The Original Reflections
I had been writing since I was twelve. My mother gifted me a diary that I logged to every night before going to bed. Then I discovered my Uncle Fernando’s typewriter, a heavy Remington with green keys and what I remember most about it was that it was in a dark bedroom of our house where no one slept. It sat on top of a massive desk that belonged to my grandfather that had drawers that were so heavy no one opened them. I typed with two fingers and with much practice I gained speed that way and to this day, I still type faster using my own touch-typing system than what was taught to me in school.
A dreamer and a writer. As a child, I would spend many hours in my mom’s garden imagining fairies, princesses, butterfly-like creatures and things little girls can relate to. And I discovered that I could transpose these imaginings into words and onto paper and then I could read it later and re-live the magic. So during the summers in high school I typed stories of living in places I’ve never been and had no idea I’d ever see. First love taught me about poetry and I have tried that too and still dabble into it now and then.
The owner of the Remington typewriter was also the only writer in the family for a long time. My uncle wrote for the Manila Chronicle when it was still owned by the Lopezes and he encouraged me to write. He was the one who suggested I test for the school paper in college and he cheered me on with every news or feature article I wrote for The Scholastican (the Official School Organ of the St. Scholastica’s College, Manila). He became my number one fan and I remember him proudly reading and bring home each one of the paper that came out with a contribution in my by-line. His confidence in me and my work eventually led me to pursue successfully the editorship post of the paper.
I admire and know that I can never compare with the greatest writers of my time. I do not even pretend I can measure up to a tenth of their talent. I'm surrounded by friends who themselves are very eloquent writers and I am always ready to admit that they are better than I.
I admire J. K. Rowling, Anne Rice and J.R.R. Tolkien. I am in awe how they can develop their characters and create a whole new world that makes me wonder if it is just imagination or something real. I love stories that take me to the edge of my seat and that will make it tormenting for me to put down the book to rest. And I know I can never be like them. Writing to me is just a release, a tool of which I can share my thoughts to my friends, an audience. A more private version of my writing to me is the ultimate panacea to a confused mind.
I have been able to churn many of my favorite poems and write ups as I am reeling from some overwhelmingly poignant time. None of them however had been shared. It would be like walking naked on Lincoln Center to have them read by strangers. These are my work that I share with very few. Those that I’ve shared in my website are those that are less baring of my soul, most of them, written more in moments of jest or crazed stupor.
Now I realize I am not the only writer in the family and certainly not the best. Francis has written the funniest poem about three rats in his room when we were young. Gigi contributes regularly to Stop-Over Magazine in the Philippines on articles related to extreme sports and traveling. Nicole writes haikus and I envy her eloquence in her compositions that I am only too happy when she decided to try out for her school paper as well.
REFLECTIONS was my column at The Scholastican when I was Features Editor from 1997 to 1998.
A dreamer and a writer. As a child, I would spend many hours in my mom’s garden imagining fairies, princesses, butterfly-like creatures and things little girls can relate to. And I discovered that I could transpose these imaginings into words and onto paper and then I could read it later and re-live the magic. So during the summers in high school I typed stories of living in places I’ve never been and had no idea I’d ever see. First love taught me about poetry and I have tried that too and still dabble into it now and then.
The owner of the Remington typewriter was also the only writer in the family for a long time. My uncle wrote for the Manila Chronicle when it was still owned by the Lopezes and he encouraged me to write. He was the one who suggested I test for the school paper in college and he cheered me on with every news or feature article I wrote for The Scholastican (the Official School Organ of the St. Scholastica’s College, Manila). He became my number one fan and I remember him proudly reading and bring home each one of the paper that came out with a contribution in my by-line. His confidence in me and my work eventually led me to pursue successfully the editorship post of the paper.
I admire and know that I can never compare with the greatest writers of my time. I do not even pretend I can measure up to a tenth of their talent. I'm surrounded by friends who themselves are very eloquent writers and I am always ready to admit that they are better than I.
I admire J. K. Rowling, Anne Rice and J.R.R. Tolkien. I am in awe how they can develop their characters and create a whole new world that makes me wonder if it is just imagination or something real. I love stories that take me to the edge of my seat and that will make it tormenting for me to put down the book to rest. And I know I can never be like them. Writing to me is just a release, a tool of which I can share my thoughts to my friends, an audience. A more private version of my writing to me is the ultimate panacea to a confused mind.
I have been able to churn many of my favorite poems and write ups as I am reeling from some overwhelmingly poignant time. None of them however had been shared. It would be like walking naked on Lincoln Center to have them read by strangers. These are my work that I share with very few. Those that I’ve shared in my website are those that are less baring of my soul, most of them, written more in moments of jest or crazed stupor.
Now I realize I am not the only writer in the family and certainly not the best. Francis has written the funniest poem about three rats in his room when we were young. Gigi contributes regularly to Stop-Over Magazine in the Philippines on articles related to extreme sports and traveling. Nicole writes haikus and I envy her eloquence in her compositions that I am only too happy when she decided to try out for her school paper as well.
REFLECTIONS was my column at The Scholastican when I was Features Editor from 1997 to 1998.