Category: Nonfiction

Windowsill

Nonfiction by | July 27, 2014

I stood outside our house, waiting for my best friend. I was holding a Tupperware of spaghetti and salad, which Nanay prepared last night for Noche Buena, and a white Coca-cola shirt from Ate. I guess the weather was moody on Christmas. It was a bit indecisive. It rained at dawn and became gloomy in the morning. Then it was sunny and rainy at the same time in the afternoon. I could almost inhale the mixture of dust and rain. It irritated my nose. If I was still a kid, for sure one of the elders would shout at me from the window to get inside for I might get a fever. The raindrops were getting bigger. I decided to go inside the house and get an umbrella. The umbrellas were neatly placed behind the house’s front door. I chose the white one with a blue floral design. I went back outside. Raymond finally arrived three minutes later. He was my best friend for eight long years and one of the reasons why I did not hurry in getting myself into a relationship. He brought me to movie houses at least once in three months. He bought me mefenamic acid whenever I had my period. He would come to my place on weekends and ask permission from my Tatay and Nanay if we could stroll around the neighborhood for the night. He was tall, skinny, and beautiful. He was the most beautiful gay guy in the world.

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Bright Yellow Ginkgo Leaf and Dark Green Mimosa

Nonfiction by | July 20, 2014

I always looked up my hometown in Google Maps, counting the days till I went back.

In my hometown, Ok-Gwa, a small river flowed south and to the nearby mountain ranges; behind it loomed a hill. In spring, fragrant of wild chrysanthemums and dandelions, my friends and I would go to the nearby hill to harvest mugwort, shepherd’s purse, and other natural herbs that could be used for stew or mixed in a salad; by drying and brewing them, they served as alternative medicine. The entire day we spent harvesting these herbs, the birds and mountain rabbits seemed to hide, scared off by our loud laughter. We endlessly exchanged stories about our family, friends, the townspeople, and even celebrities. For the summer break, my cousins from the city would visit us and we packed watermelons and some refreshments and went to the river for a swim and to fish. In fall, we picked the prettiest leaves out of all the yellow and orange leaves that littered the streets and made bookmarks out of them. And in winter, when our nose and hands turned pink in freezing cold, my friends and I would go up the mountains to ski and sleigh until we got frostbites.

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Paghahanap ng Dagat sa Switzerland

Nonfiction by | July 6, 2014

Sa isang Dabawenyong tulad ko na halos nasa bakuran lamang ang dagat, ay di maitatuwang kasingkahulugan ng dagat ang pagiging masaya, pagdiriwang, pagpapahinga mula sa araw-araw na kalakaran, karaniwan at masaganang buhay. Kung kaya’t hinanap ko ito bago pa man napanatag ang loob ko sa Switzerland. Ngunit nabigo ako sa paghahanap na ito. Oo, maraming anyong-tubig sa Switzerland subalit wala ni isa man sa mga ito ay tubig-dagat. Lahat ng tubig sa lawa at ilog ay nanggagaling sa mga natutunaw na niyebe buhat sa nagtatayugang mga alpina na nakapalibot sa maliit na bansang matatagpuan sa gitnang kanluran ng Europa.

Dahil nahirapan akong tanggapin ang katotohanang wala talagang dagat sa bayang nakilala ko lamang noon sa mga makikintab na larawan sa kalendaryo’t libro, ay nagpasya akong hanapin ito sa ibang lugar. Mag-iisang taon pa lamang ako noon sa Switzerland ngunit pakiramdam ko’y dekada nang di ako nakalusong sa dagat. Laking pasalamat ko nang naunawaan ng aking katuwang ang pangangailangan kong ito. Isang araw pagkagaling ko sa Alpha Sprachschule Zuerich, kung saan ako nag-aral ng lengguwaheng Aleman, ay nakalatag sa mesa ang isang makulay na magasing nagbebenta ng mga bakasyon sa mga destinasyong maaraw at may dagat di lamang sa Europa kundi maging sa iba pang kontinente. Lumundag sa galak ang puso ko sa aking natunghayan.

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Panic Stations

Nonfiction by | May 25, 2014

I was three years old when I became aware of my condition. I cannot recall how I was rushed to the hospital, but I do remember waking up in a cold white room with a crucifix staring down at me. I lifted my right hand and noticed a transparent tube injected at the back of my palm and right through my veins. Since then, I have been rushed to the hospital countless times; each one a nightmare both for myself and my parents.

Asthma is a lung condition that affects the eyes, ears, nose, throat, and stomach. It causes the lining of the airways to become swollen and inflamed. Extra mucus begins to clog the nose and the muscles of the airways tighten, causing less air to pass in and out. A number of allergens like pollen, dust mites, cigarette smoke, dander, and stress can trigger an asthmatic reaction. Even changes in weather could also cause asthma attacks. Usually when my nose starts to itch, chances are, it’ll rain soon after. Some people are born with this condition and others just develop asthma when they are exposed to the different kinds of allergens. In my case, I have asthma because my father also had it when he was young.

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She Had Her Way

Nonfiction by | May 11, 2014

April 1 was my mother’s first day in the hospital. My mother could still talk and she could still move around but she kept feeling pain in her legs. She still had her dialysis, which was already part of her routine since she had her stroke. The doctors advised us that my mother’s legs needed to be amputated because they were starting to create pus that was going into her blood stream. She was then moved to the ICU because there were already complications in her body and she needed to be watched over very carefully. My family talked about the decision and we decided that both legs should be cut off. The doctors had to take away the source of the pus so that they could easily clean my mother’s blood by dialysis. But the doctors were having problems because they couldn’t do the operation as my mother was starting to weaken and they had to operate on her immediately. But before that, they needed bags of blood for the dialysis. We couldn’t get enough blood in the city so my sister Elaine, my brother Elmer, and his wife Cora had to travel all the way to Tagum City just to get blood.

When I saw my mother after the operation, I couldn’t help but cry because she had become noticeably smaller because of the amputation. We tried to lighten the mood around her, telling her that she could still have new legs. My mother just smiled. She wanted to see her legs but hospital procedure wouldn’t let her see them.

On the 8th of April, my mother had her last dialysis. Continue reading She Had Her Way

This is How to Talk to a Stranger

Nonfiction by | May 4, 2014

Talk to a StrangerYou are seventeen.

In the Bachelor Bus from Tagum, third to the last two-seat row, you are seated behind a man in his late 60s. He says something, but his breath that smells like he hasn’t been brushing his teeth for several days now disturbs you.

He says it again: Kamusta ka? (How are you?)

The utterance of the two-word Tagalog greeting signals a sincere effort. You can’t decide whether he has a British or American accent. It is somewhat a combination of both. His face doesn’t help you recognize his nationality either, just the prominent nose at least. You look at him more closely as if to help you assess. He is a tall man. You can tell by how his feet struggle with his black back pack on it in the space given on the rest. He tries to move his legs once in a while. He wears a black beret, a yellow polo shirt, checkered Bermuda shorts, and black sandals. Quite a color combination, you think.

As if willing to play against your ignorance, he greets you again with a more obvious effort. You find it hard to resist the charm of his eagerness to start a conversation when he displays a smile that reveals a white set of teeth. You wonder why he has bad breath.

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Tinapay Republic

Nonfiction by | April 6, 2014

Tayong mga Pilipino ay napakapanatiko sa tinapay. Tinapay sa almusal, tinapay bago mag-almusal, tinapay pagkatapos mag-jogging bago mag-almusal, tinapay sa meryenda bago mananghalian, at para sa mga walang pera, yung tipong mga taong mga pobreng tinapay sa lipunan, ito na din ang pananghalian. Sa mga medyo mayaman, ito ang minsang panghimagas, lalagyan ng medyo mahal na asukal at tada! Ang tig-singkong pandesal at tigkinse na ang isang kusing na piraso.

Nasubukan mo na bang ipalaman ang ice cream sa tinapay? Palagi yan sa piging ng mga pobreng tinapay sa lipunan. Kung walang ice cream ay yung bihon o kung nakakaluwag ay ang walang kamatayang spaghetti.

Grabe andami na nating naimbento mula sa tinapay. Mula sa pagsawsaw nito sa tradisyunal na kape hanggang pagsawsaw nito sa coke at kung minsan sa juice hanggang sa pinalamanan ito ng peanut butter, cheese shizz at kapwa nito tinapay na nagkukunwaring keso o tsokolate.

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A Case of You

Nonfiction by | March 16, 2014

It was the sight of a pitcher held up that woke my senses. The plummet shattered all of the plastic, and when silence broke lose, panic spoke, “Ano’ng problema? Pag-usapan natin.”

The question was thrown back to me as if it were a mistake to wake up. I answered, “Wala,” until he referred to you and I. It was a question I wanted to ask myself, too. Did we have a problem? He questioned my silence; our silence when he would come home. He said he knew everything.

“Wala kaming problema,” you said.

“Are you sure you want to talk about it? I know you’re drunk and I don’t want you to regret anything you want to say right now.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he boldly said.

“Okay. If you want to talk to me, I would expect you to wear something.” He was in his underwear, drunk and late when he got home from work.

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