UTAKLATO

Hello, everyone! My name is Cheeno. I am a published storybook author from the Philippines. For inquiries, contact me at [email protected]. Utaklato is a Filipino term for "seaweed brain." As a young adult reader, I was obsessed with the Percy Jackson series, and so, when I started blogging in 2010, I originally used "seaweed brain" to refer to myself. This was how Annabeth called Percy, in a teasing but also loving way, because Percy in that universe was a son of Poseidon. Later on, whether it was because I started finding my voice or for the lack of creativity to think of a new blog name, I claimed the Filipino form "Utak" (brain) and "Lato" (seaweed). Maybe my brain works that way, too. And so, it all works out.

[utaklato]

Off to a new adventure

It has been a week, and still, I feel like where I am now is like an out-of-body experience. It was as if I was watching myself live a dream, and any moment now, I would wake up back in my bed in Amadeo. But this is real: I am in the US, miles and miles away from home, embarking on a new adventure.

I remember back in December last year. I was exhausted, burnt out even, from my job and the in-betweens of being a lowly research scholar and creative writer from the Philippines: a lot of papers to check, journal articles to revise after countless rejections, stories for children that would jump from publisher to publisher. It felt like everything was changing: the children's literature scene was not as welcoming as I thought it was going to be; people from the communication research scene are producing papers so fast that I could not keep up; work environment was becoming more and more challenging; and consultancy work was too much for me to handle. I realized one thing: I need a change of scenery. I wanted to do something else. I wanted to move out and away, to start anew, and to discover more about myself.

And so, the search for what the next step was going to be commenced. Initially, I was all set for law school, searching requirements, choosing any school that could accommodate my schedule, inquiring fees that I need to prepare, and planning how the succeeding semesters would be as a teacher. Then, the idea of doing postdoc floated like a calling that was vague and impossible to pursue. It was a leap, and boy, I had the guts to take it. I worked painstakingly but carefully, from drafting countless letters and proposals to asking for recommendations over and over again. After exhausting all possible avenues for applications and still finding more, I rested thinking that everything was a long shot.

Soon enough, I would find out that I was accepted in two postdoc positions. I was praying to be accepted at the University of Alberta under the Izaak Walton Killam Postdoctoral Fellowship, which was prestigious but hard to get in Canada (at that time, my mom was planning to stay in Canada, too). But I only got waitlisted. Meanwhile, I received an email from the associate dean at the School of Information Sciences at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (UIUC). The email was not necessarily to offer a position but just to check if my chosen mentors and I were still up for the postdoc task as I already was assigned a prospective course to handle. My mentors were quick to express affirmation, but to me, it was confusing and nerve wracking. What did it mean? Was I already accepted?

Fast forward to some weeks after, I would receive a formal offer and the processing of documents would commence, which was a difficult hurdle due to strict visa protocols and complexities of leave applications at my home institution, UPLB. Just as I was all done with paperwork, the University of Alberta would contact me again, saying that I am also offered a slot. But it was already too late.

By August, I was already saying goodbyes to family, friends, and loved ones. I would attend final events, see my advisees graduate with all sorts of accolades (I have two advisees who won best thesis, one in research and one in creative work, both working on children and children's literature).

After closing some loose ends, the journey begins.

The first week at UIUC was unbelievable. In between jetlag moments, I would walk around the campus, buy essentials, and adjust to a life that I only dreamt of as a child. I have always dreamed of coming to America: to watch shows on Broadway, to feel the changing of seasons, to eat all sorts of food (mostly Mexican, if I am being honest), to meet relatives, and to just live the American dream. As I walked on campus, I would realize: my dream is happening.

Of course, living miles from home was also challenging. I miss my family so much. Video calls and chats are always available, but an embrace from mom and kulitan with the kids would always be priceless. Still, I continue. My mom and I would say that this would be nothing but a usual journey, just like when I would travel for conferences. Only it was longer. Only it was miles and timezones apart.

And leaving the country was not without heartaches. My friends and family rallied behind me before I left. I really appreciated how each friend group would really take the time to send me off. They would bring all sorts of gifts for my departure, from essential needs to keep me healthy from the changing weather and to keep me fed while I wait for salaries to adjust, to snacks and shoes and letters and clothes. But there were also heartaches. There were moments of letting go and parting ways. And this made the journey bittersweet.

While I adjust, the first week was also eventful. I had to meet my advisers and co-postdocs. I had to attend countless seminars that prepared me in this multicultural academic space. I had to even do a teaching demonstration as part of the requirement: even when I have been teaching for 10 years now. And even so, there is no preparing for having to face a crowd of students. There is always fear and nervousness. And I would like to think that fear is a good thing--it keeps you going.

It is only more than a week since I started a new temporary life here in Illinois, and thoughts of home still linger in my heart. For sure, the coming days and weeks and months would be challenging, but I really like how this life here reminded me of so many things: that slowing one's own pace can be a healthy reminder of how life is best enjoyed, that change can be a good thing as long as you remember what's most important, that mistakes can be redeemed if you commit to a life worth living, that dreams come true.

I am off to this new adventure, and I hope that this would allow me to grow more, serve more, and pay forward the kindness that people have given me. And I hope that there is redemption in the things that I have failed to do in my life. Maybe.

[utaklato]

Stories, Storybooks, and Life Updates

I wrote "Si Tiya Salome" years ago but it got recognition from the Palanca in 2017. A year after that, it was part of an anthology of radical storybooks. But it would take another five years for the storybook to finally come out. Illustrated by the brilliant Angela Taguiang, the story is about a dystopian/post-apocalyptic Philippines, where life is different as we know it.

But this post in not just about the storybook. After all, the story, the win, and the publication are far in between that the excitement has dissipated. Instead, I'd like to talk about regrets and mistakes. Yup, that is quite a turn. There are times when, I wish that I could turn back time, that I could go back to so many years ago and maybe find some healing or avoid the need to be healed. Maybe, I would not hurt a lot of people. Maybe, I would not end up living a life in a broken outer shell. But if I change things in the past, would I be where I am today? I guess not.

Anyway, find "Si Tiya Salome" on Shopee and Lazada, or come see us at the MIBF 2023 this September!

[utaklato]

“Nakikiisa ang Adarna House, Anvil Publishing, Lampara Books, at Hiyas Books sa pagdiriwang ng Philippine Board of Books for Young People (PBBY) ng 37th National Children's Book Day sa Hulyo 21, 2020.

Dalawampung bagong aklat pambata, na nilikha sa tulong ng Room to Read, ang ilulunsad sa Buribooks.com sa araw na ito! Magsign up lamang sa website o sa Buribooks app para mabasa ang mga akda nang libre mula Hulyo 21 hanggang 28. Dahil sa Pagbabasa, hindi ka nag-iisa! 📖”

Kasama sa proyektong ito ang “Sayaw ni Dayaw” na aking isinulat, iginuhit ni Harry Monzon, at inilathala ng Anvil Publishing. 

[utaklato]

Because it’s International Dance Day, let me talk about “Sayaw ni Dayaw” (”Dayaw’s Dance”), which I have written for Anvil Publishing and is illustrated by Harry Monzon. The story features some Philippine cultural dances, such as Ragragsakan, Binasuan, Putungan, Tinikling, and Sua ku Sua.

Ragragsakan is a dance that portrays the strength and grace of the women of Kalinga. They would travel by the mountainside, carrying on their heads baskets filled with food or clothes, pots filled with fresh water from nearby streams, and even firewood to be used for cooking at home. While men hunt for food, the women also perform their tasks, showing that the men and women are equal pillars of the household up north. 

The same kind of grace and equality in movement and performance is shown in Binasuan, a skill dance originating from Pangasinan. The people from rural areas in Luzon have a penchant for friendly banter, challenge, and competition after a day’s work in the farm, and Binasuan is one of the dances where this is showcased. The goal is to dance around while balancing glasses filled with water or rice wine. Men and women perform the dance, both of them showing different but equally spectacular and jaw-dropping exhibitions featuring their skills in balancing the glasses. 

Meanwhile, the grace of the Maria Clara suite is exuded in Putungan, a welcome dance originating from Marinduque. Performed with a song, men and women welcome their guests with smiles, palm leaves or palaspas, and flower crowns or leis. The name “Putungan” comes from the word “putong,” which means “to lay on the head” of the visitors. 

Tinikling is probably one of the well-known dances in the Philippines. Originating from Leyte, this dance is yet another show of strength, grace, and this time, speed, which is also performed in rural areas as a form of celebration after a bountiful harvest. Dancers jump over clapping bamboo poles, imitating the tikling birds hopping over bamboo traps in the fields. The Tinikling has a faster form, Harabas, which further tests the stamina of the performers. Both male and female dancers can last long in the dance. This dance fosters the joy of celebration and the Filipino’s fondness of a friendly challenge. 

Sua ku Sua is a dance that imitates the rustling leaves of the pomelo tree. In the dance, the performers also sing the song of the same title, while holding white fans to imitate the movement of the leaves through the kumintang, a staple hand movement in many dances in the south. The dance reflects not only the colorful culture and costumes of Jolo, Sulu, but also the culture of trade of the southern tribes. The dance showcases the majestic movement and sharpness amid grace that can be observed in many tribal dances in Mindanao. 

To see how these dances become important in Dayaw’s discovery and appreciation of her nature, you have to check out “Sayaw ni Dayaw,” forthcoming this year. The storybook is part of a 20-book release from the project initiated by Room to Read, an international nonprofit that targets literacy and gender equality in education particularly in vulnerable communities. Books crafted by many talented writers and illustrators in the Philippines will also be released as part of the project, published by four major publishers of storybooks in the Philippines. These books will be distributed to areas where storybooks are scarce throughout the country. 

[utaklato]

I chanced up on Trang Hoang and Pham Quang Phuc, creators of the Scholastics Picture Book Award finalist “Dreams are Calling,” during the Asian Festival of Children’s Content last year. The two were simple, friendly, and very humble even if they have been collecting awards in the recent years for their works. 

In “Dreams are Calling,” the simple journey of a child homeward with his mother is rendered with a layer of fantasy. The text is reassuring to the child: that the mother will be with him throughout the journey, that there is nothing to be afraid of as darkness looms and it was time for them to go home and pass through the forest. The illustration was magical beautifully made because not only did it provide a sense of fantastical interpretation into the creatures of the forest but it also showed sophistication and awareness of the style that the illustrator has. Every turn of a page is an adventure to the child character and the child reader, and as you go deep into the forest that the storyworld presents, you understand its majesty and you become unafraid. The child and the mother are able to arrive home, safe and sound, and as they fall asleep, the creatures of the wild join them in their dreams. The dreams call you to sleep, and the journey and the magic continue. 

The story reminds me of my childhood. Our old home was located deep in the forest. To get there, you would have to reach the far end of the barangay, climb steep walkways made of dirt and molded by the footprints from years of family members passing by the narrow pathway, the other direction directly going to the river. You clim some stairs until you reach my uncle’s house. You pass by the house and enter a small forest of coffee trees until you reach our small ramshackle of a house. 

Whenever I would be tasked to buy something outdoors at night, the journey is a struggle. Back in the day, we did not have phones and flashlights, and the forest is not lit other than the natural moonlight that would shed its glow every now and then. Through time, I would get used to the journey. I would know where to hop to avoid the big roots on the surface of the ground. I would know where to duck to avoid the branches dangling by the route that has become the pathway, the dry leaves and grass cleared off due to the constant coming and going. Sometimes, as you walk, you would smell the coffee flowers, sweet and assuring on one hand, nostalgic and gloomy on the other. 

But in this darkness, I learned to stay strong. I learned to keep walking because the faint flickering light from the yellow bulb that we have in our home would be waiting. I learned to keep running because my mom will be waiting for me at home. I learned to be careful, too, because rushing will only end in pain. I learned to believe that things will be better eventually.

Even as an adult reading the storybook with a perspective that is different from the child readers, I see myself in the child. I grew up being afraid of many things: of the dark, of ghosts and monsters, of dogs, of pain, of being left behind by the people I love. And maybe up to this day, I am still afraid of these things. But there are wonders in the darkness: the twinkling stars, the glowing fireflies, the promise and comfort of a warm touch, the journey that a dream calls for, the burning passion and strength of a good heart. And every darkness is a promise of light.  

[utaklato]

Para sa akin, matalino ang pagkakabuo ng “Ako ang Bayan,” isinulat ni P.D. Guinto, iginuhit ni Manix Abrera, at inilathala ng Adarna House. Malinaw ang mensahe ng akda: bawat mamamayan ay bahagi ng iisang bayan. Prescriptive ang pagkakasulat nito, kaiba sa ibang mga kwentong pambata, dahil higit sa isang kuwento ay sinasalamin ng aklat-pambatang ito ang mga pangunahing kaalaman, karapatan, at tungkulin ng isang mamamayang bahagi ng lipunan. Sa tingin ko, gumana ang ganitong paraan ng pagkakasulat dahil kailangang diretsang ipaalam sa batang mambabasa ang mga simpleng prinsipyong pangmamamayan. Bukod pa rito, hinahayaan ng akda ang bata na magdibuho, magkatha, mag-isip, at umaksyon nang naaayon sa sariling pagkakaunawa sa kung paanong ang kagaya niyang bata ay maaaring maging kapaki-pakinabang na bahagi ng kaniyang komunidad. Dahil dito, nabibigyan ng ahensya ang bata na siya mismong dumiskubre sa kaniyang potensiyal bilang isang superhero na kabahagi sa pagligtas sa kaniyang bayan. 

Ang imahe ng superhero ang ginamit ng ilustrasyon upang katawanin ang gampaning papel ng mamamayan, kabilang at lalo na ng bata, upang maging bahagi ng pag-unlad ng bayan. Matalino rin ang pagkakaguhit dahil naihalo ni Manix (aking idolo) ang kaniyang pinagmulan na pagguhit para sa komiks at ang mahika sa pagguhit para sa aklat-pambata. Naging gabay ang mga dibuho sa paglalakbay ng batang mambabasa hindi lamang sa iba’t ibang bahagi ng bayang Pilipinas kundi sa pantastikal na presentasyon ng danas ng bansa: pagkakaiba-iba, paglaban sa karapatan, pagsugpo sa iba’t ibang uri ng kaaway. 

Nakadagdag din ang pag-eeksperimento sa porma ng paglathala sa husay ng aklat-pambatang ito. Paunang pang-akit ang naiiba at intriguing na pabalat. Sa loob, matutunghayan ang paglalaro sa espasyo at oryentasyon. Tatapusin naman ang aklat sa isang mahabang pahinang may pagsiwalat sa higanteng bayaning binubuo ng maliliit na bahagi, mga bahaging bumubuo rin sa bayan. 

Mabibili ang “Ako ang Bayan” sa Adarna House at sa iba pang bilihan ng aklat sa bansa. Maganda itong ipabasa sa mga bata nang may patnubay ng magulang at guro, nang sa gayon ay magabayan ang mga bata sa pagproseso ng mga mensahe ng aklat, dahil ang bawat bata ay siya ring ang bayan. 

[utaklato]

Simple ang kwentong nais itanghal ng “Naku, Nakuu, Nakuuu!” ni Nanoy Rafael at may guhit ni Sergio Bumatay III. Paano nga ba ang siste kapag ang isang batang lumaking nag-iisang anak, binubunso ng magulang, at tanging tagatanggap ng atensyon ay biglang magkakaroon ng kapatid? Paanong iiral ang pagkabata ng nauna sa pagdating ng ikalawa? Papalitan ba siya nito sa buhay ng kaniyang mga magulang? 

Dahil dito ay maglalakbay ang batang si Isko upang alamin kung paano bang nabubuo ang mga bata at kung ano ang pakiramdam ng pagkakaroon ng kapatid. Sa kaniyang munting paglalakbay, magbabago ang emosyong dala ng pahayag na siyang pamagat ng kwentong pambata. Ang “Naku, nakuu, nakuuu!” ay magiging pag-aalala, pagkalito, pagkabalisa, pagkalungkot, at pagmamadali. Ipinakita sa kwento na, sa bawat pagkadiskubre at habang patuloy na naliliwanagan si Isko, umuunlad ang batang karakter at ang pagtingin nito sa mundo, sa pamilya, at sa kapatid. 

Pamilyar ang ganitong karanasan maging sa akin bilang (matandang) mambabasa. Bunso ako sa pamilya, ngunit nang muling mag-asawa ang aking ina, nagkaroon ako ng nakababatang kapatid. Habang sanay ako na ako ang bubunsuhin ng aking ina sa aking pagtulog, unti-unti naman itong nagbago sa paglaki ng nakababata kong kapatid. Ngunit hindi lamang ang nakagawian sa bahay ang nagbago. Ako man ay nagbago rin. Naging mas responsable akong kuya. Palagi kong isinasaisip ang kapakanan ng nakababata kong kapatid. Minsan nga, nang mapag-usapan ko at ng aking mga kaibigan ang posibilidad na magtrabaho sa ibang bansa, naluluha akong nagsabi na hindi ko yata kakayaning iwan ang aking ina at kapatid. Maisip lamang na lumaki ang bata na malayo sa akin, at sa proseso’y lalayo rin ang loob, ay hindi ko na kaya. Kaya naman hanggang ngayon, lahat ay ginagawa ko upang mabigyan ng magandang buhay ang nakababatang kapatid. Hindi ako makakapayag na danasin niya ang hirap na aming dinanas noong ako ay bata pa. 

Samantala, nabighani ako sa dibuho ng “Naku, Nakuu, Nakuuu!”dahil binigyan ni Bumatay ng kakaibang mundo ang batang karakter. Kung titingnan, kakaiba ang kulay at atmospera ng mga pahina: madilim, malagim, nababalot sa misteryo. Interesanteng tunghayan ang mundong ginagalawan ni Isko at kung paanong mayroon itong iba’t ibang mensahe. Nasa isang dystopian na mundo kaya si Isko? Nasa isang mahirap na pamayanan? O nasa isang pantastikal na mundo? Hinahayaan ang mambabasang bata na lumikha ng sariling interpretasyon mula sa mga ilustrasyon. Nakakaaliw din ang mga artifact sa bawat pahina. Sa huli ay uuwi siya sa kaniyang sariling ina, sa isang makulay na pahina, pabalik sa kaniyang tahanan nang may naiibang pagtanggap at pag-aabang sa pagdating ng kapatid. Kasabay nito, mayroon ding supresa sa kaniya ang magulang. Nakatutuwang mayroon ding sariling patong na kuwento ang dibuho habang binibigyang buhay din nito ang nakasulat na naratibo. 

Matapos basahin ang kuwento, pumunta ako sa aming kwarto upang yumakap sa aking kapatid. Bagama’t nasa kalagitnaan siya ng paglalaro ng PUBG sa kaniyang cellphone, niyakap niya ako pabalik. 

[utaklato]

Jessica Love’s “Julian is a Mermaid,” published by Walker Books, is one of my recent favorites because not only does it celebrate gender expression in a fantastical way but it also reminds me of my own grandmother. 

My mom and I would not have survived all these years without our Ina Viniang. Between Ama Guding and her, she was the caring one. We grew up very poor, but Ina Viniang would make sure that we would have food on the table and even watermelons on good days. When I reached high school, I would not have money for the day because my mother’s salary from teaching would be close to none because of all the loan deductions, all the money spent so that she can but school supplies for my brothers and I at the beginning of the school year. Ina Viniang would then send me bug-ong (what we call our packed lunch) a little past noon so that I would have something to eat for the day at school. It was a sumptuous meal of rice, nilaga, and fruits. Sometimes, it would be a little late that usual, but for sure, Ina would always come. 

When I went to college, it was also Ina who would make sure that I had allowance for the day, even if it meant that she would borrow money from one neighbor to another for the whole week. By weekend, she would sell fruits in Divisoria so that she could pay them. Even when she was already old, she still continued selling fruits for a living until she had a stroke and became paralyzed. Around this time, I was just starting my career, which meant that I had a salary rate that was enough to provide for my Mom first and foremost, who equally shared the burden of raising me. My contribution to taking care of Ina Viniang was the constant supply of adult diapers, tin cans of biscuits, and a small contribution to her maintenance medicine or payment to her therapist. When I got better jobs and better salary, it was too late for me to contribute things that would have made her happy. She passed away, peacefully, leaving behind a family that only she had made stronger and more tightly knit. 

Julian’s story tackles a different theme but nonetheless presents a loving grandmother who might seem strict at first but would ultimately be supportive. A story that metaphorizes the colorful creatures of the ocean as means of gender expression, “Julian is a Mermaid” presents Julian’s quest to become a “mermaid” and join the creatures like him who are unafraid to show their true selves. At first, Julian thought that his Nana would be disappointed at him, but it was his Nana who brought him to where he is supposed to be. 

The illustrations that Jessica Love presented likened the experience of drag to the openness and vastness of the ocean: that below it, there are wonders that are unimaginable but are equally real, that the waves are nothing more but joyful companions that the creatures enjoy and that make them stronger, that the ocean is welcoming to whatever entities and identities, that there is nothing to be afraid of in the ocean. Through Nana, Julian is able to find himself and free himself in the process. Being unfraid and having the people you love accept you for it are things that are truly liberating. 

If Ina Viniang were still alive today, I would do my best to make her happy and to repay all the kindness and care that she gave me and my family after all those years. And for sure, she would accept me, too. Grandmothers and mothers, they truly know best.  

[utaklato]

Today, I have decided to do short book reviews of children’s storybooks that I own as a way of starting the day and before jumping on to the many workloads that I have to face despite the lockdown. While browsing to my library of books, two shelves and books that are attached to my study table here in Cavite, good enough to handle the thin books that carry many stories and experiences of children, I came across this old book that I got from Booksale. 

“Over There,” written by Dorinda Silver Williams, illustrated by Brenda Gilliam, and published by the organization Zero to Three in Mexico for its Coming Together Around Military Families project, is the perfect book to start off this project as it honors frontliners, fitting well in this current pandemic where medical practitioners find courage in helping our patients instead of staying at home to be with their loved ones. Many of these frontliners are mothers, just like in the board book, which was also produced in partnership with the McCormick Foundation and the Iraq Afghanistan Deployment Impact Fund from the California Community Foundation.

The board book has a simplistic but genius form of using the child’s voice in presenting the parallelisms between the child’s and the mother’s whereabouts and actions despite the distance. Right away, it presents the mothers who are working for the military as soldiers and medical officers. Throughout the book, various mother/child relationships are presented, particularly in terms of race, to also represent diversity. 

A work that was printed in 2006 as part of a project, there is an obvious caution in representation, such that the child is presented to perform daily duties, with the sense of agency only in terms of narration, understanding the situation, and validating his/her own emotions (”Sometimes I feel sad or even mad...because my mommy’s not here. It’s ok to feel that way”). The simplistic use of language also reflects the publications regard and intention for its readers. The message is direct on the last spread: “My mommy is away and I miss her. But she’s always here in my heart.”

The board book is a good read to not only for children who have the same experiences, i.e., parents who are working in the military, as well as in the medical sector and other areas where frontliners are essential workforce given today’s pandemic. 

[utaklato]

We are still experiencing power outage today. So I decided to catch up on some reading on our anthology of radical stories for children from Lampara books (my story “Si Tiya Salome” is part of Baklas). This is good entertainment (and also a much-needed data gathering activity for me). Behind the books, you see the blue sky, free from the giant fluffs of smoke from days before and the darkness that followed. You see rays of light—of hope. I pray that it stays that way. I hope Taal Volcano finds its peace, so that we can all be safe and we can all recover from the ashes and the fear.

[utaklato]

I am thankful to be chosen as one of the authors to be writing stories for Room to Read, an international organization that aims to distribute empowering stories to children across the country, especially those who may not necessarily have access to quality books for children. In the Philippines, Room to Read partnered with Adarna House, and in turn, Adarna House teamed up with other major publishers of children’s content: Lampara Books, Anvil Publishing, and Hiyas. A workshop for writers happened in Bohol, where I was lucky to be representing Anvil.

There, we learned more about the children who would be reading the stories and wrote narratives that would not only captivate their hearts but would also speak about empowerment, equality, and representation. After the stories were written, an illustrators’ workshop happened in Baguio, where my story was brought to life by the talented Harry Monzon (who also recently illustrated Pakitong-kitong with Tahanan Books).

Last December 2019, a few months after we started working on the books, we were shown sample outputs of the books, and it was so warm to the heart.

I am lucky because I was able to meet my idols and gain new friends during the whole project. Also, it would be really nice to share stories to children. After all, they are the reason why we write these stories.

Our book is entitled “Sayaw ni Dayaw,” which explores how a child finds the right dance for her. Here is the book, along with other titles from Anvil. A total of 20 titles were created from four publishers, all of which tell the many facets of the child experiences. It would be exciting to see all these clutched into the hands of child readers very soon!

[utaklato]

Book Launch

While my previous works Bahag and Blanket would speak about my passion for our cultural heritage, "How Lakan Cried for His Father" and "Tik! Tik! Tikatik!" are very personal stories. Lakan's story is my story. It's my way of understanding the relationship that I had with my father, who died years ago. People close to me would know our story, and for so long, I resisted writing about what I feel for him. The story became my way of accepting my father and embracing the contributions that he had in my life. The book, I hope, is my way of channeling the regret of not making the effort of becoming close to him into telling our story and what makes us connected despite the many kinds of distances that we have in the past and at present. The story is my way of connecting with him, however late, and making him feel up there that I have forgiven him, hoping that he forgives me too.

Meanwhile, Teyang's story in Tikatik is also my story. Here, I recalled my moments with my mom at our old home, watching water trickle from the roof of our dilapidated house. Just earlier, coming home from the book fair, my nephew Sean read the story and told me, "Ah, ito ay parang nung tayo ay nakatira sa kubo." And it is that experience that I hope to remember, because remembering it will inspire me to push forward with strength of heart and love for my family.

My very talented illustrators Henrick Dulin and Bertha Kaye De Mesa, posing here with Ruth, Vyo, and Cha, my orgmates from The Gazette back in college. 

Here, I’m signing a copy for Vince Dioquino’s little boy. 

Macey, Tom, and Scout came to support Ninong Cheeno, as always. 

Team Gazette, na palaging namamakyaw ng mga kopya! 

The best thing about this launch is that I get to share this milestone with my family. 

Ultimately, I hope to write so that children can read my works, may it be on their own or with their parents. I hope that they would enjoy the stories of Lakan and Teyang. 

[utaklato]

Around this same time last year, I was a mess. I was in Baguio for a conference, I got sick after playing with the make-believe snow that was actually soap at the Christmas park, and I had an inkling that I was bound for what would ultimately be the end of an era for me just an hour after my birthday has passed. It was devastating because you see the world differently from that one point forward: it was not necessarily as if what was once colorful became black and white but more as if the idea of colors did not make sense at all. From there on, the point was not to understand colors but to go on with life without seeing things as they were or stopping for a second to wonder and wander, to frolick by, to think and reflect, but only to move forward with a more survival-centered life. This year, it is the same in many ways, such as that I’m attending a conference and am healing, too. The year has passed and it passed as if I was aimless, as if I do my tasks only because it became the automatic daily occurrences that I was (un)fortunate to have to live by. And as I suffer from one pain to another, one rejection after the next, one failure after another, challenge after challenge, I started realizing a lot of things. I saw that, in the grandest scheme of things, the small stuff would not have to matter. Time and time again, I would tell people that I do not mind what people say if these people are those who only cause me pain, people who do not really care about how I feel, or people who would not accept me for my selfhood. I saw that, as long as the people whom I care for are happy and safe, the rest of the world would not matter just as much. I saw that it was pointless to worry about things and circumstances that only cause emotional stress because it is simply not worth it. I saw that all I have to do is be strong and pray that I live happily and long enough to see my family in joy and comfort, and my friends in the cusp of realizing their aspirations. I saw that there is still hope in many things. Today, I am thankful to have reached another year and to be here with people who matter to me and to whom I matter. The future is uncertain, but the love that we have for each other isn’t, and maybe, that could be enough to find new colors and meanings again. Happy birthday, self!

[utaklato]

Running Motors and Stars That Remind You of Things That Hurt

“It is not going to rain tomorrow,” my friend whispered beside me as we sailed to Odiongan. I looked up and saw blurry darkness. I was not wearing my glasses, but even so, I could see the distant twinkling of evening stars, some shining brighter than others.

“It isn’t,” I agreed, although my mind was already drifting back to the memories. Again. Stars have that power; they can take you back to the places and spaces and moments that you both want to go back to but also want to forget.

In particular, the stars took me to that night by the streets of EDSA. Again. Probably, it was the sound of the running motor that took me to that one moment. We were sailing on a ferry, where the humming of the motor was both felt and heard, that you can feel and hear it even if there were two comedienne-singers blabbering about song requests that had high notes (they said it would make their balls drop; one of them was a crossdresser who sang better than the woman-partner). The sounds of the engine was reminiscent of the busy streets of the most busy avenue in the Metro.

Again, I found myself walking along the highway, my hands brushing only so gently towards the skin of the hands of the guy I was with. The guy was talking about work, and I participated in his story by being the one who asked the questions so that the story would keep going and expositions would surface. But I asked with interest because I was interested to know more about him. I figured that this was the way for him to see me. To really see me.

There was a gentle bump in the ocean, probably one from one slightly bigger wave, and I found myself looking again at the stars. Looking was not the term, searching maybe? Or longing. Yes, that. I was longing again. Damn the stars and the memories they bring and the places where they would take you back only to hurt you.

“I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow,” I told my friend, but the friend was already busying himself with laughter among our other friends. I hope it doesn’t rain and I hope I can forget, just so I can rest from the pain. But for sure, the stars and the running motors and the evening breeze and practically everything sad or bad or good or happy would and could remind me of the guy and what could have been. I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow.

[utaklato]

A Culture of Belonging

People of a certain generation seem to always have something to say about a generation different from theirs. We have all experienced it. It is an ongoing experience wherein we, whichever the generation, are always the worse version of our forefathers. We always here about how our elders live at a better time and place, how they did not have gadgets and how they work hard for their money, how they did not have the luxury that we have now, how they work in fields or walk miles just to get to their school, how lucky we are for having what they did not get to have during their time. And for many of us who have become the receiver of the scolding that only repeats the same statements and points of argument, it becomes tiring to listen to. Admit it. Our eyes rolled and our scoffs echoed tenfold every time we are made to hear the same stories of the past yet again. To recall our past is nostalgic, but to recall as past that is not ours is unrelatable and confusing. (The Marcos experience is one example. We used to not relate to the stories that people tell, but as we are experiencing them now, we relate to the fears of the past, at least for some of us.)

There has always been a critique about the millennial experience, and it seems as if the shadows of the past has haunted us because we have become a generation that scolds a generation that is different from ours. I think that it has become a human tendency for someone to think that he/she is better than another person (or is it a Filipino thing?). Furthermore, we experience getting scold at by our elders through verbal exchange, but now, we were able to transcend into virtual nitpicking, pride, and self-righteousness. We always have something to say about how people act and how they should act.

Before I continue, I would first like to clarify the term millennial, something that I would always want to do, despite having a non-expert standpoint. There is millennial based on years of birth, and people are easy to point out that one does not belong in a certain generation because of that, and that has a point. However, what we fail to see is that being a millennial is also a cultural experience. Born within the 1990s and the 2000s or not, there are just some practices, most of them online or in terms of perspective, that makes one millennial. So maybe, as what I will do in this article, we can be a little less intense on classification. Millennial, post-millennial, we do the same things and think the same way; we just have different ways of manifesting such perspectives.

I tweeted about this a few days ago: it is funny to think that we are skeptical about the tendency of people to want to belong to a clique, but the truth is that we still imbibe that tendency up to now. We live in a world--both virtual and real--where a culture of belonging is the air that we breathe, the food that feeds us, the gratifications that satisfy our souls. As a young individual, we always had that need to be part of something, something special even, and we have this habit of growing a little and rejecting our old ways with disgust. Now, we hate the millennial consciousness of wanting to belong, even if we have been in that position and we still are now. The things that we do--again virtually and in actual reality--are motivated by wanting to belong. The culture of belongingness is deeply rooted in our individuality, and this is a statement that a say with an ontological sense of nominalism and positivism: it applies to us all. 

Of course, by virtue of reinforcement by media, this is human nature only intensified by our media experiences. The social media landscape has created an avenue where we are fed belongingness only to want to belong even more. We look at Twitter cliques and we suddenly want to venture into volleyball or watch Ru Paul’s Drag Race just so we can also contribute to conversations and attend gatherings, because we see how fun the big groups were. There used to be Tumblr meetups that everyone of us wanted to join so badly, even if it is a mechanism used by a few to further establish their famous status (even if they post nothing but content taken from online sites and nothing originally written, and I say this with condescension). We go hiking and hit the gym just because everyone on Facebook posts selfies at the gym, and we exert money on travel just because the feeds in Instagram have these shots of different places. We travel even if we cannot afford it, and we take Instagram-worthy shots even if we endure hunger and tiredness because we cannot afford them in foreign lands. We are not only pressured by social media to search for that sense of belonging; we embrace that pressure and cradle it with love and care. We also search for love hoping that we can post photos on Twitter about how we love each other and how we look happy on photos, even if the truth is that it is not working any longer. Because people post happy photos and hashtag standards and relationship goals, we rush love hoping we can join the fad and get that affirmation that we all seem to crave so intensely. For some, joining the bandwagon is a good thing because they develop themselves in the process, but others fail at handling it and they end up being cunning and miserable. And sadly, when we become that, we do not get the goal that is the reason for acting such and for exerting so much effort and money and pain in the first place. 

It is both unfortunate that we throw hate on people for acting what we think is unlikely and for wanting to belong, and that we are the same as they are. The search for a sense of belonging is part of our culture and experience; we have that need to belong. Maybe, instead of pulling down just because of generational differences or because of the insecurities that are the motivations behind the hate, we can instead talk and communicate with each other. Say nicely if you feel a post can be improved; ask if you want to achieve what a person has obtained. Maybe, we can communicate with a good sense of motivation and heart, and from there, we can all belong.

[utaklato]

Graduation Stories: Mindsets and Perspectives

There is something exciting about hearing about someone’s graduation day. It makes one feel excited about another person. It makes one hold his/her breath in anticipation about the possibilities that await the graduates. And recently, there has been a lot of buzz about graduations, particularly for elementary and high school, as well as for colleges and universities that have not yet made the move towards the calendar shift. And for someone who also wants to graduate already but just can’t at the moment, it makes me want to write about it. 

My little brother is also graduating this season. Well, they call it “moving up” nowadays. Since the K to 12 program is one whole program that you have to finish from kindergarten to senior high school, you do not really graduate midway. You only move up from grade school to high school. But because we are sticklers to tradition the way the Barden Bellas are during the Riff Off scene in Pitch Perfect 3, which I have watched tonight, there are still graduation-like ceremonies. However, things have changed already. If I were a grade 6 student, my competitive self would have been disappointed because there are no top honors now. Every student who gets grades not lower than 90 throughout the year is qualified to accept honors. Bummer, right?

That is only the surface of what K to 12 is all about. My mom would always tell me that the program was a mistake and the country is not yet ready for it. She is a school teacher, so she is speaking from experience. When K to 12 was in its earlier stages, teachers who would teach an upcoming K to 12 level, they would undergo a few days of seminar in order to learn what makes the new curriculum different. They still use old books, and there are no improvement in terms of facilities. Worse, they are required by the Department of Education to pass all students in what seems to be a poor derivation of the “No One Left Behind” policy in the US. According to my mom, they are not allowed to fail anyone. For example, if a student goes to school only on the first day of classes, when the student comes to the class the next year, he/she would be advancing levels even if he/she did not attend classes the whole year. This example happens in my mom’s students. There are children who attend school on the first day but financial difficulties would not allow them to continue. Instead, they would be working in farms or would be in charge of nursing their younger siblings. Thus, when the Education Department reports that there has been a successful rate of graduates and passing students, do not be fooled. 

Anyway, my little brother is lucky to be one of the honor students this year. My mother does not give him the pressure that she gave me when I was my brother’s age. When I was in grade school, my mother would wake me up at 4AM, and in the mini sari-sari store that she opened early for early-morning buyers of shampoo and conditioner or egg and oil, we would review my lessons. I am thankful for it. It bagged me first-honor medals my whole elementary life, as well as bountiful ribbons and special awards that were ultimately lost because we moved houses a lot that time. I wanted my little brother to be the achiever that I was, but my mom would not pressure him. For me, it is not about just being on top, but my wish is that my little brother would be responsible and wise so that he can survive a future and become an independent individual. He is way younger than I am, and because of that, he would live in a different time. I want him to be sure of his ways.

Who am I to demand that from him? When I graduated elementary, I did not have that sense of direction. I did not have that when I graduated high school and even when I graduated in college. I only figured out what I wanted to do two years after I started working. But I got by. I hope my little brother does, too.

And because it is graduation, you would see a lot of heartfelt messages about surpassing the struggles of college life. I enjoy reading seeing them on my feed, although I do not read most of them. I especially do not enjoy throwback photos of people who have long graduated and are only posting photos with an enumerated list of awards only to brag about the past achievements only because these are the only achievements that they can ever have. But for many posts that I have read over the past few days, I saw how these fresh graduates are thankful for the people around them, people who have helped them achieve their present situation. I hope that they would remain grateful instead of spiteful. It takes the right attitude of humility and gratitude to achieve various degrees of success in life after college. 

I hope I can graduate this year, too. My plan to graduate, return to work, and study yet again is all laid out in my head. There just have to be some going on and surpassing this slump of thinking about my dissertation topic. It’s funny because I had it all figured out until my target adviser told me that my topic was not for the PhD level, which meant that I have been living in this bubble where I thought that I had it all figured out. 

But really, the graduation march is also a way to mask the pain graduation. Graduations are all about goodbyes and letting go. It is like crossing a one-way bridge. You face the harder level but also leave what made the previous level easier for you. It is nostalgic to think of graduation. What makes it different is that you are forced to move forward and let go, even if you still want to hold on so badly. You let go, process the pain, and live the next kind of life waiting for you. And you do it all over again. 

It is all about mindsets and perspectives, I guess. 

[utaklato]

On Some Life Updates (or My Classic Running in Circles Metaphor)

I like the taste of margarita, so I have been asking my friends for us to have drinks. Since I was not really big on drinking (I remember telling my friends that I have org duties just so I can escape their planned drinking sessions, only to find them wasted by the streets on my way home later in the evening), I do not know a lot about drinks. I vaguely remember drinking margarita, but I remember drinking frozen margarita somewhere. I forgot the taste, by I have some memory of the experience. 

When I got to drink it during our trip to La Union, it was bliss. The glass has salt on its brim, and ice floated on the yellowish drink that might as well have a “Drink Me” sign on it. With two of my friends Ekai and Ellah, I played in my mind the many memories that I have about the past and recent pains in my life as I drank with excitement. And then, I both forget and remember. 

I remember Jayser, which we shall call Guy 1, and our relationship, which lasted for one year and seven months. That was a rough estimate. We stopped counting eventually. I think that there will always be a reference to Jayser in the relationships to come, if any, because he was the first and will always be the point of reference. There’s a communication theory that specifically points out this kind of referencing: social exchange theory. According to this theory, we weigh the pros and cons of our interactions and establishing of relationships based on how well we would benefit from such building of connections, and this benefit is referenced to how past experiences were able to weigh things out. So for me, social judgment theory meant comparing practically everyone to Jayser. This does not mean that I have not moved on from him, because I believe in my heart that I have; this only means that he was my experience and I have to compare future possible experiences from what I had with him.

I also remember Al, the short-lived Guy 2. After Jayser, it was Al who made me feel important and loved, only he was doing it because he wanted me to make him feel important. More than that, he wanted me to service him, and I do not think relationships worked that way. So really, there was nothing to say about him other than the fact that he should not let his relationships revolve around him. People in a relationship create a circle and revolve together as one, or they are entities that revolve around each other such that you would not be able to identify which one is the center because there is none.

This brings us to the third guy, whose name we shall not mention due to many reasons that, if discussed, will only sidetrack us into talking about many other things. As I allowed my lip touch the salted brim of the glass and as the cold liquid flowed into my mouth, I remember a lot about the new guy. Truth be told, the night revolved around him. Ironically, he was my center, only I was not his. 

But there is so much to learn about La Union and that night with the margarita. I realized that, all my life, I approach people with malice. There was no making friends with me. Before Jayser, I consider everyone who approaches me to be a prospect, but then, eventually, I would not be able to pursue them because I was afraid to be in a relationship. After Jayser, there was a longing for a replacement to the point that I approach everyone in search of a relationship. I disheveled the friendships that I have and thwarted any possibility of friendship from practically everyone who approaches me with a clear purpose of friendship. I do not know. Maybe that was my problem; there was always a constant need for company that I cling too hard and unnecessarily, and in the process, I push people away instead.

That night, I realized that I should know better. I knew that I would have to let go of the new guy, and instead, I should be there for him as he was when I needed company while I was still in the process of moving forward from Jayser. It was a mistake to have fallen to a friend, which I did, but now, I know better. I would not fall for him anymore. After all, it is futile because I am seen no more than a friend, and so, I should let go. Instead, I would be there for him when he needs me the most. 

And I should focus more in getting my shit together. I have a concept paper to write for my dissertation. Actually, I presented a topic to my target adviser, but the topic was seen to be for the MA level even if I tried to widen its breadth, so I am lost not only in love but also in my academic endeavor. I have pending revisions for the textbooks that I have been writing over the past months (I think I have 5 textbooks coming in 2018 and 2019), and these will still have to undergo revisions before publication. The storybook is on the works, and there are a lot of things to write, all left unwritten and in the flowchart format until further notice. I also submitted an abstract for a conference when in fact I have not written or researched anything, and I also have to help my mom’s friend with her research. So really, there is a lot of things going on. I also have enlisted myself to the perspiring depths of the gym, and there are a lot of responsibilities to handle in my life as a breadwinner. There is a lot of things happening, so maybe, I do not have time for emotions and for falling in love with people who clearly do not see the goodness in me. 

I liked margarita so much. It quenched my thirst, but at the same time, it made me think deeply and realize many things. Or maybe, it acted as an agent that masks the emotions that I have. But for sure, I would run in circles and would drink again, just in case I become lost again, just in case I try pursuing the new guy just when I know I should not. The margarita will help me keep sane as I run in circles and get nowhere.