I am now past thirty
And I evaluate being a teacher.
Every morning, when I walk,
An ineffable longing tugs at me.
I walk the same old paths
The same old trite faces flicker by:
Fallen leaves swept into a corner
Or whirled away by a sudden gust of wind,
Eager and gloomy eyes
Shadowed by trees,
Carefree children and
Greetings, voluntary and innocent.
My hair is turning gray,
Loneliness is concealed in my forehead.
My hands ruffle my hair,
Intending to brush away the clinging fear.
The mirror is my friend
If someone could notice my beauty.
But it is cruel and intentionally deceives
When wrinkles gleam in the light of the oil lamp.
Solitude pursues me
Along the road I tread each morning,
Along the road my day follows,
Along the road that gives meaning to my routine.
Sometimes I cannot blame
My envy for the silhouetted
Lovers’ amorous display.
Because I have nothing to boast of
Except for the company of the cicada’s cantata or
The blankets and pillows that frequently abandon me
When my mind is overcome by sleep
My distressed heart
Frequently unveils jealousy
Especially for young lovers
Whose laughter wades through the fences.
The time will come when my voice will crack.
My hands, too, will grope.
I will become dry and barren.
Love is a myth
That is not offered me.
The summer of sinegwelas
Is a ghost that haunts
Those with no one to caress.
Whispers in the dark remains a dream,
Rice or corn to harvest
But devastated by a monsoon.
I, too, loved once when I was sixteen.
It ended in grief.
A young man who dreamt of sailing,
Who counted stars even in daylight.
The rust of old ships consumed his nails,
Devoured by tuberculosis, then tetanus.
We had not succumbed to our desires,
A bitter youth pampered by promises.
I am a guava rotting in the bough,
Desired by no one,
Faded and withered to the womb.
Old people say, better to be a virgin
Until the wedding day,
No reproach, no sin.
The child I should have had ate fire,
Before it was conceived, I had already sung a dirge.
Anguished and grieved,
Even tears elude me.
II
Hope serenades me
When the 80s arrived.
I am now past thirty
And I evaluate being a teacher.
An ineffable longing still tugs at me,
Every morning, at breakfast.
And because even the calendar pursues me
I scour the newspapers.
There I meet Walter.
Thanks to the personals my darkening eyes
Persuade me to explore.
A man in his autumn,
His waning heart still desires to burn.
He fills me with scented promises,
Showers and bathes me with fragrant words;
An unnamed desire melts me,
His signature is the contract I depend on.
I insert my love between the pages.
I enclose my kisses and sighs.
The sweet of sugar and sting of pain
Can no longer be differentiated by my ecstatic mind.
My love flies mile upon mile,
Waiting to perch on gates and cities.
The letter reveals and gives thanks
The fingers become the censure.
The much awaited May arrives,
Amidst the drumbeats of Sinulog for Santo NiƱo;
I no longer notice the autumn of sinegwelas
His marriage proposal is my visa.
My tears flow endlessly,
I can indeed cry when I am happy.
III
Walter is already old but he remains ambitious,
Though withered he still wants to blossom.
My womb is like the dry leaf
In the Palmolive soap ad--
It revives as oil is poured on it,
It defies the laws of nature.
I am now past forty
And I evaluate my heart:
Was it love or lust that brought me here,
With this man I do not know?
The mirror has a crack whenever I look,
I realize it is not enough to arrive as a virgin.
I am now past forty
And my heart persists:
Why does the sinegwelas bear fruit when it dries up?
Have you no faith?
Sarah conceived when she was old.
Mary was impregnated without seeing a man.
Hope still flows between my legs,
I am revived at least once a month.
Should I allow Walter to fade away?
He alone genuflects on the mossy wall.
I release this ancient fear,
Thinking that sadness is sadder,
I vow to sacrifice my own blood
So that my love could endure.
What if an elegy were to clutch me
And here a lullaby will be heard.
In the mirror my face hardens,
In the morn, I will observe mass.
IV
I am now past forty
And fear pricks me.
Walter has me imprisoned in a white room,
Here he will test the sincerity of my love,
With a heavy heart I comply,
I cannot express my mind’s reluctance.
Fifty, there are fifty of them,
Ungentlemanly gentlemen with arid laughs.
Now that I am past forty
Do I still need to flirt?
I am caged in a white room,
Unearthed by the misty sky.
My mouth is gagged,
My eyes are blindfolded,
Arms and feet are shackled
My movement is restrained.
I long for Walter’s touch,
I realize he is a concrete wall.
He doesn’t scream for help when they stretch my thighs,
He even masturbates when I am catheterized.
Fifty, there are fifty of them,
Ungentlemanly gentlemen with arid laughs.
Helping each other, taking turns,
Plowing my womanhood.
My clitoris is ripped, my tongue wrenched,
My breasts butchered.
Determining if I am a woman or man,
With a probe driven deep into
My cleaved womb.
I am now past forty
And my soul is surrendering.
I blame myself for this grief,
Fate does not discriminate.
I abandon spinsterhood
Only to find fervent flames.
I reveal my dissected womb
In hopes of bearing a child.
Remorse now embraces me
With unending regret.
My life is a myth,
A woman warrior meeting misfortune in war.
My country people, my kin, my sisters,
Never, never enclose your heart in a letter.
When I had first read this poem, tears fell suddenly in my eyes. This poem is so meaningful one that it captures the sympathy of many readers. This poem is under the feminist theory because its focused in the struggle of a woman whose hope to have a happy married life despite of her age failed her. In this poem women are perceived to be weak and pathetic. It also give emphasized to the wrong notion of our society towards the unmarried old woman which is done through repetition of the age of the persona in the poem and her feelings towards it. This notion revolved around the idea that woman should marry and have their own family which makes the women in our society gives too much concern with their marital status.The persona revealed her desire of marriage in full honesty. This desires lead her to faced the biggest trials of her life and for that it also denote the discontentment of a woman can lead her to misery.
Furthermore, the meaning behind the poem is not only commendable but also its structures, the author style in writing gives justification in adapting the story of Apolinaria Masong. The language use in the poem is very vulgar that added to its realistic appeal. The narration technique use in the poem gives a vivid understanding about what the author tries to convey. While the ending of the poem gives a simple realization that one should be careful in giving their trust.
(P.S This poem was inspired by a true story)