Here Goes Nothing (Part 1)
Thursday, March 06, 2008
I suppose this is for my own convenience. This should be something I can link to in future blog entries to save myself from redundancy. Besides, I’ve been asked recently to write something about this, I’m bored out of my butt, and there’s a certain, inexplicable funk to this day that’s been keeping me on edge. Thus, once and for all, I will post That One Makiling Entry I’ve Been Meaning to Chuck Up Since Forever. I’ll try to make this short. Or not.
It’s no secret that I have qualms about my alma mater. I love the place, don’t get me wrong. I still stand by the notion that my four years there were the craziest in my little life so far, and I remain very grateful and lucky to have been granted all that bedlam. The Philippine High School for the Arts, a government-run boarding school whose thrust is to hone the skills of a bunch of kids in their chosen art fields (theater, music, dance, visual arts, or creative writing) right smack in the middle of Mount Makiling, is bound to offer that sack of Crazy in the first place. Yet I feel that the reason why it’s such a wonderful, unforgettable place is the very same reason why it can be a source of anxiety later on.
You’re this young, naïve, highly hormonal human being dropped off in the boondocks. Tuition, board and lodging are free. There are roughly only 120 students and a handful of faculty there at any given year, so it really is this close-knit community. This little world, rife with customs apt only for such a queer environment, grows on you. Gets under your skin. Any bright-eyed teen who deems creative expression a priority will feel invincible there, in a way. You take academics in the morning, and then art classes in the afternoon and well into the evening. Dorm high-jinks (and then some) are standard. You are reminded everyday that you are special, be it by your teachers or by the fact that trees, boulders, hills and cliffs greet you at your cottage veranda every single, nippy morning and not the bland streets of your hometown. Moreover, as an iskolar ng bayan, you have been made to understand that excellence is key to who you are, that you must render a service to this thing called Philippine Art for the rest of your life. Thus, you get to take trips all around the country and abroad to help prove this. You get to perform onstage, or exhibit your works at galleries, or have a collection of your written works published. You have the time of your life in more ways than one. You graduate feeling mighty damn proud of your ass.
And then what? Aye, there’s the rub.
Being in an art school has its trials, definitely. But the overwhelming pressure to excel, the vicious student-teacher favoritism, the stress on your body and brain from an unconventional workload, the fact that classmates drop out or get kicked out more frequently than in other schools, and the rest of that hackneyed art school drama (not to mention raging hormones and classic teenage angst) are par for the course. It’s what you have to go through next that can prove a mite hellish. You’ve had too singular a time there on the mountain, and therein lies the flaw.
Okay, I’ve run out of steam. I’ll punch out the rest of this rant soon. (Dear god, this is my first two-part blog entry ever; I really am that bored.) Cheers.
posted by marguerite @ 11:05 PM
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