For Papaya Dance 1: From Insane, Perfect, and Dead

January 30 2008 10:24 am; February 1, 2008 9:16 am

Wishing To Be Miriam Defensor Santiago

1:05 am [Naga]

November 22 2003

Now I’m home…And I’m tired.

I just finished talking to Aisha. She’s worried about her dad who will undergo a triple bypass on Monday. Her dad--- who never had a heart attack or a stroke--- cannot have a heart attack.

Crash 1--- he will die.

She’s trying to cope with it the same way she deals with life--- trying to be calm and indifferent to the anxiety and pain of living. At times, to survive the harshness of life, it is better not to feel anything. To live, one has to be cold.

I’m grateful to be given the opportunity to comfort her at her time of grief…as she had comforted me in mine.

How callous our teachers are: Aisha’s professor is heartless to be indifferent to her concern and pain. How inconsiderate. How inhuman. To say---

“Well…you’re not the one going under the knife on Monday so there’s no reason for you to miss your report.”

How unspeakably inhuman.

It is about time that our teachers reclaim their humanity.

Just like with what happened to Miriam Defensor Santiago’s son. So young and bright…and dead. He killed himself because he failed Constitutional Law in Ateneo Law School. He said goodbye to his mother, then kissed her, and then killed himself.

I remember how that felt…and each time, there is:

that calm,

that sadness,

that acceptance,

and that despair.

Tonight I saw in her the grief that kind of death wreaks.

The kind of grief I bore when one boy killed himself a long time ago.

I had told him to think of my face in tears---

That he would consign me to hell--- buried in ice, alive, in hell

That if he could not live for love, then he should die.

Did I see his death?

See, even in death, I couldn’t own him.

I couldn’t scream my grief---

That I was the love of this boy’s life, who took his life with his own hands.

That I and my love were not enough to breathe life into him…

So, in my heart, I had killed him, little by little.

So that I didn’t have to wait for his death that would be the death of me…

Only…he’s dead.

And I…I was left, alone, and alive.

Remembering how much I love him.

I had told him that I cannot live without him.

But I had.

I wish I were Miriam Defensor Santago:

So that I too could scream my outrage to the world.

Ten years now and I still cannot even write his name.

And Dr. Dre said:

You should forget more, not remember more.

And Joachim said:

Well, I haven’t seen you this drunk in a long time.

And I said:

You’re right. Let’s drink.

You’re right. Let’s drink some more.

Me? Cry? Teary, yeah, but I’m not gonna cry over that motherfucker in public.

Oso? Oso! You think he’s in hell?

And Oso said:

I’m sure.

And I said:

Good. Good.

Time: One day yesterday danced to a yesterday is danced to one day today.

I danced to a funeral funk.

When I’ve had enough, I will turn this into a jig.