Category: Nonfiction

We Might Soon Be Extinct (or Not)

Nonfiction by | January 30, 2011

Why do I write? I have asked myself this question often and most of the time I get a low humming sound from the back of my brain. How lovely.

I write maybe because I want to or maybe because I need to? I write because I have something that I believe in? I write for the people who cannot read and who cannot write, for the people who can’t speak and understand Bisaya, for the people who can’t even spell their names, for the people who go to sleep hungry, for the babies who are not even born yet? I torment my mind with questions that even I cannot answer clearly regarding my being a writer.

Residing in Davao City gives me a lot of things to write about, from the usually uneventful jeepney rides from Boulevard to Mintal to the (maybe) interesting lives of the people that I see with their palms open burning under the heat of the sun, begging on the streets, or the people who frequent the malls some of them indifferent to the problems that plague our society and some of them wanting to forget their own problems even just for a short while, or the people who are living under Bolton bridge. It seems to me that they have a lot of stories to tell under their ordinary, unassuming guises. They only need someone who would listen to their unspoken chronicles and tell it for them. I don’t know if I would be that person, but I want to be that person someday, somehow. I want their stories to be told and not lost in the fleeting current that is life.

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Message Sent

Nonfiction by | December 19, 2010

I opened my inbox and read his message, “How was your class this morning?” I checked the name again and read the message twice. Beside the open envelope was his registered name in my phone: Papa. I stared at the screen as I was thinking of what to reply. But I couldn’t think of any. And I really didn’t know how to reply to a question like that from a person like him. I put my cell phone on the bed and went to the bathroom, thinking that maybe I could come up with a reply after a bath.

It was a strange message from a person so strange to me. My father’s message was like an admiration of a tough professor for his student’s work. For the student, her professor’s words were more than that. It was a bizarre treasure that would be kept in her mind and heart for at least, forever. I could ignore that message and a hundred more sweet messages from someone like my boyfriend, but not a message from my father. He was a man of few words so it was not like him to ask questions like that. Seemingly out of nowhere, a father’s message was saved in my inbox.

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Remembering Lola Juanita

Nonfiction by | November 28, 2010

A white rectangular wooden box with a polished surface and token curlicued bronze-colored engraving on its sides greeted my sleep-deprived and travel-weary eyes. As I entered the funeral home that early morning, I noted with wry amusement that Auntie Vim and her friends were entertaining themselves with their private jokes coupled with comical dancing.  Mithi was lying fast asleep on the sofa nearest the coffin. The bright lights and heavy scent of flowers were an assault on the senses, very jarring in the cool and quiet air of a December morning.  I nervously and slowly approached the coffin and peered into the wrinkled face of this once proud woman now shriveled and utterly lifeless. As I marshaled my thoughts and feelings, I noted how unbecoming the pink lipstick was against her brown leathery skin. I inwardly flinched when I saw that the white lining of the coffin on which she lay had the texture and look of plastic. I suddenly remembered how she hated plastic plants.

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All Souls

Nonfiction by | November 21, 2010

A week after November first, my family visited my grandfather’s, uncle’s, and my mother’s graves. We decided not to go with the heavy flow of human traffic during the holiday, so we went a week after.

At the grave, my aunt and a few family members gathered around the graves to wipe clean a few smudges on the tombstone and took away some clutter along the sides. After which, they lighted candles, and as my other oriental tradition would suggest (Japanese). As all this was happening, I stood from afar, watching.

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Tuldok ng Isang Guro

Nonfiction by | October 17, 2010

Tandang – tanda ko pa ang paboritong itanong ng aking mga guro noong ako’y nasa elementarya pa lamang. Tanong na paulit – ulit pinagagawan ng isang sanaysay sa aming mga mag-aaral lalo na pag umpisa ng pasukan, o di kaya’y wala nang maisip pang ituro ang guro o di kaya’y pagod ang kanyang lalamunan sa pagpapaliwanag ng kung anu-ano.

Ang tanong na: Ano ang gusto mong maging paglaki mo? At bakit?

O, di ba napaka simpleng tanong pero gugugulin na ng mga mag-aaral ang kanilang buong oras sa pagbuo ng komposisyon tungkol dito. Kung minsan pa nga ay magiging takdang -aralin pa dahil sa hindi matapus-tapos ang komposisyong ginagawa sa klase.

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Demanding A Universe

Nonfiction by | September 19, 2010

Truth-seekers, they call them, but it is a moot description for men like journalists. I say so because there are many who are in the field just guarding their politics; that is, protecting their own interests. And I say so because of the fact that no article written is ever unbiased under any byline. Simple: objective journalism is a myth, and the same can be said for truth. Or maybe not?

Always, the journalist hunts down stories and sometimes we are led to believe that these are true. I doubt that they ever find a convincing end though, so they unearth and ask more to get that finale that satisfies their selfishness. But I doubt that they ever reach that as well because if they did, they would stop.

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Remembering Fr. Rudy

Nonfiction by | September 5, 2010

In 1948, the Ateneo de Davao University was founded by three Jesuit Fathers — Fr. Theodore Daigler, Fr. Alfredo Paguia, Fr. Grant Quinn — and two Jesuit scholastics — James Donelan and Rudolfo Malasmas. Among these five pioneers, Fr. Rudolfo “Rudy” A. Malasmas, SJ was the last one to pass away. He was the only one among the five pioneers to expire and be laid to rest here in Davao City. Following an episode of cardiac failure, Fr. Rudy peacefully returned to his Creator last July 11 at 6:36 in the evening at Davao Doctors Hospital. He died on a Sunday. When Fr. Rudy’s heart stopped beating, he was surrounded by his Jesuit family, his nieces, a nephew, a grandniece, and some close friends — people he sincerely cared for, and people who sincerely cared for him.

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The Curse of Fanfic

Nonfiction by | August 29, 2010

In what must have been a first for any writers workshop in the country, last summer’s Ateneo de Davao Writers Workshop featured stories from the genre of fanfic.  As the screener for the applications, I take responsibility for the ensuing misadventures; but I confess I also found much amusement in the resulting collision of cultures between the panel and the fellows.

Fanfic, if you’re not aware of the term, is short for fan fiction. Its writers take characters from juvenile books, TV series, video games, and anime, and cobble together new stories around them. Because of this lack of originality, the genre doesn’t get much respect. But because of the popularity of the source material, many young people gravitate to the genre, either as readers or writers.

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