Of Deaths and Wakes

In Six Feet Under, that incredibly well-made show on cable, grief, loss and closure are regular staples. Story arcs are made revolving around the themes of not only death but also life. There are usually incredibly tense moments of bereavement, anger, frustration. The writers know their stuff, these scenes definitely make for good drama.

What the show usually doesn't portray are the looong and draaagging moments in between hot spurts of emotions on the boil. Yes, when someone in the family dies there are unresolved family squabbles come to fore, there are long-kept secrets revealed, there are potentially destructive, litigious money matters. All these make for good drama, and yes, confrontations, dramatic do-or-die lupasay scenes do happen in real life. But they are few and far between.

Let me tell what it's like when somebody in your family dies. I've become somewhat well-versed in these unfortunate occasions, losing my father and maternal grandmother in less than a year. In films, when monumental things happen, background music stops and you see the actors move in vacuum-like settings. No sound. In real life, when you learn of family's death, everything becomes eerily silent. Its as though a plug has been inserted in your ears and all ambient noise is muted. You walk around like a zombie for a while, your mind groggily trying to comprehend what has been said over the phone, or you rub your eyes looking twice, three times on your mobile reading and re-reading the text message delivering the bad news.

Then you start to cry. Tentative burst of tears. Depending on where you are, you usually want to go to the hospital and see the body. So this moment of grief is brief. A sense of urgency takes over and you rush over to the scene of the accident or hospital.

When one is my age, 23, young but not too young or too old, one is expected to be strong and brave for younger
and older folks. One cannot cry too much or too long. One must get her act together relatively quick to attend to the mundane details. At this moment, your mind is forced to become crystal clear. Settle hospital bills, sign death certificate, call the Six Feet Under people (your funeral service), choose the casket, choose the place for the wake, attend to police matters (should your father drive himself and his wife into a building driving his expensive car), cancel credit cards (should MMDA folks steal your parents' belongings while they lay helpless broken and bleeding), find certificates for your burial lot, notify the cemetery of the burial, buy flowers and of course, who can forget... the wake.

You see, wakes are a funny thing. It is only probably in this country where one may expect people to come visit your dead any time of day. So like a convenience store, you're open almost 24 hours, ready to cater to all and sundry who happen to come in through the door.

Then, it is also probably only here, that mourners are fed. Acquaintances stay for 20-30 minutes, friends, an hour max, and relatives usually stay longer. These people are offered refreshments and some snacks. You talk to them, and tell the story of how your loved one expired over and over and over again. Details may be added or subtracted depending on the sensibilities of the mourner. Immediate family of course cannot leave the wake. So we cook, eat, drink and sleep within the premises, occasionally leaving to go home to shower and do the groceries. And the cycle repeats again and again for however long your family decides to hold the viewing.

Wakes make ripe occasions for intrigue, scandal and high drama. Where there is a maximum number of mourners, usually around 6:00-10:00 pm, there is this electric atmosphere, highly charged, ready to explode should somebody do or say something to ignite it. Rarely though, does this explosion occur, usually out of respect for the departed. Or fear of being haunted. Or both.

So wakes are a noisy business. It is perhaps Filipino tradition to make it so. Like a fiesta, people eat, drink, chit-chat and play. It is a whirlwind of activities and never-ending chores and tasks, all of which must be accomplished within an incredibly short amount of time. What makes it doubly tricky is lack of sleep. Everything is more difficult when one has only had a few hours of shut-eye and long hours of moving about like a tornado.

After the dead has been buried, after the hustle and bustle of the wake, comes the quiet once more. Spent, one goes home to a house with one more less body and contemplates the events of the past few days, the present and the future. It is only at this time where one truly starts to grieve. Where the finality of death truly sinks in. Where one, sobbing and heaving in tears, finally realizes that the loved one is truly gone. That is a door firmly shut, never to be opened again, at least not in this lifetime.

In Six Feet Under, they usually end the show on a high note, because although the dead will never come back,
life must go on. So one must patch up that gaping hole in one's life pretty quick. Because lingering in pain is useless and denial is stupid.

Une petite histoire de compréhension

J’ai grandi dans une école où des filles embrassaient des filles. Si ce n’était pas permis, c’était certainement commun. On ne parlait pas d’anomalie. On ne parlait pas de perversité. On l’appelait l’amitié ou une attraction inexplicable, quelque fois l’amour. Il n’était jamais l’homosexualité. Dans notre petit monde, le mot n’existait pas. C’était une idée abstraite, loin de notre conscience, loin de nous, loin de moi. J’étais jeune et je ne comprenais pas.

Le Noël avec ma famille. Pourquoi chuchotent-ils ? Ah. C’est Charlotte. Elle a amené sa petite amie. Des bouches couvertes et Des visages écœurés se cachaient prudemment. J’avais honte pour ma cousine, mais je ne savais pas pourquoi. J’étais jeune et je ne comprenais pas.

À partir de ce jour-là j’ai observé et j’ai appris. J’ai commencé à voir les petits gestes comme tabou. A l’école. Pourquoi elle m’a regarde comme ça ? Pourquoi veut-elle se lier d’amitié avec moi ? Mes méfiances, ma peur, mon incompréhension.
Ces images jouent dans mon esprit. Des petites vignettes, des petites histoires. Des petits événements qui ont petit à petit formé mes pensées au sujet d’homosexualité. C’est vrai. On est socialisé et instruit d’avoir peur des choses qui sont différentes, qui ne sont pas compréhensibles. Le préjugé, la crainte et l’intolérance sont crées et propagés par la société. Ce que je vois, c’est qu’on s’enchaÎne. Nous faisons notre prison où nous mettons nos idées en cage. Est-ce que c’est l’esprit humain ?

L’homosexualité est un choix. C’est une décision qui est faite par une personne sensée. On doit respecter ces choix. Ce n’est pas la possession par les mauvais démons et ce n’est pas une maladie. C’est une question de préférence sexuelle. La liberté de choisir, c’est ce qui nous sépare des bêtes.

Mais mes petites réflexions sont loin de l’actualité. Aujourd’hui, le monde choisit de fermer ses oreilles au fait indéniable : on aime avec l’esprit et l’esprit ne choisit pas toujours le corps « correct». Quand va-t-on se rendre compte que c’est inutile de résister le changement? C’est notre nature de nous libérer. Des chaînes, de l’emprisonnement que nos avons façonné nous-mêmes. Je suis jeune et maintenant, je comprends.

Ma cousine, Charlotte, est mariée. Avec un homme. Elle a deux fils mignons, ils s’appellent Jay et Brian. Elle habite dans une maison blanche avec une palissade blanche. La vie parfaite ? Elle a enterré sa petite amie. Dans l’oubli. Je pense qu’elle s’appelle Joey ou un nom mignon comme ça. Je ne me rappelle pas. Je me demande si ma cousine se souvient d’elle. Je me demande si elle se rappelle beaucoup de choses et si elle les regrette. Mais quand je la vois, elle a toujours un sourire. Mais le contentement ne semble pas toucher ses yeux.

we have different poisons of choice you and i. we choose different means to kill ourselves. some slowly, some fast. but all of us have a deathwish of some sort. some choose to wash down self-loathing with alcohol. they bathe in it to wash their sins. some light cigarettes to forget. some pop pills to cure imaginary ills.

at times the yearning for oblivion is so strong. being close to the precipice tempts us to finally let go but killing oneself is difficult. and so we kill ourselves tortuously slow.

Kwentong Kanto

Sa kanto ng isang kalye sa Maynila, dalawang tambay ang nagpapalitan ng kuro-kuro habang umiinom ng samalamig upang maibsan ang init ng panahon. Si tambay A, at tambay B ay kampanteng namamahinga sa tapat ng tindaan ni Aling Nena.

A: Boboto ka ba?
B: Para saan pa?
A: Hindi ka ba nababahala sa kahihinatnan ng bayan natin kung hindi ka boboto?

B: Anong kahihinatnan? Nasa kamay ba ng mga lintek na ‘yan ang kinabukasan mo? Kung ganon, magpapasagasa na lang ako sa riles ng tren.
A: E syempre, nasa kanila ang lahat ng lehitimong awtoridad at kakayanan para patakbuhin ang bansa.

B: Patakbuhin kamo? Patungo saan? Dire-diretso pahulog ng bangin? Sa tingin mo ba, sa ginagawa mong pagmamaneho ng daan-daang pasahero araw-araw, hindi ka nagpapatakbo ng bansa?
A: Alam mo naman ang ibig kong sabihin. Kahit ilang daan pang tao ang ipagmaneho ko araw-araw sa pamamasada, hindi ko naman kayang paunlarin ang bayan.

B: Sa tingin mo ba, sa lahat ng mga pulitikong iyan, ay may isang kayang ituro sa atin ang daan patungo sa kaunlaran?
A: Oo naman, bakit hindi? E di ba, kailangan ng mga taong may alam sa pamamalakad ng ekonomiya? At makaresolba ng samu’t saring problema mayroon tayo ngayon. May alam ka ba sa ganun?

B: Wala. Sa tingin mo ba, si GMA may alam sa ganun? Kahit ba ekonomista sya, hindi sya Diyos.
A: E para saan pa yung pag-aaral nya? Ang alam ko nag-doktor pa yun sa Amerika. Siguro malaki-laki rin ang ginastos nun.

B: Malamang. Baka umabot pa ng milyon. E kung alam nya kung paano paunlarin ang ekonomiya dahil sa economist sya, bakit hindi nya sabihin at simulang gawin? Sa halip na kung anu-anong basura, paninira at intriga ang lumalabas sa administrasyon nya.
A : E syempre, di ba ganyan talaga sa gobyerno ? Maraming siraan, gamitan at garapalang pangungurakot ? Hayaan mo na sila sa ganyan, lahat naman talagang mangungurakot. Basta ba di rin nila malimutan ang talagang trabaho nila.

B: E kung batukan kaya kita? Sa kaiisip kung paano takasan ang mga intriga nya, sa pagpopropaganda nya dahil sa eleksyon, sa tingin mo may oras pa sya, at sampu ng mga tauhan nya, para mag-isip ng “ikau-unlad” ng bayan? At saka namputsa, alam mo ba kung ano yun? Kaunlaran? Nakakain ba yun? Anong kulay nun? Sige nga, sabihin mo sa akin kung anong ibig sabihin ng salitang yan.

A: Kaunlaran. Kaginhawahan. Kawalan ng kahirapan. E di ba yan ang pangako ng lahat ng tumatakbo kada may eleksyon?
B: Oo nga. “Ako ang sasagot sa problema ng Pilipinas! Ako ang magpapaunlad sa ating lahat!” Namputsa, anong ibig sabihin nun? Kaginhawahan kamo? Kung mumura ang mga bilihin sa palengke, giginhawa tayo. Bakit hindi nila sabihin kung paano nila gagawin yun?

A: At kung hindi mahal ang gasolina, hindi na sana kami mag-iistrike sa Lunes.
B: Tama. Kung hindi tataas ang tuition sa mga eskwela taun-taon, giginhawa ang bulsa ko at mapapag-aral ko ang lahat mga anak ko.

A: Pinapangako naman nila lahat yan a. Sa tuwing kumakandidato sila, di ba yan ang laman ng plataporma nila?
B: Nakarating ka na ba sa mga miting de abanse ngayon? Para kang nanood ng That’s Entertainment. Sige punta tayo, mainam para sa panandaliang aliw. Palaging maraming nagkakantahang artista. Libre pa.

A: Matanda na nga tayo. Wala nang That’s Entertainment ano! Patay na yata si Kuya Germs…
B: Ikaw na lang bumoto. Kailangan pa bang samahan kita? Ang init-init nun. Sayang lang sa panahon.

A: Sasayangin mo ang boto mo. Kung di ka boboto, at 10 iskwater iboboto ang kung sino mang kandidatong mamumudmod ng 500 piso sa lugar nila, di ka ba naaasiwa sa ganun?
B: Hindi. Sa tinagal-tagal nang may eleksyon sa Pilipinas, sa tinagal-tagal na na meron tayong tinatawag na Demokrasya, may nakita ka bang pagbabago? Para ano pang bumoto? Tulad ng pagbabayad ng buwis, parang ipinapasa-Diyos mo ang balota…hindi mo alam kung makakarating sa dapat paroonan. Tataya na lang ako sa lotto.

En Nous Cherchant

J’ai de la chance. Je suis née dans cette période de l’histoire de l’histoire de notre pays, un siècle après des luttes créaient des héros, un siècle après la patrie a obtenu son indépendance. Je suis partie de la génération qui est libre pour diriger sa propre direction. Mais aussi, je suis de la génération perdue, dont l’identité est déchirée par le passé et dont l’avenir n’est pas encore déterminé.

Ma génération est un produit de quatre cent ans d’obscurité pendant lesquels tous ceux que mes ancêtres croyaient étaient effacés par leurs vainqueurs. Leur façon de vivre, leur culture et inévitablement leur identité étaient remplacées par celles des Espagnols et des Américains.

Qu’est-ce qu’on sait de notre culture pré coloniale ? Rien ? Presque rien ? Comment s’identifie-on au passé perdu ? Comblant le vide, nos colonisateurs ont inculqué leur propre culture, leurs goûts, leur religion, même leurs défauts. Est-ce que vous pouvez imaginer passer quatre cents ans en apprenant votre infériorité ? Ces colonisateurs étaient tellement convaincants que nous les croyons jusqu’à présent.

D’ailleurs, je ne me suis pas rendue compte que c’est vraiment difficile de penser en une autre langue. Il y a un éloignement entre mes mots et mes pensées. Ironiquement, les mots formant et animant les images dans ma tête sont en anglais. Est-ce à cause de l’éducation imposée par les Américains ? Cette institution qui nous dirige de l’enfance a l’âge adulte, qui forme nos personnalités, nos croyances et nos idéologies est une institution étrangère, empruntée de nos colonisateurs.

Même ceux qui n’ont pas eu la chance d’avoir des études cherchent leur avenir ailleurs. Quitter les Philippines, c’est toujours la solution pour tous les problèmes. En fait, le nombre approximatif des Philippins habitant et travaillant à l’étranger est plus de dix millions. À mon avis, le nombre continuera d’augmenter face aux réalités économiques, le manque d’opportunités, le phénomène de mondialisation et un président imbécile.

Par conséquent, je me sens que les jeunes d ‘aujourd’hui manque une sorte d’appartenance. Peut-être ils manquent un but qui les unit. Chacun a ses propres préoccupations qui sont à l’écart de la notion de la patrie. Il n’y a plus d’ennemis communs qui nous rappellent notre identité commune, nos luttes communes. Il n’y a plus d’Espagnols. Il n’y a plus de révolutions et de guerres. Les manifestations contre la loi martiale sont finies longtemps.

Oui, les conséquences de l’histoire restant sur nos épaules sont tellement lourdes qu’il semble difficile de récupérer. Des problèmes actuels s’ajoutent encore. Je dépeins une image désespérée mais ce n’est pas à nous de nous plaindre.

L’obscurité est terminée. Est-ce qu’on est vraiment perdu ou juste confus ? Ne perdons pas le temps en nous cherchant. Commençons les changements pour vraiment libérer la patrie aujourd’hui.

The Passion of the Christ: How To Make Tocino

This was the film I've been most eager to see for the last few months. It was supposed to be "life-changing," an "unforgettable experience," "faith renewing." And I was curious about all the furor it has created in the US. The charges of anti-semitism was a bit exaggerated. And all the raves about this film was exaggerated too.

I left the movie house, not with a renewed faith, but a renewed disgust. First, did we really need to see all that gore? After the initial flagellation, I think the point was made loud and clear. But Mel Gibson had to make his point again and again and again. If his strategy was to bring his audience to the breaking point right along with the torture happening on the screen, well he did that. The audience is made to sit through relentless torture and made to experience vicarious pain to the point of numbness. And it is numbing after an hour or so.

Actually, after the flagellation I thought, that has to be the worst part. But noooo. It gets worse. By the time Jesus is hauled off...I couldn't wait for the film to finish. Each agonizing moment is prolooonged by dramatic slow-mo. The film is overlong, probably because of this. If the film makers' point was to chasten us viewers of our sins and how much Jesus loved us and sacrificed so much for us, well, I think they missed the mark. What this film does is to make people ever more cynical of other people. After all this time, nothing has really changed. And Christ really died for nothing. I don't really need to recount the specifics of how so many have suffered in the name of Christianity. The 2 thousand year-old Christian history is testament to that.

Anyway, If you want to see the movie because you want to experience a religious awakening, you'll be disappointed. Its a movie. And no, you won't be entertained. You'll be disturbed and you'll walk out the theater arguing with whoever it is you came to watch it with.

The moral of the gory story:

1. Jesus must've been an incredibly dangerous element if all that fanfare was necessary to get rid of him. It was almost like a show. To warn off other potential dissidents (other followers of JC) from making any more claims that Jesus was indeed King of the Jews. There were political undertones shown in the movie. Something we weren't taught in our Catholic schools. Ok, so other than a cult-leader, JC may have also been a potential revolutionary. Claiming he was King of all Jewish people definitely scared off the high priests. He was disturbing the social order and status quo. Maybe the Roman Governor even recognized the potential for a revolt against the Roman imperial occupation should Jesus continue gaining mass-following.

In that scene where the governor and Jesus spoke, the governor addressed JC in aramaic and JC responded in latin. Then they continued to converse in latin. I wonder...if indeed that was true, and JC did learn latin...what for? Makes you wonder huh? *conspiracy theories*

2. Roman soldiers must be inhuman. Actually, any kind of soldier, at any time in history, must be made inhuman. I suppose its necessary. One wonders if those Romans suffered from any kind of psychological disorder after. Like Vietnam and Gulf War veterans.

3. Jews are fucked. Yep, other than bearing the infamous guilt of having Christ killed, they now bear the guilt of being the reason why Palestinians are oppressed and killed. Actually, we could say they bear the guilt of being the main reason why the Middle East remains conflict-ridden for the last 40 years.

4. Men make all the mess and women clean up after.

5. Single moms rock. Does anyone know what in the heck happened to Joseph?

6. Satan is freaky. Damn that man/woman was scary as hell (pun intended). So is Judas by the way. Yikes...the monster..the rotting cow...the devil-children....Yikes!

7. Takes an incredibly long time for a person to die. Also, how much blood do humans have exactly? 10 liters? More?

The film had some good points. The acting was superb. At a $25 million budget, one wonders how much these actors got paid. Probably not the usual going rate. Maia Morgenstern, who played Mary, was incredible. Oh, And I thought the redeeming moment from all the guts and gore was the scene where Mary comes to the aid of her son. I cried in that scene.

Whoever thought of making JC's eyes that shade was a genius. And casting Caviezel made all the difference. Now I can't imagine any other hollywood actor that could fit the role. The single drop of rain at the very end was cool too. Is it in the bible though, that there was an earthquake? I can't seem to remember.

All in all I would recommend seeing the film, if only to get people thinking. No, you wont enjoy it and most likely it will disturb your Christian sensibilities. Nope, don't make the mistake of letting kids see it. They will have nightmares.

my maid has left me. i suppose she's going back to the province. back to being a sacred space, the apartment is all my own again. although this means cleaning up after myself and doing all the house chores...i feel curiously free....

farewell to teacher

dearest teacher,

after i wrote you my short reply i looked up the crs website to see if u have courses next semester, and you don't. the idea of you leaving is still somewhat a vague notion in my head that isn't quite real. i suppose, the reality will sink soon enough as soon as you are no longer here.

i had taken for granted you staying since you'd taken the TWSC directorship. if i had known you had thoughts of leaving i would've taken one of your classes this semester. i had so looked forward to being in your state of the state class, i'd already downloaded the pdf course description from your webpage.

i will not ask the reasons why, i am sure you have been asked many times. i know it must be a difficult decision to make and so your reasons for leaving must outweigh those of staying.

you said, no eulogies. but i am afraid that is inevitable, for when you leave you take with you a force, something that has attracted your students, including me. when you leave, it will not only be a great loss to the department and the university of a great teacher but also of a great idea.

i cannot express to you how much you have influenced not only my academic life but my very reason for being. you have made the idea of being a professor not only attractive but worthy. you have demonstrated, not with your words but with your thoughts and example what it means to be in the vocation of teaching.

you have shown the importance of focus in scholarship and that you have given me guidance not so much that we would talk very often but your demands for more, for deeper explanations have made me want to do better. and seek much more satisfying (possible) answers to questions.

when you leave, i wish what you have left in us, your students, would stay. the continuous thirst for knowledge, for critique, for passion in these ideas we read in our books that at times seem figments of the imagination. you make them more real. the engagement in what it is you "profess." and your engagement of your students.

i cannot possibly express, gareth, all it is that you have taught me. i am only thankful, that i have had the blessing of knowing you even for such brief a time. all goods things must end i suppose. and like a brief shooting star, light must also fade.

i am sorry i cannot go to PG as i also have some more errands to run before i leave with my mom for canada. i will be at your party on thursday however. maybe we should all get soused.

i will miss you. and although you might visit once in a while, and we could continue communicating through e-mail, it will not be the same.

there are days when no amount of comfort may be had from a cup of coffee or a stick of cigarette. there are nights when no soothing words from a friend or a caring touch can stop tears on the verge of falling. there are moments when no amount of changing scenes can chase away demons because they are in our heads. and we wander aimlessly seeking comfort where we may. and still it is elusive. times like these, what do we do?

Puppy Love

I think I’m shedding. Hairs are falling off of me, they must be mine. Nobody else is here. I think I’m going bald. Hope not, I like my hair. Is it because of the heat? It’s so warm these days. Yeah, maybe that’s it. And ants! Out here in the garage they’re marching. I think they’re out for my blood. See? When one comes near the others follow. There’s so many and they bite everywhere. I can feel one crawling on my back right now. Don’t bite please. It hurts when they bite these little suckers. Wait ‘til you meander anywhere close to my mouth. I’ll eat all of you! Yeeeooouch!!! Hey!!! No fair. Argghh…It itches!! I…can’t…quite…reach…so far…down my…back.

Ach, I hate evenings. It’s oh so quiet. There doesn’t seem to be as many people around making noises. And the cars! There aren’t so many when the skies darken. It’s fun watching ‘em pass by. The noises they make! Vrooom vrooooooooom. There’s big ones, shiny ones, small ones. They come in different shapes and sizes. I saw one the other day, it was so colorful! The color of the sky and the sun making funny patterns all over! And shiny yes. Shiny. Maybe it’s new, unlike this one here in my garage. This one’s sort of banged-up a little bit. See? I can’t see my reflection as clearly. The sky-and-sun car should really pass by more often.

I’m bored. Booooring. There’s nothing to do at home. I wish I could go out more often. I used to before. It’s always nice to walk around grassy places. Running and hopping under the shade of trees with birds chirping. Sigh. I miss going out. I miss grass!!! Yes, green, soft grass under my feet. I even like the smell. Have you tasted ‘em? They taste funny at first, but you get to like the texture after a while. The ones near my house are ok, but there’s only a small patch. I want to go to the huge place we went to a couple of times before. But she won’t take me anymore.

She’s been so busy, she just passes by me these days, hardly giving me a glance. Sure, she touches me when I come close and greet her. A scratch here, a rub there. But She won’t play anymore. I really miss her. And her smell. I even miss her glowing toy. Yeah, sometimes she sits with me out here in my garage and plays with her glowing toy. At first it stank, but I got used to it after a while. The smoke that comes off of it is kinda cool. When a plume comes out I run and hop through it!!! And you know what? It disappears! Hahaha. Yeah, I miss the glowing toy too.

Hey, I think that’s her coming down the stairs. Yes! It’s her. I wonder if she’ll come play with me now. Oh no…I see the white fluffy cloth. I think it’s that time of the week again. I don’t mind getting wet and all, but…It’s such a drag trying to get dry. Well, there’s no escaping it. Here she comes.

Ohh….I guess I could get used to this. The shampoo smells great!! I didn’t like the old one. But this new one is fruity. Kinda like the yellow fruit she lets me have for dessert sometimes. Ohhh..yesss…I really love it when she rubs my belly like that. It feels wonderful. Ahh, it’s heavenly. Getting wet is a small price to pay for her to touch me like this. The water tickles though, when she pours it all over to get the suds out. Hey! Hey watch it!!!!!!! Argghh…water in my ear again. She really should be more careful rinsing.

Thaaats right..yeah…rub me dry. Hmmm! You missed a spot! Here, let me help you. I’ll raise my hind leg. There…ok rub rub rub. Ach. Thank goodness its warm now. When I first got here and she started giving me these baths, It was cold as hell! And the water was freezing! I hated it before, and I used to yelp and run all over the pink and white tiled room. He he he. I guess she got the message because not long after she made the water warm.

Ouch…why does she always want to carry me out? I..cant..breathe! My…chest…you’re squeezing…my…ribcage! Set me down here please? Yes…on the green carpet so I can rub my wet butt dry. Rub rub rub. Any minute now she’ll let me out the garage again. She always does. I used to sleep with her you know? But I guess I keep waking her up while she’s asleep. But I only wanted to play! After that she made me sleep near the sofa downstairs. I found a cool spot in a corner, so I didn’t mind. But then I always get spanked because I keep making a mess. I can’t help it! Chewing is fun!!! Paper is the best. It makes this really cool sound when you sink your teeth in…and you can it eat it too in case you’re hungry! But for now, it’s the garage I guess. Sigh. All alone again in a few minutes.

Wait...well she sat down the sofa. Maybe she wants my company? Yey. She’s looking at me funny though. Is something wrong? Can I come sit on your lap please? And rub me dry? Rub my tummy again please? Ahh…heaven! And my ears? Ahhhh!!! You smell great too! Did you shampoo like me? We kinda smell alike. Did you use my fruity shampoo too? I missed you sooooo much. He he he…Let me at your thumb!! I woooont bite too hard I promise! He he he…Let…me…grab your arm! Munch munch munch…your arm is so soft. Ha ha ha…I wont sink my teeth! See? Let me nibble juuuust a tiny teeny bit. Mwe he he he.

I missed you human. I missed you thiiiis big. See? Isn’t it fun when we play? I don’t mind that you don’t take me out so often anymore. But if you could take me to the big grassy place again, that would be really nice. We could walk and run and play on the grass like before! I’m not saying we go all the time. Just once in a while, that would make us happy don’t you think? Hey, what’s the matter? Why the sad face? Why is water trickling out of your eyes! Human! What’s wrong with you? Hey, are you ok? Don’t be sad sweetie. I’m here. Let me hug you. Everything will be A-ok! I know you missed me too but please don’t be sad anymore. Ok I promise to be a good girl from now on. I won’t eat your paper anymore. And I promise not to munch on your glasses again. And…and…I won’t soil myself. Well…not too much. There there. Runie’s here. Let me lick your cheek dry. We’ll be ok! You’ll see.

desert nights

sweeping in like ghosts in this balmy evening the wind kisses my skin to life. opening my eyes i see blackness, i've forgotten to put on a lamp. laying on my stomach i stretch my arms up, reaching for pillows i didn't use. what time is he coming home, i wondered.

hugging a pillow to my side i inhale to take in his smell. it sends tingles down the skin on my back. thoughts of him seem to open my skin's pores to the warm desert breeze. i flip over and look up at the darkened ceiling. my bare legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, languidly moving to and fro. my well-worn white t-shirt hikes further up my hips. i crave his touch so much, i thought. what is taking him so long?

the door slowly creaks open and i hear his keys. footsteps slowly approach the room i am in. he enters the pitchblack room and instantly senses me on the bed. i feel his hands first on my knees, stopping my legs from swaying. slowly he slides up his roughened hands rasping against my skin. his palms are cold against my warmth.

thumbs on the inside of my thighs crawling up inch by inch is torture. i gasp, but i say nothing to hurry him. he loves taking his time. they stop on my hips. in a quick motion he pulls me further down the bed. he nudges my legs open and stands in between. did u miss me, he says. i dont say anything and pretend to still be in slumber. it is a familiar game we play every evening when he comes home. he clenches his fingers tighter, his hips come close.

+++

my back aches from her scratches. red welts, proof of her passion. the warm evening breeze hurries me home to her, to have her put marks on me, to feel her sink her short nails everywhere on my body.

slotting my house key in is taking forever, i thought. my hands shake as they manage what seems to be so difficult a job. the thought of her, laying there on the bed awaiting me is enough to make me shiver all over. pushing the door in i see it is dark. has she forgotten to turn on lights, i wonder. making my way quickly to the bedroom i catch a whiff of her scent. it is heady and sweet and enough to make me come..closer.

there is a soft light flickering in from the moon and it outlines her body. her white t-shirt is so thin it plays illusions on my eyes. the motion of her swaying legs catches my eye. reaching out, my fingertips find their way to her knees. she is so warm and soft, like butter. standing between her legs, i slide my thumbs inside her thighs and crawl up..up..up. her skin is so smooth it is enough make me cry. my hands stop at her hips and i hear her breathe in gasps. did u miss me, i say. she says nothing. it is a familiar game we play, her pretending sleep each evening i come home. i squeeze her hips and pull her close.

i love you, i say. her white teeth seem to glow in the dark. they answer in smile. her legs raise up and wrap me in heaven. red welts are simple enough penance for the sins we commit each time.

On Love

I have come full circle it seems. Faced with the question "Do you have any plans of immigrating?" my answer has remained the same faced with this question almost seven years ago. No. At least, not yet.

This summer I am spending a few weeks in that country which is consistently among the Best Countries to Live in Ever. It is a huge territory of only 30+ million inhabitants. It is a country with a GDP of $27,000 per capita (as compared to the Philippines' measly and highly distorted $3,800--owing to the huge gap in income distribution). It has an excellent social welfare program. It is paradise to Filipinos wanting to immigrate. It is perfection incarnate. I could move to this country. It speaks both foreign languages I speak. I have tons of family there. I could easily fit in. I could marry me one of them citizens and live happily ever after. Which is really a wonder why I, usually a rational being, would automatically respond to the question above with such an irrational, highly idealistic "No, I have no plans of immigrating as of the moment. I don't think my conscience will let me leave this country."

And so I am faced with a familiar demon tempting me to make a non-issue of immigration. Most Filipinos would not agonize over it. Most Filipinos would take it for granted. For some, it is an ulitmate goal. I'm afraid it isn't as simple for me.

Seven years ago, as a fresh high school graduate, I was mainly excited to finally board a plane and fly thousands of miles above the stratosphere. I had no expectations, no notions of what a foreign land would look like. I was excited to see long-gone uncles, aunts and cousins, not-yet-seen new cousins and cousins' off-spring. I wanted to see snow.

And so I did all of the above. I saw how well people lived in some places on the planet. I saw how "beggars" there could be dressed up so properly, clutching a musical instrument of choice, looking extremely well-fed. I saw how owning a car could be such nuisance because mass transportation could get you places as easily, as efficiently, if not more so. I lived in chilly perfection for a while. I breathed the unpolluted air and drank the sweet flouride-laden water. I ate the abnormally shiny fruits and grotesquely proportioned meats. I luxuriated in the vast unspoilt spaces, the uncrowded streets, the prettified sights. Everyone was so incredibly polite and friendly. It was heaven indeed.

A few weeks after I returned home. The humid June air greeted me good evening and I was transported back to earth. The noise, the smells, the congestion welcomed me back with such gusto I felt disoriented for a while. Looking out the car window I took in the familiar sights of Metro Manila. Except this time, what had been normal to me for 17 years looked different. Everything looked dirty. Everyone looked dirty. I felt grimy in my turtle-neck top. People were exceedlingly rude. No artificial smiles here. I was happy to be home.

That trip started it all. Seven years ago almost. Some weeks inhaling European air a few years later only magnified the puzzle forming in my head. It ignited queries my youthful mind was eager to answer. It made me ask why is it that way over there, and this way over here? Why is it "this" way over so many places across this planet and "that" way over so few?

Hunting for the Holy Grail is what its like. Looking for my answers. Piecing together the pictures in my head. Searching for "because." In the meanwhile, standing in booth 14 being interviewed by the nice man behind the shiny glass window for my tourist visa, I tell him him why my conscience won't let me leave this country. He stares back at me careful to leave his face blank and then types a little something in his keyboard. I am to come back at 2 o'clock to pick up my passport. I will miss this hellhole.

u've got 24 hours left to live (only u know that ur about to die). what would u do with it?

i would:

00:00-1:00 -- do drugs finally...take ecstasy and get high with julia my bestest friend in the whole world :)
1:00-3:00 -- have threesome with 2 willing acquaintances...hmm..let see...who's always been rumored to be well-endowed?

3:00-3:30 -- set afire my old high school, religious of the virgin mary suck.
3:30-6:00 -- parachute over tagaytay and land..err...splash in the lake
6:00-10:00 -- snorkel in puerto galera with friends and immeditate family, hopefully see a shark, swim up to it and poke its eye with a stick

10:00-12:00 -- eat at an ultra expensive restaurant with my closest friends. pig out and chitchat
12:00-14:00 -- slap silly everyone who annoys me. the list isn't too long
14:00-14:30 -- rob a bank, metrobank along timog avenue seems like it would have lots of moolah in it
14:30-15:00 -- buy my brother a new phone
15:00-16:30 -- shave my head and get a huge-ass tattoo of the philippine map on my back
16:30-18:30 -- buy mom a new house
18:30-21:30 -- try to assassinate fpj and ping

21:30-00:00 -- tell my family i love them and give them my old stuff, will see as many people as i can and call those abroad. will give away books and clothes. burn incriminating documents.

00:00 -- die in peace :)

now that im not angry. it pains me how my brother always makes it seem like he's being oppressed and made to feel little. i have always believed in his abilities and ive always told him so. but what does one do when one's sibling is so sensitive of his shortcomings and does nothing about it? ive expressed to him my belief and support of his endeavors. the thing is, he does nothing. in the meanwhile, his potentials lay fallow. going to waste.

i do not want to baby him. i do not want to give him special treatment and tiptoe around him every time. i want my brother to become a man. how does a woman go about teaching that?

i don't know what the fuck my brother is upset about now. its like i'm walking on eggshells with him. why is it he's the fragile one in the family? the one we always have to worry about, the one whose sensitivities we must understand and give way to? boo-hoo. spineless little shit. he's all of 21 and he can't even wipe his own ass. if he's so insecure with me then why doesn't he stop screwing around and get his fucking life in order?!?

why should i feel guilty for being myself?