end of jordan

I don’t think so. No one will ever conquer Michael “Air” Jordan. But our household boxer takes the spotlight again. Manny Pacquaio is already in the thick of consumerism—from laughable water to medicine ads—that Nike tailored another set of apparel especially for him. What’s next? Pacquaio’s Pacman toothpaste, for that winning champion smile? I don’t even want to imagine it.

still lives

Something got me into my toes. I never thought I will be busy, considering my absolute resolution of being a Handay-Handay Man this summer. My parents’ Ruby anniversary is inching its way to The Day. My task? Scour a mountain of photos. Instead of focusing my eyes on what were needed for the “surprise” project, I found these:

My baby picture. I think that's my brother’s toy.

The kindergarten class. I am easy to find here.

My love for cats will last until forever—even if I am diagnosed as asthmatic two months ago.

Mother’s graduation picture.

Father with the brusque James Dean machismo

and mother with the classic beauty of the early days.

The wedding day.

It is sad that quite a number of photos surrendered; some have molted, some have entirely lost what they’re trying to picture out. A pile, unfortunately, has to be thrown before it affects others that are way older than anyone’s prized hand-me-downs. Sayang, the memories.

reverberating

“Two weeks before graduation, after taking all your final exams, you walk around the campus prematurely saying goodbye to the ghosts you will leave behind. That’s how sentimental you are….

So you walk around waiting for graduation, feeling empty while contemplating the bare crowns of the acacias. After four years in school, you ask yourself, what have you learned? Nothing, comes the humble reply….

The memories threaten to overwhelm you as you say goodbye to the old school, your mind melodramatically rushing up to meet another leaf-falling season. You have to have a sad tale to tell to go with the dreary music in your head even as the leaves come falling down on your head. Adagio, the heart says, but the mind vehemently denies: no, no, you were not—never—lonely here. And still the leaves rain down on you like music fit to commit suicide in.”

-excerpt from Timonthy Montes’ essay,
“Silliman in the Eighties: Of That Time, Second Person”

9th iyas creative writing workshop fellows

Congratulations, Pong! I know your words will dissect many in the workshop proper. Keep it cool, Mr. Bastareche! Without further ado, the IYAS Creative Writing Workshop proudly announces its roster of Fellows for 2009.

Fellows for Fiction
Jesus Miguel Agreda (Hiligaynon)
Russel Stanley Geronimo (English)
Irish Angelica Ibon (Filipino)
Errol Merquita (Cebuano)
Gil Montinola (Hiligaynon)
Ramon Antonio Pandan (English)

Fellows for Poetry
Vanessa Mae Almeria (English)
Vijae Alquisola (Filipino)
Jan Paulo Bastareche (English)
Neil Genica (Cebuano)
Philip Kimpo (Filipino)
Patricia Magno (English),
Deborah Rosalind Nieto (English)
Joselito Delos Reyes (Filipino)
Cindy Velasquez (Cebuano)

The panelists for this year are Dr. Marjorie Evasco, Dr. Elsie Coscolluela, Dr. Genevieve Asenjo, Dr. Leoncio Deriada, Dr. Anthony Tan and Prof. John Iremil Teodoro.

The IYAS Creative Writing Workshop is sponsored by the University of St. La Salle and the Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center of De La Salle University and the National Commission for Culture and the Arts. The workshop begins on April 27 and ends on May 2, 2009.

your highness, happy birthday

Though anything I say hardly reaches to your hilltop home at Montemar in the meantime, and makes my heart ache for not being with you on your 90^th birthday, I will still greet you with fervent admiration and love: Merry birthday, Mom Edith Tiempo!

I first saw her in the opening of the Silliman Writers Workshop, in the midmorning of May 5 last year. I remember even envying my co-fellow when her poem was being read by the literary great, no less. Obviously, I had no chance of having my poems read at that time since I was a fiction fellow. But by the 17^th of May, every bits of thought on intimidation and aristocracy proved me wrong. As I approached her to have one of her works signed, she welcomed me with tenderness and care anyone who has recognized love would be familiar of. She even asked if I write poems. “I do,” answered and added, “but I am a fiction writer in this workshop.” She smiled and wrote something above her poem Sapiens Evolving. I was already content of seeing and talking with her that day but what made it entirely special was her message.

"For Jordan, How proud I am to have a writer who is Biblically approved."

She definitely still has that sense of humor. In behalf of the 47th writers workshop batch, we love you Mom!

of children and magic words

The little beasts are running wildly in the room. My sisters are watching their respective children as usual. It’s summer so everyone has gathered in our so-called ancestral house. All in all, there are ten nephews and nieces playing inside that room; it has instantly transformed into a day care center. Suddenly, one of the children approached one of my sisters:

Child: I am very thirsty. I want water. I want you to get water in my kitchen.

Sister: And what’s the magic word?

Child: Mickey Mouse!

Children do say the darndest things.

48th dumaguete national writers workshop fellows

The 15th Iligan National Writers Workshop's one and only official "Lolo" of the batch has made it in this year's Silliman Workshop! Whoa, with your age Lolo Niño Saavedra Manaog, you got in! I am so happy for you. Seriously, the results make me smile; at least there's someone I know in this year's list of fellows and gives more weight in my decision to visit Dumaguete again. And I just realized I am officialy an alumnus now of this workshop. A year has passed and our batch is one year "wiser" and older. Oh well, here's the list of the lucky ones:

National Artist for Literature and National Writers Workshop Director Emeritus Edith Lopez Tiempo, the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, and Silliman University are pleased to announce that the following young writers have been accepted as fellows for the 48th National Writers Workshop scheduled on 4-15 May 2009:

For Poetry

Mariane Amor Romina T. Abuan (University of Santo Tomas)

Jonathan S. Gonzales (Ateneo de Manila University)

Arkaye V. Keirulf (Ateneo de Manila University)

Patricia Angela F. Magno (Ateneo de Manila University)

Niño S. Manaog (Ateneo de Manila University)

For Fiction

Keith Bryan T. Cortez (University of Santo Tomas)

Ana Margarita Stuart del Rosario (De La Salle University)

Monique S. Francisco (University of the Philippines - Diliman)

Russell Stanley Geronimo (De La Salale University)

Aleck E. Maramag (De La Salle University)

Gabriel Millado (University of the Philippines – Mindanao)

Gabrielle L. Nakpil (Ateneo de Manila University)

Joy c. Rodriguez (University of the Philippines – Mindanao)

For Creative Nonfiction

Philip Y. Kimpo, Jr. (University of the Philippines - Diliman)

Marck Ronald Rimorin (University of the Philippines - Baguio)

This year’s panel of critics is composed of Dumaguete-based writers Ernesto Superal Yee, Myrna Peña Reyes, and Cesar Ruiz Aquino, as well as guest panelists Gemino Abad, Juaniyo Arcellana, J. Neil Garcia, Susan Lara, Rosario Lucero, DM Reyes, and Alfred Yuson.

The workshop, which is the longest running Writers Workshop in Asia, is coordinated by the Silliman University Department of English and Literature.

sudden changes

It is not that abrupt. As a matter of fact, it almost took us a month to finish the facelift of the Weekly Sillimanian office. Wait, there’s something wrong in this statement. Let’s change it into this: As a matter of fact, it almost took us a month to decide what to do with our office and another month to actually start “facelifting” it when we finally decided of discontinuing our efforts as frustrated Michelangelos or Da Vincis and started giving the job to the real painters.

And this is the result. Can you spot the difference between the two? Of course, you can.

before

after

From a monochromatic, low-spirited, cobweb-infested office to a colorful, candy-coated, pseudo-daycare center, the Weekly Sillimanian office has evolved—I guess, for the better. I, Camille and the rest of the editorial board have planned of this a long, long time ago pa (I remember, ‘twas on the first month of the second semester), to do something with the office's tables, chairs and shelves. It is only at the end of the school year that actions take place. Because of some enigmatic reasons, working progress suddenly stopped. And since it is April already, the obvious has surfaced: no one will ever finish the job. So, a credit to our editor-in-chief’s brilliant but often misinterpreted as lousy ideas, painters were hired.

In honor of the past dreary look of the office, I have made an album (entitled “For Old Time’s Sake” in my Facebook and Multiply) consisting of various shots of numerous corners. This may not be a gratifying avowal for our parents to know—who pay the bills of our apartments, boarding houses and dormitories—but in college the office is our home. Yes, we sometimes hated it but it will be forever loved.

P.S. I will now personally call this office The Rainbow Hub.

black and white

These are the events that happened yesterday. Try as I might to whip up as many as I can, I only managed to bring out five things here. Maybe they have more bearing than the motorcycle my brother has lost. But why black and white? It’s self-explanatory—go figure.

1. I enjoyed reading Ricky Lee’s latest work, Para Kay B. The novel’s prose is funny, dialogues are contemporarily street-smart. If it is considered popcorn—meaning it’s enjoyable but keeps you asking for more airy tummy-filler—it is one bucket of popcorn glazed with the best caramel in town. This is only me speaking who has a hard time reading Tagalog literature. You read and decide. (White)

2. Thanks to my Father, my two sisters have new phones. Yes, he is generous but he is the perpetrator of what happened in the bullet that follows this. (White)

3. Two of my beloved companions left me (or more appropriately, forced to leave me). One I grew up with since my elementary days and the other I usually called Tsukoy and would approach me with a healthy meow always at the ready to comfort me. Goodbye to my mimings who, I believe, have witnessed more happenings of the Carnice family than anyone else in the world. (Black)

4. The departure of these two mammals stirred a bad combination of feelings in me, thus, the birth of a five-lined stanza. I am not posting it here yet; it is barely even a poem, and I can never show any works of mine that is young and easy to stumble. I guess I have clearly understood my poetics by now. (Black and White)

5. I am back to my original love: Nokia. After three years of courting Motorola, it finally put everything into an end and proves to me we are never compatible. Well, good luck to this American. I love mine Finish. (White)

16th iligan national writers workshop fellows

We are getting older, indeed. Now, there’s the sixteenth batch…

The National Commission for Culture and Arts (NCCA) in cooperation with the MSU-Iligan Institute of Technology (MSU-IIT)-Office of the Vice Chancellor for Research & Extension’s Multimedia Information & Dissemination Unit and the Mindanao Creative Writers Group, Inc., announce the 16 writing fellows to the 16th Iligan National Writers Workshop (INWW) to be held on May 25-29, 2009 in Iligan City. The writing fellows are:

LUZON
FICTION (English): Timothy James M. Dimacali, UP Diliman/Pasay City; (Filipino): Ma. Fe de Guia, UP Los Banos/Caloocan City; POETRY (Filipino): Jason G. Tabinas, Ateneo de Manila University/ Pasig City; Arvin T. Ello, De la Salle University/ Paranaque City; PLAY(Filipino): Marianne Mixhaela Z. Villalon, UP Diliman/Quezon City.

VISAYAS
POETRY (Waray): Phil Harold Mercurio, UP Tacloban/Calbayog City; Jhonil C. Bajado, UP Tacloban/Maydolong, Eastern Samar; (Cebuano): Russ Raniel A. Ligtas, UP Cebu/Cebu City; Cindy A. Velasquez, University of San Carlos/Cebu City; and (Hiligaynon): Sam S. Prudente, UP Diliman/Iloilo City.

MINDANAO
FICTION (English): Gabriel P. Millado, UP Mindanao/Davao City; Justine May R. Torregosa, Ateneo de Zamboanga University (ADZU)/Zamboanga City; Paul Alfonse J. Marquez, ADZU/Zamboanga City; POETRY (English): Anderson V. Villa, Ateneo de Davao University/Davao City; (Chabacano): Edgar Darren G. Bendanillo, Zamboanga State College of Marine Science & Technology, Zamboanga City; and, the Manuel E. Buenafe Writing Fellow (poetry-English): Everlyn T. Jaji, ADZU/Zamboanga City.

Panelists this year are: Ma. Rosario Cruz Lucero, Jaime An Lim, Merlie M. Alunan, Victor N. Sugbo, Antonio Enriquez, Leoncio P. Deriada, German V. Gervacio, Steven Patrick C. Fernandez, Macario Tiu, this year’s keynote speaker, Ralph Semino Galan and the INWW Director Christine Godinez-Ortega.

Evaluators of INWW manuscripts this year: Bro. Karl Gaspar, CSsR; C. Godinez-Ortega, Arlene Yandug, Ed P. Ortega, German Gervacio, Steve Fernandez and Zola Gonzalez Macarambon.

Highlights this year include the launching of the 15th INWW Proceedings, ‘About Us’ edited by Godinez-Ortega and the Special Issue of the Mindanao Forum containing 15 INWW Keynote Lectures [from Lumbera to Enriquez] also edited by Godinez-Ortega. Both are published by the MSU-IIT OVCRE.

All writing fellows are asked to confirm their attendance to the INWW with the INWW secretariat (call Alice) on or before April 24, telefax: (063) 3516131; email: aliciabartolome@yahoo.com & patpcruz@yahoo.com.

growth of an amphibian

I was checking my wallet for some 2x2 pictures and look what I found; a comprehensive documentation of the Bullfrog’s growth since I-do-not-know-when. You might not believe this but this is authentic. You can laugh, it’s alright.

Honestly, I do remember trying to put on the internet the first three photos but three is not enough. I forget about doing it, thinking why should I post a face that’s burned (grayscaling needs to be done) and almost terrifyingly skeletal? But then, until today, I think it is fun to post the pictures now that I have more than three. And, my oh my, the sudden exposure to my very own evolution is entertaining, if not revolting.

familiar corners

The air smelled of old paint. That is the last memory I can think of. Or perhaps, the memory I am compelling to think of as the last. Fine, it is not the last but among the countless indelible remembrances shelved in my head.

Working at the Weekly Sillimanian (tWS) for three straight years is no laughing matter (as if there’s something funny to laugh about it, eh?). One of the oldest university publications in the country, tWS still has its quirks and dents that one will either be amazed at its printed blatant mistakes or be reasonable for the multitasking and heavy-lidded students that steered the paper. I am a witness to both sides. Three years may sound so short a time but they approximately reach a thousand days of legwork, edit, banter and study. Here is a chronological tale that, I guess, is worth etching on the deceiving private pad that is the cyberspace.

2006 – 2007

Wandering the campus that is lined with gnarled trees or reading old news articles at the library’s third floor every break is a routine. I am contented and that’s what matters most. But one day, I have finally put an end to my naivety. I have decided to put into use my skill in writing, or the slightest adeptness of it, to the university’s student publication. Why, in my mind, I was a cartoonist in our high school paper, therefore, I could probably work as fine as a writer! I am also in my second year in college who majors in creative writing but drills most of his head into tomes of physics, biology and psychology text books so I take up the call for new staff members. With Moses Atega’s (or more popularly known as Kuya Moe) thumbs up to the newly appointed editor-in-chief and a satisfactory grade in the entrance examination, I am in. Wow, I’ve received my very first assignment as feature writer which is to make a profile of the Filipino band, Kamikazee.

The day comes and I am set to conquer my fear of interviewing or even facing people. But fear has proven itself to become more potent when mixed with too much confidence—I inform my editor and ask for help. And out of nowhere Marianne Tapales and Rodrigo Bolivar II appear by my side at the entrance of Coco Grande Hotel where my very first interviewees are accommodated. Talk, talk and talk and everything is done. Actually, most of the talking is done by my companions who are obviously much more excited to do the write-up than me. I finish my very first feature article in my lifetime in one night. The following day, I beam with statutory pride on my way to the office, a hardcopy of my article in hand.

“What is this,” Michelle Eve de Guzman says, the editor-in-chief.
“Ha?”
“What is this? Mura man nig high school!” She says as she continues talking loudly at the torture chamber about how juvenile my work is. I have even expected a much dramatic paper-tearing scene but got nothing of the sort.

Great. I am standing flabbergasted in the torture chamber, the infamous area of the publication office wherein all hardcore layouting and editing are done, and listening to a woman I barely know demean my skill, or the slightest adeptness of it. I should have stuck on making caricatures, I mumble to myself outside the office. And what is a creative writing major doing in the field of journalism? Pestot.

Well, it will always be like that at the very start. A few months later, I am the very first to write a column as a reward to a staff member who, in a metaphorical explanation, goes from ugly duckling to a beautiful swan, of course, in terms of writing. I can remember it very clearly; the column is about administrations that are thickly selfish and senseless in their overly-crisp coats, likened to the characteristics of the greedy amphibian, Rana catesbeiana. I have entitled it “Bullfrogish Unions.”

Everything goes well then. I meet up a lot of people, know a lot of things aside from the literary demands of my course and discover the limits of my capabilities. That is why when the school year is inching its way to the end, I think I am more capable than purely writing.

2007 – 2008

My being ambitious has led me to become the school year’s features editor. It is surprising, really. But the biggest turnaround yet is that the previous year’s features editor is now, merely, my writer. He is Micah Dagaerag. Thinking about it is humorous at first, like a party joke, but upon receiving his first completed assignment has made me doubtful. This feeling is much more intensified when my other features writer, who is definitely much older and more experienced than I, start to do some things that is not ought to be done.

It is not easy. I receive countless comments that have defeated even the acidity of Michelle’s comments. What more, the remarks do not only come from the outside but also from the people inside the office. Anthony Odtohan, the latest editor-in-chief, asks in our first editorial board meeting: “What is wrong?” I respond, “I don’t really know, Odie.” As if all sensibility in the world is crushed by my unguarded manifestation of stiltedness, our news editor John Boaz Lee suddenly retorts, “Maybe he is just very new to this, Od. Let’s just see what happens next.”

Yes, let us see what happens next. Events take place one after the other, more distressing than the last. I know I looked cool to many at that time but like the glassy surface of the lake, the smooth face is but a façade that housed countless creatures. This particular school year is the determining point in whether I will pursue anything that I have thought is right for me. It is a good thing that I still have my words with me; they guide and comfort me as I venture into the night of solitude, help me create lines after lines that seemingly console the line etched upon my frail condition. The demands of Ian Cascot, through LitCritters Dumaguete, help a lot too. And if not for June, solitude would have been more throbbing, more in tuned to the struggle of the Duende deep inside me.

2008-2009

All of sudden, faces I am always accustomed of seeing everyday are gone. What more, the editorial board is one quirky group. To add more difficulty with us having to accommodate new writers the “bylaws” of the publication, no one from the ed team has no mass communication representative. Two nursing majors, one psychology major, one business administration student and a creative writing major. How’s that for a student journalism publication that now runs for 105 years?

But we persevere. We defy what others thought wrongly of us. We laugh at our mistakes and, of course, worry about them too. All of us get along together in an instant that screaming at someone’s face is nothing (as long as it is deemed necessary). In some way, there must be this common thread woven into each of us that makes us connect, blend with our own eccentricities and almost freakishly, think alike. I feel comfort and relief that I have never thought existed. It feels weird at first but, on the long run, the company becomes a routine. The early morning comments about the messy floor, the midafternoon snacks, the midnight chikicha games, the unplanned overnight respite at the office, the Ravenhearst challenges, the self-coercion of facing final requirements, the almost-everyday gossip sessions, life is going for the better. I thought, thank goodness I have met these caricatures.

Then the month of March comes. The routine must be broken. Well, it has to be. Like any novel I have read, it has to end, to reach the blank leaf page that stares right back at me. But this is no end of total resolution, an absolute finality, because even though the sun sets each day, it will rise again, from a distant but promising horizon, and illuminate to us anything that is needed for the day.

I know you people have stumbled upon these words already but I will reiterate them again: Junie, never stop dancing in the rain. Mars, enlighten everyone. Pilipeh, never stop drawing the line—it must flow endlessly. Gus, walls can be the support that holds your roof. Budjai, be as soft as a petal, rocks are not everything. Marianne, some things need not be labeled as secrets to fulfill their purpose. Paul, share your love with your widest embrace. Camille, what is inside matters the most—if you know what I mean. And to everyone else, just keep on hopping.

thirty-one minus ten

I am celebrating the first day I’ve swam in the pond for the 21st time, in the 21st century. But hey, the wrinkles in my eyes are not signs of aging. I just smile a lot.

Fine, I am getting older.

dark blue southern seas 2009

I don’t know if I will be proud of this or what. Thanks to our adviser and layout artist Ian Rosales Casocot, familiar faces are smacked right on the front cover of the book. Anyway, posting this is a sign of delight—a weird, squirmy kind of delight.

After two successful years of publishing photography, visual arts, and literary works from both upcoming and established writers, the latest edition of the official literary folio of The Weekly Sillimanian will be released soon. Dark Blue Southern Seas 2009 will feature the works of the following:

Gémino H. Abad
Dean Francis Alfar
César Ruìz Aquino
Kris Dave Austero
Jan Paulo Bastareche
Lawrence Bernabe
Eliora Eunice Bernedo
F. Jordan Carnice
Ian Rosales Casocot
Darwin Chiong
Phillippe Antoni Credo
Carlomar Arcagel Daoana
Michelle Eve de Guzman
Marguerite Alcarazen de Leon
Rodrigo dela Peña
Jean Claire Dy
Mariekhan S. Edding
RV Escatron
Marvin Flores
Ralph Semino Galan
Deil Jossaine Galenzoga
Gilbert Agustin Ganir
Carlos Arsenio Teves Garcia
Christine Godinez-Ortega
Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo
Luis Joaquin Katigbak
Marie La Viña
Susan S. Lara
Gabriela Lee
Francis C. Macansantos
Katherine Macaroy
Robert Jed Malayang
Timothy R. Montes
E. P. Ortega
Ned Parfan
Myrna Peña-Reyes
Michael Regalado
Danton Remoto
Celeste June Rivera
Raszceljan Luiz Salvarita
Zakiyah Sidri
Sonia SyGaco
Ramon Yasunari Taguchi
Anthony Tan
Yvette Tan
Marianne Tapales
Mia Tijam
Rowena Tiempo Torrevillas
Janet Villa
Miguel Ybañez
Ernesto Superal Yee
Lawrence Ypil

the polished turd

John Boaz Lee, the intsik kwakang news editor of the Weekly Sillimanian last year, is quietly blogging for some time now. You cannot hide from us!

job hunting

This morning, I attended my first job fair. No matter how hard I try to avoid, I got to witness spunky PR members from various call center companies luring the innocent young minds of soon-to-be graduates. Oh, the nowhere accents of the sent agents just filled the waiting area. I did not particularly know why but my hands got clammy. It must be the summer heat that challenged everybody’s deodorant. Or something that I ate hours ago. Or it must be something else; something like the very first day I reported the different types of hog in front of a class back in elementary.

Fast forward to 9o’clock this morning, I suddenly found myself staring at a tarpaulin, a bunch of résumés at hand, and said to my companion: “it was really fast, noh?” All I got was a nod from him. Indeed, time went by in lightning speed that I was already reading one of the qualifications printed in the tarpaulin if I am willing to be assigned in different places across the country. Wow, when was the last time I stared or read at such notice? I cannot even remember.

At the same spot where I was sitting, I felt sad that I wouldn’t be reporting about the different types of hog any longer but would be facing a lot of its kind in a workplace someday. And I meant “sad” in the truest sense of the word. Work? Me, work? Jumping bullfrogs, I imagined I would be lounging by the beach, a glass of four seasons beside me, trying to get a tan while reading a book that’s not endorsed by Oprah!

It just dawned upon me that school ended—well, officially for us graduating students—but what’s next? Why was I attending this fair when I had already decided to rest, completely rest, for a month that would hopefully not become into five months? I do not know. I submitted two résumés to two hungry job employers and left.

As of the moment, what really matters to me is that on Sunday, March 22, I will be walking down the lane with something Latin called out with my name. Thank goodness, I made it.

words. ink. paint.

Yesterday, March 15, I opened my first solo exhibit.

But why is it called Lines Verses Lines? It is a simple play of words on how to describe my works; lines on the canvas and lines on the paper. Lines could also mean the singular unit of structure that make up a stanza, make up a poem. Of course, the verse refers to the poems while some of my poems refer to a visual artwork. I just have the urge to infuse two fields of art, visual and literary, to present in one show and Lines Verses Lines is the result.

What I really want to say right now is “thanks.” Thanks because the exhibit opened very fine (although I didn’t see some expected people), thanks because both familiar and unfamiliar faces appeared, and thanks because it happened. It was one great birthday and graduation gift for me (the exhibit ends on my birthday, March 29).

To everyone who is involved in this first major undertaking, I’d humbly say that though the stars can never be reached at all times, there is the moon that will always sympathize and share light. And I believe all of you are the closest moons around. To Moses Atega, Budjai Dollente, Phillippe Credo, Ms. Carmen Cabrera, Bambi Yap, and many others, daghang salamat.

More pictures of the event here.

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call for submission of manuscripts to the 1st j. elizalde navarro workshop for criticism on the arts

The University of Santo Tomas Varsitarian is now accepting applications to the 1st J. Elizalde Navarro Workshop for Criticism on the Arts to be held April 19-25, 2009 in Baguio City.

This National Workshop in honor of Nationalist Artist for the Visual Arts and art critic J. Elizalde Navarro is offering ten fellowships to promising young critics who would like to enhance their analytical skills. Fellows will be provided free board and lodging for the duration of the workshop, and transportation cost from Manila to Baguio and vice versa.

To be considered for the fellowship, applicants should submit a scholarly, properly documented critical essay (seven- to twelve-pages, double-spaced, 12-point font) on any of the art forms (literature, painting, sculpture, architecture, dance, drama or music) on or before March 31, 2009.

Manuscripts should be submitted in hard copy and on CD, preferably in MS Word, together with a resumé, a recommendation letter from an academic mentor or a literary/art critic, a certification that the works are original, and two 2X2 ID pictures.

Address all applications to Ferdinand M. Lopez and Ralph Semino Galán, Faculty of Arts and Letters, University of Santo Tomas, España Street, Sampaloc , Manila.

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salamin

Ang tingin niya sa akin, tingin ko rin sa kanya.
Hinahanap sa lahat ng okasyon kahit kaarawan man ni Lola.
Kinahihiligan ang paggaya-gaya,
Wari’y walang iniisip na problema.

Kung ano ang tinatangkilik, hindi niya pinapansin,
At kung tinatawag naman, hindi siya umaamin.
Mabuti pa siya, walang masasakit na damdamin,
Pero huwag kalimutang siya’y mababasag din.

* * *

This was written seven years ago by a gangly first year high school student—me. If not for Lawrence, a hoarder to anything literary, I shouldn’t have known this poem is published in Home Life magazine (August 2008) whose poetry editor is Outstanding Sillimanian Awardee for Creative Writing and Palanca Hall of Famer Mr. Leoncio Deriada. I didn't even have a copy of this if not for Lawrence's initiative to send me a photo of my poem in the mag. I am still in shock but, at least, it makes me smile tonight.

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workshop changes

Now on its 48th year, the oldest creative writing in Asia is in for a major overhaul. The original three-week fellowship stay of the Dumaguete (or Silliman) National Writers Workshop is cut down into two weeks. Is this another indication of the global economic crisis or just plain human lethargy? You decide. At least I was lucky to be included in last year's batch.

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