FROM THE MIND OF A WOLF

Here’s a piece I adapted for Ciello’s (my girlfriend) Grade One class. To those who like children’s stories. Enjoy!

 

An emperor ruled once in a kingdom
named Zul

Who cared more for his riches than
the land that he ruled

Among his things what he loved the
most

Are dozens and dozens of his
beautiful clothes

 

There were gold ones and silver
ones and ones made of silk

There were crimson ones and purple
ones and one white as milk

There were robes and armor and
tunics alike

Ones smooth others rough and even
one with spikes!

 

One day a pair of men walked into
town

Offering to make him the grandest
clothes to match his crown

It will be made from the best of
threads they said

Wide eyed and tempted the emperor
nodded his head

 

The took their measurements of him
from tip to toe

Then they cut and they weaved and
they sew sew sew!

The men, not even a moment took
some rest

For the new emperor’s garment
should be the best

 

We are done at last! Said the men

They gave it to the emperor and
fitted him then

They clothed him with nothing and
told the emperor this

Only great people can see how good the
robe is

 

The emperor looked in the mirror
and knew something amiss

But didn’t say a word to dim his
greatness

Though he was naked and his body
was cold

He said, I shall walk in the
streets for all to behold!

 

He strode in the streets with head
held high

People said nothing of his
nakedness, not even a sigh

They were afraid something will be
said of them

They can’t appreciate greatness,
that they’re simple men

 

But an innocent child pointed at
him and said

He is naked all over but the crown
on his head!

The people jeered and laughed at
this new realization

Too proud to admit it, the emperor
just walked on and on

Here’s a little something I wrote after seeing one of those reward posters on airports. I supposed those men had families and what they would they think when they saw the posters.

The room with the mirror.

Toto looks around the small room
they put him in. Its been 30 minutes since the agents asked him to
take a seat on the only chair in the room. The furnishing reminded
him of his grade school days. In fact, he could have sworn the table
in front of him is the same one he used a decade ago, complete with a
sticky wad of gum. The walls are painted green from ceiling to floor
with one wall having a glass window. It looks like a mirror but he’s
seen too many TV shows on display on appliance stores while peddling
newspapers to know that there are people on the other side.

He thought he gave them enough
reason to trust him by now. That’s why he’s wondering why they had to
ask him several more questions when they already got what they want
from him.

“Boy,
why did you do it? Do you hate him? What will you do with it?”, the
agents asked him over and over again. Well, each of the agents asked
him the same questions anyway, all 4 of them. 

“I
needed the money. I don’t know him enough to hate him. Go back to
school.” were his answers.

The agents just nodded and told
him they’ll be back after a while. They all seemed satisfied but a
few minutes later another showed up and asked him the same questions.

Another minute passed and Toto is
getting fidgety, hungry as well. He couldn’t complain about the food
they gave him though. Squash with baguio beans and garlic rice
weren’t exactly part of his diet until this whole thing began. He is
more of a pandesal and water fellow.

A
full hour passed before someone finally came in, a stout man with
thick eye glasses and donning a barong. A
politician, a lawyer or a body guard, Toto thought. He’s seen action
movies and enough news to know that only these people wore barong
for their daily attire.

“Hi
Toto.” the man said offering his hand for Toto to shake, leaning
across the table. “I’m Marcelo Lakban, NBI director.”

A politician, Toto thought.

“I’ve
heard about your actions and I would like to personally thank you for
providing the necessary information that helped us capture Arnel
Sangalang. We’ve been looking for him for a long time now and despite
our best efforts were have had no trace of him.” the director
explained in heavily accented English as he shook Toto’s hand and sat
right on the table. “Of course you are not here to just get my
thanks. The reward money is a lot more valuable right?” he said,
smiling from ear to ear.

“When
do I get it?” Toto asked impatiently. His stomach is starting to
make muffled sounds audible even through the NBI t-shirt they gave
him. Toto knew they probably disposed of his old shirt too. It had a
batman sign on it, only the bat lost its wings and it just looked
more like a rat without legs.

“My
people are preparing it now. We’ve contacted a local bank and they
will open an account for you to deposit the money in. I mean, you
can’t just keep 3 million pesos under your pillow, can you?” the
director explained. “Don’t worry its all been worked out, all you
need to do is to sign a few papers and its all yours.”

“Alright.
But the money is all mine right? The bank wont take any of it?”
Toto asked knowing politicians can’t be trusted. All the
controversies in the papers prove that.

“Of
course. But, before that, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” the
director said with a curious look on his face. His eyes look like the
eyes of one of those rugby boys Toto runs into while selling papers.

Somehow Toto knew the director
would fire another round of questions at him. He rubbed his tummy to
ease it and said, “OK.”

“Did
you know that there was a reward for information leading to his
capture?”, asked the director.

“No.
I only learned about it when I walked into this office to report him
a month ago. It was on a poster right outside the building. I didn’t
even believe that you guys would ever give me the money. I thought it
was just for show.”

The director smiled and said “Ah,
so how did you feel when you found out that the NBI would take care
of you until his capture AND give you the money?”. Somehow Toto
knew that the director wanted him to say something to credit the NBI.
A true politician, Toto thought.

“I
was surprised. I didn’t know that there are still good people like
you. And the work you do  will help a lot of people. I am very
grateful for everything.” Toto indulged the man while hoping he
didn’t give a hint of sarcasm.

“No,
no, it’s us that need to thank you. You know what, I like what you
said. Would you write that down for me later? I’d like to show it to
my people so that they’ll know how you feel about them.” the
director replied.

Or,
so that people will think how good I am and get a better position in
government, was what Toto
thought the man ought to say. “I’d be happy to.” he said feinting
a smile.

“There’s
a good young man.”, the director said. “I think they should be
done making the preparations by now.”

As if on cue, two men walked in,
one of them carrying a brief case. More agents, Toto thought. But
these were not one of the four who questioned him earlier. One was
short and dark with a weathered look and the other was a good foot
taller than the director, fairly young, both wearing polo shirts and
jeans. 

“Sir,
we’re ready.” the tall one said.

“Alright
then.” The director stood and opened the brief case after the short
agent placed it carefully on the table like it was full of raw eggs.
Inside were almost countless one thousand peso bills bundled with
rubber bands. Toto has never seen that much money. It reminded him of
scenes he saw on TV shows depicting drug deals.

“Don’t
worry, its all there. The bank will count it up for you anyway.”
the director said.

Toto just nodded.

“This
is Special Agent Villanueva.”, the director said pointing to the
taller agent. “He will escort you to the bank and help you with the
papers you need to sign. After that, you’ll be richer than both
agents and I put together.”

Somehow Toto doubted that, but he
smiled in agreement. He knows politicians have deep pockets from all
the graft.

“Don’t
forget about that thing I wanted you to write, OK? Just hand it to
Agent Villanueva later.” the director added as the tall agent
walked him out the door.

The short agent gave a sigh as the
door closed behind Toto and Agent Villanueva. The director noticed
it.

“Anything
wrong Rick?” he asked.

“Nothing,
Sir. I’m just a bit smitten by all this.” the short agent answered.

“Why?”

“I
just don’t know sir. I mean, whatever the kid has been through, for
all that cash, he pointed a finger and gave up his own father.”

A forgotten part of the city a
month ago.

Toto
walked faster through the alleys carrying the day’s newspapers. He
still had 2 to sell but when Inteng, one of the oldest tambays
in their area, whispered to him that his father was waiting for him
at old Tiya Belen’s eatery, he didn’t want to waste a second. He so
wanted to see him.

It
has been almost 7 years since he saw his father. A couple of months
after his mother died of the coughs, his
father left him to himself. Though this was only after the drinking
and beatings.

It
would be an understatement to say that Toto was shocked to see his
father on the news a year later. Apparently, Arnel Sangalang joined a
group of bandits that called themselves Mga Anak ng Dugo.
As the news said, Toto’s father
planned and executed the series of mall bombings that shook the
nation for the last 2 months. To his dread, he also learned that his
father was responsible for killing 23 and injuring 30 others during
these attacks. He just shuddered at the thought of what his father
wanted from him.

Toto has walked these dilapidated
alleys countless times. The shanties lining the walkways, the
uninhabitable buildings, the rusted railway running through the area,
and even the foul smelling drainage canals have been with him all his
life. This is his home. But, learning that his father is back
strangely painted everything with a coat of unfamiliarity.   

When Toto turned the last corner
to get to Tiya Belen’s place, he saw him. He was cleaner than he was
before, a bit thinner too. He now has an ugly scar on his already
incomprehensible jaw. But, his eyes, those eyes that would send
shivers down Toto’s spine everytime he looked into them many years
ago, they were still the same. Strangely enough, Arnel Sangalang had
a plastic bag on his right hand with a Styrofoam pack in it and a
smile on his face.

His father waved at him. Toto felt
more and more anxious as he took each step to approach him. When Toto
was finally face to face with his father, Arnel took his arm and
started walking, dragging him along.

“Don’t
say a word.” his father said.

Arnel lead him to a corner by a
shanty (Inteng’s home) and had Toto sit down beside him, elbow to
elbow. He took out the Styrofoam pack and handed it to Toto before
giving him a plastic spork.

“Just
eat.”

Toto opened the pack and found a
mound of white rice and a piece of breaded, deep fried, chicken. At
the sight, he remembered he was hungry and started to eat, not saying
a word.

After a few bites, Toto realized
that his father was just staring at him, smiling. He recalled then
all the questions he needed to ask. But, barely believing it himself,
his father’s smile assured him that everything will be alright.

As soon as Toto had his fill. His
father put his hand on Toto’s shoulder.

“To,
I want you to give me up to the authorities.” his father said.

After the initial shock. A lot of
things went through Toto’s head upon hearing what Arnel said. “Why
did you leave me? What’s this group you joined I keep hearing about?
Were you responsible for all those bombings? Did you really kill that
many people? Why did you come back?” all these questions and more
flowed through his head like water out of a breached dam. But, all he
could say was, “Why?”

“To,
I know that I’m not a good man. And you know as well that I am not
much of a father nor a husband to your mom. I have been in and out of
prison when you were young. I’m a criminal. This is all I know how to
do.” His father was on the verge of tears. A long pause. Toto was
about to say something but his father beat him to it.

“There
is a reward for my capture. To, I want you to have it. Take it for
yourself after you give me up. But, I want you to promise me
something. Go back to school. Get a diploma. Be everything I never
was and more. For years I’ve been trying to make things right and
always failed. But with this, you have a chance to not follow my
path. Make your own path and make it good. This is my last and only
gift to you as a father.” his father explained as tears welled in
his eyes.

That answered all of Toto’s
questions.

There we go! I hope you like it.

Here’s a short story I wrote for Ragnarok Online. Ciello and I were avid gamers then. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Today is finally the day. All
things I have done since, have been leading to today. All the blood,
sweat, and tears, all for this day. And, now that the time has come,
I feel a little funny, not joker funny but a little tingly and
apprehensive. I wonder why I hesitate. Is it because this may be the
end of things and the beginning of many more? I decide not to think
about it anymore. Else I’ll be pondering for the rest of the day.

I enter the castle and immediately
a light breeze blows through me. It smells of old books, rusty iron,
and oil, the one they use to wash blood off old armor pieces and
weapons. I look around and saw the walls all covered in moss and
hints of old magic. Here they still linger. For some reason the floor
mayhap is still as regal as the day it was made centuries ago. Lights
of flowing magic spew from the floor. Rainbow colors they are. Makes
you think a jester married a mage and decided to live here. Even from
the entrance you see from afar all the books shelved on the walls,
all of them as ancient as the place. Somehow, the place draws you
inside it. I feel a firm tug, not physical, but more spiritual. Above
all this, it sort of feels like you’re coming home.

I hesitate to go deeper inside the
castle. It doesn’t feel right if I just walked in and just did it.
Oddly enough, stepping inside this magnificent pile of bricks and
magic requires a little more reverence. I grab my saber’s scabbard on
my waist with my left hand in a silent salute. Paying respect to the
warriors and spell casters who walked these walls before me. Some
unknown force compelling me to do that. Melodramatic? I’ve been
through many battles, spilled blood, cut flesh and crushed bone.
Believe me, after going through all that, you will look at other
warriors with utmost respect and a sense of honor for having been in
their presence.   

I look down and see the old scar
on my left hand and instinctively reach for my temple, a matching
scar. Until today I still don’t know exactly how I got them. I only
know when; my first quest as a swordsman. The barracks asked for some
volunteers that day. Some spoiled son of a Lord had gotten himself
lost in the woods west of Prontera. What started as a search, ended
in many dead swordsmen and more stiff goblins. In the shade of trees
and bushes, we walked calling out the boy’s name. Then some cook of a
goblin jumped from a bush to my right and hacked off my bunkmate’s
arm with a solid swing from its axe. Other goblins started popping
out of nowhere. I survived that ambush. No honor in how I did it. A
sheet of metal from a chainmail came flying from the carnage and hit
me on the head with such force that it knocked me unconscious. As
they fell one by one, the carcasses of my mates covered me from the
onslaught. I woke up with a scar on my hand and an even bigger scar
on my forehead. Not to mention a splitting head ache.

Guess what. Turns out the little
noble we were supposed to rescue was nowhere near that place. He ran
away to his uncle in Geffen. If I had my way, I would have had his
noble blood all over the palace floor. Twelve good men died ‘cuz the
brat threw a tantrum. Nobles, all power, no compassion.

Believe it or not I’ve been asked
to pick some herbs from the Hidden Temple too. I never did like that
place but its the closest source of blue herbs from Prontera. Priests
use these herbs in training their acolytes. They said they would have
asked their acolytes to pick the herbs themselves but hell, it took
them too long. Hmmpfh! All prayer, no muscle. As everyone knew, I was
the guy who just doesn’t give a damn about his own safety. So I’m
always the one to be “volunteered” to go. A day in Hidden Temple
is a day filled with flywing usage, getting lost and a lot more
running. I remember one day I ran into Baphomet himself. That would
have been the death of me if I wasn’t able to luckily dodge his
scythe and used a butterfly wing. One of his many demonic kids got me
on the leg though. Almost through the bone, the healer said. I have a
scar from that wound too.

I was almost kicked out of the
barracks as well. I met someone in the tavern on my day-off. He
seemed a nice enough fellow. Always wore the same thing. Brown shorts
down to his knee, thick boots, white shirt and a dirty almost yellow
jacket; not to mention that stupid sakkat of his. He was a shady
fellow but had many stories to tell. People gave us looks as we
talked. Turns out he was a thief. He was using me to get near the
barracks. A week later, he stole the captain’s peco. I was blamed of
course. Fifteen lashes on my back, there in the fountain for everyone
to see. The Captain fought to keep me in the barracks for some
reason. I think he didn’t want his best “herb gatherer” gone.
Hell, I was his only herb gatherer.   

I led a carefree life you see, one
with no direction. I went where the barracks told me; some lackey for
those big bad armored knights. I never did want to be one of them. I
was happy just being a swordsman. No politics, no "honor bound"
duties. Every meal a banquet, every pay bag a fortune. Being alone
gave me that privilege. That’s what you do when you don’t have
anyone. Most of the time, you just don’t give a hell yeah, not even
for yourself. And I have the scars to prove it. 

All that changed the day I met
her. She was, as most acolytes are, bright-eyed and always gleeful.
Like Midgard is a playground filled with rainbows and sunshine. But
the first time I saw her was far from what I would soon get used to
regarding her demeanor. She was crying, her robes all in tatters. She
was half covered in blood, the other half in spilt blue potions. Her
mentor had died attempting to enter Glastheim. She followed her
mentor there without him knowing. I saw her sitting on the chair in
Prontera Chivalry as I was mopping the floor. Damn knights at times
would bring their pecos inside the building took me hours to clean
the claw prints. I couldn’t believe not one of these “gallant”
knights even cared to hand her a towel. I looked at her then and
every fiber in me cried as she did. All my being felt all that she
felt. Sorrow engulfed me as it did her. She looked up and starred at
me like she knew I was feeling her. I walked towards her, took off my
cheap tattered muffler and wiped her tears and the potion off her
face.

We became friends later. I
remember when she was buying flowers for the church south of the
city. I would pretend to be interested in items those knights sold
near the gift merchant. Too expensive for me of course. Hell, I don’t
even think I was strong enough to carry those things let alone afford
them. She would notice me, smile and wave. I would wave back,
supposedly gallant and unmoved. Little did I notice that I already
bought a +3 Double Vital Falchion! What a waste of hard earned pay. I
spent a month convincing people to buy it off me. Some red haired
swordsman from another company finally bought it. Sucker.

We saw each other frequently. She
would sneak out of the church and I from the barracks. We would meet
at the bridge going north of the city to the castles. We would talk
until daybreak with our bare feet dangling from the bridge over the
water. I will always remember how her eyes looked as the moonlight
hit them. And that smile of hers, slightly askewed, wholly beautiful,
brighter than the sunrise. I gave her a flower ring. One I picked up
from a verit in Morroc. I was very embarrassed but determined. That
was all I had.

“This
for now.” I said.

“More
than I could ask for.” She replied.

Later I was assigned in Luttie for
a while. My buds from the barracks who were once assigned there told
me it was a dream to work there. Nothing much to do. Just do your
patrols, get to your quarters and sleep. Nothing ever happens there
they say. Somewhat true, but a Pronteran like me never got used to
the cold. Strange, even my memories of her kept me warm. I wrote to
her every single day. People there even thought I had a wife waiting
for me back home. When I finally took the warp for Prontera, even
before the spell’s effect faded from my feet, she was there beside me
wrapping her arms around my neck, her cheeks planted on my
collarbone. Making all the cold days I longed for her in Luttie melt
away.

I took her to Payon when I was on
leave once. We decided to look for bitter herbs. She always wanted a
poporing pet. She even borrowed my sword to cut the plants. Out of
the aether a poison spore came at us. She dropped my sword in shock,
and me being unarmed, panicked. We both took turns punching the
lights out of that spore. After gaining our wits, we laughed our
lungs out. Her laugh is Valkyrie’s song, reviving my strength, giving
me joy. No angel could ever do that but her.    

Yes, of course we fell in love.
Nothing was the same after that. I have always wondered why I still
continue my pathetic existence despite my not giving a hoot about
life. She is the answer. I went on with life so fate could have us
meet. She made me care to take another breath. If only that breath
and all breaths after that, would be with her. No more “blue herb
boy” for the barracks.  No longer was I alone.

She always wanted to be a
priestess. I decided I would be beside her wherever she went. So I
decided to take the test and become a knight. It was the only way to
be with her. I took the test first. It was grueling. We were apart
for a whole fortnight. When I was handed my armor and coat-of-arms,
she was the first one to cheer. When her voice called out my name,
the feeling was indescribable. When she took the pilgrimage, I was
worried like an alchemist who used the wrong herb. I waited for days
witless and nervous. I had to stop myself from grabbing my gear and
going after her countless times. When she finally reached the city
gates, I was the one to see her to the church doors. When she took
the vow, I took it with her. We were never apart. We will never be
apart. Not if I can help it.

I am brought out of my thoughts by
a soft hand on my shoulder. I turn around and there she is. Smiling
at me, the way she always smiles at me, breathtaking. Her hair in
pig-tails and her Angel Wings moving ever so slightly in the breeze.
Her blue eyes brighter than any gemstone. The sun outside the
castle’s big open doors framing her gentle face.

"Are you ready?" she
asks.

I take her hand and kiss it. "Now
I am", I reply.

We walk further into the castle
hand in hand. I hope after this, things would still be as magical as
they are. When we do this I only have one wish. May the Gods take
away my scars as I start my new life. I wish to forget all my aimless
days. All I want to remember are all the moments with her. Yes, today
is the day, we both will be reborn.

Til next time mga kapatid!

Here’s a short one I wrote one very frustrated day. No need to ask why, I won’t tell you anyway.

People who marry for security or
perhaps marry since they know their partner loves them so much are
rarely happy. There is something to be said about two people mutually
falling in love. In my opinion, the reason why relationships fail is
because one of the two partners is not as committed to the
relationship as the other.

We have heard countless times the
statement “I love you but not as much as you love me.” We have
witnessed on several occasions couples breaking up for this reason,
that one loves the other greater. But, I do believe that there are no
degrees to love. There is no such thing as less love or more love.
There is only love.

Now what is the explanation for
the statement mentioned? They simply do not love their partner. This
is what I would like to call infatuation, stretched to its limits.
Many a time a person lets the words “I love you” fly without an
afterthought, at times without even considering its consequences.
Worse, they don’t even know what they just said. Afterwards they
take the statement back after a series of events with such statements
as “I just don’t love you that much” or “I love her more than
I love you.” and the ever so common “I love you but I’m not ‘in
love’ with you.”

Happiness in a relationship is
only achieved if both partners truly love each other. As said, there
are no degrees to love. So a couple in love with each other could
only end up happy no matter what event may transpire, again, as long
as they both love each other. This is all based on the assumption
that love is all that man needs. Why take this assumption? I take the
assumption because of one Man. There was a Man who lived for love,
lived to love, and lived on because of love.

To those who do not wish to adapt
a religious angle let us apply a scientific theory here; Kessler’s
theory of halves. A person can never get to a certain place if he
takes half way all the time. He moves halfway then half of that half,
then half of that second half. He in essence can never get to where
he wants since there are infinite halves. Leaving him longing for
something, never getting there, no matter how much he tries. It
requires the second person to go the other half. 

In conclusion, before you say “I
love you” be prepared to walk half the way, and I sincerely hope
that the person you say that to, will walk the other half.

Til next time! Enjoy!

Here’s an example of an old short essay I wrote a long time ago during the EDSA 2 and the violent event notoriously known as EDSA 3. As I said in the disclaimer, this blog will contain articles such as these. This blog will serve as a depository of such.

A nation torn, a people split
apart, blood, tears, anger, hatred; these words prevail in the past
few hours of the events happening all over the Metro. Not only stones
are being thrown from one side to the other in the course of the
violence, but also the hopes of healing. For every rock flung to our
fellow man, we loose part of our humanity, part of our citizenship as
peaceful Filipinos. As we loose our humanity, we also let go of our
capacity to forgive.

We all know what this is about. We
are in the verge of social collapse, as I see it. Even if a new
government is put up or if the current government is retained, the
essence of our authority as a people over our own government, no
longer holds firm. The recent bloodshed and the property destruction
have proved that.

We are a lost people. Lost within
our own selfish desires as politicians and our failure to recognize
what is moral as common Filipinos. The lust for power has fueled our
so-called leaders to pollute the already faulty logic of our masses.
Time and time again the saying goes “power corrupts, absolute power
corrupts absolutely.” Power is defined as influence over another
and this is precisely what these politicians have demonstrated.

We are democratic. This government
is for the people or so is dictated. Most of our leaders seem to have
forgotten this important notion. They have taken advantage of our
confused populace and have driven them, intentionally or not, to
bloodlust and destruction.

The Filipino masses have problems.
This is a fact that cannot be denied ever since this nation declared
its independence. In the course of the events in the past several
months, these problems have risen from a simple yelp into a violent
war cry. This is the coal that our dear(?) leaders need to fuel the
fire of the Filipino people in order for their selfish locomotive to
be set to motion.

The EDSA shrine has always been a
symbol of peaceful protest. This is where bullets, tanks and stones
are countered with flowers, rosaries and sandwiches. The recent
atrocities have desecrated this icon of Filipino peaceful protest not
because the populace means to, but because they have been
“influenced” to do so. And, in their weak state, how could they
resist?   

Every
one of us has the capacity to initiate change, positive change,
within our nation. Every individual who participated in EDSA 1 and 2
proved that.  However each of us has the capability to degrade our
country’s well being, economically, politically and spiritually. It
is all in the matter of our deciding what path to follow, with the
aide (supposedly) of our leaders.

As a
citizen of birth in the Philippines, as a Filipino, as a UP student,
as a Christian, and lastly as a member of the human race, I am
appalled and enraged by the current events.

I
have only one question, a query that will hopefully be answered after
the fires have been extinguished and the wounds healed. What will
Epifanio de los Santos Avenue hold for our nation in the future?

Hope this reminds us of those dark days and NEVER let them transpire again.

I have always had a loathing for blogs. This is so because there are people who write such inconsequential thoughts in their blogs. For instance, "I ate a sandwich today and it tasted nice…", really is such a waste of good cyberspace. So this "blog" will serve the purpose of storing my writings on a plethora of subjects instead of becoming an online diary of day to day events.

This blog will also serve as a proxy for my website Wolfmind which is currently-and has been for a while- under construction.

Thank you and enjoy!