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Panahon na Naman

Continuing the journey



More to come as time permits

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Remembering Evelio Javier

Some of our heroes may have been more brilliant or achieved more greatly, but I find it hard to think of any who lived more purely and more single mindedly than Evelio... his commitment to democracy, to social justice and to a life among the poor in our land. Februay 11, 2009 in Panay Island, Philippines is Evelio B. Javier Day. It is the 22nd Anniversary of the assassination of Evelio Javier. It was a stunning and decisive event towards our eventual liberation from Martial Law later that February 1986. Many in our Ateneo community remember meeting Evelio’s body at the airport two days later, and the Mass and the long march from Baclaran to the Ateneo de Manila on Valentine’s Day, February 14, 1986. We had a Mass at sunset in the field beside the Blue Eagle Gym and ended the Mass with the electrifying experience of hearing Fr. Jose A. Cruz, S.J. read for the first time in public the letter of the CBCP on the elections. Evelio B. Javier was born to Everardo Autajay Javier of Hamtic and ...
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The Moonflowers

It's as if the dark, which had before just been context, gave to vulnerability a permission, almost: fleshy saucers of spilled cream, so many parchment fists, unfisting; and now, in pieces, the delicate mask of an indifference offered radically up against what, each time, seems as unthinkable, as unexpected, as when, in the long dream of retraction, that sea that is finally not a sea, but what else to call it, begins again its shifting, and though to every push of the will forward there's something noble—which is to say, something lonely, also—it's too late. Carl Phillips Speak Low Farrar, Straus and Giroux
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Caffeine

Because you do not know me, Francezca, you have every reason to be afraid— afraid because, while you are sleeping, I can be the moon, peeping in from out your window like some lonely lunar voyeur, or some rusty blade or kitchen knife when you feel like ending your life with a quick slash or laceration; because, when you wake up, I can be the toothbrush dangling silently in your bathroom, or the forlorn cotton bud preparing to rid your ears of dust and excessive earwax. This is no time to relax, Francezca— I can be anywhere anytime, anyone and anything you cannot even begin to imagine: the whipped cream on your waffle, the mothballs in your closet, the card tag of your tea bag, the jaundiced shade of moonlight, the moon-cake you hate, the steady staccato of rain, the flush’s fecal fouette, the hair inside your nose, your lip, your mole, black hair and brown irises, white teeth and red gums, your scalp, your skin, even your toenails. What is scary, Francezca, is the fact that you don’t e...
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