bayani 2009

We should wear this civilization without being bothered by it, without ignoring it, without being caught by it... Be like a boatman. Although he is carried by the boat, he is also handling the boat. This is how we live in this world. -Shunryu Suzuki, Not Always So

My end-of-the-year reading is M. McCarty's How Philosophy Can Change Your Life: 10 Ideas that Matter Most (2009). These 10 ideas are themes that, according to the philosophy professor, you and I need to grasp if we want to live a truly fulfilling life. They include:

• Simplicity (philosophers discussed: Epicurus and Charlotte Joko Beck)
• Possibility (philosophers discussed: John Stuart Mill and Simone de Beauvoir)
• Joy (philosophers discussed: Shunryu Suzuki and Jane Addams).

2009 for me is a testament to the power of ideas: their power to create new things, to unite people, to transform a society. If philosophy is, as a child tells the author, "upside-down thinking," there were times when indeed it felt like we were going against the tide. But we can look back to this year, with its storms both natural and human-made, and remember with gratitude the forces within us that allowed us to rise above them together. 2009 is a story of kabayanihan or heroism, but above all it is a story of love: love lost, love found, and love regained.

May we choose our public servants wisely and have a peaceful transition of roles in 2010. Stay involved and have a Happy New Year everyone!

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Thanks to Noel Cabangon for the song "Natutong Umibig Muli" from the Christmas album Noel.

Inang

This is my late paternal grandmother Inang with my youngest brother VJ- he was probably 5 or 6 years old at the time Tatay took this photo. Tomorrow, the Veneracions return to Bukid in San Ildefonso, Bulacan where Inang used to preside over Christmas Day celebrations.

For Mom and Tatay, me and my brothers, this was the most special time of the year- more important even than Christmas Eve's Noche Buena. We would practice the mano- or place the back of the hands of our grandparents, uncles, and aunts on our foreheads as a sign of love and respect- and receive gifts of cash (and also wrapped gifts- shirts or toys) from each of our elders. Other children, too, would be brought by neighbors to the farmhouse to "bless" and receive their "pamasko" (gifts).

The kitchen at the back of the house was usually filled with women who helped Inang prepare the feast with ingredients coming straight from the yard. My grandfather Tatang and his fellow farmers gathered in front of the granary to cook lechon, a whole pig skewered with a bamboo pole and roasted until it turned red over charcoal. Tito Lore, a judge, and Tita Lydia usually arrived after lunch bringing candied mango, guava and jackfruit and- my favorite- pastillas de leche (a sweet concoction made from carabao's milk and granulated sugar) from Bulacan Sweets, followed by Tito Doc and Tita Violy who brought more Western fare, like sweet ham and pasta with white mushroom sauce, from Village Inn in Cabanatuan.

Inang was the sun around whom Tatang, their eight children and many grandchildren orbited. After cooking, she would change into her favorite baro't saya: a white, embroidered shirt with a black, panelled skirt sans the panuelo, making her look like Maria Clara. She often offered me a glass of carabao's milk, saying it was the drink she gave me as a mute infant to loosen my tongue and get me to talk. At night before leaving, beneath a parol made of colored Japanese paper or capiz shells, she would watch her grandchildren sing, dance, and play the piano, revelling in our constellation of talents.

When Tatang passed away, followed by Inang, it was as if a star had been plucked from the sky, dispersing the planets and moons around it. We felt the void caused by their passing. Eventually, my uncles and aunts found that, while it felt different, the gravity of their parents' love remained: our extended family has continued to return to Bukid every December 25th.

To all my friends and loved ones near and far, Maligayang Pasko at Manigong Bagong Taon sa ating lahat! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to us all!


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Thanks to San Miguel Master Chorale and Philharmonic Orchestra for the carol, "Mano Po Ninong, Mano Po Ninang."

grown-up

Every Christmas, I receive a surprise gift from God (or the universe): last night's gift was a priceless one. I happened to be in UP Bahay ng Alumni and saw a banner announcing the reunion of my class in UP Integrated School (UPIS), so by accident I was reunited with friends, many of whom I had not seen since 5th grade.

From Kindergarten to Grade 5, I studied in UPIS, the school for basic education of the University of the Philippines. As a kid, I've often wondered what makes it "integrated," and today I found out after a bit of research that the school is the product of a merger of three schools: UP High School (established in 1916 in Isaac Peralta St., Manila, as the laboratory school of the College of Education); UP Preparatory School (a science-oriented school established in 1954); and UP Elementary School (established in 1936 for the education of children of university professors and personnel). A description of the school's philosophy and history is here.

It was a public school, though it felt exclusive since students from other schools were not allowed to enroll laterally after Kindergarten: you generally had the same friends year after year. I recall one exception, Kalayaan Vea, who was allowed to reenroll when her father returned to UP after a stint in the US (her Fil-Am boyfriend's name was Michael de Guzman, pronounced, "the goose-man"). The environment was competitive in a healthy way: teachers would post the list of the top 10 students and their grade point averages every quarter, and class pride peaked during spelling bees and intramural sports competitions. After class, we played a lot of agawan base, luksong tinik, and piko.

Since UPIS is in the heart of the State University, we were taught the values of love of others and country- the values of the Oblation- week after week from the very first day. Students took turns during Monday flag ceremonies in singing Lupang Hinirang and UP Naming Mahal and reciting Panatang Makabayan.

In a way, it was a predictable world where hard work and good deeds were rewarded- so different from the porous realities outside the academe! But what gifts our parents and teachers gave us: idealism to light our paths, knowledge to overcome challenges and seize opportunities, and a time of blissful peace that we can look back to all the days of our lives.

Here are some of UPIS' prominent alumni and what our school has taught them:

new eyes

I guess I wanted something new in my life
A new key to fit a new door
To wake and see a different view in my life
The one I've been waiting for...

I sang this song while having late night drinks with some friends last Friday night. It was first sung by Stephen Bishop, and more recently by Sarah Geronomo for the movie "In My Life." I think it captures the image and mood of what many of us look for: in our daily strivings, in the arts we create and appreciate, in our relationships. It's what I try to give to everyone I meet, my clients, friends, and loved ones: the passion that makes us feel like our heart would burst, that keeps us young and alive.

I look for that "falling-in-love" feeling when I travel, when an experience sears my soul and makes a place and a people a part of me forever.

In Helsinki, I experienced it during the Night of the Arts, when the normally empty streets were suddenly filled with tens of thousands of Fins of all ages watching artists perform in 110 separate locations. It was a lot like Rock the Riles combined with People Power and gave me a glimpse of what the Philippines might be like someday, when people already have trust in government and in each other- when society has developed and become more egalitarian and can focus on the arts.

Anyway, Connor (from Ireland) and I got separated from our other friends. After Connor bought a six-pack of beer from a student- the shops had run out of beer- we decided to go to the Senate Square where a French street theater company used giant balloons shaped like fishes and sea snakes to turn the sky into a giant ocean aquarium.

There were so many people in the street leading to the square- for a long while, we just stood with the others, unable to move closer to watch the spectacle. We just heard the music: it sounded strange to my ears, very avant-garde, until Connor pointed out that they were sounds of the ocean. And indeed they were- with that anchor, the music suddenly "made sense."

Then my friend had an idea: we could watch the performance from the top of a tram waiting shed! That was something I had never done! Connor was the first to clamber up to the roof, and he held out a hand to help me get up there. The picture below shows our once-in-a-lifetime view of the Night of the Arts: People Power Finnish-style.

the composer

Picture above by Portugal's Jaime Reis, a student of major 20th c. German composer Karlheinz Stockhausen who composed the award-winning Helicopter String Quartet. Jaime (his name is pronounced "zshaym") explains that, in the composition, four members of a string quartet perform in four helicopters taking independent flight paths in the countryside: their sounds are mixed together with those of the helicopters and transmitted with their videos to the concert hall!

principles and politics

President Vaclav Havel of Czechozlovakia:

Please try to imagine the following, somewhat absurd situation:

A literary critic known for his merciless judgment and piercing look, capable of discovering any false tone in a novel or story, is suddenly confronted with the task of writing a novel. Everyone is waiting with curiosity, and even a certain amount of malicious joy, to see how he succeeds in meeting the high targets he himself had set before, not knowing that one day he would have to make the effort to satisfy them.

For years I used to criticize practical politics as a mere technology of vying for power and as a purely pragmatic activity whose objective is not to perform selfless service to citizens in accordance with one's conscience, but only to win their favor with a view to staying in power or gaining more of it.As an independent intellectual, I was continuously developing my concepts of politics as a selfless service to fellow human beings and as morality in practice, a high-principled politics which I tentatively termed "nonpolitical politics."

Fate has indeed played a strange joke on me, as if it were telling me that after having been so smart, I should now show all those whom I have criticized the right way to do it. No wonder my present position is hardly enviable: All my political activities, and maybe all the policies pursued by Czechoslovakia, are being examined under the microscope which I once built myself.

After a year and a half of the presidency in a country ridden with problems which presidents in stable democracies never dream of, I have not been compelled to retract anything. Not only have I not had to change my views, but I have even been confirmed in them.

Despite all the political misery I am confronted with every day, it still is my profound conviction that the very essence of politics is not dirty; dirt is brought in only by wicked people. I admit that this is an area of human activity where the temptation to advance through unfair actions may be stronger than elsewhere, and which thus makes higher demands on human integrity. But it is not true at all that a politician cannot do without lying or intriguing. That is sheer nonsense, often spread by those who want to discourage people from taking an interest in public affairs.

Of course, in politics, just as anywhere else in life, it is impossible, and it would not be sensible, always to say everything bluntly. Yet that does not mean one has to lie. What is needed here are tact, instinct and good taste. That, in fact, has been one of the things that surprised me most in the realm of high politics, where good taste is more important than all the education in political science.

All this is a matter of form: knowing how long I should speak, when to begin and when to finish; how to say something politely that the other party does not like to hear; how to pick out what is essential at the given moment and to refrain from talking about nonessential things that nobody is interested in listening to; how to remain steadfast in one's position without offending the other party; how to create a friendly atmosphere in order to facilitate demanding negotiations; how to keep the conversation going without imposing oneself on one's partner or creating in him the impression that he is being ignored; how to maintain a balance between the serious political subjects and the lighter, relaxing ones; knowing when and where to appear, and when and where to remain absent, and what measure of candor or restraint to choose.

It is also a matter of having a kind of instinct for the period, for the atmosphere that marks it, for the sentiments of the people, the nature of their troubles, and their mental disposition. That, too, is perhaps more important than various sociological surveys.

While education in political science, law, economics, history and culture is certainly invaluable for every politician, it is not, as I can see time and again, the most important thing. Much more important are establishing contact and maintaining a sense of measure; the ability to imagine oneself in one's partner's position and to address him, and the capability of perception and the quick assessment of problems and the condition of human souls.

I certainly do not mean to imply that I possess all these qualities. But when a man has his heart in the right place and good taste, he can not only do well in politics but is even predetermined for it. If someone is modest and does not yearn for power, he is certainly not ill-equipped to engage in politics; on the contrary, he belongs there. What is needed in politics is not the ability to lie but rather the sensibility to know when, where, how and to whom to say things.

It is not true that people of high principle are ill-suited for politics. The high principles have only to be accompanied by patience, consideration, a sense of measure and understanding for others. It is not true that only coldhearted, cynical, arrogant, haughty or brawling persons can succeed in politics. Such people are naturally attracted by politics. In the end, however, politeness and good manners weigh more.

Requiem - Lacrymosa - Mozart

fifth dimension

The soul of beings is their scent. -Patrick Süskind


Perfume - Movie Trailer - Click here for this week’s top video clips

One of my most memorable readings in high school Psychology class was about pheromones, the chemicals we exude that attracts people to us. I remembered the lesson recently when I saw the VCD of "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer" (bought from SM), adapted from the book with the same title by German writer Patrick Süskind.

The story, set in 18th century France, is about an orphan Jean-Baptiste Grenouille who has no odor, making him invisible to those around him. Yet he is gifted with a sense of smell so acute that it is his primary way of perceiving the world.

By covering either our ears or our eyes, we are able to imagine how it is to use sight without hearing, or hearing without sight. But to experience the world only through our nose, what would that be like?

Perhaps because of a spartan upbringing- Tatay admonished me and my brothers while growing up to take no longer than five minutes in taking a bath and to comb our hair without using a mirror, "just like in the military"- I don't think much of perfumes. Except that in my teens, I was given a bottle of musk cologne which I used on dates and special occasions.

The fourth or fifth dimension of scent that I have today was composed mainly by two people- a woman and a man- and of course me.

Tricia, my BFF in high school, was like a female Grenouille (though less deadly): she could differentiate the odor of her different suitors. She also had a brother Gari- a veritable metrosexual before the word was invented- who had a collection of men's perfumes in their room. One time, Trish decided to experiment and try the different scents on me- around a dozen kinds- to see which one would blend best with the chemicals on my skin and complement my personality. I was of course a willing subject. (Gari, I'm sorry- yes we did this!)

The one scent which made Trish exclaim, "This is it! This is it!" was one of the first purchases I made after graduation when I was already working. Here is Trish smelling our food during a memorable lunch in Pebble Beach, California.


In law school, I was also gifted with a scent one Christmas by my classmate Deo- this was for our gift exchange (or Secret Santa). I never thought a man could use it, but it has become my "no-scent scent"- while wearing it, a fellow writer thought I smelled "clean, like soap." The bouquet is transformed and becomes more complex when I'm in love. I discovered from my parfumeur that this is also the favorite scent of actor Richard Gomez.

Here is Deo with the fraternity he headed and their frat sweetheart Maida (now Deo's wife).

Recently, while hiking in the northern forests of Solvalla, I found something fragrant that I took back with me to Manila- I've added this extra note to my scent-dimension, to share a bit of my love of adventure and make the experience even more personal for those interacting with me.

lakambini 3

I'm deferring publication of my poem dated 6 October 2009.

 

The title of the painting above is "Wheatfield with a Reaper" (1889) by Vincent Van Gogh. 

lakambini 2

A mother’s sorrow
By the death of her loved son
A grief so immense
-Rod Escobin

The morning after typhoon Onyok hit Manila, after delivering relief goods to Radio Veritas, I saw a new statue in Manila Cathedral that for me symbolizes a nation still in grief and shock, not yet able to understand the death and destruction wrought by the storm nor see the Resurrection- that surge of national unity and collective heroism that had already begun to unfold and would grow exponentially in the coming days.

I attended the Sunday mass celebrated in the cathedral by Cardinal Rosales, Archbishop of Manila. Understandably, because of the storm the night before, there were only a few people with us, some of them seafarers, and I sat in one of the front right pews.

After the mass, we went to the first chapel to the left of the massive doors of the cathedral, St. Joseph's Chapel, for the unveiling of Manila's Pietà, a copy made by an unnamed Filipino craftsman from a cast of the original statue by Michelangelo Buonarroti in Rome. Pietà in Italian means pity, sorrow, or compassion- the word is associated with paintings and statues of Mary holding and grieving over her dead son Jesus.

Even if I knew it was a copy- and I would have preferred sculpture that the world had never seen before- the Manila Cathedral's Pietà still took my breath away. It was an exact copy of the original, but this time bathed in the colors of tropical light streaming through the chapel's stained glass windows. Compare it with the setting of the original statue in St. Peter's Basilica- it's dark as a dungeon inside Rome's churches because of the different climate:

They look exactly alike- artists and pilgrims need only go to Intramuros to see the form.

Here is how Irving Stone described the statue in his biographical novel on Michelangelo, The Agony and the Ecstasy (1961):

Because the Madonna was gazing down on her son, all who looked must turn to her face, to see the sadness, the compassion for all men's sons, asking with despair: "What could I have done to save him?" And from the depth of her love, "What purpose has all this served, if man cannot be saved?"

All who saw would feel how insupportably heavy was her son's dead body on her lap, how much heavier was the burden in her heart.

It was unusual to combine two life-size figures in the same sculpture, revolutionary to put a full-grown man onto the lap of a woman. From this point of departure he left behind all conventional concepts of the Pietà. Once again, even as Ficino had believed that Plato could have been Christ's most loving disciple, it was Michelangelo's desire to blend the classical Greek concept of the beauty of the human body with the Christian ideal of the immortality of the human soul. He banished the lugubrious death throes of the earlier Pietàs, bathed his two figures in tranquillity. Human beauty could reveal sacredness as clearly as could pain. At the same time, it could exalt.

Ave Maria (Roa) - Philippine Madrigal Singers

lakambini 1

Payo sa Kagandahan

Para sa kaakit-akit na mga labi, gumamit ng mga salita ng kabaitan.

Para sa kaibig-ibig na mga mata, hanapin ang kabutihan ng mga tao.

Para sa maayos na pangangatawan, hatian ng iyong pagkain ang mga nagugutom.

Para sa magandang buhok, hayaan mong haplusin ito ng bata araw-araw.

Para sa postura, maglakad nang may kaalamang di ka naglalakad nang nag-iisa.

Ang mga tao, higit sa mga bagay, ay kailangang muling palakasin, baguhin, buhayin, kupkupin, at tubusin; huwag itapon ang sinuman.

Tandaan, kapag kailangan mo ng kamay na tutulong sa iyo, makikita ito sa dulo ng iyong braso.

Habang tumatanda, matutuklasan mong dalawa ang iyong kamay, isa upang tulungan ang sarili, isa upang bigyang kalinga ang iba.

Ang kagandahan ay wala sa pananamit, hugis ng katawan, o ayos ng buhok. Kailangang makita ang kagandahan sa mga mata, dahil ito ang daanang papasok sa puso, kung saan nakatira ang pag-ibig.

Ang kagandahan ay wala sa nunal sa mukha, bagkus nasasalamin ang tunay na kagandahan sa kaluluwa. Ito ay nasa pag-aarugang binibigay, matinding damdaming ipinapakita, at lalo lamang lumiliwanag ang kagandahan sa paglipas ng mga taon.

Hango ito sa tula ni Sam Levenson (1911-1980), "Time Tested Beauty Tips," na paborito ni Audrey Hepburn. Si Hepburn ay isang artistang ipinanganak sa Belgium, lumaki sa Netherlands, at nagtrabaho sa Estados Unidos. Binasa niya ito kina Sean at Luca, ang kanyang mga anak, noong huling Pasko bago siya sumakabilang-buhay sa Switzerland noong 1993. Inihahandog ko ang aking salin kay Coral, ang batang anak ng isang regular na bisita ng Café Voltaire. Gawa ang pampalamuting titik na may lakambini sa itaas ng Pranses na si Napoléon Landais.

roommate

On the second night, I meet Bram Buijs from the Netherlands- he'll be my roommate for the rest of my stay in Finland. I have the impression that he's a party animal, but he'll surprise me by being Ville's co-speaker on the environment and climate change in Parliament. He's also a concert pianist, a fact which I'll only discover right before leaving Finland- I'll almost miss it! There are many fascinating things about people and the world around us- one just has to learn to observe and be aware.

Here Bram and I are sunning ourselves and drinking cider and beer on the terrace of the Lasipalatsi (Glass Palace), doing what Fins do on summer evenings. Right behind us, at the center of the photo, is the Art Nouveau Finnish Parliament.

And here is a piece by Jean Sibelius, the Lucio San Pedro of Finland:

Finlandia - Jean Sibelius

first night

While Europe can be expensive due to different standards of living, one can travel on a budget of 30 to 90 Euros a day if one is able to establish rapport and make instant friends.

When checking in at midnight in the domus or hostel in Helsinki, I am greeted by a fellow participant of the conference, Constantin "Coco" Holzer from Austria. He looks like Josh Groban, only better groomed, and what I found most striking about him was his voice, which was like a gentle breeze- it sounds so polite to my ears, I figure he must have lived in Asia. Soon enough, I would find out that he has been to China and even to the Eastern ends of Russia, beyond Moscow- in fact, Coco speaks Chinese and Russian fluently.

Since we both have rooms with twin beds, we decide to just share one room for the night and split the bill. I open a coconut shell with lambanog wine and we talk about his travels and martial arts (he practices Brazilian wrestling) until 3 in the morning.

Since I haven't been to Austria, I draw on two stories from my personal hard drive to make a connection: the movie "Sound of Music," one of the first movies I saw as a child, and Persepolis, the comic book memoir of Marjane Satrapi (the film adaptation's website is here), who moved to Vienna to escape the war in Iran.

I must have been inspired by my French friend Romain's photos of Iran that I got Persepolis from National Bookstore in Greenhills. It's powerful and engrossing graphic work, expressing serious themes of war and destruction in the voice of an innocent child. Satrapi shows scenes of bombings in Tehran and its transformation from a secular into a fundamentalist religious state and her liberal family's reaction to these; her parents' decision for her to continue her high school studies in Austria; culture shock in Europe; dating; returning to Iran and meeting her husband; and getting a divorce and becoming independent again.

What makes Persepolis unique is its narrative: instead of glorifying the combat between a protagonist and his or her enemy, the comic book presents the details of everyday life of an ordinary child and her brave family while combats of powers-that-be rage around them.

Persepolis has become the inspiration for a future book project for me. I was surprised to find out that a similar comic book has already been done in the Philippines, though I'm still trying to get my hands on a copy.

Climb Every Mountain - Aria Clemente

Thanks to Aria Clemente for the song "Climb Every Mountain." Aria is the 2007 Grand Champion Performer of the World (Junior Division) of the World Championships of Performing Arts. 

journey

The light has gone out, I said, and yet I was wrong... The light that has illumined this country for these many years will illumine this country for many more years... and the world will see it and it will give solace to innumerable hearts. -Jahawarlal Nehru on Mahatma Gandhi

Why do we travel? Some people do so to get from point A to B; others, to take a vacation. For me, traveling provides an opportunity to go on a journey- to undertake a process of discovering the world and myself. 

This is the reason why, while I like to meet people and make new friends, I also enjoy a lot of time traveling in solitude. Away from the bonds of relationships and the usual markers of social roles and responding to a different culture and environment, I can find out about my true likes and dislikes. I can form my own opinions unmediated by those of another and get new inspiration. Ordinary acts, like bowing, drinking tea or relaxing in a sauna, take on new meanings. Ultimately, a journey strengthens one's sense of self or even reconstitutes it, allowing a new and better person to emerge.

As I would tell Irena from Czech Republic, upon reuniting with her boyfriend in Prague, with all she has seen and experienced by herself, she would have more to give to their relationship. And she would also have given them both a chance to miss each other!

What makes this journey different from previous ones is that I'm also trying to clear my head. Since the passing of former Pres. Aquino, I feel as Nehru did immediately after Gandhi passed away, that the light has gone out from the world. I know in my mind that this isn't so- that the flame of freedom which she carried would burn on in hearts of many more Filipinos- but I wanted to find that flame in my own heart, so that I would have more to give to my country and the world.

I've been wondering how people can love a country. Specifically, why do I love the Philippines? Is it because I've been told to do so by patriotic parents? Or because I feel a sense of obligation to give back to society for the excellent education and professional opportunities I've received? Or because love of country has been drilled into me through countless national anthems and flag ceremonies?

These may all be a part of it, but what I'll discover at journey's end is that love of country is part of loving oneself. 

When we travel, one of the first things that people look for in our passports or ask about is our nationality and, on that basis, form initial impressions about us. Politicians and businessmen would ask for our opinion about the problems back home that they read about in the papers or see on TV. So whenever each of us tries to solve one of these problems- to fight an injustice or right a wrong- we strengthen our self-esteem- our self-respect- and allow that "greatest love" to happen in our lives.

These are exciting times for the Philippines as we prepare for national elections next year. There are a number of relatively young and qualified candidates who are planning to run for national positions. Since I have a personal or professional connection to many of them- to quote my friend Anna, the Philippines is "incestuously small"- I would have to assess their track records and platforms closely.  

I'll vote and campaign, not on the basis of personality, but on principles and plans, particularly on the economy. I'll make choices, not with my heart, but with my mind. And if I don't find the perfect candidates, I'll support the ones who'll give me the least stress if they win.

In the meantime, enjoy the journey with me! Here I am before the Suomen ortodoksinen kirkko, an autonomous Orthodox archbishopric of the Patriarchate of Constantinople. Thanks to Zhaoxiong Wang of China for the picture.

Ikaw - Martin Nievera

amsterdam 2

Miyerkules, Ika-19 ng Abril, 1944

Mahal Ko,

May mas gaganda pa ba sa mundo kaysa umupo sa harap ng bukas na bintana at magpaligaya sa kalikasan, makinig sa huni ng mga ibon, damhin ang araw sa iyong pisngi habang yakap-yakap ang binatang ginigiliw? Nagpapahupa ng kirot at napakapayapa ng pakiramdam ng kanyang mga braso sa palibot ko, ang kaalamang andyan lang siya nang di na kinakailangan pang magsalita, di ito kasalanan, dahil mabuti ang ganitong kapayapaan. Nawa'y di na magambalang muli, maging ni Mouschi.

Sumasaiyo,

Anne

Salin ito mula sa Het Achterhuis o Ang Bahay sa Likod (1947), ang Talaarawan ni Anne Frank, isang 13 taong dalagang Hudyong may natatanging husay sa pagsusulat. Noong Ikalawang Digmaan, nagtago siya kasama ng kanyang pamilya at isa pang pamilya sa lihim na mga kwarto ng isang gusaling pang-opisina sa Esterong Prinsengracht. Pagkatapos ng dalawang taon, nahuli sila ng kalaban at dinala sa mga kampong pinagiipunan ng bihag, kung saan namatay ang lahat maliban kay Otto, ang tatay ni Anne. 

Pagkatapos ng giyera, nang mahanap at mabasa ni Otto ang talaraawan ng anak ("Kitty" ang tawag ni Anne dito), nalaman niyang naging kasintahan pala ni Anne si Peter Van Daan, ang 15 taong binatang kasama nilang nagtatago. Si Mouschi ang kanilang alagang pusa.

Sa isang panayam, sinabi ni Otto na- kung mayroon siyang isang natutunan- ito'y ang katotohanang di tunay na nakikilala ng mga magulang ang kanilang mga anak. 

Ngayong taong 2009 ang ika-80 taon ng kapanakan ni Anne (1929-1945), kung kaya't ang talang ito'y hinahandog ko sa aking mga kasama sa Amnesty International at iba pang tao't samahang nagsusulong sa karapatang pantao.

Beautiful In My Eyes - Jed Madela