And I thought the rumor was true. It’s not. After all, it's just a rumor. A lot in the web is circulating that the young Dumbledore in the movie version of Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince would be played by Sir Ian McKellen; the famous Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings movie trilogy. Eventually, I have known that everything’s fake. This 68 year old actor clears it all a long time ago in an interview: “…‘Don’t you wish you’d played Dumbledore?’ I say no! I played Gandalf! The original. There was a question as to whether I might take over from Richard Harris but seeing as one of the last things he did publicly was say what a dreadful actor he thought I was, it would not have been appropriate for me to take over his part. It would have been unfair.” Okay, that seems fair enough.
Well, I still love Michael Gambon as the quirky and sometimes serious Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore in the last three Potter films no matter what people say. Anyway, the latest trailer of the movie has finally been released (uhmm, days ago?). And I love it. Yeah, yeah… I know the issues of movie adaptations but, honestly, the sixth installment looks promising. The cave scene is really cool.
Right now, I’ve already made up my mind. Days ago, I was having a little problem with my Literature 35 class—I just can’t decide what topic I’d report on this coming Friday (yes, Friday na!). My first choice was Sandra Harding, which may cover her criticism on Women, Science, and Society. The title of her study alone thrilled me. But upon researching for more background information, I found this online: On the Cutting Edge: Cosmetic surgery and the technological production of the gendered body by Anne Balsamo. In the simplest form of explanation it’s about the question of where is gender located in one’s technologically changed identity. Whoa! Her words got me into thinking. The following day I approached my professor and told her I am doing Anne Balsamo. So Balsamo it is!
Danikook, an online buddy in my Multiply account who's also one of the great photographers I know, made this amazing picture and sent it to me. I didn’t really know why but upon looking at this link (from him, of course) which was entitled "United Colors of Multiply" in my inbox, I found out I was not the only one who got his or her profile picture digitally tweaked. I loved it! Also, I wondered why he chose that shattered glass look.... Does "brokenness" strongly emanated from my picture? Yay!
Anyway, just take a look here for the rest of the photos; maybe you’ll find yours in it too. _______________________________________________________
This is us. Well, just some of us. We are the staffers of the Weekly Sillimanian for this school year. We work till dawn, publish articles, get criticized, and face abomination in countless form. Pardon our shining faces and shabby get-up in this photo; we just had a major purging movement that night. Yes, you heard it right—night, the first time to happen in the publication’s history. From books of unknown ownership to old dusty trophies, we didn’t miss the chance of throwing things into this large carton box we get from our photographer. It really feels good for a hoarder like me to remove, without hesitation, all unnecessary things in a breeze. Phew!
Razcel Salvarita, an artist friend of mine, sent me this. And looking "cool" (I mean that as an understatement) as always with the rest of his works, he will be printing this on shirts to fully realize that unimaginable marketing dream he has. And he’s going to have an exhibit of some sorts at the Luce Auditorium Lobby, Silliman University, this December! Oh, how I wish I could mount a solo exhibit of my works, too, before I graduate.
It is a kind of furniture present in almost all homes. Usually, its purpose is as dignified and protective as your grandmother’s jewelry box filled with different precious trinkets through the years. This keeps everything of value, keeps things hidden unbeknownst by many. Yes, this household object holds secrets both important and rubbish, both clean and dirty. This is called the closet.
With all its unabashed innocence as a common domestic piece of carpentry regardless of its size, the closet somehow parallels the characteristic of people whose number has grown in rapid succession. These people are living in the fine line between the dictations of what must be done and the personal conviction of what is wanted. They are in the middle of secrecy and openness. Thus, they are called “closet people” or “closeted.” The history of the metaphor is not mainly intended for a person’s sexuality in its first conception. It was already used to mean something unsuspected or covert as early as the 1600s.
In the middle of the 20th century, the jargon became a general reference to disclosed behavior, preference, or orientation which, of course, has homosexuality and bisexuality as the most common examples. I always assume that following (or most likely realizing) this path is never a choice—the epiphany of what one is most likely occurs and appears naturally. What is not natural, and therefore a choice, is the act of hiding.
This act of “hiding away from” is usually set towards the family and other areas of corporate life. Seldom can you find them concealing the truth from their friends because they are, more often than not, the only people they are comfortable with. But if the level of concealment is taken a notch higher, then it’s a different story. In this case, the dilemma is tougher than usual. Because staying in the closest already has its liabilities since once is departed from the familial bond where sincerity is nurtured, what more will separation from their dear beloved buddies be?
If the situation is allowed to continue this way, then these closet people must be cautious. In a time when questions are easily answered by persistent analysis aided by mere coincidences, these closets would crumble and fall in an instant. Just because behind those closed lids are all things private, the curiosity of some are aroused. And by this reason alone, unwanted things may happen: the closet may be ransacked and searched through. For all the closeted to know, there’s this breed who enjoys stripping off the intricate décor, the elaborate and skilled craftsmanship of a closet until all humanity can witness a whole new character completely detached from what is familiar. The revelation might be delectably jarring for the suspect and spiteful for the victim but this is the usual case—the hunter pursues the prey and the prey kills the hunter which remains a cycle that forever spins in our sociological setting.
In the process of deconstruction, in which the unattained truth is deemed vague making all discourses gratifyingly suspicious for the nosy, meaning is brought about in the light of complicating assumptions and emphasizing fallacies. This has only resulted more in negating than in accommodating which consequently makes more and more people to hide in the unreal comfort of their closets.
This is merely an expression of concern, not an objection of lifestyle. But no matter how people’s mentality progresses for the better, we cannot get away from how the majority constructs the idyllic setting, the supreme trait of “goodness” which, unfortunately, falls to be dubiously orthodox. Since time immemorial, our community has been built with principles that has conditioned almost everyone to stick like a magnet to a set norms, thus, it’s unavoidable for those who grew up to the opposite force to be considered deviant and their standard of living taboo.
The age of eradicating the stigma is happening and it is good. As for the case of the closeted, it could be the chance for them to come out of the musty scent of oldness, the whiff of naphthalene balls, and the dark confines of the tight antiquated aparador.
Though the Dark Knight hasn’t swept off my feet yet, considering that the movie’s premiere here in Dumaguete seems ages to happen, I get the impression that I would forever love this film after reading countless positive reviews. And one more thing to watch for: I love the Joker—he’s my favorite villain of all time next to X-men’s Apocalypse.
But let’s face it; we just have too many Western comic characters popping in our movie screens. There is Hulk, Iron Man, and then Batman. It’s as if they’re readying to dominate humanity! But after a few website hopping an hour ago, an image has caught my attention that immediately brings back that memory. It is the memory of having played outside every Sunday when the sun sets that I have to get back into our house and watch my weekly dose of animé. It is one of those Japanese cartoon sagas that, save for the pop culture mania that I have gotten into, completes my day in its earlier viewing back then in RPN channel 9.
Does that photo look familiar? Yes, it is Dragonball Z. And it is coming to the theaters soon.
It is true. Not until I’ve met this girl yesterday that I am now healed. The pain has brought me so many nuisances that I have to face her. And thankfully, I did the right thing. Her touch has been a miracle; all those days of torment immediately vanish in minutes.
She has explained to me that soft deposits have formed on the surface of my teeth. Because of my braces that usually obstructs my “toothbrushing” sessions for proper cleaning, these deposits harden, become a calculus (not those found in your Mathematics textbook), and stick firmly in my teeth. Thanks to Dr. Myrine Lerio-Garupa, I’ve finally realized that I am experiencing mild gingivitis—which explains the eternal bleeding of my beloved gums. “It’s just normal for people who have braces,” she said with a smile.
Therefore, with that statement alone, I’m proud to say that this has happened to me not because I am unconcerned of my pearly whites but, rather, because of some awful relationship forming between my braces and calculus. To hell with calculus! That’s why I hate Math.
Files upon files of papers were written about the glories and fortifying testaments of being a student and how to live the way of life but haven’t you heard of the other side of these sweet, almost-unblemished articles of exaltation? But little do most geeks and nerds know there are more important notes in life than burning the midnight oil. Well, here are some things which can make you think that being a student really sucks.
Reason #10
You just don’t need all those classes. You won’t be working all the jobs there is in the world anyway. You greatly admire the wonders of music yet you have to study a terrifying class of other countries’ literature, you aspire to be the next great anthropologist studying different cultures to be cultured but you end up finding inspiration in your chemistry class. If being holistic is the main concern, you’d better expect something insightful in all those classes to become the quintessential jack-of-all-trade.
Reason #9
You’ve been partying all night and you need to go to school the next day. Every teenager deserves sleep—what were they thinking making you take all those classes? It’s injustice in the most unadulterated form. Also, this only means that this class schedule is getting in the way with social schedule. As what the experts have said, practicing social skills is part and parcel of everyone’s positive growth.
Reason #8
You’d be in big trouble if you miss class but teachers seem to easily get away with it. Try hollering about their inefficiencies and you’ll end up in the dungeons or in the fires of hell. Just choose your desired fate.
Reason #7
You have to pick your outfit everyday and make sure you weren’t wearing the same one for a minimum of one week. Classes alone make your head throb with pain, what more if you’re deciding your gab for the day? Nothing is more demanding in your life than having to demand something from yourself that you cannot pull off on that day. Confusing, eh?
Reason #6
Teachers throw tons of assignments, research papers, and essays for you to do like as if you have time to do it all and as if it’s the most fun thing in the world. And they offer this to you with so much enthusiasm that equals a toddler’s first day at the carnival. This just shows how sweet they really are.
Reason #5
As a student, you pay the school. If you’re working, some people get to pay you. Do I need to spell it out?
Reason #4
You try joining into various out of the ordinary organizations, groups, and even school politics thinking, at the least, of refreshing yourself from all those classroom brainwashing sessions. You are oh-so perky and excited but, suddenly, next thing you know words after harsh words strike from behind you. Just brace yourself for constant backstabbing and fake smiles because these abound in your chosen path. Surely, a human’s means of surviving a competition is absolutely remarkable.
Reason #3
All your life, you are a student. Do you remember a part in your life where you weren’t in school? If you die tomorrow, could you say you’ve done everything you wanted to do and tried everything you wanted to try just by being in that chalk or marker scented classroom? Of course, not.
Reason #2
A boring day in school with your monotonous teachers or an incredible, fun day with your friends—take your pick. The bad thing is “None of the above” doesn’t work here since you’ll have lesser choices as your non-professional profession as a student progresses in campus. You don’t have a choice in a lot of things, actually.
Reason #1
Remember those times when people tell you that the learning is not confined within the four walls of the classroom? That the best way to learn is through your mistakes and rising each time you fall? Then, what are you waiting for, baby? Get away from the classrooms. Start a “real life” for this does not only cover your scribbles on that tattered notebook or daily reports on manila paper but also the times when you cartwheel the long distance of boulevard at dawn or scream random names at various different houses you don’t even know who resided in them. Commit the biggest mistake of your life and learn your biggest lesson. This is irony in its truest form.
The Ateneo Institute of Literary Arts and Practices (AILAP) is accepting applications for the 8th Ateneo National Writers Workshop (ANWW) to be held on 20-25 Oct. 2008.
Each applicant should submit a portfolio in triplicate of any of the following works: five poems, three short stories, written in Filipino or English, with a title page bearing the author’s pseudonym and a table of contents. The 8th ANWW will not be accepting portfolios for one-act plays as a separate workshop will be conducted for this. Details will be announced later this year.
The portfolio must also be accompanied by a diskette containing a file of the documents saved in Rich Text Format.
All submissions must include a sealed envelope containing the author’s name, address, contact numbers, e-mail address, and a one-page resume including a literary curriculum vitae with a 1x1 ID picture.
Twelve fellows will be chosen from all over the country. Food and accomodations will be provided.
Please address entries to: Alvin B. Yapan, acting director, AILAP c/o Department of Filipino, 3F Horacio de la Costa Hall, Ateneo de Manila University, LoyolaHeights, Quezon City.
Deadline of submissions is on 8 September 2008. For inquiries, please call 426-6001 local 5320-21 or e-mail ayapan@ateneo.edu.
After the successful inauguration of the Albert Faurot Lecture Series on Culture and the Arts yesterday with Prof. Danton Remoto’s talk on Ladlad and Queer Literature in the Philippines, I’m already looking forward to more of this engaging gathering to stimulate my mind—especially the orthodox sensibilities of the Silliman community.
Being in part of the working committee, under Litcritters Dumaguete, does not only grant us instant book signings but also allow us, sometimes, to get up close and personal with the speaker (thanks to Sir Ian Casocot). Like last night, I together with Marianne, and Pong, had a great dinner with Prof. Remoto, Sir Casocot (with his brother), and the city-omniscient Kuya Mo at Italia’s, one of the new restaurants in Dumaguete. And Prof. Danton invited me to submit an essay for his on-the-works fourth Ladlad book. Woo!
And a day before that, we also got to meet Cong. Gilbert Remulla, Atty. Adel Tamano, Cong. Erin Tañada and (still with) Prof. Danton Remoto. With the help of Prof. Leonor Briones, these guys were here to present Atbp: Politics and What’s Bugging the Youth. Hopping from one university to another, it is really fortunate that we had these symposia in campus to have an intense discussion concerning economic-policies, politics, religion, and even gender issues.
In their website, the Young Turks’ next stop is at the University of the Philippines National College of Public Administration and Governance.
More pictures here. ___________________________________________________________________
Since time immemorial, I know you as someone who have always braved the dark corners of a room and stood straight even in the shadows of the gruesome. I once sniffed the whiff of light powder-scent from you but I didn’t mind. We always didn’t mind. But, suddenly, like a pen that is plunged in a paper, answers and surprises filled this obscure blankness in me.
I realized why you braved these dark corners and shadows because for some reason, I knew, you love these places. There was no need to be brave. You enjoyed them. Well, if the fragrance of naphthalene balls and old night gowns is your thing, I can’t blame you. Just live the life you ought to have and I am sure you’ll enjoy it even more.
Alright, this isn’t the right time to deconstruct the closet. Have a great day!
Like mosquito bites, high school reunions give you an itch that only lasts for awhile. This post is long overdue but, like anybody else who sees something's inserted in an old book and is thrown into the distant pasts, I suddenly remember just right now the day when we grabbed those beach essentials and headed straight to Dumaluan.
I can’t blame nostalgia to have such an impact to me. Most of my buddies are my childhood comrades. From those days when we ran towards the monkey bar every recess time, the almost-everyday knee scratches we got from playing dakpanay and bihagay, the consistent warnings we received for not listening to the discussion, the never-ending role as a contender to every poster-making competition in town, the sudden shift to a military setting when high school came, the monthly spelunking and mountain trekking, to the night when we were all plunged to a game of hide-and-seek at dawn against our high-ranking officials. Indeed, these events that we’ve endured or experienced remain our footnotes that we constantly refer to every now and then on our very own book of history.
And last June 14, there was no stopping us looking back to our juvenile adventures. As if we were transported back to 1995, we played games like sprightly little children, unmindful of the stares from other people, as we were shrouded in a familiar atmosphere where the impending sense of maturity was of the least concern. On that day, the contact of sand beneath my soles and the spray of salt water on my face were never the same again. _________________________________________________________________
E.M. Forster is right. His one line introduction of some sort is an unbelievably shocking model to what social-networking sites and even both substantial and shallow relationships are right now. Before the story in his novel Howards End begins, he wrote: “Only connect…”
Surely, everything does connect. There’s no escaping the probability that that stranger you’re seeing right now could be the key solution to your problem. Looking back to what have happened, the web of connection is really astonishing—if not dreadful. The growing and expanding links from this to that are defintely unstoppable.
Let's take this as an example: Person A is very close to Person B, B also becomes close with Person C, A and C relates to each other well too, then Person D enters the scene and introduces Person E to A, subsequently Persons A, D, and E form a tight group. Person A knows something and is in chaos, add the coming of Person F who is in shock to find out A is closer to B and D and the trouble deepens. F is in distraught it claims solace to the unexpected company of C. Suddenly, this Person G presents this revelation of all revelations. F is enlightened along with other letters familiar to A. There’s Person H who is a long-time acquaintance of A and a close buddy of C. Person G gets lost, tries to clear things up and confronts all letters that are somewhat related to A and C. To test the waters, some far-fletched characters suddenly appear such as Z. Person Z is so much disconnected that it slithers its way into the circle by bringing in Person I into the picture. I is a waste so A threw it in the trash bin long before it rots. Since I is enjoying the attention, it attempts to linger with C, G, and Z. Then A is in a state of shock. Disorder takes place. Fast-forward to the 21st century, the results of the Armageddon is still arresting. The good thing is, all letters fall into their proper places and are fine.
Amazing, isn’t it? Well, we’ve always known there’s no Friendster that could bring so much complexity to one’s life such as this. Reality bites and hurts but you'll get used to it. Trust me.
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion... yeah
Let the rain of what I feel right now... come down
Let the rain come down
Where is the coastguard
I keep looking each direction
For a spotlight, give me something
I need something for protection
Maybe flotsam junk will do just fine
the jetsam sunk, I'm left behind
I'm treading for my life believe me
(How can I keep up this breathing)
Not knowing how to think
I scream aloud, begin to sink
My legs and arms are broken down
With envy for the solid ground
I'm reaching for the life within me
How can one man stop his ending
I thought of just your face
Relaxed and floated into space
(repeat chorus)
Now waking to the sun
I calculate what I had done
Like jumping from the bow (yeah)
Just to prove I knew how (yeah)
It's midnight's late reminder of
The loss of her, the one I love
My will to quickly end it all
Set front row in my need to fall
Into the ocean, end it all [4x]
Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye) [3x]
(repeat chorus)
Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye)
(Into space)Into the ocean (goodbye) end it all (goodbye) [5x]
I thought of just your face
* * *
When it comes to leisure for my auditory sense, I always go for beats defying usual tunes that easily fall under two common visual images: butterflies in the fields and rain in the afternoon. These two mental pictures are, oftentimes, imagined when one listens to songs that are totally rehash of previous popular songs. Though originality is just so hard to determine in song writing and music composition, there are some singles that I can consider a cut from the rest. And one of my favorites is Into the Ocean by Blue October.
A rock band that originated at Houston in 1995, Blue October is led by Justin Furstenfeld and is accompanied by his brother Jeremy Furstenfeld (percussion) along with Ryan Delahoussaye (violin, mandolin, piano, vocals), C.B. Hudson (guitar) and Matt Noveskey (bass guitar). Truth be told, this is their only single that I love because it stands out from the rest of their collection. Their songs are mostly rock and it’s just refreshing to hear something from them that’s relaxing but not at the point to make one sleep—indeed, a real good use of Justin’s vocals. The song’s bending and somewhat electronically-synthesized vocalizations remind me of Jim Sturgess’s version of the famous Beatle song Across the Universe, and Chatter’s Tale of the local band Orange and Lemons. Even its dark humor is reminiscent of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. MamuVies, a Youtube user, said the song is “hypnotic” and I agree.
As for the music video it shows a show; presenting a theater-like production of their song reflecting the cheerful and buoyant calmness of the melody. Some scenes are funny, such as the band riding a ship in the sea, but these only add to the unique charm of the overall video—quirky but beautiful. Aside from the band’s gothic get-up, I love their hair!
The lyrics, too, don’t fall flat with Justin’s singing prowess; it’s as if every line embody his very being. In entirety, the lyrics is not ambitious. The words are neither florid nor impressionistic; they are simple but skillfully weaved to form a complex narrative. What is this narrative, if there’s any? From what I’ve apparently learned after the nth play, it’s a twisted telling of desperation—a weakness so hard to ignore that when one falls under such circumstance, he has to accept the fact and let the rain come down//. He has to face these trials. Whereas Princess102100, another Youtube user, have commented under the video that “…the guy is like drowning and thinking about the girl as he tries to get strength to survive and swim away,” I say that the guy is much more concerned about his becoming strong and fulfilling it with his own efforts rather than merely chasing this lady he loves. The lines I'm cold as cold as cold can be// and I scream aloud, begin to sink// also stress the idea of an Achilles' heel; meaning the hero of this song has a flaw and it could be his feeling of inadequateness because he is just a normal boy.//
The song's lyrics can also be dissected for gender studies as well. One particular thing to note about is the second line of the second stanza which says I wish I was more masculine//. Though I really have nothing serious against the band, this line provokes some biases toward gender roles and sexuality. If the persona “wishes” to be more masculine in order to get away from life’s harsh realities, then this is an insult to all females of the world—and even homosexuals. Can't the non- or lesser-masculine beings of the world incapable of handling difficulties? I may have studied a different context here but this I cannot ignore; the line just jars from the rest of the striking lines. To some extent, pathetic.
Nevertheless, the overall composition is definitely noteworthy. Of course, I shouldn’t have chosen this song if it isn’t. What more can I say? Well, this is one work that testifies poetry is still alive in the 21st century. But not a perfect poem, though.
Just as the iron gate is willing to open, rust have tortured the hinges; dry blood makes opening and closing so hard to do. Its dark color is not appealing to the eyes unlike the fruit Eve had plucked from the branch of the tree of good and evil. I know she was just tempted, yet, she took it. Also, even its scent is rancid as if all the beautiful whiff of flowers and morning dews are taken away from the air.
Poor gate, I should have approached you days ago to witness your decaying state, should have touched you to feel the wounds that leave you nothing more but scars and dust. But right now, all I have done is speak of these thousand words only the deaf can hear.
They say you are fine, just all right, because the motes surrounding you have never left. This makes me happy—as happy as the days when I usually came in and out of you, swung your stiff being into this kind of openness only you and me can embrace. Motes, these little motes, are fortunate for in your idleness they have stayed and lingered. I just wish I am one of them, those tiny motes floating around you, illuminated by the sun in the morning and the moon in night time, so that I will live with you dancing in the air, singing an unheard song in everlasting happiness.
College is a time to meet friends, lovers, acquaintances, future mates, and…of course, enemies. Yes, your favorite game of flames personified and dehumanized. With the 6000 plus population of our university, you’re sure to bump into people who will cause your blood pressure to rise. To equip you with the proper defense and tactics during the ill-fated time that they will cross your path, here is a prophecy of your college fate.
Enemy #1: The Perky Freshman
Be it your achingly innocent smallie bombarding you with questions from “Te/Kuya, where’s TBA?” to “Do you still have your Math 11 workbook, ‘kanang naay answers ha’?”; or your kabsi with his wide-eye amazement about how big the campus is and whining that pedicabs be allowed inside; or your overly-eager seatmate in Filipino 11 hysterically waving his right hand at every question the teacher throws in class—you just cringe in annoyance at their fatalist take on optimism and that’s that. And don’t even be intimated by the seemingly flawless coño speak, that’s just their way into the kingdom of social butterflies.
So to our dear Upperclass men and women, just play a deaf ear and press the mute button when the situation calls for it. Better be the dependable Te or Kuys and don’t whine too much or you could be Enemy #2.
Enemy #2: The Messy-Whiny Roommate
This icon is the easiest to spot in college. Unlike the rest of the enemies listed here, this is the only person whose problem radiates in outlook and lifestyle. This Messy-Whiny Roommate is downright dirty and lazy—with the sole contribution of grunts and complaints for the rest of the Enemies. Though only found within the four walls of your room (unless you live alone, of course), this Messy-Whiny Roommate easily strikes a peculiarity in collegedom for its effortless act of making a disaster: from the unmade bed to the shaky closet that would fall on you anytime if not for your efforts of cleaning up. If undies have their way of accepting defeat like what human beings do, they would surely pull themselves up and head towards the nearest sink to wash their soiled and mildewed beings. Basically, this person’s treasure is someone else’s trash while the ability to trash talk appears to be their forte.
And most definitely, if this unique character is skilled in creating mayhem in the room, it would be very possible that this roommate would naturally bring out chaos in the classroom that no Pseudo Teacher could straighten out.
Enemy #3: The Pseudo Teacher
Nothing beats the human sanity more than a teacher who ought to settle in the fields and plant kamote rather than stand in front of a class and bore students to an untimely death. If feisty innocent-looking freshies or sock-smelling roommates tend to heat up even your coldest nerves, brace yourself for a more mind-numbing foe you’ll meet in this university. This is the Pseudo Teacher. This fabled character gives out the most number of reading requirements than any other teacher you’ll meet combined. To add more insult to injury, you poor little wounded soldier of promising education, this Pseudo Teacher emanates an air-head superiority that creates an atmosphere easy enough to suffocate you in minutes.
Serious Tip: Be a Know-it-All and you’ll easily pass the subject. As far as your intelligence as a knowledge-hungry student is concerned, this Pseudo Teacher usually gets impressed when you breathe out flame while explaining why Lapu-Lapu didn’t become our national hero.
Enemy #4: The Ghost Groupmate
You’ll meet this infuriating specimen of a classmate in one of your subjects under Pseudo Teacher. With the mountain of requirements, groups will be arranged and unfortunately for you, Ghost Groupmate or GG is one of its members. GG will seldom attend meetings, or during the rare and miraculous event that he does show up, he will surely be gone in a blink. You’ll use up your entire cellphone load trying to contact him just to attend a single meeting. Be it your BC 25 paper, Speech 11 choir, or PE 12 dance presentation, GG will definitely be absent, uncooperative, and unmindful of the hard work that you’ve put into your little project.
And you know what’s worst? GG will probably pass the subject or even ace it on your account. What’s the thing to do? There is nothing you can do honey, GG will certainly ride on your coat tails until the end of the semester unless you kick him out of the group (which is not an easy thing to do).
Enemy #5: The Know-It-All
Not so many thanks to Mr. Darwin, the Know-It-All still exist and they could be your groupmate, Mr. and Ms. GG notwithstanding. He could be the debater who seemed to have swallowed the entire set of Encyclopedia Britannica and have memorized the Webster’s Dictionary from A-Z, yes, a 160 GB iPod Classic worth of too-much information imposing the Know-It-All throne of being group leader, commanding you to do this and that and ignoring your moans and groans of protest without further ado.
There’s nowhere to go when dealing with this exasperated-sigh-worthy kind of species. Just ignore and endure the awestruck glare when you can’t spell mnemonics and can’t explain why Burma changed its name to Myanmar. Be fortunate you have a life, after all, most of them don’t.
What is said has been said. Words have unexpectedly exploded in the air like premature fireworks bringing momentary light and fancy. Their ashes have fallen upon us and it is either our decision to brush them off our shoulders or let them stay as little tokens of unwanted accomplishment. You’ve already decided, a long time ago, to sweep them away and be back as clean and clear as possible. But I hold on to these ashes. I’ve even clasped them so hard in my palms that they’ve only brought me so much sore only the crushed ones have felt. The kind of sore I am trying to avoid.
Due to the perplexing nature of the mind, a pebble has been thrown into the water and we’ve both witnessed the ripples it makes on the mirror-like beauty, breaking the smooth reflection of the serene sky above us. We’ve both inflicted pain no lethal whips could ever create, shed crystal clear blood no sharp knives could ever produce. We’ve planted something in the air that it stirred Amihan, deity of the universe, and gave us storms and absence.
This is a revelation, a defeated but accepted testimony that no grudges and hatred should go beyond the twelfth number of the clock, the brimming knowledge of the old wise man, or the final phase of the moon. The ropes have been stretched to the limit of breaking and there’s no certainty when this tug or pull would stop. But maybe it’s already broken, cut in half, since this gridlock of emotions has come to this point.
What is this point? I don’t know. Maybe the claim of living the lifestyle of gloom and obscurity is right; I have been heavily shrouded with thoughts of revenge and contempt only the silence of my hollowed being can console. Silence is treacherous—she either comforts the wary or wakes the dark duwende of the recluse. Unfortunately, the wheel of time has made her to wreak havoc on me.
I try to make use of this advantage, or perhaps disadvantage, and scramble for some mending tool in the darkness of silence. But there’s nothing to retrieve in silence; only the constant drone of the myths, assumptions, and even lies. It is just hard because the reptilian monster of cowardice in the dim corner always makes the knight shiver in fright. That is why chaos is inevitable, or is regretfully achieved, because silence is the only sound one can hear in solitude. The only sound I have heard. So, pardon me.
