Well, behind this catchy articles I made up are those wonderful captives of the camera. If you got spare time, you can visit this 3-day old photoblog and see for yourself why nature should be cherished and how life should be made to the fullest. Thanks!!!
May 5, 2012
Pawikan Sanctuary at Old Poblacion
The Sea-Turtle and the Shark
by Melvin B. Tolson
Strange but true is the story
of the sea-turtle and the shark-
the instinctive drive of the weak to survive
in the oceanic dark.
riven by hunger
from abyss to shoal,
sometimes the shark swallows
the sea-turtle whole.
The sly reptilian marine
into the shell
of his undersea craft,
his leathery head and the rapacious claws
that can rip
a rhinoceros’ hide
a crocodile to fare-thee-well;
inside the shark,
the sea-turtle begins the churning seesaws
of his descent into pelagic hell;
then . . . then,
with ravenous jaws
that can cut sheet steel scrap,
the sea-turtle gnaws
. . . and gnaws . . . and gnaws . . .
his way in a way that appalls-
his way to freedom,
beyond the vomiting dark,
beyond the stomach walls
of the shark.
Shakespeare’s tragedies can’t surpass to the fact I had collected. Even if you integrate it with the literary movement called naturalism (often used by John Steinbeck’s tales), there is no story as sad as this. Pawikan’s (sea turtle) life story has been the most tragic story I’ve known, bar none.
A sea turtle can lay almost a hundred eggs. But the downside of it is only one child can survive. Others would get sick, captured, killed, and traded. Some would be piteous sufferers of global warming and water pollution.
The cubic container is merely their temporary house. We have to let them enter into the sea, their real world, where there is nobody who’s in charge in feeding them with tiny fishes. They have to look for their food, swim on their own, protect themselves from predators and nemesis, and survive. The sea is a harsh environment filled with threats, and natural enemies, exacerbated with the presence of evils in human form. I have to talk to them and say the truth. But it would just break their hearts into smithereens. Poor pawikans… They are fated to face adversaries. I acknowledge the efforts of BFAR for attempting to put light to the lives of pawikans, but does it have the teeth to eradicate such ignominious acts of humans?
I chose the biggest pawikan to assume that it is strong enough to fight against rough seasons. I hoped that it reached the age of responsibility, so it can take care of itself. I could have let him bring pepper spray, or stun gun. Such silly thoughts. I must stop treating them like humans.
I accompanied him to the shore where it would first touch the ground that will eventually be its battlefield. He swiftly flapped his legs, motioning me, “Let me go.” Oh boy, if you only knew what your future holds.
I freed him. He spread his legs, and felt the gentle caress of the sea. The turtle effortlessly moved away from us, with the help of the waves, taking him to the place where it belongs.
Sarangani Bay Fest is within reach! Do not hesitate to be one of the lucky tourists who shall encounter the Philippines’ renowned beach party. The event will be held at the beaches of Gumasa, on May 18-19, 2012. See you!
Photo courtesy: Alhsmar Sayago
May 4-6, 2012
I grabbed my lightweight bag, left my home, and I don’t know what I’ll be doing in Maitum, Sarangani.
That was certainly lightweight (extra shirt, cell phone, charger, toothbrush, etc.) for I didn’t expect the trip to be one of the unforgettable summers I’ve had. A week has passed, and I want to go back there. I must have left my heart there.
Before I spoil the moment and describe how idyllic and too nice to be real the place is, let me first start it with HOW WE GET TO CONQUER MAITUM. And so we arrived at the Ablog terminal past four, and it’s too late to hail a bus. The team is predominantly composed of ladies, so what do you expect? Too sloooooow that we fear we might postpone the escapade. Luckily, my friend Ana has this charm to lure her relative who is a driver. So worry not, the story will develop.
It took us a couple of hours until we arrive, and in between the road trip, we became different creatures. At the back are sleepyheads, on my side is a window that paves way to dim but scenic sights of Sarangani, at the front are girls whose loud mouth transforms into a silent one, and on my other side is a guy whose playlist is lame that it made us argue who is a better singer: Sarah G. or Angeline Quinto (rofl)?
People (count me in) often has misconception about Maitum. The name itself contradicts the bright smiles, radiant panoramas, and inviting façade… But if I’m in the authority to change its name, I wouldn’t, for the sake of its historical background. Maybe it wants to portray what they call VERBAL IRONY—a statement in which the meaning that a speaker employs is sharply different from the meaning that is ostensibly expressed (thanks, Wikipedia).
And we’re finally at the subject of this post. This is the place where my Kuya’s are very proud of. They would recite lines regarding the tourism sector of Maitum. Those high-sounding speeches seem to beckon us, “Come here.”
We stayed at Old Poblacion. The setting is similar to Gensan’s Brgy. Bula. You know, sandy beach with crispy breeze resonating around the place. My friends caught a small sea creature (I might say “shore creature” for I suppose they don’t live underwater). It is an entity in a shell with the size as small as the fingernail in my pinky. I took care of it, and named him Sebastian, but I lost it somewhere. The night is over, and I took a slumber inside the tent at the seashore. Imagine how relaxing it is and how desirable to sleep in it.
The people chanting at the sea were my alarm clock. SUDDENLY, MY SATURDAY IS GOLDEN. It let me experience the things I haven’t experienced yet. We rode in a pump boat, but I was thinking, can we have breakfast before expediting in the solemn water. Unbeknownst to me, they brought the meal with them, and you know what happens next. I won’t be elaborating this event for it deserves a single, in-depth post.
We landed safely, and took a rest. Shortly, our feet took us to mangrove planting. I got my feet muddy and wounded as I stepped on a pointed root-like entity. Again, I won’t be elaborating this event for it deserves a single, in-depth post. We cleaned our filthy hands and feet and took a glance at baby pawikans innocently swimming inside a container. They don’t know they are looked upon. Again, I won’t be elaborating this event for it deserves a single, in-depth post. I was very overwhelmed by the surprises along my trip, that I thought, I-ba-blog ko to.
We started the morning ecstatic; there ain’t any reason for us to end the day ecstatically. We rode on a tricycle, and after the subsequent rocky, dusty, and hostile paths, we arrived at Kuya Making’s house. We went there to eat lunch, and traverse the town. Food? Check (in fact there are evidences that he slaughtered a chicken). Cable TV? Check. Shenanigan chit-chats that turned out to be funny? Check.
After a rest from exhausting activities of the day, we woke up just to be informed that we will be toured by our Kuya. We walked down, and he pointed certain landmarks. Some of the places I can’t forget are: Corazon, ang Unang Pawnshop, Octagon Market (don’t ask why it is called per se), Ray’s Mart, where you can find everything in one roof, the ancient acacia, and so on.
We stopped at their municipality hall. I was amazed by the glass walls, and I wonder, how would they react if I throw a stone at it? But I would never do that; they’re too kind to deserve it. Their hall is stuffed with numerous photo galleries, museum, and many others that it us beyond municipality hall. Another thing that makes the tour bizarre is when we were treated like foreigners (take it literally); we had pictures of the officials.
Frankly, it seems like we stayed there for a week have we been taken to other places, thanks to the tricycle of kuya Making.
The sun got tired of putting shade on us so when night came, we are prepping for Miss Maitum. We would sit in VIP seats. We had to freshen up, but wait. Where are we going to eat? Luckily, it seems Maitumians know each other, so we walked to Malong’s resto. Malong’s parents were still preparing for our dinner, so to kill the time, we played Word Factory. The standing is 3-1 (we were defeated), but that is not the issue. With tired neurons, we finally took our sumptuous BBQ, but bad news, Miss Maitum is starting in a few minutes. We ate swiftly, as if an atomic bomb will explode in a few seconds. That was a LOL moment. Blame it on the Word Factory which literally killed our time.
At the moment I am pressing the keyboards to write this experience, my playlist is constantly airing slow songs that make me sigh. I remembered the faces of the people I met, and I guarantee that if you’re in Maitum, you will gain friends. Choose an age gap, and they’ll give you peers you can rely on. Jeez. Should’ve stayed there longer.
This travel had taught me many lessons. Appreciate the wonders of nature. Spend time with friends. Smile to everyone. Learn to dive. Bring at least 3 shirts.
Another event to look forward to is Sarangani Bay Festival, which will hit the white sand beaches of Gumasa on May 18 and 19. Join their facebook account here and don’t forget to hit the LIKE button. Save the date!
the breathtaking photographs were taken by Alhsmar Sayago. (a round of applause)
Will I Write about Rejection?
Will I write about rejection?
The thought of being doomed,
The dark alleys, failed resurrection,
The consequences when you assume?
Will I cry out,
Scream the loudest!
Until I forget how to shout,
Since I’m weary to protest?
Will I encounter
The dead skeletons,
Which I hide somewhere,
Buried for so long?
Will I write again?
But I wished not to;
I threw the thought away
For it will be of no use, I knew.
Then I write again,
Because I have to,
Exhume the pain
Inside the shoe.
And here I am.
Deprived by light,
Given only a dimmed lamp,
But still I write.
But still I write
Till the papers run out,
Till the pen is tired,
And the rhymes aren’t found.
… Will I write about rejection?
Or have I just done?
So will I be proud or dwell in lamentation,
And let these flames surround?
It says it ALL. This is actually an experiment integrating rhetorical questions in the poem. What do you think about the poem and the style? Is it effective? Peace!
The Crying Girl
Am the ear who hears
The little girl’s cry
Of suffering, with genuine tears.
She, at a young age
Encounters what occurs at adult phase.
The rejection, the inhumane punishments,
Are all common to her, but she chases
Love, emancipation, peace. She cries
Like a lost angel in
The infinitesimal horizon. She lies,
Out of fear, her actual feelings.
The bruises in her arms are small gems
But were kept out of shame. Pity!
Pity her heart perforated and stained,
At a very young age. Mercy,
I am calling out to thou,
To dry her tears
And console the crying girl, the persecuted Jew.
Happiness, Justice. Come near her.
But I fret
Her when she gets
Old. Would she inculcate
The insults? And use it
As a vengeance to the culprit
Who maltreated the girl
With the entire devil’s might?
Unfortunately, I prophesy.
And there she was, crying.
Thanks to those who read and gave their criticisms on The Common Man! I appreciate it. You don’t have idea how indebted I am. Now I am inspired to write more poems and articles (please read my former posts regarding travels).
I wrote this poem with great conviction; this is somehow a true story. It is really hard to watch an angel cry. What do you think of the poem? There is a comment box below, and you can write everything you want. Cheers!
PS, thanks to those who helped! My problem on line breaks is resolved!
This is a poem entitled “The Common Man” by yours truly.
I am no Einstein. I am no Shakespeare. I am no Napoleon Bonaparte. I am an ordinary man. The poem is inspired by this notion.
The Common Man
He does not possess the depth of Greek thinkers,
Nor the illiterate’s ignorance.
If he exists or dies, there’s no difference,
Because he is a common man.
Lucky are the Einsteins for they accept praises;
Luckier are the dumbs, for they’re the talk of the town.
But he who tried hard failed to get noticed,
Because he is a common man.
Yet the common man still flies
In the wind, but can’t chase stars;
Not too low, but certainly not too high,
Because he is a common man.
So he preferred to be a part of the crowd.
He can witness the history. Yes he can!
And he can shout! But no one hears though it’s loud,
Because he is a common man.
And he simply dies without legacy;
The people would gather around his deathbed
While his soul mourns and weeps silently,
Along with other common men.
Actually, I don’t post my poems publicly, but I decided to give it a try. Blogging, I suppose, is a box of pizza.
So what do you think of this poem? Feel free to air your opinions. After all, this is a free world. Cheers!