Sigaboy

Fiction by | January 4, 2009

The dog was leisurely running ahead of him, but it suddenly stopped, sniffing the ground nervously. Alerted by the dog, the young Manobo laid down a bound wild rooster and gripped his spear tightly. He looked around him, quickly scanning the trees for any movement. As the dog did not bark, he relaxed a bit. He inspected the ground, and made out several human footprints. They belonged to strangers, he thought, or his dog wouldn’t have acted nervously. He put his ear to the damp ground, then he raised his head, his ears perking. He inspected the ground again. Mud had caked on the leaves of grass that had been trodden repeatedly. The intruders had passed by several hours ago, he concluded. No danger there. But what did they want, so near his house? He looked up. Towering trees filtered the rays of the late afternoon sun. He had time to investigate. He picked up the fowl.

“Toyang!” he called, and his dog responded, sniffing the ground as it led the way. The young Manobo soon realized they were heading towards the gulch. The spring! His heart began to beat rapidly. Amya! He began to run, his dog trailing him. At the ravine floor his fears were confirmed. A spear was stuck right beside the little pool that collected the water from the spring that flowed beside the root of a tree. Footprints! Signs of struggle! He pulled the lance and inspected it. Mandaya warriors! They had taken Amya. No! He looked around in the disturbed brush and found a bamboo tube for fetching water. No! He climbed up the ravine quickly and ran.

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Labing Ulay

Poetry by | January 4, 2009

Matod nila, anghel akoang hulagway
Barog ug pustura nindot kunuhay
Ikog duulon ug istoryahon
Kay basig silay di akoang tagdon.

Akong nasinati ang kahiubos sa ilaha
Sanglit wa koy mahimo kun mulikay ko anang butanga
Labing kasakit sa kaugalingun
Kay sayop tanan ilang gipang-ingun.

Nahulog na hinuon nga nagtago ko sa usa ka MASKARA
Apan ang kamatud-anan wa giyud giapangutana,
Kaharuhay ni ining kinabuhi nga pirminti ta itimbaya,
Apan angay ba akong makaamgo nianang butanga.

Hayahay manginabuhi sa kinabuhing tunhay,
Apan lisod kay dili ko usa ka LABING ULAY

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Akong Gugma Nimo

Poetry by | January 4, 2009

sa hapin sa handumanan
akong gugma idayan-dayan
putling pangandoy
kanimo makapanaghoy.

sa akong panumduman
maoy talamdanan
sa gugmang nakaplagan
nganha sa kawanangan

ang gugmang gitipigan
sa dugay nang kapanahonan
taliwala sa pagmahay
sa akong kasing-kasing mipahulay

busa ayaw kalimti
ning akong sugilanon
ugma puhon hundurawon
sa pitik ning kasing-kasing
akong gugma nagpamasin

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Cat Stories

Nonfiction by | December 28, 2008

A few years ago, when our family moved to Davao, we had with us a male Chocolate Burmese cat. He belonged to my eldest daughter, Danielle, then in college. He was a cuddly ball of white when he was sold to us for a song by a family friend. Danielle promptly called him Forrest, after the protagonist in the movie “Forrest Gump.” They bonded instantly.

Forrest grew up to be a majestic tomcat, grumpy and aloof, but fiercely loyal to his mistress. He never responded to our remonstrations of affection, preferring to ignore them with a haughtiness fit for aristocracy. My son was rather testy with him, and Forrest would often return the compliment with a spray of urine on his newly pressed shirts. My clothes were mercifully spared from the amber showers, probably because I tolerated his snootiness.

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PISO

Poetry by | December 28, 2008

Adunay usa ka bata
Nangandoy ug PISO
Mupalit daw siya ug kendi
ug tungod kay pasko man
nakahuna-huna manaygon
Nagkuha ug duha ka bato
gigamit nga musiko
ug nagsugod sa kanto…

“jinggol bels, jinggol bels
jinggol od da wi, olwis pan
darestorayn en d wanders open sli.”
Kanta sa bata sa unang higayon
Apan gisirad-an kani sa balay
ug gipahawa ang bata…

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Ellis Island

Poetry by | December 28, 2008

Nagpinta ka
sa lupalop ng aking gunita—
ng mga natuklap na kaban at maleta,
ng mga napudpod na sapatos at sandalyas,
ng mga nasugatan na pantalon at bestida.

Tumugtog ka
sa lupalop ng aking gunita—
ng mga hiyaw ng sanggol na gutom,
ng mga lagapak na interogasyon,
ng mga buntong-hininga ng disilusyon.

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Psalms

Nonfiction by | December 21, 2008

The full moon shone pale through thin clouds, diffusing its glow. The faces of the people looked peaceful and solemn in the subdued light of the many-colored lanterns that lined the sides of Lourdes Church in Quezon City. The priest’s voice echoed from hidden speakers and was thunderous, like the foreboding voice of God, but I did not see his face because I was standing in the adjacent car park. From outside, I could see empty pews, but more parishioners than what I thought was usual had gathered to listen and to pray.

The evening was chilly. One could almost imagine that the church, the streets, the shabby souvenir shops and donut chains, and all the rest of Manila were air-conditioned. The leaves of the fruitless trees beside the adoration chapel rustled gently, and the seven o’clock sky was pink. Indeed, the weather is best come December. It doesn’t rain and it is never too hot.

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XMas

Nonfiction by | December 21, 2008

When I was younger, met the -ber months with anticipation. I knew then that gifts, parties, and family reunions were not far off. Chill wind, Christmas carols, and dazzling lights: there was magic in the air. But above all, what I looked forward to in Christmas was the gift from Santa Claus.

My parents taught me to believe in Santa Claus. I did, hook, line and sinker. Who wouldn’t, with everyone at home in cahoots? My brothers would say that they saw huge foot prints in the garden. Our maid would say that she swept up stardust. I believed it all until I was in sixth grade.

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