Wednesday, November 05, 2008
My first day of teaching for this semester ended at 3 PM so I had to rush from the obscure college going to the state university for my enrollment. Kuya George informed me that the enlistment started Monday, when I was just reading a Caribbean novel—Niño’s favorite subject: an exotic adventure involving endangered frogs—owing to the enervating bed weather. RR and Eric sent me off to a jeep in which Kenneth was actually on board. Since I noticed that the tattooed barker sitting next to the driver is ruggedly handsome, I jumped onto the front seat instead of joining Kenneth at the back passenger seats. The artworks in the barker’s skin failed to cloak the lovelier art form that is the barker’s masculine physique. Too bad that my phone could not shoot at a strategic angle; I would come on too strong if I so much as take pictures from the windshield.
The same thing happened inside the campus: I would come across stunning creatures from Palma Hall to the Faculty Center. Beauties from the schoolboy type to the gymbuff kind flourished from the Sunken Garden to the new CAL building to the English Department. Why was there a dramatic increase in pogi visibility in UP-Diliman? Easy: it’s enrollment; the rest of the sem, most of these charming geeks would be tucked away in the library or in their respective colleges, hidden among piles of books. Again, I must forego the chance of immortalizing them in the annals of cyberspace because my right hand carried my laptop while my left gripped my Form 5.
Before heading back to the Graduate Studies Office, I accompanied my classmate Grace in taking a quick merienda at the canteen. She said she’s teaching World Literature anew so I asked her choice of texts and the reason for such. Unlike my manner of choosing masterpieces by way of geography, hers is by mode of production, so the classical Greeks and the obviously Marxist writings are included. I revealed to her that I admire her for staying in UP despite the meager pay if only to teach future social agents. I soon became reminded of my brilliant friends like Canifer, Claudette, Melanie, and Carl who had to leave for Qatar, Dubai, Saudi Arabia, and Russia, respectively, because the Philippines cannot offer wider economic viability that will make the home-based Filipinos think twice about joining the diaspora.
While waiting for my adviser, I got to chat with my favorite Comparative Literature professor, Dr. Preachy. I thanked her for the many things she had done for me, most especially for the lessons in literary theory, criticism and studies which I got to pass on to my own students. I told her too how many of my friends marveled at the way she makes a commanding presence in literary conferences. Smiling as ever, she informed me to use my entitlement to the Diliman Review because new studies by Dr. Jing and Dr. Pison were anthologized there. For a moment I thought she would break the good news that my own writing in her Feminist Perspectives class, a performative analysis of Danton Remoto’s essays, had already seen the light of day. Well, patience is a virtue.
The good news arrived at a latter time: my adviser consulted my checklist and disclosed that I only need one more seminar course and my language requirement before I could start writing my thesis. I got excited at the prospect of taking just one more subject and of learning Spanish prior to embarking on my postcolonial-queer intersections in Philippine Gay Literature in English. The Latina in me wanted to do a continuous cartwheel from the FC lobby to Philcoa, momentarily careless about pogi-spotting.