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.

Nang bumaba ang ulap sa dalampasigan

Tumambad kay Carlito ang isang pamilyar na lumang bahay nang siya'y magkamalay. Kahawig nito ang tahanang kanilang pinupuntahan ng kanyang ina tuwing may mahalagang okasyon. Naaamoy niya ang tubig-dagat sa may dalampasigan, nguni't bagamat alam niyang nakarating na siya dito, tila ba hindi pa rin niya maalala kung saang bahagi ito ng mundo.

"Carlito!" isang babae ang tumawag sa kanyang pangalan. "Bakit andito ka?"
"Mama?" gulat siyang tumugon sa boses na tumawag sa kanya. "Asan ako?"
"Umakyat ka nga rito." utos nito sa kanya, na kanya namang sinunod.

Pagpasok ni Carlito sa bahay ay nasilayan niya ang mga lumang muwebles, ang andador kung saan sila naglalaro ng kanyang mga nakababatang kapatid na sina Ogie at Ferdie, at ang altar na puno pa rin ng mga sariwang bulaklak. Andito nga siya sa lumang bahay. Ang bahay ng kanyang lola.

"Mama, bakit kayo andito?" tanong ni Carlito sa kanyang Mama. Hindi ito ang kanyang ina, pero ang tawag ng halos lahat ng kaniyang mga kapamilya dito ay Mama. Si Mama ay kanyang tiyahin, ang nakatatandang kapatid ng kanyang ina.

"Siyempre, bahay ko 'to," ngiti nito sa kanya. "Maupo ka muna. Pagod ka siguro. Ang ipinagtataka ko lang ay kung bakit ka naririto."

"Hindi ko rin alam Mama." sagot niya. "Basta paggising ko andito na ako."

Katahimikan. Matayog ang sikat ng araw, at ang mga alon ay kanyang natatanaw mula sa bintana. Bumukas ang pinto ng pamamahay, at may isang lalake ang pumasok.

"Tio Odit?" muling napitlag si Carlito nang makilala ang lalaki.

"O, may bisita pala tayo!" bati nito sa kanya. "Pasensiya ka na iho, walang tagay dito. Haha. Di ko naman alam na darating ka eh." Niyakap siya nito at siya'y napaisip. Isa ba itong panaginip?

"Mukhang hindi lamang siya bumibisita, Odit." sambit ng kanyang tiyahin. "Carlito, may naghihintay sa'yo sa baba."

Pagdungaw ni Carlito sa bintana ay natanaw niya ang isang taong matagal na niyang nais na muling makapiling. Nang siya'y makita, ngumiti ito sa kanya at kumaway.

"TAY!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Bumaba si Carlito at tumakbo patungo sa kanyang amang nakatayo sa may dalampasigan. Sinalubong siya nito ng mahigpit na yakap at halik sa magkabilang pisngi.

"Carlito, bakit ka naririto?" tanong nito sa kanya. "Hindi ba dapat nasa piling ka ng nanay mo? Napakabata mo pa para makarating dito." Aninag ang pag-aalala sa mga mata ng kanyang ama.

"Hindi ko rin alam, 'Tay. Basta ang alam ko kasama na kita ulit. Hindi ko alam kung paano ako nakarating dito, pero sinalubong ako ni Mama, at ni Tiyo Odit." hindi kumalas si Carlito sa pagkakayapos sa kanyang ama.

"Pati lola mo andito." sabi ng kanyang ama.

Muling napaisip si Carlito sa lahat ng nagyayari. Kapiling niya sa mga sandaling iyon ang kanyang ama, ang dalawang kapatid ng kanyang ina, at naroroon siya sa lumang bahay na alam niyang matagal nang natupok ng apoy. Pero bakit heto't muli itong nakatayo?

"Anak, ang sarap dito, hindi ba?" tanong ng kanyang ama. "Malamig, tahimik, mapayapa. Ito ang langit, anak. Pero hindi ba't masyado pang maaga para makarating ka dito?"

Langit. Ang kanyang ama, si Tiyo Odit. Si Mama. Lahat sila'y mga namayapa na. Noon lang napagtanto ni Carlito ang lahat.

R.I.P., Carlito P. Cumpas (1964-2008)