Takut-Takut

That you should get back at me. Or I at you. Was it 1995 when I went there with Mimi? The stench of sepsis permeating the air. I could not think right. My migraine wouldn’t leave me for days on end that Mimi had to invent a medical excuse just so I could go back to Zamboanga and get some clean air.

What I felt then was fury. And I wrote Jim, the comrade I once knew and who was with me when I went to Jolo in 1986. Your friend Fatima’s dearly beloved Bangsamoro revolution has come to this, Jim, I had said, a shitload of garbage and human excrement that stinks to dear Heavens. The rest was relief: that I was forever out of it, Bangsamoro revolution, shitloads and all.

But like what poet-bum Viktor said, I’m a peripatetic. I keep on coming back for more of things long lost to me. Like Jolo. Which should be my first sight of revolution. The camp that warmly welcomed us was an armory of weapons, something I cannot say of the other revolution I got to know later where I was made to carry a .20 shotgun among a squad of ill-equipped dog-howled sniggering combatants. I felt like turning on my heel, to shoot birds, and leave the hukbos alone to do their guerilla warfare without me. Which they of course did, much much later, except that I didn’t take to shooting birds.

Nineteen-eighty-six was when I first set foot on the island. We went to Maimbung, Indanan and Patikul. The walls of the ruined mosques, edifices of the 1972 bombings, accused: Moros, not Filipinos! I was one and twenty then. No. One and twenty-two. I walked fast, thought slow. Rolling hills is all I recall of the terrain. Then we climbed a steep incline. Reaching the top and resting on a huge rock, our host, Fatima, would tell me that we were standing on what used to be seat of the Sultanate of Sulu, and that the rocks were hauled up all the way from the riverbed below by the sultan’s slaves to make a fortress. As I said, I was young and credulity was my strongest point. You couldn’t hear me arguing against anything you knew about the universe, much less about riverbeds drying and earth rising. And I wasn’t overly conscious then. My world so narrow I romanced everything I knew next to nothing about. I was also so earnest you couldn’t hear me laughing about floods and people drowning twin towers toppling.

Fast forward to 2011 and I’m back to where I first made the first cut. The people I used to know are no longer there. They have gone over to the other side, occupying the seats they once wanted to overthrow. It’s still the old town I used to know, only, none of the backdrop countryside romance. Dashed hopes, armies in disarray, corrupted one way or the other. Hungry people savage in their demands, shameless in their despair.

My luck that I had been properly warned, aptly armed.

Catholic doctrine, Flannery O’Connor: The Kingdom of Heaven is a violent one, and only the violent will bear it away.

We had been there all along had we not? At least in the last decade when, with our consent and silences and active collaboration we invaded their fiefdoms bringing with us our best intentions which we all jammed down their throats

Ha Riin in Praktis?

Noong isang araw, nabulahaw ako. Alasais ng umaga nag-ring ang telepono. Si Coms, umiiyak.

Hindi na raw siya makakasali sa rap, ke ngayon, ke kahit kelan (choke, choke), masakit na masakit raw ang ulo niya, mamamatay na yata siya, at ngayon ay may dugo na lumabas sa kanyang taynga. Panic ang lola.

Kung bakit kasi sa kung saan-saang aspalto nagsisirko. Katanghaliang tapat, kung kelan nagpupuasa ang mga tao.

“Ang titigas kasi ng ulo ninyo! Tigil na kasi yang rap-rap na yan!”

“Ayaw namin.”

Kanina si Coms uli.

“Me lumabas na namang dugo sa taynga ko, Kah Shei.”

“Lecheng tenga iyan...“

“Pero hindi na masakit ang ulo ko!”

“Bahala nga kayo sa buhay nyo!”

Kasisira kaya ng form. Heto at kaboses ko na mga nanay nila. Mas maganda pa nga boses ng mga nanay nila.

Para mo silang mga anak sa iba’t-ibang lalaki, sabi ni Berkis, habang nakangising tinitingnan ang mga shots na kuha niya.

Wish lang nila yun.

Dahil pag akoy naleche, pangtatalian ko sila, pangtatapon sa dagat.

Baka saka na sila maibenta.

payback time

Paminsan-minsan dami kong whatifs-whatifs, pero hinahalinhinan ko lagi ng hah, what if not, what if i didn't! Matagal ko na kasing tinalaga sa sarili ko na hindi pagpapakabuting babae at pagpapakabuting ina ang pakay ko sa mundo, kaya ayaw kong maguilty.



Ang explanation ni Indah, kaya raw walang tumulong ipamudmod ang kanyang mga tula, tungkol sa rape, sa mga abuso, mga pangungurakot ng mga upisyal ng gobyerno ng Sulu, at mga pagbubulag-bulagan na mga ustadjes at mga henyo sa NGO, dahil wala namang kita sa pagmumudmod ng poesia. Aminin na natin ba na wala nang ibang values ang mga tao ngayon liban sa gadji. Walang suweldo walang gagalaw na buto.

Fund-driven. Dati kakatakot na salita iyong fund-driven. Ngayon, iyon na ang order of the day. Sabi nga ni Tess, admin ng isang establisado na sanang research institution sa Mindanao, kaya ngayon, ang tindi ng tagisan ng talino, pagandahan sa konsepto, nakawan ng ideya. Ang me sabi sa kanya nun, ang dating boss niya na nasa funding agency na ngayon nagtatrabaho, na sigurado ako, kalahati ng merits kung kaya nakarating siya sa posisyon na iyon, dahil sa pagkadalubsaha sa pagnanakaw ng konsepto at mga hirap ng iba: mga sekretarya niya, admin assistants, researchers at mga writers niya.

Iniisip ko ito habang nagkakalkal ng ulo, kaiisip saan kaya ako magnakaw ng pang-absuwelto sa mga paniningil ng mga gelpren ko sa Jolo. Kasi nagkamali ako ng hakbang, nag-step yes step yes step no I love you, kaya heto, medyo sumasakit ang ulo pa’no takbuhan kapag hindi nabalikan ang mga naumpisahan.

Hindi na raw talaga nagwu-work ang charms ko, matagal na, sabi ni Miss Indah, at lalong hindi magwu-work sa no money-no honey policy ngayon ng mga tao. Aminado naman po si ako. Matagal na. Kung minsan lang nagmamatugas in u. Kaya nga yung huling lipad ko sa Jolo, sabi ko, last na ito, ayaw ko nang bumalik rito, kapag may mga gagawin pa ipapasa ko na lang sa mga old hands dito, at least kung uusad o sasalampak kaya, dih ko dusa. Hindi ko kasalanan.

Ganun kasamang intension, kaya siguro pinaparangalan.

Nasa bunkhouse ako, isang sakay mula sa pantalan, nakaupo sa Army cot at nagpapapak ng kuko, salamat sa isang daang pisong halaga ng isang gabing pagpapahinga at buong araw na pagkatutunganga. Goodbye Jolo, ayaw ko na, ayaw ko na talaga sa iyo. Nang magring ang aking mumurahing telepono. Si El at si Coms, naghahanap, nangungumusta. Kah Shei, huwag kang magpapalit ng numero ha?

Nakapromise tuloy ako.

Mga batang kalsada. Nangungutong lang ba, namemera ng totoong mamera. Pangload, pangtext, pangtugis ng barya-baryang ligaya. Payback time, Rayang, sabi ni Indah.

Feeling superior kasi ako sa kanya sa aking choices sa buhay. Hindi nag-asawa, at ngayo’y nagpakalesbiana. Sinasabi niya at ng mga kaibigan ko noon sa Abused Children network na siguro, kung nag-asawa ako, street children ngayon lahat ng mga anak ko. Lahat ng mga anak ko? Andami naman yata nun? Abortion rights advocate kaya ako, kahit pa ba matay ko mang isipin, pano kaya naging rights yung abortion, eh kahirap nun. Pero ang true, I did have mother rights and served time in the scullery, and please, when I was a mother, Mother of the Year awardee kaya ako. Peks man, sa kapanahunan ko. Until nagdisayd na in case of contradiction, one really had to go. So Go si motherhood.

Huling update, si Mikhael hanggang second high lang ang inabot ng talino at buto, si Maika outstanding sa Maryknoll High. Paminsan-minsan dami kong whatifs-whatifs, pero hinahalinhinan ko lagi ng hah, what if not, what if i didn't! Matagal ko na kasing tinalaga sa sarili ko na hindi pagpapakabuting babae at pagpapakabuting ina ang pakay ko sa mundo, kaya ayaw kong maguilty. Tapos, noong minsan, sa bunkhouse, nakarumeyt ko si Judith. Na dating taga-TFD. Nagdisayd daw siya na magpahinga, kaya nag-lawyer. Ngayon, you could say she has everything na, at least in the way of comfort, pero gusto niya sa PAO pa rin magtrabaho, hindi sa corporate law. You have to pay back to life somehow, sabi niya.

Kung minsan, kinikilabutan ako. Iniisip ko, for all that life has given me, and now that I have nothing and everything before me, ito na ba ang payback time ko?

Pa'no nga uli maging lesbiana?

Ang hirap kaya. Sabi ni Kah Dar, sabay ismid at sulyap sa akin, piyasaran na ba. Will do. Nagi-gerlan siya sa akin. Sa kabataan niya raw kasi, sigang-siga siya, gelpren niya ang pinakamaganda at pinakaseksi sa eskuwela na anak ng Assemblyman. Sibu ra daw in lesbian sex, masarap rin daw , at iyong pagpapaligaya na kaya ng lalaki, kaya rin nating gawin, pero mula ulo hanggang bewang sadja. Sa baba noon, di na natin kaya, way kita sinapang.

Wala raw tayong sandata.

Pero sa kulumpon ng mahigit dalawangpung lesbiana na nakikinig sa kanya, si Berkis lang yata ang tumawa. May pagkasinauna kasi mag-isip ni Berkis. Kasalanan raw kay Allah ang maging bantut o lesbiana, pero di bale na daw, kung saan ba ako maligaya.

Araw-araw nawawalan ako ng pag-asa, nadidismaya. Hindi raw dapat ibroadcast ang tungkol sa gang rape sa Jolo at lalo lang nahahati at nasisiraan ang lipi. Inuulit-ulit niya kapag ko siya kinukulit na mag-aral, mag-imbestiga, sumasakit daw ang ulo niya kapag nag-iisip siya, buti pa raw noong panahon ng kanyang lola, noong walang pumupunta sa eskuwela at walang nagbabasa, wala rin daw nagnanakaw, walang gahaman sa pera. Kelan kaya iyon, noong panahong ang halaga ng isang salup ng bigas ay beinte-singko sentimos pa? Naabutan ko pa yata yun. Seis anyos ako at akay-akay ng aking lola. Ang ulam ng kapitbahay ulam mo rin. Wala ngang perang pag-aawayan ang mga tao noon.

Walang pagpapatayan.

Hindi iyan makakapasok ng area, pagbabawal ng isa.

Aykaw magtumbuy-tumbuy dih, ayna, patayun kaw ha dan! babala naman ng isa pa.

Ang totoo, hindi ako naniniwala sa kamatayan. O naniniwala, pero hindi iyon ang kinatatakutan ko. Bakit? Chaos is a friend of mine, Violence a goodly neighbor, Death an Acquaintance. Close to 50 at bihis-Bajau? Kahit Abu Sayaf di ako seseryosohin. Pero kahit pa seryosohin ako, ang mas worry ko pa ay, siyempre, baka mag-insist si Berkis na embalsamahin ako sa Zambo at i-ship sa Davao ang body ko, mabubuking ng friends ko na wala akong burial plan, ni walang SSS o Philhealth plan. Nakakahiya yun, di ba. Ewan ko. Pakialam ko. Petiburgis yun. Buhusan na lang ng gas, silaban, kesa embalsamahin, economical na, mas sanitary pa. Pero hindi ko na worry yun, by that time baka busy na ako kala-lobby kay San Pedro na paakyatin ako. Kahit hanggang porch lang.

Do not double-blade me

Farisha is confused. I told her do not double blade me i hate bisexuals and want them dead. Her eyes stopped dead in their sockets. She had said to me she got married because to her surprise a boy liked her. She heard I and Berkis are getting along and setting up a lesbian organisation and wanted to join. Take me in, I’m double-blade, she said. The way she put it, you would think she’s a slasher two-way and had to be applauded twice for it. I spat the bi word and hissed at her face like I saw double-traitor and she froze afraid. Like I was some lunatic she does not know the name of.

I know her from way back, some 15 years ago, maybe more. I was with Mimi. I was to design a health survey for an intervention they were going to do at Takut-Takut, the slum area in downtown Jolo right by the Mosque. The same Mosque GMA wanted to step into, which the Muslim community opposed, which angered the Bishops-Ulama-Conference bigwigs, which made many a Catholic priest not forgive, and so on and so forth. It’s about one edifice in the entire town that still stands big and tall amidst all the garbage surrounding it, but when it rains the waters can go neck-deep everyone had to navigate by rubber boat to go by.

It was a much happier time when we all first got together in 1996. Maybe 1997. Mimi was facilitating the syeyring sessions and we each one of us had been asked to bring something, an object, a picture, whatever that would stand as metaphor of our self. I am a tree, Faring had said. Storm-ravaged, but I am still here. I am this dry twig, Olive Makayug, so-called because she was thin like a reed, said, showing a picture of a leafless branch with a tiny green on its end. Olive  Matambuk, because she was fat, showed us a picture of a refrigerator. I am this because I only keep fresh things. Rotten things – my husband’s unfaithfulness, the way she used to beat me, all the ugly things I had to put up with before – I throw away. I keep only the good things.

Mimi cued me later. Shi, did you notice? The two of us we both chose flowers? Maybe we are no longer the sore thumbs we used to be? She chose Sunflower, because she likes bright happy things, she said, face always sunward. I chose a wild rose for its thorns because I wound those who get close to me, I had said. But what surprised us was Tina. Whom we thought had a terribly low self-esteem. Because there was talk she was a family abuse case, progressive present tense. But Tina showed us a picture of a shampoo girl, long black hair wavy behind her. Malingkat ha, malingkat. She kept on saying. She’s beautiful, she’s beautiful, isn’t she. I want to be like this, I am like this, beautiful. We all were stunned into uneasy silence. Then Sheena spoke up and showed us a rock rough and sharp. Lord, that girl. I am a rock! Mimi enthused. A tomboy, is she?

Now back in Jolo I could not find Sheena. Who was that girl who said she was a rock? I asked Berkis. Berkis could not remember. Now she cannot sleep without Valium. I blame Mimi. She was the one who first gave her the prescription. Medical practitioners’ quick-fix, I accuse. I cannot recall Berkis’ metaphor. I brought a poster of Kurt Cobain, she now tells me. Which I must have rejected then as noisy music punk rock star. And a suicide case at that. I was a relapsed Catholic. Hated drug addicts. Suicide cases more so.

You used to be pretty, Shi, Berkis now tells me. And sweet. I thought she was going to say I used to be so self-righteous. But it is she who has become so conservative. A recidivist Islamist, I tell her, but the phrase escapes her. Now she refuses to read, refuses to hold pen and paper, refuses to use a computer. Interchanges "kung" with "kong", also "ask" with "us". Every other day she threatens to go back to the Bangsa Moro rebolusyon, kill an American soldier, kidnap a thieving colleague, bomb a peace conference.

It was so much better when people did not have school learning, they did not know how to steal, she argues, for the nth time. Her educated friends, she says, now tell her: If you don’t change your ways and forget about principles, Berkis, you will die from hunger. So now she is under her friends’ employ and calls them names -- baisan, kawatan, gahaman and so on.

So what happened to that girl who said she is a rock? I ask Berkis.
Which one, Shi? Hindi ko ba maalala.
Your Valium-addled brain, I say.
Farisha remembers. That was Sheena. The two of them used to go out together.
Yes, Sheena. The tomboy.
She got married.
She got married?
Yes. And died a year after. She haemorrhaged to death.

I can’t recall if they said the baby was a girl or a boy, and whether it lived or died.