JC Soriano
Sa mundong iyon, doon kita hinatid: sa malamig na simoy ng gabi, sa kapayapaan ng dilim, sa katahimikan ng ngiti. Iyon lang ang naaalala ko. Wala akong alaala ng mga nakaiinggit na pangyayari tulad ng mahusay na naisusulat ng ibang manunulat na umibig. Wala akong alaala ng pagsandal mo sa aking balikat, o pagkkrus ng ating kamay. Hindi nangyari ang mga iyon sa maikling yugto na kung saan sandaling nagtagpo ang magugulo nating kuwento. Isang alaala lang ang tumatak sa akin, at sapat na iyon par...
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Mag-chill ka lang diyan…Habang sa mundong mapait,may dalagang nagtatrabahohabang magula'y tulog.Binatang nagtutulak.Ng Kariton. Ng droga-Ng kahirapan.
Mag-chill ka lang diyan…Habang sa mundo na puno ng tanong,may mga sundalong lumala-ban. Para sa mga haring walang -paki-alam.
Mag-chill ka lang diyan…Habang ang pilosopo'y nag-iisip,At ang kabataa'y nasusunogsa debate ng Diyosat kahulugan,at buhay.
At sa rumaragasang daloyng putikng kahulugan,ng apoyng mga tanong,ng dilimng walang ...
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It ruined mine. I’m an alumnus, so I can say this. Why? Because you wouldn’t ever be able to stand to live for yourself. If before you were happily contented spending your life away playing your favourite video games or watching your favourite TV series, you won’t be able to do this after AtSCA. At least you won’t be able to do this without suffering grave mental, emotional, and spiritual ache. OK, actually it might just be me.
Let me be short, AtSCA will ruin your life in three ways:
...
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He felt the hard metal wholly on impact. A tooth or two might have been knocked out. He tasted blood, he was bleeding inside the mouth. His jaws felt displaced a bit. The muscled man stood looking at him after the strike. He who had just been hit couldn’t really see the man’s face. The room was dark except for a dim light source elsewhere in the room. The place was putrid, and he had been locked in it for days. The man grabbed hold of his neck with one hand. He knew the blood from his mouth ...
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Writing is a perilous journey… you never know where you will go… you never know where you will end up. You do not know if you can finish the trip, or fall of a cliff towards an oblivion of silence. Whiteness is the enemy of the writer. The empty paper.
And right now, everything is uninspired. Everything is white. Everything is blank, meaningless. That is what I feel right now. And I cannot write. I cannot write what I want to write. I cannot write about meaning, when at the state I am in ri...
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