Woman as woman

Courage is the everyday word for it, but I really prefer valor. It connotes more a willingness, a determination, a battle, rather than just the luck-of-the-draw reaction to circumstance, to everyday.

I remember when I was younger, having a resentment of the most valiant picture of woman as mother. Why the mother? I asked. Never leader, president, soldier, worker, thinker. This is the 21st century and haven't we any gone further than being different from man because of a collection of reproductive organs? Biology, yes, renders the woman inferior every time, all the time: the monthly periods, the dysmenorrhea that renders one invalid, the risk of pregnancy, the question of abortion, career vs. family. Of these things, man has been spared.

And though I am not naive enough now to discount the un-feeling girl, the in-different woman--the one who will, without question, without second thought discount marriage, homemaking, the one who will say yes without hesitation to abortion--perhaps it is our biggest achievement to be able to carry life within us, to bear the weight and the pain, and to live with them always: the pain and the weight of creation, the nurturing, letting go.

Perhaps the ultimate feminism lies in motherhood, despite decades of fight. This might be our single claim to valor: that we choose to face the consequence, become aware of it, and deal with it to the best of our abilities, all the while knowing that we have no choice but to let go. Perhaps this is why all the stories begin like this: Once there was a child.


For my friend Ina, the most valiant of women.

Dear Diary,

I saw Carlo today. Hahaha. You remember that commercial? Hahaha. Hotdogs, of all possible things. Galing nga eh, cos I had a hotdog sandwich din for dinner. Fits, diba? Tapos, tapos, I really did see a Carlo today! Galeeeng! Parang deus ex-machina. But anyway, that's not what I want to talk about.

Haaay, Diary, I am so tired. My legs are so heavy, they're logs. Hahaha, get it? Legs = logs? Hahaha. Oh my, I really have to stop explaining jokes. Writers are told you never explain the joke, but really, sometimes, that's the funniest part for me. Explanations are so funny. Sometimes I don't even listen to the explanations themselves. It's just sooo funny to ask for the explanation. You get what I mean? Of course you get it. You know me better than any other person. And you know that my secret ambition is to be a writer. A funny writer pa, that's my dream, diba?

But speaking of feet, today is such a "Murphy's Law" day. I mean, I'm tired, my legs are logs na nga (Hahaha, sometimes I kill myself! I'm sooo funny! Hahaha), and I take off my socks ready to crash on my bed, only to accidentally tear a toenail in the process. Clear hati pa! As in, in half! Murphy's talaga! No, no, it didn't hurt, but it's just so ugly now. Sooo ugly. I was planning pa naman to have my nails done this weekend. You know that the red polish is already chipping, so I really planned to have a mani-pedi this weekend. And now, this. Hati in the center. My big toe now looks like the flag of Poland. Or is it Indonesia? (Note to self: Google which flag it is.) So now, kahit magpa-mani-pedi pa ako, it's still gonna be ugly. I wonder if I can have the manicurista put fake nails on my big toe para to cover it up?

(Gosh! I sound so insecure and vain! I never want others to think that of me, no! That's why I wore yellow today. I read kasi in a fwd email na people daw who wear yellow know they're beautiful. So I want people to know that I'm beautiful, kahit, to be honest, I'm really insecure about my looks. But diba, like I always say, if I cannot be honest here with you, kanino pa? Diba, Diary?)

But, again, that's not what I want to talk about. (God, I really have to focus my writing. Remember what Mr. dela Cruz said? Topic sentence.) So, anyway, I went to the Green Papaya reading. It was Yol and Margie , and the host (some Indian-looking girl, I didn't get her name 'cuz she forgot to introduce herself, she just introduced Yol and Margie) said she chose the two daw for humor. And ang galeeeng, Diary, kasi they were so funny! Margie and Yol, so funny talaga, it was hilarious. What Margie read, "Yaya", it was so excellent. Especially her voice pa. And buti na lang she read it in that tone, kasi when I first read it on paper, by myself, I didn't get it that it was supposed to be funny. Akala ko actually sad sya eh. Akala ko super serious, like with class symbolism, and reflection on society kinda thing. But now I know it's supposed to be funny lang pala.

Si Yol din, funny din sya! Grabeeeh, buti na lang I was sitting on the floor, otherwise I would have fallen off my chair laughing. Hahaha! Yung binasa ni Yol, funny din! Like he was talking about dapat nagsusulat sya for his thesis, pero instead nagbo-blog sya. Tapos funny yung blog entry nya. Ateneo jokes pa lahat!!! I so get it, all his jokes, feel na feel ko na Atenista kami. Hahaha! Galeeeng! Sana walang taga-Lasalle sa audience, kasi baka na-OP sila, diba? Kawawa naman kasi di nila gets yung Ateneo jokes... Tapos akala ko pa when he was reading about giving blow jobs, akala ko sa kanya yun! Pero kay Margie pala yun! Na-shock nga ako 'cuz I thought hundi sya bading, tapos I thought, "Bading pala sya?" (kasi nga blow jobs yung topic, tapos lalake sya, diba?), tapos only to find out later on na kay Margie pala yun. So hindi sya bading.

Anyway, great, great, educational night. There were writers pa in the group, tapos medyo over my head na yung pinag-uusapan nila, pero great pa rin that entire night. Sorry lang nga ako kasi they were kinda lecturing na, tapos this guy Carlo (intelligent, well-articulated guy!) who was really asking good questions (kahit hindi na sya masyado nakikinig sa answers, pero intelligent kasi sya, Diary eh! Galing-galing ng guy na yun.) kinda shut-up na after the writers started talking. Especially si Indian-girl-host, parang, di ko talaga gets what she was trying to say pero her tone of voice was like she wanted Carlo to shut-up na. Kasi she wanted Yol and Margie to talk, so I guess I really can't blame her. Pero parang epal lang. Just because you're the host, doesn't mean you have the right to shut people up no! Some people talaga, no manners whatsoever.

Another bad trip is they kept talking about tone. Gets ko yung point ni Carlo talaga. All writing come from personal experience, and richer sya pag ganyan. But sabi nung iba dun, not necessarily daw. Tone daw can be achieved depende sa choice of words chorva-chorva. Pero hello! Tone of voice nga eh. Duh?! Voice!!! As in the sound that comes out of your throat when you talk? Kaya nga ang galing ni Margie magbasa. Mas na-understand ko yung work nya dahil sya talaga nagbasa. Personal experience talaga, that's what matters. Kaya nga ako nagsusulat dito sa journal, diba? To practice telling people about my stories. And it can be as simple as, "What happened to you today?", sabi nga ni Sir dela Cruz. I wish you were there, Diary.

Anyway, to get back to my point: I really did see a Carlo today! So winner, no? It circles around lang talaga, like a coiled cobra, head to tail! And that commercial was so funny pa, to boot. I want to write like that!

Haay, this is so long na. I'm so sleepy na Diary. I'll sleep na, ha? Thanks for always listening to me! See you tomorrow!


aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaGoodnight,
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaRhissa

Miyerkules na sa Green Papaya!

WHO'S THAT GIRL? Green Papaya Wednesday-i'm-N-love monthly poetry readings
Wednesday (siyempre!), 26 November, 8PM.

We're featuring Marguerite de Leon and Yol Jamendang in conversation (conversion din pwede!). Anything and everything under the sun, nothing is sacred blah blah blah, including yayas, phone sex, Bayani Fernando, kahit pa Johnsons No Tears Baby Shampoo. And if all else fails, hubaran na!

Ang Green Papaya ay nasa 41 T. Gener corner Kamuning Road, sa QC. P30 = beer! Woohoo!

Music it is.

One can really fool herself into thinking that symbols become the fact. Perhaps it's only the start, but nothing is never better. Not silence but music, someone told me. And the tune that's playing now, is not here to stay. Not lovely yet, but it's there.


Poet congratulates herself on a job well done

And shivers as the last
Syllables vibrate on the roof
Of her mouth

Somebody has yet to wrap
His tongue around her words
Make a present of it

For someone else.



#at

Now THIS is how it's done.

SILENCE

So this is how it’s done: I watch her

“If those wounds dry up, the words die with them.”
— Stephen King


So this is how it’s done: I watch her
fingers clutch at the scissors, bloody
from the one long slice to open up the fish,
the many pluckings to get rid of the bones.

She is quick and it looks painless
but then again
the fish won’t feel it,

The blood has long drained and the stains
on her hands, on the blades
could have come from any number,
any source--

I imagine it would take her as long to finish
this one, as it would me
to fork up a slice of the same fish—
to chew hesitantly, my tongue still
feeling around for the bones
she might have left behind,
to catch them with my teeth
push them out between my lips
and catch them with my fingers,

Wipe them on the side of my plate
before they could catch at my throat--

I pay her the extra ten to do this
I can afford it
and I don’t have the time.

***

No really, I don't have the time.
My watch says it's 9:47
too early for sleep, but too late for the coffee
I want, especially. At the back of my mind,
I have to wake up at 4:30.

Playing 'round and 'round my head
Please call me baby
but I have left my phone

At the house I couldn't stand
it anymore, so I took a walk.
I wished to God it would rain
but it never does, not like in the movies

or in the songs. It does in this one, because
We do crazy things when we're wounded, he sings
and I would've liked to cry
but I could never do that
in public, especially.
Except when it doesn't mean anything
and I would like it to mean

something. Like the one time
on the road and everyone's phone rang
except mine
other people looking for other people
and I wished to God for a phone call
even the one I didn't want

because I wanted to cry
and I wanted it to mean something
to be able to say,
So this is how it feels like
I wanted a witness.

Not others' but mine
captured like in the movies,
or in the songs. Not life
like taking a walk, buying that coffee
then coming home
to wait--It is one in the morning now--
to sleep.

***

She sleeps with her mouth open,
and I watch her
like she has something to say
I wait for it

But she never does, she's not one to talk
in her sleep or awake,
even then she is quiet

I have tried to decipher
the silences like overcast skies
or her bright talk when she does
the sudden movement of clouds
to let the sun through

Her moods not like the weather:
thunderstorms make her happy
or at least I think so
watching her

Pressed against the windows
mouth again open--
the fog of her breath on the glass
appear, disappear in rhythm
like the catch
and release of a heart.