Poems

Eighty-two years ago today, as the waves of Leyte's shores trembled, not from a point something magnitude earthquake, but under the rumbling boots of liberating American soldiers. As Douglas MacArthur fulfilled a long awaited promise, another life began with its own quiet defiance — the birth of my father, Romeo, 'the Conqueror' as how he wanted to be fondly called. It was October 20,1944, a day marked not only in history books, but also in our family's story. While the world watched a general return to reclaim a nation, my father let out his first cry in a country torn by war. It was a cry of struggle, a sound that would echo through the decades of a hard but honorable life. My limited imagination won't be able to grasp what it was like to be born into a world still echoing with gunfire and desperation. I would imagine my father's earliest days were shaped by scarcity (Kaya hindi lumaki, LOL) . Food was maybe rationed, security was uncertain, and entire families lived in fear of uncertainties. His family, like many others in Tingib, Basey, Samar survived through grit, ingenuity, and an unbreakable bond. The Tingibnons like all the other Samarnons, knew how to endure, and from them, my father learned the most essential lesson of his life: to persist.
His childhood was not filled with toys or privileged schooling, but with work. From a young age, being the eldest male in the family, he toiled in the fields. He helped raise his younger siblings, and walked long distances just to attend classes — when he could. Education was a luxury, but he valued every moment of it. It's a value he passed on to us - his love for learning. Often, he would recount how he studied by the light of a gas lamp, scribbling notes on scraps of paper, his mind hungry for a future he could barely imagine, but always believed in. I remember him telling a story about how he would swim from the shores of Tingib to Tacloban, probably just to get a glimpse of life different from his. It was a tale a bit exaggerated as I reckon now, but in the ears of a young mind, he was a hero, that in the level of, or even mightier than General Mac Arthur.
The struggle did not end with youth. As he grew into a man, poverty clung tightly. While awaiting results of his licensure exam as a Radio Telegraph Operator he took on backbreaking jobs — laboring as construction worker and bakery boy. Experiences he turned into an advantage, because when he fathered us, he knew how to make 'bitso' and other breads, and he preferred doing mason labor for our house, over paying someone else to do it. He was our grease monkey, our electrician, mason labor, cook and baker rolled into one.
Finally, the universe seemed to have smiled upon him, he passed his licensure exam, and became a kickass manager of RCPI. And when he got promoted as RCPI Roving manager he worked even longer hours, endured being unappreciated, made countless sacrifices, even worked almost always far away from us — all to build a better life not just for himself, but for the family he was determined to raise. There were moments when life tested him cruelly — lost opportunities, health issues, betrayals. I wanted to say, for forceful narrative, that not once did he surrender. But that would be to miswrite his story. I saw him falter, I saw him stop and saw him crash into a thousand pieces. But I also saw him picked himself up and moved on. He was a man of contradictions, but the one thing I am sure of, and the one thing I would never be confused about, is that he loved my mother…with a kind of love that is tough and true, and almost crazy. In a chaotic world I grew up in, at least that one thing I'm sure of to be true. His love for my mom was the kind that we only get to read in books, and get to see only in movies, and the kind of love I want my daughters to experience. I would tell my kids how Romeo loved Edith, as if telling a story of one of Shakespeare's masterpieces. Today, on what would be his 82nd birthday, I remember him not just as a man who lived through history, but as one who shaped it. Just as MacArthur returned to fulfill his promise to a nation, my father fulfilled his own: to live fully, love deeply, and leave behind a legacy that no hardship could erase. In my heart, he lived and he died a Conqueror.
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'What's this? '
The question is written
In the great arena?
The answer of it is also inscribed
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ARP! ARP! ARP!
(to Aki)

Arp! Arp! Arp! Finally you're here—
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Who has not told a lie, for good or bad or who knows why
Who has not stolen a thing, a pen, a pencil, a piece of string
Who has not had a bad thought, about a man or woman or what not
Who has not taken a life, a mosquito, a fly, a thistle or garden weeds rife
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As the lights shimmer on the water
A rippling cascade of beauty is caused to exude
With the glowing sheen provided by the dockside glow
Making a brilliant natural interlude
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Judas tree, release, renew,
Let go of guilt and shame,
Let go of all that's trapping you,
Unite the sacred Name,
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Write it tonight
With your best intention,
It is definitely dynamic
With its genuine characteristic,
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Aziyaton ka daur hai ye, guzar jaayega
Har ek zakhm bhi aakhir sanwar jaayega

Ye raat jitni bhi gehri hai, dar na is se
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The sun is climbing down—
I walk past
tall buildings, schools, offices,
roads folded
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I'm not a hero or a prince; I'm a person with my own shadows.
I'm still wounded by the past, but no longer afraid of dark sorrows.
From that journey, I've learned peace is more alluring than history;
That is why I can see your worth, so fully and so vividly.
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A shadow falls, a chilling hand,
It whispers doubts across the land.
This fear, it holds me, keeps me bound,
Where stronger, brighter joys aren't found.
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An hour of news!
Don't know if I should
Laugh! Cry or pity!
Striking is the vision
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