tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54690047427145354402024-03-07T05:49:52.804-08:00a boat came passing bybambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-76956218004700103732016-02-08T18:42:00.001-08:002016-02-08T18:42:14.808-08:00<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRioa6gjTp4" target="_blank">PIGADAGIT/TAKEN- a Bambi Beltran film</a>bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-33310581502372858042015-08-03T21:02:00.001-07:002015-08-03T21:02:39.274-07:00Cinema Rehiyon 7 Film Festival Cebu, August 6-9, For more info, visit www.cinemarehiyon.com<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xt51V3grcos" width="480"></iframe>bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-70698774533237219512011-10-28T09:23:00.000-07:002011-10-28T09:23:47.523-07:00The Zombies are Coming this Halloween Day!<a href="http://www.squidoo.com/the-zombies-are-coming-to-cebu-this-halloween">The Zombies are Coming this Halloween Day!</a>bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-36811680320591562102010-10-15T09:35:00.000-07:002010-10-15T09:40:26.035-07:00ANG DAMGO NI ELEUTERIA KIRSCHBAUM (The Dream of Eleuteria Kirschbaum)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAWjkIoUW092KutKgor-0_NoNgQYioLggYlt4yXNFo4YQMGnU2aundhZ3infWXYYS_rtKmvPyF16C_CivwuVr3EtlR3CAAkNgtzio7i_xjif1sMGKxpHT1aRo05T8DE6mcnmomLUaiIMS/s1600/1001+hearts+010.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAWjkIoUW092KutKgor-0_NoNgQYioLggYlt4yXNFo4YQMGnU2aundhZ3infWXYYS_rtKmvPyF16C_CivwuVr3EtlR3CAAkNgtzio7i_xjif1sMGKxpHT1aRo05T8DE6mcnmomLUaiIMS/s400/1001+hearts+010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528312948644403970" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />EXCERPT<br /><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:donotshowrevisions/> <w:donotprintrevisions/> <w:donotshowmarkup/> <w:donotshowcomments/> <w:donotshowinsertionsanddeletions/> <w:donotshowpropertychanges/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> <w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> <w:word11kerningpairs/> <w:cachedcolbalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathpr> <m:mathfont val="Cambria Math"> <m:brkbin val="before"> <m:brkbinsub val="--"> <m:smallfrac val="off"> <m:dispdef/> <m:lmargin val="0"> <m:rmargin val="0"> <m:defjc val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent val="1440"> <m:intlim val="subSup"> <m:narylim val="undOvr"> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" defunhidewhenused="true" defsemihidden="true" defqformat="false" defpriority="99" latentstylecount="267"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="0" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Normal"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="heading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="35" qformat="true" name="caption"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="10" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" name="Default Paragraph Font"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="11" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtitle"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="22" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Strong"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="20" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="59" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Table Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Placeholder Text"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="No Spacing"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Revision"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="34" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="List Paragraph"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="29" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="30" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="19" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.3in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >FADE IN:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.3in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >INT.BEDROOM (GERMANY).<span style=""> </span>NIGHT</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The room is dark and gloomy. There is only a flicker of light from the television set. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The bed is empty and undisturbed. We slowly scan through the room with its European fixtures. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >We hear the talk show host speaking in German. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >We see Eleuteria or Terya (19 years old), she is sitting in front of the mirror. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >We hear her voice clearly while the sound from the television set becomes softer.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" >TERYA</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.4in; text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" >(TERYA’s voice, she talks tentatively and slowly)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>V.O</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt;"><span style=";font-family:";" >One year has already passed </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >but it seems like only </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >yesterday. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>CLOSE ON TERYA</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >(she talks to the camera)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt;"><span style=";font-family:";" >My name is Eleuteria Duhaylungsod. I am still not used to it but my </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >last name now is Kirschbaum. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >My story started in Olango </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Island, Mactan, Cebu.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.3in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >CUT TO</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.3in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >INT. VIDEOKE STORE. NIGHT</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Terya, 18 years old, is singing “The Impossible Dream” inside Cacay’s Videoke place. It is a makeshift nipa hut with a couple of tables spread around. She is out of tune. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The videoke is turned to full volume. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >There are some people inside. Everybody seems to be having a good time. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" >TERYA</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" >Singing</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >To dream the impossible </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >dream. To fight the </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >unbeatable foe. To bear the </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt;"><span style=";font-family:";" >unbeatable sorrow.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >This is my quest to follow </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >the star no matter how </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >hopeless, no matter how far…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" >CACAY</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >A shrewd store owner, around 45 years old, clapping her hands</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:";" >Dream on, Terya</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Terya continues singing, ignoring Cacay. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Everybody clap their hands when she finishes singing. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Outside, people are sitting around on the bamboo benches. They share a glass of rice wine that is passed from one person to the next in the Cebuano tradition of “tagay”. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Terya's father gives out the drinks. He is humming his favorite Cebuano love song “Matud Nila”. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The men are getting drunk. They are getting unruly. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >We can see motorbikes outside the store and porters dividing the day’s income. The mood is festive.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.3in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >BEGIN TITLES</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.3in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >EXT. PUMPBOAT.DAY</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >WE see Terya, and Ricky, also 18 years old,(he is Terya’s effeminate friend and classmate) sitting on the pump boat (small Philippine inter-island outrigger boats) that is full of people and cargoes. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Notwithstanding, the two are talking animatedly to each other. The conversation is inaudible. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The boat nears Olango Island and the camera takes in the beautiful scenery of the island as the boat approaches and docks. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The boatman throws a rope to a waiting man in the pier and throws the anchor into the sea. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The makeshift wooden bridge is laid down so that the passengers can disembark. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Porters compete with each other to come to the boat for the cargoes while the passengers scramble to form a line, ready to disembark.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Nesto, 23 years old, a tricycle driver parks in the pier in front of the pump boat</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.3in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >PIER IN OLANGO ISLAND. EXT. DAY</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >We capture the hustle and bustle of the pier. Passengers take the tricycles and ‘Habal-habals’ (motorcycles) parked nearby and drivers offer a ride. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The dispatchers are shouting directions to the tricycle drivers and the passengers.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.3in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >CUT TO</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Terya and Ricky standing in front of Nesto’s tricycle.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>NESTO</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Ride with me, the two of you. I will not ask for a fee.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Painting ' A Thousand and One Hearts" is also by the author<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 1.5in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-58974770441825404522010-07-04T19:26:00.000-07:002010-07-04T19:56:10.652-07:00LIGAYA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zR3zyUA5Q1UJgA8jmvBasudac_B0qbNI5CqSashIspx-0JfvQe4ecv2H9x_5xFIrUyJBGk4c3BFCiD4hk92V4RggS8tO4srsPSC3Kh9lIuadClDoojz3em88IRdpvYFJB6zt7KNON8jN/s1600/ligaya1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zR3zyUA5Q1UJgA8jmvBasudac_B0qbNI5CqSashIspx-0JfvQe4ecv2H9x_5xFIrUyJBGk4c3BFCiD4hk92V4RggS8tO4srsPSC3Kh9lIuadClDoojz3em88IRdpvYFJB6zt7KNON8jN/s400/ligaya1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490245642101638290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left; font-family: courier new;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >There are many customers inside the Love Me Disco tonight. Near the bar, there are</span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" > no more seats available. The women of the night are sitting like an array of flowers </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >carefully displayed for sale in a flower shop. They are surrounded by a handful of </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >foreigners who are hungry for love. The place smells like lust. It is dark and loud inside. Near one of the corner tables, Ligaya sits snugly beside a girlfriend.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“Hey! Is that Tim who just came inside? He is my boyfriend since last year. So he is back again! “exclaims the suddenly alive Ligaya to her friend Marilou.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“You are talking nonsense, retorts Marilou. That guy is Jo Ann’s boyfriend. I know for a fact that he sends her money from time to time”. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />But Ligaya does not hear Marilou’s answer anymore because she stands up abruptly. </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >She rushes towards the American who just arrived at the disco house. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Tim! When did you arrive? Come her, come to me!.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Ligaya shouts and she almost fell over the dance floor because she is wearing a 4” </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >high-heel shoes. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“ Hey Babe! How are you Babe? The foreigner answers her. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Tim gropes like a blind man in the dark disco. He goes in the direction of the corner table where the two women are sitting. Ligaya is ecstatic that Tim arrived. The night is still young but she already caught a man. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />It is still low season and business is painfully slow. In fact in the last few nights, Ligaya feels like a hopeless fisherman trying to catch fish in the vast and empty ocean. Her hopes are really dashed because she knows that the other girls inside the Love Me Disco are glancing covertly at her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />At the age of 25, Ligaya is already considered old compared to the other girls plying their trade in the disco house. Every year, there are a number of young and fresh faced girls offering stiff competition. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Seven years have swiftly passed since Ligaya left Bayugan, Agusan del Sur, to try her luck in the big city. And she finds herself in the bustling city of Cebu. Because she only finished elementary school, she had problems looking for a decent job. In the beginning, she felt very uncomfortable selling her body but after a year, she got used to it. Money is very easy in this job. And now, even if she can get a respectable job as a sales girl or waitress, she will not even take a second look at it.<br /><br /><br /><br />Anyway, the salary is always so cheap and the work is hard there. Now that she works as a free lancer and there is no more pimp or casa* with whom she used to share her income, she earns quite well. If only she has no vices, Ligaya could have saved some money already and perhaps even send some home to help her parents. In awhile, the sound system blares, playing a song loudly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“ Like a Virgin! Touched for the very first time”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Ligaya grabs Tim and brings him to the center of the dance floor. Ligaya dances </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >gracefully. She has done this many times before. She<br />worked as a bikini dancer for a </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >number of years at the Silver Dollar Bar. The Silver Dollar is a popular bikini bar </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >patronized by foreigners and tourists in the city. She knows exactly how to sway her </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >hips and flay her arms and fingers. Especially tonight with Tim’s presence, she is </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >excited and inspired. She gives her all while dancing wildly, amidst the rain of neon lights that seems to bathe her. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />The other girls stare at her enviously. Marissa, who is sitting with Tessa at one of the sofas that is scattered around the place smirks. She turns her curios eyes away from the dance floor and laughs loudly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“Look at that old Ligaya enjoying herself and showing off her shriveled boobs”, she </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >whispers to Tessa.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“What?, Tessa shouts above the ruckus of the loud disco music.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“I said, Look at that old Ligaya showing off her shriveled boobs!” Marissa shouts at the top of her lungs. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />The other girls who heard her start giggling and they look at each other with knowing glances. Marissa, at 18, is the youngest and currently the most popular girl hanging out at the Love Me Disco. She behaves like the queen of the place. All the desirable foreigners usually pick her, out of the 30 or so women available. This is because of her youthful good looks and morena complexion. Tonight, Marissa is on the prowl. Her latest customer just left for Germany so she is free again. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Straight from a trip to the hot springs of Camiguin, where Marissa spent a week with </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >Georg, her pockets are filled with pesos. There is no urgent need to work now because the German left her 200 Euros and promised to send her a monthly stipend. At the age of 65, Georg fell head over heels in love with the teen-ager. He renovated the house of Marissa’s parents near the stinky Pasil Market. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />This is because he bought her a four poster bed as a birthday gift but when the delivery man from SM Department Store came, it can not pass through the door. The bed was too large and it can not go through the flimsy door. In fact, they have to destroy it and place the four poster bed in the living room. It is certainly too big for the bedroom that is shared by everyone in the family. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Realizing this, Georg decided to renovate the whole house. He paid for a new door and also have the leaking roof and the holes in the walls fixed. Now, the beautiful four poster bed occupies one third of the living room in Marissa’s house. Its intricate posts are removed and are now used to support the kitchen sink that is also dilapidated. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />He also bought Marissa a collection of Barbie dolls at the Duty Free Shop. One time, </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >while shopping at the store together, she asked him to buy one for her but Georg </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >thought that Marissa must have wished for this doll since she was a child. Out of pity for her under privileged childhood, he tried to make it up to her and bought all the different Barbie models available at the Duty Free Shop. He has repeatedly requested the girl to stop working at the Love Me Disco but Marissa vehemently refused. There is something about all the admiring and lustful glances that makes her happy and fulfilled. The promise from Georg to send her to school and to buy a house for her family fell on deaf ears. After all, it is only a promise and nobody knows if it will be fulfilled. Besides, Marissa is not in love with Georg and thinks of him only as a very generous and passing customer. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Tonight, Marissa feels threatened. She does not like it that Ligaya gets a customer </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >while she is not yet taken. She looks around the disco house and makes a mental note </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >of the foreigners loitering around.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“This is going to be an exciting night”, Marissa confides to Tessa.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“What do you mean? Except for that American who just came in, all these foreigners </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >here are regulars who are stingy and also married.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“ Sus! That guy Tim, who just came in? He pursued me last year like crazy but I didn’t like him so I donated him to Jo Ann just so he will stop pestering me”, gloats Marissa. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“Hahaha! It could be an interesting night if Jo Ann arrives, you know how she is, all her customers are automatically her boyfriends. She is even worst than the wives”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“That’s the way it should be. Especially if the wives are foreigners, I don’t mind hooking up with foreigners. I only feel guilty when they are married to Filipinas but then again, I really don’t care. However, if other girls here in the disco flirts with my men? That is absolutely not allowed! ” Marissa tells Tessa. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“ Look at that Ligaya dancing there. She must be high already”, Hey! Did you give </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >contribution to the pot money for our stuff?”, Tessa exclaims while showing Marissa a packet of shabu surreptitiously.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“ Of course I did. I took mine already. I know that some girls here are not contributing but they still take their share.” I will complain to that Jo Ann, after all, she is the one collecting the money from us” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Marissa settles on her chair. She takes out a brand new cellular phone from her bag </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >and started typing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“ Your boyfriend is here. Come immediately or else he will be taken by the others”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Pressing the send button, the young woman smiles. She looks at Ligaya and Tim </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >enjoying themselves at the dance floor. Marissa is a relative newcomer in the so called oldest profession of the world. Tessa, her neighbor brought her to the Love me Disco a year ago. Immediately, she caught the attention of the foreigners. She has always envied Tessa who tell her stories of trips to the beautiful islands of Malapascua, Bohol and Camiguin, among others. She can not wait to grow up and be just like Tessa who is not really getting rich but always managed to have money for the things she desires like dresses and cellular phones. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />After a year at the Love me Disco, Marissa grew up very fast. She knows that losing her face in front of the other girls tonight is not only embarrassing but is also a threat to her reputation as the hottest girl at the disco. She is very protective of her position and will do all she can to keep it. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“It is good that I am wearing my sexy white blouse tonight” Ligaya amusedly thinks to herself.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Aside from glowing in the dark, the sexy white blouse also fits Ligaya to a T. Her breasts peep out seductively and she feels young and sexy. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“This blouse is a present from Nico when he brought me to Boracay six months ago. </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >Golly, where the devil is Nico now? Where will Tim bring me this time? I have to make money tonight. Pedong, is waiting for me in our rented room.” Ligaya continues musing. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Just like her, Pedong also comes from Mindanao, but they met here in Cebu City. He is unable to find a decent job because he even does not have an elementary education. It seems like he has lost the desire to lead a normal life already and is doing any shady odd jobs that he can find. Pedong is also very lazy and is always fired from the construction jobs that he manage to find sometimes. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“ I wonder if that good for nothing guy has eaten already? He will beat me up again </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >when I come home tonight bringing no money or even just some food. I don’t know why </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >but even if he does these things to me, I still can not muster the guts to leave him. Is this real love? A Pinoy lover is really a special breed. Ligaya thinks to herself while swaying her hips. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“You are a sexy dancer, Babe”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />The American whispers to her ears and his words are drowned by the noise of the </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >sound system at the disco house. Ligaya does not bother to ask anymore what Tim is </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >saying and she embraces the whole dance floor cooing the song.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“I’m a viiiiiirgin, and my heart beats.” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />After the pair finished their show, they found their way back to their seats. Tim </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >is filled with lust and sweat. He stands up to go to the toilet. Ligaya leans happily in her chair, crossing her legs, that are unable to stop dancing together with the booming bass of the music. In a flash, Jo Ann comes to her. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“You whore! Why are you taking my boyfriend away from me? You have no manners. </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >And to think that we are both Filipinas. Did you sniff shabu* tonight? Where is that Tim?” Jo Ann challenges Ligaya. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Ligaya’s dandruff jumps off her hair since she did not expect something like this to </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >destroy her night.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“What do you mean Tim is your boyfriend? I am seeing Tim since a year. You are </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >talking absolutely nonsense!” Ligaya answers Jo Ann.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />At this point, Jo Ann lost her self control completely and she grabs the bottle of Red Horse on the table. She throws the bottle at her nemesis. It is good that Ligaya is able to quickly dock her head. The bottle breaks into small pieces at the dirty floor that is made of concrete. Ligaya’s temper also exploded and she pulls at Jo Ann’s long and flowing hair. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />The disco house is now thrown in disarray. The two women engage in intense hair </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >pulling and scratching. It is good that Ligaya’s hair is short so that Jo Ann has problems pulling at her curls. Nobody in the disco house intervenes to stop the women from fighting. The security guard, sleeping soundly at his station near the entrance, finally wakes up and separates the two Amazons. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Tim, the person that the two women are fighting about, seems to disappear together </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >with the water that is used to flush the toilet. Quicker than a lightning, he disappears from the scene. Calming down, Ligaya searches for Tim’s face among the crowd that ogles at them. When she notices that Tim is nowhere to be found, she also leaves in a hurry. She hails the taxi that is parked by the road outside.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“Hey! Where are you going you bitch?”, Jo Ann’s shrieking voice follows Ligaya outside the disco. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Ligaya ignores Jo Ann and goes inside the taxi.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“Noy*, have you seen an American who just left the disco?” she asks the bored looking driver. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“No, Day*, I just arrived now. His wife must have picked him up already. Where do you want me to take you?” the driver replies. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“Just take me to Camputhaw”, Ligaya makes herself comfortable at the back seat of the taxi. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />At Gorordo Avenue, near the corner that turns to barangay* Camputhaw, Ligaya </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >disembarks. She is lucky that the taxi driver accepted her money without complaining, since it was not enough to pay the amount registered on the taxi meter. The driver just nods at her knowingly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“Still low season huh? When the high season comes, don’t forget to give me a tip” the driver tells Ligaya.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />In the quiet of the street, Ligaya stands up near the lamp post to examine her arms </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >scratched by Jo Ann. And like a giant fire fly in the forest, the light from the lamp post hovers above her and flickers on and off. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />It is only at this time that Ligaya feels the pain in her body. The long and bloody scratch on her arm starts to throb. Her sexy blouse does not glow anymore. It is already stained by her red blood and covered by the dust that decorated the disco house. Her head feels very heavy. It feels as though each strand of Ligaya’s hair is about to fall off but she tries not to mind the pain.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“It’s fine if I am unlucky tonight, Ligaya soothes herself. When high season comes next month, I am sure Uwe, Peter and Ulli will arrive. And what is the name of that </span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >Austrian whose arm pits smelt so bad? For sure I can buy shabu for Pedong by then </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >and can provide him with all what he needs.”</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />“Sus! I hope they will not arrive at the same time so that I can go out with each of them.” Ligaya continues thinking to herself while she follows the muddy path. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />At this instance, heavy rain starts to fall. Ligaya runs to Pedong who is waiting </span><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" >for her at their crampy, rented room. To think that It has already been four months and they haven’t paid the rent yet. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />-end-</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />*casa – Filipino slang for a house where prostitutes are illegally kept and displayed to customers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />*shabu – A kind of amphethamine. In the mid-80s, methamphetamine was introduced into the fringe circle of use in the Philippines. In less than two decades, it has broken out of the urban subcultures and gained access into the urban and rural communities with devastating impact.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />*Noy – Short for Manoy, term used to address older male Filipinos </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />*Day – Short for Inday, term used to address younger female Filipinos</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />*Barangay – Barrio, the second smallest unit in a Philippine locality </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />by Maria Victoria Beltran</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Painting " Ligaya" is by the author as well<br />Translated from Cebuano to English<br /></span>bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-87384164808962565902010-05-15T11:07:00.001-07:002010-05-15T11:09:59.894-07:00Manunulat ko?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Uyct_EJE-JQelj7TSz8KLP_OuD0lzHxEfxNGBUlAcV7tiS8sn0pPHXxcavnH6ApAfjscPmr72jY9eeFd844n1JfjeWEG1QRFkOX6ieXGuZbP0e9n_XUWtzThQLb5Th0yxBRo35FDXwaB/s1600/mothers+day+001.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Uyct_EJE-JQelj7TSz8KLP_OuD0lzHxEfxNGBUlAcV7tiS8sn0pPHXxcavnH6ApAfjscPmr72jY9eeFd844n1JfjeWEG1QRFkOX6ieXGuZbP0e9n_XUWtzThQLb5Th0yxBRo35FDXwaB/s400/mothers+day+001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471560290589537938" /></a><br /><br /><br />Tinuod<br />mosulat ko<br />kabahin kanako.<br /><br />Kay si kinsa man diay<br />ang lain nakong nailhan<br />sa tunhay?<br /><br />Asa pa man ko<br />moani og humay<br />mopunit sa mumho?<br /><br />Unsay lain<br />nga makit-an sa lumoy<br />kong kasingkasing<br /><br />Ug niining gitay-an<br />kong atay?<br />Kinsa may nagpuyo<br /><br />Dinhi ning kahiladman<br />sulod niining kapin<br />sa kwarenta ka tuig?<br /><br />Ug kon ugaling<br />makasulat ko kabahin<br />sa uban--sa politiko,<br /><br />pananglitan-- ug makahibalo<br />sa uban pang mga matang<br />sa kinaiyahan<br /><br />tungod kana<br />sa tanan nakong nabasahan<br />ug sa akong pagpasiyo sulod<br />sa inyong mga museo.bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-48574551302413483192008-12-26T23:39:00.000-08:002008-12-27T02:02:10.359-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJs06KTT0WqKhjSkONhGgl2Q4Mksc_e6PlXvhVj05GXLJnQLKo69agisE6sFAnKF7ReMTbzLAITuTI5VI7N1CvD_qpcSeW2ijMlyxrl8YXqoimRWKPBn-eg2VNHaBIc9tO6gb_fehYTV9/s1600-h/cebu1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284376525303802306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJs06KTT0WqKhjSkONhGgl2Q4Mksc_e6PlXvhVj05GXLJnQLKo69agisE6sFAnKF7ReMTbzLAITuTI5VI7N1CvD_qpcSeW2ijMlyxrl8YXqoimRWKPBn-eg2VNHaBIc9tO6gb_fehYTV9/s400/cebu1.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:180%;">The Dream of Eleuteria Kirschbaum</span></div><div><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-size:180%;"></span> </div><br /><div></div>A year has already passed but it seems like only yesterday.<br /><br /><div>I am Eleuteria Duhaylungsod. I haven’t gotten used to it but, actually, my name is now Eleuteria Kirschbaum. My story began in Barangay Guindulman in Bohol. And continued at the Mactan International Airport.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When the plane I took landed in Kota Kinabalu in Malaysia, my heart nearly exploded from fear. For in my whole life I had never flown in a plane. Just that time.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It’s fortunate that we only stayed for twenty minutes in Kota Kinabalu so there was no need to leave my seat. Pastilan! I could not even unfasten my seatbelt right. I was almost terrified the moment the plane was about to take off. For neither do I, had the faintest idea how to fasten my seatbelt. Good that the American next to me helped. I was so embarrassed when he had to teach me how to fasten and unfasten the belt that is made of iron.What would I do if Hans failed to fetch me at the airport in Germany? I could only repeat pastilan.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Hans is the German guy I was about to marry. I was only joking with my cousin Merle when she came home to Guindulman, after three years of marriage to her penpal.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“Just give me a foreigner whom I can also marry so I can have a child like yours, very handsome!” I teased Merle.“</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“OK, I’ll find you a husband so that I‘ll have a relative I can easily call on in Germany,” Merle said.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I didn’t expect it to come true. But when I received a letter from Hans, my dream, I must admit, also blossomed. The picture he sent me with his letter, I treasured it dearly. And after six months of writing each other, he asked me to work on my visa. I don’t know how many times I went back and forth to Cebu for my passport. How hard it was! What with my birth certificate that could no longer be found at the municipal hall? Was it eaten bit by bit by mice or termites perhaps? And when I finally got my passport, the fiancée visa was my next problem. The interview at the German embassy in Manila was definitely not easy. It was a good thing that someone from the travel agency preparing my documents went with me.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And Hans is perhaps marked on my palm. For, surprisingly, my visa was approved. I could perhaps almost reach my dream; to also help my parents and siblings who wallow in the bitterness of poverty in the Philippines. How wonderful it would have been if my brothers and sisters could finish college. And Nanay and Tatay, too, could finally live in a house with a roof that does not leak. Like the new house of Merle’s parents. Then they could also at least eat meat everyday.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"Fasten your seatbelts, please,” said the pretty stewardess walking back and forth in the plane.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>This time, I was less afraid because I already understood her. In a short while, the same stewardess came back.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“Would you like fish in curry sauce and rice or beef rouladen with mashed potatoes Ma’am?”</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“Fish, Ma’am” was my quick reply for I was not familiar with all the things she’s saying.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>” How about wine, juice, coffee, or tea? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“Cokes, Ma’am” I replied. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Good that she didn’t ask anything else, for the curious American beside me was actually listening to us. After eating, I checked if the round sticker on my blue blouse was still there. Because when I checked-in at the airport in the city of Lapulapu, the woman pinned it on me in the counter.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“Just wait for the instructions of the stewardess so you won’t miss your connecting flight” the woman said.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Honestly, I was really scared of being stranded in a strange place. Hesus, Maria, kalawaton . . . what would I do then? I asked myself.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Before long, we arrived in Kuala Lumpur. The stewardess approached me and said, “Please stay in your seat until I come back for you” while looking at the sticker on my blouse. That was the reason why I stayed in the plane until almost no more passengers were left. There were only three of us in the plane and we were all Filipinas, all first-timers in flying. And all, standing in a foreign country too.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Vangie and Nerissa were also heading to Frankfurt, Germany. Like me, they were also hoping to better the life by marrying a foreigner. I was so happy that I finally have company. And the throbbing in my heart quieted down a little.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Like obedient lambs, the stewardess led us to gate 47 where the plane that would fly us to Germany would be taking off. We stayed for six hours in Kuala Lumpur. So we got the chance to know each other. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"My would-be husband, Peter, is 60 years old and I will be 22, in the following year, but it’s important to be practical nowadays,” Vangie said. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"There are 10 years between me and Markus but we really fell in love, though only through email and the phone,” Nerissa in turn said.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I did not join in that discussion because, honestly, love is actually not the reason for my marrying Hans. I was just really fed up with the hardship in the Philippines. Hans would be my savior from a life that has nowhere to go but poverty. Tatay has no real job and is a drunkard, too. Nanay is addicted to masiao and is always getting pregnant.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>There are already twelve of us and I am the eldest. I am a graduate of the Guindulman Public High School and at 23 I have to help my family. I have really no plans of getting married to Kardo, a farmer or to Nestong, the tricycle driver. For I’m sure my life would never get better with either of them. Better not, please. Hopefully, I would be lucky with Hans!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The flight from Kuala Lumpur to Frankfurt took about eight hours. And the fear in my chest is constantly pounding. Not from fear of getting lost anymore but from the madness of this very new life that I am facing. The man I was about to marry, is a stranger. We hadn’t even met in person.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Sus! If only I can jump off the plane and fly back to the Philippines. But Nanay and Tatay had high hopes for me. They even bragged to our nosey neighbors that soon, I would be able to buy them a karaoke. It was perhaps this that gave me the courage to face this never-ending fear in my being. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It was exactly 7:45 in the morning when I arrived in Frankfurt. I did not have enough sleep for my mind was restless. Neither could I turn on the small television set in front of me. So, thoughts kept on whirling in my mind. Also, I had no one to talk to. Vangie and Nerissa were far away from where I was seated. And the guy next to me ignored me. How numb it felt, my sleeping legs.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Like what happened in Kuala Lumpur, the stewardess dragged us again. She brought us to the window of the immigration officer and instructed us how to pick up our suitcases. My nervous knees could no longer bear it. They were shaking harder when it was my turn at the window.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“Passport please. How long are you staying in Germany? Where are you going to stay?”</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>A gunfire of questions came from the police officer who showed at the window. There were probably no errors in the form I filled up in the plane. After I stammered my answers to his questions, he gave me back my passport. Like a criminal, I quickly turned away from him</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“It would be nice if our places here are near, “ Vangie said “so we can still meet up”.“</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>“Right” Nerissa agreed while I could only nod, as we waited for our suitcases. And I took out Hans’ picture from my wallet- “I hope he is waiting for me.”</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>How big the airport in Frankfurt is! The surrounding was very clean. Even the wind that touched my face was also quite fresh. And though there were a lot of people, the place was unusually quiet. It had a foreign smell too. Like the scent of the bag Merle gave me when she visited us in Guindulman the year before.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>In a short while, I saw someone beckoning at me. And that was the first time I saw my fiancé. Hans is, in fact, very fat. He did not send me a full-body picture of himself in the Philippines. But like a bird in a cage, I still married him.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>He also can’t speak English well. And he doesn’t have a regular job. We are lucky to be staying in his mother’s house. So we don’t have to pay for rent, electricity or food. But what he gets as welfare compensation from their government is just enough to spend for his vices. Every day he consumes no less than five packs of cigarettes and ten bottles of Bitburger beer. And oftentimes he rides around with his friends on their big motorbikes. To think that gasoline is so expensive here. If one computes it in Philippine pesos, it would run to 200 pesos plus per liter.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The house where I live in Hundsangen is made of concrete. It is like a rich man’s house in Guindulman. What I eat is delicious, too. Compared to the camote tops and corn which Nanay usually prepares at home. Sometimes, I choke on the brötchen and bratwurst when I remember the emptiness of the table of my brothers and sisters at home. We also have our own car to drive through the wide autobahns for visits to Merle and her strict husband. So, I shouldn’t be feeling sad here.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>But why is my heart very heavy? Perhaps because until now, I still don’t feel love for Hans. Or maybe it’s because of this giant loneliness that I feel everyday. How wonderful to recall my dream; the sea of Guindulman; barefoot while bathing under the grace of the heat of the sun and salty air. I also long for boiled green bananas dipped in ginamos-tugnos that we used to take with us to the beach on Sundays.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Possibly I’m just fed up for it is as though I am the only person staying in the house. I can’t talk with Hans’ mother since she can’t speak English. I avoid her instead. I don’t know why, that with all the houses and cars in this place, it is still very quiet around me. Sometimes, It seems like I’m the only living person in the whole world.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Or perhaps, it stems from the reason that until now, I still can’t speak fluent German. I can’t really talk seriously to anyone. I wonder how Vangie and Nerissa are doing now? We didn’t exchange telephone numbers since the three of us were all the same. We were all ignorant. It is also very expensive if I always use the phone here. Every time we talk over the phone, it is like taking a taxi. The meter ticks so fast. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Or perhaps the reason for this rattling in my chest is that a year has already passed and I still haven’t bought a karaoke set for my Nanay and Tatay.<br /><br />MARIA VICTORIA BELTRAN<br /></div><br /><div>Originally in Cebuano, Ang Damgo Ni Eleuteria Kirschbaum<br />Translated by Jad Conde<br />Edited by Cora Almerino</div>bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-65308468815932828222008-10-09T17:00:00.000-07:002008-10-15T21:58:34.114-07:00WHEN THE MUSE TURNED AWAY<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XNva2khdbbGCne2_69jQT1VU3xCV8wF_RP0LPntd0wpvSlxVNVDStnwlH_CiycoCX3aMJN4MFIIjiNE6W97F7GTG4vB-IaDD1Nw1P2b0YH-UOOk1i2JEiTkfdmI7-et95PXBPpxDJ8Rt/s1600-h/1_268778960m.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XNva2khdbbGCne2_69jQT1VU3xCV8wF_RP0LPntd0wpvSlxVNVDStnwlH_CiycoCX3aMJN4MFIIjiNE6W97F7GTG4vB-IaDD1Nw1P2b0YH-UOOk1i2JEiTkfdmI7-et95PXBPpxDJ8Rt/s400/1_268778960m.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255310836636179826" /></a><br /><br />The flow of the river ceases<br />the wave stops in the middle of the sea<br />the falling leaf freezes in mid-air<br />the eagle's song is silent.<br /><br />While my finger<br />that is on my laptop waiting<br />for my command, stops to think.<br /><br />We are all wishing<br />for the visit of the fickle<br />muse of emptiness.<br /><br />I lift my heart<br />so that I can hear the bell <br />I close my eyes<br />So I can see the glory<br />I offer gold<br />together with a prayer.<br /><br />But there is nothing I can write<br />Only a poem<br />that sheds tears.<br /><br /><br />*Poem is translated from Cebuano " SA DIHANG NANGLUOD ANG MUSA"<br />Picture is from Pagbalik/Homecoming movie stillsbambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-68529458311889771872008-10-09T16:42:00.000-07:002008-10-09T16:58:50.784-07:00AGAINST THE SMART CRAB<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0QdwMT4jTuuioJVC8zSV6jr8BhzDZds7LDZJ0yZTGOon48zjg-hnmyfk7nz6FeatvhyhwnUHZigPzGdlTbTuejPG9F5Y6Wlr8p3FUzJRPsyUo3DuVgrI0fmdHEzQ9l281-FA_YN0CWrsU/s1600-h/mangrove+tree2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0QdwMT4jTuuioJVC8zSV6jr8BhzDZds7LDZJ0yZTGOon48zjg-hnmyfk7nz6FeatvhyhwnUHZigPzGdlTbTuejPG9F5Y6Wlr8p3FUzJRPsyUo3DuVgrI0fmdHEzQ9l281-FA_YN0CWrsU/s400/mangrove+tree2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255307694499366194" /></a><br /><br />When dusk slowly creeps<br />you stop moping about<br /><br />then you put on the crown<br />that you stole from the whale<br /><br />and when the boastful<br />and noisy thunder sleeps<br /><br />you dig on my sand<br />and collect shells from the sea<br /><br />and when i climb the tree<br />of the ghost free coconut <br /><br />you pull on my skirt<br />to lay bare my butt<br /><br />watch out with your bite<br />you, smart crab<br /><br />for later I will boil you<br />and I will suck your spirit too.<br /><br />Poem is translated from Cebuano " BATOK SA BANGIITANG KASAG"bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-48173739340066178732008-09-23T20:54:00.000-07:002008-09-25T01:49:02.391-07:00MARIA, THE MANANANGGAL<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3_g55ie4YRTO5jRpHfezxMOidV7axyx2w9psT_03zbZl1Dn07sDh03MyOTEfZoc8byZ29bbJBmVgjd5aexKHDoa6Tv91jGzyQ2xOl_b8FCGXXBceC78_jfW1iGiSY1UtZRApH-TaBnkG/s1600-h/bacolod2.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3_g55ie4YRTO5jRpHfezxMOidV7axyx2w9psT_03zbZl1Dn07sDh03MyOTEfZoc8byZ29bbJBmVgjd5aexKHDoa6Tv91jGzyQ2xOl_b8FCGXXBceC78_jfW1iGiSY1UtZRApH-TaBnkG/s400/bacolod2.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249437036041899506" /></a><br /><br />My name is Maria<br />and I am a manananggal<br />My father is a kapri<br />king of Mount Diwalwal<br />Each night I go to the disco<br />with my friend, the white lady<br />I like to go shopping<br />with the clogs-wearing-swine<br />And together, we dive in the ukay-ukay.<br /><br />There is something I want to tell you<br />About my suitor, Leo Santilmo<br />Who turns red, orange and blue<br />when I don't tell him<br />where I hide myself.<br /><br />While I listen to the story<br />and fly through the sky<br />with my Nanny.<br /><br />MARIA VICTORIA BELTRAN<br /><br />*<br />Manananggal- Philippine witch, she can divide her body into two; the upper half has wings while the lower half is left behind.<br />Kapri- A giant, hairy man, usually perched on the Balete tree, who is always smoking a tobacco <br />White lady- a lady in a flowing white gown who prowls at night<br />Ukay-ukay- old clothes sent to Philippines as donation but ends up in makeshift stalls and are sold very cheap.<br />Santilmo- a man made of fire, who has a habit of standing in the midle of the road at night.<br />clogs-wearing swine- anay nga nagbakya, this animal eats children who are still out at night.bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-23014293735794487512008-09-17T12:13:00.000-07:002008-09-17T12:52:34.025-07:00YELLOW BAMBOO<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOMB64PTwrsQLfYayRS1aix3CVhEoQyHUEIbm5dM1RlHuTjA7DUMamQhpiFvgs71-bCdzyXbFTnNBZou-reu-1Tf_IOOZSaUu_ttybWJg6zoFrLpuuLRyptAzLO_KZTHFAgUr-_1mJREG/s1600-h/olangorose.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOMB64PTwrsQLfYayRS1aix3CVhEoQyHUEIbm5dM1RlHuTjA7DUMamQhpiFvgs71-bCdzyXbFTnNBZou-reu-1Tf_IOOZSaUu_ttybWJg6zoFrLpuuLRyptAzLO_KZTHFAgUr-_1mJREG/s400/olangorose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247071845889329122" /></a><br /><br /><br />Nineteen hundred and eighty six<br /><br />when you planted the bamboo.<br /><br />Our learned neighbor said-<br /><br />it will not grow<br /><br />that little branch,<br /><br />it does not fit here<br /><br />it will come to naught<br /><br />since our soil is sand<br /><br />and our water is salty.<br /><br />The plant will surely die<br /><br />for in the whole of Olango Island<br /><br />nobody can make it sprout.<br /><br />I guess, perhaps- <br /><br />you were hard headed<br /><br />or you were in love<br /><br />with the sway of the bamboo<br /><br />everytime Amihan blows<br /><br />and the bird sings.<br /><br />One night, it was full moon<br /><br />when you planted<br /><br />that little branch.<br /><br />You gave her water <br /><br />that is not salty, but fresh.<br /><br />You nurtured her, <br /><br />you gave everything<br /><br />to the yellow bamboo<br /><br />and not long after<br /><br />The leaves appeared,<br /><br />the plant prospered<br /><br />and danced to the tune<br /><br />of the Habagat<br /><br />and to the whisper<br /><br />of this heart<br /><br />that you left behind.<br /><br />*Amihan- Northeast Moonsoon<br />*Habagat- Southwest Moonsoon<br />Poem is translated from Cebuano "Dalag ang Kawayan"bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-25779025324088766312008-09-14T04:37:00.000-07:002008-09-14T04:55:03.616-07:00Early in the Morning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8AjTD6zKxi7jyHZd1m0nca-fLI2ZRMUFkV5d4RrNwl1kYW38-KEKVDHs9xKpwp9epbp00ZHHH9zO9Z45_w76Cx4IU6s8lPVNkDWnyuObRevc5Lk9RF4hoZcZAz-bOyBbZNXbAXVQ4jUa/s1600-h/Ason.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8AjTD6zKxi7jyHZd1m0nca-fLI2ZRMUFkV5d4RrNwl1kYW38-KEKVDHs9xKpwp9epbp00ZHHH9zO9Z45_w76Cx4IU6s8lPVNkDWnyuObRevc5Lk9RF4hoZcZAz-bOyBbZNXbAXVQ4jUa/s400/Ason.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245844245806557698" /></a><br /><br />The uneasy butterfly sleepwalks<br />The sun peeps behind the clouds<br />The sleeping Jasmine awakes <br />The hiding root emerges<br />The Anahaw* leaf dances<br />The stepping stones do not move<br />The moss in the garden laughs<br />The Tamsi* perches on the branch<br />The wily earthworm comes out<br />The shy Mimosa* opens up <br />The cold wind blows<br />in my face. He stirs <br />this soul that just <br />a couple of hours before, <br />dreamt of this all.<br /><br />*Anahaw- Philipinne national leaf.<br />*Tamsi- a small bird found everywhere in the Philippines.<br />*Mimosa- plant whose leaf closes when touched by wind or hand.<br />Poem is translated from Cebuano " Sayo sa Kabuntagon*bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-69752398297292346482008-09-08T22:02:00.000-07:002008-09-10T21:47:18.849-07:00IN SEARCH OF THE LAST ROMANTIC<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcrUFllUhZrVv3TB1-v2SdlgKLmudwZPOf89Wy3vI47mHAvgZUd4q9-GqA_mEgS4_yUNNuJjXLFUiid9c3Jy89_lGWCcaR8WNAY6zbI1Jp3DMgG906eELUxAV33nPWJTxotJsbfnv-6Q5/s1600-h/bacolod1.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcrUFllUhZrVv3TB1-v2SdlgKLmudwZPOf89Wy3vI47mHAvgZUd4q9-GqA_mEgS4_yUNNuJjXLFUiid9c3Jy89_lGWCcaR8WNAY6zbI1Jp3DMgG906eELUxAV33nPWJTxotJsbfnv-6Q5/s400/bacolod1.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243883066842732898" /></a><br /><br /><br />While I read your poem<br />It suddenly came to me. To think<br />of the man who went away.<br /><br /><br />He who gave up the last<br />seat. He who clung<br />to the trisikad* just to<br />give my butt a space.<br /><br />He who sent the letter<br />with the sweet tounge. Who plucked<br />the stars and the flowers of<br />Kangkong* and offered them to me.<br /><br />He who did not call me<br />a whore. Reminisced<br />why i have become<br />a vendor of my <br />abused rice cake.<br /><br />(Where is he? <br />because this heart<br />long stained. This heart needs<br />a savior against the cruel time.)<br /><br />*trisikad is a Philippine public vehicle that is a contraption of a bicycle and a side car usually seen in the countryside, carrying 5 or more passengers, literally hanging on it.<br />*kangkong is a cheap Philippine vegetable with a white flower that does not last long in a flower vase; Philippine water spinach.<br /><br />The painting "Faces of Maria" is by the authorbambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-30777376303539537142008-08-21T21:05:00.000-07:002008-08-21T21:17:44.565-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0Pmck57JFVoY-du5_JKF1zZrDaxlELNloxaJ1ytAGIUUttMULaPt8OdYKVklIfi9yDLLR-WOuA0w70PV7MbOHvVWLXtnlFKVjlZg7kjjuSnbsoLM84Vyhec2Td7ficCzDXPF7MkxV5Kw/s1600-h/Image004.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0Pmck57JFVoY-du5_JKF1zZrDaxlELNloxaJ1ytAGIUUttMULaPt8OdYKVklIfi9yDLLR-WOuA0w70PV7MbOHvVWLXtnlFKVjlZg7kjjuSnbsoLM84Vyhec2Td7ficCzDXPF7MkxV5Kw/s400/Image004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237189806627043570" /></a><br /><br />MY BOOK<br /><br />He sleeps in the mat<br />where I wander <br />through the night<br /><br />He snores through my ears<br />while I listen<br />to his fears<br /><br />He wakes up slowly<br />the itch in my brain;<br />It feels funny<br /><br />He yawns in my face<br />tickles the seam<br />of the embroidered lace<br /><br />that is dangling<br />in front of me<br />swims in my vast sea.<br /><br />"Picture is my painting on a Philippine woven mat (banig)"bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-33875662301241100052008-08-21T19:34:00.000-07:002008-08-21T23:18:10.070-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Fi4pw6t-DE6gKZz8vK5WEKai7PqfaEf415Bi_OIa5uVXULcoqAxwZynVS0qLXRNFfsw3m8QV1jgFiC-clz74snYxsYtpfRsuwK0O27leKWhF-nF28UFG6loP18AsIfYiOIqz1lftWWAN/s1600-h/Image015.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Fi4pw6t-DE6gKZz8vK5WEKai7PqfaEf415Bi_OIa5uVXULcoqAxwZynVS0qLXRNFfsw3m8QV1jgFiC-clz74snYxsYtpfRsuwK0O27leKWhF-nF28UFG6loP18AsIfYiOIqz1lftWWAN/s400/Image015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237170137554394914" /></a><br /><br />FLOWER WOMAN<br /><br />Plucked<br />from the ribs<br />of Adam<br />You came to life<br />inside the node<br />of the bamboo<br />Molded<br />in the midst<br />of mud that <br />is made of gold<br /><br />Maria, Magdalena<br />and Mary Ann<br /><br />You grew<br />out of the mystery <br />of the seed<br />in the rain,<br />you opened<br />and swayed<br />with the wind<br /><br />Hibiscus, Santan <br />and Jasmine<br /><br />Beautiful is the maiden<br />at seventeen<br />like fireflies<br />in the month<br />of December<br />Behold!<br />the fire<br />of the tree<br />at Fuente-<br />Woman<br /><br />Picture is the author's own painting and the poem is a translation from Cebuano "Babayeng Bulak" published in the book "Haling".bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-69175056138158061032008-08-06T22:14:00.000-07:002008-08-12T04:32:02.065-07:00STORM IN A POETESS' LIFE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8clFkg35SdirdvqPzq38E4fMqBRoFJYK_w9YhXkjzbmP5kvXbrvG_3_TqZPtMQl40ZO9v1S6GMoUKAWSUDPGUWqxK3bp8Mufd8A_MxtfUnsbtTeTGjPxbUcQyw8Xm8JZAdFnh5xkcFu-D/s1600-h/sikalak.sikabay.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8clFkg35SdirdvqPzq38E4fMqBRoFJYK_w9YhXkjzbmP5kvXbrvG_3_TqZPtMQl40ZO9v1S6GMoUKAWSUDPGUWqxK3bp8Mufd8A_MxtfUnsbtTeTGjPxbUcQyw8Xm8JZAdFnh5xkcFu-D/s320/sikalak.sikabay.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231641422448837538" /></a><br /><br />Every second a storm rages on<br />Here, inside my drawer<br />Where I keep the words<br />That spin around my head<br />Sometimes it's signal number one<br />And my brain just explodes<br />When it reaches number two<br />I puff on my tobacco<br />At times when it is number three<br />I shout with the raindrops <br />Number four, I scamper to my room<br />Number five, I'm screaming mad<br />And when it reaches number six<br />There is danger overhead<br />I would stop my fountain pen<br />From inflicting any pain<br />For I am scared of the raging storm<br />Of signal number seven-<br />When words drift with the wind<br />Through the concrete fence<br />And the tidal waves<br />Swallow all the rules<br />that try to stop<br />the outpour of my metaphors<br /><br />*this poem is translated from Cebuano, "Bagyo sa Balaknong Kinabuhi"bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-75803361269698773252008-08-06T22:05:00.000-07:002008-08-12T04:33:49.072-07:00WHEN I FINISH HIGHSCHOOL<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcBnSQ-cxwGU2tdqGW_GDIyJVY2dj3tVTxsOXZQuzzR-_6xV5MHfW7acQQsKN03yBa4F_ErQ6x25umT0IfEczvU2Qr4v-2yEMVteFWQ4-L0Te-25aS7wBU3GkHRn__-zK3c20bv9ZDsPM/s1600-h/beltran.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcBnSQ-cxwGU2tdqGW_GDIyJVY2dj3tVTxsOXZQuzzR-_6xV5MHfW7acQQsKN03yBa4F_ErQ6x25umT0IfEczvU2Qr4v-2yEMVteFWQ4-L0Te-25aS7wBU3GkHRn__-zK3c20bv9ZDsPM/s320/beltran.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231638159531241762" /></a>WHEN I FINISH HIGHSCHOOL<br /><br />Nanay<br />is pregnant again<br />There are now ten <br />siblings in our brood<br />Tatay is better<br />than a magician<br />He believes in God's call <br />to go out in the world<br />and multiply<br />Maybe the heavens<br />do not know<br />that there is no more<br />space in our barrio-<br />When the stomach<br />of our youngest one<br />turns sour<br />When the shopkeeper<br />comes to collect<br />I run to our neighbour<br />ashamed of this all<br />It's Okey-<br />When I reach highschool<br />I won't worry anymore<br />Since my best friend<br />has been telling me<br />when we finish highschool<br />we will stow away<br />to the big city<br />work on any job<br />so that I have something<br />to send to the forever<br />angry shopkeeper.<br /><br />*Sculpture "Sorrow" is by the author and poem is translated from Cebuano "Inig-gradweyt Nako sa Haiskul"bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-63609033891783398662008-08-06T06:35:00.000-07:002008-08-21T19:34:12.998-07:00WHEN I LEAVE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhi4Q3r7nEUeiR6vJDsW-TsFkiIOf2vaYIpUK3RRnvXKM-WkSYZ9L89_olMcb4HwIKvmV4h2oo8a3sve0pmiFWfotYynt8AgFrVPPjgVwFhzc_56agvxqahxvDQjJUSI3GWhyQpfwr9Ag/s1600-h/Image006(1).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhi4Q3r7nEUeiR6vJDsW-TsFkiIOf2vaYIpUK3RRnvXKM-WkSYZ9L89_olMcb4HwIKvmV4h2oo8a3sve0pmiFWfotYynt8AgFrVPPjgVwFhzc_56agvxqahxvDQjJUSI3GWhyQpfwr9Ag/s320/Image006(1).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231398474095447954" /></a><br />Switch off the lamp posts<br />that line<br />the laughing lane<br />of our road.<br />Switch on the radio<br />to close the conversation,<br />drown the cheers<br />that has long been gone.<br />Take the bottles <br />of wine from the table<br />and rip the tablecloth<br />that is still there.<br />Silence the dogs<br />in our yard<br />who are still waiting<br />for my footsteps.<br />Turn on the last song<br />and once again, wear the dress<br />that has seen our bliss. <br />Look for my words<br />when the sleeping dust <br />under our old bed, awakens<br />Forget the whispers<br />sprouting from sadness<br />And pour water<br />on the creeping fire<br />because the two of us<br />are now lost, in the thickets<br />of our jungle.<br />Fly away<br />together with the harvest<br />of all our nights<br />And don't forget-<br />Switch off the lights<br />of the lamp posts.<br /><br />*picture is the author's own painting and poem is translated from Cebuano "Sa Akong Paglakaw"bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-9507395214703754572007-08-24T00:35:00.000-07:002007-09-05T11:56:08.537-07:00The Veil<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5FY5R5OfadlvD1fjtbwg6F3Wim42CtUGdR5PXaUOixvlEDJhzYrockNbQlRxC3HpC9mgv07zZ9vvhbkwKQ1DHa0tLaEQkhADFQncq1Zd4e3ua0P23WmtW0BjTm5412fsEGWt4qtqC6jt/s1600-h/Bambi12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5FY5R5OfadlvD1fjtbwg6F3Wim42CtUGdR5PXaUOixvlEDJhzYrockNbQlRxC3HpC9mgv07zZ9vvhbkwKQ1DHa0tLaEQkhADFQncq1Zd4e3ua0P23WmtW0BjTm5412fsEGWt4qtqC6jt/s400/Bambi12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106795741021350498" /></a><br />When a woman crosses the invisible line of innocence, it does not always mean that she will reach the goal of wisdom. But then perhaps, she does.<br /> Ayesha wakes up before dusk is replaced by the soft glow of sunrise. She stirs, sits on the dormitory bed and heads for the wash room. She cleans herself for Silaat or Muslim prayer. A few minutes later, she comes back to the room she shares with Teresa. She takes out a clean mat from her cabinet and carefully places it on the floor near the window facing the rising sun. Just as carefully, she puts on a white hijab or veil to cover her hair. She takes out her slippers, faces in the direction of Mecca, stands erect, head down, hands at the sides and arranges her feet so that they are evenly spaced.<br /> Allaahu Akbar! Allaahu Akbar…<br /> She starts to intone silently, afraid that her roommate would wake up from her prayers. Teresa knows the ritual by heart. They have been roommates in the dormitory for almost three months now. She has learned to pretend to sleep throughout these prayers not wanting to embarrass Ayesha or disturb her. She watches silently as Ayesha stands in attention and brings her hands to her ears with palms forward and thumbs behind her earlobes. Ayesha is now engrossed in Qiyam- the opening plea. She places her right hand over her left hand at chest level then she drops her hands to her sides. She bends from her waist with her palms on her knees and her back parallel to the ground. She looks at her feet while bending.<br /> Ayesha rises from her bent position and stands with her arms at her sides. Placing her hands on her knees, she slowly lowers herself to a kneeling position. Then she touches the ground with her forehead and nose while placing her palms on the ground taking care that her elbows do not touch the ground. Finally, she bends her toes so that the top of her feet face the Qibla or direction of Mecca.<br /> “Subhaana rabbiyal’ Alaa! Subhaana rabbiyal’ Alaa…<br /> Somehow, the chanting lulls Teresa into another world inhabited by women in chadors, mosques, camels and clusters of dates in an oasis. The two students are freshmen at the University of the Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City. They met at the start of the semester during the orientation for all the freshmen students in Kalayaan Dormitory. They would not have recognized each other again in the sea of faces in the auditorium except for the fact that they found out later that they are roommates. Besides, Ayesha stands out in the crowd because of the veil that she wears to cover her hair.<br /> “Which province do you come from? In Mindanao?” Teresa asks.<br /> “I grew up in Riyadh but my mother is from Cebu and my father is a Tausug from Zamboanga.” Ayesha answers quickly. She must have been asked the same question a number of times. <br /> “How about you?” she continues.<br /> “I come from the northern Mindanao city of Butuan, where they discovered the Balanghai boats” Teresa retorts proudly.<br /> “Do you know that Butuan was ruled by a Tausug prince in the 14th century? My father says this is the reason why there are a lot of similarities between the Tausug and Butuan dialects” Ayesha informs her new friend. <br /> “I can understand Butuanon but I don’t speak it fluently” says Teresa.<br /> “That’s okay, I don’t speak Tausug” Ayesha chides her.<br /> That was the start of an uneasy friendship between the two. There is something in Ayesha that Teresa finds disconcerting. For one thing, she prays five times a day. In addition, she does not eat pork, shrimps and crabs. She always wears loose pants or long skirts and long sleeved tops and she never goes out without a veil on her head. Also, she neither drinks alcohol nor smoke cigarettes. Ayesha is never tempted to stay too long in the dormitory cafeteria to chat with the others. There is an aura of aloofness about her that seems to say yes, we can be friends but not too close, please. <br /> Teresa is not a stranger to the Muslims of Mindanao. They roam around her city selling brass wares, batik and malong. Some have stalls in the market where they also offer exquisite South sea pearls. As a child, her yaya used to scare her that a Muslim warrior in a vinta boat will snatch her away from her family if she does not behave like a good girl. She is always warned by family and friends to be careful with the Muslim people. Her mother tells her they can not be trusted in business and that sometimes their men run amok brandishing the Kris, their favorite weapon. Their women stay in their houses or mind their stores in their signature malongs, veils and beautiful jewelries. These people largely stay among themselves. Teresa wonders where they have been hiding their children. Thinking about it now, she does not have a classmate in school back home who is a Muslim. Ayesha is the first Muslim girl she comes very close to. <br /> As Salaamu ‘alaikum wa rahmatulaah…<br /> The chanting stops. Ayesha pauses for a moment as if gazing at the minaret of a mosque in Riyadh outside her window. She looks at Teresa who smiles at her. <br /> “Did I wake you up?” Ayesha asks her.<br /> “Yes, but its fine. We have no class in English today; we are going to a film showing, instead”. Teresa reminds her.<br /> “Yes, I remember and this coming weekend, we will go to Matabungkay beach”.<br /> “So, Ayesha, everybody is curios if you will still be wearing your veil when you go swimming”.<br /> “I know, I will bring my Muslim swimming clothes so that they can watch me”.<br /> “I always wonder how your Mom takes it, living in Riyadh. You told me she is Christian?”<br /> “But she has converted to Muslim a long time ago. My Mom is a better Muslim than my Dad now” Ayesha laughs.<br /> “That is strange; I always thought that women are treated as the weaker sex in your religion. Your Mom swallows that?”<br /> “It is not true, Teresa. There are a lot of misconceptions about our religion. In fact, we believe that women have a very special place in our society.”<br /> “Sorry for all my questions, it is not my intention to question your beliefs.”<br /> “I guess you are just as curios as everybody else what I will be wearing in Matabungkay beach” Ayesha says cheerfully, without sarcasm.<br /> The two girls start giggling. They are both enrolled in the Bachelor of Science in Biology course in UP Diliman. It is a block section which means that they have exactly the same schedule. It has become a habit to wait for each other when they go to school and back to the dormitory again. Conveniently, they go to the cafeteria together for their meals and to the study room when they prepare for their examinations. They have also gone to the shopping center in the campus and to some eatery in Area 1 and 2 on their free time a couple of times. The arrangement suits both girls.<br /> “Hurry up, everyone. You can board the bus now.”<br /> The house mother walks around like a hen exhorting her wayward chicks inside the pen. Ayesha’s hijab glares under the morning light. Beside her is Teresa clad in blue jeans and a baby shirt. Her belly ring peeps out of her navel. The students are in a festive mood. They line up to board the bus that will take them through the tree lined streets of the campus to the audiovisual room in the College and Arts building.<br /> “You don’t feel hot in those clothes and veil?” Teresa asks.<br /> “I am so used to these clothes; it feels like second skin already. Perhaps I would feel naked without my hijab. In Riyadh, we wear chadors but that would look really weird here” says Ayesha.<br /> “Don’t you ever feel like wearing clothes like mine?” <br /> “I don’t know it does not cross my mind. This is me. I happen to be a Muslim woman and as such I wear clothes that don't reveal anything except my hands and my face.”<br /> “You are not uncomfortable that you look different from everybody else? Somehow I feel lucky that I can wear a veil and take it away anytime when I want to!”<br /> “No, Teresa. I don’t feel uncomfortable. It just never ceases to amaze me. As much as people preach the importance of accepting differences, they still stare when I walk through the door. It's the same old reaction every time.” <br /> The bus slows down in front of the College and Arts building and like children going to an excursion, everybody scramble to go out of the bus. The two girls silently join the queue. Ayesha comes out of the bus first. She waits warily for Teresa. She sees Fernando in the entrance of the corridor, talking to the other students, who always gather around him before and after class. They exchange the usual smile of salutation. In his smile, she saw her smile, his lips invisibly pressed to her cheeks. Ayesha immediately blushes. She feels a touch on her sleeve and turns to find Teresa beside her.<br /> “I can see that you and Fernando have already met” Teresa whispers to her.<br /> “Of course, he is in our block section.”<br /> “And he is my charming town mate.”<br /> “Come, let’s go to the audiovisual room, I don’t want to miss the film showing” Ayesha grips Teresa’s hand. <br /> Ayesha left Manila at the age of three. Her father works as a computer programmer in a Riyadh company. He brought his family to the Middle East and they have lived there ever since except for the annual holidays to the Philippines. The children go to International School in Riyadh. Ayesha is also not a stranger to the Christian way of life. Among her classmates are children of expatriates coming from all over the world. Back home, it is unthinkable to feel any admiration for the opposite sex. The Riyadh air does not seem to encourage this. Manila gives her the urge to socialize. It does not matter if he is a Muslim or Christian, Ayesha reassures herself. <br /> On the way to the audiovisual room, there is a whiff of anxiety in the air. Something is up, Ayesha tells herself. She can feel that the students are staring at her veil more than usual. She sees fire spreading throughout the campus and it is threatening to engulf her. The two enters the dark audiovisual room.<br /> “Class, please calm down but something is happening in New York and we are suspending the film showing for now” Miss Fabular, their English teacher says. “Instead, we will watch the CNN report”. “Please take your seats.”<br /> The small television set that is hastily placed in the middle of the room comes alive with a picture of an airplane crashing into a building interspersed with the grim faces of the reporters narrating the attack. And right before their very eyes unfolds the second plane that crashes into the neighboring skyscraper. The crowd gasps. Ayesha closes her eyes.<br /> In the next few days, the horrible events in New York have become the subject of discussions and speculations in the campus and everywhere else. Osama bin Laden and Al Qaeda are thrust into infamy. Everyday, the horrors of September 11 are shown on TV and written about in the newspapers. Muslims begin to suffer from public perception. <br /> “You should stop wearing your veil, some people are really uncomfortable with it” Fernando tells Ayesha.<br /> “I am not a terrorist!”<br /> “We are just trying to help you” says Teresa.<br /> The three classmates sit on a bench in the sunken garden. They come from the library where a group of students heckled at them when they pass by. It is not an isolated incident. Sometimes, people just stare at Ayesha with accusations in their eyes and gestures. The incident that happened thousands of miles away is anguishing the young student.<br /> “Veiling goes beyond religion for me. No matter how my faith fluctuates, veiling is something I just don't compromise. There wouldn't be any sense in wearing it one day and throwing it away the next day. When I walk around without my hijab, I always feel bare” Ayesha explains to her friends.<br /> Teresa and Fernando look at each other. There seem to be no way their friend will listen to them. They just hope that things will settle down in the next days. <br /> “Let us walk back to the library, we still have to finish our research” Fernando tries to change the subject.<br /> They stand up silently and when they come close to the student hecklers, Ayesha slowly takes off her hijab. She uncovers her neck and then her hair. She folds the veil ceremoniously and places it in her bag.<br /> Her long, black hair catches the red glow of sunset.bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-8780565299489576662007-02-25T03:14:00.000-08:002007-02-25T03:25:45.277-08:00THE ROOMWe drive inside<br />the dark garage<br /><br />climb up-<br /><br />the narrow stairs<br />I hear footsteps<br />deep in my head<br /><br />while my heartbeat<br />drowns my chest,<br /><br />I taste flowers<br />smell its scent <br /><br />but the room is naked<br />the tree is bare,<br /><br />I do not remember<br />what happened next-<br />your gentle touch<br />I strongly felt.<br /><br />I look, around me<br /><br />What is this room?<br />It is strong<br /><br />and square <br />It gives fire<br /><br />within my rage,<br />We tread with<br />lowered eyelids here<br /><br />And softly go<br />behind the blinds,<br /><br />But hearts may cry<br />like loaded guns <br /><br />Brains may yell<br />in silent hush<br /><br />And windows soar<br />from wordless beds<br /><br />While walls explode<br />with a violent rush-<br /><br />Inside-<br />this room<br /><br />that is neither mine<br />nor yours alone.bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-83396671698189182752007-02-06T00:59:00.000-08:002007-02-06T01:01:01.304-08:00<!-- BEGIN CBOX - http://www.cbox.ws --><br /><div align="center" id="cboxdiv"><br /><iframe frameborder="0" width="160" height="305" src="http://www.cbox.ws/box/?boxid=914645&boxtag=6458&sec=main" marginheight="2" marginwidth="2" scrolling="auto" allowtransparency="yes" name="cboxmain" style="border:#EDDEDB 1px solid;" id="cboxmain"></iframe><br/><br /><iframe frameborder="0" width="160" height="75" src="http://www.cbox.ws/box/?boxid=914645&boxtag=6458&sec=form" marginheight="2" marginwidth="2" scrolling="no" allowtransparency="yes" name="cboxform" style="border:#EDDEDB 1px solid;border-top:0px" id="cboxform"></iframe><br /></div><br /><!-- END CBOX -->bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-52362038480486401402006-11-27T05:10:00.000-08:002007-02-05T01:15:37.693-08:00A BOAT CAME PASSING BY<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWr83BrxM5Wv5jbdhExgcBJDJ_t228j-wLFJDm_KIkQWIXhH_TGr8WD5toSXqkqwrxkHlYWUaAcirBxQOawjgikgQX1sw1tA1brfJsov2tiM6GYMDUxC3PBdfEKw9XXFycXrfVGJnSIHW/s1600-h/123.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWr83BrxM5Wv5jbdhExgcBJDJ_t228j-wLFJDm_KIkQWIXhH_TGr8WD5toSXqkqwrxkHlYWUaAcirBxQOawjgikgQX1sw1tA1brfJsov2tiM6GYMDUxC3PBdfEKw9XXFycXrfVGJnSIHW/s320/123.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027976160561378450" /></a><br />A boat came passing by-<br />framed by the blue and laughing sky<br /><br />He did not know I saw<br />his flirting with the waves and wind<br /><br />And dancing with the dew.<br /><br />Dangling from his graceful <br />end were lines of different hues<br /><br />and a silent hunter’s plea<br />that tries to lure the restless sea<br /><br />In the ancient game of prey.<br /><br />I offered him a thought or two<br />that the fish may come to say hello<br /><br />And swiftly as they glide away<br />they do not take with them<br /><br />The courage of a boat-<br />who sometimes lost<br /><br />and sometimes<br />also won.bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-76858184226580946152006-11-27T05:04:00.000-08:002007-02-05T01:16:34.606-08:00LONELY FLAT IN NOVO MESTO<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgACFlhziSSVocfVSYDXPjgE1m23Rl83ZC2wAiFbdTRvwzywfTXG3ulP6ZPWlcrO7W4Nb3wFqmehu1GTydrRwStdBBdaKFQwGPndnqfc1b_nxAO8ZEy6-7InEdxKvFyuo60RXvCY94jzkp6/s1600-h/1234.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgACFlhziSSVocfVSYDXPjgE1m23Rl83ZC2wAiFbdTRvwzywfTXG3ulP6ZPWlcrO7W4Nb3wFqmehu1GTydrRwStdBBdaKFQwGPndnqfc1b_nxAO8ZEy6-7InEdxKvFyuo60RXvCY94jzkp6/s320/1234.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027976405374514338" /></a><br />This flat is sad, sad, sad!<br />There is no cat <br />that chases the rat<br />when I am out<br /><br /> when I come home<br />I cannot stand this room<br />and the smell of doom<br />by the kitchen door<br /><br />Lonely, lonely flat<br />or is this just my heart<br />that cannot dare to beat<br />to the music of life?<br /><br />Can somebody teach my<br />tired, calloused feet to fly<br />outside the realm of sky?<br />then perhaps<br /><br />This sad, sad, sad flat<br />Will finally catch a cat.bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-36428443238690640192006-11-27T05:00:00.000-08:002007-02-05T01:17:40.005-08:00MY DRESS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfXb92T_pdr3XoytOO6onzWu0QDzr4sAyNLiyJ7SffZdl6qPrUybo2pkdBrejkl8TCgonh9CGCg7uH3jfxKobK6Rqa4O9rC7wDM3UUJY7ui8TAQKE26pcWaZzBvPvO63CV3lEjv4Jp4Xl/s1600-h/12345.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfXb92T_pdr3XoytOO6onzWu0QDzr4sAyNLiyJ7SffZdl6qPrUybo2pkdBrejkl8TCgonh9CGCg7uH3jfxKobK6Rqa4O9rC7wDM3UUJY7ui8TAQKE26pcWaZzBvPvO63CV3lEjv4Jp4Xl/s320/12345.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027976675957454002" /></a><br />I wear this dress<br />that does not fit<br />around my neck<br />I cannot breathe<br />can barely sneeze<br />between my teeth<br />It gets so warm<br />with long sleeved arms<br />in the summer time<br />The shade of gloom<br />while flowers bloom<br />outside my room<br /><br />This will not do.<br />This shade of gray-<br /><br />I take off this dress<br />that does not fit<br />around my neck<br />Now I can breathe<br />and also sneeze <br />between my teeth<br />The tiny birds<br />they fly outside<br />the familiar cage<br />And naïve wings<br />slowly, softly open<br />to Beethoven’s lament.<br /><br />This will not do<br />The preacher says-<br />This shade of gray.<br /><br />Put back that dress<br />that chokes you<br />just around your neck<br />You should not breathe<br />nor sneeze<br />between your teeth<br />Kill the bird<br />that dare to fly<br />outside its cage<br />Where butterflies<br />succumb-<br />in nectar’s bed.bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5469004742714535440.post-89211604594860492912006-11-27T04:52:00.000-08:002007-02-05T01:18:31.124-08:00THE CROSSROAD<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGtnD5E-uiHj4Q8KYkywbpguuSewbf4wZCBk5KIXwNf4OE-7vWCc35gmEDW2GbOS9OE76WK-gQRalIaBvug77rTGzKlw1gNSgilPbsPpU7QNnTGCYODI16_Ilvg7OZqE28kA2IlmZ1uoV/s1600-h/123456.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGtnD5E-uiHj4Q8KYkywbpguuSewbf4wZCBk5KIXwNf4OE-7vWCc35gmEDW2GbOS9OE76WK-gQRalIaBvug77rTGzKlw1gNSgilPbsPpU7QNnTGCYODI16_Ilvg7OZqE28kA2IlmZ1uoV/s320/123456.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027976912180655298" /></a><br />I see the road that all of us must<br />take once, <br />twice,<br />or thrice.<br /><br />The yellow road of spring<br />That starts to grow its wings<br /><br />It forks to the left and right<br />and back,<br />then forward<br />or so it seems.<br /><br />This way is lined with leaves of green<br />I know not where it is leading-<br /><br />The others also tempt my feet<br />Red road<br />and white<br />and blue.<br /> <br /><br />Which way should I go?<br />Please tell me what to do<br /><br />They say this one leads to the avenue<br />Of joy<br />Love, hope<br />And beauty too<br /><br />But lurking on its happy street<br />Is a shade of sorrow’s hue<br /><br />Perhaps I will not cross any road<br />I’ll stay<br />just where<br />I stood<br /><br />And everyone who passes by<br />Can watch me while I cry.bambibeltran@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03073163427192107150noreply@blogger.com0