Lost Tune

Rush of cold wind pounds heavily on the glass window creating silent noises; the creaking of the dilapidated door, the rustling leaves, the tranquil sound of wind chimes and howls from stray cats. The fusion of these sounds reminds me of a lost tune, melody and lyrics which kept on playing round my mind albeit so soft and low like the sound of a breath. The song which left me imagining about the beauty of a sunset, the smell of moistened hay in the morning, the tiny ripples in the river caused by the breeze coming from the north.

You’re lying in that small hut. Tired and exhausted by the day’s work. You feel the cold wind enter the little openings on the wall soothe your burned skin. The night is silent and you could see the crescent moon and wonder if you could really sit on its tail and fish stars. A blurred sound comes out from an old radio. You could barely hear and decipher the lyrics but the melody resounded a deep thought that crossed boundaries. It broke your heart. A teardrop for a barren and void feeling flowed through the temple into the ear.

The song is being sung by the cold wind. I have just finished reading Irene Nemirovsky’s two-part novel. I leafed through the pages once more.

“Music is a demanding mistress. You can’t abandon her for four years. When you return to her, you find she’s gone.”

. . .Like a passing glint of a coin submerging in a murky water as it catches the last rays of light? Still, I said to myself that I will be her lover forever even in absence; even in abandonment.

When I was a little child I remember asking my grandmother about a virtuoso she’d known.

“What had happened with your uncle’s violin?”

“It was sold after he got sick and nothing could be spent for his medication. It was the saddest part. To let go of something which became a part of his life.”

“Could we still find it and buy it back?”

“Of course my child, but not now.”

"I have few pesos here. Would this be enough?

A smile made her eyes glitter for a moment.

"If it could only be that easy my child. But, you could always wish for it if you want."

The Noble Tea Project, On Whoring around and the Best Scandal I’ve Ever Seen

I have finally came to terms with the bouts of depression I have been going through for the past months. Basically, because of the fact that I am officially resigned from my job where most of the root pains come from. To me, it was kind of a graceful exit. There were hurt feelings, okay. But ultimately, I am relying that time will heal it and those scars will find its way to erudition. For in those years where I forced myself to learn a job which required mostly sitting on a chair, fortunately, the grasps of reality providentially poured down right into that finance cave where I lie. Stories from afar that breathed rich exchanges from the grassroots. Stories related by a friend-confidant that compensated clear enough the vacuum I felt while doing an NGO work. Yet, I still have to kill the sentiments of leaving physically the place where I have become attached to. First, the office, of course. Second, the cat. Third, the schizo.

And so now for the meantime I’ll just be working here in my flat during the day and have classes in the evening. A generous friend has got me something to busy myself with. I called it the Noble Tea Project. I was assigned to do web content for a tea site his company will put up soon. The income from that will surely help to augment my savings for the bar review which will start on April at the UP Law Center. Hopefully, my millionaire-friend (gasem!) will be true to his words and sponsor all the rest of the expenses. I am just a bit uncomfortable dealing with him because he speaks in dollars and most of the time when he throws numbers I have trouble doing calculations with the ever fluctuating exchange rates. haha

* * *

The rain is pouring heavily on the roofs this afternoon spoiling the Flower Festival in this mountain city to my delight. A friend of mine asked why I call Baguio a mountain city rather than the infamous portrayals of public officials like City of Pines or City of Character (Yuck!, I want to puke). . .because they’re all lies. I call Baguio a mountain city to depict the barren slopes and the reprehensible land use proffered by the desires of government officials to bring in jobs so they say, to bring in tourists. I’m reading the daily just now and it reported that the Panagbenga will expect 200,000 visitors. Oh my gawd! That’s a gargantuan flock!

You should see how Baguio looks like after the two parades. It’s like a raped city mourning over the stolen puri. In Burnham park where tourists/vandals are allowed to put up tents as early as eve of the main events, garbage including human waste is everywhere. Too grotesque. Water is scarce during these days to accommodate the needs of tourists in hotels and commercial establishments so that water supply is diverted to these b*******s to the prejudice of local households. The local government boasts of the influx of tourists as, allegedly, it will translate to income. Yes, they’re right! The festival will definitely bring in floods of money for loot. Loot by none other than the City Hall evils and bitches to borrow the name-tags being mouthed against the President. A recent report by the Commission on Audit here questions: where has the Panagbenga “Trust” Fund gone??? The hundreds of millions of income generated by the City Government out of corporate sponsors like SMART was reportedly missing. For venturing in another event like this, the City Government could no less than be whoring around at the expense of such a pristine place like Baguio. There is really no such Baguio in Bloom as they advertise and promote to attract tourists. All those flowers used in the festival came from a near-by town. They’re not natives of Baguio. It’s a farce! Just yesterday I have seen these city aides rushing to plant these fancy blossoms along islands in Session Rd. Yes a day before the main event. It’s being pretentious at the extreme level. It’s like a whore trying to dab a make-up to make her saleable after so much drag.

Apathy looms in every corner of the country. Seeing the recent NBN-ZTE scandal grow profusely beyond norms of “clean-corruption” is more than awful. The government stinks. It stinks from within; right here in my place corruption is likewise brazenly executed with impunity. But it’s different when you experience it firsthand. It’s like you want to be a legal murderer for God’s sake because you don’t want those City Officials justify and win over a self-serving resolution allowing the procurement of SUVs to be given to each of them so that they could visit daw their constituents from time to time. Para namang ang lawak lawak ng Baguio! And contrast this vis-à-vis the deteriorating public health system and the exigencies of addressing the concerns of the urban poor. It just sucks. So when I went home one time in the province and caught my father too much engrossed in the proceedings at the Senate I sat at his invitation never minding him asking from time to time what’s my opinion about that conjecture, “how about that objection”. . .I had too much of it. Only to discover after sitting for about an hour in front of the TV screen, Lozada’s face parallel to Atienza’s who is giving his testimony, that I am likewise engrossed already. For the drama and comedy, thanks to the NBN-ZTE scandal.

Swimming through a Slough of Despond

Dear,

I haven’t written you for a while. It’s just that I’ve been suffering from some kind of sickness which deterred me from indulging in such exercise like this. You know, the past few months had been long and dragging for me. I know you could have well asked if I am okay if you’re here with me now. For some certain reasons, the answer would come necessarily in an instant. I would necessarily say that I am not and I am on the verge of hitting the lowest point that borders on extreme depression. But, here I am anyway; confiding to you the things I could only convey to the blank wall or by way of deleterious stare to nothingness.

If Kundera’s way of speaking such phrase as the condition of the unbearable lightness of being begins to be repugnant and annoying to the senses, it’s like abhorring and rebuking "Einmal ist keinmal" (once is nonce); however true, we have only one life to live and one being to bear that would continuously disrupt the levitative aspect that underlies the premise.

I’ve been bombarded with dissociative experiences lately and one couldn’t just imagine how I live each day with so much desperation. Pictures of myself vividly tell how I grapple with so much burden. . .so much pain. There I am almost losing balance while sitting on a stolid chair as I lie extendedly on the rest as if it was the old rattan which lulled me mostly during siesta there at the province. It happened there at the library. Everybody looked and I was embarrassed. There I am loitering along empty streets few hours before sunrise. I felt sadness at the sudden nocturnal life. I felt I had enough of this world when the radio stations sign off in the middle of the night leaving me with words of prayer: let us have our day’s rest it says. . .so what now? I ask myself. I have yet to finish these deadlines. There I am throwing these bad jokes about considering the mode of ending a perturbed journey: wires? Ropes? Wrist? Woolf’s way. . .which prompted me to tell someone that the reason behind writing about the sea is that I opt to follow Woolf’s path on deciding eternity.

There I am flunking an exam after an exam. I’ve not been performing and sometimes I tell myself that it’s high time to assess although it’s too late. Still, something inside me mysteriously drives my way pass these conundrums. It’s like an antibody. Is this some kind of an epic then? a personal legend, dear guru? Is this leading somewhere to nirvana?

The accountant has a nibble of wisdom to share. While cursing on his worksheets almost tearing them to pieces just because of that 40 centavos he can’t balance, he shrieked. Maybe, like numbers appearing on two opposite sides of the chart, my life also needs to be. . er. . balanced?

I have so much to share. . .This is the end for now.

Funambule

He’s no stranger to dead silence

Lights beam on this lone performer

Lights beam in a grandstand

To lift those strangers’ spirits high

To lift all their glares right into his balancing act

Life for a night

Captured by the tightrope walk

Spreads his arms into the air

And mind an immeasurable end

Press his weight on the middle of nowhere

Importune everyone’s uproar

Slip and fall!

They fear for him,

And water will pour.

He would seek life on the thin line.

Leave it only to find,

That forever he will be crowned

So that comfort he may find.

Sea

What is it with you, still a hounding mystery.

You calm this wretched spirit like no one can.

As I sit on this enormous rock that sparkles because of tears that dried up,

You hush me in serenity, softly.

You sedate this enduring pain which leaves a hollow mind.

That’s why I long to seek you.

Please, let me feel you once more. Drown me.

Drown my soul.

Perished Poinsettias, Dying Holidays

(Or was it only me who’s in the horrid mood? A holiday survey showed that there is slight increase in people- across all socioeconomic classes-, compared to the previous year perceiving that their respective Christmases will not be spoiled by Scrooges.)

Last year my boss called me to pick up several potted poinsettias to make livid a seemingly lackluster office that’s being run by a non-disciple of the school of embellishment. Those poinsettias whose lush bracts were flaming red decadently lost their beauty until what are left of them are the desiccated stems and the cracked soil; the vestiges of a past, ephemeral celebration of Christmas. The Christmas shrubs were easily forgotten as soon as the season ended, that was after Epiphany, but I guess it ended much earlier than that. Their beauty actually lost charisma right after the office party last year. Right after the office party, the potted poinsettias lie there at the veranda together with immensely accumulated rubbish. The potted poinsettias are dead by now, so I guess. They’re gone. Their flaming red bracts dwindled fast post-Christmas like blossom petals torn apart by a demented beau seeking instant answers on love. In reality, they were feasted upon by hungry worms.

Or just, it is an all-wise scheme of shadowing the gripes of the worst experiences and painful realizations in life. In pure attempt of ratiocination, I tried to gather as much information to understand a festive and supposedly jovial mood that is required of Christmas and Christmas per se and this is what I found.

Christmas developed from paganism. Early Europeans celebrate during winter solstice to alleviate their longing for longer days and extended hours of sunlight. They slaughter as much cattle which they can’t feed and have oversupply of fresh meat at the end of the day. The Norse does it by burning large logs and feast until the fire die down with the belief that each spark created represents a pig or a calf that would be born the next year. The Christians adopted this tradition and approximated that Christ was probably born at such point although many skeptics believe that He was probably born early in spring because shepherding could not be possible during winter. And so it is believed that the birth of Christ is probably between the months March and April. Traditionally, Christmas has been celebrated every December 25^th.

In the early 17^th century, the celebration of Christmas was changed in Europe because of major religious reforms. The Church particularly was said to be the cause of the decadence in its celebration because it allowed varied ways of celebrating it. For instance, the existence of such “lords of misrule” (mostly beggars) leads to pandemonium when they terrorize members of the upperclass who fail to give them the best food and drink upon demand. Christmas was cancelled by the Puritans when they took England because of this. It was only restored during the time of Charles II by popular demand.

Because of the entry of religion particularly Christianity, values were infused in the celebration of Christmas. The Christmas upshot came to the extent of pacifying the mood in 1914 when German and British troops declared a truce among themselves on the dawn of Christmas day. In the Philippines, the first Christmas mass was celebrated in Pangasinan by an Italian monk at around 1280 to 1320. The Italians back then planted the first Christmas tree. Experiences of Christmas during the Early Hispanic period is not that quite documented, so I guess again. An article of Ambeth Ocampo details the experience of an American woman during her first Christmas in the Philippines. Although quite ordinary as I see, the account was rather an outline extant of local tradition and only vibrates the festive mood of the expatriates who brought with them nostalgia of homegrown tradition. How about the Indios?

Hah. Well, it came late to my senses that it is already 9 o’clock in the evening and I’m still here at the office alone typing on the keyboard, having occasional goosebumps. I haven’t bought gifts yet maybe will join the rush tomorrow. Looking back, the past eleven months were quite easy on the way to look at because they’re shredded and still here in the box right at my corner. But, realistically, they’ve been a truckload of yoke I don’t want to commit to memory. Early in the week, I came upon this article by Fallows, the parachute journalist who got a bird’s eye view of the country with a damaged culture. He was writing post-EDSA and from there assessed the renewed vigor of democracy which mirrored hopes for social change and progress. My initial reaction was: “I want slit this vein and die!” because, in my opinion, the essay taken as a whole was bitterly true. It was written in 1987, but I was like reading fresh from the page of the daily I bought from the newsstand on that day.

Last December while walking down Session Road I nearly collided with a young girl whose begging late in the night from penny-pinching passers-by. She gave out a smile and wished me a Merry Christmas. I asked her to go with me inside the store where we nearly banged but she was reluctant and said that she will wait outside instead. She watched and leaned on the glass wall while I buy the box of Donuts for her. I remember her while I hand a 20-peso bill to a bunch of kids who sang carols for us in the office late in the night. I remember that experience when I witnessed this person yelling at a mendicant who’s asking for a peso or two. I can’t find the wisdom of help in its truest sense when you refuse to give the monetized value of a minute of your labor and adding insult to the injury by telling the poor person that she/he must work rather than beg. I can’t find the wisdom in rebuking street charity and all in all vilifying the dignity of a beggar whose suffering is overwhelmingly cruel than yours.

I realize as I write these thoughts that Christmas celebrated since childhood by me was unutterably unhappy. And it grows unhappier through the passing of years. Nonetheless, when the season strikes, I try to pretend to be jolly and all but never being pretentious in living its spirit even just for a week or so. Even just for a week or so, other people should be the Ebenezer Scrooge depicted at the last stave.

Finally, I want to tell the world that I’d be finally quitting my job for God’s sake, I mean for school’s sake. My job for three years in an NGO had been full of learnings and realizations but time has come when you just have had enough of bleak and false realities haha but I’m happy to enter a new industry which has grown promising for me so opined by a good friend who’s based in Shanghai, CN.

Still a Long Walk for the Farmers. . .

After convening in Baguio, summer of 1997, the Second Division of the Supreme Court finally decided on the controversy brought before it regarding the validity of the “Win-win resolution” which originated from the Office of the President through Deputy Executive Secretary Renato Corona (settling the issues posed by the biased decision of Executive Secretary Ruben Torres) by allowing the farmer-beneficiaries of Sumilao, Bukidnon a share of the 144-hectare land allegedly owned by Norberto Quisumbing. In that win-win resolution, the Office of the President ordered the distribution of the 100 hectares to the farmer-beneficiaries and the remaining 44 hectares to be devoted to the conversion plan proposed by Quisumbing and approved by Torres.

After a long and arduous wait, the Sumilao farmers who have long been fighting over the ownership of their ancestral land finally had the attention of the nation after taking their pleas before the streets of Manila. On October 9, 1996, these farmers staged a hunger strike in front of the DAR office, supposedly in charged of implementing the CARP which is supposedly aimed at redistributing the vast lands of hacienderos to tenant-farmers. That hunger strike was devastating to the government as it was boasting the fruits of economic growth back then. Thus, it intervened, albeit harshly against the farmers, at first, when it issued an order approving the conversion plan applied for by Quisumbing which covered the entire area of 144-hectares. It modified subsequently its own order upon pressures from the church and civic groups. Corona issued the so-called win-win resolution granting the 100 hectares to the farmers and the 44 hectares to Quisumbing. . .a little too late.

A little too late because back in the province of Bukidnon, the local government units have been in haste adopting the first order issued by Torres; a bitter betrayal for their own constituents.

And as if to validate the fact that justice does not come easily for the underprivileged, the Second Division held that the first order issued by the Office of the President is already final and executory, thus, could no longer be assailed. To quote the ponente, Justice Martinez:

Now to the main issue of whether the final and executory Decision dated March 29, 1996 (Torres’) can still be substantially modified by the "Win-Win" Resolution.

We rule in the negative.

The rules and regulations governing appeals to the Office of the President of the Philippines are embodied in Administrative Order No. 18. Section 7 thereof provides:

Sec. 7. Decisions/resolutions/orders of the Office of the President shall, except as otherwise provided for by special laws, become final after the lapse of fifteen (15) days from receipt of a copy thereof by the parties, unless a motion for reconsideration thereof is filed within such period.

Only one motion for reconsideration by any one party shall be allowed and entertained, save in exceptionally meritorious cases. (Emphasis ours).

The Supreme Court ruled out based on technicalities. But in the same ruling, the Second Division apparently misquoted how equity is weighed in controversies affecting the marginalized sectors of society.

Be it remembered that rules of procedure are but mere tools designed to facilitate the attainment of justice. Their strict and rigid application, which would result in technicalities that tend to frustrate rather than promote substantial justice, must always be avoided. Time and again, this Court has suspended its own rules and excepted a particular case from their operation whenever the higher interests of justice so require.

As if to castigate further the petitioners on the misavoidance of the rules , the Supreme Court added:

In the instant petition, we forego a lengthy disquisition of the proper procedure that should have been taken by the parties involved and proceed directly to the merits of the case.

Supreme of all, the Supreme Court erased any silver lining that should supposedly be gleaned upon from this sad plight of the farmers. It ruled no less that the MAPALAD farmers are not real parties-in-interest. In its own words:

The rule in this jurisdiction is that a real party in interest is a party who would be benefited or injured by the judgment or is the party entitled to the avails of the suit. Real interest means a present substantial Undoubtedly, movants' interest over the land in question is a mere expectancy. Ergo, they are not real parties in interest. interest, as distinguished from a mere expectancy or a future, contingent, subordinate or consequential interest.

And so Norberto Quisumbing really had his day in court without even stepping into the hall of justice. The petitioners were peculiarly the local government units of Bukidnon and the Corporation owned by Quisumbing. The defendants were Corona and the DAR defending the validity of the win-win resolution the former issued. The MAPALAD farmers filed a motion to intervene, but the Supreme Court denied the same. Few years after, the conversion plan approved by Torres did not materialize instead Quisumbing conveyed the questioned land to the SMFI. SMFI is now claiming ownership over the land and is now developing it into an agro-industrial estate divesting further the claims of the farmers. And so the long and arduous walk. . . Protesting to suffer or to suffer in protest?

The long walk by the Sumilao farmers from their lands to Malacanang to press the government to order SMFI to return their lands which were subject to CLOAs previously could never be a shooting for the moon even at this stage where legal ownership has already been vested to SMFI. It is a continuing struggle that transcends any legality constituted improperly and based on wrong and malicious political favors. However, it is very distressing that the suffering of the farmers for relentlessly invoking a right has gone this far. The long walk is pregnant with symbolism. It no less than confirms that the government was too far for the South. It was unable to reach out for centuries even at this point of time. Not even a Senator who’s born from Mindanao could disprove the fact that services are too controlled to trickle down south. Really, if the Honorable Senator has the balls to mediate and reach out to the farmers, at the least to assuage them because of their torn lives right there at their homeland, he won’t be waiting for that photo-ops outside the Senate: he, extending his right hand to one of the protesters who was squatted there under the blistering heat of the sun. Disgusting!

I still have the faith that the struggle of the farmers would end with the farmers reclaiming the lands taken from them. But I’m sure there’s still a long walk to take with the current administration’s disregard for even the most basic of human rights. There’s this news, for instance, which reported that the government would finally intervene before the Left gets into the picture. Imagine!