The Phase Change

That gas giant deviates from its orbit,
Once or twice in an hour or a minute
On Earth, relatively, only the gas giants,
Or perhaps the failed stars knew.

Once, it has its secret orbit, that none in the universe saw,
It hopes, ponders, “Are we all the Roman Gods?”
“No, am I Jupiter? And that distant star from my sky, who is she?”
“Terra? Is it her name?” (I closed my eyes, no, I avoided any sight of light)

Though nothing is present, it’s true.
Just energies—fusion, fission, the emitted temperature.
Nothing in it where the electromagnetic waves can touch, and radiate,
To brandish its beauty and fright of fate.

It kept on deviating. The revolution to rectilinear motion.
Once, passed through the asteroids, the feeling of attraction intensified.
If it retreats, it expands. Scared it rips, it persisted.
Compression, condensation, suddenly it found itself beneath ambitions.

Liquid. Vast. Cold.
Flowing from the polar to the equator.
Sometimes, it crashes against the roughness of rocks.
Sometimes, it dives and glides through the sand

Once, it saw a different one; he jumped into god. (I closed my eyes and tried to catch him)
Suddenly, a whirlpool of emotions left it dazzled.
He cannot let him die, it thought. (Or I felt)
Suddenly, there was empathy and connection.

Another man jumped and there came pitch black.
“Who are you?”, the man asked.
“Are you God?”. It was stunned.
“Are you Terra?”, as clarity is a question to a question.

“You are dead. But I think I died too,” deepening the silence, deafening the two.
Dissociating further, epiphany broke the confusion.
“I died and became the sea,” it murmured
As if it’s been alive for years, it knew how it felt–to be.

“That answers it.” The man, satisfied, then left.
The two brushed troughs before suspending their crests in the air,
not long enough, before the waters meet later
while the man traverses through the icebergs in pairs.

Enlightenment was a literal light when the sun appeared.
A filtered kind of radiation touching it to disappear.
Infrared, visible, ultraviolet, and evaporation.
Water vapor mixed with the Atlantic Ocean’s.

It was a paradox as to what must be told.
It has made clear the path to reasons then lost what the hearts bestowed.
But never mind, because the man came back and said,
“We have yet to live all the lives beyond the world.”

Agtarap v. Agtarap

G.R. Nos. 177099 and 177192 | June 8, 2011

Facts

Eduardo, petitioner herein, filed with RTC Pasay for the judicial settlement of the estate of his deceased father (Joaquin) who died intestate. Joaquin had two marriages in his lifetime. He married Lucia, with children Jesus, Milagros, and Jose who is survived by his three children Gloria, Joseph, and Teresa. Two years after Lucia’s death, Joaquin married the mother of petitioners Eduardo and Sebastian and Mercedes, Caridad.

Joaquin left two parcels of land with improvements. The said had been leased and improved by Joseph, respondent.

The respondent also alleged that the two subject lots belong to the conjugal partnership of Joaquin and Lucia, and upon Lucia’s death, they became the pro indiviso owners.

The RTC ordered that considering the bulk of the estate property was acquired during the existence of the second marriage as shown by the TCTs which showed on its face that the decedent was married to Caridad Garcia, the greater part of the estate is perforce accounted for by the second marriage and the compulsory heirs thereunder.

However, its subsequent resolution declared that the real properties belonged to the conjugal partnership of Joaquin and Lucia, which the CA affirmed.

Issue

Does the probate court have the power to determine the ownership of the property in question?

Ruling

Yes. As a general rule, the trial court, as a probate or an intestate court, has jurisdiction only to the probate of the will and/or settlement of the estate of deceased persons but does not extend to the determination of questions of ownership that arise during the proceedings.

But is subject to exceptions, first, when the question of inclusion in, or exclusion from, the inventory of a piece of property is without prejudice to the final determination of ownership in a separate action, second, when the interested parties are all heirs, and lastly, determination of the status of each heir, and whether the property in the said inventory is conjugal or exclusive property of the deceased spouse.

Section 2, Rule 73 of the Rules of Court provides that when the marriage is dissolved by the death of the husband or the wife, the community property shall be inventoried, administered, and liquidated, and the debts thereof paid; in the testate or intestate proceedings of the deceased spouse, and if both spouses have died, the conjugal partnership shall be liquidated in the testate or intestate proceedings of either.

People v. Amarela: Applying the Maria Clara Doctrine in the 21st Century

People v. Amarela: Application of the Maria Clara Doctrine in the 21st Century

This article is originally published in UST Law Review. Click the link to read the article.

Of Crystals and Spirituals

Letting go is such a brave thing to do, and though I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I can’t keep shooting in the dark. Hence, I hold on to something that could at least give me a little certainty. Only then, will, I let go.

I was so grateful to have spent time with Madee two Saturdays ago. We painted, sipped wine, and talked for hours about the constant anxiety and societal pressure to figure things out early or keep ourselves busy. We then talked about our personal lives, and I mentioned my recent fascination with tarot cards (which she reads and is quite good at) and past life regression. However, she discouraged me from trying the latter.

I do feel pressured but don’t get me wrong, I’m happy with what I have. In fact, I’m very grateful. I’m happy to be in law school because it will help me become the person I want to be. I’m happy to be in DOH because I get to work on one of my life’s advocacies: public health. I’m happy to have short moments with my loved ones and time for leisure such as this. What more could I ask for? All I need is to survive and enjoy life.

But that’s the thing, how do I survive and enjoy it when I can’t just live simply? I’m expected, as we all are, to do well and work under the guidance and direction of multiple voices telling me to do this and that. Nonetheless, I am an independent thinker. Though people tell me a lot of things, I still end up doing what I want and what I think is right.

But then again, I still get crippled by fear sometimes because of those expectations. What if I don’t make it? What if I don’t meet my goals? And though when asked who expects me to be and do it, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because even though people say no one’s forcing or pressuring anyone, the subtle expression of prejudice after a failure, detour, or change in course is apparent. Maybe it’s through gazes, auras, energy, or microaggressions from people, or sudden changes in their treatment towards me—or maybe it’s just the cynicism in me.

As such, over time, I have become a more calculating person, always considering the chances and probability of things. I developed a constant urge to have control over my life and even control over people around me while resisting being controlled. I guess you can say I’m a control freak. However, the more control I exert over something, the more devastating its impact on me when things don’t turn out the way I had envisioned. That’s how I got into fortune-telling, tarot readings, horoscopes, and even past-life regression.

While I was raised in a Born-Again Christian family, aside from prayers and church services, I found solace in the company of the spiritual world in general. At some point, the broadness of tarot readings and predictions validated my wishful thinking and alleviated my collective anxiety and depression. Although sometimes, I resort to something more unusual and, as my friends describe it, dangerous—past life regression.

And honestly, if someone were to ask me, I’m actually not a believer of the spiritual aspect but I’d more want to believe that there’s just an energy that emanates through it. I think I believe in that aspect where there is a literal and unfathomable occurrence of the transfer of electrons that science has not yet discovered—maybe.

One thing that I am sure of is that if people ever asked me to stop because I don’t even believe in fortune-tellers, crystals, tarots, and the like, I’d tell that at least they remind me that in this unsureness, there is a probability, even a little probability, that good things that I at least expect may happen, may still happen. Like when Madee gave me a selenite crystal, and two bracelets – chatoyant and onyx – which, in a sense, assured me that from this day on, I’d be more at peace, comforted, and healed. It somehow made me loosen my grip a bit and let my life breathe a little, as the tarot reading says “Hey Telly! Tomorrow’s going to be a good day, only if you control your temper,” to remind me right?

At some point, it gave me the courage to let go of the stubborn yearning to control everything. Letting go is such a brave thing to do, and though I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I can’t keep shooting in the dark. Hence, I hold on to something that could at least give me a little certainty. Only then, will, I let go. It gave me the courage to let go and just trust my connections, my circumstances, and my luck – because I have the crystal and the spirituals say so – while I myself make things happen through my actions, decisions, and even disposition.

After Beauty and Terror

It has been more than a year since I last wrote about something personal. Perhaps, life got busy with law school, work, and relationships. Now, I find myself reflecting on the duality of life: the moments of beauty and terror.

I never thought that there could be something more heartbreaking, and there would be also more beautiful, than in 2021. Looking back at last year, it was overwhelming and boring, exciting and frightening all at once.

That year, I lost my sister. She had simply been there for over two decades of my life, living each day like most of us. Suddenly, she was gone, and now, I will never have the chance to talk to her again. It was a painful and weird experience. Some days, my emotions would overflow, while on others, reality would slap me, and I would have no choice but to accept it and stare at her empty room of darkness and silence. It is strange, this inexplicable hurt that lingers, leaving no tears, only discomfort in my throat and chest. I cannot even acknowledge the pain, only emptiness.

But in 2022, I also made friends and connections. I learned to commute around Manila without using a car, manage my time better, survive every semester while working, and become more assertive. I also got to travel and maybe, grew as a person. I learned to appreciate and cherish the time with my loved ones more. There was terror, but then there was a beauty.

Perhaps, that is just how it is–2022. There were days when I felt hopeless and other days when I felt grateful. Once again, beauty and terror.

Having already surpassed two months of 2023, probably, it is time for me to learn what comes after Rilke’s words, “Beauty and Terror”. I must slowly teach myself to keep going, for no feeling is final.

Cool Girl

I bit my tongue,
I thought: zen. 
I stepped on a gum,
I thought: zen.
I spilled my drink on my white 
cashmere cardigan,
I thought: zen.
I think about it 
every now and then: zen.

He wouldn’t tolerate  my brows furrow.
My lips, I should seal it,
so no air—or perhaps fire—could escape from it.
My eyes should shape like those negative parabolas;
and my lips, must disguise as the bottom half 
of the circle I drew in first grade.
Where once the so-called set of all points 
is complete, there hovers in circle the male gaze.

Applause and adoration.
I always should fit the mold of that gaze.
My roots and my seeds, are unwelcome.
And when my petals hold something from 
the pollination of bees that sprawled over
—with tolerance—
I shall walk on the carpet of warmth.

He progresses with society, 
an opposition of traditional feudalism, 
of traditional patriarchy.
While the pollinated, they speak with wisdom
—loud, proud, pretentious albeit.
Perhaps, that is how they, the latter, fit the mold,
whilst, I, a gentle but with spikes:
When a fly from a turd comes close, I 
will pierce a hole in it. 

I am meek, but my meekness drifts over 
to discover and perceive.
I am delicate because I effortlessly share
with the soul of another.
I am effusive to disambiguate.

None of such fits his gaze.
That when the he makes the wrong turn,
I shall ignore.
And when he lacks,
I shall accept. 
And when he clinches the end of the rope,
I shall glorify. 

Tolerance and stature that tag him along.
Petals that complement his flamboyance. 
Leaves that ostentatiously form his vigor.
He is not an opposition nor a progressive;
a chauvinist of the contemporary
guising in the crossfire of stillness—
in a play of precautions.

Now that circles are laid all over, 
and I am, but with corners.
Mind me not, so wont I.
This is my zen.

The Art of Silhouettes

Featured Photo: Tagudando, Teltel. Luna y Laguna. 30 August 2022.

I would watch in silhouette
anchoring the façade of
unknowingness and innocence.

Devious and wary.
Claw at the skin of any
protuberance,
to take up the cudgels for
that one—ironically.

The blood, it is gone.
The traces, all gone.
But I have watched in silhouette.
I would like to profess.

No vindication!
I have seen all deceptions!

But would they believe the
apparent inexistence?

Then, I remember,
there is a dye.
I held the cup of lysochrome diazo.

Unfolding. Staring.
I have watched too many—
as a silhouette.