Aug 06 2008
we weekly people
It felt weird that in the middle of a light and merry gathering almost everyone’s eyes stung with tears as salty as the breeze summoned by the waves of the nearby beaches. It was on the 2nd of August that most of us staffers of the Weekly Sillimanian gathered, wandered, and bothered the quiet night of Bacong. Everything was perfect—and “fine” is an understatement.
There was no other word which could best describe that event but this: Indispensable. Thoughts were shared, objections were heard, and apologies were accepted. For all the three years that I have been working for this university publication (first as a writer in 2006 then as a Features editor in 2007 and 2008), that night packed the most meaningful and most important lesson that I learned. What was it? Leave it just to me.
Who would have thought that among the senior members of the organization composed of a sophisticated brat, a quirky overgrown toddler, a multitasking distressed woman, a striving pseudo-poet, a news anchor archetype, a choleric cheer dancer, a would-be kickass lawyer, and a dogmatic female geek went so sound and pleasant with the freshies whose nature ranged from the nerdy, the stone-silent, the lesbo-labelled, to the radical? None. We were an excellent group, a faultless combination like every ingredient for a delectable chopsuey dish were prepared by a skilled chef’s hands. Budjai, Carlos, Florence, Gus, Mars, Leon, Lou, Paul, and Phillippe—their special peculiarities never fail to complete the whole picture of what cheerfulness should look like. (And by the way, Prof. Philip van Peel was the best). Though there were few stilted expositions that night, every single one was alright after wiping his and her eyes. As what the saying goes, “All’s well that ends well.”
There was no other word which could best describe that event but this: Indispensable. Thoughts were shared, objections were heard, and apologies were accepted. For all the three years that I have been working for this university publication (first as a writer in 2006 then as a Features editor in 2007 and 2008), that night packed the most meaningful and most important lesson that I learned. What was it? Leave it just to me.
Who would have thought that among the senior members of the organization composed of a sophisticated brat, a quirky overgrown toddler, a multitasking distressed woman, a striving pseudo-poet, a news anchor archetype, a choleric cheer dancer, a would-be kickass lawyer, and a dogmatic female geek went so sound and pleasant with the freshies whose nature ranged from the nerdy, the stone-silent, the lesbo-labelled, to the radical? None. We were an excellent group, a faultless combination like every ingredient for a delectable chopsuey dish were prepared by a skilled chef’s hands. Budjai, Carlos, Florence, Gus, Mars, Leon, Lou, Paul, and Phillippe—their special peculiarities never fail to complete the whole picture of what cheerfulness should look like. (And by the way, Prof. Philip van Peel was the best). Though there were few stilted expositions that night, every single one was alright after wiping his and her eyes. As what the saying goes, “All’s well that ends well.”
In my humblest judgment, I think this is the best batch in the paper I’ve been so far. We are just working on our eighth issue for this school year and, obviously, we have a long way to go pa. But like anything enjoyable and adored, times runs on the double. It is depressing.
And to add some bitter facts I am currently in my fourth year of college, handling a position for the second time around, and in a few months the possibility of leaving these newfound colleagues will take place. The thought alone makes my hair stand on its end, like yesteryear’s ghost passes by my side. But right now, I am trying really hard thinking of happy thoughts, appreciating cheerful morning greetings and conversations that never seem to tire down because sooner or later, like a grandmother pondering on yellowing pictures in a Sunday afternoon, I’ll have a lot of time thinking of the saddest things.
And to add some bitter facts I am currently in my fourth year of college, handling a position for the second time around, and in a few months the possibility of leaving these newfound colleagues will take place. The thought alone makes my hair stand on its end, like yesteryear’s ghost passes by my side. But right now, I am trying really hard thinking of happy thoughts, appreciating cheerful morning greetings and conversations that never seem to tire down because sooner or later, like a grandmother pondering on yellowing pictures in a Sunday afternoon, I’ll have a lot of time thinking of the saddest things.
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