i miss
the smell of mud no matter how dirty
the scent of kids running in the heat of the sun the whole day
bagoong cooked with freshly harvested vegetables, evn kangkong cooked with firefood
soaking myself with rain.....hiding my tears or just being childish
I definitely miss
My childhood and all its simplicities
the smell of freshly milled rice - heavenly
huge toads croaking in the garden after the rain
crickets in the evening, huge locusts flying around
I can still see these things and I would definitely go out of my way to have them again
life in all its simplicities
happiness in its crudest form
my nephews and nieces at the foot of my bed anticipating my waking up
to kiss me and hug me or just to jump on my bed
my sister making my coffee and breakfast og garlic fried rice and tinapa
with ginisang talbos ng sitaw
the scent of a young mango leaf
or a freshly baked pandesal
or Papa Darmo making my bulalo and slicing it for me
I can experience thes again and I will spend more time with them ^
I will enjoy my siblings' kids and in return I will relive my past
Gone are the mountains and the green meadows
gone is my bleak future and gone is my nightmare
i don't know if i'm making sense but i write at will
and i will continue to do so.......
Monday, November 16, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Igado
I was reading an article on Inquirer Lifestyle about ways to cook Igado. Igado is one of my favourite Ilocano dishes and it reminds me of town fiestas and birthdays and celebrations. It is usually prepared for special ocassions thus I associate it with the sound of a marching band passing by my Lola's old house in San Nicolas, Pangasinan. I remember having asked one of my friends (who I think has gone on to become my ex wife) to cook for me and she brought this huge kaldero of yummy Igado. I crave for Igado when I am in Pangasinan. I should try cooking tonight...
Igado is a pork liver and meat dish in thick liver sauce with green peas, potato strips, julienne bell pepper, bay leaves and whole black peppercorns. It is sweet, salty and sour, sometimes drenched in oil - yummy. I should try cooking that tonight! I can eat it with brown bread and not feel guilty.
Igado is a pork liver and meat dish in thick liver sauce with green peas, potato strips, julienne bell pepper, bay leaves and whole black peppercorns. It is sweet, salty and sour, sometimes drenched in oil - yummy. I should try cooking that tonight! I can eat it with brown bread and not feel guilty.
TEDDY BOY LOCSIN’S EULOGY for President CORAZON AQUINO
I just love reading this over and over again.... especially the word "ennobled".... This should be entitled "I Never Noticed"
Throughout thirteen years of martial law, until I laid eyes on her again, I never thought that I would ever see the end of it. Least of all that my father would survive it. I am not much given to prayer or pious reflection but when I could set aside my anger, I prayed my father would see democracy again.
Late one afternoon, in San Francisco, I got a call. It was from Cory Aquino, for whom I had written one speech after her husband’s assassination. She said she had accepted Marcos’s challenge in a Snap Presidential Election. I put down the phone, and packed my bags, and reported to her at the Cojuangco Building.
I knew then she was the answer to my prayers. What I did not notice was that the closer we came to victory, which is to say the farther the prospect receded that the Marcos regime would survive, the less I felt the anger inside me. As each day passed, bringing me closer to the day I could get even, the less I felt the need for it as I spent more time with the woman who alone could make it possible.
I did not notice, but I was no longer looking back in anger, or looking forward even, to victory and vindication. Only now do I see. I had lived with my anger so long, only for the day to come when it no longer mattered to me. The only thing that counted was that I was living every day to the fullest, bringing out the best in me—for someone else. A dream I hadn’t had since I was a boy, feeding on stories of chivalry, had been achieved. I was serving a woman who was every inch a sovereign, all the more for scorning the slightest pretension to the role.
I did not realize it, even when I was already in the Palace, by the side of the President—among all her advisers, I like to think, the one who loved her most.
It never again occurred to me that I had scores to settle. And not until today, that I had passed up every chance to get even.
From the moment I came in from the airport and reported for duty, and she gave me in return the same smile she gave me on her deathbed, I never noticed… Not when I was with her in the campaign when she corrected me for not looking at the people I was waving at… Nor when I was with her in the presidential limousine looking intently, for her benefit, at the crowds at whom I waved… I never noticed anything. Except that I was with the only person that I would ever want to be with.
I certainly never noticed that I had left my anger behind. I don’t know how it happened. Except that Cory Aquino ennobled everyone who came near her. I have tried to say it publicly but never could finish. If you saw me as I felt myself to be, anyone would fall in love with me. I saw myself in that hospital room, a knight at the bedside of his dying sovereign, on the eve of a new Crusade, oblivious to the weight of the armor on his shoulders for the weight of the grief in his heart.
And because she always doubted my ability to be good for very long… Indeed, when my wife told Ballsy that I prayed the rosary at Lourdes for her mother’s recovery, Cory said, “Teddy Boy prayed the rosary? A miracle! I feel better already.” Because she doubted my capacity for self-reformation, she made it effortless for me by being herself. I did not notice that I was doing right by serving a woman who never did wrong. I am not sure how to take this moral self-discovery. It is so unlike myself. But if it will bring me before her again, I am happy.
Throughout thirteen years of martial law, until I laid eyes on her again, I never thought that I would ever see the end of it. Least of all that my father would survive it. I am not much given to prayer or pious reflection but when I could set aside my anger, I prayed my father would see democracy again.
Late one afternoon, in San Francisco, I got a call. It was from Cory Aquino, for whom I had written one speech after her husband’s assassination. She said she had accepted Marcos’s challenge in a Snap Presidential Election. I put down the phone, and packed my bags, and reported to her at the Cojuangco Building.
I knew then she was the answer to my prayers. What I did not notice was that the closer we came to victory, which is to say the farther the prospect receded that the Marcos regime would survive, the less I felt the anger inside me. As each day passed, bringing me closer to the day I could get even, the less I felt the need for it as I spent more time with the woman who alone could make it possible.
I did not notice, but I was no longer looking back in anger, or looking forward even, to victory and vindication. Only now do I see. I had lived with my anger so long, only for the day to come when it no longer mattered to me. The only thing that counted was that I was living every day to the fullest, bringing out the best in me—for someone else. A dream I hadn’t had since I was a boy, feeding on stories of chivalry, had been achieved. I was serving a woman who was every inch a sovereign, all the more for scorning the slightest pretension to the role.
I did not realize it, even when I was already in the Palace, by the side of the President—among all her advisers, I like to think, the one who loved her most.
It never again occurred to me that I had scores to settle. And not until today, that I had passed up every chance to get even.
From the moment I came in from the airport and reported for duty, and she gave me in return the same smile she gave me on her deathbed, I never noticed… Not when I was with her in the campaign when she corrected me for not looking at the people I was waving at… Nor when I was with her in the presidential limousine looking intently, for her benefit, at the crowds at whom I waved… I never noticed anything. Except that I was with the only person that I would ever want to be with.
I certainly never noticed that I had left my anger behind. I don’t know how it happened. Except that Cory Aquino ennobled everyone who came near her. I have tried to say it publicly but never could finish. If you saw me as I felt myself to be, anyone would fall in love with me. I saw myself in that hospital room, a knight at the bedside of his dying sovereign, on the eve of a new Crusade, oblivious to the weight of the armor on his shoulders for the weight of the grief in his heart.
And because she always doubted my ability to be good for very long… Indeed, when my wife told Ballsy that I prayed the rosary at Lourdes for her mother’s recovery, Cory said, “Teddy Boy prayed the rosary? A miracle! I feel better already.” Because she doubted my capacity for self-reformation, she made it effortless for me by being herself. I did not notice that I was doing right by serving a woman who never did wrong. I am not sure how to take this moral self-discovery. It is so unlike myself. But if it will bring me before her again, I am happy.
a poem written for me on my 41st birthday
The Half-A-Century Tree
A Poem for Galo
By Oliver Ramos
Old as the big acacia tree watching over me through the window
Housing little birds that cannot fly, nursing them until they grow
With branches giving shed to those scourged by the raging sun
Dancing with the sun and smiling at the skies till the lights are gone
Rain or shine, the tree remains to stand calm and tougher
And some birds have flown as their wings have grown stronger
Swaying and kissing the skies, wishing them all the best
While welcoming others who are in need of an empty nest
Almost half a century has passed and the tree remains standing
With its branches’ breadth that is always welcoming
With its balding stems waving with pride and gratefulness
Talking to the sun and asking nothing but others’ happiness
Oh old tree I wish I remain that bird, small and naive
So that I can return to the nest you helped me weave
Only from the window I could hear your comforting song
With the melody and lyrics I will always sing along...
A Poem for Galo
By Oliver Ramos
Old as the big acacia tree watching over me through the window
Housing little birds that cannot fly, nursing them until they grow
With branches giving shed to those scourged by the raging sun
Dancing with the sun and smiling at the skies till the lights are gone
Rain or shine, the tree remains to stand calm and tougher
And some birds have flown as their wings have grown stronger
Swaying and kissing the skies, wishing them all the best
While welcoming others who are in need of an empty nest
Almost half a century has passed and the tree remains standing
With its branches’ breadth that is always welcoming
With its balding stems waving with pride and gratefulness
Talking to the sun and asking nothing but others’ happiness
Oh old tree I wish I remain that bird, small and naive
So that I can return to the nest you helped me weave
Only from the window I could hear your comforting song
With the melody and lyrics I will always sing along...
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