Story of Us [ON-GOING]

CHAPTER TWO

- July 2018 -

Nandito kami ngayon sa court kung saan nag pa practice kami para sa English namin Speech Choir kasi, yung 'A Psalm of Life' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Iba't ibang kami ng grupo pati section ang nag pa practice rito sa Phoenix, pangalan nung court. Pati sila Falcinty dito rin nag pa-practice. Ito kasi ang practice-an ng mga students.

"Guyz umayos nga kayo! Mamaya na 'to ipeperform sa stage at siguradong panonoorin tayo ng ibang sections!" sabi ng leader namin si ate Sharmaine, pasigaw siyang nag salita kaya umayos na ang mga ka group ko, at nag practice na kami ulit.

Sila, John Cruz, Randy Blast, at Piolo ay ka group si Falcinty, Taena buti pa sila.

Mamaya na ipeperform sa Stage ang pina practice naming Speech Choir pero wala naman akong alam ayos lang hahaha. Nakakatamad talaga. Pero kapag nakikita ko si Falcinty hindi na ako tinatamad, buti dito rin sila nag practice. Na inspired tuloy ako. "Gayahin niyo si Garvey todo bigay" sabi ng leader namin kaya nakatingin sa'kin mga ka grupo ko. Napakamot na lang ako ng ulo kaya tinawanan nila ako.

English time na namin at lahat kami nasa court na ng school namin. "Group 1, 2, and 3 dapat ready na kayo sa Speech Choir niyo, halos 1 week ko kayo pinag bigyan mag practice" sabi ni Sir Garcia.

Group 1 kami kaya siyempre kami ang nauna, halos lahat kami naka gloves, naka black na T-shirt, naka black na leggings, mapa babae o lalaki naka leggings. Nakakahiya bilang isang lalaki ang mag leggings, siyempre may bumabakat na ibon. Yung Group 2 and 3 tawa nang tawa dahil may nakikita at kung ano ano ang tinuturo sa'min.

"Tama na tawa, alam kong maliliit ang mga nakikita natin, kaya 'wag na silang tawanan, Sharmaine mag start na kayo" sabi ni Sir Garcia kaya umayos na kami.

Nasa pangatlong pwesto ako, dito kami sa stage mismo mag pe-perform. Dapat sabay sabay namin bibigkasin yung Speech Choir namin.

A Psalm of Life
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
   Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
   And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
   And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
   Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
   Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
   Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
   And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
   Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
   In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
   Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
   Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
   We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
   Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
   Seeing, shall take heart again.