Istoryan Writers

[kalawkaw]

I'm looking for writing workshops. Are there any credible workshops in Cebu?

[diem]

@kalawkaw-- actually there is but they do come at random, at sporadic intervals, you'd have to keep your eyes and ears close to the grindstone by calling the Department of Languages at the Universities of San Carlos, San Jose, UP Cebu and St. Theresa's College for any of the latest updates because the slots are usually quite limited and often students of these campuses are given first priority.

What you could try to is the Dumaguete National Writers Workshop held at Silliman Univeristy, headed by National Artist for Literature Edith Tiempo which is annual... I think they are still asking for applications since the workshop usually begins in the summer. Again slots are limited to not more than 20 participants...

[diem]

If you want to have a free web blog for all your works to be viewed on the internet, be among the first writers to 'publish' and make their accounts at www.philstories.com!

[splendid moonlight]

this, i believe, is the only picture i have left of me as a child. i don't know how many people get fascinated at the child that they have been. but i know that i do - and more. but in the number of times in the past that i recall myself as a child, there were always bits of sadness that mucked a little bit of the fascination. i didn't have a lot of pictures as a kid, but when i encounter some of them - before all pictures we have got burned - here and there in old books, in disarranged photo albums and under old furnitures, childhood memories spring back to life like an unforeseen visitor. but they all seemed to be a long ways apart from who i am in the present. the experience is not unlike trying to touch raindrops from inside a room with glass windows. and sometimes - with my own share of pain that i've been through - doubt as to whether i should open the windows to let in the rain.

whatever our feelings were back then as children, it was all way beyond our understanding. it is only now that we get to understand why we cried so hard at being left in the house with only the help, why we cling to our mother's feet when she's about to leave for work, why we love so much anything that takes us to the air - seasaw, swings, somebody's hands throwing us up into the air only to catch us back. why indeed? there are no words to explain why. but perhaps when we find ourselves smiling from inside, maybe shaking our heads a little, bringing alive a past memory, then perhaps it is because we understand.

last night i was so immersed with a book i was reading that when reason told me to sleep, i found out i couldn't. the light of morning, i knew, would soon seep into the corners of my window. perhaps i could've slept, but i knew it would not be in the way that i wanted to. i didn't want to try. i didn't want to have to try before i could sleep. i wanted it to come naturally. i wanted sleep to take over me the way seawater creeps into the shore - sure and without a doubt. and then it did. i noticed singing to myself like i used to when i was a kid. i used to hum a lullaby while my mother rocks me to sleep, each of my foot at the sides of her waist and my head at an angle on her shoulder. i've no idea why i do it back then. i was doing it again, my own voice muffled by the sheets brought me comfort. and i guess that's what it used to bring me too. before i knew it, i was fast asleep. as sure as seawater creeps into grains of sand. it was also very exhilirating. like i've finally opened the glass windows and put my hands out as trickles of raindrops trace the tips of my fingers down to my elbows. i found out that i am still that child. and that child is still very much a part of who i am right now. it is a great feeling to find the child within us and recognize it as the same person, not another person that time took away.

maybe in the days to come, as i grow more mature and strive to do things with the burden of responsibility, and when i can't seem to do things right, and seemingly nothing i do is enough that would please me, or when my body's too tired at the end of the day but my mind not tired enough to notice how time passes me by like an uncaring neighbor, i would perhaps be reminded that it is because the things that i do to try to please me have not pleased the child within. that perhaps, i got swept into the habits of the changing times and have all but forgotten that i have a child to nurture. who really only wants the simplest of things, and know, without a doubt, that what she wants she doesn't want because she wants them as trophies, but that because it simply makes all of her bones tingle with delight. bliss - she doesn't have to run after, but comes up to her like seawater unto shore - sure and certain as trickles of rain from fingers to elbows, branching like harmless lightning on a sky reflected upon wet skin.

[aridoasis]

@ luthienne: nice!

apil2x ko ani ha?

i'm no pro like most of you guys might be, but i find writing as a sort of freedom from the reality that i exist in and an inexhaustible act to vent my more reserved thoughts and emotions...

i like writing, as do you, of course...

i guess the biggest step i ever took to share my thoughts was being editor-in-chief of a school paper... crummy, i know, but it was a good experience. right now, i just finished a personal anthology site, not really sure if anyone's gonna give a cr*p anyway, pardon my language. ahihihihi. oh well, here's something i did just recently:

'..."
We cannot be.
We should not be.
And yet, we are.

A love forbidden.
Twin hearts remain hidden.
Still, we are.

How bittersweet our surrenders
of ballads lefts unheard.
How invigorating our rendezvous
of caged lovers set loose.

To bask in obscurity
the freedom of facelessness.
To taste, for once, certainty
the solitary request.

For now, we live,
‘till then, we die,
souls longing to fly.
True, we are unheard,
true, we are unseen,
time grants a dying plea.
Forever, we are.

[diem]

At the center of the Capital Park are three statues, gilded in bronze, of three boys aged 12, 10 and 6 years old. The youngest stands between the older boys, his hands tightly clinging to their bigger arms. These statues are of three brothers, Princes in their time. There is a golden statuette of a sparrow on the smallest boy’s shoulder while on the ground before the three lies a carcass of a huge serpent. No one remembers who had these statues made or when but everyone in the Capital, from the babe to the aged scholar, knows the Prince Brothers’ story…
A long time ago, a group of islands in the South was ruled by a young Sultan who fell in love and married a princess with a beautiful spirit and a beautiful voice. Her songs were known far and wide to reach hearts and match the beating rhythm. The couple lived, very blessed. Soon, the Queen gave birth to a son, a heir to the throne. The people were in joyous cheer, the Sultan was proud. It was a very happy time for all.
Two years passed, the Queen gave birth to another son. Once again, as was before, colorful banners flew the morning winds and music filled the night skies. The Sultan, his family and his people came into prosperous times, the days were right and bright while the nights were peaceful as the Queen sang her lullabies to her children. The princes grew up healthy and strong. The Prince Heir was an aspiring scholar, the elders were impressed with the boy’s grasp for knowledge and his hunger for wisdom. He would make a fine Sultan someday. His brother, on the other hand, had the feel for the outdoors. He learned swordplay and archery from the greatest warriors who served in the Sultan’s Army. The seasons went by quickly. Then a dark cloud settled on the palace when the Queen was delivering her third child. It was unfortunate that the birth was difficult and painful. Weakened severely from the trial, she held her son with her last breath.
The Sultan plunged into a deep sorrow. He drew away from his wife’s bed in tears and went into a lonely room beneath the palace. There he remained, silent and in grief for six years.
Through this time, the youngest Prince was raised in the attentive care of the palace servants. His every want and need was fulfilled twice-fold. Although in his heart he felt something was missing but what it was, he never knew the name so he never asked for it.
Then there came a day when the Sultan’s advisers, the Wisest, gathered together to talk among themselves. For it seemed that Death had arrived and became the Sultan’s guest in his dark chambers. The shadow now held the Sultan’s hand, the Wisest feared that it will soon claim the Sultan’s life.
In order to save his father, the Prince Heir stayed in the library and sought for a cure from the many books and records. For two days and two nights, the youth searched through pages and pages, pages and more pages until he found words about a magical bird gifted with the song to cure all diseases. Before, it saved the life of the Eastern Emperor and it was last seen flying towards the Wild Woods far in the western lands.
The scholar Prince set out to find this wonderful creature and he had set out to achieve this alone. But on the night of his secret departure from the Palace, he was found out by his second brother, the Prince who was the young master of the sword and the bow. The second brother wished to come along. The Prince Heir agreed. And so did the youngest prince who followed them. The child begged with his tears and his cries that his two older brothers had no choice but to bring him along lest he wakes the entire palace.
So the three Brother princes left on their journey. Three weeks they sailed through sea and strait, traveled across plain and ravine, walked over river and mountain until they reached a small, gentle stream. Upon their approach onto its stony bank, the three saw an old hermit with a gray sash tied across his eyes, drinking from the flowing waters. The old hermit raised his head and called out, “What is this I hear? Young hearts beating, and there are three! Are you out on journey? Could you spare some food?”
The two older brothers ignored the old man’s constant pleas, they filled their canteens with water for their quest. The youngest, on the other hand, whose whole life was in the castle and was greatly pleased by the wonders he saw on this journey. He never in his life saw a creature like the hermit. And the old man was begging for food. Quietly he came to the blind hermit and with small hands offered some bread.
“Thank you, thank you,” The old man said, his mouth crunching the crumbs. “Bread, it is bread, how I forgotten the taste!” The old man cried.
Seeing the youngest’s kind act, the two older princes changed their minds and decided to camp by the stream. The second brother with his bow and arrows, shot down a beast and several fish in the stream that the first brother cooked into a feast. Together that night, the princes ate with the old hermit. There by the warmth of the fire, the Prince Heir told the aged hermit their story, of their father the Sultan and of their quest to find the magical bird that can heal any disease.
When the eldest finished with the tale, the hermit told them this, “My noble princes, you are not far from your search. Over the other side of this very stream is the Wild Woods. And I know of the bird that you seek of. It makes its nest in the wood’s oldest tree that is surrounded by a grove of stone. It makes its nest there but not of its free will. It is a prisoner, guarded by the selfish greed of a terrible monster. A serpent whose venom is not in its fangs but in its gaze, turning flesh and blood into cold stone. It is said impossible to claim the bird because of this monster but there is a way… you must listen to me, kind princes, and listen well. The serpent never leaves the tree, it has coiled itself on its ancient trunk since time itself began. Its cursed sight has a limit that cannot go beyond the rim of stone that surrounds the tree. When you arrive at the rim of rock, do not enter. Do not step inside the circle and you will be safe from its evil even if the serpent is staring right at you.”
“How do you know this?” asked the eldest prince.
Here, the hermit shared his sad tale. “Once I served the East Emperor whose life was saved by the magical song of the bird you seek. When the bird flew away, I was given the task to find it. My men and I followed its flight across the three seas, through ravine and mountain, over this stream into the Wild Woods, to the ancient tree where the Devil Serpent stays. We tried to attacked from all sides but when the monster opens its dreadful eyes, it turned my men to stone. I alone was saved because in fear I drew a step back away yet…” then the hermit took away the sash around his eyes with a thin hand. There the young princes saw that the old man’s eyes were lifeless and white as river pebbles. “But not in time for I became blind. Despite this, I then knew the weakness of the monster’s evil magic. Do not go beyond the rim, do not step inside the ring of rock.”
The next day, after a full night’s sleep, the brothers woke to find the hermit gone but his words stayed in their minds. They traveled across the stream and deep into the Wild Woods. In a day they found a large white stone, one of many that form the rim of rock the hermit spoke of. The princes dared not to set foot beyond it. A distance away they saw a tree on a small hill and they could clearly see the great coils of the Devil Serpent moving in a dance around the tree.
“Could you attack it with your bow?” The Eldest stared to the Second brother. In answer, the second pulled out his bow and his arrow. Drawing the arrow on the string, he carefully set his aim and released it. It flew sharply in the air and struck its mark, on one eye of the serpent! A shrill hiss pierced the air and the brothers covered their ears in pain. The serpent’s coils were moving faster and harder but it still remained where it was by the trunk of the tree. Then the serpent turned its head, its hate-filled eye reaching out to where the brothers were.
The second brother was ready. The next arrow was straight and true. The serpent hissed again, its body rocking and its tail thunderously lashing on the earth that it made the boys fell on their knees. After the quake and thunder, it slowly became very quiet. The brothers saw that the serpent’s body was fatally-still.
“Stay here,” the Second Prince told his two brothers, taking his sword from its scabbard. “I’ll see if its safe.” Then he bravely stepped into the rim and towards the oldest tree. The other princes waited patiently behind the rock until they heard a cry and a shout!
“Don’t come!” The eldest and the youngest turned to see their brother slowly turning to stone. The Serpent has its head raised, blood dripped thickly from its vacant eye hollows yet its forked tongue was flicking and whipping the air. The serpent was alive.
“No!” The youngest prince cried and was about to run towards the stony figure of his brother had he not been gripped by the Prince–heir. The boy-child cried and cried while his brother seized him fiercely, soothing him as best he can. But why? Why? thought the eldest. He thought deep and hard while he held his small brother in their shared loss. After a day, when the child prince couldn’t cry anymore, the answer dawned on the Prince-Heir.
“Of course,” he said aloud. “There could be a third eye… but where?! Where could it be hidden?!” The Prince-Heir became silent in thought, then he decided on a plan. He waited until his youngest brother calmed down when he shared with the child of his plan. The child prince resisted intensely the fool-hardy idea, “Surely there is another way?”
“There is none. This must be done. This is the only way.”
The child looked down, saying nothing.
“Listen to me”, said the Prince-Heir. “I have to do this. Can I trust to leave the rest to you…?”
The child stared up at him with sad eyes. They looked at each other for a long time until the child said finally, “Yes.”
The Prince-Heir walked past the large stone and slowly, step by step, made his way to the center of the grove where the Serpent waited. It seemed to have sensed his approach yet it did nothing. Finally, the Prince stood before the serpent, boldly staring at its massive form that rose like an evil, black pillar. “Here I am!” shouted the Prince-Heir. “Show me where your last eye is!”
As if to obey, the serpent opened its large jaws, large enough to swallow the Prince whole and there on the roof of its mouth hangs a glaring eye!
“In the mouth, brother! Shoot it in the mouth!” Then the Prince-Heir turned into stone.
The youngest drew away from behind the stony figure of the eldest where he hid and shot the eye. The arrowhead stabbed it in full force. Black blood frothed from the serpent’s jaws and it drowned slowly until its great head fell over backwards and stayed still on the ground. Breathless, the youngest’s eyes never left the serpent’s quiet body until a cold wind strayed through the grove. Then he remembered his two brothers who became stone-hard figures. Sadly, he embraced these and cried.
“Why the tears, little one?” asked a tender voice in the cold wind. The child looked around and saw no one. “You should be happy because with your father dying and your two brothers gone as stone, you can be the next Sultan. Then you could have anything you want…”
“No! No!” the child prince shouted to the voice. “All my life, everything I need, everything I want is given. Except one thing, one thing I can’t ask for because I don’t know the name but I know now! I know now!” Then he returned to hold the statues and called out their names, that with the name of their father and the name of their departed mother.
“Is that all you want, young prince?” asked the voice in the wind.
“Yes!”
Something small landed on the Prince’s shoulder. It was a brown sparrow with round, dark eyes. “Then you shall have it, prince of noble heart.” Then it fluttered its wings and it began to sing, the bird glowed with a bright, golden light that made the child close his eyes. When he opened them, he saw the smiles and embraces of his brothers who from cold stone returned to warm flesh and blood.
Triumphantly, the brothers made their way home. In the palace, they entered the dark and lonely room where their father stayed since the Queen’s passing.. The Sultan looked very ill; he was sleeping with slow, shallowed breaths. The Princes came forward with the magical bird. The creature took to the air, circled the room three times then perched by the Sultan’s pillow. It fluttered its wings and began to glow as it sang a song into the King’s ear. This time the song was different from the one that restored the princes before yet strangely familiar to all ears present in the Sultan’s chambers.
“Mama’s song?” said the youngest Prince to no one in particular. Yes it was true, it was the Queen’s voice that was singing from the bird’s small beak. The older brothers turned to the youngest. It was the second who spoke, “How could you know?”
“I know, I know…” said the child gently. “I have heard it in my dreams.”
The Sultan slowly opened his eyes, the song has reached his sleeping heart that began to beat with the song. The voice reached him out of his cold slumber and pulled him into the warming gazes of his sons. From their faces, he could see his beloved Queen’s own face, staring at him. Then the Sultan remembered who they were and instantly repented what he had done. The father held out his arms for his sons and embraced them as if they were dear life itself.
The Sultan’s vitality and strength was renewed and the dark cloud was lifted away from the palace that day. The Brother Princes’ great deed was shared to their people all thoughout the islands. The Princes grew into manhood, lived and ruled their people in peace and prosperity together until the end of their days.

[splendid moonlight]

@diem: Ibong Adarna inspired? i like that the bird was a sparrow.

@aridoasis: somehow i am drawn to the fourth paragraph of your poem.

[diem]

@luthienne, it is Adarna-inspired. Wanted to take something from that classic drama into something shorter, exciting and wholesome for younger children to read. perhaps spark interest into reading the actual drama

[splendid moonlight]

@diem: it is very well done.

[aridoasis]

@Luthienne: thanx... if you dont mind me asking, how so?

here's another piece:

"i cry alone"

Alone, alone, all by myself,
I lie and cry as time passes by,
staring blankly at the dusty shelf,
cobwebs embrace as if to die.

I cry for my lost life,
for ‘tis my only conscience.
To deny the flood of grief
is to drown the weary soul.

Sweet melodies frolic away
and life fades in the blue,
inside my shell I stay,
nothing of the world to do.

I cry for the tears I shed,
for they do come at a price.
Each instance a past gone,
lost beyond shallow beckon.

Reaching for a helping hand,
but to none and no avail ...
How do I escape this fallen band
of which my mind calls to wail?

I cry to console my trouble,
for long have I been dead.
Beyond the grave I sit
waiting for another way.

A shoulder to lean upon,
how I wish there could be.
I sit here together, undone,
a moment brought for me.

I cry to break festering bread
for the feast cannot be anon.
Apart from all, I dine alone,
a fallacy I deny to mind.

An embrace oh so warm,
how so far for to see...
No, no ‘tis not there, no arm,
I stay still here with he.

I cry as I know I cannot cry,
For ‘tis life’s irony ever astray.
Pacified in this dark chamber,
locked beneath a closed array.

Alone, alone, all by myself,
singing old songs of sorrow,
staring blankly at the dusty shelf,
as if there were no tomorrow.