SIGHTS OF BUDAPEST

The pictures here were taken on September 12 in Budapest, Hungary with my Nokia N-95 cellphone. I was agitated over my upcoming examination and, as usual instead of confronting the concern head on by staying in my room to read, I went gallivanting and enjoyed the scenes and sights of Buda, which is on the other side of the Danube.

When she saw the pictures on my Facebook wall, my Vienna-based friend Maryknoll Padalla commented that aside from poetry, I should add photography to my claims to art. I came close to "expropriating" the compliment but anyone who has gone to Budapest knows that it does not take much to capture artistic shots from this city whose beauty is jaw-dropping.

The imposing building on the other side of the Danube is the Parliament which is one of Budapest's main attractions.

Since arriving in Budapest, I have been waking up not later than 6 AM to view from my room window the sun rise in all its magnificence. But this picture is not of the sun rising but of it setting.

Statues are very common in Budapest. The city has a statue of every hero or every figure who has contributed to Hungary's victories and history. This is one of them.

THE PROMISE by Tracy Chapman

I do not know why I lose my voice somewhere each time I sing this song. I could weep for this.

I will die being in love with love- the love that liberates, that gives without taking, that is patient, kind and forgiving, that makes the poets itch for their pens each time they think of it.

COUNTRYSIDE BEAUTIES

These breathtaking pictures are not mine. They were sent to me by Leonor Mondata. Although Leonor is London-based, these pictures are of the Philippine countryside.

FROM SON TO FATHER: WORDS UNSAID NOW SAID

I am violating a cardinal rule in this blog: Every entry must have a picture. I have to suspend the rule to give space to beauty which, though not visible to the eye, is felt by the heart. This beauty is the love of a son expressed in a poem by Butch Espere (aka Alex Munoz) for his father whose birthday is December 7. His old man died three years ago. Butch says that the words in his poem "cry to be said."

The poem touches a raw nerve in all of us for we are all children. And many of us may feel pangs of regret for words unsaid to our parents. The regret may even be deeper when the parents are already dead and rectification is foreclosed.

Parents who will be privileged to read the poem will understand their children more. I hope it resolves those little nagging issues between parents and children, and narrows if not closes the berth that comes from generation gap, ideological divide or whatever cause. I am warning you: this moves you to tears as it is beautiful.

A DINNER WITH FATHER
(For Papa, with apologies to Jun Canizares)
by: Butch Espere

You were just an embrace away
but the peal of forks and spoons
scooping crumbs on our dinner plates
were so thundering, echoing a distance.
And I wonder if you’d notice it like I did
when we reached for a glass.

Well, maybe you wanted to spin something
maybe about the weather, or some fairy tales,
or any yarn or songs of love or filial piety.
But I remember we’re always like this
since I was twenty when writing underground
manifestoes and lightning rallies and the brute

truncheons of class enemies took away
the innocence for this drifting apart. I waited
for the words to come as we drank our glass
and stared at the infinite space between us,
at a universe that has no answers
why subversion is a necessary thing.

Then you stood and headed for the anteroom
without as much a bidding, your footsteps
stretching away the poles that were you and me.
I heard a heart-surge, seething within,
pained and trying in vain to abort this parting.
Silently screaming, “This one’s for you all!

And I love you!"... I honestly love you.
120708/quezon city

ANNIE'S SONG by JOHN DENVER

This is one of the most beautiful love songs ever written and sang since the world began.

HALSEMA HIGHWAY SIGHTS

Teaching is a very rewarding experience that it is not work at all. And you get paid to "not work!" But university life has its moments of drudgery, I suppose, especially for people who spend most of their time in school. Too much play, like too much work, can bore Jack and Jill.

And so in October 2008, members of the faculty of St. Louis University's Department of Political Science and Social Sciences traveled to Mt.Province. We were with Dr. Joyce Fernandez, our favorite Associate Dean and Prof. Jose Alangwawi, our Department Head.

We started from Baguio City at past 3:00 A.M. It was a good decision because we witnessed the break of sunrise along Halsema Highway.

The colors were not the same everywhere. In one part, there would be more blues than orange-reds. In another, there would be more hues of yellow-orange.

But that is the beauty of nature- it is not always the same, but it is always breathtaking.

IN THE LAUGHTER OF A CHILD (II)

Whenever I see my baby smile in delight without restraint, my heart leaps. It leaps even more when I know that I contributed to the cause for her happiness. You see, working mothers with so very little time on their hands must suffer from such huge guilt complex over their inability to spend as much time with their children. I know the feeling. So I cherish every time I have with my baby girl. While at work, it gives me relief from stress to remember her mirth.

When I took Gawani to a vacation in China, Hongkong and Macau for almost two weeks last October to November, she was very happy. Although she had a few tantrums which is normal for a baby her age, she was a very amiable vacation companion. Since she is now a very good reader, she took charge of reading the maps and made decisions as to where we should or should not go.

Every time we would go to a place, she would ask me if I ever took her two older siblings (Dinney and Lugat) there. If I answered in the negative, she would say, "Mommy, let us take some pictures here." When we returned home, she would say to the brother and sister: "We went to (this or that place) and you never went there."

My bedimpled daughter is truly a thing of beauty and a joy. Forever.