Doing It for the First Time
Hello! This is Felipe. I’m a columnist (gosh, I’m imagining that this is the nature of my work). 
But I really haven’t mastered the art of THE column. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t a columnist or a writer during my high school newspaper life. I purposely volunteered as a cartoonist, for that was a field where I really excel in. And for that, I wouldn’t just really focus on coming up with articles for my column. Well, except this one.
But I really like the idea of owning a column. It is a dream-come-true. Speaking of dreams, I would really appreciate it if:
1. More people were vegetarian. It would enforce the Animal Welfare towards goodwill. I truly believe that people should take care of animals.
2. More people were to become rich. This is the good version of number 3 which is:
3. More kids who run along the railroad with no underwear were to be banished. This is the evil version of number two.
Now, maybe you’re wondering what my column would be all about. So I want to show you what was supposed to be my article’s debut ‘gala performance’.
(Untitled)
“I'm going to make a column about you.”
Chris cringed and squinted his big eyes and I got his message. He just didn't like my idea.
I just have to say something, some back up details to support my case. In a cake, I should now smother it with icing. Or in a roof, I should now adorn the holes with some sticky gray stuff so no one would notice that the roof is breaking down. But I don't intend on doing the roof thing. I'm a no blue collar worker. “Well, it would be fun. My orgmates will get to know you without even seeing you! That would be like Harry Potter. Or Sherlock Holmes. Or Cinderella..”
“Or like Billy Erika Rose!” Kate cried out in a way that anyone within her 10-m radius would hear.
“Who's she?”
“Nothing. Just a character from a book that I've read.” She flushed like when my roommate heard his crush/village mate or when my orgmate, Mr. Wet Pants, wet his socks (of course by the natural law of names, he wet his pants, not his socks).
Well, I still have to proceed to my inquisition. “What book was it? Who wrote it? Where did you buy it? Huh?” Then, I munched some fries (well, I really don't remember if I really did munch some fries back then. I just thought that it's spunky).
She then told me that it was The Rose Tatoo: The Rape in Amontillado by Judith McNaught. I really do think that her name implies kinky stuff. “It's about a blossoming relationship between a jet setter and a notorious artisan set in a complicated and interlaced situations. It's wittily written.” Well, I would like to believe in what she has said but I soon found out that Billy Erika Rose was a character in a Tagalog romance pocket books of the Yaya Sisterhood (Isang Tapse, tik out *ting*)
Chris insinuated that they were like Makapili, “We're known, but we're not seen. Or we're like the air; you can feel it, but you can't see it. That will make us like ghosts”
Kate snickered, “But ghosts don't exist.” Then Chris and I looked at each other and then looked at her knowingly.
“Well say that to the woman beside you.” Chris suggested to Kate, knowing that there's no visible person beside her.
“Well what about you Kate? What do you think? A column about you. Isn't that fun?”
She agreed nonchalantly. This is what I hate about her. She just seems not to care sometimes. And those times are when she doesn't bother to butt in and when her mind has gone to oblivion – which happens a lot, by the way. I don't intend to label her as inane or something, but she really thinks of so many things that disturbs her.
“Can't you say anything else? I mean, it's you that I'm gonna exploit and you're just okay with it?”
“Well..”, she was queasy on this part and I remember her sipping some of her soda to clear her throat or to make me believe that she has something to say but the truth is she's thinking of something to articulate, “I think that you won't be bothering to update that column of yours anyway. Look at your blogsite and Multiply account. They're either dormant or extinct. Your Friendster account is even treading towards becoming extinct. How can you even contribute a regular column?”
“Well Kate and Chris, this is for real. I am committed to do it. So what now? Any reactions?”
“Flip, I'm okay with it. A column about me is not good. But if you're doing it, it's gonna be fine.” I, then, sought for a reassurance. “You won't do much harm and exploitation. If you're devoting a column about your friends, that wouldn't mean it's entirely about us. It would still be about you. Well, with a dash of your friends. There's a difference between the two. Everything you do is always about you.”
******
After absorbing what I have said, Kate wanted to know what the main theme will be. But Chris was vehemently asking what his name would be. He wanted him to be known as Kyle or Dylan. Kate wants Meisha (name of her idol: don’t get started with that, because her real idol is Claudine Barretto) as a name. I told them that I was still thinking about it.
When they were so excited to know what my column name would be, I was blank. I never thought of what my column would be known as. I don't want it to be called “Felipe's Column”- that would be like, duh? And I want to get a pseudonym, but it wouldn't serve its purpose since gossips spread within the organization like an HIV in some African country.
*******
Sunday Dine Out Club started when Red Horse, Faber Castle, Girbaud (we have this same bag), and Photoshop were still applicants to our organization. I invited them to eat outside one Sunday night. We ended up eating in House of Sisig which serves cakes (of course, by the natural law of names they dish out sisigs). This has been regular for a month and a half.
Now, this is where Chris and Kate come in. After the termination of Sunday Dine Out Club, I underwent a withdrawal stage. I invited my friend Chris to eat somewhere. We ate at McDonald's Philcoa (which by the way is Top 1 when it comes to being the worst branch of McDonald's and ironically nearest to UP). Kate, back then was Chris' friend and not mine, was eating alone. We joined her, I got to know her and we became friends. We ate out regularly. McDonald's has been our default choice, and the Sunday Dine Out Club was relaunched.
We meet every Sunday at McDonald's Philcoa to talk about our lives, and everything and everyone around us. That would include everything outside the store or else, we can't talk of anything but the oh so lousy service of that branch and the eerie Service Crew of the Month picture which explicitly manifests itself among the never-mind-the-service-cause-we-wanna-eat customers.
End. But not finished.
My original column was supposed to be about me and my “friends” (Which were non existent. They were supposed to be my egos appearing to be my friends). My column title should have been “Sunday Dine Out Club”. Then, after having my test read with some real, breathing, existing friends who occupy space, I was kinda disheartened to pursue my theme. I was much too novice to handle such complicated theme. I realized that writing an article means informing the readers while effectively expressing myself, not leaving them in a vague state.
Oh well, watch out for my next post! Teehee!
*******************
I really wanted to end my column here. I can't help but rant.
One fine Sunday afternoon, I have isolated a strange virus. The Big Bow Virus. The victims were known as Blair witches.
Every corner in every mall, you'll find a Blair witch with a very cute, dainty, small bowtie enough to cover her soul! What in the world is that?! It's a manifestation of a TV show which is fictional in nature. The ribbon was too big! I can hear the bowtie babble, “I'm a ribbon! Big big ribbon! Oh yes, I'm a tushy plushy biggie ribbon! I'm cute, oh yezshaimzuzhakyutbigribbon!!!” I was in the verge of tearing their dress apart, 'coz I thought that they were gifts. This might sound alarming, it may raise crime rate, specifically sexual abuse which is accidental in nature.
While a friend of mine liked it (because it was like Renaissance all over again, but big bowties-slash-headbands weren't the fad during that period, were they?), I never really liked the ribbon idea. It grabs too much attention. You won't see the eyes of a woman which are the windows to her soul.
This big bow thing is stupid. For the love of all things good and pure, get your own style.
But I really haven’t mastered the art of THE column. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t a columnist or a writer during my high school newspaper life. I purposely volunteered as a cartoonist, for that was a field where I really excel in. And for that, I wouldn’t just really focus on coming up with articles for my column. Well, except this one.But I really like the idea of owning a column. It is a dream-come-true. Speaking of dreams, I would really appreciate it if:
1. More people were vegetarian. It would enforce the Animal Welfare towards goodwill. I truly believe that people should take care of animals.
2. More people were to become rich. This is the good version of number 3 which is:
3. More kids who run along the railroad with no underwear were to be banished. This is the evil version of number two.
Now, maybe you’re wondering what my column would be all about. So I want to show you what was supposed to be my article’s debut ‘gala performance’.
(Untitled)
“I'm going to make a column about you.”
Chris cringed and squinted his big eyes and I got his message. He just didn't like my idea.
I just have to say something, some back up details to support my case. In a cake, I should now smother it with icing. Or in a roof, I should now adorn the holes with some sticky gray stuff so no one would notice that the roof is breaking down. But I don't intend on doing the roof thing. I'm a no blue collar worker. “Well, it would be fun. My orgmates will get to know you without even seeing you! That would be like Harry Potter. Or Sherlock Holmes. Or Cinderella..”
“Or like Billy Erika Rose!” Kate cried out in a way that anyone within her 10-m radius would hear.
“Who's she?”
“Nothing. Just a character from a book that I've read.” She flushed like when my roommate heard his crush/village mate or when my orgmate, Mr. Wet Pants, wet his socks (of course by the natural law of names, he wet his pants, not his socks).
Well, I still have to proceed to my inquisition. “What book was it? Who wrote it? Where did you buy it? Huh?” Then, I munched some fries (well, I really don't remember if I really did munch some fries back then. I just thought that it's spunky).
She then told me that it was The Rose Tatoo: The Rape in Amontillado by Judith McNaught. I really do think that her name implies kinky stuff. “It's about a blossoming relationship between a jet setter and a notorious artisan set in a complicated and interlaced situations. It's wittily written.” Well, I would like to believe in what she has said but I soon found out that Billy Erika Rose was a character in a Tagalog romance pocket books of the Yaya Sisterhood (Isang Tapse, tik out *ting*)
Chris insinuated that they were like Makapili, “We're known, but we're not seen. Or we're like the air; you can feel it, but you can't see it. That will make us like ghosts”
Kate snickered, “But ghosts don't exist.” Then Chris and I looked at each other and then looked at her knowingly.
“Well say that to the woman beside you.” Chris suggested to Kate, knowing that there's no visible person beside her.
“Well what about you Kate? What do you think? A column about you. Isn't that fun?”
She agreed nonchalantly. This is what I hate about her. She just seems not to care sometimes. And those times are when she doesn't bother to butt in and when her mind has gone to oblivion – which happens a lot, by the way. I don't intend to label her as inane or something, but she really thinks of so many things that disturbs her.
“Can't you say anything else? I mean, it's you that I'm gonna exploit and you're just okay with it?”
“Well..”, she was queasy on this part and I remember her sipping some of her soda to clear her throat or to make me believe that she has something to say but the truth is she's thinking of something to articulate, “I think that you won't be bothering to update that column of yours anyway. Look at your blogsite and Multiply account. They're either dormant or extinct. Your Friendster account is even treading towards becoming extinct. How can you even contribute a regular column?”
“Well Kate and Chris, this is for real. I am committed to do it. So what now? Any reactions?”
“Flip, I'm okay with it. A column about me is not good. But if you're doing it, it's gonna be fine.” I, then, sought for a reassurance. “You won't do much harm and exploitation. If you're devoting a column about your friends, that wouldn't mean it's entirely about us. It would still be about you. Well, with a dash of your friends. There's a difference between the two. Everything you do is always about you.”
******
After absorbing what I have said, Kate wanted to know what the main theme will be. But Chris was vehemently asking what his name would be. He wanted him to be known as Kyle or Dylan. Kate wants Meisha (name of her idol: don’t get started with that, because her real idol is Claudine Barretto) as a name. I told them that I was still thinking about it.
When they were so excited to know what my column name would be, I was blank. I never thought of what my column would be known as. I don't want it to be called “Felipe's Column”- that would be like, duh? And I want to get a pseudonym, but it wouldn't serve its purpose since gossips spread within the organization like an HIV in some African country.
*******
Sunday Dine Out Club started when Red Horse, Faber Castle, Girbaud (we have this same bag), and Photoshop were still applicants to our organization. I invited them to eat outside one Sunday night. We ended up eating in House of Sisig which serves cakes (of course, by the natural law of names they dish out sisigs). This has been regular for a month and a half.
Now, this is where Chris and Kate come in. After the termination of Sunday Dine Out Club, I underwent a withdrawal stage. I invited my friend Chris to eat somewhere. We ate at McDonald's Philcoa (which by the way is Top 1 when it comes to being the worst branch of McDonald's and ironically nearest to UP). Kate, back then was Chris' friend and not mine, was eating alone. We joined her, I got to know her and we became friends. We ate out regularly. McDonald's has been our default choice, and the Sunday Dine Out Club was relaunched.
We meet every Sunday at McDonald's Philcoa to talk about our lives, and everything and everyone around us. That would include everything outside the store or else, we can't talk of anything but the oh so lousy service of that branch and the eerie Service Crew of the Month picture which explicitly manifests itself among the never-mind-the-service-cause-we-wanna-eat customers.
End. But not finished.
My original column was supposed to be about me and my “friends” (Which were non existent. They were supposed to be my egos appearing to be my friends). My column title should have been “Sunday Dine Out Club”. Then, after having my test read with some real, breathing, existing friends who occupy space, I was kinda disheartened to pursue my theme. I was much too novice to handle such complicated theme. I realized that writing an article means informing the readers while effectively expressing myself, not leaving them in a vague state.
Oh well, watch out for my next post! Teehee!
*******************
I really wanted to end my column here. I can't help but rant.
One fine Sunday afternoon, I have isolated a strange virus. The Big Bow Virus. The victims were known as Blair witches.
Every corner in every mall, you'll find a Blair witch with a very cute, dainty, small bowtie enough to cover her soul! What in the world is that?! It's a manifestation of a TV show which is fictional in nature. The ribbon was too big! I can hear the bowtie babble, “I'm a ribbon! Big big ribbon! Oh yes, I'm a tushy plushy biggie ribbon! I'm cute, oh yezshaimzuzhakyutbigribbon!!!” I was in the verge of tearing their dress apart, 'coz I thought that they were gifts. This might sound alarming, it may raise crime rate, specifically sexual abuse which is accidental in nature.
While a friend of mine liked it (because it was like Renaissance all over again, but big bowties-slash-headbands weren't the fad during that period, were they?), I never really liked the ribbon idea. It grabs too much attention. You won't see the eyes of a woman which are the windows to her soul.
This big bow thing is stupid. For the love of all things good and pure, get your own style.
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