LOREN'S POINT OF VIEW

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THE WORLD of writing was not a path I had anticipated wandering down.

Masasampal ka na lang bigla sa mukha kung bakit ka pa nga ba nagsusulat? Ano pa bang motibasyon ang dapat mong panghawakan para lang makasurvive ka rito?

Criticisms.

Dahan-dahan akong naglakad patungo sa harap ng mesa ng prof ko. May kaba. Sunud-sunod ang tibok ng puso ko at hindi ko maipaliwanag kung bakit.

As I cradled my notebook, my fingers danced with an anxious rhythm, tapping against its surface. The pages were alive with chaotic scribbles, each stroke of my pen reflecting the whirlwind of thoughts that raced through my mind, a tapestry of my untamed handwriting.

The pile of papers before me was a sea of red ink, each mark a piece of feedback or a note urging me to revise and proofread. It felt like a daunting trap, ready to swallow me whole with the weight of harsh critiques I was about to confront.

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"Loren," my professor's voice rang out, causing me to momentarily close my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand, stepped forward, and placed my papers down before him.

Bakit ka ba nagsusulat? Kasi, required daw eh.

Hay, ewan. Saglit lang naman 'to, kaya pabayaan mo na, Loren. Parang ngayon ka lang na-reject o nakatanggap ng criticism. As if you hadn't revised your papers for the fifth time.

Napanguso ako sabay lingon sa katabi kong lalaking nakasalamin—halos puriin na ni prof dahil sa written papers niya, pero laging tulog. Peste, nakakainggit.

Chinek ko 'yung title ko. I'm focusing on the exploratory essay, and my chosen title is "A Journalist Who Took an Alternate Path."

"Akin na," sabi ng professor ko habang inilahad ang kamay niya. Binuksan ko ang tote bag ko, tapos inayos ko ang mga papel, inilagay sa folder, at iniabot sa kanya habang nakangiti.

"Sir, heto po," sabi ko habang nakangiti.

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"Huwag ka munang ngingiti-ngiti d'yan, ha. Isa ka sa dehado rito." He remarked with a scoff echoing his words, "Malalaman mo 'pag na-critique ko na 'yung gawa mo."

I wish he can go easy on me, you know? I'm here because I chose to study journalism, striving to hone my writing skills, and I genuinely want to improve.

Nandito ako hindi dahil gusto kong maging reporter gaya ng iba, kundi dahil talagang mahilig akong magsulat. Gusto kong mas mapabuti pa ang paggamit ko ng mga punctuation marks, lalo na 'yung em dash, at ang tamang pacing sa pagsusulat.

Gusto kong malampasan ang mga pagsubok na 'to para masabi ko na may napatunayan talaga ako sa pagsusulat.

"So... what inspired you to write this?" There it was—the moment of truth. He was asking me, ready to critique my work. Taking a deep breath, I stepped closer and met my professor's gaze head-on.

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"I've been meaning to express this for quite some time," I began, my voice filled with a mix of excitement and conviction. "As the saying goes, writing should always carry your own unique touch. So, I chose to weave this theme into my personal journey. I didn't choose journalism because I aspire to be on the news; rather, I pursued it because my true passion lies in writing." With a gentle thud, I set my hand on the table, a beaming smile spreading across my face as I met his gaze, eager to share this part of my story.

"Oo na, oo na." Kinaway ako ng prof ko para patahimikin, tapos bakas na naman sa mukha niyang masungit.

Aray.

"Ganito ang ipapasa mo? Wala akong nararamdamang buhay sa pagsusulat mo. Pinipili ko kayo eh! Kung balita na lang sana ang sinulat mo, siguro madali na."

Pareho lang sila ni Papa sa sinasabi. Gusto ko lang namang magsulat! Gusto ko ng mga essays, mag-proofread, magsulat ng scripts, at gumawa ng mga nobela. Ayan!

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Okay na bang motivation 'yan? Di 'ba pwedeng magsulat ka lang kasi gusto mo talaga?

"Excuse me, sir," I said, hoping to draw his attention.

Grabe, masakit talaga 'yan promise. Pinaghirapan kong isulat 'yon kagabi, ilang oras akong nakatutok sa laptop ko. Parang hindi ko na nga maalala kung ano pa ang meaning ng tulog. Sira na talaga sleeping pattern ko. Yet, I suppose I can't really grumble about it. After all, I'm one of those students who tends to receive lower marks on my written papers.

I pen these words not merely because an exploratory essay is defined as a brief piece of writing where one freely expresses thoughts or feelings about any idea or experience, unburdened by the need to justify or substantiate one's observations.

It is an adventure of discovery, where the goal is not to prove a point or draw conclusions, but to wander and explore the unknown!

Hindi ko ma-imagine ang sarili ko na may hawak ng mic at nagbabalita. Hindi talaga 'yun para sa akin. I can totally picture myself hanging out with authors, getting into the book editing vibe, and helping bring their stories to life.

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It feels awesome to think about writing tons of books—that's really what I want to do more than anything!

Dinuro niya ang papel sa harap ng marami, at lalo akong namghina nang makita ang ginawa niya.

I clasped my hands together, a wave of warmth enveloping my palms as the heat intensified. My fingers became slick with sweat, and I paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, then exhaling softly, feeling a mix of anticipation and calm wash over me.

Listen closely, Loren, I spoke to my mind, the weight of my thoughts hanging heavy in the air, before I swallowed hard.

Criticism is essential. You won't ascend to the next stage of your journey unless you're willing to embrace it.

"Hindi 'to basta-basta, Loren. Journalism ang pinasok natin. I'm craving some exciting news. Sinasabi ko sa inyo, kung gusto n'yong ma-impress ako, ayusin n'yo ang pagsusulat n'yo! Nasa third year na kayo!" He suddenly snaps, his eyebrows arching in surprise as he casts a quick glance in my direction.

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Tulad ng dati, hindi ko na naman maipaliwanag nang maayos sa kanya. Hindi ko rin alam kung paano 'to gagawin. Nang marinig ko ang mga criticism niya, parang estatwa na lang ako at wala nang masagot.

Tumingin ako sa paligid, maliban kay Naveen na tulog na naman dahil alam niyang nakapasa na siya. Napansin ko ang mga kaklase ko na nakatingin sa 'kin at nagbubulungan.

I feel my foot inching forward almost involuntarily as I scan the classroom, filled with animated conversations and laughter. Each student seems to inhabit their own vibrant world, while I remain anchored in my own, my foot tapped incessantly against his desk, a rhythmic beat that mirrored the tension coiling in my shoulders.

Thoughts swirled in my mind, a relentless loop of my professor's words, each replayed moment intensifying my anxiety. It felt as though I was ensnared in a web of worst-case scenarios, trapped in a familiar cycle of dread.

I clutch my papers tightly, pressing them against my palms, bracing myself for the gazes of my peers that I can already sense on me.

A slight tremor runs through my body, a rush of nerves pulsing inside me.

The laughter, the probing gazes, the mocking whispers—each one felt like an avalanche, burying me under its weight. There was no escaping it; it was as if they had already painted my character with cruelty, passing judgment before even knowing me.

I caught myself knitting my eyebrows and gritting my teeth without even realizing it. Heat rushed to my ears, and my heart was pounding like it was trying to remind me of that familiar feeling of self-loathing.

Here I am, stuck in this situation again. Hearing my classmates talk about me just makes it even harder to breathe.

"Omg! Nakakahiya!"

"Hay naku, ganyan talaga 'yan. Akala mo kung sino'ng bigatin, eh! Nakapasok lang naman dito kasi may koneksyon 'yung tatay niyang corrupt."

"Bagsak!"

"You're absolutely right! There's quite a scandal surrounding her, isn't there? She's all over social media! People are saying she only reached this level because our leader was biased due to her corrupt father!"

Tama na! Wala kayong alam! Tumigil na kayo, mga bwisit kayo!

For many, the art of journalism is a calling rooted in bravery and insight. They believe that authentic journalism demands courage and the ability to see beyond the surface, to remain impartial while conveying powerful truths.

It's about raising one's voice against injustice, exposing the harsh realities of abuse, and igniting a fire within the public to stand against the tyranny of the few who seek to overpower them.

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For me, it's a matter of pursuing a path that diverges from the dreams I once held. This conviction fuels my desire to pour my thoughts onto the pages I create.

I believe in the power of writing as a means of growth, and I see this as my inaugural step on a journey towards something greater.

"Ms. Tolentino," tawag ulit ng prof ko sabay tingin sa akin. "Umupo ka na. Nakita ko na 'yan. I-revise mo muna. Sabihan mo ako pag sa tingin mo maayos na. Ayusin mo 'yung research mo ha—hindi lang basta info dumping."

Kinuha ko na ang aking mga papeles at tumalikod na ako.

Isa si Sir Alvarez sa mga pinaka-mahigpit na professor; hindi talaga madali ang mag-present sa kanya, lalo na kung basta sulat lang ang ihahanda mo. He genuinely encourages us to learn through difficult experiences, and during my first year, I was taken aback by how his critique of my written work left me feeling humiliated.

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Sobrang nakakahiya talaga. Oo na, aaminin ko at may attitude ako noon. Parang baby bloomer pa ako noon kasi hindi pa ako marunong tumanggap ng criticism.

Madalas ko siyang napakitaan ng attitude, at sa totoo lang, hindi talaga ako umubra sa kanya. Yet, I firmly believe that criticism can be approached delicately, and it is possible to express it in a constructive manner.

To some, this might seem like a productive approach, yet it's important to remain mindful of the feelings of others. How can they grow and improve if you continue to engage with them in such a harsh manner?

Critiques are certainly encouraged, but let us approach them with the intent to uplift and enhance our writing. Let's focus on constructive feedback rather than negativity or malice.

"I-edit ko na lang po, sir." Bulong ko at lumingon ako sa likod, ramdam ang mabagsik na tingin nila sa 'kin.

Wala na rin akong energy. Gusto ko na lang umupo. Nasanay na akong hindi makumpleto ang araw kung hindi ako pag-usapan ng mga 'to.

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As I made my way through the back seat, the sound of my heels resonated with each deliberate step. I held my head high, my posture unwavering, and clutched my bag tightly in front of me.

As I reached the corner by the window, I noticed that my chair was slightly askew. With a slight bend, I adjusted it back into place, ensuring it was just right.

Raena lets out a little grunt while swirling her pen around and flipping through her papers, "Journalism tayo, di 'ba? Pero hindi tayo 'yung tipo na clout chaser katulad ng iba d'yan. Grabe naman kayo!"

"Huy," suway ko sa kanya.

"Hindi nga!" sigaw ni Raena. "Kung makatingin sila sa 'yo, parang gusto ka na lang nilang ibaba sa lupa! For goodness' sake, you're still a part of the SS class, the Secret Society. Wala na bang natirang respeto ang iba dito!?"

Sandali akong lumingon sa kanya at ngumiti. Sa buong buhay ko, mula nang iniwan ako dito sa Sylvansphire University ni Dad, si Raena lang ang tanging kausap ko.

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Halos lahat ng tao sa paligid ay titig na titig sa 'kin na para bang may mabigat akong kasalanan dahil sa scandal ko. Sa simula, hindi ko sila pinansin, ngunit sunod-sunod na ang mga masasamang salitang ibinabato nila sa 'kin.

It's amusing, really. Everyone claims that privacy is important until they decide to intrude on your life. It's as if the rules don't apply to them, and they don't care if their actions cause you pain. To them, you're just another piece of content.

I gazed at my laptop on the table and carefully set it aside. I still have many drafts saved in Google Docs; being a writer isn't as easy as it seems. In this industry, survival can be tough.

There's no one to coddle you here—you must develop a thick skin to shield yourself from the criticism that may come your way.

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"Honestly, Raena, it's really okay." I shut my eyes, letting out a deep sigh as I gently patted her on the back. Para siyang malapit nang sumabak sa gera, samantalang ako naman ang pinag-uusapan dito.

Alam kong lang kaya ako napag-uusapan dahil sa mga isyu ng tatay ko. Siya'y kilalang influencial na tao, lalo na sa usaping politikal. Marami ang nakatutok at nagmamasid sa kanya.

Mainit siya sa usapan sa social media, kaya gusto ko sana siyang komprontahin.

Pero imbes na magsalita o magpaliwanag, bigla na lang niya kaming dinala ng kakambal ko rito sa Sylvansphire University—parang itinapon na lang palayo habang tinatakasan ang sarili niyang kasalanan.

I'm not foolish enough to ignore that he's involved in corruption and other illegal activities. And what has that brought me? A nightmare!

These people aren't just harboring animosity towards me; they're also spreading rumors that I'm slut. They've gone as far as to edit my nude photos and insult me on social media.

I'm still a woman, and these people could simply state, "Pokpok ka." "Malandi ka." "Baka madali lang mapasok ang sa 'yo." It's overwhelming; they're bothering me!

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"Pakita mo nga 'yung status mo. Listen, girl, you're still sitting in the second spot among the elite students here," Raena urged, her gaze shifting sharply to our classmates as her eyes narrowed in determination.

"Raena, please don't. One of our handbooks clearly states that we shouldn't let our status go to our heads. Being in the SS class doesn't mean we can strut around like we own the place, or that we can just challenge students to fights," I responded to her firmly.

In this school, it seems, we can't escape the relentless grip of hierarchy. Everything revolves around one thing: status. Ganun na talaga ang naging daloy ng buhay ko.

At nandito ako sa paaralang 'to hindi para ipagmalaki na bahagi ako ng The Secret Society, sila ang mga elites na may itinatagong lihim.

May mga tao talagang may access sa buong paaralan, at oo, binigyan kami ng mga kanya-kanyang susi para dito. Pero hindi ko alam kung saan 'to gagamitin. Kaya naman tila may pagdududa ang iba sa status namin.

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I wish Dad hadn't left me.

A vivid memory washed over me, transporting me back to a moment in the midst of class. Dad had taken me away, flanked by his imposing guards.

Their hold was unyielding, tightening around my small frame. I struggled to catch my breath, my feet swaying beneath me, and beads of sweat trickled down my face as I cried out for help.

"Dad! What is this!?"

"From this point forward, you will stay in Casa De Avaloria for your protection."

Kaya sa tingin ko, may responsibilidad ako sa lahat ng mga pagkakamali niya.

Marahil iyon ang dahilan kung bakit ko gustong magsulat. May gusto akong patunayan.

Kahit na maraming tao ang nagdududa at puno ng pang-iinsulto ang natatanggap ko sa kanila.

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For me, writing is akin to inhaling a breath of fresh air; it's a moment when I truly feel free. My journey began with simple scribbles in a notebook, a time when the sheer joy of letting my thoughts flow was enough to spark my passion.

However, if you were to ask me today if writing is merely writing, I would say no. I still find myself delving deep within, unearthing the layers of my thoughts to truly understand who I am.

Ang nakakalungkot lang, wala pa rin akong inspirasyon magsulat.

Dati, meron eh — tipong may 'boogsh!' pa sa mga sinusulat ko, kinukwentuhan ko pa nga siya sa mga stories ko.

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Siya lang ang nagtitiwala sa kakayahan ko magsulat. Ah, how I long for those days when writing felt like a joyful adventure, rather than a heavy weight pressing down on me.

I blink in surprise, my heart racing as I realize I just startled myself. My heels clicked against the floor, almost sending my treasured papers flying. Who could this be?

Dad:

Head home immediately. Take your brother with you.

Ah, so may pake pa pala itong animal na 'to? Akala ko kasi wala. Simula nang iniwan niya kami dito, hindi ko alam kung saan niya nakukuha ang kapal ng mukha niya para kausapin ako. Parang wala siyang ginawa! Nakakagulat na may oras pa siya para i-text ako.

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Adjusting in Casa De Avaloria was already too much for me. And I wished I could find the answers which I didn't. It was just that family reunion that ruined everything.

His fame was the downfall of my dreams. I had been tirelessly pursuing my passion for writing, striving to improve with each word, until you stepped into my life, K.

I can observe you from a distance, shining in the spotlight, surrounded by cameras and adoring fans, even when you don't notice me.

You'll always be my solace, the one who inspires me to write, even as I struggle to keep myself grounded and not get lost among the stars.