Reflections



I heard the moan huffed by the sullen hills

The granite hardness of my core was untouched

Have seen too much to care, to show grief for ills.

Around me I saw a thousand clones or more

My eyes closed while others blinked for cues

Golgotha hid behind a leaden mirror

I rallied the rest to raise the gloomy panel

Just by us the screen seemed heavily set

Some unexpected force we sought to intervene

Wretches Abroad

From within, glowing in all directions

The pit of the mango pulses

Touching strange forests and alien strands

Self numbed into nothing, nothingness

All senses are divested from self

A wearisome travel to borderless regions

There the life nectar freezes still

Like hail stones roll, rolling

All the feelings and emotions are roused

A burning sunburst on bare heads

Searing a presence that will not be doused

From their infinite perch stars drop, dropping

Trapped like mangy wild beasts

Scurrying in every which way

Toil animals quivering at each whip snap

Waiting for the sun to die, dying

Sea Escape

My eyes pulled down the window shutters;

Flushed the bowl, turned off the high cool,

And shut the casita door with a slam

Summer now stored in a box of pixel images

Your watch says go now, the desk awaits the keys

Keep the cockles, half shells and dry kelp

Even as the tide wanted to take it back to sea

But soon these, too, will be lost in the shimmer

No goodbyes, go as you have come

I won’t be by the parasols nor the divers’ stand

Promises now as paper boats riding the waves

Crashing, dissipating into frothy crests

I walk alone by the fringe of a churlish sea

Midst the commotion of sea birds

Fighting over wide eyed crabs scurrying

As I gather precious shells washing in

Already I have forgotten you

Nothing but the soft whisper of waves

And the sparkle of bejeweled sand

Spoil me as I bask in the motherly sun

I cannot go home ‘cause I am home

My soul is imprinted on the white sands

The call of great whales sound my coming

Mermaids on dolphins wave in greeting

The sandy depths now my garden patch

With corals and the barnacles in bloom

I cling to driftwoods and wrecked derelicts

Happily counting seashells and chasing wee fish

Characterization In Fiction

How much do I know the next person? Do I know him well enough to anticipate his actions and reactions to any given stimulus? What do I know about him that would make me predict his response to an event, a remark, a sensing…touched, heard, seen or smelled?

Where did he grow up? It would make a difference if he grew up in the maze of alleys in the slum clusters as opposed to a childhood lived behind cloistered walls of a swanky residential enclave.
Did he ever have to take a public transport or was he always driving a car or being driven around by a uniformed chauffer?

A person’s make up is composed of the physical, the social, the psychological as well as the mental. These are the factors that define his persona. Corporeal features define whether a person is beautiful or ugly, majestic or plain, amiable or quarrelsome, tough or puny...he is, also, defined by the milieu that he revolves in, his relatives, close friends, mere associates and the way he interacts with them. This will include the institutions he is affiliated with like school, social clubs, religious congregations and political groupings.

He may adhere to the etiquette required like table manners, manner of addressing other persons and other social graces imposed by class conventions. This would apply to the elegant set and to the pedestrian end of the spectrum. Boorish behavior in corner store drinking is as appropriate as using the correct silvers in a formal dinner.

Is he selective with his favors…to whom, to which group? Does he follow conventions and when does he defy them? Is he elitist or is he populist? Why does he favor one class over others? The adage “tell me who your friends are and I will tell you who you are” may apply.

Genetic factors may be an influence that could not be helped. He could have good genes or poor ones. People are sometimes born with innate superior intelligence, good physique, healthy constitution and a propensity for leadership.

Regional differences exist because of unique environmental factors such as dialect, culture, diet, climate, and presence of sophisticated institutions and relative affluence of the region. Environment impacts in a strong way on an individual’s personality.

However, knowing all these is not sufficient to anticipate another person’s reaction and response to a situation or to the kind of judgment he would make on vital and even on day to day issues confronting him. One can work with a set of possible reactions which would narrow down to a few given the interplay of other factors that make up the character.

On top of all the knowledge that could be had on a person one has to know the reasons behind all the aspects of his physiognomy, his social propensities and his environment. To answer these one has to pull together all these aspects as they tend to be interwoven. He is in the company of riff raff because he grew up in the slums of Tondo or he could be fascinated by low life because he grew up in a protected, antiseptic and boring neighborhood. A vain and pretty girl creates a circle of plain looking friends to make her all the more attractive because of the contrast provided by the homeliness of the rest of the gang. A young boy contemplates a religious vocation because he was in the company of priests in school who became his role models or his anxiety about his harbored homosexuality finds escape and protection from social rejection.

Characters will always be complex. But they do conform to certain parameters although some would have a narrower range than others. Behavioral aberrations have been identified by psychologists and while volumes have been written about them, they represent only a small segment of society and may be considered as outliers straying from the normal trends. In the normality of things they are not supposed to happen.

Character is such an important component in literature and its development in fiction demands craft. A very demanding one because it only allows one to work within the parameters of validated scientific cases in psychology. Consistency of behavior, manners of speaking, value priorities, lifestyle preferences, physical and mental quirks are required to make a character believable and relatable to the reader.

Sometimes stories are interesting because they do not conform to convention. It is definitely a challenge to the ingenuity of the writer to create pivotal and fascinating individuals in his story who in present knowledge do not exist in real life. An excursion from these necessarily brings us to fantasy writing and science fiction. They become special denizens that reside only in the artist’s realm of imagination and this could challenge credibility. The reader is confronted by the plausibility of the character created. It may end in the complete distraction of the reader leading to his losing interest or, happily, the reader may suspend disbelief and enjoy the fiction.

Political Surveys - How Reliable Are They?

“I gather, young man, that you wish to be a Member of Parliament. The first lesson that you must learn is, when I call for statistics about the rate of infant mortality, what I want is proof that fewer babies died when I was Prime Minister than when anyone else was Prime Minister. That is a political statistic.” (Winston Spencer Churchill)

The use of research whether applied to marketing or scientific endeavors that better the human condition is a vital and noble occupation. Advancements in most of the things that people now enjoy have been, in one way or the other, helped out by research. It is a very powerful tool in the pursuit of new knowledge and the improvement of existing wisdom.

Like most effective scientific methods with wide practical utility, research is easily subjected to misuse though, sometimes, unwittingly by one or two of the parties involved in the research.

My own personal view is that it becomes suspect when used in politics, especially in the local context, where the motive of the fact finding is often ill intended

Is it research when the intention is to corroborate a preconception that puts in a good light the advocate? Is it research if all that it wanted was to bring out a set of results which would be beneficial to specific interest groups? Is it research if the goal was to discredit and besmirch personalities and institutions? Is it research if it falsely tries to create impressions of irreversible trends to sway constituent preferences? Is it research if it is used to help in the deception and in the cover up the ugly truth of personalities and institutions?

Of course there are legitimate political researches. You can include those researches whose results have been used to improve strategies whether logistical and or image related (although a debatable ethical area). Other legitimate uses of research are exit poll surveys (if done properly) who serve a beneficial purpose in that it establishes results in the soonest possible time so that manipulations may be preempted and the early settlement of the outcomes of the election eases the tension and allays the fears of the voting public. Political research is useful to political scientists in the study of electoral choices of different groups and the underlying reasons for their preferences. Sociologists are able to trace the evolution of social issues by studying their shifts. And for the citizen, it allows his voice to be heard and it gives him an idea of how he differs with other individuals and against sectoral aggrupations other than his own.

Good research, bad research. It all depends on the motives of those commissioning the research and the willingness of the researcher to go along with them. There is also the media who may abet the ill intentions of the research by completing the disgraceful cycle when they make the results public.

There is no arguing the right of the research to be published as the constitution guarantees press freedom and freedom of speech, but as in any of the freedoms, it carries with it the responsibility of publicizing only those that are not inimical to the public interest. The harm of malicious research cannot be underestimated as it has the power to sway people’s opinions and create strong emotions that could be injurious to a person or to a state.

Research is too complicated to be fully appreciated by laymen or even from those a rung higher. Statistics has the unfortunate association to lies. Great thinkers and statesmen have remarked about their discomfort with statistics because it has been often used by their detractors and by themselves to make vague the issues that are indefensible in plain terms.

The obvious solution to the problems of political polling is to educate the masses about research so that they may understand the full extent of the information as well as the limitations of the data being shown. They should be able to understand the limits of the inference that can be made of the data and to know the difference between data that may be confidently considered as reliable against those that show a tendency towards an outcome but cannot be relied on. This, of course, presupposes that the research is truly objective and that the methodology is the most appropriate to arrive at the research objectives and that it is free from bias in the design, the sampling, wordings of the questions, the order of questions, the fieldwork’s operations and personnel. The approach to the analyses of the data should ensure that it is exhaustive and no omissions or commissions in the analysis should favor a particular result. It should also make sure that the statistical tests and the advanced statistical methods, when employed, are the appropriate ones.

The education of the electorate is a good thing but it may take a long time in progressing. I would favor the creation of a group made up of professional researchers, political scientists and those in media responsible for the publication of the results of surveys who would scrutinize all research projects that are to be commissioned and those non-commissioned but subscriber supported surveys(syndicated researches) before they are allowd to go on field. This is not censorship of the content of the survey. It endeavors to make the surveys fair to affected parties and personalities by ensuring that it has undergone a rigorous check that will result in findings that are with integrity.

Quackery and Hucksterism

“What is the difference between unethical and ethical advertising? Unethical advertising uses falsehoods to deceive the public; ethical advertising uses truth to deceive the public.” ~Vilhjalmur Stefansson, 1964


There has been a preponderance of products claiming to aid vital organs from harm caused by lifestyles that are characterized by excessive indulgence in eating, bohemian living and other unsafe and immoderate diversions. So now we have products that address renal problems, cardiac diseases, diabetic ailments, optical deficiencies and a few more dubious cures that are probably in the drawing boards or pending applications to the BFAD by wellness (pharmaceutical?) companies and advertising agencies. I would think that there would be multinational pharmaceutical companies who would be more responsible and circumspect in this regard. I could only surmise that their parent companies abroad would not allow products with spurious claims be identified with their company, also, the legislation in the more advanced countries would be more stringent on products of this nature. The products that are in the market offer no proof at all to back up their claims. A nebulous caution said and flashed in a millisecond; “No approved therapeutic claim” seems to be the only absolution needed to free them from any blame arising from the products’ non-function, the misperception that it is all they need to cure their illnesses and the possible dire effects arising from this belief.
The frequencies of the advertisements by which these products are now aired are just a little less intense than those applied in detergents and shampoos advertising. With this kind of incessant repetitions I would presume that the claimed and speculated medicinal efficacy of these products have been drummed in effectively in the audiences’ minds. They are now happy in the belief that they can indulge just a bit more on things that are high cholesterol, carcinogen suspect, high sodium, and the overly sweet. Worst, they may even think that these products would be sufficient to substitute for the physician prescribed expensive maintenance medicines. While some of them may not be as blatant as to promise overtly a cure for sickness, they create through masterful advertising, the perception that they are truly efficacious. I think we should be on guard about perceptions because perceptions are most often mistaken for truths. By all appearances the ads, in spirit, are designed to make the consumer believe that the products being touted are truly effective despite the hurried caution that it is unproved.
Note that at the end of these advertisements a phrase is flashed in a split second saying “No approved therapeutic claims”. Does it mean that whatever is claimed or what has been the intended perception of the advertisement did not pass the scrutiny of the vettors and is meant to be a caveat to prospective buyers?
I do not understand why there is a need for such a caution. If there is a need to caution the consumers about certain products why allow them to be marketed at all. Sin products like cigarettes and alcoholic beverages are more responsible because they do not hide the fact that their products are harmful and that the consumers should consume them moderately, as in the case of alcoholic drinks and an outright admission to their being hazardous to health, as in the case of cigarettes. Sin products are more truthful than the products bearing “no approved therapeutic claim” blurb.
It seems that the early marketers of these easy cures tested the waters and when they were not rebuffed by the authorized guardians of consumer rights they became emboldened to invest on media intensive campaigns. Many products of the same ilk and bearing the same caution followed soon after.
We now have what I would call snake oil cures for ailments for every known ailment. Our poor consumers are predisposed to believe these dubious panaceas because of the prohibitive cost of conventional medicines. The penurious state of most of our consumers makes them easy prey to these unscrupulous merchants.
Shouldn’t the Food and Drug Administration and/or the Ad Board (self regulatory body of the ad industry screening advertisements prior to airing) have disallowed the airing of advertisements of products with unsubstantiated claims in an area that is potentially harmful to people? All they did to protect consumers was to put an intentionally indistinguishable blurb at the end of the ads saying “no approved therapeutic value”. I think consumers deserve more serious protection than that.
But then, who is to complain? The wheels of industry turn exceedingly well; the companies’ get their sales, media and ad agencies get their revenues from services rendered, government get higher tax yields. Happy days! More than usual, it’s only us, the consumers who get the shorter end of the stick.

Career Girl

Concha Heredia was a product of the Aloysius Gonzaga University, a prestigious school run by the Jesuit fathers. Excelling in her scholastics as well as in extracurricular activities she was held in high esteem by the faculty and her fellow students. As a result of her leadership in scholastic work, as well as in-school activities in the various campus guilds and clubs, she graduated magna cum laude in the class of ’76 with a degree of Bachelor of Arts in Sociology.

A multinational company was quick to recruit her and coursed out a management development program which would culminate in a management position either in Marketing or Human Resources. The final assignment would depend on how she develops during training. But at the end of the program it was made clear that it would very much her choice. Her counselor would just be there to advise, although, the counselor being with personnel tried to influence her to joining HRD.She chose to go to marketing. Marketing did seem more fast track to her than going into HRD which was in the services area of the company. She really proved her worth and a year after her brand assignment she was given a brand group to manage. Under her in the group were men who were about two to four years older than she.On her initial year in marketing she was wooed by several guys in marketing. Later on one of the brand managers became her boyfriend. As a result of her promotion, Ado Reyes, the boyfriend, was a management level below her. At first they were not disturbed by this difference in rank because he was in a different product group.

Concha was a beautiful girl who matured into a confident lady executive. Ado knew that even if Concha was already his girlfriend there were still a lot of ardent suitors not only from the outside but also from within the company. A mounting insecurity was welling up in Ado and he acted quickly to stem any threat to their relationship.On Ado’s insistence they decided to marry. It was company policy that husband and wife cannot be together in the same department so it was agreed that Ado had to get out of the company since Concha’s career in the company seemed to be on the take off.Ado went to another company which was also a multinational but smaller and less prestigious than his former company. Ado’s career progressed in the new company but Concha, whose career rose quickly, clearly outpaced him not only in management stature but also in pay and in a bigger company at that.

“Ado, I wish you could join me in tonight’s cocktails at the Mandarin. A lot of your former colleagues will be there. The brand guys have been asking about you, Jeff in particular, he’s been promoted recently to Marketing Manager of the Paper Products group, you know and the cocktails are in his honor.”

Concha was talking with a coffee pot in one hand and the newspaper in the other offering both to Ado who seemed to still have cobwebs on his face.

“Want a refill? There’s still a cupful. You can have it…I’m on my third already.”

“Just put it down on the table, my cup is still about a half full…”

Ado sounded a bit annoyed by Concha’s unexpected solicitousness.

“So, finally the pompous pain has gotten what he has long aspired for. What a stunning victory for the toadies of this world.”

“Don’t be so mean, Ado, he thought a world about you. Wasn’t he one of your best friends in school? Besides there are others who have missed you and they have been nagging me to take you along to tonight’s cocktails.”

“A regular snake in the grass…whatever respect I had for him has gone down the drain a long time ago.”

Ado Reyes and Jeff Uson were buddies from high school to college. Both have been in the honor’s section since second year high through to college. There was good natured competition between them as they tried to outdo one another in leadership and studies. Ado was on the varsity basketball training team and the ROTC Corps Commander on their last year in school while Jeff headed the debating team and was the grand archon of the honors society. Jeff graduated at the top of the class while Ado came fourth.

During a job fair both of them were invited by a big multinational company to attend their company introduction, a two day affair which talked about the company’s vision, the extent of their business, and the various posts that a recruit may look forward to once taken in. Their applications for the management training program were accepted and both happily entered the concern.

“I don’t understand you…weren’t you the one I married? Don’t take it against him if he tried his darndest. It was flattering the way both of you tried to win me but I’m disappointed and sad that it ruined the beautiful friendship you both had.”

“It was a friendship not worth saving. I’m glad that my eyes were opened early enough to recognize his true ilk.”Concha looked at him in askance,

“You didn’t look so infuriated at him on our first year of marriage…why now?Ado just shook his head and didn’t seem to have a ready answer to Concha’s question.

“…there were things he did that I could not mention, besides I was so happy having married you then that it simply obscured all the animosity I had for him at that time.”

“C’mon Ado, what about the things you did to him then…all’s fair in love and war, you used to say.”

“Do I have to listen to you? Why don’t you take my side for once…seems like poor Jeff isn’t so pitiable now that he has made it to Marketing Manager.”

“Jeff was never the pitiable one, he really would have made it in due time.”

“What does that make of me then? I could have gotten that position if only I stayed…”

Concha cut short Ado’s assertion, “Now you’re sorry you married me, you’re sorry you had to leave the company, you’re sorry we decided that I was to stay behind instead of you. My god! Aren’t we finished with this yet? When will we ever have a closure on this one? I am getting confused…it seems to me that you are angry at us rather than Jeff.”

Ado slammed the newspaper on the table and hitting the side of the cup’s saucer sent it flying onto the tiled floor and with a tinny crash shattered into tiny white shards. He didn’t really mean to be violent about it but the seeming fury of the act managed to have held him back into making a verbal counter assault. Concha just stood there petrified. She was unaccustomed to outbursts like these neither in her family nor in her a little over two years of married life. Ado stood up and made for the door.

“I will call you from the office later,” he said as he closed the door guardedly, fearing another unintended show of hostility.

She stayed her gaze upon the strewn white shards before putting both hands on her face to stifle a sob. Her temple throbbed and her eyes welled with tears that have now flowed profusely. This was the first time they had a quarrel that was left unresolved…left hanging with one of them turning away.Somehow she had a presentiment that something like this was soon to happen. It was Ado’s idea for him to leave the company in deference to her career which was, as a prospect, a lot better than his. Even at that time she could sense that Ado wasn’t exactly ecstatic about sacrificing his career for hers even if it was the sensible thing to do. However, she thought that Ado was mature enough, strong enough to accept her success and not be threatened by it. But now Ado’s behavior seemed to have taken a different turn. The new thing that surfaced into the state of things was quite obvious…he was jealous of Jeff Uson.

In her mind she knew that there could have been probable cause for this. It may have been in her behavior, manner of talking about her job, colleagues, and the frequent business trips and perhaps during an unguarded moment, talked about Jeff admiringly. These might have signaled something was amiss.It has been more than once that she and Jeff had traveled together to regional conferences as well as to trips to New York for consultations in the head office. There was more than one occasion when she had to rebuff Jeff’s advances. She just dismissed them as a natural tendency of the boys in the yuppie crowd…always testing the waters, so to speak. Also she was used to this kind of workplace demeanor as a kind of competing that the guys employ on her, to put her in place…chauvinist games little boys play.

During off hours in these trips they went to museums, the theater and disco dancing and a few drinks in bars. She never told Ado about these since she was confident that she can handle herself well in these circumstances and that she was just being companionable…going beyond that was never in her mind, besides it would only cause unnecessary resentment. Jeff had been gentlemanly enough in all these and had never forced his intentions on her. She was comfortable with that rationalization and never gave it a thought until now that she felt compelled to think about it much more.

Of course she turned down Jeff when he made those silly moves, but there were times, now she remembered, that she wished that she should have been less vehement in her rebuke. Nevertheless, whatever rejections she made to Jeff’s attempts lacked finality…no ultimatum, nor threat. She still loved Ado but the recognition of a problem crept slowly and innocuously on her until it accelerated disaster bound with all the events coming to a head like two renegade freight trains on a collision course.

It was nearly quitting time when Concha realized that she hadn't heard from Ado. She just got back from the ad agency to give a brief on a new product development project and suddenly remembered that she owed her chairman notes for his quarterly report to the home office. Melissa, her secretary informed her that the chairman called an hour earlier but would not leave a message and also that Ado had not called. The draft notes were on the top drawer of her desk. After scanning it she gave it to Melissa to type a copy.

She called the chairman and told him that the report will be with him shortly.

Concha left hurriedly even before Melissa could finish typing the notes.

“Just send it right away to Mr. Bartlett...have to rush home.”

Luckily for her the traffic was unusually light. It took her just twenty minutes to get to the gates of the subdivision, a quarter of an hour earlier than the usual.

She expected to see Ado's car in the driveway. Not finding it there she could not suffuse a mild oath and absentmindedly screeched to a halt nearly hitting the wall at the end of the driveway.

With her shower cap on she turned on the shower knobs at full strength and the torrential crash of cold water hit her breasts forcefully. It hurt a bit but the cold splash gave her relief from the tautened sinews from a hard day at the office and the resentment over Ado's no call and no show.

After some hurried primping she slid into a red pencil cut dress. She bought this dress about six months ago but has never worn it because Ado didn't seem to approve of the color and that it was a bit revealing because the décolletage was plunged just a bit more for comfort. Despite the little care she took on putting on her makeup she came out stunningly beautiful. The imperfect eyebrow lines, the smudgy redness of her cheeks gave her the aura of innocence of an ingénue.

“The hell do I care if he disapproves...shouldn't he be here to stop me?” she muttered to herself.

Arriving by herself at the front of the Mandarin an alert and over solicitous parking attendant was quick to open the car door for her while obviously ogling her spread legs as she slid out of the bucket seat.. It was the first time she had gone to a social event unescorted. There never was a dearth of eager young beaus to accompany her then, but now, there was always Ado. How strange the feeling, she thought, as she glided into the foyer trying hard not to mind the stares, the turning of heads of the men who looked admiringly, others longingly. Rather than being embarrassed she felt at that moment an unexplainable elation and she acted with a haughtiness of sorts. She returned their ogles with an almost stare down look yet with a smile that could have signaled a come on.

At the reception line she could see Jim Bartlett greeting the guests as they arrived at the entrance of the ballroom. Beside him was Mrs. Bartlett and Jeff Uson, the honoree of the occasion and in a row were the company directors and wives flashing welcoming smiles at the guests streaming through.

“Good evening sir, ma'am.” as she made the obligatory buss on their cheeks.

“How are you my dear?”

“I'm fine ma'am”.

After complimenting Mrs. Bartlett on her gown she turned back to Mr. Bartlett.

“I hope Melissa was able to give you my draft…a bit late because I was taken up with the agency guys with the new ad campaign for the restage of Glee.

“Got your write-up late this afternoon and I must say an excellent one, as always.”

“Thank you, sir” she said a bit embarrassed about the generosity of the praise.

“Congratulations, Jeff”. She offered her hand and gave him a quick buss on the cheeks.

“Where's my good friend Ado? I'd really wish him to be around to share this moment”.

Nothing prepared her to answer a cursory question like that. Ado was always with her at times like these, besides she was so engrossed by the resentment towards Ado's not calling her up and his inconstancy that it didn't occur to her that people would ask.

“Aah...aah Ado has been kept in the office, but...but he will follow as soon as he frees himself from whatever it was he was doing”. She was angry at herself for having to lie like that.

Without even waiting for a reply from Jeff she went on to greet the smiling directors and their wives at the second set of the reception line.

She then proceeded to the guests and officemates who grouped themselves according to internal office alliances and then some according to school groupings. It always happens that sometime later there will be regroups surrounding individuals with reputations of power, but that would be later once the bigwigs are through with their chores at the reception line. Each director will have his own power circle with his underlings cozying up to him.

Concha joined the marketing guys. It was easy to locate them as they invariably cluster around the nearest bar. She joined them for awhile, engaging in inane chit-chats, comic posturing, bad jokes all the while displaying well cultivated speech and diction worthy of the schools they come from.

Concha has an acute social savvy and knew her cocktail strategies well. She had a roadmap all planned out for the rest of the evening.

She was not going to confine herself to the marketing bunch and fritter away the evening exchanging hot air and bombast. She had always believed that company cocktails provide opportunities widen her influence in the company by creating good relationships with all the functionaries in the concern. As a Marketing Manager she needed the cooperation of the technical and the commercial people to be effective in her job. After moving away from the marketing bunch she joined the divisional groupings who were more than glad to have a pretty lady in their midst rather than hear more shop talk about scientific breakthroughs in soap making, the ultimate deodorant, washable paper products and, in another, about econometrics, interest rates, forex unpredictability and the rise and fall of the company's share price. Her last cluster would be the group where the chairman himself holds court towards the close of the cocktails.

Milling around Mr. Bartlett were the company directors and important overseas guests. It would be difficult to crash this exclusive coterie by anyone who would be less than they. There were few interlopers. Those brave enough to get into the circle did not stay long. They could not stand the cold shoulders, the icy stares and the snide remarks at the intrusion.

The chairman's group settled near the center of the buffet table where a tacky ice sculpture of an over-sized heart with a floral flourish at the crown, all rendered in clear ice.

Sliding gracefully into the group she playfully said “Sir, you have deprived the party of its gaiety by hording all the exciting men into this congregation.”

“Why Concha, thanks for coming to the rescue. The conversation here is beginning to deteriorate into an exchange of medical woes and the boasting of surgical scars.” Jim Bartlett really sounded relieved with her intrusion.

“Come join us, nothing like a smart and pretty lady to liven the talk. Step lively gents we don't want to give Concha here the impression that we are old farts and fogies” he teasingly cajoled the directors.

“Of course I didn't mean you, Jeff. You would be of Concha’s age” he added.

Jeff Uson, being the honoree had the right to be into this exclusive convocation. He didn't know how to react to what the chairman just said. He looked at Concha who herself could not offer any rejoinder.

The margaritas kept coming and she found herself unable to refuse each time the waiter walked with a trayful.

There was a lively exchange of banter from all around. This was mixed with business talk, politics and even some snippets from showbiz gossip which to everybody's amusement was a contribution by the chairman himself.

It was nearly ten in the evening and as printed in the invitation card it is “carriages at ten” which in British etiquette meant the party ends at ten o'clock. As is customary, a last round of drinks were served and guests linger for about ten to fifteen minutes then leave to complete the exodus.

“Is Ado coming at all? I am afraid everybody would have left in a few more minutes.” Jeff asked.

“Of course he will, why wouldn't he?” she resented the question as she took a quick glance at the rest of the group then cast a sharp look at Jeff. The directors were busy bidding goodbyes and the question was completely unheard or ignored. She was relieved that she didn't have to respond to it to the group.

With the chairman bidding goodbye, the group dispersed leaving Concha and Jeff by the half melted ice sculpture dripping away. Jeff then ushered her to a nearby table for them to rest their weary legs after long hours being on their feet. Concha, with uncharacteristic lack of poise slumped in the chair with legs set apart visibly spent and the effects of the inordinate number of glasses of margaritas taking its toll.

“I didn't mean anything by that question” Jeff said “I really wanted to see him”

“For what...to gloat?”

“Hey, that's not fair, despite our rivalries in the past I still consider him as one of the best buddies I ever had. We could have continued to be the best of friends if it were not for you.”

“We have been through this conversation before; I do not wish to talk about it.”

“Okay, let me keep you company until he arrives. I cannot leave you by yourself at this late hour.”

“You know you don't have to”; I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“But I want to,” Jeff said firmly.

Concha was never this testy before. Somehow, Jeff knew that something was amiss. He has known her well enough to sense that something was bothering her. Her eyes turning evasive, her hand gestures becoming jerky and the tone of voice which was usually warm and friendly has turned acerbic and terse. He thought that Ado might not be coming at all. He knew Ado well enough to be certain that he could not allow Concha to go to parties alone or even keep her waiting past cocktail hours.

Ado was not coming and this person beside her seemed determined to stay till kingdom come, she thought. Despite her strength of character she could not fight off the emotion welling up from her chest besides the alcohol had weakened her effort to repress the tears which have been on the verge of spilling out even much earlier.

Jeff looked at the slumped figure on the chair. It had no resemblance to the Concha that he knew or that most knew. There she was hair slightly mussed, lipstick and rouge smudged and tears streaming down her cheeks with traces of mascara with it and breasts heaving convulsively with sobs. Never had he seen her looking this vulnerable. She didn’t look pathetic at all. In fact her vulnerability had a certain attraction to it which evoked thoughts that he tried to push away from his mind. They were persistent thoughts that could not be ignored.

Concha woke up with a terrible headache. She was in bed at home. The late morning shaft of light streaming from the east window was oppressive and she shielded her eyes with her left arm and as she turned to the other side of the bed her other arm brushed the sleeping figure of Ado. She looked at the inert body by her side.

Despite the throbbing pain that drummed on her temple she was completely sober now. Flashes of last night’s episodes blinked intermittently in front of her like blurry screen receptions. She remembered clearly Jeff’s assisting her into his car, garage doors closing from the top down, the ornately designed bed, he tacky heart shaped pillows and the blurred figure of Jeff, the brusque manner she was undressed and the frenetic movements of a heavy mass on top of her. Then moving out of the motel as fast they went in Jeff drove her home. There was no conversation that ensued between them on the way home. She took a hurried shower which somehow cleared the stupor, and then she eased into her night clothes and fell into a deep a deep slumber.

He must have come home very late, she thought.

She stood up from the bed and went to the wash basin. The cold splash on her face was refreshing. She smoothed her hair with a brush and from the mirror she saw the shirt that Ado carelessly cast off from the night before. She picked it up from the hamper and noticed that it had lipstick marks all over the front part; the top button was missing and the button hole torn. She placed it back on the hamper taking care to bury it under other dirty clothing.

She didn’t seem to be so pressured to have an explanation for her car being left at the basement of the Mandarin Hotel. She will think of one later.

She looked at the face in the mirror and saw how pretty she was.

Souls In Waiting

The nether world looms big in our consciousness

Yet it remains to be unexplored and unproved

We regard it with baseless dread and terror

Very much a place revealed only in reverie

Dark valleys and abysmal chasms though imagined

Seem vivid and real in location, and all too palpably felt

A place where the recent dead reside as in collocation

It has to be there even it does not please us to think

We cannot countenance legions of the dead displaced

It is a must that we invent one where there is none

Too many restless souls loose on earth searching for

A comforting lodge to rest before the final reckoning

Death At Sea

The sandy delta, as always, was overrun by urchins

Even before the water set in to wash out their foot prints

It is the children across the beach who laid claim to it first

Ahead of the predictable and often tardy tide

But now with the water ankle deep and rising

The little ones with perked up ears caught sounds

Threatening them to cross the bar now or else

Words screeched at a frequency even clogged ears hear

It was a noisy and raging night at sea

The roar of angered waves dominated the din

And the blistering slash of briny water stung mercilessly

At hands, arms, a thumping chest and reddened cheeks

He did not hear the chanted prayers from a seaside hut

Nor the muffled cries of wife and children huddled

In his mind he heard a remembered warning at shore

Wife beseeching for him not to sail an ominous sea

It was as if he was reborn upon waking from a reverie

He floated in the stillness of a pacified but listless stream

Sea gulls flew overhead shrieking for edible flotsam

Now he was one with derelicts cast out by an enraged storm

A cruel sun shone mercilessly with searing ferocity

He could hear faint sounds carried by the easterly

Was it children’s laughter or a mournful dirge?

He doubled up into a fetal crouch to get back into his dream

The cold water slapping his sides made him aware of his demise

Scarecrow

The scarecrow with fluttering hands

Thought he scared away the blackbirds

Cawing in feigned terror, they dart about mockingly

The tattered suit, the dotted grin

Remained as timeless as the stacks of grain

From the paddies marking time by shadows

He only moves by wind, the only one

Trusted by heaven to be its witness

As the silent monitor of the passing of time

And all the human bumblings and errors

Lost to the pecking of ravens and rice birds

Ah, forlorn monument in the paddies

Who placed you there is the real fool

You cannot even scare away the tiny mice

Frolicking about your ragged hem.

Are you the stalwart sentinel designate

Who has concern over all?

Leave Me, Muse

Hey Muse, Get off my back!
Leave me alone now that I have reached my door
I have escaped your relentless pursuit abroad
Pestering me with your endless lays and lies
In the solitude of unfamiliar towns and climes


Why could I not lose you in winding streets?
Not outrun you in wide avenues in traffic?
You are a persistent hound with a flawless nose
Seeking me out in thick heaths and endless marshes
Always at arm’s length away from your clutch


Must you talk to me of love and heroic deeds?
Inspire me with quests I know I could not attain?
Oh, what a wretch am I to even dare think
Of glories and fame unattained by anyone mortal
Leave me be Muse, sing your song to someone else

Foreboding

I flaunted faded glories in the still air

Like the banderitas of last year’s fiesta

The leaves of the big acacia tree by the wayside

Also waited for a cue from passing breezes

There is no slamming of front doors

And window shutters on the second floor

Are slightly ajar as if the slats had eyes

Peering expectantly at a desolate street

But the wind hung like heavy drapes

Despite the whistling of an urchin

The dust remains settled on the ground

Only the shimmer of the heat is seen

Even mangy dogs did not patrol

The narrow lanes of the interior commune

Cats did not move from window perches

A girl stares blankly at the stillness of life

Love Letters In the Sand

Ah, the serenity of daybreak at the strand

With you and a scatter of little birds at hand

Early morning sea breeze's amiable touch

Still without the harsh sting of a late day sun

Caressed and livened your reddened cheeks

I dared express sweet thoughts with my toes

Etching them on the sparkling morning sand

You rushed to trample on the words with bare feet

Conspiring to erase with the oncoming foam

Racing water rushed with frothy leads

Taking with it words and foot marks on the sand

As it ebbed back from whence it came

I thought that I would immortalize the nonce

Oh how briefly the moment savored

My love written on inconstant sands

Flew away with the sand pipers

Even before the end of the dawn

Yellow Letter Day

With quivering lips we muttered “there goes our hero”.

Her harp made silent by destined mortal passage

But her song reverberates over the mangrove trees

And on white sandy stretches of countless strands.

The regal crests of this country's mountain heights

Intones in the breeze a requiem of a million bird-songs.

Yellow bells trumpet incessantly a heavy hearted eulogy

For the people's beloved one, for an irreplaceable loss.

But the lady knows no death, her legacy is etched on

Peoples' faces; hopeful and happy, proud and uncowed

Carved on the granite walls of justice made available to all

The spirit of this heroism lives on despite the unkind climes.

But the flame will not be doused by evil men and evil deeds.

For as long as there are the just, the brave and the good

Who will rekindle by a hundred, a thousand...a million fold

The gift bequeathed to the people of these restless islands.

What Will I Wear Tonight?

What gown will I wear tonight? she mused,

As the early scatter of the fading light settled and

Gray banners fluttered in the twilight air

Festooned over an elegant black and white horizon

What fineries will be fitting against a classic motif?

Will she wear a cape dotted by a million sparkles?

Or gems formed by light years from distant blasts

Made more brilliant by the absence of the moon?

Would she dare wear a tiara of a burning disc with

A backdrop of dying light from flickering candles?

A sturdy rack sagged with the weight of arrayed vanities

Each one hopeful of being blessed by the lady's choice.

Her gaze moved from one brilliant creation to another

Oh the quandary she faces though not only this once

But never apologetic for such an embarrassment of riches