Tag Archives: father

inspired by: MARTA

3 Mar

Ako si Marta

Dalagang ina

Nagmahal nung una

Nanganak mag-isa

Nagalit sa mundo

Sabi ko noon, “Unfair ito!”

Buti pa siya, walang dinadala

Magiging ama, pero hindi halata

Kung umasta parang binata

Walang anak na iniinda

Kung ang lalaki kaya ang magdala

Para sa ‘pag puntong ako’y nanghihina

Makikipag-inuman naman sa barkada

Tutal, lalaki na ang may dala

Ng batang binuo naming dalawa

Kung lalaki na ang magdadala

Pwede na akong maglakwatsa

Maghahanap ng damit

Kaya nang magbuhat,

kahit maraming bitbit

Pero hindi, dahil kung lalaki ang magdadala

Sasamahan ko siya

Kapag kumirot ang tiyan?

Dali-dali kong hahalikan

Kapag umiiyak, kahit walang dahilan?

Kahit saan pa yan, lagi kong dadamayan

Kapag di makatulog

Naghahanap ng niyog

May buko naman sa kanto

Kukunin ko alang-alang sa mag-ama ko.

Pero kahit hindi lalaki ang magdala

Kahit ako na dahil ako naman talaga

Kakayanin ko, iparamdam lang niya

Nabuo ito nang hindi ako mag-isa

At siguruhin niya

Ilalabas ko itong magkasama kaming dalawa.


No More

28 Jun

Behind this wall, I hear a family in grieving.

Two children fighting,

 for a father who isn’t living.

Two children arguing,

 “Father just spoke to us! He isn’t dying!”

Two children crying,

 “Papa!”, “Papa!” … until their voices start cracking.

Adults try to persuade them,

“Your father was only waiting for you, children. 

You had time together but he is no longer breathing.

Let go now, children. No more waiting.”

My Valentine

15 Feb

Back in high school,
And its a valentines day,
You get an excuse to be corny,
You show your love with chocolates and roses.

When teenagers like me get kilig over boys with their flowers and chocolates,
I think of you and your bilins,
“Books before boys”, says mama,
“Bawal ang boyfriend. Grumaduate ka muna.”, says you, papa.

Well, however you two say it,
I get it. No boys. Period.
Diploma muna.
But i do have a boy in my life.

On valentines day i go home,
But on this special day,
I would stop by my friend’s book rental shop–
Not to rent a book (well, yes, maybe),
But you see, my friend also sells roses on valentines day.
So i go there and buy one long-stem of rose.
A rose for this special boy in my life.

This boy, this amazing and adorable boy,
He knows my priorities.
While he makes sure i study well,
He does my laundry,
Cooks my food,
Gives me rides to school,
Surprises me when i commute home
And plays hide and seek with me.

Yes, we argue.
But hey, when food’s ready,
we’re okay.
The best kind of relationship. Ever.
Why bother with boyfriends?

When the girls at my school
Wait for the boys,
Get kilig with anticipation,
When boyfriend-girlfriend was a “thing”,
I was the girl with books as my shield,
With shyness as my charm.
And i was okay.

Because with that boy,
My standards became high.
I knew then i deserve the kind of love those boys at my age could not give.
I knew i won’t be able to give the kind of love i need in return at that young age.

So, i held on.
I stuck with my books.
I listened to “the boy”
I was okay.

So when boys those days
Buy roses for their crushes and honeys,
I buy one for the boy.
I give him a rose.

At some point,
To my surprise and much delight,
The boy would give me chocolates.
That special boy…

He was my best friend,
My clown, my foundation.
That boy is my father.
My valentine.


Beginning and Ending

30 Jan

To whomever,

To feel so empty; so bereft when visiting a parent’s grave after coming from a wedding is very unsettling. It clearly doesn’t promise a positive day ahead.

My sensitivity this past few weeks tripled. Everything feels wrong. You’d think you’re becoming a monster, or something to that effect.

Shouting is so tempting. Just to free your mind. or relax.
You forget manners for the sake of silence or space or aloneness. People are so hard-headed. They just can’t leave a person alone.

A brooding look, a sigh, or even a frown would invite someone to pat your back and try to console you.

“That is life.”
“Everything is going to be alright.”
“I miss him too.”

You try to appreciate that but at that moment you just don’t care.
You just want silence and peace. You just want to be alone. Sympathy becomes unbearable because they could only irk you to no end.
Clearly, you don’t want sympathy because you know that already. You feel that already.

People are hopeless.
And more.

“He’s in good hands now.”
“He’s happy.”

Of course, i know that. That’s the only consolation i could think of. He had a good life.

I just want to miss him. Remember him. I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to get over the fact that he’s gone. I don’t want to forget him.

When i cry, there could only be three reasons behind it. One, i’m missing the things he did for me. Two, i’m missing the things i could have done for him. And three, i’m missing the things he could have done for me.

If you could even miss things that haven’t even done, that is.

I realize my father, only him, brings out the best and worst of me. And i miss him so. I wanted him to be proud of me. I miss confessing to him and hearing he’s say on the matter. He’s the only one in my family i could accept criticism or even judgment without feeling defensive. His opinion matters to me.
His opinion moves me.

Hardheaded and hopeless,

Jan. 30, 2013

PS: Hoping.