Biking After You

5:30 on an early Wednesday morning and I am acutely aware that I am awake. There is the final breath of dawn and the former night’s rays in their last moments of solitude. I have seen these with my own eyes because, after fighting long and hard with my indecisive self, my conscience caved and led me to a blunt (and, safe to say, compulsive) decision – a task that should have long been on the top of my repertoire – to bring Papa’s bike back to life.

It feels great to be up and on the road again just before day break. I have the world and your bike all to myself, and I am allowed to explore more, since running, which I did in one phase, just tired the living out of me and distracted me from truly “seeing”. With the goal being to Mitty-fy (inspired by the most awesome movie I have seen to date, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”) and Libby-fy (do you still have to wonder where I drew this motivation from?) myself, I will try not to be tied down by inhibitions. I am in the state of actually “doing” now, and the plan is to keep going until I will be better at it.

 

But just to let you know from now on, I will always see how you had once, unceasingly followed this road that led you to your next adventure. I will try to defeat the mountains you conquered on a daily basis, and I will learn love like how the sun once colored your skin; brazen and unashamed of the trickling blood on your scabbed knee, because you respected the road that tripped your wheel. It was not at fault, because it was meant to be there, ordained by the complicated results of an ecological cycle; it was natural, like how I am now living after your life.

 

I will promise to be brave. These eyes you have imparted to me, though blurry with a 150/125 grade (it’s worsening!), will see the sights you’ve seen without haze. So here’s to an exhilaratingly new experience towards the uncertainties of stones and trees and curves and pavements. Your life will be my adventure, Papa. You were one real Walter Mitty.

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The Return of the Comeback

Lately I’d been who I was not, and it was a constant struggle of finding myself again. I was on a literary sabbatical since the day I came home to Butuan. But yesterday, I broke the fast. I have begun reading poetry again, and I can say that I have returned to my first love.

The hike up to Zoila’s Sanctuary – a quaint piece of mountain that Tito Monching owns in Taligaman, and the venue for our poetry reading – was tiring. But I had to keep in mind that I was doing this for the love of poetry. If not for the majestic view of towering, emerald trees, I might as well had run back to the car and just read poems to myself.

Before the reading, introductions were made and I got to see different personalities and characters. It was a meeting of brilliant minds, and of course I felt like I was one of them!

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I got the chance to share two poems. One, an original by moi which showcases a hopeful lady waiting for her muscle car man to come. And the other somehow a talk-back to the girl given the name Penelope, in the poem Binangkal, Penelope by Corazon Almerino the latter being a personal favorite, and which quickly became everyone’s:

Penelope, kaon og binangkal.

Wala’y pulos kanang  magsige’g

Ginansilyo-kanang magsige’g

Paabut nianang tawo nga galisud

Og tultol sa iyang panimalay.

Wala to siya gilamat uy. Daghan tong

Gihapit-hapit. Daghan pud

Ang Nangapyot ato niya.

Barug dinha ug sulunga

ang tindahan nilang Nang Kikay

Ug pakyawa ang iyang mga

Binangkal. Kon kahibalo ka

Moluto, hala, pagluto og

Daghan.

Haay, Penelope. Kon tinuod man gani

Nga nasaag o gilamat gyud siya,

Dili gihapon niya mapanas

Ang mga gabii sa imong pagtukaw,

Ang imong mga daman,

Ang imong kahingawa.

Kit-kita ug ub-uba

Unya ang mga binangkal.

Kit-kita gyud. Ub-uba.

Ang sobra, tipigi.

Inig uli ato niya, inig tungtong

Niya tungod nianang pultahan,

Gubata dayon og binangkal.

Two very personally relevant poems I could cry binangkal tears.

The whole experience was enlightening. It has been a long, long time since I felt the exhilaration poetry gives me; breathing in and speaking out beautifully juxtaposed words. I’m looking forward to sharing my soul again. Hiatus no more!

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Something about binangkal made them crack up.

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My tita who is ever supportive of my weirdness.

 

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This is how everyone should spend their weekends!

9PM Confessions of a Banker

Call me the contending banker with a degree in Literature (your eyes have not deceived you) who, after years of trying to dodge the complexities of formulas and numerals, has found herself dealing with it vis-à-vis. The very thing I have feared for so long has become the very same thing that I am working for and with.

My first week at work was hemorrhagic, what with all the jargons and computations and paperwork. Not only was my nose spewing blood (figural), but my brain seemingly declined any registry of new information related to numbers and Math. And since I am still subject to the usual concerns of those caring to know how my first real job is really like,  ”Kumusta ang work nimo?”, I give them a succinct and go with the safest and truest response of all: “Ok ra. Ga-struggle”. So of course, they allow leeways for those like me, “Ana man jud na kay adjusting stage pa man ka.” Thank you for being ever so gracious.

I know the bank is an unlikely territory for a Literature degree holder like me, but I am a self-proclaimed challenge junkie. I say I am up for anything, but I really do hope I mean what I say. Yes, I can sound so convincing sometimes that I even deceive myself. But at the same time, I don’t want to spend my life cowering in my security blanket only breathing in the comfortable air my nostrils have been most acquainted with, regretfully wondering what life is like outside. It’s nice to inhale new, unfamiliar scents; to walk into closets and emerge in different dimensions. I mean, isn’t that what the movies are trying to tell us? There is a whole, wide world out there, we need only to peel-off the garments that weigh us down. We live and we learn. And since we are as alive as ever, expect the most liberal and haphazard teachings that will fuel us to keep gasping for air.

Every day since my hiring date, I wake up to the hope of better technical and financial comprehension, and as of this moment I still need to wake up to more mornings. Haha. I will get a hold of this. I know. I hope. I will. Because this is what I want, and what I have always wanted. I am living one of my many dreams.

Overall, I do not want to get caught up in all the complications of computations (and they rhyme too!). I know there’s a lot for me to take on and comprehend, but I have reasons to not be afraid of this new chapter of my life. “Blessed” would even be an understatement because I am given a mentor who is the paradigm of the word “patience”; who keeps answering even my dumbest questions. God has ordained this for me. He placed me right here, right now. He sees my struggles, but I know He wants me to learn. He wants me to live. 

our first renga

 

our names, written on the sand -

shifting sand

waves crashing on shore.

our names hurled into the tide

our names becoming sand

without the need to be rewritten.

finer through time,

carried along through space.

getting acquainted with

salt and water,

making its way back to shore

then bottled by a sand-collecting child.

so we are both here,

unbreakable in this breakable glass

witnesses of the stories of the sea

and no longer just names.

 

- M and drey