Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Boys, Girls, and Chances

Not in all, but undeniably in most relationships, there's this chunk of time called period of infidelity - a word, which literally sounds beautiful, but whose meaning's never been in any way pleasing. It's been there like a curse cast to bring love to damnation. Amen to this scary intangible thing, yes. It could rob anyone of his or her faith, trust, love, and innocence.

Yet, something must have been left to make people reconsider, forgive, and forget like nothing happened. And there are three possibilities as to what happens next.

First, there must be a reason to save the relationship. Second, there would be a way to save the relationship. Third, there could be a chance to save the relationship.



A chance, there could be. Or two. Or three. The fourth would be what enormous effort...and risk. Suicide, they call it.

I'm no pure feminist but let me lay the limelight on my gender, and on the more common situation. If for example, a boy cheats on a girl, what could chances mean?

  • If the girl considers a third chance after having been cheated for the second time, she is crazy for the boy. For cases like this, I force myself to believe in this "crazy little thing called love" or this "crazy, stupid love". But no, it's not about the last word. A third chance is just crazy...and stupid.
  • If she considers a second chance after being cheated once, she loves the boy. Maybe she believes in second chances, and in "love is sweeter the second time around", and in "one more chance". It's crazy. Okay, not that stupid.
  • If she doesn't consider a chance, she loves herself. It ain't crazy; ain't stupid. Just an unforgiving sanity.

Simply something like that. So how many chances would you spare?


Monday, February 27, 2012

Step 1: Wordplay

Because there are things not even your smarts could understand. Not without a pen and a paper, or a screen and a keyboard. Not without the wordplay.

There are times when you want to elaborate, but you couldn't without the wordplay. And there are times when you want to feel for everyone and everything, but only if you've done the wordplay.

Not with your friends, nor your best friend. Not even with someone special. Because you just want to do the repartee and the punning with yourself; because there's this language only you yourself understand.

Then, you find a pen and a paper...or your diary. Or log into a blog account. Scribble. Doodle. Tickle the keys.

It's not that you don't want to talk with other people, and share. It's not that you're too private a person. Well, it could be.

I don't know.

As for me, I write because there are things I don't understand. I write because I want to understand. And the first step to it (as I believe so) is "simply" talking to myself. Simply, the wordplay.

"You happy? Yeah, scary. Scary? You know, happy beginnings. They're cliches. So what? D'you really have to care about how you started? People say... Ain't about what they say. Right. So, you love him? Next question. Whaaat? Not now, please. Besides, do you really need to ask that? Yes. No, you don't. Oh, yes, you love him now. Be careful what you believe in, baby. I might believe so too."

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Forbidden Note

I'm happy, and I know why.

And yes, I know it's cliche for a start, but this is too real, too guiltless to be denied. I'm yet another love-crazed human being, again engaged into believing all the wonders of this something amazing. Maybe it's scary but it's worth the tell. And it's worth all the smiles I can wear.

Fate is not mine to decide on. Not ours. But as someone who praises the stories of time, I'll let time tell...and just live at the moment. Live at the moment, unmindful of what's next, and like nothing has to end.

Because nothing has to end, if you believe so, too. But I'm not asking for forever, because it might not be enough in the first place.

But if you stay, then I'll thank God every day.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

U-Turn

I was driving along the highway, one like EDSA yet a little more organized but not any more peaceful. Perhaps I was in real hurry, there was no time to care about speed-check road cameras, and I was fast enough at 120 kph. Did I worry about time? Or about my life? Or about meeting an accident with another reckless driver? I didn't know. Whatever was on my mind, it was certainly uncertain.

I was driving. Straight. Fast. Safe. Perhaps.

Then. A stare from a pair of small brown eyes, both quiet and playful, new and familiar, serene and loud. And maybe I smiled at them. Maybe.

I heard wheels screeching. In the right rear-view mirror, a dark gray sports car was dashing behind me. Although the highway was busy, the gray car was too much in a hurry to slow down. Was it chasing after me? Or did I even bother to care?

There. I was alone on the rooftop with this stranger, who seemed to have known me long, or too well. What was with my eyes, my neck, my hands; with my skin; with my kind of fashion? And how come I felt safe in the way this stranger brushed my hair with his fingers?

The gray car was right behind me, and then, next to me on my right. Then, at one quick steer, it veered to the left banging against my black, pushing my direction to the left and around, exactly at a U-turn slot.

All at once, my vision was a blur, my thoughts was a syntax error. That reckless driver took me on a U-turn with him, whether I wanted it or not. And now that I'm driving back to an old direction...

The next thing I know: I'm loving the way this stranger plays the guitar, the way his small brown eyes look at me, and the way he made such a little accident of driving me to a U-turn.

The next thing I'm wishing for: May the accident be meant.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Sinulog in Cebu


Drumbeats fill the air. Colors paint the city. Dancers and drummers flood the city streets. Prayers rise with the smoke from the candle flames. A million smiles bloom everywhere. Viva Pit Señor! Sinulog is here.

Usually on the third Sunday of January every year, Cebu extravagantly celebrates its grandest festival, Sinulog. It is a day-long celebration famous for its showcase of Sinulog dances and chants. For years now, the grandeur of the Sinulog festival has caught the attention of many other countries around the world. People from all other continents visit Cebu City not only to watch the performances, but more importantly, to experience Sinulog itself.

Sinulog is celebrated in honor of Cebu’s patron, Señor Sto. Niño, the Holy Child. All the dancing, the singing, chanting and praising are dedicated to the Sto. Niño. History has it that the Sto. Niño was a baptismal gift from Spain handed by Magellan to Hara Amihan, later named Queen Juana. Centuries past, a huge fire destroyed the building that housed the Sto. Niño. Everything was burned down to ashes, save for the statue of the Sto. Niño, whose face was burned black but whose clothes and cape remained untouched by fire. The name of the festival—Sinulog—was derived from the word “sinunog” which means “burned” and refers to the blackened face of the Sto. Niño.

It was for that miracle that Queen Juana’s Sto. Niño statue became sacred and holy. People started believing in the divinity of the Sto. Niño. From then on, the devotion to the Holy Child has grown so fast that Cebu suddenly became an island of the Sto. Niño’s devotees. 

Today, however, the popularity of the Sinulog festival has been accounted more for its cultural relevance than its story of religion and history. It is now rather associated with dancing to the drumbeats and colorful costumes, chants, and, “Viva Pit Señor!” Not everyone might have known the miracle—less remembered may be—but the devotion to the Sto. Niño, the Holy Child, remains the unifying reason why Cebuanos celebrate Sinulog such that it seems to be a royal tradition ever to be celebrated and lived by.


On the day of Sinulog, city roads are closed. Cars, buses, trucks, tricycles and other public vehicles are replaced with a long snaking crowd of dancers and drummers dressed in full-colored costumes. These costumes widely vary from the Spanish-inspired Filipiniana and baro’t saya to the native’s bahag and tapis. Headdresses can be crowns of flowers, embroidered bonnets, head-fitted pearl shapkas, or a crown of feathers arranged like a peacock’s tail. Some dancers wear elegant shoes, some slip on colorful flip-flops, and some dance along the city streets barefooted. Props differ from one contingent to another, respective of the specialty products of their provinces. There are dancers carrying baskets and bouquets of flowers, colorful hankies, umbrellas and fans, candles tied with ribbons, and palmeras. Others bring colorful brooms, bilao painted with flowers or letters from VIVA PIT SEÑOR, fish nets, bangka and paddles, bamboo poles and more other products of the Philippine provinces.



There is also a long parade of van and truck-driven floats featuring the livelihood of the provinces, the functions of government units and NGO’s, or the products of companies and industries. Local and national government officials, and local and international celebrities can be seen waving their hellos from the lavishly decorated floats.

From dawn to midnight, the swarm of people, locals and foreigners wearing Sinulog t-shirts, is endless. The day of Sinulog is, in fact, a traffic-free day because people walk the streets, cars left parked at home. It is customary that people visit the Basilica de Sto. Niño, the church where the miraculous statue of the Holy Child is safely housed. People light candles, some fly balloons, to go up alongside their prayers.

Once ready to hit the crazy streets, people hurry over to the small stalls where they get their arms tattooed, their hands, necks and ankles drawn with henna art, and their faces painted with colorful stripes. While others, who don’t have extra pennies, run to their dirty kitchen, grab a piece of charcoal to paint their faces black like “sinunog”. The blackening is inevitable anyway. Unless it is raining, no one escapes the torrid kiss of the tropical sun.

Even before midday, the Cebu Sports Complex is already jam-packed with a huge noisy crowd of spectators. People usually bring their lunch and dinner packs to the main event’s venue so to never lose their spaces amidst the busy swarm. One important reminder is to have mobile phones fully charged and loaded. And then pray for network signal. Forget about your mp3 playlist, or else, you miss more than half of the fun!

Once the main event’s hosts call for a start, the rest of the day is going to be an endless debate between the drums and the thunderous cheering of the crowd. Contingents run to the big stage, dance to the foot-stomping drumbeat, do their dramatized chants all with grace, sing their praises while giving birth to countless smiles. Somewhere in every dance performance, the huge audience sings with the performers, “Sinulog! HA! Mo-siyagit ug kusog, HA! Pit Señor! Pit Señor! Kitang tanan mag-saulog!” And the singing never stops.

And in every Sinulog dance performed by each and every contingent, it is almost automatic that people’s eyes find their way to the lead dancer, the one carrying the main character of the festival. Because Sinulog is not only about the fun from the dancing, the singing, or the colorful costumes and the deafening beat of the drums. The hearts of the devotees always search for the Holy Child, the Sto. Niño, amidst the busy dancing and the loud singing, amidst the graceful praise.

The day ends with fireworks bursting high up in the midnight sky alongside the booming of Sinulog songs in quadro speakers. But the singing goes on, the three words of the day remain: VIVA PIT SEÑOR!


Photo courtesy: