Cinephile Diary

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Mary Pearl Gayoso

Dark-room, laptop illuminates the perimeter. Depressed and looking out the window. I see nothing. Whenever it was eight o'clock in the evening, I would start my school assignments. The wind is so strong that it hits my whole being, and it blows my hair out. How nice to feel the fragrance it has? I opened the locker, took my notepad and a ballpen to publish what was on my mind.  

I awoke to the light that struck my eyes. It was beautiful! Clinging sun and clouds were the first things I saw in my morning. I got up and went to the bathroom to clean my body.  That is how my life started every day. 

An independent, reliable leader, and wise if others described me. I was assigned to be the Editor-in-chief of our blogging group. And I am sure it will not be easy. Although, I have the knowledge and experience I have in publications. I know that it is hard to work as an EIC. Our leader is enthusiastic, sociable, and has a sense of authority. He is the task provider in our group. I am the one to take care of the technical correction of grammar and punctuation marks before posting on Tumblr. Others in our group are content writers and proofreaders.

Inception-- this is the film I chose to review to post in our blog.  

Dark skies, thunder, lightning, and soon heavy rain fell in the sky. As the heavy rain continued to pour down, I, in turn, enjoyed the dripping water on our windowsill. I immediately fell asleep and was too lazy to move due to the rain and the cold surrounding. I picked up my cell phone and started looking for a show to watch. Movie marathon! I did not realize the time because the show stole my attention all day. Inception was a good movie that eventually became one of my favorite movies dealing with dreams. 

by: Angelica Evardone

The beach is the place I go to whenever I need to relax and forget about all the hustles of life and just enjoy myself. As usual, my last visit to there was a memorable one. Already in my beach attire, a draught blew across the sea sweeping away with it my spirit. The sun split its way through the scattered cumulus clouds as if it was shying away from giving some light. As I took in a breath of fresh air, my nose was tingled by the smell of the salty sea.

My heart somehow pounded like a drum-set of an orchestra from the way the beach sand flowed onto my feet and tickled my toes. The feeling was delicate especially given that the sand grains were so fine it was almost impossible to see them through the human eye. 

The warm sun rays gradually glowed as minutes passed by, reaching down to me and giving me a shining streak of light as if to tell me, “Hey, hold my hand!” I received an immediate boost of excitement as the blazing light pierced through my cold skin. Tracing its way up the sky, the sun distributed its light to everything it could lay its sight on. Birds flying across the sky trying to claim it for themselves were singing sweet melodies with high spirits into my ears. From the sun rays, the sky turned into an illuminated shimmering blue color from a dark misty indigo one. The scattered rainless clouds that were initially blocking sun rays melted away into thin air and gave way for the water to heat up.

I slowly made my way to the edge of the beach once again and immersed my toe into the now swiftly heating up water. I hastily withdrew it as it felt like it was melting away into the sea in spite of having been numb before. The pungent smell that came from decayed algae filled the air and my acidic stomach responded by turning to its side. I could hear the sounds of fish that were possibly calling for attention from under the sea. I could at the same time tell that the fish were afraid of the sea creatures that were hungrily preying on smaller water creatures for lunch. This was a survival tactic, I could tell.

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Patricia Gamo

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Ellaizon Ebasco

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: John Steven Jemino

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Mick Fuentes

I don’t want to write or read, because every time you start to open the first page of a book and start reading just a few words I start to get sleepy. Maybe because this is not my skills or talent, I believe that God created us with different unique talents and I may say that reading and writing is not really for me, But I can proudly say that I have a talent and skill that are different from them and I am proud to say that. But now I know what is the importance of reading and writing. Reading and writing are important things in real life because you can tell people the story of your life by writing. I better understood the importance of reading and writing when I entered college life, they are teaching us how to create or write a story with critical thinking and reading a story and criticizing it.

I am a third-year college and have a subject of creative writing. Our professor in creative writing gives us a lecture about writing a blog. So, I and my groupmates started to have a meeting on how to start. We started to suggest different ideas and thoughts to our blog. I realize that writing is not just writing it needs to have concentration and meditation on how to write a good story or blog. Then a few minutes the leader asked me about what I can suggest but I have nothing to say but to agree only to the suggestion of my groupmate because I do not deeply understand what writing is, I feel that my brain will explode regarding what we are talking about. There are times that while we are in the meeting my grandmother started to speak louder and say things to my eldest brother because of being naughty in the house. That is why it is also one of the reasons why I couldn't focus on our meeting. But then, after an hour we agreed on one suggestion and started to plan on how we begin and when we start to create our plan. 

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Kila Gallo

As I am lounging on this soft mattress of my bed, still on my pajamas, messy hair sipping on an iced-caramel coffee to start my day, a notification popped up on my phone’s screen, 8:30 AM, March 16, 2021, a Tuesday morning, a message from our Facebook group chat in the subject Creative Writing for Media, scrolling and scanning through all the messages as I read the announcement that we will have to make a collaborative-written blog. 

Neglecting every sluggishness, I decided to let go of the comfort my bed is giving me. I stood up, comb the strands of my hair using my fingers and stretched my body for a short time, and finally went on a morning bath. First things first, I have to go to work, I mumbled on myself. As I went out of the comfort room, another message from our group chat popped up saying that we’ll have a meeting later at night. Thus, I started fixing up, getting ready for work. I chose corporate attire, properly comb my hair and tie it in a clean bun, then started putting sunscreen on my face and body then of course I will and not able to forget wearing a facemask and a face shield, as I step my feet outside our house.

I am now sitting on my swiveling chair in a cold temperature room filled with backlogged papers composed of assorted legal documents, facing the desktop screen; encoding client’s information. Later, our group will have an online meeting about our blog and when we will start but we’ve already decided to do a movie blog wherein we are going to share our film analysis, recommendations, and comments on our Tumblr website. I highly agreed with it for the particular reason that we could be a good help to fellow cinephiles who find it hard to choose what movies are valuable to watch and worthy of their time. This kind of blog is timely especially we are still in the middle of a global pandemic, and there are still people who cannot and choose to stay in the comfort of their homes. 

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Angelica Evardone

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Christen Buenaobra

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Jay Christian Rowel Hilotin

Writing can vary tardiness in me and that might change right now, I do not write pretty poems or analytical papers because for me it is just a waste of life, I guess. Not until now when we started our group, I am just here to support but putting me to lead it, uh, no, I don’t think I can and suddenly thoughts rushing through my brain, wandering, am I dreaming? Someone wakes me up, then it stopped. Am I supposed to lead this group now? Do they think I have potential? Or something, I do not know the look in their face while typing “hey, you are our leader”, “leader, what to do now?” uh, no, Karen I cannot do this today. 

With my eyes squinted, my computer’s screen is so bright, looked at it and start this day by stepping myself out of my zone. I am here now, let’s do this and make myself proud.

The first thing I must say we have our differences, the shy ones, the most commendable, and the truly remarkable, and have a future in writing, we are undeniably the newbies or underdogs in this field. I do not know what I am writing this but this is to compliment my team. I truly commend all their ideas; they show competitiveness and I can sense that. 

Process, with different ideas, have shown, we came up with basically, our life, “movie”, we are movie geeks, we are fond of motion pictures and there is more than a film that we should give our audience. I started a call to discuss everything, I lined up my ideas just like putting a grocery list and heading to the market to buy it. I am ready, I was ready, and then the call started I could not move anything, nerves be shaking the hell up, this is new to me, knowing people are waiting for me to speak but, here I cannot contain the nervousness or maybe I drank too much coffee and now I am ready to poo. I do not know. I should start and pull myself together, and I started to speak. I assigned people, people who can manage things well, someone trustworthy and responsible.  The call went smoothly as I never expected but yes, it did. A smooth air came through my muzzle as I breathe, it was a relief. Another day of success of the change. 

Reviewing, we started our first kick-off with me and Pearl from my team, I started watching this film from Disney, Raya, and the last dragon, because why not? I lived for Disney films and now they introduce a new princess, Raya which is from Southeast Asia. I am now belting my lungs out as I screamed, YES! ASIAN PRINCESS BABY! The moves she got, the way her color is presented, the appearance of every detail is giving me much joy. No shame to Mulan, but Raya here, she got the moves and I will bet everything for her. The movie just speaks so many parts of Southeast Asian countries. Besides, this film was published on-screen alongside women’s month, right? I am a feminist and I rejoice in this kind of film with no men involved in saving a women protagonist. Women can do everything men does and this film, it's women, to cliché but it's women empowerment. 

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Jamine Geneciran

A Collaborative Descriptive Story

by: Juhi Geromo

The sun is waving hi while the moon is slowly disappearing. A woman in her 20's is half-awake, then her phone started to ring like a sound of a morning rooster. After a five-minute meditation, she drinks her water and quickly arranged her bed. The home's atmosphere was in complete silence it is like there's nobody around. The woman yawns and enjoys sipping her sweet and hot cappuccino drink. It seems like a scene from a movie.

Today was like yesterday, like how I adore seeing old but gold movies of the decade. I remember watching the series Stranger Things with its retro aesthetic vibe, which drives me to watch more classic movies from the '80s and '90s. From then, I was able to see a nostalgic world by putting my feet in the different shoes of people from the past. My eyes enticed me to see vintage color palettes and pastels in movies, like the suburban setting in Edward Scissorhands (1990). The film set has a color scheme of pastel pink, purple pastel, blue pastel, green and yellow pastel. I feel fascinated by the old-fashioned setup in classic movies where you can see a telephone booth beside an electrical post or on the streets. Well, that's a typical one. It was the summer the children were out of the neighborhood with their chopper bicycles, wearing striped shirt outfits partnered with a pair of white shoes with mid-cut socks. Those are just some of the classic scenes from old movies that I'm fond of watching.

by: Jamine Geneciran

Responsible for everything, kind and respectful to the elderly, every awake in the morning rehearsing his hobby. That’s young Jam whose dream in life is to be a professional Basketball player. Jam loves to play basketball, so he pursues it to reach his dream. What he is doing is not only for him but also for his family that he wants to lift out of poverty. He lives in a cramped and woven patchwork house.

"Since I was a kid I really loved watching basketball because I always watched basketball. I thought about playing basketball and I had a basketball player and that was James Yap. Because I love to play, sometimes I am tempted I told myself that I would just ignore them, the important thing was the present and I would continue to do what I could to reach my dreams in life. "

Jam did not give up on his dreams and pursued them. A decade later Jam is slowly reaching his dream of becoming a professional basketball player. His family's support continues so he is not discouraged.

by: Mary Pearl Gayoso

by: Ellaizon Ebasco

Once upon a time there was only war. She leapt up in triumph, blood dripped from her sword as she swung it down on the beast’s neck, hacking in a frenzy. She laughed. The taste of blood and sweet revenge urged her on in her manic slaying of the creature that had…

No, no that wasn’t right. Once there was a girl who…

…who had a monster in her, clawing at the surface every waking moment she…

No! Not that either.

There was once a little girl who…

Who what?

Tearing the page away and crumpling it into a ball, he threw it over his shoulder to join its growing mass of brethren on the floor. It was dark in the office, the curtains shut to block out the intrusion of the light. He worked by a single lamp, its artificial brightness casting shadows about the room. Shadows were better than ghosts, he supposed.

He licked his dry lips, ignoring his thirst and the beginnings of a headache. When last had he drunk anything? No, that wasn’t important. This was.

On the book shelf behind him, the row of his best sellers stared down mockingly at him. They were not stories like the one he was trying so desperately to write. These were horror retellings of traditional fairy tales. Stories where the wolf ate the girl, the evil queen became the fairest in the land and giants ruled the world below. There were no good endings there.

‘Why can’t you write a happy story?’ a childish voice whined in his ears.

He turned, almost expecting her to be standing behind him, but there were only the shadows and his books. Those books that had taken so many hours. So much time. Why had he wasted so much time?

“I’m trying,” he whispered, pushing the thoughts of wrath and pain away.

A long time ago, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a girl who…

He got up, reaching for the first book on the shelf, his first novel. The snarling face of an undead Cinderella stared up at him. What had he missed writing this? Her first birthday? Her first word? He couldn’t remember just now.

Opening it, he peered down at the dedication, the only indication he had remembered her at all. Who dedicates a horror book to a baby? He was such an idiot.

He tore the page out and then the next…and the next….and the next. One by one, they fell to the floor like snow until his movements became erratic, gripping handfuls at a time and ripping them out. He grabbed another book, a cannibalistic Gretel greeted him, her brother’s severed head grinning at the reader. This one too joined the flurry of paper on the ground.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” he chanted to himself, almost screaming the words out.

Book, after book, was torn apart, helping him vent his rage in that dark room. He finally collapsed on the floor, exhausted to his bones. The blank pages of his notebook waited for him. He put his head back and closed his eyes.

The world was bright. Sunlight dabbled down through the leaves of the trees in the forest as he road out on his white horse. It had been a long and treacherous journey. He had faced dragons and monsters. He had climbed mountains and ventured deep underground. His adventures had taken him far and wide; he had seen places he couldn’t have dreamed of, but it was worth it. All to get to this point.

He had finally found her.

The princess had been stolen away from them suddenly by a wicked fairy who cast a terrible curse on her. The cure to this curse was almost impossible to find and many times the brave king had come close to giving up hope.

The path led him deep into the forest, past whispering trees and sweet song birds that heralded his coming.

A gilded, glass coffin lay in the centre of a clearing. As he approached, he could see her sweet face through the opaque glass, gently dreaming. He got off his horse and approached, the cure, a magical flower in hand. He stepped forward, his boots sinking into soft moss as the perfumed scent of the forest hit him.

Lifting the lid, he laid the flower, its golden petals gleaming, onto her little chest and waited. And waited.

“Darling,” he whispered, “it’s time to wake up.”

Her angelic face, framed in the golden halo of her hair, remained impassive. He bent down, pressing his lips to her cool forehead and feeling his eyes sting.

“Please princess,” he begged, “Please wake up.”

The gilded coffin faded to crisp white sheets, the forest to the stark walls of the hospital room. The sweet smell was the acrid scent of chemicals used to clean the floors and the gentle bird song became the slow beep of the heart monitor.

He sat crouched over her bedside, holding her cold hand in a death grip, eyes red from crying all night. His little girl lay still on the bed, her usually plump cheek sallow and the glow lost from her skin. Her beautiful, golden hair was all gone now and she wore a cap to keep her head warm. She was connected to more wires and tubes than he thought possible for such a tiny human being.

Her eyes remained closed, trapped in her dream world forever.

“Please,” he cried, “Please wake up!”

‘Why can’t you write a happy story, Daddy?’

~.~

“Paul? Paul!” the voice was coming to him from far away, slowly dragging him out of the dream, “Honey, wake up!”

His eyes opened blearily. Someone had opened the curtains and window, letting the sunshine leak in. A mess of paper covered the floor and his wife was peering down at him, her gaze worried.

“You need some water,” she said softly, coaxingly, “And some food. Come on, love.”

She tried to pull him up, but he gripped her by the arm, gaze searching. She looked so much like their little princess, with the same golden hair and sweet face. There were bags under her eyes, betraying how tired and sad she was, a mirror of his own face. His heart clenched painfully.

“I said I’d write it,” he mumbled out, it seemed important she know, “I was trying to write a happy story. I promise.”

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him and bringing them close together. He shuddered in her arms, letting himself get pulled in by her warmth. Hot tears found their way down his face as he clutched close to her.

“I know,” she soothed, “She’ll really like that.”

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a little girl…

by: Juhi Geromo

Every day is vague to a young man named Noah. He owns a Virgo trait, tough on the outside and soft on the inside young man. Living in an unknown world, in need of certainty. But life is so unpredictable and new beginnings are limitless. Ever since his mother got into a traumatic head injury after a car accident, his world has never been bright until his turn came.

Circa 2011, it was almost the summer, as the sun steps with brilliant rays the sky fades to a lighter blue. The neighborhood is already packed, people are gathered in the center square park of the building.

Everyone is smiling, even the green trash bin on the side, looking pleased, seeing the young man approach him to dispose of trash “Is that trash for me?” if only it could talk. Others were up with their morning exercise; some are walking and some are jogging. From a different angle, inside his apartment, Noah began to set up his gaming computer and go on a live stream. All you can hear is the nonstop beeping sound from the comments and notification on his live stream. It’s still ongoing, approximately one and a half hours, he was hosting, engaging himself to the world of streaming with his different gaming terminology. Not a professional gamer, but making online streaming a source of living.

“It was a good game guys, next I’ll be using my Smurf account, so stay tuned”. “Thank you for the star guy— “.

The live stream suddenly ended; it was a blackout. The power went out of the building. Noah turns slightly irritated and puzzled. He checks the long cables on the back of his pc and it’s all untangled and working fine. He restarts the router and later realizes that there is no power. It sucks. After a five-minute cooldown his phone rings, it’s an incoming phone call from a friend. He went to the balcony of his apartment and quickly answered the phone in an empty thought.

“Alright, see you there,” he said. He was about to leave when he noticed his plant and watered the white daisies on his balcony.

In a cybercafe, where the entire place is surrounded with dim lights and most of the computers are vacant. He chooses the section with the closest access to the aircon. His friend came in a hurry, almost late and sat next to him. They both exchange laughs when they see each other's faces, their eyes show hints as if they are going to play betting. This time, it’s not. They are not at the cybercafe to play online games but to fill out their college admission form. Noah became hesitant on choosing the course he will be taking.

Glancing back and forth his monitor and his friend’s while sipping his sweet purple taro drink. After a short time of deciding, the mouse cursor moves through the exit icon. He didn’t fill up the application form. He declined going to college because of his financial situation which convinced him to just continue making live streams instead. Through that he can provide money for his mother’s hospital bill.

On his way to visit his mother at the hospital when he passed by a lady in a bob cut hair wearing Aegean blue top paired with white high waisted trousers, holding a camera in a cross-body strap. The lady walks toward him and asks for consent to make him her subject. He was impressed by her beautiful and alluring eyes but it doesn’t show on the outside. “I’m sorry I have somewhere to go,” he said obnoxiously. At the hospital he set up the porridge he bought for his mother after it got up a few moments later. He told his mother about how his day went, his encounter with the photographer on the street, and brags about his attractive features. But one thing that makes him bright-eyed is whenever he mentions the lady. On the other side he lied about his college admission form.

A week passed and nothing has changed in his routine. It’s always been the usual. Every day Noah is doing a live stream and every other day he visits his mother. Every time he passed by the street across the hospital it reminded him of the lady photographer. He never lost sight of it and couldn't get over the lady. The young man always wished to see her again in the street.

It was June 7, morning. It’s a special day because it’s his mother’s birthday. As the years go by since the accident, the mother and son always celebrate their special day in the hospital. Out of the blue, while walking on the street across the hospital, holding a box of pastry and white daisies, Noah saw the lady photographer taking pictures of a lovely old couple sitting on a side bench. The lady saw him and greeted him with a happy birthday. “It’s my mother's,” he said with a very slight head shake. A daisy fell out of his hand without noticing it.

At the hospital, the young man was singing a happy birthday song to his mother, handing him the daisies he was hiding on his back. Witty how the cake candle was wind-blown because of an open window. They both share laughter. After a while the young man looks anxious, sitting next to his mother who’s resting. Now is the time to tell his mother about his college admission.

“Mom, I think I can’t go to college,” he said.

Because of lack of financial support, the young man made up his mind to prioritize earning for his mother’s hospital bill instead of going to college. He thought of continuing doing live streams and plans of getting a part time job at a convenience store near his apartment.

“There are lots of state universities out there, you have to at least try,” his mother replied. The young man has the potential to make it to a state university, he is smart, creative, optimistic, and what makes him most special is his art skills. It’s his greatest strength. Art gives him the biggest comfort in his life but as time goes by, he seems to have lost his interest in arts. So, he became uncertain of himself and aside from financial problems it’s another reason which hinders him to pursue his dream.

“I’m sorry mom. I have to get you out here first and after that I will go to college, it’s a promise” he said.

Two months after his mother passed away, the young man is back at their old home. He went to his room. The room looks minimal with a bed, a table, wardrobe closet and a sideboard. First thing you would notice in his room is the doodle wall in front facing his bed. It was him and his mother who designed it when he was younger. An old camera film is placed on the top of the sideboard, he moves closer to it and vividly remembers memories of his late mother. It was a New year’s gift he got from his mother, who happens to be a former film director. “Capture memories, Happy New Year Son”, a tear fell from his eye as he read the message in the camera preview.

“Cut!'' Everyone on the set stopped immediately. Afterwards, the set’s camera lighting changed from warm to cooler, each department was busy preparing for the next take. On the spot the hair and make-up team quickly adjusted the actor’s make up. Noah the director goes behind the set to check the last take along with his fiancé, the producer. It has been a decade ago since a young man named Noah is just dealing with his setbacks and is uncertain of his future. He is now a prominent film director who produces independent films and mainstream films. It was tragic, he once dreamed of getting his mother out of the hospital but it’s not what he expected. Besides, he still kept his promise to his mother. After his mother died, he made it into a film school to pursue filmmaking. He used the bank savings and other life insurance of his mother to make it to college. That is when he personally met the young photographer, who happened to be a communication student in the same university. They became a couple through the years and now they are planning to be married and have their own family.

Setbacks are like props on the set, it complements and motivates the character.

In the street across from a flower shop, the fiancé with her camera, taking pictures of children in their school uniform, walking through the rainbow sidewalk. From afar, the young man was waving, smiling while crossing the road holding a bouquet of white daisies.

In a quiet place filled with green grasses, Noah and his fiancé bowed on a tomb and offered the white daisies. It’s been a long time since his eyes became as bright as his smile. He was smiling through his mother’s tomb. It’s a smile of success. Eventually, Noah realized that his mother’s gravestone is dark and plain, and he wanted it to look vivid. So, he decided to put some color with his green sharpie. He drew daisies on the gravestone symbolizing new beginnings. Like a tattoo, forever in ink, he will never forget his mother’s saying “I’m the director of my life”.