Found when lost

When she heard the news that her father was sick, Gloria Soco immediately decided to have a trip to Villa Real, Western Samar and attend to him. “Sandali lang ako mawawala,” she swears. One week was all the time she planned to be gone. She promised to come back as soon as she can. Her words could not be doubted for her carry on bag was not bigger than a regular knapsack. All she had was three pants and three tops. She readied it at once when the news came to her. She did not need too much; it will not be long until she would come back. Her father has been too far and sickly. Years of being apart have piled up between them while he himself gathered health problems with years and ages. June 25, 2006 that Sunday, morning hours before lunch, Lydia, Gloria’s eldest daughter, came with her to the bus terminal in Cubao. Her youngest, Ipe, jokes ,“Ingat ka ha! ‘Wag kang magpapapawis ng likod. ‘Yung vitamins mo ‘wag mong kakalimutang inumin ha! Pakabait ka!” No one knew about the uncertainty when the next joke will be cracked.

“Nung nangyari yun, sabi ko ayoko nang magsulat”

Ipe said striked a match stick. A sudden small burst of fire pops out after the crisp scratchy sound of friction of wood to wood. He let it kiss a cigarette’s lip. His back slightly hunched, shoulders forward, hands resting on the stone table. He puffed a relaxed cloud of smoke that seems to freeze in the air for a while. “Parang nakakapagod. Parang, ayoko nang umiyak. Ayoko na. May ganoon minsan, parang off limits na… Parang ganon, magsusulat ka tapos, ayoko na. Iyak na naman ako. Nakakapagod, kasi doon din dudulo.” The smoke danced away very very slow.

“Nakakapagod…”, then a faint, very short airy laugh with a very shy smile that barely showed his teeth. It almost seemed like a sarcastic smirk. That time, sun is turning to its afternoon orange.

Eugenio Soco Jr., or Ipe or Peng, 1^st year on a Certificate course in Creative Writing in Filipino, undoubtedly older than his teenage batchmates, as he is turning 23 this March, got his hands heavy. He can not even lift a pencil. He can not move his fingers to write a word. He describes this metaphorical struggle in his short testimonial essay Lapis: Sa ikatlong taong pagkawala. For no particular reason, out of nowhere, he said Lapis talked on how he started talking to himself, to a pencil, to a paper on how he tires writing. Exhaustion.

“Parang ano lang…may…hindi ko masabing pressure, e.” His cellular phone flips and turns in his fingers repeatedly hitting the table. His two hands, is not tired at the moment. It moves as he talks. It tumbles as he stutter looking for words. “Parang ganoon. Parang ang kailangan kong isulat lagi, e, politikal…” he laughed an expiring laugh, again. His stare is fixed but beyond his hands, without blinking. He gets to narrate easier when drowned in his voice and that cyclic revolution, in a constant tempo of beat of his acrobat cellular phone - tak, tak, tak.

Morning of June 26, 2006, Gloria Soco is with his Uncle Prudencio Calubid and his wife Celina Palma, in a van. Gloria was invited to hitch by his uncle who was also on their way to Samar. On their way, a white Tamaraw FX, with a plate number smeared with mud, was noticed by their driver Antonio Lacno following them. By lunch, they stop over an eatery in Caluag, Quezon. The Tamaraw FX did the same. A man enters the eatery. Without ordering anything, he just stood there scanning the place and all the customers, one by one, as if looking for something, for a recognizable face, and then leave.

Ipe remembers his mother in everything.

He remembers her in every ‘nilaga’. “Gusto nyang luto yung ano…nilagang baka na may mais!”

Once again he is hypnotized. He seems half asleep, half disillusioned with his eyes pinned to nothingness. With a head weakly crooked to the left, he is not moving. His eyes glisten, as if reflecting the soup of that ‘nilaga’, hot and steaming. He then jolted his head and bowed down. At one point, one will think the ‘nilaga was actually there in front of him. He was so ready to take a sip and plunge into the idea. His dried lips smiled when he continued.

“Hindi na ko nakatikim nun, e. Hahaha.” Chuckles excite his recollections. But he can never let the memory slip, he immediately follows up with “Sa kanya ko lang nakita yu, e. Ay, meron naman akong nakikita kaya lang yung luto nya…” then he was cut short. Silence.

He picked up a piece of paper, a one-fourth green typewriting pamphlet inviting of call center trainings. He folded it once. Twice. Again and again until it is the size of a little finger. “Tapos marami ding inalagaan si mama sa mga pinsan namin…mukha ngakaming ampunan dati!” The ‘nilaga’ evaporated. New things surfaces. Starts and ends of his stories overlaps as he folds, unfolds and refolds the paper.

“Mahilig sya sa maliliit ng bagay, sabi nya bibili sya ng maliit na tabo.”

“Mahilig sya sa halaman, may doseng paso sya ng gampaguita sa bahay, ngayon wala nang nag-aalaga.”

“Mahilig syang pumalatak, yung mag-‘tsk’ kapag galit o basta lang.”

“Kapag tumatawad sya sa palengke akala mo hinihingi na nya yung paninda. Sumasama ako sa palengke kasi mahilig ako magturo – “Ma, bili mo ko nun.””

The paper seems tired now, fold lines have formed and are nearly holding on before tearing. But Ipe’s stories are crisps and holding on.

It was not surprising. He wrote in one of his recollections, Laban! Anak ng Desaparecido!, “Talagang mahirap lampas an ang ganitong uri ng sitwasyon. Kahit mga simpleng bagay ay nakakapagpaalala sa amin tungkol sa kanya.”

He lit another cigarette. Now, deeper inhale, a deeper exhale.

One kilometer after Calauag, approaching Bicol, rough and bumpy ride welcomes them trip. Another car runs slow in front of them. They try to overtake. The car cut them off. But it is a cratered road. The car, too, might be avoiding hindrances. They did not worry. On their second attempt to get ahead, the car then halt them. Cars froze. Four other vehicles is on their van’s rear. The white FX is one in those. Three warning shot pierced the tension. Men flood their van in a sudden. They are forced to get out. Each is placed in a separate car, blindfolded, hands cuffed, head covered with a bag. Gloria wailed, “Masa ako! Masa ako!”

“Ngayon, nirereconstruct ko yung sarili ko para magsulat ulit. Haha. Yung hindi na napipilitian, na kailangan.” Bombared now by writing assignments on poetry, short stories and compositions, Ipe can not help but write again.

“Yung term nga ni Sir Jun [Cruz-Reyes], “kili-kili poetry”. Ayoko din magsulat mga ganun . Parang hindi ko rin linya. Hindi bagay sa akin yung mga ganun.” But now, Ipe surrenders - to the thought of waving off his mother from his writings, to the fear of unearthing the longing buried by three years. “Nanay ko pinaghuhugutan ko, e.”

“Naginip ko sya na nandun sya sa bahay. Dumating daw si Mama. Sabi k sa kanya, “O, bakit nandito ka? ‘Di ba nawawala ka?”. Tapos magigising ako, umiiyak. Tapos iiyak na lang ako. Maghapon.” Laughing quite louder now, his shoulders move with his every ha-ha-ha, while storytelling as if he is delivering a joke, telling a fictional, impersonal gossip.

“Ngayon ko lang din naisip, bagong taon pala. Hindi ko din naisip kung ano bang nararamdaman ko na wala pala sya noong bagong taon.” He smiled and recalled,”noong dati kasi, Pasko, wala sya sa bahay. Yun pala nagsugal. Tinulugan naming sya. Kinabukasan nagtampo sa amin, sabi nya dumating saw sya tapos aayain daw nya sana kaming mag-inom kasi tinulugan naming sya.” His smiles broke to louder chuckles as dusk sunray somehow hits his face. It was sunset but it was sunrise on his face.

“May naiisip nga akong isulat e, tula… basta, kaso hindi ko maisulat. Parang yung i-pa-parallel mo yung mga naghahanap sa mga nawawala. Halimbawa, yung mga nawawala, piniringan sila pero yung mga naghahanap ang nakakakita na. Parang yung mga naghahanap biglang namulat. Yung mga dinukot, e, itinali pero yung mga naghahanap parang nakalaya tapos naghahanap kung saan-saan, tumutulong sa ibang biktima. Sila, nasa iisang lugar lang sila, hindi naming alam, pero kami napakaraming lugar nang pinuntahan. Tinuruan nila kami kung paano ba talaga mabuhay…”