Pagprotesta Panahon sa Pandemya

Poetry by | August 17, 2020

Luyo sa nakatabon nga mga nawong

ang mga baba nga andam mopadayag

og kaguol, kasuko, ug paglaom

nga ang moabotay nga ugma hayag na unta.

 

Sa pagpahid sa singot sa agtang

sa pila ka oras og siniyagit sa kalsada,

dili moundang ang pagtuo

nga ang kainit sa mga panawagan ug pangamuyo

mudalag alimuot nga moalisngaw

sa bugnawng kalag sa gaharing buraot.

 

Mutulo man ang luha o

mokurog man ang tingog sa kasuko,

maski pa og tutokan og pusil ang baba

arun muhilom,

walay makapatay sa tawong

kamatuoran ang anting-anting.

 

Murag aso nga bisag kapila pa taguon

gamit ang kinumo,

mangita gihapon ang kamatuoran og

kagawasan.

 

John Gilford Doquila is a graduate of the BA English (Creative Writing) program of UP Mindanao. Presently, he is taking his graduate studies in history at UP Diliman.

Blood Dilutes in Hot Water

Fiction by | August 10, 2020

As the white casket where my aunt Maria now rested made its descent into the hollowed-out earth, I could not help but utter a cry I could not hear. The rest of my relatives mourned with me—my father, trembling as he did, cried the most.  Sobs and wails pierced the air around us as if our mouths were not muffled by face masks and handkerchiefs.

She was a good woman and my father loved her very much. When she was still in the hospital, he made regular visits and brought her food. I even remembered how he would always prepare a hot glass of milk for my aunt Maria whenever she visited for the New Year. She was the only sibling my father spoke to since my grandparents died 20 years ago.

 

After the burial, we chewed on siopao and chicken burgers and drank soda out of palm-sized bottles, while the older relatives had coffee in paper cups. My father had told me to prepare a cup of coffee for him when Tito Ariel approached him. My father averted his gaze from him and folded his arms on his chest.

“‘Bro, tara,” Tito Ariel said, motioning him towards the tent a few paces behind me.

My father hesitated but then gestured to me for his coffee. I hurriedly poured the coffee granules in his cup of hot water. He took it and walked towards the tent where his remaining siblings were. He did not even stir his coffee. I could imagine the granules clumped like little islands slowly melting into the water.

For the first time in 20 years, he was reunited with his siblings. All of them sat on benches facing each other. Not one of them spoke. No one even attempted to bring down the face mask covering their mouths to speak. Until Tita Olivia, the eldest living sibling spoke.

“Let’s all just forget everything that happened in the past. It’s all behind us now.”

I heard Tito Toto snickered. I could not mistake the astig tone of his voice for anyone else.

“That’s easy for you to say.  You could easily accuse me of anything but when you finally found out it was not true, parang wala na lang. As if everything is okay again.  But if any of us does something that you think is ‘nasty,’ you’d want us begging on our knees for a decade before you accept a ‘sorry.’”

“She’s the oldest, ‘To. Respeto naman,” interrupted Tito Peter, the American citizen.

 

The bickering went on. From what I knew from eavesdropping on them through the years, there had always been a feud among the siblings. There were divisions, and where there were divisions, there were alliances, and where there were alliances, there were turncoats – and my father was sick of turncoats. So he refused to talk to them for many years. He made sure to keep his distance but continued to give help to whom he truly cared for—my Aunt Maria.

I remembered how my father would heat water in a kettle for my aunt’s glass of milk. When the kettle let out a hissing noise, it meant the water was already boiling. The water has to be really hot, my father had said then. Your aunt does not want milk curds floating on top. She wants things to look smooth, in order.

My father was known for his loud voice, he had the loudest among his siblings especially when they would watch basketball games on TV. But looking at him now with his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes glued on his shoes, I did not know what he was thinking. He was silent despite the shouting match among his siblings.

But then Tito Peter shouted “Do you think she would want this?”

Everyone went silent as if they finally remembered why they were there.

“‘Coy,” my Tito Peter called out to my father. “Let’s put everything behind us already. Forgive your brother na. Whatever happened to the two of you in the past, let’s let it stay in the past.”

I heard my father scoff.

“Bro, I’m sorry,” Tito Ariel said chokingly.

 

But my father walked out. Until now, I did not know what happened between the two of them in the past. I could still remember how my Aunt Maria kept telling my father to forgive Tito Ariel but my father would always shake his head. Blood is thicker than water, whatever, he snorted.

The meeting ended after my father had left. The remaining siblings hugged and kissed each other’s cheek saying “I love you, ate. I love you kuya” before leaving like things were as normal as it could get. Some of them laughed that they weren’t able to drink their coffee because of their bickering.

“It’s not hot na,” laughed Tito Peter referring to his coffee. “We completely forgot about this.”

The other siblings laughed and I wished could have heard my father with them.

 

My Tita Sita went after my father and they walked away together as they spoke. They were far from me now. I imagined my aunt explaining to my father about the importance of talking as a family while my father would just scoff at her. But to my surprise, my father put his face mask down to his chin and spoke. I could not understand what my father was saying but whatever it is, I could hear the slightest hint of his famous loud voice like a hissing kettle. I guess that was enough eavesdropping for now.

 

Liane Carlo Suelan is a HUMSS graduate from the Ateneo de Davao University – Senior High School. He was also the Literary Editor of the Blue Bridge 2019-2020 and a fellow at the Davao Writers Workshop 2019. He is an incoming freshman of BA Literature in the University of the Philippines Visayas.

Yam Burger

Fiction by | July 20, 2020

LINGAW KAAYO TAN-AWON ang mga suga, bisan asa ug bisan unsa pud na color. Murag buhi ang mga suga sa Rizal Park, murag mas buhi pa gani sakua.

“Ben ayawg buhi! Basig mawala ka!” perting gunit nako kay mama sama sa kakusog sa iyang pag syagit, birthday pa naman nako karon. Duha ka tuig nalang, pwede nako mahimong Ben 10.

Perting daghanag tao sa dalan, sa sakyanan ug bisan sa Simbahan. Birthday naman gud daw ni Papa Jesus unyang kadlawon, parehas mig birthday. Ana si mama espesyal daw ko kay parehas mig birthday sakuang nag inusarang papa.

“Ma? Asa naman akong burger?” Akong ingon kay mama mintras gabira sa iyang sayal.

Iyaha rakong gitutokan nya nagpadayon siyag baktas.

“Mangita pa kog kwarta, mamasko sako. Paghulat lang sa layo ha, ayawg duol samua.”

Nipaspas ang paglakaw ni mama’g kalit

“Nganong di man? Hawod man ko mukanta!” Hawd bitaw ko. Ka-gwapo pa gyud sakong suot. Akong puti nga birthday sando, pati akong Ben 10 nga short ug tsinelas. Payts kaayo pang pamasko.

“Basta nak, bata pa ka.” Nihilom ug kalit si mama ug gipulihan sa kasaba sa kadaghan sa sakyanan nga nagdagan sa dalan. Patabok nami padulong simbahan sa San Pedro.

Pagtabok namo, natingala nalang ko kay naa’y lalake nga taas og buhok na nisinyas kay mama, iyang nguso raman iyang gigamit nya murag nilingo siya gamay sabay tutok sakua tapos nihawa palayo.

“Nak, diri ra ka ha. Mamasko sako. Ayawg hawa, ayawg uban bisan kay kinsa. Kabalo naka ha.”

Nipasi diritso si mama. Wa ko kabalo nganong mamasko siya didto sa lalake na taas og buhok, Basig tuod kay ka nawong siya ni Jesus.

Sige lang, diri rako. Gwapo kaayo ang mga suga. Ang kasaba sa kling kling sa nag baligya’g ice cream makabusog. Sabayan pa sa baho sa proben ug kwekwek na gina-prito, masimhotan na gyud nako ang tinood na Pasko; ang Pagkaon.

 

Pipila ka tao na ang niagi pero wa gyud nako nakit-an si mama. Adtoon nalang siguro nako siya?

Nagsugod kog baktas, hinay hinay sa, kay kulba, dayon akong gipaspasan. Sa kadaghan sa tao murag wa nako’y lain makit-an, sa kagamay sa akong katas-on igo ra nako makit-an ang mga batiis sa mga tao. Sa kadaghan nako’g nakita na batiis ug bagtak, wala gyud ang kinis kaayo na batiis ug legs nga ginapanghambog ni Mama.

Di na nako masimhotan ang proben ug wa nako’y madungog na kling kling. Nagsugod nako’g karatol, maayo pag naminaw ko kay mama. Masuko gyud si papa na gibuhat nako ni. Ana baya si Mama lain gyud daw masuko si Papa Jesus.

“Ben! Putragis! Asa man ka muadto?!” nadunggan nako ang tingog ni mama ug naundang ko sa pagbaktas ug di ko gusto mulingi. Nalipay ko kay kabalo ko naa na siya, pero wa pud ko nalipay sa akong kahimtang.

“Ana ko — AYAWG HAWA! Pastilan nalang kang bataa ka! Nya kung mawala ka?!” Perting syagit ni mama, nilingi nalang ang ubang mga tao pero ako wa gyud ko nilingi sa iya.

“Ali gud diri!” Iya kong gibira sa kamot busa napugos kog lingi.

“Sori ma. Gipangita ra tika.” Igo rako nagtanaw sa yuta, igo rako nag duko-duko. Wa gyud ko nitan-aw kay mama kay nahadlok gyud ko.

“Ayaw na sigeg acting diha wa kay angay. Basta ayaw nag hawa ha. Kabalo man ka palangga tika birthday pa gyud nimo.” Hay Salamat, di na kaayo kusog ang pag gunit ni mama. Ani gyud ni siya, dali lang masuko, dali lang pud mawala ang kasuko. Maong love kaayo nako akong mama.

Nag sige ramig baktas para mamasko daw si mama. Permi ko maghulat sa layo. Ambot nganong di ko patan-awon ni mama pero pagbalik niya naa naman siyay dala kwarta. Di nalang pud ko muangal.

Namasko si mama sa hospital dapit, sa tapad sa health center na pang family planning.

Ambot unsa na pero ana si mama pangdagko ra daw, bawal sa bata parehas nako. Namasko sad mi didto sa sulok sa ambot asa tung kantoha.

Permi makadalag kwarta si mama pagbalik niya, pero permi pud kulba ug nawong ang mga ginapamaskohan niya, lahi man mamasko si mama oy, kay duha ra sila nya mangita gyud silag suok. Wa pud ko kadungog na ni kanta siya. Permi siya dalaon sa layo na lugar sa akua, permi pud dakong tao na lalake iyang ginapamaskohan. Halos gasigarilyo pagyud tanan, isa ra dili katong naa sa hospital dapit na pution nya intsik ug nawong.

 

“Diri diba ka gatrabaho ma?” Akong ingon kay mama samtang gabaktas mi sa dako kaayo na bilding nya daghan kaayo ug punoan na perting tag-asa. Naa pay mga poste na naay lampara sa tumoy murag kanang makit-an sa salida. Gwapo kaayo ang gitrabahoan sakong mama. Bangko Sentral Ng Pilipinas! Astang dakoa sa plaka pang sosyal kaayo, tapos matagak-tagak pa ang dahon murag mga salida na koryan makita nako sa Tibi. Pero sa kadugay’g trabaho ni mama diri, wala gyud ko kasulod, ana siya mga dagko ra daw pwede musulod. Pang-gabii man gud daw siya, delikado daw kaayo.

Sa sige nako’g pangutana samtang gabaktas mi wala gyud katubag si mama, di gyud siya ganahan na storyahan iyang trabaho kay sekreto lang daw dapat namo ni, kay perti kadelikado daw mag-trabaho diri kay daghan daw kwarta na i-sweldo sa iya nya basig kidnapon mi o holdapon mi sa mga kawatan.

“Ma? Makapalit natag burger?” akoa nalang gilahi akong pangutana para di siya maunsa.

“Diri sa ka, last na ni.” Nipasi na sad siyag kalit niya naa na sad lalake sa layo. Gikapoy nako’g hulat-hulat ani, ikapila nani ba.

Bisan naa sila sa tabok nya naa ko sa Mercury Drug dapit, makit-an nako ang lalake na sigeg tan-aw sakoa, wala namani namasko si mama oy. Mura raman silag ga away. Murag katabukon ang lalake pero ginapugngan ni mama nya nakun-ot man ilang mga nawong. Abi ba nako’g bawal di malipay pag pasko?

Di nako kahulat. Ako kaya’y mutabok?

Hinay-hinay kog tabok kay dili ko hawod. Ana si mama bata pa daw ko para mutabok ug ako ra isa pero murag ginatawag man ko sa lalake, basig pakantahon ko, basig tagaan mig baynte, basig wan handred, daghan na kaayo na burger.

Nakakita nalang kog suga sa akong atubangan ug bosina na makabungog. Dako kaayo ang suga sa mulawin nga nisugat sa akoa. Wala koy nabuhat, natanga rako, nabungog ko sa bosina ug sa syagit sakong mama.

“Ben! Tara na!” Abi nako’g mabanggaan nako; mas gahi pa man diay si mama kesa sa sakyanan. Nitabok ug ka litsi mama nya iyang gisenyasan ang sakyanan pina T.M.C. tapos gipaundang nya, dayon iya kong gibira ug kalit.

Nihilak man guro ni si mama kay perting basaa sa iyang nawong

“Makapalit nata’g burger nimo, dali na kay hapit na mag alas dose.” Ni ngisi si mama. Abi nako masuko siya, pero wala man. Di gyud nako masabtan si mama, kung kanus-a dapat masuko, di siya masuko. Malipay gyud ko basta ingon ani si mama.

Nakasakay mig Jip padulong sa Jollibee, naghulat mi sa taas kaayo nga linya. Daghan kaayog klase-klase na mga tawo. Ambot asa ni sila gikan. Unsa kaya ni ilang mga balay? Unsa kaya ilang mga pamilya? Unsa pud kaya ilang mga kinabuhi?

Bisan daghan kog pangutana, nasayod ko na gusto gyud nila ug yam burger diri, bisan lahi-lahi mig mga kinabuhi, parehas lang mig gusto, burger. Asa kaya gikan ang burger? Sa laing nasod? Basig kay papa Jesus. Ana si mama tanan maayo na butang gikan daw sa iya, sa iya gyud guro gikan ang burger.

Ginatutokan ko sa mga tawo samtang gayawyaw ko kay mama sakong mga pangutana. Si mama sad kay sige lang og ngisi bisan wala siyay matubag; maayo unta’g sa ako siya mu ngisi, sa lain tao man. Di gyud nako na masabtan, nganong pag naa koy pangutana, di niya tubagon.

Iyaha ko’ng gipalingkod sa kilid kay saba daw kaayo ko. Naghulat-hulat rako kay si mama na ang sunod. Lipay kaayo ko basta mungisi na ang tigbantay sa Jollibee ug mangutana na siya unsa among iorder; ngisihan nako siya ug ngisihan pud ko niya. Mao gyud siguro ni ang tinuod nga pasko.

“Happy birthday nak.” Gihatag ni mama ang burger ug coke sakua samtang ginaihap niya ang nabilin na kwarta namo. Isa ka singko ug tulo ka piso nalang man. Namroblema na sad ni si mama sa pamasahe ba.

“Musabak na lang ko ma.”, ana ko kay mama nya akong gigunitan iyang kamot, gihatag nako sa iya ang coke ug nangita namig Jip.

Pagsakay namo akong giingkitan ang burger ug gamay ra kaayo. Giagian na sad namo ang mga suga sa simbahan, ang hospital, ang family planning center, ug ang Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas!

Ambot ngano pero pag musulod sakong utok ang trabahoan sakong mama gusto gyud nako isyagit kay gwapo kaayog barog ang pangalan, murag naa didto ang mga pinakagwapa ug pinaka-kuyaw na mga tao. Syempre, naa gud didto akong mama. Kung kuyaw ang mama, kuyaw pud ang anak!

SA KADUGAY SA byahe, kaduha lang gyud nako naingkit ang burger bisan gutom na kaayo ko. Nag sige rakog tutok sakong burger hantod naabot mi sa kanto na among babaanan. Pagnaog namo namaktas mi gamay, nya hay salamat kaabot nagyud mi sa balay. Giabrihan ni mama ang kahoy na pwertahan samuang gamay na balay. Nya pag sulod namo, natingala ko palong ang suga, pasko man unta. Bago pa ko nakapindot sa swits, nisigag kalit ang tanan.

“Happy birthday kuya!” nisabay ug syagit akong pito ka manghod ug ilang gitutokan ug maayo akong dala nga burger.

 

Franky is a third year Interdisciplinary Studies minor in Media and Technology student from Ateneo de Davao University. He is an indie filmmaker and an aspiring writer aiming to promote and advocate for local and unheard Dabawenyo stories.

Accomplice of a Murder

Fiction by | July 13, 2020

The rain fell upon the earth like light snow. It looked like dust when seen through a ray of light as it made its descent from the sky.

Her arms and legs were restrained. I made great effort to make sure she did not move too much, or else she would break free and escape. She could not speak to us; it was no use. She spoke in a different tongue. Her pleas for freedom, to us, sounded like nothing but monotonous shrills. But her eyes showed the fear that she could not otherwise articulate.

“She’s a native girl,” my partner said, stroking the girl’s dark brown back.

She was born and raised in the farmland where she and her many siblings only ate corn, often once a day, sometimes twice – when the landlord was generous enough. Corn was the only food her father – a fierce amateur boxer whose landlord managed all the winnings – could afford.

We knew the landlord very well. He was a “family friend,” one could say. We came to his estate one day and my partner grew so interested in this native girl that she asked the landlord if she could take her home with us. The landlord was hesitant at first, but my partner was able to convince him, even offering him a modest amount for the trouble.

Without warning, we took her away, as an eagle swoops down on its prey. We kept her in a cell that was too strong to break out of.

“Hold her still,” my partner said as she held the girl by her chin, exposing her pale neck.

My partner lifted the steel knife and drew it near the large artery of the girl’s neck. Though I had done this numerous times, I still could not bear to look. So, I diverted my attention to the girl’s widening eyes. She must have felt the cold metal against her flesh. She inhaled sharply and red fluid started dripping in the basin underneath her. Her body became warmer, her muscle tensed, and she started jerking, struggling, but I tightened my grip. I watched as the life was slowly draining from her eyes with every drop of blood. I watched as her eyelids started to weaken and – slowly, ever so slowly, as though still fighting the inevitable – close.

The deed was done.

“Wash your hands, now,” my partner commanded. “I’ll take it from here.”

I left the scene and washed my hands, but no amount of soap and water could ever wash away the guilt of the sin I had just committed. I reminded myself that it was a cruel world and we must adapt to it or face certain death; that it was death that placed food on our table and filled our stomachs each and every day. But only now again, after quite some time, did I experience it hands-on to kill, to murder for the preservation of life.

The raindrops were hitting hard against the roof. It was far from light snow now. It was a blizzard.

I brought the bowl of steamed rice from the kitchen to the dinner table, where my father sat, watching television. I then took my seat at the kabisera, my usual place at the table.

“Where’s your mother?” my father asked, turning over his overturned plate, ready for eating.

“She’s still in the kitchen,” I replied.

“Which one did you cook?”

“The native one.”

Then, approaching us with a steaming bowl of tinolang manok smothered with malunggay leaves was my partner – the mastermind of great cooking. She placed the bowl on the table.

It was horrifying and burdening to think that this tender meat, drowned in a thin, savory soup was once a living being. I dipped the serving spoon in the soup and filled my own bowl with the cloudy, yellowish broth.

The smell was so delightful that it made our mouths water.

Liane Carlo Suelan is a HUMSS graduate of the Ateneo de Davao University – Senior High School and was also a fellow at the Davao Writers Workshop 2019.

Mababasa Rin ang Lupang Tuyo

Poetry by | July 13, 2020

Mababasa rin ang lupa
Ng pawis
Na tumatagaktak
Mula sa balat na nakabilad
Sa araw, sa kamay na makalyo,
Sa dumi ng mga kuko, sa mga paang pasmado.
Tuloy ang pagtatrabaho.

Mababasa rin ang lupa
Ng mga luhang
Tumatagas
Mula sa mga matang malabo
Ang paningin, sa sikmurang walang
Makain, sa ulam na palaging asin.
Tuloy ang pagtatanim.

Mababasa rin ang lupa
Ng marahas na ulan mula sa umuulang
Bala—
Mga balang dadanak ng dugo,
Mga balang sa bibig isinubo.

Mababasa rin ang lupa
Hindi ng pawis, hindi
Ng luha, hindi ng ulan.
Dugo ang siyang didilig sa
Lupang tuyo.

Luis B. Bahay Jr. hails from the Municipality of Tampakan, Province of South Cotabato. He graduated with the degree of Bachelor of Elementary Education major in General Education at Mindanao State University-General Santos City. A Licensed Professional Teacher. Also, an elected Sangguniang Kabataan Kagawad in their Barangay, Barangay Maltana.

Pulaw

Poetry by | July 13, 2020

Nakamata kog tungang gabii;
nalisang tungod sa uwan nga
gahaguros sa amoang atop
Mibakod ug milantaw sa taboanan
ug nasinati ko ang panuyo sa kilat
samtang ginlapdos niini ang mga panganod
Mihigda kog balik, naglaom nga hinaot
muhunong ang danguyngoy sa langit,
hinaot mahimotang na ang kilat;
apan wala. Mipadayon og bundak ang
uwan, ug ang kilat nagpirmi
gihapon og lasong. Ug ako; ako
naghinuktok samtang galantaw sa
gadagayday nga lusok-uwan; imong
nawong iyang ginahuwad.

Sums Paguia is an English teacher at Xavier Ateneo – Senior High School.

Etched

Fiction by | June 29, 2020

Francis looked at the scars on his thighs as if seeing them for the first time, feeling the need to rehearse his response to all possible reactions. Pity. Shock. Disgust. He would squeeze his thighs together, like sealing an envelope of secrets. Some curious guy would part them gently the way one would do with the envelope flap he did not want damaged. The guy would examine the scars – keloid that spread across his skin, inching towards his knees but only touching them tangentially. Like some careless cartographer’s map, his scars enveloped his thighs without discipline, without any amount of beauty and symmetry, as if each extra skin was in disagreement with another. Raising his head, the guy would ask Francis, just as he expected, What happened?

This time, Francis would not hesitate to answer. He would not describe it as a childhood accident one night when the power was out and he was dumb enough to play with the kerosene. The guy would instead lie beside Francis and gently pull his face towards his chest where Francis could rest it, and with his trembling fingers tracing the hem of the thin, thin sheets where they tucked themselves in, Francis would take the guy to Sitio San Roque, where he spent most of his childhood.

Francis might be able to tell him several things about the place, but he would not want to digress too much, for digression had become his coping mechanism – an opportunity to piece together inside his head what he was supposed to say next or a chance to hesitate to tell the truth. He would strategically start at that moment when he sneaked out of his house the night of the fiesta to see the annual Miss Gay pageant.

How old were you then?

Ten.

Continue reading Etched

Sa Pilipinas May Batas, Batas Ng Mga Payaso

Poetry by | June 22, 2020

Sa gitna ng pandemya, gobyerno’y may batas
Bawal lumabas! O, bawal lumabas!
Baka’y ikaw mahawa o makahawa ng sakit na korona
Kung ika’y mahirap at nasa labas pa
Tiyak iilang oras lamang ang hantong mo ay sa pulisya,
At ayon, may mug shot ka na
Ang nakalagay, lumabag sa batas
“Wag pamarisan!” aba’y idinagdag pa
Kasong laybel at pagmumura sa mga awtoridad ang isasampa
Kung di kaawaan, tadyak, bugbog. at hindi korona ang ‘yong makukuha
Hay! Kawawang maralita, naghihikahos na nga,
Pinasanan pa ng kaso na hindi n’ya naman gawa

Oo nga’t batas ang bawal lumabas, o bawal lumabas,
Pero kapag apilyedo mo ay Pimentel
Ay nako ‘wag kang mag-alala kahit may dala ka pang korona
Ayos lang na nasa labas, kahit magliwaliw at gusto mong gumala,
Aba’y hindi iyan problema
Hindi ka huhulihin ng pulisya at hindi ilalagay sa selda,
Bagkus KoKosentihin at malayang-malaya ka
Okay lang lumabas, may “compassion” naman ang batas
Lalo’t kung isa ka naman sa lumikha ng mismong batas.

Oo, sa Pilipinas may batas, bawal magkalat ng maling impormasyon
O, bawal magkalat ng maling impormasyon,
Kung ikaw ay ordinaryong Pilipino,
Nagsulat ka sa Facebook nang birong premyong singkwenta milyon,
Pabuyang matatanggap ang makakapatay sa tuta’t buwayang
Patuloy pa rin sa pagkatay ng mga inosenteng buhay ng maralita,
Naku-nako! Sinasabi ko sayo, iilang oras lang at may subpoena ka na
Lumabag ka di umano sa batas laban sa pambabanta,
Nagkakalat ka din raw nang mga maling balita,
Kahit walang warrant of arrest,
‘Wag ka ng pumalag ‘pagkat sa mga mata ng mga taga-implementa ng batas,
Ika’y nararapat sa loob ng rehas
Pero kung pangalan mo ay kasintunog ng sorbetes na may flavor na Mocha,
Wag kang mag-alala kahit araw-araw ka pa magkalat ng mga maling balita,
Hindi ka makukulong sa loob ng selda,
Pagkat ang nagawa mo ay “honest mistakes” lang,
Ipapatawag ka lang sa opisina at papaliwanagin,
Makalipas ang ilang saglit, aba’y abswelto ka na,
Iba talaga kung kasing lasa mo ang Mocha.

O ha bawal ang pagbabanta, O bawal ang pagbabanta
Pero kapag ika’y pangulo ng bansa ay ayos lang pala ang magbanta,
“Hala sige baralin mo yan! Kumonista yan, buang!”
Huwag daw sa panahon niya,
O, makinig at sumunod ka nalang,
Wag mo ng kwestiyunin,
Baka bukas makalawa’y nakakahon ka na
Susunod sa mga mahal mong namayapa,
O, seseryosohin mo ba ang banta? Naku-nako, ‘wag na,
Pagkat ito’y pawang biro lamang
Tingnan mo ang mga mambabatas-militar panay ang palakpak at halakhak
Napakakomedyante talaga nitong Pangulo,
Sa mga birong hindi ko rin lubos maunawaan.

O, bawal ang pagtitipon-tipon ha,
O, bawal ang pagtitipon-tipon
Kaarawan mo? Naku! Kayu-kayo muna
At wag ng mag-imbita pa,
Baka mahawa at magkahawaan pa kayo ng korona
Liban na lang kung ang apilyedo mo ay kasintunog ng Sinas,
Wag kang mag-alala, ayos lang mag-imbenta
Kahit may rosas pang dala ang mga bisita sa iyong mañanita,
Wag kalimutan, ikaw rin ang taga-hawak ng susi ng mga selda.
Sige lang magpakasaya ka, magaling ka naman sa trabaho mo,
Bilib na bilib ang pangulo, mahirap ka nga raw’ng palitan
Para kang ginataang mongo na paborito n’yang ulam.
Kaya ang bilis mong makapagsabi sa amin ng move on,
Kahit ikaw naman ang may ginawang pamimintas at kasalanan.

O, makinig! Hindi batas ang mass testing,
O, hindi batas ang mass testing.
Pagkat mga opisyales, hindi alam anong ibig ipahiwatig ng gayong salita,
Sakit sa kanilang mga tenga, ika nga,
Sa kanilang mga KoKote, hindi natin kaya magsuri,
Isang daang milyong populasyon ay ‘di nila mawari,
Sabi nila’y, hindi nga nakaya ni SoKor, ni Pinas pa kaya?
Kawawang mga Pilipino, kailangan pang turuan ang mga polpolitiko nito.

O, sinasabi ko sayo, bawal lumabag sa batas,
O, bawal lumabag sa batas
Pero, pag kaibigan at kaalyado mo ang nasa gobyerno,
Ay pwede na pala ika’y lumabag sa batas
Walang subpoena at wala ka rin sa selda
Nasa labas, malaya, at nagpapakasaya ka sa pera,
O, kay gandang isipin hawak mo ang pulitika
Kahit taong-baya’y kumakalampag na,
Hayaan mo na yang mga aktibista lalo’t may kapangyarihan ka.

O, diumano ang batas ay batas,
Walang sinuman ang nakakaangat at nakakatakas sa batas,
Liban na lang kung ikaw ay payaso at pangulo,
Batas ay nasa bunganga at mga kamay mo.
Ang batas ay batas ngunit ito rin ay nababali,
Parang pangako niya sa atin noon at tayo’y nadali,

Kawawang Pilipinas. O, kawawang Pilipinas!

*Ang mga salitang bawal lumabas ay hango mula sa mga pahayag ni Kim Chiu, isang aktres

Jeo Olar (Ariana Maureen) is a graduate of BA Communication Arts major in Speech and Corporate Communication in the University of the Philippines Mindanao. She was the former Research Conference Coordinator of the UP Mindanao College of Humanities and Social Sciences 1st Mindanao Studies Interdisciplinary Research Conference. Currently, she is a writer of the Nonoy Librado Foundation, Inc. She writes news, organizational statements, and research. She is a trans woman activist. Sa Pilipinas May Batas, Batas Ng Mga Payaso was first published in Hentulon Nawa: Reflections in the Time of COVID-19.