04 Learning Content
04 Learning Content
Creative Nonfiction
Learning Content
Prepared by:
Consolidated by:
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Table of Contents
Lesson 1 – Creative Writing Truth in Color and Strategies of Creative Nonfiction .................... 3
Focus Text ......................................................................................................................................3
So long, Typhoon – Chlarine Gianan .....................................................................................................................3
Concreteness in Writing .................................................................................................................4
What is Creative Nonfiction? ..........................................................................................................5
Characteristics of Creative Nonfiction .............................................................................................5
Strategies of Creative Non-Fiction ...................................................................................................6
Lesson 2 Personal Essay ....................................................................................................... 12
Focus Text .................................................................................................................................... 12
Daddy Yo by Farida Mending ..............................................................................................................................12
The Type of CNF: Writing .............................................................................................................. 14
Q: Where do you get your material? ..................................................................................................................15
Q: How do you begin an essay? ..........................................................................................................................15
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Focus Text
You are my typhoon. When you left my area of responsibility, I was in a state of calamity.
I clearly remember the day the drizzle of my feelings for you began. The moon was up and we were
having one of our pretty serious conversations. You loathed my best friend so much that you made
me promise that I would always take your side. Of course, I had to say yes because you were one of
my close friends and I subconsciously liked you back then. It was getting late and my Friday nights
usually end at one in the morning of the following day, but I was very exhausted so I decided to end
our conversation. You know what you said to me? You said you’d never leave me no matter what.
“Basta. Kahit anong mangyari, walang iwanan. Promise yan.”
That’s when I felt the first drop. The first feeling. The first time my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t mind
that little tingling, because I thought that it was nothing. That it was just a feeling I could easily get rid
of. I never knew it would end up being the strongest storm I’ve ever felt in my whole life.
Then it became a little rain. I don’t know how you did it, but looking back, it was everything I could’ve
asked for. Maybe it’s your words or your text messages. How open we were to each other. I wanted
to run away for some shade, but there’s something about you that made me think, “Hey, a little rain
wouldn’t be bad.”
My feelings became a downpour, and it’s because I kept on replaying our memories every single day.
Signal No. 1 was for the way you helped me get through anything. Signal No. 2 was when I called you
on the telephone and you told me my voice sounded like it belonged to an angel. Signal No. 3 was
when you looked at me. Signal No. 4 was just purely you. The thunder was my beating heart, and you
were the bolts of lightning that marched with the symphony of it.
So I danced with the rain. I played along, knowing that eventually, it would stop. Isn’t that how rain
works? It stops once the heavens calm down. But even though I wasn’t really prepared for the rainfall,
I reckoned that I would be able to survive. When I sensed that in a few days the sun would shine and
I would lose you, I fell down on my knees and prayed to Him to keep you with me. I pleaded, “Lord,
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I wouldn’t mind having a personal rain cloud. It’s not yet time for the sun to rise, so please, please…
Lord, let (insert name here) stay.”
God was good. I had you and I sang, danced, and smiled with the rain. You had me back then. I was
so happy and it was like I had everything. I felt complete having you around. I didn’t mind paying for
my cell phone bills and sacrificing my extra time just to help you, and just to hear your voice on the
other end of the line. I didn’t mind staying up all night for you. That was how much I loved you. I
suspended every doubt, fear, and uncertainty, for I was holding on to your words and our
conversations.
But then you just… stopped talking to me. You were pouring and I was subsiding with thoughts of
you, and then you just left. I felt like I wasn’t even able to make the trip to the evacuation center or to
experience even a bit of the rescue operation. Certainly, I became a mess, just like the trees that fell
and the posts that collapsed. The wires of my heart exploded, and I was trapped in a long and severe
blackout. I was shattered and you were completely fine. It was so unfair, but I had to accept the fact
that I was a fool for even thinking that a typhoon like you wouldn’t affect me that much.
Months later, I found myself slowly coping and recovering from the tragic heartache you caused. I’ve
evacuated my feelings for you and shoved them to the bottom of the ocean. To cut to the chase,
you’re nothing but a distant memory I’m glad I’m coming to terms with.
And now, don’t come back again. Because this time, I know better in case you drizzle your way back
again. I’ve prepared candles of faith and a generator to light me up in case you shut me down again. I
can feel the drizzle dropping on my forearm just like before, but now I wipe it away. I open my
umbrella and I won’t sing with the rain anymore. I’m rushing toward the shaded area and coming back
to where I should be, in some place where the sun is bound to shine for me.
Concreteness in Writing
It is important that the details in a literary work are concrete, meaning, they are not vague. It helps the
readers understand the essay’s points when the narrator is vivid in his or her descriptions.
One way to achieve concreteness is the use of imagery. The types of imagery appeal to the five senses:
sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch. These are what we called in literature class, imagery that are visual,
auditory, gustatory, olfactory, and tactile. These were taught especially in poetry class. Writers would
usually avoid abstract images. Instead, they would use images that the readers can perceive through
their senses.
Sometimes, concreteness doesn’t end with the five senses. It also makes use of images that can be felt
in the heart. These include compelling stories, specific examples and scenes, dialogues that keep the
story moving.
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Concreteness is not only useful in poetry and fiction. It can also be used in essays-- essays that are
qualified as Creative Nonfiction.
Literary nonfiction (also known as creative nonfiction) is a type of prose that employs the literary
techniques usually associated with fiction or poetry to report on persons, places, and events in the real
world. It is broad enough to include travel writing, nature writing, science writing, sports writing,
biography, autobiography, memoir, the interview, and both the familiar and personal essay (Stein
1995).
In this subject, the CNF pieces that we will read are called “essays”. In fact, another descriptive
name for this subject is “The Literary Essay”. Basically, Creative Nonfiction narrates truth in
a manner that is literary or artistic.
The creative nonfiction writer often incorporates several elements of nonfiction when writing a
memoir, personal essay, travel writing, and so on. The following is a brief explanation of the most
common elements of nonfiction:
a. Fact. The writing must be based on fact, rather than fiction. It cannot be made up.
b. Extensive research. The piece of writing is based on primary research, such as an interview
or personal experience, and often secondary research, such as gathering information from books,
magazines, and newspapers.
c. Reportage/reporting. The writer must be able to document events or personal experiences.
d. Personal experience and opinion. Often, the writer includes personal experience, feelings,
thoughts, and opinions. For instance, when writing a personal essay or memoir.
e. Explanation/Exposition. The writer is required to explain the personal experience or topic
to the reader.
f. Essay format. Creative nonfiction is often written in essay format. Example: Personal Essay,
Literary Journalistic essay, brief essay.
According to Alexander Limberg (2015), author in The Write Life these are helpful strategies in
writing CNF that will keep the readers turning pages:
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1. Tell a memorable story. Your essay will be stronger and more relatable if you include little
examples, experiences and comparisons. (This is also connected to the technique of
“concreteness”.)
2. Bait your audience. Begin with a little personal or historical stories, a question, or a funny
thought.
3. Use emotional language. The antidote: use more imagery, more emotion, more personality.
Metaphors are also an interesting way to add some spice. Use concrete language-- any noun
of something you’re able to touch physically is better than something you can’t touch. (Again,
concreteness.)
4. Say it simply. Impress with story than with wording. Avoid a jungle of technical terms.
5. Surprise the reader. A surprising joke or a provocative comparison can keep the reader
interested as well, provided it fits your style and the format of your writing. Be imaginative,
just like a fiction writer.
“How to Do Well in School” is also called a how-to essay. How-to essays are commonly process
essays that talk about the steps on how to achieve something. Sometimes, it’s not a procedure, but
basically a list of things to do to achieve the desired outcome. Each step or item is then supplied with
examples, possible mistakes, figurative language and anecdotes to hook the reader.
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Point-of-view has to do with perspective. As writers of fiction do, you need to ask yourself:
Whose story is this? Who can best tell it? What is the relation of the POV character—the
narrator—to the events narrated. The most effective POV is not always that of the principal
character in the story. Again, as in fiction, the narrator may be either a participant (major or
minor) or an observer.
Note that this is different from grammatical person. Even when the POV is that of the
principal character, the third person may be used. And even when the first person is used, the
POV may still be that of an observer.
Writers of CNF generally use the first or third person. Or, they use the indefinite pronoun
“one,” which is really a variation of the first person “I” or “we.” For example: “One never
really knew what to expect upon entering Ishmael Bernal’s café called When There’s a Grey
November in Your Soul.”
Occasionally, the writer may opt to use the second person. This strategy has the effect of
drawing the reader into the story, creating the impression that he or she is part of the story, or
that he or she is witnessing the events described.
3. Tone
Tone in literature is a metaphor from the human voice. When we say “I don’t like your
tone,” we are referring to something in the speaker’s voice which indicates an attitude that is
somehow offensive. Thus, we speak of a whimsical tone, a sarcastic tone, a reverent tone, and
apologetic tone, etc. Tone has to do with the writer’s attitude toward his subject.
How are different tones communicated? To begin with, through one’s choice of words. For
example, Person A comes back from the dentist and says: “I can’t believe it. In just a few
moments, Dr. Paredes extracted my tooth and relieved me of a problem that had been plaguing
me for weeks.” Person B comes back from the dentist and says? “There I lay, helpless on this
reclining chair, my mouth wide open, and this man in white plunged sharp, cold instruments
into my mouth and forcibly parted me from my tooth.” The words chosen convey two entirely
different attitudes toward the experience.
Deciding on the approach, perspective and tone is very important. These decisions determine
what details are to be included in your essay or narrative, and how they are to be
presented. Ultimately, it is these things that will convey your meaning.
4. Voice
Voice is related to tone. It is also related to style, which is very difficult to define.
Personal style is the mark of personality upon the work; thus, in literature, style would be
the writer’s particular way of using language. Style is the result of many factors- gender,
class, books, films, m.t.v., everything which makes up the writer’s environment. (Thus, we also
speak of historical styles, not just in literature but in the other arts—referring to certain
characteristics of the practice of literature and the other arts which became prevalent during
certain historical periods, e.g., the Romantic Style, the New-Classic Style, etc.)
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Voice, like tone, is obviously a metaphor from the human voice. We say: ‘the voice in this essay
is an engaging one” or “the voice comes through loud and clear” or “this writer hasn’t found
his voice yet.” We are referring to certain qualities in the text—choice of words, length of
sentences, use of certain images, metaphors, allusions, etc.—which reveal a particular
personality, a particular attitude.
The speaker or narrator—the persona—in a piece of creative nonfiction is not the author. The
voice we “hear” is that of a “character” created by the author, much as fictionists and poets
create characters or “speakers”. It can be considered as a role the author has assumed.
5. Structure
Organization is as important in creative nonfiction as it is in fiction. You need to have a plan
before you actually sit down to write. You don’t want to ramble.
The right structure will take you where you need to go. Someone
likened the magazine article to a moving van, a conveyance with much room
to hold things which nevertheless has to be packed just right. A conveyance
with a place to go and a reason to get there. Structuring means packing properly
and heading the article in the right direction ((Jacobi 1991, 77)
Your subject will suggest the type of structure. Chronological Structures are useful for
travelogues. This is an arrangement of events in a linear fashion, as they occurred in time.
Explanation-of-a-Process Structure is the logical choice. It is a step by step type of
organization (Cookbooks, manuals). They are written to instruct. Flashback Structure can be
used in writing memoirs. This means beginning at some point in recent time, and then moving
back into the passed. Nick Joaquin used parallel structure for his account of the EDSA
revolution. This type of structure has several stories, running side by side with occasional cross-
cutting or convergence. It is a technique that may have been influenced by the cinema. The
collage or mosaic structure is a convenient structure for accounts of disasters. As the term
suggests, this type of structure was influenced by painting and film. It involves a pasting together
of small fragments, which all together build up to the total picture of what happened. This is an
excellent device for capturing the complexity of an event and also creating a sense of immediacy,
or speed. The diary or log book structure is a variation of the chronological structure and
gives a sense of immediacy to the narrative. It also makes the narrative seem more personal.
The question-and-answer structure is favored by many magazines, and is a logical choice for
interview stories. The advantage of this structure is that it allows the reader to hear the subject’s
voice without the awkwardness of having to repeat “he said” or “she said” before every direct
quotation. The frame, or the story-within-a-story is another option. It is a good structure to
use when you wish to tell two stories—say, in a travel narrative, where the actual physical journey
is paralleled by an inner journey.
6. A strong beginning
You’ve got to get your reader’s attention immediately or the game is lost. You have to consider
the audience when writing the essay. If you want to be read, you need to anticipate readers’
reactions. You need to have a feel for what readers find interesting or intriguing.
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a. The Title - You don’t need to decide on the title before the piece is written, but it is
good to have a working title; it helps you focus.
Catchy and clever titles have an advantage.
Titles which are too long are at a disadvantage.
Titles should not be misleading.
Titles should give the reader a quick idea of what to expect, without giving away
the whole story.
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details serve other purposes. Details should be accurate and informative first. And then,
they must be suggestive or evocative. The right details arouse emotions, evoke memories,
help to produce the right response in your reader. Details are also extremely useful in
evoking a sense of time and place. Descriptive details are of particular importance for travel
writing, the point of which is, to begin with, to literally transport the reader to the place to
which the traveler has been. Aside from the author’s impressions of the place (Travel writing),
there are facts, statistics, useful information for the reader and interesting information for the
contemporary reader. The best journalism and creative nonfiction is also social history.
Allusions are also helpful in creating the effect one wants because they are rich in associations
and connotations, which will resonate in the reader’s mind. When resorting to this device
however, it is important to avoid allusions which are too obscure. If they escape most readers,
they serve no purpose.
10.Scene
Some nonfiction narratives-like biographies, autobiographies, accounts of personal adventures,
- etc. – have plots which are constructed as they are in fiction. The chief distinction between
traditional reportage and creative nonfiction is the use of scenes or dramatic writing.
Between these dramatic episodes or scenes, there are summaries, reflections, elaborations, etc.
which provide smooth transition, slow pace, allow the building of suspense. Even with the piece
is supposed to be a narrative, we must not summarize the events that take place. The effectivity
of “new journalism” is precisely its ability to heighten the feeling of being “right there”
in the thick of what happened. This is done by presenting the news, not through summary
and exposition as in the ordinary front page news story, but through scenes.
Dialogue is an important part of a scene. Humor can also be added.
11.A convincing ending
The ending must be the logical conclusion of the flow of your narrative or of the development
of your ideas. The reader should be left with a sense of satisfaction, a sense of
completion. This does not mean that whatever questions or issues you raised must be
answered or resolved. You may even wish to end by suggesting new problems or asking other
questions. But the reader must be left with the impression that the subject was adequately
discussed or presented.
The ending can contain the essay’s thesis. This is the most common in essays which are social
or political commentary. The ending can have a note of quiet lyricism, consistent to a
nostalgic tone. The ending can be a dramatic denouement, joke (that may contrast a serious
homily-like body of the essay), whimsical metaphor (for a light touch), moral lesson or
anecdote. Some writers like to take the readers back to a point made at the beginning
of their essay, creating the impression of completion, of closure.
The type of ending you choose must be determined by the effect you want to achieve.
Just remember that the ending is the last impression the reader takes with him or her. You
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should, therefore, give some thought to writing an ending that will be as powerful as your
beginning.
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Focus Text
Breakfast had always been sacred for him, which meant that everyone had to be at the breakfast table
otherwise he would personally wake us up by ruthlessly tickling our feet. My siblings and I jokingly
call him “TH”, as in “trying hard”, because he tried hard to relate to whatever was “in”. When he
learned to compose text messages in his mobile phone, he tried using text shortcuts, which came out
to be rather hilarious. When my sister gave birth to his first apo, he texted, “haw meni pawns?” It took
us awhile before we finally realized he meant, “how many pounds?”
You wouldn’t think that he used to be the complete opposite long ago. I remember him as this distant
authoritarian figure in the house that we all feared. Home before six, no boyfriends, no make-ups, no
sexy outfits, after school it’s straight to the house everyday, finish the food including the three
ampalaya slices on your plate, together for maghrib, or the sunset prayers. He even made us plant
peanuts in the middle of summer to teach us to value what we have. His words were the law and
nobody dared to break it. He was not the type who beats us up though. His words were more than
enough to batter and bruise whatever resolve left in our body.
Although Dad was strict, he let us make our own decision especially if it’s something that define our
lives, like what course to take in college, which company to work in, even the partner who we decide
to share forever with (at least in the case of my sister and my brother). He just made sure that we have
thought about our decision, that it’s something we really want, and it’s something that will make us
better and happier individuals.
My Dad was born to a very poor family in a remote town called Datu Piang in Maguindanao. Money
was not always enough. At a very young age, he learned how to provide for himself, even to the extent
of catching fish if he wanted lunch. He was on scholarship from grade school all the way to obtaining
his master’s degree at the Asian Institute of Management.
He met my Mom in college during one of their school organization’s tutorial activities. See, my Mom
was not very good in Math and my Dad chewed numbers for breakfast. There was one problem
though. My mom was Catholic and my Dad was Muslim. Muslims, even up to this day, are frowned
upon, what more if you marry one? They got married anyway, against the will of their parents, and so
started our family story.
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We went to Cotabato in the 1980s, moving from one apartment to another. When we were starting,
my Dad would try to fit all three of his children plus my Mom in his motorcycle. How he did it still
stuns me to this day. It was in the 1990s that things got better. They bought a house and sent us to
private school. They were earning enough to send us all in Manila for college.
In late 1995, my Mom was diagnosed with cancer and it was my Dad who took care of her. We lost
her a week before my Dad’s birthday in 1996. It was a trying time for the family, but my Dad made
sure that we found strength in each other. He was no longer the distant authoritarian figure we knew.
He worked for the same company for more than twenty-five years, dedicating his expertise in
agriculture to provide hope for the people of Mindanao. He easily earned the respect of those who
knew him.
On October 3, 2003, I knew that it was not like any other day. While on my way to lunch, I was already
complaining of a strange “heartburn.” Somewhere in the middle of the oysters and tuna, I got an
urgent text from my brother telling me to call my Dad. But I said it’s 12 o clock and a Friday, he must
still be in prayer. I called him anyway. There was no answer. I was frantic. I suspected something was
terribly wrong, I was praying silently and asking Allah that everything’s all right. Several minutes
passed, my brother called me up and broke the news that changed my life – Dad is gone! I went numb
and was silent for a long time. A million thoughts were racing in my head. It was only couple of days
ago when he was teasing me about Ateneo’s loss to La Salle in the basketball championship, and then
this! I asked my brother what happened. He said some heartless individuals threw a grenade in the
mosque where my Dad was praying. I thought, they couldn’t pin him down anywhere else, they pinned
him in a mosque, of all places! Whoever has done it must have been pretty desperate.
Because Muslims have to be buried twenty-four hours after their death, my sisters and I took the first
flight out of Manila. The gruesome incident was all over the news. On the plane, we saw pictures of
him, bloody, covered in white cloth. My heart sank and I prayed for strength. There was a four-hour
drive from Davao to Cotabato, and in between prayers, I was texting my brother who was already
there. I told him I wanted five minutes with my Dad, without all the people. He said he would try as
there were already a lot of people gathered there. When we got home and laid my eyes on my Dad’s
body, I didn’t know what to do. I was trembling. I lost my strength, I was not prepared for this. I told
my brother that I wanted to have that last five minutes with our Dad. He pleaded and shouted to all
the people to give us just five minutes alone with him to no avail. I guess, like us, they were making
the most of their time with him.
We stayed him for what seemed like hours, each of us taking turns in hugging and kissing him, making
up for lost time. I remember repeatedly asking for forgiveness and telling him I love him. I thought
maybe if I keep on saying those things, he would eventually hear it. After a while, the imam asked us
to leave so that they can do the customary bathing of the dead. We then brought his body to the City
Plaza where there was an ongoing indignation rally for what happened. There were more than a
hundred people gathered when we got there. And after praying, the crowd who attended the rally
walked with us back to our house to bury our father.
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No words can describe the anguish that I felt. His death would have been bearable had it been an
ailment or something similar. I have come to accept that there won’t be closure to this case, at least
not in this lifetime. Justice comes to those who can afford it. Money talks in this country, and it’s
something that our family doesn’t have. There’s a solace in the thought that the ultimate judgment will
not be in this world but in the Hereafter.
It was devastating especially for me, a self-confessed Daddy’s girl. When he was alive, I used to text
him nonsense one-liners almost everyday just to let him know that I’m thinking about him. I even call
him even if I really don’t have anything to say just to check on him. Even at twenty-five, I cry like a
baby whenever I talk to him about my problems. See, he has this way of talking that will make a
person throw away any pretense and be very open with him. He makes one see all sides of an issue
and leave it up to that person to make the best decision for himself.
What really struck me was the realization of the finality that death brings. He’s gone. I will never hear
him call me Botsky anymore, I will never be tickled in the morning, I can never text him my silly
oneliners, or call him for another of my pointless conversations. My children will never get to have a
maternal Grandpa. Worse, I will never get to be with him ever again.
This is perhaps one rare wound that even time itself cannot heal. Amidst all this, I was astounded to
see that the world has not stopped, and even grieved with us. However tragic this is, the reality of it
all is that life goes on. And as we go back to the daily churn of life, orphaned, we can only turn to each
other and to all the things my Dad and my Mom has taught us to face life’s surprises. Ω
The most common type of writing assignment is the personal essay, whether it is a Composition class
or a science class.
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[W]here the familiar essay is characterized by its everyday subject matter, the personal essay is defined
more by the personality of its writer, which takes precedence over the subject. On the other hand, the
personal essayist does not place himself firmly in center stage, as does the autobiographical essayist;
the autobiographical element of the personal essay is far less calculated.
A: EVERYWHERE. “From walking. From talking. From listening. From observing. From doing.
From believing. From disagreeing. From dreaming. From scheming. From asking. From having an
open mind.” (Peter Jacobi)
PRO TIP: When writing CNF, begin with the familiar. Write what you know.
You need to research! Validate facts! As mentioned last meeting, the non-fictionist must employ “the
diligence of a reporter.” The writer must also research, interview, validate facts incorporated in the
piece.
Another essay that open with a question is Kelly Ramos’ Laundry Problems. Her first sentence in
the essay is a question that she answers and elaborates in the essays.
https://dagmay.online/2016/11/27/laundry-problems/
A quotation
Charmaine Carillo’s Vantage Point begins with line from Antione de Saint-Exupery’s The Little
Prince.
https://dagmay.online/2017/04/02/the-pilots-vantage-point/
A fascinating fact
The essay The Kiram Building: Remembering the Lost Sultan’s Mansion by Christian Cabagnot
and Karlo David starts with fascinating fact of who designed and build “Kiram Building” and its
connection to Mindanawon roots.
https://dagmay.online/2010/03/21/the-kiram-building/#more-1030
An Anecdote
Vida Mia Valverde’s essay entitled Wedding Disaster Made in Heaven recalls the root of the
disaster – having a destination wedding at Camiguin.
15
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
https://dagmay.online/2012/04/08/wedding-disaster-made-in-heaven/
Laurie Oliver, author of the how-to book, “The Story Within,” identifies many other ways to begin:
With a list
Gumanao in Sunday Lessons at the Marketplace tells us about the set of rules he observed on a
Sunday he accompanied his mother to the marketplace.
https://dagmay.online/2020/02/16/sunday-lessons-at-the-marketplace/
With a memory/reminiscence
Aida Rivera Ford in her work Martial Memories recalls her experience of the Martial Law with her
students in the college paper ATENEWS.
https://dagmay.online/2009/08/16/martial-memories/
With a scene
In Lesson from the Field: The Sendong Experience, May Mundiz describes the destruction
Typhoon Sendong brought in one of the towns in Surigao.
https://dagmay.online/2015/04/19/lessons-from-the-field-the-sendong-experience/
With a reflection
In Paper, Aldory Gevero reflects on the importance of legal papers to one’s legitimacy and
identity.
https://dagmay.online/2010/01/17/paper/
With an assertion
Sorroche in her work Gender in Literature begins with the “otherness of women” as described in
Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Birthmark.
https://dagmay.online/2009/06/28/gender-in-literature/
With a diagnosis
Jade Baylon started his work describing a wife and a husband. The husband his deathbed while
his wife was fervently praying for a miracle.
https://dagmay.online/2017/08/06/maligon/
16
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
Focus Text
My father grew up in Davao but left in the late 1930s to study in Shanghai. When he returned in 1947,
he decided to settle in Manila where he married. My sister and I were both born and raised in Manila.
I was about five when I took my first plane ride, my mother bringing me down to Davao to see my
ahma, my paternal grandmother. The summers of my youth were to become my ahma’s with many
more visits.
After I graduated from the University of the Philippines in Diliman in Quezon City in 1977, my first
job was with the Catholic Church’s Mindanao Secretariat of Social Action, which had its main office
in Davao City. This delighted my ahma no end. The work meant I was constantly on the road, off to
every corner of Mindanao, but about twice a month I would return to Davao City, drop by the MISSA
office and walk about two blocks to Ahma’s home.
My work with MISSA mainly involved meetings with priests and nuns and occasional bishops. Yet,
my home in Davao City was a Buddhist Po Lian (Treasured Lotus) temple, where my ahma lived and
which she administered for more than 30 years.
The temple is on Quirino Avenue but when I was visiting as a child, I remember the street was called
Jacinto Extension. There were few buildings in the area then, and the landmark for taxi drivers was
the “Chinese school,” meaning the Davao Central High School. Today, the temple is surrounded by
commercial establishments, including a call center, as well as banks and restaurants. The school is still
17
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
there but for taxi drivers the more familiar landmark is no longer the “Chinese school” but the Gaisano
Mall.
As a child, each trip to Davao was a treat, from taking the plane to eating durian, to enjoying ice cream
at Merco or going off to Talomo beach or Pearl Farm Beach Resort in Samal.
Sometimes, if my father went with us, he would treat us to a stay at the Davao Insular Hotel, which
at that time, with sprawling grounds, seemed like the most luxurious hotel in the world, with Manila’s
hotels looking tiny and dingy in comparison.
I have to admit that in my teenage years, I began to dread going to Davao because it just was not as
exciting as Manila. The only shopping center was Aldevinco, and I had grown weary of seeing the
same batik products over and over again.
And then in my early 20s, I began to read up on Buddhism. Davao and Po Lian Temple took on a
new attraction. I grew up boasting that my ahma was a Buddhist nun only to learn later, after I had
begun to read up on Buddhism, that she was not quite a nun. Everyone called Ahma a chay ko, literally
meaning a vegetarian woman, which was a term used to refer to very devout, but lay, Buddhists. Yet
she ran the temple alone, with no monks and superiors.
People streamed in and out of the temple every day and at the end of the day the temple was often
shrouded by the fog and smell of incense. The temple had even more people on the first and 15th of
each lunar month and on Buddhist holy days, when there would be group chanting of the sutras
(prayers), capped by a vegetarian lunch.
Whether on regular or special days, many of the devotees went to the temple with special requests,
mainly for businesses to succeed and to be able to bear children, preferably sons. Ahma’s role was to
add to the prayers. She would stand next to the supplicants and begin to pray aloud, the prayer more
like to a conversation as she would explain the problem and the appeal, almost like a lawyer interceding
for a client in court.
Ahma’s “success rate” was said to be quite high, especially for begetting sons. The older Chinese still
talk about one couple who already have nine children, all daughters. It was Ahma’s prayers, they say,
that brought a 10th child, a son. There’s a sequel to this: twin girls followed, then still another girl, for
presumably a happy baker’s dozen.
Ahma also attracted people who needed counsel or, more accurately, needed someone to read oracles
in their search for answers to their questions. She told me the most common questions were about
potentials and risks for jobs and business, career choices, migrating to the States, and, most
importantly, the prospects for bearing a son.
The process was called thieu tsiam, where devotees take a bamboo tube with sticks numbered 1 to
100 and shake the tube until one stick falls out. Ahma would look at the number and go to a cabinet,
18
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
pull out the drawer with the corresponding number, and bring out a sheet of paper with a short four-
line verse, which she would then interpret.
Ahma was really a folk psychologist who listened, comforted and counseled. If she said she would
pray, pray she did, often late into the night. For more serious cases, she would go through a particularly
rigorous style of supplication involving standing and kneeling and gently hitting one’s head on the
floor over and over again, “a hundred times each time,” as when she had to pray for my mother, who
became very ill in 1965 and was given six months to live. My mother passed the six-month mark and
is still alive today.
There was an ecumenical spirit to it all. Ahma never tried to convert my sister and me, and although
she was a strict vegetarian, she had no qualms about serving meat when we visited, for as long as the
food was cooked and served separately from her own. Today, my sister and I practice Buddhist
meditation and have drifted to vegetarianism.
Despite the ecumenical spirit, however, Ahma was fiercely loyal to Buddhism. Once in her 70s, she
had to be confined in the hospital and the hospital chaplain approached her. Her story to me was that
he tried to convert her and she had reacted with mild anger. How, she asked, could this priest expect
her to give up the faith she had held for so many years?
I smiled when she mentioned this because, in fact, local Chinese had become notorious for religious
syncretism. Even in Ahma’s time, many of those who dropped by the temple – my sister and I included
– were actually baptized Catholics.
There was no contradiction between going to the temple and then moving on to a Catholic church
for mass, or to a Taoist temple for advice on feng shui (geomancy) or to communicate with the dearly
departed.
It was only recently that I began to appreciate still another aspect of Ahma’s life. After I wrote about
Ahma in my Inquirer column, I received a letter from Fr. Ari Dy, a Jesuit.
He was researching on Chinese Buddhism in the Philippines and said that chay ko like my ahma had
played a pivotal role in keeping alive certain religious traditions from southern Fujian in China, the
region that is home to the ancestors of many ethnic Chinese in the Philippines.
These included the very tradition of the chay ko, where lay women could end up running a temple,
the use of the thieu tsiam, and the special devotions to Guan Yin or the Goddess of Mercy.
What was so phenomenal about Ahma was not so much her one-woman management of the temple
as the way she had come to that vocation in a colorful life whose details I put together mostly from
her own stories. These stories were often told with a sense of urgency as she would insist that she was
about to “reach time” (kao si in Minnan Chinese), meaning she was old and about to die. The details
remained remarkably consistent even in her very old age.
19
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
I dug up other information on her from older ethnic Chinese in Davao and from a visit to our ancestral
village in Fujian, where I got to read our ancestral books – records listing the dates of births and deaths
of our clan – including those of my paternal grandfather and his wives and children.
Lotus feet
Ahma was born in 1893. Her most graphic memories of childhood was about how, as a very young
child, her own mother used strips of cloth to bind her feet in the pak kha (foot-binding) tradition, as
did other Chinese mothers for about a thousand years.
Her feet were bound so tight that each night, she would beg her mother to have the bindings removed.
Her mother would scold her, “Don’t be silly,” she would say, “you will never be able to get married
with big feet.”
What did a little girl know about marriage, my ahma would rhetorically ask, but that was the fate of
Chinese girls, their feet kept tiny, crippling them for life. I have to say though that despite those tiny
lotus feet as they were called, she was always on the go. My visits, especially when I would arrive, and
then had to depart, often involved chasing after her because she was always so frantic and I was always
worried she would fall.
Little Chinese girls in Ahma’s time did not go to school either, so she grew up illiterate.
And there is no record of when she was married. My grandfather immigrated to the Philippines early
in the 20th century and had married a Filipina, Clara Divino, who died young at childbirth. I figured
my ahma came to the Philippines much later, given that her eldest child was not born until 1919.
She took in the orphans left behind by the Filipina wife, and in 1928, when she was herself widowed,
she was left to raise all seven children, the four from the Filipina (Bienvenido, Antonia, Esperanza and
Narciso) and three more of her won (Jose, my father Julio and Pilar). A court eventually ordered that
the two mestiza daughters be raised by relatives on their biological mother’s side, but the two mestizo
boys cried their hearts out when their Filipino relatives came to take them as they had grown so
attached to their Chinese guardians – my ahma and the Chinese families who had helped them out.
They then ended up with Ahma and eventually were allowed to stay with the Chinese woman with
bound feet. (One other mestiza daughter had been brought to China quite early, and never returned
to the Philippines.)
Tita Panching (Esperanza) married a Davaoeño, Manuel Generoso Cabaguio, whose family produced
a biography, If He Were Here Today, in 2007. The book provides additional information about my
ahma and her relationship with her stepchildren.
I never forgot my ahma’s stories about how she would breastfeed her own biological son Jose, together
with Narciso, the youngest of the mestizo children, one on each breast she claimed. The only times I
20
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
saw her eyes mist up were when she would talk about this adopted mestizo son, who died after a
dental extraction at 18.
Family folklore claimed he had bled to death and so for years, we would fret whenever a relative had
to have a dental extraction, thinking hemophilia might run in the family.
My father always insisted on a blood-clotting test before a dental procedure. The tests always yielded
normal results. It seems that the royal pretensions (hemophilia being commonly found in the royal
families of Europe) had no basis. I suspect now that Tito Narciso had died of an infection acquired
during the extraction.
Sometimes in the 1980s, we transferred the remains of my paternal grandfather and Tito Narciso to a
new grave. I was working with public health programs at the time and, at the cemetery, I thought
about how these early deaths were stark reminders of how difficult life must have been in their time,
in Davao, with the lack of access to proper medical (and dental) care claiming many young lives. Sadly,
even in the 1970s and on into the 21st century when I worked in Mindanao, I continued to see this
neglect of health needs.
The Chinese community in Davao is probably of fairly recent origin, meaning the 20th century. Earlier
waves of Chinese had concentrated in Manila and other larger cities. Davao and Mindanao were
frontier areas. Over time, however, they did attract Chinese. From my father’s stories, life in Davao in
those times was dangerous as well, with many early Chinese immigrants losing their lives to bandits.
I still remember how simple the homes were for the Chinese, especially in the 1960s. But with each
visit I could see, too, how they were growing prosperous, even as many continued to be quite thrifty.
Many moved to Manila, and still others immigrated to the West.
Life was particularly hard for Ahma as a widow. But she survived with some financial support from
her brothers and doing odd jobs, mainly mending clothes, and at one point, even becoming a midwife.
Ahma’s religious life mirrored the social life of the Chinese community. For many years, before the
temple was built, she lived in a small wooden house in Uyanguren, where she put up a small altar in
her home, with one Buddha, for her own personal devotions.
But people would ask if they too could pray with her and seek counsel and, soon enough, Davao’s
Chinese community raised the money to buy land and then build her the Po Lian Temple. The
foundations were laid in 1959 and Ahma devoted the rest of her life to the temple. She had received
no formal training in religious studies, but did get advice from other chay ko.
There was Sim Lian Ko from the Che Wan Temple in Manila, and Siu Yin Ko, who founded the Po
Chong Temple in Cubao in Quezon City. It was only through Father Ari that I learned how important
these chay ko were in the lives of local Chinese Buddhists, an extraordinary instance of women carving
out their niche in a male-dominated society.
21
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
Tina Chua, daughter of Ngo Siu Kan, one of Ahma’s closest friends and a neighbor in Uyanguren,
tells me that many of the Chinese immigrants, the women especially, were illiterate and had to rely on
the younger ones to read the prayers. Tina herself often had to read the prayers on behalf of her
parents.
My ahma was determined to go a step further. In her 50s, she learned to read Chinese so she could
lead with prayers, and do the thieu tsiam oracles. That was quite a feat considering how difficult
Chinese is, with thousands of characters to memorize. She never learned to write in Chinese but could
manage her name: her surname Lin and ping, the word for peace.
Ahma had a way of bringing people back to the temple, each with their own equivalent of the Christian
panata or vow. Tina says my ahma would tell devotees not to donate money if they were hard up, and
to instead help out with the cooking at the temple or by washing dishes.
That was what Tina’s mother did, and Tina is convinced that is what generated all the hok or good
fortune for the devotees and the Chinese community. Now based in Manila, Tina still flies to Davao
three times a year for special Buddhist holy days to visit Po Lian.
Reaching time
One night in September 1990, as I was preparing to leave for a conference in Germany, I got a phone
call from Davao. Ahma was in the hospital with pneumonia and had slipped into a coma. I conferred
with my father, rushed down to Davao, and met with the doctors.
The prognosis was not good, but no one could tell, too, how long she would last. I lingered, then
finally said goodbye, whispering in her ear that she did not need to worry about us and that she could
go. I returned to Manila and went on to the German conference with a heavy heart. My mother flew
down to Davao for the death watch.
Almost two weeks later, on Sept. 30, I returned to Manila and shortly after getting home, my mother
called in from Davao to tell me, “Ahma’s reaching time.” Ahma did reach time about half an hour
later, she was 97.
My visits to the temple dwindled. Several times I would have conferences in Davao City but avoided
dropping by the temple. With Ahma gone, I felt there was no reason to visit.
But in October 2010, shortly after the 20th anniversary of Ahma’s death, I had to attend a medical
conference in Davao City.
At the close of the conference, on the morning of my scheduled departure, I looked out the window
of my hotel and, seeing the bay, and the horizon, I was overwhelmed by nostalgia.
I dropped by the temple, now in the care of my Uncle Jose and Auntie Pinhua, and was told there
were still devotees coming in, many from among the sin kiao or new Chinese immigrants from the
22
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
mainland. There were new, but their concerns were similar to those that Ahma used to handle: success
in business and in having sons.
During that visit, I met, for the first time, a one-year-old girl named RC, daughter of my youngest
cousin Charlie, and his wife Rhea. As I took RC into my arms, I knew I would have to come and visit
again.
Two months later, I brought my family to Davao. There was palpable excitement for everyone,
especially my kids – all toddlers – who were totally enchanted by the temple. At the side of the temple
was a small memorial hall built in honor of my grandmother, with her photograph at the center. My
ever-curious son called out to his sisters to come in and look at “Ahma,” insisting maybe she was
buried somewhere in the hall.
The entire family posed in front of her photograph and as the camera shutters clicked away, I knew I
would be visiting Davao many more times, together with my family.
I thought about what I had learned from Ahma about quiet strength, about respect for other people’s
religious beliefs, about endurance, persistence and generosity. She was not unique, certainly, and I
know many Filipinas are now in her position, trying to survive and raise families in strange new lands
while carrying on the culture of the homeland.
Having prayed for so many people to have children, Ahma faced the dilemma of her own favorite
grandson refusing to marry and have children. This was where she did nag, more persistently as she
aged, and I will admit it did, at one point, keep me from visiting her more often.
In the end, Ahma, as usual, did get her way with me, four times over, although in rather unorthodox
ways. I remain unmarried, at least in the legal sense of the word, but I did follow Ahma’s footsteps,
taking in children not my own but loving them as she did my Tito Narciso.
Before leaving for the airport, I rushed back to the memorial hall and waved at Ahma, “I’ll be back.”
On the way to the airport, I thought, maybe someday, I – or my children – will talk about going home
to Davao. Ω
Representations of a Character
There are 7 ways to represent a character in a literary work according to Burroway(2007).
a. Appearance
Describe the physical details of the character, the clothes they have chosen to wear, how they
style their hair, and the manner in which they have chosen to present themselves to the
world.
b. Action
23
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
Because of human complexities in thoughts and contradictions within the inner value
systems, a person does an action that may affect his surroundings and even himself/herself.
c. Voice
Listen to how people talk. Their tone, accent and manner of speaking may give us a hint of
their character. Search for peculiarities in their voices that may give a clue of their origins,
birthplaces, and inner being.
d. Purpose
Each action is motivated by a certain purpose. Check the character’s motivation of why he
or she does certain actions.
e. Thought
Thought is an internal process within a person. As human beings, our thought processes may
involve what Aristotle said as “consistent inconsistencies” because our lives are filled with
tensions and conflict.
f. Change and Complexity
After executing an action, a character is capable of change. According to John L’Heureux,
“A story is about a single moment in a character’s life when a definitive choice is made, after
which nothing is the same.”
Full-length Biography
Typically covers the entirety of the featured person’s existence, covering all the significant
events surrounding his/her life from womb to tomb, and usually includes a family tree and a
chronology of milestones in its appendices to further guide potential readers of the book.
Any biography, whether of a historical, popular, political or literary figure, can fit as an
example.
1. Popular biography oftentimes focuses on the controversies surrounding the famous
person, and its main purpose is to entertain. As an example, have them come up with a
biography of Kris Aquino. If they are writing a popular biography, what stories would they
include?
24
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
2. Historical and literary biography focus on the person, regardless if a historical or literary
figure, written by a historian/literary writer. Oftentimes they involve poetic truths about
the person’s life, and that becomes the overall motif of the story. An example would be
Nick Joaquin’s A Question of Heroes, which the movies Heneral Luna and Goyo are
based from.
Profile
“Cities can be profiled. So can streets. So can buildings. So can institutions. Mostly, however,
we profile people. A profile recreates the subject, makes it come alive on paper, gives the
subject shape and meaning, causes us as readers to meet and know that subject, that city, that
institution, that person.” -Peter Jacobi
Shorter than a full-length biography, a profile is a kind of biographical narrative that normally
concentrates on a single aspect of a person’s life.
Although some background information of his/her origins is included, the profile for the most
part focuses on the circumstances and events that have made the featured person
important/famous.
Example: “Chay Ko”; “Buhay Pa Kami: Dispatches from Marawi” – Jeff Canoy
(https://news.abs-cbn.com/specials/dispatches-from-marawi)
Character Sketch
Similar to an artist’s rendition of Belle from that Disney movie, a character sketch provides a
dimension to a person’s character. Some of the techniques that writers use for character
sketches is either by looking at the person from afar, or by highlighting a singular trait. This
does not mean that the person is judged by these alone. They are specific enough so that we
can see what made this person remarkable.
25
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
Autobiographical Narratives
Autobiography
It is an account of one’s life, generally a continuous narrative of major events; the biography
of oneself narrated by oneself.
Although it has no prescribed pattern or structure, there are roughly four different kinds of
autobiography: Thematic, Religious, Intellectual, and Fictionalized.
1. Thematic follows specific themes or motifs in one’s life, and they are usually anchored
towards the most valued lesson, biggest downfall, biggest challenge in life, and so on.
2. Religious tends to involve faith life into the picture. Most examples are from daily
devotional handbooks that may have some life story attached to verses from holy
books.
3. Intellectual, on the other hand, involves ideology and philosophy. For example, if you
want to model your life story as an endless struggle between gender roles, a topic of
feminist ideology, you can.
4. Fictionalized may involve one or more of the following: withholding or changing of
names for sensitive reasons, using fictional techniques like plot, scene, and character,
among many others.
“Autobiographical narratives are fictions, in the sense that the narrator imposes her
or his order on the ebb and flow of experience and gives us a false sense of certainty
and finality about causation in life. Yet they are not fictions but accounts of real
lives, live
Memoir
An autobiography “moves in a dutiful line from birth to fame, omitting nothing”, while a
memoir “assumes the life and ignores most of it.”
A memoir does not need to be arranged or structured in a strictly chronological order like the
autobiography.
A memoir can be written in a fragmentary or dispersed style, like a mosaic or montage of
small-scale narratives. The form exists in short form (as long as a short story) or in a book
form.
Examples: “Sapay Koma” by Jhoanna Lynn Cruz (short form), which tells us of the narrator’s
coming to terms with her marriage and eventual separation from her husband and his culture.
(Link: https://dagmay.online/2008/09/14/sapay-koma/)
26
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt (book form) tells of the childhood of the writer in rainy
Ireland and his eventual decision to migrate to New York in his late adolescence for greater
opportunities. (Link to book summary:
https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/angelasashes/summary/)
Diary
The diary is a form of creative nonfiction that is a quotidian or day-to-day record of the specific
events that have transpired in the life of its author and is ideally kept on a daily basis.
It oftentimes includes the following:
A rundown of the day, include routines
Personal observations
Feelings, reflections of personal events
Searchings of something significant
Example: Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank tells about her daily experiences with her
family while being Jewish, and while in hiding from Nazis in a small home in Amsterdam, the
Netherlands, at the start of the second World War. She names her diary Kitty. (Link for more
information about the house museum and her works: https://www.annefrank.org/en/)
Journal
The journal as a form of autobiographical writing is generally more intimate than a diary;
and even if it includes daily activities, it also contains personal details regarding the
impressions and opinions of the journal writer.
It is typically intimate and confidential, and not often published.
As an example, have learners answer if they keep a journal, and if so, what do they usually
write on it.
27
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Focus Text
It was in Burma, a sodden morning of the rains. A sickly light, like yellow tinfoil, was slanting over the
high walls into the jail yard. We were waiting outside the condemned cells, a row of sheds fronted with
double bars, like small animal cages. Each cell measured about ten feet by ten and was quite bare
within except for a plank bed and a pot of drinking water. In some of them brown silent men were
squatting at the inner bars, with their blankets draped round them. These were the condemned men,
due to be hanged within the next week or two.
One prisoner had been brought out of his cell. He was a Hindu, a puny wisp of a man, with a shaven
head and vague liquid eyes. He had a thick, sprouting moustache, absurdly too big for his body, rather
like the moustache of a comic man on the films. Six tall Indian warders were guarding him and getting
him ready for the gallows. Two of them stood by with rifles and fixed bayonets, while the others
handcuffed him, passed a chain through his handcuffs and fixed it to their belts, and lashed his arms
tight to his sides. They crowded very close about him, with their hands always on him in a careful,
caressing grip, as though all the while feeling him to make sure he was there. It was like men handling
a fish which is still alive and may jump back into the water. But he stood quite unresisting, yielding his
arms limply to the ropes, as though he hardly noticed what was happening.
Eight o'clock struck and a bugle call, desolately thin in the wet air, floated from the distant barracks.
The superintendent of the jail, who was standing apart from the rest of us, moodily prodding the
gravel with his stick, raised his head at the sound. He was an army doctor, with a grey toothbrush
moustache and a gruff voice. ‘For God's sake hurry up, Francis,’ he said irritably. ‘The man ought to
have been dead by this time. Aren't you ready yet?’
Francis, the head jailer, a fat Dravidian in a white drill suit and gold spectacles, waved his black hand.
‘Yes sir, yes sir,’ he bubbled. ‘All iss satisfactorily prepared. The hangman iss waiting. We shall
proceed.’
‘Well, quick march, then. The prisoners can't get their breakfast till this job's over.’
We set out for the gallows. Two warders marched on either side of the prisoner, with their rifles at
the slope; two others marched close against him, gripping him by arm and shoulder, as though at once
pushing and supporting him. The rest of us, magistrates and the like, followed behind. Suddenly, when
we had gone ten yards, the procession stopped short without any order or warning. A dreadful thing
had happened — a dog, come goodness knows whence, had appeared in the yard. It came bounding
among us with a loud volley of barks, and leapt round us wagging its whole body, wild with glee at
finding so many human beings together. It was a large woolly dog, half Airedale, half pariah. For a
moment it pranced round us, and then, before anyone could stop it, it had made a dash for the
28
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E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
prisoner, and jumping up tried to lick his face. Everyone stood aghast, too taken aback even to grab
at the dog.
‘Who let that bloody brute in here?’ said the superintendent angrily. ‘Catch it, someone!’
A warder, detached from the escort, charged clumsily after the dog, but it danced and gambolled just
out of his reach, taking everything as part of the game. A young Eurasian jailer picked up a handful of
gravel and tried to stone the dog away, but it dodged the stones and came after us again. Its yaps
echoed from the jail wails. The prisoner, in the grasp of the two warders, looked on incuriously, as
though this was another formality of the hanging. It was several minutes before someone managed to
catch the dog. Then we put my handkerchief through its collar and moved off once more, with the
dog still straining and whimpering.
It was about forty yards to the gallows. I watched the bare brown back of the prisoner marching in
front of me. He walked clumsily with his bound arms, but quite steadily, with that bobbing gait of the
Indian who never straightens his knees. At each step his muscles slid neatly into place, the lock of hair
on his scalp danced up and down, his feet printed themselves on the wet gravel. And once, in spite of
the men who gripped him by each shoulder, he stepped slightly aside to avoid a puddle on the path.
It is curious, but till that moment I had never realized what it means to destroy a healthy, conscious
man. When I saw the prisoner step aside to avoid the puddle, I saw the mystery, the unspeakable
wrongness, of cutting a life short when it is in full tide. This man was not dying, he was alive just as
we were alive. All the organs of his body were working — bowels digesting food, skin renewing itself,
nails growing, tissues forming — all toiling away in solemn foolery. His nails would still be growing
when he stood on the drop, when he was falling through the air with a tenth of a second to live. His
eyes saw the yellow gravel and the grey walls, and his brain still remembered, foresaw, reasoned —
reasoned even about puddles. He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling,
understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone —
one mind less, one world less.
The gallows stood in a small yard, separate from the main grounds of the prison, and overgrown with
tall prickly weeds. It was a brick erection like three sides of a shed, with planking on top, and above
that two beams and a crossbar with the rope dangling. The hangman, a grey-haired convict in the
white uniform of the prison, was waiting beside his machine. He greeted us with a servile crouch as
we entered. At a word from Francis the two warders, gripping the prisoner more closely than ever,
half led, half pushed him to the gallows and helped him clumsily up the ladder. Then the hangman
climbed up and fixed the rope round the prisoner's neck.
We stood waiting, five yards away. The warders had formed in a rough circle round the gallows. And
then, when the noose was fixed, the prisoner began crying out on his god. It was a high, reiterated cry
of ‘Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram!’, not urgent and fearful like a prayer or a cry for help, but steady, rhythmical,
almost like the tolling of a bell. The dog answered the sound with a whine. The hangman, still standing
on the gallows, produced a small cotton bag like a flour bag and drew it down over the prisoner's face.
But the sound, muffled by the cloth, still persisted, over and over again: ‘Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram! Ram!’
29
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The hangman climbed down and stood ready, holding the lever. Minutes seemed to pass. The steady,
muffled crying from the prisoner went on and on, ‘Ram! Ram! Ram!’ never faltering for an instant.
The superintendent, his head on his chest, was slowly poking the ground with his stick; perhaps he
was counting the cries, allowing the prisoner a fixed number — fifty, perhaps, or a hundred. Everyone
had changed colour. The Indians had gone grey like bad coffee, and one or two of the bayonets were
wavering. We looked at the lashed, hooded man on the drop, and listened to his cries — each cry
another second of life; the same thought was in all our minds: oh, kill him quickly, get it over, stop
that abominable noise!
Suddenly the superintendent made up his mind. Throwing up his head he made a swift motion with
his stick. ‘Chalo!’ he shouted almost fiercely.
There was a clanking noise, and then dead silence. The prisoner had vanished, and the rope was
twisting on itself. I let go of the dog, and it galloped immediately to the back of the gallows; but when
it got there it stopped short, barked, and then retreated into a corner of the yard, where it stood among
the weeds, looking timorously out at us. We went round the gallows to inspect the prisoner's body.
He was dangling with his toes pointed straight downwards, very slowly revolving, as dead as a stone.
The superintendent reached out with his stick and poked the bare body; it oscillated, slightly. ‘He's all
right,’ said the superintendent. He backed out from under the gallows, and blew out a deep breath.
The moody look had gone out of his face quite suddenly. He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Eight minutes
past eight. Well, that's all for this morning, thank God.’
The warders unfixed bayonets and marched away. The dog, sobered and conscious of having
misbehaved itself, slipped after them. We walked out of the gallows yard, past the condemned cells
with their waiting prisoners, into the big central yard of the prison. The convicts, under the command
of warders armed with lathis, were already receiving their breakfast. They squatted in long rows, each
man holding a tin pannikin, while two warders with buckets marched round ladling out rice; it seemed
quite a homely, jolly scene, after the hanging. An enormous relief had come upon us now that the job
was done. One felt an impulse to sing, to break into a run, to snigger. All at once everyone began
chattering gaily.
The Eurasian boy walking beside me nodded towards the way we had come, with a knowing smile:
‘Do you know, sir, our friend (he meant the dead man), when he heard his appeal had been dismissed,
he pissed on the floor of his cell. From fright. — Kindly take one of my cigarettes, sir. Do you not
admire my new silver case, sir? From the boxwallah, two rupees eight annas. Classy European style.’
Several people laughed — at what, nobody seemed certain.
Francis was walking by the superintendent, talking garrulously. ‘Well, sir, all hass passed off with the
utmost satisfactoriness. It wass all finished — flick! like that. It iss not always so — oah, no! I have
known cases where the doctor wass obliged to go beneath the gallows and pull the prisoner's legs to
ensure decease. Most disagreeable!’
30
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‘Ach, sir, it iss worse when they become refractory! One man, I recall, clung to the bars of hiss cage
when we went to take him out. You will scarcely credit, sir, that it took six warders to dislodge him,
three pulling at each leg. We reasoned with him. “My dear fellow,” we said, “think of all the pain and
trouble you are causing to us!” But no, he would not listen! Ach, he wass very troublesome!’
I found that I was laughing quite loudly. Everyone was laughing. Even the superintendent grinned in
a tolerant way. ‘You'd better all come out and have a drink,’ he said quite genially. ‘I've got a bottle of
whisky in the car. We could do with it.’
We went through the big double gates of the prison, into the road. ‘Pulling at his legs!’ exclaimed a
Burmese magistrate suddenly, and burst into a loud chuckling. We all began laughing again. At that
moment Francis's anecdote seemed extraordinarily funny. We all had a drink together, native and
European alike, quite amicably. The dead man was a hundred yards away. Ω
The Bystander Narrator- this is the term used to describe a first-person narrator who is not openly involved
in the storyline. He or she tells his or her own perspective of a story he or she has only witnessed and
heard. In the fictional piece, A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner, the narrator is presumed to be one of
Emily’s neighbors who tells her story based on the rare times he has seen Emily and based on what he has
heard from other neighbors.
In most CNF pieces with bystander narrators, the narrator is self-aware, and is also in conflict with himself,
with his values, while seeing the struggle in other people’s situation.
Just like in fiction, it is important to exhaust the setting (time and place) of your CNF.
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a. The time setting impacts what types of lives your characters can lead and what choices they
can make. (The new generation has different decision-making from the older generation)
b. Time determines what kind of technology is available (In the TV series “Stranger Things” for
example, the characters are limited to the technology available in the 80s since the story is set in
that era. It makes the circumstances of the characters more difficult.)
In your CNF, when you establish the time and place, it will help your readers understand
more the choices and options of the characters.
Setting as a Character
If you remember the different types of conflict in a story, you actually know that a place can serve as an
antagonist of the main character. This is an example of how the setting impacts the lives of characters.
And it is also important that like characters, the setting is memorable and distinctive that it could even be
the title of the piece. There are a lot of films that use the name of the setting as the title. In these films, the
setting really affects the movement and decisions of the character. (The TV series “Itaewon Class” is set
in Itaewon, where the competition between restaurants is tough, and where people from all over the world
come to visit, which adds pressure to the main character, who’s a businessman, in terms of expensive rent,
choice of interior, food, etc.)
Literary Reportage or Immersion Journalism (these terms are used interchangibly, but for the purposes
of the lesson, the teachers use the first.)
Immersion Journalism allows the writer to participate fully into the event that he or she is reporting. There
is personal engagement of the writer as things happen.
Tom Wolfe, pioneer of what is called Narrative Journalism (Reportage or Literary Journalism), creates a
technique where news articles do not simply remain as articles, but turn these into literary pieces. He
employs the use of fictional elements to convey a story. The articles remain to use facts while utilizing the
elements of fiction.
Frank Sinatra was one of the most popular entertainers of the 20th century, forging a career as an
award-winning singer and film actor.
(from biography.com)
Francis Albert Sinatra (…December 12, 1915 – May 14, 1998) was an American singer, actor, and
producer who was one of the most popular and influential musical artists of the 20th century. He
is one of the best-selling music artists of all time, having sold more than 150 million records
worldwide.
(from Wikipedia)
32
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Frank Sinatra, holding a glass of bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, stood in a dark
corner of the bar between two attractive but fading blondes who sat waiting for him to say
something. But he said nothing; he had been silent during much of the evening, except now in this
private club in Beverly Hills he seemed even more distant, staring out through the smoke and
semidarkness into a large room beyond the bar where dozens of young couples sat huddled around
small tables or twisted in the center of the floor to the clamorous clang of folk-rock music blaring
from the stereo. The two blondes knew, as did Sinatra's four male friends who stood nearby, that
it was a bad idea to force conversation upon him when he was in this mood of sullen silence, a
mood that had hardly been uncommon during this first week of November, a month before his
fiftieth birthday.
(from “Frank Sinatra Has a Cold”, Gay Talese, 1966)
Here are processes that Tom Wolfe tells that a narrative journalist should have as summarized by Richard
Gilbert:
a. Scenes – Present the narrative in a series of scenes and use “ordinary historical narration” as little
as possible.
b. POV – It puts the reader “inside the mind of someone other than the writer.”
c. Dialogue – Quote copious verbal interplay among characters. Dialogue is the easiest prose to read
“and the quickest to reveal character.”
d. Details - The careful use of details that reveal “one’s rank or aspirations, everything from dress
and furniture to . . . speech, how one talks to the strong, to the weak, to the sophisticated, to the
naïve . . .”
According to Lee Gutkind, immersion journalists are like “flies on the wall”. “Writers should be regular
and silent observers, so much so that they are virtually unnoticed. Like walking through your living room
dozens of times, but only paying attention to the sofa when suddenly you realize that it is missing.” He
adds that, “Immersion journalists immerse or involve themselves in the lives of the people about whom
they are writing in ways that will provide readers with a rare and special intimacy.”
33
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Focus Text
THERE’S SOMETHING TO be said about contradictions brought to the fore by what others say
about you: the feminist who doesn’t tire of love, the Marxist who loves Starbucks.
The truth is, this is only a crisis in contradictions when I think about it at all, because living in the
everyday practically renders theory null and void. Which is not at all to fall into the clichés of living
the best way I can or becoming the best I can be, as it is to see that clichés are impossible here, in a
space that requires I live with eyes wide open, heart at the ready to be broken, by the personal and by
nation, every day, beyond any theories I know and believe in.
Yet every day, I have no choice but to deal what’s in front of me, take action, move as I might. Often
enough, taking words from a book and talking about theory will not solve the daily woes. Sometimes
it might get in the way of actual living.
Because in the everyday, I will not think twice about going to SM: it fulfills its promise of having it all
for me (talk about good copy), by being that one place where multiple errands can be tackled, where
parking is safe, and shopping’s cheap. It’s an oppressive capitalist institution for sure, requiring
salesgirls to wear short skirts, to put on specific make-up, to wear particular heels. They are legendary
for their contractual hiring of workers, which means no benefits and job security.
As a monolith that it is, I can be disgusted with SM. As a middle-class girl just looking to stretch her
monthly income, it’s difficult not to find value in it. And then this: if I stopped going to SM, would it
in any way cease to exist?
This is how I grapple with the contradiction that is my belief in Marxism and this universe of
consumption I am part of. I know that the fight against capitalism and imperialism will not be won by
one of us not eating in McDonald’s or not using Palmolive shampoo. Winning could happen just on
the level of health (less junk food!), or value for money (local herbal organic products turn out cheaper
in the long run). Much might also be said about a cup of really good local coffee versus the triple-
grande-sugar-free-vanilla-soy-caramel-macchiato that Starbucks has taught me to love.
34
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This is not to say that I’ve succeeded against the lure of the latter. It’s to say that I now see it as a treat:
like a slice of good cake, or a new book, usually with even better company. That this has meant an
improved taste for coffee, and a better sense of which local enterprises actually benefit our coffee
farmers the most, can of course only be an added benefit to this struggle against the fads of
consumption.
But love is a different story altogether. It ain’t a fad, and its contradictions with notion(s) of feminist
power and independence might be the more impossible one to pin down. It’s not that we lose all sense
when it comes to love, or that theory fails at explaining it. It’s that we must know this to be true: while
we might have things to explain love by, these don’t always hold or stand up to its inexplicability.
Because there is a theory, and there is the lack of explanation for a man who is suddenly unable to
speak. There is common sense, and there is utter lack of reason in love that arrives unexpectedly and
sweeps you off your feet. We like to be able to explain the world, and this is what theories are for, but
there are also some things one finds we should concede to because there are no words. Not for love.
Or loss. Other than the clichés of course, and yes, we have the excuse to fall back on those sometimes.
That love and consumption might be tied neatly together into the enterprise of feeling-better-about-
oneself or exercising-one’s-right-to-spend, is of course of these times. We are at this moment when
the psychological well-being of a woman is tied to the notion(s) of finding oneself, something that
happens when she goes shopping (or travelling, or eating out, or partying) – really an evil cycle that
brings us back to the fold of capitalist monoliths like SM.
So what is it that happens to the grand ideologies we hold close to our hearts when real life sets in? It
remains. Even as it also becomes clear that ultimately feminism will not save me from heartbreak, and
neither will Marxism. They might at most provide an explanation for why things have unfolded the
way they might, they might provide me with the questions I need to assess the outcomes – but that
might not even matter either. Because sometimes you know that spending on new shoes, or on some
good ol’ emotional eating, or on the vacation that you always wanted, just might be what you need,
no matter how fleeting. Often you know that what you really and truly hope for is to be loved and
respected, to feel that your voice is important, and your life valued. It is that you matter, full stop.
It could come from a man, sure, but it sure would be great if it came from nation, too. Ω
Irony
Irony
Irony is not so much an element of fiction as a pervasive quality in it. It may appear in fiction in
three ways: in a work’s language, in its incidents, or in its point of view.
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But in whatever form it emerges, irony always involves a contrast or discrepancy between one
thing and another.
The contrast may be between what is said and what is meant (verbal irony), what is expected to
happen and what actually happens (situational irony) or between what a character believes or
says and what the reader understands to be true (dramatic irony).
(source: https://www.storyboardthat.com/articles/e/types-of-irony)
Reflective Essay
It is a critical examination of a life experience. It is akin to a diary entry, except that others will be
reading it so it needs to have a great deal of coherence and a good structure. In that regard, a
reflective essay is much like any other essay out there.
1. In-depth analysis
The narrator in “No Escape” comprehensively discusses in the essay how she had no escape
from capitalism and social constructs on women despite her embracing Marxist and Feminist
concepts.
“No Escape”: Because in the everyday, I do love SM, which isn’t to say I love shopping: I
love SM because it fulfills its promise of having it all for me (talk about good copy). It’s an
oppressive capitalist institution for sure, requiring girls to wear short skirts and put on the
36
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kind of make-up that they do, hiring workers on a contractual basis to ascertain less expenses
on benefits and taxes.
“No Escape”: And then this: if I stopped going to SM, would it in any way cease to
exist?
Although this is not used in “No Escape”, making references or using intertextuality is pretty
common in CNF. Intertextuality in CNF is weaving another text into your essay, such as
making one’s experience as your reference in defining yours, in order to enrich your work and
to make the readers fully grasp what you’re trying to say. It can be as simple as writing about
not wanting to grow up, the hardships of adulting, and then saying that Peter Pan was right.
Perhaps you could even open your essay with the story of Peter Pan before telling your own
experience. That in itself is already called intertextuality.
Example from “No Escape”: Because in the everyday, I do love SM, which isn’t to say I love
shopping: I love SM because it fulfills its promise of having it all for me (talk about good
copy).
The essay “No Escape” discusses the ironies that the narrator has. The dominant literary
element here is irony.
The paragraphs in “No Escape” cohere with one another. The narrator starts by opening the
topic on contradictions then shares the main contradictions that she has in herself. She then
tries to explain why contradictions exist and the need to justify them without really
romanticizing it. Then she goes on to her decision/ takeaway, which is that she will continue
living by those theories, even though she knows she might not always follow them.
8. A decision or a takeaway
“No Escape”: So what is it that happens to the grand ideologies we hold close to our
hearts when real life sets in? They remain. Even as it also becomes clear that ultimately,
feminism will not save me from heartbreak, and neither will Marxism. They might at most
provide an explanation for why things are such – though that might not even matter either.
37
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Because sometimes all you need is a sense that you are cared for and loved, respected and
cherished – that you matter, period. To a man and this nation, both.
The narrator here decides that she will still keep her ideologies with her, try her best to live
by them, even though she knows deep down that these theories may not always save her
from heartbreak.
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be made even better? What would you say is the least successful part of your paper? Why? How
could this part be improved?
If you are not confident at assessing your work, have a trusted friend or family member who will
honestly give you feedback on your work. Observe their reactions as they read your work and ask
them to take note of the parts that confused them or were vague. Have them state what is good
about the work and if they were to write this essay, how would they approach it.
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Is there enough support? The answer to this question will depend on the assignment
requirements. One way to make sure that your paper has enough support is to make sure
that you have met the word or page count requirements for the assignment. If your paper
is too short, you may want to consider adding more information from one of your sources
or even finding another source. You could also consider adding relevant personal
experience, depending on the assignment requirements.
Step Three: Revise for Coherence and Cohesion (Flow)
Once you’ve determined that your essay has unity and that you included adequate support, you’ll
need to check the coherence or “flow” of your work. When we talk about coherence in writing,
we mean that the ideas flow logically and are connected and organized. One easy way to check this
is to read your output out loud. Do you find yourself stopping and starting, or wondering how
one paragraph connects to the next? You may need to include transitions and other cues to help
the reader follow your good ideas. Here are some questions to ask yourself as you revise for
coherence:
Do you have an effective introduction and conclusion? An introduction gives you a chance
to “hook” the reader, while a conclusion circles back to the introduction and explains “so
what?” to the reader. Framing your essay in this way will help your reader to understand
your ideas and your point. Because the introduction is so important, some write the
introduction last, after all of the ideas are set out and explained why they matter in a
conclusion.
Does the paper flow logically? There are several ways that you can organize your ideas.
Time or chronological order makes sense for narratives or for essays where historical
context matters. Order of importance may work well for argument, where you can start
with either your strongest or your weakest point (inductive or deductive reasoning).
Do you use transitions to connect your ideas? Transitional expressions are critical to your
essay’s flow.
Does the essay “make sense”? This is one place that a peer review can really help you.
Sometimes ideas make perfect sense to your–but another reader may struggle to
understand how you reached a conclusion or organize your argument. Pay attention to
your readers’ comments here.
Are the paragraphs in the right order, or do you need to move things around to make
them more clear? Sometimes we get the idea that our paragraphs or even our sentences
are “fixed” once we put them on paper, but nothing could be further from the truth! Think
of your essay draft as a sandbox. You need ideas to work with, but you may need to shape
those ideas differently once you have them on paper. One trick is to print my papers out,
cut them up into paragraphs, and try moving paragraphs around to see what flows best.
You can also move them in a word processor. Just make sure that you are not working on
your first work.
Step Four: Revise for Style
41
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
Once you’ve written an effective introduction, organized your paragraphs, and connected your
ideas with transitional expressions, it’s time to focus on style. One common misconception is in
writing CNF is that it is similar with writing an essay.
Remember that the goal of writing, first and foremost, is to communicate. It’s okay to use a
metaphors word and imagery. Be maximalist in some of your experiences that really help your
readers understand your insight. The use of literary devices should be used in moderation and with
intention. Make sure that you apply a literary element that helps in boosting your readers’
comprehension of your insight.
Note: Use a grammar checker as you revise. For example, the blue squiggly lines in Word’s
grammar checker may indicate style problems.
42
ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
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ATENEO DE DAVAO UNIVERSITY
E. Jacinto St., 8016 Davao City, Philippines
Tel No. +63 (82) 221.2411 local 8200; Fax +63 (82) 226.4116
e-Mail: [email protected] * www.addu.edu.ph
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