How is your recent life in Idaho? And why are you not texting me? Do you enjoy your trips on that other side of the world?
So. In the next days of our lives, we shall spend in silence? Like minding ourselves be sucked in our respective worlds, watching our own interests in a nook called a mobile phone? What about the conversations that we used to have? When I tried to engage in sharing my stories, you just dismiss it with a humorless jest, and making it repetitive, a routine unconscientiously performed after days—fuck it, months—of absence?
It feels convoluted, meeting this person.
Does this mean that I learn to settle in this dynamic that bears no joy, not even a high, “for now”?
Intellectualize this: Were you an absent partner on your previous marriage, resulting to a third party you caught in the act? If yes, most likely, your history will repeat itself. You are now on the brink of reprising the role your absent father did to your mother.
And its absence lingered on this timeline.
I miss you. I am sorry for being this destructive and resentful. It is tough managing an avoidant.
I love you. But sometimes, I do not love you because of what we have now. “Out of sight, out of mind.”
And I do not want to hate myself for it. I guess this is how our love works, right?
Sometimes, the kilig comes as a huge tsunami wave whenever you come home and we share the silent space together, and yet, sometimes I am resenting that same silence whenever we independently face our own struggles.
I think this is our kind of love, right? And after all these years, I am still navigating this with sonder and wonder that maybe our storyline is not as unique as the others. Maybe, we have that sentiment that is transcendent, like the novels that we read.
Maybe at the end of the day, loving is about choosing.
And even though moments hurt and memories fade, I choose you.
Break or no break, E.
Poetics: Actual submission to the JFF25 contest in facebook page. I hope to win free tickets or anything. If I don’t win, meh, then you see my thought process in my current struggle of not seeing my date in the last five months of our lives.
Kumusta ka jan sa Norte? Random: alam mo bang may aklat ng mga tula na galing sa lalawigan mo? Ay kainaman nga! Kailangan ko lagi ng Diksyunaryong Pilipino para lang malaman ang kahulugan ng mga parirala at saknong. Na-realize ko lalong wala akong probinsya. Pinanganak sa Pasay, nag-aral sa Makati, nagta-trabaho sa Taguig, at kasalukuyang nakatira sa Pasig. Mga probinsyudad noong dekada nobenta na naging melting pot ng wika at mga memes at code-switches.
Pero sa koleksyon na ito, parang akong bumalik sa high-school required reading na may trabaho ang paghahanap sa kaluhugan ng mga talinghaga. Bigyan kita ng sampol:
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POSIBILIDAD (ni Brixter Tino)
Paano mabalangkas ang paglansag ng tanaw, ang dungis at ang duklay ng diwarang dahilan?
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Mga kelangan ng diksyonaryo — lansag, duklay, diwara. Tatlong salitang hindi ginagamit sa NCR. Ay kainaman! (sabi nga ni Mama, ang Batangueña)
Pag-unawa sa metapora (ang galing, pwede palang tula form ang mga tanong sa buhay!) — I digress, bobo ako sa tula at ito ang unang impression: “Paano raw isusuma ang watak-watak na mga pananaw at ang rawness (the “dungis”) at ang hifalutin (the “duklay”) na mga mabusising reasoning (ng tao ito siguro?).” Through possibilities. Galing!!!
Maganda ang mga berso ng tula, pero ang ariba ng diwa, napakatagal. Kaya nakakasura siyang basahin. Pwede talaga ito sa mga estudyanteng sadyang nag-aaral ng linggwistika, or may oras na maghanap sa diksyunaryo, or people who are naturally curious about the work. Sabi ng maraming kumento at blurb sa libro, magaling si Brixter kasi naipon niya lahat ito (at medyo na-intimidate ako sa uniqueness ng #danas niya dito sa kamaynilaan; polarizing kami kasi taal ako ng 🎵🎶 Mahal kong Maynila~🎵🎶).
Actually, malapit na ang Book Talakayan namin dito, July 19 na, sa PUP! Kung bababa ka, magsama ka ng mga friends o bisitahin mo yung Pinoy Reads Pinoy Books tas catch-up naman tayo. Tungkol sa wika o memes o anumang ganap ng mga kanya-kanyang lovelife kineso haha!
Hopefully maka-akyat ako jan at samahan mo naman ako mag-hike sa Ulap! See you uwu!!!
Book Review of All The Lonely People by Kannika Claudine Peña
In one of our kotse chronicles, dok bb mentioned that he doesn’t cry much because his tear ducts are tinier than any other person. Instead, whenever he feels like crying, it was his runny nose doing the deed. Whenever he feels deep sadness, he said, “kinokotse ko lang. huling hagulgol ko ay yung huling heartbreak ko eh.” I guess at least with movement, he can find his release (without judging his runny nose and his huge mess of used tissue paper).
Movement and mementos are the big themes in Kannika’s first novel of remembering loss and its adjacent emotions of grief, and how we have found ourselves looking for a company to share our loneliness with. With company comes empathy and reason, and may it not be a concrete form of happiness, but rather a release and a relief. Then hope. After all, hope if what gives us tenacity to brave the rage we experience everyday in the Metro.
Mandirigmang imortal, amirite?
If you are burned out from the daily life of the Metro, this time may not be a perfect chance to read the novel. Maybe this book is meant for people who wanted to enjoy the slow days in their homes, or want to relish the feeling of rawness of emotions. I can only opine on my reading experience, since I finished the whole book during the hours when the Globe Internet is down in Pasig area.
The six stories in the novel were done in a “hand-off” fashion, where the omniscient POV is moved from one character to another, its main goal is to share their little sob story. At the center of it all is Marya, and her own history of loss and longing for company, her sentiments poured out to the Lost and Found Logbook of the old Apartelle where she is currently working (and living in).
What I liked about the novel is how the story weaves and how it pulls the emotions out of me. I feel that my chest hurt everytime I read a snippet of their sad histories, and at some instances, I see my persona as a composite from the characters in the novel. I reflected at the what-ifs (like, if I was Gemma, will I still be ok managing my mother if she has Alzheimer’s?) I even see my work colleague in Cindy’s story. I loved how relatable the stories are. Also, the author has effectively inserted her criticisms in our love for sad tropes (“Sadness that sells because it’s everyone’s sadness”), the dismal commute and horrendous traffic (“This city has no time for your heartbreak. So you move on”), and her leeway to explain why there are tendencies to romanticize this chaotic city (“But perhaps she’s looking for a way to feel again”). The universality of stories and the feelings it evoked within me are remarkable. For less than 30 pages, I shed my tears as if the loss was my own. Good thing I don’t have dok beside me because it is hard to explain why are you crying over a page you just read.
I think what wanes the reading experience for a bit is my introduction to Cindy’s story. It felt abrupt. It’s the sudden insertion, nothing weave-like. I was so used to the chaotic EDSA or slower moments in Pasay (where I think Via is from), and then Cindy opened her story with “Pillow crease on face.” The momentum faltered from there. And just before the novel ended, the connection was made too convenient. Also, I personally felt that the stories of queer characters (Jona and Dan Ian, respectively) are tokens of inclusivity. Nonetheless, they are relevant stories. Including their snippets means that all of us walk and manage the loneliness of everyday.
What redeemed me in the end is the seemingly magical realism / romantic narrative at the bus station that even I (as the reader) was rooting for. That was so effective! It feels like watching the final sequence of Kimi No Nawa, two total strangers on the different lines of trains getting off on stations abruptly and meeting at the Suga Shrine.
“It’s possible to be content with whatever and whoever is right there, even and especially with the knowledge that they will soon be gone, that nothing lasts forever—love, happiness, but also heartbreak, sadness, pain.” And I thank this novel for giving me back my reading groove again, after managing the more challenging novels at the first half of the year. Thanks to Kannika for giving me a chance to slow down and just cry it out and breathe.
Book Review of What Light It Can Hold Edited by Gerald Burns and Jose Dalisay, Jr.
What Light It Can Hold is a collection of Filipino writers with their stories released after the millenium bug hey-days. I admire the curation, it has representations across the regions and also the male, female and queer demographic (please correct me if I am wrong on this).
I read the collection at a random pace. In one sitting, I read the first and the last story, and in the other days, I pick whatever I feel like reading. The first and the last story indeed tie the theme behind the books title. Casocot’s Things You Don’t know ended in a sunset (or dusk) scene of confessions and a touch of hope, while Groyon’s The Haunting Martina Luzuriaga ended with a new day with its sunbeam erasing the sad past and an epiphany after years of solitude. I appreciate how endings and beginning weave through these respective stories. As the introduction alludes, the book echoed the idea of fragility and illumination.
What I find challenging (aside from my daily Corporate grind) is the search for the contemporary themes that seem to be limited across the collection. I was actively looking for the use of social media, online bullying and cancel culture, the emergence of memes, bekimon vocabulary, or even some snippets of millennial activities of undeground indie bands, collective jogging, and heavy use of technology, or bitcoin grind. Where is the onslaught of the 2008 Financial crisis, or even scamming via Multilevel Marketing? Though the stories are okay with its overarching themes of injustices and powerplay, family bonds, or Love, maybe I was actively reaching for a distinct flavor of a craft (being a millennial myself, overusing parenthesis, oxford commas and em dashes — a punctuation politically being a pet peeve by AI detectors).
What the collection showed me instead are remnants of the B-type movie from 80’s (Tenorio’s Monstress), or early 90’s sea travels (Pagliawan’s Manila-Bound), or late ’90s elementary school bullying (Habana’s The Mop Closet). All of them are marvelous on their own ways — especially the moniker “Monstress” — but these allusions are not in 21st century, but rather, they are remnants of the previous one being carried by the writers themselves. The only hallmark 21st century storyline for me personally is seething through Bengan’s Armor and his storytelling of the Davao Death Squad conflict (if I may say so).
I do hope that there will be another collection that can tackle the more recent events or timelines, or maybe the pens respsonsible for them belong to us now, the contemporary consumers and players of the post-pandemic hyperrealities.
For now, I soldier on.
My question after seeing the dark skies and its looming heavy rainfall
Hello, what is Meta Professional mode? I just intend to keep the followers and friends from the past to be updated with whatever’s happening with me. Suddenly, tadah! There are offers for ads and “subscribe to Meta Verified”.
How is me, you wonder? Heto, pagod.
In the wee hours of morn, I am eating my leftover ramen while trying my best to finish the books I am currently reading (for Pinoy Reads Pinoy Books and Nakita sa Booksale pero Hindi Binili). I wasn’t able to write creatively at the moment since my mind is vexed from frustrations of the Corporate, topped with difficult Market movements of Late-stage capitalism and looming anxiety of 5 days onsite expected later this year.
I miss my amigas. We only touch-base in our group chats. I miss the PRPB after-parties and/or walwal nights. And I miss the moments when I can just grab my bag and hike Benguet mountain ranges, or go to Palawan to feel the sea breeze. I may live in a “ivory tower” away from the floods, but I am not invincible not to feel lonely (or be out of touch with reality. yet. I guess?)
You can actually see my bogsa moments in my instagram stories, my older entries in my personal website. Tiktok contents are stale. Maybe I can put a video out sometime this weekend.
I hope you are okay, dear friend. I may be TTTHHHHIIIISSSS tired, but I make a point to set a time to destress. I hope you do, too. Take care of your health. With leptospirosis and coughs and colds around us, I hope you get yourself some vitamins. Don’t forget to drink water. And never forget to rest.
Because when we rest, we dream. And the further we dream, we envision.
Hinihintay humupa ang bulong ng malakas na ulan nang biglang umugong ang kulog sa condo na walang katao-tao. Lahat sila’y nakalusong, bumibiyahe kasama ang ingay ng trapik, mga businang may badya ng pag-aalala.
Naghihintay ako hanggang alas-kwatro, titiyempuhin na tumigil ang alburoto.
Sana ngayong hapon, makapasok ako. Kung hindi, wala. Work from Home.
Poetics:
I woke up and I saw the rain. Took a photo and drafted something to get the worry out of my system.
Nasanay na ako sa paghimbing sa gabing may minsanang busina ng mga trak at alingawngaw ng ambulansa at alert ng mga pulis, pero nagulat ako nang bigla kang pumunta sa aking espasyo para hanapin ang isang bulalakaw.
“Paano magkakaroon ng Lyrid shooting stars sa siyudad kong polluted na ng mga ilaw ng condo at billboard ang panganorin?” Maya-maya, bigla ka na lang lumuha. Naku, unscheduled breakdown mo ba? Natawa lang ako na bumalik ka pa sa loob para kunin ang iyong relaxing chair at isang bote ng tubig. Iniayos ang upuan at mesa sa tabi ko— At tangan mo na ang malinaw na likido. Hindi siya kulay gintong inuming kapangalan mo.
Heto na ang ating therapy session.
Poetics:
Nothing much. I only showed how I compartmentalize my struggles in living the concrete jungle where dreams are made of.
Boat of aid to Gaza “Can Thunberg swim well?” With Jet2 holidays you can save 50 pounds per person! I have a partner I wanted to fcuk hard but so out of reach, so far away. I see a wrinkle in my eye— a permanent mark, to where I show my smile. With the Statue of Liberty in the background, I realized the ferry was free. Zohran Mamdani for Mayor in NYC, Catching up with memes, at katok sa pinto. Tao sa tao. Kampanyang ala-Leni Robredo.
Sa kabila ng kawalan ng Pinoy as IG reels representative ng boycott, Namumutiktik sila sa Facebook. Habang pinuputakte ng Zionist at bashers at troll farmers ang targeted ads na pusa at NCAP at mga pagtatakip sa plate ng sasakyan. May bago na palang taxi mula sa Vietnam. Kung saan tayo ang dating nagtuturo ng pagpapalay, at pagbibigas, sila na ang nag-eexport ng expertise sa patuloy na lumulubog na Pilipinas.
Ruby-chan! Hai! Nani ga suki? Pinatay muna ang social media. Nagtungo sa messenger, nakita ang balita.
May isang kaibigang tumigil ang mundo. Binisita ko nitong nakaraang linggo, at ang nakita ko ay pagkakabuklod, ng mga kaanak, kaibigan, at akong random classmate ng isang yumao. Hindi ko alam kung ang pagtutula(ng ito) ay makapagbigay hustisya sa mga nakaraang araw ng pahinga.
Nagulat ako at nagising: Tanghali na. Lunes na (naman!)
Poetics:
This is my tiktok and IG and facebook last weekend, with a touch of me-time cooking left-overs and ganking in ML. I visited a high school classmate and I felt fear and loneliness because I was a very extrovert, but now with a bookish community being broken about the issues with the Philippines as the Guest of Honor in Frankfurt Buchmesse, I don’t even know where to start building a community again. Maybe I was outrageous of it being broken, or I overthink too much. Maybe all I need to do is to reach out to friends who can help me when I get old, and visit them and talk to them heart-to-heart.
That visit of the dead made me think if I invested enough, or should I start caving in again and be ready. Sigh, is this what the midlife crisis is? Or maybe another episode of existential dread…?
Ngayong gabi: kasama ng hanging dala ng halumigmig ng ulan, ng mga pipip sa kalsada at ng minsang ting-ting ng aking window chime, ninanamnam ang ligtas na kinatitirhan.
Ngunit sa kabilang banda: kumakapit ako sa nabasang kwento ng isang batang estudyanteng nagsalaysay ng gulong nasa paligid niya. Kung saan ba sya papanig, kung sino ba ang paniniwalaan. Habang katabi ang mainit na kapeng arabica, nahihigop ako ng kanyang mga katanungan, at tila nadadagdagan ito sa bawat eksenang naaalala ko sa kalsada: ang mabagal na galaw ng PNR, ang trapik sa Kalentong at ang katabing ninakawan, at ang pagpasok sa kabila ng baha sa kanyang nilalakaran.
Naisip ko bigla: kasalanan ba ang dumistansya sa mga danas ng nasa pahina? Kasalanan ba na pilit kinakalimutan ang trauma ng kinagisnang Ondoy, Ulysses at Yolanda? Sa dami ng mga ingay at tanong, narito pa rin ako, tumatakas sa mga kinilalang poot ng mundo.
Poetics:
Sometimes, I ask myself if I was the only one feeling guilty on the life I chose. Maybe because I used to be part of the urban poor, but very privileged to graduate in a university with the course I chose to aspire, landed a high calibre work experience and finally, chose to own a unit in a high-rise condo away from the standard bungalow of Metro. Do I deserve to be living away from the before? Should I be indebted to the people arounde me, while I toil just to have a stash of good coffee?
After moments of guilt-trips and dilemmas, I learn to be grateful of all the experiences I’ve been through. It is extremely expensive to own a house for a single-income earner, but I make sure to say thanks to the higher being who guides me in my solitude. And I remember, my decision to live alone is my way of healing from the bitter memories.
