Brutality of the Goddess

Just recently, some freakazoid who apparently did not make it in all of his BC classes, English plus included, asked me to write a freaking speech for him when in fact it wasn’t my job anymore.  I just hate that.  The reason why we have Basic Communication and writing classes is to enable us to become self sufficient in terms of communication.  in simple terms, para dili ta magsige ug salig sa uban.  One of my frustrations as a writer is that too many people ask me to do all the writing for them.  Last Saturday was unfortunately the last straw.  I would not have any of such injustices hurled at me.  You might think i never got along to making the speech.  Think again.  I made a speech all right and one that’s downright preposterous to the last syllable.  It’s written in the stars that after that damned idiot will read this, he’s bound to dubbed as the Senseless Idiot-slash-Moron of the Century, por que the speech is a saksak sinagol of the Gettysburg Address, GMA’s SONA, Joyce Kilmer’s poem, Martin Luther King’s speech, and what have you.

Here is the speech:

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears!

Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.  It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.  But in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground.  So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.  In a sense, we have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, we will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, Angelo dela Cruz is home.

Samakatwid, ipabatid sa lahat, mula sa pook at panahong ito sa bawat Pilipino, saanman naroroon that I am a Filipino–inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future.  As such i must prove equal to a two fold task–the task of meeting my responsibility to the past, and the task of performing my obligation to the future. 

I sprung from a hardy race, child of many generation removed of ancient malayan pioneers who detest the overpass for I think that i shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree.  a tree whose hungry mouth is pressed, against the sweet earth’s flowing breast.  a tree that looks at God all day, and lifts her leafy arms to pray.

I believe that the children are our future.  Teach them well and let them lead the way.  show them all the beauty they possess inside.  Give them a sense of pride to grow and be like the Molave–strong and resilient against the raging storm where the white sand and the coral kiss the dark blue southern sea.

And the palm trees tall and stately wave their branches in the breeze.  Stands a college we all honor in our hearts without a peer, silliman our alma mater, ever lovely ever dear.

Adios padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mia.  Amigos dela infancia, en el perdido hogar.  Dad gracias que descanso el fatigoso dia.  Adios dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegria.  Adios queridos seres, morir es descansar.

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