Raining June

Its June already. and as you know, in our country June is the beginning of the rainy season, where the bright blue sky and vivid white clouds is now covered with dark gray sky (or at literally clouds, but at time the clouds looks more of a sky). It is such a wonderful thing since during afternoon you can hear the dropping water into your roof while you are in your bed and about to sleep.

Rain has so many memories of mine. It reminds me yearly that school year is about to begin (where I always experienced wet socks inside my shoes during my grade school days). When I was younger me and my siblings used to bath at rain during mid-May. My mother said, which came from grandma, that the first rain in May is where grace is being showered from Paradise. But during that time, I only just enjoy of running in the streets while the rain pours from the sky rather than what mother told me.

Someone also told me that rain is a gift from God, that He throws coins of grace from the heavens. But when it became louder and wilder and stronger, it is no longer coins but babies being cast out from heaven. This are the unbaptized babies who are quite unfortunate enough to refuse to enter to paradise.

I don't sure who told me this story but it is such a sad story. But then, it is not a barrier to unlike rainy days.

The Handkerchief

" An old lady stole the hanky and placed it on her head as a headpiece.

A mind boggling piece that I did for my writing class. It is meant to be read in two ways. I hope you like it! :) (Painting above by Wiktor Sadowski.)

***

The Handkerchief

A. The man bought the handkerchief for his fiancé. (go to F )

B. He courted the girl. They fell in love with each other and later married. (go to C )

C. The girl, now a woman, lost the handkerchief in their wedding party near the sea. (go to L )

D. A large fish caught the hanky and swallowed it along with other fish. (go to E )

E. The fish was caught by the fisherman and it was quickly sold into the market. (go to O )

F. He discovered that his girl had another guy, and that was his brother. (go to K )

G. The lonely man’s heart broke apart and he made a new hanky to sell. (go to A).

H. A crow took the handkerchief and placed it on her nest. (go to I )

I. It later fell on the ground when the young grew and left their nest. (go to J )

J. A hunter took the hanky from the ground and he used it to clean his gun. (go to V )

K. From his anger, he threw the handkerchief into the river. (go to U )

L. It was discovered by a dog and took it to her Captain who was never defeated in any battles. (go to X )

M. She organized a cult which she called "Handkerchief Worship." Few days later, her heart stopped beating and she suddenly died .(go to H )

N. Believing it is the hanky that killed their leader, they threw it into the sea before they killed themselves. (go to D )

O. The fishmonger discovered the handkerchief. (go to S )

P. An old lady stole the hanky and placed it on her head as a headpiece. (go to M )

Q. The rich boy saw the girl with her hair tied up with the handkerchief, and her small, white ears lay plain in his view. He wanted to have her. (go to B )

R. The people heard the news about the hanky from a fish. They later on considered it as the "miraculous hanky came from the fish." (go to T )

S. He gave it to his sister who was a Nun.(go to T)

T. The hanky became a relic in a church since it is said to be miraculous. (go to P)

U. A poor girl saw it and used it to tie her untidy hair.(go to Q)

V. She wanted to impress her husband so she cleaned his gun while he was asleep.(go to W )

W. She accidentally shot her husband’s gun on a gas tank when she used the hanky to clean the trigger. (go to Y )

X. When a war between broke out...The Captain was killed and his men used it as a flag to surrender.(go to N)

Y. The whole town was ablaze when the fire spread rapidly. (go to Z )

Z. Morning came and all of the people were dead, the town was in ruins, and the hanky turned to ashes. (go to G)

Tales from Far Far Away..

There is a place where walls of stone, lime, and ash were left behind by time, many paths are still green, and many olden oaks yawn sleepily under the shifting light, there was a Bunny who came from a far, far land. She was there because a bird came to her one day and spoke of the place and took her away before she could nod her head.



Whatever she did, however she asked, she would not be sent back until many days had set. To bide her time, she fills her head with words from dead men, for she thought them very wise, that had not reached her ears before.

She walked around town on her own often. First, she came across the old and huge church. The pride of the town.

She was amazed by its grandeur and magnificence that she felt she is being in a grand palace of someone who is as great as this church.

She looked about in a meticulous manner and saw things of equal majesty as that facade. Among them was a Tree of Life. Yet this tree had no leaves, but many branches in the shapes of ancestor after ancestor, until it reached the capital, where sits the fruit of this tree, One who is prayed to in such places.

A grand organ that was incomparable to all of the organs they had in her land.

The gilded throne worthy of the loftiest being, resting on such slender creatures but with the surest shoulders, who never quivered in this canopy of opulence.

The Master of the cathedral's structure sits behind the doorway's arch, listening and looking at the passers by under weary lids of marble. For it was noontide, the Bunny saw him asleep in the shelter of the shadows, away from the scourging sun outside. She slipped away before he could reprimand her for disturbing his nap.

The Bunny went out of the church and walked around the town, looking at the strangers and the houses as old as the looming church.

From the heart of the town, she decided to have a tour at the outskirts, away from these looming, silent stones, where the landscape gradually turns to greens and golds.

She walked in a narrow path lined with trees in their smattering of moss and shy buds, and proud, proud daffodils. The flowers smiled at the Bunny as she stopped by to take a look at them.


When Spring enters this place, the Daffodil is one of the flowers who greets her and sings aloud of her beauty.

Among the myriad of trees, she saw a hill with a chapel on top of it(You can see it through the trees).

“What a lovely scene it is!” said the Bunny.

And when she went there, she met at the doorway the statues awaiting in boredom.

She looked at them closely, the dogs looked at her back with inquisitive eyes.

"What are you waiting for here?" the Bunny asked.

"Nothing, just waiting for nothing." said the dogs. "And you? What are you doing here? Are you a visitor?"

"Oh, yes. I came from far, far beyond two oceans to the East."

"Really? I went there before." said the beasts, quite smugly.

"How come? Haven't you been stuck there for a very long time?"

"And so? Does that mean I can't go anywhere?"

"That's enough! Don't trust them, young lady. They just trying to fool you." said the lady atop the doorway. The bunny looked up to her, and saw the lady was looking down on her as well. The beasts snickered from her side, but continued to peer at her.

"Oh! There you are, ma'am." the bunny said when she looked at her.

"We are very glad that you came here to our door," the lady said with a smile.

"Well, I am also happy to pass by your place." the bunny said.

"Young lady, we are very happy because our place quickly growing forgotten," the lady nudged at the folds of her skirts, flecked with pigment. "This place is becoming abandoned. Long time ago, when this place is still new, people flocked together to see our beauty and magic. But as the time pass by, the people gradually lessened. Until no one came here for some time until you did. Still, they will forget us anyway..."

"Such a sad story for a very beautiful place, " the bunny said.

"I hope you speak of us to other people and to your homeland."

"I will. and I promise that I will return with my Cat. I'm sure he will love this place." And so, the Bunny left the chapel and continued her walk. By mid-afternoon she became tired so she searched a place to refresh herself.

Some distance from the chapel's lair, a small fountain with a head of a man poured water from his mouth. The Bunny approached him and have a drink. But as she came closer, she heard the fountain crying while pouring water from his mouth. She didn't hesitate to ask.

“Are you crying, sir?”

The weeping man said, “I was a tippler before. When my family left me, I went here to cry and cry, but I can’t! So I just pour my tears from my mouth. See how long I have cried! That I have turned into stone!”

“Pity for you, sir.” said the Bunny.

"Will you share my tears?" he sobbed.

The Bunny took a handful of them and drank. It felt cold and sank to a place within the dark of her chest. It tasted of stone and regret.

And she realized that in this town, not all is happy. And she missed her far, far land, and her Cat waiting there.

She bade her farewell to the man and walked some more, then saw a sad serpent with a plant blooming from its mouth.

And heads stuck in the walls, looking at the passersby, waiting to be recognized by someone. But somehow, the people who walked beneath them had lost their names. The years had washed them away. They were simply heads. The bunny spied them sighing to each other. No one other than her seemed to look up to them. A thought crossed her. If any longer, these graven heads would become gargoyles who spitefully spit at the people in the rain.

"Here is Isabella, and her spouse Ferdinand. And here is Cardinal Alfonso, and there is Old Triton." The Bunny rattled off abruptly, to their surprise.


"And me?" said the woman at the rightmost post.

She paused, and then remembered. "Melusina, perhaps?" The bunny smiled at them, but they could only sigh more.

With that, she lifted her lips in a weary effort of a smile. "Why is it that a stranger knows but none from here?" The other heads nodded.

Melusina then asked: "Are you lost?"

"No... and yes..." She trailed off and looked to the sky. By now the sun was trudging to the horizon, so she said, "I best better be going..."

"Do not forget us!" They implored as she took her farewells.

It is almost evening, and the sun was setting in the west. The bunny came back to her room, where from her window she can see the small monastery and the whole town of Santiago from the distance. She stored her memories and stories in a book and fell asleep...

There, in her dreams, she gave the book to her Cat, who is in the other side of the world. When the Cat woke up, he was inspired to the stories that he wrote it on this blog and tell the stories for those who pass by here.

***

And there you go, the last of the four-part series of the Bunny's tales from the far far land. Or should I continue this until her final day at the far far land. Any suggestions? And sadly, I couldn't post any of my latest illustrations today since I still have not scanned them yet. :(

I hope you liked this little tale of sorts, though! This shall do for the meantime.

Strange Tales and Pictures from Spain

Since I collect some stories around me for my ideas in my stories, let me tell you some of them. I'd like to tell you these three strange tales, two from my folks, and one came from a tour last semester. These stories, along with others, are kept in my notebooks, written doodle-like or jotting-down-notes way. These notes include the weirdest dreams, newspaper and magazine articles, and other people’s experiences or things that just sprung up in my mind .

The first tale came from a funny and friendly classmate named Iris. She told me that her clan is influential in their town, and they are considered to be the “kings” of their place. And most of her kinfolks are, well not surprisingly, fat police officers, and, surprisingly, even shadow rebels in our country, hiding in the mountains but then exert a strange influence in the country side by virtue of fear. But that’s not my tale. The story goes back long ago, about one of her ancestors. The woman was being chased by a number of tribesmen called the "Headhunters". When they got nearer, a member of the tribe threw an axe towards her, and her head was severed. But the body still kept on running after the head fell to the ground, until the body bumped on a tree and fell.

The second tale came from my father. The story was about my uncle named C--*. C-- was considered the black sheep of the family, and he seldom spends his time with his family. One day, he and his friends decided to cheat in examination. When they knew that their teacher had discovered what they have done, the culprits burnt the room where the exam papers were kept. Days later, the police chased after them. All were caught except C--, who fled into the mountains and hid for some time. C-- came back to his home after his case was forgotten. Unsurprisingly, my grandpa greeted him with lashes.

The third tale came from an educational tour last semester in my Art Studies class. We went to a huge ancestral house in Quezon called Casa Tribunal (click here for more detail of the house) It was an 1831 house built by Don Diego Enriquez, the Gobernadorcillo of the place at that time. The house had curious tunnels that can fit a carriage, leading to a huge town church nearby and the priests’ graveyard. The tale is about the old pictures in the house. The pictures mostly depict festivals and parades in the town. But each picture this “black woman” appeared over and over again, and the pictures are taken between 1890’s and 1960’s.

Recently I also encountered this interesting work of Edward Gorey entitled "The Gashlycrumb Tinies". My Creative Writing professor told us to read this as an assignment. It was a rhyming abecedarium about, in the very gory Gorey manner, children depicting dying in different ways. Delightfully, Gorey is very consistent with this style in all of his books, that inked Edwardian Gothic filled with stifled furniture and stifled lives inside stifling houses, where the entertainment is often delivered by Misfortune, but instead of horrifying, you are led to feel more of melancholy for them. Everyone seems terribly resigned to their cases, and to long faces. Death or the undead are the only things that seem to enliven them. I heard this alphabet before, but it is quite good to remember this kind of, supposedly, nursery rhyme. I just wonder if we, adults or ones a bit older than children, just underestimate children’s imagination, that we usually limit their stories to happy ones, populated with only cheerful characters, contrary to what Gorey, and even what the Brothers Grimm did for me, who came up with this eccentric, or rather morbid, branch of children’s literature that captivated my imagination with welcome monsters longer than those kitschy, pastel-hued stories did.

Last week I also received through mail these beautiful pictures from the Bunny in Spain. She took it while staying in Santiago de Compostela for her scholarship. They are all beautiful pictures! The amber colors of the sun and the old bricks and the trees that resembles of Arthur Rackham’s. The picture of a rustic squirrel perched on the scrolls of a park bench in amber light is my favorite.

* I just don’t like to mention my Uncle’s name.

Of Paintings and Old things

This a small illustration of mine for my eldest sister Joyce of an Angel called Ardarel. As you know, Ardarel is an angel belonged to the Elohim class, and he is known as the Angel of fire. She told me that this is her guardian angel, and she requested me to portray her angel and post to her blog as her picture. So I started looking for angels and I come up with these gothic angels, which always fascinates me every time I see them in Netherlandish paintings or in illuminated manuscripts. So I looked for medieval portraits and depictions of angels, from the most grotesque, bizzare face to the highly realistic ones.

Of course, I look to the most familiar ones, including my favorite artist Jan Van Eyck, which I truly admire his strong handling of colors and details, as well as the faces of her angels and saints. I also saw, again, this painting of Van Eyck of a statue angel. He truly achieve the illusion of the angel, setting as a statue on a flat surface, and somehow, I am recently practicing this illusion, which is quite difficult to. I compiled this pictures into one and you can click it for better viewing.

I also encountered this Gothic sculpture of an angel by an unknown master. The technique used by the master in sculpture is somehow had a resemblance to Tilman Reimenschneider, another favorite artist of mine. The heavy drapery, thick clothing, and Gothic, elongated faces and bodies is their signature and this feature makes them unique and graceful for me.

Bruegel also influenced my angel. He painted this allegorical painting of the fallen angels. His bizzare figures always took me to his world. Somehow, Bruegel's works is another realm to me, and not just a mere interpretation of their beliefs. Every time I see his work I had this feeling that he came to a world far far beyond our countries, and then returned to his home and started to illustrate the world he visited.

Well, weeks and weeks after I finished the angel, I started to have interested to the angel's life. So I researched about him. According to legend, Ardarel was born mortal, with human parents. But soon he transformed into his real form as angel in the age of seventeen and joined other angels. To be honest with you, despite of my interest about celestial creatures, I don't much researched about their specific lives, even I had a story commissioned by a friend about angels and the after world.