Creative Writing

Just the other day, a friend of mine, Duke, told me how he wanted to take writing classes. His course was management so I asked him why he didn't take comm. or creative writing as a major. He replied that his parents wouldn't allow him as he had to take over the family business. It really surprised me that he was interested in my course. That reminded me of people's reactions when I told them I was in creative writing. Some were in Duke's situation, wherein their parents didn't allow them to take it. Others, while they loved the idea of taking such a degree, didn't think it was practical. There were also those who asked me what career I'd have once I graduated. Looking back at all that, perhaps I'm privileged to have been able to choose creative writing as a course.

I don't know if it's in the genes or the way they were raised, but most Chinese families have an orientation towards business, especially the males. When I was still in high school were most of my classmates were Chinese, a lot of them were planning to take business courses or were encouraged to do so. According to them, someone had to "take over" the family business once their parents were gone. Hence, perhaps 75% of those who graduate from Xavier run off to pursue a business degree. As usual, I was the exception.

Not all Chinese males are doomed to a fate in business. There's usually a way out that doesn't involve being cast out of the family. For me, it was an older brother. He's eight years older than me (I'll tell your another time the story of the "accident" that was us) and is currently helping my father. There was no pressure on me to take management or its equivalent.

That didn't mean there wasn't any pressure on me. Aside from my classmate's remarks about creative writing, my dad, who doesn't know how to use a computer, wanted me to take computer science. Perhaps that's the strange thing about Chinese parents. They don't ask their children what they want to pursue. Instead, they "order" them to take something very practical and one that earns money. My father's perceptions have always been clouded as such. I remember once when my father quit being a member of our church when he found out that our pastor gave up preaching in the US to preach here. His reasoning was that in the US, he was getting paid ten times of what he's been being paid here. For father, it was "unfair". Basically, what he wanted was for our church to match the pastor's salary in the US. Which obviously couldn't be done. And the pastor wasn't even asking for it. What father couldn't understand was that there's something more than money. To him, satisfaction is equated with monetary returns. But that's not always the case, especially for the pastor, and me.

From the start, I was intent on not taking a business course. I wouldn't allow my parents to take that away from me. I've had enough of their ordering around for the past several years and I was slowly standing up to them. And then, I was confused on what course to take. I had two choices: one was on psychology, and the other was on writing. Psychology because I understood people more quickly than others, and I thought it would have been interesting studying people's behavior. Writing because I loved to read and I was interested in publishing and other forms of media. When it came right down to it, I was in creative writing because of a choice not made by me but by the colleges. My first choice in UP was AB Psychology while my course in Ateneo was BFA Creative Writing. I didn't get into UP. That basically solved my problem of choice (on a side note, my course in DLSU was a double major in psychology and creative writing).

Of course before the results came out, I was already leaning towards writing rather than psychology. I was daunted by all the research involved in psychology as well as the lack of psychologists here. I mean most end up as either researchers, guidance counselors, or teachers. I also did end up knowing the difference between psychiatry and psychology last year and so I was probably thinking more along the lines of psychiatry rather than psychology itself. In the end, I was happy with writing since it's more natural for me.

Throughout all this, it also occurred to me how flawed the career programs of high schools are. I mean most are given during fourth year, when they've already filled up their application forms. It should start earlier. Ours was during our third year, so I had a year to think about what I'd pursue. Perhaps it could have been made as early as second year so that the person can deliberate on what course he'd like.

As for me, I have no regrets pursuing creative writing. In fact, if there's anyone having regrets, it's those who didn't pick creative writing. I like the course, although I honestly don't know what I'll do once I graduate. I do love writing and I can't imagine myself doing anything else. I don't know if I'm any good but I have a passion for it. And in the end, perhaps that's all that matters.

A Double Edge

Sometimes, seeing my crush isn't something I look forward to. You might think I'm crazy for saying that. I mean a crush is someone you always look forward to seeing. Well, I do look forward to seeing her. However, there are just times when you crush doesn't want to see you or you know seeing her could prove disastrous. And when that happens, I'm torn between two conflicting emotions. Choosing can be a big ordeal.

For one thing, there are times when people should be left alone: sometimes when they're studying, when they're mad at you, when they're exhausted and busy, etc. At these situations, I can be selfish and try to approach my crush. Of course what you end up with is a frown and a person in no mood to converse.

Another time is when they see you too often. People sometimes mistake me for a stalker because I run into them all the time, as if I was conspiring to meet them every single day. Well, be it coincidental or not, it might be helpful to disappear from sight. The last thing you want is for them to be fed up and irritated at your ever-constant presence. You don't want to be mistaken as their shadow.

Lastly, there are also times when seeing your crush could prove fatal for you. When you see her, you're bombarded with emotions of depression and jealousy. I used to lament the fact that she didn't like me, or sometimes think how lucky some of her classmates can be as they can be with her all the time.

Of course, there are also times when you just can't stand not being near your crush. For me, not being able to help my crush when I can is tormenting. For example, I remember my crush trying to solve a physics problem that I knew how to solve. Of course she was mad at me at the time so I couldn't sit beside her, explain to her the problem, and help solve it.

Another time is when I see them all alone, a lone tree in a vast desert. I just want to go up to her and keep her company, at least until her classes start or someone comes by. However, I remember not being able to do that because she was still mad at me. It really tore my heart to pieces. Of course I did the next best thing: found one of her friends to keep her company.

Still, there are rewards in the rare moments I'm with her. We get to talk and know more about each other. I think that's one of the most satisfying things for me, for a person to share their stories with others.

I also try to make her smile as often as I can. When I see that pretty expression on her face, my day feels complete. Nothing else matters and I decide the risk I took in talking to her was well worth it.

Seeing and not seeing my crush has its ups and downs. It's hard for me to find the delicate balance between the two, and resist the temptations at the same time. Fear is also a factor that I constantly try to conquer. No matter how many times I've been disappointed in the past, I constantly try to approach my crush. Sometimes it pays off and sometimes, it ends up a good story to tell.

Dancing Notes

Everyone loves music. People listen to the radio, teenagers watch MTV, some even play instruments with a passion. The same can't be said for me. For a good part of my life, I was devoid of music. I didn't listen to the radio and MTV didn't really appeal to me much. Mentioning people like Celine Dion, Michael Jackson, and Madonna made me dumbfounded. To sum it all up, I didn't really care for music.

We have a piano at home. My mom used to play and my father sometimes tells me how he wanted to learn to play it when he was a kid. I didn't have those passions and so they enforced theirs on me. I was forced to endure piano lessons once a week, on Saturdays. It was a big sacrifice for me. Saturdays were days usually spent with other kids, the time you break away from school and have a day to yourself. Piano lessons made it seem I was going to school six times a week.

I read in another person's blog that it takes great courage not to stand up to your parents. While I'll credit her on that part, it's also true that sometimes, you just have to stand up for what you believe in. It's not easy being passive about things, but neither is taking a stand. Standing up to your parents is not only empowering but it also gives you a sense of responsibility. While it may free you at one point, you are also chained down to another. One day, I came up to my parents and told them I didn't want to have piano lessons. End of story.

And so, I didn't have piano lessons ever since. I stopped at grade two lessons for piano and now I just watch my sister who is also being forced to play an instrument she does not want. Unfortunately, she never had the courage to stand up for herself. As for me, perhaps that period was pivotal. I started making my own decisions then instead of relying on my parents. I was coming into existence rather than a shadow of who my parents wish they were.

I didn't conform to anybody. Later in grade school, people were listening to all these music CDs and giving rise to the "MTV culture". I didn't care for them and so I lived an ignorant life when it came to music.

And then, anime came. One of the vast differences between Western animation and Japanese is the fact that the Japanese actually take the time to produce a musical score. Aside from the catchy opening and ending songs, anime had great background music. Purchasing an anime CD wasn't like buying a record of your favorite artist. It was more like buying a movie OST, where several artists contribute to produce a unified theme. Some might sing the vocals of the opening song, another would sing the ending, there'd be a composer who'd orchestrate the background music for this scene, and perhaps a guy who'll make the sound effects for that event. It was quite appealing to me, not just because of the concept but of the talent.

I started listening to anime music in grade seven. It started out with buying a single CD. And then I bought another one. And another one. Soon, I was buying at least one CD a month. Of course since I wasn't really a music aficionado, I didn't have a CD player, much less a radio. I was forced to play it on my computer when my brother wasn't in the room lest he complain me for listening to music I can't even understand.

During the summer of my second year in high school, I was at home with nothing to do. There weren't really any good shows on afternoons and so I was forced to watch MTV. I didn't' like it much but I did get interested in a few songs, like Alanis Morisette's Ironic and Oasis' Champagne Supernova. It was just a phase though never to reappear in my life ever again. The only reason I tune into MTV nowadays is to watch Celebrity Deathmatch.

Also, I can't remember why, but I joined the Glee Club during my freshman year. My untrained voice was quite horrible since I could never sing in tune. The moderator always told me to sing from my diaphragm but I could never manage that. I had a deep voice though which was perfect for base. Too bad I really never got to perform with it.

Before I graduated from high school, the Dance Dance Revolution craze hit us. People were skipping and hopping on dance mats everywhere, from the arcade to the house. I found the music upbeat, which is one of the reasons I actually listen to music. Never got to dance though since I didn't own a Playstation and practicing at the arcades, in public, didn't exactly suit my taste.

There was also the ring tone craze where people were composing just so that they can have an appealing ring when people call on their mobile phones. Of course back then, the software for composing such stuff was stupid. Stupid, in the sense that you can only put one note and never play more than one note at a time. What you ended up was simple songs like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and the barest tune of songs you hear on the radio. Since it was something that stupid, I could actually compose songs using my grade two worth of piano lessons.

It was also during that time that the word mp3 became the most overused word on the Internet. Just how popular was it? It outranked the word sex in search engines. You'd hear the Napster issue on the news and people were downloading "free" music like crazy. CD-burners didn't help either. This didn't affect me much as most of the concern was on Western music. I don't think people were really concerned on removing Japanese songs and BGMs on the Internet.

Nowadays, if I want to feel "energetic", I plop in an anime CD and listen to its upbeat tunes. Of course if I want to write, that's not what I play. A good, slow BGM does a lot for my nerve cells. A fast beat just scrambles it.

I really don't call myself a music fan. I mean I've had exposure to it but unlike most people, I still don't listen to the radio (then again, I also don't read the newspaper). Making music? I don't have the persistence, although I do think I could have amounted to something if I continued my piano lessons (couldn't it have been something else, like drums or guitar?) but even then, I'd probably be in love with the fame, not the music. Life without music? Can't imagine it, but I probably wouldn't notice it if it did happen.

Filipino-Chinese

There are several ways to look for one's own identity. One of them is by their nationality. Historians have believed that a nation has a collective identity with which its citizens identify with. It can be something as simple as taking a bath everyday, which is something most Filipinos try to do. Of course I happen to have my roots planted in two identities: that of the Chinese and that of the Filipino. Which am I?

My father says that I should be proud to be Chinese. In his own biased view, he thinks that Chinese are the most hardworking race in Asia. According to him, the only reason why Japan scaled the economic ladder is because they were united. And that is why I should learn to speak Chinese, visit China, and follow all these Chinese customs.

My grade school teachers, on the other hand, have lectured to me that I was raised in the Philippines and so I am a Filipino. It is my environment rather than my blood that has shaped who I am. I allegedly owe that to my country. It is the soil I am currently standing on that has sheltered me over these years and raised me since I was a babe. At leas that's what they say from their point of view.

I beg to differ from these people who claim to "know it all". Like most things in life, matters aren't just black and white. The perfect compromise was what I heard from my Economics teacher in high school who also happened to be an alumni from Xavier, Mr. Ang. "You are not just Chinese nor just Filipinos. You are Filipino-Chinese, no matter what other people may say." I think that best sums up how I feel.

On one hand, I have characteristics that of a Chinese aside from my physical features. I follow certain beliefs and practice certain traditions. I pay respect to my elders and so far, follow the patriarchal practice in the family. I even have a Chinese name. On the other hand, I am also Filipino. I am more comfortable with Pilipino than I am with Chinese. When I get hurt, I scream "array", not "ouch" or some other exclamation. I am more at home with this country than any other.

Identities are a strange thing. They're not only rooted from your source but also from your present. Your own personal history is being written and you are taking part in it. Is the real me the me from before or the me tomorrow? Somewhere down along the line is a compromise and it is one you decide on your own. No matter what other people might call me, I determine my own faith. And so while I am not Chinese nor Filipino, I am proud to say I am a combination of both: I am Filipino-Chinese. Nothing more, nothing less.

Masturbation

What can I say? It's a topic that's been taboo for me. Almost every male undergoes it (and I presume females as well), Catholic priests tell you to confess to them about it, and it's the topic of jokes on some sitcoms we watch. Despite all that, I could never have brought myself to write about it, which is why I'm doing so.

Because I studied in an all-boys school before college, all my classmates were open about the subject. There were all these jokes and anecdotes about it. For example, one said that he did it in the bathroom because it made such a mess and had an awful smell. Another guy would use condoms. And there's always the story about this guy who thought that the Hanson was female. For me, I'd rather just not say and stay out of those conversations.

Not admitting to doing it can be a problem. You'd be accused of being gay, and that's a big thing since Xavier was schooling conservative Chinese males (read: homophobia). If you didn't want to talk about it, they'd usually tease you as being one. People's curiosity amazes me. They sometimes want to know who you're masturbating, how many times you do it a day, and where you do it. Strangely, for a conservative Catholic community, my classmates didn't really think masturbation was a sin.

There are exceptions of course. Like me. I really think we should avoid it and not do it every single day. In grade school, my friend would tell me of how long he resisted the urge. He'd go on for a month only to go into the habit again. As for me, now a junior in college, I still can't manage to hold off the urge. I know it's a sin and all but sometimes, you end up doing it anyway. Admitting that is no easy feat.

A priest at our high school once said that there are three reasons why people masturbate. One was curiosity. I'm very well too old to be in that stage. The second reason is gratification. You've had a bad day and you want to get things off your mind so you masturbate. This happens to me from time to time. The third reason he gave was boredom. Yes, I've been recently bored but that's not a reason why I do it. It goes more like "I can't sleep and it's 1 am in the morning. I have class tomorrow at 7 so I really need to be asleep right now." Masturbation is draining so much so that after doing it, I feel quite sleepy. It's a pathetic excuse but sometimes, that's the only way I manage to get to sleep. Of course I don't like to do it because aside from the moral implications, it also leaves me exhausted the entire day. Twelve-hour naps are a result, and you know how much I hate wasting my waking hours. And of course, I sometimes feel horny and rather than have it subconsciously manifest itself tomorrow, I'd rather be done and over with it today.

On my part, I don't masturbate with "real" people. What that means is that I masturbate with fictional characters. Perhaps I read about them in a book or it's someone from an anime I saw. I don't want to imagine a real person since I feel that's lust. That fact lightens my conscience. A bit.

It all started when I borrowed a CD from my classmate in grade seven. It was full of games but it also had nude anime pictures. Well, what was a thirteen year old full of testosterone going to do then? A year later, I swore never to watch hentai. And so, I can freely boast that I've never watched any of those tentacle-infested hentai anime like Urotsuki Doji. A lot of my classmates have but not I, the "anime fanatic". Thank God only Pokemon is associated with anime nowadays.

I'm sure some of my classmates who might read this would be dumbfounded. I'm usually the student known for not cheating, the person who always speaks the truth, and the guy who usually does the right thing. While I may not be a religious person, I do try avoiding committing "sins" but I am still human. And if there's anything that motivates me not to masturbate, it's my love for the people I care about, especially my crush.

Journals

I've never consistently kept one, until now. More often than not, the only reason I keep a journal is because it's required of me. In high school, our English teachers had us keep a regular journal and I remember when we'd suddenly start writing entries as we approached the submission date. Nowadays, it's still required by some of our classes in college but I have managed to keep a journal, albeit one in an unconventional form.

Perhaps one of the reasons why I failed to keep a journal is because it required me to write, or more precisely, to handwrite it. I was never known for my penmanship, dexterity, or persistence when it came to jotting down something. Besides, my hands could never keep up with what I was thinking. What was managed to be put on paper was a pale comparison to my ideas. I usually just settle for something less, and let my hands heal from the arduous labor. The fact that I'm settling for less was an indicator that I'd rather not keep one if I'm not motivated to give it my best.

Another factor was trust, or should I say, my lack of it. I was never comfortable with the Catholic practice of confession, mentioning all your sins to a person, even if he is an embodiment of Christ. How much more with a journal where I will pour out everything I feel, everything I think? People who read it might think how horrible a person I really am, or sometimes, I'm just plain embarrassed. What if the reader can't get over what they read? They'll always have a stigma when they see or talk to me.

And of course, there's always time. Some people have lots of it, some people don't, and some people just want to get rid of it. Until recently, I never really took the time to write what I was feeling and contemplating. I had enough time to think and deliberate but put it down somewhere? That's a different story. Of course I do occasionally write when I need to vent my emotions somewhere. But those are rare moments and I'd hardly call them journal entries. They're more like essays, I like to think.

So what made me change? For one thing, my course is creative writing. One of my teachers said that I should be writing all the time and I firmly believe that to be a necessity for a writer. It doesn't matter what form your writing takes, be it a poem, an essay, a report, or *gasp*, a journal entry. Of all those choices available, it's journal writing that I see myself doing every single day. Composing a poem can be a chore. Writing in my journal is a hobby. What choice would you have made?

Second, for all my unwieldy skills when it came to handwriting, I'm a whiz when it comes to typing. The computer has been my favorite tool and is perhaps one I overuse. With the emergence of the Internet, cyberspace has become my entire hard drive and I needn't worry that my work will be gone forever. Once I put something on the net, it will always be there. And I can do it anywhere, from the school's computer room to an Internet café down the street.

Lastly, the emergence of web logs or blogs has changed the face of journal writing. For one thing, journals were never really meant to be read publicly. However, people are now posting up their ideas and daily lives for everyone (or at least their friends) to see. The concept of a journal has forever been changed. Perhaps because of that, I've overcome my fear. In fact, it might make people (and myself) understand me better. If worse comes to worse, there are other people out there who have written more humiliating and shocking stuff than I. I'm not alone in this world. Weird perhaps, but never alone.

The Phone Call

When I think about it, I owe a lot to the technology we call the telephone. For one thing, it's easier communicating to people. Instead of writing letters to people who live far away, all you need to do is call. When you're bored, all you need is to dial a few numbers to get in contact with a friend. And of course, let us consider the Internet. While there have been alternative ways to connect to it like cable or ISDN, one of the most common means in the Philippines is through the telephone.

I?ve probably made millions of phone calls in my life. A lot to friends, some to family, and on rare occasions, to crushes. What's so special about making a phone call? Well, talking to a person face to face is the most ideal scenario but sometimes far from practical. You can't very well go to a friend's house in the middle of the night unless they happen to live near your home. It's less expensive too. Writing them a letter, while has sentimental value, can be time consuming and you know there'll be a delay. Sure, you can send it to the post office today and he or she will only get to read it the next day at the earliest. What if you want to vent it out now and hear their reactions? Feedback is also in question as they might not answer back. Or perhaps not in time. Given that, email faces a similar problem. For one thing, you're not sure if they received your email given today's propensity for delays and errors. And while a letter has a distinct personality with the person's handwriting inscribed, emails tend to be bland with generic fonts and expressions. At least with a phone, you get to hear the person's voice and you feel their reactions to your statements.

I don't know if it's because I live the Philippines, raised in a conservative Filipino-Chinese family, the fact that I was bred at an all-boys school, I'm shy, or a combination of all these things that I always get nervous when calling up people of the opposite sex. It's easy when I have an excuse: I need to coordinate with her on a project, she told me to return her call, etc. However, there are times when I just want to talk. It's different when calling a guy friend. The one who answers it usually asks no questions aside from who's calling and hands it to the person I'm looking for. Girls, on the other hand, are a different matter. I always run the risk of talking to the girl's parents, some of which are highly paranoid. I have to explain myself as to why I'm calling and sometimes, they sermon me that it's already late in the evening for me to call.

Nothing could be worse though than calling my crush. No matter how many times I've done it before, my heart always pounds rapidly and I get restless. All these jumbled thoughts come into my mind and I become quite tense. And that's before I dial the numbers. Of course it only frustrates me if I finally dial the numbers and all I get is a busy dial tone. If that doesn't happen, I always count the number of times the phone rings before it is answered. If a male voice is on the other end, I get frantic and try to calm down. So far, there haven't been any father-caller interviews. It being a female voice doesn't help either. It might very well be my crush?s mother, or perhaps a pesky sibling. You never know the intrigues that you might unintentionally sow.

Being able to talk to my crush is only half the battle. Once she's on the line, I get excited and sometimes I forget what I mean to say. I mean to talk to her about one subject yet I end up mentioning another unrelated one. Sometimes, it doesn't even get that far. She tells me she's busy so I have to go through this entire ordeal a few hours later or maybe the next day. If that doesn't happen, I fear that she might not want to talk to me or I might bore her. Perhaps she's just humoring me. All these paranoid thoughts start to pop up.

As I said before, I might have called up my crush for the nth time and these things still happen. I still retain my fear and I always get nervous. Never mind the fact that the worst things have already happened to me: my crush has told me not to call, hung up on me, and from time to time, a harsh remark from the parents. Yet I still make the call as if it was my first one, with all its pros and cons.

You?d think that making a mundane thing as making phone calls would be easy for a guy like me. Just shows you how shy I can get. Makes you imagine how I manage to meet people.

Reading

It's one of the reasons why we actually have a culture. We read. I think reading is an essential part of our life. It contains our history, our life. I mean probably some time in the past, man didn't know how to record things so he kept everything by memory and passed it on to his son or daughter. However, memory is a fragile thing and it fades over time. Eventually we learned to write, be it through hieroglyphs, carvings, or pen and paper. Of course, what use is writing if we don't read it?

Of course my approach to reading is something more mundane. I like to read because it's fun. I mean I could probably watch TV all day and find nothing enjoyable. However, I could go to a bookstore and find something nice to read and viola, instant entertainment (paying for it, of course, is another matter). And considering my lifestyle of living in solitary confinement (not by choice), reading is the perfect hobby.

It all started when I was a babe. Parents were keen on teaching their children to read. It's a necessity for them. Did you really think my parents would be an exception?

The strange thing about age is that the younger you are, the better your memory serves you. While I wasn't exactly great at reading when I was four, I was a master when it came to memorization. I remember playing a trick on my parents by feigning how to read. You see one of the books my parents usually bought for me were those that were specially tailored for kids, you know, the ones with audiotapes. Of course I could read it, but not as fast as speaking naturally. I memorized an entire book with the audiotape as my guide, remembering where a passage would end and when it's time to turn the page. The book was Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs if I'm not mistaken. So one afternoon, I invited them to come to my room and I "showed" them my reading prowess. I rehearsed the entire thing beforehand and I could do it flawlessly. However, during the actual performance, I made one mistake. I decided to actually read it and I lost my pacing. My parents caught me as I had a long pause looking for the entry where I could resume reading the tale. Of course that was nearly sixteen years ago and I'm improved since then.

By the time I was in grade school, I was playing video games and all that. While I liked reading, I didn't exactly go out of the way to buy books. However, I was keenly interested on two topics: mythology and dinosaurs. I was curious about mythology, of Greek gods and what they were known for. Since I'm actually privileged to have an encyclopedia set at home (which no one uses but me, by the way), I didn't have to go out and buy Edith Hamilton's mythology book. Dinosaurs, on the other hand, are a different matter altogether. Sure, they'd be listed in the encyclopedia but they didn't have all the juicy details I wanted. So I did go out of my way to purchase books with reference material on that subject matter. And of course, Dinoriders was showing on TV so I also purchased the toys.

Later on around grade four or five, my classmates were having the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew fad. I wasn't really part of it but I was curious. When I finally managed to borrow a book, I was daunted by its thickness. Perhaps what made it look thick to me was the fact that it was hardbound. Maybe I'll pass this one, I said to myself. So that was an opportunity lost, or was it?

While most would consider books as the only definite source of literature, I was reading something else entirely at that time. I was reading video game magazines from cover to cover. You'd be surprised at the plots and ideas game creators could come up. More importantly, you'd be surprised at how detailed game reviews can be and how much topics a game magazine can cover. Since I was also a fool back then, I also bought game-related paraphernalia and that includes books. The "choose your own adventure" type of books was also prevalent during that time and one of the books I remember buying (and is still in my shelf) were the Zelda and Mario Bros. Books which were similar in nature. There's also the Worlds of Power which were adaptations of popular Nintendo games.

Sometime in 1995, the Jurassic Park craze hit me, especially since I was a fanatic when it came to dinosaurs. The first novel I read was Jurassic Park and it took me a month to finish, mainly because it got confiscated as I was "reading" it in class. Of course it was also in that year that I had a revival in my mythology: I started reading fantasy.

Most fantasy fanatics would cite Tolkien as their best epic fantasy author. Perhaps it?s because he published the first book of its kind, or perhaps some just love his work. For me, it wasn't Tolkien but Terry Brooks. Of course I'm not saying Terry Brooks is the best fantasy writer out there. It just happens that I first read his books and I liked them. A lot. He's the reason I got into fantasy. Now what I read was his Heritage of Shanarra trilogy which is composed of four books. Me and my friend Timothy managed to complete the set (don't you hate it when you have to collect several books just to know the story's start and end?) and we pursued other fantasy books. Tim went for the likes of David Eddings while I got into Terry Goodkind and Robert Jordan.

Eventually, in the span of four years, I managed to catch a glimpse of the fantasy genre and how complicated it can get: numerous trilogies, ongoing story arcs, hard-to-find books, etc. It's not something I'd recommend to a starting reader. Moreover, it's not something I'd recommend to someone living in the Philippines as coming to complete a book set is almost nigh impossible when you account for the bookstore policies here. But times have changed and with globalization, smalltime bookstores, and the emergence of online shops like Amazon.com, things have become much easier (although still quite expensive).

Of course one can't really delve into fantasy without delving into the realm of science fiction. One of the better books I've read was Frank Herbert's Dune series and Anne McCaffrey's fantasy-esque Pern.

It's only last year that I went back to what veterans of the genre call "classics". Tolkien was okay although a bit boring. Actually, a lot of fantasy writers aren?t great fans of Tolkien as well. Perhaps it's his writing style. It's a bit dated and doesn't catch the attention span of "my generation". However, when the Lord of the Rings movie premiered at movie theaters, people started to catch on. But then again, they might just be riding on its popularity.

Next on my list was C.S. Lewis, writer of Narnia, a setting based on Christian mythology. For something that got praised a lot, I find that it was chauvinistic, patriarchal, and racist. Perhaps Lewis was just trying too hard to convert people to his religion.

It?s also amazing what you?ll find in the children's section of the bookstore. I like Ursula le Guin's Earthsea books and it?s something I wish I could have read when I was a kid. The same could be said for Ray Bradbury's Farenheit 451, Philip Pullman's His Dark Matters trilogy, and to a certain extent, J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter.

Of course too much of one thing can be bad for your health. I have managed to read contemporary fiction like Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles and Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha. There?s also the classics like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Oscar Wilde. And of course, with today?s current technology, magazines, blogs, and anything else you can find on the Internet.

The only bad thing I can say about reading is that it keeps me too preoccupied that I stop writing, which isn't good for a Creative Writing major.

Best Friends
Life can get pretty lonely for a person. There are times when you just want to talk to someone, telling them what you think and feel. There are also time when you just want to be with someone, going out with them for no rational reason at all. Or perhaps there's a time when you're just looking for someone to comfort and support you when you're facing more than you can handle. A person is quite lucky to have a friend such as that. Unfortunately, I'm not one of them.

I've always longed for a best friend. However, I've spent most of my life being alone. Some might say I should have sought the company of family. After all, what better friends than your own parents and siblings? That's not the case with me. For quite some time, my mother and father were apathetic to me. They weren?t mean and abusive, but neither did they take a keen interest in me. They raised me mostly in fulfilment of a duty. They gave me what they would have wanted at my age, not what I want. That would explain the years I've spent playing the piano, disliking every single moment of it. As for my siblings, my elder brother just ordered me around and bullies me when things went awry. His focus was slightly averted when my sister was born but she herself has done quite some mischief around the house.

I remember the house I used to live in. It only had three rooms aside from the one allotted to the maids and driver. One was the bedroom where my parents slept. Another was where my brother resided. I frequented that room since the Atari was there but I slept in the bedroom with my parents. The last room was a small cube where my sister, still a baby, slept. I was four at that time and even then, I didn't exactly have any friends. I never knew my neighbors so my only companions were the maids who were a society of their own.

My mom introduced me to the son of her friend. His name was Jason. He was the same age as I was and when I first saw him, I thought he was fat. When I was left alone with him, he ordered me around. I disliked him immediately. I complained to my mom about it but she merely shrugged and thought it was just a child's fancy. Even back then, she never listened to me.

I was soon sent to preschool. I met a lot of kids there and I talked to them. I didn't form any lasting friendships though and that period was a haze to me. I remember the events that happened but not the people.

We transferred homes after preschool and I was sent to school at Xavier. I was teased by kids at school but that's normal. I saw Jason and thanked God that he wasn?t my classmate. In Prep, I wasn't exactly the most liked kid, especially since I had the tendency to cough out phlem. Me and a classmate pretended to have an imaginary friend whom we blamed everything, both good and bad, at. Still, that classmate was gone when I entered grade school and I doubt if he remembers me now.

Perhaps the best year during my childhood was when I was in grade one. I befriended a lot of my classmates and got good grades. In fact, a lot of us were getting honors. Naturally, it wasn't perfect since I still saw Jason around. Once, he even chased me with a Swiss knife he carried before class started. I told my mom but she wouldn't listen, giving the excuse that he?s an only child. As if that's a reason for parents to spoil their son.

With my love of video games and the emergence of a popular title called Street Fighter 2, I became quite popular. My group of friends would usually go to each other's house and play the game there. Sometimes, there'd even be sleepovers. The best players I knew where Michael and Raymond. We were quite close at the time, especially Raymond. Later on, that passion for video games would be passed on to our love of comics. Raymond showed us once his Marvel compilation of The Secret Wars and loaned it to me. It was around that time that Marvel released its trading cards and we collected that as well.

I once had a fight with Raymond that got his nose bleeding but we soon got over that and we remained good friends. Best friends in fact. However, he had the tendency to hog the games whenever I was having a sleepover which caused several of my other friends to dislike him a bit. As the years passed by, our innocence began to fade.

Wouldn't you know it, my closest friends turned out to be bullies and I somehow earned their enmity, at least that was the case with Michael. Raymond stuck around me for a bit but eventually, I got into disagreements with him, especially when the concern was with my other friends. I wanted my friends to become friends but I found out the hard way that couldn't always be so. Raymond was proof of that as I tried to get him to like my other classmates. However, they didn't really mesh and sometimes they'd get mad at each other in front of me. Given our testosterone level, it was a miracle a fight didn?t ensue.

Sometime throughout all this, I acquired glasses. All I was lacking were braces and I would have looked like a complete geek. Add in the fact that I was constantly sneezing due to my allergies and weak constitution and you have one of the most avoided kids in school. However, there were worse students than me so much so that even I teased them. That was my only consolation in grade school, cruel as it was.

When I entered high school, we were all reshuffled into different sections. I was praying that I'd get to be with my friends and away from all the bullies. I developed a bias towards them, especially since I thought what they were doing was unfair. That bias motivated me to not cheat (and not less others cheat from me) when classes would begin in high school.

My prayers weren't answered and I soon learned a fact of life: there'll always be balance in your life, the good apples mixed in with the rotten ones. Any bully missing was only replaced by one from another section. In other words, the status quo was preserved and I was more or less in the same position I was in grade school.

Only it was worse since everyone was cheating and I was the only person in class who didn't. This gave others the mentality that if you?re not helping each other cheat, you're a mean and selfish person. Still, I stuck to my principles and got beaten up for it.

All the while, I was looking for a group to hang out with. I found some potential best friends in my class but they didn't really want to be around me no matter how much I tried. During lunch, I?d be scrounging for a table to be with. When it came to group activities, I'd be one of the last people chosen and if it weren't for my intelligence, I'd probably have been left out. Sometimes, that was the case and I'd end up with the slackers of the class.

Second year was no different but I did find a clique who loved anime and RPGs just like I did. I spent my lunch hours with them and this proved to be the convenience of everyone. I'd have a group to hang around with and my classmates weren't burdened with my constant presence. However, I already saw a flaw in this since the clique I was part of were composed of students who belonged to the upper batch. That meant during my fourth year, they wouldn't be around anymore.

I hate it when I'm right and that was the case. Come fourth year, I had to deal with my situation. On a good note, I was tolerated in my class. Not much liked but not despised either. I was also part of the school paper so that expanded the people I knew. In fact, I knew most of the people in six out of the seven sections in our batch. I had three groups I could "hang around" with. I'm never invited but I'm not shooed away either when I approach them.

I was praying I'd get into U.P. since most of my batchmates were aiming for Ateneo. Unfortunately, that was the one school where I didn't get in. Resigning myself to my fate, I took my undergraduate degree in Ateneo.

My situation was better in the fact that I befriended a lot of people. I didn't have a constant group I could hang around with though and I didn't have a best friend. People would usually see me reading a book by the library steps, often alone, sometimes in the company of acquaintances. This went on for a year and amidst a heart break and depression, I was alone.

Second year was a great improvement as a clique similar to the one I had in high school appeared. We'd play RPGs and talk about anime and the like during our breaks. However, the clique had a tendency to lose its members due to failing grades. Again, I was foreseeing problems.

I?m now entering my third year and wouldn?t you know it, I?m right again. A lot of the group have either been transferred to different schools or are planning to immigrate to another country. Right now, there's only me, Carlos, Cyril and Lloyd. I doubt if we're going to get any new members this year and once 2002 passes, I'll be alone again when my fourth year arrives.

I have other friends whom I've met in a chatroom or during an anime convention but I rarely see them and some of them are angry at me. My relationships with them can be best described as "crash and burn" in the sense that I easily befriend them and for awhile, we get along but soon after, things turn nasty. Sometimes I screw it up, sometimes I don't but the results are the same. Right now, I'm like the Jack of All Trades yet a Master of None. I have a lot of friends although I don't have one I'm really close with.

Well, I'm resigned to my fate. Sometimes, that's all you can do.

A Tale of Four Lost Books

I'm not well read on Neil Gaiman as much as I like to be but his book, Sandman: The Dream Hunters, is one of the best literary pieces I've seen. The fact that Yoshitaka Amano, manga artist and Final Fantasy character designer extraordinaire, makes it the ideal gift for anyone? myself included. That's why when I saw the hardbound copy at Powerbooks two years ago, I immediately grabbed three copies: one for me and two to give away.

I removed the awful price tag and bar code sticker from my copy and kept the book in a clear plastic folder. I was intent on keeping it in mint condition. The next day, I told my carpool about my wonderful find. My carpool consisted of me and two brothers: Franz and Fort, the sons of famous Filipino basketball player Atoy Co. Franz was driving that day and his eyes popped out when I told him that it was available and cheaper than the ones sold at comic shops.

Franz was a tall guy and his hairdo then was spiky yellow. He also liked to wear orange and could be comparable to Vash the Stampede (except Vash dons a red coat). He was an anime fanatic and Playstation addict. The fact that Yoshitaka Amano did the artwork is great. He was also an English literature major so Neil Gaiman was a plus.

Franz's birthday was also fast approaching. I thought what better gift than The Dream Hunters? And that was how I lost my first copy.

Parting with my second copy was easier. While roaming around the Ateneo campus on a Thursday as I was angry at one of my friends, I met my would-be crush. She was sitting on one of the corridors, alone and with no one to keep her company. I sat at the opposite end, reading a book I vaguely remember now. She mistook me for one of her blockmates and I corrected her. I told her I was the salesclerk at Comic Alley and that was why I looked familiar. We began to talk some more and got along pretty well. I found out she was an anime fan as well as a fantasy reader. Some time later, I loaned her a copy of Sandman: The Dream Hunters and I surmised she liked it. I offered to give it to her but she refused. I then promised her that it would be my present to her on her birthday.

A few months passed and a lot of things happened. To sum it up, my crush was angry at me. Still, I was dedicated in keeping my promise so on her birthday, I gave her The Dream Hunters along with some other stuff. The Dream Hunters was one of the few things she accepted and didn't return.

By then, I didn't have any other copies left except my own. Still, I loaned it to people whom I thought could appreciate it. One such person was Rexy Hernandez, the girlfriend of one of my batchmates. She had smooth black hair, a slim body, and beautiful white skin. Rexy could have been a model. Of course she didn't appear to be the anime-loving type to me. She frequented social parties and was overprotective of her boyfriend. Still, she surprised me from time to time. When I went to our library, I found her there reading a book on poetry. She showed me a passage she really loved and I was amazed by that. She was also an Anne Rice reader and I loaned her some of my books. She did watch anime available on the cable channel AXN so I thought of loaning her The Dream Hunters.

Rexy loved the spread of the book and exclaimed at how handsome the character was. If she was more of an anime fan, she would have screamed "bishonen!!!". It was enough to move me to buy her one. I went to Powerbooks the following weekend and bought her one of the last few copies. She gave me the prettiest smile when I gave it to her and it amazed her boyfriend. It even amazed me. And so, I had bought three books for people other than myself.

For a few months, my own copy of The Dream Hunters was on loan. It went with Blinky, one of the prettiest juniors I had ever met. She was a bit tall, wore glasses, and had one of the cutest smiles. When I finally got it back from her, the school year was almost ending. By that time, I was already looking for a summer job.

Through the most unlikeliest circumstances, I became an editorial assistant (a.k.a. secretary) for Pulp magazine. They also happened to publish Philippines Yearbook and was working on the then-unreleased MTV Ink magazine. One of the people they employed as the managing editor for MTV Ink was Clarissa Concio, an Atenean graduate who was involved in the music industry. She was almost as slim as me, had short hair, and her skin was a bit dark. More importantly, she loved Tolkien and watched anime (who didn't?). Suffice to say, she was one of the people I looked forward to seeing every time I went to work.

One day, the talk of the office was Neil Gaiman. Kristine, one of the editors, brought some books and loaned it to the other editors. Soon, the talk drifted to Sandman and a few of us were drawn to The Dream Hunters. Kristine said that she had gotten one for her birthday while Clarissa was intent on saving up to buy one from the Internet. I offered to loan her my copy while I borrowed her Lord of the Rings trilogy since I never got to read it completely. Of course this all had to happen one week before my summer job was ending.

On my last day, I treated everyone with pizza and returned Clarissa's Fellowship of the Ring. Unfortunately, she didn't bring my Dream Hunters. I had to get it from her some other time. One week later, classes began. I had stories to tell and boasts to make. Unfortunately, that Sunday, I heard that my former workplace got burned down. The first thing that came to mind was my Sandman. Oh no!

Later on, I found out that Clarissa kept my copy at her house so it didn't burn down with everything else. Still, I never found the time to get it back from her. I think it's safe to say that I'll never see my Dream Hunters again.

I was finally able to replace it as Central Comic Headquarters imported it. It was expensive, nearly twice as much as what it used to cost but it's well worth it. As usual, it's not with me right now as it's on loan to someone, somewhere.

And then lately I heard Krizelle, a friend, is interested in obtaining a copy. Too bad for her, I'm broke. =)

On Writing (again)

Unlike the previous journal entry of the same name, I'm now writing this with a sane mind (i.e. wide awake and not sleepy). After a long hiatus of not writing, I have finally concluded the three occasions when I actually write.

The first situation when I write is when I absolutely must. While deadlines impose a pressure on you, they're helpful as they make sure that I actually get to do something productive? on time. Perhaps it's a term paper that needs to be submitted tomorrow, or an article for the school paper, or probably a group report. Whatever the situation may be, as long as there's a serious consequences, I find the will and time to write. Having said that, bonus work or personal pieces don't demand much from me so they're the ones most likely to be left unwritten. One example is this BLOG. Since this is merely a hobby of mine rather than the focus of my entire week, several days has passed since it was last updated. Of course if this thing was to be graded, it would probably have been updated twice a day (well, maybe not twice a day?).

The second circumstance when I write is when I'm sad. People that are familiar with me should know how gloomy I often am. Having said that, that explains why I have some written work out there that's not demanded from me. I don't know why but when my emotions are engaged in conflict, I'm encouraged to write. Part of it is for relief. Another part is just for the heck of it. For some strange reason, I have a certain "clarity" when I'm in turmoil. I see things in a better way. Want an example? Well, whenever a potential friend is angry at me, I begin to understand what they're feeling and why. Two years ago when I was still chatting in the Pinoy Otaku channel, a lot of people disliked me. Some were deserved since I am prone to releasing my depression there and others are just the result of plain mistrust. Take Chrystel's reaction to me for example. I was once a good friend and almost became her prom date. Now, she doesn't even reply to my emails. I can't help but wonder why. Several possibilities entered my mind. Is it because the rest of Pinoy Otaku dislike me? Maybe it's because I'm too generous and she thinks I have other intentions. Or perhaps she just thinks of me as a flirt. Another possibility is that she's freaked out I'm a stalker but then again, I give the famous line of mine that I'm a stalker whenever I meet someone. As to why she's feeling that, it's simple: she doesn't understand me and that boggles her. Better safe than sorry. I don't think I should keep his company. Maybe he's expecting something in return which I'm not willing to give. If I befriend him, others will probably dislike me too. The possibilities are endless. Yet I can write about them.

The last occasion I write is when I'm inspired. That doesn't happen often though. Maybe it's an extremely good story from a film or a book. Or perhaps it's something I read, whether it's an essay, a poem, or even a webpage. I'm not limited to mere words also. Perhaps the layout of a particular magazine amazes me so much that I'm instilled to write. It could also something that happened during the day, like spending quality time with my crush. Or even as simple as making a new friend. The reason why I wrote this entry is because I was inspired by what I felt. My crush's last email to me left me in a gloomy mood. I don't know what to tell her. I feel so helpless. But never too helpless not to write about it. Of course I should have written this yesterday when things were still fresh. Which made me think when I write and why I write.

Life is never simple. The same goes for writing.

Generosity

I like to see people smile. Many people have wondered why I suddenly give gifts or try so hard to please them. Is it so hard to believe that I do it out of the goodness of my heart? I don't blame those who don't. After all, those weren't my original intentions.

When I was in high school, I often treated girls out or gave them some trinket which they were fond of. While I was pleased that they liked it, that wasn't the foremost reason I had for doing so. One reason was because I wanted to know them better and giving them a gift seemed the perfect way of achieving that goal. Another was to disguise my true intentions when I finally meet someone I found attractive. After all, if you were giving gifts to a lot of people, friends wouldn't suspect that you're actually interested in somebody, much less trying to court someone.

Unfortunately, like most things, things didn't work out as planned. The person I actually fell in love with didn't like me. I had met and gained the friendship of a lot of people? except the one I truly wanted. Or needed. She doesn't like me: I realized that fact. My life seemed meaningless. I was in a perpetual state of depression. I doubted if I would ever be happy again.

I wanted to be preoccupied. I didn't want to dwell on the tragedies that have happened in my life. I had a weekend and it seemed I didn't have any assignments or projects to do. I was free yet it was this freedom that kept me trapped in sorrow. I needed something to keep myself busy. Anything else was better than staring at nothing and remembering everything. I strolled around Greenhills. I found what I was looking for.

The CLC (Christian Life Community) club was holding a fund raising drive. Some of the volunteers were acquaintances and since I had nothing better to do, I volunteered to help even if it wasn't required of me. I wasn't even pressured to do so. For four hours of gathering donations, I actually did something productive. And it felt good. I was glad to be of service. I found happiness in helping other people.

I'm a person who is seldom happy. I treasure the rare moments when I actually find joy. Does it surprise you that I came back the next day to help out? It was then that I decided to focus on other things. I didn't need my crush to be happy, although I must admit that I was happiest when I'm with her. I read somewhere that you should try to think that people care whenever someone smiles. I took that ideology to heart and that soon became my philosophy. Whenever I saw a smile, I imagined that it was me they were smiling at. Some of the smiles were actually meant for me.

I'm not a person that smiles. That's why I often introduce myself as a person that's NR, the slang for no reaction. That doesn't mean I don't appreciate smiles though. I try to cheer people up and the smiles they make more than make up for what I lack. Whenever I make someone happy, I'm happy. I may not show it but that's how I really feel.

That didn't end there though. One way I coped up with depression was cheering people up. I'd loan my CDs to people who'd appreciate them. I even got a cute thank you letter from time to time. Another instance was when I'd treat my friends out, or when I bought a manga or toy for a friend who adores such things. I still felt the pain of a lost love but something else was growing within me. I still behaved the same but the reasons for doing so are different.

Some people might wonder why I have a lot of friends. Did I have charm? I wish. Was I friendly or kind? I often describe myself as being arrogant and annoying. I think the reason why people like me is because I'm sincere. A few months ago during the second major anime convention, I met Lea. We talked for awhile and I offered to loan her Roger Zelazny's Amber series. She was surprised that I was willing to lend the book to a stranger. I was shocked as well. I realized what made me different from the rest was my sincerity. I was willing to do something other people are hesitant to do. I was willing to entrust something I own to somebody I barely know. Perhaps my eagerness to make new friends blinds me to the frailty of trust. Or perhaps it's because of that same reason that people are willing to trust me more.

People often ask me what I want as a present. What I want is something they can't give me; they can't make my crush love me. What I ask from them though is the next best thing. I ask them to give me their prettiest smile and be happy. And it's true. It's been a coping mechanism for me and nothing gives me greater joy that seeing other people happy. I remember the times when I don't smile. I then remember the times when I make other people smile. To me, it all balances out. What makes other people happy makes me happy. It's weird but it's true. That's why until now, I still try so hard to do what I can for other people.

What makes me happy? Seeing my friends happy. Sometimes, I just wish that people would tell me what they want so that I can give it to them as a present, asking for nothing in return except that they smile when they receive it. Is that too much to ask?

On Writing

Taking a break from my usual stories about myself, let me narrate about something that exists outside of time. It has always been with me in the past, resides with me in the present, and will continue to lurk in the future. What I am talking about is my need to write. It's not something I want to do more than it is something I need to do. Or better yet, it's something I do.

I may write for several reasons. One is that I'm required to do so for my education or occupation. I doubt if there's a college student who graduated without writing some sort of term paper or thesis. Another reason is that it's my way of coping up with life. Writing about myself and my experiences can be therapeutic. Perhaps that's the only thing that's keeping me sane.

Those are just superficial reasons though. The real reason I write is for no other reason than to write. Like the Nike ad says, I just do it. Out of the blue, I feel a need to write and once I turn on the computer, my hand takes on a life of its own and it begins to type. Words appear in my mind which hold little meaning until they flash on screen. I don't stop to think what I'm writing. Even I don't know what will happen next until it's done.

Sometimes, what I write doesn't get printed. It swims in my mind, taking on many forms. I write stuff in my imagination and sometimes postpone putting it on paper so much so that by the time I finally find the time to actually write it, it's found a new home somewhere already. Laziness has always been my primary foe. Perhaps it's a part of me as well.

There are times though when I just find the time to write no matter how lazy I am. These usually happen when I'm half-awake. For some strange reason, I find the strength to write when I should be sleeping. Mysteriously enough, my brain functions at peak capacity that my words make sense and my hand continues to type. Just like right now.

When I'm not as motivated, reading something close to home inspires me to write. For example, I was reading "Articles of Faith" the other week which gave advice on how to write. The examples were clear, concise, and something I imagine myself doing. It was so inspiring that I began writing when I got home. That's what gave me the determination to constantly write in my online journal. So far, I've managed to constantly update it.

Another thing that makes me want to write is by looking at it. The more beautiful it is, the more motivation I have for writing. Perhaps back in the days before there were computers, people were stuck with the monotony of their typewriters. The font remained the same and the format was always constant. Not so with the present day however. As new technologies develop, different looks and appearances become available. I'm tired of Times New Roman. How about Verdana? Or even Arial? When I write, I just don't think of the content. I also visualize how it'll look. Nothing could make me write more than the promise if a good layout.

Of course a person can't write if he doesn't have experiences. I like to share the knowledge that I have. Whether it's as trivial as a television show I just watched or a reflection on the ironies of the world, I like to tell it to people. Of course most of the time, there's no one to listen. That's why it's important to get my ideas on paper. What I write may not be read now or perhaps not even in the next ten years but as long as it's printed, there's a chance that someone else will eventually read it. Who knows who the next Anne Frank may be?

More often than not, I just write to get in touch with people. Writing letters and emails is something I'm fond of. Maybe that's the result of having few friends during my childhood. Or the fact that I'm always lonely. The beauty of writing a letter is that you can take back what you said and put in all the ideas you want to convey. Sometimes, speaking them can be so insubstantial. Writing tells it in a way no other medium can. And there's no better way for a message to remain permanent. Spoken words are eventually forgotten. Written messages are reread.

Whenever I write, I give up a part of myself. A piece of me is with the work I've written. Just as you give pieces of yourself to the people you love and trust, the same goes with what I write. It contains a part of me, no matter how distorted it may be. For example, you might have written a poem when you were a child. That poem represents a part of yourself when you were a kid. Perhaps it shows how simple a child you were, or how naïve your outlook was. Either way, it was a part of who you were... or are, depending on the circumstances.

I always wanted to draw. Writing is no substitute. But it might be just as meaningful. When I think about it, writing is a form of communication. The early humans communicated not with alphabet characters and glyphs but instead with drawings: pictograms and other visual representations that expressed what they wanted to say and feel. Is my need any different? A picture is worth a thousand words. Can a few words not paint a picture as well?

Writing is not something I plan to do. It just happens. Of course there are times when I'm required to write but even then, I write about things that come from within me. Even when it comes to fiction, what I write comes from my imagination. What I know and what I don't know is expressed in my writing. If there's anything that can best express a person, it's what he or she writes.

If there's anything that is synonymous with breathing, it's writing. Each is essential to one's life and it's not necessarily something that's done consciously. I wouldn't be surprised if I wrote something while I'm blindfolded.

Moving On

I had always been haunted by my experience during grade school and the first year of high school. They all left permanent scars, none of which have been easy to bear. Just when I thought I had faced the worst, the days following my high school graduation showed me that I was wrong. I still had much to learn and change was an inevitable thing for me.

Depressed and frustrated, these emotions were augmented by the fact that it was my summer break and there was nothing else for me to do but to dwell on it. If there's any advice I can give to a heartbroken person, it's to keep busy. The more free time you have, the more you dwell on the tragic events of your life.

For nearly two weeks, I barely got any rest since I was plagued by dreams of Nissie. My dreams were actually pleasant. It's the fact that you know it's just a dream and that it isn't real that frustrated me. I'd become sleepy only to wake up an hour later, my heart beating rapidly at the sight of my crush. This would always happen whenever I closed my eyes so it was a miracle I managed to get any rest at all. That was just the first symptom.

As I wrote before, Nissie and I shared a lot of things in common. We watched the same anime shows, read the same books, and even went to the same places. Thus, any activity I did only made me recall what I had lost (I never "gained" her to begin with). Whenever I watched a show, I'd think of how Nissie would have laughed at that instance or smiled in that situation. Books where no help either. I wanted to loan her the books I was reading but I knew she wouldn't accept. Worse, I knew she'd enjoy the books. When a new book would come out, I badly wanted to tell her about it but I knew she wouldn't entertain me. It perturbed me that I had something to share but I couldn't do so.

Several days had passed and I had lost all my will to live. What reason did I have for existing if I can't be with the one I love? I may have all the material goods I want but it cannot bring me joy. Only other people can make me happy. Only Nissie could have made me happy?

I probably would have committed suicide then if it weren't for the fact that I had underwent a suicide phase when I was nine or ten. I had resolved since then not to commit suicide since it would have been meaningless; I'd accomplish nothing when I could do more by being alive. Another reason I didn't hang myself is the fact that my body had a strong will to live. It wouldn't give up on me and I didn't have the will to slit my wrist. Of course that didn't mean I gave up the idea entirely. Given the chance, I'd sacrifice my life if it could save another. Actually, one of my wishes now is that I could give up my life so that a friend could live.

By the time it was April, I had firmly decided to get over Nissie. The hardest thing for me to do wasn't to get over Nissie but to decide to do it. I was usually trapped with indecision, not knowing if I should give up or if I should still strive to gain her affection. After all, as long as there's a chance, there's still hope. And some people should know that hope isn't always a good thing.

My plan involved a threefold tactic. The first was to be preoccupied. The more free time I had, the more I'd dwell on it. Keeping busy was healthy for me. Besides, I'm not the type that liked to be idle. My solution to that problem was to look for a job. Guess where I got hired?

After getting employed at Comic Alley, I implemented the second stage of my plan. I needed a new hobby. What made it difficult for me is the fact that I always remember Nissie whenever I surf the net, watch TV, or read my books. I needed to do something I've never done before, something that I can't associate with Nissie.

I'm a reader at heart. When I finally got fed up reading fantasy (and my Dragonlance books), I started to look for something different. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle found me as I saw the compiled editions of all his Sherlock Holmes novels. For a time, that was all that I was reading. Everything else seemed to drift away like my anime soundtrack collection, the anime fanzine, and even the chatroom. I was reinventing myself.

The third phase involved meeting new people and making new friends. Don't worry, I'm not the type of person that rebounds on another person. I just needed to broaden my association with people and perhaps gain back a piece of my former self. It didn't work out quite well at first. For one thing, we once had a customer who looked a lot like Nissie. I couldn't contain myself and had to leave the shop even when the customer was still there.

During the entire month of April, I was busy recovering and getting over Nissie. I tried new hobbies, met new people, and preoccupied myself with the things at hand. It wasn't easy at first. I'd remember Nissie often (I was working at an anime shop after all) and I'd go into bouts of depression. As time passed on though, I'd only remember Nissie once or twice a day.

The pivotal day for me was in May. I had scheduled a meeting with Joanne, a person I used to chat. It was a Saturday and she was dropping by Greenhills with her parents and a friend to go shopping. I had known her since second year but I had never seen her. When she finally dropped by Comic Alley, I was shocked. She was beautiful. A friend I had talked to for the past three years was standing right before me and she was extremely pretty. We talked for awhile and then I had to say goodbye to her since I couldn't leave the store. It's a good thing I didn't.

As if determined by fate, an old acquaintance dropped by. His name was John and he brought with him his girlfriend and a friend. The girl's name was Therese and her friend's name was Rose. They were both pretty in their own ways. I laughed at the circumstances because Joanne was batchmates with these two girls. I surprised them by saying that their batchmate Joanne dropped by earlier. They were shocked at how I knew. I simply said that I was a stalker. =)

What made that day special was the fact that it wasn't until the end of the day did I realize I didn't remember Nissie. I was so happy. I had finally gotten over my crush. Of course I'd later miss the fact that I wasn't in love anymore. When my life returned to normal, things appeared "plain". I wasn't as motivated like I was when I had fallen for Nissie. My actions lacked the enthusiasm they previously had. I then learned the value of learning to love.

"It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." I know the value of that statement. In fact, I don't regret falling head over heels for Nissie. I had everything to gain in doing so. Look at the new things I learned about myself. Count how many friends I had made in the process. Most important of all, it paved the way for new possibilities. I was forever changed and perhaps that change was for the better.

Suffering

My fourth year in high school proved to be one of the most challenging moments of my life. It was not only a period where I'd experience new things but suffer the most painful times of my life.

When classes started, I was alone. If truth be told, most of my classmates had a group to hang out with. Except me that is. Whenever it was lunch time, my classmates would bunch up into groups and eat their lunch together. When there was a group project or report, the same people merged. If there was an outing after school, each one had their own plans and invitations. All but me.

Of course this was nothing new to me. I experienced this ever since I was in first year. There were factors that made this nearly unbearable though. For one thing, I had a gaming group to go to on lunch break during the previous years. I'd play RPGs and Magic: The Gathering with them. That wasn't much of an option this year though since these friends have moved on to college.

Second, I was stuck with one of the most despised people in the batch as my seatmate: Paolo Quazon. What made him an outcast is not any of his physical features. He didn't have a mole, talk differently, or any other grotesque feature. Instead, it was his personality. He annoyed people and was self-righteous. He was quick to point out other people's flaws while ignoring his own. Like me, he was looking for a friend but wasn't able to find one.

Don't get me wrong. I gave him a chance a long time ago. Back in grade seven, I was one of his friends. It didn't take long for me to break it off. What put me off was the fact that he was like my mother: refusing to see the truth and unwilling to change. Which was ironic, since he read many books that dealt with issues like that. I couldn't imagine how a person who read about stuff he did and not see it in themselves. The fact was, there are people like that. Like Paolo. And my mom.

My classmates needed me though. After all, I paid attention in class and I often brought the required materials such as pad paper and bond paper. I knew whenever there was a homework to be submitted or when the deadline of a project was. This made me an invaluable asset and a leader of sorts. When it came to group work, I always had a position.

I occupied my breaks by staying in the publishing room of our school paper or hanging out in the service office. By this time, I had already acquired the "stalker" reputation I still possess now. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the stalker that takes note of your every move and follows you around. I'm just a person who likes to surprise people so I creep up on you until you notice me. I'm usually only two or three feet behind you so that at appropriate times, I can be seen. If I wanted to really stalk someone, you wouldn't even know I was watching you.

Eventually, I became a liaison officer for the service office and all around wandering student. I'd move from one org room to another or walk around the campus. My first problem was bearable, if not solved.

It was also during this time that I fell in love with Nissie. It meant new experiences for me. For one thing, I finally got the courage to call up a girl. Or more specifically, I gathered the courage to call up a girl who was raised by a conservative Chinese family. I'd dial the number with only a stern father to answer the phone saying that his daughter was unavailable. Or as what would happen most of the time, a busy number.

I needed a reason to talk with Nissie. People you barely know don't just talk to you or call you up. One idea that popped into my head was my pet project during the summer. Aside from my job, I wanted to create an anime magazine. I had actually managed to get some writers who pledged that they'd contribute work but when I asked them for it, they didn't have anything to give. I thought of resurrecting this project and since Nissie loved to write, who better to be my feature writer?

Suffice to say, this was how P.Otaku Bytes, my fanzine, came to life. I gave assignments to the people who pledged to contribute, not bothering to ask if they could do it. I just assigned it to them. And they submitted.

I had experienced a lot of firsts for Nissie. One, I actually began to care about my appearance. I asked my parents for contact lenses and so we went to the optical shop to purchase one. My classmates immediately noticed this and knew I was interested in someone. Second, I actually visited ICA. I became one of the many Xaverians who stood outside ICA's gate, waiting for their friends to come out. I loaned Nissie some books and CDs so I went to her school after class. This was something I thought I'd never do.

During all this time, I'd yearn to talk and see Nissie. Her smile gave me a purpose in life. The fact that I'd talk to her completed not just my day but my entire week. I envied Marson and Bundi, two of my batchmates who were good friends with Nissie and often talked to her. Because of that, I started to hang around with them. I scrounged all the info about Nissie I could get from them. They could see that I obviously had a crush on her.

In several ways, my motives were not only apparent but quite headstrong. I'd even give a book to Nissie even if she didn't ask for it. Why did I do it? It wasn't like my previous intentions as to make them think I'm kind or become obligated to me but simply for the fact that I wanted to see her happy. I had to lie to make her accept the gift. I told her I was just loaning it to her when in fact I had no intention of getting it back.

By the time it was year 2000, we all thought of graduation. More importantly, the graduation ball that came along with it. I wanted to invite Nissie. Bundi didn't have a date since his love interest was "stolen" from him by a classmate of mine. He was confused and didn't know who to take. I didn't complain when he decided to ask Nissie. I was even present when he invited her.

Since my first choice was gone, I decided to go for the cutest girl I knew. Sheila agreed, although she told me I could freely choose another one. I said that I had no one else except her. I told her that my crush was going with someone else. Eventually she bought a dress so it was too late for me to back out even if I wanted too. And then Bundi asked me if I could take Nissie to the ball since he now knew who he wanted to take. I slapped my head. I told him it was too late; my date had already bought a gown. I wanted to strangle him then for putting me all through this only to concede to me at a time when I couldn't accept. Things were about to get worse.

The graduation ball had several tables, each table comprising of five couples. We were to submit our table arrangements to the organizers. I wanted to avoid Bundi and Nissie's table at all cost. I had an ominous feeling if I joined them something terrible would happen. Unfortunately, Bundi's friends had a list of people they wanted to avoid sharing a table with so they coerced me into joining their table. What a big mistake I made. During the ball, I saw filled with jealousy at seeing Nissie in her gown. She looked beautiful. I was engulfed in a wave of depression. Sheila knows; she was there.

It was the most horrible day of my life. I went home sad and unable to sleep. I was so immersed in my own problems that Sheila was out of my mind entirely. All I could think of was Nissie.

After my graduation, I had one last chance to greet Nissie congratulations on graduating. I memorized her cellular phone number from Marson and then asked my parents for a phone of my own. The reason I didn't get one before is because it was illegal to bring them to school. That didn't stop my classmates though.

And so, on Nissie's graduation day, I sent her a text message congratulating her. She didn't really reply back. I was devastated. The days following that, I continued to send her messages. No reply. It didn't take a genius to know what she felt about me. I wanted to die.

This was the worse thing that I had ever felt. I told some good friends like Kara that I had a traumatic experience during my freshman year in high school. That was nothing compared to this. I wanted to die. Living brought unbearable agony. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't eat. I couldn't enjoy what I used to do such as reading or watching anime. Every time I saw such things, I remembered Nissie and what I had lost. Death would have been a blessing.

Crushes

Ever since I was old enough to talk, I claimed to have fallen in love with a lot of people. It was not until the end of my third year in high school did I discover I was wrong.

It was April of the year 1999. Classes had already ended and I didn't want to sit idly at home. My parents were encouraging me to go on a vacation abroad but I declined because of several reasons. First, because I wouldn't be doing anything there (since there's no one to entertain me and I have virtually no access to entertainment). Second, the Philippines was experiencing an economic crisis. I didn't want to spend money unnecessarily. Third, and perhaps the most vital reason, is that I didn't want to leave my friends. It had only been the first year since I joined the clique of Pinoy Otaku, a group of people who loved anime, just like me. You see I never had a group of friends with whom I could hang out with. Not that I didn't try. I was just too weird to be accepted by my classmates and other acquaintances. PO, as we'd abbreviate it, had been my first experience of being accepted. When the sun sets, I'd log on to the Internet and enter the chatroom. That's where I'd meet up with my friends. We'd even arrange occasional EBs so that we could actually see what each other looks like.

Of course since the people usually came in the evenings, I needed something to do during the day. I don't own a Playstation and my PC was already obsolete. Playing videogames wasn't really an option. There's wasn't really much for me to do at home. I could go to the arcade and play all day but since I wasn't really very good at playing, it would have cost me a lot to go there every single day. That's when I decided I needed a part-time job.

Acquiring a job had two main benefits. The first was that I was preoccupied during the day. Any time I'm not spending money was time I'm actually saving it. The second benefit was that I actually got to earn money. This means I'd have a bigger budget for my hobbies and for buying gifts for people. I was infatuated with a lot of people by this time. I'd usually get into their "good graces" by treating them out or buying them something they'd enjoy (preferably something I could appreciate myself).

It worked out well for the first few weeks. I was able to get a job working as a sales clerk at Comic Alley. I spent my days productively selling merchandise, learning the ins and outs of the business world, and most importantly, meeting new people. Whereas I was an extremely shy person the year before, fearful of dialogue with the opposite sex and avoiding attracting the attention of people, I had managed to ease those habits and interact with the varied customers.

My habit of having infatuations didn't disappear. In fact, they increased. The more customers that came in, the more opportunities I had. My advantage over the salesladies in the shop was the fact that I bought the merchandise being sold there and I knew what I was selling. I was, after all, an anime fan working in an anime store. Thus, I was able to entertain the buyers and know what they wanted. I even chose items for them as I was getting more and more familiar with the anime soundtracks available. I called this my "edge" and I used this edge to get to know the people I wanted to meet.

Perhaps the most fruitful experience was befriending Sheila. It was her birthday and she was purchasing a gift for herself. My boss, Teddy, introduced me to her. When I saw her, I told myself that she was cute. She was ordering the Gundam Wing Endless Waltz movie. This gave me an idea. I talked to her about the show and we could relate to each other. I even managed to invite her to the PO chatroom and mailing list. Most importantly though, I discovered when she would be back for the video tape of the show she ordered.

The following day, I bought Sheila a manga of Gundam Wing. Because I wasn't working full time back then yet, I asked Tess, the head saleslady, to give it to Sheila when she claims her tape. You could just imagine Sheila's reaction when she came back to Comic Alley. The biggest and hardest part of befriending someone had been conquered. I had Sheila's trust and she thought I was a nice guy. We were both naïve at that time.

Over time, I managed to influence Sheila. She became a frequent chatter at PO and attended the anime screenings at UP where I usually went on Saturdays. We looked forward to seeing each other. It was during one of those showings that I learned that Sheila was actually four years older than me. I'm getting ahead of myself though.

A month later, I was working full time. That meant spending eight hours in Comic Alley for six days. I worked only four hours on Sundays. It was during this period that I had a paradigm shift.

One of the anticipated days during May was the Collecticon in the Megatrade Hall. Comic Alley had a booth there and they needed people to man the stall. This presented the perfect opportunity for me to hold an EB for PO. I told my fellow chatters about the con and asked if we could meet there, namely at the booth of Comic Alley since I volunteered to be there. Everything was set.

On the day itself, I met some very interesting people. I saw a girl with long dark hair and glasses approach our booth. She had a companion with her and they both looked Chinese. I concluded that they were ICAns.

The girl browsed through our posters and selected a Rurouni Kenshin poster. She told me she'd come back for it. I set it aside. An hour later, she came back and I sold her the poster. For some strange reason, I remember that scene until now even though it didn't seem particularly meaningful to me at the time. The girl looked pretty decent but nothing spectacular.

Time passed by and my appointed meeting finally arrived. A few PO members dropped by to say hi but none really stayed there. An important moment I recall is when Chrystel, an ICAn and recent addition to PO, came to the stall. She was with two of her friends and introduced me to them. I can't recall the other person she came along with but one was short and chubby. She had big eyes and was pale white. I found her mildly cute but not as pretty as other people I knew. Still, her appearance was memorable.

A few days after the convention, I was pondering on a new gimmick to earn money and to meet new people. I decided on selling Gundam pins which Smarty Toys was distributing. It was all I could afford at P50 per pin. I had it consigned to Comic Alley and it didn't sell quite as much as I wanted so I kept the surplus and gave it to people I became interested in or as a gift alternative.

I was planning to give my spare pin to Chrystel since she was a PO member and an ICAn. I was obsessed at befriending ICAns at that time since I knew only a couple and ICAns were supposedly the girls Xaverians went out with. Instead, the short, chubby girl with big eyes entered the store. I gave her the pin and contented myself with the fact that she was Chrystel's friend.

School started a few weeks later and my life resumed to normal. I was surprised when Marson, a classmate, told me that I met his friend Nissie.

"Who?" I said.

"Nissie. She told me that you gave her a pin." He replied.

I then recalled the short chubby girl with big eyes. So that was Nissie. Then I recalled that Bundi, our features editor, ranted about Nissie during break.

"That was Nissie? That anime fan was Nissie?" I mused to myself.

I soon found out that Nissie was also Erin Chupeco. We were both subscribed to two mailing lists: the now defunct Yu Yu Hakusho ML and POML. It seemed we shared a lot in common. After further research thanks to her own website, I discovered that we had A LOT in common. We shared the same passions like writing, reading, vampires and other mythological stuff. We watched the same shows such as Rurouni Kenshin and Yu Yu Hakusho. She enjoyed fantasy, just like I did. In fact, I later borrowed some books from her and I loaned her some of mine. It seemed like a perfect match.

As I got to know more about Nissie, my liking for her increased. It finally came to a point when I discovered that I was in love with her. Suddenly, all my previous crushes paled in comparison to her. She was the real thing. When I thought about it carefully, I didn't really share much in common with my previous interests. In fact, the only reason I became attracted to them was because of how they looked. Sure, some might have been kind to me but that was it. Our interests differed and I couldn't be myself around them. I remembered a saying about love. "If you can imagine yourself loving that person even if they became old, then that's love." I felt that way for Nissie. I couldn't say the same for the rest.

At that point, I realized what love was. I could understand how people can become faithful to only one person and love them selflessly. My previous crushes weren't really crushes at all. They were just infatuations.

I was certain of this because of one important reason. I wasn't motivated to know Nissie because of her appearance. She wasn't like Sheila who was beautiful on sight. Instead, her appeal lay in her character, in who she was rather than her physical traits. I could imagine myself growing old with her. I had fallen for Nissie; she was my first real crush.