first time feels great [update]

In this case, yes, it does. Last month, I’ve received news that I made it in the first cut of contributors for Under the Storm: An Anthology of Contemporary Philippine Poetry. It’s great because it would be my first time to be anthologized. I thought it would be no big deal, until I saw the final list just right now.


The anthology, which (previously) aims “to present 113 poems from 113 poets, in commemoration of our 113 years of Independence—of being Filipinos, of being Filipino writers,” is now changed to present 150 contributors due to the overwhelming number of entries received. And here they are, finally, whose one poem has already been selected by the editors, Khavn de la Cruz and Joel M. Toledo. This list is epic.

December, 18, 2008 Anne Carly Abad

The Unfaithful Men Diego Jose Abad

That Space of Writing Gemino Abad

In Place of Emotion Anina Abola

I, Pontius Jose Marte Abueg

Ika-anim na Sundang: Gabud / Sixth Knife: Whetstone Ericson Acosta

eraserase002 Arbeen Acuña

Sea Fireflies of Mindoro Jim Pascual Agustin

Fruit of Knowledge Arnold O. Aldaba

Wala Na Sa Quiapo Ang Nazareno /
The Nazarene Is Not In Quiapo Kislap Alitaptap

Seaman Rio Alma

Train Dodge Jovsky Almero

Shoes Tofi Alonte

Apat Na Larawan Mula Sa Tagaytay Ridge / A Short Quartet

From Tagaytay Ridge Donato Mejia Alvarez

Pointing According To Heraldina Panch Alvarez

Bir-it, Jan-ny! Angelo B. Ancheta

F/light Mark Angeles

Anumang Leksiyon / Whatever Abides Rebecca Añonuevo

Dalawampung Minuto / Twenty Minutes Roberto Añonuevo

Sa Dulo ng Malay / At the Edge of Waking Teo Antonio

Hands Down Lystra Aranal

Eros Mesandel Virtusio Arguelles

Three Variations Cesar Ruiz Aquino

The Lion A.M. Azada

Entropy & The Shrike Amado Bajarias

manoy Desiree L. Balota

Laberinto / Labyrinth Romulo P. Baquiran, Jr.

Mga Tala Sa Isang Pagpatay / Notes On A Political Execution Joi Barrios

Futura Melissa Villa-Real Basmayor

Eksena Sa Susunod Na Siglo /
Scenario For The Next Century Ariel Dim. Borlongan

Because Pandesal is never the same in another country Dave Buenviaje

Touch Me Not Regine Cabato

Carnivalesque Jose Wendell P. Capili

Pagdidilig Ronan B. Capinding

Ha-ha-ha Ronaldo Carcamo

Stones F. Jordan Carnice

Tsunami Blues Lito Casaje

The Smallness of the Everyday Ian Rosales Casocot

Hinatak Sa Kahulugan / A Catch of the Infinite Pull Marella Castro

Barber Shop Brainstorming Jose Jason L. Chancoco

Learning Curve Ayrie Ching

The Yoyo Routine Frank Cimatu

Kundiman Mikael de Lara Co

Stabat Mater Kristian Sendon Cordero

Magnanakaw / Thief Michael M. Coroza

The Current Keith Cortez

P'wera Contra Dakila Cutab

Multiple Choice Lope Cui, Jr.

Bound For Saudi Jose Y. Dalisay, Jr.

Brutalism Carlomar Daoana

On the Feminine Ramon Damasing

Ang Katiwala Mes De Guzman

Speed Ainne Frances dela Cruz

After Impeng Negro Christa I. De La Cruz

ang dalawang puso / the twin hearts Khavn De La Cruz

Absence Muse Noelle Leslie dela Cruz

aporia Nikki De Los Santos

Preparations for History Karl R. De Mesa

Paramdam Iñigo de Paula

The Ambivalence of Staying A Tree Ricardo De Ungria

Supremacy of the Text Lourd Ernest H. De Veyra

Rebolusyon / Revolution Noel del Prado

Social Blowtorching Transcends Scab Worship A Despi

Definition of Respite Glenn Diaz

In Memoriam Lav Diaz

Tinkling Alain Russ Dimzon

The What Jan Brandon Dollente

folding boxes Jacob Walse-Dominguez

The Last Rain of Summer Simeon Dumdum, Jr.

In Baclayon, Reading Levertov's For those whom
the Gods love less Marjorie Evasco

Siberia Israfel Fagela

english lyrics to a japanese seduction Bendix M. Fernandez

Erotica Boni Fojas-Almirante

Smooch King Luis H. Francia

Blinds Marc Escalona Gaba

Hydrazine Eric Gamalinda

Coda J. Neil Garcia

Procorpio's Night German Gervacio

What Else Lolito Go

Blind Date Eva B. Gubat

bullet.X.press Ramil Digal Gulle

Death Poem Exercise 64 Asterio Enrico Gutierrez

What I Don't Tell My Children About My Hometown Luisa A. Igloria

Tandang Sora Neal Imperial

Morion Marne Kilates

How The Americans Liberated Northern Luzon, 1945 Philip Y. Kimpo, Jr.

The Revolution Will Be Printed, Not Televised Jeanilyn Kwan

Tampuhan Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta

Tagubilin At Habilin / Will And Testament Jose F. Lacaba

Ina / Mother Marra PL. Lanot

What Ol' Injun told the carnies Christine V. Lao

Here, at your grave Gian Lao

O Elaine Lazaro

NPA Mula sa Tatlong Daang Salita at Dalawang Pulgatang Pagitan /
From Three Hundred Words and Two Inches
in Between John Francis C. Losaria

Kartolinang Ibon / Craft-Paper Bird Bienvenido Lumbera

Ganoon dumating ang balita / How the news broke Soleil Erika Manzano

A Better Good Morning Carlo Angelo V. Marcelo

The Life and Times of a Seditious Poet Edgar B. Maranan

Estranged Luchie Maranan

Saleslady Pia Montalban

Balimbing V.E. Carmelo D. Nadera Jr.

On the Way to the Market Joanna Nicolas-Na

Dark Birds In Winged Chapel Homer B. Novicio

hyperlink Emil Os

Mag-aabroad inin akon mga buhok /
My hairs will travel abroad Voltaire Q. Oyzon

Philippine Eagle Doms Pagliawan

Alibangbang Sa Ulan Agustin Pagusara

Ars Poetica, As Actually Practiced R. Torres Pandan

Disturbances Ned Parfan

The Soul of the Town Allan Justo Pastrana

Prehistoria Carlos Piocos III

Nang Salakayin Mo Ang Aking Pananahimik / The Night

You Assaulted My Deep Silence Axel Pinpin

Vers. Zosimo Quibilan, Jr.

Bunso / Lastborn Jun Cruz Reyes

Sa Ganang Akin Po Naman Ay Ito Lamang Ang Ipinamamanhik /
Thus Do I Humbly Express Myself Fidel Rillo

Eternal Juju Recurrence Virgilio A. Rivas

Euston Road on an Autumn Afternoon Deedle Rodriguez-Tomlinson

Despedida Ardiente Patrick Rosal

Today After Time Immemorial Darylle Rubino

Carabaohood Roger B. Rueda

SpaMusic Jose Leonardo A. Sabilano

Correspondent Joseph de Luna Saguid

Meandering Joel Pablo Salud

Vocabulario Edgar Calabia Samar

Poem About Nothing Rafael Antonio San Diego

Pugot / Beheaded Benilda Santos

Massacre Oscar Tantoco Serquina, Jr.

Balikbayan Box Tanya Sevilla-Simon

Yang Pagtagad Kang Alyana /

Waiting For Alyana Danny Castillones Sillada

Ang Bisita / The Visitor Beverly W. Siy

I Love Poetry Bert Sulat, Jr.

How To Enjoy A Concert : Mula sa concert notes
ng Francisco Santiago Hall ng PCI Bank / From the concert notes
of Francisco Santiago Hall of PCI Bank (now defunct) Ramon C. Sunico

Blueprint Christian Tablazon

Leviathan Alyza Taguilaso

Banal Na Buntis John Iremil E. Teodoro

Weight Without Gravity Andrea B. Teran

Para Sa Fountain Sa Harap Ng Post-Office Building / For The Fountain

In Front Of The Post-Office Enrico C. Torralba

An Appointment, And Variation On
Federico Alcuaz (or Monolgue as Portraiture) Ricky Torre

where my Barbie was safe, lest, if it came out
in the open Denver Ejem Torres

Sa Panahon / On Seasons Charles Bonoan Tuvilla

Ang Tiwalag / The Defected Roberto Ofanda Umil

The Blues R.M. Urquico

Every dawn you dig your own grave Czeriza Shennille Valencia

Independence Day In Hong Lim Park Eric Tinsay Valles

Nimbus Joel Vega

Crime Scenes Eliza Victoria

Rekindled Santiago Villafania

Vestibular Michael Carlo C. Villas

I think therefore I ant Arlene J. Yandug

The Ten Most Memorable Moments with D. Thus Far, & Why
I Can't Let Her Go Alfred A. Yuson

This is grand. Many of these are people I look up to, while some are old and new acquaintances. The launching of this anthology during the 4th .MOV International Film, Music, & Literature Festival on September 2, 2011 would be interesting. Thanks for the tip, Arbeen, Tin and Eva!

something beautiful

Former students are still students. That is why last Friday (July 1), I left early from work and went to Toyota Foundation Bldg., Asian Center, University of the Philippines-Diliman, for its printing press’s midyear launching of nine new books, which included Beautiful Accidents, a collection of short stories by my former “teacher” in Silliman University, Ian Rosales Casocot (in quotations because technically I was never enrolled in his classes).

This book contains the award-winning stories “Old Movies,” “The Hero of the Snore Tango,” and “Things You Don’t Know.” In it is also the brilliant “Group Study,” which first appeared in Dark Blue Southern Seas 2008. I won’t share why that particular one is brilliant because it just is—with a wink at the sides.

Schoolmates attended the launching, specifically from the college paper, The Weekly Sillimanian, which surprised me a lot. I have never seen them in a long time. There were professors and fellows I met in different workshop batches. There was Prof. Leonor Magtolis Briones, former treasurer of the Philippines, who was our graduation commencement speaker and who also asked for my works when she knew I dabble in writing and left me very flattered.

And last but definitely not the least, there was the (formal, finally) introduction to those who composed the LitCritters of Manila: Dean Francis Alfar, Nikki Alfar, Vincent Simbulan, Alex Osias, Kate Aton-Osias, Andrew Drilon (who left earlier and absent in the picture above) and Charles Tan. Ian was our moderator back in college for the Dumaguete chapter of this reading-writing group, so, to put two and two together, it became SOP that night that the two groups ought to have one magisterial photo.

It was a beautiful gathering. And I think it was no accident.

small on your palms

My sister showed me something that made my heart skip a beat. In her hands was an envelope the size of my thumb and a pop-up letter with the date October 1997 written in tiny letters. It was weird seeing those made-up things in this day, not because of some rubbish I saw but wistfulness.

I made them 12 years ago.

When I was a child I constantly wrote letters longhand to my sister who lived here in Manila. Even if the revolutionary Macintosh was already out in the market, we did not have a computer. Starting at the young age of six onwards, I sent to her what I like as a birthday present, drawings, stories from my neighbor and even juvenile poems in jumbled English. If a plain sheet of paper was not enough, I constructed small paper planes, boats and, like what I recently saw, pop-up cards. I placed them in self-made envelopes and I didn’t even know yet how they reached to my sister. As long as gave one of them to my mother, I felt relieved.

And as man looking back as a child, it amazed me that the most blissful experience I can remember was the day I received a letter from my sister with a little package I wished for her to give. It was a set of glow-in-the-dark stars.

Indeed, love is more significant if you see it closely, feel it like petal on your fingers, or a glow-in-the-dark star. As what Mom Edith Tiempo reminds us with her poem Bonsai, “…life and love are real/ Things you can run and/ Breathless hand over/ To the merest child.”

imaging

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.
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state of shock

Unexpected inclusions in our day-to-day familiarity of living have only two things to offer: things worthy and things worthless. But when I arrived home minutes ago, I received some news that definitely fit under the first suggestion; I got a letter of confirmation to become one of the fifteen fellows in the 15th Iligan National Writers Workshop (INWW). I became super-happy because in one summer break there’s a possibility that I’ll be joining in two workshops; the Dumaguete (of which I’m already officially involved as a fiction fellow) and the Iligan (as a poetry fellow, of which most of my works are misery-induced). Suddenly, something came in: I’ve got to be in Tibanga, Iligan City by May 25 but the other workshop would probably end on that exact date, too. My goodness! Oh my, what should I do? But there’s a glimmer of hope though; Kuya Bron, who’s a fellow for poetry in the Dumaguete workshop, told me that the SU English Department planned of closing the event by May 22. Whooo! After all of these coming into my life I say that things, along the run of the slow ache-obliterating time, are getting better indeed. It’s ironic that my being emo just got me into two national writing workshops. Hail to side-swept hair? Never. I had enough.

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47th dumaguete national writers workshop fellows

Just by simply sending in some manuscripts I consider obsolete in my little world of writing where I am a practicing fiction writer, I am scared and weak-kneed. What more, when I received a messaged last Monday (April 14, 2008) that I got into a national workshop, I was suddenly thrown into a whole new atmosphere. I was, really, in a shock thinking this was just a prank. But it wasn’t. And minutes ago, I've read a message in my email from the Workshop committee... My, I know some of the fellows (not only those from Silliman) and they are published and professionals in their own right. Shiver, shiver.

National Artist for Literature and National Writers Workshop Director Emeritus Edith L. Tiempo and Silliman University are pleased to announce that the following young artists have been accepted as fellows for the 47th Dumaguete National Writers Workshop scheduled on May 5-23, 2008.


POETRY FELLOWS

Lawrence Anthony Rivera Bernabe (UP Visayas)
Noelle Leslie G. dela Cruz (Philosophy Assoc. Professor, De La Salle University)
Ma. Celeste T. Fusilero (Ateneo de Davao)
Rodrigo Dela Peña (London PR Consultancy Creative Assoc., Dumaguete)
Arelene Jaguit Yandug (English Asst. Professor, Xavier)
Bron Joseph C. Teves (Silliman)

FICTION FELLOWS

Marguerite Alcarazen de Leon (Ateneo de Manila)
Dustin Edward Celestino (UP Dilliman)
Joshua L. Lim So (De La Salle)
Liza Baccay (Speech Pathologist; contributor Cebu Daily News)
Fred Jordan Mikhail T. Carnice (Silliman)

CREATIVE NON-FICTION FELLOWS

Ma. Elena L. Paulma (Xavier)
Anna Carmela P. Tolentino (De La Salle)
Lamberto M. Varias, Jr. (UP Dilliman)

Sponsored by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) and coordinated by the Department of English and Literature, the Workshop will be held at Silliman University in Dumaguete City.

Among the panelists expected to assist Dr. Tiempo are Dumaguete-based writers Ernesto Superal Yee, Bobby Villasis, Myrna Peña Reyes, and Cesar Ruiz Aquino, as well as guest panelists Dr. Rowena Torrevillas from the University of Iowa, Butch Dalisay, Butch Macansantos, Dave Genotiva, Susan Lara, Danny Reyes, Anthony Tan, and Lito Zulueta.

Other sponsors include the following: Hon. Emilio C. Macias II, Governor, Province of Negros Oriental; Mr. Roy Cang, Bethel Guest House; Ms. Susan Cu, Café Antonio; Atty. Whelma Yap, Bacongham Resort; and Ms. Kitty Taniguchi, Maryah Gallery.

clean and grim

Chronicle no. 1: Clean
September 15, 2007
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I am pretty sure you were the guy who woke up at five in the morning, when the light of the sun was barely seeping out of the thick grey clouds, but then slumbered back in bed only to be awoken the following hour by a thought that you must be present at the bus terminal by six-thirty sharp. Yes, you were the one.

I remember it was Saturday that you made haste and clambered out of bed and mechanically executed your daily routine:

1) Grabbed the big brown towel hanging from the wall and some necessary toiletries located under the wardrobe.
2) Ran down a few steps, followed some bending paths, and ultimately reached the bathroom.
3) Endured an ice-cold bath, dried, and went back to the room with a gazelle’s swiftness.
4) Sported a plain dark brown polo short, khaki pants, and then snatched the idle light brown bag from the cluttered table.
5) Waited for the earliest tricycle.

You looked so clean, so earthy, with all the nature-colored apparel you donned. It was as if the very essence of nature emanated from you. If you just had enough time to climb up an acacia tree, I might have mistaken you for one of its branches. All of these thoughts swam absently in your mind until a tricycle noticed you idle by the side of the road. You were lucky enough to catch an early ride that shakily went to the terminal. And all of a sudden, you thought of riding a bicycle, rather than a tricycle, since that would be the day you were to support and spread the word about SolarGeneration—Pilipinas at Bayawan. For in your mind, you shouldn’t be promoting vehicles emitting carbon and all that smoke. Go green!

Huh, bike all the way to Bayawan? That must be a joke, so you rejected the idea instantly. But what is SolarGeneration—Pilipinas or SolarGen? I’ve recently learned that this is the youth arm of a much bigger organization, Greenpeace. SolarGen aims to inoculate everyone with the importance of our natural resources and how we can properly use these. And as a first project, SolarGen promoted the “Simple Lang: Save the Climate” movement to various universities in Dumaguete and Bayawan Cities. The movement challenges everybody to be energy-conscious by integrating climate-friendly habits into the our lifestyle without compromising practicality and convenience.

Switch off the lights… Unplug all appliances… As simple as that! Everyone will be pleased, living in an eco-healthy world.

You were excited because, on that weekend, you were not tripping for pure entertainment but for an advocacy. You had a mission. In all honesty, your sole purpose why you tagged along with Razceljan Salvarita, Fiona Jade Lim, and Lyde Villuaneva was that you had nothing to do on that specific weekend, seeing as all of your usual partners-in-crime had gone out of town too: Boracay, Apo Island, and Bohol!

What had made you more interested in the occasion was the group had also planned on conducting a workshop on public mural art for budding high school artists. And you yourself were a self-proclaimed Mauro Malang! You instantly elated into a core group member of SolarGen.

And then everything proceeded in a blur: Upon arrival, all four of you headed off to City Hall, were welcomed by few local officials, and led to a hall filled with young people eagerly ready to learn the art of wall painting (not the carpenter’s job, though). After the workshop, you were introduced to the city mayor, German P. Saranya, and you were amazed by his plans of producing Jatropha Oil, to be extracted from a plant locally called “tuba tuba,” as a safe and effective alternative for any vehicles’ fuel. You had learned that the city wholeheartedly supported eco-friendly lifestyle that they launched a project on cultivating the Jatropha plant on their hectares of fertile lands.

Just when you thought you had had your day, sluggishly dragging your feet back to City Hall after you had a mandatory “photo shoot” for documentation purposes, you were surprised to learn that there would be a coastal clean-up activity the following day at the Bayawan Boulevard.

Yes! Yipee…
You were happy. By 8 o’clock in the evening, all four of you went to Toto Benjamin’s house and spent the night close to nature where crickets’ sounds and the rustle of leaves serenaded you. You felt so clean.

.
Chronicle no. 2: Grim
September 16, 2007
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I am extremely sure you were the guy who didn’t sleep well that night. You were accommodated at Toto Benjamin’s, a family friend of the mayor. There was nothing wrong with the quarters provided, it was just that you were restless. You didn’t doze back, but stayed awake, until it was time for you to be present at the Boulevard at six-thirty sharp. Yes, you were the one.

I remember it was Sunday that you made haste and got up from bed and automatically mulled over your routine:

1) You must go get the big brown towel hanging from the wall and some necessary toiletries located under the wardrobe.
2) You would run down a few steps, followed some bending paths, and ultimately reach the bathroom.
3) You would endure an ice-cold bath, dry yourself, and run back to the room with a gazelle’s swiftness.
4) You would dress yourself up with the attire appropriate for the day.
5) You would wait for the earliest tricycle by the side of the road, outside the boarding house.

Boarding house? What boarding house? You totally forgot you were a hundred kilometers away from Dumaguete City! Out of the abrupt realization, you grabbed your bag from the floor, fumbled for objects that you direly need, and to your amazement, discovered nothing much helpful (behold, a discovery… a toothbrush!). The necessity of bringing extra clothes and toiletries had been entirely disregarded the other day, for you were so filled up by your enthusiasm. Fiona and Lyde noticed your long face so they lent you soap, shampoo, towel, and toothpaste.

Quickly shampooed your hair… Brushed your teeth… Splashed on some cologne… As simple as that! And you were a bit pleased, your spirits high.

Your excitement sparked up again because you were going to clean an area of the boulevard where young mangroves grew. Ironically, you had cleaned up yourself to clean up the Boulevard. That was not an everyday opportunity considering that in the first place, you attained adequate amusement yesterday just by ranting word upon word about poster-making practice and art aesthetics. But when you entered the room, you witnessed Lyde, Fiona, and Razcel in different get-ups while you were dressed in the same shirt and pants; the exact articles you had worn a few hours ago.

You tried ignoring them and focussed on the idea that the high school students you had deliberated with the other day would be present. You knew some of them, while others remained as familiar faces only. However, you thought, their company would always be fun and great so you settled on the comfort of this thought.

And then everything happened in a blur: Upon arrival, all four of you headed to the site at the Boulevard. The sun was covered by thick grey clouds. Before you started picking up trash, you attended a short fellowship. After glorifying the one above us all, you had an exercise session. Suddenly, it rained very hard; a downpour heavy enough to soak a body in a minute. How tragic, you were wet and you had no extra clothing! All of you went back to Kuya Toto’s residence and procrastinated there until it was time to leave the City of Bayawan. The clean-up drive was cancelled.

Just when you thought you had had enough being the green-eyed grim monster of the group, you were stunned to discover that there was spring nearby Toto’s house in which you could go for a dip.

No! Argh…

You were sad. By 11 o’clock in the morning, all four of you travelled back to Dumaguete City by a V-hire, spent the day in the ride wherein you can only hear the constant hum of the decrepit aircon until you arrived at the city. You felt so grim.

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grateful

Due to on-the-rush schedule for the Hibalag celebration and near-financial constraints, I and my fellow Litcritters managed to give this, as a gift, to birthday celebrant Ian Rosales Casocot.

Truth be told, I forgot what age “Sir Ian” celebrated yesterday at The Spanish Heritage by 6:30 in the evening. And sir’s mum, too, shares the same birth date! Well, at the least, the date August 17 managed to seep into my beleaguered mind for some future night of feasting (Libre! Libre!).

Someone told me last night that each picture in the gift represents a genre of fiction. Unfortunately, since I didn’t head the making of this glorious token (thanks to Mich and company! Hehe), I was not able to choose my preferred photo.

Now, guess who leads the fantastic field of horror. Hmm…?

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last book

Good:

The final book of the Harry Potter series is finally coming out tomorrow morning! And I have reserved a copy at National Bookstore.

Bad:

I reserved the book, done with the necessary requirements (e.g. downpayment), at National Bookstore - Tagbilaran branch. What's more, people of Dumaguete City will be ahead of me tomorrow reading the freshest magical dillemas of this scarred hero.

Phew. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, see you soon. Hu hu hu!

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in a poetry class

After my bout of Sillliman University’s goal of holistic learning to be instilled in all of its students, of which I took up classes in Physics, Biology and Chemistry though I’m majoring in English, at long last all of my subjects this semester deals with literature.

Literature is my darling but I must admit I lacked enough information of the classics. Though I may be caught off guard with that actuality, I must live to love it. Enthusiasm and appreciation for it is in a disturbing decline these days.

And one specific subject I enjoyed hours ago was Literature 41 – Tradition of Poetry. And who better to discuss and impart knowledge to us such sophisticated subject? But of course that will be Cesar Ruiz Aquino; the person who have been dedicated with countless written stories and poems by prominent young (and old) writers.

Despite stories surrounding upon this guy, from dropping grades and near-silly habits, I forgot the tales altogether since he is Cesar Ruiz Aquino facing before you. It is not everyday you get to see both a great writer and critic, unless of course, you are his shadow or conscience.

Well, I’ll end up to this point but I’ll leave you with some interesting tidbits I got from him:

1) In epic times, people are not afraid to boast. That’s why heroes in epic poetry tend to outdo and speak up confidently to their deserved adversary. Before the belief of God, life runs with faith only in Physical Strength and Courage.

2) In the real book written by Homer, Achilles lived till the end of the tale. He was not really killed with any arrow and the like, hitting in his heels or whatsoever. That heel-concept was actually taken from narrative myths that were way older than the author’s time.

3) Though not yet fully proven but most likely to be, the first roots of poetry is magic; magic to heal and to correct. Known as “Incantations,” one specific kind of poetry has an equivalent specific ailment that would serve as a remedy.

4) What makes a poem a poem is not because it is a product of intellect. According to the Greeks, the function of poetry is to teach, to enlighten, to elevate, at the same time to make you wiser, and it must be prized for it.

5) We have read some of Plato’s living written works and it do sound very arty and even poetic, but the irony is he banished poetry, in the republic, in his time. He even burned all of his poems when he decided to be a philosopher.

and much more...

frog meets frog part 2

1:25 in the morning (I have a flair for mentioning times) and I woke up to some undeniable movements near my feet. There was no mistaking too that the thing was cold.

The frog that attacked me last night was back again—with a vengeance. The thing just woke me up, which seemed like very irate at that time too, and I’m very sure it’s the same frog! Hiding desperately, I pulled the blanket away and there it came hopping for escape but, too bad, actually there’s no room for a break out.

Once again, I let him be. I went to my mum’s room and slept in there. And I cannot explain to you this phenomena of frogs getting in your bedrooms. It is just so engimatic. Ha ha!

Frogs are friends! Yeah!

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a hundred

My oh my! It’s my 100th post!

Bullfrogs, I never expect this to happen… I just thought my writing-feeling will eventually fade away after a few weeks’ shots.

I started filling this blog, clash of the bull and the frog, last August 2006 with anything that would satisfy my fancy. Until this blog consists of my poems, my articles from the Weekly Sillimanian, works of arts, this slowly took shape into a very very personal kind of blog. Though personal as it may seem, there are some things I just can’t post here. You have to be responsible for your actions so discipline in blogging is very crucial.

Let’s say, blogging makes you practice on what’s supposed to be public or not.

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frog meets frog

I can’t forget last night’s incident.

At exactly 1:05 in the morning in my bedroom, when I was reading June issue of Reader’s Digest sitting on my bed and leaning against the wall, a very unusual close encounter took place.

A frog suddenly hopped by my side.

Close acquaintances by now may have known that I do have some penchant for frogs and anything frog-like; from branding my very own curse with “bullfrogs” to identifying people whom I want to mock as with the same word. One may think I could live in a pool swimming with hundreds of this amphibian. But, heck, no.

I was truly astonished that time: face to face, eye to eye, him small (I think it was a ‘him’) and me big, him shiny and me dull, him leafy green and me lightly browned, him by the side of my bed and me by edge of my bed. It was good that plans of kissing the thing didn’t occur in my head.

It was really both breath-taking and scary. You may never know it’s an alien disguised as a tree frog! And who could have ever thought of a frog on one’s bed at dawn?! It even hopped towards me, but I was able to move away before his clammy wet being touched me and thus, trespassing total private property. He took over my pillow!

‘Know what I did? My child instincts got a little younger; I went to my mother’s bedroom and slept there the whole night after taking these pictures with my phone.

My mother woke up by my fitted laughter and movements in her bed. She asked what I was doing there, I just told her this: “Ma, naay baki sa ako katre. He he he.” Well, I don’t want that frog to be thrown away, let him experience that once in a blue moon comfort of a bed rather than a bark.

Go ahead, laugh.

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