To Write is To Make it Right

There comes a time when we write because we want to. There also comes a time when we write because we need to. This is one piece of writing that comes so easily because I need to. Read on.

Good day. I can now afford to write that greeting because this was written few days after January 02. Otherwise, this should have immediately started below. 

This is to formally file a complaint against a Montenegro Shipping lady staff on duty in the morning of January 02, 2016 at the port of Siquijor for negligence of duty which borders to gross incompetence with regard to her supposed roles and responsibilities as a ticketing staff of the said shipping company. In as much as we wanted to keep our peace, we cannot stand to keep mum about what had happened, simply because it is so wrong and that we don't want this incident to happen to us again and to other people. 

We arrived at the port of Siquijor at around 8:45 in the morning of January 02, 2016. I was with my sister and brother-in-law. When we arrived, people already flocked outside of a certain fastfood house waiting for the ticketing table of Montenegro to start issuing tickets. We decided to have breakfast. At around 9am, a lady from Montenegro shipping arrived. My brother-in-law lined up. Suddenly a commotion erupted. One foreigner and a local quarreled as to which line was the legitimate one. A police officer in uniform instructed to only form two lines. However, the foreigner insisted that his queue was the only line allowed. The local did not agree. The lady staff of Montenegro kept silent, ignoring the loud exchange of arrogance from both men. Both of them wanted to be right. She issued a ticket to the foreigner. My brother-in-law was in the line where the foreigner lined up. But when she already issued the ticket to the foreigner she shouted that the only allowed line was the other line - the line not instructed by the police officer because according to her, that line was longer than the other. She made a point with conviction that she will only issue tickets from that line. That was when my sister approached her and told her that the police officer was the one who made the order of forming that line. And she heard it. She, in fact, issued a ticket to the foreigner coming from that line. She said no! That's when I stood up and told her she should have arrived earlier so as not to cause the rumble and chaos. But she retorted telling me she was in Larena issuing tickets and that she was just alone doing the job and that she was still making a report. Now her irrationality and incompetence filed up. Finally, she agreed to alternately issue tickets to both lines. What struck me the most was when she said, that was the last ticket to be issued, not minding the people at the back who patiently waited under the heat of the sun, hopeful to get their tickets. She should have told the people who lined up, "I can NOW only ACCOMMODATE until 5 or 10 people, WHATEVER THE CASE MAY BE. Such gross incompetence! I felt small as a Filipino, she existed. Pardon.

I cannot understand and I believe I need an explanation on the following:

1. Why is it that Montenegro shipping only assigned one ticketing staff on a holiday and a New Year at that?

2. Why is it that that lonesome lady seemed so incompetent to carry out her job? She should have arrived earlier in the ticketing table. She should have informed that the shipping line can only accommodate this much. She should have requested the police officer to help her and do the counting for her. She should have stood up and spoken up to pacify the erring parties. She should have been so organized knowing she was only the one in the table. But she FAILED in all of these.

What made the matters worse were her remarks:

1. We should be submissive to foreigners at all times and at all cost because they are assets. (even if they are wrong?)

2. When the crowd dissipated with her announcement of no tickets available, she kept murmuring why my group got angry with her. Huh!? I told her, "shouldn't we speak up to point out your unfair treatment, jugdment, and incompetence?" 

I believe one should speak up and let this problem be known for immediate correction and corrective action. "Evil flourish only when good men do nothing." 

There is still hope in this country. I believe so. I would like to believe that there are still good men working to make this country a worthy place to live in.

Respectfully yours,

Jay Cris Famoso

Writing is Wrestling

There are events in our life, especially the ones that carry extreme emotions, seem difficult to write. I mean, writing in detail. A Long prose. A vivid personal essay. That is maybe because, when we are happy, words fall short and our thoughts are partial. Remember, "Don't  make  promises when you are happy. Don't make decisions when you are angry." Or ,"The grass is greener outside the fence."

A new perspective. A more rational self. Subdued emotion. The time when all the hormones have reverted to its equilibrium. Call it thinking in perpective.

Writing is talking in print. The good thing is that what is written can still be erased, or backspaced, or deleted. That makes it a better medium in communication than speaking.

Back in college, my curriculum, included Intensive Writing. First day of class, when all students expected (including myself), that professors will only do meet-and-greet, submit-your-classcards, and here-are-the-course-requirements thing. But no. Our professor, Sir Warlito Caturay, brought in a CD player and pressed play Tina Arena's "Burn", of which after, we were made to write about the song. First day. One composition. And every meeting, thereafter, came another essay. And then I realized that if I write, I make myself happy. Thus the creation of this blog in 2008. Since then, this has become a repertory of my daily life adventures.

When I'm home, I sometimes giggle or smirk or to a little extent grimace (in no particular order) when I read my high school essays that my Lola fastened and kept on file. My juvenile writing. My cliched introductions. My very long sentences. Over the years, Grandma, took care of all past issues of our school paper with my news articles, feature essays, and editorial stories. Some parts were yellowed already as a sign of old age. But Lola have them as her priced possesion. That made my heart twist a little. And that inspired me to write more stories because Lola took pride of them. And I promised that a book will soon be published as an addition to her collection. Call it the evolution of writing.

Why do I write and when do I write are two things that every writer carry with them. It is like their shadow. Something that, apart from the pen, is just around, following every word written, every phrase deleted, and every idea born. For now, I write because of two reasons. First, it is challenging. In fact, very challenging, would describe it better. Second, it is immensely rewarding.

Writing is like wrestling. The transformation of ideas into words. The translation of events into stories. The creation of imagery using words. These things wrestle in the writer's mind. And when things are not in order, the writer is put in a prison where he himself created. And where he himself only knows how to escape from. Will you agree then that every story written is hard work. A product of great love. A piece of himself.

I write because the reward is: I made myself happy. And my Lola. And my family. My writings are accounts of my life. And in the days to come when I look back, these pieces of myself will soon make up the big jigsaw puzzle that will spell what difference did I make while I'm alive.

How Did I Begin Writing?

I was in Junior High when my English teacher signed me up to participate in the school's press conference. It was the time when most of the senior staffer will soon exit in the editorial board. When I entered in the huge writing venue, I felt that we were all fishes in the ocean; some were big, others were small to become writers. The judges were the fishers with their fishing nets ready to screen us all. We were all made to write in all journalism categories; News Writing, Editorial Writing, and Feature Writing in English and Filipino. I was fished out winning in all three (modesty aside) categories. And that's how I get to be the next Editor-in-Chief in our school paper.

My first two trips in Cebu were made free with pocket money because of two Regional School's Press Conferences that I participated in. My first was in Lapu-lapu City and my second in Mandaue City. Though. I never made it to the NSPC.

I moved in Bacolod in May 2006. It made my debut as a travel magazine writer in a national publication, Philippinewide. I was asked to write a feature story about the Masskara Festival which of course came along my first writer's fee.

Colors...Feathers...MASKS

‘Twas a bright Saturday morning when I wake up with a never-before had combined feelings of anticipation and enthusiasm. Firsts are always memorable and in fact on that particular day, as the ferocity of the sun’s rays became unbearable, the excitement that enveloped me was also far escalating. I have always loved to witness and discover new things probably because they make the pages of my life fonder to look back and reminisce.

Finally, the long time of waiting was over. At the age of 22, I witnessed the much-talked about, world-renowned Masskara Festival in the city of smiles, Bacolod City. It has been five months since the time that I first set foot in the city but I was like counting days and its Masskara time.

MASSKARA Festival! The excitement in the air was rising. People from all walks of life filled the sides and corners of every street. There were children and grown-ups, white skinned and brown-skinned, oval and round faces, people of all sorts. The scorching sun’s heat never deterred people from walking all around the corners brushing elbows with unknown acquaintances. Happy and eager faces met everywhere. Group of friends laughed their way kiosks after kiosks in search of something. People’s voices mixed up as they belt out their all-time favorite pieces in innumerable “videoki machines” spread all over the city park. Festive sounds reverberated in every highway. Colors varying in hues were a common picture. Festival dancers graced their way on the tortuous streets who still managed to say hi’s and hello’s to their parents and friends along the way. ‘Twas indeed a perfect time to celebrate!

Masks of the World. This is what the 27th Masskara Festival was all about. Feathery masks. Elongated masks. Name it and it’s there! All with vibrant colors crafted skillfully in various sizes and designs. They were all captivating and pulsating which proves the ingenuity of Filipinos. It was a conglomeration of all faces in the world. Asian. European. American. Australian. It was a time to unite the world using the symbol of the mask. When defined, a mask is a covering for the eyes, mouth, or whole face. It conceals or disguises true feelings as manifested by our face. Indeed the Festival is merrymaking! It is a time to forget life’s complexities. It’s a time to forget that we are a country in poverty amidst wide and abundant natural resources, a country with public servants becoming public masters, a country lagging behind in science and technology amidst our intellectual manpower. It is a time to celebrate that we are Filipinos able to excel with other races in the world and a time to foster our friendship with other nationals.

So the next time you plan for a place visit, Bacolod is for you! Enjoy! I just did!