Pages

Monday, April 20, 2015

Reading for Litt1: OUT

OUT

MY COUSIN JESSIE TOLD ME THIS MORNING OVER THE PHONE WHEN I WAS DRAFTING MY SYLLABUS THAT HE HAS COME OUT TO HIS FAMILY A WEEK AGO. HE CONFESSED THAT HE’S NOW FEELING KIND OF NAKED HAVING THEM KNOW HIS LITTLE DARK SECRET, BUT IT SURE FEELS A LOT LIGHTER. I SAID IT MUST BE THE FREEDOM. HE SAID HE DOESN’T KNOW. BUT IT’S WEIRD THAT MY DAD HAS BEEN TALKING TO HIM UNUSUALLY FREQUENTLY LATELY ASKING HIM HOW HE’S DOING AND STUFF. FROM THE LOOK OF IT, JESSIE IS PERFECTLY FINE. IT’S NOT AS IF HE’S GONNA BE A MOTHER SOON, OR SOMETHING. I KNOW HIM FROM HEAD TO TOE. HE’S LIKE MY LITTLE BROTHER, THE MINIATURE VERSION OF MYSELF. I DON’T NEED TO GO THERE TO KNOW HE’S FINE. HIS BODY'S IN TOP SHAPE; HIS WIT, UNSCATHED. AND HE’S RICH AND GORGEOUS, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE WRONG?

MEANWHILE, I KNOW MY PARENTS ARE COOKING SOMETHING UP. BUT I TRUST UNCLE RON ABOUT THIS MATTER. HE’S A DOCTOR. NOT LIKE MY FATHER ISN’T, BUT AT LEAST HE’S NOT AN OBSTETRICIAN. HE IS A CARDIOLOGIST. IT MAKES A WHOLE LOT OF DIFFERENCE WHEN YOU ARE EXPOSED DOWN THERE; YOU BECOME BIASED, OR SO I CONCLUDED. BUT AUNT CECILIA, JUST LIKE MY MOTHER, SPENDS A LOT MORE TIME IN THE CHURCH AND ADOPTED COMMUNITIES THAN AT HOME. THEY SHARE COMMON LOGIC, AND SOMETIMES, THE LACK OF IT. ONE TIME, I HEARD IN THEIR PRAYER MEETING HELD AT HOME THAT THEY WERE OFFERING PRAYERS FOR PARENTS WHOSE CHILDREN HAVE GONE ASTRAY FROM THE RIGHT PATH—THOSE WHOSE KIDS ARE TEENAGE MOTHERS, DRUG ADDICTS AND MEMBERS OF VIOLENT FRATERNITIES, CRIMINALS, AND GAYS. HALLELUJAH.

I REMEMBER WHEN I CAME OUT TO MY PARENTS MYSELF THREE YEARS AGO. IT CAME QUITE A SHOCK, BUT THEY DIDN’T DISOWN ME. WELL, ALMOST, BUT THANK GOD THEY DIDN’T. OF COURSE, IT’S INEVITABLE THAT THEY WERE UNSETTLED BY IT AT FIRST, BUT THEY ADJUSTED. THEY INTRODUCED ME TO THEIR COLLEAGUES’ DAUGHTERS, ALL BEAUTIFUL AND WELL-BRED, TO HOPEFULLY CHANGE MY DECISION, AS THOUGH I’D TRANSFORM MY ENTIRETY FOR A GIRL I HARDLY KNEW. I FELT LIKE ROYALTY HOLDING A BALL JUST SO I CAN FIND THE PRINCESS OF MY DREAMS. A PRINCE WHOSE PARENTS HAVE BECOME PIMPS. I’VE JOKED THEM ABOUT IT TO GIVE THEM A SUBTLE HINT BUT THEY JUST ANSWERED WITH SOUR FACES.

EVEN MY BROTHERS GOT INVOLVED IN THE SCHEME. THEY BROUGHT ME TO CABARETS AND HIGH-END BARS ALONG QUEZON AVENUE WHERE LADIES STRUT BARELY CLAD IN LACE AND LEATHER LIKE THE CAST OF MOULIN ROUGE IN THE OPENING NUMBER. THEY ENJOY THIS KIND OF FUN. I DON’T. MY BROTHERS ARE HIGHLY EDUCATED; THEY’RE NOT PIGS; THEY JUST HAVE A HIGHER LEVEL OF TESTOSTERONE. WE ACT THE SAME, DRESS THE SAME—WE ARE THE SAME. NO ONE CAN TELL ME APART FROM THE STRAIGHT GUYS IN THE METRO. THE ONLY DIFFERENCE IS THAT, I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO WOMEN. I’M PRETTY SURE THEY UNDERSTAND THAT. THEY KNOW ME. THEY RESPECT THAT ABOUT ME. BUT THEY SAID THEY JUST FEAR FOR ME. THEY CONFESSED THEY HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT PEOPLE STONING ME TO DEATH BECAUSE I WAS OUT OF THE NORM. THEY FEARED WHAT RELATIVES WOULD THINK. THEY FEARED WHAT THEY’D SAY. BUT I TOLD THEM I DON’T NEED TO EXPLAIN TO ANYONE BECAUSE I DON’T OWE ANYONE ANYTHING. THEY NODDED. BUT THEY KNEW LIKE I KNEW THAT WHAT I WAS IN WASN’T AN EASY SITUATION.

ONE TIME, MOM KNOCKED ON MY DOOR AND SAID SHE WANTED TO TALK TO ME BEFORE GOING TO SANTUARIO SAN ANTONIO. SHE WAS DRESSED IN WHITE COMPLETE WITH A VEIL, WITH HER SILVER ROSARY ENTANGLED IN HER FRAGILE FINGERS. THAT MORNING, SHE ALMOST LOOKED LIKE SHE HAD A HALO.

“R, THAT’S A VERY BEAUTIFUL SHIRT YOU HAVE ON. IS THAT THE ONE JESSIE GAVE YOU LAST CHRISTMAS?” SAID MOM AS SHE SAT ON MY BED.

“THANKS MOM... CHRISTIAN GAVE THIS TO ME LAST SATURDAY. HE BOUGHT THIS IN SEOUL.” GOD, I SLIPPED.

SILENCE.

“SO, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? I’M ABOUT TO GO TO CHURCH, I CAN DROP YOU OFF IF IT’S ON THE WAY.”

“I’M GOING TO ROCKWELL MOM, I’M MEETING UP WITH A FRIEND TODAY. BUT HE’S GONNA FETCH ME IN ABOUT TEN MINUTES.” I WAS TYING MY SHOES AND PUTTING ON MY FAVORITE PERFUME.

“DO YOU MIND TELLING ME WHO IT IS THIS TIME?” I KNEW WHAT MOM WAS DRIVING AT. AND I KNEW IT WOULD LEAD TO SOMETHING NOT VERY NICE.

“AS THOUGH I GO OUT WITH A LOT OF PEOPLE, MOM.” I ANSWERED WITH A LOW VOICE.

SILENCE.

SHE SIGHED. I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT SHE UTTERED BUT IT SOUNDED LATIN, AS THOUGH BLAMING HIGHER POWERS BECAUSE I WAS GOING ON A DATE.

“WITH CHRISTIAN... WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO REALIZE THAT WHAT YOU’RE DOING IS WRONG IN THE EYES OF GOD?”

“MOM, WE ARE NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG. WE’RE JUST GONNA HANG OUT.”

“REINHARDT NAKPIL SANDEZ, I’M TELLING YOU NOW, YOU BETTER END THAT THING OR ELSE.” SUDDENLY SHE WAS SPEAKING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS WHILE I KEPT MY VOICE PROPERLY LOW.

“I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME, MOM. I’M NOT BRINGING HIM HERE, AM I? I DON’T EVEN LET HIM IN WHEN HE FETCHES ME, AND THAT KIND OF EMBARRASSES ME. HIS MOM IS NICE TO ME, SHE EVEN COOKS US DINNER.” I DIDN’T MEAN TO MAKE MOM’S DAY A MESS. IT WAS JUST THAT SHE WAS BECOMING SO UNFAIR. SHE COULDN’T UNDERSTAND THAT THE KIND OF RELATIONSHIP CHRISTIAN AND I HAVE IS NOT PURELY SEXUAL. SHE EVEN THOUGHT CHRISTIAN WAS LETTING ME SPEND FOR EVERYTHING WHEN WE GO OUT, WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY UNTRUE. I’M NOT LIKE MADAM AURING OR SOMETHING, AND I SWEAR I COULD MAKE A LIVING OUT OF MY LOOKS IF I WANTED TO. I’M NOT DESPERATE.

“NOUVEAU RICHE,” SHE UTTERED QUIETLY. “IT IS NOT AN ISSUE OF OTHER PARENTS TOLERATING THE SINFULNESS OF THEIR CHILDREN. IT’S ABOUT YOU AND YOUR ABERRANT LIFESTYLE, REINHARDT.” SHE WALKED OUT OF MY ROOM HOLDING HER CHEST, A GESTURE SHE ALWAYS DOES EVEN IF SHE DOESN’T REALLY HAVE A HEART PROBLEM OR ASTHMA.

IT LEFT ME STARING AT THE WALL FOR SOME TIME WHEN CHRISTIAN BEEPED. I HURRIED OUT AND GOT IN THE CAR.

“HAD A MISUNDERSTANDING WITH YOUR MOM?” HE NOTICED MOM DRIVING HER CAR OUT OF THE HOUSE WEARING SUNGLASSES EVEN IF IT WASN’T PARTICULARLY A SUNNY DAY.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO. IT’S NOBODY’S FAULT.”

“WHY DON’T YOU MOVE TO MY PLACE? MAMÁ EXPRESSED YOU’RE WELCOME. I MENTIONED THAT YOU’VE BEEN HAVING PROBLEMS.”

I LOOKED AT HIM. HE SEEMED SERIOUS. “YOU KNOW IT’S NOT THAT EASY, CHRIS.”

“I DIDN’T SAY IT IS, BUT I DON’T WANT YOU LOOKING STRESSED. I JUST WANTED TO HELP.”

“TOO COMPLICATED. I DON’T THINK I CAN HANDLE THINGS LIKE THAT YET. I’M STILL DEPENDENT.”

“I CAN WORK THAT OUT. I’M SURE I CAN GET YOU TO FINISH MEDICINE LIKE YOUR DAD IF YOU WANT TO.” CHRISTIAN IS A JUNIOR EXECUTIVE IN THEIR FAMILY-OWNED CORPORATION. I HAD NO DOUBT THAT HE COULD, AND HE WAS QUITE SERIOUS ABOUT IT. BUT IT WAS NOT THAT SIMPLE. I WAS STUDYING AT LA SALLE, AND I WAS SPENDING A GREAT DEAL OF MONEY. IT WAS NOT REALLY WHAT I HAD IN MIND. I WANTED US TO BE ON EQUAL FOOTING.

“NOT THE BRIGHTEST IDEA.”

“OKAY.” CHRISTIAN LOOKED UP, AND SEEMED DISAPPOINTED FOR NOT TRUSTING HIM ABOUT MATTERS THAT SERIOUS JUST YET. BUT IT WASN’T THAT. REALLY.

SHORTLY AFTER THE CONVERSATION, CHRISTIAN AND I WERE ALREADY IN ROCKWELL. WE STROLLED AROUND THE MALL, WATCHED A MOVIE, AND THEN HE ASKED ME WHERE I WANTED TO EAT. I WAS CRAVING FOR SOMETHING ITALIAN. “WANNA TRY CIBO? MARGARITA FORES MIGHT BE THERE,” I EXCITEDLY SUGGESTED.
“HAVE YOU BEEN READING MAURICE ARCACHE ARTICLES AGAIN, NOUVEAU RICHE?” HE REPLIED WITH A TEASING GRIN THAT HID HIS CHINKY EYES, EXPOSING HIS PEARLY WHITES WITH SILVER BRACES.

I SMILED BACK. HE KNEW MY MOM WELL. HE SAID SHE WAS HIS TEACHER IN FOREIGN LANGUAGE BACK WHEN MOM WAS STILL WITH THE ACADEME. DESPITE THE THINGS MY MOM HAS BEEN SAYING ABOUT HIM AND HIS FAMILY, HE STILL CLAIMS THAT SHE WAS THE COOLEST TEACHER EVER BECAUSE OF HER SOPHISTICATED STYLE AND ELEGANCE IN LANGUAGE COMPARING MOM TO SOPHIA LOREN. HE ALSO LAUGHED AT THE FACT THAT HE WAS NOT ABLE TO PRONOUNCE THE FRENCH WORDS RIGHT BECAUSE OF HIS CHINESE ACCENT, NOT TO MENTION THAT HE WAS WEARING BRACES, WHICH HE SAID HE DIDN’T REALLY NEED. OUR CONVERSATION DURING THAT DINNER WAS SO MUCH FUN THAT WE BOTH FORGOT THE TIME.

WHEN WE WERE WALKING TO THE PARKING LOT, CHRISTIAN SAID HE WAS FEELING KIND OF WOOZY BECAUSE OF THE RED WINE WE HAD AT DINNER. HE SUGGESTED THAT I SPEND THE NIGHT AT HIS PLACE BECAUSE HE MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO DRIVE ME HOME. IT WAS NOT THE FIRST TIME, AND HIS MOM WAS FINE WITH IT.

WE ENTERED INTO HIS ROOM AND HE LAY FLAT ON THE BED. I SUGGESTED THAT HE TAKE A BATH TO FEEL BETTER. HE INSISTED THAT I TAKE A BATH WITH HIM, LIKE IT WAS THE FIRST TIME. “DO I HAVE A CHOICE?” I GRINNED. THAT FLIRTATIOUS BASTARD.

***
“WHERE DID YOU SLEEP LAST NIGHT?” SAID DAD. IT WAS NOT HIS USUAL VOICE. IT WAS LIKE THAT OF ZEUS’ WHEN MAD, AS THOUGH HE WAS GONNA THROW A THUNDERBOLT AT ME.

“AT CHRISTIAN’S, DAD. HE HELPED ME WITH THE STATISTICS PART OF MY THESIS. I CALLED UP MOM, SHE KNEW.” OF COURSE I HAD TO LIE. I’M A LITERATURE MAJOR. I READ LUPIN.

“I DON’T CARE IF YOU CALLED.” HE TOLD THE MAIDS TO GO TO THEIR QUARTERS. “DO YOU STILL HAVE SELF-RESPECT LEFT IN YOUR SYSTEM?” OH MY GOD. “IF YOU WON’T LISTEN TO US, YOU’D BETTER PACK UP AND LEAVE THIS HOUSE, YOUNG MAN. JUST BECAUSE YOU CONFESSED YOU’RE GAY, IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN DO ALL YOU WANT IN SPITE OF OUR EVIDENT DISAPPROVAL!”

MY MOM LED ME TO MY ROOM. HER EYES LOOKED LIKE SHE HAD BEEN CRYING ALL NIGHT. SHE CLOSED THE DOOR AND HUSHED MY DAD TO CALM DOWN BEFORE HE SAID SOMETHING REALLY, REALLY HURTFUL. I SAT ON MY BED AND CONTEMPLATED. MAYBE DAD HAD A POINT. MAYBE I SHOULD STOP BEING MYSELF, AND BE WHAT THEY WANTED ME TO BE. BESIDES, PARENTS KNOW WHAT’S BEST. THERE WERE A LOT OF GIRLS I KNEW WHO WERE VERY VOCAL ABOUT LIKING ME. IN FACT, ALMOST ALL MY FEMALE FRIENDS, WHEN I THOUGHT ABOUT IT, WERE JUST A BUNCH OF PHONIES WHO WANTED TO GET INTO MY PANTS. WHAT IF I DID IT FOR THEIR SAKE, SO THAT ALL ARE HAPPY?

BUT I COULDN’T POSSIBLY DO THAT TO CHRISTIAN. I LOVE HIM. BESIDES, IT’S NOT ME TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH WOMEN. I MEAN, SEX COULD BE GOOD, BUT IT’S NOT FLEXIBLE—I COULD NOT CHOOSE A ROLE; IT’S FIXED. IT’D BE A BORE, CHRISTIAN AND I ARE HAVING SO MUCH FUN AS IT IS. BESIDES, WHY WOULD I CHOOSE BEING NORMAL OVER BEING HAPPY? WHAT IS NORMAL NOWADAYS ANYWAY?

WHEN I WENT OUT OF MY ROOM, MOM AND DAD WERE TALKING. THEY INVITED ME TO SIT WITH THEM TO DISCUSS THE MATTER.

“R, CAN’T YOU REALLY CHANGE YOUR MIND?” MOM BEGAN.

“SORRY. I SHOULD HAVE COME HOME LAST NIGHT. I KNOW IT DIDN’T LOOK GOOD.”

“IT’S NOT THAT. I’M TALKING ABOUT THE LIFE YOU ARE LIVING,” MOM SAID.

DAD WAS IN DEEP SILENCE. I TURNED TOWARD HIM.

“DAD, I UNDERSTAND YOUR POINT. I’M YOUR SON, AND I AM BOUND TO FOLLOW HOUSE RULES. I WILL SEE TO IT THAT I COME HOME HOWEVER LATE AND HOWEVER IMPORTANT THE MATTER I’M ATTENDING TO IS. AND, I WILL ALSO LIMIT MY GOING OUT LATE, IF THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT. BUT CHRISTIAN AND I…”

“YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, REINHARDT, WE ARE A CONSERVATIVE FAMILY. YOU MUST ACT ACCORDINGLY. YOU MUST PROTECT YOUR NAME, OUR NAME, NO MATTER WHAT. PEOPLE RESPECT US THAT WAY.”

“AND R, MY SON, IT’S NOT WHAT GOD WANTS YOU TO BE,” MOM SAID WHILE HOLDING HER CHEST AGAIN, BUT I DIDN’T THINK SHE WAS FAKING IT THIS TIME. IT WAS DIFFERENT.

“MOM, DAD, I WANT TO OBEY YOU. I WANT TO PLEASE YOU, AND BE A GOOD SON LIKE I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN. BUT THIS TIME, IT’S ABOUT CHANGING MY ENTIRE LIFE, CHANGING MY ENTIRE IDENTITY. I DIDN’T CHOOSE TO BE LIKE THIS, BUT I ALREADY AM. AND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE, I JUST WISH TO BE HAPPY.”

MY DAD CLOSED HIS EYES. I HAD NEVER SEEN HIM CRY BEFORE, AND IT WAS DIFFICULT FOR ME TO SEE HIM IN THAT SITUATION. HE HAS ALWAYS APPEARED STRONG, PRIM, COMPOSED. EVEN WHEN MY GRANDMOTHER DIED, HE DIDN’T CRY. PERHAPS THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME HE REALLY DID CRY. HE MUST HAVE LIVED BY THE SAYING BOYS DON’T CRY. HE MUSTERED ALL THE BROKEN PIECES OF HIMSELF AND FINALLY SPOKE. “IF YOU CHOOSE TO BE HAPPY AGAINST OUR HOPES, YOUR MOM’S AND MINE, YOU’D BETTER GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE.”

I HESITATINGLY TURNED TOWARD MY ROOM. MY MOM WAS CRYING. DAD, AFTER WIPING HIS TEARS WITH HIS PALM, STAYED SILENT STARING AT THE WALL. I WANTED TO TURN BACK. I WANTED TO EXPLAIN UNTIL THEY UNDERSTOOD ME. UNTIL THEY LISTENED TO ME. UNTIL THEY GOT WHAT I WAS SAYING. BUT WORDS FAILED ME. WHEN MY HEAD BOWED, I KNEW. I HAD TO LEAVE.

I PACKED MY CLOTHES, AND LEFT HOME THAT DAY. I WENT TO CHRISTIAN’S HOUSE. I KNOCKED ON THE DOOR. HIS MOM SAW ME HOLDING MY LUGGAGE WITH TEARS FALLING DOWN MY CHEEKS. SHE LET ME IN WITH ALMOST INSTANTLY REDDISH EYES. SHE HUGGED ME. SHE MUST HAVE HAD THE FEELING THAT IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN. SHE HUGGED ME REALLY TIGHT AND CRIED EVEN MORE, LIGHTLY UTTERING INAUDIBLE WORDS. I FELT HER TEARS RUN DOWN MY SHOULDER. I DIDN’T EXPECT IT. IT WAS ONLY THEN THAT I LEARNED CHRISTIAN’S MOM COULDN’T SPEAK. SHE CAN HEAR, BUT SHE WAS CONGENITALLY INCAPABLE OF SPEECH.

SILENCE REMINDED ME OF MOM. EVERYBODY WAS SO QUIET THAT DAY. I HAD NEVER APPRECIATED THE ABSENCE OF WORDS UNTIL THEN. CHRISTIAN DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING EITHER. HE JUST HELD MY HAND, AND CARRIED MY BAGS TO HIS ROOM.

ONE MORNING DURING BREAKFAST, MY MOM CALLED. IT WAS THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST A YEAR. I CHANGED MY MOBILE NUMBER, AND IT WAS STRANGE THAT SHE KNEW WHERE TO CALL ME. SHE ASKED ME HOW I WAS DOING. I SAID I WAS FINE. I TOLD HER CHRISTIAN’S FAMILY WAS TAKING CARE OF ME PRETTY WELL. AND THERE WAS, AGAIN, SILENCE. SHE SAID THEY WANT TO SEE ME. “ALL RIGHT MOM, GRADUATION DAY, DINNER,” I REPLIED.

AFTER THE INCIDENT WHEN MY DAD CIVILLY KICKED MY BUTT OUT OF THE HOUSE, I HAVEN’T BEEN TALKING TO HIM ANYMORE ASIDE FROM THE GENERIC, ALMOST ROBOTIC MORNING GREETINGS. MY MOM, ON THE OTHER HAND, HAS COME TO TERMS WITH MY RELATIONSHIP WITH CHRISTIAN. SHE KNOWS SHE MISJUDGED HIM, AND SHE’S APOLOGETIC ABOUT IT, IMPLICITLY. THE FACT THAT NOT ALL SAME-SEX RELATIONSHIPS ARE GOING TO END UP LIKE OURS STANDS FIRMLY, HOWEVER. RELATIONSHIPS OF THIS NATURE STILL FACE AWFUL ODDS EVEN TODAY. AND IT GOT ME THINKING ABOUT JESSIE WHO IS JUST ABOUT TO LIVE THIS COMPLICATED LIFE.

JESSIE CALLED ME UP AGAIN PAST DINNERTIME; I WAS ABOUT TO TAKE A BATH. HE SOUNDED REALLY EXCITED. I ASKED WHY. HE TOLD ME HE WAS MEETING UP WITH THIS FRIEND AT HARD ROCK CAFÉ TONIGHT. HE MET HIM ON FRIENDSTER, AN ONLINE DATING SITE, AND THEY’D BEEN SENDING MESSAGES TO ONE ANOTHER FOR A MONTH NOW. I SAID BE SAFE. HE SAID IT’S NOTHING LIKE THAT. I ASKED HIM IF HE KNOWS WHAT TO EXPECT. HE SAID HE IS NOT EXPECTING ANYTHING; IT’S JUST A DATE. I ASKED HIM IF HE WOULD PAY. HE ANSWERED NO, ONLY FOR HIS FOOD IF HIS DATE WON’T OFFER TO PAY FOR HIS. I ASKED HIM IF HE’S READY. HE SAID YES. I SAID DON’T FALL IN LOVE. HE ANSWERED HE KNOWS BETTER THAN THAT. I SAID VERY WELL. I ASKED IF IT WAS HIS FIRST TIME. HE SAID YES. AND I SAID GOOD LUCK, YOU’RE NO GREEN APPLE ANYMORE, I’M SURPRISED. HE SAID OF COURSE, WITH DAD'S HELP. I DIDN'T KNOW IF I HEARD RIGHT SO I ASKED FURTHER. HE TOLD ME EVERYTHING: JESSIE SAID DAD HAS BEEN TALKING TO HIM QUITE A LOT LATELY. HE WANTS TO HELP JESSIE GET THROUGH ALL THE TROUBLES THAT I HAVE UNDERGONE ALONE BECAUSE HE SEES IN JESSIE HIS SON THAT HE WASN’T ABLE TO UNDERSTAND. HE ALSO MENTIONED HOW DAD RELATED HIS REGRETS AND SORRY FEELINGS ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN US; AND HOW HE’S LONGING TO BRING BACK THE TIMES WHEN EVERYTHING’S FINE BETWEEN HIM AND HIS YOUNGEST SON. JESSIE KEPT ON EXPLAINING, ELABORATING. I WAS SPEECHLESS; DUMBFOUNDED STARING AT MY DIRTY CLOSET. ARE YOU STILL THERE, HE SAID. MY HANDS WERE SHAKING, ALMOST NUMBED, COVERING THE MOUTHPIECE OF THE PHONE. I CLEARED MY THROAT STRUGGLING FOR A RESPONSE. I HAVE TO BE GETTING READY NOW HE SAID. OKAY, I FINALLY REPLIED. BEFORE I WAS ABLE TO SAY GOODBYE AND HUNG UP THE PHONE, MY TEARS BEGAN TO FALL.



Friday, March 6, 2015

The Emergence of Gay Literature as Genre in the Philippines (A Rough Draft of a Supposed Thought Paper in Graduate School)

The emergence of gay literature as a distinct genre in the Philippines is unstoppable. Like Goethe once said that there is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come. As Danton Remoto echoes National Artist Jose Garcia Villa said, “Have come, we’re here.” Brandishing the now popular Ladlad anthologies and many other books, waving the words of the gay artists like flames in the wind, the flourishing of gay literature in the Philippines is underway towards the mainstream.

But what is gay literature?

According to J. Neil Garcia (1997), “Gay literature may be defined both as a self-conscious as well was unconscious production.” He continued to explain what gay literature is about, saying that, “Writing about gayness by gays who know they are gay, as well as any writings that can be read in a gay way may qualify as forms of gay literature.” Who would have thought that National Artists Jose Garcia Villa and Edith Tiempo, as well as Poet Extraordinaire Ophelia Dimalanta wrote gay literature? But as Dimalanta would always say in her class, there is no only one way of reading a poem, an in this case, I hope I wasn’t over-reading or misreading her lines, or else I’d get a failing grade.

We can therefore safely say that gay poetry are those that are (1) produced by gay writers, inevitably, because they are written in the consciousness and point of view of a gay person whose experiences are unavoidably coming from a gay perspective; (2) those pieces of poetry that talks about a homosexual experience; and even (3) those poems that are written by heterosexual poets but can be read in a gay way.

In light of the first category, there are many gay poems that we can’t see the gayness of the poet revealed in the poems. While this is not because they do not want to be read in a gay context or they don’t want to make that political decision of exposing themselves as gay, but because they are already in the “pangatlong tendensiya ng bakla sa panulaan ng bakla” (Evasco, 2003). Example of this is J. Neil Garcia’s poem entitled Poem in which he did not reveal his gay self but maintains that it is a gay poem because it can not but be coming from the perspective of a gay poet. This poem is a social commentary on poverty:

The train that stops the traffic
did not stop for the boy at play
outside his home. Today his home

is torn limb for limb by the government
that let him die in the meanness
of his childhood: accidents happen.

No ball however flew streetwise.
No small hands swiftly flung caught death mid-air
by the jaw. He was skipping but a foot away

from their lean-to. The train barely licked
the door as it blew his body and soul away
so gently, he did not even think

it was anymore painful than his hunger
or the sharply pointed dreams that came from it.
It even looked beautiful:

its footprints smoothest, straightest tracks.
Now the homes that flanked the railroads
are piles of jagged bones. The boy’s family

has buried him in memory, in haste.
They all have other things to live with,
like the city’s latest show of might.

Traffic stops. The train comes through.
The poor rebuild, endure.

Another is a poem, still by Garcia in which he included in his “Poems of a Religious Sort” entitled Nun. This, to my understanding, is a poem that talks about human nature where even though a woman chooses to be a nun, she still has human yearnings and silent needs. It is a description of the whiteness and supposed purity of a nun, which she well proves in the last for stanza. Take note of the role of irony in this poem:

All my sexual days
I am a virgin
Eunuched by habit,
Not by choice.
I wear the cloth
Of my lovelessness
Whitely, they say
With a cross
Hanging from my neck
Nike a noose,
But it is not this
That kills. Strapped
To my waist
Is a rope
That could. Its girth
Is a halo of thread
Binding up the mess
Of me:
Austere ribbon,
It keeps my pious shift
In place, my tummy
Hour-glass slim,
And time is cruelest
To a woman
At vespers.
Strangled at the crux
Where her womb lies
Entombed,
She is handmaid
To no man.
At the hour
Of twilight,
She hymns,
And hymns alone.

The second category of gay poetry is that which talks about a homosexual experience. While it is possible that a poem like this is written by a heterosexual person, I will include in this essay a gay poem written by a gay poet because more often than not, according to Evasco, “mas mapangahas, mapaglantad, at mapagsiwalat.”

Here is a poem by Nicolas Pichay which talks about oral sex. Evasco furthered that, “Ang naturang pag-adka ay isang paraang mapagpalaya at paghulagpos sa itinakdang limitasyon ng kasarian. Ang mga tula ring gaya nito ang nagtutulak sa makatang bakla na magkaroon ng espasyo sa diskurso ng paglikha.” This is a way by which gay writers be put outside of the box, proving that writing about these things should not be ashamed about because being ashamed of the truth is being shamed of one’s self. This poem is entitled This Is A Delicate Matter, Sucking Cock:

This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
You might not like it right away.
Remember not to pounce it indiscriminately in the dark
Lest you gag with foot in your mouth.
Nevertheless, do not deprive yourself blind
To the call of truth in thyself
Nor accept as gospel truth society’s
Definition of what it is to be a man.
This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
You might not like it right away.

The mouth must be perfectly shaped
Incisors are not permitted to claw.
The larynx should also be open
So that everything may be taken all the way.
If by these, he still does not groan in pleasure
Look again, your bedmate may be a fish.
Go look for someone else
Our community is full of mermaids.
This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
You might not like it right away.

And there is no truth to the old wives’ tale
That a gentle man’s love is never ever repaid.
For how then that a poor shepherd such as I
Was able to find a matching slice of life
While walking along an unromantic river bank.
With a glance, he aroused the tip of my desire.
And after crossing swords without drawing blood,
We swore by the shimmer of the goddess moon.
This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
You might not like it right away.

By my leave I give you a word
A simple advice, do not take offense
The severe and mindless tirade
Of pontificating men “holier than thou.”
Because the true mettle of a man
Is not found in his color, intellect, orientation or looks
It is in the purity and sincerity
Of his dealings with other men.
This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
A fact that everyone must be made aware of,
No reason to hide in shame
Emerge from the dark, my friends!

The third category of gay poetry is those poems that are written by heterosexual poets but can be read in a gay way. There is quite a lot of this, since almost everything now can be read in the gay perspective. Since reading and writing both constitute to production of meanings, it is not surprising that when a gay person reads a poem in his point of view, another dimension of the writing comes out.

A classic example would be that very popular poem by Dr. Ophelia Dimalanta entitled A Kind Of Burning. A wary reader will ask right away why the lovers can’t meet but for that certain kind of burning? Perhaps, because, it is not meant to be. And what’s a more convenient way of interpreting it when it’s read by a gay person hiding in his closet? Yes, some incorporated reader’s response here and there, and if you look at it in a gay’s perspective, it’s can’t but be hailed as something true and honest in how the persona paints the situation, and how painful it would be to be trapped in that situation.

it is perhaps because
one way or the other
we keep this distance
closeness will tug us apart
in many directions
in absolute din
how we love the same
trivial pursuits and
insignificant gewgaws
spoken or inert
claw at the same straws
pore over the same jigsaws
trying to make heads or tails
you take the edges
i take the center
keeping fancy guard
loving beyond what is there
you sling at stars
i bedeck the weeds
straining in song or
profanities towards some
fabled meeting apart
from what dreams read
and suns dismantle
we have been all the hapless
lovers in this wayward world
in almost all kinds of ways
except we never really meet
but for this kind of burning.

I also picked out some pieces of interesting verses from National Artist Edith Tiempo that can be read in a gay perspective, in which a gay experience is well-described. In her Between-Living, she we all know that true love is almost unattainable in gay relationships because as they say, men are innately polygamous despite the sexual orientation. Sometimes, I am led to believe so, but I nevertheless hope that there will come a time when maturity and security will dawn upon them, us, and the ideal will be met:

When we love a wanderer,
We wait for footsteps
That may, or may not come:
First the hours, the days,
Then, the years. Then never.
Yet always we do know
Whereof we wait…

On the other hand, in the lines of her poem Belief, however illogical and incredible things are (frequently equated with a heterosexual male loving a gay male in spite of what he has or has not, and what he is and is not), this poem is a heartfelt statement of truth, not necessarily the truth but a truth believed:

Truth is the world believed:
Only what the eyes sees,
And the heart approves.

So where is gay poetry leading us?

Still according to Eugene Evasco, gay poetry has three phases. The first one is where the gay writers are writing poetry mainly to letting the world know that they appear and are present in literature. It’s a political decision to come out in the writings because they are already exposing themselves in spite of the patriarchy or the control of the mostly heterosexual male and those who share their machismo thinking. This first phase is largely characterized by aggressively graphic depiction of male to male sex as a vehicle of letting the world know who they are.

The second phase is where the gays are already made known in the scene and is now ready to actively go against the prevailing norm. This phase is often associated with the upholding of the ideals of those gays that they look up to, scrutinizing the social problems in the gay perspective, actively trashing the notion of males as the oppressors of the supposed weaker sexes, discriminating against the institutions that have gender insensitive policies, among many others. As Jun Cruz Reyes bluntly stated, “hindi na lamang titi ang pinoproblema ng makata,” on the contrary, they are already making active movements against those who manifest acts or even tendencies of looking down on them.

And in the third phase, as Evasco very well put it, “Nalulusaw naman ang kasarian sa ikatlo at huling tendensiya ng panulaan ng bakla…Hindi na maaaring matukoy ng mambabasa abf kasarian ng persona ng tula, maliban na lamang kung batid nito ang kasarian ng makata.” This goes to say, like how Neil Garcia talks about things around him without being known as a gay, that gays are not different from the heterosexual people around, thus eradicating the notion of the Other. In this phase, gays talk about history, academe, politics, agrarian reforms, government and other things without giving notice to the sexuality of whoever is saying it.

I would like to quote Zenaida Amador of the Philippine panorama who once said that, “It’s my hope that the time will come when the topic of homosexuality will be boring, irrelevant or unimportant. What is really important is to be creative helpful human beings, irrespective of whom you love.” This is an example of a very post-modern, post-colonial thinking. All that gay writers are working for and exerting all their efforts for is for this time to come that we all accept our differences at the same time, recognize our equality. This is supported by a certain Chong Ardivilla from the Manila Standard who said that, “Malate is only a tiny island and the ocean around it has yet to accept the reality that is gay.” He drove home his point by adding, “Our society still needs a lot of growing up to do.”

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Reading for Litt1: Father Neil

FATHER NEIL

Hindi inaasahan ni Father Neil na mahirap palang maging parish priest. Iilang buwan pa lang niya’y napagod na siya sa parang novenang routine na paulit-ulit lang, at sakal sa kanyang habitong pumupulupot sa kanyang katawan. Kaya pagkatapos ng huling misa, isinuot niya ang kanyang black Hard Rock Café na T-shirt, faded jeans at leather jacket. Pagkatapos piliin ang helmet na itim, napaisip uli siya kung aling big bike ang gagamitin, ang Ducati o ang Harley. Pinili niya ang Harley dahil mas babagay ito sa kanyang get-up, at humarurot na nga ang motor na parang walang bukas.

Nararamdaman niya ang hangin na parang pumipigil sa kanyang bilis papunta sa pinakamalapit na mall sa susunod na bayan. Sa daan, nakakita siya ng mga Hapon sa gilid ng kalsada na panay ang bow sa isa’t isa. Medyo natawa siya sa sarili niya habang naiimagine niya ang napakaconsistent na bobbing of heads. May kung anong naalala siya sa kanyang nakalipas.

Nang siya’y nakarating sa mall, dumiretso siya sa bar. Ang original plan ay manood ng sine, pero somehow, nagbago ang kanyang isip.

Chineck muna nito kung maraming tao. Kung may makakakilala kaya sa kanya. At kung safe ba ang lugar to let his guard down eventually, bago siya pumasok. May kamahalan sa bar pero iba ang ambience. Parang slice of urban living. Parang uptown Malate, ganun ang crowd niya.

Umupo si Neil sa harap ng bartender at umorder ng dry Martini. Nakayuko at hindi lumilingon. Naka-ilang shot din siya, habang pinakikinggan ang Downwind Collection na theme ng gabing yun. Sa kanyang kaliwa, sa bandang dulo ng bar, nahuli ng kanyang peripheral vision na may lalaking nakatingin sa kanya. Mukhang twenty-ish ito, maputi, hindi katangkaran pero parang gym-buffed. Gwapo’t kahawig ng bestfriend niyang si Warren. Tumingin si Neil para hulaan ang intention ng lalaki. Sustained ang eye contact for more or less five seconds, at saka nagkangitian. Lumapit ang lalaki sa kanya to strike a conversation, “It’s your first time to come here, right?” “What made you think so,” sagot ni Neil ng nakangiti dahil nagi-inglesan na sila, pero sa shot glass nakatingin. “For one, I must’ve met you before. I know all the beautiful people in this bar. And second, I really should know. I own this place. Reinhardt Sandez, by the way,” sabay ngiti at bukas ng kanyang palad. Tumingin si Neil sa lalaki at kinamayan ito, “Nice to meet you, bro… I’m…” mabilis pa ang reflexes niya kahit nakainom na. Tumingin kunyari ito sa cellphone. “Sorry, I have to be going. Nice place you have here,” sabi ni Neil sabay tayo. Tumango lang ang lalaki na parang appreciative pa, pero sa itsura niya’y parang rejected. “Wait, I didn’t catch your name,” sabi ng lalaki pero halfway through the door na si Neil.

Sumakay ito sa kanyang bike na humarurot uli na parang walang bukas. Naramdaman uli niya ang hangin na pumipigil sa kanyang bilis pabalik sa kumbento pero parang mas mabigat ngayon ang pakiramdam.
Kakaibang pagod ang kanyang naramdaman. Nagsasawa. Nasasakal.
***

Ang pamilya ni Father Neil ay may-ari ng hacienda sa Ilocandia. Parehong pulitiko ang kanyang mga magulang at parang doon narin mapupunta ang kanyang nag-iisang nakababatang kapatid na lalaki. Kaya tuloy may kung anong pag-aalangan ang mga tao sa pakikitungo nila sa kanya, isang bagay na hindi niya ginusto.

Habang siya’y nagsisilbing parish priest, siya rin ang principal ng parochial school. Lahat ng inuutos niya’y sinusunod, pronto. Hindi pa man siya nag-uutos ay sinusunod na siya.

Isang araw, isa sa mga teacher ang nagpaalam mag-absent para sunduin sa airport ang kanyang asawang galing Qatar kaya kinailangan niyang magtake-over sa English class nito ng dalawang araw.
Pagpasok niya sa classroom, pinaupo niya ang mga kilalang pilyo’t makulit na suki ng principal’s office sa harap gaya ng sistema sa exclusive Catholic school nila ni Warren noong elementary at high school. Pero hindi ito ang kanyang rason. Mas lively daw kasi ang klase pag nasa harap ang mga magugulo’t makukulit. Kaso, uncharacteristically behaved ang mga ito sa klase niya. Sa klase lang niya. Tahimik ang lahat pag siya na ang teacher, walang nahuhuli sa pagforward ng papel kapag quiz at wala ring nagtutuksuhan ng crush crush. Minsan nga’y nabibingi ito sa katahimikan at kaayusan ng lahat na kailangan pa niya ng astig na motivation para may magsalita at may magsimula ng kalokohan. Pero pag nagsimula na ang masayang aura ng klase, siya na itong nangunguna sa jokes na napaka animated, minsa’y green, pero laging tactful at tasteful. Tama lang sa kwela. Tama lang sa kalog. Tamang timpla, kumbaga, and then, balik sa discussion.

Sa pagtatapos ng pangalawang araw niyang nagtuturo, isinulat niya ang kanyang e-mail address sa white board at sinabihan ang kanyang mga estudyanteng feel free to send him questions about the topics covered kung mayroon man. Alam niyang wala, pero kung bakit parang umaasa siyang i-e-mail siya ng mga ito ay hindi nalang niya inisip noong panahon iyon.

Dumiretso ito sa kanyang opisina at ang lahat ay hinahanap-hanap niya agad. Sobrang tahimik sa kanyang opisina. Para uli siyang mabibingi. Inisip niyang kung alam lang ng Vatican ang kanyang mga hirap sa araw-araw sa parish, at sa kanyang damdamin, ay baka iconsider pa siyang ibeatify at gawing santo. Ako’y walang bahid dungis! Sakdal linis! Bulong nito sa sarili at tsaka napangiti hanggang ang ngiti ay natunaw sa kanyang pagmumuni-muni.

Sumagi rin sa isip niya ang nalalapit na paglipat nito sa kabisera pagkatapos ng kanyang turn sa parish na iyon. Mabilis ang takbo ng panahon. Pero para kay Neil, istasyon sa krus ang bawat araw.

***
“Forgive me father for I have sinned. Ito po ang aking unang kumpisal sa buwan na ito. Nagkumpisal po uli ako, father, noong magkakatapusan.”

“Tell me your sins.”

“Father, ikinumpisal ko po sa inyo last month na… na nagbate po ako habang inaamoy ang brief ng roommate ko sa dorm. Naulit po ito, father.”

“You committed the same sin after confession. You don’t seem sincere in your repentance.”

“Father… Para pong… Mahirap pong ipa… i-exp… Father, kahapon po, noong ginawa ko iyon, nahuli po niya ako… Natakot po ako baka bugbugin niya po ako at ibuko sa school. Pero… Nahihiya po ako sa sarili ko. Tapos lumapit siya sa kama ko at ibinaba ang pantalon niya. Sabi niya bakit daw po hindi yung suot niyang brief ang amuyin ko.”

“Hijo, what he said to you isn’t your fault.”

“Pero, father, sa mga panahong iyon, kakaiba po. Iba po ang feeling. Parang nababastusan po ako sa mga sinasabi niya noon pero parang… Iba. Father… Binijey ko po siya. Nakakahiya po. Noon ko lang po ginawa iyon.”

Hindi agad nakapagsalita ang pari. “Were you aware that you were committing a sin when you were doing the act?”

“First sem pa lang po, crush ko na siya. Alam ko pong kasalanan iyon dahil pareho kaming lalaki… Sabi sa religion class namin, kasalanan daw po ang magsex nang hindi kasal. Naguguluhan po ako. Kailangan po bang kasal din ang dalawang lalaki parang sa Canada bago sila pwedeng magsex? Siya po ang pumilit sa akin na gawin ko iyon sa kanya, gusto po niya iyon, kaya ginawa ko na rin po. Sino po ang may kasalanan? Wala naman pong parang naargabyado. Kung ako man po iyon dahil ako po ang pinilit, okay lang naman po sa akin iyon.”

Alam ni Neil ang dilemma ng bata. Inisip niyang kailangan nito ng counseling. Gusto niyang paliwanagan ito. Pero wala rin siyang nasabi. Alam na nito ang isasagot. Magquo-quote na ito sa biblia at sasabihin ang mga nagawa nitong kasalanan sa mata ng Diyos. Pero nagpaluwag lang ng lalamunan ang pari ng paubo. Pinilit umpisahan ang unang salitang sasabihin. Pero nagpatuloy ang bata sa pagpapaliwanag.

“Father, kahit na parang kasalanan, o kasalanan nga po iyon, noong mga panahon iyon, pakiramdam ko, kumpleto ako. Lagi po kasing parang may kulang sa buhay ko kahit nagsisimba ako, ginagawa ko lahat ng obligasyon ko sa bahay, paghiga ko po sa kama ko para matulog, parang may kulang. May puwang. Naramdaman ko po, habang naghahawakan kami ng katawan, parang buhay na buhay po ako. Iba po talaga ang pakiramdam. Masaya. Masarap. Sobra.”

Napaisip uli ito sa kanyang nakalipas. Noong first year college. Sa university gym. Sa loob ng locker room at dugout. Ilang beses din sa loob mismo ng seminaryo. Kahit sa sine lang sa Recto… Ang mga ulong tumatango sa dilim… Ang mga bibig na handa siyang paligayahin… Alam niyang kakaiba ang lakas na meron siya at napigilan niya iyon noon. Pero hindi lahat ng tao ay malakas. Oo, hindi lahat ng tao ay may ganung lakas. Muntik na siyang matukso noon pero sa isang buntong hininga, inisip niya si Warren, at nakayanan nitong iwasan ang ganoong pangyayari.

***
Nakaluhod ang pari sa first row ng University chapel at nagmemeditate. Maraming bagay bagay sa buhay niya ang bumusita sa kanyang isip. Mga bagay na yumanig sa kanyang paniniwala. Mga bagay na iniwan niya dahil sa kanyang pagpapari. Mga bagay na pinilit niyang isiping wala siyang ipinagsisisi.

“Neil!” sabi ng lalaki’t “Father,” sabi ng babae—pero sabay sila. Lumingon ang pari at narinig ang dalawang pamilyar na boses. Hindi niya suot noon ang kanyang eyeglesses. Lumapit pa siya. Nang makitang sina Warren at Lucy iyon. Binati niya agad ang mga ito. “Warren! Lucy… Adda kayo met ditoy? [Bakit kayo naparito?]” bati niya. “Daytoy, agpakasaren. [Eto, magpapakasal na],” sagot ni Warren.

Kaswal kung sagutin ni Warren si Neil. Palibhasa’y best friends sila mula pa noong elementary. Sa lalim ng pinagsamahan nila, walang problemang hindi nalagpasan ng magkaibigang ito. Contenders sila for valedictorian noong elementary sila. Kung sa talino lang naman, parang walang magpapatalo sa kanila, pero president sa lahat ng club at student organization si Neil noon, at nakaka-attend ito ng mga national workshops and conferences na hindi kayang i-shoulder ng school. Alam na ng lahat kung ano ang magiging resulta, pero sa kung anong dahilan, si Warren ang nagtop pagkatapos bisitahin nina Neil at ng mamá nito ang kanilang class adviser isang hapon. Dahil dito, 100% scholar si Warren kaya hindi siya pinalipat ng nanay nito sa public. Si Warren ang gumagawa ng assignment nila sa Math at Sciences, si Neil sa English at Filipino, ganito ang kanilang scheme all throughout high school. Noong college, dahil si Warren uli ang makakakuha ng 100% scholarship, parehong university uli sila nag-aral. Nag-eextend din ng financial help ang papá ni Neil kay Warren through the municipal scholarship program. Nagpatuloy ang masasayang araw ng dalawa sa college—kahit engineering si Warren at ecclesiastical naman si Neil, pilit pinagmamatch ang sched.

“Father Neil, iaask ka lang sana namen if you could officiate our wedding. Besides, best friend ka naman nitong si Warren ko, e. Please?” sabi nitong may pagpapakyut.

Natigil ang mga activity nina Warren at Neil noong sagutin ni Lucy si Warren na noo’y sa St. Scho naman nag-aaral. Paunti ng paunti ang bonding at hangouts ng magbest friend hanggang sa tuluyan na ngang mawala ito. Second year ay hindi na ito muling nagkita pa.

Medyo stunned si Neil nang maalala niya ang lahat ng ito. Pero sumagot din siya agad. “Ah, wen, siyempre, para ken ni bespren ah ket wen amin. [Ah, oo, kahit ano basta para kay bespren…ko.]” Ngumiti ang pari. Ngumiti ng medyo matamlay.

“Kasatnu garuden, umuna kami pay. Itext nak tu lattan. [Pa’no ‘yan, mauna na kami, Neil. Text mo nalang ako.]” sabi ni Warren sabay akbay kay Lucy habang papalabas ng chapel. Nang sasakay na sa kotse ang dalawa’y itinaas niya ang kanyang kamay parang tugunan ang buh-bye ni Lucy.

Ang saya ng dalawang iyon, naibulong niya sa sarili. Sana’y pagpalain sila ng Diyos.

Bumalik si Neil sa kanyang pagkakaluhod sa first row ng seats sa chapel. Lumamig ang buo niyang katawan. Habang nagflash ang parang slide show ng masasayang alaala nila ni Warren sa kanyang mga mata, unti-unti itong lumabo para magbigay daan sa butil-butil na luha na iniluwa ng kanyang mata.

***
Ilang taon din ang nakaraan ng matapos ng doctorate si Neil at naging bishop. Ang bilis ng kanyang usad papataas, bukod kasi sa nakuha niya ang highest honors sa graduate school ay sobrang taas din ang tingin sa kanya ng mga kasama nito sa kaparian.

Lahat ng bumibisita sa kanyang archdiocese ay humahalik sa kanyang kamay. Ang pangulo. Ang gobernador. Ang mga alkalde. Ang mga nirerespeto sa buong Ilocandia at sa buong Pilipinas… at ang mga iskolar, sacristan at varsity ng basketball team—mga iba’t ibang mukha ni Warren sa kanyang isipan.

Minsan, ang pakiramdam niya'y ang kamay na lamang niya ang may pakiramdam. Lahat na ng bahagi ng katawan niya, pati ang puso niya, ay manhid na't naghihintay na lang tuluyang manigas at mamatay.


Busy and stressed out? Take a break. Let's have coffee.

Monday, April 20, 2015

Reading for Litt1: OUT

OUT

MY COUSIN JESSIE TOLD ME THIS MORNING OVER THE PHONE WHEN I WAS DRAFTING MY SYLLABUS THAT HE HAS COME OUT TO HIS FAMILY A WEEK AGO. HE CONFESSED THAT HE’S NOW FEELING KIND OF NAKED HAVING THEM KNOW HIS LITTLE DARK SECRET, BUT IT SURE FEELS A LOT LIGHTER. I SAID IT MUST BE THE FREEDOM. HE SAID HE DOESN’T KNOW. BUT IT’S WEIRD THAT MY DAD HAS BEEN TALKING TO HIM UNUSUALLY FREQUENTLY LATELY ASKING HIM HOW HE’S DOING AND STUFF. FROM THE LOOK OF IT, JESSIE IS PERFECTLY FINE. IT’S NOT AS IF HE’S GONNA BE A MOTHER SOON, OR SOMETHING. I KNOW HIM FROM HEAD TO TOE. HE’S LIKE MY LITTLE BROTHER, THE MINIATURE VERSION OF MYSELF. I DON’T NEED TO GO THERE TO KNOW HE’S FINE. HIS BODY'S IN TOP SHAPE; HIS WIT, UNSCATHED. AND HE’S RICH AND GORGEOUS, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE WRONG?

MEANWHILE, I KNOW MY PARENTS ARE COOKING SOMETHING UP. BUT I TRUST UNCLE RON ABOUT THIS MATTER. HE’S A DOCTOR. NOT LIKE MY FATHER ISN’T, BUT AT LEAST HE’S NOT AN OBSTETRICIAN. HE IS A CARDIOLOGIST. IT MAKES A WHOLE LOT OF DIFFERENCE WHEN YOU ARE EXPOSED DOWN THERE; YOU BECOME BIASED, OR SO I CONCLUDED. BUT AUNT CECILIA, JUST LIKE MY MOTHER, SPENDS A LOT MORE TIME IN THE CHURCH AND ADOPTED COMMUNITIES THAN AT HOME. THEY SHARE COMMON LOGIC, AND SOMETIMES, THE LACK OF IT. ONE TIME, I HEARD IN THEIR PRAYER MEETING HELD AT HOME THAT THEY WERE OFFERING PRAYERS FOR PARENTS WHOSE CHILDREN HAVE GONE ASTRAY FROM THE RIGHT PATH—THOSE WHOSE KIDS ARE TEENAGE MOTHERS, DRUG ADDICTS AND MEMBERS OF VIOLENT FRATERNITIES, CRIMINALS, AND GAYS. HALLELUJAH.

I REMEMBER WHEN I CAME OUT TO MY PARENTS MYSELF THREE YEARS AGO. IT CAME QUITE A SHOCK, BUT THEY DIDN’T DISOWN ME. WELL, ALMOST, BUT THANK GOD THEY DIDN’T. OF COURSE, IT’S INEVITABLE THAT THEY WERE UNSETTLED BY IT AT FIRST, BUT THEY ADJUSTED. THEY INTRODUCED ME TO THEIR COLLEAGUES’ DAUGHTERS, ALL BEAUTIFUL AND WELL-BRED, TO HOPEFULLY CHANGE MY DECISION, AS THOUGH I’D TRANSFORM MY ENTIRETY FOR A GIRL I HARDLY KNEW. I FELT LIKE ROYALTY HOLDING A BALL JUST SO I CAN FIND THE PRINCESS OF MY DREAMS. A PRINCE WHOSE PARENTS HAVE BECOME PIMPS. I’VE JOKED THEM ABOUT IT TO GIVE THEM A SUBTLE HINT BUT THEY JUST ANSWERED WITH SOUR FACES.

EVEN MY BROTHERS GOT INVOLVED IN THE SCHEME. THEY BROUGHT ME TO CABARETS AND HIGH-END BARS ALONG QUEZON AVENUE WHERE LADIES STRUT BARELY CLAD IN LACE AND LEATHER LIKE THE CAST OF MOULIN ROUGE IN THE OPENING NUMBER. THEY ENJOY THIS KIND OF FUN. I DON’T. MY BROTHERS ARE HIGHLY EDUCATED; THEY’RE NOT PIGS; THEY JUST HAVE A HIGHER LEVEL OF TESTOSTERONE. WE ACT THE SAME, DRESS THE SAME—WE ARE THE SAME. NO ONE CAN TELL ME APART FROM THE STRAIGHT GUYS IN THE METRO. THE ONLY DIFFERENCE IS THAT, I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO WOMEN. I’M PRETTY SURE THEY UNDERSTAND THAT. THEY KNOW ME. THEY RESPECT THAT ABOUT ME. BUT THEY SAID THEY JUST FEAR FOR ME. THEY CONFESSED THEY HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT PEOPLE STONING ME TO DEATH BECAUSE I WAS OUT OF THE NORM. THEY FEARED WHAT RELATIVES WOULD THINK. THEY FEARED WHAT THEY’D SAY. BUT I TOLD THEM I DON’T NEED TO EXPLAIN TO ANYONE BECAUSE I DON’T OWE ANYONE ANYTHING. THEY NODDED. BUT THEY KNEW LIKE I KNEW THAT WHAT I WAS IN WASN’T AN EASY SITUATION.

ONE TIME, MOM KNOCKED ON MY DOOR AND SAID SHE WANTED TO TALK TO ME BEFORE GOING TO SANTUARIO SAN ANTONIO. SHE WAS DRESSED IN WHITE COMPLETE WITH A VEIL, WITH HER SILVER ROSARY ENTANGLED IN HER FRAGILE FINGERS. THAT MORNING, SHE ALMOST LOOKED LIKE SHE HAD A HALO.

“R, THAT’S A VERY BEAUTIFUL SHIRT YOU HAVE ON. IS THAT THE ONE JESSIE GAVE YOU LAST CHRISTMAS?” SAID MOM AS SHE SAT ON MY BED.

“THANKS MOM... CHRISTIAN GAVE THIS TO ME LAST SATURDAY. HE BOUGHT THIS IN SEOUL.” GOD, I SLIPPED.

SILENCE.

“SO, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? I’M ABOUT TO GO TO CHURCH, I CAN DROP YOU OFF IF IT’S ON THE WAY.”

“I’M GOING TO ROCKWELL MOM, I’M MEETING UP WITH A FRIEND TODAY. BUT HE’S GONNA FETCH ME IN ABOUT TEN MINUTES.” I WAS TYING MY SHOES AND PUTTING ON MY FAVORITE PERFUME.

“DO YOU MIND TELLING ME WHO IT IS THIS TIME?” I KNEW WHAT MOM WAS DRIVING AT. AND I KNEW IT WOULD LEAD TO SOMETHING NOT VERY NICE.

“AS THOUGH I GO OUT WITH A LOT OF PEOPLE, MOM.” I ANSWERED WITH A LOW VOICE.

SILENCE.

SHE SIGHED. I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT SHE UTTERED BUT IT SOUNDED LATIN, AS THOUGH BLAMING HIGHER POWERS BECAUSE I WAS GOING ON A DATE.

“WITH CHRISTIAN... WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO REALIZE THAT WHAT YOU’RE DOING IS WRONG IN THE EYES OF GOD?”

“MOM, WE ARE NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG. WE’RE JUST GONNA HANG OUT.”

“REINHARDT NAKPIL SANDEZ, I’M TELLING YOU NOW, YOU BETTER END THAT THING OR ELSE.” SUDDENLY SHE WAS SPEAKING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS WHILE I KEPT MY VOICE PROPERLY LOW.

“I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME, MOM. I’M NOT BRINGING HIM HERE, AM I? I DON’T EVEN LET HIM IN WHEN HE FETCHES ME, AND THAT KIND OF EMBARRASSES ME. HIS MOM IS NICE TO ME, SHE EVEN COOKS US DINNER.” I DIDN’T MEAN TO MAKE MOM’S DAY A MESS. IT WAS JUST THAT SHE WAS BECOMING SO UNFAIR. SHE COULDN’T UNDERSTAND THAT THE KIND OF RELATIONSHIP CHRISTIAN AND I HAVE IS NOT PURELY SEXUAL. SHE EVEN THOUGHT CHRISTIAN WAS LETTING ME SPEND FOR EVERYTHING WHEN WE GO OUT, WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY UNTRUE. I’M NOT LIKE MADAM AURING OR SOMETHING, AND I SWEAR I COULD MAKE A LIVING OUT OF MY LOOKS IF I WANTED TO. I’M NOT DESPERATE.

“NOUVEAU RICHE,” SHE UTTERED QUIETLY. “IT IS NOT AN ISSUE OF OTHER PARENTS TOLERATING THE SINFULNESS OF THEIR CHILDREN. IT’S ABOUT YOU AND YOUR ABERRANT LIFESTYLE, REINHARDT.” SHE WALKED OUT OF MY ROOM HOLDING HER CHEST, A GESTURE SHE ALWAYS DOES EVEN IF SHE DOESN’T REALLY HAVE A HEART PROBLEM OR ASTHMA.

IT LEFT ME STARING AT THE WALL FOR SOME TIME WHEN CHRISTIAN BEEPED. I HURRIED OUT AND GOT IN THE CAR.

“HAD A MISUNDERSTANDING WITH YOUR MOM?” HE NOTICED MOM DRIVING HER CAR OUT OF THE HOUSE WEARING SUNGLASSES EVEN IF IT WASN’T PARTICULARLY A SUNNY DAY.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO. IT’S NOBODY’S FAULT.”

“WHY DON’T YOU MOVE TO MY PLACE? MAMÁ EXPRESSED YOU’RE WELCOME. I MENTIONED THAT YOU’VE BEEN HAVING PROBLEMS.”

I LOOKED AT HIM. HE SEEMED SERIOUS. “YOU KNOW IT’S NOT THAT EASY, CHRIS.”

“I DIDN’T SAY IT IS, BUT I DON’T WANT YOU LOOKING STRESSED. I JUST WANTED TO HELP.”

“TOO COMPLICATED. I DON’T THINK I CAN HANDLE THINGS LIKE THAT YET. I’M STILL DEPENDENT.”

“I CAN WORK THAT OUT. I’M SURE I CAN GET YOU TO FINISH MEDICINE LIKE YOUR DAD IF YOU WANT TO.” CHRISTIAN IS A JUNIOR EXECUTIVE IN THEIR FAMILY-OWNED CORPORATION. I HAD NO DOUBT THAT HE COULD, AND HE WAS QUITE SERIOUS ABOUT IT. BUT IT WAS NOT THAT SIMPLE. I WAS STUDYING AT LA SALLE, AND I WAS SPENDING A GREAT DEAL OF MONEY. IT WAS NOT REALLY WHAT I HAD IN MIND. I WANTED US TO BE ON EQUAL FOOTING.

“NOT THE BRIGHTEST IDEA.”

“OKAY.” CHRISTIAN LOOKED UP, AND SEEMED DISAPPOINTED FOR NOT TRUSTING HIM ABOUT MATTERS THAT SERIOUS JUST YET. BUT IT WASN’T THAT. REALLY.

SHORTLY AFTER THE CONVERSATION, CHRISTIAN AND I WERE ALREADY IN ROCKWELL. WE STROLLED AROUND THE MALL, WATCHED A MOVIE, AND THEN HE ASKED ME WHERE I WANTED TO EAT. I WAS CRAVING FOR SOMETHING ITALIAN. “WANNA TRY CIBO? MARGARITA FORES MIGHT BE THERE,” I EXCITEDLY SUGGESTED.
“HAVE YOU BEEN READING MAURICE ARCACHE ARTICLES AGAIN, NOUVEAU RICHE?” HE REPLIED WITH A TEASING GRIN THAT HID HIS CHINKY EYES, EXPOSING HIS PEARLY WHITES WITH SILVER BRACES.

I SMILED BACK. HE KNEW MY MOM WELL. HE SAID SHE WAS HIS TEACHER IN FOREIGN LANGUAGE BACK WHEN MOM WAS STILL WITH THE ACADEME. DESPITE THE THINGS MY MOM HAS BEEN SAYING ABOUT HIM AND HIS FAMILY, HE STILL CLAIMS THAT SHE WAS THE COOLEST TEACHER EVER BECAUSE OF HER SOPHISTICATED STYLE AND ELEGANCE IN LANGUAGE COMPARING MOM TO SOPHIA LOREN. HE ALSO LAUGHED AT THE FACT THAT HE WAS NOT ABLE TO PRONOUNCE THE FRENCH WORDS RIGHT BECAUSE OF HIS CHINESE ACCENT, NOT TO MENTION THAT HE WAS WEARING BRACES, WHICH HE SAID HE DIDN’T REALLY NEED. OUR CONVERSATION DURING THAT DINNER WAS SO MUCH FUN THAT WE BOTH FORGOT THE TIME.

WHEN WE WERE WALKING TO THE PARKING LOT, CHRISTIAN SAID HE WAS FEELING KIND OF WOOZY BECAUSE OF THE RED WINE WE HAD AT DINNER. HE SUGGESTED THAT I SPEND THE NIGHT AT HIS PLACE BECAUSE HE MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO DRIVE ME HOME. IT WAS NOT THE FIRST TIME, AND HIS MOM WAS FINE WITH IT.

WE ENTERED INTO HIS ROOM AND HE LAY FLAT ON THE BED. I SUGGESTED THAT HE TAKE A BATH TO FEEL BETTER. HE INSISTED THAT I TAKE A BATH WITH HIM, LIKE IT WAS THE FIRST TIME. “DO I HAVE A CHOICE?” I GRINNED. THAT FLIRTATIOUS BASTARD.

***
“WHERE DID YOU SLEEP LAST NIGHT?” SAID DAD. IT WAS NOT HIS USUAL VOICE. IT WAS LIKE THAT OF ZEUS’ WHEN MAD, AS THOUGH HE WAS GONNA THROW A THUNDERBOLT AT ME.

“AT CHRISTIAN’S, DAD. HE HELPED ME WITH THE STATISTICS PART OF MY THESIS. I CALLED UP MOM, SHE KNEW.” OF COURSE I HAD TO LIE. I’M A LITERATURE MAJOR. I READ LUPIN.

“I DON’T CARE IF YOU CALLED.” HE TOLD THE MAIDS TO GO TO THEIR QUARTERS. “DO YOU STILL HAVE SELF-RESPECT LEFT IN YOUR SYSTEM?” OH MY GOD. “IF YOU WON’T LISTEN TO US, YOU’D BETTER PACK UP AND LEAVE THIS HOUSE, YOUNG MAN. JUST BECAUSE YOU CONFESSED YOU’RE GAY, IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN DO ALL YOU WANT IN SPITE OF OUR EVIDENT DISAPPROVAL!”

MY MOM LED ME TO MY ROOM. HER EYES LOOKED LIKE SHE HAD BEEN CRYING ALL NIGHT. SHE CLOSED THE DOOR AND HUSHED MY DAD TO CALM DOWN BEFORE HE SAID SOMETHING REALLY, REALLY HURTFUL. I SAT ON MY BED AND CONTEMPLATED. MAYBE DAD HAD A POINT. MAYBE I SHOULD STOP BEING MYSELF, AND BE WHAT THEY WANTED ME TO BE. BESIDES, PARENTS KNOW WHAT’S BEST. THERE WERE A LOT OF GIRLS I KNEW WHO WERE VERY VOCAL ABOUT LIKING ME. IN FACT, ALMOST ALL MY FEMALE FRIENDS, WHEN I THOUGHT ABOUT IT, WERE JUST A BUNCH OF PHONIES WHO WANTED TO GET INTO MY PANTS. WHAT IF I DID IT FOR THEIR SAKE, SO THAT ALL ARE HAPPY?

BUT I COULDN’T POSSIBLY DO THAT TO CHRISTIAN. I LOVE HIM. BESIDES, IT’S NOT ME TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH WOMEN. I MEAN, SEX COULD BE GOOD, BUT IT’S NOT FLEXIBLE—I COULD NOT CHOOSE A ROLE; IT’S FIXED. IT’D BE A BORE, CHRISTIAN AND I ARE HAVING SO MUCH FUN AS IT IS. BESIDES, WHY WOULD I CHOOSE BEING NORMAL OVER BEING HAPPY? WHAT IS NORMAL NOWADAYS ANYWAY?

WHEN I WENT OUT OF MY ROOM, MOM AND DAD WERE TALKING. THEY INVITED ME TO SIT WITH THEM TO DISCUSS THE MATTER.

“R, CAN’T YOU REALLY CHANGE YOUR MIND?” MOM BEGAN.

“SORRY. I SHOULD HAVE COME HOME LAST NIGHT. I KNOW IT DIDN’T LOOK GOOD.”

“IT’S NOT THAT. I’M TALKING ABOUT THE LIFE YOU ARE LIVING,” MOM SAID.

DAD WAS IN DEEP SILENCE. I TURNED TOWARD HIM.

“DAD, I UNDERSTAND YOUR POINT. I’M YOUR SON, AND I AM BOUND TO FOLLOW HOUSE RULES. I WILL SEE TO IT THAT I COME HOME HOWEVER LATE AND HOWEVER IMPORTANT THE MATTER I’M ATTENDING TO IS. AND, I WILL ALSO LIMIT MY GOING OUT LATE, IF THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT. BUT CHRISTIAN AND I…”

“YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, REINHARDT, WE ARE A CONSERVATIVE FAMILY. YOU MUST ACT ACCORDINGLY. YOU MUST PROTECT YOUR NAME, OUR NAME, NO MATTER WHAT. PEOPLE RESPECT US THAT WAY.”

“AND R, MY SON, IT’S NOT WHAT GOD WANTS YOU TO BE,” MOM SAID WHILE HOLDING HER CHEST AGAIN, BUT I DIDN’T THINK SHE WAS FAKING IT THIS TIME. IT WAS DIFFERENT.

“MOM, DAD, I WANT TO OBEY YOU. I WANT TO PLEASE YOU, AND BE A GOOD SON LIKE I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN. BUT THIS TIME, IT’S ABOUT CHANGING MY ENTIRE LIFE, CHANGING MY ENTIRE IDENTITY. I DIDN’T CHOOSE TO BE LIKE THIS, BUT I ALREADY AM. AND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE, I JUST WISH TO BE HAPPY.”

MY DAD CLOSED HIS EYES. I HAD NEVER SEEN HIM CRY BEFORE, AND IT WAS DIFFICULT FOR ME TO SEE HIM IN THAT SITUATION. HE HAS ALWAYS APPEARED STRONG, PRIM, COMPOSED. EVEN WHEN MY GRANDMOTHER DIED, HE DIDN’T CRY. PERHAPS THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME HE REALLY DID CRY. HE MUST HAVE LIVED BY THE SAYING BOYS DON’T CRY. HE MUSTERED ALL THE BROKEN PIECES OF HIMSELF AND FINALLY SPOKE. “IF YOU CHOOSE TO BE HAPPY AGAINST OUR HOPES, YOUR MOM’S AND MINE, YOU’D BETTER GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE.”

I HESITATINGLY TURNED TOWARD MY ROOM. MY MOM WAS CRYING. DAD, AFTER WIPING HIS TEARS WITH HIS PALM, STAYED SILENT STARING AT THE WALL. I WANTED TO TURN BACK. I WANTED TO EXPLAIN UNTIL THEY UNDERSTOOD ME. UNTIL THEY LISTENED TO ME. UNTIL THEY GOT WHAT I WAS SAYING. BUT WORDS FAILED ME. WHEN MY HEAD BOWED, I KNEW. I HAD TO LEAVE.

I PACKED MY CLOTHES, AND LEFT HOME THAT DAY. I WENT TO CHRISTIAN’S HOUSE. I KNOCKED ON THE DOOR. HIS MOM SAW ME HOLDING MY LUGGAGE WITH TEARS FALLING DOWN MY CHEEKS. SHE LET ME IN WITH ALMOST INSTANTLY REDDISH EYES. SHE HUGGED ME. SHE MUST HAVE HAD THE FEELING THAT IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN. SHE HUGGED ME REALLY TIGHT AND CRIED EVEN MORE, LIGHTLY UTTERING INAUDIBLE WORDS. I FELT HER TEARS RUN DOWN MY SHOULDER. I DIDN’T EXPECT IT. IT WAS ONLY THEN THAT I LEARNED CHRISTIAN’S MOM COULDN’T SPEAK. SHE CAN HEAR, BUT SHE WAS CONGENITALLY INCAPABLE OF SPEECH.

SILENCE REMINDED ME OF MOM. EVERYBODY WAS SO QUIET THAT DAY. I HAD NEVER APPRECIATED THE ABSENCE OF WORDS UNTIL THEN. CHRISTIAN DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING EITHER. HE JUST HELD MY HAND, AND CARRIED MY BAGS TO HIS ROOM.

ONE MORNING DURING BREAKFAST, MY MOM CALLED. IT WAS THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST A YEAR. I CHANGED MY MOBILE NUMBER, AND IT WAS STRANGE THAT SHE KNEW WHERE TO CALL ME. SHE ASKED ME HOW I WAS DOING. I SAID I WAS FINE. I TOLD HER CHRISTIAN’S FAMILY WAS TAKING CARE OF ME PRETTY WELL. AND THERE WAS, AGAIN, SILENCE. SHE SAID THEY WANT TO SEE ME. “ALL RIGHT MOM, GRADUATION DAY, DINNER,” I REPLIED.

AFTER THE INCIDENT WHEN MY DAD CIVILLY KICKED MY BUTT OUT OF THE HOUSE, I HAVEN’T BEEN TALKING TO HIM ANYMORE ASIDE FROM THE GENERIC, ALMOST ROBOTIC MORNING GREETINGS. MY MOM, ON THE OTHER HAND, HAS COME TO TERMS WITH MY RELATIONSHIP WITH CHRISTIAN. SHE KNOWS SHE MISJUDGED HIM, AND SHE’S APOLOGETIC ABOUT IT, IMPLICITLY. THE FACT THAT NOT ALL SAME-SEX RELATIONSHIPS ARE GOING TO END UP LIKE OURS STANDS FIRMLY, HOWEVER. RELATIONSHIPS OF THIS NATURE STILL FACE AWFUL ODDS EVEN TODAY. AND IT GOT ME THINKING ABOUT JESSIE WHO IS JUST ABOUT TO LIVE THIS COMPLICATED LIFE.

JESSIE CALLED ME UP AGAIN PAST DINNERTIME; I WAS ABOUT TO TAKE A BATH. HE SOUNDED REALLY EXCITED. I ASKED WHY. HE TOLD ME HE WAS MEETING UP WITH THIS FRIEND AT HARD ROCK CAFÉ TONIGHT. HE MET HIM ON FRIENDSTER, AN ONLINE DATING SITE, AND THEY’D BEEN SENDING MESSAGES TO ONE ANOTHER FOR A MONTH NOW. I SAID BE SAFE. HE SAID IT’S NOTHING LIKE THAT. I ASKED HIM IF HE KNOWS WHAT TO EXPECT. HE SAID HE IS NOT EXPECTING ANYTHING; IT’S JUST A DATE. I ASKED HIM IF HE WOULD PAY. HE ANSWERED NO, ONLY FOR HIS FOOD IF HIS DATE WON’T OFFER TO PAY FOR HIS. I ASKED HIM IF HE’S READY. HE SAID YES. I SAID DON’T FALL IN LOVE. HE ANSWERED HE KNOWS BETTER THAN THAT. I SAID VERY WELL. I ASKED IF IT WAS HIS FIRST TIME. HE SAID YES. AND I SAID GOOD LUCK, YOU’RE NO GREEN APPLE ANYMORE, I’M SURPRISED. HE SAID OF COURSE, WITH DAD'S HELP. I DIDN'T KNOW IF I HEARD RIGHT SO I ASKED FURTHER. HE TOLD ME EVERYTHING: JESSIE SAID DAD HAS BEEN TALKING TO HIM QUITE A LOT LATELY. HE WANTS TO HELP JESSIE GET THROUGH ALL THE TROUBLES THAT I HAVE UNDERGONE ALONE BECAUSE HE SEES IN JESSIE HIS SON THAT HE WASN’T ABLE TO UNDERSTAND. HE ALSO MENTIONED HOW DAD RELATED HIS REGRETS AND SORRY FEELINGS ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN US; AND HOW HE’S LONGING TO BRING BACK THE TIMES WHEN EVERYTHING’S FINE BETWEEN HIM AND HIS YOUNGEST SON. JESSIE KEPT ON EXPLAINING, ELABORATING. I WAS SPEECHLESS; DUMBFOUNDED STARING AT MY DIRTY CLOSET. ARE YOU STILL THERE, HE SAID. MY HANDS WERE SHAKING, ALMOST NUMBED, COVERING THE MOUTHPIECE OF THE PHONE. I CLEARED MY THROAT STRUGGLING FOR A RESPONSE. I HAVE TO BE GETTING READY NOW HE SAID. OKAY, I FINALLY REPLIED. BEFORE I WAS ABLE TO SAY GOODBYE AND HUNG UP THE PHONE, MY TEARS BEGAN TO FALL.



Friday, March 6, 2015

The Emergence of Gay Literature as Genre in the Philippines (A Rough Draft of a Supposed Thought Paper in Graduate School)

The emergence of gay literature as a distinct genre in the Philippines is unstoppable. Like Goethe once said that there is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come. As Danton Remoto echoes National Artist Jose Garcia Villa said, “Have come, we’re here.” Brandishing the now popular Ladlad anthologies and many other books, waving the words of the gay artists like flames in the wind, the flourishing of gay literature in the Philippines is underway towards the mainstream.

But what is gay literature?

According to J. Neil Garcia (1997), “Gay literature may be defined both as a self-conscious as well was unconscious production.” He continued to explain what gay literature is about, saying that, “Writing about gayness by gays who know they are gay, as well as any writings that can be read in a gay way may qualify as forms of gay literature.” Who would have thought that National Artists Jose Garcia Villa and Edith Tiempo, as well as Poet Extraordinaire Ophelia Dimalanta wrote gay literature? But as Dimalanta would always say in her class, there is no only one way of reading a poem, an in this case, I hope I wasn’t over-reading or misreading her lines, or else I’d get a failing grade.

We can therefore safely say that gay poetry are those that are (1) produced by gay writers, inevitably, because they are written in the consciousness and point of view of a gay person whose experiences are unavoidably coming from a gay perspective; (2) those pieces of poetry that talks about a homosexual experience; and even (3) those poems that are written by heterosexual poets but can be read in a gay way.

In light of the first category, there are many gay poems that we can’t see the gayness of the poet revealed in the poems. While this is not because they do not want to be read in a gay context or they don’t want to make that political decision of exposing themselves as gay, but because they are already in the “pangatlong tendensiya ng bakla sa panulaan ng bakla” (Evasco, 2003). Example of this is J. Neil Garcia’s poem entitled Poem in which he did not reveal his gay self but maintains that it is a gay poem because it can not but be coming from the perspective of a gay poet. This poem is a social commentary on poverty:

The train that stops the traffic
did not stop for the boy at play
outside his home. Today his home

is torn limb for limb by the government
that let him die in the meanness
of his childhood: accidents happen.

No ball however flew streetwise.
No small hands swiftly flung caught death mid-air
by the jaw. He was skipping but a foot away

from their lean-to. The train barely licked
the door as it blew his body and soul away
so gently, he did not even think

it was anymore painful than his hunger
or the sharply pointed dreams that came from it.
It even looked beautiful:

its footprints smoothest, straightest tracks.
Now the homes that flanked the railroads
are piles of jagged bones. The boy’s family

has buried him in memory, in haste.
They all have other things to live with,
like the city’s latest show of might.

Traffic stops. The train comes through.
The poor rebuild, endure.

Another is a poem, still by Garcia in which he included in his “Poems of a Religious Sort” entitled Nun. This, to my understanding, is a poem that talks about human nature where even though a woman chooses to be a nun, she still has human yearnings and silent needs. It is a description of the whiteness and supposed purity of a nun, which she well proves in the last for stanza. Take note of the role of irony in this poem:

All my sexual days
I am a virgin
Eunuched by habit,
Not by choice.
I wear the cloth
Of my lovelessness
Whitely, they say
With a cross
Hanging from my neck
Nike a noose,
But it is not this
That kills. Strapped
To my waist
Is a rope
That could. Its girth
Is a halo of thread
Binding up the mess
Of me:
Austere ribbon,
It keeps my pious shift
In place, my tummy
Hour-glass slim,
And time is cruelest
To a woman
At vespers.
Strangled at the crux
Where her womb lies
Entombed,
She is handmaid
To no man.
At the hour
Of twilight,
She hymns,
And hymns alone.

The second category of gay poetry is that which talks about a homosexual experience. While it is possible that a poem like this is written by a heterosexual person, I will include in this essay a gay poem written by a gay poet because more often than not, according to Evasco, “mas mapangahas, mapaglantad, at mapagsiwalat.”

Here is a poem by Nicolas Pichay which talks about oral sex. Evasco furthered that, “Ang naturang pag-adka ay isang paraang mapagpalaya at paghulagpos sa itinakdang limitasyon ng kasarian. Ang mga tula ring gaya nito ang nagtutulak sa makatang bakla na magkaroon ng espasyo sa diskurso ng paglikha.” This is a way by which gay writers be put outside of the box, proving that writing about these things should not be ashamed about because being ashamed of the truth is being shamed of one’s self. This poem is entitled This Is A Delicate Matter, Sucking Cock:

This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
You might not like it right away.
Remember not to pounce it indiscriminately in the dark
Lest you gag with foot in your mouth.
Nevertheless, do not deprive yourself blind
To the call of truth in thyself
Nor accept as gospel truth society’s
Definition of what it is to be a man.
This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
You might not like it right away.

The mouth must be perfectly shaped
Incisors are not permitted to claw.
The larynx should also be open
So that everything may be taken all the way.
If by these, he still does not groan in pleasure
Look again, your bedmate may be a fish.
Go look for someone else
Our community is full of mermaids.
This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
You might not like it right away.

And there is no truth to the old wives’ tale
That a gentle man’s love is never ever repaid.
For how then that a poor shepherd such as I
Was able to find a matching slice of life
While walking along an unromantic river bank.
With a glance, he aroused the tip of my desire.
And after crossing swords without drawing blood,
We swore by the shimmer of the goddess moon.
This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
You might not like it right away.

By my leave I give you a word
A simple advice, do not take offense
The severe and mindless tirade
Of pontificating men “holier than thou.”
Because the true mettle of a man
Is not found in his color, intellect, orientation or looks
It is in the purity and sincerity
Of his dealings with other men.
This is a delicate matter, sucking cock,
A fact that everyone must be made aware of,
No reason to hide in shame
Emerge from the dark, my friends!

The third category of gay poetry is those poems that are written by heterosexual poets but can be read in a gay way. There is quite a lot of this, since almost everything now can be read in the gay perspective. Since reading and writing both constitute to production of meanings, it is not surprising that when a gay person reads a poem in his point of view, another dimension of the writing comes out.

A classic example would be that very popular poem by Dr. Ophelia Dimalanta entitled A Kind Of Burning. A wary reader will ask right away why the lovers can’t meet but for that certain kind of burning? Perhaps, because, it is not meant to be. And what’s a more convenient way of interpreting it when it’s read by a gay person hiding in his closet? Yes, some incorporated reader’s response here and there, and if you look at it in a gay’s perspective, it’s can’t but be hailed as something true and honest in how the persona paints the situation, and how painful it would be to be trapped in that situation.

it is perhaps because
one way or the other
we keep this distance
closeness will tug us apart
in many directions
in absolute din
how we love the same
trivial pursuits and
insignificant gewgaws
spoken or inert
claw at the same straws
pore over the same jigsaws
trying to make heads or tails
you take the edges
i take the center
keeping fancy guard
loving beyond what is there
you sling at stars
i bedeck the weeds
straining in song or
profanities towards some
fabled meeting apart
from what dreams read
and suns dismantle
we have been all the hapless
lovers in this wayward world
in almost all kinds of ways
except we never really meet
but for this kind of burning.

I also picked out some pieces of interesting verses from National Artist Edith Tiempo that can be read in a gay perspective, in which a gay experience is well-described. In her Between-Living, she we all know that true love is almost unattainable in gay relationships because as they say, men are innately polygamous despite the sexual orientation. Sometimes, I am led to believe so, but I nevertheless hope that there will come a time when maturity and security will dawn upon them, us, and the ideal will be met:

When we love a wanderer,
We wait for footsteps
That may, or may not come:
First the hours, the days,
Then, the years. Then never.
Yet always we do know
Whereof we wait…

On the other hand, in the lines of her poem Belief, however illogical and incredible things are (frequently equated with a heterosexual male loving a gay male in spite of what he has or has not, and what he is and is not), this poem is a heartfelt statement of truth, not necessarily the truth but a truth believed:

Truth is the world believed:
Only what the eyes sees,
And the heart approves.

So where is gay poetry leading us?

Still according to Eugene Evasco, gay poetry has three phases. The first one is where the gay writers are writing poetry mainly to letting the world know that they appear and are present in literature. It’s a political decision to come out in the writings because they are already exposing themselves in spite of the patriarchy or the control of the mostly heterosexual male and those who share their machismo thinking. This first phase is largely characterized by aggressively graphic depiction of male to male sex as a vehicle of letting the world know who they are.

The second phase is where the gays are already made known in the scene and is now ready to actively go against the prevailing norm. This phase is often associated with the upholding of the ideals of those gays that they look up to, scrutinizing the social problems in the gay perspective, actively trashing the notion of males as the oppressors of the supposed weaker sexes, discriminating against the institutions that have gender insensitive policies, among many others. As Jun Cruz Reyes bluntly stated, “hindi na lamang titi ang pinoproblema ng makata,” on the contrary, they are already making active movements against those who manifest acts or even tendencies of looking down on them.

And in the third phase, as Evasco very well put it, “Nalulusaw naman ang kasarian sa ikatlo at huling tendensiya ng panulaan ng bakla…Hindi na maaaring matukoy ng mambabasa abf kasarian ng persona ng tula, maliban na lamang kung batid nito ang kasarian ng makata.” This goes to say, like how Neil Garcia talks about things around him without being known as a gay, that gays are not different from the heterosexual people around, thus eradicating the notion of the Other. In this phase, gays talk about history, academe, politics, agrarian reforms, government and other things without giving notice to the sexuality of whoever is saying it.

I would like to quote Zenaida Amador of the Philippine panorama who once said that, “It’s my hope that the time will come when the topic of homosexuality will be boring, irrelevant or unimportant. What is really important is to be creative helpful human beings, irrespective of whom you love.” This is an example of a very post-modern, post-colonial thinking. All that gay writers are working for and exerting all their efforts for is for this time to come that we all accept our differences at the same time, recognize our equality. This is supported by a certain Chong Ardivilla from the Manila Standard who said that, “Malate is only a tiny island and the ocean around it has yet to accept the reality that is gay.” He drove home his point by adding, “Our society still needs a lot of growing up to do.”

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Reading for Litt1: Father Neil

FATHER NEIL

Hindi inaasahan ni Father Neil na mahirap palang maging parish priest. Iilang buwan pa lang niya’y napagod na siya sa parang novenang routine na paulit-ulit lang, at sakal sa kanyang habitong pumupulupot sa kanyang katawan. Kaya pagkatapos ng huling misa, isinuot niya ang kanyang black Hard Rock Café na T-shirt, faded jeans at leather jacket. Pagkatapos piliin ang helmet na itim, napaisip uli siya kung aling big bike ang gagamitin, ang Ducati o ang Harley. Pinili niya ang Harley dahil mas babagay ito sa kanyang get-up, at humarurot na nga ang motor na parang walang bukas.

Nararamdaman niya ang hangin na parang pumipigil sa kanyang bilis papunta sa pinakamalapit na mall sa susunod na bayan. Sa daan, nakakita siya ng mga Hapon sa gilid ng kalsada na panay ang bow sa isa’t isa. Medyo natawa siya sa sarili niya habang naiimagine niya ang napakaconsistent na bobbing of heads. May kung anong naalala siya sa kanyang nakalipas.

Nang siya’y nakarating sa mall, dumiretso siya sa bar. Ang original plan ay manood ng sine, pero somehow, nagbago ang kanyang isip.

Chineck muna nito kung maraming tao. Kung may makakakilala kaya sa kanya. At kung safe ba ang lugar to let his guard down eventually, bago siya pumasok. May kamahalan sa bar pero iba ang ambience. Parang slice of urban living. Parang uptown Malate, ganun ang crowd niya.

Umupo si Neil sa harap ng bartender at umorder ng dry Martini. Nakayuko at hindi lumilingon. Naka-ilang shot din siya, habang pinakikinggan ang Downwind Collection na theme ng gabing yun. Sa kanyang kaliwa, sa bandang dulo ng bar, nahuli ng kanyang peripheral vision na may lalaking nakatingin sa kanya. Mukhang twenty-ish ito, maputi, hindi katangkaran pero parang gym-buffed. Gwapo’t kahawig ng bestfriend niyang si Warren. Tumingin si Neil para hulaan ang intention ng lalaki. Sustained ang eye contact for more or less five seconds, at saka nagkangitian. Lumapit ang lalaki sa kanya to strike a conversation, “It’s your first time to come here, right?” “What made you think so,” sagot ni Neil ng nakangiti dahil nagi-inglesan na sila, pero sa shot glass nakatingin. “For one, I must’ve met you before. I know all the beautiful people in this bar. And second, I really should know. I own this place. Reinhardt Sandez, by the way,” sabay ngiti at bukas ng kanyang palad. Tumingin si Neil sa lalaki at kinamayan ito, “Nice to meet you, bro… I’m…” mabilis pa ang reflexes niya kahit nakainom na. Tumingin kunyari ito sa cellphone. “Sorry, I have to be going. Nice place you have here,” sabi ni Neil sabay tayo. Tumango lang ang lalaki na parang appreciative pa, pero sa itsura niya’y parang rejected. “Wait, I didn’t catch your name,” sabi ng lalaki pero halfway through the door na si Neil.

Sumakay ito sa kanyang bike na humarurot uli na parang walang bukas. Naramdaman uli niya ang hangin na pumipigil sa kanyang bilis pabalik sa kumbento pero parang mas mabigat ngayon ang pakiramdam.
Kakaibang pagod ang kanyang naramdaman. Nagsasawa. Nasasakal.
***

Ang pamilya ni Father Neil ay may-ari ng hacienda sa Ilocandia. Parehong pulitiko ang kanyang mga magulang at parang doon narin mapupunta ang kanyang nag-iisang nakababatang kapatid na lalaki. Kaya tuloy may kung anong pag-aalangan ang mga tao sa pakikitungo nila sa kanya, isang bagay na hindi niya ginusto.

Habang siya’y nagsisilbing parish priest, siya rin ang principal ng parochial school. Lahat ng inuutos niya’y sinusunod, pronto. Hindi pa man siya nag-uutos ay sinusunod na siya.

Isang araw, isa sa mga teacher ang nagpaalam mag-absent para sunduin sa airport ang kanyang asawang galing Qatar kaya kinailangan niyang magtake-over sa English class nito ng dalawang araw.
Pagpasok niya sa classroom, pinaupo niya ang mga kilalang pilyo’t makulit na suki ng principal’s office sa harap gaya ng sistema sa exclusive Catholic school nila ni Warren noong elementary at high school. Pero hindi ito ang kanyang rason. Mas lively daw kasi ang klase pag nasa harap ang mga magugulo’t makukulit. Kaso, uncharacteristically behaved ang mga ito sa klase niya. Sa klase lang niya. Tahimik ang lahat pag siya na ang teacher, walang nahuhuli sa pagforward ng papel kapag quiz at wala ring nagtutuksuhan ng crush crush. Minsan nga’y nabibingi ito sa katahimikan at kaayusan ng lahat na kailangan pa niya ng astig na motivation para may magsalita at may magsimula ng kalokohan. Pero pag nagsimula na ang masayang aura ng klase, siya na itong nangunguna sa jokes na napaka animated, minsa’y green, pero laging tactful at tasteful. Tama lang sa kwela. Tama lang sa kalog. Tamang timpla, kumbaga, and then, balik sa discussion.

Sa pagtatapos ng pangalawang araw niyang nagtuturo, isinulat niya ang kanyang e-mail address sa white board at sinabihan ang kanyang mga estudyanteng feel free to send him questions about the topics covered kung mayroon man. Alam niyang wala, pero kung bakit parang umaasa siyang i-e-mail siya ng mga ito ay hindi nalang niya inisip noong panahon iyon.

Dumiretso ito sa kanyang opisina at ang lahat ay hinahanap-hanap niya agad. Sobrang tahimik sa kanyang opisina. Para uli siyang mabibingi. Inisip niyang kung alam lang ng Vatican ang kanyang mga hirap sa araw-araw sa parish, at sa kanyang damdamin, ay baka iconsider pa siyang ibeatify at gawing santo. Ako’y walang bahid dungis! Sakdal linis! Bulong nito sa sarili at tsaka napangiti hanggang ang ngiti ay natunaw sa kanyang pagmumuni-muni.

Sumagi rin sa isip niya ang nalalapit na paglipat nito sa kabisera pagkatapos ng kanyang turn sa parish na iyon. Mabilis ang takbo ng panahon. Pero para kay Neil, istasyon sa krus ang bawat araw.

***
“Forgive me father for I have sinned. Ito po ang aking unang kumpisal sa buwan na ito. Nagkumpisal po uli ako, father, noong magkakatapusan.”

“Tell me your sins.”

“Father, ikinumpisal ko po sa inyo last month na… na nagbate po ako habang inaamoy ang brief ng roommate ko sa dorm. Naulit po ito, father.”

“You committed the same sin after confession. You don’t seem sincere in your repentance.”

“Father… Para pong… Mahirap pong ipa… i-exp… Father, kahapon po, noong ginawa ko iyon, nahuli po niya ako… Natakot po ako baka bugbugin niya po ako at ibuko sa school. Pero… Nahihiya po ako sa sarili ko. Tapos lumapit siya sa kama ko at ibinaba ang pantalon niya. Sabi niya bakit daw po hindi yung suot niyang brief ang amuyin ko.”

“Hijo, what he said to you isn’t your fault.”

“Pero, father, sa mga panahong iyon, kakaiba po. Iba po ang feeling. Parang nababastusan po ako sa mga sinasabi niya noon pero parang… Iba. Father… Binijey ko po siya. Nakakahiya po. Noon ko lang po ginawa iyon.”

Hindi agad nakapagsalita ang pari. “Were you aware that you were committing a sin when you were doing the act?”

“First sem pa lang po, crush ko na siya. Alam ko pong kasalanan iyon dahil pareho kaming lalaki… Sabi sa religion class namin, kasalanan daw po ang magsex nang hindi kasal. Naguguluhan po ako. Kailangan po bang kasal din ang dalawang lalaki parang sa Canada bago sila pwedeng magsex? Siya po ang pumilit sa akin na gawin ko iyon sa kanya, gusto po niya iyon, kaya ginawa ko na rin po. Sino po ang may kasalanan? Wala naman pong parang naargabyado. Kung ako man po iyon dahil ako po ang pinilit, okay lang naman po sa akin iyon.”

Alam ni Neil ang dilemma ng bata. Inisip niyang kailangan nito ng counseling. Gusto niyang paliwanagan ito. Pero wala rin siyang nasabi. Alam na nito ang isasagot. Magquo-quote na ito sa biblia at sasabihin ang mga nagawa nitong kasalanan sa mata ng Diyos. Pero nagpaluwag lang ng lalamunan ang pari ng paubo. Pinilit umpisahan ang unang salitang sasabihin. Pero nagpatuloy ang bata sa pagpapaliwanag.

“Father, kahit na parang kasalanan, o kasalanan nga po iyon, noong mga panahon iyon, pakiramdam ko, kumpleto ako. Lagi po kasing parang may kulang sa buhay ko kahit nagsisimba ako, ginagawa ko lahat ng obligasyon ko sa bahay, paghiga ko po sa kama ko para matulog, parang may kulang. May puwang. Naramdaman ko po, habang naghahawakan kami ng katawan, parang buhay na buhay po ako. Iba po talaga ang pakiramdam. Masaya. Masarap. Sobra.”

Napaisip uli ito sa kanyang nakalipas. Noong first year college. Sa university gym. Sa loob ng locker room at dugout. Ilang beses din sa loob mismo ng seminaryo. Kahit sa sine lang sa Recto… Ang mga ulong tumatango sa dilim… Ang mga bibig na handa siyang paligayahin… Alam niyang kakaiba ang lakas na meron siya at napigilan niya iyon noon. Pero hindi lahat ng tao ay malakas. Oo, hindi lahat ng tao ay may ganung lakas. Muntik na siyang matukso noon pero sa isang buntong hininga, inisip niya si Warren, at nakayanan nitong iwasan ang ganoong pangyayari.

***
Nakaluhod ang pari sa first row ng University chapel at nagmemeditate. Maraming bagay bagay sa buhay niya ang bumusita sa kanyang isip. Mga bagay na yumanig sa kanyang paniniwala. Mga bagay na iniwan niya dahil sa kanyang pagpapari. Mga bagay na pinilit niyang isiping wala siyang ipinagsisisi.

“Neil!” sabi ng lalaki’t “Father,” sabi ng babae—pero sabay sila. Lumingon ang pari at narinig ang dalawang pamilyar na boses. Hindi niya suot noon ang kanyang eyeglesses. Lumapit pa siya. Nang makitang sina Warren at Lucy iyon. Binati niya agad ang mga ito. “Warren! Lucy… Adda kayo met ditoy? [Bakit kayo naparito?]” bati niya. “Daytoy, agpakasaren. [Eto, magpapakasal na],” sagot ni Warren.

Kaswal kung sagutin ni Warren si Neil. Palibhasa’y best friends sila mula pa noong elementary. Sa lalim ng pinagsamahan nila, walang problemang hindi nalagpasan ng magkaibigang ito. Contenders sila for valedictorian noong elementary sila. Kung sa talino lang naman, parang walang magpapatalo sa kanila, pero president sa lahat ng club at student organization si Neil noon, at nakaka-attend ito ng mga national workshops and conferences na hindi kayang i-shoulder ng school. Alam na ng lahat kung ano ang magiging resulta, pero sa kung anong dahilan, si Warren ang nagtop pagkatapos bisitahin nina Neil at ng mamá nito ang kanilang class adviser isang hapon. Dahil dito, 100% scholar si Warren kaya hindi siya pinalipat ng nanay nito sa public. Si Warren ang gumagawa ng assignment nila sa Math at Sciences, si Neil sa English at Filipino, ganito ang kanilang scheme all throughout high school. Noong college, dahil si Warren uli ang makakakuha ng 100% scholarship, parehong university uli sila nag-aral. Nag-eextend din ng financial help ang papá ni Neil kay Warren through the municipal scholarship program. Nagpatuloy ang masasayang araw ng dalawa sa college—kahit engineering si Warren at ecclesiastical naman si Neil, pilit pinagmamatch ang sched.

“Father Neil, iaask ka lang sana namen if you could officiate our wedding. Besides, best friend ka naman nitong si Warren ko, e. Please?” sabi nitong may pagpapakyut.

Natigil ang mga activity nina Warren at Neil noong sagutin ni Lucy si Warren na noo’y sa St. Scho naman nag-aaral. Paunti ng paunti ang bonding at hangouts ng magbest friend hanggang sa tuluyan na ngang mawala ito. Second year ay hindi na ito muling nagkita pa.

Medyo stunned si Neil nang maalala niya ang lahat ng ito. Pero sumagot din siya agad. “Ah, wen, siyempre, para ken ni bespren ah ket wen amin. [Ah, oo, kahit ano basta para kay bespren…ko.]” Ngumiti ang pari. Ngumiti ng medyo matamlay.

“Kasatnu garuden, umuna kami pay. Itext nak tu lattan. [Pa’no ‘yan, mauna na kami, Neil. Text mo nalang ako.]” sabi ni Warren sabay akbay kay Lucy habang papalabas ng chapel. Nang sasakay na sa kotse ang dalawa’y itinaas niya ang kanyang kamay parang tugunan ang buh-bye ni Lucy.

Ang saya ng dalawang iyon, naibulong niya sa sarili. Sana’y pagpalain sila ng Diyos.

Bumalik si Neil sa kanyang pagkakaluhod sa first row ng seats sa chapel. Lumamig ang buo niyang katawan. Habang nagflash ang parang slide show ng masasayang alaala nila ni Warren sa kanyang mga mata, unti-unti itong lumabo para magbigay daan sa butil-butil na luha na iniluwa ng kanyang mata.

***
Ilang taon din ang nakaraan ng matapos ng doctorate si Neil at naging bishop. Ang bilis ng kanyang usad papataas, bukod kasi sa nakuha niya ang highest honors sa graduate school ay sobrang taas din ang tingin sa kanya ng mga kasama nito sa kaparian.

Lahat ng bumibisita sa kanyang archdiocese ay humahalik sa kanyang kamay. Ang pangulo. Ang gobernador. Ang mga alkalde. Ang mga nirerespeto sa buong Ilocandia at sa buong Pilipinas… at ang mga iskolar, sacristan at varsity ng basketball team—mga iba’t ibang mukha ni Warren sa kanyang isipan.

Minsan, ang pakiramdam niya'y ang kamay na lamang niya ang may pakiramdam. Lahat na ng bahagi ng katawan niya, pati ang puso niya, ay manhid na't naghihintay na lang tuluyang manigas at mamatay.