I had my first writing stint in 1st year high school. I wrote a declamation piece in Tagalog intended for a competition in Linggo ng Wika. Mrs. Tuling, my Pilipino teacher, had to convince me that failing to win the contest would never have any effect on my grade.
In the silence of my tapered dreams, I sat down for hours along with some other dreamers scripting what I thought was the best piece in Philippine literature. Word by word, each one must rhyme exactly. No loopholes. I started the piece with a contagious phrase and, quick like a fox, it ran through every letter, every word, connecting, linking, opening new thoughts, and stimulating new stretches of words. Few minutes before time, when everything read perfectly, I finished it with an excellent emphasis. It was three in the afternoon, two days later, during the culminating program when the winners of the writing competition were proclaimed. I came late. Then my name was called, I heard it unmistakably. Expecting to receive a consolation prize of P20, I hurriedly went up the platform and to my revelation a cash of P150 was handed over. I won first prize! A first year student won the first prize. The following day I sported a new cap, in its lining was written, I got lucky, I won.
Year after year, I found myself in circles of hopeful writers from provincial to regional writing competitions I participated. Most often, I landed in the top three.
I love to write. I would not probably have the inspiration and determination of spending hours tinkering on words and structuring phrases had I not won those contests in my high school years.
Was the memorable day a go signal from above to hone this talent I was not even able to trace its roots? Could this be only a trial-error thing or error-error stuff? Is this some space in my life intended for patience testing and stamina assessment?
Most say, only people with reserved patience can write long and good articles and can survive many rejections. As a young writer in this very competitive world, many a times I felt almost close to giving up, letting go of this wild dream and just venture into something else. I almost raise the white flag and shout to the world how foolish I am to persevere days of thinking worthy topics to write and stare blankly in the computer's screen for hours. Yet somehow, somewhere I know there is a place for me in this spacious circle of words, in this enduring dream God-knows-what better things will bring and where probably might lead.
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