bunk of the double deck while Hassan, Dia and I sat on the
lower bunk.

I noticed that Dia was tightly hugging a pillow, refusing not to cry. Hassan was lying on his side,
facing the white wall—the paint was beginning to peel off.

―Why don‘t you just cry?‖ I asked her.

―I do not want Ina to suffer as she swims across the Sea of Sorrow towards heaven,‖ she replied.
Her lips trembled with her efforts of not giving in to anguish.

―Why don‘t you just cry?‖ I asked again.

―The more tears I shed, the deeper the Sea of Sorrow she needs to cross become.‖

I had nothing to reply so I just stared at her in awe.

―I do not want her to suffer by crying.‖

It was the first time I saw a person so torn between what she really feels and what she has to feel.

Before the body must be safely and securely locked underground, it must be first cleansed and
purified from all of the earthly pleasures it has experienced and witnessed on Earth before facing
the Almighty, a sacred rule that every believer must follow and be granted upon death.

For her cleansing, she was carried from her bedroom to the makeshift cleansing place—the
kitchen where every window and door was closed and veiled away from everyone except for
those who would be part of the cleansing ritual. I was fortunate to be part of that small crew.

In the kitchen, all of the furniture was removed and in place were three layers of spread-out
white cloths—wide sheets of cotton dusted with floral-scented powder and sprinkled with the
perfume the dead used to wear. It was musty and sweet and tangy and it tickled my nose.
Underneath all of the layers of cloth and cotton and powder and perfume, there were three long
strands of thin strings—one on the top part, one in the middle part, and one for the bottom of the
white sheet. These strings would be used later to tie the sheets into a bundle.

There was a small, old lady who would bathe her. She was wrinkled and her sunburnt coffee skin
clung to her bones. Her bony hands and toes were as crooked as her posture. As customary, there
was no table. The deceased‘s body was to be laid down on Dia‘s, Babo Babai‘s, and my
extended legs. As the old lady poured lukewarm water to bathe the body, she recited verses from
the Holy Qur‘an. She shampooed and soaped ever so tenderly that I wanted to shake the life back
into Ina Bili.

After she was finished being bathed, a blue bath towel was draped over her body. Everyone who
wished to bid her farewell were called and sent into the kitchen. I sat there, wet and itching,
watching how one must say goodbye to a dear mother, grandmother, aunt, cousin, friend, and
daughter. How each message was desperately conveyed through a whisper, but most of time,
would soon end up being sobbed or muffled into a cry, a kiss, a touch, a look. These are simplest
gestures of saying goodbye.

Her face was serene and smooth as the old lady performed the final ghusl for her. The ghusl was
the cleansing ritual performed on the body by means of ablution. She then was towel-dried and
was gently placed at the center of the white cloth and was neatly wrapped in the layers of
powder, perfume, cotton, and cloth. She was tucked away in her little white cocoon where no one
could taint her now pure yet lifeless body. She was almost prepared and ready for her journey to
the afterlife.

An orange Crosswind brought her to the farm where she was born and raised by her Sultan father
and her farmer‘s daughter mother. We arrived at noon, traveling with family, relatives, and
friends. There was still time to offer a final prayer for her. After the duhur, the noon prayer, we
drove over to the meadow that expanded to the open horizon. There were the sun, the clouds, the
breeze, and the birds. Everything was set for the funeral ceremony. Her cocooned body that was
blanketed in another cloth—a wide black prayer rug with a golden print of the Kaaba—was
carried down into the hole where, inside, another narrower hole was dug on the left side where I
was standing.

She was unwrapped of the black prayer rug and was carefully laid down on the dirt floor of her
dirt room. Three men worked to angle her body to face the dirt wall. Her cocoon was then untied.
The last layer of the white cloth that she way wrapped in was securely pinned to the dirt wall by
thin, tipped strips of durable wood about three inches long. Three mud balls were placed at her
nape: at the small of her back and at her ankles to prevent her body from rolling over, perpetually
preserving her gaze and position to the direction of the Kaaba. Then coconut lumber was angled
to lock her away from the world above. As the men were filling her grave with loose soil, an
imam led a prayer among the red-eyed people who had gathered, around where she was buried.
There were also curious, dirty, snot-faced children who joined in the prayer as they watched the
funeral took place.

When the hole was filled, a single lumber that was carved into the shape of the domes of the
masjid was forked on top of the grave, above where the head of the deceased was supposed to be.
The imam then poured water from a golden metal kettle to where her head was and again recited
a verse from the Holy Qur‘an.

I asked Babo Babai what the pouring of the water was for.

―It is for the dead to know that she is dead,‖ she said.

―How so?‖

―The dead may appear dead to you, to us, but the truth is, they are only sleeping. Heart beating
ever so faintly that it seems she has no pulse. Her heart is still there, her heart is still beating. Her
soul is only sleeping.‖

As the funeral ended and the crowd thinned, I was crouching near her grave, wrestling with
myself if I should play a song for her from the flute I brought with me or cry just like how Dia
cried to her mother when she learned it was alright to cry for the dead. She was told that the dead
would not suffer and drown from the tears of those who were mourning. Or should I just dig her
up again because she was not really dead, but only sleeping.

At that moment, I was almost certain about two things. That, one, she would have felt lonely
waking up in her dirt bed inside her dirt room. After all, she cannot be kept company by the
memories of the dead. And that, two, I would never come to love the beauty that was brought by
the sadness of a funeral.
Her Words
Nonfiction by Jecia Anne Opiana | November 30, 2014

It was two days before Christmas last year when I received a text message saying ―Hi‖ with a
smiley. The phone number was not in my contact list so it took me a few minutes before I finally
replied and asked who it was.

I was surprised when she revealed she was ―Dee…UPMin Arki.‖ I had met her in school.
Someone might have introduced us and since then, every time we saw each other, we would
exchange greetings and smiles. But that was all. I never remembered conversing with her or
anything. She was that pretty chinita girl who was a member of the Dance Ensemble. I clearly
remember that she was the frontliner in their number during our Freshmen Convocation
Program.

She just wanted to confirm whom she was texting because my number was registered as ―UP
LitSoc‖ in her contact list. I told her that it was me and she apologized for causing any
inconvenience. I said she wasn‘t causing any. And from then, we exchanged text messages. We
would text each other in the morning when we woke up, remind each other to eat meals, ask
what each was doing, and late at night, we would say good night to each other.

We talked about family, school, professors, classes, our courses, ambitions in life, etc. She
shared that she was the youngest in the family and her father was working in Papua New Guinea.
―It must have been tough, not having your Papa there with you,‖ I told her.

―Yeah. I envy you. Your family is complete during Christmas,‖ she replied.

―Normal,‖ I texted back.

But I also told her the troubles I had at home, how my relationship with my father was not fine
and how strange it felt even though we were complete. I was really comfortable talking to her
maybe because she was a girl or I was naturally talkative. She suddenly brought up Christmas
celebrations in Davao and in our place, Carmen.

―I feel bad that firecrackers are banned in Davao. Lingaw baya ang fireworks,‖ she texted.

―Sus, here in Carmen, pasiklaban gyud ang mga silingan,‖ I replied.

―Awww. I miss fireworks.‖


―Do you want me to take a video for you?‖ I offered.

―Sure? You will do that?‖

―Sure. I‘ll show you when we go back to school.‖

I was happy to hear her say that she liked to see fireworks. She was like a child, fascinated over
small things. I may be saying this because fireworks are no big deal for me. I see them even
when it isn‘t Christmas time in my hometown, like during an opening of an evening event. She
told me that seeing lights flickering in the night sky make her happy.

When midnight came, I took a video of the fireworks show sponsored by our neighbor. I was a
little tipsy because my mother and I had been drinking beer and videoke-ing. I thought I should
give her a call, to say that I was done taking a video of the fireworks. When her line was ringing,
I suddenly felt nervous. This would be the first time I would have an actual conversation with
her.

―Hello?‖

―Hi, Dee,‖ I said with a high pitch, pretending to be more drunk than I was so it would be less
embarrassing.

―Ano man?‖

―Ay ano, the fireworks video is ready.‖

―Really? Sige, let‘s watch it together over dinner.

―Dinner?‖ I asked, startled. ―A dinner date or something?‖

―Ha? Buang. Dinner gud. When we get back to Mintal in January.

―Gani, gani. Okay.‖

We talked for two hours that night. If she had a lot of things to say in text, she had tons of topics
while we were on the phone. And she was really fun to talk to. I looked forward to January,
when I could talk to her in person.
We agreed to have dinner on January 5. I was really nervous because it would be the first time I
would be spending time with her. We may have exchanged text messages and phone calls over
the break but I still thought it would be awkward. Also, the fact that I had asked her if this dinner
would be a date or something added to the awkwardness I felt. Worse, I left the camera where
the video of the fireworks was in Carmen.

When I arrived at our meeting place, she was already there, looking at the menu. I waved at her
and smiled. I sat on the chair adjacent to her. I didn‘t want to sit opposite her, which I thought
was a position for lovers.

I soon realized it was not only I who was nervous and awkward. It seemed that looking at the
menu was only her excuse because she didn‘t know how to start our conversation. She smiled
and apologized because she did not know what to do. The awkwardness gave me the chance to
look at her closely. That was the time when I found the words to tell her.

―Why so formal?‖ I asked, seeing her wearing a long-sleeved denim top and black pants.

She laughed and again, there was an awkward silence and she went back to looking at the menu.
I noticed her sweet scent, like a freshly bathed baby. I suddenly wanted to come closer and smell
her. But I didn‘t.

We ended up sharing a dish. While we were eating, that was the only time we got to talk about
the things that happened during the break. How incidentally she got my number, the late phone
calls we had, and Christmas celebrations.

After dinner, she invited me to have drinks with her. She thought that it would be boring if it
were just the two of us so we invited two friends to join us. At first I felt disappointed to have
others join us because I wanted to be alone with her but later, I found that it was better so that we
would not have awkward moments of silence.

I had a lot of beer that night so she accompanied me back to my boarding house. When we
arrived at my room, the lights were off and I immediately lay down on my bed. She sat beside
me.

―Look at you. We only had a few drinks,‖ she teased.

―I have low alcohol tolerance,‖ I replied.


―Can you stand?‖ she suddenly asked.

―Why?‖

―Basta.‖

She pulled me up and kissed me on the lips. I opened my eyes, shocked by what she did.
Nonetheless, I kissed her back, passionately. Maybe the alcohol contributed to the guts I had that
night. What I could not forget that time was the smell of beer combined with her baby scent. I
wanted to have more.

The next morning, Dee and I talked about what had happened.

―I like you,‖ she said. ―Whatever this is, I like this.‖

―Me too.‖

―So, what?‖ I asked.

―Wala. This is what it is. Let‘s just see what happens. Go with the flow lang,‖ she answered

I agreed. From then, Dee and I were exclusively dating but we did not place labels on what we
had. I wanted to be with her officially. It did not matter to me since I was open to dating men and
women. I hadn‘t been in a same-sex relationship before but I did not really think that there was a
difference. For me, as long as I was happy, I wasn‘t doing anything wrong. But I think it was
Dee who had an issue with relationships like this. Or with herself being like this. She used to be
teased as a tomboy because of her boyish acts and she disliked it.

One night, she asked to talk to me about our relationship. We were in my room. I could feel that
there was something serious she wanted to talk about. I sat next to her, leaned on her shoulder,
ready to listen to what she was going to say.

―I think we should end this.‖

I looked at her and said, ―Why?‖

―I‘m not good at this. Having relationships. Especially this kind of relationship.‖
―But I love you.‖ I said, with tears falling down my cheeks.

She didn‘t say a word.

―I‘m sorry. I‘m not ready for this. I‘m not ready for this to be serious,‖ she said, crying. ―I‘m not
even sure if I can push through with this. I can‘t even accept that I‘m like this. I care for you so I
don‘t want you to get hurt eventually.‖

―So this is goodbye, then.‖ I told her. ―When you step out of that door, you can never come
back.‖

―Okay,‖ she said.

―Okay,‖ I said.

―Before I go, can I have at least one last hug?‖ She asked.

I hesitated. I feared that if I would grant this one last request, I would never let her go. But still, I
stood and gave her a hug. She hugged me tightly while crying on my shoulder. I tried to push her
so that she would leave but as soon as we faced each other, she kissed me passionately. I wanted
her not to leave the room, to kiss me more, for her to want me on her side always. But after that,
she slammed the door and left.

I used anger and bitterness to move on. We never texted or called each other anymore. Every
time I saw her, I would not dare look at her. I tried so hard to stop myself from going to her and
hugging her every time we saw each other in school. Her friends told me that ever since we
stopped seeing each other, Dee had been frequently drunk and emotional. She told them that she
still wanted to at least have me as her friend. But I refused. I could not bear the idea of us being
casual after everything that happened between us. Despite everything, her issues, I still wanted
her. But everything had to come to an end abruptly.

Even though I stopped texting her, I was still updated about what was going on with her life. One
time, I learned from her friend that she had attended party. I told Dee‘s friend to take care of her
in case she got drunk and requested her friend to text me when they arrived home safely. I
received a text message from Dee that night.

―I have arrived home safely. Thanks.‖


I wasn‘t able to hold my desire to text her back so I replied. ―Kumusta?‖

She said she was all right and from then, we started texting each other again. But this time, we
tried to keep our conversations casual. I tried to be just friends with her. I realized that I wanted
her in my life too no matter what.

―Uy, where is the video of the fireworks?‖ she texted me one Saturday when I was in Carmen.

―Oo nga, no? I‘ve forgotten to show you that. You still want to see it?‖

―Yes. Show me. Sayang naman.‖

―Sige, tomorrow. But I still have to work on a group project.‖

―Okay lang, I‘ll wait.‖

The next day, I went to my classmate‘s boarding house. It was already 1AM when we finished
working on our project. I told Dee that I was still in my classmate‘s dorm and there were no
tricycles going back to my boarding house. She offered to accompany me home and fetched me
at my classmate‘s place.

Since there were no tricycles, Dee and I had no choice but to walk. I clung to her tightly, looking
around, afraid that somebody might grab us.

―Scaredy-cat,‖ she teased.

―Don‘t be like that. I don‘t fear the dark for no reason.‖

―Why are you afraid?‖

I paused and took a deep breath. ―Bad memories.‖

―What happened?‖

―Oh well. This is my tragic story. All my friends know about this, anyway. There was one time
when I rode a tricycle, around 11PM. I was second year high school. And suddenly, the driver
changed his route and brought me somewhere dark. After that, he punched me and strangled me.
The next thing I knew, I was alone in the talahiban, with my body aching and without any
panties on. Maybe he thought I was dead because he just left me.‖

―Are you serious?‖

―No. Joke lang. Joke lang.‖

―Tarong ba!‖

I think what happened doesn‘t sound believable. It was the way I always tell the story. I didn‘t
want to sound so dramatic every time I tell it. I might cry or what.

She stopped walking. She pulled me and gave me a tight hug.

―I‘m sorry. I‘m sorry about what happened.‖

―You don‘t need to be. It happened a long time ago. It was so stupid of me to ride a tricycle
alone late at night.‖

―No.‖

This time, she looked at me and touched my face with both hands. ―You will never be alone. I
won‘t let anybody do those things to you. I won‘t let anybody hurt you. Whenever you are in the
dark, you will think of other memories, good ones. Just think of me holding your hand and you
don‘t have to be afraid because I am with you.‖

Together, we walked down the dark road and I was no longer afraid. That day, we became
official.

I cannot say that we do not have struggles now. Every time we celebrate our ―monthsary,‖ we
would look back on everything that happened to us before we became official and we would cry
about it. This is because of the fears she has for the future. That if we keep this relationship, we
would never have a ―normal‖ life. Now that we have been dating for almost a year, she says the
fears are still there. I know that we still have a lot of struggles to face but I also know that we
love each other. I can‘t fully erase the doubts she has about our relationship. I am waiting for her
to be ready to tell me that she is ready to have this life with me; or that she is letting me go. Here
I am, hanging.
Ilang Tala at Talababa Hinggil sa Pangungulila
ni Jay Jomar Quintos

5 Oktubre 2014[1] Niyaya mo akong maglaag[2] isang tanghali matapos tayong kumain ng law-

oy.[3] Tinunton natin ang mga tanda at palatandaan sa Tugbok District. Itinuro mo sa akin kung

saan nagsisimula ang Bago Oshiro, kung gaano kalaki ang tila walang hangganang lawak ng

Mintal, at ang makitid na daanan sa Sitio Basak. Sinabi mong ang Tugbok ay nag-uumpisa sa

limang kilometro kwadradong hardin na ipinatayo ng mga Hapon noong dekada sikwenta at

nagtatapos naman sa abandonadong simbahan malapit sa palengke kung saan may sinasabing

galisin at gusgusing babaeng baliw na may tangan-tangang bungo ng tao. Sabi mo, lagi‘t lagi‘y

nakaabang ang babae sa labirinto at animo‘y nagdarasal upang ilayo ang buong Tugbok sa

paggambala ng mga balang.[4]

Nagtapos ang paglalaag natin sa bahay ni Padre Emman.[5] Naitanong kung bakit ko nga ba

piniling iwanan ang Maynila at magturo sa isang unibersidad sa Mindanaw. Hindi ko alam ang

isasagot sa mga tanong na tulad nito. Iba-iba ang rason na ibinibigay ko sa mga tao. Nariyan ang

pagsasabing gusto kong kumawala sa mahigpit at nakasisikil na batas na ipinapataw ng pamilya

ko, minsan naman‘y sinasabi kong gusto kong hanapin ang aking kilometro zero, ang sagradong

simula nang paglaag ko patungo sa pinakadulong bahagi ng daigdig kung saan, marahil, nag-

aabang ang naghihingalong bulalakaw ng pag-ibig. Kung minsan din ay sinasabi kong gusto

kong makalimot kaya‘t pumunta ako sa lugar na walang makakakilala sa akin. Ang totoo, kahit

ako‘y di na rin sigurado kung ano nga ba ang rason nang paglipat ko mula Maynila hanggang

Dabaw.[6]

1 Nobyembre 2014[7] Habang nagluluto ako ng hapunan nating Spanish Sardines Pasta,[8]

sinabi mong iniimbita ka ng isang kakilala na manood ng sine sa Gaisano Mall.[9] Tinanong mo
ako kung sasama ka ba sa kanya o hindi. ―Ikaw ang bahala,‖ sagot ko. Nasunog ang ginigisa

kong bawang sa olive oil kaya‘t naging mapait ang niluto kong sauce ng pasta.

2 Nobyembre 2014[10] Hindi ko na namalayan kung anong oras ka dumating sa balay.[11]

Kinaumagahan, niyaya mo akong magpunta sa Agusan del Sur upang bisitahin ang field site mo

sa Bunawan[12] para sa binabalak mong field trip ng iyong Political and Legal Anthropology.

Habang binabaybay natin ang daan patungong Agusan, mas lalo nating kinilala ang isa‘t isa.

Ibinahagi mo ang mga paborito mong pelikula, musika, at libro, ganoon din naman ako. Pinag-

usapan natin ang lahat ng kinaiinisan natin sa akademyang kinabibilangan natin, at kung

papaanong kinamumuhian mo ang kantang ―Imagine‖ ni John Lennon.[13] Sa kalagitnaan ng

ating biyahe, ipinatong mo ang iyong ulo sa aking balikat. Sa pagitan ng kinakaing mangga at

binabasang tula, ―iniibig kita tulad ng paghalik ng ilong sa isang hinog / na mangga / nabubusog

na ako / nabubuo ang bawat misteryo.‖[14]

3 Disyembre 2014 Pinagsaluhan natin ang champorado na niluto mo gamit ang tablea[15] mula

sa Tagum[16]. Ang sabi mo, nasa Tagum ang pinakamasarap na tablea na natikman mo sa buong

buhay mo, kaya‘t na naniwala naman ako.

Isa sa mga paborito kong pagkain ang champorado lalo na‘t may kasama itong bulad[17]. Noong

una, pinagtatawanan mo ako kung bakit ―powdered milk‖ ang inilalagay ko sa champorado sa

halip na malabnaw na gatas. ―Mas maganda ang powdered kasi durog at basag, parang ang

daigdig lang na ito,‖ sabi ko. Simula noon, powdered milk na rin ang ginamit mo sa tuwing

kakain tayo ng champorado.

1 Enero 2015 A las dose y medya ng madaling araw ng Bagong Taon, nag-send ako ng text

message: ―Malipayong bag-ong tuig, J. Hangad ko ang lahat ng kaligayan mo sa mundo.


The moment is constant so the moment seizes us[18]!‖ Matapos ang dalawang minuto,

nakatanggap ako ng reply mula sa iyo: ―Malipayong bag-ong tuig pud sa imo, J. Marunong

ka nang mag-Bisaya. Hapit na, gamay na lang, bisdak na ka. Para sa makabuluhang

pagkakaibigan[19]!‖ Mabigat ang tulog ko noong gabing iyon.

8 Pebrero 2015 Namasyal tayong dalawa sa Philippine Eagle Center sa Calinan. Pinagmasdan

natin ang iba‘t ibang klase ng agila, macaque, usa, at ibang hayop na nakakulong doon. May

lungkot ang pag-uusap natin tungkol sa ideya ng ―pagkukulong‖ sa mga hayop at titingnan

lamang bilang ―spectacle‖, nariyan, at tinutunghayan lamang. Kung sa bagay, lahat naman tayo

sa mundong ito ay nakakulong. Iba‘t ibang kulungan- mayroong panaklong, saknong, panipi,

kahon, o maging kulungan sa isipan at katawan at damdamin na hindi masabi. Magkasabay

tayong umangkas sa habal-habal[20] pauwi. Nararamdaman ko ang katawan mo sa aking likuran.

Maaliwalas ang tulog ko noong gabing iyon.

15 Marso 2015 Muli nating inikot habang tumatakbo, isang umaga ng Sabado, ang kalawakan ng

Bago Ishiro at Mintal. Umisip tayo ng mga daanan na hindi gaanong dinaraanan ng mga tao.

Nauna ako sa pagtakbo at hinintay kita sa dulong bahagi ng kanto sa Sitio Basak, nag-abang ako

roon upang sabay tayong pumalaot sa daanan na kukupkop at walang makakakita sa atin. Nag-

abang ako ng matagal nguni‘t ibang ruta na pala ang dinaanan mo.[21]

26 Abril 2015 Binigyan kita ng librong Dili Tanan Matagak Mahagbong, koleksyon ng mga tula

ni Adonis Durado na nakasulat sa Sebwano. Nagustuhan mo ang tula sa koleksyon at nangakong

balang araw, susulat ka rin ng mga tula ng pag-ibig.[22] Bilang ganti, inilibre mo ako ng kape sa

isang coffee shop sa Jack‘s Ridge, ang lugar kung saan nagtatagpo sa mga mata ng tao ang lawak

at ritmo ng isla ng Samal, Davao gulf, at ang siyudad ng Davao.[23] Habang naglalakad pauwi

ng Mintal, nakakita tayo ng papahinog nang guyabano sa puno ni Ma‘m Eba, ang kasama nating
guro sa unibersidad. Magkasabay nating pinitas ang guyabano at pagkatapos ay masaya at

nagtatawanang tumakbo papunta sa apartment.

7 Mayo 2015[24] Nabulok ang pinitas nating guyabano. Itinapon ko ito nang di na natin

natikman.

16 Mayo 2015 Sinabi mo noon na isasama mo ako sa field trip ninyo sa Mati, Davao Oriental,

nguni‘t umalis kayo nang hindi ako isinama. Sa araw na ito, nagising akong mag-isa sa

apartment dahil sa huni ng mga ibong tarat na dumapo sa bintana at pagkuwa‘y bumungad sa

akin ang mga tuluyan nang nalalantang rosas na binili noong nakaraang linggo. Sa labas, naroon

ang ilang metro kwadradong hardin kung saan nagsisimula at nagtatapos ang retorika‘t

hermenyutika ng iba‘t ibang hugis at anyo ng agam-agam.[25]

31 Mayo 2015 Nagising ako ng a las tres ng madaling araw, umuulan sa Mintal, umiiyak ako‘t,

yakap-yakap ang sarili tulad ng isang fetus na nasa loob ng sinapupunan ng nanay niya.[26]

Kinaumagahan, uminom ako ng walong tasa ng kape, makukuntento na lamang muna ako sa

paglagok ng kape habang tigib sa pagkamingaw kay Nanay at Ate. Kinagabihan, nilakad ko ang

kahabaan ng Ulas hanggang Mintal, tila paglalakad ito mula North EDSA hanggang EDSA Taft.

Habang naglalakad, patuloy pa rin ang pagpipintuho, tulad nang pagbagtas sa daang tila walang

patutunguhan, na sana‘y nasa ibang daigdig ako ngayon, nasa ibang panahon, nasa ibang

pagkakataon, at nasa ibang ako.[27]

10 Hunyo 2015 Ngayon ang gabi nang pagpapatawad. Pinatatawad ko na ang sarili ko at

pinatatawad na rin kita. Ngayong gabi, maalinsangan, pinalalaya na kita.[28]

Mga Talababa:
[1] Ito rin ang ikatlong buwan nang magpasya akong lumipat sa Mintal, Davao City upang

magturo sa isang unibersidad doon. Sa unang dalawang buwan nang pamamalagi ko sa lugar,

naghahalo-halo at nagdidigmaan sa isip ko ang lahat ng emosyon ng pangamba, pangungulila, at

pagkamingaw sa pamilya at mga kaibigan sa Maynila. Ngunit, dumating ka isang araw ng

Agosto, pumasok sa loob ng pintuan ng apartment na may dalang durian at marang. Ikaw pala

ang sinasabi ni Beng na makakasama namin sa bahay. Maaliwalas ang ngiti mo‘t pag-aalok ng

prutas. At, tulad nang bumabalisbis na pagbuka ng hinog na marang, sa pagitan nang pagsinghot

at paglasap ng durian, noong araw na iyon, nagsimula ang bawat misteryo.

[2] Laag (Sebwano): Nangangahulugang paglalayag o pamamasyal sa iba‘t ibang lugar.

Halimbawa, ―Naglaag kami ni J sa Bago Oshiro upang pag-aralan ang heograpiya ng Tugbok

District.‖ Isa pang halimbawa, ―ika-24 ng Agosto 2015 nang maglaag si J nang hindi na

niyayaya si J.‖

[3] Law-oy: Isang pagkain sa Kabisayaan at Mindanaw. Pinagsasama-sama ang iba‘t ibang klase

ng gulay at tanim na halaman tulad ng okra, alugbati, kangkong, kalabasa, kamote, at mais.

Minsa‘y nilalagyan din ng sinugbang (inihaw) bangus o kaya‘y bulad (daing). Huwag

masyadong sunugin ang ilalagay na sinugbang bangus sa law-oy upang hindi ito pumait, mas

mainam na maglaan ng panahon na mas maluto ang bangus kapag inilangkap na ito sa

sinabawang gulay ng law-oy. Marubdob kainin ang isang pagkaing mapait. [4] Bago matapos

ang buwan ng Oktubre ng 2014, nagtatatakbo palabas ng simbahan ang galisin at gusgusing

baliw. Nagtungo siya sa limang kilometro kwadradong hardin at pagkatapos ay dinikdik nang

dinikdik ang tangan-tangan niyang bungo ng tao. Tumigil ang mundo sa Tugbok District,

naramdaman ng lahat ang malakas na pagyanig at narinig ang malakas na pagdikdik na tila

nanggagaling sa langit. Maya-maya pa‘y narinig ang palahaw ng isang babae na hindi na siya
iibig pang muli. Kinabukasan, hindi na muling nakita pa ang sinasabing galisin at gusgusing

babaeng baliw.

[5] Propesor si Padre Emman sa unibersidad na pinagtuturuan namin ni J. Dati siyang pari noong

panahon ng Martial Law na gumagawa ng mga misyon sa kabundukan ng Mindanaw upang

ipalaganap ang banal ebanghelyo ng simbahang Katoliko. Umalis siya sa simbahan nang

magpasyang mag-asawa at magkaroon ng mga anak. Isa lamang ito sa milyon-milyong bituin ng

mga parikala ng daigdig: umpisa at katapusan, taga-bukid at taga-bayan, puno at santong gawa sa

kahoy, at kalungkutan at kabaliwan.

[6] Isang dunong na ibinahagi sa amin ni Padre Emman ang katotohanan na sa kinamamanghaan

nating naratibo ng daigdig, ang lahat ng tao, simula pa noong unang panahon, ay may

kasaysayan na ng paglalayag. Umaalis mula sa isang bahagi patungo sa ibang dako ng mundo

ang mga tao upang maghanap ng bagong tirahan, pagkukunan ng pagkain, at lunan na aakma sa

batayang pangangailangan ng pisikal nilang katawan. Ito, maaari, ang nararapat na sagot kapag

may nagtanong sa akin tungkol sa paglipat ko mula Luzon patungong Mindanaw.

[7] Araw ng mga patay. Maaari rin bang ipagdiwang sa araw na ito ang pagkamatay ng

kasingkasing (Sebwanong salita para sa puso)?

[8] Malimit kong panoorin si Nanay tuwing magluluto siya ng Spanish Sardines Pasta. Isa ito sa

mga paborito kong pagkain kaya‘t malimit ko ring lutuin simula nang lumipat ako sa Mindanaw.

Hindi ko kailanman nagustuhan ang Filipino style spaghetti, mas nagugustuhan ko ang Spanish

Sardines Pasta. Ngunit, kung minsan, tinatanong ko rin ang aking sarili tungkol sa politika‘t

balintuna ng paglimot: Lumilimot tayo sa mga personal na danas ng alaala na ayaw na nating
balikan nguni‘t kasabay din nito ang kabalintunaan ng paglimot sa mahaba at masalimuot na

kasaysayan ng bansa.

[9] Laging laman ng balita ang Gaisano mall sa Davao dahil hindi lamang isa, o dalawa, o tatlo,

kundi maraming tao na ang namatay dahil sa pagtalon mula sa ikaapat na palapag ng mall na ito.

Iisa ang itinuturong dahilan nang pagpapatiwakal: Pag-ibig.

[10] Araw ng mga kaluluwa. Sabi ng isang Sebwanong iskolar sa panitikan at araling

pangkultura, ang ―kaluluwa‖ raw ng tao ay mayroong mga pagkakataon na humihiwalay sa

―katawan‖ ng tao. Kung ang ―katawan‖ ay nagiging produkto ng iba‘t ibang hugis ng

koloniyalismo, ang ―kaluluwa‖ naman ay umaalis sa katawan upang maglayag sa dagat ng

kontradiksyon. Nguni‘t kinakailangang hanapin ng ―katawan‖ ang ―kaluluwa‖ dahil ito ang

magbibigay kahulugan at pandama sa iba‘t ibang paniniwala at pagnanasa. Kung gayon, papaano

kung hindi na makabalik ang mismong ―kaluluwa‖ sa ―katawan‖. Maiigpawan pa rin ba ang

pandama at pagnanasa ng katawan na tumutulos hanggang sa kaibuturan ng kaluluwa? O

mananatili na lamang ang pandama at pagnanasa sa katawan. Walang labis, walang kulang.

[11] Balay (Sebwano): Kasingkahulugan nito sa Tagalog ang salitang ―bahay‖. Halimbawa,

―Sina J at J ay magkasama sa balay.‖

[12] Ito rin ang lunan kung saan ka nag-field work ng halos dalawang buwan para sa iyong thesis

tungkol sa ―sago‖, isang halaman na pinagkukunang kabuhayan ng mga tao roon, partikular na

ang mga Agusanon Manobo.

[13] Kulang na lamang ay isumpa mo ang kantang ito ni John Lennon lalo na ang lirikong:

―Imagine there‘s no countries / It isn‘t hard to do / Nothing to kill or die for / And no religion

too...‖ Para sa iyo, kung susundin ang sinasabi ni Lennon na pagtanggal sa mga bansa, sa mga
relihiyon, ito ay nangangahulugan din ng pagtanggal sa pagkakaiba-iba ng mga kultura sa

mundo. Ano pa ang punto ng pag-aaral ng mga kultura kung homogenized na lamang ang lahat?

Ano pa ang punto ng Antropolohiya?

[14] Sipi mula sa binabasa kong tulang ―Katuparan‖ ni Rebecca Anonuevo.

[15] Isang beses na nagjo-jogging tayo at nadaanan ang hardin kung saan may nakatanim na

tablea, mga tampalasan ang anino nating pumitas ng tablea. Hinati mo sa dalawa ang pinitas na

tablea at saka ibinigay sa akin ang kalahati. Hanggang Ngayo‘y itinatago ko ang mga buto ng

tableang iyon.

[16] Isang siyudad ang Tagum sa Davao del Norte. Ito ang lugar kung saan ka lumaki‘t

nagkaisip. Isang beses na nagpunta tayo sa isang coffee shop sa Tagum at inabot ng madaling

araw, nilakad natin ang kahabaan ng poblacion habang nag-aabang ng bus pauwing Mintal.

Naalala kong tuwang-tuwa ka habang inaalala natin ang minsang napanood nating pelikula nina

Sharon Cuneta at Ai-ai de las Alas.

[17] Bulad (Sebwano): Kasingkahulugan ng daing. Halimbawa, ―Paboritong almusal nina J at J

ang sinangag, itlog, at bulad.‖

[18] Kinuha ko ito mula sa paborito nating pelikula ni Richard Linklater na ―Boyhood‖. Sabay

nating pinanood ang pelikula at parehong nagustuhan ang theme song nitong ―Hero‖ ng Family

of the Year. Marahil, pareho tayong nasa yugto ng ―boyhood‖ kaya‘t pareho tayong naka-relate

sa bidang karakter sa pelikula.

[19] Kaibigan (Filipino): Hindi kaulayaw, hindi kasiping, hindi kaniig. Kaibigan ka lamang.

Nguni‘t papaano kung baguhin ang porma ng salita at gawing ―ka-ibigan‖? Gagamitin ang

unlaping ―ka‖ at ididikit sa salitang ugat na ―ibig‖ at idaragdag din ang hulaping ―an‖ para
makabuo ng terminong nangangahulugang ―kasama sa pag-iibigan‖. Nguni‘t balarila lamang at

bantas ang mga ito. Ito lamang ang aking pinanghahawakan.

[20] Habal-habal (Sebwano): Ang ibig sabihin ay nagsisiping na mga aso (mating dogs). Isa

itong uri ng sasakyan sa Kabisayaan at Kamindanawan kung saan umaangkas sa motor ang isa o

dalawang pasahero. Halimbawa, ―Sumakay sa iisang habal-habal sina J at J.‖

[21] Hunyo ng taong ito, hindi na tayo nag-uusap. Pumunta akong mag-isa sa Siargao upang

subukang basagin ang mga alon gamit ang marupok kong katawan. Sa daungan sa Siargao,

nahuli ko ang sarili kong nakatayo sa gitna ng pantalan, di pa lilisan, o di naman babalik, kundi

naghihintay lamang sa paglaot ng barko.

[22] Ilang buwan matapos ang pangangakong ito, tinupad mo nga ang pangakong pagsusulat ng

tula tungkol sa pag-ibig, nguni‘t hindi para sa akin kundi para kay M. [23] Kita rin mula sa

Jack‘s Ridge ang pribado at pampublikong sementeryo sa Davao. Ito ang nakakawengwang na

dayalektika ng buhay at kamatayan, hirap at ginhawa, liwanag at dilim, pag-ibig at pighati,

pangungulila at paglimot.

[24] Ilang araw na tayong hindi nag-uusap. Nagluluto ka ng umagahan nang hindi na ako

tinatawag at umaalis na ng bahay nang hindi ako isinasama, ‗di tulad noon na lagi mo akong

isinasama sa mga coffee shop, sa mga restaurant, sa mga zoo, at museum na pinupuntahan mo.

Ito rin ang panahon nang magpost ang ate mo sa facebook nang larawan ninyong magkakapatid

kasama si M.

[25] Ang totoo, minsa‘y tinatakasan ako ng pananalig at pananampalataya tulad nang pagkalimot

ng ibong tarat sa ritwal nitong pagdapo sa bintana ng kwarto tuwing umaga.


[26] Ang sabi ng Freud, may mga pitak at panahon daw sa buhay ng tao kung saan gagayahin

niya ang posisyon niya noong siya‘y isang fetus pa lamang sa sinapupunan ng kanyang ina. Ito

raw ang pinakamalungkot, pinakamasakit, at pinakamarubdob na panahon sa buhay ng tao kung

kailan nararamdaman niya ang pagkabasag at hindi pagkabuo.

[27] It‘s official: J and M are in a relationship.

[28] Ngunit sinabi mong sunugin ko na ang talaarawang ito, sa tabi ng naglulunoy na ibon sa

balon ng tuyong dahon at damo, sa kunday ng naglalagablab na usok, sa lamparang pisak ang

mata, at larawan ng tatlong matandang babae na hindi ngumingiti. Iniwan ko ito‘t nagpatuloy sa

paghabi ng telon kasama ang sinulid at karayom ng pagnanasa at pananalig. Ito na lamang ang

natitira.
Quite a Handful

We were on the rooftop of her apartment in Obrero. A blue Marlboro was in her right hand, a

Nescafé can on her left. Her eyes focused on the lights from the new condominiums and the

nearest Jollibee signage. Meanwhile, I had a Nescafé can in my right hand, and traces of sweat in

my left. My eyes were fixed on her hands. Both were full.

She promised we‘ll eat at Jollibee next time. I nodded, worrying what her girlfriend might think.

We didn‘t have a night like that again.

She kept her promise months later. It was Valentine‘s Day. She watched me as I ate my fried

chicken.

―You‘re like a surgeon. The way you cut your food,‖ she said.

I stopped eating as if to wait for her to continue speaking. But her eyes never left my hands.

―Go ahead. I like watching you.‖

We had both ordered two pieces of chicken with extra rice. The drink upgraded to pineapple

juice. This was the exact order in that cheesy TV commercial where the guy became a

groomsman of the girl he loved.

After the waiter had given us our orders, I suddenly felt conscious if I still looked at her the way

that groomsman did. I wanted to tell her that there was no way she could finish the food because

she didn‘t have a big appetite. I knew that since she didn‘t order an extra rice in Bulcachong. But

instead I told her ―Uy, invite mo ako sa kasal mo, ha.‖


She smiled at me like she always did when she had nothing to say. I had usually misunderstood

this act of politeness.

―Finish your food, uy. Ang dami mong inorder,‖ I said in between chews.

She grunted and said she was almost full. So I kept eating while she stared alternately at my

hands and her phone.

―I‘m too clumsy to be a surgeon,‖ I said.

I knew her girlfriend was studying Medicine. That was the reason they broke up countless of

times—distance and doubts. She had told me this when we walked from Obrero to Acacia

because she thought I was sad. And I was—but she was lonely. The distance didn‘t matter and it

never did for me, nor them.

―Your movements are careful,‖ she replied. She finally picked up her fork to poke at the hotdogs

on her spaghetti.

I stifled a laugh and it hurt my throat. ―I wish I was.‖

When we had walked to Acacia, she explained that she liked walking because like the Ancient

Greeks, it helped her write. The traffic light glowed red when I asked her ―O, ano? May kwento

na tayo?‖

She smiled before she told me to be careful as we crossed the street.


She finally decided to have her food for take-out so she could have something to snack on in

between her classes. She looked at me again. ―You‘re too busy to talk lately.‖

I fixed my things because I knew we would leave soon. I smiled at her because I believe it was

my turn to.

When we left the food chain she asked me where I was headed.

―Acacia,‖ I replied.

―Will you walk? It isn‘t that far.‖

―Kapoy na. I don‘t think I can walk that far again.‖

We exchanged quite a handful of goodbyes and I rode a jeep to Acacia, thinking that I finally

have a story of ours to write.

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