Unfolding

I never thought I got to see you up close as you walked out of the airport’s terminal exit. I never thought that I got to hold your hand last Friday, neither could I believe that we hugged and kissed as we went to our friend’s car. Your voice never felt so real, and never felt so up close for a very long time. I could not believe the ride to the hotel, hearing you laugh, lending me your handkerchief as I was still sulking in disbelief. Your hands felt so real while you were pressing them hard as I was still emotional. It felt like bliss when you ate your first chicken joy meal in 7 months while getting shocked seeing the cake with a small bundle of roses. You told me that you felt like a woman, and that statement rang in my head because I successfully made you feel like one. And I took a photo of you with your advanced birthday presents. Just 6 days ago, we made love after a long 7 dry month period. Your hugs and kisses were not any more fantasies, but realities. I could not believe

I went over my newsfeed, and I saw countless Teacher’s Day posts. I saw cakes, presents, and surprises made or given by students. Moreover, such a day is about venerating the teacher as someone “important”, but how so? Forgive me, for I am not always in a festive mood. There are two things that I would look into. First, I dare question the teacher’s high felt gratitude and sense of dignity because he or she belongs to the "noble profession". Second, what is this phenomenon of students giving trivial gifts to their teachers? Just because it is a day of celebrating the crucial profession in society, should such things happen? Did both really celebrate what being a teacher truly means? I have taught for 7 years, and I have seen the crisis in our education system from within. We have school systems infiltrated by business interests and a proliferation of a decadent culture. I saw my participation in the education lobby as a fistfight against all evils. Although I may have d

I knew her before as a person who engrosses herself in self-pity. I understand because she told me her history of tragedy. I was even a witness to it. She was trying to fly even before we met. But circumstances pushed her to confusion. A confusion so great because she has not yet found her bearing. She was still caught between the crossfire of religion, family, and personal aspirations. With so much negativity, her weary heart cannot take the blunt hit and chose to rebel without a compass. She ventured to worlds unknown even from my standpoint. She rarely heard praises because her environment was more of cutting her wings to fly. Her environment was more of following a doctrine which was more like of a cult rather than the authentic one they proclaimed. There she lost her compass. When I met her, I saw her as fragile. Easily she cries and weeps. She was not yet confident in any decisions she was making, yet she chose to love me.   When she made mistakes, it was like she was traum

              I wake up every morning and pretend that you are just beside me. In my dreams, I hugged you, but as I opened my eyes, it was just a pillow. Never mind the morning breath, although it is warm, as long as it yours, then I am happy with it. Sad to say, the only warm thing that greets me in the morn is just the sun. It would have been better if it was your thighs pressing my hips. I would feel an itch on my face and it could have been better if it was from your messed up hair. I would have loved the smell of fabric conditioner on our pillowcases, but it was better with your dried drool. The same thing I would say of the sheets, and you know what scent is stuck there. I may have your clothes  and the very articles that make me tingle, but it would be better if those had your scent. I would never mind having those washed for a far long time. It is boring at times that I am just washing my own clothes, and I do not want to be stupid to wash your clean stock.           

Struggle is everywhere and the stress that comes along with it is inevitable. One is caught between the duties of being an employee and the beholder of truth. But what is real and strong factor that affects the profession is its being a job. There are many young teachers who are energetic about education but most of the times are pegged down by systems that are not healthy for their growth. Anyhow, if they just want to be paid, then a job is what they need; but those who want a job whereas at the same time serve ideals ends up pushed towards the brink of expulsion or far worse, already booted out by the system. Instances arises when ideas clash but it is understandable if the degree of worth is equal. Contending ideas are welcome and it is a matter of producing such that needs careful attention. Although the internet is already dispensing and storing a lot of valuable updated information, it is also a prerogative to know and discern which sources are reliable and where to find th

I have heard this line oftentimes and for those who do not speak Bisaya, let me translate this in English: “It is work that you are looking for eh?” This has been used to motivate people those who are sick and tired with their jobs and used by those who are helplessly fatalistic about the dreaded situation. Although this might have an existential bearing, it cannot be denied that such statement favors exploitation. Even though a person may try to find himself or herself in the job one is doing by saying these words to one’s self, but such linguistic expression is an expression of the modern day slave drivers and I would gladly point out somethings to unveil the messages that are carried over. Through the statement, a job is the only reality there is that can help one succeed in life. The assumption of looking for a job is always tied to finding means to survive as jobs guarantee an income that can support basic needs and if the jobs are paying off good, then a bourgeoisie lifesty

               I have always been looking into the students that I once encountered in a semester or two in college and it disheartens me a lot to see them turn out to be still the creatures that I detest. So stupid to have a group page entitled the school’s secret files and so often I do really doubt if the ones actually posting there are in fact true or just a manufactured post in order to create a general sentiment. Either way, all I can account for is how my previous students replied to any of the posts. Moreover, it is not only about the petty wars that happen online, but also of the progress of the student communal life in general. Although I may have called my 5 years as fulfilling for my part as I have developed and mastered to some level the art of teaching, the fact still haunts me that there is no actual progress that happened in the school apart from anything that comes from the administration’s initiatives.               I have been vocal of the issue regarding the s

“Nothing disturbs me more than the glorification of stupidity.” Carl Sagan Call me an anti-social for not mingling with the crowd, but less do they see that I jive well with them. Moreover, it is they who cannot dance along to my tunes. No wonder that those who seek wisdom and shares it finds solitude in isolation especially in their respective ivory towers. It is certain that in the midst of the silence in one’s confinement, the volume of one’s inner thoughts magnify as there is but peace being the canvas of thinking. The monumental task of expanding one’s thoughts whether it be through praxis or theoria is a burden for the thinker and that is why there is ease and comfort in knowing that he can have a conversation wherein he can share his cross to others who so too is willing to share theirs. We can understand the mob, play with their rules but when it is time to play our game, they abhor us as being too high for their reach. Well, I guess it is easier for gods to come down

               There was once a lonely voice who rocked the rooms and halls which brought about comments of praise and ill repute by either those who understood or those who have no taste for academic prestige. The rooms were filled with questions that rang and reverberated inside the heads of the students which in turn amplified through gossips out from fear of not having to answer any of those questions. There are those who felt that the thrill was worth it since it tested their capabilities to think and collaborate while others saw it as an obstacle that threatens their pursuit of a trivial diploma.   These students have felt the sting of the experience that I want them to encounter in order to give to them hope that service courses or as they say ‘minor subjects’ are enjoyable and also challenging. With all 5 years devoted to the creation of the project, a pedagogy of my making, I did establish my repute. My worth was not some paper work handed down and upon reading the core tene

I remember when I was a high school student that I used to idolize certain 'fascinating' personalities. Growing up with a family who talks about current issues and history while dining or watching Tom and Jerry, National Geographic, Discovery Channel, and The History Channel, I came across history's big names. What fascinated me the most were those war documentaries, and what was mostly aired were World War II documentaries. So Stalin, Roosevelt, Churchill, Hitler, Eisenhower, Hirohito, Yamashita, De Gaul, Mussolini, Goering, Himmler, Goebbels, etc. became common names to hear. I have to admit, that I did admire Hitler and Stalin. Not only just admired but went into a deep sense of fascination for these people.   Regardless of my parents telling me about the crimes against humanity that these big names did, I could not help but draw a swastika or a hammer and sickle with the association to either Hitler or Stalin. Moreover, a strategy game such as Red Alert made m

I am a person who is hard to himself in experiencing happiness. Oftentimes, I shove away the opportunities that came which supposedly make me feel jubilant. However, I had never felt a great sense of joy not until I know Johannah Joy. There was no other way for me but to love her and it felt awesome to be loved in return. There is indeed no greater feeling than to know and feel that one is loved. Ever since we got married, every waking moment is worth it. The sun greets me with the illumination of her face besides mine on bed. The presence warms me, assures me that this person is willing to live with me until I die. The day is not complete if it does not start with her when I wake up and does not end with her when I am to close my eyes. Other than my family whom I hold dear, she too shares the same spot. The spot where I am afraid to lose people. There is no greater joy than having my wife and seeing her face and knowing that I am loved. I treasure her. If my treasure seems to be far

              My ego was my source of refuge and I am proud to say that it is my home. At times when crisis knocks at my doorstep, the door and the walls protect me even from the horrors of the world that budge through like a storm that challenges the house’s foundations. The more I treated it as a home, the more it grew into a castle and with it are fortifications that are meant to repel invaders from plundering. I build walls to protect what is within even if it was useless. Gold is just a rock yet people died for it, so too are thoughts. My thoughts are just machinations of my corporal self, my brain gone hay wired. Why give it importance? It will not stand the test of time and it will fade. Worst, what is its use when the world will end? There will be no one to hear them and also, even if I were to put them to ink, it will be forgotten. Far more disastrous is being misinterpreted. Maybe, we all are not meant to go beyond our lifetime. It is best for us to simply be at the moment

               I was on cloud nine. I built my castle on the clouds only to see it fall. I have been living inside my head and not in the world I am in. All of these I’s and still it could not move the world. My voice was only good to those who too are lost and there I was, a delusional madman preaching to the mob. The mob’s approval began my source of strength and I thought they made me their king. I felt like royalty for wherever I walk I hear my name whether called upon by praise, despised by scums of the earth and feared by maggots. I was foolish to crown myself from words floating on air. Were those words not true? The rumor of an Archuleta’s empire? All men dream to be great and only few did become one says posthumous folklore. At what price? The throne I yearn was a temptation. Power corrupts, my fame clouded my vision. I was weak to hear praise and not know what to do with it. I did love the people; I did serve them but I must admit that the masters in this world do not want

              If one truly speaks from the abundance of the heart, then words are not too much to ask for. If the heart is empty, then silence echoes. Letters are the thin fabric that binds distant hearts and with all trust let it be the truth. A truth, not simply outright in complacency to please the other but a truth that projects the heartfelt thoughts. Hearing what one ought to hear can be manipulated with lies and if truth be told in such manner, myriad deception or absence of presence occurs. However, if one ought to hear what truly is meant by the speaker, then there is no other window to where the connection is evident.               I am troubled and lost at times for actual presence is at bay. I do not wish to delude myself with my own echoes, but let those be coming from you. Your lips taste sweet and your body warm, but words comfort the soul. A vessel without the within is an empty husk. If it be wine, water or piss then let me drink either through my ears.      

It has been three years and I have never regretted nor doubted the fact of my marriage to her. The decision was borne out of choice and borne out of love and if it was not, I could have moved on and changed my direction when our relationship was challenged and cut off during those years. Yet, I chose to stay not because of conscience nor was I forced to but because I truly love her. Stern as I am, I rarely give my heart to people. I can relate and talk with almost anybody, but most of the times they are simply mechanical as if I was condemned to interact given the situation that I am in. However, I am the kind of person who carefully selects who to be intimate with. I can be there for anybody, but I chose not to because I can only be with someone who I know is worth it. My wife is worth it. We had so much conflict before, especially when she was still in the process of overcoming a problematic home environment, role confusion and deep sense of self-pity coming from self-doubt. Ha