Being man (part 12, end)

Mark had the sincere desire to serve God as a priest. He did not see himself watching his days glide to history except as ministering to God’s people. As his friend, the least I could do was help him keep an unflinching hold on this desire, caution him about movements that could endanger or make loose his hold on that desire, that dream. I believe that man’s thrown-ness into the world becomes meaningful only when he finds happiness in being. And that in turn is sought only when he is what he purposes to be. The coming-to-be of that dream was, to my thought, only that that could redeem Mark from the possibility of a life without sense. From absurdity, Camus would say.

I felt the wind read my thoughts, for a shiver ran through me as I entertained them.

Until the time when the potentiality of being a priest was already an actuality, every day would be a struggle for Mark (as it would be even as a priest). A struggle to be or not to be. Only if Mark authentically is could he lay a firm grip on the dream. Still, a struggle, true to its sense, doesn’t always yield victory. When the passions strike, they strike hard. Sometimes (or many times?), no amount of determination could shame them away.

His question shook me from my thoughts. “Ken, do you believe I can be strong?”

With a smile, I answered reassuringly, “I believe you can, Mark. And if I believe so, you must believe you can. Strength and courage are a matter of the will. Will to be strong. Will to be courageous.”

“Thanks.” His smile was gratefully sincere.

I just got to hope my assurance would do him good.

For the moments that followed, we watched the stars reclaim their spaces in the firmament. The moon shone again with a romantic brightness. And I wondered whether the sun could rise, too, in the west.

My wonderings were disturbed by the sounds of hunger down my belly. My watch said, it’s way past ten. Just one more imagining before being famished.

“Bro, how about getting some dinner?”

“I’d like that.”

“Let’s go.”

The waves came running after us. (February, 1998)

Being man (part 11)

A careful look on him would divulge a bittersweet smile lingering on his face. First time in minutes, I saw his eyes on me, and they seemed to appreciate the kind words I gave him. With folded arms above his chest, he gazed back at the stars shining down at this darkness of our life together. Through the color of night, I could discern the gloom still written on his countenance.

Somewhere in my mind, it dawned that there couldn’t be any difficulty as regards others throwing deriding eyes on him. Why, nobody has taught nobody about the subject on Mark. Only they and I, and God, have access to the room. And come to think of it, for all these years, not a single detail demonstrated to me that, indeed, there was something, well, ‘unusual’ about my buddy. It would take a supernatural talent, a metaphysical light, to comprehend Mark as Mark. I perceived that what was really problematic here was ‘combative’ in essence; Mark was to wage war against the other Mark lurking inside.

“I know how it is to be damned under that undesirable label but . . .”

“Now you know I am one of them. My company is undesirable then,” Mark interrupted.

“No. Of course, not. I was just musing about how they might deal with you. And I’m not one of them. I’m your friend.”

“I know . . . I know.” That gloomy kind of smile returned to him.

“And I was about to say, you’re different. You know how to act well, huh.”

He took my meaning. “Who knows who I am?” he asked the stars.

“Exactly. No one has the slightest reason to think that somewhere within you, there beats a, well, a . . . soft heart.”

“That I am a sissy . . .”

I stood up. “Mark,” my voice sounding close to pleading, “nothing without you ever told me of what was going on within you. Outside, you’re basically the Mark Garcia I made friends with many years ago. You’re a very nice person. I’m certain this is not the first time you ever heard this. You’re intelligent, talented, generous, and helpful. You have all what it takes to be one very good friend. I should tell you, however, as your friend, that you must take care of yourself. Watch out for her. Don’t let her do her things. Be on guard that she does not go chasing the red lights. Then, you’ll still have reason to smile at the world.”

No close observation of him could disclose any reaction to my counsel. There wasn’t any hint whether he assented to my statements. At one point, I feared that they sounded to him more like disbelief in his capacity to withstand the summon of the red lights than caring words to a troubled friend. Or, perhaps, he had already thought of these long ago. (February, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 10)

“Mark, I know how difficult all the confusion such as you suffer may get. I should remind you, however, that you did not cause yourself to be. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have elected to be the sort of being that you are now. You, all of us, had been thrown into this unfamiliar world without having been consulted about the sort of being you were to assume. You simply found yourself here and then you realized that you are who you are. How you are, how you feel, is beyond your responsibility. It is not your fault if you are naturally drawn to feel for one of your own kind. Don’t put the blame on you for this.”

“Do you like being Kenneth?” I saw again those eyes that make me admire him. And I did not know what answer I would deliver to him.

“Of course, I do!” my lips just blurted.

“Because there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“And there’s something wrong with you?”

“Tell me, how can I go on pretending there’s nothing wrong with me and still smile at the world?” returned he. His eyes opened as he delivered his inquiry, but he did not throw them on me. I guessed that he was addressing himself to the twinkling things above again.

But that was not the reason that I did not respond at once. Rather, it was not in my immediate ability to face such questioning intelligently. Then I managed to say, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. The way you look at yourself, there lies what’s wrong. If the way you feel about that man you say you love, which you deem devious and erratic, rationalizes your thinking that there’s something unnatural, therefore wrong, about you, then you are belying God’s claim to the goodness of all his creation. You are a special work of God.” (February 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 9)

I don’t exactly remember how my senses roused from the shock. Nonetheless, I do remember staring at him while unreeling the utterances about the truth, but a while after, the stern gaze I was throwing on him did not reveal him anymore. The next time I was back on myself, he was already back on the sand, lying still. It did not take stock in me how long it took him to leave the water. I guess, I was too engrossed in figuring out what really was from what only seemed because until then I still couldn’t believe that the being I knew he was, was a mere belief, a deliverance of what appears to be. After all, Mark was not Mark. That directly violated the principle of non-contradiction. And that should be intellectually painful.

When my good sense returned, I felt obliged to near him. I folded my knees to a squat, and so I noticed that his eyes were shut off from the world. I fondly held his shoulder to demonstrate a special concern for him, to let him know that whenever he got entangled in brambles against forces unseen, unknown and unavoidable, I’d keep standing by him to brave him, to evidence it was no mistake when he reckoned me one true friend.

I was certain though that everything would not be the same again. (February, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 8)

I don’t exactly remember how my senses roused from the shock. Nonetheless, I do remember staring at him while unreeling the utterances about the truth, but a while after, the stern gaze I was throwing on him did not reveal him anymore. The next time I was back on myself, he was already back on the sand, lying still. It did not take stock in me how long it took him to leave the water. I guess, I was too engrossed in figuring out what really was from what only seemed because until then I still couldn’t believe that the being I knew he was, was a mere belief, a deliverance of what appears to be. After all, Mark was not Mark. That directly violated the principle of non-contradiction. And that should be intellectually painful.

When my good sense returned, I felt obliged to near him. I folded my knees to a squat, and so I noticed that his eyes were shut off from the world. I fondly held his shoulder to demonstrate a special concern for him, to let him know that whenever he got entangled in brambles against forces unseen, unknown and unavoidable, I’d keep standing by him to brave him, to evidence it was no mistake when he reckoned me one true friend.

I was certain though that everything would not be the same again.

“Mark, I know how difficult all the confusion such as you suffer may get. I should remind you, however, that you did not cause yourself to be. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have elected to be the sort of being that you are now. You, all of us, had been thrown into this unfamiliar world without having been consulted about the sort of being you were to assume. You simply found yourself here and then you realized that you are who you are. How you are, how you feel, is beyond your responsibility. It is not your fault if you are naturally drawn to feel for one of your own kind. Don’t put the blame on you for this.”

“Do you like being Kenneth?”

I saw again those eyes that make me admire him. And I did not know what answer I would deliver to him. (February, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 7)

Turning around, he thundered, “Did you hear that? I’m in love with another man!” He himself seemed surprised to hear the words slipping from his lips about his own self. “God, what have I gotten into?” His hands reached for his hips, then raised one, I don’t remember which, to his face, producing movements that expressed the confusion and the chaos and the agony that was he. Shaking his head vigorously, he said in escalating pitch, “This is crazy. I am crazy! Everything is! Oh, why did I ever have to feel this way? Why?”

That stark, unprecedented statement of Mark left me dumb. His confession became a lump on my throat so that not a word passed through it. I opened my mouth, but I just didn’t know what to say. My lips opened and closed like my sister Angela’s fish’s. For moments that seemed like eternity, I was not sure about my feeling about the issue. Would I be mad at him for making a fool out of me? Would I laugh at him, disdain him, for being the being that he is? But I did not have the right. Would I dump him because he was not the friend I thought he was? I treated him the way I did because he was who I thought him to be, didn’t I? I was not sure. But it would have been un-friendly of me. I supposed even my sense of feeling suffered numbness from the rush of words that escaped from his closet.

Faintly, I could hear him blaming his heart. “It’s all your fault. Lia was there, but you chose him.”

At that instant Mark let go of his 'little secret', everything looked different. The moon seemed to have lost its orbit. The stars, which were vibrantly lending themselves for a romantic setting, looked like they were starting to fall away, one after another. (February, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 6)

I blurted out laughing. “For God’s sake, Mark! A seminarian falling in love with a girl does not sound like a real problem to me, in the least. Why, are you nuts?” my voice almost squeaked. “It’s absolutely and humanly normal to fall in love. It’s perfectly sane for a young man to be emotionally involved with a young woman. Seminarians are still human beings who have hearts, you know, and therefore are capable of loving, or if you please, have the right to love,” I pointed out.

“I do understand every bit you squeaked.” A pale try at humor.

“Sorry. But I don’t think you do. You’re being too scrupulous. What I do think is, it is inexplicable that you are bothered by such issue as being in love at all. Unless, of course, if you’re already one of them. I mean, a priest.” Wrong, I heard myself challenged me. “Oh, but even priests may still fall in love, you see. So stop worrying.”

“No, you don’t understand, Ken. And I do have all the reasons to worry.”

“Mark, listen. Call this a test, all right? Just get a feel of everything that’s going on in your heart. It will do you some good. Being at it will help you clarify the reasons why seminary structure and routine still do mean a lot to you. You’ll be able to see more clearly where you really belong. Look at me. I tried St. Patrick, well, not only because you would be there but also because I wanted to see if it just might be my life. I realized it was not, so I left. What you feel right now may help you choose the way to go. College will be over, Mark, and you’ll have to choose, theologate or what? ”

“You don’t know a bit of what’s making me down and out because you haven’t heard a single thing from me yet.”

That kicked the hell out of me. Whatever I still had in my mind was left lodged in my throat. I was surprised to realize that I hadn’t actually given him a chance to really talk, and he had already been beating his third beer to his belly.

“Ken, yours were well-meant, I know. And thanks,” he went on, “but it’s not what you think that is pulling me to only hell knows where . . . I can’t keep it any longer. It’s tearing me.” He ran his left hand across his face as though drying it up. An air of gloom hung around where a romantic one once was. His sighs and deep breaths became more frequent, as I drank from my bottle. He rose to his feet and began to pace toward the water. He paused where the water was almost halfway to the knee. He ran his fingers through his black hair, which shone in the moonlight, and drank down his beer in several swift gulps.

“Ken,” he pronounced, his back toward me, “I’ve fallen for a guy.” (January, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 5)

Facing me, he confessed, “Ken, I feel like I’m closed up in a dark dungeon right now. I’m so lost.” His face was a picture of sadness and confusion. Turning away, he began drinking a second bottle, and he drank straight until it was half-full. Wow, I couldn’t believe my eyes! Teacher’s success? It became definite to me that somehow I miscalculated the gravity of his burden, whatever that might be. Onerous might have been the right word to describe his yoke.

“You have me. I can very well be someone to whom you can unload. Let me guess... Jesus, you’ve been caught cheating and you’re not going to march! No, by now you have perfected the art. Your name’s taken out from the dean’s list or you’re not graduating with honors? How could you be so dumb to allow it? Negative. Heart-broken? What?”

I waited forever for an answer. By the look in his eyes as he looked my way only to look away almost immediately, it seemed that it was not in his proximate volition to spill his heart and his mind as yet. Not that he did not trust me, I believe. Maybe, he was just not ready to talk about it to me then or to anyone else. And I knew I had, and was ready, to respect him and understand the pace with which he could make any pronouncement. With which he revealed the Mark he kept inside.

Then, I caught him saying, “God must have let things happen as they did to let me know that I have forgotten to love him as he deserved to be loved.” These words struck me as vague naturally.

“Just what exactly do you mean?”

“I’m so sorry for not being very honest about myself with you. There were hundreds of things that you should have known or I should have confided in you, as a very dear friend to me. But I simply decided to keep them all to myself. Times came when I thought it was better to write to you to tell you my things. And then again, I had the unlucky fate of being unable to do it. Any desire to do it was swept out of my will before I could ever say or write a word.”

“Don’t be, pretty boy. I perfectly understand that. Every one of us has his own secret place. A sacred place, a sanctuary where only we can go to,” I said, emphasis put. “I don’t know how any man alive can go on living without it. It is, indeed, necessary in order to maintain his well-being. I don’t see any reason that it should be wrong that you keep some of your things from me. Total transparency is not indispensable for relations such as ours to thrive. I don’t think that is ever possible, either.”

“Thanks,” he said, softly but appreciatively. I heard another sigh slip out from deep within him. “If you only knew . . .” His voice trailed off.

“So let me,” I almost found myself say when the idea that it was better if he himself spelled out what bothered him to death, disallowed me.

“I have been investing my time, love and tenderness on one person. It was a dangerous love because I was loving the person in such a way that I shouldn’t have had. It was wrong. Forbidden. I was certain God did not approve of it.”

“So I was right. My friend is a heart-broken man. Hey, take it easy.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“You fell in love, right?”

He nodded. “And it’s still there.”

“And that’s what’s wrecking your head?”

Another nod. (January, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 4)

“Days in St. Patrick’s were like . . . like heaven, Ken. My best years . . . yeah,” his voice like trailing off.

“Best years! Oooohh, well, I wonder what would have happened to you if I did not leave. St. Patrick could have enjoyed the sweet aroma of Gilbey’s more often! Remember when you blew in the chapel during the lauds? Man, that really made me tremble. ‘Twas a brave brush with the rules, huh. I guess, being there was like always bringing you to danger zones! You should thank me. You owe me those best years!” He gave me an uncertain look. “Just kiddin’.” He held up his hands. “But it hurts to think I was not part of those years.”

“Two years, Ken. My first two years were great because you were there.”

“Adding spice to your life? You’re welcome! At least, my presence did you something good.” There I was mixing things up again. Mark knew my ways. No, not every bit.

“Well, what are friends for?” He grinned. And laughter. We raised our bottles for a toast. A big splash climbed up the shore almost wetting our feet. The sea must have desired to join us in the toast, for along the years of growth, of pain and of joy, the sea was a faithful companion.

“Yup, what are friends for?”

Silence returned to take its place between us. Once more, he cast his gaze far out to the silvery sea. But I did not find anything yonder that should interest me. Perhaps, he saw things my eyes just couldn’t see. Or he might have been looking at things he himself didn’t see. Turning to him, I tendered a friendly tap on his shoulder.

“Something’s bothering you?” (January, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 3)

He slid his hands into the back pockets of his faded blue Levi’s jeans and started giving himself some leisure steps by the shore. Leaving behind the empty bottle, I made a beeline for the cottage to withdraw beer from the fridge. Three pairs will be enough, I decided. As I went out the cottage, I realized how wonderfully lovely the evening darkness was. I turned back up to the glistening backdrop that outlined the mountaintops. Then something dawned upon me. “There is sure gonna be no bed before midnight,” I told the cold air.

“Your beer, sir,” I said in mock courtesy, laying the bottles on the ground, and seated myself beside them.

Mark grinned. “Thanks, Ken,” he replied as he joined me on the sand. He reached for a bottle then took the cap off by his teeth. “Here,” he said, holding the bottle toward me. I never learned to work my teeth when opening bottles. I smiled back to tell him “Thank you.” He uncapped another for himself. For a while, no words issued from our mouths. Instead, we let the soft rumblings of the waves and the silky hush of the wind fill the silence the seemed to divide us. Suddenly, a shiver ran through my skin. The air as if teasing us to a race had grown colder. Our shadows appeared where the water raged and foamed. I looked over my shoulder momentarily to see that the moon has leapt to a romantic height. Beneath it, the sea sparkled while it inspired an enchanting breath of beauty. Whew!

“What a beautiful place we got here!” he enthusiastically commented after taking a big gulp. “Looks like paradise to me. Thanks for inviting me in again, Ken.”

“Don’t say a word. It’s uncalled for. It always is my pleasure to make you comfortable. I am glad when you are.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to a spot on earth like this. This is one thing I always looked forward to – ‘coming home,’ you know.” I heard a sigh pass out his nostrils. Steadying his sight on the gems of the night for a moment, he exclaimed, “Look at the stars! Aren’t they wonderful?”

“Truly wonderful,” I agreed. “And magical.”

“And somehow, friends are like the stars. They are there unconditionally burning for us through the dark night. Especially on dark, cold nights. Won’t ever choose to leave us cuddled up alone on one corner, frightened and not knowing what to do. Sometimes, we don’t see them. But we’d realize that they were there standing by us all along. Ken, am I so glad I got one true friend in you.”

“There goes the emotional Mark again! Man, I got same words for you. You never let me down. Ever. You saw me through thick and thin. How can I forget the exams I passed because answers rained down on my paper like torrent?!”

A hearty laugh.

“Hey, I lay my life on the line for you on that Science quiz, huh! How did I throw that paper to you over the head of Ms. Antonio again? Goodness, I could have been sent out.”

Honestly, I was mischievous during exams not because I was numb but I was lazy. Modesty aside, I could be on the dean’s list if I wanted it. “They keep the good and intelligent people. They could not have afforded losing a brilliant . . .”

“Cheater!” he cut me. “O, boy, those years seem like yesterday,” his tone nostalgic. He slowly shook his head the way someone does when he lost something that can never be replaced. “I wish they had not dragged on so quickly.”

“Time really flies so fast. Several years more, and you’ll be there.” (January, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 2)

The sun had sunk lower than when I saw it playing with the birds earlier. It was doomed to be robbed out of sight by the nebulous things hanging in stripes of gray and pale orange a little above where the sky kissed the sea. I observed him intensely fixed, although perhaps unthematically, on the sun in anticipation of its wrestle against the clouds. I was sure he was wishing they did not show up that afternoon, for he wanted well to behold the drama which the western horizon was about to unfold as the sun would finally allow itself to sink, surrendering its will to the waters. Then the color of gloom gradually invaded the place, and the pain that the problems that were weighing him down caused surged again intensified. But he liked it that way. For him, it was as though the twilight sympathized with him. When the twilight with which he had struck a brand of friendship left, and the night pushed its way in, he would not feel that the beings which heard his secrets in the sun would leave him in the dark, alone, because the twilight would leave behind the stars, scattered in magical artistry across the horizon and send the moon to brighten up the night. The sundown was a natural phenomenon that gave him courage and inspired in him hope. It vividly taught him that there still lingered sparks of hope amid all the darkness in his world. Hope for the sun.

As the stars began to glisten like diamonds sprawled upon velvet blackness, I judged it was then safe to shake him out of his solitude.

“Mark!” I called out to him, who at that time had its back on the sand. He remained lying and showed no hint of having heard his name. That’s typically him, I thought. “Mark!”

Slowly and with obvious reluctance, he got to his feet. He waved back to me but did not say a word. I took several steps to get nearer so that my voice could reach him quite audibly. By now, the movements of the wind filled the distance between us.

“Will you care for some more beer?” I asked, raising my bottle after which I drank what little remained in it. Of course, it was unnecessary to raise the question.

“Hey, what do you think?” he returned my question. “Come on, bring them here.” I then knew that the two he brought with him earlier had gone to his stomach.

“Alright, in a minute.” (January, 1998)

To be continued...

Being man (part 1)

I found him picking pebbles and throwing them with some dexterity into the sea. A smile took over my face as I remember how he used to do copycats of the antics of a hunk from the American League he watched on TV for some time, with little success. That was when we were several years younger. I did not think he really dreamt of running on the diamond professionally. He simply wanted to get a feel of being like that man he appeared to idolize. When the picking and throwing ceased, he planted himself on the sand. I noticed, however faintly, the two bottles by his side. Had he already downed them both? He stretched his hands back, palms on the sand, to support his body, and with bended knees, he started gazing up. I raised my eyes to the direction on which he darted his attention and saw the three brown, winged creatures fluttering about against the fading blue sky. I could not hold myself from admiring how gracefully those creatures of heaven fanned their tools as they went up to the west toward the sun, switched to the right and glided down as if to chase the waves. Apparently, he enjoyed the show being staged, for not a moment did he withhold his eyes from them to lay his sight on anything else.

I have known him as one of the few people among my acquaintances who took great pleasure in just being on the spot where sea and land met. Removed from the exhaustive stir of society, the shores provided him a haven of peace and always had a way of lending him a good measure of freedom. The freedom to let himself be. I understood that it was only during these times when his feet touched the sand that he could think out loud. The company of others did not allow him much time of repose. On the beach where the firmament, the birds, the blue water, the crawling things on the sand, were the only beings who knew him, he could shout out in pure honesty the things the troubled his heart and unsettled his mind. And the cool air tumbling around rushed to him to ease him of his problems by embracing him tightly as though it understood all he was going through. To him, God, who eternally understood him well, visited him under the guise of the wind. And he loved the wind. (January, 1998)

To be continued...

Ako, ikaw . . . isang himala

(The administrator adapted the following story from a PDI column. He simply put words into the mouths of the characters.)

Two brothers, one about ten, the other barely five, walk through the smokey mountain. And there occurs a miracle.

Little Brother(his eyes glued to his brother’s pocket): Kuya! Kuya! Ano’ng nasa bulsa mo? Patingin naman, o.
Big Brother: Mamaya na. Ipapakita ko naman sa ‘yo ‘to pagdating natin do’n. ‘Wag kang mainip.
Little Brother(runs around his brother, his voice close to pleading): Sige na, Kuya. Pagkain ba ‘yan? Patikim naman, o. Isang tinapay lang ang nakain ko kanina. Gutom na ‘ko. (his eyes sincere)
Big Brother(stops, his face changes): Okey, Hintay. (Slowly, he removes from his pocket the ‘treasure’. He sees the look of eager anticipation in his brother’s mouth.)
Little Brother: Wow, gatas! Yehey! (He reaches out his hands for the bottle of milk.) Inumin na natin, Kuya!
Big Brother: Oooops! Upo ka d’yan. (He points to the rubber tire. Little Brother complies immediately and looks intently on his brother.) Masarap ‘to. Pero ako muna. (he says in a regal manner. He lifts the bottle and drinks. But he closes his lips too tightly so that no milk entered his mouth.) O, ‘kaw naman. Dahan-dahan lang, ha.
Little Brother(he pulls the bottle away from his brother and sticks it to his mouth): Mmmnn. Ansarap, Kuya! Isa pa.
Big Brother: Hep, ako uli. Mamaya, ‘kaw naman.
Little Brother: Sige, para patas tayo, di ba?
Big Brother: S’yempre. O, ‘kaw na.

For five or six times, this happened. But each time his turn came, Big Brother pretended to drink.

Big Brother(holding the bottle upside down): Inubos mo na! (His voice like angry. Little Brother is struck silent, waiting an action from his brother.) Ha! Ha! Ha!
Little Brother: ‘Di ka galit?
Big Brother: Ba’t naman ako magagalit sa ‘yo? Okey, lang ‘yon. Utol ‘ata kita. Kahit anong mangyari, ‘andito pa rin ako para sa ‘yo.
Little Brother(showing his widest smile): Ambait ng kuya ko!
Big Brother(smiles back at him and strokes his brother’s hair) O, tara na. Baka wala na tayong mapulot. (He throws the bottle away, and several younger kids go about scavenging for it.)

The kiss

Your eyes on mine
I breathe your breath
Bodies close
One world

Silence
The world closes in
I belong to you, you own my world
Lips burning with love
The universe is ours

I bring my love upon your lips
You drown in my tenderness
The world stands still
Time stops
We see eternity