13.7 Carlissa and Italo

This story was imagined in its incomplete movie form. If written as a short story, it would take the form of the Snapshots structure. Key events in this story are when Carlissa, a thirty-year-old woman, looks lustfully at Italo, a young man with a brawny figure who she is determined to marry. A possible problem in writing this story would be its scenes. The story's scenes would have to be more relatable to common viewers, without having to remove heated bits. For that to happen, the characters of Carlissa and Italo would have to be given more importance to.

13.6 Darren and Paolum

I would rather tell this story in the Snapshots structure if the focus were to be on important events. These events will highlight the character of Darren who, because of his lack of motivation to study and of his twin brother Paolum's successes, becomes jealous and thinks of messing up with Paolum's life and work. The moment everything comes together is when Paolum catches Darren ruining his project. The story ends here, but the readers are left to decide what happens next.

13.5 Stauren and Kimberly

If to be written in the Snapshots structure, the distinction between the characters of Stauren and Kimberly would have to be made clear. As all key events lead to the final scene, these events should be meaningful enough to tell the story in an interesting manner. The violin scene is a big scene that leads to the coffee shop scene, another big scene. The other little scenes in between those two big scenes will add to the depth of the story.

13.4 Laureen and Sid

An "A Day in the Life" story. Laureen and Sid run together every afternoon, but this particular run was entirely different from the rest. One curious afternoon, while both of them were running, an unknown gift-giver threw presents at them three times. All three presents were meant for Laureen, who already had Sid as her guy. However, as it turns out, the third present was an invitation to a social dance. The gift-giver would presumably be a guy, but readers would not know this until they reach the part when Laureen and Sid see a peculiar man in dark shades run past them. There is no telling that the strange man is the gift-giver, but the story only gives that clue to leave readers guessing.

13.3 Mostreth and Bridget

Conceived in its movie form, this story about two geniuses in love could be best told in the story form of the Last Lap. The scene when Bridget's physics experiment won an award through Mostreth's help is closest to the climactic scene--the actual awarding ceremony--as it serves as a placeholder for that scene. The actual awarding ceremony was to take place two weeks after the initial announcement of the award. The two-week gap allows them enough time to develop romantic feelings for each other. Bridget, who is nine years old, tells Mostreth that she is nineteen in order that they could be of the same age and that he could accept her. When she tells him this, he would already have liked her first. Mostreth believed so because it goes without saying that Bridget appeared much older for her age. Mostreth finds out about her real age during the awarding ceremony when the host announces it on stage. Thus, the awarding ceremony becomes both an exciting and a paralyzing event for Bridget.

This story carries themes of maturity, coming-of-age love, a romance between two geniuses, and friendship.

13.2 Keelom, Harp, and Exxot

Writing the story outline, what I had in mind was the character of a wealthy, charming new husband whose joy is in making his new wife happy. Harp, a young, intelligent Greek woman had always dreamed of visiting the Louvre in France. Because she often worried about costs, that dream was not fulfilled until she and Keelom went to France for their honeymoon. The son of a wealthy Singapore-based mining corporation owner, Keelom had no worries about spending that much money for the two of them. As they roamed the museum, they were spotted by Harp's ex-boyfriend, Exxot, who is an art critic. Jealous upon seeing that Harp was already married, Exxot followed them around without their knowledge, and when circumstance had made it possible for him to play his trick on the newlyweds, he did what he could do by trapping her inside the restroom. After an hour of waiting, Keelom grew worried, but because of his inability to speak French, looking for Harp would be a hard thing to do.

This story would be difficult to tell from either of the newlyweds' or Exxot's point of view. A third person omniscient narrator could be more efficient, but even then, to have no key event would render the story without meaning. The Specimen form would be most fitting to this type of story because that would help narrow the story down to only one significant character and one key event. The story could then focus on important details of that character's life alongside the key event.

13.1 Barrie, Katlen, and Fabian

Writing this story outline, I imagined it in movie form. The first scene would open with Barrie and Katlen complaining about the earliness of the scheduled book launch they were expected to attend. Later on, they would learn that there was no book launch at all. The mysteries of the building-like house would be unknown to them or the readers, but the readers would be drawing their own clues as they follow the two women around the house.

The story would continue with suspenseful scenes that lead to the near-end scene about the housemaster, Fabian, locking the two spying women inside a hidden room inside a room. This big scene is where everything comes together, as it reveals most of the mysteries of previous scenes. For example, a previous scene would concentrate on the peculiarity of the salon-like room Fabian leads the two women to, when at the start all they knew was that they going to attend a book launch at 5:30 in the morning. A book launch at 5:30 in the morning is odd enough, but I intended to add more peculiarities as the story progresses to add to the suspense in the last scene. The last scene would center on bioterrorism. Evidence would be enough for a reader to draw the idea that a mass murder was about to take place. The question of whether the two locked women would escape or remain inside (to be killed afterwards) will not be answered in the story, but that in itself could be a problem.

The Specimen form might be appropriate for this story, but using this I might have to focus on the character of Fabian instead of the two women. Telling the story from Fabian's point of view would greatly alter the plot of the story. Hence, the Gathering form might be a better structure to use. Telling the story might be more effective by putting all important characters together and by telling the story from the point of view of either of the two women (preferably Barrie).

12.7 Seed Story

Seeds: 6.7, 7.5, 9.6, 10.7

Story:

-Thirty-year-old Carlissa did not like her job at the office. She worked as a bookkeeper and she found this boring. Needing more excitement in her life, she decided to try her luck in performing arts. She thus joined a theater workshop where she met Italo, a brawny, handsome, dark-skinned young actor whose face had every fine feature similar to those of the statue of David. The moment she saw him, she knew that she was going to marry him, even if he was so much younger—she wanted to, and she wanted him to want to.

-Italo, on the other hand, was pretty dense and could not pick up whenever she tried to make advances. An actor who perceived every event in his real life as a stage scene, he found it hard to take things seriously, let alone realistically. That was Carlissa’s problem. She wanted to show the young man how much she adored him, but to no avail, the responses she got were always friendly and non-romantic, and this made her think that he was only playing hard-to-get.

-One late afternoon, Italo was by himself dressing up after rehearsals. Carlissa walked in, locked the dressing room, stood in front of him at a close angle, and said "I just need to talk to you." Semi-naked, Italo was about to shout, but she cupped his mouth and told him not to. Carlissa could see it from his eyes that he was afraid, and that even with all the youthful energy and spirit that was inside of him, he did not know what was going on. 

-Italo looked into Carlissa's eyes with much fear. She was touching every part of his smooth, toned body. Just then, they heard footsteps approaching the room. Knowing that she had to leave right away, Carlissa put her hand on Italo's face for one last time and said, "I wanna marry you." Italo shook his head right after she left.

12.6 Seed Story

Seeds: 6.1, 6.5, 10.1, 9.7

Story:

-Darren is a law student in his early twenties who had just lost all his drive and motivation to study. His twin brother Paolum was studying to become a doctor, and his main area of focus is in clinical biology. As opposed to Darren, Paolum really enjoyed his studies. He often did extra work so that he would be recognized. For his thesis paper requirement, he submitted two thesis papers instead of just one.

-Seeing that his brother was excelling far more than he is, Darren grew jealous. He wanted to somehow see his brother’s world fall apart because it annoyed him to see it so perfect. What annoyed him more is that he had just drunken up a tall cup of sugar-infused coconut water. The flavor was too sweet that he felt like vomiting everything out but he couldn’t. These events had made him feel altogether remorseful about life.

-Because of his jealousy, he was committed to making his brother feel miserable without him knowing. One night, he secretly took Paolum’s school ID and threw it out to sea. Paolum was not able to enter school premises the next day. Another time, he put sleeping medicine into Paolum’s food so that he slept instead of study. Yet another time, he would intentionally hide his important things and destroy them.

-One morning, while Darren was ruining Paolum’s project, Darren was caught in the act.

12.5 Seed Story

Seeds: 6.7, 3.4, 7.7, 10.6

Story:

-Nineteen-year-old Stauren knows that Kimberly, a sixteen-year-old freshman in college, is quick to get herself infatuated over handsome and smart men. He knows this because she's told him about every guy she's ever liked in the past. Although they aren't siblings or relatives by blood, they are as close as close siblings. He treats her like his little princess, and she considers him her older brother. One day, sitting on a soft yellow chair, Kimberly heard a faint sound of violin music. She stood up and looked around to check who was playing it. She found Stauren.

-She watched as Stauren played the violin from the heart. Listening to it gave her goosebumps, but she stayed listening anyway. When the playing paused for a while, Kimberly called his name out whisperingly: "Stauuuu..." Stauren looked at her and nodded. He went to her and handed the bow to her, and then the violin. She took the instrument and played a simple tune, to which Stauren said "That was good." The shadowy, dark room 

-Kimberly gave the violin back, and she wanted him to play more. Stauren suddenly blushed and felt nervous; his forehead turned sweaty and his hands, clammy. What she didn't know is that he was beginning to like her a lot.

-After he played a piece, he invited her to tea at SM Aura. Kimberly was under no illusion to how close they were to becoming a couple; she knew this at once when she noticed his awkward glances at her and horrible conversation starters. She then asked randomly, "Are you in love with me?" Stauren shrugged, and then stuttered, "Uhh...no! No, of course not. You're my sister." Kimberly nodded her head and said okay.

12.4 Seed Story

Seeds: 7.1, 4.4, 8.3, 10.3

Story:

-Laureen and Sid, a new couple (not married), run together every afternoon at 6 p.m. They met each other in a city marathon and became sweet friends ever since. Laureen is a triathlete while Sid is a long-distance runner. One afternoon, they went out for a run on the streets. Neither of them knew a thing about writing or poetry, but they had those short, choppy conversations about poets just because they felt like talking.

-Just then, the skies grew dark. 1.5 miles into their run, the rain began to pour. Because neither of them brought an umbrella, they were soaked immediately, but they still continued to run.

-After a while, the skies cleared. Someone threw a neatly-wrapped parcel in front of them,  but when they tried looking around, they saw no one. The parcel was addressed to Laureen. She picked it up and opened it. It was a box of post cards, which she liked a lot. They both got back to running.

-In the middle of their run, another parcel was thrown at them. Laureen began to wonder where all those parcels were coming from and who was throwing them. She picked the second one up; it was a pack of Japanese paper and red cut-out hearts.

-At 2.8 kilometers, they both sat down on a sidewalk to rest and cool off. Another parcel was thrown to them. This time, Laureen caught a glimpse of a peculiar-looking man with dark shades. He ran past them and then sped away. She opened the third parcel; it was an invitation to a social dance.

12.3 Seed Story

Seeds: 6.4, 3.5, 7.6, 9.1

Story:

-Mostreth is a nineteen-year-old musician and lecturer at a university in Piedmont, Italy. He is a genius and a child prodigy. One day, he met a nine-year-old female physicist named Bridget, who looked so much older for her age. She had bushy eyebrows and thick glasses; also, she was tall. When he met her, she was crouched down on a corner of the laboratory and crying because of a failed experiment.

-Mostreth and Bridget talked for a long time about the experiment. Soon after, Mostreth's genius was able to help Bridget solve her problem. The experiment became successful and it won an award. The awarding ceremony was not yet until two weeks after in a science symposium. Bridget could not thank him enough.

-One week before the awarding ceremony, Bridget began to have feelings for Mostreth. She visited him every day to listen to his music, and listening to his music gave her mixed feelings of excitement and awe. She wanted so much of him, even to be married to him, but she was just nine. She wondered to herself how it was possible for a nine-year-old girl to think such thoughts of marriage when it was not yet even proper for most people her age. But the fact is that her mind has wired her to be that way. She is a prodigy after all.

-Mostreth also happened to like her. He found her pretty and youthful, although her age was something he was not completely sure about. They were 10 years apart, but he did not know this, and she never revealed this. Incidentally, Bridget had lied to him about her age just on the same week. She told him that she was 19, and he believed so. Not long after, they would be dating and talking about their future together. They both agreed to settle down together in the coming months.

-Come award ceremony, the hosts revealed her real age on stage, during the awarding. "Nine-year-old physicist." The whole crowd was amazed and they cheered, but Mostreth was greatly astonished. This made Bridget want to run away and hide from the rest of the crowd, but she couldn't, because she was the awardee.

12.2 Seed Story

Seeds: 3.2, 8.1, 9.3, 11.6

Story:

-Keelom, 27, based in Singapore, is the son of a wealthy mining corporation owner. He had just gotten married to a young, intelligent Greek woman named Harp. They got married in Versailles where they first met. On their first day together as a married couple, Keelom took Harp to Paris to see the Louvre.

-Harp did not like the idea as she was worried about the cost, but Keelom assured her that there was nothing to worry about. He knew that she had always wanted to see inside the Louvre; he was wealthy enough to bring the both of them inside.

-When the two were walking inside, they were seen but not met by Harp's ex-boyfriend, Exxot, an art critic. Exxot was furious seeing Harp already married, and he was determined to break them apart no matter what. He followed them everywhere without them knowing.

-Keelom and Harp settled at a small fine-dining restaurant at the peak of the triangle. When already seated, Harp excused herself from the table to go to the restroom. Meanwhile, Exxot followed her inside, did something to the cubicle door so that Harp would not be able to go out, and locked the restroom's main door. He placed an "out of order" sign on the door when he went out.

-After one hour of waiting, Keelom began to worry about Harp. Because he did not know French, the plan of looking for Harp became difficult.

12.1 Seed Story

Seeds: 3.6, 7.4, 9.4, and 10.2

Story:

-Barrie and Katlen, 30 and 34, both female, were on their way to attending a book launch party on a rainy Saturday early morning. Because the hosts requested everyone to arrive at 5:30 a.m., Barrie complained about the schedule while Katlen drove; "they should have considered our time, too... 5:30 a.m. is just way too early..."

-They arrived at 5. At the main door of a tall building, they met a tall, handsome, bearded man with a shiny head and a huge nose. His name is Fabian, 56. Fabian led them to a room that looked like a salon with mirror tables and high seats on two rows. Each row had eight. They questioned the place and wondered "What about the book launch?"

-More people came in and asked the same question, but none bothered to leave the room. People began to wonder and feel funny about the whole thing. Out of the corner of her eye, Barrie saw that Fabian went out. She followed. Katlen followed Barrie out.

-"They wanna kill us. I don't trust Fabian. We have to protect ourselves." Barrie said to Katlen. Katlen replied "Okay, how?" "Let's keep Fabian busy. Follow him." They followed Fabian without him knowing. They overheard him talk to someone else about needles and a liquid concoction. He sat down in front of a supercomputer that looked like a drums set. He pressed buttons that lit up with colors of blue, red, and white.

-Barrie could not control her mouth. She shouted, "Fabian!" Startled, Fabian slouched his back and used his sleeved arms to cover his supercomputer. He immediately rose from his seat and pulled the two women mercilessly into the workplace and then into a smaller, darker room inside, muffling their mouths with his bare hands so that they could not shout. He singlehandedly blindfolded them and threw them inside the smaller room, locking it afterwards.

11.7 Serina Alonzo fixes plot outlines with a broken heart

Serina Alonzo hoped for inspiration to improve story's plot -- But after the Saturday incident, all idealized romantic endings did not seem workable anymore.

What started out as a very unrealistic, dreamy young adult fiction plot continued in a story-come-true romantic encounter. However, the plot's ending with the girl reciprocating the guy's love was not how Serina's actual romantic encounter came to be.

She told him not yet, wait, and think.

Now that her romantic reveries have just died, she struggles pulling off a good love story ending (no inspiration). She needs help.

To give help or support of any kind, please contact 09198762345.

11.6 WRIFICT young adult plot comes to life: oh-no

Story's character-sake, a real person, takes on fictional character's profile and changes Serina's life drastically.

Never did it once occur to her in the whole duration of creating an idealized "boy meets girl/boy gets girl" plot outline that it would materialize. Now that it had, Serina knew that she needed much of her thinking head to decide whether to go for it or not.

She does not.

After scribbling her thoughts on a piece of paper, these are the words the journalists found: "This guy is very smart, talented, deep, mature, handsome, disciplined, principled, good-natured, etc. etc. etc. and I like the way he is. Now--I've met better guys before. This guy, clearly, is no match for those other guys--but I still like the way he is. If I say 'okay' today, then today would mark the happiest day of our lives, and business partners we will be from now on. Sadly, I don't know how he works. But I know how I work--I always have to be certain, and I bet he still does not know that I break down easily when work is not excellent. No, I can't do this. No, not yet. Or better yet, he has to wait."

Serina felt unusually empowered that night. A chat conversation was obtained from her archives folder.

She messaged the guy and said, "You're still not Carmine!!!"

The guy then replied, "Say what?"

"Don't jump the gun; it won't be proper."

From a distance, it was observed that the guy was silent. Because of that, Serina was given the license to explain her part: "Don't flatter yourself. Tell me what you know about me."

The man gives a list of basic things about her.

Serina answers with "That's not enough, and this is why 'we' can't happen yet. We've only ever met once, we've only ever spoken via social network, and I do not even know what your talking voice sounds like. You have to wait. We can wait for each other."

The man replied, "Sounds great. I can wait all life long for you."

Serina retorted, "What? That's unrealistic. No, be specific. Until when? How long?"

"When we're twenty and graduated," he said.

"Ah but I'll be taking my masters by then. How about middle to late twenties?"

"Sure."

"By the way, do you remember how my WRIFICT plot ends?"

"Yeah, Carmine gives back the diary and proposes."

"WHEN they meet in person. They have to meet in person, and so do we."

11.5 A meets K at coffee shop to talk about insanity, etc.

Bipolarity, self-diagnosed -- After having read two madwoman novels, Serina Alonzo decides that she might be bipolar or almost insane as she matches every symptom found on disorder websites. She tells a good friend, Ho Jae, who offers timely help. They meet at a coffee shop where he makes her feel dumb for believing in such things. On the other hand, she is under no illusion to the fact that it might be true.

Ho Jae, a man she admires for being so disciplined and righteous, prefers reason over emotions. He is quick at analyzing problems which Serina, being highly overemotional, cannot do efficiently by herself. She breaks down easily and often imagines what life would be like in a rehabilitation center. At one point during a conversation, Ho Jae even suggests that she needs professional help.

After writing some essays at the AG library, Serina met Ho Jae at a nearby coffee shop at 3 p.m. where he asked about the note she tossed him a few days ago, which read something like "God's too cruel, I think He has left me." He bought a tall cup of coffee using his coffee name, Kim. Ho Jae corrected her wrong by saying that she should not equate weakness and fear to problems, but instead think that being weak or afraid is normal as everyone experiences these. He also explained that being "left by God" means going to hell and that calling God "cruel" is blasphemous. That segment of the conversation was an emotional one.

Serina then admitted that she is deathly afraid of ghosts and of being alone in the dark. She exaggerated by saying that if she is without anyone in a dark place and she sees a ghost, she might faint. She would need at least just one person to be there with her in the event that there might be a ghost, so that she would have someone to hug. Ho Jae corrected this notion by telling her that she should not be dependent on people--"lean on God, not men."

Serina recalled how many times last week she cried and blamed God for all problems. She asked him, "How do you do it? How do you manage to keep a relationship with God despite all you've been through?"

"God; not me."

11.4 Serina Alonzo gives love advice, quotes Soren Kierkegaard

At the lunch table, Serina talks love advice to a heartbroken friend -- quoting Soren Kierkegaard to help the friend get back on track, she locates specific instances wherein the friend should have turned toward a more principled way of living.

What happened that afternoon ended that afternoon. To bring it back, as in to put into writing, would be to dig up a grave of someone already dead and buried. Serina was enjoying a delectable dessert at Bon Chon when her friend started to complain about a guy who forgets--or pretends to forget--to text her. The friend brings more of these problems to the table.

A more rational overseer, Serina knew how said petty problems could be fixed. She began by saying that she had made similar or even worse mistakes. "You're leading your life in entirely different categories," she tells her friend. "You put on all-black clothing to make yourself look good for him; and then you keep seeking for his approval in almost everything you do. So what if he likes you? So what if he doesn't? You're lowering yourself to the level of people who live materialistically."

She continues by sharing some of her knowledge on chakras: "I don't wear black because black absorbs the negative energy of places. You'll notice that your day will keep getting worse if you do. Also, focus on things above, if you know what I mean."

The friend says "No, not really."

11.3 "God too cruel"

A pre-WORLDS2 nervous breakdown -- Serina Alonzo took out a piece of sticky paper and scribbled on it with the words "God's so cruel. I think He has left me...." She tossed the piece of paper to Ho Jae and then ran out the door.

After many long days and hours of toil, at 5 A.M. that day, Serina Alonzo finally tasted what it was like to sleep. She woke up thirty minutes after to get ready for school--and thirty minutes of sleep did not matter for as long as work was finished well. Finally satisfied with the book critique, she squeezed the USB in her hand and said, "This has got to be the best book critique I've ever written!" Upon arriving at school early that day, she went up the library at Andrew Gonzalez Hall to quadruple-check both papers before having them printed--both the WRIFICT book critique and the WORLDS2 Nietzsche paper.

But then this happened. First, the librarians did not allow USBs for the library computers, not even when really needed. Frustrated, Serina darted out the door and walked all the way to the piso print at One Archer's Place, only to find out that both files were not in the USB--either something deleted them or they were not saved at all. Outside the piso print, Serina literally fell on her knees and grieved as if someone important had just died--replace "someone" with "hopes and dreams of rising victoriously in major subjects." She found herself finally using those "swear words" that were once just untouched vocabulary inside her word bank. She then decided to type everything from both papers down from memory, beginning with the book critique, the more crucial one.

When the bell rang for the 9:15 A.M. WORLDS2 class, she quickly dropped everything and headed to class--strangely, Serina could not bear to cut class, not even for important papers. A few classmates like Riddick and Kevin noticed her wiping away tears and sniffling as she entered the classroom. She did not mind them or anyone. Instead, the plan of action was to proactively continue to rewrite whatever she could remember from the initial document. She spent those hours trying to come up with a similar document. Meanwhile, she also blamed God for the mishap. Finally, at the peak of her anger, she wrote "God's so cruel. I think He has left me." Slipping the note under Ho Jae's hand on the desk, she stood up and ran out the door in complete anguish, saying words like "What of 'I'll never leave you nor forsake you,' God? I believed in You..."

She spent the span of her only break time cramming the papers, feeling altogether happy that she finally had opportunity to self-torture by skipping lunch. Lunch happens to be her favorite meal of the day--skipping it would equate to deprivation of happiness. After one paper was done, she proceeded to writing the next paper. In less than an hour, she managed to chock up three unsatisfactory, half-baked papers.

Later that afternoon, she received a text message of concern from Ho Jae. Serina confided that she thinks she is turning crazy.

11.2 Serina Alonzo cancels coffee date; eats frozen yogurt instead

After canceling a coffee date with someone due to studies, Serina Alonzo decides to spend some quality time alone at Golden Spoon (the yogurt place).

Upon reaching the street of her house, Serina takes a side turn and heads to a plaza and goes to Golden Spoon, bringing with her a "buy one get one free" coupon. She finishes two full cups of yogurt by herself, telling herself that "hey, this is so much better than that coffee date..."

11.1 Philosophy department helps hopeless case

Monday post-WORLDS2 nervous breakdown -- After delivering a badly-analyzed class report on Nietzsche, Serina Alonzo runs to the girls' restroom and weeps. She sits at the hallway for thirty minutes, thinks of skipping lunch to punish herself, and then reads more Nietzsche in attempt to improve her crappy paper. She does, with help from great people.

A self-criticizing perfectionist, Serina Alonzo wept for long when things did not work out as planned that morning. It was likely that the professor, disappointed, gave her a nightmarish score of 0.0 or lower. The student was soon found walking out of the restroom door, blubbering with a messy bunch of tissues. After a few minutes of moping around, she went straight to her next class all fixed, as if nothing disastrous had just happened.

With Trish Gan and Leann Guatno at lunch, Serina's plan of punishing herself by skipping lunch did not push through--she couldn't with the company of friends. While eating, they ranted to each other about stress, the trimestral system, and slacker-off group mates--ultimately wishing that the hell weeks would be over sooner. To cheer up, Serina thought of telling them about her WRIFICT cheesy love-story plot. As they proceeded to the campus through Agno gate, Serina saw a band of Lasallian brothers and felt embarrassed right after unintentionally squeeing in public and exclaiming "BROTHERS!!!" with googly eyes.

The three friends spent the rest of their only common break at the gazebo exchanging comments on the plot. A fan of love stories, Trish said that she liked it and that it reminded her of some Korean dramas. Leann, on the other hand, was able to predict its autobiographical suggestion. Serina then revealed how each part of the plot was drawn from real life experiences. The critique session eventually metamorphosed into a conversation about Serina's male friends.

Heading to class, Serina took the back-door route to the faculty building and was blocked by the Groyon at the door. Pondering whether to ram herself through the obstacle or to just stare at it, she found herself babbling about stuff until he eventually unblocked the way.

After WRIFICT, now with two papers--Nietzsche and book critique--to worry about, she was glassyeyed and so decided to go up to the Philosophy department for help--what she realized she should have done weeks ago. Having been a member of DLSU Pilosopo since freshman year, the people in that department were very familiar people. Serina went to the really friendly department secretary, Ate Tin, and ranted all about her Nietzsche struggles, after which Ate Tin approached a professor and asked him to help the sorry student. The professor lent her two books.

Serina and the professor talked for more than an hour until the rain poured, preventing her from heading to the SDA building. In that event, she went down to the Literature department and stayed there for aircon, and also to write a note to her WORLDS2 professor and to do some homework. She was then met by one other professor who asked "How was the comprehensive exams?"

Realizing that she also had the comprehensive exams to worry about in addition to the two crappy papers and three other exams, she pulled out her checklist and placed an X mark beside "coffee date with ---." Clearly, studies have to be prioritized. What's not to love?

10.7

The thick, cottony blanket is so big that it can cover ten humans side by side together in one bed--except it only covers one in reality. Its intricate design makes it look like a gigantic masterpiece, and its colors of chocolate brown, orange, beige, and wood brown make it look so nice to hug and squeeze, especially when cold. Because of its size, it can be folded and crumpled into different origami shapes.

10.6

The book called Sharp Teeth has been lying on the corner of the table for three years. Its edges are dirtied, and its cover has a velvety red texture. Its sides are yellowish and a little bit dusty, but its leaves are still as clean as always. Its spine has marks of ink on some places, and it has a marker line down its lower side. Its front cover has the silhouette of a wild wolf-like creature with sharp teeth. The prints on the cover are a shiny black.

10.5

When kept inside an air-conditioned room, the book’s ridged cover becomes colder than usual. Its small size makes it fit easily inside bags and big pockets. Its dark-reddish cover has a picture of a man holding up a white rose for a woman, and its title is scribbled in white across the lower part of the cover. The upper right part of its cover has the words "New Adult Pop Fiction" on it. Its edges are curved so that it looks friendly and pleasing to look at. Its smooth, cream-colored pages are nicely printed on with a font type that is easy to read. It has the smell of a newly unwrapped magazine.

10.4

The top part of the cylindrical cardboard container forms an almost-perfect circle. By virtue of a certain math law, there can be no perfect circle—but this container defies that law. Its round shape, light green and pale yellow stripes of unequal thicknesses at the side, and multicolored striped design on top gives it a unique look. The top part also has the word “bench” written across it in blue. The circular container stores letters and envelopes inside it.

10.3 {Fil-Am Writers [A Special (Seed)]}

Themes of rootlessness and incompletion are invariably themes that make many of Filipino-American writings. The identity crisis felt by those afflicted is notably common not only to Filipino expatriates and emigrants, but also to people from other parts of the world at large, particularly those in the ASEAN region, with most being Third-World countries in this scenario. In more precise terms, the Philippines itself is a multicultural state wherein nationalism and identity are still very much sensitive topics for how those issues are known to those who have experienced or are aware of linked hardships. However, what sets the difference--between the Filipino-American indentity crisis and that of the ASEAN--is history. Given that the Philippines was an American colony for fifty-eight years (1898 to 1946), the Philippines out of other ASEAN countries is the country that has felt much of the turmoil from the period. Its consequences still ring thereafter, and its aftermath--of leaving the country shrugged--has not yet dissipated.

It seems that the already oxymoronic coinage of the term "Filipino American" becomes even vaguer by what Filipino-Americans themselves understand the hybrid to be. Each with independent definitions of the term, Filipino-Americans have arrived at the idea that being Filipino is something they choose to be, and it remains a very interesting subject for thought. It is interesting, and ironic even, that while Filipinos locals love the feeling of anything American and foreign, Filipino-Americans are dying to know more about their roots, the Filipino language, and the Philippines, so much so that their eagerness for the Philippines is reflected in their writings and projects. In contrast to Filipinos who wrote about the second-wave diaspora (the "manong generation"), this generation of Filipino American writers seem to focus more on their own inner troubles of being bracketed or marginalized.

The event that ended just a few hours ago, entitled "Moving Archipelago: Fil-Am Writers Reading at DLSU," featured a panel of four Filipino-American writers, joined by three great, established Filipino writers from DLSU. The guest writers were Amalia Bueno, Sarah Gambito, R.A. Villanueva, and Ricco Villanueva, and the highlight of panel conversation was definitely when each talked about their own separate views on what the Filipino or the Filipino-American is. To one writer, a piece of writing is "Filipino" when imbued with hints of Filipino culture like Catholicism, which is a large contributor to our culture. To another writer, the Philippines had always been a mysterious place. Likewise, adding elements of mystery in her writings is how she makes her writings "Filipino."  To yet another writer, a Filipino-American (or "Asian American") audience is taken into consideration. Although views were very different, each uncertainty story disclosed of truths that are deeply rooted on issues that involved much of Philippine history. The dramatic situation of the novel excerpt was unclear to me (am a bad listener sometimes), but I am aware that the poems each had themes that dwelt on the writers' perceptions of the Filipino culture and nation as a whole. Identity, or a confusion of identity, remains an unbreakable problem to them, especially when faced with questions regarding their race or when they think in matters of where they truly belong. I have sometimes accepted the idea that "where to belong" is likely not going to be a matter of one's choice, regardless of how eager one is to choose or how easy one thinks it is to choose from between two lands.

From a personal conversation with one of the writers, I have learned that shifting back and forth from two countries can play a huge part in one's growth and life--a person will grow up to realize that his birth country is just as important to him as the country he grew up in; and to choose between two countries would be akin to keeping killing one twin and keeping the other. People of bicultural identities would always have to accept the fact that they are both parts, because of attachment, and I am of the idea that regardless of citizenship or naturalization, racial profiling is inevitable. Furthermore, I also consider nationalism to be a personal thing, an understanding dependent on one's conscious decisions and upbringing. While a Filipino can keep having his "American dream," a Filipino-American can likewise also keep having his "Filipino dream."

On top of uncertainty stories and a Filipino nationalism which many Filipino-American writers may proclaim themselves to have, the difficulty in writing will always lie in truthfulness. Until a nationalistic Filipino-American writer will live in the Philippines and immerse himself in the Filipino culture--only to arrive at a realization that the Filipino culture is not really as unified and unalloyed as idealized--his works won't be "truthfully Filipino," and he will not write truthfully because of detachment, and because of mixed roots. From observation, writers who are "far removed from time and place" usually dwell on imagination to give their works a definite setting. Although an important and often necessary element of fiction, setting does more than give character and color to a work of fiction. An idealized and quasi-existent world on paper, setting also gives feelings of genuineness so that culture and identity might be understood to a greater extent. Writers who are far removed from the actual setting can't "write Filipino" without losing themselves in the making; but perhaps they can write proficiently about said crisis.

10.3

The upper arm has a thick bag of skin below the triceps. The bag of skin, containing tofu-like formations with small spaces that look like air bubbles, appears whiter than the rest of the skin on that arm. The scars on the area between the biceps and the triceps are still visibly pale brown, forming streaks of cirrus on a smooth, reddish part.

10.2

The nose has a bridge that rises from between two dents on each side of the face to the middle. From a flat area, the hard parts form an upward slope that continues all the way to an area above the philtrum. The nose’s tip appears above an irregular triangular shape. The area adjacent to the tip form an opening of two small holes shaped like jellybeans.

10.1

The liquid inside the bottle has turned golden brown. Its liquid smells of heavenly sweet vanilla—of the kind that makes a scent aficionado faint and swoon. The round container has a golden cap. A piece of sticker paper, with the letters “I & e” written and gray lines forming shapes of vertical ribbon strips, is attached to its clear, round, plastic body.

9.7

Its front cover has an artwork of the Philippine Senate’s coat of arms. In bold letters, its title explains what the thick brown book is: a comprehensive reviewer of the 1987 Philippine Constitution. It has small pieces of red, yellow, blue, green, and orange plastic sheets sticking out of the top and right sides. Its cover is wrapped in a protective plastic sheet so that it looks clean, shiny, and unharmed. The inside pages are underlined and colored in various shades of neon yellow, neon orange, and neon green, and many other shades of color a highlight could be. It smells like pesticide.

9.6

The neon-yellow cylinder stands atop a desk with pieces of post-its stuck around it. Its base looks like a gigantic screw head, and its lower body has curved lines that look like the curved lines of a screw or the opening of a bottle. Its circumference from top view measures to about 2.5 inches, and its height is the length of a standard Mongol pencil. It used to be the container of a pair of sunglasses. It now serves as wobbly paperweight to several scraps of paper and a round surface to stick sheets of paper on.

9.5

The parchment sheets are ruled with 3x4 rectangles, dotted diagonal lines, and a bolder outline framing the paper, just below the margins by half an inch. The lines are colored predominantly pinkish orange, and so are the characters. Characters of another language are printed vertically on the top and left margins; and on the boxes themselves are curved shapes and blots that resemble strokes of a calligraphy brush.

9.4 This man is important to me

The blood-red umbrella has a Japanese doll's head at its handle. The doll's eyes are tiny triangle-shaped slits, and Sakura flowers are painted on its head, with hair painted black and carved to create straight ends below its chin and bangs on its forehead. When wrapped around the center pole, the blood-red cloth crumples to look like a giant flower. When the umbrella opens, the dolls head detaches from its body with a fountain of blood.

9.3 This man is important to me

He owns a huge bronze medallion kept inside a red box, displayed on top of his desk. This doughnut-sized medallion came from many years ago when he was still into weight-lifting. This fifty-something year-old man has huge biceps and had once participated in weight-lifting championships. That round piece of ornament on his desk is proof that he did great back then. After a training injury, he stopped weight-lifting and focused on more meaningful things in life.

Although the medallion is reminder of both good and bad happenings, weight-lifting isn't all that there is in this man. Apart from loving big adventures and scuba-diving (he even has a diving group), he is also very, VERY intelligent. Entering college, he was granted the Oblation scholarship in UP Diliman. He, however, chose to study BS Botany in UST because he is a nature guy. After graduation there, he ventured into medicine and then into business administration at ADMU after the death of a cancer patient affected him immensely. His dissertation paper brought McDonald's to the Philippines. He then worked for the SM group for a time before proceeding to run his own company. He now spends most of his time in a farm as an agriculturist.

In terms of personality, this man is a person who begins all over again when a task is muddled along the way. He isn't so much a perfectionist as he is someone who just loves quality and excellence all the time. In almost every aspect of his life, excellence is seen in things he does.

9.2 This woman is important to me

She owns two semi-spheres with blunt-edged spikes. Most people who see it in her room call them "porcupines," but they're really not porcupines. They're called foot wakers. The foot wakers are just among the many queer objects inside her room. They're round, mud-colored, and hard. When stepped on, they give the feet a weird sensation. That's because they're used for healing purposes.

The owner of these foot wakers is knowledgeable on a vast array of alternative healing modalities. She goes abroad occasionally to learn these. She also has a sharp mind; by just looking at a person, she would know exactly what that person's problem is, be it physical or emotional. In addition to that, she owns a collection of spiritual, alternative medicine, new age, and rare-antique books. One of the rare, antique (not to mention expensive) books in her collection is the complete set of Zohar. Healing is her spiritual gift (or archetype), and she has extremely warm hands; she heals people she comes across.

9.1 This guy is important to me

This person has nice lips. No, he has the nicest lips of all. It has a light burgundy color, and it forms a little frown when he smiles.

When the light from his laptop shone on his face, light and shadows outlined his facial features. His lips, particularly, had a nice curvy shape, and he has no facial hair at all, except on his brow. He had the habit of puckering his lips. When wet, his lips turned into a darker red color, although not as dark as blood or as bright as scarlet. It had the color of shashimi or raw meat.

He seems the type who puts on seriousness all the time as he almost always has either just a tiny smile or no expression at all. He's a reserved person with too much control over his personality.

8.7

Today, HJPP stayed up until midnight reviewing for the FICTWOR comprehensive exam and continuing her short story. She stopped at 2 a.m. when she was too sleepy to think, and then lay on her bed.

Lying down, she created a dream guy. She took a bunch of physical and inner traits from many cute guys and put them together to create her humanoid/cyborg.

When she was already too deep in thoughts, she couldn't fall asleep. Thinking to herself, she said, I thought I felt sleepy...

Apparently not, because she still had the mental energy to create a dream guy in her head.

While in the middle of creating her dream guy, she realized that she was wasting time. I could've just studied, she thought, and then decided to go back to work right after the dream guy was complete. After giving the dream guy his voice, she fell asleep.

8.6

The day was spent in school, reviewing for all four subjects of the comprehensive exams. HJPP had never felt so tensed, drained, and stupefied all at once in her whole life. She's had final exams in other subjects before--and studying for those exams were not as hard as studying for next week's comprehensive exams. Could this be how preparing for the bar exam feels like? Oh dear.

Very early again, she found her place inside the library. She pondered about literature as a whole, and then about fiction. The elements of fiction are easy to enumerate, even with eyes closed. The bigger challenge, however, is in examining them individually as part of a bigger plot. To say the least, plots in themselves are already too complicated for one's life. It makes her wonder how fiction writers master all of those.

True, fiction is the one thing that has the power to make any man feel dumber than ever. It's the most mathematical thing in the world, except unlike mathematics, it works beyond algorithms and axioms. Second to making people feel dumb, it also has the power to elicit thought and feelings. Math can't do that (...or could it?). But just like mathematics, it could be agreed that once a person has mastered the rudiments of it, writing it would be doable and bearable if not easy. That also goes to say that a person must know "rules" before he could break them. Fiction writers are so hard-core. They're liars, rule-breakers, and geniuses, too.

This conversation with a school mate came that afternoon:

Person: You're a writer, right?

HJPP: Yeah.

Person: Are you any good?

HJPP: What do you mean am I any good? That's not a thing you ask someone...

Person: Oh, sorry. I meant to say, how often do you write, and have any of your works been published?

HJPP: Poetry, yes. I don't know about those other contest entries that won, if they've been published or not. I don't really care, lol. I've been writing every day coz it's rather compulsary. And because I just like to... Well, everyone writes every day. Let's just say that if for one day you don't touch a pen, you become less human. That's just my theory.

Person: But I don't always touch my pen...

HJPP: Ever wondered why people like you are so ordinary? Yeah. Ordinary.

HJPP dodges "writer questions" all the time, mainly because she feels there isn't much about her writing to talk about. Yet.

8.5

Fridays are library days for HJPP the way Thursdays are mistress days for stranger people. She spent a great amount of time at the F. Sionil Jose Collection, reading for love. Something about the writer impels her to keep going back to that little corner. She does for her love.

She reviewed the WRIFICT handouts on POV that day and read books on setting. Setting and characters seem the hardest elements of fiction, especially in writing. No, everything's hard. While going over reference books on fiction, she found a book entitled Telling Lies for Fun and Profit.

What a weird title, she thought. And then suddenly it made sense: liars are the craftiest people on earth. They tell stories to make people want to believe in the reality of a setting, character, or event. Fiction writers make us believe in all of those, and perhaps fiction writers, too, are liars. In fact, they make the greatest tell-tales of all. They're crafty and sly and witty and innovative.

Fiction is myth-making...or myth-"breaking." By telling seemingly true "untruths" that lead people to believing, fiction also seems to destroy the very idea of what a myth is. Myths are stories that are untrue, which people believe in anyway. Fiction tells stories that people read to believe, even in the knowing that they are make-believes.

The believability of a lie lies in a liar's skill in telling a lie. But unlike fiction, lies aren't mathematical. Fiction seems the most mathematical thing in the world... :/

That afternoon, she watched a music show in support of a cellist friend named JERP. She watches all of his shows. All.

She told him to break two legs...

8.4

In pursuit of coming up with a short story, HJPP turned to FICTWOR and WRIFICT notes and readings. She then decided that it can be an effective way of studying for the comprehensive exams, of the sort of hitting two or more birds with one stone. She liked the idea. After all, what better way to spend rainy, flood days than to write-study, right?

In coming up with character names, she consulted with her mom who knew a world about chakras, unity consciousness, enlightenment, colors, natural healing, semiotics, and other mystical things. Any girl raised in a kind of environment will grow up weird in a good way. HJPP's mom gave her a handbook on chakra healing and a bunch of PDFs, saying with a nice encouraging smile, "Do you remember the time we healed your chakras?"

HJPP replied, "Mommy, I just need character names. What's the color of loss and confusion?"

There was a ton of explanation. Information was too profound and vague for naive ears of hers. HJPP got the book and marveled at the section that explained semiotics and religion. It was unlike anything she's ever learned from school. The idea goes like this. There is a lot of difficulty talking about some concepts (i.e. power and powerlessness, loss and gain, and other opposites that create a pendulum effect) because of the limitations of language in the dual system. The Buddhists use the analogy of a finger pointing at the moon. The finger represents language, and the moon represents unity consciousness or enlightenment. We can approximate where the moon is by pointing at it with a finger, although we cannot really touch it. We can never touch the moon with our finger, but our finger can point the way.

The process of naming a character is hard. It's like naming a newborn baby. Trust that whatever name you give a baby will affect his or her entire life. Do you want a deeply contemplative, annoyingly calm, bitter baby?

While thinking of a name, her smartphone made a weird buzzing sound. She received a ginormously long letter from KHJ1. His language was careful and proper, and his formality was beautiful. Although serious, it was sincere. It had the marks of a wise, educated man.

Two middle paragraphs read with godly counsel and knowledge. The rest of the letter, however, was strewn with apologies. She felt that it sounded "too Jane Austen" for how most male characters sounded like--cold, emotionless, soft, sincere. It ended the way a good short story should end--powerfully, efficaciously. For fiction's sake, she then thought of immortalizing parts of his letter onto the short story she had begun to write that morning, beginning with the last-most paragraph: "I apologize again, HJPP, for avoiding you, and I realize that I cannot do that anymore. Please forgive me."

For all a lengthy letter was worth, HJPP had no clue how to write back. Even if a "Yup, you're forgiven" seemed a proper response, it wouldn't do the letter justice on emotional grounds. A few days ago, KHJ1 was the meanest, cruelest, evilest man on earth. He made her cry. When she fought back in retaliation, he cried. The letter, on the other hand, showed a lonely writer--and because of a soft spot for lonely people, she was inclined to making him feel better. If only he were beside her after the letter was read, she could have hugged him right away. Fiction, however, tells you that letters can be very deceiving. Think "Roman Fever."

If KHJ1 were a baby and apologized the way he did in the letter, then HJPP's heart would surely have melted. She would have held the baby close and rocked him gently until he falls asleep.

But KHJ1 is not a baby. He's a grown man, and he had done unthinkable things. Thus, forgiving would be hard to do. As yet, something about him or his personality makes forgiveness unconventionally easy. She should probably just give him a hug next week. :/

8.3

A sleepy HJPP woke up in the morning today from the sound of the howling wind. She watched as maya birds smashed onto the glass window just beside her bed. She worried that the rain might enter and drown her papers and books that were temporarily on the floor (too many readings, too little space). However, she felt so thankful, so blessed that the shelter was sturdy enough to keep the whole household safe.

She sat up on the bed and watched as the winds blew rain water as if blowing sand. The wind was so strong that even birds could not race against it. HJPP laughed as birds were thrown onto the window. It was a funnier than watching fish bump their faces onto the glass surface of an aquarium.

The rest of the morning was spent cleaning the living room. Afterwards, she read contemporary Chinese short stories. Having read Chinese short stories gave a strange feeling.

Anything Chinese felt so familiar yet also so distant nowadays. It clearly was unlike the old days. She wondered how much a bicultural identity crisis could affect her life, or her writing. She's always considered herself Filipino, but history and eveything else proved otherwise. Identity will remain a touchy subject.

The book was lovely though. It reminder her so much of a province far away from here. She's only ever been there twice, but the memory lingers.

She met a dude there, a childhood sweetie. His name is RDL1. Today, upon learning that RDL1 had a twin, she banged her head on a desk. Well, they didn't look alike. How unfortunate. He has a twin brother named RDL2, younger by a few minutes.

In every stage of her life, it seems, she meets an important guy. RDL1 from childhood, JSA1 from pre-teenage, and now KHJ1. These important men come with a twin sibling.

KHJ1 is a brother's namesake. He has a twin brother, KHJ2, who is a seminarian. They're cool brothers (no pun). JSA1 and JSA2 are neighbors and running buddies of HJPP. They're both engineering students and are so good at math that it makes her want to cry. RDL1 relates to her in everything. That was how they started out as friends. Many years ago in a faraway province, they kissed among tall uncut grass--well, they were barely five and too childish to comprehend what coupleship meant, but if childhood sweeties were to count as actual boyfies, he would have made the first and only one.

Today, HJPP got into an actual fight with KHJ1. It was hell.

8.2

Although arrogant and careless HJPP scored top 5 in a midterm exam in a finance subject, she felt so humiliated, so demeaned for just one shallow thing: FAFA scored higher.

HJPP solved problems with great speed, and FAFA had always asked for her help. In fact, many of her classmates asked for her help. They would text her and call her up the night before the test just to ask her to explain things. Come exam time, HJPP was confident--too arrogantly confident that she made sure to submit the exam booklet thirty minutes before the rest of the exam time ended.

Many of her classmates remarked with "WOW, tapos ka na???"

HJPP, arrogant as always, replied with a "Yup, dali lang!"

When results came out today, the arrogant one got a 90 percentile. FAFA got a 96.

HJPP heard FAFA say, "Yes!!! I'm higher than HJPP!"

HJPP frowned in dismay and humiliation. A really important lesson was learned today--that grades mean nothing if one's character is rotten. HJPP dared to change that side of herself today.

8.1

True story: HJPP (my fictional name henceforth) lost a dear good friend today. He did not die. She just turned him invisible, the way the US turned the Philippines invisible from their history.

Yet another true story: Daydreamy HJPP almost forgot to go down the right train station today. With a messed up head, she had the weirdest realization that trains were no different from elevators, except that they moved sideways and elevators upwards/downwards. Either supermachine squished people inside all together and had scary doors.

HJPP hated commuting. The train stations always smelled like urine and garlic breath, even when not much people were in it.

Upon arriving home, the rain fell. She was glad, though, that warm monggo soup was for dinner. HJPP raged when her sister said that F. Sionil Jose looked like Jabba the Hutt.

On the toilet seat, HJPP read KHJ1's hate mail on the smartphone. She didn't know what to feel or say. In response to the hate mail, she decided that the better thing to do is that they ignore each other for good.

"Let's...ignore (no interaction, don't even say hi) each other and keep playing invisible until we forget that we had ever met," HJPP said that night.

There was no response to that. The truth is that  KHJ1 fell asleep while chocking up a message to reply with. Many hours after, at midnight, he accidentally pressed the "send" button while dreaming.

7.7

I'll probably have to imagine myself today to have been like a "Giselle" character, a girl who died of a broken heart.

First, I woke up from a nightmare. My nervous breakdown continued until the morning. Hence, I cried on my desk before going on with my usual morning routine. After crying, I got dressed and did whatever I had to do for the day.

The latter part of the morning was spent in church. After church, I drove to another church to have a Bible study session while my family and went to SM Aura. They ate ramen without me. :(

I caught up with them at SM Aura to have "tea time." My family would typically look like a very studious bunch on any table. While in any coffee shop or restaurant people only sat down and dined, we kids always had school work with us, and my parents had their books/newspapers/financial documents/contracts. I have no idea why we always brought those things outside with us.

In the afternoon I sent Ho Jae a message before I proceeded with studying. It was compulsory. Ho Jae is a person I talk to about God and the Bible because he always, always understands. I've not yet met anyone who is as patient, understanding, and disciplined as he. He's so disciplined that talking to him makes me feel weak and inadequate.

I also tell him about men I dislike/liked and about my problems involving them. He makes sure I don't stalk [hot] guys' walls because it leads to infatuation which leads to self-destruction. If I do, I owe him coffee for every one stalk. I guess, even if we never talked about not stalking his wall or his brother's wall, those count as well.

Second point in relation to feeling miserable today: he sent me the longest, guilt-laden message ever. He feels too much. I accidentally called his brother "hot" and he didn't like it. Oops, forgot that they were identical. I probably owe him a cup now.

Well, besides my morning hysteria, I didn't really feel all that miserable today at all.

After the drama, I killed the internet and shut my phone off to retract from the rest of the Facebook world. I studied henceforth.

My day ended boringly.

7.6

I don't think I could lie about my day. All I did today was study, and that should be boring enough to write/read about. I slept at 9 p.m. yesterday, woke up at around 12 a.m., and then worked all the way. I was being sedentarily productive.

In the middle of studying, at around 10 p.m., I wanted to talk to friends. I messaged Jeremy with "Jer!!!!!!" but he would not reply; so I next turned to Ho Jae who always replied, even if talking to him had always made me feel guilty and awkward.

Besides studying and chatting with Ho Jae, I don't think anything else that happened today could classify as interesting. Oh, Isagani Cruz shared my picture and it got 9 likes. Besides all of those, nothing else really happened interestingly. I didn't even eat. Eating would have been interesting.

Ho Jae was offline. I texted him with "go online!!!!" and then he did. I like that he always did, even if it meant interrupting his schedule. I think I should be more polite next time.

After feeling messed up after the chat, I went back to work. I felt like Ponos, the spirit of hard labor and toil, because I worked the whole day.

I'm realizing how much of the Greek mythology characters/creatures I still do not know, and that is just terrible.

7.5

I arrived at the library a few minutes before the clock struck eight, just for the enjoyment of being earlier than most of the library. I did a homework for one of my subjects there. The homework is due Tuesday next week, but I submitted it at the department at William Hall a while ago just to get things over with. My professor allowed early submissions. When I finished, I went back to the library to read up on my favorite topics.

The bigger chunk of my awesome day was invariably the turnover ceremony of the F. Sionil Jose Collection, a day I had waited the entire week and last month for. An intense researcher of sorts, I snooped around the Collection during its preparation stage this whole week. I helped with the decorating and organizing, mingled with artists, and talked to the daughters of F. Sionil Jose. I enjoyed it so much that I wanted to do more of it today, and so I went up to the twelfth floor at 1 p.m. to help again.

To my astonishment, I saw one friend there. He was arranging books to do his practicum duties. I asked if I could help.

Me: Hey, can I help? c:
Friend: No thanks, I can manage...
Me: Okay... [in my head: Fine, bahala ka...]

I roamed the Collection, took a lot of pictures, and talked to the people around (the librarians, organizers, the daughters--everyone except for my friend because he was boring). I also talked to Regie, the main artist. I asked him questions regarding the design concepts and arrangement of the place. He explained that the arrangement mimicked that of Solidaridad, the actual book shop. The quote on the wall which read "Uni boni tacent, malum prosperat" came from the publication called Solidarity. The Latin phrase meant "In the silence of good, evil prospers." That phrase was used as an epigraph of Solidarity. I knew an adequate amount of information about F. Sionil Jose from stock knowledge and a lot of research because I wrote about him for an essay competition last month. When Regie showed me an actual copy of Solidarity, I teared up, thinking I now hold in my hands...an actual copy of Solidarity. Wow. :">

I joined in some of their conversations on F. Sionil Jose, filling their stories in with stock knowledge of my own. We talked about his hometown, childhood, travels, writing life, etc. I guess it pays to know stuff? Coupled with a little stock knowledge on Philippine history, I remember inserting a topic on the Colorum uprising. Everyone then said "Yeah!!! That was in Pangasinan!" One of them said "I'm so impressed! How do you know so much?" I said, "School," giving a thumbs up, and then everyone laughed. Incidentally, that conversation took place around the long table, and it felt metaphorical. Many years ago in the Solidaridad book shop, I knew that people also used to have great conversations around a similar long table.

An F. Sionil Jose documentary played on a big LCD screen all throughout the afternoon preparation stage. While my friend was on his laptop at the far end of the room, I watched on the big screen, directly in front of it. I had the awesomest privilege of having watched the documentary that early afternoon--and I feel so thankful, so blessed that I had seized that opportunity to watch it, because they did not show it during the main event anymore, strangely enough. They only kept it running while the event transpired.

At 2:45 p.m., Dr. Lua arrived. She went directly to the buffet table to arrange the pika-pika goodies (different kinds of cheese, saltine, small sandwiches, chicken fingers, orange juice, and wine). I approached her and said hi.

Dr. Lua: Serina! You're early! Good yan ah.
Me: Always am!
Me: Can I help? c:
Dr. Lua: (excitedly) yes, sure sure SURE!!! Okay, since you and --- are early and are nicely dressed, why don't you both stand at the door and help welcome the guests?
Me: Okay

Friend: What did Dr. Lua say again?
Me: We stand at the door and welcome guests

We stood at the door and stared awkwardly at each other. A person with laughing tendencies, it was really hard for me to control my laughter. I guess I had made it too awkward for him that he walked to the CR. When he came back in, he walked past the door and toward the other end of the room to his laptop, leaving me at the door. I didn't mind being left alone at the door. When guests came in, I brought them to their seats, shook some hands. Suddenly, F. Sionil Jose arrived. The main librarian hurried to the door to shake his hand. His daughters also went to the door and welcomed him.

One of his daughters took me by the hand, slapped F. Sionil Jose at the shoulder, and said: "Papa! Let me introduce you to Serina! She's the person who's been telling us all about you!" F. Sionil Jose said "Ah ganun ba? Nice to meet you!" He took his cane by his left hand and extended his right hand to shake my hand. I felt incredibly happy. Photographers, people from the press, librarians, and organizers trailed after him; and so did I. I stood at an angle where it was possible to listen to everything he said. I guess he sensed that I was following him around.

When other people went back to minding their own businesses, finally, he sat down on a lonely monoblock chair. I remained at my spot three feet away from his left side and kept watching him. After some time, he looked at me and then called me to come near: "Halika, iha." I thanked the universe. I sat on a cube-like couch beside his monoblock chair, and he began with questions. I brushed feelings of enthrallment and awestrickenness away. I had always wanted that conversation; and because I was already having it, there was no point of feeling giddy or childish any longer. I could only look back to more than five years ago when I had started dreaming of conversations with fine old men. For those thirty minutes, I had lived five, long, crazy diary years of dreaming.

We sat very near the entrance. When guests came in one after another, he would stand up to shake their hands and take pictures with them--I might have photobombed on almost every picture because I never left my seat. After he greeted guests, he sat back down and continued with our conversation. I saw Dr. Lua looking so proudly at us.

FSJ: What are you...(unfinished)
Me: I'm a student
FSJ: No, I mean, what are you studying?
Me: Literature po
FSJ: what do you like to read?
Me: historical fiction po... I read a lot of historical fiction, memoirs, or anywhere I can find historical data
FSJ: what's your forte? do you write poetry? fiction? drama?
Me: I try to write fiction, but I also write poetry
FSJ: mostly what?
Me: fiction
FSJ: Do you write in English or Filipino?
Me: I write in both, but predominantly in English
FSJ: You should write in the language you know best
Me: Sir, why do you write in English?
FSJ: Because history declared that I write in English. That is a question I've been asked very often. If it were not for the Americans, I would probably be writing in Japanese or maybe in German.
Me: Sir, you've been traveling a lot po. How did you manange traveling with a writer's wage? I mean, you've always said it in your essays na walang pera kapag writer. How did you do it?
FSJ: There was always the benefit of writing grants and institutions that subsidized for my travels... Pero mahirap rin talaga, walang pera ang pagiging writer, but it's a very fulfilling and noble career
Me: Sir, how are you able to sustain your writing? You've already written so much, yet here you are, still writing... You even published another article in your column just four days ago. How do you do it?
FSJ: Passion. Without passion, you can't write. You can, but writing won't live and die with you. It's not easy to write, but as a writer you have to have the passion because it's what makes a writer a writer.
Me: How did your writing start?
FSJ: Because of Jose Rizal. Jose Rizal has the greatest influence in my writing. I remember, when I was ten years old, I cried when I read the scene about the two sons of Sisa, Crispin and Basilio. At that young age, I felt outraged by the injustice. Looking back, I think that is the reason why I feel outraged every time there is an injustice.
Me: Ako naman, sir, I cried at grade two during Makabayan, when we learned about the execution of Jose Rizal. I even remember that some of my classmates made fun of it. They played the "shooting" scene for fun. That wasn't right eh, so I got really angry. Na-detention ako nun...
FSJ: Hah?!!! Anong ginawa mo ba?
Me: sinigawan ko po sila... I said "You're all so immature!!! Stop disrespecting our national hero!!!" I got a detention for calling them immature.
FSJ: Hahaha

At some point, Brother Ricky came in. They both shook hands. F. Sionil Jose asked about Brother Ricky's collar. I said hi. We also shake hands.

Me: Hello Brother Ricky...
BR: Hello, how are you?
Me: I'm fine... when are you leaving for Rome?
BR: [he pats my head and smiles nicely] Next month pa, in late August. August 25 or 26.
Me: I've always wanted to go to Rome... and I've read your letters!
BR: Oh really?
Me: Yup. Can I touch your collar?
BR: go ahead. This collar comes from a long tradition of collars from the brothers in Rome.
Me: Wow, interesting
BR: [walks away after F. Sionil Jose takes his seat] sige, good luck with school.
Me: thanks!

When Brother Ricky left, more guests arrived. Because I sat next to him, one of the guests thought that I was F. Sionil Jose's grandchild. During intervals, we continued with our conversation. Oh that was fun.

Me: How did you feel about not winning the Nobel?
FSJ: (there was a change of tone) Wala eh...nothing... I was nominated twice. One was last year. I thought that by last year I was already going to get it. That would have been a really good opportunity. Sayang eh.
Me: Oh... sorry to hear. Can you talk about Solidarity, the book shop, and the art gallery?
FSJ: I'll talk about that later in my lecture. Later.
Me: Why do you write from history?
FSJ: Because tomorrow, today will also be history. I write from a memory.
Me: What in your opinion is the best kind of novel?
FSJ: A novel that gives a person memory. I always tell people that the primary function of a writer is to give a person memory, to help a person go back to the past.
Me: I agree.
FSJ: Wala ka na bang itatanong?
Me: Nope, sir, they're about to begin na kasi.
FSJ: (stands up with his cane and walks to Dr. Lua)

While walking, he was interrogated by some more guests for handshakes and photo-ops. Dr. Lua introduced my classmates to him. He said "Aba at akala ko ba mga sampu silang lit majors?!" Dr. Lua then explained that some were still on the way or late. He asked some of my classmates (Riddick, Anis, Katrina, Andrea) one by one about the topics they were interested in and the writings they did. My classmates answered. When he turned to me, he said "Ah, kausap ko na 'to kanina."

I observed that his speech borrowed anecdotes from many of his essays. They were told in exactly the same manner, and I found it adorable. Most of the anecdotes he shared were familiar ones because I'd already read them from his column and other essays. He finished, however, with a quick note on the opening of his Collection. He said that he turns his memory over to an institution with hopes that when a person visits the manuscripts and memorabilia, a person might remember.

Immediately after the signing of the contract, the ribbon was cut. I rushed from my back-row seat to the ribbon-cutting ceremony at the other end and pushed my way through the crowd and paparazzi to take good shots of every moment of the Collection's ribbon-cutting and after. I felt incredibly stalkeresque and energetic. I followed F. Sionil Jose everywhere, from inside the little room to the larger spaces he would go to to have pictures with guests. I also took pictures of him with guests and promised to upload them (we're friends on Facebook). After my turn as a photographer, I headed to the buffet table where I spoke to more people.

I spoke with Ms. Asuncion David-Maramba and promised to look for her books in the library. She mentioned that she taught in my university for a time and had authored several books. I also spoke with Dr. Vince Gomez.

Vince Gomez: Hi, are you the one doing a study on F. Sionil Jose?
Me: Yes!
VG: Ah, that's great! For how long have you been studying about him?
Me: For four months already.
VG: Oh, good. Are you also studying here?
Me: Yup, third year. (popping a piece of blue cheese into my mouth) 
VG: Okay. I'm the person who made all of this possible, from asking F. Sionil Jose to turn over his collection to making arrangements, etc.
Me: Wow, that's amazing. May I know your name, sir? [I felt like spitting the blue cheese out but I couldn't because I was in the middle of a conversation. I had no choice but to swollow the disgusting blue cheese.]
VG: I'm Dr. Gomez
Me: Vince Gomez?
VG: Yes
Me: [in my head: Shucks, kilala ka ng tatay ko] Oh! I'm sorry, I hardly recognize people by face. I usually only know them by name, including many of the writers here...
VG: No, it's fine. At least you know them by name. It's good noh, and how old are you?
Me: I'm 18
VG: Still young. What do you plan to do after college? Do you plan to teach? Study abroad?
Me: I could teach, but I don't teach well, so I could also go to law school or study abroad. I actually used to have so many plans for my life but it gets harder to decide as I get older.
VG: Take it slow, don't rush. It's better to be careful, because that's how you end up somewhere
Me: Yup, okay.

In the middle of that conversation, one of F. Sionil Jose's daughters came with her mother and introduced me to her mother.

Daughter: Mama, this is the girl who's been telling us all about Papa! She was here every day of the week and helped us with the set!
Tita Tessie: What's your name?
Me: I'm Serina
T: You've been here all week?
Me: Yup (I try to avoid the praise/pressure)
T: Thank you for your dedication and for helping them set up!
Me: No, thank you for collating all of his manuscripts! I now have a favorite spot in the library.
Tita: (friendly smile) Have you gotten something to eat?
Me: Yes, tita

The day ended splendidly. Two of F. Sionil Jose's daughter's friends also approached me and asked questions. We all had a picture together. In fact, I had so many pictures taken with people that day that I felt I couldn't touch a camera anymore. One of the friends said "Get your dreams!" I'll definitely heed these words.

I have two Biblical stories in mind: one, the story of a young Jesus sitting among teachers at the temple; and two, the story of Mary sitting at Jesus' feet when He came to their house.

I'd never like to directly compare myself to Jesus, but today's experiences had led to this assimilation. It was refreshing to have been able to convene with older people. For thirty-something memorable minutes, I sat down with F. Sionil Jose and just talked. I loved that part of the day. In my world, I meander about relationships between young girls and older men with whatever kind of relationship conceivable. Strangely, I found myself living inside that meander today. It's something I would do every day if I could.

7.4

Dinah Roma's poetry collection entitled Naming the Ruins is amazing. I've now found a book that I can have a romance with this weekend. Today was the book's launch and I helped in ushering the event. Very early I waited at South Gate for writers and guests to come. Katrina and Anis stayed at North Gate. When two other ushers, Joey and Jeline, came to take my place, I went back up to assist with the registration table. There I saw a fellow lit major. Being under the Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center for his practicum, he was among the earliest in the room. He said hello. Feeling awkward, I went back down to South Gate. I normally wouldn't, considering the distance from 13th floor Learning Commons to South Gate--ew--and the heat. I just feel really really awkward around him now, I could not figure out why.

Finally, after my stint as a South Gate usher I went back up. The lecture hall was then more occupied than it was a few minutes before. There, I recognized some writers. I dared to start "writer conversations" with some of them, or at the very least listen to them talk, which I did during the pika-pika session. I spent the most of the time talking to Virginia Moreno.

I was assigned to the video camera. My practicumer-friend took pictures.

My very awkward nature gets the better of me a lot of times. During the event, I played "boss" by ordering him around to do things. A naturally kindhearted and well-mannered person, he did as I said. Realization seeped in only afterward when after the event, he looked weary and tired. I said sorry for being too pushy.

Me: There!!! Take pictures of every person or group of people who registers! That's what we do on every event!!!
Me: Count how many people had signed up
Friend: 16
Me: You just missed 16 people!!! Gah.

Me: There!!! Take pictures of the book-signing!!!
Friend: yeah okay...
Me: okay, good job

Weird thoughts ran on my mind that afternoon--thoughts that bothered me and woke me up. To brush those thoughts away, I dared myself to turn around with eyes closed, and at any time I felt like opening them I'd open my eyes and face a writer. The very first writer I see, whether familiar or not, I will approach. The mechanics of the "randomly-walk-up-to-a-writer-and-talk" game was pretty simple, and I needed it.

This made me think of myself as Phoebus who followed Daphne.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Virginia Moreno. At first, I had no idea who the heck she was; I then made use of my stalking abilities to find out who she is and what she did. I do that. I approach her not long after. She ended up telling me all about her life in UP and in America--and heck how I enjoyed listening. Nothing beats the thrill of listening to writers, especially senile ones, talk. I am amazed at how much of their past they can still remember.

Listening to F. Sionil Jose talk to the person from Vagabond Press was also a great stalking experience. F. Sionil Jose said exactly: "Filipino poetry in English is a language of its own."  He sounds exactly the way he writes. He's amazing.

7.3

My friend and I agree that I've already crushed on far too many guys in my lifetime.

If Jose Rizal had 15 girls, then I have most probably already outrun that in terms of the number of crushes I've had. A few minutes ago during our chat, we talked about how I mustn't keep my attention focused on hot men. Instead, I must guard my heart because it determines the course of my life. I told him that if I did not care about what's right, then I'd probably be very promiscuous today.

Me: give me a number
Friend: 23
Me: then I'd probably have 23 boyfriends today
Me: If I didn't care about what's right, I'd probably be the sluttiest girl you've ever known. I'd have so many boyfriends and momol with everyone until my hormones kill me.

Me: it's haaaaard okay?
Friend: I know it's hard
Friend: And God knows that too. So don't despair.
Friend: Patience is really painful, but you know the fruit of patience.

Me: I've shown you the pictures of those guys I like. They're all very hot. Hottttt guys are hottttt.
Friend: Stop thinking about them! Protect your thoughts and eyes first. Don't keep looking at their Facebooks...
Me: okay, it's a dare! Give me a number.
Friend: 9999
Me: oh fudge, that's forever. Lower!
Friend: 0.1
Me: no, a two-digit! A whole number!
Friend: 10
Me: okay, I won't look at the walls of the following men for 10 days: name, name, name, name
Friend: and if you do, you owe me coffee from CBTL
Me: yup, that's a deal
Friend: let the deal begin!
Me: one cup of coffee for every time I look at any of the aforementioned guys' walls
Me: 9999 looks is to 9999 cups of coffee
Friend: that is awesome!
Me: 28 years free supply of coffee!

I guess I won't be looking at any of those guys' walls starting tonight.

Because of the big figures, I remember the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. That was a lot of people, excluding women and children, and the large amount of food was even too much for them to consume.

That memory of today reminded me of that Bible story.

7.2

Today, I pounded my brother's blade for his sword. I felt like Hephaestus, the blade smith, except not crippled. The experience of whetting and "cutting" the blade with a huge tool brought extraordinary feelings of strength and might, even if I didn't really know half of the stuff I was doing. I felt accomplished but way too worn out.

7.1

I ran 2.8 kilometers today in the rain. I could have run more, but because the rain was getting stronger, I had to head back home. The experience of running in the rain reminded me of that scene in Lady and the Tramp (part one) when Jack and Trusty chased the dog pound car to save Tramp. I also think that experience of running in the rain could also be Herculean in a sense that running in the rain is a feat of great difficulty. Having conquered a feat of difficulty made me feel akin to Hercules.

6.7

-I'd never trade my parents for other sets of parents... shucks, they're awesome as they are, okay? Listening to a friend talk to me about parent issued had made me realized how lucky I am that my parents are the way they are, even if they do get annoying sometimes
-my craving for Ramen lasted for more than a week...
-I think a lot about food these days
-there are people who think that the current president of the US is George Washington
-there's a guy in school named John Paul George, and his nickname is Ringo
-I've often wondered what life would be like if I pursued engineering at UP or DLSU

Engineering at DLSU--what life might have been like

I'd probably die. Do not get me wrong, AB-Literature is the best program any person could ever be in, but I've often wondered what life would be like if I ever pursued those other programs. I guess I wouldn't be writing this seed blog entry today if I did.

Just yesterday, my friend bought me a DLSU Engineering t-shirt from his booth as a gift of sorts. He wouldn't tell me why, but I gladly accepted the gift anyway. That shirt would be my very first engineering shirt. I wear it sometimes when I go running, and donning an outfit that reads "engineering" gives me strange feelings of being in another life or body, and I don't think I'd like that life...

6.6

-there is a lot of power in the act of giving

-John Singer is a disappointing character

-But he was pretty okay at the start; I'd like to have a John Singer friend

-I stalked my running buddy today and found him among bookshelves at the Learning Commons. It felt so The Catcher in the Rye

-Jose Rizal had fifteen girls. The list of men I've crushed on outweighs that number.

-the world's largest swimming pool (San Alfonso del Mar) can be found in Chile... and I thought the one in Melbourne was already "biggest" enough :o

I'd like to have a John Singer friend

I'd like to have a "John Singer" friend. John Singer was portrayed as a kind of character who readily helps people out of good will. I guess I could say in a most childish way of saying it that the Mick Kelly-John Singer tandem made me feel bad for myself. I found him a really interesting, over-complicated, annoying character--and these are traits I'd like to see in people. Most of the time, I just really need people to listen. He listens; so many people nowadays don't.

6.5

-Ho Jae has a twin brother named Glenn :o
-Paul Ricoeur is a terrible, scary keynote speaker...but he's got some great ideas
-my running buddy might be gay
-a simple handshake can transfer so much germs from one person to another
-wearing black for a day causes my mood to shift from being cheerful to downright emo

Ho Jae has a twin brother named Glenn

Ho Jae walked up to me when I was in one of the computers at the Learning Commons. We talked about twins. I then remembered some friends say that he has a twin brother, and so I asked about his twin brother. I asked him to show me his brother's Facebook and I was amazed that they really did look alike. Ho Jae happens to be older than Glenn (Ho Jeong) for sixteen minutes and I find it so cool. Glenn studies in a seminary and wants to become a pastor someday.

6.4

-Mozart came from Salzburg

-writing at daybreak is the most fun thing to do in the world!

-engineering is useful and necessary for daily living

-my friend Raymond is the nicest guy I've ever met

-my running buddy is much too vain for my life

Mozart came from Salzburg

I never knew Mozart came from Salzburg. I always thought he was German. I've dreamed of traveling to Salzburg ever since my friend Raymond told me about it. Raymond has been to Salzburg and he dreams of going back to it for one week of writing and walking around. If ever I do visit Salzburg in the near future, I would most definitely tour Mozart's home.