To my Wife, this Valentine's Day

To be with you, Baby, is to be me.

For I don’t know what would I be,

who would I be, without you.

Existence is meaningless, when

I don’t feel your presence

I don’t touch your hand

I don’t inhale your breath

I don’t see your impish smile and

the glint in your eyes.

Which leads me to an infallible conclusion:

It is inconceivable to live without you.

You give me life, unselfishly share its wonderful meanings,

and nourish my impoverished soul.

I love you very much, Baby!  

"The stage of life is yours for the taking"

It is with fondness and delight that we anticipate to watch our sons, Joaquin and Enrique, together with their classmates and schoolmates, perform today.

We were initially wondering what could our kids be doing in school after class as their lips were tightly sealed. They kept saying it was a “top secret,” as instructed by their teachers. Then gradually, as weeks went by, bits and pieces of the play were being teasingly revealed to us - some dance steps, dialogues, and the roles they’re about to play. Until, finally, we found out about “The Lost Treasure.”

Of course, we appreciate the fact that Joaquin and Enrique are enjoying themselves and having pure fun rehearsing and playing with their friends. My husband and I are firm believers of learning beyond textbooks and formal lessons, about people and about life.

This exemplary example of the vaunted multiple-intelligence approach of Juventus definitely helps the kids understand certain situations and empathize with some characters. We know this is another step for them to gain confidence and just be themselves in public even as it teaches the value of cooperation, hard work, and plain friendship.

We are happy and excited to know that, finally, the product of the kids’ and their teachers’ months-long efforts will be shared with us - their parents and relatives – today. Nothing can warm the heart more.

And no matter the role, regardless of their exposure, I’d like to say that we should be proud of our kids. It is through their individual contributions that the whole play is built; without any of them it would be incomplete. Together, they constitute the sum of all parts of what we’re about to enjoy today.

At this point, for Joaquin and Enrique, permit me to say, “break a leg!” For all the kids, just go and have fun. The stage of life is yours for the taking.    

(This is the speech delivered by my better half for our kids' school play as the parents' message.)   

Narra-logy (isang pagtatangka)

Salamat sa pagkupkop mo sa aming
Kung saan-sang dako pa ng ‘Pinas galing
Sa loob ng maraming taon bahay kang itinuring
Humubog sa pagkatao’t kamalayan ay ginising.

Dito nakatagpo ng mga kaibigang tunay
‘Di ka huhusgahan, handa laging dumamay
Anuman ang estado, anuman ang ‘yong kulay
Sa iisang bubong, sama-samang namumuhay.

Dito kahit walang pera’y di ka magugutom
Nandyan si Aling Lina, handa laging tumulong
Ibabahagi ng corridor-mates kanilang mga baon
Pagkagaling sa probinsya’y may dala pang pasalubong.

Dito P175 lang ang rent na monthly
Mayroon pang antique na ref at TV sa lobby
Nandyan si Popo kung gusto mo ng debate
O tyempuhan si Bading na may kasamang estudyante.

Sarado ang mga kwarto kapag may “open house”
Paborito sa betamax ang seryeng “Debbie Does…”
Dayaan sa larong “red dog” inaabot ng dis-oras
Gilbey’s-asin o Tanduay-Coke siguradong may amats.

Hanggang isang balita ang sa akin ay gumulantang
Ikaw daw ay nasunog, ‘di na titirahan
Isang hapong galing sa miting pilit kitang dinaanan
Kalunos-lunos na nga ang ‘yong kalagayan.

Ngayon nga’y target ka na ng demolisyon
Mga alaala na lamang tanging konsolasyon
Sana’y bigyang halaga ka, gawaran ng rekognisyon
Sa kasaysayan ng Pamantasan tunay kang institusyon!

For my wife on our 8th year anniversary

It was also raining so hard like this
when I first laid my eyes on you –
a picture of a serene, refined woman
seemingly unperturbed by my pretentiousness
and awkward preening.

Which kept me guessing.
And yearning.

You were sunbeams peeking through
the dark clouds of my existence, and the gnawing
misgivings slowly turned to ease
and desire to please you.

You were amihan winds bringing warmth
and caress to my soul, driving away both
precipitations and trepidations.

Eight years hence, how could I not remember,
when you remain the light of my life,
the anchor of my dreams,
the warm breeze banishing away all the pains?

Seasons have changed so many times
since that momentous rainy day;
one thing remains constant,
pure and crystal-clear:
I love you, Ginababe,
with all my heart,
my destiny,
from here towards the infinity.

Rambling thoughts on Orhan Pamuk’s “The Museum of Innocence”

The novel of Turkish writer, Orhan Pamuk, “The Museum of Innocence,” speaks of the main character’s (Kemal) almost single-minded and seemingly eternal patient pursuit of his one and only love. Caught between the conservative, Muslim-oriented culture of his country and the seeping influence of the West, Kemal was initially entangled between the woman he was supposed to marry, the well-educated, middle-class professional Sibel, and the girl he truly loved, the poor but young virgin (at first), Fusun.

Hoping to get the best of both worlds, he lost both. Sibel, though forgiving and willing to give their relationship a second chance, eventually gave up once she realized the futility of it all. Why, he couldn’t even make to get “it” up for her!

In the meantime, Fusun completely disappeared; only for Kemal to find out later that she married a young, ambitious but also poor, film director. They were living in her parents’ house. And the charade began. Finding Fusun, Kemal was unrelenting, visiting her and dining with them almost every night.

Being a distant relative of Fusun, Kemal was able to escape from the prying eyes of neighbors and friends, including Fusun’s clueless husband as well as her father. Her mother though, was completely aware.

Since the day Fusun left him, he got the habit of picking up, even filching, objects that had been, one way or another, used by or belonged to Fusun, including cigarette butts stained with her lipstick. Eventually, those sundry objects found their way to Kemal’s museum, the “Museum of Innocence.” A gesture, a symbol, of his eternal love for Fusun.

Somehow, the novel reminds me of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “Love in the Time of Cholera,” primarily owing to the main characters’ resilience, and at the same time, unyielding quest, for that one, true love.

So what happened to Kemal and Fusun? Did they live happily, ever after?

To answer that would be to spoil the unfolding of a love story, devoid of Hollywood-esque cliché and certainty. Go find a copy and read. :-)

Why do I write?

This is one story I have to write fast and furiously before I begin to fail from remembering; before this story loses its purpose and meaning.

For our thesis, our adviser asked us to write an exposition on the question, “Why do I write?” – as an introduction to the body of literary works we had produced that we deemed worthy of compiling into a book, our thesis. I was a Creative Writing major in UP Diliman.

Trying to figure out exactly why I was writing at that time wasn’t easy, for UP, apart from being a hotbed of activism then (as now), was also ( I would presume) a haven for lovesick, romantic fellows.

All the literary theories I had passably learned from my Comparative Literature classes (e.g., deconstruction, Marxism, feminism, realism), collided with my experiences as a naïve and poor probinsyano from the boondocks of Sierra Madre; a cynic activist silently raging mad against the ruling class and the bourgeoisie; a struggling working student enamored with writing and literature; a Piscean creature of love and other passions (to borrow loosely from Gabriel Garcia Marquez, who, incidentally, was also born on March 6 – my birthday).     

Why do I write then?

This was a question that preoccupied my last semester as a graduating student of the College of Arts and Letters (CAL), and as a dormer in Narra Residence Hall, until the summer of ’93 when my dreamy concentration was suddenly pierced by an unwanted circumstance. For some reasons (mainly to flush out delinquent, read: non-paying, Narrehans, I guess), one scorching March day, our good dorm manager, whose name I will withhold (may he rest in peace), decided to literally padlock and bar all the dorm’s main doors (paging Narrehans: the main door to the lobby and those that connected the corridors of our square-ish dorm), and turn-off the main electric switch at the end of the day. It was bedlam – boys and their stuff, mostly in big cigarette boxes, crowding the lobby and hallways, all eager to leave at once.  

While this was going on in mid-day, I rose up from typing from a borrowed personal computer, and had the presence of mind to run to the Faculty Center (FC) and report to my thesis adviser this rather unfortunate event, afraid that I might not be able to submit my thesis on time and get a good grade.

It was brief. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Ma’am, I may be delayed with the submission of my thesis.” She asked me why. Trying to be cool and relaxed, I told her about my dorm being barred and padlocked at that time; that I had to pack up and haul my personal things, and look for a boarding house elsewhere. She looked at me - skinny, disheveled, obviously devoid of sleep - and said it was okay. As I was about to leave, I saw her fish out something from her wallet (or bag, I can’t remember now), went to me and clasped my hand with (later I found out to be) a 500 peso bill. Knowing it was money, I was embarrassed and I tried to refuse. She persisted without showing so much emotion behind her glasses. She was calm and much cooler than I thought! Actually, I didn’t have anything in my pocket at that time, and I didn’t know where to stay come nighttime. I walked along University Avenue towards the dorm with my eyes misty.

Her goodness didn’t end there. Soon after, she gave me a grade, high enough to maintain my general weighted average (GWA) for Latin honors. I was able to graduate on time, I received my diploma and medal, and went on to the UP College of Law the following academic year.

At present, I am blessed with a beautiful, loving and understanding wife; two bright and handsome boys aged 6 and 7; and a modest law practice at one of the fastest growing cities in Central Luzon. Now I share with my family a decent life, quite far from my life as a struggling student who started working while in my sophomore year in undergrad until I obtained my law degree.

Yet, sometimes, I would look back alone, or reminisce with a few close friends, about my thesis adviser who played a pivotal role in my life. We hardly knew each other, but the goodness of her heart seemed to know no boundaries or strangers. What would have happened if she failed me, or graded me with an incomplete? The money, of course, went a long way. “Pay it forward, hansam (handsome, hehe.)” “Go back and visit her.” “Write about it.”

As a lawyer and a former iskolar ng bayan, I strive in my own little ways to pay back and pay it forward. I wouldn’t brag about it, but it all starts with how we treat people, particularly the ordinary folks, with fairness and respect; and how we conduct ourselves and live simply and honorably. Caught with tasks both serious and mundane, I haven’t been able to visit her. I am writing now realizing what is it that is important and essential to write about. 

Why do I write?

Ma’am, my dear thesis adviser, Prof. Amelia Lapeña-Bonifacio, I write now because I want to thank you with all my heart, for saving the future of this poor promdi from Dingalan (Aurora province), who was lucky enough to graduate from Diliman, pursue his dreams and take this life-long journey. (edited, updated. First published for Kwentung Peyups)