How do I begin? Myriads of words tickle my brains as I rummage my keyboards with hope to accomplish something worthwhile.
Like an interminable river, bits of story flood my heart preparing to stream. The clock says it’s almost half an hour away from 4 in the afternoon and yet, here I am looking at things in retrospect.
It has been like forever since I last find myself speaking my mind. When I took a test for student publication’s editorial board during my University years, I was elated to qualify. I thought it was the end of my ordeal; however, the panel interview that followed was just a prologue to my anguish.
No, question and answer moment does not frighten me. In contrast, I love it; starve for it every second the clock ticks. Attention-seeker that I am, opportunity such as that is welcome. But seeing the not- so- hideous face of a brainiac, poised as if a lion waiting for the opportune time to devour its prey cowers the tigress in me.
Years changed and this genius became a respected somebody in his field in Thailand while I find myself changing careers. Although the blunder I committed marked me for as long as I breathe, this does not however taint my enthusiasm for poetry, literary manuscripts and creative writing.
Today it does not take to be a professional columnist or writer to have one’s creations read, appreciated, criticized about, debated upon and even earn a friend, foe or fame.
Lurking on the web are sites that readily furnish virtual venues where frustrated artists, creative writers and poets exchange and even share their creativity via blogging, video sharing and photojournalism. So prevalent is this innovation of technology that even professionals enjoy its indulgences and spoils.
Looking back, I realize that although I did not see my name elevated to the editorial board of our student paper, I am still happy; happy that the terror editor who silenced my loquacious side earned many prestigious local and national awards with his bold and provocative literary arts.
The room now becomes dim as the silhouettes start to crawl on the floor. My senses are fully awakened, refreshed and filled with hope that while my terror interrogator’s name precedes prestige, here I am, struggling, trying and engaging in intellectual masturbation, enjoying my privilege to correspondence.
It has been like forever since I last find myself speaking my mind. When I took a test for student publication’s editorial board during my University years, I was elated to qualify. I thought it was the end of my ordeal; however, the panel interview that followed was just a prologue to my anguish.
No, question and answer moment does not frighten me. In contrast, I love it; starve for it every second the clock ticks. Attention-seeker that I am, opportunity such as that is welcome. But seeing the not- so- hideous face of a brainiac, poised as if a lion waiting for the opportune time to devour its prey cowers the tigress in me.
Years changed and this genius became a respected somebody in his field in Thailand while I find myself changing careers. Although the blunder I committed marked me for as long as I breathe, this does not however taint my enthusiasm for poetry, literary manuscripts and creative writing.
And while our technology reaches farther on, journalism did not miss its ride; rather, it evolves with time. From the printed publications that storm our houses, schools, offices and other establishments, virtual journalism aroused socio-political and cultural consciousness in a far wider and deeper scale.
Today it does not take to be a professional columnist or writer to have one’s creations read, appreciated, criticized about, debated upon and even earn a friend, foe or fame.
Lurking on the web are sites that readily furnish virtual venues where frustrated artists, creative writers and poets exchange and even share their creativity via blogging, video sharing and photojournalism. So prevalent is this innovation of technology that even professionals enjoy its indulgences and spoils.
Looking back, I realize that although I did not see my name elevated to the editorial board of our student paper, I am still happy; happy that the terror editor who silenced my loquacious side earned many prestigious local and national awards with his bold and provocative literary arts.
The room now becomes dim as the silhouettes start to crawl on the floor. My senses are fully awakened, refreshed and filled with hope that while my terror interrogator’s name precedes prestige, here I am, struggling, trying and engaging in intellectual masturbation, enjoying my privilege to correspondence.
"How do I begin? Myriads of words tickle my brains as I rummage my keyboards with hope to accomplish something worthwhile."
ReplyDelete-this line simply capture my attention. Bitaw noh!? asa ko magsugod? kung sa linya sa mga writer di jud bitaw tiaw ning magsulat.