Sprinkles for Tuesday, March 12, 2013
IT'S BEEN a while. For quite some time, I haven't found myself sitting in a coffeeshop with nothing to worry and nothing to lose. The last time seems like ages past I could not even remember the last time I was here. Not until now—all basked in soft yellow lights, enjoying the smell of latte. Having been battered with such erratic schedule in the past month, moments like this is a privilege I rarely enjoy these days. There’s something in coffeeshops that relax my mind, inasmuch as other people think of a swimming pool to get rid of stress. Maybe the best thing about coffeeshops is that it encourages you to think deep, filter thoughts, think of something new, connect to the world or even make up some lost time with a friend and engage on a hearty conversation.
IT'S BEEN a while. For quite some time, I haven't found myself sitting in a coffeeshop with nothing to worry and nothing to lose. The last time seems like ages past I could not even remember the last time I was here. Not until now—all basked in soft yellow lights, enjoying the smell of latte. Having been battered with such erratic schedule in the past month, moments like this is a privilege I rarely enjoy these days. There’s something in coffeeshops that relax my mind, inasmuch as other people think of a swimming pool to get rid of stress. Maybe the best thing about coffeeshops is that it encourages you to think deep, filter thoughts, think of something new, connect to the world or even make up some lost time with a friend and engage on a hearty conversation.
Now this new paragraph is no more written in a coffeeshop but on
table just inches away from my bed. I write this paragraph fifteen minutes to
twelve with the noise of an electric fan on number three as a companion. And
some Michael Buble’s songs, too. One would think this is crazy when I could
just go to bed and go to Dreamland at this time of the night. I all have the
freedom to do that. But not tonight.
Maybe part of that stems from my penchant to over-react, or in
this case, to be “over-inspired” over a revolutionary idea. Just a couple of
hours ago, I went to Blugre with fellow blogger and CIO Chief Photographer LeoTimogan (a new coffeeshop in Tagum which is a franchise of a proudly
Davao-based brand, replacing the short-lived Café Wissie which has become a
favorite among friends and officemates) with the aim of researching and
deciding whether to join the climb to the roof of the Philippines this coming
Holy Week—Mount Apo. I wasn’t able to accomplish this goal as it was
overshadowed with our views on how the Catholic Church would transform
itself after a new Supreme Pontiff will be chosen in a historic conclave.
There was a slight silence in the minutes that was consumed, and then Leo
dropped the question that inspired me to write this piece: What kind of writer
are you?
 |
| Blugre, March 12, 2013. |
It was the kind of question that made my world stop for a bit.
Scores of question marks seem to storm my mind asking “Am I one?” “A News
Writer,” I jokingly quipped, “or maybe a ghost writer.” Perhaps this could very
well explain my hesitation to say that I am a writer, judging by the outputs I
produced in the past years. It seems to
me I’ve been a formulaic writer—imprisoned by the old rules of writing and,
well, just for the sake of finishing a news report or a speech which most of
the time are not eventually read in the rostrum. The line of questioning Leo popped out
somewhat opened the doors for me to seek for improvement and to engage in a
journey which he calls as a “prelude to discovering yourself as a writer.” It’s
a sort of making a mark. My hesitation could be explained perhaps in part by my
working environment that thinks (and advocates) that less is more. This could
be the reason why I think I did not allot a room for improvement—a thing which
I did not ponder until now.
In Tagum, I know a lot of good writers I think of when I write
this piece. I remember some of school paper advisers like my mentor Ma’am Alma,
Sir Harley and Sir Edwin who are also molding an army of writers among their
students. I remember the team we assembled last November in Magnaga who
surprised us with their gift in writing, aside from the crafts they excelled
at. I remember Mam Tess, aka
Lakwatserang Paruparo, who enchanted us with her simple yet powerful wield of
words. She’s on our minds before clicking that publish button because we know that
she’s going to read each single piece you post, and sometimes reminding us of
some grammatical glitches that come with it—a thing which we are very thankful
for. I remember Mam Soy, herself an award-winning writer and a voracious
reader, who has this extraordinary gift of romanticizing words and weaving
sentences perfectly. Despite how excellent they are when it comes to
writing, I wonder if they also asked themselves how they want to be remembered
as story-tellers.
To paraphrase Palanca Award’s Hall of Famer Jose Dalisay, Jr.,
writing is such a lonely hobby. You spend a long time in the wee hours of the
morning with only the blinking cursor as a companion. Yet, writers thrive in
this country. Why? Because they think they owe the world a story. To use Leo’s
words, writing is “an outlet to express.”
Leo, who fashions himself as a photographer more than a writer,
has this gift of gab that could draw the line between bullying and inspiring.
One could easily be annoyed with his quick-as-lightning punch lines (our ever
hard-working and longtime CIO Staff worthy of a loyalty award in the person of
Miss Rhea Mae Magbanua even suggested we could put MVA after Leo’s name—Master
in Verbal Assault that is) but there are also moments that he inspired us to
change our way of thinking at the office, the way how we look things and to
strive for the better, especially the young ones.
This night in the coffeeshop is one of those decisive moments. He
might have dropped a question per se,
but to me it sounded like a multi-faceted statement masquerading as a challenge
for me to reinvent and revolutionize, to upgrade and to improve, to make a mark
and be remembered. Maybe someday I could give this man a better answer. Someday.
Louie.
March 13, 2013, 1:31 AM
Here I am Loy as promised. It took me a while though. As I have said in my PM I am battered as well with readings to do. I just finished last Friday the last of my exams. Finally, I have got some of those much needed free time. Anyways, that is all that it is.
ReplyDeleteFirst, I thank you for mentioning my name here. I would like to think that I had perked up your imaginations by some of those I penned, one way or another. If that is so, I am glad because as you and I both know, a writer's role is not only to write but to create a reaction by those who read what he writes. Whatever it might be, that is the point of it. Though I should also say, that which is positive to the society.
Second, although I appreciate your description of my style, I cringe too with that "award winning" liner. Do not get me wrong. I do not find myself achieving anything yet that is worth any writing awards Loy. That one I got, it just a speck of the whole idea of what an award is, a tiny tip of a very large iceberg. Nevertheless, I must say that that minute recognition did impress an important realization in me - I could write. I know how to. I am privileged to own the gift. And if there is one thing that I learned from it, it is to continue my writing, hone it more and develop it better, because writing does not stop in the realization that one can write, rather it is the start of an unending obligation to write, to communicate, above all to be an inspiration.
I could relate to what your Sir Leo is asking you because it was asked to me once by my teacher when I told him that I wanted to write. He asked the same thing, "What kind of writer would you like to be?" And like you I was dumbstruck. A sure hit question. Indeed, if I will write what kind of writer would I want to be? I must admit, as I was dumbstruck, it was one of the hardest question I have to answer. I was not able to give him what he wanted, because I told him that I am still in the process of knowing it. Because all I want then is to let flow the urge to scribble.
But looking at it now, I guess I have found the reason why I wanted to write - that is "above all to be an inspiration." I do not write because I need to but because I want to. And I write to share that hope survives amidst disaster, that love lives despite hatred, that happiness is everywhere and it is for free you only have to recognize and enjoy it, and that dreaming is not a matter of age but that of attitude. In totality life is still worth living.
I guess that is how I wanted to become as a writer, and to becoming it. Yes, it would be an added luster if I could publish my works and be reviewed and then be given an award because of it. It would really be something to look forward to, or even worth imagining. Yet, at the end of the day, I still go back to that same wanting - to be an inspiration, because that is the most enduring. Like the way that prayer of St. Francis of Assisi endured time,“Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.” Or this, " “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love,
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy."
Passe as it may seem Loy but I would like to be a writer in that way.
If there are grammar glitches, edit mo na lang through your thoughts while reading it. Tao lang po. ;)
ReplyDelete