Jazmin Llana

Jazmin Badong Llana has a Master of Arts degree in Theater Arts from the University of the Philippines Diliman and used to be part of the World Theater Project of Dr. Anton Juan, having acted in some of its productions. One of her recent memorable works as director was the Kantada ni Daragang Magayon, Mandirigma from Merlinda Bobis’ epic poem Cantata of the Warrior Woman Daragang Magayon. She is identified with contemporary Bikol writing and a member of the Kabulig-Bikol, the association of Bikol writers. Her poems have been published in journals and books among which is Recuerdos, featured in the book Filipinos Writing (DLSU Press, 2001). She organized the first and second Pagsurat Bikolnon (Bikol Writers’ Conference). In the book Hagkus, Twentieth Century Bikol Women Writing (DLSU Press, 2003), author Paz Verdades Santos describes Jazmin Llana as a “…good candidate for the honor [of being balyana / babaylan of the new generation]”, like the priestess of long ago who was leader and healer, educator, and kulturtraeger or carrier of civilization.
Jazmin Llana was born on October 27, 1963 in Baao, Camarines Sur. She now lives in Albay where she also works. She has served as Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences of the Aquinas University of Legazpi in Legazpi City. At present she is the Executive Assistant for External Affairs and Director of the Center for Culture and the Arts at the same university.

MEMORIES
Jazmin Llana

I well remember these banks
Where I would often stumble and fall
In my pursuit of butterflies
Or brightly colored birds.
I would be covered with dirt while
My quarry danced
And flew away to light
On the grass by the wayside,
As if I saying: come on, don’t give up
For truly, happiness is hard to catch.

When I was a child, I thought
We owned even the snails on the farm
Which we would often cook with kangkong
And suck out the sweetness of the world
From every shell, oh what delight!
I thought the land was ours-
The birds would cry out
In protest as we children gleaned
The remnants of the harvest,
Not minding if we were cut and scratched
By the remaining palay leaves.
Now the banks have narrowed;
The bird’s cries are more intense
For the people have nothing more to eat.
I can no longer run after
Butterflies or brightly colored birds,
They have flown to the fields
Now fenced by titles
And deadly weapons-
Truly, justice is hard to catch.