Because writing is breathing, and blogging is taking deep breaths

KAYSA KUWARESMA

Nitong kakasimula lang ng lockdown quarantine, tinanong ako ng nanay ko kung para na bang Holy Week daw ang kapaligiran kung saan ako nakatira. Sabi ko oo, tahimik, walang lumalabas, walang dumaraang sasakyan. Nakikita ko kasi ito mula sa bintana ng tirahan ko, na nakatambad sa akin ang kahabaan ng isang kalye na siyang dumurugtong sa isa pang kalyeng pahilera, na mula sa kanan at kaliwa ang daan ng mga sasakyan. Noong Marso pa ito, noong kakasimula pa lamang ng tinaguriang “new normal” ng buhay natin ngayon. 

Pero ngayong Hunyo na, iba na ang kalakaran. Tanaw ko na naman ang mga traysikel na nagsibalik na sa kanilang kalakal sa buhay — at mabuti naman. Isa sa naiisip ko sa buong panahong ito ng katahimikan ay ang maingay na pagkalam ng sikmura’t pagsigaw ng damdamin ng mga taong di masyadong nakakaangat sa buhay, itong mga maliliit na manggagawang natutuwa akong kaharap sa araw-araw na buhay ko noon — mga nagtitinda ng pagkain nang walang resibo, mga naglalako sa kalye ng kung anu-ano, mga sasakyang kahit saan mo parahin at dadalhin ka kung saan mo nais, mga hindi regular ang kita. 

Sinusuportahan ko ang ganitong mga tao dahil naiintindihan ko ang ganoong kalagayan — na walang kasiguruhan ang dating ng pera sa buhay mo, na hindi ka suwelduhang trabahador kaya kailangan mong magsipag, no-work-no-pay kadalasan — dahil katulad nila ako. Iyon nga lang, mas nakakaangat ako nang larangan kaya ibang lebel ang pagiging no-work-no-pay ko kaysa sa kanila. Ako 'yung tipo na kahit Kuwaresma o anumang holiday, kaya kong itawid ang mga araw nang hindi nagtatrabaho dahil maganda-ganda din naman ang natatanggap kong kabayaran sa mga kliyente ko. Pero sila kasi, hindi. Kapag di sila nagtrabaho, tiyak na mas malala pa sa Kuwaresma ang buhay nila — laging kalbaryo, walang katapusan, hanggang sa pakiramdam nila'y nakapako na sila sa krus. Kaya kahit papaano, sa anumang makakaya ko, sinusubukan kong suportahan ang ganitong mga nagtatrabaho — kasi masipag silang humahanap ng paraan para kumita nang marangal. Marangal.

Kaninang lumabas ako ng bahay, muli ko na naman silang nakita, at mas marami nang nagbukas na tindahan sa tabi-tabi, mga sarado dati na tila buong tag-init ay Kuwaresma ang dating. Mas marami nang sasakyan, mas marami na ring tao, at mas marami nang kumikilos. Sabay ng kilos na ito ang nagsibalikang ingay ng kapaligiran, mga tunog ng businang di mapakali, hiyaw ng taong may tinatawag sa kung saan, sita ng pulis at megaphone ng militar sa mga bagong patakaran ng pagkilos, alok at imbita ng tinderang nais kumita nang kaunti mula sa iyong pagdaan sa harapan nila. Nandiyan na silang muli, kahit papaano, kahit hindi pa ganap, pero may mangilan-ngilan na ring nanumbalik.

Muling nabuhay ang kapaligiran. Tila nagbalik na rin ang sigla sa mga mata ng taong nakakasalubong ko, dahil lamang sa simpleng nakakalabas na sila at nakakakilos nang nais nilang kilos -- at muling nakakapagtrabaho nang marangal. Tiyak kong may mga ngiti sa labi ng ilan sa kanila, pero di ko lang masilayan dahil sa nakatakip na kaming lahat — tayo — ng maskarang kailangang idagdag sa napakarami nang maskarang suot na natin, dati pa, sa pang-araw-araw nating buhay, dito sa Pilipinas. 

Sa susunod na tatawag ang nanay ko sa akin, masasabi ko nang nanumbalik na ang buhay dito sa bahagi ko ng siyudad namin. Pero alam kong alam na rin niya iyon, dahil sa siya ang unang sumubok ng kapaligiran nang medyo lumuwag na. Ang matagal na niyang binabalak na balak na magpunta ng bangko ay naganap na rin. Nanumbalik din ang independensiya niyang lumarga mag-isa, dahil lang sa may mga traysikel nang kayang-kaya niyang sakyan mag-isa. Siya na lumaking hindi sinanay ang sarili sa kalakaran ng taksi o anumang mas nakakarangyang sakayan, siya na mas kampante sa pagsakay sa jeep o fx na alam niyang hindi lalayo sa rutang pamilyar sa kanya, siya na kayang-kayang diktahan ang takbo ng traysikel, muli siyang nakakalarga na nang malaya. At natutuwa ako sa balitang ito. 

Kahit isang magandang balita lang sa araw ko ay malayo na ang nararating. Malaki. Sa panahong napakahirap kumapit sa mga madalas mong kapitan, mainam makakita ng mga panibagong makakapitan, maitawid lang ang araw. Para naman mas masaya ang pakiramdam tuwing magbubukang-liwayway, na ang sasalubong sa damdamin mo ay pakiramdam na parang bagong taon na manigo, kaysa sa parang Kuwaresma. 

Because Sundays are for remembering

SEAHORSE

I have always wanted a seahorse. When I was a child, that is.

I grew up in my Lola's house on Antonio Luna street in Project 4, a suburb of Quezon City, but not the posh gated kind. We had easy access to the supermarket because of our prime location. You just go outside, walk around 100 steps or so, maybe 200 or 300 for my smaller seven, eight, or nine-year-old feet. When you reach the intersection of A. Luna and F. Castillo street, you turn left. Cristy's bakery is the unmistakable landmark to your left, as this corner is always full of people buying pandesal for 10 centavos each every morning. To my right is the three-storey building of the Velasquez family, and they have a convenience store on the ground floor where I buy my 25-centavo red gulaman drink fix. 

Where I lived, you won't get lost if you pay attention to these unmoving details. I never got lost. 

F. Castillo is a small two-way thoroughfare that meets up to the wider Aurora Boulevard up ahead. And on their left corner intersection, there stood Queen's Supermarket. It's the only supermarket around the area so people flock to it often. My Lola and I once saw the actress Boots Anson-Roa shop there, and my dear granny was fangirling a lot. Of course, Ms. Roa was very kind and accommodating, and smiled and chatted diplomatically with my Lola. Who would have thought that, by the time I turned 23 years old, Ms. Boots would become one of my future bosses, the one who would always remember our good times at the Premiere Productions office of the '90s even after years since it has closed down. I so love her dearly for not forgetting me, as I certainly won't forget her, too.

But as a child, grocery shopping was not the highlight of my supermarket trips. It's the chance to visit the small pet shop nook on one side of the facility. They had aquarium tanks of varying shapes, but mostly large ones that house many, many, many types of fishes. My Lola always bought those bright orange fat goldfish types from time to time, to put in her own aquarium. There were so many types of these small fishes, guppies, whatever they're called, I can't recall now. But it's not the fishes I wanted. It's the seahorse.

There were a few seahorses there in the tank, swimming on their own paths to avoid bumping into the fishes. They had this kind of stance, like they're standing majestically, but not really, since how can you stand when you're on water and you have no feet? But they appeared that way. They looked more like characters in an anthropomorphic way, unlike the fishes which you could always tell that they're, well, animals. But the seahorse is different. It looked like it was ready to converse with you, to come to life and talk like an animated being, like what I watch on TV in those cartoon shows every Saturday morning. 

To me, the seahorse looked like it had something important to say. When you're staring at it inside the aquarium, it looks like it's staring back. It's as if we're both waiting for who will speak up first. We stand there, we stare, and we wait. I've always wondered what it would say, what it would ask me, if it started speaking. I know I have my own ready questions, but I felt that you can't ask a seahorse the mundane questions you'd ask a goldfish, like how do you breathe, or how do you maintain your balance underwater, and stuff like that. I felt that you could converse deeply with a seahorse since I believed it could tell you insights into what life is like on water or something like that. I would have loved to have one at home, to stare at it endlessly while it swims and stares back, to feed it, and to watch it eat. It's a simple thought and a simple wish for times that were much simpler, too. A bit profound perhaps, but still simple in its profundity. 

I can't remember if I was able to persuade my Lola to buy me a seahorse. I don't think she wanted a non-fish entity in her big aquarium at home. Or did we actually try, only for it to perish earlier than the fishes? Details elude me now. But what stuck is the memory of wanting a seahorse, of staring at a seahorse, of seeing a seahorse stare back. What a strange childhood fascination. But Sundays are for remembering, and I remember this strange fascination today. That seahorse. //