Even After

In the kingdom of the seminar on sexual harassment, the citizens were bored. The king, the speaker, spoke so slowly (those in power never rush) and paused after almost every word that the topic lost its importance. Many knew, only coffee could save the world from sleeping. But no man was brave enough to risk the journey.

With cat-like grace, our princess (Selma) brought herself to the coffee stand. Male heads turned. Almost without the help of her eyes, nimble hands composed her potion: brewed coffee, 1 teaspoon of sugar done in a matter of seconds with no spill and no sound(of the spoon hitting the cup) . Well toned legs brought her back to her chair, silently but without embarrassment for being the first one to stand. Others followed briefly.

"aany(pause) questionssz?" asked the speaker.

Selma's friend, sidekick, whispered a question "Do you have a valentine tonight?". The princess replied with a confident smile. But  boredom, those words and the speaker, made the stagnant waters of time a breeding ground of mosquitoes.

Mosquitoes of the past. There was something about the speaker's voice that reminded Selma of a prince(number 3), a bard, who had her with  his own "I would have given you all of my heart...baby I'll try to love again..." who tried to hide the other woman in his closet while, on bended knees, begged her not to leave him. Selma left him. They were together for 2 years.

She also left sweetest prince number 4, who gestured much like the Speaker. So sweet and soft-hearted he couldn’t carry the burden of her mother's death...financially. Selma paid and organized both wake and funeral all by herself. She barely slept and the whole damn thing cost her 3 paychecks. On this guy's thank you FB post: "I thank all my family and friends who helped us during this dire time, all the flowers..." on and on, without the smallest thank you for Selma. Nobody from the guy's family thanked her. She left them.

All the valentinos, all the memories and the mosquito bites, how they itch! But she has learned not to scratch them and to prevent further bites- swatting mosquitoes just before they're about to suck. Still, a mosquito of the future would bite her. She would not foresee this, but it will happen.

It will happen.

Later on, at a time when her daughter had grown. Selma, with tears dropping like rain,  would write another prince, number 6, the husband: "Mahirap  tumanda na nagiisa."(It's hard to grow old alone). They will leave each other as they did before.

Mother Nature and Father Time never got married, nor stayed together forever. We are all bastards...even Him. But it's just a story, the events aren't real. Or are they?

Selma's coffee flushes the stagnant time. Back to the present, sitting on a seminar. She takes out her DSLR camera, turns it on to the picture of her daughter, Fia (fire). The image lights another smile on her face.

Valentine's Day, all the lonely vampires will prowl the night to escape the silence, solitude and sobriety of being single- single and escape in the many ways men imagined them. And while they do all that searching and leaving in the shortest possible time,  mother would simply go home to her daughter.

Just your daily fairy tale. Once upon a time, a lady met a gentleman, the two fell in love and had a daughter. As it happens the couple fell out of love. The mother and daughter went together and they lived happily even after.

Reclaiming Satori - 4 Haikus

Looking Looking at the sign I failed to see a BLACK CAT Sitting beside me	Shrum of Hope                        Here on this barren land                        Upon this decaying tree                        Life sprouts anew
The fittest Young bamboo Bows down ...to live	Endless                        In the palm of your hand                        Is a sleeping thought                        One evening dies

RE: Moved Posts

I transferred my scholarly or intellectual and opinionated posts to this location:

Long Distance

Like climbing a mountain's summit just to witness the sunrise, I will bridge all our real and imagined distances just to see your smile.

But...what if after all this camping around and climbing about, the summit offers no sunlight? The sun, in all its light and heat is no more than a fact behind a mass of clouds. You know it's there, but you can't see it. You know it's there but you can't feel it. Met with only the cold and wet gust of wind, you will descend the mountain knowing that all this climbing was...useless.

What if after not meeting you, and you not meeting me, your smile became nothing more than a memory hidden among the many moments?  You know it was there, but you can't see it now. You know it can be there but you can't see it.

30, March 2012, there we were 7 beginners climbing a mountain known for the beauty of the sunrise in its summit and in that day-it was raining.

8:30 AM 31, March 2012, only 4 of us made it to the summit and-it was still raining. The famous sunrise took a break from all the prying eyes of thrill seeking and bored tourists.

9:00 PM 31, March 2012, as agreed, we met, we smiled, and we talked.

2:00 AM 1, April 2012, we went to our homes with a smile and a promise to meet again.

When? The hard worker reaches for a dream. Once there, he becomes a tourist reaching for relaxation and excitement. Once it is over, he would again dream.  Like runners in a long-distance relationship with countless finish lines.

3:00 PM 1, April 2012, hand in hand we walked and listened under and to the sea of trees. We found silence in each other.

2:00 AM 2, April, 2012, inside the long and tight hug of goodbye, there and then I knew...that I was climbing another mountain...our hearts running ahead of us.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. There are no straight lines to where you're at and to where I am. Only winding roads, stacked lines of traffic, amidst a journey where my mountain homes end and your plains begin. And the line is far from being straight. Just like the mountain the 7 beginners climbed on a rainy afternoon the 30th of March, 2012.

Each day that you are not with me and I not with you is but a step, heavy as it is, drawing me and you nearer and nearer to that summit where we will meet again.

But not all of the seven made it to the summit, even the sun wasn't there.

Each step taken, carrying all the weight, enduring all the hunger and pain, draws some climbers nearer and nearer to...giving up. The dreamer wakes to another dream.

30, March 2012, it was raining that day, but we, I,  climbed anyway.

             

31, March 2012, the seven, who slept in a tent meant for five, finally made it back home. Wet, sick, tired, bruised, they regretted nothing.  All they have is a T-shirt that says "I survived Mt. Pulag" and the hope to one day meet that elusive sunrise.

Lunch, 14, April 2012...

Written on FB 01 by Various authors

...there was no text message for him that day...                                                                                      1

the emptiness of words numbed her warm body...                                                                                 2

her words drifted with the moist..no message for him that day..                                                              3

indeed, ambivalence's cloak clouds over him.. never before has anticipation been so sweet;

yet only to be stained by waiting's vain bitterness..                                                                                 4

his gadget failed to provide him the noise he needed(or thought he needed) .Still,almost immediately he sat hmself on his father's chair of forgetfulness- in front of the TV. "press ON"                                             5

If the World is Without Books(2 Reasons Why I Teach Literature, Entry 1)

           
After a whole month of  battering my students in round table discussions, I decided to give them a break and asked a simple single question for their seatwork. Or perhaps I was giving myself a break. "How would the world be if we don't have books?", I asked. They were instructed to answer in any of the three languages we have been using for Philippine literature or they could also illustrate their answers.

Amazingly, from a class of non-book readers, most answered that the world would be boring, that the world would lack life, imagination, knowledge etc. Quite an irony for a class whose majority believe that "reading is boring, we'd rather watch a movie."

               

A lot of dystopian stories, or those stories that picture a chaotic mirror of our society often depict a world that is without color, without books, without art. Maybe my students had it in them to write dystopian narratives. Their drawings spoke the same, no books thus no color.

               

Would a world without color be so bad? On the positive side, a student wrote that if the world is without books, everyone would be equal, it would be peaceful. In its simplest form the argument is this:

               

Books bring color to the world, we differentiate ourselves from each other from the color of our skin and our thinking, discrimination and difference bring about conflicts of interest.  Books bring color,  colors bring difference and discrimination, discrimination and difference bring conflict. No books, no conflict.

               

And I am lead to imagine what if the bible, the torah, famous philosophical treatises, the Koran, the Tripitaka  etc... what if all of those did not exist?  Could we have been safe from all of the wars? Stretch this argument to the idea of telling stories to include societies that although did not have books have rich Oral Traditions, epics that is. Would their wars sprung from their different stories on who did this, did that, owned this, owned that?

           

One of the goals I hold for each literature class is that at the end of the semester, after we wish each other farewell - see you around - good luck - they exit the classroom as readers. And If they already were, they become more passionate with reading. But not just reading. Reading Literature, reading on their own. With that I can provide an epic list of benefits of reading on education, entertainment and engagement. (an epic list)

       

But what if my student is right about the whole ordeal about books and reading?         

                    
Kudos to her for this brilliant spark of imagination and that question. That is still and also one of my goals in teaching Literature.

The Third

An enclave of buildings…at its center is a rectangular courtyard floored with crimson bricks…lining each of the courtyard’s lengths are lanes of  black-beautiful benches made of cold steel…at the last bench of one lane I sought to bask under the sun- a solitary refuge…Or so I thought.