An Avid Fan of Love Stories

I DID NOT START reading love stories until I fell in love sometime three years ago with my best friend for more than four years now. Before I became one of the victims of the Cupid’s arrow, I had viewed books and movies on love as totally out of this world. I could not at that time comprehend how a “handsome man of good upbringing and with a favored name in the society” could fell in love so easily with a silly girl who belongs to a species much more complex than a galaxy.

I could comprehend now, although there are still stories that do not convince me no matter how much the writer pushed his/her male character to a woman figuratively in need of mental help. Other stories (in books and movies) I have admired and kept in my shelves to be read or watched again in the future when I am bored or in need of a “love recharge.” I have admired these stories primarily because the female characters are strong, intelligent, and know what they want, not some birdbrain girl who easily gets cold feet over a torn skirt.

I like stories that engage characters in a long talk or a heated debate and get them to communicate honestly rather than reading or assuming the wrong signals. After all, good communication between couples in these stories is what I think the only thing that can be applied in real life, in real relationships.

Allow me to mention a few favorite stories and lines:

* The Captain’s Woman by Merline Lovelace (2003)

Victoria Parker said to her fiancé Captain Sam Garrett: I am a journalist. My credentials give me the same status as correspondents like Richard Harding Davis and Anna Benjamin. I’m present at one of the turning points of history and I want to record it. I don’t need your approval or permission for that… I know I am not essential to the war effort like you or—or Mrs. Prendergast. Nor am I as brave as Mr. Davis. I have no desire to march on Santiago with the army and dodge bullets, as he did during the battle of Las Guasimas. But I can contribute in my own small way. By describing Cuba to the people back home, so they know what their sons and husbands are going through…

* The Loving Heart by Lucy Walker (1960)

Elizabeth Heaton to her false fiancé Grant Jarvis: I have my home and my work, too. You think they are of no consequence? They may be of no consequence in the big world, and your affairs of consequence, of course. By my affairs are important to me. They are my whole life.

* The Black Beast of Belleterre by Mary Jo Putney (1992)

Ariel to her husband James: How dare you! Because men think me beautiful, do you think I have no heart? Do you think I am so superficial, so blinded by my own reflection in the mirror, that I cannot see your strength and kindness and wit? You insult me, my lord… If I were blind and could see nothing, would you think me incapable of love? I fell in love with you because of your words and deeds, James. Compared to them, appearance is of no great importance.

Well, I wouldn’t want to bore you with a long list of titles and lines. Just in case you may be familiar with some of them, the rest of the list goes: Suzanna’s Stockings by Marie Bostwick (2007), The Inheritance by Marie Ferrarella (2001), Darling Jack by Mary McBride (1996), The Man from Blue River by Judith Bowen (1996), Amulet of Fortune by Susanne Broome (1978), Mr. Family by Margot Early (1996), So Dear to My Heart by Susan Barrie (1961), and The Unwilling Bride by Margaret Wilkins (2005).

Some movies on love that I really like are He’s Just Not That Into You (2009) directed by Ken Kwapis, A Very Long Engagement (2004) directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, and Love Actually (2003) directed by Richard Curtis.

Enjoy reading and watching stories on (wholesome) love. And get inspired.

Merry Christmas, readers!

Family gardens

Eating ripe mangoes for dessert after dinner created a nostalgic feeling. My (greedy) act made me recall our old house where I grew up until I was in my third grade (or was it Grade One?).

Anyway, our old house—an underground, really—was small and very convenient. It was like one simple rectangle divided by two walls to give way to three rooms—our sari-sari store in front and along the road, our bedroom right behind it, and the kitchen at the back. Our comfort room then was like an outhouse, but only about five meters from the kitchen door.

What was striking about that previous home was how a mango tree could grow so tall and healthy with roots planted inside our store and branches sprouting out our rooftop. While our old house was quite dark and dusty, the mango tree was extra shade from the sun’s heat. We just have to bear the sounds of the fruits falling during its season or when children took the fancy of shooting down ripe fruits with their slingshots.

When I was Grade Three (as far as I could remember), we moved to a lot and house that was finally ours after dad took the responsibility—and the pains—of legalizing my mother’s land share of the family compound. We just moved to an area at the back of our old house.

That was 15 years ago. The mango tree–our mango tree, if I may say—still stands. It continues to bear fruit, although not as delicious as those produced by trees that were nurtured well.

I’m happy that the new owners of our former land, now being used as base for a car rental business, has not decided to cut down the tree despite the responsibility of having to cut some of the branches for a certain period.

For me, the tree is itself so part of the community—having lived and stood through rains, heat, and pollution for more than 15 years. Just across it is a sambag tree, which is probably about 10 years or more. Both trees continue to grow amid mankind’s cruelty.

Other old trees near our new house did not make it. We once have an eba tree, a stunted avocado tree, and a jackfruit tree in our modest garden, mostly composed of potted plants. But that area has to be plowed and the plants moved outside the gate to give way to more warehouse space (we are a dealer of San Miguel and Coca-Cola products).

My grandparents’ house, which is still standing today, used to have a garden—my garden of Eden. It has a huge garden area filled with malunggay trees, jackfruit trees, a cacao tree, some tall non-fruit bearing plants, bushes, and vines. Oftentimes, when I would visit my grandparents, I would purposely cross the garden to the front door and encounter several earthworms, frogs, and butterflies along the soft, wet path.

This is a fairly new picture since this is no longer the original garden. Despite the changes around her, my grandma continues to tend to whatever plants left for her to take care of--always with a smile. She passed away last year.

Now, thinking about that garden made me understand why my mother wants to have a garden of her own and continues to maintain her present garden of potted plants. I would want to have my own, too, when I have my own house. It would be my personal tribute to my mother and to my grandmother.

My mother and grandmother posing among their plants...

My grandparents’ garden, unfortunately, has long embraced modernization. Half of it was caught in the governments’ road widening plan. About one-fourth of it was used by my family for our sari-sari store and the rest has long been transformed into a one-storey apartment building as an added source of income for my uncle who now lives alone in my grandparents’ house.

Sad, really. I haven’t seen a real garden in my family compound in years. I haven’t seen butterflies, earthworms, and frogs ever since.

Even sadder is that our family gardens have not survived long enough for my sister and other younger members of our family to see and experience.

Define love? Love is hard work.

During the first few months of our first year together, I wasn’t in love with him and treated him more as a caring friend than a loving girlfriend. To be vague, I wasn’t as in love with him as he was with me. Most of what I could remember in our first year was getting acquainted with each other’s families, interests, friends, and daily routine, as well as defining what we would both want to happen in our relationship. As our first year drew to a close, I felt the stirrings of first love that made my insides twist and my fragile heart jump. Sort of an infatuation, I would tell myself. When I did, I would suddenly become afraid that we won’t last long being together. Later, I would know that he was thinking the same thing. Eventually, I would know that we have been thinking and feeling the same over several things. Oh, all right, you could call it soul mates, if you want. But believe me, at that time, during our first year, I was too practical and insensitive to even believe in such a crazy phenomenon.

Gambit and Rogue

In our second year, we started trading secrets and dreams and hopes of world peace and extended longer periods to talk and argue as to who would be America’s next president or when Filipino boxing champion Manny Pacquiao will finally lose. Also, I started to learn how to tease, to fight back, to open up, to have a little sense of humor, and just be human—with him, mostly. We continued to debate relentlessly over issues related to cars, driving, traffic officials, and parking tickets. Gratefully, being my best friend, he lets me win most of the time; otherwise, I wouldn’t stop. I also learned to be sweet–not really my kind of personality. He, on the other hand, gained some of my slight obsessive compulsive traits, unfortunately, such as cleaning our table at McDonald’s with fast food tissue after eating. And we would laugh about it. As our second year was about to close, I recalled the countless moments I admitted that I was finally and officially in love.

Romeo and Juliet

During our third year, we spend more and more time together, about three to four days a week from two to three days a week from the previous year. We both believe that we have to have a balanced lifestyle, lest we get choked up in our relationship that is strong with love, respect, and trust, and yet very fragile (you know what I mean). Besides, we will get to spend more time together after marriage. That’s right, the idea of marriage started to bubble up in our third year. We both know we are not both ready for it—me emotionally, him financially. While we get teased about it by friends, we laugh it out of our minds and purposely change topics. I was restless, though; the idea of marriage was not really appealing for a working woman like me. I have this strange notion that I’ll get tied to doing household chores, which I don’t like to do, and to stay at home until the life is suck out of me. He said he loves me such that he would let me do what I want even when we’ll get married. I believe him. And love him more.

Lucky to be in love with my best friend

Now… We will be closing our fourth year together on October 9. And the prospect of marriage is getting stronger by the week. We’re still not ready for a life-changing step but we are open to the idea now. I have happily and contentedly changed my priorities. I have chosen to live a future with him. But I will still work. Part of me still wants to change the world to a better place through the best way I know how—written stories. Part of me wants to buy my own cozy space and my own car. Part of me still wants to help my parents with whatever their needs are. One cannot take my independence just because I will tie the knot. Yes, in our fourth year together, although we have not made any official statement, we have decided to marry after all.

This, as we continue to talk openly, laugh heartily, argue heatedly, debate endlessly, and tease relentlessly—together.

My Missing Drawings

My last real drawing was a portrait of my boss, which I gave her last Christmas when she was my manita. For that particular gift, I used the very limited charcoal pencils I still have since my first year as a civil engineering student seven years ago. I also leafed off a sheet of drawing paper from one of my two drawing books. It took me two nights before the portrait met my satisfaction. Then I bought a cheap red frame from National Bookstore to protect a creation close to my heart.

 

Charcoal on drawing paper (Ms. Isolde Amante, Sun.Star Cebu managing editor for news)

What I love so much about that moment when I completed the portrait was the heart-swelling thought that I could still draw after a long time. Before my boss’ picture, I completed an attempt to draw my sister about three years back. Unfortunately, I accidentally made her fat in that drawing.

Pencil on drawing paper (My sister, Glenn Sheilou)

My first real pencil portrait, I think, was during my teenage years. I drew Larisa Oleynik who is the melting Alex Mack in the popular Nickelodeon TV production entitled Alex Mack. I loved the TV series so much as a teenager such that I sent a letter to Nickelodeon, thanking them for creating the show or something to that effect. So I wonder now where that drawing is (I am not particularly good at storage keeping) and where God placed Larisa Oleynik today.

Before Larisa, I did three oil paintings–one a landscape and the rest abstracts. They were not, however, born out of original ideas; except for the colors, they were copied from a postcard and photocopied art books. Since I could not label them with proper sources, I decided not to post them here. You might as well visit my place; the abstracts are hanging on one side of our living room beside my cross-stitched school projects of religious images.

My first real exposure to painting was during the summer after my first year in high school when I enrolled in a painting class. My parents admitted me into it because the fee was cheap and the summer school was a mere three-minute drive from home. I was under the tutelage of artists Leon Aguilar and Ritchie Landis Quijano (who is now a weekly art writer for Sun.Star Cebu). The summer experience was a good memory; it boosted my love for art.

I also drew cartoon characters using oil pastels. I specifically like Dragon Ball Z characters; their cards are rampant on the streets and their pictures are simple.

Pastel on drawing paper (Dragonball Z)

Pastel on drawing paper (Dragonball Z)

Pastel on drawing paper

Colored pencils on drawing paper (incomplete)

I haven’t tried watercolors yet. I think they are the hardest medium to master. But I would like to learn how to paint butterflies and trees using them.

Sadly, I rarely draw now. I’m focusing on improving my craft as a writer. But, always and always, there is that longing to grab a pencil and trace curves of body parts or capture nature’s scenes on a drawing paper. No matter how many times I would draw in my lifetime, I know that that longing for art will never subside even after each great creation.

Pastel on drawing paper (

Since I seldom make a portrait now, I am easily attacked by pessimistic thoughts before I draw–thoughts such as: maybe I will get it all wrong, maybe I forgot how to do it, maybe… But, always and always, when I make the first stroke, these thoughts immediately turn into wisps of smoke. Time doesn’t stick anymore; only the positive energies flowing on to a piece of paper for hours.

Pen, pencil, and pentel pen on drawing paper

My silly side would calculate those long years when I was not able to draw and the numerous portraits I would have made if I did. No regrets, though. I just have to move on and try to make time to improve another skill. If writing will not work as my tool of expression during one of my excessively high or low moments, then maybe, just maybe, drawing will.

Between Journalism and Blogging

The Cebu Bloggers Society’s recent content editing seminar was both a refresher course for media practitioners and a discussion of important writing tips for bloggers.

Although the seminar, for the most part, dealt with elements commonly known to journalism, the facilitator—Lorenzo Niňal—purposely (I must say) extended those elements (objectivity, public concern, impact of story, etc.) into the realm of blogging.

Blogging, after all, starts with writing substantial content, hence highlighting a common denominator it shares with journalism. You see, both areas involve writing–whatever it is, be it a photo caption, a shout-out, a mad poem, a romantic letter, a controversial news story, or an inspiring profile written intently through a mobile device or scribbled furiously behind rummage sale receipts or fast food table napkins.

Most importantly, both journalism and blogging involves writing through a medium that reaches out thousands of people daily. That substantial audience reach alone marks the important role of both bloggers and journalists as responsible writers and editors.

And it was to stress this vital role that prompted Niňal to hand each eight of us at the seminar short notes on journalism, prod us to read and understand each line, and entertain us with stories on snakes and hopeless police blotters.

The three-hour seminar was held last Aug. 23 at the Enovlink Training Center along Osmeňa Blvd., Cebu City.

I must say Niňal was straight to the point and admitted that he knows more copy editing than content editing. Despite that, he managed to draw the somewhat thin but distinct line between the two types of editing.

One of shout-outs he made that I think we should all take to heart was for one to know the fundamentals of writing first—much better to master them—before he or she can decide to move one rung up and improve (or mess up) others’ works.

Some CMC members of Cebu Bloggers Society with Sir Niñal (Photo/FocalGlass.com)

And another thing: continue to read whatever you can find or hold on to, be it an FHM magazine or an intriguing news clip posted through Facebook. And, of course, learn from them.

P.S. Niňal, who is fondly called as Insoy by his colleagues and friends, is my Cebuano Writing teacher in college and one of the copy editors at Sun.Star Cebu. Apart from keeping a band called Missing Filemon, he also manages a non-government organization he formed called Tsinelas Association Inc.

Below are brief details about Tsinelas:

Tsinelas, formed in October 2003 and registered with SEC in February 2004, is a non-government, non-stock, non-profit organization that gives educational assistance to poor students in mountain barangays and depressed areas in Cebu.

It is composed of students, professionals, priests, seminarians, and social workers sharing a passion to be a service of others.

One of its objectives is to spend for the students’ basic school needs, school fees, uniforms, and school supplies.

Read more about Tsinelas Association Inc. here.