Hindi biro ang apat na taong ibinuhos sa iisang paaralan. Lalo na kung sa halos bawat pumapanaw na araw sa apatnapung buwan ay iisa lang ang itinatahanan ko't parang nakakulong pa sa iisang bahay sa tuktok ng iisang bundok.

Hindi birong sa haba pa lang ng apat na taon naging lipunan ko na ang Regional Science High School III. Tahanan. Mundo.

Hindi rin biro na sa pagbukhang liwayway sa akin ng ikalimang taon ay saka pa nagbago ang ikot ng mundo ko.

Sabi ng isang dating sikat na makatang si William Shakespeare noon na ang buong daigdig natin ay tila isang tanghalan at lahat ng lalaki't babae dito ay mistulang mga manananghal lamang. Sila'y umaalis at lumalahok ng walang pasinaya, madalas wala ring paalam...

Totoo nga, pabara-bara lang.

Bago ko pa man namalayan naging dayuhan agad ako sa sarili kong tahanan. Sa unang pagkakataon matapos ng apat na taon na umalis ang mga ilaw at tala na nakasanayan kong tingalain, pagmasdan, nakabibigla.

O baka matagal lang kasi talaga akong malapit sa gitna bago ko naranasang maitulak sa bandang dulo.

Sa tuwing itinatanong sa akin ng mga kaibigan ko sa Junior High School kung ano ang masasabi ko sa nakaraang dalawang taon ko sa RS bilang mag-aaral sa Senior High School; madalas sinasabi ko lang ay nakabibigla. Para akong namalinguyngóy sa wika na halos buong buhay ko nang sinasalita.

Lalong lalo na dahil palagi pang ipinaaalala sa akin ng mga taong nasa paligid ko na matagal na dapat akong umalis sa paaralan na ito. Ang pagpili ko sa STEM education o Science, Technology, Engineering, at Mathematics strand sa Akademikong trak ay isang pagkakamali at aminado ako dito. Kung tutuusin hindi talaga biro na ako ang tunay na 'alien' sa SHS ng RSHS.

Kaya mahirap ang Calculus at Physics at Chemistry para sa akin. Hindi ko ipagkakaila. Mahirap ring makitungo sa mga tipon-tipon ng mga nagsisikap maging bihasa sa larangan ng medisina kung ang gusto ko lang naman ay maging bihasa sa pisara. Higit din sa minsan ay nakahihiya na rin ipaliwanag pa kung bakit hindi ako nagtataas ng kamay tuwing tinatanong kung sino ang nangangarap maging doktor sa kinabukasan. Uulitin ko, nakahihiya.

Nakababalinguyngóy patagal ng patagal, habang lalong nagiging dayuhan ako sa paaralan na ito... Umabot ako ng hanggang ikalabindalawang baitang bago mapansin na masyado nang malaki ang distansya ko sa mga bagong bituin na dapat nasa paligid ko pa rin.

Maging tapat lang din, nakahahanga talaga ang pagniningning nila. Ang mga kaklase ko, bihira ko lang pinupuri pero tunay ang hiwaga nila, kahit sa mata ko lang.

Oo, dati inisip ko rin na habulin ko ang mga sinag ng aking mga kamagaral, pero kung nasaan ako ngayon, siguro nga mas pipiliin ko na ang kinalalagyan ko.

Itinanong na rin sa akin dati ng isa kong kaibigan ito, may advantage ba talaga ang pagpili ko na magaral sa STEM ng RSHS?

Ngayon, sobrang dali ko lang masasabi na kahit wala ako sa gitna ng mga tala napagmasdan ko naman ang mas malaking kalawakan. Kaya sobra rin, may isang napakalaking nagawa sa akin ng SHS ng lipunan ko.

Sabi nga ng mga Astrologo, pinakamalinaw na mapagmamasdan ang kalangitan mula sa pinakamadilim na kapaligiran; at yun ang kinalalagyan ko ngayon. Gaya ng nasa larawan ng isang concert kung saan nasa dulo ako ng coliseum ay nakita ko ang pinakamagandang view na hinding hindi ko makikita kung nasa gitna lamang ako at malapit sa pinakamasinag na hiwaga na meron. Tanging sa gilid lang, kung saan halos wala na akong makita sa inaapakan ko, doon ko lang nakita kung gaano karikit ang dami ng mga ilaw na hindi ko pa naisip lingunin noon.

Saka ko lang napagalaman na mayroon pa palang ningning na malilingon ko sa larangan ng pagsulat ng lathalain. Paniguradong kung hindi ko sinubukan muli na lumaban sa presscon nitong taon hindi ko na ulit mararanasan ang journalism, muntik na akong hindi makalaban sa DSPC at lumaban sa RSPC. Muntik ko nang hindi makilala si Rizzaine at ang ibang mga naging kaibigan ko sa laban na ito. Siguro nga hindi ko rin makakahalubilo ang mga naging kasamahan ko sa the Eagle at ang Sanghaya kung hindi dito.

Hindi ko rin inasahan na mapapalapit ako sa kislap na tanging sa SDRRM at Red Cross Youth ko lamang mararanasan. Nakakapagpabagabag. Matagal na akong lider pero hindi kahit kailan pa man ay nasagi na sa isip ko na mangunguna ako sa isang napakalaking lipunan  na kasing gulo at kasing dehado ng katipunan na iyon. At higit pa rito ay sino ba naman ang magaakala na sasabihin kong naging isang malaki at masayang bahagi ng SHS ko ang ubod ng labong pangkat na ito.

Ang mga kaibigan ko pa. Mga parol sa madalim na sansinukob na hindi ko magawang talikuran at hindi ko rin kayang masyadong malayuan.

Mahirap silang isa-isahin pero silang mga bituin na natulak rin palayo sa gitna ng mundo namin, para silang Polaris, na naging pahayag ng daanan tatahakin ko sa karimlang katakot-takot lakaran. Alam ko na lalayo at lalayo pa sila habang patuloy na lumalaki at lumalaki ang kalawakan ko pero ang hiwaga ng ilaw nila, yun ang hiwaga na hindi mawawala sa mundo ko.

Mahirap maligaw sa tahanang kay tagal-tagal mo nang ginawang mundo. Mahirap madapa sa daanang ilang taon mo nang nilalakad. Nakababahala. Nakababaliw. Nakababalinguyngóy. Pero ang sukdulan lang ng karanasan ko ay gaya lang ng isang simpleng kasabihan 'we do not go there for the hike, we go there for the view.' at tunay nga, sobrang ganda ng tanawin sa gilid ng pagiging estudyante ng SHS.

Mula sa pamilya ng mga dukha
Binhi nina Santiago at Catalina
Itong bayani na tunay na pangmasa

Dahil sa kahirapan, nagtrabaho ng kung anu-ano
Nagtinda ng mga baston at mga abaniko
Naging ahenteng naglalako at matiising bodegero

‘Di akalaing ang lakas ng mga bisig
Maaaring sandata sa mga manlulupig
Ni Andres na pangalan palang ay kaykisig

Subalit ‘di umasa sa lakas ng katawan
Pinatalas niya ring kusa sariling isipan
Inaral ang siyensiya at sining ng digmaan

Mga kababayan ay tinipon niya
Upang sa mga dayuhan lumusob, makibaka
Anak ng Tondo, Ama ng Katipunan – iyon siya!

--11/30/2014
(Dumarao)
*Bonifacio Day & Start of the Year of the Poor in Philippine Church Calendar

Paalam bayan kong sinilangan,
sintang katagalugan, lupain na sinakop
ng mga puting dayuhan; inalipin at binusabos
ng higit sa tatlong-daan na taon.

Kung hindi sana ako nakagapos
ay nasa larangan ako ngayon,
nakikipaglaban para sa iyong kalayaan;
subalit ako ay binihag ng mga taksil na kalahi,
kayumanggi ang kulay ng kanilang balat
subalit ugaling Kastila sila.

Alam ko na ito na ang aking wakas
dadalhin nila ako at si Procopio sa dako na di namin alam;
tanging diyos lang ang nakababatid sa aming sasapitin.
Sa punglo kaya o sa talim ng tabak kaming magkapatid ay masasawi?

Nalulumbay ako hindi dahil sa ako'y mauutas
kundi sa pag-aakala na masasawi ako sa kamay ng aking kalahi.
Kung dayuhan man lang sana ang sa akin ay papaslang mas matatanggap ko ito nang maluwag sa dibdib.

Paalam mahal kong Oryang,
Lakambini ng Katipunan,
ina ng aking anak at kabiyak ng aking dibdib.
Naiiyak ako sapagkat malungkot ang naging wakas ng ating pagsinta.

Kung magtagumpay ang himagsikan
at makamtan na ang layang inaasam
wag sana makalimutan ang mga nabuwal sa parang ng digma.

Kainin nawa ng lupa ang mga taksil sa bayan,
lunurin ng baha ang mga nakipagtulungan sa kaaway,
tamaan ng kidlat ang mga tampalasan na umibig sa dayuhan na mapang-alipin. Sumpain sila ng langit.

Nakapiring ang aking mga mata subalit nararamdaman ko na malapit na kami sa dako kong saan babasahin sa amin ni Komandante Lazaro Makapagal ang hatol ng konseho ng digma.

Payapa ang aking kalooban, walang pangamba.
Alam ko na ginawa ko ang nararapat, kailanman hindi ako nagtaksil gaya ng kanilang ipinaparatang.
Mabuhay ang Pilipinas, Mabuhay ang Rebolusyon.

Naalala mo pa ba, noong magbukas ang Nagi?
Pagkahaba pa ng pila, umabot ng Yabu dati.
Kahit pa nga yata Yabu, ay kayhaba din ng pila
Araw-araw laging ganyan, kaya dapat maaga ka.

Sa katagalan pagdaka ay nagkaupuan na nga
Ang babae ay sisigaw, at susundan ng iba pa
Bigay todo ang pagbigkas, tila baga walang bukas
Rinig mo ang tinig nila kung ikaw ay nasa labas.

Sunud-sunod na araw pa, na kami ay nasa Nagi
Itanong mo pa kay amo, siya po ang aming saksi.
Kung paanong alas-onse'y, naghihintay na ng taxi
para sa pila'y mauna, at nang makakain kami.

Ilang buwan din siguro ang sa mundo ay dumaan
na ang pagdalaw sa Nagi ay biglang naging madalang
Na mula sa bawat araw, ito'y naging linggo-linggo
Kalaunan pa ay naging Enero, Pebrero, Marso.

Lumipas ang mga taon, at ngayo ay Pebrero na.
Ngayon na lang uli kami doon sa Nagi nagpunta.
Ang dating mahabang pila, ngayon ay tila wala na
Alas-dose na noon, tanghali na po partida.

Noong pumasok na kami'y sumisigaw pa rin sila
ngunit dinig mo sa boses na ang sigla ay wala na.
Kahit yung pitsel ng house tea na laging inihahanda
Ngayon baso-baso na lang, tapos manghihingi ka pa.

"Nakakain na po kami, puwede bang bukas na lang?"
"Mayroon na n'yan sa Mega, pati na sa Katipunan"
"Huwag ka nang magmadali, hindi na dapat agahan"
"Kahit anong araw pwede, kasi nandyan lang naman 'yan".

Tayo'y magaling lamang ba, kapag bago at simula
kapag bago sa paningin, kapag bago sa panlasa?
Na 'pag nilamon ng oras o kinasanayan mo na
ay tila pinagsawaan at pinagwalang bahala.

Kailan kaya darating, ang sa aki'y tinadhana
na sa aking pagtangkilik, hindi ako magsasawa?
Na kapag nakita ako'y ramdam ko ang galak niya
at ang puso ko'y lulukso marinig lang ang ngalan n'ya.

Malamang ay naglalaro ngayon sa iyong isipan
"Tungkol pa rin ba sa Nagi, ating pinag-uusapan?"
Huwag mo na itong isipin, sagutin mo na lang ako
may pila pa kaya ngayon, sa bagong tayong Ippudo?

Before me
is a brave queen of war
slicing her enemies' heads with the sharp,
cutting edges of the liquid eyeliner
she so expertly paints upon her skin,
unshaken by her rusting metal steed's
sudden jolts and halts.

Her long hair
whips forward with the wind, but
she, unscathed by its clawing
at her freshly powdered cheeks, tosses
the strands away, tames them. Stains
her lips with a blood-red shade, sits
in her own silence, away from the earsplitting
clanging and screeching and thundering chaos
of the battle that rages around her.

It is hard not to stare.

I can only admire her from where I cower,
behind a beaten-up backpack with fraying straps,
pushing my dusty glasses to see her better,
already defeated. Already surrendered.

Funny how the only thing I know
about the stranger beside me
is that our kissing knees and shoulders,
snug against each other,
is the warmest thing I've felt in a while.

Picture yourself standing on the sidewalk of a busy, noise - polluted street somewhere in the city. Today, these streets are packed with people, all going places (some seem to just be wandering aimlessly, in deep thought), crossing streets side by side. As they pass you by, a fusion of scents greet your nostrils: the different odors of their sweat, some even chance upon passing the unholy stench of gas both ways, from up and down. This makes you dizzy, though you can’t complain (aloud at least). The rattle of a street child’s cup of coins, you ignore that. You have way too much on your mind. Yet, you stand rooted to the spot. Smoke-belching vehicles soon decide to join the scene, emitting thick, black puffs of smog enough to send an asthmatic, or anyone for that matter, to the hospital. Some pass by as slow as turtles. Most of them, however zoom past you, leaving you in a momentary state of disorientation, your heart’s drum-like pounding the only proof of their passing. In the midst of all this, you unconsciously glance at your watch. 2:30, it reads. Suddenly, it occurs to you: The world moves so fast doesn’t it? We all must be racing against the hands of time, seemingly synched to the clicking sounds of a metronome. When does this race end? How much time does the world have? You start to wonder how much time you have left. Flashbacks of your life come back at you like a collage. One second, you’re younger and innocent. The next, you are who you are now ---- and most things you wish you could change. You, as an infant banging your rattle ceaselessly, tugging at your mother’s skirt wiping your tears on the first day of school. A vivid memory of the night you downed your first bottle of beer---too fast. Your first kiss was good (or better said, imagining what it’s like to be kissed). Oh, and who could forget you egg-rolling on the grass --- drunk? Do you remember the day you fell off a chair from happiness and shock as you checked to see if you made it in --- and you did? You can almost feel the weight of the school medals you garnered for speeches and writing competitions on your neck. You can almost taste the menthol from your first and only cigarette puff on your lips. The sound of your coughing says you’re never going to do that again. Heck, yeah. You made some bad choices, huh? Some good, of course – don’t worry. You’re not that much of a mess-up. You continue your reverie on the way home on the LRT (another one of the firsts you remember --- going to Katipunan. You looked so ridiculous, the only one with a huge grin on her face as you held onto a pole, finally knowing what it felt like to be a sardine in a can). Some time in the middle of the ride, still in your nostalgic state, you notice a bumper sticker stuck on one of the windows. It read “Slow down”. Under that, “What will YOU do now?”

It was 3 A.M. in the heart of the metro,
although by the crossroads of Katipunan,
Aurora Blvd and CP Garcia,
the music of time seems to sigh to a stop.
And there by the corner, an orchestra.
Our hearts, on the other hand,
were out in the open
but the cold weather got the best of us.
Our sleepy eyes were giving us away.
You had to pull me closer
and I had to warm up your hands.
Have I told you before?
You have the hands that could unsettle
but your eyes tells a whole different story.
A tale I was too terrified to start reading, perhaps.
But a favorite of mine it has become in time.
Moments with you are as raw and surreal
as moments can be;
they were just once imaginations and inspirations for
those bad poems I used to write years ago.
Not that my poems now are good but the ideas I can now grasp,
they're inside my realm, within my reach.
Your far-fetched dreams are statement patches
on my denim jacket while my craziest of hopes
are tucked safely inside every pocket of your dad's
hand-me-down vintage jeans.
"He got this from Vietnam in the 80's",
you uttered between a puff of smoke
and before I could start talking about the war yet again,
just like in the movies,
you started asking me about my dad, his whereabouts,
'just anything' about him;
something a lover has never done before,
something a friend wouldn't even bother hearing about.
You were waiting intently yet so patiently
for my response as you threw away the **** of your cigarette.
Right then and there,
I swear I was in rock bottom in love with you.
Should I reach for your lips first then proceed to tell you?
Or should I tell you first and then stop to stare at your lips longingly before finally reaching
out to kiss you, like in the movies, too?
For the very first time, I was in rendezvous with the story
and the abiding pain that comes with its telling.
I almost liked the melancholy lying in its very idea.
I was at peace talking about it,
almost as if it wasn't my own story to tell.
You made everything so easy, like throwing up acid
after about twelve celebratory shots of Stolichnaya.
You listened, you didn't just hear me out but you listened
like no one did before
and right then and there,
I swear I could give you the world.
And I started doing so by giving you the bricks
from the ruins of the walls around my heart.
The same bricks that I shattered
and played my own heart with.
I even had the faint chance to understand myself,
but not as much as you did.
I saw some things I've never seen before
but not as clearly as you did.
I stopped mid-sentence, first to catch my breath,
second to recollect myself
and I wasn't very sure about the third
if I wanted to break down
or if I wanted to reach for your lips,
finally pull you in for a kiss but to hell, you knew
what I needed better.
You took my hand, kissed it tenderly before pulling me in.
You let my head rest on your lap like I would have with my dad, should he stayed.
And I told myself "there's no turning back".
You found me by the crossroads
and you made me tiptoe happily through
the speeding vehicles that once killed me
and destroyed parts of me that I could never take back
but I would do it all over again.
I would live only to die again.
For half the time, you were waiting for me on the
other side of the road but for the latter,
you impatiently crossed the other half of the road
to meet me in the middle,
so we could cross back to safety together.
I could double whatever price I had to pay
when I saw your face getting closer
and when you finally touched me,
I was willing to embrace the glory of bankruptcy.
Right then and there I swear I could do everything for you
and I started doing so by forcing my heart
with all its might to try beating once more
and it did, to my surprise, the loudest it ever has.
I didn't have to hold the shards for too long
with my already bleeding and wary hands
because you held them with me.
You held me.
And just like that, I am whole again.
We were singing along to Strawberry Fields Forever,
exchanging soft, contented sighs while wishing
Walrus didn't have to close so soon as 2 A.M.

there's always a way
for us
to express ourselves
better

barely anyone here reads books
or poetry
anymore
barely anyone speaks of rizal
or jose corazon
why would they
it costs thought to digest balagtasan

poetry has to be complicated, it seems

but everyone's feelings are simple
even when it's complicated, too

i half thought simple poetry was an impossibility

but i am also an idiot

in rush hour at old katipunan
i boarded a taxi cab with broken windows
hot air out of it's vents
mud on its wheels

and it's driver had a phone call
"pasensya, di ako makakauwi ngayon,
kainin nyo nalang muna yung tira"

he looked as tired as a soldier
as tattered as the far road
looking like most of us
when ready
to give up

a motorcycle scraped the left door
"PUTANG INA MO!!!!"
roared through the avenue

and i could feel
what seems to be
entire centuries of anger
entire centuries
of not being able
to write like the spanish
or the american
or the japanese
or themselves

well, i do think we do have a piece of ourselves
in that shout
he could be swearing to the motorcyclist
or the dilapidated car
or the stupid government
and our stupid history

i'd like to believe
his entire week
was written
in that shout

and i knew i was wrong
oh, so wrong

there are poets everywhere
and you don't have to eat an old filipino dictionary
to say hate
or love
or the color of sunset
or the taste of a summer's day

it might not be as pleasant
as a frenchman saying several stanzas
only to insult someone's ***

eat your heart out, hemingway
our poets here only have to say three words
to mean so much

(granted, so do yours
but give me this one)

and i have learned what poetry means

i gave the driver 500 pesos for a drive two thirds that price

i should use more swear words now, then

2013, you called me apo and I called you lola.
This was the first time we met,
In a McDonald's, 9:45 PM after youth service.
I realized at that moment that you, were going to impact my life.

December 12, 2013, Bob, your best friend, and I
were scurrying through traffic,
With a cake and some balloons,
We climbed up the stairs,
and waited with your closest friends.

I was amazed by how many close friends you had,
I never knew you touched so many people's lives,
but that was just a small percent of the lives you've touched.

As time went by, I got to know you.
I saw your personality and quirks,
and they were all beautiful.

2015, I was attracted to you.
I wondered how God could create
such a woman with grace and elegance.
A woman more precious than jewels,
A woman that did good, and not harm
to the people she loved.

She opened her hand to the poor,
and reached her hands to the needy.
Her currency was love, and she was
rich.

You, Gia, were the first woman I considered
for matrimony.
The way you lived like a Proverbs 31 woman,
The way your heart cries out to people in need.
You were, a role model for women all around the Philippines.

Even when the attraction faded,
I knew God wanted me to pray for a woman like you.
A woman who lived by Proverbs 31 faithfully.
A woman whose sole desire is to be a blessing to everyone she meets.

You inspired the hearts of those in the Fort Campuses,
You fanned flames in the beleivers in Katipunan,
In the nations, you spread your infectious joy.

I'll never forget the day I asked you,
"What is your favorite animal, and why?"
You told me,"Quokkas!" in your very energetic ways.

I looked at you in bewilderment asking what a quokka was.
As we searched, I discovered that quokkas were considered
the happiest creatures on earth.
Just like you.

Gia Garcia, campus missionary, world missionary.
Leader, dancer, sister, daughter, and friend.
You are many things to many people,
but before everything you are,
a Child of God.

Enjoy His courts,
Rejoice with the Angels,
You fought the good fight,
you made it home,
you've blessed so many people,
and I look forward to catching up to you,
just as promised.
In eternity, where you can dance and praise the Lord
with all of our friends for eternity.