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On Ericson
by Amy Padilla on Friday, February 18, 2011 at 12:43pm
Ericson and I spent a few years together as writers and later as editors
for the Philippine Collegian in the '90s. My memories of him would always
be filled with laughter. Most of us called him Acosta, Bading or Dingbat.
Ericson as Kultura staff and editor always stood out for his rambunctious
ways. He spent nights writing, drinking, singing and making a lot of noise
in the dead of the night from the fourth floor of the Vinzons Hall (where
the Collegian office is) and onto the sunken garden.
We would spend presswork nights (that'd be a Saturday) eating
cholesterol-laden burgers in front of the Narra hall courtesy of the late
Manong Bogart, buy cheap ala carte food in front of the College of Educ
and eat by wrapping plastic in our hands, and of course engage in drinking
sprees that almost always ended up with him (and some others) drinking too
much and we'd only hope he'd throw up at the proper place. On occasions
when we had some money, we'd board a tricycle to Tandang Sora to eat goto
or mami at midnight.
He'd initially delude probees (probationary writers) into thinking what a
hellhole Collegian was and how they had slim chances of making it as
regular writers. That or he'd find a way to borrow or ask money from them
(or from us) for his regular fare of Tanduay or Gin bulag. (This is where
I "'honed" my drinking skills and tolerance for alcohol.)
Ericson savored pretending to berate a news staffer, Alex Valino, who was
feisty and refused to be cowed by his crazy ways. Similar to a sitcom,
he'd "castigate" her or engage her in inane debates and end up mimicking
Alex that we'd all end up laughing.
He and another editor (okay, the EIC), along with other equally crazy male
editors and staff, spearheaded a lampoon issue of the Kule with a spoof of
the Oblation, posing butt naked in the sunken garden.
He serenaded a friend of ours in the wee hours of the morning, waking up a
good number of dormers in campus, and running away from campus policemen
in the process.
He was once rushed to the UP infirmary for stomach pains. Later on,
hospital staff went on looking for him because he simply checked out on
his own. He left because he said he just wanted to. I couldn't recall now
if he did so in his hospital garb.
On a personal note, he would interrogate me for keeping a relationship
with a PMAyer then - whom he'd derisively refer to as Baguio Oil -- and
would go on to "market" another editor who happens to be his sparring
partner in booze, music, writing and what have you. I scoffed at him for
being so weird, chaotic and carefree. He brokered talks between his friend
and me and then would leave the two of us. But that's after he managed to
goad us into buying burgers and softdrinks for him in the first place. I
ended up marrying that editor. And Ericson our wedding singer. His mother
made my gown.
When I graduated from UP, I would only hear from him occasionally but I
knew he stayed on in the student movement and especially engaged in
cultural work where he best excelled. His many talents, his quirks and
bizzare ways included, were now channeled to a purposed objective of being
part of the national democratic movement. I am happy to have seen this
metamorphosis and how much influence and inspiration he has left to the
younger generations of Collegian writers, cultural artists, student
activists and more.
For a time I really did wonder what direction he'd be taking given his
notorious ingenuity. His mother would tell me, during our visits to their
house then, to talk some sense into Eric when he started becoming active
politically. That's when I moved to a research NGO and appeared to have an
earning job and she'd compare what her son was doing in UP. I would tell
her in a nice way that what Eric is doing is sense despite the
ever-present financial limitations faced by activists.
Later on when Ericson chose to directly serve the people by living with
them in the rural areas, he would occasionally contact me via SMS whenever
he was in Manila just to check on me and his friend, and our children. I
remember he never failed to ask how our children were doing. He did the
same for our other friends and comrades.
Last night when upon reaching home my youngest daughter asked us why we
came home late, I had to tell her that her father and I came from a
meeting about our friend Ericson, his arrest and how we can campaign for
his release. I realized it was the first time I had mentioned him to my
child. And I didn't know where to start because she had never set eyes on
her Tito Ericson in all of her 10 years. Because that's how long (and
more) her Tito has gone to pursue a more dedicated level of commitment in
serving the people.
I tried locating pictures of him at home, and I couldn't find a more
decent one that didn't have him in his crazy poses, including one inside a
cabinet shelf contorting himself.
As a full-time activist myself for 17 years now, I throw my hats off to
Ericson. I know he would remain steadfast because he has found his home,
his solace in the arrms of the people he has chosen to serve. Now the
government is labelling him as a terrorist, a criminal perhaps, but to us
and the people he has been giving a good part of his life all these years
in service, he is a poet, artist, writer, comrade and a dearest friend ---
-all 101% of his funny and inane ways notwithstanding.#
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Free Ericson Acosta
Hagulgol ng Gubat
In brutal retaliation for the Balangiga attack, villages were set on fire,
crops were destroyed, and thousands are believed to have died.
I.
...
Ngayon ay labingsiyam at isa.
At dito sa aking tahanan, langit man
ay naliligalig, ayaw tumahan.
Nasasaid ang aking lakas
upang bigyan pa ito ng ibang pangalan.
Maliban sa impiyerno, impiyernong katahimakan
ang nakaratay sa lupa.
Sa maraming taon,
nakaukit sa kanyang mga puno at bundok
ang kanyang pangalan.
Ito ang Samar!
Sa maraming taon,
ibinubulong ng hangin at dalampasigan
ang kanyang pangalan.
Ito ang Samar!
Ito ang Samar!
Ngayon ay labingsiyam at isa.
At dito sa aking tahanan,
ang nakahimlay na kapayapaan
ay nakaukit sa lapida ng mga namatay.
II.
Tag-araw at totoong walang nakadapong halumigmig.
Ngunit nangangaligkig ako,
sukol ako ng aking mga tadyang at gulugod;
Pilit kong nilalabanan ang ‘di mabatid
na sumpang lamig mula sa Kanluran.
Tila ako isang batang sumisinghap,
nalulunod sa bangungot, nagpupumiglas na makakawala
sa malawak na kamay ng dagat,
o sa sikmura ng sinaunang kuweba,
o sa pagkakalingkis ng bolang apoy.
Tila ako isang langong pulpito na natutuliro,
mag-isang naglalakbay sa puso
ng gabi habang nasa kamposanto.
Ngunit hindi ito sementeryo -
wala ritong krus na nakatundos sa mga hungkag na hukay.
Walang punong santol na magsisilbing lilim
at pahingahan ng mga nagluluksa -
mga naulilang umaasa sa ulan,
pang-ampat sa nakatalukbong na init ng araw.
Sapagkat dito, isang dambuhalang lapida ang buong Isla.
Isang malawak na kamposanto itong arkipelago sa Asya.
Sapagkat dito, hindi tubig ang pumapatak na ulan
kundi mga bala mula sa bunganga ng Springfield.
Sapagkat dito, lamon ng Bolang Araw ang Sandaigdigan.
III.
Kaya ngayon, nagpasya akong maging isang panakot-uwak.
Kahit batid kong ni hindi mapapadako rito ang ulilang mayamaya
Kahit batid kong wala ritong madadagit na palay.
Lupa lamang ang narito na pinagyayaman.
Hindi ng init ng mga bulkan
kundi ng malalamig na bangkay.
Lupa lamang ang naritong patunay sa halubigat na nasa aking talampakan.
Lupa lamang ang narito na patuloy kong tutungtungan -
Hanggang maulinigan ko ang pinakamatining
na ungol, iyak, at sigaw ng humahagulgol na gubat --
kung saan naroon ang aking mga kasama at mahal sa buhay.
Na ang mga nalasog na buto ay tumatabing sa ‘di ko na masipat na
panginorin;
Na ang mga natadtad na katawan ay simpatag ng gubat;
Na ang mga nabubulok na katawan ay tumatabon sa dating mga palayan -
isang tanawin ito, Oo, isang tanawin na higit pa sa kumunoy
na kailan man naisip ay kong hindi sasagi sa alamat ng aking nawalang
kabataan.
Lupa lamang ang naritong patunay sa halubigat na nasa aking talampakan.
Lupa lamang ang narito na patuloy kong tutungtungan -
Hanggang dumating ang pagkakataon
na umawit ang sanggol sa aking sinapupunan,
at sabihin sa akin na ito,
ito na ang panahon upang humakbang ang panakot-uwak,
tunguhin ang dalampasigan ng Dagat Pasipiko
upang doon, maging isang ulilang mayamaya -
habang sinusukat ng pakpak ang lawak ng dagat
at humapon sa buhanginan ng dalampasigan.
At iluwal
Siya, siya na hindi ko kilala ang ama.
Siya na hindi ko mapagsino ang mukha ng kanyang ama.
Ngunit bakit, bakit kailangan ko pang alamin…
Siya, na isa lamang ang ari ng kanyang ama
sa lima o limampung ari ng puti na hindi tuli.
Ngunit walang pakundangang
sinalit-salit ang aking Malayong katauhan.
Sa bawat sibat, sa bawat diin, sa bawat pagwakwak -
Bawat igkas, bawat siklot, ang bawat pagsabog ng apoy
ay tila mga dambuhalang kamay,
nilalamutak ang aking sinapupunan, sinasakmal ang kalamnan.
Huwag nang banggitin pa
ang lunggati ng aking kaluluwa;
Kung totoo ngang
itong kaluluwa ang tanging ikinaiiba
ng babae at ng butas,
o ng lalaki at ng tagdang yari sa Amerika.
IV.
Oo aking anak.
Sasabihan ko kung sino man ang iyong ama.
Oo aking anak.
Sapagkat ikaw ang aking kaluluwa.
Ikaw ang aking pangalan at awit -
Ikaw ang aking kapayapaan!
Sapagkat kapwa kamatayan at paghihiganti ang kapayapaan.
At sa atin, dito sa Samar! Dito sa buong kapuluan!
Higanti ang makatarungang Himagsikan.
Ito ang aking natutuhan. Ito ang ituturo ko sa iyo.
At ito ang ating ibabanyuhay sa buong Samar.
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