Brian Dys

Author: Brian Dys

  • Punitin Ang Sedula

    Nag-file ako ng tax kanina.

    Pwede naman palang walang sedula, nag-aksaya pa ako ng P238.68.

    Pero ayos lang, sa unang pagkakataon, nakita ko rin ang loob ng Quezon City Hall.

    Malaking lugar pala.. parang parke. Meron pang dalawang lumang auto na display na lang. At sa main building, may mga nakalilok sa pader na hindi ko na tinignan kung ano. Nagmamadali ako.

    Dahil sa buong linggong ito, ewan ko ba kung bakit kapag tumutunog na ang bell clock ng alas-sais, pinapatay ko at natutulog ulit ako para gumising ng alas-otso. Ganun ang nangyayari mula noong Lunes.

    Buti na lang at naipadala ko pa sa labandera ang mga marurumi kong damit, kaya kahit papaano, may napala naman yung umaga ko.

    Sa City Hall, mayroong BIR reps. Ngunit hindi pala sila tumatanggap ng papeles ng taga ibang lugar. Oo, unang pagkakataon kong mag-file ng tax. Minsan kelangan mo ring punasan ang sarili mong pwet.

    Eto ang mga nalaman ko:

    1. Dalawang lugar ang pwede mong pag file-an ng tax. Isa sa nakalagay sa “registered address” mo at isa sa address ng kumpanya na pinagtrabahuhan mo.
    2. Hindi mahalaga ang Community Service Tax (sedula) Number kahit may field to sa papeles ng tax (pero wag ko daw sila isumbong).
    3. Tig-tatlong kopya ng mga papeles ang kailangan mong i-submit.
    4. Hindi mo kailangang paabutin ng April 14 ang pag-asikaso mo ng pag-file kung Arpil 15 ang deadline (lalo na kung may 4 na buwan ka na pwedeng asikasuhin ang mga to).
    5. Form 1700 ang kailangan mo kung regular na empleyado ka lang.. ngunit kung rumaraket ka kagaya ng iba, form 1701 ang kailangan mo.

    Ang lawak talaga ng Quezon City hall. Pwede kang mag-sight seeing at kumuha ng ilang litrato. Madami ring gwardiya.. mga 700 ata.

    Matindi ang sikat ng araw. Lahat ng tao kumakampay para malamigan ng konti. Buti na lang at swabe ang byahe ko mula Quezon City patungong Makati Ave.

    Isang mabait na ale na representative ng BIR ang sumalubong sa akin at sya ang nagturo na maling form pala ang ginamit ko. Buti na lang walang hassle-hassle at sya na ang nag-fill in the blanks. Kinopya ko na lang ang sinulat nya at tapos na.

    Meron akong P100.03 na tax refund.

    Mam, kelan ko ba to makukuha?

    A.. next year pa yan. Ano bang pangalan mo?

    Regidor po.

    Anong apelido?

    Sanchez po.

    Sabay sibat ko, dahil nawirduhan ako kay mam na bakit nya pa kailangang tanungin ang buo kong pangalan.

    Siguro kamukha ko yung batang pinaampon nya.

    Originally published in happyobituary.blogspot.com.

  • The Smell of Battery Leak

    I was enjoying the afternoon sun when the sky suddenly wept. There we were… sinking paper boats in the puddle.

    My brother made a boat out of styrofoam. He powered it with some dynamo he got from a broken toy racing car. That was the time I learned how to play with batteries and masking tapes.

    While propelling in our vast garden flood, we shot it with pebbles. We burned the hell out of that boat. How mesmerizing the melting foam was.

    Originally published in leave.myblogsite.com.

  • Helen and the Stupid Coffee

    We went home to Helen’s house after catching up too late in the streets of San Roque. I told her to stop trying beer too much.

    Her house was the closest so we proceeded. There was her mom sleeping, head on the dining table. I wasn’t that sleepy so I headed for a coffee.

    I waited for several hours… for several brewing hours and yet, the frappuccino I ordered wasn’t even lukewarm.

    I slept at the coffee shop comfort room.

    Originally published in leave.myblogsite.com.

  • The Pale Orange Reflection


    The table had vanished. All we can see were food. Seafood, oil food, wheat, and everything in between. You see, it was our parents twentieth year wedding anniversary.

    My siblings and I were seated like audience to the sweetness of our folks. We were witnesses and evidence to the bond they have over the years.

    My little brother was dancing Macarena. I think he was mocking some waiters. They should dance to that song while serving food. That would be swell.

    Originally published in leave.myblogsite.com.

  • Turtles Can Fly A Bit

    I swear, I saw two turtles swimming in our garden flood. All the kids were playing in the rain. There I was, watching them by the second floor window.

    My room is a bit damp, and stuff toy-smell could really be tangy. I just wanted to let my face sag and let my fingers tinker on the sill.

    As soon as the rain stopped, I searched for the turtles. My feet glided, ignoring what the water had in store. I swear, I wasn’t dreaming of turtles.

    Originally published in leave.myblogsite.com.

  • Magic Almond, Make Me High

    I picked up an almond from my mocha ice cream. It was 6:30 in the evening when it fell out of my mouth. It must be caused by Karen’s taunting that I can’t make a trap out of this sand mountain.

    I jaw-dropped to my disdain. So, after I digged a foot-deep and covered it with newspaper, I sprinkled sand on top to conceal the hole. By the way, we half-filled it with drainage dirt.

    I dusted off the almond. I don’t like it with sand coating. A step back and I fell. Stinky foot!

  • Life In Mist

    Life in Mist
    A side-view picture of a woman.

    She dresses for the weather. The canopy of clouds only depicts immaturity. But she is sure.. it is a lonely painting if she were to frame the world outside. As she opens the door from the darkness of her room, the mood is finalized.. She remembers her mother pinning clothes fresh from cleaning.

    A curve slowly forms on her lips, she smiles.. answering mother’s idyllic glance. The breeze is the dampness of cloth and the breath of soil is another story.

    She hears their pet cat purr. Grandfather is watering plants while she watches by the window. Butterflies flutter as it showers, birds sing early in the morning. Mother calls her.. mentions her name like it is a sweet and funny song. One last take, she relishes the tinge of water and earth.

    She is a girl who likes to run whenever someone calls her. She never runs away. Before she even gets close to where the voice comes from, their pet dog fawns at her.

    “What’s your name?” A girl with a red umbrella asks as she pats a neighborhood dog on stroll. At a distant, she does not move for the moment.. and for moments that pass by.

    It begins to drizzle. She sees herself dressed for the weather and moves on.

    A different version

    She dresses for the weather.

    The canopy of clouds only depicts immaturity. She is sure – it is a lonely picture if she were to frame the world outside.

    As she opens the door from the darkness of her room, the mood settles. She remembers her mother pinning clothes fresh from washing.

    A curve slowly forms on her lips. She smiles, answering mother’s idyllic glance.

    The breeze is the dampness of cloth.

    She hears their pet cat purr; grandfather waters the plants as she watches by the window; butterflies flutter as it showers; birds chirp early in the morning.

    Mother calls her, mentions her name like a sweet and funny song.

    She is a girl who likes to run whenever someone calls. She never runs away.

    Before she even gets close to where the voice comes from, their pet dog fawns.

    “What’s your name?” A girl with a red umbrella asks and pats the neighborhood dog on stroll.

    . . .

    In the distance, she does not move for moments.

    It begins to drizzle.

    She sees herself dressed for the weather.

    Originally published in happyobituary.blogspot.com on 10 February 2005 3:56 pm.

  • Orchestral Adornment

    So here, under the shower of plumerias and against the gush of the wind, I have been wandering off my mind. This morning birth was surreal.. as if the whole street was not just swept off particles but off people, too.

    Just for a second, I thought I saw a little girl riding her red bicycle but as I smiled, only the ash grey asphalt had the coldest dead stare. Damp from the early six o’ clock dew.. it reminded me of tears.

    I caught a falling flower and tuck it between the pages of a book. A useless bookmark.. one which will only stationarily reside in those significant part.

    The part where I bought a bouquet of flowers and invited everyone to my funeral.

    —

    Originally published in happyobituary.blogspot.com on 9 February 2005 2:35 pm.

  • Run

    I took off to this beach in Mindanao because I was too tired of working and being some old bummer (or loser, if you want to suggest) at the same time.

    Medium palm trees were the linings instead of house walls. The breeze was like those old afternoon movies that made you feel so low. But this time, it made me relax for the first time.. in a different way, though.

    I planned to live here in this beach house for the rest of my life. I can see myself turning reddish, and my hair in grey tone.. holding some surfboard in my right hand.

    And a golden retriever named Ulan greeted me everyday.. every sunny and rainy day.

    (After reading ‘The Catcher In The Rye’)

  • Frolic of a Day

    It begins to rain. A gentle pour of heaven’s tears. Of joy.. with its smile, the rainbow in the horizon seems an arm’s reach.

    She waits in the overpass.

    He emerges from the last step of that drenched pebble stairs. The first sight she has is from the faint puddle. That bright yellow daisy, that kindred smile.. lively in the pot, beaming at her.

    Both hearts with solid foundation melt. A facet of the love story amidst the rush of everything. And if someone speaks of time unstoppable,

    —

    Originally published in happyobituary.blogspot.com.