Workshop 101 Session 2 Activity 2--- Will I be enough?

This time we were asked to make a feature article out from a news article about maternal deaths rising drastically. Well, I think it was the idea. Can’t remember the title of the news really. Forgetfulness strikes again! Waaa! But I really learned a lot from Miss Janjie. A good article should always excite the readers, which I will have to work on with. Well I’ve been practicing and here’s the result.

P.S. We were asked to choose a character, pretend to be that character and  make a story from the character’s point of view. :)

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                A woman knocking on death’s gate during natal delivery would be the very thing I won’t let to happen for as long as I live. Seeing her suffering in pain will me make feel the pain, tenfold.

                Knowing that maternal deaths increases drastically in our present times, thoughts of pity towards the child could not be avoided. What will he do when he grow and there’s no mother who will wipe his tears when he’s sad, feed him when he’s hungry, sing him a lullaby when his sleepy, bath him when he’s dirty, teach him good values? Who will guide him to a better future? What if he will accuse himself for not seeing his mother’s face because she died while delivering him? Who will make him understand that he has nothing to do with it? Who will response to his filial love when her mother is not beside him.

                All these responsibility must be shouldered by a man who readily accepts the most difficult task there is. A father who loves his child more than he loves his wife. But without his partner by his side helping each other out, will he be able to do it? Will I be able to do it? Will I be father enough to my child who lost his mother? The answer lies on my action.

Workshop 101 Session 2 Activity 1--- Haunting remorse.

We were ask to squeeze out a feature article in a poem given to us. Well, it's about a man on his 70's, reminiscing a love story that went to a crash. So take my free advice, don’t be “torpe” , seize the day, be with somebody, let your shadows be one and MULTIPLY. Hahaha. Seriously, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be like the man in the article below.

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           One the seaside that was absorbing the warm sunset, there I was strolling in the shore of sorrow with thoughts uncertain. Agonizing every remorse built in the past. My tremor walks in an eternal path.

In my last breathes on mortality, the pain intensifies every second. Infinite regret envelopes my life. Why did she not pursue on what I wanted? On what we really desire? Now I’m suffering in this cage of incompleteness tortured by the whips of painful memory.

Our feelings were mutual. Our hearts beat as though they are one. We share identical admiration to each other when were watching the sun as it rises the young horizon. All I did back then was to wait for me to hear the sweetest words my eardrums could ever capture. Those words that would have brought us to the summit of harmony.

But all those sweet dreams in the past became the nightmare that haunts me until my life ends. If only I can turn back time, I would change that moment that made my present as worse as it could ever be.

Pylon Creative Writers' Workshop 1

Last weekend, we were asked to make an article from pieces of information we randomly drawn.

Mine was:

•   a restaurant owner
• busy streets
• cold and misty morning
• reminiscing

                I am a five-star restaurant owner in the busy streets of the city of love. Paris. I am well known food critic and a famous chef. I am an owner of culinary school for financially challenged children. Everyone calls me “The Mr. Alvaro”. But as they all say, “Carbon is turned into diamond by extreme pressures”. As I watched my employees working and the people enjoying the luscious meals served on top on their expensive plates, a bitter past knocked my hard skull.

                My birthplace is also the birthplace of poverty. As if it is handcuffed to my wrist ever since I came to existence. My mother accepts laundry and my father sleeps behind bars. I was working in my aunt’s food store since I could ever remember. I couldn’t help but put all the responsibility on my young shoulder since I was the oldest of my seven siblings. Scarcity wakes me up every dawn and I usually take a sip on a broken-handled cup filled with nothing but hot water just to lift my heavy eyelids. My childhood is like a cold and misty morning. Shivering in cold embrace of life’s reality trying to find a pinch of light in the thick mist of uncertainty.  When I was old enough, I became my aunt’s assistant when she cooks food. I was inspired so I made cooking my key to open the lock in these chains that binds me and poverty. I only took a charred metal pan, a very old ladle, and tons of determination to master my aunt’s dusty cook book. My aunt saw the passion burning inside of me so she enrolled me in a culinary school. With nothing but my pen and wisdom about cooking, I passed the entrance examination with flying colors. Ace every test and cook every recipe assignment with perfection. Eventually, I graduated as the most outstanding student. After graduation, I received a stream of phone calls desperately hiring me as their chef. My fate has finally changed.

                Skipping to remember all the achievements I made to be where I am today, a young waiter pushing a trolley came close to me. He gave me a porcelain cup of tea brewed from the freshest tea leaves. A drop of tear fell from my idle eyes. Once I was just a child struggling to let go in the grasp of poverty, and now, I am a well respected man that has everything to be proud of.

:) it's not a true story. but it will be. . .hahaha xD