P[e]NORAMA

 

 

What better way to remember the past year, than to review the words that dripped out of my pen? Friends, let me share with you some of my FB shout outs in 2010. Just like in last year’s edition, please let this be my humble way of thanking you for sharing with me your time and friendship. Thank you for the opportunity to appreciate life with you, the friendship.

Xoxo —Sherma E. Benosa

 

 

 

Was finalizing my research questions for my language education study when suddenly, VF blurted out: “Will I ever have a tranquil life with you?” I looked up from my computer screen to consider his question and replied: “Are you suggesting that as a research question?”

//SEB, April 17 at 10:41pm

 

 

[Continuation] Just then, a malicious smile touched my lips. I counter-asked him: “Do you really want a tranquil life, or a life with me?”

//SEB, April 18 at 3:43pm

 

 

Thanks to me, VF’s vocabulary greatly improved during the past four years. Now, he knows the meaning of the following: raket, tsika, eklavu, okray, dyowa, girlalu, nenok, dedma, badinger, whatev, twitams, dabarkad, and the like. He is also updated with the newly-acquired meanings of the following words: ganda, taray, mahaba ang buhok, etc. I listen to him use these words when it suits him and I smile.

//SEB, April 22 at 12:03pm

 

 

I never liked political campaign periods. It’s when trash becomes so fashionable. But then, in our part of the world, kelan ba naman naging hindi?

April 27 at 9:51am

 

 

Our tragedy is not that we are poor. Or that we have corrupt politicians. Our tragedy is that we never learn from our experiences and that we are always attracted by glitter than gold.

[My reaction to Erap winning the second spot in the presidential race]

May 11 at 11:13pm

 

 

I have come to learn — finally — that I have a better chance of beating Time if I travel by its side instead of trying to overtake it (for it’ll never let me) and that I will reach my destination faster if I slow down a little.

//SEB, May 19 at 6:42am

 

 

Between the things I know and the things I don’t know are lessons to learn and opportunities of learning.

//SEB, May 31 at 11:21pm

 

 

Mosses for me are a sign of stagnation, of being in one place too long that one accumulated only the things that came one’s way. If I were a stone, I think I would want to be moss-free, to be rolling whenever I feel like it. I see myself as very rough at the start but would become smoother and smoother as I roll along unpaved highways and swim with or against the flow of life’s rivers.

//SEB, A paragraph in my essay, “The Rolling Stone” first posted in iluko.com then in my personal blogs (http://bilingualpen.com/brainteaser; http://brainteaser.wordpress.com)

Re-posted at FB in July

 

 

The road may be rough, but the view is nice. And every curb holds surprises.

I walk for these surprises and for what may be at the end of the journey, for the people walking with me, and those who I may meet along the way.

My life is a worthwhile journey.

//SEB, August 17 at 12:50pm

 

 

“OR” is such a lovely word. It presents options. But it can also mean limitation, like when it is used where “AND” would be better. Sometimes we see life as “this OR the other,” even in instances when we should take it as “this AND the other(s)” or “some of this AND a little bit of the other(s).”

//SEB, August 27 at 9:28pm

 

 

ONLY WHEN

 

Let’s not walk through this road, forgetting

 

That only when we let trust stay afloat

Will we be able to drown our cloak of doubt.

 

Dreams don’t soar in our sleep;

Only when we are wide awake

Are we able to give them wings.

 

And only when our courage learns to fly

Are we able to crash our fears.

 

Let’s walk through this road, remembering.

 

//SEB; April 1, 2008

 Reposted in FB on August 30 at 5:48am

 

 

The day sky is always blue; and the night sky, sparkling with stars. The skies never turn gray — it’s just the dark, stormy clouds that do.

 

When things seem so dark you can’t see clearly, remember it may just be the clouds hiding the blue sky (or the stars) from your view.

//SEB, September 3 at 6:35am

 

 

I looked back as I was running as fast as I could, expecting to find Time behind me, struggling to keep up, only to learn that he has gone far ahead.

 

I slowed down to a jog, then to a brisk walk, and then to a leisurely one.

 

I looked far ahead, expecting Time to have outrun me for miles. What a surpise it was to find him walking beside me, sometimes, even lagging behind.

 

//SEB, 05 September 2010; 8:20pm

September 5 at 8:20pm

 

 

Life is not a see-saw; you need not bring others down for you to go up.

//SEB; 08 September 2010 08:16pm

 

 

Life is a weighing scale, one that is sometimes (if not often) tipped.

//SEB; 08 September 2010 08:18pm

 

 

‘What if’ is such a sad phrase when applied to the past; it suggests regrets and ‘could-have-beens.’ But it can be a power phrase when applied to the future. It offers endless possibilities and countless options.

//SEB, 06 Sept 2010; 7:12am

 

 

I love flying. It’s the only time when I need not look up to watch the clouds, when I am closest to the heavenly bodies, and the tall mountains are anything but formidable.

It’s just like being in a dream.

And just like dreams, this too has to end. The plane descends and normalcy is restored again.

[SEB; Thoughts while flying back to Manila, 27 Sept 2010]

 

 

I love flying. It’s when I look down to watch the clouds and the tall mountains that I am best reminded how little I am.

 [SEB; Thoughts while flying back to Manila, 27 Sept 2010]

 

 

 

[Please check out last year's edition here. Thank you.]

 

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I saw this comment in my ”trash” files. I no longer remember exactly why I drafted this, but I think it was supposed to be my reaction to a post which talked about socio-political poems versus emotional poems. I think, the blog post was saying that poems that focus on the emotion are less good/important compared with sociopolitical ones.

 

Anyway, because I failed to post this as a comment on that post (I no longer remember for what blog), I thought of posting it here. And because it is an unfinished draft, there is no date stamp (I usually put the time I finished writing an article in my files). My computer says though that the file was created on Wednesday, November 26, 2008, 1:36:20 AM).

 

 

I wouldn’t say socio-political poems are preferable to or higher than emotional poems. I also don’t think that a poet’s only role is to expose the evils of oppression, corruption, and other malignancies in the society to which he belongs; nor will I say that he who focuses on socio-political issues is better than he who writes poems that focus on the emotion.

 

Human beings are multi-faceted. They are as affected by the things that happen around them as they are moved by the struggles within them — by the pains and challenges that their environment and political systems throw at them, and by the wars that rage from the depths of their very souls.

 

Their multi-faceted nature makes humans require many needs — social, political, psychological, physiological, emotional, mental, economic, and so on — not one of which is higher or lower than the others.

 

The socio-political poet is as open as the romanticist poet; the only difference is that their eyes are focused on different things, and even if they look at the same thing, they process them differently.

 

To say that the poet has failed in his duty because he doesn’t write about socio-political issues is to say that these external struggles are the only real things that the poet experiences. That is not the case. Our plights are both external and internal. Our struggles are not only political and social in nature but also emotional, mental and psychological. Emotional roller coasters are as real as political and social oppressions.

 

Stringing words that dive into the deepest recesses of our being and paint rainbows in the sky is as noble as raising our rebellious arms through our pen. After all, just as humans need to talk about the social events that happen around him, they also need to recognize the great feelings that drive them, and haunt them.

 

 //Sherma E. Benosa

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I watch my grandmother

As she patiently winnows the grains

Moving the winnowing basket

Up, down; up down

Tossing its content into the air.

I see the chaffs being blown away

Leaving behind the grains.

 

Then, when there are no more chaffs left,

She stops, but she’s not yet done.

She spreads the grains out thinly on the flat basket

And looks for pebbles that might have

Been mixed with the grains.
She picks the pebbles and throws them away.

 

I stare at her hands, rough from hard labor;

Amazed at how patiently she works.

Then I begin to realize, life’s like that —

A continuous process of winnowing;

Of separating the grains from the chaffs.

Only that sometimes, we throw away

The grains; not the pebbles, not the chaffs.

 

 

[And then we spend the rest of our lives

Staring at the empty husks of our choices

Wondering where the grains went,

Chasing after them, and not seeing them

Amidst the mountains of chaffs

With which we have surrounded ourselves.]

 

 

————-

 

For Lola Matda. When I was young and life was simple, every afternoon, my grandmother and I would go to the big square pavement near our house where grain buying stations dried their rice grains. Using walis tingting (broom) we would sweep the pavement and gather grains that the workers have not swept (we were more meticulous than they).

 

Everyday, we would get about a kilo of grains, or more. When we got home, my grandmother would winnow the rice grains. And she would patiently take away the pebbles that were mixed with the grains. Sometimes, I would help her. At other times, I would just watch her. The ratio of pebble to grain could have been 1:6. So it was really a kind of work that needed lots of patience.

 

I remember, after several weeks or months, my grandmother would gather a cavan of rice.

 

Oh, I so miss my childhood. And my grandma.

 

//Sherma E. Benosa

June 5, 2009; 8:10am

 

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It’s 12:07, March 25, 2009. I am officially 31 years old. Yes, three decades and a year. Ah, time does fly fast.

As a birthday special, I thought of doing a ‘me-interviewing-me’ portion. (Why not? It’s not everyday that I get to be on center stage. Not even in my own blog!)

If things would go well, I might do it every 25th of every month. How is that?

Here we go:

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If you would look in the Mirror of Erised, what would you see? [Note: The Mirror of Erised is a magical mirror in Harry Potter I. It shows the greatest desire the person looking in it holds in his or her heart. The happiest person is the one who sees himself/herself as he/she is in the mirror].

I’d see myself sitting right beside my Sweetie, with the whole family (his and mine) beaming at us. He is already back in the country and no longer sick.

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What is that one thing you are proud of about yourself?

I am proud of my convictions, and of the fact that I stand up to what I believe in. I speak up when I know I must.

. (more…)

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Letters

Fill the sheet.

 

I read the words

But find no message:

 

I see only the misplaced question marks

And the oversized period.

 

 

I read not the words

But the gaps between them

 

Mirroring how

You stare at me sometimes:

 

Blank, yet undevoid of meaning.

Full in its emptiness.

 

 

Finally, I understand

What you’re trying to tell me:

 

You’re still here

But already gone.

 

I stare stupidly at the question marks

And curse the period.

  

 

Sherma E. Benosa

February 26, 2009; 8:45am

 

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(To the Peeking Morning Sun) 

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Brush aside the curtains that conceal your bright smile

And hide not behind the clouds of your scars.

 

Let me view the full color of your splendor

Let me see my heart’s aspirations reflected in your soul.

 

Be the magnificent dream I so wish to reach;

The hope that softly flickers in my every step

 

That I may learn to let go of my wayward ways

And walk the path that leads to your warm embrace.

 

For cP.

 //Sherma E. Benosa; 14 December 2008; 1241am

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Inspired by the JumelPinedaChua’s Peek-a-Boo photo..

Summer reigns
In your lips,
But I see flickers
Of autumn
In your eyes.

The lid
Of your anguish
Is tightly clasped,
But the tempest
That dwells inside
Bares the parody
Of your smile.

(more…)