Category: Nonfiction

Tilting at Windmills

Nonfiction by | July 20, 2008

“’But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.
‘Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the Cat. ‘We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.’
‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.
‘You must be,” said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’”

— Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

My earliest recollection of being near a madwoman was when I was nine. Her skirt was black with large, white flower prints cascading down its length to her toes. Her blouse was white and faded you could see her tits cleaving to it. If I was afraid of her, it was because she was an Other, as God was an Other. After all, a small town could grow legends, tall tales— she was in one of those, and I believed it. If anyone would have asked me then how she got into the farthest end of the house without waking the dogs, I would have answered she had a power over animals.

That day, Mom was repotting lirios in her garden when the lunatic grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. Mom turned around and simply said, “Why! You’re here again.” Continue reading Tilting at Windmills

My Idiotic Brush with Death

Nonfiction by | July 6, 2008

No matter how brilliant I consider myself to be, I find my usually-intelligent existence punctuated by spots of utter idiocy.

I went to my aunt’s family’s restaurant in Great Neck, NY to bake my idiot-proof peaches and cream cake. It didn’t turn out so idiot proof because as any scientist would know, you need the same elements in an experiment to produce the same result, and Shoreline, Seattle (where I got this recipe) is not Great Neck, and a large restaurant kitchen scaled for mass production does not necessarily have everything a small home kitchen does.

So, anyway, the cake was baked. We left it to cool in the large walk-in refrigerator and I went back to reading my Terry Pratchett book till it was time to bring Joyce to her piano lesson.

It’s almost 3. Time to go, but where could Uncle Jobie be?

He’s not in the dining section… not in the kitchen… not in the loading area… could he be stuck in the walk-in fridge?

Continue reading My Idiotic Brush with Death

Lessons from Chess

Nonfiction by | June 29, 2008

As we watch my father’s wake, I play chess with my older sister. It’s only in times like these that I get to play the game. My classmates back in high school never wanted to play with me because I used to be a very lousy player. Last night, as I played against my sister, I only won twice in about ten games. However, I have learned things I never would have learned if I didn’t play the game.

Here are some of my insights:

Life is what you make it. This existentialist belief is very evident in the game. Your victory lies on how well you play the game. Each move you make requires decision making and your choices create an impact on your future.

Continue reading Lessons from Chess

The New Wonders of San Pedro

Nonfiction by | June 15, 2008

San Pedro, considered to be the center of Davao City, is where you will find the city hall, the cathedral, and various shops. On Sundays after the mass, you’ll see people coming out of the church like soldier ants from their anthill. As you walk away from San Pedro Cathedral, it’s like making your way to the battlefield because you’ll have to squeeze yourself into the crowd, making sure that your belongings are still intact and your cellular phone or wallet is in your possession. Snatchers are everywhere pretending to be shoppers or bystanders so you’ll never notice how they orchestrate their schemes. Everywhere you look, you’ll surely see a swarm of people either dressed in their office uniforms or in their casual wear ready to shop till they drop or just hang around Rizal Park. Continue reading The New Wonders of San Pedro

Writer Does Not Mean Better

Nonfiction by | June 8, 2008

Many beginning writers have this complex about them. You know the type. The ones who proudly rub their one and only published work in your face and look down on you as if they’re the ones who control the rotation of the earth on its axis. I can only scoff and force myself to shut my trap, lest I hurl obscenities at them for being too giddy and pretentious.

I admit I was something like this when I didn’t know any better. The first time I saw my name on the paper, I was pumped with so much adrenaline and pride that I forgot to be humble. And at the high times of my braggadocio, I somersaulted and fell flat. Just like that. So I had to get up again, start from scratch, wondering how I was able to write that one damned thing that propelled me to temporary fame, because, all of a sudden, I could not reproduce it. Continue reading Writer Does Not Mean Better

The Vengeful One

Nonfiction by | June 1, 2008

A baboon stole my ice cream just as I was crossing a street.

No, this is not some region in Africa I’m talking about here. I’m talking Davao here, and the incident happened on an avenue just a few meters from Gaisano Mall.

So there it was, a baboon on the road, and it was looking to have food the easiest way possible. I was about to step out of the way of a jeepney when, from behind me, I heard someone say, “Ako na lang ni ‘te.” Before the beast could even finish its sentence, and before I could gather that I was the recipient of the message, he pried the ice cream cone violently from my hand.

Continue reading The Vengeful One

The Break-Up Speech

Nonfiction by | June 1, 2008

Tonight I was yet again presented with the opportunity to take a romantic stroll around the city. In short, it was too ma-traffic (and humid), so I figured I’d get to my destination faster if I just walked along the bridge.

While walking, I thought, I’m going to miss this city.

Haven’t really made plans for where I’ll get a job yet; all I know is that it won’t be here. Some well-meaning people ask me if I’m crazy for choosing to leave. Yes, I know; it’s a tough choice. I’m thinking: once I leave, I can never drink water straight from the tap again. I don’t think I’ll be able to have a good, filling meal with P20–even P30– any place else. And the No-Smoking ordinance–I don’t think I’ll have the benefit of that where I’m heading. I think I’ll have to forget all about getting exact change from the taxi driver and having access to wi-fi virtually anywhere.

Continue reading The Break-Up Speech

Guillermo Dagohoy: A Biographical Sketch

Nonfiction by | May 4, 2008

Guillermo J. Dagohoy was born on October 23, 1919 in Sogod, Southern Leyte. His parents were Agustin Dagohoy and Macaria Jacobe. He had one brother, Hospicio, and three sisters, Celestina, Rufina, and Dulcesima.

Guillermo grew up in Sogod where he finished his elementary grades at Sogod Elementary School. In 1938, the family settled in Davao, and Guillermo continued his high school studies at Davao City High School. He attended college at the Visayas Institute, now the University of the Visayas where he finished with an Associate in Arts. He eventually became a high school teacher in the Assumption Academy of Peñaplata in Samal Island.

Continue reading Guillermo Dagohoy: A Biographical Sketch