The Sage at Work…

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I have been working on this particular story since Feb. 23, 2009 but some of the main characters like the coroner’s assistant and the anti-heroes of the script dates back last December of 2008.

As I have stated earlier, the reason that compelled me to try and write a Novel/Short Story format was when RedRoom.Com invited me to join the writer’s month of November of the same year.  Now, I’m almost done with the teaser story I conjured to see if I can really fair up to be a short story writer.  I wanted to know what would be my reader’s feedback about my writing.

So to speak, I handed five persons of the draft of the story and waited for their response.  The result was exhilarating!  For one, I succeeded in painting a portrait of how the protagonist would speak and act and people perceive him exactly as I wanted him to be.  In other words, his profile fits everything I wrote about.  Some were disgusted, some were nauseated about his attributes.  I consider those feedbacks as positive comments because I know I’ve succeeded in creating a three-dimensional sleuth, unlike the characters of a huge network whose integrity is deeply questioned and marred, who keeps on creating two-dimensional, dry cardboard characters.  Well enough of them, their pathetic!

Then, I showed them how he would look like if I were to convert my story into a graphic one.  Once they caught a glimpse of the sleuth, their immediate response was “I wouldn’t trust my case to that detective!”

The plot itself received positive feedbacks.  They liked the dialog and how the story went.  Some even said it was like watching a movie.  Others simply say that it was like listening to real people.  Others could relate to the scenarios.

I’m just glad I found some test audience who took the time to read and endure my short story.  Now, time to go back and finish it.  It’s almost due!

 

 

All Rights Reserved

 

© 2009 by Israel Miguel G. Biscarra

 

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I was looking for some old reference somewhere in my file box labeled as “junk” when I stumbled upon this old article I received a decade ago.  I just couldn’t resist but read it again and somehow, it really drove my stress and tiredness away.  It’s really funny if you will read out-loud rather than read it with just your eyes.  The only thing is, I don’t know who the author was that’s why I added some info as to credit whoever wrote it 10 years ago.  So here it is…

 

 

Have you ever heard of the word… “Tendjewberrymud”?  It’s amazing, you will understand this word by the end of the conversation… Read aloud for best results (and some semblance of comprehension).  Be warned, you’re going to find yourself talking “funny” for a while after reading this.  This has been nominated for best email of 1999.  The following is a telephone exchange between a hotel guest and room service, at a hotel in Asia which was recorded and published in the Far East Economic Review…

 

Room Service (RS): Morny. Ruin Sorbees…

Guest (G): Sorry, I thought I dialed room-service.

RS: Rye… Ruin Sorbees.. morny!  Djewish to odor sunteen??

G: Uh…yes…I’d like some bacon and eggs.

RS: Ow July den?

G: What??

RS: Ow July den? …pry, boy, pooch?

G: Oh, the eggs!  How do I like them?  Sorry, scrambled please.

RS: Ow July dee baychem…crease?

G: Crisp will be fine.

RS: Hokay. An San tos?

G: What?

RS: San tos. July San tos?

G: I don’t think so

RS: No? Judo one toes??

G: I feel really bad about this, but I don’t know what ‘judo one toes means.’

RS: Toes! Toes!… why djew Don Juan toes? Ow bow singlish mopping we bother?

G: English muffin! I’ve got it! You were saying “toast”. Fine. Yes, an English muffin will be fine.

RS: We bother?

G: No… just put the bother on the side.

RS: Wad?

G: I mean butter… just put it on the side.

RS: Copy?

G: Sorry?

RS: Copy… tea… mill?

G: Yes. Coffee please, and that’s all.

RS: One Minnie.  Ass ruin torino fee, strangle ache, crease baychem, tossy singlish mopping we bother honey sigh, and copy… rye??

G: Whatever you say.

RS: Tendjewberrymud

G: You’re welcome.

 

It is one of my favorite passages that continue to inspire and serve as an enlightening reminder that I shouldn’t accept the common mistake of most people whenever they reach a certain age and make an excuse that they can no longer learn new things. 

Simply put, it is a reminder for all of us to continue to evolve and improve ourselves to become better people than before.  The best part of being human is the ability to continue expanding or growing up, never become stagnant on the traditional or conventional methods that most would simply adhere to and follow, either because they are afraid of the unknown or simply too lazy to try new things.  Otherwise, we would never have reached progress if it weren’t for those “mavericks” that were never afraid of innovation or to break the barriers of convention.

            I obtained it from Your Erroneous Zones by Dr. Wayne W. Dyer, first published in 1976, pages 105-106.  However, the author who originally wrote it and where Dr. Dyer derived it from is Mr. Terrence H. White from The Once and Future King (New York: C.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1958).  Here it is:

 

     “The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, “is to learn something.  That is the only thing that never fails.  You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honor trampled in the sewers of baser minds.  There is only one thing for it then—to learn.  Learn why the world wags and what wags it.  That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.  Learning is the thing for you.  Look at what a lot of things there are to learn—pure science, the only purity there is.  You can learn astronomy in a lifetime, natural history in three, literature in six.  And then, after you have exhausted a million lifetimes in biology and medicine and theocriticism and geography and history and economics, why, you can start to make a cartwheel out of the appropriate wood, or spend fifty years learning to begin to learn to beat your adversary at fencing.  After that you can start again on mathematics until it is time to learn to plough.”

 

  

 

© 2008 by Israel Miguel G. Biscarra

All Rights Reserved

 

 

            I’m glad that writing the “Obscure, Obfuscate, etc.” blog is finally over because I can now finally press on to more important matters like going back to writing more interesting stuffs.  It is not a complete waste, though, because I have learned how to write from a novelist point of view other than writing from a first person’s such as this one.

I was supposed to give it a shot on writing a novel for 30 days as per invitation of redroom.com because I thought I haven’t tried writing a novel before and the idea of trying new things is really something I find myself having a hard time to resist.  Nonetheless, I wasn’t able to push through with the idea for a number of good reasons.

            First, I have already forgotten the number of words required to make a novel so I had to go back to my old references and dig up old information while I conjure some ideas about my story.  As a review, a novel requires at least 50,000 words and anything less would fall on the short story category.  Then, I was confronted with the dilemma of what story should I write about.  So three days later of brainstorming and writing some drafts on various scratch papers or table napkins I could find or came my way, I have finally thought of a good story to tell.  We all know the fact that you can only write what you know, so it brought me back to my story I have been writing about for half of my lifetime now.  The thing is that script was not meant for a novel published in paperback because I designed it to be a graphic novel.  Simply put, it has hundred of pictures or images that all in itself will tell the story or convey the idea immediately to the readers.

            Now that could spell a lot of disaster on my part.  I cannot redesign the script nor change its format to fit as a traditional novel.  Not only that, the time spent would all go to waste just trying to re-write everything just to accommodate the necessary changes. 

Again, after staring on the hypnotic rhythm of my cursor on the blank screen and tapping my pen on my own tune, I found myself thinking what I should be writing about.  Questions began to flood my head, swirling vortex of thoughts came until I finally realized that I have a certain character in my story that happens to be also a favorite of mine.  Unfortunately, in that time frame, the story doesn’t revolve around him but focuses more on the younger protagonist.  Now we’re talking!  Finally, we have something to write about. 

To compensate and to make his story consistent with my current script, I pushed the time back where he would still be young (in his mid thirties) as to give him a great opportunity to show how hard-nosed and dedicated he is to his job, and the ardor and zeal that lead him both to trouble and success.  More of a prequel thing.

            That’s great!  Sounds easy enough.  So after drinking the last drop of my hot chocolate and put everything in the sink, I padded toward my room and quickly sat on the computer chair.  I was so thrilled and excited I swiftly place my fingers on the home keys to make a draft of the script/story for my very first novel.  You probably thought that the sound you would hear in the middle of the night is the relaxing soft clicks and taps of my computer’s keyboard as I churned pages after pages of ideas.  Far from it.  Silence resounded throughout my room, more deafening as it could ever be.  You could almost hear a crow passing through my head.  And the only sound that breaks the monotony of the night is the lowly cricket, minding its own business as it proceeds to do what it does best: chirping (if my memory serves me right, I believe it is called stridulation). Then it struck me.  I don’t have the slightest idea on how to write a novel!  Silly me, I should have focused on the “how” rather than on the “what”.

            A little frustrated, I got up and went to my book shelf, browsed it to see if there is a novel that I may have previously bought but never got around to finish much less to read it.  All right, no novels officially stacked on my own mini “Great Works Library” shelf, only hundreds of tons of references on “How To’s” and other self-help books.  Come to think of it, maybe it’s time for me to upgrade this shelf because my other books won’t fit here anymore.  Hey, wait a minute; I also placed some downstairs inside the Chinese Cabinet.  So I went down, three steps at a time to reach the cabinet as fast as I could to see if there is one that I have forgotten.  Just my luck, there is one all right, a classic American literature.  Moby Dick.  Last time I remember the language it used is really classical, trademark of the late 19^th century and it was written on a “first person” point of view.  These are not the requirements I’m looking for.  What I need is a contemporary novel, falls on the detective line of work and more importantly, how to describe a fast paced scene using only words and nothing else.  I cannot write something that falls more on nostalgia and adventure. 

So, back to the shelf you go, Moby Dick, Captain Ahab is looking for you.

            As always, I have to rely on the internet to do some researching.  The only detective story I could think of is the popular Sherlock Holmes.  However, it also cannot be a good source of reference for me, because I can always bet that the language Sir Arthur Conan Doyle used is contemporary English, and by contemporary I mean the point of his time when he first wrote about the brilliant detective.  Okay, the Dark Knight doesn’t qualify here either, simply because I’m not writing about a detective who is well equipped with a lot of gadgets and can swing from building to building.  My character is not that theatrical, he is only armed with a 9mm Glock pistol and does his job passionately (sorry guys, I cannot delve further into details.  Copy right stuff).

            Anyway, after much brainstorming and researching in the internet I came up empty handed.  No luck on how to write a novel or worse, I didn’t see any sample novel that I could study its written format.  Surprisingly, the last novel I read was three years ago and as history would reverberate; I didn’t bother to have my own copy.  Moreover, the story doesn’t jibe to my current requirement.  Twenty-four hours later, I was still browsing the local library for any possible source of information for a good detective novel.  But the thing is, I don’t have the slightest idea of what title I’m looking for, and the librarian is no help either.  She is simply out at the moment, like in a deep trance totally engrossed on stamping the returned books on her table.  I wonder if she even noticed me standing there as I asked for a suggestion about a detective novel.  All the same, I don’t mind if the protagonist would be a female because I’m not particular about the gender as long as the story is plausible and good.  As a matter of fact, I have my own female protagonist on my script, but as I have mentioned before, she’s not the one I’m writing about and her story together with my main protagonist is done and simply awaiting some illustration and future publication.  What’s also important is to see how writers presented their story even if it is without pictures, and one good novel would suffice as an example.  After an hour or so, I’m still out of luck, zilch.  No detective novel that neither suited my taste nor a single story that appealed to me.

            After a week or so, I went to the nearest National bookstore in my neighborhood to see if I can find some novel that will meet my requirement.  As always, it has been a good source of reference for me.  Hundreds of contemporary novels were there just waiting and perfectly ripe for the picking.  Michael Crichton, uh no.   Jurassic Park theme is not the requirement.  Dan Brown’s novels like the Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons could be a good reference but I’m not in the mood to re-read the former.  Better keep looking.  My fingers went on to browse the shelf as it touches the books’ spine.  Wait a second, how about Sidney Sheldon’s The Doomsday Conspiracy?  Nope, no title found in that shelf and the sales lady said it’s out of stock.  Still searching and guess who I’ve ran into?  Robert Ludlum.  That’s nice, maybe I should settle for his popular bestselling novels of the Bourne Identity series?  I haven’t read any of his novels before but I have seen the movies and that just don’t seem to add up.  Maybe next time I’ll buy a copy of it.  No novels so far.  I crouched down to peer onto the lower shelf hoping to find a good novel.  This is after all, the last shelf I’ve been browsing for thirty minutes.  Bourne Legacy?  I know I’ve seen this in Wikipedia but I’m not so sure if that is the title they featured before.  I believe it’s more of a Bourne Betrayal title.  Anyway, might as well it give a shot.  What’s important is that it is a fresh novel.

            Contented on the book I purchased, I quickly went home and began reading it, keeping in mind my purpose.  I was hooked and before I knew it, it was way past 11 p.m.  To make the long story short, it took me to read Eric Van Luster’s novel one week to finish.  Now I know how writers write a good novel.  Every single detail of their facial expression down to the minutiae of their body movements is fully described.  Furthermore, Dr. Rozakis tip hit the bull’s eye because as she said, your writing must appeal to the senses so the readers would have a better idea to grasp what the atmosphere or the current scenario you’re telling.

            Come to think of it, novel writing is much easier (at least for me) than it is to write a graphic novel in terms of the process of making one.  First, novels only require you to write, come up with a good plot and story line.  Never mind the number of words required, you’ll get it done because as you go along on writing the story you’ll accomplish it in anyway.  Second, the biggest dilemma you’ll ever encounter in the process is finding a publisher (at least for me).  However, you’ll have to very detailed in describing every scene and actions your characters are doing or into.  Since you don’t have any images to convey, you will have to rely on the words to do that job.  Otherwise, your readers will be at a loss on a particular scene and would probably lose interest in your story altogether. 

            In contrast, graphic novels have hundreds of images that your readers will quickly see.  They won’t rely on their imagination on the story you are telling since the pictures are communicating for you.  Here, you can do a lot of special effects and use vibrant colors to further enhance a particular scene.  Of course, it follows logic that albeit you have a good graphic image, you must also have a good story.  A good story is always a requirement, no questions marks here.  However, graphic novels are tedious.  As in my case, I have to be the writer, the director, the penciller and the inker, and the colorist all rolled into one.  In addition, it costs more when you will be publishing whether you will do it on your own or having a publisher to do it.

            Back to my first novel writing, I think I still need some further research on the conflict.  Since it is a detective, mystery thriller story I should come up with a deep sense of story line that would perhaps appeal to the readers. 

At least, I have my main character for it.  Though I’m really itching to tell you the details and the plot, I’m prevented from doing so lest the idea would be stolen.  But my detective’s name is Wayne (let’s skip the last name).  Nope, it was not derived from Bruce Wayne a.k.a. the Batman, the World’s Greatest Detective.  His name was derived from my favorite author and in a way, a tribute for him.  I first thought of giving him that name six or seven years ago when I was drafting the characters in my script.  Because as I have mentioned before, most of the characters were unnamed for the simple reason I was looking for a name worth remembering.  And since I am the creator, I decided to put Dr. Dyer’s first name.

I enjoyed the experience on learning how to write a novel.  Now it’s time to get to work and begin writing my very first novel.

 

© 2008 by Israel Miguel G. Biscarra

All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

“If you find someone else in love with you and you don’t love him, feel honored that love came and called at your door, but gently refuse the gift you cannot return.  Do not take advantage; do not cause pain.  How do you deal with love is how you deal with you, and all our hearts feel the same pains and joys, even if our lives and ways are different.”

              -Kent Nerburn (A Letter to my Son)

 

 

“Before I answer that, are you aware that I have a boyfriend?”

Josh was stunned.   He had no idea that she is in a relationship, neither did she insinuated anything about it during their past conversations.  “She has a boyfriend?” he asked himself.  “How could that be?  If she has one, why bother texting and spend some time and effort on me instead of her boyfriend?  He could always be available for her in case she needs someone to talk with… or is he?”

Anne’s reply numbed Josh, for her texts that ensued didn’t get a quick response.  As if there was a bomb that exploded between his ears, making him paralyze and completely oblivious to his surroundings.  “Am I being played?” he asked himself.  “How come I didn’t see this?”  “If she is in fact have a boyfriend, where does she really spend most of her time?”

He received five more messages from Anne before he could pull himself together to dispel his quandary and finally respond to her texts.  She was awfully concerned about him, but for Josh, it doesn’t matter anymore.  All analysis seemed to have shut down, and no amount of reasoning was present at the moment because he is consumed with uncertainty and doubts.  More importantly, he doubted Anne’s true motive.  His judgment was clouded with emotions, his error.  “Did I read her wrong?  Did I miss any signs?”

“No, Anne.  I was not aware.  And I didn’t know.”  Josh replied as he lurched to regain his footing.  “No one told you?  Not even one from our classmates told you?  You never asked anyone?” she asserted.  Josh was a little incensed about her remarks.  His ears pricked.  He thought, “Was there ever a reason to investigate you? You should have told me about it.”

Amid the turmoil and confusion, Josh realized that there is a glaring error on his part, and it seems to be resonating within him.  Her actions reverberated in his mind, remembering Anne was awfully too convenient, too kind to be practicing such belief without trepidation and hypocrisy.  In short, she was too good to be true.  It keeps on occurring, reminding him that he had failed to remember one basic premise when looking beyond the obvious: how could something be so right could be so wrong? 

“A few years ago,” as he began typing his message, “I had an accident and suffered some memory lost.  I never thought I would want to be in that position again in my life.”  For some reason, whether Anne was trying to be naïve or playing to be good natured, she failed to understand Josh’s idiom and mindlessly asked, “What do you mean it would be nice right now?  Does it mean… you wanted to forget everything that’s happening with you right now?”

The scenario that Josh was into can be considered as luck was working on his side, because no one can see how his emotions were unkempt albeit he exerted a lot of effort to conceal it through his responses in SMS.

Realizing that the conversation was going nowhere, Josh decided to end it as soon as possible.  Josh politely told Anne that he wanted to take a walk and be alone for a while.  Obviously, she failed to “see” that there was something wrong.  Why would anyone want to walk that late (10:45 p.m.), much less to say it was raining like cats and dogs from where Josh was living?

“I was taken for a fool,” Josh kept telling himself.  “After being completely honest with her this is what I get.  I should never have divulged my feelings.  I’m a complete idiot!”

He couldn’t sleep as much as he tried and wanted to, because the thoughts of being played and taken for a ride were too glaring as an error.  Questions began to pour in his head; he contemplated how it all began.  Then he realized it’s been more than a month now.  She had ample time to let him know that she has a boyfriend.  Why the delay?  

Josh contemplates, “Maybe she has a problem with him?  Maybe their having some problems with their relationship?”  He decided to let it pass, thinking he must only be affected by the sudden rush of reality in his system.  “Come to think of it, I still didn’t get any answer from her… I’ll ask her again, tomorrow!  How come she keeps dodging the question?”

7:30 a.m. at Josh’s office.

Pensively looking at the blinking cursor on his cell phone, Josh kept pondering on one question, should he still text Anne about his question or not?  Does he still want it?  His feelings prevailed.  “You know what, I still didn’t get any answer from you,” read Josh’s SMS.

The reply was quick, but vague.  “You’re special.” 

Josh couldn’t help but get a little more incensed about that message, so he replied in a sardonic tone, “So I’m special.  I guess I’m a retard or something.”

“No,” was the only response that Anne could muster.

“There could be a lot of meaning that can be attached in that word.  Special for what?  Special child, special shock absorber, special friend, special reserve, special anything.” 

“Special friend.” She lamely replied.

“I can’t believe this!  This is pathetic!”  Josh exclaimed to himself.  “What does she think of me?  A fool and exceptionally naïve about this kind of thing??  How lame could she get?”

Irritated, Josh stashed his cell phone away and decided to put everything on hold, concentrating on the task at hand.  While writing a memo, Josh couldn’t shake the question out of his mind.  “Why can’t she give me a straight answer?  I’m a big boy now and certainly could handle any rejection.  If the answer is ‘no’ then fine!  I’ll lick my own wounds!  If it’s something like ‘I like you but I’m confused right now and currently engage in a relationship’ is something I could understand much better than throwing me into a lot of confusion!  What is this?  Some kind of jig-saw crap that I have to fill in the blanks?”

Then, his cell phone beeped as a message was received.  “Can we still be good friends?”  Josh realized a lot of things were out of place, further fueling his annoyance.  He said, “This is vague, really vague.  I know she’s smart but is this the best answer she could give?  And as long I cannot rule out my suspicions, I won’t be at peace.  Why can’t she say ‘I only like you as a friend’ rather than prolonging the agony?”

Josh decided to reply, “You know what, Anne, I’m not asking for your hand or forcing things out that we should have a relationship other than being friends right now.  All I’m asking you is to be clear and direct to the point on where I stand.  It is not good to throw someone in a pool of confusion.”

His cell phone ran silent.  Minutes passed, and each passing minute seemed like eternity.  But there was no message sent.  Anne’s silence only complicated things, for it aroused a lot of suspicions, a caveat that Josh failed to see.

What does she want?  Why can’t she answer a simple question?  What is she waiting for?  Is she afraid?  If she is, then what is she afraid of?  These questions flooded Josh’s consciousness.

At lunch break, he received a text message from Anne.  “To be perfectly honest with you, I find you admirable in terms of sweetness and honesty.  Can we still be good friends?”

By this time, Anne statement threw Josh’s senses off the scale.  He knows something was wrong with that statement.  Not that a potential sign of rejection is lurking but the word honesty in Anne’s statement.  He knows it is not a regular part of her diction.  By experience and what he has learned from dealing with people with unscrupulous documents, something is out of place.  It denotes a lie, and she’s been lying all this time but chose not to at the moment.  Josh temporarily suspended that notion because he wanted to give Anne the benefit of the doubt.  Above all, she is entitled to explain her side.

“I’ll talk to her face to face… tomorrow.”  Josh promised to himself.

CTP class around 10:14 a.m. outside room 210.

While waiting for the room to be vacant in Philosophy, most of us were outside reviewing for the summative test.  Some of us went to grab something to eat, while the others were simply reviewing for the exam.  I know Josh wanted to be alone that day, because as he said, there seems to be a problem in their office aside from the fact that he still hasn’t reviewed anything yet.  I myself was a bit frantic, and couldn’t pay much attention to anybody at the moment, and then I remembered I had to get the OHP in the dean’s office.

When I got back, I saw two of our classmates were talking to him.  I thought maybe they were brainstorming for the coming summative test and went on with my business.  Little did I know that Josh was already brewing inside because the unthinkable happened: one of our classmates told him that Anne was only toying with him and his feelings and they were conniving on whether who would win in their little wager (at the time I was not aware of it either, none of us were).  Albeit Josh was trying to put on a poker face, I can sense he was not really in the mood for anything else.  His aura was exuding a lot of tell tale signs that he should be left alone.  I thought he must be exerting a lot of effort just to conceal much more to contain his emotions at the moment. 

But as professional as he is, he did not say a word against any of our classmates, he went through the motions and took the exam; the only difference was he was quieter than usual.  No quips of jokes that seems to apply in a given situation or no Jedi-like wisdom to explain a particular incident.  Only an air of silence.

Josh’s predicament was further aggravated when after our exam; he learned that he was not included in the “matrix” which was due on that same day.  He casually asked why he was not included in the list of people who were given a photocopy of it.  Unaware of what was going on (whether due to insensitivity or indifference); Michelle facetiously remarked that she and Fay were from the same province that’s why she was given the chance to have a copy.  Our president, however, was trying to pacify Josh in a way that he, too, was not included and therefore was left out.  Still trying to keep his emotions under control, he walked away and left the room.  I was then supposed to return the OHP when I saw Josh outside our room and asked if I can come with him for a minute.

He told me everything what he had discovered.  From Anne’s uncertainty and how she was trying to obscure the facts down to their little “game”.  I don’t know whether Josh is only kind-hearted or playing dumb, but he insisted that he is still giving Anne the benefit of the doubt.  He reasoned that he has to hear it from her, to be certain. 

“Why don’t you talk to her after class?”  I inquired.  

“It will only make matters worse.  Besides, I cannot talk to anyone especially to her if I’m carrying an emotional baggage as big as this.  I may say something that I will only regret at the end.”  He explained.

I politely said I have to talk to our college dean and if he could wait for a minute.  When I was done I saw him standing near our campus, brooding.

“Josh?”

He sighed for a moment, and then he replied, “I think I need some space, Israel.  I need to think everything alone.”

That day was as lugubrious as it is for him.  As if everything was in the proper place to aggravate his situation.  The thick, dark clouds loomed over as if emphasizing if not sympathizing with his predicament.  Josh bid his goodbye and disappeared into the crowd.

That night, he received numerous SMS from Anne, asking if she did something wrong.  She was also asking a reply from Josh, apparently consumed and agonizing that he may have discovered something, almost practically begging to text her back.  He obstinately did not comply.

On the next day, Anne continued to text Josh incessantly, hoping that he would at least say something.  But all her efforts were in vain.

At midnight, before Josh went to the airport he emailed Anne.  Amid his frustrations and anguish, he wrote everything how he felt.  He said that Anne shouldn’t have entertained him and shouldn’t have texted things that would insinuate that there is a possibility that Anne would reciprocate his feelings.  Moreover, Anne should have told him in the course of their conversations and exchange of SMS that she has a boyfriend so that Josh would have known his limits, and might have kept his feelings at bay.  He emphasized, “Like what I did when I told you everything.”  And more importantly, he asked her if what Sarah told him is true or not.  He typed it from a non-accusatory tone, “As far as I know you, you don’t have the inkling of being such a person as what our classmates have divulged and claimed.  I hope you could tell me that what they just said is not true.”

One hour later, at Boracay Island.

At the hotel, Josh simply wanted to unwind and temporarily forget the turmoil he was in.  At dusk he stood in the balcony, basking at the gentle breeze, immersing himself with the wonderful view that island provided to tourists and natives alike.  The sky was still dark and there was no sign of the sun in the horizon but there were no stars on the sky, only hues of midnight to dark blue colors blending near the horizon.  He took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air that he seldom experience in the city.

The sky was beginning to be bright red as the first ray of the sun rises from the horizon when he decided to go to the shore.  As he was stretching for the morning breeze of the sea, his phone rang.  It was one of his office mates, telling him to get back in Manila as soon as possible if he is still interested to get his job back.  Josh argued he had just arrived, not to mention the trouble of financial charged he incurred for the reservations.  “We’ll cover it,” said the person on the other end of the line, “just get your a— back here, now!”

Then he thought of Anne, and his email.  He realized that he may have said things without preamble and it may be construed harsh rather than what it may have originally intended and might hurt her feelings in return.  He thought of this as the problem with emails, you don’t know how it was said or what emotions it may contain.  It’s all words, and the person reading it, whether lacks hindsight or otherwise, may think and take everything wrong.  Though he is not completely familiar with the terrain, Josh restlessly looked for an internet café in the hope to email her and tell her just to forget about his query because he was only overwhelmed with a lot of things at the moment.

On his way back to Manila, he felt a little nostalgia towards her.  He missed her.  As he was nearing his destination, Josh prayed so hard to at least be given a sign: a sign that is so simple he wouldn’t have to interpret it anymore, that he and Anne would be okay and go on.  No puzzles, no paradox, no profound message within a message, but only a simple sign that he and Anne would be okay again.  When his plane landed, Josh rushed home almost violating practically all the traffic rules and regulations known to man, almost flew toward his house literally.  He hastily booted his computer and log on to his account.  His sign that he was praying for was granted. 

There was a message all right, two of them.

One was from Anne, and judging from her email, she was infuriated.  She was in a state like a mad bull ready to mow everyone down on her path.  She emphasized in bold and capitalized letter, “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSED ME OF SUCH HORRIBLE THINGS!  YOU’RE BELITTLING MY INTELLIGENCE AND HAVE INSULTED ME!  I’M NOT A PLAYER AND I’M AGAINST ABOUT SUCH CONDEMNABLE BEHAVIOR!!!”

The other was from her boyfriend.  Unfortunately, the message was insulting and Josh received very harsh expletives and ear-burning comments from the guy.  And adding insult to injury, the sad little boy said to Josh, “I don’t want to stoop to your level, so you better stop harassing my girlfriend if you know what’s good for you!  If you don’t stop, I’ll find where you’re working and you’ll see what’s in store for you!”

(Anne’s response is valid, but totally out of proportion.  In my experience with people, it is a way to conceal if not to bury the truth from the person who was asking a question.  Feigning anger and rage to throw the other person in a defensive stance is a devious way to hide the facts and shy away from the truth.  I know Josh knows all about this but in his current state had prevented him to think in a logical way.)

A little confused, Josh logged out from his email and logged on his favorite web site.  Possibly to forget the sting that the sad little boy had said.  Josh has the habit of when on his home page in Friendster, he clicks the section “who viewed me” to see who browsed his page.  Much to his surprise, a stranger with no photo of himself viewed him and he realized it was Anne’s sad little boy.  The poor guy also sent Josh a message on Friendster, with the same content.

That treatment didn’t stop from there, for he received numerous texts messages as days went by (obviously he was using a different number to hide his futile efforts to seduce Josh to a useless but to his level verbal combat), threatening him and insulting his intellect.  He also received some phone calls asking where and what type of products he was selling.  Strong and resilient as we have known Josh to be, he ignored those move and messages from the sad little boy.  But there were two messages that really tempted Josh to retaliate on the faceless gossip monger.  One is the message that called him “raving lunatic” and the other was (from Anne’s cell phone) “you should keep your words kind and sweet for if the time comes that you have to eat them”.

On the first message, Josh called Bernard (one of our friends in class) and advised him to calm down.  He said, “Pay no attention to the faceless guy, Josh.  You should be kind to animals.  Oh, wait!  That’s too harsh.  You should be kind to amoebas and bacteria because they only possess a simple nervous system that’s why they act that way.  Besides, I bet if you can see his face you can always be sure that the word ‘loser’ is written all over it.  So ignore them!”

The second message Josh decided to reply Anne.  He sent, “I don’t mind eating the words I said because what’s important for me is: I know when I’m wrong!”

As usual, trying to be mysterious and kind hearted, Anne replied immediately to Josh.  She said “It was my bf that first read your email and sent you those messages.  And he was the one who sent you that text message.”

Josh ignored her message doubting every word she said, shrugged his shoulders and continued on with his work.

After a few days, Josh had already known where her bf was working.  He works in a call center and from the way he was conducting himself no amount of explanation is necessary from either Anne or the pathetic sad little boy (hmm, maybe it would be applicable if we call him “loser-written-all-over-his-face-boyfriend”, that was the term coined by Bernard).  How he found out where the loser-written-all-over-his-face-boyfriend works for a short period of time, remains a mystery to us all.

Friday, came and I was surprised to see Josh in my office.  He was waiting for me in the foyer and I could see from his eyes that the fire in attaining his goals were smothered cold. 

“I don’t think I want to go to class tomorrow, Israel.”

“And why is that?”

He looked away, he was careful not to catch my eyes with his and gazed upon the numerous foreigners that often visit our office as if he was searching for the right words from them.  “You know I’ll be reporting in front of our class tomorrow.  All eyes will be upon me, especially Anne.  If I make a mistake in my report, I don’t want to be a laughing stock.”

He forced a smile and continued, “Maybe I’m just being ambitious of taking a masteral degree and all.  Maybe I should drop the act and q—“

“Now hold on a minute there, Josh!” I snapped.  I’m not eager listening to a pathetic move and thinking that’s why I didn’t let him finish his statement.

“You didn’t take this for her!  The same reason that you did not decide to further your studies is because of her!  You took this because you wanted to.  That is your dream!  Hell, you’re better than that, Josh!  You can quit anytime and I will respect that if your reason would be something else and not because that girl played on you or toyed with your feelings!  People will laugh at you because you let them win.  I for one will lose my respect for you.  We will all lose our respect for you.  The great Jedi Josh has met his downfall all because of a 110% certified player and her little loser-written-all-over-his-face-boyfriend!”

He looked at me, straight into my eyes.  I can see there was some rage in it as if he wanted to punch me in the face.  But that’s what I was counting on.  I knew I got through him.  But to add a little more salt to his already bleeding wound, “I thought it would take more than those two before you would be beaten up to a pulp, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Okay,” he began, “I’ll do anything to get over this.”

 

© 2008 by Israel Miguel G. Biscarra

All Rights Reserved

 

 

It was from Anne, and he was surprised to find the SMS that was sent to him around 11:45 last night.  Apparently she was asking if Josh was busy and if he was still awake.

I remember what Josh thought of it as he related to me this incident, whilst he thought that the conversation he had with Anne was only good as long as we were in school, and after which would end as soon as we go about our daily lives.  Sure, there was a possibility of conversation or even text forwarding and all but not as something as a text mate.  I’m sure Josh has no intentions of mortifying Anne in any way. 

Puzzled, Josh replied and inquired why Anne texted him.  The response was not immediate, so my good friend decided to have a swim and go about with his usual routine.   Night fall came, and once again the time for Josh to retire arrived as he has to get up early since his job mandates him to check in as early as 7 a.m.  He read Anne’s message, in which she replied “Nothing, just wanted someone to talk with.”  Josh replied that message and went to sleep, and missed her reply that claims she cannot sleep without a text mate.

The following day, Josh hesitantly replied Anne’s message because he was particularly uneasy of having a text mate at the time, aside from the fact that he was still reeling in from a tumultuous relationship.  Along their exchange of texts, Anne wondered where is the other cell number Josh mentioned to have because as she lamented, is draining her “load” for she was currently subscribed to the “unlimited” promotional package of her network.  He said it’s “empty” at the moment and can’t seem to find a way to buy one because of conflicting schedules.  In the following days, Anne continued texting Josh.  One particular message read, “I hope you’re not stressing yourself too much from your work”, and another “Hi.  I just came home, our practiced is finally over.  Are you asleep?”

When our next class came (that was on August 23), the usual stuff went.  But I noticed Anne’s friends, specifically Fay seem to know what is going on between them.   She naughtily smiles and insinuates something like “Hey, you two.  You’re getting swweeettt.”  Often, she gives way to Josh whenever he approaches Anne.  I overheard Josh making a proposition to Anne during our last subject.  He was wondering if he could invite her for lunch sometime next week.  Anne, on the basis of the tone of her voice happily replied, “Sure”.  

On the following week, the exchange of text messages between Anne and Josh grew, aside from the fact he had already activated his other phone that has the same network as with Anne’s.  Most of them, however, usually put Josh on the baffling side because Anne apparently knows a lot about him than he is to her.  That is, she mentioned that Josh is usually funny and comical whenever they are in school but dead serious and almost as dry as a rotting dead tree in the forest when he is in his office.  Josh inquired, “What made you say that?” and she replied, “Well, that’s what Israel told me and he also told me that our school is some form of outlet for you.”  “Really now,” Josh told himself.  “You know, I learned a great deal about you from him.  He told me a lot of things about you.”  At this point, Josh was some what puzzled as well as curious to what else did I tell her about him during the lunch break gathering we had almost two weeks ago.  So in-between the text messages he sent to Anne, he texted me to satisfy his curiosity.  He explained his predicament, and I replied by assuring him it’s just all about where he works, what position and how old he is.  I was beginning to suspect there was something going on between them.

By this time, Josh was extremely curious about Anne and what other “pertinent” information she knows about him.  I remember as he explains to me the rationale behind Anne’s “bizarre” behavior in which I totally agreed to.  He said no one would ask anyone about a specific person with such ardor and zeal unless they have something, much more that they “feel” something.  I know what he meant, but I wanted to be exactly sure on what he was driving at so I asked him if he could be more specific.  He said he just knows it but just can’t seem to put his finger on it at the moment.  He also emphasized that her behavior is way out of the ordinary.  Given the circumstances and judging from how she was behaving, nothing could be further from the truth.

Since Josh wanted to gauge how much she had learned from me especially when she began asking about his age, he texted, “Israel already told you, right?  Just curious, why is it that you ask a lot of things about me?”  Anne’s intent was crystal and obvious, but she was caught off guard as well that’s why her “excuse” was forced and lame.  “Actually, I asked our classmates about their age, too.  I asked them about other stuffs.”  If I could only see Josh’s face when he read Anne’s message, I’m pretty sure that his right brow have risen denoting a sense of sarcasm and disbelief and would probably be doing some inflection with his voice in a deep, dark tone as he would say, “Tell that to the marines.”  But instead, he hid that disbelief and texted Anne a different response, “Uh, okay, Annie dear.”

She then asked Josh what is his favorite number.  “Why?”  Josh asked.  “I just wanted to know,” replied Anne.  “Well, if you insist.  It’s eight.”  The reply did not take that long for Anne to give the corresponding “interpretation” of Josh’s favorite number.  It read, “Hot and very good in sex.”  Josh thought, “Cute.  Totally absurd, but cute.” 

When our next class came, Anne told Josh through SMS that she has to take a rain check over their date and if they can reschedule it next week.  He jokingly replied, “Why?  Cold feet?”  In class, Anne refuted Josh’s rag by saying that her mom was in the vicinity at the time and decided to fetch her home. To which he said, “No problem, Annie dear.”

Before our class ended Josh received a message, “But I hope our date will push through next week.  I’m looking forward talking with you.  And I’m more than willing.”  Josh looked up to see what Anne was doing, and as expected, she was looking as if waiting to meet his gaze.  She waved a simple goodbye and displayed her sweet smile to Josh.

At night, Anne continued to exchange texts with Josh.  She said, “I’ll be going to church later and I’ll be back around 9 p.m.  I’m preparing the table so I could have my dinner early.  Have you had your dinner?”  “No, I’m just surfing the net.”  And Josh added, “You seem to spend a great deal of your time in church.”  “I love spending my time and with my students in there.”  There was a brief silence in their exchange of messages, after a few minutes Anne said, “I’ll be going now.  Text you later.” 

            “Hey, can I ask you something,” Josh hurriedly texted back.  “What is it?” was her reply.  Josh paused for a moment.  He pondered if he should really have to ask that question.  His hesitation was that he was trying to avoid offending Anne, or worse could be labeled as paranoid, the usual response that he gets whenever his officemates would want to dispel much less to dismiss his query.  He decided to pass, thinking Anne is probably busy by now in her church activities and would probably forget his question altogether.

            “Never mind,” he said to himself.  He then placed his hand on the mouse to navigate the cursor to the topic he was researching.  When the silence of his room was broken, more than what the usual sound of his keyboard produces.  It was his cell phone and the message alert startled him.  “Hey, I thought you wanted to ask me something.  What is it about?”  Again, the act of asking her that question roused his conflict, but finally decided to text his query.  “I was just wondering, are you judgmental?  I hope you won’t get mad or anything.”  “No.  Why do you ask?”  Her reply was much faster than Josh’s. 

            “Because you are young,” Josh texted back.  But at the back of his head, he wanted to add “and because of that, you lack the proper experience to see that the world is not an entirety of black and white.  Your youth may have the tendency to label certain circumstances as ‘wrong’ when they are nothing more but a part of being alive and living in this world.”

            “Ganun?” was the only reply from Anne.

            “I hope I didn’t offend you or anything,” explained Josh.

            After a few moments, Anne texted, “You know, I just noticed that you always seem to be extremely cautious on the things you say.”  Josh replied, “Sorry, force of habit.  I guess this is what you get when you are surrounded with people who blew things out of proportion, even if you don’t intend to hurt them about what you said.”

            Anne and Josh’s communication continued, albeit most of it was only on SMS.  But the former continued to enjoy the company of the latter.  She seemed to be very free about her time except for the fact that after work, she is devoted to her “spiritual” duties of her religion.  She, however, would text Josh as soon as she is done and would stay late at night “talking” to him.

On the third Saturday, Josh and Anne were beginning to be more comfortable with each other.  From where I stand, I could see there were some major changes in both of our main characters.  Anne in particular, became more mindful of her appearance.  Now she usually wears a blush-on and pays more attention to her hair; unlike during the first months of the semester where she goes to our class as simple as she could be.  Her aura exudes bliss and what many may consider as “blooming”.  Furthermore, I noticed that she always looked at Josh from the corner of her eyes and usually catches him staring at her.  There was also the sense of awkwardness on Josh’s part whenever he is near with Anne.  Fumbling on a simple conversation and often saying the wrong things just to have something to say.  Thereby causing a lot of blunder on their tête-à-tête is the usual scenario, for Josh at least. 

The typical courtship that goes with two people was evident, and Anne is somehow tolerant in things that Josh manifested.  Whenever we transfer from one room to the next, I noticed them that even without speaking, seems to understand one another.  More than what words can truly express, they seem to be happy and were enjoying each other’s presence.  Then I remembered: they’ll be having a date sometime today.

Unfortunately, once again that date was not realized.  She told Josh that her mom was in our university campus and intended to fetch her home from school (again).  It is interesting to note that at this point Josh was still remarkably detached from their date and simply replied to Anne, “Well, okay.”  The usual stuff ensued.  Josh hanged with us for an hour before he went home.  But he did picked up a trick from Ryan where he told Anne a simple joke which goes something like this, “I’m not surprised that our date didn’t push through because you were having a date with Ryan right now.”  I know why he sent that because it is a simple assessment to determine Anne’s veracity and its extent.

The reply was immediate.  She said she was with her mom in a shopping mall near our school and informed Josh after she left that she was in fact with her.  She also added that we only wanted to know what’s going on between them.  Then the next message was that she was very concerned whether Josh believes her or Ryan.  “I’ll text Ryan about this why he would say such a thing.”  Josh had that covered for he already texted Ryan and me, asking us to connive with his little trick.

Even I received a text from Anne but she was not asking about the “date-with-Ryan-thing”, but instead why Josh and me were laughing in the hall way.  I was a little surprise about her query.  Why so concerned about what Josh’s think or for that matter, our topic?  But what really made my “spider sense” go off the roof is her text message to Josh that inquires, “Are you disappointed that our date was postponed again?”  Genuine concern?  Perhaps.  At first glance, that is what all evidences suggest.  However, when Josh casually replied, “No, why would I be disappointed?”  She replied, “I think you are.”  As cerebral as I have known him to be, Josh sense that Anne’s query is a question inside a question.  She was trying to elicit a more specific though vague answer from him, and from a psychological standpoint, there is a need for her to know.  As if deriving a sense of satisfaction. 

He decided to play with her mind game and replied, “Nope, what made you say that?”  “That’s what I feel.  Based on texts,” was Anne’s reply.  Josh made it clear that everything Anne claims is in the contrary but she kept on insisting that he was in fact disappointed.  A little tired because they were arguing (not in a negative sense) in circles, he replied “Okay, if that’s what makes you happy.  Good night, Annie dear.”  It is interesting to note that their little debate dragged on till past 11:30 pm, and as days went by, their course of texting usually goes beyond 1 am (which as you have noticed, is way past Josh’s bed time.)  Anne replied to him, “I like it when you call me ‘dear’”.

Josh was intrigued of Anne’s questions as well as the way she conducted herself.  Anne’s message could be construed as simply harmless and denotes nothing but a genuine concern.  But he sense it is just a tip of the iceberg, and his inquiry is simple and can be described as one word: why?  Why does she keep on insisting that he is disappointed?  And why does she want him to be disappointed in the first place?  Not to mention she wanted Josh to be very disappointed. 

Weeks had passed and Anne continued to be sweet and concern with Josh.  Whenever her cell phone is “empty”, she went to great lengths by doing a miscall using her landline just to let him know that she was still there.  Anne also asked Josh to add her in Friendster because he was asking if he can have a picture of her.  Day by day, Josh takes his conversation with Anne to the next level.  He made his messages sweeter.  Sweeter messages that denote his intentions and one cannot afford to miss it.  He also reached the point of telling her his past. 

And our hero, in the course of their conversation was slowly beginning to ask a lot of questions to himself, gauging and defining the things that go on inside him.  “Am I falling for her?”  He was hoping that somehow in some way, Anne feels the same.  Otherwise, why would she exert too much effort, money and time even if she doesn’t?  Albeit he was afraid because nowadays, people are full of lies and usually pretends to be something else in order to attain their ulterior motives.  They are ruthless and will stop at nothing just to accomplish their goal.  That night, he cannot sleep as well as he has no one to ask some advice to help him with his dilemma.

 “Anne is nice and very thoughtful,” he began, “and very religious.  Should I tell her how I feel?  I mean, I already made my intentions clear to her, too.”  He paused for a moment.  He let it sank in his mind and weighed everything.  As he gazed back in his monitor to finish his research, he realized his query requires a deep thought.  One that cannot be answered immediately.

Two days later Anne texted Josh, “Take care on your way home.  Text me when you arrive.”  Josh, who has finally managed to muster enough courage, began to spill the beans with Anne about how he felt.  He explained that since they began talking and exchanging texts, he felt unperturbed and extremely happy.  He also added he became tolerant of his officemates even if they were jerks; and more importantly she inspires him.  He told her he was in love with her.  Anne didn’t wait that long to reply, she texted back asking, “Are you really in love with me?”

“Yes.  I’m sorry if I felt that way.  I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.”  “Don’t say sorry.  That’s ok.  No one can teach our hearts not to fall for anyone,” she replied.  He then asked Anne what she felt, but forgot to get the answer as their conversation went and as always time was a little short and they have to bid each other good night.  She texted him this message, “They say, we’re too old to play hide and seek… but if I were given a chance, I’d do anything just to hear someone say… ‘I found you…’”

The following day, Josh was overjoyed.  He felt he was walking on air and everything that he sees are like gems that sparkle.  No task was too hard for him, as he is deeply moved and inspired by Anne.  Usually he stares blankly and don’t pay much attention to the people who irritates much less to say who mock him.  When he remembered he didn’t get a proper response from Anne.  “I’ll ask her again later this evening.  I guess it’s as good as a positive response because of her last message.”  Their text continued throughout the day, and when the right time came to ask the very important question, Josh did not hesitate.  “Annie dear, how about you?” Josh began.  Anne understood what he meant.

She responded, “Before I answer that, are you aware…” 

© 2008 by Israel Miguel G. Biscarra

All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

It has been more than 2 months since this incident had transpired and after much debate and internal conflict, I have finally reconciled everything to reach the conclusion of relating this story to the general public.  My reluctance was simply out of the principles of not wanting myself to involve in such endeavor, the same way I don’t want anyone whom I had a negative experience with be involved with my name.  Believe me, it’s a personal thing (if you have any questions about this, please refer to A word to the Blogger). 

Furthermore, I have come to realized that there are certain things that should be altered, more specifically, the title itself because after learning the whole story, I found its previous title very inapt.  It may sound harsh, but sincerely speaking there was neither innocence nor good intentions about the person involved to exonerate in terms of motives.  There was none to begin with and nonetheless falls more on the pride category.  As a result, our title inadvertently replaced the blog that was supposed to be posted here entitled Innocence & Good Intentions vs. Pride & Prejudice.

            This story is about my two classmates in CTP who were both unaware of how their, err– love story(?) would turn out to be.  For reasons of legal technicality and avoiding being sued with a charge of invasion of privacy, among other things, let’s call the guy “Josh” and the girl as “Anne”.  Josh is 31 and Anne is 23.  Josh stands more or less at 5 feet & 8 inches while the girl of her dreams(?) stands at 5 feet tall.  Pardon me, my dear friends but I will do my best in describing Anne without sounding a little too patronizing (not because she doesn’t deserve it or anything) but as I have mentioned before, I have my doubts and very reluctant in writing this blog.  Moreover, I am trying to avoid in fueling whatever perceived superiority she may or may not have.  She is what you may say in old Filipino mestiza, and in every sense of the word is pretty.  Not so sure if I would drool, though.

            However, I would be robbing you the opportunity of being objective if I don’t present the facts that governs us humans in terms of day to day interaction.  Meaning, a little background about body languages, gestures, in-between the lines and listening to what is not being said (finally, I can write something here that falls on my interests).  In addition, what I will be acquainting you to is not based on some crack pots or quacks who stated these principles without a sound mind but more on a well-known lawyer and experts whose expertise falls short on being an actual lie detector machine and backed by years of research, and more importantly experience.  In contrast, it doesn’t require you to be an expert in psychology or a lawyer or have an extensive back ground in rocket science just for you to understand the subject.  You know this by instinct; the only difference is you are not aware that you are capable of discerning such actions and yet exercise it everyday (especially in sales & courtships or other related human interaction).

            We begin to distinguish people who are overly interested to their object of their desire when they talked about them more often than usual.  This is the basic knowledge of peering through one’s mind and interest.  It is highly suggestive of what they always say or talk about is what really goes on inside their heads or more aptly described as what they really think about most often; especially when they begin to talk about their object of affection or were asking specific questions about them, you can always bet that they are more or less interested on that particular person.  We can consciously choose our attire, and to some degree we can determine the way our bodies look.  Most of our body language, however, is beyond our control.  We all have the experience of when someone has a crush or interested with you, you often catch them looking or staring but quickly take off his/her gaze away when they saw you turn your head towards them, and later catch them again looking from the corner of their eyes.  Only to later find out they really have a crush on you.

By the same token, certain communication like SMS, a phone call or even the simplest and seemingly harmless miss call often denotes an interest on the doer’s part.  For instance, a friend from the opposite sex would usually text you a message asking how you were doing or simply making a courtesy call of letting you know they are still there.  You may respond to that text message, and s/he may respond as well but the difference is once the exchange of SMS comes to a close (whether directly stated or not), neither party would continue to send another message because both of you mutually understood that was the last message for your current conversation.  Any SMS sent would usually take hours or even days before you would send another to that particular person.  Again, here’s the subtle yet striking difference: if s/he is interested, s/he would always find a way to communicate and strike a conversation whether the topic is inane or simply trivial.  Otherwise, why bother send an SMS if you’re not?  However, do not construe an honest message from the opposite sex when s/he sent you one, because as I have stated before, you can tell the difference on the “tone” and “context” of their messages.  Would you interpret a simple message like “take care my dear man” as something with romantic interests?  Definitely no.  But if the message would contain “I just can’t seem to take you out of my head ‘cause whenever I close my eyes, I can still see you” it’s almost a dead give away.

            Another aspect of reading in-between the lines is always remember that the words we choose to express ourselves provide a window to our true feelings.  Sometimes we say one thing when we mean to say another.  This is referred to as Freudian slip, a subconscious leak when a person’s misspoken words reflect and reveal his true feelings, thoughts or intentions[1].  For instance, one who means to say “We worked really hard on the project; it took us all night to complete it,” might slip and say, “We worked really hard on the project; it took us all night to copy it.” 

In addition, you can always be suspicious and may find the credibility of one person extremely dubious when their reaction is all out of proportion to the question or comment.  They want to appear outraged by the accusation, but they are not.  So s/he exaggerates her displeasure, often ending up going a little overboard[2].  Furthermore, your question that could be answered by a simple yes or no usually brings a lot of anguish and anger on his/her part because psychologically speaking, you are probing to his/her inner true self and for them, they often think you had a glimpse on the truth that’s why they mask their motives by feigning anger and end the conversation by pretending to be angry or upset, or worse pretending to be hurt by your “accusation”.  Because, the guilty wants the subject changed; the innocent always wants a further exchange of information.  Sometimes when you want to extract certain behaviors to the guilty party, you give them doses of the old fashioned silent treatment.  They may get uncomfortable with it and sometimes really wants to disappear because they are uncomfortable with silence.

The list could go on, and there are hundreds of ways you could ascertain when someone’s interest falls on this category or not.  You could tell by their action because as we all know, the maxim “Actions speaks louder than words” holds an almost absolute wisdom in terms of day to day human interaction.  Hence, we may now proceed about their love story.

            Their love story began last August 16 in which Josh was in the classroom much earlier than before.  He was puzzled however, to find out that he was all alone and not one of our classmates was in sight.  The weather was compromising that day, and a feeling of miscalculation was beginning to fill him.  Thoughts of maybe the class was suspended was evident and everything was conducive enough for such an idea that made him call us frantically.  Because according to Josh’s words, he simply wanted to take a rest and sleep since he finished his report about Philosophy past midnight, believing it was his turn to present it in class.  Around 8:05 a.m., as he was talking to our class president, Anne arrived.  The usual gesture of exchanging smiles was enough to acknowledge each other’s presence, but for Josh, that was not the usual case.  He said it was like the very first time he saw Anne, as if he was rapt by her beauty.  Josh, not the type of entertaining such ideas in certain circumstances, asked Anne why no one was around.  She simply said that our class president and the others sent her an SMS saying they may not make it because of the heavy rain last night.  Unknown to Anne, Josh was beginning to see roses and not chairs and as if the classroom were disappearing (more of fading into oblivion actually), because according to him, everything turned into pink.  There were no backgrounds, no black boards, no chairs, and no room.  It was like they were the only people in the world, surrounded with falling petals of flowers in hues of pink and red.  He was not sure though if it was the reflection of Anne’s shirt that accentuated his feelings or her beauty, and even I facetiously said it was only the effect of sleepless nights and over fatigue.

            Still trying to be stoic but preventing himself from gaping and obviously ogling Anne, he asked her why he was not informed about our classmates’ absences.  She simply replied, “I don’t have your number.”  And so he asked for Anne’s cell number and made a miss call, but out of the blue, Anne casually asked Josh if he was married.  Josh replied he is not and said he just recently broke up with his girlfriend.  Anne’s eyes lighted up as she remarked, “We thought you were married and already have a family!”  “We? Who’s we?” Josh thought.  They were in the middle of a good conversation when I arrived with our professor.  I told them we have an exam on that day, it was kind of a surprise summative test and it’s a long one. 

 Though many were absent, our class went on and the time to bid our classmates goodbye came once again.  One of our classmates, however, said we had an offering in the university chapel.  On we went, heard the mass and went to offer our prayers for our class and to our professors.  After which, Ryan (another classmate of ours) invited us to have lunch together in our school cafeteria.  Unfortunately, Josh had to go home because he remembered he has some errands to do.  I believe it was really important as he explained there was a timetable involved.  Subsequently leaving us as we stay behind to have our lunch; surprisingly, Anne kept on asking us (me in particular) about Josh.  From how old he is up to the single minutiae of his personality of where he works and what he is like.  She kept asking me as she believed Josh and me were close.  I find it kinda funny, though, that majority of Anne’s questions pertains to Josh, almost practically ignoring the other topics that were flying across our table.  For some reason, she really got curious about him.

            Twenty-four hours later, Josh woke up early as usual (even though he has no work or school during Sundays).  Staggering from morning dizziness, he reached for his computer and booted it.  When he noticed there was a message in his cell phone. 

© 2008 by Israel Miguel G. Biscarra

All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

The thing speaks for itself… I love to write, the greater part of the time that is.  And sometimes I hate it because it is a laborious and lonely task.

So how did I come upon the realization of becoming a writer?  How did I aspire to be one and what urged me to discover this latent talent of such endeavor?  The answer is simple:  I love to write.  Albeit it started only as a hobby and a favorite pastime before I can go out and play during the summer or during the rainy season, which eventually led me in writing my own script.  Others would be frowning their eyebrows right now because it is clear I’m exercising a fallacy of begging the question.

Seriously speaking, the joys of being a writer have never been less exhilarating as well as menial and laborious.  Much had been said about its bliss and exultation, but like any other endeavor it has its own minuses.  Like what my old friend used to say, “It has its own share of demons that you will have to face and exorcise.”

It is true that whenever I’m holding my pen or have my fingers place on the home keys of my laptop and begin writing/typing the words, there is a deep sense of peace and joy that fills my heart.  Somehow in some way, I am aligned with my internal purpose.  There is an unexplainable feeling that no words in the universe can ever describe.  The sole attempt of describing it or finding reasons to questions that has none will only be robbing the experience out of writing.  However, there are times when I’m facing the screen or my notebook that no idea seems to come out of my head as if inspiration had abandoned me and had chosen never to visit me again.  Maybe I’m just having bouts of writer’s block or I only feel the throes of fatigue and exhaustion from all the stress I’ve been through.  Like most humans, I have my own days where nothing seems to be going right.  No amount of effort can ever budge the feelings of dread and procrastination even if you wanted to write about something.  When these things happen, I usually end up staring at my monitor for hours and all I can ever accomplish is looking at the never ending bleep of the cursor on the broad white background of MS word.  Then you look at the mirror and ask yourself, are you a writer of some sort or just trying to be one?  I’m not so sure if I’m a raconteur.

To make things worse, the task is even more daunting whenever I realize that I have to draw a full 23 page of comic book (but more appropriately called graphic novel).  Writing the script becomes easy eventually but the dilemma is usually compounded with the realization of you will do everything on your own.  You are the writer, the cameraman, the penciller, the inker, the colorist and the director, all rolled into one.  Then you will also man the advertising and promotional section of it.  From pencils to inks to Photoshop for coloring your comics to publishing and promoting all depends on me.  And all of this will persist throughout the comic book series.

For you to have a better understanding of the, well for the lack of a better word, my predicament I will give you a brief over view of what I have researched in this industry so far.  Publishing comic books requires you to publish it in a series of once in every month.  The only exception for independent comic book artists/writers and self publishers is that you can publish your work in every two months, to make sure your work is slowly establishing and getting known by the  general public.  It also encompasses the task of promoting it in the World Wide Web.  Updating your website is a must and at least 3 months before the publishing date you have to continue advertising/promoting it.  This will give you ample time to prepare when the big day comes, and to ensure that your stuff is available to the market so that the readers will not be disappointed of going to the comic book shops only to find yours either has no stock or isn’t available.  For a fledgling self-publisher, that will be a great disaster of enormous proportion and can really hurt your reputation, therefore ending your career even before you can prosper.  It’s like launching a rocket that failed and exploded in the launch pad even before it lifted a few inches from the ground. 

I have written the script.  It is almost complete.  I am done with the copyright.  I am in the process of arranging its proper sequence for a continuous flow in the story and editing it as to what scenes should remain or not.  But a deep sense of sigh is overwhelming me.  I am alone.  The whole task relies on my shoulders.  I wanted my best friend to be a part of it but life is a little tough in this country.  And I cannot compensate his skills and wonderful talent since he has his own family to raise.  I have work, and practically no free time to spare for a passion that is time consuming.  So I ask myself, what went wrong?  When the publishers and agent turned down the script and my illustration, I never lost the heart of continuing and pursuing.  I proudly said, “If I cannot find a publisher who will publish my work, then I would publish it on my own!”  I have a deep sense of belief that nothing on this earth would stop me in pursuing my dream.  That’s when I was 23. 

Is it pride that led me to exclaim such statements with conviction?  Was the task a product of an idealistic and ignorant teenager?  Didn’t I think two steps ahead of the situation?  Sadly, with all things going wrong I am arriving at a very deplorable conclusion: I am not being realistic.

I told my nephew that I was going to give it all up, simply abandon the work and stop pursuing a child’s dream.  Then he looked at me as if searching for any signs if I was just pulling his leg before he went on to say, “Do you realize how much time and worth you’re throwing away?”  “Seventeen years,” I replied.

And so again it goes, the cycle of questioning myself, my motives, my reasons and the true purpose of my writing.  Why do I write?  Do I really crave for attention much more to say to gain an eminent status or recognition?  Am I writing because of the possible “perks” that would come once my work hit the best seller list?  Or do I only continue doing this because of my pride and I only wanted to prove everybody who put me down that they are wrong?  Am I satisfying those people who would be happy if I take heed of their so called “concern” or “genuine care”?  It is a given fact there are times when no one wanted to be with me in situations like this, as if the endeavor can inflict an excruciating pain that drives them off almost instantaneously.  Sometimes writing can be so heartrending.  Ah, too many questions and too many doubts.

            Space… the final frontier, and I think I could use lots of it.  Times like these warrants that I should get up and do something different.  Sometimes I turned on the TV and watch anything that could hopefully give me an idea to write about.  Other times, I get a book from my shelf and open it randomly flipping the pages looking for something that could inspire me, if it’s about my reference book; I gazed at the wonderful illustrations just to remind me about its beauty.  When I still get nothing, I go for a walk or for a swim and afterwards grab an apple to have a little relaxation trying to blank myself from any thoughts about writing.  Anyway, this episode could last for weeks and even months so why waste time on forcing myself to work when it can affect the outcome disastrously? 

Oftentimes when I am completely preoccupied with something else, an idea would strike me.  I remember a recent situation that happened only a few weeks ago and the lesson I’ve learned from it.  I thought that situation is a perfect chapter in my story where my protagonist would learn a valuable lesson.  I know whoever would read it could gain an insight or wisdom especially in our modern time where the general populace is plagued with cynicism and ruthlessly efficient in inveigling their victims.

            So I got my little notebook of ideas, blew the dust it collected after sitting for quite some time on my desk and began to write the idea.  Before I knew it, I’ve covered a number of pages and there was a surge of glee and contentment rushing in my chest.  I glanced at my desktop where my artwork was the current wallpaper at the time, still incomplete with its color rendering and beside it, the pen tablet I’ve carefully scrimped and saved just to buy it.  In front of my bed hangs a framed portrait which I drew on April 8, 2001.  All the more I stare at these things; a conviction was starting to build up.  I remember why I wanted to write this story: it’s not about fame.  It’s not about earning 9 digit numbers that would be deposited in my bank account.  It is not to please those critics who endearingly kept on telling me that I can’t draw or write.  It’s not about rubbing elbows with Stan Lee or other prominent writer-creator-producer-director in the industry if ever I will be given a chance to rent my own booth during a comic convention.  It’s all about believing and knowing you have something to share in this world, even if there is a chance of failing miserably. 

            Failures?  I have lots of those, and frankly the list of failures I gained if stored digitally would take up at least more than three terabytes of the modern removable hard drive.  Battles lost?  Too many to mention but it taught me how to lose okay.  Rejection?  Well, I’m a writer am I not?  I’m supposed to be rejected and guess I’m well equipped to handle anything that may come my way and face the challenges that comes with the territory.  How about the critics who gave me a ‘friendly advice’ to stop and be something else?  Well, I have to give them something to write about otherwise they may get fired for doing nothing.  Should I change the plot of my story like one expert told me and pattern my work to the already established and recognized heroes of comic books?  It may sound selfish and arrogant, and it may even be labeled as blind optimism but I don’t care how they write their story or how they embellish it to entice their readers to keep them from coming back.  I will write my story the way I know how.  Anyway, I didn’t write it to satisfy them.  If I’m having this as a speech, I am most certain that one critic from the crowd would rise up and pugnaciously contradict my statement, and s/he may say: “Then your comic book is as good as doomed to fail!”  I could fail any time and any day, but I wouldn’t be able to accept failing without trying.  And for me, it would be more of a crime and a disaster if I reached my time to bid the world goodbye and I never even got the chance to publish at least one issue of my work.

            Many ask me why it is entitled Love/Hate Relationship.  I believe I’ve already answered that throughout the series and for as long as you’re going to write (or whatever your passion is), this relationship would always persist.  As a parting word that would help you dispel your doubts and fears, remember what Sir Walter Raleigh (a professor in English Literature at Oxford, 1904) said:

“I cannot write a book commensurate with Shakespeare, but I can

 Write a book by me.”

© 2008 by Israel Miguel G. Biscarra

All Rights Reserved