Pagkatapos ng workshop

Si Nadz, sa unang araw pa lang ng training-workshop, nagpaalam na. Na siya ay hindi sasabay sa mga uuwi pabalik ng Jolo sa susunod na gabi, magpapaiwan siya sa Zamboanga, sa bahay ng kapatid na babae na naghahanapbuhay dito (nagtitinda ng banana cue), para maghanapbuhay rin ng ilang araw (magbabantay ng mga sasakyan ng mga papasok sa mga bars at diskohan). Umaga sa Girls Quarters ng Youth Hostel ng PNRC Zamboanga, nagronda na si Tu Tia (espanyol ng Kah Sheh), "Uy, yung mga ayaw umuwi, yung mga gusto muna mag-agogo dancer, mag-waitress, magprosti ng ilang araw, magsabi na, habang nandun pa sa ibaba si Jo at di pa nakaalis para bilhan kayo ng inyong mga tiket!"

Walang nagtaas ng kamay. Sa disisiete na sumakay ng barko galing Jolo pa-Zamboanga, minus kay Nadz at saka kay Tu Tia, ang kinse ay uuwi lahat pabalik sa pinanggalingan. Aba, ang babait ng mga anak ng tinalupan, uuwi silang lahat as scheduled?

Magtatanghali at tapos na ang sesyon, pati photo op at mga gudbay ceremonies, naipamudmod na ni Jo ang mga tiket ng bawat isa, pati na ang four hundred and twenty na katumbas ng pamasahe ng isang tao pa-Jolo ni Nadz, enter Vaness, Merz at isa pang mokong (si Coms yata, na may kapatid rin sa Zambo): Hindi raw sila muna uuwi, tira raw muna sila kay Nadz ng isang gabi. Talaga, ha. Ang bahay ng kapatid ni Nadz ay medyo wala walang kuryente at doon sila magsusumiksik makitira? Ano ang kanilang plataforma.

Pinarefund ang mga tiket nila.

E di nagka-cash sila. Yayamang walang per diem hah.

Buong hapon na nangawala at nang bumalik alas singko, ang iba me nabiling relos na dilaw na plastic, ang iba singsing na gawa sa lata, at ang iba ay hindi ko na inalam. Kung kanino ipapaalam siya ring uutangan.

Habang ang iba busy sa pag-iimpake, at ang iba pa ay isa-isa nang nagsialisan papuntang pantalan, heto si Vaness, nakaupo sa katabing higaan, mata sa bandang paanan, explaining at explicating. Kulang na raw ang pambayad nila sa barko. Si El Presidente Jovene, sa bandang likuran, mamata-mata.

Ang totoo, gusto kong tumawa. Si Kah Hulma ay galit na lumayas nang hindi man lang nagpasalamat, ni hindi sinagot ang tanong ko, kung siya ba ay kumain na o ano, tapos heto ang mga tinamaan ng lintek, at jajamingin na naman kami after enjoying their shopping at window-shopping rights on a cancelled ticket na ngayon ay kelangang i-repurchase.

“Mag-unu kami, Vaness? Magdagang bilat a kapitan sin kappal?” Punch in si Jo.

“Kulang na ang pamasahe namin, hindi na kami makauwi.” Kapag si Vaness in distress, she looks every inch in distress, heartbreaker po talaga.

“Na sige na, kausapin nyo ang kapitan ng barko, mag-service muna kami ni Jo, makatawid lang kayo pa-Jolo.Buti sana kung type kami nun, mas type kayo nun!”

Si Merz sa likuran na kanina ay feigning concern, feigning seriousness, napangisi.

Si Vaness maiiyak na.

Sabi nga ni Anj, “We love your kids!” Pakiramdam ko nag-Mother of the Year awardee uli ako. Kung alam lang nila.

Ang totoo, feeling ko, na feeling ko lagi, I could have done more. Na puwede ring unawain as, I could have done worse. Pero siguro, siguro nga, gaya ng lagi kong sinasabi sa sarili ko, bilang pakonsuwelo de bobo dahil bobo naman talaga ako, the meagerness, the poverty, the unaccomplishment, is what made all the difference. Kasi kung hindi, baka nga matagal na akong itinapon sa dagat.

Hindi ganito ang ideya ko ng pagoorganisa. Ni wala talaga akong balak magorganisa ng mga lesbiana sa Jolo. Mga kaibigan ko nga na ngayon ay nasa Caritas na, o sa Asian Women Bureau na, aghast. Por dios por santo, anila, bakit hindi sa CDO, o sa Manila, o kahit sa Cebu, mag-LGBT rights campaign ka lang din, of all places at of all dako ng kabihasnan, bakit sa Jolo pa bakiiiit???

Hindi ko masabi sa kanila ang totoo. That I love the craziness of it. And that I’m doing it maybe because exactly of the impossibility of it.

“Are they well-off?”, ani Fechi. Naka-dressed to kill kasi si Merz. Natural, mangibang bansa kaya sila, magpa-Zamboanga Hermosa, e di nagpa-handsome, naghiraman pa, showdown talaga. Kahit naman sa Jolo, pag me party, o kanduli, papahandsome talaga ang mga leche. Invest nang invest on pleasure and good looks, hedonists of the highest order. Maybe to fetch well-off girls, or maybe, counterpoint to so much poverty, to so much pain.

Si Ridz, halimbawa, na days back iika-ika, nakawhite polo shirt, bagong pair of blue jeans at white imitation rubber shoes.

“Ba’t ka nakasapatos, yung sugat mo!” Ayaw aminin na nakuha niya sa pagtakbo habang naglalako ng shabu. Nahulog raw siya sa pantan. E di nahulog.

“E, sabi ni Merz, e, eto daw isuot ko.”

Sa barko pa lang patulak ng Zambo nag-order na sa akin. “Kah Sheh, wala akong dalang brief, penge namang pambili ng brief, o.”

The night after and an hour before departure time, “O. Nakabili ka ng brief mo?”
“Hindi nga e.”

"Di bale na. May naka-MU ka naman sa Paseo del Mar."

Hindi ko na tinanong kung nang ligawan niya yun kagabi, binaliktad ba niya ang brief niya, o wala siyang suot na brief?

“Pero peks man, ang guapo-guapo mo talaga ngayon. Nakakainlove.”

“Oo. Bagay na kayo.”

Love ko talaga si Vaness kapag sumabad, in line! Pati ka-MU nga niya minumura ako sa text, bat daw ako hanap nang hanap kay Vaness.

“Kasi akala niya girlfriend kita.”

“Sana sinabi mong hindi, na love lang talaga kita wala kang magawa.”

“I love you more.”

Ganyan si Vaness. Ayaw magpatawad. Pulot dito, pulot doon ng ingles.

“I love you, Vaness.”

“I love you so much.”

Di ka mawewendang niyan?

Pero ang mas nakawewendang, peks man, si Merz.

Ewan ko kung kagagawan ng Rainbow Rights training, pero imagine Merz transmorphing into a girl? Parang gusto kong magsulat ng dula: Ang Pagdadalaga ni Merz Jamad. Ang tagal sa shower, mas matagal nagbihis. One full hour yata before departure time, girdle, underwear, sanitary napkin, baby powder, lotion. Me papasyal-pasyal pa around the ward nang nakatapis ng malong to socialize. Pati si Jo ay nawerla. “Naunu na in subul ini?!?!?”

Macho supremo kaya ang self-packaging ni Merz. Kahit naglalakad sa sahig-higaan o sa taytayan, tikas ang tayo nun, sure ang hakbang, at tiim lagi ang bagang. Wag mong masagi at baka susuklian ka ng straight cut to the jaw. Ang mahal pa ng ngiti. Pasalamat ka kung matingnan ka. Fazed ako. Ang huling gusto kong maka-engkuwentro sa Jolo ay ang classic super-chauvinist Tausug macho. At si Merz, every inch going that way.

Tapos ngayon, heto: Bababa lang ng function room, akala mo magdedebut. May needle pins pa to pleat his polo back and sides, which he didn’t want hanging loose out of place, buti hindi tinusok ni Sheeba na ginawa niyang sastre cum yaya at fashionista.

Kanina sa diskursong SOGI, feminine daw siya, kasi nga hindi naman raw puwedeng habang buhay ay ganito tayo.

Ay ano tayo? Nag-alsa ang tinggil ko. Putanginang palaka, Merilyn, akala ko ba, kaya ka tomboy na basagulero dahil derstand mo what political status comes with masculinity? If I had to ram it down her throat I will, o bagsak lahat ng aking plataforma.

Masculine ka, Merz.

So at recess time, she corrected herself at naglodge ng motion for reconsideration kay Jo. Relay naman si Jo. Hindi raw yun totoo, Sheh, na hindi permanent ang pagkalesbian niya. Sinabi niya lang daw yun dahil nahihiya siya. Kasi nga hindi nila alam na puwede pala yun.

Dinner time, sit ang Merz sa bed ko. Kah Sheh, you’re the best talaga. Sabay cut in ng medyo naligaw sa tono na You came into my life…

Fasten your seatbelt. Don’t panic, Tu Tia.

Pa'no ko ba papaliwanag sa kanila na The house is on fire the firemen all dead

usaping intellectual intercourse

At kanina, pati si Karlo nang-alaska. Heterosexual ka pa rin yata, aniya. Hindi ako napatawad sa aking kawalang-pitagan na pangdudusta sa kanyang pagkadakilang anak ni Allah, at lalong di ako napatawad nang hindi ako humingi ng tawad sa mga nabitiwang di-namumuri na mga salita.

Excited ako na nagbalita sa kanya na nakatanggap ako ng sulat-pahiwatig mula sa dating kasama.

“Kinikilig ka pa rin o. Hetero ka pa rin yata e.”

Ganun ba yun?

“Hindi. Naghahanap ka lang yata ng intellectual intercourse e. Busy ako e. Gabundok na mga gawain, o.”

Shocked ako. Akala niya yata, dahil galing ako sa isla ng medyo siraulong Bangsamoro, wala akong naka-intellectual intercourse doon, dahil nga sa Manila lang nangyayari ang intellectual intercourse. Pag minsan, gusto kong mag-parrangsabil kay Karlo. Akala niya, intellectually attracted ako sa mga latay-burgis na kauri niya. Pa’no mo kaya i-explain sa mga overeducated na katulad niya na mas intellectually stimulating na kausap kaysa sa kanya si Ridz, si Mherz at si Khumz?

Si Ridz na disinuebe na magsasabi, Babae ang nagi-initiate, hindi kami. Sila ang unang nanghahalik, nangta-touch, tanggap lang kami. Si Mherz na disiotso, bansag na basagulero. Hindi naman sa ayaw namin ng Sama, hindi naman sa nagdi-discriminate kami sa Sama kung kaya puro kami Tausug sa barkada. Kaya lang siyempre pag ka nabubuhay sa kalsada, ang hirap kaya nung may isa sa hanay na ayaw ng gulo, na sa harap ng paparating na kaaway tatakbo.

Oo. Madi-demoralize at matatakot pati iyong lalaban sana, sang-ayon pa ni Ridz.

At Si Khumz na disisiete at Grade Four lang ang natapos at ayaw magkuwento ng tungkol sa buhay at sex life niya, the temerity para lektyuran ako.

Kahit anong gawin mo, babae ka pa rin.
Babae ako, Khumz?
Babae ka pa rin ba.
Hindi lesbian?
Babae. Lesbian.
Naman pala e. E, ikaw babae pa rin ang tingin mo sa sarili mo?
Hindi. Lesbian. Ngising aso.
E, sila Mherz at Sara, babae o lalaki ang tingin nila sa mga sarili nila?
Ewan ko sa kanila. Itanong mo kasi sa kanila.

Sister golden hair surprise

The games that they play. The games that we play!
Looks like I will not survive my first brush with the law of the glop.

And Mags said today, “But you are also playing games with their minds!” The point that I missed, since I didn't know that I really am the one who has the resources to be throwing dices.

"You have a career to look after, Sheilfa, you have so much to lose." When all the while I had been making so much of myself, believing I have only so much to give with none to lose.

You scare me, she said. Told her that I spoke to her girlfriend telling her I’m in love with her girlfriend.

“You have to take into account their emotional maturity in dealing with competition, what they can do to you. My God, you don’t know them!”

“They”, I wanted to tell her, is of my kind. Poor, gutterbred. Therefore, there was not much to know. And there was not much to fear. But of course, that is only my point of view. The “real” gutterbred think nothing of me. The real gutterbred think of me a bourgeois shithead trying to lay a dirty hand on their virgin souls.

“Don’t put yourself in a very vulnerable situation. This isn’t the love of your life, is it? You are just there for the adventure, I suppose?”

Damnshit. Would that I would just call it an itch.
But if they're getting themselves some experience, shouldn't I be glad I am of help?



26 december 2005

Beyond the Ash Rains

When the desert refused my history,
Refused to acknowledge that I had lived
there, with you, among a vanished tribe,

two, three thousand years ago, you parted
the dawn rain, its thicket monsoon curtains,

and beckoned me to the northern canyons.
There, among the red rocks, you lived.
I had still not learned the style of nomads

To walk between the rain drops to keep dry
Wet and cold, I spoke like a poor man,

Without irony. You showed me the relics
of our former life, proof that we’d at last
found each other, but in your arms I felt

singled out for lost. When you lit the fire
and poured the wine, “I am going,” I murmured,
repeatedly, “going where no one has been
and no one will be. Will you come with me?”
You took my hand and we walked through the streets

of an emptied world, vulnerable
to our suddenly bare history in which I was,

but you said won’t again be, singled
out for loss in your arms, won’t ever again
be exiled, never again, from your arms.

Agha Shahid Ali

The Peace Zone

"The The Peace Zones comprise barely barren ground. While it may be simplistic to mock the concept as offering no more than a future in which the archipelago might resemble a jigsaw of sanctuaries and withdrawal areas, the proposal can nonetheless appear static and unimaginative in the broader context of Philippine politics.

"But there is a far more sinister problem: The Peace Zones represent the antithesis of political debate and threaten to depower the very people they aim to protect."

Peter Sales (1992, p. 32)

Ending up in Istanbul on a train off for Siberia

"Over a number of years spent ruminating on the distinctive characteristics of the Celts, I began to wonder if their legendary nomadic ways arose from an inner need. An involuntary response, rather than a pragmatic one; a restlessness that had its roots in an insatiable curiosity.

"I suspect it was my growing awareness of my own wanderlust and curiosity that made me aware of the real sense of connection I felt to the Celtic lineage, as part of that New World extension of a people who ranged so astonishingly far and wide. And the more I learned of Pan-Celtic culture and its unexpected turns and twists, the more I was drawn to learn about the Celts’ contemporaries, which in turn set me off on tangents which might have little or no connection to the Celts themselves.

"In casting your inspirational net as an artist, you become familiar with the humility that comes with watching your best-laid plans veer sideways, and recordings becoming something other than what you expected. So, you set out to travel to Rome and end up in Istanbul. You set off for Japan and you end up on a train across Siberia. The journey, not the destination, becomes a source of wonder.

"In the end, I wonder if one of the most important steps on our journey is the one in which we throw the map. In jettisoning the grids and brambles of our own preconceptions, perhaps we are better able to find the real secrets of each place; to remember that we are all extensions of our collective history."

William Butler Yeats

dead men walking and feasible joys

A diary entry, March 11, 2009:

Gwenola, poor rebel bitch. No University post in Paris and so she flew herself in. Every other minute she bewails, What am I doing here? Fuckinggodforsaken country.

....

Distance. Something I am comfortable with. But I don’t think of you anymore. Or maybe it’s just that you were never there to be thought of and you wanted it that way.

So this is how it is. To stand in the desert Unstormed

....

Kerima Polotan:

The world moves because there are enough of us who willingly face the doom of being common and ordinary and humdrum, struggling within the hedges to achieve not the bliss of the Gods but something humbler, a more feasible joy.

A cop-out haha.

I only want to be the odd paragraph and write before I die the single essay.

....

Jules has taken to the lectern. Doesn't think of herself as famous. Like Christine Delphy or some of those she calls racist feminists. Lesbianism not as sexual preference or alternative lifestyle but as a fundamental critique of the dominant order and as an organizing principle for women, she said. Wait. Did Jules say that or Adrienne Rich said that? Maybe the both of them. Jules should be an improvement from the last tribe. What's the craziest she said? She dreams of a lesbian-led revolution.

Germi doesn't think much of lesbianism. Her circumstances do not warrant it, got no uses for it. Daphne says she doesn't want to be any of that, that LBGTQI frak-frak. Who wants to be an L or an I or Q. Who wants to be a frac-frac.

But what can anyone who wants to succeed in at least anything do? Downplay the old constructs, throw away all analysis, and to insist on entering, rough and tumble, the games that men are playing? The suffragists won the vote by capitalizing on women’s supposed greater nobility of spirit. I think I will puke.

But Audre Lorde now sounds like a dead man, using words like feminism and oppression and liberation and genuine change the old tools indeed.

Advocating tolerance, says she, is the grossest form of reformism. There ought to be community. Without community there is no liberation, only the most vulnerable and temporary armistice between an individual and her oppression.

“Pray Miss, write no more!”

Mary Wollstonecraft said that, in 1789, not I.