DEadpOetSsOcIeTy

One time, my world turned to
ashes when I lost something dear to me. My grasshopper. I had it at our
neighbor’s yard. It was given to me when I was six by a playmate of mine whom I
hardly remembered the name since we just met a few days after I was transferred
to study at the

University

.
My schoolmates that time happened to play nearby where his house was. He just
stood by the door and watched us; aloof and silent. I stared at him for quite a
long time and from the distant I could see that he had something on his hands.
It was moving. I got curious and went nearer to see what it was. It was green
as the grasses and had a very rigid pair of wings. It eyes were big and it got
sharps fringed on its thin and static legs. I could still make out, even until
now, the weird smell of the grasshopper especially when it got mixed up with
the sweat from that boy’s palms. Its rotting odor gave me a nausea when it was
suffocated to death. Nevertheless, the thing fascinated me. I couldn’t recall
the exact details but I was sure that he gave it to me without any hesitation,
the moment he saw my amusement towards it.

I was planning to take it with me
when we would move out. So I locked it up in an empty jar of Ovaltine. From
time to time, I would drop green grasses for its food and I would shook the jar
if it would not respond to my simple act of care. I continued doing such
generosity until one rainy day, after returning home from the church, I noticed
its fetid odor. It died because of suffocation. Little did I know that life was
short and that all things cannot be owned forever. Freedom had to be given over
the sake of something you love. From then on, I stopped laboring under the
delusion of having it with me and started to condition myself in a state of
weary acceptance of its death. I was the cause of its long agony. That made the
situation worse.

I could still make out my pink dress
with flowery designs on its flowing skirt and embedded with pink laces and
sashes soaked in mud when I gave my grasshopper a proper burial just like my
grandfather’s. Placing it inside a red box of Colgate, I dug for its grave.
Earth inserted in my nails and mud found a good spot on my favorite dress and
white, knee-highed stockings. But I didn’t give notice to that because in the
eyes of a six-year old child, I just committed a crime of murder.

But all mourning must came to an
end. I had mine after less than ten minutes after I had a hallucination of the
mud as a melted sweet chocolate. Yup, a thin smile formed on my lips. Kneeling
down, I dipped my hands on the wet, thick-soiled earth and played with it. I
don’t know how long I was soaked in the rain but I was having the time of my
life until our nosy neighbor found me in my joyous act and told my father. Next
thing I knew, a pair of strong arms lifted my whole body from the ground. Lying
down on my father’s arms, I studied his face. His face was blank. When we
reached inside the house, he stared at me. No, he can’t stay mad for his
youngest daughter whom he loved dearly. I was Princess Hayde. I’d seen him got
mad towards my older brother and sisters but not to me. But he was. He spanked
my mud-covered palms. I cried so hard until my voice defeated me. What was more
disheartening was when no one bothered to defend me. My mother was on my side
and tried to calm me down but it was not enough for me. It was not I who must
relent but my father. It was he who needed to calm down. I was happy and I was
still in good shape. I do not see the need to get angry. I started to doubt if
he was still my loving father whom I knew. Why could a person who loved you
could afford to get mad on you? He was so furious because I might get sick
after spending so much time under the rain. Grown-ups can be so presumptuous.
And I can be so obstinate. But I didn’t realize that later on when I was burning
with fever the next day.

Sometimes the people who loved
you can afford to be mad and even hurt you when they knew you were already over
the edge of endangering yourself. When you loved a person so much, you had to
make that person away from any harm even if it took the pain of
misunderstanding your intentions. But at that time, even a blow cannot made me
realized that. For me, it was just one of love’s complications I don’t want to
go over with.

I had been sick for almost a week
and since no one could watch me everyday, I was left at my grandparent’s house.
I vomited, refused to eat or take my medicine (I always hate medicine even
until now), and cried a lot. My only consuelo
de bobo was my grandma’s one-of-a-kind chocolate rice. That was the only
food my stomach would welcome. I don’t know how she made it so special among
the others’ but it certainly brought a curing substance the moment its fumes
entered into my nostrils. Not only was my grandma good in cooking but she’s
also one of the best embroiderers the town had during that time (as what my
mother would proudly recall until now). I believed it myself when I recalled
the beautiful self-made ragged doll which she gave to me when I was very sick.
It was a size like that of a regular stuff toy. Its skin was made of cacha cloth and strips of thin foam were
placed inside to make it firm. Its dress was made of unused elegant fabric and
on it were embroidered pink flowers and a small pocket on the lower right side.
It nose and ears were also properly embroidered and two black buttons were
sewed for its eyes. Its hairs were strips of black cloth tied in a pig’s tail,
just like what I’d usually prefer my hair done since Susie and Gino in Sustagen
was introduced. The doll may not be like that of those expensive ones in the
stores but somehow my grandmother made it in a way that the moment I set eyes
on it, an image of me surfaced. It was like I had a younger sister. Another
grandma’s touch of magic. She really took care of me. Love, indeed, lived within
the linings of those wrinkled hands.

There were some thoughts better
not being told. There are some feelings
better kept to ones’ self. But good memories have there own way of expressing
themselves despite the silence.
I can still remember the feeling
of dancing in the rain (and crying in the rain), playing outdoor games, climbing
up trees, smelling grandma’s chocolate rice, sleeping at the backyard, building
houses made of grandma’s hand-woven blankets(which I often get scolded about), receiving
new dresses with pink laces and sashes, hugging my favorite ragged doll,
laughing over something grown-ups never find funny and even the tears I shed when
the boys in our neighborhood rejected me in their “soldier” games. These are
some pieces of puzzles that make up the entirety of my treasured childhood
days.

 
My heart told me that it was not
that long ago when I first learned the concept of love or rather experienced
it. But logic reminded me that it was more than ten years ago and the more time
filled in the gap between those memories up to this present time, the more they
lingered to my thoughts. The feeling took hold of my senses of the most
mysterious thing I had encountered with. Love. It was a broad subject. In fact,
someone told me that love’s meaning was still indefinable but it gave meaning
to life. I found the irony agreeable. Perhaps, when I looked back my days ago,
I could count the different ways from different people of how love sprinkled me
with pure and innocent happiness. And how it connected the puzzles of my life.

 
I could still capture the
toothless grin of Manang Stela every time she saw me outside the house waiting
for her to pass by. Manang Stela was the owner of this small sari-sari store
near the municipality’s church. And I was her avid buyer. I was always eager to
buy one of my favorite foods in her store; the 25 centavo red marble-shaped
bubblegums that turned as hard as marble itself after five minutes of chewing. At
six in the morning, I became excited especially when I could already drew out
her outline from the distance. Holding her wooden box filled with few coins,
she would tap my head and together we would go to her store. I was proud to be
the first person to buy from her store and even prouder when she gave me a
discount for my bubblegums. The moment I cupped my hands together, she
understood that she had to get her spoon and dip it from the jar of cherry gums
to my hands of full eagerness. That made me happy. I used to wear the same big
smile from the time I waited for Manang Stela to the time I returned home. The
only difference then was the red color smeared in my lips. That smile was
certainly influential. One morning, I had my older sister with me.

That was just one of my morning
habitual activities when I was at my grandparents’ house during weekends or
vacations. By the end of the day, I definitely would smell like a piece of
crap. We had many places where we could hang-out and play. There was our tree
house made of cheap woods from my uncle’s place. It was built in a Calachuchi
tree (I used to pick one of its flowers and place it in my left ear). We had
our “top ten”; a serene open field at the back of the church where we played
tag or just for the sake of running. My sister came up with its name after I
graduated from kindergarten and made it to the third place at Immaculate Heart
of Mary Academy (I hated the nuns there). Not to mention, we had the plaza,
market and even the cemetery. Yup, we could get as far as that. When my
grandfather died, the cemetery became the soil of one of our playgrounds. He
died due to high blood pressure. I remembered when my grandma asked us while
she cried if we were happy now that nobody would scold us for being
disobedient. I was utterly confused. My grandfather was not a good man. He was
great. One time, I wanted so much to make grandpa proud of me that I offered
him a fresh, big eggplant only to find out I stole it from our neighbor’s
backyard. He scolded me real bad. And it made me cried real hard. But he calmed
me soon enough by making me understood something; that I had to work to get
what I wanted. He was a man of virtue. Grandma never made a mistake in choosing
Toribio dela Calzada as her partner in life. My sister, cousins and I used to
pick flowers at grandma’s garden and placed them in grandpa’s grave. We would
just sit there and had our chats as if we were in our rooms. We missed him a
lot but it was nothing compared to what my grandmother felt on that
disheartening day of loss. I realized then that the more you lingered to
someone else’s presence, the harder it was to fill the emptiness of his
absence. The pain stayed there for quite a long time like a bubblegum tangled
in your hair. But pain to me back then, was not as evident as the toothaches I
had from eating those cherry gums. Perhaps, what my grandmother felt was much
similar to what I felt when I lost my favorite doll but my mother said it was
more than that. It scared me.

                                                                                                 - to be                                                                                                         continued

What makes the “Da Vinci Code” so controversial?

Is it
because Jesus had a child with Mary Magdaline?  That Leonardo Da Vinci was a member of the
Prior of Scion? And that the Holy Grail is not a cup but a representation of
symbol of a woman? People of lesser faith find these claims factual.

  Yes, Dan
Brown used facts (Da Vinci’s Last Supper, etc.) and real events
but only to make the story more convincing and nonetheless, intriguing; an
author’s way of making his readers cling to the contents of his writing. The
building and sinking of Titanic is real. But so does the tear-jerking romantic
story of Jack and Rose?

  True, I
must say, that I was very much intrigued when I’ve seen Dan Brown’s book,
watched the trailer of the movie and then curiosity nearly killed the cat
inside me (haha!) when the MTCRB almost decided to ban the movie. But after
witnessing the controversial cinematographic exhibition, my conviction was not
distorted nor was I saddened. I was frustrated. It occurred to me that the
story itself is too shallow that it’s not good enough even to raise a single
question of doubt. Using something that really existed such as the works of
Leonardo Da Vinci, a rose line in

London

and a group called the Prior of Scion are convincing indeed. Trust me; persuasion
works best in people with weak convictions. I’m not trying to sound
“Christian-ic” and I’ve got nothing to prove. My cynical side simply surfaced
after watching the almost three-hour movie only to see that the Holy Grail was
represented by a mere V-shaped space in the painting. From then on, my
certainty was greater that there were some things which you cannot see but were
far more convincing than those which can be seen. I still labor in the delusion
of water turning into wine. And I’m sticking to it.

   Saludo ko
sa mga scriptwriters sa pagpasundayag sa ilang mga talento sa pagsulat niining
orihinal nga storya. Makita gyud sa tanan
nga naay igong kapasikaran ang storya nabi na sa panahon karon. Sa mga tao nga naa likod sa bantawan; ang mga
light og sound directors, mga stage managers nga magsige og pahinumdom kanus-a
ko mogawas, ang mga make-up artists og uban pa nga kanunay mosugat nako pirmi para
motabang sa pag-ilis sa kostyum (Salamat Leslie!). Unya dili kalimtan ang pangulong direktor Alsace
Solamo ug ang bantugang magtutudlo niining Developmental Theatre nga si Mr.
Pyke Aniceto (Kami ang iyang mga estudyante nga giilang “pyksters”. Haha.).  Salamat pud diay sa among mga pinasidunggang
dinapit nga mitunga pag critics night.
Dili mahimakak nga ang inyong mga
komento dako’g natabang sa pagpanindot sa among prodaksyon . Ang mga kauban nako nga mga magdudula; daryl
(da best sa pagbinayot!), Ace (duha natang manghilak, hehe), Mitch (hmm..bessy?),
Marian (memory gap na si lola sa iyang mga linya), Ate Maricel (ahai..akong
mama),

Lourdes

(highest level ang energy!), Joharra (Ep! Unsa gain to’ng sama sa bra? Haha.)
og si Suzette (Boanga magkatawa man gyud ko kung maabot nami ani sa seryosa nga
parte sa script!). Labaw sa tanan, sa
among pamilya ug mga higala nga kunanay mihatag og pagdasig nga mga pulong ug nagsuporta
kanamo hangtod sa ulahi ; lakip na si Ms. Dabon ug ubang mga magtutudlo nga
nilantaw sa among prodaksyon.  Sa inyong
tanan, salamat kaayo sa paghatag sa inyong salig diri kanako og kana gikan sa
lunlon ko’ng kasing-kasing (wa na, grabe na gyud nako pagka-internalize sa
akong papel, haha!).  

Kabahin lamang kini nga
linya sa akong papel nga gidala sa Bording Haws:

Na unsa mani si mama
oi. Hinu-on dili man sad ko ka blame
niya kung wla siya kaila nako kay ultimo ako wla man ko kaila sa akong
kaugalingon. Discombobulated? Sakto gyud
si Makoy, naglibog gyud ko.

Maypa sila
naglingaw-lingaw. Kabalo sila sa ilang mga dalan. Kung mapandol sila, ok lang
nila kay nalipay man sila sa ilang gipangbuhat.

Hala nice lagi ni nga
kolor. Sakto ba ni pagkamix? Blue plus yellow equals green. Sakto diay.

Akong kinabuhi, giplano
na nila mama. Pero pwede man siguro ko makaliko sama sa akong mga brush
strokes. Tan-awa nindot gihapon ang resulta… Maypa si Julio wla’y paki sa uban;
nagpakatinu-od sa iyang kaugalingon, brayt pa gyud. Si Tiffany, determinado sa kurso; magsige og
tu-on, hapit dli na matulog… Nganong ako dli man! Si Rosie, kalma lang.
Kontento ra siya. Sa panan-aw nako, malipayon og gusto gyud nya ang
nursing. Ang mga wakwak, si Ep-ep og Makoy,
lawgaw..pero naa sila’y paglantaw sa kinabuhi. They make life more beautiful
gyud. Bisag unsaon sakto gyud sila.

Kami dinhi sa bording
haws lain-lain. Tinu-od kaha ilang
giingon nga sa laing tao nimo makit-an ang imong kaugalingon?

(Makoy’s voice enters in Flora’s mind)

“Pero Plor, ma-unsa man sad imong kinabuhi kung mosubay ka
og dalan unya wla nimo ginitbit imong kasing-kasing?”

Taymsa…

Tinu-od gyud diay…

Pahibalo:

Pahinungod kini sa atong Labing Hitas-on nga naglamdag matag  usa

kanamo sa pagbuhat og sakto sa among mga responsibilidad niining prodaksyon. 

     The development of
the mass media of communication started and progressed through the social and technical
changes of the industrial revolution, to the electronic marvels of our own day.
The people have the right to know. The
mass media give access to knowledge and events far beyond the boundaries of an
individual’s own observation and experience. This is the first step in creating
an informed public which, in turn, is the beginning of a democratic country. Mass
media have the spirit which inspires the nationalist papers in struggling for
independence and which is now needed in the challenging task of nation
building. Through the media, leaders can lead and people can speak back to
leaders. By providing the link between the people and the authorities, the
press becomes the part of the system of modern government and an essential
public service.
   

Pink shimmers with pink dazzles
Witness my pink thoughts
Hear my pink sighs
See my pink smiles
One obvious blushing pink i am in sight
For soon, soon enough
I’m gonna be
Your partner
On tomorrow’s prom night!

                        02/27/04
                        1:25 PM

Shaky hands…
Sweaty palms…
Sparkling eyes…
Shimmering face…
Speechless mouth (or)
Stuttering words…
Silent sighs…
Secret smiles…
Silly heart…
Stupid me…
Smile from you…
Simple as that…
Sent happy signals…
Straight to me…
Still doin’ OK…
Since i just had…
Single, satisfying day…

                   
                       01/16/05
                        10:45 PM

   1.  mango float
   2. pasta
   3. chocolates
   4. siomai sa tc
   5. nice(and kilig) text msgs
   6. the movie "Classic"
   7. bread and butter
   8. smell of coffee and old books
   9. a stare from a cute stranger
  10. the cute stranger!
  11. novels
  12. no classes
  13. words of encouragement
  14. dreaming of "him"
  15. doll shoes
  16. getting good grades
  17. laughing
  18. getting soaked in the rain w/ someone special

          (un4gettable day dat was!)
   19.   theatre plays
   20.   friends…

   1. durian
   2. marshmallows
   3. cheesy love songs
   4. cliche’s
   5. tweety
   6. boy bands
   7. having to choose between 2 important appointments
   8. class meetings(but i find them really necessary)
   9. insensitive passengers in the jeepney
  10. broken promise
  11. smell of cigarette
  12. people who expects a lot from me(that’s pressure!)
  13. tragic stories
  14. roaches
  15. closet,elevators,fitting rooms..etc.(clstrophobc ko bai!)
  16. boring classes stuck w/ a boring teacher
  17. liars
  18. person who loves to talk about himself all the time
  19. hip-hopper, usher-wanna-be’s and anything in between
  20. MY NAME!