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."

'All that Matters': An Uplifting Read

A young woman who just attempted to end her life. Her father who did not only have time for his family, but actually turned his back on them in favor of his Hollywood career and a younger woman. Her Nana (grandmother) who would not give up on her granddaughter.

These are the three main characters in Jan Goldtein’s debut novel, All that Matters, a story of hope and redemption.


Jennifer Stempler felt she had no more open door to turn to. The love of her life left her, her mother died in a tragic car accident, and her producer father had a new wife and a new-born girl. No, she would not be missed. So she pursued oblivion on the beach near her home in Venice, California.

But oblivion, it did not come. When Jennifer opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the “worn and wrinkled face” of her Nana, the one person she was sure would be deeply hurt if she died; and the last person she wanted to see her in her present state.

But here she was, deeply caring and loving that soon, when Jennifer's choices were narrowed down into three: stay in a psychiatric institution, or stay with her father (whose new wife made it known they wouldn’t have time caring for a suicidal woman), or stay with her Nana, Jennifer chose the last, against her father’s will.

And, though at first she was oblivious to her Nana’s love, warmth, and determination, she was soon beginning to re-embrace life. But just as she was starting to trust, love, and hope again, her Nana dies. With her Nana gone, the challenge now for Jennifer was to keep going on.


Deeply moving, All that Matters shows that deep love truly can move mountains and help lost souls find their way again. It affirms that, indeed, there are doors that are always open for us; all we need to do is look. And that even those that are closed will open, if we only learn to knock.

Let me share some of the quotes in the book:

“Across the street Jennifer observed a driver trying in vain to park her SUV in a space half the size she needed. It was the story of her life. She simply couldn’t wedge herself into a space in life where circumstances out of her control had left her no room.”

Jennifer (looking at something through her camcorder): “You want to see the real world, you have to shut off all distractions. It’s a matter of focus. Most people only think they see what’s going on.”

Gabby (Jennifer’s Nana): “The world isn’t in that damn lens. You’re so busy focusing, only you’re missing everything that matters.”

“Gabby: This rock has seen many storms. Here it stands exposed to the elements, covered with the scars of its past. But one thing that always gave me comfort in coming here—it has not crumbled. It is still standing at the water’s edge, facing the wind and the sea and whatever the future will bring.”

“Sometimes the gifts come wrapped in pain and the other times they hit you smack-dab in the pain when you are totally unprepared.”

“Like the pages she had yet to fill in her journal and like the white surface of the ice beneath her, Jennifer could see her future, as her Nana had said, was intriguingly blank and full of possibilities. It was waiting for her to write it, to fill the pages of her tomorrows with the life she alone could create.”


"All that Matters" Abstract

FREELANCING HOBBIES

Now that I am free from the shackles of a fulltime job, I can already start doing the things I’ve promised myself I’d do when I have the time. I am listing here the things I want to accomplish (besides work) as a reminder for myself.

Travel. I love going to places. It has always been my dream to see different parts of the country (and of the world?), meet people, experience different cultures, and write about them. For me, travel writing is one of the most enjoyable writing jobs on earth.

Photography. Travel articles will never look good without good travel photos. There is no ugly subject, only lousy photographers. I hope I can eventually cross the line between amateur and pro-like.

Videography. With the advent of photo-editing programs, it should be easily doable now. And with my online tutor (hehehe) to help me, I’m sure I’d soon be able to make loads and loads of good videos. (Hey, please give pointers, guys!)

Dressmaking. No, I am not planning to eventually put up a dressmaking business. All I wanna do is sew my own and family members’ dresses. I hate going from one boutique to another, and not being able to find a dress I’d love to wear. Often, in RTWs, there is one element I don’t like, like color, or button, or the hem, or the length, or whatev.

Writing. I am not talking about blog posts. Not even the magazine type articles that I write. I am talking about fiction. Short story. I hope I could sit down and really write soon.

IN A HURRY

“Para ho, Mama!” I called out to the driver and immediately got off the FX when he pulled over. He seemed annoyed. “Sorry ho,” I mumbled apologetically, then walked away, not bothering to explain why I had to get off almost as soon as I boarded.

I cursed myself. It’s the third time in six weeks that I’d forgotten something. Last week, I forgot my research paper at the office, and only remembered to check it when I was almost at the school. Of course, I did go back to the office to retrieve it (I had no choice because it was the last day of submission) and missed nearly half of the lesson. I was also marked late.

This time, it’s my wallet I’d left. I would have decided not to go and get it, but I had nothing in my pockets. My only consolation is that I realized it while I was still a walking distance from my apartment.

I checked the time. It was already half past nine in the morning. I should already be at the MRT station by now. I walked faster, telling myself for the nth time to prepare everything I needed before leaving the house. But then, I realized I did prepare my things last night. I was just very much in a hurry this morning that I forgot to put back my wallet into my bag after pulling out a small bill. It must be lying on the bedside table.

I walked faster. But as I did, familiar words rang in my head: “Apay ngamin aya kabsat ta kasla ka la agapura nga ania. Dumanonkanto met laeng dita, patiennak. Madmadi man no apuraem amin a banag. Ad-adu ti mapukaw mo no kua ta madim’ maappreciate ti panagbarom. Iti panagbiag, kasla ka met la agdaldaliasat ket. No agap-apura ka a kankanayon, dim’ maapreciate dagiti malabasam. Ken ad-adu pay ti malipatam no kua! Baka isunto’t mapanmo subsublien!”

I cringed. Those were my words to my youngest brother, Ryan, when he contemplated getting married at the young age of 22. I wondered what he would tell me if he learned I’m also afflicted with “ap-apura” syndrome (though it’s of different form) and how hopeless my case is. “Manang, ti panagdaliasat, kasla met laeng panagbiag ket. No apura ka nga apura, ad-adu ti mapukawmo ta adu’t malipatam. Baka isunto ti subsubliam! Dimo la ngaruden maappreciate dagiti malabasam, sayang pay ti bannog ken pamasahem. No intedmo la koman a nayon ti igatang iti gatas ni Pau-pau (his son), di isu pay!”

“Oy, Sherma, ba’t ka nakangiti?“ It was Rose, my next-door neighbor and a good friend. Already dressed for work, she was just getting out of her room. I felt my face go hot. I realized I had already passed through our gate and I was already standing right in front of my door, stupidly smiling alone.

“Wala girl. I was just in a hurry,” I said, laughing, and ran into the house, leaving her deeply puzzled.

If Life Were a Novel

I’ve read somewhere that the people we cross paths with were put there by a divine hand, not at random, but very carefully, because they have a role to play in our lives. Some of these people will play significant roles, while others will have a very brief appearance because they play larger roles in others’ lives.

Lately I have been thinking, if the people that come to our lives and the events that happen were plotted by a divine hand, then our life is like a novel where the divine hand is the author, and we and the people that come to our lives are the characters.

For a while, this idea seemed acceptable to me, until another came to my mind: if our life was plotted from the very start, then we are simply acting out a role that has been given to us, and we are merely voicing out words that have been put to our mouth.

At this thought I became restless. I’ve always believed that our thoughts, feelings, actions, and words are ours. Because if they aren’t, then why would we be answerable for them to the very author who has willed us to think, feel, say, and do them? If we are only acting out a role and saying words that aren’t our own, then why would we be responsible for their consequences? With these thoughts, I realized that there is a glitch somewhere.

At first I suspected that the idea that someone has authored our life might be wrong. But I also found it unacceptable for it to be otherwise. After all, if our life depended entirely upon us — on our actions and that of others — then why are there things that are beyond our control? Why are there instances when, even with meticulous planning and execution, things just don’t happen the way we planned them? Why do we get to meet people we had not thought of, and had not even planned to meet? And why were we made to trudge this wilderness, with the family we had not picked to be born to, under certain conditions that had not been our own choosing?

With these thoughts swirling in my head, I came to the very same realization I had come to in my previous attempts to grasp man’s existence: that life is too mysterious for the human mind to fathom; that to attempt to do so would be like trying to put all the waters of an ocean into a hole the size of the human head.

But even with this realization, I still would not want to give up the attempt, not because I think I have what it takes to comprehend heavenly designs, but because I believe that having a picture of what we believe to be the design would be better by far than having nothing at all. After all, we are only as worthy as the value we put to ourselves. Our life is only as good as the meaning we ascribe to our existence.

At the moment, I still think that life can be likened to a novel, with the divine hand as the author, and us as the characters, except that this time, the author is understood to be unlike any mortal writer. Though like ordinary authors, He has chosen all the characters and the setting and has prepared the outline of our story, He has left the details to us — the characters. He has endowed us with the gifts of reason and insight to know right from wrong; giving us different ways on how we can proceed, and presenting us with options. And now thus equipped, he has allowed us to have a say in our story, of which we are both a character and a co-author.


______
The plot that is my life? Let me see. I’ve walked over valleys and plains, I’ve stumbled and tripped over humps many times, and I’ve been swept off by strong winds on some occasions; but I’ve also basked in the sun, sniffed sweet-scented flowers, and walked hand-in-hand with peace and happiness. So I believe I have a good life; my life is a fairly good book.


//Sherma E. Benosa; 29 August 2007; 2:29am

The Traveler

Unpaved, the path’s long and winding
Curves abound and humps are plenty.
The trek’s arduous, the journey’s taxing
And the trail, narrow, rough and thorny.

You walk still, despite that your lane
Present you no refreshing scenery.
And your companion, a searing pain
Of your fruitless search, your misery.

Then finally you learn to listen
You start hearing your heart’s melody.
Then your eyes, you learn to open
The beauty around you, you begin to see.

You notice the compass guiding you
And the northern star lighting your way.
The open arms reaching out to you
Marking your track so you won’t stray.

Things, no longer do they seem bleak
The clouds that hovered above, now part.
The beams of light you used to seek
No longer elusive, now inside your heart.

You walk on; the journey’s not yet ended.
Beckoning, cheering you not to concede
Is destiny, waiting for you up ahead.
You take her hand; her voice you heed.


//Sherma E. Benosa;
11 September 2007; 1:26am

Bumship photos at NV

Dead End

I cannot pass through you
but I can make a way around you.

You deter my progress
but you cannot stop me.

You are the slow-down sign,
the check-your-way reminder
in disguise.

You are the detour arrow
That makes me try another road.

Like a hump,
you stand on my way
so that I may not go too fast.

So I step on the brakes
To re-examine my road map.

And I halt a moment
For a well-deserved rest.

You are a dead end.
But my trek does not end with you
nor am I dead because of you.

‘Coz I’ll find another way.
And I’ll walk on.


//Sherma E. Benosa
August 29, 2007; 11:45pm

One memorable experience

Johnny Hidalgo, Aida Tiama, SEB, F. Sionil Jose, Jovy Amorin


My first thought when I read Manong Johnny Hidalgo’s invitation to a poetry reading where I was to read three Iluko poems with other Iluko writers at La Solidaridad Bookstore, which is owned and managed by National Artist for Iluko Literature, F. Sionil Jose, was that it would be a good learning experience for me. So I excitedly said yes. I did not even bother to ask pertinent questions about the event.

It was only the following day, when Jake Ilac sent me a text message informing me he couldn’t go, that I learned that the event to which we were invited was an exclusive poetry reading with PEN (Poets, Essayists, Novelists — an association of writers in English and Tagalog) members. It was then that it hit me: I am no poet! And I haven’t done nor watched professional poetry reading before. Could I possibly do it? Slowly, feelings of inadequacy started welling up inside me, but I immediately bottled it, telling myself it would be easy and that I could do it.

My psyching up effort must have worked, for soon I was again excited about the whole idea. That is, until I got another message from Manong Jovy Amorin asking me if I was going to the poetry reading tomorrow. I was puzzled, because in my mind, the event was days away, only to realize that I got the date mixed up. (I thought August 25 was next Wednesday pa.)

I started to panic, because I did not have a poem by any Iluko poet ready, and I wanted to practice a little so I would not mess up. I wasn’t sure if I had any anthology of Iluko poems at my place (I remembered I’ve given some of my books to Dad). Good thing my ever reliable Dungngo is always there for me. He did not only re-schedule his hospital appointment so he could be with me before my performance, but he also looked for short poems for me.

While talking online, I asked Dungngo to listen to me as I practiced. Until now I can still imagine him shaking his head every time I mispronounced a word, or made a wrong intonation. I almost concluded that not only can’t I write a good Iluko poem, but also can’t even read. It took me several tries before he said I was getting better, although he still didn’t think I was doing great. Hmp!

The poetry reading? It was great! No, I'm not talking about my performance. I'm referring to the whole experience. Manong Jovy, Manang Aida and I felt so glad and honored we were invited to the event. We are all looking forward to another one like it. Me especially.


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Caption:
Other photo Writers Domingo Landicho, Juan Hidalgo, Jr. and Playwright Malou Jacob;

A chapter lived... and completed

We’ve finally wrapped up our September issue of H&L last Friday, after all the delays and hassles and nasty stress we’ve been through, caused by the holiday (last Monday was Ninoy Aquino day) and the floods last week which prompted management to cancel work on Wednesday and Friday.

As I watched our layout artist, Manong Gary, save the PDF files onto a CD, I heaved a sigh of relief. One issue down! Then I realized it was to be my last. Suddenly, surprisingly, I was enveloped with melancholy.

I've always known I would feel sad about leaving my friends behind. But the melancholy I felt last Friday was more for the realization that, starting September 3, I will no longer hold the reins of H&L. Another chapter of my life finished. I corked that thought, reminding myself that this is what I’ve always wanted.

Having worked for the company for almost three years, I think I've learned enough for the next phase — my ultimate career goal: to work freelance. Now, I’m ready to move on. I hope.

I do understand that in this new stage, I will be facing a different set of challenges, foremost of which is the fact that there will no longer be regular paychecks. I hope the preparations I’ve done would help me get through at least the first three months of my “bumship.” After that, I should be okay. I should have already settled by December. I hope. I pray.

Publishing Responsibility and Paper Integrity

(Malu Fernandez and her 'Diva-ciousness')

I initially did not want to write about it because I thought if I do, I’d just make the person in question — Ms. Malu Fernandez, a Manila Standard Today society columnist — become even more famous (she is now a big name in the Pinoy blogosphere because of a controversial article she wrote for People Asia, a monthly lifestyle magazine).

So many hurtful words have been hurled at her in practically every blog where her name is mentioned, that I don’t think I’d be adding any more effect if I also lash at her. So I try not to (although I admit that to be really nice in this case would entail a lot of effort).

What made me decide to write about her any way, despite my initial restraint, is the fact that most of the bashings I’ve read about her infamous article had been directed at her. How about the magazine that published her piece?

If her piece was self-published (meaning, it appeared on her blog), I would have simply called it rubbish and I would have just moved on to another blog. I would not even waste my time leaving a comment on it. But her piece appeared in a glossy magazine, for goodness sake! What were the editors thinking paying for and publishing an article that contains nothing but bitching and whining, and reflects the author’s palpable insecurity?

If the editors of People Asia had been doing their job, the article should have gone straight to the trash can. There simply is nothing in the article that's worth publishing; I wonder why they published it anyway.

The editors of Manila Standard Today are also not blameless. They should have advised Malu against writing her 'apology' which isn't an apology, but a defense of her earlier article. Could they have not known that her statement would further infuriate the public? I doubt it. I'm sure they have foreseen it.

The editors of both publications (primarily People Asia) may say that what they published are solely the author's opinion, not the paper's, but editors can always choose not to publish a piece if they think it would compromise the paper. That's primarily what editors are for, in the first place.

Another reason I decided to react to her "apology"is the fact that in it, she did not really apologize. She stood by her article, calling her piece “funny and witty” and insinuating that those who found fault in it were either simply stupid or belonging to the “have-nots and wannabe’s” [read: poor]. Her original article is already condescending to the highest level you'd think she cannot get any worse, but you read her subsequent statement and you know you'd just been proven wrong. Her "apology" is so unbelievably full of vile.

Before reading her statement, I thought I knew humor and wit, but now I am not sure. And I don’t think I’d still want to be called witty or funny if to be either or both would mean writing rubbish materials. I think I’d rather be a dullard and a bore.

Ay, wait lang. Didn't I say I’d try to be nice?


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Click on the following links: First page, Second Page to read Ms. Fernandez’ piece published in People Asia.

Read Ms. Fernandez' subsequent defense of her piece (published in her Manila Standard Today column): Defense


UPDATE

It looks like as I was posting my piece, Ms. Fernandez was issuing an apology. Please read her apology below:

"I am humbled by the vehement and heated response provoked by my article entitled 'From Boracay to Greece!' which came out in the June 2007 issue of People Asia. To say that this article was not meant to malign, hurt or express prejudice against the OFWs now sounds hollow after reading through all the blogs from Filipinos all over the world. I am deeply apologetic for my insensitivity and the offensive manner in which this article was written, I hear you all and I am properly rebuked. It was truly not my intention to malign hurt or express prejudice against OFWs.

As the recent recipient and target of death threats, hate blogs, and deeply personal insults, I now truly understand the insidiousness of discrimination and prejudice disguised as humor. Our society is bound together by human chains of kindness and decency. I have failed to observe this and I am now reaping the consequences of my actions. It is my fervent hope that the lessons that Ive learned are not lost on all those who through anonymous blogs, engaged in bigotry, discrimination, and hatred ( against overweight individuals , for example ).

I take full responsibility for my actions and my friends and family have nothing to do with this. To date I have submitted my resignation letters to both the Manila Standard and People Asia, on that note may this matter be laid to rest."

If living a life is like reading a novel…

They say life is like a book that must be read page after page in order for it to be fully understood and appreciated. I agree (that is, if we’re talking about a book of novel, not a reference book). But remembering that I have nasty habits when reading a novel, I can’t help but wish that it isn’t so.

Most of the time, I behave like a normal reader, patiently reading page after page, making guesses as to how the story might end.

But there are times when I would forego several paragraphs or pages that I find uninteresting, and move on. Sometimes, I can completely understand the book even without having to go back to that part I’ve ignored. But there are times when only after I have gone back to the part I missed that I get to fully understand the succeeding events.

There are also times when, even if I’m still in the middle part of the story, I would already turn to the last page, and read the ending. And then, before going back to the page where I’d left off, I would make guesses as to what might have happened somewhere between that page and the last page, that the story ended the way it did.

Crazy, isn’t it?

But that isn’t all. There’s another habit of mine which some friends find annoying: correcting typographical errors. Honestly, I also don’t think highly of this habit, but whenever I see an error in any printed (published) material I’m reading, I cannot help but correct it. Several times I tried to let go of the errors, but my thoughts kept coming back to them that I eventually marked them. Now, many of the books in my collection bear my “finger prints.” In fact, my father’s bible which I am using, a 1982 Ilocano version published by the Philippine Bible Society, has not escaped my “vicious hands.” Tsk. Tsk!

Now, imagine how my life would be if I lived it the way I read books. Disaster!

Good thing that, in this regard, I seem to be better at living a life than at reading a novel. For, though I often anticipate about the future and feel giddy about what lies ahead, and I sometimes look back to the past, I don’t spend so much of my time wondering and being afraid of what the future might bring. Nor do I waste my time regretting an event that had happened in the past, and which I can no longer change.

Unlike a book that can be read whichever way by an impatient — and shall I say, crazy imp like myself — every life event must be experienced in succession. One cannot jump to future events without first living in the now; nor can one live fully in the now without having lived in the past.

And finally, unlike a printed material that can be proofread even after it was published, life is not something that can be revisited again and again so that every slip-up, however small, can be fixed. No man, after all, is sin free. One can only sincerely apologize for the mistakes he can no longer right, and try hard not to commit them a second time.

The Two Faces of Pride

Pride is a two-faced coin. One face beautiful; and the other, repulsive.

Like the pillar that keeps an edifice erect, pride is that which makes an individual stand tall. It is the resumé that logs one’s achievements and feats; the mirror that helps one to see his worth as a person, as a human being. It is the essence that comes to life with the awareness that, like everyone else, one is worthy... that one has his own talents, capabilities, and potentials. It is that which ushers in self-esteem; for in its honorable sense, pride is self-esteem, and self-esteem is pride.

When twisted, however, pride becomes an ugly face, much like a pretty countenance that ceases to be a sight to behold when contorted. When one becomes too self-absorbed; when one forgets to acknowledge other people’s achievements and feats; when one fails to realize that like him, the others are also worthy, pride loses its beauty. Self-esteem transforms and becomes self-centered, and pride takes the form of arrogance and conceit.

One should, therefore, never lay the coin of pride either tail up or head up. Instead, one should let it stand on balance, so that he would have enough pride to realize his worth, while having enough room for humility to recognize the greatness in and of others.


//First posted at Ms. Leofina Jane Galleta's blog at www. iluko.com, in a discussion of "Pride and Prejudice"

Clogged!

That's the current state of my mind. Dunno why, but there are so many thoughts swirling inside my head, some of which not at all connected with what I am doing right now. For example, why should the following thoughts

What good is a brilliant idea if it is not actualized?
What good is a good intention if it is not properly executed?
What good is proper execution if the idea was not properly brainstormed? (Or, can an idea that is not well thought-out be properly executed?)

cross my mind while I am editing an article on eye problem? And the worst part is, when I tried to process these thoughts, I realized I was not fit (hopefully, only at that moment) to "shape" them well.

Help!

HARRY POTTER QUOTES

Muggles who just can't have enough of Harry Potter (like myself), here are a few quotes from the book we so love. Enjoy!


From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Book I)

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” —Albus Dumbledore

“The truth… is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with caution…” —Albus Dumbledore

“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, just as much to stand up to our friends.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.” —Albus Dumbledore



From Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Book II)

“It is our choices… that show what we are, far more than our abilities.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.” —Arthur Weasley

“The best of us must sometimes eat our words.” —Albus Dumbledore



Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Book III)

“You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no....anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell.” —Remus Lupin



From Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

“If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” — Sirius Black

“I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind.... At these times... I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Curiosity is not a sin.... But we should exercise caution with our curiosity.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” —Albus Dumbledore

“You place too much importance on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! —Albus Dumbledore

“It is my belief... that the truth is generally preferable to lies.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy… Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort.” —Albus Dumbledore



Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix (Book V)

“The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by an invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing.” —Severus Snape

“Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike.” —Albus Dumbledore

“Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young.” Albus Dumbledore



Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Book VI)

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” —Albus Dumbledore

“We must try not to sink beneath our anguish... but battle on.” — Albus Dumbledore.

“People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right. — Albus Dumbledore.



Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book VII)

Ron: “He [Dumbledore] must have known I’d run out on you.”
Harry: “No, he must have known you’d always want to come back.”

A Lesson in Linguistics

Ever wondered what the meaning of chorva is? Let's ask Salve.



A CHORVA IN EVERYTHING

Like many others, I thought that the term “chorva” was just invented and added to the rich and still getting richer Pinoy gay lingo. It sounds funny and really gay. I remember using it in one of my IM conversations with a friend, and then she asked me what it means. I told her it’s a universal filler (I deduced my definition from how the term is used); when you don’t know the right term to use, “chorva” comes handy.I found out later on that “chorva” was coined from a foreign word and that my meaning is somehow true. The term comes from the Greek word cheorvamus, which means “for lack of the right word to say” or “in place of something you want to express but cannot verbalize.” Now I’m starting to believe that old man in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, that all words originated from Greek terms! I remember that character in the movie proving it to anyone-“Give me a word… any word, and I tell you, its come from Greek…”

“Chorva” is a very flexible term, too. It can function as noun (May bagong chorva sa tindahan.), verb (I-chorva mo na `yong narinig mo kanina!) or even as an adjective (Ang chorva naman ng mukha!).

So, if you find yourself at a loss for words when talking to your friends, classmates or in any informal conversation, try “chorva”! Who knows, it’s the term that will liven up a boring, rainy afternoon.
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Variants of “chorva” are churva, chorla, chuva, chuvanes. If you find other meaning or functions of the term, share it with me, too. CHORVA to us all!



This entry is ripped from Salve's blog. Here's the link: http://salvacion.wordpress.com/2007/08/08/chorva-in-everything/

The Journey

Let me re-post my poem "The Journey" which I posted here in 2005. This new version is edited (by me) last month. See which version you like better. You may find the original version by clicking this link: http://dwickedangel.blogspot.com/2005/04/journey.html



I’ve come to traipse through this wilderness
In search for answers to questions
I don’t quite comprehend;
In an attempt to understand the clues
to all the riddles I’ve come across;
So that I may find reasons to everything that happens.

I may not grasp all;
I may not understand everything.
Still I keep walking —

Singing thanks for the sunny days
and shedding tears for the wailing nights;
Riding the circus of the journey’s roller coaster;
Getting acquainted with the gruesome face
of greed, deception, and betrayal;
Tumbling every now and then;

But still, continuing with my quest —

Until this journey’s got meaning;
Until I reach the finish line;
Until I complete the mission for which I’ve come
and of which up until now I’m trying to understand;
Until the last piece of the puzzle’s in place;
Only then will this soul rest.


//Sherma E. Benosa
July 2003

One important lesson

I’ve unearthed an article (if you could call it as such) which I’ve written a little more than six years ago. Let me share it…

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When I was younger, maybe about 13 or 14, when I first dreamed of becoming a big time journalist, I pictured myself traveling around, writing about posh places and high-profile events, rubbing elbows with noted personalities, and living the kind of life ordinary people can only dream of.

But now that I am a little older, here I am. I have not come close to that dream as I have chosen to pursue a different field. However, I have had a glimpse of the life I’ve always wanted. I have had my share of gimmicks, cool night-outs, and fun; thanks to my friends for showing me around. But I did easily get tired of that kind of lifestyle. I’ve realized that what seemed cool to me as a young girl doesn’t seem so now that I am a young adult. In some ways, it is what I thought it would be but at the same time it isn’t.

Of course, I am still mesmerized by the glitzy world (who isn’t?), but I am now more attuned with low-profile life, since learning an important lesson not very long time ago.

Because I grew up in a very poor family, I’ve always dreamed of becoming rich, thinking that having money makes all the difference in the world. But seeing up close someone so rich that he could call all the shots and change all the rules so easily changed my views. At first, I thought it was cool, because money equals power. Yet, through time I realized that money (nor power) does not really mean much, because at the end of the day, we all want to simply sit back and relax, and share the moment with family and close friends. The rich man had neither family nor friend. He actually had a sister and a brother, but they were no closer than perfect strangers. Their money had pulled them apart. And those whom he considered his friends didn’t think of him as theirs. To them, he was just their boss, and their relationship ends at the end of every work day.

That lesson changed me forever. Years ago I would not even notice the physical changes that unfold before me. My thoughts were always preoccupied with my studies and my determination to get out of the life I’ve always known, so ordinary and hard it seemed that I was willing to exchange it to someone else’s anytime. I was always looking forward to the future, which I have always envisioned to be bright. Now, I notice every sign of goodness in everyone. I get mesmerized at the sight of an old man and an old woman sharing a simple smile. I feel joy at the sight of my friend’s son learning his first steps. I now find myself amused with the squeaky voices of the pupils in a nearby school. I now appreciate every simple act of kindness shown to me. These ordinary day-to-day realities I once labeled as boring now bring smile to my face.

I still want to become a journalist. And as I struggle to redirect my career, I still see myself giving accounts to spectacular events and, more importantly, finding the better side of the things we deal with and writing about them to lighten our everyday existence. Everyday life isn’t really boring, after all.


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Fast forward to present. I’ve eventually gotten into publication, but I have not become a hard-core journalist (that’s what I call people on the news beat). I am now into lifestyle cum medical beat. I’ve realized I cannot do the news because I do not have the courage to cover bloody events and witness mutilated bodies. That’s for people much tougher than me. :-)