After A. Hidalgo
---
And I call him the great Milflores.
There is no doubt that such nickname would raise some eyebrows from my classmates. But surely, they would all agree that he is great - no matter how his teaching methods seem brutal and cold-blooded in many ways.
He is our teacher in one of the subjects I took up in the Master's Program this semester. It is a special subject addressing the problems of writers in reaching out to their target audience. The great Milflores thought that the problem lies with the writer's lack of grasp of the history of the nation and so for the most part of our course, he discussed in class the underlying literary theories that should serve as a guide for us to understand our readers.
The great Milflores tried to awaken the burning nationalism in each one of us. In my case he successfully did.
But my problem was never my national consciousness in the first place. He even said that among his students, I was the most accommodating when it came to embracing his concepts. My problem is with my writing. He said that what I lack is the mastery of the language and also the literary register to serve as the foundation of my works.
When my time to be critiqued in class drew near, I felt his eagerness to crush whatever faith I still have with my writing. A previous workshop before, a classmate submitted a fiction which received some scathing remarks, not only from class but from the great Milflores himself. She was asked to drop out of class that same evening for reasons everyone found too harsh for him to do. He said that her writing was so terrible, she shouldn't have been admitted to the program in the first place.
What saved me was my Filipino essay, which he said was far more tolerable than the English ones I submitted to class. He even suggested that I should transfer to the Filipino Department instead since my talents would prove more useful to them than in the department I am right now.
I told the great Milflores that I would seriously think of his suggestion. After all, I am not merely receiving a suggestion from a teacher, I am also receiving a suggestion from the publisher of so many successful books who has years of experience being a grammar police of a broadsheet, a Palanca winner for several consecutive years and a column writer for several newspapers. He has all the right to stomp me to the ground as he wish, for I accept all the failings he pointed out to me.
Nevertheless, after getting a bone-crushing advice from him, the great Milflores in the end said I still have hope.
In six months, 24 weeks and 47 days, I stood my ground by humbly accepting my hierarchy in the class. the great Milflores seems to have judged me according to the strength of my essays. But so long as I have my Filipino Essay to prove that I'm not as a bad writer as I thought I am, I listened to what he would teach us and smile at others who were having a hard time coping up while their egos were being crushed by him.
In fairness to his draconian methods, I learned so many things from the great Milflores that my other teachers did not emphasized to me. One of them is Post-Colonialism and the Theory of Hybridity, which state that writers like me should expand our horizons and write as many subjects as we want. That is, so long as we would always keep ourselves rooted to the "point of anti-colonial rupture" as our reference. He also made me proud of my roots by encouraging me to write in the language I am most comfortable using which is Filipino. Finally, he taught us to be honest when it comes to writing. The truth behind my classmate's expulsion in class was revealed this evening after he told us that though some of us maybe lacking in skills, he honestly felt that we were true to our work - except that one person he asked to drop out of his subject.
---
Today was our final meeting in his class.
And after weeks of speculating whether I would be able to finish his subject after all the troubles of the world had suddenly crushed me, Mami Athena's timely intervention this morning had saved my essays from utter shame. The truth is, I owe her my existence in the Master's Program because she is the one who tirelessly correct my works when my own familiarity with the language begins to fail me. Many times I wondered whether she should be the one to take my place in the academe. But at some point in my own little internal awakening, I realized that there must be a reason why I am in the Masters. Perhaps, I carry not only my dreams but her dreams as well. Maybe in some future, I would become the Athena, Mami should have always been.
With just one more paper to go, I would be cleared of my responsibilities for this semester. A semester more next year and I'm ready to take the final plunge, where I would start working for my MA Thesis. A few years ago, I would think that the thesis is the end of my project. But the great Milflores changed my way of thinking.
Looking back, I would remember him seated at his armchair that his wife used to occupy. His stiff figure, bald hair and silver-rimmed eyeglasses reflect the firmness of his personality. He would look at his paper before delivering his speech in class, while those of us who are present would gape at his every last word. With our jaws wide open, he would end his discussion by saying "Frantz Fanon said..."
The yellow brick road leading to perfection is now open. It may take years or even forever to further improve my language. But I swear, time would come when images would come alive by merely using words I would paint inside my head.
---
And I call him the great Milflores.There is no doubt that such nickname would raise some eyebrows from my classmates. But surely, they would all agree that he is great - no matter how his teaching methods seem brutal and cold-blooded in many ways.
He is our teacher in one of the subjects I took up in the Master's Program this semester. It is a special subject addressing the problems of writers in reaching out to their target audience. The great Milflores thought that the problem lies with the writer's lack of grasp of the history of the nation and so for the most part of our course, he discussed in class the underlying literary theories that should serve as a guide for us to understand our readers.
The great Milflores tried to awaken the burning nationalism in each one of us. In my case he successfully did.
But my problem was never my national consciousness in the first place. He even said that among his students, I was the most accommodating when it came to embracing his concepts. My problem is with my writing. He said that what I lack is the mastery of the language and also the literary register to serve as the foundation of my works.
When my time to be critiqued in class drew near, I felt his eagerness to crush whatever faith I still have with my writing. A previous workshop before, a classmate submitted a fiction which received some scathing remarks, not only from class but from the great Milflores himself. She was asked to drop out of class that same evening for reasons everyone found too harsh for him to do. He said that her writing was so terrible, she shouldn't have been admitted to the program in the first place.
What saved me was my Filipino essay, which he said was far more tolerable than the English ones I submitted to class. He even suggested that I should transfer to the Filipino Department instead since my talents would prove more useful to them than in the department I am right now.
I told the great Milflores that I would seriously think of his suggestion. After all, I am not merely receiving a suggestion from a teacher, I am also receiving a suggestion from the publisher of so many successful books who has years of experience being a grammar police of a broadsheet, a Palanca winner for several consecutive years and a column writer for several newspapers. He has all the right to stomp me to the ground as he wish, for I accept all the failings he pointed out to me.
Nevertheless, after getting a bone-crushing advice from him, the great Milflores in the end said I still have hope.
In six months, 24 weeks and 47 days, I stood my ground by humbly accepting my hierarchy in the class. the great Milflores seems to have judged me according to the strength of my essays. But so long as I have my Filipino Essay to prove that I'm not as a bad writer as I thought I am, I listened to what he would teach us and smile at others who were having a hard time coping up while their egos were being crushed by him.
In fairness to his draconian methods, I learned so many things from the great Milflores that my other teachers did not emphasized to me. One of them is Post-Colonialism and the Theory of Hybridity, which state that writers like me should expand our horizons and write as many subjects as we want. That is, so long as we would always keep ourselves rooted to the "point of anti-colonial rupture" as our reference. He also made me proud of my roots by encouraging me to write in the language I am most comfortable using which is Filipino. Finally, he taught us to be honest when it comes to writing. The truth behind my classmate's expulsion in class was revealed this evening after he told us that though some of us maybe lacking in skills, he honestly felt that we were true to our work - except that one person he asked to drop out of his subject.
---
Today was our final meeting in his class.
And after weeks of speculating whether I would be able to finish his subject after all the troubles of the world had suddenly crushed me, Mami Athena's timely intervention this morning had saved my essays from utter shame. The truth is, I owe her my existence in the Master's Program because she is the one who tirelessly correct my works when my own familiarity with the language begins to fail me. Many times I wondered whether she should be the one to take my place in the academe. But at some point in my own little internal awakening, I realized that there must be a reason why I am in the Masters. Perhaps, I carry not only my dreams but her dreams as well. Maybe in some future, I would become the Athena, Mami should have always been.
With just one more paper to go, I would be cleared of my responsibilities for this semester. A semester more next year and I'm ready to take the final plunge, where I would start working for my MA Thesis. A few years ago, I would think that the thesis is the end of my project. But the great Milflores changed my way of thinking.
Looking back, I would remember him seated at his armchair that his wife used to occupy. His stiff figure, bald hair and silver-rimmed eyeglasses reflect the firmness of his personality. He would look at his paper before delivering his speech in class, while those of us who are present would gape at his every last word. With our jaws wide open, he would end his discussion by saying "Frantz Fanon said..."
The yellow brick road leading to perfection is now open. It may take years or even forever to further improve my language. But I swear, time would come when images would come alive by merely using words I would paint inside my head.
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