May iniisip ka?
Oo.
Ano?
Ayaw kong sabihin. Baka magkatotoo.
Dahil makulit ka
Kilala kita. Oo, ikaw 'yun: Nagkasalubong na tayo minsan, sa LRT, sa Gotohan, sa kanto ng Aurora at Katipunan. Nagkatinginan tayo. Hindi mo ako kinausap, pero alam ko, nakilala mo rin ako. Kaya ka narito, di ba? Para sabihing, Oo, oo, ikaw nga 'yun. Naaalala kita.
na, mula noong 24 Enero, 2006, ang nakitambay dito
Cure
Saturday, April 05, 2008
When you imagined them tearing his chest open and finding only water, you found the truth behind history: Words betray. Only the secrets matter.
But perhaps that is only your own truth. What you see when you tear your own chest open. They poured and poured until the native --what? Until he was cured of his secrets? On the page his eyes are a century apart from yours. You imagine his lungs swollen, pale as if bleached.
You imagine yourself, there. Him. On the page speaking in tongues, the soldiers calling for a translator. Even then failing to understand. I was eleven when they burnt the rice fields. Twelve when they cut down my brothers. There on the page, your body a church of secrets. I heard my mother scream. Or maybe it was myself. It was not so long ago. I’m surprised I can’t remember. They pause to call for more water. There is so much water in your country. When I killed the first of my enemies, I felt my throat fill with fire. Perhaps it was happiness.
There is nothing truer than what you have said. What secrets can they take from you now? The names of your spies pour unto the soil. The strength of your numbers dissolve into your blood. You imagine yourself cleansed as you are left with your guts knotted and torn inside of you. Knotted and torn like so many roads
leading to the nowhere one finds at the end of history. Or at its beginning. Where there is neither thirst nor the weightlessness of drowning. Where all that matters need not be spoken.
