Lola's Hands

Her hands always reminded me of an old book, just like the ones you find on a dusty shelf. Thick and aged, I’ve always liked old books because they often had that distinct smell I found comforting and curious. Leafing through their pages, I was sure to find the most interesting and unique of stories. Like many of the old books lined up at home, Lola Pering's hands were just as filled to the brim with distinctive tales that I still remember.

Whenever I held Lola’s hands, the creases on her palms felt like crumpled pages, each fold rich with a memory, an interesting story to tell. There was the tale of how her family had escaped to the mountains during the Japanese occupation, living on whatever the jungle had to offer. The story of how she was among the chosen few to have been hired to work at a posh department store during the American regime. There also was the story of how she had finally met Lolo Eking whom she said not only fell in love with her face, but her pretty legs as well. Indeed, Lola had the best legs, her skin fair and unblemished. I’d like to think I got all that from her. As a child, I’d enjoy these tales, rolling on the bed beside her or whenever we’d play a game of forty one with 25 cents or matchsticks as prize money.

She was great company as I was growing up. She would take me with her whenever she’d visit the seamstress for a new outfit, tag me along when she’d take the ferry back to Bacolod, or when she’d visit Lolo Eking’s grave. I remember her paying for my “ice scramble” one boat ride. Even though she knew that street food could make us sick, she knew better that I had a sweet tooth; and was happy to give up 5 pesos for me to have my sugar fix.

Lola was really great with her hands. I remember those pieces of bread that she would mix with a little water and roll it into a ball of clay for me to play with, long before I discovered the joys of Play-Dough. Or those bread slices that she’d lightly spread butter on and drizzle with a layer of sugar or a generous helping of condensed milk during meriendas. She would also make the sweetest warm milk that can calm any hyper kid down. When I got older, whenever I’d visit, she would always remind me how I loved being with her when I was a baby, crying out to be carried and cuddled constantly.

As the years went by and I began to build a life in the big city, though my visits to her had lessened, I still made it a point to come to her room and sit beside her whenever I was home. I would hold her hands and relish the feel of her palms. Sometimes she would forget who I was, or comment on why I didn’t have any hair. Then, she would ask me if I had a girlfriend. I would always reply, “Many”, to which she would say,”That’s good. You’re still young. Enjoy life.” She would always add one of my favorite quotes: “Collect and select.”

Recently, during conversations, she would always manage to include how tired she was, how sour her stomach was, how constantly hungry she was, how she always had a headache. I would immediately change the topic by recalling the stories she told me when I was a kid. It was a delight to hear her repeat everything. Not only did it remind me of my childhood days, I was glad to get her mind off whatever she was feeling at that time. I would even tease her to dye her hair to make her look younger. I was glad to make her smile even for just a while, hold her hands, and peck her on the cheek whenever I came home for holidays.

I have to admit that hearing her repeat that she longed to die soon did put me off. I would always respond that everyone had their own time, and that her being alive still meant that she wasn’t through yet. But she would always ignore my comment, sigh, and repeat her desire for the end. I wanted her to be happy at the twilight of her life. But recently, I was glad that Fr. Arthur had made us all see a different perspective with her words. She had raised 8 children, buried a husband, and still had time to enjoy herself. She survived the average lifespan of a human being. She was ready to go. I respect that. I admire that. Her courage to face death, armed with a full life is indeed something for all of us to envy.

I miss Lola’s hands; the creases on her palm, the stories she would tell. But I know wherever she is now, she will have more hands to hold (perhaps Baby Matthew’s and Lolo Eking’s) and more unique and comforting stories to tell of the life she had here.

We love you Lola. And thank you for sharing yourself with us.

Ang Dura at Ako

Recently while in a café, I found myself bowing and shaking in front of my laptop screen. I was smothering my laughter. It started really random. Sick of my solitude, I decided to chat with a friend also in another café on the other side of town, taking a break from the office. After the usual pleasantries, both our bodies started quaking as the conversation unfolded. We stifled our laughter, afraid that we get kicked out of our respective cafés if we let go. Here’s the semi-edited transcript:

JM: bonbon, question lang… about ships…

Bonbon: ships?!

JM: pano naliligo ang mga tao pag-nakasay ng barko? As in, may tubig na tap water?

Bonbon: LOL

JM: Haha! Naisip ko lang kagabi…

Bonbon: They rappel down a rope and dip themselves in the sea.

JM: Haha! Hindi nga. Paano ‘yun, e andami-daming tao… May dala silang sangkaterbang tubig?

Bonbon: It depends on the boat, I guess. If it were a cruise liner, rooms are equipped with showers. That’s why it’s important that boats have docking stations so that they can refill their water reservoir. Just like planes, they also need to refuel.

JM: so… may mga drum sila sa loob?

Bonbon: uhmmm… siguro, may mga boats din na may drum at tabo.

JM: Haha! So, may-estimate sila kung ilang beses maliligo ang mga tao? Wala lang… balang araw, tatanungin ko sa boat people ‘yun.

Bonbon: I guess so. ‘Yung cruise that I got to ride once had hot water pa nga, but the shower stalls were really small. Pero I remember when I took the Super Ferry to Manila in high school, wala nang ligo-ligo. We stayed in an open area, where there were bunker beds; ‘yung tipong kailangan mong matulog with one eye open lest manakawan ka.

JM: Ilang araw ‘yun? So, pag ‘di ka first class, wala nang ligo-ligo?

Bonbon: It takes a day. I guess may banyo sila, pero baka may bayad. Or there’s a common bath, where you take turns and all.

JM: Common water din? Haha! So, wish mo na sana first batch ka palagi… Haha!

Bonbon: Ooh, did I tell you about an experience I had with that trip?

JM: Hindi pa.

Bonbon: It was night, so I went over to the veranda to enjoy the lovely breeze; to make muni-muni.

JM: Hehe… tapos?

Bonbon: Then I felt some droplets hit my face; and I was like, ‘Oooh… refreshing!!” Then, I began to wonder why the sea spray smelled and tasted minty. Pagtingin ko sa taas… May nag-totoothbrush! LOL!!!!

JM: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkk!!!!!

Bonbon: I’m chuckling now!!!!! AHAHAHAHAHA… gusto ko tumawa ng malakas!

JM: Hindi mo ba nahalata na may bula-bula??? Hahahaha!

Bonbon: AHAHAHAHAHA… hinde. Another similar experience was when I was younger, we slept with mosquito nets.

JM: Tapos?

Bonbon: So, my bed was right beside the window. Each night, I would be lulled to sleep by the wind and the rustling leaves of the nearby mango tree. There were nights when I’d feel some droplets touch my face…

JM: Yesss… Calming… Tapos? Hahahaha! Ano na naman ‘yan?!

Bonbon: It made me feel nice, thinking na I could feel the evening dew touch my face. Kaya pala… tinataihan ako ng hinayupak na butiki every night! LOL!

JM: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!

Bonbon: Shet… gusto ko tumawa!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

JM: Kadiri, Bonbon!!! Nakakahiya, naka-smile ako mag-isa… hahaha! Hindi ako pwede tumawa…. Hahaha! Sa umaga, walang kulay tae or something???

Bonbon: Siempre, hindi ko malaman na tae kase gabi. Atsaka, the tiny tae gets caught on the net; so, yung liquid lang ang napi-feel ko!

JM: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkkkk!!!!! Hahahahahaha!!!! Kadireeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Ano ba yan, Bonbon!!!!!

Bonbon: And I remember, when I discovered it, I had a tantrum and ran to my parents’ room, insisting that I sleep there. But no, pinagalitan ako.

JM: Hahaha! Pa’no mo na-discover?? Ba’t ka pinagalitan??

Bonbon: Feeling ata nila na nag-iinarte lang ako. I kept getting curioser and curioser every night, wondering where it was coming from. Sabi ko… hmmmm… ang layo naman ng mango tree para madapuhan ako ng dew from its leaves.

JM: Hahaha!!!Wala ka ba katabi matulog dati?

Bonbon: My brother slept beside me in another bed, pero may sariling mundo ‘yun e.

JM: Hindi siya natataihan?? Ang malas mo naman! Ahahahaha!

Bonbon: I KNOW!

JM: Hahaha! Nakakatawa ka!...

Bonbon: Oh, and another… when I was younger, we always heard mass from outside church kase ang init at punong-puno ang simbahan. I would stand under the balcony, just by the edge where I was shaded by it. I was restless with my hands, so I started fiddling with my shirt, pant pockets…

JM: Ang hilig mo kasi sa shade-shade e!

Bonbon: Then, I discovered something sticky on my clothing… LOL!

JM: Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii… Ano ‘yun????

Bonbon: LOL! Dinuraan ako from the balcony!!!!

JM: Ahahahahahahaha!!!! Anong color? May bubbles?

Bonbon: LOL!!... clear lang naman… Ahahaha! I WANNA LAUGH OUT LOUD!!

JM: ME TOO!! Tawang-tawa na ako!... Ang hirap magpigil!!! Ahahahahaha!

Bonbon: Speaking of dura, eto pa isa. Maraming mga aeta sa Iloilo, bumababa galing bundok para manlimos. E, bata pa lang ako, mahilig na ako mag-shorts…

JM: Haha! Tapos?

Bonbon: I was approaching a groupof aetas sitting by the curb. Unbelievably, swak na swak, dumaan ako right in time na dumura yung isang aetang matanda!!

JM: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Tumatawa na’ko… I don’t care na!

Bonbon: Natamaan ang legs koh!!! YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!! Golly, hindi mo na mapinta ang mukha ko as I was shock!

JM: Hahahahaha! Baka may nganga pa ‘yun!

Bonbon: It was as thick as a silver bullet! Ok, I’m bowing and shaking now in laughter!

JM: Ahahahahahaha!!! ANG MALAS MO, GRABE!!!!

Bonbon: I KNOW!!! Huhuhuhu…

JM: Kadireeeeeeeeeeeee Bonbooooooooooooooon!!!!!... Ano ginawa mo???

Bonbon: I remember standing in front of them, desperately trying to wipe the sticky spittle with my hanky, while they looked on, staring at me blankly!... When it did dry up, biglang kumati ang area… LOL!!!

JM: AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! BAKIT NGAYON MO LANG ‘TO KINUKWENTO???? NAKAKATAWA, GRABE!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Bonbon: I KNOW! I’m surprised myself na hindi ko ‘to nakuwento pa before!

JM: For someone so… pristine… nakakadiri ang mga experiences mo!!! Hahaha!!

Bonbon: I know… so, I actually get grossed out very rarely! Pweh! LOL!

JM: Pweh!! LOL!

Hair: A History II

By college, my hair began to have a mind of its own. There were days that it simply was stubborn, refusing to be managed or styled. The hair grew coarser, resembling a twisted nest of piano strings. I looked like I wore a black helmet on some days; and on others, it seemed like I propped a mat of dark wire on my head. Some friends even thought I looked like Astro Boy or that cranky cartoon ladybug. I fit the bug role to a tee as I had a lot of grouchy moments, especially defensive when it was about my sexuality.

An annoying period in college was undergoing the required military training. I hated having to sport the 3”x4” hair prerequisite. I hated how it made me look stupid. I hated how it reminded me of how much testosterone was shoved down my throat. I hated how raw my naked scalp felt, relentless in its itch under the cruel afternoon sun.

My hair did grow eventually. At this point, I got to go on trips to Europe. I have always loved taking showers no matter how cold it was. I enjoyed how the warm water stripped my skin fresh and new. It was interesting that every time I got back, gone for several months each time, friends would always ask me if I had cancer. Perhaps there was some truth to that myth of avoiding warm showers. It did not help either that my pallor was pale and sickly, telling of late nights studying and cramming papers. Yes, I did look like I had undergone several sessions of chemo.

My mother got concerned that I was starting to look like the man she married. With her and my sister’s help, I got to visit doctors and hair-restoration clinics. I took pills to help my hair grow; religious with the topical solution I had to apply on my scalp, morning and night. It’s interesting that the pill was supposed to suppress my libido, lessening my body’s production of testosterone. The doctors said that the hormone ate up my hair follicles. It’s even more interesting that my libido continued to soar. It’s funny to be considered emasculated but still overflow with manly hormones.

It was only when I was out of college did I begin to shave my hair. There was the cautious 1-inch length, testing the waters if I could pull off the “bad boy” look. I decided to have it shaved at a nearby salon. I knew it would be agonizing, so I looked forward to the good neck, shoulder, and back massage they offered after. I remember how my worry surged as I saw the hair fall frailly with each swipe of the electric razor. Now, I get why models in a certain reality show bawl at sudden makeovers. I would have done the same then.

Stepping out of the salon, I remember feeling a strange mix of worry and delight. I felt exposed and raw, just like a fish out of water. I expected gawking and jeering, even when people actually minded their own business. But there was that delicious freshness I couldn't deny, sensing the breeze glide across my near-naked scalp. Instantly, I felt lighter. It was as if a weight had been lifted. It was liberating to think that I was done with hour-long styling sessions, suitable shampoo shopping, and being consciousness about losing my tresses.

Shaving my hair proved to be a novelty to my friends too. Like a baby, I remember everybody “ooh-ing” and “ahh-ing” over the prickly stubble on my scalp; always touching and petting me, constantly asking what possessed me to shave my mane. Answers varied from the evasive, “I just felt like I needed a change,” to the blunt, “I’m losing hair; so this way, it’s not so obvious.” But nothing beats the time I likened it to a “hed-geh-hog”… But that’s another story.

Hair: A History I

I had hair once. When I was younger, I remember the fringe of hair that hung a little below my lashes. I remember pulling it down whenever I had to sit still. Restless, I would savor how the bristles tickled my cheek. I also remember braiding it, drawing them apart like a curtain, weaving the two bunches into my own version of a French braid. I even grew a tail, a thin cluster of longer hair at the back, considered by many as some paean to rock star glamor. Unfortunately, even that got braided as well. I was adamant that my helper go through the task of twining my tiny tail before I left for afternoon class.

Early on, I already had a penchant for aesthetics. I styled my hair in a one-sided fashion, sporting a long fringe in the front. When I did get to discover gel and its other variants, I tried shaping the fringe like a small cap visor. I remember loving the holding powers of gel, how it kept my hair in place. It annoyed me that each time, post-shampoo, my hair would puff up like a pot of ferns. Gel and pomade made me feel complete, slick and neat.

Then when other hair began sprouting in various nooks and crannies, my voice started to crack and deepen. I remember having the thickest hair on my head. I parted it right in the middle, happy that its ends framed my round face. I was happy that it kept abreast with the current boy band culture; especially that local trio of handsome, scrawny adolescents. But having thick hair had its own share of irritations. I had to contend with the occasional pimple, several bouts of dandruff, and unkempt moments.

The day came when my schoolmates began to notice a faint spot on my crown. It did give me some anxiety as I was aware that thinning hair ran in my genes. But I think I was more worried about the taunting. I was proud of my hair and felt it part of my persona. I refused that it be taken away. My mother began to worry also; and I remember we both tried to remedy that faint crown by adhering to local superstition and other myths. I had to be sure that my hair was not wet before going to bed, stayed away from caps, avoided early afternoon showers lest I wet any roaming entities, shampooed less, and shunned warm showers.

to be continued...

The Leviathan 1

Found this story among the loose sheets of paper inserted in one of my dusty journals. Found several drafts and poems alluding to this too, and picked out the better version that I wanted to share.

I wrote this just fresh out of high school. I studied in a strict, Catholic all-boy's school, so you can imagine all the stifled raging hormones that gushed on to these pages! It was inspired (fictionalized, if you like) from a senior class trip, one of the last ones till our graduation from secondary school.

I've changed the names (I actually used the real ones when I wrote this!) and tweaked some areas just a tad bit.
_____________________________

THE LEVIATHAN

Like some leviathan washed ashore, their three bodies were sprawled on the cool, white sand. Paul was on his back with Josef's head resting on his stomach. Josef hugged Felix tightly with both his arms, his head nudged on Josef's neck.

The night was fervid. There was an accumulation of moist almost everywhere. What added to this wonderful hell was the drinking spree earlier that caused reality to steer off its tracks. Fantasy was creeping in, Josef and Felix falling slowly to its ecstasy.

As they lain on the beach, each enjoying their own private thoughts, a sheet of twinkling stars hovered quietly above them. The moon, as if ashamed, hid part of itself behind a patch of shredded clouds. Its remaining half gave an enigmatic glow to the surroundings as darkness waited in every corner for the clouds to disperse, waiting to eat the light into its different world.

There was a breeze that offered respite from the warm night, caressing the coconut trees till they bent gracefully. Animals hidden amongst the shadows crept about. It was not only a sight to see but a world of sounds as well. The waves gently splashed on the shore, making a lullaby against the symphony of crickets. All these gave life to a world seemingly dead.

Paul was in his own world. He was half asleep, his thoughts invaded by memories of high school life. Opening his eyelids from time to time, he caught glimpses of the glittering sky. He felt he was floating in space, amongst the billions of stars that seemed so nearby. Yes, he was drifting into the abyssal world of dreams.

As Josef and Felix lay entwined together, a fever began to rise between the two. Josef began putting gentle kisses upon Felix's forehead, his arms holding him even tighter and closer to his breast. His kisses were soft, Felix thought, as he felt Josef's tender lips discover his face. They touched his furry brows, warm forehead, eyelids, nose; and finally, Felix's wildly wet lips.

to be continued...

Sa Aking Iniibig (To My Beloved)

Was going through my desk drawer earlier, and found old journals from when I was younger. Goodness! A lot of interesting stuff in them! Pages were dripping with insatiable, sexual, angry,and confused feelings. A lot were written in metaphors and poetry, and much of what they pertained to I've already forgotten.

It's amusing and hilarious, I found a Filipino poem I wrote for a freshman college assignment! I admit that it is awkward and pretentious (even using the pseudonym, "Eros"!), as I struggled with the language and its novelty. I wrote the poem in English first and brashly translated it word-for-word. I remember my left hand aching from the weight of the thick English-Tagalog Dictionary. I remember working till the wee hours of the morning. I remember that my brain nearly exploded.

The title is not mine as we were told to re-interpret some famous poet's work. If I recall correctly, the original poem was a paean to a loved one. Still raw from all my adolescent angst, I took it upon me to distort its veneration with a dose of unrequited love, bitterness, and sexuality. Masturbatus frustratus, if you will.

______________________________

Sa Aking Iniibig

Ngayong gabi,
Sa aking malawak at malumbay na kama,
Ako'y nakahigang nag-iisa--
malamig at ulila.

Ang aking pagod na mga mata,
Walang humpas na naghahanap
ng 'sang anino, 'sang imaheng bumubuo
ng lunggating tamis ng iyong katawan.

Samakatwid, nadarama ko ang kumot,
Halumigmig sa pinapawisang likod ko.
Ang mga unan, kasing lambot
ng iyong makinis at maka-rosas na dibdib,
tila'y nilunok nila ang aking kabuuan.

O, ako'y nakahiga't nasusunog para sa'yo--
isang bulkang malapit nang sumabog!

Kay labis kong hinahangad muli,
ang gabing lumipad tayo patungong buwan--
tayong dalawa lamang, nag-iisa sa puting kapatagan.
Nakita kaya tayo ni Luna?
Binuhay ba natin muli si Adan at Eba?

Ngayong gabi,
Sa aking malawak at malumbay na kama,
Ako'y hindi na nakahigang nag-iisa--
mabanas at nasisiyahan.

Ang aking mga kasama?
Mga binhi ng aking kasalanan,
kalat na kalat sa aking paligiran.
Kagaya ng imahen mo--
kalat na kalat sa utak ko.


_________________________________

I've lost the English translation. At the present, here's what I could make of what was written.

To My Beloved

Tonight,
on my vast and lonely bed,
I lie alone--
cold and orphaned.

My tired eyes,
restlessly search
for a shadow, for a likeness
of your body's fervent sweetness.

Instead, I feel the sheets
clinging to my sweaty back.
The pillows, as soft
as your smooth and rosy chest,
seem to have swallowed me whole.

Oh, I lay burning for you--
a volcano close to erupting!

For I've longed once more,
for that night we flew to the moon--
only us two,
one in that white wilderness.
Did Luna perhaps see us?
Did we resurrect Adam and Eve?

Tonight,
on my vast and lonely bed,
I no longer lie alone--
torrid and happy.

My company?
The seeds of my sins,
scattered around me.
Just like your image--
dissipated in my head.