In the long run, a decent, sideward-angled photo of the enrollees swamping the Registrar’s Office made it to the front page of the upcoming newsletter release. It was my first day with the publication and I already had a milestone.
Actually, it wasn’t as tremendous as is it should’ve been for me. Looking back at the image, I knew I could’ve done better. Yet, all of them were mesmerized with the shot. It wasn’t the most special photo that we would normally see. But because it had the elements which were apposite to the circumstance, it received the approval of everyone.
Nexus lacked a Sports Writer. There were others who tried to explore its realm – all of them were unsuccessful. Then, there I was – versatile enough to dive into any ocean of journalism.
It all kicked off when I was in fifth grade.
Infinite potential was what my teachers witnessed from me. At the age of eight, I already memorized the capital cities of all 197 countries. Likewise, I was into Greek and Roman Mythology. One of my mentors, Mrs. Badiola, happened to be the publication adviser of SMA’s Official Elementary School Paper: Monican Jr.
Mrs. Badiola asked me to join a forthcoming contest. The 2006 Elementary Schools Press Conference held at a nearby town was a couple of days away and Monican Jr. didn’t have a participant for Sports Writing in English. Since I was running for that year’s Top 10 Outstanding Students, joining such competitions outside our school boosted my extra-curricular points. Hence, doing the same for my over-all rank.
Even if I didn’t have any formal training for such event, I acquiesced without hesitations. All the more so when I was little, my self-confidence was one of the key factors which led me to numerous spectacles. Such was a testimony of my soaring-high poise.
To everyone’s disbelief, I was the only winner among eleven pupils SMA sent – bagging the first place amid 26 participants within our district. It was the cleverest move by Mrs. Badiola. She knew that I was a boy immersed into sports and writing at the same time.
To better understand Sports Writing, it is a specialized field of writing which combines news reporting, editorial writing and feature writing. It focuses in writing Sports News, Sports Feature and Sports Editorial articles.
In Press Conferences, the event required Sports News from the writers. The speaker or judge will conduct an actual game, the participants will watch and take note important plays during the game and will write a news regarding it.
Out of all journalism fields, it was with Sports Writing my whimsical heart fell in love with.
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“There’s one more problem,” Ma’am Merl groaned.
“Right. I remember,” Allan seconded.
The newsletter layout was almost done – but there was one section missing: the Sports Page.
With a plan levelheaded in mind, I told them, “Let me take care of that.”
“But, we won’t have enough time. We need to bring these to the printing press tomorrow,” Allan anxiously said. “Besides, you won’t make it. It’s three in the afternoon.”
I grinned, “Yes, I can.”
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“Angel may already be discharged a couple of days from now,” Dr. Reyes assured her mom.
“Oh, thank God! How about her condition, doc? What’s supposed to happen now?”
“Well, she still needs medical attention. Lupus is a sensitive malady. She has to avoid getting exposed to sunlight too much. Also, she needs to prevent herself from exhaustion. Leaving the casino is her best shot.”
Dr. Reyes’ recommendations made Angel weep. She still wanted to return to work. But because of her serious illness, she could no longer do the things she liked. It was a devastating truth.
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“Done!” – I proudly heralded.
Allan applauded, “An hour and twenty minutes? Wow! That was quick as hell.”
We were the only ones left in the office. Everybody left because it was getting dark. Allan and I printed my write-ups.
He read all my output – a news about two girls from our district who represented the Philippines during the 30th Southeast Asian Games, another regarding Manny Pacquiao’s recent plum and a Development Communication featuring an ongoing building of another edifice within the school.
With nothing but praise, Allan commended me. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re definitely quite a catch.”
“Anything for the pub.” – I smiled.
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It was almost seven in the evening. I headed straight to the hospital so her mother can go home and take a rest. As soon as I arrived, her satisfactory mood swiftly turned into exasperation. Excitement filled my tedious self and her vexing straight-away pummeled my joy when I saw her.
“How was your day, Mommy?”
“Where were you?”
“I’m enrolled now! Aren’t you happy?”
“Why am I supposed to? How are you going to help with my expenses now? You promised me,” she cried.
“I… It’s not that…”
“You know what, Pat? Fuck it. Stop. You don’t really love me, do you?
“Come on, Angel. You know how much I do. After all the sacrifices I made? Seriously?”
“So you’re counting all your shits now. You’re so selfish, Pat!”
I couldn’t contain my emotions. It was just too much to handle. All-day long, she was all that I really yearned for – to be with her. Blinded by whatever cause, she envisioned me differently. As she was unleashing her wrath, I kept silent.
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A bone-chilling breeze blew past my forty winks. My eyes slowly opened as indefinite noises droned my ears. To my surprise, it was only four in the morning but almost everyone in the Female Ward were awake. I saw Angel looking at me vacuously.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she murmured.
She slowly turned her back on me. I didn’t know what to feel or how to react from her peculiar actions. Angel was never the same – only to me. The feeling was poignant. I wanted to burst many times because of the unbearable aching. It was as if I was constantly falling in an immeasurable abyss.
I went out to smoke, to shrug off the melancholy. The morning zephyr really felt different in the province. As I exhaled the bad shit, my phone suddenly shook.
“What’s up, son? How are things going there?”
“It’s all the same, Ma. She begrudges me.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“I did. But, she won’t change. Where did I go wrong, Ma?”
“You did everything, son. It’s probably self-pity she feels.”
“I don’t know what to do now.”
“Anyway. When will you be home, Pat?”
“Just, just give me time, Ma. I’ll be home as soon as she finishes the blood transfusion.”
I felt really bad. The fact that my mother saw my losses but she didn’t. After finishing my second stick, I headed back to her ward.
“Things I’d do for love. Fuck that,” I thought while walking upstairs.
Her indifference continued the following days. The heaviness bulked up until it was inexplicable. Plus, the sleepless nights, unsolicited effort, unanswered questions.
At some point, I was like a man inside an endless labyrinth trying to find the way out. All I ever wanted was peace of mind – instead, I was in a war with my cognizance.
YOU ARE READING
Picturesque
RomanceWe take photographs as Return Tickets to moments otherwise gone. As Pat regains his shutter touch, Jane arrives in his borderline-okay life, which will make unimaginable differences.
