It would be Lit 191:Fantasy Fiction under the legendary children’s book author Ms. Cyan Abad-Jugo,daughter of the award-winning Filipino poet Gemino Abad.

The class was hard and it made me think outside my Freudian and Jungian and Pyschology box (I’m a psych major,not a lit major) and it was tiring and frustrating at first,but deeply rewarding. Cheers to the semester of the study of fantasy and how it can be a tool to mirror reality!I learnt a lot!

So he gave me punishments as heavy as the cause,

For him to move forward and progress,

For him to step backward and regress.

And with this sentence I feel like a master,

But the strength to choose I could not muster.

He is a tease and a taunt.

His body is pleased and is also gaunt.

He is the accuser and the accused, the judge and the lawyer,

The jailer and the freer,

All rolled into one.

His hands move, little by little, in increments.

Tick,tick,tick.

Freedom and punishments.

Possibilities and finities.

And with this, the lines have been crossed, and the race tracks have been built,

Him and I,him and I,

Are the two sources of the crime’s guilt.

photo from: ci.berkeley.ca.us

Despite your roads encrusted with dust and your highway which consists of dimly lit neon signs and silent households,

Despite you containing my own house, its walls of gray, and tiles of, well, no tiles,

Despite living in a high-rise in Cubao,with a view of the enormous city, its lights far brighter than yours,

I miss you Antipolo, you with lush, green nature, and karaoke-drones neighbors,

I miss you Antipolo, your church of pilgrimage,your suman and cashew, and shing-a-lings,

My bedroom without airconditioning, which contains my fan that doesn’t work, my bed half-filled with books unread,

Which are now packed away in neat,empty boxes.

I miss you Antipolo and your promise of late nights,your swerving jeepneys,

The TV I almost destroyed, the dysfunctional shower, the no-flush clogged toilet.

I miss you Antipolo, and no amount of condo floor levels would equate to your comfort.

Our front gate ravaged by Ondoy.

Home Alone

Home alone,
Aircon humming in a static drone,
Inside my purple bag I took,
My heavy book,
Opened its pages,
Hesitantly, with movements like day-old stages,
Read for a couple of minutes,
Till concept and reality fit,
But then my vision wavered like a lamp dimly lit,
So I sought the comfort of my speakers,
Untied the shoelaces of my sneakers,
Barefoot, walked to turn the volume up,
Closed the door and turned the lock.
Danced to the music like a dork,
With more zealousness then, went back to work,
Productivity loss,I had to atone,
What a fun night at home,
Alone.

(picture galing sa matanglawin.org)

Minsan kumakain ako ng tinapay na galing sa Substation at umiinom ng milk tea na galing sa Buddha Bean Cafe sa may JSEC,nang muntik na akong mabinlaukan dahil sa dalawang babaeng nagkwekwentuhan sa tabi ng aking upuan. Bigla-biglang tumayo iyong isang babae at isinigaw, “OH MY GOD,ha?I was just takot to make sumbong her,because I have utang na loob.Argggh!I am so naalibadbadran na!” Noong una, tawang-tawa ako sa sinabi niya, halos di na ako makahinga. Pero nang naglalakad na ako sa Katipunan, at pagpasok ko sa jeep papuntang Antipolo, napagtanto ko na nakalulungkot na bagay ang naranasan ko sa JSEC minu-minuto lamang. Nalungkot ako dahil alam kong hindi lamang isa,dalawa o tatlong Atenista ang nagsasalita ng lengguwaheng nakatatak at nakatali na sa ating unibersidad. Alam ko na pumasok ka sa caf, sa dorm,sa classroom,sa smocket,sa computer labs, lumabas ka rin sa Katipunan at dumayo sa mga kainan-makakarinig ka ng mga Atenistang nagsasalita ng ganitong paraan- Taglish o Conyo kung tawagin sila.

Minsan din, nakikita ko na sa dinami-raming kopya ng Matanglawin at sa dinami-raming estudyante ng Ateneo, hindi gaanong nauubos ang kopya ng nasabing magasin, na patuloy na nagsisilbing pambukas-mata sa mga isyung sosyal at pandagdag-kaalaman sa kulturang Pinoy.

Noong nakaraang linggo lamang,muntik nang langawin ang inihandog ng Sanggu na Alternative Class Program kung saan kinakailangan maglaan ang bawat Atenista ng oras upang makinig sa mga panayam tungkol sa Kulturang Pinoy o dumalo sa social involvement fair. Itong class program na ito ay nagsisilbing proyekto ng Sanggu upang maging mas aktibo ang mga Atenista sa pag-aangat ng Kulturang Pinoy at pakikisalamuha sa pag-taas ng antas ng Pilipinas.

At nakito ko itong mga repleksiyon ng kaunting pagpapahalaga ng mga Atenista  sa kulturang Pinoy. Simula nang pumasok ako sa Ateneo,kakaunti lamang ang aking karanasan kung saan naramdaman ko talaga ang pagka-Pilipino ng kapwa kong estudyante. Tila ba unti-unting naglalaho ang ating pagkatao at tradisyon na ipinaglaban at pinakaiingat-ingatan ng mga ninuno natin nang ilang salinlahi?

Bakit gaanon?Kung sino pa ang nasa unibersidad,kung sino pa ang mga marurunong na pag-asa ng ating bayan,kung sino pa ang itinuturi ng masa na tagasalba ng ating bayan,sila pa ang may kaunting pagpapahalaga sa kulturang Pinoy. Mala-paraiso nga ang eskuwelahan natin, ngunit unti-unti naman itong nagiging pugad ng (ayon sa iba) conyong elitista. Masyado raw tayong kumportable sa apat na sulok ng ating paaralan,na nakakalimutan na nating maging mga Pilipino. Tayong mga agila raw ay labis na ang taas ng lipad, na napuwing na ang mata nating mapanuri at nahulog na ang mga pluma nating matatag. Masyado daw nating pinahahalagahan ang tsinelas na imported at pagpaparty.May immersion o JEEP nga tayo ngunit pinandidirihan daw natin ang mga Aeta.

Nagkalat ang mga sabi-sabing ito sa internet. Ilang pahina at ilang forum din ang ganito ang laman. Minsan ipinapasa-pasa ng mga tao ang mga e-mail tungkol sa mga ito at nararamdaman ko na tila kinukutya tayo,pinagtatawanan,kinaiinisan ,at pati pinandidirihan ng karamihan.

Para sa akin,kahit freshie pa lamang ako, sawang-sawa na ako sa mga sabi-sabing ito. Alam ko kasing kaya pa natin ito baguhin.Kahit pakonti-konti.

Simulan natin sa pagiging Pilipino; sa pagsisikap na gamitin ang Tagalog sa tamang paraan; sa pagbabasa sa Matanglawin o kung ayaw man, sa pagiging mapanuri sa mga bagay na nangyayari sa ating bansa at gumawa ng mga aksyon na sosolusyonan ang mga ito. Sa aktibong pagsali sa mga proyekto ng mga organisasyon sa Ateneo na gumagalaw para sa sosyo-politikal na kamalayan. At pakikisalamuha sa mundo na nasa labas ng Gate 1,Gate 2,Gate 2.5, at Gate 3.

Alam kong kaya nating burahin ang tatak eklusibo na naitali na sa pangalan ng Ateneo.Alam kong kaya nating bumaba sa taas ng lipad natin upang maisanuhay nang totoo ang cura personalis,magis,men and women for others na talaga namang itiinatak sa mga isipan nating mga Atenista.

Kailangan lang nating tandaan na lahat tayo ay Pilipino. At lahat tayo may obligasyon na maging mulat sa nangyayari sa ating bansa. Sana sa susunod na kakain ako ng tinapay sa JSEC ay hindi na conyo ang marinig ko kundi ang boses ng mga estudyanteng bukas ang isipan-mga estudyanteng Atenista,estudyanteng Pilipino.

P.S.

Thinking about it,how idealistic have I been during freshie year.Grabe, It feels so different now than before.

But seriously, I do.

There are just some things discussed in class which make me tune out a bit, and  reflect on my random experiences. So in between Scripture and faith, comes Danielle’s chicken scratch a.k.a. poetry. My inspiration: A guy smoking a cigar in front of Mini-stop (convenience store) in Katipunan and an old lady I rode the jeepney with.

“Men lead lives of quiet desperation”,
Says Henry David Thoreau.
I think about this as I pass through,
The man on the street with rags and acrid odor,
The man igniting a stick of cigarette on his hand in front of the convenience store,
Commuters who jostle and scramble for a ride,
An old woman, her body weary, wringing her soul to the ebb and flow of the tides,
Of life.
And as these faces blur, this crowd, these men,
I realize that I am one of them,
The spaces we fill become larger, we multiply, possible to fill a dome,
Indeed, we lead lives of quiet desperation, I realize, as I make my way back home.

I can’t write a taxonomy table,
For all our individual differences, you and I,
We may pick-up and observe the same rack of clothing,
Scrutinize it to its most finite detail,
But the construct of the flimsy pieces,
Of thread against thread, carefully bound by needles, enters our mind through different angles.
“The shoe fits all”,
A paradox, an impossibility.
Yes, it can still be literally written, but lacks depth and clarity,
The only thing that will probably tie us together, draw us closer,
But eventually keep us apart,
Is wood against wood, carefully bound by nails, this open closet,
We have been looking at from the start.

Did this ever happen to you?

This happened to me loads of times.There are just some songs in which you feel the passion and rhythm that you end up singing your heart out even if you intended to do it in your mind. This phenomenon,though, has caught the ire of people I sit with in the LRT or jeep and they look at me like I’m some sort of creepy psycho who talks to herself. This phenomenon though, has also made me less confident to saying what I feel or expressing the untrivial (or trivial) musical prowess of musical geniuses.

This awkwardness and insecurity of mine changed  in one particular  incident which happened last month. My hunger finally got to the best of me one day and I decided to grocery shop by myself for food and stuff. (Which seldom happens to me, because grocery shopping alone is just sad ) Anyway, as I passed through cans of mushrooms and cartons of milk, Jason Mraz’s “Make It Mine” was playing over the grocery PA system. As I heard Jason Mraz’s voice, memories of all-nighters and suko na ako moments flashed into my mind. I remember singing along to the lines, “I’m gonna celebrate the whole world” (But within the comforts of my room) and I remember how it has always encouraged and lifted my weary and stressed-assed “student” body to achieving that A (or just passing my Chem exam).

I thought to myself, “I wanna sing along to these lines. These are tantamount of my student days.I have to do it.I have to open my mouth and sing.Yes Dani, even when that grandpapa is behind you.”

So I sang.Hummed at the first time.Then, blurting out all the lyrics that I have memorized through constant repetition (Boy, I really listened to that song on repeat). I got stares.Yes from the grandpapa along with his grandchildren. And even from the grocery man who was selling bread. But I didn’t care. I sang. I am awkward but I sang to my heart’s content.

Lesson learned: NOBODY REALLY CARES.Okay, maybe some people do. But don’t let their stares get to you.I’ve heard tons of people singing along their earphones in the LRT, and I didn’t care. Music takes risks. And you should take risks as a lover of music.