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