“Ten Years After: Fearsome Forecasts?”

Journalists don't need muscles, words adeptly wielded are far far stronger

Time always moves forward, and so must we follow in its tracks. But this is not to say that we are captives in the changing of seasons. Time, in fact, would be nothing more than an abstract concept without activities and achievements of exceptional humans that highlight its defining moments.

  

 

There is one such group of individuals known collectively as JO8A. Journalism students from the University of the East, who in ten years time, would show the world their true capabilities and leave lasting impressions in the pages of history.

  

 

Let me begin with Jan Claude Bonares. Claude will initially be employed as a Call Center Agent. Naturally, Claude enjoys money and for most fresh graduates Call Centers are where the money is. With his innate wittiness and willingness to serve he will reap success in his job. Although the entrepreneurial spirit that burns with fervor inside him would soon surface and after five years of a fruitful Call Center career, Claude will call it quits realigning his attention towards his newly opened garments factory. The business began with a modest line of underwear for men. However with the inspiration provided by his son and daughter the business would grow and later expand to include women’s lingerie – kinky yet stylish.

  

 

Next we go to Girlie Daliva. Girlie fell in love with sports writing while having her on the job training (OJT) in a major local daily. She will follow this passion and start-out as a promising reporter in the sports beat for Manila Standard Today. Her first assignment brings her face to face with an arrogant cager whom she knew during her college years and is now playing as a bench warmer in the local pro leagues. This guy would, after years of hiding his emotions, finally profess his admiration and attraction for Girlie. Girlie, needless to say, has better taste and will swat away the proposal like a lamely tossed shot at the basket deserving only to remain in the sidelines. Romance, nonetheless, still remains a viable option for our ‘Girl’ and a blossoming relationship with a magazine editor would help her expand her horizons from the broadsheets to the mags.

  

 

Moving on, let us talk about Jessica Sandra Dela Rosa. Jeka as we know her is a constant busybody. However, after graduation she will choose to rest for a few months and nurture wounds brought by the untimely loss of her mother. During this time numerous friendships she cultivated in college would help bolster her spirit. After seven months of soul-searching she will venture into an apparels business upon the prodding and assistance of friends – Ms. Punzalan, Ms. Panopio, Bekkar and Atchi (or a chi). Jolina Magdangal a Philippine personality and accessories mogul would see the threat posed by Jeka’s designs and try to buy her out or make her a partner. But Jeka would turn down the offer; because a fashionista like her would not want to be associated with a ‘jologs’ like Jolina.

  

 

After Jeka comes Precious Francious. Precious is already married and has a baby girl by the name of Francine. She will be forced to remain at home for a year due to the needs of her growing child. Thankfully a friend of her mother would offer her a job in TV 5, a television station just a stone’s throw away from the residence of Precious. She will be employed as a news writer and will be satisfied with the set-up which allows her to practice her profession yet still have quality time available for her family. But ominous clouds hovering over the station even before Precious became its member would churn-up a maelstrom. TV 5 would go under by the year 2012 due to financial insolubility caused by lack of advertisers. This in no way is the fault of Precious but the stigma of TV 5’s ruin would stick to her and she will not find employment following the closing down of the station. Her salvation will come from the strong arms of her beau – Ian –, the warm smile of her beautiful daughter and the caring support of her father, who would loan Precious some capital to start a learning center for pre-schoolers. Precious would turn-out to be a natural and children from neighboring subdivisions would flock to her school.

  

 

Then we have Ma. Joevie Guerreo. Joevie is a strong-willed woman with an even stronger stomach for alcoholic beverage. Her proclivity for and natural interest in drinks would prompt her to open a bar along Quezon Avenue. This is made possible by the help of her college mates Em and Pike who are also are investors in the bar. In no time at all the bar would become a watering hole for tired workers who wish to drown the fatigue caused by a hard day’s labor. However Joevie’s partners would notice that Joevie can drink more than any hardened laborer and her thirst will become bad for business. She will be asked by her friends to go out of the bar and busy herself instead with the financial aspect of the business. Having no concern for math and economics she will instead go back to being a Call Center Representative which was her work right after college before she went into the liquor business. And at long last, at a time she least expected it to happen, she will find her Edward, the man of her dreams. Edward is an American expat manager of the Call Center Joevie chose to work in. Their love bloomed one stormy night when Joevie got stranded in the office that paved the way for a life-changing bonding moment with the boss.

  

 

Lydia Luisa H del Pilar follows Joevie. Luidia earned her wings even before her diploma. She will fly to the States soon after graduating, settle down in California with her husband Lam Wong and raise a bunch of naughty, chinky-eyed and beautiful children. Luisa would at first yearn for her native land. Her yearnings would be made to vanish by the migration of the rest of her family to America. And thanks to the power of the Internet, Luisa will be able to keep-in-touch with acquaintances she has in the Philippines. By ten years time she already has a brood of five which will prevent her to go out and find work. However her resourcefulness led her to utilize the power of the Internet not only for socializing but also for livelihood. She will pioneer a buy and sell network of native Filipino products in a website she developed with the help of her sister Soy.

  

 

Also in the group is Julian Miguel Javier. JM has no interest in school and classes whatsoever. But the interest which he has in Animé he follows with an indomitable passion. His ubiquitous presence in Animé conventions with his coterie clad in bright Animé costumes would capture the eye of event organizers. He will be invited to become primarily as an PA in Animé events and soon become the events manager due to his untiring dedication to the world of Animé. He will dabble as well into animation and draw comic books. His original works would be syndicated in major dailies and earn him good money.

 

 

Another Javier of the class is Neil Darius Javier. Neil lacks the patience and fear of deadlines necessary for a successful career in Journalism. This is made evident in his initial work as a contributor for the Standard. Instead he will realize that his calling comes from a bigger stage – literally. His job hopping would find him one night in a comedy bar along Tomas Morato. With his inherent talent for cracking jokes, Neil will become an instant celebrity. Every night Neil will whip-up a storm which got the audience cracking-down in raucous and uncontrollable laughter; eventually gaining a partner in the nightly trade of cracking jokes on stage. Neil may not have the requisites of writing the news, but he has the knack of making the news. The crowd’s noise will resound to the studios of major networks and shortly after starting-out as a stand-up comedian he will be casted in comedy shows of GMA 7.

  

 

Marinel Joy Lacson comes next. MJ will enter the world of teen magazine publications and land work in Cosmopolitan. She will begin as a column writer for the magazine and will become an immediate hit. MJ is naturally sweet, approachable and smart in giving-out advice; qualities that allowed for the success of her advice column on teen troubles which will draw readers and responses from members of both genders. In the year 2010 she will be married to her college sweet heart, Claude. They will have two children and she would be instrumental in the success of Claude’s business undertaking as his designer of women’s lingerie.

  

 

We now go to Heidy Landrito. Heidy dreams of becoming an events manager/organizer. In her own way she will achieve a modicum of success in this field when she started a party needs business. Her first customer will come just one hour after opening shop. In her rush to inflate balloons and in the absence of a Hydrogen tank, she will blow air into the balloons through her mouth. A decision which will land her in a hospital bed. As a consolation the party is still successful thanks to the competence of her staff. While pondering these events during her confinement she realized she has an ability for identifying good people. She followed-up this epiphany by applying in the human resources department of SM. Her talent stood-out and she got the job as personnel manager in SM Mall of Asia.

  

 

Camille Makayan comes after Heidy. Camz is a silent girl who has great skill in writing; but apparently lacking in motivation to employ her skills in the field of Journalism. After all Public Relations offers greater incentives and this is the path she will follow. She will try her luck as a copy writer for an ad agency in Makati. At the same time she will work as a speech writer for a political family in Pampanga. The politician will meet with success and actually fool people that he finally learned to speak good English. This will bode well for Camz. Her employer would endorse her to his businessmen friends and Camz will gain a golden ticket to enter the world of corporate communications. However the clients of Camz will be individuals of shadowy character and reputation; yet the pay is good so for the meantime she will choose to stay put and play her cards as they fall.

  

 

Not to be outdone is Grace Palpal-latoc. Grace’s path will lead her to a desk in a tabloid of average circulation. Her daily beat will be a Police precinct near Malacañang Palace. Everyday on her way to gather leads from police blotters she casts a longing stare at the splendor of the Philippines’ seat of power. Unknown to her eyes lurking in shadows have trained their gazes in her direction and locked-on to the desire she cultivated in her heart. They noticed her easy-going manner and natural exotic appeal. These persons will turn-out to be spooks working for the NBI and they will hire Grace to be one of their spies. Grace was fascinated by the idea and she accepted the offer without second thoughts. But the job quickly became dangerous when humid nights as an under cover agent led her under the covers of beds of dangerous men – and women. With her skills however and a small bottle of a regulated drug she manages to escape night after night with her honor intact. After six years as a spy she will come out of hiding by publishing a ‘black’ book on her activities as an agent of the NBI entitled “Common In Day, Spy by Night”.

  

 

Another notable personality in the group is Christine Perez. Kit is a typical bookworm who can go through piles of books in a single week. But do not let her unassuming appearance deceive you because she is an exceptional writer. Her passion for novels will translate to a career as a novelist. Her first work, a frank account on the life of a Filipina teenager faced with the troubles of unemployment, a broken family and an early marriage will be considered a veritable masterpiece by book critics. A genius novelist trapped in a horrendously literature unappreciative society. Her book, although a genuine tour de force and seminal in every sense, will only enjoy a small following. But true genius will never remain unnoticed for long, after four years in the shelves and innumerable awards from various countries and organizations, rights to make her book into a film is bought by renowned director Quentin Tarantino. There is talk of making the book into a trilogy.

 

 

Easily the group’s stand-out is Henry Revita. Pike loves women, cursing and candid recounting of hilarious events. He is a man who knows what he wants for his future, a fulfilling Call Center career. As it turns out however the job doesn’t want him. Just three months in a nice cubicle in a newly built building beside Araneta Center Cubao, a smiling Pike is given his walking papers. His boss got wind of certain amorous conversations he has been having with a customer. Somehow Pike got through their companies supervisors and QA but not through the discerning ears of the customer’s son who filed the complaint. The customer Pike will find out is a paraplegic septuagenarian fond of making phone pals. Fired from the job yet never down, Henry hopped into an LRT-2 train and alighted at a station near SM Centerpoint where another Call Center is located and a new job and fresh relationships await. After five years and with a quarter of a million in savings safely stored in the bank, Pike ventures into a bar business with his friends Emylyn and Joevie. Pike along with Em will conspire to convince Joevie to find work aside from hanging-out in the bar since she has been drinking the bar to bankruptcy. To gain the courage to be able to breathe their thoughts to the mercurial Joevie’s ears the two drank black label and between the two of them was able to finish an entire one liter bottle. Pike and Em are able to throw Joevie out, but then threw themselves on each other. Pike with his characteristic lack of control made a moment of indiscretion to a lifetime commitment. Surprisingly Pike the habitual womanizer seems content to try and settle down with Em.

  

Kathleen Fitz Teretit bolsters the group’s ranks by giving it the emo touch. Fitz is into ‘emo’ rock music and an acknowledged artist. Her talent for drawing is a perfect complement for her writing aptitude. Her editors in the Standard where she works as a contributor will give notice to her skills in drawing and make her the editorial cartoonist as well. Her illustrations will earn acclaim as an ideal blend of satire and visual artistry. In 2017 in a book convention at the World Trade Center near MOA, she will sit in a table beside Kit as both of them launch their latest books. For Kit the second book of the on going saga of her Filipina slum heroine and for Fitz a compilation of her editorial cartoons with an introduction by a similarly celebrated magazine editor.

  

 

Also belonging to the list of JO8A achievers is Emmanuel Timajo. Em will realize before graduation that his abilities are more inclined to broadcasting rather than print Journalism. At the behest of his good friend Neil, Em will try his luck in stage comedy. Em combined with Neil onstage make a ballistic roller-coaster laughter ride. The two are hoping to make it bigtime in the television comedy market.

 

  

Nearing the end we shall talk about Miguel Velasco. Migz is a man who will experiment with any type of job to earn money. Adding to his industry is street smarts and a good dose of common sense. Inspired by classes he had under Professor Maaliw, Migz will enter the field of online journalism and become a famous blogger. His interests in writing range from criticisms of daily life and politics to movie reviews. His opinions will be well sought after and his site will get a minimum of half a million clicks per day. As a result advertisers would crowd to have their brand posted on his site. His greatest achievement would be to take the hand of Marge in marriage and raise three kids in an elegant community in Fairview.

  

 

Lastly, yet shining most brightly among the stars of the group is Jose Andronico Wangag. Nickie has plenty of jobs that occupies most of his time; due to his work it seems he never gets to sleep at all. Nevertheless in spite his lack of sleep he still retains a clear picture of his dream in his head, a dream he would achieve at the soonest moment. After three years of writing showbiz articles for the Standard he will be able to establish a network of contacts which he feels will be a sufficient support group for his new undertaking – a magazine publication. He will encourage one of his college friends, Girlie Daliva, also working in the Standard to help him establish the magazine. With the two spending lots of quality time together a special bond started to develop. Among his other works is the editing of Fitz’s compilation and Kit’s masterpiece.

  

As for me, I see myself teaching college students in UE and opening a small bakery at Susano Market in Novaliches. I enjoy selling bread. It is a joy to see the smile on people’s faces as they get a great treat for their two pesos.

 

Time, constantly moving and changing, is a fickle customer. It is impossible to predict with absolute accuracy where we will be and how much we have achieved ten years from now. But still we must summon the courage to dream because Journalism class JO8A are children of Lualhati, warriors by right, and if anything we are brave enough to face all uncertainties and challenges especially those posed by the passing of time.

 

 

-30-

“Journalists Inside and Out”

Filipinos are widely known to be among the world’s happiest people. And truly during this time of great uncertainty, due to the global economic crunch, this predisposition for cheerfulness is a wonderful blessing. Despite gloomy  forecasts of the future, numerous Pinoys still look ahead with bright and hopeful eyes.

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In a few weeks time hundreds of thousands of new graduates would join the Philippine Job Market and come face to face with the unpleasant fact that their number greatly overwhelm available job vacancies in the country. Among the crowd is a group of individuals relatively fewer in  number but ubiquitous in daily life. Like the others they put-up a brave face, but theirs is not a mere front for their smiles are tempered with steely determination.

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How to cope? - thousands of job seekers, both old and young, crowd into cramped job fairs in hopes of finding suitable employment to weather the hard times.

As aspiring members of the Journalism profession they stare at today’s challenges with fire in their eyes. While others see a smile as a simple relief for hearts burdened with anxiety, Journalism graduates use smiles as an expression of their faith and conviction. They stand-out and define themselves with the uncommon courage and confidence that they exude. Trademarks of a breed that spawned notable names and heroes like Rizal, Del Pilar,  Benigno Aquino Jr.,  Soliven and many, many more.

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Like others of their age they face a slew of problems accompanying the modern period. Arguably their profession includes even more hazards and deadly deterrents.

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There is little demand for journalists in the field. Not only are there few dailies and publications in existence, persons coming from practically all walks of life could apply and land jobs as journalists. Blame it on the freedom of expression with which scribes share a love, love, and hate relationship. Such a freedom compels publications not to be discerning between Journalism and other degrees. All graduates, in fact even non-graduates, share fair chances of being hired in the print industry.

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Proceeding upon this idea that everyone shares an equal right and ability to express themselves, Journalism does not suffer the curtailment of blatant censorship and ‘indignity’ of professional regulation. In the place of board exams a system of self-regulation is imposed on publications in hopes that the inherent nobility of the profession would guide practitioners to do their ‘calling’ in good faith. However, a natural consequence of this non-regulation is the existence of some unscrupulous publications which are run by crooked journalists. These ‘rotten tomatoes’ derive personal monetary gain and indecent pleasures from unconscionable acts perpetrated by means of writing libelous articles that spread half-truths, invented facts and flagrant lies. They smear the image and befoul the name of the entire journalistic body with their protracted legal battles and shameless trials by publicity. Worst they are one cause of deaths and disappearances of journalists.

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Freeze! - in a pose symbolic of a law enforcer holding a gun, a human rights advocate asks for the proper observance of journalists' rights in the country. (Photo from "Rights" a compilation of independent PSA's tackling the country's human rights situation)

More than 70 journalists have been killed in the line of duty since Marcos was removed from the presidency. The figure of the desaparecidos, or those who are missing, is of the same magnitude. Those in authority spout endless promises to deliver justice for the dead and find the ones who are lost. These declarations are beautiful examples of the ugly truth that vague rhetoric is no substitute for concrete action. This is why journalists still endure uncertainty in terms of personal safety and those of their relatives and love ones.

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Upholding the truth and disseminating information to an expectant public are seemingly becoming more and more deadlier in the country than  anywhere else in the world.

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Nonetheless even if journalists survive external threats they still must confront dangers in the office which are just as lethal and even more insidious. Journalism must be one if not the most stressful career in the planet.

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First, journalists are always on the go, following-up on leads and breaking news. As a result they have little time to spend with their families and most marriages end-up being strained or broken-up. This dilemma is a recurring theme not only in real-life but in reel-life as well. Journalists are stereotyped as catalysts of failed marriages and broken families in movies and TV shows. Although this is not the case for everyone in the profession. It is a pervasive occurrence and perennial problem of journalists.

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Second, are the conflicts of interest that eventually arises as journalists progress in their careers. Established and newly developed friendships become complications especially when journalists are approached by acquaintances for favors, or when these friends become involved in scandals and issues that threaten the general welfare. In these instances the journalist must make a deliberate and unequivocal choice. Possible, yes, but  mightily impossible in the strictest most idealistic terms. The choices journalists make would always be tainted by a personal color. Even in their most basic function of writing news stories, the angles they choose reflect a personal stance and principle. Journalists therefore are tasked with achieving the unachievable – complete objectivity. Yet as they say, the ‘striving for such objectivity’ is what lends journalism its nobility and pre-eminence among other professions. The emotional, social and intellectual struggle each journalist must go through to try and attain objectivity is in itself a sublime sacrifice worthy of distinction and acclaim.

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Finally, and the most treacherous of all work-related dangers, is the competition raging between and among every newsroom. Everyone, in spite established collaborative methods between journalists, still strives to out-scoop everyone else. There are occasions when journalists contend among themselves and exchange heated and spiteful words through their write-ups and columns. The classic clash of ambitions existing in all office and professions is raised to greater heights and amplified in intensity due to the power imbued upon the mighty pen of journalists.

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Absolute power, corrupts absolutely. A line usually directed against politicians, and quite possibly similarly applicable to some journalists that hurl the accusation. A disquieting thought, though one that rings with truth. With all the strain and stress assailing journalists it is easy to allow ‘momentary’ lapses in judgement, and abuse of journalistic power and privilege occurs.

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Perhaps, with all the problems that were mentioned, internal conflict is the greatest of all. At the end of the day a journalist will and should answer to his/her own conscience. After judgment has been passed by the public, the voice that will matter most for journalists is their own.

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Whatever that voice says will spell the difference between fulfillment and failure for people who dare to call themselves,  journalists.

-30-

“Dating by the Book”

Love isn’t something learned. At least true love isn’t. For love to be real and magical it has to be spontaneous. Love just happens. That is why love is the greatest equalizer. Even the smartest could fall for it.

With the season of love clouding peoples’ judgment a lot of unexpected outbursts of passion are sure to happen. As a student, what then do you do when such affection emerges in the most awkward of places? Like when you’re in school perhaps?

Your heart certainly won’t allow you to remain idle. And with all that blood racing through your veins you can’t help but be spurred into action. This leads to a practical course in the nuances of something often done and seldom mastered; but, always a milestone in somebody’s life. I speak of ‘dating’ of course. Good thing there’s no better place to learn the pathways of the heart other than in the hallowed halls of knowledge.

The first, most important and in fact only rule in dating – keep planning to a minimum. Let romance take its natural course. This is especially true for the campus set-up. There is no need for an excess in creativity like those overly flattering and sentiment driven marriage proposals. Those are done only, in well, marriage propositions.

Dating seeks to establish rapport. For this task what you need is a good dose of conversation. Chatting is great fun. It has to be every student’s unconfessed favorite habit. Better yet it could be done easily in the classroom. The real challenge is in transforming idle banter into something remarkable and significant.

In this part wit and humor plays a great role. Make someone smile in class often enough and the smile in their lips would translate to smile in their hearts. Sure students would dismiss innocent chitchat as meaningless, but you don’t need to listen to those. All you have to do is sit beside your classmate close enough, look into their eyes with a stare that is both deeply expressive and evocative, and your eyes shall do all the talking you need.

Sometimes when an electrifying connection has already been established, you could sit at either end of the room and with just a smile or a wink conversations could be carried out. Unknowingly a wonderful feeling has started to grow, and an invisible rope now indelibly links two hopeful hearts.

Unfortunately, classes come to an end. Fortunately though, lunchtime offers even better promises. At this point judiciousness is key. It is vital that you determine the mood of your date. Would he/she prefer the company of friends in a diner, or the simple pleasure of a privately shared lunch under the shade of a tree? You can’t make the choice for him/her, but you should make sure of the outcome.

Certainly your date’s attention would be diverted due to hunger; still you must strive to sustain the mood established in class. Make sure that he/she would enjoy food while in your company. If you must talk, be sincere but don’t spoil his/her appetite. Short sentences would do. Even a sappy compliment of how they look beautiful or handsome while eating would work wonders when delivered properly. Smile a lot. It is amazing to see someone smiling without crumbs stuck between their teeth while eating. Who knows, lunch could lead to an even greater hunger.

Most depends however on minding your table manners. The manner in which you eat lunch would be a manifestation of your true self. Chew food carefully, keep your mouth shut when it’s full and don’t leave a mess behind. These all reflect a polite and respectable personality. Most importantly never ever burp out loud it’s rude and just plain disgusting. Once you survive lunch, the rest should go smoothly.

Then you have class breaks, the most wonderful part of the day. Improvise well enough and while walking slowly together or lounging at your favorite ‘tambayan’ you could enjoy each other’s presence, savor shared smiles and treasure words both spoken and unspoken. If break is used for reviews and preparation of homeworks then grab hold of an ideal opportunity to show that you’re not all talk. Help each other finish class requirements and let the ol’ coconut do some work. elpIn reality guys see this as a perfect excuse to sit even closer.

However every thing must come to a close. And as classes come to an end for the day so does the most crucial part of yours begin. Walk home with the one you care for, and let your hearts feel comfortable with the idea of going home together – to each other.

Your story needs no ending. Always it has “to be continued”. So don’t fret over goodbyes. Just say “I’ll see you tomorrow”, and relish a last, long look for the day. One that would imprint an image you could both carry in your sleep.

Fate has plans we neither know nor understand. I truly believe that for the innocents, each person in school is a potential partner and each day spent together in campus is a date. It is only a matter of making someone feel special wherever the place, whatever the time.

Our parents would frown over courtship done in school. There are individuals who particularly find it distasteful. But you must begin somewhere, and being a student where else do you start? Where you spend most of your time together of course.

After all, school is where tomorrow begins.

-30-

“Best is What we Make It”

            How do you say goodbye in a language that doesn’t hurt?

        

         When parents depart home to work abroad there will always be longing. When lovers call it quits there will always be pain. When friends from college graduate and go their separate ways there will always be sadness.

 

            Is there a way for hearts that developed a strong connection to sever that bond without anyone suffering?

 

         I woke up on the fifth day of November 2008 with these thoughts and questions swirling in my mind. It was the first day of my last semester in the University of the East (UE). Very soon I would have to bid farewell to friends I came to know as family, and leave the imposing white building in Recto which we knew as our home.

 

            There was no hurry to go to school that day. Traditionally nothing was done on the first week of class. Besides my classes don’t start until well into the afternoon.

 

The queries I had, which defied simple answers, cultivated a dark mood that made my stride slower and heavier. Mom had to drag me out of bed with futile threats that fell on deaf ears. Cold water in the bathroom became a suitable excuse to prolong bathing. Even the mundane and necessary chore of eating lunch seemed like a gargantuan task with leaden hands that made lifting a spoon and fork a burden. All the while my visions were filled with the faces of people I love and will surely miss.

 

Words like goodbye exists as a constant companion of grief. Why then must we still say it, and why must our lives lead inexorably to goodbye?

 

I hated goodbyes. I tried desperately to hide from it yet it always found me. Dad found it easy enough to go and leave his family behind. My sister, Alisa, appeared content to move-in with her boyfriend even before they were married. She didn’t bat an eyelid on that day of parting. Her words of goodbye were so heavily flavored with bitterness that it sounded more like ‘good riddance’.

 

My entire life was a story of goodbye. Why should this day turn out any different? It went exactly the way it should. So it was that November 5 was cursed with endless doubts and worries. But my idle steps had led me inevitably to the front gate of the university. As I took the first tentative steps into those halls, which I soon would leave but not readily forget, the sense of foreboding grew darker in my heart.

 

I cannot recall how or what exactly happened. To this day it remained an inexplicable mystery; but the gloom that haunted me for that entire day oddly vanished at the moment that it gathered strength – when I entered UE.

 

Suddenly, the sky became bluer and the air smelled fresher. For the first time that day I felt alive and happy. As I walked and greeted familiar faces an irresistible urge to flash a welcoming smile overwhelmed my erstwhile melancholy. With each step the smile grew bigger, brighter and more sincere. Even my heart must have smiled when at last I came into the classroom and joined the company of  individuals who were more than classmates, more than friends, and if possible even more than family.

 

Despite the ‘goodbye’ that loomed over our lives, my friends and me were oblivious and irrevocably merry. We lived for the moment and together our happiness could be bound only by fears. Fears that could do harm only when heeded needlessly. At least I was ecstatic and my delight knew no end. It was a moment I would forever cherish, a time I relished without hesitation.

 

The fifth of November actually endowed my life with a new and deeper meaning. Everything I did gained a sense of urgency and everyone I knew at school earned greater value. They were people I was afraid to lose, and I would only waste and lose valuable time with unwarranted fears and worries. This wasn’t a time to be dallying with qualms about the future. Rather it was the point where we choose between happiness and sadness. I chose the former and I held no regrets.

 

Why then do we say goodbye when what we mean is hello? We do that because we tend to take for granted those whose presence in our lives remained secure. We learn to value only people and things that we could lose.

 

We learn to start only at the end; hence every ending leads to a new beginning, and something or someone lost turns into a ‘treasurable’ memory. Thus, goodbye makes us rich and with its help I can now say sans any reservation that November 5 was the best day of the year 2008.

 

-30-

 

 

 

“Yuletide MisGivings”

 

 

            Christmas makes itself felt in a number of ways. We experience longer nights and shorter days punctuated by colder morning air. Songs dedicated for the season drift out of homes adorned by lights of every color. Children wander from door to door sharing Christmas Carols.

 

            But in spite of all the fanfare only a neatly wrapped gift could evoke the true spirit of Christmas from every person. The indescribable joy that simple presents could give is one of life’s greatest mysteries.

 

            I distinctly remember one such gift which I received way back in December of the year 2000. This gift stood out among a pile of five boxes simply because it didn’t came in a box. It was a nice blue stationery cool to the eyes and had a delicate fragrance which appealed to my exquisite taste. A short red lace carefully tied into a ribbon held the roll of paper.

 

            Of course I came upon the immediate assumption that it came from a thoughtful lady. My bloated ego even allowed me to presume that the woman was an admirer. Upon opening the letter I bore witness to an eloquently written manuscript with letters of long strokes and soft edges. After seeing the handwriting my lips curled into a sly smile as the vision of a fawning girl – helplessly fallen for yours truly – was reinforced in my mind. At that instant I spied a familiar name at the lower right side of the paper. Since I was then a young man cursed by an excellent memory I immediately realized that the name was that of my closest male friend.

 

            The discovery erased all notions of a nascent love affair. At the same time my pride refused to accept reality and struggled to gather refuting evidence by reading through the text of the letter.

 

            I barely survived the first two sentences before I was overwhelmed by an irrepressible urge to vomit. Thankfully I was reading in a room full of people and the fear of humiliation pushed back my nausea. Every time I glance upon a clean sheet of paper those words hark back into my memory. I could read every word, clear as day, like it was written in every sheet sold in the market – “I love you, friend. I can’t hide this feeling anymore…” I got that far before my vision blurred and the world started spinning violently.

 

            I checked and rechecked but the name stubbornly refused to change itself. Without a doubt the letter was from my good buddy and the words he had written were curt, crisp and clear. His style of writing would have done newspaper editors proud. Yet all I felt was a burning shame that stoked a raging fire in my veins, which turned my skin and face into a bright red color. Anger grew in my chest as the word deceit endlessly flashed before my eyes.

 

            After what seemed like an eternity I was finally able to compose myself and take control of my emotions. As I sat down drained of all energy the letter lay crumpled in my hands as it took the full brunt of my anger. It was torn and ripped in different places no longer the elegant and immaculate manuscript. Just like our friendship – in total ruin.

 

            We met later that day and though no words were uttered my eyes must have told all that he needed to hear and all that I was hesitant to say. I swear his eyes misted over and as he turned away I knew that heavy droplets of tears cascaded into a gloomy river down his cheeks. He was a boy with a large frame much bigger than my own. I was a scrawny nerd back then and he was a robust officer in the Cadet Officers Corps of our high school. Together we nearly achieved the body and brains model of excellence.

 

            That encounter would be the last moment we shared the same space together, the first in a series of lasts in my life. We never talked after that and our common friends wondered with quizzical eyes about the sudden fallout but they kept their mouths firmly shut. In the same manner that I kept my mind closed to the idea of having a gay ‘best’friend.

 

            All succeeding Christmases I recollect the memory of that Christmas in 2000. The year in which according to my sensibilities I received the worst gift ever; while my conscience screamed that I gave the worst present in return – a lost friendship.

 

 

-30-

“In Shadows Lurk the Unwelcome Truth”

 

Dying by strangulation was never a pretty sight. But mimi expired in the same manner that she lived – with uncommon grace. She neither scratched nor struggled as her spirit was slowly and excruciatingly squeezed from her body. Her indistinct whimpering was so pathetically weak that it failed to excite an iota of mercy from her tormentor. Only mimi’s mild trembling suggested that she felt fear during those last moments.

With one last gasp for breath mimi bid adieu to the cruelty of humans. Her death caused by the cold hands of her remorseless master. I am her master and mimi -bless her soul- was my loving cat, or she would have been had I not been snatched from the blissful clutches of sleep by the raucous ringing of my alarm clock.

I stayed in bed telepathically willing myself back to dreamland. Sleep was bliss. Mimi’s suffering was bliss. Dreadful, yes, but endlessly satisfying on my part. This was the daily scene of my mornings following restless nights. Almost every evening I was haunted by the same ghastly vision – Mimi dying by my hand.

Even though her demise was a mere conjurement of my morbid fantasies, mimi never treated me with affection ever since the dreams began. After the first nightmare she had constantly stared at me with distrustful feline eyes.

Mimi, the cat with illusions of Oriental nobility. She may be chinky-eyed but she is definitely not Chinese. Don't tell her that though or she'll bite and scratch you senseless. If you want to appease her she prefers Chinese take-out.

 

Countless days of enduring troubled nights and a repressive atmosphere of suspicion compelled me to embark on an inner soul-searching.

I had always been fully conscious of the fact that my dreams were merely figments of my troubled imagination. Yet it was only when I took the time to assess myself that I realized the underlying reasons for my unrest. My mind, acting autonomously, had hidden away in its darkest recesses the most agonizing memories of my past. Somehow I must dredge it up to the surface and bring it before the light of day. No matter how unbearable the memories I would be made to confront it would be an encounter I should strive to endure. Maybe through this act I could find peace.

 

It was July of this year barely a week after my birthday that my dad decided to abandon us, his family. My mom shed no tears. Neither was there any torrid exchange of spiteful rhetoric between the estranged couple. For them the separation had been a long time coming. That day was actually a fulfillment of an inevitability they both had long since accepted.

My father casually turned the knob of the front door, and walked out of it as carelessly as any normal day. While his silhouette grew smaller as he walked farther away a troubling thought grew bigger in my mind – that I would never ‘ever’ see him again.

True, those would be my last painful memories of his image. Up to the moment of this writing we have had no communication. He made no attempts to reach out to mom. I would even settle for a simple visit. Actually any token attempt to show he cared, however frivolous, would have been greatly appreciated. Dad had been a hard man to please. In similar fashion he found no reason to try and please others, not his wife nor me his son.

In spite of his outward cruelty and frigid heart I still felt regret for the words I failed to utter during our last meeting. I even admonished myself for the tears I suppressed in a futile attempt to put-up a false mask of courage.

Finally, after four months of denial I came to accept the undeniable truth – that I love my father no matter how evil I perceived him to be. I missed him. Now I know that I hated the act not the man.

My deepest darkest thoughts was not about murder. No, my real darkside was my inability to forgive and my predisposition for hatred. In short the inherent evil in my person was my cowardice.

Dad with his big smile always made me wonder. How could empty promises fill hearts with so much sorrow?

I was afraid to make the first move. The adage goes that “pride comes before the fall”. I was too protective of my pride that I failed to see I am already at the bottom. I was scared that if I talked to him, met with him and took the initiative these would be construed as signs of weakness. Only mimi was able to show me the true nature of my being. In the dream, she actually never trembled. When I removed my hands she was lying there quietly, peacefully, it were only my hands that were shaking uncontrollably.

I was the one who’s afraid. Thankfully I realized my faults before irreparable damage could be dealt to my psyche. I can now apply the proper cure and find space in my heart for recovery.

Some wounds, however, need time to heal, and the wounds shared by me and my father would require an indeterminably long period of recuperation. I would not pretend that I am no longer afraid. But I am certain that I am no longer confused of what I needed to do when at last the day comes that we meet again.

-30-