pahuway

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This is you. Eyes closed, out in the rain. You never thought you’d be doing something like this, you never saw yourself as, I don’t know how you’d describe it… Is like one of those people who like looking up at the moon, who spend hours gazing at the waves or the sunset or… I guess you know the kind of people I’m talking about. Maybe you don’t. Anyway, you kind of like being like this, fighting the cold, feeling the water seep through your shirt and getting through your skin. And the feel of the ground growing soft beneath your feet. And the smell. And the sound of the rain hitting the leaves. All the things they talked about in the books you haven’t read. This is you, who would have guessed it? You. 

-Ann, My Life Without Me-

Removing my black high-heeled shoes, I stood proud on the old bench, a foot higher than all those shining hair. “The family would like to thank everyone for being with us. The huge number is so overwhelming. We hope that the life of Lola would inspire us all to live simple and meaningful.” It was the shortest speech I have ever spoken. The brevity felt so long and slow between my lips, it felt like a quiet day at the cemetery and hyacinths were tiptoeing, one with the sun. When I wore my shoes back, I felt better. My Lola Eting is the most determined woman I have ever known. Lolo Erning passed away leaving her with 12 children, the youngest was just 9 months young that time. I belong to a happy, hardworking, humble and giving family. This is something I will always cherish about the humanity. Humanity sometimes bore me but my family is one parcel that makes me miss it whenever I withdraw. She’s mother to domestic helpers, public market vendors and a bum. when I was in elementary, Nanay sent me to a Catholic school. One time, a teacher talked about disapproval to Filipinas turning into domestic helpers abroad. I had this raging feeling of rebellion inside my heart. It was a pain I never felt again when I began to understand more. Nanay was a domestic helper for a decade. I am never ashamed of that. Just as much as I proudly recited in class opposing to my teacher’s words. Until now, I could still paint the paleness of her face when I began to tell her how judgmental the society is. I spoke about respect and poverty in the stomach and the spirit. That teacher has never forgotten me. YES.

When I got home, I ran to Lola and told her about it. She laughed. She was always like that: industrious, happy, dignified and sarcastic.

**

When friends ask me who my favorite author is, I cannot give a name. I read randomly and I am not a fan of any book for that matter. This is also the reason why I will never stomach calling my self a poet or a writer. But one thing is certain, all these scribbles here, I wrote because of the many feelings I get when I listen to music. So if in case you’re wondering what moves me, you may try listening to Sigur Ros, Explosions in the Sky, Helios, Mogwai, God is an Astronaut, Hammock, Memphis, Beirut, Bexar Bexar, UnderByen, Eluvium, 65 days of static, Boards of Canada and Mono. These, the sound of nature and the earth, or complete silence make me write (by writing I REALLY mean not merely to impress readers).

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by the way, if you haven’t tried hugging your self or talking to a mute or making a stranger smile, GO DO IT. 

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