#output 5

Wilfredo Pascual’s seminar on personal essays was, at the very least, a revelation. Not only did he speak in a wonderful oration, he also shared bits and pieces of his work and his process. He was generous in his tips and his photos; generous in letting today’s students have a taste of what he’s worked on for almost the entirety of his current life.

While I have trouble remembering the exact details of everything he’s read, I remember Animalia and Kilometer Zero. I specifically remembering finding his bad story crazy interesting.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say that he has pure talent; rather, I believe that his manner of writing is a product of both peculiar experiences and a vested passion in writing (since youth).

I dare say that some people are made, even destined, to write, while others are not. This makes it a delicate art, for me. However, if one has the drive, he or she can definitely work harder and practice much, much more.

On the other hand, the PHSA trip was breathtaking. 

The entire place was beautiful—it was an entire campus at the disposal of less than 200 students. I imagine that it would be difficult not to be bored, and one of the reasons why they’re of such a low number is because of the isolation.

First off, seeing the exhibit was surprising. It was of such amazing quality; then again, I should not have expected less from the Philippine High School of the Arts. It was inspiring, when I thought about it; all of the work displayed in the room was gathered, created, and arranged by people my age, including the artwork.

The prose written on the walls by acrylic paint was simple. That, though, in my opinion, added to the charm of the exhibit. Making sentences simple and easy to understand would definitely make way for less misunderstandings, which was in line with the goal of the entire exhibit—to reduce misconceptions about indigenous groups.

As striking as the curation was, I think that she could’ve improved upon several bits. One, she could’ve tried to get an expert on the local language. As she mentioned, she barely understood their words. While I have no doubt that she tried her very best when translating, I believe that many parts of the conversations must’ve been lost in translation; some words may have had connotations that she didn’t understand.

Two, I think that her method of collecting data wasn’t very effective nor efficient. She mentioned things about how it was very difficult, as she had to do everything herself; taking notes, creating transcripts, filming—all on top of barely understanding the dialect.

Sending Virtual Hugs

           On the summer of 2017, I decided to reactivate my ask.fm account. I received many questions asking for advice on love, studies, self-identity, and more. While I enjoyed advising them, delighting in the idea that I am able to help them in the simplest way, the sudden rush of responsibilities stole my attention away from them. I was unable to answer their queries for almost three months – my ask.fm account faced rebirth as we were given the task to practice social work in the channel we were all familiar with: social media.

           As soon as the activity was announced, I immediately remembered how anonymous users would ask me for advice in ask.fm. It was the first form of social media I used, reactivated, for the activity. Part of me was nervous – I was afraid that nobody will send me a question, thinking I have abandoned the unanswered questions from three months ago. But, I received five questions, most of them asking for motivation (or how to be motivated).

The question that struck me most dealt with something close to my heart, though: Overthinking. The anonymous user used the words “I overthink all the time and I’m getting tired of it.” Although it is not direct, the words implied unlikely possibilities; it was a silent plea for help. I tried my best to give him or her the best advice I can give; it was not easy. For all I know, his or her life may be on the line; my advice may be crucial. Even though I did not know any background information, I was careful with my words. I hope I was able to help him or her; I never received thanks in similar language as how the anonymous talked, so I am not sure about his or her current condition.

Aside from Facebook and Twitter, I also tried my luck in finding areas to practice social work through a social, role-playing game called Party in my Dorm. When I was about to lose hope after sending out a worldwide message offering help or advice on anything, receiving tons of concupiscent messages, player Floriana2 all the way from Italy (as I found out later on) shared her biggest struggle with me and asked for help. She had a disease which causes bully to target her. It was my first time to actually talk to someone who had a disease that gravely affected his or her life. I was afraid that I might offend her, thus I was extra, extra careful with my words. In the end, I succeeded in my role as a social worker. She told me she was elated at the presence of someone willing to accept her for who she is, even though she could not meet me, with only a game to communicate. The feeling was soft heartening, almost rewarding to read her response.

Even if I did not know most of the people I helped, I delighted in the idea of sending them virtual hugs. It may not feel as warm as real, human arms enveloping you and your problems with love and care. But, I have a gut feeling that knowing somebody listened and cared for them warmed their heart as much as it did to mine.

Koen - 1105 (Output 5)