2010 Year-ender

New year resolutions are a fancy thing. I'm not really into those kinds of stuff. So let's skip that cliche and just reminisce what made 2010 a year of sugar and spice.

Personally, I see the year 2010 as a great gift, a present. It was a painting of bright colors, a mirage of every good thing that could happen to anyone but me. Luck seem to have stricken me dozens of times, and because of that I fear that it wouldn't hit me much this coming 2011.

It would be a tedious job to list all the blessings He has given me, but I feel quite obliged to share bits and pieces of my 2010 as sign of gratitude to Him.

So, first off.
I was able to travel locally [Davao] and abroad [Amsterdam] to represent my high school. Both travels were liberating, giving me a fresh view of the outside world that I wouldn't have known if not for those off-shores.

I was also guaranteed free college education [as long as I maintain my grade] by De La Salle University. Never did it cross my mind that I'd study in DLSU, given the stature it has of teaching the financially capable, the upper echelon. My mind was set to enter the University of the Philippines-Manila and cry UP Naming Mahal that was why I was amazed being inside the gallant gates and towering structures of La Salle.

My friends and I were bound even tighter, despite the difference in Alma Mater. Papa also joined us for Christmas [and is joining our 2011 New Year Celebration], a once in a blue moon occassion for our family. He works abroad, so yeah, that explains my jumpiness having him with us last Christmas.

Thanks to Him. Amen.

I hope this 2011 would be a year filled with His love. Just that, and I'll be content and happy.

Happy New Year!

Ano Ang Magagawa Natin?

Ang biyahe mula sa aking bahay patungo sa Pamantasang De La Salle ay kumakain ng maraming oras. Sa 45 hanggang 60 minutong biyahe ko ay marami na sana akong nagawa; nakapag-aral, nakapagbasa, nakapagdasal, at nakapagsulat na sana ako. Madalas nga'y naiisip kong mas mabuti kung nakatira ako sa isang paupahan malapit sa DLSU tulad ng iba kong kaklase. Hindi nila iniinda ang pagod na aking dinaranas tuwing nakatayo't nag-aantay ng sasakyang dyip. Hindi nila nararanasang makipag-unahan para lamang makahanap ng magandanang puwesto sa bus. Hindi sila nangangamba sa mga masasamang loob na maaaring mang-holdap habang pikit ang iyong mga mata dahil sa pagod na dinaranas.

Gayunpaman, tuwing ako'y nasa dyip at bus, naiisip kong tunay akong masuwerte. Ang hirap na aking dinaranas dahil sa pagtungo sa paaralan ay maiituturi pa ngang pribilehiyo kung ikukumpara ito sa pinagdaraanan ng mga bata sa kalye.

Upang ako'y makauwi sa bahay mula sa DLSU, sumasakay muna ako ng dyip na tutungo sa sakayan ng bus sa Pedro Gil. Madalas, tuwing titigil ang dyip, may mga taong kalye na sasampa sa dyip sa kabila ng pagpipigil ng drayber. Pupunasan nila ang paa naming mga pasahero at tsaka manlilimos. Hindi ko magawang tingnan ang mga taong ito; inilalayo ko ang aking tingin sa kanila. Ito'y hindi dahil sa pandidiri o sa pagkamuhi; ito'y dahil sa pagkaawa.

Kung minsa'y nakadarama ako ng pagkainis sa aking sarili dahil hindi ko sila magawang bigyan ng limos sa takot na dumami pa silang hihingi sa akin. [Hindi niyo rin ako masisisi dahil nagkaroon na ako ng masamang eksperyensya sa mga batang kalye noon.] Ngunit mas masidhi ang aking pagkapuot dahil wala man lamang akong magawa upang tulungan sila. Bigyan ko man sila ng limos, panandalian lamang itong sagot sa gutom na kanilang dinadanas.

Ano nga ba ang ating magagawa upang tulungan sila?

Marahil ay sasabihin nating kagagawan din nila kung bakit sila nalalagay sa kung saan man sila ngayon. Sila'y pulubi dahil hindi sila nagsisikap na maghanap ng marangal na mapagkakakitaan. Ngunit sino ba ang tatanggap sa kanila kung ganoon ang kanilang kalagayan? Kung gunit-gunit ang kanilang damit at madungis ang kanilang mukha, may handa bang kumuha sa kanila bilang mga trabahador? Sa aking palagay, obligasyon nating mas nakagiginhawa sa buhay na tulungan silang makahaahon mula sa kanilang kinasasadlakan. Ngunit... paano? Paano natin sila matutulungan?

Freshman Year Yuletide Break What-to-dos Checklist

[/]Facebooking
[/] Lost Symbol
[..] The Secret to Teen Power
[/] Blogging
[ ] Jogging/Running
[/] Drawing
[ ] Year-end Meditation

I'm definitely fattening up this Christmas break. Why do mothers cook so well?
Spent most, if not all, of my time at home.

How about you? :)

My Mind is Full of Whatnots

My mind is a catastrophe. It deals with different ideas - from petty things such as a recipe of Pinakbet (yum!) to some more bizarre thinking like having a theory relating metabolism and thought (which I perceive, has energy). But I like it, I like it when my brain has loads of things to process. My predicament is quite pitiful, though. I find it hard to process my thoughts, to filter them so that they make sense.

This blog entry alone is an evidence of my mind of whatnots. It took me some time to decide what to write. I just felt writing, without even knowing what to blabber about.

So much for my utter randomness.

When Blogger become Tumblr

Spring by the River
Netherlands [2010]

Busy Streets, City Lights
Pusan, South Korea [2009]

Camouflage Ain't Good Enough
Quezon City [2010]

Where are the Children?
DLSU-Taft [2010]

Waiting
Lian, Batangas [2010]

I.

I am deeply in love with Photography.

For me, Photography is one prime art that combines classicism and modernism. It encompasses the taste of classic artists, but it also utilizes technology, with the so-called camera as a photographer's conniving ally.

II.

I would not deny the fact that I want a dSLR. Badly. Though in Photography they say it is more of "It's not the arrow, it's the Indian," [translation: It's not the camera, it's the photographer] I still think that great cameras were made for their partner photographers. Don't take me wrong; I have high regard for digital cameras for their handy-ness and the features they offer despite their size. To this date, I am using a digital camera to fill my craving for the art of Photography.

It pains me when some people take their slr/dslr for granted. Cameras are not to be flaunted, rather, to be used as a medium of art. Or am I only imagining this? Oh dear. Perhaps people are not showing off their cameras; perhaps I am the one imaging, dreaming, dazed and drawn to the wonders that slr/dslr brings. My, oh my. When will I have an EOS?

III.

Deep in my heart, there is this bugging something that tells me that everyone has a talent for Photography. However, if everyone had talent in Photography, then perhaps everyone has talent for every known occupation in this world - dancing, singing, basketball, theatre... I suddenly realize that I never had an inclination to Sports (although I badly wanted to engage myself in it). [Running, I believe, is the only sport that I can call mine.] If this is my condition, then perhaps there are people who are not into Photography, even though they are madly in love with the thought of it.

Now, all I hope is that I really have this innate flair with taking pictures. I am at remorse because of what seems to be a physical incapability when it comes to sports, though I am in a revolt and I am trying to fight my predicament. If I was not endowed with a gift when it comes to anything physique, then I might as well take chances on Art and Literature.

Taking Action

Lately, I've been getting great purchases from our University's library. Never did it cross my mind that I'd be able to read David Morrell's some few coveted books through the vast resource of De La Salle's 4-floor main library, not to mention the 2 annex libraries in the newly installed Br. Andrew Gonzalez Building. Of course, it would've been a waste if I did not get hold of some scholastic books, for purposes that, I presume, is known to you already.

However, I have not written this entry to praise the materials that our University offers to its student, nor did I intend to advertise the extensive use of libraries that we students should maximize, rather, to share to you my views on one of the controversial books published this year.

While researching supplementary materials for the completion of requirements in one of my floating courses, I, together with two other companions, went straight ahead to the Filipiniana section of our main library hoping to scour helpful sources for our report. Indeed, the library served its purpose of providing us information, but I got more than what I wanted. At the top shelf was 'Shadow of Doubt', an exposition by Marites Vitug with regard to the judicial system and the magistrates of the Supreme Court, also coined as the 'gods of Padre Faura'. I immediately texted my mother informing her of my interest in borrowing the book. It is quite oblivious, but my thirst for reading the book equaled hers.

Although Friday night traffic really buzzed my day, I partially thanked the hassle for because of it, I was able to read some few parts of the book while in the bus. Not even finishing the Acknowledgment page, it already made me realize things that I wouldn't have known if not for the book.

I would like to commend the author of the book for reasons I know I cannot fully put into writing. However, I feel obliged to offer some of my commendations to her in the next part of this entry. Also, I feel the need to explain the reason of my incapacity to write in her behalf. First, I have not yet finished reading the book, and it would take time before I can fully comprehend with the revelations that are yet to undermine my political views. Second, it would have been better for you to read Ms. Vitug's narrative and be awed by how her words relay to the readers a world that would have been forever a forgery of truth.

Ms. Vitug's courage is definitely meritorious. For those 'news hags' who make sure that they are always up-to-date to the everyday happenings of the country, I am quite sure that you have heard of the death threat(s) Ms. Vitug concurred the day before she released her book. For all that we know, she might have been receiving threats a few days before and after the release. As a writer and a journalist, she knew beforehand that the publication of her book would flame a nation-wide controversy that would not only affect the nation's judicial, legislative and executive wings, but also affect the socio-political and economic struggles of our country, putting her in the limelight of assassins and killers.

As far as my comprehension goes, Ms. Vitug wrote the book expecting an imbroglio of events, not to make herself famed, but rather to inform the people of a system that is unknown to the mass. She did not inhibit herself from sharing her talent and knowledge and open to the crowd an expose that could cost her own life.

But then I asked myself, "Is this all that she can do, write about the issues circling the Supreme Court?"

I was suddenly struck by my question, realizing that I myself have not done anything yet to contribute to national reform. Perhaps I could've alibied and cooed myself by saying that I am still young to take part in molding a better Philippines, but Ms. Vitug and some other unsung, unnoted journalist inspired me to do what I can do.

Like any journalist, writing is all that I can do (so far). I do not have power over famous politicians, nor can I run an entire army or troop or rule over a national bureau or department; all I can do so far is to use the might of the pen to open the eyes of the mass in what could've been a better Philippines minus the graft and a corrupt system.

I admit that I am no less than an amateur writer, with skills that are far from par with those of the life-staking journalists our country has. I am not even taking up Journalism as a course, but I feel the need of sharing what little I have and I can do for our motherland.

Sparing some time to read and write might greatly affect my academics (a hyperbole to some, but a truth to me and my comrades), but to read and write for my country is more than any honor that I could take.

To the writers, idealists and concerned citizens of my generation, let us kindle the flame of hope for our country.

Mabuhay and Pilipinas

My First Short Story (I)

An Act I Will Never Forget

Sometimes, I just can’t believe that I’ve rolled Fate’s dice. True enough, it never played fair and square with anyone.

PART I

I have been in Teatro y Teatra - the Theatre Club of our college - since my freshmen year. Roughly six years has passed since I auditioned for the club, and it actually came as a surprise for the auditioners seeing a Political Science student in the stage. Political science majors in Theatre were quite a rare find, you see. Back then, I readily told them that I will take up Law. In full confidence, I expressed my conviction of being the first lawyer they will have in the organization. With the guts I showed and the above par talent I have in the performing arts, I got in the club. I am not only to fulfill my promise of being a lawyer-actor, but I also am on my way to brushing elbows with people from all over the university. I also knew that the stage would be my escape from the stress I am sure to have. Stress relief, above all, is the main purpose of my venture in Teatro.

Now that I am one of the senior members of the club - even the oldest, I believe - I've handled a lot of one-act and full-length plays already. Once a member of the club, you are not only exposed to the field of your forte; rather, you are challenged to be as well-rounded as you can. As for me, I can do dancing and acting with no sweat at all, but I was also trained to be a singer, a director, a props man - you name it. Being the veteran that I am now, I handle trainings for the neophytes, and I am also in-charge of directing and managing the annual shows of our university.

____________________________________________________________________________

I am having a great time in Teatro, but after last year's incident, I might leave it soon.

She was Glenda, a Biology major. I remember meeting her for the first time in the auditions during her sophomore year. In auditions, we take into consideration not only the talent of the applicant, but also their looks. In that line, I must say that nothing was really striking about her. Yes, she had the looks, but it was all concealed because of her simplicity. Her talent in acting was also of the average, but we still got her in because of her skills in ballet and also because of her striking academic record - straight A grades during her first year. We had a few occasional talks and meetings, but besides that, nothing was special. None until last year.

The past 12 months were busy months for Teatro y Teatra. The university celebrated its 75th founding anniversary, and as the only organization catering theatre performances, we were tasked to do series of shows in accordance to the celebration. The senior members of the organization - well yeah, that includes me - discussed about the performances we will have, and we decided to have a show of talents every month. I was assigned to manage the trainings for the three dance shows and also be one of the main casts in the final show. I had to manage all those tasks and Law School. It was a hectic schedule, and I was having a hard time, but it was nothing compared to the series of events I had with Glenda.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the first rain of June.

My memory of her dancing in the stage was so vivid. I was there, at the back of the auditorium, hiding by the towering doors, afraid of being seen by her. My emotions were mixed, and I did not understand the sensation I was feeling. All I knew was that I adored every movement of her legs, whose strength and grace I never knew, and so were her arms, flailing in the air like a bird adieu. Her long wavy hair was also loosened from its usual ribbon tie, adding to the complexity of her beauty. I was dumbfounded, and all I could do was stare as she radiated a glow that both blinded and attracted me. I never looked away from her, afraid that any moment, I would lose sight of the beauty I was seeing.

It was in my dream that I realized the comeliness in her. Her face was narrow, complimenting to her lean figure. Her cheekbones were high, her lips full, her nose perfectly carved. The whole of her features were sculpted like that of a goddess', regal and angelic beauty in one. But something bothered me. Her eyes, yes, it were her eyes. Those chestnut eyes of hers were full of sadness, of gloom unknown to me. And that glowering melancholy in her eyes reflected in her dance.

The end of her spins were perfect, her leaps as fluid as water. From the lithe ballet choreography she was doing, it gradually shifted to jazz; but her stances were harsh. It was unlikely for someone like her, someone who was trained the classical school of dancing, to execute such routine. My heart pumped as I saw her face lined with an emotion bordering grief and anger. She is likely to get this dance wrong, I said to myself. And something I feared happened - she fell so hardly from doing a twist and jump.

I ran towards the stage, the fear of being seen already forgotten. But as I was dashing towards her direction, heavy, foggy air clouded my sight. Then someone held both my arms and placed them back, as if to put me unconscious. My mouth was covered by a strong fist, and air was hardly reaching my lungs. I suddenly heard her moan in pain, and before I knew it, I awoke from my dream, my body sweating all over, the mist left by the rain cooling me off. From then on, there was never a night without a dream of her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August was the first month with a dance performance.

Being the head of the dance acts of Teatro, I started jotting down themes the past month; it had to be prepared early on because the first dance presentation was set for the end of August. The first two weeks are scheduled for the practices, the third week to furnish the choreography, and the last week, only the university publications can tell. Our performances were written in the school paper.

That month's theme was modern hip-hop, so I summoned all the members - old and new - whom I thought were fit for the presentation. Glenda was one of them. I would be a hypocrite to tell that I called for her just because of her dancing prowess. Of course, after all the recurring dreams I had, I wanted to know more about her. I vowed to myself that I would settle this budding feeling I have for her before it gets too late. I didn't want to be involved with anyone, especially now that I am three years away from being an attorney.

It was the end of the first week, and we were ahead of our schedule. We were almost done with the whole performance, so I decided to give the team the next three days to rest. The next week was midterms, so it was just proper for me to give the three days off because everyone had to prepare for their upcoming exams, myself included.

"Randy, are you sure you'll call the next three days off?" Anton, a junior Communication Arts students, asked.

"Yes, but if you want to practice, then -"

"Oh no, oh no. We are taking it, yes we are taking it. Right guys?"

A unanimous "Yes" busted from the crowd, and cheers of happiness were hurting my ears.

Everyone was rushing to leave the dance floor while I was left in the room doing last minute arrangements for the back-up audio of our performance. To my surprise, Glenda was there, her lips red contrasting her pale face, her eyes bridging a message still unknown to me. My hormones were in a rage. I had to keep my back turned and act that I didn't notice her presence just to suppress the strange feeling I felt that time.

"Randy?"

It would be impolite if I didn't look her way...

"Oh. Hi there Glenda. What made you stay? Are you having a hangover of the practice?" I joked meekly.

She answered with a laugh. If I could just taste the sweetness of her timid giggle, for sure it was as sweet as honey...

"Well, I was actually here to invite you to a cocktail party. Uhm, how do I say this..."

"Just shoot it out."

"What?"

"I mean, just say it. You have nothing to be shy of. We're one big family here in Teatro."

I felt like stuttering, I didn't know what right words to say. My sanity was put to test.

"Truth is, the BiOrg - the official organization of Biology majors - is having an acquaintance night this weekend, and we need to be with a partner when we get to the event. And..."

"And..."

I was pushing her to speak.

"And I wonder if you can come with me. I know of no other boys except from those of my block mates and Teatro. Of course, my block mates would have to invite their own partners, so I'm just left with Teatro. I asked Jim if he could come with me, but he has something to attend to. That's why I'm asking you if you could come. If not, it's definitely fine with me, but I would very much appreciate it if you went with me. And I can spend my spare time for Teatro, if that would make you go with me. Practice more than the rehearsal schedules. And -"

"Sure, I'll go with you, just don't stutter."

She blushed.

I thought it was rude of me to tell her not to stutter, but the subconscious tactlessness I have made me say so. Glenda started stuttering at the last sentences, but, truth is, she looked so beautiful when she was speaking so fast and eating her words. When her cheeks glowed red, she looked even more beautiful. I had to turn my back and act like I was busy fixing some papers just to control whatever sensation I had that time. She left, and when I heard the door close, I slumped on the floor, the memory of her flushed cheeks still printed in my mind.

Because Writing is Beyond Impression and Expression

They say that writers write not to impress, but to express.
I say that it was an insufficient statement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I.

I was brought up to the idea of competition years ago. Being in the cream section of my school before, clamoring over being the best was ordinary. Personally, I did not like the idea of achieving because I needed to. But what could I do? It was an epidemia, an intravenous fluid slowly entering my veins.

I give a great deal in whatever I did, especially if I wanted to be the best in the field that I have chosen. But now that my environment is anew, different perspectives come into view. I have lost drive of pushing hard because I wanted to be the top. Now, I put a lot of effort to things because I see the merriment in the end.

The same thing goes for writing.
Writers are writers, and they do not write for competition.
There is no better writer.

You cannot compare one scribe from another, because whatever twists the world does, there will never be a means of measuring the talent in writing. Grammar and creativity aside, the true essence of writing is the heart of the piece, the ideals that make a writer do a composition.

II.

I think that writers write not only to unconsciously impress people and express their inner thoughts, but most importantly, to influence. As I have said in my first post, writing is such a powerful tool, it can change history in just one snap.

For all those who are given the talent in writing, or think that thru sharpening their skill it may be enhanced, take care of that prowess. Write not only for yourself, but also for the goodwill of others. Bring happiness when people are woebegone, hope when people are down, and drive when they lack the initiative to act. Defy mediocrity; be a medium of change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They say that writers write not to impress, but to express.
I say that writers write not only to impress, but to express... and beyond.

And Here Goes the Neophyte in Short Stories

Due to the insistent demand of my mentors Ciel De Jesus and Danica Azares, posted in the latter part of this blog is an excerpt from my first ever prose.


When I was a few years younger, I started some two or three novelettes, but I never (yes, never) finished them. Never did I have the drive to finish such a long writing, and perhaps that is the reason why I resorted to being a poet instead of being a writer of stories. Poems are definitely shorter than stories.

Now that I have met in person people whose patience and perseverance in writing is incomparable to mine, I have decided to be inspired and enlightened by their works. Though doubts and disbelief to my capability in writing still linger in my head, I decided to write one short story not only to show forbearance to my resident mentors, but also to prove to myself that somehow, I can do prose.

I am new to this, and I admit that I have yet to learn a lot of things. But worry not about me when giving comments, for your comments are a food for thought; I shall accept them with the whole of my heart, be they of healthy criticism, or of attempted flattery.

____________________________________________________________________

An Act I Will Never Forget

Sometimes, I just can't believe that I've rolled Fate's dice. True enough, it never played
fair and square with anyone.

(Excerpt from Part I; Subpart II)

It was the first rain of June.

My memory of her dancing in the stage was so vivid. I was there, at the back of the auditorium, hiding by the towering doors, afraid of being seen by her. My emotions were mixed, and I did not understand the sensation I was feeling. All I knew was that I adored every movement of her legs, whose strength and grace I never knew, and so were her arms, flailing in the air like a bird adieu. Her long wavy hair was also loosened from its usual ribbon tie, adding to the complexity of her beauty. I was dumbfounded, and all I could do was stare as she radiated a glow that both blinded and attracted me. I never looked away from her, afraid that any moment, I would lose sight of the beauty I was seeing.

~some parts censored~

Then someone held both my arms as if to put me unconscious, and my mouth was covered by a strong fist. I suddenly heard her moan in pain, and before I knew it, I awoke from my dream, my body sweating all over, the mist left by the rain cooling me off.

From then on, there was never a night without a dream of her.

____________________________________________________________________

Too much of an excerpt.

P.S. This part is still subject to revision.

Boy Meets Girl: Sari-saring Kwento ni Boy at Girl

Noong ako'y nasa high school pa lamang, libangan ko na'ng magsulat. Mayroon akong isang kwadernong itinuturing kong kaibigan, hindi dahil sa maganda niyang balot o dahil sa kabilang ibayo ko ito nabili, ngunit dahil nagiging tampulan ito ng aking mga ideya't kaisipan. Ang mga sumusunod ay ilan sa mga sulating iyon, marahil buhat na rin ng matinding pagkainip at emosyong dulot ng high school.

____________________________________________________________________

Boy: Anak ng?!
Kanina pa kaya siya nandito? Patay pumalya pa naman ako dun sa isang free throw.
Napansin niya kaya?
Nakakaasar naman 'tong babaeng 'to e. Manonood na nga lang ng basketball game may
hawak pa ring libro.
[Nagshoot si Boy]
Yeah! 3 points yun ah!
[Biglang tingin si Boy kay Girl]
Grabe talaga 'to. Hindi man lang pumalakpak. Wala man lang cheer.
Wala ata talaga akong pag-asa kanya...
Paano, ano nga lang naman ako? Isang hamak na basketball varsity.
Eh siya? School representative sa lahat ng quiz bees.

Girl: Ang galing niya talaga magshoot! 3 points yung huli.
Grabe, yung isang freethrow lang kanina 'yung mintis niya.
Pero hanggang tingin na lang ata ako sa kanya...
Kada makikita ko siya sa corridor, puro babae ang nakapaligid sa kanya..
Kung hindi cheerleader, member ng dance troupe o drama club yung kasama niya - lahat
sila magaganda.
Eh ako. Ni hindi niya nga ako napapansin.
Bakit? Ano ba ako? Isang certified broken-hearted nerd na wala nang ibang inatupag
kundi mag-aral at manood ng basketball games niya.


~Saan: School Gymnasium
~Kaganapan: Finals ng interbatch competition sa basketball
____________________________________________________________________

Girl: [nadapa si Girl]
Aray! Ansakit!
Bakit kasi ang lamya ko?
Nakakahiya, andyan pa naman siya.
Siguro, ang tingin niya sa akin, lampa.
Siguro, sa tingin niya, parang inutil ako.
Ang hindi niya alam, kaya ako nadadapa ay dahil natuturete ako sa kanya.
Dapat kasi nakashades na lang siya, para di ko alam kung nakatingin siya sa akin e.

Boy: Hala! Nadapa siya!
Malas talaga ako sa kanya e.
Tuwing malapit ako sa kanya, may kung anong nangyayari sa kanya.
Ngayon nga, hindi ko man lang siya matulungan.
Paano, ang dami kong kaagaw.
[May bumuhat bigla kay Girl]
Tulad ngayon. Magsprint man ako para akayin siya e may lalaki nang kumakarga sa
kanya.
Badtrip!


~Saan: Sa quadrangle
~Kaganapan: Speed test (sprint) na ni Girl habang nanonood sa kanya si Boy

You Can't Spell WELL Without EL

I cannot deny that my first days in De La Salle was a hurting experience.

(Tres Marias; From left: Elladen Punzalan, Jamille Pajarillo, Me)

(Crammer's United; From left: Me, Faye R., Kenneth P., Kenji L., Ryan R., Meg G., Bien C., Denise S.)

Most of my high school friends and classmates chose the academe of UP Manila and Diliman. I was left alone in De La Salle, left alone in the confines of the towering buildings, left alone with no idea who to know and what to do. As I entered the gates of my beloved Alma Mater, I was full of apprehension not because I was afraid of the discovering the unknown, but because I knew that if I just went to UP, then I would still be with my dear friends. The thought of not being with them ate my morale, and it made me melancholic.

Weeks before the first day of classes, we were feasting chats about our orientation days (DLSU, UP and ADMU). We were all boasting each of our future college's welcoming. I was so proud of LPEP2k10 - its activities and food and all, but the back of my head still says that it would've been a lot of fun if I were with my friends, crying shouts for Peyups. Suddenly, I had a paradigm shift after getting close with my blockmates.

Being the shy creature that I am, seldom do I initiate conversations with other people. However, I felt the need to open up because I wouldn't survive life if I constantly shielded myself from civilization. Fortunately, my high school unconsciously taught me street smarts and made the effort to give me some confidence, so I mustered the courage I had and started talking. I offered a beaming smile whenever I shared a word or two to my then new-found friends (and I can say that the smiles I offered were genuine).


My first term stay in De La Salle was made bearable because of the family I now have. I am very fortunate for destiny seemed to have written my life story almost perfectly, I was able to meet some great people. In my block I saw not only friends, but artists, writers, comedienne, singers, dancers and dreamers - people who, like me, are bound to the great future unknown to all. With my beloved block (EL/E82 - ECE) did I share laughs and aches, joys and pains.

It would be a great pleasure to list the great memories I have with my blockmates, but I know that a hundred, or even a thousand words won't do it justice. Like a photographer, I believe that to capture moments in still frames is one of the best ways (if not the best) to preserve such great happenings. However, I cannot help but share with you some of the momentous events I had with my block.

(1) Grapone.
They say that love hurts, but I say that Grapone hurts even more. I am one with the sentiments of my blockmates whenever it comes to Grapone.

(2) Engtrig.
All I can say is that the shifting of teachers we had was one of the life-saving actions DLSU did for majority of our block.

(3) Engalg.
My head ached after having a 1-day straight Algebra discussion with my blockmates, but it was fun. Way too fun. If I could just have a steadier mind and a healthier body or two, I would not more so share the things I know to my blockmates.

And this list would go on and on.

9 Girls.
34 Boys.
14 Weeks.
9 Subjects.
One block.
EL.

Perhaps I am just one frosh full of sentiments of the soul, but this testament of mine is all I can offer to my dearest blockmates who have done a great deal in honing me. I know it has been a mutual relationship among us, sharing what we can to each other.

I also know that someday, this will end, but I also know that these memories will forever remain. So why dwell with the impermanent when one can always linger with thoughts of forever?


Maraming maraming salamat, mga kaibigan!
Kamsahamnida, chingu!

At Buhay na Namang Muli ang Aking Panulat

Ang aking mga kamay na nananangis na humawak ng panulat ay mapagbibigyan ko na, ngunit hindi sa paraang nais nito. Hindi ko siya pahahawakin ng panulat, sa halip ay hahayaan ko siyang maranasan ang mala-makinilyang paraan ng pagsusulat...

Oo, magsusulat akong muli, at sasamantalahin ko ang teknolohiya para ihayag ang mga ideya kong kakaiba at katuwa-tuwa, nakakalungkot o nakakaasar, at kung anu-ano pa mang kaisipang lalabas mula sa aking imahinasyon.

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Bago ako dumating sa disesyong ito (ang magsulat muli), dumaan ako sa matinding pagtatanto. Marahil ay iniisip ng ilan sa inyo na madali lamang magsulat, lalo na kung ang marami sa isusulat ko'y ukol sa sarili kong buhay; ngunit hindi ito totoo. Para sa akin, ang pagsusulat ay higit pa sa isang paraan ng pagpapahayag ng kalooban; ito ay isang sining, isang makapangyarihang 'medium' na hindi lamang naglalayong magpahayag, kundi ay mag-impluwensya rin at magpakilos. Mataas ang aking pagtingin sa pagsusulat, kaya naman ginagawa ko ang aking makakaya upang hasain ang aking kakaunting talento rito.

Ang muli kong pagsulat ay dala na rin nang impluwensya ng ilang tao...

(1) May isang kagalang-galang na 'Brother' (Br. Oca, FSC) sa pamantasang aking pinapasukan na nag-udyok sa aking ipagpatuloy ang pagsusulat, lalo na't nalaman niyang tatahakin ko na ang daan ng mga inhinyero. Marahil naisip niyang malilimutan ko nang sumulat lalo na't aakayin ako ng Matematika sa mga susunod na taon.

(2) Masuwerte ako't naging kaibigan ko sina Danica Azares at Ciel De Jesus, ilan sa mga manunulat ng aming klase. Tinuturing ko silang mga magulang pagdating sa 'blogging', lalo na't mas may experyensya sila sa bagay na ito. Tulad nila, hinamak ko ang tadhana - magsusulat ako sa kabila ng sandaang takda at pagsusulit na susubok sa akin.

(3) Matagal na akong inuusig ng aking isipan na magsulat. Ang aking puso ay nagbabadya nang umiyak sa lungkot dahil sa kay tagal ko nang hindi natatala ang mga ideya't kaisipan na lumulutang-lutang sa aking isipan.

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Inaanyayahan kita, Binibini o Ginoo, na pagtuunan ng pansin ang aking mga panulat. Lubos akong magagalak sa kaunting panahon na ilalaan mo para ipahayag ang iyong palagay sa aking mga naitala.

Pagpalain ka nawa ng Diyos!