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 Linda Bulong

 Entries:
32
 Comments: 600

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ArchivesDateStamp
Kamatayan ng Isang Makata6/16/2010 10:51:01 PM
The Pain of Loss or the Pain of Guilt? (2)9/25/2008 8:09:52 PM
The Pain of Loss or the Pain of Guilt? (2)9/25/2008 8:09:16 PM
The Pain of Loss or the Pain of Guilt?9/25/2008 8:05:21 PM
BariBari, Kayokayo9/25/2008 1:32:15 AM
Kuna dagiti Ubbing9/24/2008 1:41:00 AM
Lohika dagiti Ubbing4/28/2008 2:44:35 AM
Reflections10/18/2007 2:30:33 AM
DOWN MEMORY LANE5/10/2006 12:42:15 AM
Daniw iti Ingles4/25/2006 2:31:11 AM
HURTS OF THE HEART 3/28/2006 2:27:08 AM
Tagalog a Daniw3/21/2006 9:05:32 PM
SEPARADA3/19/2006 11:16:21 PM
Kuwento ng Tatlong Babae3/19/2006 11:01:03 PM
Isang Bukas na Liham para sa Kaibigang DH (part 1)3/19/2006 10:53:38 PM
Kadaanan a Pammati?3/16/2006 9:41:35 PM
Kastoy ti remediomi kadagiti an-anayen no awan ti doktor3/16/2006 9:32:19 PM
Supernatural a sarsarita manipud iti Naggapuak nga Ili3/16/2006 8:15:02 PM
MY EVOLUTION AS A (STRUGGLING) WRITER (part 1)3/13/2006 9:11:13 PM
My Evolution as a (Struggling) Writer (part 2)3/13/2006 9:08:09 PM
My Evolution as a (Struggling) Writer (part 3)3/13/2006 9:04:08 PM
My Evolution as a (Struggling) Writer (part 4)3/13/2006 9:00:51 PM
My Evolution as a (Struggling) Writer (part 5)3/13/2006 8:59:35 PM
My Evolution as a (Struggling) Writer (part 6)3/13/2006 8:57:26 PM
My Evolution as a (Struggling) Writer (part 7)3/13/2006 8:53:01 PM
Isang Gabi sa Buhay ng Isang Nanay (part 1)3/12/2006 9:02:59 PM
There is always a first time (part 2)3/12/2006 8:57:48 PM
THERE IS ALWAYS A FIRST TIME3/12/2006 8:53:42 PM
Daniw Manen3/10/2006 9:05:57 PM
Gastronomic Culture Shock and Others3/9/2006 7:16:55 PM
Simple nga introduksion3/2/2006 7:56:37 PM
Timek ti Maysa a Mannaniw3/2/2006 7:46:53 PM






 Kamatayan ng Isang Makata
6/16/2010 10:51:01 PM


Ipagpatawad mo
Ngunit unti-unti akong pumapanaw
Hindi ang aking katawan
Ang may karamdaman
kundi ang aking kaluluwa
Ang aking pagiging makata.

Unti-unting sinasakal
ng mga puna, ng di pagkaunawa
ng pagkakait ng sapat na panahon
para makapagpahinga
ang pagal na isip.

Utak ko ang aking buhay
hindi lakas ng braso.
Utak ko ang pinagmumulan
ng daloy ng aking hininga.

Tuyo ang aking utak
Hungkag ang kalamnan
Gutom ang kaluluwa
Hindi makahulagpos
Sa kusina, sa mga pinggan
Sa batya ng labahin
At kabayo ng plantsa.

Eto ang katuturan ng sinabi mo noon sa akin
Na tatanggapin mo at iintindihin
Ang aking piniling daan.

Ngayo'y nasasakal ang aking katauhan.

Ipagpatawad mo
Pero hindi na kita makilala
Pati na ang sarili ko.


Comment(s): 5  | Lastupdate: 1/17/2011 2:27:52 PM



 The Pain of Loss or the Pain of Guilt? (2)
9/25/2008 8:09:52 PM

It might have been difficult for him then. I wanted to turn away when I saw him in the hospital, immobile and helpless. Tubes were attached to different parts of his body. His arm was clammy to my touch although his toes were warm. I wanted to cry. I knew then he would not make it. When they told me the night we were traveling home that the fever was already a function of the central nervous system, I knew that only a miracle would restore him to us.
But the miracle took another turn. It was not for us. Or if it was, I still could not feel its significance. Glenn finally left us without a word in the morning of December 31, 2007 just as the sun was on the rise. I was still in bed when Ruel called me to go there immediately because they already removed all the lifegiving contraptions from his body.
I immediately thought of my sister.
How could you break a tragedy to someone in exile and know in your heart that she would never be able to see her husband again?
Doing this was tragedy itself, a sister telling her sister that her husband has passed away...
Glenn might have known this before, yet he never told us. He might have kept this inside. He knew he could not help my sister and perhaps this in itself was painful enough to bear. Perhaps he had chosen to go because he thought that only through death would he be able to see my sister through. Death had freed him from his mortal body, the tether that fastened him to his limited space where he could not reach my sister.
In death, he has freed his spirit, soul or whatever we conceive of that real part of us that cannot die. And I guess this is the free self that is taking care of my sister now.
When I reached the hospital, my heart went out to Ariane. How could this frail-looking girl take the tragedy of losing a father at such a tender age of 17? I would not have been so concerned if Glenn and my sister had not sheltered her that much.
Glenn's body was already wrapped in white sheet that I could not get to believe he was still lying there the night before. The sisters were there and the priest was there, who came for the last rites before the funeral parlor would take his body away. Take his body away... The finality of it all could not sink in or I was just too tired to take it all in.
Everything seemed unreal even as we waited for the funeral car to transport the body for embalming.
I could sense that Ariane was fighting off something as we (Nene, the eldest; Noemi, the aunt; Roda, his sister-in-law; Janet, their youngest; Ariane; Ruel; Tess, another niece; and I) gathered around the heavily madeup body, stiff and cold.
I was thinking, at least, my sister was spared all the pain of seeing her husband this way. Or was this Glenn's way of slipping away from her life? Very quietly? To save her from the pain of loss?

The wake started at New Year's Eve. We brought the body to the chapel of the Church of Our Risen Lord, a facility of the Protestant Church at the University of the Philippines. We brought Glenn home to the place where he was born and where he spent the rest of his life—within the campus of the University of the Philippines where he also served as a policeman in the last 21 years.
The wake which lasted for six days was really arduous. I felt like a spectator, uninvolved, trying to steel myself not to cry. Yet, my chest felt heavy, a heaviness that I still carry with me these days.
We buried Glenn after his daughter's birthday—January 6, 2008. I could not keep track of the number of people who came to the funeral. Glenn was an ordinary man. But if one sees the number of people who came to see him to his final bed, one could only guess the number of people whom he had touched with the 43 years on earth that was given him.
The events surrounding his death was full of controversy. And surveillance. As if the loss of a life was not yet enough.
In a country where anything can happen, the long arm of the law is unforgiving, even at times of tragedy. Men of the law haunted him ... haunted us, perhaps not knowing that it was impossible for his wife to see him for the last time. I think this is the most tragic part of loss. When you know that there is something more that is lurking beyond and yet you could not define what it is. You only feel and know that it is there.
And it was something we had to bear. Even after the funeral. And perhaps something which we still have to bear, we the living.
Seven months after his death, the memory has not dimmed. The pain of what we had to go through, the unspoken grief, I still carry with me. I still carry the burden of the controversy that did not end in his death and continue to haunt us. And I still cannot seem to recover from the grief and the suddenness of the tragedy.
Perhaps in time I will... or will I?
(first part was written on january 31. Second part July 31)


Comment(s): 2  | Lastupdate: 4/16/2009 10:37:02 PM



 The Pain of Loss or the Pain of Guilt? (2)
9/25/2008 8:09:16 PM

If their description of the man in deep thoughts fitted Glenn, the men surrounding him could have included his father, dead uncles or relatives who might have been trying to help him decide to go or to fight on.
It might have been difficult for him then. I wanted to turn away when I saw him in the hospital, immobile and helpless. Tubes were attached to different parts of his body. His arm was clammy to my touch although his toes were warm. I wanted to cry. I knew then he would not make it. When they told me the night we were traveling home that the fever was already a function of the central nervous system, I knew that only a miracle would restore him to us.
But the miracle took another turn. It was not for us. Or if it was, I still could not feel its significance. Glenn finally left us without a word in the morning of December 31, 2007 just as the sun was on the rise. I was still in bed when Ruel called me to go there immediately because they already removed all the lifegiving contraptions from his body.
I immediately thought of my sister.
How could you break a tragedy to someone in exile and know in your heart that she would never be able to see her husband again?
Doing this was tragedy itself, a sister telling her sister that her husband has passed away...
Glenn might have known this before, yet he never told us. He might have kept this inside. He knew he could not help my sister and perhaps this in itself was painful enough to bear. Perhaps he had chosen to go because he thought that only through death would he be able to see my sister through. Death had freed him from his mortal body, the tether that fastened him to his limited space where he could not reach my sister.
In death, he has freed his spirit, soul or whatever we conceive of that real part of us that cannot die. And I guess this is the free self that is taking care of my sister now.
When I reached the hospital, my heart went out to Ariane. How could this frail-looking girl take the tragedy of losing a father at such a tender age of 17? I would not have been so concerned if Glenn and my sister had not sheltered her that much.
Glenn's body was already wrapped in white sheet that I could not get to believe he was still lying there the night before. The sisters were there and the priest was there, who came for the last rites before the funeral parlor would take his body away. Take his body away... The finality of it all could not sink in or I was just too tired to take it all in.
Everything seemed unreal even as we waited for the funeral car to transport the body for embalming.
I could sense that Ariane was fighting off something as we (Nene, the eldest; Noemi, the aunt; Roda, his sister-in-law; Janet, their youngest; Ariane; Ruel; Tess, another niece; and I) gathered around the heavily madeup body, stiff and cold.
I was thinking, at least, my sister was spared all the pain of seeing her husband this way. Or was this Glenn's way of slipping away from her life? Very quietly? To save her from the pain of loss?

The wake started at New Year's Eve. We brought the body to the chapel of the Church of Our Risen Lord, a facility of the Protestant Church at the University of the Philippines. We brought Glenn home to the place where he was born and where he spent the rest of his life—within the campus of the University of the Philippines where he also served as a policeman in the last 21 years.
The wake which lasted for six days was really arduous. I felt like a spectator, uninvolved, trying to steel myself not to cry. Yet, my chest felt heavy, a heaviness that I still carry with me these days.
We buried Glenn after his daughter's birthday—January 6, 2008. I could not keep track of the number of people who came to the funeral. Glenn was an ordinary man. But if one sees the number of people who came to see him to his final bed, one could only guess the number of people whom he had touched with the 43 years on earth that was given him.
The events surrounding his death was full of controversy. And surveillance. As if the loss of a life was not yet enough.
In a country where anything can happen, the long arm of the law is unforgiving, even at times of tragedy. Men of the law haunted him ... haunted us, perhaps not knowing that it was impossible for his wife to see him for the last time. I think this is the most tragic part of loss. When you know that there is something more that is lurking beyond and yet you could not define what it is. You only feel and know that it is there.
And it was something we had to bear. Even after the funeral. And perhaps something which we still have to bear, we the living.
Seven months after his death, the memory has not dimmed. The pain of what we had to go through, the unspoken grief, I still carry with me. I still carry the burden of the controversy that did not end in his death and continue to haunt us. And I still cannot seem to recover from the grief and the suddenness of the tragedy.
Perhaps in time I wi


Comment(s): 0  | Lastupdate:



 The Pain of Loss or the Pain of Guilt?
9/25/2008 8:05:21 PM

How deep can the pain be when you realize that you haven't said good-bye to someone who had been so close to you?
When my father and my eldest brother died, I felt the loss but I was prepared for it because I knew they would eventually go. My father suffered from cancer for more than two years before he finally gave up his struggle. My brother had renal failure and had been on dialysis for almost four years before he succumb to the illness. Both men fought hard for their lives. My father was 81 when he passed away, my brother 55. I witnessed the struggle for years and endured the pain that the family had to go through.
But Glenn was very young to give up so easily. He had been on medication for diabetes for almost four years before he died. I know it was not really diabetes that got him.
My niece told me after his death: "Si Mommy ang lakas niya (My mom is his strength)." She said this so because when he was already in extreme pain, he unconsciously uttered "mommy!" pertaining to my sister.
Glenn had been a younger brother to me and his death took us all by surprise. He was a handy man who never refused any favor I asked. He volunteered his services with enthusiasm. He was temperamental, that's true, but he had his own endearing ways.
What pained me most was my absence when he was in the hospital. He asked Renalyn, my niece, to text me that dawn of December 26 but I got her text only at 9 a.m. in the morning when I woke up. When I called them, he was already in the hospital.
I thought it was "just one of those" mild attacks like what happened last March (2007) when they brought him to the Philippine Heart Center for the first time. The doctor said it was a case of mild heart attack, too early for his age.
I had no inkling that he would not make it this time. If there had been signs that he was going, perhaps all of us took it for granted. It was only my mother who commented that there was something unusual in his ways, the week before he went into cardiac arrest. If that was a premonition, we failed to read it.
I, for one, needed the weeklong vacation in Cagayan. We went home in the afternoon of December 23. I thought it would be a week of rest.
It proved to be a week of fitful sleeps and harried calls. Everything happened so fast that I had been in a daze since that morning of December 26 until we left Cagayan in the evening of December 29.
When Ruel called me around midnight of December 26, I had a chance to hear Glenn's voice over the phone for the last time. He only uttered: "Manang... (Sister)" in an exhausted voice. Alarmed, I immediately asked Ruel to put the phone down so I could call his doctor.
After I called the doctor who was surprised when I told him about the condition of Glenn, I called Ruel again. This time they were trying to revive Glenn by applying CPR. They were able to revive him but he was so weak they had to transfer him to the ICU. I thought he just needed a little rest so I did not bother to talk to him over the phone.
After a couple of hours, Ruel called me again. Glenn had a seizure before he had a cardiac arrest. They tried to revive him but he already slipped into a coma.
The Christmas break was marred with apprehension and hope. All the while, Glenn's doctor and I had been texting each other. Sometimes I had to call. I was updated of his condition every step of the way until I got back.
Every little improvement was noted. And no matter how bleak the prognosis was, we held on to that little hope. December 29 evening, we travelled back home. We arrived, early morning of Sunday and since I was so exhausted from the 12-hour trip, I took a much-needed sleep, thinking of visiting Glenn later that afternoon.
I was asleep when Renalyn and Ariane (his daughter) dropped by and they did not bother to wake me up. I heard the story later that out of boredom, Ariane, took pictures in the hospital that midnight of December 29, aiming at no one or nothing in particular. I don't know if it was Glenn's prodding but Ariane took a shot of some shadowy figures of men as if looking at or studying something and talking in earnest. My nephews who saw the shot told me later on that one of the images looked like the figure of Glenn when he was in deep thoughts. Nobody told me about this image early enough so that I could have seen it for myself. Ruel, the eldest nephew, got angry when he saw the picture and chided Ariane about it. He insisted that Ariane should erase it immediately because taking pictures such as that was not wise when her father was in a critical situation. Without consulting me, Ariane reluctantly erased it. But his father died, anyway. And I never got to see the picture.
If their description of the man in deep thoughts fitted Glenn, the men surrounding him could have included his father, dead uncles or relatives who might have been trying to help him decide to go or to fight on.
It might have been difficult for him then. I wanted to turn away when I saw him in the ho


Comment(s): 0  | Lastupdate:



 BariBari, Kayokayo
9/25/2008 1:32:15 AM

Adda ugalitayo iti Amianan a no lumabastayo iti lugar nga awan ti matagtagitao, kunatayo, "Baribari, kayokayo" (wenno tay variation daytoy a Dayodayo, umadayokayo), amangan no makadalapustayo iti di makitkita. Iti Tagalog, "Tabi-tabi po," kunada met. Mangipakita a narespetotayo a Pinoy uray kadagiti ditay makitkita. (Ngem adda maysa nga agtutubo a nagkuna, "dahil masukal naman talaga ang dinadaanan ko, tinamad na ako sa palaging pagsasabi ng 'tabi-tabi po,' kaya sabi ko na lang, 'tabi nga kayo diyan!')
Ngem itoy a gundaway, baribari, kayokayo, kunak, amangan no makadalapusak iti sentimiento wenno rikna a diak inggagara.
Agbaliw ti amin, pati kultura. Awan ti maaramidantayo no di sumurot iti agus a kunada. Ngem no maminsan, narigat met ti agbalin lattan a paspasurot amangan no dissuor met ti turongen ti agus, maitapuakka la ngarud a dimo mapupuotan.
Kayatko nga ibingay itoy a seksion dagiti komentario maipapan iti agdama a kultura ken no ania ti pakaidumaanna iti nariingan dagiti appotayo, wenno daytoy ikityo.
Adda kadi pagdumaan ti wagas ti panagbiag ita ken idi kunkunada a pistaim? (Peacetime wenno idi awan pay ti gubat wenno awanen ti gubat.)
Siempre, diakon nariingan dayta a panawen. Ngem adda met dagiti wagas ti biagmi a nayanak iti dekada singkuenta, sisenta ken sitenta a mabalin a maigidiat iti agdama a henerasion.
Kas iwarwaras dagiti kahenerasionko iti internet, mabalin siguro a trataren ti sumagmamano a paliiw a mamagdasig iti henerasion ita ken iti henerasionmi.


Comment(s): 99  | Lastupdate: 4/22/2009 2:54:13 AM