he drooled every time she undressed before him. Her breasts were not all that large and her height, thirty-four inches seemed almost small.
10. Namnama- Gagamba’s wife. She was adopted by Aling Pacing because she was an orphan back then. She did not look at the deformity of Gagamba and did not hesitate to marry the cripple.
11. Joe Patalinghug- A 22 year old man. He and his wife traveled from Dalaguete to Manila because of the fear that he will also be killed like his two brothers. Joe’s younger brother was killed; the reason why he and his wife went to Manila, knowing that he would probably be killed. He has a teenage wife whose name was Nancy, who was 6, months pregnant. Because of sudden-environment change and no one helped them; they ended up begging in the streets of Manila.
12. Pedro (Pete) Domingo- also known as Jose Rizal at Camarin. Although he is 50 years old, he is still youthful. He is the easygoing and voluble head waiter in Camarin. After several years of working in Camarin with Madam Gamboa and Sir Fred he already know by heart the favorite order of most of the costumers. He has a wife named Bebang who had a cancer and will die in nearly 2 months.
13. Sixto Carmelo- also known as Mabini, also a waiter of Camarin, a close friend of Rizal. He came from Tayug, Pangasinan and like Rizal, was Ilokano. He has no problems at all but his looks because he was the darkest and in senses the homeliest of the waiters in Camarin but he is the most popular waiter in Camarin because of his quick and honest answers.
14. Jim Denison- Son of Ruth Denison, who would be going to Asia for the first time, specifically to Philippines. But the other reason behind his brilliant mind is actually, he wanted to meet his half sister and the Filipino wife of his father Cresencia Reyes.
15. Emma Denison- Jim Denison’s half sister, daughter of Cresencia Reyes. She was always being protected by Cresencia her mom, specifically her virginity. Emma was always in the list of honored students in his high school and college years. More than of her intelligence, she was also very beautiful that she won the title of Miss Philippines.
16. Hiroki Sato- executive of Mitsui, who liked the Philippines best of all Southeast Asian Countries. He visited annually. He was wary in dealings with the Filipinos in the beginning what attract him most in returning the Philippines is actually the girls which his friend, Mars Floro, is partnering with him. He has one child.
17. Mars Floro- Close friend of Hiroki Sato, who has as well one child like his friend. But what his friend doesn’t know about him is that he has a dozen of children with different women.
18. Eric Hariyan- he is a friend of Gaston Navato when they were taking up law in University of the Philippines. He is a student leader. With his friend, that led those Demos against Marcos regime. When they were released for Marcos got irritated with them and put them in jail, he got a fellowship to Yale. Eric Hariyan is brighter than his companion, was in more modest circumstances. He is parenting six children. He was famous for his intelligence.
19. Gaston Navato- also known as Gasty, he was with his friend in University of the Philippines and in prison. But when they were released he stayed on, took the bar and continued his human rights campaign against the regime. He was middle class. Eric and him remained friends.
20. Rudy Golangco- Marco’s closest crony. He had gone into exile when the dictator was deposed. And now he was out of power and only way he could get back all the wealth that been taken from him was to acquire political clout himself.
21. Eduardo Dantes- is a business man who retired from his active life for he was already old and weak, actually in the age of 80. He had left the management of his publishing empire to his two sons. He always dresses elegantly. In his age he could still walk sprightly, with no need for a nurse the way other ancients move abort a nurse always in tow. He hates Japanese a lot.
22. Senator Reyes- wheeled senator for he is having some medical tests. HE is eighty years old as Eduardo Dantes. He is also retired from his janges life. His vast property were divided among his heirs but was assured a hefty income in his last days from his investments and stocks.
23. Dolf Contreras- was not a regular Camarin costumer. He had a very successful real estate business which he had inherited from his father whom he has paid his grate attention. He is now in his forty. He has a wife whose name was Elisa. But before her, he had a lot of affairs with different women, mutually and sexually.
24. Elisa- Dolf Contreras’s wife. A patient woman who bears all the things that Dolf throws to her. She is working before in Camarin, where Dolf actually met her. Even though her patience was long, she still got fed up with what Dolf was doing to her. She went a far from Dolf and ended up being a nun.
25. Tony Picazo- is a son of an honest politician. He visited his former teacher, Fr.dela Terra. He is a young man who is losing hope for his own country, Philippines. He is planning to migrate to other country and leave his own. He is earning a lot.
26. Fr. Dela Terra- old priest, who is actually considered to be a missionary. He is a Spanish priest who came from China before getting in the Philippines. He lived almost half of his life in the Philippines, to be specific 30 years of his life on earth. And because of this he really doesn’t want to go back to the Seedbed of his life, in Spain. And he believes in the capacity of the young people.
27. Major Solomon (Sol) Flor- Philippine Military Class ’72. He is a senior aide to Major General Calixto (Cal) Primo and general’s confidante, he lives a very simple life compare to his co-majors. Actually just renting an apartment in Cubao. He is living with his wife and children.
28. Colonel Simeon Flores- an elegant and dishonest colonel who is a close friend of his opposite Major Sol. He is tempting and influencing Major Sol to do something which in one click will make him a millionaire.
SETTING:
The story happened on July 15, 1990, Sunday at around one pm, a killer earthquake – the strongest recorded in the Philippine history – struck and for four minutes of apocalyptic turbulence, Central Luzon including Manila was submerged in a wave of panic. Farther to the north of the capital, where the epicenter was recorded as exceeding intensity 8 on the Richter scale, the landscape was changed as mountainsides crumbled and the earth cracked. The story was ended at the Camarin building on Marcelo H. Del Pilar Street – the only building in Manila which totally wrecked.
PLOT
The date of the mid July 1990, the earthquake happened and so many people died in the natural disaster, rich, beggars, old, and all kind of creatures are being suffered because this earthquake is the strongest recorded in the Philippine history. Gagamba a sweepstakes’ vendor located in the Ermita restaurant also known as Camarin. Gagamba is not a beggar nevertheless he had a casualties and defects in his body. He was born with short limb that why he always stays in his cart to move and work to have food every day. All of the costumers are being known by gagamba and their stories, gagamba told the story all costumers og camarin restaurant. The first one is a landlord, Fred Villa.
The big boss of Camarin because madam Didi was migrated in the United States and Fred was being appointed to take charge of the business. His girls are well selected to work in the Camarin, All of the women in the Camarin would be tested first by Fred and one of them is Lina an eighteen year old girl from Pampanga. She was beautiful not taller but in the average height. Her family is in the middle class but her studies not so well supported by family that why she found a job like this.
There are costumer, Mars Floro who waited to her but Fred Villa where tested her first. The next character was a Cebuano; Joe Patalinhug arrived on November in 1989. In the first day in manila they are slept in a culvert intended to the bridge construction site in Tondo Manila. After a month’s they know that there’s a people from Cebu was staying in the squatters area in Paranaque that Joe’s family can live. They life is worst than their life in Cebu before because they have only a little rice and some salted oyster mussel. He live his wife in Tondo and went to Paranaque alone to have a better life and find a job that suits his capacity.
The next character was apparent and a regular costumer of Camarin. He is Pedro (pete) Domingo, he is youthful and still wavy hair in place and lived at the squatter area close to the Rizal Memorial stadium. The place was once swum, and being criticized by other people, Although Rizal and his children lived in squatters surroundings. Rizal had discovered his wife had a cancer, two months to live. His children do not know what to do and Rizal makes all way to cure and extend the life of his wife. He tried so many faith healers one of those was the faith healer of former president Marcos. He tried going to Quipo and completing the nine days on novena and to the Baclaran. He wishes to God his wife would be spared not to death because all men die, but the pain that she was now suffering. Eric hariyan and Gaston was best friend in university of the Philippines.
`While Eric is joining in the Law firm of lastog, Cacab and Rawet. One of the biggest law firms in the county. They are jailed in camp Crame because they oppose to government of President Marcos. They have experienced together nevertheless they have so many differences they were stay as best friend, While Eric invited him to meet Rudy Golangco, perhaps Marco’s closest crony. While Marcos dictatorship change the ownership the majority stock went to Rudy Golangco. Lastog want to meet him because e want to interrogate asked at so many issues before about him. First he research and finding all the information about him and use his knowledge as a lawyer and give so many question hat Rudy cannot be known.
There are com http://gomezjames.blogspot.com/2009/12/gagamba-by-f-sionil-jose.html
Sunday, February 27, 2011
SI ANABELLA NI MAGDALENA JALANDONI
Si Anabella ni Magdalena Jalandoni
Unang inilathala ang maikling kuwentong “Si Anabella” ni
Magdalena Jalandoni sa libro ni Corazon Villareal,
Translating the Sugilanon (1994, 135-141). Kalakip ang
orihinal nito sa isang lupon ng mga makiniladyong maikling kuwento
ni Jalandoni, na pinamagatang Hinugpong nga mga Sugilanon 1936-
1938. Nailathala din ang saling Filipino ni Villareal sa nirebisang
edisyon ng antolohiyang Philippine Literature: A History and
Anthology (1997, 151-154) ni Bienvenido Lumbera.
Sa unang pagsipat ng kuwentong “Si Anabella,” ating iisiping
taglay nito ang pormula ng mga romantikong kuwentong laganap
noong panahong ito’y nasulat, sa pagitan ng mga taong 1936-1938.
Magsisimula ang melodramatikong banghay sa pag-iibigan ng
dalawang magkaiba ng estado sa buhay, hahadlangan ito ng palalong
ina ng mayaman, susubukin ang katapatan ng magkasintahan, aangat
ang estado ng mahirap sa di inaasahang paraan upang sa wakas ay
magsasama uli sila, at magtatagumpay ang kanilang wagas na pag-
ibig.
Sa pagbubuod ni Villareal sa banghay ng kuwento, may
naidagdag siyang ilang detalyeng hindi binabanggit sa kuwento.
Halimbawa, na sumayaw ang magkasintahan sa tahanan ng binata,
at kinainggitan sila ng lahat; na nagsanib ang liwanag ng buwan at
ningning ng bituin sa loob ng isang gabi (1994, 13; aking salin mula
sa Ingles):
4748
“Si Anabella”
Isang pagunitang paglalakbay sa panahon ng dekada
treinta ang kuwentong “Si Anabella.” Isang gabing
maliwanag ang buwan at mga bituin, hinarana ng
binata ang dilag ng kaniyang biyolin. Sa himig ng
isang buong orkestra, sumayaw sila sa malawak na
sala ng malapalasyong tahanan ng binata. Nguni’t
ang binata’y mayaman, at inilayo siya ng kaniyang
ina sa kaniyang pinupusuan. Subalit buong tiyagang
naghintay si Anabella sa pagbabalik nito, at sa wakas
sila ay muling nagsama. (“Anabella” is a nostalgic
trip to the ‘30s. The beau serenades his love with a
violin on a moonlit and starry night, they dance in
the spacious sala of his palatial home to the strains
of a full orchestra, they are the envy of everyone
on the dancefloor. But he is rich and his mother
takes him away from his lover. Anabella, however,
waits patiently for his return and eventually they
are reunited.)
Kung magpatianod ang isang mambabasa sa romantikong
tradisyon, maaari ngang aakalin niyang may taglay itong mga
romantikong sangkap na sa katunayan ay hindi naman makikita sa
kuwento mismo. Hindi naman lubhang mali ang ganitong paraan
ng pagbasa kung ipinapalagay na ang kuwentong “Si Anabella” ay
akmang halimbawa ng isang makaluma’t romantikong kuwento.
Dagdag pa ni Villareal bilang komentaryo sa kuwento (1994, 13):
Maaaring sabihing pinapatibay ng “Si Anabella” ang
puna ng mga manunuri hinggil sa kahinaan ng
panitikang bernakular sa Pilipinas: na ito’y dulot
ng “malagkit na romantisismo,” “walang kaingatan
sa teknik,” pagkabuhaghag ng estruktura,
“didaktisismo,” at “sentimentalismo.” (In a way,
“Anabella” confirms what critics have listed as the
weaknesses of vernacular literature in the
Philippines: “a cloying romanticism,”)
http://journals.upd.edu.ph/index.php/dilimanreview/article/view/753/751
Unang inilathala ang maikling kuwentong “Si Anabella” ni
Magdalena Jalandoni sa libro ni Corazon Villareal,
Translating the Sugilanon (1994, 135-141). Kalakip ang
orihinal nito sa isang lupon ng mga makiniladyong maikling kuwento
ni Jalandoni, na pinamagatang Hinugpong nga mga Sugilanon 1936-
1938. Nailathala din ang saling Filipino ni Villareal sa nirebisang
edisyon ng antolohiyang Philippine Literature: A History and
Anthology (1997, 151-154) ni Bienvenido Lumbera.
Sa unang pagsipat ng kuwentong “Si Anabella,” ating iisiping
taglay nito ang pormula ng mga romantikong kuwentong laganap
noong panahong ito’y nasulat, sa pagitan ng mga taong 1936-1938.
Magsisimula ang melodramatikong banghay sa pag-iibigan ng
dalawang magkaiba ng estado sa buhay, hahadlangan ito ng palalong
ina ng mayaman, susubukin ang katapatan ng magkasintahan, aangat
ang estado ng mahirap sa di inaasahang paraan upang sa wakas ay
magsasama uli sila, at magtatagumpay ang kanilang wagas na pag-
ibig.
Sa pagbubuod ni Villareal sa banghay ng kuwento, may
naidagdag siyang ilang detalyeng hindi binabanggit sa kuwento.
Halimbawa, na sumayaw ang magkasintahan sa tahanan ng binata,
at kinainggitan sila ng lahat; na nagsanib ang liwanag ng buwan at
ningning ng bituin sa loob ng isang gabi (1994, 13; aking salin mula
sa Ingles):
4748
“Si Anabella”
Isang pagunitang paglalakbay sa panahon ng dekada
treinta ang kuwentong “Si Anabella.” Isang gabing
maliwanag ang buwan at mga bituin, hinarana ng
binata ang dilag ng kaniyang biyolin. Sa himig ng
isang buong orkestra, sumayaw sila sa malawak na
sala ng malapalasyong tahanan ng binata. Nguni’t
ang binata’y mayaman, at inilayo siya ng kaniyang
ina sa kaniyang pinupusuan. Subalit buong tiyagang
naghintay si Anabella sa pagbabalik nito, at sa wakas
sila ay muling nagsama. (“Anabella” is a nostalgic
trip to the ‘30s. The beau serenades his love with a
violin on a moonlit and starry night, they dance in
the spacious sala of his palatial home to the strains
of a full orchestra, they are the envy of everyone
on the dancefloor. But he is rich and his mother
takes him away from his lover. Anabella, however,
waits patiently for his return and eventually they
are reunited.)
Kung magpatianod ang isang mambabasa sa romantikong
tradisyon, maaari ngang aakalin niyang may taglay itong mga
romantikong sangkap na sa katunayan ay hindi naman makikita sa
kuwento mismo. Hindi naman lubhang mali ang ganitong paraan
ng pagbasa kung ipinapalagay na ang kuwentong “Si Anabella” ay
akmang halimbawa ng isang makaluma’t romantikong kuwento.
Dagdag pa ni Villareal bilang komentaryo sa kuwento (1994, 13):
Maaaring sabihing pinapatibay ng “Si Anabella” ang
puna ng mga manunuri hinggil sa kahinaan ng
panitikang bernakular sa Pilipinas: na ito’y dulot
ng “malagkit na romantisismo,” “walang kaingatan
sa teknik,” pagkabuhaghag ng estruktura,
“didaktisismo,” at “sentimentalismo.” (In a way,
“Anabella” confirms what critics have listed as the
weaknesses of vernacular literature in the
Philippines: “a cloying romanticism,”)
http://journals.upd.edu.ph/index.php/dilimanreview/article/view/753/751
VALEDITION SA HILL CREST
Valediction sa hill crest
Pagkacollect ng Railway Express sa aking things
(Deretso na iyon sa barko while I take the plane.)
Inakyat kong muli ang N-311, at dahil dead of winter,
Nakatopcoat at galoshes akong
Nagright-turn sa N wing ng mahabang dilim
(Tunnel yatang aabot hanggang Tundo.)
Kinapa ko ang switch sa hall.
Sa isang pitik, nagshrink ang imaginary tunnel,
Nagparang ataol.
Or catacomb.
Strangely absolute ang impression
Ng hilera ng mga pintong nagpuprusisyon:
Individual identification, parang mummy cases,
De-nameplate, de-numero, de-hometown address.
Antiseptic ang atmosphere, streamlined yet.
Kung hindi catacomb, at least
E filing cabinet.
Filing, hindi naman deaths, ha.
Remembrances, oo. Yung medyo malapot
Dahil alam mo na, I’m quitting the place
After two and a half years.
After two and a half years,
Di man nagkatiyempong mag-ugat, ika nga,
Siyempre’y nagging attached, parang morning glory’ng
Mahirap mapaknit sa alambreng trellis.
At pagkabukas ko sa kuwarto,
Hubo’t hubad na ang mattresses,
Wala nang kutson sa easy chair,
Mga drawer ng bureau’y nakanganga,
Sabay-sabay nag-ooration,
Nagkahiyaan, nabara.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paggaralgal:
Nasa New York na si Bob and the two Allans,
Yung mga quarterbacks across the hall
Pihadong panay ang display sa Des Moines.
Don ang Cosntance aren’t coming back at all.
Gusto ko nang magpaalam–
to whom?
The drapes? The washbowl? Sa double-decker
Na pinaikot-ikot naming ni Kandaswamy
To create space, hopeless, talagang impossible.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paglagutok.
(And the stone silence,
nakakaiyak kung sumagot.)
Bueno, let’s get it over with.
It’s a long walk to the depot.
Tama na ang sophistication-sophistication.
Sa steep incline, pababa sa highway
Where all things level, sabi nga,
There’s a flurry, ang gentle-gentle.
Pagwhoosh-whoosh ng paa ko,
The snow melts right under:
Nagtutubig parang asukal,
Humuhulas,
nagsesentimental.
-Rolando Tinio
http://isaganicruz.wordpress.com/2009/03/07/rolando-tinios-valediction-sa-hillcrest/
Pagkacollect ng Railway Express sa aking things
(Deretso na iyon sa barko while I take the plane.)
Inakyat kong muli ang N-311, at dahil dead of winter,
Nakatopcoat at galoshes akong
Nagright-turn sa N wing ng mahabang dilim
(Tunnel yatang aabot hanggang Tundo.)
Kinapa ko ang switch sa hall.
Sa isang pitik, nagshrink ang imaginary tunnel,
Nagparang ataol.
Or catacomb.
Strangely absolute ang impression
Ng hilera ng mga pintong nagpuprusisyon:
Individual identification, parang mummy cases,
De-nameplate, de-numero, de-hometown address.
Antiseptic ang atmosphere, streamlined yet.
Kung hindi catacomb, at least
E filing cabinet.
Filing, hindi naman deaths, ha.
Remembrances, oo. Yung medyo malapot
Dahil alam mo na, I’m quitting the place
After two and a half years.
After two and a half years,
Di man nagkatiyempong mag-ugat, ika nga,
Siyempre’y nagging attached, parang morning glory’ng
Mahirap mapaknit sa alambreng trellis.
At pagkabukas ko sa kuwarto,
Hubo’t hubad na ang mattresses,
Wala nang kutson sa easy chair,
Mga drawer ng bureau’y nakanganga,
Sabay-sabay nag-ooration,
Nagkahiyaan, nabara.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paggaralgal:
Nasa New York na si Bob and the two Allans,
Yung mga quarterbacks across the hall
Pihadong panay ang display sa Des Moines.
Don ang Cosntance aren’t coming back at all.
Gusto ko nang magpaalam–
to whom?
The drapes? The washbowl? Sa double-decker
Na pinaikot-ikot naming ni Kandaswamy
To create space, hopeless, talagang impossible.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paglagutok.
(And the stone silence,
nakakaiyak kung sumagot.)
Bueno, let’s get it over with.
It’s a long walk to the depot.
Tama na ang sophistication-sophistication.
Sa steep incline, pababa sa highway
Where all things level, sabi nga,
There’s a flurry, ang gentle-gentle.
Pagwhoosh-whoosh ng paa ko,
The snow melts right under:
Nagtutubig parang asukal,
Humuhulas,
nagsesentimental.
-Rolando Tinio
http://isaganicruz.wordpress.com/2009/03/07/rolando-tinios-valediction-sa-hillcrest/
MORNING IN MAGREBCAN
MORNING IN NAGREBCAN
It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and thinning moment by moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on the clumps of bamboo along the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long the sun would top the Katayaghan hills, but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters crowed and strutted on the ground while hens hesitated on theri perches among the branches of the camanchile trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their stakes.
In the early mornig the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the ladder of the house. Four puupies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids and pink mouths. The skin between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They had short sleek hair, for the mother licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a pitch of hair on its chest.
The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring, aroused the mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose white hair. A rank doggy smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the puppies which had begun to whine about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared beyond the house of a neighbor.
The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to sleep, the black-spotted puppy on top.
Baldo stood at the treshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been about ten yeras old, small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He wore one of his father’s discarded cotton undershirts.
The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a banister. He sat on the lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other. Bending down, he reached between his legs for the blak-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy stuck out a small red tongue,lapping the air. It whined eagerly. Baldo laughed—a low gurgle.
He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly. “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many times. The puppy licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth. Baldo straightened up, raised the puppy on a level with his eyes. “You are a foolish puppy” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he said, rolling the puppy on his lap so that it howled.
The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-spotted puppy and ran to the narrow foot bridge of women split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch. When it rained, water from the roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a long time and the ground was dry and sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand, feeling the cool particles escaping between his toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower teeth and then curving it up and down. The whistle excited the puppies, they ran to the boy as fast theri unsteady legs could carry them, barking choppy little barks.
It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and thinning moment by moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on the clumps of bamboo along the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long the sun would top the Katayaghan hills, but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters crowed and strutted on the ground while hens hesitated on theri perches among the branches of the camanchile trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their stakes.
In the early mornig the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the ladder of the house. Four puupies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids and pink mouths. The skin between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They had short sleek hair, for the mother licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a pitch of hair on its chest.
The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring, aroused the mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose white hair. A rank doggy smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the puppies which had begun to whine about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared beyond the house of a neighbor.
The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to sleep, the black-spotted puppy on top.
Baldo stood at the treshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been about ten yeras old, small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He wore one of his father’s discarded cotton undershirts.
The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a banister. He sat on the lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other. Bending down, he reached between his legs for the blak-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy stuck out a small red tongue,lapping the air. It whined eagerly. Baldo laughed—a low gurgle.
He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly. “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many times. The puppy licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth. Baldo straightened up, raised the puppy on a level with his eyes. “You are a foolish puppy” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he said, rolling the puppy on his lap so that it howled.
The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-spotted puppy and ran to the narrow foot bridge of women split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch. When it rained, water from the roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a long time and the ground was dry and sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand, feeling the cool particles escaping between his toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower teeth and then curving it up and down. The whistle excited the puppies, they ran to the boy as fast theri unsteady legs could carry them, barking choppy little barks.
http://www.scribd.com/doc/34536551/Morning-in-Nagrebcan-Manuel-E-Arguilla
It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and thinning moment by moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on the clumps of bamboo along the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long the sun would top the Katayaghan hills, but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters crowed and strutted on the ground while hens hesitated on theri perches among the branches of the camanchile trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their stakes.
In the early mornig the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the ladder of the house. Four puupies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids and pink mouths. The skin between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They had short sleek hair, for the mother licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a pitch of hair on its chest.
The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring, aroused the mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose white hair. A rank doggy smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the puppies which had begun to whine about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared beyond the house of a neighbor.
The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to sleep, the black-spotted puppy on top.
Baldo stood at the treshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been about ten yeras old, small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He wore one of his father’s discarded cotton undershirts.
The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a banister. He sat on the lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other. Bending down, he reached between his legs for the blak-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy stuck out a small red tongue,lapping the air. It whined eagerly. Baldo laughed—a low gurgle.
He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly. “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many times. The puppy licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth. Baldo straightened up, raised the puppy on a level with his eyes. “You are a foolish puppy” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he said, rolling the puppy on his lap so that it howled.
The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-spotted puppy and ran to the narrow foot bridge of women split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch. When it rained, water from the roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a long time and the ground was dry and sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand, feeling the cool particles escaping between his toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower teeth and then curving it up and down. The whistle excited the puppies, they ran to the boy as fast theri unsteady legs could carry them, barking choppy little barks.
It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and thinning moment by moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on the clumps of bamboo along the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long the sun would top the Katayaghan hills, but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters crowed and strutted on the ground while hens hesitated on theri perches among the branches of the camanchile trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their stakes.
In the early mornig the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the ladder of the house. Four puupies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids and pink mouths. The skin between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They had short sleek hair, for the mother licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a pitch of hair on its chest.
The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring, aroused the mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose white hair. A rank doggy smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the puppies which had begun to whine about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared beyond the house of a neighbor.
The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to sleep, the black-spotted puppy on top.
Baldo stood at the treshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been about ten yeras old, small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He wore one of his father’s discarded cotton undershirts.
The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a banister. He sat on the lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other. Bending down, he reached between his legs for the blak-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy stuck out a small red tongue,lapping the air. It whined eagerly. Baldo laughed—a low gurgle.
He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly. “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many times. The puppy licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth. Baldo straightened up, raised the puppy on a level with his eyes. “You are a foolish puppy” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he said, rolling the puppy on his lap so that it howled.
The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-spotted puppy and ran to the narrow foot bridge of women split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch. When it rained, water from the roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a long time and the ground was dry and sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand, feeling the cool particles escaping between his toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower teeth and then curving it up and down. The whistle excited the puppies, they ran to the boy as fast theri unsteady legs could carry them, barking choppy little barks.
http://www.scribd.com/doc/34536551/Morning-in-Nagrebcan-Manuel-E-Arguilla
GAHASA
Ihanda ang mga ebidensya
Eksibit blg.1: baril
o kahit na anong sandata
patunay ng pagbabanta
Eksibit blg.2: panti na may mantsa
patunay ng kabirhenan ng dalaga
Eksibit blg.3: sertipikasyon ng doktor
Patunay na--
a: sapilitan
b: lubusan
ang pagpasok ng ari
Eksibit blg.4: sertipikasyon ng pagkatao
patunay ng hindi pagiging puta
Ipasok sa hukuman ang nasasakdal
Iharap sa hukuman ang nagsasakdal
Simulan ang panggagahasa
upbreadings.blogspot.com/2010/07/gahasa-by-joi-barrios.html
Eksibit blg.1: baril
o kahit na anong sandata
patunay ng pagbabanta
Eksibit blg.2: panti na may mantsa
patunay ng kabirhenan ng dalaga
Eksibit blg.3: sertipikasyon ng doktor
Patunay na--
a: sapilitan
b: lubusan
ang pagpasok ng ari
Eksibit blg.4: sertipikasyon ng pagkatao
patunay ng hindi pagiging puta
Ipasok sa hukuman ang nasasakdal
Iharap sa hukuman ang nagsasakdal
Simulan ang panggagahasa
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
THE WAY WE LIVE
Danton Remoto
Bang the drum, baby,
let us roll tremors
of sound to wake
the Lord God of motion
sleeping under the skin.
Of choosing what to wear
this Saturday night:
cool, sexy black
or simply fuck-me red?
Should I gel my hair
or let it fall like water?
Of sitting on the sad
and beautiful face of James Dean
while listening to reggae
at Blue Café.
Of chatting with friends
at The Library
while Allan Shimmers
with his sequins and wit.
Of listening to stories at Cine Café:
the first eye-contact,
conversations glowing
in the night,
lips and fingers touching,
groping for each other’s loneliness.
Of driving home
under the flyover’s dark wings
(a blackout once again plunges
the city to darkness)
Summer’s thunder
lighting up the sky
oh heat thick
as desire
Then suddenly the rain:
finally falling,
falling everywhere:
to let go, then,
to let go and to move on,
this is the way it seems
to be. Bang the drum, baby.
"THE REAL TREASURE"
(A REFLECTION ABOUT THE PHILIPPINE COLONIZATION)
"Heroes who make the Filipino as one, and absolutely make the whole world ---one".
Many things happened in this world everyday and everywhere which man cannot predict, we can only say "its God's will". Filipino experience so much pain under every colonizer. Pain which is not only felt by their skin but also felt by their heart. Wounds that result into a revenge and claim back our dear fatherland. The braveness, fearless, and intrepid courage are all passed through in every blood of every Filipino. Filipino people carried the dignity of our country until to their last breath. It is not enough to just remember their name because its also much more important to remember what they have done. We should be thankful in every right we used to exercise in today's generation. Philippines are blessed to have a citizens who are willing to sacrifice their own life. Filipino brings our national flag on the top of the world for having an undisputed solid patriotism.
May bagyo ma't may rilim, Mi Ultimo adios, and katapusang hibik ng pilipinas are just 3 of those poem which is the product of Spanish colonization era. It described the confidence, strength, and hope of our country. It is a document which described the sufferings of the Filipino people, from the time that they losing their faith to the time the they find their chances. Chances that give them new faith, faith that can help them to survive. May Day Eve, Zita, and the happy hoi polloi, are just 3 of those reflection of how Filipinos escaped from the hardship under us colonization. The story of fantasy and happiness described the aiming of the Filipino to have a better life. Their experiences in surviving help them, to continue to live under the hands of Americans. The great will to surpassed all these trials are always in their heart. Because they always believed in one thing, and they always look above for him. Holy is the Lord, King of Glory, forever savior of the world.
In our modern day today, we almost adopt the latest, trendiest, and the most popular things we've seen and encountered with. Everything changes and continue to changes. I as a student, hoping that one thing won't change, and this is the love for those people who fought for our democracy. For me, Jose Rizal is not just only our national hero, but it is all Filipino who sacrificed their life to redeem our democracy, for all who wish to end every depression under every colonizer. For all who hoped to end the tearful supplication under Marcos dictatorship. For all who find that their right are being violated, They are all my national heroes. Filipino who are brave enough just to prove to the world that "WE CAN". We can stand as one, we can governed as one, that we can begin again. National heroes who carry our flag on the top of the world. Who are confident to introduced the personality of the Filipino citizen. Many blood splash out, many life are lost, now is the time for us to continue to prove that "WE CAN", now is the time to show our debt that we cared for. Let us continue the battle begin by our heroes. We have what we have now because of them. They are the real treasures of this loving country.
"We may not know the dignity of their birth but at least we know the glory of their death."
"Heroes who make the Filipino as one, and absolutely make the whole world ---one".
Many things happened in this world everyday and everywhere which man cannot predict, we can only say "its God's will". Filipino experience so much pain under every colonizer. Pain which is not only felt by their skin but also felt by their heart. Wounds that result into a revenge and claim back our dear fatherland. The braveness, fearless, and intrepid courage are all passed through in every blood of every Filipino. Filipino people carried the dignity of our country until to their last breath. It is not enough to just remember their name because its also much more important to remember what they have done. We should be thankful in every right we used to exercise in today's generation. Philippines are blessed to have a citizens who are willing to sacrifice their own life. Filipino brings our national flag on the top of the world for having an undisputed solid patriotism.
May bagyo ma't may rilim, Mi Ultimo adios, and katapusang hibik ng pilipinas are just 3 of those poem which is the product of Spanish colonization era. It described the confidence, strength, and hope of our country. It is a document which described the sufferings of the Filipino people, from the time that they losing their faith to the time the they find their chances. Chances that give them new faith, faith that can help them to survive. May Day Eve, Zita, and the happy hoi polloi, are just 3 of those reflection of how Filipinos escaped from the hardship under us colonization. The story of fantasy and happiness described the aiming of the Filipino to have a better life. Their experiences in surviving help them, to continue to live under the hands of Americans. The great will to surpassed all these trials are always in their heart. Because they always believed in one thing, and they always look above for him. Holy is the Lord, King of Glory, forever savior of the world.
In our modern day today, we almost adopt the latest, trendiest, and the most popular things we've seen and encountered with. Everything changes and continue to changes. I as a student, hoping that one thing won't change, and this is the love for those people who fought for our democracy. For me, Jose Rizal is not just only our national hero, but it is all Filipino who sacrificed their life to redeem our democracy, for all who wish to end every depression under every colonizer. For all who hoped to end the tearful supplication under Marcos dictatorship. For all who find that their right are being violated, They are all my national heroes. Filipino who are brave enough just to prove to the world that "WE CAN". We can stand as one, we can governed as one, that we can begin again. National heroes who carry our flag on the top of the world. Who are confident to introduced the personality of the Filipino citizen. Many blood splash out, many life are lost, now is the time for us to continue to prove that "WE CAN", now is the time to show our debt that we cared for. Let us continue the battle begin by our heroes. We have what we have now because of them. They are the real treasures of this loving country.
"We may not know the dignity of their birth but at least we know the glory of their death."
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