breaking

I think all of us writing fellows in the Dumaguete workshop have reached the inevitable of our literary undertakings—whether we like it or not. All of us are going to our separate ways. Mushy? Yes. Even with our three-week stay in the province just to embrace the critiques of esteemed writers from across the nation, I am glad no one has reached the physical level of a breakdown. Well, there’s one but the subtle emotional rage is not brought about by the flawed technicalities of the fellow’s work but, rather, on the reality of the story in itself.

Tonight, at Labas (just along Hayahay), we would celebrate this glorious gathering of shaping and reshaping literary practices before the inescapable breaking that will happen the following day. Also, we would be unveiling something tonight that would create an interesting dot in the history-line of this workshop. This is our anthology entitled Sea[sic]: Prose and Poetry by the Fellows of the 47^th Dumaguete National Writers Workshop. Painstakingly made in one week, which was spearheaded by Dustin Celestino and Margie de Leon, the output is something we could not believe would come in actuality. We are all proud of our baby. What’s this for? Let’s just say that this project is our little token to all panelists who have endured our ignorance, our clean-slatedness as youngsters in the world of literature.

Sigh. To my fellow feelerettes who discovered the ethereal beauty of katusbong, who pranced Hibbard Avenue at 3 o’clock in the morning to the music of Total Eclipse of the Heart, who thought that the night-time security officers were Yellow Cab Pizza deliverers, and who realized that the humid charm of Dumaguete was just too hard to ignore, thanks and see you all soon. I just sincerely hope that our love for the letters will bring us back together again.

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