MY FAVORITE writers, Josie Gellar (Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed) and Jerusha Abbott (Jean Webster’s Daddy Long Legs), agree that a writer is most convincing when she writes about something she knows.

This article is nothing but about what I know—at this moment. Thinking that this could be my last article for a publication makes the nerves on my hand conquer my thoughts. It seems to me that years of scribbling so much and so hard has been encapsulated in this one-shot “this-is-my-moment” column.

Everytime I’m asked about my ambition, I always say that I want to be an architect and a lawyer. But I took up Journalism and currently applying for a marketing position.

For all those concerned, don’t worry. I’m on track, enjoying every bit of experience of a new chapter in my life.

* * *

Ten years ago, I was not a “writer”. Never. Yes, I was an honor student, but rarely I receive a writing prize. Neither did I receive a 100 mark in my Good Manner and Right Conduct (GMRC) essays nor did I have an excellent grade in my formal theme writing assignments. Everytime my paper was given back, I always wondered why.

A decade after, I knew why. My pen is not at ease when dictated. She’s a rebel.

* * *

This year, as I finished my undergraduate studies, I am to close my page in The Varsitarian. Pretty hard but definitely relieving. As much as I like to talk about my long overdue soulmate in my final column, I chose to devote space to the special people who created in their own special ways miracles in my life.

So my thanks:

Dirty dancing just got sexier

To my family for bearing my insanity. Papa, I’m so sorry I did not graduate with “honors.” I’ll make it up to you. Ma, I know you’re the one who pushes God to answer my impossible prayers. Nuno, I can’t promise to pay back your sacrifices but I won’t fail you.

To all my teachers in Pamplona Elementary School Central and Parañaque National High School. You deserve whatever recognition I’ve received and will receive.

To all my classmates SPED, DOST-1, A2, and JRN, for giving meaning to my school days.

To my Grade 6 English teacher, Mrs. Leonila Bataga, for hearing my pen’s “voice”.

To the Varsitarian staff, my batchmates Ron, Meg, Steph, Rache, Lutch, Alder, Billy, Phyllis, and Charles; to the outgoing and the incumbent staff, for the good memories.

To Sir Lito Zulueta, my unconditional respect for you is forever. Your love for the V people (your pseudo-children) is immeasurable. You deserve to have your own child.

To Rev. Fr. Rolando dela Rosa for the special gift last year. I won’t forget your special reminder.

To my best bunnies since grade school, Florence and Ross. We’ve traveled so far. Dalaga na tayo!

To 4JRN’s Fastbreak group. I’m looking forward to our “pamahalan na lang ng professional lunch” contest.

To Ralph Salvador, for all the unexpected yet unrecognized help. I never told you how much I appreciate all the assistance you’ve given me, especially the FilJrn errands. I wish you all the best.

To Madel, my Bessie, for the sweetest smile and the warmest touch. I’ll see you soon.

Fireworks explode as 'V' turns 85 on Year of Faith

To Manda, my soul sister, who has been my companion in the very short yet seemed to be too long journey of my last semester. As promised I’ll be beside your darkest hours. We’ve gone so far and I’m still ready for a longer trek.

To Jayme Brucal and Leah Bondoc for allowing me to see myself in them. To Sheila Molarto, my forever nurse-neurologist, who never gives up on me.

To Jason, Juli, Shar, Chuck, Ryan, Rupert, Richard, and Elka, for allowing me to somehow achieve my dream—to become a mother.

To Jhervy, my fairy godmother, my fashion deity, for adding spunk and spice to the lady in me. I love the skirts, peanuts, earings, doraemon, judy abbott, and more. And pink!

To Michael Celis, my legal “boyfriend”, for being him and keeping me. You’re the best man in the world.

And to God.

* * *

Tabula rasa is still searching for the reality of planes and spaces. She’ll forever be a child—forever unassuming, shading circles endlessly.


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