Paano mo kaya ako hahawakan?

Mula sa Guerra Cantos ni Carlos Piocos III

      Lahat tayo ay mga bagong-salta sa sari-sarili nating balat.
      At tuwing hatinggabi bago matulog,
      humaharap tayo sa ating sarili nang hubad,
      at tulad ng mga manlalakbay, dinadalaw
      natin ang ating katawan na parang mga dayuhang
      kinikilala ang matagal nang di-nakikitang kamag-anak,
      kinikilatis ang mga marka: anong hugis ito, anong laki,
      saang kagat, at kaninong labi? Dinaramdam natin
      na parang nabalong asawa ang mga naiwang bakas.
      Ano’t lagi’t laging di natin nakikilala ang ating sariling balat
      kapag lubhang napapaso sa labis na init,
      kapag lubhang namamanhid sa labis na lamig,
      kapag lubhang natutupok sa labis na pag-ibig?

      At saka natin titingnan ang isa’t isa upang muling magpakilala.
      Tahimik na tahimik na hihiga sa kama, magkatabing
      pagmamasdan ang ating mga kahubdan na tila mga sundalong
      nakaligtas sa matinding engkuwentro ng ating magkalabang
      kampo: Payapa akong lumalapit sa iyo. Ligtas ba dito
      sa iyong teritoryo? Huwag kang mag-alala
      hindi ako naparito para maghanap ng gulo.
      Mangyari kasi’y ako’y nawawala: sugatan, uhaw, gutom
      at nanghihina. Kahit sandali lang, maaari mo ba akong patuluyin
      sa iyong balat? Kailangan ko lamang ng konting lakas.
      Makikiusap ang ating mga hipo, ang ating mga himas,
      ang ating mga hawak sa pintuan ng ating mga balat
      makikiusap tayo sa isa’t isa na ibaba muna ang ating mga armas,
      ang ating mga depensa. Nakatungo tayo’t nakaluhod,
      at buong pagkukumbaba nating papapasukin ang isa’t isa.

      Saka natin lalanggasan ng kumukulong laway
      ang ating mga sugat. Sinisipsip ang mga iwa nang matunaw
      ang nanuyong dugo at magnaknak ang bukas na sugat
      sa ating mga palad para sa ikatitighaw ng ating mga uhaw.
      At upang lalong magkakilanlan, ibinubulong natin ang mga pangalan
      ng mga teritoryong ito, o pinapangalanan nating muli
      gamit ang ating maiinit na buntung-hininga ang ating mga balat
      sa wika ng kinis, pawis, lambot, balbon, gaspang at dulas.
      Napakaraming kailangan sauladuhin sa kapwa-balat.
      Ito na ba mismo ang iyong pinananahanan, ang iyong sentro,
      o ito pa lamang ang bungad?
      At saka tayo mag-aalala:
      Paano kung ito na mismong ating mga balat ang ating kaluluwa?
      Napakaraming pilat dito sa ating mga espirito:
      Ito ang pantal na labis kinamot sa murang edad.
      Iyan ang mga pinagdamitan ng iyong mga hinubad na taghiyawat.
      Ito ang maliit na mata ng salubsob, mahabang hiwa
      ng talim ng kutsilyo, daplis ng ligaw na bala, mga tinuklap
      na kalyo’t kulugo. Iyan ang mga pinalatandaan natin
      sa ating mga kapangahasan at karuwagan sa digmaang ito
      Ito ang aking balat noong aking pagkabata, sa pagitan ng dibdib,
      parang isang bansang nalunod na nang tuluyan sa mapa.
      Paano kung ito na mismong ating balat ang ating kaluluwa?
      Paano kung ito na mismo ang ating Lalim,
      ang ating Babaw, ang mga labas-masok
      sa ating sarili sa loob ng silid ng ating mga katawan?
      Paano kung ito na ang ating Kaloob-looban?
      Paano mo kaya ako hahawakan?

An apology

In my strength, I have been weak; and in my silence, I have been deafening. I am a creature of sentimentality and I remember, perhaps, too much, and let go of too little. Simply, I don't know when to stop or serenely accept.

I'm sorry that I must write what I cannot utter and that you must be the object of my hankerings.

Unbelievable

How I have come to love someone thoroughly even without the bonus of saccharine promises. Nor the gift of a return. You are not meant for unfulfilled love; on the contrary, my love, I am.

The only authentic ending

Margaret Atwood had this to say about endings:

You'll have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality. The only authentic ending is this: You die. I die. We all die.

So much for endings but one such ending struck a chord in me recently that the waterworks could not be helped. This is the authentic kind of ending: Death. Now I don't personally know the deceased, but the account of her death and what happened surrounding her death is something I felt I needed to write about as I was wholly moved by it.

We all know we are to die at some point. Perhaps, it is with this understanding that we rush about in life, working to succeed, trying to make something out of our existence. Something of meaning, something that will allow us to pass peacefully in eternal slumber. While we know death to be eventual, it does come like a thief in the night. Unexpected. Mind-blowing. And this was how it was for her.

She complained of back pains but thought little of it. Life has a way of getting in the way of things, even trips to the doctor. The pain was intermittent at varying degrees. At times a dull throb, sometimes striking, but always present. Through trips back to Cebu and another to Palawan. Through conversations with her co-workers about her son's upcoming wedding, two years in the making. Through the many times she played with her grandson. Through family dinners. The pain had become part of her daily existence and still, she charged it to age. When she did find herself in the doctor's office, she was unprepared for the results: She had breast cancer and it had metastasized to her spine.

Her husband remained positive all throughout. His text messages to family read like this:

"Her liver had failed completely. But this is not the end. She looks well and the prognosis seems promising. Let's continue to pray for her recovery."

Do me a favor and run a search on Google regarding liver failures. What you will find is that upon liver failure, death is imminent only in a matter of days.

Her dying was a sight to behold. She could no longer close her eyes and her breathing was shallow. It was as if she was taking in all of the last moments of her life surrounded by family. Words were said and the tears were overflowing. Especially for her. The tears flowed along with her laborious breathing.

From her, who would have been her future daughter-in-law:

I know things were not always good between us. We fought a lot but I am here now and I promise to take care of your family.

It was over as soon at it begun. Her future daughter-in-law took it upon herself to take off all the jewelry and the fancy trappings that she so loved in preparation for what was to come. And since her body was bloated, the daughter-in-law had difficulty removing her wedding ring.

At this point, her husband took over saying that as he had put that ring there, it was just proper that he take it off.

And as he did so, he started reciting his marital vows.

In the haze of my tears, I saw the stretch in between. The whole plot of their life together, encapsulated in those vows. The things, mundane and vital, to their life as husband and wife. As mother and father. The one thing after another, a what and a what and a what.

The how and the why.

True connoisseurs savor the in-between since it's the hardest to do anything with. Trapped in an in-between, what do you do? Looking back is as painful as looking forward to the possibility of a non-future. So we stay strapped to the present, carrying our baggage, trying not to give in to that chip on our shoulders, and if we are lucky, sleeping off our sorrows.

The in-between defines who we are, how we are and what we will be. And in this special place, we can only hope and wish and perhaps pray to our gods to heed our deepest, secret desires.

After all, nothing's settled, until everything's settled.

Panalangin

Habang paulit-ulit kong binabalikan ang kahapon, may nabubuong takot sa aking dibdib. Hindi kasi malayong mangyaring makalimutan mo ko; samantalang ako itong si gaga, nabubuhay sa mga alaala.

Hindi ko man maaninag ang mukha mo o marinig ang mga tawa mo sa mga oras na ito, masaya ako. Dahil kahit pano, kahit sa alaala, minsan nahawakan kita. Na minsan dumampi ang mga labi natin dala ang matatamis at nakakahumaling na mga halik. Na minsan pinagsaluhan natin ang isa't isa.

Sadyang kay bilis ng mga pangyayari. 


Sa ilang oras lang naganap ang mga hindi inaasahan at hinawakan natin sila kahit panandalian lamang. Hindi natin maitatangging nangyari ang mga pangyayaring ito at ninamnam natin ang kakarampot na sayang dulot ng mga ito.

Ang kaibahan: Tangan ko ang mga alaala. Patuloy ko silang hinahawakan.

Inaamin kong umasa ako kahit hindi nararapat. Higit pa sa umasa, naniwala din akong marahil pagpalain ako ng tadhana at may mabuong matamis na pagtatangka sa pagitan nating dalawa.

Sa pagtatangkang maibalik ka, aagos ang mga madepektong talinghaga at gabi-gabi ipipinta ko sa langit ang panalanging mahal na talaga kita.

Putangina, mahal na mahal. 

Hush

Hush, my heart, you cannot, will not, won't be... heard.

Your voice is a mere whisper drowning in the wind. 

You will not go far. You will not prevail. 

Be still, my heart, you cannot fly. 

Your wings are weak, they will not last the flight. 

You are unwelcome. 

Haven't you tried and failed?

Take heed, my heart, and hush, keep still, be silent. 

And wait.

Silent sorrows

The suitcase I brought with me still sits in the hallway. Forlornly, I might add. It throws whispers my way, desperate murmurs to put it back in its rightful place in the cupboard above the fridge. The fridge is pathetic in its emptiness. In intentional avoidance, I haven't gone to the grocery. Lately, it seems, when I find myself in one, I can think of nothing to buy but wine and beer, especially that wine. The bottle of wine, emptied of its sweet, tangy contents is nestled in a curio so special, it reminds me of the time I tried but desperately failed.

The few and far in between I've tried, I carry them like scars, beautiful sorrows that lightly linger in the daylight, make themselves furiously felt at night. 

Be that as it may

I never had your eloquence for metaphors

Nor your penchant for similes

I spoke in climaxes envious of your restraint

I came on too strong, firm and proud

A little too happy, a little too hopeful

A little too full of maybes and what ifs and could be

But my love

You never really heard me, felt me, saw me

I am a memory, a quotation living in dreams and whiffs of coffee

Be that as it may

I must exist -- if only to dwell in the shadows

If only to be seen once in a drunken moonbeam