G Spot

Pirdona

PASALO

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

THE first time I heard “Pirdona” was from my grandmother, Bai Atang. She was on the altar praying, asking Jesus for forgiveness for sins she committed, and for sins she may have committed that she is not aware of. There are many things that we should ask forgiveness for, according to her, for we may have offended others by our thoughts, words, and actions. She believes that when you hurt others, you offend God. She makes the sign of the cross three times: on her forehead, on her chin, and on top of her heart. When we sit down for a meal, she makes sure she gives thanks for every meal on the table, mentions the name of the ones who prepared them, and then she ends with another “pirdona”. So many “pirdonas” in a day, and the next day after, and so on and so on, but sometimes she is suddenly quiet, unable to say a word. I think it is on those times that she ran out of sins to confess and ask forgiveness for.

After the elections, I saw old friends who were not speaking to each other, speak for the first time saying “pirdona” because of hurtful words hurled due to their divergent choices in the just concluded national elections. Pirdona is a word for forgiveness, and the act of forgiving makes it also a word of love.

 

PIRDONA

Nu umpawil ka’d siak, lamet
Lukasan koý pwirta
Awaten koý rosas ya bitbit na limam
tan dildilan koý dala’d tamorom
ya asugat na sabit
angga’d nasusop kon amin su sakit
kaibaý dala’n onaagos
manlapud aralem a saksak, diad nonot ko

 Gabay ko’y mila ed sika
pian ipanengneng ko raý rosas a balang
ya onaabet ed agew diad kabuasan,
a manggagawaý posion
para’d saray bayaung,
a mangipapaway na alingernger
a milmila’d mapalnan dagem
diad pasen a sikatan dua’y makaamta,
sakey ya ampetang a labi, ed bektan
asabi taý sangkatageyan a pantok
na duyaw a bulan

 

FORGIVENESS

If you come to me, again
I would open the door
take the flowers from your hands
and lick the blood from your fingers
pricked by the thorns
till all the pain is sucked away
with the blood that still runs
from a deep stab, in my memory

I would like to go out with you
and show you the wildflowers
reaching out to the sun
in the morning, creating potions
for the bees, emitting essences
carried by the soft breeze
to a place we have known,
one summer night, a time when
we have reached the highest peak
of the yellow moon

(For your comments and reactions, please email to: punch.sunday@gmail.com)

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