Freedom Viewed from a Kaleidoscope

If you are a child of the 90's, for sure you know Francis Magalona. Known as the Philippines' Master Rapper, he started to dig groundbreaking success with his album "Yo!" way back in 1990, represented by the hit song "Mga Kababayan". Most of his songs were made up of nationalistic lyrics, stating the right of the youth to exercise their freedoms in the society. He eventually became a household name thanks to the Royal Tru Orange commercial where he teamed up with some of then's hottest teen stars to dance, sing and rap in the 45-second video.

I was in gradeschool then, and yes, I was one whom you can call a child of the 90's. My classmates and I were big fans of Kiko back then, and even as I ventured towards life and beyond, he remained to be a great influence in my formative years. Kiko may not have known me, nor may he had realized it that much, but he provided a big contribution in the development of my present principles, as a person, as a member of the youth society, and as a citizen of this nation-state.

I admit I took Kiko's omnipresence in my life for granted. I hated some of his videos, rapped along some of his lyrics, and took for granted the airplay of his songs on the radio. But my neglect for his music's messages were not because of a fickle-mind's caprice; I thought Kiko would always be there. I thought, and always believed, that Kiko, Master Rapper Francis M., was immortal.

But I guess the prerequisite to immortality is death. The Master Rapper left the earth last March 6 after struggling with leukemia. Like most fans, I was saddened. I am saddened. Too bad I was miles away from Manila otherwise I would have been there at his wake, to pay my final rites for the man I considered to have molded my life as a writer, a lover, and a political animal. His death however awakened one dream I had, a reverie which I once chose to kill after losing hope-to grasp freedom.

My heart is still bleeding for his loss, but I knew that upon his passing, Kiko left me, his fans, and all the members of the youth a legacy which all of us bear the responsibility to continue: fight for our rights, fight for our freedom.

As a fan, as a writer, and as a dreamer, I end my requiem with an aspiration that is once again reginited through the lyrics of his song:

Gusto kong matikman ang sarap ng buhay,
hawakan ang bukas sa'king mga kamay.

I will hold the future in my hands. I will, Kiko.

The Curious Case of the Tacloban Rainshowers

This is the first time I spent the new year in my hometown, Tacloban. During the holidays I was so excited because I haven't spent celebrating the season in this place, so I exhausted myself with all the merry-making my relatives had to offer. When New Year's eve came however, I suddenly felt sleepy and opted to go to dreamland in the midst of the firecracker extravaganza. Besides, it was a rainy evening and with the clouds covering the night sky, there would be no fireworks to shine on midnight. New Year's Day arrived, and the rain continued to pour. To my surprise, the showers didn't cease even after a few days. Tacloban mornings were awfully cloudy, and the city seemed to be deprived of sunshine. I had to wear my hooded jacket and bring an umbrella to the places I went, and I could only wonder why the rain pour wouldn't stop even if there was no threat of storms in the area.  

One afternoon while watching another rainfall in my bedroom window, I remembered and old saying that rain showers are supposed to clean up the land. The purpose of rainfall is to wash away the dirt and grime the land has incurred due to human abuse, and after a long rain pour, sunshine would welcome the soil that's now blessed with new life. That's when it struck me. Tacloban has always been a dirty place, it even went to the top of the charts (as the dirtiest city in the Philippines). The streets of downtown are crowded at night not by people but of garbage and sewer rats, and there's nothing the people could do (save for a few X-men also known as metro aides who try to sweep some trash during midnight). Perhaps the heavens are trying to clean up this city, but despite their continuous efforts to wash away the rubbish, nothing has seemed to change. 

Tacloban is now an HUC, but is this really the answer to the city's current problems? I could only wonder. Even the heavens can't seem to find a solution.

Children's Park and Tacloban's Quest in Becoming a Highly Urbanized City

I was watching a travel show on a cable channel last week and there was a restaurant featured in Charlotte, North Carolina. The said diner was known for its fried hotdog sandwiches which people from all walks of life enjoy. What struck me however is that the diner has been around since 1928, and the owners of the establishment didn't change any part of the place to preserve its nostalgia-the diner reminds its townsfolk of the memories they had over the past 80 years.

I meanwhile began to think about Children's Park. Situated in front of Tacloban's Provincial Capitol, Children's Park used to be the main playground of the city's future citizens, (kids, of course). However, due the ongoing plans for commercial development, the Children's Park was demolished (the ruins still stand though) and was in a way transferred to a nearby coastal lot which is now called "Family Park".

I was born in Tacloban, but due to the circumstances I was not able to spend my growing up years here. But the Children's Park became a vital part of my heritage, since my aunt, who grew up in Tacloban, always shared to me her fond memories as a child in the said playground. It was the place where she enjoyed her life as a kid, and where she build foundations of friendship with her classmates. Through the photographs I saw her and her classmates playing at the big shoe, and rode on the stone elephants that stood in the park.

I first visited to Tacloban when I was 9, but since I was lost in translation I wasn't able to play and make friends with the kids at Children's Park. It took me another 13 years to return after that short visit, but unfortunately Children's Park wasn't there anymore. I soon found out that the site where the Children's Park once stood was supposed to be used for a mall, but the project didn't push through. These days the site of Children's Park is being used as a place where used clothes are sold for bargain prices (ukay-ukay).

I am not sure if my aunt already knows about the demise of the playground she learned to love, but for sure she would be saddened to learn this fact. Children's Park is among the few places in Tacloban where people come in peace and share solace, where children build memories of fun and laughter. Children's Park is also the perfect site where government offices can view their people united, which is a good reminder of not just the city's culture, but of the people's socio-political strength.

As I view it, the demolition of Children's Park is a cruel way of robbing the Taclobanons' culture. The park was a cultural landmark, and it cannot be replaced or transferred for the sake of commercial goals. Was the relocation of the park among the plans towards becoming a highly urbanized city? I do understand the city's needs for better economic development, but I can't seem to find a good reason for putting the city's socio-cultural landmarks at risk. I believe, that no matter how economically stable a state is, it still is worth nothing without culture, for it lives with no spirit. The same goes with its microcosm, such as the city of Tacloban.

The people of have decided however. I just hope that the consequences of the choice they made would not take a painful toll in Tacloban's future.

anniversary

I remember the same day last year I was locked in an internet shop in La Trinidad, Benguet, trying to cope with the cold mountain winds that came from the northern hemisphere. The day was sunny though and the gales were dry. I was frantic for being broke, my head was still a bit woozy due to the bottles of beer I consumed during our New Year's day celebration. The same day last year, while waiting for my payment, I found myself setting up this blog.

It has been a year. Has been.

Rancid Petals

It's been four years since
WE came from you and me
I lean my head on your shoulder and sigh
and say I love you.

I love you.

It's been four years since
we laughed about life and held hands and promised forever
and we lived through bliss and sins
and still we are
together.

Together us forever. Forever we be together
You and me, me and you.
Promises were never empty
Four years and still counting, forever.

It's been four years since
we shared dreams and fought the nightmares
in you arms I am kept safe
and you find comfort in my embrace.

Together us forever. Forever we be together
You and me, me and you.
Promises will hold on to be true.
Four years and counting, forever me and you.

-to lia and maki

We Love, We Die

They say we die a little each day when we love. But the irony of it is that we try to live each day because of it. We want to see the next sunrise because we expect the object of our affection to be present right before our very eyes, and we would try our best to stretch the whole 24-hours just to fulfill all our self-proclaimed tasks to make that person (or whatever entity that is we fell in love with) happy.

A part of us dies each day when we love. Just like when drinking alcohol, when the toxins kill a small percentage of our brain cells each time we take a sip. Yet we savor the feeling, we cherish every little bit of it, for it is the most ecstatic feeling that can touch the deepest and darkest of our hearts. We know that to consume alcohol can be deadly, yet we rather chose to die since we would die in bliss. Just like love. We would want to love, and love to the fullest, even if it hurts, even if we get hurt, and die eventually.

But until when would we choose to take the blissful, satisfying road, only when death is waiting for us at the end? Indeed there are other things in life which we can enjoy, yet expect the path to be long and winding. I personally would want to take the blissful road, despite knowing the fact that I'll be reaching a cliff, and yes, I did fall off that cliff a number of times in my lifetime. Right now I am taking a detour, trudging on the long, solitary, winding path to some destination, which, offers me a longer lifespan. And yet, deep in my heart, I would want to die. Even if it takes one piece at a time, as long as love is present in my eyes.

Please hand me a beer.

Why Do Writers Write?

Today I was able to talk to PsychoDollie's best friend, Chucky Manio. And on the course of our conversation, I let him read the love letter I was on the process of completing. He said it was so cliche. The emotions, the words, they all are cliche. Then he said maybe he was just the kind of person who doesn't fully understand what love means, after all, I was writing a love letter.

Then he asked me to read the manuscript of this Tagalog story he was currently busy doing. Upon reading the manuscript I told him that it was dry. It lacked the crisp, though it was nostalgic. And it sounded a wee bit semi-autobiographical.

Talk about an exchange of opinions. Upon hearing this, he retracted by telling me that perhaps I'm not the right person to read his story. And here goes the other criticisms such as I'm... in general... a cliche. My writeups are all cliche. My plots, my feelings, everything. There's no attempt to change the world.

Which leads me to ask, why do writers write, anyway?

Indeed, on the course of history, writers have played a big part in changing the world. Through their writings they were able to wake up sleeping minds, come up with inventions, and drastically lead the society to the concept of a better, brighter future. But is this all writers are for?

I say no. Because above all, a writer's job is not only to awaken minds, but to touch hearts. Chucky, I can say, is one great writer in the making. But who cares? If you don't have an audience who believes in you not because you are great, but rather they feel what you write, then what's the point of writing? Quoting Chucky's words, having a cult following who doesn't understand any of the words you say, and only look up to you because you write well, then wouldn't that be oh so poser?

Swim in that sea of greatness, Chucky. Even drown with it.