Preparing For Take-Off

I’m officially starting this blog on this entry. I’ve wanted to start three years ago when the buzz over this new trend in cyberspace came up. Unfortunately, I was too lazy to even make an account. When finally, I made my first one on blogspot, I didn’t know what to write. Or if I did, I was at loss for words. Most of the time, I just stared on the screen, waiting for the muses’ whispers, for inspiration that never came. I still have these problems until now, but I guess I will never be able to start unless I start typing these words down.

The constant urging of a good friend (more or less) inspired me to finally start this thing. I had previous entries before but those were requirements. I can’t say I didn’t like writing those—but those were requirements, acads, I guess you get the point. Well, my friend, my writing partner in class a year ago is so into blogging, I think he’s even obsessed. I can’t figure out where he gets his ideas, how he can write so many entries and even manage more than one blog at a time. Well, he likes writing a lot. I think I do too, but I’m too lazy to rack my brain for ideas so I just sit on the bench and stare at the wall, or text people to text me, or play Nature Park on my phone, or eat. Pathetic, I know. But that’s why I’m writing now. My mom said that I should just write and write even if I don’t know where I am heading to. And so I will.

“The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.”
– a simple thought from Dora the Explorer
(thanks for sharing the message Kuya John : ))

Tag-Init, Tag-Ulan

She had given up

the handsome prince

his lustrous skin

white as winter

his eyes the luscious green of spring

She no longer hoped

for his promises of warmth,

for his warmth of summer is still cold

Promises of improved appearance

fulfilled dreams

better life

that shed

one

by

one

like autumn leaves.

She didn’t need him.

For she had seen the beauty of the datu’s skin

brown as nipas

under the sun

just withstanding the cold of rainy days

and enjoying the warmth of the sun.

Post-colonial criticism:

This poem is about the influence of the western countries on the Philippines– how we take delight on everything imported and foreign. We even want their four seasons– winter, spring, summer and fall. We even pattern some of our clothes to these four seasons even if we don’t have them. In this poem the speaker(Philippines) realized that she didn’t need the handsome prince (western countries) anyway and his complexities(symbolized by having many seasons). She was already contented of the life offered to her by her own identity. 

Fish Traps

She stands with her black face some six inches from the moist window-pane wondering if it would ever stop raining. Her clothes barely warding off the cold, she gripped the cold steel of her umbrella and sighs, ten minutes more. She watches the puddles on the street as rain drums on endlessly on her rusting roof top. Gray clouds stretched on for miles. She worries of Marcelino’s fish traps.

On Tuesday afternoons she would watch him on the beach as he gathered the nets from the sea. He is a small man—short and small-boned, but work has sculpted his body- just like hers. His eyes were kind, steady, confident. How she gazed at them the first time he looked at her.

“Here, take these. The nets are heavy today, we’re blessed,” he said as he handed her two fresh tunas by the tail.

“Do you want. . . anything in return?”

“No, for a beautiful lady like you, they’re free.” He smiled and turned back for the shore. He loved him since then.

The rain grew fiercer, the fish traps may not hold. Marcelino could be there at the beach trying to save his catch, or

She closes the window-pane, turns off the lights. It’s ten past nine and it’s running late. She opens her umbrella and steps outside the beating rain. . or he may be at home warmed by his fair-skinned wife.

Shivering, she started to walk through the weeping evening and wet deserted street, wondering who her Marcelino would be for tonight.

Reader-Response theory:

Fish traps suspends some information in the beginning only reavealing it on the latter part of the story. The readers need to fill-in some parts like where the lady was going, or did Marcelino like her in return, and so on. The readers have to finish the whole text to understand the character of the lady in the story. 

Kwentong Driver

Nang pumunta si Nanay sa Internet Cafe

 

Kwentong driver:

 

“Nong, may sais ka? Pahingi muna …”

(Iniabot ng driver ng jeep ang sais pesos, ibinayad ng babeng payat sa traysikad na sinakyan. Sumakay na ng babae sa jeep, sa unahan, sa tabi ng driver at iniabot ang buong isandaang piso, umusad ang jeep).

“Hm, nanghatag sila ani o, libre, tagpila na ba ni karon, singko?” Tanong ng driver, ipinakita ang isang sachet ng palmolive shampoo.

Tiningnan ng babae, “Ah, promo.”

“Dun sa may simbahan sila nanghatag,” sabi uli ng driver.

“Sa simbahan?” Tanong ng babae.

“Oo,” sagot ng driver.

Matagal na walang imikan.

“Pasabot na wala’y ligo ang mga nanimba,” tahimik na sabi uli ng driver.

Napahalakhak ang babae.

“O,” inabutan ng driver ang babae ng otso pesos. “Pila pa’y kulang?”

“Ha?” Mabilis na nagkwenta ang babae sa isip, isinoli ang piso sa driver, “Bale, otsenta pa Nong, kasi sais plus syeteng pliti di ba?”

Kumuha ang driver ng mga nakarolyong bibenteheng piso sa may itaas niya, iniabot sa babae,

“Ang hirap naman ng biglang natatanong,” sabi ng babaeng nakangiti.

“Uy, Tagala ka pala. Tagasaan ka sa Luzon?”

“Sa Laguna.”

“Laguna! Uy tagaroon ang kapatid ko a, pero malaki ang Laguna.”

Humarap ang babae sa driver, “Talaga Nong, saan doon?”

“Sa St. Cross.”

“Ah, sa Sta. Cruz, maganda roon.”

“Talaga,” sabi ng driver, “sa unahan ng Pila, malamig.”

“Pumupunta pala kayo doon?”

“Pag pumupunta ako doon, inaabot ako ng apat o llimang buwan, nakakaabot ako sa Pagsanjan, sa Paete…”

“Uy, sabi ng babae, maganda pa rin ba ang Pagsanjan Falls?”

“Ewan ko ngayon, matagal na akong di nakakapunta uli. Nakarating din ako sa Lake Caliraya…”

“Ahh, yan ang talagang maganda Nong, sa Paete naman, dun ang mga wood carvings.”

“Oo, nakarating din ako sa Sta. Maria, sa dulo na yata yon. Pero maraming mga debelray doon.”

“Hups,” napangiti ang babae, “Teka Nong, ano na naman yang sinabi nyo?” ahh, nag-iisip ang babae.

“Rebelde,” sabay ngiti ng driver sa kanya.

Ahh, masayang kausap itong driver ah, isip ng babae.

 

“Matagal ka na ba dito sa Butuan? Tanong ng driver, nasa tapat na sila ng Gaisano.”

“Opo, mga 18 taon na…”

“Uy, matagal na, college na ang mga anak mo?”

“Opo.”

“Graduate na?”

“Hindi pa, naku matagal pa.”

“Aba,” nakatingin ang babae sa isang billboard ng bagong bukas na kainan Garden Grill Site. “Uy, may bago na namang kainan!”

Tumungin rin ang driver sa bandang kaliwa niya “Ah, yan, nalampasan na natin yan.”

“Saan dapit Nong?”

“Doon sa malapit sa Hall of Justice…”

“Ahh, oo nga pala, yun pala yan. Ang dami naman nagsusulputang kainan…”

“Wala namang pangkain,” dugtong uli ng babae, mahina lang.

Tumingin ang driver sa babae.

“Alam nyo ang kailangan dito sa Butuan, mga pagawaan, para may sweldo ang mga tao…”

“Huwag kang mag-alala, five years from now, puno na tayo ng pagawaan,” panigurong sabi ng driver habang nakatutok ang paningin sa unahan.

Tumingin ang babae sa driver, “Bakit nyo naman nasabi yan?” Eh hirap na hirap nga tayo.

“Ayun na nga, sa ngayon sayad na sayad tayo, pero aangat din tayo.”

“Ahh, pero ang tagal ng pag-angat Nong…”

“Yan ang hirap kasi sa atin, pag nakaranas tayo ng hirap, para bagang panghabambuhay na, aangat din tayo, sisikat, parang araw di ba, kahit anong tagal ng ulan, sisikat at sisikat ang araw.”

Napatingin ang babae sa driver.

“Parang ako,” sabi ng driver, “minsan may pasahero, minsan wala, pero itinuturing ko paring ako ang pinakaswerteng tao sa mundo.”

Tingin uli ang babae sa driver, “Talaga Nong, bakit mo naman nasabi?”

“Kasi heto ako ngayon, nagsasarili, namomroblema ako pag walang pasahero, pero pag may sumakay, nawawala na ang problema ko.”

Naisip ng babae ang sitwasyon niya, papunta siyang iternet, susulat sa nanay niya na magpadagdag ng allotment dahil ayaw niyang mamalimos sa asawa ng pangtustos. Pero ano itong sinasabi ng driver? Tumingin uli siya sa driver,

“Nong, para kang anghel.” Nasa syudad na sila, sa junction at nagmamaniobra ang driver sa pagtawid.

Ngumiti ang driver sa babae, “Kasi alam mo, ang paghihirap natin, tayo ring tao ang may gawa, dahil sa katigasan natin ng ulo.”

Naisip ng babae ang mga manggagawa na nagpapakamatay sa pagtatrabaho pero mahirap pa rin. “Sa katigasan ba ng ulo Nong?”

“Oo, sabi ng Diyos na huwag kumain, kinain pa rin, ayan naghirap tuloy tayo.”

“Ahh,” naisip ng babae sina Eba’t Adan.

“Dun nagsimula lahat yon. Matigas ang ulo ng tao.”

“Tamo, pag nagdadasal tayo, anong sinasabi natin sa Dios? Dios ko, patawarin mp po ang mga kasalanan ko.”

“Eh ano palang dapat Nong?” Nakakunot ang noon ng babe.

“Alam mo ang kasalanan ng tao, sa tatlong bagay lang…”

Tumingin ang babae, naghihintay

“Sa isip, sa salita at sa gawa.” Sabi ng driver.

“Kaya pag humingi ka ng tawad, sabihin mo kung anong kasalanan ang inhihingi mo ng tawad, sa isip ba o sa salita o sa gawa.”

“Ahh, nababasa naman yan ng Dios Nong,” ayaw mag patalo ang babae.

“Ano? Ang Hari ng mga Hari, sa dinami dami ng ginagawa Niya, pagbabasahin mo pa ng kasalanan mo?”

Halakhak na naman ang babae.

Halatang nasisiyahan rin ang driver sa palitan nila ng babae.

“Alam mo ang Dios, ang gusto niyang alamin kung anong mabuti ang ginawa mo, yun ang binabasa niya…”

“Huwag yung paglilistahin mo pa Siya ng mga kasalanan mo,” nakatawang singit ng babae, “Kumbaga ikaw na ang maglista?”

“Ayun na nga …”

Tawa uli ang babae “ayy Nong, ipara nyo na nga ako diyan.”

“O teka, sandali.” Pumara ang dyip. “Sayang, masarap pa naman ang kwentuhan natin…”

“Oo nga Nong, salamat!”

(Based on an actual conversation that has been shared to me. I only edited and revised some lines.)

Marxist Theory:

The conversation of the driver and the woman tackled economic issues although it was not expounded that much. The driver, a member of the lower class of society seemed happy enough with his life and seem to be more contented than the woman who was frustrated about poverty in Butuan. Rebels were also tackled, these are the communist group that is against our present government. On the latter part of the conversation, the driver’s faith for the higher being was discussed. Religion and culture are parts of the superstructure.

Doodles

In class

When my teacher’s voice was distant

I ceased writing words

on my notebook,

and drew instead

lines

and curves

and boxes and circles

that created a form unknown.

“What’s that?”

My seat mate asked.

I shrugged

I didn’t know either.

I added some more lines

placed it on top of the circle

connected this tip to that tip.

I created a man

and it looked awkward and weird.

My seat mate whispered

“That’s weird.”

And so I polished his face

added little more lines

a slight curve

a few boxes and circles

on his body

on his clothes

and my seat mate said

“Well, that’s better.”

I said thanks

And went back to listen to my teacher

and took down notes.

Psycho-Analytic Theory:

Everything a person does can be explained was said to be explained by Psychology. A person may even my analyzed using his or her doodles and scribbles. The first doodle of the speaker in the poem symbolize the id or the unconscious. The seat mate didn’t understand the form of the drawing as well as the illustrator. Because the form was not recognized (or was unacceptable), the “doodler” improved the form and already consciously shaped it into a man which looked awkward and weird. This stage of the drawing is the ego– consciously-shaped and but still has a distinction from the common idea of man. This symbolize the individual. The super-ego stage was the polishing of the appearance of the drawing. Society’s influence on a person was represented by the seat mate who was only contented when there was already nothing wrong with the picture.

In The Fairy Tales

She bit the apple

she took with her fair smooth hands

from the rough hands of the old woman

with a crooked nose

and bulging eyes.

She knew she was the villain

“With a look like hers?

He’d come for me anyway,

that handsome prince.

Just like in the fairy tales.”

Structuralism:

Every fairy tale contain the same elements and follow a general pattern of events. In the poem ‘In The Fairy Tales’ the protagonist (derived from Snow White’ characters) bit the apple because she knew that this was the part she had to play since she was young and beautiful, while the villain– the witch, old and ugly– her binary opposite. She also knew that a prince would come for her because that’s what she read in the fairy tales. Snow White may have read fairy tales too you know.

Reasons behind the story

The first flash fiction I wrote was about a prostitute who was waiting for the rain to stop so she could go to work. While waiting, she worried of Marcelino’s fish traps, the man she was in loved with. But later she realized that maybe when she is worried sick, Marcelino is comfortably sleeping with his wife, and so she went off to work, even if the rain still didn’t cease, and just wondered who her Marcelino would be for that night.

I wrote the story because.. uhm.. seriously I don’t know. I like the idea of two people in the beach, which in the story can be found when the prostitute reminisced the time Marcelino gave her 2 fresh tunas from his catch without asking for anything in return. I chose a prostitute character because I like to see them really loving someone and respecting that the person they love have a wife and not doing anything to seduce the person which is what the usual picture of a prostitute does.

However, I think there was a mistake on the end of the story where she wondered who her Marcelino would be for that night since it suggests that she was actually fantasizing of him– which is almost the same as seducing him..or so I think.

 Who am I in the story? Uhmm.. that’s scary since there are only two characters in the story aside from Marcelino’s wife and that will leave me with the prostitute. Maybe I don’t have the same characteristics with my characters (unless, I’ll be psychoanalysed only to find out that I do..yikes.), but the one I could sympathize with is the prostitute of course.

Why I chose to be a creative writer. .

When I was a kid, I had often been fascinated with books. They were the ones I ran to after I got scolded or after I got into fights with my neighbor friends. I found them comforting because I seem to become the lead character and lead characters are the ones who are always happy in the end. Of course, that’s because then, my books were fairy tales which of course have the line ” and they live happily ever after” in the end.

Well, my interest in books (fantasy or fiction.. I don’t seem to have much patience on super serious books) started there and reading became a stress reliever ever since . As I was growing up, I often imagined how it would feel like to be an author, how it would feel like creating worlds that will make people believe. Of course, I thought that this would just be an imagination and that it would not be possible. It’s a profession that everybody knows exist but simply doesn’t bother to become one (at least that’s what I thought).

When I reached fourth year high school and the pressure of finding a course that would best suit me was at its peak, I chose Creative Writing. I’ve heard lot of advices, like choose International Studies so you’d be an ambassador, or Political Science as a pre-course for Law, or the common advice which is “take up Nursing so you could work abroad”. The other choices were practical and tempting. It’s a promise of having a secured future and lots of cash. But I didn’t even have the slightest interest in politics and the thought of becoming an ambassador seemed absurd, and science was never my forte. How would I be sure I’ll never grow tired of these kind of careers and dump it in my forties leaving me broke and almost too old to do what I really want?

Until now, the dream of becoming an author still seems far-fetched. As a kid I saw them as fascinating creatures like fairies and elves. They can weave stories and tales and make them come true in the mind of the readers like they have magic of some sort. Doing something like that may be difficult, or worse, impossible, but I’d like to try, and this may be my first step.