Activities for Chapter 5

ACTIVITY 1:

Instructions for Activity 1 – 3: Read the following texts carefully and answer the questions at the end of
each literary text. Answer as briefly and substantially as possible.

AMONG THE DISAPPEARED

Kabilang sa mga Nawawala
Ricardo Lee

1. I’m just like the wind.

One day when he looked at the mirror he was no longer there. But the room was still there, the bed, the
books. He coughed, he heard nothing. He felt the mirror, he couldn’t feel anything. Wow, he said. He
has simply disappeared.

He was only seventeen. And was naked because he had just bathed for he was to go to school. Jun-Jun,
where have you gone this time, you imp! His mama came up to his room but walked through him. Had
she seen him she would have slapped him as usual. Jun-Jun whispered to himself, you’ve been freed.

That day, April 4, 1987, Jun-Jun left the house and never came back. On the street, the street waif was
weeping. On the papers, the military raided the Sparrows’ hideout. Tok-tok-tok, said the hammer to the
high heels in the repair shop. Jun-Jun observed everything around him, then stood in the middle of the
street facing the speeding cars. You sons of bitches! he shouted but nobody could hear him. You damn
fathers and mothers and all you who do not like me! And damn you, trigonometry and history, you
terror teachers, neighbors who sing off-key, you stores who won’t allow me to buy on credit, gangmates
whom I can’t stand, girls in my class who just giggled and giggled when I spoke to you but who would
later turn me down, damn all of you!

He thought of seeing his best friend Gene. He might still be asleep, and will be late again for school. He
was about to push the door of the room when his body slid through. Gene, as he expected, was still
asleep, streaks of dried saliva on one cheek. You son of a bitch, Gene, he said laughing, and drooling yet!
He bit Gene’s foot but his teeth just went through it. He just sat on the bed and looked at his friend. In
their Grade 1 class when his teacher would ask him to remain standing because he could not pronounce
‘bark,’ or no voice would come out when he was asked to sing, Gene would be the savior, Ma’am, I’ll
stand in his stead, and the teacher would allow him. That early, Gene loved to help out. While he, with
only a glance from the teacher, would already turn pale, Jun-Jun, why do you look as though a snake has
bitten you

Gene grunted, woke up. He raised his hand that went through the face of Jun-Jun but missed hitting it.
Gene, Jun-Jun said, don’t you hear me? Mommy, shouted Gene, I’m late already, help! Gene, you
asshole, I’m here! Mommy! Yes, yes, just wait, where did you take off your shoes? Gene, hold me! Jun-
Jun shook Gene’s Shoulders but he could not hold anything. He just looked at Gene helplessly. Gene’s
mother hugged him, kissed him on the forehead, and helped him get up. Jun-Jun sadly left the room.
That day, when he again ‘Stepped into the street. facing the horde of people rushing to offices and
schools, something he had not wanted to confront struck Jun-Jun’s mind, what’s to become of him, why
has this happened to him, is there anyone else anywhere in the world at this time who’s just like him? It
was then that he felt desolation like no other, unawares he found himself sitting on the sidewalk, and as
everybody walked and stumbled through him he bowed his head like one defeated, his face in his hands
he couldn’t feel, and soundlessly wept over his disappearance.

For three days and three nights he wandered about going with the surging crowd he couldn’t touch. At
times he would suddenly tell whoever was there, I am like the wind, am right here but you cannot see
me. He would like to get hungry, he would like to get sleepy, and he’d sob but would see no tears.

He looked for a place to hide in the cinema houses. You want to hide but nobody can see you anyway,
the cinema house would say to him. Help me, he whispered to it in the dark, I need some place to
squeeze into. There, in front of the blinking lights on the screen, he would patiently stare at the
characters with no flesh and bones, moving about in a rectangular world that had no solidity. He could
recognize some similarities he had with the movie, he could only see and hear while movies could only
be seen and heard. The movie house had long been closed and the world around him was asleep, but
Jun-Jun would persist, like a crazed one he would peer at the lifeless screen, smelling it, licking it.

One evening he chanced to watch Diana Pongka-Pongka in one dilapidated theater.

2. Almost like a mask

Pongka-Pongka seems not a person. Has a long Farrah Fawcett wig, facial make-up white like coupon
bond, his sheer dress flowing on the floor, his mouth a red makopa fruit. Pongka-Pongka impersonates
Farrah Fawcett impersonating Shirley Bassey but ending up as Diana Ross. It’s confusing but he really
likes confusing the audience, he says in his spiel. Just like how he confused his Japanese boyfriend. They
had been “on” for a month but the Japanese had yet to find out he was a guy. He was even fending him
off. Until finally the boyfriend forced himself on him. The fairy was shaken. Thought he’d be found out.
But no not yet, take note, they had done it and all, but the boyfriend still thought he was a she. He broke
up with the Japanese, fearing the coming day of reckoning.

The crowd was roaring in laughter. Jun-Jun edged closer to the stage and said, crazy! Then he watched
on laughing.

He likes Pongka-Pongka. Unlike the actors in a movie, Pongka-Pongka has flesh and blood, his sweat has
the smell of a human being. You can hear him pant. But at times the people are cruel, they’d boo
Pongka-Pongka. Take it off, Pongka-Pongka! they would shout. Show us you’re a woman! He would go
on with his comic antics. Oh, ooops, oh, fat-bellied mare, where was I? To entertain everybody he would
invent salacious gestures. He’d pretend to masturbate with the mike. Or would work his lips into
whatever shape. Still they would throw plastic cups at him. They’d curse him even as they pelted him
with coins as his wage. He’d crawl on the floor after the coins, which would roll downstage, and he
would dart for them. The house would then break into thunderous laughter.
Pongka-Pongka was crying inside the dressing room. Jun-Jun held out the tissue paper to him but air was
all there was. Another gay impersonator came in. Gosh, dahling, said this guy, did you know that when I
got up this morning the house was turning around, my God, I said, this must be the end for this faggot! I
vomited and vomited, what could be happening to me, am I already being punished for the many men
I’ve had sex with? He sat down and noticed Pongka-Pongka. Hey, why are you crying, your act’s over.

In his companion’s arms, Pongka-Pongka cried his heart out, unburdening himself that the maltreatment
and humiliation he suffered from his kin had pushed him to seek fame and fortune. Well, then, be
famous and get rich, said the companion. I’d like to go big-time, Pongka-Pongka said. Sometime ago he
earned a lot and he treated those fucking relatives in Puerto Azul, not minding if he spent all that he had
worked hard for just to prove to them that he was not small fry. Why is his life like this? When he was a
small boy, his dad would hit him blue because he was gay. So he decided to become an impersonator so
he could be allowed to wear women’s clothes. And when he started earning he would still be beaten up
for not turning over his pay to his father. His dad died soon enough but his damned relatives remained.
Why don’t these villains just fade out of my life? Hey, dammit, the companion said, forget that cluttered
life of yours and come with me tonight, let’s flirt away our time at Seis. No, said Pongka-Pongka, I'll just
go home. He followed Pongka-Pongka to his home. Pongka-Pongka has a ward. Kess, nine years old. Ma,
no, it hurts! Kess would often cry. Then she’d snuggle in the corner, her tiny body trembling in fright.
There’d be scalds on her thighs, bruises on her legs. But forget the wounds. They’d be gone in no time.
What would not go away is the fright in her eyes. It’s as though the eyes themselves have been
wounded. Wherever Kess looked, even with her head down, even when she was asleep, the fright
remained in her eyes. Jun-Jun too had fright in his eyes when he was still a child but he’d rather not
think about it. But here I am, his memories informed, rushing out of his head, and he could only watch it
pass before his eyes. He was emaciated as a child, always wearing turtlenecks to school so that his
classmates won’t notice the bruises on his neck. One time his mama tied his hands to the door so that
every time it was opened and closed he had to move along but could not get out. Mama, but why? I love
you, Mama, don’t hurt me! Don’t, the walls and the floor and the ceiling would also scream, repeating
his plaints. What kind of life is this, from inside the closet where he had been locked up he’d hear his
mama nagging his father, all my classmates have made something of their lives, but me, I’m bright, I sing
well, why have I not made something of my life? Then his mother would force him to sing, go ahead,
sing, so when you get older you’d be a singer, don’t you have any ambition? Which was why his voice
got pinched, in the school program what came out were squeaky sounds.

Sometimes he would be forced to eat, he was only five, hey, c’mon, eat your meal, screamed his mother,
I still have to open the store. He trembled all the more, and wet his pants. Damn won’t you ever learn?
He would again be locked inside the closet, and again words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, it was the
closet that would speak, Mama, I urinated only because I was scared of you. Come here, his teacher said
flashing a smile, your shoes are worn-out already, I'll get you a new pair. What size? the salesgirl asked.
His teacher looked at his shoes. Size 4. The girl looked for size 4. It was tried on him. But his feet were
size 6! The teacher was struck dumb. His feet had grown bigger but he still wore his small-size shoes for
reasons of thrift. His teacher bought the pair for him and from then on in school the teacher wouldn’t
come near him although at times he would catch her looking at him, and then would look away.

He was twelve when he rebelled. He bit his mother, cursed her. That was when he was told he was
adopted, I raised you, made sacrifices for your sake, you are an ingrate, go leave this house! He left,
slept in Luneta, and returned home the next morning.
Now he could see himself in Kess. While this girl is being beaten up. You never learn, stupid child,
screamed Pongka-Pongka, you scorched my dress again, suppose I iron your face?

The trembling Kess kept pleading as she tried freeing herself but Pongka-Pongka held her by one hand
while beating her up with a bamboo stick. I’ll save you, Jun-Jun said. He tried to take the stick, tried
pulling Pongka-Pongka away, but he could not touch anything.

That evening, Jun-Jun observed them as the two of them were bathing. Pongka-Pongka was cradling
Kess in his arms as he treated the child’s wound, singing her a tune, no not Diana Ross nor Shirley Bassey.
An honest-to-goodness song. A song about loving and caring.

Feeling utterly miserable, JunJun hurriedly ran away, I don’t like you anymore, I'll stay with somebody
else! He found himself by the seashore.

His mother would always prohibit him from swimming in the sea. You’re going out again, there’s so
much to do! Now he looked at the sea. And he waded through it. He could still not touch anything, smell
anything, and could not taste anything but as he imagined the waves to rise and fall he would think of
the quiet rush of tide upon his skin, and of the saline flavor on his tongue. He was thinking he could
touch the foam. In his mind he could inhale the dizzying odor. He immersed himself and resurfaced, and
then floated while smiling at the moon. In the past when his mother beat him, he would go to the yard
and would phone the stars, hey, stars, hello, please help me, night has come, come down now.

He closed his eyes and once mote dug his head into the dark waters of the sea.

3. I need a body

It was on the third week of nothingness that he discovered other live performers. He sneaked into the
show of Gary Valenciano. At first he would get up front and would watch agape, screaming with the
audience even as nobody heard him. Yoohoo, just great, huh! But as the show went on, he could not
resist it anymore, he edged nearer and nearer the stage until he found himself just up on it, performing
a duet with Gary. How the latter opened his mouth, how he moved, he did what Gary did. At times he
would enter Gary’s body itself, and would sing and dance along with him. He could sing, his mother had
been wrong! The audience could not see nor hear him yet that was one of the happiest days in his life.

It ended abruptly. The audience were still asking for an encore but Gary had already sung two encores.
Jun-Jun had wanted more, he kept bowing even though Gary had already said goodbye, for he had
diabetes and easily got tired. Jun-Jun was left on the stage, still full of energy, would still want to sing,
and could only watch the audience filing out.

So he looked for the healthier performer. He didn’t like Nanette Inventor, too fat, he might get lost in
her body. Tessie Tomas didn’t have any show then. And Willie Nepomuceno was abroad. One night he
saw the ad. Mitch Valdez.

When Mitch Valdez laughed on stage, laughing like a whale, Jun-Jun would find himself deafened while
ensconced in her body. So that at times Jun-Jun would leave the body and just watch her. But when she
would begin to impersonate the nursemaid Lovely or the telephone operator, Jun-Jun would sneak back
into her body. But he would find it terribly difficult when it was Armida Siguion Reyna that Mitch would
impersonate, it was difficult to catch the high notes, but that happened only once. The audience was a
sea of gaping mouths, releasing all kinds of boisterous laughter. This could be my life, Jun-Jun said.

He liked Mitch because she had a wound in her voice. She would make people laugh but a sudden poke
would send her sobbing. When she sang “The Rose,” an entire biography would be there. There were
people who made her hurt and there were people to cry over.

He followed Mitch to the dressing room. The smile had been wiped off her face. She drank wine alone.
Then weakly she stood up and walked to her car. Jun-Jun hitched a ride. Mitch would look askance as
though she felt somebody was around. Then she told the driver, Intercon. And turn the air-con colder
for suddenly the interior seemed warmer.

Souls that had nowhere to go. Eyes that refused to sleep. Feet used to wandering about. They seem to
be like me, Jun-Jun whispered to himself. You’re imagining things, the wind said, and Jun-Jun turned to
look at it.

All night Mitch drank with friends in the hotel lobby. There was much laughter but something was
missing in that laughter. One of the people there was no longer popular, like Mitch, when she once
disappeared. Then somebody looking like she’s off her rocker approached the group. She was wearing
lots of beads and her hair was a mess. Hey, she told Mitch, you’re lucky, you have that, pointing at
Mitch’s bracelet. Then she turned to another one in the group, hey, you, you’re lucky, you have that,
pointing to her handbag. And she sat down with the group, you’re all so fortunate. They were talking
about the job of impersonators, Mitch and Willie and Nanette and others, and then one of them said
that people nowadays seemed to be impersonators too, assuming different disguises in order to survive.
There are those who have gone underground, in hiding because hunted by the military, keeping many
aliases. Some enter the convent, turning their backs on the world, taking on the name of some saint.
Some would be Rosa a student in the daytime and Rosie in Ermita at night. Even entertainers, like me,
Mitch said, I used to be Maya. Then Mitch advanced her theory that gradually the maid or the servant
imbibes the personality of her mistress. It’s because in our society, the off-the-rocker girl said, one who
does not hide eventually gets lost. Let’s not get into anything political or philosophical please, Mitch
complained. And they talked about a male friend who was pushing forty and yet didn’t have a wife nor
children. Oh well, that man, said Mitch, always full of dreams. Dreams, that’s what kills a man.

Jun-Jun sat in a corner, and felt desolate. Mitch and company had long been gone and yet he was still
sitting there. It was already almost morning when he stopped musing over things and it was only then
that he noticed a couple had seated themselves on where he was sitting. It was then that he realized, I
need a body. A body of my own. Where would he look for one? person again!

He wandered about looking for a body. He looked at the world from its bowels, looked at those with
bulging tummies and with sordid souls, and penetrated the filthiest and the most debased of Filipinos,
the urban poor and the street children and the outcasts and those living on hills of trash. But he could
not find his own body.

One day the thought occurred to him, why not get into a corpse? He wandered around cemeteries but
all tombs were closed. He found one open in the graveyard for children, bones sticking out, some hair as
well. If he had a body then, he would have thrown up.
Beside a tomb, he fell asleep thinking of how he could go back to his physical self, if such was the most
important thing in the world. He was awakened when a drop of rain fell on his face. On impulse, he just
moved away. Then he got startled. Why did he feel the rain? He stood up. He felt his arm. He could
touch it but he couldn’t see it yet. He whistled, he could hear the sound he made. He picked up a stone.
He could hold it! He kissed the piece of stone, and that was the first time in his life that he loved a stone
with such passion.

Although not a complete person yet, although he was not visible yet, he ran down the street jumping
with joy, tumbled over and over on the grass, rubbed his cheek on the cold wall. Wow, he said again and
again, wow, until he almost wept, like a new born baby wanting to cry.

All the days that followed were happy days. He was just like a child at play. He went to sing-along bars
and joined the singing there. The singer was puzzled because of the reverberations. He joined Mother
Lily’s victory party. The host was surprised because food disappeared so fast. He watched the shooting
of the scene where Maricel slapped Janice and everybody was puzzled why the slapping was done twice.
He entered the Ladies Room and touched the woman who was urinating. The world just stood still.
Hungry, he would steal food. He filled himself up with his favorite peanut butter. When he’d feel dirty
he would share a bath with whoever. He photographed himself at a Foto-Me booth. Nothing came out,
the guard fainted. He joined the group being photographed at the Luneta, and when the photographer
said cheese, he, too, smiled. He telieved himself on the street and the policeman stopped blowing his
whistle. It’s easy to become man, the teacher said in class, what’s difficult is to live like man. Wow, he
exclaimed, and everybody looked around. Behave like a man, he said to himself, and left the room. On
the rain-drenched glass window of the bus he wrote his actual name: Jonathan.

He swam in the sea all day, laughing as waves tossed him up to the skies. Other swimmers looked at the
waves, they thought it was the sea laughing. In an overflow of joy, he thought of introducing himself.
The girls shrieked and the boys beat him up though they could not see him. Afterwards, whomever he’d
approach would avoid him in fear or would hurt him in anger. Nobody would believe him.

It was then that he decided to look for his true parents.

He sneaked into his house one night. His mother at prayer looked around, she had heard footsteps.
Mama? Frightened, she ran out of the room screaming.

Jun-Jun sadly ransacked the closet. Photographs, letters, documents. Suddenly the door opened. He
mama brought a flashlight, trained it at all corners of the room, and stopped where the pieces of paper
had scattered on the floor. A ghost! A ghost! screamed his mother. The husband entered the room and
he himself was puzzled. Jun-Jun quickly picked up the document that bore his name and the puzzled
eyes of his parents followed the flying piece of paper.

Outside, while he stood at the corner, the light from the lamppost read the document with Jun-Jun.
Written on it were the name and address of a woman.

The woman was a saleslady at Shoemart. She was big and looked as though angry all the time. Could this
be his real mother? Help me, he said. She stopped awhile, then looked around, wondering where the
voice could have come from. Are you a spirit? No, he said, but you can’t see me. She was about to
scream but he covered her mouth. Be still, or I’ll hurt you. Are you the real mother of Jonathan Lumibao?
I don’t know anyone like that, the woman answered. Jun-Jun tightened his arms around her, threatening
to kill her. Quickly she confided, yes, yes, you were just given to me by a friend working at Shoeworld.
You had been picked up somewhere. I could not feed you anymore so I sold you.

Who did she say my parents were?

I don’t know. My friend is dead already. But she said then your parents were activists.

Activists? He found himself leaning on the wall. How could I be the son of an activist?

5. I am just like UG person.

He began wandering about in strike areas, among rallies, and marches. His ears were filled with
imperialism and colonialism, accusations, and rebellion. He inhaled the odor of protest and tasted the
cries of uprising. He would scrutinize every face, hunting for an eye, or nose, or lips that would tell they
were related by blood.

It was in one such rally that he saw his face. It was on a placard held up by a woman in the rally of
relatives of missing persons called desaparecidos. Those marching were in black, instead of shouting
slogans, they sang, almost an incantation, give us back our loved ones, release the missing ones, take
away the mourning in our hearts. Sorrow and anger grappled with each other in their eyes, their feet
moving in bereavement.

Jun-Jun looked at the photograph. That was his face but the man must be more than twenty years old.
And was cuddling a child. Who’s he? And the baby? Written in red paint below the photo: Jonathan
Lumibao, three when snatched by the fascist state. The father Emmanuel Lumibao was slain. Give them
justice!

Jun-Jun took backward steps. While the rallyists stepped up their pace, their chanting grew more
intense against the state that snatched people in the dark of night or on the highway in plain daylight,
crashing against JunJun, elbows and bodies jostling him, the placards and the marching horde carried
afar by the wind, he burst out, I’m that one, the boy in the picture, I’m that boy lost. I’m desaparecido.
He was not aware his tears had begun falling.

That afternoon he followed on her way home the old woman with the placard. Her house was only small
but pretty. Light was on in the porch. The same photo on the placard was there. Jun-Jun stood on his
toes and reached out to caress the picture.

The old woman entered the house and changed clothes. Her sight was failing so that when she removed
her glasses she had to use her hand to find her clothes. Jun-Jun walked around. An old man was asleep
on the sofa in the library. Oh, so many books there. The bathroom was clean. There was a room that
was closed. When he returned to the living room, the old woman was seated in a rocking chair, resting.
He approached her. Slowly. The woman looked up, she had heard him move. Don’t be frightened,
JunJun began, you cannot see me

The woman put on her glasses. Who are you? Where are you?
I’m here right in front of you. | think I’m your missing grandson. Jonathan.

The woman’s face stretched tight. Jonathan? Are you dead?

No. I was adopted by strangers. I am still alive. I do not know why I just disappeared one day. I have
become invisible.

The old woman stood up and the veins tensed up on her neck. You son of a bitch, are you an undercover
spy? You’re out to harass me again?

Quickly he held the old woman. No, ma’am, no, ma’am! The old woman stopped when she sensed
someone was restraining her. She sat down. Who are you?

While Jun-Jun was describing what happened, the woman strained hard to find him. With trembling
fingers she sought out his eyes, nose, lips. Slowly her face showed she had come to understand. She
exclaimed, sobbing, Jun-Jun, my grandson! And she hugged Jun-Jun.

That was the only time that Jun-Jun was hugged by someone who truly loved him. He felt the woman’s
warm tears on his face. I wish I could see you, Jun-Jun, what happened to you, what can I do, are you
not hungry, aren’t you cold, where do you sleep?

She would like to have a doctor examine him, take him to a priest, consult a lawyer. From now on, stay
with me here, she said. Jun-Jun shook his head. I won’t stop till I recover my old self. Let’s not tell your
grandpa, his grandma said. He has a bad heart, he might get startled if he sees you. I can’t be seen
anyway, he retorted. Dumbfounded, she said after a while, oh, yes, that’s why he’ll get startled.

His grandma showed him the room he had when he was a child. Nothing has changed, nothing was
changed. Jun-Jun picked up the toy tanks. He smelled the boy’s clothes. He leaned on the crib. Like a
fierce wind he was assailed by the scent of the past, the scent of his mother’s milk. It seemed his
grandmother also felt what he was feeling. She grasped for him and hugged him tight. For sometime
they remained hugging each other, standing without stirring in the world of those who were no longer
around.

That night, while in the arms of the grandmother, he listened to her tell stories about his parents. I don’t
like it. I don’t like parents like them. In school, we laughed at the activists, only Gene likes them. You
should be proud of them, his /o/a answered, your father’s a hero, your mother’s a warrior, your past is
revolutionary.

His father Manny was a tall guy. Always all smiles. His pretty eyes were full of dreams. Before Martial
Law he was doing political work among the Baluga people and other cultural minorities who protested
against the U.S. bases. She didn’t believe in her son’s ideology but she respected his convictions.

When Manny introduced the girl he was to marry, she was happy, for Amy too was pretty, kind, and had
her own convictions. When Amy was with Jun-Jun, she picketed at the Araneta Coliseum with Gemma
Cruz Araneta, Nelia Sancho and other MAKIBAKA women against commercialization and oppression of
women. Nelia touched his mother’s stomach and cracked a joke, when this child grows up, he will be
fond of marches.
The imposition of Martial Law in 1972 was a dark blot in our history. Many homes were raided, many
people were arrested, newspapers and radio stations were closed down. Many went underground,
including Manny and Amy. They used fictitious names and identities. Sometimes they would show up all
of a sudden, thin and hungry and hard-up, and in the dark of night would be gone again all too suddenly,
after quick hugs and kisses, don’t your worry, Mama, we’re well-secured. It was during those times that
Jun-Jun was born. He was a child of hushed whispers in street corners and of furtive passing on of
messages. He was a child of Martial Law.

One afternoon Manny came home. Jun-Jun was going on three at that time. He had been missing his son
and wanted to take him out. That was the last time they saw him. Bits of news said that while walking
along in Shoeworld with Jun-Jun in his arms. three soldiers suddenly appeared and trained their rifles on
him. One of the soldiers took Jun-Jun away while the other two dragged Manny along. Manny was
shouting, I’m being arrested by military men, ‘call up my house, 989734! To stop Manny the soldiers
shot him in the face and took Jun-Jun away.

Jun-Jun closed his eyes, and one by one those incidents he wanted to forget came back. His father held
him tightly. His grandmother didn’t tell it right. He was not given up to the soldiers. He was being seized
but his father resisted the soldiers. His father had a gun. He had fired at the soldier. Another soldier shot
his father. On the chest. Bloodied, his father did not let him go, and did not fall. His father walked away.
But the soldier shot him again. He was hit in his back. His father was crawling on his belly but did not still
let go of him. An old woman came by and his father approached her and pleaded. My son, please, take
him, don’t give him up. The woman took Jun-Jun who was crying then and ran away with the child. Jun-
Jun looked back. His father was looking at him. The soldiers shot his father again. In the face. Another
shot. And one more shot. Until he died.

And now Jun-Jun was crying, his tears had long been held back, and it was only now that they were
released, for the father whom he would not be able to hug forever, for himself who would not ever go
back to that shoe store, and face up to those soldiers. He hugged his grandmother, and she wiped away
his tears. When the two of you disappeared, she whispered, I poured anger into my tears.

Where did that woman take you, his grandma asked, do you remember? The woman took him to her
home, but he kept on crying. The woman had thought of bringing him to the police station to ask what
she would do with him. So he decided to get away. He found himself at Shoeworld, where his father was
slain, crying and calling for his father. A saleslady found him.

I’m happy because you were found before I die, his grandmother said. But how can we see your?

I don’t know, grandma, he said, please tell me about Mother.

His mother is a brave woman. And is good at disguising herself, she’d put on make-up and wear a wig.
When she was with journalists, she’d just be like one of them, when with the masses, she’d be one of
the masses. One time she was captured. When asked by the military who she was, she said she was a
teacher. She gave them another name. For the entire period of six months of incarceration, nobody
found out that she was not a teacher. She invented a complete story of her life and stood by it. Because,
you see, people in the underground, or UG, must have many identities. To survive, one must wear
different faces.
Just like an impersonator, JunJun thought. What aliases did Mother use? Many aliases, but I don’t
remember all. Cuitz, Zeny, Lolit. It depends. No family name most of the time, because in the movement
surnames are not important. What’s important is for the enemy not to recognize you, and if necessary,
not be visible at all.

In that case, I’m just like a UG person, he said.

His grandma laughed, and continued. At the wake of your father, it was dangerous for your Mama to
come down from the hills because she had a price on her head, but she wanted to see your father, if
only for the last time. Okay, said her comrades, but you should not cry or you’d be recognized. I still
remember when she came. At night, there were only few people at the chapel. I was seated by your
father’s coffin. I had looked at her but she pretended not knowing me. She was wearing the uniform of
an Assumption’ girl, with make-up on, earrings, bag, and books. All night she sat in one corner in silence.
She approached the coffin only once. She just looked at the remains of your father and then returned to
her quite corner. She didn’t weep. Although she might have wanted to open the coffin and hold your
father’s face. Those men blasted your father’s face. Your father’s pretty eyes. The dreams that filled
those eyes. But your mother just sat there in her corner, people coming and going just passing by her.
After the burial, she came to me, here in this house, and asked for your father’s old clothes. She smelled
them and kissed them. It was then that she wept.

It was then that I promised that no matter what, we would look for you, and claim you. We went to all
military camps, we wrote people in government, brought your name and photograph in tallies. We
turned on the light outside and vowed that it would remain lighted until we found you. You’ve been
missing for thirteen years, two months and two days, and until now, in every single letter from your
mother, she invariably asks if there had been any new development in the search for you.

I’d like to see my Mother, Lola, take me to her. I do not know where she is, her grandma answered. For
security reasons, I do not even want to ask about it. I cannot even take you to her comrades. No one
among them would believe in one they could not see. Only one I think might believe you. A friend of
your mother’s. I'll take you to him. Tomorrow.

That night his Lola bathed him and fed him as though he was a child. He brought the peanut butter to
his bed. And because there was sudden rain and lightning flashed, he watched her cover the closet’s
mirror with a blanket. She lulled him to sleep, singing a song of the revolution. And Jun-Jun remembered,
that song was inside his heart, for his mother often sang it to him.

Once that night, his grandfather knocked on the door and asked why his grandmother was singing to
herself, is she turning senile? And left. His grandmother just smiled. And resumed lulling him to sleep.

6. Am I material, too?

Dante was the name of his mother’s friend. Lean, kind, and always it seemed in his eyes was a smile
preparing to show. They talked in the garden. Here was that they talked about when Jun-Jun asked to be
taught ideology.

“I still do not understand why you disappeared.”

I also don’t know, sir. But I am used to it now. I hope others will accept me the way | am.

“It would be difficult for them.”

But you, you were able to accept me:

“I trust your Lola much. And one thing more, what happened to you might be viewed according to what
one famous theorist says, Engels. He says, every being at all times is itself and not itself.”

What does he mean, like an impersonator?

Dante laughed. “No. What I mean is, you, for instance, while you're standing here before me, you are
you and yet not really you. Every second everything inside your body is changing. There are elements
that get into you and elements that get out. Some things break up, some things are formed. Everything
in the world is continually changing.”

It seems change in my case was excessive.

Dante laughed again. “A thing changes depending on the conditions around it. Take water for instance, if
it’s exceedingly hot, it evaporates, if cold, it freezes.”

That’s probably why I disappeared. There was too much heat. Dante laughed. “Whatever happened to
you, Jun-Jun, you’re not fiction, you’re still a material being.” Material being?

“All things are material things. Nothing exists in the imagination or the mind alone. Everything has a
material base. Like the air, even if invisible we know its material. That’s reality.”

I am a reality!

“Yeah.” And Dante continued explaining that from childhood he has been involved in fighting for the
interest of others. Even now that it is alleged that he’s no longer with the rebel forces, he’s still involved
in anything that fights or protests against any kind of oppression that dehumanizes the human being.
Because he believes that all things are interrelated. Nobody exists by himself or separates from others.
Which is why it’s important to be involved.

Dante placed an arm over JunJun’s shoulders, and Jun-Jun could smell the earthy story of a whole life of
struggle for the lowly: this one is of the earth, lived by tilling the farm, worked as hired sugarcane farmer,
founded the armed movement of tillers of the soil, a fish that swam among the masses, friend to fire
and water and bird and trees. One time Dante and his comrades were trapped in the canefield. Soldiers
set the canefield afire to flush them out. Dante tested the direction of the wind and set fire to a part of
the field.

The flames wove a large arc that gave them shelter from their pursuers.

“Everything,” Dante went on, “could be enemy or ally, depending on which side you are.”

They didn’t want to accept me. If you were in my place, what would you do?
“Study your history.”

Mother of mine, history, I failed the subject in school.

“If you do not know where you come from, how will you know where you're going?”

I already know where I come from. Now I’m trying to find my Mother.

“Perhaps the mystery of your disappearance lies there.”

In the days that followed, JunJun, while waiting for word about his mother, were days spent in study,
observation, and inquiries. Wherever Dante went he followed, seeking in him the father he did not get
to know, who could have been the one teaching him now, answering his questions, always at his side.
Our times, Dante said one night, are breaking up relationships of parents and children.

At night Jun-Jun would go home to his grandma. He had now turned off the light in the porch. There was
a mountain of books in his room because he was researching on what chemicals can cause things to
appear or disappear, and like Dante, he believed that all things interact among themselves and are inter-
connected. What could this thing be, Jun-Jun would ask, that would bring about the return of my body
to me?

He spent a lot of time in the offices of relatives of the desaparecidos, and one time news came telling
that two more comrades were seized while they were coming out of a movie house, that suddenly
soldiers trained their guns at them, and like the others who have been missing, they were now part of
the long list of the disappeared. But the hearts of those left behind were strong, like that of his
grandmother. Those loved ones had been missing for ten, twenty years, and now had become just
photos hanging on walls, but their captors had not turned them over yet, holding on to the littlest scrap
of proof saying that one might be alive, possibly still be alive. But, now tell me, you who lead a different
life and do not know anything about the politics of the oppressed and the disappeared, what if the
spouse had been chopped up by the enemy, the head cut off and thrown into some corner of filthy
Manila? What if the young son you had so protected that mosquitoes or flies were not allowed to light
on him, whose shoelaces you yourself had tied, and had applied bandage on his wound when he fell
while at play, what if he had been buried alive, was calling for you and you did not hear? What would
you tell that heart of steel? Until the body could be found, the relative of the missing would answer, for
as long as I believe he’s still alive he’s alive. And would admit, while holding the photograph of the
spouse, at times he would turn soft, for he would be thinking, what if they had thrown the body into the
sea, and it was raining and the corpse got drenched? When rain is falling, memories are most painful.

Jun-Jun felt pity for the relatives, and he wanted to tell them, don’t lose hope, look at me, they found
me. But what if one, whose head is in his arms, should lift his face from the table, and look for him,
where are you, had you really been found?

At that point, he would run about in the navel and entrails of the city, would streak by the children
sleeping on phlegm-strewn streets, watch on as the audience pelted the likes of Pongka-Pongka with
objects, pity those forced to confess under the blazing bulb, incomplete lives, stormy lives on which rain
is falling. You belong together, he wanted to shout, we belong together, we and those who have
disappeared and the impersonators and the abused children and my Mother and my Father.
Until one day he was stupefied, because standing before him was Pity, looking at him, an abstract thing,
shaking its head, saying that it had long been following him, it’s dangerous, what you’re doing, and
nothing can come off it. Then it laid its bony hand on all the children in all of Manila, children like Jun-
Jun then and Kess now, children with no diapers and children without fathers, children stunted, with
impaired speech, born with only one leg, with an extra finger, children shaking in fear when they hear
gunfire, children who have gotten used to the dark and will grow up in the dark, children without shelter
from the rain and children who couldn’t even see the rain, children without food and children born dead,
children whose fathers are soldiers and NPA warriors, children who never experienced childhood.

At this point Jun-Jun would be screaming, running away from Pity, because this was danger itself,
because of this you would not be able to act, because of this you could just sit in one corner and weep, I
do not like to be with you, he shouted, you don’t have any shape, you don’t have anybody, you’re not
human, you’re not material.

And he would stand before the office for the disappeared, hyperventilating continuously while fixing in
his mind that he would not just be indulging in pity, he will act. Because he knew that inside him he had
accepted his having disappeared. He was becoming used to standing by in one corner, watching and
listening, no responsibility whatsoever because he could not be seen.

He was surprised when one day Dante introduced somebody to him. It was Gene, the drooling Gene!
And he was all the more surprised when Dante said that Gene knew his mother.

Your mother was contacting us in school then, said Gene, but I did not know that she was your mother.
Dammit, guy, Gene couldn’t help but ask, how did you disappear? And Gene looked to his left. Here I am,
on your right, Jun-Jun said. Just kidding, he said. And their right hands in the air, they slapped palms in
greeting.

Jun-Jun was overjoyed. Gene had accepted him without the usual questions because Dante had already
prepared him. That night inside the room Gene told him stories. Gene did not know Jun-Jun’s mother
too well, but she was regarded as a legend in the movement. Many stories are told about her. She is a
brave woman warrior. Intelligent. She writes poetry. She is just like an eel that eludes capture. She loves
animals, and sleeps her iguana pet by her side. Oozing with courage, it is said, that once during a military
attack, she went bathing at the well, there are many of you, she told her comrades, you can take care of
them... easy! That’s how full of confidence she is. that’s how steadfast she Is.

When do I see her?

I’ll find a way.

That night they went on a trip back to their younger days, went back to playing games. Gene insisted
that Jun-Jun wear shorts ain’t you ashamed, you’re naked! and they wrestled and rolled on the floor.
Jun-Jun glanced at the mirror and he saw the two of them Gene wrestling with a pair of shorts, making
him laugh. Gene brought out an old guitar and burst into revolutionary songs. They recorded odds and
bits on a walkman. They recited poems. They danced. You’d think that the two didn’t have any problems
when together they slept on the floor, the twosome smiling one you could see and the other you
couldn’t.
That evening, past midnight, the car carrying Dante and his companions was ambushed by unidentified
people. Armalite fire riddled the car and caused blood to flow. The group had come from a TV talk show.
Dante got hit many times but as what usually happened, he survived this ambush, truly with many lives,
as sources said. Still unconscious were two male companions and a pregnant woman. One who hitched
a ride to be able to interview Dante was killed, his neck blown open, flesh exposed.

Jun-Jun studied everyone. Gene and a few companions as lookouts. Current had been cut off and by the
light of a candle, Dante had gone asleep. _Jun-Jun went out and he was greeted by a whole city
drowning in the dark, people who couldn’t see anything and candles burned supreme. He didn’t know
where to go. Morning had come. He roamed and roamed all over. All day. He rode and walked and rode
again. Without a pause. Until it was night again, lights had come again, and he found himself in an old
theater, with Diana Pongka-Pongka.

7. Pongka – Pongka, Mitch and others

The audience was now even ruder to Pongka-Pongka. Management had wanted to throw him out but he
resisted. So that while he does his lipsynching act, operators would cause the recorded song to jump
forward, and Pongka-Pongka’s singing would be skipping too as he ran after the lyrics. He was weeping
again in the dressing room, now with new companions. And when he reached home he would beat up
Kess again. Jun-Jun picked up a piece of wood and did what he had long wanted to do. Pongka-Pongka
and Kess followed the flying wooden rod with their eyes. The rod fell on Pongka-Pongka’s shoulder and
he dropped to the floor. Pong-kaPongka’s arm bled. Jun-Jun was about to strike Pongka-Pongka again
but Kess ran to the latter and hugged him. Mother! Jun-Jun stood still.

He found himself in Mitch’s dressing room. She looked in his direction when he spoke, I’m here, your fan,
you just can’t see me. Don’t make me laugh, she said, I’m the one supposed to make you laugh. Jun-Jun
touched her. God, you’re real, she exclaimed. And she suppressed a giggle, I tell you, she said, what are
you, the Invisible Man?

They toasted each other with Blue Nun wine and talked about a lot of things. Mitch complained that at
times she was bored with het act, voice and lyrics would just come out of her mouth as a matter of
routine. But once on stage, when she faces the audience, she loses all hesitation, she’s Mitch once again
who impersonates whoever, she’s whole again.

Jun-Jun narrated what happened to Dante, and how he was saddened by it all. He followed Mitch when
she faced the audience once again, and she said, before everyone, I, Mitch Valdez, once called Maya but
whose real name is Alma, I don’t have any ideology or politics, but I would just like to say, let’s put a
stop to these damned murders and violence. And when she glanced at Jun-Jun’s direction she couldn’t
tell whether he was still there or not.

Mama? whispered Jun-Jun, and blew at the air in front of the mother counting the earnings of the store.
Startled, she left the room screaming.

Gene said that his Mother had sustained a bullet wound. She was brought here to the city for treatment.
The house was in a suburb of Manila. I’ll go there by myself, Jun-Jun said.
There was a storm and in the dark, Jun-Jun was carried aloft by the wind as he moved along. He was
afraid he would be hit by galvanized iron sheets. Leaves would hit his face and these wondered why they
got stuck to something solid. Huuss, huss, the wind roared as it sought something to blow down, whirled
over rooftops, slammed against doors, entered windows, and once inside the room, while by the light of
a wavering candle, a man was extracting the bullet from the back of the leg of Jun-Jun’s mother, the
wind blew at the flame to put it out. Jun-Jun found himself running, no, no, that’s my mother, and
cupped the candle’s flame with his invisible hands.

He looked at his mother lying on her back, while the wind, frustrated, waited at the base of the stairs.
His mother was small, brown-skinned. Brave and uncomplaining. In the flickering light, Jun-Jun sought to
make her out. When her comrades left her so she could rest, Jun-Jun sidled up to her. And he smelled,
like when he was yet a baby, the mingled odor of milk and sweat. And he knew this indeed was his
mother.

On that night of watching over his mother who was in deep sleep, Jun-Jun gave her a quick kiss on the
cheek. She got up startled, groped for the gun on her side, and waited with all senses open. Mother, it’s
only me, Jun-Jun. A comrade entered the room. What’s the matter? There seem to be an intruder here.
The two of them waited in silence. The comrade sat beside Jun-Jun’s mother. Would you like something
to drink? Jun-Jun’s mother shook her head, and to his surprise, his mother suddenly sobbed. Ka Amy?
the comrade said. Jun-Jun, I dreamt of my son again, damn sons of bitches, when will they give me back
my child? The comrade hugged Jun-Jun’s mother and crying, Jun-Jun hugged her, too.

In the days that followed, Jun-Jun decided not to reveal himself yet to his mother. While starting to
move little by little around the house, Jun-Jun smilingly was observing and studying her every step. The
mother was extremely sensitive so Jun-Jun took extreme care in his movements, listening to people talk,
he would learn that his mother never remarried. You’re the best, Mother, whispered Jun-Jun into her
ears while she was cooking rice. The pot of rice bubbled up and boiled over and Jun-Jun got hungry.

Many times Jun-Jun postponed revealing himself to his mother, for it had become easier for him to just
watch her and avoid that frightening rejection. He was like a shadow that followed her everywhere she
went. Before ants could bite her would kill them first. Before she took a nap he would prepare the
pillows for her. He would add extra portions in her meals. He lightened her tasks. When she stayed up
late on nights preparing reports, he would erase the errors in her work. He kept himself from telling his
mother who he was until the bosom of the hut grew tight from holding back and the walls were suffused
with regret.

Because regrets proved to be too late. One day the soldiers made their assault.

It was night then, they were watching TV. Jun-Jun was sitting beside his mother, dipping into her bag of
potato chips. He would have liked to switch channels, programs were mainly newscasts, but he was
afraid he would finally be found out. That was when shots rushed in and the TV set exploded, Tina
Monzon-Palma got thrown out. They dropped to the floor, groping for the concealed guns, and peeped
at the trucks outside filled with soldiers. Bullets were flying, seeking spots they would penetrate, tearing
apart the wailing walls.

On that night of their escape, two comrades were felled right off. Jun-Jun dragged his mother away. She
was firing without let up, all the time wondering just what force was dragging her to safety. One
comrade volunteered to stay behind so that they could flee. They reached the stone wall. Up the wall,
Mother, shouted Jun-Jun, and his mother looked in his direction. A soldier came running, to shoot his
mother down. Jun-Jun blocked the soldier. Stars exploded above and when Jun-Jun looked down he saw
that bullets had gone through his body, looking for a spot to lodge in, edged into his bones and could
not find their way out. Die, die, snarled the armalites, and bullets filed one after another, each one going
its own way. Jun-Jun found himself clutching his chest and he saw blood. Blood was flowing out of his
veins, there was new and crimson energy allowing his bones and flesh to take shape, with the help of
the bullets, his vanished body was being restored. It is as though I am on stage, Jun-Jun thought while
the others who had come looked on, while he could no longer control the spasms shaking his body as he
lay by the wall, and now everybody could see him, head and neck and body, he was just like an
impersonator assuming the personality of another person, I am this person, I am that person, I am all of
us.

The masses dragged him away before he fell. Naked and bloody, he was dragged by an old woman into
her hut in the dumpsite. Somebody covered him with a jacket. When he opened his eyes he was
surrounded by pitying eyes. The crowd of heads parted and he saw his mother. Her inquiring eyes were
filled with tears. Manny, she whispered, my husband. He shook his head, Mother, he said, I am Jun-Jun.
She stared at him for a while, puzzled, then understanding crept into her eyes. She smiled and laid his
head on her bosom. There, with the scent of that bosom, he was always lulled to sleep when he was still
a child. A peerless quiet glowed on his face and he tried to smile. Blood oozed out of his mouth. My son,
his mother said.

When his arms fell limp, he thought his mother was lulling him to sleep, warming him against the
outside cold with the fervor of the song of revolution. Why are their songs all alike, he would have
wanted to ask, but everything was turning dark. He imagined he stood up bleeding, walked, and went to
his grandmother’s house. His grandmother opened the door and embraced him, then asked him to
come in. Inside there was Gene and Dante and Mitch and Pongka-Pongka and Kess. They were all
surprised but were happy. The disappeared had come back. Wow, Jun-Jun exclaimed. Amy’s hand closed
Jun-Jun’s eyes and weeping, she hugged him tight.

I LEARNED everything from Dante. I watched Dante’s eyes and they proved again what had always been
said: Dante’s eyes comprised a well filled with love and compassion. I went with him and his comrades
to the wake for Jun-Jun. Gene, he said to me Squeezing my shoulder, I know what you feel.

Jun-Jun’s grandmother was seated beside the coffin. She refused to wear black. All the time that Jun-Jun
was missing, she would be in mourning clothes at rallies. Now she was dressed in white, and she smiled
at me seemingly saying that we know Jun-Jun well, he’ll be pulling another feat.

Jun-Jun’s mother was said to have been there that night. Just who among those guests quietly sitting in
whatever corner nobody knew. | And I, I looked at Jun-Jun inside the coffin. His face was crushed. And
his eyes, they seemed unformed as though something was amiss.

I am narrating all these because only a few believe my story. In the summing-up reports that I and my
comrades present, Jun-Jun’s story is made fun of, if not contested, because only a few believe in what
cannot be seen, we do not want to comply with what is not in agenda. But me, deep in my heart and
soul, I believe. With me in such a belief are Dante and grandmother and the mother of Jun-Jun. And
when IJ look at the mirror, when I look at myself, I would be thinking that what had happened to Jun-Jun
could happen to me, because as Dante said then, my life, your life, and lives of us all are joined together,
no one exists in isolation, I merge into you and you merge into me.

I looked for Pongka-Pongka and Kess, just as Jun-Jun had asked me to. I didn’t see them. I was told that
one day they packed up and left. Should you run into them, just inform me, it’s easy to spot them, one is
an aging impersonator, and the other a young girl with fear in her eyes. Mitch, one night while
performing, found her hair standing on end. She turned to her side. Then she laughed deliriously. She
was already speaking but was still laughing. The audience were already screaming, booing her same way
they did to Pongka-Pongka, yet she did not stop laughing. For all of you, she said while her mouth was
bursting with laughter, this laughter is for audiences who do not know how to laugh.

There is something else I believe. Jun-Jun never disappeared. In the room while looking at the guitar, I
could hear him laughing. All kinds of rumor have been spreading. It is said that Amy in the midst of a
skirmish would for a moment pause for beside her somebody seems to be helping her. And soldiers in
camps where there had been oppression and violence, would all of a sudden be hearing somebody
singing a revolutionary song. They would pause, thinking the ghosts of the men and women they had
oppressed and murdered were haunting them. And they would rush out of the barracks in fright while
inside could be heard someone laughing quietly. And in rallies of the masses protesting oppression, in
marches of relatives of the disappeared, in the noise barrages protesting everything that dehumanize
human beings, people could hear, it is said, a voice joining their many voices, footsteps added to their
many footsteps, and those who believe their accounts know whose voice and footsteps they were.

I can prove all that I have said.

Jun-Jun on the alkman was only a voice, without a body. We won’t stop, Gene, until everyone who had
disappeared could be made to come home.
1. What can we learn from the life of the following people that Jonathan met during his travel as
one of the desaparecidos:
 Pongka-Pongka
 Gary Valenciano
 Mitch Valdez

2. What are desaparecidos? How do their story help in the development of the narration?
3. If you were Jonathan, during the time of his seemingly “invisibleness” would you opt to appear
or totally disappear? Explain your answer.
4. Why does the story say that all of us are impersonators in this world?
5. Can we say that the literary text above reflect the characteristic of adventurousness of writers in
Post – EDSA Literature? Explain your answer.

Activity 2:

Geyluv by Honorio Bartolome de Dios

‘Yun lang at hindi na siya nagsalita pang muli. Pigil-pigil ng umid niyang dila ang reaksyon ko sa
kanyang sinabi.
I love you, Mike. Nagpaulit-ulit ang mga kataga sa aking diwa. Walang pagkukunwari, ngunit dama
ang pait sa bawat salita. Natunaw na ang yelo sa baso ng serbesa, lumamig na ang sisig, namaalam na
ang singer, pero wala pa ring umiimik sa aming dalawa.
Mag-aalas-tres na, uwi na tayo.
Miss, bill namin.
Hanggang sa marating namin ang apartment n’ya. Wala pa ring imikan. Kaya ako na ang nauna.
Tuloy ba ang lakad natin bukas sa Baguio, Benjie?
Oo, alas-kwatro ng hapon, sa Dagupan Terminal. Good night. Ingat ka.
Are you okay, Benjie?
Wala ni imik.
Are you sure you don’t want me to stay tonight?
Don’t worry, Mike. Okey lang ako.
Okey. Good night. I’ll call you up later.
Usaman nanamin iyon kapag naghihiwalay sa daan. Kung sino man ang huling umuwi, kailangang
tumawag pagdating para matiyak na safe itong nakarating sa bahay.

That was two years ago. Pero mga ateeee, bumigay na naman ako sa hiyaw ng aking puso. Di na ako
nakapagsalita pagkatapos kong banggitin sa kanyang “I love you, Mike.” At ang balak ko talaga, habang
panahon ko na siyang di kausapin, after that trying-hard-to-be-romantic evening. Diyos ko, ano ba
naman ang aasahan ko kay Mike ano?
Noong una kaming magkita sa media party, di ko naman siya pinansin. Oo, guwapo si Mike at macho
ang puwit, pero di ko talaga siya type. Kalabit nga ng kalabit sa akin itong si Joana. Kung napansin ko
raw ang guwapong nakatayo doon sa isang sulok. Magpakilala raw kami. Magpatulong daw kami sa
media projection ng aming mga services. I-invite raw namin sa office. Panay ang projection ng luka-luka.
Pagtaasan ko nga ng kilay ang hitad! Sabi ko sa kanya, wala akong panahon at kung gusto niyang
maglandi nung gabing iyon, siya na lang. Talaga naman pong makaraan ang tatlong masalimuot na
love-hate relationship na tinalo pa yata ang love story nina Janice de Belen at Nora Aunor, sinarhan ko
na ang puso ko sa mga lalaki. Sa mga babae? Matagal nang nakasara. May kandado pa!
Aba, at mas guwapo pala sa malapitan ang Mike na ito. At ang boses! Natulig talaga nang husto ang
nagbibingi-bingihan kong puso. And after that meeting, one week agad kaming magkasama sa
Zambales. Of course, siya ang nagprisinta. di ako. At noon na nagsimula ang problema ko.
Imbyerna na ako noon kay Joana, noong magpunta kami sa Zambales para sa interview nitong si Mike.
Aba, pumapel nang pumapel ang bruha. Daig pa ang “Probe Team” sa pagtatanong ng kung anu-ano
rito kay Mike. At ang Mike naman, napaka-accomodating, sagot nang sagot. Pagdating naman sa
Pampanga, bigla nga akong nag-ayang tumigil para mag-soft drink. Kailangan ko na kasing manigarilyo
nang mga oras na iyon. Tense na ako.
Gasgas na sa akin ang puna ng mga amiga kong baklita na ilusyon ko lang ang paghahanap ng
meaningful relationship. Sabi ko naman, tumanda man akong isang ilusyunadang bakla, maghihintay pa
rin ako sa pagdating ng isang meaningful relationship sa aking buhay. Naniniwala yata akong pinagpala
din ng Diyos ang mga bakla!


Mataray itong si Benjie, mataray na bakla, ‘ika nga. Pero mabait. Habang lumalalim ang aming pagiging
magkakilala, lalo ko namang naiintindihan kung bakit siya mataray.
Well, if you don’t respect me as a person dahil bakla ako, mag-isa ka. I don’t care. ‘Yun ang usual
defense niya ‘pag may nanlalait sa kanyang macho.
I’ve been betrayed before, and I won’t let anybody else do the same thing to me, again. Ever!
Ang taray, ano po? Pero hanggang ganyan lang naman ang taray nitong si Benjie. Para bang babala niya
sa sarili. Lalo na pag nai-involve siya sa isang lalaki. Natatakot na kasi siyang magamit, ang gamiting ng
ibang tao ang kanyang kabaklaan para sa sarili nilang kapakanan. May negative reactions agad siya ‘pag
nagiging malapit at sweet sa kanya ang mga lalaki.
At halata ang galit niya sa mga taong nate-take advantage sa mga taong vulnerable. Tulad noong
nakikinig siya sa interview ko sa namamahala ng evacuation center sa isang eskuwelahan sa Zambales.
Naikuwento kasi nito ang tungkol sa asawa ng isang government official na ayaw sumunod sa
regulasyong ng center sa pamamahagi ng relief good upang maiwasan ang gulo sa pagitan ng mga
“kulot” at “unat na pawang mga biktima ng pagsabog ng Pinatubo. Simple lang naman ang regulasyon:
kailangang maayos ang pila ng mga kinatawan ng bawat pamilya upang kumuha ng relief goods. Ang
gusto naman daw mangyari ng babaeng iyon, tatayo siya sa stage ng eskuwelahan at mula doon ay
ipamamahagi niya ang mga relief goods, kung kanino man niya maiabot. Alam na raw ng mga
namamahala ng center ang gustong mangyari ng babae: ang makunan siya ng litrato at video habang
kunwa’y pinagkakaguluhan ng mga biktima—unat man o kulot. Nasunod ang gusto nung babae, ngunit
ang mga unat lamang ang nagkagulo sa kanyang dalang relief goods. Ayon sa namamahala ng center,
nasanay na raw kasi ang mga kulot sa organisadong pagkuha ng mga relief goods. Pero nagreklamo rin
sila nung bandang huli kung bakit hindi sila nakatanggap ng tulong. Iiling-iling na kinuha ni Benjie ang
pangalan ng babaeng iyon.
Irereport mo?
Hindi.
Susulatan mo?
Hindi.
Ano’ng gagawin mo?
Ipakukulam ko. Ang putang inang iyon. Anong akala niya sa sarili niya, Diyos? Isulat mo iyon, ha. Para
malaman ng lahat na hindi lahat ng nagbibigay ng tulong ay nais talagang tumulong.
Takot din siyang makipagrelasyon. At ‘di rin siya nanlalalaki, ‘yun bang namimik-ap kung saan-saan.
Bukod sa takot itong si Benjie na magkaroon ng sakit at mabugbog, di rin niya gustong arrangement ang
money for love. Gusto niya, ture love at meaningful relationship.
‘Yun din naman ang hanap ko. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m straight, okay?
Si Carmi ang pinakahuling naging syota ko. Sabi nila maganda. Sabagay, maganda naman talaga itong si
Carmi. Sexy pa. Ewan ko nga lang dito kay Carmi kung bakit laging nagseselos sa akin. Hanggang ngayon,
di pa rin niya maintindihan ang nature ng trabaho ko, e dalawang taon na kaming magsyota. Kung mag-
demand sa akin, para bang gugunawin ng Diyos ang mundo kinabukasan. E, para sa’kin, di rin ito ang ibig
sabihin ng meaningful relationship. Ayoko nang binabantayan ang lahat ng kilos ko. Ayoko ng laging ini-
interrogate. Ayaw ko ng pinamimili ako between my career at babae. Para sa akin, pareho itong bahagi
ng future ko.
Last year, inisplitan ako ni Carmi. Di na raw niya ma-take. Gusto raw muna niyang mag-isip-isip tungkol
sa aming relasyon. Gusto raw niyang magkaanak sa akin, pero di niya tiyak kung gusto niya akong
pakasalan. Naguluhan din ako. Parang gusto kong ayaw ko. Mahal ko si Carmi, and I’m sure of that. Pero
kung tungkol sa pagpapakasal, out of the question ang usaping ‘yun. Una, di kayang buhayin ng sweldo
ko ang pagbuo ng isang pamilya. Pangalawa, di ko alam kung ang pagpapakasal nga ay solusyon para
matigil na ang pagdedemand sa akin ni Carmi. At pangatlo, di rin sigurado itong si Carmi sa gusto niyang
gawin. Pumayag ako.
Almost one year din akong walang syota. Isinubsob ko ang sarili sa trabaho. Pero, from time to time,
nagkikita kami ni Carmi para magkumustahan. Well, every time na nagkikita kami ni Carmi para
magkumustahan, bigla ko siyang mamimi-miss, kung kailan kaharap ko na. Siguro’y dala ng lungkot o ng
libog. Kung anumang dahilan ng magka-miss ko sa kanya ay di ko tiyak. Pinipigilan ko na lang ang sariling
ipadama sa kanya ang nararamdaman ko, dahil sa tingin ko’y mas naging masaya siya mula nang isplitan
niya ako. Nakakahiya naman yatang ako pa ang unang umamin na gusto ko ulit siyang balikan, e siya
itong nakipag-break sa akin.
Naipakilala ko si Carmi kay Benjie sa mga dates na iyon. At naikuwento ko na rin noon kay Benjie ang
tungkol sa nakaraan namin ni Carmi.
Carmi, this is Benjie. Benjie, this is Carmi.
Hi.
Hello.

Daaay. Maganda ang Carmi. Mas maganda at mas sexy kaysa kay Carmi Martin. Pinaghalong Nanette
Medved at Dawn Zulueta ang beauty ng bruha. Ano? At bakit naman ako mai-insecure, ‘no? May sariling
ganda yata itong ditse mo. At isa pa, wa ko feel makipag-compete sa babae. Alam ko namang may
naibibigay ang babae sa lalaki na di ko kaya. Pero manay. Mayroon din akong kayang ibigay sa lalaki na
di kayang ibigan ng babae. Kaya patas lang.. kung may labanan mang magaganap. Pero maganda
talaga ang bruha. Bagay na bagay sila ni Mike. Nagtataka nga ako kung bakit pa niya pinalampas itong
si Mike, e ang kulang na lang sa kanila ay isang fans club at buo na ang kanilang love team.
Nanghihinayang talaga ako sa kanilang dalawa. They’re such a beautiful couple. Na-imagin ko agad ang
kanilang magiging mga anak. The heirs to the thrones of Hilda Koronel and Amalia Funetes o kaya’y ni
Christopher de Leon at Richard Gomez. Noong una, medyo naaalangan ako kay Carmi. Para kasing nu’ng
makita ko silang dalawa, ang pakiramdam ko, kalabisan na ako sa lunch date na pinagsaluhan namin. Di
naman feeling of insecurity dahil ang gusto ko lang, makausap sila ng tanghaling iyon at baka sakaling
maayos na ang kanilang relationship. Tingin ko naman dito kay Carmi, ganoon din. Parang may laging
nakaharang na kutsilyo sa kanyang bibig ‘pag nagtatanong siya sa akin o kay Mike. Di kaya siya na-
insecure sa beauty ko? Tingin n’yo?

Naging magkaibigan na nga kami ni Benjie. Kahit tapos na ang ginagawa kong article tungkol sa kanilang
project, madalas pa rin kaming magkita. Nag-iinuman kami, nanonood ng sine, o kaya’y simpleng kain
lang sa labas o pagbili ng tape sa record bar. Marami naman akong naging kaibigang lalaki, pero iba na
ang naging pagkakaibigan namin ni Benjie. Noong una’y naalangan nga ako. Aba, e baka ‘ka ko
mapaghinalaan din akong bakla kung isang bakla ang lagi kong kasama. Sabagay, di naman kaagad
mahahalatang bakla nga itong si Benjie.
Loveable naman si Benjie. Kahit may katarayan, mabait naman. Okey, okey, aaminin ko. Sa kanya ko
uanang naranasang magkaroon ng lakas ng loob na ihinga ang lahat ng nararamdaman ko. ‘Yun bang
pouring out of emotions na walang kakaba-kabang sabihan kang bakla o mahina. At pagkaraan ay ang
gaan-gaan ng pakiramdam mo. Sa barkada kasi, parang di nabibigyan ng pansin ‘yang mga emotions-
emotions. Nakakasawa na rin ang competition. Pataasan ng ihi, patibayan ng sikmura sa mga problema
sa buhay, patigasan ng titi. Kapag nag-iinuman kami (at dito lang kami madalas magkasama-sama ng
barkada), babae at trabaho ang pulutan namin. Sino ang pinakamahusay na mambola ng babae, sino sa
mga waitress sa katapat na beerhouse ng opisina ang nadala na sa motel, sino ang pinakahuling sumuka
nu’ng nakaraang inuman? Well, paminsan-minsan, napag-uusapan ang tungkol sa mga problemang
emosyonal, pero lagi at lagi lang nagpapaka-objective ang barkada. Kanya-kanyang pagsusuri ng
problema at paghaharap ng immediate solutions bago pa man pagpakalunod sa emotions. Kaya hindi
ako sanay na nagsasabi kung ano ang nararamdaman ko. Ang tumbok agad, ano ang problema at ano
ang solusyon. Pero ‘yun nga, iba pala kapag nasusuri mo rin pati ang mga reactions mo sa isang
problema, basta nase-share mo lang kung bakit ka masaya, kung bakit ka malungkot. Kay Benjie ko nga
lang nasasabi nang buong-buo ang mga bagay na gusto kong gawin, ang mga frustrations ko, ang mga
libog ko. Mahusay makinig itong si Benjie. Naipapakita niya sa akin ang mga bagay na di binibigyan ng
pansin. Tulad ng pakikipagrelasyon ko kay Carmi. May karapatan naman daw mag-demand si Carmi sa
akin dahil siya ang kalahating bahagi ng relasyon. Baka daw kasi di ko pa nalalampasan ang nangyari sa
akin nang iwan na lamang ako basta-basta nu’ng una kong syota kaya di ko mabigay ang lahat ng
pagmamahal ko kay Carmi. Di lamang daw ako ang laging iintindihin. Unawain ko rin daw si Carmi.

Di ba totoo naman? Na baka mahal pa rin niya talaga si Carmi? Kahit ba mag-iisang taon na silang
break, nagkikita pa rin naman sila paminsan-minsan. Ni hindi pa nga siya nakikipag-relasyon sa ibang
babae after Carmi. Ito ngang si Joana, panay na ang dikit sa kanya ‘pag dinadaanan ako ni Mike sa
office, di pa rin niya pansin. Sabagay, di naman talaga niya matitipuhan si Joana. Not after Carmi.
So, noong una, sabi ko, wala namang masama kung magiging magkaibigan kami. Nasa akin na ang
problema kapag nahumaling na naman ako sa lalaki. Madalas kaming lumabas, lalo na after office
hours at during weekends. Manonood ng sine, kakain, iimbitahan ko siya sa apartment for beer o kapag
may niluto akong espesyal na ulam o kaya’y nag-prepare ako ng salad. Kapag umuwi ako sa Los Baños
para umuwi sa amin, sumasama siya minsan. Na-meet na nga niya ang mother ko. Nagpapalitan rin
kami ng tapes at siya ang nagtuturo sa akin ng mga bagong labas na computer programs.
So, okey lang. Pero unti-unti, di na lang tapes at salad o computer programs ang pinagsasaluhan namin.
Aba, may kadramahan din sa buhay itong si Mike. Ang dami pa raw niyang gustong gawin sa buhay na
parang di niya kayang tuparin. Gusto raw niyang makapagsulat ng libro, gusto daw niyang mag-aral
muli, gusto raw niyang mag-abroad. Kung bakit daw kasi di pa niya matapus-tapos ang kanyang M.A.
thesis para makakuha siya ng scholarship? Kung kuntento na raw ba ako sa buhay ko? Ang lahat ng iyon
ay kayang-kaya kong sagutin para kahit papaano ay ma-challenge siya na gawin niya kung ano ‘yung
gusto niya at kaya niyang gawin. Maliban na lang sa isang tanong na unti-unti ko nang kinatatakutang
sagutin nang totoo: kung mahal pa raw kaya niya ni Carmi?

Madalas akong malasing na siya ang kasama, pero ni minsan, di niya ako “ginalaw” (to use the term).
May mga pagkakataong tinutukso ko siya, pero di siya bumibigay. Tinanong ko nga siya minsan:
Don’t you find me attractive, Benjie?
At bakit?
Wala.
Wala rin naman akong lakas ng loob na sabihin sa kanya kung bakit. Baka siya masaktan, baka ‘di niya
maintindihan, baka lumayo siya sa akin. Ayaw kong lumayo sa akin si Benjie.
Di rin naman perpekto itong si Benjie. Pero di ko rin alam kung ituturing kong kahinaan ang naganap sa
amin minsan.. Kung kasalanan man iyon, dapat ay sisihin din ako.
Nagkasunod-sunod ang disappointments ko. Di ko matapus-tapos ‘yung article na ginagawa ko tungkol
sa open-pit mining sa Baguio dahil nagkasakit ako ng talong araw at naiwan ako ng grupong pumunta sa
site para mag-research. Na-virus ‘yung diskette ko ng sangkaterbang raw data ang naka-store.
Nasigawan ako nu’ung office secretary na pinagbintangan kong nagdala ng virus sa aming mga
computers. Na-biktima ng akyat-bahay ‘yung kapatid kong taga-Ermita. At tinawagan ako ni Carmi,
nagpaalam dahil pupunta na raw siya ng States.
Ang dami kong nainom noon sa apartment ni Benjie. Nang nakahiga na kami, yumakap ako sa kanya,
mahigpit. Bulong ako ng bulong sa kanyang tulungan niya ako. Kung ano ang gagawin ko. Pakiramdam
ko kasi, wala na akong silbi. Ni ang sarili kong mga relasyon ay di ko maayos. Alam kong nabigla si Benjie
sa pagyakap ko sa kanya. Kahit nga ako’y nabigla sa bigla kong pagyakap sa kanya. Pero parang sa
pagyakap ko kay Benjie ay nakadama ako ng konting pahinga, ng konting kagaanan ng loob. Matagal
bago niya ako sinuklian ng yakap. Na nang ginawa niya’y lalong nagpagaan sa pakiramdam ko. At ang
natatandaan ko, hinalikan niya ako sa labi bago ako tuluyang makatulog.
Ako ang hindi makatingin sa kanya nang diretso kinabukasan.
Sorry.
For what?
Kagabi, tinukso kita uli.
Nagpatukso naman ako, e.
Pero wala namang malisya sa akin iyon.
‘Wag na nating pag-usapan.
Nakatulog ka ba?
Hindi.
Bakit?
Binantayan kita.
Bakit?
Iyak ka ng iyak.
Oo nga. Para akong bakla.
Di porke bakla, iyakin.
Sorry.
Mag-almusal ka na. Di ka ba papasok?
Hindi muna. Labas na lang tayo.
Marami akong gagawin sa office. Di ako pwede.
Pwedeng dito na lang muna ako sa bahay mo?
Sure. Mamayang gabi na lang tayo lumabas.
Sige. Ikaw ang bahala.
Inaamin ko ulit. Kakaibang closeness ang nadama ko kay Benjie mula nung gabing iyon. Noong una’y
idini-deny ko pa sa sarili ko. Pero sa loob-loob ko, bakit ko idi-deny? Anong masama kung maging close
ako sa isang bakla? Kaibigan ko si Benjie, and it doesn’t matter kung anong klaseng tao siya. Sigurado
naman ako sa sexuality ko. ‘Yun ngang mga kasama ko sa trabaho, okey lang sa kanila nang malaman
nilang bakla pala si Benjie. Di sila makapaniwalang bakla si Benjie at may kaibigan akong bakla. E, super-
macho ang mga iyon. Ingat lang daw ako. Na ano? Baka raw mahawa ako. Never, sabi ko pa. Hanggang
kaibigan lang.

Sinasabi ko na nga ba, walang patutunguhang maganda ang pagka-kaibigan namin nitong si Mike.
Ayoko, ayoko, ayokong ma-in love. Di ko pa kayang masaktan muli. Ayokong sisihin niya ako sa bandang
huli. Baka mawala ang respeto niya sa akin. Baka masira ang magandang pagkakaibigan namin. Pero,
Mike, di ako perpektong tao. May damdamin ako, may libog ako, marunong din akong umibig at
masaktan. Ang drama, ateeee. Pero ang mga ito ang gusto kong sabihin sa kanya nang gabing iyon.
Gusto ko siyang tilian at sabihing: tigilan mo ako, kung gusto mo pang magkita tayo kinabukasan!
Naloka talaga ako nang bigla na lang isyang yumakap sa akin. E, ano naman ang gagawin ko, ano?
Lungkot na lungkot na nga ‘yung tao, alangan namang ipagtabuyan ko pa. At para ano? Para lang
manatili akong malinis sa kanyang paningin? Para lang mapatunayan sa kanyang ako ang baklang
ipagduldulan man sa lalaking nasa kalagayang katulad niya, sa gitna ng madilim na kuwartong kaming
dalawa lang ang laman, ay di lang yakap at halik ang gusto kong isukli sa kanya nang gabing iyon. At di
rin kahalayan. Gusto ko siyang mahalin. Gusto kong ipadama ang nararamdaman ko para sa kanya.
Isang gabi lang iyon. Marami pang gabi ang naghihintay sa amin. At di ako bato para di matukso. Higit
sa lahat, bakla ako.
Take it easy, Benjie.
How can I take it easy, Mike, biglang-bigla ang pagkamatay ni Nanay. Ni hindi ko alam ngayon kung
magsu-survive ako ng wala siya.
Kaya mo, matatag ka naman.
Not without Nanay. Napaka-dependent ko sa kanya. Alam mo ‘yan.
Nandito naman ako, Benjie.
Napatingin ako kay Mike. Oh, my hero! Sana nga’y totoo ang sinasabi mo. Sana nga’y nandito ka pa rin
five or ten years after. Kahit di ko na iniinda ang pagkawala ng nanay. Sana nga’y nandiyan ka pa rin
even after one year. Ewan ko lang, Mike. Di ko alam kung alam mo nga ang sinasabi mo.
Pampadagdag talaga sa mga dalahin kong ito si Mike. Sa halip na isipin ko na lang kung paano
mabuhay nang wala ang nanay ko, iisipin ko pa ngayon kung paano mabuhay ng wala siya. Okay, okay, I
admit it. Mahal ko nga si Mike. Pero sa sarili ko lang inaamin ito. Hanggang doon lang. Di ko kayang
sabihin sa kanya nang harap-harapan. He’s not gay. Imposibleng mahalin din niya ako ng tulad ng
pagmamahal ko sa kanya. Kaibigan ang turing niya sa akin. At alam ko na kung ano ang isasagot niya sa
akin kapag ipinagtapat ko sa kanyang higit pa sa kaibigan ang pagmamahal ko sa kanya ngayon: that
we are better off as friends. Masakit iyon, daaay. Masakit ang ma-reject. Lalo na’t nag-umpisa kayo
bilang magkaibigan. Nasawi ka na sa pag-ibig, guilty ka pa dahil you have just betrayed a dear friend
and destroyed a beautiful friendship.
Naalala ko ang nanay. Di niya inabutan ang lalaking mamahalin ko at makakasama sa buhay. Sana raw
ay matagpuan ko na “siya” agad, bago man lang siya mamatay. Noong una niyang makilala si Mike,
tinanong niya ako kung si Mike na raw ba? Ang sagot ko’y hindi ko alam.

Nandito lang naman ako. Tumingin sa akin si Benjie. Napatingin rin ako sa kanya. Siguro’y kapwa kami
nabigla sa sinabi ko. Nandito naman ako. Ano bang ibig sabihin nito? Well, nandito ako as your friend. I’ll
take care of you. Di kita pababayaan. Ganyan ako sa kaibigan, Benjie. Pero sa sarili ko lang nasabi ang
mga ito. Buong magdamag nag-iiyak si Benjie sa kuwarto nang gabing iyon bago ilibing ang nanay niya.
Hinayaan ko siyang yumakap sa akin. Hinayaan ko siyang pagsusuntukin ang dibdib ko. Yakap, suntok,
iyak. Hanggang sa makatulog sa dibdib ko. Noon ako naiyak.
Tahimik pa rin si Benjie hanggang sa matapos ang seminar na dinaluhan niya sa Baguio. Habang sakay ng
bus pauwi, noon lamang siya nagsalita.
Sorry sa mga sinabi ko kagabi sa bar, Mike.
Sabi ko na’t ‘yun pa rin ang iniisip mo.
Bakit, di mo ba naiisip ang ibig sabihin nu’ng mga sinabi ko sa’yo?
Iniisip ko rin. So what’s wrong with that?
What’s wrong? Mike, umaasa ako sa imposible.
Di masamang umasa.
Kung may aasahan. At alam ko namang wala.
But don’t you think that we are better off as friends?
(Sabi ko na. Sabi ko na!) But I’ve gone beyond my limits.
Alam mo naman ang ibig kong sabihin.
So what do you expect from me?

Ano ba talaga ang gustong palabasin nitong si Mike? Ni hindi nagalit. Di rin naman nagko-confirm na
mahal din niya ako. Ay naku daaay, imbyerna na ako, ha! Ayoko ng mga guessing game na ganito. Pero
mukhang masaya siya sa mga nangyayari sa buhay niya lately. Open pa rin siya sa akin at mukhang
wala namang itinatago. Wala naman siyang resentment nang sabihin niya sa aking umalis na sa
Pilipinas si Carmi.
Pero ako na naman ang naipit sa sitwasyon. Kung pagdedesisyunin ko siya, baka di ko makaya. Pero
dalawa lang naman ang maaari niyang isagot: oo, mahal din niya ako bilang lover. Ang problema na
lang ay kung matatanggap kong hanggang sa pagiging magkaibigan na lang talaga ang relasyon namin.
Ayain ko kaya siyang maki-share sa aking apartment? ‘Pag pumayag siya, di magkakaroon ako—at
kami—ng pagkakataong palalimin ang aming relasyon. ‘Pag tumanggi siya, bahala na. Sanay na naman
akong nag-iisa.
Tiningnan ko sandali si Mike at pagkaraan ay muli kong ibinaling sa may bintana ang aking tingin.
Mabilis ang takbo ng bus sa North Diversion Road. Mayamaya lang ay nasa Maynila na kami. Sana,
bago kami makarating ng Maynila, masabi ko na sa kanya ang balak ko. Ano kaya ang isasagot ni Mike?
But, does it matter?

Hindi na siya uli nagsalita. Pero, habang nagbibiyahe kami ay marami na uli akong naikuwento sa kanya.
Nai-enroll ko na uli ‘yung MA thesis ko at papasok na uli ako this semester. Tinanong ko siya kung pwede
niya akong tulungan sa research dahil ‘yung thesis ko rin ang balak kong pag-umpisahan ng isinusulat
kong libro. Ikinuwento ko ring umalis na si Carmi at kasama ako sa mga naghatid. Tumawag nga rin daw
sa kanya at ibinigay ang address sa States para daw sulatan niya. Tinanong ko kung susulatan niya. Kung
may time raw siya.
Inaya niya akong umuwi ng Los Baños para dalawin ang puntod ng nanay niya. Sabi ko’y sure this coming
weekend.
‘Yung tungkol doon sa sinabi niya sa akin noong isang gabi, pinag-iisipan ko naman talaga nang malalim.
Di ako na-offend pero di rin naman ako sure kung gusto ko nga ulit marinig sa kanyang mahal niya ako.
Natatakot akong magbigay ng anumang reaksyon sa kanya. baka mai-misinterpret niya ako. Ayokong
mag-away kami dahil sa nararamdaman niya sa akit at nararamdaman ko sa kanya. One thing is sure,
though. Ayokong mawala si Benjie sa akin. Napakahalaga niya sa akin para mawala.

Ang balak ko’y ganito: tatanungin ko siya kung puwede akong maki-share sa kanyang apartment. ‘Pag
pumayag siya, di mas mapag-aaralan ko talaga ang gusto ko—at namin—na mangyari sa aming
relasyon. Kung gusto ko siyang makasama nang matagalan. Kung mahal ko rin siya. Kapag hindi, we’ll
still be friends.
Mabilis ang takbo ng bus sa North Diversion Road. Nakatingin sa labas ng bintana si Benjie. Alam kong
nahihirapan siya. Kinuha ko ang palad niya at pinisil ko ito. Kung bakla rin ako? Hindi ako sigurado. But,
does it matter?

Comprehension Questions
1. Describe the characters in the story. What are their characteristics? Their personalities? Do their
personalities fit with one another?
2. What are the conflicts experience by the characters among themselves? What are the cause of it?
What do these conflicts say about them?
3. What is the theme of the story? Cite events from the story that will justify your answer.
4. Describe the structure of the story. How is it different from other stories that you have read?
5. What does the story reflect about the literature during the time it is written? What are the
characteristics of Post – EDSA literature that are reflected in the story?

Activity 3:

PINAY’S LETTER FROM BRUNEI

Liham ni Pinay mula sa Brunei
Elynia Ruth S. Mabanglo

I am a teacher, wife and mother.

A woman kissed by perfume, powder and silk,
Intimate with the washtub, pots and bed.
Seemingly weary and bored,
I seek to go abroad.

Always the same man sits at the head of the table,

He reads the newspaper each morning.
He waits for his coffee.
And smokes,
While I am restrained by the crib and books,
I apply my lipstick and let the faucet drip.
He does not stir
Even if the pots burn or the children whimper.
In the bathroom I hand him his underwear and towel,
I comfort him when he is edgy.
He has no explanation for
Why he stays out all night,
But his forehead is furrowed
When I leave on Sunday.
He does not like galunggong and saluyot
Even though the pay envelope is flat,

He seems to still want me to perform miracles

Even if the rent money is always short.

I am a teacher, wife and mother.

A woman - weary of being a woman

Designated by my genitalia
Assigned to the broom, the wash a lullaby
Even with a profession and salary.

Always the same daily routine

The drudgery spread out in the length
Of the house and school,
Of the kitchen and bed.

Do I have the right to sulk?

Where will I run when I am sad?
He has a beerhouse and massage parlor hangout
My partner who craves,

I wait by the window.

My body blazes with my ambitions,
My tongue has a cross and is barred to speak.
My children are asking for bread,
I turn up the volume of the radio.
It seems I am weary and bored,
I seek to go abroad.
It was then I dreamt I was wearing pants
I send dollars and pasalubong
I can now breathe freely,

My lips are without keys, my mind is open.

I confess that I am lonely
Even if now I make my own coffee.
I wait for letters at the gate and door,
On the phone my heart is replenished.
I cried in the beginning,
It appears that everything can be cured by reading.
This is the only answer,
Leave the man to wash the sheets.

1. What does the poem say about the situation of Filipinos who chose to work abroad? Compare it
with the common perspective of Filipinos about working abroad.
2. Describe the situation of the speaker. What does it reflect about the perspective of society
among women? Is this perspective realistic? Justify your answer.

Activity 4.
Answer the following questions as briefly and substantially as possible. Use the concepts presented in
your module as a reference to your responses.
1. What are the distinctive characteristics of literature during this period?
2. What are the benefits of the introduction of award-giving bodies to Philippine literature?
3. What are the factors that contributed to the booming of Philippine literature during this
period?