Those Eyes

I see you outside

reading, maybe thinking

while I am here inside

separated from you

wondering, thinking

has your mind ever thought of me

once, or even just a sec?

all I could do is hope

yes, just hope

that those eyes

will see me too.

Why are Minor Subjects Important?

In any university, students are required to take minor subjects which include, but not limited to, English, math, psychology, philosophy, economics, statistics, biology, and a host of other subjects which many students find unimportant and a waste of time. Removing these subjects from the curriculum would have saved any student and his parents money and time. Bluntly speaking, more subjects means bigger expenses and longer years to spend in school. However, these humanities subjects (for most of them belong to the humanities) are the defining courses which mold any individual to remain connected to other people regardless of race, color, and profession.

As an example, many students seem to forget that without English or the lack of one’s ability to use the language properly, they can never be effective workers in their own field. I have yet to meet a successful doctor, nurse, engineer, architect, or any professional who is not good in English or at least able to communicate well in English. Same is true with logic which teaches us good reasoning and to distinguish truth from fallacy. Math, on the other hand, may seem very hard and insignificant especially if all you want is become a writer. But of course, we know that math is not just supposed to teach us how to solve daunting problems and write seemingly meaningless formulas but also enhance our ability to reason and think critically. These are just few of the things we ought to know from minor subjects and yes, most of these are basic. Basic, in the sense that, without them survival is difficult. Any educated individual must have at least learned these basic things. If not, just imagine how pathetic he becomes in the eyes of this stringent digital (and yes, dog-eat-dog) society.

One time, I had a nursing student who came to me because he had an “F” in the finals. He pleaded and begged me to let him pass because after all, “He doesn’t need World Literature in becoming an effective nurse.” Then I told him, “Well, maybe, that’s the reason why you failed!” At that time, I didn’t feel the need to explain to him why minor subjects are important. He should discover it for himself and, maybe, he would if he reenrolled in the same subject.

I was also a student once and I fully understand why many students prioritize their major subjects because, after all, these subjects are the technical side of their field. Yes, it’s the major subjects which mold us to become expert doctors and nurses, engineers and chemists, teachers and businessmen, etc. But, it is the humanities that shape our personality, build our character, and define our destiny.

Why I Love Harry Potter

Yesterday, I watched “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” together with my best friends. We fondly call ourselves, The Achievers’ Club. I know what you’re thinking but before you jump into some prejudiced conclusions my friends are all achievers in their own right just like me. Oops, don’t raise your eyebrows.

Harry Potter is, of course, one of my favorite movies of all time not because I love witch craft or wizardry but simply because of its power to stir one’s imagination. I think it was Einstein who said that “Imagination is more important than knowledge,” and indeed this is embodied in Harry Potter the way J.K Rowling presented it. Though the movie can never equal the novel itself, it still worth watching. One of the things I also like about Harry Potter is its strong portrayal of love.

Love is magical in many ways whether it is a love for friends, special someone, parents, teachers, or simply a love for one’s self. And this very love protects us all from our enemies just like how it protects Harry from Voldemort! Oops! I’m not supposed to mention his name.

Shameless Announcement

Starting today, I have decided to publish the short stories I have written. I don't care if those who come across my blog would like them or not. I don't care. What I care is I am continuing my passion for writing. I am not an expert writer like Butch Dalisay, Sionil Jose, Edith Tiempo, Nick Joacquin, et cetera, et cetera. But I believe that writing is a skill that must be developed through writing itself! Who knows?

Thanks to Dr Chari Lucero for the inspiration and the positive feedback I received from her during the First Mindanao Historical Fiction Writing Workshop held at Capitol University last year. I hope to join in other fiction writing workshops in the future. Thank you so much!

"Fortress" (a short story)

1 He saw them once again in their favorite spot of his vision, blurring and clouding everything, making his day sour and bitter. They had learned to dominate that very place where his eyes occasioned to relax when they were tired. He used to own that place, but just recently, these thieves stole it away from him so that all he could do was wish he had planted a bomb that would blow them off like firecrackers turned into dust after a loud blast. He wished he did but he didn’t. Although the two figures clouded his vision and made him sick every now and then, he could not do anything to shove them away. He hated them. Yes. But he had also loved them, secretly.

2 In front of his table inside his office, while working on many papers submitted by his students, he watched them slyly under his eyes. One of them would sometimes look at his direction and see his eyes behind the jalousie windows that walled them apart—lovers and hater. And sometimes, when he recognized that they had noticed him, he would instantly shift his view and pretend that he was not watching. He would look down the table in front or look up the ceiling while quickly cupping his temples as if to show he was in deep thought. He showed no surprise. He did not see them. They did not exist in his world. They were aliens who by chance crashed and had no way of tracing back their cursed planet. Yes, more likely. And now, they were here destroying his solitude, making him sick, empty.

3 The young woman suddenly looked at the man, held his face in her hands and moved it closer to her face. He did not say anything. Their gaze locked, while their faces moved closer and closer, gesturing to kiss. But the woman suddenly slapped the man’s face gently and pinched his nose. The man, surprised by her quick movement, showed a face. And the two began laughing. They were just playing, teasing each other. But this time, it looked very close to the scene of a movie picture the spying eyes hated to see. He came back from his reverie when a student suddenly blocked the scene he hated and secretly loved.

“Sir, can I take a special exam?” the eyes behind the windows pleaded.

“What do you think?” he replied. How stupid, he thought.

“Because Sir…”

4 He waved his hands, gesturing her to go away as if she had intruded into the world he had fortified almost twelve years ago after losing his heart and sealing it away together with the letter he had sent to the person he loved. These students should learn the hard way. He often wondered why he had chosen to teach in a university full of students who seemed to have no common sense at all, who asked questions with very obvious answers. When he was a student, he had always been smart. Although he had tried many times to be polite with his students, he often ended up losing his temper. Even he himself would be surprised as insolent words gushed out of his mouth. These sharp words flew away like arrows from an inexperienced archer who did not care with whom the arrows would pin dead. His words were his deadly weapon, wounding his enemy deeply, like a knife use for butchering an innocent, clueless pig. His students were pigs. He was the butcher. And he enjoyed the thought of it.

5 It was already past six when Professor Maro started packing up and decided it was time to go home. He carefully stacked the papers and pushed them to the left side of his table where he put his unfinished work. He opened his drawer checking for his personal belongings which he kept safe when in the university. He never trusted the security after a number of teachers lost their things. He got the novel he’d been reading for a few days, a few documents which needed his signature, and his personal keys. He pushed back the drawer and motioned to leave. But something on the floor made him stop. He stooped and picked it up. It was an old calling card he used to keep in his wallet. He read the words Say It With Flowers written on the paper which had turned yellow and looked like a crumpled leaf. Then the past easily came back. He remembered that day, twelve years ago, when he had laughed heartily after his friend gave it to him.

“What is so funny about that?” Tony asked.

“Nothing. I just remembered something,” he replied and continued to laugh mockingly.

6 With eyebrows arched Tony looked at him and waited for more reasons behind his friend’s laughter.

“Okay. It’s just that, I think the owner would have done better by using a flower’s name for naming their flower shop instead of using a short story title,” he said.

7 Tony did not know what to say.

8 He was always smarter than Tony and although he had always outsmarted him, they had remained friends. On that same day, twelve years ago, he called the flower shop and ordered a bouquet of white roses and sent it to the address where Rosa Anselma lived. He had written nothing on the card but from Garry.

9 The loud voice of many students talking while passing by the office irritated him. They always had a way of making him furious. He opened his drawer once again and slid back the piece of paper. It was the best place to keep the past. He pushed it back and started to walk outside the office.

10 When he reached the gate, the moonless sky was suddenly scissored by lightning. A slow wind began whipping his sour face and he felt a sudden freshness which he thought he badly needed. He felt refreshed and the soreness he had suffered earlier quickly vanished. But it suddenly drizzled and the small drops of water turned into a strong rain. The students started to swell and clog the passage where the shade of the building ended. Prof Maro settled at the back of the sweaty students who smelled of a combination of earth and onions, like soggy dogs. He moved far away back, wanting to regain his lost solitude. He had always loved to be alone, to be with himself.

11 While gazing up the sky and hoped for the rain to stop, a couple squeezed their way through the crowd and stayed before him, blocking his view. He looked at them while they were talking softly in whispers. He could hear the boy asking the girl if where she wanted to eat dinner while the girl responded with a sweet smile and looked at her lover with conceding eyes. Seeing them like that, Prof Maro cringed and moved away. He ran away from them, away from those monsters. They’re always everywhere, he thought. In church, while he was trying to pray and concentrate on asking for the absolution of his sins, their gentle caresses and whispers clashed in his ears like gongs beaten loudly signaling off a looming invasion. In the jeepney, eatery house, movies, TV commercials, and yes, even among the animals, pigs, dogs, ducks, and even animal droppings which sometimes cluttered on the roads! They haunted him like a fugitive, hurting him, making him pathetic, abandoned.

12 Professor Maro arrived in his office early the following day, feeling dizzy. He slumped over his desk and thought positively. He hoped not to see them again. He had enough of them yesterday and the many days before that. He felt tired. He stared blankly outside the windows and thought of his dream last night. He had found himself in a very bright room. A spotlight was aimed at him while he tried to evade from it. He didn’t understand anything. Why would anybody point it at him like he committed a heinous crime? While still trying to evade the blinding light, he suddenly saw arrows flying fast towards him. He realized he was the mark, the target. It was too late. His end was coming. He closed his eyes and accepted defeat. He imagined being ripped by the swarm of flying arrows, his heart split into two, his brain smashed and splattered on the floor, blood gushing out. But when the arrows touched his body, something miraculous happened. They turned into white roses, freshly cut, wanting to be given away.

13 He came to himself and saw the same girl passed by him outside the windows. She wore a blue blouse which shaped her young body. Her straight, long, back hair waved gently as she bounced like a rampage model. Probably eighteen, he thought. She went straight to their meeting place, the bench. The shade of an acacia tree, branching widely, brooded on it and turned the place a perfect haven, their favorite place.

14 Prof Maro looked at her under his eyes. She was looking at her watch, every now and then she checked the time. It was already thirty-five minutes past eight when he looked up to check the time on the clock that hung on the wall of his office. He waited to witness the scene that had been repeated many days before. It was like watching the same movie. Whoever came first would wait for the other on that same spot, checked the watch and sat down while patiently waiting. When the other arrived, they would both smile meaningfully like they had their own world. Prof Maro wanted to know the reasons behind those meaningful smiles. Were they about a secret they had learned to keep for themselves? Or did it have to do with something that had happened the day before? But no matter how hard he scanned their faces for answers, they had remained elusive. He really didn’t know why and for that, he hated them more. He remembered the day Rosa came to him only to go away.

“I don’t think this is working out,” she said and turned her back to him.

“But why not? Is there someone else?” he asked.

“There is none, Garry. You know that,” she replied.

“Is it me? What’s wrong?” he asked again.

“It’s just not working out. I realized I have more things to do. More goals to achieve. And besides, I have younger siblings to take care of. I have to go.” She began to move away.

“So, is this goodbye then? That’s all?” he shouted at her. He didn’t understand enough. He wanted to assure her that he could give her a good future. That he would become successful to provide for her everything she wanted. But she was gone.

15 He had sent her flowers after that. He had also written her letters many times but they remained unanswered. When he had finally decided to visit her, she was already gone. She had left for Singapore and found a job there. He had waited for a glint of hope that she would come to him. He had waited very long, twelve years. She never came back.

16 Prof Maro finally saw the boy approaching her. He was fifteen minutes late. He came to her grinning. His teeth glowed like lightning which had scissored the sky last night on his way home. The girl gave her lover a cold shoulder and a sour look. She was angry.

17 The scene before him suddenly appeared interesting. He wanted to listen to the argument. He wanted to know why. Did the girl also felt like it was not working out just like how Rosa felt twelve years ago? Was there another woman? But they had been a perfect picture of lovers days and weeks ago. The boy quickly moved to his girl, holding her shoulder. But the girl shrugged his hands off and pushed him. She motioned to leave. She left him stunned, speechless.

18 Professor Maro suddenly felt the fast beating of his heart which sounded like the beating of a gong, summoning the soldiers ready for battle. The boy slumped on the bench and stared blankly at nothing. After a few minutes, he looked at his watch, waited for a couple of minutes more. And like a small boy refused from buying a toy he gravely wanted, he left the bench bitterly. Seeing him leave, Professor Maro couldn’t explain what he felt. Something vague suddenly draped its shadow over him, possessing him like a medium of some lost spirits. And without any warning, his cruel face suddenly gave out a light air that could only have been a smile.

19 At nine o’clock that Tuesday morning, Professor Maro went to his class feeling a strange lightness in his chest. His students, who had gotten accustomed to his bad humor and callousness, noticed something different. They saw him entered the room and greeted them joyfully. Like a warrior who had been from a perilous war, his smile declared the victory of which he held the flag. The battle was over. And he won. When his students looked at him closely, examining his face and the possible deceit it bore, they saw only a smile of a man who had finally found love.

3 April 09