Discovering Dumaguete


The trip back to Cebu was frenzied. A longer queue. Back seats in the ferry. No bus when we arrived. But we we’re quick on our feet, taking a tricycle ride to the main road, then a van ride with a cheerful driver to ease our travel worries. It was hectic, but I was home. There’s this relief that’s not easy to describe. When you’re home from a vacation or overseas work, you’d know that feeling. Home.

Let’s zoom past. It was Founders Day in Silliman. I’ve been hatching this plan of visiting Dumaguete with this confidant of mine for what seems like forever. Until me and my friend couldn’t wait any longer. We plotted the dates, filed our leaves, and bring what we need for 4 days and 3 nights.
The best thing about this trip is that my friend’s a Sillimanian. And so is her boyfie. I know this is third wheeling, but hey, I need this trip just as those love birds do. ūüėõ
If it’s a Founders Day, it’s a Dumaguete trip. You don’t plan any other trips. And that’s not just a “thing.” They call it the Silliman Spirit. A Sillimanian seeing another Sillimanian. Here or abroad. There’s this brief exchange, a nod, a smile…IMG20170827110555

My friend’s itinerary includes the tempura/fishball stall located among the university dorms. Bossing’s. I’m not that big on spicy sauces so my tempura dip is Level 3. If you’re up for fire on your tongue, go for sauce Level 5. We toured the university, the acacia trees (estimated number of 200+ trees), the dorms, the library, the old archery place where they used to practice (both were archers), and the booths. We ate green mangoes with ‘uyap’ (hipon or shrimp paste). Twice. Or thrice? ūüėČ
Back to those acacia trees, there’s the one they call the Perfect Acacia tree. Because of its almost-perfect symmetry. My friend tells me students also referred to it as the ‘fertility tree’ due to the unexplained occurrence of several successful pregnancies after couples held their date under its shade. LOL.
I thought I’ve forgotten the magic of live performances… until the Silliman Performs. Several glimpses of popular Broadway performances in one night for 200 pesos? This could only be luck. Or an alignment of stars… The performances were nothing short of awesome and I fell for that boy Tarzan singing, “you’ll be in my heart..
Food. What’s a town without its raved delicacies?
1. Red puto + rich sikwate (served tongue-burning hot)

2. Bossing’s tempura + sauce is Level 3

3. Shrimp n’ Sausage Gumbo (@ Gabby’s Bistro)¬†

4. Spicy kabayo (horse meat @ Gina’s Kabayo-an)

5. Mang Atchan’s Tocino (local barbecue)

6. Sisig and kinilaw (@ Drill Shack Resort)

7. Strawberry smoothie (@ Scooby’s)

8. Cheese bread (@ the university canteen)

9. Silvanas (bought home as pasalubong but I ate some… or more)

10. Grilled chicken (@ CB or City Burger)
Why Dumaguete? Because everyone who’s been there always, always has a good thing to say. And not just good in a my-town-is-better-than-yours kind of way. They speak of it with great sentimentality. Whether they’ve been there for long (like my friends who studied at Silliman), or for a short vacation (our office team). Or those who call Dumaguete their home, like my friend’s boyfie. Which is why I could just nod in understanding as he wished to be back home as soon as we got back in Cebu. Dumaguete is really… easy to love.

Now, I get it. How when they talk about it, there’s a distinct hint, as if simply uttering “Dumaguete” creates a ripple effect. As if that place misses them, just as much as they miss it.



Appreciating the Films, Arrival (2016) & Beauty and the Beast (2017)

Film: Arrival


A friend egged me to watch Arrival. I remember seeing it’s trailer but that’s it. He goes around to tell me I NEED to watch it. And try to offer the reasons why without giving away spoilers. Which is hard… but with his constant hand tapping, a gesture he does when he’s really excited, I knew I had to relent.

And so I watched it. Taking cues from my friend’s “warning” about some scenes that looked like memories, I had no choice but to eye everything suspiciously. The beginning felt very much familiar, the character’s having one hell of a tough day and as more scenes of a dying daughter come in view, a tug in this viewer’s heart gets pulled (let’s just say that grieving is also¬†familiar). I think anyone would be easily pulled just as I had been if one fails to see how unfailingly isolated the scenes were, how the starting scenes gravitated towards her and her alone. No “condolences” from colleagues at work? It was like throwing a rock at a puddle and seeing no¬†ripple. Now, something is off.

Fast forward: we get to the part where the big reveal is. And the denouement swiftly takes us where the real action is — her making for the run against time, changing people’s minds…

Post-movie feels and I’m walking my way to work. Waiting for the red light so I could cross. My mind reels back to the movie and I thought if I had a special ability, would I use it? In movies where there’s a conflict and that special ability is a requirement fitting to solve that conflict, it’s easy to say ‘yes.’ But at present, where I live and breathe as a plain mortal, I think I ought not to use it. Why? Because for me that same thing I can use to help, I can so easily use to harm others. It’s not difficult to say why or how; I’m a mere mortal, with no omniscience, no gift of foresight, I will never fully grasp the reason why, more so, act on it. This is what makes up for most hero- or origin-story: the conflict that arises from a mortal having immortal powers or special abilities. …

Film: Beauty and the Beast


There’s this scene in the movie Beauty and the Beast, wherever a rose’s petal fall, parts of the castle fall, too. Before I would think that those were just visual allusions to the story’s magical reality. Yet, now I guess I know better. During my father’s episode (he suffered stroke), new patterns of living came to manifest. We started to stay more at his bedside at the hospital. If not, I’d be at our office working and my sister at school. Our house became a silent refuge of fatigued bodies. Otherwise, it was empty. Then came the days were we’re all home, when his hospital stay was over. Bizarre things would happen. Our glass dining table broke into half. That glass was seriously thick and we didn’t do anything to break it. There was just that loud resounding crack. The glass table looked karate-chopped! Then our mint-colored refrigerator. It was one of the oldest appliances that we owned. And it would have been natural to see it break down if not for the dining table’s abrupt end.

So what I’m basically saying is, perhaps, not all visual allusions are definite forms of (exaggerated) effects. When the well-being of the inhabitants of a house start to go down, such gradual ruin could also manifest in the physical realm – outside of the inhabitant’s body. In the Beast’s case, his castle… while for my father’s, the glass dining table and mint-colored refrigerator.

The March That Was: Balak, Panaghigala, Ug Uban Pa

Thought Catalog

For most working people, weekends are a lot of things. We may be lazing around, waking up on late mornings, stuffing our mouth with comfort food after comfort food. Sometimes, weekends are about meetups with friends and joining events. Three weeks ago, I got a combo: poetry readings slash meetups. And what could be hectic (if not crazy) is joining, not just one, but two poetry readings!

The first one was held in the 2nd basement of Robinsons Galleria, by the group MAD otherwise called, Mga Anak sa Dagang (Children of the Plume?). I totally forgot the theme* of this reading (I’m horrible with details), but I knew it was in celebration of International Women’s Month. In short, it was about women. Or was it just that?¬†The various verses read and shared certainly showed that there was more. “For the fucking boys” was addressed to boys whose false perception of girls distorts some things (or every thing) — from respect to expectations. Pieces by local favorite Cora Almerino and international spoken word artist Sarah Kay were also shared, concocting a powerful shot of what it takes to be a girl and a woman within and outside the confines of the lover’s and the society’s reality (of the¬†woman).

For my turn, I’ve read my first published work, “Kon Nganong Dili Mi Moadtog Lucky Plaza.” It was my first time reading it in front of an audience and just as I expected, it was a trippy read. Why? Well first, it was personal. I’ve written it, trying to capture how it felt — to become both witness and conspirator of something intangible yet gripping: discrimination against Pinays and women, in general. Second, it’s emotionally charged, which is risky. If you’ve watched quite a number of spoken word performances, you would seldom miss the challenges it involved. There’s that part of building up the momentum, only to fail in delivering a “good drop” — one that “seals the deal” with a denouement so convincing it gives you that strong “feels.” To address these two, I not only had to dig up the applicable insight; I also had to sustain the courage to execute. I played with its¬†personal element, reading the poem the way it really sounds upon writing: full of angst, unapologetically pained. For that decent “drop,” I went for a slight but not exaggerated pause.

Kon Nganong Dili Mi Moadtog Lucky Plaza

Igsakay sa bus o MRT

magyuko-yuko dayon mi

labi na kon makadungog og Tinagalog

magsalig mi kay sa among hitsura magduda ka:

Malay o Pinay?

Ug kon dili madalag yuko ug magkatinutokay gani,

padayon lang gihapon og lakaw kay dili man 

gihapon matabok sa among mga mata ang distansya 

sa pagsabot nga angay para nimo,

ninyo, kay kami gipaeskuyla

para naa miy batobalani nga pangkolekta 

sa ilang pagtahod, gali lang

nagkadaghan na kining batoha,

wala nay mahabilin para nimo,

ninyo ‚ÄĒ bahalag¬†mas puypoy ang pagpanglimpiyo

sugod sa ground floor hangtod third floor

bahala’g usahay wala moy tarong katulog, kaon, pahuway


ug ayaw namog katingala nga

magtuyok-tuyok kining among lapalapa para lang dili

makadalikyat og agi anang Lucky Plaza kay

di mi ganahan makadungog

sa inyong estorya o pangutana

kon nakapadala na ba mo, o

gasakit lang gihapon inyong bukobuko?

Dili namo buot nga mabatian inyong

bagutbot, kasakit, pagduhaduha ug

pag-ambak dira sa paril sa inyung pagka babaye


Kay dili pod lalim

ang pagsulod sa bus o MRT,

sugaton og mga mata nga ga-ingon:

‚Äúkini,¬†mupatol ni og Bangla.‚ÄĚ

(Bisaya Magasin, June 2016)

Importantly, after my reading, I asked my friend, “How was it?” No matter how hyped up, it’s essential for us to settle down, get feedback and work on improving for the next reading. Right?

UP Cebu Creative Writing Program

“Gabiing Dako.” That’s the theme for the second poetry/literature event. The first part was held inside UP-Cebu’s arts hall. Because of conflicting schedules between the two¬†events, plus the time it took to travel from the first venue to the next, we came in late for the first part. And very hungry, too — that we had to get out and satisfy our palate. We enjoyed our liempo, tinola soup, and puso mixed with conversations over which is better: to know about that used-to-be-special someone’s romantic feelings for you after your wedding or to not know at all¬†— a¬†conversation which¬†was catalyzed by an excerpt shared by a WILA (Women in Literary Arts) member at the arts hall. One friend said, it’s better not to know since you’re already married, the knowledge could only confuse you. Another said, it’ll be better to know as it could actually help you really move forward in your married life with less baggage. How about me? I said (in non verbatim) it doesn’t matter. Both could take their unfulfilled yearning for each other as a great lesson — one that teaches them to become a better lover for their new partner.

By the time we went back to the university, the first part has ended. And the arrangements were made for the second part of Gabiing Dako, to be held rightly so, under the light of the moon, on the university’s grounds. We took mats to sit and lie on. The shadows of trees and everything else cocooning us verse-stricken poets, listeners, Cebuanos. We read and shared through the light of an electric lamp, the mood was awesome, it made me miss school life so bad (aww…). In between readings is a brief Q&A session. One student (or alumni?) asked, how do you handle writer’s block? Or how does your creative process work? To which the professor-poet answered (again, in non verbatim): it depends on the type of difficulty you are experiencing. There’s this difficulty in executing — an issue about techniques. In this case, he’d patiently sit and work on his piece until he finds or masters the technique to execute and flesh it. Sometimes, it’s an issue of imagination, not quite knowing what to put together, the pieces of the piece aren’t there yet. For this one, the poet takes his time to work on something else. Working on another piece takes his mind off the first piece, eases his psyche that by the time he’s back on it, he can effectively resume, seeing clearly what was amiss, what needs to be done for the piece. This pattern of sharing tips and reading pieces wore on and on. I haven’t shared my tip in addressing writer’s block (as a lot had already been shared about it during the outdoor reading), but if I were to answer, what would it be?

For starters, I don’t really call it “writer’s block.” I don’t name it at all (I secretly believe that naming your demons is bad business; naming it could mean that you will constantly summon it to use your mortal exercise of making excuses). My tip for that difficult writing¬†is this: don’t write it. Leave it in your head, leave it and risk the chance of forgetting it. If it’s not worth forgetting, it’s going to spill itself… At this rate, the essence of the two elements will come in play: the power of the words itself + your skill. I know, I’m making this sound so easy… but who ever said we write because it’s easy? And another point worth bringing out is that I didn’t come up with this personal concept overnight. I actually had to suffer weeks of constant self-questioning, then a more difficult period of acceptance and working for the inevitable: change. The reward of all these is this… a more organic creative process. Thinking and writing through this personal process became more natural for me that after finishing it, I’m mildly surprised with each resulting piece. Writing becomes more of an accident, it leaves me wounded yet cleansed. It’s also a release, ¬†probably of¬†some suppressed truth which comes after¬†me biting, scratching.

Back to the event, I came out the last one to read. The crowd became fewer; as the night deepens, each went to brave the Saturday traffic and get home. But the night breeze didn’t falter to comfort those who remained sitting on the grass. And I just had to brave this and share my voice one more time.

Ayaw ko suwatig balak…¬†


*after careful googling, I saw the event’s theme! Read ‚ÄúBabayeng Gamhanan‚ÄĚ at MAD reading