Bareta (Women's Month Special Zine)

Sabon

JOI BARRIOS-LEBLANC

Sa telebisyon ang babae’y nakakahon

nakakahong parang bareta ng sabon

maging sabong panlaba o sabong pampaganda

babae ang laging bida.

Kapag sabong pampaganda, lagi nang nang-iinggit

dahil mapanghalina ang kutis na makinis

Kapag sabong panlaba, masayang ginigiit

na kahit ‘di ikula ay puputi ang damit.

Sa telebisyon ang babae’y nakakahon

nakakahong parang bareta ng sabon

maging sabong panlaba o sabong pampaganda babae ang laging bida.

At bago magwakas itong ating patalastas

lalaki ang nagpapasalamat

kutis ng kanyang nobya kaysarap haplusin

labada ni misis kay bangong amuyin.

Sa telebisyon ang babae’y nakakahon

nakakahong parang bareta ng sabon

maging sabong panlaba o sabong pampaganda

babae ang laging bida.

Heto ngayon ang tanong sa bidang nakakahon

wala ba siyang pangarap o ibang ambisyon

sa tinagal ng panahon dadal’wa ang posisyon

Dakilang katulong o isang dekorasyon.

Sa ganitong pagkakataon

Natutunaw na ang sabon

Ang bidang ikinahon lalabas ng telebisyon

Upang harapin ang bagong ambisyon

Sabunin, kusutin, pigain ang sa kanya’y nagkahon!

05 tula 18 prosa 16 dagli

• Ang Pagiging Babae ay

Pamumuhay sa Panahon ng Digma

• Ang Mga Galit Ni Maria

• Stacked Dirty Laundry

• Isa akong Virgin

• Discomfort Room

• Abandonadong Museo

• Langitngit ng Kawayan

• Walking a Tightrope

• Ipinagpatuloy ko ang Lahi ng mga Aswang

• Confession of a Damsel

19

25 BLOG MAIKLING

27 SANAYSAY

• Kapag ang Sabon ay Hindi Mabula

Ang Pagiging Babae ay Pamumuhay sa Panahon ng Digma

JOI BARRIOS-LEBLANC

Ang pagiging babae ay pamumuhay sa panahon ng digma.

Kapiling ko sa paglaki ang pangamba, hindi ko tiyak ang bukas

na laging nakakawing sa mga lalaki ng aking buhay: ama, kapatid, asawa, anak.

Kinatakutan ko ang pag-iisa.

Sa pagiging ina, kaharap ko’y tagsalat. Pagka’t ang lupit ng digmaan ay hindi lamang sa paggulong ng mga ulo sa pagguhit ng espada, kundi sa unti-unting pagkaubos ng pagkain sa hapag. Ay, paano sabay na magpapasuso sa bunso habang naghahanap ng maisusubo sa panganay?

Walang sandaling walang panganib.

Sa sariling tahanan, ang pagsagot at pagsuway ay pag-akit sa pananakit.

Sa lansangan, ang paglalakad sa gabi’y pag-aanyaya sa kapahamakan.

Sa aking lipunan, ang pagtutol sa kaapiha’y paglalantad sa higit na karahasan.

Kaytagal kong pinag-aralan ang puno’t dulo ng digmaan.

Sa huli’y naunawaan, na ang pagiging babae ay walang katapusang pakikibaka para mabuhay at maging malaya.

Ang Mga Galit Ni Maria

BIBINGCOW

Iba na ang awit ni Maria— hindi na heleng siyang nagpapahimbing; ritmo'y dagundong at gumagambal hindi harana, timbre'y mapagmulat-mata.

Iba na ang awit ni Gabriela— umaalingawngaw bukod tangi sa koro; tigreng boses tenor ay siyang nilulunod

mula sa buwaya, liriko ang siyang tanod. Makabasag tenga at makapukaw pansin Dalit, pinagkaluno, sa himig-panghimagsik.

Iba na ang awit ni Eba— Crescendo! Allegro! Hanggang ang huni na ito lubos pakikinggan, maging awiting-bayan ng hukbo.

Stacked Dirty Laundry

May blood mix with running bodily waters and my body bruise to unforgiveness

Isa Akong Virgin

Masikip pa rin ako, walang muwang sa mundo.

Bawal humawak ng libro, pagsandok daw ang aralin ko.

Sobrang sikip na rito, hanggang sa kusina lang ako.

Sobrang sikip pa rin nito, makapal pa rin ang saya ko.

Nais kong lumuwag, lumaya’t tumakbo, gusto ko nang makawala sa hawlang ito.

Discomfort Room

FIDELITY

Two paths lie before me, and as I decide which doorway to pass through, I recall my last experience in both rooms.

Inside the one on my left, as I pulled up my dress to relieve myself, the men stood far from me, as if I’d made it my life’s goal to see what their pants hide.

On my right, as I powder my face, the ladies looked at me with fright, as if the makeup was a mask concealing a predator beneath.

Why is it called a comfort room when it brings me and my brothers and sisters the opposite?

Frankly, we’d be more comfortable wetting our underwear.

Abandonadong Museo

BIBINGCOW

Anaki’y isang rebultong tampalasan, manipis na tapis ay malaswang graffiti, salawal, kamisa—kapos at nililingkis; Gumamela sa salamin, sumisilip; perlas ng silangan sa pusod ng dibdib.

Ang baro’t saya’y tinatagulamin na, respeto’t dangal, iniwan sa aparador saka . . .

“Bakit nakatitig? Sa babaeng ’di dibuho ni Amorsolo.

Pinta’t bihis ng tradisyong gulanit.

Pananamit ko’y sapat at nararapat, sapagkat hindi hinihingi, tangang puri at dignidad.

Matang mapang-uri ay huwag sa akin ituon, nilisan pa noon, pedestal na siyang kumahon nakanteng museo, ako’y ’di imahen ng nagdaang-taon.”

Langitngit ng Kawayan

WATUSI Isang hamak na kawayan lamang ang kababaihan

sa tropikal na kaligirang matatayog na halaman ang nagsisilbing langit-langitan.

Maingay pa sa huni ng ibon kung pumutak.

Matayog kung tumindig,

aakalain mong púno kung tumikas.

Isang huwad!

Walang ipinagkaiba sa mga kauri nitong damo, sa sipol ng hangin tumutuwad, pumapalakpak, naglalaro.

Ganito ako kinumbinsi ng kagubatang aking kinamulatan. Kaya naman patuloy nila akong pinatitikom, tinatanggalan ng espasyo at karapatan.

Kinukonsumo para sa sariling interes

habang sinasanay na maging palamuti upang sila’y hindi maungusan.

Ninanakawan ng dangal;

iniiwan matapos gawing parausan.

Sa kanilang kagustuhan ako’y susunod.

Sa mundong ito, sila ang pinuno ako ang halamang sa kanila’y maghapon sasamba’t yuyuko.

Walking a Tightrope

CASTING CROWNS `

This woman in my house always get me hot under the collar. Her impeded views anger me to the bones; like when she over analyzes her scripts in fear when it was an actual relief for both of us.

I fly off the handle when she minimizes her worth:

to a mere token of corporate diversity; to the paradox of sheer societal patriarchy; to an ornament doll for being barren for life,

This woman in our house—my wife, fuels my rage and despair every time she tries to reduce herself to par with my manhood, when she seamlessly walks the tightrope of the impossibility of being a woman, despite being my fortress, despite her struggle of believing who and what she already is.

Ipinagpatuloy ko ang Lahi ng mga Aswang

ALON-AGOS

Hindi gan’on katalas yaong mga kuko

kung ito’ng armas ang kinatatakutan n’yo.

Hindi ako mag-aanyong aswang.

Sinunog, nilatigo, iginapos.

Alagad raw kasi ng impyerno.

pinaratangang manananggal ng sitio;

hayok sa laman ng binhi sa sinapupunan.

’di ba’t ako nga itong inyong paanakan?

Kaya kung totoong mahina ako, ba’t umaangis ang takot sa dibdib mo?

Kung itong kamay ang pangamba n’yo; paglalaba, pagluluto’t pag-akay

ang mga tanging kayang gawin nito.

Hindi nito babasagin ang yabang mong

pilit lumilikha ng nosyong panginoon ka.

Hamak lang ding nais kong ihain ang inyong ulo sa hapag-kainan, siguro isa nga akong nilalang.

Ngayong tila estatwa ka sa kinatatayuan at nanginginig ang buong kalamnan— marahil sampal sa mukha ang katotohanang, kailanman, hindi ako basta babae lang.

Confession of a Damsel

SELENE

Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. as I was down on my knees for a girl i met last spring; like I am now, repenting for my soul. Heavenly Father, I come for forgiveness. as I screamed for her name and came undone; like I call for your holy name in church, hand in hand with my mom. Father, I bestow my whole life to you, you know every detail of my life; as I give my purity to her and learn every inch of my body with her tongue. Forgive me, Father— for I have sinned with a maiden like me. I left my rosary and wine-stained dress on her room as she left her love bites on my neck from the night before.

A Mother’s Diary

LIKHANARA

Wala sa plano ko ang magkaanak nang hindi kasal sa asawa. Kaya nang magbunga ng babaeng sanggol ang isang gabi ng paglalasing, para akong nahimasmasan.

Totoo ngang kung wala kang plano sa buhay, ididireksyon ka ng anak dahil bawat kilos mo’y may nakaasang bata.

At ayaw kong masira ang kinabukasan niya. Ayaw ko siyang magaya sa akin na isang pariwara, hiwalay sa asawa, walang pangarap, at higit sa lahat, hindi kilala ang sarili.

Kaya habang lumalaki ang unica hija ko, ibinigay ko lahat: mga Barbie doll, cooking set, cute na mga palda. At minahal niya iyon lahat.

Pero nang lumaki siya’t nagkaisip, ang mga manika, lutuan, at mga palda’y naging estranghero sa kaniya. Pinili niya ang mamuhay bilang lalaki. At niyakap ko iyon lahat.

Pero hindi bale na, itutuloy ko pa rin ang pagiging ina sa kaniya. Ekstensyon pa rin siya ng aking sarili.

Kaya masaya na akong naituloy niya ang pangarap kong maging isang ganap din na lalaki.

AsDISWASHER

A kiss, they told me, will bring butterflies to my stomach. So when another lip touched mine, I waited for the fluttering. A touch, they whispered, will send currents to my core. So when someone’s ffingers grazed mine, I waited for the shivering.

A smile visits my face whenever I see butterflies fly outside my window. The sparks soon came in solitude after I learned about my body. The heat flows naturally within me all along. I waited enough that I learned myself—I was not the kind meant to wait, after all.

A must-have in their romances, I waited for the sparks to reach me, longed for the heat they told my body to feel, and dreaded for the things they said a woman should experience while looking at somebody. I patiently waited for something they saw missing in me.

I’m complete as I am.

Crucifixion

LILITH

It was only seven in the morning, yet Eliza’s compound was already full of life and buzz. To be quite frank, it seemed the stories traveling from her neighbor’s ears were ones with her name plastered on it. The spread of gossip had been as easy as the flow of water, considering how narrow their compound was to be barely bottling together their collapsing houses. After all, she was the epitome and even, the image of a scandalous woman they have grown to recognize on ffilm.

Children were just beginning to knock on doors to wake their playmates up, but the elders hesitated to open them knowing that the ashes of Eliza’s dwindling cigarette would intoxicate the air breezing through their houses. And in any way, she was not welcome—not now, not yesterday, and immediately not three days ago when she and her husband ffirst moved in.

At the brink of her high, Eliza suddenly gathered into hiding her lighter and cigarettes right when she heard the door hit the ffirst note of its creak. Even the children came back to their own houses, and the juiciest part of the gossip dried down to a whisper. It was not the sound of any door; it was eerie, and there was knowledge of who it was: Inang’s.

The old wooden door right beside Eliza’s poured out a woman whose skin wrinkled through time, hair now all white, and never missing that fan on her right hand. “It’s so early in the morning, and you are numbing your mouth

sucking that cigarette of yours?!” Inang yelled, pointing her now closed fan right at the subtly nervous Eliza to which “I’m sorry” was all she could mutter.

“Next time, don’t display your whole body right in front of my door!” Inang said before going back inside her house.

The day went on like the previous ones, only Eliza’s husband came home that night a bit later, and more drunk than usual. However, it seemed his shame and hand were also heavier than three days ago. Eliza woke up to the whole house shaking as her husband crashed onto corners, hurriedly checking behind the room curtain to have it reveal a very drunk Ton.

“Ton! It’s so late already, and you’re very drunk! Where did you go?!” she questioned. To her surprise, Ton sunk his skin onto hers, but in the most unrecognizable way. His palm met her cheeks not anymore to caress it, but to make up for the just emerging anger he was holding. Ton pushed her over the stove by the left wall, where their wedding photos hung untaintedly. And as much as Eliza was tortured by disbelief and pure pain from her palm crashing with the nail on the wall, she had mind space to think of disturbing Inang deep in her slumber. She still thought: the planks dividing our houses are one and the same. So then, she covered her mouth in hope to muffle her screeches, and not let her screams clear the clouds off the midnight sky.

“If it wasn’t for you, my reputation wouldn’t be so tarnished! Now look at what people think of me! I was wrong to marry you! You would never change!” The hits accompanied every sentence, harder and deeper the flesh, the bone, and the heart of Eliza each time. It was only halted when someone banged loudly on the other side of the wall, with Eliza knowing well it was Inang. She could only lie in a bed she was now chained to share with an abusive husband.

The next morning, it was not even seven yet but six, when still, Eliza was already up. The compound reeked of smoke once again. She gathered all her courage, and knocked on the infamous Inang’s door. Inang barely had it opened, as to show that no one—especially her—was welcome. Regardless, Eliza stretched her arms, and presented a bowl of sinigang she had cooked from scraps, in apologies for disturbing Inang’s sleep last night.

She berated her a little, but accepted it anyway. She couldn’t resist a good soup at this age anyway. Eliza went back home with pride, although still, her eyes and body spoke of what had happened last night.

Soon enough, her denim shorts turned into knee-high ones, aiming to conceal the red marks on the back of her thighs. Nevertheless, she remained the talk of the compound. It was no longer the tiny clothes she wore nor the cigarette she no longer had money to purchase. It was now about the way her smile was crooked and how her mother must have abandoned her. Yet all the while, sinigang from scraps turned to slightly burnt bread, to overly salty eggs, and a closer bond with Inang. The nights Ton would come home drunk and hit her, Eliza would come to Inang the next morning with some sort of food peace offering. Inang never smiled at her still, but truly, when did the corners of her lips twitch even a little?

“How’s your house doing? It’s becoming very hard for me to sleep at night, you better ffinish that soon,” Inang commented to which Eliza replied, “It’s almost done, just a few more nails down the wood. If not, we might just stop it all together, we really have no more money.” Sitting on a bench outside their houses, everybody gossiped around them and about them, as it was such a mysterious bond they seemed to be developing.

“Where did all your clothes go? You used to show your skin off so proudly. Now you look so old like me wearing those,” Inang pointed out.

“I thought you dislike those?” Eliza asked with genuine confusion.

“It’s because there are so many perverted people here, look,” Inang replied, while letting her scan the narrow length of the area.

“Well, I guess I don’t want them anymore. I think married life is really changing me. I might actually burn them and use them to cook for tomorrow. We’re running low on gas and we have nothing left—our water supply has already been cut off.” Eliza stopped, and continued, “Hey! I think you still look quite beautiful, Inang.” Which she followed with a smile Inang did not reciprocate.

“I’m very old, you cannot please me with your empty words anymore. I’m all wrinkly and grumpy now. Anyway, go inside, it’s late.” Inang stood up, and left Eliza alone at the bench.

The stars revealed themselves a bit more later, when Ton came home drunk from ffinancial problems, and of course, a reputation he claimed to have been tarnished by Eliza. Like weeks worth of clockwork, he pushed her over to the stove and hit her repeatedly. Inang banged on the wall again, and with shock, Ton dropped the unffinished bottle on his other hand which was cushioned by Eliza’s old clothes lit on ffire. As it sparked, Ton immediately ran out

of the house in cowardice, leaving Eliza dumbfounded. She soon noticed the ffire through her tears, but she chose to sit down on a chair and watch it go down in flames.

The ffire climbed up the left wall causing it to fall, and revealed a half-asleep yet surprised Inang. Her urge to panic was written on her face, but as her now foggy vision darted at Eliza’s, she simply sat across her, on her own humble abode. “I see you have ffinished your woodwork,” Inang remarked.

“I’m truly sorry for always being a disturbance to your sleep,” Eliza stopped, “but I didn’t know you were married,” she asked, looking at one of the pictures framed on Inang’s wall she was seeing for the very first time. “You looked beautiful in your dress, and you probably still will.”

Through the smoke, Inang smiled. “That was the year 1971. But don’t be too sorry, I disturbed countless neighbors with my nail hammering when I was twenty-three as well, only my sinigang tasted much better than yours.” They shared a laugh.

In the Barbie World, Life is Your Creation

ALON-AGOS

I cannot fathom the reason why there are standards set of how women should portray themselves in the public’s eye. That every woman in the population needs to pattern their style according to the blueprint engraved in everyone’s mind.

It is absurd that they treat women similar to plastic dolls you can play dress-up with anytime. Polka dots? Flower prints? Fur around the neck? Anything’s fine as long as it keeps the delicate skin under the silk sheet. And take note, the body should perfectly weigh to a certain measure— not too skinny, and so is fleshy. Once you ffinally acquired these standards, alas you’re now ready to be put inside a box, sealed as a package. Wait for a few seconds to be delivered to the stage and act as a sage. Meanwhile for those who failed to follow the design, a stamp awaits in the corner of the factory to label them as some sort of a rejected product.

As I stare at the checklist given to me, I think it is safe to conclude that no one’s a cut out for these qualifications. And if ever there’s some, it is then possibly fueled by the desire and obligation to fit in the molds. This life is a pseudoutopia. To women, it is a nightmare revisualized in a stop-motion animation. Eyes made of buttons. Skin stitched with lots of thread, while either synthetic ffiber or cotton that stuffs the body. In reality, what actually lies underneath those long dresses and petite bodies are scars and deformities.

These old beings passed by time, as well as these men deemed as action ffigures— they play the role of perpetrators of such fantastical ideals far from reality. They share the same table at the peak of a corporation, acting as businessmen in front of a presentation that shows girly outfits, accessories in the form of coquette aesthetic, and a set of makeup with sparkles on it.

You know what’s the ironic part of this game that they’re playing? They told us that dolls were never for boys, yet they keep on playing Barbie.

Kapag ang Sabon ay Hindi Mabula

AMPING

Kung sana ay puwedeng ipasara ang manufacturer, ginawa ko na ito.

Masalimuot ang makulong sa isang kahong nagdidikta ng limitadong kakayahan at kakanyahan ng isang babae.

Iniipit ka nito sa makitid niyang apat na sulok. Nililimitahan ang abilidad mong bumuo ng pamantayan at norma na

makapagsusulong sana ng pagkakapantay-pantay ng lahat ng kasarian sa ating lipunan.

Ngunit paano kung ang mismong mga proponente at naglikha ng kahong ito ay lamunin din ng sarili nilang imbensyon?

At paano kung ang imbensyong ito ay nakapormang ’di na makalalabas pa ang mga kalalakihang naikahon?

Bilang ikaw na siyang tanging may kapasidad na sumabon, kumusot, at pumiga sa kanilang mga nagkahon sa ’yo, ano’ng gagawin mo kapag nakita mong pati sila ay inalipin nito?

Ang mga kalalakihan ay nag-aakma rin sa mga pamantayan at limitasyong ito. Mga imposibleng pamantayan, kaugalian, at kung ano pa. Malakas ang puwersang nagsasabing sila ay nakaipit, nakasuksok, at nakarehistro sa piitan ng limitado nilang mga kaisipang nakasandig sa kanilang sistema. Lubha itong masasalamin sa paraan ng pagpapakita nila ng tradisyunal na mga tungkulin ng kasarian o gender roles gaya ng pagpapakita ng toxic masculinity at sa pakikibahagi sa patriyarkiya.

Ang iba, gaya ng ama mong panganib ang bantang dala sa kani-kanilang mga asawa, mga anak, at maging kapwa-tao.

Dahil idinikta ng kahon na dapat ang kalalakihan ay maging isang klase ng sabong sintigas ng batong kinakailangang magaspang sa sinumang sasabunin nito. Sapagkat ang disiplina ay kalinisan. Ang disiplina ay may kaakibat na peligrong ang hatid ay dahas at mapagbuhat na mga kamay ng sinumang dadapuan.

Ang iba, gaya ng misogynistic remark ng iyong lasinggerong tiyuhin na ilang beses nangaliwa sa tiya mong walang ibang ginawa kundi magpatawad at mag-aruga, malaki ang naging parte ng mga katulad niya sa pagpapalago ng sistemang ito. Ang babae, dapat daw sa bahay lang. Dapat daw masunurin sa asawa. Dapat daw ay nagsisilbi sa kanila. Nakagagalit na bahagi siya nito kahit hindi niya alam. Bahagi siya nito ngunit marahil ay hindi niya lang batid kung anong termino ang dapat na itawag. Bahagi siya nito at mariin niya itong itinatanggi sa tuwing tumatangis ang tiya mo, ayan na naman sila at nagsisigawan.

Pero ito ang sikretong hindi nila ipinaalam sa ’yo. At ang sikretong siya ring dumurog ng puso ko. Kukunin ko na ang pagkakataong ito para ipaalam nang diretso, dahil baka sa susunod ay hindi ko na magawa. Ang totoo niyan, bukod sa biktima rin sila ng sistemang sila mismo ang bumuo at may pakana—sila ay pawang mga sabong hindi bumubula.

Hindi mabisa. Hindi epektibo. Hindi aktibong nakikilahok o sumasalungat sa patriyarkal na sistema. Mga lalaking nagpagapi sa tradisyunal na gampanin at inaasahang tungkulin ng kanilang kasarian. Nananatiling tahimik at pasibo sa harap ng mapanupil at mapanirang mga pananaw at gawi laban sa kababaihan at iba pang mga sektor na naiiwan sa laylayan. Ganap silang nagpalamon sa apat na sulok ng kahon.

Nagpakahon at nakuntento na lang doon.

Tinitingnan nila ang kababaihan bilang mga bagay na kung hindi man parausan ay pawang mga kasangkapan.

Mga maiingay at mapagmataas sa mga baluktot nilang paniniwala.

Dapat matikas ka. Nakaayon sa pamantayang idinidikta ng machismo.

Dapat hindi ka madaling tamaan ng mahihinang emosyon gaya ng kalungkutan at pagluha. Lalong-lalo na ang pagluha. Maging manhid ka dahil ang pagiging emosyonal ay gampanin na ng kababaihan at hindi mo na ’yon dapat dagdagan.

Mas nakatataas ka sa kababaihan. Mas maraming abilidad at kakayahan. Sa lahat ng antas at aspeto, angat ka. Ang mga babaeng ‘yan ay babae lang naman. Marami pero mahina. Madaling palitan. Madaling masaktan.

Kaya bakit nga naman hahamunin ng sabong ito ang sistemang kung hindi man pabor sa kanila ay dinidiskrimina naman iyong mga may matutuwid na adhikain at nais makibaka?

Mahirap itong tanggapin sa perspektibo ng tulad kong niyurakan, inalila, at binastos ng patriyarkiya. Paanong hindi mo nagawang kontrolin ang mekanismong kaygaling mong nagagawa nang matagal nang panahon?

Mahirap lalo’t ang mahabang listahan ng datos na nagpapatunay sa masalimuot na epekto ng patriyarka sa kababaihan ay nasasalamin at hindi natatapos.

Isiniwalat ng World Health Organization na 35% ng kababaihan sa buong mundo ay nakaranas na ng physical o sexual violence mula sa kanilang asawa o partner, o ’di kaya’y mula sa hindi nila kilalang lalaki.

Sa Pilipinas naman ay naitala ng Philippine Statistics Authority noong 2019 na mayroong 27,914 na kaso ng violence against women and children sa bansa. Kung saan ang 85% ay nakapaloob sa mga biktima ng sexual violence.

Idagdag pa rito ang datos ng Philippine National Police (PNP) na mayroong 37,038 na kaso ng physical injuries dahil sa domestic violence ang naitala sa buong bansa noong 2020, kung saan ay kasagsagan ng pandemya. Kasama nito ang 14,895 na kaso ng sexual harassment na naitala ng Philippine Commission on Women (PCW) sa kaparehong taon.

Kung isa sa apat na kababaihan sa Pilipinas ang nakaranas ng pisikal, seksuwal, at emosyonal na pang-aabuso, paanong magiging madaling lunukin ang proposisyong biktima rin ang kalalakihan ng patriyarkiya?

Dahil ang tunay na siyang dapat sisihin ay ang manufacturer ng mga kahon. Sila ang tunay na sa ati’y nagkakahon, nagkahon na parang sabon. Ito ang sikretong ’di nila ipinaalam sa ’yo. At ang sikretong siya ring dumurog ng puso ko.

Kinukuha ko na ang pagkakataong ito para ipaalam nang diretso, dahil baka sa susunod ay hindi ko na magawa. Ang pagtunton at pagpuksa sa manufacturer ng mga kahong ito ay isang mahabang laban. Masalimuot na giyera na maraming maiiwang sugatan at nakikipagpatintero kay Kamatayan. Hindi ko na ito masasabi sa susunod sapagkat baka tumanda at lumipas na ang aking panahon bago pa mapabagsak ang patriyarkiya.

Baka sa mga panahong iyon ay masyado nang maging mabigat ang muling paghawak sa aking pluma.

Kaya hinihimok kita na galugarin ang pinsala. Kupkupin mo ang mga sabong nakalaya mula sa telibisyon. Himukin mo ang mga hindi mabulang sabon na kailangan lamang nila ng kaunting modipikasyon upang maging mabisa at epektibo.

Tingnan mo ang kapatid o kaibigan mong lalaking nahihirapan sa kung anong gampanin ba ang gagampanan niya, dahil baka bukas makalawa ay maging isa rin siyang sabon na hindi bumubula. Na sa kabila ng pagiging matuwid at busilak niya’y malamon siya ng imbensyong ang mga ninuno niya ang may gawa.

At kapag ang sabon ay hindi na bumubula, hindi imposibleng mapabilang siya sa ibang mga kalalakihang nagpakahon at nakuntento na roon.

Ang kahong patriyarkiya ay patuloy na nagdudulot ng epekto sa kasalukuyang lipunan. Sa kabila ng pag-unlad sa pakikibaka para sa gender equality, ang mga epekto ng patriyarkiya ay patuloy na nagpapahirap sa mga kalalakihan at kababaihan.

Kung magkakaroon ng mas malawak na pag-unawa sa patriyarkiya at ang mga negatibong epekto nito sa

kasalukuyan, magagawa natin ang isang mas pantay at malayang lipunan para sa lahat ng mga indibiduwal. Kahit na ang patriyarkiya ay isang kahon na nagbubukod sa atin, ang paglabas dito ay parehong masalimuot bagamat mas mabigat ang pasan ng kababaihang epekto.

Masalimuot ang maging sa isang sabong hindi bumubula. Dinidiktahan nito ang kalalakihan, nililimatahan ang kanilang kakayahan at kakanyahan. Iniipit nito sa makitid na apat na sulok ng kahon ang abilidad sana ng kalalakihang bumuo ng pamantayan at norma na makapagsusulong ng pagkakapantay-pantay ng lahat ng kasarian sa ating lipunan.

Dahil ang mismong mga proponente at naglikha ng kahong ito ay

nilamon ng sarili nilang imbensyon at ang imbensyong ito ay nakapormang ’di na

makalalabas pa ang mga kalalakihang naikahon, panahon na upang ikaw bilang

siyang tanging may kapasidad na sumabon, kumusot, at pumiga sa kanilang mga nagkahon sa ’yo, ang siyang magpatunay na hindi ka lang sabong nakakahon na

simpleng nakalabas ng telebisyon.

Wala kang dapat patunayan sa sistemang ginawa nila, pero kailangan

mong may mapatunayan sa mga tulad mong minsang ikinahon.

Ikinahon ka’t hindi mo hinayaang manatili ka roon.

Puwede mong maipasara ang manufacturer at magagawa mo ito kung

uumpisahan mo ang laban sa lalong madaling panahon.

At ang panahong iyon ay ngayon.

Pacesetter

LITERARY ZINE

PATNUGOT NG PANITIKAN

Melchi Pagdanganan

MGA MANUNULAT

Adrian Justin Ramos

Kurt Husty Victoria

Airi Martin

Anedrei Manalaysay

Stephen Castañeda

Victor Batongbakal

Geraldine Barcelon

KASAPI NG PATNUGUTAN

Amiel Antonio

Dustin James Bayog

Rachel Hannah Beltran

Ron Jeric Faustino

John Paolo Gatdula

John Rhey Piamonte

Kristel Anne Vadal

Leonard Andrei Cabalona

Hennessy Tan Chua

Felicia Joy Polecios

Nathaniel Valles

TAGAPAYO

Dr. Romulo Mercado Jr.

PUNONG TAGA-ANYO AT DISENSYO

Mylene Lovelyn Tumamak

MGA TAGA-ANYO AT DISENYO

Charisse Anne Alvarez

Andrei Salalac

Kobe Roque

Nika Malance

PUNONG DIBUHISTA

Jeraldine Hayagan

MGA DIBUHISTA

Clark Anthony Maglaque

Francheska Sayo

Jonelle Caparas

Shaina Ashley Faustino

Elian Maru Carlos

Art Julius Castro

Juliene Zoe Landayan

KONTRIBYUTOR

Joi Barrios-Leblanc

James Piponco Jr.