In A Month of A Thousand Cranes

On December 17, 2008, 7:48 PM, Ate Jackie gave me a pad paper as an early Christmas present.

Thank you, ate Jackie; this gift shall mark a tradition I intend to keep.


* * *


On December 17, 2008, two hours and 36 minutes after I was given the pad paper from Ate Jackie, right outside the Capitol building, my mother called me.

Her youngest male brother (but how could a brother be female?), my uncle, passed away. He had cancer.

My tradition commenced at such a sad note.


* * *


That same night, I discovered that our PC has long gone insane.

Its fate now lay in the hands of my brother’s best friend and computer extraordinaire, Eric.


* * *


December 19, 9:39 AM

Dear Metrobank,

Please refrain from playing with my ATM card whenever I transact with you because it’s not funny. What would you feel if you’ve been deprived of the salary you’ve worked so hard for?

Sincerely,
Your client


* * *


December 19, 5:36 PM

Sheela and I had cheesecake after our boss announced the “bad news”, right after our gift-giving had turned into a disaster upon such announcement of bad news and upon such moment that a guy-who-shall-never-be-named chose the time of all times to infuriate Ate Jackie.

It didn’t ease the excruciatingly painful fact that that might be the first and last time that Sheela and I could share a slice of cheesecake together.


* * *


On December 20, two hours after waiting seamlessly for all the Deped’s speeches to end, I finally took my oath as a teacher. Ate Jackie, Nicole, Doki, my mother and brother Mat Mat were also there.

It suddenly dawned on me that starting from that time, I will be vulnerable to everything that a teacher will always face. Will I be the teacher from Freedom Writers? Will I experience, firsthand, Notes on A Scandal? Ang Munting Tinig?

Everything, from now on, will be a matter of my choice.


* * *


That same afternoon, I vested off the dress that reminded me of mini-stampedes and forced sits on the grass-covered soccer field and took MatMat, Lorie with Doki to SM, where I showered them with shakes, toys, food, pizzas while I line (the second time that day) patiently to pay for my internet bills.

Trying to forget that my boss was nearly in tears when she cried injustice. Trying to forget deaths that so crawled toward me, closer and closer it drowned my soul. Trying to forget nights where my mother refused not to shed tears.


* * *


On Sunday, December 21, I was able to get in touch with the internet to update my comments on a site. Too bad the site gave up on me. General Error was the term. I call it hypothermia.

I came home to find out I missed an urgent appointment. Still, it didn’t stop me from accompanying my mother for our advanced grocery shopping this Christmas. She laughed. She hit me because she laughed. She hit me because I made her laugh. I hit her, softly just to make it clear, just because I want to, I want to make her happy and I want to prove to the world that death does not destroy everything.

That night, I cried over Charice singing “Oh Holy Night.” I cried over the book I finished, “The Lovely Bones.” I cried over the fact that in six more hours, I’ll see people for what might be the last time. I cried over the fact that things will always change, things will never be the same, and things will never be fair and will never be what you expect.

I wore my heart like a sleeve, and I never regretted it so much than now.



* * *


Up until this point, I continued praying for paper cranes, for a wish that I know will always remain a dream.

Happy Holidays, and continue to dream.

Fall

.




FALL


Earthen fingers brush fallen memories
Bronzed with age that never dies and retreats
Soft crippled land now weeps to the forgotten lost
A heap of dreams, now left like waning ghosts.


Eternal fortress of strength now wither amidst the gloomy skies
Once source of fortitude, saying its untimely goodbyes
Silence of unrest sweeps misty rivers back and forth,
Wanting to be set free, yet still waiting for their accord.


Time sets distance apart now unreachable treasures 
Burned ashes of regret, hued with a solemnity so treacherous
Voices of the unheard now shouts to the endless doors
Sleeping amidst the depths of its passionate dear course.


Life is not an epitome of beauty
When you look at it only with the vitalities
Washes of fury and insensitivity will soon find their path
Toward that sleeping fortress, that would not give even merely a chant.


And so they slept, these dear children of tire and cold,
Yearning until forever takes time to hear their ode,
One morning, one night, eternity will surely end,
Where these fallen memories will finally find their soothing bed.




.

Summer

.




SUMMER


Fires ablaze thus scorched eyes
These clenched fists-
Unchained by man.


Abysmal depths of blue surround
Untold truths- 
Uncovered by man.


Filament of gold doomed night’s hiss
Unquenched thirst-
Unraveled by man.


Drunken shades sweep hollow’s vein
The roots’ eve- 
Bestowed by man.


Red-flagged Fates abandon passions
Kiss of snares-
Refused by man.


Frantic souls embark on shadows
Hidden ires-
For we are men. 




.

Spring

.




SPRING


I walk along the path
Of flowers blooming with wrath
Wrath baring the marvelous beauty
That only an uncovering of a petal could give.


The breeze danced along my palm
Savoring my ode’s restless calm
Dancing leaves showered with dewdrops
Now blessed nature’s dear treetops.


Green grass soothe my aching feet 
No tears of joy would make it bleed
Sharp yet soft and smooth-it is their innate wit
Lucky am I to have carried their seed.


I am masked vulnerability with thine touch
The sounds of birds, the bamboo’s swishy hush
Only enkindled in me more and more
A kind of yearning hunger I cannot endure.


So that I gave, and run I dared,
Flying with the birds, floating with clouds’ fair
The horses ran after me, winds merely kissed me,
My soul will not be dared- no fear will I ever heed.




.

Winter

.




WINTER


Winter has come, my dear
 A time when promises soon will drive us to tears
The silence clings to the trees
Healing us of our ancient fears
Fears as boundless as the light on the stars
Stars that seem so outlying to human touch
Except the star-shaped immaculate whiteness called snow
Perching on my weak and dying palm.


And when the palm soon with abrupt Faith’s help
Gives up to its life that it loved more than the beyond
Fingers grasping for sweet misty air yet to no avail
Unveil the dark scheming secrets of the chilly winter
That it really is not as unblemished as it appears
For clearly, the star-shaped immaculate beauty
Tinged with the darkness of black dear Death
Has torn this grieving palm apart.

.

Life in My Hands

I remembered one saying—I forgot who said it, or how exactly it was written, but the message got across me just fine. It didn’t talk about promises of gold or a happy life ahead; neither did it talk about what to expect about love, but it did talk about a reality—a reality of the world.

The saying was telling about man’s selfishness, his cruelty. It talked about how he had taken nature for granted while he dug his own grave, planned his own death.

I am not a romantic by all means. Yet that very saying has developed a passion in me I never thought I was capable of having. That passion slowly bordered to a need to do something so you could somewhat alleviate the pain that comes along with it.

The more I see venues so I could let these frustrations—yes, though I can’t stop it, the passion has developed a mind of its own and became frustrations (the plural, exactly)—out, the more I become happier. And the more I am happier, the greater the feeling to do more. And the greater my feeling to do more, the more I become frustrated. It is that vicious a cycle, but I stopped caring since I know it will be the same cycle which would continue to motivate me.

The cycle, along with the saying, will keep me caring. I was more than glad that the cycle in me was still alive in my system when I started planting the first mangrove propagule in my life.

I have never planted a mangrove propagule before. I was eager—typical reaction of a human when she encounters an adventure—but there was something more that I felt. Maybe because I know we are embarking on a journey which would later on help a lot of people in the next generation. This isn't self-righteousness—this is just the purest feeling a woman would have if she was brought up in a school that taught students how to simply care and serve without asking for anything in return.

What I really love about the activity is that even if it was just an activity, it was a miniature of a dream I wish we could have. That people set their differences aside and started working hand in hand for a change. I never heard anyone complain. I only see a mirage of colors swirling to form one full image of hope. The idea that the people who attended the activity knew what they were doing—thus taking the activity seriously—only made me feel better.

The experience was worth a lifetime. The feeling I've felt holding the tiny green plant that would soon grow into a sturdy tree was unexplainable. To think that each of us has planted twenty possible sturdy trees—it may not mean much, but it still means something. That feeling, it was like I was holding something special. It was like I was holding another life, a possible hope for the future.

It may sound so melodramatic a line but this is my own conviction and my own mantra—if people continue to think that their every single act will do nobody no good, they will never get anywhere. That activity taught me a lot—you need to feel, you need to care before you could do anything. You need to know what you are doing. You need to know that what you'll be doing will affect someone or even something, and that's a reality we can't escape. Sometimes we think that we are the only species living in this world. From firsthand experience, we always think that a tiny act is nothing but a tiny act, that it could not destroy a thriving species, that it could not obliterate the forests, that it could not suffocate the atmosphere with smog. But we don't own nature, and the more we have no right to abuse it and leave our co-inhabitants suffering because of what we did. That is simply not fair. For once, we must have the knack to at least feel responsible and do something.

For once, we at least care for the others, not just ourselves. Be concerned and aware of the growing issues of the environment, and not just keep on turning a blind eye to anything. Ignorance is not always bliss, it is more of a stepping stone for conscience.

The activity did not disappoint me in any means possible, because I know that what we have done has a cause. I did not even think about the challenges and the setbacks—for I couldn't see any; maybe just a little wish to God that there are more people who simply cared. And that there are more projects which would advocate for the same cause. If a lot more people would help and know about this, who knows? It will really mean more.

I know that this is an activity that was blessed from the very beginning. But I am hoping that this sort of beginning will not turn out to be a happily ever after yet.

We still have so much more to do to think that it would end as easily and simply as that of a fairy tale. We still have things to do. We still have years to fill. It may not be just a happily ever after, for there is so much more than that. Activities like these are more beginnings than endings, a beginning of a brighter future ahead.

New Year in August

Let all ironies lie

As I bring you this lullaby

Irony comes in many forms, shapes, colors and sizes.

For me, it was first expressed by Alanis Morissette's song-- and it was the first time I heard of the word.

Ever since then, my life has been full of ironies.

My friends say I am the best in giving relationship advice - and I've never been in a relationship.

I am a Mass Communications graduate, and I barely socialize until I find it unnecessary.

And I am supposedly an expert on blogging, yet I never had a blog of my own - until now, that is.

So here is my last attempt at a normal social life, and I offer this to all who experience the same ironies that I have.

Let me start my new year tradition now.