Istarbaks Kape

It was nearly 3 o'clock in the afternoon just after a rain shower that immediately left leaving the marketplace smelling of all sorts of stink and smell. As the sun tries to dry up the slippery gray-black pavement the smell with which most wet markets are remembered makes itself very evident. Two elderly woman manning two market stalls are having the coffee break of their lives while arguing how much hotness or coldness a human body could endure. They are stationed just outside the main market structure but just in the right place as to be benefit from the shade provided by the extended roofing of the structure. Theirs are not actually market stalls by legal definition, a hole in the wall to be exact. They could be said as fly by night merchants on a slippery afternoon.

The thin woman who sells table salt, in between sips of what appears to be coffee with condensed milk as creamier says, "It would not hurt as bad when it is already in your stomach, just swallow it will you..." Her hand trembles as she holds the mug featuring Donald Duck to her mouth. It could be because of the absence of much of her teeth that after every sip there will be traces of coffee with condense milk on the periphery of her thin lips. It is on this countenance when she offered her moral support to her chubby vendor-friend to just swallow the hot liquid. "Not yet, it is just way too hot, you know." said the the chubby vendor who sells rubber slippers.

For one which will happen to pass by their direction and care enough to glance at them will see a thin woman always in all smiles behind her cone-shape hills of rock salt and a fat one with her white hair cut like a man's and whose body shook each time she makes a hearty laugh is standing guard over her field of rubber sandals. If one happens to care enough to take a closer look he or she will find these two mothers perhaps grandmothers are contended and happy. For one which will care enough to ask will find these two mothers perhaps grandmothers do not earn enough. For one who cares enough will agree that these mothers deserves more than just a cup of coffee.

"Sophia, I am almost finish with mine. I bet yours are lukewarm by now.." said the thin woman whose lips are now brownish white after a mouthful sip.
"Maybe we should try Gloria's bibingka tomorrow if my sales improve." she adds.

Aling Sophia pick her cup up bring it near her mouth then she pouted her lips and blow on it in an attempt to scare away whatever excess heat there is left.

"We will get a better sale tomorrow Diana it is Wednesday, market day right? Let us pray for that. I need to earn extra for my husband's court hearing is on Thursday." Aling Sophia said. But her cup of coffee with condensed milk as creamier slip from her hand down to her slippers for sale and the liquid flood the rubbers.

"Here finish mine, but its way too cold now." Aling Diana offers in sympathy to her chubby vendor friend. END.

Puppylab

It all started just like the rest of the stories that have come before it. The only difference is that it occured in a different time with an entirely different set of characters. The time factor and how the main characters played their respective roles may have significantly contributed in making this story of two souls who crossed paths one cold morning different from the rest. Whatever the outcome of the story, wherever it may lead the characters, all is but twist of fate, serendipity and coincidence.

Pupyl usually wakes up early, an early bird his adopted family called him. But this particular morning he is still as a concrete log common in children's parks. It is as if life evaporated from him during sleep. He does not have the slightest intention of opening his eyes. As a matter of fact, how he wants to shut his eyes permanently from the world beginning today. The reason being that he will never see Papi Girl from this day on until he does not know when.

Waking up early had been an indispensable part of his itinerary since the first morning he saw Papi Girl on her way to Aling Toyang's store. He will never forget her smile but he cannot recall whether he was able to return the gesture on account of the fact that it was the first smile he ever received from one as pretty as Papi Girl. By nature he is not an early riser, but since then he will be up in their front yard as soon as the first light of dawn kisses the dew on the wild grasses by the roadside. Countless beautiful mornings have faded into lazy afternoons and Pupyl and Papi Girl have exchanged smiles just as countless. Pupyl thought that the entire universe was made in anticipation of the day that he and Papi will promise to complete each other till death do them part. Until last night.

No less than Papi Girl herself and her sweet smile told him about his being a good friend (no questions about it) and a dependable one at that, very gentle to be exact. A good and gentle friend she will really miss when she leaves for the province for good. That is all that Pupyl could ever be to her, no more no less.
"There is more to it than what you thought I could be to you." Pupyl told Pap almost pleading.
"I think you're already sleepy. I'll miss you anyway, really." were the last words Pupyl heard from Pap which were said so casually that they almost hurt him (he was hurt actually). But something about her eyes seemed to betray her words.

He went home and forgot to say goodbye. On the way home a carefree wind hit him and he wished he is a speck of dust and be carried away up to the moon where he can be alone. When he went to sleep, the sheets never felt the same, it lost its warmth. Everything seemed unsympathetic but the ray of moonbeam by the window pane. How he wished he will never wake up ever again.

If heaven smells of fried fish, he could probably have died in his sleep. Even with eyes closed, his sense of smell is widely awake, enough for him to tell something is frying in the kitchen and the thought of golden brown galunggong fried just right makes him want to run all the way down the stairs straight to his place under the breakfast table. He would have done so, if not for the pain in his innocent heart overriding the clamors of his empty stomach. He pondered on the thought that hunger is a mundane want and that he should endure it if he wants to be able to endure an empty heart. Hunger is mundane, the need to be beside Papi Girl forever in a bed of sampaguita is heavenly. Therefore he would skip breakfast or fast perhaps. Pupyl could hear a neighbor's transistor radio sings a song's chorus: “Hawak kamay, 'di kita iiwan sa paglakbay...,” during which time Papi Girl is listening intently to the same song through the loudspeaker of a bus as it leaves the terminal.

Author's Note: For some reasons, I feel that the words I commission to represent Papi Girl's thoughts does not in any way reflect what a girl might feel under the circumstances. I deem it necessary to borrow a woman's point of view on the matter in the spirit of fairness. It could be twist of fate or mere coincidence that the author feels you could give justice to the story. I mean it.

Viajelo

Whilst the public-utility bus is headed north

In the east, I see the ocean breathing softly, seducing the sand

Leaving it littered with bubbles directly from Hawaii

If you by any chance, happens to be in my place by the window

You would not have missed two blue heavens kissing as they meet at the horizon

My eyes bear witness as the sky embraced the sea

And the ocean shares the color of the heavens

How I wish the travel gets rough and tough and stuck everybody up, say, for a few eternity

On that lonely road by the sea

Nothing can be as disastrous as a flawless passage

Which will leave beauty behind to rot by the roadside

Nothing leaves you betrayed and seasick than being hauled away from things

Oh, so heavenly...

Make it four or five years old, I am pretty sure that is how old I was when I used to got to the big city. It was not actually such a big city by modern standards but being fifty long kilometers away from my little town and myself being an apolitical kid by the standards of an urbanized one, the city seemed like Charlie's chocolate factory. That is why I always make it a point to be in the city whenever opportunity knocks which only means begging my parents to bring me along with them whenever they will deliver a truck-load of roasted copra meat from our farm to our agaron, a thin, bespectacled Chinese merchant who owns a huge warehouse filled with mountains of copra. This opportunity only knocks once every three to four months as coconuts takes that long before it can be harvested and delivered, so, I do not take chances, I beg until I bleed which oftentimes accomplish my end.

My pleading having been granted automatically transforms me from a half-naked and barefoot fan of Superman into a polished, combed, baby powdered kid wearing a futuristic Mighty Kid shoes. If you think everything is all set and I am ready to fly, wrong. Because I would be running around the house desperately pulling any idle hand to help me tie my shoestrings right. The chore was just far too complicated for me. Not very good for a Superman fan. It took me a little while to do the ribbon knot, nevertheless I was able to master the trade through patience, and as a consolation learned that there are various ways of fixing the strings. Many years later, whenever I see a pre-schooler's shoes or anybody's shoes for that matter with strings tied as suave as can be, it makes me want to ask if somebody fixed it for them or if its by struck of luck.

Anyway, going to the city was every kid in our neighborhood aspired. It makes one feel like some sort of a celebrity, a prince, and even legendary. Once every three months, every after copra delivery to the city, I am the most sought after dream boy. I remember how my playmates used to gather (to be continued)

HYPOCRITical

the most TRAGIC CURSE to beset men is their propensity for HYPOCRISY. When we LIE that puts us beyond the bounds of TRUTH no more no less. you take away someone else's LIFE, you play GOD more or less. you STEAL in whatever form for whatever reason, the fact is, you are far less a disillussioned patron of suspense-thriller paperbacks than a PRINCE OF THIEVES wanna be.

nobody sees HYPOCRISY coming. nobody feels IT. nobody admits IT. at the very least, when we LIE, when we KILL and when we STEAL either CONTENTMENT, SHAME and GUILT or a combination of the three (3) sink in sometime after, serving as a grim reminder of the act. as a matter of fact i feel guilty about the obscurity of my point. but it does not matter, self-help books and moralists themselves never got close defining HYPOCRISY with science precision. granting without admitting that mankind is a bunch of HYPOCRITES, HYPOCRISY will remain our tragic CURSE as long as nobody joins me in admitting we are all guilty of IT.

since the APPLE scandal at the GARDEN of EDEN up to the last time we caught ourselves red-handed on anything compromising(remember?) and everything in between - murder of Abel, Sodom and Gomorrah, the Crusades, the many word and world wars, Hello Garci, concept development groups, sex change, movie star cum artistkuno, boring individuals posing as cultured as can be by BRAGGING the MERE fact that they have watched this film/read about that author, acknowledgments and credits on SUNDAY TV MASS longer than the mass itself, capitalism and communism - we never made an attempt to look at ourselves directly in the eyes and say "How HYPOcritical of you, you know..."

special thanks to PISO para sa PUSTISO FOUNDATION for my WISDOM TOOTH.