Samuel Estrebillo

I could not open my blog account since Rene died.  I could not articulate my thoughts in words since the last time I was truly sad.  I was certain that the grief, loss, and pitch darkness of his death will come rushing back to me the moment I see my last entry.

I was waiting for a good time, a very happy time, a memorable entry that will compensate for what I feel about his murder.   Something happy enough that will wipe all my anxiety away and will make my frail heart brave once again.

But this blog is again about the death of a loved one.

Samuel “Nong Sammy” Estrebillo is our farmer leader from Agusan Sur.  He is the person in the landmark “Estrebillo Vs Hacienda Maria” Supreme Court case that was ruled in favor of the farmers.  He is the inspiration behind the CARPER provision on the indefeasibility of agrarian titles.  Because of his efforts and those of thousand other farmers in this agricultural country, an agrarian title can no longer be cancelled a year after its registration.  This solves the problem of beneficiaries who fear for their titles –despite years of amortization and cultivation – because of selfish landlord petitions for conversion, exemption and title cancellation.

For years, I have seen Nong Sammy in PESANTEch activities as he follows up on their case.  He lives in Kaisahan when he is in Manila.  He walks and talks in a gentle manner and he smiles when he sees old friends and meets new ones.  When one observes him while he’s not looking, his eyes were full of doubt and anxiety.  His fears were deeply etched.  Yet when he talks, his source of hope becomes clear: he hangs on to the correctness of their struggle and to the certainty of their common convictions.

Magically, his bearing changed when they won at the Supreme Court.  It was a sweet victory that came a decade after.  In the victory celebrations that ensued, his smile was permanent and infectious.  Where before, his anxiety was the rule and his smile the beautiful exception and gift, it was reversed when he learned the result of their case.

“Bakit parang pumogi ka?” I asked him during their victory party in Kaisahan.

“Nanalo na kasi kami” was his reply as he flashed an even bigger smile.

I concluded, “Nuks, nakaka-guwapo pala ang pagka panalo.”

Yesterday, I learned the news that Nong Sammy succumbed to lung cancer, a battle he fought for a few months, way shorter that his battle for their land in Sta Josefa, Agusan Sur.  I got the news while I was in Makati waiting for a dear loved one.  All of a sudden I was sad.  And when I looked around I noticed that I was in the park in front of Hotel Intercon.  The grasses are green, the walls are tiled, and the floor cemented.  I normally find the park cute for its attempt at making the surrounding green.  But yesterday I found it pale and ostentatious.

I suddenly wished I were in Sta Josefa, watching the green, vast, and organically cultivated field of Nong Sammy.

Rene

How could you die when we agreed to do other campaigns together?  How could you be ambushed in the dead of the night when you’re savvy enough to lead a 1,700 km. march – on foot – for more than two months?  You managed to pull us through various threats: mud, heat, sickness, military, NPA in the course of the long fight for 144 but you weren’t able to see danger on your life?  You led the campaign for CARPER and you wake me up before it’s my time to work to tell me that you think a vigil, instead of a rally, might be a good idea.  In that way, you argued, Nogie would not have a chance to use the farmers as excuse for not passing CARPER.  Ang husay husay mo pero di mo nakita yung may hawak ng shot gun?

One of our last times together was when a police colonel asked PAKISAMA and SBC to go home and immediately stop the vigil in front of congress.  You whispered to me, “ikiskis natin ito.”  I saw you were excited to do it so I did not say anything but silently I was disagreeing with your idea.  Then you came back to me and asked, “ano tingin mo?”  I simply said, “mukhang lugi pag pinatulan natin ang pangit na pulis na yan.”  You nodded and went to the colonel and said, “Sir, pahiram nga ng megaphone mo, may sasabihin lang ako sa lahat…” 

Hindi rin naman matapang ang mukha mo ano?  Talagang hiniram mo pa ang megaphone. 

“Mga kasama sa PAKISAMA at SBC,” you addressed the crowd looking to you for leadership, “tama si Sir, uwi na tayo, pahinga tayo, tapos balik tayo bukas para magdasal ulit sa harap ng Congress na ipasa na nila ang CARPER.  Sir, babalik kami bukas ha.”  From a kiskis decision to one that even borrowed the megaphone to say we are going home, you made me laugh big time.  My last comment was, “ibang klase ka talaga, Rene.”

You were flexible and savvy in life.  How could you not see danger when it faced you in that dark road in San Vicente?  In the first place, nganong naa ka sa Sumilao? 

And then there was the Red Carpet Screening of Lupang Hinarang when as emcee I reminded you to give a short and sweet speech.  “Pwedeng mga 5-minute speech lang, Ren?”  You said, “gusto mo, 3 minutes lang eh.”  And you did; you gave a wonderful 3-minute speech that would be immortalized as one of the best speeches made by a farmer leader.

After the screening, I asked Reggie to take our photo and warned you that I’d send our picture to Diding.  “Hay naku, di magagalit yang si Diding ano, kilala ka nun. Natulog ka nga sa karumata nya.”  To which I said, “sabagay, kung ako naman si Diding, di talaga ako magseselos kahit matagal kitang di nakikita; daig mo pa ang bato pagdating sa landian… di ka kagaya ni Yoyong.” 

Such is our relationship.  And such is my loss.  You were not just a PO leader to me, one that sleeps in my office, one that speaks in forums and rallies, and someone I could derive inspiration from in my daily struggle for goodness and light.  You were my friend, someone I’m happy to be with, comfortable to be in a campaign with, and excited to discuss novel ideas with.  You were the only person I hugged in the middle of EDSA and Aurora Blvd.  In that crowd of Banasi, Calatagan, PKSK and PAKISAMA farmers, I was shouting your name because I missed you after a long time of not seeing each other.  From the crowd, I could hear you happily shouting my name as well and looking for a way to embrace me through the adrenalin-pumping photo op in the middle of the busiest intersection in Manila. 

How could I join the “Lakaw for Rene” this afternoon when I don’t have you to execute our tactics and media-savvy antics?  If I get frustrated over our comrades who do not understand our ideas, who would I immediately talk to?  How could you be in that coffin when you should be the one leading the walk? 

How could you die when we just won?  How could I strive to win more victories when they kill my friends to whom I dedicate my victories?

Sa susunod na mananalo ulit tayo, di mo makikita na maganda ang ginawa ko.  Di ka makikipag apir sa akin pag maganda ang ideas ko.  Di ka makikipag debate pag hindi tayo nagkaka-intindihan sa gusto nating gawin.  Di mo ako sasabihan na, “ok lang yan; sa susunod ganito ang gagawin natin para manalo tayo.”

Pwede bang bumangon ka na sa lusak na yan at mag trabaho na?

Salamat, Rej at Aison, sa mga kuhang larawan…

Water cannon 5-25-09

Today I was water cannoned for the first time.  The farmers, joined by workers, urban poor, and the Church marched to Congress to demand the passage of HB 4077 or the CARPER bill.  When we reached Batasan, the Sumilao, Banasi and Calatagan farmers built a camp outside of the main gate.  Their reason: “we are not allowed to enter the premises of Congress and be part of the discussions of the bill, which is set to affect us.  By all means, we will monitor the proceedings from the outside.  Besides, this is a public office; it should be available for citizens’ use.”  But as the farmers were setting up their tents, the Quezon City Police District demanded the tearing down of the makeshift structure.  When Bishop Broderick Pabillo tried to negotiate, the police aimed their truncheons at him and the farmers.  What followed was a long mayhem wherein the farmers, workers, urban poor, religious, NGOs, and Bishop Pabillo tried mightily to resist the dirty and smelly water.

 But experiencing water truncheons is not my only first for today.  It is my first time to experience harshness in the hands of the police while pursuing a legitimate and moral asset reform measure.  We were not carrying a political issue.  We did not demand GMA’s ouster.  We were asking that an important measure be discussed and passed into law.  Even the anti cha cha call was not highlighted.  And still, despite the tired and confused look of the farmers, Nograles’s response was to hose down the marchers.

 Today I learned what power is.  It is the arrogance that emanates from a chamber that calls itself the people’s representatives when its response to a peaceful assembly of citizens is water cannon.  Never mind that old and women farmers were at the front.  Never mind that Bishop Pabillo and the nuns were at the frontlines.  No, the macho speaker fired water and threatened that he would remove CARPER from his priority list of legislation because of the events of today.  So now, it is our fault?  We were not even inside the halls of Congress!  From whence does his logic come from? 

 Or is he so arrogant and feeling-all-powerful that reason escapes him?

Live long and prosper

Is the Vulcan blessing accompanied by the salute which I was able to execute after frequent practice.  My older brothers were trekkies who watched on TV the runs of “The Final Frontier” week after week.  I was in grade school then and I was fascinated by the half Vulcan, half human Mr. Spock, the cool and collected Captain Kirk, and Counselor Deanna.  Along with a classmate, I remember writing a social studies script using Star Trek.  Of course, I played Counselor Deanna.

I am mega excited to watch Star Trek.  I got to watch it soon.  Please let me watch it soon. 

Bolang

We call our college barkadahan, “Bolang.”  As to why and how come, I don’t remember anymore.  We were dominated by macho, blood dripping on paper, often inebriated male friends who decided on everyone’s behalf our group name and handshake.  We were often found by the Batibot tree near the “Three Os” in UP Baguio.  We maximized college life and one of the things we learned is that “pare, nakamamatay ang kombinasyon ng alak at mj lalo na kung may asthma ka.”  We had loads of fun, we had dreams, and we were excellent in our classes.

We were solid in our first year and we spent so much time watching for the nth time “Reality Bites.”  Second year brought transfers to Diliman and US petitions.  Third and fourth years were serious times both in regard to studies, thesis, student organizations, and the struggle for a national democratic society.  We were freshmen in 1994 and most of us graduated in 1998 albeit there were some exceptions.  When they finally marched (some finally graduated in 2005), we cried, “sa wakas!”

Fast forward to 2009 and we are all in our early 30s.  Some got married and with beautiful children, one is undergoing annulment, many are earning a decent salary, some are already owners of houses, condo units and cars, some are abroad, one is a UP teacher, and one is in social development work.  We had a reunion last week and as always, the one who is undergoing an annulment proceeding / the crush ng bayan / the raison d’etre of D’s undergrad theater thesis in 1999 was the center of much teasing. 

J:  Kung nakinig ka kasi sa akin noon, di sana kayo nagkatuluyan.  Wala sana tayong ana-annulment ngayon

A:  Eh di wala sanang magagandang Sophie at Bianca

M:  Bakit ka nga magpapa annul?

A:  Para may closure

R:   Siguro naman ayaw mo na magpakasal ulit ano 

A:  Ayaw ko na

D:  So, bakit ka nga magpapa annul?

A:  Para may closure

J:  Kung si D na lang nakatuluyan mo, masaya ka sana ngayon

Everyone except A:  Oo nga!

A:  Eh di wala sanang magagandang Sophie at Bianca

From the foregoing questions and answers, it seem as if we did not move on, as if the last 11 years did not make us sober, adults, and (ehem ehem) mature. 

To more dinners, happy conversations, and “reality bites.”

 

Of eject buttons, options, and charter change

I went to St. Louis, Missouri via LA.  I realized even while I was at NAIA that I would be traveling with immigrants, balikbayans who left home some years ago, probably some lifetimes ago, to try making a future in the US.  I noticed that they were different: their accent sounds like my cousins who have become nurses and teachers in the US; they were frustrated with Manila traffic and with the long and unnecessary queues at the airport.  I am more relaxed than they were for I’m used to heavy traffic and discomforts.  They were friendly and would go out of their way to say “hi” and “thank you” to flight attendants whereas this Manila girl is reserved, would not talk if not talked to, and definitely would not pause to chat. 

  

The lady beside me in the plane went to the States 25 years ago.  Before she landed a job in public office, she was doing odd ones including washing huge pots and pans in a local restaurant.  She said that compared to what she was earning in Manila, life in the US was kinder: she lives comfortably and still has enough money to send back home.  This enabled her parents to buy a house in Cavite.  Both of her parents already passed away and for most of their twilight years she was not with them.  But at least she was able to provide for their many needs.  She was not complaining.  It was not a choice for her then. 

 

Besides, she met the love of her life, now her husband, in San Diego.  She smiled as she said this.  Clearly, the US gave her not just financial ability; it also brought forth a memorable past and a happy present.      

 

She asked me whether I’m considering the same route.  I said I understand her, but no, I won’t push the eject button.

 

I added that I suppose she and I we’re blessed as most Filipinos have no eject buttons.  In fact, there is no rice on the table, and truth be told, there is no table since having a roof is in itself luxurious.  These fellow Filipinos simply have less (or no) options.  When she asked me what I do for a living, I said I work in a non-government, non-profit organization that does advocacy on agrarian reform.  Land transfer and productivity, I offered, give farmers choices in life.  If after a decade the grandchildren of a farmer beneficiary no longer wish to farm and want to become a call center agent in Manila or an immigrant in the US, then at least their family has a choice.  She said that being raised a Cavitena, it saddens her that her hometown, once a food granary, is now a haven of urban sprawl.  She looked at me, tapped my hand, and said I should continue with what I’m doing for it seems like I’m making something good.           

 

As I write this, I am certain that Nograles and Villafuerte, our “representatives” in Congress, are cracking their brains on their versions of charter change.  Nograles’s HR 737 proposes to amend the charter so that foreigners could buy lands in the Philippines while Villafuerte’s focused on the mode of changing the Constitution.  Both measures would be tackled tomorrow, 27 April, while the proposed CARP Extension with Reforms (HB 4077) remains at the backburner, a part of the House’s “unfinished business.”    

 

There is something that is fundamentally wrong in this country and one of our many problems is our government officials.  That they consider selling lands to foreigners while thousands of farmers still don’t have lands to till and urban dwellers like me can’t afford the initial payment for a house and lot speaks of how revolting they have become.  That they are using charter change to extend the term of the President by making her the Prime Minister from Pampanga speaks of how low they have sunk.

 

If these officials succeed, and if we see more of the same after May 2010, many would push their eject buttons.  A majority would simply have lesser options.  

When the world comes down

“Kailan ka bibisita dito? Alam kong medyo busy sa mga campaigns, but I really hope na makakuha ka ng leave from K, perhaps within the first few months of 2009. Winter pa dito nun, so malamig. Ito ang na-decide ko na 30th birthday gift ko sa yo (which I missed).” John Cussack wrote this in one of his few and far between emails. For a moment, I wanted to tell him that 1) I have grown mature in terms of “expectations” and there is no need to explain the long periods of utter lack of communication and 2) I don’t, as always, make a huge deal out of birthdays. But I figured, giving him a pedagogical insight on my new state of being sounds contrary to claims toward maturity. It might even be construed as hypocritically defensive. So no.

Besides, to go out of the country while in the middle of a protracted campaign, to see a new world with him, sounds madly, deeply appealing.

So I slowly went through the motion of going to the US. First, I consulted the Ozanam awardee counsel of the landless farmers about the best time to scoot given the never ending quest for a just, peaceful, and humane society. After a 5-minute guilt trip, Kaka said it’s good to leave after the apex of this campaign is through and before its recalibration. Uh-huh. Second, I walked through the application for a US visa and was rewarded with a 10-year multiple entry visa to the Obama country (surprise, surprise, development workers, the embassy does not underestimate our capacity to travel).

And so I went to St. Louis, Missouri via a 12-hour layover at Los Angeles. I gained a day, heavy eye bags, and a finished book out of the looong trip. But it was worth it for as soon as I landed at the St. Louis Lambert airport everything was different from home: the weather was a single digit degree celsius and hovered only up to 14dc whereas it was feverish when I left Manila, the people’s skin color was mostly black or white, the buildings were architecturally designed it’s as if I was thrown back to the New England days, and of course, John Cussack was there in his proverbial laid-back grin.

Our first business was to go to Chicago because as it turned out, it was just 5 hours away by bus from St. Louis. And was I captivated the moment we stepped out in the windy city. True, it was cold and there were times when all I was capable of doing was think how cold it was. But I overcame this thought by asking the all-time SocDem favorite “process check” (What am I here for? What is the objective of this travel? Should coldness be the ultimate reality over other realities? Is the journey itself home?).

Chicago is both past and future. It is home to numerous museums including the Chicago Art Museum and the Field Museum which houses Sue the dinosaur and Wydah the pirate ship. I am no art connoisseur and there were times when I wished it was my friend Fay, who teaches Art classes at UP, that I was traveling with rather than the what-can-I-feel-about-this-painting-slightly-better-than-me-in-art appreciation-class John Cussack. I am also aware that museums and the arts are not the province of the poor and marginalized.

HOWEVER, as we gazed at the works of the French Impressionists at the Chicago Art Museum, I was rushed off my feet: I was staring at greatness, I was in the presence of something grand. The paintings depict a time that is way before us but they might as well be painted today. This does not mean that there were no forward movements, that we did not advance as a people or a civilization. If at all, the fact that we are still mesmerized is a testament to the brilliance of the artists.

Besides the museums, the cityscape of Chicago is a sight to behold watching as we were from the 97th floor of the Sears Tower. The buildings and the houses were architecturally designed it seemed as though we were looking from book pages rather than at the actual images. The structures were themselves the works of art it was impossible to define the form from the structure, the container from the content, the dreamlike from the present. And yet, for their splendor, they also look simple and homey, places where one could live and work without feeling the environment as too impersonal.

At the same time, Chicago also houses the future. It is consumerist, fashionable, business-oriented, fast-paced, home to many Democrats including the present president, and has dedicated an open space for a fascinating warped mirror.

After two days in Chicago, we were back to St. Louis, my host town. Compared to Chicago, St. Louis is laid back that its charm lies in its non-abrasive feel. On the first day that we roamed around, I easily understood why John Cussack could live in this town: we walked the streets without bumping into the shoulders of other people, we strolled without worrying that we might be mugged or be ran over by a speedy car, and we held hands and chew bubblegums on the street sans the incensed stare of senior citizens who think that gray hair and tradition are their license to show intolerance towards fellow commuters in life. I felt the latter in Tokyo when I was walking its streets in my early 20s, by my lonesome, and chewing a gum. Imagine if John Cussack was with me then. I would have organized protest rallies – Tokyo style.

In St. Louis, I met John Cussack’s two sets of friends who, I’m certain, made life a little easier, if not graduate school more tolerable, for him. The Filipino community was a spirited group of friends that included a little girl, a nanay, and a tatay. If not for the cool weather, the gathering at Jo’s and Mike’s house was like a typical tambay in a classmate’s house in undergraduate school: the language was Filipino, the walls of the dining room display a last supper and a set of wooden spoon and fork, the parents command the discussion (bumabangka), and the event ended with the host giving pabaon (ala “loot bag” if we would include genuine affection in the seemingly unaffected American term) to her guests. Indeed, after two hours of chatting happily over cake and coffee, I went home with a new jacket from Macy’s that Nanay insisted looks good on me. I wanted to warn her of utang ng loob but I feared this might induce more ransacks from her closet. I know better.

John Cussack’s other set of friends is a hodgepodge of nationalities that are going through the difficult, often challenging, sometimes fun oversees life called grad school. They came across as sincere and they seemed really interested in their new but brief companion. In Hawaii, when I was studying there, I couldn’t remember attending invitations, and much less, organizing events, to make visitors feel welcome. Maybe I was less mature then (see first paragraph) or maybe John Cussack’s friends were made of better stuff. Regardless of the reason, the times spent with these fellows were non-agitated and downright cool.

Somehow, the best part of my trip was coincidental. John Cussack was given two tickets to the All American Reject concert that would occur on my last night in St. Louis. At first, we were undecided about going; we were aware of only one AAR song and we couldn’t even remember it. But probing John Cussack and realizing that his friend, Mike, made an effort for us to be at the concert, I decided on our behalf that we will go.

And we were happy that we did. AAR is a performing band. While there are many artists who write songs, sing them, and make people happy with their albums, only a chosen few could be called performers. One of Sting’s concerts in Manila – don’t get me wrong, I love Sting, if ever I’d walk the aisle I’d have “Fields of Gold” played by a stringed quartet – sounded sooo good and appeared sooo boring the CD thankfully did not include a live performance.

But AAR is a joy to watch. At certain points, the vocalist reminded me of Freddie Mercury in his live aid concert when he sang “all we hear is radio googoo – 2 claps – radio gaga.” And we were happy to be at the concert because as it turned out, we were seated in the reserved seats beside Mike and his wife.

One of AAR’s songs really sent us tumbling down. Follow the link of “Monalisa” (When the World Comes Down) to see the point.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Za9Y2HFhV74

In his email after I returned home, John Cussack said that this is his current song for me. I agreed, particularly on the line that says “you’ll be the queen and I’ll be your clown, you can sit beside me when the world comes down.” Whatever… with a shadow.

More on this travel to the Windy City and the Arch in my next entries lest this one becomes winding and never ending. But allow me to say this for the world to read: it was the best birthday gift I had, dear. Whoever said that gaining age is a scary thing is totally wrong. From the bottom of my heart, thankeee very much. With you, travels in and through life seem more fun. Salamat, salamat talaga.

God shed His grace on thee

Barack Hussein Obama is my epitome of hope. He represents possibilities. What we thought unimaginable, unthinkable, and best left as childhood dreams, Obama changed into something that is grasped by the hand. His swearing in is not the banner picture, he himself is the story.

That he became possible made me tip my hat again to America: for that glorious moment at Capitol Hill, it is surely the land of the free and the home of the brave. God has shed His grace on thee and crowned thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.

He is an orator in a world where real politik ends all debates by holding closed door caucuses. His words inspire, put fire in bellies at a time when leaders are managers who think in short term goals, when sticks are preferred over carrots, and when people’s horizons end in office parking lots. He is African American in a world social order that says white is beautiful and wealth whitens. He tells the world that justice is possible and that to take on a tall order is a privilege and not a grim responsibility.

Hail to the Chief!

Ezra Blue

I know it’s six am when little sounds could be heard in our room and small hands and feet tumble all over my sleeping body. He cajoles me, “Beh, beh! Buy!” Grudgingly, I would be lured into our early morning ritual when we would go to the nearby bakery to buy pandesal for breakfast.

Afterwards, when I’m making coffee, he would wait patiently for me to put instant coffee, and then creamer, and then sugar in my cup. By the time I’m putting the sugar, he would make sure I remember to give him a tiny amount of the sweet brown thing. It’s our little secret and we conspire to keep our act discreet as his parents are a meter away.

On a Saturday, we would go to SM just to get away from the house (and the chores therein). On lazy afternoons, we would endlessly play, eat, and watch movies. He would make us watch segments of Jurassic Park and El Dorado until we already know the tiny details of action-packed portions. This means that while we have overly watched certain sections, we have not watched the entire movies.

Ezra loves Elmo’s world, Spiderman, Superman, and Pocoyo. He has tasted legos, stones, coins and found them lacking compared to his favorites: french fries, rice, and eggs. He plays with cloth hangers and he hides under beds and inside closets. He is my youngest companion and of late, my best pal.

Today is his second happy birthday; and he celebrates it with Tita Cynch (whoaaaa, happy 40, dear TaCynch).

Tita Beh loves Ezie!

Am, Maya, Fran, Ava, Rona, and Meng

By sheer accident, some people enter your life just by sitting beside you or near you in the first subject of the first semester of your one and only college life. However, if we go by Paulo Coelho’s or Kaka Bag-ao’s belief in the circle of life, nothing occurs by accident.

 

Meng, Am, Fran, Maya, and myself were blockmates in UP Baguio in 1994. Our first class was Math 11 on a chilly early morning June. Meng, Am, and Maya sat together, I was a row behind them, while Fran was seated behind me. Mathematically speaking, we were all in the same quadrant.

 

Am, Fran, and Maya transferred to Diliman a year after while Meng and I stayed and became bestfriends from that day henceforth. Rona, who studied in Diliman, strolled quietly into our barkada life during a summer and a sem. We had a common crush, became classmates in Humanities 1, and swapped thoughts on Mingke in “The Earth of Mankind.”

 

Compared to Rona, Ava entered our lives carrying a cat and insisting that her plans and paraphernalia for sweetness could be used to make the boys (and girls) love us all the more. We became housemates with Ava after graduation and during the time when we were trying to be perfect employees and ambitious enrollees of masteral studies. In a lower middleclass apartment in Kamuning, we all shared a house and its expenses, cooked meals and dreams, borrowed clothes, and were out to prove that we have brains and we deserve every peso we earn.

 

Years after, we left Kamuning one by one. Now, we are all relatively doing well judging by the usual standards. This time, we don’t try to please anyone anymore; something in us changed and we now mean serious business. We have gone through various hairstyles and we have experienced defeat and loss. Still, we emerged as overcomers. And through it all, we remained friends, warts and all.

 

Yesterday, I saw Maya and Am (Sophie, Am’s elder daughter, tagged along). We miss the others – especially the ones abroad – so we feasted on sharing stories about the missing ones (pag wala ka, topic ka). Maya, Am, thank you for your gifts. With your presents and those I received from my sisters, bacteria and fungi would not have a chance to stick to my clean body and so I would not, not even for a minute, be stinky this year.

 

Speaking of friends and gifts, I am in the mood for remembering gifts given by my closest friends. Those gifts were special because of the sweet memories that came with the wrappers and the ribbons (inamet!!!).

 

Maya, do you know that we are still using the coffee maker you gave me several Christmas ago? For some reason, however, I am missing the CDs you gave me (original, pirated, and burned). I think Rona borrowed some and claimed them as her own. Would you mind re-burning our version of the Best of Indigo Girls? If you don’t remember, it included 10,000 wars, ghost, collecting you, closer to fine, and least complicated. Thank you.

 

Am, you have always been a generous friend and you don’t mind sharing your resources including your mathematical brains. You give freely and expect nothing in return (kasi pag nireregaluhan ka, madalas chinachaka mo). You have given me clothes, bags, shoes, slippers, perfumes, towels, and books you couldn’t tolerate reading (pang self help ka kasi). I think you intend to outgive yourself on my 31^st birthday. Ikaw pa, ang bait bait mo, saka kahit nakukulitan na silang lahat sa yo, ako hinding hindi ko naiisip na may sayad ka. I don’t mind receiving a car. Thank you.

 

Ava, you have given me bags and clothes. You have also given me artsy stuff like the butterfly card I gave to erstwhile BF when he felt deep down loss. You also gave me ideas to be used to this and that guy but somehow they din’t work. As always, your conclusion: hindi ka kasi sweet! (As if!)
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Fran, you gave me two books which I so love: Curtis’s The Great Political Theories (Vol 1 & 2) and Said’s Orientalism. We also shared a common dream of building a library where our books would be mouthwatering to professors, librarians, writers, hobos, readers, and dreamers. In our libraries, we would know the books by heart and by US Catalog of Congress. You know that you could bequeath some of your books to me in case your condo could no longer accommodate precious space. Remember Anastacia? The wicked stepsister of Cinderella? She’s madamot that’s why she’s kontrabida. You would want to be bida in my library di ba?

 

Rona, you have given me a pair of slippers several years ago. It’s black with red straps. In exchange for that, you have acquired some of the CDs Maya gave me. You have also given me a lot of pasalubong (food, blings) from your travels. BTW, you remember Jethro, the fish we gave you on your birthday? Yung dahilan bakit nagku culture si Ava ng socks nya? Eh yung mga Ben mo na nakabasag diumano ng glass table ni Ellen? (All together now to the tune of twilight zone: nuninuninuninuuu).

 

Menggy, you have given me a lot: from candies to clothes to bags to blings and all that jazz. Your first ever gift to me was a silver bracelet during the Christmas of 1994. Your latest, which I received nearly Christmas of 2008, were the cute bag, the sleezy skirt, the Hornby book, and tons of sweets. In between, I was your psych experiment and your seatmate in History, Spec Thot, Philo 1, Soc Sci 101, and that crazy class called Soc Sci 180 where we reported on Paul Ricouer. Did Foucault think he could really punish people with the Panopticon?

 

“What is the being of being?” “If I label where I placed my laptop as ‘table,’ does it cease being a table?” These were the questions we asked then. Our quandaries were “should I tell my parents we went outing in La Union?” “Must I enter into a relationship against my parents’ command?” “What is the meaning of all these?” Later they became “should I marry him?” “Could my salary afford buying a car or a condo unit?” “What is the heart of the matter?”

 

We grew up but the gifts we give remain: something cute, something nice, something chewy, something essential, something that we know the other would appreciate and love.

 

Love y’all. You are all dear to me. You are God’s gifts and I happily thank Him every time you enter my mind. Till the next gift giving spree. Happy New Year!