Salaam Bapa

Poetry by | January 13, 2013

A Kalagan poem. See To Her Father for the English translation.

salaamSalaam bapa, ‘sambok gayd yang kanakon niyat sang pangatayan sang pagkadi kanmo.
Yakadi ako ng way pagduwa-duwa untak pangayu’n yang kanmo pagtugot sa pagpakawin sang kanmo da’ga.
Sabap yang kanakon ama na si Datu Abdul,
Na idto yang isugo kanak.

Bapa, ako yang magabu’y, magapaka’n, magapa-uya, aw maga-indo kanan sang maturid na da’n,
Sabap ikatigaman ko ng madyaw na idto yang dayt na inangun ng Muslim na magunawa ko.
Agad wa ‘ko pa yan akila’ ng samporna,
Agad wa pa uman yan akila’ kanak ng samporna.

Bapa, ikatigaman ko yang pantag sang Az-Zawjan, magsikawyay kami magunawa ng buwwan aw bitu’n,
Minang ininang ng Nabi Muhammad aw Khadidja, atawaka Aisha, o Zaynab sang kahanda ng Allah,
Na di nami atugotan yang kagutum
Atawaka fitna kumupkup kanami.

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The Feud

Fiction by | December 30, 2012

feudIf you must know, The Feud began because of the mango tree, the mango tree that stood between our house and the Lopezes’ house. Well, not quite in between. You see, if old lady Mameris — from whom we had bought the houses — had only planted the tree right smack along the property line, then there might not have been any trouble to begin with. I think that might have been her plan. As things turned out, the tree took root a few feet inside the Lopezes’ garden.

Now, if it weren’t for the tree, our properties would have been perfect twins. Mrs. Mameris had built the houses for her children, and so they looked exactly alike, only built in reverse, as in a mirror: a spacious garden; a two-car garage; dining room, living room, and hobby room on the ground floor; four bedrooms on the second floor; exterior painted darkwood and teal. Sadly, the Mameris children preferred life in Canada, and so their widowed mother had no choice but to sell, and a good bargain we got for them, too.

Come to think of it, like the houses we lived in, the Lopezes and my family also mirrored each other in uncanny ways. Henry Lopez and I both worked as area managers (I in softdrinks, Henry in detergents); his Sally and my Diane had put their careers on hold to be stay-at-home wives; and their Westley and our Bridget had both just entered the third grade. We bought our houses within weeks of each other. While no one could say that we were close, we maintained friendly relations with each other. Friendly, that is, until the Feud.

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Clearing Out Negative Chi

Poetry by | December 30, 2012

Disbelieving the bad luck from this afternoon’s mahjong
my Chinese stepmom clears out negative chi.
Burn them—it’s tradition, she says. Burn
disappointments and bad memories, like
papers long forgotten left to rot in their shelves
that finally deserve their repose. Can’t blame her,
she’s a pack rat born in a Rat year. Should be enough to char
the coal she got from a whole day selling refreshments
outside school. It takes time
clearing those out, she adds, and also letting go.
She throws in pamphlets of some fake healing water
from Lourdes, France,
and Grandpa Cheung’s numerologies
she forgot to burn with his clothes.
Those numbers never came true, she says.
We’re out of paper, so I do some clearing out too:
the failed exams, the abandoned poems,
and such scraps of stories I swore to finish
but didn’t. It helps enough
to produce embers
with enough applied heat
to drive hard noodle into maddened water,
to soften it, to mix the seasoning,
and to feed to three hungry children
(whose father had died)
and a dog about to be put out of his misery.
Sheer luck we still have such dinners.
She thinks it’s easy
asking Grandpa Cheung’s and Father’s
faded photographs for good luck and prosperity.
I’m tempted to offer them some dumplings and incense
to ask them for Chinese noodles with meat toppings,
and the new Eng Bee Ten hopia with tikoy filling. But
I can’t demand too much of dead people.
Maybe I should owe all of them instead
what we have for tonight—instant mami noodles.

Sa Barya'y kumakapit

Poetry by | December 30, 2012

Sa bawat hakbang,
sikmuray kumakalam.
Sa bawat sayaw ng lata’y
minimithing barya ang inaasam.

Sa kalagitnaan ng daan,
silay nagmamanman.
Kung sinong may alam
na silay nangangailangan.

Sa sira-sira nilang damit.
ay nakasuot ang minimithi.
Na silay mapawi
sa kahirapang kay sakim

Hindi sila inutil,
kung sa barya’y sila nakatingin.
Sadya lang mapait
ang pagkakataong marikit
kaya sa barya sila’y nakadikit

Sa mga may barya,
na winawaldas ng pa sadya.
Ang walay gumiginhawa,
sa baryang itinapon sa kanila.

Kaya hanggang ngayo’y
latay inaaliw.
Nang mahulugan ng pasadya
ng barya’ng may kaya.

Candles

Poetry by | December 23, 2012

(Salin-wika mula sa Singlish na tula ni Alvin Pang)

Oy, bantay ka lang pag malaman ni papa na nagkuha ka na naman ng mga candle sa church.

Sige na lang gud kuya, uy. Ibalik ko lang pagkatapos mo mag-study. Hindi man niya malaman kung hindi ka magsabi. Madilim kaya masyado, pa’no ka makabasa?

May moon man din, makakita ako konti. May ilaw din kila ankel Leon, nagakuha ako ng konti sa mirror. Pwede na ‘to. Ibalik mo yang mga candle. Ayaw ko makasab-an dahil sa iyo.

Gi-uwian na gani kita, na kalayo-layo nitong bahay, ipabalik mo pa? Good Friday bitaw ngayon, dami masyadong candle sa church, hindi na yan nila mapansin na wala ang nine, a.

Mali pa rin kahit hindi nila mapansin uy! Ibalik mo na yan.

Ayoko.

Continue reading Candles

Luminary

Poetry by | December 23, 2012

The night is a crude piss
spread out seismically
like a fan of rivers.
I yawn as it muscles for my attention,
tearing me from the wipers and
the shindig of cars dancing skin to skin
in the midst of the rush hour in Bajada.
Yellow.
Slow down.
Red.
Brake.
There’s a pretense suspended
in the polluted air that not even the rain
or the mist of windows can dispel.
Thoughts teleport to a parallel world
where the same conundrum is distracted by
hurrying hands and skidding lips… bodies.
An impatient honk.
Green.
Go.
Must move forward.
A little more and finally,
the traffic lights
learn to love wide lanes.

Low I.Q Lab Apeyr

Poetry by | December 23, 2012

Cloud 9 ang filing ko
Nang maging mag-on tayo
Dahil I crush u sinagot agad kita
Kahit kabribrik nyo lang ng dati mong syota.
Sabi ng frens ko ako’y ulol
‘di ko raw alam ang 3month rule
“ So wat” sey ko naman,
“ Hindi na uso ang ganyan.”
Kahit na tru txt lang ang ating ligawan
Ebri moment akin pa ring ninanamnam
At mas praktikal naman ang unlitxt na diyes
Kesa isang boquet ng long stem roses.
In pak, ang swit mo sa aken
Napakatotful mo at kering
“Slip tyt. Kain na u. tsupsup. Bebe ko.”
Ikaw na talaga ang aking Don Romantiko.
Lab na lab ko rin ang ating tampuhan
Kapag tayo’y may deyt at ako’y iniindyan
So kyut, apekted ka sa fb status ko
At agad-agad ititxt mo ako.
“kaya hinde ako nakarateng
Dahel may iniutos si nanay sa aken
Bebe sori hinde na mauulet
Lab kita wag ka nang magalet.”
At heto naman me sa kileg namimilipet
I always porgiv u nang paulet-ulet
I’ll txt bak “ Ok. Peace na tau bebe”
Ang swit ng reply mo, “ I lab u. jejeje.”

A Sci-fi Story on Dec. 21, 2012

Fiction by | December 23, 2012

It became imminent that a considerable number of the country’s populace expresed consternation with the infamous date of December 21, 2012. Usually addressed with dismissive sobriety in tempering alarmist inclinations, it now elicited varied reactions with some degree of precautonary preparations. The controversial date inevitably prompted discussions during gatherings as well as animated interaction among netizens, while others denied it with outright nonchalance.

Some people devised ways to addess the impending date. Employees were observed to signify vacation leave days in advance before Christmas, families and relatives booked reservations on mountain resorts for gatherings, and reunions scheduled earlier than usual as students and friends set group schedules for nature trekking or excursions. Some local authorities even circulated memorandums proclaiming the date as a non-working holiday through indirect excuses as setting it for anniversary dates of certain local personalities, events and the like to avoid it being construed as having to do with the controversial phenomenon.

Continue reading A Sci-fi Story on Dec. 21, 2012