We are old enough to apologize.

Do not be sorry for the space you take in this world. 

Refuse you wear the shame that others what you to wear. 

This is YOU,

in all your splendor,

and you shouldn’t apologize for the make-up of you DNA.

You have been cooperating and letting people take the lead, 

never knowing your untapped potential

 because of those small-minded people holding you back. 

Ignore the shame and denial that others wants you to have. 

Continue,

 do not perish,

 at least not today,

 to realize your true purpose in the servitude of others.

You will not be sorry for the air you breathe, 

the space you take, 

the food you consume 

and the steps you am taking every day.

Your life decisions are yours, and 

people should NOT be scrutinizing every inches of other’s existence.

If you desire others to be invisible, or be put into silence, you might as well kill them.

A Short Poem

I like how he stares at me.

I like how he stares.

And his ridiculous ways

And sensible paragraphs.

I like his back glances.

I like his proximity,

So close

That sometimes I can’t see nothing

But him. Alone. You and I.

Lumpiang Hangin

Sa pagkabagot noong isang alas-dos nang hapon

Humiling ang isip ko ng kaunting atensyon

Kaya’t suot and kupas na damit at tsinelas

Kahit hindi ko alam kung saan, naisip kong maglakad.

Minsan hindi sa pagpaplano makahahanap ng solusyon

Hayaan na lang natin ang paa’y mahapo

O makakuha ng ideya sa pagsosolo

Makahanap ng lugar ang modernong bandido

Nakailang kanto pa lamang

Mga mata ko’y naumay agad

Sa halos dalawang dekadang paghakbang

Iisang tanawin pa rin ang madaratnan—

Ang tindahan ni Lola Baneng sa labas ng eskinita;

Sa aming lugar siya ang Panginoong May Lupa

Kahit sa katandaan naaninag pa rin ang ganda

Ngunit sabi ng ilan ay tumanda nang dalaga.

Ang kapilya kung saan ako lumaki

Makita ko agad sa aking pagtawid

Kilala ako nang lahat ng pumupunta dito

Mula bata, hatak-hatak ni nanang tuwing Linggo.

Kumaliwa sa katabing kabahayan

Naglakad kahit pudpod na ang swelas

Dito raw matatagpuan ang tindahan

Nahahanap ang masasarap na lumpia.

Sa pakiramdam ko’y hindi naman ako pagod

Ngunit tila ang dila’y nais na ring magtrabaho

“sige na nga”, utal sa sarili

Hinatak ako ng aking paa sa isang lamesang may tabing

“oh, ikaw na ba yung anak ni Ralf?”

Dalaga ka na ah! Bulalas ng isa.

Anong gusto mong bilhin? Nagugutom ka ba?

Isa pong samalamig, at isang lumpia.

Ilang taon ka na iha? Anong year mo na?

Hindi sila magkamayaw sa kanilang bisita.

Kamukha ko daw si papa, sabi nang lahat.

Lalo na’ng dalawang tindera sa aki’y tuwang-tuwa.

Masarap ang samalamig;

Matamis, maraming sago

Malamig, maraming yelo

Sa ginaw ay parang lumuluha ang lalagyang supot

Pagkagat ko sa lumpia

Ako ba’y iiling o tatawa?

Sabay sa pag nguya ibinaling ang tingin

Ang hindi ko nabasa sa karatula’y “Lumpiang Hangin”.

Para saan pa ang suka kung wala namang toge?

Bakit hindi ko nasulit ang tangan kong bente?

Naisip ko tuloy na lugi ako sa dose

Balat lamang ang aking nabili

Hindi na ako nakinig sa kanilang bali-balita

Sa likot ng isip tinitigan ko ang Lumpia

Bakit nga ba binibenta ang Lumpiang Hangin?

Nakabubusog ba ang balat kong nakain?

Kung nagsasalita lamang ang Lumpiang Hangin

Kakausapin nya ako’t manghihingi

Ngunit wala ako ng kanyang hanap na toge

Na pupunan sa kanyang pagkakakilanlang pagkain

Kung makikipag-usap ito, siya’y tatanungin ko rin:

Anong pakiramdam nang wala kang silbi?

Patuloy kang ibebenta sa ilan

Ngunit alam ng lumpia na sila’y nadadaya

Sa malutong na balat at walang lasang harina

Sa taglay na lutong may mga nabubulag

Pagkatapos ng magandang usapan

Hindi ko nasabing ako’y nadismaya

Salamat na rin sa lumpiang walang laman

Naisip kong ako’y katulad rin pala nya.

Lumakad muli at nagmasid

Bukas ang isip ngunit mga bibig ay pinid

Hindi ko nasabing wala akong napala

Sinalubong ako sa kalsada ng libu-libong ideya.

Pagdating sa bahay naupo sa isang lamesa

Kumuha ng papel, inihayag ang karanasan

Masaya, dahil muli napagbigyan ko

Natalo ang pagkabagot noong isang alas-dos nang hapon.

BOOK REVIEW: Bright, Catholic, and Gay by Danton Remoto

Switch channels and change your tabloids—we are already tired of cold headlines and passive-aggressive remarks of public personalities. Media has been a way for different perspectives, including the miscued and over-the-top.

Luckily, we have something that oozes with brilliance and fresh ideas. A book with 21 essays, Bright, Catholic and Gay by Danton Remoto offers us witty, disturbing, and even provoking issues that keeps you intrigued until the last page.

Being known as a founder of Ladlad Partylist, the book focuses on LGBT about everything—political stands, successes, closet lives, and social “scarlet letters”. After reading this, conservative Filipinos will get the somehow full picture of LGBT life. What’s so unique about Remoto is his (or her, there’s no politically correct pronoun yet) narrative of how ordinary gayness is. Their love of God. Partners with risks of HIV.  Finding love. The harsh and unmoderated comments on the internet. Coming out and liberation. Everything.

Back cover

Aside from that, there are queer literature and erotic fiction featured, reviewed by Remoto himself. As if a beginner’s book, it propels the readers to dig deep into the life of pink warriors. Easy-read yet sensitive, it excites you have a leap of faith delving to the almost outcasts.

Personally, I don’t have a lot of gay/lesbian friends because I barely have friends at all (haha). My circle of networks are small and neat. However, the “pink community” amuses me a lot, and the book has become a way to understand them better. They have an equally colorful lives, maybe more. Fighting against the common stereotypes, they bravely shed denial, shame, guilt, and self-loathing. As a feminist (yes, you read it right), we are in the same page on sickening gender biases and our supposed “place” in the society.

(The Breakfast Club, 1985)

Gathering his stories from all walks of life, Bright, Catholic—and Gay is a fresh look on LGBT life… from shadows, out into the light.

Wanderlust

Do people sense this cyclic living?

We were raised that for shining, we are born

On and on, from corners of streets, we cling

Understand that human is for running,

Yet in flickers and flashes we all forlorn,

Do people sense this cycling living?

Lords of cosmos considers no weeping

Everyone abides as the gods implore

On and on, from corners of streets, we cling

Earn bruises and bumps and painful screeching

Like those planets that spheres around the core;

Do people sense this cycling living?

Sensing the individual voice calling

Ignore the warnings of sirens and horn

On and on, from corners of streets, we cling

Survival depends on those cunning

As the weak and frail shatters on the floor

Do people sense this cycling living?

On and on, from corners of streets, we cling

BOOK REVIEW: Good Boss, Bad Boss by Robert Sutton

You probably have a weak will-power. You also may be a pushover. Or a people-pleaser. On the same note, your friends and colleagues may think you’re a control freak, dictatorial, or annoying. In either way, you playing with power is like juggling TEN balls while the crowd is poking fun at your freak show.

You don’t need to be “The Big Guy” to read Good Boss, Bad Boss by Robert Sutton—for anyone who handles people, or wants to gain a reputation of a good boss, this is a self-help to soothe the power plays and find a balance between competency and humanity. Whether you are a teacher, doctor, lawyer, businessman, or even a mother—this book will be a sound and fun ride.

As a teacher, I once had a tough ride with classroom managing. Kids are kids, as they say, but I don’t want my class to fidget and throw flying papers around. My teenagers grab their phone and text while I teach.  On my first years of teaching, sometimes I give in to their petty requests. Vox Populi, Vox Dei is really a thing in classroom, by the way. Joke’s on me.

Now I don’t want to spoil the whole book for everyone, but if you want a takeaway, here’s some:

·         They look up to you. Get used to it. All your weird tendencies are being watched. Set the tone from the beginning—and set it right—because you will be under the microscope from this day on.

·         Be decisive. Apart from being well-informed, great bosses know that fear and uncertainty is contagious, and the whole team will be affected. If you take charge and give them a security blanket, even if there isn’t any, the team will perform better. Rule of thumb? Thou shalt not be hesitant.

·         Balance the power play. They say that if you really want to know a person, give him power. Good bosses know this, so they dance on the edge of overconfidence and humility. They know they are in charge; however, a healthy dose of self-doubt is needed to save themselves from arrogance.

·         Deal with the rotten apples. Destructive employees can undermine the performance of many good people. By eliminating the rotten apples, or strategically make them interact less with others, work relationships will be more humane, harmonious, and motivating.

·         Talk and Act. We all had that blabbermouth leadership, right? Good bosses understands the work they manage, so they act appropriately when need arises. Also, they make their commands neat, simple and repetitive rather than the incomprehensible jargons of smart talks with no action.

·         Shield your people. From petty jobs, unnecessary meetings, and time-consuming protocols—great bosses let the workers do their work. They empathize enough not to waste anyone’s time, or kill anyone’s productivity in the process.

·         Do the “dirty work”. Do not delay any painful decisions and actions that can hurt other people. Anything along the lines of issuing reprimands, firing people, or denying requests are all part of the work.

With tons of interviews and exemplary leaders to make each point clear, Good Boss, Bad Boss is a textbook for struggles in power play, with a little tinge of sarcasm and throwing shades. The tongue-in-cheek tone is apparent. Sutton clearly plays with his readers while informing them through the pages. After reading, there’s a bit of entertainment that stays (not to mention, you didn’t get too roasted).

The Blurred Vision Disorder

        Ushering him outside the museum, she could almost feel his irritation. His anxiety like his emotions are now her clattered bones, as they both strut against the pale ample marbles beneath the soles of his shoes, her heels. Their footsteps jive with the hushes of people, whispering here and there, over the artworks, arguing and praising over sculptures and paintings, with a  companion or a mere stranger. The couple has always been this silent; and whenever they are not, they’ve been arguing.

            With sweaty palms and cold hands, she attempted to reach for his shoulder, like a child keeping up with her mommy, trying to apologize, while he hastened his steps against the col pavement. Yet, with the repulsiveness of both of their behavior, an amusing smile dashes across her perfect lips; because then, with the last remarks she heard, feigning anger is much harder to restrain.

            Amused and entertained, she tried to keep the private joke to herself—because at least, she knew a secret that finally, cannot fathom his sharp senses.

-------- 0o0o0o0 -------

            The sizzle from the ignited match always revived the same memory.

            James, 36, has been living with stiff ethical values. Before he lived with his family, with a wife and two kids, he lived in a voiceless, sanitized apartment with his solitude, commandeering his television set and cold furnitures. No pet greets him. He had no friend across the neighbor. No exchange of pleasantries. Always busy with his thoughts, he walks like a zombie, with glazed eyes and a mumbling mouth. James dashes himself into the corporate society every day, as his tie dangles around his neck like a noose, strangling him into an exhausting day, making himself a guinea pig in a tiresome treadmill. A taxi has always been waiting at the footsteps of the building, catering him and the rest of the high-salaried slaves of the city.

            He is always aware of his own legacy, his own name. He claims, that the confined spaces of his own workplace is the only thing worthy of his aesthetic, imaginative viewpoints.

            On a tiring Monday of December 2002, while the wind pass upon their puffy cheeks, as he lit a matchstick to puff an air to his cigarette, his wife finally pose a concern she’s itching to ask for months.

“Museum?”

“Yes, museum.”

“BAH! Why do I need to?”

“Nothing. Just trying to make you flesh and blood.”

-------- 0o0o0o0 -------

          He forgot his eyeglasses.

            Stomping around the halls, James entertained no colors and figures around the museum gallery. With a grumpy face, he stalls, stares and walks away with the slightest mumble of discontent. I shouldn’t be here, he thought, while he keeps track of tomorrow’s list of mundane paperworks.

            He regrets forgetting his eyeglasses. He continues to cry the imperfections of the place, condemning and criticizing each artwork, not even dared to glance at the constellation of architectures at the ceiling; thinking, at his discretion, that the whole museum was an apparent misuse of money, space, vacant lots and Boysen inks.

            Finally, with an air of superiority against the hues around him, he stopped at a frame then finally complained to his wife, “Look at this painting! The work doesn’t clearly resemble any imaginative talents! The subject is boring, and meaningless! The focus of the painter is at the wrong spatial perspective, and his subject is wrinkly, boned to death, and had a poor stance!”

           

            An amusing smile dashes across his woman’s perfect lips. Amused and entertained, she tried to keep the private joke to himself. If only he knew, that the last thing he tried to demean, and that he loathe most, considering as the worst work of art, was a huge mirror showing his own reflection.

MOVIE REVIEW: 100 tula para kay Stella

This is a bit timely for Filipino moviegoers! Okay, I don’t want to be oh-so giddy because I don’t want to compromise the quality of today’s blog, but I want to make a review of the Student’s Choice Award winner: 100 Tula Para kay Stella.

Stella, a frustrated rockstar meets Fidel, a stammering recluse during a freshman concert. Growing up with a family of separated parents, Fidel is naturally shy yet pensive, and wafts through his college with growing anxiety because of his speech defect.  Luckily, he meets Stella, a woman with a reputation of a party girl with no ambitions. In the span of four years, Fidel had accumulated 100 poems for her to make her say yes.

Just for a change of perspective, I want to share the complexities of human mind by defending each character, including Stella. Here’s why:

·         Women are also people. They have the right to make choices.

Including those bad decisions we try to hid under the bushes. Because again, women are also people. We tumble, try again, found a new love, and lose ourselves again. Just ask Taylor Swift.

·         There are things that you cannot control—like a woman’s heart, for example.

I don’t nullify nor imply to underestimate the pain of separated parents, but there are things that is just beyond the grasp of our understanding. Being gloomy is one, but mulling over problems will not make you move forward. You’ll get stuck in the past, frozen in that timeframe where everybody is being one step closer to their future. Similarly, that’s how he did to her secret affections with Stella. He doesn’t move on, because he can’t, and it clouds her rational part to the point that he can’t say no to a woman.

That’s just how Fidel is. He needs improvement in the emotional strength department.

·         In the grand scheme of things, some people doesn’t matter

Your favorite janitress. First crush. Girl fights. Your rebounds and exes. Your enemies. If Fidel is mulling over them, that means he thinks that his life circles around this unimportant and irrelevant people. However, life is not a movie. In the real world, we can do better than that.

·         Fidel is just feeding his fantasy

I like the part where after Stella had read the semi-broken notebook of poems, she said to him that she doesn’t like the latter parts, because that doesn’t personify the real her. This shows that Fidel is just idealizing and romanticizing Stella, and putting her on a pedestal that she knows she didn’t earn.

·         Women stereotypes are sickening – inner feminist unleashed!

Stella, having a lot of boyfriends yet not finding herself in the midst of it, doesn’t owe explanations to people who thinks she’s a lost woman with no substance. So a note to Danica: you may be intelligent, but you can’t be that judgmental. Besides, you can’t fix a woman who can’t fix herself, either.

·         The men that she is meeting is as equally shallow as her ambitions

I don’t underestimate Stella’s rockstar dream, but underneath her thick skin is a lot of insecurity, and self-pity. Obviously, she is looking her Mr. Right at all the wrong places.  To oppose her from defeatism, she needs a strong and sensible man to counter her fears. Needless to say, I like how the movie ends.

 ·         Von, you need an extra credit here

Von’s point of view wasn’t shown by the director, but one of the scenes imply that he is eyeing on her since high school, where he clearly stated she had six boyfriends. He may (or may not) be in love with Stella for such a long time—but they may have the same timeline, maybe longer, than Fidel’s secret affection. Unfortunately, Fidel is our protagonist here.

·         There will be people who will make you feel alive. Sometimes, they have no idea.

               So if there’s still time left, sabihin mo na.

 ·         This is already normal kind of female character for me. Examples?

o   Summer Finn – 500 Days of Summer

o   Satine – Moulin Rouge

o   Sabina – Ladders to Fire by Anais Nin

o   My favorite movie: Holly Golightly of Breakfast at Tiffany’s

The impact of this story is not as great to me because I had already met female characters like Stella. Yet, throughout the decades, we are still ticked off by lost women who breaks men’s hearts along the way. In the future, I know that directors would still try to emulate a modern woman in different roles yet it will still have the same effect on the masses. What is it with women and their misery?

·         Stella is in her endless pursuit of self-actualization. LEAVE HER BE.

She uses men. Given. She doesn’t go to school. Noted. She is a rebel. Check. But when the smoke clears, you’ll realize that finding oneself is just as difficult as finding the right person for you. It may include depression, emptiness, self-pity, and overwhelming uncertainty. Kids, there’s more to life than love.

Since this is yet another pubescent movie, I’m cringing in some parts in sheer embarrassment. However, this is a brilliant film that depicts how complicated life is… in a way that touches young adults’ sensitivity. Not all film makers have the skill can reduce the setting with an equal maturity level. For you who hasn’t watched the movie yet, expect a lot of emotions running. 

An Ode to Trash Bin

I always find you beautiful.

The prefect shape of your hollow stomach

Ready to be filled

With stenches you find wonderful

The curves of your mouth

Open to stories of past things

The people turned into waste

Exploit and overuse

Consumed and misused

You were always there

To embrace them

Welcome them

Envelop

Let them find a place

A sanctuary

A shelter

For all the rotten things

Which people had exploit on using.

Now they found your arms

And make it their home.

All of them who stench,

Full of grime,

Out of rhyme,

That is why you are so beautiful.

Worth-beholding.

I envy you, trash bin.

You were always there,

Never waiting for a compliment,

Up against the wall,

Sacrificing your glory

All for the wasted things

Enveloping the ruins

The mud and grime

All for your charitable hands

These garbages, they found safe lands.

I envy you, trash bin.

For I’d rather have your beauty—

Tucked on one corner

Than to have this “gift”,

Nothing but a

DISPLAY.

I wish someday to be like you,

With all your cracks,

Scratches

Stenches

And dents and odor

Because being a home,

A safe haven,

A mother,

Is the only gift

And blessing

And power

I consider.