"bakit 'di mo pa binuhos ang lahat?" nagtatakang tanong sa akin ni inay. inutusan niya akong diligan ang alaga niyang santan sa bakuran. "nagtira ka pa. 'di naman na kailangan," at sabay niyang kinuha ang balde na naglalaman ng tubig na galing sa kanyang pinaglabhan. walang pagdadalawang-isip at bigla na lang niya itong itinapon sa sementadong daanan papunta sa aming bakuran.

sa malayang pagdaloy ng tubig, napaisip ako kung bakit ganoon na lang itapon ni inay ang tubig. pwede pa namang ipandilig iyon sa ibang halaman na nasa tabi-tabi. pero bakit hindi ko man lang din yun naisip na gawin? para nga naman hindi nasayang ang tubig. para may iba pang halaman na pwedeng makinabang at hindi ang walang buhay na sementadong daanan.

oo nga naman, ang tubig na galing sa labada ni inay ay marumi na. umitim at dumumi dahil sa pinaghalo-halong sabon at mantsa ng mga naiwang alaala sa damit. kung nakakapagsalita nga lang din naman ang halaman, hindi niya gugustuhin ang maruming tubig na galing sa labada ni inay.

pero hinuha lang naman ang lahat. paano kung ang mga halaman sa tabi-tabi, ay parang katulad lang din ng patubong santan na alaga ni inay...

nangangailangan
at sadyang nauuhaw.

i have held with
fascination, when i was young,
  all of my toys.

a parallel universe of
  marvels. imperial is the mood
of these ecstasies!

i remember my cheap svelte revolver
  back in 1998 bought from
  the festive bazaar in the marketplace at the dreary heart of Bocaue when i was
consumed by the thought of brutal force and how swiftly, in the hands of men meant for twisting open
   the doors, welcome death
or the metallurgy of it.

i used to run off into the sunset
  toting my gun high with pride
   shunning the Sun, and the
reprise of my carousals is my mother
    soldering in her white hands
a "walis tambo" and summoning me
     homeward with a churlish grin
on my face, triumphantly ecstatic
   over my rendezvous.

now my gun has withstood the
   tatterdemalion of dog days
and in one corner i felt its
  brokenness as it yearns to
  be retired early in the peak
    of my youth. happiness wears down like a chip on the old linoleumed floor and i tinker with
  it to unsheathe the grime
  of the unspoken stucco concrete.

  i placed it in a box, my black revolver, together with the toys
   that i once laughed with
when only bliss is as simple as a juvenile love, or the easy picking
    of a santan over the fields
      where i ran off into
the viridian laughing with the verdure of the world that i once knew as something so beautiful
   and intricate.

i heard my black revolver went
   somewhere behind the macadamized wall where i dreamt of having a basketball ring nailed to.
   only i knew how to play
my revolver, and now that i am
   caught within the heaviness
  of all things that mean greater
  than all other joys,
   no other days could ever
surpass how
  i made
    a hero in myself
mighty with the tales
     that i keep.

good ole black revolver, 1998.

The clouds are heavier
than my mascara;
my lashes are the weighing scales,
they're pressing them down, down,
now I'm feeling down, down.
My eyes were the drunkest
until they met with this waterfall
that makes the cars dance
outside my bus window.
Be this north, south,
east, or west;
all I know is forward,
it gets better there.
And what do you know,
I told you so;
the clouds are getting thinner here,
now that we're finally here.
The cone trees align
like constellations,
the air is eucalyptus
in my lungs,
and the sky spread
like one giant cloud
that swallowed up the sun
so it's still bright
even if it's already about to be night.
I guess the four long rides
are worth the sight
of these foreign horses
and this patch of a pineapple field.
Above me, the sea;
below me, the city.
The foam and fog
made everything gray-blue
and the landscape is a moving painting
where the santan flowers are magnified
and the mountains are blurred.
We went up and down,
hill by hill;
left and right,
tree to tree
to be somewhere
and nowhere
at the same time.
This hanging bridge
would be more thrilling
if I were to fall
and start a landslide.
It's getting darker
and the flickering of the city
is no longer in silhouette
but in full incandescence
like that of twinkling stars
or Christmas lights 'round the park,
and suddenly breathing
is an amusement.
Now there's a cricket and bird duet
featuring the frogs
and we're walking in the dark,
finding our way
through this maze
of ilang-ilangs and moss,
with the new moon as our north star,
tracing our steps back
while I lose vision of
the lines on my paper.
A little firefly leads us out,
then we're back at the same
yellowbell stairs from the way in.
Coldness has never been
this memorable
and I'd always remember
how the Tagaytay wind
swept me off my feet
and took me back
to this tricycle ride,
back to this bus ride,
and then home
to one of our many homes.

Jam tujuh pagi tadi Ibu mengetuk pintu
Bunyi ketukan itu sampai empat kali terulang
Di ketukan empat setengah,
Pintu terbuka setengah juga
“Ya?”
“Mandi, Mbak.”
“Pingin tidur lagi.”
“Tapi hari ini hari kemenangan.”
Raut wajahnya yang telah menjadi warisanku tak sedikitpun menunjukkan bahwa dia telah memenangkan apapun.
Tidak seperti kebanyakan orang,
Untuknya hari ini bukanlah tentang seberapa kental kolam santan yang menyimbahi santapan-santapan
Bukan juga tentang berpeluk-rindu dengan orang-orang sambil sesekali bertukar kabar
Lelah mengutuk dirinya karena seumur hidup merasa kalah,
Aku tahu bahwa sehari saja ia ingin merasa menang.
Ia sendiri tahu betul saat hari ini berakhir dan tamu berpamit untuk pulang setelah semua habis terkunyah; ia akan kembali merasa kalah.
Menang atas dan untuk apa?
Seribu kata maaf pun ia telan begitu saja tanpa mencerna kata tersebut keluar dari mulut siapa
Tanpa adanya hari kemenangan yang dibanjiri oleh teks bersampul maaf,
Hidupnya memang sudah tentang meminta maaf dan memaafkan
Tak ada pilihan lain.
Hanya saja hari ini sinar sendu wajahnya menunjukkan bahwa akhirnya,
Setidaknya untuk dia,
Harapan pahitnya terhadap ‘maaf dan memaafkan’ akan diselebrasikan;
Dan seperti dirinya, lebih dari sejuta orang akan melakukannya walaupun untuk sehari saja.
Kepada siapa lagi ia harus meminta maaf dan meminta dimaafkan?

Ternyata benar,
jarak dan ketidakhadiran fisik adalah alasan mengapa kita menyukai apa yang tidak disukai.

Terkadang paksaan adalah bagian dari hal terindu yang diinginkan manusia;
Bagaimana tidak?
Sejak kapan kau menyukai teh hangat?
Tumis sawi-sawian, bahkan sayur berkuah santan?
Jawabannya sejak kita memiliki jarak dengan ibu.

Saat ketidakmampuan kita untuk melihatnya megiris bawang setiap pagi sehabis subuh
Suaranya yang memekik dari ujung ke ujung.

Kita tidak benar-benar menyukai beberapa hal diatas, kita hanya memaksakan momen agar kita merasa berada pada masa lalu.

Kemudian semakin bertambahnya angka-angka, kita lupa
Jengukan anak-anak adalah vitamin yang ia perlukan
Karena pulang yang sebenar-benarnya adalah saat kita melihat ibu.

B_A
14-15 Mei 2013

Mahilig ka sa mga bulaklak
lalo na 'yong may mga matitingkad na kulay.
Hilig mo sila
dahil kaya ka nilang pakinggan.
Walang bahid ng panghuhusga.
Naiintindihan nila ang mga kuwento
na bihira **** ibahagi sa iba.
Ilang beses na nilang nasilayan
ang mga pag-ibig,
ang mga sakít,
ang kung paano ka mag-ipon ng tapang,
ang kung paano ka maduwag.

Matalik mo siláng mga kaibigan.

Mahilig ka sa mga bulaklak
at parati kang umaasa na dadalhan ka niya ng mga ito.
Hindi ka nabigo.
Hindi ka nabibigo.
Gaya ng mga paborito **** rosas, tulips, at mariposa,
nagagawa niyang ika'y intindihin.
Makailang ulit niya na ring nakita kang
umiyak,
tumawa,
matakot,
at magmahal.
Gaya ng mga paborito **** santan, sampaguita't gumamela,
pamilyar na siya sa iyong mga damdamin.

Sa madaling salita,
mahilig ka sa mga bulaklak.
Pero hindi yaong mga gáling sa akin.

Got thee at ‘bout four-thirty
While clouds are gray & rainy –

Oh how I missed my real plan
TED Orientation was gone
Flower there must be better
Event’s worth to remember
It was because of nonsense
Momentum near decadence

This time I was in hurry
So I must be not sorry
Slip not oh flower of June
Despite bad weather, there’s boon
And oh I can’t imagine
There’s something red & glowin’

While alone in Amang Hall
A little drizzle, befall
Sitting in front computer
Door’s open, saw I flower

Went out for awhile to get
Red santan bundle that’s wet.

-06/30/2011
(Dumarao)
*Ode to the 7 Flowers of 2011

Picked thee from clusters
With red-like blisters
Shrub with thousand leaves
Packed flowers it gives
Hey! It’s a “santan”!

The owner of thee
A rich family
Named Araneta
And Hachuela
Dumarao’s elite

Glad birthday to her
Ma’am Inday’s mother
Their clan reunites
Family invites
June One of this year

Beside the stairway
Flowers in array
On box plots planted
To porch surmounted
Abode’s grand entrance

This day’s important
Somehow jubilant
‘Bout thirteen years past
Since I was there last
This one’s second time.

-06/01/2011
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection