the old year

I always find online surveys the most mundane thing ever conjured up by the most disconcerted and bored internet surfer in the world. But in one way or another, I recently find that it also serves a good—if not best—assessment of one’s self so before anyone would inflict curses on me for having stated my first line with so much loathing, pardon me and let me have a take on this New Year Survey.

What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?

Stand up to what I really believe. Literally; standing up and shouting back.

Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

There are some that I did keep till the end of the year and there are some that I will continue for this year.

Did anyone close to you give birth?
Supposedly, my sister but the child doesn’t want to see the world.

Did anyone close to you die?
Though not that close, Alzen Joy Icalina was one person who I knew well.

What countries did you visit?
Philippines. Philippines. And Middle Earth.

What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?

Aside from great (not only good) grades that most people are awfully looking forward to, I would like to have a good ear and a better mouth.

What date from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

August 4 would be it. Why? Well, the date just comes into my mind.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Telling someone, finally, that water ants are existing.

What was your biggest failure?

I almost failed in Tradition of Drama. Got into an immense silent dispute between an acquaintance. And there are some people who I haven’t told yet that water ants are real.

Did you suffer illness or injury?

I didn’t feel that much pain this year compared last year which was caused by a very rare ailment.

What was the best thing you bought?
Shoes. I finally bought a pair of shoes from my very own money.

Whose behavior merited celebration?

Can’t think of any. Maybe I am just so apathetic I do not notice anyone’s celebratory behavior.

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

This time, there’s one. The person indeed brought a lot of sighs from me.

Where did most of your money go?

Food. There goes the guilt!

What did you get really, really, really excited about?

I am in my third year now and most of my subjects are pure, hardcore Creative Writing subjects. Actually, I am drowning in letters even this Christmas break.

What song(s) will always remind you of 2007?

Moonlane Gardens, and My Butterfly by Orange and Lemons and Two of Us by Aimee Mann.

Compared to this time last year, are you:

1. happier or sadder? – Never been this sad.

2. thinner or fatter? – Fatter and loving it.

3. richer or poorer? – Poorer. Every move has its price I have to pay.

What do you wish you'd done more?

Seriously hone my craft.

What do you wish you'd done less of?

Wandering, both physically and mentally, in broad daylight.

How many one-night stands?

Plenty. I tell you, it is hard standing on one leg while breathing fire to amuse people’s fervent desires for three straight hours. Nah, of course, nothing.

What was your favorite TV program?

Not much TV viewing in the year 2007.

Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

Yes, so much, but the opposite is much stronger than the previous feeling.

What was the best book you read?

I expect it to be the final book of the Harry Potter series (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows) but it did not hit a mark. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe and One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez are, without doubt, books that influenced my writings that year.

What was your greatest musical discovery?

I have a singing voice. I can actually sing up to the note of “me!” Do-re-me! Do-re-me!

What did you want and get?

As for a material thing, I have a lap now that has a great top.

What was your favorite film of this year?

Pan’s Labyrinth shakes my senses and it feels good. Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros was one ambitious local leap, too.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

Bumming around in our ancestral house and still stagnating at nineteen. My birth date always falls on the vacation season that's why I can’t celebrate it with some acquaintances.

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

I should have stretched my perception of certain things more.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006?

Great. I did astound a few orthodox.

What kept you sane?

Almost-daily poetic nosebleeds.

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

As what I’ve said earlier, not much TV viewing that year but Angel Locsin and the Piolo-Sam controversy did get my attention.

What political issue stirred you the most?

Joseph Ejercito Estrada’s release and Oprah Winfry’s support to Barack Obama (and I appreciate it).

Who did you miss?

My mother (of course, she’s in our hometown while I’m stuck in Dumaguete), Marianne Catherine Tapales, and one odd water ant.

Who was the best new person you met?

Who else but the quirkiest newswriter in the Weekly Sillimanian office: Junie! Good thing we did not clash with each other. Imagine a dancer and a frustrated writer talking incessantly about all sorts of things in every possible gathering, now that’s a weird combination.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.

Lyde quoted this line for me of which, humility aside, comes from a short story I wrote: “Waiting is never a stressful task nor is it unproductive, as long as you are willing to accept the end as it is, good or bad. Waiting is rewarding.”

What was the nicest thing someone told you about yourself?
“…don’t let undue anxiety get in the way.” I am trying hard to follow this. Thanks for the advice.

The most touching experience you've had that year?

A hug while tricycles and other vehicles run beside us.

What did you like most about yourself that year?

I soften up a bit.

What did you hate most about yourself this year?

Sentimentality, being a crammer, and excessiveness in things tangible and not.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
Will you take me with you
And share the night
With flaring passion
The moon is full and she's smiling so cool

And I hate to spend the night alone again.

Well it's not very easy
To live a life like this
With all the space between us
You won't let me fill
Even when I try to make things work
You leave me awfully unnerved
And I'm sure
You'd give in to my desires
My butterfly.

Was 2007 a good year for you?

Though full of bitter surprises, it is sorely great.

What was your favorite moment of the year?
I force myself to assume that it mustn’t be my favorite. Straightforward, I am not telling.

What was your least favorite moment of the year?

I force myself to assume that it mustn’t be my least favorite. Straightforward, I am not telling.

Where were you when 2007 began?
Tagbilaran City, Bohol; specifically at Calceta Street, Cogon District.

Who were you with?

Who should I be with?! My family, of course.

Where will you be when 2008 ends?

Same place as to where I begin it.

Who will you be with when 2008 ends?

Same aging bunch of jesters.

Do you have a new year’s resolution for 2007?

1. Be a stone for pete’s sake.

2. Eat more but spend less (love this contradiction in terms)

3. Better writing skill or specifically write in regimented shortness.

4. Better memory but has the ability to immediately trash some sticky trash.

5. And more.

What was your favorite month of 2007?

December. Lot of things happen in this crammed up month.

Did you lose anybody close to you in 2007?

Yes.

What was your favorite record from 2007?

Okay, music once again. Café Bossa by Sitti and Moonlane Gardens of Orange and Lemons.

How many concerts did you see in 2007?

One? A piano concert to be exact.

Did you drink a lot of alchohol in 2007?

Nope. Ask anyone who knows me. Go.

Do a lot of drugs in 2007?

Yes? Whappak!

You do anything you are ashamed of this year?

If it is considered a shameful act, well, yes.

How much money did you spend in 2007?

Just a hint: My wallet can be categorized as under-nourished every week.

What was your proudest moment of 2007?

Not much to be proud of but I was awarded Most Outstanding Male Sophomore of the College of Arts and Sciences considering there were more guys out there who were more deserving.

What was your most embarrassing moment of 2007?

Countless moments, must-be-forgotten moments.

If you could go back in time to any moment of 2007 and change something, what would it be?

Go back to this particular class last school year, second semester and not speak to this particular person.

What are your plans for 2008?

Be stronger. Live up to my military high school class’s batch distinction: Matatag.

How are you different now that the year has ended?

I am slowly becoming what I am destined to be.

What are your wishes for the New Year?

I wish to have an unlimited supply of concentrated joy, a dozen of preserved patience, a huge box filled with canned contentment, a daily dosage of flavored solidity, a handful of real acquaintances, and a monthly spa treatment of understanding.

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no one's to be blamed

Really, there’s no one. All mistakes, front acts, and deeds are carried out by me alone. One reel may not be enough to record my daily ventures on how to spend my time wisely for this year only. I could never argue that change is really one of the major things that happened. And for Year 2007, contemplating from this day and the rest of the eleven months back, this thing called change altered a lot of things into both something good and bad.

No one’s to be blamed that debates flared up here, private arguments burst there, aches sprouted up, confusion boiled down, vendettas thrown everywhere, schemes scattered, gossips ruled, new set of armor bought, alliances formed, congregations crumbled, and foes boomed in number. And no one’s to be blamed for these happenings are part and parcel of the world’s natural process of orderliness. It is ironic though that chaos and misunderstandings are significant to the development but take note; even the worm has to crawl from the grounds first before it changes into a butterfly and wanders the skies. And before I forget, there’s one more thing; one more change that without it I could have never endured this year: There’s no one one’s to be blamed that “friends” were found and acknowledged by me.

No one’s to be blamed. Forgive me for specially quoting that word but up to now no one yet has reached my set standards of being one. Oh please don’t misinterpret me. I am not doing this just for some people to be thankful for having known me, seen me, greeted me, or whatever they have done to me, what I just want to bring out from this principle is that I have to be careful. Careful on everything, that’s just it. But I tell you, there’s a handful that has gotten into my very core and understood the amphibian within me and I appreciate it. To those who are courageous enough to listen to my almost-daily bouts of self-inflicted depression, kind enough to laugh along with my well-rehearsed laughter, patient and are humble enough to at least say “hi” after sending a poetic suicide message almost every midnight, thank you. I love you. This line may be an understatement but, of course, you know who you are and you deserve it.

No one’s to be blamed. No one’s to be blamed. People must not pity others but instead they must pity themselves; no one else must be blamed for their outcome but only themselves.

No one’s to be blamed but me. Another year has passed so quickly I didn’t care much of my hairline that recedes in millimeters per week. For Year 2007, I will always remember you and no matter how complex you are, I always loved you. As for Year 2008, I welcome you and I’ll try my best to love you.

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great

hoppy

bullfrogish

christmas, people...
...and happy birthday to my beloved

mother!

(keep on hopping!)

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goodnights and sweet dreams

Maybe it’s the cold wind of the yuletide night. Maybe it’s the anticipating bugs of last season. Or maybe it’s the ecstatic neurons of the body turning all focal points of normal intuitive reasoning go berserk.

Actually, I do not know what I am referring about. The “it” is incomprehensible, ungraspable, beyond genius-level apperception. The enigma is as mystifying as to how the pyramids of Egypt were built. Yes, even though deep within the darkest recesses of my mentality I think I know what the reason is, yet I strongly anchor in my mindset that I do not exactly know the reason why I cannot sleep properly for the past few nights. To set it all straight, I do not want to know the basis of this disturbing psychology. I am playing dumb; playing dead, most probably. Call this the most mundane way of escapist strategy but I don’t mind. I do what I prefer to do.

Because acknowledging “it” means succumbing into the harshness of reality, I despise the idea of stating the core of this self-imposed trouble. Even in the midst of the clichéd cheery period of the year, I purposely veil upon me a huge sheet of despondency and abhorrence to anything good. And the more I alienate myself from positive goody-goody charges of the world, the more pressing they are in barging into my life, and this whole concept of rejecting and intercepting makes my sleeping point in each night diminish its time length.

I cannot sleep properly. I make for myself insomnia. And wait, even this blog entry is a product of this newfound disease.

It has been in my rule book that before I go to sleep, I relay messages to all people who care to receive, read, and throw it in their cerebral trashcan every night. But considering that I now have this “disease of wide eyes” during 12 midnight and so on, I still send those absurd and sometimes politically correct messages to avoid any new dark rumors about me. Basically, my recent goodnights are all fraud.

It is a good thing, though, that there some owls of whom I can talk to in those clumsily conjured nocturnal hours. And as if serendipity adds more humor to what I have been experiencing, the owl of whom I have now a regular chat in every dawn coincidentally had been on the same bout of restlessness, too. It is funny, really.

But the bad thing is the owl has something to do with the worm; the worm of insomnia that ails my life.

I am sorry, owl, it's mainly caused by the worm.

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six minute hits

Or maybe it was six hours. Or maybe days. Anyway, time was not much of a concern. It really didn't matter, as long as we were together, I was happy. And was a bit sad.

1st minute
The ghosts of forgotten memories seem to flood our minds and the only thing we could fight back is to jump all over the campus.

2nd minute
A night-time “walkathon” is always enjoyable when mouths are much stronger than the muscles in our legs. Hiking from one place to another is not that challenging enough.

3rd minute
Respect for the beauty of musical notes has been wiped out from the community's mentality. It is art, though, to hear the latest version of a song's broken harmony and lyricism.

4th minute
Revelations just keep on coming in. No one can stop it. The power of gossips and behind-the-back discussions is so potent that one would eventually fall on his knees due to the sudden comprehension of supposedly incomprehensible tall-tales.

5th minute
Someone is sick. Fortunately, there are people who tries to patch things up. And the results are good. Maybe even better. But, still, it is not enough. There is a kind of doubt whether what was previously done should not have been done in the first place. Now, everyone's getting sick.

6th minute
I am going back to Bohol later this afternoon. I must be happy, celebrating my mum's birthday on the 25th (yes, Christmas Day) and meeting some of my brothers ands sisters finally, but the thought of leaving momentarily the ghost town, which is Dumaguete right now, is like a heavy decision for me. I must leave some things for a while. I know; it should happen that way.

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death of a beloved

Great is the time of conception of things that would supposedly linger around your presence a little longer, but sad is the time too, in its bleakest point, once the realization of absence came upon you so abruptly you hardly even notice what went wrong.

The trouble with losing things, things that fall apart, and some things that tend to go away is that you are left in a solemn, depressing state of solitude. It is entirely melancholic wherein the previous day you were with him and everything was perfectly well and then on the following day, all energy and vibrancy of him are gone in a minute. Only you can feel this certain seclusion; external undertakings that seem to fill each hour of the day do not affect you the very least no matter how engaging they may be to other people. You may try moving on with the flow of events that may take place but the blot of loss is like an indelible mark that’s tinged upon your whole being eternally. The act of forgetting the whole grim affair is like a thousand miles away from human existence, or most probably, it is cleared off from everyone’s mind.

It was said on that one fateful day of revelation that there was a chance of bringing him alive but, unfortunately, I may not see within him the same way I’ve witnessed from him the very beginning so I dejected the idea and left. What use of having him with me like an automaton?

A renewal may be the perfect description. But I don’t need anything new. What I need are the now-lost memories of both wistful thoughts and calloused happiness. Basically, it is just so sad. That’s all. But I’ve learned it’s not all, really. The continuous swinging of the pendulum may help remedy this acerbic response of demise and hopefully this familiar denial will go away as soon as possible. Well, it is always like this in life—you just have to hope until hope only resembles a cigarette stick.

And yes, it is confirmed. Just last December 16, he was diagnosed as dead. Useless. All files lost. Bullfrog, a 512MB flash drive, was bought last October 2006 and abated, all of a sudden, in an internet café last December 15.
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a thought

“Cast me a sculpture of my image with your sober hands

and let all those who are in grief worship me

and if the results are ominous,

please, stone me to death.”

(December 15, 2007 / 1:55 am)

In this time of the year, everyone must be glad but it turns out that I have more things to deal with than being happy.

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should i go there?

MOONLANE GARDENS
Castro-Fundales, Orange and Lemons

There's a place where the moon is under the sea

There's a place where the sun's inside a cup of tea

There's a place you can go where no one else has been but me

There's a man on his throne who thinks the world's his own

He would live, he believes he would never be alone

He would dine, he would wine but no one else is there but him

Chorus

Welcome to the garden my friend

This is where your broken heart's mend

Come into the garden my friend

Don't be scared to hold my hand

This is where your loneliness ends

There's a girl in the sky she's laughing as she cries

She is one with the world and she never wants to die

There's a song she would sing that no one understands but her

There's a child who's awake every night and every day

Not a care in the world not a problem what he says

There's a game he would play and he wanted all of you to stay

There's a thought in my head that never goes away

There's a time in my life that is better than today

There's place I would go where no one else has been but me

repeat chorus

This is where your loneliness ends

Moonlane gardens, moonlane gardens

How do we get there (how do we get there)

How do we get there

How do we get there (how do we get there)

How do we get there

lahahahahahahaha

he's the key

(and the key)

lahahahahahahaha

here with me

moonlane gardens

moonlane gardens

moonlane gardens

I just love this song. The song is never a direct suggestion of escapism; it is concretely a device of lighting up the smiles that are always hidden caused by anguish and exhaustion. Magic here, in itself, is real. The song has the sense of going away, leaving, and renouncing all pain and hatred, then plunging into a magical world of children playing, of kings, and of beautiful gardens. Basically, as what the song incessantly said, this is a place where our loneliness ends.

But how do we get there? Give me the key.
Where is this garden? Tell me…
for it is where my loneliness ends.

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a personal workshop of trimming things

Fred Jordan Mikhail T. Carnice
The Weekly Sillimanian
December 5, 2007

Trimming is not an easy act. It leaves no room for unstable personal convictions; it requires unyielding fortitude. But the result of lavish trimming can be wonderfully pleasing, though. Here, with my workshop of which I’ll keep mum on how it really works, are three things I think need some trimming.

1. Food
In the October 2007 issue of Reader’s Digest, there’s a short article which states that whenever a measuring tape loses its length once encircling it around the waist, a person has to be alarmed. And I am. Because the article says it’s a ground for a grand heart disease. According to the America Heart Association, everyone must “aim for a waist circumference less than 40 inches for men and 35 for women.” Choice clothing that has just been bought last summer hardly fit me and some of my pants find themselves objecting to be worn; as if I’m not their master. This is tragic for a student who is a disregarded microcosm of a no uniform institution. Nevertheless, I have to trim down my food intake.

Knowing that gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins, I have more reasons why I should stop excessive eating. Also, breaking the habit allows me not to spend too much. My stomach, curiously named “Ben” since grade school, is undeniably getting bigger.

Downfall: There’s no escaping the looming Christmas feast.

2. Weeds
Our university is unquestionably picturesque. But the sad thing is various weeds have marred its stunning look. And it's unfortunate to know that these living litters are responsible to the gradual deterioration of our campus’ reputation, and yet so little action is taken to extract them from our rich soil.

The weeds’ growth may be sluggish, but their ability to proliferate in record-breaking numbers is tremendously shocking. Though these needless things may look different from each other, all have the same, distinct, unifying feature: Pollen. Not that pollen is the only thing that makes people sneeze, but it is the kind that gives a mind-numbing, downcast feeling to the victim who gets a cloudy waft of it. Unfortunately, students are the most common victims of the weeds’ natural self-defence since they are the ones who usually step on them, devastating them with rubber-soled shoes or killer pointed heels. And in some rare cases, these university weeds spew out those powerful pollen particles randomly at students who they think need a bit of subtle punishment. These weeds are one of a kind. The victim, usually assaulted without prior notice, firsts acquires a slight nausea from the pollen that enters the nose. Actually, the brutal process doesn’t end there: upon treading the olfactory territory, the pollen further goes into the brain and gives the person’s mind a hazy feeling of fury, depression, and anxiety but basically this will eventually concretize into a deep sense of shame.

Quite a number of students have daringly tried pulling them out by the roots but the aftermath was so disconcerting and gross that publishing the event for public enlightenment would be impossible because of its disturbingly graphic nature. And there’s one more extraordinary occurrence: the weeds have discovered their means of cultivation, amazingly, inside a person. They have already infiltrated the heads of some big names in campus that it’s no longer novel seeing people around with a glowing, little ball of pollen sticking out from their heads. By the way, I don’t want these weeds trimmed. I want them wiped out from the face of this planet.

3. Letters
Verbosity is a cursed gift. One needs a firm command to justify a piece of written thought that seems to go on for a mile. For me, verbosity is a projection of beauty that must be admired by its inborn power of luring a reader to keep on going—that there’s a possibility to go further and benefit from the unanticipated reading exercise. To be regulated with alleged imperatives (e.g. limits and qualifications) is like halting the continuous flow of a river, the growth of a wild flower that aims to reach the skies, the soft breeze that keeps all living wonders dancing.

Given that cutting the habit is a requisite for me to successfully pass a bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing, I submit to the whims of the public that I must write with regimented shortness.

For in the misunderstood craft of endlessly stitching different words together to form lengthy and so-called grandiose sentences, where antecedents are tagged ambiguous, where verbs and prepositions appear on the scene in both necessary and unnecessary fashion at every possible group of words—especially if the act of writing gets more self-gratifying up to the point that it paves the road for a newfound addiction—and where adjectives tend to lose their identities as specifying elements but instead turn into loud, decorative, grandiloquent pieces that only the likes of William Faulkner, Nick Joaquin, and Gabriel Garcìa Marquez seem to be proud of, the one and truly amazing reward (no matter how large the number of people who are opposed to the whole construction of verbose sentences, even though the shorter version having the same sense may still give the indistinguishable feeling of contentment upon having reached the final destination) is the sight of an unassuming presence of relief, like a lifeboat launched by a sinking ship, which takes the form of a tiny, innocent period.

quit

“If the forces of nature continue
to swoon me with heresies and insults,
then I must retreat to my hole
and close the lid forever.”

-12 / 06 / 07 (12:05pm)

Quit. It is such a strong word. It is so strong that it demands the ultimate decision of merely fulfilling it. But no matter how strong it is, ironically it connotes the idea of weakness.

I always know that in order to develop an aptitude on something, you have to rub elbows with people who are wiser than you. But what if you are in a position that you’re supposed to be the wise man and the people around must learn something from you but, instead, end up as a carton cut-out representing an ideal picture? That will be a catastrophe. That’s my case; I am like a living hoax, a conman, a walking bouncing check. It is so sad to learn (or accept) that I always end up in situations wherein I eventually regret having stepped on a new territory.

Yes, I have become a bitter gourd once, then made me pathetically excusing for the clutter I have made, which then leads me trying very hard trimming some forsaken responsibility I have gotten into. And what better way to solve such absurd problems? Yield and leave immediately! I don’t blame the world by spinning so fast that I can hardly catch up, what I want to blame is that why in the first place I have been so ambitious.

Forgive me for being histrionic but seeing the reflection of myself on Boy’s magic mirror, I see my face wearing that practiced smile again. It is the most deceiving art I have learned and I thought I have mastered it. I am wrong, pala.

I have been working in a field that further stretches my efficiency of delegating tasks of which I am actually not worth it. Blech! I foresee that I would vomit upon rereading that line in the days to come but really, that’s what constantly nags me after that one unexpected night of exchanging vinegar-dipped words—a night wherein a slice of silence finally dragged two clashing people finalizing their almost-eternal hidden feud.

Speaking of vinegar let us metaphorically illustrate that I am currently in a bowl of salad; the place being the bowl and its people as the composition that makes up the salad. Fast forward, let’s again oversimplify things by saying that the bowl of salad last year was the best salad in the world—the combination of textured vegetables, bits of meat, flavorful spices, and the creamy sauce make up for the perfect dish. But in this year’s serving, there’s just too much pepper. And when there’s too much of that thing, the salad will obviously taste bad. It contradicts other elements of the salad leading to a chaotic, unpalatable mix of supposedly edible greens.

I am lost. In fact, we are all lost. It just coincides that there is a unifying element in each and every one of us that made us intact (or form) as a group.

Maybe I am just overreacting. Maybe this is another ordeal. But maybe this is not quitting after all. Probably what I need is just a different kind of dish.

critiquing at lake balinsasayao

Last Saturday, December 1, was a good day for hitting the subtly secluded nature spots of Oriental Negros. Good, not perfect, because it was the intramural season when I was not able to watch the basketball championship games (hah! Engineering won!), and the day greeted me with dark clouds overhead signaling that the weather is not in the mood again.

Nevertheless, it was good because the almost-complete group of Litcritters Dumaguete, if not for Marianne who may be enjoying the time of her life with Japanese pals, decided to have our session at Lake Balinsasayao, in the town of Sibulan. What was more fun was that we were to critique the original outputs of our third challenge: “Out of your Comfort Zone Task.”

Described as a “maximalist” who’s like a cheap carbon copy of William Faulkner, I had to create a minimalist work in the vein of Socorro Villanueva. Whoo… I think I failed just by the title alone: Dramas and the Intercession of Something Dim.

Well, what mattered most on that day was the rare enjoyment we shared with each other, the trek from that steep hill, the feeding of hundred fishes by the side of the lake with chicken bones, and most of all, the lake that made us think that in some corner of this busy world, there’s peace.

I, Mich, Lyde, Pong, Odie, Rj, Dirg, and Sir really wanted to come back to that quiet place.

[more pictures here]

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two books and a signature

With so much thanks to Sir Ian Rosales Casocot, I had my book Anansi Boys signed by the author. Yes, Neil Gaiman himself; the author of other fantastic works such as Stardust, American Gods, MirrorMask, and a lot more.

Since our moderator for Litcritters Dumaguete is once again shortlisted in the same competition where he won the grand prize last year, the 2^nd Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards gave him a chance to meet the famous artist of genre literature last December 4. And his short story The Sugilanon of Epefania's Heartbreak won 1^st runner up (along with Yvette Natalie Tan's The Bridge).

This makes him the only person to win a place in two consecutive years! Anyways, I felt the same joy upon receiving my autographed novel.

Also on the same date of the awarding ceremony, held at Fullybooked Store Bonifacio High Street Courtyard last November 25, the book Expeditions was also launched. This anthology features the winners of the 1^st Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards and, of which, my sister bought me a hardbound copy as a Christmas gift. Yipee!

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when trying hard

When trying hard...

...to enjoy the intramural games this school year is much more like sitting on a huge ice block.

...to follow a professor's request of having classes during the intramural season is more like turning on the radio and tuning the volume to its lowest.

...to stretch my patience when it comes to deadlines is like climbing out of a dry well without any rope or ladders.

...to shut all the noise in the world is simply an incredible feat only a giant muffler can provide.

...to understand the mind of a “friend” is like untangling a lengthy yarn tied all over the acacia's branches.

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j ibuf zpv!

I hate this day! I hate "you".

I don't know but I just hate this day. No, it's not that I particularly hate the whole day—I just hate the night. But what comes into my mind is, “I hate this day!” That means I have no choice but to say, I hate this day. There's no point in specifying why I hate this day, even though I just hate the night; for if I will spill the beans in this post, the turn of events will ultimately be devastating.

Argh! Due to the unexplainable feeling of hating this day, I also hate myself! I hate my situation because I don't exactly know why I hate some people lingering around me, why there are some people who I usually enjoy being with turn out to be annoying bunch of filthy rags, why my favorite character in a setting (or place or whatever it is) I dearly set a special corner in my mind and soul seems to be fleeing away from me, and why there is no end to the killings of water ants in our backyard! There's more, I tell you.

Pardon me for these vague rants but I just hate this day! I hate “you!”

J ibuf zpv!

dark blue southern seas literary competition 2007

Submit your literary works to darkbluesouthernseas@gmail.com (not dbss@gmail.com, as shown in the image above) with your name, course, and year level or personally submit them (in soft copy) at the Weekly Sillimanian office. You may also submit photographs and other works of art which may be featured in the upcoming magazine.

This contest is only open to bona fide Silliman students.

For more inquiries, contact:
John Boaz - 09276093570
Jordan - 09155754418

the hoarder

Being a junior Creative Writing major is not easy. With numerous works of literature I am compelled to read though I previously thought of them as non-existing, this semester is going to be a riot when classes are usually held in the oven-like English department (considering that I am the only Creative Writing major left in my batch).

But even if papers and letters seem to drown me, my itchy self of grabbing (okay, buying) a book that I unconsciously thought as fun to read never fails me whenever I visit the nearest bookstore. Well, here are the latest books in my cluttered table:

THE TURN OF THE SCREW Henry James
HEART OF DARKNESS Joseph Conrad
THE WIND-UP BIRD CHRONICLE Haruki Murakami
ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND Lewis Caroll

The latest stack made me smile; for the latest purchase was a healthy bunch: there's a psychological story, a sophisticated horror tale, and two fantasy books (both for the mature readers and the young ones).

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hallowed

It was in the quiet day of November the 1st when the truth

about my great-great-grands-and-so-on was finally planted in my mind indelibly.
Unlike the previous years when I visited them partially knowing their history
and left the newfound familiarity in the corner of my head after the solemn "dalaw,"
on that morning there were some questions that finally deemed to be forgotten.

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tree

Matatag means solid, firm, and steady. And ever since in my mind, when I’ve heard this word back in high school, stepping into our campus fresh from a sated vacation and just to be surprised by the administration’s newly established military system, the picture that immediately was a tree. I was not precisely sure but the tree, for me, gave me the perception of stability and composure. That was why the attack of the inevitable boredom of the day, which left me clambering in front of the computer in defeat, made my waning artistic abilities spark up in rage: I created this:

I know it’s not much to be placed side-by-side with prominent emblems of other organizations but, nevertheless, I am proud for creating such work, because finally, our Facebook, Friendster, and other social networking site accounts will now have a semi-formal feel to the once-deprived outlets for relaying messages, posting announcements, and whatnot. Looks so infantile? That’s just a draft. I can always create a new one—and maybe not a tree, anymore.

By the way, “Matatag” was our high school batch’s designation for the whole brigade; there were Makisig, Magiting, and many more Filipino adjectives that start with the letter “M.” Masarap? Malandi? Well, I am not hoping for those designations to come in reality but, without doubt, it would be fun calling the seniors those tags.

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an orange a day

Just minutes ago, I have witnessed this local version of the gameshow 1 vs 100. Hosted by the domineering Edu Manzano, tonight’s episode exemplified the nation’s elementary education condition: Alarming.

I said elementary because in this episode, both celebrity and noted young students represented the “Mob” of the show (nah, the specifics are too tedious to discuss). What was really disturbing, in the utmost concern for the Philippine education system, was that these little kids must have either went out of the classroom to harvest guavas at the school grounds or the current teachers’ capability to edify young minds have already faltered. These two reasons should explain why those kids were not able to answer this simple and basic question:

1. A/An _______ a day keeps the doctor away.
a.) apple
b.) orange
c.) grapes

Fact: A lot of the children answered orange.

Bullfrogs! There were more questions that could easily shake you out of your seats about this uneventful truth witnessed by millions of viewers, too, worldwide. What Christmas character is always described as the snowman (answer: Frosty), What is the sound that’s usually portrayed by Santa Claus (answer: Ho ho ho!), and many more. Sigh!

So much for "pag-asa ng bayan", eh?
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we won

Those two little words may seem so flamboyant for its size but those two words meant so much for us. The Weekly Sillimanian’s literary supplement (after numerous years of stagnation), Dark Blue Southern Seas (DBSS), won 1st runner up in the recently concluded 1st LUBAS Awards held at Candahug Palo, Leyte last October 24, 2007, as part of this year’s College Editors Guild of the Philippines - 4th Visayas Formation.

Take note: No other student publication won in the Literary Folio Category—no champion, no 2nd runner up. Though we landed on the second place, the fact remained that DBSS was the only work that passed the judges’ standards.

As part of the editorial staff for this magazine who tediously made it to the point of near-surrender, alongside unpleasant comments from various sectors of the university when the final output was circulated to all, the unexpected accomplishment was enough to give those blabbermouths the slap-on-the-face execution.

Maybe the hyped-up Kaffeklastch, the demure Mabalahibong Huwebes (ehem), or the factual Mapping the Literary Culture of Silliman hit this year’s theme “Arming campus journalists with competence to advocate social awareness and press freedom.”

Competence, eh? This is all for you dimwits: Blag! Hurrah for our first try!

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how to cheat the best way

Stealthily looking a seatmate’s exam paper, relaying sophisticated hand signals, tucking tiny papers in every available space of a folded handkerchief, or simply exchanging answer sheets when the teacher’s eyes wander a moment or two—these are some of the many modi operandi that we call cheating. It is prevalent in all campuses around the world—including Silliman University. It is alarming to know, cheating is now claimed as part of a student’s life. For a Christian institution, is this really the way to find the truth, and live life? Think again.

Cheating, as defined in the Webster’s New Encyclopedic Dictionary, is “to get something from another by deception or dishonesty, which suggests using trickery that escapes observation.” And yes, it is indeed. But for college students a detailed and systematic definition of the word is not important; for as long as they have practiced and finally mastered the craft, the act of cheating is as easy as tying one’s shoelace. “Forget values, forget ethics, and pass this damn exam” might be a professional cheater’s code of conduct.

So to survive the pressure that goes along College life, amid disconcerting Professors who seem to enjoy giving mind-numbing exams (or psychological games), cheating slowly has been transformed (from a mere unintelligent way to battle “unprepared-ness”) into an all-around survival kit that could render obsolete the now-waning art called “study.” For in this generation, study has become undesirable.

A majority of the student populace would not consider cheating taboo these days. “It is normal,” one proudly says, or, as another friend relates, “Cheating really looks bad considering that it is like stealing, but if you’re in a tight situation, the act will be done without any hesitations. [sic]”

We can say that cheating is a quest for perfection; a quest to accomplish the formidable task, to achieve the prized goal. But it is not easy. After all, dilemmas go with everything that is thought to be trouble-free. Since a lot of us already know what cheating is and why it is done, therefore it’s uncommon to ask: “How could we cheat—the best way?” Through a number of question and answer sessions with familiar campus figures (ranging from the freshmen up to graduate students), here are the top three unique and bizarre ways of cheating that were explicitly shared. But in order to comprehend the nature of these techniques, it’s rational that we ought to learn what is actually needed—the devices for the “perfect” crime.

Since names of techniques differ from one person to another, we have laid out the materials first (as headers) which may also serve the method’s codename. Let us begin the lesson.

1.) Materials Needed: Pencil and Eraser
- College students these days seldom use basic elementary writing tools such as the pencil. But in this technique, with an ultra-sharp pencil alongside a good-sized rubber eraser (approximately 2” x 1” x 0.5” in dimensions), you, as the conspirator, could fly to greater heights and catch those elusive 4.0s [four-point-zeroes]. The process is simple: First, with your super sharp pencil, write in fine, minute letters your question on the rubber eraser and pass it on to your accomplice beside you, or much better, to a person who is brilliant and “good” enough sharing his or her golden answers. Second, just wait for his or her answer to be written on the same eraser before retrieving it back. It’s that easy!

Question: Wouldn’t the teacher ever notice that you keep on passing along that tiny piece of rubber?

2) Materials Needed: Paper and Garter String
- This method could be best used for people who usually wear skirts (short skirts are preferable). Definitely, this is for women. The procedure should start right at home; write all answers that you need for enlightenment in a small sheet of paper and tie it with a short stretchable string (or garter), then insert it under the skirt. One foreign friend (nationality hidden) shared this as effective. She said that this is popular in their hometown’s high schools. Since they are required to wear near-skimpy skirts as part and parcel of their uniforms, why not use this uncomfortable sight as something useful?

Question: Wouldn’t it look promiscuous that a lady frequently pulls out something from under her skirt?

3) Materials Needed: The Answer Sheets
- If the situation gets tough and executing the first two methods is too lame, why not act with the nastiest wits present in mind? This last method is the funniest but, nevertheless, most effective. The method: Plan it out with your all-time partner-in-crime and make sure you sit beside each other in the room. When you’re in the middle of the exam and you can no longer extract any sensible guesses from your mind, snap those fingers (or give out any sign that can easily be identified, like clucking the tongue), and in a skilled synchronized performance, drop your answer sheets and pick up your partner’s paper instead of yours.

Question: Wouldn’t your situation even worsen once you pick up your accomplice’s paper and discover to your horror that he or she has more unanswered questions than you have?

Even those who consider themselves puritans of goodness must accept the argument that cheating is human nature. For cheating starts early this will, without doubt, grow and strengthen as it is constantly practiced. I, myself, have plunged into the hidden and dark world of cheating, and, honestly speaking, have found that it is upsetting—like there are thousands of needles piercing every innards in me. Actually, cheating could even worsen one’s already-dire circumstances. For Sillimanians in the 21st century, it is obvious the majority are still blinded by cheating’s false glorious promises.

As mentioned in an article in the Weekly Sillimanian (issue 79, volume 7) dated last August 2, 2006, “cheating has become more acceptable to students” and, as it develops into a more common trend in every passing hour, “the important thing is to get the job done.”

Certainly, cheating would still exist in the next years to come; still holding its bogus guarantee of perfection and exactness. But sad to say, it is never the best way out.

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the litcritter challenge

Odie a dark, horrifying story without God or matters of faith
Jordan a minimalist story that is short, in the vein of Socorro Villanueva
Justine a male-chauvinist story that convinces in its anti-feminism
Lyde a testosterone-filled story that convinces in its utter masculinity
Marianne a sweet story without any dark elements
Michelle a story with the dialogue as the primary narrative style
RJ a domestic realist story, without any hints of intellectualism, with a housewife as a main character, and not having salt as the main source of tension
Dirgy a gay love story that will make all of us swoon
Pong a sincere story about the need for God and saints in our lives

All new stories to be submitted on or before October 25. My, oh my! And all I have managed to write so far is a meager one-and-a-half page-length paper. By the way, welcome to Litcritters Pong! Mesmerize us with your writings. [wink!]

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red monday

If you are given three hours, what would you do?

It’s easy, you may say. The list to be written is endless: Stagnate yourself in an internet session and browse hundreds of Facebook accounts, reread your old favorite novel that has already accumulated enough dust to acquire colds and cough, paint if the Dali or Malang in you needs some visual art calisthenics, and many more!

But this day, I had just spent my three-hour time on something I was least fond of: Impacted Third Molar Extraction. It was not easy, I had my braces adjusted too!

Yes, sounds familiar. I had this same operation last May, but that tooth was from the right side (and the whole process took three hours, too). This time, I had the one from the left side removed. It had to be, it was for the common good, I tell you.

It was not a moment to enjoy, really, but surely it was memorable. Well, who would not forget opening one’s mouth for three long hours, with some person crossing the threshold within by means of some cold, shiny blades and other contraptions, stressfully pulling that damn big tooth over and over again, while a sucking tube inserted under the tongue created buzzing sounds in the head? And from a session which started at exactly 10:00 AM and ended at 1:00 PM? Anyone who would say these would never leave even a tiny mark inside the head needs a visit to the nearest dental clinic.

My decision of wearing a red shirt, too, was not bad. Actually, it was a choice of epics proportions! When I opened my eyes (honestly, I shut my eyes on the whole process when my dentist gave me the first anesthesia shot), my two bare arms where spotted red, big and samll. Not because I had attained some unspeakable disease, but it was due to the blood spurting out from my mouth powered by another sterile and gleaming device that powerfully spray water. I looked at my arms with amazement and felt like I survived a twisted game of Jigsaw—of Saw fame.

I just hope these Mefenamic acid, Amoxicillin, and Tranexamic acid would lessen the pain and hasten the wound’s healing. CEGP-Visayas Campus Journalism Convention at Leyte and enrollment begin next week!

And let me add this special menu I “enjoyed” this day:

Breakfast: champorado with milk and longganiza
Lunch: 1 cup of plain Oat Drink and 1 cup human blood
Snack: clotted blood
Dinner: porridge of unflavored oatmeal with drops of blood

Anyways, on the good side, when there’s something to smile in the next years to come, this set of teeth would look fabulously proper.

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miss my hair

(before)

(after)

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clean and grim

Chronicle no. 1: Clean
September 15, 2007
_______________________________

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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here we go again

The lampoon issue of the Weekly Sillimanian will be available in the net soon.