(Re)living the dream

Iam not merely enumerating the common emotions that would warrant an award of moral damages. Rather, this was my state of being while deciding on whether I should try my hand at this. Not that it’s unchartered territory for me.

I remember the first time I participated in a writing competition in 1988, my sophomore year in high school, in my humble home city of Cabanatuan. Our class was required to submit sample essays on diverse topics. As that was probably the first time I ever submitted an impressive piece, my Language teacher even confronted me, verifying if that was really my work. Talk about destroying a student’s self-esteem. Nonetheless, I stood firm by my masterpiece.

So off I was to the division round, where I competed with delegates from other schools, and emerged the division champ. Joined the regionals in Laoag City, placed third, and was sent to the nationals.

It took that much to convinced my doubtful mentor that I could (probably) write. After that feat, I became our school’s official representative to writers’ camps and regional schools press conferences, among others. I went on to become the features editor of our school paper for a year, while moonlighting as a counselor in a Dear Abby-fashioned advice column.

And so while the rest of the world around me was preoccupied with confused hormones, infatuations and secret admiration for the opposite sex, I was smitten with the typewriter, articles that needed proofreading and letters that sought advices on – what else – confused hormones, infatuations and secret, often unrequited, admiration. Technically, feature writing became my first love. While completing my Bachelor’s Degree, I wrote a number of essays that waited (in vain…) to be submitted to the Kule (our colloquial for The Collegian), or to major publications. I never had the guts to send any of them. I’ve lost them all, unfortunately,