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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
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Bibliography

The Last Days of Magic: Stories
Anvil Publishing, 2026

The Great Little Hunter
Pinspired Philippines, 2022

The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Chapbook, 2018

Republic of Carnage:
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Chapbook, 2018

Bamboo Girls:
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018

Don't Tell Anyone:
Literary Smut
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017

Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017

First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014

Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013

Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013

Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012

Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011

Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Anvil, 2011

Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006

FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
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© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Friday, October 23, 2009
5:40 AM |
The Players -- A Continuation
One of the last things he said before we left Qyosko to go home at 4:30 in the morning was: "The only thing to learn from life is this -- how well you must learn to play the game. Or you will be played," then he paused. "You can never ever trust anyone, but yourself."
I thought about what he said, and I felt the dread truth of all those words finding space in the gnawing hollow suddenly inside me. You might think what he said was something quite generic, wisdom from the commonplace. But I thought of those words in the context of what had transpired in the last five hours -- the sudden confessions, the inadvertent revelations, the stories of what lies beneath all our tranquility: the drugs, the violence, the frenetic sexual musical chairs of people we know.
What he said came at the end of a very long night that started at 10 pm.
In the beginning of this night, I had thought of myself as someone who has seen and heard and done everything in Dumaguete. I had thought I was no longer capable of being shocked. I've had my days of riding the wild side, after all. And in the past six months, in pursuit of gritty research for my novel "The Players" (a reworking and expansion on a short story I once wrote for the Philippines
Free Press that depicted the casual sex lives of the young and bored in Dumaguete in the 1990s), I'd been living the life to get first hand knowledge of the dark negotiations of my book's characters.
At the very end, I realized how stupidly naive I was. How blind, how I knew about nothing at all.
This night will come to haunt me as the time I've lost truly the last vestiges of innocence. And for that I am thankful.
I don't think I can divulge the details. The details are too raw, too shocking. But the night began with me receiving a note from a social networking site, asking me if I was open to do a "live sex act" in a particular establishment that will lead to ... something. That was only the start. By the time I finished the night, I saw pictures and heard stories of murders, of drugs, of casual prostitution, of sexual escapades that shocked even me.
And finally there was this one revelation that truly broke me.
How do you sleep after this?
I see the dawn breaking now. It's 5:30 AM.
I still can't sleep.
I have knowledge of the game now. I
have been played.
And I could only wish I weren't so naive.
Labels: dumaguete, life, love, scandal
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