Torturedsquid - Blog

LUNHAW

5/2/2020

Sa pagkatinuud lang, dili
naku masabtan kung nganu'ng
ang iyang mga ngabil mamahimung
lunhaw kung matandug sa
tubig dagat.

Nganu’ng ang
iyang tag-as nga mga
piluk hinay-hinay’ng mu
lukut kung mabasa sa ulan…

Hunahunaa,
makadaghan ko n'ang
giagian ang kinatibuk-an
sa iyang panit gamit ang
tumuy sa akung
mga tudlu.

Apan sa kada
higayu'ng buhatun
ku kini, malumus aku’ng
kalag. Ug bisan unsa ka
isug pa ku nga
magtan-aw sa hilum niya
nga hulagway,

kanunay,
kanunay,
mubutyag akung
mga mata

---------
To be honest, I could
never explain why his
lips turn green when touched by
seawater; why his eyelashes
curl beautifully at the sight of rain….

Imagine, I’ve already
travelled the entire
length of his skin many
times using only
my fingertips.

Yet each time I do, my soul
submerges. And no matter
how proudly I gaze at his
quiet face,

always,
always
my eyes give away.
---------
Translation in precolonial Cebuano (consisting of only 3 vowel phonemes )

Praktis lang

4/26/2020

Ug diha kita
sa usa ka bahin sa
isla taliwala sa
banlas sa dagat,
sa adlaw, ug sa humok nga
paghunghong niining
hangin sa Pasipiko...Usa ka
tanaman nga nagtubong
bawhag ug wala’y
gikabalak an. Ang imong mga
kamot ug ako’ng mga kamot anaa
ilawom sa langit nga
nagatuyok samtang kitang
duha nagtindog nga
walay sapin, mga mata lamang
alang sa matag usa. Amihan
ug habagat, buntag
ug gabii. Langit
ug yuta.
Usa.

Kaniadtong
panahanona,
mao kini
kita.

Book review

12/29/2018

The Original of Laura by Vladimir Navokov

Vladimir Navokov's The Original of Laura tackles a man’s experimentation with something called "psychological self-deletion", a form of suicide that is purely mental. The novel’s central character is a neurologist named Philip Wild. He achieves this self deletion by putting himself in a trance, projecting “a mental image of himself upon his inner blackboard,” and then mentally erasing it. I am guessing it must have been a form of daily escape from his sad life, although it was described in the book as an exhilarating experience for him, orgasmic even.

The book tackles marriage as well. About how a husband and a wife could fall victims to marriage if it's the wrong kind. One can easily feel for Flora, the young wife imprisoned in marriage to an old man she doesn't love. One can feel for Wild as well, who has to deal with not only this loveless marriage but also a lot of health issues throughout his life.

Flora's and Wild's years of marriage are marked by her frequent leaving and returning to their home, her monthly visits to his door, often to ask whether or not he’s sent the money she asked for. He knows of her indiscretions. From his room where he lies bedridden, he can hear her making love with one of her lovers on the living room couch. But what else can a young woman do with her available years if married to a man who is bedridden?

The book deals with a dead marriage and the process of dying itself, in a manner that is both poetic and painful. (I remember Lolita. That eloquent, perverted other book by Navokov that feels sinfully addicting when read.)

This is my first time to read a book where photos of the author’s original handwritten work are shown alongside the cleaned-up, typewritten version. They published everything unedited, giving the reader access to the author in his rawness.

Before he died, Navokov instructed his son Dmitri to destroy this book and not publish it. Dmitri defied the order and went ahead with publishing. A lot of people think he should not have done so. I have mixed feelings regarding this. Reading the book feels like I am assaulting Navokov. But it also would not have felt right to not have read the book, to have been deprived of something profoundly beautiful.

Lastly, I don’t know why people think this book is unfinished. What are they looking for? Excuse my wondering because I am slightly illiterate when it comes to books. Yes, I love reading, but I know very little about the technicalities of book writing, of what makes a book a complete one. To me, it is already complete. And perfect as it is, even with its imperfections.

Bayle

12/26/2017

Ang akong pula nga
sanina misyagit taliwala sa
lanog mo’ng
pahiyum…

Ang imong mga tiil daw
mitudlo sa langit ug
mikumpas duyog sa
akong lingin nga
bat ang. Mitamud sa
tyempo. Hinay sa una, hangtud
nga mipaspas. Hinay,
paspas ug lagiting
pa. Gidayong
sa musika, daw
toro ug
torero sa ruyda.

December 10th, 2017

12/10/2017

There we were on
one side of the island
amid sand, sun and
the soft whispering of
the Pacific wind, a garden wildly
growing. Our hands were
clasped. The sky danced above
us while we stood barefoot, eyes
only for each other. South
Pole and North Pole yet
utterly inseparable.
This was
us, only at
another
time.

December 04th, 2017

12/4/2017

Night opens
again. I hear a familiar
laugh from another
time--from a place that
is now far away..
I hear a soft murmur in my
ear, and then a sigh, a ripping
of the heart, a faint
stirring.

Outside, the moon glows,
luring me again, pulling me down
like a boat to a
whirpool. On nights
before, I’d have
vanished into a
blackhole of nostalgia. to
put a face and a
name into a
voice.
but not now.

Not anymore now.

November 29th, 2017

11/29/2017

How far does this forest go?
I ask you, my beloved who
walks with me in this narrow path
down the forest floor
amid fallen trees in stormy
days and burnt grass
in the summer, amid glowing
skies and orange
clouds… night wind,
dark flowers and
surprises..

How far?

December 26th, 2017

11/14/2017

Time always passes by this way in my world. It comes quietly, and then it goes away in just a few breaths--a shaking of leaves, a butterfly signing off by fluttering its leaves towards the closing afternoon, leaving me in awe.

July 09th, 2017

7/9/2017

I know I have lost so much
time. Time that once entertained
me during Sunday mornings, time
that withered away quickly
without a sound.

How I miss its tiny laughs, the way I
miss those rice cakes mother used to
bake for us in the province
during summers. I never really imagined
how empty it’d feel like to not be able to
taste those things again. Had I
known it, I would have
lingered in the
kitchen longer.

Time, how it
smelled like fried eggs and
freshly brewed coffee in the early
morning. But time never really considered
me. Like an old lover,
it danced only for
itself. Now, I rush outside to
look for it, but it
hopped on a train just like that,
leaving me with
only dust.

Good Night, World

7/2/2017

El Anisha Guro is the Director of the MSU Press and Information Office. She's right now taking her PhD at the University of Melbourne in Australia.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine showed me her heartbreaking post, "Good night, world", which has become viral online. The post is both a painful lamentation of the tragedy in Marawi and a firm reminder of the city's resilience. I felt myself crushing while reading it, but I relieved knowing that this is not just an ordinary city they sought to burn. This is one of the region's jewels, with centuries of history of rise and fall behind it. No matter how many times they burn it to the ground, the city will rise and rise again.

The post has since been translated into many various languages, including Cebuano, which I did myself. I hope I did justice to the original. Thank you, El Anisha.

-------------------
Maayo’ng gabii, kalibutan.

Maayo’ng gabii, kalibutan. Ug ang akong hinigugmang Dakbayan sa Marawi nagdilaab, daw usa ka babaye’ng gihimong halad sa usa ka mangtas. Sa kining higayon, dili alang sa pagluwas sa dakbayan gikan niining mangtas. Nagdilaab kini aron pagtagbaw sa kahangol sa katawhan sa giyera ug kagubot gamit ang dakbayan. Ang iyang mga anak nagtan-aw samtang kini ginasunog, walay mabuhat samtang nagdahunog ang tingog sa tambol sa gubat sa tibuok dakbayan, timaan sa iyang kamatayon.

Sige magdilaab ka, ako’ng hinigugmang dakbayan. Gipili kang pangasaw-unon sa kayo sa mga tawo’ng pulos nahangol sa imong abo. Kung magdilaab ka, piliing mahayag kaayo aron ang imong pagkaugda maoy magpakita sa tana’ng gusto sa imong kagub-anan unsay nagapaabot kanila sa impiyerno. Kay gikan sa imo’ng abo, mobarog ka. Sama sa usa ka Phoenix mabanhaw ka, ug ipanganak ang bag-ong Marawi. O dili kaha, mabalik ang kanhing bantoga’ng Dansalan.

Bisan pa gipasakitan, gibudhian, gituros, imong mapildi kining tanan aron lamang imong matagamtam pag usab ang gakos sa imong mga anak. Walay labing hingpit ug lig-on pa sa pagpangga sa usa ka inahan ngadto sa iyang mga anak.

Mabuhi ka, ako’ng hinigugmang dakbayan. Ang imong matuod nga mga anak ug mga sinagup nagahulat kanimo. Kadtong mibudhi kanimo, may adlaw ra nga magbasol sila…gipili nila ang sayop nga dapig sa imong istorya.

Ang orihinal sinulat ni El Anisha
Gihubad sa Binisiya ni Christine Rom

Good night world.
by El Anisha

Good night world. And my beloved Marawi City profusely burns, like a sacrificial woman offered to the monster. This time, it is not to save the city from the monster. She burns that men’s lust for war and destruction might be satisfied at the expense of the city. Her children watch her being torched, unable to douse off the fire from her as the crescendoing war drums reverberate throughout the place, heralding her funeral pyre.

Burn now my beloved city. You were chosen to be the bride of fire by men whose only common denominator is their desire for your ashes. If you must be ablaze, then burn brightly that your conflagration may demonstrate to those who had wanted your devastation what awaits them in hell. But from your ashes, you shall rise. Like the Phoenix, you will be reborn from your ashes to a new Marawi. Or to your old glory—Dansalan. Though broken, betrayed, and bleeding, you will overcome all of these to be with the loving embrace of your sons and daughters. There is no greater, more sublime, and more powerful love than the love of a mother for her children.

You will rise my beloved city. Your true sons and daughters and your adopted children await you. Those who have set you on fire will one day rue that they were ever on the wrong side of your story.

Check the other translations here.