Hindi ko alam kung saan ako mag sisimula sa kwento ko kaya mabuti ng makilala niyo muna kung sino ako. Ang pangalan ko’y Santos. Ernesto Santos Jr. at wala akong kinalaman kay Jimmy o kay Juday o sa kung sino pang sikat na ka-apelyido ko. Isa akong estudyante o kung ano mang tawag ninyo sa batang pumapasok sa paaralan na alam naman lahat ang tinuturo doon. Sabi nila above average daw ang IQ ko (inaamin ko tama sila), pero hindi naman ako naniniwala doon sa kadahilanang ayaw kong mabansagan o ituring na iba sa nakararami. Ang gusto’y pantay lahat, kung mayroon mang hindi alam ang isang tao, aba’y sa tingin ko dapat pa nga siyang matuwa dahil wala ng silbi ang mabuhay kung alam mo ang lahat. Hindi ba? Pero mabalik tayo sa kwento ko, nag-iisa akong anak ni Ernesto Santos at ni Elvira De Dios. Labing-siyam si nanay noon at dalawamput’ isa si tatay noong ako’y isinilang. Sa isang bahay aliwan nag babanat ng buto si inay habang isang hamak na panadero ang aking itay. At ito ang istorya ng kanilang pag-ibig…

     Laking probinsya ang nanay ko at gaya ng iba, hindi mawawala sa pangarap niya ang marating ng Maynila, makapag-trabaho, maka pangasawa ng isang mayamang lalaki at magkaroon ng dalawang anak. Ngunit sa kasawiaang palad, hindi gaanoon ang nangayari. Nang matapos si nanay ng high school agad siyang naghanap ng trabaho, at bilang mutya ng kanilang baryo hindi siya nahirapang makapasok bilang isang katulong sa isa sa mga burges na pamilya doon. Sa loob ng tatlong buwan siya ang nagluluto, naglalaba, namamlantsa at naglilinis ng napakalaking bakuran na halos kasing laki na ng tahanan nila. Mabait ang kanyang amo at sa aking pagkaka-alala Don Fernando ang ngalan niya. Pangalawa sa tatlong anak ng nabalong si Donya Cervantes. Laging wala ang Donya at sa buong maghapon si nanay at ang Don lamang ang naiiwan sa hacienda. Isang gabi ng domingo, habang taimtim na nag-darasal ang nanay sa kapiliya, isang malakas na kalampag na halos abot-dinig sa buong baryo. Lulan ang kaniyang mga kaibigan, bumanga ang sasakyan ni Don Fernando sa tarangkahan ng hacienda dahil sa samyo ng kalasingan. Inalalayan sila ni nanay papasok, ipinag-timpla ng tsaa at nagmamadaling pumaroon sa kaniyang tulugan. Naririnig niya ang bulungan ng mga lalaki sa labas at agad niyang kinalso ang pinto subalit walang silbi iyon sa naglalakasang sipa ng don at ng kanyang mga kaibigan. (Habang sinasabi sa akin ni nanay ito, pinigilan ko siyang tapusin ang pangungusap dahil alam ko na ang sumunod… At alam kong alam niyo na rin.) 

  Sa sumunod na araw, pag uwi ni Donya Cervantes (na galing sa kung saang sugalan) tumambad sa kanya ang malagim na ginawa ng kanyang anak. Naghihimutok niyang pinaalis ang mga kaibigan ng don habang pinag-sasampal niya ito. Sinubukan ng donya na kausapin si nanay at napaluha sa sinapit niya. Pag karaan ng isang linggo, nagulat si nanay na naka-bayong ang kanyang mga gamit. Naisip niyang papalayasin na siya sa hacienda. Pagka dating ng donya nakaluhod na magmamaka-awa ang nanay na huwag siyang paalisin sa hacienda at laking gulat niya sa sinabi ng Donya, “Ayaw mo bang gumawi sa Maynila at doon mamasukan?” Kina-usap ng donya si Lola (na pumanaw isang buwan matapos lumuwas ni nanay) na ipapasok niya si nanay sa kakilala niya roon na nanganga-ilangan ng dagdag na mang-gagawa sa isang establisimyento. Walang pag-aalinlangang pumayag si Lola Marahil nahiya ang donya sa ginawa ng kanyang anak kung kaya’t sinuklian niya ito ng mabuting gawi. Makalipas ng dalawang araw tumuloy si nanay papuntang Maynila. Minsan lang sa buhay natin na tayo’y nabibigyan ng isa pang pagkakataon na magsimulang muli, makalimutan ang sugat ng nakalipas at muling bumangon sa pag asang magiging ma-ayos rin ang lahat. 

Itutuloy…

Kalong-kalong ka ng iyong ina.

Tinapik niya ang likod mong basa ng pawis at hinila ang labakara.

Tuwang tuwa ka sa hinuhukay mong buhangin.

Habang ‘di matangal ang ngiti sa iyong mukha,

lumuluhang palihim ang paubos na kandila ng mundo.

Subalit wala kang paki-alam.

Wala kang iniisip, pinapakingan, pinag-iingatan.

Kay dilim ng mundo mong tinitir’han,

Subalit wala kang paki alam.

“A young writer turned policeman caught someone speeding along Roxas Blvd. and furiously chased it down. He was having a bad night, and judging by the way he drives his motorcycle, it seems like the only solution to his troubles would be slamming along the gutters of the sidewalk and just fade away into the night. It would have been easy, killing himself. He’s done it countless times, after he and  his girlfriend got into a car accident about 2 years ago, he just snapped. The only thing stopping him is his daughter. He wouldn’t want her to be unhappy, she was his only reminder of the profound love he felt when her girlfriend was still alive. He couldn’t bear the thought her knowing what it’s like to be alone, to be lonely, to be scared. So he decided to quit his dead end writing job and be a policeman. Promising to his daughter that he’ll do everything with all his might, to make a difference in every humanly way he can , so other children will ever have to  suffer the pain of loosing their mother.

After a while, the car slowed down and his thoughts drifts away. He had seen this car before, he’s sure of it. He quickly jumped out of the motorcycle and without hesitation, he draws his gun hiding it behind his legs as he walks toward the vehicle. Suddenly, several gunshots were fired at him coming from the car. He was right, this was the same car, the one that killed his girlfriend. The driver must  have recognized him and afraid that he might go to jail, the driver fired on him. He got hit on the shoulder, but pain wasn’t a problem anymore, it’s like his body shut downed all the pain that was coming to suck up all his breath, or worse his life, and focused on knowing who the driver was. He fired a couple of his own, there was silence after the last shell dropped on the ground. He must have hit em he thought. Holding down the wound, he walked up the driver’s seat but what he saw made him start to cringe and stutter. Her daughter’s boyfriend with his bloody head on the steering wheel holding a gun and beside him was her, his daughter. They reek of alcohol. He didn’t knew what to do, he just stood there mortified. She got hit on the back. Twice. He cried for help but no one can hear him, not even God himself. He carried her out to the ground, trying to tend on the wound that he himself inflicted upon her. He  started asking her all these questions but all she can hear was buzzing. She died on his father’s arms with his father’s gunshot killing her. 

Police came minutes later. He surrendered voluntarily. At the station he was asked why, and all he could say was she killed her mother, but he wasn’t planning on killing his daughter. Poor guy, confused of what happened. But he was wrong, his daughter didn’t kill her. It was the boyfriend, although it was really an accident. Somebody saw what happened that tragic night. Based on her statement, She was with this man and they were walking on the middle of the street, arms intertwined. It looked like they were drunk. Everything happened so fast. The witness said that he looked liked he was trying hard in stepping on the breaks but it won’t work and that’s when they got hit. The old man flew about 10 feet away and lady stayed on top of the hood. She looked like all her bones were broken. He panicked and got scared so he left the scene a quickly as he can. “

- Investigative Report submitted by SPO1 Isagani Ameril

It’s  unfortunate to know that somethings doesn’t come the way we want it to be. That we above all living things on Earth it’s only we humans know how sadness really is, what it feels like, what it does. And that’s one of the many other things to be sad about. This world maybe ours, yes. But what it does to us is really out of our reach.

At ako’y naglakad,
Kinaroroonang madilim walang katiyakan,
Padausdos pababa,
Walang katapusang pagbaba.


At ako’y naglakad,
Pilit na hindi na muling matanaw
Ang galos ng nagdaan.
Ang inukit na kirot,lintos at hapdi.


At ako’y naglakad,
Pasan ang bigat ng daigdig.
Sa bawat krokis ng sulok
Bulong nila’y hinagpis.


Kaya ako’y naglakad
dahil ika’y tumakbo,
Kasama ang puso kong
uhaw sa pagsinta mo.


At ako’y naglakad.
Naghahanap ng ilaw sa dilim.
Subalit ika’y wala na,
Di na muling makakalakad pa. 

A sound wakes Mr. Del from his sleep,

No, he is still at bed,

He must be dreaming.

Softly hovering above the creaking wooden floor of his room.

Just like butterflies.

Trying not succumb to the strong feeling of getting out,

Mr. Del reached for his slumbered hands.

But his translucence began to divulge the pang of verity,

and against the luminous flare above,

slowly,

He started to sense gratification.

Alas Mr. Del, Lived.

I want you,

Not you but all of you.

I want to feel the wind blowing your hair.

I want to taste the food you eat,

To breathe the air you breathe,

To walk the paths you walked,

To see what you see with your eyes closed,

To know what you know about love,

To understand what it is to be loved.

I want you,

you alone,

And everything in between.

A day when nothing happened,

I went outside and felt the numbing pain of the sky.

I watched closely as the birds fly away through the horizon.

It was beautiful.

I started walking along the gutters of the city’s foul-stenched corners,

and quickly found a tear on my left eye.

As I let it run down like waterfalls,

my shaking hands began to crack.

The wind started to tore the living hell out of my flesh,

and the sympathetic faces of the people passing made me want to disappear.

I have all this time to be miserable,

drowning in my own thoughts.

I longed for this,

Nearing the end of the tunnel,

And seeing your face waiting there as I count the last pieces of my demise,

I’d hope another tomorrow today.

Sa lakas ng hangin,

pati balat ko’y natutuklap.

Ni hindi ko man lang naisip na mag-damit sa harap ng ulap at bituin.

Tinawanan lang ako,

ng mga halamang de paso.

Ang sabi ng isa’y: “Wala kang hinaharap sabi ng iyong nakalipas.”

At ang isa’y: “Lilipas ka rin sa hinaharap.”

Tumawa lang ako at patuloy sa paglakad.

Mag iisang buwan na akong walang nasusulat na tula. Kahit na marami akong gustong sabihin, bakit parang ang hirap isalin sa papel? Naisip ko tuloy na baka hindi na sapat na sa pagsulat ko nalang nailalabas ang mga tunay na saloobin ni Jose Isagani. Nawawalan na ng halaga ang pagsulat ko kung di ko naman masagot yung mga bagay na talagang bumabagabag saakin. Siguro tama nga sila: hindi ko pa ganoon ka kilala ang sarili ko. Para saan pa pala na ako’y nagsusulat? Para saan pa kung wala rin namang nakakabasa kundi ako lang? Masyado kong ipinapaintidi sa iba ang mga tula ko, eh ako nga di ko kilala sarili ko. Lahat naman ng bagay na kinakailangan ko malapit saakin pero bakit may kulang parin?