Illegal bLoGGing

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abi nila kumikinang daw ang aming mga mata kapag kami ay magkausap. Pakiramdam ko rin nagtutugma kami. Magka-wavelength ‘ika nga o nag-co-connect ba. Basta, ang hirap ipaliwanag. Alam mo na ‘yun. Para bang kahit hindi na namin ibuka ang aming mga labi at bumigkas ng mga pangungusap, parang alam na naming pareho ang sasabihin ng bawat isa.

Madali talagang nahulog ang loob ko kay Christine mula nung makilala ko siya sa isang prayer meeting.

Flashback…three months ago.

Pauwi na ako galing opisina nang bigla kong naisipang pumasok sa company chapel. Na-curious lang talaga ako. Sa tinagal-tagal ko na sa kumpanya ay hindi pa ako nakakapasok doon. Maliit lang sa loob ng chapel, pero maganda ang pagka-disenyo nito. Minimalistic ang dating at walang masyadong burloloy sa altar. Sa gilid naman ay may nakasabit na mga oil paintings nung The Way of the Cross. Cubist ang estilo nung pintor, na hindi ko na maalala ang pangalan. 

Tiningnan kong isa-isa ang mga paintings mula sa unang istasyon ng krus. Medyo nagtagal ako sa ika-apat. Ito yung nung nasalubong ni Hesus ang kanyang inang si Maria. Mahusay ang depiction,,,kahit hubog lang ng mukha ang kita mo ‘ramdam mo talaga ang paghihirap ng kalooban ni Maria sa sinapit ng minamahal na anak. Dahil na rin siguro ito sa mainam na pag-gamit ng pintor ng matapang na kulay tanso at mga bakas ng pula at itim.

Medyo nagulat ako nang marinig ang isang malumanay na tinig mula sa aking likuran.

"Ang ganda ano? Paborito ko rin ‘yan."

Pagtalikod ko ay para akong naiputan ng Ibong Adarna dahil pakiramdam ko ay naging bato ako at tumigil ang pag-inog ng aking mundo. Pakiwari ko ba ay isang anghel mula sa langit ang bumaba at ngayon ay nakangiting nakikipag-usap sa akin.

"Ako nga pala si Christine. Kanina ka pa ba? Halika, dito sa may kabilang room ang prayer meeting."

"Ah..eh.."

Yun lang ang natatandaan kong lumabas sa aking bibig. Basta para akong nagayumang sumunod na lang sa kanya. Tanda mo yung scene dun sa Lord of the Rings kung saan parang na-hypnotize si Frodo sa kagandahan ni Galadriel (yung saksakan ng gandang elven na muntik nang ma-tempt na angkinin yung ring)? Ganun, pare!

 
Kaya ayun, mula noon, regular na rin akong nakiki-praise da lord! sa kanila. Anyway, ayus lang naman. Masaya rin doon kahit papaano. Wala namang nawawala sa akin sa pag-attend ko. Syempre, minsan uma-absent rin ako sa prayer meeting kapag may conflict sa ibang activities ko, like pag nagkayayaang mag-online ang buong barkada para maglaro ng World of Warcraft.

Habang tumatagal ay lalong nahuhulog ang loob ko kay Christine. Pagkatapos kasi ng prayer meeting ay nagkakape muna kami sa Figaro na nasa kabilang building lang. Masarap talaga siyang kakwentuhan, at hindi nakakasawang pagmasdan ang napaka-amo nyang mukha. Gustong-gusto ko rin yung ngiti nya dahil lumalabas yung cute nyang dimple sa kaliwang pisngi.

Kapag kasama ko siya, ang bilis-bilis ng takbo ng oras. Minsan nga hindi na namin namamalayan na closing na pala. Sa sobrang dami kong nainom na espresso, ang hirap tuloy matulog pag-uwi ko sa bahay. Lalo pa tanging si Christine lang ang laman ng utak ko at ang lahat ng mga napag-usapan namin. Bawat salitang kanyang sinabi, pati na malulumanay nyang halakhak ay tila musikang hindi mapawi sa aking mga tenga. Last song syndrome, ‘kumbaga.

Now, I remember a highschool classmate who showed me a tiny black booklet which according to him contained spells and magic chants. The booklet was so tiny it was no bigger than the palm of one’s hand. It was an amulet in itself, which he told me had been passed on for generations starting from his great, great, great, great grandfather.

He was of course, not so sure which forefather it was but as usually the case in childhood bragging spree, you just say it was some great, great, great dude in the early branch of one’s family tree.       

Alright. So this great,great,great grand daddy of him got this teeny-weeny, black book from a hermit inhabiting a local mountain called Mt. Susong Dalaga. As you guessed right, the area was not really a humongous hump on earth. Actually, it was only part of a mountain range which resembles a woman in a slightly reclining position, as if sunbathing. You should come to Nasugbu and check out its westerly horison. I assure you, that particular mountain range is quiet a sight, specially during sunset.

Back to the book, my classmate told me it contained spells which could be used to drive away evil spirits, cast spells on enemies to exact revenge on them, and other types of magic spells to mess up with other person’s juju or whatever kind of torture you might want to inflict on your fellow human being. It could also protect one from being bitten by poisonous snakes and rabid dogs. But more than that, it was an amulet which was supposed to bring any girl of one’s dream to the bearer. Basically, you can think of it as a "mojo" enhancer, similar to those well-endowed Sto. Niños you can buy at your favourite "sari-sari" store (Well, not really. But I think they still peddle those outside big churches in Manila, specially in the Quiapo area).

Now, being the fool, love-struck adolescent boy that I was, I readily bought his incredulous story. I was suspicious, of course, why he would show me this treasured "historical" document of his family. He later confessed he wanted to copy my science homework, in exchange of a few lines of love chants which could help me court this pretty girl from another class.

So, I agreed but there was one more complication. I needed to get myself a solo picture of the girl, since the ritual would involve chanting this love spell in front of her picture with a lone candle set on top of a round, black stone. It was also no ordinary candle: it should have been used in a recent burial ceremony.

Fortunately, the town cemetery was in the vicinity of my school, and it should therefore not be so hard to know when someone was getting buried at any time of the day. And with the populace heavily depending on its local faith healers and quack medicine for its health care, it should not take so long before I get my magic candle.

She picked up the bunch of bananas lying on the mahogany kitchen table and studied it with great care.

It was a bunch of five. One was completely green, three were greenish-yellow, and the last was sun-riped, with the outer skin a bit cracked. She caressed the ripe one with the palm of her left. It was velvety and firm. It felt good. It felt just right. 

It was a good pick. No, it was THE perfect pick. One of those few easy choices she made in her life which indisputably made sense.    

Or so she thought.       

It did not take great force to detach the ripe banana. It was that kind which left a small bit of peel dangling on the main stalk, that eventually fell on the floor. Nonetheless, the other four bananas bore the brunt of her grip. Her fingers left a mark on the green one which would surely turn black once it has ripened.  It got the stigma and was doomed to the bin. No one would ever want to eat a blackened banana. Except maybe for a gang of Drosophila.

She stripped the peel of the ripe banana half its starchy flesh in one swift motion. Its sweet, etheric scent filled her nose. She brought the tip to the pout of her lips, inhaled more of the almost intoxicating flavour, and finally took a small, shy bite. She ate slow, savouring each bite with much delight and satisfaction. Meanwhile, the four bananas shivered in mixed trepidation and rancour.

Especially the green one.    

On her way out of the kitchen, she stepped on the small banana peel which fell on the floor. She slipped and hit the back of her head on the mahogany table. Streaks of blood stained the unpolished surface, now reminiscent of Pollock’s Lavender Mist but all in bright red.   

As her lifeless body lay on the cold marbled floor, the green banana was no more green with fury. Its soul though as black as its stigmatized skin was afraid no more of the waiting bin.