Category Archives: Creative Writing

Why Do I Write?

HARDPEN'S PORTFOLIO

hardpen

Why do I write?

Is it to impress?

I don’t write to impress. I’m well aware of the fact that my skills in writing are nowhere near excellent. I am not even halfway my journey to excellence in writing. I am not sure if I’ll get there before I breathe my last. I have a long long way to go. Perhaps I may need a dozen of lifetimes (or more) in order to surpass the accomplishments of the likes of William Shakespeare, Elizabeth Browning, George Bernard Shaw, Leo Tolstoy and the likes.

So, why do I write then?

Do I write in the hope that I earn money and become famous?

Not even!

Fame and money are not my primary motivations for writing. Of course I need money. It’s hypocritical to say that I don’t like to have additional numbers to the farthest north of the first digit in my bank…

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The Jungle Story

pretty-scene-with-animals-in-a-forest_1196-296 (1)These articles were some of the blogs I wrote  way back in 2009 and posted in another website. These ones specifically chronicle my experiences when I was working at a Catholic institution.

I owe a lot from that school and the Congregation that operate it. I would say that I spent my best years as an educator in  that school. That organization helped me shaped my philosophy as a teacher and as a school administrator. Whatever I learned there still inform the decisions I make as an educator today. It’s one of the best schools, if not the best one, in Bulacan, Philippines.

There is only one thing I regret when I was there. When it was time for the Congregation to re-assign their leaders (they do so every three years), we were unlucky to be  given a leader that we didn’t deserve. That’s my opinion.

At that time I did not expect to meet a school administrator whose leadership style and interpersonal skills are plain awful and downright unacceptable. It was the least I would expect from an educational leader and a “religious.” The unspeakable experiences I had with that leader consequently  led me to decide to leave the institution. In the process I gave up a chance of receiving a decent amount of money in terms of benefits from the school’s pension plan. All that I needed then to do was to bear another school year with her so I could complete the required 10 years for me to qualify to get that amount. But it wasn’t worth it.

Peace of mind is a priceless commodity… almost a rare item. No amount of money can buy it. Since that “religious” took the reins of leadership of the institution, I felt like I stopped growing personally and professionally. I kept criticizing her and the policies of the school which I know is not a healthy thing to do. I was no longer having fun at work. So, I decided to leave. My other reason for leaving is – it’s against my dignity as a person to say negative things about my employers but continuously work for them and accept their money. It doesn’t make sense.

My wife disagreed vehemently with that decision. She is a practical woman. I was head of the Education department, the pay is more than enough for us to meet both ends and enjoy some of the luxuries of life, and the workplace was just a 20-minute drive from home. She tried to convince me stay for even just one more year for the pension benefits. But I said no. There’s one thing more important than money – DIGNITY.

So, going back to what I said several paragraphs back… the only one thing I regret when I worked with the institution.

That regret is the subject of this collection of blogs that ran from 2009 to 2011.

Why do I consider it a regret?

It is not because the school administrator assigned to us was the embodiment of what a leader should not be.  It was my fault. I expected nothing but the best from her because I got used to the excellence and benevolence of her predecessor who brought out the best in me.  When her predecessor left and she took over, things changed… not for the better. To cut the story short, she succeeded in bringing out the worst in me. That is what I regret. I came to a realization that I don’t deserve to be a Catholic educator. That realization made easier my decision to leave the institution that was my second home for nine years.

So here’s the series of those blogs. It’s just unfortunate that (probably) the ones who could really understand these blogs (and could relate to them) are the ones I worked with in that institution during those times. But I hope you would read on.

**********

THE JUNGLE STORY

There was once a hallowed forest  populated by animals (of course!). The leaves of tall trees were so thick that the golden rays of the sun could hardly filter down. Shrubs and grasses abound effectively hiding the light alluvial soil. Life was abundant in the hallowed forest.  Different animals from different species abound.

The forest  was ruled by specially-trained and and carefully-bred animals belonging to the “veiled clan.” Only those who belong to the clan would have a chance to lead a forest that belongs to their clan. The members of the “veiled clan” take turns in controlling several forests scattered in the face of the earth.

The animals there worked so hard to make that forest  hallowed as it should be and for almost a century that the forest existed  in peace, harmony and prosperity. It maintained its pristine beauty through the efforts of the animals and their benevolent leaders from the veiled clan.

Those years were the Golden Age of the forest. But the forest  was not meant to stay in the pinnacle of success. Just like different civilizations on earth,  it passed through  own Dark Age. It happened when the “veiled clan” decided to bring in the hippopotamus as the new leader of the hollowed forest.

This series of blog-story begins with the coming of the hippopotamus.

Please click here to continue reading.

 

Why Do I Write?

hardpen

Why do I write?

Is it to impress?

I don’t write to impress. I’m well aware of the fact that my skills in writing are nowhere near excellent. I am not even halfway my journey to excellence in writing. I am not sure if I’ll get there before I breathe my last. I have a long long way to go. Perhaps I may need a dozen of lifetimes (or more) in order to surpass the accomplishments of William Shakespeare, Elizabeth Browning, George Bernard Shaw,  Leo Tolstoy and the like.

So, why do I write then?

Do I write in the hope that I amass a fortune and become famous?

Not even!

Fame and money are not my primary motivations for writing. Of course I need money. It’s hypocritical to say that I don’t like to have additional numbers to the farthest north of the first digit in my bank account. With a family and a mother to support, with siblings asking for financial help once in a while, and with the projects I intend to embark on, I need additional sources of income.

“There’s no money in writing.”  That is a cliche but that’s the truth. Writing is not very financially rewarding. Unless you are a script writer of one of the popular TV networks or movie outfits in your own country or a novelist who belongs in the league of the likes of J.K. Rowling, Dan Brown, and Stephen King.

Of course I am receiving extra cash for some of the stuffs I have written. For example, the university that employs me currently (2014 – present) gave me monetary incentives for my research works that were published in international journals. I would also get the same whenever I contribute an article for the university’s English publication. However, it’s not those extra cash that made (or is making) me write.

The rewards that writing gives, for me, are hard to quantify. Such rewards are transcendental. That’s not me trying to sound philosophical. That’s just the way I feel about it.

What about fame? What about the accolades? Are those the the things that inspire me to write?

NOPE!

As a matter of fact, when I write and allow people to read my works I am unnecessarily putting myself under the microscope. Instead of accolades I may get negative comments instead. This is the reason a friend said he would never write for any publication or post any writings on any of the social networking sites. He is afraid he may not  be able to take negative comments. He added he fears committing errors  in grammar. He considers it embarrassing to be corrected for such mistakes.

In my case, criticisms and corrections are welcome. As a matter of fact, I have already received a lot of those. I didn’t mind. I never felt offended. I have to admit that I have some works, both in English and Filipino, where my grammar leaves much to be desired. Such is the reason I keep rereading my stuffs in this website – to check for errors in grammar and word choice.

Somebody once gave the reason the eraser was invented – because nobody’s perfect.

People may read or disregard what I write. If they do read, a million thanks. If not – no hard feelings.

I may have received some good comments from  my  friends  for  some    of my writings  in the past.   But of course,    those   comments may have   been   either meritorious or simply generous. Sometimes there are people who give positive and encouraging compliments.

But aside from good comments some of my works have also angered some individuals who, in one way or another, were offended. Writing sometimes is a magnet for trouble. I remember quite well when I wrote a satirical poem in Filipino (about a wolf in sheep’s clothing) when I was working in a Catholic tertiary institution. The parish priest who felt alluded to (and I was really alluding to him) reportedly asked the Sister-President of the college, my superior, to summon me to the latter’s office so he could talk to me. However he was dissuaded from pursuing his request. But even if he was able to convince the President and the College Dean then, I wouldn’t see him. Why? That poem I wrote and my act of writing it had nothing to do with my employment. My being a writer has no personality and office that could be connected to any of the lines that run vertical and horizontal in our organizational chart. In short, the priest had not authority over me. The priest never bugged me again but I wrote another poem for him (Habit and Habit).

My quatrains (in Filipino) are the ones that brought me some colorful moments. I have lost a friend or two (or is it three… perhaps more) for the quatrains I have posted in a social networking site. I once wrote a quatrain and a friend liked it. Almost a year later, I re-posted the same quatrain and surprisingly the same person who previously liked it was angered and gave me a mouthful. We’re very good friends so we talked about it. He understood, apologized, and we both forgot about it since then.

Also, my writings where my political beliefs are in full display had me losing very dear friends. This is the reason I stopped writing commentaries about politics in the Philippines. I have not written one since the last quarter of 2017.

So, why do I write then?

Is it for the “likes,” “reactions,” and compliments I get when I have those poems, stories, and essays posted in my social networking accounts or in this website? Not also. Of course those things make me happy and I am so thankful for those friends who take time to read my works then reacted and commented on them.

Then, why? Why do I write?

It’s hard to explain. It’s  something like a combination of the answers to the following questions:  Why do people need to eat when they are hungry? Why do they need to drink when they are thirsty? Why do they need to take medicine when they are sick? Why do they laugh? Why do they cry?

There is a kind of hunger within me that only writing can satisfy. There’s an insatiable thirst in my soul that would go away only when I read what I write. I suffer from a very mysterious illness that goes away only when I write in sentences or verses  the equivalent words of the thoughts and feelings that drown me during quiet moments in my life.

Writing is my endorphin.

I must release my pain, anger and disagreement by writing about them or else they will haunt me endlessly. When I feel wronged I have to respond, not by violent means. I respond in a creative manner – through poems – sometimes satirical. I do it usually using anthropomorphism.

If the spirits of William Shakespeare and Elizabeth Browning I could not summon through the glass to inspire me to express in poetry whatever I wish to say then I turn to Francis Bacon and Michel de Montaigne’s way of capturing into words – essays – whatever it is that I wish to convey. if I don’t wish to be so direct with my points and would like to hide my feelings and thoughts between lines and behind symbolism then I walked the path that Edgar Allan Poe and Guy de Maupassan paved. I write stories.

I just don’t keep quiet when I notice human follies, especially if displayed by my friends and co-woorkers. Again I resort to anthropomorphism. I use animals to represent their irrationality. It may hurt them and make them angry but the truth may be bitter but sweeter than the sweetest lie. VERO NIHIL VERIUS. Nothing is truer than the truth.

This is not saying that I am a perfect human being. I am as imperfect as anyone else and may have, perhaps, done more terrible things. Thus, the satires I wrote are like boomerangs. They hit me also.

Pain is like a prison cell. It is by writing that I break free from that hell. As my heart churns out the words, I go through the pain, feel it,  not escape from it. And as I write the final sentence or verse, as I put the final punctuation mark, the pain vanishes.

Even my happiness and satisfaction wouldn’t be complete if I do not write about them. I need to  capture in either prose or poetry those moments so I can feel more deeply the joy they bring. I do write about  them so I can relive those moments any time I wish to.

I need neither material rewards nor accolades for what I have written (and will be writing.) The poems, essays and stories I create are themselves the rewards. I love and treasure them.

I write  not to impress but rather to express my thoughts, feelings and ideals. Writing is my freedom, my happiness.

SCRIBO, ERGO SUM. I write, therefore I am.

Source: Why Do I Write?

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