August 31st, 2008 by solitudeismyreligion in Uncategorized · 1 Comment
Two things I’m amazed at now: writing and sex.
Mama
was a voracious reader and influenced I was. Along the way, reading
became enough not, a creation of thy own is scuffing my being hence,
the need to write. Writing has always been my best companion - second
to smoking that is - as well as talking it eases emotional pain not to
mention it comes handy. Writing too keeps me in touch with myself –
reading the things I write allow me to look at myself as how others
would probably look at me and realize something about me. Someone once
said that “one cannot write without knowing thyself.” Indeed. But the
other way around is as real as it could get too that being, writing
helps one to come to terms with herself, a way to self-knowledge. But
writing is no easy feat. There are just too many words flying around
the head, flirting with the hand to be chosen, written, given life. I
need to hear myself when I write, writing and not hearing your voice is
as good as not writing at all. Writing is mind-hand-heart-coordination
at its finest. This makes writing no easy feat, and more. And more
could mean metaphysical, romantic, academic, economic, creative
constraints, and more. Could also mean deadlines, presswork, legwork,
competitive skills, interpersonal relations, responsible and “just”
journalism or simply school newspaper responsibilities vis-à-vis rep’s
vis-à-vis academic load, social life. Got in at Kule. After the
interview, I wondered why I applied in the first place. The obvious
reason of course is because I want to write no make that, the need to
write. But now I’m frightened. I’m always like this when faced with
something I love the most, includes loving a person. I become the pussy
I have, I then start musing of the more comfortable what-ifs. Wondering
how normalcy feels.
Talk
about pussy, leads me to the second thing that amazes me now, sex. Sex
is always amazing ok, let’s make that interesting at least (because
yes, not always…wwhhyy am I writing about this?). Ah, because a friend
and I learned that we have something in common and that friendship is
indeed sharing (hah!).
I’ve had “unconventional” (what does that
mean?) philosophies about sex. Meaning, I now wonder how it feels like
to make love (ok, so this is called orgasm: have you seen yourself very
vulnerable? Look at me not please). I remember once feeling it, but
looking back now I realize it was just the dawn – the romance of its
lighting. A friend told me God thinks I’m hot. Sure, God is a woman
after all. Wait, who is God?
Being
a woman is wonderful as it is sad. A woman just does not open her legs
and lets the exit of a young fragile soul. On the same manner, she lets
enter older souls, able to touch that same fragility when it first
breathed life. A woman opens her legs, welcoming the dreams, fears,
anguish, lust, idiocy, wisdom and love mastered by that soul. It’s
power, you know. But like a mother whose sons and daughters are off to
college, a woman is then left only with memories and glimpses of that
soul and with it, the resiliency to be welcoming more and more, the
power of being human. Have you welcomed a soul lately?
So many amazingly wonderful things, eh? But amazed I need not, be excited, yes.
PS:
God is love, they say. Hmm, make-love with love. Now, that’s exciting.
August 23rd, 2008 by solitudeismyreligion in Uncategorized · 1 Comment
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When you think it’s too much, it’s never enough.
Summoning
all the known gods and saints, I do every night. I ask help to let me
get hold of life again no, still. My mama not texting how I am or if I
still have food to eat or money to live, my papa not sending the money
for the overdue rent, my sister not yet arriving making me paranoid
every second (the world out there is never safe), me drowning in my own
inanities, me crawling in poverty. Add to this, the pending past due
midterm papers, pile of readings that needs to be finished today and
only today. Here I am, trying to concentrate and be a productive
student when mama calls me and tells me the most encouraging words I
just so much need now. Like how good of a daughter I am always asking
for money and saying things a parent ought not to hear in short
disrespectful, I bet she would have even wanted to add “so good, I wish
never to have had you”. Expecting a mother always listens, I told her
with all honestly and patience I could muster how much support –
financially, emotionally and spiritually – I need. Further, expecting a
mother is the type who would be interested in her daughter’s affairs, I
rant how not easy it is to be a student, a UP student for that matter,
with 18 units, one PE with 20 pesos in pocket at the same time
tormented by the want of pursuing a life I would have wanted entirely:
a life in theater, a life for "the change" – a life so artsy, so
romantic, so fulfilling, except that it isn’t the case. Life isn’t kind
enough to allow me to pursue such a path because I have parents who
care only about surviving and not living, in the real sense of the
word. Hence, the more encouraging words I just so much need, how
cheering it is to hear my mother my only mother, I expect to always be
there for me since after all that’s what family is for, tell me “I
don’t care about your ranting, I know about that already. Stop studying
if you must. Stop studying if you don’t want hardship”. Excuse me, this
is a rather high school-ish angst, with the wisdom I have I should have
known by now how to handle this. But some things just need to be let
out.
My
problem is that I think and feel so much. But what can I do, I can’t
help it. I was born big and open-pored (literally too). I can’t help
not to be sensitive because the world has too much insensitivity it can
vanish tomorrow and everybody would still go on doing the same things.
The root of the problem is really not that I’m too sensitive but the
chronic ailment of poverty vis-à-vis the perennial want of happiness,
despite and inspite of. No one tells me about hardship, I’ve had a lot
in all forms. In many forms someone my age shouldn’t have experienced
and felt; so lot that even the most imaginative of imaginations would
doubt its creative prowess. Well, we would all claim we did, we had and
we do. In my present case, it’s just so disheartening to tell me to
embrace all hardships there are when in reality I’m having more that
enough my arms could handle. I myself am even amazed I can still
appreciate the beauty of the rain. See, I’m a good person. I can be
responsible if I need to. Be respectful if I must. Be an a-1 student if
I will. But give me money. After all, it’s all about the money, all
about the dumdumdurudumdum. I understand it’s neither mama nor papa’s
fault it’s the fault of being poor. I hate being poor for it robs me
off the life I should have, the life I want. I hate being poor because
I can’t even get out of this house to go somewhere, to a friend’s
perhaps, just to make me feel human still. I hate being poor because it
makes me feel utterly sad; it makes my head ache; my senses go nuts,
the sting of puking then seems heaven. I hate being poor because it
convinces me that being bad is the way to be because to truly live life
one need be rich otherwise, life is full of misery and is downright
senseless. What sense does it have if you can’t do anything if in fact
you very well know you can do everything given the chance? What point
life has if the world owes you a lot but won’t even pay you a cent? I’m
divinely in need of help. And that’s what I get. From my mother. Thank
you very much. In
the darkness of this room, with Jimi Hendrix’s guitar and Edith Piaf’s
soaring voice in the background, I’m seeking light from the whiteness
of this page. Most white things are good, they say. True enough, I’m
pouring black-full emotions unto this page and still it’s white like
saying “hey it’s ok! worry not. more! more!”. It’s like the “tap in my
shoulder” I so much need now but can’t have. I’m poor, alone and
lonely. How depress can I get? I’m now thinking it was a bad idea to
move out for solitariness’ sake, now I’m having one at its finest –
poor, alone and lonely. But being me, I try to elicit good things in
every happenstance and what have I got? Elegant arguments why suicide
is a rational way of ending life. For one, you don’t choose to be in
this world fine but by and large, later on you realize how much you own
your life you then decide when to end it rationally, dying is one of
the many choices of living. It’s like getting inside a movie house and
you find the movie bad so you get out. Easy. Add the fact that you can
have all the liberty to look beautiful in your death – you can put that
eye shadow color you feel prettiest on, that sexiest underwear of
yours, your best top and skirt combination. Secondly, the freedom it
could bring. Ahhh
I’m not sure but I think I sound quite creepy.
The
world is a vampire sucking out my blood life. I can feel every ounce of
it dropping out of my body. I sometimes wonder how it feels like to
feel nothing, to care about no thing, to be disinterested. I forgot how
it is to believe, I forgot how vibrant the color of passion is. Anybody
remind me?
My sister just arrived. I’m quite better. Thank you.
August 20th, 2008 by solitudeismyreligion in Uncategorized · 1 Comment
I am ultimately, beautifully, strangely depressed. I’m crying while
doing this, trying to be comprehensible. I’m hoping that this is PMS
lest, a budding borderline personality disorder. Last night, Aika
texted me to go to her place, Wena was there too, I told her I will go
to Palawan tomorrow you wanna come with me? She told me, I thought you
don’t have money Banuk? I replied something like ‘I’m on the verge of
going crazy, something in my head wants to snap. I wanna die. No, an
escape is better’.
I can’t focus. I can see only the vileness in everything. Everybody
seems boring. Nothing, nobody excites me. When you see me laugh, don’t
be fooled, I’m not happy. When you see me cry, pity me not, I’m feeling
enough for myself. I’m trying to remember, just when did this start.
I’m usually not like this, I’m a happy hippie. I blame the
not-so-recent heart ache I just had, funny thing is I was already ok, I
know. Now, I’m thinking probably that’s the problem, I might not have
been at all. But that couldn’t be true. I hope. I’m not broke but I’m
not rich enough to have somebody killed instantly. I had times when I’m
poorer than a rat but at those times I can still meet the sun’s eyes
and smile to the world now, it is different, like I’m licking the abyss
of nothingness when everything seems ok. I mean, relatively.
I was reading Celine Lopez’s column last Sunday on Star. Not that I
like her, I just needed something to preoccupy myself with. She wrote
about faith, prayer, how bad life is, despite though how much this
makes us better persons and that God doesn’t give us problems we can’t
solve and I was crying all the while. Maybe because I wanted to
believe, to really believe for the hell sake of something to cling on.
Maybe because I wanted to defy history and believe that indeed God do
miracles and she (God is a woman, by the way) would, in just one flick
of her magic wand (and a fairy too) I will get out of this rut, as Aika
would say. Maybe because I needed someone to reassure me that
everything’s gonna be alright yeah long live the Beatles.
Unfortunately, it’s not the case. What I need is someone to remind me
of my dreams, how I have always wanted to make the world a better
place, how I have dreamt of true love and how much I need one, someone
to help me get back and do what has to be done, someone or something
that would make me laugh until I cry because it is such a great
feeling. Someone, something to repeat over and over and over and over
and over aver again how lucky I am that there ain’t a war (yet) and
that I am in a democratic society. Speaking of, fuck democracy (proof
of the snap!) everybody thinks they’re a gift to the world (see, I said
I can only see the vileness in everything and I mean vileness).
Something, someone, sometwo that’ll remind me that I have the best
possible life ahead of me better yet that I should live it. Now.
This morning I received a text from Aika “Banuk, sama ako sa ‘yo sa Palawan”.
It’s great to have equally crazy friends. Somehow, at least it makes you feel not alone.
But I’ll probably cry still.
PS:
Wanna know how bad this is? I visited the following sites:
http://www.wikihow.com/Be-Happy-and-Love-Yourself-Even-when-Everyone-Puts-You-Down
http://www.wikihow.com/Let-Someone-Go
http://www.wikihow.com/Overcome-Sadness
http://www.wikihow.com/Be-Happy
http://www.wikihow.com/Get-Closure
http://www.wikihow.com/Embrace-Your-Inner-Child
Now, kill me.
Huwebes, dalawang linggo na ang nakakaraan, kinahapunan pagkatapos kong
umiyak mula SC hanggang bahay, nabasa ko sa Kule “Wala na bang Kultura
ang UP?” Naghahanap sila ng writer sa Kultura section. Sa di ko
malamang dahilan bakit, umakyat ako ng Vinzon’s 4th floor at nagtanong paano mag-apply.
Sasama
ang loob ko kapag di ako makakapasa dahil ang ibig sabihin noon ay di
ako magaling bukod doon, apat na oras akong nag-exam. Hindi naman
mahirap sagutin yung mga tanong, magaan at masaya pa nga. Masakit rin
pala sa kamay punuin ang isang buong blue book ano? At nakakagutom.
Sa
may bandang huli ng exam, magsulat daw ng maiksing rebyu ng isang dula,
pelikula, banda, etc. Dahil noong araw na iyon ay tinext ako ni
Maritoni na tinawagan na siya ng Marlboro, pinili ko ang kategoryang
banda. Walang iba kundi ang Eraserheads.
Ang mga sumusunod ay ayon sa naaalala ng aking memorya:
Inawit
ng Eraserheads ang angas at romansa ng mga kabataang Pinoy hindi lang
noon kundi magpahanggang sa kasalukuyan. Binigyang himig nila ang mga
pusong umiibig, sawi at nangangarap. Sa tamang halo ng lalim at
kababawan, pinagsalita at pinalaya nila ang mga kaluluwang ligaw at
lito. Hindi lang sila nag-alay ng awit para sa mga iniibig kundi pati
sa mas matamis na pagsasamahan ng pagkakaibigan. Hindi sila umawit para
sa mga sarili, hindi lang para sa isa’t isa, hindi para sa mga babaeng
dumarating at umaalis kundi pati sa mga walang mukhang masang Pilipino.
Henyo sila. Henyo sila ng nakaraan, pag-aari na ng kasaysayan.
Sa
katapusan ng buwan na ‘to, muli silang maririnig. Pero hindi na sila
ang Eraseheards na nagpatibok, nagpakilig at nagpa-iyak sa atin. Hindi
na sila ang Fruitcake ng ating mga tenga na nagbibigay tamis sa kabila
ng kasadlakan. Kung hihiyaw at sisigaw man ang mga manunuod, hindi ito
dahil sa tuwa’t galak kundi dahil sa pagkagulat. Pagkagulat dahil sa
muling pagkabuhay ng isang multo. Isa itong pagkukutya sa kasaysayan
dahil alam natin ngayon na niloko tayo ng mga Espanyol noong
pinalaganap ang konsepto ng muling pagkabuhay. Hindi totoo ang muling
pagkabuhay. Ang ating mapapanuod ay isang multo na nagpapatunay lamang
na minsan, sa may Kalayaan, may apat na henyong nagtagpo at inawitan
ang ating mga puso.
Noong Biyernes, tinawagan na rin ako
ng Marlboro. Kelangan ko daw magpresent ng valid ID na magpapatunay na
18yrs old and above na ako o kahit anong valid ID pero hindi school ID,
hindi company ID. Ang hindi ko maintindihan, birth certificate na ang
sinend ko, ano pa bang pinakamagandang katunayan na bente-uno na ako at
hindi disi-shete? Ang problema wala akong SSS ID, PRC ID, TIN ID, etc.
Hindi ko pa binigyan ng panahong ayusin ang mga benepisyong ino-offer
ng gobyerno. War pa kame. Charot lang. Ang totoo, hindi ako masyadong
pasenshosa sa mga pila at nakakasira ng araw ang mga empleyadong galit
sa mundo. Pero hindi rin naman sila masisisi, sa dami ng mukang
nakikita nila sa araw-araw, sino ba namang hindi maiirita bukod sa
maliit pa ang sweldo.
Sa madaling sabi, hindi na ko makakapanuod ng Eheads, the redux, return of the comeback. Nyeta.
Wala pang resulta sa Kule. Tapos bigla kong malalamang di nga ako nakapasa.
Nyeta. Anader.
Ikaw, baka naman may maganda kang ibabalita?
August 13th, 2008 by solitudeismyreligion in Uncategorized · 2 Comments
Itago natin siya sa
pangalang JL. Nahulog at patuloy na nahuhulog ang kanyang damdamin sa
isang kaibigan. Pero tulad ng lahat ng tsismis, may catch: may
gelpren siya.
Pero pumili na si JL,
tinapos na niya ang pagkalito. Ngayon, hinaharap ang mga dulot ng
napili.
Mula sa mga sikretong
tulad ng pagka-devirginize, pagkabuntis at pagpapalaglag madalas ako
ang unang nilalapitan ng mga kaibigan. ‘Pag may mga problema sa
puso, kahit anong problemang panrelasyon, o kahit anong problema sa
buhay in general, may ganun din akong attraction sa mga kaibigan.
Alam ko kung baket, dahil I’m wise beyond my years. Pero hindi
pala. Hindi ko pala na-out-grow ang paniniwalang kapag lumipad ang
lobo pupunta ito sa langit at na hindi ito kelan man puputok.
Hindi ko alam anong
ipapayo kay JL kase hindi ako moralista. Hindi manggagaling sa puso
ko kung mamemewang ako at pagsasabihan siya nang “tanga, ang mali
kase, talipandas ka! Baket mo hinayaang umabot sa puntong yan?”
Pero hindi rin kase ako naniniwalang kelangang magsama sa isang
relasyon ‘pag may mga kyeme, lalo na kung ang mga kyemeng ito ay
isyu ng pagkakaiba bilang tao, nawawala ang pinaka-punto ng relasyon
kung gayon. Sa kabilang banda, hindi rin naman ako naniniwalang
kelangan bumitiw kaya ang nasabi ko nalang “di na ba kayang
mawork-out?”
Sabi ni JL eto na ang
role ko sa buhay niya – tagapayo ‘pag may mga issue siya sa puso.
Ang problema sa ganitong role, mahirap bigyan ng hustisya. Dahil
malawak ang pwedeng paghugutan para mailabas ang tamang emosyon at
maiparamdam sa audience kung gaano kabigat, kanakaka-iyak,
kanakakatakot, kanakakatawa o kasakit ang eksena. Bukod dito nariyan
ang mito ng obhektibismong hinihingi ng pagpapayo dahil ayaw mo
namang laging kampihan ang kaibigan mo, ayaw mo rin naman sabihing
mali siya o masama siya. Kelan ba nagiging mali ang damdamin? Kelan
ba pwedeng maging obhektibo ang emosyon? Nariyan naman ang tendensiya
ng pang-u-upstage, imbes na siya ang bida, ikaw na. Nakatutok na ang
spotlight sayo kase imbes na ikaw ang makikinig, ikaw pala yung gusto
ng makikinig sayo. O kaya naman dahil gusto mo lang talagang
magpabida sa lahat ng pagkakataon kase mahadera ka lang at
insensitibo.
Masarap yung feeling na
kelangan ka ng isang tao o yung feeling na kelangan ka in-general.
Parang makapangyarihan ka; may say ka sa desisyon ng isang tao sa
buhay niya; pwedeng pwede mong lasunin ang utak niya sa paraang hindi
niya man lang mapapansin – scheming kung baga. Pero sa mga
telenobela lang nangyayari ang mga ganung eksena – yung yayakapin
ni Angelica Panganiban si Bea Alonzo pero naka-pokus kay Angelica ang
kamera at nakangiti siya sa audience, yung ngiting alam mong gusto
niyang agawin si John Lloyd Cruz or yung kayamanan. Tapos
magpapatalastas na. Sa totoong mundo, oo masarap yung feeling na
kelangan kase basic skill yun ng pakikinig at kahit ang mga bingi may
part-of-the-face na tinatawag na ear. At sa totoong buhay, kapag ikaw
ang nakikinig, mas marami kang natututunan.
Gusto kong sabihin kay JL
“alam ko baket ka ganyan, kase graphic artist ka, bukod sa pyudal
ka at machoshit, madaming kulay at imahe ang dumadaan sa utak mo.
Kaya naimbento ang photoshop para malabas mo yan at matulungan ka”.
Pero hindi ko sinabi kase hindi na kelangan at hindi naman
makakatulong.
Mababaw ang pagtingin ko
sa mga taong main conflict ng buhay ang problema sa puso o sa mga
taong nakakaramdam ng kakulangan sa pagkatao dahil walang ka-relasyon
o yung girlfriend o boyfriend na tinatawag ng pop culture. Mga ate’t
kuya, mas maraming problema ang mundo para paikutin diyan ang buhay.
Pero sa pakikipag-usap kay JL at sa maraming pangyayari nitong
nakaraang kagyat na kasaysayan, napagtatanto kong isang kahangalan na
tingnan ang problemang puso ng ganun. Kase no man or woman is an
island, lahat kelangan ng kakampi. Ang problemang puso ay may
napakalalim na pinaghuhugutan mayaman ka man o mahirap, kase yung
ibang problema may laging pwedeng solusyon pero ang problemang puso
laging madaming solusyon pero laging may pero at kase
Ayun. Ganun siya ka
kumplikado at madalas kulang ang mga naimbentong salita para mahuli
ang kabuuan nito. Sa pakikipag-usap kay JL napagtanto ko ang tayog ng
tipo ng pag-ibig na sinusulong ko. Napagtanto ko ring ganun naman
pala talaga lahat kapag usapang pag-ibig. May intrinsik na
kapangyarihan kase ang pag-ibig na itaas ka sa langit kaya
napakasakit kapag lumagapak ka sa lupa. Halos lahat kasi tinuruan
noong bata na maganda at masaya sa langit. Napagtanto ko rin palang
totoo ang mga cliché. Na kaya sila cliché kase nga
cliché sila, na alam mo na sila dati pa, nabasa mo na sila
dati pero sa mga paikot-ikot na pangyayari sa buhay, mababanggit mo
muli’t-muli ang mga naipong cliche. Pero ayoko pa rin sa Cueshe.
Speaking of cliché,
sa pakikipag-usap kay JL, kinalabit na naman ako ng mga sumusunod na
cliché: love is god, god is nowhere therefore, love is
nowhere. Or something like this:
Love is god
God
is nowhere
Love is nowhere.
Explanation: Lahat
humihiling lang ng puro’t banal na pag-ibig, ng isang taong
makakasama bukod sa mga kaibigan at pamilya, sa kaso ni JL at sa
pangarap ko: ng isang taong makakasama para magsulong ng pagbabago,
isang pag-ibig na namumulaklak sa Strawberry Fields na kung papalarin
ay magpahanggang-forever. Pero sa totoong buhay, lahat dapat maging
praktikal at dahil dito minsan nakakasakit ka, minsan ikaw ang
nasasaktan. Sa isang mundong puno ng kalupitan at kahirapan tulad ng
mundong ginagalawan naten, mahirap isulong ang puro’t banal na
pag-ibig. Nakita ko na ‘to sa halos lahat ng nakapalibot sakin.
Nakakatakot. Pero mas nakakalungkot.
Pahabol pa: napagtanto ko
din palang may lohika sa mga cliché. Pero gagamitin lang sila
para sa mas madaling explanation. Pwedeng hindi talaga ganun sa
totoong buhay. Or wala talagang logic sa totoong buhay. Dahil walang
logic sa totoong buhay, wala rin sigurong sense ‘tong part na ‘to.
Siguro dapat di ko na sinulat, noh?
Madalas para mapagaan ang
sitwasyon ng iba, nagsasabi din tayo ng problema naten. Gusto kong
sabihin kay JL “mas malaki problema ko: tigang ako Pero ayoko
mabuntis at lalong ayoko ng kahit anong virus, pero ayoko pa din muna
atang magmahal. Kase ang bigas, pamasahe,
langis at lahat na, nagmamahal”. Pero di ko na nasabi, minsan mas
masarap na pulutan ang katahimikan.
Mapagtatagumpayan mo yan
JL. Walang hindi kayang pagtagumpayan ang pusong mapagpalaya.
I didn’t like the ending because many liked it. But
not entirely because of so. Those people that I know of, liked the
ending, surprisingly enough (sarcasm intended), for the expected
reason: it was, as they said “astig”. A reason for me, so
at-face-value, so empty. I find the way the film ended rather safe and
redundant. Safe, because whatever reality (literally and figuratively)
the film tried to present, as coming for instance, from Pasion’s, being
the writer, producer and obviously the director, own experiences and
understanding was 1) insightful 2) intelligent, as it is and how it was
presented and 3) hey, real! Read: so, that’s what actually happens
behind those tv docu-dramas huh? Shame. Though it is hasty to
generalize so, the probability of it and the realities of its
“inspirations” were there, pronounced. But the way it was ended spoke
otherwise, like “just for laughs! gotcha” hence, it was redundant. I
don’t think there was a need to reiterate to the viewers that they were
watching a film. Was it not what they paid for to begin with?
It was a device, fine. I rest my case.
Despite
that, I liked the film except, did I say except the ending?
Unfortunately, because of time constraints, it was the only Cinemalaya
film I was able to watch hence, comparative knowledge I have not. But I
feel and I really want to say that it deserves the Best Picture Award
but I won’t. Since know I cannot, I’ll just believe so. That being
said, our independent film industry is in the right direction. This has
been said but let me say it again backed with my own qualms. The
independent film industry is in the right direction but it has been
monopolized by either the issues of gayness or poverty and or a
combination of both. And oh, not to forget the
trying-hard-psycho-thrillers, case in point: Blackout, starring Robin
Padilla and Isa Calzado. Since monopolized it has been, independence
where at now? Sir Nick eased me by answering that this is just a phase.
I’m crossing my fingers and hoping.
Not that there is something
wrong with gayness or poverty or psycho thrillers. But for the
independent film industry, believed to be the hope of Philippine
cinema, to be monopolized by those, then what difference does it have
from the star-centric mainstream film industry? Well, a lot of course.
Alright here’s my point, indie-film industry should constantly reassess
and be critical to itself so not to fall on the trap of false freedom
and independence in a nominal sense. All for the noble objective of
uplifting Philippine cinema. Filipinos are after all, creative people
and creativity knows no boundaries.
Jay did not talk about
gayness entirely. It wasn’t for me the main issue. It was used as a
foil to present a more encompassing issue of power - media and its
power, how it is used or misused. Media’s power to present reality,
what is true of it and not, permeates in every level of society and
culture and it does so in ways so subtle. And the film captured that in
a manner so sublime. In this sense, Jay is reflexive (remember Dot the
i, starring Gael and Truffaut’s Day for a Night?) for it somehow
construed that the medium of film making itself as having this capacity
and is wont to use this power in whatever way it deems necessary or
simply want. Which leads me again to, if that is so, why? why? that
ending?! (feel my agitation). You see, what the film Jay wanted to
convey is very powerful but it, itself deconstructed if not, denied it.
(Banuk, it was the point). Then, it’s pointless.
It
seems then, that for Philippine independent cinema or Philippine cinema
in general, to truly be free (whatever that means) or at least to
flourish, the filmmakers should liberate themselves even to the point
of being radical not to say of course, without loosing the beauty of
creativity.
Speaking of gayness, Baron, was he good? Damn very good. Watch it and know what very good means.
I’m
giving it a five out of five rating because I respect creative license
and freedom and it was indeed, a very good film after all.
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Sa kabila ng pagiging optimistic,
puso’y di plastic.
Nagngingitngit sa galit, hawak ang
maso’t karit.
Para kang si Gloria;
damdamin ko’y pinapasista. Number 1
recruiter kaya dumadami ang mga kasama.
Parang kang si Gloria;
ginagalit ang sambayanan. Sinasaid
pusong makabayan.
Ikaw na mismo ang nagbibigay ng dahilan
upang ika’y kasuklaman.
Pati tuloy ang mga taong iyong
pinapahalagahan. Pati tuloy aking mga kaibigan.
Para kang si Gloria,
minus the nunal and the pepe.
Mag-ingat; ako’y di mapipipi.
Ang akin ay akin. Ang naging atin ay
atin.
Naging grupo ay atin. Akin.
Ang nakaraang espesyal hiling lang ay
panatilihin.
Upuan ko sa bilog, akin nang hinayaan;
inihabilin nalang sa masayang kasaysayan.
Ngunit bakit, sa aking pagkalingat
upuan biglang bumigat?
Ah! dahil ito’y inuupuan. Ah! at
hindi ng aking katauhan.
Wala sanang problema, kung upua’y
wala sa dating tahanan.
At saking bintana’y di nasisilip sa
may hagdanan.
Buong akala: respeto ay given.
Hindi dahil guilt-stricken,
kundi dahil nung kindergarten,
tayo’y tinuruan ng GMRC at 1 to 10.
Iniisip at nagpapaka-rasyunal,
napagtantong may hangganan ang pagiging liberal.
Batid mo siguro’y di ako saktan.
Pero talagang di maintindihan.
Baket sa
dati pa nating tahanan?
Kasalanan maging insensitibo.
Kasalanan magwalang-kibo.
Kasalanan maging tanga’t bobo
Dahil
kalupitan,
kahangalan,
kapangitan,
kaapihan
laganap sa mundo.
Ika nga ni Nadja: inilagay sa pedestal
ng galit at suklam.
Kaya heto’t tikman ang hatid kong
kulam:
Sa diyosang
makatarungan at diyosa ng katarungan!
Sa diyosa ng kalangitan at kagandahan!
Ngayo’y y dinggin aking panawagan!
Ipagkaloob kinakailangang mga
kasangkapan:
Itim na manyika, karayom, kawali at
tingting;
patunugin ang
kampana…batingtingting!
Sisimulan na!
ayan na!
akin ng gagawin…
…subalit hindi kayang gawin.
Sadyang maunawain.
Kung sa kinauupan ko ngayon ay kukunin
ni kamatayan,
maganda’t mahalimuyak ako sa
himlayan.
After 6 feet under, kay Lord ay
mag-ooffer:
Isang performance kapalit ng isang
thunder.
After the thunder, sa himlayan ako’y
babangon .
Nakasuot ng gown na puti, parang yung
babae sa balon.
Kapagdaka, ika’y hahanapin.
Nang sa iyong panaginip ika’y
dalawin,
pupukpukin ng bakal na kalawangin.
Sa iyong pagkain,
isang libo’t isang mura ay ihahain.
Sa iyong pagligo,
sa gripo’y magpapatulo ng malapot
mong dugo.
At sa iyong muling pagtulog,
mata’y lalagyan ng toothpick saka
iaalog-alog.
Ako nama’y hindi nakukupot. Subukan
kayang damhin ang sakit na iyong dulot.
Pagkakakaintindi mo sa respeto,
sensibilidad at dignidad sadyang kakarampot.
Mahilig ako sa Lego dahil pwede itong
pataasin parang ego.
Egong aking nabuo’y mataas na, ngunit
iyong pinitik ergo,
humayo.
Magpaka-rasyunal:
Sige nga’t paano sasabihin sa
damdaming naghihilakbo’t hinihingal?
Hihingi muna ng payo kay
forever-friend-Jolina-Magdangal.
Ikaw naman, subukan mong mag-isip at
makiramdam, istupidong hangal.
“tooot.”
Pasado alas-dose ng tanghali noong
nakaraang Linggo, nagsisimula ng humagupit si bagyong Igme, nagtext
si Ma’am Beng. Nagtatanong kung may kilala akong taga-DUP na
pwedeng mag-guest, kelangan nya raw manood ng Hinabing Pakpak…
“tooot.”
“Sige, lagay ko na lang kayo sa guest
list sa front desk.”
-Loren
Connection pays.
Alas-tres ang simula ng dula. Andun na
si Ma’am Beng nung dumating ako. Unang pinapasok ang mga guest,
pumasok kame agad pagkadating ko. Libre na nga, una pa. Libre na nga,
una pa, shempre una din sa magandang pwesto. Bandang gitna ng 4th
row. Di mashadong malayo, di mashadong malapit.
Connection pays.
Maganda ang set. Ang buong production
design actually. Pinaka-tumimo saken ang musical scoring. May kung
anong kapangyarihan itong iangat ka sa kinauupuan mo. Hindi naman.
Basta naaalala ko lang ngayon na maganda ito.
Habang lalo akong tumatanda, lalo akong
nakukumbinseng madami at malaki ang utang saken ng mundo. Kaya
madalas di ako naiiyak sa mga masasaklap na reyalidad na nangyayari
saken. Di ako naiiyak, maniningil na lang ako. Pero may konsepto ng
yin-yang at balance of nature; pag may pumasok, may lalabas. Espongha
nga siguro ako sa dati kong buhay, may kapangyarihan akong i-absorb
ang maraming bagay (nahahawakan man o hindi) pero umaabot sa puntong
mashado ng mabigat. Hindi isang pigaan ang pagbabawas at paraan ko ng
paglabas – spasmodic, episodic, kung kelan ito hindi kelangan.
Ganito ako lagi, kung panong ako’y tone deaf, ganun ako ka
out-of-tune sa dikta ng tugtog ng buhay. Minsan nauuna, minsan
nahuhuli, madalas walang kasabay. Gusto ko ‘to, ayoko kaseng
nadidiktahan pero oo, may lungkot sa pag-iisa. Spasmodic, episodic,
konting pindot lang, may sisirit na saken. Sa mga pinaka trivial at
mundane na bagay ako naiiyak. Madalas magagandang bagay sila. May
mata ako para sa ganda sa kabila ng kalungkutan at lungkot sa kabila
ng kagandagan.
Pagpatay ng house lights, nangingilid
na ang luha ko. Limang minuto bago matapos ang first act, basa na ang
mga labi ko. Hindi ako naiyak dahil sa mga reyalidad na pinakita ng
dula. Hindi lang dahil dun. Isang pag-amin: may inggit. Bilang taong
teyatro, may inggit. May sapat na mekanismo silang
makapagpalabas ng magandang dula. May sapat na tao, pera, panahon,
suporta. May buong kalayaan na pataasin ang kalidad ng sining, hindi
tali sa lohistika ng mga bagay. Hindi nalulugmok sa tanikala ng
kakapusan, sa limitasyon ng reyalidad. Ang boses ng
batang-kelan-man-ay-hindi-na-tatanda sa loob ko ay bumubulong, hindi!
naglulumpasay sa inggit.
Ang Hinabing Pakpak ng Ating Mga Anak
ay isang elehiya hindi ng kasawian, hindi ng lungkot dahil sa
kamatayan. Elehiya ito ng pagkabuhay at pag-asa sa kabila ng
kamatayan. Isang kontradiksyon sa kumbensiyunal na depenisyon ng
elehiya.
Hindi ako naniniwala sa obhektibong
rebyu. Hindi ako naniniwala sa mito ng obhektibismo sa kalakhan.
Hindi ko ibig sabihin na mali ito; mali ito kung hindi inaamin ang intrinsik na subhektibismo, ang
personal na pinanggagalingan. Mali ito kung may pagpapanggap ng
absolutismo, na ito ang tanging tama, na walang pagsilip sa
konteksto, Hindi ako fan ng dogmatismo. Siyanga ang personal ay
pulitikal pero hindi ba’t ang pulitikal ay personal? Kaya naman
nakakapanggalaiti ang marami sa mga pulitko.
Kinabukasan,
nakaraang Lunes. SONA.
Hindi kame makakapagperform dahil buo
na ang programa at ‘di napasa ang iskrip ng maaga. Nangulit,
nakiusap, nag-rehearse sa may gilid. Pagkatapos ay nangulit, nakiusap
muli. Binawasan ang iskrip, nagrehearse sa tapat ng mga truncheons at
pulis na kumakain ng McDo, umambon, nangulit, nakiusap. Sa wakas.
Nakaakyat sa entablado, nagtanghal sa harap ng masang Pilipino.
Konsumasyon ng isang sining na tunay na mapagpalaya. Sa kabila ng
kakapusan, sa kabila ng mga tanikala, sa kabila ng mga utang ng
mundo.
Sa matagal na panahon, noon na lang
ulet ako rumampa sa lansangan. Namiss ko din ang tan lines na dulot
ng kalsada. Maraming beses ko na ‘tong sinabi at mukang lagi kong
sasabihin, marami akong internal na kontradiksyon. Hindi kase ako
naniniwala kay Marx na walang Jesus Christ dahil pinili kong maniwala
kay Nietzsche na lahat pwedeng maging Superman, sa kaso ko,
Superwoman. Magpagayon man, pilit ko pa ring binubuo ang
pagkakaibigang Nietzsche at Marx. Marahil ay habang buhay ko itong
bubuuin. At marahil hindi ako magtatagumpay.
Kebs.
May mga dumarating o, nakakalungkot
man, dumadaan na tao sa buhay naten na nagdudulot ng nakakabaliw na
kombinasyon ng galit at kasiyahan. Madalas di naten alam pano sila
iiwasan, tatalikuran, aalisin sa hinuha.
Baka dapat pilitin. Baka dapat kitilin,
Baka dapat hindi. Tanungin si Gandhi,
humayo’t lumandi.
Anu’t-ano pa man, laging sumisikat
ang araw. Kasabay nito’y buksan ang mga mata, tumingin sa paligid,
pansinin ang ganda sa gitna ng mga kontradiksyon. Dito hugutin ang
pag-asa, sa mga kulay nito’y, kinabukasa’y ipinta.
I
May kakapusan ang naratibo,
kaya’t sa payak, sabog at limitadong tula
ako’y nagsusumamo, nagrereklamo.
II
Hindi kita maintindihan,
Hindi mo ko maintindihan,
Hindi tayo nagkakaintidihan.
Sadyang nagdudulot ng kirot
Sa aking binubuong katiwasayan.
Paikot-ikot,
Walang pinagkatandaan.
III
Tigilan mo ang pagtatanong kung bakit ako ganito
dahil para mo na ring tinanong kung baket bakla ang bakla;
dahil hindi kita kelan man tinanong bakit ang pilak ay di ginto;
naiintindihan mo ako ng walang panghuhusga: ang aking buong akala;
dahil ako, tinanggap at patuloy na tatanggapin ang pagiging ikaw mo.
IV
Pagkatapos ng hiwalayan,
mas nakilala kita ng lubusan.
Napagtanto ang naging pagkukulang ng pusong nagmahal.
Pero tapos na. Sa karanasan na lamang ako’y kakamal.
V
Pero masakit ang binitawan mong mga salita.
Sadyang di matanggap ng diwa.
Ipagkaila man, sarkasmo’y amoy na amoy.
Sa kung baket, di ko matukoy.
Masakit:
Dahil ganito ka na sa buhay ko:
Isang magandang kasaysayan.
Nakakapagpangiti ng kalooban.
Bahiran sana’y ‘wag ng todo.
Di matanggap ng diwa:
Dahil oo, sa aking buhay.
Bida akong tunay.
VI
Gabi-gabi akong nagdadasal
dahil sa buhay ako’y nasasakal;
dahil pag-ibig, kalayaan,
kasiyahan, kapayapaan,
pagkakapantay-pantay
ang gusto kong ikamatay.
Sa paglasap ng mga ‘yan,
nakangiti ako sa himlayan.
Isa akong bata, babae na puno ng ideyalismo.
Niyayakap ang iba’t-ibang -ismo.
sa patuloy na pagyakap, ako’y namumudmod
at nasusugatan sa tuhod.
Pero muli’t-muli’y tatayo,
patuloy na tatakbo.
VII
Nakikita naten sa mata ng iba ang sarili.
Dili ba’t kaya nakakapang-galaiti;
Dili ba’t kaya gumaganti;
Dili ba’t kaya umiibig at nagwawagi
VIII
dahil natututo.
Mahaba at madugo ang proseso
ng maraming mukha ng pag-ibig.
IX
Ang kaaway ay kaaway .
Ang kaibigan ay kaibigan.
Isa kang kaibigan
na ayaw kong maging kaaway.
Walang intensiyon ng pang-aabala.
Abang kaliwanagan
lamang nang pinanggagalingan.
Nawa’y wag ihabla.
X
Paumanhin sa ‘mo’
Paumanhin sa ‘ko’
Paumanhin kung
ako ang bida
XI
dahil lahat tayo ay.
