Fragments from/on living a writing life

Nonfiction by | November 4, 2012

Lina Sagaral Reyes was the keynote speaker and special guest panelist to the recently concluded Davao Writers Workshop 2012 held at Lispher Inn last October 15 to 19. The address below was her lecture at the opening of the workshop.

Being with you, a youthful crop of writers grown on the rich soil of Mindanao cultures, I also come home to the Writers Workshop, as a bond of people claiming and reclaiming the right to write.

I come home to the community ritual of writers: for the fellows, a rite of passage; for the panelists, the rite of relaying wisdom (as well as folly?) to the next generation.

It has been a long journey home. This is my first ever workshop in 19 years. The last workshop I attended was held in UP-Baguio in May 1993. On my way home to the island of Bohol via Manila, I hitched a ride on the fellows’ bus to Manila. My seatmate on that transitional ride home was Ricky de Ungria.

But I did not have an inkling that in eight months, I would find myself in the shores of Dapitan, Zamboanga del Norte.

Nineteen years later, as early as February this year, it is the same Ricky de Ungria, now like me also a migrant worker on Mindanao, who would ask me to come and join this workshop.

Continue reading Fragments from/on living a writing life

Sea of Ashes

Fiction by | October 28, 2012

The sea of ashes has pervaded my dreams for the the third time this week. The dream always took place near dawn. I was on a floating platform, standing on a pile of ashes. When I tried to scoop water from the the scarlet sea, a pair of badly burned hands dragged me down. I always woke up with that feeling that I was already consumed by fire. I thought that this was my subconscious telling me to get home quickly, especially now that my Mother had just died.

Home was a small island called Andunay. The last time I was there, trouble was already brewing in paradise. My Father, a prominent man among his peers, wanted to introduce modern tools and gadgets to the Andunayan people. He believed that it was time to abolish traditional ways of living, and even sent me off the island to study in a progressive school.

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Sparklers

Poetry by | October 28, 2012

It started with a spark
That ignited the excitement –
I was inflamed by what I held
As we celebrated the moment
Our flames finally flickered
In unison.
But our light was dying
Our sparklers
Have been cindered into ashes –
And the ashes
into nothing.

—
Karen Kae Dicdican is currently enrolled in Ateneo de Davao University and is a fellow of the recently concluded 2012 Davao Writers Workshop.

Moving Van

Poetry by | October 21, 2012

No, child.
We cannot take Thina, Daimhin, and Muti with us.
They’re too big.
Just put on your Sunday’s best
and tie your hair into pigtails,
so you can resemble your dolls.
That way, you’re bringing them with you.
No, child.
We cannot bring your crayons.
Not even your coloring books or drawing pads.
They’re too many.
Just put on your shoes with your favorite colors on it.
That way, you’re treading on rainbows when we leave.
No, child.
We cannot carry your story books.
They’re too heavy.
Just hold this piggy bank while I take the safe box.
Our arms can only bear so much.
That way, we take only what’s necessary.
No, child.
We cannot tote your play tent.
It’s too big and too old.
Just like this house, worn out and hollow.
I promise, we’ll buy a new one.
Where we’re headed sells better tents.
Hurry, child.
I can see our ride in the driveway.
Dear child, why are you crying?
We don’t have time.
What’s that, child?
No, child. I’m sorry.
We cannot wait for Papa.

—
Margaux Denice Garcia, a graduate of BS Education at the Ateneo de Davao University, was a fellow of the 2011 Davao Writers Workshop.

This Cup of Coffee

Poetry by | October 21, 2012

This cup of coffee
is the sadness
of your absence
Steam rising
to perfume
the sleepless void
of your absence
Smooth surface
free from the lies
of milk and honey,
refusing to reflect
memories,
or the sweetness of your smile –
mirroring only the emptiness
of your absence
And because you are gone
I have no one to drink
this coffee with
but a hundred years of solitude.
Even ants do not come
to feast on my crumbles
But even as things
cool down
I grow used
to the flavor of this misery,
soon making this habit
a ritual,
of sipping it in afternoons
Refusing
to sweeten
this bitterness
until I am as empty
as the cup
of black coffee
that is the sadness
of your absence.

—
Karlo Antonio David was a fellow at the 2011 Iyas Creative Writing Workshop, and the Silliman National Writers Workshop which was held in Dumaguete.

Family Business

Fiction by | October 21, 2012

August 18, 1992. Saturday. 12 noon. Matt was still in his office preparing papers for an upcoming conference. Despite the lunch hour, Matt was still hard at work… as always.

Ever since he moved out of his father’s house, Matt has always been preoccupied with business. He believed that in order to grow as a person, he had to learn to provide for himself. He needed to secure a high degree of respect and position in his chosen profession. And to earn such status, he had to work diligently all the time, every time.

This did not please his family. Matt’s family believed that relationships matter more than work. For how many years, this had been the major issue in their family. His father always warned him to change his perspective or it will affect him negatively in the future. Matt’s younger siblings also disapproved of his way of thinking. In the end, there was just too many arguments and misunderstandings, which finally culminated in Matt becoming estranged from his family.

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Another Encounter

Fiction by | October 14, 2012

“Wait!”

He half-ran, half-walked towards me. A lot of people were coming out of the classrooms at that time, which made it easier for me to pretend not to hear him. I turned away to hide my face from his scrutiny, but felt him grab the tip of my loose blouse’s sleeve. I smiled inwardly. I did not realize that this small physical contact could make the cold September day suddenly warm.

“May I walk with you?” he asked.

I walked faster. I could not believe that he actually had to ask me. What would the most looked at guy want with the most scoffed at girl in school? But of course, we were taking up the same college course, and shared classes in almost all of our subjects. We were even scheduled to graduate in the same year.

“I sent you a message. Did you receive it?”

Continue reading Another Encounter

Kape

Poetry by | October 14, 2012

Ang umuusok mong init
Ang siyang umakit sa akin
Na ika’y aking tikman.
‘di baleng bibig ko’y mapaso
Mula sa iyong naglalagablab na init,
Malasap ko lang ang taglay mong sarap.
Pero dumaan ang ilang minuto
Napagtanto ko na mas malalasap ko
ang iyong sarap kung init mo’y tama lang,
Kaya mas mainam na hihintayin ko na lang
Ang sandaling pwede ka na.
Sa sandaling ako’y naghintay
Hindi ko namalayan –
Dahan-dahan ka ng lumalamig.
Pero dahil ayokong masayang ka,
pinagtiyagaan na lang kita,
baka sakaling pwede pa?
Ngunit sa aking paglasap,
Sarap mo’y nawala
Mula nang init mo’y naglaho.

—
Armando B. Fenequito, Jr. is studying at the University of Southeastern Philippines, and is currently taking up Literature.