A big post of apology

09 Jul 2014

To anybody who sees or reads (or encounters) this blog:

First of all, I would only like to say that I apologise for not having posted anything here, not even of the least value, in this blog for a long period of time.

This isn’t meant to indicate that this blog is closing, there are no plans for that. It’s just that I cannot make the excuse that other bloggers have the right to make which is “busy lives.” On the other hand, weeks that should’ve been spent writing – blogposts, short stories, articles – as well as similarly important things to do for summer like job employment have been spent instead in countless times visiting FB and Twitter, reading and accumulating much stuff both interesting and not; the only important literary activity I’ve done this hot season are poems designed for open mics in literary events.

I actually have a lineup of blogposts here, it’s just that I haven’t done much with them. So I can only hope that God and time will still be available for me to help do those blogspots, articles, and short stories. To God be the Glory!

Sincerely,

Idrian

 

 


Musings of A Canadian Nationalist (or, a Prose Poem Attempt)

01 Jul 2013

They say the Canadian nationalist is dead. Or extinct. Or irrelevant. Or plain unnecessary. They say he or she is no longer needed in this globalised age, that at best the Canadian nationalist advocates for what’s impossible, at worst an enemy of diversity. The Canadian nationalist may have been relevant for the sixties and seventies, when this country was just trying to find (again) itself, but no longer so today. Hey, maybe the goals of the Canadian nationalist have been achieved. This country is now distinct from the United States in numerous ways, like in healthcare, importance of military, the “French fact,” our reputation for tolerance and open-mindedness.

Or maybe not.

Well, take a look at it. Most of what we think as “Canadian identity” came from a party that was historically until recently, pro-US. And human rights, individual liberty, all those things? They don’t make this country different from the US. And now, the current Conservatives are implementing emphasis on the military, less government and deregulation – things no different from the Republican party. Some say this country is “America-lite.”

If that’s the case, then why Canada? Why the need for this country to exist? Why not just join Uncle Sam’s embrace? Healthcare? Well, that was a recent phenomenon – not much accepted in the days before Mr. T. Douglas established it (or maybe I’m wrong, but that was piecemeal!). Parliamentary democracy? The monarchy? We don’t think much of them as special, anyway, except on events where they are celebrated. How about Quebec? Its fate different than Louisiana’s? Remember, Quebecois desire to separate is strong.

Why Canada?

I think the Canadian nationalist is still relevant in this day and age. Regardless, arguably, of the ideological leaning – “old” Tories who still see this country as based on the ideas and principles of Sir John A., or those coming from the New Left whose nationalism is of course, more left-leaning. And even those patriots from the Liberal party and other groups.

What matters most here is that, if this country is ever to be truly relevant in this day and age where globalisation has made everything minor and irrelevant that which is not in-tune with it, if Canada is ever to truly assert itself on the crowded stage, the Canadian nationalist, the first defender of this country, its front-line defence, is still important and necessary.


A poem about Canada

03 Dec 2012

The following poem was first performed at the Book Launch & Open Mic event at Renaissance Bookstore, New Westminster, 2 Dec 2012:

Beyond Snow and Maple Leaves

There before me

The snow country stood.

Lifeless, thin branches supported by

Equally thin, hollow trunks.

The leaves of maple lying on the ground.

What to think, what to feel?

What to see beyond all these?

Is there more to this land than snow and maple leaves?

 

Are we all guys and gals who

Skim before the rink like swans with metal feet

Bearing long downward pikes

Prepared to hit the rubber cookie back and forth

Like some preordained play

Armoured we are with padding and helmet?

 

Are we brothers

Donning toques and thick jackets

Sitting in a log cabin

Atop some sofa

Talking to a camera

On how buffoons and self-deprecators we are, eh?

Laughing at ourselves and not taking us too seriously

To the point where self-respect disappears gravely?

 

Are we more than just moose, beavers, geese?

Are we more than the mountains, wheat fields

And lakes that surround us?

Are we more than a certain brand of beer,

Are we just those polite guys up the border

The ones the union of the south tends to forget frequently?

 

Can we be more than stereotypes?

Can we be more than just multiculturalism

And globalism?

Can we be more than acommodating

And towards cooperating?

Towards cooperation and the common good?

Towards the welfare of all and the history of all?

To a land that does not forget the past

But cherishes it and learns from it?

A place where it’s not just your culture

But the culture of this land.

This place where we just find ourselves to be.

In awe of it than taming it?

 

I rest, before the snow.

The leaves strewn beside me and above me.

The blank-gray sky stares before me

Asking me what I to do

What I believe in.

What kind of dominion or puissance I believe in.

I said, yes I believe in.

Believe in what is the good of all and the past of all.

On what values we cherish,

More than just Parliament and Charter.

A land of nature, place and time

A land where the good of all is the good of you.


Remembrance…

13 Nov 2012

The following is a poem I first performed at Renaissance Bookstore‘s Book Launch and Open Mic this past Remembrance Day. The stanzas in normal font are meant to be spoken in a Western accent and the italicized ones in a Filipino accent, with the underlined ones without accents:

Two Wars

Fires fly over the air

As we in tin hats huddle behind the rocks

Clutching our rifles, the guarantors of our lives

Waiting for the chance to break out and charge on.

We came from a distance,

From our homes and fields and loves

Here on this dusty and stony land

To fight and defeat the fascist foe,

Challenger of freedom and all we held dear –

You hold dear –

Thousands of us fell on this place we are not rooted into and will fall.

Soon we will make our homes in the stony, forsaken ground.

You may shed tears for us

Lay flowers on our graves.

But know and remember this, those who are to come:

No good cause is ever too great to spend one’s life without.

When the sky turns dark

As long as the sun has not fully gone out

Never waste your time in cowardly inaction

Rather pick up your rifle and tin hat

And with fear and trembling, charge.

 

It may be night

But this is no time to waste it.

Twice quick we march

On this muddy and stony road

Without shoes, without anything against the cold air.

The rifles we have just mere antique

Against the modern, murderous machinery

Of the bowl-legged ones.

But what else can be done?

Are we to leave our loves to they who lack mercy?

Who, for the sake of the Sun, butcher

Even the most hapless baby?

Oh, we may be a tattered and corroded lot

But we refuse to see more of our blood shed.

For freedom and life no fear we will allow

In the name of courage and independence

This awful menace we will quench.

 

The bugle calls

The drums ring noisily

The ranks file in.

Every soul in this whole line accounted for.

Flames burn like masses of furious smoke

As we stride forth armed.

Why are we, simple folk who tend to farms and forests, here

Parading to our eventual deaths, you query.

We are here to defend our way of life.

Peace and order, the things we cherish

Threatened from the other side by the columns of chaos

By the forces of rebellion and unrest.

Not the fall of the world we permit,

Neither the liberty of man’s passions we consent.

To run forth and seek to halt havoc is

A privilege worth paying for.

 

The forest our fort

The grass our shield.

Revolvers primed as the phalanx walks on the dark road.

We do not hesitate once the chance arrives.

Bandits and brigands they might call us –

You might call us –

But never for all time will we doubt that

Providence is on our side.

Too long has the whip scorched our backs.

Too much our labour sent to the ones above us.

Our women violated, our men chained and beaten

The orphans left to be used by crafty minds and devious hearts.

No longer will our servitude continue

No more will the upper ones gain from our suffering.

With our bolos and revolvers in hand

Nothing but fortitude and hope as our strength

We roar and assail like wounded eagles.

The light of a brighter future

If not for us, for our children

From a distance greets us

As the dawn, our dawn, rises.

 

For order.

For freedom.

Against Nazis.

Against the Japanese.

Through the years and ages

For what we believe as true

Against armies that seem too great for mere humans to defeat

We soldiered on, we fought on.

With sweat but not giving up

With bravery but not without tears.

Hoisting high our tattered red flags

Conscious of our peoples’ fate on our shoulders

With ragged faces and fatigued knees

We only simply fight.


Distress

24 Oct 2012

Distress covers me like a blanket

A blanket I cannot escape from.

It wraps and wraps itself around me

Showering me with her embrace

So suffocating and comforting at the same time.

Where is the peace,

The reality of things to come.

I’ll wait for better things to arrive,

As soon as thy comfort arrives.


The Window of Truth

02 Feb 2012

So I sat

The window faces me

As both the gold warming light of the sun

And the equalizing, levelling cloud of gray

Compete for my attention.

I said nothing.

Well the truth is, there is something I want

To say.

Why do I not say it?

Someone who wants to festoon up still

The picture of the solitary quiet man

Of strength and point-less wandering

Not wanting to appear feminine

Or something he dares not mention

To anyone. Or perhaps even himself

I remain still in the chair

It’s now the shining sun that is on display

It and nothing else.

I made it that way

The window shows sun

Outside really are those clouds.

It may be covered up

But it is still there

Not wanting to remain hidden and unknown

Its time to make known arriving…