Anatomy of Freedom

"Once there was a man thought to be holy. He sat near the top of the mountain, night and day, and it seemed that he never moved. Some said that he was always praying or that he meditated or that he saw visions. Some said that this must make him holy, or at least wise.

No one could quite remember when he had first come to sit on his ledge in the mountain, but almost everyone could recall that at one time, years ago, pilgrims had made their way up to him--not without difficulty--to put before him their disputes, their spiritual questions, their despair, their own attempts at holiness. His judgments were so severe, however, and were delivered in tones so seemingly contemptuous of the pilgrims that the same visitors rarely returned, and in time, as word spread, fewer and fewer pilgrims wound their way up the mountain path. At last, only one or two a year would approach the holy man--and then largely as if he were an oddity, a curious sight to be viewed, and not a living saint to be questioned or followed or even quite trusted. Finally, almost no one came at all.

He still sat, nevertheless, on his ledge, appearing to gaze out over the near and distant peaks of other mountains, blinking now and then against the wind, his body wasting away toward dessication--a bony triangle of spine balanced on a base of crossed legs, his gaunt skull at the apex. No one could possibly estimate his age. He appeared never to speak, although his lips could be seen moving.

All this time, you understand, the woman known as the handmaiden of the holy man remained faithful..."

This is how Robin Morgan illustrates the struggle of women towards freedom in her book Anatomy of Freedom, Feminism in Four Dimensions Second Edition (1994). It's still the first chapter of such liberation movement. You'll conceive what happens to the handmaiden as her story goes along. I just knew this feminist writer because of this book. Just like anybody who loves to scavenge pretty old books in book sales, I find good readings from second-hand ones like this. I actually had it since 2007 and, mind you, because of this book, I soon realized that I have to end up my unproductive and macho relationship.

I could no longer remember when I started calling myself a feminist, but as far as my memories can keep, I always thought girls are better than boys since I was six years old. I used to eat, play and go to the same preschool with my two boy cousins (one is a year younger than me, while the other is a year older). Every single day, I did things the way boys do. I guess, I owe my masculine element from growing up with them. And, everything that we had done, I did best. Even during elementary and high school, I marked higher than any male classmates. Well, I was second best when I finished high school and our valedictorian was still a girl. See, girls are better, smarter and more intelligent.

It was only during college that I figured boys were growing whiskers and started smoking, drinking and flirting. They went on rambling, rioting and in fairness to some, they earmarked martial arts, swimming, basketball, and fraternities. They also joined debating teams, honors society, campus paper and student council. Unfortunately, soon as most women finished college, they lost the limelight. A few of them got pregnant, while others married early. Then, i heard more male politicians bickering while women talk about fashion and child-rearing.

I did not believe the world had gone crazy though. I just felt this isn't right.

To quote Robin Morgan in her book:

"Women have been offered religion in place of philosophy, morality in place of ethics, 'womanly fears' in place of existential dread, community affairs in place of politics, selflessness in place of self, volunteerism in place of paid (for which read: valid) work, appearance in place of substance, romanticism in place of sexuality, childbearing in place of art, and the home in place of the universe... We are told that we have been happy and safe with this bargain and, although we have felt neither happy and safe, we have managed to breathe on the coals of our own humanity and coax them, at moments, into a flicker of happiness, a warm mirage of safety... First, we had no choice; we were told this--and we forgot that it was a lie. Then, too, we wanted to survive, and being ourselves creatures of lack and of longing, we thought to prove our very humanness by perfecting those skills that permitted us to mourn and to yearn--but most of all to deny the reality of our not having something we never have had."

And, this something is freedom, which according to Morgan it was Kant who said that it is "that faculty which enlarges the usefulness of all other faculties." She agreed with this and elaborated that "feminism is that vision which enlarges the incipience of all other visions."

I only believe in one thing that can liberate the Filipino women from the bondage of this patriarchal society. It is when the people shall be liberated from the three basic problems of the society, which I would like to use the terms my primary and secondary school taught me, landlessness, political elitism and foreign intervention.

It is, indeed, true that if one wants to liberate the women, he or she must give solutions to the country's economic problems. The women and children are majority of the victims of starvation, illiteracy, diseases and war aggression. I never forget the four B's in Cebuano that women are associated with: balay, bata, bana, baboy (house, children, husband, pig). This is bullshit!

Anyway, what I'm trying to say here that had taken almost half of the day to end this is that every woman deserves freedom and happiness. And, I'm going to post office this afternoon to mail this book to my best friend who's right now feeding her little girl in Japan while the "bastard" (as she calls him for snoring in the middle of the night while she changes baby Lei's diaper) works for a living. Being a mother is not just the essence of a woman, but it's the capacity of her womb and her heart that keeps man insecure to subjugate her. It's actually women's impregnable power. Sulong mga kabaro!

New Year's Blessing

Nothing beats this peculiar first "blessing" that I got for this year.

I thought everyone, even your worst enemy, seeks to change some of his or her attitudes for the betterment of whatever interests he or she may have for the new year. Well, I guess, some people change to get more of what they always wanted which means getting viler than they were to others.

I tried hard not to mind the wickedness of this daunting lady who manipulates our emotions through her discretion on financial matters. She is the passage of all the inflows and disbursement of the "money of the organization" (or in order to sound dramatic, let's call it the "taxes of the people"). She might have felt some power and authority over us by deciding whether or not we would get our salary or reimbursement now.

I tried harder not to think about her during the Christmas break and even on new year's eve. I didn't want to admit that she has been preying me since I came to the office. She seemed so nice to me, like offering some snack or even her sweet tone in small talks especially when the boss was around. No, I never thought she intended to give me a little misery. Maybe, I am just so subjective about her deliberate act not to give my salary today. You know, some of us got it before Christmas given that the rest of the days were considered working holidays. But, I thought, my contract created such different condition.

To tell you frankly, I did not mind. I was able to enjoy Christmas and new year's eve without the luxury of even a meager budget to buy my mother a gift or some fruitcakes for everyone. I was even excited to go to work and never be late on the first working day of the year because I will be able to pay my load credits and buy my sister a brand new phone (better late than never have a birthday cum Christmas gift for her).

And so, this morning, without breakfast nor coffee, I arrived in the office just two minutes past eight, which is already a great leap for my second new year's resolution compared to the least of 13-minute late I marked for 2008. I immediately printed out my accomplishment report and passed it to the friendly-looking woman in her soul-deluding room. This was the moment I thought she has some resolutions for this year.

Yes, she does! Better than before. More cunning. More convincing. More subtle. She did not make much of an effort but just these simple words with her sympathetic face, "The only signatory for your time card is the boss. So, you won't have your salary until next week because he's not yet here."

As if catching a wisp, I was stunned for a moment. Neglecting the crumbling of my stomach, I stirred a spoonful of coffee for myself. Every sip composed the fragments of relief, spelling out the word "blessing" in my head.

Intoxicated

One more day to go and people will be tearing up their old calendars to post 2009. And, I am right now trying to smoke all in the pack of Marlboro tens that my dad just bought for me tonight...

My little conscience inside keeps on nagging at me. I can already feel the pressure that I have created myself.

But for the mean time, let me enjoy life!

Carpe diem!

Forced aguinaldo

Since the jeepney fare hiked to eight pesos for the first four kilometers, I swore to myself that I would never be arguing with any driver just like the others who sought justice for their pennies' worth. So, even if I traveled for less than four kilometers and the driver did not give me the change of my ten peso coin, I never complained. I just whispered, "Two-peso change is not worth a fight and delay for the rest of the passengers."

Recently, oil price roll-back pulled the regular fare down to seven pesos. Another wave of driver-commuter disputes quakes the road. But, I don't mind if the driver still takes eight pesos from my ten-peso coin. On the contrary, my nonchalance to this issue had been tested by an unanticipated scenario.

It was not really the nagging thought of being regularly late for work in two months that chagrined me this morning. I gave the driver two five-peso coins as soon as I took my seat in the blue route 11 multi-cab. (Take note that my route is Sasa-R.Castillo and that route 11 is out of its way.) Even if I had known that he is into joyride, I still wouldn't mind boarding in. Who cares about punctuality when I get used to the sweet juices of salary deduction?

We stopped at a gasoline station and by then I thought that he needed some coins for change. After a few minutes, the man who just had boarded paid a ten-peso coin and immediately, the driver gave him the change. I just wondered, "Does he really want me to pay exactly ten pesos for my less than four-kilometer ride?" But, I also thought that he did not know how much the fare should be because it was not his original route.

Before I got out, I asked Manong Driver for my change. (I guess, three pesos is now worth a fight.) He replied with a suspicious look, "I did not receive any ten-peso except for him (referring to the guy I mentioned)..." For Santa Claus' sake, why don't you give the driver his aguinaldo?! I really don't know what had gotten me that I wanted to lather this man. I had a good argument and it's the truth so, why not try?

I told him, "I had paid upon sitting here (you idiot)! You must have forgotten, but you have to give me my change." Still, with some gibberish and crossed eyebrows, he passed on a one-peso coin. Having suddenly realized how futile such effort had been, I simply took the change and went on my way. Squeezing the peso in my hand with a smirk, I reckoned, "Fuck this tardiness!"

The man in red shirt

As I passed by Agdao public market today, I noticed a commotion somewhere in the corner of the street. Before my jeepney moved away from the spot, the keenness of my eyes caught the man shivering like in a seizure with his back on the pavement.

I hadn't seen his face, only the rear view of his fetal position and his red shirt. (I am also wearing red blouse today.) But, the fact that I could still see him from a far means that there was no crowd hovering. Strangers trotted past him and just looked down, leaving a glance that revealed nothing but apathy.

I hope I don't know that person. I hope it will never happen to any of my loved ones or to my kith and kin. I hope it will never happen to me...

There are two things I asked myself today upon seeing that poor soul. First, why would someone help him anyway? This is the generation of which Charles Darwin's theory of "survival of the fittest" has remained consistent and valid. These people are victims of the perennial conquest of capitalism and bourgeois culture. These are people of different religions who worship their own gods to save themselves. These people are sometimes called Filipinos (by default) with hearts wishing to become some other race.

Second, why should I think about that man? I am not a certified pious believer of any organized religion. I am skeptical about Jesus Christ and his "father"--the god almighty, and to all proclaimed gods. I don't believe in hell, neither in heaven, but I do believe in the power of goodness to mankind. I think about the man because he's wearing red. The color of his shirt still sticks to my eyes. The redness is glaring more than the noonday sun. It is stirring my blood...

I hate the hypocrisy of the "spirit" of Christmas---the giving and sharing. In the guise of generosity is consumerism. Consumerism in spite of impoverishment. And so, I think about that man who does not happen to suffer alone. Fortunate he is that it came to him in this season.

Maybe someone out there would be conscientious enough to drop him a coin or pull his arms to drag him out of the road. Fortunate that bystanders still offered him such noncommittal glance while (who knows?) saying a short prayer to save his soul or to forgive themselves for not saving him.

I still think about that man as my questions gather... Would his friends dare to help him despite embarrassment? Or does he have any friend at all? If that would happen to me, would anyone pick me up because I had been good to my fellows during my sobriety? Or if Charles Darwin was still alive and had witnessed my shriveling life, would he just say, "Sorry dear, but you are the weakest link."?

Hershey kisses from a stranger

Memorizing names is not my forte. I only remember faces and the look of the eyes of those people I encountered. But, I do talk to strangers.

The identical knitted beads on the wrists of the two women caught my attention while facilitating the registration of the Family Day of Overseas Filipinos and their families. I tried to read the inscription of white beads outstanding over the yellow translucent beads.

After filling out the form, they took their raffle tickets. And, before they went out, one of them gave me a pack of Hershey Kisses.

I already forgot her name, but she just came home from a country in Europe. (Well, I guess I also forgot where she worked.) She had worked there as a caregiver to an old woman for four years. She had a four-year old daughter in the Philippines whom she left months after she was born. She said she was just staying for Christmas. Then, off she would fly back to work.

She was smiling when she told me this story. But, I know that her happiness to be with her daughter that Christmas is more than my joy for the Hershey kisses I got for free from someone who was a stranger in the first few minutes.

Elsewhere

Hard rain woke me up this morning. It seemed so kind to express what my heart feels... My feet were soaking wet on my way to work.

With the tapping of the raindrops on my umbrella, I heard myself singing Jann Arden's Elsewhere:

My heart is in my hands
My head is in the clouds
My feet have left the ground
My life is turning around and round
And every voice inside my head is telling me to run like mad
Oh bows and arrows, stars and sunset

Hey hey hey yeah
Hey hey hey yeah

Every heartbeat, every kiss just
Makes me wonder what all this is
Suits of armour
Hearts and arrows

Hey hey hey ye-eah!

And, I'm still humming it now...