Hard as a Diamond

My morning started with a note that my sister tagged me on facebook. Her note tells so much about her inner thoughts and feelings that I have not thought she felt all those years. There's so much cleverness in her note that made me feel ashamed of two things. First,how her writing style is definitely much much better and way too creative than how I do mine. Second, how I have been so apathetic and insensitive to assume that all of my siblings feel indifferently and not much affected on our parents' separation like I do.

Loaded with guilt, I felt the urge to ponder on the things she wrote and maybe write something that would lift her spirit up and made her feel that she was never alone in the fight.

There are parts in her note that I can easily relate to, like when she said how a great joker our father is. The only difference is the joke that we've been told and how quickly we learned to laugh at it. Because my sister was barely 12 years old when my father cracked the joke on her, and she just learned that it's just a joke and she's having a hard time trying to laugh at it just now.

While I on the other hand, was 15 (my sister was only 7 then) when my father played his prank on me, and I have learned too soon about it, allowing me to learn how to laugh at it at a relatively quicker phase.

Like my sister did, I took everything seriously at first too, not really understanding when exactly the joke has been cracked and when I should start laughing. All I know is that his joke left me lying in a hospital bed for many days, badly beaten and bruised. All I understand is that I want to avoid talking and seeing anyone, trying to find answers and comfort in the darkness of my own thoughts.

When did I learn that everything was just a big joke?

When my father did not even care to visit me in the hospital and see if I was taking his joke just fine.

When he still managed to get moving and did things for promotion and career advancement. When I didn't see that he's sorry and ashamed of what he did in front of his friends. When he pretended that he's worthy of everyone's respect.

When I want to vomit whenever my friends address him as "sir" and spoke to him as if they were almost speaking to a pope.

When he committed the same sin and mistakes time and again effortless. When he treated mom, me and my siblings as imbecile fools who would never learn the fact that he shouldn't be understood and forgiven easily as if we are scared to lose him on our side.

I am really not in any position to determine which of the joke my father did to us was the hardest to laugh at. I cannot honestly say which of us is strongest, for all of us found different means to cope up with it. In fact, I didn't understand my father's joke on my own and I was only good at crying and succumbing to fear many times and the thought of taking my own life, had crossed my mind more than once that time.

Because the long rest I had on the hospital might have had me feeling better, but my worrying mind remained restless for a few more days.

Because the doctors might have been good in treating my swollen ribs, but he did not do anything to ease the heavy burdens in my heart.

Because the nurses might have done their jobs well treating my bruises, but there's nothing that they can do to remove the scars in my soul.

Because my mom and aunts might have lied to everyone the best they could so that my father won't have any criminal records physically abusing me, and might have told the hospital staff that I was injured because I accidentally slipped and hit my head on our bathroom floor. But it made a record on my life that nobody can deny or lie about.

I thought things were at its worst then and there's no way that I could make my life better. It was my mother's younger brother who saw me groping in the dark and led me out to see the light . It was him who sincerely but unconsciously took the resposibility in his shoulders to do the things that my father should be doing for me. It was him who decoded my father's joke for my confused mind to understand.

My uncle told me many things that night. Some of it were still unfathomable then to my immature thoughts, but then trying to appreciate his efforts, I lended him not just my ears to listen, but my heart to obey and follow his advices.

It was my heart who translated everything he said in a way much easier for me to understand. And the "translated" version goes like this: "You're still young...this is just the beginning of every kind of joke, both funny and rude, that life will throw on you. As you get older, you will find yourself facing problems similar to this...or problems that are much much harder..problems that not even I could understand. If you would refuse to face this now, how would you face the other jokes that will come your way? You may take it seriously, but don't be too hard on yourself. Face it now and welcome the opportunity to grow and get stronger. You're wise and clever. You can do better than cry here and sulk. Ride on the joke... and learn how to turn the joke on life, or in this case on your father." Whatever courage I have now, I owe it to my uncle. And I'll do whatever I can to return the favor, endlessly. In fact I have decided to ask him to walk me down the aisle when my wedding day arrives.

I have also learned to recognized the joke early on, and decided to face it rapidly. I don't know if anyone, even my uncle, had noticed what I did to cope up with it easily, but then I did. Since then, I didn't take any of my father's words seriously.

As a matter of fact, what my father had told my youngest sister is already a passe to me. Those were the things that he told me many years before. But then, when he told me it was my mom that should be blamed for what had happened to us, I agreed. When he said he had changed because he's thinking about the welfare of his children, I agreed. When he said all the good things that he promised he's now doing, I agreed. I agreed, but I never believed him.

I learned the hard way. There were no shortcuts. But I am stronger now. I've become a hard diamond shaped evenly by the cruelty of life. A diamond that shines with the love of the certain people who treats me as the gem that I truly am even when I was just a coal.

My sister, on the other hand saw herself throwing the boomerang at my father only to get hit back by it, making her more vulnerable and blinded to hit his soft spot. But I have dealt with the predicaments that she's dealing with now,many years before. I know that she too, is now a coal that can easily be broken into pieces.Hiding in the dark. Learning the hard way. Undergoing changes. Ignoring the pain. Keeping the lessons. Until one day, she wouldn't even realized she have also turned into a hard diamond that no matter how many times she'll be hit back by the boomerang, it won't even make a scratch.

THIS IS ME.. A FEW YEARS BACK (another recovered poem)

Strong-willed. Adamant. Persistent.
It's how I sometimes want to be perceived by other people.
Animated. Humorous. Elated. Funny.
It's the kind of life that I want to lead.
Calm, Solemn. Serene. Relaxed.
It's the feeling deep within that I am craving to achieve. S
uccessful. Rewarding. Outstanding. Effective.
It's how I really want to become so badly.
Bewitching. Irresistible. Charming. Attractive.
Its my own person that exists only in my fantasies.
Too bad because I can only be me.
Passive. Apathetic. Shy. Submissive.
I can be badly hurt, but then I'd let go and forgive.
Dull. Dry.Numb. Idle.
Living life for me is like trying to figure out some heartless villain's riddle.
Confused. Perplexed. Baffled. Chaotic.
It's how my life has been since the war between my reasoning and emotion existed.
Failure. Useless. Empty. Broken.
And it's too painful just to think of because it's inevitable like hanging on in a verge of death.
Obnoxious. Abhorred. Hated. Cursed.
Because I am trying so hard just to fit in..
Awkwardly trying to be loved and cared for..
An act that only made me want to hate myself more. A fact that I want to put an end to.

Just an Old Poem

I used to be an old dusty book
In an old and filthy library
My torn pages are longing to be read
My faded texts and stories are waiting to be told.

Because people only come and go
No one dared to turn my pages
No one dared to listen to my screaming soul.

And then you came
Right before i rot on the shelf
Right before i die with my hopes.

And from then on, when i expected it the least
I felt your presence through my pages.

Suddenly someone came to go on thru every chapters with me
To share with every piece of my grief and pain..
To shed tears for my every defeat and sorrow..
To taste every fruit of success and triumph.

And now, I no longer feel like an old book.
Your presence and interest in me made me realized my worth.
Your friendship and love and affection gave meaning to the words and phrases carved in my resurrected soul...♥♥♥

Love Thy Native Tongue

Note: I wasn’t able to read the article posted by James Soriano. My sources are the articles that can be found on the following: http://www.abscbnnews.com/lifestyle/08/26/11/admu-students-essay-filipino-language-raises-online-firestorm and http://www.pinoytumblr.com/post/9404516076/language-learning-identity-privilege. He’s now a trending topic in twitter and in other social networking sites as well. At first I thought, here comes another asshole pretending to be someone more superior than anyone else. But then, I tried to set aside my personal opinion and decided to hear his thoughts. In some part of his article, the man obviously got a point, like when he said the following: “Filipino might have the capacity to be the language of learning, but it is not the language of the learned. It is neither the language of the classroom and the laboratory, nor the language of the boardroom, the court room, or the operating room. It is not the language of privilege” This one is a fact. I graduated from a public school (elementary and high school) where all of my Science and Math-related textbooks were all written in English. And as much as my teachers could, they taught the lessons using English as well. In most of the classes, in fact, the use of the English language is encouraged and in some cases the students will be charged a one peso fine for every Filipino word uttered. When I was in college, all of my major subjects in Agricultural Economics were also taught and learned in English, although in some of the discussions, the Filipino is also used. In fact even the thesis (defense and paper), being one of the requirements to graduate, were both expressed in English. And now that I am working, the English language has also served as the medium of communication with the other people in and out of the office. Working as a Project Development Officer in a government agency, I can’t recall writing or responding to a letter, memorandum and S.O that is not written in English. It’s like anything written in Filipino will be considered as an unofficial form of communication. Even the project proposals that I evaluate from time to time were all written in English. In my line of work, even if I am just a contractual employee, I have also attended meetings where in every person in the room tend to speak in English even if everyone in the room are all Filipinos (maybe in the hope of intimidating each other). During the workshops and seminars, the speakers proceed with their presentations using the English language and seldom use Filipino. It made me realized that the only time we speak in Filipino or tagalog is when everything is considered “unofficial” like talking to the person on the next cubicle, or upon seeing a friend on the hallway, while having lunch with friends, etc. Now I think that maybe the society should get half the blame on how James Soriano got the notion that the Filipino language is not the language of the privileged. This is a fact that can make some of us puke. And we can either accept that this is how things really work and this is how those in higher position communicate or we can start to make a stand and change the way things currently are. On the other hand, although the situation may again be realistic and true, I despised the author when he made the following nasty remarks: “It was how you spoke to the tindera when you went to the tindahan, what you used to tell your katulong that you had an utos, and how you texted manong when you needed ‘sundo na’” I also tried to imagine speaking to a vendor or to a jeepney driver in English and guess they would likely scowl at me thinking I’m such an arrogant brat and a show off (unless of course I came across with a few who will ride along or someone who is articulate enough to converse with me in English). But then again, did the author really have to make his statements in such a way that would degrade the already unfortunate state of his fellow men? Just saying.

Para kay J.R.

Gusto kong manganak ang isipan ko ng isang malikhaing akda Ngunit patuloy lamang ito sa pagluluwal ng wala Gusto kong palayain ang damdaming nakakubli Upang mahubadan na ang itinatagong kimi Gusto kong pakawalan ang nagpupumilit na panlalait Kasi pagdating sa'yo, wala akong panahon na magpakabait Gusto kong sabihin na wala na sana akong balak na kumibo Dahil sayang lang kung sa'yo din lang magpapakabibo Gusto kong malaman mo na hindi ako nakiki-alam, pero hindi mo din ako kakampi Sapagkat hindi ako ang tatay ko na walang silbi Gusto kong iparating sa'yo na bagamat hindi ako nakakaramdam ng galit Ay hindi rin ibig sabihin na natutuwa ako sa mga nangyayari Gusto kong sanay maabot ng kapos mong pang-unawa Na hindi ako nakakaramdam para sa'yo ng awa Gusto ko ding maintindihan mo na di ko sila kinukunsinti Pero di ka din dapat na nirerespeto ng kahit na kaunti Gusto kong ipabatid sa'yo na nadaig mo ang aking talento Nang dahil lamang sa mas higit ang kakayahan mo na maghabi ng kwento Gusto kong mag-ingay ka pa, magreklamo at ituloy ang demandang inumpisahan mo Dahil batid kong mas matamis lasapin ang tagumpay pag sa putik na nakasadlak ang buo mong pagkatao Gusto kong sabihin na matagal nang nagtapos para sa akin ang lahat Pero di ko gusto ang lahat ng kasinungalingang laban sa mga kapatid ko na iyong isinawalat Gusto ko ng tapusin ang pagtatangkang likhain pa ang obra na ito Dahil wala naman kahit isa dito ang mauunawaan ng makitid na kukote mo At ngayon, gusto ko nang ibuod ang lahat ng nakahayag dito Dahil sa madaling salita,ikaw ay ang mga sumusunod: Mababang uri. Hindi kaibig-ibig. Manggagamit. Sakim. Madamot. Mang-aagaw. Pretensyosa. Kasuklam-suklam. Haliparot. Kaladkarin. Talipandas. KABIT.