FT Chronicle

I am just so overwhelmed with gratitude I don’t know where to start.

First, I would like to thank God for everything He has given me, for everything He has done to me. I thank You for all the blessings. Thank You for the protection against harm. Thank You for your undying love. If only I were a musician, I will write You songs and I will sing praises to Your Glory. If only I were a painter or a sculptor, I will create a masterpiece to show You how I will depict Your incomparable love to all of us. If only I am… if only I am… But You made me a writer and being so, I will let You take this pen over me and let Your Word shine upon us. Let my words be words of enlightenment to the benighted, be words of encouragement to the dispirited, be words of inspiration to the weary. Let my words touch the hearts of my reader. Let my words be an instrument for the world to know You. And every time I will write about You and Your Word I will say, these are not my words but these are Your Word.

I would like to thank all the readers here in FTChronicle who gave a part of their time just to read anything I have written. Now, my heart is bursting with joy by reading all your feedback and comments. Honestly, I am unaware of what my writings can do. I am clueless that they will mean something important to someone and it really did not cross in my mind at all. I am so happy that in such a way, I unwittingly help others, give them hope, and provide them inspiration. Those simple messages, whether short or long, makes me feel motivated. It urges me to tap the buttons of my keyboard; it fuels me to scribe letters down my paper. And it seems like I’m unstoppable, nothing can stop me now.

Now I show you the face of your humble writer and by posting my picture, I want you to know who’s behind those letters. I would be glad if you find me exactly what you have known me through my thoughts. I really don’t know that I have this writing prowess and all of you tell me I do have it. But I know I have nothing to boast, I only have something to thank for. I will never let you down and I’ll keep on posting new articles.

Lastly, to you, if ever you are reading this post. You are the joy of my heart. You are that very one who brings smile to my face, the one who gives me mornings. You almost have made me surprised like I’ve won a prize and there are things I need to prioritize. But you just walked in that door and I could not ask for more, I found myself loving your ways. Oh, I thank the Lord above for making you find your way here. Gratefully, I will ever be.

Another day has come, and I’m thankful for it ^^

Serene is her face that could pacify a raging sea
Heavenly she is, an exquisite view to see

Art has created a masterpiece to last forever
Magnificent she is, and fade she will never

A sunrise brings a new morning every time she smiles
Needless to say, I will travel a thousand miles
Enough distance I will take for our roads to coincide
Savoring each moment that I’ll be by your side

And there I was, could not help myself but to take a glance
No beauty can ever surpass her elegance
Captivating charm that shines even in my darkest
Let the stars in the sky burn their brightest

Angel, you are unmistakably sent from up above
Rain my heart with showers of your caressing love
In your eyes I see the allurement I cannot resist

Ardent affection of mine will truly persist

Here I start a new poem

Without any rhyme, without any form

And my pen starts to unwind

The words that I’m about to inscribe

All the things I need to pen down

As the wind tries to whisper something

It urges me to write in an early morning

As nature continue to sing its solemn hymn

The rain don’t stop falling

As it angrily pounds the house roof

And this makes me ponder on a thing or two

Every time I see the raindrops fall

I call to you, o Magnificent Rain

Who seems to drench me in cold

Whenever I felt that I’ll be happy

You always make me feel desolate

Rain, when I am fuming and mad

I hear your thunder and see those flashes

It’s so deafening I hear it aloud

It’s so blinding I see it clear

Rain, don’t you even know that?

I’ve been befallen under your spell

The sight of you is music to my eyes

That lasts in my mind for a long time

Rain, for a time I’ve been longing

To feel the cool breeze of the wind

I wish you can embrace me in such ways

Alas, I’m just a fool waiting for that day

Rain, I sing to you songs and write letters

But you never gave me a chance

To show you how deep is my adoration

To show you how true are my intentions

Rain, even though you throw me storms

I have the fortitude to bear it all

Just continue on cleansing my face

Because you doing it perfectly

Rain, it is just you that I need now

And not the rainbow that everyone’s expecting

What if I tell you I’m still in love with you?

Will it even matter to you?

I would like to thank the man who’s behind the reason why we don’t have classes today. But I would like to say a deeper meaning; I want to pay tribute to the one who brought liberty back to our people. He is the one responsible for the free flight of the high-soaring eagle, the floating of white balloons in the vast blue skies and the sweet freedom any man will want. He is Benigno Servillano Aquino, Jr. He is NINOY.

His blood traced heroes and public servants in our history scrolls. His grandfather Servillano Aquino joined the rank of Emilio Aguinaldo’s revolutionary army while his father Benigno Aquino, Sr. was a prominent official during the World War II. He’s been seriously active in the politics trade but he’s also a writer at heart. Determined he is, it’s his pen that made a foundation. The Philippines became aware of the Korean War through its youngest war correspondent, the 17-year-old journalist, Ninoy. He is also instrumental to the Hukbalahap’s surrender.

His ever loving heart for every Filipino is very tremendous and is evidently felt during the Martial Law era, the period in our history where mouths were muted and sentiments were gripped. He is found to be subversive against the Marcos term leading to his exile though he is not guilty. He submitted himself to a hunger strike while on jail and later was sent overseas for a heart operation.

“I will spend the last drop of my blood for the restoration of freedom and the abolition of Martial Law…”

AUGUST 21, 1983

“If it’s my fate to die by an assassin’s bullet, so be it”, a clairvoyant statement he said. He went home wearing a bulletproof vest but without anything to protect his head.

A bullet that ended a man’s life triggered every Filipino’s heart. it was his assassination that was pivotal to the downfall of a authoritarian ruler and the eventual restoration of democracy.  It is so ironic that he was killed before landing his feet on his beloved country; he was still on the plane’s stairs when he was shot.

NINOY: “The Filipino is worth dying for.”
CORY: “The Filipino is worth living for.”

Enjoy our liberty today. Relish every day living with it

TO commemorate the birthday of Pres. Manuel L Quezon and also to celebrate the month of Filipino, here are two poems:

ANG KAPANGYARIHAN NG SALITA

Ryan Reyes

Ang isang salita’y lubhang makapangyarihan

Dahil sa pamamagitan ng mga salita

Maaari kang tingalain ng karamihan

O kaawaang masahol pa sa maralita

Kaya nitong maghandog sa iyo ng papuri

At maaari ring yurakan ang iyong dangal

Kaya nitong magtangi sa iyo ng taguri

At maaari ring pagmukha kang isang hangal

Kaya mong magpakilos ng libu-libong tao

O kaya’y hadlangan ang kanilang simulain

Kaya mong magbigay ng liwanag o prinsipyo

O kaya’y ilukob sa dilim ang ‘sang damdamin

Kaya mong lumipad, marating saanmang dako

Kaya mong kulayan ang ganap na kaputian

Kaya mong maisakatuparan ang pangako

Kaya mong iwaksi ang lubos na kadiliman

Sabi nga nila’y ang pagkilos ay mas malakas

Kaysa mga salita, sila’y mas tumatatak

Ngunit hindi ba ang panitik ay mas matalas

Kaysa pinanday ngang napakatalim na tabak?

Kaya ang salita’y huwag mong mamaliitin

Sapagkat hamak man ito’y hindi padadaig

Sa isang salita lang na iyong babanggitin

Ay kaya nitong baguhin ang buong daigdig

AKO’Y ISANG MANUNULAT

Ryan Reyes

Ako’y isang manunulat ng anumang katha

Ng sanaysay at ng liriko ng mga tula

Sa isipan ay lumalangoy ang mga likha

At hindi makapaghintay na mailathala

Ako’y may plumang hawak nang ako’y isinilang

Sa daigdig na ito, sadyang napakakulay

Matagal kong ninais na ako’y mapabilang

Sa mga manunulat na siyang nagsilbing tulay

Mata ko’y nakamulat, bibig ko’y nakabukas

Ngunit ang lahat ay idadaan sa pagsulat

Na siyang sandata, ang aking kakayahang likas

At siyang tanging saksi sa aking mga inuulat

Masasabi kong wala akong inuurungan

Aking mga salita’y kasintalas ng punyal

Tanging malinis na papel, aking kahinaan

Aking mga salita’y doon ko ikikintal

Ang maging isang manunulat ay karangalan

Sapagkat ang isa ay puno ng kabuluhan

Ang mundo’y isisigaw ang buo mong pangalan

Magsilbi kang tanglaw sa gitna ng kaguluhan

At nasa iyong mga kamay nakasalalay

Kung ano ang ipaparating, ipapamulat

Kung saan mo sila dadalhin o ilalakbay

Sa bawat pahina na kanilang ibubuklat

Kaya ang pagsusulat ang gawaing napili

At siya na ring libangan ng puso kong sawi

Nais ko itong sining sa diwa’y manatili

At ang kalungkutan ng mundo’y kanyang mapawi

Isa ako sa mga makabagong makata

Pinanday ng panahon at sa bakal hinasa

Nawa’y ang nilalaman nitong mga talata

Ay maihatid sa aking mga mambabasa

My pen is nearing its last drop.

I have written poems and they call me a modern-day poet. I have written essays and they call me a reformist. I have written editorials and they call me radical. I have written nonsense and they call me a fool.

I have written articles about the real world. My eyes are wide open to witness the Pandemonium right before my face.  I have written the state of the nation: from the ineffective education system to the continuing gap between the rich and the poor. I rant and I complain about everything that is distasteful to me. Politics! Injustice! Greed! Blasphemy! My pen became a sword to mince such evils; my pen became a voice to drive away such scourges.

I have written praises for people who are in need to be revered. I have written felicitations to people I need to thank for. My pen serves as the wreath of flowers that they ought to be given. I have also written calls for concern. Our Earth has a fever and later will die. Children roam the street with hungry stomachs. There are issues right on our face yet we shift our view on the other side.

I have written Biblical articles though. My pen became His instrument for His Word to be known. I want His Word be heard by all over the world. Here, I write putting verses into practicality. But, I failed for I write seldom and I am ashamed of it. I know more yet I know less.

I have written passages about love when I have the need to scribe it down. I write positively even though it is a lot way too different from what I have experienced. I don’t write about heartbreaks but instead of the wondrous feeling of flying too high. And soaring up too high, I see myself as Icarus who’ve been amazed by the sun and so eager to touch it, only to be burned and fell straight to the ocean.

As what E. L. Doctorow puts it, I write for it is the only socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. There are voices in my mind that are waiting to be written. I write because this is what I am supposed to do in times I have left with nothing to do. It is my kind of refuge and my escape to this weary world. I can let loose all my feelings: angst, anxiety, bliss; anything my mind can concoct.

I write because this is my way to present myself to the world. Every form is existential. Here, I can hide myself through characters I made to life. I can be anyone or anything. I can be a king, a magician, an ant or a mosquito. By writing, they will see a part of me. By writing, they can understand the man inside of me.

My pen’s ink is flowing through my veins. My words are the breath that keeps me alive. My paper serves as the mirror of myself. I compose melody of bliss in every verse. I mold the clay, the shape I want in every stanza. I paint the vivid artworks in every word. I play with words to give a deeper meaning. I give advice for different folks and strokes. I will open up my readers’ eyes wide to see. I entertain, I please, I inform. I sharpen my sword on a piece of paper. I will serve as the light to cast out darkness.

I will write as long as the ink in my pen continues to flow. Writing is my lifeline.

But now, I see my pen nearing its last drop. I found no reason to write, no passion to inscribe. I am left with blank pages and my mind is empty as well. I am here in this dark corner all alone. This time, I will leave. This time, I’ll be leaving no footprints. But, this won’t be the last of me.

See you when I buy a new pen…

Man can make beauty out of a dull thing. It is how Rodin brought the Thinker into life out of a rock. It is how Leonardo Da Vinci portrayed Mona Lisa on a blank sheet of canvas. It is how Ludwig van Beethoven created the Symphony no. 9. When you see only seven wonders, I see seven million. When you see a dim minute light, I see a star on Orion’s belt. When you see your face in the mirror, I look behind it, I see the real you. Bringing out beauty is not about how you see it but it is on how you do it.

When it comes to beauty, it is sad to say that some people tend to wear masks just to blend with the crowd. We, by nature, are not contended. One’s image may be the root of envy by others. A skinny person may wish for a round body while a stout person may ask for a thinner one. But, physical beauty is just a gold ring on a pig’s snout if the inner self is not pure and clean.

In beauty pageants, it is not just the physical appearance that matters. Judges do not base their winners by just pure beauty. It is about how you will face the crowd with confidence, with belief in what you have. It is about how you will showcase yourself and give the audience what you can offer. It is on how you will answer questions and tell the world who you really are.

A cocoon is just a dull thing at first glance. We don’t know that inside of it, there is a miracle that’s waiting to be happened. There lies the butterfly with extravagant colors and magnificent wings.

The world is really stereotypical. Don’t live by the standards of this world nor by the expectations of other people for a person who follow the crowd usually gets lost in it. But, if you let your inner light shine out of you, that’s when you will stand out. You spread your wings and show your colors like the butterfly inside the cocoon. And that’s the real beauty.

Beauty has many meanings, not just the physique. Nevertheless, it is the beauty within you that matters most.

Yes, we may say being beautiful will mean everything. But, what do you mean by being beautiful?

“Do not look at his appearance or at his physical stature, because I have refused him. For the LORD does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” - 1 Samuel 16:7

Love. Time. Priorities. The story continues on where we last left the two bugs talking about love in a Paradise at the city’s heart. We now know the tale of the ant who loved a butterfly. We know that some questions do not need some answers. The ant continues to muse at the vast sky. But the blue curtains suddenly turned into gray and the butterflies flew away. Nature has played its mournful song and the rain seems to be its tears.

“Hurry! Let’s move to the high ground” the ant suggested to the mosquito.

“No, I have a better idea” The mosquito held the ant with his hands and flew to the tree’s branches. Both watched the innumerable droplets shower.

“You? How about you?” the ant breaks the dead air.

“Huh? What about me?”

“Have you had your own story?”

“Oh… my story? You see it’s… hehe…”

“C’mon, it’s unfair. You knew mine so maybe it is just right to tell yours. Blurt it out, I will listen.”

“I also loved a girl, a mosquito of course… no… I mean I still love her… somehow, I found my strength to tell her how I feel for her.”

The mosquito’s face became more serious.

“Oh… now, what’s with the long face?”

“It’s the proboscis, man…” The mosquito feigned a smile while later redoubled into a sullen mope. He took a deep sigh and then continued on talking. “You know, I’m the man who takes risks. I am not the person who will undertake things only if he is sure that they will turn out as he desires.

He paused for a while. He closed his eyes to feel the breeze of the wind.

“Maybe it is not good to expect for something in return but I unconsciously find myself hoping.  I know I made some efforts though I may admit they are not impressive. It is just so hard to read her mind and I’m not a mind reader. I just don’t know…”

“Uhm..”

“You know, female mosquitoes are above us males. They have more responsibilities than we do. That is the status quo and I cannot do something about it. And I don’t want to get on her way. I don’t want to derange her plans. I don’t want to be the one who will drag her down. I just can’t help it… all she have to do is to tell me. I gladly will listen… I have a feeling that I know what she will tell me. I feel afraid but I must not. But I’m ready. I made myself ready.”

“So, it means you’re letting her go?”

“No. Not yet. I’m still holding onto something. But if it’s for the sake of the both of us…” The mosquito took another deep breath then he continues. “Sacrifices have to be made when we have to follow our hearts’ deepest desires. And I love her…”

The ant was so amazed by what the mosquito have told him. He found it amazing to see how a lively mosquito he had met a while ago is now a mosquito trying to feign a smile on his face. By the time they finished their talk, the sky has stopped crying. But the mosquito had his hard time trying to contain his tears.

Love. Time. Patience. There’s a park named Paradise set in the heart of the city. The sun is up after minutes of light rain. The flowers boast their colorful petals while the butterflies keep on circling around them. Yes, there are still butterflies that roam the busy streets and in the almost polluted air. Butterflies of modest colors…. Butterflies of elegance…

Then there’s an ant who watches distantly. He keeps on sighing and holding his breath upon seeing the picture he always want to view. He looks so keenly with eyes shining like the Polaris at night. The silence is too loud and the moment is still until a mosquito interrupted that solemn instant.

“Yo, wazzup?”

“Huh? Nothing.”, the only answer the ant gave. Then silence took place. He turn his head up again looking at the sky. The mosquito followed the ant’s eyes direction and found out the reason behind the ant’s current frame of mind. His eyes were set to a fine-looking butterfly, to be precise.

“Oh, I see. You like her?”

“Like? No… I love her… There’s more than that…”

“Oh, cmon. Tell it to her. Pursue that yearning!”

“I did. I already have. But it can’t be.”

“You don’t need to be a sucker for love! Get it? Sucker? Sucker? Hehe-“

The mosquito paused upon seeing the ant looks so serious. The ant sighed and nodded his head. Then, he looked up into the sky again, breathing so deep.

“Look! Take a look at her. Look at her wings. Look at how high she fly. Look at her colors. Ain’t she pretty? She’s great. But look at me, I’m just an ant. I don’t have colors, I don’t have wings. I’m just this, I have nothing to boast.”

“So, what are your plans?”

“Plans? I do not have any. I’m already contended on this way. I think it’s enough to see her smile every day, to hear her sweet voice. It’s just enough that I love her with all my heart. Do I need to do something? What? Will I court her? I don’t think so… it is just enough that I love her and I’m not expecting for anything from her.”

The mosquito put his hand to his head.

“But how will she fall for you if you don’t do something?”

“That is… the question which I don’t know the answer…”

ONE GENIE

Helpless I am,

Anticipating for every dreams

Juvenile is your beauty

Immaculate from the heavens

Without a glimpse of your face

Oh, I cannot live a day

Nothing more, I can say

You have the Oriental beauty

I cannot resist, I am your slave

Whenever I gaze at you

I feel an outburst of the utmost bliss

It’s enigmatic, I feel this way

It’s unusual; I’ve never been like this

Infatuated, am I strayed?

Am I in love? I  know it’s true

You are a flickering star

I’m just the moon watching you near

You are the mighty Sun

I’m just the sky overflowing by your radiance

We are worlds apart I think

How I wish that someday, somehow

Our roads will meet by luck

And I’ll be happy by your side