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Mandatory Post-47th National Writers Workshop Blog Post a.k.a. Tangina, Pics at Minor Commentary Na Nga Lang
Sunday, May 25, 2008

I’m back.

I have no proper capacity to recap my stay in Dumaguete. Three of the most glorious weeks of my little life, really. But for posterity’s and my overwhelming sense of sentimentality’s sake, here are just a few photos nicked from the staggering collections of my trigger happy co-fellow friends. (Click to enlarge, doi, and more stuff here, here and here, thanks to bullfrog baby Jordan.)

At our panel session at Antulang Resort. Bottom row, L-R: Leslie dela Cruz, Igor dela Peña, Tokwa So, Elena Paulma, Dustin Celestino, Arlene Yandug. Middle row, L-R: Lawrence Bernabe, Carmela Tolentino (in black), Celeste Fusilero, Marguerite de Leon, Jordan Carnice, Liza Baccay, Lambert Varias. Top row, L-R: Bron Teves, Myrna Peña- Reyes, Rowena Tiempo-Torrevillas, Butch Dalisay, Beng Dalisay.

Ryan Agoncillo had, apparently, proposed to Juday while we were there. Don't believe me?

Stolen starstruck snapshot. Saan ka pa.

At Mom Edith's lecture in a country club chapel. Fortunately, this great privilege overpowered the fact that our hallowed venue could have burnt several of us to a crisp, considering our many varied shenanigans at Davao Cottage (homestead for most fellows and, thus, the ultimate House of Decadence).


This is us about to murderlize Lambert who, despite (or maybe due to) his constant sleepiness, is a fucking genius at panel.


This is us at Country Gents, our suking videoke hole, where Tokwa always gets his Total Eclipse of the Heart on with a most suspect gusto.


This is Igor and me at the first week's poetry reading, the first of many unfortunately memorable duets. Igor had planned to dance while I sang "Criminal," but, as can be gathered from his starting position, our attempt ended in pure chaos. But it was fabuloush, nonetheless.


This is me, Tokwa, Lambert and Dustin at Cafe Antonio. The four of us, plus Banana Man Lawrence, served as the mandatory relentless smoking constituent of our batch.


Speaking of which, this is Lawrence and me having a post-coital smoke on our first weekend getaway to Lake Balinsasayao. Yeah, baby. It was fucking freezing.


This is us taking a breather on our Balinsasayao trek, taken by Dakilang Yaya Mo. The fact that we were still able to pose despite said trek's "The Biggest Loser"-brand of physical exertion is beyond me.


Coincidentally, this is our Dakilang Yaya about to stab Carmela with a cake knife.


This is us staring off into a slab of sea at Siquijor, our second weekend's getaway. Wushu.


This is us at Chantilly during one of many bouts of gluttony. Dumaguete's cheap and ridiculously decadent sweets larded us up real good.


This is us at Davao Cottage looking decidedly normal. And what were we all bunched up in the sala for, pray tell?


This is the cover art of Sea[sic], the anthology we fellows took upon ourselves to produce during our stay. We unveiled it to the panelists and the rest of the Silliman/Dumaguete faction on Fellows Night. Concept, coordination and over-all spearheading by Dustin, layout and associate administration duties by yours truly, cover art and photo supplementation by Jordan, and works by all 14 of us. Written during our many free periods in Dumaguete, workshopped one evening (hence the photo above), and sent to the printers in due time, this antho (consisting of prose and poetry set in Dumaguete) is our way of saying that we feel strongly about what we do. Yes, we got fucking drunk and all those other Dumaguete-based spells of debauchery expected of us, but we decided to do a little something-something beyond that.

Suffice it to say that Dumaguete was way, way, way more than worth it. To everyone: thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thank you. You know what I mean.


posted by marguerite @ 10:27 AM

|

Okay.
Saturday, May 03, 2008


This is me on a tumba-tumba at Balay Negrense, one of the stops at our cultural tour last week. Was tempted to put my feet up on the especially elongated, uh, limb rests, but I feared the wrath of Chaka Doll, who was watching me from its high chair in a room across the hall, saddled with the shi-shi ghosts of the hacienda. (Piping! Ang kape! Ngayon din!)


This is Chaka Doll.

While my mandatory post-workshop blog entry did no justice whatsoever to last week’s lushness (key word: lush), En did a bang-up job recounting the details here. Masipag na bata.

So.

I shall be off to Dumaguete tomorrow. Three whole weeks of I Have No Idea. Then again, my little life thus far has been day after day of I Have No Idea as well, an arbitrariness that, I repeat, has far more concrete backing than one could ever imagine.

On the plane back to Manila, teary-eyed amongst a whole cabin full of post-convention Masons and a really creepy Indian woman, I had the strongest feeling that this was going to be one Limbo of a week. My gut was right. And very much so.

I feel very, very strange. Strange. The past couple of days seemed like a dream. Eyes closed. Taken back. Shifting in and out of curious, curious Sleep. But it was all real.


I have ended this entry with a photo of people looking off cheesily into some unidentified point (well, except for Jessel, but what can you do). We were probably just looking at Bardem or Kris or something, but let’s pretend that whatever it was was a notch less harrowing, okay?

Okay.


posted by marguerite @ 10:02 AM

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the girl


Marguerite.
23.
Pasig City, PH.

Damned the man, saved the empire.

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