‘The true path of the way applies at any time and in any situation.’- Miyamoto Musashi, Japanese sword-saint

CLIMATE

The movements of the martial arts come from nature. What better cause to defend than the earth where we come from? At our school, I am involved in several activities:

• Education on the importance of protecting the earth and its beings, especially the oceans, and those that protect it (whales, sharks, dolphins)
• Collection of donations for those in need, e.g, typhoon and earthquake victims
• Organisation of fundraisers for groups such as Sea Shepherd, Blue Voice, Plan

Self-defence extends to planet-defence, and our duty cannot be replaced by any trophy won at a competition designed to be better than another instead of being a better human being.

Last December 2009, I went to Copenhagen and participated in the events centred on the COP15. Students from the school signed the banner, which I carried with me on the December 12 march, and with it I carried positive intent for the future. Although many consider the COP15 a flop, we are just getting started, and we keep on going. That is the martial way.

ENERGY

The universe consists of energy, which we all work with: ours, another’s, our environment. Martial artists become more aware and more responsible of this energy through training.

I connect with the earth’s energy through martial arts. I train in the ocean, forests, and mountains to draw upon and root myself in the earth, and then send positive energy back.

Working with children has also taught me a lot about energy. By centring my own, I can positively influence them. Instruction occurs not only physically through the techniques, but also energetically through positive intent. Positive energy towards children is crucial because one day they will influence the world.

I also work for the Big Wave Camp, a creative, outdoor summer camp, which is a complementary education (learning how to live) to regimented schooling (learning how to make a living). We help kids reconnect with the earth by interacting with its elements, therefore learning about themselves through the earth, and how to protect it. With the technology, concrete, and plastic that bombard young people, the camp helps them discover the world beyond video games and television.

HUMAN SECURITY

As humans, we have physical, mental, and spiritual aspects. Physical security is important, but often neglected are mental and spiritual security—our minds and souls have rights, too!

We have the right to think freely and be given correct information. We are constantly bombarded by the mental pollution of negative thoughts and economic stresses that we forget who we are and why we do what we do. In the martial arts, meditation resets the mind by silencing all these influences. The mind becomes like water and reflects its true nature. We pause and question our actions to make better choices.

The security of the human soul has never been in such peril. Being spiritual beings, we strive for a higher purpose to existence: there must be more to life than work and retirement! Through martial arts training, I learn to get up after getting knocked down, of my strengths and weaknesses, and to stay on my path. I strive to be an example, not as a symbol of perfection, but as a human being who makes mistakes and struggles to be a good person. The art helps me master myself, and by helping others along the path, we move ‘together in forward motion.’

Martial arts begins and ends with courtesy and respect for oneself and others, including other beings and the planet.

~
1983: The U.S. Department of Justice declares If You Love This Planet a propaganda film. The same year, it won the Oscar for best documentary short and was screened worldwide.

~
Video information and link courtesy of the National Film Board of Canada. More information available here.

My godson André,

When you read this, you should be old enough to understand my message through your own experiences, while your mum and I should be young enough to still be able to relate with the trends of young adulthood. I myself was, am, and will be young no matter what. My youth transcends time and space. Haha.

This is about you, though, and how wonderful your life has been so far. I am happy for you and your accomplishments. Cherish your childhood and the simple things in life, such as walking barefoot on the sand, eating ice cream, and singing in the shower. Look forward to the future, for ‘the future holds the most to those who have faith in it.*’

I am writing to the man that you have become, even before I have met the child that you are to be, very soon. Your mother and I can only hope that we provided wisdom and guidance enough for you to get out of the nest on your own. Each teaching is like a feather carefully placed on both your wings. We have allowed you to make mistakes so that you can fly higher. Remember that you are unlimited.

When I first heard of your existence, I was genuinely happily surprised. Your mum and I were supposed to visit China together, but then you showed up, which means all three of us will have to go someday, if we haven’t already. Your other IV-5 aunts were supportive and excited, too–imagine the hype! Every pregnancy has a story, and your mother’s was difficult, especially emotionally. We are, however, thankful for the hardships because they build strength. I always meditated for your wellbeing, and you made my coming back home to the Philippines after a long two and a half years extra special.

You are now in search of your essence, and this search is scary, exciting, bewildering–the path is is not easy, and it shouldn’t be! Travel, learn, love, relentlessly search for the truth. Whatever you decide to do, I am always with you, mistakes and all. Especially the mistakes. I love you very much.

Love yor mother and treat her well. Tell the truth. ‘Let your light shine and be a blessing.**’ Live in peace. Love your country, and always give more than you take.

Whatever we had in our past lives, I am glad to have you again in this one.

With much love,
Ninang (Godmother) Rhoderiezl

~
*From Sensei W. Platt, my sensei’s sensei. Other similar quotations exist.
**From Mother Marie Louise de Meester, founder of ICM in the Philippines.
I shall give a handwritten version of this letter to André when he comes of age.

the great advantage of being alive
(instead of undying) is not so much
that mind no more can disprove than prove
what heart may feel and soul may touch
–the great(my darling)happens to be
that love are in we,that love are in we

and here is a secret they never will share
for whom create is less than have
or one times one than when times where–
that we are in love,that we are in love:
with us they’ve nothing times nothing to do
(for love are in we am in i are in you)

this world(as timorous itsters all
to call their cowardice quite agree)
shall never discover our touch and feel
–for love are in we are in love are in we;
for you are and i am and we are(above
and under all possible worlds)in love

a billion brains may coax undeath
from fancied fact and spaceful time–
no heart can leap,no soul can breathe
but by the sizeless truth of a dream
whose sleep is the sky and the earth and the sea.
For love are in you am in i are in we

When my cousin’s grandfather died, she told me how lucky I was to have both sets of grandparents alive. I thought, “Yeah, lucky me.” I have a grandmother who refuses to be called Lola (She wants to be called Mimi) and still lives in the 20th century, and a futile grandfather (Lolo Aga) whom I haven’t seen for six years.

My Lolo Aga used to be very handsome, as seen in his black and white photos and according to Mimi. He was a successful dentist, having his own clinic in Manila and Cabanatuan, Nueva Ecija, his hometown. Life was going great for him until he started smoking and drinking, vices that damaged the family.

When he started smoking and drinking, the first thing I noticed was that he and Mimi did not sleep beside each other anymore. He moved his stuff to the downstairs guestroom, where he would smoke for hours on end. I didn’t like going there because I would have coughing fits. Lolo Aga would also come home late, and then he and Mimi would have a fight. The house would be filled with shouting and screaming and smashing.

Because of his bad habits, he was operated on the lungs and liver. My aunts were amazed on how he survived. He had these huge stitches on the back and abdomen. One of my aunts even joked that he just refused to die.

I remember waking up one morning to yelling and breaking. My mother ushered me to Mimi’s room where everybody was gathered. Their eyes were scared and so was I. What was going on? Then Mama said that Lolo Aga was sick, and that it was dangerous to go out of the room. After a while the shattering stopped. I peeked below the terrace and saw batteries and figurines on the garage. I was terrified. “What if Lolo Aga would harm us?”, I thought.

When I was eight years old, the family moved to Canada except for us**. I thought Lolo Aga would be cured, but I was wrong. He asked us to send him his favourite brand of cigarettes and his beloved beer. Of course my mother didn’t send any, and slowly but surely, he became a hopeless case that everybody gave up on him. Nobody took care of him, and it was even considered that he be put in an institution, sort of like Golden Acres***. He wouldn’t take a bath, drink his medicine, or sleep early. He would justy sit like a dead fish washed up on the shore.

So he had cancer of the lungs. Right now he’s in Canada, fighting for dear life. I can imagine his snow-white hair, wrinkled face, and tall, lanky frame. There is only one good memory imprinted on my memory about my Lolo Aga. He used to hold me up until my fingertips could brush the ceiling. Then he would turn me several times and I would shriek with delight. He would say, “Helicopter!” When he put me down, I would raise my arms and scream “Helicopter!” I would go for this adventure ride over and over and over again.

I want my grandfather to reach Christmas, his favorite time of the year. It would be sad if he died this Yuletide season. Then again, he was considered spiritually dead already, this is more like his physical death. It would be good for him to reflect upon his tragic life. This Christmas season is the birth of a new hope for my family, a lesson learned, and a time that can never be brought back.

By the time you read this, my Lolo Aga would probably be dead. But every time I see a helicopter, I remember my helicopter ride with my Lolo Aga and promise myself that I would never allow vices and bad habits to conquer my being. I will be just like my helicopter ride, soaring and free.

~
My grandfather did reach Christmas and died the following month in January 2001. His body now lies beside one Michael Jackson–no kidding, that’s his grave-neighbour’s name.

*Lolo means grandfather; Lola, grandmother.
**Us – my mother, brother, and me.
***Golden Acres – a home for the aged. In the Philippines, allowing senior family members to live in such an institution is considered abandonment, lack of respect and duty, and taboo.

I’m not sewing velvet patches on a woolen blanket,
not putting silver buttons back where they belong,
not sweeping or folding, not in my right mind,
not knowing what I owe or to whom I should
bow down or thank or praise, no neither am
I putting aside, not storing up good deeds
I’ll need when I need bailing out, not putting
my house in order, no, not preparing
to meet my maker, no, nor do I wish to settle
old scores, no not keeping wolves at bay,
and I’m not disturbing antbeds, not in touch
with fine madness, no, I’m not skipping rocks,
not counting how long it takes a ship’s wake
to subside, nor waiting for the big one
to wash ashore and overwhelm its itty bitty
ancestors, no, I’m not trying to fathom a stew
of rotten flowers and rainwater I’m not pouring
from a vase at the left-hand backcorner of a
freshly white-washed tomb, no, I’m not getting
ready for company, not biting my tongue, though
a little bit of chafing can feel good, not baring
my soul, I’m not hiding under the kitchen table
not wanting to listen anymore, not lost in a
camphor-reeking satchel inside a chiffarobe,
not stretching under a bed on a cool linoleum
floor, no, I’m not sitting on top of a mule
surveying the sun and the moon, nor am I watching
strands of hot sugar fall into cool water, no
I’m not climbing into a fig tree to be close
to mockingbirds and out of the way of hoopsnakes,
and I’m not falling asleep next to a crate of melons,
nor am I staying awake in case I might miss something,
no, I’m not staring forever into a fire,
nor walking through a rainstorm into a cypress
grove, no, and I’m not waiting for lightning
to strike, no, and I’m not pulling aside a
curtain so I can’t see a man with a raccoon
looking over his shoulder or a woman holding
a cup of steaming coffee or hear what’s passing
between them, or see a man at the end of a day
taking off his shoes, or a boy dressed in clerical
clothes dispensing frankincense, or a hand
shifting into reverse, or a hand turning numbers
to get into a safe, no I’m not sitting on top
of a mule surveying the sun and the moon.

Link from The American Poetry Review: http://tinyurl.com/25sgyx

I. Written on Feb 14^th, Valentine’s Day, posted by Frater Kaotec

What is life?

A brief moment with its pleasures and pains,

mostly its tedium.

Its surprises and dissappointments.

Its memories, that stretch back making it seem long.

Old friends forgotten, new friends unknown.

Aspirations, dreams of long standing

broken on the shores of time?

Fears suppressed and erupting,

often prophecy.

Past times are they meaningful?

Once perhaps.

Death? A waste?

An ultimate proof of meaninglessness?

The ultimate certainty and truth!

We will meet it soon,

should we wait?

II. Continued on 18^th Feb, my birthday, still from Foolish People’s post

Four days on.

Two days of free fall into the pit,

not denying, accepting and experiencing.

At the bottom lies a still place.

The darkness so great, a light emerges.

Above us a dark tunnel,

Beyond us an open plain.

What was once a narrow dark vision,

now an open plain of possibility.

Meaning is not found, it is made.

By our own efforts alone can we be reborn,

alone and in great company,

The solidarity of the fallen.

III. Finished on March 6, my best friend’s birthday, by me

If chance causes great opportunites

begotten, created, sought, seized

Then each challenge is a chance.

How do I move forward into the light?

Weapons in my hand

A battlecry from my throat

A goal in my mind

The spirits around me forge my courage.

I feel the earth shaking, vibrating

with the energy of the force.

One thing I have forgotten:

To lift my chin up, for above me lies hope.

~ Happy birthday my Miel, my best friend, my life partner, mahal kong Miel ng buhay ko. Mahal na mahal kita.

written by Rhoderiezl

Yellow, as the desert where he came from, was the snake, slithering through the grass, green as the first spring day.

‘It is done,’ he hissed. ‘Everything went according to plan.’

‘He did not suspect at all?’ A voice answered from within a hill.

‘The Prince?’ The snake answered, ‘he does not suspect anyone, not the humans, nor his beloved rose.’

‘All is well, then.’ The fox emerged from his hiding-place, yawning and stretching. He was white, blinding white, and his eyes were a cold green-grey. Those eyes greeted the deep purple slits that were the snake’s own, and the fox thanked the snake.

‘My Master would thank you a hundredfold. He can give you all the rats that you wish.’ The fox declared proudly.

‘I do not desire to feed on rats.’ The snake silently replied.

‘Well, we have to finish the job. Where is the body?’

‘Beside the well. I hid it from the human. I wanted to bite him, but he knew I did not have enough poison for a second victim. All I did was scare him.’

‘He is not part of the plan. Humans have never held much interest for the Master.’ The fox paced back and forth, then stopped.

‘Is the human gone?’ The snake nodded in answer.

‘You will lead me to the Prince.’

The snake and the fox slithered and walked their way through the meadow, the garden, and on to the well in the desert where the Prince’s body lay. Acting as a rope, the snake tied himself around the Prince, while the fox dragged the burden all the way to the temple where the Master lay.

‘Master?’ called the fox, tired and panting.

‘Is that you,’ a voice cried weakly, ‘my most loyal servant?’

‘Master, I have found you a worthy shell. It is young, fresh, and pure; I am sure you will like it.’

‘Is it innocent? Will it last? I am so tired of this body, my child, I grow weak everyday.’

‘I understand, Master. What you do, your task, requires strength beyond immortality.’

The snake listened quitely by the door, curled in a swirled cone, resting.

‘Who is your friend?’ The Master asked his servant.

‘He is not my friend. He is merely an instrument necessary for the fulfilment of our goal. He did very well and deserves our gratitude, my Master, but he is not my friend.’

The snake remained silent.

‘I see. Thank you for helping my servant. What do you wish for in return?’ The Master asked the snake kindly. ‘I can grant you anything, as long as it is within my power to give.’

‘What can you give, my lord?’ The snake asked timidly.

‘I do not usually give, but I take. I am the poison in your venom. I am the wedge of the blade, the spirit of thirst and hunger, the vacuum of breathlessness.’ The Master explained. ‘However, if you wish, I could refuse to take your soul, and you could go on forever.’

‘I am grateful, my lord, but you are cursing me.’ The snake said. ‘To be immortal is to be cursed, and that is not what I wish. I wish–’

‘I know what you wish, and I cannot give that to you. You must seek it yourself.’

‘But if you tell him, ask him, he will obey you!’

‘I cannot ask that of him. He is free to tame whomever he wishes.’

With that, the Master retired to his chamber and addressed the fox. ‘Thank you. I am fine now, you may leave. You shall lead the snake back to the desert, and when he desires it, I shall give him his gift.’ He picked up the Prince’s body delicately, carried it in his arms, and shut the door.

The fox was left behind with the snake. ‘Thank you. My Master now can go on happily with his job.’

‘Happily? Is there happiness in death?’

‘Why, you give it to beings freely, do you not?’

‘I have no choice. It is what I was made to be. To survive, I must kill another. I wish I were like you, a blessed creature.’

‘Chasing chickens is not blessed. I also kill to live. Don’t we all?’

‘Yes. The cacti kill the ground by robbing its water. The weeds kill the roses. The night kills the day…’

‘Wouldn’t you agree, that the funniest of all are the humans? They kill themselves to live.’

‘The problem with humans is that they never tamed themselves.’

The snake and the fox reached the desert. A violent sandstorm was gathering, the strong winds hurtling rocks and sand all over the place.

The fox shouted, ‘Come, you must not stay here.’

‘I have nowhere to go; this is my home. Sandstorms are as common to me as blizzards must have been to you.’ With that, the snake slipped away and disappeared into the dunes.

‘Wait–’

‘Watch out!’

A heavy, massive boulder was right behind the fox, and it shook with the wind, threatening to collapse at any moment.

In a flash, the snake whipped the fox out of the way, and the boulder crumbled into a pile of rocks, burying the snake underneath.

The fox tried to free the snake, but the storm was too wild. So he waited, a white dot in swirling yellow, a stranger, a creature loyal to the end.

At last, there was silence. The snake’s head found its way through the rocks, and he called the fox. ‘Please, tell your Master, I got my wish. I never knew what it meant–to be tamed–but now, he can give me death in peace.’

The fox, no longer white, but a smatter of yellow, brown, and grey, walked away. A hen was laying an egg; he chased it, killed it, and had it for dinner. And so the cycle of dying for living goes on.

Una
Hinahanap ko ang sarili ko.
Gusto ko nang tumakas.
Ayoko na.
Sana matapos na.
Bakit ako nagkakaganito?
Hindi ako ito.
Kung wala ang pananim, wala ako.
Gusto ko umiyak.
Ayaw ko pa mamatay,
Marami pa akong bukid na pagyayamanin.
Sana matapos na ito, kasi
Napapagod na ako maging malungkot.
Ang hirap maging mortal.

Inaasahan ka ni Bathala.
Alam ko.
Buti pa sila, may paniniwala sa iyo.
Hindi lang nila alam ang ginagawa ko rito.
Hindi nila alam kung ano talaga ang gusto ko gawin.
Pero nariyan ka na. Konting tiis na lang,
At maraming paniniwala.
Tiwala? Tinangay na siya ni Amihan.
Babalik siya sa iyo.
Maaari ba muna akong umiyak?
Sige, mag-isa kang umiyak diyan,
At mag-isa ka ring bumangon.
Iwanan mo na ako.

Bakit hindi ka pa bumabalik?

~
At tumulo ang kanyang luha nang hindi nakikita ng iba, akala kasi nila masaya siya.

Ikalawa
Hindi nila alam, hindi rin pwede ipaalam. Ang hirap magtago, ano? Pero isipin mo, lahat ng mortal na tao ginagawa iyon mula pagkabata, ngunit hanggang sa pagtanda ay hindi sila masanay rito.

Lumabas ka.
Ano’ng mayroon sa labas?
Basta, tingnan mo.
Ayaw ko nga.
Bakit, natatakot ka ‘no?
Hindi ah.
Duwag.
*Katahimikan*
‘Yan lang naduduwag ka na.
Marami pang darating, makikita mo.
Ayaw ko nga. Gusto ko lang umiyak, maaari ba?
Asaan ang luha mo?
*Singhot*

~
Sa konting unos, nabali na siya. Sayang. Akala ko pa naman matatag siya, di tulad ng iba. Magiging mahusay pa naman sana siya, kung nalampasan niya lang ang takot niya.

Ikatlo
Hoy, duwag.
Hindi ako duwag.
Alam ko na.
Ang alin?
Sabi mo takot ka sa pagkabigo.
Pero iyon ay kasinungalingan.
Ano ‘yang pinagsasabi mo?
Takot ka sa sarili mo.
Ano? Pakiulit nga?
Duwag na bingi pa.
Takot ka sa sarili mo.
Nahihibang ka.
Bakit naman ako matatakot sa sarili ko?
Natatakot ka sa magagawa mo.
Natatakot ka sa pagkabigo mo,
Natatakot ka sa tagumpay mo.
Natatakot ka sa kaya mong gawin sa sarili mo,
At sa paligid mo, sa mundo.
Mabuti o masama.
*Katahimikan*
O ano, natameme ka.
Kasi totoo.

~
Si Idianalé ang diyosa ng agrikultura at pagpapalaki ng hayop-pangkabuhayan ng mga sinaunang Tagalog. Siya rin ang tagapagtanggol ng mga magsasaka at mambubukid.

Si Mabuti
Bago pa lang ang mga Islang Ligaw, at bata pa ang mga anak nina Maganda at Malakas. Tahimik ang mga yapak sa damo ni Mabuti, ang paboritong apo ni Maganda. Dala-dala ang mga puting rosas na iaalay sa diyosa, pagpatak ng gabi ay nagsimula na siyang mamitas at maghanda ng kanyang alay.
Madalas humiga sa bukid sa Mabuti, at ilang oras siyang tumititig sa mga bituin sa langit. Unan niya ang mga ulap, kumot niya ang langit, at panaginip niya ang mga bituin. Habang nakahilata ang kanyang mahahabang binti at nakatupi ang mga mala-galamay na kamay, sinara niya ang kanyang itim na mata at hinipan ang itim na buhok. ‘Sana ay parating gabi.’

Si Tala
Ang diyosa ng mga bituin, ang sinusunod ng lahat ng mga bituin sa langit, ang
anak nina Manalastas at Munag Sumalâ, ang apo ni Apung Sinukuan, ay ang nagliliwanag na si Tala. Siya ang paborito ng kanyang lolang si Apung Malyari, kaya naman maliban sa buwan, si Tala ang pinakamaliwanag na nilalang sa langit, at hanggang sa madaling-araw ay umaabot ang kanyang liwanag.

Si Martina
Mahaba at itim ang kanyang buhok tulad ng kailaliman ng gabi, ngunit sa araw lamang siya makikita, kasama ni Mabuti. Nililibot nila ang mga sapa, bukid, at burol sa kanilang barrio, nagtatawanan, nag-uusap. Subalit maikli ang kasiyahan ng mga mangingibig sapagkat sa paglubog ng araw ay nagmamadaling umuwi si Martina sa tawag ng kanyang lola.

Si Apung Malyari
Isang mapayapang gabi, hindi sumama sa kanya ang mahal niyang si Tala. Buo siya nang gabing iyon, dilaw at maliwanag. Walang kaulap-ulap sa langit, at wala rin ang mga bituin. Para kay Apung Malyari, kung wala si Tala ay hindi buo ang larawan ng langit. Ito ang unang gabing wala si Tala.

Si Masipag
Nagtataka siya at ang lahat ng kanyang mga kabarrio kung nasaan ang mga bituin. Kailangan nila ito para sa kanilang mga paglalakbay, panghuhula, at pag-aalay. Hirap ang mga tao sa pagkawala ng mga bituin. May nagawa ba silang kasalanan sa diyosa? Nagtataka rin si Masipag sa nabanggit ng kanyang kaibigang si Mabuti: nakakita raw siya ng isang babaeng tunay na nakabighani sa kanya, at hindi ito si Martina. Gusto raw niya ng kasamang tumitig sa gabi.

Si Apung Sinukuan
Maliwanag ang umaga, mainit, malagkit. Madalas panoorin ni Apung Sinukuan ang mga batang mangingibig habang sila ay nagliliwaliw sa lupa. Pero may naiiba ngayon, iba ang kasama ni Mabuti. Nawawala ang babaeng gabi ang buhok, napalitan siya ng babaeng kulot. Masaya rin silang naglalaro kung saan-saan, at kitang-kita sa mukha ni Mabuti ang kagalakan.
Sa paanan naman ng bundok ay nakita ni Apung Sinukuan ang babaeng gabi ang buhok, at siya’y malungkot. Hindi napawi ng kahit anong salita ang simangot sa mukha ng bata. Tinanong siya ni Sinukuan kung bakit hindi siya nagagalit, kung bakit pasensyoso niyang hinayaang mawala ang kanyang iniibig.

Si Apung Malyari
Sa wakas ay nagbalik ang ningning sa gabi nang makasama muli ni Malyari si Tala. Nang tinanong ni Malyari si Tala ng bakit at ano, sumagot lamang siya na gusto niya umiyak. Masakit, masarap, at mahirap. Kaya hinayaan ng lola umiyak ang apo.

Si Magalang
Nakahiga sila ni Mabuti sa bukid at pinapanood ang mga bituin. Tinuro ni Mabuti ang paborito niyang bituin–ang bituin ng diyosang inaalayan niya ng puting rosas. Nang gabing iyon ay umulan ng bituin at tila sila’y nagsisipaghulog. Bumulong ng pangarap sina Mabuti at Magalang.

Si Masipag
Nakita niyang umulan ng bituin bago siya pumikit. Nahabol niya ang bulong ng kanyang pangarap, kaya naman paggising niya ay maliksi siyang tumakbo papunta sa taniman ng mga puting rosas upang maghanda ng alay sa diyosa. Malaking pagkagulat ang sumalubong sa kanya sapagkat namatay ang lahat ng puting rosas! Mukhang natamaan sila ng pag-ulan ng bituin. Malungkot na pinulot ni Masipag ang mga rosas upang ibaon sa lupa, at sa paghukay niya ay may matigas at makinang siyang natamaan. Hukay, hukay, hukay, hanggang sa natagpuan niya ang mga kumikinang na batong hugis luha, na mukhang mga bituin sa lupang langit.