To my friend,

Let me just remind you of something that may seem so obvious but needs to be blatantly pointed out.

In this nation, we are expected to celebrate each other’s differences, stop the prejudice spreading around, and promote the love for diversity. But what I see is the complete opposite of what things are supposed to be. Genocides, massacres, holocausts, segregations, caste systems, and all other hideous forms of bigotry, without a doubt, have become more prevalent in every state, in every county, in every city, in every household.

Well, what I mentioned was too extreme. But I’ll give you examples of how you, somehow, have added fuel to the fire of racism. When there was this shy, new classmate of yours in school, I heard he was being mocked and forced to shout he’s ugly. And the reason was so petty – just because of his “unusual” facial features: afro-styled hair thick lips, stubby nose, wide face, dark complexion. While he was being embarrassed in front of the school canteen, you just sat on the bench complacently. You even pretended to be unaware of the ongoing public humiliation. You did not have the courage to speak up for your poor classmate.

There was another time when this tan-looking, round-eyed, and bushy-eyebrowed lad was asking for your help in translating the descriptions shown in the menu. With a labored struggle to speak English, he pleaded that you order for him. But instead you became impatient – you thought he was dumb and grabbed the menu, as if you were retrieving something that was snatched from you. You cursed in front of everyone else, shamed him for not being able to speak the so-called "dominant language" fluently, and stomped off the diner with a huff.

You might have felt indifferent about what you did. Showing ignorance towards your classmate who was being bullied. Not helping a young kid who only knew a smattering of English. Yes, I understand that you would respond defensively and say you did not like their presence. I understand that you are a conservative, a conservative who wants people to be the same and not be included in a wider, more diverse spectrum. That you rather seek for uniformity in belief, in race, and other matters. But in this case, your traditionalism seems not to offer any help in solving the problem of racism.

You see, racism is like refusing to be friends with someone who eagerly wants to be so. Let’s say I do not know you. I approach you, wave at you pleasantly, and try to make small talk. But you, with an air of intolerance, judge me for my differences, think that I am a threat to you, and then go away. Of course, I would be very hurt! And not just that – you wouldn't realize the fact that you did not only close the doors of the mind, but also the doors that could lead to more possibilities! Had you not done that, we could have shared each other’s views and made a lasting relationship.

That shutting-of-doors scenario happens every day and everywhere. Someone will rigidly think that he is everyone’s master, and the people around him are his slaves. Someone will deny the fact that there exists a motley of people around the world and thus presume that only his race exists. On the other hand, someone will feel that he is not accepted by society. Someone will feel that he does not deserve humane treatment for being true to himself. Racism affects everyone negatively, harbors resentment, and takes advantage of others. It makes me feel indignant whenever I hear people being teased, snubbed, and massacred just because they are different!

Before I end this letter, I would like you to make a pledge. A pledge that you will spread awareness of the dangers of racism. A pledge that you will not hesitate to speak up for those who cannot stand by themselves. A pledge that you will help in extinguishing the fire of racism, which now seems to have worsened to a conflagration.

I am not telling that you should stray away from your conservative ways. Doing so would narrow down the wide spectrum of beliefs present in humanity. But I urge you to use your adherence to values to inspire others. You could perhaps construct new traditions promoting love for all kinds. You could even help your Church in its campaign against discrimination!

I hope that from now on you will be a member of the Anti-Discrimination clique spectrum.

Hoping for your reply soon,

Your friend and co-member of the Anti-Discrimination spectrum

Equal representation and equal opportunities,

This is what defines democratic communities.

The masses vote and decide as one.

That is how it is ideally done.

In reality, however, it is impossible for all to have a say.

If the majority decides, does the minority have no choice but to obey?

After all, democracy's goal is to maximize happiness.

With powerless minorities, is this really fairness?

Should the hundreds just accept what the thousands demand?

Tyrannic oppressors are not just singular rulers of the land.

Unlike dictators, masses cannot be deposed.

Tyranny of the masses, oppression unopposed.

Having no choice but ritualism and conformity to the herd,

Many are forced to radicalism to have their voices heard.

Radicalism leads to minorities further alienated,

And thus a cycle of oppression and hatred.

Red

I see red as it touches my being. Feeling the warmth slowly brushing until the very tips of my hair. The touch of it, eternal, as I feel it delicately placing itself on my cheek. Burning, but never hurting as it echoes through every fiber of my being. With every line, every fold, and every print, it embeds itself and sets my heart ablaze. No wonder you say it’s your favorite color.

Orange

I see orange as it fills up the air. With every whiff, I catch its aroma. Its sweet citrus flavors seemingly flow with the cool, crisp breeze. This orange, unknowingly, dances around me. Tempting me with its pure fragrant richness. It beckons me to come closer with the smell of fresh leaves and honeydew. I cling to you in the comfort of honeyed emanations. Closer, I inch to your fruity cologne.

Yellow

I see yellow in your grandiose symphonies. A quip released and you burst out the song. It enters my ears and rings in my brain. Melodious and messy and loud and cheery. Yellow has no tune but I smile with each verse. Yellow’s cute giggles eventually meet mine, as they intertwine and curve at the ends and pass through my skull. Making me smile at our comical talks.

Green

I see green within your soul. Your sweet-sour taste continues to improve over time. Green passes through the buds that see who you are. It knows you’re good and healthy with your rich pleasant flavors. An explosion of sweet, sour, spicy, piquant. Like wine and cheese, green ages and endures to be fine. I hope I can be here and see green in me too.

Okay so here's the thing, I was never able to see colors. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not color blind, it's just that they've always seemed so dull and boring compared to how others say they see it. They always talked about how unique maroon is whenever all the state university colors clashed during UAAP, or how beautiful everything looked like during the rainbow-filled Pride March at the Oval, or how, every year, the intricate paint on the wall of UP Fine Arts changes; but to me, it was simply the fact that this thing, whenever I looked at it, had color and that had a different one. There was never really anything special whenever I saw colors. Nothing struck me the way others’ were, with their eyes glistening whenever they see color. Before I knew it, I got used to living my life like this. Every day, being a monochromatic scene, nothing new, nothing extraordinary. That is until I met you, of course.

The first time we met was at the Sunken Garden, you were sitting alone by one of the pharaonic roots of the acacia trees. You were wearing a sweater, in the midst of the blazing outdoor heat of tropical Philippines. I wondered how on earth you weren't sweating at all. Soon I sat on one of the benches nearby to wait for my classmates. After a while, I saw you stand up and stretch your arms to the sky, your hands were moving as if you were grabbing on to something. I looked up to see what it could be – there was nothing there. My classmates arrived so I left. The next day after school, I went to Vinzons Hall to print articles for our thesis. While walking down the slope I saw you yet again at the waiting shed. This time you were wearing a shirt and leggings, I was two persons behind you in the line which waited for the Ikot jeep to arrive. The jeepney came, and half of the line got to sit down, including me. Inside, we ended up sitting three people away from each other. Midway the trip, at the now burnt Shopping Center, I took out my wallet to take out my fare. As I stretched out my right hand and said “bayad po,” you suddenly took out your hand to pass on my payment. Our hands touched…

This was the first time I ever saw true color. All the colors suddenly flooded my sight. The blue posters stuck to the back of the driver's seat which asked for female borders, the silver railing my left hand was holding on to, and all of the remaining passengers’ clothes from orange, purple, and mostly maroon. After this, I turned my head away since I couldn't look at you; I got flustered from what I was experiencing that moment. Luckily, no one was sitting at the edge of the jeepney, so I scooched over to the end. But when we arrived at the Post Office, more people came to ride, and out of the blue you scooched over to my side as well.

We were beside each other, the jeep was full, and the people were packed like sardines in a can. I could feel the frame of the jeep on my left, while your body on my right. And the colors my eyes saw from outside the jeep didn't make it any easier. Soon my stop came closer and as I said “para,” the jeepney halted, and I went down. I walked to the sidewalk and looked behind to see the jeep drive away with its gray smoke puffing up into the air. In the midst of walking, I halted and stood there for a moment. Afterwards, I smiled. I mean, come on, to feel this sudden surge of both excitement and nervousness all because of a mere touch of your hand. This somewhat serendipitous instance, this rather remarkable everyday scene, this moment with you, perplexed my young seventeen- year old heart.

That instant moment is forever embedded into my memory. The feeling of just seeing the colors in the way that wasn’t how I used to see, suddenly popping out here and there was marvelous splendor.

But soon the colors started to fade away into the colors which I normally saw. The nervousness and excitement I felt in the jeep just vanished, and soon my life went back to the way it was. The next few weeks came and they were much more dull. School work went on and on and the weekend turned shorter. My life suddenly turned from what was 'normal’ into this repetitive clockworks full of gears which rotated on and on in an endless, and not to mention, boring cycle.

It was Wednesday of the fourth week of the month, and the periodic tests started the following day. Math was the the first subject. Tired and hung up, I decided to walk home from school that day since I lived in the campus. As I walked through the pavements of the Oval, I saw the University Avenue. Cars were whirring from all directions, beeps clamoring from all sides, and adjacent to it was Mr. Oble. I was never a spontaneous person. I don’t know what got into me that day when I decided to go to the Ampitheatre. Spontaneity never really suited me, but because of that, I would've regretted not seeing what changed my life that moment…

When I was a child, I marveled at people who could speak different languages. I once saw this thick book majestically displayed at the shop window of our local bookstore. I looked at it carefully and quietly read the words shown on the cover - The Future Polyglot. Ciao, ola, bonjour, namaste, hallo. Those words stuck to me as if they wanted to say something, even if I did not know what they really meant.

The next day, I urged my father to buy the book. I nagged on him, "Oh tata, I love that book, go the bookstore, and buy it pretty please... you see, I wanna see what's inside, there might be a new friend who I could talk to!" But with an air of adultlike cynicism, he scowled at me and even said that I was so foolish to yearn for something like that. He even barked, "It's gonna be useless for you, mijo, you won't be able to use that when you get old. I think you should stop dreaming of getting a stupid book that doesn't even make sense... ¡caray! Do something useful! Be a lawyer for the higher courts of our county! Grow up!"

I was crushed by his hurtful words. Just like a child whose dreams were shattered because of a single-minded parent who forced him to rot in this mundane, parochial reality. I stopped wishing for that book for the next years and pretended that it was just a whim.

When I was in fourth grade, I wasted my chance to be part of a special Interlingua course, which was given only to a few gifted students. When I was at middle and high school, I feigned distaste after my teacher suggested I take foreign language classes. The day before my college graduation from legal management, I declined an invitation from my professor. He invited me to come with him in a trip around Latin America so that we could refine my Spanish and learn unknown languages such as Quechua, Taino, Guaraní, and more. Instead, I put on a timorous face and said no, as if I was really scared of exploring new places and learning those languages.

But as I was walking home from law school yesterday, I came across the same local bookstore where I would go every weekend. And at an instant, flashbacks played through my head all at once. Hey, that was where I used to go as a child! Hey, that was where my favorite book was! I instantly forgot my responsibilities – the written-in-English-only tone about various constitutions, affidavits I need to review, tomorrow's mock trial about an immigrant Chicano versus a native New Yorker, and I stepped inside.

I was surprised that everything seemed different – It was not a bookstore anymore! Once again, I was a child, curious of everything he saw. I approached the owner and asked what happened to the bookstore. She said she decided to convert it to a library so that everyone, despite of social class, of nationality, of race, can read. She hopes everyone can realize that open-mindedness, not money, is the key to relishing books. After hearing her story, I was determined to look for the book.

I saw the book in an antique rack on top of a bookshelf, perhaps for the books on linguistics. This is your chance, come, and get the book! So I followed my inner voice and hugged it as if it was the mestizo-like doll I played with when I was young. I blew on the cover (literally) to remove the dust. Still the same title – The Future Polyglot. Ciao, ola, bonjour, namaste, hallo – still, looking as if they wanted to talk to me.

I started reading its introductory parts – its table of contents, preface, and other important stuff I should know. I found out that this book actually presented a spectrum of languages, from the widely-used ones in the world today to those almost extinct. This was exactly what I have yearned since childhood, and I felt like achieving a lifetime wish! I wanted to learn different languages because I wanted to gain awareness of the people around me, as well as their varying cultures. I wanted to learn different languages because I wanted to appreciate the world outside me and to tell my dad to stop thinking so rigidly in life – that everyone should not be of the same scope, that diversity does not lead to chaos but further understanding. And this book is going to turn my dreams into reality! Without a moment to lose, I began scanning the first part – the most popular languages.

Bienvenue. Oui, it's French. The language of romance, chic life, arts, the food I would usually eat at fine-dining restaurants, the immigrant Canadian classmate I met in seventh grade ... it makes me feel entitled!

Willkommen. Ja, it's German. The language of assertiveness, social gatherings, music, of those buoyant, hole-like symbols put in vowels, my athlete-friend from Munich since second grade... it makes me feel energized!

Huanying. Shi, it's Chinese. The language of commerce, divine horoscopes, Eastern philosophy, my businessman-professor from torts law class... it makes me feel astonished!

There are even languages for which one does not need to use his or her mouth to speak. With just simply playing with one's fingers, can use sign language and hear the voice of the disabled in no time.

On the next chapter were cognates – words which are common in various languages. Common, sí, but their rare meanings made me rue my mistakes in the past.

Hand. This word is used in Dutch, German, and Norwegian to refer to the organ one uses to do tasks which may seem commonplace but have a special purpose. Conveying gestures so that everyone, including the disabled, would understand one's efforts in expressing his or her beliefs. Writing sentences in different tongues so that one could be united in understanding ideas despite of language barriers. All those I could have done had I stayed true to my dreams and seized the opportunities gratuitously handed to me before.

Kanan. One can say he or she is taking the right path in life in the tongues of Indonesian, Malay, and Filipino. I felt I had lost my sense of direction when my father told me not to follow what my heart said. When I shied away from those opportunities that could have built my potential, I felt my course of action was wrong. My caprices of being the barrister of my barrio misguided me from what I really wanted.

Triste. In French, Italian, and Portuguese, it conveys the unhappiness as a result of one's failures and setbacks. My sorrow when my father dissuaded me from studying linguistics and becoming an international diplomat. The melancholy I had felt for years when I was ordered by my dad to pursue a legal-related career, just because it was a lot more practical than language.

I felt worst when I turned to the next page. It talked about unknown languages. Learning about them felt like the death of a friend who could have achieved a lot more in life.

"Eyak is a language native to Alaska that just became extinct. Mary Smith Jones was its last speaker. She decided to print a book that discussed the language; too bad, no one read it, and she did not succeed in preserving it."

"Andalusi Arabic was a language unique to Spain and Portugal. It was spoken by the Moors who were expelled from Granada in the late fifteenth-century. Too bad the Spaniards, after recovering their land, branded it as 'taboo', thus leading to its extinction."

"Livonian was a language spoken in Latvia. It is somehow related to Estonian. It was used as early as the post-medieval era. Too bad that its last native speaker met his demise a few years ago, and with him, his language."

My tears were probably enough to refill the lost waters of a river. I was devastated to find out that these languages had so much potential, yet they were taken for granted. Like a cadaver given an unceremonious burial, it became dead without being passed on to the next generations, without being publicly recognized by humanity. Maybe they could have been one of the most popular languages if people did not reject and treat them as gibberish.

But maybe, I thought, feeling my childlike imagination playing in my head once again, maybe we can revive them and prove the whole world that they deserve another chance. Maybe we can tell each person to cherish not just his or her language but also those spoken by the people around him or her. Maybe we can encourage everyone to develop a sense of love for all languages, whether Eyak, Mandarin, German, or even ASL!

All of a sudden, I received a text from my father. Where on earth have you been again? ¡Apúrate! Go home this instant! You have a mock trial a la mañana, remember?

Okay, tata, okay, I replied, trying to imitate his curt talking style. But I could not keep this book in the library – I need to borrow it and continue my research! Our current languages are at stake if I do not take action! So without hesitation, I asked the owner if I could take it home for a day or two. Then I marched off the building and thought of a plan.

When I get home, I shall show the book to my father. I shall announce that tomorrow l shall leave law school and become a polyglot. The polyglot who will find a way to revive those dead languages and bring them back to the lingual spectrum. The polyglot who will convince the people around the world to take care of their languages today. The polyglot who will tell his rigid father that one ought to break the walls surrounding him or her and embrace the beliefs of others.

Bughaw

Bughaw na bughaw ang langit noon, kapag tumatakbo kami sa isang kalye sa amin. Pataas-baba ang kalye at saktong-sakto talaga upang maehersisyo ang aming mga binti kaya kami’y pumapayat.

Hindi karaniwang kalye sa Pilipinas ang katulad ng sa amin. Dito ay tahimik, walang mga batang maingay na nagtatakbuhan, walang mga tumatambay at nagkukwentuhan, wala ring sari-sari store na karaniwan mong makikita kung saan-saan. Kung sakaling gugustuhin mong bumili ng biskwit, kakailanganin mo pang maglakad ng halos kalahating kilometro.

Kung tutuusin, para sa iba, kami ni Dan ay mayaman. Nasa amin ang madalas tawagin na "rich kid vibe". Kung minsan pa nga'y naiinis ang mga tao sa amin dahil pinagti-tripan namin sila sa pagsasalita namin ng conyo. Inis na inis sila sa "like parang" namin na halos sinasabi namin sa isang pangungusap.

Noong una'y di ko inakalang makakakilala ako ng katulad ni Dan. Paano ba naman, napakaarte niya. Maarawan lang nang halos isang minuto ay naiirita na siya. Pareho kaming pinalaking hindi lumalabas ng bahay ngunit ang pinagkaiba namin ay hindi ko ginusto ang magmistulang preso sa loob ng aming tahanan. Kaya't lagi akong pinapagalitan noon. Lagi akong tumatakas para lang makipaglaro sa mga kaedad kong kapitbahay habang si Dan ay nasa bahay lang. Siya pa ang pinupuntahan ko noon sa kanila nang kami'y nasa ikalimang grado noon at simula noon ay nagustuhan ko na siya.

Luntian

Luntian ang kulay ng damo na hinigaan namin ni Dan nang kami'y nasa ikawalong grado na. Hindi niya pa alam na may gusto ako sa kaniya. Ngunit, naisip kong malabo na rin naman na maging kami. Naniniwala kasi akong mayroong mga taong pangkaibigan at pangkasintahan. Isa ako sa mga taong pangkaibigan lamang para kay Dan.

Nag-aasaran pa nga kami sa mga gusto naming tao noon. Ang dami niyang sinabing pangalan sa akin at madalas ay puro mga basketball player. Minsan pa nga'y

nagkunwari akong kinilig sa isang basketball player kasi inakbayan niya ako at sinabi niyang "Kuya! Single 'tong si Jessica!" Hindi ko napigilan ang kilig ko't namula ang mukha ko. Inakala talaga ni Dan na gusto ko yung basketball player na si Eric. Pero sa totoo lang, ‘yung akbay niya ang nagpakilig sa 'kin. Sa sobrang kilig ko'y nahampas ko siya noon sa balikat at namula din ito. Hanggang ngayon ay di ko makalimutan ang araw na iyon.

Dilaw

Dilaw ang kulay ng skirt na suot ni Ashley na aking kinaiinisan. Simula nang magkakilala sila ni Dan, tila nawala na siya sa 'kin. Hindi na niya ako pinupuntahan sa lamesang bato sa damuhan tuwing tanghalian. Hindi niya na rin ako sinasamahan sa silid-aklatan upang mag-aral kami nang magkasama sapagkat sa tingin ko'y mas gugustuhin niyang aralin ang buhay ng babaeng iyon.

Minsan, nakita ko pang kinantahan ni Dan si Ashley. Sa sobrang selos ko'y umiyak ako ng halos dalawang oras noong gabing iyon. Naloka naman yung babaeng iyon. Pero sa totoo lang, ako nagturo kay Dan kung paano kumanta at tumugtog ng gitara. Ngunit nagpasalamat ba siya? Hindi. Hindi siya marunong magpasalamat sa mga ginagawa ko para sa kaniya.

Hindi lang 'yon. Hindi niya pa alam kung anong mga ginagawa ko para sa kaniya. Madalas ay tatambay ako sa kantina at hihintayin ko siya para lamang akbayan niya ako at sabihan ng: "Libre 'mo 'ko!" Oo, napapagastos ako ng sobra dahil sa kaniya. Tila ba ang pagkain na binibili ko ang bayad para sa pang-aakbay niya sa 'kin. Paano ba naman, mahal na mahal ko siya e. Pero nawalan na ako ng pag-asa sa kaniya dahil kay Ashley.

Pula

Pulang-pula ang mukha ko nang isugod ako sa ospital. Nagambala ko pa ang pahinga ng aking magulang noong ikasais ng hapon. Sobrang nag-alala sila, tila ba’y mawawala na ako sa kanila. Nang makarating sa ospital, tinawagan ng aking mga magulang si Dan at ang balita’y kanyang ikinabigla.

Hindi ko maipaliwanag ang nararamdaman ko noon sa sobrang sakit.

Makalipas ang ilang oras, nasa ospital na rin siya. Galing daw siya sa opisina at dumiretso agad siya dito. Laking tuwa ko nang nalaman kong nagpunta siya sa ospital at kinaya niyang makapaglaan ng oras para sa akin. Pumasok si Dan sa silid kung saan ako nakahiga at nang marinig niya ang batang umiiyak, agad siyang sumigaw ng: "I can't believe it! Tatay na ako!"