PHASE TWELVE

IN CREDENCE AND BELIEFS

Installations were livelier than marble.

And they were better to hear than the marble.

Because they were not deafening, rather, pleasant to hear because they do not make any sound.

"Ayusin mo nga hawak. Mahuhulog e," Santiago, a sculptor student, complained. The student gripped the part properly before Santiago could resume.

The sculpture made a rough sound—an indicator that the joints had clicked.

Umatras ako at hinawakan nang maayos ang parteng ina-assemble nila. Nakatingala habang tinatanaw ang taong nagbubuo ng installation bago bitiwan ang hawak nang matapos.

"Ayan! Tapos."

Santiago went down the seven-foot-tall installation before he looked up to where we were standing. Pinunasan niya ang pawis gamit ang tuwalyang nakasampay sa balikat at nagpakawala ng malalim na hininga.

"Tapos na rin sa wakas!" he exclaimed and retrieved his bottle of water from the side.

I went to one of the spider's legs and checked if it was assembled properly. The gaps weren't much visible because it was firmly locked in place—conditions similar to the other legs. The installation was properly molded because of the time spent on each of its parts.

The Maman installation, a French for "mom", was originally made by Louise Bourgeois. She was a French-American artist known for her large installations, but it was Maman that marked her name as one of the famous artists.

Originally, the Maman was around thirty-foot-tall—a drastic difference from the eight-foot-tall replica that we recreated. The replica was a group project for the finals which was also exhibited along with other installations.

Similar to the materials of the original Maman, the replica was made of bronze, stainless steel, and marble. Santiago Cardillo was the one who formulated the idea and was also the one who directed the project from the start to finish.

He bragged that he was our senior—sure he was—and that he had the most experience among others. A few acknowledged his credibility, while others didn't. Probably due to his position in the sculpting discipline—third best, that's why they were skeptical in trusting him because Michelangelo and Giuseppe were still free individuals.

But the group assignment wasn't at par with their desire, so, third best.

Michelangelo was at another group installation; Giuseppe was on another.

Eventually, they were in terms with Santiago's idea, though ambitious, but marveled at how their skepticism and defiance would lead to success in installation.

And the Maman replica—there it was. It shone brightly under the sunlight; its shadow loomed under the passersby who had two choices—to stay for a while or pass by.

But, of course, an art form of this length—of this physical dimension—would whisper to anyone and ask for their time to be admired. It was very different from the nature of sculptures—overbearing.

The installations—just enough.

Sculptures were shouting, wailing, and forcefully dragging—it demanded passersby to listen to their pleas.

But installations were of a different length—they were gentler, kinder, and easier to listen to because they whispered. Once words were rejected—silence, but a certain temptation would lull them back to its position. A satisfying hymn would be heard before peace for eternal silence could be attained.

It was lengths better than sculpture.

"Tsk. Gaya-gaya," Santiago complained when he peeked at one of the installations.

Nakatanaw siya sa grupo ni Michelangelo na abala sa pagpoposisyon ng iskulturang ginagawa. Ibang iskultura ang replika nila kaya alam kong materyal ang tinutukoy ni Santiago.

Napaismid ako.

Gusto niya talagang pinaiibabawan ang lahat.

"Matagal na nila 'yang pinili," komento ng kaibigan niya.

"Anong matagal? Sabihin mo—gaya-gaya lang 'yang Michelangelong 'yan at gusto akong ungusan."

Nasamid sa iniinom ng tubig ang kausap niya.

"P're!" tawag niya. "Pangatlo ka, nangunguna siya. Pa'nong ungos gagawin no'n? Ungos pababa?"

Pinigilan ko ang matawa.

Santiago's friend had a point.

Paano nga naman uungusan ng tagasunod ang hari?

Santiago Cardillo was aware of that, the weeks' worth of time spent with the group was the point. The disgust to the top two—there it was. He was irritated to both, simply because—they were higher than him.

Their skills were at par with each other—that was no doubt. But the de Angelis cousins had more creative freedom than Santiago could ever have.

Santiago was too ambitious and declared that he was the next Michelangelo Buonarroti, but the people questioned—how could you do that if there was a Michelangelo de Angelis?

It angered him more.

He was the one who reigned in his throne, but it was stolen from him by a man two years younger than him.

His reason for joining the group installation—to prove that his skills weren't rusty.

What was he trying to prove when, to begin with, his skills were to be proved only to himself?

"Dapat ako pinagturo ni Ma'am Celindro noong isang araw, e. Ba't niya pinili 'yang de Angelis na 'yan e halata namang 'di natutuwa sa pagtuturo."

"Asus! Ikaw magtuturo kung tinanggihan ng magpinsang 'yan. E kay Mikhail pa lang tinanggap na, so, ano na? Labas na d'yan si Gio kasi gusto na ng may-ari. Kumbaga, sina Mikhail at Gio 'yung bagong lutong ulam at kanin ta's ikaw 'yung tira-tirang ulam na hindi ininit at nakalimutan na sa ref. Kumbaga, choice lang kapag wala nang choice."

Clenched jaw, Santiago glared at his friend.

"Gago," was his reply.

He ran his hand through his buzz cut hair before he groaned. Tinapik niya sa balikat ang kaibigan at umiling bago tawagin ang buong grupo.

Inalis ko ang tingin mula sa pwesto ni Michelangelo at naglakad papunta sa namumuong kumpol sa harapan. Nakapamewang si Santiago at nakatayo sa ilalim ng Maman habang nakangiwi.

"Tapos na rin project natin, sa wakas! Proud ako sa naging outcome ng installation natin." Iminuwestra niya ang nasa taas. "Tama lang at pinush natin 'tong idea na 'to. Ito 'yung makakukuha ng atensyon ng nakararami kasi tingnan niyo ba naman! Pinakamataas sa lahat ng installation sa umaga."

Humalukipkip ako nang may marinig na tono ng pangungutya sa boses niya.

Of course, he was referring to Michelangelo's and Giuseppe's works which were also replicas—from what the Head Sculptors demanded.

Michelangelo's group sculpted a replica of Fearless Girl by Kristen Visbal, while Giuseppe's group made a replica of Incipit by Edoardo Tresoldi.

"Anyway, kahit na may kapareho tayo ng material na ginamit"—he was referring to Michelangelo's group—"nangingibabaw pa naman 'yung laki ng installation natin. Ang laki-laki kasi nitong atin."

I knew that some of the students tried their best not to look irritated.

Masyadong mahangin.

Nang matapos ang usapan ay unti-unti nang nagsialisan mula sa pwesto. Pinulot ko ang nakalapag na bag sa semento at isinukbit sa balikat. Aamba nang umalis pero hinarangan ako sa daraanan.

"Ikaw." It was Santiago. "Palagi mong kasama si de Angelis, 'di ba? May sinasabi ba siya sa 'yo?"

Santiago was inches taller than me but was shorter by a few inches from Michelangelo. My guess—he was around the same height as Giuseppe.

"Maraming de Angelis dito," was my reply.

Nairita siya sa sinabi ko, siguro ay narinig ang sarkastikong tono.

But it's not my fault if it sounded that way. Pagod ako, at mas lalong pagod kung sa kan'ya makikipag-usap.

He gritted his teeth. The anger in his face was more violent than what Michelangelo had.

Michelangelo's anger was hostile, a little bit overbearing, but tolerable because he knew the edge of his patience. But Santiago's—violent, aggressive, a man who would be unbothered if he let his anger speak for him.

Qualifications that a sculpture could breathe—emotions wielded by the sculptor itself—but, surprisingly, I couldn't see him as one.

Because in the sculpture discipline, there was only one sculpture and sculptor—Michelangelo de Angelis, the only statue that could breathe.

"Kilala mo ang sinasabi ko," giit niya.

"Nagpapaturo lang ako," I dismissively said. Tinawag na siya ng kaibigan niya kaya iniwan na akong mag-isa.

Good.

That was a wise decision for sculpture's third-best who was obsessed with being the next Michelangelo Buonarroti when, clearly, he could cement a name for himself as himself.

The one who was named after the renowned sculptor was also struggling to make a name for himself, so, why won't he see the consequence of it?

He was too focused on his paths to determine where he really wanted to be.

But, Lael, weren't you focused, too?

I shun the idea away; it would mislead me.

Because I had been misled for a few years now.

To be lost more would make it harder for me to return.

Nang maglakad ako at makita si Gio na tapos na sa ginagawa ay nilapitan ko siya. Tinatanggal niya ang makapal na gwantes sa kamay dahil sa ina-assemble na wire mesh.

The installation that they had been working on was strategically placed at an open, unobstructed area so the sky could be seen, and that the mesh could be seen through it. The idea of the installation inspired by Edoardo Tressoldi's Incipit was to only create the structure and not the internal mass so it could have a see-through design.

"Uy, Lael! Gandang hapon," bati niya pagkatapos ligpitin ang mga gamit. Gano'n din ang ginagawa ng iba niyang mga kagrupo.

"Tapos na kayo?"

He nodded and placed the mesh near their leftover materials. Tapos na niyang bilugin 'yon at ilalagay na lang sa storage para i-donate sa College.

"Oo, katatapos lang." Pumamewang siya at tinanaw ang malaking installation. "Ang ganda, 'no? See-through. Talino ni Tressoldi."

"How tall is that? Kasinglaki ba ng original?" tanong ko, sinusuyod ng tingin ang Incipit replica na malaking espasyo rin ang sinasakop katulad ng Maman.

"Mga ilang inches lang naman ang liit. Ang hirap kasi niyang i-assemble e. Mas mataas 'to kaysa sa Maman niyo, 'no?"

Naalala ko ang kayabangan ni Santiago.

Hindi pa ba niya nakikita 'to?

I nodded as I stifled a smile. "Yes, it's taller. Probably, due to that thing at the top? The one with birds made of wire mesh. Ang galing."

The installation was majestic—a word that I, surprisingly, hadn't used for a while.

But it was the truth—the installation was majestic, probably due to its backdrop or handicraft, I was unsure. Or maybe was it something related to my hearing and the varying colors that it had? Something that had flexible colors—one that adapted to the environment that it was a part of.

A see-through installation where the mesh was its bones, and the sky was its flesh.

"'Lam mo? Mas madaldal ka kapag installation."

"What?" Napakurap ako, bahagyang kinakabahan. "Madaldal?"

Humalakhak siya at ginalaw-galaw ang braso. Ang suot na itim na tank top ay hapit sa katawan.

He nodded and studied me with his bright eyes—a drastic difference from the heavy, hostile eyes of his cousin.

"Kasi..." He twisted his lips and twitched his face—unsure if he should tell what was in his mind or not. The wind had already blown the strands of his curly hair which demanded noise from its silence.

But he didn't listen.

In the end, he only smiled and said nothing.

It's good that he didn't say it.

At kung sasabihin niya, magpapakabingi ako.

"Giuseppe, have you seen sculptures as boring?"

Naramdaman ko ang tingin niya sa 'kin. "Boring? Paanong boring? Magkakaiba kasi tayo ng definition ng boring."

I played with the pebble near my feet.

"About its colors?" Itinagilid ko ang ulo paharap sa kan'ya. "Pure white... and... just white."

Why were you nervous, Lael? Hindi ka naman ganito kakabado kapag kinukwestiyon si Michelangelo.

Maybe because, to begin with, I knew that Michelangelo wouldn't let me in, so I had been giving him ideas not to let me in. But for Giuseppe, there was a chance that he could show me a different path that would lead to the same destination.

"Alam mo naman na hindi talaga puti 'yung mga iskultura noon, 'di ba? Nag-exhibit ng gano'n sa Raison noong isang buwan."

Tumango ako, magsasabi na sana na gusto ang nakikita pero pinigilan ko ang sarili ko.

They shouldn't hear it, Lael.

"Ayon." Pumalakpak siya. "Sa 'kin, boring siya kung hindi ko ma-gets o hindi ako interesado sa nakikita ko, 'lam mo 'yon? Dadaanan ko lang ng tingin, gano'n. 'Di ko ma-aappreciate, pero 'di naman siya panget."

"Then, is the Ophelia sculpture boring to you?" Hinuli ko ang tingin niya. Nakita ko ang pagkatigil niya.

"Ophelia," banggit niya, may kakaibang tono tila naubusan ng hininga. "Boring? Hindi naman..."

Tumango-tumango ako. "I think Michelangelo felt the same way? Palagi kasi siyang nando'n."

He let out a skeptical chuckle. "Possessive 'yon sa mga gawa niya, e."

"Which explains." Humalukipkip ako.

These cousins...

"Do you know something about it?" tanong ko pagkatapos ng ilang segundong katahimikan. Bahagya siyang napatalon sa pwesto.

"Uh..." Napakamot siya sa batok, ang mata ay umiikot sa kung saan-saan.

Bigla siyang ngumisi. "Wala ka bang kaibigan at ako inaasar mo, Lael?" pabiro niyang tanong.

It was my turn to be mum.

I gave him a small smile before I shrugged. Humalakhak siya at tumango-tango.

"Taste of my own medicine pala, ha." Umiling siya. "Nga pala, ba't lagi kayong magkaaway ni Mika? Aggressive ba 'yon lagi sa 'yo? Kumakain naman 'yon nang maayos. Wala naman siyang regla. Siguro dahil walang amo 'yon kaya kung makatahol, grabe."

Bahagya akong napatawa.

Ang hilig niyang awayin ang pinsan niya.

"Amo niya sarili niya," bulong ko.

"Ha?"

"Nothing." Nagbuntonghininga ako. "Thank you for teaching me about sculpting, by the way."

Nagpakawala ulit ako ng maliit na ngiti, ipinahihiwatig na huwag siyang maguluhan sa mga sinabi at tinanong ko.

Because I was really grateful for the things that he taught me.

He rose both of his brows and shook his head. "Ano ba? Para ka namang others, eh."

Bahagya akong natawa at nagpaalam na. Hindi rin lumingon pa nang maglakad paalis.

They were hiding something, but I had a hunch what it was. It could be Michelangelo, it could be Giuseppe, or it could be none of them.

Perhaps, the things that were on my mind were illusions—all imaginary that's why I should unbother myself with it. Because I should only focus on the path that I created for myself—one that couldn't be redirected by anyone who I treated as a mentor or something as close to that.

Because mentors are just mentors—they were there to guide. The mentees had the final decision if they would listen, but as long as I hadn't found one—officially declared one, I would be all alone in my journey.

Even though you were bothered with this brewing connection, Lael?

Yes, even though I was bothered, I'd move on and proceed to always be in the middle.

Unbothered.

Unmoved.

Just there—in the middle—a place that I belonged to.

But the truth was—I was bothered.

And it would take a few more moves before I could be discovered.

✦

The replica installations were live the next day. They all stood tall in the College's grounds—unfazed, but eye-catching. The day exhibit had around ten installations to display, while the night installation exhibit only had one—the Garden of Light installation that was also a replica.

It was placed a little far from the day installations but was visible near the college lounges. It had a larger space because of the lit-up flowers on the ground, a few nightlights that decorated the area, and a big tree installation in the middle.

It was a replica, but it also had a life for itself.

It reminded me of the Ophelia sculpture.

I visited the installations during my free time. I could appreciate other installations, but I preferred seeing the Incipit by noon, and the Garden of Light by night.

Because it had a different sense to it—it was livelier than the ill sight of glistening, white marbles, and one-toned clays. They had no sound for themselves—they were on their own. They had their mouths, but it wasn't concentrated in one area—they have spread around as the colors poured on their form.

The structure was a lot more complicated, but it was pleasant to look at.

Not overbearing—just enough.

Because they did not demand anything, and if they did, they were gentler and kinder; proper and honest—things that a sculpture wasn't.

But I was still in its discipline.

Why?

I could never understand, but I hope I could—I should. Because my stay was starting to be pleasant. I feared that it would.

I stopped sketching and looked at the graphite on the paper.

A drawing of a still model.

Nagbuntonghininga ako at iniligpit na ang gamit.

I was done with the sketch—I had already added the shadows, the definitions, and other things that the instructor wanted to see.

Ayoko na rito.

Why? Because the color was one-toned.

Hindi ko na maintindihan ang sarili ko. May bagay na biglang nagpagulo sa 'kin ngunit hindi ko alam kung ano.

I was lost, again.

That's why when the class had finished, I stood up and silently left Buonarroti Hall 2.

But I was stopped by the god of the discipline that I was trying to get into.

"What?" tanong ko nang hinarangan niya ako.

With his large hands, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me to a place a little far from the people.

Naguguluhan ko siyang tiningnan, sinusubukang huwag nang magreklamo pa dahil pagod na pagod na sa araw na 'to.

Kasi alam kong may mali sa 'kin, ngunit hindi ko alam kung ano 'yon.

And it's frustrating.

"May gusto akong itanong." He sounded skeptical, and he did look like one. Gone was his always-brooding stature—it was replaced by uneasiness and desperation to know the answer behind the question that he'd ask.

Pinaningkitan ko siya ng mata. "What?"

"Nag-iba na ba pananaw mo?"

Itinagilid ko ang ulo. "Pananaw? Saan?"

Humugot siya ng malalim na hininga. "Sculpting. This. Art. Passion. Whatever things you hated."

Hated?

Did I hate it or was it purely dislike?

I couldn't answer myself either.

What was it about, Lael? Naliligaw ka na naman.

Humugot ako ng malalim na hininga. "Kapag ba sinabi kong gano'n pa rin ang nararamdaman ko—kukwestiyonin mo pa rin ako?"

The skeptical look in his eyes didn't falter. The emotions molded on his face were an indication that he, too, anticipated what I would say.

How bothersome it was to anticipate what you would say—to be clueless about who you were and where you wanted to be.

"If it were so, then am I free to question you? Or question about the things that you love? Kasi, Michelangelo, kahit ayokong sabihin ang totoo kong nararamdaman—pero pagod ako ngayon. If you could just be kind and—"

"Bakit ka pagod?" tanong niya, ang tono ay nag-aalala.

Did I hear it wrong? Or was that really the tone that he wanted me to hear?

Bakit nga ba ako pagod?

I couldn't find an answer.

I firmly closed my eyes and labored my breath. "Because everything is tiring."

"Kasi hindi ka masaya?"

Napadilat ako dala ng sinabi niya.

I felt shamed.

And confused, at that.

Naninikip ang lalamunan ko.

"Kailangan ko bang maging malungkot para mapagod? Hindi ba pwedeng pagod ako—tapos?"

He sighed. "Maybe sculpting is not for you, Lael. Maybe this is not your passion—"

"Who said that I had passion, to begin with?" nangangalaiti kong tanong, may bagay na natamaan sa dibdib.

His words were careful, but they were too careful that it made me feel a lot.

I hate Michelangelo's words.

"Then search for it," giit niya, determinado.

Gusto kong maiyak dala ng bigat na nararamdaman.

Ngunit itinago ko sa pagkairita.

I led them into thinking that I am where I wanted to be. I was acting like it, and they knew me like that, so, what's use thereof but to pretend and mislead myself even more?

"Isn't that what I'm doing right now?" iritable kong balik.

He was taken aback that I was the one irritated between the two of us, but was there a rule that I should always be composed—nothing more, nothing less?

If that was his rule, then I'm not sorry that I don't see him as my god.

He clenched his jaw. "I'm just trying to help you."

"What?" hindi ko makapaniwalang tanong. "You're being ridiculous with me right now. Naririnig mo ba ang sarili mo?"

His dark eyes looked troubled. Why? Because it was hard to shun off a wanderer?

"I think you should explore other crafts, Lael. Stop being too focused on sculpting."

Stop being too focused...

Umismid ako. "Madali sa 'yong sabihin 'yan kasi hindi mo alam ang ginagawa ko."

Nanunuyo niya akong tiningnan—hindi ko alam kung naduling ba ako ro'n.

"That's why I'm trying to understand you."

"No," giit ko, ang bigat sa dibdib ay namumuo. "You can't understand someone like me because we are very different. You're living to explore; I'm exploring to live that's why it's easy for you to say that because you're always on the right track."

"Then, I'll help you get on the right track."

Umiling-iling ako, nangungutya ang ukit ng labi. "You can't be serious."

"Naawa ako sa 'yo."

"But I don't need your pity, Michelangelo. Wala akong kailangan mula sa 'yo kun'di ang galing mo sa pag-iiskultura."

"And it frustrates me," saad niya, binabalewala ang sinabi ko. "I'm frustrated about your self-pity."

Self-pity?

Nanlalaki ang mata ko siyang tiningnan. "Who said that I'm pitying myself? Who said that you should be frustrated for me? I didn't ask you anything, so why are you asking anything from me?"

Napalunok siya. "I'm just concerned."

"And you're concerned because I might disrupt the balance in your territory?" natatawa kong tanong.

Dinuro ko siya sa dibdib. Ni hindi man lang natinag na para bang isang estatwa. "Well, god of sculpting, I am sorry to tell you that I would venture in your territory whether you'd like it or not—whether you'd let me in or not."

Hinamon ko siya ng tingin at hinintay kung iimik pa.

Nang hindi na ibinuka ang bibig ay tumalikod ako at naglakad papalayo.

Of course, he was someone who couldn't understand anyone who was different from him. Why would he understand a person who wouldn't even worship him anyway?