ON "The Biggest Little Man in the World"

On "The Biggest Little Man in the World" from GC.com

If Genius is madness, then the writer of this article must surely have been a genius.
The writer used a style that, according to my old-world journalist training, was unorthodox. This was a story, not just a mere scoop—not quite biased, not quite untainted either. His approach to the article was different, but all too familiar.
Unlike how most journalistic articles seem desensitized, this paints a picture, rather than just itemizing whatever needs to be known. Personally, I felt like the work raised the reader from mere spectator to an actual part of the piece, imagining, relating to the experience.
The article goes on to relate the evolution of Pacman from his beginning in 1995, to the annihilator that he is now. Pacquiao’s image is even made greater by the author’s explanations of little facts that may be beyond the normal reader’s stock knowledge. He identifies little facts such as the issues most boxers face with weight changes, and even a short (although not so positive) profile of the Philippines and the Filipinos. I eventually got to wondering how this man seems to know so much about Manny. Then the beans spill. He is now Pacman’s chief of staff.

Regret

Yesterday, I met with a friend in Katipunan for a business deal. We had become acquainted while both serving along with the Noy Volunteers last summer. So, between the idle banter and business talk, we were talking about the preparations for today. He was a somebody then, even now in the little fast food joint we were at he looked commanding.

He reeked of expensive cologne. The cap he was wearing was undoubtedly original along with the shades I was partly staring at his eyes through and partly staring at my own reflection. The little crocodile insignia on his chest seemed to be daunting me. But he was cool. I personally had sprayed myself a couple of times with CK cologne, having just come from the rain and a jeepney. I swear I still smelled like wet soil. I knew I looked stressed—thesis and the weather working together. But he was cool with that.

He invited me to the inaugural rights of Noy. He offered me to stay with them in their clique—the cordoned off area with the Barong laden gentlemen. I offered my services, whatever I could do—photograph, run errands, whatever. He offered me a ticket. I felt shy—neither confirmed nor declined.

Later in the day, I had weighed everything and decided to grasp the rare chance, I texted him to ask for the ticket. He had already given them away. “I’m not attending tomorrow, eh. I said yes to a meeting. Kala ko wala ka din kasi. Ü”

I have been living with the phrase Carpe Diem in my heart. And yet, at one of the most crucial moments, I forgot to live it out.

I met her first on the 12th of June (2)

Assigment #1; 315 words

I first met her on the 12^th of June.

It was early still, but the morning promised a hot, sunny day. Perpetually early, I was an hour or so early for class. A girl sat there with a familiar smile. I walked past her, checking out the empty room only to be greeted by the overwhelming heat and smell of it. I return to her. We talk shallowly, but we get along.

In class, the first activity is to choose a partner to get to know. We leave the room to talk. She lost her dad when she was two. She’s twenty-six now, still the youngest of six siblings. She’s back in school, taking up what she really wants. She had already finished Interior Design, but had known for a while that she preferred something more expressive. She tells me she’s worked, though outside of the field she studied for. It was in these jobs that she realized she wanted to write, to express herself. It was in her story of those jobs that I got to know her more.

She directed programs and handled students for the Center for Pop. After that, she worked for Vera Files, focusing on Voter Education. I guess it comes from her mother being a school teacher once, that she sought to educate, and that she actually could. But she later on qualifies that it was in fact in her nature to care for others. I found it strange that the youngest child would do that. I was once the eldest and only child in our family and thought that the job of caring for others came from being the Kuya. I realized that it was actually from being treated as the youngest that molded me more. We were here caring for others because we knew how to be cared for. We wanted to share—to pay it forward.

I met her first on the 12th of June

Assignment #1; 554 words.

I first met her on the 12^th of June.

It was early still, but the morning promised a hot, sunny day. Perpetually early for most everything, I ambled up the UP CMC steps an hour or so early for class. Surprisingly, a girl was already standing there, reading notices where my class should have been. “J109 class under Sir Oliva will not meet tomorrow June 12, 2010” read one of the notices posted right above the door knob. She asked me with a smile if I was there for that same class. I said yes. We agreed that it was a pitiful waste of time to have come to class so early. She said she was from somewhere near Commonwealth when I asked her where she was from. I told her I came from somewhere further. Without saying much more, we parted ways.

I met her next on the 19^th of June.
Like the week before, it was early still, and already the morning promised a hot, sunny day. An hour or so early for class, I ambled up the CMC steps. A girl sat there with an already familiar smile. I walked past her, checking out the room—no deterring note this time, just the overwhelming heat and smell of the empty room. I exit the room to the hall outside where she was waiting, fanning herself. We talk idly, shallowly, but we get along.

In class, the first activity is to choose a partner to get to know. I playfully lay my arm across her. She just smiles. We leave the room to talk—get to know each other. We babble about things, joking each other, mention random facts. She lost her dad when she was two. She’s twenty-six now, still the youngest of six siblings. She’s back in school, taking up what she really wants. She had already finished Interior Design, but had known for a while already that she preferred something more expressive; something literary, more artsy. She tells me she’s worked, though outside of the field she studied for. It was in these jobs that she realized she wanted to write, to express herself more. It was in her story of those jobs that I got to know her more.

She directed programs and handled students under the employ of the Center for Pop. After that, she worked for Vera Files, focusing on Voter Education. I guess it comes from her mother being a school teacher once that she sought to educate, and that she actually could. But she later on qualifies that it was in fact in her nature to care for others, sometimes more than herself. I found it strange that the youngest child would do that. I was the eldest and only child in our family for years, and thought that the job of caring for others came from being the Kuya. I realized that it was actually from being treated as the youngest part of the family that molded me more. We were here caring for others because we knew how to be cared for. We wanted to share it with others—to pay it forward.

Everyone has a story, it’s just that sometimes we need someone else’s story to introduce us to our own.

I met Bernadette Ilao first on the 12^th of June.