I told Agee when I was teaching her to drive
that when I could take a nap while she’s
driving, that’s the sign that she is a good
driver, and so yesterday we started
to celebrate her birthday with a jog
around the Church of the Gesù in Ateneo
in Loyola, I had to wake up at 3 in the
morning to be able to make it to UP Diliman
as the sun rose, but it was entrance exams
day and the campus was jammed with cars,
impossible to run in, and so we had to
try Ateneo and we had fun, Ateneo being
what it is, closest to heaven on earth that’s
what it is, especially in the approaches to
the church, we were oxygenated with the
trees and grass and brick pathways and
almost no traffic, and after we were done
with breakfast at the restaurant with the
inverted car on Katipunan, as I was driving
home I felt the bite of sleep and I told her
I would have to stop at a service station
to take a nap, but she said she had her
license and she could drive us home,
and she did, I took a nap while she was
driving, had a really good time sleeping
while she was at the wheel, and so that’s
it, she’s a good driver, having brought us
all home in Dawn’s Vios, and that’s how
she is, full of confidence in everything she
does, a bit too passionate at times, but she’s
okay, she’s a good driver, I can sleep while
she drives, Baby and I can address other
issues while she’s around, knowing that
she’s in charge, oh what a lady she is, always
beaming with bright prospects for the day,
one day it’s a simple pic in Instagram, the
next a painting, then something she said
to the president of her company, “in straight
English, Dad,” she hastens to add, or a dive
in the pool, biking like a pro, running as if
from a jailbreak, yes, that’s her, any father
would love to have her at his side when he’s
sleepy at the wheel, or if he has other issues
to address, with this young lady, beautiful
in core, eyes prying into your own, always
showing you what’s good in life, I could somehow
see a katana in her, sharp and swift to the target,
where she came from Baby and I know, from
a couple who wanted nothing more than daughters
who could, who would and who should, Agee
our second-born, swift, sane, secure, loving life,
loving God with eyes closed, my co-worshipper,
co-athlete, co-driver, co-poet, co-insane,
Agee of the Villanuevas in times such as these.

Happy birthday, anak!

He has so much hair it grows out of his earlobes,
the only human I have seen so far with my own
eyes with hair in the earlobes, I tell you, he must
have descended from some Arab adventurer,
hirsuteness being foreign in these parts, oh yes,
from the horn of Africa he must have traveled
to the East, the waters of the South China Sea
sprinkling his beard, watching from the distance
the mountains of Zambales, debarking perhaps
in the port of Manila, and in search of more challenges,
must have traveled along the coast of Batangas
on balanghai coming from the Indonesian archipelago,
must have been enamored with a lass who lived
in the hermit kingdom called Bicol, settled there,
bore children, and his children bore more children,
and finally Pancho came out from the gene pool,
fighter’s blood in him, so in everything he did,
from bullying in Naga Parochial, to catching the
softball with a dangling, gloved right hand almost
attached to his right knee, laughing and laughing
at some humorous incident, calling both ball and
laughter from the adoring crowd, sinking the ball
into the glove without even a twitch of his sinewy
body, still laughing with a franchise, curly hair
never out of place, in synch with nature was he,
like the adventurer-ancestor from the horn of
Africa, he called everything to him, from the first lass
on the balanghai, who was the start the branch
of Arab-Bicolano, to the love of his life then which
made him see blood when I closed the door on
his face even if all he wanted was just to adore
her pretty face, Pancho, never seen but always
present in conversations, if you don’t know him
you must not be from Batch ’69, great with Math,
now a banker (retired?) who knows what twitch
of the body is next, a deal in the offing in Singapore,
or a basketball game with fellow compatriots,
that’s Pancho, graceful like a lion, laughing like
he invented it, ball in glove, laughter in his wake.

Happy birthday, Pancho!

I remember the day I couldn’t void my urinary bladder,
you see I had just been operated on, by laparoscopy,
Dr. Abraham had scraped off a bulge in there, he sent
it for biopsy, it was negative, I thanked God for my life,
I thought that was the end of it, but no, when I couldn’t
void, I had a fever, I couldn’t strut, walked with a stoop
you know, I wanted to straighten my spine but couldn’t,
the guard at Emergency looked like he had seen a ghost,
immediately he placed me in a wheelchair, wheeled me
in, and then the cath, oh, what a relief it was, such a simple
thing, been doing that ever since I could remember, but
when I couldn’t void, the simplest thing became a luxury,
how much do I pay to do that, such a simple thing, you
know, but God gives and God withholds, and so I prayed
and then they found I had an infection, the good doctor
cut me again, to drain the fluid caused by the prolonged
use of the cath, and then antibiotics to stem the infection,
and I was healed, thank God, the insurance people passed
judgment on my health, yes, they said, I could be insured,
what joy, to be healthy again, and free to void, free to void.

“Can I buy heart, sir?” asked the young man
of the Grocer from Heaven, “Son, you can’t
buy heart,” the Grocer said, “By heart, do you
mean conviction, courage, expression, follow
through, the quality that separates a man from
those who choose to dwell in the lower regions
where nothing is fought for, everything is passable,
where people go with the flow?” “Yes, that’s the
heart I want to have!” “Well, son, you can’t buy
that, and it will take years for you to have it,”
“Why so?” “Well, because heart will just happen
inside of you when you have fought your battles,
and whether you win or lose, you will emerge
victorious because you have been true to yourself,”
“But I am true to myself already,” reasoned the
young man, and the Grocer replied, “Son, when
the things dear to you are distorted according
to the wishes of those who only think of themselves,
you will know if you have heart, you will find out
how your heart will react,” “Oh,” said the young
man, “But don’t worry, every man and woman
will have a chance to prove his or her heart,
and when that happens, remember this day when
you asked me if you could buy heart,” said the
Grocer, “and then you will realize that heart cannot
be bought because it was always with you from
the time you were born, when your parents believed
in your heart, that you will emerge victorious in life,
because heart happens when you have love, that’s
why your Tatay and Nanay poured so much love
into you, so that when the time comes for you to
summon all your resources to survive and take
your place among men and women, you will know
that you have heart, and what a difference it will
make,” and the young man left the Grocery of Heaven,
happy because he knew that heart was always with him,
yet sad that the time will come for him to show his heart,
and he knew it will not be easy, but he recalled his
parents’ love for him, and he smiled, knowing he
will be true to his heart no matter what happens,
because heart is love, and love, heart.

This morning it was thirty-two degrees,
Warm it was, but I had to exercise,
Checked the tire pressure of the mountain bike,
Packed Lifeguard soap, towel and swim goggles
in my backpack and biked to the clubhouse,
Stretched, jogged, did push ups under the warm sun,
Swam freestyle, treaded with bicycle kick,
Prayed the Rosary in the swimming pool,
A kid in the pool said I looked forty,
“Thank you,” I said, “Health is the only wealth,”
Then to the showers, smelling baby-fresh,
Biked to Mercury Drug for Baby’s meds,
Returned home, adolescent blood racing,
Celebratory breakfast: life is good!

It’s been 117 years since your martyrdom,
but the Philippines is still on a seesaw, one
moment tiger, the next mouse, it’s good that
you were born amongst us, your greatness
is still second to none, maybe as great as Andres
Bonifacio for you provided the spark but he nursed
the flame, I can’t imagine a Filipino nowadays who’s
a doctor, an artist, a poet, novelist, polyglot, what’s
that, conversant in 22 languages, why, even Fernando
Poe Jr. and Joseph Estrada combined cannot do that
in all their movies, you were truly a wonder, and so
sometimes I ask myself why our race has come to
this, most of our great countrymen have moved on
to better countries, and better countries have moved
against us, it seems you had a different Philippines
than what we have now, but no matter, thank you
for your example, we have it in us to be heroes,
victors, geniuses, intellectual giants, even if we
elect small minds to lead us, o, great hero, where
is our country headed, one moment great, the next
humbled, when will we learn that we have it in us,
for you walked among us, you were born and raised
with us, you never gave up on us, you could see
something that we find so hard to see, the value
of us, and everyday that passes it seems that we
lose your shining moment, when the world looked
up to us, challenging an empire, years and years
before Mahatma Gandhi you believed in the power
of the mind and spirit, your race, the Filipino race
will forever be grateful for your deeds, Jose Rizal,
once upon a time we were great, and we will not
tire to prove you right.

Happy birthday, Jose Rizal!

We’re always running on empty, at the
end of the day, we plop onto our beds,
take a deep breath, and another deep breath,
and another, to get our second wind before
we finally sleep, for every day is full, and at the
end of the day, with the fullness of our days,
we’re empty, not empty sad, but empty happy,
so empty the tank rings an echo, it’s because
we put everything on the line every hour,
every day, pouring everything into the jug called
Fatherhood, so our children and our wives can
partake of the sweet juice of our emptying love,
that’s it, we just keep pouring, that’s our role,
to empty ourselves so that our families will
be filled to the brim with our love, our care,
our touch, our words and acts, our smiles
sometimes our frowns to correct, and it is in
emptying that we are made full, love becomes
love if there’s nothing more to give, we are
exhausted, sometimes sleeping is a struggle
because our hearts are still racing with affection,
the concern of a shepherd, and the satisfaction
of a job well done, all the sheep are in the pen,
all in a day’s work, I tell you, the emptying
and the filling up, all in a day’s work.

Happy Father’s Day, everyone!

“Anything less than the best is a felony
Love it or leave it
You better gain way
You better hit bull’s eye
The kid don’t play …”
– Johnson/Van Winkle/Brown
(sang by Vanilla Ice)

Yes, the kid don’t play, everything she does
is a major production — from the helter-skelter
of her room, to the mess she leaves when she
works, to the artworks she does in the wee hours,
they’re all felt to the bones, never light, never in
tiptoe, her cursor’s always sure, when she clicks
that’s it, maybe that’s the way volcanoes are,
they spew out ash and things, creating a mess,
civilization gets out of the way, no excuse me,
that’s just the way it is with her, she knows her
path, maybe asking a question or two, and then
she’s on her own, creating masterpieces since
the day she completed a jigsaw at six months,
astounded were we, Mommy and I, Mommy said,
she can’t do that yet, as I was explaining that
maybe she’ll like the colors that’s all, the baby
picks up a piece, places it in the right hole, picks
up another piece, plunks it in the proper space,
then another, until the pieces rest on the bottom,
everything in place, home, and she’s done, her
parents astonished that she could do that, but
it was nothing to her, until this day, as she does
stuff, placing everything in its proper place, that’s
the way it is with volcanoes, no one can imagine
that they can pack such power, but when it’s time,
it’s not just technique or skill or intelligence, it’s
just the way it is, natural, bottomlined, let the world
know that it’s done, and she’s off to the next
eruption, it’s like nothing to her, plain as day.

Happy birthday to The Beauty!

Siya si Iskong Matapang, may hawak na itak,
panlaban niya sa Español na sumobra
na, tatlong daang taon niyang tiniis, mula
pa sa mga ninuno niya, ‘di siya tinuruan
man lang, mangmang ipinanganak, mang
din mamamatay, ang bulung-bulungan, eh,
si Padre Damaso ay tatay ni Maria Clara,
kawawang Maria Clara, nasiraan ng ulo,
hinahanap ang kanyang Crisostomo,
gaya din ni Sisa, hinahanap naman ang
kanyang mga anak na si Crispin at Basilio,
at nang manalo sila Emilio Aguinaldo (nasaan
na nga pala si Andres Bonifacio?), itinatag
ang republika nuong Junio 12, 1898, ito ang
mga nasa isip niya:

Siguro magiging matalino na rin ako sa wakas,
mawawala na ang mga prayleng walang
ginawa kundi pagalitan kami, mawawala na
ang mga enkomendero, dugong Español, napaka-
walanghiya, sinasamsam pati ang isusubo namin,
walang humpay na pagka-alipin, Indio ang
tawag sa akin, lahat kami Indio lang, walang
pangalan, siguro kung malaya na kami, Isko
na ang pangalan ko, ang mga dayuhan (ba’t
nga pala andito ang banyagang Amerikano,
superyor ang mga armas, gasino na ang
Mauser namin na kailangan pang salaksakin
ang bala at pulbura, samantalang ang Winchester
nila, kasa lang nang kasa, may Gatling pa, sunod-
sunod ang putok?) siguro ang mga dayuhan
mangingimi na sa amin sapagkat malaya
kami, Pilipinas ang ngalan ng aming bayan,
may sariling watawat, ‘di gerilya, ‘di bandido,
disiplinado kami, oy, marunong kami luminya’t
malutong ang aming uniporme, nakakabayo
pa ang mga opisyal namin, para ring mga
Español, kaya naming tumapat sa kanino mang
dayuhan, kami’y Pilipino, marangal, matapang,
mapagmahal sa bayan, hwag ninyo kaming
subukan at marami na ring napatay itong gulok
ko, kahit luma ang armas namin, nagbabaga
ang aming diwa para aming Inang Pilipinas.

Ako si Isko, isang Pilipino.