A Question of Gift to Give

My inaanak (goddaughter) sent me an invitation to her debut last Friday. I never realized then that she's already that old. I always regard my godchildren as peter pans with wings. The failure of counting the years is a manifestation of my almost unconscious desire of living forever young. The invitation thus was not only a call to live life to its fullest, but a disruption of my daydreaming of living in the past.

I haven't gotten of my fixation of the Jal-o River that was pristine clear and filled with life. I remember so well diving in its warm water searching for clams (we called it then bebe). My father used to erect artificial corrals (gango) in it which after a month or so, we would enclose with fishpens (taba) to help us out in the harvesting. A couple of gango would yield about a pail (about 5-6 kilograms) of freshwater shrimps (oeang, bueok and paye) some ubog, bagtis and bae-a (varieties of freshwater fishes of the goby [gobiidae] and sleepers family [eleotridae] in the Jal-o) and at times, tilapia (blue tilapia) and kilo (spotted scat).

During summer, my friends and I would go into a day of fishing by its banks (our rods were made up of bamboo poles and the hooks we bought at La Tali's store and at La Elbie's or in the market during the market day every Saturday morning). Bagtis was an easy catch. The proudest of us were those who manage to hook a tilapia or kilo. I remember the moment when I finally hooked a small kilo somewhere near the Pulahan mouth. I was so happy about the catch not because of its worth but because I knew for a fact that my patience and endurance of sitting all day long with nothing in my hand had finally bought me a prize.

Joanie's invitation has opened my mind to recall those moments of the past. The flood of memories rushed into me as I was wondering what gift to give my inaanak on her 18th birthday. It has also let me recall one favorite poet of mine, Rainer Maria Rilke whose excerpt from his letters to a young poet I had made into my daily mantra as a youth and a struggling artist whose mind was full of questions.

In giving my inaanak a copy of Rilke's piece, I am hoping that it would serve her well just as it had helped me deal with the questions that hounded my youth some 18 years ago. As for the stories of Jal-o, I hope that they will be retold henceforth more often than the usual.

Benitinan Canopy

The sun could hardly penetrate as you hike through the Maganhop forest of Benitinan.

On Assult to Person in Authority, Secularism and Superman

Over the radio, Kaibahang Butch was gaping at a reported incident where two uniformed policemen were stabbed following their attempt to disarm a minor who was brandishing a knife at the height of the Sto. Niño celebration. The anchorman was overwhelmed by the fact that agents of law are now the victims of such violence. I remember some years ago that he was also taken aback over a report where a Baleten-on was mauled over somewhere near the Magsaysay Park during one of the after dark Ati-atihan celebrations. He was trying to impress upon his listeners that during his salad days, it was the Baleten-ons who were feared at and the last persons you would want to cross with.

But time has changed. The younger generation would regard at the policemen as just typical employees trying to make a living. They see the Sto. Niño Festival as just like any other gimmicks. And they don't have a sense of history of their province or even that of their community. The aura of respect and reverence for persons in uniforms and the men of the cloth are unperceived if not unrecognized by them.

Modern thinkers would call this phenomenon, secularization or as by products of it. It does not only limits to the "liberation" of modern thinking from the "bondage" of "theological pretensions" but of diminishing the boundaries between the sacred and the profane and the exultation of superman. Secularism seeks to kill God and all the values associated with him and in his place, hails supermen--self-contained as the androgynous, proud like the kings, powerful like the Titans.

Post Festum, Peste

The feast of the Sto. Niño in Kalibo had been celebrated. And DYRU reported of some violence and felonies committed. Some hosts complained of some bottles of beer left opened but unconsumed; some salad left to rot in a corner.

Yesterday's feast was for some a little bit off of their expectations:
1. the celebration was too commercialized;
2. the organizers were a little bit unorganized;
3. the weather refused to cooperate;
4. the Vatican failed to appoint a new Bishop in time for the celebration (a parishioner was complaining of the election of Fr. Dalida as the Diocesan administrator, noting that he's "too young" --read, with little experience--for the task)

Personally, the feast was grace-filled. Me and my two "lives"--Vita & Vida, managed to get inside the crowded cathedral to hear mass. We were hard up paying attention but something happened after the final blessings, just when the priest rallied the faithful: Viva kay Sr. Sto. Niño! At first, we were reluctant to join in the charade of responding "Viva" with such gusto. Yet Fr. Sayon called us again and we gave in. And in giving in and letting go, joy knocked in into our hearts.

Such joy lingered into our hearts and souls that it led us to share it with others. Vita and Vida were animated and no longer complaining of being tired or dizzy. They just wanted to join the crowd in the street dancing and revelry despite the weather. It doesn't affect them that there was no bishop to intone the gloria. They were oblivious of the issue of mismanagement and commercialism and their eyes and ears were shielded from the violence and felonies committed by some individuals. They just wanted to celebrate the feast of the Christ Child with their childlike innocence.

We left Kalibo right after the procession. We went home after being at the House of the Father, convinced that we've strayed in his house for His "business". As we ride the Ceres, I prayed silently that I could be his instrument to shepherd my kids to grow in knowledge and wisdom and grace.

Signs of the Time

Our town was one of the few municipalities in Aklan to have secured a funding assistance from the Department of Labor and Employment. I saw to it that the project is properly implemented and that the public are informed about it. As the project progressed, I scribbled a note for the engineering department to come up with a streamer bearing the names of the agencies involved in the "Tulong Panghanapbuhay para sa Ating mga Disadvantaged workers (TUPAD)". Too late I learned that the sign-maker has misspelled the word "FUNDED" into "FOUNDED". The inadvertence earned some "righteous sarcasm" and scoldings. Nevertheless, the sign elicited healthy smiles from among the passersby.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

A new day.

My head aches. As it always does. Got a hang over of yesterday's street revelry. We don't have a "higante" to parade on, but we went on; we Baleten-ons love street dancing as the rest of the Aklanons whenever we hear those drums and lyres booming to that unique Ati-atihan beats. The Cebuanos and the Ilonggos just can't apprehend that. They find it "weird" that we're easily got swayed by the "rat-ta-tat-tatat" and the "Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!". But it's a culture "thing". It's part of the Aklanon psyche: the sooth, the drum, the lyre and street dancing (and the carousing and the Sto. Niño). You need not hire somebody to dance to the beating of drums in Aklan. All you need is to tap their faith, awaken their hearts and beat on that San Fernando bass drum.

So comes another day with a hang over and yet I'm all set to go back to the streets. The drums beckon, "Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Rat-ta-tat-tatat!"

Hala bira, Balete! Viva kay Sr. Sto. Niño!