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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 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
Follow the Spy
Recent Crumbs
Blogs I Read
© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Monday, November 24, 2014
The fastest way to get around town today is on foot. I knew this as I was preparing to leave the house late in the afternoon, the sound of percussion and trumpets and heavy footfalls marking the parade going on outside. It's the annual fiesta extravaganza, something I have not watched in full or with eagerness for many, many years now. I've caught only glimpses of it the past few years. That's what happens with familiarity: you ignore the familiar, embarrassed even to appear interested in it. (Why is that?) Walking past the parade, which was snaking northward up along Hibbard Avenue from Perdices Street, I see my proof: the more this city changes, the more the annual parade remains the same. The corps of majorettes/minorettes of each school band, for example, is still a mini-beauty pageant: twirlers are handpicked from the crop of the fairest girls in school, twirling talent be damned. And every sort of office and club is part of the parade, making it a steady stream of faces, all sweaty and smiling and living up to the uniformity of their t-shirt designs. I could declare banality, but I do not: I knew that if I'd only stop and observe, I'd find something wonderful in this ordinariness. Last night, for example, I was waiting for my take-out from Chowking when this perfectly ordinary-looking woman came in wearing a 1980s Pinoy TV version of a Persian courtier's garb -- Princess Jasmine channeling Alma Moreno in
Lovely-Ness. I thought: "How extraordinary to parade around town like that. Even if it's fiesta." And then my order came, and I thought no more of it. Today, I went past the parade, turned a corner, and wondered about what I would have seen if I had chosen to stop and stay.
Photo from su.edu.phLabels: dumaguete, life, memories, negros
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