Unforgettable

Way back in high school, I was one of the few chosen to represent the school in the press conferences - where competitions on writing skills were held. I competed for feature writing in Filipino. First, it was the Division Press Conference and I was included in the top ten. Second, it was the Regional Press Conference and I was included in the top ten again. The rules included that one should be included in the top ten from the Regional Press Conference to make it to the National Press Conference. Lucky me.

It was a group of students and teachers when we departed to Baguio, the place where the National Press Conference will be held. It was an unforgettable experience really. I was so excited to go minus the extravagant preparation. Blame it on my naïve notions about traveling because I was never really exposed to it. Plus I was a plain student from a plain family with a plain life. The household where I grew up never bothered about traveling even to the nearest destination.

So I went. I had with me a few supplies, little money, and a few sets of clothes. They were provisions from a hard-up family. This was the reason probably why I had to be treated the way one of the teachers who were with us treated me – like I am a nobody. But I brushed them all aside. After all, I said to myself, I won in the Regional Press Conference and I deserve to compete with the others from the different regions of the country.

We were there for a week. The program for the whole week included listening to Onofre Corpuz and other speakers, group activities, briefings, socialization gatherings and parties, the competition, and the awarding. It got me all excited when the day of the competition finally came. It was what I looked forward to for the whole week, nothing else. I was never even excited about meeting other people from different schools. I was for the rest of the week just waiting for that day.

We were guided to the room where the competition was to be held. As far as I can remember, the participants of the feature writing contest in Filipino occupied three or four rooms. It was Liwayway Arceo, of Liwayway magazine, who was to judge our pieces. The topic was about progress. In the Filipino language, kaunlaran. I had my piece title as Ang Pilipinas at ang Tatlong Mukha ng Kaunlaran (The Philippines and the Three Faces of Progress).

After a little while of forming thoughts on what I would write, I wrote silently, then submitted it to the proctor. I was able to finish my piece shortly. I never was a fan of long articles. I believe even before that a writer should express his/her thoughts concisely to gain attention, not to beat around the bush.

The competition for my category went simultaneously with the other categories – news writing (in Filipino and English), editorial writing (in Filipino and English), and feature writing (in English). I could not exactly remember if there was sports-writing. When almost everybody from our group had finished, this teacher I was talking about asked excitedly what every one of us wrote. My fellow students, some were classmates, confidently narrated what they wrote. They each received a pat on the back for a job well done. I was the last one she asked, or just for formality’s sake, she asked me at last. My answer was a plain, “Tsaka na lang, Ma’am, pagkatapos ng awarding.” (Later, Ma’am, after the awarding.) Guess what I received from her? “’Eto talaga si ______, wala akong kapag-a-pag-asa!” (I see no hope in you, ______!) I kept mum, feeling inferior again for the nth time. This is the price of somebody not well heeled, and so I thought. Still, I did not tell her. “I don’t care what you think,” I thought callously.

Finally, the awards day came, that was a day (or two?) after the competition. All the winners of the above-mentioned categories were announced. Our group was gloomily listening to the announcements as nobody from the group made it, and while we were all listening to the last category (feature writing in Filipino), our teachers, including THAT teacher, started giving encouraging words like there will always be a next time, etc, etc. I had given up hope after the sixth winner was announced, and I bet everybody felt the same way. I was starting to pacify myself from the disappointment when suddenly, “Third Place, from Quezon City…” We were stiffened, and so was everybody from each school from Quezon City. “From Project 4,…” I never waited for the announcer to mention my name and my school. There was nobody there from a Project 4, Quezon City school but me. I jumped and shouted with joy, unmindful of the stares.

While I was nervously but excitedly up there on the stage, grinning, I thought, “It was finally the dirtbag who brought honor to the school.” Handshakes and words of congratulations were many but it was THAT teacher’s handshake and words of congratulations that mattered. I can feel the guilt within her and it felt like “vengeance is mine” for me. When they brought me home, she told my parents, “Ang galing-galing po ng anak niyo!” (Your daughter is great!) What a hypocrite!