The Conspiracy

Monday, 6:35 pm

I glowered at the sight of Mr. Mario Ventura, our new HRD officer, and Mr. Rolando Bautista, our Sales and Marketing manager, at my doorstep. They were still in uniform — black slacks and long-sleeved barong. Mr. Ventura was carrying a black leather briefcase in his right hand. I looked at each of them hard, not bothering to conceal the extreme annoyance I felt about their presence. I had a long bout against them and their fellow managers in the conference room the whole day today. Their tired, thirty-something faces were the last things I wanted to see after work. For a brief moment, I considered slamming the door on them.

“Won’t stay long.” Mr. Bautista announced as he stepped into the living room, not waiting to be invited in. My face must have made it explicitly clear that an invitation was not in order.

I moved into the living room without bothering to check if they were following. Reaching the center, I turned around, my face still tight. I didn’t ask them to sit down.

Mr. Ventura set the briefcase onto the center table. He opened the briefcase slowly, his eyes focused upon my face. I gave him a nasty look then lowered my gaze to the newly opened bag with its content now exposed. My eyes, swollen from crying and lack of sleep, literally bulged at what I saw. Money! An awful lot of money!

Both men noticed my reaction and were evidently pleased by it. “Five hundred thousand pesos in cold cash,” Mr. Ventura stressed. “For you.”

I dragged my gaze from the briefcase back to his unsightly face. “For me to keep my silence?”

“And for you to withdraw your charges against Mr. Uy.” He said, referring to the sexual harassment charges I filed this morning against Mr. Uy Huang Lu, our Chinese general manager.

“And why would I do that?”

“Five hundred thousand pesos, that’s why.”

“Get lost!”

“You’re a fool not to take the money, Jhannie. You’re sending off your brothers to school, aren’t you? And your father’s still battling with bronchopneumonia, isn’t he?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with malice. I glared at him, damning him for knowing just the right button to push.

“Forget about yourself, Jhannie.” Mr. Bautista interjected. “Just think about your family. How would you feel if something happens to your father, knowing that you could have prevented it? And if your brothers dropped out of school, wouldn’t you feel guilty knowing that you could have done something about it? Be practical. Anyway,” his voice dropped, “nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” I instantly flared. “I was nearly raped. I am about to lose my mind. I haven’t slept for 48 hours. And now, you calmly tell me that nothing happened?”

“I mean physically. What are kisses, embraces? I’m sure you did more than just those with your past boyfriends. I’m sure you’ve…”

“You’re insulting me, Mr. Bautista.” I cut him off. “The issue is not whether the act was consummated or not. We’re talking about a violation committed against my person!” I gritted my teeth. “Your boss is a devil.”

I noticed Mr. Ventura not-too-discreetly signal Mr. Bautista to leave things to him. The latter kept quiet, eyed the sofa, and proceeded to sit down. Mr. Ventura turned his attention back to me. “Jhannie, calm down…”

“Calm down? You’ve got the nerve to order me to calm down after what he did to me?”

“Jhannie, listen…”

“No, Mr. Ventura, you listen.” My voice was hard. “Clearly, we see things differently. And it’s apparent to me whose side you’re on. Tell me, if you could bribe me, what are you going to get in return? Promotion? Reward money?”

“Nothing. I’m just protecting the interest of the company.”

“Interest of the company? At the expense of the employees? Sir, you’re the HR manager! You’re supposed to protect the employees, not just the management!”

“And I’m doing just that. Jhannie, can’t you see? You have no case! No witnesses. No physical marks. No proofs. How could you prove that he molested you? It’s going to be your word against his. And who would take the word of an executive secretary over that of a respected country general manager? No one.” He breathed hard, then his voice softened. “Take the money, Jhannie. You’ll lose one way or another. Remember, you don’t come quite clean, what with the issue with Eric.”

I raised my eyebrows at the mention of my American friend’s name. “What’s Eric got to do with this?”

“Oh come on. You may be able to fool your officemates into believing that your relationship with Eric Collum is innocent. But the management knows better. And remember, an affair with a married man wouldn’t help you through this case in the least.”

“Affair with a…” My head spun when I realized what he was insinuating. “You’re accusing me of sleeping with him, is that it?”

“Aren’t you?” he countered.

I glared at him. “That’s absurd! We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve been spotted together many times. What will your officemates think? The management?”

“Ridiculous! Having lunch together does not warrant an affair.”

“Yes. But if we’d take it as a character reference,” he paused, a nasty smile playing on his lips, “we can easily plant a seed of doubt about your character in the mind of whoever is going to investigate this case.” His face moved closer to mine. “And where will that leave you?”
My hands balled. God, how I wanted to knock him off!

Again, he smiled. “Take the money, Jhannie. Save your face.”

“Get out!”

“Sure, we will.” He answered as he calmly closed his briefcase. “But think about it, Jhannie. You have until tomorrow morning to decide.” He picked up the briefcase with his right hand then, beckoning Mr. Bautista to follow him, walked to the door, his confidence unshaken by my outburst. They were already at the door when Mr. Ventura looked back, his face arrogant. “Choose well.”

I glared at him, but he and Mr. Bautista just walked coolly to the parked company car.



Tuesday, 7:45 a.m.

“HAVE YOU MADE a decision yet?”

My heart missed a beat at the sound of Eric’s voice; I didn’t know he had arrived. I was doubly surprised that he knew of the bribe Mr. Ventura had offered me, of which I had planned to tell him this morning. I jerked my head up to look at him. He was settling himself on an officemate’s desk to my right, deciding to half-sit, half-lean on it, making him seem a few inches shorter than his actual height of six feet flat. I gazed at his bluish-gray eyes that were fixed upon mine. “How’d you know I’m to make one?” I asked, my brows creased.

“I have sources. I know about the bribe. So, what’s your decision?”

I didn’t answer. I stared at him with questioning eyes.

His eyes met mine. “I didn’t know five hundred thousand pesos could make you indecisive.” He sounded disappointed.

“It’s a lot of money.”

“Not much compared to what you nearly lost.”

I looked down, unable to answer.

“Did you really think if you dropped the charges, they’d give you the money?” he asked when I didn’t answer.

Again, I looked up at him mutely.

“They won’t. They’d have you drop the charges then relieve you from your post. Where will that leave you?”

I sighed. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Then you are naïve.”

Again I sighed, focusing my troubled eyes upon his. “Eric, Mr. Ventura mentioned something about us. He… The management thinks we have an affair.”

“Damn!” He burst angrily. “Jhannie, listen. I … shit!” He swore when he heard voices coming from the first floor. “They’re here. You know what to do.” He said, then walked to his office.

No. I don’t know what to do, I told myself.



Tuesday, 9:30 a.m.

THE MANAGERS were already settled when I entered the conference room. Mr. Uy wasn’t there. I felt relieved. I didn’t want to see him. I took the only vacant seat near the door. There were only five of us in the ten-seater room, but the room seemed too small for all of us. Already I was gasping for air.

“So, Jhannie, I take it you’ve already made a decision?” Mr. Ventura sounded nice, while Mrs. Teresita Canida, the deputy manager and the only female in the room excluding myself, looked at me calculatingly. Gone was the calm, motherly face she always wore, replaced by something more akin to what she really was — a scheming bitch. Even the other managers — Mr. Bautista, Mr. Allan Cabuyao, and Mr. Tim Lanuza — were staring at me. They were sure I was going to take the money. Somehow, that thought angered me.

“Yes.” I answered.

“In that case, we’d better go to the police station so you could drop the charges.” Mr. Ventura said, looking pleased.

I looked directly into his eyes. “No, Mr. Ventura. I’m pursuing the case,” I said, surprised that my voice sounded strong.

Mr. Ventura’s smile instantly turned into a frown. For a moment, he looked angry, but he soon controlled his anger. “If you say so,” he said, shooting Mrs. Canida a look. Their eyes talked.

Mrs. Canida adjusted her oval eyeglasses, opened the cream folder she was holding, then stared at me. I stared back. “You very well know that you don’t have witnesses. No physical marks. And your morality is questionable,” she began. I started to say something, but she lifted her right hand, signaling me to keep quiet. “Even if you say you’re not having a relationship with Collum,” she said, referring to Eric “we can easily make people believe you two are having an affair.”

I glared at her. God! How I wanted to kick her in the ass! How could she talk like that, as though she doubted Mr. Uy’s guilt when she was with us in the conference room yesterday, when he admitted his crime and begged me for forgiveness? And why are they — the managers — covering up for him?

“In addition to that, Mr. Uy hadn’t signed an overtime form,” she continued. “That means, technically, your stay in the office after the regular work hour is illegal.”

“He told me he’d sign it the following Monday,” I said defensively.

“Is that our SOP?” She looked up at me, her right brow raised. Then continued, without waiting for me to answer, “No. Our office procedures explicitly instruct employees to have OT forms signed by their superior or whoever asks them to render overtime work before actual OT.” Again, a smile played on her lips, telling me that she knew I was on the verge of crying.

“We also have the guard’s report on the date you claimed Mr. Uy harassed you. It says here that at 3:30 pm, about fifteen minutes after you clocked out, you were seen sitting at the reception area. The guard warned you that employees are not allowed to loiter in the company premises once they’ve clocked out. You answered you were waiting for Mr. Uy. Ten minutes later, you and Mr. Uy left the office in his Cefiro driven by his driver, Bong. That means…”

“Excuse me, Ma’am!” I interjected, failing to restrain myself. “That’s not true. I clocked out at 3:15, about five minutes after Mr. Uy harassed me. I immediately fled the building. There’s no way that incident could have occurred.” I said, trembling with anger. “Everything in that report is a lie!”

“Calm down!” Mr. Ventura and Mrs. Canida shouted at me. I kept quiet, but continued to glare at them.

“This is an official report.” Mrs. Canida continued. “It came from a third party.”

“You bribed the guard.” I replied.

“You can’t prove that.” She countered, sounding hard. “Besides, we have with us Bong’s statement, corroborating the guard’s report.” She emphasized the last words. I shook my head. Tsk, they had everything well plotted. “And what’s more, it says here that Bong drove you to … hmm, surprise, surprise … to Mr. Uy’s unit in Greenbelt Residences! Tell me Jhannie, what did you do in Mr. Uy’s apartment?”

“You’re in a better position to answer your question, ma’am,” I answered sarcastically. “You’re the author, you’re the one who knows the events in your story.”

She ignored my sarcasm. “Even if it were just your word against Mr. Uy’s, Jhannie, you’re already disadvantaged, given your questionable character. But there’s also the guard’s report and Bong’s statement. Tsk, tsk.” She shook her head as though she pitied me. “Anyway, because you didn’t accept our offer, you’ve only two choices left: either you resign or we’ll terminate your employment.”

“That’s illegal.”

She smiled. For a moment I thought she was Satan’s female counterpart. “You must remember, my dear, that you’re merely a contractual employee.” She held out some documents. “”Here’s your evaluation.”

I took the papers then slowly read them. There’s a letter signed by Mr. Ventura, informing me that I failed to meet the standards of the company. With trembling hands, I turned to the evaluation sheets. Incompetent. Inefficient. Lacks cooperation. Those were the remarks of the supervisors who evaluated me. I knew these were all just made up, but I felt bad. These very same people had been very happy with my work. Impressed even. Mr. Uy himself had said so. Now they’re telling me I failed to meet the company’s standards? Yeah, right!

Mrs. Canida handed me two unsealed envelopes. “One contains a termination letter, the other, a resignation letter. It’s up to you which one you prefer. Just make sure you sign one.”

“You’re all evil.” I cried.

“Just sign, Ms. Ancheta.” Mr. Ventura prompted. I glared at him. I grabbed the pen he was offering me and signed the termination letter.

“Good. Mr. Uy will be very happy.” Mrs. Canida said, smiling. I scowled at her but she merely laughed. “In this life, idealism got no place, Jhannie. You’re still young; you still have a lot to learn. But remember this so you’d wisen up: In this life, nothing but money talks. Money makes things go round. Not idealism. Not self-respect. Money! Lots of money. That gives you power! And when you’ve got power, you’ve got everything. Everything, Jhannie. Ev-ery-thing! So strive to get a lot of…”

I stood up and walked out of the door. I didn’t have time for craps.



Tuesday, 11:20 a.m.

“What are you doing?” Eric asked, planting himself behind me.

“Packing.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But why?”

“Why?” I repeated. “I lost, that’s why.”

“No, you’re not going to lose.”

My brows furrowed. What was he saying? “I’m afraid, I already have.”

“No. The battle has just started.”

I abruptly turned around to face him, annoyance evident on my face. “What are you saying? We have just finished and I lost.”

“Nope. HR officers from Hong Kong will be coming in tomorrow,” he said, referring to our head office. “Heads will be rolling, but definitely not yours,” he announced calmly.

My forehead creased. “What do you mean? I just got fired, can’t you see? I won’t be here tomorrow. Today’s my last day!”

“You’d still be here. Listen,” his voice dropped. He walked me to his office. Once inside, he closed the door, making sure no one would hear what he was about to say. I walked to the chair opposite his desk and sat. As he usually does, he half-sat, half-leaned on his desk, slipping both his hands into his trousers’ pockets. “Hong Kong knows everything that went on in there yesterday and today. Someone has been passing to Hong Kong what had been discussed in the meetings.”

My brows furrowed deeper. “But who…? Why…?”

“Who? It is I. Why? Because I had orders.” He cut me off. “Hong Kong had been receiving complaints against Mr. Uy, albeit anonymous ones. We’ve identified only two victims, both unwilling to file a case. The first one is a girl who used to hold your position — her name’s Edna — very young, just your age…”

“What about her?”

“Mr. Uy got her pregnant.” I was shocked. Mr. Uy, nearing 60 years, got a twenty-three-year-old girl pregnant? I looked up at Eric, wanting him to confirm that I heard him correctly. He nodded. “He’s supporting the baby. But we can’t act on that case because, like I said, Edna’s not willing to file a complaint.”

I sighed. “Does Mr. Uy’s family know?

“I don’t think so.”

I sighed.

“Did you know why your HR manager is relatively new?”

I shook my head.

“Mr. Ventura joined the company a full month before you did. That must be… what, six months ago? Mrs. Cayetano, the old HR manager, was fired because she witnessed Mr. Uy harassing another young employee. This employee is no longer with the company. She didn’t file a complaint; she simply resigned. Mrs. Cayetano tried to talk her into filing a complaint. Promised to help her. But she — Mrs. Cayetano — was fired before she could do anything. Mrs. Cayetano filed a complaint right after that — illegal dismissal. She also told Hong Kong about a conspiracy among the managers, including Mr. Uy, of which I vaguely know. This is still being being discreetly investigated; I wouldn’t tell you by whom, but this I can tell you: that conspiracy explains why all these managers are covering up for Mr. Uy.”

He paused, allowing me to digest the information. I knew my eyes were betraying my confusion, but I couldn’t make them leave his.

Eric let out a long sigh, raked his fingers through his longish dark blonde hair, then he continued, “Anyway, with the new developments, the girl never got to file her complaints. But still, Hong Kong decided to probe this sexual harassment issue, separate from the conspiracy thing, but also very discreetly. They thought I was the perfect person to do the job, as no one would suspect I’d be interested in other matters besides providing technical support to Philippine projects. I was specifically tasked to look after young, good-looking new employees like you.”

My head snapped up. “Why?” I asked.

“It was likely he’d make you his new victim.”

Anger immediately bubbled up inside me. “So I was set up, is that it?” I shouted. “And you didn’t even bother to warn me? To tell me I might be in some danger?”

He held up his hands “No, no. Don’t think it that way. You were hired as an employee, not some kind of specimen we had to observe. Your employment was, and still is, legitimate. Neither Hong Kong nor I have anything to do with it. But we reckoned he might be interested in you, so they made me look after you. But I wasn’t allowed to say anything about my mission, until now. It was top secret. We weren’t sure he would harass you, though we reckoned he might. Besides, how do you think that knowledge would have made you feel?” he asked. Then, without waiting for my answer, continued, “You’d be bothered. So, I looked after you instead. I was always with you, wasn’t I? Always made sure that I knew where you were no matter how busy I was. We even became good friends. Did you think I’d let anything happen to you? Had I not gotten sick Friday through that fateful Saturday afternoon, he wouldn’t have had a chance to lay a finger on you.”

I calmed down, but I was confused still. “But you weren’t in the conference room yesterday and today. How could you have known…”

“Mr. Ventura. He was reporting to me.”

My mouth opened up in surprise. “But Mr. Ventura…”

“… was the one who offered you the money, I know. He was instructed by Mr. Uy and Mrs. Canida.”

“So why would he go to you and tell you about what he and the rest of the managers have been doing?”

“Because he’s our undercover. He — he’s the uncle of the girl I just told you about.”

My brows creased as my mouth opened wider. I was so dumbstruck I was unable to utter a word for a long time. Eric, too, didn’t volunteer any more information, allowing me to digest what he’d just shared. “Why didn’t you tell me those things yesterday, when I told you what had happened?” I asked after a while.

“Three reasons. First, I told you, I wasn’t allowed to say anything about my mission. Second, I didn’t want to influence you on your decision. Lastly, I knew you’d do the right thing.”

“You couldn’t be so sure about that. I myself am not sure I did the right thing. Until now.”

“Then maybe I knew you more than you know yourself,” he smiled. “I knew that for a while, you may feel tempted, but you’d always do what’s right. You’re a decent person, Jhannie. I swear, older people could learn a thing or two from you.”

“What if I accepted the money? What would you have thought of me, then?”

“Funny it didn’t occur to me that you would,” he replied. “But I think I could understand if you did. Your family needs money. Either way, you’ll always be my friend.”

I bowed my head. I didn’t know what to say. Again, we were quiet for a long time.

“Thank you,” I said, looking up, tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Anytime,” he replied, smiling.

I meant to smile back at him. But instead of a nice, grateful smile, a hysterical laugh rang out. It was a relieved, carefree laugh. It was like the laugh of a condemned, good-for-nothing person who just outsmarted the devil by sheer luck. Immediately, I recognized it as mine. I was crying and laughing at the same time. It was crazy. I felt so good. The pain, the hurt, the uncertainty that plagued me are now gone. This morning I felt damned. Now… now I felt so relieved. If not for Eric’s presence, I would have danced, and jumped, and sang at the top of my lungs. But I was worried he’d think I’d gone crazy. But then he, too, was laughing! Had he gone crazy, too?


//Sherma E. Benosa, 2004

Corridors and Alleys

Walk
Out of the alleys
Of shallow imaginings
Of impossible dreams and pursuits
And futile and empty quests.
Such labyrinth's not
Safe.

Tread
Along corridors
Of meaningful endeavors
Lofty undertakings and pursuits
And fundamental journeys.
Such ventures feed the
Soul.


//Also posted in VF's "Living Outside High Walls" as my challenge for him to write poems of this metering: 1-5-7-9-7-5-1.

SIKA AMANG (ROMAN)

Natibkerka nga inkam’ nagsadagan
Iti naunday a panawen sika’t kamang
Adigi a nalinteg, naanus a nangiwanwan
Sarikedkedmi, sika laeng Amang.

Sika daydi bukel nagdisso nadam-eg a daga
A rimmusing, nagagawa ket rimmangpaya
Sika ti puon dagiti amin a nagtagisanga
Nga apon dagiti tumatayab; agawidda kenka.

Sika ti urat pagtalaytayan naruay a taraon
Maibisibis kadagiti sanga ken kadagiti bulong
Sika ti sappupo dagiti bunga ken sabong
Nabsogda’t pammagbaga, ta sikat’ salinong.

Palubusannak nga agkurno kenka, Amang
‘Toy bungat’ saringitmo, itandudona 'ta nagan
Iti agnanayon sika ti innak pagtamedan
Tibker pammatim, isu’t innak pagtaklinan.


//Sherma E. Benosa; April 12, 2007; 11:07pm
For myAmang, Roman Bona Benosa
on his 88th birthday, March 28, 2007

Some thoughts on looking back

Dwelling on the past may not be the most brilliant thing to do. But to move forward without looking back once in a while can prove to be fatal to the soul. —Sherma Benosa, 2003

It is not bad to look back to our past. It only becomes unhealthy when we do it much too often, and when we allow the past to hinder us from moving forward. While we may need to have our sights focused on what lay ahead, we also need to look back to our past once in a while to strengthen our resolve to move on. —Sherma E. Benosa, April 14, 2007 while on final stopover during my trip to NV

Looking back may serve as a test of how strong we have become as a person, despite (or rather, because of) our experiences, including those that brought pain to our heart, tears to our eyes, torture to our mind, and anguish to our soul. It is when we can look back to the past without getting hurt — and with acceptance, if not understanding — that we know we have definitely moved on. —Sherma E. Benosa, April 14, 2007 while on final stopover during my trip to NV

Sunset by the Sea

Fiery shades of red
Dazzle across the canvas;
A tint of orange
Lingers in the Painter’s brush;
Hush the vast expanse.

Enchanting music
Of waves coming home to shore
Serenades the Sun
Lulling in the horizon;
Precious peace, she hums!

Breathtaking colors
Gleam in the serene waters;
A few shades of gray
Serve as the tableau’s backdrop;
What a lovely sight!

Two souls sit in awe
Enthralled by the glorious scene
Flashing above them
The masterpiece, the treasure
Of the Master’s hand.

Two hearts deeply touched
Go warm and supple and lithe
Turn to each other
Talking of love and prom’ses;
A soft vow is made

As gleaming silh’ette
Gracefully makes her entrance;
And li’l sparklers
Disperse themselves far and wide;
Night has fin’lly come.

//A poem I was able to create from pieces of verses I posted when I challenged MCP to a duel using 5-7-5-7-5 metering (an extended version of haiku. This metering we called ChaikuS)

//First posted in Kamarin ni MSB in Clifton Pascua's blog in iluko.com, April 11, 2007

Racing Against Time*

Sherma E. Benosa
12/2/2003 10:16:00 PM

On the average, I work 14 hours a day, six times a week, and stay in the office 130 hours of the 168-hour week. I should say that at the end of each week I am toxic and dead tired. I am, but only physically. Deep inside, there is an unexplainable feeling of restlessness that arrests me when I am most vulnerable—a restlessness that not even my exhausted body could suppress; a restlessness that fuels my spirit to soar high; and a restlessness that makes me believe that there is so much to do, in so little a time.

Sometimes I feel as though I am in constant race against Time, and that Time somehow manages to occasionally pull my leg by throwing at me extreme feelings of loneliness or happiness that make me want to stop and either enjoy life or wallow in misery. And when I do, I’d soon realize that I’d been tricked, and that Time had run so far ahead that I could barely catch up.

So I'd put myself back on gear again, exerting every strength I could muster, running as fast as I could, wanting to overcome Time and win the game. But even the most determined soul has its limitations. I too, am not immune to these. In every step I’d made, there had always been something in the way that I had to face before I could make another step. On most occasions, I’d had to move sideward in order to move forward.

“What am I to do? Am I not lucky that I have reached this far despite the things I had to go through? So I have not reached that which I’ve set out to achieve, but then, they weren’t realistic in the first place. Hey, I’ve managed to pull out of every catastrophe thrown my way!” So there go the excuses I’d made for myself for the little-above-satisfactory performance I'd put in. Tsk!

But who the heck am I kidding? If I'd be honest, I’d admit that I had not truly exhausted all the possible options I could have taken; that I had let myself be detained by my perceived limitations; and that I had foolishly succumbed to the fearful little voice inside me which kept asking, “What happens if you fail?”

So I’ve been extremely careful in  my steps. Where I should have readily leaped, I opted to look first, until fear of what might happen had enveloped me that I eventually lost the courage to jump. Where I should have  moved on, I chose to look back and what I saw either tied me to the past or made me be wary of what might be ahead, that in my moments of indecision, good opportunities passed me by. Where I should have confidently taken over, I let other people take control of the things that directly affected me, until I realized a little too late that I could have done the job much better.

It’s not yet late, though. One thing that I have learned lately about the concept of time is that, when seen in a different perspective, perhaps in the long-term scale, there really is no such thing as being too early or too late. This I say, because for years I kept postponing doing something I’ve always wanted to do, thinking that it was too early and that I was too young. So I waited for it to happen in its right time. Or shall I say, I waited for Opportunity to come knocking at my door and hand me the assurance that the odds were on my side. But it never came. Before I knew it, Time had already passed me by.

Then, I thought that it was already too late, that I was too old, and that I may never make it. For some time, I let myself believe this. Until lately, I came to understand that it is not Time that chooses when it is perfect for things to happen; it is I who should make Time be right for what I want to happen.

So now I am working double time to make up for the lost time. Soon, I’d be side by side with Time again. Who knows, I might even be able to trick it into slowing down a little. That should not be too hard. I have already started. So much more shall happen. Simply because I’ve decided it’s time…


------------
*I have been told once that time is not something to race against, rather, travel with—a wisdom of age that (not so) young people like myself have yet to learn. Part of me wants to slow down and find time to smell the flowers and live each day as it comes. But then, the other part of me would not want to look back to this day when I am much older and count all the opportunities I’ve missed because I’ve been busy romancing the sunset that I didn’t recognize them when they presented themselves to me. I would not want to find myself wishing to turn back time to do the things I should have done. There is nothing more tragic, I think, than to have might-have-beens and if-onlys one too many. Regret is that one thing I don’t look forward to dealing with. —Sherma

First posted in Iluko.com in 2003.

Mental exercises (for the heart)

Writing is also another form of mental exercise. Besides driving your demons away, weaving words helps keep your mind in tip top shape.

Lately, myTatang and I have turned our attention to writing poems. But here’s the catch. I would write a poem for him (in Iluko), and he would write me one, using the title I’ve used.

Let me share our works with you.


LUGAR A NAIKARI
(My Poem)
(March 24, 2007; 5:30am)

Awan kaimudingan
Ladingit ni lagip
Nga umay sumallisallin
Mangburibor iti isip
Ta addaka a mangibabaet
Mangipalpalagip
Ayat ken karin-kari
Dua puso a naglantip.

Ni napudno nga ayan-ayat
Adu a tagainep inna linaga
Nga mangitundanto iti dalan
Agturong kenni inanama
Tapno makadanontanto
Nga awan sawsawirna
Iti dayta lugar a nangayed
naikari para kadata.

Idiay, adunto dagiti sulisog
Ngem dakkelto met ni talek
Idiay adunto dagiti ublag
Ngem saantanto ida italtalek
Idiay adunto dagiti rigat ken suot
Ngem pagbinnuligantanto ida a risuten
Idiay adunto’t anay a mangrakrak
Ngem ditanto ida pagballaigien.

Ta idiay nabuslonto met ti ayat
Kasta met ti panagpinnateg.
Idiay aglaplapusananto iti garakgak
Awanto’t adu a sasaibbek.
Idiay nabuslonto ti isem
Awanto’t adu a sangsangit
Ta idiay, duatanto laeng
Ditanto ammo ti agladingit.

Wen Dungngo
Awanto kaimudingan
Ladingit ni lagip
Mabainto nga umay sumallisallin
Mangburibor iti isip
Ta datanto a dua iti agpinnalagip
Ayat ken karin-kari
Dua puso a naglantip.


NAIKARI A LUGAR
(myTatang’s Poem)
March 26, 2007

Bay-am nga idiay lugar a naikari ket innakto akilisen
ni dagidagi’n ayat, pudot barukongko’t mangtagiben
ken manglagda kenni Kari tapno inna buangayen
ni namnama ken panagtinnalek ket inna pagrusingen.

Bay-am nga idiay lugar a naikari ket innakto itukit
dagiti bin-i ni namnama, kaduak nga agsibog ni Langit
tapno ti dalanmo ket nalasbang – uray addanto pait
bumangonka a sisasantak, dupirem dagiti palso a karit.

Bay-am nga idiay lugar a naikari ket innakto irakurak
timek ni Panagtalek, ayatko kenka innak ipaduyakyak
diakto denggen tanabutob ni umsi wenno ublag dagiti salaksak
ta dagita balikasmo Sherma, iti agnanayon, isunto’t dumngegak.

Bay-am nga idiay lugar a naikari ket ilemmak ti tugot
ti Anghel a kagabayko tapno punasenna dagiti ut-ot
ni pasidumri-ni-ilem ket maandingay rigat ni subbot
tapno maiyaon nagkammayet-dua-a-puso kenni tuok.

Bay-am a sangalek ti pakarso ni panangipateg nga ingget sudi
ken lagaen dagiti tagainep, kinasimbeng ni ayat ti mangtagibi
ket imdengamto ti samiweng ni duayya, ramayko’t nangtibbi
ta ngamin ayatko, sikanto laeng ti kaduak idiay lugar a naikari.


Here’s another set of poems…


BUKEL
(My Poem)
March 29, 2007

Nalamiis ‘ta dakulap
a nangitukit iti bukel.
Ket ni ayat
Nagrusing a nagsantak;
dimmakkel.

Kasla idi laeng kalman
a ti daga kimraang.
‘Di na kayat
ti makali, agsangit
a mamulaan.

Kasla idi laeng rabii
a nalusiaw dagiti bituen.
Mabainda a rummuar
ta ti rimatda
nalidem.

Kasla itay laeng bigat
a kimleb ni apo init.
Masadut a sumingising
ta dagiti rayana
kimriit.

Ngem ita pati puso
a nanglaylay, simmaranta
Kas iti bukel nga intukit
nalamiis a dakulap
iti nadam-eg a daga.


BUKEL
(myTatang’s Poem)
(April 1, 2007)

Ti bukel nga intukitko
a sinibugak iti lailo,
ayat ti pinangaladko,
dungngo’t pinangtarakenko
simmantak, rimmungbo
ket saanto pulos agpullo.

Kayawakto ti panawen
ikiddayda’t talingenngen
kadagiti rabii ni umbi
wenno tiempo’t saning-i
ket mataginayon ni lailo
iti bukel nga intukitko.