Weird Dad
My Dad is weird. Tonight I found him in the living room, pitting our two male cats against each other - or, should I say, encouraging them to be "friends." Of course, he wasn't around when the two tomcats got at each other's throats in the middle of the night and the dining room all of a sudden had wall-to-wall cat fur carpeting. Or when both cats decided to stake each other's territory by spraying everything in sight "Dis MINE!," including members of the household and unwitting guests (sorry, Anson!).
Anyway, my Pops can be really entertaining sometimes, especially when it comes to picking out names for our pets. Once upon a time, when we used to have at least 15 dogs of different pedigrees and lack thereof at any one time, and he was very quickly running out of names for each of them, he came up with the bright idea of naming the animals after Presidential contenders (this was obviously during election time). "Psssst! Mitra, out!" "
Nag-aaway si Erap
at Cory!" "
Hoy, umihi na naman si Miriam
sa loob."
He even used to dig into the encylopedia for doggie names with "themes"; thus, one batch of Shi-Tzus was named after African tribes: Chaka (Zulu, not Khan), Massai (aka Mash-mash), and Kiko (Kikuyu; although I called the puppy "Kiko" because I had a thing for Kiko Pangilinan at the time, hehe...).
But anyway, at present we have two very aged dogs with normal names - Nina and Iron (an adopted dachshund, so he was spared from ignominy), and two Rotts in the backyard whose names escape me right now (although I know their names are equally silly, but we're not really that "close"). And two very plump and handsome tomcats. The older of which was dubbed Al-Qaeda by my very funny Daddy. And today, the younger one, who's been going about without a name for quite sometime, got what was coming to him. "Wuuussssss, wussss, come here Taliban..."
And, strangely enough, "Taliban" came. Sometimes you gotta wonder about my father. This morning he met Snappy and seemed to like him well enough, especially when they started talking about our dearly departed Ali's lymphoma over breakfast. Yeah, it's official...my Dad
is weird.
Rediscovering Rabindranath
It must have been at least 10 years since I last read Tagore - and I suppose at the time poetry no longer interested me as much (I was too busy exploring the realms of fiction genres at the time). I was introduced to the great Indian poet's work in 9th grade English - say what you will about the UPIS education, but I will defend to the grave its advanced English curriculum (if memory serves me correctly, in Grade 9 we studied Asian lit - Grade 8 was Shakespeare, Grade 10 modern American literature...I read Orwell's
1984 in, eek, 1984! With Chaucer as "leisure reading." And Ancient Mythology as an upper-class elective course. Yes, I admit to being an English geek; I still harbor secret dreams of an MA in Comparative Literature.)
Today, I came across Tagore's work again, and fond memories of the elegant Ms. Valencia (who was also my Grade 6 teacher: "There is no such word as 'pesty'!!") and the enigmatically brilliant Mrs. Esguerra came flooding back. And I remembered the good old days when I would chew on lines of poetry and commit them to memory, just like some people memorize movie dialogue. Poetry was quickly replaced by prose, and, in my more mature years, fiction replaced by non-fiction...and now there's room once again (or should I say, with the busy-ness of service and dearth of "free" time, there is room
only) for the encapsulated eloquence of poetry. Tagore's, to begin with. He speaks volumes with only a few lines:
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.- from the
GitanjaliHe was not Christian, but when he talks of God, his words are familiar. And he speaks so profoundly about love, in sentiments that could be expressed both to the Divine and the earthly:
Let thy love play upon my voice and rest on my silence.
Let it pass through my heart into all my movements.
Let thy love like stars shine in the darkness of my sleep and dawn
in my awakening.
Let it burn in the flame of my desires.
And flow in all current of my own love.
Let me carry thy love in my life as a harp does its music, and give
it back to thee at last with my life.-from
The CrossingI suppose old passions never die. My memory's not as sharp as it used to be, but lines like
"Whenever my heart is about to go astray, just a glance of You makes it feel ashamed of itself" are worth the extra neuron storage! I should have that tattooed somewhere. Sigh.
SAMASKOM Alumni Party
The '80s lolos and lolas. Still as bongga as ever.
Steneven, Louie "Jake," and me
With Miles, Sunny, and Bulaong (!?)
Bugoy, Beauty, and Bonggapang
Language Barrier
Inaamin ko, bano ako mag-Tagalog. Ops, baka magalit sa akin ang mga "purists," kaya liliwanagin ko: bano ako sa wikang Pilipino. Mahusay ako sa usapang kanto, ibang level yun, nguni't pagdating sa pagsasalita ng maayos na Pilipino e olats tayo dyan. Palibhasa'y tiga Montessori, may multa kapag nagsalita ng Tagalog (talaga naman oo). Sabay ang magulang e Ilokano at Bisaya, kaya Inglis dapat ang salita sa bahay, ewan ba, especially kapag kinakausap kami ng mga au pair (yaya). Yung tipong "I told you not to do but you do now look at." Ang Lolo kong matinik, mahusay mag-Inglis, Ilokano, at Espanol, nguni't baluktot mag-Tagalog kung kaya't ini-Inglis ako parati; ang Lola ko hanggang ngayon e Ilokano at Inglis kapag ako'y kinakausap dahil hindi kailanman natutong mag-Tagalog (nung nag-aral sa Manila, pagkakataon na sana; nguni't sa kasamaang palad ay lahat ng roommate at barkada niya ay Ilongga. Kaya mahusay din siya mag-Ilonggo, wahaha).
Sa totoo lang, sa Wakasan komiks at Flordeluna (parehong majorly illegal - sisante siguro mga yaya kung nahuling pinapayagan kami manood) ko natutunan mag-Tagalog. Pero hindi pa rin sapat yun nung tumuntong ako sa UPIS, pugad ng mga bugoy at batang kanto, kung saan hindi uubra ang baluktot ang dila. Hindi naman ako masyadong alaskado dahil fight ako mag-Pilipino para di ma-OP, nguni't tandang-tanda ko pa nung nag-bugtong ang isang schoolbus mate na hindi ko mahulaan (hindi na nga deretso mag-Tagalog, tatanungin mo pa ng bugtong?!) ay sabi niya "sirit?" Sitsiritsit lang alam ko noon, wala akong clue kung ano ibig sabihin ng "sirit." Muntik ko yata siya mapaiyak sa pagkabigo (frustration kumbaga). Mantakin mo na Grade 6 na ako noong malaman ko kung ano ang pagkakaiba ng "kinse," "sinkwenta" at "beinte singko" (syempre wala pa akong alam sa Espanol sa mga panahon na yun, bagama't mestiza ako...yuck).
Bagsak-bagsak halos ako sa Pilipino nung elementary (sipsep lang ako sa titser pag Christmas kaya lusot pa rin) at hindi ko talaga matarok ang mga klase ko sa Pilipino nung high school (hindi ko din naman maintindihan ang Algebra at Physics at Chem, kaya baka utak ko ang talagang may problema, pero in fairness mahusay naman ako sa English, Social Studies, at Biology kaya hindi naman ako siguro ganoong kabobo). Hirap akong magbasa ng Pilipino; mas hirap pang magsalita ng deretso (pwera nga lang pag usapang kanto - at sa UPIS ganun naman talaga ang salita). Buti nalang siguro at biglang sumikat ang isang Martin Nievera nung mga panahon na yun at natanggap ang mga bulol magsalita ng pambansang wika (datirati'y si Maria Teresa Carlson lang - sumalangit nawa si siya - ang may kapansanan sa dila).
Hanggang sa ngayo'y bulol pa rin ako mag-Tagalog ng deretso. Nakakatawa pa rin akong pakinggan kapag sinusubukan ko: dati sa Office of Legal Aid kapag may kumukunsulta o nung abogado na ako ng isang NGO ay syempre Tagalog ang usapan...sa pagpipilit na i-translate lahat ng sabihin ko sa wikang Pilipino e nagiging masyadong mabulaklak ang aking mga sinasambit. Kumbaga e parang ang kaibigan kong si Miles na Waray mula sa Tacloban, nung unang sampa sa Maynila para mag-aral sa UP Diliman e "paaralan" ang tawag sa iskul, "pisara" sa blackboard, at "kasintahan" sa boypren. Ganun din ako kapag umandar ang non-kanto "business" Tagalog ko. Makata. Dapat siguro'y sumulat nalang ako ng tula sa wikang Pilipino kaysa magbigay ng payo na legal sa nangangailangan. Oo nga pala, naging manunulat (sa Tagalog! Thank you Lord para sa English-Tagalog dictionary) din ako para kay Francis "Kiko" Pangilinan na Senador na ngayon nung siya'y nag-aaral para sa Bar pero sinasabay ang hosting sa Batas section ng Hoy Gising! Oh yes, once upon a time close kami ni Kiko, pero mas mataba si Sharon kaya sila ang nagkatuluyan. O sige na, atsaka mas magaling mag-Tagalog si Ate Shawie (bitter...).
At eto na nga. Syempre, kung sa tingin ko kailangang kausapin ng deretso at pormal na Pilipino ang mga kliyenteng humihingi ng payo, e pano pa kaya pag kinausap ko ang Diyos sa piling ng mga taong sanay magdasal sa wikang Pilipino? Hindi ko memoryado ang Aba Ginoong Maria o ang Pagpapahayag ng Pananampalataya o ang mga kasagutan sa Misa. Pero sino ang naatasan maghanda ng mga Missalette na Tagalog tuwing Misa? At maging commentator tuwing mayroong pagdiriwang ng Sakramento ng Eukaristiya sa He Cares? Sino fa. (Mahusay din pala ako hindi lamang sa usapang kanto nguni't sa usapang bakla). At ngayon, sinong inatasan (inutusan?) mamuno ng mga prayer meeting sa wikang Tagalog sa Montalban at minsan-minsan mamuno ng pagpupuri o worship o di kaya'y mag-udyok = exhort? sa mga miyembro sa Project 6? Kung sana si Kuya AG nalang palagi dahil mahusay mag-Tagalog at deretso ang dila sa pambansang wika. Pero Instik (kadalasan, yung iba e hindi ko pa alam kung ano ang "sounds like") ang tongues ko, hindi Pilipino, kaya't medyo hirap tayo diyan.
Last year pa, bumili na ako ng Tagalog na Bibliya upang magsanay ako lalo at medyo may nakikitang improvement (sana). Gaya ng mga klase ko sa Pilipino nung elementary, lumulusot pa rin naman. Pero sa tulong ng Diyos, makakayanan din yan...madami pang bagay na mas hebigats ang nakayanan sa tulong Niya, eto pa kaya. At kung kaya ni Father Steve mag-Tagalog, kakayanin ko din!! Fight!! Este, sugod kapatid sugod!!!
Friends
After a whole day and the lesser part of the evening running around town from one meeting to another, I capped Friday night at one of my favorite places to unwind: the veranda of the newly renovated G9. Not Greenbelt or Glorietta, but Neil and Rhia's condo unit in Mandaluyong, where we've congregated over the years for special occasions, nationwide revolutions, adventure races, mahjongg/red dog/bingo games, and for no particular reason but to hang out. I'd planned to go out on a Friday with the Thursday Club originals - Miles and Ney, but Ney is in Baguio and Miles got sleepy while waiting for me to finish up at G9. She wasn't the only one who fell asleep on me - my darling Nathan, the coolest godchild of all my cool godchildren, tried to wait up for his
Ninang Honey but didn't make it through the late evening. I got to see the sweet child (in all honesty, Nathan is the first child I learned to love...later that year, Miles' and David's Isabella came along) when he woke up from a bad dream and needed Mommy, but no quality time spent with him. Will make up for it this week, promise...he's growing up fast and someday soon it will no longer be "cool" to hang out with Ninang. Unless of course he knows what's good for him, he he.
Anyway, I'm grateful for old friends like Neil, Rhia, Miles, Ney, and the coterie of people I've known and loved for a decade or more. They keep me grounded, because they're the only ones who know what kind of person I used to be, what kind of person I am, and who lovingly accept whatever kind of person I am becoming. They're the only ones who dare - and have the right to dare - twit me about my silly moments and ridiculous lapses; who remember what I did and what I wore and what kind of guys I used to like in the last millennium. Today, their advice and take on things is invaluable, because they know me than most other people, and have my best interests at heart. And I trust whatever they have to tell me, especially when they make me remember things I should ("But don't you remember what he did to you once upon a time...") and realize what I'm worth. What gifts...I thank God for solid friendships like these, may I continue to allow myself to be loved by Him through the people I call my friends.
