peklay

12/11/08

*

  

 

 

There are days when you wake up meaningless, like you know you have to live longer because you are needed but a piece of you asks why of all people, you have to see the horizon in colors unknown to the naked eyes, that every time you sit on that bus, minutes after, your seatmate will narrate to you his or her fear of brokenness or the little scary things life bring to us. Sometimes, I want to abandon writing, being too sentimental, being drawn to those lives that have been drifting. Always, I commune with silence and write again, love again…because I believe I was born to tell stories. Stories like this girl’s. 

She is 20. She is married. Her son is my inaanak. She is our humble town’s nightingale. We first met a decade ago. The next time I saw her, she had a bigger stomach and a shy lad was holding the umbrella for her. She smiled at me and pointed her tummy.

For me, that act was a celebration. I never thought that tonight, as the full moon rose, we would talk. I and her. 24 and 20. About how a girl dreams to find the love of a lifetime, about how a teenage mom battles against the judgement of the society and the challenges of a young home. There were tears in her eyes for some moments, but I never met someone her age who has so much patience, so much dreams for the family and so much love to give. The emptiness that I swallowed with coffee this morning ebbed. 

Fey Razel, “peklay” as she is popularly called, looked at me with tears which I wished to wipe. When I was 20, I had two jobs (10 pm-6am and 1pm-4pm), I had to send Karen to a good university, I had to provide the basic needs of our home but I salute her for being the best mother and wife that she can ever be, at 20. Young women like her inspire me to never give up on love, to never let theprejudices of the society cripple my goal not to be the best professional around but above all,  to be a better person. to be a real light of the home.

She is a power-belter, she is gorgeous and she is down to earth. Every time she sings, I steal moments to close my eyes and relish on goosebumps. She has bagged home trophies butI never heard her brag about them. Though she is working and is attending to the needs of her family, she accepted the vice-presidency in our youth organization.

“abi mo tin, isyu na sa akon bana ngaa ga kanta kanta ko upod sa singgit, pero hambal ko sa iya, diri ko nalipay.”

Life never ceases to remind me each single day that I have to move forward, that starting this circle of dreamers and passionate hearts is one thing I have lived for.  And yes, I want to die as the most alive girl who hums in the bus and who sings beside those she loves, in muffles.

Like Peklay, there are many young women who braced motherhood due to many reasons, but she is a great example that regrets are only there if and only if, you stop believing, you stop loving…because being scared strips you off from LIVING.

“ambot tin, but these tears do not not mean man nga i am giving up. daku pa handum ko para sa akon pamilya. i am hoping my husband will not give up on us. kag bisan mag inano pa, i won’t stop singing.”

 

 

 

 .

 

 

.

12/10/08

*

 

 

 I AM SORRY

pls…

you know for a fact that i am the happiest treading shores with you

and the dusks aren’t beautiful if i bask them without you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

espejo

12/8/08

*

 07.12.08

 Boston Cafe

 Dumaguete City

 ~while sharing silence and ink with langga Dan and langga Tey~

 

 

-

A splash of water and I gazed at the mirror. It was somehow one of the longest chances I grabbed to really stare at my face. All these years, I finally realized and picked out a definition for the existence of mirrors. I thank strangers who spend moments just to stare at me, because of them, I feel beautiful though I haven’t ran ro mirrors all the time. 

That night, I found out that no matter how people cut their hair short, this still seems to be a world of length. People see years and measuring tools as the gauge of those that are bound to last a lifetime. I AM HAPPY THAT I HAVE FINALLY GROWN NAILS to break such belief deep within me. 

I still cling to nostalgia

Like wooden clips from paper bags but this liberating feeling I am reaping now is because of the many years I have challenged space, calendars, charcoal irons, speed, fate, distance, love in coffee mugs. Perhaps the best rules to break are those you built when you were young, idealistic and wind-blown.

there are windmills everywhere. wind vanes pointing to directions we have set on compasses. we all made them up. we all made them up like how mirrors and barber shops/beauty parlors came to be.

 

but, tell me,

 

do you really know where the wind blows?

 

 

.

dupa

12/2/08

*

 

if i were to introduce my self

to a broken stranger, i’d say:

“i am like you to someone else”

 

=

if i were to pick your most attractive act,

it would have to be the manner you ask me

“did i snore?”

and if i answer no,

you move your face a little and smile,

eyes-closed.

 

*

people you tried to take care of

can just destroy you with two hands:

one, so open, watching you stray

the other is perfume-scented

because all the while you thought that 

perfume is from real flowers.

 

*

dear tatay,

thank you for teaching me to never go back home

crying when i was child.

yesterday, i learned how to do it

for you.

 

_

i asked my sister to draw three toes

on a paper:

she gave me three different sheets

with the same 

foot.

 

+

if a past relationship

digs the ground, gives  death a mouth to mouth,

male ego and nostalgia must not be 

your excuse in many cases.

death, still,

in any case,

a thief.

 

^ 

 

kapid

11/30/08

*

they reflect everything that I was years ago. I was this barrio girl who was Dancer of the Year from a catholic school. if dancing had to be learned by other kids from costly sessions, all i had to do was feel the beat and groove. maybe, Lola was my first one-man audience. though my parents weren’t there to see me grace the stage, I dedicated every performance for them because down there in myyoung heart, they danced, head on shoulder.

when I was in High School, I saw them around mercado publico selling siopao, chicken roll, cheesecakes, baked by their mother. I thought that though we had to go through poverty, I never found my self having to do such, libud. Nanay always asked me to buy from them and told me the story of their home, their tiny dreams, fluttering.

  

 

Their Father and me became friends first. He would speak to me in English and challenge my discreet strategy, argumentum ad hominem. It was their father’s music that I came to know these girls more. On stage, they can do belly dance, break dance, folk dance, interpretative, dance sports and even all those game show dances. On stage, they are the most beautiful, the richest kids. On stage, they hold no sadness and fears. Chin is right. The real poor has pride and does not beg. They can capture hearts because, no debates, they dance like nobody’s watching, nobody’s going to criticize. Founding SINGGIT is something I won’t let anyone take away, not because of “ah-she-is-so-saintly” but because I am sharing the same circle with young individuals who know how to live well.

 

Myra and Syra are happy people. It’s known to many that they bear the scars under the roof of their home, but every conversation I have with them, talking about their Father and his choices proved me that there are still hearts that can forgive. That human beings can understand and can dream on when assassins kill tiny dreams cause by domestic warfare and the thieves of years.

“Lipay kami ya nang. Indi man importante ang kwarta para mapamaayo ang imo talento.”

 

Well, yes, it is an advantage to be talented and rich all at the same time, but hearing the girls make me fold my own years of journey and smile.

 

For like them, like me and other born dancers, all you need to do is just dance. yes, dance.

and the world will stop, one moment, and watch you.

 

 

*

more singgit members features in the coming days ♥

 

 *