“Kamay na Bakal”

ni: Jay-Ar A. Di Chosa

Kumpas, galaw na siyang gumagabay

Taglay ang lakas, iyan ang bakal na kamay

Hawak ang itak, hampas ay hindi sumasablay

Iginugupo mga pangarap na kailanman ay hindi malulumbay

Marami mang balakid, pag-aalala na bumabagabag

Sandata ay sipag at tiyaga na lagi nang nakalatag

Pamilyang nag-aabang sa pag-uwi ay kalakasan

Walang yaman na kahit ang isang hari ay matutumbasan

Sa paglipas ng panahon na siyang nagpatunay

Hindi lamang dunong iyong taglay 

Damang dama ang mga kalyo sa mga kamay

Patunay na ang mga pangarap ay tinutupad nang buong husay

Sa wakas, natapos ang panahon na tila pagong ang bagal

Oras na upang anihin ang mga bunga ng iyong pagpapagal

Abot kamay ang mga pangarap na dati ay parang sugal

Buong pusong itinaya ang tiwala at paniniwala sa Poong Maykapal

AI Naku! Panulat na Walang Kaluluwa:  Isang Huwad na Mesiyas sa Mundo ng Makina’t Makata

Rodney James G. del Castillo

Sa pagsikat ng bagong milenyo, may makinang na bituin ang nagsumiksik sa kalangitan, isang sanggol na yumakap, hindi sa bisig ng ina, kundi sa mga sirkitri ng mga makina’t mundo ng teknolohiya. Ito ang simula ng isang makinang na paglalakbay ng Artificial Intelligence, na nagsimula sa isang simpleng palayaw: Chatbot at SimSimi, na nagbukas ng pinto sa makabagong posiblidad, kung saan ang teknolohiya ay nag-iisip at nakikipag-usap. Ang pagdating nina NovaAI, Cortana, at ChatGPT ay nagpapahiwatig lamang ng isang delubyong nagdala nang himala, na minsang panaginip ng mga paham at pantas sa wika, isang makakatotohanang nagpabago sa mundo ng elektroniko’t akademiko. 

Tinagurian ang AI na isang modelong pangwika na naging Dakilang Diyos-diyosan sa mundo ng pagsulat. Maraming manunulat, kabilang na ako, ang natuksong sambahin ang kaalaman at kakayahan nitong lumikha ng mga salita kahit walang dila. Akala ko nga’y ito na ang sagot sa lahat ng pangangailangan ng isang manlilikhang makata. Ngunit sa paglipas ng panahon, natuklasan ko ang kamalian ng aking paniniwala. 

Mula sa ating pangongopya ay ‘di  lamang isang kasalanan sa akademya, kundi isang paglabag sa integridad. Isang pagtatangkang linlangin ang mundo na siyang mapagkunwaring matalino. Kahihinatnan nito ay maaaring maging malubha, na ikaw ay mapapahiya at mawawalan ng kredibilidad. Sa kabila dako ng kanyang ‘di matatawarang kakayahan, ay ‘di isang tunay na manunulat ang sumusulat, kundi isang kagamitan lamang, tulad ng martilyong pumupokpok ng karunungan, ngunit ‘di tunay na kamay ang may hawak ng martilyo. Nagpapanday ng mabubulaklak na salita’t parirala, ngunit ‘di nauunawaan ang pagdalumat at komplikasyon ng damdamin ng tunay na nadarama. Tinaguriang isang Huwad na Mesiyas na nangako ng kaligtasan mula sa pagkabigo, ngunit sa huli ay nagdulot lamang ng pagkalito na parang kambing na nagbabalat-kayo sa korderong nakabalot sa mabigat na puting kumot. 

Kaya't bago tayo umasa sa AI, dapat nating tandaan na ang tunay na pagkamalikhain ay nagmumula sa loob natin, na maaaring maging isang katuwang sa paglalakbay, ngunit ‘di maaaring maging kapalit ng sariling mga kakayahan at katalinuhan. Napagtanto kong ang tunay na pagkamalikhain ay parang isang bulalakaw na nag-aapoy sa kaloob-looban ng ating kaluluwa at nagbibigay-buhay sa tunay na salita’t diwa. 

Ang isang dakilang manunulat ay ‘di lang magaling sa paglikha’t pagsulat, sapagkat ito ay tungkol sa pagbabahagi ng makabuluhang karanasan, tunay na damdamin-emosyon, at pananaw sa mundo. Iyon ay isang bagay na ‘di kayang pantayan ng anumang makina’t teknolohiya. Sa huli, tinanong kong muli si AI, Ano nga ba ang kulay ng kalungkutan? Sinagot ng AI, bughaw, ngunit sa aking balintataw, ako’y nakatanaw ng kalungkutan sa kulay pula, mula sa sinag na papalubog ni haring araw, sa nagniningas na dilaw ng isang nalagas na nalalantang  dahon, at isang napakaitim na gabing walang bituin. Kaya AI Naku! dapat na alamin ang kalaliman ng damdamin ng tao. Tandaan na ang tunay na pagkamalikhain ay isang rebelyon, isang pagtatalaban at pagtaliwas sa tinatawag nating limitasyon.

She Guide

Maria Dolyn D. Doromal, Ph.D.

In the college classroom, I reign,

Guiding students through knowledge’s domain,

From atoms to cells, and everything in between,

I ignite young minds with a passion unseen.

With beakers and microscopes, we explore,

The wonders of science, from ceiling to floor,

Experiments and theories we dissect and debate,

As we unravel the mysteries that science creates.

I watch as their curiosity grows,

Their eyes lighting up as new knowledge flows,

I am a guide, a mentor, a teacher with pride,

Helping them navigate the scientific tide.

In the world of academia, I stand tall,

Imparting wisdom and knowledge to all,

My heart swells with joy as I see them succeed,

As future educators, ready to lead.

Golden Sea

Maria Dolyn D. Doromal, Ph.D.

As the sun dips low on the horizon

Its golden rays dance upon the sea,

The waves whisper a soothing song

A peaceful serenity envelops me.

In a watercolor sky colors blend

Reflecting in the hushed ocean,

Shades of pink, orange, and blue

Creating a breathtaking view.

Herons glide on the gentle breeze

Their cries adding to the symphony,

Of the waves lapping at the sea

A sight to see, nature’s harmony.

I close my eyes and breathe in deep

Taking in the beauty I perceive,

With sunset in the sea , the peace I found

A moment of serenity that knows no bounds.

The first time Maya Santos walked into the weaving center, she noticed two things.

The first was the silence.

The second was that every weaving loom belonged to a man.

It surprised her.

In the mountain municipality of Kalinaw, weaving had always been considered a man's craft. The intricate textiles produced by the community were sold to tourists, exhibited in museums, and even exported to neighboring countries. Men were praised as master weavers, while women prepared meals, gathered dye plants, cleaned the workshop, and cared for children.

No one questioned the arrangement.

"It has always been this way," people often said.

Maya had heard that sentence her entire life.

At twenty-four, she returned to Kalinaw after earning a degree in Community Development. She dreamed of creating livelihood opportunities for women in her hometown. Yet, as she stood in the weaving center watching colorful threads move effortlessly through experienced hands, she realized that changing tradition would be more difficult than she had imagined.

Her grandfather, Antonio Santos, was the oldest master weaver in the village. His hands, though wrinkled with age, moved with remarkable precision.

"You came home," he said without looking up.

"I did."

"Your mother says you want to start another project."

Maya smiled.

"I want to help."

Antonio chuckled.

"Young people always come home wanting to change everything."

"I don't want to change everything."

"What then?"

"I want everyone to have the same opportunity."

Antonio stopped weaving.

"The opportunity already exists."

Maya looked around the room.

"There are twelve looms."

"Yes."

"And twelve men using them."

Antonio remained quiet.

A week later, the municipal government announced a grant for community livelihood projects. The funding would support training, equipment, and business development.

The mayor immediately proposed expanding the weaving center.

"The men have already proven they can produce quality textiles," he explained during the council meeting. "We simply need more looms."

The proposal was almost approved.

Then Maya raised her hand.

"What about the women?"

A council member laughed.

"They already help."

"They prepare food," Maya answered. "They harvest natural dyes. They process fibers. They package products. But they are never recognized as artisans."

"They have different responsibilities."

"Responsibilities should not become barriers."

The room grew quiet.

Another councilor leaned back in his chair.

"So you're saying our traditions are wrong?"

"No," Maya replied gently. "Traditions can teach us many things. But traditions should never prevent people from reaching their potential."

Instead of arguing, Maya began listening.

She visited mothers who wanted additional income but could not leave their children for long hours.

She spoke with teenage girls who loved art but believed weaving was "for boys."

She interviewed elderly women who admitted they secretly learned weaving by watching their husbands decades earlier.

One afternoon she met Aling Rosa.

Hidden inside Rosa's old wooden cabinet was a folded textile unlike anything Maya had ever seen.

The patterns were extraordinary.

The colors blended perfectly.

The craftsmanship rivaled that of the village's finest master weavers.

"You made this?" Maya whispered.

Rosa nodded shyly.

"But... everyone says only men weave."

"I learned from my father."

"Then why did you stop?"

"My husband said people would laugh."

Maya carefully unfolded the cloth.

"When was the last time you touched a loom?"

"Twenty-eight years ago."

The discovery changed everything.

Maya convinced Rosa to teach five women inside her own home.

There were no official classrooms.

No expensive equipment.

Only one borrowed loom.

The women practiced every afternoon after finishing household chores.

At first, they made mistakes.

Threads snapped.

Patterns became uneven.

Colors failed to match.

Many became discouraged.

"I'm too old," Rosa sighed one evening.

"I'm too slow," another woman admitted.

"My husband thinks I'm wasting time," said another.

Maya looked at each of them.

"Every master was once a beginner."

Months passed.

Their hands became steadier.

Their confidence grew stronger.

Soon they created their own designs inspired by the mountains, rivers, and native flowers surrounding Kalinaw.

Unlike the traditional patterns made by the men's cooperative, these new textiles told stories.

One design represented mothers carrying children while planting rice.

Another symbolized women fetching water before sunrise.

One tapestry illustrated daughters walking several kilometers to attend school.

Each piece reflected experiences rarely woven into the village's history.

When the annual Mountain Heritage Festival arrived, Maya rented the smallest booth she could afford.

The women's cooperative displayed only twelve woven pieces.

Across the plaza, the men's cooperative exhibited more than two hundred.

Visitors naturally flocked to the larger display first.

Maya tried not to feel disappointed.

Then a tourist from Japan stopped in front of Rosa's tapestry.

She stared at it for several minutes.

"Who made this?"

"I did," Rosa answered nervously.

"It's beautiful."

Soon another visitor arrived.

Then another.

By afternoon, journalists began interviewing the women.

"What inspired these designs?"

"They tell our stories," Rosa replied.

Stories.

Not just patterns.

That evening every single tapestry was sold.

The success spread quickly.

National newspapers featured the women weavers of Kalinaw.

Universities invited them to exhibit their work.

A social enterprise partnered with the cooperative.

Orders arrived faster than they could weave.

But success also brought criticism.

Some people claimed the women were destroying tradition.

Others accused Maya of bringing "city ideas" into the village.

One anonymous letter read:

A woman's place is in the home.

Maya folded the letter quietly.

Her grandfather noticed.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little."

Antonio nodded.

"When I was young," he said softly, "my father told me weaving was only for firstborn sons."

Maya looked surprised.

"You never told me that."

"I had two sisters."

"What happened?"

"They watched me weave every day."

He smiled sadly.

"They were better than I was."

The next morning Antonio walked into the weaving center carrying something wrapped in cloth.

He placed it before the village elders.

Inside was the textile Rosa had woven decades earlier.

"I have kept this for almost thirty years," Antonio admitted.

"I believed people were not ready."

He looked around the room.

"I was wrong."

The elders remained silent.

Antonio continued.

"Skill has no gender."

His words changed the discussion.

The weaving center voted to open membership to anyone willing to learn.

The municipal government approved funding for additional looms—not exclusively for men, but for all qualified artisans.

Young boys learned natural dye preparation from elderly women.

Young girls mastered advanced weaving techniques from experienced men.

Knowledge flowed in every direction.

No one lost their culture.

Instead, the culture became richer.

Five years later, Kalinaw became nationally recognized for its inclusive weaving industry.

Household incomes increased.

Girls completed college because their mothers could now afford tuition.

Fathers spent more time caring for children while their wives attended weaving workshops.

Local schools introduced lessons on gender equality alongside traditional craftsmanship.

Visitors often asked Maya how she managed to transform an entire community.

She always gave the same answer.

"I didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I simply pulled one loose thread."

She pointed toward the weaving center.

"When people are willing to weave together instead of separately, the whole fabric becomes stronger."

During the cooperative's tenth anniversary, a large tapestry was unveiled in the municipal plaza.

It contained hundreds of woven hands.

Some belonged to women.

Some belonged to men.

Some were young.

Some were old.

No hand appeared larger than another.

At the bottom of the tapestry was a single sentence:

"Equality does not unravel tradition—it strengthens the fabric of every community."

As the afternoon sun illuminated the colorful threads, Maya smiled.

She realized that Gender and Development was much like weaving itself.

Every person represented a unique thread.

Different colors.

Different strengths.

Different stories.

When one thread was ignored, the design remained incomplete.

But when every thread was valued, respected, and woven together with care, the result became something far more beautiful than anyone could create alone.

And that was the future Kalinaw chose to weave.