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A couple of Cinquains

1. The reluctant subject

Floor’s cold, I’m writhing in agony.
Into my bare soul you peer.
Trying to show affection, you phony;
Your face turns into a sneer.
Get that damn camera outta here!

2. Help wanted

Don’t wanna grow up just panhandling.
Need a real job: Not funny
sitting here trying to be charming.
Why haven’t I a lousy penny?
Bastards think I’ve a full belly!

Vignette

Soup No. 5

As soon as he arrived, Adrian noticed that the eatery was filling up fast. He glanced at his watch: a quarter to 12. “Damn. It figures,” he said, muttering under his breath. He searched around hoping to spot Rose. He saw her seated at a table in the far end of the eatery. She was waving to him. Adrian walked over to her and smiled.

“How long have you been waiting?” He asked as he took a seat.

“Not that long,” Rose said. “Hungry, I suppose?”

“Yes, very much,” Adrian answered. The smell of newly-cooked lansiao was wafting in the air. It made him even hungrier. “Come on, let’s order.”

A waitress came over and took their orders. “We’ll have two bowls of lansiao please,” Rose said.

“And four cups of rice.” Adrian said with a grin.

Rose laughed. “Hungry is an understatement, Ad.”

“Hey, gimme a break. I’m a growing boy,” He joked.

“Talk about irony, Ad.” Rose said. “An eatery full of hungry guys wolfing down stew made from bull’s balls. And that same eatery has a vasectomy clinic beside it.”

“Yeah tell me about it,” Adrian said. “And one of the customers of that eatery lost his balls to a Rottweiler years ago.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Rose said, squeezing his hand. “Lance Armstrong won seven Tour de France Championships and he didn’t need balls to do it.”

Both of them laughed.

They were interrupted as the lansiao was served. The waitress placed two steaming bowls in front of them, along with a platter of rice. They started eating.

“By the way,” Rose said in between mouthfuls. “Ricky says he misses you.”

Adrian’s face fell. Ricky. Rose’s elder brother. The same Ricky who always got him into trouble when they were kids. The same Ricky who, years ago and as a practical joke, smeared coconut jam on Adrian’s balls when he was asleep and let Rose’s pet Rottweiler Magnum lick them. Magnum wasn’t content with just plain licking.

“Tell him I’m okay and that I miss him too.”

“I will.”

“You should’ve brought him along. I would’ve enjoyed this lansiao more if here were around.”

“I seem to detect a hint of sarcasm in that statement.”

“You are mistaken,” Adrian said nonchalantly. “You know I forgave him a long time ago.”

“Well if you did, it doesn’t show. You haven’t seen him or talked to him for more than three years now.”

“It’s not that easy, Rose.”

“Ok, let’s change the subject. I don’t want to spoil our lunch.”

“Good idea,” Adrian said.

“Question.” Rose smiled. “Where do you think they get the ingredients for this, considering that beef has been banned for years now because of the mad cow disease outbreak?”

Adrian shrugged. “Maybe they import the ingredients? I don’t know.”

They were interrupted by the sound of a cellphone ringing. Adrian fished out a small phone from his pocket and appeared to be reading a text message.

“Hey, I gotta go. I’m needed at the clinic."

Summer out there (a post- mortem)

If there’s one thing I absolutely detested back in high school, it was the perennial essay question “How I spent my summer vacation”. Year after year until I graduated, our English teacher would torture us – and I suspect that she thoroughly enjoyed seeing our pained faces as we tried our best to fill a whole page – when she asked this particular question in the form of a classroom activity. I wouldn’t have minded if I spent my vacation in Boracay or Palawan or in any other tourist destination: I’d be more than glad to write (boast) about it. But often, my summer vacations weren’t essay-worthy at all-- staying home with my siblings while trying my best not to die of boredom.

Too bad I hadn’t been to Sumilon island back then or else I could’ve written a kick-ass essay that would’ve blown my teacher away. Anyway, daydream aside (and in the grand undying tradition of my teacher), it’s my turn to torture, er, ask some colleagues a few flippant questions about our recent company outing.

1. There had been recent sightings of Jessica Alba in Sumilon island especially during the summer outing. It has been rumored that they are secretly filming the sequel of “Into the Blue” there. If you had the chance to meet Jessica Alba in person, what would you tell her?

I would go up to her, pretend I don’t know her and ask: “Hey, how long did it take you to walk around the sun to look that hot? You’re so hot the sun has to wear sunglasses just to look at you.” OR “If you could be described by words, Webster would have to make another dictionary just to describe you.” Then cross my fingers and hope that Jessica would be dumb enough to fall for the oldest pick-up lines in the book.

Conrad Siega
Systems

2. As expected, the recent elections were marred by widespread violence and massive cheating. Do you think it’s a good idea for the COMELEC and NAMFREL to conduct the quick count of 2010’s elections in Sumilon island?

Yes, I believe it would be a good idea, specifically because of the following reasons:

1. Officers and guards will stop smoking and can concentrate on the job. A single pack of cigarettes costs around P100.00
2. There will be no flying voters. Only swimming voters.
3. For a change, canvassing officers shall use life jackets instead of bulletproof vests.
4. There will be no repeat of the “Hello Garci” scandal because cell phone signals suddenly cut off.
5. Food and drinks are good but extremely expensive. Perfect for dieting- canvassing officers.
6. Transparency. Comelec and Namfrel staff can take a shower in public just like what Mark Lorenzana and Tomas Estrada did.
7. While waiting for the results, they can relax in the Jacuzzi like what Gerard Caniga did.
8. Ocean kayak is another good option for transporting ballot boxes.

Gino Carpio
Marketing

3. This year’s Miss Universe pageant was held in your home country of Mexico. The delegates were fortunate enough to have enjoyed the world-class beaches in Cancun. Considering that Sumilon’s beaches are also world-class like Cancun’s, did you feel like a Miss Universe candidate, especially Miss Mexico, during the recent summer outing?

I didn’t feel like Miss Mexico during the summer outing. However, I was very fortunate to get the chance to go to Sumilon and enjoy the beaches and the place itself. And I am very lucky to be here in the Philippines.

The reason why I didn’t feel like Miss Mexico there it’s very simple; I was not in a contest. I was just hanging out with my workmates, just like a bunch of friends. I really had a great time there.

Anyway, there is a part of me that does feel like “Miss Mexico” all the time. And that is because I represent my country not just for a pageant or a beauty contest; but in the everyday life and the whole time in my job and in with my actions. And it really feels good to share with the people around a little bit of my country every now and then.

Diana Ascencio
Aiesec Trainee-- CSC

4. In the same mold as the famous Amazing Race, the iCOMM Summer Challenge was a grueling test of one’s wits, endurance, and stamina. How do you think the Pink Team, the winning team of the iCOMM Summer Challenge, would fare if they were to compete in this year’s Amazing Race? Please give an honest, credible, and unbiased answer.

Well, the pink team had good teamwork and they have strong determination, especially on the last part which was really a test of one’s endurance. I think they’re capable of competing in the Amazing race. However, they should undergo additional training such as workouts and joining other races. = )

But I’d still go for the yellow team…Hehehe! Joke!

Rachilee Redillas
Accounts

5. This summer outing’s theme was “Catch the Island Sun”. If taken literally, what do you think is the best way to catch the sun without getting burned?

Literally speaking the best way to catch the sun without getting burned is to POUR IT WITH WATER. Joke!

Seriously, for me there’s no need to catch the sun. Simply by watching the sunrise in the morning and the sunset in the afternoon is enough to take the agony of being alone.

To relate in real life: Don't be in a hurry!! Take life one step at a time and enjoy each moment of it coz you'll never know when it will end.

Agnes Armada
CSC -- Shipping

6. Sumilon island is a marine reserve and fish sanctuary. If you were a fish living in the sanctuary at the time of iCOMM’s summer outing, would you have been disturbed by the iCOMM people’s boisterousness?

No, I won’t be disturbed by the iCOMM people’s boisterousness. After all they didn’t hurt me and my fish friends. Some iCOMM people even fed some bread to some of my friends who live in the lagoon. And they appreciate our swimming talent very much. In addition, they love our colors, and they are careful not to break or damage our home corals. At the same time, we enjoyed looking at those macho guys swimming and playing in the water, as well as the sexy girls in their nice swimsuits.

Thea Gay Costan
HR/Admin

7. Of Sumilon’s several island pursuits, which one would grab your interest enough to take up fulltime so you could leave your present day job?

Banana boat and kayak are best done when the sun’s not at its peak. Diving and snorkeling is interesting coz you have to be able to swim underwater, obviously, and learn some facts about diving times, depths and how not to get the bends (surfacing too fast). Of Sumilon’s island pursuits, it would go for snorkeling. But for now it's all just for fun. You can't just leave your job just to do this. The company outing is for all of us to unwind from all the hard days’ work and to interact with one another. Life is worth living if you can find funny things in everything. Work, fun, and laughter. :)

Janice Iñigo
Software

This week's writing exercise: Nanofiction writing

55 fiction or Nanofiction are complete stories with at least one character and a discernible plot, exactly 55 words long (excluding the title). The challenge of this exercise is to be able to write nanofiction stories that follow the 55 word limit but are still good enough and interesting to read. Write a minimum of three (and a maximum of five) stories after choosing from the titles provided in the list below.

Title list:

"So, How Was Your Day?"

My Great Great Grandparents Died at Auschwitz

Interfering with History

They Said He'd had A Stroke

Radiation: Divine Creator

It's Not A Watch, It's A Time-X

Rich's Birthday

Romance Arrives One Day Late

Before the Beginning of Time

Honesty Begins at Home

The Human ATM

Mona Lisa Switcheroo

Christmas in the Ant Colony

Message from a Desert Island

Fudge Warfare

The Ninth Star Trek Series

The Phantom Chocolate Factory

The Agony of Defeat

The Extremely Precise Crystal Ball

Saving JFK

Why Didn't You Look in the Glove compartment?

Love Potion #2

Whoever Gets 1000 Points Wins

Whatever happened to...?

The Arrival of Morning

"Can You Grab The Cart, Honey?"

Toasted Alive at 2:11 am

Waiting To Become My Future Self

Trouble on the Mountainside

Paper Clips in Love

The Agony of Defeat

The second free throw hit nothing but net. He felt his heart sink. Now the visitors were up one point with a second remaining in the ballgame. His team was out of timeouts. He called for the inbounds pass, caught the ball, and flung it in desperation. Swish! He hit it! Dead silence. Opponent’s goal.

The Human ATM

Instead of punching in a four-digit pin, she stroked and mouthed the rod furiously. Whereas a traditional ATM would dispense crisp bills, this one ejected a sticky, liquid currency. An ordinary machine emits a low mechanical whir after dispensing; this one utters a guttural moan. The night is young; she needs to find more ATMs.

Why Didn't You Look in the Glove compartment?

You hold the umbrella aloft to fend off lashing rain. You choke back your tears as my coffin is slowly lowered. You promise me you won’t rest until my murderer is put to justice. Craig squeezes your hand and leads you to his car. I scream in deathly silence: “Refer to the title, you idiot!”

Casting the first stone

I recently read an editorial entitled “Drawing the Line” in one of the local dailies here. The editorial criticized a female college student for being intimate with another girl inside a jeepney. It also said that the other passengers were “scandalized” not only because of the blatant and open display of affection, but also because the “spectacle” involved youngsters of the same sex, and that “Personal relationships are a private matter and public displays of affection and intimacy do scandalize people especially if the relationship is clearly of a nature that people do not see as regular and everyday.”

If the other passengers were “scandalized” then perhaps they shouldn’t blame the two girls. They should instead examine themselves if they have the right to question and judge others. To discriminate against same sex relationships is plain bigotry; to be “scandalized” by two girls displaying mutual affection for each other not because of the act but because of their gender is pure prejudice.

If the editorial writer wanted to focus on the couple’s blatant public display of affection or “PDA”, then why mention that the persons in question were of the same sex? If we must direct our attention at criticizing PDA per se, then a more concrete example of deliberate (if not tasteless) public display of affection is the Lovapalooza, where hundreds, even thousands of couples intimately kiss each other in front of the whole world. Instead of questioning a couples’ gender, why not pinpoint the act itself? This is not unlike an instance Inquirer columnist Conrado de Quiros once pointed out wherein an audience is watching a play, and suddenly out of nowhere someone naked darts out and streaks onstage. What do you think the people will watch, the play or the streaker? That’s what the editorial did when it focused on the two girls’ genders: it ran stark naked while a play was going on. Thus, the argument about PDA was not strengthened; on the contrary, it just put into light our society’s tendency to be intolerant of people who differ from the status quo.

There is a need for us to respect other people’s choices no matter how unpopular they are. As a society, we can indeed draw the line on what people should or should not do. But perhaps we should also draw the line at questioning or criticizing people on the basis of what or who they are.

Homophobia is no different from racism or chauvinism in that a person’s rights are trampled upon. The passengers made fun of the couple after they alighted and even cracked lewd jokes at the expense of the two girls. Should we commend and laud the passengers for their actions? Or should we condemn them for acting superior over other people just because they have the unwarranted advantage of being heterosexual or so-called “normal?”

I’ve always believed that only God can judge other people. Judge not, lest you be judged yourself. Well, unless of course you have the gall to cast the first stone.

In A Jar (Vignette)

“Come in.” Dr. Lisondra said as soon as he heard the knocking on the door. It was a little past midnight. An odd-looking couple walked in. The man, middle-aged, burly, pot-bellied and balding, was dressed rather casually in a plain black t-shirt and jeans. He had a gun tucked away in his belt. I noticed the gun right away because it was silver. And even then in the dimly-illuminated room, it glinted unmistakably.

The girl, I gathered, was barely our of her teens. She wore a white maternity dress that ended just below her knees. The girl clenched the man’s arm tightly as she glanced around the room with unease. “Sit.” barked the man, motioning to a monobloc chair nearby. Dr Lisondra approached him.
“Is she ready?”

The man fished out a pack of Marlboros from his jeans pocket. He mouthed one, lit it, and took a long drag. “She doesn’t have a choice, Doc. I call the shots.”

“Very well,” Dr. Lisondra frowned, shaking his head. “Just let me prepare my instruments.”

My whole life I’ve been accustomed to total darkness, surrounded by shadows and obscurity, five months of swirling around in a liquid void. I never saw the sun; I don’t think I ever will. The first time I saw light, I was almost blinded. That light is the same light in this room now, a faint glow coming from an old, dusty overhead fluorescent lamp.

The girl is crying now, and she is strapped to a bed whose once white sheets are dotted and caked with dried blood. She emits a loud howl not unlike that of a wild animal and not even the burly man almost twice her size could restrain her. He cups a big hand over the girl’s mouth and she bites it, drawing blood. “You useless fuck!” He exclaims in pain, and smashes a fist into the girl’s face. At once there is silence, and I see dark blood trickling from the girl’s nose. “That shut you up.”

Not long ago while swirling around in the warm liquid void I used to call home, I felt a burning sensation envelop me. Suddenly the warm liquid had become too hot, too scalding. It burned my skin, my eyes, my whole body. I screamed. But nobody heard me.

“You know this is a very risky procedure, especially for the mother.” Dr. Lisondra says. “The surgical procedure always is. We can try the chemical one, which is relatively safer. That would involve injecting her womb with a brine solution and then…”

“Just get this over with, Doc.” The man growled. “I need to be at the station early in the morning tomorrow. We opted for the surgical procedure, so we’ll go with the surgical procedure. Don’t worry about her. The bitch is physically fit. She’s a gymnast.” Dr. Lisondra nodded and he put on his surgical gloves.

Even then in the dimly-illuminated room, Dr. Lisondra’s silver instruments glinted unmistakably.

And I shiver inside this jar.

(Originally posted on December 28 2006)

I vent, therefore I am

I’m swamped with work right now, I want to scream.

But because I’m paying hundreds of bucks a month for blog space plus my own domain name, I’d rather blow off steam here. Besides, I can use my voice for other useful things like telling those damn pesky carolers to buzz off (yes folks, it’s that time of year again when kids arm themselves with various improvised musical instruments ranging from empty water bottles filled with pebbles, flattened bottle caps nailed to small wooden planks and kitchen utensils– and proceed to go from house to house to annoy (coerce?) us into giving them money) or hum Jose Marie Chan classics like “Christmas in our hearts” or “Beautiful Girl” at work to stave off boredom.

The ironic thing is that work has piled up because I recently went to Malaysia last week for a much-needed R and R with family. Originally we had planned to stay there for three days tops. But we ended up extending our stay for two whole days because of problems with our Cebu Pacific flight. Of course everyone was pissed-off because we all had some important things to attend to at work or at school, but we couldn’t do anything. Well, my father vowed never again to avail of cheap promo flights in the future but I doubt if one disgruntled customer will make enough of a dent in Lance Gokongwei’s fortune. And besides, with skyrocketing airline fares nowadays, I’m sure Filipinos (who as a race, have innate masochistic tendencies) wouldn’t mind delayed flights, long queues in the check-in counter, and cramped airport terminals as long as tickets come dirt cheap. I suggest that Cebu Pacific immediately revise their tagline from “It’s time every Juan flies” to “It’s time every Juan gets screwed up”.

But problems with the airline notwithstanding, I enjoyed my stay in Malaysia. The place was clean, food was good (I especially enjoyed the Nasi Goreng and Beef Rendang), taxi fares are cheap (the flag down rate amounts to 2 Ringgit for the first two kilometers and ten cents per succeeding meter, plus the cab drivers give you the exact change and don’t expect tips), shopping is good, and people there are honest, friendly, and accommodating. And of course, the Petronas twin towers are breathtaking especially at night.
I took a taxi to work today because I was running late and when we reached the office the cab driver refused to give me my change because he said I was his first passenger. I threatened to report him to the LTO and got out of the cab in a huff then jotted down the plate number.

It was the taxi driver’s subliminal way of telling me: “Welcome back to the Philippines, idiot.”

Rant update: Our HR Assistant just informed me a few minutes ago that I to have go back to the damn SSS office to have my ID picture taken AGAIN. I’ve been waiting for my SSS ID for almost 2 years now. The people at SSS insist that they already mailed my ID, and the people at the post office insist that they remailed it back. I don’t know who’s telling the truth but I have to pay for it nonetheless by braving the long queues at the SSS office again. What’s worse is I have to shoulder the fee for my ID. God, it’s really good to be back home.

(Originally posted on December 20, 2006)

Brain, Brain Go Away

A friend recently landed a job in Dubai, so this got me counting my friends and relatives who are currently working and/or living abroad. Right now there are four of them working as OFWs in Dubai, all former officemates and close friends. The bulk of my relatives abroad live in the United States, from New York to New Jersey to California. Come to think of it, majority of my friends as well – childhood, high school, and even some of my college activist friends—also reside in the US right now.

The rest are scattered all over the world. One just left for Ireland a few months ago after spending (or wasting) his life here bumming around and playing Mahjongg and getting high on shabu or crystal meth. Another friend decided to continue his studies in Australia after his family decided (on relatively short notice I would say) to immigrate there. I have a friend studying in Alaska and another working in Canada. Anyway, you get the drift.

After slaving for four years, my girlfriend and her twin will finally get that hard-earned Nursing diploma next year. They hope to pass the necessary exams and then get some work experience in some hospitals here. Then it’s off to Ireland where their mother works in a nursing home. Their older sister also plans to study there.
My sister Michelle has a Mass Communications degree under her belt but chose to resign from her job and enroll in nursing at the University of the Visayas. But unlike my girlfriend, she still has a long way to go before becoming a full-fledged nurse. Nikki, my youngest sister, is also about to graduate next year. She’s taking up MassComm at St. Theresa’s College. But after graduation she won’t scour the job market right away. She says she wants to take up Education so she could apply for a teaching job in the US. My aunt who once worked for the Marketing Department of San Miguel Corporation – now she’s a caregiver in Long Beach — says there is a great demand for teachers in the US right now.

My parents left for the US last year to visit my relatives there, most especially my grandmother. They were accompanied by an aunt and a cousin. They stayed in my uncle’s house in Los Angeles. My relatives in LA have been living there for many years. They all have their green cards; they’re American citizens now. The last time I’ve seen them was more than 12 years ago when they came home for the funeral of my grandfather. I don’t keep in touch with them much, so I wouldn’t know how they are doing. I’m glad my parents brought back with them pictures and videos of my relatives along with the customary chocolates, clothes, books and other goodies bought from Kmart, Wal-mart, and Costco.

As I munched on a Snickers bar, I listened to my mother who was animatedly talking about the good life in the US. How indeed it is the land of milk and honey, and how hard work will be properly rewarded even if you only held menial jobs there. In the US, she says, an ordinary busboy or grocery stocker would fetch a decent salary, the pay doubling or even tripling what a so-called professional would get here.

Anyway, after our stash of imported chocolates ran out, and being the sweet tooth that I am, I had to content myself with eating Choc-nut. Unfortunately, unlike a busboy or grocery stocker in the US, I couldn’t afford Snickers, Milky Way, or Baby Ruth on a daily basis.

During a drinking session, a friend once asked me if I didn’t have plans of immigrating to Canada. He said he’ll be leaving for Toronto soon. He just got a job there as a computer programmer. I just wished him the best of luck.

And then we drank to good times, bad times, and the brain drain phenomenon.

(Originally posted on November 28, 2006)

Men in Camouflage

The sightings I’ve had of men in camouflage uniforms have been increasing in the past few weeks. Almost every day I see them in sidewalks at random places—with firearms in tow –when I report for work in the morning. When I go home at night, I still see them in the sidewalk, but with their firearms laid aside as they pass around a glass of rum or extra strong beer and proceed to drink the night away.

Sometimes they’ll flag down a jeepney or a cargo truck, talk to the driver, and proceed to “inspect” the contents of the vehicle. I’ve seen them do this regularly, and whenever I drive home and pass by a group of these men, I feel the pearls of my manhood stuck in my throat. I dread the thought of being flagged down by a man in camouflage, especially an intoxicated man in camouflage wielding an M16 rifle. It’s not that I have something to hide. It’s not that I’m concealing a pistol, a grenade, or maybe a few grams of crystal meth or shabu in the trunk or the backseat of my car. It’s the fear that they WILL find a pistol, a grenade, or a few grams of crystal meth or shabu in the trunk or backseat of my car where there was none.

I don’t know what these military men are doing loitering around day and night in the sidewalks of the metropolis. I’ve always thought that they were confined to the hilly and mountainous provincial areas, places where human rights violations and random killings of civilians are at a high.

The militarization of the countryside is alarming; the militarization of the metropolis is doubly distressing. The sight of armed men patrolling the streets, no, getting drunk and patrolling the streets does not evoke a feeling of security, it evokes a feeling of alarm. It stirs up an unmistakable feeling of creeping martial law.
What’s ironic is that in the mornings, amid these ominous-looking men in camouflage with firearms in tow, I see elementary schoolchildren scuttling to get to class. Immediately you would be able to distinguish those children who go to the public schools and those children who go to private ones or exclusive schools. Public school children walk to school shod in worn rubber slippers and clad in old, faded clothes; private school children ride air-conditioned taxi cabs, cars, SUVs or school buses to school and look pristine in their pressed uniforms. In the evenings when these men in camouflage had laid aside their armalites and bid adieu to sobriety courtesy of several tagays of Tanduay Rum or Red Horse beer, I see High School students trudging their way to the classrooms of Night High Schools, that, during the day, served as the classrooms of elementary schoolchildren.

Here we see the travesty of it all. Every school year we hear the usual problems like lack of classrooms, teacher shortage, crowded classrooms, underpaid teachers, substandard teaching materials, and a very high student to teacher ratio, etc. Every year there are reports that public school students do poorly in diagnostic and achievement exams, and we wonder why.

Taxpayers wonder where their hard-earned money goes. We can plainly see that it doesn’t go to education. If it did, there wouldn’t be a huge classroom shortage at all. I even remember Gloria Macapal-Arroyo publicly scolding a Department of Education officer for reporting about the lack of public school classrooms in the country. GMA claimed that there wouldn’t be a shortage of classrooms if a shifting scheme would be employed. A shifting scheme would involve having a session of classes in the morning and another in the afternoon. This means less time for students’ lessons. I wonder if GMA wouldn’t mind sending her grandchildren to a public school.

I’m a taxpayer and I say that the government should allocate more money for the kids’ education rather than fritter away my hard-earned money on camouflage uniforms, rifles, bullets, and Tanduay Rum or Red Horse beer.

(Originally posted on October 24, 2006)

Celebrating Death

When my grandfather from my mother’s side died years ago, he was cremated and his ashes were brought back to his hometown in Negros Occidental. My grandfather was already an American citizen at that time—he and my grandmother in fact had been living in the US with their green cards for several years already until the time of his death– but his children naturally decided that his final resting place should still be the land of his birth.

I remember that we immediately left for Negros shortly after hearing the sad news. My grandfather was quite fond of me and my siblings when we were kids so I have vivid memories of him when he and my grandmother used to visit us here in Cebu. I sorely missed him. We all missed him. But what surprised me when we arrived in Negros was that the mood wasn’t all that somber. I was re-acquainted with relatives I’ve hardly seen in years. There was rejoicing, as everyone celebrated the good life lived by my grandfather. One good thing that can be said about funerals is that they bring the whole clan together.

Two weeks ago I was in Manila for the funeral of my Tita Lilian. She was felled by Leukemia, after an agonizing but hard-fought battle. Only three months ago I was by her bedside at St. Luke’s hospital. That was the last time I saw her alive. By then she was only a shell of her former, lively self: gaunt, emaciated, and severely weakened, her body ravaged by cancer. I brought her gifts from my parents– a check from my father to help pay the mounting hospital bill, and a bead bracelet and prayer booklets from my mother. “Thank your mom and dad for me.” She gratefully whispered. She could barely talk. And in her condition, I could barely look at her.

I visited my Tita Lilian in the hospital a couple more times after that during my week-long stay in Manila. From time to time we would receive some good news that would lift our spirits: she was getting better; her body was becoming stronger; the chemotherapy was working, she was responding well to it; she was walking unaided, dancing even and she was eating well— and had requested for a pasta party; and she was finally discharged from the hospital, provided that she would still undergo her regular chemotherapy sessions.
But as quickly as she had recovered, she was rushed to the hospital again. She had to be placed in the Intensive Care Unit of St. Luke’s. She had water in her lungs; she had Pneumonia. It was all downhill after that.
When my father broke the news of Tita Lilian’s death to us, I was surprised that I didn’t cry at all. But when at last I saw her lying in a coffin, when it finally hit me that our doting and affectionate aunt with the fond laughter would never be with us again, and when I realized that family gatherings would never again be the same without her, the tears flowed.

We greeted Tita Lilian’s death with mourning and grief. But as with my grandfather’s death years ago, there was also rejoicing. I was re-acquainted with relatives I’ve hardly seen in years. We mourned the death of a loved one. We also celebrated the good life lived by a loved one.

One good thing that can be said about funerals is that they bring the whole clan together. One good thing that can be said about my Tita Lilian’s passing, is that she is loved and that she will be remembered.
Always.

(Originally posted on October 23, 2006)