SHE

Hi blog. It's been long. How are you? I'm sad to see that you were not updated for so long. What happened? Well, I won't mind if you cannot answer. The girl behind the words you so proudly let anyone who could find you read cannot even answer that at this moment either. She'd been through a lot during the last months that she was not in touch with you. She had been fighting her battles alone for so long and deliberately ignored you because she didn't know how to talk to you, what to tell you, or how to let things out. She's been keeping all of it in. She reckoned everything will go well for her. She refused to talk to anyone apart from the few she chose to keep inside the walls she built around her.

Yes. Walls. Tall, sturdy walls which had kept everyone -apart from the few she chose to stay inside- out.

Don't tell her I told you alright? But I saw her burst out and break down a couple of times. Her red pillow in her room smells like the sea already, I bet she had cried on it a lot of times.

I saw her running around the campus, too... She tried to walk with her head down, trying to hide her face with her thick black hair. But of course, I know her too well... I know that the way she walks depends on how she feels, and I just know that she only walks head down and face hidden by her hair when she can't stop from crying. I saw her when she went out of that shop down town too, she looked like she was not sure where to go. She was so sad. I followed her, she went past the shops she used to go to when she's bored.  I think she was thinking of going to Shoe Mart but though I wondered why she went the other way, I didn't dare ask nor go near her. She looked so fragile that time, too vulnerable. I kept on walking a few feet behind her. If her thoughts were not elsewhere, she could have seen me. I tailed behind her until I found her in the compound of the Cathedral.

She kept on walking, I was tired following her but I didn't have the heart to leave her... I wanted to be there just in case she'd break down again. She seemed to be searching for someone. I saw her talk to a middle aged man, I tried to eavesdrop. Well, she was actually searching for a priest... That was just so her. She always seeks for spiritual counsel. That's just one of the things she does when she's down. I hid when she turned towards my direction, I thought she saw me but, strangely enough, she walked past me and sat in the first pew in front of the altar and attended the mass. I sat a few pews behind, all the time during the mass, I was just staring at her... Her face, though lonely, was blank. I caught her wiping tears away. Under the golden light inside the decades old cathedral, her face was almost the color of the dying sun.

Just after the mass, I saw her stood up. She walked out, I saw her gaze at the sky, I  saw her gave the beggars outside the church a look of compassion. I smiled when she did that. I just know the kind of heart she has, the kind that would never run out of compassion for the people who need help and passion for helping them at the same time.

She kept walking and so did I. She rode the jeepney home, I rode with her too. I wanted to make sure she'd be home safe. She was so lonely, when she asked the passenger beside her to pass her fare along to the driver, there was sorrow in her voice.

She was trying to hide her face again, she was starting to cry, again... When she finally got off the ride, I went down too and walked just behind her. She entered their gate. I saw her stood still just outside their balcony, obviously mesmerized by the Christmas lights her cousin put up earlier that afternoon. I tried to go nearer, just so I could see her face.

I was right, she hadn't stopped from crying. Her eyes shone so bright, as if trying to mirror the dazzle of the lights that had caused those tears to stream down her face in a beautiful cascade.

But oddly enough, when I gazed into her watery eyes, I saw not only sorrow but a tinge of joy. Not just a glimpse of her weakness but a little spark of strength.

And that was the only instant I felt that I, after a couple of hours of following her, am free to go home. *

A Lamentation.

I sat next to him during the interview. At that time I wondered what thoughts were playing in his mind. I watched him jiggled his toes, and glanced at his sleeves almost every minute. By the way he dressed up; tight fitted, feminine colored jeans and striped polo with pulled up sleeves- I didn't doubt he was a she. He was second to the last to be interviewed, I was the last. For a moment I wondered if we'd both get hired. I was thinking that if we'd both be working in the same company, then I'd love to make him my friend.

Moments passed and he stood up, with a grace that not even I could display, he walked towards the interview room.

38 hours after, I saw both of us seated in another room again. It was the first night of training, it was a time to make new friends. I was the youngest in the group, he was the jolliest. I still recall those punchlines well thrown, those giggles that only PARIS could have produced. He was the joy of the group, the healthy caffeine that helped all of us stay awake when sleepiness knocks in. He walked at the calling floor like as if he owned the company. Every time I looked at him, I saw no trace of sadness nor frustration in his face. He always radiated joy wherever he goes and whomever he is with. I thought he would live longer, and yet I thought wrong.

When I saw an unregistered number calling me, excitement overwhelmed me. And when I finally found out who the caller was, the excitement just vanished as the the immense sense of loss caused me to freeze where I was seated. Paris was dead. Jolly Paris, the guy who made things feel lighter in his presence. The Paris who walked while dancing, the Paris whose usual sentiments were enough to make you laugh... dead?

20 stabbed wounds, dumped body found in a river, phone and money all gone. What do you think would be the motive?

Thieves. They could have taken everything, everything but life.

It was such a barbaric thing to end a joyful soul's life. And if we even think about it, nobody has the right to take a life. Most especially someone else's life. My heart pounded agonizingly at the thought of his death. How could it be, that someone like him had exited the earth in such a painful way. And how could a fellow human do what they did to him. Should I even call them human when what they did is something that is so inhuman?

I believe in God, I never doubted His Presence. And yet I just can't help but ask why something so bad had to happen to someone I know.

To Paris, to the would have been sister I failed to reach out to, may you rest in peace...

Using E- Prime Language

Like a flower left alone to stand under the pouring of the rain, I refused to surrender to life’s adversities and chose to stay rooted firmly to the ground despite the raging storm.

Having my parents separated even before I composed my first paragraph in first grade, I’ve learned at an early age that life won’t always be merry and  though fairytales are printed in books- ‘happily ever after’- however, stays in books.

Mom gave me Coleen Edrea Francisco Ematong for a name. I came into this imperfect world on the afternoon of August 18, 1992.

The first day my parents considered each other not as husband nor wife and not even as friends, mom took me away from the man who sired me. She sent me to her family’s home and I spent about two years with only an ailing grandmother and a nanny to look over me. I lived with cousins who considered me more of an outsider than family, aunts and uncles who loved making me feel like an outcast in their midst. I can never blame them though; I didn’t really belong in their bloodline. Mom’s biological uncle took her after her real father died. That uncle is the father mom came to know and the woman he married became her mother whom I also considered to be my grandmother.

I felt lonely and most of the time, alone. I longed for my mama and papa, at that time they were both in Dubai, working in different companies and refusing to see even each other’s silhouette. I wished of being with my father’s family, the only family I’ve ever been home at. When Mom finally came home, I thought everything’s going to be fine again. But to my dismay, matters went from bad to worse.

Mom dated men, I had another sister from one of them. I should have felt happy still but I had all the reasons not to. Mom inherited a small business from her parents but our finances to sustain the status of the business dwindled due to her being irresponsible…. a lot of things happened. They happened, and though I feel ashamed of having to reveal them- for some reasons, I feel glad they had transpired in my life. After a couple years, I had a car accident which had caused me a fractured clavicle and also made my father come home from Dubai. Papa then brought me back to Doña Juliana where I reside up to this day.

Well, they say I have a life and yes, I have struggled to live it well. I tried to achieve something. I studied when needed and refused to open my notes too whenever my mind just want to wander somewhere else. I wrote a lot, I made all the hurt I’ve had in the past as my ink and I must say- I rarely run out of an equipment to write.

I love my family, I’d do everything for them. I love my friends, I’d die for them. I love myself, I dream a lot and above all… I love God, He gives me a reason to still be here despite anything and everything that comes my way.

I cry a lot, I laugh so much, and I feel weak when I’m in love. I made my way through the most difficult points in my life always almost giving up but every time I think of quitting, I think of those people who love and believe in me then I start to believe in myself again.

I’ve come to realized that the world has no responsibility to protect any of us from getting hurt. And so I taught myself to always be enduring, no matter how severe the wounds Life would cause me.

Daddy Lord made me a fighter, and never a quitter.

Beyond our Despair

About a year ago, I went to The Spectrum Office and asked for a copy of the application form since I wanted to write for the Publication. I came by and knocked at the office's door, a rugged looking guy welcomed me and gave me what I came for. His aura was something I wanted to have as my own. Despite his rugged, rebellious appearance, he exuded authority and liberalism.

I got a glimpse of the office's interior, it wasn't the kind of office where everything was neat and organized. It was cold in there but it wasn't gloomy. If one should take a look at how it is inside, that person would most probably say that the office is a home of extremely busy people. I told myself, "I want to be in here,".

Weeks after, I took the test. It was.... dreadful.

I always thought that I could write, my teachers in High School also told me that I had a knack at it but while I was taking the test, I came into a conclusion that they were totally wrong to feed me with so much encouragement. Everything I knew in writing seemed to have drifted away, even my vocabulary ran out of words for me to use.

What I only seemed to have had in mind at that time was absolute nothing.

When I went out of the room where the applicants took the test, I didn't think that I'd pass but, I did. I was called for an interview and though I was sure that the editors were never impressed with the way I answered the questions they've thrown at me, I ended up getting hired.

I know I did apply as a feature writer and though they didn't hire me for the position I applied for, I was more than happy to have seen my name under the list of the Newspaper Writers hired by The Spectrum's Editorial Board that Monday following my interview.

The first task given to me was to write three news articles and one environmental story and submit them in a span of three days. I didn't have any background in writing a news story and so the editors had to scrub me a couple of times until I finally nailed them (if I even did nail them :] ).

I remember having to get out of the office several times just to sob and wipe the tears away because I felt so pressured and it seemed for a lot of times that I was about to lose my heartbeat at the thought of getting terminated.

My life went that way for several months, but the idea of quitting never crossed my mind.

I let my editors teach me, I listened to what they had to say, believed in them, dreamed and prayed that one day, I'd be better.

I was so contented at being a newspaper writer, I must say...

I fell in love with news writing.

When the biggest wave came to the existence of the Publication and swept our resources out in the middle of the Academic Year, one by one, the people I considered as the standing pillars of the organization tailed off. I cried myself into sleep every night wondering who would quit the next day. My dream of becoming better at writing lost its shimmer gradually. It may sound selfish but the first thing I worried about was, "Who would teach me?"

I went to the office almost every time I don't have class hoping that I'd hear some good news but there was just none.

For months, I went in and out of the office feeling helpless and a lot of times... Hopeless.

I was just grateful for those who did not leave until the end, for those who continued helping the Publication even after they were gone.

My fear of being terminated alleviated somehow. The fear was replaced with the urge to continue the struggle initiated by the editors I have always looked up to. I made it my task to become a better writer not only for myself but for the people I have considered as my brothers and sisters in the ministry that I have committed myself into, the Ministry of Journalism.

Gone were those days when I feared to hear of another editor leaving his/her post, gone were those nights when I felt bad towards those who left.

I forced myself to cease feeling helpless and to quit comparing myself to a plant who lost the gardener who should nurture it.

Maybe there is a reason why they had to go, and it's not like it was their wish to go anyway. There's such thing in life which we call CIRCUMSTANCE that leads all of us to various points in life.

Perhaps, the reason why the gardeners had to leave is for us to see how firmly we are rooted to the ground where they had planted us.

Soon, we'll grow just as sturdy as how the Publication has been for the past 53 years.
 


*********************************************************************************


For everything, I thank everyone...

1st of June, 2010

I still find myself in most part of the day feeling nothing.

I want to write how I feel so I could take them out of me and get rid of them. I'm trying so hard to press the letters of the keyboard to make a word, I'm trying to think of words so I could compose a sentence, I'm trying to think of what to write, I'm trying... and it's just so hard.

I am not in touch with my emotions. All I know is that I am not okay.

I want to be okay. But,



I just am not. :[

Random, True, Fiction, Real, Love, Nothing.

My name is Gia and I have something to reveal.


It was late of January, I went to our University Publication office for a meeting without having my breakfast. I was apprehensive that I might be late since I woke up way past eight in the morning and the said meeting was scheduled at nine.You see, I was in my teenage years and I just can't seem to stop reading  the vampire novel that I have been going over the previous night so I ended up sleeping in the wee hours and waking up so late for the meeting.

I swiftly went to the bath, took a shower, dressed up, raced down the stairs, out of our door, hopped into a jeep and ran through the school gate, and into our publication office. It was raining and it was lucky that I got the chance to gaze out of the window and see the droplets of rain tapping my window glass while I was brushing my hair and so I remembered to bring my coat which did a really good job at keeping my inner clothes dry.

As I had expected, I was late. I thought for one moment that I'll be terminated from my newspaper writer position and I swear for one moment it felt like I was about to lose everything. It turned out that our Editor-in-chief whom I fondly called the 'Mighty Cat' was in a good mood and the idea of having me terminated was so far from his mind. I reckoned there was a more significant agenda that was going on in his head.

About half an hour passed and we're still not done with the meeting, I could hear my tummy's disgruntled rumbling and yet there was nothing that I could do. I was too shy to go out with the meeting still going on when I actually came in late. Despite my desperate need to eat, I waited.

About half an hour more and we had the meeting adjourned. As quick as The Flash, I stood and announced that I will be going to the cafeteria to grab something to feed myself with. I was glad that a fellow writer, Zenny, told me that she wants to eat too and so off we went. My eyes won't usually focus on the path that I am going to but would often wander elsewhere. However,  at that time, my eyes and my stomach seemed to have connived since the only thing I could ever see is the pale light coming from the Accountancy cafe.

I was really....

starving.

Zenny and I walked abreast and were both eager to finally fill our stomachs when a voice coming from somewhere called out Zenny's name.

My eyes went through every corner until I saw a pair of friendly eyes smiling at..... well, Zenny and then at me.

I supposed it was Zenny's friend.

They talked of course and though I wasn't exactly eaves dropping, I figured they're in the same class. I am usually not that shy but I just felt that the guy exuded a much friendlier aura and so I thought it was best I let him reach out. They chatted for a little while and though I didn't really have any special feelings towards Zenny's friend whom I later found out was named Ethan, I just can't make myself look at him straight to the eyes. Instead, I looked at his ID and soon realized the reason why I find him so vaguely familiar- Santiago. Ethan Santiago, the one and only older brother of my Senior High classmate Epi Santiago.

Without even thinking twice, I blurted out, "how are you related to Epi Santiago?"


"Oh, he's my brother! Why?" Ethan said.

"Classmate, he's my classmate back in my Senior year."

"Really? Cool!", he responded.

I looked at him, and looked at him some more. I didn't know why but, there was something in him which had drawn me close- close to falling.

Zenny bid him goodbye and so did I, despite my serious want to stay and talk some more. I never admitted to myself until now that at that time, I felt something really unusual towards that guy whose smile caught me....


I must say,



unwillingly.

Not Bribed? Make me believe.

I rarely watch TV these days due to the fact that I sleep most of the time when I'm home.

However when I woke up one evening and found that no one was watching our huge rectangle at home, I thought of turning it on and find out what's been happening in the world while waiting for my grandma make me dinner. Apart from some new commercials of Manny Villar, usual cat fights among celebrities, Confession's of a Shopaholic being shown in STARMOVIES, MTV not anymore shown in Channel 44, there seemed nothing more interesting for my eyes to see neither for my ears to hear.

I groped for the remote underneath the pillows and pressed the remote control keys to ABS-CBN and catched up with some news.

From such a calm disposition, my blood boiled to 100 degrees upon hearing that the DOJ dropped the multiple murder cases against the Ampatuans.

I was wearing nothing but my robe and yet I didn't care if my skin was almost visible because of how restless I became all of a sudden.

Agra was trying to deny that he was bribed but who would believe such a lie?

Arroyo's ever pretentious face was flashed in the screen and pushed me more.

I turned the TV off and went to eat my dinner.... ANGRILY.

I thought of those families seeking for justice which is just so difficult to attain. The tearful face of the mother, the wife and the relative of those who were murdered on that night last November.

Clearly, as long as that dwarf and her puppies are in position...




Justice here in the country is beyond anyone's reach.

Leaving things behind.

It has been my habit for so long as I could remember to keep meaningful messages in my phone inbox. Some of them paint a smile on my face, others make me sad, bother me or at times remind me of the pain brought by misunderstandings with a friend.

For reasons I am not aware of, it occurred to me that I should delete them and acting on impulse, I did.

I deleted everything.

And then I thought about it, perhaps the only way we could move on is for us to stop clinging unto those things that make our load heavier.

One time, my grandmother was watching me pack my stuff for a week tour in Mindanao. I remember her asking the purpose of every thing that I slid down my bag.

"Dal-on mo pa ni?"

"Ari pa gid?"

"Ano pa gid ni ya?"

When she saw the unpractical sized pillow that was already in my bag, she told me to leave it. In seconds, we were already arguing. I reasoned out that I'd need it for comfort away from home (it was reason enough right?) but she told me that I'd be fine without it.

I would have argued some more if she did not share a bit of wisdom to her obstinate grand-daughter,

"Ay Coleen, ibilan na lang na kay damo ka pa masulod sa maleta mo kun wala na kag di ka pa maayawan mag lakat..."

I stared at her.


Everything she said made sense, not only with my packing but in everything else too...


I am being highly stubborn choosing to bring my huge pillow for my comfort's sake when having to bring more bags for my clothes is going to be more tasking and uncomfortable for me. Lola was right.

Sometimes, in order for us to get to where we should be and to make more space for the things that Daddy Lord would give us, we have to leave some things behind.


The ending?



"Ti cge eh, nu pa bi..." (Me)


Still acting repulsive.


(Laughs.)


But I know, she was right.

BATAS MILITAR

"Being an activist means being aware of what's happening around you as well as being in touch with your feelings about it -- your rage, your sadness, your excitement, your curiosity, your feeling of helplessness, and your refusal to surrender."

Batas Militar or Martial Law is about one of the worse events in the Philippine History, if not even the WORST.

I won’t have watched this documentary film if it wasn’t showed in class, I won’t have been sitting in here in pursuit of coming up with a reaction paper if it wasn’t required. Most students of my age would not be curious to watch the particular film since it is so passed our time and many would just say that it belongs to the past, only written in chronicles and is not something that we should fuss about anymore.

However, after having been able to watch some parts of the documentary in class and after having been obliged to watch it in Youtube, I realized that to say that Gloria Macapagal Arroyo’s administration is worse than Marcos’s is totally incorrect.

Marcos, as what I’ve also found out in the film, was extremely intelligent. He took the Bar and topped it while still in prison after having been found guilty of assassinating his father’s political opponent. Furthermore, during his time as Philippine President, the country’s economy rose too. These are just two of the many proofs of his intellectual capacity.

But, think of the killings, those who were tortured, and those who had vanished instantly after taking their stand against Marcos’s tyranny. Think about them and weigh if all the roads, bridges and other infrastructures that Ferdinand Marcos had built are worth the lives of those who had bravely risked and lost their lives in fighting this dictator.

To end this and to give a clearer reaction, Ferdinand Marcos may have been brilliant, he may have done so many great things but every time people would remember his greatness, they will also reminisce all the havoc that accompanied his greatness.