In Session

Sleeping Beauty

2008-06-09T15:34:00.000-07:00

SHORT FICTION

I should have never answered that phone call. I could have probably saved myself from this. I hate going to funerals, they make me all shaky and stuff. I hate everything that reminds me of death and dying. I mean what’s to like about it right?

But I guess I have no choice but to come here. It’s Vanessa after all.

“Charm,” Auntie cried as she hugged me. “Vanessa, she’s… she’s gone now.”

“I know Tita.” I told her, almost nonchalantly.

Vanessa was my other half. No, she’s not my twin. It’s just that we’ve been so close calling each other best friend just wouldn’t do. So for us, we are half of each other. Weird huh? But we’re not into anything occult and stuff.

“It’s such a sad thing,” I heard one of the guests say. “She was so young.”

I peered into the coffin and saw her. She looked like a wax dummy. That’s what I’ve always thought about dead people in coffins, wax dummies. And Vanessa was the biggest wax dummy of all.

“Bitch.” I whispered, “look at you now, looking like wax. I told you before didn’t I?”

A month before, Vanessa called me up to tell me about a photo shoot she had somewhere.

“You should have heard the photographer!” she said ecstatically. “He said I photographed like a dream!”

“Yeah!” I said. “Good for you.”

“You’re so mean! You dismiss me so easily!”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I had all this deadlines to meet and she was just going to rant about her perfection. “You won’t photograph like a dream forever you know!”

“I know! But I won’t let that time come.”

“Charm,” Auntie said suddenly, “would you be kind enough to give a little eulogy? Who would know Vanessa outside the house but you?”

“Well, sure.” I said with a faint smile.

Now what to say about Vanessa? Vanessa – is a model. One of those beautiful girls you see in photos. Long eyelashes, prominent cheek bones, pouted lips framed in a perfectly shaped face. Of course, not to state the obvious, she has long legs, and a long torso. She never gains too much weight because, well, she would rather have you know that she’s a genetic mutant who does not gain weight no matter how much she eats. But in truth, she’s bulimic. I don’t think her mother knows though. She likes partying and enjoying her life to the fullest. Getting wasted and getting high are not in her book though. She says she feels like her soul is being stolen when alcohol and all those other toxins are in her system.

“Oh please! I never said that! I said that those toxins will kill off my perfect cells and make me age faster!”

Oh yeah, that’s what she said at my birthday party. She was so pissed at her boyfriend, James, for making all those jokes about her saying that she lost her soul. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him yet.

In any case, that’s Vanessa. She’s a nice person, she’ll give anything she has for the people she cares for. But Vanessa is obsessed about beauty.

“Look at my mother,” she said once.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m looking.”

“Would you have thought she used to be a beauty queen?” she asked me while she was drinking her fruit shake.

“Well,” I answered. “Yeah!”

“But you wouldn’t think she was that beautiful now. She’s so old. She has all those lines on her face. And would you look at those legs!”

“You’re too hard on your mom! You know, one day, you’ll get old and fat and…”

“Stop saying those things!” she slapped my arm. “I promise that I will never look like that!”

Ok, now where was I? Oh yeah, obsessed with beauty. I probably should scratch that out. People should remember her as…

“People should only remember the beautiful me!” she said. “I won’t let people remember me like an old lady with a cane.”

“That’s not really far from happening you know.” I told her. “With your bulimia and stuff, you could die young.”

“That would be nice! I won’t have to see myself go ugly!”

“How do you ever face yourself in the morning?”

“With a smile!”

… as… a person who likes to see beautiful things and has beautiful dreams. Ugh! That is so ugly. She is so going to kill me. Heck! She’s already dead.

Now, what if I tell them – looking at her now, you see a beautiful girl at the prime of her youth sleeping soundly, dreaming of a better future, and probably, she’s just waiting for that prince of hers. But Vanessa never liked Sleeping Beauty.

“I never really liked this story,” she used to say. “It has such a sad ending.”

“What’s so sad about the prince and the princess getting married?” I used to ask her.

“And what’s so happy about that?”

“Getting married? I don’t know. You tell me.”

“She could have slept forever. She could have been forever beautiful in the memory of the people that had known her.”

“Right…”

“I mean think about it. She could have just slept and died sleeping. She wouldn’t feel pain. Most of us don’t have that luxury of dying in your sleep.”

“That’s morbid.”

“Hmph! I bet you I can be a better Sleeping Beauty!”

Yeah, I guess telling people that she’s a young beautiful girl sleeping through the ages might not upset her that much.

“She was such an angel,” Auntie suddenly said. “I just wished she didn’t die that way.”

“She died alone huh?” I said. She must have overdosed herself and slept.

“No,” she said as tears welled up in her eyes. “James killed her.”

Cloud Journeys

2008-06-09T15:25:00.000-07:00

NON-FICTION

I will be spending the next hour and thirty-five minutes of my birthday strapped to my seat, on board a commercial flight for Manila. Nine months earlier I was in the same tight spot, figuratively, except that I was homebound then. This trip I surmise is going to be as melancholic as the clouds today and as bleak as my big dreams.

While most everyone is rushing to put some last touches on their summer itineraries, I on the other hand, am in the midst of concluding my final days notice at work as head hunter-slash-fulltime girl assistant. At a time when colleagues are just about starting to build up their respective work portfolios and curriculum vitae I find myself tendering my yet second resignation in less than a year.

It seems ironic now how being thousands of miles high up in the air makes me feel more pinned down to the ground than ever. The clouds look fluffy enough, why do I feel like an overweight crazy caterpillar? Why don’t I feel sedated and invulnerable when I’m inside a pressurized mega machine that detaches me from the clutters of the Earth?

Notwithstanding the emotional suicide and often terrible headaches I get whenever I travel, I am in fact able to look at the world from a soaring perspective, rather literally. My personal realities come rushing to me like the black and white Sampaguita movie re-runs I used to watch with my sisters during summer afternoons in the early 90s. They seem far away and forgotten, but are in fact as real and unsettling as the occasional turbulence that shakes me from my reverie throughout the flight. But it does not throw me off my seat or have me reaching above for the oxygen mask. As in the comfortably dormant years after college that was punctuated only by my episodic delusions of becoming a writer, nothing significant really took off. My previous occupations have served as quick fixes, like a cup of coffee to help finish the job on time when all I needed was a really nice sleep. And when a trip to the nearest coffee place is too expensive, I stand at the edge of a cliff and freefall a.k.a. write my resignation letter. It’s a vicious cycle, I grab the next available job there is anyway. Looking back, one really complex question I’ve been asked during a job interview is “What brings you here?” And I’m thinking how many more similar questions can I take before I stop chasing after clouds? I tend to forget where I’m going or why I’m here or why I even bother getting up in the morning, and so I go wherever the wind carries me—worse, I take an airplane. Recently I realized that I love waking up to our dogs’ wet snout against my face, the over excited barks and frantic tail-wagging. But for how long, before I start feeling like a stranger to myself again, and by reflex create pivotal moments, box everything—my clothes, photos, friendships—beat traffic, head to the pre-departure area and just flee.

There is something romantic about departures and arrivals amidst a sea of anonymous faces but pretty much the same anxious and animated expressions. Coming out of the airport terminal with my battered luggage in tow and a soundtrack playing in my head must mean that I survived. I could have died but I didn’t. This is a gift and I’ve been given another chance to be miss sunshine once more, to wash my hair, to wear pretty dresses, to dog-sit, to be with my family, to find meaning in God’s works.

I am 25 years old and I have a job interview in a few hours. It was drizzling when I left my hometown this morning but looking out the tiny window now, Manila seems sunny enough. This flight may just take me to where “permanent” and “commitment” will no longer be scary words.

* * *

My name is Chrismae J. Laolao, 25 years old. I grew up in Zamboanga City and graduated with a degree in BA Communication Arts at the University of the Philippines in Mindanao, Davao City. I’m not very crazy about flying.

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2008-05-29T20:39:00.000-07:00

Coitus Without Interruptus

2008-05-26T22:36:00.000-07:00

Did a great job, this boredom,
of transcending similes
ejaculated on a tissue paper
into a means of sulking one’s self
not up to death
but up to an ultimate organismal perfection.
Because greed for perfection
happens to kill a person
only a little smoother than
decaying one’s viscera
by facilitating a one-man,
9 days constipation marathon.
Doom thyself by multiplying
the number of the passing cockroaches
by the number of times
Erap Estrada would be
applauded for his political
and psychological indolences,
Or might as well cheer up!
Exhilarate thy own self
by gathering another
roll of tissue paper,
a hand-full of Vaseline,
just incase thy palm
comes in need of lubricant,
and a functional, fully-inked tech-pen.
On this night, the comfort room
is the more decent place to be.

Better be the first person to write poetry about
how a grandpa, in the middle of a hypothalamic stimulatory phase,
at the bosom of a teenage potential queen of the estrus cannibalism,
lived life to its lengthiest extent, un-incapacitated by any mortal limitations;
and about how he ended it just as how the general society prescribes it to be:

extroverted.

Upright.

Productive.

Nasaan ka, Malintang?

2008-05-25T04:36:00.001-07:00

(base sa operang “Hinilawod”)

Sapagkat hindi lamang huni ng dagat
ang nagbibigkis sa iyo kay Malintang,
Ikaw Humadapnon ay nangakong tutuklas
ng daan patungo sa kaniya. Hindi bunga ng panaginip
o pagkakataon lamang ang dugtong ng inyong hinahon.

Narito ako at hihintayin ka,
halika, halika,
Pintuho mo akong kailangang makita.
mangako ka!

Nasaan ka at sa panaginip lamang lumalagi?
Nasaan ka marilag kong giliw, aking Marikit?,
Susundan kahit saan huwag kang maiinip.

Inaawit ng dagat
ang landas ng pagkabuo
hindi ang daan ng gunaw;
kaya nga at may pangako
bawat liriko. Madalas,
sa daan ng pagtugaygay,
nanliligaw ang ligaw.

Saang yungib at dilim nagbubuga ng amoy ng pang-akit?

Ikaw Humadapnon ay narahuyo
sa gayumang kaloob. Wala ngayong panaginip
na lumitaw sa nilasong puso.

Tagumpay ka tampalasang Guinmayan.
Sa bagsik ng gayuma,
kahit dalisay mang pag-ibig
ay namamatay.

Buuin natin ang kapwa natin pangako.
Nandiyan na ako,ang talim ng tabak
ang sa iyo ay saklolo.

Ay giliw kong tunay, salamat sa iyong alay,
kahit buhay mo’y handa sa aking ibigay.

Kayo Malintang at Humadapnon
ay naglunoy sa himig ng dagat.
Ngunit lahat ng nananatili ay may pansamantala.

Naglambing ang tungkulin.
Nagbigay ka Humadapnon
upang sa muling pagbabalik
ay wala nang lilitaw na paglisan.

Matagal nang nakatatak sa lupa at lipi
ang kasunduang di mababali – Malintang at Sumagulong.
Ikaw na naiwan ay di nagawang umaglahi
sa naghihintay mang pighati.

Patawad sa di natakasang tadhana.

Taksil ka at di nakapaghintay sa akin.
Mas nanaisin pang buhay mo ay kitilin.

Umagos ang dugo sa paanan mo Humadapnon
kasabay ng pagkakagiba ng moog ng pagsuyo.
Nabulag ka sa pangingimbulo’t poot ang naidulot.

Nasaan ka Malintang?

Dadalhin kita sa pampang.
Buhayin ka nawa ng himig-dagat
Tanggapin nawa, ang usal kong patawad.

Noon sumilang ang araw
na may pag-asang buhay.

Bakgrawn-sanaysay ng "Nasaan ka, Malintang?"

2008-05-25T04:29:00.000-07:00

May 35 taon na ang nakalilipas, itinanghal sa Sentrong Pangkultura ng Pilipinas ang operang Hinilawod na batay sa epikong Panay. Ang nasabing epiko ay matapat na itinala ni F. Landa Jocano, na isang antropologo; isinadula at hinalaw ng batikang manunulat na si Iñigo Ed. Regalado; nilapatan ng musika ni Alfredo S. Buenaventura; at idinirek sa entablado ni Jaime V. Asencio. Bagaman si Jocano ang nagpatanyag ng Hinilawod, at gagawan ng lagom ni E. Arsenio Manuel, mauuna kay Jocano si Eugenio Ealdama na sumulat ng artikulo ukol doon sa Philippine Magazine noong 1938.

Pinakabagong saliksik naman ang inihain ni Gina V. Barte, na lumagom sa ikalawang siklo ng Hinilawod, na ang ilang bahagi ay sinipi ni Corazon D. Villareal sa kaniyang aklat na Siday: Mga Tulang Bayan ng Panay at Negros (1997). May lagom din ng Hinilawod na mula sa tala ni Alejo Zata, at mababasa sa internet. Magandang balikan sa aking palagay ang nasabing epiko dahil maaaring ang transpormasyon niyon ay tumagos hindi lamang mulang dula at opera bagkus hanggang pelikula at telenobela tungong komiks at larong video.

Hango umano ang “Hinilawod” sa dalawang salita: ang “hini” na ang ibig sabihin ay “tunog” o “himig”; at “lawod” na ang ibig sabihin ay “dagat.” Ang “Hinilawod” kung gayon ay maaaring mangahulugan na “Himig ng Dagat” o sa matalinghagang salin ay katumbas ng “Himig mula sa tabing-dagat.” Ang ganitong palagay ay unang binanggit ni Villareal, at inugat sa haka ni Jocano na dating naninirahan sa baybayin ang mga tagabundok ngayong Panayon. Posibleng naganap umano ang isang malawakang migrasyon, at ang mga tao ay lumipat tungong iraya at doon nagsimula ang paglilipat ng epiko.

Sari-sari ang bersiyon at kapana-panabik ang mga tagpo ng Hinilawod, ngunit ang isa sa mahahalagang aspekto nito ay ang resureksiyon at pagbabagong-anyo ng pagmamahal.
Sa opera ni Regalado, ipinakilala ang marikit na si Malintang, na nagtataglay ng mga katangian ng kapuwa mortal at sobrenatural. Lumitaw siya sa isang gabi sa panaginip ng mandirigmang si Humadapnon, at hinimok ng naturang dilag na hanapin siya ng binata. Nabulabog ang pandama ni Humadapnon, at nabatubalani sa dalaga, at nagsimulang hanapin si Malintang sa tulong ng kaniyang mga kawal.

Pumalaot si Humadapnon sakay ng kaniyang barangay, at napagawi sa isang yungib ng pulong tahanan ni Guinmayan at ng kaniyang mga binibining tagasunod. Taglay ni Guinmayan ang kapangyarihan ng kapuwa mangkukulam at diwata, at inakit si Humadapnon na doon tumira sa pulo at nangakong ibibigay sa kaniya ang walang hanggang pagmamahal. Pinaglaho din ni Guinmayan ang mga kawal ni Humadapnon sa pamamagitan ng kaniyang itim na kapangyarihan, at ibinilanggo ang lalaki sa pulo upang maangkin nang lubos.

Darating isang araw si Malintang, na nakabalatkayong lalaki at tangan ang tabak, upang saklolohan si Humadapnon. Nailigtas nga si lalaki; ngunit hindi magtatagal ang masayang pagsasama nina Malintang at Humadapnon dahil kailangang umalis muli si Humadapnon at tupdin ang tungkulin para sa lipi. Nangako si Humadapnon na magbabalik sa piling ni Malintang, at mamahalin ang dalaga hanggang wakas. Subalit nang malayo na Humadapnon, sapilitang ipinakasal si Malintang ng kaniyang ina kay Sumagulong, alinsunod sa kasunduang pinagtibay ng dalawang mag-anak simula nang ipanganak sina Malintang at Sumagulong. Hahabol sa kasalan si Humadapnon, at papatayin si Malintang sa pag-aakalang nagtaksil ito sa kaniya.

Yayao si Malintang sa paanan ni Humadapnon, lilitaw naman ang mga anito o diwata, at isasaysay nila ang wagas na pag-ibig ng dilag kay Humadapnon. Papayuhan din ng naturang mga sobrenatural na maykapal si Humadapnon na dalhin ang bangkay ng dalaga doon sa Hinilawod, at mag-alay ng panahon at bantayan siya. Tinupad ni Humadapnon ang bilin sa kaniya, at sumilang ang araw na muling nabuhay si Malintang. Nagwakas ang opera sa pag-asang magsasama nang masaya at walang katapusan ang dalawang nilalang.

Marami pang hiyas na mahuhugot mula sa iba’t ibang epikong bayan ng Filipinas. Kailangan lamang natin itong halungkatin, pag-aralan muli, at sipatin sa pambihirang anggulong mula sa pananaw nating mga Filipino.