Category: Nonfiction

The Power of A Smile

Nonfiction by | March 24, 2013

I was going round and round Iligan City on endless errands and I was dead tired. I was already oblivious to my surroundings, and even to the repugnant smell of the market place I normally complained about. All I wanted at that time was to go home and rest. The jeepney I was riding in was caught in traffic when this beggar hopped on board. He wiped our shoes with a dirty piece of rag. Afterwards, he waited for someone to spare him some coins, or leftover food, or anything that would be freely given. Nobody moved. Nobody even looked at him directly. I only peered at him from the corner of my eyes. I have this self-imposed rule of never giving money to beggars. I gave them food if I had some, but I carried nothing that day. The beggar waited for a long while then went away disgruntled.

This scenario was not new to me. I had seen this repeated many times. When I lived in Metro Manila for almost six years, I experienced worse episodes than this. The beggars in the street of the metropolis made me feel either disillusioned with the rampant poverty in the country, or ashamed that I could not do more for those who needed help. In both cases though, I always felt thankful that I was not the one begging for alms on the streets.

However, this particular mendicant here in Iligan brought back memories of a chance encounter with an altogether different sort of street urchin.

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My Mami

Nonfiction by | March 17, 2013

Valentina Peña is my maternal grandmother, but within our family, we always call her Mami. In all the years I’ve known her, no one has satisfactorily explained to me the genesis of that appellation. It may be a reference to the delicious chicken noodle soup she makes, or more probably, it is an affectionate, but misspelled alternative to the word “Mommy.” No one really knows. No one really minds. Certainly, Mami doesn’t mind.

Like most grandmothers, Mami is kind and caring. She is a petite lady, standing just a little above 5 feet tall. She has that beautiful Filipina morena coloring with a head of lustrously dark, brown hair, and skin bronzed by the sun. Her almond shaped eyes give others the impression that she has Chinese blood. Her smile is often wide with her teeth slightly discolored. She loves to cook and is very good at it too.

My earliest memories of Mami was from the age of 4. I knew I spent a lot of time in her house watching television, or playing with clothespins on the living room carpet. Every 3 in the afternoon without fail, Mami always served me a small plate of warm cheese sandwich, sliced into triangles. After I ate that, I would ask for seconds… and thirds… and fourths and more. I had a voracious appetite even then but Mami did not mind one bit. She would whip up batches of sandwiches upon request until I was full — or until her supply of bread and cheese spread ran out, whichever came first. She always gave me her wide smile whenever she saw me stuffing myself with her cheese-filled snacks.

Upon reflection, I may also have kept asking for her sandwiches for the sake of seeing that smile.

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Ayoko ng Sabado

Nonfiction by | February 17, 2013

Ano bang dapat mong gawin kapag na-realize mong ayaw mo na sa galaw ng buhay mo?

‘Yung tipong wala ka nang pag-asang baguhin ang ni katiting sa buhay mo. Naipit ka na kasi sa pang habang-buhay na pagkakataon. Maiisip mo rin na wala ka namang lakas ng loob para gumawa ng kahit na anong bagay para isalba yung sarili mo. Kahit na ang mga pangarap mong binuo ng matagal ay nawalan na rin ng saysay upang ipagpatuloy. Ngayon, hahayaan mo na lang ba ang sarili mong malunod sa madilim na kawalan o pipiliin mo pa ring gumising?

“HOY, BABOY! GUMISING KA NA! ”

Ang ingay na naman! Sa totoo’y kanina pa ‘ko gising at kanina ko pa tinitiis na huwag pakinggan ang boses niya. Paano, eh ang lambot ng higaan at ang sarap yakapin ng unan. Gayunpaman, manaka-naka kong pinunasan ang bibig kong may bakas ng natuyong laway.

Teka, ang sakit ng ulo ko. Kung ‘di naman kasi nagyaya ng inuman yung mga pinsan ko kagabi, di sana sasakit tong ulo ko na para bang tinadyakan ng sampung kabayo. Nasusuka ako.

“DI KA BA TALAGA BABANGON?!”

Tantsa ko’y pang limang kurot na siguro ‘yun ni ate L. Pinilit ko nang bumangon para tumahimik na siya. Masisisi mo ba ako? ‘Eh Sabado kaya ngayon! Pero kelangan ko paring pilitin ang sarili ko na pumasok ng paaralan dahil sa isang subject.

“T_NG-INA! TINGNAN MO NGA YANG LINTIK NA ORASAN!

Naramdaman kong nanlamig ang buo kong katawan nang tingnan ko ang orasan: kinse minutos na lang bago mag 7:30. Kung mamalasin ako, pang pito ko na ‘tong absent. Isa nalang at ga-gradweyt na ako ng maaga sa subject na ‘to.

Kung magkataon nga, yari talaga ako kay ate. Ayoko pa namang dumagdag sa mga iisipin niya. Alam kong pagod na siya.

Nakakabagot talagang pumasok sa klaseng naka iskedyul tuwing weekends. Bukod sa wala naman itong kasali sa QPI(marking system ng paaralan ko), andaming dapat isaulo at dalhin sa klase, May mga tone-toneladang paperworks at reporting pa. Nakakaasar! Idagdag mo pa sa listahan ang mga batas na kelangan daw pag-aralan. Forty pages LANG DAW yun.

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Sudden Death

Nonfiction by | January 20, 2013

When you spend enough time with babies at the hospital, you would soon learn that contrary to popular belief, not all babies are cute and cuddly. As we were having our rounds at the Sick Neonates Ward that November morning, a particular set of 10-day old twins has proven to me that some of them can be pretty ugly.

It’s not that they were not at all cute or cuddly. It’s just that they looked so exaggeratedly unhealthy: their skin and lips bluish, their bodies small, their heads disproportionately large. When I saw them, I secretly thanked my luck that I was my group’s head nurse for that day. I didn’t have to directly handle those twins. I just have to supervise the staff nurse who did.

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Isang Dosenang Araw ng  Bakasyon

Nonfiction by | December 16, 2012

Taun-taon, inaabangan ng maraming empleyado ang bakasyon tuwing Disyembre. Masaya kasi. Masarap gumala. Maraming atraksyon sa paligid. Kabi-kabila ang handaan sa tahanan ng mga kaanak at kaibigan. At higit sa lahat, maraming pera mula sa bonus at 13th month pay. O ‘di ba, ang sarap lang sa bulsa!

At isa ako sa mga nasasabik na gumala. Isa ako sa mga nasasabik na gastusin ang laman ng aking ATM card. Minsan lang kasi itong magkalaman ng ganito kalaking halaga, kaya nanamnamin ko na. Isa ako sa mga nasasabik na magtampisaw sa dagat o ‘di kaya’y gumala nang gumala sa iba’t-ibang lugar. Kahit na sabihin pang dito lang sa Pilipinas, gala na ring maituturing ‘yon. Isang linggo bago ang bakasyon ay nakaplano na ang mga dapat kong gawin. Nakatala na sa aking tala-arawan ang mga lugar na gusto kong puntahan sa bakasyong ito. Labindalawang araw din ang aming bakasyon. Mahaba-mahaba rin ‘yon. Tamang-tama rin ang laman ng aking account para sa gala ko. 

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Transforming Imagery in Three Poems by Young Davao Writers

Nonfiction by | December 2, 2012

The transforming image is one of the most captivating things about poetry. When a poem transforms one thing into another right before the reader’s eyes, it becomes magical. Such a feat of ingenuity demonstrates the creative genius of the poet-magician.

This poetic element has been central to the poetics of many Filipino poets. It has been argued by many Philippine literary critics that the earliest form of poetry in the Philippines is the riddle, which represents things in fresh, often startlingly unexpected ways to tease the curiosity of the reader or listener. The “teasing of curiosity” lives on today to be the main appeal we get in reading poetry.

The successful execution of transforming imagery involves comparison between two things, and by properly connecting the dynamism of one thing to that of the other. The transforming image may be central to the poem, or may simply be a supporting element in its overall effect. The image may result in fantastic, often semantically deviant language, or it may arise in intended ambiguity.

Today, particularly in Davao, the transforming image is championed by local men of letters such as Don Pagusara and Macario Tiu, and many young writers, picking up from their poetics, also demonstrate this in their poetry.

A look at three particular poems by young Davao poets would reveal a harvest rich in imagination and transforming images.

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Fragments from/on living a writing life

Nonfiction by | November 4, 2012

Lina Sagaral Reyes was the keynote speaker and special guest panelist to the recently concluded Davao Writers Workshop 2012 held at Lispher Inn last October 15 to 19. The address below was her lecture at the opening of the workshop.

Being with you, a youthful crop of writers grown on the rich soil of Mindanao cultures, I also come home to the Writers Workshop, as a bond of people claiming and reclaiming the right to write.

I come home to the community ritual of writers: for the fellows, a rite of passage; for the panelists, the rite of relaying wisdom (as well as folly?) to the next generation.

It has been a long journey home. This is my first ever workshop in 19 years. The last workshop I attended was held in UP-Baguio in May 1993. On my way home to the island of Bohol via Manila, I hitched a ride on the fellows’ bus to Manila. My seatmate on that transitional ride home was Ricky de Ungria.

But I did not have an inkling that in eight months, I would find myself in the shores of Dapitan, Zamboanga del Norte.

Nineteen years later, as early as February this year, it is the same Ricky de Ungria, now like me also a migrant worker on Mindanao, who would ask me to come and join this workshop.

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Notes from the Heartland of Pakibato

Nonfiction by | September 23, 2012

20120923-210647.jpgFebruary 2004

Kibalatong is a sitio of Barangay Panialum, Paquibato District. It is a community of Ata Manobo. To get there from Malabog, you have to ride a motorbike for 30 minutes, and then, as there is no road anymore, you have to walk, in my case, for one hour to reach Kibalatong.

There is no electricity in Kibalatong, and while on a visit there in February of 2004, a boy with an empty Tanduay bottle went house to house to ask for kerosene which is commonly called gas. When he came to our hut we learned that the gas he was collecting was for the use of the teachers.
The people who shared some drops of kerosene showed their simple way of supporting the teachers and the school that was built for the indigenous children of the area. I was awestruck that from their own poverty, they were willing to share the little they had for their teachers.

The bottle got half filled and the boy gave us the collected gas which provided us light even more than enough for the night.

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