Chelie

Ako’y Isang Babae, Malaya…

Minsan sa aking pag-iisa, tinanong ko sa aking sarili ito ba ang daan na nais kong tahakin? Paano kung mali, magsisisi ba ako? Ilan sa mga katanungan na minsan bumabagabag sa mga gabing sa tuwina’y aking binibilang.

Mga luhang ayaw na atang pumatak sa aking mga mata. Pasaning ipinatong sa aking  balikat ito ba’y obligasyon o isang responsibilidad. Pangarap ko lang nuon na magsuot na itim na toga upang matakasan ang kamangmangan. Makapagtrabaho na kahit papaano’y makatulong sa aking umaasang pamilya. Naranasan ang init ng araw sa paghahanap ng mapapasukan, titigan ng mula ulo hanggang paa at sapitin ang lipunan ng mapanuring diskriminasyon. Salaping nasa aking mga kamay tila ayaw kong pakawalan, marahil ito’y bunga nang hirap sa aking pagpupuyat at tensyon sa dami ng mga papel na bumabaha sa aking harapan.

Bakit hindi ko ninais na pintahan nang samut-saring kulay ang hindi naman kaputiang  balat o magsuot ng mga burloloy na aagaw atensyon sa aking itsura. Ni hindi ko nga tinangkang suotin ang mga pitis na damit na tila umiipit sa aking katawan. Mga ngiting tila itinahi na sa aking labi na kahit galit ay di nabubura.

Mga sulating walang wakas at mga ginuhit na iniwan na walang kulay, hindi ko alam kung kalian ba matatapos. Isang anino nang aking nakalipas na hanggang ngayon ay aking tinatakbuhan at nais nang takasan.

Oo, ako’y isang babae ito ang aking pinili walang alinlangan o pagsisisi man. Ninais kong maging malaya tulad sa aking mga tula at mga kamay na gumuguhit

If I Can… (My Last High School Year Diary)

I can’t stop the water going out in my eyes when I saw my Form 138, it’s not a grade that I had but a section I’m belong. I cried for three days and I feel isolated we’re been together for almost eight years and for the last year of my high school it’s happened. Even the girls are my classmates in elective before, still I feel different my best and closest friends that I’m afraid to lose and too much uncertainties that continuous coming in my mind.

First day of class, I tried to sit on the back chair of the class room. Mostly the boy’s classmate didn’t know me and they look me as in the interrogation. I joined a group of girls and boys it’s a feeling of exploration for me being a simple student. Cutting classes that once I tried together with my groups and going to a house’s to watch a movie. I’m happy that there’s a drafting subject so I informed my teacher that I wanted to transfer unfortunately she refused. Being a cafeteria and Restaurant Management and Services is not my dream. I’m not angry with her even she didn’t allowed me, since I get frustrated putting my art desire in carving a radish, carrots, tomatoes, etc. to design food and tables.

Conversation under a cacao tree regarding the issues of religions, politics and some idealistic topics. A time that some of my boys classmate get confused that I will be an artist designer or a writer. I feel affection for drawing since I’m a child and the age of fourteen I’m eager to write poetry. Our own class prophecy that once I wrote and revised by him under this tree. Behind my El Filibusterismo book that I asked to signs and leave notes from my friends and classmates. My teacher in Filipino that told us to write an essay with a theme of ten years from now on, my sentences begin with this “Halos hindi ko marinig ang aking pangalan sa lakas ng palakpakan.” I wrote that I received a Palanca Award for writing; because of this my teacher told a class to give a three count of applause. An overwhelming experienced from all of them, time that my hand didn’t stop in drawing and writing. Breathing in my own world of arts and literatures are the oxygen that keeping me alive in that time.

Days are tearing in the calendar, feeling of excitement behind the worries for the next journey of my life. Every moment is a special day, Junior and Senior Prom, Baccalaureate Mass, then our graduation day. Even he’s not my first dance during our prom; the beat of my heart is louder than the sweet music playing. I feel the coldness and shaking of his hand, and then I decided to finish my awaiting dance in the middle. Unpredictable love, I don’t know how I will call it. Then it is the start of his running away from me and I decided not to follow him.

One by one they are calling our names, the sign of a beginning of our new journeys. No tears but only laughter’s.

Behind Maria Clara is Super Pinay

Behind Maria Clara is Super Pinay

Spanish regime in our country created Maria Clara; a sophisticated, God fearing and a lady of good manners.

Decade’s came the equality of men and women in the country have been widely recognized. The modern era produced new Filipina women which are literate, tough, career oriented, adventurous and able to be a devoted wife and mother.

Before she gets married the husband will ask to choose between family and work. Now only few men can dictate women what to do as long as her principle is in her hands.

There faces cannot categorize on her field of work or the dresses she wear, it’s the value and a spirit that they had. Some time’s they symbolizes martyrdom she will cry but will never defeated. Crossing a thousand miles away from her love one’s giving them all the comfort she can give. In return her nostalgia but still she will stand. A mother of one, two or more and the same time a full time employee to her own vocation. The burden will hide on her bliss, scars that she had will vanish by her make up. Pleasant laugh that echoing the place and calm but powerful talk will let your ears to listen.

From her up to heel dress to mini skirt and a simple smile to joyous giggle. When Maria Clara revealed her true identity came out Super Pinay a warrior of her unselfish world. Prepared and willing to do anything without restrictions. She’s not a daughter, sister, friend, worker, wife nor a mother because she’s the art of all this and cannot live without one.

There's No Oasis in the Desert

 

There's No Oasis in the Desert

Skies that turning dark, possibly the heavy storm will come. Storm that will not make you damp, I heard a strident blowing of the wind. Life in a desert is similar to a sand storm; you will not know how dreadful will cause you.

First time I step on this deserted land, in my heart and mind I pledge my dreams a dream that I know will confiscate all the burdens of my life. In the glass window, I clearly saw the sea - a sea that didn't make any noise from its water. Every day there's all men under the heat of sun or shivering cold of day working in the ground. And the sound from the mother tongue of different people made me hearing-impaired.

In a gloomy night I didn't see the stars, stars that at least will give you light for the darkness of your path. Seasons that the tamar tree will bear it fruits. Then suddenly I heard different voices, but how I will distinguish it from laughter's or cried? From a roof top I saw a men howling for pain and constantly mentioning Allah's name. What is the feeling when your body is burning in fire? Bliss on lips to the ladies whose selling there flesh. No range of age from your sister, mother and grand mother. What is the complement for all this?

A man begging for some money, who will give to a person who's actually fit, first you will refuse, but when he turned he's back and you saw that one of his hand was broken. You will lend him any amount that you can give.

You need to learn how to fight for your own survival, no matter what it's up to you what way you will walk. It's not because of earning and helping the family's you left it is also how you will handle your own self-esteem.

Every time I saw this people I feel the pain from their heart, the bliss in the lips of ladies selling flesh is not real.  Money that you earned is not enough for those who lost their dignity.

Now where's the oasis in the dessert? Every day I wake up and walk in the sand but still I cannot see the oasis.

We Called Him George

We Called Him George

For the memory of my late grand father Mr. Adriano Grande Rivera…

Exactly 12:00 am of December 18, 2003 he took his last breath and passed away at

Amang

Rodriguez

Hospital

. The time I regret that I didn't even touch his hand before he died.

My grand father that we called "tatay" (father in English) of all his grand children was a furniture painter. He became a guerilla before during a Japanese invasion. An authoritarian man according to his children who punished them for every mistake that they done. He changed for his grand children, different in the story of his own children. He's the first person teach us how to ride a bicycle. Being an eldest grand daughter I became closest to him. I remembered when we're small we putted our sock on there Christmas tree and the other day he will full it of coins and candies. A time he will cook fried rice in the morning and he will call all of us to eat. Sunday's that he's going to a cock fighting game, and when he won he will give us some "balato" (money from winning a game) and a dead cock that we will cook for lunch.

When he resigned in his work, he became more alcoholic who liked especially San Miguel beer. I hated him every weekends that visiting our house and sleep for us for two days. He will drink and drunk and after he will talk too much that I don’t like. A year after they transfer in the same place we're living. In the morning I like visiting him because I'd like to share with him his breakfast. Years came that made him more old and his eyes was became more blurred but not a barrier for him to read an every day tabloid. Almost every day I'm in his house and chatting with him, a story of his younger years, World War II, how he studied, and a lot more. His older grand children including me called him George when his giving an advice for us or making joke for him. According to them he got a George name from his American employer before.

A day we noticed that he always massages his chest and kicked his feet. We didn’t give to much burden on that maybe its normal for a person whose getting old. Even his Robotic walk didn’t alarm us, because he's not shouting for pain and didn’t ask for medical attention. For two years he keeps this for himself only and another morning he waked up that he cannot move his body. I saw him but I can't stay for a long time looking at him for that situation. My uncle rushed him in the hospital according to the doctor he has a severe stroke. His a man who’s not shouting for pain and being strong until to the end because he know that we don’t have enough money. After three days he returned to the house and can take rest but his situation is remain the same. After one day we rushed him again in the hospital and no chance to live only the medical oxygen was keeping him alive. My grand mother is besides him and saying prayers for him and she asked him "if you are tired you can leave us now" after that he took his last breath. All of us are waiting for his remains, inside on his white coffin I saw his face lying peacefully. I cried silently, and ask forgiveness for sometime being rude for him.

A week before he died, I remembered his asking a cigarette and a choco nut in our store that my mother don't like to give then say a word "A time I will die you will not give anymore". Still I feel his soft hand that once I touched when I'm cutting his nail, words that he's always tell for us. I feel regretful that he will not taste anymore the imported chocolate that I'm sending the things he wanted that I cannot give before.

Wherever you are "Tatay or George" I know you're happy for us and your memory and love will remain in all of our hearts. Here I wrote your favorite quote; “The debt of Pedro is for Pedro only it will never be with Juan”.

I am a Carpenter Daughter

I am a Carpenter Daughter

Comfort and warm in my father's back, a time that I always remind and almost two and half years that I didn't make again.

Rough hand and feet that I need to massage every night and making him a cup of coffee that I idle to do.

Memoirs of my father and I has been my treasure to keep until my entire life and to share to the people that cherished to me. From a family of a farmer, doing farming that he hated to do, he chose to be a driver and then traveled to manila and he became a furniture carpenter that he's uncle supposedly taught him. At my age of five my father always brought me and my older brother to his work shop that I always like, but mostly he brought me. The days that started the string that bonded for both of us were didn’t break even he work in Riyadh Saudi

Arabia

. When I saw that his turning his back toward the departure area of the airport I didn’t cry.  I communicate to him thru letters, we don’t have phone that time. I’m seven and I terribly miss him, a fiesta that we’re going to a carnival, riding in caterpillar and horror train, playing coins game and watching trick shows. For straight four years I didn’t saw him.  Big surprised when I’m playing outside an airport taxi parking near in our area and my neighbor shouting on me and tell it is your father. I ran towards him even he didn’t saw me I hug him very tight on his back and I tell “Papa”. 

He always tells me a story, during his years in

Riyadh

that I’m the only one who listened to him.  Even I’m growing up, he always treating me as his little girl and until college he still beating me by a hanger if I’m don’t like to eat. A story when I’m young that he taught that I will die because I was born when I’m seven months and very small. One day he got angry with me, and told “you have a very high principle in life, what will happen when you become educated?” I did not reply I keep in my mind the answers.

We shared the happiness and bitterness, this sourness teaches me how to plan my own destiny. I saw how much he suffered when we are sick. His children are most important to him than his work. I saw on his face the tiredness and his small eyes becoming blurred. I cannot see him in despair and it’s my turn to let him feel the comfort that he didn’t experience even before. 

My father was a carpenter and my brother and I was his great master pieces from his tree, which he cut in to pieces and nailed to became well-built through years. The loved that he gave to us was not enough to be paid even a thousand money or expensive things. Loved is to be paid by love, and he know how much I gave this to him, not he sip my nose when  I am a baby because I cannot breathed or chewed the peanuts and feed me.

I am proud to be a carpenter daughter, without him I will not be what I am now. I even didn’t tell to him these four words “I Love You Papa!”

A Boy Named Salvador

A Boy Named

Salvador

Almost twelve years has been past, but still I remember a boy named

Salvador

…

I'm trying to pick a bundle of Bougainvillea flowers but difficult to take because it's from the outside fences, so there's a boy that I asked a favor and he took for me some. I thanked and smiled with him. I didn't give too much attention, then a following day I always saw him scattered around the high school department. In my surprised I received a pink rose from him; I thought he remembered that I like flowers so that he gave me. The day was not going normal because routinely he's there in our area and giving me roses that I don't know where he picked.

How I would believe that this boy younger than me for three years was started stalking me. Writing me a note written my name and the word "I love you". It's not pleasing me at all, how it would be a grade five student will fall to a third year high school. When I entered in my class room one rose in front of my desk, all my classmates start laughing at me. I feel diffident and the situation giving me an annoyance and embarrassment. One my best friend asked him, why he likes me and he answered I like her eyes.  I tried to talk to him in discreet way and asked to stop what he's doing, but it is useless. He continued on what he's doing. This boy was too much tough headed, he's a KBF (Kaisang Buhay Foundation) ward and his personality showed on what place he belongs. I'm not humiliating him but I put too much effort and patience to understand him, in a month he stopped. In Last year of my high school I saw him again and disturbing. A written love notes was fine but shouting in the middle of the ground that he love me was alarming. Then I asked my friend who's been my classmate to pretend as my boyfriend to show to him. I thought he will believe but he putted me in a trap. How he will tell to me that he wants to see this friend kissing me as a proof that he know I can't.

After that unpleasant incident, he disappeared that made me relieved. The last time I saw him when we're having a farewell party that time he's different. He feels timid and cannot look at me, but still there's a smile on his lips. Maybe he realized what he done or maybe he has his own reason.

For past two years of wasting his time and endeavor stalking me he didn't benefit any thing. In my mind I establish a conclusion for what he done. It is a misinterpretation of his mix emotion of love and feelings for an older sister, but the exact reason he's the only one who can answer.   

One thing I know that is right, a time that he told to my best friend that he like my smiles. "Smile", a word that made me think and figures his face. He's right the only thing we have in common is our smiles, a smiles that made our eyes hide.

Past Life Test & Personality Test

Diagnosis: I do not know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation.
You were born somewhere around territory of modern Ontario approximately on 725.
Your profession was dramatist, director, musician, bard.

---

---

Your brief psychological profile in that past life:
You always liked to travel, to investigate, could have been detective or spy.

---

Lesson, that your last past life brought to present:
You should develop self-love and ability to implant hope into hearts of people. Ambition -- is not everything. True wealth is buried in your soul.

Most significant characteristics

I - Introversion

Persons more introverted than extroverted tend to make decisions somewhat independently of constraints and prodding from the situation, culture, people, or things around them. They are quiet, diligent at working alone, and socially reserved. They may dislike being interrupted while working and may tend to forget names and faces.

T - Thinking

The thinker makes judgments about life, people, occurrences, and things based on logic, analysis, and evidence, avoiding the irrationality of making decisions based on feelings and values. As a result, the thinker is more interested in logic, analysis, and verifiable conclusions than in empathy, va1ues, and persona1 warmth. The thinker may step on others’ feelings and needs without realizing it, neglecting to take into consideration the values of others.

J - Judging

The judger is decisive, firm, and sure, setting goals and sticking to them. The judger wants to close books. make decisions. and get on to the next project. When a project does not yet have closure, judgers will leave it behind and go on to new tasks and not look back.

If Last Vale Fall

If Last Vale Fall

Michelle R. Farala

Even I know there's unbreakable

Wall in front of me.

My feet did not stop in

Walking, in hope that I can

Pass by.

Saying weep no more,

But tears on face running on.

Bliss on lips cannot hide that

There's deep groan inside.

How feeble mind I have than my heart

that can put me in gloom and mud.

Sinfull eyes of mine urge me in blind and

Become deaf in noise around.

My spirit was full of woe,

Because of vain suffering that I do.

What fate deliver me on you,

That I shall know I can't hold

Nor touch you.

Everytime I sigh that someday…

Portrait in Color of Illusion

Portrait in Color of Illusion

Michelle R. Farala

(November 29, 1998)

Amid my heaven, I bathe in bale.

I boat in water, I sink in ocean.

To feign hard like a stone,

Yet feeble like a cotton.

Murmuring of wind that pass,

Thy bring falling leaves in dust.

I strengthen an arc to become bridge in life,

In the middle I fall in high.

What is the cure to spare my life,

And to heal the pain I had?

It be insane think I have,

When come the sincerest love.

Truth cannot hide; you're near yet so far,

Because I'm totally blind in wall behind.

Now I'm paramour in your land,

No one can tell if I'm the one who destruct

the castle in the sand.

Who will said, the portrait that urge me in

hardship was only part in color of my illusion.

The One I can Call Mc Coy

The One I can Call Mc Coy

Michelle R. Farala

Prominent. Perfectionist and a person

With undescrible affliction.

You're the monarch, in the one world

That you rulling.

Imprison my mind by your word

That make my self uncalmed.

When you ask, what a timid self I have

There's a burden who make me slaved.

It is not easily to know you better,

But I don't need a long time to

Know you well.

You're the king and the preacher while

I'm your soldier and listener

Who always begging from you.

Now I know you're way my burden

Was pass away and there's a

Challenge on my way.

I can say you're the best of your

Profession the one I can

Call Mc Coy.

Beauty behind the Lack

Beauty behind the Lack

Michelle R. Farala

(April 14, 1998)

Don't be cry if you are blind,

You're lucky than a man having a tantalizing

Eyes who use these to tempt the other man.

Don't speak if could hurt somebody

And use these to speak a lie, a dumb is better

On you who thanks that only his tongue

That God did not give to him.

Don't be afraid if you cannot hear, you are

Better to a man having a clearly ears

Because they are real deaf who

Cannot hear the wonder of truth.

Don't be shy for having no arms, that you

Cannot hug the one you love

Because you are more solicitous to those

Having two arms, who did not learn how

To hug a human like you.

Don't lose hope if you are no legs to walk,

But know where to go.

You're better to a man having a legs who

Put his steps on his unknown destiny.

Don't have mercy on you're self, because

Behind your lack there's a beauty and

The key of your success was in the

Middle of your heart.

Escape for My Free

Escape for My Free

Michelle R. Farala

(November 16, 1998)

There's nothing chain on my feet and hand,

That make a sound and break a night.

I'm walking with my own without a

Hindrance that I can step by.

I have a mind to think, what I'm going to do,

And to look forward.

My hand paint my life, but fate

Destruct my piece.

There's a blithe on my lips,

But behind these there's a blemish on my heart.

My blood escape on my body

That made me frail.

My looks was hoping, but my soul was blaming

That always make me suffering.

I need to wake on my slumber and learn

To face the reality, that I cannot say

I'm free if I did not escape on my dream.

Wealth in a Middle of Human Heart

Wealth in a Middle of Human Heart

Michelle R. Farala

(April 15, 1998)

Gold that make the greedy man and

Money the root of evil in all mankind.

Wearing a dress decorated by a

Sapphire piece.

A lovely face that make a

Human cry.

An intelligent mind who hurt

The innocent one.

Who will said that all of these are

Wealth that make a solemn night.

The real wealth was in a middle of

Human heart who will not

Fascinate in an earthly need.

But know how to cherish the words

Of Almighty God.

Hardship of a Bourgeois Man

Hardship of a Bourgeois Man

Michelle R. Farala

(April 15, 1998)

Beauty, wealth and wisdom,

Characterized by a bourgeois man.

Everything he wish was on his hand and

He called himself the lord of his land.

You will see him wearing a gorgeous dress,

Made by a tailor hand.

Young and old suffer to a cruel man,

Who treat them a slaved of hell land.

He wants to sacrifice the people all around,

And be a master of all living mind.

One day hurricane was come, and not left

Lived life, even a bourgeois man.

Now he's in a gate of real Lord .

The angel said these place is not for you

And point the burning land.

Now he knows the sins that he had done,

Even he regret the suffering of his

Soul will never stop to confess.