Slip of the Pen

With a few hours left before we usher in the New Year, let me share with you some of my thoughts regarding the recent Christmas season (it ain’t over here in the Philippines, where the Yuletide fever begins on November 3 and fizzles out on February 13).

I’ve decided to write this personal essay in my native tongue, Tagalog, because the topic is about a uniquely-Filipino Christmas tradition (finally, my first Tagalog post). If you can’t understand Tagalog but suddenly has a pressing need to know what’s the essay all about, then drop me a comment and I’ll translate it in my free time (yeah, I wish).

Happy New Year, people!


Ang Kulang sa Pasko Ko
P.Y. Kimpo

Hindi ko ramdam ang kumpletong diwa ng Pasko.

Ilang tao na kaya ang nagsabi ng ganito? Libo-libo? Milyon-milyon? Marahil narinig mo na ito mula sa ‘yong mga kaibigan. Mga kaanak na baon sa problema. Mga tambay sa kanto na pulos toma ang inaatupag. Mga manunulat na madrama (gaya ko). At kung alam ko lang, baka ganito din ang nararamdaman mo. Siguro’y sawa ka na sa mga taong nagrereklamo kung bakit hindi sila madapuan ng sayang hatid ng Disyembre. Siguro’y iniisip mo ngayon kung bakit nakukuha ko pang magsulat tungkol sa isang paksang gamit, laos, cliché.

(more…)

Skimming through my readings in Natural Science II, I stumbled upon a little gem written by Richard P. Feynman, in his The Value of Science:

“Deep in the sea, all molecules repeat the patterns of one another till complex new ones are formed. They make others like themselves…and a new dance starts.
“Growing in size and complexity…living things, masses of atoms, DNA, protein…dancing a pattern ever more intricate.
“Out of the cradle onto dry land…here it is standing…atoms with consciousness…matter with curiousity.
“Stands at the sea…wonders at wondering…I…a universe of atoms…an atom in the universe.”

Nice. Maybe a little overboard on the ellipses, but who cares. I get the message.

Filipinos all over the globe should feel especially proud of this red-letter day.

On this date, Dr. Jose Rizal, the Great Malayan, proponent of non-violence even before the revered Mahatma Gandhi’s time, died for a nation.

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Jose Rizal’s Death Sentence (taken from Philippine Headline News Online)

“In accordance with a previous resolution, I approve the sentence dictated by the regular War Council in the present matter, by virtue of which the death sentence was imposed on the felon Jose Rizal Mercado, which shall be carried out by firing squad at seven in the morning of the 30th instance on the field of Bagumbayan and with the formalities prescribed by law. For carrying out the sentence and its corresponding details, refer to the instructing Judge, Captain Don Rafael Dominguez.”

SGD. Camilo G de Polavieja, Governor General of the Philippines

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Several nights ago, I chanced upon on TV a Belgian national who has been admirably spreading Dr. Rizal’s legacy outside of the Philippines for so many years now. Thoroughly knowledgeable in the National Hero’s life and works, he recently received an award from no less than President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, right there in Malacañang Palace. Through the graces of my unreliable mind, I forgot the good European’s name. But rest assured, that man has my prayers and good wishes. May he succeed in making more non-Filipinos aware of how great Jose Rizal is.

Mabuhay si Dr. Rizal!

For vanity’s sake, here’s a short vignette about this blogger. It’s a bit angsty, a bit silly, and a whole lot messy and disorganized. I’d be the first one to label it as non-sense rambling rather than as a true person’s snapshot. But hey, my whole existence has been based on chaos, and so it reflects on the writing. Here goes:

I’m slim as a whole, yet my tummy bulges. I can’t sing a tune, I can’t dance a jig. I’m an aspiring yet unfortunately humdrum writer, a poet who dreams he is one. I love basketball, yet when I play my lungs give out every thirty minutes. I still can’t drive our second-hand Mitsubishi Lancer. I dream of winning a Palanca, but in all probability they’ll just burn my submission because of its revolting mediocrity. I do weights, but no more than twenty pounds per arm. I puff my Ventolin inhaler at least once a day. I desperately want to be published, but they don’t accept shit like this. My Chicago Bulls are cellar-dwellers, and Jordan’s gone for eternity. Every morning when I wake up, I suffer from a mild bout of asthma. I have an eye (and more) for beautiful women, but have never made love to any of them. My finicky computer tortures me as I type this vignette. Two years since graduating, I still haven’t received my high school diploma. I courted a girl for three years, but she busted me on Araw ng Kagitingan*. Last night the Purefoods TJ Hotdogs lost by thirty to Ginebra. I worked my ass off to be a Dean’s Lister this semester, while my effortless UP varsity friend is a consistent President’s Lister. Every time I call my girl best-friend, we end up fighting for an hour or two. My siblings are four dogs, and the Dalmatian growls every time I pat his head. My only literary piece about my beloved Fire Tree got massacred in a writing workshop. I have no mother, she said she loves me but I think abandoning your son is not and will never be motherly love. Tomorrow, the Philippine’s National Election Day, I’ll be celebrating my birthday.


*in English, Day of Heroism
[Originally written on May 9, 2004]

Well, look who’s blogging.

Let’s see what comes out of this weblog. Angst? Tragedy? Comedy? Pain? Ecstasy? Stupidity? Unlikely displays of writing prowess? High-falutin speeches? Silly mumblings and ramblings?

I don’t know for sure.

But in the end, I think I can wager on a guess on what comes out of this blog.

It’s simply…me.