Professorial Fantasies

I kept telling myself to focus on her exam paper alone, but something inside me was compelling me to take short glances of her. I had snapshots of her: her wandering eyes with long lashes and thick eyeliners, the sweaty flesh between her nose and upper lip, the strands of dark hair curling around her neck, the shiny pendant that fell right between her full breasts. “Why are you so nervous?” I asked, biting my lower lip; it was more for me than her. She shrugged. I wondered if she knew then what it was going to be about. I had been planning it for so long that I had grown too afraid of the possibility that something might go wrong. I wasn’t really used to plans failing. If she knew it already, would she still do it? “I asked you to be here in my office, Ms. de los Santos, because you aced my exam,” I said, taking care not to sound too professional, making sure it was casual, cool, something like that. She smiled. “Kudos to you, yes. I was wondering, however, if you did it honestly.” It disgusted her. I looked up and saw her looking away, which gave me a chance to stare at the pendant again. My pants bulged. She turned her head and stared back at me. I wondered if she knew about it, this urge, and for how long she had known if she did.

“Do you seriously think I cheated?” Yes, in fact. See, she seemed like the dumb broad in my philosophy class, whose sole purpose in this world was to be blessed with suffocating breasts that were meant for obsessive staring. And, well, I was this pervert professor who gave unreasonably difficult exams in informal logic. Not even divine intervention could make me believe she didn’t cheat.

I wanted to say something but I had lost my poise; I couldn’t stop looking at the pendant, how it shone between those two things. She repeated the question and demanded I look at her, eye to eye, and I did. But her eyes were more overwhelming than her breasts; I saw the intelligence, the potential, in them that I used to neglect. I saw how she saw through me; I felt like a book being examined, a page of me turned after each careful scanning. I was the inferior one then; she had me by her gaze.

Yet I challenged this quasi-superiority. “Do you believe, Angela, that creatures are attracted to creatures manifesting brilliance in their endowments?” It shook her.

“Sorry?” She pulled herself away slowly.

“Endowments, such as hunting in lions, shrewdness in foxes, and, well, intellect in humans.” She laughed, giggled, even. She was probably more relieved about the absence of innuendo in the term than excited by what I had actually meant. Nonetheless, she said yes. “This might come as surprising to you, but I find your acing my exam very attractive.” I paused for a few seconds, waited for a response that did not come. “I haven’t met any student whose physicality is as stimulating as her cognitive skill,” I lied. “You astound me, Angela. Them boys are probably always after you.” She sensed my superiority in the moment then and looked down. She was, suddenly, the book. That, I did not enjoy. I wanted to do it with her consent, so I waited, until the office was filled with nothing but noise from the air conditioner. “There is a theory about copulation, that it’s not just physical but intellectual connection. If that were true, then every teacher must be, at least partly, copulating with his students,” I said, finally. “What do you think?”

She looked up then, at me, and then frowned. “Personally,” she said, “I think you’re a pervert.” It was just how I wanted. We were fixed on each other’s eyes, equal by virtue of debate.

“Ah, but I ask,” I said, playing with my beard and smiling smugly, “what do you mean by ‘pervert’?” I had her then, her pages in my hands. “Let this serve as a post-test examination.”

“A pervert is someone who manifests sexual malice with someone else.”

I smiled. “Then that must necessarily include couples! Would you call them perverts as well?”

“No,” she said. A pregnant pause. She was thinking; it was so, well, sexy. “This someone else needs to be someone who is not related intimately with the pervert, who coerces this someone else into sexual acts by means of, say, blackmail.” It did not impress me, really. “And you’re blackmailing me, sir, by first claiming that you don’t trust that I did well in your exam honestly and then suggesting certain acts, which, being in a lesser position, I am disposed to believe as alternatives to vindicate myself against your accusation.”

“Ah, blackmail is a funny term,” I said.

She was aggravated. She looked sideways, probably trying to conjure some thoughts. “Blackmailing,” she said, finally, still looking away, “is when someone pressures someone else into doing something.”

“Then you’re blackmailing me too, Ms. de los Santos,” I said, smiling calmly. “You’re pressuring me too into entering this ‘sexual act’. This isn’t entirely my fault; you gave me no choice!”

“What!” she yelled. Then she began sobbing, crying for some salvation from this situation and from the irrationality of my arguments. “Not entirely your fault! You’ve been suggesting things and harassing me since I got here! You’ve been staring at my chest the entire time!” She stood up then and prepared to leave, tears trickling into her mouth. I held her arm tight and asked her to stop and sit down. She didn’t.

“You don’t understand, Ms. de los Santos,” I said. I maintained composure. “You’ve been pressuring me since the start of this semester and now I can’t help it. You’ve been blackmailing me with your beauty and intellect, your love for my course, your brilliance with your endowment. I had no choice but to be attracted to someone like you!”

She stopped crying all of a sudden and began undressing and offering herself to me, to my superior intelligence, to my rhetoric, to the power of my thoughts. Then we did it on my desk; she straddled me like a psycho and I kept yanking her hair, throwing expletives as I did.

Not really. She left then, crying her way out of the office. A day later I received a memo from the Anti-Sexual Harassment Office and thereafter got fired. It was alright, though. After all, I had succeeded in my attempts with other students far too often in the forty years I had been teaching. Perhaps it was time to finally retire.

The Amalgamation of All Cozy Feelings

I am in a point of space and time that stretches outward infinitely, indefinitely, like the haze of images that fills a dreamer’s mind or the blankness of this dreamer’s head right after waking up and rising from bed. Everything around me merges; I am in some sort of a trance, where everything sways and blends, as opposed to the mosaic of the world that is reality. It is all surreal.
Yet what is more unbelievable is the vividness of this cosmopolitan universe. All sensual pleasures heightened, I can feel, see, smell, taste, and hear everything, all at once.
A blanket of darkness covers the entire above. There are no stars, but the moon shines in effortless brightness that illuminates everything beneath it. The moon is so near and so big that it seems like I can almost tap it with a finger. It is a floating button that, if I pressed the right way, will reveal its entire glory and explode. Then, the black cloudless heavens will be overwhelmed by its brilliance and finally succumb to its luminosity.
Beneath the blanket and before me a sea of lush grass spread in perpetuity. It has no boundaries other than my own imagination. It reveals no portion of the soil it covers, denying even the slightest betrayal from the ugliness of brown. I am standing on it and I can feel its moistness with my bare feet, crawling up to my naked groin. That, added to the icy coldness of the northern winds that splash endlessly onto my chest, makes my body shiver. I am a hopeless little thing in this world that keeps pushing me around, determining my sensations, and conditioning my being, like a helpless lab rat in an experiment, though with the willingness of a paid prostitute.
I hear the mating of cicadas and the fluttering of dragonfly wings. They share rhythm with the whistling of the northern winds, like the beat of a musical piece’s bass with a comfortably high-pitched melody. They emphasize the fullness and easiness of life in this world, making it seem as if it were full of interruptible activities. The world is in a state of fragile steadiness with its sounds.
From afar I smell a familiar scent of strawberries and lavenders, mixed in the dense air of everything fresh. It is nothing seductive, nothing mature as that; it is young, innocent, and naïve in its playfulness and free from the pheromones of adulthood. My nose fills with the smell and I space out as it lingers there. Then I allow the scent to enter my mouth and it tastes as I expected, like the milky skin of a toddler who has just come from a long bath. But the sensation builds up and becomes more and more familiar, far too familiar, that it has become alarming. I jerk my head and search around for its source.
I find it and discover that it has always been there, the solidification of all these homey sensations, of this inexplicable comfort and peace. She is sitting on the grass, a few feet away from me, smiling, with her braces glimmering under the moonlight. She shines white, like a lost ghost in all this darkness. Her arms are wrapped around her legs, which cover her body. She waves her hands and speaks, with the smallness of a child’s voice, “Hi.” I motion toward her and sit beside her. My corrupted body cowers in the purity of hers, yet she embraces me. I realize that this world was produced from her being, that all these sensations come infinitely from her, that this point in space and time is inside her and is simply embracing me, that she, not this world, is in truth the amalgamation of all cozy feelings.

The Doom of Liberalism

Liberalism has always dominated domestic and global politics since the introduction of the US as the world leader. Ever since the triumph of the country, the world saw liberalism as the sole ideology that will ensure peace, participation, and a sense of self-fulfillment.

But what is liberalism, really? The ideology has been used and thrown so easily into arguments that it has become the absolute opposite of contentious. The fervor with which people use the term has, ironically, become the doom of further close inspection of it.

An Idiot’s Guide to Liberalism

Liberalism can be attached to Rousseau’s social-contract theory. This theory tells us that, to avoid a “state of nature” or a state of complete chaos, an order must be maintained. And everyone will supposedly agree with this, since it will be the only assurance of general peace, while retaining individual liberties. This is what liberalism offers: freedom of self in the midst of order.

Liberalism has many elements, the most important of which are individualism, toleration, consent, and constitutionalism. Individualism is all about allowing each person to choose the way of life he feels will satisfy him. This is where toleration comes in. Toleration means allowing opposition, mainly. All opposing ideas will be tolerated and treated with respect; no political ideologist will be oppressed for his beliefs. At the same time, liberalism also believes in consent: the citizens must allow a government to hold power before it does (ergo, the elections). To provide order, consitutionalism will be enforced, although it is assumed of course that the constitution is allowed by the people through consent.

Inherent disaster

I have provided you with the idealisms of liberalism. At first glance, the ideological implications seem to form the Good Society we now dream of: a place of peace with freedom and obligations with rights. However, when further examined, you will see that the ideology is highly unstable due to opposing realities and feasibilities within and without the liberal utopia.

I wished to take an institutionalist approach, but it seems impossible given that the object being studied is an ideology and therefore highly sociological.

Let’s start from the first element I mentioned: individualism. Imagine a group of babies in a society we will call Batumbakal. They are all born equal. Given individualism, however, they will later on pursue different ways of life. Let’s say all the other babies except one choose to become lawyers, doctors, cops, and carenderia owners. They will all pursue their self-interests. As for the single exception who we will from now on call Buboy, he will also pursue his own self-interest. But let’s say his self-interest is to become the corrupt fascist leader of Batumbakal. Surely, we must allow him to pursue this, given individualism! However, a liebral might argue, this will go against the individualisms of the other babies. They will not be allowed to pursue ways of life they desire. But Buboy has a counter-argument: toleration. All political ideologies, no matter how far they are from the tenets of liberalism, must be tolerated. If Buboy becomes an oppositionist, he must certainly be allowed to become one!

Ah, so liberalism seems to be struck now by its own weapons. But it does not end there. The remaining two elements will provide the means for Buboy to actually succeed in becoming the fascist leader of Batumbakal. Let’s say Buboy becomes charismatic, providing dreams for the Batumbakalers. Ergo, Buboy’s political ideals will be given consent, an element allowed by liberalism. Using his charisma, he will drive the people into a frenzy: he will rise into power, be elected as Batumbakal president, and be allowed to drive the politcs of Batumbakal according to his own will. As a final strike to the ideology that has caused his growth, Buboy will end liberalism by changing the constitution, based on consent. After doing so, even if liberalism has withered away, constitutionalism, an element that will remain alive in the people’s values, will be enforced. Every Batumbakaler will abide by the constitution, no matter what it says. I presume chaos will cripple Batumbakal sooner or later.

And that, my friends, is how liberalism is doomed to fail. To provide an empirical base for Buboy and Batumbakal, take a look at the collapse of the social democrat Weimar Republic in Germany and the rise of Adolf Hitler.

Modern Fears

Let’s change the scenes a little. Batumbakal is now the world, the Batumbakalers are now different nation-states. Buboy is now a nation-state with a self-interest and potential to become the world’s next leader. The liberal predecessor of Buboy is now a world leader, a leader long awaited to emerge triumphant by Buboy for his plans to succeed.

Ni hao ma!

An End by Art

I stare as a soul into the wasteland before me that used to be the world.

There have been many predictions of this end of space and time,

And they have all been analyzed according to calculation and empiricism

All according to pragmatic science.

There was once a scare about the Large Hadron Collider,

About an invasion of beings foreign to earth,

About a regime of machines.

Humans thought that with their unchallengeable knowledge and certainty,

That with their reason and logic,

That with the absence of dynamics in their scientific studies,

It was sure that if the world were to end, it would be by science.

I laugh at their absurdity now.

The world did not end because of another big bang nor ozone depletion;

It ended because of odes, sculptures, paintings,

Debate, compromise, hegemony,

Propaganda, conviction, and emotion

That moved billions of people into conflict.

It was precisely the dynamics of studies called “arts” that allowed the end of the world.

It was precisely the unpredictable, not the unknowable,

The incalculable, not the unprovable,

That caused massive death.

And even if one will argue that it was the weapons that ultimately killed us all,

This remains true:

It was the songs that kept playing in people’s ears as they killed,

It was the talks that decided our murders,

It was the unexplainable thirst for blood that took our lives.

Not the nuclear fission, not extraterrestrials, not laser beams, not the environment;

Not science.

But art.

It was an end by art.

Sa Mundo ng mga Diyamante

[i submitted this to mrs. ligaya rubin for my malikhaing pagsulat 10 class. its supposed to be a story for children, but im open to scrutiny that it doesnt fit for the category. its also a little longer than the other short stories, but i sincerely think its too short to convey the exact message.]

Nakasimangot si Popoy habang pinapanood niya ang kaniyang nanay sa pagkusot nito ng nilalabhang pulang palda. Nakaramdam siya ng matinding awa para rito at nangarap na, balang araw, tutulungan din niya ang kaniyang nanay.

Si Popoy ay magiging labindalawang taong gulang sa susunod na taon. Maliit siya, payat, at kayumanggi, tulad ng karamihan sa mga batang nakatira rin sa Barangay San Antonio. Masipag siya at hindi nagpapahuli sa mga aralin sa klase, subalit nahihirapan din siyang mag-aral nang matino dahil kadalasan ay kandila lang ang ilaw niya sa kaniyang kuwarto.

Nag-iisang anak si Popoy ng isang labandera at tsuper ng dyip, sina Aling Emma at Mang Boy. Parehong responsable ang mga magulang ni Popoy, subalit dulot ng mababang suweldo ng kanilang mga trabaho, hindi na nakaangat mula sa kahirapan ang kaniyang pamilya. Nanatili silang nakatira sa isang napakaliit na bahay.

“‘Nay,” tawag ni Popoy, matapos pigain ng kaniyang nanay ang pulang palda. “Inaya po ko nina Nene at Dong. Maglalaro lang po kami sa labas.”

“Tuwing Sabado na ‘yan a. Bilisan niyo, darating na ang Tatay mo. Bumalik ka bago maghapunan,” sabi ni Aling Emma.

Tumango si Popoy at saka umalis. Sa kaniyang paglalakad, napatingala si Popoy at nakitang madilim ang langit. Dinalian ni Popoy ang paglalakad nang hindi maabutan ng parating na ulan ang paglalaro nila nina Nene at Dong.

Matatalik na kaibigan ni Popoy sina Nene at Dong. Si Nene ay isang mahinhing babae, sampung taong gulang, at si Dong naman ay isang napakakulit na lalaki, labintatlong taong gulang. Madalas silang maglaro tuwing Sabado ng patintero, kasama ang iba pang kabataan ng Barangay San Antonio. Alas tres pa lang ng hapon ay nagkikita-kita na sila sa Kalye Pinya at doon naglalaro. Walang kotseng dumadaan sa Kalye Pinya dahil liblib itong kalye sa barangay, kaya naman dito lang pinapayagang maglaro sina Popoy.

“Ang tagal mo,” bati ni Dong mula sa grupo ng mga manlalaro nang makarating na si Popoy.

“Sorry,” sabi ni Popoy habang nagkakamot ng ulo. “Si Nanay kasi, tinulungan ko lang magbuhat ng labahin.”

“Ayos lang ‘yon,” sabi naman ni Nene mula sa likod ng balikat ni Dong. “Tara!”

Sa hudyat na ito, agad na nagjak-en-poy sina Dong at Robert, isa ring madalas na kalaro nina Popoy ng patintero. Nanalo si Robert gamit ang gunting; ibig sabihin, sina Popoy, Nene, at Dong ang unang taya at ang magiging harang sa laro. Pumuwesto na agad ang tatlo ayon sa linyang ginuhit nila sa gitna ng kalsada. Unang harang palagi si Nene dahil mabagal siyang gumalaw, ikalawang harang si Popoy, at huling harang naman si Dong dahil maliksi siya. Pumosisyon na rin sina Robert, Mirna, at Toto sa harapan ni Nene. Binigay ni Robert ang senyas kay Dong matapos makapaghanda, at saka nag-umpisa ang laro. Mabilis nakalusot sina Mirna at Toto kay Nene, pero nahuli rin agad ni Popoy si Mirna at ni Dong si Toto. Subalit habang nagkakagulo sila, mabilis na natakasan ni Robert ang lahat ng harang, kahit nahuli siyang pumasok kina Mirna. Nakalusot na ang isa sa grupo, kaya panalo na sina Robert.

“Ang bilis mo talaga, Robert!” puri ni Nene.

“Ako pa!” mayabang na sagot ni Robert. “O, dali, palit na.”

At nagpalit nga ng taya ang laro. Madilim na nang natapos sila at nawalan na sila ng malay kung nakailang puntos na ang bawat grupo. Hindi naman ‘yon ang mahalaga para sa kanila. Nagbigayan ng paalam ang bawat isa at saka nagsimulang maglakad pauwi sina Nene, Dong, at Popoy.

Ilang sandali lang ang nakalipas ay nagkatotoo nga ang hula ni Popoy. Bumagsak ang malalaking patak ng ulan mula sa langit. Subalit lalo pang ikinatuwa ito ng mga bata. Walang muwang sa suliranin ng sakit, nagtampisaw sila sa putik sa kalsada. Tumawa sila sa mga eksenang isinadula ni Dong mula sa Dragonball Z. Magaling kasing umarte bilang Frieza si Dong. “Hindi ka makakawala, Goku!” sigaw ni Dong, habang nakatapat ang palad kay Popoy, kunwaring may enerhiyang binubuo mula sa wala.

“Ha! ‘Yan ang akala mo!” sagot naman ni Popoy. “Super sayan!” Tumalsik si Dong sa lakas ng puwersang inilabas ni Popoy. Isa rin itong talento ni Dong. Magaling siyang tumalsik nang walang nagpapatalsik sa kaniya.

Halos kalahating oras silang naglaro at nagtawanan sa malakas na ulan, hanggang sa datnan sila ng isang matandang lalaki. May itim na payong siyang hawak na nagkukubli sa mukha niya. Mukhang napakayaman ng matanda sa kaniyang suot na itim na amerikana at dalang eleganteng baston. “Magandang gabi sa inyo,” bati ng lalaki. “Hindi ba kayo hinahanap ng mga magulang ninyo?”

“Pauwi na rin po kami,” sabi ni Popoy.

“Sa ganitong lakas ng ulan? Magkakasakit lang kayo!” sabi ng lalaki. “Alam niyo kung ano ang kailangan niyo? Isang mangkok ng napakainit na lugaw. Mayroon ako sa bahay ko. Gusto niyo?”

Nagulantang ang tatlo sa imbitasyon ng matandang lalaki. Kabado ang mga mukha nila at agad nilang pinagdudahan ang kabaitan ng lalaki. “Hindi na lang ho, salamat,” sabi ni Popoy. “Pauwi na rin po kasi si Tatay, baka hanapin po ako noon.”

Lumitaw ang napakaputing mga ngipin mula sa anino ng payong sa mukha ng lalaki. “A, mabilis lang naman tayo. At huwag kayong matakot, nag-aalala lang ako sa inyo habang pinapanood ko kayo mula sa bahay ko,” sabi ng lalaki, sabay turo sa isang napakalaking bahay sa kalye. Nagtaka ang mga bata. Ngayon lang nila napansin ang bahay na yaon, samantalang tuwing Sabado ay dinaraanan nila ang kalyeng ito pauwi. “Wala kayong dapat katakutan,” ulit ng lalaki. Pinakita niya ang kulubot niyang mukha. “Ako si Midas, matanda na ako at uugod-ugod. Wala akong kayang gawin sa inyo.”

Natawa ang mga bata sa sinabi ni Midas at unti-unti silang nakumbinseng mabuting tao nga siya. “Sige po, pero mabilis lang talaga ha,” sabi ni Dong. “At libre ha. Wala po kaming pera e.”

“Isang iglap lang,” sabi ni Midas. “Baka nga hindi niyo pa mapansing tapos na pala.” Tumango ang mga bata at pumayag na rin sa wakas. Sinundan nila si Midas papunta sa malaki niyang bahay. Totoo nga ang sabi ng lalaki; napakabagal na niyang maglakad at gumegewang-gewang pa sa kaniyang baston.

Bumulaga sa pagpasok ng mga bata sa bahay ang samu’t saring rebulto at pigurin sa sala ng bahay ni Midas. Nabighani sila ng isang pigurin ng tatlong maliliit na batang kamukha nila. Magkakaakbay ang tatlong bata, ang nag-iisang babae sa gitna. Napansin ni Midas ang pagkahumaling ng tatlo sa pigurin at saka inaming siya ang may gawa noon. “Talaga!” sambit ni Nene, hindi makapaniwala sa sinabi ni Midas.

“Oo,” sabi ni Midas na hindi napigilang ngumiti. “Kayo ang inspirasyon ko riyan. Matagal ko na kayong sinusubaybayan tuwing dumaraan kayo sa munti kong bahay.”

“Munti! Sino po ang niloloko ninyo?” sabi ni Dong, sabay tawa.

Napangiti si Midas. “Malaki ang kapalit ng laki ng bahay na ito,” sabi niya. Tumingala muna siya at bumuntonghininga bago muling nagsalita, “Halina nga’t kumain na tayo.” Hinatid ni Midas ang tatlo sa hapag-kainan sa kabilang silid, kung saan may nakahandang apat na mangkok ng umuusok pang lugaw. Napakabango ng mga sahog ng lugaw na iyon, kaya agad namang umupo ang tatlo. Sinundan sila ni Midas at saka sinabi, “O, sige na, kumain na kayo. Ayaw niyong magtagal diba?” Saka nagsimulang lumamon ang tatlo. Kahit si Neneng mahinhin ay nawalan ng modo sa pagkain. Napakasarap naman kasi ng lugaw ni Midas at hindi araw-araw ay nakakakain ng masasarap na pagkain ang tatlo. “Ayos ba ang lugaw?” tanong ni Midas nang matapos sila. Sumang-ayon ang mga bata at muling napangiti si Midas. “Magaling. Ngayon, may aaminin ako sa inyo,” sabi ni Midas. Tumunganga ang tatlo sa kaniya at nag-antay. “Isa akong salamangkero at may nabuo akong silid na puno ng napakamakapangyarihang mahika.” Nagtawanan lang ang tatlong bata. “Hindi ko kayo binibiro, mga bata. Gusto ko sana itong ipasubok sa isa sa inyo. Halina’t sundan niyo ko.”

Dinala ni Midas ang tatlong bata sa isang napakalaking silid, sinlaki ng bahay nina Popoy, na walang laman maliban na lamang sa isang bisikleta sa gitna. Ang bisikleta ay nakapako sa sahig. “Isa sa mga mahika ng kuwartong ito ang pagpigil sa gutom, uhaw, at antok ng mga taong nasa loob. Ang isa pa ay ito: sa bawat sampung ikot ng mga gulong ng bisikletang iyan, makakabuo ka ng isang diyamanteng sinlaki ng iyong kamao,” sabi ni Midas. Nalito ang tatlo kung tatawa ba sila o mamamangha. Seryoso ang tinig ni Midas at parang naniniwala talaga ito sa mga sinasabi niya. “Subalit,” sabi ni Midas, “sa pagkakataong nasimulan na ang pag-ikot ng gulong ng bisikleta, hindi na ito maaaring itigil. Kapag tumigil ka para magpahinga at saka ito muling pinaikot, hindi ka na makakabuo ng diyamante.” Natakot sina Nene at Dong, subalit si Popoy ay nilamon ng pagkasabik. Sa wakas ay matutulungan na rin niya ang nanay niya!

“Gusto kong subukan, Mang Midas,” sabi ni Popoy.

Ngumiti si Midas. “Sigurado ka na ba?”

“Isang gabi lang,” sabi ni Popoy. Hindi pa rin niya matanggal ang malalaki niyang mata mula sa bisikleta. Ito ang susi niya sa kaginhawaan ng kaniyang pamilya.

“Isang gabi!” sambit ni Nene. “Paano kapag hinanap ka nina Tita Emma?”

“Iwanan niyo muna ko, Nene,” sabi ni Popoy. “Kailangan ko ‘to.”

Magpoprotesta pa sana si Nene, pero pinalabas na sila ni Midas. Ngumiti si Midas kay Popoy at tumango naman ito sa kaniya. Sa wakas ay sinara ni Midas ang pinto.

Pinagmasdan muna nang matagal ni Popoy ang bisikleta. Saka siya sumakay rito. Nabuo sa isip niya ang imahe ng nagbabagsakang mga barya mula sa langit. Ito na ang pagkakataon niyang makatulong. Sinimulan niya ang pagpapatakbo sa bisikleta. Matapos ang sampung ikot ng gulong, may lumitaw ngang diyamante mula sa hangin at bumagsak sa palad ni Popoy. Kasinlaki nga ito ng kaniyang kamao, tulad ng sabi ni Midas. Tinignan niya ang repleksyon niya sa diyamante at nakita niyang uhaw na uhaw ang kaniyang mga mata. Hindi niya namalayang nakasampung ikot na muli siya hanggang sa bumagsak ang isa pang diyamante malapit sa sulok ng malaking silid. Tinuloy niya ang pagpapatakbo ng bisikleta; hindi na niya nabilang kung ilang diyamante ang kaniyang nabuo.

Matagal na matagal na nagbisikleta si Popoy. Hindi siya napagod kailanman dahil sa pag-asang pinapangako ng bawat diyamanteng nabuo niya. Wala ring bintana ang silid kaya hindi niya alam kung inabot na ba siya ng umaga. Hindi niya napansin ang bilis ng oras. Puno na ang silid ng mga makikinang na diyamante nang nagdesisyong tumigil na si Popoy. Pumulot siya ng isang diyamante bago lumabas ng silid para ipakita sa kaniyang mga kaibigan at pamilya. Hinanap niya si Midas sa bahay nito, subalit hindi na niya ito makita. At sa labis na pagkasabik ay iniwan na lamang niya ang bahay, saka naglakad papunta sa kaniyang sariling bahay.

Malaki ang pinagbago ng Barangay San Antonio, subalit hindi na ito napansin ni Popoy sa kaniyang pagtakbo. Nang marating niya ang kalye ng kaniyang bahay, natagpuan niya si Neneng naglalakad at napansin niyang higit na siyang mas matangkad dito. Nakakapit ang kamay nito sa braso ng isang matandang babae. “Nene!” sigaw ni Popoy. Lumingon ang nagulantang na mukha ng matandang babaeng kasama ni Nene. “Si Nene po ang tinatawag ko,” sabi ni Popoy. Tumigil sa paglalakad ang matandang babae. Tinitigan niyang mabuti si Popoy. Naluha siya at halos napaluhod.

“Popoy! O, Popoy, ikaw ba ‘yan!” hiyaw ng matandang babae.

“Nene?” tanong ni Popoy. Nalito siya. Ito na ba ang Neneng kalaro niya? Hinimatay ang matandang babae at napasigaw ang batang babaeng kasama niya. Agad namang sumulpot mula sa isang bahay ang isang matandang lalaki at tinulungan ang matandang babae. “Nene!” sigaw ng lalaki. Pinaypayan nito ang mukha ng matandang babae gamit ang kaniyang kamay. Sa gitna ng pagpapaypay ay napatingala siya kay Popoy. Napuno ang mukha niya ng takot na hindi maintindihan. Matagal silang nagtitigan ni Popoy hanggang sa sumigaw ang matandang lalaki, “Popoy!”

“Dong?” tanong ni Popoy. Tumango ang lalaki. Binagabag ng napakaraming tanong ang utak ni Popoy. “Ano ang nangyari? Bakit…”

“Pitumpung taon kang nawala!” sigaw ni Dong. “Hinanap namin ang bahay ni Midas pero hindi namin ito mahanap! Pitumpung taon, Popoy! Pitumpung taon! Diyos ko, patawarin mo kami! Hindi ka namin dapat iniwan sa silid na iyon! O, Diyos ko!” Bumaha ng luha mula sa mga mata ni Dong. Hindi na kinaya ni Popoy ang lahat. Napaluhod siya sa kalsada at nakaramdam ng matinding pagsisisi.

“Ang Nanay at Tatay? Nasaan na sila?” tanong ni Popoy kay Dong. Hindi nakasagot si Dong at kitang kita sa mukha niya ang masamang balita. “Nas’an na sila, Dong!”

“Wala na sila, Popoy. Wala na sina Tita Emma at Tito Boy.”

Nagwala si Popoy sa sinagot ni Dong. Tinapon niya sa malayo ang diyamanteng hawak niya at saka tumakbo nang mabilis pabalik sa bahay ni Midas. Sinumpa niya ang bisikleta nang makapasok siya muli sa silid ng mga diyamante. Pumulot siya ng isang diyamante para magdabog, pero ninakaw ng imahe ng isang matandang lalaki sa diyamante ang atensyon niya. Tinitigan niya ang kulubot na mukha ng lalaki at saka umiyak dahil sa sarili niyang repleksyon. Umalingawngaw sa buong silid ang mga hiyaw ni Popoy hanggang sa nakatulog siya sa pagod.

Nang magising si Popoy sa sumunod na araw ay nasa silid na rin sina Nene at Dong. Nakangiti silang dalawa. “Halina, Popoy,” sabi ni Nene. “At tumahan ka na. Matanda man tayo ay may pag-asa pa. Higit doon, may oras pa tayong maglaro ng patintero.”

“Ang mahalaga ay nakabalik ka,” sabi naman ni Dong, “para matalong muli, Goku! Humanda ka sa super energy ball ko!”

Napangiti si Popoy. At nang nagkunwaring bumubuo nga ng energy ball si Dong, humalakhak siya. Totoo ang sinabi ni Nene. May oras pa para maglaro ng patintero. At yaon nga ang ginawa ng tatlong matatanda. Kahit dalawa lang ang harang at isa lang ang lulusot, naglaro pa rin sila. Nakita sila ni Midas mula sa kaniyang bahay. At, gamit ang isang hampas ng kamay sa hangin, ginawa niyang mga bata muli ang tatlo.

Coastnet’s the Witness

They were Math classmates for three months. It would probably make someone wonder why it took him three months to realize he liked her. It could have all been silent admiration, in defense of him, that peaked to its highest level, a “crush” for a sixteen-year-old boy, one lazy morning.

He was running late for his Math 17 class and was abruptly stopped by his professor. He had forgotten almost completely that that Thursday was ACLE day, thus cutting his Math class into its mere first half. Nevertheless, he went inside the room solely out of instinct. Then, he saw her, the girl in yellow with long flowing hair, Chinese eyes, and braces. He remembered how he despised the Chinese, but he also remembered that she wasn’t Chinese at all. And besides, she was really smart. She was with her two other friends, but he noticed her alone.

He was lazier that day than any other day. He sat near them, wishing for a conversation that would at least occupy fifteen minutes of his life. He got what he wanted and they even played cards. It was enough for him, he thought at first, that they talked, because he was also planning to spend the afternoon with his friend who was leaving for the States. But they also talked about which ACLE class to take and he realized he also wanted to take Sex, Drugs, and Politics. So, despite all the mental arguments he had in his head, somehow he ended up taking the class with her and her friend.

The rest was all about bonding. They were building a friendship that he never really thought would go anywhere. Until Monday.

It was Sunday night when he asked her to go out and drink. They did the following day. He was with his friends. He laughed a lot that day and didn’t really understand why. It was nearing seven in the evening when she came. She had a smile on her face that made his mind leap. About twenty minutes passed by as he, she, and his friends talked and laughed. His friends left him alone with her, probably seeing how much he liked her. Then they were under a spell that was no longer understandable. They were suddenly kissing.

Her lips tasted like any other girl’s, but what struck him was the scent of her hair. Her hair smelled like Sunday dawn, its shy magic producing a sense of sloth in him. He wanted to rest, to be drowned completely into her hair. He was helpless, a captive of those seemingly never-ending strands. He wanted to be forever in her lips, caressed gently by the curtains of her hair.

It could not have been romantic, in any way, however. It was a KTV bar, for someone’s sake! More than the drinks being cheap, the bar was not exactly expensive-looking either.

Two days later he asked her if she remembered that Monday night. He wanted to make it more than just another kiss. She said she didn’t remember. He was surprised, appalled, even, but he also knew she couldn’t have possibly forgotten. The way she kissed him? No. It could not have been a memory lost to the faint spectrum of besotted nights.

They went out again on Friday and drank in a more convenient-looking bar. And it began there. She introduced him to her friends as her lover. He couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time anyone has ever referred to him as a “lover.” He was often introduced as a boyfriend or just a “friend,” but this one called him a lover. He was supposed to spend the night with his friends, but he couldn’t help but stay with her.

The next day he went to a far-off cafe just to pretend he had a group meeting for his Political Science 11 class. He invited her and she came. They spent the entire night talking, from seven in the evening to two in the morning. It was an entirely sober night. But he liked it. Before they knew it, they were in a relationship.

A week passed. They were drinking again in the same KTV bar, this time with more friends. About two hours passed when he realized something. He wanted to tell her in a unique way, so he tried to pull off a joke. She knew the punchline and he was severely disappointed. He waved the opportunity goodbye, even if she insisted that he go for it. He thought that he should tell her some other time. Besides, he was afraid of going beyond the border. It was such a fresh relationship, how could he feel that way? But he also wondered when he would tell her.

A few more conversations and he realized it was time. So he told her the joke, just for the sake of “formality,” and ended with the three-word punchline. She smiled and didn’t respond. He asked her, desperately, to answer. She argued there wasn’t a question. He smiled, said, “Fine. I love you. Do you love me too?”

She said, “I do.”

And they laughed at how ridiculously mushy they were acting.

Brown Trash

You know there’s something terribly wrong when the person you’re texting or chatting with replies in an awkwardly weird way – stupid, tasteless, and annoying (to a certain degree, at least). They’re the neo-jologs and neo-baduy of the postmodern Philippines. They’re brown trash and they’re everywhere, crawling through the world wide web like some unwanted insect. They conquered poor, helpless Friendster completely and are slowly taking a grasp on dear Multiply. Who knows what site they’ll take over next? Livejournal? Blogspot? WordPress? FACEBOOK? Oh wow. I mean, I used to think Multiply would remain pure.

I’m no stickler or anything, I don’t really care much how people use the darn language, but for someone’s sake, it’s just… dumb and tasteless! Calling them ditzy might even be too classy (haha).

If you want to know if you’re one of them or if you’re interested in telling which ones amongst your friends are, I’ve come up with five ways brown trash talk and corresponding examples.

1. Changing letter cases

“Hi! pWeDe tAU mGinG tXtmaTeS? i’M fROm cAviTe. “

I have no idea about the literacy rate in the Philippines but, I swear, if it isn’t around 2% or something, then it isn’t accurate at all. We all know how many people actually text/write/chat this way. I mean, what’s the point in putting that much effort in pressing the shift button on your keyboard and the asterisk button on your cellphone? Where did this even come from to begin with? Who had the darn thought of shifting from upper case to lower case for every goddamn letter?

It all began in 2003, I think. Oh, that year was horrible. Texting was quickly becoming a trend and courting through text was spreading. Maybe this was how the men in that year showed off. I mean, it IS effort, anyway. Maybe they wanted to show off that they could actually press so many buttons. The sad thing, however, is that they didn’t know those weren’t the RIGHT buttons.

Or maybe they wanted to confuse the girls until they, the girls, helplessly agree to be courted. I think the reason that it’s so annoying lies in the fact that it’s so pa-cute. Masyadong maabubot, masyadong decorated in such a wrong way.

2. Eat na me. Tulog na you?

The less annoying thing about these two sentences is that they can lead to so many interpretations. “Eat na me” means what, exactly? Of course, there’s a great range of vague statements like this in formal language, like “I’m mad” or “they are cooking apples”. But the fun, really, in insulting this is the funny alternative. Does “eat na me” mean “kakain na ko” or “kainin mo na ko”? In the case of “tulog na you”, well, it’s not exactly annoying. It’s just really funny that people ask, “Are you asleep?” to the person they’re talking to. I mean, what reply do you want, “yes”?

Then there’s the more annoying thing about these two: it’s the Filipino version of “Good weather we’re having.” I swear, you know when someone is desperate to talk when they start asking you about food and sleeping, as if these were the only things left to talk about. “Oh, I don’t know what to say anymore. What else can we talk about? Hm? Oh, how about food and sleeping! Sure, that’s really interesting!”

3. Distorting laughter

I don’t really know with you guys but when I laugh, I laugh with sounds close to /hahaha/ or /hehehe/. When I feel evil, then maybe it could be /muhahaha/ or /bwahahaha/. But I swear I never laugh with sounds like /wakekeke/, /wahuhuhu/, /wakakakak/, /bukekeke/, /ahihihi/, etc. /nyehehehe/, /nyahehehe/, etc. are forgivable, since they could be just conjuctions of /nyeh/ or /nyah/ and a normal laughter, which makes sense, because sometimes when we find something funny, we say “ngek” or “nyeh”. But dear Bathala, who in the world laughs with sounds like /wakekeke/! I swear it sounds as if something were clogging your throat. Baka naman na-choke na sila kaka-eat nila ng mga kausap nila? And don’t even get me started with /bukekeke/ and how it sounds like a porn genre.

/jajaja/ and /jejeje/ is an annoying way to express laughter in writing, too. Please. The last time I checked, we aren’t conquered by the Espanols anymore.

4. Obsession with baby-talking

“aku poh si may. kayu poh?”

We’ve all gone through the stage of baby-talking… when we were three. We all used to interchange /oh/ with /ooh/ most likely because we simply liked to sound cute and all… when we were three. We all used to use “po” and “opo” with just about anyone everytime… when we were three. Some of us grow up and learn that with our pubic, facial, and kilikili hair growing, it is no longer fit for us to speak that way. Some of us obtain mental illnesses, like autism or ADD, and are therefore excused to continue speaking that way. Some of us are mute and deaf, and are therefore excused as well.

But some of us grow up, gain hair all over the body, secrete fluids adults secrete, get hard-ons and/or (haha) periods, but never really learn.

5. [thing/s] is/are love

Strawberries are love. Batman is love.

I said the brown trash are the neo-jologs of today. What is scary is that some of them are neo-konyos as well. Just when I thought the rich kids of today will never be as annoying as the neo-jologs, the trend [thing/s] is/are love pops up. My dear Bathala, for these people anything can now be love. “OH! Blogs are love. Spongecola is love. Bamboo is love. OH! Colors are love. Rainbows are love. OH! Happiness is love. Apples are love. OH! Death is love.” I swear, everytime I check for updates on Multiply, I ALWAYS see a motif: something is love. Imagine a kid who hasn’t gone out of home for years and finds everything he/she sees beautiful and sweet and charming and worthy of idolatry and ergo love.

The fallacy here is quite simple in philosophical empiricism. Something cannot be something other than itself. STRAWBERRIES CANNOT BE LOVE! Otherwise, it would be “I strawberry you” from then on for our parents. “Ma, I Batman you.”

It isn’t entertaining or cute in any way. So, please.

Tulang Muntikan Ko nang Ibigay Sa’yo

Sa bawat umagang

Landas nati’y nagsisiping,

Sa bawat kinabukasang

Sa buhay ko’y ika’y dumarating,

Kung maaari lamang ialay

Itong aking mga mata

Nang iyo ring maitanong

Kung ang “ikaw” ay totoo ba!

Damhin mo ang eksena:

Mahangin, nakatayo tayong dalawa

Mata ko’y bihag ng iyong imahe.

Ang buhok mong nakasintas

Sa ihip ng hangin nakikikumpas.

Ang malambot na hagkan ng iyong balat,

‘Di ko man dama, imahinasyon ko’y mulat.

Ang mga silip ng mapaglaro mong mga mata,

Dinulot sa aki’y kay tamis na sumpa!

Ang mapula’t basa mong mga labi,

Gusto kong madampi.

Ang hulma’t hubog ng iyong pisngi,

Nais kong minsa’y masagi!

Babaeng totoo ka bang aking panaginip

O totoong ikaw nga’y babaeng panaginip lang?

Pagkat kung ang sabi nila’y walang perpekto sa mundong ganap,

Ang “sila’y” ika’y ‘di pa nahahanap!

Why I liked the 2008 SONA

Being a student of political science does not necessarily mean advocating for activism. Activism is perhaps the most immature form of intellectual expression. Why? Because of its blind patriotic and nationalistic tendencies. It leans towards hating without consideration, which is far too childish to be even called intellectual.

This is why students of political science try, with the best of their abilities, to view issues without prejudice and bias. And this is also why I liked the 2008 SONA in general.

Before everything, let’s destroy the notion that GMA’s statistics aren’t true (at least for this SONA). I mean, putting in lies about data that will surely be checked by the opposition, by intellectual groups, and by political analysts isn’t exactly safe, is it? We all know GMA’s smarter than that. This is why I am challenging anyone who claims that GMA’s SONA is filled with lies to give hardcore proofs.

GMA’s speech was a good speech in the sense that it was a very smart move, at the very least. This is of course considering that the nation isn’t hating her so much.

The speech was more humble than the last 2007 SONA. First, unlike the last one, here she actually gave a hint that she is willing to give up power in 2010 by saying that the developments made in her term will help the next president. This shows her willingness to step down and her recognition of the fact that “a president [can't] be as powerful as she wants to be.” Also, she began her speech by recognizing poverty in the Philippines. Contrary to the popular prediction, GMA actually gave a “REAL” SONA. She also recognized her unpopularity, of which she later on reduced importance by hinting that she will not step down during her term. This, in a way, shows GMA’s politics of realism. Why, she isn’t blind to the national problems after all!

Also, providing results to her SONA promises on the SONA day itself was a very good tactic. This simply shows that her promises won’t go to waste, because they have been already fulfilled. Examples of these “promises” were the decrease of text mesage costs from one peso to fifty centavos and the conference she had the day before about ARMM. Remember, this is her last chance to make an actual SONA, since the next SONA would probably only be a “farewell” SONA and summing up of her eight-year reign. Ergo, this is going to be her last chance to “perfume” her presidency. And she did it very well with the instant results she made.

Her explanation on the VAT was also very well done. I agree with the implementation of the VAT, because, surely, without it, things would be far worse. This underpins GMA’s conservatist belief of noblesse oblige, wherein the rich is obligated to help the poor. The VAT hurts the rich more than it harms the poor, it’s just that these rich entrepreneurs are not exactly very expressive. Imagine taking 12% of your gross income! That would amount to one peso every 8.50-peso jeepney ride. Assuming jeepney drivers take 1500 pesos including their boundaries every day, which is possibly 1200, the government will then take 180 pesos out of that, leaving the driver with only 120 pesos as net income. Now, imagine owning a gas station. Let’s say you get a gross income of 100,000 a day. The government will take 12,000 pesos a day away for the poor. Do you see what I mean?

Finally, for those who claim that the State of the Nation Address is bogus for not showing the REAL State of the Nation, I despise your petty intellect! DO YOU REALLY WANT TO HAVE AN “OH-MY-GOD-WE’RE-SO-POOR-WE’RE-HOPELESS” SPEECH FROM THE PRESIDENT OF THE COUNTRY?! And if you got this, what would you feel then? Would you feel happy? Would you feel “oh, let’s fight poverty and save the people!”?! Do you really seriously prefer discouragement and surrender than empowerment, faith, and hope from the president? My god, come to your senses! Focusing on the good things is all a tactic of empowering the people to move on. And GMA did this very well.

Of course, as I said, this analysis is to be without bias. And so I also happen to have some questions to be raised for the president.

She mentioned 8B pesos that were spent from the VAT collection. But she also said that the people will lose 84.6B pesos should the VAT be taken away. Ergo, there is a total of 84.6B pesos taken by government from VAT. So… where has the 76.6B pesos gone to? I sincerely hope she can spend everything within two years.

Also, she recognized her unpopularity, though she promised to continue working for the country and that she wouldn’t let anyone stop her. This is an omen of totalitarian democracy. Democracy is all about popularity and should a ruler lose his popularity in a democratic system, he is no longer eligible to rule. Democracy IS a popularity contest. Even totalitarian democracy is all about popularity, suggesting that the totalitarian leader has complete ideological monopoly of the country, disguised in democracy (perhaps by processes, legitimacy, etc.).

As Manolo Quezon III said, “Of course, the president deserves a lot more gratitude than she will ever get.” (I’m not certain if these are the exact words. Haha. I’m too lazy to check on it.)

Cheers!

Ang Tanda Ko Na

Namumula pa ang aking katawan

Mapa-mapa ng alkohol mula sa inuman

Pagkahilo ko’y hindi mapigilan

Lasing mula kagabi hanggang tanghalian

Binuksan ko ang pintuan

At saka tinigna’t pinagmasdan

Ang babaeng hagkan

Ng namamasa kong kumot at unan

Tulog siya’t mukhang pagod dahil sa kagabi

Nakaratay ang kanyang damit sa tabi-tabi

Naalala ko pa nga’t may ibang kasapi

Kaso ‘di ko maisip kung babae o lalaki

Kung aaralin ko nang mabuti

Wala lang naman ang kagabi

“Sige lang,” nga ang kanyang sabi

Habang ang yosi niya’y nakasindi

Chongke rito, juts doon

Inumang maghapon

Pagkatapos, tira sa tapat ng poon

Tinatawanan lang ang panginoon

Ngumiti ako’t sinarado ang pinto

Ulo ko’y sintu-sinto

Tapos biglang napahinto

Sa sahig, may Marlborong ginto

Dinakip ko’t binulsa

Ang hinihitit na sinisinta

May Cricket naman siguro ‘yong puta

Kaya mamaya na siguro ang pagsiga

Kung minsan naisip kong buhay ko’y walang kuwenta

Lahat nakasalalay sa Emping lasa

Ito na marahil ang pinakaparusa

Araw-araw, ginto ang nakikita

Kaya nga’t nang bumaba’t napansin

Ang kalendaryo’t magasin

Bigla akong napatingin

Sa petsa nito’t sa salamin

Isang taon na naman ang nakalipas

Isang taong punung-puno ng malas

May pupuntahan pa ba ang buhay na nawaldas

Sa mga kasalanang walang pumipintas?

Sa pagmumuni kong ito saka ko narinig

Ang aking ina sa malumanay niyang tinig

Sa mga salita niya, ako’y nanginig

“Twelve ka na, anak,” sumbat ng kaniyang bibig.