pag lumabas ito, bibili ka ba?

Updating my 30 List

I have 4 months to accomplish everything! Goodluck sa akin.
So far, nasaan na ba ako? Mabalikan nga ang 30 list ko:

1. Shoot my own film - goodluck to me. a short will probably do. after my recovery. haha.
2. Win another Palanca - won for KBC: Samahan ng mga bitter!
3. Direct a Kultura play - i'm directing "Servant of Two Masters" for February
4. Finish a full length play - currently rewriting "zero" and "sais," also working on "eX: sampung kwento ng naunsyaming pag-ibig"
5. Finish a new musicale (Luna, prinsesa ng buwan) - this one i might do abroad.
6. Apply for any foreign grant to study abroad
7. Leave the country for a while - sana this christmas or before summer. singapore.
8. Fill up my sketch pad with drawings
9. Camp on a mountain - conquered Mt. Pulag last weekend! Sakit sa katawan!
10. Kiss someone I just met - not proud of this story but definitely one for the books. haha.
11. Kiss an old romantic flame - mas masarap pala pag bawal. haha.
12. Train in a martial art - i resolve to do boxing early next year
13. Work out / play basketball again
14. Write poetry again - trying but can't finish one.
15. Go hitchhiking / backpacking - JJ, help!
16. Raise ACASIA's first Million - malapit na.
17. Go on a vacation with my family - went to Macau last october.
18. Learn to paint - wiz already gave me my paint set, canvass and brush. now pick it up!
19. Relearn the violin
20. Learn a foreign language
21. Apply for my PhD
22. Stage a new original that I wrote - i hope to stage KBC this march.
23. Say "I love you" to people I couldn't say it to
24. Publish a book (of plays?) - tatlong utos quotable quotes???
25. Finish my thesis - working on it.
26. Finish a full-length screenplay - finished one for jourdan. an action comedy
27. Write a graphic novel
28. Write a new song
29. Enter cinemalaya
30. Fall in love

shet. 23 to go.

Artistang Artlets presents

Pagkatapos mong kiligin sa "Twenty Questions,"

tikman mo naman ang pait.

Panoorin ang kauna-unahang buong pagtatanghal ng Kapeng Barako Club.

(siyempre abangan nyo rin yung version ko sa February)

Kita-kits!

Unang Tula

(para kay alex)


binasag mo
ang pananahimik ng aking tula

upang hanapin ang pag-ibig sa pagitan ng mga berso
at salatin ang gaspang at kinis ng mga tanong ko

kung totoo

nga bang bilog ang mundo

sa loob ng naalimpungatan kong uniberso.

binasag mo.

pinulot ko
ang mga bubog ng aking talinghaga

at pinilit kong humubog ng tula
ngunit nabuo’y mga kristal na alaala

ng mga luma

kong tula ng pag-ibig

na inukit ko sa tubig

na binasag mo
upang manahimik ang aking tula.

Walang Meron (excerpt from KBC: Samahan ng mga Bitter)

ERIC. I can't be Ed's best man.

MARLOWE. Of course you can. You won the bride for him. (tatawa)

ERIC. Gago.

Tahimik.

ERIC. Walang nangyari sa’min.

MARLOWE. Wala?

ERIC. Wala.

MARLOWE. Wala.

Tahimik.

ERIC. Well muntik na.

MARLOWE. E di hindi wala ‘yon.

ERIC. Wala akong ginawa.

MARLOWE. Wala?

ERIC. Wala.

MARLOWE. Okay. Wala.

ERIC. Meron.

MARLOWE. Walang meron?

ERIC. Hindi ko magawa.

MARLOWE. O baka hindi niya magawa?

ERIC. Does it make a difference?

MARLOWE. Tingin mo, bakit sa lahat ng lalake sa buhay niya, sayo pa lang siya hindi nakikipagsex?

ERIC. You have slept with Masi?

MARLOWE. That’s not the point.

ERIC. Tangina Marlowe…si Masi?

MARLOWE. Focus! Pare, focus! May nangyari sa inyo the other night.

Tahimik.

ERIC. Pa'no mo nalaman?

MARLOWE. Trabaho kong manood ng tao, Eric.

ERIC. Walang nangyari sa amin.

MARLOWE. Alam ko. Wala. Pero meron.

ERIC. Hindi ko magagawa.

MARLOWE. Hindi rin niya magagawa.

ERIC. Dahil ayaw niya sa akin.

MARLOWE. Explain mo nga sa akin kung paano ka naging summa cum laude ng batch mo.

Ang Gabi ni Ebang Bakulaw

(Isang mahabang love poem sa ilalim ng balite)

i. prologo: pagbukas at pagbulwak

bumubukaka ang dilim

sa dilat kong mata

upang masuyo ng aking hininga

ang pahapyaw na liwanag

ng ngiti sa pagitan ng iyong mga hita’t binti.

Bumubuka ang dilim

Bumubukaka ang lilim

Lumiliwanag ang anino

Kumukulo ang orgasmo

Nanginginig ang pandinig

Ng musika ng pagniniig

At panginginig

Sa saliw ng pagyanig

Ng malamig kong titig.

Bumubukaka ang dilim

Bumubuka ang dilim

Bumubulwak ang dugo

Bumubukas ang sulo

Bumubukas, sumisindi, lumiliyab, lumalagablab

Sa alab ng alapaap

na itim

sa pagbukas ng dilim

Lumalamig ang lambing

Ng labi at lambi

Lumalandi ang labi

Ng yumaong lambing.

Lumalamig ang dilim

Ng bukakang itim

Sa lambing at lambi

Ng labi at labi.

Bumubukaka ang dilim

Bumubuka ang lihim

Lumalamig ang kimkim

Na lilim ng lihim.

Nililimot ng lihim mo

ang pahapyaw na liwanag

ng ngiti sa pagitan ng iyong mga hita’t binti.

ii. bilog ang buwan sa ilalim ng balite

bilog ang buwan sa ilalim ng balite

busog ang dilim sa mga kuwentong maitim

dilat ang mata ko sa katititig sa iyo

o buwang madilim

o buwang malihim.

Bilog ang buwan sa ilalim ng balite

Pinupuno ng lunggati ang sabik kong ngiti

Binubusog sa orgasmo ang panaginip kong itim

Na bumuka sa mata ng dilim ng lihim.

Bilog ang buwan sa ilalim ng balite

Pinalalamig ng lilim ang yakap ng hangin

Hinihintay ko ang pagbaba ng paraluman

Hinihintay ko ang pag-awit ng buwan.

Dilat ang mata sa katititig sa iyo

O buwang madilim umawit ka ng mito :

Upang bumaba ang aking paraluman

At mamalas ang lihim ng mukha niyang bathaluman.

Dilat ang mata sa katititig sa iyo

O buwang malihim ibulong ang gusto

Ang langit, ang langit, sumisilay sa’yong singit

O paralumang diwata na ang mata ay singkit.

Bilog ang buwan sa ilalim ng balite

Hinihintay kong lumantad ang kanyang ngiti

Upang bumulwak ang pahapyaw na liwanag

ng ngiti sa pagitan ng iyong mga hita’t binti.

iii. Ebang bakulaw

Sasara ang bulaklak

Bubuka ang bulaklak

Lalabas ang reyna

Sasayaw ng cha-cha

Bum-ti-yaya ! Bum-ti-yaya! Bum-yeye!

Ang lahat ng pangit

Ay nagtatago sa dilim

Ang lahat ng lagim

Ay nagtatago sa itim

Ang lahat ng lihim

Ay nanlalamig sa lilim

Ang lahat ng lilim

Bumubulwak sa dilim

Ang buhok niya’y dumadaloy na araw,

Bawat hibla’y gabing pumapanaw.

Mga mata niya’y kristal na uniberso,

Ang kanyang hininga’y hinabing mga berso.

Ang kanyang labi’t ngiti’y eternal na dalumat,

Ang kanyang tinig at titig ay gintong alamat.

Ang kanyang mga pisngi’y dambana ng mga halik

Ang kanyang mga halik ay daungan ng pintig.

Ang mga mata ko’y kanyang inalipin

Nang siya’y bumaba sa punong madilim

Ang aking haraya’y kanyang kinakain

Nang siya’y pumanaog sa halamang malihim.

Bum-ti-yaya ! Bum-ti-yaya! Bum-yeye!

Bum-ti-yaya ! Bum-ti-yaya! Bum-yeye!

iv. sayaw ng alipin at bakulaw

walang kasing liwanag ang kanyang mga kamay

na aking hinawakan, hinagka’t, ikinampay

saka kami’y magkayakap at paikot na sumayaw

sa saliw ng awit ng hanging maginaw.

Walang kasing liwanag ang kanyang mga kamay

Idinampi niya ito sa pisngi kong walang kulay.

Pinahid niya ang luha ng paghihintay

At nangakong makikipagsayaw habangbuhay.

a.

idinampi niya sa pisngi kong walang kulay,

rikit at hiwaga ng kanyang mga kamay.

indak sa musika’y tulang dakila

sayaw sa dilim ay eternal na talinghaga

dahil lilim ng lihim ay maliwanag

epidemyang laganap ang ngiting binubunyag.

lason na ngiti’y dilim na kumakagat

ay ! ang kanyang tinig ay gintong alamat.

tulog pa ang umaga sa pagsayaw ng bakulaw

oras ma’y tumitigil sa kanyang pagpalahaw.

retasong tagpi-tagpi ang alaala ng gabi

relasyong kailan ma’y di malilimot sa ngiti.

ewan ko kung kailan ako dadalawin ng araw.

b.

ang alindog ng halimaw na bathaluman ang mukha

na tanging bumibihag sa puyat kong mga mata

ay di na magpapapatak ng kahit isang luha

at di na hahayaang ang mata ay magmuta.

nang siya’y pumanaog at kami’y magsayaw

sa saliw ng awit ng hanging maginaw,

ang kanyang mga pisngi’y naging daungan ng halik

oras ay tumigil sa bawat pintig ng dibdib.

c.

musikang eternal ang maayang nang-aakit,

alisan ng pangamba ang takot kong pumikit.

retasong tagpi-tagpi ang alaala ng gabi

ilaw sa pagsayaw ang namamanghang guni-guni

ewan ko kung kailan ako dadalawin ng araw

pag tuluyan na sigurong ang haraya ay pumanaw.

ulilain man ako ng talinghaga ng isip

yayakapin ko pa rin ang misteryo ng bakulaw

alilain man ako ng kanyang malihim na ngiti

tunawin man ako ng liwanag ng araw.

v. epilogo : isang love poem sa ilalim ng balite

Bubuka ang bulaklak

Lalabas ang reyna

Ang pag-ibig ko sa iyo

O Ebang bakulaw

Ay higit pa sa sangsang

Ng katas ng kakwate

Sa dibdib ng lungayngay

Na kalaliman ng gabi

Ngunit mas masarap pang

Ihambing sa tsokolateng

Tinunaw sa sarap

Ng kapusukan ng gabi.

Bilog ang buwan sa ilalim ng balite

Pinupuno ng lunggati ang sabik kong ngiti

Pumapanik na ang diyosang paraluman

Ngunit sabi niya sa aki’y di niya ako iiwan.

Bumubuka ang dilim

Bumubukaka ang lilim

Lumiliwanag ang anino

Kumukulo ang orgasmo

Nanginginig ang pandinig

Ng musika ng pagniniig

At panginginig

Sa saliw ng pagyanig

Ng malamig kong titig.

Hindi raw niya ako iiwan

Iyan ang pangako niya

Sa ilalim ng balite

Saksi ang itim na buwan.

Kaya’t ako ay nag-iwan

Ako ay nagpunla

Ng tatlong patak ng luha

Na inialay ko sa lupa

At sa aking pagtalikod

May umusbong na makahiya

At sa maputlang pisngi ko’y

May nagmarkang alaala.

Ang Tatlong Utos

Litung-lito ka na sa pag-ibig. Hindi mo alam ang gagawin mo sa iyong relasyon. Nasisiraan ka na ng bait sa kanya. Wala kang ginawa kundi magparinig sa tumblr at facebook mo ng mga status messages na hindi naman niya mababasa.

Ginawan mo siya ng kanta at hinarana. Natuto ka na ring tumula. At pinangakuan mo siyang gagawan ng nobela at pelikula. Mapasaiyo lang ang puso niya.

At ang sagot niya sa iyo, isang makabagbag-damdaming: K.

Paano ba umibig?

Paano ba mabuhay?

Isapuso. Isaisip. Isagawa.

Sundin Ang Tatlong Utos.

A Love Letter to Luna

to my beloved princess moon,

i have been a lunatic, composing songs and verses to a moon which i can only see and admire when the sun has slept. it is almost a guilty pleasure, a sin, because admiring you in the dark forces one to hide from the light and do it in secret. as all the great loves should be. and so i have been staring at the moon, as all lunatics do, in the dark, in secret, when and where nobody else is watching.

i sent my songs and verses to the sky for you to read and listen to. i sang them as hard as i could so that it will reach the empty and silent sky. My verses had to be resilient to survive the immensity of the silent space that separates the earth and the sky. I had to wound myself and bleed into my words so that they will have enough passion and strength to reach your ears up in the heavens.

my verses traveled far. they almost lost their drive and their meaning. your throne was too far for my mortal verses and melodies to reach. but they persisted. i bled enough for it to reach your heights. and finally, you heard them. and you wept.

i never knew why you wept. i never found out whether you were moved by my rhetoric or by my words and music. the distance that separates us was too wide i can only imagine the reasons. i imagine that you were moved by the hopelessness of the metaphors and the longing in the rhyme. i imagine that you wept because you too wanted to close the distance. that you wanted to leave your throne in the sky and be with the maker of these verses...but your place is in the sky, and the laws of the universe forbid you to come down and be with a mortal poet. but you see, it is my imagination that kept me composing...because deep inside of me, i know that the true reason for your weeping would be more painful to me than to you. i will never dare find out. i will settle with the reasons i have created in my imagination.

and then, a sliver of moonlight kissed my cheeks and whispered to me the real reason of your weeping. and true enough, it was more painful to me than to you. it was more tragic than i can ever imagine.

the sliver of light told me your secret. you were wounded by my song and verses. not by its hopeless longing for your light but because it told you that i was admiring an imagined princess of the moon--a princess moon that i have created inside my head. my songs told you a tale of tragic love--that i never longed for the real moon, the real princess, that i only loved an image of you that i have fashioned through my craft.

the half light came to me in the middle of the night and confessed to me your secret love. she told me that you fell in love with my verses and my words. they wounded you, and you fell in love with them. not with its maker but with the reflection of the maker they had within them. you fell in love with the poem and not the poet...

my verses betrayed me. my songs, despite the blood i shed into them, lost its melodies in the vast distance of the heavens. They have lost their true meaning. They have failed. They only brought you an echo of my dreams and my longing. their meaning faded into the dark silent space...

and they stole you...they stole your heart so i can never find it...

so i write again. as a vain attempt to regain the meaning of my words.

it was our tragedy. i have admired your light from a dark distant place. i have sung about your beauty. my songs betrayed me. tristan claimed isolde and never brought her home to his king.

and so this is the farewell.

a farewell not to the princess moon i have loved but to the poems i have crafted to woo you for me. I sing farewell to the poems who clouded the moon from my sight. i must move on, i must walk on, far, far away. I must leave and find a darker, farther place. I must hide in a more secret secluded shade and find a view of the moon that is not curtained by the clouds.

I must find the real princess moon.

So she can find the poet who created her secret love.

and maybe, she can shine on that dark, secret shade even for a moment...

and the poet shall write again...

-mar
prince of the dark woods

Anino

Tanghaling tapat noon kaya akala ko’y iniwan niya ako. Mag-isa kong tinatahak ang mainit at mabatong kalsada. Isang pagtutumbalikan ang mga ganoong sandali: nagtutunggali ang init at alisangsang ng paligid—ang sumisingaw na usok sa mga batong nagkalat sa daan, ang kahungkagan ng kalsada’t kawalan ng mga punong masisilungan, ang kawalang-hanggan ng abot-tanaw na kulay araw magmula sa’king talampakan hanggang sa kanyang sinapupunan—at ang lamig ng paglalakbay sa ganitong paligid…nang nag-iisa.



Malakas ang hangin ngunit mainit at tuyo. Nangungutya ang hampas nito sa aking pisngi at imbis na pawiin ang uhaw ng aking balat, lalo itong nang-aasar upang mapikon ang aking balat at lumuha ng pawis—na imbis na makapawi rin ng uhaw ay nakadaragdag sa alisangsang ng paligid, sa pandidiri ko sa sarili at sa pakiramdam kong di-mapakali. Sa mga ganitong sandali, lalo ko siyang hinahanap.



Dahil nang magsimula akong maglakbay ay siya ang aking sinusundan. Di ko man tiyak ang aming patutunguhan ay sa kanya ko ipinagkatiwala ang landas ng aking mga talampakan. Bulag kong inaapakan ang kanyang mga bakas at buong pagtitiwalang sinusundan ang landas na siya lamang ang nakaaalam.



Nang magsimula kaming maglakbay ay malamig ang simoy at ramdam mo ang halik ng hamog. Ngunit mainit ang pakiramdam sapagkat dalawa kaming naglalakbay. Hindi tulad ngayong nagtatayuan ang aking mga balahibo sa lagkit ng pawis at lamig ng sikmura. Sa sikmura ko nga ba ito nararamdaman? Noon, sinusundan ko ang bawat hakbang niya, ang bawat liko, ang bawat iwas sa lubak, ang bawat pagtawid sa mga lansangang nagkukrus at mga nagsasangang-daan. Bulag ako. Siya ang aking mata.



Tanghaling tapat noon kaya akala ko’y iniwan niya ako. Nang namalayang kong buhat-buhat pala niya ako sa aking buong paglalakbay sa katanghaliang-tapat. Buhat niya ang bawat hakbang ko patungo sa kung-saan. Naibsan ang lamig ng aking sikmura nang matanto kong hindi pala ako nag-iisa.



Saan ba tayo pupunta? Hindi niya ako sinasagot o marahil hindi lang ako nakikinig nang tama. Ngunit ramdam ko na ang sagot niya sa aking mga tanong ay hindi na dapat sinasabi pa. Ang pagbuhat niya sa aking mga yapak ay sapat nang sagot sa misteryoso naming paglalakbay. Lubos ang aking pagtitiwala sa kanya. Mula nang umagang kami’y nagsimula—nang siya’y nasa aking harapan, hanggang sa tanghaling buhat niya ang aking mga paa. Marahil ayaw niya akong mapagod sa aming napakahabang paglalakbay.



Kahit kailan ay hindi ako lumingon sa aking pinanggalingan. Sabi nila’y hindi raw makararating sa paroroonan ang mga gayon. Ngunit ang paglalakbay na ito ay pasulong lamang. Walang puwang sa paglingon, sapagkat ang bawat hakbang ay pagtitiwala lamang sa aking sinusundan noong umaga, at sa bumubuhat sa akin noong tanghali. Ang paglingon ay pagdududa sa mga likong kanyang tinahak para sa akin. Ang paglingon ay pagkuwestiyon sa kanyang mga desisyon. Ang paglingon ay kawalan ng utang na loob.



Kulay pula na ang kalsadang pinaglalatagan ng aking mga yabag. Mas malakas na ang ihip ng hangin—parang buntong-hininga ng pagod na araw. Tanda ito ng kanyang pagpapaalam at antok. Lalong lumamig ang aking sikmura nang matanto kong wala na ang bumubuhat sa aking mga yapak.



Iniwan niya ako nang tuluyan. At dama ko ang lamig ng pag-iisa. Ngayon ay di ko alam kung saang landas ako tutungo, kung saang kalsada liliko, kung aling kalye ang tatawiran at kung aling daan ang iiwasan. Ngunit patuloy ako sa ‘king paglalakbay nang hindi alam kung saan ako tatahan.



Binalutan ako ng takot, pangamba, at pagdududa sa aking naging paglalakbay. Saan niya ako dinala? Bakit niya ako biglang iniwan? Siya na pinagkatiwalaan ko ng aking mga paa, siya na pinagkatiwalaan ko ng aking mga mata, siya na gabay ko, na init ng aking sikmura. Pero nasaan siya? Wala.



Sa paglalakbay kong pasulong lamang, kung saan ang paglingon ay pagbawi ng pagtitiwala, lumingon ako. At sa aking paglingon, nakita ko siyang tinutulak ang aking mga paa sa daan na dapat kong apakan. Tumigil siya ngunit patuloy ako sa paglalakad. Agad akong nagtaka. At sa muli kong paglingon, ako’y nahulog sa bangin na hanggang ngayo’y hindi ko pa nararating ang kaila-ilaliman.

Pagkatapos mong bumoto

Minsan sa anim na taon, nagiging politikal ka. Di mo alam kung bakit. Pero bigla na lang, madali kang mag-init, maging passionate, maging madaldal kapag ang usapan ay politika na. May napipisil kang kandidato. Tingin mo siya ang nararapat. At napipikon ka bigla kapag ang mga kaibigan mo ay boboto ng iba.

“Tangina bakit ‘yan? E bobo naman yan?”

“Iboboto mo ‘yan dahil lang sa pangalan ng magulang niya? C’mon!”

“Galing at Talino? E bakit pumili ng artistang incompetent na running mate?”

“Eh mayabang masyado ‘yan! So full of himself”

“Magnanakaw naman ‘yan eh. Ginagawang business ang gobyerno.”

Sangkatutak ang post mo sa facebook, twitter at tumblr. Pinagsisigawan mo kung sino ang iboboto mo at kung sino ang di dapat iboto.

“Siya ang iboto natin! Tiyak ang asenso! Giginhawa tayo! Tapos ang kahirapan! Walang korupsiyon!”

Punung-puno ka ng pag-asa. Punung-puno ng apoy. Minsan sa anim na taon, nagiging politikal ka.

Pupunta ka sa presinto. Suot ang kulay ng kandidato mo. Boboto ka na.

Dalawa ang resolution pero iisa ang ending ng kwento mo:

Una. Nanalo ang kandidato mo. Ang saya-saya mo. Nagpost ka ulit sa lahat ng social networking site mo: “Tangina nyo! Panalo kami!” Proud na proud ka sa kandidato mo. At malaki ang tiwala mong magbabago ang Pilipinas dahil sa kanya.

Pangalawa. Natalo ang kandidato mo. BV ka. Nagpost ka ulit sa lahat ng social networking site mo: “This country deserves its leaders.” Bitter ka. Feeling mo wala na tayong pag-asang bumangon pa.

Alin man ang resolution, ito ang ending mo:

Babalik ka sa gawain mo araw-araw. Gigising, mag-aalmusal, maliligo, maghahandang pumasok. Papasok sa opisina, magtatrabaho, magrereklamo sa tambak ng trabaho at sa kakupalan ng boss mo. Di ka makahintay mag ala-singko. Uuwi, mabubuwisit sa trapik, isusumpa ang Pilipinas, mangangarap na mag-abroad. Darating sa bahay, manonood ng balita. Mabubuwisit sa Pilipinas. Kakain, matutulog.

Maghihintay ka ulit ng susunod na eleksiyon para maging politikal.

At sa tuwing mabuburat ka sa sitwasyon ng bayan mong pinakamamahal, tuwing natatrapik ka o manonood ng balita, kahit minsan, hindi mo naisip, na ikaw ang may kasalanan.

Dahil minsan ka lang sa anim na taon may pakialam.

-juan ekis

Why I Tell Stories

“Beauty will save the world.”

-F. Doestoevsky, The Idiot


We are all called to create. We are all called to love.

I fell in love with the word in high school. We were all forced to write poetry for our Filipino class as part of the unique Filipino curriculum of the Southridge Night School. There was something that attracted me to poetry. Even before I understood what the profound words meant—words that I often had to look up the dictionary—I was drawn to it just by the mere sounds they produce when they are being read aloud. It was then that I discovered that music is intrinsic to poetry. In all forms, may it be the classical which has rhyme and meter, or the modern and post-modern which has cadence and internal rhythm and rhyme. Its musicality drew me to it and begged my senses to hear beyond the beauty of the sound.

And so I started writing poetry. I enjoyed the fact that I too am capable of summoning these phonemes to form a rhythmic pattern that attracts an audience. Furthermore, I fell in love with words and their meanings—how they reveal to an audience one’s inner life by weaving images from the universe. It was the beginning of my love affair with metaphor. It was only later in college when I appreciated the sublimity of metaphor—how it makes one’s hidden life accessible to other people. I started to mass-produce poetry. I started writing even if it was not required. I filled up notebooks and notebooks of verses, of rhymes, of metaphors. I felt the thrill of creation. I was addicted to it.

I entered a university which did not appreciate Filipino poetry. In fact, Filipino was alien to them. How much more poetry written in the vernacular? But this did not stop me from writing. I continued to write. I continued to create. But it was also in this university where I met Paul Dumol, a renowned playwright. He adopted me and taught me how to write plays. In as much as Filipino poetry is unknown to this university, I found out that it had a love affair with a different art form—drama. And so, I found my home, the theater.

There was something about stage plays that is very akin to poetry. Although the form is more liberated in terms of the word, the structure of the drama drew me in the same manner that music drew me to poetry. In my writing and directing of several plays for the different theater groups in the university, I discovered the craft of enamoring the audience. First, one must captivate them, grab them by the balls, so to speak, with a strong beginning. The play must make the audience want to stay for more. Next, one must keep the audience at the edge of their seats and make them want to listen to the story and to the thesis while events unfold. There must be an engaging middle that is caused by the beginning that is necessary and probable. Lastly, one must make the audience never forget by giving them a memorable ending and resolution. All threads must come together and be woven into one seamless narrative.

But beyond this structure and unity of plot, what enamored me to theater is character and dialogue. The character is the core of the drama and the dialogue is the revelation of the character’s inner life. It is through well-written dialogues that audiences relate and share in the inner lives of these fictional characters. The play, in the end, will raise the question to the minds of the audience—is man worth it?

There is something in these two art forms that is very superficial but very profound. I was not attracted to poetry because of metaphor. But metaphor made me fall in love with it. I was not attracted to drama because of unity of plot. But character and dialogue made me fall in love with it.

What is it then? What is at the surface of these art forms that drew me to wander in its very depths? Likewise, what is at its surface that draws audiences to transcend what is perceived—to dig deeper into the meaning of the art?

Beauty.

Beauty is the symmetry of the human face. Beauty is also the imperfection in the human face. Beauty is the sunrise. But it is also the sunset. Beauty is the complementation of vivid colors. But it is also the contrast of values in black and white photographs. Beauty is the harmony of classical music. But it is also the dissonance in 21st century music. Beauty is the triumph of the human spirit in drama. But it is also the struggle of man in tragedies.

Beauty is the splendor of being. And as John Paul II in his letter to the artists defines it, beauty is the visible form of the good, just as the good is the metaphysical condition of beauty. Beauty is the revelation of a being’s fullness. It is by which we see the unity, the truth, and the good of a being. Therefore it is through beauty that our intellects and wills are moved. Since the object of the intellect is the truth and the object of the will is the good, beauty draws both our powers so that it finds the truth and good in the being.

This drawing power of beauty is a force to be reckoned with. Beauty is the cause of the Trojan war in Iliad. Beauty is Dante’s guide in his journey in the Divina Comedia. Beauty was the doom of anyone who heard the songs of the sirens in Odyssey. Beauty moved people to do great things as well as tragic things. But it is evident that beauty moves us in a way that no other force can. It stirs in us a feeling of excitement and enthusiasm. It leaves us in a state of awe once it is beheld. It disposes us to the sublime, mysterious and mystic state of wonder. It draws us to marvel at the universe. It calls us to stare at being and love it at the same time. Beauty predisposes us to contemplation.

This state of awe, of marvel, and of wonder leaves us humble as we behold the beauty in front of us. It drives us to empty ourselves and to reach out to that beauty as if we want to be part of it and to participate in it. It is only natural, for we too are beings, having in us that visible form and splendor of the good. This enthusiasm and thrill we feel whenever we behold something beautiful is our natural tendency to want to share in this beauty. We are driven, therefore, to love it—to give ourselves to it unconditionally. The paradox of this is that this beauty fills us up again. Beauty reciprocates. Because man knows, he knows that he knows this beauty and so he regains himself, the I, in his assimilation of the beautiful to which he is beholden. In his wonder, he knows of his own beauty.

The thrill coming from this communion with beauty drives us, enthuses us, to create beautiful things. It is within our powers to do so. Not ex nihilo but out of something else—out of other beautiful things. It is through this contemplation of beauty that we transcend—see beyond the being—and understand its inner structure, and its transcendental properties. Through beauty, we see the truth, the good, the whole. And because we know and understand what beauty does to us (i.e. make us more human because it drives us to desire to know more), it will drive us to keep on creating, and mimicking our Maker. This is the addiction I was referring to when I fell in love with poetry. One cannot help but create. Beauty commands us so.

So does that make artists slaves of beauty?

In a sense, yes. But in fact artists are liberated by beauty. And this is the reason why I tell stories.

After I graduated from college, I continued to write and direct plays. However, I met a new mentor who introduced to me a new art form—film. Marilou Diaz-Abaya, an acclaimed filmmaker, also adopted me and taught me how to make films. Films attracted me because of cinematography and the larger-than-life experience in the theater. But delving deeper into my training, I fell in love with filmmaking when I learned of the power of visual story telling. It was like learning to write poetry and plays in a new language. From metaphors and dialogue, I had a new love affair with the visual narrative—the motion picture language.

It is in my studies as a filmmaker where I realized my true vocation. I was to be a storyteller. I realized that all my love affairs, from poetry, to drama, to film all converged into a single love affair with stories. All three forms are only manifestations of one art, and probably the oldest of all—story telling.

Why do we tell stories?

Storytelling probably is the oldest art of man. We had it from the very beginning. When man created language to express his inner life, man could not help share stories to other men. This is only natural for we are social beings. And as social beings, there is that natural urge to bring out what is inside you so that you can be understood. And so we told each other stories. In the old times, when cave men went out to hunt for an entire day, they spend their dinners exchanging stories of the hunt. The Bible, both the old and the new testament, is a compilation of stories. At the end of our day, we just cannot help but look for someone to talk to, to tell your story, to share your troubles for the day. When we go home, we turn on our TV’s and watch the news—stories of current events, of politics, of showbiz, of anything. We crave for stories.

It is said that we tell stories for three reasons. The first reason is for affirmation. In sharing ourselves through our stories, our audiences affirm us as human beings by listening to us. Through their reactions in the twists and turns in our daily adventures, we find someone else relating to us and reminding us that we share common experiences with other people. The same is true for the audiences. It is through our stories that they are affirmed as human beings. They see themselves in our stories. They are reminded, through our struggles and pains in the stories that we tell, of their own struggles. And so story telling is in a way a sort of communion, a building of a community through the exchange of inner lives. Humanity is affirmed in story telling. In story telling, we are reminded that we are not alone.

The second reason is for healing. It is interesting to note that most storytelling, even in the olden times, occurs at the dinner table. We enjoy eating while exchanging stories. Meals are boring without stories. Show me a family who never talk at the dinner table and I’ll tell you they’re aliens. Even in prehistoric times, cave men share stories of the hunt around the fire while they are having their meal. This relationship between storytelling and eating has a very significant meaning for us. While we nourish our bodies when we eat, we nourish our souls when we exchange stories. Stories heal us when we imagine the heroes who are wounded in their struggles in the stories we hear. It’s not so much that we take pleasure in their misfortunes but we are healed because of their triumph. Even if the stories we listen to are tragedies, even if the protagonists do not win in the end, it is enough to realize that his struggles were worth it—that man is worth redeeming. Through stories we realize our woundedness in the universality of the narrative and we also come to realize that we too, though wounded, are worthy of redemption. Through human struggles in stories, also known as conflict, we come to heal our very own wounds with hope. If these heroes can struggle and triumph, if these heroes are worthy of redemption, then so are we. We find something akin from their inner lives to ours. Through stories, we commune with the characters.

There is a third form of communion in story telling which is explained by the third reason why we tell stories. The third reason why men tell stories is primarily to address man’s greatest fear—an unknown, which is death. Men tell stories to be immortal.

In the transmission of stories to our family members and audiences, we immortalize ourselves as story tellers. Knowing that we are temporal and that we will not live forever, we know that our stories can last to the last generation of men. We become immortal in our stories. But this immortality should not be looked at as a vain attempt to extend one’s life and fame. Man discovered immortality through story telling so he can commune with the generations to come. This is our attempt to be in communion with the future.

These are the reasons why men tell stories. Let me now tell you about mine.

Art has seduced men to be artists through beauty. I have fallen for this seduction as well. It is the story’s visible form of the good that I have beheld—the beauty of the art of story. But rather than becoming a slave to it, beauty has liberated me, as it has liberated all artists, into the fullness and splendor of being. The contemplation of the universe, which creates an infinite cycle between knowing and loving drives every artist to create something beautiful—to put into being the love that exists between man and the universe. This new being is called art. Because the artist, in his communion with being, has realized through knowing that beauty is the good’s visible form, he will utilize all of his creative powers and artistic inspiration to bring out the beauty in his creation so that it too can awe other men. In the same way that beauty has made the artist wonder and marvel at the universe, the artist wishes to share this wonder and marvel to his audiences by creating something beautiful—an artwork.

It is only through the creation of something beautiful that the three reasons for story telling can be fulfilled. This awe, this wonder and marvel, will move man, the perceiver of beauty to be enthusiastic about himself. Beauty will move his intellect and will because his attitude towards the artwork will stir in him a sense of recognition of the truth and the good. Beauty will move man to action. Therefore art will move man to action because of beauty.

Therefore it cannot just be any story. We cannot just tell any story. The story must be transformed into an art—into something beautiful. Through this, our stories will be the audiences’ mirror, reflecting their own beauty as beings, consequently affirming their humanity, healing them, and making them immortal. Through the beauty of the story, the audience will be awed and they will wonder and marvel at the beauty of the universe and even their very own beauty. Through the beauty of the story the audience will see themselves as beautiful and will be drawn to deeper reflection and desire to understand that beauty that lies within them. In the end, this beauty will put man in a state of perpetual enthusiasm and desire to know more about himself. And the more he knows about himself the more he will desire to go out of himself and share himself to the world, thus creating this cycle of knowing-loving. Through this, he perfects himself.

Nothing in this world is so beautiful to satisfy man however sensitive he is to the wonders of the universe, because no being in this life is ever complete and perfect. Man will realize this eventually in his contemplation. Eventually, he will come to the conclusion that his salvation lies in the beholding of the fullness of Being—that which is the fullness of Beauty. And he will not be able to help himself but surrender to that awesome, wonderful, and marvelous Being he is beholding.

This is the reason why I write stories. I write stories because I desire to create something beautiful. I desire to create beauty because I have realized that beauty draws one easier to contemplation. Beauty reveals to man the truth and the good. In this revelation, and internal reflection occurs and the self reveals itself to man. When his happens, man now has a self to give back to the universe. He is now disposed to love. And because he loves, he regains himself, and realizes that he too is beautiful. This is the beauty that liberates and not enslaves. Beholding beauty does not make one its slave. Beauty liberates us in the sense that it brings us back to ourselves—to our humanity.

This is why I tell stories. I want to affirm myself and other people. I want to heal myself and other people. I want to be immortal and immortalize humanity. And I will do this by telling beautiful stories.

Pula ang Sapatos

Pula ang Sapatos
dula ni Juan Ekis

MGA TAUHAN

DOMENG. Lalaking may 35-40 anyos. Nakakalbo o kalbo na.

JOEY. Binata. Mga 25.

JANICE. 20 anyos. Maputi. Reddish-brown ang buhok. Pula ang sapatos.

TAGPO

Sa lobby ng hotel. May isang grand piano na nakabukas sa gitna ng lobby. Nakaupo sa isang mahabang sofa sina Domeng at Joey. Naka-shades at naka-amerikana ang dalawa. Pareho silang may hinihintay.

Titignan ni Joey ang kanyang relo.

JOEY Matagal pa kaya?

DOMENG Hintay lang.

JOEY Paano kung Moonlight Sonata?

DOMENG (Matatawa) Pwede ba, relax ka lang?

Tahimik.

JOEY Lolo ko ang nagturo sa aking magpiano. Blue Danube. Yung Blue Danube ang tinuro niya.

Sisipulin ni Domeng ang Blue Danube.

JOEY Astig nga e. Domeng din pangalan ng Lolo ko.

DOMENG Talaga?

JOEY Oo. Pero marami siyang buhok—puti.

DOMENG Bata pa ako para maging Lolo.

Tahimik.

JOEY Marunong ka bang mag-piano?

DOMENG Hindi.

JOEY Kahit anong instrumento?

DOMENG Sipol lang.

JOEY Hindi ako marunong sumipol.

DOMENG Madali lang.

JOEY Hindi ko matutunan.

DOMENG Ibibilog mo lang ang dila mo. Tapos dapat walang lumabas na hangin sa gilid. (Sisipol siya)

JOEY (Gagayahin pero di magagawa) Di ko kaya.

Tahimik.

JOEY Alam ba ng asawa mo?

DOMENG Oo naman.

JOEY Ano’ng sabi niya?

DOMENG Wala naman.

JOEY Wala?

DOMENG Ano ba dapat ang sabihin niya?

JOEY Ewan ko. Hind ba siya nagrereklamo?

DOMENG Trabaho ko ito, alam niya iyon.

Tahimik.

DOMENG May asawa ka ba?

JOEY Girlfriend.

DOMENG Gano na katagal?

JOEY Matagal na rin. Walong taon.

Tahimik.

JOEY College siya noong nakilala ko.

Tahimik.

JOEY Accounting.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Nag-accounting din ako dati.

JOEY Nakapag-college ka?

DOMENG Oo naman.

JOEY Ano’ng ginagawa mo rito.

DOMENG Pareho ng ginagawa mo.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Alam ba ng girlfriend mo’ng trabaho mo?

JOEY Hindi.

DOMENG Kung ako sa iyo, sabihin mo na habang maaga.

JOEY Sira ka ba? E kung isplitan ako nun?

DOMENG At least alam mo kung kaya niyang mabuhay kasama ka.

Tahimik.

JOEY Wala pa ba? Ano’ng oras ba siya dapat dumating?

DOMENG Hintay lang.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Ano ulit ang nakasulat?

Bubuksan ni Joey ang isang brown envelope. May titignan siyang papel.

JOEY Pulang sapatos. May posibilidad na pula rin ang buhok.

DOMENG Yung title?

JOEY Elegie in E Flat Minor ng Cinq Morceaux de Fantasie, Op. 3. Alam mo ba ang tono nun?

DOMENG Oo naman. Rachmaninov yan.

JOEY Sino yun?

DOMENG Basta, sikat na composer.

Itatabi ni Joey ang envelope sa gilid niya. Tahimik.

JOEY (Matatawa) Alam mo, Blue Danube lang ang alam kong tugtugin. Nung namatay ang lolo ko, di na ko ulit tumugtog ng piano.

DOMENG Wala naman kaming piano. Mahal. Ginastos ko na lang ang pera ko sa pagbili ng tapes.

JOEY Tapes?

DOMENG Wala namang CD nung nagsimula akong mangulekta. Pero hanggang ngayon tapes pa rin ako.

JOEY Bakit?

DOMENG Mas reliable ang tapes. Madaling masira ang CD. Madaling magasgasan. Tumatalon pa pag pirated. Ang tape, kung ano tunog ng kinopyahan, ganun din yung kopya.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Pang-ilan mo na ba ito?

JOEY Ito? Pangalawa pa lang.

DOMENG Sino yung isa?

JOEY Yung model. Issa Litton ba ‘yon?

DOMENG Ah. Si Litton. Kamusta?

JOEY Ayoko nang maalala. Nakaraos din kahit papano.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Wala naman akong narinig kina Ricky na masama tungkol sa trinabaho mo a. Magandang balita iyon.

JOEY Pinalusot na nila kahit maraming sabit. First time ko e.

DOMENG Lagi naman nilang pinapatawad ang first time.

Tahimik.

JOEY Kaya ba ikaw ang pinasama sa akin ngayon? Para siguraduhing malinis?

DOMENG Nagkataon lang siguro.

Tahimik.

JOEY Pang-ilan mo na ito?

DOMENG Hindi ko na mabilang. Labing-limang taon na ko dito.

JOEY Matagal na rin pala.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Kung balak mong pakasalan ‘yang girlfriend mo, sabihin mo sa kanya ang totoo.

Tahimik.

JOEY Hindi ako naniniwala sa kasal.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Yung mga gamit, kumpleto na ba?

JOEY Nasa itaas na lahat. Pero may ipapadala pa daw si Ricky.

DOMENG Ano raw?

JOEY Hindi ko nga alam e.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Kinakabahan ka ba?

JOEY Medyo.

DOMENG Sanayan lang iyan.

Matagal na katahimikan.

JOEY Noong maliit ako, takot na takot ako sa dugo. Pag nadapa ako at puro dugo ako sa tuhod, ngumangalngal agad ako. Kaya nga ayaw kong magduktor e.

Tahimik.

JOEY Bukod sa wala akong pampaaral.

Tahimik.

JOEY Pwede kayang tumugtog ng piano? Kanina ko pa gustong tumugtog e.

DOMENG Tumugtog ka.

JOEY Kaya lang baka sumabit pa tayo.

Tahimik. Tatayo si Joey, titingin sa orasan. Huhubarin niya ang kanyang amerikana. Ilalapag niya sa sofa.

JOEY Hindi ka ba naiinitan?

DOMENG Hindi.

Tahimik. Sisipulin ni Domeng ang Moonlight Sonata ni Beethoven. Maglalakad-lakad si Joey at titignan ang mga halaman at painting sa lobby. Palapit siya nang palapit sa piano.

DOMENG Bakit hindi ka tumugtog?

JOEY Nakakahiya. Blue Danube lang ang alam kong tugtugin.

Tahimik. Patuloy si Joey sa pagmamasid sa mga paintings.

JOEY May alam ka ba sa painting?

DOMENG Konti. Yang tinitignan mo, Manansala yan.

JOEY Wow.

Tahimik.

JOEY ‘Yan ba tinuturo sa college?

DOMENG Hindi. May trinabaho ako dati sa isang museum. Sikat na historian. Babae din.

JOEY Puro babae ba binibigay sa’yo?

DOMENG Kadalasan. May lalaki din.

Uupo si Joey sa grand piano. Pipindot ng isang nota.

JOEY Wow. Ang ganda pala ng tunog ng grand piano. Iba sa tunog ng piano sa bahay ng lolo ko.

DOMENG Lalo na pag sa concert hall ka nakinig. Narinig mo na ba si Cecille Licad?

JOEY Sino ‘yon?

DOMENG Basta sikat na pianista. Para siyang sinapian ng kung anong espirito kapag tumutugtog. Dinala ko na ang asawa ko minsan sa concert niya. Paglabas namin ng concert, naiyak ang asawa ko tuwa.

JOEY Ganoon siya kagaling?

DOMENG Kung marinig mo siya, gugustuhin mong mag-aral ng piano.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Kung nakapag-aral siguro ako ng piano—

JOEY Hindi mo sana ginagawa ito?

DOMENG Araw-araw kong tutugtugan ang asawa ko.

Tahimik. May lalabas na isang babae sa gawing kanan kung nasaan ang elevator—ito si Janice. Titigil siya sa gitna, titingin sa relo. Uupo sa tabi ni Domeng. Maglalabas siya ng magazine at magbabasa.

Matataranta si Joey. Titignan niya si Domeng. Kalmado lang si Domeng. Titingin si Domeng sa relo. Pandidilatan ng mata ni Domeng si Joey. Hindi malaman ni Joey ang gagawin.

Tutugtugin ni Joey ang Blue Danube. Yung arrangement na pang-beginner.

Titignan ni Domeng si Janice.

DOMENG Ang sama ng tugtog ano?

JANICE Ayos lang.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Wala na ba silang ibang makuhang tutugtog dito? Pambihirang hotel.

Ngingiti lang si Janice.

DOMENG Ang ganda naman ng sapatos mo. Mahilig ang asawa ko sa pulang sapatos e. Saan mo nabili iyan?

JANICE Talaga? (Ngingiti) May shop sa 25^th floor. Pwede mong i-charge sa kuwarto mo.

DOMENG Ah talaga? Dadalhin ko siya doon mamaya.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Diyos ko, kailan kaya siya matatapos tumugtog. Parusa ito!

Matatawa si Janice.

JANICE Marunong ho kayong mag-piano?

DOMENG Nagtuturo ako dati sa conservatory.

JANICE Talaga? Saan po?

DOMENG UST.

JANICE Dati?

DOMENG Nagshift ako ng career.

JANICE Ano na pong ginagawa ninyo?

DOMENG Supervisor.

JANICE Ng...?

DOMENG (Matatawa) Maraming bagay.

JANICE Naka-check-in kayo dito?

DOMENG Yes. I’m just waiting for my wife. We have a dinner to attend.

Tahimik.

DOMENG Dito ka rin?

JANICE Opo. Bakasyon lang.

DOMENG What do you do?

JANICE I’m in between jobs. (Ngiti)

DOMENG Waiting for someone?

JANICE No. Just wanted to listen to the music.

DOMENG Unfortunately, maling performer ang inabutan mo.

JANICE (Matatawa) Oo nga.

Matatapos si Joey sa pagtugtog.

DOMENG Natapos din.

Uupo si Joey sa tabi ni Janice. Mapapagitnaan si Janice ng dalawa.

Tahimik.

JOEY (Kay Janice) We’re you waiting for me to finish?

JANICE (Mangingiti) Actually.

JOEY Go ahead, play. Sinubukan ko lang.

JANICE No thanks. Hinintay ka lang naming matapos. (matatawa)

JOEY Oh. I was that bad?

JANICE U-huh.

Tahimik.

JOEY By the way, I’m Joey.

JANICE Janice.

Magkakamay sila.

JOEY You have the hands of a pianist.

JANICE Talaga? Pa’no mo nasabi?

JOEY Malambot ang kamay mo. Long fingers. Pareho kay Cecille Licad.

JANICE Wow. Thanks! Pero I don’t play the piano.

JOEY Are you sure?

JANICE Quite. (Ngingiti)

Patuloy sa pagbabasa si Janice. Tatayo ulit si Joey at maglalakad-lakad. Titignan niya ang kanyang relo.

Maya-maya lalapit siya sa sofa. Titignan niya sa mata si Janice. Tititigan lang siya nito at ngingitian. Dadamputin ni Joey ang Amerikana niya. Isusuot niya ito.

JOEY Malamig.

Uupo ulit siya sa tabi ni Janice.

JOEY May hinihintay ka?

Ngingiti lang si Janice.

JOEY Sorry. Nosey na ba ako masyado?

JANICE (Ngiti) Medyo lang.

Tahimik.

JOEY I like your shoes.

Titignan siya ni Janice nang masama.

JOEY I mean—

Tahimik.

JOEY Saan mo nabili? Mahilig girlfriend ko sa pulang sapatos e.

JANICE May shop sa 25^th floor.

JOEY Talaga?

Tahimik.

Tatayo si Domeng.

DOMENG (Kay Janice) Would you know kung saan ang banyo dito?

JANICE End of the hall, to the right.

DOMENG Salamat.

Lalabas si Domeng sa kanan.

Matagal na katahimikan.

JOEY Wala bang tumutugtog sa hotel na’to?

JANICE Ikaw. Kanina.

JOEY Naglalaro lang ako.

JANICE Usually pag gabi may tumutugtog diyan. Dapat ganitong oras, meron na. Tugtog ka muna if you want. Wala pa naman yung performer for tonight e.

JOEY Okay na ako.

Tahimik.

JOEY Matagal pa kaya yung performer?

JANICE Hintay ka lang. Nagtitipid ka ba?

JOEY Ha?

JANICE Sa hotel lobby ka nanonood ng performance.

JOEY Ah hindi. Di lang ako makatulog kaya ako bumaba sa kuwarto ko. I was hoping na may tumutugtog.

Tahimik.

JOEY You stay here?

JANICE I work here. Accountant ako ng hotel. Actually, just came from a meeting.

JOEY Wow.

Mahabang katahimikan.

JOEY Nagdinner ka na?

JANICE Waiting for my date.

JOEY Oh.

Tahimik.

Titingin si Janice sa relo niya.

JOEY I really like your shoes.

JANICE Last pair na sila.

Tahimik.

JOEY Sayang. I really wanted to get one for my girlfriend. She loves red.

JANICE Talaga? Red is nice.

JOEY Yes. It is.

Tahimik.

JOEY Mahilig ang may-ari ng hotel kay Manansala no?

JANICE Huh?

JOEY (Referring to a painting) That’s a Manansala, you see?

JANICE Talaga? You know a lot of painters?

JOEY May ilan.

Tahimik.

JANICE You like art?

JOEY Not particularly.

Matagal na katahimikan.

JANICE Would you like me to tell you a secret?

Maiintriga si Joey. Mapapangiti.

JOEY Sure.

JANICE That painting is not a Manansala. That’s an Alcantara.

JOEY Alcantara?

JANICE Vincent Alcantara.

JOEY Sino ‘yun?

JANICE Basta sikat na painter sa Cainta.

JOEY Mukha kasi siyang Manansala.

Ngingiti lang si Janice. Matagal na katahimikan.

JOEY Bagay sa’yo ang buhok mo.

JANICE Talaga? Thanks.

JOEY Is that brown or red?

Matatawa si Janice.

JOEY Bakit?

JANICE Nauubusan ka na ng masasabi?

Tahimik. Matatawa si Joey.

Babalik si Domeng. Inaayos niya ang kanyang Amerikana. May hawak siyang small package na nakabalot ng white scarf na nakabuhol. Ilalapag niya iyon sa pagitan nila ni Janice. Uupo siya. Titignan ang kanyang relo.

JANICE Hindi na siguro darating yung date ko.

Tahimik.

JANICE (kay Joey) There’s a restaurant at the 25^th. Would you like to join me for dinner?

JOEY Sure.

Tatayo si Joey.

JANICE (Kay Domeng) Sir?

DOMENG I’m fine. I’ll wait for my wife.

Ngingiti si Janice. Gaganti ng ngiti si Domeng.

Tatayo si Janice. Dadalhin niya ang white package sa tabi niya.

JANICE (Kay Domeng) See you around!

Ngingiti si Janice. Lalapit sila sa elevator.

JOEY Magkakilala kayo?

JANICE Kanina ko lang siya nakilala. Habang tumutugtog ka. He really hated your playing you know.

Matatawa si Joey. Lalabas ang dalawa papunta sa elevator.

Nakaupo lang si Domeng. Matagal. Titignan niya ang kanyang relo. Tatayo siya. Lalapit siya sa grand piano. Uupo siya rito.

Titignan niya ang keys nang matagal. Maya-maya, tutugtugin niya ang Elegie in E Flat Minor ng Cinq Morceaux de Fantasie, Op. 3. ni Rachmaninov.

Fade out.