From the Notebooks: Almost like the movies
This is the first assignment I submitted for UP Film Institute’s summer workshop on screenwriting. Before we learned the nitty-gritties of a script, we were tasked to write a non-fiction composition about a favorite memory.
I picked the memory of my first prom/grad night. It is, I think, one of the happier moments of my life, and for my family. As I also explained, while set in prom, it was the start of something rather than a catalyst to something, which is something not often shown in the movies.
I spent my last few years in high school in an international school in Jakarta, Indonesia. It was a small school that catered to affluent Indonesians looking to get into college abroad, and the children of embassy personnel who never knew how long or how short they’d be in the country.
Being a small international school, they were also known for being thrifty. Our prom, grad ball, and graduation ceremonies for year 10 (end of middle school) and year 12 (senior high school) were all in, with an invitation extended to parents. It was a formal affair with dinner and dancing, but hardly anything could come of it with parents and siblings present.
It was December 2000. I was in year 10, and asked out by a year 12 student, J. J was a Japanese-American boy with pearl-white skin, round black eyes, and a penchant for high grades and plaid shirts. He and I were the oldest students in choir, and both worked in student council, but rarely talked about anything else beyond the to-do list for both clubs. Out of the blue, he asked me, haltingly, if I could go with him to prom. I was going to be there anyway and he was a decent guy who didn’t look so bad, so I said yes.
“But um, I don’t dance.” He warned.
“That’s fine.” I said.
Continue reading “From the Notebooks: Almost like the movies”
Back to Scratch
It was one of those days when nothing came out right. So rather than punch the computer screen, I took to the paper. Just so you know, world, paper and pen are so not dead.
Chronicles of a Freshie Journalist: Ethics, Coverage, and a Prayer
Pay Per Publish
An acquaintance, T, asked me for press contacts to send press releases to, and said that each print of PR subject would entitle the writer to P5000. As someone who got her foot in the industry through PR writing, I was unsettled with the idea.
I wondered if it was just personal: as someone who has written PR and bled for copy to stand out from the paper and digital pile. Would it be any different from the “favor” costs of a press release that makes it to print? I can vouch that the clients I’ve written PR for have never given money for print, but it did come back in small favors. For example, If it was about a talent, the talent would perform at a “bargain” cost at the function. If it was a product, occasion gifts and tokens in the form of the product would be given, for better recall.
So replace money with favor, it seems less evil, doesn’t it? Take note however, that newspaper journalists aren’t even allowed to accept a cup of coffee from their subjects.
A former editor and present friend put it into perspective: Pay for print is done, but it’s a dirty deal. “And they can’t call themselves journalists if they do that.” She says. After all, if we accept that kind of deal, we’re no longer credible, as our perspectives come with a price tag.
That did that. I politely informed T that PR is not normally paid for, and they’d have a better chance with influencing as an advertiser. I worry though, T is new to the business and her foundations are looking awful rickety.
I personally blame the advent of “big bad bloggers” for how nonchalant T sounded about the offer, but thats for another entry.
The Coverage Routine
I write this while waiting for updates. We’re doing live updates on an advertising festival in Thailand, and I can’t imagine how this was done pre-Internet. Now, I’m in an aircon office in Manila waiting for updates from the associate editor at the event. The editorial assistant is with me coordinating content upload for the website, while I up my typing speed piecing the stories and pictures together.
On the first day of coverage, internet went down for a few hours. We panicked – what if something came through? What if something didn’t come through? We had no telephone contact with our boss and associate editor in Thailand. Could we afford to delay till the internet goes back on? Thankfully we didn’t have to find out, as the internet came back on right before the necessary updates came in. Spoiled much? We know.
But the power of the internet has its limits. When we thought it was safe to call it a night, we headed home, only to be called back halfway for urgent updates. There are some things that will never change, no matter how advanced the technology.
A Prayer
Relly Carpio, who I consider my journalism elder has been confined to Makati Medical Center ICU for a stroke. The stroke was attended to by way of drilling a hole through his head, but now the rest of the body is starting to break down. But the doctors are optimistic for recovery, and I trust that Relly will fight the good fight.
Prayers for Relly, who even through our differences, I valued his input on writing and life. Prayers too for his family, so that they may stay strong throughout the ordeal.
Reader Response: Boyfriend Beware of the Girl Who Reads
A response to this entry, as one reader/writer.
Are you sure you’re not drunk? I’ve read enough young adult literature to beware of boys like you who come up to nerds like me.
Just so you’d know, the glasses are not a signal of desperation, it means that I can see well enough to scrutinize you.
Still there? Stubborn, aren’t you? Fine, pull up a chair. But make it quick, I’m just about to get to the good part.
So you want to date a girl who reads. Why now?
Well.
I like that you’re drawn to my mind, but there are risks involved that rubber stoppers won’t be able to save. Yeah, I am swayed by the power of the written word. I will swoon and look for that certain something more. I crave the fantastic that is only perfectly achieved in fiction. That’is why I wear glasses and have no time to do much with my hair outside of washing it. My pillows are moot, I sleep on pages.
Can you imagine what it will take to sweep me off my feet? While I read, I am on the lookout for what the next chapter will bring. As much as I want to be surprised, I’m also eyeing what might be in store. A book and I embark on a mental race. I know it’s a worthwhile read when it doesn’t beat me to the punch, but gives me enough room to delight in the guessing games while I play with its patterns; all while leaving me breathless when I turn to the final page.
I’m also a writer. You know I won’t keep secrets, right? Everything you tell me will find bits and pieces in the things I put together. Just thought I’d throw that in there.
Still there? Wow.
What will it take?
Mr. Darcy.
Heard of him? Read it, it’s good stuff, made better with zombies. Eh, okay, guess you can settle for the movie version. I’ll forgive you for Keira Knightley.
Mr. Darcy is aloof enough to keep us interested, but knows when to let his guards down and let the girl in. He changes for Elizabeth, of his own accord, I daresay. He’s like a good book, you notice? A little on the rough side, but compelling, surprising, and manages to sweep me off my feet.
Are you up to the challenge?
No rush, I’ll just be here, reading.
Chronicles of a Freshie Journalist: Putting “Un” with Fashionable
What to do when you’re covering an event that you’re awfully under-dressed for?
I remember what an old editor once advised, “I don’t trust a journalist that’s well-dressed! It shows that he has time to care for how he looks!”
I’ve learned to look put-together for the business beat ever since I got sent to an impromptu meeting on casual Friday. I was dressed in pink leggings, an oversized shirt, and ratty vans at a corporate office. That is not an experience I’d like to repeat.
In my defense, no dress code was given in this event invitation. So I was “officey” at a nighttime event. I could have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for the fact that it was organized by a fashion magazine. (Yes, I am a newbie journalist who has not “read” all the people in the neighborhood!)
At the very least, I was in heels. Still, I knew I was in trouble as the fashion editors went around asking for details of outfits. I was surrounded by little black dresses, evening gowns, and purses that were probably flown in with their own private jet.
“This is from Zara, and my bag’s from a boutique in New York!”
“My shirt’s from Ukay…but my bag’s Vuitton.”
I was actually asked about my outfit details, “Uhm. The cardigan is from my Mom’s closet and my skirt’s from Baguio ukay.” I smiled meekly, took a gulp from my wine glass, then fled.
I gave a fellow writer, Denice, a call, “I have an emergency. Get down here, now. Get dressed–well-dressed, but don’t dress more than meeeee!”
Denice caught up an hour later. After one glance around the room, she downed a few more glasses of wine with me.
Would it have been worth dressing up for? The event was for a photography exhibit followed by a short film premiere. I checked out the exhibit, and found nothing much to write about. It was a standard fashion showcase. The styling was gorgeous, though by the signage of the model’s name below the photo, it was obvious that fashion was only an excuse to make connections.
Sure enough, no model outfits were shown in full, from head to two. The models were in profile, the most shown were from waist-up, if not up-close.
Then came the film.
I’m all for a showcase of fashion with film, especially in the era of engagement. While visually rich, it fails in very simple continuity. It had a motive coming out of nowhere, which makes it all a waste. I also have an ax to grind as it dared call itself “noir” when it was shot in full, lush color.
I took one last look around. Glamour wear all around, plates of fine cheeses, glasses of scotch, freeflowing wine — and all this put together around honestly so-so features.
Time to leave the bubble and put on some sensible flats.