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hi! i'm ness...my posts are most often beautiful (in my belief) passages from many and different enlightened and wise people who were able to jot down in simple text their ideas and idealisms. since i am not and was never really talented in writing or expressing my innermost, valued beliefs, ideas and values, i will let these passages be the more appropriate and able conveyers. besides, it was through these writers and their pieces from which i learned and formed my own values. so as i present to you these writers and their creations, i am also presenting to you a part of me..get to know me through them..

 

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Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Missing An "S"

A student of mine lent me a book - Sleepless in Manila. A compilation of essays, poems, tips, jokes and other literary creations by insomniacs mostly from Manila. One article caught my fancy... I wonder why? Hmmm..i think i know but i choose not to divulge the reason (let me laugh on my own..hehehe). It's quite funny.

Anyway...here it is:

Missing An "S"

by: Bj A. Patiño

I should like to dedicate this enterprise for you

Rita appreciated the tastefulness of his use of "should," questioned the appropriateness of his choice of "e
nterprise," and with her red-inked tech pen crossed out the offensive word "for".
She put down the pen, pressed the sheet of paper flat underneath her palms, looked out into the night through the glass window of the gas station's 24-hour convenience store, and contemplated whether to continue reading or not.
This was Nelson's third love letter to her and she had yet to see an improvement in his writing. Not that she actually gave him feedback – that would be the height of rudeness. But if he were seriously courting her, he should have at least tried to make a good impression with his language facility.

She often thought of him on sleepless nights such as this. But to clarify the cause-effect relationship: the thought of Nelson did not keep her awake; rather, her sleeplessness made her mind wander to him.
To be sure, Rita did find Nelson interesting. Apparently, he had as a sales representative already been delivering cases of soft drinks to the school cafeteria for many months before she first noticed him when he offered her a free can of cola during pone of her lunch breaks from teaching freshman college classes.
Since then, she has agreed to go out with him a number of times, though only after weekday classes when she had already satisfied herself with checking reams of quizzes. They went on their dates directly from school.
At bedtime, she closed her eyes and saw images of the day's date parading across her eyelids. But instead of being lulled to sleep by those lingering recollections, she followed the march of her memories into the night.
So she thought of him at lengths longer then normal periods of wakefulness allowed.
Rita set aside Nelson's letter, then pulled out a pile of students' essays from her portfolio, a portion of her day's checking quota.
She did some of the marking during the daytime, in the faculty office, but there was no more productive way of lasting through these bouts of sleeplessness than to continue working. Sometimes she did so, in her cramped studio apartment, but her reading backlog of past Newsweek issues and Booksale novels proved to be an irresistible distraction.
So of late she had taken to applying herself in one of the coffee tables at an all-night convenience store a mere 5-minute walk away from where she lived. The place was clean and well-lighted, the air-conditioning comfortably cool, the clerks disinterested – a suitable place to work.

The murderous act of abortion should be banned. On the same hand, the use of contraceptives contributes to our callous attitude toward life.

Rita gripped her red pen and resisted the urge to right down a vulgar remark. She couldn't believe the succession of mistakes this student committed in the span of two sentences.
Most of all, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the student's creative use of his hand. Was he trying to impress his teacher with his dubious use of rhetorical virtuosity? It didn’t work. She thought.
Rita flipped back to the first page, at the very top wrote a big bold "F," and then placed the essay at the bottom of the pile.

She was about to begin with the next essay on top, but the prospect of another barrage of errors gave her a pause. She put the pen down, looked into the night, and racked her brains trying to figure out the root cause of the deplorable state of the English language in the country. Then her thought drifted back to Nelson.

That first can of cola in the cafeteria happened six months ago and there had been many other cans of cola between them since – in malls, in movie houses, in the same cafeteria. There could have been more, but Rita turned down his invitations as much as she accepted them.
She didn't want to give Nelson the impression that she was easy to get. She was in her mid-thirties and never had a boyfriend, but that was no reason for her to turn desperate.
She was attractive enough – supple brown skin, petite figure, ample bosom – and she believed she could have had a boyfriend anytime she wanted. She was just too busy with work.
Passing up on some time with Nelson was easier than dealing with the guilt from neglecting her students' papers. Her co-teachers kept telling her to loosen up and learn to have fun. Yes, but there was a lot of work to do. He was a nice guy. Yes, but…

Rita picked up Nelson's love letter and read her way back to where she had left off. She imagined him writing his profusions with the same excitable hand that had time again tried to hold hers, attempts that she edited with her constant demurral.
She recognized a basic sincerity in his courtship. She felt that he was not one to spout words that resonated only because they were hollow.
His words carried weight, had substance, but when he spoke them or even when she read them they were dissonant.
They were a confusion of singular and plural, past and present, f and p. In one of their conversations, Nelson claimed that he was a college graduate. Rita believed him of course.
He was, after all, a professional who worked for a big beverage manufacturer. Yet she couldn'’t remember him wearing anything other than his polo barong work clothes. She was clueless as to his real fashion sense, if he had one at all. She read on:

I am lucky to know you. I care you.

Rita quickly decided that if she were to ever sleep well at night, it wouldn't be beside this man. She grabbed her pen, scrawled a huge "F" on it, and hid it underneath all the other papers.

Daylight was already breaking behind a line of trees across the street. Rita had to go home to take a bath in preparation for her 7:30 class.
She stood up and stretched her limbs for the first time since she came in. She gathered all her papers and stuffed them into her portfolio.
Embracing the bundle of work against her chest, she started walking toward the door. Then she happened to look up at the promotional sign hanging on the ceiling above the cash register.
It was a congratulatory pitch to new graduates:

Your achievement start with this small step...

Rita approached the cashier, pointed up, and told him to his bewildered face that he was missing an “s.”