Activism
"Activism, in a general sense, can be described as intentional action to bring about social, political, economic, or environmental change. This action is in support of, or opposition to, one side of an often controversial argument.
The word "activism" is often used synonymously with protest or dissent, but activism can stem from any number of political orientations and take a wide range of forms from writing letters to newspapers or politicians, political campaigning, economic activism such as boycotts or preferentially patronizing businesses, rallies, street marches, strikes, both work stoppages and hunger strikes, or even guerrilla tactics."
(Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Activism)
Misconceptions
It has been said more than a few times that political activists are nothing but nuisance. ?some say they clog up the streets or that they were paid by a political rival to oppose another politician.
Well, let's clear that up. There are three kinds of activists, in my view, in the Philippine scene. One is "mobocracy" (in contrast to democracy, that the view of the majority, here it takes the view of the mob); the ones that blame a politician for their strife. They blame the person and only the person (even though it is the system that corrupts the person). They are the ones who usually pay people to join their rallies. They reach in great numbers but their purpose and/or principles are usually a blur, even to themselves. They are the ones that are closest to the word nuisance.
Second; there are the extremists. These are the ones who agitate the people for a revolution. They want a civil war yet their reason for it is not quite clear. They understand their purpose but fail to impart that view to the masses. These are the ones who either crave power or just wants to see the world burn.
And third; there are the activists who are filled with theories and applies those theories. They also impart those theories to the masses. They take these principles from philosopher-socialists who have proven themselves times over. These theories have been tested and proven all over the world; lessons learned from history are taken in part.
The third kind of activists arouse the masses political awareness, organize the masses to take action against oppression, corruption, destruction, injustice and mobilize them towards social, political, economic and environmental change.
(Let us call the third kind of activists "the movement" for this essay)
The movement teaches the masses all their views of a better world, all the theories and lessons how to get there in an alternative school they cal PaDePa or Pambasnsang Demokratikong Paaralan (National Democratic School). The movement is composed of freedom loving, democracy seeking and justice driven youths as a majority of their numbers. Making a living proof of Jose Rizal's statement that the youth is the hope of the motherland.
Yet some say that we are too young. Well, "say not 'I am too young.' to whomever I send you, you shall go; what ever I command you, you shall speak. Have no fear before them, because I am with you to deliver you says the Lord." (Jeremiah 1:7-8)
We should not leave the politics to the politicians. We are the future of this world and whatever they sow, The youth will reap. The youth, the movement should takes part on politics because if the youth does not then there will be no hope for the country.
The decaying system
The movement takes legal ways to bring forth change, yet the government ignores their petition and even discards them. Most of the government officials do not want change because the system feeds their greed for land, wealth and power (to the point that they oppress the poor). So the movement takes to the streets and filling it with their cries for social justice. "Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy." (Proverbs 31:8-9) Fighting for the rights of the oppressed. "Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless; maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed. Rescue the weak and needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked." (Psalm 82:3-4) To set the captives free "The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, 19to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." (Luke 4:18-19) To free all from the oppressive and decaying system and oppressive government.
"Woe to the shepherds of Israel who only take care of themselves! Should not shepherds take care of the flock? You eat the curds, clothe yourselves with the wool and slaughter the choice animals, but you do not take care of the flock. You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. You have ruled them harshly and brutally. So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and when they were scattered they became food for all the wild animals. My sheep wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill. They were scattered over the whole earth, and no one searched or looked for them.
" 'Therefore, you shepherds, hear the word of the LORD : As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, because my flock lacks a shepherd and so has been plundered and has become food for all the wild animals, and because my shepherds did not search for my flock but cared for themselves rather than for my flock, therefore, O shepherds, hear the word of the LORD : This is what the Sovereign LORD says: I am against the shepherds and will hold them accountable for my flock. I will remove them from tending the flock so that the shepherds can no longer feed themselves. I will rescue my flock from their mouths, and it will no longer be food for them." (Ezekiel 34:2-10)
A system of the oppressive government filled with people of lies.
"This is what the LORD says:
"As for the prophets
who lead my people astray,
if one feeds them,
they proclaim 'peace';
if he does not,
they prepare to wage war against him.
"Therefore night will come over you, without visions,
and darkness, without divination.
The sun will set for the prophets,
and the day will go dark for them.
"The seers will be ashamed
and the diviners disgraced.
They will all cover their faces
because there is no answer from God."
"But as for me, I am filled with power,
with the Spirit of the LORD,
and with justice and might,
to declare to Jacob his transgression,
to Israel his sin.
"Hear this, you leaders of the house of Jacob,
you rulers of the house of Israel,
who despise justice
and distort all that is right;
"who build Zion with bloodshed,
and Jerusalem with wickedness.
"Her leaders judge for a bribe,
her priests teach for a price,
and her prophets tell fortunes for money.
Yet they lean upon the LORD and say,
"Is not the LORD among us?
No disaster will come upon us."
"Therefore because of you,
Zion will be plowed like a field,
Jerusalem will become a heap of rubble,
the temple hill a mound overgrown with thickets."
(Micah 3:5-12)
The Ideal System
The movement is Fighting the system. They aim to bring forth a new and better world.
"Behold, I will create
new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
nor will they come to mind.
But be glad and rejoice forever
in what I will create,
for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight
and its people a joy.
I will rejoice over Jerusalem
and take delight in my people;
the sound of weeping and of crying
will be heard in it no more.
"Never again will there be in it
an infant who lives but a few days,
or an old man who does not live out his years;
he who dies at a hundred
will be thought a mere youth;
he who fails to reach [a] a hundred
will be considered accursed.
They will build houses and dwell in them;
they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit.
No longer will they build houses and others live in them,
or plant and others eat.
For as the days of a tree,
so will be the days of my people;
my chosen ones will long enjoy
the works of their hands.
They will not toil in vain
or bear children doomed to misfortune;
for they will be a people blessed by the LORD,
they and their descendants with them.
Before they call I will answer;
while they are still speaking I will hear.
The wolf and the lamb will feed together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox,
but dust will be the serpent's food.
They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,"
(Isaiah 65:17-25)
This new world where the system ends all misery.
"However, there should be no poor among you, for in the land the LORD your God is giving you to possess as your inheritance, he will richly bless you," (Deuteronomy 15:4)
They are the activists with integrity. putting the people [learn to do right!Seek justice, encourage the oppressed.Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.(Isaiah 1:17)] and the new world before themselves.
Being Passive
If you have seen what this decaying and oppressive system does to your fellow men, do not turn away. Yes, the Lord said turn the other cheek but not towards your neighbor. Do not think that the movement is fighting for themselves but rather for for your neighbors. Be the light of the world.
Friday
bagong taon: bagong rebolusyonaryo!
Bagong taon: bagong Pag-asa.
Ito ang madalas na bukambibigng mga tao. Dala daw ng bagong taon ay bagong pagsubok na dapat malampasan. Dala daw ng bagong taon ay bagong pag-asa at bagong pagkakataon.
Siguro nga may katotohanan sa mga sinasabi nila. Sa bagong taon ay lilitaw ang bagong suliranin. Ngunit kung titingnan natin ng maigi, kahit sa kalagitnaan ng taon ay may mga bagong pagsubok. Kahit nga noong patapos ang 2009 ay lumitaw ang bagong suliranin.
Ano ito..?
Ang walang awa at walang kabuluhang pagpaslang ng mga tao sa Maguindanao.
Atheto pa: ang paglilinlang ng gobyerno at pagpapabagal ng paghatid ng katarungan sa masaker sa Maguindanao.
At mas mahayop pa sa sahul: nagdeklara ng walang basehan at iligal na martial law ang pekeng presidente na si Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.
At ngayong bagong taon, Huwag tayong umasa na babago ang mga kabulukang ito. Totoo na maybagong suliranin na lilitaw pero lumang-luma na at nabubulok na nga ang ugat na pinanggagalingan nito: ang Sistemang mala-kolonyal at malapyudal na lipunan na pilit na pinananatili ng mga burokrata-Kapitalista at mga gahaman sa lupa at pera.
Lumang sistema ang sanhi ng matagalang pagkakalugmok natin sa kadiliman, karahasan at kahirapan.
Ngunit may bagong pag-asa.
Makakamit lang natin ang bago at masaganang pamumuhay kung matagumpay na mawasak natin ang kadenang nagtatali sa atin sa nabubulok nana sistema.
Pero ano nga ba ang bagong pag-asa?
Hindi 'ano' kundi 'SINO'.
Tayo!
Tayong KABATAAN ay dapat na pag-aralan ang lipunan, tukuyin ang sanhi ng mga paghihirap ng masa at gumawa ng mga tamang hakbang paramapalaya ang sambayanang Pilipino mula sa pang-aapi ng mga naghahring uri.
Tayong KABABAIHAN ay dapat baguhin ang tingin sa sarili at sa proseso ay mabago ang tingin ng iba sa atin. Tukuyin na ang ugat ng mababang pagtinginsa kababaihan ay ang sistemang nabubulok.
Tayong MANGGAGAWA ay dapat malaman ang tamang pamamalakad, tamang pangangalaga sa kapwa.Pag-aralan natin ang lipunan at maging hukbo na magpapalaya ngsambayanan at ng sangkatauhan.
Tayong MAGSASAKA ay dapat alamin ang karapatan, ipaglaban ang kabuhayan at bayan. Alamin na tayo ang puwersa na magpapalaya sa sarili at magbubukas ng isip ng tao sa bulokna lipunan.
Tayong MAG-AARAL ay dapat na matuto sa masa. Huwag tayong magsawang mag-aral ng lipunan, matuto sa masa at magturo ng tamang hakbang sa pagpapalaya ng bayan.
Buksan natin ang ating mga mata at isipan. Alamin natin ang kabulukan ng nag-iiral na sistema. wasakin natin ito at isulong ang bagong sistema na mag-aahon sa atin mula sa putik na ating kinaroroonan.
Ang bagong pag-asa ay: ang mulat; ang pagmulat sa mga nagbubulag-bulagan at nagbibingi-bingihan;
Pagmulat ng sangkatauhan.
At sa pagpula ng silangan, lalaya na ang sambayanan.
Ito ang madalas na bukambibigng mga tao. Dala daw ng bagong taon ay bagong pagsubok na dapat malampasan. Dala daw ng bagong taon ay bagong pag-asa at bagong pagkakataon.
Siguro nga may katotohanan sa mga sinasabi nila. Sa bagong taon ay lilitaw ang bagong suliranin. Ngunit kung titingnan natin ng maigi, kahit sa kalagitnaan ng taon ay may mga bagong pagsubok. Kahit nga noong patapos ang 2009 ay lumitaw ang bagong suliranin.
Ano ito..?
Ang walang awa at walang kabuluhang pagpaslang ng mga tao sa Maguindanao.
Atheto pa: ang paglilinlang ng gobyerno at pagpapabagal ng paghatid ng katarungan sa masaker sa Maguindanao.
At mas mahayop pa sa sahul: nagdeklara ng walang basehan at iligal na martial law ang pekeng presidente na si Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.
At ngayong bagong taon, Huwag tayong umasa na babago ang mga kabulukang ito. Totoo na maybagong suliranin na lilitaw pero lumang-luma na at nabubulok na nga ang ugat na pinanggagalingan nito: ang Sistemang mala-kolonyal at malapyudal na lipunan na pilit na pinananatili ng mga burokrata-Kapitalista at mga gahaman sa lupa at pera.
Lumang sistema ang sanhi ng matagalang pagkakalugmok natin sa kadiliman, karahasan at kahirapan.
Ngunit may bagong pag-asa.
Makakamit lang natin ang bago at masaganang pamumuhay kung matagumpay na mawasak natin ang kadenang nagtatali sa atin sa nabubulok nana sistema.
Pero ano nga ba ang bagong pag-asa?
Hindi 'ano' kundi 'SINO'.
Tayo!
Tayong KABATAAN ay dapat na pag-aralan ang lipunan, tukuyin ang sanhi ng mga paghihirap ng masa at gumawa ng mga tamang hakbang paramapalaya ang sambayanang Pilipino mula sa pang-aapi ng mga naghahring uri.
Tayong KABABAIHAN ay dapat baguhin ang tingin sa sarili at sa proseso ay mabago ang tingin ng iba sa atin. Tukuyin na ang ugat ng mababang pagtinginsa kababaihan ay ang sistemang nabubulok.
Tayong MANGGAGAWA ay dapat malaman ang tamang pamamalakad, tamang pangangalaga sa kapwa.Pag-aralan natin ang lipunan at maging hukbo na magpapalaya ngsambayanan at ng sangkatauhan.
Tayong MAGSASAKA ay dapat alamin ang karapatan, ipaglaban ang kabuhayan at bayan. Alamin na tayo ang puwersa na magpapalaya sa sarili at magbubukas ng isip ng tao sa bulokna lipunan.
Tayong MAG-AARAL ay dapat na matuto sa masa. Huwag tayong magsawang mag-aral ng lipunan, matuto sa masa at magturo ng tamang hakbang sa pagpapalaya ng bayan.
Buksan natin ang ating mga mata at isipan. Alamin natin ang kabulukan ng nag-iiral na sistema. wasakin natin ito at isulong ang bagong sistema na mag-aahon sa atin mula sa putik na ating kinaroroonan.
Ang bagong pag-asa ay: ang mulat; ang pagmulat sa mga nagbubulag-bulagan at nagbibingi-bingihan;
Pagmulat ng sangkatauhan.
At sa pagpula ng silangan, lalaya na ang sambayanan.
sa mga kamag-aral ko sa paaralan ng buhay
Ikaw ba ay estudyante ng isang unibersidad? May kaya ba ang pamilya mo? Sapat ba ang baon mo sa pangaraw-araw?
Tumaas ang presyo ng langis.
Sino ba ang may kasalanan? Ang mga tsuper ba na may sariling anak na pinagpapaaral? Siyempre hindi. Si mamang tsuper ay nagtaas ng pamasahe dahil tumaas ang presyo ng langis. Eh sino ang may sala? Ang pump boy ba sa gasoline station? Mas lalong hinde, biktima din siya sa araw araw niyang pagcommute papunta ng pinagtratrabahuhan niya.
Ang totoong may sala ay ang gobyerno.
Bakit 'ka mo? Dati ay may kontrol ang gobyerno sa presyo ng langis. Kayang pigilan ng gobyerno kung hinihingi ng mga commuters na babaan ang langis. Eh putik pa sa putik, sira yata ulo ng gobyerno, nagpasa ng oil deregulation law. Patay si Juan. Ngayon kung gusto ng Petron, Shell at Caltex mag oil price hike eh 'di maka-ek ang gobyerno. Sa makatuwid, walang kwenta ang gobyerno! Inaalagaan nila ang mga dayuhang kumpanya ng langis at pinapahirapan ang mga mamamayan na dapat nilang inaalagaan.
Sinabi ng isang kolehiyong manunulat sa akin noon, ang issue daw na ito ay 'di bagay sa Campus Publication dahil di naman apektado ang mga estudyante.
'Di nga ba tayo apektado? Araw-araw, mula lunes hanggang sabado me pasok eh. Kailangang magbyahe. Eh sa pagtaas ng langis tataas ang pamasahe. Therefore I conclude na apektadong apektado ang mga estudyante.
Education.
Sa mga private schools, colleges and universities ay nag baba ng deregulation law. Ibig sabihin ay 'di maka-ek ang gobyerno kung gusto ng unibersidad na magtaas ng tuition fee. O 'di naman kaya ay maningil ng walang kabuluhan na mga bayarin. Muli: Walang kwentang gobyerno!
Tulad ng oil companies, ang mga paaralang ito ay nasa loob ng Pilipinas. Napapasailalim ng pamahalaa ng Pilipinas. Bakit namang binigyan ng independence ang mga 'to? 'Di ba dapat hawak parin sila ng pamahalaan?
Sa buong systema ng edukasyon sa Pilipinas, may buget ang gobyerno para dito. Ang badyet na ito ay 'di umanong mula sa mga buwis na binabayaran ng lahat ng Pilipino. (take note: kahit 'di ka pa 18 at wala ka pang sedula, nagbabayad ka ng buwis sa oras na bumili ka ng kahit na ano, mapa McDo o sari-sari store.) Ang dapat na badyet ay 6 percent ng gross national income (correct me if I'm wrong) Ngunit binawasan ito at ginawang 2 percent. ang binawas ay gagamitin daw umano sa pagbayad ng mga utang ng Pilipinas. Sa dami-daming pera paroo't parito sa mga NBN-ZTE at fertilizer scam, may Euro generals pa, bakit ang edukasyon pa ang binawasan? Kung di ba naman ga*uhan 'to!
Sinabi ng isang kolehiyong manunulat sa akin noon, ang issue daw na ito ay 'di bagay sa Campus Publication dahil di naman apektado ang mga estudyante.
'Di nga ba tayo apektado? Eh edukasyon ang pakay natin sa pag punta sa paaralan.
Sa pamumulita.
Sa korapsyon.
Sa divertion of funds.
Sa illigal abduction ng gobyerno.
Sa 1 milyong piso na hapunan.
Sa mga kabulastugan ng mga politiko.
Sa mga kasinungalingan ng pangulo.
Sa pamamaslang nga mga kabataan at mamamahayag.
Sa criminal neglect ng gobyerno sa mga nasalanta ng bagyo.
Sa mga manlolokong tatakbo bilang pangulo.
Ang bawat estudyante ng kahit na anung unibersidad ay dapat makialam sa mga issue ng Pilipinas.
Ito ang tahanan ng ating lahi, ang lupang sinilangan. Naging Pilipino tayo bago naging estudyante ng PCU. Naging mag-aaral tayo ng Pilipinas simula sa pagkabata hanggang sa huling hininga natin.
Kabataan!
Pag-aralan ninyo ang ating lipunan. Alamin ang tamang mga hakbang. Huwag matakot! Na sa MGA KAMAY NATIN ANG PAGLAYA NG BAYAN MULA SA BULOK NA SISTEMA NA GUSTONG IPANATILI NG MGA TUTANG POLIKO NG ESTADOS UNIDOS.
GUMISING KA KABATAAN!
Ika nga ni Rizal: "ang kabataan ay pag-asa ng bayan."
AT HINDI LALAYA ANG BAYAN KUNG ANG KABATAAN AY WALANG PAKI-ALAM, KIMI, PASIBO AT MAKASARILI!
KUNG WALANG PAKI-ALAM ANG KABATAAN, WALANG PAG-ASA ANG BAYAN!
Tumaas ang presyo ng langis.
Sino ba ang may kasalanan? Ang mga tsuper ba na may sariling anak na pinagpapaaral? Siyempre hindi. Si mamang tsuper ay nagtaas ng pamasahe dahil tumaas ang presyo ng langis. Eh sino ang may sala? Ang pump boy ba sa gasoline station? Mas lalong hinde, biktima din siya sa araw araw niyang pagcommute papunta ng pinagtratrabahuhan niya.
Ang totoong may sala ay ang gobyerno.
Bakit 'ka mo? Dati ay may kontrol ang gobyerno sa presyo ng langis. Kayang pigilan ng gobyerno kung hinihingi ng mga commuters na babaan ang langis. Eh putik pa sa putik, sira yata ulo ng gobyerno, nagpasa ng oil deregulation law. Patay si Juan. Ngayon kung gusto ng Petron, Shell at Caltex mag oil price hike eh 'di maka-ek ang gobyerno. Sa makatuwid, walang kwenta ang gobyerno! Inaalagaan nila ang mga dayuhang kumpanya ng langis at pinapahirapan ang mga mamamayan na dapat nilang inaalagaan.
Sinabi ng isang kolehiyong manunulat sa akin noon, ang issue daw na ito ay 'di bagay sa Campus Publication dahil di naman apektado ang mga estudyante.
'Di nga ba tayo apektado? Araw-araw, mula lunes hanggang sabado me pasok eh. Kailangang magbyahe. Eh sa pagtaas ng langis tataas ang pamasahe. Therefore I conclude na apektadong apektado ang mga estudyante.
Education.
Sa mga private schools, colleges and universities ay nag baba ng deregulation law. Ibig sabihin ay 'di maka-ek ang gobyerno kung gusto ng unibersidad na magtaas ng tuition fee. O 'di naman kaya ay maningil ng walang kabuluhan na mga bayarin. Muli: Walang kwentang gobyerno!
Tulad ng oil companies, ang mga paaralang ito ay nasa loob ng Pilipinas. Napapasailalim ng pamahalaa ng Pilipinas. Bakit namang binigyan ng independence ang mga 'to? 'Di ba dapat hawak parin sila ng pamahalaan?
Sa buong systema ng edukasyon sa Pilipinas, may buget ang gobyerno para dito. Ang badyet na ito ay 'di umanong mula sa mga buwis na binabayaran ng lahat ng Pilipino. (take note: kahit 'di ka pa 18 at wala ka pang sedula, nagbabayad ka ng buwis sa oras na bumili ka ng kahit na ano, mapa McDo o sari-sari store.) Ang dapat na badyet ay 6 percent ng gross national income (correct me if I'm wrong) Ngunit binawasan ito at ginawang 2 percent. ang binawas ay gagamitin daw umano sa pagbayad ng mga utang ng Pilipinas. Sa dami-daming pera paroo't parito sa mga NBN-ZTE at fertilizer scam, may Euro generals pa, bakit ang edukasyon pa ang binawasan? Kung di ba naman ga*uhan 'to!
Sinabi ng isang kolehiyong manunulat sa akin noon, ang issue daw na ito ay 'di bagay sa Campus Publication dahil di naman apektado ang mga estudyante.
'Di nga ba tayo apektado? Eh edukasyon ang pakay natin sa pag punta sa paaralan.
Sa pamumulita.
Sa korapsyon.
Sa divertion of funds.
Sa illigal abduction ng gobyerno.
Sa 1 milyong piso na hapunan.
Sa mga kabulastugan ng mga politiko.
Sa mga kasinungalingan ng pangulo.
Sa pamamaslang nga mga kabataan at mamamahayag.
Sa criminal neglect ng gobyerno sa mga nasalanta ng bagyo.
Sa mga manlolokong tatakbo bilang pangulo.
Ang bawat estudyante ng kahit na anung unibersidad ay dapat makialam sa mga issue ng Pilipinas.
Ito ang tahanan ng ating lahi, ang lupang sinilangan. Naging Pilipino tayo bago naging estudyante ng PCU. Naging mag-aaral tayo ng Pilipinas simula sa pagkabata hanggang sa huling hininga natin.
Kabataan!
Pag-aralan ninyo ang ating lipunan. Alamin ang tamang mga hakbang. Huwag matakot! Na sa MGA KAMAY NATIN ANG PAGLAYA NG BAYAN MULA SA BULOK NA SISTEMA NA GUSTONG IPANATILI NG MGA TUTANG POLIKO NG ESTADOS UNIDOS.
GUMISING KA KABATAAN!
Ika nga ni Rizal: "ang kabataan ay pag-asa ng bayan."
AT HINDI LALAYA ANG BAYAN KUNG ANG KABATAAN AY WALANG PAKI-ALAM, KIMI, PASIBO AT MAKASARILI!
KUNG WALANG PAKI-ALAM ANG KABATAAN, WALANG PAG-ASA ANG BAYAN!
Wednesday
revolutionary
Homeward bound -- the student sighs
home at last to her brown eyes
He has learned society's lies
And filled the streets with his cries
But now it's home he longs for
Back to her whom he adores
To whom he started fighting for
Back to her whom he adores
His fist will be forever
Held high, held tight in the air
But he knows he would be never
Be complete without her stare
Complete he will never be
With one but not the other
Still he will fight to be free
For people; his wife; his daughter
He wishes for her to join him
In the fight and share his dream
But even though his fight's not hers
He's thankful for her unheard cheers
One day after all the these fights
He'll have her near all through the nights
And never will he let her go again
In the society for which he gave his pain
-Orville "chubby" Basas
home at last to her brown eyes
He has learned society's lies
And filled the streets with his cries
But now it's home he longs for
Back to her whom he adores
To whom he started fighting for
Back to her whom he adores
His fist will be forever
Held high, held tight in the air
But he knows he would be never
Be complete without her stare
Complete he will never be
With one but not the other
Still he will fight to be free
For people; his wife; his daughter
He wishes for her to join him
In the fight and share his dream
But even though his fight's not hers
He's thankful for her unheard cheers
One day after all the these fights
He'll have her near all through the nights
And never will he let her go again
In the society for which he gave his pain
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Ama; Ina; Anak
Anak:
Tanong ng isang bata: "Nasaan na si ama?
Iilang umaga na na hinahanap siya?"
Natututo na ako magsalita at maglaro
May nagawa ba ako kaya't iniwan tayo?
Ina:
Wala kang kasalanan at 'di tayo iniwan
Siya'y nasa mamamayan at tayo ay babalikan
kung ba't doon siya nagpunta ay matuto sa masa
at maglunsad ng digma para sa inang laya
Ama:
Nangungulilang puso sa sinta't anak ko
nananabik na ako na mayakap kayo
sa aking pagbabalik sa aking munting bayan
dala ay mga aral ng mapagpalayang mamamayan
Anak huwag kang magsawa na matuto sa mamamayan
At iyong pagaralan rebolusyon at lipunan
'Di ko man matamasa halik ng inang laya
Ang hiling ko na sana maihiga kayo sa duyan niya
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Tanong ng isang bata: "Nasaan na si ama?
Iilang umaga na na hinahanap siya?"
Natututo na ako magsalita at maglaro
May nagawa ba ako kaya't iniwan tayo?
Ina:
Wala kang kasalanan at 'di tayo iniwan
Siya'y nasa mamamayan at tayo ay babalikan
kung ba't doon siya nagpunta ay matuto sa masa
at maglunsad ng digma para sa inang laya
Ama:
Nangungulilang puso sa sinta't anak ko
nananabik na ako na mayakap kayo
sa aking pagbabalik sa aking munting bayan
dala ay mga aral ng mapagpalayang mamamayan
Anak huwag kang magsawa na matuto sa mamamayan
At iyong pagaralan rebolusyon at lipunan
'Di ko man matamasa halik ng inang laya
Ang hiling ko na sana maihiga kayo sa duyan niya
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Tuesday
never again to martial law!
“Never again to martial law!”
Nangingibabaw na naman ang pagkagahaman ni GMA sa pampulitikang kapangyarihan. Noong ika-4 ng Disyembre ay idiniklara nga ni GMA ang batas militar sa Maguindanao. Ang pagdiklara ng batas militar na ito ay walang basehan at nagpapatunay lamang na gutom na gutom si GMA sa kapangyarihang pampulitika. Nakasulat sa ating saligang batas na maaari lamang magdeklara ng batas militar kung may “invasion” o “rebellion.” Maaari daw magkaroon ng rebelyon mula sa kampo ng mga Ampatuan. Pero malinaw na malinaw na walang mangyayaring rebelyon dahil nga ay naaresto na ang mga suspitsado sa massacre. Malinaw na malinaw na isang “criminal act” ang ginawa ng kampo ni Ampatuan at hindi rebelyon sa basihan na ang pamamaslang ay ginawa sa paghahangad na mapapanatili ang kapangyarihan sa Ampatuan at hindi pagdistabila ng gobyerno dahilan.
Pagkatapos maideklara ang batas militar ay nakita nga na ang mga armas na nasa hanay ng mga Ampatuan ay mga armas na galling mismo sa Armed Forces of the Philippines. Nagpapatunay lamang na ang mga warlords na ito ay inaalagaan din ng rehimeng Arroyo. Mapapansin natin na sa halip na mapabilis ang katarungan ay inilihis lamang ng gobyerno ang ating pansin sa pagdedeklara ng batas militar na halatang halata na overkill. Kitang-kita na sa ganitong pagdedeklara ng martial law ay maaari na niyang bigyan ng bogus na dahilan ang pananatili niya sa pwesto.
Halatang halata ang pagkapareho ng taktika ni GMA at ni F.Marcos noong 1972. Tulad ni Marcos, nagsimula ang batas militar ni GMA na walang basehan. Nadeklara ang batas military bago mag 1973 presidential election na kahawig na kahawig ng taktika ni GMA ngayon.
Sa ganitong sitwasyon, makakasiguro tayo na dadami pa ang mga kaso ng paglabag sa karapatang pantao sa ilalim ng batas militar ni GMA. Sa ganitong taktika, maaaring tumagal si GMA sa pwesto at maari pang palitan ang ating saligang batas. Sa ganitong paraan mauulit at mauulit ang pagbabastos sa ating karapatang pantao, pagpaslang sa mga mamahayag, pagdukot at pagtortyur sa mga estudyanteng aktibista at ang malawakang “media blackout.”
Tulad ng nangyari kay Marcos, ang mga kabataan ay may malaking papel sa pagtatanggol ng ating pambansang demokrasya at karapatang pantao. Ang pagiging makabayan ng kabataan ay dapat muling gisingin at gamitin para maipagtanggol ang Pilipino mula sa pananamantala ng isa pang pangulo na nais abusuhin ang mamamayang Pilipino. Kabataan, bawiin natin muli ang demokrasya na unti-unting pinapatay ng pasistang rehimeng Arroyo.
Nangingibabaw na naman ang pagkagahaman ni GMA sa pampulitikang kapangyarihan. Noong ika-4 ng Disyembre ay idiniklara nga ni GMA ang batas militar sa Maguindanao. Ang pagdiklara ng batas militar na ito ay walang basehan at nagpapatunay lamang na gutom na gutom si GMA sa kapangyarihang pampulitika. Nakasulat sa ating saligang batas na maaari lamang magdeklara ng batas militar kung may “invasion” o “rebellion.” Maaari daw magkaroon ng rebelyon mula sa kampo ng mga Ampatuan. Pero malinaw na malinaw na walang mangyayaring rebelyon dahil nga ay naaresto na ang mga suspitsado sa massacre. Malinaw na malinaw na isang “criminal act” ang ginawa ng kampo ni Ampatuan at hindi rebelyon sa basihan na ang pamamaslang ay ginawa sa paghahangad na mapapanatili ang kapangyarihan sa Ampatuan at hindi pagdistabila ng gobyerno dahilan.
Pagkatapos maideklara ang batas militar ay nakita nga na ang mga armas na nasa hanay ng mga Ampatuan ay mga armas na galling mismo sa Armed Forces of the Philippines. Nagpapatunay lamang na ang mga warlords na ito ay inaalagaan din ng rehimeng Arroyo. Mapapansin natin na sa halip na mapabilis ang katarungan ay inilihis lamang ng gobyerno ang ating pansin sa pagdedeklara ng batas militar na halatang halata na overkill. Kitang-kita na sa ganitong pagdedeklara ng martial law ay maaari na niyang bigyan ng bogus na dahilan ang pananatili niya sa pwesto.
Halatang halata ang pagkapareho ng taktika ni GMA at ni F.Marcos noong 1972. Tulad ni Marcos, nagsimula ang batas militar ni GMA na walang basehan. Nadeklara ang batas military bago mag 1973 presidential election na kahawig na kahawig ng taktika ni GMA ngayon.
Sa ganitong sitwasyon, makakasiguro tayo na dadami pa ang mga kaso ng paglabag sa karapatang pantao sa ilalim ng batas militar ni GMA. Sa ganitong taktika, maaaring tumagal si GMA sa pwesto at maari pang palitan ang ating saligang batas. Sa ganitong paraan mauulit at mauulit ang pagbabastos sa ating karapatang pantao, pagpaslang sa mga mamahayag, pagdukot at pagtortyur sa mga estudyanteng aktibista at ang malawakang “media blackout.”
Tulad ng nangyari kay Marcos, ang mga kabataan ay may malaking papel sa pagtatanggol ng ating pambansang demokrasya at karapatang pantao. Ang pagiging makabayan ng kabataan ay dapat muling gisingin at gamitin para maipagtanggol ang Pilipino mula sa pananamantala ng isa pang pangulo na nais abusuhin ang mamamayang Pilipino. Kabataan, bawiin natin muli ang demokrasya na unti-unting pinapatay ng pasistang rehimeng Arroyo.
Friday
sulat ni Crissostomo Kong ng Philippine Christian University
"He who strikes a man so that he dies shall surely be put to death" (Exodus 21:12).
Ang karumaldumal na krimen na ginawa sa Maguindanao ay labag, hindi lamang sa batas ng tao, sa batas din ng Diyos. Ang mga kapatid nating mga manunulat, media men, abugado, politiko at mga kaibigan ay magkakasamang pinaslang.
"Whoever sheds man’s blood, by man his blood shall be shed; for in the image of God He made man." Genesis 9:6
Sa lumipas na limang araw, naging kulay dugo ang kulay ng bawat pahayagan. Ang lumalabas sa balita sa T.V. at radio ay nakakakilabot. Mahigit sa dalawmpung Journalist ang pinatay. Ang mismong mga naglalabas ng mga balita; Mga abugadong nagtatanggol sa atin; at mga babaeng walang kalaban-laban.
"...for he is God’s minister, an avenger to execute wrath on him who practices evil" (Romans 13:4)
Ang ginawa ng gobyerno ay mas masakit.
Ang nakikita ko sa mga sine ay kung may mga ganitong nangyari, nagsisigaw na ang pangulo at sinasabing "I want you to find who ever did this and punish them... punish them hard." sa mga pulis, militar at F.B.I.
Pero dito sa Pinas, sy*7! Anak ng ulupong! Nagdeclare lang ang pangulo ng day of mourning?
Anak ng tutpik talaga! Sa halip na kumilos ang mga AFP (armed forces of the Philippines) pinatagal pa ang paghuli kay Ampatuan na alam ng lahat na Siya ang prime suspect sa Krimen.
Isang linggo ang nakalipas ay nakita na ng 601st Brigade ng Army na may grupo ng kalalakihan na nagaaligid sa Ampatuan, Maguindanao. Ang masaklap, noong nag-request ang mga biktima (Mangudadatu) ng Police escort para mag-file ng COC (certificate of candidacy), tinanggihan ng PNP.
Palakpakan naman natin ang AFP. "to serve and protect" ang motto nila! TO SERVE AND PROTECT THE HIGHEST BIDDER! May private army na nga si Ampatuan, kampi pa ang Philipine Army. SY*7!
"But if a man come presumptuously upon his neighbor, to slay him with guile, thou shalt take him from Mine altar, that he may die." Exodus 21:14,
Sa ngayon, alam natin na natagalan ang pag huli kay Ampatuan. Bakit? Ganito kasi. Kaalyado siya ng pinakamalaking mamamatay tao sa Pinas. Si Gloria Arroyo. Sa Maguindanao nangyari, noong last election, na naging Zero (0) ang boto sa mga hindi kaalyado ni GMA. Dats why parang walang pakundangan pumatay si Ampatuan. Dahil ang amo niya, wxpert sa extra judicial murder.
Ang panawagan:
Sama-sama po tayong mga Kristyanong mag martsa at sa malakas na boses, isigaw ang ating galit at hingin ang hustisya! Kristyano tayo at hindi dapat nating bale walain ang karumaldumal na krimeng ito.
Philippine Christian University, Kung totoong Kristyano kayo, huwag niyong palampasin ang mga ganitong gawaain.
" learn to do good;
seek justice,
correct oppression;
bring justice to the fatherless,
plead the widow’s cause. "
Isaiah 1:17
Ang karumaldumal na krimen na ginawa sa Maguindanao ay labag, hindi lamang sa batas ng tao, sa batas din ng Diyos. Ang mga kapatid nating mga manunulat, media men, abugado, politiko at mga kaibigan ay magkakasamang pinaslang.
"Whoever sheds man’s blood, by man his blood shall be shed; for in the image of God He made man." Genesis 9:6
Sa lumipas na limang araw, naging kulay dugo ang kulay ng bawat pahayagan. Ang lumalabas sa balita sa T.V. at radio ay nakakakilabot. Mahigit sa dalawmpung Journalist ang pinatay. Ang mismong mga naglalabas ng mga balita; Mga abugadong nagtatanggol sa atin; at mga babaeng walang kalaban-laban.
"...for he is God’s minister, an avenger to execute wrath on him who practices evil" (Romans 13:4)
Ang ginawa ng gobyerno ay mas masakit.
Ang nakikita ko sa mga sine ay kung may mga ganitong nangyari, nagsisigaw na ang pangulo at sinasabing "I want you to find who ever did this and punish them... punish them hard." sa mga pulis, militar at F.B.I.
Pero dito sa Pinas, sy*7! Anak ng ulupong! Nagdeclare lang ang pangulo ng day of mourning?
Anak ng tutpik talaga! Sa halip na kumilos ang mga AFP (armed forces of the Philippines) pinatagal pa ang paghuli kay Ampatuan na alam ng lahat na Siya ang prime suspect sa Krimen.
Isang linggo ang nakalipas ay nakita na ng 601st Brigade ng Army na may grupo ng kalalakihan na nagaaligid sa Ampatuan, Maguindanao. Ang masaklap, noong nag-request ang mga biktima (Mangudadatu) ng Police escort para mag-file ng COC (certificate of candidacy), tinanggihan ng PNP.
Palakpakan naman natin ang AFP. "to serve and protect" ang motto nila! TO SERVE AND PROTECT THE HIGHEST BIDDER! May private army na nga si Ampatuan, kampi pa ang Philipine Army. SY*7!
"But if a man come presumptuously upon his neighbor, to slay him with guile, thou shalt take him from Mine altar, that he may die." Exodus 21:14,
Sa ngayon, alam natin na natagalan ang pag huli kay Ampatuan. Bakit? Ganito kasi. Kaalyado siya ng pinakamalaking mamamatay tao sa Pinas. Si Gloria Arroyo. Sa Maguindanao nangyari, noong last election, na naging Zero (0) ang boto sa mga hindi kaalyado ni GMA. Dats why parang walang pakundangan pumatay si Ampatuan. Dahil ang amo niya, wxpert sa extra judicial murder.
Ang panawagan:
Sama-sama po tayong mga Kristyanong mag martsa at sa malakas na boses, isigaw ang ating galit at hingin ang hustisya! Kristyano tayo at hindi dapat nating bale walain ang karumaldumal na krimeng ito.
Philippine Christian University, Kung totoong Kristyano kayo, huwag niyong palampasin ang mga ganitong gawaain.
" learn to do good;
seek justice,
correct oppression;
bring justice to the fatherless,
plead the widow’s cause. "
Isaiah 1:17
Saturday
pages of a fantasy - High
Adrian woke up startled by a voice. All traces of sleep rushed away as he lay still -- his senses heightened. Listening for any sound in his room.
Seconds ticked into minutes with him straining his ears to hear the faintest sound an intruder might make. He lay still for a few more moments before he decided he was safe and alone. He sat up. That's when he realized that his nose was bleeding.
He grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around his waist and ran outside his room towards the bathroom. He stooped over the bathroom sink and let the faucet and let it run washing his nose constantly as he let it bleed out.
When he steeped out of the bathroom, he realized that the lights to the apartment parlor was on. His house mate, Aeron,was already awake, staring at him.
Aeron was a tall young man with a heavy built body. He had an almost flawless face with only a few laugh lines on the side of his deep brown eyes, that said that he was a happy and smiling fellow. But, tonight, Aeron wasn't smiling. The dark bags under his eyes and the ashtray full of cigarette butts told Adrian that he was was awake for a long time now.
Aeron, on the other hand, was studying Adrian. Adrian was almost the opposite of Aeron. He was a thin young man with only a few inches shorter that Aeron. His chest was covered by a thin layer of black fine hair. His face, usually clear and bold and the eyes that were always a view of the great happy times were now ashen and dark with a sign of worry and confusion.
It was Adrian who broke the silence with a question. "Why are you up so early?"
"Dude! It's really hard to sleep with you screaming in the other room like some love drunk Lunatic." Aeron, though he tried, could not hide the tone of concern in his voice.
Adrian flopped down on the chair in front of the small table, right across Aeron and he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the middle of the table just as Aeron was putting out his latest cigarette.
As Adrian was lighting his cigarette, Aeron spoke, now with a hint of teasing in his voice. "So... Who's 'Sarah'? have I met her?"
Adrian with a half smile, showing more confusion than amusement said, "Even I haven't a Sarah."
"Then why, pray tell, were you screaming..."--Aeron help up his hands and waved them around-- "Sarah!!"
"I'm sorry I woke you."
"You should be sorry you got me worried, you jack ass. Now, who's Sarah?"
"No idea. How long have I been 'screaming Sarah'?"
"A little over one and a half. I was irritated for the first hour. Got worried when you went quiet."
"Sorry about that. What time is it?"
"Five. Just enough for an hour nap. We won't be needed 'till nine. We are our own bosses."
...................................................................................................................
At around eight am, the two were ready to set out for another day of renovating beat up buildings ad looking for potential clients. It was a gloomy Saturday. The air felt cold and there was a little drizzle. The rain was thin; instead of falling, the drops were floating aimlessly, going whichever way the breeze would take them. A sign that, both men knew, meant summer was coming.
Aeron wore his 'NFL'-plastic-leather black jacket over a brown 'Siemens' Soccer shirt, blue denim jeans and a pair of Jordan Airs -- although Aeron never had once set out for sports. And the final touch was a 'Neo-style-Matrix sunglasses. The day was gloomy but Aeron believed that if you're 'cool': the sun shines 24/7.
Adrian, on the other hand, has always gone with the grunge look. He wore a pair of vintage--really old-- red Chuck Taylor sneakers; a pair of fading, blue jeans noticeably ripped at the right knee; a red and white horizontally striped shirt. His hair was thick and black as night but never did he comb it. He prefers the messed up look. And, now, as the circumstance calls for it, he wore and old, beaten up, brown, leather jacket.
He remembered when he first found the jacket. He and Aeron were checking a project a few months ago. They were checking the pipes and the electrical wires of an apartment building they were going to restore. When he ventured on himself to check one of the rooms, it was there he found it. Or rather, he stumbled over it. He hit the floor hard and had his nose bleeding--my nose broke my fall. Cursing, he got up, staining his favorite Nirvana shirt with his blood. He admired the jacket when he picked it up and dusted it off.
This would only be the second time he would wear this jacket. He blushed as he caught himself getting excited by the thought.
...................................................................................................................
As Aron and Adrian were commuting to their make shift office the affectionately referred to 'HQ', Aron sat next to a beautifully shaped woman who wore enough perfume that Adrian could smell her even though he sat between Aeron and the window. Aeron was busy staring at the woman's cleavage through his sunglasses that he did not notice the woman staring at their direction. Adrian was chuckling hard and had to elbow Aeron on his side to break his concentration.
"Nice jacket." The woman said.
She had thick blackish-brown hair that ended in curls at her shoulders. She was wearing a 'hoodie', open at the top, over a plunging neckline blouse. She wore tight black jeans and a pair of doll shoes. Her face resembled a beautiful Mexican soap opera star from the nineties.
"Thanks! It's an original NFL Ja..." Aeron started but both his voice and his smile vanished when the woman flashed him an eyebrow raised in confusion.
"Yeah, yours too. But I was talking about his." The woman said pointing at Adrian and trying to be polite. She failed.
Adrian was now laughing, mouth open with no sound coming out of it. Aeron blushed bright pink and kicked Adrian on the shin.
"Which are you: a cop or a poet?" The woman asked making them both turn to her with a look of confusion.
"Which would you prefer?" Aeron finally blurted out after a few awkward moments.
"Although you're interesting and attractive in your own way but I'm more interested in your friends jacket."
"Ouch!" both men said in a duet that seemed to the woman, quite rehearsed.
"Sorry for being blunt, I'm Summer." She held out her hand for Adrian but Aeron took it in his, and gave her knuckles a light peck.
"Aeron. John Aeron." He said trying to imitate James Bond's charisma. Failing miserably.
Adrian was now wheezing for air in his laughter at Aeron's James-Bond-like introduction of himself.
Summer, with an authentic grin on her face let Aeron hold on to her hand.
"Well, John Aeron. You're hot, attractive and a funny guy. under any other circumstance, I would probably get you on a date but I'm really intrigued about your friend here."
Now in spasms from all his laughing at Aerons expense, Adrian Held out his hand for Summer and said: "My name's Adrian. I'm neither a cop nor a poet. I'm a boring, under board, engineering graduate set on restoring every broken down building I could find. Nice meeting you, Summer. I always love a good laugh in the expense of my friend here. Thank you very much."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought, with the badge number and all the verses, you were a cop with a sense of literary arts." Summer took his hand and smiled apologetically.
Adrian spent the rest of their commute laughing at Aeron making a fool of himself trying to impress Summer with his literary knowledge. Mostly, he got the poets' names mixed up with each other's lives and works. but apparently, it worked. When Adrian reminded Aeron that they'll be getting of at the next stop, Summer Gave Aeron her number without Aeron even asking for it.
...................................................................................................................
As Aeron was counting their collectibles from a burned up art shop they recently converted to a seven eleven, Adrian was phasing around. Killing time while waiting for the call that would say if the people they sub-contracted would agree with their contract. He got to thinking about what summer said.
So, this jacket belonged to a cop. So it is a badge number. I always thought it was some sort of tracking code the tailor put in. I should have figured it out-- what with "Makati's Finest" embroidered on a stub on the inside of the jacket. Well, it could have been the tailor shop's name. Or maybe I'm just that naive.
So, this Michael could be a poet. An unsung artist. Yeah, he could be.
Adrian picked up the jacket and reread the entries and verses again.
Michael ain't no cop. His dad was. Maybe this kid had more than one screw loose. Maybe he got so high that he started hearing things. I wonder what happened to this kid? There wasn't any record of anybody named Rodriguez that lived in that building. That apartment was only operational for two years. and it was abandoned for around ten years. Maybe he and his friends used it as a pot house or something.
Wonder where this kid is now? This Michael. And what did he do to a certain Cherry?
It was then that a totally not connectible thought came to his mind.
Who the hell is Sarah?
Adrian was pulled out of his reverie when Aeron yelled at him.
"Adrian! Where the hell are you drifting to?"
Adrian flashed him an apologetic grin and asked: "Are we good to go on that apartment building?"
"The people we sub-contracted are already there."
"To the 'Dork Mobile,!"
...................................................................................................................
"Dork Mobile" was an understatement. It was a 1966 Chevrolet El Camino Adrian pulled out from a car grave yard. Its paint was pealing off and Adrian thought he'd save it with a ton of Polly ester body filler. Now it looks like some thing Godzilla scraped with it's tail. The front bumper was missing and it had only two working head lights on the right side of the car. The roof had dents the size of Adrian's knees and had holes that he covered with duck tape and body filler. Adrian had an eye for the arts and beauty. What he lacked was the ability to be artistic.
Adrian also thought that he could fix the engine himself. He gave up on that when he realized that what he was calling the 'intake valves' were actually just the valve stems for the exhaust valves. Aeron talked him into calling in expert mechanics.
The 'Dork Mobile' was now running in good condition. But the engine is still old and damaged from wear and tear that it gave out a back fire ever now and then. and less could be said for the interior of the car. Adrian said that it would take an army of upholsters to fix the chairs, a mob of electricians to fix the interior electronics and whole lot of money. Later, they just figured to be content on it running.
They were driving on Taft Avenue to finally get to work and get some 'hard earned cash. Aeron was driving, reciting the lyrics to Bulls on Parade of the band Rage Against The Machine while Adrian was staring out the windows. Flipping about the pages of his memories, which he often does, and unconsciously starts to flip through the pages of his fantasy.
He thinking about last night. He recalled him arguing with his girl friend on the phone. Arguing about things that meant mostly nothing. He let out a little chuckle but Aeron barely noticed it. They arguing about what she should do to loose weight. He kept saying that she wasn't fat, but a woman would rarely take a man's opinion about her weight. The argument got lost and they ended up fighting about something he could quite grasp. He hung up on her and went out to the seven eleven outlet to buy a pack of cigarettes. It was the first time he wore the leather jacket. When he got there, he realized it was pass midnight. They were arguing for hours. He spent a few moments admiring their work on the seven eleven that used to be an old art shop.
His thoughts strayed again. He was now wondering what that shop looked like and who ran it. He heard that the owner burned it himself and killed himself in that art shop. His imagination took over and he thought about what it would be like to feel your skin burn. He also thought about what it would feel like seeing your art burn and even more, burning it yourself.
Adrian played with the thought of being an artist. He wished he had the hands that could make the beauty and aesthetics he envisions. To be an artist that could mold clay and influence lives; hands that could paint color into life's dull moments. he couldn't help and think how his girlfriend would treat him if he was. Would he even have noticed her if he was? He thought artists have a long line of women on his doorstep. It might be dead wrong but that was how he thought artists to be.
He started reading a verse from the sleeve of the jacket that hurled him into another flip through the pages of his fantasies.
He saw himself sitting down on a grassy Field with his back against a tree. His girlfriend sat in front of him with her back against his chest. He had his arms around her. He presses his cheek against her straight black hair. The sweet smell of her hair filling his nostrils. He whispers a verse into her ear, letting his warm breath blow against her ear and makes her giggle. She turns to him and gives him a soft kiss on the lips--soft yet deep and passionate.
"Whack! Right on the top of his head!"
Aeron had hit him on the top of his head with a roll of plans they have for the apartment building, that pulled him out of his daydream.
"What was that for?!" Adrian sounded hurt. Even betrayed. And the whack didn't even hurt.
Aeron felt hurt, too, but he knew better than to raise his voice.
"I was talking on and on and you weren't even listening. That hurts you know."
"Oh." Adrian felt the sting of Aeron's words and also the sting of his ignoring him. "Sorry. I was having a daydream. What were you saying to me?"
Aeron let out a laugh that sounded notorious. The kind of laugh you would expect to hear from an evil scientist from old sci-fi movies.
"I was talking about that girl, Summer. But there's no time for that now. We're here. We arrived two minutes ago."
Adrian looked out of the window and started laughing himself. But when he got out of the El Camino, he felt the feeling of foreboding and being at home.
..................................................................................................................
Adrian thought hard but still couldn't believe he spent the whole hour's drive daydreaming. He kept apologizing to Aeron on their way up to the second floor of the apartment building. On the top of the stairs, they were met by six people. Two of which they had already worked with before. One had a special place in his heart.
Her name was Carmina but would only answer to the name "Mina." She has this weird thought that if you used Carmina, that meant you were mad at her. She had flawless brown skin. She had straight hair that flowed down to end an outside wave at the tip of her breast. She had a figure that Adrian called voluptuous but she herself called fat. She wore a body hugging, blue shirt that said "STUNTMAN" on the back that made her look bold yet sexy. Her eyes were almond shaped--brown and deep, a button nose and a crooked smile that sent chills up and down Adrian's spine. He loves her and she knows it. But the look in her eyes said that she has not yet gotten over the argument they had last night.
The other was Joseph Drake; He preferred to be called Jake. Jake was a thin young fellow with a shaved head and a bushy goatee. He wore Round-rimmed "John Lennon" glasses that made him look older and timed. He wore his favorite White-shirt-blue-jeans-black-sneakers-outfit. Adrian and Aeron didn't know much about Jake's personal life, but they knew that could count on him and he would do a good job at whatever he's set to. Jake took care of the legal stuff. He was as under-the-table-out-of-the-books employee and he saw to it that only the best for the job will be sub-contracted for a project of the A&A. Jake introduced the four other men with them.
There was Carl-- the master electrician. A medium built young man with straight long hair and a well-defined face that switched on Adrian's insecurities.
There was Travis-- the pipe expert. A strong middle aged man with almost graying hair.
There was Joel-- the plaster and carpentry. Also middle aged yet a tad shorter and thinner than Travis.
And there was Luie-- the fixture and furniture guy. He seemed well out of place. He was the only one wearing slacks and a long sleeved polo shirt. It made him look like he was the one who was sub-contracting everyone.
"And of course, dear Mina here, will be doing the interior design and facade. Jake finished the introduction with Mina, stating each qualification and competence but Aeron and Adrian learned long ago how to ignore Jake's Babbling. They learned to catch the name and the specialty and did not bother to hear their resume. Not that Jake bore them but because they learned to trust Jake's judgment.
Adrian was staring straight into Mina's eyes with full apology. Her eyes answered 'we'll talk later'.
Aeron took the group to see the all the rooms and bit by bit told them what A&A envisioned for the building. They progressed deliberately slow and after all the rooms were shown, Aeron took them to the reception area and showed them the plans Adrian and Aeron had worked on and discussed it with the group. When he turned to clarify something with Adrian, it was then He realized he wasn't there.
"He hasn't been with us since the second floor." Jake stated.
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Adrian found himself drawn to the room where he found the jacket. He fell behind and stayed in that room when Aeron was showing the others the apartment building. He felt warm and quiet in that room. He felt like all his troubles melted away in that room and he was left with himself to figure out his life.
Adrian took off the jacket and started reading everything again.
This must be where he wrote it. He imagined the city. This place is too far for me to run from the city hall, but just a few blocks from the transit. What were you going through, Michael?
He moved towards the window, he looked down on a ladder and a two-foot square platform. Below it were the busy streets. Noises of jeepney and cars and the incoherent voices of the people. He closed his eyes and listened.
What, Michael? What was the presence?
He was pulled out from his reverie when he heard Mina's voice.
"What are you doing?"
"I was just thinking." He turned to mina with a smile that was erased when he saw the expression on Mina's face.
"What happened to you?" Mina looked shocked and her voice full of fear and concern.
"What?"
"Your nose." Mina moved towards him and he touched his nose.
It was then that he realized that his upper lip to the left side of his chin was covered in blood. And so was the window sill. And his blood was dry.
"I'm okay."
"What were you doing here?! What happened?!"
"I just fell behind to think. I'm okay, really. You should catch up with Aeron and the others. you should see the whole building."
Mina placed her palm on Adrian's neck, then his cheek. Adrian reveled under her touch.
"Oh, Adi!" The tone of concern was strong in her voice. "We're done here. It's three o'clock."
.................................................................................................................
It was around 6pm when the three got off the bus--Aeron, Adrian and Mina. Mina made it clear to both of them that she was going to spend the night with Adrian just in case more weird stuff would happen. Aeron told her about Adrian screaming in his sleep. "And if he screams 'Sarah' again, I'll cut his balls off and nail 'em to his door." Mina threatened with more concern that jealousy.
they walked in the seven eleven on their way home to buy a six pack. The branch manager met them. His name was Jim: a stout and short man with his hair thinning at the top of his head. His eyes shown the all the hardship he's been through--sad eyes.
"Hey Aeron! Remember that girl that was always across the street, staring while yous guys was fixing up this place?" Jim said winking at mina.
"The hot chick? Yeah. Did she come around looking for me?" Aeron's joke didn't receive a chuckle from Jim.
"They found her dead this morning in her room. Poor kid. She was gonna take the bar exams too."
"Oh." Aeron felt a bit of guilt from his joke.
"Turns out that she know the guy that owned the art shop. They found a lot of sketches of his face in her room."
"Too bad." Aeron said, quite lost for words.
"Yeah. Poor Sarah." Jim said as he turned and walked away.
"Excuse me, What?" Adrian now at the counter over heard Jim.
It was Aeron who answered. "He said 'Sarah'. Last night. She knew the art shop."
Aeron turned and saw both Adrian and Mina's faces having the same look that he had. Fear and shock.
..................................................................................................................
When the three arrived at Adrian and Aeron's apartment, mina went straight to Aeron's computer in the apartment's parlor. They discussed the discovery while walking home.
From what Aeron and Adrian knew, the art shop was owned by a certain Khael Reyes and as Mina was waiting for the computer applications to load, her fingers were tensed and excited to type the name.
She typed the name "Khael Reyes" on the search engine. The results were not much. She clicked on the link at the top of the list and the screen showed an art blog page.
The entry talked about Khael's art, it's critiques and Khael's background. Skimming through the words displayed on the screen, Adrian saw what they were looking for -- a link.
Adrian reread an entry on the jacket and got more excited.
"Search for Cherry Ann Reyes." The excitement in Adrian's voice took Mina by surprise.
"The sister? Why?"
Adrian showed her the entry on the jacket and she quickly typed the name on the search engine. There were only three results. Two from social network sites and one from a tabloid news paper. She clicked on the link to the news paper.
They both read the report slowly.
People can drown in a tub but it usually involves another person drowning her. Mina thought to herself when she understood the implications that her mind conjured up while she was reading.
"Now try Michael Rodriguez."
"And who the hell is that?" Mina asked while she was typing the name on the search engine.
"It's the guy who wrote on this jacket. I think."
They were now looking at another tabloid newspaper article about Michael's death.
"If it was suicide; how did he manage to shoot himself twice in the head?" Mina thought out loud. Adrian answered her question by reading her an entry on the jacket.
Seconds ticked into minutes with him straining his ears to hear the faintest sound an intruder might make. He lay still for a few more moments before he decided he was safe and alone. He sat up. That's when he realized that his nose was bleeding.
He grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around his waist and ran outside his room towards the bathroom. He stooped over the bathroom sink and let the faucet and let it run washing his nose constantly as he let it bleed out.
When he steeped out of the bathroom, he realized that the lights to the apartment parlor was on. His house mate, Aeron,was already awake, staring at him.
Aeron was a tall young man with a heavy built body. He had an almost flawless face with only a few laugh lines on the side of his deep brown eyes, that said that he was a happy and smiling fellow. But, tonight, Aeron wasn't smiling. The dark bags under his eyes and the ashtray full of cigarette butts told Adrian that he was was awake for a long time now.
Aeron, on the other hand, was studying Adrian. Adrian was almost the opposite of Aeron. He was a thin young man with only a few inches shorter that Aeron. His chest was covered by a thin layer of black fine hair. His face, usually clear and bold and the eyes that were always a view of the great happy times were now ashen and dark with a sign of worry and confusion.
It was Adrian who broke the silence with a question. "Why are you up so early?"
"Dude! It's really hard to sleep with you screaming in the other room like some love drunk Lunatic." Aeron, though he tried, could not hide the tone of concern in his voice.
Adrian flopped down on the chair in front of the small table, right across Aeron and he reached for the pack of cigarettes on the middle of the table just as Aeron was putting out his latest cigarette.
As Adrian was lighting his cigarette, Aeron spoke, now with a hint of teasing in his voice. "So... Who's 'Sarah'? have I met her?"
Adrian with a half smile, showing more confusion than amusement said, "Even I haven't a Sarah."
"Then why, pray tell, were you screaming..."--Aeron help up his hands and waved them around-- "Sarah!!"
"I'm sorry I woke you."
"You should be sorry you got me worried, you jack ass. Now, who's Sarah?"
"No idea. How long have I been 'screaming Sarah'?"
"A little over one and a half. I was irritated for the first hour. Got worried when you went quiet."
"Sorry about that. What time is it?"
"Five. Just enough for an hour nap. We won't be needed 'till nine. We are our own bosses."
...................................................................................................................
At around eight am, the two were ready to set out for another day of renovating beat up buildings ad looking for potential clients. It was a gloomy Saturday. The air felt cold and there was a little drizzle. The rain was thin; instead of falling, the drops were floating aimlessly, going whichever way the breeze would take them. A sign that, both men knew, meant summer was coming.
Aeron wore his 'NFL'-plastic-leather black jacket over a brown 'Siemens' Soccer shirt, blue denim jeans and a pair of Jordan Airs -- although Aeron never had once set out for sports. And the final touch was a 'Neo-style-Matrix sunglasses. The day was gloomy but Aeron believed that if you're 'cool': the sun shines 24/7.
Adrian, on the other hand, has always gone with the grunge look. He wore a pair of vintage--really old-- red Chuck Taylor sneakers; a pair of fading, blue jeans noticeably ripped at the right knee; a red and white horizontally striped shirt. His hair was thick and black as night but never did he comb it. He prefers the messed up look. And, now, as the circumstance calls for it, he wore and old, beaten up, brown, leather jacket.
He remembered when he first found the jacket. He and Aeron were checking a project a few months ago. They were checking the pipes and the electrical wires of an apartment building they were going to restore. When he ventured on himself to check one of the rooms, it was there he found it. Or rather, he stumbled over it. He hit the floor hard and had his nose bleeding--my nose broke my fall. Cursing, he got up, staining his favorite Nirvana shirt with his blood. He admired the jacket when he picked it up and dusted it off.
This would only be the second time he would wear this jacket. He blushed as he caught himself getting excited by the thought.
...................................................................................................................
As Aron and Adrian were commuting to their make shift office the affectionately referred to 'HQ', Aron sat next to a beautifully shaped woman who wore enough perfume that Adrian could smell her even though he sat between Aeron and the window. Aeron was busy staring at the woman's cleavage through his sunglasses that he did not notice the woman staring at their direction. Adrian was chuckling hard and had to elbow Aeron on his side to break his concentration.
"Nice jacket." The woman said.
She had thick blackish-brown hair that ended in curls at her shoulders. She was wearing a 'hoodie', open at the top, over a plunging neckline blouse. She wore tight black jeans and a pair of doll shoes. Her face resembled a beautiful Mexican soap opera star from the nineties.
"Thanks! It's an original NFL Ja..." Aeron started but both his voice and his smile vanished when the woman flashed him an eyebrow raised in confusion.
"Yeah, yours too. But I was talking about his." The woman said pointing at Adrian and trying to be polite. She failed.
Adrian was now laughing, mouth open with no sound coming out of it. Aeron blushed bright pink and kicked Adrian on the shin.
"Which are you: a cop or a poet?" The woman asked making them both turn to her with a look of confusion.
"Which would you prefer?" Aeron finally blurted out after a few awkward moments.
"Although you're interesting and attractive in your own way but I'm more interested in your friends jacket."
"Ouch!" both men said in a duet that seemed to the woman, quite rehearsed.
"Sorry for being blunt, I'm Summer." She held out her hand for Adrian but Aeron took it in his, and gave her knuckles a light peck.
"Aeron. John Aeron." He said trying to imitate James Bond's charisma. Failing miserably.
Adrian was now wheezing for air in his laughter at Aeron's James-Bond-like introduction of himself.
Summer, with an authentic grin on her face let Aeron hold on to her hand.
"Well, John Aeron. You're hot, attractive and a funny guy. under any other circumstance, I would probably get you on a date but I'm really intrigued about your friend here."
Now in spasms from all his laughing at Aerons expense, Adrian Held out his hand for Summer and said: "My name's Adrian. I'm neither a cop nor a poet. I'm a boring, under board, engineering graduate set on restoring every broken down building I could find. Nice meeting you, Summer. I always love a good laugh in the expense of my friend here. Thank you very much."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought, with the badge number and all the verses, you were a cop with a sense of literary arts." Summer took his hand and smiled apologetically.
Adrian spent the rest of their commute laughing at Aeron making a fool of himself trying to impress Summer with his literary knowledge. Mostly, he got the poets' names mixed up with each other's lives and works. but apparently, it worked. When Adrian reminded Aeron that they'll be getting of at the next stop, Summer Gave Aeron her number without Aeron even asking for it.
...................................................................................................................
As Aeron was counting their collectibles from a burned up art shop they recently converted to a seven eleven, Adrian was phasing around. Killing time while waiting for the call that would say if the people they sub-contracted would agree with their contract. He got to thinking about what summer said.
So, this jacket belonged to a cop. So it is a badge number. I always thought it was some sort of tracking code the tailor put in. I should have figured it out-- what with "Makati's Finest" embroidered on a stub on the inside of the jacket. Well, it could have been the tailor shop's name. Or maybe I'm just that naive.
So, this Michael could be a poet. An unsung artist. Yeah, he could be.
Adrian picked up the jacket and reread the entries and verses again.
Michael ain't no cop. His dad was. Maybe this kid had more than one screw loose. Maybe he got so high that he started hearing things. I wonder what happened to this kid? There wasn't any record of anybody named Rodriguez that lived in that building. That apartment was only operational for two years. and it was abandoned for around ten years. Maybe he and his friends used it as a pot house or something.
Wonder where this kid is now? This Michael. And what did he do to a certain Cherry?
It was then that a totally not connectible thought came to his mind.
Who the hell is Sarah?
Adrian was pulled out of his reverie when Aeron yelled at him.
"Adrian! Where the hell are you drifting to?"
Adrian flashed him an apologetic grin and asked: "Are we good to go on that apartment building?"
"The people we sub-contracted are already there."
"To the 'Dork Mobile,!"
...................................................................................................................
"Dork Mobile" was an understatement. It was a 1966 Chevrolet El Camino Adrian pulled out from a car grave yard. Its paint was pealing off and Adrian thought he'd save it with a ton of Polly ester body filler. Now it looks like some thing Godzilla scraped with it's tail. The front bumper was missing and it had only two working head lights on the right side of the car. The roof had dents the size of Adrian's knees and had holes that he covered with duck tape and body filler. Adrian had an eye for the arts and beauty. What he lacked was the ability to be artistic.
Adrian also thought that he could fix the engine himself. He gave up on that when he realized that what he was calling the 'intake valves' were actually just the valve stems for the exhaust valves. Aeron talked him into calling in expert mechanics.
The 'Dork Mobile' was now running in good condition. But the engine is still old and damaged from wear and tear that it gave out a back fire ever now and then. and less could be said for the interior of the car. Adrian said that it would take an army of upholsters to fix the chairs, a mob of electricians to fix the interior electronics and whole lot of money. Later, they just figured to be content on it running.
They were driving on Taft Avenue to finally get to work and get some 'hard earned cash. Aeron was driving, reciting the lyrics to Bulls on Parade of the band Rage Against The Machine while Adrian was staring out the windows. Flipping about the pages of his memories, which he often does, and unconsciously starts to flip through the pages of his fantasy.
He thinking about last night. He recalled him arguing with his girl friend on the phone. Arguing about things that meant mostly nothing. He let out a little chuckle but Aeron barely noticed it. They arguing about what she should do to loose weight. He kept saying that she wasn't fat, but a woman would rarely take a man's opinion about her weight. The argument got lost and they ended up fighting about something he could quite grasp. He hung up on her and went out to the seven eleven outlet to buy a pack of cigarettes. It was the first time he wore the leather jacket. When he got there, he realized it was pass midnight. They were arguing for hours. He spent a few moments admiring their work on the seven eleven that used to be an old art shop.
His thoughts strayed again. He was now wondering what that shop looked like and who ran it. He heard that the owner burned it himself and killed himself in that art shop. His imagination took over and he thought about what it would be like to feel your skin burn. He also thought about what it would feel like seeing your art burn and even more, burning it yourself.
Adrian played with the thought of being an artist. He wished he had the hands that could make the beauty and aesthetics he envisions. To be an artist that could mold clay and influence lives; hands that could paint color into life's dull moments. he couldn't help and think how his girlfriend would treat him if he was. Would he even have noticed her if he was? He thought artists have a long line of women on his doorstep. It might be dead wrong but that was how he thought artists to be.
He started reading a verse from the sleeve of the jacket that hurled him into another flip through the pages of his fantasies.
He saw himself sitting down on a grassy Field with his back against a tree. His girlfriend sat in front of him with her back against his chest. He had his arms around her. He presses his cheek against her straight black hair. The sweet smell of her hair filling his nostrils. He whispers a verse into her ear, letting his warm breath blow against her ear and makes her giggle. She turns to him and gives him a soft kiss on the lips--soft yet deep and passionate.
"Whack! Right on the top of his head!"
Aeron had hit him on the top of his head with a roll of plans they have for the apartment building, that pulled him out of his daydream.
"What was that for?!" Adrian sounded hurt. Even betrayed. And the whack didn't even hurt.
Aeron felt hurt, too, but he knew better than to raise his voice.
"I was talking on and on and you weren't even listening. That hurts you know."
"Oh." Adrian felt the sting of Aeron's words and also the sting of his ignoring him. "Sorry. I was having a daydream. What were you saying to me?"
Aeron let out a laugh that sounded notorious. The kind of laugh you would expect to hear from an evil scientist from old sci-fi movies.
"I was talking about that girl, Summer. But there's no time for that now. We're here. We arrived two minutes ago."
Adrian looked out of the window and started laughing himself. But when he got out of the El Camino, he felt the feeling of foreboding and being at home.
..................................................................................................................
Adrian thought hard but still couldn't believe he spent the whole hour's drive daydreaming. He kept apologizing to Aeron on their way up to the second floor of the apartment building. On the top of the stairs, they were met by six people. Two of which they had already worked with before. One had a special place in his heart.
Her name was Carmina but would only answer to the name "Mina." She has this weird thought that if you used Carmina, that meant you were mad at her. She had flawless brown skin. She had straight hair that flowed down to end an outside wave at the tip of her breast. She had a figure that Adrian called voluptuous but she herself called fat. She wore a body hugging, blue shirt that said "STUNTMAN" on the back that made her look bold yet sexy. Her eyes were almond shaped--brown and deep, a button nose and a crooked smile that sent chills up and down Adrian's spine. He loves her and she knows it. But the look in her eyes said that she has not yet gotten over the argument they had last night.
The other was Joseph Drake; He preferred to be called Jake. Jake was a thin young fellow with a shaved head and a bushy goatee. He wore Round-rimmed "John Lennon" glasses that made him look older and timed. He wore his favorite White-shirt-blue-jeans-black-sneakers-outfit. Adrian and Aeron didn't know much about Jake's personal life, but they knew that could count on him and he would do a good job at whatever he's set to. Jake took care of the legal stuff. He was as under-the-table-out-of-the-books employee and he saw to it that only the best for the job will be sub-contracted for a project of the A&A. Jake introduced the four other men with them.
There was Carl-- the master electrician. A medium built young man with straight long hair and a well-defined face that switched on Adrian's insecurities.
There was Travis-- the pipe expert. A strong middle aged man with almost graying hair.
There was Joel-- the plaster and carpentry. Also middle aged yet a tad shorter and thinner than Travis.
And there was Luie-- the fixture and furniture guy. He seemed well out of place. He was the only one wearing slacks and a long sleeved polo shirt. It made him look like he was the one who was sub-contracting everyone.
"And of course, dear Mina here, will be doing the interior design and facade. Jake finished the introduction with Mina, stating each qualification and competence but Aeron and Adrian learned long ago how to ignore Jake's Babbling. They learned to catch the name and the specialty and did not bother to hear their resume. Not that Jake bore them but because they learned to trust Jake's judgment.
Adrian was staring straight into Mina's eyes with full apology. Her eyes answered 'we'll talk later'.
Aeron took the group to see the all the rooms and bit by bit told them what A&A envisioned for the building. They progressed deliberately slow and after all the rooms were shown, Aeron took them to the reception area and showed them the plans Adrian and Aeron had worked on and discussed it with the group. When he turned to clarify something with Adrian, it was then He realized he wasn't there.
"He hasn't been with us since the second floor." Jake stated.
..................................................................................................................
Adrian found himself drawn to the room where he found the jacket. He fell behind and stayed in that room when Aeron was showing the others the apartment building. He felt warm and quiet in that room. He felt like all his troubles melted away in that room and he was left with himself to figure out his life.
Adrian took off the jacket and started reading everything again.
This must be where he wrote it. He imagined the city. This place is too far for me to run from the city hall, but just a few blocks from the transit. What were you going through, Michael?
He moved towards the window, he looked down on a ladder and a two-foot square platform. Below it were the busy streets. Noises of jeepney and cars and the incoherent voices of the people. He closed his eyes and listened.
What, Michael? What was the presence?
He was pulled out from his reverie when he heard Mina's voice.
"What are you doing?"
"I was just thinking." He turned to mina with a smile that was erased when he saw the expression on Mina's face.
"What happened to you?" Mina looked shocked and her voice full of fear and concern.
"What?"
"Your nose." Mina moved towards him and he touched his nose.
It was then that he realized that his upper lip to the left side of his chin was covered in blood. And so was the window sill. And his blood was dry.
"I'm okay."
"What were you doing here?! What happened?!"
"I just fell behind to think. I'm okay, really. You should catch up with Aeron and the others. you should see the whole building."
Mina placed her palm on Adrian's neck, then his cheek. Adrian reveled under her touch.
"Oh, Adi!" The tone of concern was strong in her voice. "We're done here. It's three o'clock."
.................................................................................................................
It was around 6pm when the three got off the bus--Aeron, Adrian and Mina. Mina made it clear to both of them that she was going to spend the night with Adrian just in case more weird stuff would happen. Aeron told her about Adrian screaming in his sleep. "And if he screams 'Sarah' again, I'll cut his balls off and nail 'em to his door." Mina threatened with more concern that jealousy.
they walked in the seven eleven on their way home to buy a six pack. The branch manager met them. His name was Jim: a stout and short man with his hair thinning at the top of his head. His eyes shown the all the hardship he's been through--sad eyes.
"Hey Aeron! Remember that girl that was always across the street, staring while yous guys was fixing up this place?" Jim said winking at mina.
"The hot chick? Yeah. Did she come around looking for me?" Aeron's joke didn't receive a chuckle from Jim.
"They found her dead this morning in her room. Poor kid. She was gonna take the bar exams too."
"Oh." Aeron felt a bit of guilt from his joke.
"Turns out that she know the guy that owned the art shop. They found a lot of sketches of his face in her room."
"Too bad." Aeron said, quite lost for words.
"Yeah. Poor Sarah." Jim said as he turned and walked away.
"Excuse me, What?" Adrian now at the counter over heard Jim.
It was Aeron who answered. "He said 'Sarah'. Last night. She knew the art shop."
Aeron turned and saw both Adrian and Mina's faces having the same look that he had. Fear and shock.
..................................................................................................................
When the three arrived at Adrian and Aeron's apartment, mina went straight to Aeron's computer in the apartment's parlor. They discussed the discovery while walking home.
From what Aeron and Adrian knew, the art shop was owned by a certain Khael Reyes and as Mina was waiting for the computer applications to load, her fingers were tensed and excited to type the name.
She typed the name "Khael Reyes" on the search engine. The results were not much. She clicked on the link at the top of the list and the screen showed an art blog page.
The entry talked about Khael's art, it's critiques and Khael's background. Skimming through the words displayed on the screen, Adrian saw what they were looking for -- a link.
Adrian reread an entry on the jacket and got more excited.
"Search for Cherry Ann Reyes." The excitement in Adrian's voice took Mina by surprise.
"The sister? Why?"
Adrian showed her the entry on the jacket and she quickly typed the name on the search engine. There were only three results. Two from social network sites and one from a tabloid news paper. She clicked on the link to the news paper.
They both read the report slowly.
People can drown in a tub but it usually involves another person drowning her. Mina thought to herself when she understood the implications that her mind conjured up while she was reading.
"Now try Michael Rodriguez."
"And who the hell is that?" Mina asked while she was typing the name on the search engine.
"It's the guy who wrote on this jacket. I think."
They were now looking at another tabloid newspaper article about Michael's death.
"If it was suicide; how did he manage to shoot himself twice in the head?" Mina thought out loud. Adrian answered her question by reading her an entry on the jacket.
I sat there on my bed, waiting for that sound but the sound I heard was not what I expected. I heard the hammer hit the firing pin. But then nothing happened. I opened it and checked if it was a miss fire. The bullet in the chamber was hit squarely in the center of its primer. I shrugged it as a dud. So, I tried it again with a new bullet. I closed my eyes real tight and pulled the trigger. "CLICK." That was all I heard. I opened my eyes and asked myself out loud, "where's the bang?" I sat there for a moment staring at the gun and savoring the taste of burnt powder, brass, steel and a slight stinging from the cleaning agent dad used to clean the gun.
Mina interrupted Adrian and grunted: "We've already out grown believing in ghost stories, Adi."
"You're in one."
Mina and Adrian turned to Aeron leaning against the door way, staring at the empty hallway outside. And without turning to face them, he spoke on.
"Remember Jason? He always talked about his kid brother: Mike. Right?"
The question was directed to Adrian but it was Mina who answered. "Go on."
"I'm not sure about Mike but I'm sure that their dad was a cop. And Jason always said his brother had a way with words and verses."
"What's your point?" Adrian blurted out in annoyance.
"Remember that house we remodeled for that old lady?"
"Mrs. Rodriguez." Mina answered with a tone of foreboding.
"What about that apartment that needed a lot of work for the bathroom floor? You know who rented it out last?" Aeron turned to face Mina.
"Dr. Rodriguez-Reyes."
"She had a daughter named Cherry Ann." Aeron pointed to the computer screen. "And a runaway son named Khael. We cleaned up his mess with the art shop. And guess who's finding these clients for us?"
Mina's eyes widened as if she were having an epiphany. "Jake."
"Joseph Drake." Aeron nodded in confirmation. "And I think I know Our next project-- Sarah's place."
Mina stood up from the computer and started towards the refrigerator as she spoke. "We need to talk to Jake."
"About what?"
The voice came from behind Aeron. And slowly, a figure stepped into the light spilling out from the doorway to the darkened hallway.
Jake handed Aeron a roll of plans. "You left this at the apartment building." Jake looked at Mina in the eyes. "Now, what do we have to talk about?"
..................................................................................................................
Adrian woke up with an unbearable headache. When he opened his eyes, He noticed that he wasn't in his bedroom. He looked around and saw an I.V. bag hanging to his left. His eyes followed the tubes that stuck in to his left arm. Beyond his view of the tubes was Mina, lying on a bench, asleep.
He called her name gently and she awoke with a start. She hurried to his side.
"What happened to me?"
"You were unconscious on your chair last night. When your nose started bleeding, we brought you here."
"What happened with Jake?"
"Hush, now, rest. He'll tell us when they come back." Mina soothed him and hummed him back to sleep.
The sun shine ripped through the window and woke Adrian. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Mina asleep on a chair beside his bed, her head rested on the bed. He ran his fingers through her hair. the gentle touch woke her and she gave Adrian a weak smile. Behind her, he saw Aeron looking down on him with concern.
"Here, try a banana. It'll do you good." Jake spoke from the other side of the bed.
Adrian turned to look at him. The bright sun was shining through the window behind Jake. Seeing the trouble, Jake moved around the bed. He positioned himself at the left foot corner of the bed placing the banana on the tray on a table beside him.
"So, what's happening to me Jake?" Adrian managed with a weak sounding voice.
"Well, I don't know if you'd believe my story, boss. But let me tell it anyways.
Ten years ago, my brother had a dream of making music that could change the world. He wanted to give the world a new kind of high..."
An image flashed in Adrian's mind. There was a blank sheet music and a pencil on a drawing table and a bright red Gibson Les Paul’s Studio Guitar on his lap. He shook his head to get rid of the image.
"...He was working day and night on it. And there was this kid on his way home to his apartment. He was riding the train..."
The image of the inside of the train was in Adrian's mind. He saw the people staring at him. His view went down, lower and lower. He now saw the shoes and ankles of people rushing towards him. Then darkness.
He opened his eyes and he was back in the hospital, Jake still telling them a weird story.
"...This kid's younger brother was in the news weeks later. Apparently, he had shot himself..."
An image of a revolver in his hand began in Adrian's mind. But as quickly as it began, it vanished.
"...I thought it ended there but then I had this dream about this kid, Michael, stalking some girl..."
Adrian's mind wandered into a memory of him caressing a girl. Her back was faced him, his hands cupping her breast and the rhythm of the splashing water in time with theirs. His mind was pulled out of the reminiscing when Mina held his hand.
"...Again, it got quiet. I thought that was it, but..."
Adrian saw fire al around him. The flames getting higher and it was getting harder to breath. he spun around and saw all the carvings, sketches, paintings and equipment burning. He was hurled back suddenly in the hospital bed. His eyes still painful from the smoke and his breathing still shallow.
"...And now I heard about this Sarah..."
Adrian was again thrown somewhere else. He was in a bedroom. He saw a girl curled up on a bed, facing towards him. Arms came from behind and wrapped themselves around her. A silhouette slowly came into the light. A man covered in tattoos was caressing her. She moans at his every touch. Somehow, Adrian understood who this man was-- Khael.
Khael turned the girl around and kissed her wildly on her lips. She returned Khaels passion. Now Adrian saw the flames starting to burn the bed. Kahel held the girl's wrists on the bed and pulled his kisses from her mouth and went to kiss her throat. She moaned and the flames grew larger. Khael ran his hands from her wrists to her soulders to her waist and gently pulled off her shirt. She moaned as Khael kissed her from her belly making his way up to her breasts. And the flames grew larger and larger.
Adrian watched as Khael made love to her, the flames engulfed the bed and it's occupants. Adrian tried to make a move but his body didn't obey him. The flames were now all around him. He opened his mouth and try to call out for help. The only word that escaped his mouth was "Sarah".
Jake and Aeron were holding Adrian down as he was struggling and screaming violently. Mina went to get help. Aeron and Jake stepped aside when the doctors came. Mina was crying hysterically and both Aeron and Jake were in shock.
Adrian struggled and screamed. His body convulsed. And he exhaled his last breath screaming "Sarah."
As Adrian's Body went limp, Jake closed his sigh and let out a sigh. Then a he felt a drop of water fall on his fore head.
..................................................................................................................
Jake opened his eyes to see the last of the visitors and mourners were leaving. Only a few people were left behind. His mother was standing beside him with her hand under his arm. He was standing over a freshly covered grave, staring at the headstone. His eyes started to fill with tears.
"That was a great peice." He said talking to the grave that lay before him.
"Not like any high I ever had. I guess I should find these people and tell them what you showed me, huh? Do you think they'd believe me?"
Mother and son finally turned and walked away.
.................................................................................................................
the guitar player, Jason Rodriguez, bent down to read the dedication on the headstone of the fresh grave. He has just played the best music he has heard and the one that lay here wrote it.
"Here lies a dreamer who dreamed to see the Cosmos."
"May he see it now and show us what he sees."
"Machree Reyes 1985-2001"
..........................................End.........................................
pages of a fantasy - dream catcher
Sarah is walking home, where she came from is not clear, even to her. A bit confused and a bit cold from the night air, but she's sure where she was headed. This wasn't her usual route home but she knows a place around the corner and a few more blocks and she's home.
The night air blows colder, she pulls her coat on tighter and she walks faster. A few more meters and she'll find a familiar place: the dwellings of a beautiful, tormented soul; a place of arts where she felt like home. But the closer she gets there, the colder she feels. She reaches for her coat again but touches nothing but her skin.
Realizing this, she hastens her pace slowly breaking in to a jog.
"Just around the corner" she tolls herself.
Before she gets to that corner, she notice something absurd -- snow.
"Snow? In this city?"
But when one of the failing specks touches her skin, it wasn't snow. It was ash. But it feels so cold.
As she rounds the corner, she sees it -- a towering inferno.
She runs toward the burning art shop. As she gets closer to the fire, she feels colder. And as she stands across the street, staring at the flames, she sees it. A wave of panic, pain and fear hits her.
The artist; the beautiful, tormented soul, was burning with his art.
She runs towards the burning building with intents to save her artist. But it seems like she never even took a step. She notices someone beside her. His hand clasped on her wrist.
She turns to face the stranger.
She sees the fire in his eyes, and as if she is under a spell, she loses her thought of her artist. The stranger gives her his brown leather jacket to keep her warm. As the stranger lead her away, she steals a look back. Now, it's only a pile of charred wood and ash. And a whisper leaves her lips -- Khael.
.................................................................................................................................................................
It has been two years since Khael burned his own shop, with him along with it but the dreams keep haunting Sarah. It feels so real to her that she thinks she might actually have been there when it all happened.
But She could not have been there. It could not have happened that way, in her dream. She remembers that night well, she was woken up from her nap on a pile of her textbooks by the wailing sirens from the fire trucks. But even before the fire truck got there, the shop was already burning to a crisp.
But her dreams feels so real that she's not sure anymore.
But the biggest question on her mind was: "who was that stranger?"
She memorized the stranger's face now. Every crease, every frown line and those fiery sad eyes.
She knew the stranger's face so well that she draws it besides Khael's face every time she gets bored. And another thing she remembers is the brown leather jacket, the warmth it offered and the words or verses written all over it. And like every part of the dream, it felt so real.
Sarah still lives in the same apartment building a few blocks away from Khael's art shop. from her window, she can see the seven eleven outlet that now occupies what used to be Khael's art shop. She catches herself once in a while, staring at the store reminiscing on what it used to look like and how it used to draw her near every day as if the art shop was calling her to come home to it. But, now, staring at the seven eleven, it doesn't feel the same.
Or maybe it was Khael that she felt at home with.
One night, after waking up from the same dream, she stares out the window, looking at the store. And just as her head was beginning to clear from the dreams, she spots a kid wearing a brown leather jacket and the same messed up hair as stranger from her dream.
driven by curiosity and partly because she haven't felt the night air since she started having the dream and she missed it. She grabs her coat and her keys and still in her pajamas, runs to the store.
The air was cool but not biting. There was a light breeze blowing from the west, but Sarah barely notices it. She had her mind set on catching up to the kid and see if he was the stranger.
She bursts through the convenience store's double doors and starts looking around in every isle. The Kid was no longer there. Quite disappointed, Sarah steps out of the store with her head down and not even looking where she was headed.
She was four blocks away when she noticed that she wasn't walking towards her apartment. She chuckled at her absent mindedness and turned around and started her way back to her apartment.
When she got to the corner of the convenience store, she spotted the kid from the corner of her eye.
When she turned, the same wave of panic,pain and fear that she felt in her dreams swept over her.
"It's You!" She says out loud.
She stepped towards the stranger never pulling her eyes from the stranger's fiery eyes. Surprisingly enough, the stranger didn't look confused. Instead, he looked at her as if he knew her.
As she got closer to the stranger, she asked tactlessly: "Who are you? Do you know Khael?"
"My name is Michael, and I've talked with Khael once or twice." The stranger took a deep breath just as Sarah started to feel the biting cold.
"Why?" The only word uttered by Sarah as a reply.
"Stop chasing shadows, Sarah. Khael did it to himself. Don't get obsessed like he is." Michael said in a calm and steady tone.
"What? You said 'is'. Where is he?" Now, Sarah's voice was shaking from the cold.
"Don't Sarah. I'm trying to Keep you away from the shadows. Stop chasing them."
"Shadows?! I just want to know if he's alright."
"He's dead, Sarah. You saw him burn."
"No! No, I did not! And reports said the body was too burned to be recognized. They just assumed it was him." Sarah's voice now growing louder.
"He's gone, Sarah. So, just wake up." Michael said keeping a calm and steady tone.
"NO! You know where he is, don't you?"
"Look, Sarah, Khael is no more. You can't keep on chasing him."
"Take me to him, please."
"Sarah--" Michael's words trailed off as his finally let go of its hold on Sarah's.
Michael was now staring at someone behind Sarah. Following Michael's gaze, Sarah turns around and finds Khael behind her.
"No, Khael!" Michael grabs Sarah by the wrist to stop her from walking Khael. "Sarah, Khael's dead. Wake up."
Sarah, not even taking her eyes of Khael, says; "He's not dead. He's Right here."
"I'm right here, Sarah." Khael assures her.
"Khael, please, don't do this." Michael begs as he lets go of Sarah's wrist.
"C'mon, Sarah. I'll walk you home." Khael takes Sarah in his arm and started away from Michael.
Michael calls out to Sarah but, Sarah, now felt at home and no longer cared for anything else.
.................................................................................................................................................................
SPO1 Badua:Sorry I'm late. I was in the bathroom when you called. What do we have?
SPO1 Suarez:25 years old, female, goes by the name of Sarah. Land lady said she heard screaming from the apartment. we found our Sarah dead and her apartment door open.
Badua:So, what you think killed her?
Suarez: I can't say. No bruises, no wounds. Just died.
Badua: I don't think she just died, may. It has to have a reason.
Suarez: Whatever. But check out her sketch pad on the table.
Badua: What about it? Did she happen to sketch her killer's face? (chuckle)
Suarez: Nope. Not exactly. Look.
Badua:Huh. Looks like Rodriguez's son and that arson kid.
Suarez:Rodriguez died Six years ago. two years before Sarah here moved to this region. And Rodriguez lived in the next city.
Badua: What are you saying, May?
Suarez: It's just weird. She never could have known Rodriguez.
Badua: Maybe it's not Rodriguez. Maybe it's some kid who looks like him.
Suarez: A kid that looked like Rodriguez's son with a jacket with Rodriguez badge number?
Badua: No shit?
Suarez: No shit.
The night air blows colder, she pulls her coat on tighter and she walks faster. A few more meters and she'll find a familiar place: the dwellings of a beautiful, tormented soul; a place of arts where she felt like home. But the closer she gets there, the colder she feels. She reaches for her coat again but touches nothing but her skin.
Realizing this, she hastens her pace slowly breaking in to a jog.
"Just around the corner" she tolls herself.
Before she gets to that corner, she notice something absurd -- snow.
"Snow? In this city?"
But when one of the failing specks touches her skin, it wasn't snow. It was ash. But it feels so cold.
As she rounds the corner, she sees it -- a towering inferno.
She runs toward the burning art shop. As she gets closer to the fire, she feels colder. And as she stands across the street, staring at the flames, she sees it. A wave of panic, pain and fear hits her.
The artist; the beautiful, tormented soul, was burning with his art.
She runs towards the burning building with intents to save her artist. But it seems like she never even took a step. She notices someone beside her. His hand clasped on her wrist.
She turns to face the stranger.
She sees the fire in his eyes, and as if she is under a spell, she loses her thought of her artist. The stranger gives her his brown leather jacket to keep her warm. As the stranger lead her away, she steals a look back. Now, it's only a pile of charred wood and ash. And a whisper leaves her lips -- Khael.
.................................................................................................................................................................
It has been two years since Khael burned his own shop, with him along with it but the dreams keep haunting Sarah. It feels so real to her that she thinks she might actually have been there when it all happened.
But She could not have been there. It could not have happened that way, in her dream. She remembers that night well, she was woken up from her nap on a pile of her textbooks by the wailing sirens from the fire trucks. But even before the fire truck got there, the shop was already burning to a crisp.
But her dreams feels so real that she's not sure anymore.
But the biggest question on her mind was: "who was that stranger?"
She memorized the stranger's face now. Every crease, every frown line and those fiery sad eyes.
She knew the stranger's face so well that she draws it besides Khael's face every time she gets bored. And another thing she remembers is the brown leather jacket, the warmth it offered and the words or verses written all over it. And like every part of the dream, it felt so real.
Sarah still lives in the same apartment building a few blocks away from Khael's art shop. from her window, she can see the seven eleven outlet that now occupies what used to be Khael's art shop. She catches herself once in a while, staring at the store reminiscing on what it used to look like and how it used to draw her near every day as if the art shop was calling her to come home to it. But, now, staring at the seven eleven, it doesn't feel the same.
Or maybe it was Khael that she felt at home with.
One night, after waking up from the same dream, she stares out the window, looking at the store. And just as her head was beginning to clear from the dreams, she spots a kid wearing a brown leather jacket and the same messed up hair as stranger from her dream.
driven by curiosity and partly because she haven't felt the night air since she started having the dream and she missed it. She grabs her coat and her keys and still in her pajamas, runs to the store.
The air was cool but not biting. There was a light breeze blowing from the west, but Sarah barely notices it. She had her mind set on catching up to the kid and see if he was the stranger.
She bursts through the convenience store's double doors and starts looking around in every isle. The Kid was no longer there. Quite disappointed, Sarah steps out of the store with her head down and not even looking where she was headed.
She was four blocks away when she noticed that she wasn't walking towards her apartment. She chuckled at her absent mindedness and turned around and started her way back to her apartment.
When she got to the corner of the convenience store, she spotted the kid from the corner of her eye.
When she turned, the same wave of panic,pain and fear that she felt in her dreams swept over her.
"It's You!" She says out loud.
She stepped towards the stranger never pulling her eyes from the stranger's fiery eyes. Surprisingly enough, the stranger didn't look confused. Instead, he looked at her as if he knew her.
As she got closer to the stranger, she asked tactlessly: "Who are you? Do you know Khael?"
"My name is Michael, and I've talked with Khael once or twice." The stranger took a deep breath just as Sarah started to feel the biting cold.
"Why?" The only word uttered by Sarah as a reply.
"Stop chasing shadows, Sarah. Khael did it to himself. Don't get obsessed like he is." Michael said in a calm and steady tone.
"What? You said 'is'. Where is he?" Now, Sarah's voice was shaking from the cold.
"Don't Sarah. I'm trying to Keep you away from the shadows. Stop chasing them."
"Shadows?! I just want to know if he's alright."
"He's dead, Sarah. You saw him burn."
"No! No, I did not! And reports said the body was too burned to be recognized. They just assumed it was him." Sarah's voice now growing louder.
"He's gone, Sarah. So, just wake up." Michael said keeping a calm and steady tone.
"NO! You know where he is, don't you?"
"Look, Sarah, Khael is no more. You can't keep on chasing him."
"Take me to him, please."
"Sarah--" Michael's words trailed off as his finally let go of its hold on Sarah's.
Michael was now staring at someone behind Sarah. Following Michael's gaze, Sarah turns around and finds Khael behind her.
"No, Khael!" Michael grabs Sarah by the wrist to stop her from walking Khael. "Sarah, Khael's dead. Wake up."
Sarah, not even taking her eyes of Khael, says; "He's not dead. He's Right here."
"I'm right here, Sarah." Khael assures her.
"Khael, please, don't do this." Michael begs as he lets go of Sarah's wrist.
"C'mon, Sarah. I'll walk you home." Khael takes Sarah in his arm and started away from Michael.
Michael calls out to Sarah but, Sarah, now felt at home and no longer cared for anything else.
.................................................................................................................................................................
SPO1 Badua:Sorry I'm late. I was in the bathroom when you called. What do we have?
SPO1 Suarez:25 years old, female, goes by the name of Sarah. Land lady said she heard screaming from the apartment. we found our Sarah dead and her apartment door open.
Badua:So, what you think killed her?
Suarez: I can't say. No bruises, no wounds. Just died.
Badua: I don't think she just died, may. It has to have a reason.
Suarez: Whatever. But check out her sketch pad on the table.
Badua: What about it? Did she happen to sketch her killer's face? (chuckle)
Suarez: Nope. Not exactly. Look.
Badua:Huh. Looks like Rodriguez's son and that arson kid.
Suarez:Rodriguez died Six years ago. two years before Sarah here moved to this region. And Rodriguez lived in the next city.
Badua: What are you saying, May?
Suarez: It's just weird. She never could have known Rodriguez.
Badua: Maybe it's not Rodriguez. Maybe it's some kid who looks like him.
Suarez: A kid that looked like Rodriguez's son with a jacket with Rodriguez badge number?
Badua: No shit?
Suarez: No shit.
Thursday
the fate of the people
Presidential hopefulls:
1, the ex-president: a has been bent on taking back the political power he lost by his own stupidity. hoping to get back on his high horse and rule the country "for the people." But the question here is; who are "the people"? are they the poor (vendors, farmers, the free economy), the middle class (people with stable salaries and pay the right taxes), or is his people the rich people with the intentions to milk the other classes to line their pockets with more wealth by any means (gambling, drugs, organized crime money loundering)?
2, "talino at galing": true enough; the heart alone is not enough to run a country. But let us look back in history; the last president we had was a genius. YES! a genius! she has slid in and out of all the empeachments and managed to stay in power even though everybody knows she's a criminal. A CRIMINAL GENIUS! and all it took was "talino at galing." the question now is: are we going to make the same mistake?
3, "galing sa mahirap": this guy is rich! stinkin' rich. he said he came from a poor family and worked for where he is now (sipag at tiyaga). if this guy wants to help the poor, I mean realy help the poor, he would have given the homeless Filipinos a home by now. he has the means, he has the wealth. but what he lacks is the sense to actually help the people without seeking personal gain. if he is not the rich-self-promoting-jerk that I think he is, he would not be publishing his "kawang gawa." I have'nt seen him talk to the poor and help the poor with out media coverage. nor have I heard the poor talk about him in praise.
4, the late president's son: all I could do is laugh about it. sympathy voting is the trend that is being followed in this country. people think because his dad died for his belief in making this country better, he would carry on that belief. bull feces, if he wanted to make this country better, he would have started to do so when he was just a senator. maybe he could have talked his family out of causing the masacre at hacienda Luisita. but he did not. what makes us so sure he would stand up against the evils that has dwelt in Philippine Governance since our so called independence?
5, the curch leader: they claim to want to change the way of life in the Philippines, but hell if they know anything to run a country. think about it, when it comes to looking out for the future of this country, they have the foresight of a snake. they only see black and white. sometimes not at all. and in our constitution, " The separation of Church and State shall be inviolable." what is there to asure us that they will seperate their political judgement from their religious beliefs?
6, "kailangan bayani": well, he does not look like a hero in the eyes of the Marikina-Ondoy victims. he has done nothing to be called a hero and thus making him a pretentious prick. he could not even help his hometown's people, what could he possibly do for a country?
7,the critics: full of enthusiasm. filled with good ideas. a natural critique of the present administration. full of angst and energy. but the problem is, he reacts. when shit happenes, he reacts. I have rarely seen him act and prevent. I have mostly seen him react and acusse. will he just react to what happens? does he even know how to act and make something happen?
1, the ex-president: a has been bent on taking back the political power he lost by his own stupidity. hoping to get back on his high horse and rule the country "for the people." But the question here is; who are "the people"? are they the poor (vendors, farmers, the free economy), the middle class (people with stable salaries and pay the right taxes), or is his people the rich people with the intentions to milk the other classes to line their pockets with more wealth by any means (gambling, drugs, organized crime money loundering)?
2, "talino at galing": true enough; the heart alone is not enough to run a country. But let us look back in history; the last president we had was a genius. YES! a genius! she has slid in and out of all the empeachments and managed to stay in power even though everybody knows she's a criminal. A CRIMINAL GENIUS! and all it took was "talino at galing." the question now is: are we going to make the same mistake?
3, "galing sa mahirap": this guy is rich! stinkin' rich. he said he came from a poor family and worked for where he is now (sipag at tiyaga). if this guy wants to help the poor, I mean realy help the poor, he would have given the homeless Filipinos a home by now. he has the means, he has the wealth. but what he lacks is the sense to actually help the people without seeking personal gain. if he is not the rich-self-promoting-jerk that I think he is, he would not be publishing his "kawang gawa." I have'nt seen him talk to the poor and help the poor with out media coverage. nor have I heard the poor talk about him in praise.
4, the late president's son: all I could do is laugh about it. sympathy voting is the trend that is being followed in this country. people think because his dad died for his belief in making this country better, he would carry on that belief. bull feces, if he wanted to make this country better, he would have started to do so when he was just a senator. maybe he could have talked his family out of causing the masacre at hacienda Luisita. but he did not. what makes us so sure he would stand up against the evils that has dwelt in Philippine Governance since our so called independence?
5, the curch leader: they claim to want to change the way of life in the Philippines, but hell if they know anything to run a country. think about it, when it comes to looking out for the future of this country, they have the foresight of a snake. they only see black and white. sometimes not at all. and in our constitution, " The separation of Church and State shall be inviolable." what is there to asure us that they will seperate their political judgement from their religious beliefs?
6, "kailangan bayani": well, he does not look like a hero in the eyes of the Marikina-Ondoy victims. he has done nothing to be called a hero and thus making him a pretentious prick. he could not even help his hometown's people, what could he possibly do for a country?
7,the critics: full of enthusiasm. filled with good ideas. a natural critique of the present administration. full of angst and energy. but the problem is, he reacts. when shit happenes, he reacts. I have rarely seen him act and prevent. I have mostly seen him react and acusse. will he just react to what happens? does he even know how to act and make something happen?
Monday
bayang api
Ang tinatahak nating daang luntian;
Ang inaakalang ligtas na lansangan;
Ang mundo na ating ginagalawan:
Ay puno ng halimaw at taong gahaman.
Uhaw sa kapangyarihan, pera’t dugo
Na kahit kailanmang hindi napupuno
Ang kanilang tasang kumakamkam ng ginto
Na ang pagkitil ng buhay ay tila isang laro—
Isang munting laro sa mga taong nakaupo
Kasama ang mga dayuhan ay nagpapakulo
Ng pagnanakaw sa bayan ng lakas at ginto
At ang bayan ngayon ay naghihingalo.
Kaya nga’t ang dukha ngayon ang kawawa
Ngunit iilan lang ang dilat ang mata
Sa katotohanang tila nakakalula—
Na pinapaslang na ang mulat na makhata—
Mas malala: may nagbubulag-bulagan
May nakakarinig at nagbibingi-bingihan
Habang ang bayan ay nilalapastangan
Saan ang mga bayani? Nasaan ang kalayaan?
Libu-libo nang ina at ama
Libung anak na nangungulila
Sa mga minamahal na nawala parang bula
Sa halu-halong ilog ng dugo at luha
Libong manggagawa, magsasaka at mga bata;
Ang bayang inapi, ninakawan at sinira
Mga taong trinaydor at inalila
Ay bukas na ang isip – mata’y mulat na
Mga kupas na bandila at ang kabataan
Ngayon ay nasa lansangan
Isinisigay ang singil ng katarungan
Nakataas kamao at lumalaban
Ngunit kalian nga ba makakamtan ;
Ang inaasam na katarungan;
Inaasam na tunay na kalayaan?
Wala mang katiyakan—tuloy ang aming laban.
Patuloy kaming magpupunyagi
Na ang tunay na demokrasya ang maghahari
Dugo ng mga bayani ay dadanak muli
Ang sambayanang Pilipino ang siyang magwawagi.
Isang araw ang kalayaan ay ‘di na mawawala
Isang araw ang magandang buhay ay matatamasa
Isang araw ang katarungan ay nasa tao na
Isang araw kung kami’y nakabaon na sa lupa.
Ngunit habang may oras pa: kami ay lalaban
Hanga’t ang tagumpay ay aming mahahagkan
Hangang masilayan ang kalayaan ng bayan
Kahit umabot man sa aming kamataya.
Ang inaakalang ligtas na lansangan;
Ang mundo na ating ginagalawan:
Ay puno ng halimaw at taong gahaman.
Uhaw sa kapangyarihan, pera’t dugo
Na kahit kailanmang hindi napupuno
Ang kanilang tasang kumakamkam ng ginto
Na ang pagkitil ng buhay ay tila isang laro—
Isang munting laro sa mga taong nakaupo
Kasama ang mga dayuhan ay nagpapakulo
Ng pagnanakaw sa bayan ng lakas at ginto
At ang bayan ngayon ay naghihingalo.
Kaya nga’t ang dukha ngayon ang kawawa
Ngunit iilan lang ang dilat ang mata
Sa katotohanang tila nakakalula—
Na pinapaslang na ang mulat na makhata—
Mas malala: may nagbubulag-bulagan
May nakakarinig at nagbibingi-bingihan
Habang ang bayan ay nilalapastangan
Saan ang mga bayani? Nasaan ang kalayaan?
Libu-libo nang ina at ama
Libung anak na nangungulila
Sa mga minamahal na nawala parang bula
Sa halu-halong ilog ng dugo at luha
Libong manggagawa, magsasaka at mga bata;
Ang bayang inapi, ninakawan at sinira
Mga taong trinaydor at inalila
Ay bukas na ang isip – mata’y mulat na
Mga kupas na bandila at ang kabataan
Ngayon ay nasa lansangan
Isinisigay ang singil ng katarungan
Nakataas kamao at lumalaban
Ngunit kalian nga ba makakamtan ;
Ang inaasam na katarungan;
Inaasam na tunay na kalayaan?
Wala mang katiyakan—tuloy ang aming laban.
Patuloy kaming magpupunyagi
Na ang tunay na demokrasya ang maghahari
Dugo ng mga bayani ay dadanak muli
Ang sambayanang Pilipino ang siyang magwawagi.
Isang araw ang kalayaan ay ‘di na mawawala
Isang araw ang magandang buhay ay matatamasa
Isang araw ang katarungan ay nasa tao na
Isang araw kung kami’y nakabaon na sa lupa.
Ngunit habang may oras pa: kami ay lalaban
Hanga’t ang tagumpay ay aming mahahagkan
Hangang masilayan ang kalayaan ng bayan
Kahit umabot man sa aming kamataya.
Wednesday
pages of a fantasy - charred
His name is Khael, Khael Reyes, a sophomore law student, the top and youngest in his class. He is 22 years old but has already seen the harshness of life. He goes through his day in gloom that one could not see a trace of emotion on his face. Not a smile or even a frown. But he wasn’t always like this.
Two years ago, on his graduation night, his mom called him. He could barely understand her through the sobbing. On that day, his sister was found drowned in her bathtub.
His sister: the only one who believed in him; who held him when his father felt violent; the one who took him in when their mother threw him out; the one he knew to be more of a mother to him than their own mother, was now gone. Just like that, he was alone. His mother too busy and his father still a vegetable on a hospital bed, he had no one to turn to but himself. That night, amidst the celebration, he swallowed himself whole. He decided never to betray any hint of emotion and in the process make himself numb.
True enough, he has not felt any emotion, nothing but the grief of loosing the only one who showed him affection; his shelter; his home.
Since then, he seemed invulnerable; a serious young man on a mission. Yet the mission was unclear and his goal was nothing. He became a puppet of the system. Top scholar, good in class but nothing inside: an empty shell. At least as how the world sees him.
Every day he starts with the same routine; work from 9 to 5, cross the street and study law. Come night time, his world thrives. Every night he toils seeking inspiration and models. But every night he finds none. He is a proper artist with his knife, a beautiful shredder of wood and ice. He walks the city streets looking for a familiar face, or rather a face to make him forget his home. Yet he never finds one. Instead he sees his sister. And every night he carves his sister’s soul on wood and burns it by the time he finishes.
If one could only behold his art, he would be hailed. If the world could only see his work the world will celebrate. And that is the very reason he dose not show it. He works all night to exalt his sister yet burns her memory before dawn. Every night he stages a reenactment of how life deprived him of his home. He deprives the world of his art.
On the night of his sister’s second death anniversary he tries a new medium for art: graphic skin art. He buys a machine and starts to scribble. A month later, his skin was an abstract mural in memory of his sister: the first mistake to his act of numbness.
His art was a wondrous display of shapes, shades and emotion and the world started to notice.
“Atty. canvassed skin” was what his employers called him. “Khael the brute” dubbed by his professors and “a beautiful, tormented soul” was what another student knew him as, even before he placed his art on his skin.
He thought of it as a good turn of events. “I will tear this beauty away from all as life tore me from my home.” That was the plan. He planned to end it all as soon as the world learned to love his art.
Khael started a new career. He opened up shop near his school and started to give the cheapest yet most beautiful art from sculpture to charcoal sketches and tattoos. Two months in the business, he quit his job as safety supervisor and poured his time to art and law. Unknowingly, he started to learn how to smile but he never did give one.
One summer evening, when he was alone in his shop ready to close up for the night and tend to his studies, some one came in the shop. Not even looking up to see who it was, he said “I’m about to close up but feel free to look around.” And he went on tidying up.
The visitor voice was unfamiliar to him but spoke as if he knew him. “Why just now that you graced the world of your art?” the visitor asked? “Excuse me?” he asked back. “From what I’ve seen from you, you are art’s child.” Khael turns to his visitor and says “no sir, you are mistaken.” “I am Khael Reyes, son of Dr. Susan Rodriguez and Engineer Karl Cunlo Reyes. I am not an artist’s son, nor was I born in art. I am but a victim of life as all men are evidently will be.” Khael’s visitor was a young man in his early 20’s, but what Khael noticed was the jacket he was wearing. The jacket was vintage brown leather, with words written all over it. It was obvious that the writings were not from the manufacturer and Khael figured his visitor was a poet or a writer of some sort.
“I am Michael” the visitor introduced himself and took out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “I have here a design,” Michael started but Khael interrupted him. “I’m closed for the day.” Michael smiled and handed him the piece of paper. “I’m not asking you to do it for me; I’m asking you to study this design.” Khael was intrigued and took the piece of paper. Khael tried to examine the design but was distracted by the age of the paper. It seemed as though it was years old and was once submerged in water. The ring of his shop door took him from his revere and he was once again alone in his shop.
That evening, curious about the design, Khael rushed back to his shop after his classes. He hunched over the design on his well-lit working table to study it. Hours passed as he turned it over on its’ side and upside down but he couldn’t seem to understand the inspiration of the abstract design. Not wanting to give up on understanding this weird art, he fell asleep hunched over his table.
The next morning he wakes with someone knocking on his shop door. He opens his door and finds Sarah, his fellow law student, looking worried. “Are you okay?” Sarah asked. “Why would I not be okay?” he answers. “I saw you last night come in here and turn a light on and this morning, the same light was still on. I was just worried about you.”
Still not fully awake, Khael invites Sarah to come in and he washes his face on the sink. Sarah looks around and finds the design. “This is quite a beautiful impression of a girl,” she says picking up the piece of paper. Khael rushes to Sarah’s side to try and see what she sees. “How could that be a girl?” Khael asks. She points out to the jagged outline of the design and says, “it’s a charred image of a girl. As if her image was burned into wood or a sculpture saved from flames.” Khael peered closer and saw the image of her sister as if he carved it himself. “Oh. Now I see it.”
Much more to that, Khael also saw something that Sarah didn’t. He saw formations of words on the edges of the design. It read “I’m sorry for leaving, but I am happy now, Khael.”
What he read did nothing to appease his anger towards life, but only fed it. That night, as the world slept, Khael took his art from the world as life took his home from him. He burned all his art and his shop with him along with it.
-Orville “chubby” Basas-
Two years ago, on his graduation night, his mom called him. He could barely understand her through the sobbing. On that day, his sister was found drowned in her bathtub.
His sister: the only one who believed in him; who held him when his father felt violent; the one who took him in when their mother threw him out; the one he knew to be more of a mother to him than their own mother, was now gone. Just like that, he was alone. His mother too busy and his father still a vegetable on a hospital bed, he had no one to turn to but himself. That night, amidst the celebration, he swallowed himself whole. He decided never to betray any hint of emotion and in the process make himself numb.
True enough, he has not felt any emotion, nothing but the grief of loosing the only one who showed him affection; his shelter; his home.
Since then, he seemed invulnerable; a serious young man on a mission. Yet the mission was unclear and his goal was nothing. He became a puppet of the system. Top scholar, good in class but nothing inside: an empty shell. At least as how the world sees him.
Every day he starts with the same routine; work from 9 to 5, cross the street and study law. Come night time, his world thrives. Every night he toils seeking inspiration and models. But every night he finds none. He is a proper artist with his knife, a beautiful shredder of wood and ice. He walks the city streets looking for a familiar face, or rather a face to make him forget his home. Yet he never finds one. Instead he sees his sister. And every night he carves his sister’s soul on wood and burns it by the time he finishes.
If one could only behold his art, he would be hailed. If the world could only see his work the world will celebrate. And that is the very reason he dose not show it. He works all night to exalt his sister yet burns her memory before dawn. Every night he stages a reenactment of how life deprived him of his home. He deprives the world of his art.
On the night of his sister’s second death anniversary he tries a new medium for art: graphic skin art. He buys a machine and starts to scribble. A month later, his skin was an abstract mural in memory of his sister: the first mistake to his act of numbness.
His art was a wondrous display of shapes, shades and emotion and the world started to notice.
“Atty. canvassed skin” was what his employers called him. “Khael the brute” dubbed by his professors and “a beautiful, tormented soul” was what another student knew him as, even before he placed his art on his skin.
He thought of it as a good turn of events. “I will tear this beauty away from all as life tore me from my home.” That was the plan. He planned to end it all as soon as the world learned to love his art.
Khael started a new career. He opened up shop near his school and started to give the cheapest yet most beautiful art from sculpture to charcoal sketches and tattoos. Two months in the business, he quit his job as safety supervisor and poured his time to art and law. Unknowingly, he started to learn how to smile but he never did give one.
One summer evening, when he was alone in his shop ready to close up for the night and tend to his studies, some one came in the shop. Not even looking up to see who it was, he said “I’m about to close up but feel free to look around.” And he went on tidying up.
The visitor voice was unfamiliar to him but spoke as if he knew him. “Why just now that you graced the world of your art?” the visitor asked? “Excuse me?” he asked back. “From what I’ve seen from you, you are art’s child.” Khael turns to his visitor and says “no sir, you are mistaken.” “I am Khael Reyes, son of Dr. Susan Rodriguez and Engineer Karl Cunlo Reyes. I am not an artist’s son, nor was I born in art. I am but a victim of life as all men are evidently will be.” Khael’s visitor was a young man in his early 20’s, but what Khael noticed was the jacket he was wearing. The jacket was vintage brown leather, with words written all over it. It was obvious that the writings were not from the manufacturer and Khael figured his visitor was a poet or a writer of some sort.
“I am Michael” the visitor introduced himself and took out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “I have here a design,” Michael started but Khael interrupted him. “I’m closed for the day.” Michael smiled and handed him the piece of paper. “I’m not asking you to do it for me; I’m asking you to study this design.” Khael was intrigued and took the piece of paper. Khael tried to examine the design but was distracted by the age of the paper. It seemed as though it was years old and was once submerged in water. The ring of his shop door took him from his revere and he was once again alone in his shop.
That evening, curious about the design, Khael rushed back to his shop after his classes. He hunched over the design on his well-lit working table to study it. Hours passed as he turned it over on its’ side and upside down but he couldn’t seem to understand the inspiration of the abstract design. Not wanting to give up on understanding this weird art, he fell asleep hunched over his table.
The next morning he wakes with someone knocking on his shop door. He opens his door and finds Sarah, his fellow law student, looking worried. “Are you okay?” Sarah asked. “Why would I not be okay?” he answers. “I saw you last night come in here and turn a light on and this morning, the same light was still on. I was just worried about you.”
Still not fully awake, Khael invites Sarah to come in and he washes his face on the sink. Sarah looks around and finds the design. “This is quite a beautiful impression of a girl,” she says picking up the piece of paper. Khael rushes to Sarah’s side to try and see what she sees. “How could that be a girl?” Khael asks. She points out to the jagged outline of the design and says, “it’s a charred image of a girl. As if her image was burned into wood or a sculpture saved from flames.” Khael peered closer and saw the image of her sister as if he carved it himself. “Oh. Now I see it.”
Much more to that, Khael also saw something that Sarah didn’t. He saw formations of words on the edges of the design. It read “I’m sorry for leaving, but I am happy now, Khael.”
What he read did nothing to appease his anger towards life, but only fed it. That night, as the world slept, Khael took his art from the world as life took his home from him. He burned all his art and his shop with him along with it.
-Orville “chubby” Basas-
Saturday
pages of a fantasy - notepad
There is something different about her. I knew it from the first time I saw her. She is beautiful. I watch her go about her business at school. And, we share the same train home. I have been in love with her from the start.
One day, when we were going home, I mustered all the courage to sit beside her. She glanced my way. She saw me. She actually noticed me. Or at least saw me. Not every one does. But she did and smiled and let out a little chuckle.
We sat together for the next three stations. When it was her stop, I followed her off the train. I made sure I was cautious and quiet enough for her not to notice me. I followed her home to her studio apartment. I couldn't get in her apartment, I would not dare to. But I wanted to know her. I climbed up the fire escape and looked through her window.
I watched her do her business, watched her eat and get ready for bed, memorizing her routine. I watched her strip to her skin and slip between her sheets and fade to sleep. I watched her breath and smile at whatever it was she dreamed about. This went on for weeks. Every night I would watch her through the window and leave before dawn.
One night, as she slept in the night, she awoke in sudden. She looked around her as if searching. I feared she might have felt me watching her. I froze, thinking that my slightest movement would give me away. She shook her head with a chuckle and glanced out the window. When she stood up, I almost leaped off the fire escape. But she did not walk towards the window, instead, she sat by her bedside table and started writing. After a few moments, she went back to bed.
That morning, I waited for her to leave. I could not leave without satisfying my curiosity on what she wrote. After she left, I slipped in through the window and read what was written on the notepad.
“I do not know where you are.
Nor do I know who.
But I can feel you watching.
My name is Cherry.”
I read it over and over, not quite believing it. I picked up a pen and wrote her back:
“I'm sorry, I could not help it. I saw you on the train.
I was awed by your beauty and your sweet smile.
I just had to see you.
Anyways, my name is Michael. I hope you don't mind
me watching and admiring you this way.”
I then slipped out and went to school. Late as it was, I found her doing what she regularly does. And looking damn more beautiful at it.
By the end of the day, we again shared the same train. I sat far from her this time. Some of observing and some of fear that if she saw me she might shy away. So, I followed her home again, keeping my distance and being more cautious. When we got to the apartment building she took the main entrance and I took the fire escape.
Again I watched her do her routine. From making her dinner to giving herself a scrubbing with a washcloth. I watched her slip naked between her sheets, and before turning off her bedside lamp, she takes the note pad and reads my reply. My heart melt as she smiled and scribbled in her reply.
We began to have conversations on that notepad. Her, inside, and me, watching from the outside. I started to stop going to school, sometimes writing on that notepad, verses for her, telling her stories about myself and how I admired her. I ended up hanging around her apartment building, waiting for her to come home.
I told her that I watched her though the window but am too scared to meet her up front, that maybe she would not like how I look like. She wrote back:
“I have seen you.
Once on the train.
With your hair messed up and your brown leather jacket.
Which is a great statement by the way, with all the
writings all over it.
And you looked great...=)”
All feelings leaped inside me when I read that. I actually felt accepted. I started to do her chores for her when she left for school, that every night when she got home, her dinner was ready. I still stayed outside the window when she came home. And I wrote her more sonnets, poems and verses of what I felt about her. She found it a good choice to not pull me in from through the window, she said it felt like an angel watching over her.
Our conversations ran on and on on that notepad. Talking about her day and everything that went on under the sun while she was gone. A love affair on a notepad.
One night, six months after I stopped going to school, she came home late. She didn't even touch her dinner. She went straight to bed, she didn't even bother to scrub herself or read the notepad.
I mustered all the courage I had in me and went inside. I went to her side. I could smell her. She was dead drunk. So I thought she wouldn't mind. I took a washcloth and a basin and stripped her naked. I gave her a scrubbing and tucked her in between her sheets. I cleaned up her table putting everything in the fridge and gave her a goodnight kiss. She must have felt it through all the liqueur because she asked me to stay beside her. I did.
I left before dawn to take a walk and think. I was in love. When I got back to her apartment, she was gone. I looked at the notepad and there she wrote:
“Thank you, Michael, my angel.
Thanks for last night and the beautiful poem.”
So, I went back doing her chores for her, having a great feeling of being appreciated. I made her dinner after finding that she might have eaten last night's dinner for breakfast.
By the time she came home I was already outside the window, watching. She went straight to the window and for the first time, invited me in. We talked as she ate her dinner. We talked through the night. She invited me to take a warm bath with her, which later, she insisted. We took the bath, I, in silence, stroking her body and memorizing her every curve, absorbing her moans of pleasure.
We made love that night. She fell asleep in my arms, feeling her rhythmic breathing, stroking her light, jet-black hair.
She woke up as I was heating coffee, right before dawn. She said she didn't want to go to school that day. When I asked if she was feeling ill, she replied that she wanted to stay with me all day and that she felt rejuvenated.
We sat on that bed all day, enjoying every moment.
That night, we made love again and this time she didn't fall asleep. We talked the rest of the night, and she wanted to use the notepad again but this time our replies would be quicker. It went like this:
“I am Cherry Ann Reyes.
Eighteen. My mother is a pathologist.
And my father was/is a welder.”
“Why 'was/is?'”
“He fell from a building he was working on.
He didn't die.
He's in a comma.
And he likes to write poems and sonnets just like you.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“It's okay.
What about you?
What's your story?”
“My name is Michael Rodriguez.
My mother works for city hall.
At least she was the last time I saw her.
And my dad was a police officer.
He died a couple of years ago.”
“I'm sorry.
Do you want to stop?”
“No, it's okay.
Never really spent that much time with me.
I mostly spent my time with my brother who
died a few weeks before dad did.”
“Again, I'm sorry.
Do you want to talk about it?”
“would you care to listen?”
“Well, he was riding a train.
The same train we share.
And he just collapsed and never woke up.
Doctors say it was a mystery.
'He was in the peak of his health' they said.
I couldn't believe it.
He was as strong as an ox.
And he just left me and I don't even know
why or how.
He just left.”
“You want to stop this?”
“Oh, no.
It's your turn.
Tell me something weird.”
“Okay.
My cousin died mysteriously too.
He was older than me and taught me to play guitar
every weekend.
One day he just told me that he couldn't teach me
because he was writing a masterpiece.
The next morning, his mom found him dead.
Is that weird enough?”
“Nope.
Not enough. Not even mysterious.”
“Okay.
My mom is a pathologist and she conducted the autopsy.
And zero. Nothing.
He was as fit as a gymnast.”
“Oh.
Okay. Just like my brother.”
“Now it's your turn.”
“I have one weird story.
But I don't think you would like it."
"Oh, come on."
“I would write it down but it's a long story
so you would have to wait.”
“Okay.”
“Two years ago, a kid in my neighborhood
shot himself in the head twice.”
“Twice?
But that's not valid.
It has to be something that happened to someone
close to you.
And that's not even long.”
“Okay. About me then.
I once felt a really weird chill up my spine.
Everything and everyone I knew was gone.
All I heard were voices and howls and growls.
I was running all over the city.
I found refuge in an abandoned apartment building two
blocks from here and I started writing on my jacket
what I thought was happening.”
“What was happening?
Were you sleep walking?”
“This happened the day that kid shot himself.
He was sixteen and he went to our school.”
“Did you know him?
What was his name?”
“ Michael S. Rodriguez.”
(phone call)
Doctor Rodriguez?
I hate to be the barer of grave news
but we found your daughter, Cherry Ann,
drowned in her bath tub.
From the state of the body, it seems that
she have died maybe two nights ago.
And the neighbors claim to have heard moaning
from her room on the same night.
Does your daughter have a boyfriend?
Doctor Rodriguez?
Doctor Rodriguez, are you there?
Doctor...
-Orville “chubby” Basas
One day, when we were going home, I mustered all the courage to sit beside her. She glanced my way. She saw me. She actually noticed me. Or at least saw me. Not every one does. But she did and smiled and let out a little chuckle.
We sat together for the next three stations. When it was her stop, I followed her off the train. I made sure I was cautious and quiet enough for her not to notice me. I followed her home to her studio apartment. I couldn't get in her apartment, I would not dare to. But I wanted to know her. I climbed up the fire escape and looked through her window.
I watched her do her business, watched her eat and get ready for bed, memorizing her routine. I watched her strip to her skin and slip between her sheets and fade to sleep. I watched her breath and smile at whatever it was she dreamed about. This went on for weeks. Every night I would watch her through the window and leave before dawn.
One night, as she slept in the night, she awoke in sudden. She looked around her as if searching. I feared she might have felt me watching her. I froze, thinking that my slightest movement would give me away. She shook her head with a chuckle and glanced out the window. When she stood up, I almost leaped off the fire escape. But she did not walk towards the window, instead, she sat by her bedside table and started writing. After a few moments, she went back to bed.
That morning, I waited for her to leave. I could not leave without satisfying my curiosity on what she wrote. After she left, I slipped in through the window and read what was written on the notepad.
“I do not know where you are.
Nor do I know who.
But I can feel you watching.
My name is Cherry.”
I read it over and over, not quite believing it. I picked up a pen and wrote her back:
“I'm sorry, I could not help it. I saw you on the train.
I was awed by your beauty and your sweet smile.
I just had to see you.
Anyways, my name is Michael. I hope you don't mind
me watching and admiring you this way.”
I then slipped out and went to school. Late as it was, I found her doing what she regularly does. And looking damn more beautiful at it.
By the end of the day, we again shared the same train. I sat far from her this time. Some of observing and some of fear that if she saw me she might shy away. So, I followed her home again, keeping my distance and being more cautious. When we got to the apartment building she took the main entrance and I took the fire escape.
Again I watched her do her routine. From making her dinner to giving herself a scrubbing with a washcloth. I watched her slip naked between her sheets, and before turning off her bedside lamp, she takes the note pad and reads my reply. My heart melt as she smiled and scribbled in her reply.
We began to have conversations on that notepad. Her, inside, and me, watching from the outside. I started to stop going to school, sometimes writing on that notepad, verses for her, telling her stories about myself and how I admired her. I ended up hanging around her apartment building, waiting for her to come home.
I told her that I watched her though the window but am too scared to meet her up front, that maybe she would not like how I look like. She wrote back:
“I have seen you.
Once on the train.
With your hair messed up and your brown leather jacket.
Which is a great statement by the way, with all the
writings all over it.
And you looked great...=)”
All feelings leaped inside me when I read that. I actually felt accepted. I started to do her chores for her when she left for school, that every night when she got home, her dinner was ready. I still stayed outside the window when she came home. And I wrote her more sonnets, poems and verses of what I felt about her. She found it a good choice to not pull me in from through the window, she said it felt like an angel watching over her.
Our conversations ran on and on on that notepad. Talking about her day and everything that went on under the sun while she was gone. A love affair on a notepad.
One night, six months after I stopped going to school, she came home late. She didn't even touch her dinner. She went straight to bed, she didn't even bother to scrub herself or read the notepad.
I mustered all the courage I had in me and went inside. I went to her side. I could smell her. She was dead drunk. So I thought she wouldn't mind. I took a washcloth and a basin and stripped her naked. I gave her a scrubbing and tucked her in between her sheets. I cleaned up her table putting everything in the fridge and gave her a goodnight kiss. She must have felt it through all the liqueur because she asked me to stay beside her. I did.
I left before dawn to take a walk and think. I was in love. When I got back to her apartment, she was gone. I looked at the notepad and there she wrote:
“Thank you, Michael, my angel.
Thanks for last night and the beautiful poem.”
So, I went back doing her chores for her, having a great feeling of being appreciated. I made her dinner after finding that she might have eaten last night's dinner for breakfast.
By the time she came home I was already outside the window, watching. She went straight to the window and for the first time, invited me in. We talked as she ate her dinner. We talked through the night. She invited me to take a warm bath with her, which later, she insisted. We took the bath, I, in silence, stroking her body and memorizing her every curve, absorbing her moans of pleasure.
We made love that night. She fell asleep in my arms, feeling her rhythmic breathing, stroking her light, jet-black hair.
She woke up as I was heating coffee, right before dawn. She said she didn't want to go to school that day. When I asked if she was feeling ill, she replied that she wanted to stay with me all day and that she felt rejuvenated.
We sat on that bed all day, enjoying every moment.
That night, we made love again and this time she didn't fall asleep. We talked the rest of the night, and she wanted to use the notepad again but this time our replies would be quicker. It went like this:
“I am Cherry Ann Reyes.
Eighteen. My mother is a pathologist.
And my father was/is a welder.”
“Why 'was/is?'”
“He fell from a building he was working on.
He didn't die.
He's in a comma.
And he likes to write poems and sonnets just like you.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“It's okay.
What about you?
What's your story?”
“My name is Michael Rodriguez.
My mother works for city hall.
At least she was the last time I saw her.
And my dad was a police officer.
He died a couple of years ago.”
“I'm sorry.
Do you want to stop?”
“No, it's okay.
Never really spent that much time with me.
I mostly spent my time with my brother who
died a few weeks before dad did.”
“Again, I'm sorry.
Do you want to talk about it?”
“would you care to listen?”
"by all means."
“Well, he was riding a train.
The same train we share.
And he just collapsed and never woke up.
Doctors say it was a mystery.
'He was in the peak of his health' they said.
I couldn't believe it.
He was as strong as an ox.
And he just left me and I don't even know
why or how.
He just left.”
“You want to stop this?”
“Oh, no.
It's your turn.
Tell me something weird.”
“Okay.
My cousin died mysteriously too.
He was older than me and taught me to play guitar
every weekend.
One day he just told me that he couldn't teach me
because he was writing a masterpiece.
The next morning, his mom found him dead.
Is that weird enough?”
“Nope.
Not enough. Not even mysterious.”
“Okay.
My mom is a pathologist and she conducted the autopsy.
And zero. Nothing.
He was as fit as a gymnast.”
“Oh.
Okay. Just like my brother.”
“Now it's your turn.”
“I have one weird story.
But I don't think you would like it."
"Oh, come on."
“I would write it down but it's a long story
so you would have to wait.”
“Okay.”
“Two years ago, a kid in my neighborhood
shot himself in the head twice.”
“Twice?
But that's not valid.
It has to be something that happened to someone
close to you.
And that's not even long.”
“Okay. About me then.
I once felt a really weird chill up my spine.
Everything and everyone I knew was gone.
All I heard were voices and howls and growls.
I was running all over the city.
I found refuge in an abandoned apartment building two
blocks from here and I started writing on my jacket
what I thought was happening.”
“What was happening?
Were you sleep walking?”
“This happened the day that kid shot himself.
He was sixteen and he went to our school.”
“Did you know him?
What was his name?”
“ Michael S. Rodriguez.”
(phone call)
Doctor Rodriguez?
I hate to be the barer of grave news
but we found your daughter, Cherry Ann,
drowned in her bath tub.
From the state of the body, it seems that
she have died maybe two nights ago.
And the neighbors claim to have heard moaning
from her room on the same night.
Does your daughter have a boyfriend?
Doctor Rodriguez?
Doctor Rodriguez, are you there?
Doctor...
-Orville “chubby” Basas
Thursday
pages of a fantasy - words of the lost
...I sat there on my bed, waiting for that sound.
But the sound I heard was not what I expected.
I heard the hammer hit the firing pin. But then nothing happened.
I opened it and checked if it was a miss fire.
The bullet in the chamber was hit squarely in the center of its primer.
I shrugged it as a dud. So I tried it again with a new bullet.
I closed my eyes real tight and pulled the trigger.
"CLICK"
That was all I heard.
I opened my eyes and asked myself out loud,
"where's the bang?"
I sat there for a moment staring at the gun and savouring the taste of burnt powder,
brass, steel and a slight stinging from the cleaning agent dad used to clean the gun.
"Revolver' as he proudly called it.
I shook myself out of my reverie. I left the "revolver" on the bed and went out of my room.
The house was still quiet. I guess mom wasn't home yet and, well, dad died and was buried
a week ago.
I pulled out an old leather jacket from my dad's stuff in the closet and went out of the house
to find another way to end my misery. I was up a few blocks, walking, when I noticed it.
Silence.
This city couldn't keep silent in the middle of the night up to the wee hours of the morning.
Yet, it was silent now, between three and four in the afternoon.
I looked around me and saw no jeepneys. Some of the stores were open but there was no one
inside them.
No costumers, no clerks.
I looked around some more, no sea of people moving on the streets except maybe for a
few homeless people minding their own business.
I went inside the Internet cafe where I usually hang out. It was deserted, but the computers were still on and running.
A shiver wend down my spine as I felt a presence around me that I could not see.
I backed up out of the door, spinning around as I felt the breeze of the outside.
Still, I felt the presence all around me.
Panicked, I ran aimlessly, few of the homeless people staring at me and the neighborhood wacko screaming at me.
I found myself running towards my mother's office. This, too, was abandoned.
I started to look around and I calmed down when I saw a janitor doing his business with the floor. I approached him and asked him what was happening. He said nothing, like he didn't even hear me. If he did, he didn't show any sign of it.
I was starting to cry when I felt a shiver down my spine again.
I spun around to see if someone was behind me. Nothing, just the blank empty silence.
I turned to the janitor but he was no longer there. Not even the mop or the bucket or any sign of them.
I was scared now and ran out city hall.
I ran 'till I found myself in front of our house. I stepped in side hoping that it's familiar confines will keep me safe from what made everyone disappear.
But as I sank in the sofa, I started to hear voices. I couldn't understand what they were saying but I knew they were talking to each other.
Then I heard a howl of pain as if someone in great grief.
Then I felt the presence again. The presence of something I could not see and begin to understand. But I could now hear them and sense them.
Quietly, I sat still, observing as the howls turned into sobbing. Then the voices I've been hearing swelled, as if more and more voices came in o join them. And the presence grew stronger.
I felt the presence sink beside me on the sofa, sobbing and wheezing for air.
I was petrified when it called my name. As if calling out to me to come to it.
I started to run for the door but I couldn't go through it as fast as I planned.
As if there was a sea of people blocking the door was that I had to push my way through it.
I finally and started running. I don't know where, but it seemed like the best idea.
I kept running and running 'till I just dropped.
I sat down on the pavement and as I looked up, I was in front of an abandoned apartment building.
Then I felt the presence brushing against me, over and over.
I ran across the street to an open diner. There, I felt the presence stronger, the voices louder.
I ran out and tried the other open establishments, they were all the same.
I found myself running up the fire exit of the abandoned apartment building.
I climbed in through the window.
I curled up into a ball in one of the corners.
Waiting, observing If I felt any presence.
Hours later I decided it was safe in here.
I don't know what time it is now, I looked out the window and everything is closed now.
I here noises on the street, like roars, screams and voices but I don't see who or what they are.
It's already dark out side but some how I don't feel tired nor hungry. All I feel is fear.
I'm writing this so I could keep record of what is happening. All I had was this pen and no paper so I'm writing this on my dad's jacket.
I intend to find out what happened. Tomorrow, at first light, I'll go back out there again and ask the homeless people what they know. And if I never get back, I hope someone would find this jacket and look for my mom.
(TABLOID NEWS)
"...At around four thirty yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Rodriguez, a government employee, the widow of a police officer and a mother of a teenage boy, shook the city with her cries as police escorted her to her son's bedroom..."
"...The police received a call from neighbors saying they heard what sounded like gunshots. Police discovered the teenage Rodriguez dead on his bed with his fathers 38.mm. revolver. Although the scene suggested suicide and witnesses claim that they saw no one else with Rodriguez when he had come home and no one came out after the shots, Police are suspecting foul play..."
"...'If the boy shot himself, he could have never made the second shot,' police said. 'As the scene reveals two slugs with brain matter, two empty shells in the revolver and two exit wounds at the back of the boy's head going in different angles..."
"...the gun was still in the boy's hand when they found him but police still say it could have been planted..."
"...Michael Rodriguez was sixteen years old and a student of ...."
-Orville "chubby" Basas
But the sound I heard was not what I expected.
I heard the hammer hit the firing pin. But then nothing happened.
I opened it and checked if it was a miss fire.
The bullet in the chamber was hit squarely in the center of its primer.
I shrugged it as a dud. So I tried it again with a new bullet.
I closed my eyes real tight and pulled the trigger.
"CLICK"
That was all I heard.
I opened my eyes and asked myself out loud,
"where's the bang?"
I sat there for a moment staring at the gun and savouring the taste of burnt powder,
brass, steel and a slight stinging from the cleaning agent dad used to clean the gun.
"Revolver' as he proudly called it.
I shook myself out of my reverie. I left the "revolver" on the bed and went out of my room.
The house was still quiet. I guess mom wasn't home yet and, well, dad died and was buried
a week ago.
I pulled out an old leather jacket from my dad's stuff in the closet and went out of the house
to find another way to end my misery. I was up a few blocks, walking, when I noticed it.
Silence.
This city couldn't keep silent in the middle of the night up to the wee hours of the morning.
Yet, it was silent now, between three and four in the afternoon.
I looked around me and saw no jeepneys. Some of the stores were open but there was no one
inside them.
No costumers, no clerks.
I looked around some more, no sea of people moving on the streets except maybe for a
few homeless people minding their own business.
I went inside the Internet cafe where I usually hang out. It was deserted, but the computers were still on and running.
A shiver wend down my spine as I felt a presence around me that I could not see.
I backed up out of the door, spinning around as I felt the breeze of the outside.
Still, I felt the presence all around me.
Panicked, I ran aimlessly, few of the homeless people staring at me and the neighborhood wacko screaming at me.
I found myself running towards my mother's office. This, too, was abandoned.
I started to look around and I calmed down when I saw a janitor doing his business with the floor. I approached him and asked him what was happening. He said nothing, like he didn't even hear me. If he did, he didn't show any sign of it.
I was starting to cry when I felt a shiver down my spine again.
I spun around to see if someone was behind me. Nothing, just the blank empty silence.
I turned to the janitor but he was no longer there. Not even the mop or the bucket or any sign of them.
I was scared now and ran out city hall.
I ran 'till I found myself in front of our house. I stepped in side hoping that it's familiar confines will keep me safe from what made everyone disappear.
But as I sank in the sofa, I started to hear voices. I couldn't understand what they were saying but I knew they were talking to each other.
Then I heard a howl of pain as if someone in great grief.
Then I felt the presence again. The presence of something I could not see and begin to understand. But I could now hear them and sense them.
Quietly, I sat still, observing as the howls turned into sobbing. Then the voices I've been hearing swelled, as if more and more voices came in o join them. And the presence grew stronger.
I felt the presence sink beside me on the sofa, sobbing and wheezing for air.
I was petrified when it called my name. As if calling out to me to come to it.
I started to run for the door but I couldn't go through it as fast as I planned.
As if there was a sea of people blocking the door was that I had to push my way through it.
I finally and started running. I don't know where, but it seemed like the best idea.
I kept running and running 'till I just dropped.
I sat down on the pavement and as I looked up, I was in front of an abandoned apartment building.
Then I felt the presence brushing against me, over and over.
I ran across the street to an open diner. There, I felt the presence stronger, the voices louder.
I ran out and tried the other open establishments, they were all the same.
I found myself running up the fire exit of the abandoned apartment building.
I climbed in through the window.
I curled up into a ball in one of the corners.
Waiting, observing If I felt any presence.
Hours later I decided it was safe in here.
I don't know what time it is now, I looked out the window and everything is closed now.
I here noises on the street, like roars, screams and voices but I don't see who or what they are.
It's already dark out side but some how I don't feel tired nor hungry. All I feel is fear.
I'm writing this so I could keep record of what is happening. All I had was this pen and no paper so I'm writing this on my dad's jacket.
I intend to find out what happened. Tomorrow, at first light, I'll go back out there again and ask the homeless people what they know. And if I never get back, I hope someone would find this jacket and look for my mom.
(TABLOID NEWS)
"...At around four thirty yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Rodriguez, a government employee, the widow of a police officer and a mother of a teenage boy, shook the city with her cries as police escorted her to her son's bedroom..."
"...The police received a call from neighbors saying they heard what sounded like gunshots. Police discovered the teenage Rodriguez dead on his bed with his fathers 38.mm. revolver. Although the scene suggested suicide and witnesses claim that they saw no one else with Rodriguez when he had come home and no one came out after the shots, Police are suspecting foul play..."
"...'If the boy shot himself, he could have never made the second shot,' police said. 'As the scene reveals two slugs with brain matter, two empty shells in the revolver and two exit wounds at the back of the boy's head going in different angles..."
"...the gun was still in the boy's hand when they found him but police still say it could have been planted..."
"...Michael Rodriguez was sixteen years old and a student of ...."
-Orville "chubby" Basas
pages of a fantasy - RANDOM
Slowly, I'm regaining consciousness.
My mind is coming back ti it's focus.
DARKNESS...
Hollow darkness.
I'm opening my eyes but nothing. I'm still in darkness.
At least I think my eyes are open.
Nervous. I'll stay still. I have a feeling I'm not alone, like someone is watching me.
I'll lie still, observing, listening for any sound.
SOUND...
Nothing. Not even the chirping of insects or croaking of frogs I usually hear
when I wake up at night in the middle of a power outage.
I'll get up from my bed.
Nothing happened. I can't move!
PANIC!
KEEP STRUGGLING!
Still nothing is happening.
Calm down... relax.
Take a deep breath or two.
I can't smell the air.
I can't even smell the cigarette butts I leave in the ash tray that usually
stinks up my air conditioned room.
SHIT!
I think I am no longer safe, inside my apartment.
Someone must have taken me some place else.
But how?
When I was asleep?
No! That's impossible. Even the movement of my cat when she sleeps on
my bed wakes me up.
Unless I was drugged.
Again, struggle! Fight against the bonds you are in man!
...
What kind of bonds?
Straps?
Ropes?
I don't feel it...
What the-- I don't feel it?!
SHIT!
START MOVING YOUR TOES AND FINGERS MAN!
No response.
I got it. I'll scream and let my captors know I'm awake...
My scream...
I screamed! I screamed, I know I did.
Why didn't I hear it?
Not even my whimper.
I have to calm down.
Think, man think!
Where am I?
Hell, if I know!
Where was I last?
Sleeping--
Wait..
Now I remember.
I was at school in my political science class.
The class ended with the professor cancelling our next two meetings
with him because he had to go somewhere.
Then I got out of school, had a smoke and went up to the transit.
I was going home to my apartment. I even remember an old man picking his nose on the train. Then I got home--
I got...
I can't remember.
Am I still on the train?
Have I fallen asleep? But why can't I smell the other passenger's on the---
OUCH!
FUCK! THAT HURTS LIKE HELL!
FUCK! THAT'S TWICE ON BOTH SIDES OF MY CHEST!
WHAT THE FUCK IS---
MOTHER FUCKE---
Dr. Reyes' private notes on pathology:
the subject is male, Filipino, 5 feet 5 inches in height, approximately 60 kilograms, in his early twenties. He collapsed on a train on his way home. He was pronounced dead on arrival in (DELETED). When I got to working on his body, to try to find the cause of death, it was already going in to rigor mortis. I figured his blood would already be coagulated at this point but as I made the first two incisions, his blood was still fluid and warm. I checked his vital signs again, there was none. He was dead, I was sure of it. I continued the autopsy. to my surprise, there seems to be nothing in his blood stream that could be poisonous, let alone weaken him. His organs were all healthy, no swelling pancreas, no battered liver. Everything was clean except maybe for the lungs which had tar and nicotine, but by the amount of it could not even kill a five-year-old. The tests on his blood was clean, no poisons, no narcotics, not even a hint that used cannabis sativa. As I see it, he is as healthy as he could be. All his past medical records were all normal. Just a few scrapes and bruises when he fell of a tree when he was five and the common cold which his mother thought was dengue fever. Aside from that he was never hospitalized for any diseases.
How in the world could this young man have died?
No lacerations, no contusions, no bleeding, just die?
It's like he just seized to exist. This is the first case I encountered that had baffled me and my staff. A mystery beyond our grasp.
(END OF ENTRY)
-Orville "chubby" Basas
My mind is coming back ti it's focus.
DARKNESS...
Hollow darkness.
I'm opening my eyes but nothing. I'm still in darkness.
At least I think my eyes are open.
Nervous. I'll stay still. I have a feeling I'm not alone, like someone is watching me.
I'll lie still, observing, listening for any sound.
SOUND...
Nothing. Not even the chirping of insects or croaking of frogs I usually hear
when I wake up at night in the middle of a power outage.
I'll get up from my bed.
Nothing happened. I can't move!
PANIC!
KEEP STRUGGLING!
Still nothing is happening.
Calm down... relax.
Take a deep breath or two.
I can't smell the air.
I can't even smell the cigarette butts I leave in the ash tray that usually
stinks up my air conditioned room.
SHIT!
I think I am no longer safe, inside my apartment.
Someone must have taken me some place else.
But how?
When I was asleep?
No! That's impossible. Even the movement of my cat when she sleeps on
my bed wakes me up.
Unless I was drugged.
Again, struggle! Fight against the bonds you are in man!
...
What kind of bonds?
Straps?
Ropes?
I don't feel it...
What the-- I don't feel it?!
SHIT!
START MOVING YOUR TOES AND FINGERS MAN!
No response.
I got it. I'll scream and let my captors know I'm awake...
My scream...
I screamed! I screamed, I know I did.
Why didn't I hear it?
Not even my whimper.
I have to calm down.
Think, man think!
Where am I?
Hell, if I know!
Where was I last?
Sleeping--
Wait..
Now I remember.
I was at school in my political science class.
The class ended with the professor cancelling our next two meetings
with him because he had to go somewhere.
Then I got out of school, had a smoke and went up to the transit.
I was going home to my apartment. I even remember an old man picking his nose on the train. Then I got home--
I got...
I can't remember.
Am I still on the train?
Have I fallen asleep? But why can't I smell the other passenger's on the---
OUCH!
FUCK! THAT HURTS LIKE HELL!
FUCK! THAT'S TWICE ON BOTH SIDES OF MY CHEST!
WHAT THE FUCK IS---
MOTHER FUCKE---
Dr. Reyes' private notes on pathology:
the subject is male, Filipino, 5 feet 5 inches in height, approximately 60 kilograms, in his early twenties. He collapsed on a train on his way home. He was pronounced dead on arrival in (DELETED). When I got to working on his body, to try to find the cause of death, it was already going in to rigor mortis. I figured his blood would already be coagulated at this point but as I made the first two incisions, his blood was still fluid and warm. I checked his vital signs again, there was none. He was dead, I was sure of it. I continued the autopsy. to my surprise, there seems to be nothing in his blood stream that could be poisonous, let alone weaken him. His organs were all healthy, no swelling pancreas, no battered liver. Everything was clean except maybe for the lungs which had tar and nicotine, but by the amount of it could not even kill a five-year-old. The tests on his blood was clean, no poisons, no narcotics, not even a hint that used cannabis sativa. As I see it, he is as healthy as he could be. All his past medical records were all normal. Just a few scrapes and bruises when he fell of a tree when he was five and the common cold which his mother thought was dengue fever. Aside from that he was never hospitalized for any diseases.
How in the world could this young man have died?
No lacerations, no contusions, no bleeding, just die?
It's like he just seized to exist. This is the first case I encountered that had baffled me and my staff. A mystery beyond our grasp.
(END OF ENTRY)
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Friday
pages of a fantasy - Legends of The Cosmos
I am Machree.
A few years ago I was a nobody but now I have a feeling the world will know me.
I have been experimenting with a melody on my guitar. I wanted to create my own style. Something I will be remembered for long after I die. I started to write a piece on sheet music.A few years ago I was a nobody but now I have a feeling the world will know me.
I was sixteen when I started.
Every night I would stay up late with my guitar scribbling notes, replacing some, sustaining a few.
After I finished the first four riffs I noticed that it would be far too impossible for a boy of my speed and ability to pull it off, but I decided to give it a try.
I ended up missing a lot of the notes so I decided to ease up with the tempo.
One night, I was eighteen, I finished arranging the four riffs.
I had in my hands six pages of the greatest melody. I played it that night and I found myself floating in the cosmos.
The greatest high I ever felt.
But it was not enough. I decided to make it into a symphony. For four years I kept writing. Making riffs, setting tempos and putting down notes.
Come to think of it, I do not remember ever doing anything else.
I don't even remember ever eating nor going to the bathroom.
But, anyways, I now have a masterpiece. Twenty four sheets of a great melody that could bring the tone deaf to the dwindling heights of the cosmos.
This music will put my name on the walls of fame.
I will become a legend.
EULOGY:
Today is a sad and dark day for all of us.
And even more for the dear parents of Machree.
Today we will bury a young boy of eighteen.
A quiet and kind young man of great talent.
A dear friend, a strong spirit and a loving brother.
My brother, Machree, had dreams. Dreams to become a great musician.
Dreams of writing music that could change the world.
Dreams that may no longer come true.
May we remember him in our hearts as a masterpiece in himself.
And as we lay him down to his eternal bed, may his first and last song
be heard, reverberate and resound in the hearts of all who hears it.
By mother's request, Machree's original, his masterpiece;
"Legends of The Cosmos."
-Orville "chubby" Basas
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