RÉVÉRENCE (ray’-vay-RAHNSS) – to bow or curtsy. A term used to describe the formal bow made by the dancers at the end of a class or performance.
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Men who do not treat women right deserve death by Lorena Bobbit. And by the time this column gets published, there would still be about a 3 million men in the world who deserve to be sentenced thusly.
Ill treatment of women should have been outdated by now, but there are still those who seem to enjoy being its fashion victim: patriarchal governments who can’t seem to wrench their insecure fingers off containers labeled, “women’s rights”; 20- to 75-year-olds who can’t stop doing something—about 15-year-old breasts; pot-bellied drunks who can’t stop using their wives as punch bags—physically and verbally; gawky looking men who crowd the FX, stare their I’m-undressing-you stare, then wait until you fall asleep so they can “perform” their pick-up line.
And don’t give me that “it’s your dress” excuse, or you swallow my old smelly ballet shoes. It’s time these people realize that women are not their property, but their equal.
…Wire in a fire, represent the seven games in a government for hire and a combat site. Left her, wasn’t coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck…
***
No word can help me describe my feelings for the Varsitarian, the publication I’ve been in love with and slaved over for the past three years. And it will be hard to let go of this institution which has taught me more than my college can ever accomplish in four years.
…Uh oh, overflow, population, common group, but it’ll do. Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed…
But like all ballet productions, a “V” staffer’s stay in this publication always has a coda, or ending, where ballerinas, or in this case, the amihan pay their final respects—their reverence, their bow—to their audience, mentors, peers, and virtually all who helped make their stay in the Varsitarian as enjoyable as possible.
…Tell me with the rapture and the reverent in the right – right. You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched…
And so I curtsy to the Varsitarian readers, who diligently secure each issue to keep themselves abreast of the goings-on in the University. (And avoid using them as mats during Paskuhan.)
To the gracious “V” sources; students, faculty, administrators, and the Dominicans who tried their best to cooperate with the publication’s inquisitions and deadlines.
To my fellow outgoing “V” staffers, Mykel, Nicolo, Libay, Deni, Cha, Mikoy, Tina, Dino—who shared my graduation blues.
To TL, Eldric, Geoff, Marisse, Julsie, Dumy, Carlo, Dexter, Joanne, Brix, Billy, Stephan, Nat, Paolo, Clifford, Christian, and Ma’am Chrisma—my seniors who have made some profound influence on me, one way or another.
To the news staff, Reagan, Camille, Rheeno, and Elaine, it would not have been possible to accomplish 13 issues without you guys.
And to Sir Lito, I have always been tongue-tied around you. Now I’m pen-tied. Did you know you have your very own website?
…Light a candle, light a motive. Step down, step down. Watch a heel crush, crush. Uh oh, this means no fear—cavalier. Renegade and steer clear! A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies…
This is the part where I state the cliché: Once a Varsitarian staffer, always a Varsitarian staffer.
Then again, who knows. There might be an en core. Kudos to the incoming staff.
***
To Dad, Mom, Kuya Ivan.
And to Peimon, for enduring.
…It’s the end of the world as we know it. It’s the end of the world as we know it. It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine…
(It’s time I had some time alone.)
*lyrics from “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” by R.E.M.
