where have they gone?

there was this little girl who kept on laughing while

drawing whiskers on my face at 8

where are you anna marion?

there was this little girl who kept on wanting

to be dressed like a princess at 2

where are you ave marie?

there was this little girl who kept on singing

and miming the way i teach

where are you faith sharreah?

there was this little boy who kept babbling

unrecognizable words even at 4

where are you adrian michael?

there was this little boy who kept running and

giggling and doing pranks at 3

where are you john zamir?
there was this young woman
who tried to keep her head high despite the hunger and pain
where are you felicitas?

anna marion is dead,

please god bless her soul.

ave marie is on a balancing act in career and marriage,

please god guide her decisions.

faith sharreah is learning, un-learning and re-learning,

please god give her strength.

adrian michael is preparing for a good career,

please god give him inspiration to move on.

john zamir is toughing out the university life,

please god bring him to a productive path.
felicitas is a grandmother, still struggling but with bigger faith
please god give her more love-laden years.

for our beloved Fr. Sonny - surely...you will be missed

The Beautiful Hands of a Priest

(poem by an unknown author)

We need them in life's early morning,

We need them again at its close;

We feel their warm clasp of true friendship,

We seek them when tasting life's woes.

At the altar each day we behold them,

And the hands of a king on his throne

Are not equal to them in their greatness;

Their dignity stands all alone;

And when we are tempted and wander,

To pathways of shame and of sin,
It's the hand of a priest that will absolve us,

Not once, but again and again.

And when we are taking life's partner,

Other hands may prepare us a feast,

But the hand that will bless and unite us

Is the beautiful hand of a priest.

God bless them and keep them all holy,

For the Host which their fingers caress;

When can a poor sinner do better

Than to ask Him to guide thee and bless?

When the hour of death comes upon us,

May our courage and strength be increased,

By seeing raised over us in blessing

The beautiful hands of a priest.

[this poem is anonymously but beautifully written.
of course for someone like you,
only if you were still here...but, you are gone, gone now...
god needed you up there more than here i guess.
we will miss you padre. thanks to you...
our lives are blessed by your strength , wisdom and kindness.
fare thee well.]

Old Ladies in April

           All these years, Citas have been saving enough money for a vacation to their hometown.  It's been three years,  the last time she was home. It was the death of her Papa. Every now and then, she felt the nudging in her heart to come home.  Questions yearning in her mind... how are the olds now?  
          
          Alighting from the bus as it arrived hometown, she had this eerie feeling,  "Why is our house seemed empty. Where is everybody?"  Pushing the front door slowly, she peeped in to see who's in there, but there was none. She saw  their  living room which used to be happy, filled with piano music... now it's bare and empty. The antique piano has long been gone to the storage house, chopped into pieces. Turning her eyes to the dining hall leading to the kitchen... she remembers, it was the most busy area in her childhood days... she, learning to cook at the age of 8, never gets tired of preparing the meals day after day. Glancing at the mezzanine wall, hung were pictures of her brood in their graduation togas. But she missed her picture.. All of them now are having our own families. 


          Engrossed at those hung photos, a voice came from behind.  "So, you're here. Glad you remembered to visit us. We never expected you to come home anymore, now that your Papa is gone."  Those stinging words were from her stepmom! She was tempted to confront her, but when she turned to face her, she was too shocked to see her very sick. Gone was the bubbly laughter, gone was the chattering voice, gone was the swiftness of her legs, that fussed all children to school. Now her whole body is covered with sores, making her look very frail and miserable. And she said,  she  is always left alone in the house because everyone feared contamination from her disease.
           
           The next day, Citas boarded a bus to a nearby town, to visit another foster mom. She was more than shocked to see her in bed, all dressed up and clasping a prayerbook in her hands... as if waiting for her time to come.... She was told that... she has refused eating  for months now... worse... she wont talk to anyone except to her househelp who is at her side most of the time. She has totally withdrawn herself from the world around her. She was more than hurt thinking that nobody cares for her... anymore.
           
            With a heavy heart, she took the ride back home.  She never felt this sad before. "Why did this happened to them? Then she remembered another auntie, who is a retired teacher.  Maybe she could could answer the questions running in my mind right now.  This  auntie of hers is soft-spoken, religious and a very understanding one. She was always happy and has a ready smile.


             But then, as she took the steps by the front porch, an angry voice filled the air, almost shouting and arguing . "Auntie, how are you?"... as Citas motioned to embraced her. She retorted back, "Get oiut of my way. Can't you see that I'm limping. I cannot do my chores  anymore because of this disabled leg."  Citas was taken aback, but still grabbed her hand  for blessings. The auntie she love has gone cranky, after she fell down from the stairs three months ago. Now she feels useless and a burden in the house.


             The excitement in coming home was gone.   So, it is very true then,,, that growing old is lonely.  And these has opened ou eyes, to remind everyone, to take care of your olds, while we still can.  All because of these three old ladies she visited last April.

I can't believe Il Divo said it all...

Mama thank you for who I am, thank you for all the things I'm not

Forgive me for the words unsaid, for the times I forgot

Mama remember all my life you showed me love, you sacrificed

Think of those young and early days how I've changed along the way

And I know you believed and I know you had dreams

And I'm sorry it took all this time to see

That I am where I am because of your truth

And I miss you, yeah I miss you

Mama forgive the times you cried, forgive me for not making right

All of the storms I may have caused and I've been wrong

Dry your eyes, Dry your eyes

'Cause I know you believed and I know you had dreams

And I'm sorry it took all this time to see

That I am where I am because of your truth

And I miss you, I miss you

Mama I hope this makes you smile, I hope you're happy with my life

At peace with every choice I made how I've changed along the way

'Cause I know you believed in all of my dreams

And I owe it all to you , mama.

[from http://www.zonelyrics.net/lyrics/i/Il-Divo/Mama.html]

A Short Lullabye

Sleep na, baby ko;

Tulog na, baby ko'

Close eyes, baby ko;

Bait, baby ko.

Dapal-dapalay

Dapal-dapalay, nganong hingsalay?

Hingsalay kay baha man.

Baha? Wah mangayam...

Mangayam, babuyan!

Babuyan? Wah manghatag...

Manghatag nga gamaya rah man!

Gamay? Dakog tingog...

Tungod sa gabiing malanog.

[one of those nonsense (but somehow with sense) rhymes
taught to kids in the visayas region...
makes me wonder if kids these days still know this]

Not just a lullabye

Buhi sa kanunay ug 'di ko hikalimtan

Ang gugmang gibati ko, mingturok ning dughan

Bisag giyam-iran, bisan ug gitamay

Mulambo ug mulipang kay

Ang gugmang matuod 'di mamatay

Tuhui intawon ako, salig sa gisaad ko

Gugma kining wa'y pagkalaya

Bisag ibanlas sa luha

Kung ang kasing-kasing ko sa palad sakiton

Didto sa kalangitan ako kang paabuton.

[an old visayan song that continues to haunt me]

Recuerdo

Lazy days of summer

basket full of fruits, and sweet-smelling flowers .

days... spent on outings, travel, discovering new friends.

forty-seven summers ago

i met a city boy named Nario, a grandson of my Lola's friend

he was already in high school while we were still in the elementary

he knows so many things

that we always listen to his stories

without even questioning him if it's true or not.

he was a good runner

and we could not race against him, no matter what

he could also swim... not afraid to meet the big waves by the sea... frolicking

He could also climb trees, from guavas, to tambis, to balimbings and macopas,

we made little ellises out of jackfruit leaves

and balls and watches of out coconut leaves, too'

in the afternoons, we take turns in grating coconuts for our merienda

beco, binignit, majalia, suman, puto or bibingka... you name it...

these we cook and Nario learned to cook too.

Then rice harvesting came. Lola asked us to help in the ricefields,

A walk in the rice paddies is something new for Nario

we were laughing as he stumble every now and then, mud up to his knee.

Cutting the rice stalks, pounding them, gathering the grains into the sacks.

But, winnowing was my favorite task...

whistling... calling out the wind to come by as I shook the grains back and forth, by and by.

Then summer came to an end

Nario left and gave me his handkerchief as recuerdo

and all the good times we had.

More summers came

more fruits and flowers and games

but Nario has not visited us since.