Welcome Back to Me!

God, it's been, what, 2 years, since I last posted a blog on this site? Well, 2 years, at least, since I last did any attempt - serious or otherwise - at writing. Let's just say that I took a "hiatus" from my non-existent literary career to pursue some other worthwhile interests, like earning cash, perhaps? Whatever, I'm still the same incoherent, mostly burned-out, closet writer wannabe, who, thanks to my AB English roots AND my dear mother - God bless her soul - wastes a full hour to mentally edit a single sentence. Sigh...

Gotta run now. My phone alarm's ringing, and yes, I have got to get to work in a little less than an hour - make that a couple of hours, but I am exaggerating, as usual - but I hope to soon dirty these pages with my vocabulary genius. Or not..

The Accused

*The second of only two short stories I've written. Ever. This one got published in Dagmay. I guess it helps when you're friends with the editor. **wink**

The Accused

Fiction by Pam Bitang | Sunday, June 29th, 2008

The heat was punishing. It was one of those days when the sun seemed especially merciless – the heat seeming to sear one’s skin to the bone and the humid air driving the strongest of men to weariness. In the cramped, cheerless room, the heat was even more intolerable. The sole fan attached to the ceiling provided no relief from the cruel heat; if possible, it seemed only to trap the dense air in the windowless box that served as the factory office.

Across the room, the woman sat stiffly on a padded bench. Her head was slightly bowed, her gaze fixed on an indistinct spot on the gray linoleum floor. The heat was almost suffocating, but she felt cold on the inside, her clammy hands gripping her knees tightly in an effort to steady her rioting nerves. Cold, sticky sweat was trickling down her spine in tiny rivulets and dark crescent stains had begun to form below her armpits. Beads of moisture, too, started to line her brows, and she had to swipe them off with her sleeve every so often to keep them from falling to her eyes.

The sound of a folder connecting with the desk snapped her back to attention. The supervisor had finished with the file and was now regarding her steadily. He leaned a bit on his seat, his gaze shrewdly measuring as he took a long drag from his cigarette.

“So, you’ve been working here eight months?” he finally asked.

“Close to nine months, Sir. Nearly a year.”

“Hummph…” he nodded, puffing away at his cigarette. “You seem to have a clean record, too.”

“Yes, Sir. Never been late to work, Sir. Never been absent, either,” she said, straightening, “except when my daughter got sick…”

“Yeah, I got that all in here,” he said, tapping the folder. “Got that about the daughter, too.” Another quick puff.

She squirmed in her seat.

“How about your husband?” he asked.

“I have no husband, Sir.” She squirmed once more.

“How about the father, then?”

“My daughter’s got no father, as far as I’m concerned,” she responded, finally meeting his eyes.

“Left you for someone younger, eh?” he asked with a smirk.

She pursed her thin lips tight.

“Alright, then…let’s get down to business.” The cigarette was long gone by now. “Ms. Mendez, this is a serious crime you committed here. Stealing company money can get you thrown in jail for years.”

Her thin lips were white now.

“You could be imprisoned for life…maybe, never even see your daughter again. Did you think about that?”

“I didn’t steal that money, Sir.”

“Well, someone did. Money was missing from the cash box in the office, and no one else was around. Besides you. That sounds highly suspect to me.”

“I didn’t steal that money, Sir. I have not stolen a dime in my life,” she said, a little desperately now.

“Well, it says here you applied for a loan last month?”

“My daughter got sick, Sir. The doctor said–”

“And your loan got rejected?”

“They said I wasn’t qualified, Sir. Not enough years. But I’ve been working nearly a year now, Sir….”

“Not enough, like they said.”

She gripped her knees tighter.

“So, your daughter?”

“She’s got a problem with her heart, Sir…can’t breathe well, too. She needs an operation really soon,” she explained, her voice wavering.

“Hmmm…serious.” He lit another cigarette. “So you stole the money to pay for the operation?” He blew the smoke towards her.

“No, Sir. I didn’t steal that money. I swear, I didn’t.”

“Let’s see…there’s money missing, you were the only one here the whole day, and you desperately need some cash…”

“That’s not all true, Sir. You were here this morning, too.”

“What? Are you saying I stole the money?” he demanded, almost spitting out the cigarette.

“I’m not saying anything like that, Sir. I’m just saying there were other people coming in and out off the office the whole day…and I took breaks.”

“That may be right…but how do you explain the money that was taken from your bag?”

“That was mine, Sir. Money for my daughter,” she said hardly.

“Money that you stole for your daughter!”

“No, Sir! I didn’t steal that money, please believe me!” she exclaimed almost wildly, rising to her feet. “My daughter needs that operation…she could die…”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Mendez. I can’t do anything about your case now. I must report this to the authorities.” He paused, looking at her almost pityingly. “You’ll need to get yourself a good lawyer.”

She was sobbing uncontrollably now. “But the money, Sir!…”

The sound of the phone jarred them slightly to attention.

“Yes?” he said, picking up the phone.

He looked at her oddly. “Alright, I’ll see to it.”

A few seconds.

“Well, looks like you’ve been saved, Ms. Mendez. Someone’s confessed to the theft. One of the workers.”

She slumped back to her seat. “I told you I didn’t steal the money, Sir.”

“So, you didn’t.” He took out another cigarette. “You may leave now, Ms. Mendez. We are sorry for all the trouble.”

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you.”

“And you may also clear out your things now.”

“Sir?”

“After everything that’s happened, I don’t think you can still work productively around here. Besides, you’ll need to take care of your daughter, right?” That damned smoke again.

“But–”

“Thank you, Ms. Mendez. And here’s your money,” he said, taking out an envelope from the desk drawer.

She looked at the thin envelope, crumpled now and torn at the edges. She could remember counting the crisp bills from the moneylender this morning; it was still a thousand short of the amount that she needed. The thick wad of cash in the box had been very tempting. Maybe, if I had taken the money –

She looked at the supervisor once more. Her eyes seemed older, more tired, but there was still a spark of life left in them. She put the envelope back inside her bag.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Banda ng Bayan

Banda Ng Bayan
Artist: Rivermaya
Album: Bagong Liwanag

LYRICS

Nagsisimula pa lang
Teka muna
Pakinggan nyo kami
Kung ayos lang
Hindi naman kailangan pagpilitan
Kung ayaw mo, kung ayaw mo, Okey lang

Ang sarap ng buhay
Mga maliliit na bagay
Nagdadagdag ng kulay sa kapaligiran
Mga problemang nakakantahan

Ang nagmamahal
Walang katulad
Ang hirap ng buhay
Sinabi mo pa
Pero nagagawan ng paraan
Harapin ang, harapin ang katotohanan

Ang sarap ng buhay
Mga maliliit na bagay
Nagdadagdag ng kulay sa kapaligiran
Takbo ng mundo ay nasasabayan

Pagpugay
Kami ay nagbibigay pugay
Sa aming mga kasama, nakasama
Tuloy ang ligaya

[Bridge]
Tara sumama, umawit ka
Lagyan ng boses ang musika
Sama sama tayo, walang iwanan
Tayo po, tayo po ang banda ng bayan

[Coda]
Tara sumama, umawit ka
Lagyan natin ng boses ang musika
(Repeat 4x)

Stupid Teenage Angst

My 16-year-old niece tried to slash her wrist today. She botched the attempt, though, and managed only to leave a mess on a once white shirt where her blood had dried. I wasn't in the least bit sympathetic. On the contrary, the whole episode only annoyed me and, well, raised some vague recollections of my own high school suicide fantasies. I believe the scenes I came up with were gorier, more creative. I never did act on any of them, though. I was never that stupid...

I like the sound of water

I like the sound of water
crooning like nature’s song
from a mountain’s secret streams
I like its voice, like a lover’s
echoing whispers
within a pool in a cavern --
sometimes subtle, like dew
on a yawning leaf,
it can whoosh as if in a rush
and slap against daring rocks and ridges --
at times oddly thoughtful,
it putters and plops
and trickles on a windowsill;
or merry, it blends
with the shrieks and splashes
of running naked limbs --
forbidding, it roars
with the force of an angry ocean;
hurt, it whimpers – the sound
muffled by a confining bottle
or glass --
quiet, it lies gagged and imprisoned,
locked by a trembling eyelid.

*This is my first real attempt at poetry. My professors liked it, though, haha...

Sonnet XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Pablo Neruda's Poem # 20

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.