Eight Paragraphs
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
She was scribbling down her fifth paragraph, yet I was trembling with my first, and we were asked to make eight. She had a bucketful of self confidence, yet I had a teaspoonful of bitter self blame, and we were just given an hour to finish. She clipped her pen close and was the first to pass, yet I rubbed off the ink markings on my palm and was the last to submit, and we were both writing for the same issue. Human Struggle Against Poverty, that was the topic and we were to ferment a feature article out of it. Ink refused to flow smoothly as it touches the stubborn newsprint paper while my ideas ended up in disarray. The eight paragraphs were no less than mere empty words forcibly patched up to meet the austere guidelines.
That tension filled hour denied me to explore more, to see more than just slum areas or murky rainwater dripping from ceilings. I was too visual, that what I see is what I also write. The survivor’s story of an unfortunate fate skipped past my thoughts, and was blinded by obvious scenarios seen by almost any bystander. As I tapped every letter on the keyboard, I realized that my dilemma on such a petty feature article was comparable to the everyday struggle of the deprived against poverty.
To be poor is not a destiny, rather it is a choice. Proofs are the stories of wealthy upper class men who once laundered with rags and ended up bubbling with riches. It was my choice to be unaware of time, it was my choice of being foolish enough to construct paragraph number one for almost half an hour, and it even was my choice to join the competition. I can blame no one but myself. Time element was no factor; every contestant has the same hour glass to beat. Psychological influences were no reason; every contestant has the same anxiety to relieve. So does the poor who can blame no one but themselves. Heredity was no factor; every person has the same volume of opportunities to conquer. Political anomalies were no reason; every person is under the same governance, may it be fair or rotten.
As I handed in my feature article, I dropped my head down hopelessly aware that I had no chance of laying my hands on the shiny trophy. Even before the critics judged my work, I gave in to pessimism; I gave up looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The fear and uncertainty is always there, it only takes confidence to precede over them and soon feel the sweet pleasure of gut-feel, of hope. So do poverty, it is always there, unless economics would cease to exist. The poor continues to be poor because, after they realize they have dripping ceilings, their hopes seem to leak as well. Even before they try going to school and finish a course, they concluded they are illiterate. Even before they tasted the grapes they already proclaimed them to be sour.
I enrolled in Sociology 101 last semester, and though I may not be very well versed in demographics, I can vie to this simple theory on poverty drowned individuals. They clamor much on their situation yet, not a single twist of ankle did they spare to change their fate. Just like what I did, I clashed with my mind as the inevitable situation called the writer’s block visited me on the hour of my competition. I clamored, I panicked, I reacted but did not resort to any alternatives, did not even try to heave a deep breath and clear my mind. Silly me.
Poverty is an enemy, it is not a reason that one can use so as to be spared from the responsibilities of life. People use poverty to rationalize their condition, to euphemize their instability, to hide their wrong choices. I used the cousin of poverty, tension, to somehow wipe off the waste of ink I etched on that sheet of paper. I used tension to elevate my self esteem; I used tension as the reason why I lost in the competition.
I may have not written eight paragraphs as of now, but every word counts, as the key board seems to be more giving. She eminently shows off her shiny trophy to her friends, I apparently smile accepting the fate that I myself chose. She sleeps tonight with sweet dreams of triumph, I sleep tonight with a feature—err column article done, a cozy pillow to hug, and a belief that, between two of us, I was the survivor.
Be a survivor.
Stop Poverty.
Super-Cheaters: The Injustice League (December 4,2007)
Super-Cheaters: The Injustice League
By Maria Reylan M. Garcia
“By the end of this exam, three of you shall have a grade of zero”. The college instructor adjusted his glasses and moved past the aisles of the classroom, his watchful eyes caught hold of juvenile heinous crimes ripening within the four walls. I felt a sudden flow of rushing current within my veins. I know I was not guilty; it’s against my principle to cheat, to take advantage of people in my own accord. But as my penmanship couldn’t get any worse than of a five year old, a scream of injustice within me would just like to approach those three nincompoops and do the honors to place a big 0 on their test papers. Pathetic, they would sink that low just to ensure their fate in a fifty item examination? This is where it all starts. Believe me, the next thing that will possibly happen, are those same three people who’ll be denying their tax duties, laying extra unmerited charges on their services, or selling some scam of gadgets unregistered in the Bureau of Customs. This is where it all starts, earlier perhaps. Just like how he took his best friend’s pokemon cards without permission.
I would often lose interest and due respect to persons who cheat their way out of messy situations. How unfair it is, that you stayed up late memorizing all the dates and hard to pronounce surnames of significant people ending up with an insensitive fool copying off you. How unfair it is, that you wasted a cup of coffee just to extend the night ending up with a tactless freak extending his neck just to get a glimpse of your 1.0-worthy answers. How unfair it is, that you got 1.0 in the exams but with due course of sagging eye bags ending up with an inconsiderate dupe getting 1.0 as well but with a tightly detoxified face. These people have some nerves of pure steel, willing to literally do everything for the sake of achieving what they desire. In fact besides having a nervous system made up of metals, they have some unique qualities or what I call super-cheating powers. An X-ray vision that could see past any blockages you’ll be defending your exam paper with. An elastic neck that could tantamount the stretching capabilities of a flamingo, ostrich, giraffe and lastikman joined together, that could extend to a maximum length just to nose around your answers. A supersonic hearing that could detect some few minute hushes of information within a thirty kilometer radius. See how extraordinary these people are, they deserve a round of applause and a bucket of rotten tomatoes.
Cheating is a form of dishonesty, which in any angle is against the moral principles of any society there is. Soon I’ll be a full-fledged nurse, and in my hands depend the different fragile fates from a pediatric (child-care) to a geriatric (elderly-care) setting. I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes; I couldn’t even dare to cheat, because I’m dealing with lives. One wrong diagnosis, one error in assessment, one misled injection of a syringe would mean also one thing, loss. I value my life more than anything I own, I guess the other billions of people, the other billions of my would-be patients think the same way. It would be unfair if I cheated with their lives.
Take a look around you, cheating is everywhere. From a simple 5th grade girl changing her answers during the checking of their test papers to a statesman pocketing the funds for a road construction in a remote barrio, these are acts of dishonesty, they are cheaters. There are times when I’m already in panic, sweating hard like a pig in his pen, facing a difficult question in an exam and would be tempted to take a few degrees to the left and peep in my seatmate’s answers. But you know what? I couldn’t bear to do so; I wouldn’t risk a point, a single point in an exam in exchange for my principles. Yes, I may get a low score. Yes, someone might end up being higher than mine. Still, I have more examinations to which I can uplift myself without the cost of others, without the cost of dishonesty.
Now before you would dig your hands inside your mom’s purse for some extra allowance without telling her, remember what you’re doing is maybe the same act you’re persecuting and telling off alleged politicians gobbling up the nation’s funds.
Soon, in around six semester’s time, I’ll be a registered nurse working in a local hospital here or attending to Bill Gates as his personal nurse. But one thing remains true and always true, I’ll be able to reach it without cheating my way out.
I smiled at my score after receiving my test paper.
I got 46/50, second highest.
Still happy.
It’s better than getting zero, right?
By Maria Reylan M. Garcia
“By the end of this exam, three of you shall have a grade of zero”. The college instructor adjusted his glasses and moved past the aisles of the classroom, his watchful eyes caught hold of juvenile heinous crimes ripening within the four walls. I felt a sudden flow of rushing current within my veins. I know I was not guilty; it’s against my principle to cheat, to take advantage of people in my own accord. But as my penmanship couldn’t get any worse than of a five year old, a scream of injustice within me would just like to approach those three nincompoops and do the honors to place a big 0 on their test papers. Pathetic, they would sink that low just to ensure their fate in a fifty item examination? This is where it all starts. Believe me, the next thing that will possibly happen, are those same three people who’ll be denying their tax duties, laying extra unmerited charges on their services, or selling some scam of gadgets unregistered in the Bureau of Customs. This is where it all starts, earlier perhaps. Just like how he took his best friend’s pokemon cards without permission.
I would often lose interest and due respect to persons who cheat their way out of messy situations. How unfair it is, that you stayed up late memorizing all the dates and hard to pronounce surnames of significant people ending up with an insensitive fool copying off you. How unfair it is, that you wasted a cup of coffee just to extend the night ending up with a tactless freak extending his neck just to get a glimpse of your 1.0-worthy answers. How unfair it is, that you got 1.0 in the exams but with due course of sagging eye bags ending up with an inconsiderate dupe getting 1.0 as well but with a tightly detoxified face. These people have some nerves of pure steel, willing to literally do everything for the sake of achieving what they desire. In fact besides having a nervous system made up of metals, they have some unique qualities or what I call super-cheating powers. An X-ray vision that could see past any blockages you’ll be defending your exam paper with. An elastic neck that could tantamount the stretching capabilities of a flamingo, ostrich, giraffe and lastikman joined together, that could extend to a maximum length just to nose around your answers. A supersonic hearing that could detect some few minute hushes of information within a thirty kilometer radius. See how extraordinary these people are, they deserve a round of applause and a bucket of rotten tomatoes.
Cheating is a form of dishonesty, which in any angle is against the moral principles of any society there is. Soon I’ll be a full-fledged nurse, and in my hands depend the different fragile fates from a pediatric (child-care) to a geriatric (elderly-care) setting. I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes; I couldn’t even dare to cheat, because I’m dealing with lives. One wrong diagnosis, one error in assessment, one misled injection of a syringe would mean also one thing, loss. I value my life more than anything I own, I guess the other billions of people, the other billions of my would-be patients think the same way. It would be unfair if I cheated with their lives.
Take a look around you, cheating is everywhere. From a simple 5th grade girl changing her answers during the checking of their test papers to a statesman pocketing the funds for a road construction in a remote barrio, these are acts of dishonesty, they are cheaters. There are times when I’m already in panic, sweating hard like a pig in his pen, facing a difficult question in an exam and would be tempted to take a few degrees to the left and peep in my seatmate’s answers. But you know what? I couldn’t bear to do so; I wouldn’t risk a point, a single point in an exam in exchange for my principles. Yes, I may get a low score. Yes, someone might end up being higher than mine. Still, I have more examinations to which I can uplift myself without the cost of others, without the cost of dishonesty.
Now before you would dig your hands inside your mom’s purse for some extra allowance without telling her, remember what you’re doing is maybe the same act you’re persecuting and telling off alleged politicians gobbling up the nation’s funds.
Soon, in around six semester’s time, I’ll be a registered nurse working in a local hospital here or attending to Bill Gates as his personal nurse. But one thing remains true and always true, I’ll be able to reach it without cheating my way out.
I smiled at my score after receiving my test paper.
I got 46/50, second highest.
Still happy.
It’s better than getting zero, right?
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