Chat with Underboneriders, 12/20/10


UB:  good day

ME:  oyyy, kumusta na! baga maupay man it iyo mga activities, bilib ako

UB:  tnx.. kamo hermano ht 2013 ha guinarona?

ME:  ambot kun kin-o, focused kasi ako sa centennial eh

alam ko si valentin raquel it hermano hit 2012, maupay kay dati ko ito estudyante

UB:  i see..i propose nga mg ka my ada race competition pra marisyo ha guinarona..

ME:  awitan mo nga ang smart na maging major sponsor sa centennial

kailangan kasi natin ng centennial tent and grandstand eh

UB:  last may ng initiate ako hn flat track race…super marisyo…

damo ng kita..

ME:  cool, nasa san pascual website nga iyon eh

UB:  yeah..galing

ME:  anong balita kay san pascual, nagpainop na ba?

UB:  meron na daw.. pero di pa rin mahanap.  sabi daw ada la ha guinarona.  pero warai man.

ME:  hmmmm, di ba may reward, baka gusto dagdag bawas ang reward na iyan

awitan mo nga ang smart para sila ang taya sa grand stand at centennial tent

UB:  wat do u mean na sila ang sa grandstand

san plan mo ilagay ang grandstand

sa tent pwede tau maka hiram

ME:  we are going to have a reenactment of san pascual’s arrival at guinarona, then homage then rain of confetti, petals, then fireworks galore

UB:  aha..

ME:  doon sa grandstand gagawin iyon

UB:  so plaza, dba pwede? o sa paraiso dapit

ME:  sa harap ng simbahan tabi ng angelicum facing north (tacloban)

elevated siya (grandstand, kasing taas ng tao, tapos malapad, kasi pati concerts doon din)

UB:  til nxt tym nlang

ME:  o.k. thanks for your time

UB:  cg we will try

ME:  good job, ty

merry xmas ha iyo ngatanan underboners

UB:  tnx

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The Absoluteness of It All


When we were editing the DMCI Bulletin in the 80’s,  our Christmas issue which really stood out was the one filled with musings about death.  Which elicited countless unease as well as shrugs.  For one thing, December reminded us of the passing away of Father, on December 24, 1970 to be exact.  And how we quickly lost our innocence at that defining moment.  All the while we had thought we were invincible.

Now that we’re a lot older than Father was when he died, death becomes a constant.  More so with the depressing prognostications about 2012.  Like. . . how so that the Hopi Indians, the Mayans, the Australian aborigines are all in accord about  stopping the count at 2012.  Then the messages from the numerous crop circles in Europe, as decoded, also point to December 2012 as very defining, i.e., the sun will turn into a red star, resulting in a new Ice Age for Earth, and that the gravitational pull of Jupiter will wreak havoc as well.

As it is, we humans only use 3 percent of our DNA, with the 97 percent inoperative.  Many are postulating that this 97 percent belongs to the spiritual aspect of man, including one’s ancestors.  Hence the belief among African Tribal Religions about one’s connections to his ancestors through the 97 percent, i.e. some of our ancestors are acting like guides for us.  Which we also subscribe.

A lot of our friends and relatives have passed on, without any warning–sometimes we only knew about  their passing many years after the fact.  They say that death is a lot like going to another room, even as we view it as absolute.

We also had come face to face with death when Mother gave up the ghost in 1997.  How we chanted our Buddhist mantra for so many hours, praying to shoo death away.  While doing so, it dawned on us, that we should just as well pray for a peaceful death for her.

While we attended to her cold and stiff body at the morgue in Burauen, we also made it a point to chant the Buddhist mantra a thousand times more.  You see, we have been all over when it comes to religion.  But that is water under the bridge now, because we find being eclectic to be more apt and workable for us.  We would like to define eclectism as a blend of several philosophies or beliefs.

With being eclectic, we have come to realize that we are just a step away from death’s door.  And that with this truism, we also realize that man’s sole purpose is to help his fellowman, to lift him up in whatever way or form, without an expectation of a payback.  Which reminds us of the proliferation of private foundations seeking to help out.

Of course, they too believe in the Purpose.  The be-all and end-all.

The Dream


Note:  Our ancestors communicate with us through dreams.  Important are dreams so vivid that you don’t easily forget them.  Decoding the message in the dream is another matter though.  It helps that you reconcile the dream with the exigencies of the moment.

Last night (December 4) my dream was this:  I found myself in my home village of Guinarona, in the house of cousin-in-law Biday.  I found sacks of copras in the house’s veranda, and I peeked inside to find Biday lying on the floor, as if stricken ill.  I called out her name and she stirred.  I remarked that she now had lots of money from the copras.  I then proceeded to roam the streets.  Wow, so many houses already!

Then a woman with a veil met me.  It turned out to be Mother.  She was all smiles and obviously pleased to see me.  I said, “Show me your house, I want to see where you live.”  She brought me to an all-wood structure; everything was colored shellacked brown.  She was living with Dondon’s sister (I recognized her because she was her assistant in Manila, when I left them my rented apartment, as I sojourned  in Australia in 1992.  Both Mother and her are deceased, by the way.)  Mother’s house was beside the old Guinarona River, on the corner of Aragon and Sudario streets.

Out of curiosity, I espied the river, and it was deep and foreboding.  Some force was pushing me into the river; good thing I was able to hold onto the trunk of a small tree.  I struggled to swing back to the river bank and to Mother’s house.  Then inside Mother’s house, I saw Mother emptying containers of spaghetti into a chute, which obviously led to the river.  Somehow, nobody served me the pasta dish.

Then off I went to Lobe-lobe, to the site of the Guinarona National High School.  I did not see the school, only the ruins of Licerio Martinada’s house, and I saw shards of blue and white china strewn all over.  Then someone approached me, extending his hand.  He was with two youths.  He said he was the parish priest.  I accepted his offer of handshake.

I then navigated the length of Benitez St.  Wow, I saw modern farmhouses.  I also saw forking

Benitez Street in Guinarona as it looks now

streets, one leading to Cadahuhan (that’s how the people told me).  I chose the middle street; it inclined at first, then it leveled off.  Along both sides of the street were modern farmhouses.  Farther up the street was a crossroad, one sleek road crossing Benitez street.  Wow, Guinarona is now in the 21st Century.  Somehow the roads were not asphalted, but sandy.  I tried to trace the limits of Benitez street, but it just went endlessly, perhaps to the mountains beyond.

End of dream.