#manila
Pearl of Orient Sea
Forced to adorn the geisha —
Bismirched totally.
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 2:13 AM UTC
ala-singko ng umaga. nakakabingi ang katahimikan ng pagsikat ng araw. walang tigil ang pagtakbo ng oras at tulad ng araw, nagsimula nanaman ang pangkaraniwang siklo ng buhay. patungo sa sintang paaralan na ang bawat yapak ay parang timbang ng daigdig na nakalubog sa aking mga balikat. hindi kayang buhatin kahit pa ng buong mundo sapagkat ako'y nag-iisa sa paglalakbay patungong españa.
sa bawat sulok ng maynila at mga kwento sa mga kalsadang ito, may mga paalala ng mga biyaheng hindi pa nararating at mga pangarap na patuloy hinahanap. sa kanto ng españa't lacson, sa kabila ng paghahanap at pag-asa, hindi natagpuan ang isa't isa. sa magkabilang sulok ng noval at dapitan, ang iyong mga imahe ay tila mga alaala na nakaukit sa pinakaloob ng aking isipan, kumakatok nang palaging handang buksan ang pintuan. bawat hakbang ko ay may kabigha-bighani **** presensya, subalit ang hinahanap kong pagtatagpo ay patuloy na umiwas sa akin, nag-iwan ng hinagpis at naglakbay nang walang direksyon.
"manong para po" ang aking bulong sa jeepney drayber na parang tinik na dumadaloy sa aking lalamunan, humihila at humihila sa mga alaala na tila mga bagyong dumaraan sa aking isipan. bawat sinag ng araw, bawat hagupit ng hampas ng hangin, ay parang himagsik ng damdamin na hindi ko maitago.
sa bawat kanto paikot ng españa, naroon ang mga multo ng ating nakaraan. mga anino ng mga alaala na hindi ko matakasan at sa bawat pagtatanong mo kung may pag-asa pa ba, ang bawat sagot ko ay tila mga punyal na tumatagos sa aking kalooban, nagsasabing wala nang dahilan para muling mangarap.ayaw ko nang lumakad sa landas ng nakaraan, na puno ng mga bakas na minsan tayo'y nagtahup na patuloy na bumabalik at sumisira sa isipan.
at sa wakas, narito na ako sa dulo ng aking paglalakbay, ngunit ang landas na tinahak ay tila isang malawak na dagat, hindi alintana kung gaano karaming bagyo at baha ang dinaanan. at kung tatanungin mo ako kung pu-puwede pa ba, ang hihilingin ko sa iyo ay mga barya papalayo sa'yo. ayaw ko nang malunod sa unang daan na puno ng kahapon at mga alaalang tila multong ayaw umahon.
at sa bawat paghakbang ko patungo sa hinaharap, ang iyong alaala ay parang banta na nagbubulag-bulagan sa akin tuwing naglalakbay ako. nakakapangilabot. mahal pa rin kita. mahal pa rin pala kita.
hindi na kasingpait ng dati.
pero mahal, masakit pa.
Feb 9, 2024
Feb 9, 2024 at 12:31 PM UTC
Might the years have betrayed me?
Not that I didn't know her but her
lights knew not the catches of my eye--
mighty concrete behemoths of mid
nineteen hundred something
littered my view in quaint newness while
myriads of roaring metal beasts
not without their own masters
lunged forward in a sea of people...
Mockup shops and street food scents
nudged my wallet into sharing a
little folded bill of blue, all while
market clamour played
next to the banter
lining the streets.
Alas!
More than a humble string of words
nailed on a poem the night hence are needed to
line her canopy of neon lights a
masterful description capable of
nesting all that was there in a neat
lingering thought!
Mar 31, 2023
Mar 31, 2023 at 8:40 AM UTC
The squalid honey of this urban hive
that sways and quivers in Escolta's arms
assaulting viscous currents, I've survived
to witness time dissolve in waters warm.
When monsoon whispers calmed the fev'rish night,
hyacinths surren'dring to kundíman songs
seduced I was to words meant to ignite
another's lust. But still 'tis I that long
In time, desire has rotten into liquor
and putrid nectar spoiled in unloved lips--
this rancor that I spit into this river
to curse the farewell of your westward ship
and centuries have passed, yet here I bathe
Manila's vein that bursts with restless hate
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 2:56 PM UTC
Maaga kong nilisan
ang lupang sakahan
Tinahak ang lugar
na maingay at magara,
ito pala ang Maynila.
‘di napigilan ng tirik na araw
ang aming pagkukumpulan.
Nagkamayan
kaming magkakabrad,
Simula na ng himagsikan.
Sariwa pa sa alala
kung pa’no
kami inagrabyado.
Itinulak.
Binugbog.
Tinakot.
Ginamitan ng dahas.
Sa plano ng gobyerno
kami pa rin pala ang talo.
Paano pa kami mabubuhay
kung wala ng lupang mapagtatamnan?
Akala ko sa bundok
o gubat lang may ahas
-yun ay sa akala ko lang pala.
Sa’ming magsasaka’y
Kumukulapot ang putik
Ngunit
sa inyong mga nakabarong,
animoy
walang duming nakabahid.
Sa inakala kong
tubig lang ang maaaring
idilig,
Dugo
pala nami’y pwede ring
pumatik.
Tila ba ang gobyerno’y namamanhid.
Nasaan na
ang pinangako nyong
libreng abono?
Ginawa nyo na bang pataba
sa mga bulsa nyo!?
Sa pagpunta
ng mga imperyalistang bansa,
Matutulugan
pa ba kaming mga dukha?
Makatatayo ako
sa aking pagkakadapa
Ngunit
ang bayan
kong nakalugmok ,
makakaahon pa kaya?
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 10:48 PM UTC
To my friends whose hearts I'm about to break, know that my left cheek will shatter first before your hearts does.
I hope that's comforting enough to hear.
I've always liked the angle of the right side of my face better, therefore the papers and reporters shall see just that.
I hope that's relieving enough to see.
To my other friends whose eyes I will be leaving swollen ugly for days on end,
España's rain and floods shall hydrate you back to life.
I know because I have blessed the skies with my own tears on the nights prior.
Dapitan's dust and smog shall breathe air into your lungs, but not into mine.
I know because I won't he here tomorrow.
I hope that's alleviating enough to know.
Over the last month, I have never figured out if I liked España or Dapitan better.
But I suppose it's the former, for it shall have my sorry excuse of a body
for the very last time.
It's a bad metaphor for a feigned
and forced liberty,
as with this country that I lived in and loved better than the pretentious
and lifeless cities I've traveled to.
Singapore is but a fleeting fling.
Tickles your fancy but will leave you tired and in resentment.
Hong Kong is just another plaything.
Everybody would tell you she's good and all that, but she lost to your tastes still.
Macau is the lover that never gives but keeps on asking,
she was never the safest bet
nor can you lie and tell her she's the best.
Johor is just as frustrating.
She would be the hardest question in the test, the one you've thought of over and over but still stood miscorrect.
Bangkok, I have kept her dearly in my heart but ended up forgetting still.
My other lover from the farther west, but still wouldn't compare to the best.
But Manila, she lives in me. She is me.
It's a shame, I will never see her prosper and bloom in her waiting heydays,
whenever that may be.
But do I deserve to witness that?
I have never done anything to help pitch in her movement.
But it's a bigger, even better shame to have lived in this age of technology.
Forgive me for leaving too soon, Manila.
Welcome me tomorrow around high noon, España.
Forget about me like you did with your history, my beloved Philippines.
To the headlines, I am diving in headfirst.
To the tabloids, I beg of you to once more tickle the funny bones of a dead girl.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:36 AM UTC
When was the last time you've wondered what's out there waiting for us two?
Was it last year? Or the last time I thought I left again only to return and redeem myself from you?
How cruel must it be if we really are meant to be together?
We always chase and tug between time,
bet and roll dice on distance and its false promises.
Where do we even go from here?
Further away from the winning streaks
or closer to the losing games?
When was the last time we made wishes for each other?
Will I even ever find another whole crazy person to share all my little victories and enormous troubles with?
Someone who would not keep record of all my wins and losses,
someone who would meet me in the middle of the plays and pauses.
Someone to run across continents with, chasing chances and begging for nuances.
I'd rather chase and run with you between countries and cities and stolen moments than between life and death.
But as I reckoned the chase with you right here is nonexistent,
my own life and my own death would be chasing each other instead.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:29 AM UTC
As if on cue, on my second step out,
one bell rang; that of the sorbetero's cart
and on my sixteenth,
that of the bell by Dominican.
I sighed "yes, I know, I'm going."
I appreciate the practice.
I appreciate the background music.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
This isn't home to us, just an illusion thereof.
An illusion we love to play in,
eat in, sleep in.
And when it rains, it doesn't pour;
it is but ever dry.
When it's dry, all I do is die.
I die. I die. I die.
Only to live tomorrow and yet again
play, eat and sleep.
This isn't love, just an illusion thereof.
An illusion we love to pour in, die in
and live in again.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:21 AM UTC
For every gaze,
old wounds open once again.
For every unanswered SMS,
scars freshen up like new from yesterday.
For every unintentional graze of
your fingers,
the old wounds heal themselves.
For every shared laughter on and offline,
scars from yesterday springs back
to years ago.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:13 AM UTC
I can't see them, can't hear their chirps even.
They can see me, best believe they can hear my cries
in the teasing of the morn after eleven.
Maybe they even hold my secrets as tightly as they cling onto that tree next to my tower;
a tower I've built out of the very secrets
they know of and keep.
Secrets as dark as the Manila night sky
in the middle of the week can be.
They are but wary visitors, as I am myself.
Stuck between a new world and old,
roaming restlessly in an uncharted territory.
Only one can see the other
but we can both smell fear from each other.
Swinging and lounging across
but we're never parallel, we're unnamed.
We're untamed, in the detachment
from the grounds do we bask and dwell.
They're not out to get me;
they don't even have to try.
They get me better than my friends ever would.
They get my sleeping habits
better than the planks of my bed.
They understand my poor diet
better than the plastic utensils
that ever touched my mouth,
they've memorized my daily routine
better than all those cigarette butts.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:08 AM UTC
Rain was pouring hard
when my cheap fastfood coffee was full,
my cold sweat does the same
as soon as I finished the cup.
Bringing an umbrella in Dapitan
is not necessary.
At least that's what I said
before I was all soaked and in dread.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:04 AM UTC
Here in this castle,
in my tower,
no one and nothing
can hurt me but myself.
Walls are built out of silver and gold
that I begged the laws of the universe for.
I might be the princess that sleeps,
but will never feel the pea
that lies underneath my piles of bed
made out of skeleton bones.
Now yes, I lie on them...
they reside not in my closet
but beneath my frail, sorry body.
Some nights, I am one of the skeletons myself.
I might be the very monster
that I have been fearing for the past two weeks.
I might be making the very noises
that keeps me up until morn.
Have you ever seen a fortress
with the enemies lurking within?
Gates with the robbers
who are playing cards inside?
Welcome to my little world,
welcome to my tower.
Where I can craft deadly words,
in here I hold the most power.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:01 AM UTC
As I breathe the taint Manila air in,
I knew I was about to fall in love again.
Oh how I craved for the smoke belching out of the jeepneys,
how badly did I want that signature smog to have me begging for fresh, precious air?
Ah, nothing would beat the musky, filthy smell from the streets and the constant fear of being pickpocketed that no feeling in the world would ever compare. The last time I felt my heart beat like a wild beast was when I was walking alone down Raon to fetch my first few vinyl records.
Commuting is a breeze. Except that breeze is in the apple of the eye of the storm that I would gladly, willingly look straight into. Quiapo is but an irony; the only place in the world where you would feel safe and protected by the church and the very same place you would feel fear of being mugged or robbed or both.
But the food, dear God, is incomparable. The blood enemy of my melancholy. I find peace in Binondo, a haven that makes me forget all the political dysporia going on with our good old neighbor and ***** lover, China. Let's take a breather and bask on our shared heritage and cuisine instead, shall we?
Manila. Her chaos, her charm,
her history and the dreams she holds for me...
these are what I will always come back here and battle death for.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 4:54 AM UTC
Manila, lost throughout the years
From her wreck, who will ease the fears?
But, she remain hopeful that soon
Her pain turns to the light of moon
Manila, come back and rise up
The trees and sky won’t let you stop
Your brokenness will be mended
Through time, bitterness be ended
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 6:57 PM UTC
will you be my to the moon and back?
will we ever be right on track?
will you be my all time high?
will you give me your chicken thigh?
will you be my christmas morning?
will I ever be your favourite being?
will you fancy to sit down for a cup of tea?
will we ever be a possibility?
will fate let you?
will fate?
will you?
will you be my someone new?
/pc
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:55 AM UTC
I can write of Manila at night like the greats do of Paris. Not Manila in the morning, for it matters then, but Manila at night where it doesn't matter if it is new or old or if you are rich or poor, because it all blends into the moonlit darkness and that is when Manila becomes like a love letter. It may be Cebu that I love, but it is Manila that captivates me.
To the farmer, who left Manila for America to escape the war, and returned to see only a burned down church. To the young boy, a hundred years later, who does not see the church, but sees the romance of a concrete city. And to the ill man sitting on the corner of a street in Ermita, who has seen more of life and Manila than any of us ever will or ever can or ever want to. To the jazz bars tucked deep in Quezon where the music is sweetest, and to the congregation of poets who meet at their secret place in Makati on sacred nights to talk of the country they write for. Manila does not end.
But Manila is no moveable feast- it is a grand mystery that is far too heavy to take with you. Paris was loved because it was easy to love. The same way Florence was loved because it was easy to. Manila is far too rough to make for easy loving, but the beauty is there for everyone but the blind to see, and even then it is there for the blind to feel. One just has to try hard enough. It is what Manila represents, for it represents not the American dream, but the Filipino ambition to create their own. It does not become a question of how can you. It never will. It is a question of how can you not be romantic of Manila?
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
mahal ko ---
nais kong isulat ang larawan mo.
ngunit papaano?
paanong mailalathala
gamit lamang ang mga salita
ang matayog **** ilong
at ngiti nang iyong mga mata;
ang baluktot ng iyong likod
at mga binti **** mahahaba?
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
Kung sakaling pagbibigyan,
Ako ba'y iyong hahagkan
At hinding-hindi bibitiwan
Hanggang sa pagtila ng ulan?
Kung sakaling may pagkakataon,
Ang pag-ibig mo ba'y ipababaon
Tuwing lumalakad sa ambon
At pati narin sa habang panahon?
Kung sakaling itatadhana
Ng Makapangyarihang May-likha,
Ikaw ba'y hindi mag-aalintana
Na ako'y habangbuhay makasama?
At kung sakaling tayo'y hahadlangan,
Ako ba'y hinding-hindi mo iiwan,
Sasamahan mo ba ako sa digmaan
Upang tadhana'y ating labanan?
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
It's a Thursday and I'm ready for tonight,
Let's lie that I am 18.
As Taft Avenue welcomes me like a friend,
Understanding of my needs,
Appreciative of my beauty,
And blind of my secrets.
All I see are stares,
All I hear are loud,
All I smell are smoke and alcohol,
All I feel is uncertainty?
How about getting drunk,
Dancing through the deafening EDM?
Singing a trendy song?
And maybe, just maybe, have fun?
How about making friends,
A friend of a friend of your friend?
A cool guy who sat beside you?
Or probably someone who likes you.
How about a 5 second kiss,
From a good looking stranger?
From a familiar face?
Who cares, we won't meet again.
How about a 10 second kiss,
WHY?
DOES IT MATTER?
IT'S JUST A KISS.
Oh dear.
That was fun.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
“Tumakbo ka na”, sabi ng aking mga paa
habang ika’y unti-unting lumalaho sa dilim
at habang ika’y hinahabol ko palayo sa’kin
hinahabol ko ang pagasa; hinahabol ko ang aking hininga
“Huminga ka muna”, sabi ng aking baga
habang pumapatak ang mga malalamig na pawis
nagbabakasakaling maabutan ang dama ng iyong yakap
at makita ang makikintab **** mata
“Pagod na ‘ko”, sabi ng aking puso
“Hindi ka pa ba napapagod? Hindi mo ba naipapansin na malayo na siya sa iyo?”,
dugtong ng puso at labis pigilan ang ikot ng mundo
Patuloy ang lakbay at pilit ‘kong umabot sa piling mo
ngunit kahit gaano kabilis ‘kong palakarin ang mga paa,
ngunit kahit gaano man karaming ikot na ang naidaan ko at ilang patak ng pawis na ang tumulo,
pilit pa ring binabaliktad ng mundo ang daan palayo sa iyo
At kung patuloy akong inililigaw ng buwan patungo sa liwanag
at kung patuloy akong inililigaw ng liwanag patungo sa kadiliman
palayo sa gulo,
bakit nagkaron ng dulo?
At kung tinuturuan pa lang ako ng puso nang umibig ng tama,
bakit ngayon pa?
bakit ngayon pa kung kalian pagod na ang tadhana?
kailan ba sisikat ang araw at sa huli ng storya, tayo ang masaya?
Marami na ang nawala,
mga sugat na ‘di tuluyang naghilom
at mga tahi na nasira,
mga damdamin na pinaraya
at mga ngiting pinalaya
Aakitin rin tayo ng ligaya
darating rin ang panahon na tayo ang maligaya
ng wala sa piling
at sa puso
ng isa’t-isa
Pasensya ka na aking mahal
ngunit hindi ko maitahan ang lumuluhang puso na napilitang pakawalan ang nakaraan –
ang oras ang nakaharang
– Pasensya ka na, hindi kita naabutan
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
And Manila seemed *****
not like New York or Philly,
like naked street-kids and yellow skies,
drooling stray dogs lost in wandering packs.
But we chose this home
and now it is that.
A studio apartment
high above the trash
and the slums down below
piled and stuck together
by sun melted ******* and dirt glue
greets their new neighbors.
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 4:29 AM UTC
A land of false hopes and dreams
A land where nothing is at it seems
A place where people are blinded by the truth
A place where you get tricked
A place you'll be sick
A place where you are lost
A place where you are found
Welcome to this great city
A city that is hopeless
A city that will rise
A city where your heart sets ablaze
A place where you'll get amazed
A city where everything is bound to happen
A city where you seek your purpose
Manila, a city called Manila.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC
Manila,
Manila,
Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys
and the hollers of the drivers as they say,
“Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!)
Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights
that surround every tree around the Meralco building
when September begins;
Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive
twenty-four by seven
where traffic enforcers dodge cars
and vans
trucks and tricycles
and jeepneys and bicycles
while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears
with a smile and a salute to all the drivers
from dawn to dusk;
The noise awakens the outskirts of your city
filled with people who never fails to smile
even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina,
where children watch the roads
transform into this ocean of black water
and small wooden boats become the means of transportation;
paddling in between houses
as the adults try to go to work;
where chickens waddling upon roofs
and cats chasing rats
become the best forms of entertainment
but Manila,
your lingering smell of cancer
comes with the dark blue starless sky
telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies.
Manila, say good night
while they hold it tight
protecting it from the dark humid air
where thieves come out to
thumb down unscrutinised objects
from shallow pockets
by the flickering lamps
across the blazing red and emerald green lights
you see less
and less
and less
faces
as the Sun sinks and says good bye.
Stop
and try to tranquilise yourself.
Your city is now lead
by a blood-thirsty leader.
Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people.
Manila,
ignore them
and sleep well.
Let the truth decay
while lives burn and vanish.
Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy.
Halcyon days are over
but
Manila,
you are still a beautiful city.
Your resilient people
overflows with hospitable hearts.
Their faces plastered with big smiles
as they welcome us for you
and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!)
proud and mighty.
Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits,
Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves,
The Pearl of the Orient Seas
was my hood.
Manila,
despite your lack of snow
and intense weather swings,
You are
and will always be
my home.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC