Lumuluhang Bangkay: Ikalawang Aklat


Taong 2009

Sinong papalit sa bansot na nilalait?
FPJ na sikat, namatay na kay pait
humilera na ang mga trapo, ipinakita ang mga puwit
sa tronong luklukan, tunay na ipipilit.

Ano ang halalan kung walang dugo
sa bayang sawi, lahat gustong maging pinuno
Sa malayong Maguindanao, pinatay mahigit limampo
Pati ang buntis, binaril ng walang awa, walang puso.

Sa kandungan ng LP ay nagladlad ang mga pulpol
Si Roxas ang nangunguna, lahat ay humahabol
Ngunit dagok ng kapalaran, namatay si Corazon,
humirit ang walang muwang, kumandidato si Ngoy-ngoy!

Tulad ng inang sa halalan ay “nanalo”
Dahil sa pighati at luha ng balo
Anak na pakaang-kaang kung hindi tuliro
Aba sus ginoo, siya ang magiging Pangulo.

Nasaan ka Huwan, gumising ka naman
Iparating sa madla kabalbalang katotohanan
Tamad na may topak, pakiusap huwag naman
Huwang kawawa, nasagasaan sa tuwid na daan.

Taong 2010

I. Naluklok sa Malakanyang P-Noy na Aquino
Anak ng mga “bayani”, tuwid na tuwid kuno
patatalsiking lahat magnanakaw sa gobyerno
walang mahirap kung walang korap ang kanyang pangako.

Nakalimutan yata ang mga Kabarkada
Kaibigan. Kaklase, Kamag-anak at iba pa
Kabarilan, Kainuman, mga Kalarong masasaya
Inilagay sa posisyon upang magpasasa?

Tuwid na daang walang siga, walang wang-wang
Unang inupakan, Bangit na Heneral
Amuyong daw ni Arroyo na dapat matanggal
Isinunod si Coronang naalis nang bilisan.

Arroyong dating pangulo sinampahan ng kaso
Galing sa Malakanyang, bagsak ay kalaboso
Biglang nagkasakit, humingi ng TRO
Sagot ni P-Noy, ano ka sinuswerte, neknek mo.

Nasaan ka Huwan sa bagong kaharian
Ikaw ba’y Kabarkada o tunay na Kalaban
Sa hustisyang minadali, mga hukom ay binayaran
Tama o mali, ikaw ba’y may pakialam?

II. Doon sa Luneta na kanlungan ni Rizal
Pulis na may hinaing nang hostage ng dayuhan
payak na negosasyon nabako ng tuluyan
pumutok ang mga baril, kay dami ng patay.

Sino ang may sala, sino ang dapat sisihin
Si Puno ba, si Robredo o si Lim?
Imbestigasyong pulpol nabalot sa dilim
Dami ng bulilyaso, wala namang umamin.

Lumabas na katawatawa pamahalaang Pilipinas
P-Noy na bagito, kinantiyawan ng marahas
daming pumula, daming humalakhak
Wala siyang pake, sa video game nagpalipas.

Huwang lumuluha bakit napaka-tahimik
Pag-asa ba’y naglaho na sa madilim na langit
ano ang kinabukasan ng mga Pilipinong paslit
gutom at dalita, apdong kay pait?

Taong 2011

Kay sagwa ng mga tanong sa dating Heneral
tutuo bang may pabaong milyong karumaldumal?
sa tindi ng kastigong hindi na nakayanan
sa puntod ng ina, pinili’y kamatayan.

Sandatahang lakas na binigkis ng dugo
wala ng maipagmalaki, mga ulo’y nakatungo
mga buhay na ibinuwis, mga pighating binuno
kabayanihang walang katulad sa luha naglaho.

Nagpiyesta ang mga buwaya sa kampon ng senado
Pagnanakaw ay natakpan ng mga piping sundalo
Mga heneral ang korap, mga ganid na berdugo
Sa walang tinag na pagkakatayo, mura at lait tinanggap ng totoo.

Sa malayong kabundukan, sa pag-asa ng bukas
Kabataang matitino, inalipusta, binalasubas
Pamantasan ng mga Milyonaryo, ng mga mandurugas
Sigaw na nakabibingi, dagok na walang puknat.

Tinimpi ang galit, sinunod ang pamantayan
Katapangan, Katapatan, Kabuoan sa bayan ay alay
Tugon sa suklam ay pangako hanggang kamatayan
Buhay na aba, para sa Pilipinas lamang.

Ano naman ang sabi ng mga mamamayan
Sa moro-morong imbestigasyon na wala namang saysay
Sige tawa na lang, ngitngit at batikos walang patutunguhan
isang kahig, isang tuka, pulpol na kapalaran.

Nakikita mo ba Huwan ang burak sa kanilang mukha
sa salaming basag, naglaho ang mga muta
kasakima’y walang hanggan, mga halang ang kaluluwa
Ihasa mo ang iyong gulok, Huwan, ‘yan ang tanging pag-asa.
Taong 2013

I. Tuwid na daan daw ang pamahalaan ni Aquino
Paniwala ang madla, oo lang ng oo,
Ngunit sumambulat “pork” ng Ina Mo,
Sampung bilyong kinurakot ng mga ganid na manloloko.

Sa pamamaraan ni Napoles magaling ang pagnanakaw
pampataba ng lupa tunay na kayamanan
mga mambabatas na korap, nagpasasa ng tuluyan
mga salaping kinamkam lagpas pa sa kamatayan.

Mahigit sa isang daan, mga mandurugas na idinawit
mambabatas daw, at kagalanggalang, ‘yon pala’y mga buwisit
ngunit sa idinamidami, tatlo lang ang napiit
sa mga alipores ni Aquino, ni isa hindi sumabit.

Ngumawngaw ang mga tao sa maladambuhalang nakawan
sa Luneta’y nagsisisigaw, pagngangalit na walang param
ngunit ang pamahalaan, bingi at walang pakiramdam
galit na hanggang langit, nauwi sa kawalan.

Nandoon ka ba Huwan sa dating Bagumbayan
kung saan si Rizal namatay ng walang saysay
narinig mo ba ang hinaing ng sawing mamamayan
may pag-asa pa kaya ang perlas ng silanganan?

II. Ngitngit ng langit, unos na kay lakas
Hanging walang patawad, along napakadahas
Bagyong Yolanda sinalanta buong Visayas
kay dami ng namatay sa araw na walang bukas.

Sa tindi ng paghihirap at walang kahulilip na dalamhati
saklolo ng gobyerno kakapiranggot, kakaunti
sagot sa mga luhaan, pangako at panay sisi
mga bangkay na nagkalat, nanga-agnas sa pighati.

Buong mundo tumulong, sangkatauhan ay nakiramay
Bigas, tubig, damit at salapi ipinadala ng walang param
Ngunit ngitngit ng kulog, sa bulilyaso ni Soliman
Mga pagkain ay nabulok, mga tulong ay nasayang.

“Bahala na kayo sa buhay nyo” sabi ni Roxas na magaling
“E buhay ka pa naman” sang-ayon ni Abnoy na inutil
Sa duguang labing kinagat sa ubod ng pagngangalit
Buhay na hampas lupa, humalo sa uhog at luha na kay pait.

Wala na ang unos, dagat na ay payapa
Ngunit ang lupa ay humahagulgol sa kawalan ng pag-asa
Mga patay ay inilibing ng walang kabaong, walang awa
Pamahalaang inutil, panay satsat, wala namang ginawa.
Bangon na Huwan, bagyo na ay humupa
Langit na busilak puno ng panata
Bingi ka ba Huwan, bakit ang mga mata moy’ walang luha?
Piping mga labi, buhay ay wala na nga.

Taong 2014

Nobel Peace Prize ang tanging ambisyon
Ni Abnoy na huwad, pangulong pulpol
Sa MILF, MNLF, BIFF kasunduang panay suhol
Sa Malaysia nagpahalay na parang asong ulol.

Di bale nang mamatay mga sundalong sawi
Makapagyabang lang, tumaas lang ang ihi
Sa bangag na adhikain kapalit ay pighati
Nawalan na ng isip, Abnoy na panay sisi.

Samantala naman sa banda ng PDAF
Walang nangyari, mga tulisa’y nakatakas
mga alipores ni Abnoy at barkada ni Abad
Tuloy ang ligaya sa daang matuwad.

Tumingin kayo sa bundok ng Payatas
Doon ay samyuin ang baho ng pagka-korap
Pulubing patay gutom, pagkain ay “pagpag”
Masisikmura nyo kaya, Pilipinong sakdal hirap?

Sige kain pa, sige biyahe pa, sige mga halimaw
magpasasa sa yaman na inyong ninakaw
Huwag lang matulog, lahat at guwardyahan
Si Huwang may gulok, wala ng takot mamatay!
Taong 2015
Gaano kalalim ang bukal ng iyong luha?
Nagimbal ka ba sa apatnaputapat na kawawa?
pinatay, pinagbabaril, saka pinagtataga
Habang ang pamahalaan, ginawa ay wala!

Dumating ang mga kabaong ng mga bayaning patay
Sa katahimikan ng Diyos, sila ay hihimlay
Ngunit, ngitngit ni Barabas, ano itong kahayupan
Abnoy na Pangulo, nasa isang handaan.

Putang inang ‘yan at putang ina pa
Nasaan ang puso, ang pakikiramay sa aba?
Mas mahalaga ba ang sa Hapon ay makipagkita
Mga patay na bayani, wala talagang kuwenta?

Sa kanyang ngising aso, at tuluyang walang pake
Ipinakita sa mundo, katauhang parang tae
Ngunit lumusot din, wala ring nangyari
Pangulong karumaldumal, walang galang sa mga bayani.

Nagmumura ka ba Huwan, dibdib mo ba’y sasabog
Siya ba ay pangulo o isang Hudas na bugok
Kalmahin ang bulkan, ang pagngangalit ng loob
Panatiliing bagong hasa, ang kakambal na gulok!

Taong 2016
Botohan na naman sa bayan mo Huwan
Mga palalo at kurap sa puwesto’y nag-unahan
Walang pasubali, walang kahihiyan
Mga tunay na mandurugas, mga hari ng kabuktutan.

Isa sa kanila, Roxas daw na matino
Itutuloy daw niya, daang walang liko
Mataas na pinag-aralan labas naman ay bano
Sa puwit ni Abnoy, nakasiksik, nakatago.

Si Poe na Amerkano, anak ni Da King
popular na popular, mabigat ang dating
Niligawan ng husto ni Abnoy na matsing
Bise ni Roxas? ano ako, duling?

Nandoon din si Binay, Obama daw ng Pilipinas
Ngunit ang maitim ay budhi, hindi ang labas
Makating iniwan, ninakawan, binalasubas
Baboy na naka-aircondition ang siyang katulad.

Sa malayong Davao, si mayor ay sumugod
Pilipinas na kawawa, sa droga’y nakalugmok
Korapsyon hanggang langit pipiliting matapos
Patay kung patay, bahala na ang Diyos.

Nag-isip si Huwan ng malalim na malalim
buhay na dalita, punong-puno ng lagim
hirap at pasakit, walang tantan, walang pigil
sino sa kanila ang tunay na magiting?

Duterte ang sigaw ng masang naghihirap
ng mga mga matatandang naglaho ang pangarap
ng mga kabataang madilim ang hinaharap
ng milyong Pilipinong nawalan na ng bukas.

O, hindi, sigaw ng mga trapo at oligarkiya
Bastos na Duterte nanalo na nga
Kailangang ipursigi, operasyong pagsipa
Gamitin ang lahat upang si Mayor ay masira.

Tumingin si Huwan sa araw na bagong sikat
Sa kalawakan ng langit , sa pag-asang kumakalat
may badya ang unos ayon sa alamat
sa liwanag ng umaga at mapait na ngiti, hinasa ang itak.

Ito ang huling baraha ng buhay na sawi
Papatay o mamatay, di na mamimili
Pilipinas na mahal, kayumangging lahi
Tayo na’t lipulin ang  mga mang-aapi!

dan,mel&jim
18 Mayo, 2017

Published in: on May 18, 2017 at 6:04 PM  Leave a Comment  

When is Mother’s Day?


Mother’s day is not just the second Sunday of May.

It is Mother’s Day when the sun shines, or when it rains, or just cloudy.

It is Mother’s Day when it is cold, or downright freezing. Or when it is hot or oppressively muggy.

It is Mother’s Day when it is bright and hopeful or when it is miserable and sickening.

It is Mother’s Day when it is quiet and peaceful or noisy, rowdy and chaotic.

It is Mother’s Day when one’s heart is overflowing with love or bleeding with uncontrolled hate.

It is Mother’s Day when laughter contorts one’s face in every way imaginable or when tears paint sadness, pain and hurt down one’s cheeks and muted lips.

It is Mother’s Day when triumph and success hold the upright hands or when failure and frustration weigh on the bowed head and the resigned shoulders.

It is Mother’s Day when a child is born full of hope and aspirations or when the old dies full of regret, misgivings and remembrance.

It is Mother’s Day when a child wakes up and calls out Mom or when a child grows and from far away calls Mom.

It is Mother’s Day, all our lives. From the day we’re born, to the day we die.

 

Published in: on May 13, 2017 at 12:41 PM  Leave a Comment  

Some Thoughts on Discourse


In FB groups, in the various fora, even in just casual conversations, ideas must reign supreme. Thoughts and convictions must be taken on their own regardless of who the origin is.

A lie is a lie even if such comes from an angel. Truth even ascribed to one unknown, remains.

When ego and personalities get in the mix, exchanges become pissing contests with no winner. Just a lot of stinking bruised pride.

One can be right without being self righteous. Disagreements are as natural as the weather. Hot cold, wet dry.

Synthesis is an exercise each must strive for. No one has the monopoly of what is right, of the truth. Today’s savant can be tomorrow’s fool.

The worst reaction to an idea is for it to be ignored. Each one’s sounding board will always be another’s thought.

danmeljim.wordpress.com

Published in: on May 2, 2017 at 9:55 PM  Leave a Comment  

Searching for Heroes


Fool’s month is almost over. The spell of the wide eyed full moon is leaving the sky. Still, the land is covered by unreasonable suppositions, convoluted maneuverings and always the underlying self promotion while annihilating everything that gets in the way.

Generations of Filipinos have been taught lies about their history, about their heritage, about their heroes resulting in patriotism based on patronage, regionalism and over all disunity. Filipinos claw at each other like the proverbial “talangka” for reasons they can not even explain nor identify. Rejection of an idea, of a leader rests on prejudice, of a mentality borne out of a caste system that dictates slaves must never rise to the level of their blue blooded masters. Those born with silver spoons must be treated with dignity and respect long before they learn to clean themselves up after they shit while those damned by the poverty of their birth can not and should not even dare look at their masters’ feet.

Lies. We were taught lies.

America gave us democracy and out of their benevolence, gave us independence. Spain gave us God and taught us holiness. The world war that devastated the country was to prove the people’s bravery and acceptance of sacrifice. We are but a small nation that can never make a difference nor run our own affairs nor have a say in our patrimony. We are mendicants, ignorant, uneducated with inferior culture and just plain savages.

Our heroes are Aguinaldo, Bonifacio’s killer, the “revered” First President of the Philippines yet abandoned his post for money and comfort; Quezon, he who said “a Philippines run like hell by Filipinos is a lot better than a Philippines run like heaven by Americans” while shouting “sinverguenza” to those who disagreed.

In the very recent times, our children were taught that the Aquino’s are all heroes, that Ninoy is a martyr, Cory a saint and that Abnoy is incorruptible. They were taught that those who died fighting the government waving the Communist flag deserve a monument with their names written in stone. And that those who fought for the Republic were just fascist reactionary forces with no intelligence nor reason for being. And that singing “Bayan Ko” with fervor and tears streaming down was the only nationalism required plus a couple of appearances in EDSA.

Filipinos must learn the real lessons of the past. They must hail the real heroes who must be emulated and be trumpeted.
They must seek their own course and follow their own instincts and claim their own destiny. Ironical it may be, but respect from the community of nations will only be accorded if Filipinos show that they are truly independent and do not really care about any castigation or applause.

It maybe late in the nation’s journey, but a start is as good as any. Lest the nation stays in the shadow of mediocrity and the quagmire of insignificance for generations yet to come.

Published in: on April 29, 2017 at 8:05 PM  Leave a Comment  

On Good Friday


On Good Friday,
I will listen to the silence
to the still wind, the still trees, the still sun.

On Good Friday,
I will amplify the echoes of youth and rituals
finding meanings in lost incantations
in dialects long suppressed.

On Good Friday,
I will watch the peacefulness of the fields of grass
as they pay homage to the miracle of two thousand years
hoping my heart will take heed and betray my sins.

On Good Friday,
I will remember the dead and those I miss
justifying time’s aberration
and that life is a continuing cycle of birth and death.

On Good Friday,
I will seek forgiveness, undeserving I may be
from those I hurt and offended and disregarded
promising nothing but the faithful struggle to be better.

On Good Friday,
I will pray for deliverance, for those I love the most,
for peace and the end of wars, for humanity to comeback.

On Good Friday,
I will thank Jesus for dying on the cross in my behalf
believing that I am worth His sacrifice
because He said so.

On Good Friday,
I will not know the meaning of life
nor fathom the unknown in death
nor find answers to all the questions
yet I will believe and will find salvation
because He died
and will rise again!

On Good Friday.

Published in: on April 14, 2017 at 8:51 AM  Leave a Comment  

The Beauty and D-Beast


A Dutertard’s Tale

No this is not a love story.  Not in a boy meets girl and happy ever after kind of way. This is about politics, greed, vanity, deceit, lies, manipulations, money (lots of it), power. Yes, power! The kind that makes one intoxicated with one’s spirit, one’s delusions of grandeur, one’s self-glorification. The adulation of I, me and mine.

Once upon the present, as in today, in a land so close,  D-Beast is chosen by the people to lead them. Not because of his potty mouth nor his uncouth behavior nor his tough guy mentality and his revulsion of protocols nor his age and looks which are suited more to bad guys in bad movies. He is elected because he does what he says and says what he does.  Plus, he seems to really care for his people. Sometimes unable to express himself, he acts instead.

Now, there is this unfortunate country, the beautiful Belippines. Her beauty is so overwhelming, the Spaniards, the Americans, the Japanese were not able to control their bestial desires and raped her repeatedly until they have screwed her brains out. So much so, that the people ingrained into themselves their being  slaves and inferior to anything foreign.

Now, D-Beast comes along and starts to change things up. He fires all the crooks, terminates drug dealers, lords and kingpins, makes the government works, curses the once invaders and rapists and the people applaud. But not all. The old power wielders, the oligarchs, the civil society, the traditional politicians, the human rights activists and those misplaced by D-Beast’s administration see not only their ultimate demise but the impossibility of a comeback to power if ever D-Beast succeeds.

Enter Gastollanes. The mutineer turned senator has sold his services to the highest bidder while feigning love of Belippines. So he concocts charges against D-Beast and coaches willing witnesses to make his charges stick. He is assisted by his Magda-low brethren and by the Europeans with Monsieur Pedoph in the lead. D-Beast is threatened and impeachment complaint is filed.  Gastollanes and Magda-low beef up their witnesses for hire while the Europeans ready their trade sanctions. Meanwhile, D-Beast takes it all in stride and with a curse says bring it on.

The showdown looms and  and in the holy week (of all seasons) before the Senate and Congress  return from their Mardigras-like craziness of a break,  the forces line up ready to do battle. Belippines on the  verge of another catastrophe.

Just like in any story or fairy tale, the writer opts to make what is right and justified win. That the greater good is served. But this  is the Belippines where a rapist wins an election from prison and a president chides a calamity victim, “you’re still alive, what the eff are you complaining about?” But that is an unwelcome digression. So back to the story.

D-Beast called his main lieutenants, cabinet secretaries and confidants on the eve of the impeachment hearing. There is sadness on his face that has never been seen. So many years of public office have taken their toll. He is, after all,  an old man of 72 with a litany of sickness a young man will not endure.

In a soliloquy punctuated by grunts and curses, he laments, questions and just resigns to his fate. ” I have served my people, I have fought for them, I have tried my  best. But the task can not be accomplished with all the road blocks I am facing. I have staked my life, my honor and the presidency itself. I said I don’t care whether I will finish my term or not, whether I live or die. Death is a certainty none of us will be able to foretell.  I am just frustrated that the people’s well being is being made a road kill because of ambitions and greed for power. Why can’t they give me the chance to improve my country, to alleviate the condition of my suffering people? I am old. I may be good for a couple more years. Five if I’m lucky.  They can wait and in their sweet time, the opportunity will open up. Just let this time be for the people.”

There is only silence and the occasional sighs and grinding of teeth. He looks at each of those he trusted with eyes from a long ago of hopes and dreams. ” I will have to go.  I have fought the good fight. But somebody else must finish the race. It is not because I am afraid. I am too old to be afraid. But I must protect the people from their own wrath. They should know and realize that this president cares for them even at the exchange of his own peril. I will not let them go into a bloodbath.”

Slowly they leave with heavy feet and heavier hearts.  Tears are falling without shame. On Good Friday, when the Son of God sacrificed his life for man’s salvation a long time ago, D-Beast offers himself for his people.

And that is when Gastollanes wakes from a dream he fashions as his rise to fame, power and fortune!

No, the battle is not over. Eighty three percent of Belipinos support D-Beast! He is the greatest chance they got to make Belippines be the country they have dreamt of, all their lives. Losing this chance, giving up on D-Beast can only mean back to the quagmire of corruption, of drugs, of crimes, of poverty, of pain and sufferings. No! They will fight and shed blood if need be. They will fill the streets. They will stop the hordes of evil. They will frustrate the power hungry and make Belipinos proud again. They will own their country, once and for all.

The dawn is breaking on Easter Sunday as the faithfuls listen to the Words of God. On their lips is a prayer borne out of  hundreds of years of oppression and exploitation. In their hearts is a resolve pledged with life and faith.

It is a glorious time in  the Belippines. There is a happy ending after all.

The End.

dan,mel&jim

Published in: on April 10, 2017 at 7:30 PM  Leave a Comment  

I am Aho Kiangan: Chapter 3


L’Ouriam

Published in: on March 20, 2017 at 10:08 AM  Leave a Comment  

I am Aho Kiangan: Chapter 2


Nana Munti

I knew her as an old woman of 35. Without telling me in specific terms, she communicated the fact that she was not my mother. That she was my aunt and that she had taken the responsibility of caring for me until I was ready to be on my own.

She used to be a handsome woman devastated by hard work and poverty. Her demeanor was stoic but not benumbed. Of all the years I have known her, there was never a time I had seen her cry nor breakdown but once. Through hard times and tragedy, she yielded not to excuses and the luxury of self pity. Life was tough but it must be lived. On both feet.

I started going to school soon as I could walk. Nana Munti would take me with her and, like the other school kids, I would sit on the wooden floor and pay attention to all the lessons she taught. I did not need to take notes nor take the tests nor answer her questions. I was privileged to be the teacher’s nephew. More, I knew the answers. She took pride in that and those times were when her rare half smiles would appear but vanish soon as she realized the glee on her face.

The school principal was an elderly gentleman from the next town about twice as old as Nana Munti. He wore a buri hat, a white long sleeved shirt and a perfectly ironed pair of trousers that showed age and constant use. He spoke gently, especially with Nana Munti. I realized his niceness went beyond the usual principal-school teacher banter. That the glances he took on her were more than admiration and respect. He loved her.

Nana Munti fell in love with him but never showed such. Her life’s purpose was to take care of me, nothing else. I took an evil satisfaction in this arrangement and proudly paraded like a peacock full of confidence and grandiosity, thinking that she lived just to serve and love me. That with her, I would never have to worry about not being loved or being alone. That yes, I was an orphan but I had Nana Munti and that was the best! My life could not be more perfect.

Until I saw her reading his letter, neatly folding it back and crying the whole night. That silent cry, so lonely it could not be shared. The woman who sacrificed her life for me was so unhappy she might as well die. She might even find happiness in death denied to her in life. Could I stop someone from being happy? From tasting the sweetness of honey and the fulfillment of desires? Did I have the heart to cast to oblivion the only woman who offered her life to me? What kind of an animal would I be? What kind of evil?

I was fifteen when I said my good bye to Nana Munti. She did not question my leaving nor protested my decision. I was a man who must chart the fate written on my palms. And that she must live her life for her as she deserved. I hugged her, not wanting to let go, knowing the life I had lived at that point was over. That the boy I knew as me was dead. That I would never see Nana Munti again.

It was still dark when I started my trek by the river bank. The cold water invited me for one last taste. By the time I got on the main road, the roosters were starting to crow. I took a long look back at my town and imprinted that image in the deepest recesses of my mind. I must remember everything with all the clarity of the breaking dawn. Slowly, the tears fogged up my vision as uncertainty and fear descended on my being. I started to run.

There was no turning back.


Published in: on March 6, 2017 at 3:25 PM  Leave a Comment  

I am Aho Kiangan: Chapter 1


 Dusk

There was always the unexplained melancholy in the day’s ending. The darkness’ uncertainty and the eyes’ blinding pointed to the unknown of ghosts and mad men. Stories of evil spirits and ghouls would fill our days to scare us to be home by nightfall. I believed somewhat in those fantasies but knew the reason why there was sadness in sunsets. What begun would end.

Dusk came early the day I was born. My mother, a young woman of nineteen was on her eighth month of pregnancy. Nana Munti, her sister who was a teacher at the elementary school, came home with the bad news. My father who was a soldier in the Army had been killed by Communist rebels in an ambush. No, my mother and father were not married at that time. She got pregnant soon after they met and he was off to Quezon. He promised to marry her soon after he had enough money and that he would take her with him. Their correspondence filled with longing tried to bridge the distance and the absence. Until that day.

The spasms and the labor pain soon started after the news. Nana Munti had the midwife summoned and the bed and the white sheets were prepared for my coming. I was not ready. I still had a full month to live within the peace and contentment of my mother’s womb. What awaited outside was just suffering. I did not want to go.

The labor pains came like wave. Then they were torrents. I could hear my mother cry as she called out my father’s name. The midwife urged her to breathe, to push. I felt my mother’s pain and the blood started to ooze. Too much blood. Nana Munti and the midwife started to panic. My mother’s heart started to beat slower. The midwife said push. No. Please keep me inside. Let me die with you and my father. And we would all be together in heaven. Please do not let me go. I do not want to be alone. Push, the midwife implored and my mother with her remaining strenght pushed me out from her womb into the world. I cried. The midwife wrapped me in an old t-shirt and placed me by my mother’s arm. My mother looked at me with fading eyes and said I love you as her tears fell. She slipped into oblivion as I continued crying. Let him cry, Nana Munti said. He just became an orphan.

The night’s silence was broken by the crickets and the occasional wooing of the owl. That night, my crying pierced the clouds, the sea, the trees and the little huts of the town I was born. They knew my pain and the lonely life I would tread.

I would be alone.

Published in: on March 2, 2017 at 7:29 AM  Leave a Comment  

On the EDSA Spirit


An open letter to the Filipino people on the EDSA spirit:

No I am not Socrates Villegas who is writing to the dead Cardinal Sin.

No, I am not a bishop nor a priest, nor an oligarch nor a politician nor a yellowist nor a RAM nor a loyalist.

I write because I lived through those times and the incredulous twisting of scenarios and justifications must be exposed. Enough of self proclaimed heroisms, of romanticized patriotism, of false “por la patria”. EDSA was not a revolution by the people. It was a government takeover.

Cory did not win the snap election. Marcos did. NAMFREL together with those who walked out during the votes’ tally conspired to make it appear that Marcos cheated to win. Of course, there was cheating. From both sides. Without the “cheating” votes, Marcos still won.

Enrile and Honasan planned the coup way before EDSA. They were discovered and were about to be arrested when they holed up in Camp Aguinaldo that fateful weekend. Cardinal Sin and the political opposition plus the deposed power elite and the age-old entrenched oligarchs took the chance to drive Marcos out. Just like in Rizal’s Noli and Fili, the bishops and the hacienderos ruled.

A million plus Filipinos trooped to EDSA out of the 64 million living then. They were a miniscule segment. It was not a protest. It was a concert. It was a fiesta. Sure, they sang “Bayan Ko” with such fervor. But love of country was more than just singing.

There was an insignificant blood shed other than the killing of some loyalist troops because the Armed Forces of the Philippines refused to shoot at each other. There was honor among brothers in arms.

Marcos with all the evil ascribed to him, refused to fire on the Filipino people and attack the rebel forces. Even in his impending doom, there was no desperation to use whatever force necessary to cling to power. The “evil” dictator did not want to shed the people’s blood.

It was a coup d etat initiated by Enrile and Honasan. Ramos was a Johnny-come-lately. It was not their military genius that won the battle. It was the rest of the AFP’s refusal to fire at their comrades in arms.

EDSA did not have a spirit to start with. It was about a bunch of plotters’ desire to survive and the bishops’ and power elite’s hijacking. Cory was just a tool with Ninoy’s blood to annoint her. The puppeteers had their last say.

There is nothing to celebrate in Marcos’ departure and in the oligarch’s and traditional politicians’ retaking of the government. The poor remained poor, the marginalized, the debased, the maltreated, the exploited, the beggars and the the prostitutes never had the chance. EDSA was a drug to lull the masses to thinking theirs was a moment of greatness, their indelible mark in history. Truth was, EDSA was their continuing misery.

No, I am not Socrates Villegas.

I write this, because precisely, I am not.

dan,mel&jim

Published in: on February 23, 2017 at 11:12 AM  Leave a Comment