whois

I can see myself standing in the distance. But that horizon just doesn't get nearer.

Maybe that girl, that woman, that person that I wanted to be--that I want to be--does exist somewhere. Looping in eternal return, still smiling with a heart filled with dreams and a fanciful understanding of how the world works. Living with the virginal passion of one who doesn't possess the crushing knowledge of defeat.

Am I looking at who I could still be? Am I mourning over who I was?

it's been a shitty day

Orihinal na Pagkakasala

My only creative lit in Filipino

"Shit", pabulong na pahayag ni Angelita. Parang ulan kung dumapo ang mga daliri sa keyboard tapos madiin at puno ng ngit-ngit na binugbog ang RETURN.

"Asan ang files ko?" Patuloy ang pagmumura. Gusto na niyang ihagis ang walang silbing monitor na mukhang ayaw palitawin ang pilit niyang hinahanap.

"Lisa!", hiyaw niya, "Hindi ko mahanap ang files ko, damnit!"

Isang sekretariya ang nagsusumagsag na pumasok sa loob ng opisina at humalili kay Angelita sa harap ng monitor.

Lumabas si Angelita na umaapooy ang bibig at dumiretso siya sa kape. Yamut na yamut siya dahil sa dami ng dapat niyang gawin, hindi niya kailangan ang pagluko ng pesteng computer.

"Angge." Nagulat si Angelita sa tinig ng lalake.

"Ruben! Ano ba? Hindi kita nakita," na-iiritang tugon niya.

"Sorry--hindi ko sadyang manggulat." Sabay umalis ang Ruben.

Tahimik si Angelita na naiwan sa mesa ng mga baso't kape, sa gitna ng gulo ng opisina. Napansin niyang nanginginig nang bahagya ang baso sa loob ng mga kamay niya.

--

"Honey! I'm home!", dating gawi, magiliw na pagbati ni Angelita. Narinig niya ang matitinis na tinig ng mga bata, sina Ana at Lea. Ritwal na nila 'yon--pag-uwi ng ina, nag-uunahan ang magkapatid na salubungin siya.

"Ma! Mommy!", tili ng nagtatakbuhang mga bata. Halos matumba na si Angelita sa pagtalon at pagyakap ng dalawa.

"Akong nauna", pakantang sabi ni Lea pagkahalik sa ina.

"Okay lang!", sagot naman ng isa. "Ako naman ang nauna kahapon, eh. Di ba Mommy? Hmm?" Halik. "Mommymommymommy?" Lambing pa.

"Kayong dalawa, oo." Pinaghiwalay ni Angelita ang dalawang nagsimulang magtulakan.

"Pa 'Honey, I'm home, honey I'm home' ka pa. Ano tayo, sitcom?", pagbiro ng kabiyak ng kanyang puso, si Marco. Nilapitan siya nito, hinalikan at niyapus-yapos ang buhok.

"Loko. Hindi mo 'yan linya. Sasabihin mo dapat yung kung gaano mo ako ka-miss." May pait ang mga salita na hindi nabatid ni Marco.

"Kanina ka pa?" tanong ni Angelita.

"Mga... kalahating oras pa lang. Na-trapik ka ba?"

"Mm hmm. Bumper to bumper sa taft at España. Babagsak na nga ang katawan ko, eh."

"O, ako na ang magluluto. Kanina pa naman ako pa-relaks relaks." Hinalikan niya muli sa pisngi si Angelita at tumungo sa kusina.

"Teka, teka. Ikaw kahapon, di ba? Ako ngayon, ano?" angal ni misis.

"Sus! Magbihis ka na nga, ha. Mukha kang natalo sa sabunutan", huling hirit ni mister bago lulunin nang tuluyan ng kusina.

Si Angelita ay umakyat sa master's bedroom upang mag-ayos ng sarili at sinundan naman ng dalawang nagkukumpitensya para sa pansin. Kalahating tainga lang ang nakikinig sa pagkukuwento nila pagka't malalim at malayo ang kanyang isip. Wala namang napansing kakaiba ang mga bata.

--

"Marco!"

"Anooo?" Galing sa taas ng bahay ang boses.

"Ayaw gumana ng CD player!"

"Ha?" Bumaba sa sala ang lalaki at nakitang kinakalikot ng asawa ang stereo. "Kapapatugtog ko lang niyan kanina, ah."

"Eh, ayaw tumugtog 'tong Mozart. Ang sarap ihagis!"

"Cool ka lang, Angge. 'To naman, ang high blood," natatawa na sa kanya si Marco. Nakikalikot na siya sa stereo. "Kahapon naman, nasira mo ang microwave. Tapos, noong makalawa, yung aircon. Ano bang nangyayari sa 'yo?"

"'Wag ka nang dumada, ayusin mo na lang 'yan, puwede?" Nainis si Angelita na pinagtawanan siya.

"Sungit", maamong paglambing ni Marco. Nilapitan niya at niyakap, pero kumalas naman si Angelita sa nakapulupot na mga bisig.

"Wala ako sa mood pakipaglambutsingan." Nakakagimbal ng tahimik na boses ni Angelita.

Biglang nahawa si Marco sa pagiging seryoso ng asawa.

"Bakit, Angge?"

Tumalikod at huminga ng malalim, pinikit ang mata, naghanap ng sagot.

"Ang daming problema sa trabaho."

Minasahe ni Marco ang balikat ni Angelita hanggang lumambot ang pagtayo niya. "Kawawa naman ang career woman ko." Hinagkan siya sa tuktok ng ulo.

"Career woman mo?" May nahagilap na giliw si Angelita sa loob ng sarili. "Ang kapal mo! Kailan ba ako ari-arian?" Humarap siya kay Marco at sumikat ang ngiti.

"Ayan, masaya ka na, ha?" Marahang tumawa si Marco at nangurot ng pisngi. "Isama mo na sa listahan ng mga ipapaayos nating yang CD player. At 'wag ka munuang maghahawak ng gamit, ha? Nakakahalata na ako sa jinx mo. Baka maski ang mga haligi ng bahay ay magkanda-kalas-kalas sa hawak mo."

"Heh!" Wala nang kasamang iritasyon ang katarayan ni Angelita. Subali't sa kalaliman na ng gabi, nang si Marco'y mahimbing na ang paghimlay sa kanyang tabi, muling lumipad ang isip niya at muli siyang nangamba.

Saan dumapo ang isipan ni Angelita? Saan tumungo at saan nauwi?

Sa isang araw noong nakaraang buwan. Sa isang kuwarto sa third floor ng isang apartelle sa May nila. Kasama si Ruben.

Hindi niya pinigilang ang nangyari. Hindi niya nais ipigil.

Nguni't mahal niya si Marco. Asawa niya si Marco.

Bago siya nakatulog, sinabi niya sa kanyang sarili na mahal nga niya si Marco. Iba naman ang pagmamahal sa pagnanasa.

--

Pinatay ni Angelita ang gripo, tumigil ang maligamgam na haplos ng tubig. Nagtuyo siya ng katawan at ibinalot ang tuwalya sa sarili.

"Diyos ko po, patawarin ninyo ako," aniya. Humarap siya sa salamin. Pinahid niya ng kamay ang kaputiang parang sumabog na ulap. Nanginginig ang kamay niyang nakalapat sa salamin.

Pinagmamasdan niya ang kanyang sarili. Tatlong-pu't dalawang taon na siya nguni't nakukubli ito ng taglay niyang ganda. Ang makinis pang balat ay kayumangging hinagkan ng araw. Makapal, tuwid at malambot ang buhok niyang abot lang sa panga--"powercut" sabi ni Roy sa Eve's Salon. Sa mata lang naka-ukit ang bakas ng panahon. Maging sa katawan niya, bagama't hindi na hugis-dalaga, hindi malupit ang pagluwal ng dalawang sanggol.

Isang masuring pagmasid ang ginawa niya sa traydor niyang katawan na nagtaksil sa asawa niyang mahal, sa mga anak niya at maging sa sariling paniwala't pagpapahalaga.

Ipinikit niya ang kanyang mga mata at pinahintulutang tumulo ang luhang isang buwan niyang inipon.

Naramdaman na niya ang pagkamuhi at pandidiri na kanyang kinimkim, ibinaon sa pinakamalalim na bahagi ng puso niya.

Bakit ngayon niya pinakawalan ang libog niya? Bakit ngayon, kung kailan pa kapiling na ng pamilya si Marco na dalawang taong nadestino sa ibang bansa.

Hibang ka, Maria Angelita, sinabi niya sa sarili. Gaga. Simula pa lamang ng pagpasok niya sa Vicente, Lopez and Associates, dalawang taon pa lang ang panganay niya, nararamdaman na niya ang hila sa kanya ni Ruben. Pero hindi siya makapaniwalang may attraction siya sa lalaking hindi si Marco. Pinigilan niya. "Strictly professional" lang sila.

Kamakailan, nagkataon na hindi dumating ang klienteng dapat nilang kasama na maghapunan sa isang hotel. Naiwan silang dalawa. Mahabang kuwento. Sabihin nating "one thing led to another" at nalaman na lang ni Angelita'y dumadalas ang mga pagkakataong ganoon. At sabik niyang hinihintay na mangyari muli.

"Mahal kita", mahinang pahayag ni Ruben minsan. "Mahal kita".

Gusto sanang magsalita ni Angelita noon subali't makasisira ng mood. Gusto sana niyang sabihing: Hinde, Ruben. Iba ang pagmamahal sa pagnanasa.

--

Shit, ano ba 'to? Tanong ni Angelita sa sarili. Laruan lang ng bata, ang hirap hirap ibuo. Ito kasing si Marco, abala sa kung anong pag-ayos na naman ng appliance. Diyos ko at libu-libo na ang nagagastos nila sa pagpapagawa ng mga nasisira niya. Kahit ang mga bata, nagtataka sa pagiging "walking disaster area" ng kanilang ina.

Mahina pa naman ang loob niyang magkukukutingting ng mga bagay dahil, sa di mapaliwanag na katangahan, biglang nag-usok at (pakiramdam niya) muntk na sumabong ang answering machine (na 110 volts) na sinaksa niya sa 220 na outlet. Kung sabagay, ito namang inaayos niyang dollhouse ni Lea ay walang kuryente o kahit anong mapanganib na bagay.

Maya-maya't mainit nang husto ang ulo niya pagka't tatlong oras na, tang ina, at hindi pa rin magawa-gawa 'tong lintek na dollhouse.

Ano ba't hindi niya ma-kontrol ang panginginig ng mga kamay niya; maski sa mata'y parang may tumitibok na pagkalakas-lakas.

Napahiyaw sa gulat at sakit si Angelita. Napukpok niya nang malakas ng martilyo ang daliri.

Napuno na siya, nagwala. Hinagis niya ang martilyo at sumabog ang salamin ng bintana. Lahat ng mahawaka'y pinupunit, winawasak. Kung hindi masira, iniitsa.

Naririnig niya ang sarili niyang mga iyak at sigaw. Sumasakit na ang lalamunan niya. Humapdi ang mga mata--napupuwing siya ng kung ano.

May naramdaman siyang mahigpit na pagyakap sa kanya. Nakita niyang nagdurugo at sugatan ang kanyang mga kamay. Nanginig siya nang nanginig.

--

Nagbukas ang mga mata ni Angelita sa kadiliman. Nakabukas nang bahagya ang pinto at lululusot ang kaunting liwanag galing sa labas. Nakakarinig siya ng nag-uusap sa labas.

"Marco? Marco!", tawag niya.

Pinagmasdan niya ang pagbukas ng pinto, pagpasok ng liwanag, pagkilos ng isang anino--hanggang nasa harap na niya si Marco.

"Angge?" Nagtatanong ang mga mata, nag-aalala.

Naalaala ni Angelita ang sarili niyang repleksyon sa salamin. Nakikita niya muli ang pag-uusig sa kanya ng sarili niyang mga mata, pagbibintang ng sarili niyang anyo.

"Angge?"

Hindi na niya maramdaman ang gimbal na kay tagal nang nakalingkis sa puso niya. Namatay na ba ito o naghihintay lamang na magising at magpakawil-kawil muli sa buhay niya? Natanong niya tuloy sa sarili kung sino ba ang may kasalanan at pinalayas ang tao sa Eden. Si Eba nga ba? O si Adan, na nagkukulang bilang kasama ni Ebang nagaasam ng higit pa?

"Angge? Magsalita ka--", biniyak ng matinding damdamin ang boses ng kanyang asawa.

Nagpasiya si Angelita. Huminga nang malalim. Nagsalita.

Diliman, 1995

Comfort

Spent three weeks offline in Manila. Found a lot of old writing from when I was in high school and college.

"I'm... I'm leaving," she said, the words forming with difficulty. "I'm going home to mother--until I can come home to you." She picked up her back and went to the open door.

She stopped and turned.

"I love you," she said. And left.

He watched her through the window, impassive. He watched the sunlight turn her hair from brown to gold, watched it paint the leaves and the petals of the flowerbed she had planted. He squinted at the blue of the sky and the wisps of clouds that laced lightly through it. He looked again to where she was walking but she was gone. He drew in his breath and turned away. He lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. He had a hell of a headache.

He stopped going out of the house. He stopped answering the door. He subsisted on canned and dried food, rice and the cooking skills he learned during the guerrilla war against the occupiers. He lay down all day, asleep, and stayed awake all night, prowling around the house. During these hours, he would fix anything that needed fixing. He repaired the damage the bombings made on the roof.

Once, when working on the shingles, he hit his finger with the hammer. Swearing loudly at earth-dwelling demons, h e started to work but hit his finger again. He erupted.

Hammering and bellowing, he made a hole in the thin wall, pounding at first, then tearing at it with his hands at last--he hurled the cursed hammer at a nearby window, shattering the glass--he tore through the house, destroying what he could, destroying. He picked up her picture, framed for her last birthday, and smashed it with his fists. He looked up into her dressing mirror and stopped.

He saw that he was weeping.

...

"Bert! Stop!"

Her voice pealed like a clear bell in her head as he washed the dishes. "I'm going to shoot into the moon!" She had laughed. He laughed too, then, but went on pushing the swing. "Shoot to the moon!" he echoed.

Carefully, he rinsed the dish of its soap. He had to be careful. For some reason, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking. That was going on for days. "Lucing said that you and she were sweethearts", she had pouted, looking so young and fresh on the green grass.

He picked up another dish. "Lucing is crazy, plain crazy", he had reassured her. They were in Laguna then, at a class picnic. The shouts of the boys busy finding field frogs for lunch could be heard above the wind.

He soaped the dish slowly. "Then you're not?" she asked with studied innocence. "No," he said, swinging her around, gazing intently into her face.

Another image crept traitorously into his mind. The moon was high and the breeze cool. The whispers of the leaves were hushed and fireflies danced around them. "I love you, Bert," she had said. "I love you, my husband."

He blinked and saw that he had dropped a dish. His hands were still shaking.

...

"Bert! Bert!"

A shrill voice woke him; a hand that felt like a claw shook him roughly. Bert's limbs were heavy with sleep and it was hard to lift his eyelids.

He swore inwardly. It was his mother-in-law. He closed his eyes.

"Aling Flor," he rumbled, "go home.

"Bert! Come with me. Por Dios, por Santo, Marie is hardly eating anymore. She is getting thinner and weaker, Bert!" The small woman was frantically trying to get him to move, her hands flying about nervously. "Bert," she pleaded, tears streaming, "death will come for my child.

"Please. Talk to her."

Bert said nothing.

"She needs your love, now! Bert!" she wailed, collapsing on her knees in defeat. "Her condition is grave. She'll die--have you forgotten that she is with child?"

Bert's anger suddenly came to life.

"Devil's child!" He spat. "Child of a whore! It will be born with hooves and a tail, surely!"

He watched the old woman anxiously make the sign of the cross and watched sacred, holy words pass her lips. He wanted to bash her head in. He wanted to bash his own head in.

"How can I forget that she is with child?" He asked her this tightly and left her crying, slumped on the floor. He stamped up the stairs to escape, his mind in chaos. He didin't know what to do. Breathing was hard labor. What was he going to do?

The old hag chased him up the stairs, her voice rising. "What do you want to do, ha? Let her die? After all she has been through?"

He ignored her.

"Listen! Will you leave her to die?"

"Find the bastard's father. Tell him to save the whore." He entered his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. She followed and grappled with him.

She slapped him, hard. It jarred him for a moment.

"Listen." Her voice was heavy with intensity, almost a low growl. "My daughter is no whore." She slapped him again. And again. "Understand that first."

Dumbfounded, numb with the pain, he sat on his bed and stared at her stupidly. If she wasn't a whore, the japanese Captain's pampered whore, then what was she?

"Things were quiet in Laguna then. You were gone and Marie stayed with us. We had no problems. There was plenty of food." The mother's eyes glazed as if the images were burned on their surfaces. Her voice didn't seem to be her own.

"Then one day the trucks came into the schoolyards and the marketplace. And the children clinging to their mothers were kicked away by the soldiers, by those beasts!, as she.. they---the young women were forced into the trucks."

She turned from him and seemed to speak from farther and farther away. "I could see them from the window. I didn't know what was going on and I stared too long. I was just standing there." He noticed that her tears were drying. "I got a glimpse of her as they pushed her in. Her face was bleeding... I think I saw it drip onto the red circle on his uniform. I thought, where did it go, that drop blood? It just became part of the circle, blood against the white. I though... how much blood did it take to make that red sun?" He saw her move farther away, faster, dizzyingly fast. She got smaller until she became a dot, until he couldn't see her anymore.


Diliman, 1994