You wonder how manong must have felt, mopping to no end the white floors of this expen¬sive hospital, amid the flurry of wheels and feet trying to escape death in all its malevolent forms. The corridors reek of despair, and yet manong remains, scrubbing the tiles, only to be soiled by mindless people who so dreadfully want to live.

This is familiar territory, you say to yourself. At least once a year your mother gets confined in a hospital, and always, being her youngest child, you would have to spend the night beside her. Not that you’re complaining, though. It’s just that the whole atmosphere of it, of the fact that someone could be dying in the next room, or that death could have stared you in the face as you peeked into half-open doors, or that you could have bumped into mortality on your way out of the ER, always, always gets into your system. And much as you wanted to vomit, in hopes that such will remove everything that is sinister inside of you, you are failed by your body.

This, however, is an entirely different case. Your father, he who takes kilo¬metric walks along the stretch of Quezon Ave. every other night, who insists on doing the family’s laundry even when your sister, a metallurgical engineer for a transnational company, can very well afford to have it done in laundry shops, who prefers Champion sticks to your Winston Lights, believing that the former has less nicotine and therefore, reduced risk of lung cancer, has contracted pneu¬monia. The doctor also suspects that your father has diabetes.

“It’s a blessing in disguise, that you brought him here for a check-up,” the doctor declares, adding that they could have your father examined for other pos¬sible illnesses the family may not be aware of. All this he says with a smile, as if you owe him big-time, as if it was something you should be thankful for. In another instance you might have slipped into a violent fit of rage, but the wan presence of your father robbed you of the capacity for an outburst.

And so the nights you spent smoking inside the comfort room of your father’s private quarters, one stick after another, constantly checking to make sure that the exhaust is working so that no one would notice the unmistakable smell of your stealth. With the slightest noise that seemed to have come from your father’s bed you would dash out, and in a few seconds you are assaulted by images of blood and needles, the unconscious body of your father, inevitably, death. You would find him, however, either reading the newspaper or watching American Idol.

People desperately don’t want to die, but living, for others, was never a choice. You imagine them lined up in a public hospital, practically begging for treatment, for an extension to their life, however miserable it may be. You stare at your father, in the stillness of his sleep, and you wonder what could have happened to him were it not for his medical insurance that came with your sister’s employment. Enraging how even in death, we grapple with that great divide.

On the third day, your father was discharged from the hospital, with prescriptions for a continued medication for his pneumonia. He tested negative for diabetes, and his white blood cell count is back to its normal level. This time, as you walk out of the hospital lobby, you see a different manong, still mopping the tiled floors despite the endless rush of patients and their grim-looking families. Life, as with death, is a vicious cycle.# Philippine Collegian

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Kay Tatay Ken at kay Kenikenken, dahil magkaiba silang nilalang:
Alam kong maitutuloy rin natin ang lahat ng nakaplanong proyekto; na kung saan man tayo mapunta’t ano man ang pagkaabalahan sa mga susunod na buwan at taon, makakahanap tayo ng oras na buhayin sa papel ang mga drowing sa isipan.

Ikaw na rin naman ang nagsabing saan ka man mapadpad at kung ano man ang maging trabaho mo kinalaunan, patuloy ka pa ring guguhit. Ayon nga sa kulitan natin sa YM, si Kenikenken ay isang karakter sa komiks na minsang nagdrowing ng tao. At kung magdodrowing si Kenikenken ng tao, iyon na siguro si Tatay Ken, na siya namang magdodrowing kay Kenikenken. Dahil ikaw ang tao (o komiks) na di ko maihiwalay ang pagkatao (o pagka-komiks) sa pagguhit.

Basta kung idodrowing kita, idodrowing kita na nagdodrowing.

Kay Bej, at sa patuloy na pagkatuto’t paglaban:
Hindi kita minamaliit sa tuwing sasabihin kong bata ka pa, na marami ka pang kailangang maranasan at matutunan. Hindi ko kailanman iniugnay ang maturidad sa edad kundi sa dami ng naranasan at sa mga sitwasyong kinaharap at nalagpasan. Patuloy naman parati ang ating pagkatuto.

Paumanhin kung hindi ako ang taong inakala mong maaaring gumabay sa iyo sa mga bagong-tuklas mong mga ideya’t paninindigan. Alam mo na siguro ngayon kung sino ang mas matapang sa ating dalawa. Natutuwa ako’t humahanga sa patuloy mong pagkamulat at paggagap sa mas malaking sitwasyong kinabibilangan; sa pagpili mong di magpakulong sa mga dingding ng eskwelahan.

Pero hayaan mong mag-alala kami para sa iyo, at na paalalahanan ka parati na hindi minamadali ang mga bagay na ganito kalaki. Huwag ka sanang sumabak na bitbit lamang ang bugso ng damdamin; tipunin mo rin ang lahat ng maisusukbit na kaalaman.

Kay Isaac, at sa mga inuumagang inuman: Palagi nating naiisip kung paanong sa una nating pagkikita, di natin inakalang magkakasundo rin pala tayo: nakakatawang alalahanin kung paano tayo nagkakila-kilala nina Clarence at Bej, at kung paano nabuo ang terminong ‘copla’ at ang ‘Big Papa C.’

Hindi ko alam kung nagbago ka o ngayon lang kita talagang nakikilala sa loob ng isa’t kalahating taon: ang alam ko lang, kalbo ka na ngayon, at madalas mo na akong gulatin sa bigla-biglaan mong pagseseryoso’t pag-ako ng katinuan sa magugulong mga sitwasyon; sa paglapat mo ng napakasimpleng lohika sa lahat ng bagay.

Pero syempre, tatagay pa rin tayo’t patuloy na mag-iisip ng mga bagong kalokohan.

Kay Ivan, at sa mga magdamagang kuwentuhan: Nagkasundo tayo marahil dahil sa pagkakatulad ng ugali: tahimik sa unang pagkakakilala, saksakan ng daldal kinalaunan. Isa ka sa iilang taong kaya kong kwentuhan, at ang nakasundo ko sa dali-daliring pagbitaw sa mahigpit na pagkakakapit sa nakaraan.

Alam mo namang wala sa astrolohiya ang iyong kapalaran; bagkus, ang pagtuklas at pag-intindi mo sa iyong ugali’t sa mga bagay na kailangan mong baguhin at gawin ang mismong rason kung bakit wala kang maaaring sabihing dahilan sa pananatiling lubog sa sarili mong mga agam-agam. Walang pumipigil sa iyong paglipad kundi ang pagtalikod mo sa kalawakan; ang parating pag-iwan ng kalahati ng iyong katawan sa kitid ng papel na ginuguhitan.

Aabangan ko ang mga drowing mo kung saan lumagpas na sa papel ang dulo ng iyong tsinelas, o kaya’y di na sa perspektibo ng taong tumitingala mula sa lupa. Naniniwala akong masasagot din natin ang mga pinakaimportanteng tanong: bakit, bakit hindi, at kung ano ang tunog ng umiiyak na pagong.# Philippine Collegian

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