Ambiguity

My hand groped down my pocket for my mobile phone, and it was not there. Argh! I probably left it at home again- memory gap.

---

I was on my way to my evening class, I left early that afternoon to avoid rush hour. At about 4:30 pm I’m near Taft Avenue station already. I got off the bus immediately, as soon as it stopped near the station, I’m hoping at that time, it’s not jam-packed again in MRT. Well going up the overhead MRT, the queue is just like “snake road” that leads to heaven. When you get there, you’ll be exposed with a view of people like they’re in cans of sardines (without tomato sauce) in every train. I happened to ride the last coach and I squeezed in and stood at the back hugging my backpack. But every time the sliding doors open passengers start gushing in and only a few is going out, as a result, we’re literally a canned sardines sharing not of tomato sauce but “sweat” sauce.

Usually, I’m testy about being haggard, when I’m pinned in that kind of scenario, I’ll get in the train fresh, I’ll get off the train, wasted. But at that particular point, I had a paradigm shift, my perspective changed, instead of being irritated or annoyed I felt calm and enjoyed the moment being among the ordinary people, wad masses in that coach. Why?

In the news the night before, unabated crude oil price hikes caused the inevitable fare hike and public transport groups are even clamoring for more, the commuting public diverts to railway transports as means of transportation. I felt that I have no right to demand for comfort, if we all in that situation are trying to compress ourselves just all to fit in the couch.

Now we would understand. Just like hapless Filipino students who can’t afford matriculation in private schools because of annual Tuition increase fall back to already heavily crowded public schools whether they like it or yes…or on the other hand, they will opt to drop out. Just like the case of University of the Philippines, the supposedly state college for the Filipino youth especially the financially deprived but deserving, ironically raised 300 percent in matriculation fee, now only 30 percent enrolled among those who took the UPCAT. What does this mean?

In another news, Philippines was said to be likely become a society of skinny people, more likely as the masses struggle daily just to have a square meal a day, because of the high prices of basic commodities, low purchasing power of peso and the rice shortage.

While compressed inside the carriage, I started to contemplate. Coming near in just few weeks, GMA will address the public in her SONA. I wondered what she would say. Will she still exalt with her pronouncements “Ramdam na ramdan na ang kaunlaran”, like what her banners and public ads in radio and TV all over Metro Manila are screaming. And upon uttering those words will the angels sing in heaven, will bands play endlessly or will the people hallucinating in hunger or high in dope will all chorus? “yeah rayt!”

I don’t like to blame Gloria again, nor to point a finger to anyone, I’m tired of doing that, and the problem our country is facing rooted since time immemorial and a lot of leaders have passed her doing nothing as well. (But of course, we can’t deny the plunging trust rate of GMA that commensurate to her performance or legitimacy) But her leadership should be pivotal to our country’s development just like all the opportunities that all our country’s leader s had to elevate our country from extreme poverty.

And in the next two years, we will hear those presidential aspirants again, giving their eloquent speeches, using their best communicator styles to claim the throne of the palace nearby the Ilog Pasig. When will they’re jingle, their body language, their agenda, their style reinforce what they say? Will we still let them delude us, to let them hold our future, to sack us in this wretched plight? (That is, if we will have a 2010 election and if we still have a credible electoral system)

After 30 minutes of travel, I reached Santolan-Annapolis Station, I got off the train, breathe deeply and went ahead. I went up the the ninth floor going to our classroom but when I got there, the door was locked. Wondering why, I went to the school office. I happened to see Sir Paul and asked him, “May klase po ba kami ngayon?” He answered, “wala kayo klase ngayon, ‘di kaba tinext?” smilingly I answered. “naiwan ko po kasi cell phone ko…hehe. Salamat po”.

#

“If you tremble indignation at every injustice then you are a comrade of mine”- che guevarra

A New Hope

It was the first day of class, the subject—Community Development, but supposedly it should be Development Environment of Communication (anyhow, I liked the subject). The class should start at five thirty in a small in room in the College of Social Welfare and Community Development but we waited for some time for about another thirty minutes for our other classmates to come.
While waiting I was wondering what my professor looks like, how old is he, what’s his teaching style or what would be my first impression of him? I’ve heard he’s a distinguished professor of this prominent university.

After a few minutes, he then entered the room carrying a folded old white cloth banner that he immediately spread and hung on the board. We started gazing our eyes on the blanket like banner that is embracing the wall and it seemed that it was used a hundred times already because of the faded prints on it.

He then sat on the table on the center of the aisle and started his lesson. I started to do “thin slicing” as well, I thought he would be just a typical old professor that would cradle us to boredom and sleep. Apologies, I was wrong. His hair was silver gray that was a mark of wisdom and experience, the hoarseness of his voice when he is shouting loud resonate his vivacity in teaching, and his face was marked with white patches that I think was caused by leucoderma, and I believe he was a prolific professor and his room is a fertile ground for seeds that need abundant soil and minds that need intellectual nourishment.

To start his lesson and for us to easily understand the course, he began recounting a parable. By storytelling he was able to let us understand the significance and appreciate the essence of the course.

Basically, community development is about empowering people in communities, and as he said community development is Christianity in action.

As he preached his word about community development, and the way he was telling his stories, it was so vivid, that the classroom transformed into a theater arena, we became an audience and participants as well. He brought us to the remote communities, of the abandoned and deprived, until he let us feel the piteous situations of our poor communities. While he was sharing his stories, he was integrating it with the course.

The subject should be about development, but in reality I didn’t see any development or at least a small improvement in the plight of our people who are living in the slums, our deprived farmers who are still clamoring for their land, and fishermen who are left to fish in an ungenerous  sea or the Filipino masses who are trying to survive in a times like these when the prices of basic commodities, oil, basic services and inflation rate are soaring high, corruption, crime and social injustice festers.

We can only laugh with his jokes that he is pitching each in every time but once the smoke of euphoria cleared out, we can only shake our heads that in reality instead our situation progress it retrogress.

Eventually, at eight thirty, he ended his story, but before we leave his lashing words created deep marks in our hearts with the challenges that we as community developers or development communicators have to face and a system to change. But despite all the problems and issues, it seems that there is always hope, and from hope we can start to change the stereotype culture, the stagnant plight of our country.

Before he ended, he said who among us wants to tell the same old story that will make our hearts heavy? He’s giving the same lecture for decades already, but he said he has to because nothing has been changed yet. But despite what it seems to be insurmountable problems of our country, he said there is hope, and from that hope we can start to make our future bright. And he said, his hope lies in the glittering eyes of his students, that among them will arise another lionhearted “Ka Lito” who will continue the mission empower our people and in order to empower must serve, in order to serve must be one of those he is serving.

My Muse, please visit me again…

This would be my first entry for this blog, it took me a year to start it and write again, my professor (Sir Y) was the instrument to initiate and to compel me to create this blog (one year in the making, finally), and will it be a shame? That I’m writing again because it’s a requirement?…perhaps.


I was a writer with no more article, a storyteller that got out of story, a journalist that turned back on his duty…will it be a shame?…perhaps.



A year after I got out of the pigeonhole, from the four-panel classroom, after four years of writing and fighting while serving as a student journalist, flinging words that cuts through hypocrisy of people, ( ah I miss the times—fearless and dauntless) now, I found myself lost. I don’t know how to write anymore. Is it possible?…perhaps.


My mentors would always say that it’s grimmer in the real world, so are you prepared? And a year after, with my own personal struggles, adapting to changes, facing reality, I started to feel vulnerable to dreaded reality. Am I a weak?…perhaps.


When I was still a student, I was so eager to graduate and pursue my dream, to be a writer and be a journalist. I even devoted a study about violence posed against our local journalist. Subsequently, I was exposed to the reality and issues our local journalists are facing, with this experience, literally you might lose a life or a limb, and they are so vulnerable to corruption because of their economic status, to be a real journalist in this country, you have to struggle to keep your stomach filled while maintaining a clear conscience at the same time or else you impede your purpose, it was a real struggle and I have to ask myself am I prepared to make battle with the system? If not, the system will eat you and you’ll be part of the existing system like a chronic disease of our society. Now that I’m out here, am I walking backwards?…perhaps.
I attended a media congress before where one of the speakers is Maria Ressa, she addressed, “if you want to change the world, be a journalist!”And it resonated in my mind. Until now, it haunts me, I realized you may run but you cannot hide, if you’re called to be a writer no matter what you do, you’re conscience will haunt you. So what am I waiting for? For my whole body to get numb or lose insanity?…perhaps.


But how will I write again? How will I rekindle the passion? There’s enough reason to write, enough reason to heed the call. Though, I felt that the ink of my quill has dried out, my rusted blade can’t cut through anything anymore, and my head is getting shallow.


Journalism is not a lucrative profession but it’s one of the noblest, and before you become a writer you must be prepared, and choosing the lonelier path of conviction, the less travelled path, you’re giving your life to the people. I still remember this old man I met before, with silver grayed hair and wrinkled face. He had his old rugged back pack that is filled with his newspapers, by the way he’s dressed you can say that his income only suffice for himself or not at all, but what’s fascinating about him, if you’ll look into his face, he’s always wearing a smile and radiance despite his old skin. I believe it’s because he knew that he might not have luxuries of the world but he is living a life well lived by becoming a journalist.


My comrades forgive for being late. I know I have to start again, muster up my strength and courage to face the reality and fulfill my duty. It will take time to sharpen my pen, and I will not hurry, like a ballet dancer who limbers up on stage knows she must master her craft by taking a lot of practice. I’ll borrow Abraham Lincoln’s word, “If I had eight hours to chop down a tree, I’ll spend six hours sharpening my axe.” It’s not an excuse. Am I ready?…Perhaps?


I know it’s not yet too late…this time I will. Once I’m done it’ll be a one great leap.☺




————–
“ I write at eighty-five for the same reasons that impelled me to write at forty-five; I was born with a passionate desire to communicate, to organize experience, to tell tales that dramatize the adventures which readers might have had. I have been that ancient man who sat by the campfire at night and regaled the hunters with imaginative recitations about their prowess. The job of an apple tree is to bear apples. The job of a storyteller is to tell stories, and I have concentrated on that obligation.”

– James Michner, The World is My Home

Homage

by Mr. Money in the Bank

You were a mentor

Our teacher

Passing us the necessary lore,

Enthusiastic leader

You were the epitome,

From our never ending struggle

In our office which served as our home,

And a barrack from this raging battle

You were a figure

Chiseled with wit and skill

Without vice and leisure

With your precious and loving Chill

Now that you’re ‘out of the pigeon hole’,

Your presence is still felt

As a major character in our role

To strikes the students enemy with a belt
We will see each other again,

In our battlefieldWielding a pen,

And principle, as our invulnerable shield…

Published in banaag literary journal 2007, Black Tsokolate

Kalyo

ni Kyle atbpa.


Ang taong bulag, sa sarili’y bukal,
Mistulang tuod, kahoy na inaanay
Niloob ay balawis at masukal
Siya’y bumangon man, sadya paring bangkay

Abang ina’y nagdusa at nilugso
Ang kaliluha’y sumukob at namuno,
Tinanikala’t sa paa’y pinayukod
Ng mga mananakop at ganid ay buod

Kaya ikaw ay magmulat at tumindig,
‘di kaila’y sapat, matanto’t tumindig
Magliksi ka at pagtuwang ay makintal
‘pagkat ‘tong mandirigma ma’y napapagal

Aantayin pa bang buhay ay makitil?
Ihasik man sa lupang tigang ang butyl
Dumampi man ay nanatiling kutad
‘di nalasap ang kalayaang hinahangad

Panaghoy ng lupa at ngitngit ng bulkan
Ang dusting alipin at karalitaan
Hindi na mapapaknit ang mga hinagpis
Kapilas ang hilahil ng anak-pawis

Araw di’y sisikat sa bayan kong sawi,
Ngunit kamadhilakahan ay sa tangi
‘di nararapat sa sukab at palalo
Madili-dili ka ng ‘di mangimbulo

(para sa nyutral, manhid at walang pakialam)
-Published in banaag literay journal 2004

Hibik

ni kyle atbpa.

Sa pusong bitak damdami’y bumubugso,
Dala’ng madlang sakit at paninibugho,
Nalungayngay ang langit, tila susuko
Sa pasakit,’tong pag-ibig na tumimo.

Itong bangkang liyag, sa alon ay tangay
At sa pusod nito’y iwinawagayway.
Kuko’y kay bangis, mandaragit ng dagat!
Pumunit sa dibdib at hapdi’y kumagat!

O! Ngayon sa aking kalagayan,
Sa pagkahandusay sa kapaghatian.
Naghuhumiyaw hibla ng aking laman,
Sa’king dinatnang kirot at kahapisan.

Sa pluma ay nunukal ang luhang dugo,
At tinta ng pagdurusa ay tutulo.
Sisipsipin ng lupa ang kamalayan,
Ang buhay ay uusbong sa kamatayan.

Ngunit kalian ma’y ‘wag magpaimbabaw,
Pagtatapat tunay na nakatitighaw,
Sa pagkagapos ay nagsisilbing laya
At ‘wag basta irog ay ipaubaya.

Kung araw ma’y lamunin ng karagatan,
Hapon ma’y pumanaw tungong kadiliman
Ay paalala nitong anaki’y pantas
Tunay na pag-ibig ay ‘di magwawakas.

(para kay chillmark at sa maka-karelate)

-Published in banaag literay journal 2004