PRECIOUS MOMENT I

(Roughly a week before Amang went)


It was merienda time, yet, instead of a food or a drink, it was Amang’s hand that I held in my left hand. He was lying supine on his bed, and I was sitting right next to him. His eyes were closed, his grasp firm, his breathing regular yet shallow. I reached out to caress his gray hair with my free hand, my eyes never leaving his face. For the nth time, I was awed at how handsome he still was, despite his advanced age of 88 and his illness that had devastated his body.

He must have felt my gaze upon him, because just then, he opened his eyes, and he looked deep into me. And for a long time, we stared at each other, neither of us willing to break the link.

That instant, my mind was wiped out of thoughts. My fear that he would soon go left me. And I felt a strength surged through me, and I wondered where that extra strength came from.

Still, the link remained unbroken. I remember now that as I gazed into his eyes, as I struggled not to break the link, even as my eyes began to hurt and tears were threatening to break free, I was asking him questions in my mind, though I don’t think I ever knew what those questions were. And I remember too that his eyes seemed to be telling me something, but exactly what they were, I never truly understood, but I was — and still am — sure they were of love — his love for us.

Soon my eyes hurt real bad, and the tears finally broke free. The instant he saw the tears, he closed his eyes and I felt sorry. Sorry that I failed him… that the strength he had lent me was still not enough to sustain me. And sorry that I broke the link.

I knew then that the moment had passed.

I wiped my tears not too discretely, hating myself for being weak just when Amang wanted me to be strong, and for failing to hold back my tears. But then I remembered that his eyes were moist, too. And instantly, my heart warmed, realizing that Amang never cried in sorrow; his tears were only for happy times.

Again, I looked at Amang’s face, his eyes still tightly shut. I moved closer to him, smoothing his gray hair. And just then, I felt him tighten his grasp on my hand.

And I realized, the link was never really broken.


Amang Roman died on 31 May 2007; 3:37am.

Sherma E. Benosa 7
June 2007; 2:37 pm

More wedding pics... (starring me!)

Wailing

Today is a red-letter day in my personal calendar. It is supposed to be a day of celebration. In fact, I am supposed to have received three dozen burgundy roses yesterday, and to have had a hair spa this morning. I had planned to put on a simple dress, and wear a barely-there makeup, so that when I am online, he would know that he is indeed special. Maybe he would tell me I looked good, or tease me with, “Oh, langamon, Ragu!”

But none of this happened. Right now, I sit in front of the computer, typing this piece after leaving comments in some neighbors’ blogs in Iluko.com (as I have done yesterday) to drive my worries away.

Except that they won’t go. I don’t think they would, until I get that piece of information I need so badly — the results of his tests assuring me he is alright. That there’s nothing serious. That it’s just fatigue. That all he needs is rest.

If I get that, then I could easily forget that we’ve been robbed off the chance to enjoy our most special day. But until then, I sit here, willing the tears away, wishing he can find a way to contact me soon… and tell me, “Happy Anniversary, Love!”

D'wicked Angel Exposed...

Strong-willed and self-reliant are the words that are always affixed to my name. Shrewd is my nickname, stubborn is my middle name, and straightforward is my pseudonym. Sugar-coated speech isn’t my specialty, and flattery is nowhere in my vocabulary. The weak hate me, and the ridiculous detest me.

I have a penchant for winning, an insatiable thirst for learning, and an unexplainable affinity towards the unexplained.

I am often drawn to unexplored territories and untested waters. Defying the odds is my favorite sports, challenging authority is my favorite pastime, and taking risks and jumping off different cliffs are among my hobbies.

I have a steady love affair with logic and a regular rendezvous with creativity. For the former, I am a word slayer; but for the latter, I am she who puts form and persona to the abstract, and mystic to the tangible.

In some ways I am both yin and yang. I can be calm as the sunset, and fiery as the noontime sun. I can be both reckless and careful, passionate and disinterested, simple and complicated.

Excellence and elegance are my trademarks. I work not just with my hand, but also with my heart and mind. Over big and minuscule details I slave, until the two qualities I so admire — unique and outstanding — are embodied in my creation.

My family and the love that I have are my greatest treasures; whereas my biggest assets are the contents of my heart — the love that flows out of it, the warmth that emanates from it, and the peace that resides in it.

My greatest aspiration is to live a life that’s full and with very few regrets. Meaningless schemes and pathetic pursuits have no place in my daily itinerary. What's in it are making this journey I have started as meaningful as it can be, never stepping onto other people’s toes, and encouraging others to pursue their dreams.

I believe that there is a Great Being that guides us through every step of the way, although the decision about whether we take a step or not, and which direction to take is left to us. I hope — and believe — that the direction I have chosen to trudge will lead me to that place where I can look back to my life, and say, “well done!”

INVADING ILOCOS

Cool Slideshows

What comes after a wedding?

Did I hear someone say honeymoon? Hmmm.. lemesi. A honeymoon is only for the groom and the bride. I'm thinking more of something for the wedding guests.

Packing and going home? Nah, not us. I'm thinking more of having fun, of invasion. Because that is what we did. The day after Manz and Sheryll's wedding, we launched our invasion campaign... and had lots of fun at Pagudpod, Burgos, Bangui, Batac, Pinili, Currimao, Paoay and Vigan. That is, after invading Laoag, the bride's hometown.

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.

My mother tongue, poetry, and me...

I am now writing in Iluko.

It’s not much of a feat, really. For one, I still can’t say I’m already good at it. But still, I cannot help but be pleased with myself.

I have always longed for this moment… although at the back of my mind, I’ve always wondered if it would ever come, fearing all the time that it never will.

Thank God it did.

Now, the words come easier to me. It’s no longer like before when I would sit in front of my PC, willing my hands to tap the keyboard, and my mind to dictate the words of my native tongue, wishing Ilocano words to blink on my computer screen. But always, my attempts left me feeling frustrated. I always ended up writing in English.

Yet I still persevered.

Now, there are times when, even before I could set up my lap top, words are already bubbling in my mind, so that by the time I have opened my PC, my fingers are already itching to play with the key board. In fact, during the past weeks, I have created several Iluko poems.

That’s another thing. I am now writing poems. Had I not always said I don’t know how to write a poem? Had I not claimed before that I don’t appreciate poetry? How come I am now attempting to write in this genre?

I don’t know. I just do now… I mean, try. Of course, my outputs aren’t perfect yet. Some may just be quasi. But what the heck. I am teaching myself… I am exploring. I am trying different styles. Who knows, soon I may be able to find my own style. Who knows I may eventually learn to write real ones.

I wish… Or shall I say, I hope?



//One can easily point out that it’s not just now that I am writing poems… that I have pieces written even when I was in elementary. But I don’t know. It’s only now that I’ve come to truly appreciate poetry… and actually attempt to write real ones.

Only daughter no more...

Hey folks! Meet my sisters. Roselyn Kate (formerly Ms. De Guzman of Mallig Isabela, my brother Ryan's wife) and Sheryll (Ignacio/Fernandez of Laoag, my brother Manuel's bride this April).

I feel so blessed to have nice and loving sisters-in-law...


/Photo taken on March 25 at Abinganan, Bambang Nueva Vizcaya while Kate and I were talking to myTatang and Sheryll and Manz' Ninong (kano) on the phone. See the headset? He he he...

Balasang ti Bambang

Kansionanka man, O balasang ti Bambang
balasang a napintas nga innak pagrukbaban
itoy nga aldaw nga inka panagkanaganan
panagtaom, ita ken iti agnanayon, diakto kalipatan.

Isagutko kenka toy ayatko a nagpaiduma
bitbituen sadiay langit, purosekto amin ida
inayonko diay bulan aramidekto a kas korona
nga ibalangat dita ulom, selnaganna ‘ta sadia.

Iyawatko a naimpusuan dagiti pinilik a rosas
karagupna metten dagiti napudno nga arasa-as
ti talingenngen ni Kari, saanto a manasanas
panangtagiben kapia-ni-tulag, dinto pulos agkupas.

Itden koma ti Apo ita nga aldaw a panagkasangaymo
pannakataginayon ni ragsak, regta, salun-at ken dungngo
ni pangipateg ken ni Ayat, agsadag dita barukongmo
tapno inta manibi dagiti tarigagay ken kari ti dua-a-puso.

Kansionanka ngarud O Pintas ti Bambang
sapata ni kinapudno dim’ to koma kalipatan
ta awanton sabali nga innak tarigagayan
no di ‘ta ayatmo, Anghel nga innak pagraywan.


Birthday song from Mr. Clifton Pascua

What matters

They say what matters is not how good we are in keeping ourselves out of trouble but how well we get out of trouble after we have unwittingly gotten into it. I agree. After all, there can’t possibly be any one who can manage not to ever get into trouble. I believe that at some points in our lives, we find ourselves in situations we never dreamed of ever going into — situations which we’d rather watch from a safe distance than be involved in.

Indeed, at one point or another, we succumb to temptations, commit mistakes, make wrong moves, and yes — fail. And very soon we find ourselves caught in a tangled web whose ending and beginning we can no longer pinpoint, and from which liberating ourselves seems impossible.

Then we realize that getting out of our predicaments can be very difficult, and that not all of us have the courage, the determination and the will to get out of sorrow’s clasps. More over, it seems that not everyone of those who might have them (courage, determination and will) can actually make it — some do succeed, often after having been badly scathed with all their struggles; but some would fail and succumb to destruction.

What’s worse is that, even those who might manage to escape from the abyss they’ve been thrown into might, in their struggles, lose something of themselves, so that, although they would still be the same persons who have gotten into and out of the maze, they would no longer be their old selves. Somehow, they would be changed.

So while our ability to get out of the trouble we have gotten ourselves into matters more than our ability to keep out of it, far more important is the person we may become after everything we go through — if, after all that we put up with, we will still have our conscience to help us discern what is right and what is wrong, and the willingness and ability to heed the dictates of that conscience.

Drop of Water

A single drop of water
grows into a river
that flows relentlessly
around hills and mountains
over valleys and plains
along a path
both straight and crooked
wide and narrow
in the hope that someday
she might reach the ocean
where she might attain peace
and have her rest.

But for now she’s just a river
that flows relentlessly
around hills and mountains
over valleys and plains
along a path
both straight and crooked
wide and narrow
in the hope that someday
she might reach the ocean
where she might attain peace
and have her rest
after having grown out of
a single drop of water.


Sherma E. Benosa
March 22, 2007, 10:40pm

Nagulimek Dagiti Billit Tuleng

Naulimek ti angin, kumkumpasanna’t aweng
Ken sagawisiw dagiti billit tuleng
A dangdanggayan met dagiti bulong
Mangliklikmot naiisem a sabsabong
A mangpaypayapay, mangaw-awis kenka
Tapno makipagragsakka kadakuada.

Immisemka, ngem apay a napait
Naibus kadin isemmo a nasam-it
Imbunbunongmo kadagiti papagayam
Inarub-obda kadin a naminpinsan?
Naatianan kadin daydi bubon
Pagsaksakduan isemmo naruay a kas danum?

Idiay laud, aggargarakgak ti init
Mangbuybuya mulmula a masinsinit
‘Di mangikankano kadagiti sangit a maip-ipit
Ken rungaab dagiti mula a naiburang-it
Agpapaarayat, dumawdawat iti asi
Sangkabassit a danum a maiwarsi.

Naikulengka, ngem apagapaman laeng
Ta pagamuan adda nangikut kenka nga aweng
A nangidiktar iti aramidem. Wen, gayyem
Luam nagarubosda, ket dagiti mula nagungarda
Ngem anian, saanmon a nakita nasam-it nga isemda
Ta idin, pagayam, ket naglusdoyka.

Nagulimek metten dagiti billit tuleng.


Sherma E. Benosa
March 20, 2007

Some quasi-poems

My sleep-obsessed creativity usually springs up to life when I am in the mood for teasing. Unfortunately, my outputs when I am in this kind of mood aren't good enough for publication. But I don't mind. I always have a good laugh creating and posting them. And that is good enough reward for me.

Let me share some of my "works."

PHOTOGRAPH

Do you feel them, Photograph
The soft caresses VF gives your cheeks
And the stares he throws your way?
And do you notice, girl
The silly expression on his face, the glitter in his eyes
Whenever he sees your smiling face?
Do tell me: Can you hear
His sighs as he recites a prayer
And whispers: “Oh darling, wish you’re here”?
Do they make you blush?
Do they make you wish you weren’t trapped
Like that... a still photograph?
Do you feel the urge to reach for his hand
And to whisper back to him
You’re wishing for the same thing?
Or do you wish that he’d throw you away
Or give you to someone else, for this place —
His desk — is not where you’d wanna stay?

Sherma E. Benosa
September 25, 2005

--------------

IF
'Backyard Kulding’

If you can’t sleep well at night
Without thoughts of the lady that stole your heart;
If you can’t start the day right
Without hearing her voice that’s music to your heart;
If you seem to see her face everywhere you look
And sniff her scent in every flower you pass by;
If you catch yourself a-smiling
At the thought of her naughty, naughty eyes;
If you feel bad and downhearted
Whenever you can’t get a glimpse of her smile;
If for her welfare, you are prepared to die
And in her company, you see heaven
You might be in love (finally!) my friend
But I’m not sure if that’s good news to you
What’s more: she may not feel the same way, too;
Uh-oh. Kaasi ka pay, agbaakka a baro!

Sherma E. Benosa
October 25, 2006

(My apologies to Mr. Rudyard Kipling...)

--------------

UNTITLED (FOR VF)

Hey VF, my favorite prey
Try not to go astray.
After all, wherever you go
My claws, they shall reach you.

My palsiit, I will use to make you ulaw
When you wake up, you’ll be so mawaw
And your head, ha ha, it’s so kawaw
Wen a, because you are agam-ammangaw!

My tali, so atiddog, it shall be the taldeng
That will keep you within my uged
Sorry but already you are nakaparnged
Get out of my clasp you can't; Oh too many lapped.

And when finally you lie down to die, VF
Pray that I'd be able to control myself
Lest before death be brought upon you
I'd make a last-minute fun of you.

Your pingping, I will kuddot
Your buok I will pungot
You ear I will kulding
Your mata, I will make bulding.

Your saka I will paddak
Your muging I will lipak
Your agong I will pitik
Your ramay I will ipit.

Your heart, I will durdor
Your flesh, I will dunor
Your tengnged I will ngurongor
Your ulo I will pang-or.

Your head, uray nabtak, I shall bring home
There in my sala it will stay alone
And to my visitors I’ll say, “oh that trophy
Is actually the ulo of my enemy.”

Then amidst their applause I, the victorious amazona,
My right hand, in victory, I shall itanggaya!
And together we shall pray that your karurua
Will go koma to that place a nakaikarianna.

Sherma E. Benosa
May 23, 2006

All these were first posted in Clifton Pascua’s blog in www.iluko.com

BNSFIT (SHERMA)

Kas iti agmatuon, sinurotko ti dalan ni kinadangkok
a mangsapul ti kalintegan daydi nasaktan a pusok.
Sinurotko ti desdes ni karemmengan a mangkutikot
iti kailugaran dagiti panagsagaba, awan sarday a tuok.
Inem-emak ni saem ken pannakailuya, tinagibik dagiti pait
a nangpatibker iti Bato tapno agtulidtulid a mangidalit.
Linipatko ti kaipapanan ni ayat tapno ti gagem
ni napasugkian nga abrasa, rason ni apas innak matagikua.
Naglemmesak kadagiti alimpatok dagiti nagarampang a silaw
tapno pilitek a lipaten dagiti nasanaang ken kawaw a kalgaw.
Sinapulko dagiti sungbat dagiti saludsod ni napukaw nga ayat
a mabalin a naikitikit iti langit wenno iti tapok a naisurat.
Dinaliasat ko dagiti saan pay a naimaldit a langalang
tapno mautob dagiti nabannogen a gasatko a naawan.
Kumuyogak koma kadagiti raya ni Init nga agdisso
iti barukong ni mangliwengliweng nga adayo.
Ngem patiek ngata nga itundanak iti lugar ni talina-ay
tapno sanguek ni inana, lipatekon tuok ken upay?
Adda kadi kaimudingak a dumawat iti pannaka-awat
ken agpatulong a manglagda’t agrakayan adigi ni Tangig?
Tapno ti natda a lawag pilitek a sapulen ken supusopan,
dagiti nagkurangak kenni naiwawa a tulag ni Puso.

— VF

Creating mental exercises is fun

Answering puzzles is a good exercise for the mind. In fact, experts recommend this type of mental activity for those who want to keep their minds sharp, especially when they are already in advanced age.

Lately though, my Dungngo and I discovered that creating puzzles is far more fulfilling than just answering published ones. And it is more enjoyable, too, especially when we take turns answering each other's puzzle. Our laughter as we tease each other when one of us finds it hard to answer the other’s puzzles, and our squeals of delight when we are able to answer them, echoes loud and clear into our minds even long after we have found other things to amuse ourselves on.

One of our favorite is encrypting and decrypting codes. Here is one of the codes I made for him to decrypt:


MCK0113C 02G01OP EJ1519G UP

Clues for the first phase:
1. Numbers always come in pairs (2 digits). A pair represents a letter. Figure out the rule.
2. A letter belonging to the A-J string represents the second letter to its left in the alphabet.
3. A letter belonging to the K-T string represents the third letter to its right in the alphabet.
4. A letter belonging to the U-Z string represents itself.

Decoded message (which is also a code): ____________________________


Clue for the second phase of the decoding process:

O, goddess of the wilderness, keeper of the key
The cleverest of preys surrenders to thee
Legend has it that poinsettia nursed in thy bosom
And to thy calmness and peace, the sun comes home.

Decoded message (Final Answer): _________________________

Of temptation, admitting one's fault, and faith in God (among others) in just one story

Sometimes when I look at the story of the original sin backwards, it strikes me that it is very much like the myths that we know of today. Sometimes I go thinking that maybe the story was created in an attempt to explain some of man’s predicaments: why there are temptations, why man succumbs to temptations, why man suffers, etc. But even if I don’t look at the story that way, my interpretation of it stays the same.

Sometimes the original sin is invoked by men to tell women that women are embodiments of temptation; that it is because of women that men commit sin. But I guess it should not be viewed as such.

I think the original sin should be viewed as an illustration of how weak man (meaning, both man and woman) is in the face of temptation (as illustrated by Eve believing the serpent, and Adam succumbing to temptation and biting into the forbidden fruit); of man’s incapacity to admit his fault and to take responsibility for his actions; and of man’s tendency to blame others for his mistakes (as illustrated by Adam blaming Eve for making him bite the fruit, instead of himself for being not wise or strong enough to have fought the temptation and chided Eve instead). To this day, many still blame others for their weaknesses, for their failures, for their wretched existence.

I don’t think the original sin is a question of who tempted whom, or who made whom do what. Neither is it a gender issue. I think it is about man being handicapped in making the right choices. (And may be that explains why, to this day, making the right choices is often a struggle to many.) Eve could have chosen not to listen to the serpent’s speech. Adam could have stopped Eve from listening to the serpent; or, if Eve persisted, he could have left her do the biting. He could have chosen not to have anything to do with the forbidden fruit. Instead, he took the fruit from Eve and bit it.

Finally, the original sin can also be about man’s lack of faith in God, as illustrated by Eve (and Adam) believing in the serpent, rather than trusting God’s warning.



//First posted by SEB in Ms. LJ Galleta’s blog in www.iluko.com .

My Home

It is neither made of steel nor stone
Nor wood nor glass nor iron;
But amidst any misfortune and storm
It stands, magnificent and strong —
Such is my home.

Built not by machine nor by hand
It stands not on a barren land;
On a lofty plane it is nestled deftly
It’s foundation, as hard as anything can be —
Well-built, it must be.

Rooms, it has; and doors and windows, too
All wide open for everyone to pass through;
Walls, I know there is none
And locks, I can’t think of a need for one —
My home welcomes everyone.

Inside, it is warm and soft and cozy
Everyone who visits is hummed a melody;
Its rhythm, not quite out of the ordinary
But its beat, sincere and steady —
In it, I dwell comfortably.

At night, the dweller in my home sleeps peacefully
Of the howling winds, she does not worry;
Of the wars outside, she is not at all bothered
The good always wins, she is assured —
A secure heart doesn’t easily get injured.

---------
Sherma E. Benosa
February 26, 2007; 12:37am

Misunderstood

Dear Diary,

I feel depressed. People stop at nothing to have me, yet very few seem to see me as I am. All they seem to see in me is my superficial aspect; my depth, they completely ignore. They look everywhere for me — in products that promise to deliver me to those who use them, and in treatments that guarantee I’d appear in those who undergo them. And while the patrons of these products and treatments are happy with the results, thinking they now possess me, they don’t know that all they have attained is just but an aspect of me — the one that appeals to the eyes.

That’s why I am disheartened. How can I tell them they are looking in the wrong places, for the wrong concept? How can I tell those good-looking people that it’s just a part of me that they have; that although they are gifted of my physical manifestations, they cannot truly have me if they don’t embody me in their thoughts, words and actions? How can I let them see that while an aspect of me can be had by using those products and undergoing those procedures, the more important part of me resides in them, in the recesses of their hearts? How can I make them realize that I am more than what they take me for, that I am deeper than what they give me credit for? How can I make them understand that I am goodness, and goodness is me?

Oh, it’s sad being gravely misunderstood.

Beauty

Sherma E. Benosa
//February 21, 2007; 11:30am

On beauty...

Beauty is one of the most subjective of all concepts. It means different things to different people. What is beautiful to some may seem ordinary to others. That is a fact of life.

More often than not, we see that which we want to see. Remember the story of the elephant and the six blind men? What we are sure to be right in our perspective proves to be wrong when seen in a different perspective. And what’s more, what seems to be the defining factor of a thing in a certain point of view may actually be just one of the several factors that comprise the whole. At times, that which we put so much emphasis on may not even matter at all when a thing is viewed in its entirety.

Beauty (or lack of) is not all that defines a person. Although it is the first thing that we see, it is not really the one that tells us who the person is.

Am I beautiful, or am I not? That depends on who is the judge. I do know for a fact that I’ll never be a beauty queen. But I don’t mind. What matters is that, whenever I look into the mirror, I like what I see. I smile at my reflection, and she smiles back at me.



/First posted in iluko.com in response to an anonymous posting.