JUSTICE FOR JOAN!!!!

THE NEWS

2009-09-16T05:13:00.000-07:00

NEWS defines an event worthy of attention. It pertains to something of import, either good or bad or happy or sad. It has the elements of a story worthy enough to be known, to be seen, to be heard. It must fly and be borne by the Northerly, Easterly, Westerly and Southerly winds.

Hence do the cardinal points spell the word NEWS. So that it will be known in all directions. So that it will not be lost.

And I thank the UNTV news team, for taking the time to be with us, to hear of my sister. They have made it possible for more people to know. And with this our heartfelt salutations, comes our family's deepest gratitude.

I am posting it here.

Finally, it is progress. Finally the case has began to move ahead, propelled by this blog borne out of love against an act so vile that still leaves my emotional balances reeling until now.

WITH THIS NEWS I HAVE BECOME MORE DETERMINED!

WITH THIS NEWS THE BEGINNING OF THE MANY BRICKS THAT WILL SHATTER THIS WALL OF SILENCE AND DECEPTION ABOUT MY SISTER'S STORY HAS BEEN HURLED.

KODUS UN TV NEWS. GOD BLESS YOU ALL FOR BEING WITH US IN THIS FIGHT, FOR TAKING THE TIME TO HEAR OUR PLIGHT AND OUR FIGHT.

GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

HEAR MY SISTER'S STORY! IN UNDERSTANDABLE TERMS, DELIVERED BY THE STRONG VOICE OF THE MEDIA.

**********************************************************************

By the way, sorry for the folks who has been looking around for me. Sorry to worry you. Kapapaopera ko lang po sa tyan at still in recuperative stages, nothing to worry about. Maayos naman po! Tawag dito eh laparoscopic fonduplication, medyo lumuslos kasi pataas yung stomach ko at nasa diaphragm area na yung iba kaya there were frequent vomiting and acidic refluxes.

Nasobrahan yata sa "GUTS." hehehe

AND WHY THE FUCK NOT??? THEY KILLED MY SISTER, AND FOR THIS I WILL BE MORE THAN BRAVE!

I WILL BE INTREPID!

I WILL BE AFTER THE TRUTH!

WALANG KIKILINGAN!

DAHIL ANG BUHAY NG MAHAL KONG KAPATID AY WALANG KABAYARAN!

I need my strength! So I'll rest for now.

God Bless you all!
********************************************************************************
... Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change ...

A HUMBLE PAPER

2009-09-03T05:47:00.001-07:00

scanned copy of this paper to follow later.

******************
This is the tale of a humble paper

It is written by men who upholds the virtues of:

NOBILITY

INTEGRITY

BRAVERY

It is a paper of a deceased woman's body.

In this paper, these men has noted and taken into upright recording all the injuries, marks and bruises on that woman's body.

This woman was my sister.

A dead woman who has left so many hearts sadness but also anger.

This paper is the start of her redemption...

For it will prove beyond reasonable doubt that prior to her death, she was assaulted and hurt and probably even sexually molested and abused. SHE DID NOT KILL HERSELF!

I will state the details of that paper here.

In this entry I will state one by one the findings of these brave, noble and upright folks. ANd in so doing light a candle that I am fervently praying to spread into a conflagration that will scorch many wicked souls.

The paper stated that the body was already embalmed and that a previous autopsy has been done.

It detailed the incisions made on the body by the embalmer and the "doctor" who conducted the autopsy.

First there were TWO abrasions noted:

1. 1 cm posterior aspect wrist area, right (gasgas sa likod ng kanang pulso)

2. 1.5 cm anterior aspect foot, right (gasgas sa harap ng kanang paa)

Then there were SIXTEEN contusions (PASA) noted

1. 3 x 2 cms posterior auricular area, left side (PASA malapit sa kaliwang tenga)

2. 4 x 3 cms anterior aspect, level of the thyroid cartilage, left side (PASA sa harapan ng leeg malapit sa thyroid at bandang kaliwa)

3. 7 x 5 cms posterior aspect level of the fourth cervical vertebra, right side (PASA sa likuran ng
baba ng bahay bata, kanang bahagi)

4. 5 x 2 cms anterolateral aspect, middle third, arm, right (PASA bandang kanan ng gitna ng kanang braso)

5. 1 x 1 cm anteromedial aspect, middle third, arm, left ( PASA bandang gitna ng kaliwang braso)

6. 3.5 x 1 cm anterolateral aspect, middle third, forearm, left ( PASA bandang gitna ng gitna ng kaliwang babang braso)

7. 6.5 x 5 cms postero-medial aspect, lower third, arm, right (PASA bandang baba ng kanang braso)

8. 5 x 4 cms elbow, right (PASA sa kanang siko)

9. 5 x 2 cms postero lateral aspect, lower third arm, left (PASA sa bandang baba ng kaliwang babang braso)

10. 3 x 0.9 cm, postero medial aspect, lower third arm, left (PASA sa kaliwang babang braso)

11. 4 x 3 cm, elbow, left (PASA sa kaliwang siko)

12. 3 x 2 cms, anteromedial aspect, middle third, thigh left (PASA sa taas ng kaliwang hita)

13. 2 x 1.5 cms anteromedial aspect middle third, leg, right (PASA sa baba ng kanang hita)

14. 19 x 9 cms anterior aspect, upper to middle third, leg, left (napakahabang PASA mula taas hanggang gitna ng kaliwang hita)

15. 15 x 5 cms postero lateral aspect, lower third, leg, right (napakahabang PASA sa baba ng kanang hita)

16. 3 x 2.5 cm postero lateral aspect, middle third, leg, left (PASA sa bandang gitna ng kaliwang hita)

ONE contused abrasion

2.5 x 0.9 cms submandibular area, right side (BUKOL-PASA sa kanang panga)

ONE LACERATED WOUND

1 cm, forehead midline (BUKAS NA SUGAT sa gitnang bahagi ng taas na nuo)

TWO HEMATOMAS

1. 2 x 1 cms, forehead, midline (NAMUONG DUGO sa gitna ng nuo)
2. 4 x 4 cms, zygomatic area, left side (NAMUONG DUGO sa kaliwang taas ng pisngi)

TWENTY TWO INJURIES!!!!

not ONE ligature mark!!!

Wala ni isang marka ng PAGBIBIGTI!!!!

Now let us compare these findings to the findings of the Police "Doctor?"

PCI MAMERTO BERNABE YOU ONLY WROTE THREE!

THREE FINDINGS AND ONE OF THESE IS EVEN FUCKING DOUBTFUL!!!

1. Lacerated wound in the forehead, measuring 2x0.3 cm, along the anterior midline

2. Abrasion, wound in the right lower jaw (mandibular area) measuring 3x1 cm, 3.5 cm right of the anterior midline.

3. Ligature mark, around the neck, two loops, measuring 66 cm long, 0.2 cm. wide, with extreme ends forming an inverted “V” at the nape, the apex of which was 4 cm right of the posterior midline.

TWENTY TWO VERSUS THREE FINDINGS.

The twenty two findings are seen by men of Integrity, By Gentlemen of Nobility and by Officers of Bravery.

The three findings are seen by a CORRUPT, WICKED and MANIPULATED fool who calls himself a POLICEMAN!!!

Pu*&^%INA Mamerto, ginawan na nga ng ganyan ang kapatid ko pagtatakpan mo pa? Sasabihin mo pa may marka ng pagkabigti?

SAAN? SAAN ANG MARKA NG PAGKABIGTI?

My sister was killed.

Something or some things (I can't call them as "someone" for monsters did these to her) attacked my sister with such viciousness and savagery, then CHOKED HER TO DEATH.

That is why the findings for death in the NBI was only:

CONSISTENT WITH "ASPHYXIA"

OO dahil ang asphyxia eh pagkawala lang ng hangin sa katawan.

SINAKAL NGA EH! KAYA DI NAKAHINGA!

SINAKAL AT DI NAGBIGTI hinayupak ka!

HINAYUPAK KAYONG NAG COVER UP PA SA CRIME SCENE!

My sister was seen on the bed

The lividity marks on her body as seen on the SOCO pictures was on her back meaning the blood settled there because she was lying in bed when her heart stopped beating, not hanging!

IF SHE WAS HANGING THE BLOOD WOULD HAVE SETTLED ON HER LOWER LIMBS!!!!

WHY DID THE HOSPITAL CALL THE POLICE FIRST? WHY NOT A HOSPITAL OR AN AMBULANCE TO TRY TO REVIVE HER AND HAD A CREDIBLE DOCTOR PRONOUNCE HER DEATH???

WHAT DOES CAMP KARINGAL HAVE TO DO WITH THIS THAT THEY HAVE TO HANDLE THE INVESTIGATION THEMSELVES AND NOT THE FAIRVIEW POLICE WHO ARE NEARER TO THE CRIME SCENE?

IS A BRASS INSIDE THAT WALLED CAMP PULLING THE STRINGS THAT MADE THIS HIDEOUS COVER UP POSSIBLE?

IF SO, THE HANGING INCIDENT SHOULD BE THE UNIFORM OF THAT ROTTEN MAN. HE MUST HANG IT NOW AND QUIT HIS POSITION. HE IS IGNOBLE. HE IS WICKED.

OR MAYBE "THEY."

FOR AS WE KNOW, CROCODILES GATHER IN DROVES! LALO NA AT MAY PERA NG NAKASAPAL!

PCI MAMERTO BERNABE AND ALL THE REST BEHIND THIS, KNOW THIS YOU MANIPULATIVE, GREEDY AND BESMIRCHED ANIMALS!

YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!

ALREADY WE HAVE STARTED.

THE NBI WILL HELP US HERE!

WE COULDN'T TRUST YOU ANYMORE!

YOU WILL HEAR FROM US VERY, VERY SOON!

ALSO, THE LAWS OF KARMA ARE ALREADY AT WORK...

SOON IT WILL BE YOUR TURN!

TO SUFFER.

YOUR NAME WILL GO AWAY, UNHAILED AND IGNONIMOUSLY!!!

YOU HAVE DESECRATED PUBLIC TRUST!

YOU HAVE TURNED YOUR BACKS TO YOUR OATHS AND YOUR OFFICE!

YOU HAVE ALLOWED THE DEMONS AND DEVILS WHO DID THESE TO MY SISTER TO GET AWAY!

YOU AND YOUR COHORTS WITHIN THE WALLS OF NEWMAN HOME CARE AND THE FUNERAL HOMES!

THE TIME OF RECKONING HAS COME!!!

WE HAVE REACHED THE POINT OF NO RETURN AND WE ARE GOING AFTER ALL OF YOU!

BASTARDS!

CORRUPT!

UNWORTHY!

EVIL!
*************************************************************************
i'm running out of adjectives now. I must sleep. Tomorrow is another day, still
************************************************************************

THE FIGHT CONTINUES!

IT HAS JUST BEGUN!

YOUR PLACES IN HELL ARE BEING PREPARED NOW!

YOU WILL HAVE FRONT SEAT ROW IN THE BURNING OBLIVION OF THAT DAMNED PLACE!!!

KITA KITA NA LANG KAYO NG AMO NYONG SI TANING PAGDATING NG PANAHON!

T&*^INA nyo, Bangungutin sana kayo!!!!
******************
to the rest who have read this far... good night for now.

There will be more later...

Oh yes, THERE WILL BE BLOOD!

A LOT OF IT!!!

IN THEIR HANDS!!!

BRAVE, UPRIGHT AND NOBLE MEN WILL SHOW YOU!

You'll SEE!

JUSTICE FOR JOAN!

JUSTICE FOR MY SISTER!

A TALE OF THREE PAPERS

2009-09-03T03:12:00.000-07:00

This is a tale of three papers so foul and fetid and tainted.

These papers are legal papers, they are public papers, they are supposedly paperworks that democracy demands to be fair and impartial, honest and true.

BUT THESE PAPERS DISGUST ME!

They are wretched and are manipulated to vile ends….

These papers I WILL DISSECT ONE BY ONE… I will show you their flaws and in so doing, open up can upon can of maggots.

***********
First there is the tale of the DEATH CERTIFICATE.

It is issued to the family or next of kin of the deceased, this is a Filipino citizens final paper. It states the most basic information: Name, Age, Sex, Religion, Place of Death and cause of demise.

It must be done conscientiously. It must be prepared with respect. It is after all, the last proof that an existence came to be, the validation of a person’s life.

It does not need to state how many friends the owner had, nor how he or she lived. It is not written here what principles he or she believes in, nor values, nor prejudices, nor weaknesses, nor strengths, nor what people thought of them- nor how much they cared, nor how sorrowful and anguished they are in his or her passing.

It is just that. A piece of paper. The final evidence of a life breathed and walked and loved and cared and upheld by someone.

Therefore it must be done conscientiously. It must be prepared with respect.

Hereunder is my sisters’s death certificate:

At the front page, her name was stated as JOAN MCDANIEL ANOS.

The middle name is wrong. It is only Daniel, not Mc Daniel.

Actually it was Mc Daniel. It was the last name of my grandmother’s last “lover” from a string of many when she worked in Olongapo. He was of Scottish descent, an American serviceman. My grandmother, not really knowing well that “lover” who she only lived with for a short period of time, decided to just follow his last name anyway, and named my mother Annabelle Mc Daniel.

For some reason or another, we, my mother’s children just used DANIEL.

My mother met my father, a pure Samar bred and born seafarer. He hailed from Bacayawan, a small barrio near Llorente, Eastern Samar. I've not yet been to the place but they say almost everyone in that barrio is my relative.

My grandmother herself was also half American. Her father was also an serviceman who lived with a Zamboangan in a military in Cavite city. Her name was Florence Vergara Riddle.

Before the Japs initial victory on Philippine soil became inevitable, her father (my great grandfather) said they have to go to the US. He left a few years before Mc Arthur’s retreat, bringing along the rest of my grandmother’s sibling with him. He can’t bring his dark complexioned but beautiful “native” lover with her, the USAFFE won’t allow it. The American military brass wasn’t so keen either on their soldiers “frolicking” with natives. Having children with them either. My great grandpa had 7 with my great grandmother. My mother was eldest at 18 when he left.

My grandmother, that indomitable and loyal woman, wouldn’t leave my great grandma, Elena Vergara. So she stayed with her. Took care of her.

(Mamang carrying my sister, that's me farthest to the left)

She and my great grandma went then to Olongapo. There is no more livelihood in Cavite, the economy is in tatters.

The Japanese came and wreaked havoc.

Douglas the war hero left.

They did not hear of my grandfather anymore.

Douglas Mc Arthur returned but my great grandfather still did not.

So my grandma used her body so that they might live.

She had 7 children, all from different fathers. The last of which was my grandpa. A certain Mc Daniel, of Scottish origin, but American in citizenship.

So to whoever prepared this paper, I would like you to know that my sister’s middle name was really Mc Daniel. But legally, it is Daniel. Her middle name has a story. I wrote it so you might know.

But I would like you to know you are also incompetent. Why weren’t you conscientious? Why didn’t you check? You had the birth certificate for that. Is that part of your GRAND COVER UP?

Let’s look at the PLACE OF DEATH now.

My sister died within the premises of NEWMAN HOME CARE AND REHABILITATION CENTER.

WHERE THE FUCK did you get the name HUMAN CARE HOME?

Ok it is understandable that the syntax and construct of the real name of the place may have placed difficulties on your English unfamiliar brain.

But there is such a thing as asking someone to spell it for you.

Or have it written so you can copy VERBATIM!!!

You were the first in the place also.

The next point is my half-brother’s name.

When you asked him to sign above the INFORMANT’S, he said your conversation went like this:

Funeral home rep: Ano relasyon mo sa namatay? (What is your relation to the deceased?)

Mark Paul: Kapatid po. (Brother Sir)

Funeral home rep: Pirma dito (sign here)

My brother looks at it then tells THE POLICEMAN.

Mark Paul: Sir di po eto ang apelyido ko (Sir this is not my last name)

Funeral home rep: Ha? Di ba kamo kapatid ka? (Huh? Didn’t you said you were the brother?)

Mark Paul: Oo nga po pero di ko po ito apelyido ko Aporongao po (Yes sir but my last name is different, it’s Aporongao)

Funeral home rep: Ha di hindi ka kapatid? (Huh, so you’re not the brother?)

By this time my brother was really embarrassed, but there’s one thing I admire him for: He is brutally honest, blunt even.

Pong: Sir kapatid lang PO AKO SA LABAS (No sir I am only a brother out of infidelity)

Funeral home rep: Di hindi ka nga kapatid (So you’re not the brother)

By this time, my exasperated brother just signed the paper, deep inside embarrassed and confused and heartbroken.

PATAY NA NGA ANG KAPATID KO GINAGAGO PA. (My sister is already dead and she’s still being subjected to so much BULLSHIT). That’s how he must have felt.DI NYO BA ALAM ANG TERMINONG HALF-BROTHER? O HALF SISTER? MGA KAPATID LANG SA AMA O INA PERO KAPATID PA RIN? (DON’T YOU KNOW THE TERM HALF-BROTHER OR HALF-SISTER? SIBLINGS FROM ONLY ONE PARENT BUT SIBLING NONETHELESS?)

I repeat, the Death certificate is the last evidence a person lived and died. It must be prepared conscientiously, it must be treated with respect. The person deserves that at least.

Now lets take a good look at the back of the certificate.

In the postmortem certificate, PCI MAMERTO BERNABE JR MD CSEE certified that he performed the autopsy. He further stipulated that the cause of death was

ASPHYXIA BY LIGATURE.

In layman language: Death by HANGING…

MAMERTO BERNABE. YOU WAIT. YOU READ ON. YOU WILL PAY.

**********

Then there is the tale of the first police report in a series of what I promise to be long line in coming.

**********

It is called INITIAL INVESTIGATION REPORT.

click to enlarge

It is with regards to a Death of a female person by hanging.

That person is my sister.

It supposedly contains the most basic “initial” information of the incident.

The WHAT, WHO, WHEN AND WHERE.

It is conducted by the SOCO. It is supposed to be impartial and fair. It is supposed to be unblemished and conducted by professionals.

DAPAT ITONG GINAGAWA NG MGA WALANG KINIKILINGAN (IT SHOULD BE CONDUCTED BY THOSE WHO HAVE NO HIDDEN MOTIVES)

But I beg to differ.

Where the HELL did you get the date APRIL 3, 2009 for your memorandum report date???? WHAT THE FUCK!?

Wala ba kayong kalendaryo sa lamesa nyo? AT KUNG MERON MAN TINITIGNAN NYO PA BA? O GANUN DIN LANG NG GANUN ANG MGA ARAW NYO? ARAW NG KATANGAHAN AT KAKURAPAN???

ABA, NAGTA TIME SPACE WARP BA KAYO?

PUTANGINA HINDI KAYO SI SHAIDER!!!

PULIS PANGKALAWAKAN YUN KAYO PULIS KYUSI LANG!!!!

BUMALIK KAYO SA TAMANG PANAHON.

MAHIRAP YANG NAWAWALANG GANYAN, BAKA MASUNOD NA KAYONG IPASOK SA MENTAL HOME CARE!

SANA SA NEWMAN HOME CARE DIN KAYO MABAGSAK DAHIL DUN KAYO BAGAY!

********

Then they fucked up my sister’s name again.

This time, her middle name was MC DONALD.

What the FUCK IS THIS?

Nag cocover up na lang ginagawa pang circus!!! (Is it not enough you are covering up that you have to make it a circus?)

Are you going through with your job as if it is a tedious and boring part of your existence?

BAHALA NA? SHOOT BEFORE ASKING NA NGA KAYO PATI BA NAMAN SA MGA PAPERWORKS TYPE BEFORE ASKING PA RIN? (Let it be? You already follow the shoot before asking policy, is it even “type” before asking policy with regards to official paperworks?)

Honestly, I don’t know the name of the PNP chief now. Because I don’t give much care of this people anymore.

PALITAN MAN NG PALITAN ANG PINUNO WALA PA RING PAGBABAGO (No matter how many times they change the head, the system is still the same.)

But whoever you are sir, whoever you are now taking over the helm of the PNP. I ask you this.

PWEDE PO BANG PAKIBALIK NG GRADE ONE TONG PULIS NA TO? (Can you bring this policeman back to grade one)

SADYA PO BA SYANG TANGA O NAGTATANGA TANGAHAN? (Is he plainly stupid or just playing so)

BAKIT DI NYO BINAGO ANG PANGALAN NG KAPATID KO DUN? GANUN NA BA KAKURAP ANG MGA PINUNO NYONG NATURINGAN AT PATI PAMBILI NG PAPEL BINULSA NA O TINATAMAD KA LANG MAGTIPA ULI? O SADYA KA LANG TANGA? (WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST CHANGE THE PAPERWORKS? IS YOUR BRASS SO CORRUPT THAT EVEN BUDGET FOR STATIONERY IS POCKETED? OR ARE YOUR FINGERS JUST SO LAZY TO TAP THE TYPEWRITER AGAIN? I REPEAT THE QUESTION, ARE SO JUST SO STUPID?)

O KAPARTE RIN PO BA SIYA SA COVER UP NA TO (Or is he a part of this cover up?)

KAYO ANG SUMISIRA SA IMAHE NG PNP, KAYO ANG MGA TARANTADONG WALANG ALAM NA NAGKA TSAPA LANG AT UNIPORME AT BARIL EH KALA NYO KAYO NA LAGI ANG TAMA. PERO SA ILALIM NG MATITIGAS NYONG BUNGO, UTAK NYO SINGLAKI NG MANI (YOU ARE THE ONES DETROYING THE IMAGE OF THE PNP, YOU THINK YOU ARE ALWAYS RIGHT JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE THE BADGE, UNIFORM AND GUNS. DEEP INSIDE YOUR THICK SKULLS ARE BRAINS THE SIZE OF PEANUTS).

“INVESTIGATE”- DO YOU EVEN KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD?

WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU GET THE DETAILS RIGHT????

This is not a small mistake.

It is made worse by the fact that it is committed by the POLICE…

Weren’t you taught “information gathering basics” when you were at school?

Or is this mistake just peculiar to my sister’s case????

Did somebody pay you so as to fuck up the paperworks? So that the battery of lawyers being prepped by the “enemy” could find technicality in this?

Then you are wrong.

It is you who will stink. If you are covering this up, you are following the BULLSHIT WAY.

This is ass wipe paper, an evidence of POLICE INCOMPETENCE…..

QUEZON CITY POLICE INCOMPETENCE FOR THAT MATTER!

When Manuel Quezon said he'd rather see the Philippines run like hell by Filipinos than run like heaven by the Americans, he was saying so rhetorically. To hammer a point. To strengthen the words of his conviction. Not for you to literally follow it till now, just because the city is named after that great man.

AGAIN I ASK YOU, DON’T YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT INFORMATION GATHERING MEANS???

It is the basics of investigation. It should give a brilliant meaning to the word ACCURATE!

DID YOU EVEN REACH HIGH SCHOOL? WHY THE FUCK THIS?

But I will give credit though, YOU GOT THE NAME OF THE PLACE OF INCIDENT RIGHT.

NEWMAN HOME CARE AND REHABILITATION,

But I hope the address is right.

NO 37 WEST FAIRLANE, WEST FAIRVIEW, QUEZON CITY

This is the correct place. Not the one stated on the death certificate:

HUMAN CARE HOME MY ASS!!!!

Now let us have a look at the FACTS OF THE CASE. Or more aptly FUCK UPS OF THE CASE!!!

It is written there:
Cursory examination showed that the victim sustained ligature mark around her neck and a lacerated wound on her head. Cadaver of the victim was brought to PNP Crime Laboratory Service for examination.

“CURSORY” EXAMINATION O “PAID FULLY” EXAMINATION?

LIGATURE MARK MY SEETHING ASS!!!

Read on you bastard, you manipulator, YOU FOOL.

MAGBASA KA LANG KUNG SINO KA MANG ULOL NA NASA LIKOD NITO (Read on whoever you are behind this.)

Read on and hear the tale of the final paper.

**********

Hear the tale of the Medico legal

This is the paper when the forensic doctor studied the corpse.

It MUST BE impartial and true.

It must state there all the injuries and marking sustained on a body.

In this case MY SISTER’S BODY.

It must HONESTLY AND TRUTHFULLY state THE TRUE CAUSE OF DEATH.

It must be conducted by a doctor of unwavering dignity, of solid professionalism, of untainted record.

He must be true to his oath.

He must not be influenced nor coerced to leave many information unwritten, unreported, unvalidated.

He must hear the voice of the dead.

The spirit has passed away, but the corporeal vessel remains.

The body “speaks” from beyond the grave.

He MUST HEAR WHAT IT SAYS WELL.

MAMERTO BERNABE hereunder are your findings:

1. Lacerated wound in the forehead, measuring 2x0.3 cm, along the anterior midline
2. Abrasion, wound in the right lower jaw (mandibular area) measuring 3x1 cm, 3.5 cm right of the anterior midline.
3. Ligature mark, around the neck, two loops, measuring 66 cm long, 0.2 cm. wide, with extreme ends forming an inverted “V” at the nape, the apex of which was 4 cm right of the posterior midline.

INTERNAL AND FINDING:

- Contused and congested trachea
- Congested brain
- Congested lungs
-
The rest of the organs are unremarkable.

Stomach was empty.

You wrote the cause of death as : Asphyxia by Ligature

My father and stepmother received the final report ten days after the incident.

Thursday, AUGUST 13 2009.

They received it the same day the NATIONAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION was conducting a re-autopsy.

Here in the area of Subic-Olongapo, where my sister came from.

In a funeral home more reliable than San Rafael, San Rafael who hid my sister’s body all the time my mother and family are grieving.

Where Rocelle Cruz authorized the autopsy herself, as she herself related in a conversation with us the night of 08 August 2009.

Where ROCELLE CRUZ assured us that ALL BRUISES SHE SUSTAINED will be recorded by the one who conducted the AUTOPSY.

This was what ROCELLE CRUZ, in her power suit, in her businesslike mien and confident carriage, in her unwavering voice told us:

PALIWANAG KO LANG PO SIR!
(I'll just explain it to you sir!)

BINIYAK PO YAN!
(That corpse was opened up)

LAHAT PO BINIYAK!
(Everything was opened up)

Pero hapon na?(but its already afternoon?)- my uncle asked this.

AYAW PO NAMING IPAKITA SA INYO NG LABAS LABAS ANG BITUKA NG BATA.
(We don't want to show you the innards of the body)

PERO LAHAT PO NG PASA NA YAN,
(BUT ALL OF THOSE BRUISES)

NA TINIGNAN PO NG DOCTOR, LAHAT PO YAN NAKALAGAY SA AUTOPSY REPORT.
(THAT THE DOCTOR SAW, EVERYTHING WAS RECORDED IN THE AUTOPSY REPORT)

LAHAT NG PASA NYAN, NANGYARI YAN, KASI DI PO NAMAN NAMIN TINITIGNAN ANG PATAY (static…) MAYARI,
(EVERY BRUISE THAT WAS IN THE BODY HAPPENED, BUT WE DON'T LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BODY...(static) OWNER)

ANG TITINGIN LANG PO DYAN YUNG SOCO.
(THE ONLY ONE'S WHO WILL LOOK AT THE BODY ARE THE SOCO)

NAKAUSAP KO PO SI DOC, ANO NA YUNG NANGYARI SA KASO NATIN YUNG NAGHANG?
(I TALKED TO THE DOCTOR, WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR CASE, THE ONE THAT HANGED HERSELF?)

SABI NYA, “ROCELLE PARANG MAY FOUL PLAY EH”
(HE TOLD ME "ROCELLE IT LOOKS LIKE FOUL PLAY")

SABI KO PANONG MAY FOUL PLAY
(I ASKED, WHY FOUL PLAY?)

…inane…

PERO ACCORDING TO SOCO SA AMIN MERONG FOULPLAY
(PERO ACCORDING TO WHAT SOCO TOLD US, THERE WAS FOULPLAY)

BAKIT KAKO?
(WHY?)

KASI YUNG MGA KAMAY PO NYA, ….inane…. YUNG MGA PASA NYA SA KATAWAN NANGYARI PO IYON BAGO SYA NAMATAY
(BECAUSE HER HANDS.... THE BRUISES ON HER BODY HAPPENED BEFORE SHE DIED)

BAGO PO SYA NAMATAY NANGYARI YUNG MGA PASANG YAN
(THE BRUISES HAPPENED BEFORE SHE DIED)

IBIG PONG SABIHIN NYAN BAGO SYA NAMATAY MAY “MOVEMENT” NA NAGAWA PO
NGAYON SABI KO, NAGPUNTA NA PO BA ANG RELATIVE?
(THAT MEANS THERE WAS "MOVEMENT" BEFORE SHE DIED, AND THEN I ASKED, DID THE RELATIVES ALREADY CAME?)

DI PA SILA NAGPUPUNTA PERO PAPUNTAHIN MO SA OPISINA PARA MA EXPLAIN KO YUNG MGA NAKITA SA BATA…
(I HAVEN'T SEEN THEM YET BUT TELL THEM TO GO TO MY OFFICE AND I WILL EXPLAIN WHAT I SAW ON THE CHILD...)

AT NGAYON NA NAKAPAGSALITA NA PO SILA SA AKIN, KAHIT IHARAP NYO NA PO AKO SA KANILA, NA SINABI NILANG MAY FOUL PLAY DAHIL YUNG PASA AT MAY TAMA NGA DAW PO SA NOO, AY IBIG SABIHIN MAY “MOVEMENT” BAGO NAMATAY.
(AND NOW THAT THEY TALKED TO ME ALREADY ABOUT THAT, I CAN TELL IT UPFRONT THAT THEY SAID THERE WAS FOUL PLAY WITH THE BRUISES AND THE LACERATION ON THE FOREHEAD, WHICH MEANS THERE WAS MOVEMENT BEFORE SHE DIED)

And then Rocelle proceeded telling us a VERY INTERESTING story.

She told us her brother was also a victim of neglect in that home care and rehab center.

Her brother was also admitted one time to that center

She told us of her gay brother who was also admitted to that place.

That her brother MANAGED TO DRINK A WHOLE BOTTLE OF LOTION.

Because nobody was watching.

But her brother survived.

MY MOTHER ASKED YOU ROCHELLE, THAT IF THIS PROCEEDS FURTHER, WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO TESTIFY FOR US.

YOU LOOKED HER IN THE EYES.
WITH A READY ANSWER YOU SAID YES.

ROCELLE CRUZ HEAR THIS:

THE BRUISES ARE NOT IN THE AUTOPSY.

WHY ROCELLE?

WHY THIS INJUSTICE.

YOU ARE ALSO A MOTHER ROCELLE.

HEAR THIS,

BE THERE WHEN WE CALL YOU.

TELL THEM WHAT YOU TOLD DISTRAUGHT AND WEARY HEARTS THAT NIGHT YOU BRAVELY WENT TO
MY SISTER’S WAKE.

THE NBI WAS ALREADY FINISHED WITH THE REAUTOPSY WHEN WE HAD THE ONE CONDUCTED BY THE QUEZON CITY POLICE.

AND THEY HAVE A COPY OF THAT NOW.

AND THE DOCTOR WASN’T SO HAPPY OF THE FIRST ONE.

THEY BID ME WAIT NOW.

THE WEEK AFTER NEXT WEEK HE SAYS, WE WILL HAVE OUR COPY.

SO THIS BLOG WILL LURK HERE AS A DRAFT.

IT WAS THE FAITHFUL DAY OF 13 AUGUST 2009.

THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF THEIR END.

FOR I KNOW THAT THE NATIONAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION WILL SEE THIS PROFESSIONALY.

THEIR INTEGRITY IS UNQUESTIONABLE.

THIS I WOULD LIKE TO BELIEVE.

SO I AM FOLLOWING THEM.

I AM BIDDING MY TIME.

SO BY THE TIME THAT YOU ARE READING THIS NOW, WE ALREADY HAVE THAT COPY.

AND ALL THOSE TIME IN WAITING, I WAS PRAYING.

THAT IT WILL BE FAIR.

IT WILL BE ACCURATE.

I AM ASKING ST CORY AND ST JOAN TO INTERCEDE.

FOR DEMOCRACY TO TRIUMPH, FOR GALLANT SOLDIERY TO PREVAIL.

AND IT WILL BE SO.

I TELL YOU THAT.

AND WHEN IT COMES OUT, IT WILL BE ALL OUT WAR.

AGAINST INJUSTICE.

AGAINST EVIL.

FROM THE STREETS TO THE COURTS, THERE WE WILL BE.

WE WILL PURSUE THIS TO ITS BITTER END.

“LET JUSTICE BE DONE THOUGH HEAVEN MAY FALL”- SOMEBODY SAID THIS A LONG TIME AGO.

ROCELLE, YOU WHO HID MY SISTER’S BODY, KNOW THIS TOO.

I HAVE A COPY OF THAT CONVERSATION.

IN MY CELLPHONE. IN COMPUTERS HERE AND THERE. THREE DISKS. 2 USBs. WAITING TO BE UNLEASHED.

IT IS PLAYABLE BY “QUICKTIME.”

I CAN’T DOWNLOAD IT YET.

I AM STILL LOOKING FOR A PROGRAM TO CONVERT IT.

BUT WE DON’T NEED THAT DON’T WE ROCELLE?

YOU WILL BE TRUE TO YOUR WORD RIGHT?

AS FOR THE REST:
PO3 Jeminiano

Michael Oruta and Colleague

PCI Elizaldo Odi

SPOI Demosthenes Rebancos

P/Supt. Gerardo Bulosan Ratuita

Dr. Jay Madelon Carcereny

And all other persons involved in this case.

All of you will have your day in court.

YOU WILL BE ASKED TO SWEAR BY THE BIBLE TO SPEAK THE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH.

YOU WILL BE SWEARING THIS IN FRONT OF A JUDGE, REPRESENTATIVE OF THE JUDICIARY SYSTEM OF A DEMOCRACY.

THEY WILL ASK YOU WHAT SCHOOL YOU CAME FROM?

YOUR CREDENTIALS?

THEY WILL KNOW IF YOU HAVE FORSAKEN YOUR OATHS NOW, HIPPOCRATIC OR OF NOBLE SERVITUDE .

YOUR FAMILY WILL KNOW!

YOUR FORMER CLASSMATES.

YOUR COLLEAGUES.

THEY WILL KNOW IF YOU WILL BE FALSE.

THEY WILL KNOW IF YOU WILL FOLLOW THE WAYS OF THE WICKED.

DEMOSTHENES, THAT IS A GREEK NAME (THE GREEKS, FOUNDER OF “DEMOCRACY”-JUST IN CASE YOU DON’T KNOW). WHAT DID YOU TELL MY AUNTIE? YOU’RE BOUND FOR THE U.S. IN TWO WEEKS IS THAT IT?

I DON’T THINK SO.

YOU WILL BE THERE WHEN THE SHIT HITS THE FAN AND SPLATTERS IN YOUR FACE.

YOU WILL BE THERE TO EITHER EAT THAT SHIT OR WIPE IT AWAY WITH TRUTH AND YOUR PERSONAL QUEST FOR REDEMPTION.

I AM WAITING.

AND BIDDING MY TIME.

IT WILL BE SOON.

SOME OF YOU MAY BE ACADEMY BORN TOO.

I AM TOO.

I KNOW THE MEANING OF BROTHERHOOD.

I KNOW THE FIRST THINGS A CADET IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW:

A CADET SHALL NOT LIE, CHEAT NOR STEAL.

THESE THREE THINGS IS THE EMBODIMENT OF EVERYTHING.

EVERYTHING THAT MAKES OFFICERS AND GENTLEMEN OUT OF SNOTTY, PATHETIC BOYS.

I HAVE BEEN A MAN SEPARATED FROM THE BOYS.

KNOW ME.

KNOW YOUR ENEMY.

I ALSO ASK YOUR BROTHERS TO LEAVE YOU NOW. FOR DOING SO WILL DISTORT THE CONCEPT OF BROTHERHOOD YOUR ALMA MATER ESPOUSED.

YOU WERE NOT TAUGHT TO STAND BY A FELLOW CADET TO KILL RIGHT?

TO STAND BY HIM AS HE HELP COVER UP THE KILLING OF INNOCENTS RIGHT?

FOR COVERING UP A MURDER IS ALSO KILLING ITSELF.

BE GOOD GERMANS.

DISOBEY UNLAWFUL AND THE FOULEST OF ORDERS.

THINK.

FEEL.

SYMPHATIZE.

YOU THOUGHT NO ONE IN THAT FAMILY IS SMART ENOUGH TO TAKE ON YOU RIGHT?

WRONG!

I AM HERE!

WHEN YOU SEND YOUR FOUL HOUNDS KNOW THIS TOO, I KNOW THE DRILL.

I’VE BEEN THERE.

I’VE DONE THAT.

TELL THEM TO DO IT FROM A DISTANCE.

THEY ONLY HAVE ONE SHOT.

TELL THEM NOT TO GO NEAR ARMS LENGTH, OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL USE THESE BARE HANDS TO RIP THEIR THROATS APART.

THIS I SWEAR.

MAKE SURE I AM TRULY ALONE.

MAKE SURE NO ONE IS AROUND.

OR THE SHIT THAT WILL HIT THE FAN WILL BURY YOU WHOLE.
********
There is still a fourth paper.

THE CERTIFICATE OF ADMISSION.

VINCENT GONZALES WHERE ARE YOU????

HOW COULD THEY MAKE YOU AN ADMINISTRATOR OF THAT PLACE?

WHY NOT SPARE EVEN A SINGLE WORD:

“CONDOLENCE!”

ARE YOU SO HEARTLESS AS TO BE MANIPULATED TO DO THIS?
OR DID YOU HAVE A DIRECT HAND?

FOR MONEY OF COURSE.

RIGHT VINCENT?

SOON WE WILL COME KNOCKING UPON YOUR DOOR.

YOU WILL SEE A BARRIO AND A CITY IN IT’S TOGETHERNESS.

YOU WILL SEE FRIENDS AND FAMILY UNITED FOR A CAUSE.

YOU WILL SEE HOW LOVED MY SISTER WAS.

YOU WILL SEE PMMA’ER BROTHERHOOD.

YOU WILL SEE HOW GOOD PEOPLE WILL STAND SO THAT EVIL WILL NOT PREVAIL.

YOU WILL KNOW AND HEAR AGAIN OF GABRIELA, PROTECTOR OF FILIPINO WOMEN.

YOU WILL SEE WHAT IT MEANS TO HAVE BEEN IN TWO HIGHSCHOOLS, ONE A WITH A PROUD CATHOLIC BACKGROUND THE OTHER ABOVE THE REST IN SCIENTIFIC STUDIES. I HAD INTELLIGENT CLASSMATES. MANY OF THEM ARE FAMILIAR WITH THE LAWS OF THIS LAND. I CAN TURN TO MANY FOR ADVISE. I HAVE MANY WHO SYMPATHIZES.

YOU WILL SEE THE FURY OF A FAMILY TOGETHER IN GRIEF.

YOU WILL SEE BLOGGERS OF THE TYPE OF BRIAN AND LOI, RALLYING TO A CAUSE. YOU WILL HEAR OF THE POWER OF THE BLOGOSPHERE, THE MIGHT OF THE NETIZENS.

YOU WILL SEE THE FOURTH ESTATE, DEMOCRACY AND FREE SPEECH AND RIGHT TO INFORMATION IN PLAY.

DOES THE OWNERS OF THAT INSTITUTION ALREADY KNOW WHAT HAPPENED?
OR ARE THEY PARTY TO THIS COVER UP AND WHITE WASH TOO?

I'VE HEARD THEY BELONG TO THE MARANATHA CHRISTIAN FAITH.

DO THEIR BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN THAT CHRISTIAN FELLOWSHIP KNOW?

I DON’T KNOW THE NBI PEOPLE I APPROACHED.

BUT THEY HEARD ME.

I ASKED FOR HELP IN WHAT I FEEL IS AN INJUSTICE.

AND THEY ANSWERED.

THEY GAVE ME THEIR TIME.

AT FIRST IN DOUBT, TELLING ME EVEN IN CONDESCENDING MANNER THAT “OK GEORGE BUT WHATEVER IS THE RESULT YOU MUST ACCEPT HA?”

THINKING THAT MAYBE MY SISTER REALLY DID KILL HERSELF.

BUT AFTER THEY WERE THROUGH IN LOOKING AND CUTTING UP MY SISTER AGAIN.

THEY FELT SORRY FOR ME.

THEY FELT SORRY FOR DOUBTING.

THEY ARE PROFESSIONAL, YES I CAN GIVE THEM THAT, BUT THEY ARE ONLY HUMAN.

THEY ALSO HAVE CONSCIENCE.

AND THEY CANNOT HIDE WHAT THEY FEEL FROM THE WINDOWS OF THEIR SOULS.

THEIR EYES.

THEIR MANNERS.

THIS I HEARD FROM THEIR LANGUAGE. NOT THE VOCAL ONES.

THE LANGUAGE OF THE BODY.

THE LANGUAGE OF A SYMPHATIZING HEART.

I LAUD THEM THIS.

AND THEY WILL BE TRUE.

AND I WILL BE ON MY KNEES BEGGING THEM TO FORGIVE ME.

FOR RESORTING TO THIS.

THIS BLOGGING.

HOPING AGAINST HOPE THEY WILL NOT BE INTIMIDATED BY THE MEDIA.

BY MY RALLYING PEOPLE TO KNOW OF THIS.

TO HEAR OF THIS.

TO LET IT ALL OUT.

BUT GIVE ME THE CREDIT SIR.

BECAUSE I WAITED SO.

AND I KNOW IN MY HEART THAT I CAN HELP YOU BETTER THIS WAY.

BY LETTING PEOPLE KNOW.

SO THAT THEY WILL BE AWARE.

I AM DOING THIS SO THAT I MAY EXPOSE WHAT ILLS OUR SOCIETY.

SO THAT PEOPLE WILL KNOW HOW WANTON THE DISREGARD FOR LIFE IN THIS NATION.

I AM WRITING THIS BECAUSE I BELONG TO THE RANKS OF OFWs. THEY ARE CALLING US HEROES FOR RISKING LIFE AND LIMB AWAY FROM THE COUNTRY SO THAT OUR FAMILY MAY LIVE WELL AND FREE.

I AM WRITING THIS BECAUSE I HELP PAY THE SALARIES OF THE SUPPOSEDLY PROTECTORS OF THE LAW, BUT WHAT ARE THEY DOING? WHY ARE THEY ALLOWING THEMSELVES TO BE USED BY THE POWERFUL FEW? WHY ARE THEY FORSAKING THEIR OATH TO PROTECT AND TO SERVE?

I AM ALSO ONE OF THOSE WHO IN THE STRONGEST TERM ABHORR AND ACCUSE THIS REGIME OF ALLOWING CRIME TO PERPETUATE, TO SERVE THE EVIL WHIMS OF MONSTERS OF THE SOCIETY.

I WORKED HARD TO BE WHERE I AM NOW. I ENDURED THE RIGID AND SPARTAN WAY OF LIFE OF A GOVERNMENT SCHOOL SO THAT I MIGHT HELP MY FAMILY.

I AM WRITING THIS BECAUSE THIS IS MY GOD GIVEN GIFT, SOMEWHERE FROM MY PROUD GENEAOLOGY IS A BARD, AND HE PASSED ON THE TORCH TO ME. I AM USING THIS GOD GIVEN TALENT FROM NOW ON, TO BARE YOUR ASSES AND RIP IT APART YOU EVIL BASTARDS…. I HAVE NOTHING AFTER ALL. NO POWER. I AM NOT OF THE RICH NOR FAMOUS. I AM BUT A COMMON MAN. BUT I HAVE DIGNITY.

I AM WRITING THIS SO THAT MY LOVED ONES, MY CHILDREN WILL KNOW THEIR FATHER WELL, EVEN IF I AM PREMATURELY DONE FOR. THEY WILL BE UPRIGHT AND LAW ABIDING. THEY WILL BE GOOD. THEY WILL BE FIRM IN THEIR BELIEFS. THEY WILL STAND UP FOR THE CAUSE OF THE JUST.

PINAGHIHIRAPAN KO ANG PINAPAKAIN KO SA PAMILYA DI KATULAD NYONG MGA HAYUP KAYO MINSAN NAGKAKAUTANG UTANG NA AKO PARA LANG MAY MAIBIGAY SA KANILA(I WORKED HARD IN SUPPORTING MY FAMILY, NOT LIKE YOU ANIMALS SOMETIMES I GET BURIED IN DEBT JUST TO MAKE THEIR ENDS MEET!!!)

I ALSO WORKED HARD SO THAT OUR LEADERS CAN HAVE EXPENSIVE MEALS AT LE CIRCUE, ENGORGING THEIR GREEDY SELVES AT THE EXPENSE OF THE PEOPLE’S MONEY. HARD EARNED TAXES PAID BY THE WORK OF MANY SINEWY SHOULDERS, THE SACRIFICES AND TOILS OF THOSE WHO WORKS AFAR WHO HELP KEEP THIS ECONOMY AFLOAT.

I AM ALSO FOR BELIEVING THERE IS YET HOPE.

I AM WRITING THIS TO IN A SMALL WAY HELP HASTEN THEIR CLOCK’S TICKING, THOSE WHO ARE ABUSIVE OF AUTHORITY. TOGETHER WITH THIS REGIME, WHO HAS SHOWN MORE CORRUPTNESS AND LAWLESSNESS THAN ANY ADMINISTRATION BEFORE. WHO KILLED A LOT OF JOURNALISTS. WHOSE TIME A RISE OF UNLAWFUL DETENTION AND DOWNRIGHT DISAPPEARANCE ROSE….

YOUR TIME IS TICKING. LIKE SODDOM AND GOMORRAH, YOUR WICKED WAYS WILL SOON BE OVER.

I AM DOING THIS TO EXPOSE FURTHER THE CORRUPT AND EVIL IN THE POLICE SYSTEM, THEY WILL ALSO TUMBLE AND FALL. THOSE THAT WILL REMAIN WILL BE THE HONEST ONES, THOSE WITH INTEGRITY AND RESPECT, THOSE WHO KNOWS PROFESSIONALISM AND DUTY, THOSE WHO CANNOT BE PAID TO COVER UP, TO WHITE WASH… THERE ARE MANY MEN IN UNIFORM WHO ARE SO. AND THEY WILL LAUD WHAT I AM DOING, FOR THEY TOO ARE SICK AND TIRED OF WORKING WITH THE LIKES OF YOU!!!

PUTANGINA NYONG LAHAT NA KURAP AT MASASAMA SA KAPULISAN, BAKIT PATULOY NYONG INAAPAKAN ANG MABABABANG TAO?…. (ALL YOU CORRUPT POLICEMEN, YOU SON-OF-A-BITCHES, WHY DO YOU CONTINUE ON TRAMPLING THE SMALL AND WEAK?)

I AM WRITING THIS BECAUSE I AM EMBOLDENED BY THAT ONE GREAT MAN IN PHILIPPINE JOURNALISM, CONRADO dE QUIROS WHO SAID: THE ACT OF WRITING INVOLVES MAKING REALITY REAL.

"What the writer does specifically, an act of awesome reverberations, is to articulate. It is to put reality into words. It is to make reality real.- Conrado de Quiros, WRITER KA LANG PALA.

I AM WRITING THIS TO MAKE MY SISTER'S LIFE REAL. TO MAKE THE INJUSTICE DONE TO HER REAL. TO SHATTER THE WALL WHICH HIDES FROM US THE TRUTH OF THIS.

TO BE A GOOD MAN AND DO SOMETHING LEAST EVIL TRIUMPH, AND IN SO DOING LIGHT A CANDLE IN THIS GOD-FORSAKEN DARKNESS.

I AM ALSO WRITING THIS BECAUSE:

FORGIVE ME SIR, MEN OF THE NBI, FOR ABOVE ALL THESE REASONS THERE IS ONE SHINING SO BRIGHT, PROPELLING ME ONWARDS THAT NOTHING THAT EVER COME ON MY WAY WILL WEAKEN MY RESOLVE.

I AM SISTER’S BROTHER… I AM HER CHAMPION… I AM HER KNIGHT!!!

I LOVED HER SO IN LIFE, I WILL LOVE HER SO IN DEATH… AND I WILL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES SO THAT I MIGHT HELP BRING HER JUSTICE. AND TO GO FURTHER, TO HELP OTHERS TOO. SO THAT WHEN PEOPLE TELL ME THEIR STORIES, I MAY HELP THEM TOO.....

INOSENTE YUN…. WALANG INAPAKANG TAO… GUSTO LANG NYANG GUMALING.. PERO PINATAY NYO…. IPAGPAPATULOY KO SA BLOG NA TO ANG BUHAY NYA… PANANATILIHIN KONG BUHAY ANG KANYANG ALAALA MATAPOS MANG MAHATULAN NA KAYO SA KRIMENG ITO.

(SHE WAS AN INNOCENT SOUL… DID NOT STEP ON ANYONE.. SHE ONLY WANTED TO BE WELL.. BUT YOU KILLED HER…. I WILL KEEP HER MEMORY ALIVE IN THIS BLOG, LONG AFTER YOU SUFFER THE PUNISHMENT YOU RICHLY DESERVE)

COME AND GET ME! I’M WAITING….

************************************************************************

Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you- KURT COBAIN

THE POINT OF NO RETURN

2009-09-02T19:02:00.000-07:00

There is a point in the navigator's chart wherein a vessel once passing, could no longer turn back.

At this point, there is utmost and immediate dangers on both her port and starboard side that any deviation on a preset course could result into grounding or destruction of the vessel.

The dangers include amongst others:
-Shallows
-Breakers
-Shoals
-Rocks and corals
-Industrial explosive areas/urban areas

The vessel must then be guided by the capable and experienced hands of a PILOT.

For at this point the ship is DEEMED to be COMMITED.

NO TURNING BACK!

NO DEVIATION FROM THE COURSE AND ORDERED SPEED!

For at this point the vessels safety relies on her getting to the other side, the end of her journey.

At this point a vessel is in immediate danger and the safety of her crew and cargo relies heavily on professional judgment and unyielding courage and stoutheartedness.

This point it is called by a name:

....THE POINT OF NO RETURN....

An apt and able name and description for a seemingly inconsequential but highly valuable warning arrowmarked point.

TODAY, THE 3rd OF SEPT 2009, ME AND MY FAMILY HAS ALSO REACHED THAT POINT. WE RECIEVED THE REAUTOPSY RESULT OF MY SISTER CONDUCTED BY THE NOBLE MEN OF THE NBI.

WE HAVE SEEN THE TRUTH.

WE KNOW NOW THAT MY SISTER WAS ABUSED BEFORE SHE WAS KILLED.

SHE WAS ASSAULTED BEFORE SHE DIED.

IN THIS, MY FOLLOWING BLOG ENTRIES WILL BE SO EXPLOSIVE AND DETAILED AND FACTUAL THAT MANY OF YOU WILL COME TO REALIZE ALL OVER AGAIN THE ROTTENESS AND CORRUPTION THAT BEFOULS OUR MOTHERLAND.

HOW THEY TRIED TO COVER UP WITH THEIR MONEY AND POSITION BUT IN THE END WE HAVE SEEN THE SLIVER OF LIGHT THAT WILL GUIDE US THROUGH.

WE LAUD YOU NOBLE AND BRAVE AND DIGNIFIED MEN OF THE NBI.

YOU HAVE SHOWN US THAT HONOR YET LIVES AND BURNS FIERCELY ON THE HEARTS OF UNIFORMED MEN.

YOU HAVE SHOWN US THAT YOU ARE UNCORRUPTIBLE AND A NOBLE AND BRAVE INSTITUTION, A REFUGE OF JUSTICE. AN INSTITUTION THAT THE SMALL AND COMMON MEN CAN TURN TOO IN TIME OF THE DIREST OF NEED.

A BECKON OF LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS THAT ASSAULTS EVERY FACET OF FILIPINO LIFE...

WE SALUTE YOU SIR AND I BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS IN MY RESORTING TO THIS, I BEG YOUR OFFICE AND PROUD INSTITUTION TO UNDERSTAND MY ACTIONS NOW.

BECAUSE OF YOUR HELP, WE HAVE NOW PASSED THE POINT OF NO RETURN.

YOU HAVE UPHELD THE TENETS AND VIRTUES YOU ARE KNOWN FOR......

NOBILITY

BRAVERY

INTEGRITY

FROM HERE THERE WILL BE NO TURNING BACK.

OUR JOURNEY HAS BEGUN AND MUST END WITH OUR FATEFUL MEETING WITH JUSTICE, THAT WOMAN ON YOUR INSIGNIA WHO HOLDS HIGH IN HER HANDS THE SWORD AND THE SCALE. SHE WHOSE EYES ARE BLIND IN ALL CONSUMING, ALL POWERFUL.....

....fairness....

...THAT ALL MEN AND WOMEN ARE BORN EQUAL IN THE EYES OF GOD AND THE LAWS OF MEN....

JUSTICE FOR JOAN!

JUSTICE FOR MY SISTER!

JUSTICE FOR A WOMAN, A DAUGHTER, A FRIEND, AN AUNT, A COUSIN.....

JUSTICE FOR A MOTHER!!!!!

WE HAVE REACHED THE POINT OF NO RETURN!

IT STARTS HERE!!!!!

********

Mighty men and women of valor, their fame was noised throughout all the country
- Book of Joshua

GIVE UNTIL IT HURTS...

2009-09-02T02:33:00.001-07:00

Her friends told me a lot of stories about my sister.

How they would come to the point of cursing her just because they couldn't get her away from beggars and the homeless and street children.

How she would always give to the poor and the sick, the underpriveledged and the old. Even handing over what she was about to eat...

I've seen a lot of these instances too, of how she cared for these people, how her eyes would carry the awful weight of pity and love to those around her who are hungry or unwashed. My sister had such a big heart.

She was an angel too beautiful inside and out for this world, that demons had to take her away. She left hollowness on many hearts.

Her friends made this video, chipping in and embarking on charity and open handed giving to small children who were taken into refuge and care.

She would have asked of nothing less. This is fitting... A worthy tribute to a generous and loving and caring heart.

There was also a lot of flowers laid on her tomb, though these will perish there is one thing that will forever remain:

The memories of a creature of love, a friend whom many were devoted, who was loved and who loved with such passion and undying intensity.

Most of these is also made possible by someone from an island nation north of Europe, an Englishman whose heart my sister held and touched tenderly, whose undying love for my sister still brings him sadness, bereft of the one whom he shared the most magical moments of his life. He who would have taken my sister into lifelong togetherness just a few months from now...
Peter, fiance to Joan, I thank thee!

Jocelyn, Beth, Jhong, JR, and Che, thank you!

This gesture is representation enough of all the countless others who cherish Joan's memories in their hearts.

Share it! So that they might know, she may have flitted away like the passing colorful and bright butterfly in the meadow, but her wake in the ethereal nothingness will continue to be cherished and to sadden many hearts!

I ask you this ONE HARD THING... when time allows grief to lessen, when the intensity of anguish has started to subside, then is the time, then is the moment to let her memory merely be treasured with affection and smile, and to no longer raise melancholy... when this time comes let her memories then RIGHTFULLY, LOVINGLY AND TENDERLY.....

INSPIRE!

****************************************************************************************************

BUT UNTIL THEN, THE FIGHT CONTINUES!

JUSTICE FOR JOAN!

JUSTICE FOR A FRIEND...

MY SISTER MAY HAVE HAD A BIG AND FORGIVING HEART, BUT FOR WHAT THEY DID TO HER, WE DON'T HAVE TO FOLLOW HER LEAD. UNTIL THE BASTARDS WHO DID THIS TO HER ARE BROUGHT TO JUSTICE, SHE WILL NOT REST KNOWING THAT SOMETHING LIKE THIS COULD HAPPEN TO ANOTHER INNOCENT PERSON.

THESE DEMONS MUST PAY!

JUSTICE FOR JOAN DANIEL ANOS!

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

2009-08-22T05:07:00.000-07:00

Just when I started getting back the semblances of my old self... Just when I was being SO DAMN GOOD in my career... Just when I have good well achievable plans laid down for the future... Just when I can reciprocate friendship and loyalty as I fervently did then... Just when I am being my old self in life and love and camaraderie and family... Just when I am learning to be happy once again...

Something like this comes along!

Dragging me back to the reality of how unkind twists of fate and reality is...

I am not here to tug at your heartstrings,
I do not ask for pity,
I only need you to hear
and open your minds,
And see a kindred soul,
Of a brother and sister,
Who lived, who loved, who cared,
Our lives are entwined now,
Perhaps more in death than life,
I ask you too, to continually see,
and appreciate, and fervently grasp,
and praise, LIFE...
Above all, I ask you to remember,
Of how beautiful the passing of life,
When alongside dreams, it goes by....

This was the time when the previous "small" ship I sailed a year ago encountered FORCE 11 gale along the North Coast of New Zealand. All of the 9 member crew had that morbid thought, that dark feeling we could have died anytime the seas and winds and waves were throwing us around like a twig.

But truth be told, I couldn't help but remember my wife's favorite song:BUBBLY.

This song filled me with a morbid sense of gaeity and lent a touch of dark humour to my dangerous predicament. I smiled and fought all my dread, inspired by the remembrance of someone whom I love dearly.

How I wish all my life's storms are just like this. Natural. These storms I could bear as stout hearted as I possible could. But that is not the truth in life, the hardest trials in our lives are the circumstances thrown our way that is so unjust, so unfair and so disheartening.

But I won't be disheartened. I will pursue this fight. For it is a fight for all that is good.

This is not natural, and it is more dangerous. But fight I will. For I know now that the only way I can move on is to dedicate myself for justice, for truth, for that rightful belief that ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL.

BECAUSE THE FORCES OF EVIL IN THIS LAND IS NOW AT NUMBER 12. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW. WE NEED TO FIND THE EYE OF THAT STORM, AND FROM THAT VANTAGE POINT, SHOUT OUR INDIGNATIONS, OUR CONDEMNATIONS. AND WE WILL BE HEARD. TO ALL OTHER FIGHTERS FOR JUSTICE AND TRUTH, MAY I BE A WORTHY COMRADE IN YOUR RANKS. HEAR ME. KNOW ME. I COME SEEKING FOR JUSTICE.

beaufort scale- click here

This was on my birthday last July 12, 2009.

The crew set all these up. I was OVERWHELMED. For I knew then, that I am truly getting over my being an emotional vampire. I am becoming my old self again. An optimist. A damn good friend. A loyal companion. Willing to help. Projecting an aura of humility, of brotherhood, of love that inspires affection.

And I was that. And thus I want to remain.

Thank you mateys.

Not all are accorded this honor. I am thankful you have considered me worthy. Of love. Of friendship. I will remember. I will always remember.

How you made all this. How you did me great honor. How you accorded me with respect, a respect that was rightfully earned.

This was my calm before the storm. The storm that assails my life at this very moment. Seemingly tearing it apart. I will hold on to memories such as this. For these memories will strengthen me. How in a short span of time (4 months), I have shown strangers my capacity for friendship and camaraderie. How they willingly returned it. My big heart goes out to you all. You've made my third decade of existence a grand affair. GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

This was still on that 30th birthday. The natal day of a brother who loved a sister.

I would like to share this clip to you, for it is my sister's favorite song. Everytime I sang this song I remembered her. Everytime I will sing this song I will continue to remember her.

It will not sadden me. Instead this song will strengthen me, keeping my bearings clear and straight and true. My resolve absolute. For it remind me always of a life that was lived and was taken away hideously.

There is a haunting beauty to this song. A haunting resonance that will continue to embolden me.

I would like to share it to all of you.

This is still on that fateful day.

I have placed this song here as my reminder. That I am not without flaws. For I have many. And one of this is hurting one of the most important person in my life.

May this also remind her, that I loved her so and I love her still.

And that I will keep her in my heart wherever life takes me from here. That the memory of her will be the anchor that will keep me from drifting to dangerous shoals.

THIS WERE MY MOMENTS, MY CALM BEFORE THE STORM.

AND I WOULD LIKE TO SHARE IT WITH YOU.

TO DEDICATE IT TO FRIENDS WHO STOOD BY ME.

WHO ACCORDED ME THAT HONOR, THAT WORTHINESS OF BEING CALLED:

"FRIEND"

TO MY FAMILY.

TO MY WIFE.

AND FINALLY TO MY CHILDREN.

I WOULD LIKE TO STATE THEIR NAMES HERE.

IN JUMBLED ORDER BUT ALL FONDLY REMEMBERED.

RANDALL, GREG JR, DEWEY, JONAS, JASPER, RAYMOND, MERCK, GAVINO, NORMAN, WILLY, JESSIE, JAYSON, SHCC CLASSMATES, EDCEL, FRANCIS, FRANCIS, DUANE, LOUIE, RODEL, LORDAN, KATHRYN, ANGELICA, YANKEE, LUBERT, RAPHAEL, RONALD, YOLA, MARYANNE, MARICEL, SHARON, JANET, VANESSA, JAYSON, VINCENT, NORBERTO(RIP), MENACHIM, PEEWEE, ELY, ELPEDIO, WALLY, DIANNE, SCIHIGH CLASSMATES, SAINT JAMES CLASSMATES, MY BROTHERS FROM ALPHA KAPPA RHO (BARRETTO CHAPTER), MY BROTHERS FROM KYKLOS TRI ORGANIZATION (BARRETTO CHAPTER), MY BROTHERS FROM BATANG SAMAR-LEYTE (NOVALICHES CHAPTER), MY BROTHERS FROM DREDD (BARRETTO CHAPTER), MY BROTHERS FROM LOA (BARRETTO CHAPTER), MY BROTHERS FROM DIO (OLONGAPO CHAPTER), GERWIN, LLOYD CHRISTIAN, ANGELO, MARTIN LUTHER, JIMMY, JOTHAM A, BROTHAH SIR MANDY, CHUA, BABAG, SIR VILLEDAR, SIR RESPETO, SIR BARCS, SIR BACOLCOL, SIR SAMPA, CLASS MATES FROM ARCTIC, CLASSMATES FROM VEGA, CLASSMATES FROM VENUS,ELISAH, VICENTE, JOEVEN, ROMINUS, FERDINAND A., ATHAN, AYLEEN, IVAN B., JAYSON B., DOMING, RICO, JOEY, MARIO, JERRY, IAN, CARDANO, CHRISTINA C., JULIET, FREDERICK U.D., ILONA, RYAN, BENIDICT D., JIMMY E., JOJIE, LORELIE F., EDERIC, ARNEL, MARK, GREG G., TANYA, JHONG, BETH, ROMEO I., PHILIP J., CARLO J., ALEX MARTIN, GUNTHER PEDERSEN, JIMMY J., AMIR K. PANKHAJ D., LESTER, JANE, GRACE L., LEYSAM L., MAHYEN, MHAR, MAYA, JOEL NGIPS, ATE NI, CARMELA, NICK, MEL JOHN, DANILO P., LESTER P., ERICK P., MULONG P., PATMAN, RONALYN P., JAKE P., DANIEL P., ANGELO P., ARNEL P., DOCTOR P., ERWIN P., JZRYL, BOSS DAN, CREW OF ST MARTIN, RYAN T., EZEQUEL T., ROBIN T., RODEL U., JEBBIE A., ROGELIO U., LEONILO U., CHRIS V., KJELL M., PETER, MARICAR B.,DUDAY, ANNABELLE, RACEL S., LA, DAVE, ERNIE JAY, JHUN B, PANGI, ELMER T, ELAISA, BERNARD C, RANDALL B, EUGENE, FLEUR, GADO, FREDELYN, GARY T, JAZZEN, JEFF, ONG DARRYL JONES, RONNIE O, KELLY KIT, KRISTOFFER, DAYDAY, JOY, MAILEEN, MARIVIC M, MARK, MELDON, NONIE, MIKE LIMA NOVEMBER, BARBOSA, PEEAY, ROBERT D, STEVE MARK, FRITZ VON, THOMAS D, ARNO P, WOUTER E, MY BROTHERS FROM PMMA,

IT IS ONLY NOW THAT I HAVE MADE A LIST SUCH AS THIS. I AM TRULY HUMBLED BY HOW MANY PEOPLE TOUCHED MY LIFE THUS FAR. THIS IS STILL AN INCOMPLETE LIST. THERE ARE MANY MORE NAMES STILL UNWRITTEN.

IF I SHOULD GO, I ONLY ASK FOR ONE THING: FOR YOU TO REMEMBER ME AND MY SISTER.

WE DO NOT ASK FOR HERALDRY, OR PAEANS OR PRAISE.

WE ONLY ASK THAT.

TO BE REMEMBERED.

SPEAK OF ME TO MY CHILDREN. SPEAK OF HER TO HER CHILD.

DO NOT HOLD BACK, BE IT GOOD OR BAD, SANE OR FOOLISH.

THAT WAS ME. THAT WAS US. THAT WAS LIFE.

THERE IS ALWAYS A CALM BEFORE THE STORM.

AND THESE MOMENTS NEED NOT FADE AWAY FORGOTTEN.

REMEMBER ME. REMEMBER US.

RECKONING

2009-08-17T01:20:00.000-07:00

click to enlarge
************************************************

TO FRIENDS, FAMILY AND BUNKMATES WHO HAS SHOWN SUPPORT, WHO IN THEIR SMALL SINCERE WAYS ARE HELPING AND SYMPHATIZING NOW! THANK YOU! YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, IMPORTANTLY MY SISTER KNOWS WHO YOU ARE!

OUR DEEPEST THANKS!!!
-galleonaire@yahoo.com
-seamantotoo@yahoo.com

HIMLAY

2009-08-16T04:43:00.001-07:00

click to enlarge

FROM THE PROFESSIONAL HECKLER

2009-08-13T16:54:00.000-07:00

i am so sorry for your loss.

i have forwarded your message to mr. gorrel.

btw, have you tried approaching imbestigador or xxx?
authorities act on complaints faster when they know that media people are monitoring.

again, i am sorry for your loss.

----

I have heard from one of the most talented and fearless blogger the net ever knew... This is just a beginning! THANK YOU SO MUCH PROFESSIONAL HECKLER!!!- click here!

And soon Brian might follow....

THEY KILLED MY SISTER.....

2009-08-11T21:39:00.000-07:00

"EVEN THOUGH IT BREAKS MY HEART TO LEAVE YOUR SISTER ALONE IN THAT PLACE, I KNOW IT IS FOR HER."

THOSE WERE THE WORDS IN MY MOTHERS LAST TEXT MESSAGE, JUST BEFORE I WENT HOME. SHE TURNED OVER THE CARE OF MY SISTER TO NEWMAN HOME CARE AND REHABILITATION CENTER OF FAIRLANE STREET, WEST FAIRVIEW Q.C. SHE CAME IN AS A DISPIRITED, DEPRESSED AND MENTALLY FRAIL INDIVIDUAL, WITH HER PERSONAL CONSENT, IN ONE OF THOSE RARE MOMENTS OF SHARP LUCIDITY. THAT SHE MAY LIVE NORMALLY ONCE AGAIN. SHE LOOKED THEN OF THE SHARPEST CONTRAST TO WHAT SHE WAS BEFORE HER ILLNESS SET IN: A V IBRANT, ZESTFUL AND FUN LOVING INDIVIDUAL. SOMEONE WHO LIVES LIFE TO THE FULLEST, EACH DAY AS IF IT WAS HER LAST. BUT NEVERTHELESS, SHE CAME IN ALIVE AND BREATHING. SHE CAME INSIDE WITH HOPE THAT IT WILL PASS, THAT SHE CAN THINK STRAIGHT ONCE AGAIN, THAT SHE MAY LOVE FULLY ONCE MORE, THAT SHE MAY KNOW AND LIVE LIFE AS BEAUTIFULLY AS SHE DID BEFORE.

BUT SHE CAME OUT VERY, VERY DEAD. UNTIL NOW THE TRUE CIRCUMSTANCES OF WHAT HAPPENED IS DENIED US. WE ARE ONLY LEFT WITH MIND NUMBING DOUBTS, WITH THE HEART CRUSHING PAIN OF KNOWING THERE IS AN UNKNOWN THAT OUR HEARTS YEARN- BUT CANNOT REACH. AND THIS SMALL PIECE ON A NEWSPAPER, WHICH WAS CONCLUDED WITH THIS WORDS: PATULOY ANG IMBESTIGASYON NG MGA AWTORIDAD SA NASABING INSIDENTE KUNG MAY NAGANAP NGANG FOULPLAY (THE INVESTIGATION OF AUTHORITIES CONTINUES TO DETERMINE IS THERE IS FOUL PLAY).

BUT NO MORE. THE TIME FOR WAITING HAS LONG SINCE PASSED. I WILL TRY TO RELATE HERE AS MUCH AS I POSSIBLY COULD, THE ACCOUNTS OF WHAT HAPPENED (WHAT WE KNOW OF AT LEAST). EARLY JUNE: MY SISTER SHOWED SIGNS OF A RELAPSE OF HER PREVIOUS PSYCHIATRIC DISORDERS, SHE EXPERIENCED AGAIN THE SYMPTOMS 2 YEARS AGO WHICH PROMPTED OUR FAMILY TO ADMIT HER TO AN INSTITUTION THEN. AFTER WHICH SHE CAME OUT AND WAS ABLE AND WELL AGAIN, WITH THE HELP OF ANTI DEPRESSANTS AND MOOD STABILIZERS. MY MOTHER ONCE AGAIN CONTACTED HER PSYCHIATRIST, BY THE NAME OF

DR. JAY MADELON CARCERENY

BY TELEPHONE CONVERSATION, SHE RELATED THE BEST SHE COULD MY SISTER'S CONDITION. THE DOCTOR ADVISED HER SINCE THE SYMPTOMS WERE WORSE NOW THAN BEFORE, THAT SHE MIGHT NEED TO BE ADMITTED AGAIN, A SCENARIO THAT EVERY LOVING PARENT DREADS FOR THEIR CHILD, THE LAST RESORT ONE CARING MOTHER CAN EVER CONSIDER. MY MOTHER DID NOT DECIDE THEN AND THEN TO DO SO, THAT MAYBE CONSULTATIONS MAY YET HELP. SO MY MOTHER TOOK MY SISTER TO HER PSYCHIATRIST'S CLINIC AT ALABANG TOWN PROPER MALL. MY SISTER HAD HER SERIES OF CHECK UPS FROM THE 9TH OF JUNE TO THE 13TH. SHE WAS GIVEN MEDICATIONS. SHE WAS GIVEN THE CONTACT DETAILS TO

VINCENT GONZALES,

WHO MY MOM DESCRIBED AS A SOFT SPOKEN, HANDSOME FELLOW. IT WAS HIM WHO RUNS NEWMAN HOME CARE AND REHABILITATION CENTER. MY MOTHER THEN BROUGHT MY SISTER HOME, AND TOOK CARE OF HER AS ONE HEART ATTACK SURVIVOR MOTHER POSSIBLY COULD. THERE WAS A NOTICABLE IMPROVEMENT, MY SISTER WAS STARTING TO BE WELL AGAIN. MY MOTHER CONTINUED HER CONTACT WITH THE DOCTOR. MEDICINES ARE SENT BY PARCEL OF WHICH MY MOTHER PAID DIRECT TO HER ACCOUNTS. SO IT WENT UNTIL A TIME WHEN SHE WORSENED AGAIN THE THIRD WEEK OF JULY. SHE INFORMED THE DR IMMEDIATELY OF THIS, OF WHICH THE LATTER PROFESSIONALLY ADVISED THAT SHE BE MONITORED CLOSELY AND IF UNABLE TO BE HANDLED AGAIN HAVE HER ADMITTED AS SOON AS THEY POSSIBLY COULD. SO IT WAS THE NIGHT OF THE 27TH WHEN MY MOTHER CALLED VINCENT AGAIN AND ASKED IF THEY COULD ARRANGE MY SISTERS ADMISSION.

TWAS THE FAITHFUL DAY OF JULY 28 WHEN MY MOTHER, IN A HIRED VAN, WEARY OF HEART AND ASSAILED BY SADNESS, BROUGHT HER. MY SISTER WAS LUCID ONE MOMENT AND TOLD HER IT WOULD BE FOR THE BEST AND SHE IS WILLING NOW. BECAUSE SHE IS HOPING. SHE WAS IN THE SAME SPIRIT AS WHEN SHE WAS FIRST ADMITTED, CRYING BUT SERENE AND SHE GRASPED MY MOTHER'S HAND AND TOLD HER: "MA KAYA NATIN TO, KAYA NGA NATIN NUNG UNA, KAKAYANIN ULI NATIN NGAYON (MA, WE CAN GET THROUGH THIS, IF WE MADE IT THEN WE CAN MAKE IT AGAIN." YOU SEE, THE TRAUMA OF SEEING MY MOTHER THEN AS HER HEART WAS FAILING HER 3 YEARS AGO, WITH NEEDLE RIDDEN ARMS AND VITAL MONITORS ATTACHED, LED HER TO FEAR SHE MIGHT SOON BE GONE. AND WHEN SHE SURVIVED, THAT THE NEXT HEART ATTACK WILL BE THE FINAL ONE.

MY SISTER LOVED MY MOTHER AWFULLY. AND WHEN SHE SAID THOSE WORDS, MY MOTHER KNEW THAT LIKE HER, MY SISTER WOULD FIGHT HER DEMONS, WOULD DO HER BEST TO EMERGE HEALED AGAIN. WOULD COME OUT FROM WHERE SHE WOULD STAY FOR "PROFESSIONAL CARE," WELL AND ABLE AGAIN. SANE AND MENTALLY STABLE ONCE ONCE MORE. BUT LIFE AS WE KNOW IT, IS OFT UNPREDICTABLE, AND WHEN TRAGIC- SOUL WRENCHINGLY SO....

THAT DAY, VINCENT SHOWED HER AROUND FIRST. SHE ASSURED MY MOTHER THAT:

- MY SISTER WOULD STAY IN A ROOM TOGETHER WITH ANOTHER PATIENT. THAT SHE WON'T BE LEFT ALONE AND BE WATCHED AT ALL TIMES. - THAT IF NEEDED TO BE ISOLATED, SHE WOULD BE STAYING IN A FULLY PADDED ROOM, AND PROCEEDED SHOWING MY MOTHER THIS VERY ROOM. AND MY MOTHER SAW THAT INDEED IT WAS WELL PADDED, THAT WHOEVER MIGHT BE KEPT THERE WILL BE PREVENTED FROM DOING HERSELF OR HIMSELF ANY HARM.

SO IT WAS THAT SHE HAD TO PAY, FOR IT WAS A PRIVATE INSTITUTION SUPPOSEDLY WAY BETTER THAN PUBLIC ONES. WHERE SHE MAY HAVE THE BEST OF CARE THAT HARD EARNED MONEY COULD POSSIBLY GIVE. MY MONEY!!! SO FOR HER INITIAL DEPOSIT THEY ISSUED HER THIS:

A MERE CASH VOUCHER. NOT A RECEIPT... MY UNEDUCATED MOTHER, DISTRAUGHT AND FEELING SO LONELY, DID NOT PAY THIS MUCH MORE ATTENTION AS IT SHOULD WARRANT. HER DAUGHTER WAS SICK. HER DAUGHTER NEEDED HELP. SHE NEEDED TO SEE HER DAUGHTER WELL. SHE WAS TROUBLED TO THE EXTREME. SHE ACCEPTED IT WITHOUT FURTHER QUESTIONS, ASSURING VINCENT THAT SHE WOULD PAY THE REST LATER ON, AS SOON AS I COULD SEND HER THE MONEY SHE NEEDS.... A MERE CASH VOUCHER.

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

IS IT NOT A BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENT?

DOES ITS RECEIPTS NOT NEED DETAILS AS BEFITS A BUSINESS INSTITUTION? LETTERHEAD PERHAPS? REGISTRATION NUMBER? THIS IS ONLY THE FIRST IN THE SERIES OF TROUBLING QUESTIONS THAT TEARS MY LOGIC APART. I AM NOT A BUSINESSMAN, BUT SURELY I HAVE SEEN ENOUGH RECEIPTS IN MY LIFE TO KNOW AN OFFICIAL ONE. WHY ISSUE A VOUCHER AND NOT A RECEIPT?

DO THEY EVEN HAVE A LICENSE TO OPERATE?

IT IS THESE VERY SAME QUESTIONS I WILL LEAVE TO YOU FOR KNOW. MYSTERIOUS. TROUBLING. SO MY MOTHER AND COMPANY LEFT, LEAVING MY SISTER ALONE, WITH A FEELING IN HER HEART THAT SHE HAS GIVEN HER TO THE CARE OF MORE CAPABLE HANDS THAN HERS. PROFESSIONAL AND ABLE WORKERS IN CARING FOR THE MENTALLY DISTURBED.

TWAS RIGHT AFTER THEN THAT SHE SENT THAT TEXT MESSAGE AT THE VERY BEGINNING TO ME.

"KAHIT ANG SAKIT SA LOOB NA IWAN C JOAN PARA RIN UN SA KANYA " "EVEN THOUGH IT BREAKS MY HEART TO LEAVE YOUR SISTER ALONE IN THAT PLACE, I KNOW IT IS FOR HER."

WE RUE SOME DAYS. BUT THERE ARE TIMES WE WISHED HAS NEVER SEEN THE LIGHT OF DAY AT ALL.

SO RIGHT AFTER ARRIVING BACK TO OLONGAPO, FROM THE EXHAUSTING HOMEBOUND BUT SULLEN TRIP, AS STUBBORN AS SHE WAS- SHE CONTACTED THIS VINCENT IMMEDIATELY, ASKING OF HER DAUGHTER LEFT ALONE IN A PLACE WHOSE MANY OCCUPANTS' BRAINS DOES NOT FUNCTION AS IT NORMALLY SHOULD. WHERE THE DRUGS TO KEEP STABLE WHIRLWIND AND TROUBLED MINDS ARE FAITHFULLY ADMINISTERED TO THE ONES IN NEED.

"ETO NGA MAY DISTURBANCES PA SYA AT NAGBAGSAK PA NGA NG PINTO.' (SHE STILL SUFFERS FROM DISTURBANCES AND SLAMMED A DOOR ONCE)- VINCENT

29- JULY

AM: WALA PA RING TULOG, TROUBLED PA RIN PO AT MAINGAY (SHE STILL HASN'T SLEPT YET, STILL TROUBLED AND NOISY)

30- JULY

AM: VINCENT SENDS A TEXT MESSAGE TO MY MOTHER: "MA'AM, YUN PONG MGA DAMIT NI JOAN MASYADONG SEDUCTIVE!

" (MA'AM, JOAN'S CLOTHES ARE QUITE SEDUCTIVE.) THIS PROMPTED MY MOTHER TO CALL BACK! ON THE MATTER, VINCENT EXPLAINED THAT MY SISTER'S SPAGHETTI STRAPPED BLOUSES ARE SEDUCTIVE.

AND THAT WOULD IT BE POSSIBLE TO ISSUE HER WHITE SHIRTS?, OF WHICH MY MOTHER IMMEDIATELY AGREED TO AND TO JUST PUT ON HER ACCOUNT.

SEDUCTIVE?

WHAT THE HELL?

WHAT THE FUCK?

BUT THEN AGAIN, MY MOTHER TOOK THIS IN STRIDE. SHE HERSELF PACKED MY SISTER'S CLOTHES, TAKING OUT THE MINI SHORTS AND GAVE HER PAJAMAS INSTEAD. AND THAT YES SHE MAY HAVE FORGOTTEN THE UPPER GARMENTS, BORNE PERHAPS FROM HER FAMILIARITY WITH JOAN LOVING TO WEAR SUCH ITEMS. BUT THERE REMAINED IN HER MIND THAT NAGGING THOUGHT. THAT SOMETHING MIGHT HAVE COME AMISS. WHAT COULD VINCENT HAVE MEANT? WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN THE MESSAGE BETWEEN THE LINES COULD IT BE THAT SOMEONE, OR MORE APTLY, "SOMETHING," TOOK A WICKED NOTE OF THIS "SEDUCTIVITY?"

BUT STILL MY MOTHER WAS COMFORTED. THIS AFTER TELLING HER THAT AT THAT TIME, JOAN WAS FINALLY ASLEEP FOR QUITE AWHILE. THAT SHE WAS OK NOW REST WISE... AROUND NOON MY MOTHER INQUIRED OF HER DAUGHTER AGAIN: "OK NA PO SIYA NGAYON. GALITIN NGA PO EH." (SHE'S OK AT THE MOMENT, FEISTY EVEN)- VINCENT WHICH PROMPTED A SMILE ON MY MOTHER'S FACE, KNOWING FULL WELL HOW "SUNGIT" MY SISTER COULD BE.

SHE WAS A MOTHER!!!

31- JULY- 2009 PHONE CONVERSATION BETWEEN MY MOTHER AND VINCENT: THE GIST WAS MY SISTER'S REST AND SLEEP IS NOW OK BUT STILL THERE ARE SOME HALLUCINATIONS. MY MOTHER ASKS IF SHE STILL CRIES SPONTANEOUSLY, VINCENT SAID NOT ANYMORE.

01- AUG- 2009 TEXT MESSAGE: GIST WAS JOAN SLEPT WELL, SAME AS FOR THAT NIGHT.

02- AUG- 2009 PHONE CONVERSATION: GIST WAS THERE WAS A BIG IMPROVEMENT ON MY SISTER. SHE EVEN TOLD A STORY THAT VINCENT WAS ALIKE IN MANY WAYS WITH OUR UNCLE WHO WORKS IN THE US. AND EVEN KIDDED HIM OF BOYFRIENDS AND OTHER GAY MATTERS.

03- AUG- 2009 MY MOTHER WAS AWOKEN BY AN EARLY MORNING CALL. A DREAD SENSE OF FOREBODING CREPT INTO HER SOUL WHEN SHE SAW THE SCREEN OF HER CELL PHONE, FROM WHOM THE CALL WAS COMING FROM: DR. JAY MADELON CARCERENY

AND SO THIS FOULEST OF DAY IN MY FAMILY'S EXISTENCE BEGAN, WITH THE PSYCHIATRIST ON ONE LINE TELLING A MOTHER THAT HER DAUGHTER WAS FOUND DEAD. THAT SHE HANGED HERSELF AND COULD NOT GIVE ANY DETAILS ANYMORE. SHE CURSED THE SHRINK, AS THE ACCUSATORY IMPULSES OF A GRIEVING HYSTERICAL MOTHER WHO NEEDS A CHANNEL KICKS IN. AND WHO BETTER TO BE ON THE RECEIVING END THAN THE VERY SAME DOCTOR WHO RECOMMENDED HER DAUGHTER BE COMMITTED TO A PLACE WHERE SHE DIED NOT EVEN A WEEK AFTER GOING IN.

SO MY FAMILY- UNCLES, AUNT, COUSINS- EVEN MY FATHER WHO MOTHER IS SEPARATED WITH, TOGETHER WITH HIS NEW FAMILY- JOINED TOGETHER. WHERE HEARTS CAME TO BE ONE IN GRIEF AND HELD EACH OTHER ALL THROUGHOUT. BUT THE REST OF THE TROUBLING SEQUENCE OF EVENTS IS YET TO COME. THE STORIES TO LATER FOLLOW ARE ALL FIRST HAND ACCOUNT FROM INTERVIEWS I CONDUCTED WITH MY IMMEDIATE FAMILY MEMBERS. FOR TILL THIS TIME, I WAS STILL NOT YET HOME. I WAS STILL ONBOARD, UNAWARE BUT IN A MYSTERIOUS SENSE (DETAILS OF WHICH I WILL FOLLOW LATER) AWARE!!!

MY AUNTIE WHO WAS MANILA BASED WENT WITH MY COUSIN TO NEWMAN HUMAN CARE. FROM THERE, THEY WERE THEN TOLD TO GO TO PRECINT 10 OF THE QUEZON CITY POLICE. AT THE PRECINT, THEY WERE INFORMED THAT MY SISTER IS ALREADY TURNED OVER TO SAN RAFAEL FUNERAL HOMES, OWNED BY ROCELLE CRUZ AND LOCATED AT 62-B ROAD 3 PROJ 6 Q.C.

MY MOTHER WITH THE HELP OF RELATIVES WAS ON THEIR WAY, TRANSPORTED BY BALUYOT FUNERAL HOMES, A LOCAL AREA FUNERAL SERVICE PROVIDER TOGETHER WITH A DRIVER-CUM-REPRESENTATIVE OF THE AFOREMENTIONED. THEY RENDESVOUZED BEFORE NOON. THEY ASKED FOR MY SISTER'S BODY. TO SEE IT WHOLE FOR THE LAST TIME. TO IDENTIFY THEIR DEARLY BELOVED.

MY MOTHER WAS IN HYSTERICS AND IN HER CRYING OUT WISHING TO SEE HER DAUGHTER "INTACT." THEY WERE LED INTO CIRCLES, TOLD THAT THE BODY WAS HERE AND THERE, GIVEN VAGUE DIRECTIONS, UNSPECIFIED LOCATIONS.

ROCELLE MET THEM THERE. MY SISTER WILL BE AUTOPSIED NOW SHE SAYS, SOMEBODY ALREADY GAVE PERMISSION TO PROCEED. WHICH ELICITED MY MOTHER'S WRATHFUL CRY OF "WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO DO SO, I AM THE MOTHER." THIS PERKED UP THE PROPRIETRESS, TURNING HER MOOD BRISK, BUSINESSLIKE, GLIB AND ACCOMMODATING BUT VAGUE. SHOWING MY MOTHER INSIDE AN AIRCONDITIONED OFFICE ROOM, CALMING HER, LED HER TO LINES OF CASKETS AND ASKED TO CHOOSE, ALL THE TIME SEEMINGLY SYMPATHETIC.

OUTSIDE IT WAS A DIFFERENT CASE, MY AUNTIES AND COUSINS, MY SISTER'S LIVE-IN PARTNER AND HALF BROTHER, WAS STILL LOOKING FOR THE BODY. THEY WERE LED TO CIRCLES, GIVEN VAGUE DIRECTIONS AND MISLEADING LOCATIONS. OVER THERE SIR, TURN THAT WAY- THAT BUILDING THERE ETC. MY AUNTIE WILL NOT FORGET THE GENERAL SENSE OF NORMALCY, BORDERING ON GAIETY AMONGST THE EMPLOYEES OF SAID FUNERAL HOME. MOST OF THEM WERE GOING ABOUT EVEN LAUGHING OR JOKING WITH EACH OTHER SHE SAYS.

THEY WERE NOT AWARE OF THEIR RIGHTS. WHEN ROCELLE TOLD THEM IN A FIRM AND AUTHORITATIVE WAY THAT THEY WOULD CONDUCT THE SERVICE, TRANSPORT AND EVERYTHING TO OLONGAPO, THEY DEMANDED IT SHOULD BE THE LOCAL SERVICE PROVIDER. BUT ROCELLE INSISTED IT WAS TO BE SO. THE DRIVER-REPRESENTATIVE TOLD IT WAS NOT SO. THAT THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO CHOOSE THEIR SERVICE PROVIDER.

SOMEBODY ASKED THE DRIVER/REPRESENTATIVE OF BALUYOT THEIR OFFICE'S NUMBER. SOMEBODY CALLED THE FUNERAL HOME PRETENDING TO BE MY MOTHER, TELLING THEM THEY MAY ASK THEIR REPRESENTATIVE TO GO HOME NOW. AND SO HE WENT, LEAVING THE REST TO THE INSISTENCE OF SAN RAFAEL THAT BEING FIRST ON THE SCENE, THEY ARE THE ONES AUTHORIZED SO.

APPARENTLY, IT WAS MY HALF BROTHER WHO SIGNED A PAPER AUTHORIZING THE AUTOPSY. THEY TOOK HIM FOR HIS WORD THAT HE WAS THE BROTHER AND PROCEEDED SO, NOT EVEN ASKING FOR IDENTIFICATION PAPERS. MY BROTHER CANCELLED SAID PAPER TOO, THREW IT ON THE GARBAGE BIN WHEN ADVISED TO DO SO BECAUSE MY MOTHER WAS WAILING FOR A CHANCE TO STILL SEE MY SISTER'S BODY WHOLE.

THEY WAITED AND WAITED.

"JOAN WHERE ARE YOU?"

THAT WAS THEIR MOURNFUL WAIL. THAT WAS THEIR UNANSWERED CRY. AND IT WENT ON FOR 8 MORE HOURS FOR IT WAS AFTER 8 PM WHEN MY SISTER, CLAD AND FULLY WRAPPED, INSIDE A CASKET, SEEMINGLY PEACEFUL BUT INSPIRING NO PEACE OF MIND WAS WHEELED IN.

"JOAN WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?"

IT WAS NOW A DIRGE. WAILED ALL OVER AGAIN, THEY WERE A GAGGLE OF UNEDUCATED ADULTS IN HYSTERICS AND CRIES, COUSINS AND A LOVER IN DISTRESS. FACED ONLY WITH THE SORROWS AND TAKING SMALL COMFORT ONLY ON LAMENTS AND MOANS AND ENDLESS TEARS. FACING AN UNKNOWN OF LONELINESS WHOSE MYSTERY LEAVES THEIR EMOTIONAL BEARINGS REELING.

THEY BROUGHT HER HOME. STARTED THE WAKE. FRIENDS WHO HEARD NEARLY FAINTED. FOR HOW COULD SOMEONE SO FULL OF LIFE BE DEAD NOW? SHE WAS KIND. SHE WAS LOVED BY MANY, MANY FRIENDS. SHE WAS EXCEPTIONAL FOR HER READY LAUGH AND ZEST FOR LIFE, EXUBERANT GREETINGS TO THOSE SHE KNEW AND HER SYMPATHY TO THE LONELY AND BROKEN-HEARTED.

SHE LIVED A SOCIAL LIFE WHERE FRIENDS GRAVITATED AND ATTACHED ITSELF TO HER READILY. SHE WAS MY SISTER. SO THEY MOURNED. SO THEY HELD THEIR WAKE, TOGETHER IN GRIEF AND ASSAILED BY QUESTIONS OF WHERE THINGS WENT WRONG, OF WHEN MATTERS OF THE HEART AND LIFE WENT AWRY AS TO PUSH SOMEONE LIKE MY SISTER TO THE TAKE HER OWN LIFE. THERE ARE REMEMBRANCES, AND ANECDOTE HERE, A STORY THERE. BITS AND PIECES OF A LIFE LIVED, AND IS NOW FINALLY EXTINGUISHED. BUT THEIR SORROW CHANGED TO ANGER AND INDIGNATION. TO FURY AND WRATH. WHEN THEY DECIDED TO CHANGE MY SISTER'S CLOTHES FOR HER FINAL FAREWELL PARTY. THEY WERE ASSISTED BY FUNERAL MEN, BUT THEY SAW IN THEIR OWN EYES WHAT LOOKED LIKE BRUISES AND MARKS, IMPOSSIBLE THAT IN SUCH AWKWARD PLACES AND SEVERITY TO BE SELF INFLICTED

RIGHT LEG

LEFT LEG

FRONT UPPER TORSO

LEFT UPPER SHOULDER AND NECK

RIGHT LEG

FACE (BUMP?)

LEFT LEG

GROIN

UPPER TORSO

RIGHT HANDS

RIGHT ARM

RIGHT NECK AREA( WHERE IS THE HANGING MARKS?)

(WHAT ARE THESE MARKS UPON MY SISTER'S BODY??? I AM NOT IN ANY POSITION TO MAKE A CONCLUSION, I CAN ONLY ASK AND CRY OUT FOR THE FRAILTY OF LIFE AND ITS CORPOREAL VESSEL. THE POLICE AUTOPSY, TEN DAYS BY NOW AND STILL NOT IN OUR HANDS. PCI MAMERTO BERNABE JR, MD AND CSEE CONDUCTED IT AND THE FINAL REPORT STILL NEEDS TO PASS THROUGH CHANNELS. AND SO I MUST ACT. AND SO THIS BLOG MUST BE BORN)

ANGER, INDIGNATION, FURY AND WRATH. INDEED THESE PHOTOS INVOKED IT SO. MY LONELY WAY FROM A CONNECTING FLIGHT WHERE I HEARD THE NEWS UP THE TIME I SET FOOT HOME WAS HEAVY AND DOWNCAST AND SORROWFUL. BUT NOT ANYMORE. WHEN I SAW THESE I KNEW I NEEDED TO ACT, I NEEDED TO FIGHT. RATIONALITY TOOK CONTROL, 4 YEARS OF ACADEMY TRAINING KICKED IN. I AM NOW MORE THAN ANYTIME IN MY LIFE, RATIONAL AMIDST DURESS AND GRIEF, CALM UNDER PRESSURE. ICE COLD, I WILL NOT BE ACCUSATORY, ONLY EFFICIENT AND SHARP. I HAVE NOW TAKEN OVER FROM THE GRIEVING ADULTS, THEY SEEMED SO UNSURE.

CONTINUATION..... 3 DAYS AFTER, THEY WENT TO NEWMAN HOME CARE AND REHABILITATION CENTER OF FAIRLANE STREET, WEST FAIRVIEW Q.C A GENERAL SENSE OF UNEASE IS EVIDENT AND MANIFEST ON EVERY EMPLOYEE. THEY ARE HESITANT IN HANDLING BACK JOAN'S THINGS. THEY ARE NOT COOPERATIVE. THEY SAID THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TALK WHEN QUESTIONS WERE POSED. THERE WAS A VISIBLE TREMBLE ON THE HANDS OF ONE EMPLOYEE AS HE TEXTED TO CONTACT VINCENT GONZALES, ADMINISTRATOR. VINCENT WAS FIRST BUYING SOMETHING, WILL BE COMING SHORTLY. THE NEXT TIME VINCENT WAS ALREADY IN MARIKINA IN SOME BUSINESS OR SOMETHING. THEY ASKED FOR THE CERTIFICATE OF CONFINEMENT, THEIR REASONS ARE VARIED. VINCENT HAS THE FILES, THE FILES ARE MISSING.

THERE ARE RENOVATIONS BEING MADE TO THE PLACE.

MY SISTER'S BOYFRIEND TALKED TO THE LAUNDRYWOMAN. SHE SAID JOAN WAS A SWEET GIRL AND COULDN'T BELIEVE IN THE SHORT TIME SHE HAS KNOWN HER THAT SHE WAS CAPABLE OF DOING SUCH A THING.

WHO IS JOAN STAYING WITH IN THE ROOM?( MAYBE THEY CAN ASK THAT PERSON. JOAN HAS ALWAYS BEEN SCARED OF SLEEPING ALONE.)

SHE HAS NO COMPANY, SHE STAYS ALONE IN ONE ROOM.

REALLY?

YES SHE ANSWERS BACK.

HE TOOK THIS ANSWER WIDE EYED. THIS WAS NOT THE ARRANGEMENT PROMISED BY VINCENT FOR MY SISTER'S STAY AFTER ALL. WHEN CONFUSION AND DOUBT PLASTERED HIS FACE AS TO THAT REVEALED DETAIL, SHE WAS SUDDENLY UNSURE AND DIDN'T KNOW, COULD NOT REALLY REMEMBER. DROPPED THE CONVERSATION, SLUNK AWAY AND WAS SUDDENLY VERY BUSY.

THEY WAITED FOR HOURS AND STILL VINCENT DID NOT COME. SO THEY WENT BACK HOME. THERE IS SOMETHING ROTTEN GOING ON TO COVER THIS UP. UNTIL NOW WE HAVEN'T HEARD FROM VINCENT. NOR FROM ANY REPRESENTATIVE WHATSOEVER FROM NEWMAN HOME CARE AND REHABILITATION CENTER OF FAIRLANE STREET, WEST FAIRVIEW Q.C. UNTIL NOW WE ARE LEFT ONLY WITH THE MIND NUMBING WHAT IFS, THE PAIN OF GAZING AT A FACE BELONGING TO SOMEONE WHO WHEN ONCE SHE BREATHED WAS FULL OF LUSTER AND GAIETY AND THE VIBRANCY OF LIFE WELL LIVED TO THE FULLEST... SOMEONE WHO HAS ALSO WEATHERED SO MANY STORMS AND TURBULENCE OF LIFE. SOMEONE WHO WAS LOVED AND WHO LOVED SO MUCH IN RETURN....

LAST SUNDAY, AUGUST 8, ROCELLE CRUZ CAME TO OUR HOUSE. IT CANNOT BE HELPED THAT MOST OF MY ELDERS VENTED THEIR ANGER TOWARDS HER. BUT SHE TOOK THIS PROFESSIONALY. THERE MAYBE A MORE APPROPRIATE WORD, BUT "GRILLED" IS WHAT COMES TO MIND. WE ASKED HER AS BEST SHE COULD RECOUNT THE SERIES OF EVENTS OF THE DAY MY SISTER DIED. THIS IS THE GIST OF OUR CONVERSATION:

0400 AM- THEY ARRIVED AT NEWMAN HOME CARE AND REHABILITATION CENTER OF FAIRLANE STREET, WEST FAIRVIEW Q.C STANDING BY FOR THE EVENTUAL CUSTODY OF THE BODY. THEY WERE INFORMED FIRST OF THE EVENT. MY FAMILY DIDN'T HEAR ANYTHING UNTIL 0600 OF THAT SAME DAY.

0400-0500 PROBABLE TIME OF SOCO INVESTIGATION, CONDUCTED BY POLICE PRECINT 10

0600- THEY TOOK MY SISTER'S BODY TO THEIR MORGUE

0900- THE FIRST OF MY RELATIVES ARRIVES AT THE FUNERAL HOME SHE OWNS.

1100- BY SOME WAY OR ANOTHER, DUBIOUS OR OTHERWISE, THEY HAD MY BROTHER'S SIGNATURE TO CONDUCT THE AUTOPSY. MY BROTHER STILL INSISTS THAT WITH THE PRODDING OF ONE MORE OF MY AUNT, HE CANCELLED SAID FORM OF CONSENT AND THREW IT IN A GARBAGE BIN.

1200- PCI MAMERTO BERNABE JR, MD AND CSEE STARTED TO CONDUCT THE AUTOPSY. NO FAMILY MEMBER, NOT EVEN MY MOTHER HAS YET SEEN THE BODY.

1640- SOCO COMPLETED. STARTED EMBALMING MY SISTER.

2000- BODY RELEASED TO NEXT OF KIN. IN OUR CONVERSATION ALSO, SHE NARRATED THE FOLLOWING THINGS: - MY SISTER WAS FOUND ON THE BED. SHE WAS MOVED, THE PEOPLE FROM THE REHAB SAID, TO THAT POSITION. TAKEN OFF FROM THE ALLEGED BEDSHEET SHE USED TO HANG HERSELF. - IN A CONVERSATION WITH MY MOTHER, ROCELLE SAID THAT SHE APPROACHED THE ONE WHO CONDUCTED THE AUTOPSY. PCI MAMERTO BERNABE JR, MD AND CSEE TOLD HER: "ROCELLE MUKHANG MAY FOULPLAY. YUNG MGA PASA NYA SA KAMAY AT BRASO KASI NANGYARI BAGO SYA MAMATAY." (ROCELLE, THERE MIGHT HAVE BEEN A FOUL PLAY. THE MARKS ON HER ARMS AND HANDS HAPPENED BEFORE SHE DIED.)

MY MOTHER ASKED HER IF SHE WOULD BE WILLING TO TESTIFY ABOUT THAT CONVERSATION WHEN CALLED UPON, AND SHE SAID ANSWERED IN THE AFFIRMATIVE. SHE ALSO TOOK NOTE ON THE MARK ON MY SISTER'S FOREHEAD. I SECRETLY RECORDED THIS CONVERSATION USING MY CELLPHONE AND HAS MADE SEVERAL COPIES OF THAT "QUICKTIME" PLAYABLE AUDIO FILE. WHEN SHE PRESENTED US THE RECEIPT, WE WERE ALSO SURPRISED BY THE STAGGERING AMOUNT OF 120,000 FOR THEIR SERVICES.

WE CANNOT HELP BUT RUE THIS FACT FOR THE FUNERAL HOME WHICH MY MOTHER BROUGHT TO MANILA AND SHOULD HAVE HANDLED MY SISTER WAS ONLY ASKING FOR A PACKAGE DEAL OF 40,000 PESOS. INITIALLY ALSO WHEN SHE AND MY MOTHER CONVERSED IN THEIR FUNERAL HOME, SHE TOLD MY MOTHER THAT NEWMAN HOME CARE AND REHABILITATION CENTER OF FAIRLANE STREET, WEST FAIRVIEW Q.C SHOULD PAY FOR THIS AS THE UNFORTUNATE INCIDENT HAPPENED INSIDE THEIR PRIVATE INSTITUTION. BUT IT APPEARED TO US THEN THAT WE MAY HAVE TO SHOULDER THIS EXPENSE AFTER ALL.

MY BUNKMATE FROM THE ACADEMY OFTEN USED TO SAY, "KAHIT BATANG MUSMOS ALAM NA MALI YAN." AND SO I WILL REPEAT IT HERE: EVEN A CHILD JUST OFF WEANING KNOWS THIS IS WRONG!! BUT TO HER CREDIT, I ADMIRE ROCELLE FOR TAKING THE TIME TO PERSONALLY SEE US AND SHEDDING AT LEAST A SLIVER OF LIGHT IN THE MURK THAT TROUBLES OUR VERY SOULS.

THANK YOU AND I HOPE YOU WILL STANDBY ON YOUR WORD THAT YOU WILL DO SO STATE WHAT THE AUTOPSY DOCTOR TOLD YOU WHEN COMES THE TIME IT WILL BE NEEDED. FOR RECKONING WILL INDEED COME SOMEDAY, THIS WE SWEAR. YES, I KNOW THAT THE AUTOPSY IS ONLY A PART OF THE EVIDENCE, BUT KNOWING THAT THE ONE WHO CONDUCTED IT CONSIDERED SUCH A THING IS AN IMMENSE PIECE OF INFORMATION ON OUR BEHALF. IT EMBOLDENED US FURTHER TO GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS.

10- AUG- 2009 MY FATHER AND STEPMOTHER TRIED TO PICK UP FROM MANILA THE RESULTS OF THE AUTOPSY AND INVESTIGATION REPORT. THE INVESTIGATOR, SPO2 DING REBANCOS TOLD THEM THE AUTOPSY IS STILL NOT COMPLETE. THEY CAN, HOWEVER, HAVE THE PICTURES OF THE CRIME SCENE. THERE WAS NINE IN ALL:

1st POLICE picture (ABOVE)
THIS IS THE ROOM WHERE SHE WAS ALLEGEDLY KEPT IN ISOLATION. THE BEDSHEET IS HANGING ON THE SIDE. I CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER HOW SHE MANAGED TO TIE THAT SHEET ABOVE THAT CEILING AND WHERE SHE STOOD BEFORE SHE HANGED HERSELF. IF SHE USED THE BED, I'M PRETTY SURE THAT WHEN HER SURVIVAL MECHANISM NATURALLY KICKS IN, SHE ONLY NEEDS STEP BACK A FEW CENTIMETERS TO BRING HER FEET BACK TO SOLID SUPPORT.

second POLICE picture (ABOVE)

third POLICE picture (ABOVE)

LOOK AT THE NECK, WHERE ARE THE HANGING MARKS? THERE ARE ONLY TWO PICTURES OF THE FACIAL AREA, BOTH HIGHLIGHTING ONLY THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE FACE.

WHAT ABOUT THE LEFT SIDE? IS IT BECAUSE OF THIS (SEE BELOW):

PHOTO TAKEN BY FAMILY

OBSERVE THE VERY NOTICEABLE BUMP ON HER LEFT FACE, WHY ISN'T MY BELOVED SISTER'S LEFT FACIAL AREA PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE CRIME SCENE? THAT IS ANOTHER MYSTERY TROUBLING
ME

.

fourth POLICE picture (ABOVE)
MY SISTER LYING FACE DOWN fifth POLICE picture

(ABOVE) MY SISTER SPRAWLED SIDEWISE. I WONDER WHY NO PHOTOS OF HER FRONTAL AREAS WERE RELEASED! IF YOU SEE THE PICTURES WHICH MY FAMILY TOOK (SEE ABOVE), ALMOST ALL OF THESE "BRUISES" AND "MARKS" ARE IN THE FRONT.

sixth POLICE picture (ABOVE)

THE ENTRANCE TO THE "ISOLATION ROOM" WHERE SHE WAS ALLEGEDLY KEPT.

seventh POLICE picture (ABOVE) THIS ALLEGEDLY WAS THE BEAM WHERE SHE TIED THE BED SHEET. AND NOTICE HOW FIRMLY SHE TIED IT UP SO.

eight picture (ABOVE) MY SISTER, FALLEN COLD AND DEAD!

ninth picture (ABOVE) MY SISTERS PARTIAL LEFT SHOULDER AND EXPOSED NAPE, WHERE ARE THE HANGING MARKS?

ONLY 9 PICTURES.

NOTHING MORE!!!

ARE THESE PHOTOS ALL THAT WARRANTS TO MAKE THE NECESSARY INVESTIGATION???

WHATS'S WRONG HERE?

I FEEL THAT I AM DOING THE RIGHT THING NOW! I CAN FEEL MY SISTER WITH ME ALL THE WAY, AS I FACE THIS BATTLE AHEAD.

I AM STARTING WITH THIS BLOG. I HAVE PLANNED THIS BLOG FOR A VERY, VERY LONG TIME NOW. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN WITTY, FUNNY AND ENDEARING. IT WOULD TELL STORIES OF HOW I LIVED A SEAFARER'S LIFE. IT WOULD BE HONEST AND SELF-DEPRECATING AND BOLD AT THE SAME TIME.

THAT IS WHY THERE ARE OTHER POSTS HERE. I WROTE THEM WHILE I WAS STILL ONBOARD, HOPING TO POST THEM WHEN FINALLY I HAVE THAT MOST ELUSIVE OF THINGS: TIME. WE DON'T HAVE INTERNET CONNECTION AT SEA, THE PORT STAYS WHERE SHORT. I IMAGINED HOW THEY WOULD APPEAR IN MY BLOG, WITH THE FONTAGE AND PICTURES AND OTHER STUFFS THAT WOULD INSPIRE PEOPLE TO FOLLOW IT UP. TO CONNECT WITH OTHER PEOPLE AND BLOGGERS. TO MEET FRIENDS.

BUT IT WAS NOT TO BE SO. THEY ARE POSTED HAPHAZARDLY HERE, FOR EXPIDIENCY IS NEEDED.

FOR MY POSTERITY'S SAKE.

FOR I FEAR THAT WHAT WE FACE HERE IS SOMETHING BIG.

SOMETHING POWERFUL SO AS TO FACILITATE MANY INCONSISTENCIES AND BOTCHED UP ATTEMPT TO HIDE THIS.

AND THEY MAY COME AFTER ME.

BUT I DO NOT FEAR THEM.

I STARED DEATH ONE TIME IN MY LIFE BEFORE. AN EVENT I WILL NEVER, EVER FORGET. I KNEW THAT FEAR, THAT DREADFUL AWARENESS THAT THE END IS COMING. I WROTE OF THIS ALSO.

SEE MY NEXT BLOG AFTER THIS.

I FEARED IT THEN. EVENTS OF MY LIFE PASSED BEFORE MY EYES IN SPAN OF SECONDS.

BUT YET I LIVED.

AND NOW I AM FACING THIS, THIS FIGHT FOR MY SISTER.

THIS FIGHT FOR JUSTICE.

THIS FIGHT FOR TRUTH.

I KNOW I WILL NOT BE ALONE.

I CALL UPON MY FRIENDS, WHOEVER THE HANDS BEHIND THIS, KNOW THAT I TOO LIKE MY SISTER, AM LOVED BY MANY. I CALL YOU NOW IN THIS, MY MOMENT OF NEED.

I INVOKE THE LADY IN YELLOW, THE PATRON SAINT OF PEOPLE'S POWER. YOU WHO BROUGHT BACK OUR DEMOCRACY, SO THAT I MAY WRITE OF THIS, MY PLIGHT AND OF MY FIGHT. YOU WHO WAS INTERRED THE VERY DAY "SOMETHING" TOOK AWAY MY SISTER'S LIFE. INTERCEDE FOR US IN PRAYER FOR YOU ARE CLOSER NOW THAN EVER BEFORE TO THE BOSOM OF OUR MAKER. HEAR MY PLEA MADAM CORY, A TERRIBLE INJUSTICE WAS DONE THE VERY DAY YOU WERE FINALLY LAID TO REST. PRAY FOR US. THRU YOU, MAY GOD ANSWER OUR PRAYERS. BRING US THE MIRACLE WE NEED IN THIS FIGHT, THE MANIFESTATION OF YOUR SAINTLINESS.

I INVOKE THEE TOO ST JOAN OF ARC, YOU WHO ARE MY SISTER'S NAMESAKE. AS PATRONESS OF SOLDIERS, MAY YOU GUIDE THE PEOPLE IN UNIFORMS WHO WE WILL SOON INEVITABLY FACE. MAY YOU SHOW THEM THE MEANING OF HONOR, THE VIRTUE OF GENTLEMANLY COURAGE TO STAND UP FOR TRUTH AND JUSTICE. MAY THEY NOT BE USED TO VILE ENDS BY THE CRIMINAL AND THE CORRUPT. MAY THEY LEARN TO STAND UP AND DISOBEY THE ORDERS OF THE WICKED. MAY THEY NOT BE A TOOL TO COVER UP THE MONSTROSITIES OF THE POWERFUL FEW.

I CALL UPON THE LONG BLUE LINE, ALUMNI OF THE PHILIPPINE MERCHANT MARINE ACADEMY. HEAR ME SIR! HEAR ME JUNIORS. A BUNKMATE IS IN DISTRESS. SPREAD OF MY FIGHT AND OF THE INJUSTICE COMMITTED TO YOUR BROTHER. STOUT FELLOW ALL, LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH SO THAT I WILL NOT FALTER BUT CONTINUE THIS FIGHT TO IT'S BITTER END. SO THAT I MAY HAVE SUCCESS AND GLORY, IN MY QUEST FOR JUSTICE, WHICH FROM NOW IS STILL NOT VISIBLE FROM THE HORIZON. PMMA HAIL TO THEE!!!

HEAR ME MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS, MY COLLEAGUES AT SEA. TO THOSE WHO BELONGS TO THE ORDERS OF NEPTUNUS, TO THOSE WHO KNOW THE ROLLING OF DECKS WHICH FLOAT ABOVE THE SEA. HEAR ME SO THAT A SEAFARER NEED NOT GO HOME AND FACE AN UNJUST DEATH AND SO BE SORROWFUL. SPREAD OF THE INJUSTICE OF IT ALL WHEN ONE MEETS DEATH AFTER A LONG TIME SAILING, FOR THE TIME OF SHORE LEAVE OF THOSE WHO GOES OUT TO SEA ARE SUPPOSED TO BE JOYOUS, NOT FILLED WITH GRIEF.

HEAR ME OH FOURTH ESTATE, WATCHDOG AND VIGILANT GUARDIANS AGAINST ABUSE AND HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATIONS. HELP US IN THIS FIGHT. MAY IT BE KNOWN UPON THIS LAND ANOTHER CASE OF WANTON DISREGARD FOR LIFE. A LIFE SO DEARLY TREASURED BY MANY!

HEAR ME MY ABDUCTORS OF 9 YEARS AGO, ONE DREARY NIGHT OF LATE 2001. HELP ME IN WHATEVER INFLUENCE AND WAY YOU CAN SO THAT THIS CASE, MY SISTER'S UNTIMELY AND UNJUST DEMISE, MAY BE ACCORDED THE RIGHTFUL JUSTICE IT SO DESERVES. RIGHT YOUR WRONG. HELP YOUR VICTIM AND IN SO DOING REDEEM BACK A PART OF YOUR WARRIOR'S ETHOS AND HONOR WHICH YOU LOST WITH WHAT YOU DID THAT TO ME THAT NIGHT. THIS I HUMBLY ASK YOU.

HEAR ME GABRIELA, YOU WHO CHAMPION THE FILIPINO WOMAN'S HUMAN RIGHTS. BE WITH US IN THIS FIGHT, SO THAT NO MATTER HOW HIGH AND MIGHTY THE ONES BEHIND THIS, THAT THEY BE MADE ACCOUNTABLE TO WHAT THEY DID TO A FILIPINA WHOSE ONLY FAULT WAS TO WISH TO BE WELL AGAIN. A RIGHT EVERY WOMAN DESERVES. A RIGHT THEY VIOLATED WHEN UPON THEIR SUPPOSEDLY HEALING HANDS, A FRAIL LADY DIED INSTEAD. HEAR OF HOW LOVED SHE WAS. SHOUT OF HOW SHE LIVED AND HOW SHE MADE FRIENDS AND HOW SHE MUST HAVE PUT UP A FIGHT BEFORE THEY GOT WHAT THEY WANT. HEAR OF MY SISTER, A BRAVE AND COURAGEOUS WOMAN NOT UNLIKE ALL OF YOU!

HEAR ME ALL OF YOU WHO ARE ALSO VICTIMS OF INJUSTICE, ALL YOU WHO KNEW AND LOVED SOMEONE WHO ALSO SUFFERED THE SAME FATE. YOU WHO CAN EMPATHIZE AND SYMPATHIZE WITH WHAT OUR HEARTS, MIND AND SOUL ARE GOING THRU NOW. HELP US TO HELP YOU KEEP THE TORCH OF THIS FIGHT FOR INJUSTICE BURNING.

FOR NOW, I AM ALREADY TIRED AND WEARY. THE COUNTLESS SLEEPLESS NIGHTS HAS TAKEN ITS TOLL. I KNOW THE DETAILS HERE ARE NOT YET ENOUGH. THAT MANY MORE INFORMATION ARE NEEDED TO SWAY YOU TO BELIEVE US WHEN WE SAY WE FEEL SOMEBODY KILLED MY SISTER. SOMEBODY HIGH. SOMEBODY STRONG. IF NOT, THEN WHY ELSE THIS APPARENT COVER UP? HOW FAR DOES THEIR TENTACLES REACH???

OUR BATTLECRY FOR THIS FIGHT WILL BE "JOAN OF OLONGAPO," AND UPON MY SISTER'S VIOLATED CORPUS, I SWEAR THAT I WILL DO EVERYTHING WITHIN MY POWER, WITHIN MY TALENT AND ELOQUENCE WHICH SHE SO ADMIRED, TO HELP BRING JUSTICE FOR HER DEATH.

FOR I AM NOW MY FALLEN SISTER'S CHAMPION.... HER KNIGHT.

SO HELP ME GOD!

INUTIL....

2009-08-11T20:12:00.001-07:00

THIS IS THE PERSONAL STORY OF MY ORDEAL ONE NIGHT, LATE 2001.

NASA ISANG BAR KAMI SA MANILA NUN NG BIGLA NA LANG DAMPUTIN NG WALANG KAMALAY MALAY. AKO ANG MINALAS NA NAPAGTUUNAN NG SOBRANG "ATENSYON." MATAGAL KO NG NILUKLOK ANG ISTORYANG ITO SA PANULAT. NAKATAGO SA ISANG USB. NAGAANTAY KONG KAILAN KO MAILALABAS. AT NGAYON, SA NANGYARI SA AKING KAPATID, HINOG NA ANG PANAHON.

NILALABAS KO NA TO UPANG MALAMAN, SINUMAN ANG MATAMANG NAGBABASA SA KASALUKUYAN, NA NARANASAN KO RIN ANG MAGING API NG ISANG MALING SISTEMA, NG ABUSO, NG KAWALA NG TAMANG PROSESO NG BATAS.

SA NGAYON, WALA NA AKONG SAMA NG LOOB SA NANGYARING ITO. GANUNPAMAN, SA MGA ILALAHAD KO RITO NGAYON, MULING AALAB ANG PAGASANG MAS MABIBIGYAN NG KARAMPATANG PANSIN ANG NANGYARI SA AKING KAPATID....

SA INYO, SA MGA TAO SA LIKOD NG PANGYAYARING ITO, KILALA NYO KUNG SINO ITONG NAGSUSULAT NGAYON. ALAM NYO RIN KUNG BAKIT AKIN NA TONG INILABAS.

SIR, IKAW NA HULING KUMAUSAP AT NAG "DE BRIEF" SA AMIN, ANG HULI KONG SINABI SA YO EH "I WISH WE COULD HAVE MET IN BETTER TIMES." AND YOU ANSWERED, "MAYBE SOMEDAY WE'LL MEET, OR MAYBE ONE DAY I MAY BE ABLE TO HELP YOU." I HAVE JUDGED YOU SIR, BY THE WEIGHT OF THE SINCERITY IN YOUR VOICE AS YOU ASKED FOR APOLOGY ON THAT VERY CLEAR CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY. YOU ARE A GOOD GERMAN SIR. AND MAYBE MORE FROM YOUR GROUP ARE TOO.

KNOW THAT I HAVE NO INTENTION OF PURSUING THIS FURTHER TO A PUNITIVE END, NOT NOW NOT EVER. I BELIEVE WE ALL CAME OUT OF THIS KNOWING A LITTLE BETTER.

BUT THERE IS SOMETHING I WOULD LIKE TO ASK OF YOU:

PLEASE GENTLEMEN, WHEREVER YOU ARE NOW, IF YOU CAN IN ANY WAY, BEHIND THE SCENES OR AS SUBTLY AS YOU POSSIBLY COULD, HELP MY FAMILY FIND JUSTICE FOR MY SISTER, I WILL FOREVER BE GRATEFUL. I WAS YOUR VICTIM ONCE, BUT KNOW THAT IN MY HEART WE PARTED AS FRIENDS. YOU HAVE STRENGTHENED ME IN MANY WAYS AS THE YEARS WENT BY. YOU SHOWED ME THAT ONE COULD STARE DEATH IN THE EYES AND KNOW THE FEAR AND FUTILITY OF FACING DEATH, BUT STILL CONTINUE LIVING AFTER THE TEMPEST HAS PASSED. TO CONTINUE TO BE EMBOLDENED, TO OBSERVE HUMANITY PASSING BY AND PROMISING THAT IN THAT ONE SPARKLING MOMENT, ONE COULD MAKE A DIFFERENCE, ONE CAN SOUND THE CALL.

I ASK YOU THIS AS A FORMER VICTIM OF HUMAN RIGHTS ABUSE, AS A LAW ABIDING AND PRODUCTIVE FILIPINO, AS ONE GENTLEMAN ASKS OF ANOTHER.

BUT MOST OF ALL, I ASK YOU THIS AS ONE LOVING BROTHER CALLS OUT FOR JUSTICE FOR HIS BELOVED SISTER. HEAR ME! KNOW ME!

THIS AS I REMEMBER, WAS OUR STORY......

Inutil

Dilim. Yan ang tawag sa kawalan ng liwanag. Itim ang tawag sa kawalan ng kulay. Samantalang takot naman ang damdaming kabaligtaran ng tapang. Dilim, itim, takot; masuwerte ang mga katagang yan sapagkat nagbibigay sila ng sapat at solidong deskripsyon, na isang sandali lamang ay madaling rerehistro sa nakikinig. “Takot ka sa dilim eh kaitim itim mong tao!” Di ba wala pang isang saglit, alam na ng nakikinig na nangaasar ang nagsasalita? Siguro may kaibigang sunog ang balat sa araw na ayaw sumali sa larong taguan kung kaya’t inalaska. Pwede rin naman sabihin, “Magdilim sana ang buhay ng walanghiyang yan, walang takot sa nasa itaas at walang kasing itim ang budhi.” Isang pangungusap, pasok na pasok; sinumpa na pabulusok mula langit at pailalim tuloy tuloy hangang impyerno ang kung sinomang balasubas ang gumawa sa kanya ng kagaguhan.

Ako rin, merong isang halimbawa, eto oh; merong isang nagdilim na gabi sa aking makulay na buhay na napuno ng takot, dulot ng kaitiman ng intelehensya at maling pagkakakilanlan. Haba no? Parang pampilipit ng dila. Nais kong ipagpatuloy yan, linawin kung ano ang dahilan at kung paano nangyari. Ngayon ko lang siguro mailalahad ito ng may halong gaan ng pakiramdam, ngiti at kunting tawa. Higit din sa lahat, ng buong kaseryosohan. Matagal ko ring dinala ang bigat ng karanasang ito. Ang problema nga lang, kulang ako sa kataga at pangalan. Kaya’t sa bagay na to ay gagamitin ko na lang ang mga panghalip na “sila”, “kanila,” “kanya”at “nila”. Pansamantala nawang maging sapat sa pagbibigay pagkakilanlan ang mga panghalip na ito hanggang sa matapos ang aking munting sanaysay.

Taong dos mil uno, kalagitnaan ng repaso ko nun para sa nalalapit na pambansang eksaminasyon. Malapit lapit ko na ring matupad ang pangarap na pumalaot paalis ng bansa. Gradweyt ako ng pagka-seaman sa isang kilalang paaralan. Marami kaming sponsored ng isang agency na nagpapadala ng tao sa kanilang mga barkong pumapalibot din at ang biyahe ay pang buong mundo. Di naman sa pagmamayabang pero may nakuha rin tayong award ng magtapos, may husay din naman kung kaya’t medyo bugoy bugoy sa pagpasok sa review center dyan sa may malapit sa Roxas Boulevard. Balwarte ng mga marinero ang lugar na yun at malapit sa tinatawag na seaman’s park sa may luneta. Karaniwan ko ng iskedyul ang pagpasok lang sa unang araw ng lingo at sabay na kukuha ng mga handouts na papel at kung ano ano pang mga review materials. Matapos nito ay uuwi na ko sa aking probinsyang di naman kalayuan sa Maynila na tinatahak ng bus ng wala pang tatlong oras. Sa bahay ko na lang itutuloy ang pagaaral (sabay ng mga gimik).

Pero ng malapit na ang eksameng ito sa pagka-junior officer sa mga sasakyang pandagat ay naisip ko ng buuin ang ilang mga natitirang linggo ng pagpasok. Isang byernes sa mga panahong yun, niyaya ako ng isang kaibigan. Pre labas tayo. Wala akong pera pre eh. Ok lang yun sagot ko na muna. Darating din dun si Jun na klasmeyt natin. Kami ng dalawa ang gagastos. Ako naman palibhasa libre, aba eh sige.

Aaminin ko na ngayon pa lang na nalimutan ko na kung anong araw yun o maging buwan. Hindi ba kapanipaniwala? Mas lalo na siguro pagkatapos nitong aking paglalahad. Baka sabihin niyo napaka-unforgettable nyan para makalimutan. Pero sabi nga nila ang utak nga daw ay may kakayahang kalimutan ang mga mapapait at puno ng hilakbot na karanasan. Defense mechanism daw laban sa pagkabaliw. Di pa rin eh, matindi pa rin ang naging epekto nito sa kin. At ang sama pa, sa kalaunan to muling naglutangan na parang mga palitaw ng pighati.

Yun na nga, pumasok kami sa isang bar sa may Malate. Wala naman akong naramdamang anumang kakaiba. Kahit yung mga sinasabi nila na minsa’y nagkakaroon daw ang tao ng masamang kutob sa isang lugar, ako eh wala, talagang wala. Basta masaya lang ako at makakalibre ng toma. Di nagtagal ay salitan na ang puwesto namin sa pagitan ng dance floor at ng lamesa. Sayaw. Inom. CR. Papak ng pulutan.

Talaga namang buhay na buhay na ang aking dugo. Pinagpapawisan na ko sabay ng pakikinig at pagindak sa pang sayaw na tugtugin at tama ng alak. Maya maya, isang pagkakataon na nagpapahinga sa may lamesa, napansin ko na lang na matama ang pagtingin sa akin ng isang waiter. Hindi pala, mga ilang waiter din ang nagdaaan na pinagmamasdan hindi lamang ako kundi ang aming grupo. Sa pagkakataong yun meron na ring sumabay na ilang seaman sa min na mga kaboard mayt ng isa pa naming kasamahan. Karamihan din sa kanila eh mga taga timog ng bansa, may Ilonggo, Cebuano at mas interesante, mga taga-Mindanao. Syempre minsan sa grupo ay gamit nila ang kanilang lokal na dayalekto kung naguusap. Sa huli na lang na paganalisa saka ko naisip na maaring may kinalaman at signipikasyon ang kanilang gamit na dila. Bagama’t sa pagkakataong yun ay di ko binigyan ng gaanong pansin ang atensyong nakatuon sa amin.

Ang huli kong naalala bago nangyari na “all hell breaks loose,” ay ang paglalaro ng isang game sa cellphone. Bigla na lang na may sumigaw ng “Walang gagalaw.” Maya maya pa ay may isang papalapit ng matulin, may dalang isang maliit na kris na nakatutok at wari bang isasaksak sa akin. Nanlilisik ang mata ng mamang ito na di ko kilala at di ko pa nakita sa aking tanang buhay. Pasugod. Nakataas na ang kutsilyong ang korte ay parang ahas na gumagapang, kaya’t sa pagaakalang isa itong away o gulo ay tumakbo ako papalayo. Nahulog ang cellphone sa sahig ngunit di ko na inantala ang sarili sa pagsibat palayo sa huramentadong may patalim para lang damputin yun. Di rin naman sa akin ang abang telepono, kundi sa kaibigan kong nagyaya.

Napansin ko sa panahong ito na biglang tumahimik ang kapaligiran at katulad ng sinasabi nila na sa oras daw ng panganib ay mayroong “heightening of senses,” ganun na ganun ang aking naramdaman. Dala na rin siguro ng pagsirit ng adrenaline sa aking dugo, parang si superman ang pakiramdam ko sa aking sarili. Kung ihahalintulad ko sa sine ay para akong si Leo di Caprio sa pelikulang “The Beach” ng habulin ng isang armadong tagapag bantay ng taniman ng marijuana na kanyang pinagnakawan. Sumisigaw ang lalaki at naaaalala ko ang mga salitang “WAG KANG GAGALAW, WAG KANG GAGALAW” at “TIGIL, TIGIL! WAG KANG TUMAKBO.”

Matulin na ang kabog ng aking dibdib at parang napakagaan ng buhat at galaw ko sa aking sarili. Malinaw ang aking pandinig ngunit bandang huli’y para akong nabibingi sa lakas ng daloy ng dugo, ngunit kahit ganun, pagkalinaw linaw ng aking paningin. Kitang kita ko ang puti ng ngipin ng aking antagonista kada buka’t sigaw ng kanyang bunganga. Napakalakas na rin ng aking mga tuhod, hita at braso. May humawak sa likuran ko at humablot ng aking kuwelyo, pero sa panahong yun ay mas pinili ko ng mahubdan ng pang-itaas na damit kesa tumigil sa paglayo. Tumawid ako sa isang mababang pader at tumalon sa mga lamesa habang sumisigaw ng “TULUNGAN NYO KAMI.”

Dun ko na lang napansin na medyo ako na pala ang sentro ng pansin sa buong lugar na yun. Lahat ng tao mula sa dance floor hanggang sa ika-lawang palapag ng bar ay nakasilip sa akin. Sa akin ding paglingon ay nakita ko ang mga kasamahan ko na naka-tumpok sa isang sulok ng bar, kinakausap ng isang grupo ng mga kalalakihan na may tali ng “Good Morning” towellete sa kanilang nuo. Hindi naman tayo inosente sa ganitong senaryo at nakakapanood din naman tayo ng mga pelikulang Pilipino kung kaya’t sumagi sa aking isip na diyata’t mga pulis itong mga taong to. Hindi ko sila mabilang ng mga sandaling yun pero sa aking sandaling paglingon sa humahabol sa akin, at sa aking mga kasamahan, biglang may dalawang humablot sa aking braso. Dahil basa na ako ng pawis at natabig na mga barell ng beer, isama pa ang mga pulutang aking nadaanan at nabalandra sa mga mesang nadaanan, madali akong nakahulagpos at tumakbo uli palayo.

Di nagtagal, nakita ko na marami ng nakamasid pero wala ni isang lumapit para tumulong, wari bang isa isa ng nasabihan o nabiglang babala ang bawat lamesa na may ganitong bagay na mangyayari. Di nagtagal ay nahablot din ako ng humahabol sa akin at sinalya ng pabagsak at latag ang tyan sa putikan at basang sahig. Nakatutok sa likuran ng aking leeg ang dala nyang kris, kung kaya’t di na ako pumalag ng talian ng “retractable wire” ang aking mga kamay. Bukod dun ay nakadiin ang isa nyang tuhod sa pagitan ng aking mga balikat.

Bagama’t ang aking pagkakita sa mga kasamahan kong maayos na kinakausap ay nagpalinaw ng kaunti sa nangyayari, di pa rin naalis sa akin ang mag alintana ng itayo na ko’t simulang pamartsahin palabas. Bukod pa dun eh piniringan na rin ako ng maliit ding tuwalya, yung tulad ng nakabalot sa “kanilang” nuo kung kaya’t lalo lang nadagdagan ang aking takot. Ng sa labas na ng bar, dun ko na napansin na nagsimula ng dumiin ang hawak sa braso ko ng isa sa “kanila.” Patulak na rin at pasadsad ang pagdala sa akin. Di ko napigilan ang aking sariling magpanic uli at sa akin ngang pagpiglas, di ako makapaniwalang naputol ko ang wire na itinali sa aking kamay. Sabay nun ay inalis ko na ang piring sa aking mata. Dun ko nakita na marami “silang” nakapalibot sa akin. Nagsisigaw ako ng “Tulungan nyo kami. Papatayin nila kami.” Itinulak ako ng isa pababa sa may ilang baitang na hagdan patungo sa mga nakabukas na isang van at isang puting service jeep. Dun ko napansin na nakaupo na at nauna ng naghihintay dalhin sa kung saan man ang mga kasamahan ko. Nasa van na lahat ng aking kagrupo. Nakapiring na rin silang lahat at tahimik na nagaabang.

Pero hindi ako, hindi ako basta bastang sasama na lang.

“TULUNGAN NYO KAMI. PAPATAYIN KAMI,” yan ang aking malakas na sigaw sabay hawak sa partisyong bakal sa harap ng bar. Talagang kumapit na ko ng matindi, napamulagat na rin ako ng sa gitna ng aking paghe hesterikal ay napansin kong marami na pala sa “kanila” ang nakapagbunot ng baril. Lahat din ito’y nakatutok sa akin. Kung di ako nagkakamali ay aabot ng anim hanggang walong baril ang nakaumang sa akin ng sandaling yun. Lalo lang dumiin ang aking pagkakayakap sa malamig na bakal ng daanan papasok. Sumisigaw ako dahil sa taranta at takot. Nagwawala ako sa dahilang di ko alam ang aking kasalanan, wala akong natatandaang ginawang paglabag sa batas. Kung meron man isa sa mga kasamahan ko na may kasalanan eh dapat yun na lang ang kanilang isinama o inaresto, kung pagaresto ngang matatawag ang “kanilang” operasyon. Matino akong tao. Malay ko nga ba kung isa salvage kami. Malay ko nga ba kung mga pulis nga “sila.” Bukod dun, malaking parte na rin ang nagawa ng alkohol at adrenaline sa akin sa pagbibigay ng lakas ng loob sa pagpumiglas. Di nila ako basta basta na lang madadala.

Sa gitna ng aking pagsigaw ay meron pa rin naman akong rason at sa totoo lang ay malinaw pa rin ang aking isip. Kahit sino naman sigurong lango eh mahihimasmasan sa gitna ng ganung pangyayari. Alam ko rin na di pwedeng basta basta lumabas ang mga bala sa mga madidilim na butas ng “kanilang” baril. Napakaraming nakamasid, kumpulan ang mga tao at bukod dun napansin ko na propesyunal ang “kanilang” hawak sa dalang armas. Nakadistansya rin “sila” sa akin na wari bang umiiwas na baka maagaw ko ang baril ng isa sa “kanila”. Napansin ko na may bahid din “sila” ng alinlangan at wari bang dumisdistansya “sila” sa akin na parang isa akong mapanganib na hayup. Sa puntong ito wala pa ring linaw sa akin ang mga nangyayari.

“Tulungan nyo po kami,” sigaw ko pa rin at pagmamakaawa sa isa sa mga sekyu ng lugar inuman na yun. Nakita ko sa mga mata ng medyo katandaan na ring tagabantay ang awa at ganun na rin ang kawalang kakayahang makialam. Lalo lang lumakas ang aking hinala na maaari ngang mga pulis ang mga may dala sa amin. Bakit nga naman magsasawalang kibo ang mga taong yun kung di “sila” kabilang sa hanay ng maykapangyarihan? Ngunit malaki pa ring katanungan sa aking isip ang “bakit?” Bakit kami? Bakit ako? Bakit ganito?

Sa gitna ng pagkapit ko ng madiin sa aking salbabidang bakal, may isang lumapit sa akin. Bigla na lang “niya” akong sinipa sa mukha sabay sigaw ng “ABU SAYAFF YAN! WAG NYONG TULUNGAN YAN!” Ayun, medyo nagkarun na ng kunting kalinawan sa akin ang isang parte ng misteryo. At katabi ng kalinawang ito ang panibagong usbong ng pagkalito at pagalumihan. Sa panahon kasing yun, di maikakailang masigasig ang kampanya ng gobyerno laban sa terorismo at tinawag nga ang Pilipinas na “ally” o kakampi ng pamahalaang Estados Unidos sa gyera laban sa terorismo. Ito matapos ang insidente ng Setyembre labing isa.

Pero ano naman ang kinalaman ko sa Abu Sayaff na yan? Hindi ako myembro ng grupong yun. Katoliko ako. Yan ang mga agam agam na tumatakbo sa aking isip. Hindi pa rin ako bumitaw sa aking pagkakakapit at di pa nakuntento ang sumipa sa akin at sinundan pa ng di ko na maalalang beses sa ibang parte ng aking katawan. Marahil dala na rin ng pagkahilo at pagkayanig ng aking mukha at kaalamang makakapagpaliwanag pa rin ako bandang huli, napabitaw na rin ako sa aking pinagkakapitan at muli akong idinapa ng malalakas at mararahas na kamay upang palitan ang taling wire sa aking braso. Mas diniinan na rin ang piring sa aking mga mata. Pero ang di ko makakalimutan ay sa mga sandaling yun, waring wala akong nararamdamang sakit. Dala na rin siguro yun ng kakayahan ng isang tao na tumanggap ng di alintanang sakit sa gitna ng panganib. Kumbaga sa ingles ay “survival mechanism kicking in.”

Binuhat na “nila” ako papunta sa isang service jeep. Sumagi pa sa aking isip na ganung ganun ang service namin nung elementary ng mapagawi ang aking tingin dun nung kasalakuyang walang piring. Pero wala naman akong naalalang pagkakataon na ganun ka-sapilitan ang pagpasok sa eskwela. Sa loob, isinalya akong parang baboy na nakataob uli at lapat ang tiyan. Unang ipinasok ang aking paa at ang aking ulunan ay itinapat sa may tambutso. At ang masama pa, nauna ng tumakbo palayo ang van na kinalalagyan ng aking mga kasama at naiwan ako. Solo ako sa sasakyan.

Matapos na mailagak ay may tumawag sa radyo, “Sir secured na ang palaka.” Aba, at palaka na pala ako ngayon, tanong ko sa sarili. Sa totoo lang, kahit sa gitna ng aking kinahaharap, meron pa rin di maiwasang panloob na ngiti, naging palaka kaya ako dahil sa pagtalon talon ko sa mga lamesa o pagpisag pisag na parang kung anong dulas na palakang bukid? Ilang beses din naman kasi akong nahablot ngunit nakawala pa rin.

Ngayon na rin lang ako magtatanong, na kung ako si palaka, sino kaya ang ”kanilang” naging pagong? O naging unggoy? O ahas? Sino pa kaya ang mga katulad kong walang malay o kahit yung mga may sala na ginamitan ng ibang pangalan sa radyo, pangalan ng hayup o walang buhay na bagay, o anupaman? Katulad ko rin kaya ang mga taong yun na itinapat ang mukha sa usok ng tambutso ng bumabarurot na sasakyan, na di makahinga ng maayos sa kulang na isang oras na byahe tungo sa kung saan mang istasyon pinagdalhan? Na sa gitna nun ay paulit ulit na sinasaktan at nagtatanong sa sarili kung bakit? Nagmakaawa rin kaya sila at sumisigaw na “ang wallet ko, baka mahulog” ng paulit ulit? Sumagi rin kaya sa isip ng mga biktimang ito na kailangan nila ng pagkakakilanlan at identipikasyon kung kaya’t di dapat mawala ang kanilang ID o anumang bagay na magpapakilala sa kanilang tunay na katauhan bilang inosenteng mamamayan? Sa gitna kaya ng dinanas na pagmamaltrato ay gumagana pa rin ang pasilidad ng kanilang utak para makaligtas? Katulad ko rin kaya silang solo sa “service vehicle” dahil naituring na “volatile suspect?” Magisa rin kaya sila sa sasakyan na nagmakaawa sa gitna ng maraming tinatamong suntok, tuhod at batok?

Kung makikita at makakausap ko “sila” ngayon, ang sasabihin ko sa “kanila” ay dapat na tinawag nila akong “buwaya!” Sasabihin ko sa “kanila” na ang mga pagarte ko nun ng iyak ay “crocodile tears” lamang upang kahit paano’y maawa “sila” sa akin. Sasabihin ko na habang may sumasakal sa akin at naguudyok na sumigaw ng “Allah Akbar” ay hinahaluan ko na lang ng garalgal ang aking boses na nagsasabing “di po ako Abu Sayaff! Di po ako muslim,” sabay pag-huhuhu. Ipapaalam ko sa “kanila” na sa tuwing ganun ang ginagawa ko ay medyo humihina o nababawasan ang suntok. Sasabihin ko sa “kanila” na sa tuwing ako’y nagiiyak-iyakan, merong boses na nagsasabi na “tama na muna bok.” Ipapaalala ko dun sa nagsalita na di kailangan pa ang aking luha upang sabihan ang kanyang mga kasamahan na tao pa rin silang may awa- kahit isantabi na lang muna nila ang propesyonalismo eh, yun na lang magpakita naman ng damdami’t habag sa kanilang suspek at hindi brutal na pagtrato na tulad nun. Muli, sasabihin kong di ako palaka, buwaya maaari pa. Ngunit ang “buwayang” yun ay sa konteksto lamang ng ekspresyong idioma.

Papaalala ko sa “kanilang” meron pang mas higit na “buwaya.” Siguro meron sa kanilang masasapol (o marami?), kaya hindi na lang, sasabihin ko na lang na naginarte lamang talaga ako at wag nilang isiping naging iyakin ako sa mga sandaling yun. Papaliwanag ko na lang sa kanila ang dahilan ng aking mga bulaang luha’t paawa effect, na kailangan ako ng aking pamilya dahil pagasa nila ako sa pagangat sa buhay. Na ako ang kasalukuyang karamay ng aking natitirang mga kapatid sa kalungkutan ng pagkawala ng isa pang kapatid. Siguro ikukuwento ko na rin sa “kanila” ang ilang masasaklap na karanasang inabot namin. Ipapalam ko na ako na ang tatayong padre de pamilya kung sakaling makaalis matapos ang eksamen. At tatanungin ko “sila” na sino ba ang gustong mamatay ng walang kabuluhan, sa kamay ng mga taong di nya kilala? Sino ba ang gustong mabasag ang tahimik na pamumuhay at paghahanap aliw sa gitna ng pressure ng pagaaral- ng mga baril at kris, ng mga suntok at sipa, ng pagtapat ng ilong ng matagal sa nakasusulasok na usok, kahit wala namang naalalang masamang nagawa?

Sasabihin ko rin sa kanila na isang dahilan kaya ko nailalahad ito ngayon ay ang aking pagsubaybay sa kuwento ni Jonas Burgos. Alam kong isa lamang siyang halimbawa sa mga libo libo pang nawala at di na uli nakapiling ng kanilang pamilya. Sa isang banda, hinihiling ng aking puso’t isipan na sana’y di sya nagdusa. Sana ri’y hindi siya pinatawan ng tinatawag nila ngayong “EJK” o Extra Judicial Killing.

Siguro ikukuwento ko rin sa “kanila” ang ilang istoryang naibahagi sa akin mga nakasama kong dayuhang opisyal. Sasabihin ko na sa Denmark ay walang ganitong bagay, na ang kalayaang sabihin at ipahayag ang kanilang damdamin at sarili, magtipon at magprotesta ay parte ng kanilang batas at nirerespeto ng lahat. Na sa lugar na yun sa norte ng Europa ay malaya ang lahat, merong partidong legal ang mga kumunista sa parliamento at isinusulat at isinasalarawan ng mga peryodiko ang mga pananaw at editoryal ng walang takot. Hindi nga ba’t nagkagulo pa sa nangyaring pagimprenta sa guhit ng isang kartonista sa propeta ng Islam sa isang sikat na dyaryo ng bansang yun? Isang pagguhit na nagresulta sa kilos protesta ng mga kapatid nating muslim dahil sa diumano’y pambabastos sa kanilang pananalig. At sa bagay na ito, sasabihin ko sa “kanilang” wala akong radikal na prinsipyo sa relihiyon, na respeto ang aking alay anuman ang denominasyon ng isang nilalang. Sa aking pansariling paniniwala, bilang isang mandaragat na rin, ang mga pagsamba ay iba iba lamang anyo ng mga katig, ngunit nakakabit sa iisang banka. Isa lamang ang patutunguhan at dadaungan ng sasakyang ito sa kalawakan ng dagat ng buhay patungong kaligtasan. Sasabihin ko rin sa “kanila” na ni sa hinagap, di ako magkakabit ng bomba sa sarili para lamang kumitil ng buhay ng mga inosente. Hindi ako terorista sa pangalan ng sinasamba. Hindi ako pabor sa ilustrasyong yun, binanggit ko lamang ito sa dahilang hanggang sa ganung bagay ay bukas ang isip ng lahing yun sa pagtanggap sa paglalahad ng ideya at sarili ng kanilang kapwa.

Para na rin sa akin (at alam kong di ako nagiisa sa opinyong ito), lahat ng halimbawang aking nabanggit, mula man sa ibang bansa’y repleksyon pa rin ng wastong tama para sa lahat. Matibay itong batayan ng galaw ng isang sibilisadong lahi. Ang pangunahing konklusyon ko tungkol dito, napakahalaga ng karapatang pantao ng bawat nilalang. At kasama nga sa karapatang yun ang maayos na pagka-aresto ng walang bayolenteng pananakit. Lalo pa kung nasa panig ng awtoridad ang dami at armas, at higit pa kung laban lamang sa nagiisa at walang laban. Andun din ang maayos na representasyon at paglalahad ng karapatan ayon sa saligang batas bago dalhin ang sinuman. Hindi nga ba’t sinasabing inosente tayong lahat hangga’t di napapatunayan ang anumang bintang? Sabihin nating sa “kanilang” mga mahal sa buhay mangyari ang ganung bagay, di man ngayon kundi sa hinaharap, o sa sandaling mga wala na rin ”sila” sa kapangyarihan at serbisyo, ano kaya ang“kanilang” magiging opinyon?

Sa isang positibong banda, kung makikita ko kahit sino sa “ kanila”, magpapasalamat pa rin ako at ako’y humihinga pa rin. Salamat sa “ kanila” at walang kabadong nakahila ng gatilyo, na muntikan ng magpa- forced eviction sa akin sa Bansa ni Kuya ng habambuhay (kung may buhay pa). Orwellian ang paggamit ko sa Big Brother pantukoy sa “kanila,” ngunit sa nangyari sa amin matatawag din itong Big Blunder. Salamat din at kahit sa pagkakataong napuwing ang mata ni Kuya sa intelehensya (alam kong suntok sa buwan ang hiling na to-pero sana sa amin lang nangyari ang ganung kaso ng false identity), kahit pano’y naisalba pa rin “sila” sa pagkitil ng inosente ng “kanilang” gamay sa armas. Nawa sa susunod, sa tamang “palaka” na yaong mga baril na yun maitutok. Salamat din sa “kanila” at hindi isang walang laman na nitso ang magpapaalala sa aking mga minamahal na minsan ako’y nabuhay. Salamat at hindi kailangang magtirik sa puntod na yun para sa aking alaala. Ngunit kung nagkaganun man, alam kong kada puting kandilang ititirik ng aking naiwan para sa akin, may katapat itong kulay itim- para sa “kanila.”

Salamat din at di na makakapagyabang sa akin ang barberong madalas gumupit sa akin sa mga kwento nyang dekada sitenta. Nakultapan lang naman si manong ng isang sundalo dahil hippie ang buhok, minsan ding na curfew at pinagupit ng mga damo sa kampo ng militar. Marami pa siyang brutal na kuwento nagpapatungkol sa iba pa nyang kakilalang naging biktima ng opresyon, pero sa aking palagay ang dalawang yan lang ang pinakamalapit sa katotohanan. Nakakatawa pero sino ako para humusga, ako na ni minsa’y walang nakahalatang nagdadala ng ganitong eksperiyansya? Hindi ko ni minsan ibinahagi sa kanya ang nangyari sa akin. Sa mga panahong ako’y nagbabakasyon sa lupa, sasalampak ako sa kanyang lumang upuan, bago pa man paulit ulit na kumagat ang gunting ay sisimulan ko na ng tanong, “manong kelan nga ba nag martial law?” at saliw na sa magaang kamay ang kanyang makuwentong boses. Mga kuwentong nangyari di pa man ako nabubuhay, ngunit sa pangkasalakuyang ngayon ay aking naiintindihan sa isang malalim at personal na paraan.

Salamat din sa pagharap sa amin ng nakatataas na yun sa “kanilang” grupo at kahit paano’y naging daan ang “kanyang”paghingi ng pasensya na mapagaan kahit pano ang aking sama ng loob. Bagamat wala akong maisasamang mukha sa pagalala sa “kanyang” boses, sa sandaling yun ay anghel ang tingin ko sa kanya mula sa likuran ng aking piring. “Mistaken Identity,” yan ang bungad sa amin ng isa isang kausapin at hingan ng paumanhin. Salamat sa matiwasay naman at puno ng pagpapasensyang pagpapalaya “nila” sa amin. Musika sa aking tenga ang kawalan ng lagapak ng kamaong tumatama sa laman. Aking laman. Uyayi para sa akin ang ugong ng sasakyan papalayo sa kung san mang lugar ng interogasyon na yun kami dinala. Maayos na rin ang aking paghinga at wala ng usok na nakatapat sa aking ilong. Naalala ko pa ang nakakatawang insidente kung saan bago bumaba’y binigyan “nila” ako ng madiing utos na wag muna tanggalin ang takip sa mata hanggang di “sila” nakakalayo. Di ko napigilan ang sarili kong alisin kagad ang piring di ko pa man naririnig ang tuluyang paglayo ng sasakyan at lingunin “sila.” Naaalala ko ang maingay na pagpreno ng “kanilang” sasakyan at ang bigla ko ring pagbaling ng tingin palayo sa kabilang direksyon upang ipakitang di ko nakuha ang licence plate ng kanilang sasakyan.

Kung matagal kaya ang aking naging masid at nakita ko ang plate number ng sasakyan “nila’y” hahayaan pa ”nila”akong makauwi? Kinikilabutan ako sa tuwing iniisip ang bagay na yun. Ito’y sa dahilang nangako “silang” sa may Malate uli ako ibababa, malapit sa kung saan kami dinampot, ngunit ng tuluyang magmulat ang aking mata mula sa matagal na pagkakatakip, matapos mahawi ang namuong matitigas na muta, isang malaking building na katayan sa may FTI ang bumungad sa aking harapan. Ang amoy ay namumuong mga dugo at balat ng hayup sa semento, ang tunog na nakabinbin sa ere ay lagutukan at pagkadurog ng mga buto at bagsak ng matatalim na mga kutsilyo. Napakalayo ng FTI, Taguig sa Malate. At alam kong may signipikasyon ang pagpapalaya sa akin sa harapan ng isang meat processing plant. Di kaya isa itong babala para sa isang may balak komokak na palaka? Bahala na. Kung babalikan “nila” ako, ang tangi ko na lang mahihiling ay gawin “nilang” matulin ang pagkatay at wag ng idamay sinoman sa aking mahal sa buhay, ganun na rin ang aking mga kasamahan na pinalaya din sa magkakalayong lugar. Kung mangyayari yun, ang huling bagay na nakaukit sa aking isip ay napakamura pala ng aking buhay. Tatlong libo. Eksakto. Dahil yan ang iniwan “nila” sa aking halaga matapos ang lahat ng aking dinanas, bayad marahil sa abalang dulot ng “kanilang” pagkakamali. Sa sandaling yun, sa pagbabalik ng aking o anong sarap imulat na paningin at malayang gamit ng matagal na naitaling mga kamay, ng aking hukayin mula sa bulsa ang malulutong na piraso ng papel na siniksik ng mabait na kumausap matapos humingi ng pasensya sa akin, nun ako nagkarun ng bagong deskripsyon sa salitang “galak.” Tinanong kasi ako bago pakawalan kung magkano ang aking pera, naging matapat naman ako sa pagsabing higit tatlong daan lang na sapat pang pamasahe ang natira sa aking wallet na aking pilit iniwasang mahulog sa gitna ng delubyo, na kinumpiska at muli rin namang ibinalik, wallet na naging susi sa aking tunay na pagkakakilanlan at kanilang kamalian. Di ko inaasahang ganun kalaki ang ipapalit “nila,” nataong kailangang kailangan ko din ng pera sa panahong yun. Sa paguwi ko kasi sa amin para sa weekend ay meron akong matagal ng planong ilabas at mukhang maitutuloy na. Inaasahan ko rin na ako ay sasagutin na nya sa aking panunuyo. Ang matamis na pagasang yun, ang payapang dampi ng bukangliwayway sa aking pisngi, ang todo bigay na pag-awit ng nadaanan kong ibon sa isang puno, ang liwanag ng ulap at kalangitan, ang kaalamang patuloy pa rin ang pagtibok ng aking puso at nararamdaman ko pa rin ang samyo ng hangin, yan ang mga bagay na pumapaibabaw sa aking damdamin at isipan habang nakasakay sa bus na bumabaybay patungong Monumento, sa istasyon ng pamprobinsyang biyahe patungo sa amin. Pauwi na ako. At buhay pa rin.

Hindi ko maipapaliwanag ang damdaming yun, kahit ilang salita man ang gamitin. Isa lang ang aking masasabi ng buong tapat at katotohanan, sa sandaling yun at sa aking murang edad, nun ka naramdaman na NAPAKASARAP pala talagang mabuhay. Dun ko rin naintindihan ang aking nabasang mga linya sa isang libro, na sa likod daw ng bawat mukha na ating makakasalamuha ay may natatagong epiko. At ang istorya na yun ay espesyal at para lamang sa kanya. At sigurado ako, sa loob lamang ng isang magdamag, napakaraming makulay at masalimuot na pahina ang nadagdag sa aking pansariling kuwento ng buhay. At marami man ang di makabasa nun sa aking mukha at anyo, ito’y naroon at habambuhay ng parte ng aking pagkatao.

Mahirap man isipin ngunit nasa “kanila” ang desisyon kung mananatili pa rin ako sa estadong yun (ang tumitibok ang puso, ang nakikita ang kagandahan ng mundo, ang humihinga) matapos tong aking sanaysay. Marami nga naman ang makakabasa. Ngunit sa mga oras na ito, sa aking pagtipa sa mga letra ng computer board, alam kong hinihimay at pinipiga ko na ang aking pagkatao, determinasyon at kaluluwa tungo sa isang napakalaking hakbang. Patungo yun sa katuparan ng aking pinaka-aasam na dalangin, ang muli kong manamnam ng walang bahid ng anumang agam agam ang sarap, kulay at ganda ng bawat sandali. Nawa ito’y makatulong at sa wakas ay magkarun ako ng tinatawag nila sa englis na “closure.”

Nagpapasalamat ako sa aking trabahong malayo sa atin. Sa mga panahong naririto ako sa dagat, nabubura ng trabaho at laot ang karamihan sa aking mga agam agam. Ngunit sa aking paguwi sa panahon ng bakasyon, di pa rin maalis ang matinding kabog ng aking puso sa tuwing papasok sa anumang lugar ng saya na matao. Kaliwa’t kanan ang lingon ko sa tuwing mapapadaan kahit sa labas lang ng ganitong uri ng lugar. Kabado ako sa tuwing may titingin sa aking estranghero. Minsan din sa gitna ng gabi ay babangon akong malapot ang pawis at nanginginig sa pagalala ng nangyaring yun sa akin.

Isinulat ko rin ito sapagkat ayaw kong magtapos ang aking kuwento sa aking sarili, marami pa rin akong panalangin at muni muning ninanais itawid sa diwa ng marami. Alay ko ang mga ito sa mga yumaong naglaho at sa iba pang nakaranas ng aking pinagdaanan. Nawa’y mawala na ang pagkabalot ng kadilimang tulad nito sa ating kapulisan at sandatahang lakas.

Ganundin naman sa aking patuloy na pagsubaybay sa mga kaganapan sa ating bansa, pinagpupugay ko at kinagagalak ang pagkakaroon ng ating bansa ng Writ of Amparo, nawa’y maging matagumpay itong sandata ng hustisya at pananagot. Hiling ko na sana’y dumating ang panahong magkaron ng pagkakataon ang mga naiwan ng magkapatid na Raymond at Reynaldo Manalo na malaman kung nasaan sila at makamit ang nararapat na hustisya. Ganun na rin kanila Sherlyn Cadapan, Karen Empeno at Jonas Burgos. Iilan lamang sila sa mga pinaghihinalaang dinukot ng mga sundalo ng kasalukuyang gobyerno. Alam kong ang pagkawala nila ay nagdudulot hanggang ngayon ng ibayong sakit at pagdurusa sa kanilang mga magulang at mahal sa buhay. Iilan lamang sila sa mga taong may pangalan at pagkakakilanlan na sa ngayo’y parang bulang nawala ang katawang lupa. At sa panulat na katulad nito, patuloy nawang manatiling maliwanag ang kandila ng kanilang alaala.

Kasama na rin dito ang napaka bagong balita sa ginawa ng militar kay Melissa Roxas, ang hirap at pangaabuso na kanyang inabot sa kamay ng mapaghinala at abusadong mga miyembro ng lakas sandatahan. Totoo ang dinanas ni Melissa, hindi ito gawa gawa lamang. Ito na ang sistema at paraan uli ng mapangahas na elemento ng ilang nakaupo sa sandatahang lakas, ang pangaapak at pagyurak sa karapatang pantao ng isang nilalang.

Hiling ko rin na sana’y patuloy “silang” gabayan sa “kanilang” mga aksyon at paglaban sa kriminalidad at terorismo. Batid ko ang mga panganib na “kanilang” sinusuong laban sa lahat ng elementong masasama, mula sa mga kumikitil ng buhay ng marami sa pamamagitan ng mga bomba ng galit hanggang sa mga malahalimaw na namumugot ng ulo ng walang bahid ni katiting na awa. Sana sa “kanilang” paglaban sa krimen at kabuktutan ng humanidad ay panatilihin pa rin “nila” ang kanilang damdaming makatao at isiping tayo’y nagkakamali sa maraming bagay, sa intelehensya, sa interpretasyon ng mga turong relihiyon, sa pananaw at sa prinsipyo. Na marami kaming napapagitnaan ng “kanilang” giyera’t pagsagupa. Lahat kami’y kapiling “nilang” namumuhay sa mundo. Kami ri’y mga asawa, anak, kapatid, magulang at anak. Kami ri’y minamahal at inaalala.

Malamang sa sinulat kong ito ay maraming magsasabi, ang tapang naman ng tao na to, sa kasalukuyang klima ng kaliwa’t kanang pagkawala at pagpatay sa mga nagsasalita laban sa establisimyento, hukbong lakas at kapulisan ay nagawa pa ring pumiyok. Bakit hindi? Sa pagdedesisyon ng isang nilalang, wala na sigurong kasing lakas magudyok pa maliban sa kanyang pansariling husga sa kung ano ang tama o mali. Sa pagkakataong ito, hinusgahan kong tama ang aking gagawin kaya’t ito na ngayon ang aking boses. Maging patak man ito na daragdag lang sa karagatan ng libo líbong sentimyento o maging isa sa mga rumaragasang batis na titibag ng dam ng kawalang malay ay ipagpapaliban ko na lang sa tadhana.

Alam kong di ako nagiisa at napakarami ring dumanas sa aking pinagdaanan. Yun nga lang merong malaking kaibhan ang mga taong mayroon namang angking kakayahan at talento na ihayag ang kamalian at paglabag sa kanilang karapatang pantao, ngunit mas piniling ilihis na lang ang pisngi sa pagwalang pansin at kalimot. Ang ibang nadadala pa rin ng takot ay di natin masisisi; takot sa dilim ng kanilang karanasan o marahil ay takot na magsuot ng itim na ribbon o pin ang kanilang mahal sa buhay kung sila’y “babalikan” ng kanilang babanggain.

Itim, dilim at takot, katulad ng mga abang katagang ito sa aking panimula na nagkarun ng sapat na deskripsyon, meron din tayong tawag sa mga mayrun o nagkarun naman ng sapat na tapang, di man agaran kundi sa pagdating din ng panahon, at hindi lang tapang, kundi isama na rin natin ang pagkakarun ng sapat na rason at pagtimbang sa tama at mali, pero sa kahuli huliha’y mas pinili pa ring itikom ang bibig. Ayokong matawag na ganun, oo tao rin akong may kimkim na takot sa kinahaharap at hindi sigurado sa kung anuman ang dala ng bukas, pero para sa aking matamis na paghinga ng kasalukuyan, sa aking pagtatapos sa kinikimkim na pait at trahedya, at para na rin sa kinabukasan ng ating mga anak at minamahal ganundin ng sa “kanila,” na magtatamo ng sana’y mas matiwasay at pinatibay na demokrasya, ayokong habambuhay ngumatal at manatiling....

“Inutil.”

SONGS FOR POSTERITY'S SAKE

2009-08-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

ADRENALINE JUNKIE
George Anos

Your laughter sound so hollow and there’s something that you hide,
You forget that there’s an ebb and high for every passing tide,
When dust falls and settles, beauty eventually will die,
For you need to rouse yourself after you moan and sigh,

There’s nothing more destructive than living an idle life,
When you could be out there to join the frays and frights,

Chorus Life is a roller coaster never close your eyes,
For the journey’s filled with loops and turns
And eye popping highs

When you strap yourself please don’t forget,
To make sure it’s nice and tight,
For you never know how far you’ll go,
Or how steep you will climb

So when it comes down to choices
Don’t hesitate to try,
All the crazy things that’s meant for you
Makes living more worthwhile End of chorus

When days are grey and dull and you spend it sitting down,
You feel everyone’s laughing at you the lonely clown,
For they never could quite get it, How hard you desire,
To throw yourself and go berserk and Set yourself on fire

For you know there’s nothing harder than living in fright,
How boring it will be…. each passing day and night

Rpt chorus

My tribute to the intrepid people behind and in all sides of JackAss, led to their blaze of glory by the number one instigator, Johnny Knoxville. I will remain always, a number one fan.
BESIDE THEE ALL I AM NOT WORTHY….

*********

FATHER
George Anos

She was lovely that night and beyond compare,
When she sat by his side then said “Life isn’t fair!”,
There was true sadness and surprise in his eyes,
When he looked at her and saw just how time flies

Then he asks his ten year old “What’s troubling you?”
“you’re looking so lovely to feel so blue.”,
“It’s just that father there’s so many things,
I wish that life will give and bring.”

“I’ve grown up till now with comfort barely,
There were times when I slept with hungry belly,
My friends they had it all going so nicely,
And their fathers don’t go home sullen and dirty.”

“They have dolls and dresses and really nice shoes,
In candy shops they can freely choose,’
There were tears in his eyes as he turned and answered,
Take a good look at me oh my treasured daughter.”

CHORUS:
“These calloused hands are magic honey,
They’ll wipe your tears and tickle you funny,
They’ll hold you tight,
When it’s not alright,
And all the while,
They’ll make you smile”

“These rugged feet are wonderful darling,
For you they’ll run,
Or go a prancing,
They’ll jump so far,
To fetch your star,
When your joy’s afire,
They’ll never tire….”

“So keep your heart always with laughter,
For your twinkling eyes is the joy of your father,
When things go bad,
He won’t be sad,
For your pretty sight,
Is his delight,”

“So my daughter always remember,
When days are rough I may get sombre,
Just smile and say,
“Come Dad we’ll play”,
And then Bad Gloom,
Will go away”
END

-I really dreamt of being just a humble farmer. This is the could have been with a curious child. To my beloved daughter…

************

KAKAMPI
George Anos

Buhangin sa iyong balikat,
mula sa pagkakadapa,
Maiitim na markang iyong nakikita,
Di ba bumangon ka?

Di nga bat pinakita mo
ang tapang mong totoo?
Ng ngumiti ka lamang
sa galit ng mundo

Harapin ang pagsubok
Gabutil man oh gabundok
Pagkakaisa ng pananalig
Pusot isipay masigasig

CHORUS 1
Ng mawala ka sa panalangin
Mong malalim at taimtim
Dun mo nakita,
Nun nadama
Sa buhay kailanma’y di ka magiisa
Pagkat kasama mo siya
Palad mong magkadaop
Mga matang nakatiklop
Pagtawag mo…. Kapayapaan sa Puso
END OF CHORUS 1

kaliwa’t kanang sampal ng trahedya
matinding gutom ng sikmura
Sa gitna ng alinlangan
Di bat pumito ka lamang?

Lalim ng ngisi’y makahulugan,
Ininit na ng hulmahan,
Ng hipan mong papalayo,
Ang buhawi ng tukso

Dilim man o init ng araw
Wag kang bibitaw
Samot saring abala,
Sa tikas mo’y di uubra

CHORUS 2
Ng mawala ka sa panalangin
Mong malalim at taimtim
Lakas ay nabuhay
Ang puso’y tumibay
Sa sagupa at laban ng iyong buhay,
Pagkat kapiling mo siya,
Palad mong magkadaop
Mga matang nakatiklop
Pagsamo mo….. Gabay ng iyong mundo
END OF CHORUS 2

Habol mo ang iyong hininga,
Sa pagbubuhos ng lakas,
At ng maging talunan,
Di ba’t tumango ka lang?

Sa gitna ng pagkutya,
Kamao ba ang sandata?
Ng ialay mot ilahad,
Sa mabuti mong hangad

Sa laro man o sa buhay,
Lagi kang maging pantay,
Ilang beses ka mang mabigo,
Ang tulad mo’y di susuko

REPEAT CHORUS 1 THEN
CHORUS 2

- Ano man ang dumaan sa ating buhay wag natin Siyang kalimutan, sa una hangang huli, ating KAKAMPI…

*****************

NAME DROPPING
George Anos

The hills echo loud with Geronimos
You say in our love life I ain’t a Romeo,
Narcissus would pale beside my ego,
And all I really need is to be a regular Joe

But they say it ain’t over till the Fat Lady sings,
And trouble is what Leroy Brown brings

CHORUS:
Do you see a Newton when you look at this apple?
I have as much idea as Nessie’s Loch Ness’ ripples,
If you’ll take it the same way Adam did from Eve,
You know I’m not a Greek bearing gifts,

Davy Jones’ locker couldn’t possibly keep my heart,
Don’t break it when I’m being bratty Bart
You don’t need to answer,
When I say “Hau Long” is a China man,
Just like Archimedes say “Eureka”- You’re my man..

END

I know I don’t really have Midas’ touch,
But Jack can’t be nimble as my dash,
Coz darling when you tell me “Mush”,
Lassie himself’s gonna eat my dust

You know baby, Hercules isn’t gonna compare,
For you I’d flush Medusa from her lair

REPEAT CHORUS

I’m sure Napoleon had his complex,
That Merlin casts a really wicked hex,
But Honey when I hear your shrieks,
I’d jump from this world to the next,

I know that Achilles had his weak sore heel,
That’s nothing with the way you make me feel

REPEAT CHORUS

-To men and creatures, fictional or true, whose names remain etched to the tablets of glory, infamy or downright humour. To all men who until now cannot plumb and even for an iota, fail to understand, the female psyche. This song’s for you (eerh I mean, for us).

**********

SUKDULAN
George Anos

RAP TUNE:

Kung alaala'y magawi, sa iyo oh Irog,
Ang ngiti sa labi'y, sariwang hamog,
Matamis, malinaw, at isang biyaya,
Ng bukang liwayway, sa damong linga.

Pumapawi sa uhaw nitong yaring puso,
Tanggal ang init ng damdaming paso,
Sapagkat sa tuwinang, ika'y nasa isipan,
Naiibsan tong, mapait na kalungkutan.

-**Kuro
LYRICAL:
Sapat na ang alaala mo sinta
Pumawi sa lungkot ng pagiisa
Dasal bawat araw sana’y bukas ng
Kapiling ka….

Sapat ng isipin ka’t imaginin,
Upang matahimik isip kong napapraning,
Walang sandaling nagmukmok alam kong
Ika’y sa kin……
-***Katapusan ng Kuro

RAP TUNE:
Ang tanging galak, na hihigit lamang,
Gamogamong ako'y, sa iyo madarang,
Mahagkan, mayakap, at aking madama,
Ang init ng iyong, taos pusong kalinga.

Malungkot man ang gabing di ka katabi,
Hanap man ang iyong malalambot na labi,
Hangad man ng balikat ang iyong ulunan,
Ang blankong tingin may lagi sa kawalan...

Lagi mong tatandaan....
...Sa puso't isipan lagi kang nandiyan.

***Ulitin ang Kuro

RAP TUNE:
Nagpapalakas, bigay inspirasyon...
Nagpapatapang, tanggap hamon...
Gabay na liwanag, katahimikan....
Kapayapaan....sa magulong isipan.

Pagmamahal sa iyo ang tanging katotohanan...
Abot hangang LANGIT..Maalab.....Sukdulan!!!

****************

TEARY EYED SKY
George D. Anos, Dec. 2006

Sometimes it’s overwhelming when life is passing pretty fast,
And along the way we realize how hard to make love last,
For tomorrows always bring us back to the start of all this crap,
Even though tonight we thought we made and bridged the gap

We must learn to realize
That we need to sacrifice
To admit to all the lies
And be strong amidst the cries

CHORUS:
The stars never lie when you cry,
And you see them twinkle brightly with misty eyes,
Promising tomorrows never die
Every night they’ll grace the skies

So when you look up
Remember to be strong
There are as many reasons
As stars… To go on – End of Chorus

Many times we find ourselves in the brink of dark despair
When we feel unloved and think that the other just don’t care
And every challenge just seem to get harder to bear
And we often ask ourselves how in the end we’ll fare
We must be wise
TO always give it a try
To renew our love and lives

RPT CHORUS

In every step of the way I’m sure there will always be
An overhanging dark cloud of uncertainty
In our hearts we must learn to take it all
For the nights of love have orders tall

When the sunshine dies
There’ll be stars in the skies
Behind the clouds they sometimes hide

RPT CHORUS

-My first song composition. Seminal work indeed, but I will always consider it my best whatever metamorphosis and improvements the later times will bring. My finest as a Bard.

******************

WASTED
George Anos

Therein lies the answer,
Therein lies the truth,
Therein lies confession,
When wounded hearts we sooth

For reality is stark and painful,
When we turn into fools,
And the moment we admit it,
Is the time we break the rules,

And ignorance is bliss,
For the hidden nail is seldom hammered,
I’m not sure about you,
But keep away from me please,

Keep away from me please,
For the night is young and lovely,
And the voice of the party is to be happy,
I don’t really need you now,

I don’t need you conscience,
To tell me I am wrong,
For a just want to drown myself,
And get lost in this song

Chorus
( Tonight I’m running naked
And the dawn will make me cry
For I hate baring my soul by day
When the darkness bids goodbye

Tonight I’ll cast away my chains
And away from you I’ll fly
So deep you won’t be reaching me
No matter how hard you try )
End

Therein lies delusion
Therein lies the beast
Therein lies obsession
When from tired hearts we feast

For the lies we weave are dark and silken
When we feed on deceit
And the soft flesh of misery,
Is where we sink our teeth

Dark temptation is real,
For the walls we make are easily trampled,
I’m so sure about it
so keep away from me please

Keep away from me please,
I’d rather be alone and lonely,
For later you’ll just regret my company,
Go, keep away from me now

I have lost my conscience
That tells me right from wrong,
So if you don’t want to drown yourself,
Don’t fall hard for this song

REPEAT CHORUS

-To all people who used the vices and lures of darkness to numb the intensity of their hurt and sorrow.
This song goes out to all of you.

******************

ESSAYS FOR POSTERITYS SAKE!

2009-08-11T19:33:00.000-07:00

(Basking in the glow of intellectual orgasm)

Many a simple thing came to tell stories so epic and grand. Everyone has a nexus in his or her life where an event or item or even a simple gesture started a series of events culminating in the creation of a personality, or hobby, or liking, or whatever it is that defines “living enthusiastically for something” to someone. It could be as innocent as a pat on the shoulder, a simple praise, a worn but still usable shoe, the sound of a song, the sight of old couples in a park or a dog’s welcoming bark. It could also be as grand as being given a Nobel Prize or receiving the mantle of sovereignty as an heir apparent.

You see, life in all it’s complexities has designed and imbued upon itself a wondrous switchboard, that once activated, suddenly shows or starts to release all these wonderful colours of either inspiration or dreams, ideas or visions. By itself it sustains, once nurtured, it opens up a whole new world or a fork in the road, unknown but thrilling and full of potentials nonetheless. It is like opening the “Visualizations” view on your Windows Media Player, where you have “sepia swirls” and “kaleidovisions” and “electriarnations” and “chemicalnovas”. All swirling or warbling or jumping or falling or tumbling or frolicking, imbibing every space and pore of one’s senses.

It could start as a planted seed, humble as mustard or a heaven sent epiphany, straight and true.

This switchboard is not limited to those with vision. Helen Keller’s was that of a teacher’s tireless effort. The “Braille System” of writing and reading for the blind and deaf was of course just a means to nurture that beginning. Later becoming a world famous writer no longer constrained by her affliction of darkness and silence, her powerful writings included “The Open Door”, and as tribute to her mentor, Teacher: Anne Sullivan Macy. Anne was that teacher.

Unfortunately, that is not the only case. Aside from inspiring, these points or turns could also bring about destruction later. In history’s pages, some were of such massive and catastrophic ends. Take the case of the recovering former Austrian corporal of the German army from the first Great War of this century: Struggling and poor during his seminal attempts on art, Adolf Hitler was shunned by art curators and dealers. During that time in Germany, most of the latter were artistically inclined Jews. Now, imagine what this world would have been like if he had his exhibition and shot at the world of art, which was often chronicled as his first real passion. Surreal isn’t it? That’s Adolf “Picasso” Hitler for you.

These switchboards, they were called by many names: calling, signs and inspiration, to state a few.

I would like to call mine an Ignominy. And it all started with a word.

I remember clearly that day. It was the first week of my high school year. Sunlight was streaming in the old wooden paned window. The window was rustic and old and the chairs, also of wood, were yellowing. There was a patina of long time occupancy in the ten by ten meter room. Chalk and cracked ceiling dusts seem to be hovering preternaturally around. The smell was summer and decaying ipil-ipil leaves, a big tree of which was in the back. Lichens and moss, green and thick, covered the upper half of the campus’ wall not even a stone’s throw away. It was an environment fitted to vibrancy, an apt vessel for that electrifying sense of anticipation. Strangers were all around. Some knew each other from their previous elementary schools, former classmates about to share the next phase again, and some were chattering away, meeting and making new friends. There was still no fixed class pattern and teachers were coming and going erratically, a public school malady. It won’t be after a few more days before it’s all sorted and class resumes smoothly.

I was a guy from the barrio and this here was the “city” science high school, the “intellectual requirements” of which I luckily passed. Excitement was coursing in my blood. Amongst my classmates in elementary, almost all the guys of which took the entrance tests (except the valedictorian, Anthony who with her mother’s prodding went to take a UP extension HS entrance exam somewhere in the Southern Tagalog region instead), only me and the salutatorian passed. I was trouble during those primary years, always up to no good and had not been part of the “top” kids. My mother was not active enough in the extracurricular arena and so without the backing of hen politicking, no recognition for yours truly. But here I was, a lucky glitch trashing all the rest of the supposedly “top notch” grade-schoolers I’ve been with (except Greg, the salutatorian). So it couldn’t be helped that I was carrying myself with a peculiar sense of pride, never mind the mischief and Goonies’ like exploits of the past years. Deep within, I was strung and regimented in a way that only someone trying hard to fit in could be. Outwards, I was strutting like a peacock most times, “feeling” that I belong amongst the “smartest” of our humble city.

But how quickly the mighty falls.

The instrument of my destruction was Francis, a tall guy with a jowl who still carries a bulk of his baby fat. I don’t know for what reason but somehow I missed the copying of the schedule when one time our class adviser came and wrote it on the board. So I had to ask someone if I could borrow then copy it. Cautiously I approached him then asked, “Pare may kopya ka ba ng she- dul’?”(Bro, do you have a copy of the “she-dul”?).

Eeeerh, instead of saying ‘Sked-jul’, I mispronounced the word.

The guffaw that followed was a sound I will never, ever, forget. Actually, before that was a question asked twice rapidly “ano, ano?”(what, what?), then the crinkling of amused eyes. So I said once more, “she-dul”. That’s when it came. It seemed first to gather momentum from a deep throaty well, a coupl’a second of gasp akin to an asthmatic gathering air with his constricted lungs, then ensued to a full laugh of myrtle and unabashed hilarity. His jowl was actually quivering, rattled by the glee of poking fun on my mistake. It was hilarious for him but I was on the receiving end. Had he not been a good head taller than I, I would have smacked him then and there.

Everyone was looking at me now. Those previously minding their own businesses started gathering, the baying of wolves when a member of the pack is weak and preys are scarce. Everyone was either laughing or smiling or grinning. I think I saw a few who even sneered.

I felt bamboozled combined with shame, the former was enlightened only when after the thunderous laugh he said, “Ahhh yung ‘sked-jul’”(Ahhh, you must mean the ‘sked-jul’), which only served to inflame the latter. I knew then what some people mean when they say there were times they felt like vanishing inside their shoes or be engulfed by a huge bubble of invisibility. My cheeks were flushing as he kept going on like that, repeating the way I mispronounced the poor word. He even turned it into a jingle with a then famous commercial song entitled “She Boom”(starring a hottie lady of yesteryears whose name and face and for what product eludes me now.)

“She-dul, she-dul, lalalalalala shedul, she dullll…”, so it went for some time, a tune especially for me, like a movie soundtrack to describe the main protagonist’s feeling or experience(in this case, shame) on the reel’s moment. Except this was my life, I was the lead and center of attention- but it was not flattering, my woebegone limelight. I inwardly cursed myself for not knowing the proper way to say the damn word.

I was called ‘She-Dul’ for quite a while. Later on, I got to become a good sport and was back and rolling with the punches and jives again. You see it wasn’t really my most embarrassing moment. I’ve had a huge share of those during my elementary years. Francis merely caught me with my pants down. I tell you, there were moments I was suddenly under a microscope while washing my underwear naked in glaring daylight, so to speak. Those notable examples of childish idiocy and playfulness gone awry made my adaptation on matters of personal embarrassment border on the phenomenal. But what made this quite special was the new environment and people around me. You’re not supposed to make a fool of yourself the first week of high school (in fact, if it could be helped, not for the next four years). It’s an unwritten rule in the book of adolescence. To make such a scandalous passing on the threshold of puberty invites mockery only someone in the midst of hormonal changes will understand. To sum up, “it wasn’t cool”.

The thing was, even before high school, I was already enamoured with words. One of my earliest memories was when a kindergarten teacher promised us once that she would bring the tool that will make reading easier. My young mind was filled with anticipation and I looked forward to it. When it came, I found it strange how a piece of cardboard with a hole and loops of strings running thru it could help me understand those interesting books with all those words in it. The illustrations and drawings only fuelled my curiosity and how I wanted to be able to understand the stories by myself.

Then she told us it was called a “bookmark”. She said its two main uses are to mark the pages where we last stopped and to use it as a rule underneath the “sentences” so we wouldn’t get lost while going through “paragraphs”. Sentences and paragraphs sure were deep words that time and how I looked up on her and thought how smart she was. It made me want to know what those words mean. I don’t remember learning to read with those “bookmarkers,” in fact I even got disillusioned because I was expecting more of a machine or something with electrodes running thru it that will be attached to our head, jumpstarting our brains to read.

I have the most sentimental memories of Ma’am Asido though. She was really good with kids. In respect to patience and perseverance in handling little persons, she is the one on the top of my charts. I remember her with nostalgia and my mother telling me she saw her once in the city, retired and old and asking about us, then breaking out in tears when she heard what happened to my brother (that’s another story), made me deeply maudlin. The real tear- jerker was when she said that amongst her students, it was my siblings and me who were very close to her heart. Especially me (I think that’s the one that made my eyes shine). Well anyway, that’s a different story and I don’t want this thing I’m going thru to branch out.

(here she was patiently teaching me grace in a native dance, forgot the name)
Another memory I remember with a keen sense of happy and joyful innocence was when one afternoon, I was about four or five, my mom read me a couple of small booklets she borrowed from the library. It was the stories of The Good Samaritan and The Lost Mother Bird. The story of the Samaritan helping the injured and helpless man along his way left an indelible mark on my mind about the concept of alms and helping someone in need. I know until now I carry that story with me and its golden nugget. The mother bird in search of the perfect nesting ground also taught me the lesson of what it is to find a home after a long period of being an outcast and astray. The fact that there’s always a special place for each and every one of us, even birds, where we will truly belong and where our hearts will find happiness, was a revelation to a developing mind. And it was books that showed them to me. Still I was not able to read them and it was frustrating.

But then came two hobbies that kicked my hiney towards reading kingdom.

The first one was “komiks”. Yes, those illustrated comic books bearing such titles as “Aliwan” and “Fantasy.” I believe it was actually the springboard to my learning. My mother and an uncle used to buy lots of them at a time and the best part was opening them up after being bundled by old newspapers redolent of fresh press works. Funny what turns people nasally on, many soldiers admit to loving the smell of burnt cordite, I on the other hand discovered that ink and paper smell is my earthly scent of heaven. Huddled in a room we would open them up. Initially, it was hard to understand them and I was just relying on the series of drawings to draw conclusions as to what happened. The first words I learned to read were “tapos” and “ahh” or “tsk tsk”(there were lots of those). Afterwards I started integrating the vowels and consonants I was learning from school, the difficulty level of making out words decreasing as time went by.

Also, the other thing that hastened it was the childhood game we call “tex”(corrupted most probably from “text”). It was a sheaf of numbered comic squares that you can divide into pieces not more than an inch on the sides. We cut it from the dotted marks. It was like a game of soda crown “taching” and we play it by having a choice card as “pamato” (betting player). We hold and arrange these betting players together with our three main fingers and flick it with the thumb till it either turns face up or down on the ground. The one that turns out unique amongst the three (if there are three players, if only two, the third card is called “panabla”-evener) either facing or upturned will be the winner of the lumped bet, disregarding the evener if only two players compete. These tex when arranged numerically gives a sequence of events that tells a story. There was actually a lot of mumbo jumbo and ceremony that goes with it. Every player has his own repertoire of moves and mantras when lost in the game. One could be stomping his feet twice before throwing the betting players, then proceeds to shouting gibberish until the three tex cards hit the ground. Every one tries to be unique in this summoning of good luck for it was a game that hinges mostly on that. Usually the stories are from a movie or komiks and one is fought against the other, hence TUKLAW cards will be pitted against ZUMA. With this game comes the desire to win as tall a deck, tied by rubber band, as one possibly could. For others it was just a trophy, the spoils a victor displays. But for me, there was also a deep longing to know what happens to the series and not rely solely on comical illustrations. Obviously like the komiks, there is a reason why there are dialogue balloons on it. This drove me onwards and get on with this business of reading, willing it to come soon.

(Author’s note: Tex was really an interesting game and I can’t help but wonder where it went now, what with all these new games in the ether children are getting addicted to. I have nothing against net games because it exposes young people to the computer but it should be balanced by outdoor activities as well lest it breed indolence and inactive lifestyles. They should also be aware that the Internet is not only for online gaming but there are tons of educational and interesting sites one can browse upon. This is a medium I would have been very thankful if it came during my time of yore. But no matter, though countless drunken hangovers brought whiffs of burnt brain cells each time, I know there’s more than enough grey matter remaining to get me by in surfing this amazing world called internet. Besides, countless search engines are out there one only need’s the slightest typing skill to input and chug whatever one wants from cyberspace.)

(La lang, ako pala ang nanalo sa "Trip To Jerusalem" nung 1st year xmas party.)

So before long, I could understand these dialogue boxes from both komiks and tex well and from these areas moved up to the honourable text books. It came as no surprise to me that I was the first in my class to learn how to read very well and during second grade, I was often called by our Pilipino teacher to stand in front and read stories from our “Dangal Ng Lahi” books. Looking back, I think she was entertained by my adlibs. I enjoyed continuing the featured stories with witty or mischievous comments. I would add remarks to “at natuto na si Pedro na di dapat mangaway ng kapwa….”(and so Pedro learned not to pick a fight anymore….) with “….hanga’t di nakakasiguradong kaya nya ang makakalaban”(….without first making sure if he can bring them down). This was greeted with a radiant smile by my teacher, which only served to encourage the making of my famous wit at such a tender age.

You may be wondering why I had to include these anecdotes here. Well, it is just that sometimes as we go on in life there are some things we forget but are reminded again by an event or happening, ignominious or otherwise. This was the case with Francis. He made me remember that “words,” English or local, was really an area of my life where I used to have a large interest and shouldn’t be making an embarrassment of.

I must have forgotten it when I rode my childhood carousel and played my impish games. I was lacking motivation on my first phase of education, unlike most of my classmates with their tutors or their clucking mothers to back them up and mentor them accordingly. In our household, my elders’ only concern was our presence at school by day and be home come when it’s dark. The grey areas in between are an awful lot for plays and strays. I was not regretting that nor wishing it otherwise. It was a nice and happy childhood in that regard but imperfect in other ways (but that’s another story). .

(Here I was singing my heart out, the passionate troublemaker, bow!!!)

But that ignominy, as I so described earlier, was my wake up call. This high school was an entirely different field, where the supposedly “cream of the crop” of our city are going to rub shoulders with each other. The fact that they have had different educational backgrounds than me added to the challenge. I’ve never seen more motivated persons than during those times. Elementary classes for me was a just a break on the games and carousing. I didn’t care one way or the other about competitiveness. I was just having fun. That time still, I did not consider myself “crème de la crème”. I felt more like the filtered refuse you get after roughly grounded coffee is percolated.

The incident also wised me up on a valuable truth, that words are not only there to be read but also to be spoken. When doing so, they ‘oughta be spoken right too.

So I believe it was that day when my interest and love story with words and its magnificence has been rekindled. The time my “switchboard” that I took the time to describe earlier was re-activated. It has not been proven false and countless times in my life, I was amazed how far mastery of one’s letters and spoken words got me. How it could save or destroy, inspire or discourage, entertain or sadden

I began reading again. When I’m not cavorting, or gravitating towards “fraternal” brotherhoods (which I can attest to having membership on quite a few) or letting my hormones run its course, I was reading in between. Books were my true friends. I had my library card and it was a prized possession. Our library though musty, was indeed (and no matter how cliché this sounds) a treasure trove. I love being surrounded by books. I get lost and high amidst these wonders. That is why the lines in the song “No Rain” by Blind Melon that goes “and all I can do is read a book to stay awake…it’s a great escape” never fails to pluck my discordant chords back into harmonious perspective. The fact that my escapism is not my own but I share it, I hope, with countless others. That I am not in this matter eccentric
( as I am often tagged).

(Shannon Hoon, you are remembered eartie)

There was actually no boring topic for me. But aside from science, literature and history, which I have the biggest inclination to; I was reading everything except what’s academically important and indulged this only when examination nears. I have nothing against “text book material” but they just seemed so boring and “inside- the- box” to me. I want my stories raw and I get a tingling sense of pleasure knowing the “stories behind the stories” of history, not clinical representation of facts. My mind could handle it; in fact it yearned for it.

I like fiction and adventure hands down. Up till now the only non-fiction I get enjoyment shoving my head into are self- deprecating biographies.

By third year, when I transferred to a catholic school and there was a “current events” discussion during Social Studies’, I began reading and was fascinated with the Philippine Daily Inquirer. That was the time when its price is still below 10 pesos. This daily habit took a huge chunk off my allowance. I was flabbergasted by the political viewpoints and the presentation of the stories. The words that comprised it were new to me. Every day I encounter unknown words that only added to the allure and mysticism of political arenas (which the poor lad that was me found captivating). The way they were presented like battlefields (which in a way they were), the compromises and defeats and the seemingly endless filibustering and comments. The way politicians say what could have been a single sentence in one paragraph and not enlightening anything at all, rather muddling the issues with what might strike you as the answer- then to be proven otherwise later. It was hard to explain but I loved it.

de Quiros’ “There’s the Rub” was my favourite editorial column and I never let a Young Blood feature pass. I took a shot on the crossword puzzles but most of the time managed only to solve the easiest four letters. So I left that alone. The comics however are still part of my daily entertainment whenever I get a chance on the daily papers.

I also started opening up on the Newsweek and Time magazines in the library and for an inept mind just starting to get immersed on the immensity of the world’s geo-econo-political rumbles and quakes and the beautiful literature used to describe and report it, the cascade of foreign writings was mind blowing. I was deeply piqued and spellbound.

Later on in college years when I discovered the mall, my number one dead on favourite hang out was and still is “BookSale,” that store selling surplus or second hand books. My preferred exercise was not a walk in the park but a trip on the rather dodgy Recto university belt avenue. These places were mines for literary hunts and if you get lucky, you find that golden nugget for as little as 20 to 30 pesos. But nowadays, the best authors are getting rarer and commanding higher and higher prices, second hand or not.

If you don’t mind me saying, aside from becoming a voracious reader, I also began showing my potential as a speaker. After one particularly heavy rain during First year High school (again) and classes were cancelled after 3 pm, we were stuck in our class room as the teacher could not let us go home until the downpours has ceased. There was a “program.” I was called to recite something and I proceeded to recite “Invictus.” I learned this poem by Henley during my elementary days.

So there I was standing in front, giving emphasis to the night and moving my hand sideways in describing the place of wrath and tears when a group of my classmates at the back shouted “English Poet”. The first call lacked real conviction. But as I unashamedly went to complete my poem, the second paean (if you can call it that) was more lively and seemingly joined by more voices. “English” was passed on quite plainly but nonetheless loud while “Poet” came out so that the first vowel was rolled and prolonged, as if savouring the circling of the mouth while the second syllable was abrupt and sudden, as if crashing against the final consonant.

POOOOOOOOWWW- weT. That’s how it went exactly, as I with fondness recall. Why shouldn’t I, aside from being a viva voce -a possible praise to my oratorical rendition, the call was a double entendre, an allusion to my last name. My name is one letter replacement-short to mean a rather noxious part of the human anatomy. Red face though I was, I chose to dwell on the oratorical (not the odorous) part that day.

Later on to the now, poetry is my lifeblood and work of choice and owing to the lack of audience, I am confining to the realm of writing. I’m waiting for my kids to grow up so I could have them appreciate their Poet dad, hoping they won’t follow the lead of that one vixen from the Wesleyan trio of Sarah, Lily-Anne or Norma Rica, who I am very sure was the instigator of that cheer. Well shame on Steph and Junior if they do that, I’ll just shout back that they’re POOOOWWW-weTs too, won’t I? We share the same family name after all.

This also confirms my belief on what many call subconscious registry. Wherein a small remark or praise serves to turn a person’s desires or likes into exactly that. A chip that activates once implanted in the deep confines of the mind, and as that afternoon showed, with nary a need for subtlety. You see, I always wanted to be a scientist, marine biologist specifically, and I am wondering whom amongst my children I’m going to use this mind game with, to tune his or her frequency upon that inclination. It’s a hard choice for both love the beach and drink seawater with gusto. What a dilemma.

So anyway, you could also call that poetic incident just another one in a series of prodding that Francis’ started with the first tipped domino block, starting an effect that would culminate in my being, as I humbly describe myself- a passable writer and speaker. At first, they seemed Shakespearean, a series of unfortunate (this case-embarrassing) events but as I find out now, more like a set of lathe machine drill shapes like embarrassment bit or hard knocks scoop that shaped and honed my skill. Inspirationally that is, for the degree of embarrassment or whatever dredged feeling akin to such, was directly proportional to the amount of time I need to brush up and either prove myself worthy, as was with Francis or prove them right, as was with the shout describing me an English Poet (pronounced with peculiar emphasis please). Time I really had no qualms in giving, as books remain my first true love.

There were other incidents. Some are notable and some are not. There’s one time with a classmate during fourth year H.S. in the school I transferred to (Subic St. James) who criticized the writings in my Math diary (Circa 2nd year HS- that being the last school year I was in Sci-High) by blurting out upon reading it, “Advance pala ang sci high sa math, pero may English ba kayo dun?”(So, sci high’s ahead in math but do you have English there?). It was followed by sniggers all around.

You see, my grammatical construction and tenses then were not as keen as the grasp I have of them now. I don’t remember how I phrased and wrote about Pythagorean theorems and the famous soh-cah-toa of trigonometry, amongst others, but the remark caught me offhanded, sounding like an insult on my part. But it was my bad. For that’s how I remember it now. Bad.

Another time, still in fourth year, due to frustration perhaps in my lack of ability to write a readable essay, I did what to a writer could only be construed as a terrible, terrible, crime. I plagiarized. Not blatant verbatim copying though, but the whole plot and subject, these I eviscerated knowingly- and from the same innards made a zombie of what otherwise was a good feature. My essay was fine but I was a fool to think my teacher would not suspect. Ma’am Dioso gave it 80 and that made me hurt, for I knew then she knows what I did. Who would be stupid enough to plagiarize from the same textbook they’re using in the curricula? I thought she hasn’t read that part yet for it was an essay-story a few pages to the end of the book. I believed at the rate we were turning the thick book we had (think snail!), that she kept the same phase year in and out and assumed she hasn’t read the writings to that point, burdened as she was with academic grading constraints and advancing age.

I was wrong and perhaps, because she thought I was not lacking enthusiasm in other areas of the subject like speeches, readings and comprehension, she threw me the 80-mark safety line. I knew I deserve an abysmal grade but she was aware that a grade below 80 would dash my hopes of joining the top ten ranks. Not that I was harbouring any fancies for that but as of this time’s retrospect, I am truly thankful to that generosity for other reasons. It gave me a second chance, inspiring me further to make my own writings. But more importantly, it reminds me always to never, ever again resort to that vile act. That was one of the most valuable lessons I learned in life. Amongst academics, you could not get away with pirating somebody else’s intellectual properties, except of course if you have distorted concepts of pride and shame.

One time, after a more “original” work, she said that I “have it in me”. Whatever that “it” was, I didn’t take it seriously then because I believed I’m really not in the cut for writing. I took it with a grain of salt as just something she uttered patronizingly to soothe my wounded pride because she knew I was doing well in other subjects. I remembered being incoherent in my compositions and considered the idea of writing preposterous. But this never served to set me back. I knew there was something in store for me other than sheer enjoyment if I continue reading my books. Voila, I surprise myself now with the way I put words to paper and always wonder where this deep and weird crypt in the recesses of my brain I get my ideas from is. Some are calling it talent. This must have been the “it” she was talking about which I doubted before. The “something” I thought was elusive and ridiculous even for contemplation.

What I did remember early on though was a knack for rhymes. Those times, they were mostly for jives and taunts. Like singing “Name ending with ha”- sa kulangot ay reyna (to Boogers, a queen) on a classmate who had the unfortunate luck of having lumps straying outside her nose unnoticed, behind her back of course (it was a blast, my best friend and I laughed our asses off with her thinking it’s her joke when in fact it was her booger we were laughing at. My God, she was in tandem with us all the time, unawares we were “picking” on her for not being able to “pick it away”). I was inventive and looking back, believed able to think outside the box in conjuring hilarity with my wit. But I have this eerie feeling that when I do it on another’s expense, there’s always bound to be a comeuppance. So I have matured now and indulge it only when in alcohol induced half-stupor. That way I can blame the bottle for whatever goes and comes around.

There were small poems made in times of inspiration but not as good and sensible as what I churn out now. I don’t know, it could also be the experiences I have been thru that introduced me to Mellon Collie (Smashing Pumpkins’ personification for melancholy) and the eternal sadness. All the travails, hopes deferred, disappointments, depression- well, they have a way of bringing you to a special plane. It is a special place where the slightest sliver of happiness is monumental in scale and the deepest hurt, nothing exceptional. That is my curse; I am a very sentimental person.

Add to that, Cloyd- the guy who asked if I had English subjects during my first two years of high school, made a valid point. I better pay more attention to what I am reading. Not only do I need the gist of the stories by deciphering the words but also to register the various literary styles and grammatical techniques of different authors. This is a very handy knowledge when going about writing. I went farther than that and developed an appreciation for figures of speech such as irony and metaphor and nuances like sarcasm, wit and euphemism. I was also enamoured by the way proverbs and wise cracks followed each other in one paragraph. Learned that redundancy negates a write up no matter how good it is grammatically (hence the need to improve one’s vocabulary). I have the extreme pleasure of smiling or laughing heartily at paper characters whose attitudes and dispositions juxtaposed sharply with their appearances. Dang, books just got a whole lot cooler!

So this wretched sentimentality and deep appreciation (some might call it love) of books turned out to be a good team after all. To state my case, I don’t have any formal higher education in the arts and literature. I studied nautical science but as it turns out, my present career, which takes me far from home, is not my true proclivity. Some might say it’s too late considering my age to pursue my rediscovered passion but what the heck, there are a lot of untutored people out there diverging a path away from their occupations who fared better in other arenas. I hope to be one of them. The one thing that keeps me in my present job is that aside from supporting my family, I am still helping my mother and two younger siblings. The fact that the salary is good is a very decent compromise and reason to continue and be able to provide for two households. But it could be terribly lonely when I miss my young ones.

If it’s any consolation, there are a lot of advantages that goes with the sailing job. Being away allows an infusion of new ideas I might not get from stagnating at home. There are many things both at sea and in the ports we call that feeds the senses and inspire the soul. What would excite many turns out mundane after quite some time to a lot of my colleagues. I point a finger for I don’t consider myself one of those who let childlike innocence slip away. I always try to maintain that naiveté so necessary to find appreciation in what happens around me: sunsets, sunrises, dolphins frolicking, whales bob tailing, Mt. Etna or Fuji on the horizon, Babel like cacophony of tongues, Norwegian fjords, crossing the date line and the equator, transiting France’s Seine river and the canals (Panama and Suez), the quiet Danes of the present so different from the Vikings of old, invoking both the captain’s trust or ire and a whole lot more. These sojourns allow me also to write about things not indigenous to home without feeling like a fraud (like winter for example, I KNEW winter-brrrrrr!!). We, heroic OFW’s all, are also called ambassadors of goodwill. I guess in my own way and in the blue expanse of my arena, I am upping the accolades in this regard by showing foreign masters we are not only mindless peons ably executing blue collared tasks, but that the Filipino could also be intellectually inclined and pursues learning with passion. One snippet I remember warmly and often share is the time I laughed with Danish friends/co-cadets while watching a funny TV series. It had something to do with Joseph Stalin’s name being considered as a screen name by a rather daft character. They were really baffled that I got the punchline and asked me how I knew that long gone Soviet dictator, whose name may sound macho but is definitely not apt as a silver screen fledgling’s dub to fame. I proceeded enlightening them of our education system and how worldly we really are, having history in our curriculum and how interested we are about things around and away from us. We had more intellectual conversations after that and I never once failed to grasp who or what they pertained to. Books, movies, science, music, etc: everything under the sun and never once did I get lost. Those guys saw me, and perhaps as a spectrum glass, the Filipino race, with a new light and respect. You may think I am blowing up things, but the parting words one of them told me during a drunken frenzy in Singapore’s Clarke Quay area was “George, when we were introduced, my mind is saying, I don’t care who you are you Filipino shit. But now, I am sorry and I was wrong. You Filipinos are good people man. Take care smartass.” He really meant it, for the brotherly hug Peter gave me before they went down the gangway on the way home was crushingly sincere, a stark contrast with our tepid initial handshake. Now, isn’t that a worthy chicken soup for the Filipino soul?

(Peter took the shot here, Thomas, my best friend sits farthest on the right. The two gals and another guy are also Danish tourists we met along clarke quay. I was pissed drunk this night hehehe)

But what ratchets the notches to further blessedness is the flexibility of the job. This happens when the vessel is out in the open sea and lasts sometimes for more than a week. After each four-hour watch, seven hours a week, are free times which if not spent on overtime can be used for something else. Couple that with the fact that resources abound: computers and printers, parchment, a well-stocked library and as an officer- a steward who lowers down my stress level by cleaning my room. The company encourages us to have a diversion. They know we need a leisure time to unwind as they are aware how stressful shipboard work has turned out to be now that it is commercialised in such a massive scale- reducing shore stay time and with regards to a manpower trimmed to the barest minimum- incurring more responsibilities to officers and crew alike. There are lots of options provided to decompress their employees, so long as we always remember the seaman’s adage, “to play hard, you must first work damn hard.” Fortunately, I’m familiar to both (which unfortunately was not made manifest my last few ships, reasons too personal to disclose here).

This free time is what I use to pursue my developed passion for writing, if not indulging myself with reading. Of course there are the lures of a DVD collection/excellent entertainment room, the thrice a week forays to the gym and computer games as well. They provide that sense of well being necessary to commit the mind to ideas. Good movie dialogues are also an added plus when relaxing with the boob tube.

(Ship's Video Library, Tinglev Maersk, c.a. 2007. A movie enthusiasts dream room hehehe)

As for computer games, well I would say they could negate very much my set goals for I have the addiction gene, when I sit down it will be very hard to pull me up from that chair again. So instead of being able to write, I’d be conquering and blasting my way to a three-dimensional screen. I try to avoid starting a game I know would interest me but limit my game to Window’s minesweeper only, which has a potent and useful effect of jumpstarting catatonic brains.

(Shot taken 4 AM, still awake. I was a cadet on my second ship, the GRETE c.a. 1999. The game in front of me, WARCRAFT 2. Beat it of course!!! But it took a lot of late nights like this hehehe)

Besides I had had my romance with Nintendo and PlayStation to keep me from envying the small denizens of the present generation, with children as young as six using a keyboard like a fork to hot spaghetti. The blur of small fingers tapping keyboard to smithereens blows me away. Whew. But what the heck, when “computer games” are played on TV screens, I beat the FIRST Final Fantasy, Legend of Zelda, Dragon Warrior and Mario with 8 bits of pure childhood excitement. Not many could be par with that you little net shop twerps. Not that you would be interested to hear it from an old school relic like me.

As for you my brethren and contemporaries, sorry for bragging but I just remembered, those famicom games were in a way openers to a young mind. While having an affair with Role Playing Games, I made this fantasy map and fashioned empires and kingdoms in it. There were different races and rulers and I assigned people I knew as kings and queens of these realms. I went to the smallest details I possibly could, including the size of the army and even the system of government they have (this, influenced by my love affair with a 1991 General Almanac). Mine was of course the strongest followed by that of a classmate who irritated me and whose domain I grounded to ashes. Of course the apple of my young eyes was the rebellious Amazon-like leader of my empire’s underground movement who would later topple me, but in the end, finds for me in her heart- more than pity. So blossometh the romantic.

Yup, I sure was crazy and nerdish, full of zany flights of fancies. I can’t help but smile on a line in a movie I saw once with a girl saying “nerds are so cool” with the guy retorting “not back then.” Not back then indeed, for I remembered being touted as someone who has his “own world.” But with the deluge of suddenly “cool” fantasy and magic themed movies, captivating a broad spectrum of audience (Jocks cheering on Legolas highly included), I’m proud to say I conjured those things even before I got to read Tolkien, Salvatore or Rowling. If anyone doubts, I can show them the yellowing papers of maps and stories which I still keep safe, rudimentary writings and all. Proving I was a nerd. Or am I still?

If that’s the case, if I still have the nerd bug, that’d be a welcome relief- it’s a known statistic that many of the greatest writers were nuts (and eerily so, self destructive- and for this I thank my wife for weaning me away from habits considered such).

It’s only recently that I started writing furiously, not even a year ago. I am at the moment confining it to poetry, but there are initial dawdling with short stories, songs, plays and essays such as this. I don’t know where it will take me. The only thing I am sure though are my goals and dreams. The simple ones, I fervently hope to achieve: a feature in Young Blood, a paying job in freelance writing. But there are grand dreams as well: a publication-cum-advertising company, a prize-winning compilation of essays and poetry, a novel perhaps.

As an artist, I am wondering what gravitas my workmanship will be known for. In creative writing, I’ll be damned if it’s not going to be humor. Chuck knows there are so many sad things happening in the world that another reason to laugh is always welcome and invigorating. As for poetry I am not sure if it will retain its maudlin tone, that will remain proportional to the intensity of my feelings which at the moment seems to be ebbing to placid doldrums, what with the mind pacifying presence of innocent and wily children.

My children.

And these misfits, to them go my fondest of dreams, and speaking as one who grew up without a father, the most important ones. I want to be an object of their pride. To give them the gifts of inspiration and whole hearted support. To lend a guiding hand in the harnessing of their talents and potentials, something no one really showed me and I found out on my own. I know now how powerfully one’s self worth is strengthened by having that hobby or liking that turns out to be good. For one, it will cast them a strong lifeline to remain virtuous in a world under an overhanging penumbra of mind- numbing choices, shallow dreams and mediocre efforts. The rest could remain pipe dreams for all I care- not this one.

And this area of my life is where I tread in trepidation. You see, although my eldest is in her toddler age, nearing three, it’s not even a quarter of that time that I managed to share with her. Therefore my fatherhood is still in its infancy. I’m taking my steps cautiously, -the way one does when there is a tender desire not to sabotage a good thing, wishing against odds that someday I will measure up to this role. I hope the open mindedness and wisdom I acquired from reading a ton of printed materials will keep me in good steed.

I’m starting by reading them small stories and showing them things whenever I have the chance. I answer their questions logically and never hesitate to show curiosity and prodding in what they say or do. I correct them softly and never laugh at their intellectual mistakes and false inquisitive assumptions. I allow myself this pleasure of mirth only on their clumsy pies-in-the-face and flabbergasted expressions (within safe boundaries of course), caught from things which though warned against, still blew up because of rascally hard headedness (can’t help it, I still carry that trace of mischief in me, father or not. hee haw. In this matter also, I pray they inherit the most effective defence-mechanism in my sizable self-preservation arsenal, -that of laughing on my mistakes FIRST, before others dig in. I suppose that incident with Francis that caught me like a deer petrified in front of a bright headlight played a part in my acquisition of such).

Just a month ago I bought my daughter’s first crayon box. As soon as curiosity and reading comprehension allows, I’d buy her first words-only-book. It will start with fairy tales then progress later on to stories with much more serious and realistic tones, equipping her- and also my son, with the necessary tools of caution and guile in a world not only of happily ever afters, but sad endings as well.

Whew, would I be contemplating these things now had that fateful day not been? The day Francis, erstwhile critic and former best buddy (yup, we became a crazy duo the school year after that) laughed at the naïve boy from the barrio? Sometimes indeed (and I know this was quoted somewhere from the myriad literature and films I’ve devoured)-“the universe unfolds in a way it should.”

There was a caveat too, I just didn’t know it was there: the one who turned shame around, could very well be amused the hardest, or laugh just as heartily. Embarrassments are springboards after all, it just comes coated in a sick shade of brown (think “Oh $h*t!”), one sees it so long as one’s up to the challenge that goes with it. And believe me, there’s always gonna be one or several.

As for my dreams, nah, there is no real hurry. I believe I can still make it. Many people have told me I already crossed that line from being tolerable, to writing quite well (thanks folks). This comment, though from no authority is enough reward for my petty achievements. Also, time is of no consequence. I gauge this ephemeral ticks with my children’s eyes; so long as they glitter with happiness, I’ll know what has passed was worthwhile, and what remains, is more than enough.

A schedule could be fully booked but it may be changed, make spaces here or there, cancel appointments or deviate opportunities. With enough will one may also resolve to challenge destiny. But it sure takes a whole lot of patience. After all, only fools rush their she-dul with fate.

………musical interlude fading amid loon like laughter: she dul, she dul, lalalalalalalala she dul, she dul lalalalalala la la

********************
- I first posted this blog on friendster, thought I could present it better here!

AULD LANG SYNE MY DEARIES

Can't believe I still have this tickets from a looooooong time ago. Certified Packrat, that's what I am. Nostalgic, you can bet on it!!!

There was a song in the 90’s that got me on the wrong foot with two girl classmates. “A,” a cheery classmate in OCNHS’ science class during second year thought I was making up the lyrics, up to the part when I sang “…girl I wanna make you sweat, sweat till you can’t sweat no more, and if you cry out I’m gonna push it, push it some more.” She was embarrassed, brown cheeks darkening to the closest resemblance of a flush. “Gawa gawa mo lang yan eh,” she complained while wearing an uncomfortable smile (later on, this’ll transform to a sour grin, an unreadable face and finally, a wrinkled scowl). If you truly knew me in highschool, you’ll understand that her observation is not farfetched. I am an all out teaser. I never let up when I am in jerk mode. Especially when the one on the receiving end shows sign of being prone to my tirades or whatever means I am masterfully utilizing to reach a teary end (or a raging meltdown). “Napaka green minded mo talaga!” she said after my a capella’s chorus. Again, if you knew me, this was like trying to extinguish a fire with gasoline: she didn’t hear the end of that song all day long. To her credit though, I didn’t get her to cry, only to the point of chasing after me while threatening bodily harm (but then again, I can really run away- a necessary defense mechanism when tweaking other person’s sensitivities). I quit teasing her the following day, when she finally found out it wasn’t my song after all and admitted it wasn’t that bad (Or maybe just a rueful concession to shut my trap). I really liked the song.

A year after, as a transferee junior in St. James Highschool of Subic, I had this girl classmate seated behind me who I became friends with instantly. We clicked easily and knew fun inside a classroom’s academic walls. One of our jolly antics was crooning together. I don’t remember if it was the second or third week of classes, while singing with her during a break (she had an excellent voice, mine was better ehhhr, I mean “bitter”), I decided to sing it again. If you remember this song then I guess you also know the first monosyllabic gibberish lines. I want to make it clear that I had no intention whatsoever of teasing her or hurting her feelings when I sang it. As I began belting it out, there was suddenly an initial hush. A couple of larky classmates singing along, expectant of following after my lead just gaped on their vocal tracks when I began with “I’ve been watching you, a lalalala long, a lalalala long long li long long long.” They were really stupefied. But this girl, she’s amazing. She sang it with me!!! This even after the fact that a year ago it was used to tease her with respect to a rather prominent facial feature (if you still don’t get it after the “li long long,” it’s the one you use to smell with dummy!). One of the classmate stood behind her and gesticulated my way, forefinger bisecting the lips, head turning sideways, intent on me to stop. I was confused then saw the glimmer of crimson on my friend’s cheek which could have been there since we started singing, I eventually shut it. Later the others told me how sensitive she was with that song.

“Oh shit, I honestly didn’t know.”

But that gaffe didn’t stop it, we still became close friends and talked about lots of things, became quite close. I thought her passionate in expressing herself and reckless in love (at one time slashing a crush’s name on her arm). She sings like a flying lark in search of the meaning of life, with a soaring voice and a restless heart. She had that throaty, full laughter that when left unchecked leaves her teary eyed. She was different, an iconoclast who sets trends or follows one when others won’t dare. She speaks her mind, says what pleases her and had nothing to hide. She cries defiantly when she can’t take the tease or rudeness anymore, this usually sends the asses who had nothing better to do cowering (I was one once). But her greatest virtue is humility. She was truly down to earth even if coming from a well to do and prominent family.

She loved the Eheads. She was so excited of the concert and how she would love it if her friends could go with her. The ticket was more than a hundred peso (a fortune that time), and I can only give her a partial amount. She took it and said I didn’t need to pay the rest, I just need to be there. The band is making its debut in Subic Hardrock and we went together as a group. “V’s” posse. I was both reluctant and excited, the former from the fact that I only had 30 measly pesos in my pocket, it was all I could squeeze from my mother who lost a “quorum” with her friends- AGAIN (hu-hum). A San Miguel light beer’s bar prize then was about 20 pesos. I had that one single bottle and tried nursing it to last the whole night. I wasn’t able to. It couldn’t just stay half empty and tepid the whole time the Pinoy Fab Four were rocking. And I couldn’t order another one, I felt so small for being so poor.

She looked at me when the waiter came and checked the table’s beverages, asked me if I want one more. I solidly refused. She was ready to buy me another one. She understood my dilemma. She saw behind my defensive pretension that I had more than I was carrying and the lame excuse of not wanting to get drunk. She neither sympathized nor felt sorry, she looked at me the same way as before. I may not be as rich as her or grew up in the privileged circle their family had, but I was her friend. I gave her my “nearly- empty-but-could-never-be” bottle and she used it to support her penciled portrait of Ely Buendia. That moment, my shame went away. Even as others in our pack could order as they please. Even as I couldn’t give my Dutch worth on the big square pizza they bought. Ely was looking at his picture, a labor of love from a loving fan, a seminal but nonetheless skillful creation of a budding artist. AND MY BOTTLE WAS SUPPORTING IT. She with her panache and carriage, her social élan, she who was not out of place in that merry place (that’s the first time I set foot inside that bar, but there was more later on = ), she who was not insignificant- she carried my poor 30 pesoed sorry ass and made it fun.

I gave her gift to Ely, a birthstone she stole from her mom inside this pot pourri box with other small things only an artist can appreciate. She was supportive of me coming up that stage where the four Ultraelectromagneticpoppers signed my plain white shirt, humoring a fan clad in woefully flimsy Hanes amid others dressed in trendy, sleeved polos. She made it fun not only for me but for the rest who were there, grateful and acknowledging her as SJS class 96’s E- heads point girl.

1994
- At the 1994 NU Rock Awards, they won the “Album of the Year” for “Ultraelectromagneticpop!”

FEBRUARY
5th - “Ultraelectromagneticpop!” concert at UST Auditorium, University of Santo Tomas, Manila

MAY
14th - performed at the “Puerto Azul Music Fest”, Puerto Azul Beach Club, Cavite
18th - gig at Montano Hall, Cavite
21st - gig at Jose Rizal High School, Malabon
27th - gig in Subic, Zambales
28th - performed at the benefit show called “Si Toyang Sa Pasay”, Pasay Sports Complex, Pasay (or Pasay City East High School Gym?)

- Above bold text exerpted from Advent Child's blog re: e-heads. Dunno what gig he was referring for May 27th that year, could it have been the SUBIC SUMMER JAM? I was there also but don't seem to remember the e-heads playing. Can someone knock my head?
Anyways, he didn't mention when the eheads performed at Subic Hard Rock sometime ultimo 1994 or primo 1995

Later, when the pechay harvest was due in our Home Economics agri-plots, she accepted a tiklis of these vegetables with unfeigned delight. I offered it humbly and she gladly accepted even if it was plain to see she didn’t know what to make of it (LOL). She’ll hand it to the help, she says, “she’ll know what to do.” With her, it’s really the thought that counts.

Months later, when her family migrated, she never tired of writing me. I was proud of her, her tales of cultural adjustment and how she was coping up. She was a tree hugger, a new age girl, a GI Jane look-a-like, a poet, a painter, a vegan. She sheds personalities monthly, weekly or daily even, couldn’t make up her mind on a lot of things. But she remained a hopeless romantic (fell in love with a rugged stranger). Her letters were neatly handwritten, with perky slashes and varied styles. There were cassettes of the songs she liked, sharing it with me in the hope I too would enjoy. I couldn’t say her taste fit my own exactly but her predilections were intellectual, cool and quirky.

Then I had to fuck up this beautiful friendship when she went home two odd years after and I acted like shit. I’m not going into details but after that, it wasn’t the same.

The communication pattered down until I had a chance to visit her across the seas, when I went out to sail for my first tour as a pirate (I mean as a cadet).

I took the first afternoon trip from Long Beach to Oceanside, traversing California’s Pacific coast’s highways, watching surfs and mountains and desert like landscapes. It was a picturesque travel experience, ruggedly unforgettable.

Probable route my trip followed. Toured the western seaboard. Officially a westsider hehehe

She was late picking me up and it got really chilly at the terminal. When she arrived I scarcely recognized the girl with a mystifyingly curly hair. I thought, “Goldilock’s.” But the smile though awkward carried her signature warmth, and that was the giveaway.

Goldilocks with Theresa

She and Theresa (her friend) led me to where they parked. She took the humble donut box (2 pieces missing) and kiwi bird toy happily, as if I’m gifting her diamonds and gold.

I knew she already had a driving license but I thought “Wow, she’s really driving.” My respect grew further. Then when I entered the car, they asked me to buckle up which I couldn’t do. I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO BUCKLE UP!!! It was maybe only the third or fourth time I rode a car, all the previous times at the back seat. I haven’t the foggiest how to fit the buckle and dunno wherever the hell the clasp was hiding on the passenger seat beside that of the driver’s. I merely held the strap around me all the time we drove, and they carried on. They pretended that they don’t know I didn’t know, that I was merely uncomfortable buckled so I was just holding it close, enough to pass a traffickers scrutiny from afar. But they must have seen my initial fidgeting, frantic hands reaching around and to the sides, when I was all thumbs and perplex till I settled on plainly holding it. Damn. I felt so stupid. She was courteous, not smug nor amused.

She drove well, deftly avoiding an SUV that cut us off one time. The same damned car precariously overtook another one further front that confusedly swerved, crashing against the highway’s concrete island smashing the front of the car. That was the first live vehicular accident I saw in my whole life. To be honest, it was exhilarating watching that happen in slow motion, then seeing the female driver of the tragic car coolly pulling out a cell phone to make a distress call, seemingly unperturbed. Just like in the movies. Welcome to America. And I sure was glad of my guide for her skillful driving, my handsomeness (uhurm) not compromised by broken shards and glasses, or worst.

I stayed nearly two days and a night in their house. I remember vividly the orange tree at the backyard and the slanting sun brightening a home made of love and familial warmth. Her parents were the jolly and genial hosts.

The guest room where I stayed overnight

We saw San Diego and toured the waterfront where again she misconstrued an action. I tried lifting her on top of the breakwater for a photo-op. She didn’t like it. lol. I’m laughing now because I wasn’t being a jerk that time, I merely thought it was cool, nothing more and nothing less. If she’s reading this now, I hope she smiles and forgive me that streak of arrogance borne of youth.

She brought along this Filipino guy and Theresa and they were smoking and all. We were still teens that time and I took pleasure listening to their angst ridden gripes about a variety of things, some trivial some scholastic. I couldn’t relate prettily, I felt like an alien. But it was intriguing really, how people could adapt a culture and be an integral part without being fully aware how much they changed. It takes an apt audience to grasp this, from an observer’s point of view and his comparison with the native cultural pool. In a way I felt out of place but they took it in stride. The guy acted a little too “high and mighty” for me but he didn’t impress me as much as my friend did, with her lilting, accentuated English and worthwhile ideas.

The following day, they brought me along to a Japanese resto. It was buffet style, tables heaping with sushi and other oriental delicatessen. It was awesome and it was also the first time I’m eating out on such a place. I piled my plate with ill concealed gusto. Looking back I can imagine how hungrily innocent I must have appeared and how tactless I must have been. But there was nary a trace of reproach in their manners, in fact there was a wry but proud amusement on my behalf: not many 19 year olds get to tour the world by own dint of hard work after all, I’m allowed this dining faux pas.

Then I saw this huge mound of paste. It was set in the middle of the condiment table and looked like a small mountain. It’s textured as grainy and as sweet, albeit green, as nilupak na ube (turns out it was “hinayupak”). Her brother told me it’s called wasabi and showed me how to mix it with special soya based sauces to “spice” Jap food. I remember being warned it was “hot” but nothing prepared me for the sulfuric onslaught it rendered my nostrils. Without that caution prepped by first hand experience, I put quite an amount on my food and swallowed hard and chewed fast. LOL. Imagine my dumbfounded reaction when I felt its bite. I know they saw it, from the rise of the chopstick to the pause my jaw made whilst savoring this hinayupak na sauce. A static of laughter hanged above the table while I tried hard hiding the teary contortions which should have plastered my face. I can tell you, I should have won an acting award. I know that even if I had had the funny reaction, my embarrassment would have neutralized any forthcoming mirth. They were that kind of people, courteous and down to earth, blessed and humble.

Her mom gave me a San Diego Padres souvenir baseball shirt as a farewell gift. It was a nice shirt, with cartoon portrayal of the team and a real comfy fit. I’m just sorry that I lost it, dang!

That afternoon, she drove me down to the station. There was this part in the movie Casino (starring De Niro and based on Puzo’s book “The Last Don”) where the gambling hustlers tightly fold dollar bills and insert it in between the fingers so that when they shake hands with the doormen, it is surreptitiously passed to the outstretched palms. I thought it was cool. This I did to a 20 dollar bill, hoping to impress her when she drops me off. After exchanging farewells, I shook her hand and passed it to her. Man was she surprised, her face darkening with embarrassment and incredulity. I told her the lame excuse of my paying for the gasoline but she won’t hear of it. She was really pissed, more than that and as I look back with mature understanding now, I believe she felt degraded. She passed it back to me and only civility dictated she not throw it to my face.

That was our goodbye, I was too flustered to recall if it was with haste that they returned to the car park or if they half-heartedly saw off the northbound Greyhound I took. Off to Long Beach’s Pier 14 container terminal, a cold, metallic, industrial place surreally apt to my inner world gone a little sad and dark. There I met Memphis Raines and his crew when they made grand theft auto history by thieving 50 cars in one night and was GONE IN 60 SECONDS (Ok I’m pulling legs here, can’t help it, the movie was that good).

MOVIE GEEKO TRIVIANO: It was actually a remake of the 1974 movie of the same name

That was it. She was the kind of person who doesn’t put up with immaturity and abuse. And in a way, I knew I was immature and I abused her friendship, misinterpreted it to an indecent degree. From my shenanigans when she was home in the Philippines, to the breakwater incident, up to the part where I tried to put a cheap price to her and her family’s hospitality with a 20 dollar bill. These and other factors i.e. my rocking the status quo, the surge of hormones that complicates platonic relationships, misconstrued sisterly affection, the innate atavistic antagonism/friction between two talented (VERY, uhurm!!!) individuals, withered that wonderful friendship.

I got the wrong end of the stick about us and her wise recourse was burning the bridge where I stood at the other end. And I am thankful for that decision of hers to cut and cut cleanly, for the simple fact that all my ill conceived acts then were the twitching puppet strings of confusion and deep seated loneliness. I didn’t know what I want and she was some kind of wonderful, but that ain’t reason enough for me to cross well defined boundaries.

I may be glossing here, it tends to happen when our idea of the past is still encapsulated in youthful imagery, untarnished by dreadful life experiences. Yes, she was all that I said she was and I believe most of it, she still is. But there were times when she was also confused and felt insecure. There were instances when she was crushed by the turmoil of unrequited love, hunched and broken hearted. There were times before I stepped on that school where she was thoroughly misunderstood by peers, unfairly vilified because of her social station. There were occasions when she was too naïve, too trustful of mankind in general and the belief that her father’s lofty post renders her untouchable (a gold necklace was snatched from her on an open courtyard and if I remember well, in broad daylight).

She is human just like the rest of us, albeit, with more passion than others. This is both her bane and boon, so that in matters of the heart she was captive to the whim of her complex feelings. She is one of the deepest persons I had the honor of knowing, though others saw only a shallow and self centered brat. She befriended me even if I am not of the elite.

She wasn’t haughty, not one bit did I see it manifest the whole time we interacted. As I said, she really had an excellent voice, but she doesn't have any of that pretenses and airs usually stamped on the possessors of talents of such level. One of the noblest gesture I saw in her was when she reached out and became a good friend of A.B. (and yes, may I proudly state now that A.B. was my first real girlfriend and I hope you understand if I wasn’t able to admit it then. That’s another story. She is one of my bestest friends till now).

They called AB a silly name because she was different. She and my friend belonged to opposite poles of existence. In the social strata, AB was way below her. She was passionate to a rather unnerving intensity whereas AB was lackadaisical and happy go lucky. She trudged on the academic path with ease but tinged still with serious and competitive edge whereas AB giddy yapped and slept throughout the lectures, didn’t care one bit. I will not judge beauty here as there are mitigating circumstances why people look the way they are, some are disadvantaged by finances and upbringing and genes, lack of it most notably, while some have the means and inborn gifts to appear more pleasing. Objectively, AB is a far cry from my friend on that department.

If there is one thing that they have a whole lot in common, it is their laughter, the full, unrestrained and uncaring kind.

It was nothing less than a daily astonishment, and every time I see them hitting it off, a peculiar but comforting kind of warmth suffuses me. I just couldn’t imagine this uninhibited bonding with AB happening with anybody else “posh” on that class, she foremost.

I learned a valuable lesson from her even before I read Kipling heartening to: “talk with crowds and keep your virtue, or walk with Kings nor lose the common touch.” She showed me this profound lesson not with words as others do, or with the superficial rhetoric that many employ. She enlightened me by being herself.

Of course don’t believe for one second that this sums up her being, as I once saw her, for the full complexity of a human personality is something I cannot presume or venture to suggest. Time and experience are factors that will never fail to continuously change it.

These are my own observations, forever embedded in my mind. There maybe some who will concur or others who will countermand, but that is the beauty of literary license, my words do not need to be debated, for this is, before anything else, an objective tribute. Of my own free volition, from my first hand experience, therefore my truth.

I am writing this paean not for the sole reason of plain reminiscence or atonement. In a way I am purging myself of imponderables which has bothered me all this time, the “what ifs” which many if not all of us carry, arising from that point of our own mortal time where a decisive unfolding of the universe led to either the remaining, or parting of ways with another.

“What if” we remained friends through the years? “What if” I contented myself by being that simple but wonderful word: FRIEND. I have a few answers: I would have been a happier person for it- more fulfilled as an individual who was able to keep valuable company and relationship through the years, and the moral support she could have given me would have kept me in better stead during the times I faced daunting personal challenges. Yes it’s true that I am blessed with many, many true friends who were there when I needed them, drawn by my rapier wit and cheerfulness THEN (these past few years melancholy has touched me unceasingly and I’ve been more of an emotional vampire, I’m only starting to get over this horrible state of psyche), but keeping the special persons I lost would have made this circle richer in many ways. What amazing terra firma they would have added to the archipelago of human interaction I am part of! I am a firm believer that indeed, no man is an island.

There are more could-have-been in such special friendships, all of it good. But alas, I am kept to remembering. There is nothing wrong with remembering though, especially the sunny parts. We remember then we move on. And that although it has come to pass, I remain thankful how good (and crazy) such times made me feel.

I am writing this not only for her but for all the people out there who one time or another shared himself or herself with another and then either though the vicissitudes of chance or the whimsical nature of human folly, had this bond torn asunder.

On that regard, I too am writing this:

…For K.B, who I also shared a deep friendship during my second year of highschool, who I played naughts and crosses (otherwise known as tick-tack-toe) and SOS with, even as history lectures go on (or for that matter, lessons from other subjects as well, though I remember history vividly as it was during that period when we were caught and the tabletop criss-cross games displayed by the teacher in front of the class, with the two of us laughing it off. LOL), she whom I shared a great deal of laughter, long and lazy weekend telephone conversations, comforting periods of silence. Who made me the proudest amongst the nerds by my truthful exclamations then of “yep, sure am close and friends with that very brainy muse.” But whose friendship I also lost with my immaturity and asinine impulsiveness (not without help from the evil exhortations of this conniving and jealous suitor of hers, same guy talked to her behind my back, a classic snake!!!). Not to mention my arrogance and über-confidence bordering on the annoying. Sorry, I was a peacock strutting without realizing I didn’t have feathers after all, my friend.

…For F.L., the very first person who called me “eccentric” during 2nd year HS (further piquing a mind grown curious as to the mystery and beauty of words). She whom I may have insulted by things not critically thought of first before having been uttered, when she went home for vacation some years back. She is still a friend.

…For A.P., who I teased a lot but remained fair sport all throughout, one time even handing me a discount card for beach use entrance fees. She it was who I referred to at the very start and she who besot her heart passionately on someone too but was unrequited. She flattered me by her consideration of my person as worthy to make “E.S.” jealous, dragging me along in her pursuance of his attention (what we call then as “Paselosin”). He didn’t deserve her one bit, all is as it should be and reading her blogs, she must have found out by now (or maybe since long way back, sorry I’m not updated). May she remain cheerful of spirit.

…For M.A., who during my fourth year of HS lent me money when I don’t have anything in my pocket anymore to get home or to buy snacks at recess time (too much billiards), who taught me how to do “modern steps” during our JS prom upon seeing that the only strides I could muster were the awkward and stiff ones. She is still a friend.

…For E.A., who I remember fully now as an exuberantly cool “tropa” on my last year of highschool. She is also a sworn Eraserhead and a Beatle. I already asked her but I want to repeat it here again, that she pardon my impulsive actions borne from wrong assumptions, for my forgetting how comfortable and fine our camaraderie was, till I tried to cross a line. I would like to thank her for avoiding me when she saw that I failed to see this, and lately, for reminding me what a Beatlemaniac I once was, a former self she unwittingly had me rediscovering all over again. She remains a good friend.

…For George, John, Paul and Ringgo! Your words are still easy and comfy, as if it was just Yesterday (…all my trouble seemed so far away…) when I heard and sang it last. Ah, hello my friends… indeed we meet again! = )

…For S.F., and to tell her she didn’t deserve that egotistical person that was me one bit. And so sorry that we were not able to part as close friends, that I turned from her on account of the most abhorrent and stupid of reasons: her old blouses, faded skirts and ungainly shoes, her disheveled appearance. Again it was proud youth’s sometimes callow indifference and lack of empathy and understanding, of my failure to see the domestic turmoil behind such a fair but sullied facade, sullied by the inadequacies of life. Of my failing to lend a helping hand, go the extra mile. Let me say now that she remains beautiful from without and within and I was a fool to have given her false hope, with my young and imprudent heart and mind not yet set and molded to that mature degree of seriousness and surety.

… For V.B., who called me a demon right after his conscience got the better of him (as it very well did), prodding him to confess before the 4th year level Math Quiz Bee moderator that his answer to the winning question’s not his own. I was sidelined then, eliminated out of the game by a prior question and therefore already a mere audience, when I whisperingly urged him to change his answer to a latter question, which turned out to be right, and that by some lucky quirk- the remaining few competitors got wrong. Mea culpa my friend, my center of morals then was unstable and I thought I was doing you a favor. I admire you and the home you were brought up for remaining uncorrupted by the demon that was me (With this regard, my apologies to F.R. too, who deservingly won after my erstwhile friend’s confession of being given unsolicited help, an upset which he could have capitalized upon but didn’t). I still keep the note he gave me, a reminder to yours truly that not everyone believes in winning whatever the cost is, and which I follow till now. Fairness in all its form is indeed nobility (except that I willingly didn’t shook off that habit of sharing my exam answers to as many as possible throughout all my future classes, maybe it was my stick-in-the-eye to the stiff ones, the “grade-goers,” whose Fort Knox-like hold on their exam answers I viewed as extremely selfish and annoying. I find it funny that I don’t remember who these people were anymore. Maybe it’s something to do with my mind lumping them together into that single, seemingly paranoid, hunched entity astride an armchair, which at this moment’s retrospect, a vision I can only find amusing. LOL. I SURE hope they finally got it now, grades don’t mean shit in the real world. HA!)

…For F.D., who was a very good friend, until the time I abused my authority over him as a senior just because of a perceived wrong by a bunkmate. Sometimes the politics of alpha males could go awry inside that collegial alma mater of ours, and aggressiveness against lower classes a tool to get back on a colleague one is at odds with. When he was caught in the middle, I should have remembered he was a friend first before a junior. Pardon my stupidity. He forgave but couldn’t forget.

…For J.G., who reached out as I tried helping somebody else, with her generosity and genuine concern for the less-advantaged. And that although it didn’t turn out as it should, I will keep my promise of repaying her since the person we both tried to help failed the too rigorous standards set by distant shores, where the pasture is greener. For being that person who inspired this paean in the first place, when she told me how well she remembered my closeness with Evan and how good it was. She’s still a good friend.

… Finally for my wife, whose offered friendship I took advantage of and whose vulnerability I capitalized on, who I have given a considerable lot of pain and irritation. If I had had the merest glimpse then of the full immensity of the emotional baggage that would haunt me later on, I would have run away from her without looking back. I am sorry and at the same time extremely thankful (and perpetually amazed) by the leap of faith she made with me (what was she thinking???), I hope I have the rest of this lifetime to make up her mind that she made the right decision after all. She is still a wife (and I’m still pinching my arm everyday). LOL.

I am writing this so that I may exorcise the guilt my youth and impish innocence brought and made me realize with such melancholic poignancy, as I grow more world-weary. To ask for understanding on my defensive mechanism of having a personality varying from being an annoying clown, an arrogant bastard, an infuriating braggart or someone so full of it. For the countless times my big mouth chunked a piece off my foot, as pertaining to someone or to a group in general.

I ask only for that, understanding, as there are reasons why we are what we are and I am only just coming to grips with my own demons. It is only recently that I understood myself better (but that’s another story, for later). Casanova wrote in his old age, “for my part since I have always admitted that I was the chief cause of all the misfortunes which have befallen me, I have rejoiced in my ability to be my own pupil, and in my duty to love my teacher.” With the lack of good parenting influence during my formative years, I too was unfortunately my own pupil, finding out most things by trial and error. And this gesture of reaching out and trying to take infantile steps to sort out regrettable misdeeds of the past is indeed also a vain gesture of gratifying the teacher in me, but nonetheless, I am rejoicing at the unselfishness of my real purpose and how early I have come to this point in my life.

I am writing this so that now that I have found my voice in this realm of written words, in the beauty of prose, poetry and essays, I may get over the message that you are remembered and such warm memories are cherished, no less than I remember Evan’s, each minute detail I can easily hark back to. To, with utmost sincerity, thank you all for the kindness you have shown, and with a generous measure of humility, beg forgiveness from my wrongs.

Also, if I may take a different tack,

(on deck, scurry! I want movement! Lift the skin up, keep your loof, haul those sheets! Run them, keep running! -- Oops sorry, I’m being Jack Sparrowy here)

let me say that as a person with an “innate anthropological curiosity,” (ok that’s euphemism for being chismoso LOL) I have been lucky to belong to four different sections as I trudged my way thru higher education. The others who were able to interact with only a single section all throughout, or the majority of such years are also lucky. For they have developed a bond with the classmates they shared the four walls of the classroom with, where being together for a long time further deepened it. I envy them the brotherhood and closeness they still have at and keep till now, for it came at a time when youth is at its most high spirited, therefore long lasting. But they had limited interaction, those who belonged to the higher sections for example never experienced the less competitive and more relaxed atmosphere of the lower strata. That was only one of the advantages of my diversity of experience.

I was also able to keep my pulse on many stories of human interests from varied walks of life. There was the politics of hate and love, dashes of envy and jealousy, best friend johnnies and sister acts, frat brothers, cutting classes and forgeries of excuse letters, suspensions and comfort room vandalism, drug experiments, x-rated minds praying for x-ray visions. There were talents in many forms, outsmarting teachers and authority (one guy kept reciting William Axle Rose’s “Civil War” in all his oral recitation for speech class from the second to the last year so I’m told, how much smarter can one get?), the sometimes Jungle like atmosphere of classrooms (Welcome!-says Axle Rose again), teacher’s meltdown and kids getting even, witty fools and wiseasses (I was one), teachers pets and pet names, bullies and world class bullshitters, bastardized songs made especially for instructors (if you recall the song “Vulnerable” and “Mr C,” the self styled, balding, C.A.T commandant, then the memory of Gado’s line “He’s so KALBO- rable, like China in my hand” I’m sure is giving you the fits now. For good measure, remember “Carolina” and Miss D- whose geographical stock knowledge is prodigious- at the same time. “Oh Carolina, D&#C@S na! D&#C@S na!” LOL).

There are myriad tales (most I remember with nostalgia and some I can’t begin to recall without an unconscious groan to subdue the memory. Ugh!) proving that the ingenuity, infectiousness and frivolity of youth is boundless. These I immersed myself into, not as a detached observer or by merely watching in the sidelines with bemused amusement, but as a rather enthusiastic participant, instigator even. LOL.

But there were also sad tales of competition and rivalries, and friendships that could have been. And this is where my change of tack is leading, for one of the most tragic tale I’ve heard, before even being a part of that school, is the story of two girls who should have been the best of friends. Their fathers grew up together, were political allies and real good friends. But being pitted against each other at an early age by teachers through comparisons in elementary classes didn’t bode well for the rivalry that would haunt them until now. It didn’t help that they were both blessed with the same talent in singing, for their voices were the most sought after to be heard of, by teachers and classmates alike. This in turn fed the fierce fire of their personal competition. They turned into the bitterest of rivals.

One thing I can regretfully say is how sad this state of affairs is, but I would like to go further. One of the persons involved is the main protagonist of this humble story, the main recipient of this paean. I have been a mouthpiece against her when stumbling upon and catching up with the other, nodding and concurring (with a gnawing guilt) with the latter, on things said against the former that were not good, and in the spirit of goodwill I will not repeat here. Could it have been the Freudian consequence of my being rebuffed by the former that drove me to it, her cutting me off, or a glow of Schadenfreude that in a small, but vile and traitorous measure, I am getting back at her for a perceived slight against my pride???? Could be, but I’m not an adept at psychobabble to decide about that (though many says I would have made a very good psychiatrist or psychologist- my usual retort being, “Is it because it takes a loco to know a loco?” LOL).

Let me say to the first one that I am deeply sorry for that, I cannot blame you if you will see me in a harsher light now that I said this, but I ask you to give credit for this heart felt honesty, paying tribute after all, involves coming out clean too. I feel so bad “Evan” (I couldn’t say “my friend” anymore, for I am not worthy. Shame on me!)

As for the latter, let me say that your perceived rival never did such a thing to you the whole time we were together and in all our communications. If she kept a hatchet against you, I never had even the smallest glimpse of it. You have also been a good friend to me and I’ll forever be thankful for that time you took the blades off my hands, in one those stupid and foolish fights young and blustering men find themselves enmeshed. Who knows what could have happened if you didn’t. I know how good, sociable and talented you also are. You may not know it but you and her have much in common, it’s only the paths you followed that made a difference, and it is not always in magnets where same poles repel. I respect you as much as I do her and thankful that I knew you both. But if I may be blunt and honest, I believe its time to switch mental gears towards reconciliation now, ironically not with her, but with yourself. Yes she has done a lot of crazy things, a been-there-done-that-kind of girl. You on the other hand followed the straight and narrow, therefore it may only be that your views towards her are borne mainly from lack of understanding. You have a solid personality from the get go and I believe it was very hard for you to identify with the cataclysmic blasts and shifts of her persona. Yes, you have been a saint, and hearing of the rumbles she stirred made you shake your head in reproach. Clive James whose memoir presented self deprecatingly his blunders, wrote, “those whose personalities were handed to them in one piece might shake their heads. There are such people and often they are among the saints, but they are denied the salutary privilege of remembering what they once were, BEFORE THEY KNEW BETTER.” But I beg to differ, for you my friend can know better. (This goes out as well to those who in other ways misunderstood Evan too.)

Kaya I therefore conclude, for my and our crazy but wonderful SJS class 96’ers sake:

MAGBATI NA PO KAYO!

Yes I wrote this essay-ala- novella for her, my former VERY TRUE friend of distant shores, but I also have that exhortation above to fit sails upon. I like and admire you both and I don’t want to divide my loyalty, I’m too old for that shit. And you should realize that too.

Ano ba, may mga anak na kayo, mga asawang matitino at pamilyang hinahangaan ng marami! Tumatanda na tayo. Explore uncharted territories, you might be pleasantly surprised as to what you will find. It’s never too late to discover what we were missing all these time. And if there’s one thing I discovered in my life, that cathartic truth that kept me going despite many odds, it is that IT’S NEVER TOO LATE. And if I can make you reach out to each other, open your hearts to that seemingly insurmountable task, I would be more fulfilled for it. What better channel to send this out than in here, this aptly named site called “FRIENDSter.”

I leave these words now to the both of you, and scatter it amongst the winds and waves of this cruel but still oh so beautiful world, “I will be proudest of whoever reaches out first!” I understand that this is easier said than done on my part, for I am not in touch with the chords of your hearts or the depths of your souls, but I consider it a duty for my piratical stubbornness to achieve. In this you may call me presumptuous, but I am doing this in the belief that I am putting my talent to good use.

AHOY MATEYS!!!

I am trying to light a candle here, make the world a little less dark and bleak, La Vita a little more Dolce (pardon my Italian). It’s your decisions that will decide if it will burn brighter or extinguish into oblivion. I am acting upon ideals and should I stumble, I will brush myself up and know that I am not the less better for it.

Finally, I leave these words from Desiderata to the rest who kept me company till here (I hope you’re still awake):

“As far as possible, WITHOUT SURRENDER, be on good terms with all persons…”

Thas all!

PS Sensya na kung medyo may paliko liko, still practicing for the big one. Watch out Dan Brown (har har har)!!!

Epilogue: Know ye all that even if George Looney’s victor ship, the Grey Pearl, comes in with object won, which is the reconciliation of these two wonderful persons, he will not yet rest on his laurels. His pen, sharper than ever, will try to right many, many more wrongs. I hope you’ll remain onboard for this quest.

If he fails, well at least he tried! And To continue sailing forth he shall…

SAVVY???

= )

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream.- MARK TWAIN

…….Scurry women! Scurry………

*****************
SONGS

Pardon my lack of proper musical terms and jargon. I’m writing from the heart here, describing in my own humble words songs I opine as above the rest. I don’t believe people constraining their likes and inclinations into figures such as My TOP 100, My 50 Greatest, My Ultimate 10 (Why limit??)- this foremost in the fields of the arts. That includes music. Think of this as a series of write ups where I say what I want to say about songs that I enjoy listening to. There’s more to follow, if and when time allows me to waltz with my keyboard. These are foreign ones, but as soon as get my hands on MP 3s of awesome local songs, I’d include them too. Anyway, here are some of em.

BE LIKE THAT (3 Doors Down)- The guitar strings rides from intro till the end with short spanned crests and troughs of longings, playing up the songs plaintive cry for that moment when one could be like someone else.

And although there should at least a trace of jealousy directed to the possessor of the wished for personality or life, there is none. There is only that assumptive rhetoric one is inclined to when fancying something, reflected in the voice crying for a seemingly unattainable dream.

It is also a song of acceptance, if one knows how to listen clearly, something that pipe dreamers and wishful thinkers sorely lack. This is because one understands he/she is not alone in dreaming to don another’s shoes, so at the end of the song, sorrow does not beget sorrow, it in fact rejuvenates.

Damn I like this song!

AMAZING (Aerosmith)- Although you couldn’t really call their songs power ballads, this one is for me their most powerful song. Not only is the play of vocals seemingly light (don’t be fooled as you render a videoke version) but gripping, the plainly worded song if taken in clearly, brings to light certain revelations that are right underneath our noses. It tells the story of being truly down, that point of hopelessness and hitting the bottom, of broken wings and acknowledgement of death as the only salvation. And then describes this certain magical catharsis or epiphany or whatever you may call it, as nothing less than amazing, for it takes only that “blink of an eye” to make you realize how much you can still go on. That it’ll be alright. And when you experience that, it really makes you feel humbled to the point of reaching out and praying for all the other desperate hearts the world holds- that they too be blessed with reprieve from whatever rut they’re stuck onto. That makes the title unremarkable but hey, this one proves there is real beauty in simplicity and directness.

The ending radio crackled 40’s voice leaves a perplexing and deep message; that we could be that light at the end of the tunnel. Could mean we are our own savior, or someone else’s for that matter. Or that maybe we are already on the other side, implying that our angels of mercy or guardian angels are our own metaphorical selves- blissfully flying amidst the time and space continuum of heaven already, but still guiding their corporeal selves nonetheless. How’s that for AMAZING?

Go figure. (don’t think me nuts- or hell yeah, call me one WACHACHAW-WACHACHACHACHA- CHAWWWWW…)

TURN, TURN (The Byrds)- The song feels like a cerebral celebration of “eclecticism,” derived from Eklektikus, a Greek word meaning to “pick out.”

Well for starters, I’m picking out that the notion that the song is made in a kitchen by a bunch of hippies whose uncharacteristic seriousness lends solemnity due the revelation of which they are poetically singing of (even as cannabis haze hangs heavy in the air. LOL).

The instrumental melodies seems like they are made by cutting and cooking utensils tuned beautifully to accompany this epiphany (drug induced?) of great accord, of which the majority of humanity’s eclectic bunch will all but agree: there is a time for everything, because fate turns around like wheels and because circumstances change as seasons do. Understood?

The song would have to go on forever if it had to cite the “great eclectic many” man goes thru in sufferance, upheaval or joy, in order to continue his/her eternal metamorphosis. Nonetheless they seemed to have quoted the best and the worst: there is a time to dance, laugh and to gather storms together; there is a season of hate, of war and of peace, amongst others..

The best line is the conclusive “I swear it’s not too late.”

Makes one go “Yo man, make love not war!”

Peace Ganja!!! (If I’m not mistaken I believe this is also a Forrest Gump soundtrack).

THE SCIENTIST (Coldplay)- A haunting lovesong. Tells of the supremacy the heart holds over the mind, feelings over rationale. Calmly eases the lowering of pride, therefore a penultimate song to be heard before saying sorry.

Will melt the hardest of female heart, sing it to her and a vocalized “forgive me” is superfluous. The piano melody could as well have been tiger growls. Now go get her!

YELLOW (Coldplay)- A song every lovelorn shyster in his teenage years can relate with. Often, it’s the ones we are deeply infatuated with who tucked our tails in, made us yellow. I won’t recommend you hear it if her name’s still embossed upon the heart tied on your sleeve, she being with someone else already.

But if you’re happily tucked now with your “soul mate,” this is good for nostalgic reminiscence of your torpe days. Sad thing is it won’t make you smile with the recollection.

If both of you are still living by your lonesome in the luvey-duvey department, this song should get you to run after them skin and bones turned into something beautiful.

It’s never too late (I may be gloating here, but I wasn’t. Though there are times I wish I was…. :o)

EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST (Coldplay)- The part about good demons perching on one’s shoulder reminded me of the story of Pandora (from a sentimentally valued Edith Hamilton “Mythology” book), the first woman, given by the ancient gods to Prometheus’ brother. When she opened the box Epimetheus left lying around, the last creature that came out was “Hope.” All those time this thing was inside that box, it had to contend with a lot of other winged creatures like itself that are way meaner and viler. But they didn’t break this tough faerie, yep, battered and bruised and wings askew- it flew away, zooming after such things as sickness, loneliness, hurt, pain etc. Kicking inside the heart, it continues to strengthen the weary with the prospect of overcoming odds, strengthens flagging spirits, snatches glory from the jaws of defeat, etc (It can go on forever).

With my mind merging personification (the figure of speech) and Anime (the Japanese pop culture), I had then this mental image of a “Gothic Hope,” all black and with a fashion sense straight from The Matrix. Instead of flying with transparent wings as that of a dragonfly, it’s flapping about with the veined, leathery, bat-like kind. A freakish anachronistic member of the pint sized, goody-two-shoes Optimism Family; the cynical, grumpy and mocking black sheep, someone who encourages- but curses like a royally pissed sailor while at it. Or mischievously kicks backside so one has no choice but to pull him/herself together.

“Get up you moron. One second I’m gone and you’re fucking up big time again.”

…Puffs a cig…

“Now where is that Screw-Up Imp. I’m gonna beat the shit out of that prick sized bastard farted out from a devil’s asshole. As if you ain’t foolish enough already to always mess up, that squirming maggot from hell had to visit you… AGAIN???”

(Sans the bad words, it’s an approach eerily reminiscent what my wife usually employs to yours truly…hmmm)

TOGETHER IN ELECTRIC DREAMS (Human League)- Everyone’s supposed to have a new wave tune inside his head. This one’s the best remnant the 80’s left tucked and pulsating every once in a while inside my grey cells.

All dreams are of course powered by electrical signals crisscrossing the brain whilst subconscious, thus “electric dreams” generally means all type of dreams. This in mind, combined with the fact that water is a strong conductor of electricity, may lead one to conclude that (drum roll please….)- a “wet dream” is the most stimulated type of electric dream. LOL.

If you didn’t get it, never mind the paragraph above, those are the ramblings of a loon. :O) Anyway, the transcendental organ notes together with the seemingly erratic plays of electric guitar and drumbeats blended well to make this song great. The vocals is signature 80’s but stands out by spreading well throughout the song.

There’s no poetry in the song and that’s more a plus than a minus, sometimes we just need to get lost without being entangled: it may sound oxymoronic but this song makes daydreaming tedious, but appealingly so.
******************

BYE MICHAEL

2009-08-11T18:37:00.000-07:00

26-June-2009
Pasado alas kuwatro ng umaga…

Matapos ang guwardya namin ng madaling araw, bumaba na kami ng ka duty kong watchman para sa almusal. Maaga ang almusal naming mga “dose-kuwatro” kasi nga gigising na naman kami ng bago mag alas dose ng tanghali para magduty uli hanggang alas kuwatro ng hapon. Ka aalis lang namin sa puwerto nakaraang gabi kaya malapit pa sa coast ng Sicily.

Pag ganitong malapit kami sa shore nakaprogram na kaagad ang TV sa mga channel na pwedeng mapanood. Kay ayun kasalukuyang may signal sa antenna at nakakapanood ng local stations. Ewan ko kung alam nyo yung kasabihan ng mga puti na “I still remember clearly where I am and what I am doing when I heard the news…” Ganun na ganun ang naramdaman ko nung sandali na yun. Kasalukuyang whini wheel out ang katawan ni Michael Jackson, tinatranslate ng Italiano ang salita ng nagaanounce kaya mahirap intindihin. Pero sa mga ginagawang aksyon ng medical team at sa mga malulungkot na mukha ng nakapaligid, isa lang ang nakuha kong conclusion. Patay na si Michael Jackson. Hindi ako makapaniwala. Sinabihan ko kaagad si 3rd Engineer na ilipat ang channel at baka may English para maintindihan, ayun nakakuha naman ng signal sa BBC. Iba ang featured na balita sa pagkalipat pero sa sliding text sa ilalim nakasulat “THE KING OF POP IS DEAD…” Inabangan talaga namin ang feature story tungkol dun. At yun nga, dinetalye ng broadcaster na heart failure daw at wala na nga daw, patay na nga ang nagiisang si Michael Jackson….

Damn! Ang hirap paniwalaan na isa sa napakalaking “icon” ika nga na nagdefine ng henerasyon ko eh wala na. Sino ba ang di nakakakilala kay Michael Jackson? Sa sandaling yun andaming tumatakbo sa isip ko. The world will never be the same again. An era has passed.

Andaming tinawag sa kanya, Wacko, Sicko, Pedo etc etc. Sabihin na nating marami ding negatibong bagay na inakusa sa pagkatao ni Michael Jackson, pero andyan din ang kanyang naging kontribusyon sa larangan ng musika. Ang kanyang pagiging matulungin. Ang kanyang pagiging mapagbigay. Ang kanyang mga napasayang tao sa kanyang sayaw at boses. Ang moonwalk. Ang mga sumunod sa kanyang yapak at tinuring siyang “influence” tulad ni Gary Valenciano. Basta marami, jumble of thoughts na nga lang eh.

Ang isa sa di ko makakalimutan, yung kanta nyang “Heal the World.” Napakalaki ng impact ng kanta nyang yun sa mura kong isipan nung first year highschool. Di ko sana mapapansin yung mga lyrics nun at kabuluhan ng kanta kung di ako nakuhang member ng teacher ko na magiinarte habang kumakanta. Ewan ko kung ano ang tawag dun pero para bang group speech na may gagawing mga kumpas at may magaaktong sundalo at mga mahihirap tapos in the end mag sasama sama para sa panawagang pangkapayapaan at world peace. Kunting lakad, kunting emote. Masyadong malalim pa para sa akin ang mga words na “see the nation turn their swords into plowshare.” Pero sa boses nya at sa main chorus, andun talaga ang essence, ang simpleng panawagan. Ang “heal the world, make it a better place.” Sa murang isip, para talagang staggering eh. Ba’t heal the world? May sakit ba ang mundo? Tsaka isa pa, ayus tong ginagawa namin ah! Nagsisiksikan kami at nakakadikit ko ang mga kaklase kong babae. Ganito pala kalambot ang balikat isang girl hehehe. Ang galing, ang galing ni Michael! Nakailang practice din kami.

Di rin nagmaterialize yung performance namin. Sabi kasi ng teacher ko eh opening lang naman kami para sa main drama ng mga fourth year once upon a highschool program. Di ko makakalimutan ang naging epekto ng hormones ko sa aking katawan ng dahil sa kanta nyang yun. Kumbaga eh special sa akin sa maraming dahilan, dahil narealize ko na there is something wrong in the world pala. Hindi perpekto. Andyan ang diskriminasyon, ang pagsira sa kalikasan, ang mga gyera.

Higit sa lahat, ganun pala ang libog pag may katabi kang kaklaseng babae at siksikan na kayo. Yun pala ang puberty, mainit sa katawan at masikip sa pantalon hehehe…. Sensya na kung lumiko ng kunti. Malungkot kasi ako eh…

My deepest condolences Michael. Already I’ve run out of words. I just hope that wherever you are right now, you are at peace.

Bye brodah!

DON'T JUDGE

2009-08-11T18:17:00.000-07:00

26-June-2009
PM

Pinickup ako ng service boat kasi nga papacheck up ako sa doctor at nag flare up na naman ang sinus ko. Ok naman, 6 days antibiotic at half month nasal decongestants. Tagal ko rin kaya tiniis tong buwisit na pananakit ng ulo at ilong na to, tinaon ko lang sa European country magpatingin at ng makagala na rin.

Since hapon pa naman ang balik ko at maaga akong natapos sa doctor, tumuloy muna ako sa seaman’s club at lakaran lang naman ang layo nun sa boat jetty. Ayun naginternet ng kunti sabay nagtingin tingin ng kung ano ano. Pinoy nga pala ang isa sa nagmamanage ng seaman’s club, isang catholic priest na tubong Samar at napakahusay mag Italiano. Ginagawa pa daw yung parish nya sa area ng Augusta kaya dun muna siya pinuwesto ng Catholic locale office nya. Pero pag naayos na daw yung simbahan nya mag mimisa na nga daw siya lagi at may local mass at Filipino mass syang gagawin. Magandang balita din yun lalo na sa mga kababayan nating di pa rin pinapabayaan ang kanilang “spiritual well-being” ika nga.

As usual meron na naman akong kuwento dyan. As usual din ipinasa na lang din sa akin nung AB ko nakaraang taon sa ibang barko.

Meron daw silang Danish captain na sa tuwing mag jojoin sa barko ang isang bagong crew eh magsasabing

“Are you a member of Hallelujah team? If yes I will send you home!”

Ang Hallelujah team daw eh yung madalas puro na lang bibliya ang gustong topic, walang bisyo at masyado ang pagkarelihiyoso. Madalas din sila ang nag iinitiate ng mga prayer meetings. Yun bang kagaya ng mga aakyat sa bus o jeep sa atin at magsisimula ng mangaral sa loob ng pampasaherong sasakyan, sabay bandang huli eh hihingi ng kahit kunting tulong. Eh tinanong daw nung AB kung bat ganun na lang ang ayaw ni Kapitan sa mga crew na ganun, killjoy daw at masyadong “self righteous,” sagot ni Kapitan. Palibhasa kasi eh mahilig daw magpa party lagi sa barko ang kapitan na yun kaya ayaw nya ng binansagan niyang “Hallelujah team.”

Wag naman sanang sabihin na di ako Kristiyano, pero sa isang banda may tama rin yung Kapitan. Ok lang naman na andyan sila at nangangaral o nagpapakita ng mabubuti pang halimbawa, pero syempre kelangan magadjust din sila sa atmosphere ng barko. Ang pagmamarino kasi eh “fraught with perils.” Andyan ang mga aksidente na maaaring mangyari kahit sa pinakasimpleng operasyon, andyan ang dagat na nakapalibot sa barko, ang masasamang panahon at galit ng alon at hangin, ang lungkot at marami pang ibang bagay na nagbibigay ng stress at danger sa isang seaman. Kultura na rin ng isang barko ang minsan magkarun ng pagkakataon ang crew na magunwind, at kadalasan nga eh sa pamamagitan ng alcohol, o sa mga barkong di allowed ang alak, yun bang maliliit na kasiyahan gaya ng Bingo nights. Yung huli ay hindi naman talaga maituturing na sugal kasi malaki namang porsyento ng mapapanalunan eh binawas sa ship’s club at maliit na halaga lang ang bayad kada card. Ang mga premyo din naman eh hindi pera kundi mga bagay na magagamit gaya ng damit o port souvenirs.

Para sa akin eh ok lang na may kasamahan akong ganun lalo na kung nangangailangan ka ng payo o makakakuwentuhan. Pero meron kasing mga iba na sa sobrang pagkabanal eh nakakaasar na. Yun bang akala mo sila lang ang maliligtas kung sakali mang lumubog ang barko! Merong mga ganun at imbes na katuwaan pa ay lalo lang kinaiinisan. Di na nga umiinom eh may pasaring pa sa tuwing nagkakatuwaan. Tapos pag lalabas ka kahit na wala naman sa hinagap mo ang mambabae o magloko, eh magbibigay pa ng mga unsolicited advise na minsan parang out of this world na. Meron ding naikuwento sa akin tungkol sa isa pang kung ano ang pagka makaDiyos, siya namang numero uno kung manipsip kay Kapitan at manira ng kapwa Pinoy. In short, mga banal na pugita at santong syokoy. Tsk tsk!

Di gaya nung AB na nagkuwento mismo sa akin, tawagin na lang nating McGrapes. Malakas uminom yun at manigarilyo. Wala sa karakter nya ang taong nagsisimba. Pero nabigla ako nung minsang mangatok ako sa kanya para umutang ng dalawang bote ng beer at di maiwasang nasilip ko ang loob ng kanyang kabina. Sa unang tingin pa lang eh nakita ko na ang isang picture ng Santo sa pader malapit sa sofa at mga istatwa ni Jesus at Mary at bukas na Bibliya sa may lamesa.

“McGrapes demmet totoo ba yang nakikita ko?”

Sabay pasok ko sa loob pa at bumulaga pa sa akin ang maraming naka magnet na mga larawang banal sa mga bakal na pader, ganun na rin ang iba pang babasahing kristyano sa may bookshelf. Yung salitang ‘nasurpresa’ eh wala pa sa kalahati ng naramdaman ko. Kasi naman wala talaga sa karakter nya ni nagdarasal eh. Yun nga lang siguro kahit bad boy ang image nya at maraming tattoo, ni minsan di ko siya narinig na nagmura. Isa ring kinatataka ko sa kanya eh kahit ang lakas manigarilyo at uminom, napakalakas pa din at ako nga na mas bata eh hingal na minsan pag nagsesecure kami ng hatch pero sya eh wala lang. Demmet talaga. Yun siguro ang sekreto nya.

Nung “madiskubre” ko na nga ang ganun, inaasar ko pa sya sa una. Pero nung bandang huli ayun nagkuwento na rin sya sa akin na oo nga daw andami na rin nyang napagdaanang pagsubok, at nakilala nya nga daw si Kristo ng lubusan dahil dun.

“Eh bat ang lakas mo pa ring uminom at manigarilyo?”

“Alam mo sec, gusto ko na ring tigilan yan. Pero nahihirapan pa ako sa kasalukuyan, kaya dinadaan ko na lang sa dasal. Ang mahalaga sa akin sa ngayon eh hindi na ako nakakagawa ng masama sa kapwa ko at patuloy pa rin ang pagaaral ko sa salita ng Diyos. Gabi gabi bago ako matulog at maging sa paggising eh lagi akong nagpapasalamat sa kanya, ganun na rin sa tuwing kakain. Simple lang naman ang pagiging malapit sa Diyos eh, unang una- sa puso yan at sa isip. Basta yung dalawang parte na yun ng pagkatao mo eh sa kanya na, kahit na siguro ginaganito ko yung katawan ko eh maiintindihan na rin naman Niya.”
Words to that effect lang ang naman yan sa sinabi nya, literary license ko na lang para mas gumanda. Pero yung point ni Mc Grapes, nandyan sa sinulat ko sa taas. Kaya pala kahit na frustrated officer (pasado sya ng board exam para sa pagka opisyal pero di na lang nagkarun ng pagkakataong maka akto) at wala pa ring anak sa edad na kuwarenta mahigit, andun sa pagkatao nya ang pagiging “at peace” at kuntento na sa takbo ng buhay. Masipag din at maaasahan. Higit sa lahat, ni minsan di nya pinagmalaki o pinamukha ang kanyang pagiging relihiyoso. Itsh amazing talaga hehehe! Yan din ang isa sa nakakatuwa sa barko, don’t judge the seafarers, they are not books. Kasi mahaba ang panahon para makilala namin ang isat isa, minsan nga nagkakasawaan na eh dahil iilang mukha lang ang makikita mo sa buwanang panahon hehehe.

Balik tayo sa puting kapitan na namention ko sa una, wala na rin kasi halos sa kanila ang paniniwala sa Diyos lalo na nga sa Scandinavian countries. Sa history kasi nila, nagkarun ng trauma ang kanilang mga ninuno nung panahon ng mga witch hunt at pagpatay sa ngalan ng Papa o ng paniniwalang Katolika Romana. Matindi rin ang naging epekto sa “fabric” ng kanilang society ng religious discrimination sa kasaysayan ng Katolisismo at Protestatinismo.

“I don’t believe in any God. I only believe in myself.”

“After you die, you become worm food, nothing more!”

“Religion is only for people who don’t have anything to hold on anymore.”

Ilan lang yan sa mga narinig kong sinabi ng karamihan sa kanila. Yung iba naman eh tumatawa lang o di kaya’y ngiting aso pag ang topic na eh religion. Nung una parang nagpo protesta ang isip ko, bat may mga taong ganito? Ang hirap! Napakalaking culture shock talaga. Pero nung huli, wala na kong choice kundi intindihin na lang sila at di na lang pagusapan ang topik spiritwal. Pero puzzle pa rin sa akin, kasi bat sila mayayamang tao? Bat nagmamayari sila ng isa sa pinakamalaking shipping fleet sa buong mundo at ang economiya ng maliit nilang bansa eh talo pa ang ibang malaking bansa sa Europa? Bat mayaman sila at mataas ang standard of living, sagana sa health care at kung ano ano pa? Samantalang wala naman silang Diyos na magbibigay sa kanila ng ganun? Para bang komokontra sa mga kinalakhan kong aral…

Way-any, tama na muna dyan ang ten cents worth ko! Bahala na kayong magisip mamaya masabihan pa akong Atheista o Satanista ng iba dyan! Tsaka wala na, hindi na nagba branch out ng maayos ang blog na to hehehe! Kung saan saan na napapadpad ang topic…
Kaya dito na muna ang Don… Even Godfathers have to rest my friends!

DON ISPROKOTOKTETOK

2009-08-11T18:14:00.000-07:00

25-June-2009
Augusta

Dumating kami sa Augusta ng mga alas otso ng gabi. Medyo twilight pa kasi nga eh summer kaya kita pa ang Mt Etna sa bandang northern horizon habang pumapasok kami sa Augusta bay. Tagal na rin since nakita ko yung napakaganda pero napakadelikadong bundok na yun, mga year 2002 pa nung unang akto ko pa lang as third mate. Dito rin sa port na ito kasi kami nag sign off nung kasagsagan ng gyera laban sa Al Qaida at Afghanistan. Ang siste na charter yung barkong sinasakyan ko ng UK at magdedeliver nga ng Jet Fuel para sa mga fighter plane, eh isang requirement “all crew must be a member of EU,” lam mo na politika at pasikat pa si Blair kay Bush. Kaya ayun lahat ng Filipino crew and officer pinababa at pinalitan kami ng full Danish complement. Dun ko rin naranasan yung nakasaad sa agreement namin na pag di natapos ang contract, compensated kami ng two months basic payment, kaya ayos hehe. Ako lang ang opisyal nun na Pilipino pero lahat ng crew mula steward hanggang AB eh pinoy.

Nasa hotel muna kami nung gabi kasi umaga pa ang flight namin. Bale umorder na kami ng pagkain, aba kainis ba naman na ang sabi pa nung manager ng hotel and restaurant may limit lang daw ang babayaran ng agent at meron lang kami pagpipilian. Medyo nagreact na ang crew pero nung nakita naman namin yung mga pagkain eh ah ok sige, maayos naman kaya ok lang. Pero eto na, nung umorder na kami ng alcoholic beverage aba sya namang lapit na naman nung nag ma manage at sabi ba naman eh allowed lang daw kami isang glass of wine or one bottle of beer. Ok lang naman dahil alam namin yung repatriation policy na yun, pero parang pinapaaalalahanan pa kami. Kala yata wala kaming pera. Eh di binara ko na sabi ko don’t worry we have money to pay if ever we order more ok? Yung tipo bang may pagka sarkastiko at mataas ang boses. Napahiya yata kaya di tahimik na lang na umalis at di na bumalik.

Pero kinaumagahan naman nung pi pickupin na kami sa airport, nilapitan uli kami ng manager ng hotel. Tinatanong kung sino ang pinakamataas sa amin, eh di ako ang tinuro ng crew kasi nga ako lang ang opisyal. Sabi ba naman sa akin “I pay my respect, from a capo to capo. Thank you for staying with us and I’m sorry if I have offended you last night. ” Sabi ko capo what? Yun nga daw boss nga daw ang ibig sabihin nun. Italian word for “chief.” Tapos ako lang ang kinausap nya at di na pinansin ang mga kasamahan ko. Eh nung time na yun di ko pa nababasa ang Godfather o ni napanood ang pelikula. Me kunting idea lang ako sa mga mafia mafia na yan pero sa pagkakataon lang na yun ko na encounter yung ganung tradisyon ng actual na ang kinakausap lang pala nila at ina address ang kung sino ang mataas sa grupo o sinuman ang nabigyan ng disrespect. Pero nung nabasa ko na yung Godfather eh ayun mas naintindihan ko yung naging aksyon ng manager na yun. Dun ko rin naintindihan na napakalaking bagay sa kanila ang respeto at ganun na din ang paghingi ng paumanhin kung nakaapak man ng pagkatao ng iba. Damn! In that one instant, dapat pala na feeling Godfather ang lolo nyo hehehe!

Tapos nun pinickup na kami ng service. Kaso nung nandun na sa airport, nakita yung mga cartonite ng mga kasamahan ko. Sabi nung isang ground steward idadaan daw sa ibang security check ang mga karton na bagahe at di kasabay ng normal luggages. Kung maaari daw eh isulat na lang daw nila kung san idedeliver ang mga pinturado pang karton kasi nga baka di na makasabay sa eroplano at malapit na ang flight. Ang laman nung sa motorman eh Sat dish na antenna, dun naman sa isang AB eh isang set ng culinary utensils. Nakalimutan ko na yung sa iba pero siguro mga limang karton din yun. Ako wala. Nagusap usap, tapos ang binigay na lang na address eh yung kay AB Danny Demonyo. Pero dun pa lang sa umpisa nagdadalawang isip na yung mga kasamahan ko. Yun nga di sila nagkamali kasi nagkita uli kami nung isang AB after 6 years at kinuwento nya ngang di na nga daw dumating yung mga bagahe. Kawawa naman ang tropa, na mafia.. tsk tsk! Kaya dear readers, kung may kakilala kayong seaman na mag sa sign off sa Sicily lalo na sa Augusta sabihin nyong wag ng

Balik tayo sa arrival. Dumikit yung barko magaalas dyes na kaya di na ko natulog gumawa na lang ako ng passage plan sa bridge matapos manood ng kunting MTV (mula alas 10 ng gabi eh apat ang music channel sa Italy na puro music video ang pinapalabas, music lovers talaga ang mga Italiano).

Bumaba ako para magduty na naman ng alas 12 ng gabi (hanggang alas sais na yun ng umaga). Bumulaga sa akin yung assistant loading master at ang naka tagilid na hubad nyang helmet. Nakalagay dun sa loob ng helmet, “Capo Dei Capi,” Chief of the Chiefs. Hehehe! Natawa ako sabay lapit sa kanya at kunyari eh nagmano pa sabay bati ng “Good Evening Don Vito Corleone” sabay turo sa helmet nya. Nasurpresa talaga yung loading master at alam ko yung ibig sabihin ng nakalagay sa helmet nya hehehe. Tapos yun, stay on board sya all throughout the operation kasi nga representative sya ng consigner ng cargo na magbebenta ng kargada sa charterer namin. Siyempre kauumpisa pa lang ng operasyon kaya kuwentuhan muna kami at di pa naman busy. Andami din naming pinagkuwentuhan mula kay Berluscuni (Very, very rich man!) na prime minister nila hanggang sa view nya sa mga Pilipino na mababait nga daw at magagaling na mga seaman. Narinig ko rin sa kanya first time ang terminong “Roma Caput Mundi,” na ang ibig sabihin daw eh Rome as the World’s Capital. Temang Roman empire hehe. Madami ring alam ang loading master at sabi pa nya kung san daw pumunta ang isang Italyano eh “Veni, Vidi, Vici” daw. They come, they see, they conquer. Except nga lang daw kay Vagni na nahuli daw ng Abu Sayaff, which by the way is big news here ika pa nya.

Nung bandang huli eh biniro ko pa siya, ugali ko kasi ang magtatanong ng local phrases at kung anu ano pa. Yun bang magagamit lang sa typical na conversation gaya ng Good Morning/Evening, hello, thank you etc.

Sabi ko, my friend I encountered a phrase before I think it’s Italian, but I don’t know what it means.

What is it?

Ah, I forgot the rest but one part goes like this: ISPROKOTOKTETOK

Can you repeat that again?

ISPROKOTOKTETOK

What? It’s not Italian. I haven’t heard of that word before

O really? I thought it was Italian. Maybe it’s another language.

(sa mga sandaling yun talagang pinigilan ko na lang ang tawa ko eh. Gibberish lang kasi yun, nakuha ko lang nung tambay pa tayo at gin lang ang kayang toma. Ewan ko nga kung bat naisipan kong lokohin yung tao, siguro inaantok lang ako at gumawa ng sariling pampagising. Muntikan na talaga akong bumunghalit ng tawa kasi seryoso talaga siya sa pakikinig eh hehehe)…

Yun lang. Lang kuwenta noh? Yung mga tumawa sa salitang isprokotoktetok, siguro bago pa lang kayo nagbabasa ng mga blog. Napakashallow ng humor nun walang sinabi sa mga blog ng iba. Pero at least original di ba hehehe…

(Dinrowing ko nga pala to sa isang navigational chart na luma. Chart to ng strait of Sicily at yun nga kung pagmamasdan binaligtad ko yung mapa kaya nasa ilalim yung southernmost tip ng mainland Italy at nasa harap nun ang north-east most tip ng Sicily. Eh di ba karaniwang nakapicture sa mapa eh sapatos yung Italy na waring sinisipa ang Sicily? This time around, in an artistic viewpoint yun namang mainland ang halos nakahalik na sa tip ng sicily na shaped as shoe end hehehe… L a lang, napag tripan ko lang hehehe… Ang nakakuha ng humor, weird!!!)

TAE MOMENTS

2009-08-11T18:06:00.001-07:00

24 June 2009
South Of Italy
Enroute Augusta, Sicily

Duty ako kanina ng biglang makaramdam ng pagka tae. Sa mga panahong to nabubuwisit ako sa design ng barko, san ka ba nakakita na walang kubeta ang bridge? Sa dinami dami na rin ng barkong nasampahan ko eh ngayon pa lang ako naka encounter ng ganito. Hindi ba alam ng naval architect nito na sa dagat eh di puwedeng iwan unattended ang bridge? Siyempre andyan ang mga alarma at kung ma traffic at maraming barko sa paligid eh kailangang mabantayan ng maigi para di mabangga. Bagong bago naman at maayos ang mga gamit, gawang Hapon pa. Pero ba’t naman ganun! San ang kubeta? Bakero….

May instruction naman si Kapitan sa aming mga opisyal na kung may tawag ng kalikasan habang naka bridge watch eh tawagin lang siya at rerelyebuhan muna kami kahit saglit. Eh ang siste, wala pang alas dose medya at kakaakyat ko pa lang para mag duty ng kumulo ng wrong timing ang buwisit na sikmura. Eh di syempre nandun pa si Tano at kumakain sa officer’s mess (12 noon ang lunch time nila) at kakahiya namang abalahin mamaya di na makakain pag balik nya uli sa lamesa… grrrr! Buti sana kung naiihi lang eh puwede sa dulo ng bridge wing, ilaylay mo lang sa may railings at hayaan mo ng mag fountain pababa sa dagat ang wiwi mo. At least dun may hangin pang kikiliti hehehe… Kaso nga lang iba pag naeebak ka kelangan mo ng trono. Pero nagkamali ng tinalo ang taeng to. I’m of sterner stuff than to let this shit beat the shit out of me so to spokening English. Wala yatang kaartehan sa katawan ang inyong lingkod hehehe… Nagsimulang gumana ang aking resourcefulness, ang ginawa ko eh pumunit ako ng kapirasong parte sa isang lumang chart na di na ginagamit. Mga 1 feet square. Tapos nun eh sabay labas sa bridge wing, sa may “lee side,” meaning side na di exposed sa hangin (mahirap na mamaya hanginin pa ang chart pabagsak sa baba at may malas na tamaan sa deck area hehehe). Hanap ng puwesto, latag ang chart paper, apakan, sandal patalikod sa bulkhead habang binababa ang short. PRRRRT! Ayun katalo, na umuusok pa hahahaha…. Iba pala pag exposed, may feeling of excitement! Pero kumpiyansa naman ako na walang makakita at kasalukuyan ngang nagtsisibugan ang crew. Kami lang naman mga dose-kuwatro ang maaga ang kain (1130), para makasimula ng duty sa oras eh. Sumilip din muna ako sa kubyerta at nakita kong nandun sa prowa ang ka duty kong AB, kasalukuyang may deck work. May freshwater hose din sa wings kaya nalinis naman ang “lagkit” sa nakatagong parte ng katawan.

Matapos ang seremonyas, binalot ko ng pagka dahan dahan ang aking waste product (hirap na baka may mahawakan pang malagkit hehehe), sabay tinimbang timbang ko pa ng kunti gamit lamang ang dulo ng hinlalaki at hintuturo. Good, solid! Dahan dahan akong lumapit sa may railings at tahimik na nagsabing “This is one load that won’t need to be treated mother nature, let it come back properly to the circle of life.” Amen. Sabay tapon. Ayun, di na nga naman dadaan pa sa septic tank ng barko kung san gagamitan pa ng treatment chemicals bago idischarge sa dagat. Sa dagat din naman ang bagsak ng lahat ng ebak sa barko eh, kaya walang problema kung naideretso ko na…

Ewan ko ba. Parang naging emotional ako nung sandali na yun. Malayo na ang natakbo ng barko eh nakatingin pa rin ako sa flotsam na pinakawalan kong ganun ganun na lang. Palutang lutang. Pakiramdam ko’y may iniwan akong bahagi ng aking pagkatao sa isang sulok na yun ng dagat. Maya maya pa eh binuksan na rin ng mga alon ang binalot kong handog, sinisimulan ng iwashout ng mga halik ng alon ang laman nito.

Marami ring alaala ang biglang nagbalik sa akin ng karanasang yun. Naalala ko tuloy nung bata pa ako at lagi kaming umaakyat at naggagala sa bundok. Kami ang band of brothers armed not with guns but with slingshots. Pakay namin dun ang manirador at manguha ng mga bungang kahoy. Ikot namin lahat ng sulok ng mga bundok na nakapaligid sa aming baryong kinalakhan, kabisado na rin kung nasan ang mga puno ng bayabas, duhat, kasoy, arusep, mangga, kamias, garamay, saging at marami pang iba. Ganun na rin ang mga matatamis na laman ng mga bunga ng ilang gumagapang na halaman at wild na ampalaya. Bukod sa mga gastronomic delights na yan, andyan pa ang inihaw at sunog na tikling o maya, minsan may pugo din. Andyan din ang nilagang kamoteng kahoy na ibibigay sa amin ng mga bibisitahing tropang sa bundok nakatira. Siyempre bata eh kaya ang metabolism eh build and burn, meaning matakaw hehehe. Kanya nga lang maya maya pa alam na ang mangyayari, lalo na at halo halo na ang laman ng tiyan. Kahit pa matitikas kaming mga hunter-gatherers, tao rin lang kami na tatae at tatae din lalo na at naglabo labo na sa tyan ang kung ano anong napitas o nahuli. Dito ko nadevelop ang aking resourcefulness. Syempre sa bundok wala namang tissue o di kaya may mga sibol mang malilinis na tubig di naman laging matatapat na matatae ka malapit dun. Kaya ang aming pamunas: mga tuyong dahon. Yup, its true! Believe it or not. Unpleasant man ang pakiramdam pero no choice na eh. Tsaka nung mga panahong yun di pa uso sa kin ang brief kaya wala pang sasabitang underwear ang mahuhulog na leaf particles. Bahala na dun ang highly effective aircool system ng “commando” style. Laylay lang at hulog katalo na.

Also my dear readers, hindi lang kami mga “hunter-gatherers” at “mountain climbers.” Ang baryo ko ring kinalakhan eh nahaharap sa Subic bay, mga 300 meters lang mula sa bahay namin eh dagat na kaya’t pag walang pasok lalo na at summer, madalas din kaming mga “beach bums.” Siyempre ibang istorya naman sa beach, pag nasa tubig na eh kulang na lang sa amin ang kaliskis at hasang dahil para na kaming syokoy sa tagal sa dagat (yun eh kung tapos na kaming magbatuhan ng buhangin na nakabalot sa plastic ng chichirya). Uso din nung time na yun ang mga kanta ng Beatles, palibhasa maraming mga Amerikanong serviceman na nakatira sa lugar namin na laging nagpapatugtog ng pagkalakas lakas ng mga rock music, kaya di maiwasang maging westernized na rin ang taste namin sa sounds. Di ko alam kung sino sa mga kababata ko nun ang nagsabi na “Uy, may Yellow Submarine oh?” habang tinuturo ang isang pagkalaki laki at solidong tubol na tae na palutang lutang sa dagat. Tawanan talaga kami sabay langoy palayo, hinihila ang kung sinong malas na nasa harapan pabalik sa direksyon ng U-boat hehehe… Yun na, na coin na namin ang terminong yun. Yan ang warning cry namin pag napapansin na tumatahimik na lang isang kachokaran at di na nakikisabay sa paglangoy langoy. Yun bang kakaibang katahimikan at may bahid pa ng ngiting aso, sabay nakagilid pa sa katawan ang mga braso. Mga ilang insidente lang na ganun na sinimulan ng mga promotor (kasama ako), alam na naming may kababalaghan ng mangyayari. “Takbo, ayan na ang yellow submarine ni Norman!!!!” hehehe. Kakahiya nga sa Beatles eh, Beatlemaniac pa naman ako. Ano kayang isipin ng mga nabubuhay pang knights kung malaman nilang ang kanta nilang “Yellow Submarine” eh nagkarun ng ganuong kahulugan sa aming mura at malisyosong isipan?

Isa pang tae incident na di ko makalimutan eh nung ako’y grade 5. Minsan dahil absent ang teacher eh nag stand in ang principal namin na nung time na yun eh medyo tumatandang dalaga na at wala pang boypren. Kaya may pagkamasungit. Isa pa eh laging delay ang bayad ng nanay ko sa PTA kaya pati ako nadadamay sa inis nya hehehe. Pero mabait si Ma’am at naaalala ko rin naman na siya ang unang nagturo sa akin kung pano magdrowing ng star. Yung normal lang na star ah, style parol na lima ang dulo. Siguro medyo moody lang sya nung time na yun. Di ko na maalala ang tinuturo nya eh basta kalagitnaan ng lecture eh medyo nakaramdam talaga ako ng pagtatae. Yun nga nagsabi ako sa kanya ng “Ma’am, may I go out?” Eh biruin mo ba namang di ako pinayagan? Asus. Di mas lalo pa kong na stress. Maya maya pa eh di ko na talaga nakayanan, kahit anong pilit kong mapigilan ang paglabas ng intruder, kumawala na sa sphincter. Code red biohazard ang nangyari. Talagang sumingaw ng pagkasarap sarap ang fumes at nabalot ang munting silid aralan. Kumisot kisot ang ilong ni ma’am sabay sabing ano yun? Sino yun? That’s not just a fart, sabi pa nya. (malamang sa isip isip eh napapamura na, putangina tae na yun ah!) Wala na, no choice na kasi nagnanarrow down na ang mga ilong ng lahat ng kaklase ko, kumbaga kung radar eh napakalaki ng target at anumang alumpihit ko eh di ko na makontrol ang pagkawala ng fumes… Langya, hiyang hiya talaga ako nung mga oras na yun. Di ko malaman kung anong pose ang gagawin ng hita ko at puwit para magdamage control! Pero hindi mapipigilan ang pagkadiskubre kung sino ang Ground Zero. Ika nga ng mga abogado, overwhelming na ang evidence. Palibhasa nagpaalam naman beforehand, umamin na ako. Maypagka righteous indignation pa bagamat maliit ang aking boses na nagsabi, “sabi ko kasi sa inyo ma’am eh may I go out eh?” Shock din si ma’am, pero natawa na lang bandang huli at siyempre no choice na sya kaya pinayagan na ko pumunta sa CR.

Hindi lang nung bata ako may mga tae moments. Ito lang kumakailan nakaranas uli ako ng unforgettable experience. Interview ko sa isang shipping company nung nagbalak akong maglipat at maghanap ng greener pastures. Pasado naman na sa mga exams at iba pang paper requirements, kaso meron akong final interview sa isang Australian national na representative ng kompanya nila sa Makati. Ewan ko ba kung ano nangyari parang yun yatang nakain kong almusal sa isang fastfood ang dahilan, kalagitnaan ng interview at medyo humihirap hirap na ang tanong, aysus ko po! Nagsimula na naman kumalam ang mga isaw ko, shete naman oh sa isip isip ko! Halos 45 minutes na rin kami naguusap at ok naman so far kasi personal backgrounds lang halos at may mga reserba naman tayong spokening dollars. Pero eto na, kung kelan professional questions na saka pa nagsimula. Buti na lang nung halos kakawala na eh nagsabi na sya na ok na at meron na nga daw kaming 15 minutes break…. Wheew! Hangos talaga ako papunta sa kubeta, pero di na inabot, pagbukas pa lang ng pinto sa cubicle kumawala na ang medyo malabnaw at malagkit na likido pababa sa aking hita. Naibaba ko naman kagad ang pantalon ko at naisalba, nasampay sa may hook sa pinto ng cubicle. Kaso nga lang ang brief ko, awful total contamination. Code Brown. Buti na lang may basurahan dun at naitapon ko kagad. Dahil malaking kumpanya nga ang shipping na yun at hawak ang isang floor ng isang building, maraming tissue at classy ang CR (may bidet pa), madali ko namang naayos ang akong sarili. Commando na ako nung sumunod na phase ng interview pero ok naman at naipasa ko, kaso nga lang di rin ako natuloy dun at meron ngang nagbigay ng mas magandang offer na dati kong senior sa Yupi (yupian ng plato) na kasalukuyang recruitment manager ng isa pang kumpanya. Charge to experience na lang, kaya sa susunod na mga interview ko o matagalang upgrading trainings, magbabaon na ako ng extra brief hehehe.

I remember those times with a keen sense of happiness. Siguro kaya parang naging maudlin ako habang pinagmamasdan ang lumulutang na tae sa dagat eh dahil 1000 years ago ako ay bata pa at walang pakialam, walang problema. Kahit ano kinakain, kahit saan tumatae, lam mo yun? Di gaya ngayon, masyado ng hectic. Kelangan lumayo para magtrabaho, laging merong pangangailangang pinansiyal na pupunuan. Minsan may mga di pagkakasunduan sa mga tao sa paligid, di gaya nun sabay sabay lang na tumatae sa isang sulok ng bundok. Damn! Yun na lang, siguro ang tangi ko na lang magagawa eh magpatuloy sa pakikibaka, bigyan ng mabuting kinabukasan ang mga anak ko sa pamamagitan ng pagtatrabaho. Maging ulirang ama ika nga.

Tapos siguro after nun, pag ok na sila, aakyat na lang ako uli sa bundok ng aking pagkabata, tatae sa tuktok, magpupunas ng tuyong dahon at sisigaw : “SHIT, THIS IS LIFE!!!!”

TRAGIC

2009-08-11T18:05:00.001-07:00

22-June-2009
North Of Algerian Coast
En Route Augusta, Sicily

Nabasa ko ang dyaryo kanina. One year anniversary na pala ng aksidenteng Princess of Stars kahapon. Sabi pa sa headline, “Still No Closure for Kin of Tragic Ferry.” At yun nga, malamang daw ay next to nil ang tsansa na makuha pa ang labi ng mga di pa nakikita sa trahedyang yun. Meron pang parte sa balita na tungkol sa isa ngang seaman na kasama dun, kapipirma nga lang daw ng kontrata at nagpasyang umuwi muna pabalik sa Cebu galing Manila. Isang buwan pa naman kasi bago pag sign on uli sa susunod na barko. At yun nga, sabi rin sa balita na hanggang ngayon eh hindi pa rin sinasabi ng kanyang asawa sa maliliit nilang mga anak ang totoong dahilan kung bakit di pa umuuwi ang papa nila, ang kanilang kawawang tatay na kabilang sa mga pasahero na di pa nakikita ang labi. Hanggang ngayon eh naroon pa rin ang pagasa ng abang maybahay na maaaring buhay pa ang kanyang asawa. Parang mirror sentiment din mula sa nakaraang trahedya ng Air France na nag crash sa gitna ng Pacific. Meron ding isang seaman na nakasakay dun at kaka sign off lang galing ng Brazil. Sinabi rin sa balita ng kanyang naiwan sa atin na hindi siya naniniwalang patay na ang kanyang asawa at magaling nga daw itong lumangoy. Umaasa pa rin si misis na matatagpuan pang buhay si mister.

Kung iisipin, talaga ngang napakahirap tanggapin ang pagkawala ng isang mahal sa buhay. Nung pumanaw din ang kapatid ko sa murang edad na disinuebe, bagamat pinaglalamayan na namin ang kanyang bangkay, di ko pa rin matanggap na wala na siya. Siya kasi ang unang pumanao sa pamilya namin at bente anyos na ko ng mangyari yun sa amin. Hindi kayang ipaliwanag kung gano kahirap matanggap ng puso at isipan na wala na nga ang taong kaylapit dun. Hanggang ngayon naaalala ko pa rin ang kapatid ko, di na singpait ng dati dahil halos 9 na taon na din yun eh, mas lamang na lang ang panghihinayang. Iniisip ko kung buhay pa sya, ano na kaya ang kanyang trabaho? Ang kanyang itsura? Pano kaya sya maging ama? (2 ang panganay ng loko bago sumibat ng panghabambuhay hehe) Magmamatured na ba kami sa isat isa at di na lang laging nagsusuntukan? Di kami naging magclose talaga ng utol ko na yun, lagi nga kaming bangayan eh. Pero nung nawala sya, wala, para akong pinagsakluban ng langit at lupa. Ang hirap…

Balik tayo sa Princess of Stars. Personal sa akin ang istorya ng Princess of Stars. Ewan ko ba kung bakit sa dinami dami ba naman ng mawawalan eh ba’t yung nakasama ko pang chief mate last year. Napakabait na opisyal ni Chief Leo, tubong Samar at kababayan nga ni erpats. Higit singkuwenta anyos, tahimik lang at walang bisyo. Napakasipag rin at pag naging kabiruan mo na eh napakamasayahing tao. Minsan nagkuwento sya sa akin ng magpalitan kami ng duty sa bridge na yun nga tumawag daw siya sa misis nya at nabalitaan nyang naaksidente ang sinasakyan ng anak nya na isang interisland na Ferry sa tin. Sabi pa nya eh hindi naman daw siya kabado at alam nyang magaling naman daw lumangoy ang anak nya at kasalukuyan ngang kadete ng nasabing barko kaya aware at fully trained sa safety of life at sea.

Proud si chief mate sa anak nya at lagi nya ring nakukuwento sa akin bago pa lang mangyari ang aksidente. Kasabay ko pa syang bumili ng second hand na laptop minsang nasa Yokohama, Japan kami at sabi nga nya’y para sa anak nya yun. Humingi pa sya sa akin ng kopya ng mga navigational programs na magagamit nito sakaling maging opisyal na rin tulad nya someday.

“Matanda na ko sec eh, malamang di na ko makaabot sa pagiging kapitan, siguro eh etong anak ko na lang ang supurtahan ko para maagang maging tano.”

“Napakabait ng batang yun sec, tahimik lang at wala akong masabi, walang barkada at bisyo,”

Ilan lang yan sa mga puri nya. Natutuwa ako kay Chief, naaalala ko sa kanya ang tatay ko. Seaman din kasi at tubo ring Samar si Papa. Bagamat nung umpisa’y ayaw din akong pag seamanin ng tatay ko, naging supportive na rin sya nung nagpilit akong magseaman hanggang makapasok nga sa yupi (yupian ng plato) upang maging “naughtycal iskolar.” Pero ewan ko lang sa parteng pagpupuri bilang mabait na bata, kunsumisyon kasi ako madalas nun eh hehehe.

Yun na nga hanggang sa dumaan pa ang ilang araw at naglabas na talaga sa akin ng bigat ng loob si chief, mas matindi pala sa inaasahan nyang trahedya ang nangyari. Sa telepono sinabi ng misis nya na andami pa palang unaccounted at di pa nakikita. Patuloy na rin pala ang pagtaas ng bilang o tally ng namatay at mas lamang sa survivors. At sa sandaling yun, wala pa rin daw silang balita sa sitwasyon ng anak nya. Nakausap na rin daw ng misis nya ang isang kasamaha nitong kadete, at yun nga nasabi nun na di pa din daw nakikita ang kanilang anak.

“Umiyak na rin ako sec, halos buong umaga ako kaninang luhaan,” sabi nya.

Awang awa ako kay chief mate, magulang na rin kasi ako nung mga panahong yun, at sinong magulang ang gustong maranasan ang ganung bagay? Gang ngayon eh awang awa pa rin ako sa nanay at tatay ko sa nangyari sa king kapatid. Di rin nawawala sa akin ang nabasa kong linya minsan sa isang libro. Tungkol nga sa nawalan ng anak na magulang, “ A parent should never bury his or her child, it is an abomination against nature.”

Tama lang. Walang magulang na nasa matinong kaisipan ang di magsasabing kahit buhay nila ang hilingin eh ibibigay nila ng walang dalawang isip para sa anak. Lahat ay naghahangad na magkarun ng produktibo, mahaba at masayang buhay ang kanilang mga supling. It is not just an abomination, it is the most painful and unfair life experience any parent can ever go through.

Ewan ko ba pero parteng X-files na muna tayo ha? Kasi minsan nung shomat kami sa kabina nya nung mga panahong yun dahil kelangan nya nga lagi ng kausap, nakatulog ako sa may sofa ng dayroom nya nung umalis na siya para mag duty uli. Hapon yun at wala sa ayos, binangungot ako. Sa panaginip ko (na kinikilabutan pa rin ako sa tuwing maaalala), mulat ang diwa ko at nabasag daw lahat ng bintana sa kabina ni chief. Pagtapos nun eh bigla daw pumasok ang mala delubyong tubig at nalulunod ako. Naknangkagaw. Buti na lang nagising ako kagad. Kayo? Ano sa tingin nyo ang ibig sabihin nun? Kayo na maginterpret… Shit talaga.

Pinalipas ko muna ang isang araw bago ko kinuwento kay chief yun. Di ko makakalimutan ang naging reaksyon nya, tinignan nya lang ako ng isang napakalungkot na tingin at tapos nun tumingin sya sa malayo na nangingilid ang luha. Ganun pala ang maging harbinger of tragedy. Kakatakot. Bakit ako pa… demmet!

Matapos ang halos 5 araw na walang balita, nagdesisyon na si chief. Uuwi na sya sa susunod na puwerto. Hirap na hirap na ang kalooban ng asawa nya tuwing naguusap sila sa telepono at sabi nya ay nagaalala sya para sa kanyang pareha, di daw makakaya nun kung sakali mang worst na ang pangyayari.

Matagal din bago nakauwi si chief, wala kasi kagad mahanap na kapalit nya sa barko. Buti na lang nag dry dock kami for ship’s repair sa Saigon at medyo matagalan ang pagstay kaya kahit pano nahabol din ang kapalitan nya. Di ko na alam kung ano ang nangyari matapos yun. Wala na ako balita sa kanya at di na rin nakatawag dahil medyo naging busy rin. Naging personal rin ang pagsunod ko sa balita ng Princess of Stars. Hinahanap ko at nakikiasa ako sa pamilya nya na makita ang pangalan ng anak nya sa mga survivor. Nakiisa rin ako sa kanya sa pagmumura sa mga authorities na pumayag umalis ang barkong yun kahit may storm signal na, sa mga opisyal at nagpapatakbo ng Sulpicio Lines. Di naman talaga dapat nangyari to eh kung sinunod ang mga normal procedures.

Nung panahong naguusap kami, kinukumbinse ko rin ang sarili ko na maniwala sa mga nagsusulputang conspiracy theories na kuwento ng misis nya. Para na rin mabigyan ko ng lakas ng loob ang napakabait na chief mate na yun.

“Oo chief, malamang sinafety na muna ng Sulpicio ang anak mo at iba pang survivor na empleyado nila kasi ayaw muna nila sabihin ang totoong nangyari.”

“Oo chief, malamang nandun yun ngayon at nagpapakasarap sa isang private na hotel at asikasong asikaso, bago sila iharap sa media, syempre briefing muna.”

At marami pang iba.

Gang ngayon umaasa ako na sana’y bigla na lang kakatok sa kanilang pinto ang kanilang matagal ng walang anak.

Sana nga, san ka man chief, ganun ang nangyari…

HORSEY!

2009-08-11T18:03:00.002-07:00

27-05 june mohammedia to midia
03 June 2009
Transitting Dardanelles strait, Turkey

Tagal ko ring walang di nakapagsulat ah hehehe. Anyway after namin mangaling sa Petit- Courone sa France bumalik kami sa Mohammedia, Morocco para mag discharge. After discharging eh eto pabalik na naman kami sa Midia.

Kabababa ko lang after magduty kanina. Transitting kasi kami sa Dardanelles strait sa Turkey. Ito yung unang strait bago mag Istanbul Strait na ang labas na nga ay sa Black Sea. Babalik kasi kami sa Romania para mag loading na naman.

Habang duty ko eh nagkuwentuhan kami nung piloto at sabi nga nya, ang Dardanelles area pala ang isa sa pinaghihinalaan ng mga historians and geographers na site ng ancient city of Troy. Siguro naman alam ng marami ang kahit kunting istorya sa Greek Epic na yun na sinulat ni Homer. Kung di nyo pa rin maalala o di nyo napanood yung pelikula starring Brad Pitt, malamang narinig nyo na rin yung expression na “the face that launched a thousand ships”? Yung expression na yun eh nagpapatungkol kay Helen of Troy, na inabduct ni Paris na isang prinsipe ng Troy mula sa isa sa mga hari ng Greek States. To defend his honor eh nagdemand siya ng giyera laban sa Troy, na since kinaiingitan ng mga Greek at mayaman nga at malakas na city state din, pinasya nilang pag tulung tulungan. Ayun sa mythology ni Homer, si Helen ang pinakamagandang babae sa kapanahunan nya. Pero in a historian’s point of view, hindi lang kagandahan niya ang dahilan kaya nagpasyang umatake ang mga Griyego. Naging scapegoat na rin sya para sa napipintong giyerang Greek-Trojan, dahil nga threatened na rin ang mga Greek sa asenso at “military might” ng mga Trojan. Tsaka gusto na rin siguro nilang ransackin ang mayaman ngang syudad na yun. Kaya yun na nga, a fleet of at least a thousand small ships went to war against Troy.

Pero at the end, kahit pa napatay na ni Achilles (Greek Champion) si Hector (Trojan Champion), di pa rin matalo talo ng mga Griyego ang mga Trojan. Dumating sa puntong ang tagal na ng giyera eh wala pa ring nakikitang end in sight dahil nga ang Troy ay isang “walled city,” napapaligiran ng matataas at makapal na pader gawa sa solidong bato. Siguro din wala pang epektibong siege engines that time na kayang magpabagsak sa pader ng Troy. Kaya nag think outside the box na ang mga Greek, naisipan nilang lokohin ang mga Trojan, they devised this elaborate plan, na magiiwan sila ng isang wooden horse na malaki at hollow ang loob, kunyari din lalayag na sila palayo pero ilan pala sa select warriors nila kasama na si Achilles ay nasa loob lang ng Wooden horse na may secret exit way. Sa oras din na ipasok ang “gift of peace” na yun ng mga Trojan, saka sila lalabas ng gabi para buksan ang “mighty gates” ng Troy from the inside. Para di rin sirain ng mga Trojan ang regalong yun, iniwanan ng mga Greeks ng message na peace offering yun kay Diana na isa sa mga main patron gods ng siyudad na Troy.

Nagbunyi ngayon ang mga Trojan. Siyempre ngarag ngarag at so sick and tired na rin sila sa napakatagal na giyera. For all they know, baka magkaapo na sila Helen at Paris ay di pa rin tapos ang gyera kaya nung nakita nila yung regalo, kahit may ilan ding nag warn na wag ngang ipasok o di kaya’y sunugin na lang sa labas ng Troy, the majority still threw caution to the wind and brought the gift inside. That very night, matapos ang Victory party nila sa The Fort, este sa The Troy pala, the Greek Soldiers opened and held the gate until makabalik na yung fleet na di naman lumayag malayo kundi nagtago lang sa gilid ng mainland. And so the great and mighty city of Troy fell from Greek trickery and cunning. Kaya nagkarun na rin ng saying na “don’t trust a greek bearing gift.” Na mention ni Sean Connery yun sa movie na “The Rock.” Generally it means to be suspicious of an enemy or an antagonist suddenly turning nice at may dala pang regalo. Pero ang pinakatimeless na phrase mula sa istorya na yun: “TROJAN HORSE.” It means a harmless thing pag nasa labas pero pag nakapasok na in any system, its main purpose is to destroy. Dun nagsimula yang terminong yan, sa napa ka ancient at historical na giyerang yun. Isa pa pala eh yung “Achilles heel,” which means “sole weakness.” Kasi di ba si Achilles sikat bilang indestructible fighter and warrior, a champion without fear, pero ang katapat nya lang pala ay one shot of arrow to his heels. Kaya yun ang tawag di lang sa anatomical part kundi pati na rin sa kahinaan ng isang tao.

*********
Wheew! Sensya na kung makuwento, sana na lang may mainspire ako kahit ilan sa mga interesting stories na yan. Sana may maengganyong magbasa ng Greek mythology, napakagandang libangan ng pagbabasa kasi it broadens and sharpens the mind. I strongly recommend yung sinulat ni Edith Hamilton, title “Mythology.” Dyan lang sa Recto marami na eh. DI rin nauubusan ang National Bookstore ng stock nito. It was a phase in highschool kasi, this Mythology addiction. Dalawa kami ni Christian O. na classmate ko sa Olongapo sci high nun na laging nagkukuwentuhan at nakakatawa nga kasi siyempre pasikatan kaya kahit di ko pa nababasa yung parteng kinukuwento nya sinasabi ko na alam ko na hehehe.

******
Tsaka di lang naman naman diyan sa kuwento na yan nagtatapos eh. Kumbaga eh pinapasarap ko pa muna ang blog para sa mga main entry. Naaalala nyo ba yung ginamit na Trojan horse sa mismong pelikulang Troy? Dito pala sa Dardanelles na shoot yung karamihan sa mga scene dun to lend it, ika nga, “a touch of reality” dahil nga dito ang possible historical site ng city of Troy. And the best part eh nandun pa pala yung Trojan horse na yun sa isang area dito at DADAANAN nga ng barko namin sa transit nga na to!!!!

Dahil natuwa yata sa pagiging good listener ko yung piloto (technique: kahit alam mo na karamihan sa sinasabi ng kausap mo, sabihin mo pa rin hindi pa. You will really be surprised dahil sooner or later meron pang sasabihin sa yo yung tao na interesting din at HINDI mo pa alam), nilapit nya ang passing ng barko sa dock area kung nasan nakalagay yung Hollywood version. Thank you ser!!!

TADAH!!! Ayan may picture na ako na yun ang nasa background. Di man to ang original na Trojan horse, at least hawig naman kay Brad Pitt yung nasa background na opisyal! (Ang komontra may regalo sa kin, isang email na may Trojan Horse virus hehehe)

*******
I also composed this poem mga 2 years ago with matching pencil artwork hehehe (one of those boring night watches na walang magawa at open sea pa hehehe). Dedicated to my MarSe.

TROJAN HEART
George Anos

Could you be the Trojan horse,
To bypass the defences of my heart?
Let harmless acts of kindness, run a course,
Break all barriers, to the tiniest part

For once there was, a fancy conqueror,
With soldiers and horses, and tall banners,
In the stomping ground, there was such tremor,
She was fearful and bold, in all manners

She battered my strong gates, scaled my wall,
Rained upon me rocks, and fiery arrows,
My good soldiers, one by one came to fall,
There was much sorrow, on their death throes

Woe be my army, vanquished and beaten,
Torn apart in the blitz, of sudden attack,
All of them stood, until thoroughly smitten,
True warriors’ courage, they never did lack

So alas for me, I did surrender,
My forts and castle, and kingdom whole,
Lest all that remains, be torn asunder,
I gave her my all, from King to Fool

She took it all, and claimed as her own,
I played the Jester, upon her feet,
Settled herself, on my sorry throne,
Never did knew, my heart’s dead meat

At first it was easy, to her bend my knees,
For she was radiant, and beyond compare,
My woeful sorrows, she banished with a kiss
An empress divine, she was my lady fair

It came to pass, she turned a bad leaf,
Here acts were no more, of a fair sovereign,
She became hard, and wearyingly stiff
Upon us both settled, a palpable strain

I never realized, she had her sights,
To another domain, richer than mine,
Her inflamed passion, ebbed to dim lights
In her mind formed, a betrayer’s design

Then she announced, in my once great hall,
How she intends, to march once more,
To another conquest, ripe for the fall,
Greater things she said, lies for her in store

She assembled once more, her great army,
Mightier ever, than the one who came,
Her ranks has swelled, strengthened by the bounty,
Of my kingdom conquered, that she made tame

The dust she stirred, with abrupt departure,
Took the longest time, to finally settle,
A bitter-sweet moment, my life’s great torture,
But stand up I did, with my hard won mettle

Before her I thought, I’m consigned to be alone,
Live only for myself, without for others- care,
Never imagined, to foolish love I’d be prone
Now cruel melancholy, upon my face- stare

So it was that tragedy, which lead me finally,
Have another invasion, upon my lands-never,
To guard my boundaries, and bolster my army,
Let the pain in my heart, with cold fury- wither

The petty palisades of wood, are now of stone,
Upon ramparts are erected, many cannons strong,
Mighty swords sharpened, arrow-heads honed,
Wishing anger to sustain me, keep my vigil long

Much has been done, and more has been sought,
I promised to be mighty, not conquered futilely,
Often I be dismal, when I stare down my moat,
Need I be strong always, but eternally lonely?

Thence once these lonesome times, I look at you,
Saw a princess lovely, aloof and shy,
Could such beauty hold, a heart pure and true?
“No” I told myself, knowing full well I lie

Every moment then, are filled with longing,
For I knew you were special, a fragile innocence,
Could my night watch finally, see it’s morning?
But I won’t give up easy, what I built so far hence

To harsh self-flagellation, this denial has turned,
Fiercer heart-rending than, being left for a fool,
More formidable even, than all the days I mourned,
For rejection of affection, is now my first rule

Behind my quiet hard eyes, I ask you fervently,
Underneath my grim and dark façade, lies a question,
Hoping against hope, you will hear this mute plea,
Allow me once again, to breath Love’s desperation

Hear this entreaty, asked in silent despondency,
Words are not needed, Just feel my agony……

Could you be the Trojan horse,
To capture surreptitiously my heart?
Free me from this maddening curse,
Shatter this misery to the tiniest parts

COASTGUARD DRILL

2009-08-11T18:03:00.001-07:00

21 May 2009

SAR exercises with Dover Coastguard
Duty ko kanina ng may makita matuling echo sa radar. Approaching from aft ang echo kaya lumabas ako para sumilip sa likod. Demmet! Isang malaking chopper ang dire diretso sa amin!!! Tinawag ko ngayon yung AB na swerte naman nung oras na yun at may dalang camera. Di habang kinukuhanan namin, nagtaka na ako kasi steady lang yung approach bearing at biglang bumagal nung palapit na sa amin. Hanggang sa makalapit na nga at marinig ko yung ingay ng elise. Demmet! Takbo ko sa loob ng bridge sa isip ko baka kami ang pakay nito.
Di naman ako nagkamali at yun nga bigla na lang tumawag sa amin ang Dover Coast Goard. Motor Tanker ____, this is Dover Coastguard on channel 16, do you read over? Ako naman medyo natataranta na at ang ingay na rin ng propeller ng helicopter at sobrang excited pero di naman pumalya ang engliys natin hehehe Yes sir this is _____, go ahead. Yes Captain, can we go to channel 10 please! This is the duty officer speaking Dover Coast guard, and roger let’s go to one-zero. Lipat naman ako sa channel 10. Motor Tanker ______, this is Dover Coast guard on channel 10. We are currently undergoing a search and rescue drill and would like to ask your vessels participation. Can we land a person on your poop deck and hoist him back again?

Sus ko po! Nung sandaling yun talaga namang sobra na ang kabog ng puso ko, hindi laging natityempo ang isang barko sa mga ganitong operasyon. Sa sobrang dami kasi ng shipping traffic sa Coast ng South England, swerte na ang one out of a thousand na mapili sa ganitong operasyon.

Since duty officer lang ako eh pautal utal na ang sagot ko na papaalam muna ako kay Kapitan kung papayag nga sya. Ayun tinawagan ko si tano at sabi nya ok just ask instructions to the coastguard what we need to do.

You don’t have to do anything sir, just continue your present course and speed and we will execute the rest. The drill is, one man will be lowered on your deck and after 5 minutes of embarking on your poop deck, we will hoist him up again. Is this understood?

Ok sir, understood. Continuing present course and speed and standing by this channel.

Matapos ang clear communication na yun, nag baba na nga sila ng tao sa kubyerta namin sa may poop deck. Syempre rin sunod sunod ang picturan pag ganito na ang sitwasyon. Naglabasan na rin ang crew para tignan kung ano ang nangyayari at ang swerte nung mga kolokoy na nasa baba kasi nakapagpa picture sila kasama yung bumabang coastguard man. Duty ko kasi kaya di ko maiwanan ang bridge eh. Ang laki nung helicopter nila, state of the art talaga. Napaka commendable din ng professionalism at competence ng coastguard ng bansang ito, mula sa pagtawag hanggang approach ng helicopter, sa pagbaba ng tao hanggang paghoist up nila uli. Syempre in a way proud din ako at barko namin ang napili para sa sensitibo pero exciting na drill na to. All in all I think I handled the situation well naman, maayos naman ang pakikipagspokening ko at naintindihan ko naman sila kahit iba ang accent at slang ng mga Bitoy (kapapanood na rin ng comedy series na “Little England” hehehe). That moment din sigurado akong andaming ibang barko sa area na nakarinig sa usapan namin at yung iba nainggit at kami napili hehehe. Yun namang mga kapwa pinoy na nabosesan ako, syempre proud din ang mga yun at Filipino officer yung duty sa barkong nakipag coordinate sa sensitive drill with Dover coastguard na yun. Syempre ang isa pa eh at least alam ko na andyan lang ang Dover Coastguard na kung handang mag spend ng resources at manpower sa mga drills eh mas lalo na siguro sa actual emergencies! Na handang tumulong 24 hours a day sa kung sinuman o anumang barkong mag signal ng distress call. I salute you ladies and gentlemen, guardians of the South English Coast. As a former Brit captain of mine (Nigel Golder, Safmarine Container ship ca. 2007) used to exclaim, “good man!,” indeed, GOOD MAN all of you!

***********
Gang ngayon eh medyo iba pa rin ang kabog ng dibdib ko. Sobrang excitement. Parang feeling Hollywood din, in a way nakarelate sa communications part ng mga pelikulang gaya ng Black Hawk Down, The Hunt For Red October, etc. Kahit na drill lang at hindi actual life threatening emergency, andun pa rin sa isang sulok ng isip ko na special event yung nangyari.
Sige dito na muna. Ginutom ako kaya ATTACK the kaning lamig muna ako!

ROGER THAT!!!

***********

P.S. Kung may makabasa rin na mga ka batch and co-alumni ko mula sa Yupi (Yupian ng Plato) na nagjoin sa Philippine Coast Guard or PN (career options din kasi yun ng Alma Mater namin), lalo na kay Patrick B., Pande, Joseph B, Jotham G., Ronnie Ong, greetings and I hope you will remain steadfast in your service to our Motherland!

Regards and carry on Bunkmates!

See pictures below for sequence of events:

I AM SAILING!

2009-08-11T18:01:00.000-07:00

20 May 2000
Petit-Couronne
Sailing Seine

Kalalabas lang namin sa puwerto ng Petit-Courone sa bandang southwest ng Paris. Sayang nga at saglit lang kami sa pwerto, matulin kasi ang loading rate kaya di na nakalabas papunta sa sikat na city of Paris. Pero ang dinadaaanan naming ilog eh isa rin naman sa pinakasikat na ilog sa Europe, ang SEINE RIVER. Nung panahon ng mga magagaling na artists gaya nila Renault, Manet at Monet, madalas itong inspirasyon sa mga paintings. Andami ding mga tula na nainspire ang ilog na to. Isa rin ito sa piping saksi sa nangyaring French Revolution, where a country beheaded their king. Madaming dugo ang dumanak sa Seine para lamang sa motto ng French revolution na Liberty, Fraternity and Equality. Napalitan to ng republic na naundermine din naman ng pagdating ni Napoleon Bonaparte. Pero ngayon balik na uli sila sa Republic. La lang nagkukuwento lang kasi medyo may naaalala pa rin naman tayo sa World history natin eh hehehe. Tsaka palabasa rin kasi ako lalo na pag walang magawa, sa totoo lang andami ngang napakauseless information sa utak ko eh. Kung maaari nga lang i erase para mapalitan naman ang memory eh ginawa ko na eh hehehe.

Actually nakabiyahe na ako dito mga year 2002 nung makabalik ulit sa barko matapos maka gradweyt. Nga lang abot lang kami sa Port Jerome sa may bungad lang yun ng Seine di gaya ng Petit-Couronne na ang layo pa at malapit na nga sa Paris. Pero mas malapit ang lugar na to sa syudad na Rouen, dito sa city na to sinunog si Joan of Arc. Sa history si Joan ang napakabatang heneral ( at babae pa)na nagrally sa French Army para labanan at patalsikin ang mga English at cronies nila. Ginawa nya daw yun dahil sinabi sa kanya mismo ng Diyos at naririnig nya nga daw first hand ang boses ng nasa taas na naguudyok sa kanyang pamunuan ang hukbong Pranses. Nangyari naman at naging victorious sila matapos ang marami ring madugong laban. Pero wala din, bandang huli naging biktima din si Joan ng Catholic inquisition na nagakusa sa kanyang isang “heretic” at “blasphemous” dahil nga sa pagpipilit nyang naririnig nya ang salita ng Diyos. Kaya ayun walang awa syang sinunog sa isang square sa siyudad na to sa utos na rin ng matataas na tao sa simbahan. Meron ngang kasabihan ang mga puti na “No good deed goes unpunished,” isang halimbawa nun ang nangyari kay Joan. Tama muna dyan mamaya sabihin nyo history teacher na ko eh hehehe. Nagenjoy lang naman din kasi ako nung napanood yung movie version, JOAN OF ARC (starring my idol John Malkovich as the French king) hehe.

CRUISE SHIP "THE WORLD"

Balik tayo, dahil nga liner yung barko na sinakyan ko na may biyaheng Port Jerome, pabalik balik lang kami dito. Isa sa unforgettableexperience ko eh yung nakita ko yung private cruise ship na THE WORLD. Sus ko po napakalaki talaga. Maraming mayayamang may sariling kuwarto sa cruise ship na yun, mga sikat na celebrities, royalties at businessmen. Hindi ito ordinaryong cruise ship kasi parang real estate yung pagaari nila eh. Kumbaga eh parang floating 5 star condominium at exclusive lang ang mga pasahero, yun lamang may mga pagaaring kabina dun ang nakasakay, o di kaya mga bisita nila. Ito kasi ang una sa mga may concept na ganito, floating real estate at high class pa ang maintenance. Not your average Condominium hehe. Baka one square meter floor area lang nito eh isang unit na sa Makati hehehe. Bihira lang siguro ang makakakita sa barkong ito at swerte ko talaga at maikukuwento sa mga apo apuhan ko yun hehehe.

Syempre while at it, dadagdagan ko pa ang kuwento: na nakita ko si Bill Gates dumadayb sa may pool deck, na si Tiger woods nasa Upper deck sa Golf greens at nagpa practice ng swing, na si Paris Hilton andun sa isang kuwarto at kumaway pa sa akin. Walang kokontra kay lolo mga apo!

Sa ngayon eh daydreaming din ako, kelan kaya ako makakabili ng sariling kabina sa ganung mga barko? Malamang after one thousand syete mil na taon hehehe… Pero kung di talaga kaya, ok na kahit sa tuktok na lang ng funnel ako tumira hehehe…
Humh-aaahhhhh!!!! Nak ng, antok na ko!!! Dito na po muna, managinip muna ako ng sarili kong barko na nagta transit sa Seine river hehehe.

COUNT DRACULA

2009-08-11T18:00:00.000-07:00

04 May 2009
Arrived at Midia, Romania

Dumating na kami sa Romania. Malayo ang pwerto namin sa kabihasnan at kailangan pa ng service boat kung magaashore. Yun sabi nung driver ng service boat hatid sundo na daw kami ay 20 dollars lang kaya apat na kaming nag sama sama para makatipid. Ayos naman ang labas namin nakainternet din at nakita ko rin ang Romania kahit pano. Ang isa sa napansin ko eh yung mga horse drawn cars, meron pa pala nito? Palibhasa kasi eh marami pa ring Gypsies sa area na to ng Europe eh:

Sikat din ang bansang ito dahil dito nga daw galing si Count Dracula. Pero malayo pa ang Transylvania sa pwerto namin mga ilang oras pa sa kotse kaya nagpakuha na lang ako ng picture sa harap ng Transylvania bank sa may sentro lang ng Midia. Ito na siguro ang closest encounter ko sa sikat na horror villain na yun.

Naalala ko tuloy yung ka boardmate ko dating super cool doktor na nagtatrabaho sa parteng norte ng Zambales. Isa siya sa pinakahinahangaan kong intelectwal at lagi naming kalaro ng chess at kakuwentuhan. Meron kasi kaming samahan sa boarding haws na yun at sya ang pinakapatron and mentor namin. Sa kanya ko unang narinig ang istorya ni Vlad the Impaler, isang Count sa Romania nung panahon ng Ottoman Empire. Para mapigilan ang pagsakop sa Transylvania, lahat ng nahuli nilang mga muslim na Ottoman eh pinagsasaksak sa mga poste habang may hininga pa at nakahilera lang sa dadaanan ng advancing army. Ayun, sa takot daw ng mga Ottoman turks sa nakaimpale nilang kasamahang naghihingalo pa eh di na sila nagpatuloy. Isa pa eh yung pinroject na image ni Count Vlad, na iniinom nya daw sa court nya ang dugo ng mga kaaway sa harapan ng marami. Syempre di natin alam kung totoo yun o hindi, kung gawa gawa lang ng mga medieval propagandists nya para matakot sa kanya hindi lang ang ang lokal na oposisyon kundi mga mananakop na din. Dun nya nakuha yung tinatawag sa ingles na “notoriety,” kung kaya nung sinulat ni Bram Stroker yung Count Dracula (inspired by his story), with matching haunted castles and shrieking fanged bats, pumasok to kagad sa isip ng mga tao.

Siyempre that time eh medyo iba pa ang impact sa mga bata batang isip ng ganun ka gothic na istorya. Para bang magtataka ka kung bakit? Pero kung patuloy kang nagbabasa dun mo marealize na napaka bloody pala ng history, napakalayo sa mga textbook materials. Madalas ang giyera, one nation conquers another, then conquered by another, so on and so forth. At minsan yung iniisip mo na brutal, yun pa pala ang kinoconsider na hero in many ways ng kanyang kalahi.

Gaya nga nitong si Vlad, eh kung di nya ginawa yun di nasakop sila ng Ottoman? Nawala ang kanilang kultura, identity at lahi? Naging isa lang silang “vassal” state o kolonya ng mga Turks. Hanggang ngayon parang local hero pa rin si Vlad sa bansa nya.

Doc P., mentor and elder, nakapunta na rin ako sa bansa ng idol mong si Vlad at di man kita kasama dun, nasa isip ko naman ang mga kuwento mo. Nasan ka na ba doc? Miss ka na ng tropa. Contact ka kahit sino sa min.

*****

Taga Moldova ang chief engineer namin at nagtaka ako kasi nagkakaintindihan sila ng Romanian na surveyor at loading master. Nung tinanong ko sya eh ang sabi nya dati daw palang probinsiya ng Romania ang Moldova. Nga lang nung nagkarun ng Soviet Empire eh kinuha nila at naging parte na nga ng USSR. Katulad din pala ng Ukraine at marami pang iba na ngayon eh independent states na rin. Politics na naman hehehe! Iba rin talaga pag nakikita mo ang mundo literally,you see stories behind the stories first hand!

******

Yun lang naman ang makuwento ko sa Romanian trip na to, and the fact na nung nagashore kami eh pinilit naming makauwi ng bago mag dilim, mahirap na baka nga may mamaw na naninipsip ng dugo hehehe!!