white walls washed in anguish
recede slowly into halts of dead ends, as
sporadic screams of pain dull the silent anger
white walls weep in woe
isolating wards at the row's very end, as
nurses in masks comfort the dying
a friend, frail and feeble lay lifeless
in her bed of sorrow
her eyes bloodshot, but yellow
her face deep-set, but skeletal
her body thin, but bloated around the middle
her fingers darkened blue, but nails blotched by chemo
her legs once a dancer's, now numb and still
her arms tender as a ballerina's, now bruised and wired
her hair once her wavy crown, now gone and gray
when her dissonant breathing took longer gaps in between
the gathering begged to subside each other's sobs
when her language slurred into tongues of the Spirit
the gathering sang hymns of praise
and when her hearing jarred into oblivion
the gathering begun to hold each other's hands
and when only her sense of touch seem unscathed
the gathering took turns to whisper their goodbyes
but just then before her eyes shot upwards
she murmured softly as she inhaled HAM...and exhaled SA...
repeating in rhythmic monotones HAM-SA... HAM-SA... HAM-SA...
by then the last sound of breath
the gathering wept, astounded with her Faith
Dedicated to Jean Gonzalo and her dance colleagues...
in Sanskrit HAM-SA means:
I am Divine, I am with God, I am an expression of God, I am not alone...
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
A Somber Day in August
The incoming week was bound to be busy: a contract-signing for a car show, a couple of bids needing creative treatments, an ocular out of town for a forthcoming shoot.
So after the Saturday pictorials for a dance concert, I allowed the remainder of the weekend to take a quiet respite. With the Sunday sunset spilling through the bedroom window, I nestled comfortably on the net touching base with my FB friends. By the time the moonlight pierced through the window sills, I was still catching up with an online writing community. I hadn't spent time with myself in a while, so I was engrossed until a PC icon called attention to an incoming email.
The news broke out in layers. First were the lines saying praise and thanking me for the proposed film project I had sent. Then the assurances that nothing was lacking with my submissions, that this must not be taken negatively. Just that the proposal was not selected nor approved for funding.
The almighty Producer had just declined my dream film: a historical epic that would cross over to the present. It was my only hope to get my dream film off the ground. My only chance to regain recognition from industry peers who smirk at the idea of a difficult multi-layered film. My only contribution to helping awaken my country's youth to rise up for change and good governance.
I stood still. For a moment, an hour, I don't recall how long, for I tried hard not to cry.
Midnight came. What was I thinking? That some well-meaning foreign producer would care about bringing life to a historical period piece that no one in its own country would dare pick up? Despite many years of rejection, I kept my hopes up.
But somewhere there I knew I had to curtail my expectations. I had thought to myself what else could I be doing outside my working life if my dream film doesn't see the light. Maybe, I'll learn to write a book. Or produce another less demanding but crusading TV show. Or perhaps try a less ambitious film story.
Something substantive, not just anything. To look forward to and build my life on.
So after the Saturday pictorials for a dance concert, I allowed the remainder of the weekend to take a quiet respite. With the Sunday sunset spilling through the bedroom window, I nestled comfortably on the net touching base with my FB friends. By the time the moonlight pierced through the window sills, I was still catching up with an online writing community. I hadn't spent time with myself in a while, so I was engrossed until a PC icon called attention to an incoming email.
The news broke out in layers. First were the lines saying praise and thanking me for the proposed film project I had sent. Then the assurances that nothing was lacking with my submissions, that this must not be taken negatively. Just that the proposal was not selected nor approved for funding.
The almighty Producer had just declined my dream film: a historical epic that would cross over to the present. It was my only hope to get my dream film off the ground. My only chance to regain recognition from industry peers who smirk at the idea of a difficult multi-layered film. My only contribution to helping awaken my country's youth to rise up for change and good governance.
I stood still. For a moment, an hour, I don't recall how long, for I tried hard not to cry.
Midnight came. What was I thinking? That some well-meaning foreign producer would care about bringing life to a historical period piece that no one in its own country would dare pick up? Despite many years of rejection, I kept my hopes up.
But somewhere there I knew I had to curtail my expectations. I had thought to myself what else could I be doing outside my working life if my dream film doesn't see the light. Maybe, I'll learn to write a book. Or produce another less demanding but crusading TV show. Or perhaps try a less ambitious film story.
Something substantive, not just anything. To look forward to and build my life on.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
A Nation Beleaguered
Today June 30, 2010 the 15th President of my country took his Oath amid a hopeful crowd at the National GrandStand. Benigno ‘Noynoy’ Aquino III, former senator of the Republic of the Philippines, rose to popularity on the strength of his parents’ legacy.
He is the only son of Benigno ‘Ninoy’ Aquino, an opposition stalwart who had been assassinated in 1983 by lone gunman Rogelio Galman, suspected to have been hired by the so-called tyrant Ferdinand Marcos, and/or his CIA cohorts.
Noynoy’s mother the former President Corazon ‘Cory’ Aquino captured Filipino hearts when she led the country to a civil disobedience that evolved into a People Power Revolution eventually toppling, by no violent means, the 20-year Marcos rule.
After three more presidents since the 1986 EDSA Revolution, my country today is in a condition nowhere better than it had been some 25 years ago. A culture of Corruption had widened the gap between the hardworking Filipinos and the ever-rising oligarchies and political dynasties.
The very skilled among us, professionals included, trek to foreign lands for greener pastures, while our Local Governments here sell Chocolate Hills minerals, Boracay island parcels, rich virgin timber and of late, entire islands and islets in Palawan to foreign principals. All in the name of foreign investments, MNCs are lured to locate in my country tax-free and duty-exempt.
Our Legislative Houses are divided by the intramurals of a multi-party system and alternately, by indecisions leaning on next-of-kin favors. Those in power, their friends and allies, and friends of the allies are above the law to the extent that small drug and gambling operators are raided and captured, but NEVER their lords.
Our Government’s only profit centers ---- its Internal Revenue and Customs Bureau--- are two agencies brimming with notoriety and dishonesty. Because of this, big and small businesses, legitimate or otherwise, are stirred to cheat on their declarations, or bribe their way out of value-added taxes. And rather than feed on the corrupt Government officers’ avarice, businesses work their way around the legalities and simply pass the tax burden to the poor citizenry. What’s more unfortunate is that Legislation seems to be backing up this whole system. None of the previous Administrations is able to enforce the rightful intentions of the law.
Our Military secretly sells government arms and ammunitions to our Muslim brothers in Mindanao. A couple of recent insurgencies led by now Senator Antonio ‘Sonny’ Trillanes IV called attention to this but that was all. Political dynasties and wealthy scions of trade and industry in Mindanao continue to be protected, inspite of the recent mass murders of journalists and an opposing political clan.
Our country, once the top rice exporter of Asia-Pacific, no longer produces enough rice for its 90 million people; it has to import its own staple from the same neighbors it used to supply to in just the recent past.
Unable to produce anything on its own, the Philippines imports everything it needs, from branded cars and industrial machineries to rich countries’ surplus garments and excess junk.
More and more Filipinos live, work in and migrate to foreign lands. Our women marry Japs, Arab princes and aging GIs, sometimes for the green card, often for the greener pastures.
More and more young people from the countryside move to Metro Manila to become slaves of the spa trade, or cheap entertainment hubs --- after all there’s not much promise in the underdeveloped agricultural industry that remains technologically backward.
Many of those who have had the opportunity for education in the provincial capitals and cities, jobless Nurses included, have now joined the ranks of call agents in the so-called sunshine industry.
Inherently rich in natural resources of land and sea, and blessed with a talent pool of God-fearing, fun-loving, gentle-smiling people, the Philippines of the 80’s was positioned to be Asia’s next tiger economy.
It didn’t happen. Not then, not now.
In the hands of the new president today rests our renewed sense of Hope. His battlecry (Walang Mahirap Kung Walang Corrupt”) to eradicate corruption and alleviate poverty is both courageous and compelling.
We urge those around him to coalesce for the Common Good Cause, and guide him to distinguish from the personal agendas and the business motivations of the family oligarchies who supported his campaign.
We urge the stars led by his sister and celebrity talk show queen Kris Aquino to help install a culture of Good Governance and work together the way any constellation of genuine stars do.
This is the only route for his presidency to succeed. The only way for his parents’ Legacy to live on. And perhaps the only path for my Philippines to shine once again.
He is the only son of Benigno ‘Ninoy’ Aquino, an opposition stalwart who had been assassinated in 1983 by lone gunman Rogelio Galman, suspected to have been hired by the so-called tyrant Ferdinand Marcos, and/or his CIA cohorts.
Noynoy’s mother the former President Corazon ‘Cory’ Aquino captured Filipino hearts when she led the country to a civil disobedience that evolved into a People Power Revolution eventually toppling, by no violent means, the 20-year Marcos rule.
After three more presidents since the 1986 EDSA Revolution, my country today is in a condition nowhere better than it had been some 25 years ago. A culture of Corruption had widened the gap between the hardworking Filipinos and the ever-rising oligarchies and political dynasties.
The very skilled among us, professionals included, trek to foreign lands for greener pastures, while our Local Governments here sell Chocolate Hills minerals, Boracay island parcels, rich virgin timber and of late, entire islands and islets in Palawan to foreign principals. All in the name of foreign investments, MNCs are lured to locate in my country tax-free and duty-exempt.
Our Legislative Houses are divided by the intramurals of a multi-party system and alternately, by indecisions leaning on next-of-kin favors. Those in power, their friends and allies, and friends of the allies are above the law to the extent that small drug and gambling operators are raided and captured, but NEVER their lords.
Our Government’s only profit centers ---- its Internal Revenue and Customs Bureau--- are two agencies brimming with notoriety and dishonesty. Because of this, big and small businesses, legitimate or otherwise, are stirred to cheat on their declarations, or bribe their way out of value-added taxes. And rather than feed on the corrupt Government officers’ avarice, businesses work their way around the legalities and simply pass the tax burden to the poor citizenry. What’s more unfortunate is that Legislation seems to be backing up this whole system. None of the previous Administrations is able to enforce the rightful intentions of the law.
Our Military secretly sells government arms and ammunitions to our Muslim brothers in Mindanao. A couple of recent insurgencies led by now Senator Antonio ‘Sonny’ Trillanes IV called attention to this but that was all. Political dynasties and wealthy scions of trade and industry in Mindanao continue to be protected, inspite of the recent mass murders of journalists and an opposing political clan.
Our country, once the top rice exporter of Asia-Pacific, no longer produces enough rice for its 90 million people; it has to import its own staple from the same neighbors it used to supply to in just the recent past.
Unable to produce anything on its own, the Philippines imports everything it needs, from branded cars and industrial machineries to rich countries’ surplus garments and excess junk.
More and more Filipinos live, work in and migrate to foreign lands. Our women marry Japs, Arab princes and aging GIs, sometimes for the green card, often for the greener pastures.
More and more young people from the countryside move to Metro Manila to become slaves of the spa trade, or cheap entertainment hubs --- after all there’s not much promise in the underdeveloped agricultural industry that remains technologically backward.
Many of those who have had the opportunity for education in the provincial capitals and cities, jobless Nurses included, have now joined the ranks of call agents in the so-called sunshine industry.
Inherently rich in natural resources of land and sea, and blessed with a talent pool of God-fearing, fun-loving, gentle-smiling people, the Philippines of the 80’s was positioned to be Asia’s next tiger economy.
It didn’t happen. Not then, not now.
In the hands of the new president today rests our renewed sense of Hope. His battlecry (Walang Mahirap Kung Walang Corrupt”) to eradicate corruption and alleviate poverty is both courageous and compelling.
We urge those around him to coalesce for the Common Good Cause, and guide him to distinguish from the personal agendas and the business motivations of the family oligarchies who supported his campaign.
We urge the stars led by his sister and celebrity talk show queen Kris Aquino to help install a culture of Good Governance and work together the way any constellation of genuine stars do.
This is the only route for his presidency to succeed. The only way for his parents’ Legacy to live on. And perhaps the only path for my Philippines to shine once again.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
A Horizon Calm
(I.)
above a sea of clouds
an endless space of hovering light,
heaps of White
move softly about as the Blue divan lay still.
a soft divide of faint Yellow and silky Orange
shuffle upward yielding to Velvet hues.
in the distant horizon,
a Pink beacon permeates
gaining intensity as we glide.
(II).
across the ocean below
fields of fiery Red trees alight Autumn in a continent
while realms of verdant Greens hover Spring in another.
Father Time suspended while we sphere Mother Earth.
Life above and below in a constant roll
People of all races,
Blacks and Whites,
Browns and Blondes,
Converge
As one
once Horizons obscure.
(III).
The miracle of colors pass me by
Till the Light slowly fades to reveal its First Star.
And then...
there were many more.
The Horizon Calm cedes into Infinity.
(Black in Perpetuity)
Where Nothing is Everything.
@Pat Perez airborne Nov 2007& Sept 2009 /June 2010
above a sea of clouds
an endless space of hovering light,
heaps of White
move softly about as the Blue divan lay still.
a soft divide of faint Yellow and silky Orange
shuffle upward yielding to Velvet hues.
in the distant horizon,
a Pink beacon permeates
gaining intensity as we glide.
(II).
across the ocean below
fields of fiery Red trees alight Autumn in a continent
while realms of verdant Greens hover Spring in another.
Father Time suspended while we sphere Mother Earth.
Life above and below in a constant roll
People of all races,
Blacks and Whites,
Browns and Blondes,
Converge
As one
once Horizons obscure.
(III).
The miracle of colors pass me by
Till the Light slowly fades to reveal its First Star.
And then...
there were many more.
The Horizon Calm cedes into Infinity.
(Black in Perpetuity)
Where Nothing is Everything.
@Pat Perez airborne Nov 2007& Sept 2009 /June 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Beyond the Summer Shores
the day moves refreshingly slow
dissipating for good my urban woes
as the tree branches romantically arch
shading my high-ceiling cabana.
Sea and sky meet in an effervescent horizon
creating varied hues of deep blues,
as my thoughts wander off beyond the shores
bringing me farther out to stray between voluminous islands
and taking me deeper down to the ocean of Timelessness
but in my heart...
the Dream is no closer than the waves are to the sea.
Will I die with it?
As I have lived for it?
dissipating for good my urban woes
as the tree branches romantically arch
shading my high-ceiling cabana.
Sea and sky meet in an effervescent horizon
creating varied hues of deep blues,
as my thoughts wander off beyond the shores
bringing me farther out to stray between voluminous islands
and taking me deeper down to the ocean of Timelessness
but in my heart...
the Dream is no closer than the waves are to the sea.
Will I die with it?
As I have lived for it?
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Baby Magic
The unexpected drizzle on a humid summer evening must have buffed up its magic on me. Feeling stressed out on the job and running low on self-esteem after a series of rejections, I fought back by circling the mood. Gone out to meet up with a younger uncle fresh from the USA, who I hadn’t seen in decades.
Minutes later, and for the first time ever, I held my seven-month old cousin, frail and fair, the youngest in our small clan of half-brothers and half-sisters. Carlos Rodrigo or C-Rod is the namesake of my Uncle Carlos and Grandpa Rodrigo. A Sea Captain who once lived the sailor’s life, Grandpa had “a girl in every port”.
C-Rod's tiny hands traced the wrinkles around my eyes while I recollected my faintest memories about my Grandpa. Next, he dangled his head to look up at the restaurant’s decorative lamps hanging ornately from the ceiling. Lost in my own thoughts while enjoying the moment, I had to be reminded by my Beloved to watch the small of his back, as he playfully hang loose in my arms.
Fifty years apart we are, I'd probably be at my weakest when he enters varsity.
Worlds apart we will be. I'd be stuck to my pen when he tinkers with the nextgen ipad.
His life just as yet beginning. But so is mine, on a second wave.
Miracles do come in small packages. That very moment with a baby boy in my arms was enough to turn my mood around. No longer did I feel inadequate about missing some other opportunities.
No longer did I mind being depended on.
Minutes later, and for the first time ever, I held my seven-month old cousin, frail and fair, the youngest in our small clan of half-brothers and half-sisters. Carlos Rodrigo or C-Rod is the namesake of my Uncle Carlos and Grandpa Rodrigo. A Sea Captain who once lived the sailor’s life, Grandpa had “a girl in every port”.
C-Rod's tiny hands traced the wrinkles around my eyes while I recollected my faintest memories about my Grandpa. Next, he dangled his head to look up at the restaurant’s decorative lamps hanging ornately from the ceiling. Lost in my own thoughts while enjoying the moment, I had to be reminded by my Beloved to watch the small of his back, as he playfully hang loose in my arms.
Fifty years apart we are, I'd probably be at my weakest when he enters varsity.
Worlds apart we will be. I'd be stuck to my pen when he tinkers with the nextgen ipad.
His life just as yet beginning. But so is mine, on a second wave.
Miracles do come in small packages. That very moment with a baby boy in my arms was enough to turn my mood around. No longer did I feel inadequate about missing some other opportunities.
No longer did I mind being depended on.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
At First Light
In the still of the night
half-hour to the crack of dawn
blameless birds chirp under the half-moon
while a careless breeze whiff down the trees.
Amid the city of glass and class
a sky softly fielding hues of blue
yearning for the breath of Earth
longing as my soul for the radiance of the First Light.
what troubles past the other day
now clothed behind the new day.
half-hour to the crack of dawn
blameless birds chirp under the half-moon
while a careless breeze whiff down the trees.
Amid the city of glass and class
a sky softly fielding hues of blue
yearning for the breath of Earth
longing as my soul for the radiance of the First Light.
what troubles past the other day
now clothed behind the new day.
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