poetry as a lesson in values

We resort to violence each day. For example, thinking.
The hypocrisy of procedures. The construction of convenience stores.

From the beginning we are warned: ayaw pabadlong, please remain silent,
Walk the old lady across the street, bring your plate to the sink.

There is much, much more, and there is no stopping them. Like how halves
Of guavas turn brown, like how lies make a credible story.

There are so many tragedies the night guards when we are asleep
That we often miss morning’s Eden light on our cheeks.

We are all animals, as animal as street dogs and penguins can be.
Only we are intelligenter. But never above the cats because cats are brightest.

This is open for discussion, of course. Except for the carrot and stick.
Sometimes, we forgo our glasses in favor of likelihood.

It is not that ancient learning could only be as precious as lint;
Perhaps we have set foot on the wrong training ground.

But these are no mistakes: the tremble of our lips, the twitch of our eyes.
Something in there wants to speak, something in there wants to see.

'the dark knight rises' is no superhero movie

“The Dark Knight Rises” is no superhero movie. It is but a movie that easily ranks among the best, well-crafted forms of entertainment. I’ll only sum it up that way at the risk of (major) spoilers. It has none of the senseless bombast, almost every detail crucial to the story’s core: the burden of choice, morality, principles confronting the rise of ambiguous evil. The genre is the mask.

Christian Bale here is finally the star. Whereas in “Batman Begins” we are mesmerized by the exhilarating texture and scale of Nolan’s interpretation and in “The Dark Knight” we are suddenly shaken by Heath Ledger’s unforgettable performance as the Joker, Bale’s Bruce Wayne/Batman in this third and final installment is at the forefront, more human than ever. And though Tom Hardy gave Bane credibility as a legitimate adversary to Batman (his introduction is a study of masterful filmmaking), it was Anne Hathaway’s Selina Kyle (yes, she’s not mentioned as Catwoman) that slunk and stole many arresting moments in the movie. For a woman in tight suit who never resorted to the three-point landing, she is certainly a welcome surprise.

coming soon. really soon.

The cover art for Philippine Speculative Fiction 7 is now out, and it is based on Mo Francisco’s story as illustrated by Les Banzuelo with color and art direction by Adam David. Lovely, right?

My story, “The Day Nostalgia Swept Over a Town,” is in this latest volume which is edited by Kate and Alex Osias.

This will be launched on July 28, 2PM, at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, Shangri-la Plaza Mall. See you when I see you!

Complete list of contributors here.

pseudo pagudpud

The last week of June had been very consistent with the weather: Bad. Everything seemed to be against this road trip to Pagudpud. The rain had no signs of stopping, some highways to the destination were blocked, and our Plan B’s were all inconceivable no thanks to the proverbial rain.

We could have surfed in San Fernando, tried the empanadas and strolled in the ancient streets of Vigan, dared sandboarding in Paoay, seen the massive windmills in Bangui, dipped in the waters of Saud Beach in Pagudpud, and much, much more. The 12 to 14-hour trip wouldn’t be as bad as you’d think with these stopover delights. But these didn’t happen.


A meeting was called on the very night we were supposed to set off to that municipality of Ilocos Norte. Go or no go? Unanimously, the group of eleven chose the former. After all, someone who had just flown back to the country was paying for this trip (well, most of the trip’s financial needs actually). No one would pass this up. This was a blessing surely not in disguise. But unfortunately, so as the omens who put a frown on our faces.


So it was decided after almost three hours of deliberation over chicken wings at Peri-Peri: We would go to wherever our cars’ gas tanks would take us, to wherever the storm’s opposite was. This foolhardy but nonetheless effective plan brought us to Laguna the following day, to the residence of that someone who would pay for everything, almost. We had lunch at Tagaytay and filled ourselves with mandatory servings of bulalo among many other things artery-blocking and went back to our temporary vacation home. The remaining hours ensued with a bottle of Black Label, the original Apple iPad (one liter of apple iced tea and one Tanduay Rhum lapad), and game of poker.

Sunday morning came, and still without any destination to go to, we called a couple of people for suggestions. Our trimmed choices whittled down to those beaches in Batangas, us finally settling on Playa Calatagan since the other options required prior reservations. Spontaneity does not work for them. We left Laguna at 10 and arrived at the resort around 12 noon. Approximately 96 kilometers, says my officemate's GPS.

The sun was unbearable early in the afternoon, so after lunch break these spacious bungalows with whirlpool bathtubs located at strategic corners of the swimming pool were our respite. Sadly, at 5:30pm, low tide came, and the idea of frolicking at the sea was scrapped off. Save it for tomorrow.


Entire evening was spent in this rest house we rented. It was quaint, spaces thoroughly maximized and filled with pop art posters. We followed dinner with a game of Monopoly Deal, something I have yet to master, until everything went dark all of a sudden. Power outage at its finest moment. It could have just been another night of blackout when the retro refrigerator in the kitchen started to rumble and shake. Everyone went dead silent and dashed off to the front porch.

I hypothesized (vehemently) that the fridge’s jiggy dance move was all due to the sudden loss of electricity. Imagine addicts abruptly deprived of their addiction. That put every nerve at ease, I guess, with a little of help of brandy and a game of Pinoy Henyo (I don’t know its English equivalent; it’s not charades, right?), girls versus boys. Guess who won. Night cap was another long game of poker.

Monday morning came, and I went scouting around the area at seven. I am an early riser. Two hours later, some went for a quick dip at the beach. Then it was time for all of us to get back home. Well, not entirely “home” for one of us, since the moolah-provider will be flying out of the country again. We went back to Tagaytay, had these sumptuous servings of sizzling bulalo among many others for lunch, bought the necessary pasalubongs at Rowena’s, and remained silent in our respective cars as we faced the impending reality of good things coming to an end. Especially good, spontaneous things.

just another excuse

Not much writing has been done lately. Reading is even shamelessly stalled in the meantime. Blame that to the weather and the television shows, “Community” and “Happy Endings” (especially the former). Comedies in general often fail to tickle me, so when I first reacted to the two the way I should supposedly be reacting to humor upon first viewing, I could not let them go. Please forgive me of my weaknesses. Also, this entry is another form of stalling (when I am supposed to be writing). I must get back to my drafts. But first, I need to see that new episode. Bye.

poetry as a lesson in botany

We have grown fond of these:
Lifting the dry bark off a trunk,
Being forlorn as flowers in the rain.

But let’s keep in mind the evenness
Of the latter’s blooming wounds
Like Earth’s fragile mouths in chorus.

See, we are in mute obedience to life
When this patch of grass pushes
Through the pores of our clothes.

Rarely do we ever hear
The safeties of a mushroom.
We only have consequences,

Since nobody would root for pain
The way things endure
In the last tundra of the century.

Nobody would ever tell us, too,
Of the dandelion seed in wanderlust,
Of the alga deprived of its place.

We just need to know because
Aren’t we always in search of trees?
Knowledge, life, family.

Branches reaching for next
To nothing but conviction:
This word, this light, this touch.

This fruit that could be poison.
Here’s a grain of rice fresh
From its husk. Look at it closely.

Look at how finite, how inept it is
In its solitude and crudeness.
Look at what we have done.

the biggest circle of friends, a history

In the early days of college, somewhere in the middle of 2006’s second quarter, we seemed to gravitate to people who were a year ahead of us (some way older). It could be the humor beyond our age that they had, the no-nonsense quality they possessed, the campus tricks-of-the-trade they knew as if these were the back of their hands. So when time came they had to go, finally graduating (some after five, six or so years), we felt a massive chunk of our social lives chipping off. Even those in the university paper (where we spent/wasted a couple of our hours) who we thought would linger longer, if not forever, had packed up. Cue Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.”

And there we were, left to each other. Still in the university paper, juniors this time in 2008, it was our turn to let in new applicants for the recently vacated staff slots. We met odd, giddy, idealistic, gullible, and especially younger girls and boys. It seemed the world they lived in was leagues away from ours. They were fine, but something felt stilted. Out of gratuitous infantilism, the three of us then decided there were no better companions than ourselves.

There may only be three of us but our tandem was larger than life, indestructible, powerful. We stuck together like evil stepsisters. We were the Biggest Circle of Friends. BCF. (Yes, we were naive and self-absorbed that way. Bwa-ha-ha).

But in irony’s twisted hands, we co-wrote this feature article for the first issue of the paper that made us think back to our former selves. Odd, giddy, idealistic, gullible, and most especially younger. “The Five Enemies You Meet in College.” It was a guide of college archetypes for freshies to be wary of. Then it dawned on us we three could be Enemy #5. We were turning into people who we would loathe when we were wide-eyed, free birds a few years back. We simply laughed it off, all for satirical ha-ha, but we knew it struck a chord. Cue Beethoven’s “Allegro Con Brio.”

So we changed, in the purest deus ex machina kind of way. Everything was fine. We realized the newbies we met, especially those in the publication staff, night after postmortem night (the evening meeting we call for reviewing the just-released paper) were as neurotic as us. And in today’s parlance, it deserved a  “Like.”

The three of us kept the circle.  We were still the Biggest Circle of Friends, and today’s our fourth year anniversary. Why? Well, it was just the day we wrote the aforementioned article, with “Biggest Circle of Friends” turning up as the feature’s byline in hundreds of papers circulated all over the university (and perhaps all over Negros Oriental) four days later. We just deemed it was worth remembering.

These days, we don’t get to see each other as much as before, but to hell with drama. There’s Facebook and there’s Twitter. One’s now reviewing for her bar examination, one’s a manager of an events agency, and me, well, oh look, a kitten! Grab that cute, little kitten!

the asuang's with us

A flash fiction of mine, “Where The Cats Are Always Sleepy,” will be published in the Asuang Issue of Paper Monster Press (along with one of my favorite poets Joel and artist Arbeen a.k.a. Tilde). This would be my first attempt at this genre, so I find this remarkable news. (Big thanks to Eva, really). I thought nothing would surprise me this June.

Lifted from their Facebook page, here is the (incomplete) list of contributors of the seventh edition of Paper Monster Press:

ENGLISH LITERARY

S.E. Salvidge (The Teratoma)
Mark Alvin Jabrica (Ode to Maria Ozawa)
Beatrice Howard (Welcome to Wonderland)
Xenia Chloe Villanueva (Homemade Puree)
Joel Toledo (Exit Wounds)
Reya Mari Veloso (A Vaccine Shot for Bad Dates)
Jenni de Leon-Slater (Alimpungat)
F. Jordan Carnice (Where The Cats Are Always Sleepy)
Ayn Frances dela Cruz (Mummy)

FILIPINO LITERARY

Macky Serrano Salvador (Itsura)
Michael Alegre (Diacetylmorphine Fl[u]shback)
Mark Angeles (Aswang)
Francisco Arias Montesena (Malikmata)
Jose Jason Chancoco (Ang Hula)
Tilde Acuña (Litanya ng Matandang Ulopong)
Jomark Baynado (Puno ng Duhat)
Daniw Santiago (Alay na Villanelle)
Noel Sales Barcelona (Aguwada)
Jenni de Leon-Slater (Kumot)
Lolito Go (Kagat)

MUSIC

Anak Dalita (Digmaan)
Flash Elorde (Save Slam Dance)
Lee Lazaro (Casket Fields)
Kyril Dice (Computing Fever)
Fherrond (Catharsis)
Thomas James Slater (Aswang)
Neuter Lover (End)
Mannequin (Brutal Battalion)
Read our Lines (Swing my Ass to Death)
Civil Love (Under the Sun)

ART

Panch Alvarez
Eleonor Leonne Bennett
Elephangaroo
Jorge Badua
Jesus Ramos Tejada
Sky

bane has talent

I just have to post this. It made my day.

 

[ lifted from this site ]

poetry as a lesson in history

The names, the dates,
The traces of vanillin
Leaching from old libraries,
We forgive them
For their obsessive nature.
We know history
Is a plea for permanence.
Sometimes an appeal
For relief, since what is familiar
Can never be too obvious,
Else we terribly fail
Our memory’s cunning.
Though this instant
We know of as now
Changes tomorrow,
There is no such thing
As forgetfulness.
There is only color
And the myth
Of its absence in dreams.
We belong to the past
We recognize, to the present
We forge with care
And ignorance. Always,
This one is for the books.

how to scrub the kitchen floor

They say things come easier in pairs:

Body parts, marriages, games.

Even those that do not require

Symmetry. But when it comes to

Cleaning the kitchen floor,

I prefer one hand, particularly

The right. Some distractions

Are worth tending to.

And there is no use

Ignoring any of them.

We only have this moment

To imprison the freedom

Of our migrant knowledge.

The left has just to be

As preoccupied as the other.

Like every young, troubled lover’s

Solution: Cut him some slack.

Cut her some flowers.

But despite the scattering of salt,

Pepper, onion skin and oil,

The floor is a guarded wisdom:

Love becomes stranger

To those who think

They know it too well.

I may have no dialect, no gift

As enduring as marble or linoleum

But I know of the hundred peso bill

Underneath the stove. Its worth,

Its apparent, minuscule loss

In a purse or leather wallet.

I will keep mum about it.

And this Saturday, when I scrub

The kitchen floor with a dirtied

Sponge, I will reach for the money,

My body an inch from the floor,

Getting closer, almost like in worship,

In surrender or in perverted delight,

My other hand void of anything

So as to clutch my chest with

And feel my heart beating fast.

what follows will always be necessary

It is the month of May. Aside from sand, sea, and sun (and nowadays, a little bit of rain), it is the season of writers workshops. You know, those little groupings that allow little men to discuss and rant off intents, objective correlatives, punctuation marks, caesuras, etc. for a couple of days with big men as their necessary acoustics

Dumaguete (2008)

And since the Millennials are said to be harbingers of glorifying nostalgia, even if my belonging to it remains to be debatable, I would not ignore this opportunity to skip a few years back with these mandatory snapshots and, well, notice what has transpired from this to this.

Iligan (2008)

 The memories that cling to them are eerie, but I think that is the point of recollection. To know which to hold on to, which to steer clear of. They may be still recognizable but they could be unusual now. Things do change.

Bacolod (2010)

  

Well, I believe there will never be a path that leads to an absolute destination, there will never be sameness (there could be a hint), there will never be symmetry of the sort that would make Wes Anderson blush. There is only incongruence, there is only difference, and maybe even chaos, the kind that completely distorts, if not erases, the trajectory of Point A to Point B, making you ask, “Where is he now? What happened to her?” or “Why?”

But it seems they do not really matter that much. What follows is what is important, what will always be necessary. The practice of writing, after all, is a self-imposed struggle of looking back while plunging headfirst into possibilities, good or bad. Now, I could only glance at the photos with a wry smile. I am going to Dumaguete in a few hours. 

with the wild things now

The news of the death of children’s writer and illustrator Maurice Sendak rings all over the internet like fire bell last night. And that news still pains me this morning, deeply. The image above has been my computer’s wallpaper for almost two years, a screenshot taken from Spike Jonze’s movie adaptation of Sendak’s children’s book Where the Wild Things Are (the movie, bearing the same title, is the most heart-wrenching film I’ve seen in 2009). It shows Max, the child protagonist, and a Wild Thing, cleverly named as Carol, leisurely walking in a vast desert.

I was never quite sure why I stuck to this picture for a long time until I re-read the book last night. I think I get it. I think it tells me that there’s a lifelong link between us, young ones and old ones, and a Wild Thing, that no matter how far we go, a Wild Thing will be forever with us, in us, bursting with outsized life, animated, daring, maybe even terrifying, and that we need a little bit of nightmares to get through the petty hardships, the requisite trials in life, the vast desert, to “let the wild rumpus start!” when a situation calls for it.

For that thought alone, I feel better. Even if Sendak has gone, his Wild Things are still with me,  along with the rest of the Max’s in the world. And wherever he is going, I am sure that somewhere he will find his supper waiting for him “still warm.” 

the storm is in the papers

Edited by Khavn de la Cruz and Joel M. Toledo, Under The Storm: An Anthology of Contemporary Philippine Poetry is a collection of a hundred or so poems released last year, around September, that is why I am surprised to learn that a review has surfaced in the pages of The Philippine Star just last Monday. 

What is more surprising is for columnist Mr. Juaniyo Arcellana to notice my contribution, “Stones,” and circle his thoughts on one of the seven parts of the piece. Flattery. Now I can appreciate that axiom better late than never’ more than the usual. Next mission: get a clipping of that news article.

pieces here and there

For the most part of the first quarter, the pen’s dry. There have been revisions here and there but those are different things. Entirely different from that peculiar rush of nursing a new baby, a new piece. This must be because of being caught up with other responsibilities both relevant and not.

I sorely need the push.

And then came the little bits of news. Early last month, I’ve received an e-mail telling my poem’s inclusion in Montage, the official literary folio of University of Santo Tomas’ The Varsitarian. It was comforting news, especially when I thought the poem “The Storms Around Us” had nowhere to go.

Later last week, another editor e-mailed me that a poem of mine, “How to Identify a Crisis Without Really Trying,” is up at the Philippines Free Press website. Delightful, just delightful.

Today, I think and hope I already have the needed push.

19th iligan national writers workshop fellows

Finally, here’s the announcement of fellows for the 19th Iligan National Writers Workshop.  Wow, 19th batch. It feels like our 15th happened a long, long time ago. Anyway, seeing the list, there’s no doubt this is going to be an interesting batch. Enjoy the city of Iligan, Marvin, Phillip, Glenn, and Jesus! And to the rest of the fellows, congratulations!

*

19 out of 106 applicants qualified in this year's 19th Iligan National Writers Workshop (INWW) to be held on May 14-18, 2012 at the MSU-IIT and at the Elena Tower Inn, Iligan City.

Hosted by the MSU-IIT Office of the Vice Chancellor for Research & Extension,
this workshop is funded by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) and the MSU-IIT Office of the Chancellor.

The 15 writing fellows are funded by the NCCA while four of the writing fellows are funded by sponsors: Boy Abunda, and Ricardo Jorge S. Caluen, and Foundations: the Manuel E. Buenafe Writing Fellowship and the Bai Zaima Mamalinding Mother & Child Foundation, Inc..

The Jimmy Y. Balacuit, Sr. Literary Awards are likewise given to the most promising works by the writing fellows at the close of the workshop.

The writing fellows are:

Luzon
Tomas Agulto (Poetry, Filipino)
Marvin Einstein Sarmiento Mejaro (Fiction, Filipino)
Pia Montalvan (Fiction, Filipino)
Glenn L. Diaz (Fiction, English)
Phillip Y. Kimpo, Jr. (Fiction, English)

Visayas
Norman T. Darap (Fiction, Kiniray-a)
Jesus Catigan Insilada (Fiction, Kiniray-a)
Jessrel Escaran Gilbuena (Poetry, Cebuano)
Jenelyn Villegas Garcia (Poetry, Waray)
Francis Senolos (Poetry, Waray)
Aurea Lynne Geronimo (Play, Filipino)

Mindanao
Teomie Langamin Nale, Jr. (Poetry, Cebuano)
Jermafe Kae Angelo Prias (Poetry, English)
Sittie Urdoja G. Madale (Poetry, Maranao)
Anne Solon Senajon (Play, Cebuano)
Karlo Antonio Galay David (Play, Filipino)
Cheryl Love P. Sumagat (Play, Filipino)
Diandra-Ditma Aguam Macarambon (Fiction, English)
Iryne Ole Kaamino (Fiction, Cebuano)


The Evaluators:
Merlie M. Alunan, Nelia G. Balgoa, SPC Fernandez, Roger Garcia, Man Gervacio, Christine Godinez-Ortega, Tonton Daposala, Zola Gonzalez Macarambon, Phil Harold Mercurio, Raul Moldez, Maimona W. Magayoong and John Iremil Teodoro.

Panelists this year:
Merlie M. Alunan, Antonio R. Enriquez, Leoncio P. Deriada, SPC Fernandez, German V. Gervacio, J. Neil C. Garcia, John Iremil Teodoro, Macario D. Tiu, C Godinez-Ortega, and the keynote speaker, Victorio N. Sugbo.

holy boholy! here's a reflection!

I was in my hometown last holy week. On the first day of being free from the doldrums of the metro, an acquaintance of mine asked, what would you be doing? My immediate response was, of course, I’d be enjoying it like any other vacation I’ve had. Out of religious partiality or maybe something else, another question was set forth on the table: I thought you’d be reflecting. The week is for reflecting, right?




Hey, I think I have reflected too much Jean Piaget would be proud of my egocentricity. Besides, reflection is practiced (or should be practiced) every day, not only in this particular week. For how could anyone learn the weavings of living if ruminations are limited for six or seven days? Sometimes, I just couldn’t help but laugh at some of these age-old traditions.



So for the long holiday, forgive me, I opted for leisure. Armed with new music from Kimbra, Moonface, TV Girl, Beach House, Ramona Falls, and Coldplay, I went back to my favorite beach in Panglao, dipped in pools when the former was not enough, feasted in new food spots around town, stood as parent for a dear fellow’s college graduation, received truths that were unbelievable to grasp, listened to my sister and nephew play the piano beautifully, bonded with family over games of Scrabble, Monopoly, Boggle, and many more. I even made cupcakes and other desserts (along with three pairs of hands) in long afternoons. Fortunately, they were a success.


I could rattle out a hundred reasons why I did what I did, but I think this is enough: at my age, I have to know what is important to me, know who are important to me, and stick to them. This is one reflection I could share to anyone. For now.

51st silliman university national writers workshop fellows

Finally, after five long years, there’s a Sillimanian in this summer’s Silliman University National Writers Workshop. Five years. I remember finding myself wide-eyed at being surrounded by amazing people (in all shapes and sizes) in that workshop last 2008, my first, and comforted at the thought that writing was something I’d really love to do. Even though I personally don’t know my next-in-line, I still find it a great relief. Also, congratulations to Debbie and the rest of the fellows!

*

National Writers Workshop Director-in-Residence Rowena Tiempo Torrevillas and Silliman University are pleased to announce that the following writers have been accepted as fellows for the 51st Silliman University National Writers Workshop scheduled on April 30-May 18, 2012 at the Silliman University Rose Lamb Sobrepeña Writers Village, Camp Lookout, Valencia.

For Poetry

CD Borden (University of San Carlos)
Deborah Rosalind Nieto (University of Santo Tomas)

For Fiction

Michael Aaron Gomez (Silliman University)
Thomas David Chavez (Philippine Normal University)
Michelle Abigail Tiu Tan (Ateneo de Manila University)
Christian Tablazon (University of the Philippines–Diliman)
Timothy James Dimacali (University of the Philippines-Diliman)
Ma. Vida Frances Cruz (Ateneo de Manila University)

For Creative Non-Fiction

Hazel Meghan Hamile (University of the Philippines–Mindanao)
Zendy Victoria Sue Valencia (University of Santo Tomas)

For Drama
Karlo Antonio David (Ateneo De Davao University)

12th iyas creative writing workshop fellows

Congratulations, Ynna and Miro! You can stop eating right now. The city of Bacolod would probably fill you up with a year’s worth of sumptuous food. Pasalubong!

*

The IYAS Creative Writing Workshop of the University of St. La Salle (USLS), Bacolod City, has selected 15 Fellows for 2012, out of 81 applicants from the country and abroad. Here are fellows:

Fiction Fellows

Maria Amparao Warren (English)
Brylle B. Tabora (English)
Chuckie Perez Manio (Filipino)
Anthony de la Cruz (Filipino)
Daryl Nino Toring Jabil (Cebuano)
Fr. Reynaldo Villanoy Jr. (Hiligaynon)

Poetry Fellows

Miro Frances D. Capili (English)
Ramon Enrico Damasing (English)
Early Sol Gadong (Hiligaynon)
GL John Clavel Haro (Hiligaynon)
Mariane A.R.T. Abuan (Filipino)
Gratian Paul R. Tidor (Cebuano)
CD Borden (Cebuano)

Drama Fellows

Fundador Tipon III (Hiligaynon)
Mario Mendez (Filipino)

IYAS will interface with the Kritika National Workshop on Art and Cultural Criticism sponsored by the De La Salle University Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center (BNSCWC) and the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) which will also be held on the same dates at USLS.

The interface activities are: film screening of “Oro, Plata, Mata” by Peque Gallaga; a craft and reading lecture by Dr. Stuart Cooke; and an introduction to Negrense culture through trips to cultural landmarks in Talisay, Silay, and Victorias cities.

The IYAS Workshop Director is Dr. Marjorie Evasco and the panelists for this year are Dr. Genevieve Asenjo, Dr. Ronald Baytan, Prof. Danilo M. Reyes, Ms. Grace Monte de Ramos, Mr. John Iremil Teodoro, and guest panelist Dr. Cooke from Australia. IYAS Founder Dr. Elsie Coscolluela also sits in the panel.

The IYAS Creative Writing Workshop is co-sponsored by the BNSCWC and the NCCA, and will be held on April 22 – 28, 2012 at the Balay Kalinungan Complex of the USLS, Bacolod City.

birthday wishes

I rarely speak of wishes, save for my wanton requests of presents for people who have the means to provide them. Yes, I am that kind of person, now judge me. As I lay in bed the other day, sick and sore on my birthday of all days, thanks to the flu or some kind of bug, random aspirations whirred before my eyes like some Egyptian vision, Hollywood-style. There are a lot more that have sprung in my head, but these are all I could recall right now:

• I wish desires are never severe.
• I wish I would know what to do with this hair.
• I wish I would start memorizing a poem in each month.
• I wish my dearest loves would have faith in a poem.
• I wish I would have faith in myself, bright and constant.
• I wish my dearest loves would curse a little bit less, if not entirely shun the habit altogether.
• I wish my dearest loves would smoke a little bit less, if not entirely shun the habit altogether.
• I wish my dearest loves would read and write more other than curse and smoke more.
• I wish I would start my own book, as what J.T. has said.
• I wish I would finish reading those books.
• I wish I would find something better soon.
• I wish I would find someone better soon.
• I wish I would be a better person.
• I wish I would be less frank.
• I wish people would be frank.
• I wish I would be healthier.
  
• I wish I would find the right reason that I should smile a lot more.
• I wish I would be good at remembering names.
• I wish I would be good at remembering directions.
• I wish I know where I want to go.
• I wish I know where to look.
• I wish people would be more perceptive.
• I wish people would be honest at the right place, at the right time.
• I wish people would be more respecting of each other.
• I wish people would know what needs to be kept and what needs to shared.
• I wish the ghosts would transfer to another house, to another memory.
• I wish memory would be less invasive.
• I wish I would be more humble.
• I wish my grip on forgiveness would be less unbending.
• I wish I would smile a lot more (if needed).
• I wish I would finally start learning how to play a musical instrument. (Piano-widow doesn’t count).
• I wish I would keep some of my complaints to myself.
• I wish people would just shut up.
• I wish I would travel a lot more.
• I wish I would read a lot more.
• I wish I would write a lot more.
• I wish I would stop thinking that something is wrong.
• I wish I would know when to stop.
• I wish I would know when to start.
• I wish I would accomplish something very significant soon.
• I wish for a month of zero discontent at the soonest time possible.
• I wish everyone a month of zero discontent.
• I wish all of us would relish this month of zero discontent.
• I wish my thoughts are bearable.
• I wish the world is fine, bearable.
• I wish the thought of you is bearable.
• I wish you are fine, always.