Brain Contour

SDSU Collegian

Three years of writing for the SDSU Collegian Newspaper is already an achievement for me as an amateur writer. But the sparkle each article brought to my eyes was not all-bright every time. The months of making stories and publishing them on paper and online rendered more frowns than smiles – more what-ifs than yes-I-can. I may not be a real newbie to writing columns (with credits to Cebu’s Sun-Star Weekend Magazine), but catering to a different set of readers other than Filipinos, almost always on release day, a new Collegian copy on the table at the basement of Wecota hallwould send shivers down my spine. The audience here is varied, so varied that their opinions posted in response to my articles online could easily signal a raising of the white flag on my part. Majority of the comments criticized (not my way of writing, by the way) my viewpoints about life and living in which my columns usually revolved.

My inclinations to writing religious articles and sharing spiritual miracles had awakened the unbelievers in many ways than one. For countless times the judgments posted were too personal. But I had devised a strategy to not read them verbatim so as to lessen the hurt. The less painful and the few uplifting comments were the needed push to keep all my articles coming each and every week. The avid readers of my columns may have already painted the story of my life, as articles tackled the bits and pieces of my existence and those around me — everything shaped in words, English words, a Filipino, me, hoped to convey.

I am a Filipino. I was born in Argao. The place has yet to be swayed by civilization and advancement or exploitation perhaps.

In that southern part of Cebu, Philippines, houses are situated beneath green slopes, mostly concealed under a lush shade that seems to have existed long before my great-grandfathers. My own home lies up the field, a kilometer or so away from the town proper and across meadows.

Do your friends take your childhood disappointments and misadventures seriously? As for mine, sadly, never mind. In a conversation I had with close friends yesterday, never have they been sorry about my stories spiced up with sour remembrances of days past. Am I inadequate with attention? Fine if they laughed. It was worse when those moments I wanted them to hear didn’t seem to have significance of sorts. Not meaningful enough.

Maybe, it’s funny for me to be forlorn over spilt milk. Come on. Is there really no sense in looking back and basking in the afterthought that I can still dignify, by dint of memory, even the foregone moments I once detested but now merrily summon. Like when …

November 30 is the day I turn a year older. It is the best time for reminiscing about sweet memories of the year before, musing on all things that have been left undone, reflecting on friends who, in all my years of existence, have remained faithful and never changed and, most importantly, a time of facing a new chapter of my life.

In the Philippines, November 30 is a red-letter day. It commemorates the birthday of a brave, noble and distinct Filipino, Andres Bonifacio. He roamed the land a century ago, fought for our independence and became one of the country’s heroes. His dreams and aspirations of one day seeing and living a cheerful dawn of freedom and national unity came true. Had he not shed sweat and blood and led an uprising, along with other revolutionaries, against the Spanish government, I would have been deprived of the feeling a century of freedom could give.

Dreaming is my constant companion. It has caused countless unexpected things to come my way, including my being a US neophyte and appreciating the scores of stuff most of my countrymen love about Uncle Sam.

Traffic, for instance. Traffic jams are virtually unknown in this place. There are lanes for bicycles – even for pets! No officer on sidewalks watching undisciplined pedestrians cross where crossing is prohibited.

I have yet to see an indigent child begging for food. More so, I have always felt this place as deception-free that a nightly walk along unlighted pathways is safe for this Filipino wanderer. No more worries that someone pops out from somewhere armed with an icepick to rob me of my valuables – money, phone, jewelries, shoes or even clothes. Rejoice! I am in a developed nation.

Backyard Squirrel

This event took place – no, was seen – no, was experienced, that’s the right word, near the bell tower along Medary avenue, on a cold, drizzling Saturday morning on my way to Wal-Mart to shop something for lunch.