Classes began yesterday despite my mental unreadiness to open a new chapter in my academic journey. I woke up at around 11 in the morning to have my haircut done. I'm back to being skinhead again. I returned home to eat my lunch and then went to the gym to do my workout before heading towards the direction of Diliman for school. I arrived past four, but the professor hasn't showed yet. Instead, I met two petite ladies who were waiting outside the classroom. One was a skinhead lesbian, an ex-classmate in The Great Milflores' class last semester. The other one was a chinita who works for Summit Publishing as a writer. Anyway, the chinita told us that she took up Journalism in her undergraduate. Perfect. Somebody can relate to the painful adjustments I had to take when I shifted from being a Journalist to being a Creative Writer. She even agreed when I mentioned to our lesbian friend that back in Journalism, we were never particular with words or grammar. What was important in our field was how we were able to acquire the information that our readers wanted to know. Every sentence needed to be economized and the use of flowery words and metaphors were strongly discouraged. How unfortunate that I never found that Diliman was offering a graduate program in Journalism. Had I known earlier, I would have taken it instead of Creative Writing.
The professor finally arrived after thirty minutes. I will be under J.Wendell Capili for the rest of the semester. To say that my professor is funny and light-hearted is an understatement. He is the exact opposite of The Great Milflores, who I observed as icy-cold and direct in his words. With Wendell, I expect to have a very fabulous semester this year. Not only does he refer to J. Neil Garcia as the diva, they were even friends since high school. Now I understand why they chose to remain in Diliman despite getting a better paying job elsewhere.
Lifetime friends never leave each other.
We were asked to introduce ourselves in front of the class. For reasons only Wendell knew, he kept referring to me as "J. Neil's favorite student." I don't why. In fact, I think the essays I submitted to J. Neil Garcia were all crappy and lacking in essence. Wendell said that his friend enjoyed my perversion, but I swear, I was never one in front of him. Nevertheless, to be remembered by one of the geniuses of Post-colonial Literature was a great honor. I hope that I'd be able to spread his legacy when my time to shine comes. Now back to Wendell, he's expecting more students to show up in class. We're still waiting for that poor classmate of ours who was asked by The Great Milflores to drop out for submitting an atrocious essay in his class last semester. I am also expecting to see another gay classmate, who I saw at the Dean's office, making beso to every women there after he was asked by Wendell to do before signing the documents he brought.
And so we never really discussed anything relevant to the subject yesterday, unless I would consider the five elements of a good non-fiction narrative, which I already heard from J.Neil before. Instead, we spent the whole time listening to Wendell's recollection of his advertising stint last weekend. He said that he was invited to a photo-shoot, where he would endorse a powdered milk brand in exchange for a talent fee that was slightly higher than what he gets from the university. Oh well, who earns big from being a writer these days, I bet even my idol Conrado De Quiros doesn't get much either.
Class was dismissed at past 7. On our first day, I've learned so much about Wendell - from his studies abroad in Cambridge and Australia to his endless battle with insomnia. He was a very extrovert person - just like what Siege Malvar said the last time we met. If I learned anything about his teaching style - which I think I should apply when I become a teacher myself is the importance of giving the writing students their own space to breathe.
According to Wendell, the challenge of young writers today is the tendency to become a clone of another writer. He said that what these writers needed is a place to nurture their creativity, their talent in words that is flowing like warm nectar inside their souls. Workshops are there, not to put down a talent but to encourage it to grow and have its own voice.
With his wisdom still producing sparks inside my head, I began this entry hoping that his arrival would finally inject that much needed confidence I lost when the Great Milflores almost told me in the workshop that my writing is hopeless.
The professor finally arrived after thirty minutes. I will be under J.Wendell Capili for the rest of the semester. To say that my professor is funny and light-hearted is an understatement. He is the exact opposite of The Great Milflores, who I observed as icy-cold and direct in his words. With Wendell, I expect to have a very fabulous semester this year. Not only does he refer to J. Neil Garcia as the diva, they were even friends since high school. Now I understand why they chose to remain in Diliman despite getting a better paying job elsewhere.
Lifetime friends never leave each other.
We were asked to introduce ourselves in front of the class. For reasons only Wendell knew, he kept referring to me as "J. Neil's favorite student." I don't why. In fact, I think the essays I submitted to J. Neil Garcia were all crappy and lacking in essence. Wendell said that his friend enjoyed my perversion, but I swear, I was never one in front of him. Nevertheless, to be remembered by one of the geniuses of Post-colonial Literature was a great honor. I hope that I'd be able to spread his legacy when my time to shine comes. Now back to Wendell, he's expecting more students to show up in class. We're still waiting for that poor classmate of ours who was asked by The Great Milflores to drop out for submitting an atrocious essay in his class last semester. I am also expecting to see another gay classmate, who I saw at the Dean's office, making beso to every women there after he was asked by Wendell to do before signing the documents he brought.
And so we never really discussed anything relevant to the subject yesterday, unless I would consider the five elements of a good non-fiction narrative, which I already heard from J.Neil before. Instead, we spent the whole time listening to Wendell's recollection of his advertising stint last weekend. He said that he was invited to a photo-shoot, where he would endorse a powdered milk brand in exchange for a talent fee that was slightly higher than what he gets from the university. Oh well, who earns big from being a writer these days, I bet even my idol Conrado De Quiros doesn't get much either.
Class was dismissed at past 7. On our first day, I've learned so much about Wendell - from his studies abroad in Cambridge and Australia to his endless battle with insomnia. He was a very extrovert person - just like what Siege Malvar said the last time we met. If I learned anything about his teaching style - which I think I should apply when I become a teacher myself is the importance of giving the writing students their own space to breathe.
According to Wendell, the challenge of young writers today is the tendency to become a clone of another writer. He said that what these writers needed is a place to nurture their creativity, their talent in words that is flowing like warm nectar inside their souls. Workshops are there, not to put down a talent but to encourage it to grow and have its own voice.
With his wisdom still producing sparks inside my head, I began this entry hoping that his arrival would finally inject that much needed confidence I lost when the Great Milflores almost told me in the workshop that my writing is hopeless.
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