Thursday, November 07, 2024
2:08 AM |
In Hindsight
In 2017, while working on a project for a grant, the external HD which contained ALL my research materials disappeared. Like a year of research lost, just like that. That led me to a spiral, and some terrible complications later, which I've never divulged until now. And until now, I have no idea where that HD went. Sayang talaga, all the materials I gathered. They were irreplaceable. I survived that spiral and the complications that came with it, but that event taught me a lot about myself, and what I can do. [This memory is courtesy of Luna Griño-Inocian, who just asked me to send her some of my archival material for a project. I managed to send her some, but a lot of what I had are simply gone.]
Labels: life
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
Wednesday, November 06, 2024
7:00 AM |
Poetry Wednesday, No. 212.
Labels: poetry
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Monday, November 04, 2024
I finally received my copy of Isagani R. Cruz's new novel,
So Heaven! Thank you, Milflores Publishing [ IG: @milfloresbooks ]! I was asked to give this a blurb, and I don't know how I found the time to read this, but I did, if not because going over the first novel by an acclaimed Filipino writer was such a privilege. And this is such an unusual novel, too! Congratulations, Sir Gani!
You can order this book on the
Milflores website.
Labels: books, fiction, novels, philippine literature, publishing, writers
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Sunday, November 03, 2024
Tonight, we celebrated Dessa Quesada-Palm's 60th birthday, in a lovely dinner and program with her friends of a lifetime at Essencia — and it was, to be honest, one of the most meaningful birthday celebrations I have ever come to witness. By the end of it, I was teary-eyed [and I never usually get teary-eyed at birthdays]. In occasions such as this, it's usual to have birthday greetings and speeches dedicated to the celebrator, but in the hands of a consummate theater artist like Dessa, each speech came at suitable intervals in a perfectly directed biographical narrative [with a good Powerpoint show to guide everyone]. And each speech was given by a perfectly handpicked friend or family representing an aspect or a major episode in Dessa's fruitful life — from her days as a member of the Quesada household [speech by sister Mae Quesada-Medina], from her life with PETA [speech by film director Avic Ilagan], from her days studying in New York [speech by composer Lerrick Santos], from early days in Dumaguete doing theatre workshops with the Divinity School [speech by Jean Cuanan-Nalam], from her almost two decades of mentoring YATTA [speech by Mellard Chiong Manogura], and from her love life [speech by her husband Colby Palm], interspersed with a monologue from Dessa's play Rape Buzz performed by Mayumi Maghuyop, improv comedy from the YATTA OGs Hope Tinambacan, Junsly Kitay, and Nikki Cimafranca, and music with the Quiz Family Singers, and the trio of Sharon Dadang-Rafols, Jean Nalam, and Dessa herself. At the end, she considered everyone in attendance and how each one has come to mean something significant in her life [it is at this point that I would finally break down and cry], and ended the evening with a song that she uses as her answer to the question: “What makes a meaningful life?”
Mother, you make 60 look fabulous. You have touched so many lives, and thank you for making Dumaguete your home, and the base of your theatrical gifts.
Labels: birthday, friends, people, theatre
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Thursday, October 31, 2024
10:06 PM |
I Hate Gay Halloween...
... what do you mean you’re Patrick and Art in the churros scene from Challengers?
This is our annual Halloween tradition, Renz Torres and I, dressing up as iconic queer characters of every year. This is me as Patrick Zweig [Josh O’Connor] and Renz as Art Donaldson [Mike Faist] in the infamous churros scene from Luca Guadagnino's Challengers (2024). Many churros were eaten in this attempt.
Labels: halloween, life, love
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Wednesday, October 30, 2024
7:00 AM |
Poetry Wednesday, No. 211.
Labels: poetry
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Tuesday, October 29, 2024
11:22 PM |
Gratitude and Validation
Who says we don’t need occasional validation? I don many hats, and have two jobs, although one is really just a “side gig” that I treat like a major thing. Today I realize that I’m so lucky to be doing all these work with me largely just doing “my own thing,” with my immediate supervisors just letting me be. To quote one boss, who told me this just now: “No one could do it better than you.” [Aww. Makahilak put ta ani uy.] I thrive, I think, with that level of trust, and with that level of creativity. I’m far from perfect, and I’m still a work in progress, but I really am good at what I do. This is a note of gratitude. And validation. Labels: life, work
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3:54 PM |
More Playtime with Clay!
Made an effort to attend
Kevin Cornelia's clay hand-building workshop at the National Museum of the Philippines Dumaguete [ IG: @nmpdumaguete ] today, again between classes and other to-do's today, because we need to support local culture. Next time, I'll really participate instead of just document the event, and really get my hands [and feet!] dirty. We're at the tail-end of
National Museums and Galleries Month this October! Have you visited your local museums and galleries yet?
Labels: artists, clay, dumaguete, gallries, national museum
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Monday, October 28, 2024
3:00 PM |
Playing with Clay!
I had to catch this between classes and other to-do's today, because we need to support local culture. This was postponed because of Typhoon Katrina, but here we are! Dumaguete clay artist Hemrod Duran currently doing a workshop on clay extraction at the National Museum of the Philippines Dumaguete [ IG: @nmpdumaguete ]! Tomorrow, also at 2 PM, a workshop on clay hand-building by Kevin Cornelia.
Labels: artists, clay, dumaguete, national museum
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Wednesday, October 23, 2024
7:00 AM |
Poetry Wednesday, No. 210.
Labels: poetry
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Monday, October 21, 2024
1:00 PM |
A Palanca for Lyde!
Naa nay ni-daog! More than ten years ago, I led a very strong writing group in Dumaguete called LitCritters Dumaguete. When it was still fairly active, we launched a bet: the first member to win a Palanca will get P500 from all the members [pero wala ko'y labot, hahaha]. We actually already have a literary winner in F Jordan Carnice, who won the Nick Joaquin Literary Prize for Poetry twice in a row, but ang sabot Palanca man. This year, Lyde Sison Villanueva finally wins that bet! Congratulations, Lyde! Maygani nagpatuo ka nako to send an entry this year! We are so proud of you.
Labels: buglas writers guild, dumaguete, LitCritters, palanca, writers, writing
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Wednesday, October 16, 2024
7:00 AM |
Poetry Wednesday, No. 209.
Labels: poetry
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Friday, October 11, 2024
6:27 PM |
Han Kang, Nobel Prize Laureate
The New York Times on Han Kang’s win. This is a very good analysis of why we needed this first Asian female writer [and first South Korean] to be our Nobel Prize laureate this year. It’s a perfect stand against entrenched patriarchy [and in South Korea, a fitting rebuke against poet Ko Un, long considered the probable Korean to win the prize but who is now facing a backlash for allegations of sexual harassment].
Labels: asian literature, literature, Nobel Prize, writers
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Wednesday, October 09, 2024
7:00 AM |
Poetry Wednesday, No. 208.
Labels: poetry
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Monday, October 07, 2024
9:52 PM |
Flowers for an Anxiety Attack
I had a small anxiety attack today, so the s.o. surprised me by buying three dozens of my favorite flowers. Arranging them gave me something to focus on, which was quite calming. Also: this is love.
I wish everyone an anxiety-free National Mental Health Week!
Labels: life, love, mental health
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Wednesday, October 02, 2024
7:00 AM |
Poetry Wednesday, No. 207.
Labels: philippine literature, poetry
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Sunday, September 29, 2024
9:00 AM |
Two American Women in Negros, One War
A war will always be ripe for stories. Always of atrocities and sacrifices, and always of perseverance and often of hope. World War II—the last great war that engulfed most of the world—has been the subject of many such stories, and I was reminded of this last September 22 when we commemorated, alas without much notice from the people of Negros Oriental, the 79th anniversary of the surrender of the Japanese forces in the province to American soldiers. This was months after a wave of liberation all over the country started in 20 October 1944 when Gen. Douglas MacArthur famously landed in Leyte, together with President Sergio Osmeña, who became head of the Commonwealth after the death of President Quezon in exile. That landing was a precursor to the end of the war—a seemingly hopeful harbinger, but with it came a rise in grim ferocity and suicidal courage by the Japanese occupying the Philippines.
Negros was largely spared the level of atrocities that attended many areas of the Philippines—but that does not mean we did not get our share of terrors. On 26 April 1945, the Americans finally landed on Negros Oriental soil, in Lo-oc, the very beach in Sibulan where the guerillas had snatched their first victory against the Japanese in 1942. In Dumaguete, only a few days after that landing, the people who spent the last three years hiding in the mountains came down to find isolated ruins [the town of Dumaguete was spared the conflagration that wiped out many other places during the war], but things soon went back to normal—albeit a nerve-wracked one exposed to the evils of humanity. The Japanese had fled to the hills of Valencia, in a last ditch effort to escape surrender, hoping for better and more winning outcomes in the fast-changing tides of warfare. They stayed there for almost half a year.
Finally, on 22 September 1945, they surrendered at Basak Ridge near Guinso-an Bridge in Nasig-id, Zamboanguita. Leading the Japanese forces was Col. Satoshi Oyei who, in a symbol of surrender, handed over his sword to Col. F. Wilson, of the 503rd Airborne Division, with none of the Filipino guerillas in attendance. Oie was the head of the 174th Independent Infantry Battalion, which was stationed in the Dumaguete Garrison, and they were the last battalion who held on to Negros Oriental—fighting in the hinterlands of the towns close to the provincial capital. From the write-ups of history professor Justin Jose Austria Bulado, we learn that the Japanese were suffering from a lack of morale and they were in dire need of food. The remaining Japanese troops under Oie finally came down from the hinterlands and surrendered to the Americans. There were no guerrillas present at that time since Oie and his men intentionally chose—and requested only for—the Americans to accept their formal surrender as they feared guerrilla retribution. The defeated Japanese forces were then sent to the Trade School building in Dumaguete where they would temporarily stay, awaiting their transfer to the various prisoner-of-war camps in the Philippines and in Japan. Oie was later on tried for war crimes in Manila, and was executed in the early hours of 23 October 1948, three years after his surrender in Zamboanguita.
Stories of what World War II was like in Dumaguete and Negros Oriental will always continue to fascinate me—and I am happy that we are blessed with a rich literature detailing its gruesome unfolding, some of it historiography and some of it literary. We have Caridad Aldecoa-Rodriguez, whose 1989 multi-volume work on the history of the province has one book dedicated to the war years, and inside it we learn of the war in terms of numbers and names and bare details. We also have Earl Jude Cleope, whose book Bandit Zone published in 2002, tackles the history of the so-called “Free Areas” of Negros Island during the war. We also have Justin Bulado who has written many articles about the important local personages during the war years, including wartime provincial governor Guillermo Villanueva and former Dumaguete mayor Mariano Perdices. We also have Salvador Abcede, war hero and guerrilla leader in Negros who largely operated in the mountains of Tanjay, who would release a war novel titled Nita based on his experiences and first published in 1984. We also have Edilberto Tiempo, who wrote two novels set in World War II—Watch in the Night from 1953 [later published in the U.S. as Cry Slaughter! in 1957] and More Than Conquerors in 1982. We also have Scott A. Mills, who published Stranded in the Philippines in 2009, where he wrote about the war experiences of Prof. Henry Roy Bell and his wife Edna, both American teachers at Silliman University.
And then there are the memoirs, a significant number of them—“significant” because Dumaguete is not really a place you would think of when you think of World War II in the Philippines. But despite that, a great deal of literature has indeed sprung from our corner of the occupied world of that time. What struck me most about these war memoirs set in Negros Oriental, however, is the fact that a great number of them were written by American women. [A quick aside: According to Dr. Cleope, there are also two unpublished accounts of the war years in Dumaguete from the Japanese perspective—one by Komei Fujitomi, who was first lieutenant of the 174th Independent Infantry Battalion, and another by Kyuji Yamada, who was corporal of the 31st Educational Flying Corps of the Japanese Imperial Navy.]
One such American memoir, We Did Not Surrender, was written by Silliman teacher Abby Jacobs in 1983 but published only in 2003—a book I have yet to read. Jacobs, the sister of Metta Jacobs Silliman and sister-in-law of Robert Silliman [yes, the namesakes of the present building housing the Silliman University Library], had earlier written an unpublished 27-chapter narrative, also about the war, titled “Soldiers Without Shoes,” but I am not sure if the final book is based on that earlier memoir.
About two years or so ago, I read within a span of a day, and without any intention in my part, two other memoirs by American women, and both published in 1947—only two years after World War II officially ended. These were The Sun Was Darkened by Alice Franklin Bryant [published by Chapman and Grimes in Boston], and Escape to the Hills by James and Ethel Chapman [published by The Jacques Cattell Press, and one must note: while the authorship of the book signifies the two names of the couple, the writing within clearly had been done by Mrs. Chapman alone].
Two years ago, when I began reading these two memoirs, I was coming off from a first-day high of renewed research on the literary history of Negros Oriental, the manuscript of which I finished about seven years ago, fully intending to go over it again in an exhaustive edit—but which I inadvertently abandoned because … life happened. [And there was also a crippling pandemic.] I had dusted off one chapter of that work on the literary history of Negros Oriental—focusing on the formative years of our written literature between 1901 to 1945—for the sake of including it in the second volume of Hugkat the journal of Dumaguete and Oriental Negrense history and culture I’ve been co-editing with Dr. Cleope—and in doing so, was dropped into a rabbit’s hole ushering me into these war memoirs.
Another thing that struck me about these memoirs was this: while the books are connected by several commonalities—the authors are both American women living in Negros Oriental when the World War II broke out in the Pacific—the perspectives are so different from each other. One is clearly the work of a middle-class woman teaching in an American school during the American colonial period; the other is clearly the work of a privileged individual married to an American landowner. The run of their stories is similar—fleeing encroaching Japanese forces into the foothills of the province and living off the land for months on end, and finally getting captured and sent to Bacolod for processing before being interred in the concentration camp for American POWs at the University of Santo Tomas. They also detail atrocities and hardships and the constant fear of the unknown suddenly befalling their lot. But the voices that tell these stories are so different.
Alice Bryant was born Alice Franklin in Fredricktown, Missouri, on 1 May 1899. In The Sun Was Darkened, she talks about being married to a man several years her senior—William Cheney Bryant—who was an American official assigned to the Philippines: “[M]y husband’s roots were deep in the Philippines,” Mrs. Bryant writes in the memoir, “where he had lived and labored since 1902, for many years as a provincial governor and afterwards as a coconut planter. He had, in his youth, vigorously and paternally administered head-hunting Ifugaos, Ibilaos [sic], Manobos, and turbulent Moros. The latter he had pacified in the province of Cotabato, and one of the of the most powerful datus had admired him so much that he had adopted him as a son.” She continues: “These things he had done long before I met him. For the fourteen years just past he had become a coconut planter… Because of my husband’s seniority in age and accomplishments, I have always felt too respectful to call him by his given name, and hence commonly refer to him as the Gov’nor, and sometimes address him as Your Excellency.”
That coconut plantation happened to be located in the town of Pamplona, in the middle of Negros Oriental. And in the beginning of Mrs. Bryant’s book, she tells of a sojourn from America, where the couple purposely left their young daughter Imogene in the care of relatives, before journeying back to the Philippines where their livelihood was located. This was in 1939, and when they started back to Asia via a steamer, most friends and family begged them to stay, fearing an eventual outbreak of a war; they, however, insisted on going back. I like the part when they finally arrive in Dumaguete, where Mrs. Bryant writes: “How happy we had been on the inter-island boat when we saw the Horns of Negros! These well-named precipitous summits of a jungle-covered mountain rise to a height of 5,000 feet, and are so distinctive that, when we saw them, we knew we were almost home… / Now we were so near the shore that, to our right, we could see palms bending gracefully over the beach. In front of us was the pier and, to the left, buildings belonging to Silliman University, a missionary institution, and some fine residences along the waterfront. This was all we could see of Dumaguete…because the town is almost completely hidden by the coconut palms and acacias.” They are met at the pier by American peers, and then she continues: “We motored over to the Far Eastern Grocery, the leading grocery of the province, to get the things [my husband] had already ordered. The Chinese in the store seemed happy to see us back—indeed everyone seemed happy. Perhaps a warm climate predisposes people to be light-hearted and carefree.”
After a few passages, they finally arrive home in their Pamplona plantation. We learn she loved her thatched vine-covered house, perfectly maintained by good servants. She talks of her daily routines at the plantation house, and describes the people that visit her [like “snaggle-toothed old Mrs. Reyes”] or surround her [like “Lame Maria”]: “Life on the plantation was pleasantly secluded, but we were by no means cut off from the world. Good magazines kept us well-informed on current events. News came over the radio from Manila and London, although occasionally we listened to many far-scattered stations.” Later, she would describe their social life as spare but enjoyable: “We went off the plantation very little. Once a week we went to town to do our errands. When they were accomplished my husband had a game of gold with Filipino friends while I taught my Spanish dancing class. Then I would join him and other club members on the lawn in front of the thatched clubhouse for a cold drink while the sunset flamed above us and around us. / Occasionally we attended a ball. Filipino parties have an atmosphere of great enjoyment. Some were given in the club, some in private homes. One of the finest we attended during the year was a ball given after the wedding ceremony of the daughter of one of the sugar planters. Of Spanish descent, she was the most beautiful bride I have ever seen, and her white gown and lace veil were rich and elegant. After the ceremony at the Catholic Church at Bais, we went to the bride’s home. The several hundred guests found tables loaded with a profusion of rich food—pigs roasted over an open fire, turkeys, boned fowls stuffed with sausage, meat pastries, cakes. For me, the dancing was far more important than the food and drink. Filipinos and I agree on this point. In a swirl of pink organza, I did the cariñosa, a pretty flirtatious native dance, with the governor of the province.”
Two years after the Bryants arrived back in Pamplona, in 1941, Pearl Harbor exploded and sent America into the hell of war. Mrs. Bryant prepared for the war the only way she could: with caution, and also increasing helplessness. She writes: “Although I had considered war a possibility, such was my ignorance of military affairs that I was astounded both at our isolation and the speed with which the Japanese were taking the islands around us. I had not realized they would be inevitably be taken, until that fateful moment when the Gov’nor announced, ‘It’s begun!’ Then I had at once sensed our helplessness.”
But she also had an eye for detail, and gossip, which no history book could contain: “An American quartermaster captain became the ranking officer of the province. Poor fellow! Nervous and irritable, he was unpopular with everyone. He was in a climate and a country he hated. He was in an almost hopeless situation and he was worried to death. On one occasion, he ordered an ambulance to hurry to a PT-boat that was wrecked south of Dumaguete. Through someone’s blunder the ambulance was late in arriving, and a mad died in consequence.” And this is why I love memoirs as a complement to history books: they add color and opinion to what is only barebones fact in history. The man is not named but a quick reference with Caridad Aldecoa-Rodriguez’s book makes us deduce this might be Major Robert N. Vesey.
Pamplona being safely far inland, and away by many kilometers from Bais or Dumaguete, the Bryants would invite other people to take refuge with them during the war, most of them American teachers in Dumaguete. Her descriptions of each guest, often withering, is such a delight to read—especially for one Mahitable Smithers, a spinster and businesswoman who just happened to be in Dumaguete when the war begun: “She was nervous, pessimistic, and noticeably lacking in any joy of living. Her headquarters were in Manila, but she happened to be in in our province when the war erupted.” Ms. Smithers was, in fact, not invited to stay with the Bryants, but she showed up anyway. She soon surprised everyone by doing her share of domestic duties and for being surprisingly agreeable—unlike Mr. and Mrs. Stoddard who “often woke us up in the night…[and during siesta] disturbed us by reading aloud, talking, walking around, and going in and out… Hints were lost upon them.” [Smithers, however, would change when everyone gets captured and transferred to Bacolod.]
Later, we learn that the Bryant house in Pamplona was the actual residence President Manuel Quezon and his entourage stayed in before being spirited out of the country via submarine to exile. Mrs. Bryant writes: “Once we returned home after having Sunday dinner at the colonel’s, we were surprised to find two cars by the house. Then we saw two strange girls lying on a basket spread on the lawn in the shade cast by the house. They were both asleep, so we went up the stairs. On the verandah, a plump Filipino was asleep on a divan. Another was in an easy chair with this head thrown back and his mouth open. Just then, the mayor of Tanjay came out onto the verandah. ‘It’s the Quezon family and their party!’ he said to us in a low voice so as not to awaken the sleepers. ‘They escaped from Corregidor on a submarine! I brought them here to take a siesta. Quezon is in there,’ pointing to our room…. At once I sent for my servants, who were not far away in their respective homes, and we soon had a supper prepared, which we served on the verandah to the Quezon family, the politicians who accompanied them, and our houseguests. Quezon was very nervous. He drank one glass of ice-water after another and smoked incessantly. Mrs. Quezon talked as incessantly as her husband smoked, telling how they lived in a tunnel on Corregidor and escaped by submarine…” Again, these are particular and lived-in details you will never read in a history book.
Eventually, with the Japanese occupation of Negros Island in full swing, the Bryants had to leave the comforts of their plantation house and venture up the more challenging terrains of the mountains. She found the jungles beautiful—but also was aware of the lurking, unseen dangers. She was also cognizant of the hardships ahead. “The jungle was so devoid of food that there was not much animal life about us, and what creatures there were preferred to remain unseen,” she writes. “No doubt there were pythons, but we saw none. During the hours of darkness, we heard the barking of large fruit bats… Unfortunately there was one species of widely distributed small animal, which immediately invaded our shelves—rats!” She would see the challenges overcome her companions—especially Mrs. Miller: “She had been the most optimistic of any of us before the Japanese entered our province, but now she saw armed enemies behind every bush, and insisted very brusquely on having brought up … against our wishes several large, heavy suitcases that she had filled with things that could be of no use in the mountains.”
What makes this memoir memorable is the fact that the Bryants were close to the powers that be in Negros Oriental—evident in the fact that their Pamplona residence was the chosen refuge for the President of the Philippine Commonwealth before going to exile. This meant they were close to the political goings-on during the war, including the fate of Pepe Martinez, a local official killed by the guerilla for collaborating with the Japanese. In this memoir, we get behind the scenes of these wartime political happenings, complete with transcribed conversations. Very juicy!
Eventually, the Japanese would capture the Bryant party in the mountains, and they would thgen be taken to Dumaguete and eventually to Bacolod, then to final internment in Manila. I finished the book quickly, finding quite interesting a narrative of the war from a privileged woman’s point-of-view. Further research would reveal that, after the war and after settling back in American society, Mrs. Bryant became a leader in the anti-war movement and also an officer of the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom. She later on became a candidate for United States Representative from the 1st Congressional District in Seattle, Washington, and also ran for the Senate. She died in Seattle on 7 June 1977.
But The Sun Was Darkened was actually my second book which I read that fateful day when I stumbled onto American memoirs about the war in Negros Oriental. I only read it because I had finished quickly something I stumbled into online: an e-copy of James and Ethel Chapman’s wartime memoir Escape to the Hills. The Chapmans were missionary teachers at Silliman University when the war broke out—and both were exemplary members of the Dumaguete community, so much so that today, the Science Complex at Silliman is named after James. He was an entomologist, who played a critical role as an academic and later as a University administrator, responsible for building up the reputation of Silliman in science research. [In preparation for the war, he was also chosen as the provincial supervisor in-charge of food and rationing.]
From the Silliman University website, we learn that “while in Silliman, [Chapman] taught biology, chemistry, and physics, with a special fascination with myrmecology, the study of ants. It was this passion for what many would term as ‘hard sciences’ that brought him to Silliman in 1916 when he joined as a science faculty. He arrived with his wife, Ethel, who joined Silliman as an English teacher.”
Ethel the English Teacher was the one responsible for the riveting memoir she wrote under both their names about their extensive experiences in the mountains of Negros Oriental during the war. I didn’t intend to be so caught up by Escape to the Hills I scanned the first pages just because—but soon found myself riveted by its very engaging writing. I found myself reading nonstop—and if you can understand my ADHD, you know this only happens rarely.
The memoir is so good because it is so thrilling. I loved having a fantastic mental picture of Dumaguete right before World War II broke out in the Pacific in December 1941. I loved the details of the inhabitants preparing for the war to come, rationing food and preparing shelter in the mountains.
I loved learning from the book that Abby Jacobs was a super woman! Asteeeeg! University President Arthur Carson’s order was for all the women and children to immediately evacuate Dumaguete when Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese, but she stayed behind in campus with the men, and went about the task of publishing The Daily Sillimanian, to print factual information about the war for the Dumaguete community, in order to combat the hysterical fake news they were already being bombarded by. She stayed on that job right until the very end, when she was forced to surrender it. Together with her family, she was eventually ferreted out of Negros via submarine, but stayed in Australia and found work with the military. She was with the liberation force that entered Manila in April 1945.
I loved learning from the book that even with the war going on, James Chapman was still the fervent biologist that he was, going about their evacuation places still collecting plants and animals for study. [The section on ants is endearing! And the section on food was strangely delicious, and enlightening!]
I loved learning from the book that despite all the dangers, they still found time to set-up a “Jungle University,” catering to the education needs of their neighbors in the mountains of Negros.
Finally, I loved learning about surviving the war from the point-of-view of an ordinary English teacher.
I am truly amazed by the bravery and the resourcefulness of our early Silliman teachers. The section that details their eventual interment at the University of Sto. Tomas in Manila was a painful passage to read, and showed how the prisoners had to resort to furtive politics to get things done. [Yes, like the Bryants, the Chapmans were also eventually captured by the Japanese, and imprisoned in Manila].
To be honest, Silliman University should be reprinting this valuable Chapman memoir, first published 77 years ago and long out of print. [Thank God I found a copy to read online.] Because it’s really sad that we only know them now as buildings and nothing else: Ethel Chapman is a building for nursing students, James Chapman is a science building, and Abby Jacobs is a residence hall.
Buildings in their memory are nice. Their stories, preserved and read today, would even be better.Labels: books, dumaguete, history, negros, war, world war II, writers, writing
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
Wednesday, September 25, 2024
7:00 AM |
Poetry Wednesday, No. 206.
Labels: poetry
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Friday, September 20, 2024
4:11 PM |
At the Therapist.
I finished therapy with my psychiatrist yesterday. She’s recommending new antidepressants. She reminded me: “Your meds is just a tool,” to which I said: “I’ve learned to accept they’re not magic pills, but they help.” She also reminded me: “You’re doing so much. Executive dysfunction happens when you’re overwhelmed. Try to do only the things you really are passionate about.” Which is also what I tell myself, constantly, and I’m still learning how to do this. We talked about mindfulness, we talked about expectations management. She’s giving me a new exercise to do, something about having a double when I do things. It intrigued me. “I love that you’re looking at all these like a child in wonder,” she told me finally. I took that as a compliment.
Labels: life, mental health
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
Wednesday, September 18, 2024
7:00 AM |
Poetry Wednesday, No. 205.
Labels: poetry
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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