ONE OF THE things that 2020 defined for me was my fearlessness. I guess I’ve always been fearless as the region’s premier agent provocateur and Iloilo’s avant-garde artist and writer. I mean, it needs a certain fearlessness to do the things I’ve done before I turned 50, and before the COVID-19 pandemic.
But now in my 50s (I turned 52 last week), I also learned how not to give a f*ck. Furthermore, the pandemic sort of heightened the idea for me: If we are all going to die sooner than we expected, for what did we hold back all those moments when we could have lived more, or at least felt more alive?
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I guess a part of me walked the tightrope as a writer before I was 50 (even if I have boldly pushed some boundaries with my sexually charged literature in a sexually repressed society) because I also wanted the respect and recognition of the literary establishment. (But I’ve already conquered the Palanca Awards Hall of Fame at 45!) And then, the pandemic happened. And everybody realized more acutely that the Internet and social media have already disrupted the world of literature, communication, arts, education, and culture.
I mean, sure, I have seen how talentless people have created their celebrity via the social media in the early years of Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, Facebook, et cetera, but I didn’t believe it until I’ve seen the smut that teenage wannabe writers write in online platforms, and the senseless nudities on TikTok.
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Now, I’m not the type who would hold back creativity. But neither am I the type who would promote stupidity. And I can see that nobody teaches these young Filipinos any better. I also believe that there is in me a great teaching heart. So I took it upon myself to start my online campaign to teach the possibilities of 21stcentury Philippine literature.
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The challenge was, firstly, to command respect. And to my credit, I have the Palanca Awards, my newspaper affiliation, my 30-plus published books, and my popularity as a most sought after creative writing lecturer and workshop director. The second challenge was how not to antagonize the would-be learners with a holier-than-thou attitude. Can I speak their language? Is there a median way I can take? Thus, I began to examine my own poetics. Can my vocabulary be updated, and brought to current and be 2021-ish?
I will let my two December poems (three, if you count the translation of one) speak—
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2020: MGA HULING SANDALI
By Peter Solis Nery
Sa ikalawang huling gabi bago pumutok ang Bagong Taon/ Umupo ako sa harap ng ikalawang plato ng spaghetti/ Na niluto kong mag-isa, hinanda kong mag-isa, kinain kong/ Mag-isa; sinabayan ko ito ng isang boteng red wine/ Para makaakda ng lasing na tula — tula ng pamamaalam.
F*ck you, 2020! Lumayas ka na sa buhay ko, ayoko nang/ Mag-isa na walang kinakangkang, na walang kasiping o/ Kahalikan, o kahit man lang nakadaupang-palad sa taong ito./ Sampung buwan na parang Forever, walang Grindr/ Walang pakikipag-date, walang birthday sex, walang-wala/ Ang meron lang, handwashing, facemask, face shield/ Two meters apart, social distancing, six feet, hindi six inches!
Anong nangyari sa condom, sa safe sex — talaga bang face/ Mask na ang bagong proteksyon? Lubayan mo ako, 2020!/ Iwanan mo na ako, magmahal ka na ng iba, kailangan ko/ Ang sex para mabuhay, pagod na ako sa kadadasal, kasasalsal/ At kati-TikTok ng mga gagong hubadero — isang berso ng kanta/ Isang linya, isasayaw, lip synch ampotah, basta may abs/ Basta may bukol, OK na. Bakit kailangan ang abs — para/ Makapagdasalsal ako? So stop, 2020! Sumalangit ka na, please.
Hayaan mo akong makapag-date muli, makipagtagpo sa mall/ ‘Di na ako magiging choosy. Patira na rin ako kung saan gusto/ Ayoko na sa SAP na sardinas, noodles, at bigas, ayoko na/ Sa modules na pinaplansta, ayoko na nang hindi naliligo/ Dahil hindi naman aalis ng bahay, ayoko na ng mga pantaloon/ Na hindi naman nasusuot dahil wala namang lakad ang barkada
Ayoko na sa quarantine pass, ayokong magpaliwanag/ Sa mga pulis na may baril (at mga badrecord ng karahasan)/ Mamang Pulis, Ser, nasaan na po ba ang batuta ninyo?/ Batuta, please! Batuta muna. Batutahin n’yo po muna kasi ako./ Mabilis ka namang pumutok, e. Excited talaga? Trigger happy?/ Oneminute, putok agad? Triggered ka, ghorl?
OK na ako na walang ninong at inaanak, o landian sa malalamig/ Na umaga ng simbang-gabi, walang koleksyon sa simbahan/ Si Padre. OK na ako na walang noche buena at pangangaroling/ Walang hamand cheese — (para sa DeipEd lang naman ‘yon!)/ Pero please, maawa ka, umalis ka na, lumayo ka na, at dalhin mo/ Sa malamig na impiyerno ang mga hubad na binatilyo ng TikTok/ Turuan mo sila ng tunay na sayaw, turuan mo sila na
Pagpuputa ang paghuhubad sa Internet kapalit ng likes at/ Shares at views para mag-viral at magkapera, mga pokpok sila/ Na nanlalandi sa newsfeed ko, nagpaparami ng kain ko/ Nagpapadalas ng pag-inom — at pagdadasal — para lalong/ Mapabilis, mapadali, ma-trigger ang pagputok ng dakilang 2021!
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HULING HANDOG
By Peter Solis Nery
Hindi ko ibibigay sa iyo ang aking galit/ Mamahalin pa rin kita pero sa paraan / At estilo ng bago at ikadalawampu’t isang siglo/ Kung saan ang mga babae ay hindi na alipin at puta/ Ng mga gagong lalaki na may isip-titi/ Kung saan ang mga lalaki ay naghahanap na rin/ Ng kapwa titi sa internet at mga anino ng gabi//
Hindi ko ibibigay sa iyo ang aking mga luha/ Iiyak ako, ngunit pakunwari lamang/ Para lang mapaniwala kang minahal kitang tunay/ Kahit ang totoo, gago ka, nagsawa na rin ako/ Sa mga kabobohan mo, at paminsan-minsan/ Nangangarap din akong makatalik ang mga artista/ Ang mga tipong malayong-malayo sa iyo//
Wala akong ibibigay sa iyo maliban/ Sa aking paghihiganti— ang aking pag-aalsa/ Ng aking sarili at paghahanap ng bago/ At mas masarap na ipapalit sa iyo/ Ituturing pa rin kitang kaibigan, bakit ba hindi?/ Ipagtitirik kita ng kandila, yumao kong kaibigan!/ Dahil ang ‘forever’ ay mabilis magbago sa bagong milenyo.
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PARTING GIFT
By Peter Solis Nery
I will not give you my hate/ I will love you still, but in the way/ And manner of the new 21st century/ Where women are no longer slaves and whores/ Of stupid men who think with their dicks/ Where men are also looking, hunting/ For dicks on the internet and in the dark of night//
I will not give you may tears/ I will cry, but it will all just be pretend/ Just so you would think I loved you truly/ Though in truth, you idiot, I am also tired/ Of your many stupidities, and sometimes/ I also dream of sex with movie stars/ The types so distantly different from you//
To you, I will give nothing but/ My sweet revenge — the rise/ Of my self-confidence, and my search/ For your better, and sweeter, replacement/ I could still treat you as a friend, why not?/ I could light candles for you, my friend now dead to me!/ You see, ‘forever’ changes fast in this new millennium./PN
