Tres Marias

Poetry by | February 24, 2013

Lying down on the trimmed grasses of their garden like we used to do,
Staring at the perfectly aligned Tres Marias that she would call the “I love you” stars,
I didn’t notice my tears running down my face.
I didn’t notice that she shared the moment of crying with me.
Only sniffing and groaning, neither of us talked.
Almost the same silence seven years ago,
But we’d rather both smile while facing each other-
Just as the two mythical creatures who lived in
And arose from the bamboo in an old, old tale-
And then my lips would softly and swiftly collide into hers,
As a diving man would plunge into a welcoming and glimmering sea.
And the sea-gull’s flock would spread out to the unseen heaven.
But it was over.

If she only accepted my life, my origin, me as a Kaagan
Just like the older Kaagans accepted Islam,
When they embraced the Great Book and the Day of Resurrection.
When the shariffs, the knowledgeable ones sailing from Maguindanao and Jolo,
Swung their paddles into the seas of Mindanao
To arrive at the lands of the innocent pagans and preach.
A hailing sailing to the shores of Davao,
Triumph did they receive in capturing the hearts of my ancestors,
As though they had successfully made them fall in love with Islam.
While I was nothing but a failure.

And I envied them –
Because I’ve never been successful in capturing her heart.
I tried hard to save her from the mistaken belief,
But the potion – the poison in a portion
Of her heart was too strong.
My attempts had been hopeless.

The similar panorama when Muslim travelers arrived–
Almost a successful enlightenment but not enough.
Paganism continued, worshipping its concealed god, Tagallang.
Like what she did, Mandaya and Mansaka did not believe in what I believed.
We could’ve been wedded in my place.
I, in a long white abaya with a Muslim cap, and she,
Under a mysterious covering of hijab.
A wedding blanketed with a delusive bliss.
Everything could’ve been perfect.
And as the celebration of the wedding would follow,
Symphonies of combined sounds that the kulintang, gong, and barabad would produce,
Played by old Kaagan ladies,
And an old couple would dance to the rhythms.
Fingers spread, legs bent, faces at their finest projections.
And everyone would be impressed.
Folded money bills would be inserted between their fingers,
Yet the dancing would never be disturbed.

I could’ve shown everything to her,
She could’ve been impressed too, but everything was just a failed dream.
I shut my eyes for seconds and opened subtly.
The Tres Marias shone blurry to my sight, the flowing tears filter,
And I never even cared to wipe them,
Or maybe I was too naïve to even notice them,
The stars were dead and dull dots above, and we were both hopeless.
It was hard to move and end the night. But I should do
What I’d thought was right. I stood, leaving her crying and crying
For it would be the last time for her and me.
And “Goodbye” was the only spoken word in the night when the Tres Marias shone.

—
Nassefh Macla studies at UP Mindanao.

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.

Continue reading Ayoko ng Sabado

Chen Wei’s Magic Amulet

Fiction by | February 10, 2013

Chen Wei threw his socks, school uniform, and Math exams across his room. But not the golden dragon amulet he found while exploring at the botanical garden that afternoon. He made sure nobody, not even the school janitor, was watching when he pocketed it. He thought it had magic powers like those he saw on Wansapanatym. He wiped it clean with his shirt and wore it like a necklace.

Chen Wei had a terrible day in school but there was nobody at home he could talk to about it. His parents were away again for some business trip in Cebu and he wasn’t sure when they were coming back. His aunt Betty stayed at the house, but they seldom talked to each other during the day; most of the time, after she would finish doing all her household chores, she would go outside and chat with the neighbors. She loved to talk about the latest showbiz buzz.

Continue reading Chen Wei’s Magic Amulet

Unremembered Catharsis 

Poetry by | February 10, 2013

And I blame it on
how you look at me and then suddenly,
you took control the universe of my thought
like whirlwind brushing against the afternoon sky
or like waterfalls that splashes and gushes forth
into my boundless sea of desire
or maybe like fire that flares
love and lust with cold coal,
burning yet yearning for more
or like mounds of earth that crushes my roots
of wisdom and reason
because it seems that your eyes speak
a thousand things
of bliss, of passion, of love
that I myself failed to discern
before.
Hate me,
but I would love to blame
those eyes over and over
again
for wanting and desiring
and desiring and wanting
you more.

—
Henrietta Diana de Guzman is a graduate of Creative Writing at UP Mindanao. She was a fellow for poetry at the 2009 Davao Writers Workshop and at the 2nd Sulat DULA: Playwriting Workshop at Xavier University (Ateneo de Cagayan University). Some of her works have appeared in SunStar Davao and the Best of Dagmay anthology.

Hilot

Poetry by | February 10, 2013

Back in my hometown where coconuts,
tall or dwarf
are massage oil
to correct the fetal position
before giving birth
with a bottle
of marinated root herbs.
Manang Iya’s rough hands moistened
with oil and scents, whispered
in my stomach her myth
and fragmented prayers
and broken syntax
of the Catholic church
two blocks
away,
halfway,
faraway
from my grandmother’s old house
where Chico trees guard the night,
its evergreen leaves
and white subtle bell-like flowers
bearing earthy brown-skinned ballyhooed fruits
that every morning, I pick up,
one by one, some half-eaten
by night birds, some ripe, unripe
while sweeping
the terrace with silhig ting-ting,
leaves scattered
on the ground, coloring
the yard: a world from my hospital window
the same evergreen colored ground
I watched for the longest now
and the longest even now
of days in this bed with a bandaged stomach
now emptied
with scars and stretch marks
in an off-color hue.
—
Jermafe Kae Angelo-Prias is a housewife and a graduating student of the University of the Philippines in Mindanao. She is a fellow in the 2012 Iligan National Writers workshop.

Soldier

Fiction by | January 27, 2013

Bryan Corpuz walks along the road barely aware of the passing vehicles. Two things bother him. The first is his lack of money. The second is the death of Brigadier General Delos Reyes.

The young man is on his way to a drugstore, in the public market of Tacurong, where he is supposed to buy a week’s worth of medicine for his diabetic father. The money in his pocket, however, is not even half of the amount he needs. When he comes back home later, he might have to explain why. He might have to tell his parents that he is not just on a month-end break; he has gone AWOL from service. He is a soldier no more.

The other thing bothering Bryan is the same news that has shocked the nation. General Delos Reyes, the highest-ranking finance officer in the army, was found dead in a hotel in Makati this morning. The official had been involved in a massive corruption scandal, and he was scheduled to appear in the Senate hearing today. With his death, he took with him the dark secrets of the armed forces, and Bryan’s last hope of being called back for duty.

Bryan is so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice a white van pull up right in front of him. He’s surprised when the door opens and two armed men step out of the vehicle.

“Get in,” one of the men tells him.

The strangers need not use threatening words. They need not brandish or point their guns at him. Having been a soldier, Bryan knows what weapons can do. As though the men are just his pals giving him a ride, he steps inside the vehicle without a word.

Continue reading Soldier

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.

Continue reading Sudden Death

The Spider and the Poet

Poetry by | January 20, 2013

He locates his heart along the span
From arm of chair to my leg
Propped on this ottoman

It must be aerodynamics
And instinct for the best
Hunting ground that makes him

Oblivious moving from the axis
Then round to buttress
His precarious choice

And when he is done with
The framework of his master plan
It is to the details then

The radial tracking of each thread
Spaced equal and filaments tight
Measured as the perfect lure

If only he considered
Human traffic like this poet
Cross at being roused

Leg lassoed to a first line
The poet’s signal-snare
Prey prompt poem

—
Nino Soria de Veyra currently serves as Chair of the Department of Humanities in UP Mindanao. His nonfiction and poetry have appeared in the Silliman Journal, The Dumaguete We Know, Caracoa, the Philippines Free Press, National Midweek Magazine, Solidarity, A Habit of Shores, and The Other Voices International Poetry Project.