Roller Coaster

It was already more than a year ago since I have written this poem but each time I find myself reading this, I could still have the exact emotions all over again...Thanks to words and to the flexible beauty of poetry.

They say that life is like a roller coaster ride

And I agree

With all its curves, ups and downs…

An analogy of life’s happiness and tears, success and failures.

And then all the forwards and the backwards…

Just like the risks you take in your journey and how they could change you…

It’s a ride that you could jerk around from side to side too,

And you feel the pain—But you care not

For you know that you are having a different kind of fun…

A ride that is dynamic and thrilling

And though it’s a track with a designed pattern—

You still won’t know how it feels to be in the loops and inversions unless you are really there.

It’s something that is unique for you based on how you experience it—

Just like life.

In that roller coaster ride, you seem to be so free.

You screamed.

 You raised your hands up high.

Yes, you are free— you thought you are— until you look within and realized you are restrained…

Yes, just like life.

And I had always think life and love to be inseparable…

And to be more exact, even synonymous

That they are one and the other won’t exist without the other…

And so applying some logic, then, love is like a roller coaster ride too…

But I don’t want love to be like that roller coaster ride…

I don’t want the waiting to be longer than the actual moment…

I don’t want to be suddenly placed in the highest possible post

And then be dragged down in a split of seconds…

I don’t want to feel as though I am being headed forward

and though I am not totally certain—

I just can’t resist it…

For I enjoyed it. I loved it. I did.

I don’t want love to be like that roller coaster ride—

That when you seem to be enjoying the thrust already

You’ll then find yourself being moved backwards…

Yes, I expected it, but I’m still shocked…

Perhaps it’s the result of the ‘foolish me’

And there’s that twirl again of confusion

And though you have no wounds in the outside

You know how shaky you are within,

You know that battles are unceasingly launched inside you,

You know you are not in control—

And all you can do is let yourself be carried along by that chair that keeps you moving…

You were silenced a little bit by the thought that you are being headed somewhere

For you had been used of being anxious each time you feel that you are not moving…

But you, one day realized that there was really no movement at all from you and for you—

You only flow as to where the wind leads you…

A very fast journey, that’s the roller coaster ride…

And there you were— you ended up in the same place

Back to where you started the jaunt…

But again, I don’t want it that way, but is there something that I can do?

Something to do aside from going through the what-seems-like-hell-process…?

I think it’s tragic to love someone and then coming to the point of having to stop

Just like how roller coaster brought you back—

You have to turn that person an acquaintance or stranger again, for you to end up your illusion,

Fix your mistakes

Do the right thing…

And not complicate things.

There I was, voicing out the feelings— but still empty.

Yes, the foolish me…

That roller coaster— that has trembled all your sanities,

Would have to ask you down— though you are still unprepared to stand…

And so you don’t know where and how to exit…

You thought you are used to that— but poor foolish you, you’re not…

Pain is still killing you…

But you have to try to find your strength and be back to your senses

Would you need an ice cream or what? Would you need the darkness or pinching music?

Or find other things to hurt you?

Oh, what now?

Push yourself, get down the stairs, and take some steps—

Ride a jeep, do your research output… Oh, I don’t know…

But please, just take some steps…

The roller coaster ride is over…

It’s over.

And it’s hard to explain that something painful has transpired…

They ask you this. They ask you that.

You chose to be silent, tired of trying to find words—

Oh, it’s just hard to find words…

Because you’ve got no scars that you can show to them after that ride…

Yes, no visible scars…

Only tears which you can easily wipe and dry,

And only the heart that has been smashed again…

Smashed into pieces again…

Siquijor: It's Bewitching me

  

      It was the glow of the fireflies that has made the Spanish colonizers before called Siquijor as the ‘Isla de Fuego’ or Island of Fire. But they were really right. Siquijor is really glowing, with all the magic in it—in places and in people. 

       When you travel to find healing, let whatever pain you have had remain as pain that has once shaken you but will no longer cause you suffering in the present. Life has billions of other wonderful things to offer each time and let every sunrise be your assurance of new beginnings. God will never waste our tears. At times, we are hurt to be blessed more and to discover what could even be stronger, lovelier and fruitful--- what could be more authentic and everlasting. Wounds should be seen not as scars anymore, but wisdom now. Siquijor is an ideal place to meditate with its historical churches like the St. Francis of Assisi Church and the San Isidro Labrador Church and Convent, one of the country’s oldest and largest spiritual structures.

   Salagdoong Beach is located in a cove and the view of the shore makes it even relaxing. 

        

        Cambugahay Falls features shallow multi-tiered waterfalls, perfect for those who want to take some dip, and for brave souls, you can also try doing a “tarzan jump.”

           And of course, to get the taste of the mystical side of Siquijor, don’t forget to find your way to this ancient balete tree which has strange spring that emanates from the base and flows straight into a man-made pool. The water is clean and with fish swimming in it, one can instantly enjoy an instant foot spa. 

       With stories about folk healing traditions and beautiful spots to experience and build memories with, this island in Central Visayas, has more reasons that is bewitching me, making me forget even for a while, the worries of the world. 

Pamamaalam

Ating binuksan noon

Sa hindi man sabay na pagkakataon

Ngayon ay ating sasarhan

At di na muling babalikan

Ang luhang paulit-ulit na pumatak

Ay bahagi lamang ng ating katapusan

Lahat ay nasaktan na

Kaya kung sa pamamaalam 

May mga pusong hihilum

Yayakapin ko ang paglimot

At walang bakas ng kahit anong alaala

Ang sa aki'y matitira

Hanggang sa ikaw ay di ko na kilala...

sa Mambukal, Negros Occidental 

sa Subic Bay, Olongapo 

His Children's Hero

The journey from the hinterlands of barangay Sanke, Hinoba-an, Negros Occidental, to the village proper by the sea, was like a Sunday get-together for the Layan family. Tatay Hermenio was with five of his five children, his wife, pregnant with their seventh child staying at home. Our Kwaderno team was set to have notebook distribution at 9 am that 25th day of May but Tatay Hermenio was already there before 7am. To get there, the Layans had to pass by several mountains, cross a river and then walk about an hour.

It wasn’t just for the notebooks that his children would be receiving that day. Tatay Hermenio had a deeper purpose, I could sense it in his eyes. I could see that for the education of his children, he would do anything.

The family of Sanke’s barangay captain served breakfast to the Layan Family, knowing that they had had a long and difficult journey. Eleven-year-old Chona, the eldest among them was interviewed by Irene, one of our volunteers. Chona was shy but she responded to the questions politely. There was a certain glow in her eyes when she shared that her happiest moment was when she received a service award in their school this last year. In June this year started in Grade Five. She was excited to start the school year as she has recognized that there are so many things to be learned in school.

Chona at her young age understands that her family is struggling to make ends meet. Her father works as a farmer while her mother is a laundry woman. Chona helps on the farm and in the house the best she can. While other children of her age are holding dolls, Chona is holding a trowel. While others are having summer fun at the beach, she is planting crops under the heat of the sun. In the wet season they plant corn and in the dry season they plant rice.

Chona’s siblings were listening intently to the interview. Though they didn’t say anything, their eyes, hands, skin and feet spoke of the same story.

Chona wants to be a teacher someday.

Irene, a Kwaderno core group member, interviews Mang Hermenio and his children.

While sipping my morning coffee, I decided to engage in an informal chat with Tatay Hermenio. I thanked him for accompanying his children. Though I didn’t put any question to him he started sharing something that almost made me break into tears. He said he regretted not being able to learn how to read and write. He would only place his thumb mark when he needed to sign documents. His own life is a testimony to how difficult life is when one is illiterate. When his children started reading and writing, he couldn’t explain how happy he was. He wants them to have a bright future-- a life beyond what the plantations can offer, a life different from what he has endured.

Despite his lack of education, Tatay Hermenio did something very remarkable in his community. The children had to endure a difficult journey to school having to ford the river and pass through muddy and slippery trails. This was something that he thought could be solved by a hanging bridge. It would make things easier for the students, especially his own children, to reach school. He spoke to the community leaders and discussed the need for such a bridge - one was then constructed.

Tatay Hermenio ever fails to teach his children the value of caring for each other. I observed this in his daughter Chona. When they were invited to the breakfast table, she made sure her younger siblings finished eating first. She has developed the habit of caring for them and prioritizing them at every meal. Unlike other children whom we had difficulty in asking about their dreams, Chona clearly knows what she wants to be. She said that her father would always remind them to dream big. Chona dreams of becoming a teacher someday. This dream was planted in her heart not just for her own self. It is a dream that she has for other children as well, so that they will persevere in their studies and then discover their dreams too.

My own parents did not finish their education and this contributed to our poverty. Hence, at a young age, I promised myself that I would strive hard so that I could finish college. Education for me is something personal and so I am taking it as one of my life advocacies. I believe that everyone should be given access to it and that the children should be properly guided and ushered to reach their dreams. Tatay Hemenio inspired and affirmed me greatly that day as we distributed notebooks to the rest of the children in Barangay Sanke. I never thought that our simple activity would reveal to me something beautiful about the importance of a father’s love and heroism. Tatay Hermenio’s dedication to his children is what makes them believe there is a brighter future waiting to be seized.

This is also published in the July-August 2014 issue of Misyon.