goyli

June 2006-2008

I arrived to the office today, anxious. I guess that was because I was only informed about presenting before a group of visitors from the US at 10 pm last night and I was barely prepared. When finally it did not push through I thought my anxiety was going to go away. For a few minutes it did go away, but when I joined 12 relatives of victims sing before the same group this afternoon, and heard them sing with conviction as well as almost breakdown and become teary eyed in the middle of their presentation, I felt goose bumps all over me and anxiety grow inside my stomach.

When I was asked to translate some of the stories for the foreign guests, I could not help but become emotional as well as I followed each word and relive with these relatives the pain of remembering how their loved ones where abducted or killed.

My head ached, my stomach turned. I didn’t know where to go, or to sit or stand. It’s as if it was June 2006 again and I was meeting the relatives for the first time and did not know how to console them.

Yes, June 2006 is an unforgettable month and date. It’s the month that marks the abductions of Sherlyn Cadapan, Karen Empeno, Leopoldo Ancheta, Rogelio and Gabriel Calubad, Prudencio Calubid, Celina Palma, Gloria Soco and Ariel Beloy.

It was as if a typhoon of signal #10 overcame us. The incidents came one after the other. The office was often filled with people, crying came at different times and from different individuals.

One sat at one end of the room staring into space. One sobbed inconsolably. The phones kept ringing, the media kept coming, we kept planning and trooping from one camp to another. We were desperate, the families were desperate. They needed all kinds of help. We did not stop.

We have continued doing the same things we did since then. We would find leads then dead-ends. But we would keep our hopes up. In the end we became a family. And the loss of one, became the loss of another. The search for one, was a search for all those missing.

Maybe I don’t know how they feel, because I still haven’t lost a loved one, but I guess being with them is almost the same as being the relative or wife or daughter or sister of a victim. Maybe my tears are endless because even if the years have passed, the stories stay the same and the pain never goes away, especially if you have a remorseless government who insists that “ …there is consistent effort to POLITICIZE Human Rights in the Philippines” and a ruthless military who tries to make fools of you, by giving you the runaround and continues to wreak havoc over civilians. Putangina nila!

I still don’t feel good tonight. I don’t know if I will have a dreamless sleep tonight, or when I will stop crying.

I don’t really care for the headache nor the stomach cramps, I just care, that we have families and victims to look after and that if there are no one else to do this, who will? They only have us. They trust only us. And in the end all we have is one another. We must never stop.

cateel -(draft112905)

Who said it was going to be easy?

It started as an adventure, wanting a place to belong to, finding a place to discover independence, finding ones worth as a person and finding true love.

No, it’s not about looking for Mr. Right, it’s about my work.

I remembered Spur Dos in Cateel, Davao Oriental my first fact-finding mission. It opened my eyes to so many truths. I remembered waking up with a small piece of paper and a pen jotting down notes for that day’s statement…then came more work, more ffms, pickets, discussions, etc. until I couldn’t find the time to do anything else including my real paying-job. After a couple of more years I decided to marry this job and it has been a love-hate relationship. Not your perfect love-affair, as other couples dream to have, but like the rest of them, something on which we can all survive with.

I do love this job, I enjoy it. No, of course I don’t enjoy counting those killed, missing, tortured, detained, etc. nor do I enjoy reading my cellphone, evertime it lets out an alert tune even in the dead of the night or at the crack of dawn only for me to read that someone was shot or that we need to run to the police station because someone got arrested. I do dread them, I wish I didn’t have any of those messages, but the fact is, the situation is getting worse by the minute (5 killed in less than 24 hours; 2 killed within 10 hours, etc.) and our work necessitates us to respond. That’s the essence: respond. Respond to seek justice, who cry out in helplessness and then later see hope and move on, much stronger than before.

It’s not easy choosing this job. It’s not easy doing this job, but it’s not just a job. It’s my commitment.

 

 

M&M

It was 1989. The year I had graduated from High School.  The year I turned into an out-of-school youth. The year we moved in to a small urban poor community. The year when teachers from all over metro manila had a full blown boycott and the year when my grandmother died, the year I had my first boyfriend.

At 18, I was a late bloomer. My mom was beginning to worry about me. When she was my age, she was counting suitors. So when manong came along, even if she was still not that keen on me getting a boyfriend yet (enter into a serious relationship that is), she relented on this one. Cute daw kasi si manong, bagay kami. Hehehe. “Kaya lang boyfriend sa salita lang ha.”She wanted me to collect and select.

How did manong and I meet?

Well it wasn’t exactly a clear meeting, one night in October of that year. Hindi Clear, na well lighted ang lugar, in fact Inday’s house had no electricity because they still had to apply for one with Meralco, so we had to settle with a gasera to hold that meeting and Meeting nga, because it was a caucus or discussion on the municipal ordinance that the local government wanted to implement regarding the distribution of lot titles or the deception of such an ordinance which we tackled.

Anyway, it was dark and despite the lack of clear light, we managed to still see each other with the gasera and when we went out of the house, under the moonlight. I remembered very well, it took a while before he let go of my hand after we shook hands.

Then, a series of happy coincindences followed. Well, for me it was serendipity, but I guess for him, he had wanted to see me often, visiting our place and passing by in front of my aunt’s home, where we lived, in the afternoon.

We would sit outside near Tiya Basyon’s store and talk non-stop from 4:00 PM until midnight. The economic crisis was very much evident, with news of factory strikes and the black-outs that became a usual sight in every community. Manong would come often on those black-outs and we would take advantage of the moonlight and sit out and talk about history, like why we should all be for the removal of the US bases and why I was out of school and why we were having black-outs. We would even debate on the most trivial of things.

It was a lively discussion of life, dreams and politics. It was all a mixture of excitement, compassion and discovery. He brought me new insights and understanding of things around me.

Did he court me?

The daily visits, the cake he gave me on my 19^th birthday, the marathon running kwentuhan from
4:00 PM til midnight; everyone was already teasing us – uyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! But there were no revelations then and I didn’t have the slightest idea that he was already courting me. All the while I thought the visits were friendly. When he taunted me and called me bato I still couldn’t get it, manhid ata ako oh inosente lang talaga. Hahahaha!

How did he and I become a ‘we’?

Well it was one funny, silly December afternoon that turned out to be a romantically glorious December night.

I was in a jealous fit and was near in tears when I saw him hounding my sister the whole afternoon. All the while I was bothered with the thought that it was my sister manong was interested in and not me. I kept harassing my gay friend while we spied on both manong and my sister from a distance. But only to find out later that he was trying to befriend her because he liked me.

How did I know? As was our usual habit, we would sit out of the house and talk after dinner. (He visited me almost daily) Our conversations went on pretty varied then it wandered into the topic of girls liking guys. I asked him what he thought of girls who opened up to guys and told them she liked him. He said that it was ok, because he viewed this as the right of every person – that is to express oneself even romantically. But personally, he would feel awkward, if he was told by a girl that she liked him. I then followed it up with “well I like you”, to which he replied rather unawkardly that he liked me too. KABOOM! At that moment, fireworks would’ve erupted in the sky as in the movies and the leading guy and girl lovebirds would end up kissing, but I was an innocent girl at 19 and he at 18 was still coping up with his age. We fell quiet for a moment, both awestruck and breathless with what we have just revealed to each other. From the back of the house, we moved to the front for a little more privacy, then manong popped up the question – “so what does that make us now?” I had to pause first before I spewed out “I don’t know?” (still dazed at what was said and heard and what was unfolding before me). He was the first to be shaken back into reality and clarified things with me “what do you mean you don’t know? We’re a we. (Tayo na!)”

I stiffled a giggle and looked away, agreeing with him, oo nga tayo na. But the night had to be cut short because I heard my mom, calling me into the house because it was already late. That was manong’s cue to say, good night. We briefly kissed and bid each other goodnight (away from my mom’s guarded sight of course).

That night, I was restless in bed, I couldn’t believe that I had a boyfriend and with a guy I really liked. It took a while before I fell asleep, comforted with that wonderful thought that finally, we were a we.

To be continued…

 

 

quarto - 4

I miss this room.

It used to be were I worked, slept, wept, laughed, and lived. It was my home, refuge, and workplace. It kept me company ‘til the wee hours of the morning trying to finish a report; It looked after me while I slept and it simply gave me peace when I wanted be alone and stare at its four walls. But somehow in the past we had a falling a part.

Suddenly, I couldn’t bear to be in it for more than 5 minutes. I was restless and had sleepless nights in it. I was cold, sore and angry. My temper marked the walls red, I was seeing red. Then I caught myself and said, “Hey, it wasn’t fair.” If couldn’t bear to be in it, it was also trying to spew me out. So we finally had to part.

So, the time came when I would only visit it every now and then, when I needed to do something in it, or if I wanted to be alone because the veranda had other occupants. Or I would be forced into its humid walls for a meeting, when there would be no where else to do it. But many times I refuse to stay in it or even go up to look at it.

But now, I’m beginning to miss it again. Miss the times when I was glad I woke up to the same four walls that saw me sleep the night before. Miss the times when I shared it with orphans, widows, singletons and those who needed healing like me. Miss the times it comforted me and hid my tears away from the probing eyes of interlopers as streaks of pain and anger gushed forth down my cheeks.

But then again, why would I go on missing it when it has kept its arms wide open to accept me back again and again and again to unceasingly bear witness to my continuing perseverance to struggle more amidst the worst conditions that threatens to come.

And when the time comes it will no longer see me back, others will come and eventually will stay.

Welcome back!

Everyday Birthday

Its the birthday month! Well, my 35th birthday doesn't come til the 18th, but I've started the celebration yesterday and will continue doing so until the end of the month. Why? Because for the past couple of years I haven't really celebrated my birthday. Well, not seriously or really devoted a day for just that - my birthday. It has always been me in front of the computer emailing data, doing QRT over the phone or trying to come up with a statement or urgent action, etc. on D-Day itself. But in the midst of my busy birthday, my "sweet" co-workers would cook up something  and find it as an excuse so that they can eat spaghetti or buy ice cream. HAHAHAHAHA! But they're still sweet (thanks guys!).

For this month, I celebrate each day as if it was my birthday not by treating all the people I know because I have yet to win the lottery (sorry guys, baka kayo trip niyo ako ilibre...), but by not being suplada or masungit; doing away with crummy dressing, by religiously sweating it out every morning and by eating conscientiously (read: dieting more seriously!). It’s basically feeling good, looking good and being good.

Don’t get me wrong. Am not entirely bad, nor am I a complete bum dresser. Like most people I know, I often procrastinate and not really give time to exert that much effort to look good. So, I don’t blame people when they call me “ma’m” or inquire on how many kids I’ve got. (argh!) Heck, I can dress up as fast as my father, no make up, no fancy hairstyle, just plain and simple me. (Yeah, it’s flattering to be called simple, but it’s a different point altogether when you’re called plain.)

Friends often comment on how drab I look. But I refuse to mind them. What matters to me is that I’m comfortable with what I wear. Do you believe I have a housemate who sort of guards the door almost every morning to check on what I’ve worn for the day? And after a quick scrutiny and she doesn’t like what she sees, it’s back to the bedroom cabinet or I’m in danger of leaving the house bloodied if I insisted on wearing my loose printed pants to work! I seldom get an approving nod from this in-house fashion police. Hahahaha! But I do appreciate her critical eye and favorable suggestions.

I never really gave much importance on how I look. What mattered to me is that I am able to accomplish my work, settle domestic concerns, give some time to talk with friends who needs me and allow myself some outlet at times and still do my work. 

But now I believe that if I do give myself the time to be in touch with my own person, I can give myself more to other people. If I take care of myself then I will have a better disposition and with this be more open and objective. It is by being a better person can we also better help other people.

In our line of work, we do need time to sit down, reflect, talk and write our thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, when there's too much to occupy yourself with, counting people getting killed, tortured, imprisoned, militarized, etc. all these things get in to you and you find yourself, battered, drained and even helpless. And oftentimes, the deplorable situation contributes to a similar disposition for the person. One ends up looking like the victim and no longer someone who you can run to.

I'm supposed to dread 35. I did, in the past but now I'm glad I stayed alive this long and who knows 'til when. So I'm giving myself that extra attention this month. That despite working my (wide) butt out, I will still sleep early, always wake up beautiful and keep my temper in check....hmmmm...ahhhh....ALRIGHT! Direct my anger to butchers like PALPARAN! And keep my cool to co-workers, family members and friends who I might find to be trying my (short) patience. (tihihihi!)

So, I celebrate each day of November, my birthday month with a smile, a laugh, a better disposition and a positive perspective. And you my friend can throw in a hug, a kiss, a hello, or wink, or with whatever gift you can afford (pwede din house and lot or car...hehehehe!).

p.s.

Kindly knock some sense out of me,  I'm just probably dreaming....(bwahahahaha!)

nymphet

why is it that nowadays its so hip to be an exhibitionist: lovers kiss openly in public, others display their newly sculpted bods from calayan's or belo's clinic and literally wear their skin. sometimes, even without the benefit of lyposuction, there are those brave enough to show their bulging bellies from beneath tightly belted jeans.

and now diaries are no longer what they're supposed to be - hidden, discreet, a journal of secrets, etc. they're now out for display in blogs such as these.

i often cynically say that i wouldn't engage in this kind of thing, because i prefer to keep my secrets hidden in notebooks which are likewise not safely secure, but at least out of public scrutiny most of the time. i prefer to keep my thoughts to me. but when i tire of being alone and when time and space keep you from personally engaging with your friends your thoughts and opinions on things --life, politics, love, etc. blogs such as these help in making you reach out to them.

blogs allow you to air your few cents worth of thoughts on important matters of life. blogs create the space you wish to move in freely, uninhibitedly and wantonly. it makes me feel naked and want to be naked for all times.

to a totally greenhorn blogger nymphet, the plunge into this medium is like a cool splash of refreshing water from a virgin lake. allow me to discover you, just as i allow you to do the same to me.

happy blogging...