Amang Roman and Inang Pacing:

IN MEMORIAM

I have always been aware of Death. I have never doubted that he’s real and that he’s such a powerful being, no one can escape his might. I’ve always been aware of the indescribable pain and stark sense of loss that are his marks; and of the bottomless void and utter emptiness that he always carries with him wherever he goes.

But for a long time, Death was just a mythical presence in my mind, like Santa Claus who goes around giving gifts to every child on Christmas, but somehow manages to always overlook our house. I had always concluded that our house was so remote Santa Claus could not possibly find us, which was just fine with me because I was never concerned about receiving gifts from him. I had, in fact, been thankful that our house seemed to have been left out in the maps of the deities, especially whenever I would think about Death. Every time I let my mind wonder about him, I would envision Death having a hard time finding our house and that of our extended family. I would then smile to myself, thinking that somehow we had been tricking Death for sometime without him knowing it.

But not for long. Death eventually located where Inang (grandmother) and Amang (grandfather) lived. One night in December 2005, without warning, he forced entry into Amang and Inang’s door, and took my lovely Inang with him.

It was my first time to see Death up close. He was a gory sight, a horrible presence that sucked up happy emotions and thoughts, replacing them with despair and gloom. I felt awful being that close to him. Still, I tried to stand between him and my Inang and defiantly challenged him not to prey on the weak. But Death knows no dignity. He simply looked down on me, telling me there would be a time he’d deal with me, but not just yet. I smelled his putrid breath as he spoke; it was all I could do not to puke. I stared hard at him, and a chill ran through me. I noticed there was no heart inside his ribcage. He must have lost it some time ago; or maybe it was never there.

I watched as Death walked out of the house, carrying my Inang who was blissfully lost in her dreamless sleep. We knew we were defeated; there was nothing we could do. Our only consolation was that Inang didn’t seem to know what had happened; she looked so peaceful and at peace in her sleep.

The moment Death and Inang left, darkness enveloped the house, but this, we did not readily notice. We didn’t have the strength to go and switch on the lights; we were all consumed in our loss as we struggled to console Amang, who was so calm, having already surrendered everything to the God we prayed to every night. That night, though, life refused to flicker in Amang’s eyes.

My great loss threw me into a bottomless pit I never knew existed. I felt I had drowned or suffocated. My pain and loss gnawed at my very soul and ate a big piece of my being. Every time I felt the need to unleash my pain, I would let out all the water in the overflowing dam of my aching heart.

Then a new kind of fear enveloped me, realizing and anticipating that Death was not yet done with us. He would be back, and in my heart I knew who he would take with him first. Since Inang’s departure, a kind of panic always enveloped me every time I looked at or thought of Amang. So I tried to be home more often and spend as much time with him as possible.

Death did come back, much sooner than I had thought. In May 2007, just over a year after he took Inang away from us, Death showed up at Amang’s door. He neither knocked on the door nor acknowledged us. He just went straight to Amang’s bed and gathered him into his cold, unfeeling embrace. How we shouted at Death to let go of Amang, how we tried to pull Amang free of the unwanted visitor’s powerful grip. But slowly, gradually, we lost. Death had Amang lying limp in his arms, and though they lingered a while longer, they too eventually left; leaving us to mend the shreds of our shattered hearts.

Life went on. We managed to accept our great losses. But life was never the same again for us who have been left behind. Where before I could simply go home and share a laugh with Inang and Amang, all I have left of them now is a memory — so alive Amang and Inang seem, so tangible are their images I swear I can feel them in my arms and hear their sweet laughter. But still, deep within me I know they are just shadows trying to ease my pain.

I will forever be thankful for the good memories that I have of Amang and Inang, but my heart sometimes can’t help but wish for more. The only thing that gives me strength when I think of them is the thought that they are together now — never to be separated from each other again. Death, afterall, is the beginning of a life which never ends. A life that has no place for Death and his utter nothingness.


//Sherma E. Benosa
31 October 2007; 8:35pm

CAVERN OF DEATH

I first read some updates on the Glorietta blast before reading one of the novels in my collection: a somewhat romantic but definitely political novel (Of Love and Shadow by Isabel Allende) set in a Latin American country on the grip of dictatorship, and this is what I’ve become — utterly DEPRESSED. As the main characters in the novel discover the cavern into which the bodies of the desaparecidos (missing people) were thrown, images of those who died in Glorietta and the skeletons of the dug bodies in the novel kept flashing in my mind. So chilling are the sights I conjured that demons started beseeching me to write this depressing piece.


Echo the strangled moans
Of the shadows lurking
In your bottomless pit
Where dried tears of broken
Hopes walk with the fallen
Leaves of the dreams I
Once nurtured in my depths —

Now dried and breathless:
Just mere remnants of what
Could be that did not become.


Let go of the dark, thick liquid
In your crevice, threatening
To burst anytime and flood
The abyss of your nothingness.
The once-pulsating optimism
That fired at my veins and
Lighted my waking moments —

Now still and lifeless:
Just mere illusion that acquired
Flesh; already beaten and dead.


//Sherma E. Benosa
27 October 2007; 3:37am

Zooming In and Zooming Out:

Life events and our perspectives

I am no visual artist, but among the skills I tried to teach myself when I was fresh from college and work did not yet demand so much of my time, is graphic design. Armed with some how-to articles I could find in the internet, I tinkered with Photoshop, in the hope that one day I’d be able to create personalized and especially-made cards to send to my friends or some good images with which to decorate my photo albums.

Years after those hours of tedious self-instructions, I would find myself very thankful that I had the sense to make my spare time productive by trying to learn things that, during those times, had seemed daunting (hence, better left to the real artists) and even useless. Not only was I eventually able to create passable designs for simple invitations and even coffee table books for family and close friends, but my little knowledge of the process also tremendously helped me perform my job when I got to a publication where, from time to time, there arose the need for me to know what is visually appealing and what is not.

But that is not all that I am thankful for. There is also something in the process of image editing that helped me better grasp the idea that there is a great design of things, of which we only see a part because of our limited perceptions. Let me elaborate.

There are times when, as I work on an image that need to be retouched or edited, say a picture of a smiling girl holding a bouquet of flowers but whose arm is smudged with few patches of dirt — nothing that simple editing cannot correct — I need to zoom in the object to have a much closer view of the part that need to be edited.

Looking at the object this close and seeing just the part I need to work on, it often seems to me that the part I am looking at doesn’t make sense at all. There are moments when I have a hard time imagining how that particular part is related to the whole object, even if I know what it is, having seen it in its entirety before zooming in the image.

I zoom in the object some more, and it becomes blurry and all the more senseless. It looks like just some pixels or dots thrown in together at random, with no connection with one another whatsoever. At this view, it is hard to connect the pixels and imagine what they might form.

Then I zoom the object out a little, and a little more, and I get a clearer view of the part I am viewing on my computer screen. I will now recognize it as a part of something, although at this view, I may still not see it as what it really is in connection to the whole picture — how indispensable this part may be to the whole.

I zoom the image out once more and, now seeing the whole picture again, I see what the part exactly is, how it is connected to the whole picture, and just how relevant it is. Then I start feeling like an idiot for failing to recognize it and make sense out of it when I was looking at it at “close range.”

There are still times when I find the time to sit down in front of my computer and do some image corrections. But even now, I am still mesmerized each time I get on with this process of zooming in and zooming out, especially when I connect it with the idea I adhere to when trying to grasp life and its many mysteries. Each time I do this process, or think of it, I see some sort of parallelism between how differently we view an image when we see it up close, focusing only on a single part, from when we see it in its entirety; and how differently we view a life event when we are in the thick of it from when we are simply observing it from a distance.

When something happens and we are personally involved, or someone close to us is, it is often hard to see things more objectively. We tend to be emotional and subjective. But when we aren’t involved, we can be more objective and are more able to keep our emotions in check.

There are also times when, as something is happening, we don’t understand what it means no matter how hard we try to analyze the events leading to it. Then, at a much later date, in some mysterious way or another, we get to understand what happened, how it happened, and why it happened. And as understanding dawn upon us, we say, “Ah! Kaya pala!”

So yes, I am thankful that I know a little about tinkering with images. Because with this little knowledge that I have, I understand that like everyone else, I may also have a limited perspective of things. And every time I sit down and work on an image, I am reminded that in many instances, I may not be seeing things in their proper perspective; that all I may be seeing is just a part or several parts of a whole. So I am more open to other people’s ideas —understanding them, analyzing them, testing them — instead of dismissing them outright. And so I write this piece, realizing that all I am presenting may just be a part or an aspect of a whole.



//Sherma E. Benosa
27 October 2007; 2:01am

FOR REAL

A garden that knows no flowers
A mind devoid of thoughts —

Tell me they’re unreal;
Just some kind of a nightmare.


A pencil that refuses to write
A book that hates being read —

Tell me you’re kidding;
You’re simply pulling my leg.


A heaven that's not home for angels
A sea that harbors no fish—

Tell me they don't exist;
Just myths, some horrid tales.


A sun that shines just for me
A moon wishing for my smile —

Tell me; whisper them in my ears
But only if they’re for real.


//Sherma E. Benosa; 23 October 2007; 2:50am

PAGARIEK KADI?

Pagariek kadi't bitek ti kaunggak
Ket isemak ididiayam nga ayat
Ta kayatko metten nga agsarday
Nasalemsem a rabii; isem a natamnay?

Ngem kasano no sika ket maysa
A batibat, mangay-ayam kararua;
Sipnget a mangisangbay al-alia
Naruay a samuyeng ken lulua?

Kunaekto kadi lattan iti bagik
Tunggal umapayka iti lagip:

Balay a diak koma pinagnaedan
Tagilako a diak koma ginatang
Sarsuela a diak koma binuya
Aweng a diak koma inggin-gina?


Pagariek kadi't buteng iti kaunggak
Tapno saem ken panaas maliklikak
Ta diak kayat nga aglangeb ti langit
A makipagrikna iti puso a masakit?

Ngem kasano no sika ket maysa
Nga ayat, mangbiag puso a naiwawa;
Ima a nalailo, mangisangbay namnama
Napnuan kaipapanan nga agsapa?

Kunaekto kadi lattan iti bagik
Tunggal umapayka iti lagip:

Napintas a libro a diak binasa
Nangayed a buya a diak kinita
Umno nga addang a diak insayangkat
Napateg a sagut a diak inawat?


//Sherma E. Benosa
13 October 2007; 12:35pm

NANGLIPAT A KARI

Bay-am nga ipasimudaag
Di pay namurmurayan a bigat
Salemsem naglabas a rabii
Inkur-it dagiti nanglipat a kari.

Kari nga intedmo, napnuan sudi
Linagam a balikas, naumbi;
Kasla nalamuyot a dayyeng
Gayam, manglimlimo a samuyeng.

Bay-am nga iparangarang
Ti nakamirduot a tangatang
Dagensen simmangbay nga agsapa
Intugkel dagiti ubbaw a sapata.

Sapata nga impaidulinmo, nalailo
Insawangmo a sao, nadungngo;
Kas da la namsek a binatog
Gayam, daniw a ‘di makabsog.


//Sherma E. Benosa
13 October 2007; 1:04am

Transparency and Self-betterment

I believe that it is our responsibility as humans to know ourselves very well — our strengths and weaknesses, our potentials, our purpose. To capitalize on our strengths to become a better person; to actualize our potentials and to use them well; to acknowledge our weaknesses and make up for them, or to correct them if they prove to be something about which something can be done. To know our purpose, to try to understand what we are here on earth for, and to work hard to fulfill that purpose. To try to reach the higher plane of understanding, of living, of dealing with ourselves and with others.

Weaknesses are not a reason for us not to do good, but only a reminder for us to seek guidance when we are faced with things that seem to be bigger than us. They are not here for us to use as an alibi for the mistakes we commit, but to remind us that we have to constantly try to make ourselves better.

If everyone could look at a single thing and be able to look at it in its entirety and view it from every angle possible, then what a better existence we would have. And if only we try to understand every aspect of a thing first, before we make conclusions, then how much easier life on earth would be.

But often, we are already judged even before we have had the opportunity to be known better. By a single word that came out of our lips, by a single act that we did before, by these we could already be judged. People tend to remember us as we were, forgetting that we are dynamic and that, by the time they would look at us again, we may have changed, hopefully for the better. People tend to think of us as photos; still and unchanging. Pity, but often just by the “snapshots” people have of us, they already think they know us well, and that their judgment of us is right.

I agree it might be nice to be transparent; maybe if we were, people would just take one look at us and they would readily have a good grasp of who we are as a person, as an individual. But the truth is that we are multi-faceted, multi-dimensional. Each of our dimensions may be transparent, but when put together, they make a very complicated totality that is us, and so we become veiled. Veiled, but not necessarily wearing pretentious masks.

I like looking at individuals, and wondering what kind of a gem they might be inside. I like peeling things slowly, patiently, layer by layer, my heart filled with wonderment at every discovery I unearth in the process. I like looking at things from different perspectives, recording my observations, yet withholding judgment or making conclusions, knowing that what I am seeing is just a part of a whole.

I am well aware of my weaknesses and I am doing something about them. I know my strengths, and I thank God for being so blessed. I am perfectly happy with who I am, despite my scars and my failures. From time to time I make evaluations of myself, making corrections where I’ve erred. So yes, my quest in this life is to become a better person; and if I could, to help others become better, too. To put to good use the things I am gifted with, and to overcome my weaknesses. Yet I am veiled, not in perspective, but where transparency is concerned. I share myself, but not everything of me. Not for fear I may be misunderstood, but because I am reserving it for the people who would want to come to know me better. It is my way of inviting people to come closer, try to know me more. And to be invited in return, so that I may also learn about them, from them.

I am also transparent in some things, but hard to decipher in many others. One moment, I am somewhat this thing, yet showing traces of other qualities at some other moments. At times I am easy to figure out, at other times I am difficult to fathom. I am veiled, but I don’t wear masks.

To be transparent (or be seen through and through) is a beautiful thing; I will not deny that. But so is being veiled. There is nothing wrong about withholding some parts of us, and showing only glimpses of the deepest recesses of our being from time to time, to the select few, if we so choose. For being veiled (as opposed to being transparent), for me, is not such a bad thing. Not being able to look at things from different perspectives yet making judgments too soon is.


//First posted in Ms. LJ Galleta's blog in Iluko.com

Why We Aren't Made of Glass

(Excerpts from my posts in Iluko.com during a discussion of transparency and self betterment)


"If we were made of glass, we would easily break. And once broken, there’d be no more hope for repair. And though we would be transparent in good condition, we would become hazy in extreme environment, like when we are exposed to dust, humidity, and smoke. We would be very fragile and won’t be able to withstand great pressure, strong heat, and opposition. We won’t be able to bend. We would be strong and tough, but only up to a certain point.

If we were like glass, we would be easily affected by hearsays and indifference. We would not stand a chance against the much tougher circumstances of life."