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A madman’s Christmas prayer

A living ghost haunts the private road between the slaughterhouse and the Resurrection.

This is not a poem. It’s something I wrote several Decembers ago, posted originally on another blog site, and reposted here with a few minor revisions. I call it meditative prose. And since it’s addressed to someone who may or may not be there, I also call it a prayer. If you feel offended or blasphemed by references to Jesus, then stop reading right here.

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Continue reading “A madman’s Christmas prayer”

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You have your Bangkok, I have mine

A slice of Bangkok history
Everyone can partake of their own slice of Bangkok. This piece of street art along Ratchadamnoen is a celebration of color and innocence. But how many tourists are really aware that just a few minutes from here, just behind those gaily-painted walls, in a quiet and unobtrusive street corner, is a memorial to the October 14, 1973 uprising of heroic Thai students, workers and other citizens that led to the overthrow of military dictator Thanom Kittikachorn? That was one slice of Bangkok I set out to seek.

There’s a bit of a gentle rant here, but not a big one.

When I was told that my trip to Bangkok would push through, actually I was a bit underwhelmed. This was because–apart from the colleagues we needed to meet there and the critical collaborative work we needed to accomplish, which were of course the main reasons for the trip–I couldn’t think of any tourist feature of that ancient Siamese city along the Chao Phraya that made my innards pulsate with excitement. Continue reading “You have your Bangkok, I have mine”

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The summer radio kid grows up

radio microphone

Much of our working hours were spent at the DZME radio station along Roosevelt Avenue in San Francisco del Monte district, where we maintained two block-time programs. This was mostly due to our good alliance work with the station owner and manager, Joey Luison. I remember we maintained a talk show around lunchtime, and another talk show just before midnight. We also gave extra time at the DZUP radio station, which was then housed in UP Diliman’s Palma Hall, and where I sometimes joined the MDP radio staff for its late-night radio program.

Tamad na burgis na ayaw gumawa,
Sa pawis ng iba’y nagpapasasa.
Pinalalamon ng manggagawa,
Hindi marunong mangahiya (Walang-hiya!)

Bandilang pula, iwagayway.
Bandilang pula, iwagayway.
Bandilang pula, iwagayway…
Ang mga anakpawis ay mabuhay!

It’s near midnight, and the sign above the radio booth door reads “ON AIR.” Imagine a small group of youthful men and women, including a lanky bespectacled 15-year-old boy. He is sporting shoulder-length hippie hair, an oversized Vietnam-era GI fatigue shirt, faded denims, and non-descript rubber sandals.

It’s his turn inside the booth, and he is playing a vinyl record of a protest song in Tagalog, Bandilang Pula, which is derived from PCI’s Bandierra Rossa. As the red-flag anthem wafts onto the airwaves, he is singing along with clenched fist punching the air in time with the marching beat.

Can you imagine how he got there? Continue reading “The summer radio kid grows up”