is another way to say that on one evening, I went to the Kultura exhibit where artworks of several Dipolognon artists were on display. Of course, Lea Abigail Prima's work was there. This time, the paintings revealed something quite familiar. No, it was too familiar. When the stupidity faded away, I realized it was Lea herself that Lea had drawn.
This piece is entitled 'Baguio Morning Fix." A very apt one. I didn't know she had a cat in Baguio. The other painting on display was evidently ethnic, something characteristic of Lea's works. It was entitled " Bali in my Dreams."
I insist that I am not in this picture. Anyway, it was a good way to spend a balmy evening. I felt so affiliated with the arts. Dipolog should encourage the local arts to flourish. With gifted artists like Lea, prominence in the field might just be a stone's throw way. Plus, Dipolognons can have access to real artworks and art appreciation, something necessary for a cultural well-being.
During my final year as a chemical engineering student, I took up Humanities 1. Yes, it's that subject where you have to pretend you do not know anything about the humanities because you do not want to spoil your teacher's enthusiasm to actually teach you something you already know. It was nothing new, nothing that I haven't read somewhere or heard about countless times. But it made me ask a simple question:
What do you do with Iligan City?
Hah. After some time, I figured out an answer: Photograph it.
But first I had to complete a checklist. I needed interesting subjects and a good camera. There was no problem with thinking about good spots to photograph. (Oh please it's not because Iligan City overflows with those, but because of simple narcissism: everything I think interesting is, to me, really interesting.) The minor dilemma was obtaining a good camera. With that I mean a dSLR. I have a friend who owns one but it spawned a new problem. I do not know how such a camera works. Poor me. By some unexplained force of inexplicable origin, (thru the efforts of my friend, the Renaissance painter) I actually got not just a camera but a photographer as well. Think about it. For my humanities project, I get to tag along a photographer.
So with everything all up, we toured the city proper taking pictures when I feel like telling him to. I felt like a director, pointing here and there, explaining where the best angles would be and what subjects display the drama of the life of an Iliganon. Except that most of his shots were his ideas. ( Manaka-naka lang ang sa akin, anoobaa!)
In reality, I looked like his personal assistant. I, dressed like a troglodyte, tagged along by the photographer looking so preppy with walkshorts, fitting shirt and Sanuks, with the dSLR hanging on his neck as if not to burden him of his task but to accentuate the look of a "journalist" from the metro. And when he's not futzing with the camera, the Ray Ban gave him a look of a tourist prowling the streets of a strange land. That's probably why people keep asking if we are reporters. I mean, they asked that to me. What they asked him was when his next teleserye would be airing.
I tried hanging the camera on my neck, hoping that I would exude the same look. But it just won't. How frustrating.
Rarely do I accept dissolving in the background, much more as a P.A., but the evidence was unarguable. Plus, I cannot spoil his look (in addition to being a camera no-brainer) so I dare not took it from him. We went to the bustling streets of Iligan City, to the Pala-o public market and to St. Michael's Cathedral. The streets were teeming with interesting subjects. Equally of interest was the everyday life of people in the public market and well, the cathedral was perfect for pictures in time of the feast of the Black Nazarene.
Since I was ironically just tagged along, I spent the time observing what he'd do. At the market, he pointed the camera to a Moslem woman brewing coffee, adjusted the focus, zoomed in and out as much as he desired, and with a click, the woman brewing what seemed like delicious, native coffee, was macvinced.
These kids who are in the talipapa most of their lives, with that camera-shy giggle, turning to each other for cover, afraid that their realness would be captured by the camera, something they haven't had the luxury of thanks to their meager life, were macvinced.
Outside the church, he sat on the bench, casually talked to the woman selling Black Nazarene necklaces, asked her why they were around, arched a little and did the same: point, adjust, shoot. There was something very human about this photo. It was as if the essence of what she does not just for a living but also for her faith, was permanently captured on the picture. The woman, too, was macvinced.
Next, he went to the business of getting all these red candles macvinced. By that, I mean capturing on photograph an emotional response to a seemingly ordinary thing. The flame is awe-inspiring and the dripping candle is haunting, like blood from your own bleeding conscience.
But I digress.
I told you he was good, didn't I? For someone who always shirks compliments and says he is still learning, the pictures suggest how fast that learning proceeds. We now advise him: When you're this good, humility is an annoyance.
Seeing apparently that you want more, these are but a few of the pictures he took during that photo walk. This blog will be featuring more of these as photo essays in later posts.
By the way, because he is my friend, and most of all because he's good, I told him I will let him photograph me for my first book. To be able to photograph me successfully, (that is, adding aesthetic value to the photo) is quite a feat. Actually, I just like to get myself macvinced too and see if it works.
Hey, did I just coin a new adjective? Get yourself macvinced, everyone.
It was a good idea to watch The Red Riding Hood instead of Catch Me I'm In Love although I admit that I wanted to watch the latter so I can fall of my chair because of cheesiness. It turned out that the detective story woven into a children's classic to deliver a more mature and absorbing plot revolves around the task of figuring out who the wolf (with the big eyes, big ears and big teeth all the more to see, hear and eat you, my child) is.
The movie went on hinting on characters that you think might be the wolf. It was all simultaneous that you can think a pack of wolves exist and not just one. And of course, in the comfort of our seats, we were all too busy guessing just who it might be. The main character, played by Amanda Seyfried, offers the best clue to the wolf's identity. I even thought that the twist would reveal in the end that she herself is the wolf. Apparently, she can talk to the wolf and they understand each other. That rendered my guess implausible. Moreover, the story went on pointing to her two lovers or grandmother as the wolf. One of my friends said it's the other lover. No, it's the other one. And towards the end of the movie: Aynyuwet, it's the grandmother!
But a bunch of engineering students were all WRONG.
The wolf it turns out, is Amanda's father. And the reason why they understand each other is because they are kin. His father is trying to pass his "power" to the next generation. At first, it was her older sister but then she cannot understand his message, which revealed that he was in fact not her daughter. This got her killed, accidentally though. So it was Amanda who bore the onus of their clan. But she clearly didn't want it. So, from a peaceful conversation with her father, convincing her to accept the power, the lover comes in to save the damsel in distress and entered into a fight with him. Of course the wolf was stronger, even in human form but he is a weakling to argentum. Yes, silver-- from the nails of the dismembered hand of the pastor who volunteered to head the village hunt against the wolf that Amanda brought along with him to her Grandma's cabin. (She too, thought it was Grandma.)
She killed the wolf successfully, but in the commotion her father bit her lover and passed on the curse to him. From then on she gets visits from a wolf, rides on a wolf, explores the nighttime with a wolf and probably get to do it with a wolf. Damn, all I want to say is 'Bongga ang sex life ng babaeng ito!" I guess the scenes in the ending blurted out, " And they lived happily ever after."
It is what we call hiding in plain sight: the truth that humanity is overly dependent on electricity. In fact, this truth has become so ordinary and obvious that we do not mind. No one asks questions. But what if, one day, all devices and contraptions that run on electricity suddenly shut down and become inutile?
Anelectromagnetic bomb, or e-bomb, is a weapon designed to take advantage of this dependency. But instead of simply cutting off power in an area, an e-bomb would actually destroy most machines that use electricity. Generators would be useless, cars wouldn't run, and there would be no chance of making a phone call. In a matter of seconds, a big enough e-bomb could thrust an entire city back 200 years or cripple a military unit.
Because JanMell would graduate, hewould like to thank:
1. his power Plant Design groupmates Sheila, Russil and Jade. Especially Sheila, Russil and Jade. Without the three of them, he would never graduate. He believes that the best group to join would have to be the group where you can have the least contribution and your design would still be completed. He found that group in those three amazing people. He owes them a lot of money and gratitude. This part includes their printers, PCs and unrelenting patience for his lack of cooperation for reasons that range from livelihood to drinking sprees.
2. his extended family. They have been his constant reminder aside from the patabaing baboy, accumulating debts and cash flow problems that he should not give up and strive to graduate. Moreover, Imelda and Eric are so proud. He can’t disappoint them. They’ve practically told the whole neighbourhood that their firstborn will finish his bachelor’s degree with flying colors. His two brothers, John Michael and Paul Joseph and many a cousin need a luxury Kuya and his aunts, particularly Merle, Charity, Juvy, Grace, and Beverly need a trip around the world. He can’t fail them. The financial support they have provided to the point of depriving themselves will make this sheet of paper drenched in tears if he contemplates about it too much.
3. his inspirations. Chocolate, balut, ice cream and yes, fastfood chains. They have made every waking day tolerable. The prospect of eating always gets him going. He would like to single out McDo and Greenwich for being so delicious. And speaking of delicious, he would like to thank someone for being his inspiration. (Oh puhleease. Not two. The other one is an expiration).
(The thought of you makes him trip and stumble and your presence incites clumsiness. But he likes it. In your honor, he named his break-even analysis graph after you.)
4. Jessica Zafra and the iconic, Regine Velasquez whose blog and videos respectively have kept him awake during moments when he doesn’t know what to do and yet cannot find the audacity to sleep lest his group mates would throttle him. (Given of course that an internet connection exists.)
5. his friends. They taught him to party, emaciate a poor videoke machine, and get inebriated in between deadlines. Soo fake barkada for being true to their name. Special mention to Bernaden, who can tolerate his nagging and cravings for any food that comes to his mind. She says he’s just sexually deprived. He says it takes one to know one.
6. Malu, for being a constant reminder that he will always have a friend no matter what.
7. his netbook whose name would incite anarchy if mentioned. It rises beyond utility and rests above high esteem, despite its price. Ha ha.
8. Engr. Ronald Bual (Ron!), Engr. Vergil Aleria (Verj!), Engr. Edmark S. Icalina (Fled!), Engr. Rodel Guerrero (Rodel!), Engr. Ralf Ruffel M. Abarca (Barcs!), Engr. Arniel Ching O. Dizon (Ching!), Engr. Dexter J. Navales (D’King!), Engr. Kristine Grace Bama (Tin!) and Prof. Rosalinda C. Balacuit (Rose???), Chairman, ChE/MetE/CerE Department, College of Engineering (whew!) and to all his teachers. Without their immense patience for his despicable character, he would not be able to get relatively wonderful grades, let alone pass.
9. Ate Malou, Kuya Chang and Uncle Pitman. Without their kindness, he would have been nowhere and hungry. During the hardest of times, they showed compassion to his struggles and they never questioned nor expected anything in return. It is the kind of genuine kindness he can never regard as memories. It keeps itself fresh and vivid. He was literally adopted by them. He could never thank them enough.
10. Christian Saguin and family for the succulent dinners, the surprising bonuses, and most importantly for regarding him as someone important. They have been a blessing to his life in more ways and another.
11. Ate Rica. Without her and her patience for accumulating debts and delayed payments, he would find himself kicking tin cans in the street and stitching garbage in his clothes. Not only does he owe Ate Rica his latest meal, but also his graduation.
12. Nanay Azon and family for generosity, patience and kindness. It would be preposterous to say that he would return all their favors because the magnanimity of it renders that impossible. His whole family is indebted to them yet they never remind them of it.
13. his former boardmates. The Limbago brothers, Jade, John Eric, Justin and the Gallardo sisters, Charise and Charmaine. Boarding life would have been insufferable without their company.
14. ChEpaPervs for reasons they already know.
15. his friend, the Renaissance painter, for an unknown reason.
(Somehow, he cannot end this without including you. But that doesn’t change the fact that he hates you.)
16. himself and his other selves for going beyond the limits of his intelligence and surviving Engineering, for not giving in to DOTA, endless movie marathons, or the temptation of the overpass. They should make a lot of certificates. They will all graduate cum laude.
17. everyone who in any way, minuscule or ginormous, have helped him achieve his goals. You are only too many and he may not be able to name you here, but there is no posting limit in his awareness. He will always be grateful. In moments when he apparently forgets, don't worry .You are all in his subconscious where, in principle, nothing is forgotten.
At last, after a year of dormancy, the Silahis is now here to satisfy our need for information. After waiting almost to oblivion and teetering to the point of forgetting there is an official school publication, it resurfaced and confirmed that our publication fees are not put to waste, right? That after all, the birth of new writers and the pleasure of reading them would vindicate their absence and compensate for their failed issues, right? True, it was put off for long but here it is now, geared towards affirming the "world-class" ambition of the institute by equally "world-class" articles, right?
WRONG.
If there is one thing that the latest issue of Silahis proved in any of the above mentioned it would be that the publication was done to remind students that the publication fee is put to use. And this it proved barely. Putting to use does not necessarily mean putting to good use. I do not have to enumerate in this post everything that compelled me to litigation of the paper which could be distilled to the grammar, diction and content problems. You only have to turn to the editorial section to prove to yourself that the alleged return of the Silahis is a premature one.
What reader would not grimace at the realization that the editorial written in Filipino would be flawed on the first paragraph? Who can tolerate a movie review when the author apparently knows not how to punctuate? Where on earth can "grace and yoke" be a better and more apt replacement than blessing or burden? What self-respecting editorial staff would publish that they have undergone rigorous selection of writers composed of neophytes, yet the rigor of it all failed to inculcate the perfectionist character of a writer,at least, in his prose? Who would not believe the haunting feeling that this paper did not even fall under the scrutiny of an editor? When the world is teeming with a lot of better things to write about, who would bother giving a second thought to a truncated article about metrosexuals? (Unless one is bothered about her boyfriend.)
Drowned with all these thoughts, I remembered my old issues of Silahis. What happened to the writers? The likes of Jay-Ar Decenella, Karen Nueva Ecija, Gratian Paul Tidor? Has their excellence in their craft failed to proliferate in the succeeding generations or is it still on the process of doing so? Either way, it only affirms the unlikely publication of Silahis. I do not wish to undermine the writers of which quite a few are freshmen, but their works have spelled their demise. Published works are supposed to be impeccable. Content, grammar and other elements. All the more when you are writing under the banner of a school with a claim to prestige. When you look at the latest issue of Silahis and compare it to a school paper written and edited by high school students you would think that Silahis has just recently released a lampoon issue, in obvious defense of the absurdity of the articles. After all, what is not absurd about an editorial, editorial cartoon and student reaction survey about pedestrian lanes and security guards all in one page? I need not mention that a topic about pedestrian lanes and security guards is pretty trivial for an editorial of a paper returning from an "invigorating slumber" and "recharging hibernation."
The release of the recent issue has not stirred the Silahis from dormancy. Not until the staff and whoever is responsible for the school publication would realize that releasing a schoolpaper is no avenue to display mediocrity, it goes without saying that this dormancy could head on to extinction.
Well, you could argue that Silahis lacks writers and that the authors are still proving themselves. The dire situation is exemplified by this quote from the article 'The Silahis and the Neophyte.' (The first "the" should have been omitted, by the way.)
(sic) "Out of more than 10,000 students of MSU-IIT, only 14 have the eagerness to join the team. Although there are still brilliant thinkers out there who may have the best writing skills necessary for the publication, enthusiasm lacks them all, the enthusiasm which is vital to a student journalist. Thus, there are no questions that these 14 students were qualified automatically to become a staff of the student publication. Besides, these 14 students were not just chosen since they are the only present but they all took the examination as well underwent the process of interview."
Aside from the grammar and construction going straight to hell, this paragraph seems to regard enthusiasm as the only requirement to become a staffer. Nothing could be further from the truth. Enthusiasm alone doesn't make a good writer. Talent does. And the paper needs good writers. Judging from the quality of the articles, the standards of qualification were not what they claim it to be or they were just so desperate to fill the spaces with people, not with talent.
Rejection, if viewed on the bright side, is an effective motivator. These writers have a lot of promise. Some may even turn out to realize the writer's dream. However, the OFFICIAL paper is not meant to exclaim this and mere inadvertence is unacceptable. It is not a medium for aspiring writers to prove themselves. For the love of God, it is not a DRAFT.
The lack of writers, QUALITY writers, means one thing-- lengthen and intensify the search. The problem of Silahis is that no one seems to be interested in being a staffer. Did you delve deeper into the reasons why this is so? Why not attack the problem from there? Why not go to the tasking business of making students interested? Multiply advertising efforts, double incentives, conduct writing workshops and propagate concepts to spark the interest of the skilled writers out there.
I am not aware of your internal affairs but if this is what you claimed to have done and by all means did not work, then do not PUBLISH. To do so in order to appease the students in their collective clamor against misuse of funds while sacrificing the quality of the published work is atypical of an institute geared towards excellence. Imagine this issue competing with UP's The Philippine Collegian, The Guidon of Ateneo de Manila, The LaSallian of De la Salle University to name a few. If non-publication due to lack of writers is the problem, then let the students know that the funds are being used to secure the necessary talents. Surely this could not go on for long and when that comes, get a better editor and PUBLISH. The test of the pudding is in the eating, so to speak.
On the bright side, this could be a decree for "the brilliant writers" who are ahead of their time to save the quality of the school publication. I know there are a lot of you out there. Children of the Schools Press Conferences, spawns of the union of the pen and paper, young students who aced their Formal Themes. Or to the staff themselves to improve exponentially. Do not allow readers to laugh at your articles like how Pinoys laugh at carabao English, then later come to realize that the situation is rather sad and unfortunate. Reject mediocrity and deserve the honor of being a student journalist.
That is an ardous process.
In the meantime, I am hoping that this disconsolate feeling would elude me.
To everyone who has come to the end of this post, here's a treat. Read it. Just read it. It's here.
I have always thought that ever since I left Dipolog City to study in Iligan, I have never acquired something newsworthy. It was the opposite for my high school classmates. News always reaches me that one of my high school peers was either given a big singing break or won the lottery. Ha ha.
Recently, a headline in the Philippine Daily Inquirer caught my attention. It said something about Dipolog women. Interested with having to do with Dipolog, I read the full article and wapak!! My friend Talong's (who graduated from UP College of Fine Arts) artworks will be featured in Europe. For the full story, click here.
That's Europe, everyone.
Talong is already a brilliant painter back in high school, winning National Competitions with her unique way of mixing colors. Her artworks are always colorful and back then she always has the knack for portraying lives of the natives. Since we entered college, her pieces had become a favorite among local art displays in DIpolog City and everytime I go to one in the rare moments that I am able to come home, I always look for Talong's work.
This is one of Talong's paintings in an exhibit in Dipolog City. Unfortunately, I forgot the title. Calling Talong, maybe you can help me with this.
By the way, the other Prima is her mom. This is a situation where mother and daughter are both proud of each other.
Kudos to all of you. You make us Dipolognons proud.
