ANG WIKA (Depinisyon, Katangian at Gamit)

Ang wika ay isang bahagi ng talastasan. Ito ay ang kalipunan ng mga simbolo, tunog, at mga batas kaugnay nito upang maipahayag ang nais sabihin ng kaisipan.

Ang wika ay isang pamamaraang ginagamit sa pagpapa-abot ng kaisipan at damdamin sa pamamagitan ng pagsasalita at pagsulat. Isang likas na makataong pamamaraan ng paghahatid ng mga kaisipan, damdamin at mga hangarin sa pamamagitan ng isang kaparaanang lumikha ng tunog. Isang kabuuan ng mga sagisag sa paraang binibigkas na sa pamamagitan nito ay nagkakaugnay, nagkakaunawaan at nagkakaisa ang mga kaanib ng isang pulutong ng mga tao.

Mga Katangian ng Wika

1.ang wika ay sistematiko.
2.ito ay sinasalitang tunog
3.ito ay ginamitan ng paraang arbitaryo.
4.ito ay nakabuhol sa kultura.
5.ito ay may balangkas.
6.ito ay may antas.
7.ito ay pantao.
8.ito ay simbolo.
9.ito ay ginagamit sa komunikasyon.
10.ito ay tumutulong sa kaunlarang pangteknolohiya.

WHAT IF awitin ni Colbie Caillat

What if we were made for each other
Born to become best friends and lovers
I want to stay right here
In this moment with you
Over and over and over again

What if this could be a real love
A love, a love, yeah
I don't know what to think
Is this real or just a dream
In my heart is where you'll be
I'll keep waiting till we meet

What if were made for each other
Born to become best friends and lovers
I want to stay right here
In this moment with you
Over and over and over again

What if this could be a real love
A love, a love, yeah
I write our names down in the sand

Picturing all our plans
I close my eyes and I can see
You, and you ask, "Will you marry me?"

Is it made up in my mind?
Am I crazy just wasting time?
I think this could be love
I'm serious

What if we were made for each other
Born to become best friends and lovers
I want to stay right here
In this moment with you
Over and over and over again

What if this could be a real love
A love, a love, yeah
Boy, you know you really make my heart stop
Stop, stop
Oh, what if this real love
What if this real love
Oh, boy, you make my heart stop
You make my heart stop

Juliet, Juliet :)

Hindi ko masyadong inintindi ang pelikulang Letters to Juliet na idinrect ni  Gary Winick at sinulat nina Jose Rivera, Tim Sullivan  noong palabas pa sa mga sinehan, hindi naman kasi ako mahilig sa mga foreign films. Walang masyadong halina sa akin ang mga panooring banyaga, ewan ko ba. Lalo na 'yung ang mga tema ay sci- fi at fantasy, hindi ko talaga gusto. Pelikula lang ni John Lloyd Cruz ang pinanood ko sa sinehan. Feeling ko, sulit na sulit ang ibinayad ko 'pag siya (John Lloyd) ang artista (pagbigyan n'yo na ko).  :)

Dahil laganap na talaga ang piracy dito sa Pilipinas, pahuhuli ba naman kami. Sa sobrang dami naming pirated cds at dvds eh pwede na kaming magparenta (as if namang may kakagat pa eh ang mura- mura lang ng isang kopya, Php20.00 lang!) Mula sa mga Disney animated films hanggang sa mga concerts at local at foreign movies eh meron kami. Mahilig bumili 'yung kapatid kong si Romel sa tuwing nagagawi siya sa Quiapo. 

Isang araw, isinalang niya (Romel) 'yung Letters to Juliet. Akala nga namin malabo pa ang kopya, ok na pala. 

Si Sophie Hall ( Amanda Seyfried ) ay isang fact checker na mula sa New york. Ano ba ang isang fact checker? Taga- check ng facts! :) Bubungad ang eksenang hawak ni Sophie ang kanyang cellphone at isang picture, kausap ang isang lalaki sa kabilang linya at tinatanong niya (Sophie) kung totoo ba ang nasa larawan. At... dahil magaling siyang fact checker nakuha niya 'yung gusto niyang makuha. Nalaman niyang totoo 'yung pangyayaring nasa picture (panoorin n'yo para malaman n'yo kung ano 'yun). 

Kahit na mahusay na sa trabaho niya si Sophie, isa lang naman ang pangarap niya talaga sa buhay- ang maging writer! Ehem. :) Mahilig siyang magsulat, at pakiramdam niya eh kaya niyang makipagsabayan sa ganitong larangan. 

Pumuntang Verona, Italy si Sophie kasama ang fiance niyang si Victor (Gael García Bernal ), isang chef. Ito ay para sa kanilang pre- wedding honeymoon. Hmmmmmm. Pero, masyadong maraming gustong gawin si Victor na kung ano- anong bagay na may kinalaman sa pagbubukas ng restaurant niya sa New York, kaya laging naiiwang mag- isa si Sophie. Para maalis ang pagkainip, pumunta si Sophie sa "Bahay ni Juliet (Casa di Giulietta). Kakaiba ang lugar na ito dahil dito sumusulat ang mga kababaihan para humingi ng payo tungkol sa mga heart at love problems nila. Kinukuha ito ng mga kababaihang nagtatrbaho doon (Secretaries of Juliet) at sila ang sumasagot sa bawat liham. 

Dahil likas na palakaibigan at magiliw sa tao, nagawa ni Sophie na makilala ang mga babaeng sekretarya raw ni Juliet. At sa di inaasahang pagkakataon,napabilang sa kanila si Sophie. Sinagot ni Sophie ang isang nakatagong sulat mula kay Claire Smith-Wyman (Vanessa Redgrave), isang Briton.  Humihingi ng payo ang babaeng 'yun tungkol sa kanyang first love. Nga lang, ang liham ay 50 taon na ang tanda. Matagal ng nakatago ang sulat na 'yun at di lang napansin. 

Magkaganunpaman, sinagot pa rin ni Sohpie ang sulat ni Claire kay Juliet. 

Wala pang isng linggo ay dumating ang isang gwapong lalaking Briton sa Verona, si Charlie Wyman (Chris Egan). Galit na galit na sinugod si Sophie at tinanong kung bakit nagawa pa nitong sagutin ang liham ng kanyang lolang si Claire. Simple ang sagot ni Sophie, "Because she deserves an answer.". Tama nga naman. 

Dinala ako ng pelikula sa masalimuot na paghahanap nina Sophie, Charlie at Claire kay Lorenzo Bartolini (Franco Nero)- ang first love ni Claire. Sa paglalakbay na 'yun, ipinakita rin ang pigil na pigil na "pagkadevelop" nina Sophie at Charlie sa isa't isa. Nahuhulog ang loob nila nang hindi nila nalalaman.Nakita nila si Lorenzo sa isang vineyard, biyudo na siya. Kaya... libre na sila ulit ni Claire!

Nang matapos ang paghahanap kay Lorenzo ay bumalik na si Sophie sa New York, kay Victor. Kaya lang, nadama niya sa kanyang sarili na iba na, na iba na siya. Na nagbago na ang nararamdaman niya para kay Victor. Nakipaghiwalay siya sa kanyang fiance at bumalik ng Verona para makidalo sa kasal nina Claire at Lorenzo. At doon, nagtapat na rin si Charlie sa kanya. 

Pormula ang pelikula kung tutuusin. Ginawa para pakiligin ang mga manood. Ang romansang hatid ng kwento nina  Romeo and Juliet ni William Shakespeare  na ginamit bilang background ng buong istorya ay malaki ang naging tulong. Isa itong pamosong akda na hindi na kailangan pa ng kahit anong introduksyon at paliwanag. Alam ng mga manood na love story ito at punong- puno ng pag- iibigang may kung ano- anong twists. 

Nakakatawa lang na sinikap ng mga writer na gawing fact checker ang trabaho ni Sophie para masuportahan ang pagiging "pakialamera" niya sa istorya- "mahusay na pakialamera" dahil nahanap nila si Lorenzo.

Ang Italya, sina Juliet at Romeo, sina Claire at Lorenzo, sina Sophie at Charlie ay ang mga elementong nagpa- igting pa ng pagiging romantiko ng pelikula. 

ANG SULAT NI JULIET (SOPHIE) KAY CLAIRE:

  Dear Claire, 

               "What" and "If" are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: What if? What if? What if? I don't know how your story ended but if what you felt then was true love, then it's never too late. If it was true then, why wouldn't it be true now? You need only the courage to follow your heart. I don't know what a love like Juliet's feels like - love to leave loved ones for, love to cross oceans for but I'd like to believe if I ever were to feel it, that I will have the courage to seize it. And, Claire, if you didn't, I hope one day that you will. 

                                                                                                                                            All my love, 

                                                                                                                                                        Juliet 

  

Kahit Maraming Nagkatawang- Sketchpad!

"Ang tatanda na natin eh, tapos ganyan pa rin sila. "

- Alvin Madan

'Yan na lang ang nasabi ng dati kong classmate sa ABF na si Alvin habang naghihintay kami sa Mc Donalds Farmers Market noong nakaraang April30 para sa swimming/ get- together. Halos yearly naman itong ginagawa (depende sa mood ni Izza) para sana magkita- kita kahit paano at magkabalitaan.

Pinakamaaga ako sa meeting place (eh taga- Project4 lang naman kasi ako eh) at si Roxan- taga- Bulacan pa siya pero mas maaga pa rin siyang dumating dun sa iba. Ilang minuto lang, dumating na rin sina Alvin, Izza, Dianne, Jeanette, Marlon at si Mam Demetrio kasama ang "Honey" niyang si Joey. Sumunod na lang si Chad sa Resort.

Ang original na plano eh sa Bosay Resort kami sa Antipolo, pero dahil summer at peak season, puno na sila kaya napunta kami sa Loreland Farm Resort. Twice na akong nakapag- swimming doon (pangatlo na nito), at hindi ko masyadong na- enjoy, medyo hindi yata maganda ang vibes ng place na 'to.

Ok naman ang swimming na nangyari... ok naman.

Sabi namin ni Izza, "Enjoyin na lang natin. "

Tama nga naman, kaysa mag- isip kami ng kung ano- anong hindi magagandang thoughts tungkol sa lakad na 'yun, at kung pa'no mababawi ang ibinayad namin, eh sikapin na lang naming "enjoyin". Pagtiyagaan.

Depende na sa tao 'yan kung pa'no niya titignan ang mga bagay- bagay at ang isang sitwasyon.

Hindi ko lang maintindihan, kung kailan pa nagkaroon ng sariling "Group page" sa Facebook kaming magba- batchmates,  na dapat sana ay magiging isang way para mas maging organized ang lakad na 'yun, eh parang mas naging magulo pa- maraming taong naging paasa. Post nang post ng kung ano- ano sa wall na kesyo magdadala raw ng ganito ng ganyan; na kesyo 'wag daw magsama ng partner; na kesyo sila- sila na lang ang magsasabay- sabay. Mga paimportante. Mas maiintindihan ko pa kung nung simula pa lang eh nagsabi na silang hindi sila makakama. Hindi ko alam. :l

"Ang tatanda na natin eh, tapos ganyan pa rin sila. " , Alvin.

Nagpicture- picture pa rin ako. In- enjoy ko na lang. : l

SARANGGOLA SA ULAN awitin ni Gary Granada

Naririnig ko pa ang tawa't hagikgik
Ng una kong sinta at kalarong paslit
At ang sabi ng matatanda
Siya ay maalwan, ako'y dukha
Di raw kami bagay at kayraming dahilan
Ngunit si Bakekay ay walang pakialam
Sa aming kamusmusan kayraming palaisipan
Ngunit tatlong bagay ang aking natutunan

Ang pag-asa'y walang hanggan
Pag-ibig ay walang hadlang
At lilipad ang saranggola sa ulan.

At kung ang pagsinta ay di man nagtagal
Ang mas mahalaga natutong magmahal
Umibig na walang panghihinayang
Kahit malamang na masaktan

Kanina lang, sa aking tabi'y may aleng lumiko
At sa pagmamadali, nasagi ang aking puso
Eto na naman ako sa aking kabaliwan
Na sinasabi nga nilang suntok sa buwan
Ngunit hindi hihindian ng tulad kong natuto nang
Magpalipad ng saranggola sa ulan

Gaya ng lagi't laging sinasabi ko
O siya nawa ay siya na nga ang totoo.

Eto na naman ako sa aking kabaliwan
Na sinasabi nga nilang suntok sa buwan
Ngunit hindi hihindian
Ng tulad kong natuto nang
Magpalipad ng saranggola sa ulan

Heto ako, tumatandang
Nakahandang panindigang
Ang bato sa tubig ay lulutang
At lilipad ang saranggola sa ulan

THE VIRGIN by Kerima Polotan Tuvera

He went to where Miss Mijares sat, a tall, big man, walking with an economy of movement, graceful and light, a man who knew his body and used it well. He sat in the low chair worn decrepit by countless other interviewers and laid all ten fingerprints carefully on the edge of her desk. She pushed a sheet towards him, rolling a pencil along with it. While he read the question and wrote down his answers, she glanced at her watch and saw that it was ten. "I shall be coming back quickly," she said, speaking distinctly in the dialect (you were never sure about these people on their first visit, if they could speak English, or even write at all, the poor were always proud and to use the dialect with them was an act of charity), "you will wait for me."

As she walked to the cafeteria, Miss Mijares thought how she could easily have said, Please wait for me, or will you wait for me? But years of working for the placement section had dulled the edges of her instinct for courtesy. She spoke now peremtorily, with an abruptness she knew annoyed the people about her.

When she talked with the jobless across her desk, asking them the damning questions that completed their humiliation, watching pale tongues run over dry lips, dirt crusted handkerchiefs flutter in trembling hands, she was filled with an impatience she could not understand. Sign here, she had said thousands of times, pushing the familiar form across, her finger held to a line, feeling the impatience grow at sight of the man or woman tracing a wavering "X" or laying the impress of a thumb. Invariably, Miss Mijares would turn away to touch the delicate edge of the handkerchief she wore on her breast.

Where she sat alone at one of the cafeteria tables, Miss Mijares did not look 34. She was slight, almost bony, but she had learned early how to dress herself to achieve an illusion of hips and bosom. She liked poufs and shirrings and little girlish pastel colors. On her bodice, astride or lengthwise, there sat an inevitable row of thick camouflaging ruffles that made her look almost as though she had a bosom, if she bent her shoulders slightly and inconspicuously drew her neckline open to puff some air into her bodice.

Her brow was smooth and clear and she was always pushing off it the hair she kept in tight curls at night. She had thin cheeks, small and angular, falling down to what would have been a nondescript, receding chin, but Nature's hand had erred and given her a jaw instead. When displeased, she had a lippy, almost sensual pout, surprising on such a small face.

So while not exactly an ugly woman, she was no beauty. She teetered precariously on the border line to which belonged countless others who you found, if they were not working at some job, in the kitchen of some married sister's house shushing a brood of devilish little nephews.

And yet Miss Mijares did think of love. Secret, short-lived thoughts flitted through her mind in the jeepneys she took to work when a man pressed down beside her and through her dress she felt the curve of his thigh; when she held a baby in her arms, a married friend's baby or a relative's, holding in her hands the tiny, pulsing body, what thoughts did she not think, her eyes straying against her will to the bedroom door and then to her friend's laughing, talking face, to think: how did it look now, spread upon a pillow, unmasked of the little wayward coquetries, how went the lines about the mouth and beneath the eyes: (did they close? did they open?) in the one final, fatal coquetry of all? to finally, miserably bury her face in the baby's hair. And in the movies, to sink into a seat as into an embrace, in the darkness with a hundred shadowy figures about her and high on the screen, a man kissing a woman's mouth while her own fingers stole unconsciously to her unbruised lips.

When she was younger, there had been other things to do--- college to finish, a niece to put through school, a mother to care for.

She had gone through all these with singular patience, for it had seemed to her that love stood behind her, biding her time, a quiet hand upon her shoulder (I wait. Do not despair) so that if she wished she had but to turn from her mother's bed to see the man and all her timid, pure dreams would burst into glory. But it had taken her parent many years to die. Towards the end, it had become a thankless chore, kneading her mother's loose flesh, hour after hour, struggling to awaken the cold, sluggish blood in her drying body. In the end, she had died --- her toothless, thin-haired, flabby-fleshed mother --- and Miss Mijares had pushed against the bed in grief and also in gratitude. But neither love nor glory stood behind her, only the empty shadows, and nine years gone, nine years. In the room for her unburied dead, she had held up her hands to the light, noting the thick, durable fingers, thinking in a mixture of shame and bitterness and guilt that they had never touched a man.

When she returned to the bleak replacement office, the man stood by a window, his back to her, half-bending over something he held in his hands. "Here," she said, approaching, "have you signed this?"

"Yes," he replied, facing her.

In his hands, he held her paperweight, an old gift from long ago, a heavy wooden block on which stood, as though poised for flight, an undistinguished, badly done bird. It had come apart recently. The screws beneath the block had loosened so that lately it had stood upon her desk with one wing tilted unevenly, a miniature eagle or swallow? felled by time before it could spread its wings. She had laughed and laughed that day it had fallen on her desk, plop! "What happened? What happened?" they had asked her, beginning to laugh, and she had said, caught between amusement and sharp despair, "Some one shot it," and she had laughed and laughed till faces turned and eyebrows rose and she told herself, whoa, get a hold, a hold, a hold!

He had turned it and with a penknife tightened the screws and dusted it. In this man's hands, cupped like that, it looked suddenly like a dove.

She took it away from him and put it down on her table. Then she picked up his paper and read it.

He was a high school graduate. He was also a carpenter.

He was not starved, like the rest. His clothes, though old, were pressed and she could see the cuffs of his shirt buttoned and wrapped about big, strong wrists.

"I heard about this place," he said, "from a friend you got a job at the pier." Seated, he towered over her, "I'm not starving yet," he said with a quick smile. "I still got some money from that last job, but my team broke up after that and you got too many jobs if you're working alone. You know carpentering," he continued, "you can't finish a job quickly enough if you got to do the planing and sawing and nailing all by your lone self. You got to be on a team."

Perhaps he was not meaning to be impolite? But for a jobseeker, Miss Mijares thought, he talked too much and without call. He was bursting all over with an obtruding insolence that at once disarmed and annoyed her.

So then she drew a slip and wrote his name on it. "Since you are not starving yet," she said, speaking in English now, wanting to put him in his place, "you will not mind working in our woodcraft section, three times a week at two-fifty to four a day, depending on your skill and the foreman's discretion, for two or three months after which there might be a call from outside we may hold for you."

"Thank you," he said.

He came on the odd days, Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday.

She was often down at the shanty that housed their bureau's woodcraft, talking with Ato, his foreman, going over with him the list of old hands due for release. They hired their men on a rotation basis and three months was the longest one could stay.

"The new one there, hey," Ato said once. "We're breaking him in proper." And he looked across several shirted backs to where he stopped, planing what was to become the side of a bookcase.

How much was he going to get? Miss Mijares asked Ato on Wednesday. "Three," the old man said, chewing away on a cud. She looked at the list in her hands, quickly running a pencil down. "But he's filling a four-peso vacancy," she said. "Come now," surprised that she should wheedle so, "give him the extra peso." "Only a half," the stubborn foreman shook his head, "three-fifty."

"Ato says I have you to thank," he said, stopping Miss Mijares along a pathway in the compound.

It was noon, that unhappy hour of the day when she was oldest, tiredest, when it seemed the sun put forth cruel fingers to search out the signs of age on her thin, pinched face. The crow's feet showed unmistakably beneath her eyes and she smiled widely to cover them up and aquinting a little, said, "Only a half-peso --- Ato would have given it to you eventually."

"Yes, but you spoke for me," he said, his big body heaving before her. "Thank you, though I don't need it as badly as the rest, for to look at me, you would knew I have no wife --- yet."

She looked at him sharply, feeling the malice in his voice. "I'd do it for any one," she said and turned away, angry and also ashamed, as though he had found out suddenly that the ruffles on her dress rested on a flat chest.

The following week, something happened to her: she lost her way home.

Miss Mijares was quite sure she had boarded the right jeepneys but the driver, hoping to beat traffic, had detoured down a side alley, and then seeing he was low on gas, he took still another shortcut to a filling station. After that, he rode through alien country. 

The houses were low and dark, the people shadowy, and even the driver, who earlier had been an amiable, talkative fellow, now loomed like a sinister stranger over the wheel. Through it all, she sat tightly, feeling oddly that she had dreamed of this, that some night not very long ago, she had taken a ride in her sleep and lost her way. Again and again, in that dream, she had changed direction, losing her way each time, for something huge and bewildering stood blocking the old, familiar road home.

But that evening, she was lost only for a while. The driver stopped at a corner that looked like a little known part of the boulevard she passed each day and she alighted and stood on a street island, the passing headlights playing on her, a tired, shaken woman, the ruffles on her skirt crumpled, the hemline of her skirt awry.

The new hand was absent for a week. Miss Mijares waited on that Tuesday he first failed to report for some word from him sent to Ato and then to her. That was regulation. Briefly though they were held, the bureau jobs were not ones to take chances with. When a man was absent and he sent no word, it upset the system. In the absence of a definite notice, someone else who needed a job badly was kept away from it.

"I went to the province, ma'am," he said, on his return.

"You could have sent someone to tell us," she said.

"It was an emergency, ma'am," he said. "My son died."

"How so?"

A slow bitter anger began to form inside her. "But you said you were not married!"

"No, ma'am," he said gesturing.

"Are you married?" she asked loudly.

"No, ma'am."

"But you have -- you had a son!" she said.

"I am not married to his mother," he said, grinning stupidly, and for the first time she noticed his two front teeth were set widely apart. A flush had climbed to his face, suffusing it, and two large throbbing veins crawled along his temples.

She looked away, sick all at once.

"You should told us everything," she said and she put forth hands to restrain her anger but it slipped away she stood shaking despite herself.

"I did not think," he said.

"Your lives are our business here," she shouted.

It rained that afternoon in one of the city's fierce, unexpected thunder-storms. Without warning, it seemed to shine outside Miss Mijares' window a gray, unhappy look.

It was past six when Miss Mijares, ventured outside the office. Night had come swiftly and from the dark sky the thick, black, rainy curtain continued to fall. She stood on the curb, telling herself she must not lose her way tonight. When she flagged a jeepney and got in, somebody jumped in after her. She looked up into the carpenter's faintly smiling eyes. She nodded her head once in recognition and then turned away.

The cold tight fear of the old dream was upon her. Before she had time to think, the driver had swerved his vehicle and swung into a side street. Perhaps it was a different alley this time. But it wound itself in the same tortuous manner as before, now by the banks of overflowing esteros, again behind faintly familiar buildings. She bent her tiny, distraught face, conjuring in her heart the lonely safety of the street island she had stood on for an hour that night of her confusion.

"Only this far, folks," the driver spoke, stopping his vehicle. "Main street's a block straight ahead."

"But it's raining," someone protested.

"Sorry. But if I got into a traffic, I won't come out of it in a year. Sorry."

One by one the passengers got off, walking swiftly, disappearing in the night.

Miss Mijares stepped down to a sidewalk in front of a boarded store. The wind had begun again and she could hear it whipping in the eaves above her head. "Ma'am," the man's voice sounded at her shoulders, "I am sorry if you thought I lied."

She gestured, bestowing pardon.

Up and down the empty, rain-beaten street she looked. It was as though all at once everyone else had died and they were alone in the world, in the dark.

In her secret heart, Miss Mijares' young dreams fluttered faintly to life, seeming monstrous in the rain, near this man --- seeming monstrous but sweet overwhelming. I must get away, she thought wildly, but he had moved and brushed against her, and where his touch had fallen, her flesh leaped, and she recalled how his hands had looked that first day, lain tenderly on the edge of her desk and about the wooden bird (that had looked like a moving, shining dove) and she turned to him with her ruffles wet and wilted, in the dark she turned to him.

Dear Juliet

Tanaw mula sa malayo ang liwanag mong taglay

Isang anghel na bumaba mula sa langit

Upang sambahin ng mga tagalupang tulad niya-

Tulad ko.

Nakahihiyang hawakan ang 'yong mga kamay

Na di man lang yata nakaranas na madampian ng

Alikabok ng tiklado ng piyano.

Nakangingiming kausapan ka nang matagalan

Subalit lahat sila'y nais mabatid ang iyong pangalan. 

Kasabay ng marahang ihip ng hangin 

Ang pagsasayaw ng bawat hibla ng 'yong buhok

Na umakit at bumihag 

Sa puso, isip at kaluluwa

Ng isang Italyano, ng isang Romantiko.

Nagawa mo siyang iligaw sa loob ng 'yong mga mata

Napasunod mo siya sa lahat ng iyong nais

Napaakyat mo siya sa mataas na balkonahe

Para lang bigyan ka ng papuri at awit ng pagsinta.

Nahalina siya ng iyong kabataan

Binulag ng kahinhinan at kasibulan

Marahil dahil na rin sa mabini't matimyas mong pagkilos 

Kaya labis siyang natangay ng agos. 

Ngunit paano, kung di lahat ng nilalang ay tulad mo?

Na isang Diyosang nagkatawang tao

Paano na lamang ang aming gagawin?

Nasaan na ba ang mga alituntunin?

Sabihin mo

Dahil ang lahat ay gagawin ko

Upang mapaibig at mabihag

ang pangarap kong Romeo. 

:)