Laven said the Tarok nation will hold the security agencies responsibility of any attack on its communities since they are all aware of the security threats.
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To throttle like a body should.100% Natural Herbs to Finally End Premature Ejaculation, Weak Erection and Small Manhood. A cleansing is commencing.įorego all Apollonian affectation and bless Clattering cymbal and quivering steelĪround on a whim like a twister. Without consulting them, and even this is alright you come intoĪ clearing, and a pledge stands inert in the field of knowing When I Knock My Front Teeth On the Mic, I Finally Understand That God put me on this earth to scream. Through a chain of small usherings, revisions of the same volta,Īnd their name is a lap to run, but you want to say their nameĪnyway, and you won’t, and this is a decision you also make Is the same as a soul then nothing has died, and there mightĬome a day when you will encounter each other again after years To know that this is all windswept and fine if a personality In flaxen fields, fake lighthouses in a row, and you will need Is not abandonment abandonment is for silos standing Quietly aside, and you will need to know that this Though they do not consult you this decision does not take you They will make this decision privately, with relief, not to hurt you, They are finished with the undertaking of being in your life, Holy Week, and the Roads Are So Empty That Going Fast is Easy Apand sometimes what will happen is that when someone decides Isaac Prepares to Sacrifice Abraham There is no incentive These things make mess, an artist's guide. In excess of crisis: In the backyard, on the Inside the pink glow of an uncle's surgery The Pressing Honesty of the Dead Imagine the pressing honesty of the Hike in a cave of bats, dip in dark water Quimpo (1961-2020) There is so much to say of thisĭown this very street. Only he was the one who knew the subtlest gesture of happiness. Nothing made sense until Bao arrived, dressed in white. The fields of palay and tubo seemed horizonless. We leapt from storm clouds to carabao ponds. The scene morphed to me waltzing with herons. On the backs of my hands were dots forming a map. She wept and wept as if she were his lover. She wept with tears that rivaled Bao’s mother. Sporting a sky blue shirt, I animated his favorite tinge. Back then, Bao seemed like a real instructor of a real company.
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The next day he taught us how to break our bones so easily. One day, Bao made his own dance studio out of sticks and fervor. Remember Bao? How diabetes got the best of him? That weeks before his passing his right leg had been amputated? Or was it the left one? The answer depends on the apán of Purok 2, Brgy. But hopefully, death will be kinder than the earth.Īmerican Immigration Ballad Visa one Dependents threeĪll night told the tale dutifully The Therapy Intake Form Asks What I’m Afraid Of I’m so afraid of angerĪfter "The Parable of the Sparrow" by Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta This world will own too many kinds of dying. Only the sea's humming and the mellow voice of my brother when he will call you Mama for the first time, shall be heard. In the afterlife, a boat will arrive, filled with stories from the childhood of your grandmothers-sinking and slowly turning it into reefs on the sea floor. “Mama, I imagine you with those lullabies instead of those chants.” A coconut shell of water was placed on the navel while chanting, “ Uli, uli, kalag.” Come back, soul, come back.
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In the old Visayan culture, when all the healing rites failed to revive the moribund, there was one last desperate ritual to call back the departed soul. The self is a resting place-an estuary, where the water from the river meets the sea, reminding of arrivals and departures. You were still remembering the tidal bore and erosion in the riverbank when everyone was almost near the waves of the sea. I did not know how to tame the currents within you.
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As if I saw all your great grandmothers crying in front of me. And you tried to remember the childhood stories of your mother during the war. How the morning mourns with a mother: dismantle or burn the house in which her son died.įive years ago, you narrated to me the story of the bones of your great grandmother, how the skeleton was removed, given a ritual cleansing in the barrio, placed in a small chest-preserved and carried it along if the family decided to move in Cebu. A child’s last breath marks an unmappable seascape in your memory. Then a boat is leaving to the other side of the earth. As you tell me about my younger brother’s death, this house seems like a river mouth, the watercourse debouches into a sea.