Transitions The Writers’ Avenue Issue 4
the writers’ avenue issue 4 - transitions
transitions (n) change from one state, stage, subject, or place to another
Issue 4 talks about changes in people’s lives, how they move on and grow from them as individuals. Transitions Michel John Smith Okay is my Universal Language Ron Rayton Lolo Nicole Raquinio The Extra R pennilesspoet Confessions of the New Employee Juju Baluyot Moonglow, Starlight Wreckonxyle I Will Not Rebuild Allyn Ann Supan Locked Out Emir Grey
The Writers’ Avenue is an online magazine for aspiring writers to be heard. Follow us: writersavenue@outlook.com writersavenueph.tumblr.com facebook.com/ writersavenueph twitter.com/writersavenueph scribd.com/writersavenueph issuu.com/writersavenueph
What my first few months of working in online media has been like Juju Baluyot
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the writers’ avenue issue 4 - transitions
editors’ notes David This year has been a whirlwind of great things. I finished college. I became a legit nurse. I got into graduate school, and hopefully early next year, I’ll finally start working in my dream hospital. The year 2014 though, was a transition of its own but it went on a smooth sail that I didn’t go through that much adjustments. Of course, it has been tough getting to this point and for years, I have struggled to get to where I am right now. But maybe the lesson is that it’s all worth it in the end. I would admit, I have developed this habit of seeing things as half empty and I had my own lame excuses of not acting out as the adult I’m expected to be. I have been scared, I’ve felt I’m headed towards a horrible outcome, and many times I have thought I’m bound embracing failure in the end. But it dawned on me gone are the days of being the poor kid who cries when I need help and I need to finally grow up this time. There are many other things to be grateful for, but transitioning to a better person is one thing. At times, the challenges of life may bring us down on our knees and it can get more painful while we try to get up and maintain our composure, but these challenges when seen on a new perspective, can bring the best in us, so long as we’re willing to improve and develop. Here’s to a new chapter waiting for each of us. I wish you all a great year ahead! Good times!
Paul When we were deliberating on the issue’s theme a few months back, we agreed for it to be “Transitions” right away as this year is special to our lives. Me and David just got out of college, while our fellow editor Leys shifted to a new course and in essence facing another tough battle. It seems to be a whirlwind for me - a few months ago I was at school, trying to sift through research papers and final exams and little did it page 3
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feel like I was already part of the workforce. It happened all of a sudden and it felt a hell of a ride - sometimes a dream especially when I get to earn and do things you never had a chance to do, then hell as you now face a more difficult exam: dealing with customers, performance measurements and bosses. There are times that it’s so tempting to stay in bed and be a bum but when the fact that I’m slowly becoming an adult now sinks in, I have no choice but to lift myself up. I know this is only the start of a lengthy joyride - building a career, falling in love, having children and all that fine-print of growing up. Time will fly so fast - people will still come and leave and you’ll end up picking up all the lessons. There will be higher highs and lower lows, but in all of this life will go on. It’s up to us how to take advantage of the experience to give our diaries a fulfilling end.
Leys Changes are terrifying. They have always intimidated me and, quite frankly, I'm sure they always will. It's both quite fitting as well as ironic that this issue's theme is transitions. Fitting because this year has been the ultimate transition year for me; ironic because, due to the aforementioned transition, I'll no longer be part of the mag. I was (and hopefully not anymore) usually the type of person who loved the safety of routines and the comfort of normalcy. Years ago I would hardly imagine even considering the thought of leaving the field of medicine to pursue what I've always loved but have always feared going after because it could lead to disappointment. Making that decision - the one that ultimately changed my life forever - was a tough call. It was painful in so many ways that there were numerous occasions where I wished I could take it all back, return to what I was accustomed to, bear with the pain as long as it meant some sort of stability. Luckily I had enough sense not to back down and accepted change so I could move on with my life. Because of which I managed to find something better for myself, a place where I could truly belong, even if it meant giving up a few things. Writing for this precious magazine, unfortunately, is one of them. That's the thing about change. It's painful, sure, but it's worth it. page 4
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Transitions by Michel John Smith I consider myself having a lot of transitions lately. I got my master’s degree, started my own business with my friends, moving on and healing from a heart break and starting a new life in a different country. But those stages aren’t the reason for me to strive more. Yes, it all become my inspiration to do my best and be greedy enough to all the knowledge in this world. But there’s a specific transition in my life that struck me the most. It helps me to take things slow and enjoy what I can do and do things that I want to do. That specific reason that caused me to slow down once in a while is my sickness. I was diagnosed with Stage IV cancer, who would have thought that at the age of twenty three, I only got less than a year or two to live. When I found it out, I don’t know what to do and even hid it from my mom. But then I have nothing to blame for this sickness but myself because in the past, I’ve been living in an unhealthy way. I used to smoke a lot just to stay wide awake and to finish all my projects. On weekends, we go somewhere just to have fun and drink. During those years, I can say that my life was in a constant upward movement. I feel like I’m living the dream. I don’t have a guardian to look after me, and my mother is working in another country for me to have a good life. And what’s disappointing about it is she doesn’t know that I’ve been drinking and smoking a lot.
“I can see in her eyes, I’m still her little boy, the one who never wants to grow up”
Then my life started to turn around. I’m having hard time breathing and coughing; I thought I was having a simple asthma attacks since I had a history of it before. It keeps on returning to the point that I feel like I’m drowning. So I decided to see a doctor and have some tests and found out that my condition is much worst. page 6
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From that point, I felt so alone in a crowded place. I feel like the world is playing tricks on me. I’m afraid to tell my mother because I know that she’ll get mad and feel devastated at the same time. I’m afraid because I don’t want to leave her and my sister on their own; she already lost a husband and I don’t want her to lose a son. I told her my situation and without second thoughts she flew back to where I was and take good care of me. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced maternal love and when the world is crashing in front of me and my friends started to disappear, she’s there beside me, holding me close and never let me go. Before, she missed all my successes but now, she never misses every therapy and treatments. She stays with me even I can see in her eyes that she’s in pain with every needle that is inserted in my body, in every operation that I had and in every night that I’m crying in pain. I can see in her eyes that I’m still her little boy, the one who never wants to grow up. And then I asked her, “Why didn’t you get mad at me because I have so many vices before which may or may not be the cause of my sickness?” Then she told me, “because I knew you from the start; I already knew that someday you’ll be so stubborn enough to put yourself in danger. And there it is! I didn’t get mad at you because you got so sick, I was mad because you’re trying to hide it from me. I just want you to need me; since I went away, I feel like I already lost a son. And now I finally got you back and I need to feel that I’m a mother to you and your siblings. I feel that there’s something in me that’s been missing for so long and that something I’ve found when you said that you need me.” At first I thought that these transitions is important for us to become something great. To some, it might be their own personal glory but for me it’s just a series of events that will reunite me from the people that I lost along the way. And even if time is running out for me, I feel that the spaces in my heart was already filled with the memories of all the people whom I met and became a part of me.
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Okay is My Universal Language by Ron Rayton The first time you told me you love me, I said, ‘Okay,’ ‘cause I didn’t know what to say. But you know once I’ve learned how to say ‘I love you’ back, I never stopped saying it. When you told me that I rocked your world, I said, ‘Okay,’ but I want to say that you, are actually my world. I remember the first time we held hands, you told me my palms were all gross and sweaty; I apologized and you said,’Okay,’ I felt ashamed but happy because you still held my hand until the end of that day. I remember the time when you took me home to meet your parents and you said that it’s gonna be fine and I just said, ‘Okay,’ but the truth is I was this close at shitting my pants that time. When your parents told me to take care of you like they have taken care of you, I said, ‘Okay,’ without batting an eye. I know from that moment that I will do more than that.
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When I ask you if everything’s okay because I felt that you’re running away from me, you said you were fine so I said, ‘Okay,’ even though I want to run after you and know what’s really wrong. When you told me that you’re tired of running, and that you just want to give up, I looked at you in the eye and tried to kiss you but you pushed me away. So, I said, ‘Okay.’ I still remember the day you left. You said your goodbyes and I didn’t say anything but okay. Because that’s what I’ve been telling myself this whole time— Everything’s going to be okay, even though it’s not.
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Lolo by Nicole Raquinio “Study well and become a doctor so you can cure me.” Lolo Guiller speaks with a heaving breath. He coughs at my face. I feel my grandfather’s long bony arm on my back. I awkwardly press myself against his chest as he pats my back softly. I let him but as soon as he lifted his arm, I step away quickly. Lolo Guiller sits on a chair beside the only open window in the living room. His back arches. The curves of his bones jut out from his body. The contrast of dark and light makes the ridges and folds of his skin pop out. I see bits of his dark skin through holes on his tattered white shirt. The image of a tall, angry drunkard from five years ago crumbled beneath my mind. My cousins and I were here in Cagayan that time, in my great-grandmother’s house. I was upstairs with my cousins, playing with toy cars and tiny figures of people on the floor. We hear screaming. We rushed downstairs. Lolo threw a beer bottle at Tita Gemma, narrowly missing her head. She cried. Brown shards gleam on the floor. Tito Peter ran into the living room, grabbed Lolo by the shoulders and dragged him out. Lolo kept on yelling. Inside, the old house creaked with the monsoon wind. My grandmother pertained to him as a demonyo in her stories. She would light a Winston on the dining room and declare her anger. “He hit me. He left me for some teenage girl. He sold all the furniture from Lola Damiana’s house like it was his. I sold meat at the market so that my four children can live while he drank to no end. He never came home sober, that son of a bitch. Demon.” I would tremble beside her, engulfed in smoke. Now, he sits in front of me — a fraction of what he used to be in my mind. Tito Gary leans on a wall, his face devoid of emotion. Mama stands on a corner, wiping a few tears with her left hand. I hear my little brother and cousins laugh across the room. Tito Gary grabs a pair of sandals with faux leather straps from a green plastic bag and hands them to Lolo. page 10
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“I don’t know if these will fit but the quality is good.” Lolo’s bony fingers grasp the sandals. He inspects them a little. He frowns. “Too big. These will break in two months.” Cough. “You should’ve gotten a… what brand is that… Merrell?” “Next time, then.” “I’ll be dead soon.” Mama zips her wallet open and flips through some bills. ***** “How’s Guiller?” Tito Peter says as he makes a turn away from Lolo’s house. The lack of an honorific for his father didn’t surprise me. “He got thinner… Kept saying that he will die soon.” Mama’s voice sounds composed. I sit in the back of the SUV, beside bags and boxes. I look out the window. The roads of Cagayan seem smoother than those in Manila. “He got you good, didn’t he? The bastard pretends to look weak so you would show him pity.” Tito Peter turns the wheel and drives to the west. “Did you give him money?” He barks at Mama. I lean towards the car window some more. Goosebumps poke out of my arms. I glance at Mama but I only see the back of her head bobbing as the SUV zooms past bungalows and pastures. “I only gave him 1000 pesos. He asked money for a motorcycle but I only gave him 1000 for medicine.” “Tch. Medicine? You shouldn’t have done that. Wait and see— He’ll call all his friends and drink ‘til they’re dead as soon as we leave Cagayan.” I fumble for my earphones in my pocket, plug it into the jack of my phone and blast Underoath until I fall asleep.
“Now, he sits in front of me — a fraction of what he used to be in my mind”
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The Extra R by pennilesspoet it wasn’t intentional, more accidental my poems usually contained tons of yous about a person I claimed to love as I grew up, I learned to replace them with hes and maybe the occasional you (It was easier to write I love him, than I love you.) but the hes and yous soon turned to hers and I didn’t know what to think of it, only that my parents would question the mystery her I ceased to write about high school quarterbacks, testosterone, my lips on his and more about glossy lips, delicate fingers, braided brown hair the e that had been alone all this time finally had a visitor; it went by the name of r and carried around even more baggage I started writing about you, the girl with small eyes and a stiff heart, in my poems since you were my muse and I longed to immortalize you into poetry
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Confessions of the New Employee by Juju Baluyot Here is a confession: I was friendless in the office for a month and a half. There, I just dropped the bomb. Since my first day at work (October 1) until mid-November, I did not really have friends. I only knew two people in the Microsoft Philippines office: Raul and Ruth, my fellow editors for MSN Philippines. I also knew my fellow editors from MSN Singapore and MSN Malaysia, of course, and we were all communicating and holding our meetings online, every day. But then again, if we talk about friends whom I can be with physically (like have lunch or selfies with), I basically had none, considering that Raul and Ruth both opt to work from their respective homes. So whenever I had free days, I would call my friends from college and invite them for dinner, coffee, movies or whatever, just so my social life would not die. And every time my parents would try to ask me how I was doing at work, I would just say “It’s fine” and change the topic instantly. I was always trying to avoid any conversation that would concern my work. Somehow, this really affected my behavior. It even came to the point when I wanted to resign and vanish from this world. No, mate, I am not kidding. Imagine Juju having snacks at the pantry alone. Imagine Juju having his lunch at Greenbelt or Glorietta alone. Imagine Juju buying coffee from the nearby coffee shop alone. Imagine Juju working alone. Gosh. It was like a suicide. Maybe the primary reason why I did not make friends during my first month and a half at work was because of the fact that I was really intimidated by all of them. Obviously, most, if not all of them were older than I am—most guys who worked near my work desk looked like they were all twice my age. So how on earth would a fresh-graduate guy like myself approach them? Saying hi to them was like harder than my job. And hey, this is my first full time job, if I page 13
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may add. So the corporate work setting must have intimidated me. But here is the catch: I am friendless no more! One evening, while I was working at the office, some girl named Grace messaged me on Lync (the conference and chat product of Office365 that we use at Microsoft) and I was like, “WTF who is this girl?!” She said that she noticed I was always alone and that I had no friends and all that embarrassing stuff. Apparently, she was observing me for a month and a half! How crazy was that, right? She also said that she always wanted to approach me since Day One but she was always intimidated! So during an all-staff meeting one day, when the HR showed on the screen the photos and names of all new Microsoft employees, she looked for my photo and then my name, and then that’s when she looked for me on Lync. I was seriously laughing so hard while she was telling all these to me. So, yes. I am no longer friendless for about three weeks now, yehey! Aside from Grace, I am also friends now with Doreen and Francis, both can be ate and kuya to a young employee like myself. And oh, hey, have I mentioned that we all come from different departments? We all have different jobs. My work does not concern theirs and vice versa. But our common denominator is that we are all newbies at Microsoft. U-huh, smell the connivance there. Friends are as important as food. I do not think anybody can work alone, without having even just a single friend. In my case, being friendless for a month and a half was like the darkest moment of my life. It was really crazy. I am now more comfortable in the office; I now grab snacks from the pantry with them, I now eat lunch with them, I now make jokes and laugh with them, I now go to some areas in the office building with them (I always wanted to visit the yosi area at the fourth floor and the more spacious and quieter work areas at the 11th floor back when I was still friendless but I never got to because I did not want to visit those places alone! So of course, all these have increased my happiness level to a hundred percent. Now I can say that work, indeed, is fun despite the stress.
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Moonglow, Starlight by wreckonxyle Venice felt rather melancholic and nostalgic after getting stuck at home for four days. Incessant rain has been drowning the city in a continuous cold shower, therefore covering it in a thick fog every morning, forcing her to stay in their house with nothing much to do. Maybe it was the cold, or perhaps it was the dark, or the endless sound of raindrops pattering on the roof, but for three consecutive nights already, she had trouble sleeping, for a heavy feeling weighed her down. Her heart wandered aimlessly through bitter memories, and for her, it always felt like walking on a floor of shattered glass. On the third night, however, she got up at two in the morning, where she finds herself still wide awake in the dark, fumbling for her journal under her bed, where she scribbled randomly, “I’m sick of being alone. But I miss the comfort of being in solitude. It is strange though, but I can’t deny that it’s also true. I am a home for myself, I know, but I’m tired of dealing with all these nightmares. It is a funny coincidence how tired is an anagram for tried.” So when the weekend came and the downpour finally stopped overnight, never minding the battering cold to the skin and without any more thinking done, at the stroke of six in the morning she instantly grabbed her notebooks and a couple of things she loves, like books and flowers and some small silvery things, then decided to drive to her favorite place to be in solitude: a hillside picnic park that glows with pure and juvenile sunlight where tall trees and greeneries blend perfectly well with the panoramic view of the city. When she came to the park, there no person to be seen; there were no voices to be heard, except for the whirring wind. The entire park was white and the trees were all nearly invisible as their gray silhouettes struggle to peek through the thick mist hanging on their faces. Sunlight failed to cascade smoothly through the rain clouds and the whole city was again blanketed in a damp mist. page 16
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Venice got out of the car, wore her blue sweater, and with her backpack, she sat alone at a picnic table resting between the city and the forest. She loves to write, and prefers to do it alone in a quiet place. It was a perfect time to do so, she thought. The trees whispered in the wind, and the wet flowers on the ground danced along to the ambient, quiescent waltz ringing in their ears. Her eyes were pale, yet vividly hazel even with tiny raindrops while her icy fingers trembled in the cold; her delicate knees shook above the damp grass. The atmosphere was eerie as there was no voice that lingered and floated in the air, just the monotonous chirpings of birds and bugs echoing away from the nearby forest. The scent of the four-day rain, like hands, gripped tightly her lungs, but like a lighthouse beneath a raging storm, these things never moved her or broke her concentration. She wrote, thinked and sometimes stared far across the horizon with blank eyes. Groups of people wanting to spend their days off with friends or family started to come one after another, after days of not being able to go out. An hour and a half has passed since Venice came, when she noticed a vintage school bus pulling over, unloading lots of kids and some women wearing identical green and white uniforms. In a sudden moment that morning, the park became crowded, mostly with children, and the air was brimming with joyous laughters and sweet voices and melodies circling through the atmosphere. Sunlight has finally made its way to the ground, bringing warmth and melting the glaciers in the lips that formed along with the people’s frown. Venice sat still and undisturbed by the sudden noise of the crowd. However, it immediately caught her attention when one woman in uniform asked her, “Do you have any company?” in which she answered no by shaking her head. Upon seeing this, the woman who held a little girl with her asked again, “Is it okay if we stay here for a minute?” Venice nodded, then the woman asked the little girl to sit down, and being just inches away from them, page 17
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Venice could hear them talking. “Are you okay?” The woman asked, kneeling down while gently caressing the cheeks of the little girl. The little girl nodded, answering in a weak-toned voice, “I-I still feel dizzy.” “Wait for me, alright?” The woman whispered as she stood up. The little girl nodded again and Venice watched the woman as she dashed hurriedly into the bus. When she came back, she had pills and a bottle of water in her hand and told the little girl to drink it, which she did. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll just watch over the kids playing in the playground. Just rest here for a while and don’t force yourself to go and play if you can’t, okay? You’ll see me from here so call me up if you need something. Alright?” Venice stopped writing. She sat still, careful not to make any sound that may disturb them or bring their attention to her, though she was observing the two, secretly listening and watching. The woman stood up, patted the girl’s head, smiled at Venice who she caught looking, then left. The little girl turned around to Venice, folding her arms onto the table where she lays her head. Venice pretended not to care and continued to write, but the little girl’s eyes were upon her, staring at her with wonder. For her eyes were totally fixed on Venice, never even glimpsing anywhere else. Venice felt shy and awkward, and it surprised her when the little girl then asked her with a very innocent look on her face, “What are you doing?” Venice smiled at her. She picks up the orange notebook beside her and continues to write. The little girl now having a confused look in her face awaits an answer, but Venice was silent. She turns the notebook around to her and it read, “I’m writing. Can you read?” The little girl whispers, “I-I can read…” A pause, “Hi, my name is Leila,” She happily, yet shyly introduced. Her eyes and lips were grinning together. Venice wrote again in her notebook, and it read, “Hi, Leila. I’m page 18
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Venice. How are you now? Still feeling dizzy?” “How did you know?” Leila giggled and then shook her head, “Not anymore… Hmm. Just a little.” “Travel sickness, I guess.” Venice wrote. Leila noticed something strange and she looked at Venice, confused about Venice’s peculiar way of communicating, so she asked another question, “Why are you writing? Can’t you speak?” Venice wrote, and it read, “I can’t speak, that’s why I write instead, and this is my Speech Notebook.” “What’s a Speech Notebook?” “It’s what I use to talk to people, like you, so I can say what I want to say. It’s different, and strange, I know.” “But why can’t you speak…” Leila was full of questions. “It’s a long story.” Venice wrote. “But I like stories…” “How old are you?” Leila counted on her fingers before answering, “Eight. Oh, wait… Nine.” She giggled again. “You’re probably young to understand this now, but some stories are best kept untold. I’m sorry.” “But why…” Leila sighed, “Okay…” “If only I could speak, I would tell you lots and lots of stories which I know all day.” “It’s okay.” Leila smiled. The delightful noise in the back caught Venice’s attention, so she turned around and saw the multitude of kids running around the park. “Is today your fieldtrip? Where are your parents, by the way?” Venice asked. “We’re not from school. I don’t study there anymore.” “What? Why? Where did you all came from?”
“But promise me you’ll remember these things: you are loved.”
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“We’re from an orphanage, and they take us out every once in a while.” Leila said gloomily, looking down and running a finger in circles across the table. “Oh,” Venice thought to herself, feeling sorry. She knew that this was one story that is best kept untold, so in order to not make Leila anymore sadder, she didn’t bother anymore to ask about her parents. They both sat quiet for a while, until Leila broke the silence when she hummed a song that lingered in the distance between them. “This looks beautiful…” Leila whispered, looking closely at a rose tucked between the pages of a book beside Venice’s pile of notebooks. Venice smiled and wrote, “It’s as beautiful as you.” Leila blushes and giggles. Venice wrote again, “It’s yours if you want.” “Really?” Venice grabbed and opened the book and lets Leila take out the rose that she often uses as a bookmark. “Do you like flowers? Cause I like flowers.” Venice asked. “I like flowers too,” Leila nodded, as she smelled and quietly examined the rose. Then with a sad look in her face, she said, “No one has ever given me something before. Thank you,” She sighed, “I wish I had a sister like you.” Venice felt a comforting, gleeful and strange warmth that came from these heartfelt words that ceaselessly swirled around her ears. She liked how it sounded. She liked how she did something good, something right, that her heart was aching very dull and burning very lightly in a very good way. Leila made Venice melt inside. And suddenly, the little girl in front of her didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. She replied, “Well, I can be your big sister.” “But…” Little Leila tried to speak, but Venice silenced her off,
She knew that this was one story that is best kept untold
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putting a finger on her lips. She wrote again, “From now on, I am your big sister.” Venice smiled at Leila. Leila sighed, “I always wanted to have a family again,” then she began to sob as she covered her face, so Venice stood up, walked towards her, and knelt down to hug her tight. She wiped the tears from the little girl’s eyes and caressed her back to calm her down as a way of saying the chant, “It’s alright, it’s alright”, and when Leila finally stopped crying, Venice wrote, “You said you like stories, right?” Leila nodded as she wiped her wet face, and Venice took out a book from her bag, then she handed it over to Leila and wrote, “It’s a good book. I promise you’ll live a different life while you read it. I loved it very much, and I hope you’ll love it too.” Venice smiles and hugs her again. “Okay,” Leila replied in a small trembling voice. When Leila was completely alright again, they immediately spent the next hours doing things, talking, and eating together, and before Leila left the park that afternoon, Venice left her a note attached to the book which she decided to give her that read: I can’t describe in words how much you are wonderful. But promise me you’ll remember these things: you are loved. Always. Home may sometimes feel far away, but I want you to stay happy and optimistic and hopeful through it all; remember that the most comfortable home you’re always seekingfor is always within you, and no one can ever take that or tell you otherwise. I just happened to find you when you were young and lost and looking for a place to feel at home. And you know, you did the same to me. It may all sound crazy, but someday, it will all make sense. You are always welcome. You are always loved. Your older sister, Venice
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I Will Not Rebuild by Allyn Ann Supan I. At this point, all I found from you are heartbreaks and bruises on my soul. II. The scream of an alarm clock is too soft now to wake me up for the flare inside me is louder. III. The eye that I used to see your beauty caught fire today and all I see now are your ugly and bad. IV. My love cannot create a refuge for you anymore because today, I will stomp on what I have already built. V. And next time you touch my heart again it won’t be beating for you.
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Locked Out by Emir Grey I hear him shouting outside our front door, demanding to be let in with his things. How his face must have fallen when he saw outside the two suitcases he had brought with him five months ago when he moved in. We both have a key to the doorknob, but the door also has a deadbolt that can be locked from the inside, and that’s how I kept him out. I was already too familiar with all the invectives he was shouting at me, yet the words freshen the wounds and harden my resolve not to let him in. He was telling me no one else will love me like he did, that he was the best thing to happen to me. But the bruises bluing on my upper thighs and the dull pain on my stomach when I cough said otherwise. I should have smartened the first time he punched me in the gut after a quarrel, but the sweet apology and explosive sex afterwards all made up for it. Besides, I thought I was the one to blame at that time, and those other times that came after it. I say something or do something that he doesn’t like, and it provokes him to hurt me. Mama always said it takes two to quarrel, so I must have been partly to blame. I didn’t have the strength to confront him; nor have I the resolve to ask him to leave. But I was still my mother’s son, and if Mama can leave Papa after he kept denying the existence of a mistress, so too can I do this. It took a while to realize that I didn’t deserve the force, threat and pain he brought upon me. I hear the condominium guard asking him to leave. After a while it became quiet, and all I could hear was my heartbeat that kept beating faster than normal. Tomorrow I will bring a picture of him to the guards and ask them never to allow him in. The doorknob lock will be changed, my phone number will be changed, and maybe, just maybe, my life may also be changed.
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What my first few months of working in online media has been like by Juju Baluyot My first two months and a half in my work was a whirlwind. My work, as how I would always describe it to my family and friends whenever they would ask me about it, is a mix of journalism and online media. Sure, I already knew journalism, noting that I was a very active student-journalist back in college. But online media? I knew about it, of course, but I never really got to practice it. It was only when I got this job when I got to be exposed in this field. On my first month, everything was basically done on baby steps. Work terms like CMS, page views, unique users, analytics, curating, and heroes among so many others, overwhelmed me like, woah! I just felt like I was lost in the world wide web (pun intended). My bosses and fellow editors from MSN Malaysia and MSN Singapore were of course there to guide me. Though being the youngest in the entire MSN Southeast Asia, I have to admit that it felt really intimidating on my part to be working with all these experienced journalists and online media experts. There were a lot of times when I would question myself, “Do I deserve to have this job? I am not experienced yet, why do I have this kind of job?” Sure, I have already done quite a lot of not-so-good stuff, most especially on my first two months; I have already edited and published stories on a wrong timing, or have already put up stories unedited, or have updated late, or have broken the website up because of wrong code inputs (putting the higher-ups in their craziest state), or have doubted my own editorial judgment. All these mistakes definitely affected, in one way or another, not just the traffic of MSN but also my sense of self-worth and confidence. A lot of times, in those first two months, I wanted to just quit simply because I felt like the work was not fit for a 22-year-old boy. Things are rather quite different now, I guess. page 24
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While I was working around 8:00 last night, my boss walked towards me and announced, “We just reached the 2-million pageview mark for today. Thanks to one of your multimedia contents that you put up—it is generating a lot of page views until tonight.” And a few hours before that, my other boss from Singapore pinged me and said, “One of your multimedia contents is doing pretty good since yesterday. Every time you have fun ideas like that one, let me know.” The more page views we get, the happier we (editors and market leaders) are. You see, in our work, “page views” are holy. Anyway, it is not that I am counting all the compliments and praises I am getting from my superiors. It is just that I am somewhat disoriented and amazed at the same time because funny how I used to doubt myself so much on my first two months (“Can I really do this job?”), and now I am already starting to enjoy my work genuinely. I am now starting to see the worth of my job, why I am here, and how exciting the work actually is.
“Without any doubt, I now value my selfDuring our editorial meeting yesterworth” day, my boss said that working in the
online media is rather exciting because it is never just one thing. We have to adapt and to react to the demands of technology, news culture, and, of course, of our audiences as fast as we could or else we would lose our audiences in a snap. And as I look back on my first two and a half months, I realized that, indeed, we adapted and reacted to the demands of our audiences almost on a weekly basis. A lot has changed in the last two and a half months that I have been working here. For instance, when I first started here, my work did not involve creating contents—my work was more on curating contents from our partner news sites and putting them on MSN (that particular work, though it sounded easy to non-media men, involved evaluating and judging contents, before editing and publishing them; people page 25
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in journalism and online media should know it could get really crazy at some point). But now, we are already creating particularly multimedia contents, and that happened because of the demands not just of the higher-ups but also of our audiences. My boss said that maybe (just maybe), by next year, we already have our own news desk, or maybe we have some more features. Who knows, right? This is one thing about working in online media—it is very exciting. The work is not repetitive. You can never tell exactly how the work is going to be like tomorrow, next week, next month…every day, we come up with new strategies and techniques in gaining more audiences, generating more page views, getting more partners, etc., because the work in online media never stops. It is constantly changing. And that, I really like. I am young. I am 22. This is my first job. But I feel like I have already gone through a lot because of all the fantastic realizations and learning that I have already gained in my first two and a half months of working at Microsoft, particularly at MSN. The amount of strategies and techniques that I have already generated by myself or learned from others is very overwhelming. Without any doubt, I now value my self-worth. The amount of contributions that I have already given particularly to my country and regional teams may still be small but I hope that it has indeed helped us in one way or another. As what I constantly say, I am still young, so I am sure that I will become a better editor for MSN in the months yet to come. After all, improving the quality and standards of MSN is and will always be the essence of my job description at the end of the day. So every time I get to help in improving MSN through my humble contributions, I also get to improve myself as an editor and as a person.
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SPECIAL FEATURE
The Philippines in Japanese Anime by Jay Agonoy
Clockwise: (1) Marvel Anime: Blade in Manila, (2) Jormungand, said to be in Makati City, (3) Eureka Seven AO in Subic Naval Base, and (4) Fate/Zero in Alimango Island. It’s time to be loyally biased for one’s motherland. I was wondering why the Philippines have been featured in many anime series recently. What they liked about the country? What they stereotypically think about the country? to think that they were commissioned by the local tourism department is not a possibility, but it will sure help them to promote the Philippines. Let’s have a round-up of the places featured in your Japanese Animation. 1. Marvel Anime: Blade (in Manila, the country’s capital and Siquijor) According to Ian Titular writer for Orends:Range, their depiction for Manila is similar to the places where informal settlers dwell, which is quite the stereotypical but real Manila if you ask me. for starters, they were able to copy Manila’s poverty atmosphere since we have the carinderia, the tambays . The dumpsite in which we saw kids pick up trash for them to live and the standard abusive husband that most Filipinos grew up watching thanks to soap operas.
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SPECIAL FEATURE He does not agree that the depiction for Siquijor is good though. ...they are trying to get rid of the image that their place is filled with aswangs (the proper Filipino equivalent of a vampire). But look what we got, they depict them as primitive individuals! I am fine with them wearing traditional costumes if it is for battle but that they depict them in that level of primitivity is quite disappointing in my part. In addition, local comic artist Budjette Tan (@Budjette, known for the mystery comic Trese) lauds the effort of depicting Manila. Check out the setting and background of the next couple of frames. I liked how they researched and illustrated a very realistic looking Manila. 2. Jormungand (said to be in Makati) This one was disclosed to me by Mr. A (@Solidad), days before I watch the episode. This is where Kasper Hekmatyar announced the Hekmatyar Global Grid (Hek-GG), and judging from the scenery it might be derived from the Makati Central Business District. To say that the Philippines might have a possibility to host events like these is a possibility (Take a look at the gun trade shows hosted by ARMSCOR), so I’ll take this as a bit of a good impression. 3. Eureka Seven AO (in Subic Naval Base) Mr. A explained the episode to me as this: “The Subic Naval Base is a Crisis Center for those infected by the scub corals”. He also stated that the Americans are allies with the Filipinos and the base is still intact. Relating this to the real world, the Americans has given up its possession of the Subic Naval Bases since 1990’s (after the Mt. Pinatubo eruption) but the Philippines is still intact with the Americans on the culture, as with any other Anglo-American country. 4. Fate/Zero (in Alimango Island, Negros) Ahelo Enriquez (@aheloenriquez), writer for Traveler on Revenge, has written a short post about the place where Kiritsugu Emiya was raised, as featured in the 18th episode. Now whether the island in Fate/Zero is really Alimango island, what we can technically be sure of is that they used a Filipino Island setting for Episode 18. With all these in your anime, will you get more interested in watching it?
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SPECIAL FEATURE
Bokura wa Minna Kawai-sou by Mikki
It’s been a while since I watched a romance anime that actually satisfied me without having to resort to melodrama. Much more, it’s quite rare to have such show that actually sends a message across aside from fuzzy feelings and sexual innuendo. Bokura wa Minna Kawai-sou (The Kawai Guide to Manors and Hostel Behavior) is a romance/slice-of-life show about a bunch of people living in a dormitory. The story circles about Usa, a high school student wanting to experience living on his own unknowing that he will end up in a dormitory with his crush, Ritsu and some other characters with crazy antics. While the show exudes a reality show/situational comedy kind of vibe, the ultimate focus is how Usa tries to get closer to Ritsu, which is often cold towards people as she prefers to read books than to socialize. Beyond the sexual interludes (which is the source of humor of this anime) and the budding romance between Usa and Ritsu, there’s actually a bigger point waiting to be discovered. To be honest, I never found Kawaisou interesting or amazing until the last two episodes. While many may think of Kawaisou as only a series about a bunch of eccentric people in a house, it’s actually a subdued commentary on the concept of friendship and why people crave for having relationships with other people. Mayumi and PAGE 29
SPECIAL FEATURE Sayaka are personifications of one side of the fence (esp. Sayaka whose life circle around men and getting frustrated with her heartbreaks) while Ritsu is on the other side, not finding any motivation to building friendships with people as she just feels “not being cut” for it. You can actually compare Watamote (and to a certain extent, Isshuukan Friends) with their treatment of relationships and the concept of social anxiety. While Tomoko of Watamote finds being popular and a friend-of-all the main motivation for her existence, Ritsu doesn’t feel that way. She enjoys being alone, feeling happy and not having qualms about it. This point became more prominent as the season ends, with Ritsu actually questioning why most people find it a necessity to belong to a clique or to find a romantic partner even if it means disappointment or having to change their selves or hide who they really are. (Hayashi is the personification of that.) In that way, Kawaisou actually sends a more positive view of social anxiety – that it is okay to be introverted or to wish being on one’s own; that it is way better to only have one or a few friends who completely accept who you are rather than belonging to a big circle that sidelines you in the first place. The presence of Usa also drives one of the main points of the series – building relationships with people require genuine interest and a lot of effort. Usa trying his best to catch up with Ritsu and her love of books makes him a candidate in the “true friend” category. Instead of trying to turn Ritsu around, he actually appreciated her for what she is and actually made the effort to adapt to her. On the other hand, Ritsu’s presence has also helped Usa realize a few things regarding his struggles – that living healthy and happy requires an acceptance of one’s self and his past (with regards to Usa’s history of being a “freak” in middle school) and that there’s no point in running away from who you are – no one should care about your identity except yourself. To end this, I’ll be giving the series a five stars. It might be a drag with the first few episodes, but the comedy is enough motivation for me to stay till the end and appreciate what gem the story actually hides. Kawaisou served a refreshing love story outside of the high school romance cliche, which I hope to inspire other writers and producers to tweak their meals. PAGE 30
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writers’ directory Follow them for more of their works and their thoughts.
Michel John Smith writerinspace.tumblr.com twitter.com/spvcedrift instagram.com/spacedrift
wreckonxyle wreckonxyle.tumblr.com
pennilesspoet pennilesspoet.tumblr.com
Juju Baluyot jujubaluyot.tumblr.com twitter.com/JujuBaluyot instagram.com/jujubaluyot
Nicole Raquinio nicoleraquinio.tumblr.com twitter.com/scathefire instagram.com/nxraquinio
Emir Grey oftwigs.tumblr.com
Allyn Ann Supan stormsofseptember. tumblr.com
David Dicolen (Editor) stuckinthedreariness. tumblr.com twitter.com/skyrocketedfame
Ron Rayton oblivionstreet.tumblr.com twitter.com/iamronray
Leys (Editor) khaleysi-14.tumblr.com twitter.com/_khaleysi
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