(2022) SISID: A Special Issue

SISID

A Special Issue

Sisid VOL. 1 NO. 1 Copyright 2022 SISID is a collaborative folio of artistic and literary organizations in Ateneo de Manila University, namely: Ateneo Lingua Ars Cultura, Ateneo Musicians Pool, Baybayin Ateneo, Blue Bird Improv, Blue Symphony Orchestra, Company of Ateneo Dancers, FASH, HEIGHTS Ateneo, Loyola Film Circle, Matanglawin, Radyo Katipunan, Rizal Library Ambassadors, Tanghalang Ateneo, The GUIDON, and WriterSkill.

Copyright reverts to the respective authors and artists whose works appear in this issue. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced in any means whatsoever without the written permission of the copyright holder.

This publication is not for sale.

Correspondence may be addressed to: HEIGHTS, Publications Room, MVP 202 Ateneo de Manila University P.O. Box 154, 1099 Manila, Philippines Tel. no. (632) 8426-6001 loc. 5448 heights-ateneo.com facebook.com/HeightsAteneo Twitter: @HeightsAteneo Instagram: @heightsateneo Creative Direction by: Justin Dhaniel Tan Layout by: Karl Eli R. Alconis, Alfonso Arellano, Francisella S. Avila, Justin Christiane B. Bello, Jana Ysabel V. Codera, Carmencita G. Dolina, Patricia Grace R. Fermin, Kayla T. Geraldoy, Sarah Huang, Giulia Clara R. Lopez, Isabella Lozada, Raven Nakpil, Aitana Therese T. Nellas, Danelle Erin Natividad, Kristine T. Pabua, Franz Miguel Reyes, Marie Jilliene Cloe T. Sison, Divine-kai T. Tan, Mia Genine D. Tupas, Nicole Ann E. Vargas, Dagny Eran M. Yenko Folio Launch Team: Anjanette C. Cayabyab, Paolo Gabriel B. Estrella, Ryan Joshua F. Reyes, Deanne F. Sy, Andrea Tibayan Typeset in MVB Verdigris

Contents Ateneo Lingua Ars Cultura 2 Finding ALAC: Reconciling the Past, Present, Future, and Everything in Between Ateneo Musicians Pool 16 Out of Tune: The Loss of Spaces Baybayin Ateneo 26 Ang Bahay na Baybayin: Adjustments to the Online Setting Blue Bird Improv 36 Yes, and That is True Blue Symphony Orchestra 48 It Ain’t Over Till the Fat Lady Sings Company of Ateneo Dancers 58 Behind the Screen: Community, Artistry, and Dance Production Excellence FASH 70 Fashion with a Passion HEIGHTS 84 Ebb and Flow Loyola Film Circle 102 The Filmmaker’s Journey from Silver Screen to Digital Streams Matanglawin 120 Ang Pabago-bagong Puwang sa Pagtanglaw ng Matanglawin Radyo Katipunan 132 To Go Where Needed Rizal Library Ambassadors 144 No Ultimo Adios

Tanghalang Ateneo 158 Discovering the Identity of TA and Theater in the Midst of a Pandemic The GUIDON 170 The Art of Accepting Change WriterSkill 180 Our Right To Write

Editorial in today’s time, there is probably nothing more universally urgent yet exhausting than the pandemic. If you strike a conversation with anyone off the bat, chances are the pandemic—or anything remotely related to it—will inevitably come up. There is no denying that virtually everyone has been affected by this global crisis.

Businesses have come to a halt, schools have been transferred online, and people are rendered immobile. In the Philippines, the virus has ruled the nation in its threats to human life for more than two years and counting. Indeed, health security has become of paramount concern to everyone.

Be that as it may, the pandemic is not just a health crisis; it is also a social issue. While the disease is a cause for change, human life is dictated not only by the virus itself, but also by human conditions.

Who are granted certain privileges, what conditions hospitals are in, and what lifestyles are promoted are all based on the interaction between social structures and people. More so in the Philippines where democracy is constantly threatened, these interactions are governed by those in positions of power who have the capacity to construct and shape realities at their discretion. Thus, what is limiting is not just in view of safety concerns over COVID-19; it is also a product of, among other things, negligence, incompetence, and poor leadership.

Against such a limiting and restrictive climate, many have set out to prove that these conditions are not set in stone. They assert how there are always cracks from which resistance, play, and creativity can occur—attempts to renegotiate otherwise unagreeable conditions. Educational institutions, for instance, have made it a point that learning ought to continue online despite its drawbacks.

The shift to the online setup has been one of the few ways for people to keep in contact with each other, as well as pursue initiatives and v

activities that would be too unsafe in a face-to-face environment.

In the Ateneo de Manila University, among the notable ones who persevered through thick and thin is the arts scene.

The Ateneo arts scene is a diverse assortment of passionate and committed talents. By virtue of art’s arbitrary and subjective nature, many things can be considered art—be it as self-defining as a painting or as commonplace as a podcast episode. As a product of creativity and imagination, art has the capacity to bring together individuals who desire a community to create, share, and talk about art. Thus, if not independent, artists in Ateneo usually find their homes in organizations. During the pandemic, these organizations have been the hubs for many artists to find solace from an unstable reality and pursue their artistic endeavors. This is no surprise considering how organizations are integral to the fabric of society; indeed, contemporary life is structured by organizational arrangements and commitments.

It is this very context that inspired the conceptualization of this special issue. Amid a politically determined pandemic, this issue is an archival effort to document the stories of artistic and literary organizations in the university whose responses to the pandemic function in varying levels from internal maintenance to active demonstrations of political resistance. It comes from an understanding that sustaining organizational activities to further art and literature in all its forms and varieties is in itself a response to the pandemic. Accordingly, these organizations make themselves socially relevant with their artistic and literary endeavors in the backdrop of oppressive realities. As virtual plays are performed, written works are published, or various initiatives are conducted, organizations maintain operations to pursue artistic practices that negotiate life and culture in a time of crisis.

This special issue is a product of a research program that equipped contributors with research and writing skills to come up with their own articles. The research-intensive initiative draws from HEIGHTS’ current thrust, pagpapatibay-loob sa mga vi

kinaiisahang espasyo laban sa pinasidhing paniniil, which strengthens the connection between the internal and the external as a way to respond to social realities. In the conceptualization of this project, the publication decided that such a principle should not be limited to HEIGHTS only; rather, it should extend to as many organizations as possible to extend its impact.

Bringing together 15 artistic and literary organizations with a total of 32 student writers, the research program spanned a total of four months before the publication of this issue. All participating writers were screened and handpicked for their research and writing skills as well as their dedication to the program. Writers began with research concerns first by designing their research kits, conducting focus group discussions, gathering data from their organizations’ archives, and analyzing these data using the grounded theory method. This is followed by the writing phase, which followed a back-and-forth process of writing and revising among the writers and their editors. All processes were guided by a total of five workshops on research and writing conducted by Eos Trinidad from the Department of Interdisciplinary Studies, Ruel De Vera from the Department of Communication, Regine Cabato from The Washington Post, and yours truly.

Thanks to their hard work and dedication to the program, all writers successfully completed their articles, leaving no organization behind. The writers’ zeal to tell the stories of their organizations is testament to their relevance and impact within the Ateneo community and beyond, especially in a time as unpredictable as now. While this speaks of privilege among Ateneans who have the capacity to sustain and write about their organizations, there is significant value in maintaining a community against all odds. And in the process of getting to know these organizations deeper, we see that their projects and advocacies are not in vain; that, by the bare minimum of keeping up as an organization, they are playing their part in contributing to society through their projects and initiatives.

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Considering the thrust’s political orientation, the research program was initially set out to direct writers to look into their organizations’ political considerations amid the pandemic to justify their relevance. For organizations that are already explicitly political, this was no problem. Consider Mikhaila Neri and Kean V. Nerecina’s article as they detail FASH’s advocacy for sustainable fashion against fast fashion and systemic measures that hinder sustainability. Meanwhile, Aline Ivy Salillas and Gayle Dy’s analysis of Loyola Film Circle ends with a political outlook, where film can serve as an avenue for furthering political consciousness.

While the political can expand to society at large, some organizations are more anchored by their responsibility towards the Loyola Schools Community. In this regard, the Confederation of Publications (COP) stands on the same ground for serving the university through its publications, though each with a unique concern considering their differing histories. Andrea Posadas and Gap B. Estrella’s feature on HEIGHTS, for example, narrates how the publication strives to free itself from its ivory tower; hence, it is no surprise how HEIGHTS has endeavored to put politics at the forefront of its projects. Christian Dasalla and Layon’s research on Matanglawin reveals the disconnect that the publication has with the Atenean community, but also makes an important point in asserting that their publication is not for everyone. Finally, Rina Julia Ortega’s feature on The GUIDON details how the publication has been able to accomplish ten-year plans in two years—not because of novelty but, surprisingly, their tradition to bring the Atenean community together.

Nonetheless, such explicitly political orientations proved not to resonate for many, if not altogether alienating. While art is in itself political, this does not translate into equal attitudes, especially for organizations whose primary concerns lie in adapting to the online setup at this time. Martin Celiz, Nicole Dela Cruz, and Lyle Surtida’s narrative on Ateneo Musicians Pool strikes a chord by bringing to light the importance of physical spaces for the music viii

community, whereas Miguel Arroyo and Eric Christopher V. Tan echo this in detailing Tanghalang Ateneo’s struggles in adapting the stage to the screen. Others who used to rely on a face-to-face setup are just as affected. Maria Sophia Andrea E. Rosello presents an analysis of Baybayin Ateneo’s modifications with its projects to sustain engagement with Filipino culture; similarly, Marcus Sahagun and John Divinagracia highlight the initiatives that Rizal Library Ambassadors had to change as soon as Rizal Library closed its doors. Regardless, these organizations do not make themselves any less relevant, as it is through self-preservation that they retain the social impact of their organizations in their various advocacies.

Amid these narratives of internal maintenance, there are some organizations that were greatly impacted, not necessarily because the online shift meant significant adjustments, but because it posed a greater challenge to their being recognized properly in the first place. In their article, Agnes Christie A. Corpin, Andrea Gerada, and Istra Therese Dela Cruz lament how Blue Symphony still grapples to gain legitimacy in the Loyola Schools community in the absence of accreditation. In a similar manner, Jerome Agpalza talks about Radyo Katipunan’s desires for the students to recognize the radio station more, especially as RK provides for their spiritual needs. Uniquely, Ervin Delas Peñas, Danica Marielle L. Quijano, Lexie Longboan, and Shania Lyn Mediavillo come to the epiphany that Ateneo Lingua Ars Cultura’s “identity crisis” comes from how they are perceived by others more than how they perceive themselves. Even so, all are hopeful that due recognition will come their way in the future.

In the face of all these, some organizations make it a point that the very members who make up the organization go first. Marcus Gawtee, Renee Melitante, and Libby Zorilla reinforce the value of community and artistic growth in a dance organization like the Company of Ateneo Dancers. This finds resonance with Blue Bird Improv, whose feature by Gerick Go, Willem Sergei B. Lim, and Teo A. Ricaforte shows how fostering an authentic self is integral ix

to the organization. It is no wonder that Aylli Cortez’s profile of WriterSkill shares similarities by outlining how the organization provides a friendly and growth-oriented space for writers in an environment where competition is rife.

By researching and writing about their respective organizations, these writers are not only documenting their efforts, but offering an avenue for sensing such social structures. In a time when truths conflate with lies and misinformation remains rampant, research sharpens how we look at our surroundings and the places we call home. With the return of the face-to-face setup around the corner, the goal of the special issue is not to parade these organizations and commemorate their relevance, but to make known how artistic organizations respond to today’s environment. By doing so, writers are offering instructions, guidelines, or recommendations moving forward—just as how any research article is supposed to do.

The Ateneo arts scene is not starved; it is alive and flourishing even in a time of darkness. These are only 15 out of the many artistic organizations in Ateneo who, similarly, have made waves of purpose by the very act of maintaining their operations. In a pandemic, it is all the more important that we strengthen these spaces especially when we are constantly being threatened by loss, time and time again. Just by the presence of these organizations, we may continue to practice our art and shape life and culture—all in the hopes that, one way or another, this is to the benefit of society at large.

Stanley Guevarra April 2022

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Finding ALAC: Reconciling the Past, Present, Future, and Everything in Between

Ervin Delas Peñas, Danica Marielle L. Quijano, Lexie Longboan, and Shania Lyn Mediavillo Ateneo Lingua Ars Cultura

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…one day the ‘why’ arises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement…Weariness comes at the end of the acts of a mechanical life, but at the same time it inaugurates the impulse of consciousness. It awakens consciousness and provokes what follows.

What follows is the gradual return into the chain or it is the definitive awakening. At the end of awakening comes, in time, the consequence: suicide or recovery. In itself weariness has something sickening about it. Here, I must conclude that is good. For everything begins with consciousness and nothing is worth anything except through it.

— Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus Sisyphus Explaining identity can be a Sisyphean task; you can go back and forth without ever really divulging your identity—your essence, or your aboutness. What’s the point of Sisyphus having to constantly roll up the rock then? if you approach a member of the Ateneo Lingua Ars Cultura (ALAC) and ask them why they joined the organization, they would usually mention their wanting to meet people who share the same interests. We would be characterized as that fun, reclusive cultural organization. Before 2019, we were one out of the three organizations—now four since the founding of Hinomoto, an organization focused on Japanese culture—in the Intercultural Relations Cluster (IRC). Our member count never exceeded 130 in the past four years, which some may say is the reason for our homey and welcoming atmosphere.

In our constitution, part of our vision states the aim “to become the premier cultural organization in Ateneo and in the Philippines distinguished by its appreciation and critical approaches towards cultures, the arts, and languages, and by fostering ardent individuals

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of any background in stoking their passion in the immersion or learning of cultures.” It may confound the reader to ponder as to why we ask the question of “Who are we?” since our vision shows that we already seem to have a clear grasp of our identity. However, we do not have a clear answer to the question of what it means to be a cultural organization: What does it mean to be an organization that promotes “culture,” something so ubiquitous yet mostly intangible?

If one were to ask us who we were, we would first mention what we do, our purpose, and our projects, to name a few. And in the end, it would still be a Herculean task to pin our identity down to an allencompassing term. Perhaps, it is even Sisyphean— going back and forth without achieving anything.

Our identity crisis was diagnosed even before the pandemic, back in early 2019. Many of our members, new and old, couldn’t distinguish themselves from the other organization they share the same room with: Ateneo Student Exchange Council (ASEC). As the student arm of the Office of International Relations, ASEC’s thrust was clear-cut: They were in charge of the inbound and exchange students, hence all their projects revolved around this endeavor.

As for us, we were aware that we are the student arm of the Modern Language Department. Our project, Turuan, is a language tutorial program aimed at helping Foreign Language and Culture (FLC) students and language hobbyists alike in their languagelearning journeys. But more than this, ALAC involves itself with culture and the arts, not just languages. The scope is simply too wide with no delimitation in sight. Both ASEC and ALAC were dedicated to celebrating and exploring different cultures, but how were we different from them?

As a result, the Advocacy Department—or Advoc for short— was established with the hopes of helping us revive and retrace the organization’s three core competencies: bridging cultures, experiencing languages, and celebrating the arts. At the time, if any of the officers were to be asked, they would be at a loss for words at

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how they could possibly grapple with the wide scope of what these core competencies entail.

One may surmise that the pandemic exacerbated this preexisting crisis. On the other hand, some of our members and officers claim that the pandemic had actually been a boon. For many of us, it was an opportunity to ponder on the what-ifs of how our org life onsite has become bygones, especially for those who have been part of ALAC since before the pandemic.

Rolls the Rock Imagine if it were though Sisyphus had rolled the rock up the mountain so many times that it had resulted in a perfect mountain slope with all the friction, and to think that the rock never weathers.

Despite these uncertainties, what we have achieved so far in this online setting is a far cry from wishful thinking—from crazy whatifs. One such example is our new initiative originally dubbed Snapshot Ethnographies, simply referred to as Snapshots. It is the brainchild of Daniel Diaz, the current Vice President for Advocacy who was then our Associate Vice President for Advocacy, and Ervin Delas Peñas, our current President who served as the Vice President for Advocacy at that time. The initiative resulted from, in Daniel’s own words, “brainstorming on how to digitize and transition all of our projects online, and even to digitize that sense of community found in an organization.” The main thrust of the Advocacy Department’s Snapshots is to inform readers about interesting sociocultural phenomena around the world while raising important questions relevant to modern society. It is a series of articles written by our members in the Advocacy Research Team—a team solely dedicated to living out the cultural, linguistic, or artistic advocacies in line with the thrust of the Advocacy Department through published media online (see Graf ’s article). We in ALAC see this as a way through

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which our members can pursue their advocacies, share their views on the world, and most of all, make something out of our mutual love for cultures.

The online setting also created an unexpected change within our organization: a strengthened sense of community. We are commonly seen as an organization where Ateneans can pursue their interests in the arts, languages, and culture outside of their classes or internships. Many of our members share a passion for things such as learning a foreign language or appreciating films of a particular culture, but the way they pursue and express this passion is usually personal. During a time of forced social isolation, the members were seemingly able to recognize the potential of this commonality to create a stronger community. Both members and officers alike were wrangling with questions like, “How do you keep a community alive online? What’s in it for the members and even the officers to sustain their commitment and activity within the org?”

In hopes of addressing these questions, we fostered collaboration in our projects, checked up on core team members after the project, and asked them if they made any new friends in the process.

Diverging from the original practice of single-authored works, the Advocacy Department had even begun to allow the co-writing of its Snapshot articles among its researchers to really stir up that sense of community. Doing so hit two birds with one stone: living out the organization’s advocacy in a more scholarly manner while cultivating a sense of community.

Bienne Montaller, a freshman and new member, felt that we were able to help members explore new hobbies during the pandemic.

Having joined us as a history enthusiast, she found it interesting to know that learning a new language was more common than she thought. She even decided to invite a friend to join the organization, simply because the notion of exploring hobbies, learning new things, and meeting new people all sounded fun. Now, Bienne

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says her friend is having a similarly enriching experience in ALAC as well.

Likewise, Warren from Human Resources, for instance, joined us because he wanted to find people who could be his languagelearning partners. Sage, one of the Advocacy Research Team’s former writers, joined for the same reason and also because he got along with people like Daniel who enjoyed Eastern Orthodox church music as much as he did. Sage noticed how we serve as a conduit for people with interests in different cultures to “congregate into a community where they can express their interest in said cultures, as well as practice the languages of those cultures.”

Our former Vice President for Finance, Ryan Chua, a current member in his senior year, observed that compared to when he was a member onsite, he became more aware of what was happening in ALAC during the online setting. It was surprising even for the officers to know that, given that Ryan has been a member since he was a freshman. “When I was a member onsite, I had to be proactive in order to know what was happening. Pero now, parang I’m not really active as a member, I’m just reading the GC or whatever pero I know most of what’s happening now,” he explains.

Many of the members, such as Bienne, Warren, and Sage, would say as well that what got them into the organization in the first place was a desire to meet people that share similar interests.

Up the Mountain The pandemic was a detriment, just as how Sisyphus was condemned by the gods.

Like any other person or organization forced to adapt all of their activities to a virtual setup, we had to do so at the risk of losing our identity and advocacy, mainly because we were venturing in terra incognita.

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When we had to conduct these projects fully online in the academic year of 2019-2020, we had to start from scratch as though they were never done onsite before. From our International Festival, which had a bazaar-like setup, to our Turuan language tutorials, we placed a new emphasis on interaction and individual creativity at the same time. Both of these projects were contingent on physical touchpoints, which were lost when we moved them to our Facebook page. Having project core team meetings felt more like a chore, brainstorming sessions were more draining than they were onsite, and it became harder to stay motivated. All of these were brought about by the online setting—and not to mention the chances of contracting COVID-19 looming around the corner. Other than that, the notion of meeting new people dissipates as easily as going offline or closing tabs, unlike before where you were likely to bump into a fellow orgmate around campus, chances being in our MVP 315 org room.

These issues raised the need for us to try out new things through projects like Snapshots and Worldviews—a symposium for ALAC members to discuss any of their interests relevant to cultural phenomena. The Advocacy Research Team, which was established only in the first year of the pandemic, established and implemented these new initiatives.

In spite of all these, members both old and new feel that the organization has not changed at all—it has even improved. Ryan said that we are still the same but in a good way; we are still able to maintain our thrust when it comes to the languages, arts, and culture. Members such as Sage even claim that, just like us, they do not feel that they have changed themselves or have been changed by us. They both note that we may have had to try new things because of COVID-19, but our core remains the same: We are still a community where Ateneans can share their love for the languages, arts, and culture with other people and make something out of it.

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From the perspective of our current President, he said that much has been done in filling in the gaps he has noticed over the years ever since he joined as a freshman. At the start of the school year, only four out of sixteen seats were filled in the Executive Committee.

ALAC has had a track record of having, more or less, half remain vacant for an entire school year since 2018. Now, however, only five remain vacant, plus the fact that two new positions were added to the Constitution just during the second semester of the year. This feat is something unfathomable during onsite days.

Halfway towards the end of the school year, what remains crucial is for the next batch of officers to be fully oriented during the transition, informing them of what still needs to be picked up on and maintained from Ervin’s term as President. Sisyphus is halfway towards the apex, and what Ervin hopes is that the rock won’t be falling down anytime soon as it had, multiple times in the past three years.

And Beyond Sisyphus may still be pushing the rock, having traversed more bumps and more inclines as brought about by the pandemic, but he will continue pushing while we constantly dispose ourselves in discourse and passion, simultaneously striking the balance among languages, cultures, the arts, and everything in between.

Although we were able to maintain our identity amid the unpredictable tides of the pandemic, we find ourselves with only more questions than answers. Many of our officers will be graduating soon, leaving behind two big batches of members who haven’t been able to experience student and org life on campus. There is also the question of how our increased visibility online can be translated into improved visibility onsite. All in all, our current leaders find

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themselves confronted with the biggest question: What kind of legacy do they want to leave behind?

As a graduating senior who was an active member since his freshman year, Ryan expresses that it’s not about leaving the organization. He wants to follow the steps of Dave Go, an ALAC alumnus who continues to be visible in our activities even after having graduated four years ago. As an Atenean, a polyglot, and an advocate for all things culture, Dave has been an active member and officer in most of the organizations of the IRC such as Celadon and ASEC. This year, he was even a guest speaker for our annual departmental workshop series (ALACasanayan), and one of the language tutors for Turuan, and to think that Dave has been tutoring even when he was still an undergraduate student in Ateneo. Similar to Ryan, Ervin also shares the same sentiments such that he’d be willing to remain an undergraduate just so he can still be our President. He plans to still remain involved in ALAC even after graduation.

The pandemic may have left us with lots of questions about our uncertain future back on campus, but we are sure about one thing: As long as we continue to create spaces for Ateneans like Ryan and Dave, we will be okay. Likewise, the organization, in its vision, promotes “fostering ardent individuals of any background in stoking their passion in the immersion or learning of cultures.”

The pandemic also left us with an important realization that is both specific to the organization and applicable to life outside of it: Culture, the exploration on which we are founded, is not just a product that is out there to be consumed and enjoyed. Culture is fluid, similar to how we sustain a conversation. With respect to the organization’s identity, what matters is keeping our core intact while being open to the possibility of its outer layers changing. Even in isolation, culture may be ubiquitous and binding, but only because it is kept alive by individuals looking for a community. Warren agrees with this, saying how, “if you wake up every day, stuck at your

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home, and all you see in the media are these international issues and all that, you forget the fluff, like the nice things. ALAC really helps to lighten up your world in this turbulent and very geopolitical age.”

The ALAC of today is not the same as the ALAC of last year, the year before the pandemic, or four years ago when Dave Go was still in Ateneo. Just like any culture, we may survive, thrive, or become endangered depending on factors both controllable and uncontrollable. The bottomline is, even with a pandemic or other forms of uncertainty in the future, we will still be ALAC as long as we stay true to ourselves as a community of Ateneans sustaining conversations and taking action in the areas of languages, arts, and culture.

At the start, we thought that we were getting everything all wrong—the whys, our purpose, this sense of doing things as-is or just because they are part of what has always been done—until we came to the epiphany that our main problem was not knowing our identity, but rather letting others know who we are. Sisyphus may still be pushing the rock, having traversed more bumps and more inclines as brought about by the pandemic, but he will continue pushing while we constantly dispose ourselves in discourse and passion, and strike a balance among languages, cultures, the arts, and everything in between. Perhaps, our identity was never meant to be defined, but rather constantly reinvigorated and revisited. It is through this endeavor that we can be as ALAC as we can be.

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Anya Graf

Yes, Ich Spreche Deutsch. No, I Don’t Sound Like A Nazi: In Defense of The German Language1 Dedicated to Luisa Schiffer, who celebrated the best of me, and taught me to love the worst of me in Deutsch, Englisch, and even in bits of Philippinisch all the way from lovely Spremberg. “that’s so crazy,” people would often say after hearing me introduce myself in German. Just a few kind, introductory words, which garner the response: You literally sound just like a Nazi. It’s a reaction I’m used to, sure, but getting used to hearing it didn’t exactly guarantee that it would become less offensive each time I heard it. In fact, the more I heard it, the more affronted I became.

I’m sure anyone who speaks the German language can relate. Most people think these comments are lighthearted and funny, and I’m sure they mean no harm, but it’s about time we drew the line and made people realize that this actually perpetuates prejudice against present-day Germans. At the very least, this behavior is xenophobic.

To common folk, the first person that comes to mind when the German language is mentioned is the infamous Adolf Hitler (who isn’t even German, FYI). Another good choice would be Count von Count from Sesame Street. But present-day Germans don’t even sound like that. Not even close. Since the dawn of time, the German language has been stereotyped as somewhat stiff or unfeeling. It is mechanical and efficient, much like the people who speak it, although the mechanical part is arguable, because Germans are surprisingly warm people once you realize that they 1 From ALAC Snapshot Ethnographies (2021).

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aren’t indifferent, just awkward. However, with the rise of Hitler in the mid-1930s, the rest of the Western world began to regard and associate the language with aggression.

Hitler, while generally an awful human being, happened to be a talented public speaker. To be a good one, you’d need not only the gift of words, but also the strength of a lasting delivery. And this man, with all his spit-filled speeches, managed to convince the severely damaged German people of 1933 each time his fist cut through the air. But Hitler’s words reeked aggression with each syllable. From his ethnocentric and anti-Semitic sentiments against Jews he would soon deem “subhuman,” to the angry way he bellowed these harmful messages — everything about Hitler was aggressive, and this image soon engulfed people’s perception of not just the German language, but its people, too.

Think of the first time the buzz of the television drew you to the vibrant world of cartoons. Who was your favorite character? I had a lot, but for the sake of this article, we’re going to be talking about Vanessa Doofenshmirtz. Vanessa was the daughter of Charlene Doofenshmirtz, an All-American mother who had the image down to a T. Her father, on the other hand, was Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, an immigrant from a fictional European country called Drusselstein. Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz spoke with a thick German accent, and in multiple flashback episodes, he is seen sporting a lederhosen whilst speaking to his dirndl clad mother — both traditional pieces of Bavarian clothing. And as you might be able to guess, Dr. Doofenshmirtz was the show’s supposed villain.

In her article, Isabel Fattal shares that cartoon villains having foreign accents is “likely reflective of America’s hostility toward those countries during World War II and the Cold War.” And though these wars predate our favorite cartoons by multiple decades, the stereotype still stands. “They have continued to find these same accent trends through the past few decades, even as the political

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and social climate changes and the nation’s zeitgeist is marked by different ethnic and global tensions,” Fattal adds. Minor signs of prejudice supplanted within us deep into our childhoods multiply into larger, more hateful sentiments as we grow older. Hollywood has subconsciously trained us to be Anti-German. How could we appreciate a language we were never given a chance to fall in love with? If we fix common misconceptions churned out by the media, then perhaps we’d be able to hear more words along the lines of, “your German is excellent!” instead of the usual, “you talk like Hitler!”

I’m going to take a leap of faith and declare that I prefer the sound of crisp German consonants to the ones swallowed by the French. Yes, some of us would rather sit through the harrowing process of figuring out when to use ‘der, die, das’ instead of ‘le, la, les’. Yes, we exist. German can sound just as romantic as French, if not even more. I’m fairly certain the works of Sophie Mereau could convince you. And it’s just as powerful as any Scandinavian language, too. German might not be the language of Vikings, but it is, after all, the language of kings. It is a country that gave the world one Conrad after another, and even a particular Karl der Große, otherwise known as Charlemagne. It can be funny, too. The German word for turtle is ‘schildkröte’ which directly translates to shield toad, and the word glove takes the German form of ‘handschuh’ which literally means hand shoe in English. It’s transparent, like that. And romantic, and powerful, and funny, and so much more.

Aggressive would be the last word I’d use to describe it.

I know you still think I sound like a Nazi, and I still disagree. But I also know that it isn’t your fault that you think I do, nor is it mine.

This is the result of an accumulation of decades of Anti-German propaganda and anti-immigrant, xenophobic sentiments. I don’t think I sound like Hitler or a mean cartoon villain, the words I speak are a reflection of every moment my heart was inches away from a best friend nestled safely in Spremberg. They are a collection of the best fragments I keep from days spent poring over German

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cookbooks with a boy who once called me his schönheit. They are every glimmer of hope that shines through each virtual memory shared with my European Studies blockmates, for they serve as a beacon of journeys we’ve yet to embark on together. And, finally, they are a symbol of every second chance humanity has ever begged for, because I don’t think anyone in the history of mankind has ever worked as hard as Germany has for a second chance.

When you look at your hand and your finger, you are looking at objects whose names are of German origin. The colors that make up the world around us are German, too, and so are your fests, hamsters, noodles (nudeln), and even your favorite long haired Disney Princess, Rapunzel, which is actually the name of a type of lettuce in Germany. Appreciating the German language is a process, but it only begins once you allow yourself to. And once you do, it is so easy to realize that it plays a bigger part in our lives than formerly presumed. One need not be fluent in the language to understand German, you just need to see past your internal prejudice and recognize the language for what it truly is: Love. In every color and every syllable. Love.

Sources: 01: Germany has made conscious efforts to rid its language of Nazi associations. https://www.google.de/amp/s/www.bbc.com/ news/amp/world-europe-55186459 02: Giving cartoon villains foreign accents fuels xenophobic sentiments. Such is the case with Germans being typecast as either evil scientists or Nazis. https://www.google.de/amp/s/amp. theatlantic.com/amp/article/549527/ 03: For most of the 20th Century, America harbored AntiGerman sentiments, deeming German immigrants undesirable. https://www.google.de/amp/s/www.history.com/.amp/news/ anti-german-sentiment-wwi 15

Out of Tune: The Loss of Spaces

Martin Celiz, Nicole Dela Cruz, and Lyle Surtida Ateneo Musicians Pool

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A farewell to Route 196, a farewell to gigs an empty stage, a cold bench, a guitar gathering dust, a rolled-up gig poster. It was a farewell to the live events that Ateneo Musicians Pool (AMP) lived and played for. It’s a stark contrast from the thrumming in the air, screaming crowds of gig-goers sharing drinks, and the catharsis of being sardine-packed in a bar full of people who just wanted to rock out. “AMP needed the spontaneity in the interaction with the audience, the people who made up much of AMP’s culture, the improvisation that came along with the organization’s creativity, and the space to make all of that happen,” says Damon Dadap, a guitarist from the organization.

Live performances and events were the lifelines of the Philippines’ local music scene. When lockdown restrictions were placed, it was clear that events and gatherings were prohibited.

Entertainment was not considered to be essential, so it was the first to close and probably will be one of the last to reopen.

It’s no big secret that AMP frequented certain live music venues before lockdowns ensued. Route 196 was our go-to gig spot, along with most homegrown Katipunan acts. Unfortunately, it announced that it was closing down permanently on August 23, 2020, due to the lockdown. Other venues like 123block and Mow’s closed down temporarily for similar reasons. AMP truly got the short end of the stick as the pandemic settled in. We lost the world we knew, loved, and lived in.

“Bigger than the sound!” Does it still ring true?

Though AMP’s motto tends to be passed around often as an inside joke, the circumstances of the lockdown pushed many members to reconsider whether they were still upholding our organization’s key values. AMP25’s President, Kaelen Reyes, says

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that “the organization was established to provide avenues for members to develop and excel in different competencies necessary to enter the local music scene.” AMP was often misunderstood as just an organization full of performers, but many of its members hoped to prove that so much effort, time, and energy go into the production of those live performances.

AMP24 and AMP25 wanted to ensure that we remained committed to AMP’s core identity and purpose as a music organization. Making this transition was not the dazzling venture one might hope for it to be, but there were a lot of little victories to be celebrated with our exploration of a new working environment.

The loss of organic spaces led to a need for structural changes accompanied by the utilization of online platforms. AMP24 and AMP25’s Executive Board members did what they could to ensure that systems were in place in order to better facilitate future projects. Online workspaces like Notion, Google Sheets, and even Discord were made to be visually appealing and organized. Archives and documents about the organization have been collated, and templates have been provided for future generations of members, both in the online and onsite setting. As observed with other student-led organizations, AMP addressed issues and the needs of affected members. The organization’s officers worked to create conducive spaces for creativity and social interaction amongst the members and empowered them to pursue their passions even in such a time of uncertainty.

Each department had its own share of struggles. Event promoters, photographers, and videographers went from covering live events to relying on social media engagement to maintain a presence online. Jerome Cortez, the current Fundraising Deputy, says that it has been difficult to promote merchandise since “they are meant to tie the physical items to experiences that people did not have, leading to a decrease in sales.” Jacob Tambunting, the on-site writing deputy, says that while writers did not really shift

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content-wise, they were no longer able to dramatize the events that AMP had without experiencing them for themselves.

“Live” performances turned into home-brewed music videos, with band members all recording their parts separately. It was a challenge since not all the members had the experience in home recording, not to mention the necessary equipment. “Lack of gear also was a problem since not everyone had the luxury to afford home recording equipment,” Luis Montales, a DJ and producer, comments. He also expressed his frustration and lack of motivation in creating music when there is no live audience to listen to it. “What was the point of making dance music,” he remarks, “when there is no one to dance to it?” It was a shared sentiment that we could have been doing more. Many of AMP’s musicians can also agree that there’s a certain connection between bandmates that simply cannot be replicated working online.

Despite all this, Rau Layug, AMP25’s sound engineering coordinator and member of the AMP band Lagooon, says that the transition “helped pick up skills [the musicians] wouldn’t have if everything was still in a face-to-face setup.” It became a necessity for AMP’s musicians to familiarize themselves with home recording since live gigs had become a thing of the past. Rau also says that the transition to the online setup has been beneficial to and highlighted the importance of sound engineers. They have been essential to the home recording processes of many AMP bands, and thus have been given the opportunity to hone and flex their skills, much like everyone else.

More than a bench A centerpiece to AMP as an org had to be the AMP bench, situated across the Matteo Hall, in the middle of Sec B and C. The bench comprised three long, dark, dented tables with their edges pushed

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together, surrounded by long, wooden stools. It was more than just a hangout spot for us; it was a place for boisterous laughter, endless rounds of pusoy dos, and for people to sing and play music together.

It was home. “I remember jamming [with other AMP musicians].

That was always such a good experience because even though I wasn’t close with people, the common language was music,” says Jigs Capinpuyan, a guitarist from the org.

To put it plainly, the AMP bench was our second home. We’d drop off our bags beside the bench so we wouldn’t have to carry them around campus. We’d eat all our meals here, and the seats were always lined with the same familiar faces, fellow AMP members that would happily greet anyone as they arrived home from class.

Even the longest of days often felt bearable, if only because at the end of the day, we’d come home to play mahjong and tongits as the sun would set on the campus.

This physical closeness was what held AMP together as not just an organization, but a family. “I feel like the pandemic hit harder on organizations like AMP because [they have] such a strong tambay culture,” says John Luke Montecillo, a former Vice President for Member Development for AMP. “That being taken away from us had shaken up the entire culture we had. We appreciated the company of one another [and] our events; we wanted to keep that sense of community within the organization [moving forward].”

The loss of our beloved bench and the chance to see all our friends in person definitely took a toll on AMP. At the same time, however, older members are still doing their best to make the newcomers feel at home, even without having taken a seat at our original physical tambayan. We still share music and laughs, study together, and even play video games over Discord calls every night, because this has been the closest we could get to the normalcy of being together onsite.

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Tuning up, tuning in There is a feeling of yearning somewhat in these closing moments of the pandemic, particularly because of how it has affected the impact of AMP on the local music scene. What could have been nights out enjoying at bars and music venues, discovering new artists and making friends at gigs were instead spent watching online gigs from our own homes, hopelessly trying to replicate the excitement of an in-person concert. Despite these losses, AMP is determined to progress past this series of unfortunate events and to come out of the struggle with new learnings and exciting prospects for the future.

Moving forward, we hope to continue to better navigate the online setting and apply what we had learned from those initial days of adapting. Having begun to find its footing in the online setting amidst all the difficulties, AMP is building its online presence as well as dedicated to utilizing any media to be able to speak out.

Perhaps a positive outcome of the challenges brought about by the new normal is that there is now a greater hunger for experimentation when it comes to AMP’s different creative outputs. Luis summarizes the organization’s new approach best by saying, “Playing it safe never appealed to me” (see Montales’ and Fernandez’s EPs).

The quarantine has awakened a fearlessness among its members—a fearlessness that we hope carries on with the newer generations of AMP. In their isolation, the organization’s members have been free to do whatever they want and, on the cusp of being able to reintroduce themselves back into the world, an apparently popular sentiment perhaps only usually accepted within the context of seclusion seems to be leaking out: AMP wants to get weird.

Members like Kat Batara and Elle Escareal of the Design Department hope that the organization continues to foster a supportive environment that gets its people comfortable enough

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to go down this exciting route. ‘Weird’ could mean musicians and visual artists alike exploring novel concepts. It could mean hosting a concert in the videogame Roblox. All this is a sign that AMP is committed to the pursuit of freedom and creativity of expression, in hopes of becoming a celebrated music organization, not just another Atenean club.

Efforts to broaden AMP’s reach have been identified as equipping its members with more opportunities and internal capacity to express themselves with music. Collaborations with partner organizations are seen as a way to spread this message.

Live interviews with artists and the creation of more live events are planned with the intent to revitalize the love of music and to imbue more life back into the organization, to again help members remember the outgoing and passionate beast it once was before the pandemic.

Again, aside from the focus on music, it is also in the opinion of many members that the organization should seek to be more vocal about social and political issues in the country. Good music always has a message to convey and AMP would like very much for all of its members to be heard.

In short, AMP wants to reignite that innovative passion within its members. The organization longs to get back face-to-face and once again experience artistic expression live. Listening and watching from screens and earphones was the best the organization could do in such trying times, but the general consensus of AMP and its members would probably be that they would much rather have been able to enjoy themselves with one another.

We can’t wait to get back to our scheduled programming of playing cards and singing songs at the bench. Showing up to gigs, singing along to our favorite bands, lyrics belting out through a blown-out speaker, a pounding bassline thumping through our bones. It’s only a matter of time.

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Kieran Leung. Camp Unity Sign-Ups Poster. Digital Illustration

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AHJU$$I (Luis Montales). Truth Has An Expiration Date. Extended Play (EP). From https://open.spotify.com/album/5ZEdyyftg6ZxgVRb8NAj 2c?si=DwlrvQCGQ1KgkOQu45VSVg.

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Hazylazy (Jason Fernandez). The Resentment Segment. Extended Play (EP).

From https://open.spotify.com/album/0Zj1U9FxvcaiK4C5gTLymF .

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Ang Bahay na Baybayin: Adjustments to the Online Setting

Maria Sophia Andrea E. Rosello Baybayin Ateneo

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baybayin ateneo has always been known for its advocacy of enriching Ateneans’ knowledge of Filipino Arts and Culture. The organization is well known for its projects that focus on immersing oneself in what Filipinos from all over the country practice and observe in their respective regions and provinces.

While Ateneo de Manila University is situated in the heart of Quezon City, many students come from all walks of life. Hailing from not only Luzon, but also Visayas, Mindanao, and even abroad, many students of the Ateneo have grown to use English as their main language for communication. This, of course, started a drift and instilled this push back for those speaking in native tongues, and many have forgotten about Filipino culture in general because of the lack of practice and observation of it. With this, Ateneans are stereotyped as “conyo.” Some have shared that Baybayin, though a respected organization, deviated from what the regular Atenean is thought to be.

Former non-members have shared their varying views on Baybayin, with some saying the organization wouldn’t have been as appealing as it is now if the pandemic did not take over its newer set-up. The sudden shift to the online setting challenged Baybayin Ateneo’s strength to adjust both their external and internal affairs, which yielded promising success.

Meanwhile, active members who have been a part of Baybayin prior to the pandemic have felt this slight disheartenment in not being able to continue most of Baybayin’s initiatives, such as Liwaliw, Baybayin’s cultural immersion trip, with the online setting becoming a limiting constraint on their opportunities.

Alas, as the COVID-19 pandemic grew to become this unexpected hurdle for the organization’s growth, Baybayin Ateneo has thought of innovative ways to remain relevant and active amid the unconventional setup.

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Considering the shift, members of Baybayin have stated that they see the organization opening a new door to more opportunities that were unforeseeable in the past. The Creatives Department of the organization became the unit that noticeably kept Baybayin alive while completely online. Not only did their artists widen their imagination, but members of the unit shared that they also practiced a more research-based output approach when creating collaterals that made the organization more well-known.

Members today, both new and old, have expressed great gratitude for the organization’s welcoming community. Some have even gone on to call it home, with its great sense of familial ties when interacting with one another.

One of the other members shares, “[Though] Baybayin is definitely task-oriented, the other most important thing is how it’s also family. It’s easier to get more loyal members now and even though we had a lot of tasks last year it was a nice environment and by doing so we get more loyal and collaborative members.”

Though the internal adjustments went smoothly, the projects that needed to be done externally hit a roadblock. Baybayin’s President of 2021-2022, Gael Magno, shares that projects like Liwaliw were harder to execute online. However, this gave way for the organization to reach farther places they couldn’t have gone to before when it was onsite.

The incumbent Director for Cultural Immersions, Randell John Pallesco, further elaborates on Liwaliw’s online transition. “It’s sad that you have to be able to truly be there to immerse yourself in the culture but adjustments were needed to be made to Liwaliw, and with that, we made sure that there would be a personal experience in the project,” he says.

Instead of an internal trip to a specific location, Liwaliw has become a strenuous social media campaign that educates not only Baybayin members, but also anyone who follows their pages. With infographics presented in a neat and comprehensive way, along

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with more unique modes of education like their online cooking shows, podcasts, and small-scale magazines or primers, what used to be a trip only to be enjoyed by the organization’s members has evolved into an informative experience for all those willing to learn (see various works).

While Liwaliw is only one out of the many projects and initiatives that Baybayin has been long producing, there is still a hefty amount of other prominent programs that they still continued despite the pandemic. As true upholders of the appreciation of Filipino Arts and Culture, Baybayin Ateneo has constructed projects like BWKK: Buwan ng Wika, Kultura, at Kasaysayan, Sigla: Ateneo Cultural Convention, and their very own virtual museum tour where they partnered with The Center for Art, New Ventures, & Sustainable Development (CANVAS).

Despite their struggles, Baybayin still proceeded with the aforementioned online projects, with a few modifications. The pandemic showed the country’s true colors and it became the organization’s mission to show the good and bad sides of the Philippines to their audience through their social media pages.

Now considering the fact that while everyone may be practicing safety measures against COVID-19 during the heat of the 2022 elections, Baybayin Ateneo has exercised great efforts in educating and keeping its members engaged and active in terms of politics.

Members have shared their thanks to their Administrative Board and other co-members who often shared links to wattch the live debates and even resources that helped them stay informed about the possible electoral candidates.

One of Baybayin’s members shares their grave appreciation for the organization’s active discourse. “It was really nice since we have projects focused on topics such as the Filipino language and our culture then and now, and how it’s connected to the socio-political climate of what’s happening right now such as the elections and empower members to strike change,” they say.

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Baybayin officers emphasized the importance of knowing their identity as Filipinos as part of their political awareness. Amid a community that is riddled with stereotypes of ignorance against their Filipino heritage, Baybayin aims to make sure that its members are well-informed about the various facets of Filipino life, and wants each and every member to be proud that they are Filipino.

In an essay by Niels Mulder that discusses the ugly truth about the state of Filipino identity, he states: This Filipino problem of identity is homegrown and its locus is the underdevelopment of the idea, the feeling and the practice of national citizenship…Filipinos, though, merely have to make do with the overarching politics of Manila’s maladministered internal colonialism, which does not manage to evoke the feeling of belonging or wholeheartedly identifying with the whole. As a result, national identity remains spurious at best. (Mulder 2013) This is the upsetting reality of today’s Filipino culture. Even with the vast rich resources we have materially and culturally, it is all still overlooked because others choose to not inform themselves of it or see it as not worth their time.

Baybayin’s adjustments to the online setting opened their doors to not only informing their members of the significance of the Filipino heritage but also to the wide audience of their various social media platforms. At present, Baybayin Ateneo has grown to become this great online community for Ateneans and other audiences, who appreciate and would like to learn more about Filipino arts and culture. The online setting did not leave a dent in their inner workings, and has even built their bonds stronger than before.

Moving forward, the organization is now looking forward to bringing the growth they have garnered online to the newer

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shift back to campus as the COVID-19 situation in the Philippines improves.

As Gael notes, “Baybayin has become more and more ambitious as the years go by, with the organization becoming more involved and representative of the multicultural aspect of the Philippines.

Hopefully, it will be able to continue on-site what it learned online.”

References Bernad, Miguel A. “Philippine culture and the Filipino identity.”

Philippine Studies 19.4 (1971): 573-592.

Mulder, Niels. “Filipino identity: The haunting question.” Journal of Current Southeast Asian Affairs 32.1 (2013): 55-80.

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Nikki Apostol (Translator) and Joan Lee (Illustrator).

Nanu ya ing COVID-19? (1). Infographic.

From Baybayin Ateneo’s Facebook Page.

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Nanu ya ing COVID-19? (2). Infographic.

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Eliane Santos and Adrian Tagudiña (Hosts).

Liwaliw Episode 2: Zamboanga. Podcast Episode.

From https://open.spotify.com/episode/1qh9VcMeN FRWfTbu3UBNyE?si=GU5BUwNYSvuWsKjDjsLIFA.

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Miko Faren (Host).

Lutong Quarantine: KBL (Kadyos, Baboy, Langka ng Bacolod). Video.

From https://www.instagram.com/tv/CKYstaUjLHi.

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Yes, and That is True

Gerick Go, Willem Sergei B. Lim, and Teo A. Ricaforte Blue Bird Improv

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Everyone who has ever performed comedy has their own definite ideas about how to be funny. But the simplest and most basic concept may also be the most effective.

The truth is funny.

— Del Close, Truth in Comedy: The Manual for Improvisation as the performers of a live show talk about a question posed to the audience (“What’s a weird thing to happen during the Olympics?”), suggestions swarm the comments section. One comment is selected:“Three kids in a trench coat.”

From there, the performers begin Newsroom, a game where they create a whole newscast devoted to the audience’s suggestion. An opening theme plays, before the anchor announces the top story from the Olympics: the Russian contender for the discus throw, Grigor Basinovich, is revealed to actually be three kids stacked in a jumpsuit and disguised as one athlete. The whole scene is up-tothe-minute coverage; this “news team” gets interviews with the International Olympic Committee, one of Basinovich’s fiercest rivals, and two of the kids making up Grigor.

We later find out that the third kid was thrown with the discus to get a higher score and, before Russia can send another kid to replace him, the IOC disqualifies the two kids making up Grigor, since they don’t fulfill the three-kid-minimum for athlete composition. It’s rough, spontaneous, unhinged, and most of all, imperfect. But, in a world where everybody is expected to be perfect, that might not be so bad. Blue Bird Improv strives for something not quite perfect; it aims to be authentic.

Blue Bird Improv, or BBI, is a college organization that specializes in improvisational theater, an art form where unscripted scenes are created through suggestions from the audience. Each

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scene is an amalgamation of the audiences’ suggestions and the ways improvisers make use of them. These scenes can manifest in the form of various games, each with its own sets of guidelines and rules to create a whole new scenario. Take, for instance, New Choice, where two performers act out a scene, but have to change their lines when the director exclaims the phrase, “New Choice!” Why Are You Late? on the other hand, is a game where one performer has to guess the reason for their tardiness with the help of some of their fellow performers in the scene. These are just some of the many games and exercises that members of the organization do in their sessions (see improv performances).

Blue Bird Beginnings The organization was formed in A.Y. 2018-2019 by Raphael Chua and Miguel Dobles out of a shared interest in improv. They, along with a few other friends and interested students, trained under Exie Abola, a current lecturer at the Fine Arts department and a graduate of Manila-based improv school Third World Improv.

BBI then held their first show, Blue Birdies: Exposed! in May 2019 and registered as an official organization a few months later.

The organization teaches and promotes improv mainly through semestral courses, open and client-applied workshops, and live shows. According to current organization president Luis de la Vega, IV, BBI is “the best student-run improv organization in Ateneo (until someone starts a second one).”

Although a young organization, BBI has firmly established itself within the Ateneo community. Its wide portfolio of live shows, open workshops, and org collaborations have fixed BBI as a mainstay when it comes to entertainment and skills building. That said, BBI tends to be misconstrued as the funny org, or a group that strives to achieve comedy.

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While that may be a stereotype, BBI makes use of its moniker to help ease its members and other students into the process. Comedy, at its heart, is meant to entertain and bring to our attention other topics in a digestible, almost lighthearted way. In the pursuit of authenticity, comedy just so happens to be one of the more accessible means of getting there.

Improving the Self BBI members are regularly encouraged to think out of the box and explore various subject matters that come to the minds of the performers as the scene unfolds. Ann de Guzman describes her experience with the org as such, “on the occasional times that we are funny… we just learn more about what we can be when we are our most authentic self.” Ann, like all other members, is a graduate of BASIC, or the Birdies’ Authentic Self-Improvment Course. All new members, or eggies, are required to attend and graduate from this semester-long course in order to become birdies, full-fledged members of the organization. It is in BASIC where newbies are introduced to improvisation and its tenets.

These improv tenets set the foundation for members’ improv skills, but also have philosophical value when applied outside the stage. The first and most important tenet taught is “Yes, and.”

When something is presented in a scene, agree with it and add to it. Improv is a barebones art form with no set design or props so you have to collectively agree on the reality of the scene you’re in or else it becomes confusing for everyone. If one player is miming the dribbling of a ball, you have to agree with those actions. They have a ball and they’re dribbling it. “Yes, and” encourages you to be open and accepting of what others have to say or offer, both in and even beyond the scene.

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The other tenets build up on and augment “Yes, and.” “Don’t think” forces you to say the first thing you think of (with filtering, obviously) to prevent you from overthinking your character’s decisions. “Embrace failure” removes any ideas or standards of a “perfect scene” and instead offers a different viewpoint: The best scene is the one you’re in. “Be average” doesn’t demand that you bring your “best foot forward” by trying to be funny or entertaining and instead asks you to make truthful and genuine decisions, whether as a character or as yourself. The course and its tenets promote a way of thinking that discourages preparation, perfectionism, and pretentiousness. It only leaves you with one option: being yourself.

With all the on-the-spot thinking improvisers have to do, what usually comes out of their mouths is drawn from their own experiences. This leads us to the idea that improv brings to light improvisers’ most authentic selves within the improvisers, their scene partners, and their audience.

Ria Ramos, a member of the organization’s house team (the flagship team of performers), speaks about her experiences in the group sessions: From the start of each session, [improv] is already making you vulnerable. Like, they literally ask you—‘How are you? Can you check in? What’s worrying you and what’s cheering you up?’…

And from that on, throughout the session, we kind of like [to] play with your emotions and try to manage them…You, yourself, are the agenda of the org and discovering yourself is the goal of it.

The check-ins and check-outs are integral parts of every improv session and workshop. In check-ins, participants are asked to share how their day has been and how they currently feel going into the sessions. How much they want to share is up to them, but they all must share something. Check-outs work the same way, but members share how they feel the session went and what they will

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bring with them as they leave. This activity promotes safe spaces within the team, building camaraderie and trust among members and allowing them to be vulnerable in front of each other.

Together with check-ins, the members are also heavily encouraged to keep their cameras on throughout the sessions. In the online setting, students tend to shut off their cameras. In what would normally be a setting where personal relationships can thrive, the classroom and school, these students instead have what amounts to live-streamed lectures.

In these sessions, the members have radically different experiences. They can see their fellow performers, their mentors (called Coaching and Performance Organizers, or CAPOs). They can watch each other emote, struggle, fail, think, and succeed. Even via a screen, each session finds this intimacy. Apart from fulfilling the need of the performances to have the actors see each other, these rules inspire a level of vulnerability and trust shared between the group members.

Building Scenes Truth accompanies authenticity. As improvisers subject themselves to their vulnerabilities in the scenes they play in, they foster a space where people can be real with their scene partners by being real themselves. Through this, a layer of trust is created within the organization’s members and it becomes a safe space for them to share parts of themselves with one another.

Upon the set-up of these safe spaces, one of the core principles of improv is taking care of one another. With the bonds and trust that form from their respective groups, the members become comfortable with one another. In scenes, improvisers do their part in making sure their scene partners have an easier time through

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the skills taught in weekly sessions. Reflecting on his online experiences, member Mik Paras shares his thoughts: [Improv is] a way to also, like, interact with people especially in the pandemic…A lot of people in the Ateneo community right now…They don’t really talk to fellow Ateneans. It’s either group work: they message, [or use] whatever’s convenient—anything to avoid [interaction], like a lot of students don’t like showing their faces in camera…They [would prefer] chatting. So, improv is a way to interact with people, get to know people, and you know, have fun doing improv.

Due to improv’s collaborative and social nature, improvisers get to interact in an online setting in an unconventional manner. Most Zoom calls would normally be a single presenter with a shared screen talking to names that only react through chat and reactions.

An improv session encourages its members to turn on their cameras and microphones when they enter the scene.

All of this stems from invoking each other’s vulnerability that the members feel safe to allow themselves to see, learn, and accept one another. Because of this, BBI fulfills a unique role amidst the lack of face-to-face interactions; it allows its members and audience to form authentic human bonds.

As college life is a time of self-discovery, BBI offers this safe space to the Ateneo community, where its members have the opportunity to share part of themselves and laugh about their shared experiences. As an improv organization based in Ateneo, most of BBI’s lessons are shaped by the college student’s lens and how authenticity is important to their context. Too common is the pressure to get high marks and accomplish many things in college, with zero room or tolerance for mistakes. But in BBI, “mistakes” don’t exist. There is no right or wrong way to conduct a scene, so

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anything thrown at the wall will stick (provided it’s not in poor taste).

Improv, in the eyes of the college student, becomes funny because it reflects the relateable lived experiences of improvisers toward its audience, and it also becomes liberating as it eases the pressure of performing for an audience, one of the most difficult and nerve-wracking feats of all. Luis’ sentiments echo this: If you think about it, college is one of the most integral parts of our lives because it is a part where we search for our identity as well. And what’s better to learn more about your identity than being your most authentic self, to be more comfortable with yourself in that manner. That's what we try to do. Not just in improv but in BBI specifically, we try to get you to be more comfortable with your awkward side so you don’t think about it.

You don’t feel, ‘I have to follow this, I have to follow that, I have to be this, I have to be that,’ when at the end of the day, we just say you’re good enough.

Blue Bird and Beyond!

Apart from promoting authenticity and fostering safe spaces, improv is inherently adaptable, a useful trait to have bearing in mind the COVID-19 pandemic that hit last 2020. Improv’s adaptability as a performing art has also allowed the org to transition relatively quickly to the online setting. Although the sudden intrusion of the pandemic as well as its associate lockdowns did put a stop to Blue Bird’s first Improv Month in March 2020, the organization was able to resume its activities in April that same year with Birdtual Reality, BBI’s first live online show.

Council member (BBI’s equivalent of an Executive Board officer) and finance officer Senna Bustamante recalls their group’s

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discussion when the pandemic hit: “Having been there at the transition, I don’t think it slowed us down at all. It took, like, twelve hours of brainstorming to come up with, ‘Let’s do it on Zoom’… and then we tried it out, and then it worked. So we started doing it, like, literally the week after and we had a show three weeks after.”

BBI has since hosted fifteen more shows via its Facebook page and hosted workshop sessions with various organizations such as Ateneo Lex, the Ateneo Association of Communication Majors (ACOMM), the Ateneo College Arnis Varsity Team (ACAVT), the Council of Organizations of the Ateneo (COA), the Sanggunian ng mga Mag-aaral ng mga Paaralang Loyola ng Ateneo de Manila, the League of Independent Organizations (LIONS), and even the Ateneo School of Medicine and Public Health’s (ASMPH) Orientation Seminar (OrSem) hosts. They’ve also held several open workshops wherein Ateneans and non-Ateneans can try out improv.

Several attendees of these workshops have since become members of BBI. BBI is only three years old yet it has done a lot in showcasing and teaching improvisation in a context helpful to the Atenean. From being one of the fastest to adapt to the online setting to establishing a growing presence in the Ateneo community, it’s fair to say that it still has much to accomplish and new territory to navigate in a blended school setting. But, there is no doubt that it will continue to say “Yes, and” and try to find authenticity in what is to come.

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Luis de la Vega IV and Miguel Dobles (Performers). Wet & Wildlife. Improv Performance. From https://fb.watch/ceDUycVWZB/.

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Teo Ricaforte, Luis de la Vega IV, Angela Ozaeta, Andrina Mukhi, Earl Decena, and Joaquin Basas (Performers). Flyathlon. Online Improv Performance. From https://fb.watch/ceDWeimwku/.

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Riel Tanaliga, Bench Santos, Althea Santos, Sergei Lim, and Ria Ramos (Performers). Lovebirds. Online Improv Performance.

From https://fb.watch/ceDXzp-SXr/.

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It Ain’t Over Till the Fat Lady Sings

Agnes Christie A. Corpin, Andrea Gerada, and Istra Dela Cruz Blue Symphony Orchestra

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arn garcia was one of the many restless students in his second year at university when he wondered to himself: why didn’t Ateneo de Manila have a student orchestra? The other major universities at the time had orchestras or music faculties of their own, and there was certainly no shortage of musicians in his school.

Arn fixated on this question, thinking back to his days in a string ensemble in high school. He knew the desire for a similar kind of orchestral community was a shared one, and went straight to work to make it happen. But first, he needed help.

Kevin Dy was the first person he shared this idea to, an old friend and gig buddy from high school. He suggested they enlist the help of a few more people, so each brought a friend—AJ Perez and Philippe Bautista—to a Starbucks near Ateneo to hash out their plans. It was there that the Blue Symphony Orchestra was born.

From the top While Blue Symphony has been around for fourteen years, its legitimacy has always been a point of dispute.

When the founders cooked up the idea of a student orchestra, their rationale had been simple enough: it laid claim to playing and sharing music with others. There were other goals at stake— to be acknowledged by Ateneo as an accredited organization and to garner the university’s name. But the initial wish, music, and community, was what launched Blue Symphony into action.

Looking back on his time as a music arranger in Blue Symphony, Philippe is incredulous at how they managed the unpredictable world of a student orchestra.

For one, there was the uncertainty of securing a room: “we would squat, literally in different rooms,” he says. The basement of MVP across the Rizal Bookstore was an occasional home to students with sheet music and instruments. Then there was the

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logistical issue of moving and storing equipment—eyewitnesses can attest to red-faced, weary students hauling printers, keyboards, and bulky music stands across the campus. Working with people also proved to be challenging: there were talented instrumentalists who couldn’t commit to the organization, or disagreements riled by conflicting interests.

But Philippe finds himself dwelling most on their efforts to learn and teach music in a university with no music faculty. The Jesuit Music Ministry and certain individuals from UP College of Music generously lent their help with music scores and arrangement. Meanwhile, the Loyola Schools of Theology and Jesuit Communications provided rehearsal spaces, whereas Dr. Maria Luz Vilches, Dean of the School Of Humanities at the time (and aptly dubbed Blue Symphony’s “number one supporter”) assisted the founders with advice and necessary permits.

Blue Symphony didn’t function on its own, and it wouldn’t have been able to.

But the challenge of learning on the go produced a sense of doubt for Philippe: “You naturally have an insecurity, because what if what you’re doing is not traditionally correct?” This insecurity trails Blue Symphony, finding shape in feats of resourcefulness or uncertainty.

The early years may not be the most glamorous, but they were not without heart. “You’re all obsessed, you all want to be heard, you want to make things perfect,” Philippe says. While there’s something formidable about this drive, the later years would prove that Blue Symphony needed more. Informal help could only last so long; they needed an anchor.

Blue Symphony Today Fourteen years later, Blue Symphony finds itself in a situation similar to its beginning years. While the organization reached its

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longtime goal of accreditation in 2012, it was lost in 2019 due to a host of internal problems—the absence of a succession process, the need to sharpen departmental roles, and mercurial relationships with stakeholders, to name a few.

The orchestra can also expect a disparity in treatment between accredited and unaccredited organizations. An accredited orchestra would ensure, at the very least, spaces for storage and rehearsals. When Blue Symphony lost its organizational room in 2019, its members found themselves scattered to the wind, searching for places to hang out or practice. It was no piece of cake for operations members either—inventory was hastily relocated to other members’ homes.

The loss of professional help, such as the bowing out of Blue Symphony’s seasoned conductor Rodel Noreli E. Lorenzo in 2018, also signaled a worrisome decline. Conducting, arrangement, and general tutelage fell under the purview of student members. While admirable, the organization’s progress can hardly be compared with those of institutionalized orchestras (such as the UP College of Music), resurfacing Philippe’s earlier insecurities on Blue Symphony’s novice status.

For the current members, the solution can be summed up in a word: support. Blue Symphony stands out against other student orchestras due to its informal nature. Gabriel “Gabe” Plata, the current president, looks to the future of the orchestra with some unease: “It doesn’t make sense how we are as an organization. All other universities’ orchestras are funded and supported by their university. It’s a long, long way to get there, we have to convince the right people at every level,” he states. Without official backing, the members speculate that the future of Blue Symphony will remain as it has been in the past: trying to stay afloat.

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Too loose, too tight, or just right?

But what if the solution wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed?

To regain accreditation, effort may be put into defining and implementing rigid systems and roles within departments—or “tight coupling,” as penned by organizational theorist Karl Weick.

Creating a succession process, for example, or honing external and internal communications.

But contrary to the members’ beliefs, this may actually curb Blue Symphony’s flexible presence. Institutions rarely survive on tight coupling alone, and need a bit of wiggle room. This allows them to compensate for any external factors that get in the way of project planning—something Blue Symphony thrives at.

This was proven when the pandemic arrived, and all academic and student activities had to transfer to an online setting, punctuating the need to make necessary adjustments.

Concerts were converted to online performances—notably Entr’acte: Projections, published May 2021 on their Facebook page.

Entr’acte showcased an array of iconic movie soundtracks, ranging from “La La Land” to “The Godfather,” and was Blue Symphony’s first foray into the online concert. The stage was replaced by virtual backgrounds in the style of movie posters, and musicians displayed in tiny screen boxes alongside each other. While the recording may not sound as natural as a live performance, the colorful blending of sounds pierced through virtual barriers (see Entr’acte: Projections and Paguio’s arrangement).

There’s only so much one can do during the pandemic, after all. “We can’t really do much. It’s a practice of letting things go you can’t control,” says Kristi Seredrica, a former violinist and current central board member. Despite Blue Symphony’s best efforts at formalization, they maintain a “loosely coupled” nature—striving for efficient operations, but learning to adjust to fickle weather.

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Regular members underwent a learning curve. Gone were the days of orchestra practice on the chilly fifth floor of Rizal Library, previously an arranged space for rehearsal. “It’s so hard to be in an orchestra when you don’t see each other face to face,” says Riana Fuentes, a freshman violinist. “For example, may duet ka, or may group performance ka, and you’re going to have to, you know, perform together.” As the others put it, this meant learning to do things on your own.

“I had to learn how to record myself,” she added. “When you’re in an orchestra you don’t have to do that.”

In the case of Julia Sta. Maria, a video editor for the organization, her tasks called for experimenting with new methods. “It was really a lot of trial and error,” she explained, discussing the orchestra’s transition to online concerts. “We had to find a way to…set a stage for them. And I guess that was one of the biggest challenges talaga, adapting everything—biglang ang daming load on the production side.” To date, production finds itself dabbling in animation, video background designs, and the necessary task of polishing audio recordings. These new arrangements were made possible due to Blue Symphony Orchestra’s loose nature.

Surprisingly, the transition also offered some members more opportunities to participate in the organization’s activities. Current executive board member, Alessandra Molo, said that the pandemic gave her the chance to experience orchestra life, unconventional though it may be. Because her home had been too far from campus, she found it difficult to commit to regular rehearsals. Now, her main motivation for being involved in activities is to “[give] other people that chance.”

Blue Symphony has managed to come this far with enough elbow grease and flexibility. Yet their calls for support can hardly go unnoticed. As Gia Sison, violinist and board member, put it, “we’re really trying to focus on our efforts into optimizing our self-sustainability.” Trial and error are all well and good, but the

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orchestra’s capacity to elevate its platform will remain on pause until it no longer needs to worry about its future.

Encore!

There’s no doubt that Blue Symphony needs external recognition—legitimacy and institutionalization can relieve the orchestra’s current concerns over its survival. But their current model offered its own benefits.

The organization’s culture and community are the major reasons its members have remained. Mariane “Mavi” Avendaño, a violinist and active member of the organization, joined during the online setup and stayed the following year. What kept her there, she says, “is the community vibe of the orchestra…the people are very supportive and this is the type of place you want to be in if you want to explore yourself and not be afraid to show your flaws.” Lorenzo Go, a flutist and active member, also notes that music has been a great help to him during quarantine. Whether it’s a Game of Thrones medley or Tchaikovsky’s “Sleeping Beauty,” members can enjoy a lively range of pieces to listen to or play.

While members do worry over the organization’s future, they still remain hopeful. There is a deep faith in what the orchestra can offer them. “We may end up in a place that we didn’t expect to be in,” says Kristi, “maybe that vision or idea will be something better.

I’m sure…Blue Symph people are strong.”

What will it take for Blue Symphony to survive? That’s a question that has been asked, consciously or otherwise, for as long as the organization has been around. At the outset, the answer was certain: official backing and a drive to survive. When that proved lacking, they resorted to improve upon their internal systems. The arrival of

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the pandemic and transition to an online setting only highlighted there may be more to the case.

Organizations like Blue Symphony aren’t either formal or casual, tight or loose. It’s both. The orchestra requires a sustainable structure, but with enough freedom and space for members to forge friendships and express themselves. While a lot of work is needed to regain accreditation, Blue Symphony isn’t going to change its tune anytime soon. Its friendly atmosphere, casual approach, and ability to thrive in unpredictable situations have helped it grow. Its members can recognize this value—and with any hope, the right institutions will recognize it too.

Blue Symphony has shown they have earned, and will continue to earn, their seat at the table.

So long as there are people who want to create music—whether as an instrumentalist, a budding arranger, or even someone eager to help backstage—the orchestra will carry on.

“At the end of the day,” Arn concludes, “I just wanna be able to inspire people to pick up an instrument, to have a better day, to be a better person…to somehow want to be in an orchestra.”

He did. And they will.

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Blue Symphony. Entr’acte: Projections. Online Concert. From https://www. facebook.com/watch/live/?ref=watch_permalink&v=499436821302918

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Clark Joshua A. Paguio. Susi. Arrangement.

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Behind the Screen: Community, Artistry, and Dance Production Excellence

Marcus Gawtee, Renee Melitante, and Libby Zorilla Company of Ateneo Dancers

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what would you think the Japanese animation character Astro Boy has to do with dance and production? At first thought, probably none. To tell you the truth, the symbol of the cartoon figure made its way to a dance organization’s group chant in a very special way.

Sounding their battle cry after every single endeavor, every bow, every curtain close, every shoot-wrap; and now, every phone call and zoom meeting—the members of the Company of Ateneo Dancers have still stood loud and proud consistently exclaiming: “Groove, Glory, God—Astro Boy!” But more than a group chant, this set of words encapsulates everything that the Company of Ateneo Dancers stand and strive for.

Founded in 1994, the Company of Ateneo Dancers (CADs) has been the premier dance and production management company at the Ateneo de Manila University. Consisting of student artists from various disciplines, the organization fosters a culture of excellence through collaboration between its two main divisions: the Performer’s Division and Production Division.

Before the pandemic, CADs performed for gigs and produced events as well as participated in competitions. Today, the organization has made major adjustments to the virtual scene by preparing online events, projects, and concerts through different platforms such as Zoom, YouTube, and Facebook.

The two divisions cannot function without each other and make the organization whole. Their relationship leads us back to CADs’ “Groove, Glory, God—Astro Boy!” chant. Though the first 3 words are considerably self-explanatory, the current CADs President Sabina Manlutac gives us an idea of how the cartoon character made its way there.

According to Sabina, the first three words have always been there for a long time, while the “Astro Boy” segment was added later on, only around 10 years ago. It made its way to the chant after a timid and shy teammate made a significant impression on the rest of the members. Uniquely, she had always worn an Astro Boy shirt which helped the members call her easily and eventually nicknamed her 59

as such. Now, this story becomes significant within how “Astro Boy” herself would always be left out, even during group huddles.

Despite her reserved nature, the team always made sure to call her “Astro Boy!” and invite her to come and join them—leaving no one behind and eventually attaching itself to the org’s battle cry.

In a sense, this origin story welcomes the idea of CADs as a place where no one would get left behind in the pursuit of art and excellence. It welcomes the organization as an environment for a strong sense of community which eventually fosters selfactualization by repurposing their passions into art.

“Company?” Community!

Despite the organization’s name being the “Company” of Ateneo Dancers, CADs goes beyond its label. More than that, CADs is a community—a tight-knit circle, a closely bonded pack with a kinship between individuals who not only find a home within the organization itself, but within each other. Through its member diversity, CADs is able to cultivate a robust and harmonious sense of community that empowers its members to initiate, collaborate, lead, and inspire through dance and production.

But the big question is: how? How is CADs able to create an environment entirely for and by the members? The answer lies in the nature of the org’s composition of members, its structure of people—every unit, every hand, and every heart it welcomes per year. Coming directly from the members themselves, CADs “is a melting pot of different types of people,” ranging from different backgrounds, skills, and talents; a culmination of different crossroads, each with their own unique gift to offer.

This sense of diversity is explicitly seen through the group’s very organizational structure being split into the previously aforementioned major divisions, which are further divided to

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even more specialized groups of talents such as the Street and Contemporary Division on the Performer’s end as well as the Backstage, Front-of-House, Traditional Creatives, Non-Traditional Creatives, Lights, Sounds, and Documentations Committees on the Production end. There are even all-around members who can assume multiple tasks and responsibilities of the divisions called Constreet-ers or Prod-formers, who are essentially living fusions of dance-production expertise.

Although the divisions have parted the members by their field of focus, there are further efforts to unite members in different ways.

One of these is the Anakan System, where upperclassmen would “adopt” the newbies to accommodate them in their stay in the organization by acting as their family. In this way, the organization is made not only as an avenue where artistic ideas are shared but also as a place where one can find their people.

Encountering that much variety within a pool of people allows more room for member involvement as different tasks, projects, and ideas require different needs. CADs always manages to unite in artistic fusion amidst their incredible diversity through collaboration in their projects.

Chief Finance Officer, Francine Ermita, notes that “members unleash their creativity here [in CADS],” which is something she witnessed during a RIB shoot. She describes being present in that shoot with a sense of wonder and bewilderment as she witnessed how everyone was locked in on their task—“in the zone and their element.” The Street Head, Enzo Jover, adds to this by saying how CADs “highlights the community that is important in creativity,” and how every output is “never like an I did this but a we.”

Needless to say, allowing one’s creativity to flow is not the only thing present at this moment since it is concurrently joint with people learning from each other’s talent. Soleil Uyliapco, the current Documentations Head, expresses this as she shares how she grew from “witnessing the works of others” who acted as her

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mentors and helped her in her journey. Seeing how other members would work can also serve as a motivation for one to excel in his field. “When you are surrounded by people who want to strive for this excellence, you cannot help but get that energy as well. The community, I feel like I can see it pushing me to do better,” Bettina Cuan, a member of the Documentations committee, shares.

The “A” Stands for Artist!

CADs has always been known for its artistry in the university; it has been showcasing its excellence in dance production for almost three decades. The success of these events could not have been done without the collaborative efforts of the dancers and production staff, who continuously develop their skills through training, gigs, and workshops. These definitely benefit the organization in its artistic growth while simultaneously providing an avenue for CADsters to pursue their passions and express their emotions, unlocking their inner confidence and potential.

The organization has helped its members to grow in various instances, breaking the preconceived notion of the organization being limited to just dance. Chief Marketing Officer, Marian Almendras, shares how CADs “repurpose” the members’ talents in many different ways, such as allowing the members to participate in core teams, leadership roles, and other available roles in its initiatives. Aside from being a platform for growth, the opportunities in CADs can be therapeutic for some members like Regeena Vicente (Street Division), as it allows them to release their emotions and “distract themselves from the things going on around the world.”

Because of this, growth in CADs comes in all forms as the organization provides opportunities, such as leadership positions and outreach projects, for its members to discover more of

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themselves. It can be said that this growth is addictive, especially when it comes to striving for “excellence,” a term that is frequently used. This somehow explains why some members are motivated to push their boundaries and find ways to evolve, as in a time when a competition piece was inspired by a meme. It might also be the reason why some people choose to stay in CADS. While excellence has impacted many CADs members, they are also well aware of its implications. “I was also part of a core team in another org…the reason why I prefer CADs is that the people really strive for excellence…everything they do should be amazing. I feel like having excellence in our culture is a double-edged sword. There may be so much pressure, but it helps in our growth,” Nica Rosete, a Backstage member shares.

Excellence may be a great ideal to possess, but it can be the reason why some members get intimidated by the work, experience burnout, or even leave the organization: “When it comes to like, anything you create, you can do whatever you want, as long as it makes sense…but then there’s like, pressure…I don’t know where it comes, probably comes from, like, the higher-ups…There’s a pressure not to screw up,” a backstage member expressed.

Challenges to Artistic Growth Beyond excellence, the online setup is a major hurdle on its own. Although the community is making an effort to stand strong against the current situation through different bonding initiatives such as the Tambuilding, it cannot be helped that some efforts were in vain. Projects used to be one way for the members to engage and bond with each other, but this rarely happens since there is a lack of interaction. Moreover, the online shift has definitely made it difficult for some to establish genuine relationships. Despite platforms like Zoom and Discord, it has been challenging to

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establish a human connection with others whose cameras are off and microphones are muted.

Moreover, it is easy to lose motivation when the work has shifted online; this is especially true for some prod divisions like Front-ofHouse (FoH) and Backstage. Members are unmotivated to do gigs, which becomes a problem for the heads. A possible reason could be that the work is not as fulfilling as the onsite tasks. However, the lack of motivation is also present in the performer division. For instance, it is a challenge for contemporary dancers to be active as some may feel that they are training for nothing.

The pandemic has definitely limited interaction, which resulted in some divisions discontinuing their onsite tasks or restricting them from developing their talents. For example, those who are in Lights do not reap any benefit from the situation since they cannot do their tasks without the proper equipment, while it is more dificult for contemporary dancers to teach each other through their screens.

Another problem with the online system is that it is hard to maintain the quality of different projects requiring promos and shoots. Before, there would be a team of people who would work together on a project, and everyone had a role to play. However, everything changed when things went online since shoots suddenly became a DIY thing.

Despite all this, CADs does not let a challenge go by. The pandemic has made CADs very considerate of its members’ wellbeing in different ways. One of these is implementing CADs Wellness Hours, which restricts members from doing any CADs-related work at certain times.

Another initiative is the grievance form that allows members to communicate their concerns. The organization also checks upon its members from time to time by scheduling individual consultations.

The goal is to really put the members’ needs before anything else, to

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ensure they are still fit to work given the challenging circumstances the pandemic has placed them.

The Wait for Opening Night The stage has remained empty for the past two years, but this has not stopped CADs from delivering dance production from behind their screens. CADs reformulated their events like TamBuilding, PhysiCADs, and the Year-End Concert (see dance performances), among others, to better fit the online setup.

The loss of physical space impacted the organization’s systems and processes, but also compelled leaders to rethink roles and responsibilities as well as the value placed on their members, the community, the artistry produced, and everyone’s well-being.

CADs members highlighted how the organization has been constantly adapting to the changes posed by every shifting circumstance, while also acknowledging the reality that everyone has been navigating through new and unknown terrain. This terrain has been riddled with issues like burnout, demotivation, and not feeling that sense of community and belonging that was felt, talked about, and was once there.

The pandemic did not leave the organization unscathed and members have been aching to find their way back on stage, to groove to the music, and be surrounded by people and each others’ energies. “I just miss dancing face to face. So I think that’s one thing I’m definitely looking forward to and hope to experience in the near future,” Regeena Vicente, a Street member, shares.

For members who entered during the pandemic, the online setting is and has been the norm for them. With seniors graduating soon, only a number of members who have experienced on-site gigs and events will be left with two batches who have never experienced life on campus. Despite the anxieties and worries that this might

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induce, members seem to express confidence in the organization’s possible shift back to the on-site environment.

As Nadine Coronado, a street member, states, “All of us learned so much from all of this—from the pandemic and the online setting—and it’s not yet over, but a lot has happened. I just know that CADs is way more equipped now and ready for anything that comes their way.” However, members also realize that shaking up the status quo would require change and learning. As Nica Rosete, a Backstage member, points out “I feel like when we go back on-site, there will definitely be a learning curve.”

While the challenges and changes are far from over, the organization’s pursuit of artistry and excellence, or dance production excellence has never stopped. Members of the Company of Ateneo Dancers are continuously looking forward to strengthening and revitalizing camaraderie in the community, finding ways to improve on, innovate, and offer what they know to the larger artistic scene. As members of the organizations see hope for the future, they envision themselves on stage or behind the scenes ready to perform.

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Company of Ateneo Dancers. Virtual Reality. Dance Performance.

From https://fb.watch/cp-VmxNvsV/.

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Company of Ateneo Dancers. Time and Change. Dance Performance.

From https://fb.watch/cq0ogMgYzu/.

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Company of Ateneo Dancers. Lovesick. Dance Performance.

From https://fb.watch/cq0tBjoa6L/.

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Fashion with a Passion

Mikhaila Neri and Kean V. Nerecina FASH

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Finding purpose and meaning the idea for a fashion-focused organization within the Ateneo was born in September of 2019. While the founders of the organization were conceptualizing a name for their project, they thought of names related to sustainable fashion, or susfash for short, but didn’t want to make things any more complicated than they needed to be since the advocacy of sustainable fashion was intimidating enough.

In fact, they wanted to make the advocacy as accessible as possible, so they decided to make the name of the organization just as simple.

This was how FASH was born.

Mia Azurin, current Director of FASH, shares, “it was two friends who suddenly thought about having a fashion organization in Ateneo because we felt [that] it was about time that we had an organization centered on fashion.” The founders of FASH had also observed other new organizations with niche interests, such as birdwatching and Japanese culture. Seeing these unique organizations inspired them to form a fashion organization that was grounded on a bigger cause, in the hopes of making the organization mean something more for sustainable fashion practice in the university and the country, where the concept is still novel.

Being a fashion-oriented organization, FASH recognizes the different mediums of self-expression that individuals within the Atenean community use to express their creativity. One form of self-expression is fashion, which is something that fits in the artistic scene of Ateneo that FASH wants to emphasize while incorporating more relevant topics. This highlights the aspect of fashion that the organization combats—fast fashion. But what is fast fashion? Simply put, fast fashion brands work to bring trendy pieces from the latest designer and high fashion brands to the masses’ closets as fast as possible, with no regard for the socio-ecological impact.

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The fashion industry contributes to one-tenth of all water used in industrial production. One cotton shirt requires around 3,000 liters of water to be produced. Furthermore, 35% of all microplastics that end up in the ocean are produced by synthetic materials used in the fashion industry (Le 2020). Most of the clothes produced are made in developing countries where human rights violations against women and children in factories are daily occurrences.

In Bangladesh, children as young as 11 begin working the sewing machines for measly salaries of barely £70-80 per month, or about 5000 pesos (Butler 2019).

These problems escalated due to the COVID-19 pandemic due to consumers’ lack of purchasing ability. Since physical stores shut down and many people turned to staying at home instead of buying new clothes, the revenues of fashion brands dipped. These problems trickled down to the base-level fashion workers and sewers. Some of the largest fashion houses canceled around $1.5 billion in orders from Bangladesh, negatively impacting the lives of over a million factory workers (Lau 2022). This was the bigger cause that FASH’s Director wanted to address. This is why FASH advocates for sustainable fashion.

The beginning of the organization’s journey has had its share of ups and downs given that the organization officially started to open its doors to new members in January 2021. Given the current socioeconomic atmosphere, there have been apprehensions about the relevance of the advocacy. Currently, sustainable fashion is not at the forefront of common advocacy-centric organizations, but much like other problems such as climate change and poverty, fighting the problem at hand will allow it to reach insurmountable heights.

Ateneans have always been known for their sense of fashion that can be seen on campus, in photos, and even in their usual tambayan spots along Katipunan Avenue. Many of them fit the long-running stereotype of having closets filled to the brim with pieces from fast fashion brands like UNIQLO, to classic staples like Ralph Lauren

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and Lacoste, and even more expensive designer brands. Others choose to invest more in footwear and sometimes even purchase a few pairs a month. Simply put, Atenean fashion and style can be characterized by a drive to acquire better and more pieces. This popular mindset does not align with the organization’s advocacy, so how can FASH establish itself and advocate for sustainable fashion within the Atenean community when there is a deeply rooted culture of mass consumption in the university and its students?

One of the most vital parts of FASH is advocacy education.

Locally, sustainable fashion has only entered general conversation quite recently, and even some of FASH’s own members enter the organization with little knowledge about the advocacy. But education and discussion are all part of the organization’s mission.

Lorenzo Corro, the Advocacy Head of FASH shares that he has always been an advocate for sustainability in general, and actually joined FASH for the sustainability aspect of the organization, which is a more uncommon phenomenon than one might expect.

He expresses: Most of the people were interested in the whole fashion aspect more than the sustainability, which I noticed when people were getting onboarded and had discussions, these were mostly about thrifting, and not delving deeper [into sustainable fashion] so I was a bit confused, but I think it pushed me to join the whole member development branch [now Advocacy department] of FASH, and I started to learn more about the niche topic.

Since even some of FASH’s members are not fully educated on sustainable fashion, the organization does its best to educate the community. Jasmin Pandi, the Externals Head, explained the rationale behind this in saying, “It’s better to start off with something that everyone can agree on, for example,

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fashion, and then try to incorporate more relevant things such as sustainability, which is something that we’ve tried to do.”

Sticking with the advocacy With the difficulty of finding reliable and available resources on sustainable fashion, FASH strives to create new avenues to discuss and spread awareness about its advocacy. Through developing various initiatives such as the Advocacy Integration Course (AIC), FASH Talks, and FASH Library, the organization is able to promote its advocacy through interesting and engaging projects (see Fashion Photography and the Living Embodiment of Artistry).

Of course, fighting for sustainable fashion cannot be all fun and games. As mentioned earlier, FASH’s founders wanted to ground the organization on a cause that would create a socially and politically relevant organization. It is challenging to advocate for sustainable fashion since its multiple facets are unseen without more interest and intensive research.

FASH acknowledges that the issue of sustainable fashion versus fast fashion can spark various necessary conversations.

Sometimes, these conversations create small but relevant changes manifested through an individual’s change in lifestyle. Because of the nature of the advocacy being humanitarian and ecological, more involved conversations that target social and political issues arise. The organization’s leaders admit that FASH still lacks a solid political identity as it has yet to begin any initiatives to create direct social and environmental change. With the organization having only celebrated its first year anniversary of becoming a public organization last January 31, 2022, growth is still in the works.

Furthermore, the organization’s constituents all agree that FASH has the potential to become an avenue to disseminate credible information on sustainable fashion while simultaneously exposing the audience to unfortunate truths within the fashion industry.

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The fact of the matter is that the truth hurts. While the hidden truths behind the clothes we wear daily can cause discomfort and even guilt, FASH does not aim to force the advocacy onto people who do not practice or agree with it. FASH does not condemn or blame anyone who partakes in the fast fashion industry, because these problems are rooted in deeper systemic issues. Instead, FASH wishes to establish its voice by doing its part in educating its audience by slowly realizing its potential to spark necessary discussions about sustainable fashion one step at a time. This is why FASH has been developing the various initiatives mentioned earlier in order to provide the Atenean community with convenient avenues to discuss and gain information about sustainable fashion.

All of these initiatives focus on education from more experienced members of the organization and industry professionals. These initiatives also provide spaces for discussion. The AIC is one such project. The AIC is FASH’s main education platform for sustainable fashion-related information centered on creating a knowledgeable member base, and eventually a knowledgeable Ateneo.

As with any advocacy or belief, there will always be some who disagree or are simply indifferent to the discussion. Louise Daniel, FASH’s Visuals Head, comments that “kindness and compassion really go a long way.” With this, FASH aims to tell the Ateneo community, fashionistas, and anyone interested in fashion or sustainability that the practice, within and without fashion, is an imperfect journey that varies from person to person.

Practicing sustainability According to some of the organization’s members, mindful and intentional shopping can be the most helpful methods to practice sustainability. “After joining FASH, I try to think before I buy

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stuff, ‘Do I see myself wearing this for a long time?’ or ‘Do I see this just being a fad that will eventually fade away after two or three uses?’” one member shares.

Other FASH members shared that while on the surface level, the visual aspect of clothes is the most important, some of their pieces have meaningful stories that add a layer of sentimentality to them.

This value adds to their practices of sustainable fashion by making their garments more than just wearable fabric. Our clothes can become vehicles for memories and highlights of our lives.

While these may seem minuscule compared to other factors of sustainable fashion, practicing the advocacy does not have to happen overnight; small lifestyle improvements can create the largest changes. But when we are all surrounded by the vast popularity of consuming fast fashion brands, practicing sustainability can sometimes seem unreachable or even impossible. Some of us buy from fast-fashion brands such as ZARA and H&M because these are all we know of. This is why advocacy education is paramount to sustainable fashion.

Through the accessibility to advocacy-centric information, some members of FASH realized the negative effects of their fast fashion purchases and eventually stopped. Once the lack of transparency from fast fashion brands about their sourcing, production, and “sustainable” practices becomes evident, it becomes simpler to stop supporting their businesses. It is through this type of education and growth that individuals inside and out of the organization are able to understand the importance of sustainability and eventually share the advocacy with others close to them.

Another member told the story of his transition from hypebeast culture which incentivizes the overconsumption of expensive fashion trends by promising acceptance. Hypebeast culture encourages mindless purchasing of garments that see little-to-no use after the trends die down. The mindset that clothes should be bought intentionally for ourselves and not for the approval

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of others is a common starting point for many advocates of sustainable fashion.

The members of FASH have their own personal stories about their sustainable fashion journeys. They share a principle of mindfulness in their everyday lives. We at FASH believe that Filipinos can easily inherit this mindset based on our own culture as we are known to be crafty and resourceful. For instance, every Filipino household has used ice cream containers repurposed for either leftover food or various items. Simple practices like this bring inspiration to FASH members to pass on to the millions of Filipinos as we continue to fight for practicing sustainability in every aspect of our lives.

A sense of community in FASH FASH opening its doors to new members amid a pandemic was a defining moment in the organization’s history. Founding a new organization during the pandemic was a struggle in itself, not to mention holding its first RecWeek online, something no other organization within the Ateneo had done. In the words of Advocacy Head Lorenzo Corro, “starting online was very rough but despite it being rough, it was still successful.”

While FASH did not need to adjust to the pandemic being born of it, again, its journey was not without its struggles. Event plans made during face-to-face were not so much adjusted, as essentially scrapped and remade for the online setting. Compared to other organizations, its start as a digital organization actually became an asset due to the Internet and social media being excellent mediums for fashion and art. Other than dealing with the logistical and critical adjustments, the pandemic shaped the organization’s structure in terms of how FASH treats its leaders and members.

While working and improving on the organization’s projects and

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initiatives is important, FASH’s leaders realized that building a solid community, a foundation was vital for the continued growth and success of the organization. Deo Olvina, a content creator for FASH, shares: I have certainly had FASH members just checking on me, in the midst of everything that’s been happening in the pandemic. I’d say there’s a support system/safe space that the organization has provided in terms of member-centric initiatives, which is very crucial in the pandemic.

As Mia says, “Our whole community is built on empathy.”

Everyone in the organization remains kind and welcoming to create an open community necessary amid the pandemic. Their sense of community and efforts to create a safe space gave members of FASH a secondary home.

The future of FASH As for the one-year-old organization, one question comes to mind: What’s in store for FASH’s future? The number one answer that best represents FASH is definitely the transition of the organization to onsite. Fashion is a visual and physical art, so the opportunity to hold sustainable fashion shows, production workshops, and even bazaars would boost the organization’s growth to the next level. Imagine what all the clothing bazaars, swap parties, programs about sustainable fashion, and tutorials on how to rework clothes would look like on campus.

The onsite setting will also enhance the existing sense of community, inspiring the members of the organization to practice and advocate for sustainable fashion even more. Eventually, some members foresee that FASH can go so far as to be at the forefront of

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Philippine sustainable fashion, even though the organization still has far to go.

As mentioned, FASH acknowledges its lack of political identity, and this hole is what the organization envisions to tackle as soon as it accomplishes its main priority of spreading awareness about the advocacy to the community. From a management perspective, FASH as an advocacy-centric organization would largely benefit from partnering with similarly-driven organizations, and even specific sectors in the Philippines.

Of course, these plans are still in the works. For now, the present community of FASH invites future members and leaders of the organization to join the sustainable fashion movement.

FASH hopes that its members recognize their role in spreading the advocacy that can spark conversations and create change in an effort to produce a healthier and greener future.

As a growing organization, FASH recognizes that nothing is truly set in stone for sustainable fashion. Nonetheless, there is a need for something or someone to represent the advocacy, especially in the local scene, which is the role FASH hopes to fulfill.

As Louise Daniel, Visuals Head, says, “This is why communities, such as FASH, are there so we can actually figure this out together.”

It’s early days yet for the organization, but its members are prepared to face the challenges that come with fighting for an advocacy as vital as sustainable fashion.

References Butler, Sarah. “Why are wages so low for garment workers in Bangladesh?” The Guardian. January 21, 2019. https://w w w.theguardi an.com/business/2019/jan/21/ low-wages-garment-workers-bangladesh-analysis

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Le, Ngan. “The impact of fast fashion on the environment.” Princeton Student Climate Initiative. July 20, 2020. https://psci.princeton.edu/tips/2020/7/20/ the-impact-of-fast-fashion-on-the-environment Lau, Melinda. “Impact of Covid-19 Pandemic on the Fashion Industry.” MDIS Blog. February 3, 2022. https://www.mdis.edu. sg/blog/impact-of-covid-19-pandemic-on-the-fashion-industry/

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Fash. Fashion Photography and the Living Embodiment of Artistry (1).

Fashion Photography.

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Fashion Photography and the Living Embodiment of Artistry (2).

Fashion Photography

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Fashion Photography and the Living Embodiment of Artistry (3).

Fashion Photography.

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Ebb and Flow

Andrea Posadas and Gap B. Estrella HEIGHTS

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british-indian sculptor and installation artist Anish Kapoor said, “Artists are part of the story of a response, we cannot stand aside and let others make the response.” This “response,” of course, also applies to the vast literature and art that have refracted and preserved the viewpoints of a nation throughout history.

How do art and literature work towards this “response”? Just witness the many years of selfless service that the Loyola Schools (LS) community has put into HEIGHTS, known as the artistic and literary publication of Ateneo de Manila University. The myriad of poems, stories, essays, art pieces, and online articles that HEIGHTS showcases every academic year has collated an abundance of personal statements and experiences reflecting, among many things, dissent against the nation’s socio-political injustices and marginalized communities’ plights.

HEIGHTS has been prolific in providing a platform for LS students, faculty members, and alumni to speak their truths. The organization’s processes of taking firm stands amidst the pandemic, political turmoil, and election-related news are paramount to upholding its purpose of fortifying safe spaces against tyranny and impunity through amplifying free expression and curbing attempts to eradicate it.

HEIGHTS’ political firsts Since the publication’s humble beginnings in 1952 up to the HEIGHTS as it is known today, one of its defining characteristics as an organization has been the constant tension between the formal and the political. Although the political nature of the works presented in folios have been present since the beginning, HEIGHTS became more explicitly political in 1970 as a result of the country’s unrest under the Marcos regime. A piece that illustrates this political urgency is Angel D. Baking’s essay “Revolution as a Career,” as they talk about the material conditions that push people 85

into a revolution. To quote Baking: “If the present system can no longer accommodate solutions to our basic problems and the ruling classes no longer possess the confidence and the competence to resolve our crises and difficulties, then revolution is inevitable and is the only alternative open to the people.”

The following issue only continued to forward this political message. Apart from the issue being written completely in Filipino, the 19th issue had a cover page of Kabataan Makabayan President Nilo Tayag as a response to his arrest. That issue was filled with essays and works that spoke about nationalism and brandished a red motif. It was in the same year that the organization itself went through a major overhaul, breaking the rigid hierarchy of editorial board and members, and deciding to place each staffer on equal footing. Not long after its radical turn, HEIGHTS was discontinued with the declaration of Martial Law in 1972, forcing the publication to move to underground production as Pugadlawin.

When HEIGHTS finally re-emerged in 1974, the concern of the publication reverted back to that of form; where the resurrection of HEIGHTS began, so did its pursuit of aesthetics. Navigating a post-underground era, the publication’s role in proliferating pieces rooted in good craftsmanship was highlighted now more than ever.

It seemed that, amid darkness, art and literature became integral to the collective spirit of the people.

In An Mercado’s 1985 foreword, “Work In Progress,” thenEditor-in-Chief explains the need to retrace the literary tradition of HEIGHTS. Mercado writes: “In our heart of hearts one single syllable [HEIGHTS] sufficed to carry the weight and hope of a long tradition of literary excellence. In the beginning we set out to continue this continuing tradition.” She continues to lay out the conflicts and questions left unanswered by HEIGHTS’ archives, in search of what exactly is the literary culture of the publication. As evidenced by this desire for canon formation, HEIGHTS seems to take a step back from its politically seeped history, making form and aesthetics its focal point.

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Striking a balance Despite being characterized by this push and pull of identities, one aspect of HEIGHTS that has remained consistent throughout the years is its role in responding to the current context of the student body. Whether it be the urge to fight back against oppressive regimes, empower student activism, or bring back the enchantment of art and literature in the LS community, HEIGHTS has always strived to remain true to its community.

Patricia Sarmiento, HEIGHTS’ Editor-in-Chief for A.Y. 2019-2020, underscores this in her dossier of the organization’s history and political engagement. She prefaces HEIGHTS’ literary and artistic undertakings as “practicing responding to societal realities,” which had been highlighted further through HEIGHTS’ yearly organizational thrusts. Sarmiento adds that, from 2013 to 2016, HEIGHTS was adamant on departing from its “ivory tower” image, referring to the rather privileged and solitary impressions that non-HEIGHTS members initially associated with the organization. The aforementioned time frame was a turning point for the organization as it curated content with the unitive goal of abolishing its perceived reputation and working towards a more community-grounded trajectory.

HEIGHTS continues this endeavor, major changes in learning environments notwithstanding. This is especially true of the organization’s transition from an on-site publication to an online one. When the pandemic hit and forced all LS organizations to shift to fully online platforms, HEIGHTS’ Editorial Board (EB) for A.Y. 2020-2021, led by Zofia Agama, hoped to preserve as much of the previous operating procedures of the organization as possible. For HEIGHTS, this meant keeping up with releasing two separate folios.

However, due to the public health crisis, academic demands, and difficulties in transition, this proved to be a burden to the different arms of the organization. Current English Editor Lexie Cruz shares 87

that the shift to an online platform made it more difficult to establish a personal bond with the rest of the staff, consequently making their job as deliberators more tedious. “People were anxious, it was difficult to really focus, and because we hadn’t anticipated any of it…we didn’t really have time to connect, bond, or discuss things in a more casual way.”

Similar to the experience of the English Staff, incumbent Design Editor Anya Nellas talks about how the Design Staff felt a disconnect with their artworks. More specifically, the lack of a tangible folio drastically changed the way the artists identified with their outputs. “Since we just upload the folio online, I guess there’s not much attachment to their work or a sense of ownership compared to having…a physical copy to really see their work.”

Following the many different challenges in the first year of the fully online setup, the 2021-2022 HEIGHTS EB saw the need for major changes to be made. After consulting with their staffers and based on their own personal experiences, the ‘21-‘22 EB heeded the call to make internal adjustments as to how HEIGHTS functioned.

These internal adjustments ran deep into the organization, so much so that this year’s thrust was grounded on the idea of needing a strong and solid interior in order to be able to respond to these unprecedented times: Pagpapatibay-loob sa mga kinaiisahang espasyo laban sa pinasidhing paniniil. Under the leadership of current Editorin-Chief Stanley Gueverra, the Editorial Board sought to not only make changes that would take care of the needs of the organization’s members, but also recognize the publication’s role in responding to the conditions that go even beyond the university.

Entering the new school year, arguably one of the biggest changes that the organization went through was the shift from two separate folios to a double issue. Instead of releasing two folios, one at the end of each semester, HEIGHTS opted for a double issue launch in the middle of the second semester. Although it might seem like a small change externally, this meant a lot of adjustments for the different arms of the organization, both deliberating and non88

deliberating staffs. According to Stanley, there were several reasons for this decision. On one hand, this allowed the deliberation period to span across a much longer time frame, giving the Art, English, and Filipino staffs several months to collate folio submissions and adequately screen each piece. For the Design, HEIGHTS Online, and Production staffs, this would also mean that most of their work was skewed towards the end of the school year, but having more time to prepare for the Folio Launch last March 25, 2022.

The double issue, titled Truths, follows the Calls for Contributions (CFCs) on navigating today’s pressing issues that the LS community had a month each to submit their work to—the first, being Distortion, and the second, Confrontation.

“You can see that this double issue imbibes the thrust. Compared to two regular issues, which are usually separate themes, Distortion and Confrontation are thematically united under the idea of truths,” Stanley shares. He and the rest of HEIGHTS’ EB also kept the 2022 National Elections in mind as the CFCs were brought to fruition. “This is also why we’re releasing the folio in March. That way, they have two months to read it before May 9. We wanted our contributors to tackle election-related issues, too, through their own artistic, literary, and thematic practices.”

Such pursuits of political commentary in art and literature are showcased in Anjanette Cayabyab’s poem, “Maalaala mo kaya ang sumpa niyo sa amin?” a contribution to the folio’s Confrontation theme. The piece bears witness to the public’s urges to curb power, strive for a hopeful, people-empowered future, and prevent eradefining injustices from repeating themselves. Cayabyab’s poem is among the profuse calls for action that shape HEIGHTS’ double issue (see Cayabyab’s work).

On the artistic side of the double issue lies “kahit ano pa man sabihin nila, hindi pa rin nakakain ang dolomite,” a food art series

by Kevin Castro, also for the folio’s Confrontation theme. The series is a commentary on the Dolomite Beach that was built at the height of the pandemic in 2020. Months into the lockdown, 89

people were out of the financial resources to buy basic necessities like food and yet the government prioritized the creation of the beach instead of providing assistance to citizens that needed it the most. After which, criticism sparked in social media, calling out the government for choosing to create the Dolomite Beach, in turn asking, “Nakakain ba ang dolomite?” Castro’s piece puts this issue at the forefront, using dolomite to substitute different parts of the food like replacement for bread, ice cream toppings, and even rice.

Aiming to use the dolomite as a “catalyst for thought,” his photos provoke viewers into reassessing what this project has really done for Filipinos (see Castro’s work).

Apart from operational adjustments, members of HEIGHTS also expressed a change in the way both editors and staffers approached each other. In the case of Design Staffer Carmen Dolina, she notices how her editors would make it a point to check up on her before giving her any work: “They’re not overly nice, I just feel like there’s always an air of, ‘Are you free to do this job? It’s okay if you aren’t, though!’” For Production Staffer Mariana Gardoce, she feels as if both editors and staffers alike became more considerate of each other’s time. “One of the bigger revisions was establishing, ‘Here are our work hours, so you aren’t obligated to reply outside the given time, especially if it’s not urgent.’” These small yet meaningful adjustments to the organization’s work dynamics cultivated a safe space for its members to put out their best work, but at the same time take a step back when they needed to.

HEIGHTS Online Editor Andrea Tibayan also shares how these changes that the organization took made her rethink how she accomplishes her responsibilities as part of the journalistic arm of HEIGHTS. The nature of her job entailed more than just letting her staffers write to their heart's desire, but also challenged her to reconsider where these written pieces could be situated once they are published in the outside world.

“Anyone can write, say, a listicle about their five favorite movies, but what does that mean? Why are these movies relevant? Why do 90

we need to watch them in this political climate? Knowing that role when staffers attempt to pitch their ideas is the foresight we need as editors. That definitely helps me be more informed, so it teaches me that I have to read up on current events and learn more about what’s happening right now,” Andrea says.

Evidenced by the anecdotes of its members, even contemporary HEIGHTS has been subject to several iterations of recalibration in response to how external conditions affect its operations as a publication.

A firm stand on the future Whether it was a response to the atrocities of the Marcosian government or issues exacerbated by the public health crisis, HEIGHTS has always tried to keep its members, the LS community, and the entire country at the center of its initiatives. The history of the publication has shown that the production of art and literature can never be separate from the political and material conditions in which it is situated. Although HEIGHTS as an organization, publication, and institution still has room for growth, it has well earned its spot as the official artistic and literary publication of the Loyola Schools.

With the National Elections right around the corner, HEIGHTS did not miss out on the opportunity to speak its own truths on the matter. Last March 2, the organization took its sociopolitical stance to social media and released a statement in support of Presidential Candidate Leni Robredo and her promises for the country.

The decision, Stanley explains, was borne out of utmost concern for the country’s future, with the stakes being “too high to remain impartial,” and a stand for a leader who amplifies the voices of marginalized communities in the same way that the organization does. “Even though we’re part of the Confederation of Publications, 91

it’s not a time to be non-partisan. Yes, opposition as a stance is good, but right now, when we have to specify and vote for someone, and that specific person will affect the country’s future and human lives for the next six years, I think we can’t afford to be as broad as ‘opposition.’”

There is no telling what turn HEIGHTS is to take next to further stand its ground in its prolific pursuits to engage with today’s political realities. Serving the LS community as a beacon of truth and free expression amidst national disquiet is not a linear process, which still makes the publication open to previous and unexplored practices in literature, art, and communication. Whether HEIGHTS continues to carry its explicitly political messages in the thrusts of the following years, challenge social norms that plague public spectrums, or take a more personal, sentiment-driven turn with its work, there will always be truth to the poems, stories, and art pieces that its staffers, editors, and contributors can grow from.

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1 From HEIGHTS Vol. 69 No. 2 (2022).

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Naaalala mo ba kaming hinikahos dahil ang awa n‘yong namumuno’y kinapos habang sa pagpabango ng sarili’y lubos?

Naaalala ba ninyo ang ating yaman nang umunlad ang ekonomiya ng bayan at sa buong mundo, tayo’y hinahangaan?

kalilimutan sa darating na halalan.

Kung oo’t nais mong muli pang iparanas ika’y di namin

Naaalala mo ba kaming hinagupit ng pagdurusa nang tuligsain ang lupit ng pamumuno ninyong sa baya’y gumipit?

Naaalala ba ninyo ang mapayapa’t disiplinadong másang mapagpaubaya sa pinúnong sa kanila’y namamahala?

Kung oo’t nais ninyong muling maranasan ako’y h‘wag ninyong

Naaalala mo ba kaming pinalayas nang may uwian ang hayop na itinakas ng ina mong puro luho ang nasa utak?

Naaalala ba ninyo ang paraisong nilikha namin noon kung saan ang tao at hayop ay masiglang naghahalubilo?

Maalaala mo kaya ang sumpa ninyo sa amin?1

Anjanette Cayabyab

Kevin Castro

artist statement for kahit ano pa man sabihin nila, hindi pa rin nakakain ang dolomite2 Approximately one cup of dolomite was taken from the artificial white “sand” beach in Manila Bay. A small dipping saucer was placed upside down in a food bowl in order to need less rice to fill it up. The rice was then topped with dolomite as its main viand, garnished with sliced onion leeks and decorated with carrots (which were carved into flower shapes). On a saucer, dolomite was formed into a square as a simulacrum of a slice of bread. On this bread, a slice of cooked ham and two slices of cheese were stacked. This was then topped off with more dolomite bread. Lastly, a rounded scoop of vanilla ice cream was placed in a chilled, crystal cup and topped off with crushed dolomite.

With this series, I intend for the viewer to consider the value of food, taxes, beauty, propaganda and opportunities lost, with the “sand” of the dolomite beach as the catalyst for thought.

2 From HEIGHTS Vol. 69 No. 2 (2022).

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Kevin Castro. kahit ano pa man sabihin nila, hindi pa rin nakakain ang dolomite (series) rice toppings. Food art. 3906 × 2604 px.

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kahit ano pa man sabihin nila, hindi pa rin nakakain ang dolomite (series) rice toppings. Food art (detail).

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Kevin Castro. kahit ano pa man sabihin nila, hindi pa rin nakakain ang dolomite (series) ham and cheese. Food art. 3940 × 2627 px.

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kahit ano pa man sabihin nila, hindi pa rin nakakain ang dolomite (series) ham and cheese. Food art (detail).

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Kevin Castro. kahit ano pa man sabihin nila, hindi pa rin nakakain ang dolomite (series) pinipig. Food art. 3984 × 2565 px.

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kahit ano pa man sabihin nila, hindi pa rin nakakain ang dolomite (series) pinipig. Food art (detail).

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The Filmmaker’s Journey from Silver Screen to Digital Streams

Aline Ivy Salillas and Gayle Dy Loyola Film Circle

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INT. LEONG HALL – MORNING It is Day 1 of Ateneo Orsem Silay. You are walking back into Leong Hall with your blockmates that you’ve only met a couple of hours ago. As you enter, you watch as an entire swarm of Sec Mobs and TnTs, an amalgamation of buoyant bodies, dancing to the beat of “Now That I Found You”

by Carly Rae Jepsen. Eventually, your TnTs reel you in and so, you begin to dance with your blockmates, too.

After all the fun and dancing, the hosts announce that you’re going to watch a short film created by an organization called Loyola Film Circle or LFC. The lights go out. The projector displays the logo of LFC, followed by a title card saying, “THE DAY OF THE INCIDENT.” On the screen, you watch as students sit down, already beginning to take their exam when suddenly, the lights go out. And then the test papers glow in the dark, their shaded answers outlined in green.

You smile in the dark as the title card reads: “ATENEAN VANDAL.” As you watch the film, you can’t help but feel completely immersed in it. You find yourself laughing and smiling all throughout. As a cinephile, you’ve always marveled at the ability of films to transport you into a whole new reality. At that moment, you decide that you

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want to join LFC and make your own films, too.

At the end of the day, you have this feeling deep inside: you are glad that you have enrolled in Ateneo.

In the months after, you'll come to know the unparalleled joys of film production--from conceptualizing and writing the script to creating the shot list and opsched to carrying camera equipment and props all over campus, moving from one location to another as your team hurries to film as many scenes as they can before the sun sets.

You'll come to know the exhaustion of packing up immediately after each scene and rushing towards the next, of having to do retake after retake because the shot angle was off or the audio intercepted by someone talking on set, of waking up extra early for call time and crawling into bed late at night.

At the same time, you'll also come to know the thrill and satisfaction of watching your film come to life, from the sheer joy of seeing your characters lifted off the page to shooting and eventually, post-processing, where the cinematographer, scorer, and editor work their magic. You'll come to cherish the joys of working together with your film crew--the short lunch breaks interspersed with laughter, the onset of panic when the camera dies and

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there's no charger, the trust built along with the foundation that art brings people together.

Most of all, you'll come to know the great love of storytelling, and how nothing comes close to those quiet seconds right before the camera rolls and the director cues to the set: “Actors ready,sound...speed...camera...rolling.

And ACTION!” Then, you hear the clap of the clapper board as the scene begins. At this moment, you know that nothing compares to the freedom of being able to make films. ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_______________________________________________ A Diverse Filmy Community Open to All the art of filmmaking has often been compared to steering a ship in which the director is captain and the crew is composed of the production team. Needless to say, the medium is inherently a team effort; thus, to take away this essential component would mean that the film cannot work just as each organ and component of the body serves to help it function in some way or another.

This interdependent structure is present all throughout the systems of Loyola Film Circle (LFC), which at its heart, serves as avenues for three core competencies, namely: film appreciation, film critique, and film production. screens foreign movies to the Ateneo community, and Film Literacy Classes, a series of seminars which aim at honing members’ critical lenses in consuming and appreciating film.

While LFC is mainly known for the latter, the two former competencies are distinguishable through notable events and

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outputs such as its annual magazine, titled, Wideshot, which publishes film reviews and essays, as well as events like Fete du Film, a project that screens foreign movies to the Ateneo community, and Film Literacy Classes, a series of seminars which aim at honing members’ critical lenses in consuming and appreciating film. Furthermore, LFC also hosts a number of workshops with distinguished speakers and filmmakers to enlighten the members on different aspects of film production and leadership with the hopes of creating industry professionals. However, this isn’t to say that film appreciation is the only asset offered by LFC to the Ateneo community.

Jack de Dios, head of the Doc&Pub committee in LFC, notes how the org is able to showcase the culture of the school through events such as O-Film, which gives the freshmen their first glimpse of what university is like. Likewise, Ian Bundoc, an aspiring filmmaker and Photography Deputy of LFC, also shares how “LFC is able to provide an outlet that otherwise would not be there for people who are interested and passionate about film. It becomes this safe space for like-minded people to share their passion and love for the art.”

Despite being known as a niche organization, there is much diversity to be found in LFC. A combination of both communication and performance arts, the org offers plenty of opportunities outside of film production—from writing film reviews and creating content in Doc&Pub to planning and executing projects in the Events committee and creating the official look and brand of LFC through the Creatives committee.

When asked how the organization was able to strike this balance between all these different mediums, Riki Angeles, the Vice President of Internal Affairs for LFC, says: It’s all about placing people in the baskets they were meant to be in. Some people like doing administrative or logistical work,

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while others prefer the artistic and creative side, which is making films. There’s also some who just prefer to watch and analyze movies, so it’s really letting everyone have their hand at what they want to do. In the end, LFC has a place for everybody.

The Struggles of Shifting Towards The Online Setup While the online setup does have its advantages of making film viewing more democratized, there’s no denying it has placed a strain and even altered the art of filmmaking. For how does one translate a medium that is inherently collaborative and turn it into something remote? How can one express their artistic vision when all the resources needed to create a decent film are now seemingly out of reach? How does storytelling adapt, and must it even?

Vanessa Leonardo, Production Core Director of LFC, notes the shift in focus when it came to making films in this setup, adding how storytelling has changed vastly in the sense that the narrative is no longer the central occupation, but rather, its feasibility of whether it can be shot remotely. In addition, she chimes that “knowing what our actors are capable of doing is incredibly important. At times, it’s even more crucial to consider the internet stability or technical skills of the actors rather than their acting skills.” This shift towards pragmatic concerns is but only one of the major changes of filmmaking online.

Many actors such as Valerie dela Rosa note the added intense pressures of acting online and juggling multiple roles at once— from doing your own makeup to setting up your own location and lighting and even learning how to ocular the camera properly.

As shooting remotely is the only viable and safe option, patience and determination then become the key driving force behind all online productions. This is especially true as actors are made to take over the roles of all these other competencies, and therefore, have to

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And yet, it’s not just the structure of filmmaking itself that has changed. For many of the members who have worked on online productions, so much of the camaraderie that was built on set during the face-to-face setup is close to impossible to achieve online.

To this, LFC director and writer Jake Consing notes of the stark contrast between filming onsite and remotely, adding that: “The main difference is being able to feel the energy of the people around you a lot more, and how that energy translates into morale.

Shoots are long and tiring, especially when you’re waiting inbetween setups, and this is made more so online. When you’re all in the same place on-site, however, you get to laugh at the situation and make jokes and hang out with each other. You also get to ocular properly, and see the texture and depth of where you get to shoot.

You get to experience the location far more than you would by looking at pictures.”

Indeed, perhaps the most crucial aspect that makes film distinct from other artistic forms is that it marries visual aesthetics and performance to express an emotion, and more so, conveys a message to the viewer. Film, through its innate ocular nature, is expected to deliver higher quality in terms of its audiovisual aspects compared to theater productions. LFC 24 President Fran Enriquez expresses similar sentiments, adding that “theater orgs don’t have the privilege of using colors and cinematography in the same way as film—they have it but to a lesser extent. Generally, they’re more focused on the performance aspect while LFC takes equal pride in all aspects of filmmaking from the cinematography and editing to the sound design, score, and more.” Furthermore, she notes that all these different facets of filmmaking help in conveying different emotions and bringing the vision to life. “All these aspects from the lighting to the music, they all tell a story,” she says. Migoy Arroyo, an aspiring filmmaker and member of LFC, also notes that “theater is more focused on the classical Aristotelian tradition of having one major setting, time, and action, whereas film allows you more

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freedom through switching to as many scenes as you like and adding abstract metaphors.”

Nevertheless, if there is a shared affinity to be found between the art of film and theater, it must be in their sufferance amid the pandemic—both for creators and viewers alike. As cinemas and theaters closed down, as well as festivals and releases canceled, even microcinemas showcasing independent indie films such as Cinema Centenario and Cinema ‘76 have been forced to shut down and migrate to online streaming platforms. What was once quiet, sequestered havens for cinephiles to unwind have now been transformed into these alternative platforms, accessible by all. Yet, moviegoers argue that this experience remains incomparable to being able to sit inside a theater and bask in the presence of others.

Isolation, a continuous presence, seems to carry over to online productions as well, as camaraderie proves to be difficult to foster across zoom screens. Bianca Baltazar, an editor for several theater and LFC productions, has also expressed similar sentiments, saying, “Editing in itself is often a solitary job, but this is made more so online when you can’t really talk to the rest of the crew.

Having it online made everything all business, with no time to joke around and connect with one another.”

To stress this further, Vanessa also posited that another major challenge of online film productions is keeping members engaged and ensuring that they’re doing okay both mentally and physically.

A common thread that she noticed with all the LFC productions created during the pandemic is that the crew tends to lose motivation even to the point of withdrawing halfway through the production. “It’s hard to keep morale high, especially as the production stretches out,” she says. “In the beginning, everyone is always so excited, but sooner or later, burnout occurs, which is really inevitable.”

Nevertheless, despite all the challenges, LFC has continued to create and showcase commendable films during the online setup.

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“Lingkis,” an experimental short film documentary exploring the corruption and injustice of the Philippines through a mythological lens won “Best Documentary” last year in the 13th Sinepiyu Film Festival (see Lingkis). Meanwhile, “Matching,” a passion project created last 2021 also won several awards in this year’s Gawad Sining Festival, including Best Production Design, Sound, and Editing.

Diving Deeper Into The Tangled Web of Art and the Political Ever popular as a rhetoric, “the personal is political” is often used to bite back on those who divorce themselves from politics.

And while it is true that the self is inextricable from the social realm, there remains a certain struggle once one enters the chaotic sphere of politics. Like any other organization, LFC has the responsibility to speak up and address certain political issues; however, the extent of the organization’s priorities regarding politics still leaves room for consideration according to the executive committee. As an organization, LFC must prioritize the well-being and safety of its members when making political statements. This is true, especially in light of the oppressive systems set in place.

“We try to be careful about these [political] topics because member safety is our number one priority. We wouldn’t want them to do something that they aren’t equipped to do. Even though it is our responsibility to stand our ground, it is also still very important to keep in mind whether what we’re saying is politically sound,” says Van Leonardo, Production Core Director of LFC. Van recalls her time in LFC where there weren’t a lot of films centered on the country’s political climate, and how this was something she wanted to change moving forward.

Moreover, LFC also gives precedence to what types of films the members are willing to create. Arroyo, also a scriptwriter of LFC,

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points out that, “As much as we can push members towards a certain direction, if members don’t want to make films that tackle these issues, you can’t force them.” Euan Bernal, the Vice President of the Secretariat, echoes this, saying, “We have a platform to amplify our member’s ideas, but it’s hard to make a film if our members have differing opinions. Still, we have to respect them.”

Nonetheless, as a whole, LFC is aware of their responsibility to give their members the tools to make realizations and take action of their own accord when making these types of films. “We don’t force the members to make these political films, but we take it one step at a time in the hopes of encouraging them and putting out those kinds of content,” says Van. Amid this pandemic, LFC continues to work on being more active in these types of discussions. In fact, the organization was able to be a part of the joint statements initiated by The Sanggunian where different organizations within the Ateneo would speak up about the atrocities experienced by our country. Mar Magdaluyo, Events Deputy of LFC, emphasizes, “It’s not just us, but we’re connected with other organizations when making the statement.

We’re not putting ourselves at risk because we’re not going there as individuals but [we’re] going together.” Riki further expounds saying, “There are restraints of our current condition to instill patriotism and duty, but LFC is still working on it. We’re still falling a little short on it, but we’re trying by making discussions happening within the organization.”

When it comes to film appreciation, LFC has also yet to step up their game in creating publications and film reviews that spark political commentary. Ani Andal, Writing Deputy of LFC, points out that “Whenever I read LFC Doc&Pub reviews last year, it was only what the film is about, but not how the film is relevant.”

Moreover, Ani also admits how they were hesitant at first in making politically resonant reviews, as LFC is first and foremost a film organization rather than a political one. “No one has the guts to

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actually take a stance right now because it’s really scary out there,” they say. Despite that, they deeply express the need to change how the organization can speak up about the current political climate beyond film production. “We can at least still try to empower our members and other people through our publications and works,” Ani adds.

In terms of film production, it is evident that LFC has a powerful platform that can influence young students and filmmakers to participate in political discussion through the films that they were able to create. Fortunately, the organization is blessed to have members who are willing to make films that instigate political commentaries like directors Yvonne Salazar and Sita Valenzuela who made the film “Lingkis” for last year’s IsaPelikula competition with the theme of revolution. “When we were brainstorming for ideas, we already talked about this issue connecting to the One Big Strike, and from there, we developed a solid relationship as a crew. We realized that this is something that we need to address like the incompetency of the government and everything else that’s happening during that year,” says Sita. The film mixes animation and documentary to tell the stories of Martial Law victims and uses the Filipino mythological serpent, the bakunawa, as an allegory of how our country was plunged into darkness. Sita further expounds, “Talking about politics and really trying to be a voice for people who don’t have the platform to do so has always been like a passion, and Lingkis [allowed us] to do that.”

In truth, the films made by LFC’s members do bring forth the discussion about the pandemic or other issues that spark political discourse, and these are considered opportunities for the organization to carry on with their relentless pursuit of artistic freedom and social discourse through cinema. In times of political upheaval, it is up to the artist and filmmaker to make sense of the world and remind us that there is still good to be done about it.

Because much of the world is constantly in chaos, the least we can

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and should hope to do with our art is to offer it up to the world as a means of enacting social change.

As Lino Brocka once said, “They may gag you and blindfold you, silence and imprison you, but they will never be able to destroy what made you an artist in the first place—your brave and continuing dedication to the human race.” ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_______________________________________________ INT. LIVING ROOM - EVENING Dinner time. You and your parents are watching the news. You see the cases of COVID-19 rising in our country, and how the government isn’t doing much to alleviate the situation. There’s so much bad news the media has to offer that you feel like you can’t handle it anymore. You feel that burning anger inside you, urging you to speak up and be part of changing the nation and yet, you also feel helpless about your situation.

Feeling overwhelmed by everything, you go back to your room. There’s so much you want to do, but you don’t know where to begin. You realize that you can only do so much, and this makes you feel useless.

After a while, you turn on your laptop and open up a new document. At the center of the blank page, you type in all caps: MALAYA. Below that, you write, “A film by yours truly.”

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On the next page, you begin typing up a pitch for the logline. The description of the story reads: “a bunch of misfits coming together to fight for justice in a land where everyone is silenced and denied their right to speak up.”

The description may still be vague, but you know that your idea is a work in progress.

As you work on your pitch, you get this inkling in your chest like a seed reminding you that the art of making films will carry on no matter what. You smile and you are strong like the tall trees.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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Loyola Film Circle. Lingkis (1). Short Film From https://fb.watch/cvOf0ov5YO/.

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Lingkis (2). Short Film

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Lingkis (3). Short Film

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Lingkis (4). Short Film

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Lingkis (5). Short Film

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Ang Pabago-bagong Puwang sa Pagtanglaw ng Matanglawin

Christian Dasalla at Layon Matanglawin

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sa kasagsagan ng isa sa mga pinakamapanghamong bahagi ng ating kasaysayan—ang Batas Militar sa ilalim ng rehimeng Marcos—itinatag ang Matanglawin na kilala rin bilang “Máta.” Sa mga salita ni Jose Ibarra Angeles, ang pangunahing tagapagtatag ng organisasyon, “ninais naming makabuo ng pahayagang underground na magbabahagi ng mga artikulong Pilipinong tatalakay sa mga paksang masalimuot [isinalin mula sa Ingles].”

Ito ang nagsilbing pundasyon ng Matanglawin, ang pagtalakay ng mga isyung panlipunan at paglantad sa salimuot ng pamumuhay noon, isang mapanganib subalit esensiyal na gawain, lalo na sa panahong malaki ang distansiya sa pagitan ng masa at ng katotohanan. Kaya naman, kasabay ng pag-igting ng Batas Militar ang pagsusumikap ng Matanglawin na punan ang puwang na ito.

Mula sa literal na pagsingit ng mga isyu sa mga aklat sa silid-aklatan ng Ateneo, hanggang sa makapaglimbag na sila ng mga isyung may ilang pahina, mababanaag ang sigasig at pagpanig ng publikasyon sa hinagpis ng masa. Makikita rin ito sa mismong pahayagang ang pangunahing nilalaman ay mga artikulong ukol sa mga isyung panlipunan noong 1970 hanggang 1981. Subalit nagawa man itong lahat ng Matanglawin, isang panibagong distansiya naman ang kanilang haharapin sa pagpapatuloy: ang layo ng organisasyon mula sa komunidad ng Ateneo. At sa paglipas ng halos limampung taon, parehong puwang pa rin ang pilit na pinupunan ng pahayagan.

Ang Matanglawin at ang Distansiya sa Komunidad Taliwas sa karaniwang akala, hindi sadyang binuo ang Matanglawin bilang pahayagang may pagkiling sa politika.

Itinatag ito upang itaguyod ang Filipino bilang wika ng akademya, wikang propesyonal, at isang daluyang tiyak at tuluyan, mga pagpapahalagang ayon sa kasalukuyang patnugutan ng organisasyon ay patuloy pa rin nilang isinusulong. Subalit sa pagpapatuloy bilang

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isang publikasyon, umusbong ito sa direksiyong naglalayong talakayin ang mga isyung sosyo-politikal. Lumalabas ang panulat ng Matanglawin sa komunidad ng Ateneo at bumababa sa masa upang intindihin ang suliraning kanilang hinaharap sa bisa ng matapang, matalisik, at progresibong pagsulat.

Ayon kay Marcial Fernando, kasalukuyang Nangangasiwang Patnugot at Tagapamahala ng Proyekto ng Matanglawin, “ang ginagawa ng publikasyon ay writing at amplifying voices na hindi masyadong pinakikinggan o sadyang ibinabaon ng mga nasa itaas.”

Kaya naman, kapansin-pansin ang pag-igpaw ng publikasyon sa objective journalism. Sinisipat nila ang mga tao sa kanilang konteksto at hindi bilang hamak na numero (sumangguni sa artikulo ni Lee).

Ani Dar Brazil, kasalukuyang Punong Patnugot ng Matanglawin, sa usapin ng pagbabalita hinggil sa pagkamatay, “Iniiwasan [ng Matanglawin na] ibalitang may namatay na gantong tao. We try to go beyond that. Sino ba talaga ‘yung tao na ‘yon? Anong klaseng buhay ba yung nangyari that led to that?”

Sa ganitong paraan din pinagsusumikapan ng Matanglawin na ipabatid sa mga Atenista ang mundo sa labas ng kanilang pribilehiyo. Ayon kay Dar, “pinapanatili [ng organisasyon] na nakaugat sa lupa ang paa ng mga Atenista.” Pilit na ipinamamalas ng Matanglawin ang tunay na “down from the hill,” hindi bilang pagbaba upang tumulong sa nangangailangan, kundi pagbaba upang makisalamuha sa mga tao at sa isyung panlipunan.

Isa sa mga kilalang proyektong isinasagawa ng Matanglawin upang itaguyod ang layunin nito ay ang Tanganglawin o Tanga, ang kanilang taunang isyung lampoon. Kompara sa karaniwan nilang isyu na naglalaman ng samot-saring naratibo at likhang sining, binibigyang-pansin ng Tanganglawin ang mahahalagang balita sa pamamagitan ng satira o satire. Noong 2016, sumikat ang isyu nitong “Mochang Tanga Blog” at umabot kay Mocha Uson, ang mismong pinatutungkulan ng lampoon, na naghayag na estratehiya umano ito ng pag-atake sa kaniya. Ang ganitong estilo

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ng pamahayag ay patuloy na inililimbag ng Matanglawin upang mabigyan ng alternatibong medium ang mga mambabasa sa pagunawa ng mga isyung nagaganap sa bansa. “Napakakontrobersiyal ng content na [inilalagay] namin [sa Tanganglawin], at isa ‘yon sa mga nakaka-proud kong naabutan sa Mata,” ayon kay Kat Llorente, kasalukuyang Tagapamahala ng Social Media.

Bukás naman ang pamantasan sa mga paksang nais ihayag ng Matanglawin, ano pa man ang pinanggagalingan ng mga ito.

Para nga kay Marcial, mas may kalayaang magpahayag ang mga publikasyon sa Ateneo kompara sa ibang pamantasan. “Minsan, sobrang controversial ng inilalabas na isyu, lalo na pag ‘yong lampoon, [ngunit] walang censorship, [di tulad] sa ibang student journalist sa ibang campus,” ani Marcial.

Subalit sa kabila ng lahat ng ito, nanatili ang distansiya sa pagitan ng Matanglawin at mga Atenista, sapagkat alinsabay ng paglabas ng organisasyon sa Ateneo ay ang paglayo nito sa parehong komunidad.

Ang Pag-igting ng Distansiya sa Gitna ng Pandemya Sa pagkalat ng COVID-19 sa Filipinas, lalong umigting ang suliraning ito ng Matanglawin. Naging pisikal ang distansiyang noon ay buhat lamang ng pribilehiyo. At sa unti-unting paglipat ng pamumuhay sa online na espasyo, tila nagbalik ang organisasyon sa panahong itinatatag pa lamang nito. Mula sa palihim na pagsingit ng mga isyu sa puwang ng mga aklat, ngayon, pilit na nakikipagsiksikan ang Matanglawin sa oversaturated na impormasyon sa internet.

“Nakakainis ang pandemic dahil limited. Di ko nadarama ang pamamahayag sa Ateneo, in general. Ang layo kasi tapos lahat online. Oversaturated ng information kaya mahirap lumugar,” paliwanag ni Angela Lee, kasalukuyang Katuwang na Patnugot ng organisasyon.

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Sa patuloy na pag-igting ng distansiya, naging limitado rin ang mga gawaing pamperyodismo at proyektong nailulunsad ng Matanglawin. Ang paglabas sa komunidad at pagbaba sa masa na isinasagawa nila noon ay naantala dahil sa panganib na dulot ng pandemya. Bilang organisasyong lubos na nakasalalay sa pisikal na gawain, labis ang epekto sa kanila ng krisis pangkalusugang hinaharap ng bansa.

“Dati, kayang sumali sa rallies, events, demonstrations, at ibang sociopolitical events. Nakaka-cover, nakakakuha ng pictures, kung ano-ano. ‘Yun ‘yung pamamahayag na kulang ngayon. Kasi bilang estudyante pa lang, bukod sa censorship ng gobyerno, nariyan ang virus. Walang physical copies, printing, at pag-cover sa events. We also have to take into the account the safety of the members and the writers,” pahayag ni Marcial.

Sa pananatili ng lahat sa kani-kanilang tahanan, naging mas mahirap ang pakikialam sa mga nangyayari sa paligid lalo na’t hindi naman nakalalabas at nakakakalap ng mahahalagang impormasyon. Isa itong panibagong puwang na pilit pinupunan ng Matanglawin. At kasabay nito ang paglitaw ng distansiyang higit na magpapalubha sa kanilang suliranin: ang puwang sa kasanayan.

Dahil sa kalikasan ng mga aktibidad na isinasagawa ng Matanglawin na pawang nagaganap sa pisikal na pamamaraan, naging lantad ang kakulangan ng organisasyon sa kasanayang kinakailangan upang makiayon at makasabay sa nagbabagong panahon. Kaya sa pag-angkop ng organisasyon sa new normal, naging hamon sa kanila ang pagpapanatili ng kabalasikan o rigor ng kanilang pamamahayag.

Isa sa mga pagsubok na hinarap ng Matanglawin sa kalagitnaan ng pandemya ay ang kakulangan ng kasapi. Dahil sa pisikal na distansiya, nahirapan din ang organisasyon na manghimok ng mga estudyante upang maging miyembro. Buhat nito, hindi naging madali para sa Matanglawin na itulak ang kanilang publikasyon sa parehong puwersang isinasagawa nila dati. Ayon kay Angela,

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“iniintindi naming estudyante muna kami bago kami maging org members…[kaya] yung mga projects namin, malakihang projects lang siya na isahan lang.”

At sa tuluyang paglipat ng Matanglawin sa online na espasyo, kinailangan ng organisasyon ng mga kasaping mayroong teknolohikal na kasanayan, bagay na nahirapan silang hanapin.

Ani Angela, “Since pandemic tapos online, kailangan ding maging techie. Kasi kung mapapansin, karamihan ng mga sumasali sa Matanglawin, sulat talaga o di kaya sining yung ginagawa nila. So, wala kaming masyadong IT person.”

Bukod pa rito, lumitaw rin ang noon pa ma’y kakulangan na ng Matanglawin, ang presensiya sa internet. Halimbawa, sa mga organisasyon sa ilalim ng Confederation of Publications (COP) ng Ateneo, tanging Matanglawin lamang ang walang aktibong website noong nagsimula ang pandemya. Kaya naman, isa ito sa kanilang mga binigyang-pansin sa pagpapatuloy ng krisis.

Upang punan ang puwang na idinulot ng pandemya, unti-unti nilang binigyang-solusyon ang mga suliraning kanilang hinaharap.

Una, mahalagang mabanggit ang opisyal na paglulunsad ng kanilang website na kagaganap lamang nitong ika-26 ng Pebrero, 2022, na agad namang sinundan ng kanilang paglulunsad ng Instagram account paglipas lamang ng mahigit isang linggo. Dito, kapansin-pansin ang pagpapatuloy ng kanilang sigasig na ipaabot ang hinagpis ng masa sa internet, bagay na nanatili sa kanilang pagpapahalaga mula pa nang pagkakatatag.

Ginawan din ng Matanglawin ng paraan ang kanilang kakulangan ng kasapi sa pamamagitan ng pagpapatibay ng kanilang promosyon noong RecWeek ng Ateneo. Ani Dar, “Nagfocus na rin kami sa memdev (member development) ngayon. Mas pinag-igihan namin ‘yong promo noong RecWeek. That’s why mas maraming members nag-apply this year than last year.”

Inilaan na rin ng Matanglawin ang bahagi ng kanilang badyet sa Facebook ads sa layuning makaábot sila sa mas marami pang tao,

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hindi lamang sa mga Atenista. Sa ganitong paraan, nakaaangkop ang organisasyon sa siksikang impormasyon online. At dahil sa dami ng impormasyong matatagpuan sa internet, nagbago rin maging ang paraan ng kanilang pagsulat. Ayon kay Angela, “Ngayong oversaturated ang information online, napansin ko ring nagbago ‘yong form of writing…iniisip pa natin, paano natin maka-catch yung attention ng mambabasa natin? So, mas binabagay namin yung awtput based doon sa konteksto. Minsan, kung kailangan, iigsian namin ‘yung article para may magbasa pa rin.” Kaya tulad ng minsang paglaya ng mga isyu ng Matanglawin mula sa puwang ng mga aklat patungo sa isyung may ilang pahina, masasabing sa paglaon, unti-unti na ring lumalaya ang kanilang presensiya sa internet.

Sa kabila nito, kinikilala pa rin ng Matanglawin ang salimuot ng pakikipag-ugnayan online. Sa paksang ito, mahalagang punto ang inilatag ni Marcial: “Although students and people click links ng issue, do they really spend time reading them?” aniya.

Ang pag-igting ng distansiyang noon pa ma’y hinaharap na nila ay nananatiling layo na kailangan nilang tawirin. Sa pagpapatuloy, unti-unti mang napunan ang puwang na idinulot ng pandemya, nanatili ang kanilang suliraning distansiya mula sa komunidad ng Ateneo. At sa paglaon ng panahon ng biglaang pagbabago, sa pagpapatuloy ng pandemya, sa pagsabay ng panahon ng halalan, sa pag-usbong ng posibilidad na maluklok sa pagka-presidente ang anak ng yumaong diktador na si Ferdinand Marcos, lalo lamang tumitibay ang pagnanais ng Matanglawin na punan ang puwang na ito. Kasabay ng pagbabago ng politikal na klima sa bansa, nagbabago rin ang Matanglawin upang magsilbing tulay na naguugnay sa masa at sa katotohanan.

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Ang Hinaharap na Distansiya at Distansiya sa Hinaharap Sa pagtalakay sa distansiyang pumapagitan sa Matanglawin at sa komunidad ng Ateneo, mahalagang alamin muna kung ano nga ba ang rason ng pag-iral ng nasabing puwang.

Ani Angela, “Una sa lahat, ‘yung lengguwahe pa lang, ‘yung mga kakilala kong Atenista, sinasabi nilang, hindi kasi sila marunong mag-Filipino.” Sa pahayag niyang ito, masisilip na agad ang isa sa mga pangunahing ugat ng espasyong pumapagitan sa organisasyon at sa mga Atenista: ang wika. Subalit hindi maaaring ikahon sa “wika” ang lahat ng pagkakaibang mayroon ang dalawa, dahil ang totoo, mayroong ilang mag-aaral na mas naaakit pa nga sa mga inililimbag ng Matanglawin dahil sa pagka-Filipino nito.

Ayon kay Luis Changco, isang miyembro ng Matanglawin, “[Kahit nasa] Ateneo, given na yung perception ng mga tao na elitista at puro English, na-appreciate ko na merong Tagalog publication na nagke-cater talaga sa panlasa ng masa.”

At dito masisilip ang tunggalian sa pagkakakilanlan ng Matanglawin. Sa paggamit nito ng wikang Filipino upang lumapit sa masa, tila lumalayo naman ito sa sariling paaralan. Kaya ang mahalagang katanungan ngayon, para nga ba kanino ang publikasyon, sa mga Atenista o sa masa?

Sa katanungang ito, iisa lamang ang sigurado, “hindi para sa lahat ang Matanglawin.”

Isa itong palagiang paalala sa patnugutan ng tagapayo nilang si Dr. Anne Candelaria, at maituturing na pundasyon sa pagtakbo ng pahayagan. Kasabay ng pagkilala ng Matanglawin sa distansiyang mayroon sila sa sariling komunidad ang pagtanggap na hindi naman talaga para sa lahat ang kanilang publikasyon.

Nilalayon ng Matanglawin na mamulat ang mga Atenista sa mga isyung hinaharap ng lipunan, partikular ng masa. Subalit hindi man nila ito maisakatuparan para sa lahat ng mag-aaral ng Ateneo, batid naman nilang ginagawa rin nila ito upang bigyang-tinig ang masang

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sadlak sa pagkakataong mapakinggan. Kaya, mayroon at mayroon pa ring makapagbibigay ng halaga sa sulatin ng Matanglawin, hindi man ito manggaling sa loob ng unibersidad.

“Sa totoo lang, base sa kasaysayan ng Matanglawin, talagang mambabasa ng Matanglawin ang masa. Umaabot ito sa mga magsasaka, mga manggagawa. At yung kasanayang iyon, na umaabot ito sa labas ng komunidad ng Ateneo, ay parang sapat na rin na purpose ng Matanglawin kung bakit kami nandito,” ani Kat. Sa pagpapatuloy ng Matanglawin, nariyan pa rin ang kabatiran sa pag-iral ng kanilang distansiya mula sa mga Atenista—distansiyang pilit pa rin nilang pupunan, tulad ng pagtugon nila sa espasyo sa pagitan ng masa at katotohanan, tulad ng pag-angkop nila sa puwang na pinaigting ng pandemya. At sa mga susunod na buwan at taon, marami pang daan ang maaaring tunguhin ng Matanglawin, lalo pa’t nakasalalay ang kanilang identidad sa mga susunod na maluluklok na awtoridad at nakatataas na uri. Subalit sa kabila ng pabago-bagong kaakuhan ng organisasyon buhat ng pabagobagong distansiya, isang mahalagang prinsipyo ang nananatili sa kanila: ang kanilang pagkiling sa masa. Hindi man ito umayon sa pagpapahalaga ng nakararaming Atenista, magpapatuloy ang Matanglawin sa pagbaba sa bundok, sa pakikisalamuha, at pagtanglaw sa mga taong tunay na idinidistansiya pababa ng mga naghaharing uri.

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Angela Bianca Lee

Gapang o Hinto1 lumipas na ang isang taon ngunit higit lamang na lumabo ang katiyakang makatatapak muli sa agarang panahon ang mga estudyante sa paaralan. Sa patuloy na pagtaas ng bilang ng mga positibong kaso sa COVID-19, patuloy namang bumabawas ang pagganyak at pagtitiyaga ng mga mag-aaral sa online learning.

Bukod sa pahirapan ang pagkuha ng matinong internet at gadget, hindi rin biro pagsabayin ang matuto sa kabila ng mga nakababagabag na pangyayari ngayong pandemya.

Batid ko ang hirap na ito bilang isang iskolar na minsan nang nanalig na edukasyon ang magpapagaan sa aming buhay balang araw. Ngunit kung nahihirapan na ang tulad kong Atenistang iskolar, marahil ay higit pa rito ang suliranin ng mga hindi nakatatamasa ng pribilehiyong nakukuha ko. Mapalad na nga akong maituturing dahil hindi ko na kinakailangang alalahanin pa ang aking pang-matrikula, pati na rin ang laptop dahil may pinapahiram naman ang pamantasan. Subalit, hindi ito sapat na dahilan upang ipasawalang-bahala ang iba pang suliraning hatid ng online learning.

Bagaman sinusubukan, tunay na hindi pa rin mapantayan ng online classes ang kalidad ng edukasyon kapag harap-harapan ang talakayan sa silid. Higit na mas mahirap maunawaan ang mga aralin gayong limitado ang interaksyon ng mag-aaral sa kaniyang guro at kamag-aral. Pinabigat pa ito lalo ng mahina at pawalawalang internet connection na humahadlang sa pakikinig at pakikipagtalastasan ng mga mag-aaral sa klase. Kahit pa makabili ng mobile data, wala ring kasiguraduhan na may masasagap na sapat na signal sa lugar para makadalo sa talakayan.

1 Mula sa Matanglawin Tomo XLV Bilang I, Abril 2021 (Lumalawak na Agwat).

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Nahihirapan din ang mga gurong bantayan at siguraduhin kung naaayon pa rin ang pag-unawa ng estudyante sa aralin. Tila nasanay na ang karamihang habulin na lamang ang bawat patay-guhit upang mairaos ang semestre, kahit pa kadalasan ay naisasantabi na ang diwa ng pagkatuto. Sa kabila ng walang humpay na pag-abot ng tulong at konsiderasyon ng mga guro at administrasyon, hindi pa rin mauubos ang mabigat na pasanin ng mga mag-aaral, pati na rin ng mga empleyado ng paaralan.

Habang hindi natatapos ang pandemya, asahan nang laging may panibagong mabibiktima ang nakamamatay na virus. May mga nababawian ng mga mahal sa buhay. May mga nadadapuan naman ng sakit at nababaon sa utang makapagpagaling lamang sa ospital. Kung hindi man direktang naapektuhan ng virus, maaaring hanapbuhay naman ang nawala sa pamilya. Samantalang may mga ilan din namang hindi na alintana ang banta ng virus sapagkat kailangang unahin munang malamnan ang sikmura at maitaguyod ang bubong ng kanilang tirahan dahil sa kasalatan sa buhay. Sa kabila nito, mas nananaig pa ring isantabi muna ang anumang problemang kinahaharap at igapang na lamang ang pagaaral bilang kapalit.

Anila, maaari namang pansamantalang huminto ang estudyante sa pag-aaral kung hindi na talaga kinakaya ang pagbuhos ng mga suliranin. Ngunit hindi naman lahat ay may pribilehiyong tumigil na lamang sa anumang oras. Ang mga nasa kabilang dulo ng agwat ay higit na mahihirapan kung naantala pa ang edukasyong tanging kayamanan at pag-asang tangan nila upang makaahon sa kahirapan. Hindi naman ibig sabihin na kung tumigil sila sa pagaaral ay makakaligtaan na nila ang kasawiang dinaranas. Hindi rin naman sila madaling makahahanap ng pagkakakitaan ngayong pandemya. Sa sitwasyong ito, naiiwan sa mga kamay ng mag-aaral ang pagiging matiyaga at madiskarte habang tinitiis ang kalbaryong dapat sana ay naibsan ng pamahalaan noong simula pa lamang.

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Hanggang patuloy na nagbabalatkayo at nagbubulag-bulagan ang pamahalaan sa pagdulog ng mga tunay na pangangailangan ng taumbayan, mananatiling paralisado ang lahat ng mga sanga nito tulad na lamang ng mga sistemang pangkalusugan, ekonomiya, at edukasyon. Sa direksyong tinatahak ng mapagsamantalang pamahalaan ngayon, tila patibong at panganib lamang ang kahihinatnan nating lahat sa huli—kabaliktaran sa magandang kinabukasang pinapangarap ng bawat nagsusumikap na mag-aaral.

Ang pagsulong sa academic freeze ay hindi mainam na solusyon dahil inaantala lamang nito ang pagharap sa totoong suliranin. Ngunit hindi rin maaaring ipaubaya sa mga estudyante ang paghanap ng paraan samantalang walang ibang idinudulot ang gobyerno kundi ipasa ang paglutas ng mga problema sa mga indibidwal at institusyong handang tumulong. Sa bawat paghanga natin sa mga matiyaga at maparaang mag-aaral ay lalong naikukubli ang kalapastanganan ng pamahalaan sa pangangasiwa ngayong pandemya. Kung ipagkakaila pa rin ng mga nakaupo sa puwesto ang kanilang kapabayaan, mukhang hinihintay na nga lang nating tuluyang gumuho ang pag-asang makababalik pa tayo sa dating sistemang pang-edukasyong kritikal sa paghubog ng kinabukasan ng bansa.

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To Go Where Needed

Jerome Agpalza Radyo Katipunan

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there was a time for most Atenean students when Radyo Katipunan could only be heard in the e-jeeps if traveling inside the campus, or when heading out or commuting home. The audio would run in-between chatter, and nothing would ever register except the jingle. It was only a name in a banner one could chance upon the grounds, and for those who couldn’t tune in, noise. It wasn’t a visible presence in the students’ lives, but it was there. Then the pandemic happened, and the station announced its arrival at last.

It’s easy to have an impression that Radyo Katipunan (RK) is exclusively run by Jesuit priests. Even before, the station ran programs that were spiritual, with other talk shows featuring the priests on campus. As it seemed, the appeal to the Atenean student was that the station was an extension of what they were already doing in classrooms. This is plainly wrong. What’s unfortunate is that it took a global pandemic for the community to realize what it was. Through this difficult time, RK revealed itself to be a vital pillar in the community when they went all out to connect where they were needed the most.

Persevering through the Pandemic When time stopped in Ateneo de Manila University, the station continued to produce content on its pages. “People were thirsty for spiritual nourishment,” Justin Pontino, RK’s Station Chief, shared with the group. “And, of course, the source of that—for most of them—is attending a Liturgical Mass. We stopped operations only for a few days, and that’s where we decided: “Okay…trip lang, mag Misa [tayo]!” So, they did; and it was anything but easy.

During the Holy Week of 2020, with the solemnity coinciding with the first waves of ECQ, everyone was lost. The team couldn’t be physically present on campus to set up the live streams, so they

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taught the priests—the only people left on campus—to do so.

Some of them were technologically challenged. They could only operate the easier devices, like the webcams, which were humble but just enough to livestream the Masses. This meant that they had to settle for the Celebration to happen in small rooms. The truth is, RK’s people were also as lost as everyone is in dealing with everything else. But the show continued. “The pandemic never stopped us from being creative, being productive.” Jennifer Chua, RK’s Administration Manager, proudly notes. The beginning of the pandemic challenged RK’s determined and courageous volunteers.

Later on, the station started streaming daily Masses (see Keep the Faith: Daily Mass for Hope and Healing). It was in this development that RK found its footing in the digital space. The community started to notice the station’s presence as all were, indeed, thirsty for spiritual nourishment. Thousands of viewers flocked to tune in to the Holy Mass in the comfort of their homes.

Ateneo’s alumni, faculty, and students from all parts of the globe populated the station’s livestream on their Facebook and Youtube pages. The breakthrough was mostly due to the fact that the decision to hold the program is true to RK’s mission. Even before the pandemic, their programs have been pointed and purposeful.

The audiences could simply feel good, relieved. It just so happens that, in isolation, it was the Word of the Lord that the community terribly needed.

When the quarantine restrictions gradually eased, the capacity for production also got better. The station thrived even more. As time went by, RK began to cover masses inside the church. One could even recall that it was RK who streamed the Requiem Mass for the late President Noynoy Aquino for the Filipinos (see Hindi Ka Nag-iisa: Requiem Masses for Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino, III).

RK’s newfound shine happened as if the station never tried to connect to the people in these spaces, when they have been since the beginning.

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The station’s success resulted in more programs produced for the community. “They are clustered in four kinds,” Justin says.

There are, of course, the spiritual and inspirational programs, the core of the part where the organization is Jesuit. It involves the campus ministry service of the station, as well as the shows hosted by Jesuit priests and fathers. Then there are the educational programs. They are run by different schools in the Loyola Schools, mostly the Humanities and Social Sciences schools. There are also public service activities wherein Radyo is enjoined with other units of the Ateneo. These programs and activities are centered on community building. Lastly, there are the entertainment segments, which is where one could find all things fun.

The pandemic posed enough logistical issues for a lot of industries in the world, but radio production could be challenging as it is. Bianca Orenciana, one of RK’s volunteers, narrates how difficult the station’s process could be. In other campus radio stations, production is managed by different departments. “Dito, we only really have one station manager who ties all of the programs together,” she laments. “It’s easy when you’re just watching it from Facebook or YouTube, but what happens before that is a different world.”

RK is managed by the Jesuit Communications Foundation (JesCom), and the team poured in fond stories of how the organization could be “lagari.” They all agreed that this spirit of ever-ready volunteerism is what keeps the airwaves filled after all this time. “Kung hindi siguro nag-pursige si Fr. Nono, walang nangyari,” Jennifer adds to their initial struggles of the pandemic. She recalls how Fr. Nono Alfonso, the Executive Director of JesCom Philippines, urged the team. “He kept asking everyone: What can we do? What can we do? Sabi niya lagi sa amin. Buti Justin and I could continue [working].” It turns out that Fr. Nono was the one who persevered and led RK’s determined and courageous volunteers.

That same perseverance is what conceived Radyo Katipunan.

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Beginnings JesCom’s banner film, Ignacio de Loyola, was first screened for Filipinos at the Solaire Theater in Parañaque. It was hosted by Ateneo’s alumni; and as fate would have it, one Atenean in that batch is Lito Yabut, the Secretary of KBP (Kapisanan ng mga Broadkaster ng Pilipinas). “He [Yabut] has the means to do broadcasting,” Jennifer fondly recalls the night. “When Fr. Nono and Lito Yabut were on the same ride home, he kept asking; what can they do to help JesCom more?” That’s when the two discussed how Fr. Jett Villarin, SJ, Ateneo’s University President at that time, was keen to establish a community radio station for Ateneo. The team reveal how the university’s Communication Department was supposed to handle the project, but in the end was suggested to be left to JesCom. Mr. Yabut became instrumental with the station's inception: he assisted the station in securing its radio license, and with the same generosity, he provided the team with some equipment they needed to begin.

Beginnings always entail some birthing pains. RK, for all that it is now, experienced this pang from all directions. From hurdling the institution’s bureaucracies in procuring additional equipment, to setting up shop in a minuscule 3x3 meter room, to figuring out the intricacies of running a station themselves, the stories from JesCom’s team were nothing short of wonderful. However, their biggest challenge then, they all agreed, wasn’t radio’s technicalities. It was how they were going to reach their audiences.

Lester Mendiola, Jesuit Music Ministry’s Director, chimes in. “If I remember it right, we tried to put ourselves in the PA system.

Nag-materialize ba doon?” Jennifer recalls that there were a lot of restrictions. “Even for the E-Jeeps, we hoped that they played our station, but they weren’t really on board.”

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What is a community radio that couldn’t connect to its community? Before they set-up their franchise and touch the airwaves, the team sought the help of the late Ka Louie Tabing, a friend from DZMM. “He was a community radio expert,” Bianca says. Ka Louie had apparently set up various community radio stations from the country’s rural areas, even in neighboring East Timor. The man wrote the manual How To Do Community Radio and the team studied all the details they had to remember. “Okay, so kailangan may franchise ka; you need all of these permits, tapos kumbaga ito talaga ang radius ng community radio para ma-consider siya as a community radio,” she explains. “We really explored the PA system, but there were many restrictions.”

The station began its test broadcast on Ash Wednesday of 2017. By August 2018, against all odds, they were up and running at 87.9 FM. The early days saw the Jesuits in the campus chip in to create and host their own programs; admins and a few faculty volunteered too, and RK was merely a small team of volunteers.

Since then, the station has seen changes. More students joined JesCom in manning the station’s departments, and programs got bigger and better. The pandemic came, and it reinforced the need for the station’s production to lean on social media channels. The success it gathered allowed the team to imagine RK beyond what it is now—plans for the station to deliver content on-demand, like podcasts. Averaging a few thousand hits for their current programs, and their livestream Masses, it could be said that RK found the “kiliti” of the community they’re trying to reach. Yet the question remains hanging above their heads.

Going Where Needed RK’s struggle to connect to the Ateneo community remains to look a long way ahead. It is true that they have found their audience

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during the pandemic, but the station’s total livestream hits only indicate that their shows are needed, and indeed enjoyed. What of the people’s pulse? The Voice of the Blue Eagle—that is RK’s motto.

There still remains an acknowledged gap between the project and the Ateneo community at large. As it was revealed, this gap takes root even before the station’s existence. “Non-existent!” Bianca exclaims. “We were not really recognized as an official institution on the Ateneo. Ang nag recognize lang talaga sa amin si Fr. Jett.”

“When we started there in Sonolux [building], we were the ones trying to bring ourselves out there in the community, so that we can be part of their history.” Justin recalls. “But then again, it wasn’t the case that time, and the only [ways] that we are somehow connected to Ateneo is, of course, the same values that we espouse, bilang we are also a Jesuit institution… That’s the common ground that we have.” Justin has been Radyo Katipunan’s coordinator since the middle of 2019, but he was one of the first ones to witness the station’s struggle to tether its first links to the community. To think about it, how could a radio station, initiated and tended for by affiliates outside Ateneo, be the voice of the blue eagle? The answer is in its values.

This proud station, which until today is composed only of volunteers, carries its ethos to every show they produce. Ateneo’s admin, alumni, Jesuit priests, and affiliates, all work together to produce RK’s shows. From the spiritual programs to the entertainment segments, everything is rooted and guided by Ignatian values and spirituality. And behind the scenes, the people forming the group are moved by it. Anthony Perez, JesCom’s resident writer, shares: Ang naalala ko dito is St. Ignatius’s Prayer of Generosity. To serve without asking for a reward…Radyo Katipunan, we don’t get support from the macro level, pero among ourselves—all of us know that the services we’re putting in here, even if it’s

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not making so much noise, but what we get out of it, can you imagine?…You’re not receiving extra centavos or extra pesos here, but how come it’s still going on for the past four years? It’s the values Radyo Katipunan espouses.

Despite the station’s tireless perseverance to engage with the community—producing a variety of programs to cater to all its audience—there is still an unnamed force that distances RK to the community. Until today, the team still recounts stories of the station’s difficulty to pull support from various departments in Ateneo. “Our initial expectation is sana that there could be more integration, and not just us serving,” says Bianca. “I guess it’s really more of the ma-tap na sana yung untapped platform, where [they] see the value of paano nila gagamitin talaga yung Radyo.” The nagging problem to connect starts at the core of the community, nearest to the station. Against the conversation, Chua declares: If you don’t get support, do you just sit there? Maghihintay ka na lang ba ng grasya? You make miracles. When we started, it was just a storage room with a webcam…But now it’s ‘more than.’

If we set boundaries on ourselves and on what we feel that the university is giving us, hindi mo maibibigay yung tamang service to all—the community, worldwide.

More than the communities in Katipunan, Ateneans, and alumni, RK’s presence in the digital space allows them to reach strangers from all over the world. Once again, the team stress how enormous and important that responsibility is. As Justin sums it up, “Radyo Katipunan as [a] service is doing good for the greater good.

Doing more for the better more.”

In a poignant turn, at the end of the discussion, the team imagined a simple question: Where do you see RK in the future?

Everyone shared their wonderful visions for the organization.

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Perhaps Bianca puts it best, “Where it’s headed and where it has been significantly relied on how the Ateneo is structured: Ano ba ang pangangailangan ng community that we serve?” This could be what Fr. Jett wanted, and what Fr. Nono could possibly be persevering to attain all this time. A community radio station, not situated in the center to be heard, but in the periphery to listen. “The Ignatian value to go where you are needed,” she adds.

RK has been doing their due diligence—going where needed— and they continue to outdo themselves. The only step that remains is if the community decides to come closer instead.

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Radyo Katipunan. Keep the Faith: Daily Mass for Healing. Holy Mass. Watch daily at https://www.facebook.com/radyokatipunan

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Radyo Katipunan. Hindi Ka Nag-iisa: Requiem Masses for Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino, III. Holy Mass. From https://fb.watch/cqoSxUXiG4/.

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Radyo Katipunan. Hindi Ka Nag-iisa: Requiem Masses for Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino, III. Holy Mass. From https://fb.watch/cqoSxUXiG4/.

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No Ultimo Adios

Marcus Abalos Sahagun and John Divinagracia Rizal Library Ambassadors

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From an apple core, the worm wriggles out of the web and into the sunlight.

She surges like a dream and skips on a breeze, hastening from one branch to another. Here, in this white-walled tree of knowledge, she peruses from leaf to leaf, nibbling on the fine edges. She takes chunks from several leaves, and she knows a great deal about World War I and II, the cappe barra, how gravity works, Ten Things to Do on a Date. Another bite, and she learns of God in many names, from Ahura Mazda to Zeus. Bite again, and she knows (in)famous names like Marcos, Rizal, Aguinaldo, Bonifacio, Mabini, Luna, Paterno, Quezon, Aquino, and beyond. The bookworm lounges on a comfy seat—perhaps it is her favorite spot (not too cold in the rush of an air-conditioner, yet not too hot in a stale area), or it is the only spot available whenever the library gets astonishingly full—and she departs from everywhere and everywhen towards everything in particular.

* people often wonder why libraries even matter. In an age of digital interconnection and feasible access to information, why bother to travel from the comfort of your seat to library shelves? For many, libraries serve as a hub for student activity, relaxation from a stressful day’s labor, and social gatherings. Libraries welcome students with a conducive learning environment offering booths that sell snacks, access to board games that students can play, and other activities. More importantly, libraries provide good spaces for one to learn new things within and outside the academe, research topics the student may have been first confused about from class lessons, and meet new people. When someone grows up with the library, they can use the knowledge gained from the library to help family, friends, the self, and the community. In time, one learns how to be better, how to choose the more loving option—how to be a true scholar of the country.

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Ms. Elvira B. Lapuz of the UP-Diliman library highlights how libraries play a key role in nation-building, especially when the UN Sustainable Development Goals are in the picture. Libraries can directly contribute to all seventeen SDGs with the information they can provide people, particularly in the SDGs of Quality Education; Peace, Justice, and Strong Institutions; and Partnership for the Goals. With the internet, the capacity of the library to provide for these goals is augmented by, as Ms. Elvira says, “providing correct, accurate, verifiable information in whatever format, in whatever platform. Be it online, be it print, be it traditional, there is no competition there.”

But now, libraries are facing a malignant terror. At the Ateneo de Manila University, Rizal Library (RL), the university’s library, has experienced severe drawbacks in its advocacy to promote information accessibility and literacy to the Ateneo community due to the COVID-19 pandemic. It has especially been most severe for the Rizal Library Ambassadors (RLA), the student arm of RL whose primary raison d’être is to help students navigate the libraries and their resources through library services as “the bridge between student and RL.” Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, repeated lockdowns, and inaccessibility to library resources, RL had begun to decline in its importance and impact on the community.

As a result, RLA needed to be more flexible in promoting their advocacy as well as adding on to it as the ever-changing context demanded. To accomplish this, they altered their structure during the pandemic to better promote their raison d’etre.

Since the heyday of RLA, the organization’s advocacy scarcely changed from its original mission and vision, although it has had to adapt to present political contexts and circumstances. A succinct history of RLA’s genesis and original advocacy is expressed most proficiently by one of its founding members, Karryl Sagun:

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It was actually called the Ateneo BookBench. I was working in the Rizal Library that time, handling library promotion, events, and social media. I wanted to involve students, and at the same time, Pia Ranada (who is now with Rappler) wanted to have a book club of sorts. So we came together and BookBench was born. This was in 2011. When I left (mid-2014)…BookBench was converted to RLA, and from volunteer work, a budget was set aside so students were paid. When it started, I really just wanted the library to be for students, and in order to do that, they needed to be involved. I couldn’t speak for its advocacy now, but I imagine it’s not too different from when we started.

Following this advocacy, RLA continued to uphold the call for student involvement and readiness of library services through promotional activities the organization orchestrated within the campus. As Jenica Ambrosio, the outgoing Associate Vice President (AVP) for Project Collabs and former Vice President for Project Management, claims, RLA once conducted several activities in preCOVID-19 times, such as the Freshman Library Tours, Film Nights, special screening at the library, and a book donation drive called Hiraya. All of these projects aimed to familiarize the Atenean with the vast collection their library had to offer.

Like other organizations, RLA has had to change in the wake of the pandemic. “[W]e were planning a lot of different projects for onsite, which unfortunately did not push through because we had to shift to the online setting,” Jenica admits. As a result, onsite activities were suspended by RL until further notice. Thus, RLA diverged their resources and skills into the online structure.

The organization decided to not be limited by its original mantra of being the “bridge between students and RL.” As such, they began to include wider scopes in the formation of access to information. include wider scopes in the formation of access to information.

Recently, there have been initiatives by RLA to include media and

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information literacy into their list of advocacies. This can be best exemplified by the first online iteration of Hiraya entitled Punyagi.

Through the project, they helped raise a total of P32,300 for the Jesuit Bukidnon Mission which aided four schools in the area.

Through Hiraya, RLA also held a webinar series where key issues surrounding libraries were raised. Among the speakers were Dr. Vernon Totanes, RL’s Director, who pointed out Republic Act No. 7743 which mandates the creation of libraries throughout the Philippines. However, no funds have actually been set aside for this mandate, leaving a severely low number of libraries across the Philippines.

This is a far cry from the intention of the law. On the same webinar, speaker Ms. Jennifer B. Dimasaca, Officer-in-Charge of the Bibliographic Services Division in the National Library of the Philippines (NLP), recommended for more opportunities and an overhaul of systems in regards to the libraries, especially in the rural areas.

The inclusion of speakers from RL, UP-Diliman Library, and NLP underlines a key transition in strategy for the organization as it not only focuses on the students it serves, but also integrates into its advocacies a bigger picture of literacy development. The call to action was clear, especially to the institutions that help garner and safekeep knowledge: A clear overhaul is needed in order to protect libraries, as their role is important in nation development. This is emphasized by President Angela Yap, who points out: We didn’t grow up, unlike kunwari Western countries or East Asian countries, where people really read books, or there’s a library every 10 km radius or something. For Filipinos, it’s not like that…[T]here is a law that there should be a library in every barangay, but what ends up happening is that there’s a small library and then a big basketball court. So I think siguro as Filipinos, we got used to not going to the library for information.

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I guess it’s a habit that most people have. That’s why you know, when it came to the online setting, it’s like what Angge mentioned, nawala ang physical space so it kind of like dissolved.

The prevalence of this societal norm is especially discouraging and detrimental to libraries and the attainment of their goal. Only a small number of people know that they have a library in their municipality—statistically, only 75% of cities, 68% of provincial areas, 40% of municipalities, and a staggering 2% of all barangays have public libraries in their respective areas (Macapagal 2018).

The recent changes accentuate a new challenge with RLA; as promoting resources is not enough, being literate enough is also an area of concern. The challenge lies in making the people engaged with such an advocacy. Given the current context of the world, it is understandable why some people regard advocacies such as literacy with lessened priority. As the Vice President for Project Management Patricia Dela Cruz notes, it is “difficult to encourage students to join [activities] because we have to take into account din na busy sila and the interest of people is very limited na lang din especially in the online setting.”

Hence, a new mentality was adopted by RLA. More than just being a bridge, RLA also began reaching out to the students through new and online promotional activities. As Jenica promptly says, “[For] the online setting, we had to put ourselves out there.”

First on their slate was Pepe’s Recommendations. “The idea [of Pepe’s Recommendations] is to promote not just the journal and other literature found in RL resources through the databases and such, but also the movies and other creative, more visual mediums through databases like Canopy,” explains Chiong Stephanie, the Assistant Vice President for Brand Management.

Second was Hiraya, a periodic event known best as the book donation drive held during November when RLA celebrates the National Library Month. The most recent one contained activities

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like narrative contests as well as webinars between LS students and other institutions in order to enrich advocacies while helping other libraries, as Dela Cruz mentions.

Finally, there were minor but important promotional activities such as posters, private messaging, FinePrint (see Alvarez’s article), and other updates by the library that the RL wanted to relay. Trying to do novel things as a response to the pandemic is what RLA accomplished in the form of its narrative contest which aimed “to explore the creative side of LS student[s],” Patricia articulates.

Quite recently, RLA has released a new program that encapsulates the idea of reaching out to the Ateneo community. Known as Rizal Library Canvas, the program allows students to navigate through Canvas and learn more about the online databases of the RL. It includes a helpful array of services, such as instructions on how to access online databases, print materials, and class readings, how to find an article for your thesis or project, which librarian to contact if you need them, and an evaluation form that allows you to rate the project’s efficiency.

The RL Canvas even has an online version of the Hugot Wall, a tribute to the real one found on the 3rd Floor of RL’s First Pacific Hall. This supplementary program was installed on February 16, 2022, and is, essentially, the spiritual successor and online equivalent to the Freshman Library Tours.

This change in structure and strategy certainly corresponds with RLA’s advocacy for media and information literacy, especially with the recent installation of RL Canvas. “[W]e had to maximize online work management systems, Google Workspace, and all that to really accommodate every internal processes,” says Angeline Descamiento, Vice President for Promotions. “[P]reviously we had work opportunities in the library like encoding and helping out the librarians and all that…during online [learning], it’s more marketing work.”

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However, not only has RLA experienced challenges in connecting with the student body, but issues pervade even in its own members: “[O]ne of the challenges not just for our org but most orgs is that only those in the officership positions or committees are directly involved,” Angeline confesses, adding how regular members have become less involved. This in turn makes it difficult for the students to effectively utilize RL, as well as expediting the problems already presented when it comes to protecting libraries.

Now, with another shift coming its way back onsite, the organization is preparing for another transition, when students can finally gain easier access to the physical library. Even now, RL Canvas is incorporating comments made by a handful of professors that can bode well in an onsite context. With a passionate team behind its projects, only time will tell as to what initiatives the organization conducts in the promotion of media and information literacy.

Despite the difficulties and transitions, RLA, partnered with the library, continues to serve the Ateneo community while promoting its advocacies of information literacy. RL is certainly not gone, and it certainly has not lost its fundamental purpose for the Ateneo community. Stephanie, Assistant Vice President for Content Creation, perfectly sums up in parting: “Whether we’re online or onsite, the library stands to provide information access to students regardless of the situation. So regardless, RLA knows where we stand with our roles as ambassadors.”

* Growing a tree can be difficult: you try to find nutritious soil and the right environment, and when it is sufficient you plant the seed and spend days and hours just tending to its needs. It is a delicate beginning. But there comes a time when it just grows on its lonesome and spreads across the sky and beneath the earth. When it needs you no more; when it outlives a mere

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lifetime. It will bear fruit one day, and you can have a bite if you want, or share a bite with family, friends, enemies, strangers. The bookworm knows the tree will continue to grow no matter what. Right now, though, it is not old enough to grow on its own. It will need help. This was why she joined the student body that helped students like her navigate the libraries. This was why she became an ambassador–a speaker for this one tree amongst many.

Whether she works online or onsite, it matters little. She will adapt. And knowledge can do nothing more but grow.

References Macapagal, Maria Juanita R. Status of Philippine Public Libraries and Librarianship: A Research Report. Manila: National Library of the Philippines, 2018.

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Moniv Alessandra Alvarez

Breaking the Glass Ceiling: A Story of Women in the Ateneo1 as we celebrate Women’s History Month this March; it is important to look back at the women who have shaped our history and the reason why women continue the fight for equality. Women have had to fight for their rights to vote, equal pay, and the right to education among other things. Now, although some progress has been made, the challenges that disproportionately affect women continue.

It is estimated that almost a third of women globally, about 736 million women, have been subjected to physical and/or sexual intimate partner violence, non-partner sexual violence, or both at least once in their lifetime. Violence against women is also more common in low and lower-middle-income countries and regions.

Despite the fight for education, women still make up more than two-thirds of the world’s 796 million illiterate people, a problem that not only affects women but the children of those women as data from 68 countries indicates that a woman’s education is a key factor that determines a child’s survival. This women’s month, it is important that we remember the women who came before us, the strides they had to take, and the glass ceilings they had to break.

One such woman was Dr. Mary Racelis.

Dr. Racelis was the first female professor in Ateneo. After returning to the Philippines with a doctorate in Anthropology from the University of Chicago, Fr. Frank Lynch began organizing Ateneo’s Department of Sociology and Anthropology in 1960 and later offered Dr. Racelis a job. Although there were few women who 1 From Rizal Library Ambassadors FinePrint March 2022 Issue

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taught in the Ateneo graduate school at the time, both students and teachers for the undergraduate level were exclusively men.

“There were no women on campus that I recall so he [Fr. Lynch] maneuvered a way so that I could teach an undergraduate course,” Dr. Racelis said. Fr. Lynch devised a plan so that Dr. Racelis could teach undergraduates for graduate credit.

This was part of a larger plan to get the social sciences into the Ateneo curriculum, a plan that was heavily criticized by the Theology and Philosophy departments at the time. “They felt that we were intruders, that we were these secular people, that we were going to undermine the whole spirituality of Ateneo,” Dr. Racelis added. As years went on and the Anthropology department kept pressing and more Jesuits supported the teaching of the behavioral sciences, more women managed to get into the curriculum since more women studied and taught Anthropology and Sociology.

Dr. Racelis had to learn how to maneuver around male-oriented structures and take these in stride, a strategy that helped her when was working for the United Nations and one that came in handy during her first few years of teaching, especially when Ateneo was debating whether they would allow women among their ranks and become a co-education school. Recounting her experience of fighting for co-education, Dr. Racelis noted how there was much opposition from the University Senate, the senate of faculty members composed of tenured professors, many of whom were male. “They said ‘Ateneo is great because it has men who are going to be the future leaders of society. Women are not in positions of leadership so what’s the point of teaching women? They’re taking the place of men who are going to become the future leaders so why are we going to bring in women?’” recounted Dr. Racelis.

After several surveys and a handful of influential Jesuits such as Fr. Joseph O’Hare, showing their support for co-education, the university finally accepted female students. Dr. Racelis’s fight for co-education in the Ateneo did not end when women were admitted

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in the late 1960s but continued on as she pressed the university to give women the same treatment as men even in small details such as uniforms. Originally, women were supposed to wear uniforms to stop them from “showing off one another”, a move that Dr. Racelis opposed since the male students were not subjected to such rules.

“When you see injustice, in any form, even when it’s not critical to life, you have to point it out,” Dr. Racelis said.

The Philippines has come a long way since the 1970s. Now, our country boasts one of the smallest gender disparities in the world and is ranked as Asia’s top performer in closing the gender gap. Women and their contributions, though often overlooked, have always existed. And though some of these contributions have been lost to history, what remains are being studied, compiled, and curated by educational institutions. One such institution is the Ateneo Library of Women’s Writings (ALIWW), an archival facility and one of the Special Collections of the Rizal Library which functions to “Help researchers and performing basic to advance preservation practices in organizing and maintaining the collection,” according to Marie Edelquin Quidic, assigned librarian and supervisor at ALIWW. ALIWW was established in 1994 by Dr. Edna Manlapaz and Dr. Soledad Reyes. It is the first of its kind in the Philippines and this part of the world and it aims to its three Ps: "Procure, Preserve, and Promote" writings by, and about, Filipino women in various fields of discipline such as Literature, Journalism, History, Medicine, and more. According to Quidic, ALIWW is a special place where Filipino women’s writings are preserved and their accomplishments celebrated, inspiring younger generations of Filipino women.

ALIWW is a project aimed to advocate for gender equality, a reminder that women have an equal share of contributions in libraries. “Without documents, no history exists,” says Quidic quoting Dr. Edna Manlapaz. “By providing the researchers with access to primary resources, ALiWW facilitates the writing of a national history that includes and acknowledges the contribution

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of Filipino women. The archival materials make a library collection unique from the other libraries across the Philippines and other countries.”

“I think women in literature continually grow as time passes by,” says Quidic. It is true that more women are making their mark, not just in literature but in other fields as well such as social services.

“We need many more women in congress, and local government, especially now with the Mandanas ruling, where much more money is going to local authorities, that’s going to be where the action is, because that’s where social services get delivered and where women are involved in social services, they make a difference,” says Dr. Racelis.There is still much work to be done in terms of furthering women’s rights, but as Dr. Racelis has stated, there must be a continual push to oppose the status quo. But of course, as the world is cohabited by both men and women, men also play a big role in the fight for women’s rights. When men understand the plight of women, they become invaluable allies.

References Dalisay., Dr. S. N. M. (n.d.). Mary Racelis: Engaged Anthropologist.

Anthro.upd.edu.ph. Retrieved March 21, 2022, from https:// anthro.upd.edu.ph/centennial/100-anthropologists/41-maryracelis-engaged-anthropologist Philippine Commission on Women. (n.d.). Philippines drops 8 places in gender equality, remains top in Asia | Philippine Commission on Women. Pcw.gov.ph. https://pcw.gov.ph/ philippines-drops-8-places-in-gender-equality-remains-top-inasia/#:~:text=The%20Philippines%20remains%20the%20 top

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UN Women. (2019). Facts & Figures. UN Women. h t t p s : / / w w w. u n w o m e n . o r g / e n / n e w s / i n - f o c u s / commission-on-the-status-of-women-2012/facts-and-figures UN Women. (2021, March). Facts and figures: Ending violence against women. UN Women. https://www.unwomen.org/en/ what-we-do/ending-violence-against-women/facts-and-figures

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Discovering the Identity of TA and Theater in the Midst of a Pandemic

Miguel Arroyo and Eric Christopher V. Tan Tanghalang Ateneo

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“the show must go on.”

Theater was once an enclosed area where you could immerse yourself in a live performance right in front of you. But with the recent global pandemic, theater has faced a sizable hurdle.

Audiences and theater practitioners’ health would be put at high risk in a face-to-face production now, especially since one takes two to three hours on average. Many theater organizations were subsequently forced to shut down and discontinue their productions indefinitely. Against this backdrop, it is fortunate that Tanghalang Ateneo (TA) was able to continue to run as a theater organization in an online setting. Now, TA is finding its way into what theater really is, as well as discovering its own identity as a theater organization in an online setting.

Founded in 1972, TA is the longest-running theater company of Ateneo de Manila University, with this year being its 43rd season.

Notable artistic directors and moderators have found their home in the organization, including Ricardo Saludo, Dr. Ricardo G. Abad, nine-time Palanca winner Glenn Sevilla Mas, and Palanca-award winning playwright Guelan Varela-Luarca. Acclaimed actors and outstanding playwrights, designers, and choreographers who have been part of TA’s artistic staff include Naty Crame-Rogers, Rene Villanueva, Irma Adlawan, Noni Buencamino, Gino Gonzales, Teroy Guzman, Bodjie Pascua, Floy Quintos, Frances MakilIgnacio, Myra Beltran, Leeroy New, and Ed Lacson, Jr. TA’s productions stimulate imagination and provoke critical thought. At the heart of the organization is the drive to tell stories that are relevant to the Filipino experience. Patrick “Pat” Ong, the Publicity Coordinator of TA, tells us that “no matter how big or how small the change is, if your story is worth telling, it’s important that we find a way to tell it, so that you hear the voices of these people, of these characters, of these stories.”

TA isn’t afraid to push the boundaries of theater and experiments with different kinds of it, such as world and contemporary classics,

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Filipino originals, and other experimental adaptations like forum theater. In TA, theater stays alive and manages to retain its meaning.

This, combined with telling stories that encapsulate pressing issues and adapt to the current times, made TA open its arms to the transition to an online setting—but not without its struggles.

For many, a large part of what makes theater, theater, is the communal experience. This, however, is not the same in an online setup. Francisco “Yabs” Yabut, Theater Manager of TA, states, “because even while you’re in Zoom, sometimes it still feels alone, especially when everyone’s muted, na parang okay what am I doing here? You’re just sitting in front of a screen, instead of just…doing things. A lot of body language, as well, has been lost…So it’s been more tiring to interact with people.” Indeed, one can’t help but ask, what is theater without the stage?

The use of technology for theater, as with many other things, quickly became much more prevalent. New skills had to be learned and developed albeit being a tough struggle. As Pat mentions: [There were] growing pains in the learning process of when we were first adjusting to theater…There were a lot of things that were foreign to theater practices…So one of those was DnP [Documentations and Publications], their job was taking pictures in the theater, and so as productions went along, especially in Password: 03dipu5_r3x, they suddenly had to, you know, face this mountain of learning how to video edit.

Moving the art from the stage to the screen meant blurring the line between film and theater. Though this shift was challenging, it also allowed the organization to showcase its ability to experiment and adapt. They played around with live performances, like with some segments of their production, Makbetamaximus. On the other end of the spectrum, they also put up works like Lamon Babae, which lent itself heavily to the medium of film, being purely pre-recorded,

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and making use of different shots and angles. Somewhere in between the two was their adaptation of Password: 03dipu5_r3x, which was pre-recorded, but sought to replicate the experience of the stage through having long takes and unchanging angles: a filmed theater.

Besides this, the feeling of working in an online theater is very different. As the online productions are pre-recorded, online theater isn’t live anymore. There isn’t a physical audience in the theater. Yabs says: Personally for me, someone who has gone through onsite theater, there’s no adrenaline in online theater. It’s quite rare, ‘cause when you’re in the onsite theater…prior to the show, that’s when the adrenaline is kicking in…It’s the excitement, everything is like live. So when you mess up, people will see that and you can’t make up for that mistake, and that’s the exciting part of theater, that we don’t necessarily have it.

The shift to the online platform meant more competition. Fulllength musicals and plays, most notably Hamilton, are available on streaming services, such as Disney Plus. Aside from this, Philippine Educational Theater Association (PETA), Repertory Philippines, and other local theater companies have also landed their productions to an online setting.

The scale of theater has also become smaller. Yabs mentions, “When you try to make something big in an online theater, it costs a lot, and…the returns, the people who watch…are quite low.

Transportation has also become much more expensive considering that props have to be delivered from location to location, instead of simply transporting it to one place.” For these reasons, it has been hard for TA to earn, and thus, TA has been heavily reliant on patronage or subsidies.

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Of course, the organization’s challenges did not end there.

The production of TA’s plays took on a very different approach from what had been the norm prior to the pandemic. Lockdown restrictions and the looming threat of the virus forced actors to learn how to operate sound and camera equipment and how to set up sets and props, as a crew could not be physically present with them. The vagueness of the boundary between film and theater also meant a need for video editors and post-production processes, both of which the organization had minimal experience with.

One of TA’s first forays into the online theater was Lamon Babae.

Lia Castro, the Stage Manager for the production, admits, “It was a very new experience because it was my first production online and my first time stage managing compared to my year onsite being an usher for my trainee prod Antigone. It was much easier interacting and collaborating with people. Online, there was a clear disconnect, especially if you still didn’t know anyone from onsite.”

Given that it wasTA’s first attempt at filming and staging remotely, there were some challenges. For instance, one of the cast members of the production lived in Nueva Ecija. This made it difficult to plan transportation for tech and props, given that they needed to arrive at specific times to make it for rehearsals and shoots. In order to learn how to edit and frame shots, the Lamon Babae team went into an agreement with Loyola Film Circle in order to source editors to work and teach TA’s members. During the production process of the play, they tried to simulate the look of actors performing in the same space, as if the audience was still watching a theater play.

Ani Andal, the writer for one of TA’s latest productions Mga Anghell, provides a perspective of someone who has only experienced an online production in the organization (see Mga Anghell). They say, “The production phase was very much a learning experience for me, in the sense that I got to experience how it is to write plays…The production really opened my eyes to what was practical, and whether something was actually doable or not. It’s a

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student organization. We don’t have the biggest budget so we have to make do with what we have.”

There are two elements to an online stage production. First is that it’s online. For Mga Anghell, this meant that any scenes which had two characters physically interacting had to be revised or changed. Ani says, “You have to maintain social distancing.

And when you have people living in Metro Manila and another in the province, and given the distance it’s not really practical.” The second element to online theater is, as the name suggests, theater.

The limits of face-to-face theater is the stage. With online theater this limit is made even smaller; the limit becomes the frame. The staging has to fit within a single frame otherwise the action won’t be portrayed.

In the writing of Mga Anghell, Ani says how they planned to have a chain connecting each of the characters. This was impossible due to the staging being online, and the actors being in different parts of the country. Framing became much more important. Instead of having the characters literally connected by a single chain, they tried to convey the same interaction through unique framing.

Another play that was staged online was TA’s Makbetamaximus, a Filipino adaptation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth (see Makbetamaximus). As TA’s most experimental piece, Makbetamaximus pushed the boundaries of what theater in the online setting meant. Franco “Coco” Pineda, one of the people who worked on the production, says, “it borrowed a lot of elements from screenplay and video editing and effects to portray what was to be a script written online. Not to mention it was a rap opera type of production.” Something unique to the production was that the sounds that were used in the play were made before the production, as opposed to what is usually done with scoring after production.

This meant actors had to act and practice their lines alongside the tracks prepared. Makbetamaximus also employed the use of very minimalistic costumes so that it would be easier to edit the actors and make it seem like they were acting in the same space.

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Despite all the numerous issues TA faced, TA was able to be the first college theater company to create and release an online production, that being Makbetamaximus. As to how they were able to manage the shift so quickly to an online setting, Pat mentions, “It boiled down to two things…the workshops, and also a lot of patience…we didn’t have editors, so we started from scratch, and then…on my side, my office, the PC [Publicity Coordinator] office, we had to pick up a lot of skills, because a lot of things were happening…the workshops to pick up, new skills, and then, patience for people who are developing those skills.”

Since then, TA has been growing and adapting to online theater.

Yabs also says, “What we basically did to adjust…was to wing it, and then learn from our mistakes ‘cause it’s always just trial and error when it comes to something new.”

One of the significant changes made during the pandemic is TA’s Human Resources department and their focus on member wellbeing and formation. Yabs mentions: We’ve always been overlooking the importance of the welfare— of our members. Kasi I mean, if you’re in any art form, halos hindi exaggerated yung mga movies katulad ng Whiplash…everyone romanticizes the obsession of art, the anything to strive for it, but people forget that art is something meant for the people…

Another thing that we have done is to…also respond from previous years…from the toxic environment…to be more understanding, to be, yun nga as Pat said, to be more patient, but more than patient, to be kind…to really put importance on mental health.

Online productions and online theater are still very much alive.

Technical teams, such as set and props, lights, sounds, are active even without a physical stage. Whether it’s film or theater, or a mix of both, the essence of theater is still present and that’s what

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matters. According to Yabs, “...we come to realize a lot of theater or what makes theater, theater, is the philosophy, the theory behind it as well and the approach that we have, the traditions that we have that makes it theater.”

But considering the ongoing transition to onsite extracurricular activities and classes, TA faces yet another predicament in their hopeful return to physical theater. There is an increasing number of members who have merely experienced TA in an online environment. Yabs states: “If you take a look at…the population of our organization, if we are going into onsite theater next year, we actually only have people from our first years or even second years that have experience onsite, and it’s more dangerous that if we don’t have onsite theater next year, and we only have it next next year, no one in the organization has had onsite theater experience.”

TA would have to go through a similar strenuous cycle of learning and relearning skills. As Yabs concludes: “We really need to adapt and really form something new. There’s no going around it, kasi if we try to maintain everything with the limited knowledge that we have, it will just result in a lower quality than we would expect…like a vestige of what we have. So let’s move forward, keep moving forward.”

Because the show must go on.

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Tanghalang Ateneo. Mga Anghell (1).

Online Theater.

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Tanghalang Ateneo. Mga Anghell (2).

Online Theater.

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Tanghalang Ateneo. Makbetamaximus (1).

Online Theater.

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Tanghalang Ateneo. Makbetamaximus (2).

Online Theater.

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The Art of Accepting Change

Rina Julia Ortega The GUIDON

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“we set a goal that by [our] 100th year, The GUIDON would be fully online.”

The feat sounded admirable enough—technically, they had achieved that goal in its 90th year, at least a decade ahead of its time. The realization, however, that their 90th year was also when the COVID-19 pandemic first began makes the implications behind that statement weigh heavier.

This story isn’t exactly a testament to an organization being future-oriented. Instead, it addresses the matter of where an organization’s traditions could ultimately stand in the face of change.

Accomplishing ten-year plans in two years There was a sense of vulnerability in acknowledging the circumstances behind how they moved online—when The GUIDON had initially set that goal, it was created with a year-byyear plan that would span the course of ten years. It wasn’t intended to be condensed into one or two years, yet the pandemic had pushed it into doing just that. Editor-in-Chief Tatiana Maligro admits, “… it was rushed. We didn’t really have a choice but to go fully online.”

Perhaps it could even be said that The GUIDON was so confident in its traditions and so highly self-assured in its identity that the thought of going online was a massive adjustment for them— especially if their members felt it needed this much time to execute it. It seemed that virtually any sort of change would be intimidating for the publication to enact.

Not that this was a fault, per se. Undeniably, The GUIDON has carried a legacy that has stood the test of time since its founding. As of writing, the publication is in its 92nd year. Even the systems and processes they’ve instated for their members quite nicely fit into the descriptor of remaining tried and true.

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Their printed issues have been preserved in the University Archives since its first one in 1959. It truly felt as if there was no reason to alter any of this, especially when it seems to have worked so well for almost a century. Regardless, a pandemic stops for no one, and it certainly wouldn’t stop for the publication.

Of tangible texts and traditional ties “Printing was a big issue; it was our tangible connection to the student body,” Tatiana notes. They looked back at the first instinct they took in order to address this; that is, to try and bring as much of the onsite work as possible into the online setting. Be it drafts, designs, or datasets, the key was to make sure everything felt the same.

Doing this, however, presented the Editorial Board with a rather uncomfortable truth. Simply replicating—or “copy-pasting,” as they put it—the systems they had onsite and placing it in a digital space just wasn’t going to work. Not for long, and certainly not for the entirety of the pandemic.

“I guess during my time in the [Editorial Board], we were in denial of what was next,” Design Executive Editor Neil Christian “Ian” Reyes adds. “We thought that… may chance pang bumalik.” He also comments, “Preparations [for the pandemic] felt rushed. Kind of half-baked.

‘Di naman sa sinisisi namin ‘yong mga editors during the time— taking the online setting head-on like, just trying to make things work.”

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What changed?

It seemed that redefining The GUIDON’s traditional activities had become a necessity. At the time, carrying these on seemed to falter in the face of COVID-19. Newer members of the organization, such as incumbent Externals Manager Ivan Bueno, can largely attest to how these changes were enacted at a considerably rapid pace. This ranged from revamping the workshops that they’ve conducted to putting in more intensive work for translating their onsite events into the online setting, such as campus journalism seminar Point One. Another pleasant surprise they point to is how their coverage and the platforms they used have been further improved. “For internal and external adjustments, one of the biggest new changes was that The GUIDON became more inclusive in terms of stakeholders,” Ivan remarks, with the number of articles and pieces that cover more diverse narratives. “We’ve tried to lower our walls more and allow more peoples’ stories to be heard.

The accessibility of the internet has also allowed for this, and we’ve also established a good number of external stakeholders [throughout] the pandemic” (see Halili’s article and Tan and Magat’s comic).

The introduction of publishing press issues on Adobe Indesign was also appreciated. In particular, this pushed the boundaries of what the Design Cluster (D4)’s four staffs could accomplish.

Paired with existing design seminars and the general liberties given to employ diverse artistic techniques, The GUIDON has been pushed to become even more efficient in this regard—particularly to maximize newer online resources and create a larger number of multimedia works to engage with. This included photo sets, videos, podcasts, social media gimmicks, along with simply having articles provide coverage for a wider range of topics.

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Largely, Maligro sums all of these changes up into creating a different experience of The GUIDON for its members—one that better acknowledges the realities of the online setting while still substantially bridging the gaps between them. Reyes also observes that the rather intensive nature of their publication’s work compounded with the global health crisis made burnout a legitimate concern for any staff, no matter their cluster.

News Editor Allie Pesquera also vouched for this, noting her experiences as a News staffer and eventually Editor have shown her that the processes her organization previously had in place for its members have since become more flexible and considerate of time.

On traditions that couldn’t be changed Amid all its apprehensions towards change and the difficulties it encountered to create proper transitional work, The GUIDON became a prime example of transforming traditions into a motivational force throughout the pandemic.

Although the concept of tradition often comes with connotations of stagnancy and backwardness, the publication ultimately deconstructed this by staying true to its legacy, purpose, and identity as a publication—and in turn, making this their driving force to not only adapt to the global health crisis but also begin confronting its strengths and weaknesses as an organization.

It sought to reflect on the opportunities it had in its hands to further improve itself. The most prominent of them include but were not necessarily limited to the pace of editor and staffer workflows, the concept of “burnout culture,” and the limitations of their platforms at the time. From there, they worked to reconcile these difficulties with several strengths. As a functioning journalistic platform, The GUIDON still sought to consistently disseminate information and bring forth underrepresented narratives. The

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organization’s familiarity with strongly established, highly functional systems also turned out to aid in having fine-tuning be done in tandem with the changes they prepared.

In fact, despite every adjustment The GUIDON did make, there was still one tradition of theirs that no crisis could ever change or compromise: their original thrust as an organization and the core purposes that they served—to bring the Atenean community together, to capture information about what was happening now, and to represent the stakeholders that needed more of a voice in the first place. The Editorial Board still asserts a number of things about the publication that didn’t change, such as its thrust and vision. It was still going to serve its stakeholders, create content in line with the events unfolding before them, and promote a just, democratic pursuit of the truth throughout the entire process.

Circumstances as dire as the pandemic do warrant actively adapting, alongside acknowledging the fears that came with both the abruptness and uncertainty it presents. However, tradition ultimately still held a place amid all of this, becoming The GUIDON’s source of strength to cut past itself and reaffirm its ability to express creativity among members, convey messages, and serve as an effective journalistic platform and service that will continue bringing together Ateneans in the years to come.

Plans and projects will come to their conclusion, while editors and staffers will come and go over the years. In the face of the pandemic, printing press issues had largely halted and a number of traditions were jeopardized; the fact that it’s already moved online lends itself to such a point. Regardless, The GUIDON ultimately reasserts its own traditional identities and roles, yet at the same time transforms itself into something that is equal parts meaningful and preservable.

To ensure that these would all remain steadfast over the course of many years is a testimony to the organization’s desire to preserve its identities and functions—one that will refuse to back down despite anything and everything that could come against it.

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Enrique B. Halili

Homegrown1 growing up, my parents would relentlessly insist that I study, pursue a career, and start a family abroad. It was an idea that I was always quick to shoot down due to a mix of genuine disinterest and fear of leaving my home and friends behind. My parents never took that answer well, insinuating that this country had nothing of value to offer me and the family as a whole, and that we were much better off elsewhere.

I knew that was an elitist mindset, yet I couldn’t help but feel guilty for disagreeing with my parents who really just wanted the best for me at the end of the day. I was naturally afraid of disappointing them especially since a large portion of my extended family has already relocated to various first-world countries.

When my sister moved to the United States in early 2021 to attend Gonzaga University, my worries became as tangible as ever.

The sudden absence of my only sibling brought about a deafening silence in our household, as if to say, “There’s nothing of value left here.”

I nearly believed it.

There came a point where my decision to stay felt like an admission of my own mediocrity—that I was destined to go down with what my parents believed was a sinking ship of a country. I found it quite difficult to get through this part of my life.

It was only when coverage on the upcoming elections began that the silence was finally broken. My feed became occupied with the same tired half-meant jokes of “escaping” the country before a new set of corrupt officials started their terms. A good friend of mine even expressed serious plans to leave the country if a particular 1 From The GUIDON January-February 2022 Print Issue.

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candidate won the presidency. I became incredibly frustrated at this apathy and pessimism, especially amid a time that demands the opposite.

It was all quite saddening to say the least, but I was ultimately reminded that my decision to stay or leave was never supposed to be about me. It came down to where I felt I was needed and where *I had the most to contribute as a student journalist.

I realize that it can be hard to believe that staying for the good of our country can leave much of an impact, but I would argue otherwise. Philippine history itself is defined by the individuals that chose to serve their country despite the allure of a better and often safer life overseas. Even those the likes of Ninoy Aquino and Jose Rizal who had to spend parts of their lives in other countries ultimately decided to return even if it meant an imminent death.

Looking at how grim our situation already is at the moment, I can’t even begin to imagine how things would be now if they chose the other option.

I’m not saying that everyone has to dedicate their lives to this country in such dramatic fashion like these people did, nor am I implying that there is anything inherently wrong with living abroad.

I realize that finding work in another country is often the smartest decision, especially when you have a family back home to support.

However, I truly believe that this country needs its people, especially its youth, to commit their passions and skills towards building a better future for the generations of Filipinos to come.

That’s what many of our ancestors did for us, and I think it’s important for us to do their efforts justice when the opportunity presents itself.

Choosing to stay might not always be the most glamorous or exciting choice, but it is the most selfless decision—and selflessness is precisely what this country desperately needs right now.

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Genesis Jacinth Tan (Writer) and Mikhaella Norlin Magat (Illustrator).

Comic. From The GUIDON’s Facebook Page.

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Our Right To Write

Aylli Cortez WriterSkill

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when writerskill was founded in 2010, the organization seemed to be a latecomer to the Ateneo literary scene that was dominated by the university’s three student publications: HEIGHTS, The GUIDON, and Matanglawin. All three organizations had a rich and strong-standing tradition going back to the 1920s, 1930s, and 1970s, respectively; meanwhile, WriterSkill was a newbie starting completely from scratch. Yet Diego Santiago and his friends were adamant to pave the way for a new kind of writing organization— one that made the blank page less daunting and more welcoming to writers of all kinds, no matter what stage of their journey they were in.

“Your right to write” became the banner that WriterSkill upheld over the next nine years as an organization for Atenean student writers across all courses, in both English and Filipino. Through workshops, GenreTalks, and other activities, the Core Board (CB) worked to build an inclusive space for a community to grow.

In 2019, they reached their highest ever number of applicants during Recruitment Week (RecWeek). As an independent and unaccredited organization, the team was overjoyed to see the Gonzaga Fine Arts Theatre filled with diverse young artists, all of whom were determined to share their voices through the power of words.

But in the weeks following March 10, 2020, WriterSkill joined the Ateneo community in making the transition from garden benches, cafes, and mini theaters to Facebook groups, Zoom meetings, and Discord servers. Although the organization never had an official org room in the MVP Center for Student Leadership due to its unaccredited status, the members were shocked to depart from the places where they had once shared meals and written works.

Without saying goodbye to Areté and the classrooms in the School of Management (SOM) building, where they held workshops and training sessions, they fought to stay afloat in a shifting sea of black

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screens and anonymous avatars. Two of the organization’s main events, WriterSpeac and Backdraft—their open mic night and senior send-off—had to be canceled due to the outbreak of the novel coronavirus, leaving the school year to end without proper closure.

To the outside observer, the effects of this sudden change may appear small or even nonexistent. After all, how could writing in a pandemic be so different from writing outside one? Writers are withdrawn, cave-dwelling creatures, and so the lockdowns must be a haven for them—a chance to sit peacefully at their desks and write to their heart’s content. However, this half-truth forgets that writers are not content-producing automatons or self-caged animals; they are storytellers who speak to, from, and beyond the world they live in, and under today’s isolating and fear-inducing circumstances, the guidelines for navigating the “new normal” are not so easily written.

Over the past two years, WriterSkill members have had to confront the material and mental barriers that impede their craft.

They continue to face pressure in the form of academic demands, extracurricular commitments, and personal issues, not to mention the burnout that leads to limited engagement on online platforms.

As a result, WriterSkill has witnessed a decrease in both member rates and activity. Finding innovative ways to keep the now 12-yearold organization alive has and continues to be a challenge, yet the remaining officers and members persistently champion “your right to write” through their efforts to be a learning space, an advocacy, and a community for Ateneo student writers.

A learning space to explore, hone, and express While training to become a facilitator for WriterSkill workshops, then-freshman Gayle Dy learned that she was a tour guide—not a professor or a judge, but a person whose task was to become

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familiar with the terrain of a piece, and as such, show newcomers which areas to explore.

It’s no secret that workshops are among the most traumatizing experiences a writer can go through. When the purpose of the space isn’t clear, participants tend to view one another as competitors in a colosseum—their words like lions ripping into the unarmored bodies of their opponents’ work. A workshop like this can not only scare writers away but plant seeds of self-doubt in their minds— nailing down No trespassing signs to indicate the places they Should Not Go. This was what M Dofitas, a first-year Events member, encountered in their high school creative writing electives. “They were very emotional experiences,” M laments. It was only upon training in WriterSkill that they realized, “Wait, you can make it not emotional? You can make it a normal critique? This is brand new news to me!”

So when Gayle, now a third-year member and Vice President of Workshops, logs into Zoom to oversee a workshop, she reminds her authors and commentators to “critique, not criticize” and “build up, not tear down.” Under the guidance of the Facilitator Pool (Faci Pool) that she and her associate vice presidents have trained, the workshoppers exchange ideas that show their fellow writers—in the fields of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and drama— what possibilities their work holds. They ask: Where can we take it from here?

M also shares their appreciation for the way “WriterSkill really focuses on that safe space aspect,” since the pressure for writers to measure up to so-called legitimizing standards often leads them to close themselves off, especially when they believe they are setting themselves up for failure. As the Ateneo community became physically fragmented and isolated in separate homes, this belief became more challenging to unlearn. It may also be why the theme of WriterSkill’s chapbook for S.Y. 2020-2021, which contains the

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revised versions of pieces that members workshopped over the year, was called Captive (see Felizardo’s and Parlade’s works).

Perhaps not coincidentally, the theme of captivity encapsulates not only the dual sense of imprisonment and intrigue that students feel toward their mid-pandemic lives, but the pressure felt by the current CB—which consists of the President, the SecretaryGeneral, the Vice Presidents (VPs) who lead each department, and their Associate Vice Presidents (AVPs). Many of them arrived at their positions due, in part, to peer pressure, a sense of obligation, and a lack of other candidates. Although they were also driven by a sense of duty, the culture of “legacy” over choice is one they wish to abolish.

To ensure the next generation of WriterSkill CB can make confident decisions, they encourage members to specialize in their desired department/s—be it Workshops, Events, Visuals and Documentations, Human Resources, or Finance—so that they hone skills and engage in activities that both align with and expand their interests. These include professional-led GenreTalks and member-led Popshops about prevalent issues and influences in the local and international literary scenes.

During the last four GenreTalks, Ateneo students were given the opportunity to indulge their curiosity by learning about dystopian fiction, the Philippine socio-political landscape, horror in a Philippine urban setting, and queer poetics from UP Diliman and ADMU professors. Meanwhile, Popshops have become an avenue for WriterSkill members to express their passion for mainstream and niche subgenres, literary styles, tropes, and media with other members. One example is Pepe Rosales’s Clash of Characters, a Popshop given last November about confrontations and character arcs in fiction.

There are still many improvements to be made as these events shift to platforms like Zoom and Facebook Live. As Pepe, a secondyear member, puts it, “sticking to the book” isn’t always productive;

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much like what members learn in WriterSkill workshops, moving forward means revisiting and revising their existing stories, or rewriting the book, so to speak. It means asking “what does and doesn’t work?” so that they can open their minds to new paths— ones they avoid out of the belief that it will lead them somewhere dark and uncertain, a living Someplace filled with possibilities that make it exactly the kind of destination worth imagining.

An advocacy that energizes, serves, and inspires As a writer and a visual artist, second-year member and VisDoc AVP Charlie Recto enjoyed being able to bounce from one discipline to another during moments of intense burnout. When asked about her motivation to pursue these practices amid the pandemic, she recalled the closing remarks delivered by WriterSkill’s moderator, Sir AJ Elicaño, at the first General Assembly she attended as a freshman.

“The gist of it is [was] that we never stop writing because we never really stop feeling, especially in these trying times,” she says. “[Our writing is] really alive, even when we’re tired… It’s alive even when we’re done with things, maybe even so when we’re done.”

In many ways, the CB and members of WriterSkill are very much “done.” They’re exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically at almost all hours of the day. For this reason, they are no longer strangers to sudden feelings of hopelessness and the brain lag that hinders them from accomplishing certain responsibilities as punctually as they’d like, such as filing Job Order Forms (JOFs) to the VisDoc Department or sending Project Proposal Forms (PPFs) to the relevant parties for approval.

And yet, this state of being “done” does not mean they are done for. Writing, although effortful, can often be its own fuel and fire. As Charlie expresses, writing happens in “tiring moments where we’re

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recording our environments more, especially since we are sick and tired of this kind of environment.” In this sense, creative writing is a channel through which members rouse one another to get up and speak to their surroundings; it is how they proclaim that what they are going through is real and happening, even if it is told through the lens of fantasy, sci-fi, horror, and other spectacular genres.

But in their aspiration to ignite writers’ love for their craft, the CB acknowledges that the process of getting there oftentimes, paradoxically, means not writing. Twice a year since 2020, the members come together to chat and play games like Gartic Phone, Jackbox, or Jeopardy during Tambay Week, which may appear to take on the derogatory connotation of tambay—that of the lazy bystander—but it is the active effort of people coming together to not only destress but energize themselves.

Before the pandemic, Tambay Week was held on the fifth floor of the New Rizal Library, where members could unwind by striking up a conversation, reading books, playing board games, or (very likely) taking naps. Now, the three-day event occurs in a voice channel on the WriterSkill Discord server, which was set up by Human Resources (HR) VP Aljohn Austria and opened to all members in November 2020 as the hangout spot for the organization’s internal events.

Most of the time, attendees formed small, intimate groups. “[But] did that stop us from making contributions to conversations [or] going crazy [in] the Events chat on Discord? No!” cries Alyssa Ang, a second-year HR member. She remarks that the value of Kapihan, a themed but free-flowing discussion held on the second day of Tambay Week, “really depends on the spirit of the people who are tired but at the same time still want to express their interests, still want to be themselves.”

It may seem counterproductive to respond to burnout by organizing more, albeit optional, activities, but it has allowed the members of WriterSkill to hold fast to the passionate “tired but

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trying” writer-orgmates they are. Because even when they feel snuffed out and don’t have the energy to type words onto a page, the writers they are are rekindling (or in digital vernacular, recharging their battery), which is really what WriterSkill’s advocacy is all about.

WriterSkill isn’t just here to champion the practice of writing but, as the President of the organization, Parker, says: “We’re here for the writers themselves.” Through its persisting operations, WriterSkill motivates its members to claim their writerhood so that, in times of non-writing, they don’t become numb to their surroundings, rather they get back in touch with their power to feel.

The first time Charlie met the heads of the VisDoc Department in 2020, she saw them through what she describes as “sparkle sparkle freshie eyes.” And even though the sparkles faded as time went on, due to the growing realization that even they were just as “done” as she was becoming, she was energized by their engagement-turnedmini-chika sessions and the warmth through which they nurtured their work. She recognized their worth as artists, students, and writers, and upon becoming AVP, she strived to be that inspiration for herself and future WriterSkill members.

Her wish is one that the entire WriterSkill shares: That in the years to come, the torch they pass to the next generations of Atenean writers will burn brighter than the exhaustion that seeks to douse it.

That one day, when those freshie eyes gaze up at her through what she hopes is no longer a screen, she can meet those same sparkles with a fire of her own.

A community of support, belonging, and fun Three years after his freshman year, Finance VP Luke Due recounted the moment he chose to join WriterSkill: On a warm night in March 2019, he tagged along with his friend Manuel to an open mic event called WriterSpeac. In the Case Study Room of

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the Social Sciences Building, he watched students perform spoken word poems, songs, dramatic readings, and comedy skits. He can’t help but laugh as he remembers the enthusiastic way CB alumnus Matt Rodriguez took the stage to recite rap songs by Black Caviar, Denzel Curry, and Kanye as spoken word poems.

“He recited a song and I was like, this place allows you to be open and to express yourself enough that you’re comfortable to do that,” Luke grins, as if to return to the early days of his on-campus org experience which, although filled with many tiring moments, he remains fond of nonetheless.

The first-ever WriterSpeac took place in 2014 at a tiny art cafe called The Warrior Poet. There, a crowd of Ateneo students sat cross-legged on the floor to cheer for their friends as they performed in the center of the room. Eight years later, in 2022, WriterSkill’s Events Department was determined to adapt this fun, close-knit gathering to the online set-up. They released a Call for Performers in preparation for a pre-recorded and watch-party-style WriterSpeac, but when the submission window closed and they were met with zero applicants, they knew something had to change.

A month later, a group of nine members, one alumnus, and one professor-slash-moderator hopped into a video call on the WriterSkill Discord server. The agenda: a chill one-and-a-half-hour hangout where each person could read aloud their favorite poems or short prose pieces, be it original or by a different author, and share their thoughts on what the works meant to them. Looking back, the topics of the pieces spoke to some of the preoccupations held by this batch of Atenean writers, such as queer love and loss, crappy urban life, distance and physical touch, resistance to oppressive forces, and a whole lot of grief.

One might have expected an event like this to be heavy and depressing. Yet, the attendees listened with genuine interest as they discovered not only new literary works but people with whom they could be comfortable and belong. In turn, the opportunity to

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let themselves be heard in a low-pressure setting allowed them to recuperate from anxiety-inducing Zoom recitations and formallywritten Canvas discussion boards. In a digital realm that so often compels people to appear put-together, this short video call—filled with moments of silliness, awe, and joy—brought the members closer together.

However, the problem of low engagement remained, and while a “quality over quantity” approach could be taken to measure the success of events, the members involved in promoting and organizing them were still discouraged when the spaces they worked hard to create received only a handful of reacts, comments, and attendees. This was the case for their most recent TweetFic, a week-long Twitter contest where Ateneans are challenged to write 280-character fiction or poems inspired by daily prompts. As the event progressed, the entries dwindled from seven to five, three, and finally, one.

It is a reality that is not easily resolved, given the heavy academic workloads and various commitments that keep members from fully participating in WriterSkill’s synchronous events, though the team does its best to offer support via asynchronous options. One example of this is Letters to Penn, a semesterly call for members to send in and receive comments on their works-in-progress from the WriterSkill Faci Pool. It serves as an alternative for members who are unable to attend synchronous workshops.

For these reasons, the current members of WriterSkill have acquired almost hard-wired responses to the happy surprise that is a double-digit audience. As Pepe puts it, “Kapag ‘yung turnout ay 11 members, mag-celebrate na agad lahat… It’s still very much something to be thankful for, na may pumupunta pa rin (Even if the turnout is eleven members, everyone celebrates... It’s still very much something to be thankful for, the fact that people even show up).”

It may sound defeatist, but at a time when the number of students filing Leave of Absences (LOAs) is growing, and “ghosting” online

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announcements has become a common phenomenon, each person the organization can connect to is worth celebrating. When it comes to participation, some members like Alyssa believe that WriterSkill is still able to hold its own, thanks to the little moments of fun it cultivates. “Even though we’re just ants compared to bigger [organizations]…[we don’t] have to be big and ‘wow fireworks!’

We’re small, but did you know that we are gremlins?” The laugh that escapes her is wild, carefree, and without a hint of bitterness— because although she wants more people to join and be active in the organization, she happily acknowledges the company that has been supporting her for her entire stay so far.

On the WriterSkill Discord channels, members and alumni talk about their favorite TV shows, animated series, and video games; they share photos of their pets and recommendations for books and fanfiction; they play gacha games and catch Pokemon using the arcade bots, which might all seem pointless and ridiculous, but it harkens back to the role of writing not only as a source of entertainment or information, but as an introduction—a means of offering a hand.

“We start conversations [with people], we keep them going,” HR VP Aljohn explains, “and it doesn’t have to be those big conversations…even the small talk can still help someone through the day.” As he recounts his days as a freshman applying for HEIGHTS and not getting in, he mentions finding a new and unexpected home in WriterSkill. Though his experiences as a now fourth-year CB member often call him to ask whether the organization makes a difference in the Ateneo, the conversations he has started and sustained with his fellow members have allowed him to make a stunning realization.

“I am the Ateneo community,” he says, and even though the absence of face-to-face interactions makes it appear as if he is going through the pandemic by himself, his coming together with the members of WriterSkill online reminds him that he is not

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alone. In being present to and for one another, each person in the organization continues to stand as one community.

An intricate and ever-growing collective When asked about WriterSkill’s impact on the university after 12 years of operations, the organization’s president, Parker, commented on the perspective that views writing as a distant, intimidating, and exclusive practice within the Ateneo community.

“When people hear writing, oftentimes their reaction is ‘Oh you’re a writer? Oh, it’s so pasosyal, it’s so high-brow…’ I think those casual writers or people that are just writers in secret, they become afraid to write, especially within Ateneo [where] the popular writing orgs [have] barriers,” Parker says.

Compared to HEIGHTS, the GUIDON, and Matanglawin, WriterSkill is often referred to as “the little guy” of the Ateneo literary scene—a group that is off the radar to a large portion of the university’s staff and student body. It appears to have little to no chance of surviving in its highly-competitive environment, which is wrought with all kinds of prestige, and has thus been left to burrow in obscurity.

While this comes at a huge disadvantage to the organization and marks the growing need to build a greater external presence, it has also enabled the WriterSkill team to empathize with the secret writers that surround us without our knowing—such as the unpublished author, the fanfictionist, the noncommittal poet, the essayist-in-healing, the messy dramaturg, the person who edits their WIPs into oblivion, and every writer that slips past the public eye in search of the spark that will keep them going.

By opening its gates to writers of all forms, WriterSkill hopes to show them that “the spark” they are looking for—whether it

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be motivation, good company, or a new idea—is one they can light together.

At the end of every school year, the officers and members of WriterSkill gather around a steel-drum pit in the middle of Bellarmine Field to honor their graduating members. As the fire roars between them, the members take turns reading aloud from the first drafts they wrote throughout the year, paying thanks to them before surrendering the pages to the flames. The event is known as Backdraft, but the only explosive surge is one of laughter and relief as the members of WriterSkill huddle beneath a yellowblue sky, exchanging memories and hopes long after the sun has gone down.

Though the shift to online learning means they are without a physical fire, the warmth it carried lives on through the WriterSkill community, which has grown to become not only a writing organization but “an intricate and ever-growing collective of friends,” to borrow the words of CB alumnus Lex Celera. While they look forward to the day when they can meet on campus or crowd into the Yellow Cab along Katipunan Avenue to share stories over boxes of greasy, delicious pizza, in showing up for one another, they champion “our right to write” with openness, passion, and unity. As Parker says, with WriterSkill, “the difference is that there are no barriers…We’re for everybody.”

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Emanuel Felizardo

isoy1 alas-dos imedyang mainit sa bandang huli ng linggo, wala kang pupuntahan mamaya’t takdang aralin mo’y maagang tinapos. hita at binti mo’y halos nagapos na sa gitna ng iba pang pawising pasaherong ngayon mo lang makikilala; buti na lang, malapit ka na sa unang babaan. kulay langit na polo’y iyong sinuksok sa loob ng bago mong Jansport, ID mo’y iyong binulsa nang ika’y makagalaw nang malaya. “o mga PhilTrust, baba na!” sigaw ni manong mula sa harap. paraanin muna si Ms. Santos at kanyang anak bago makaapak uli sa sementong maalikabok. ngayong nama’y antayin isang jeep na Cubao-Rosario. ngunit hindi ka naman nagmamadali, kaya unahin ang tindahan ni Aleng Rose, “isa pong Marlboro Black!”—

1 From WriterSkill Online Zine of S.Y. 2020-2021 (Captive).

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(wala sila nung Reds, eh), umupo sa hagdan ng bangkong sarado, at maligaw muna sandali sa usok. anghang at pait ng lason mo’y namnamin muna, bago ibuga patungo sa langit na sumisilaw.

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Shelby Parlade

Dalagang Pilipina2 Note: Some identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. in the kitchen, steam releases from the pressure cooker. Tita waits by the induction stove, wooden spoon in hand, to prod the cartilage off the pork knuckle. She is making humba, her youngest’s favorite dish.

The same son calls his sixty-one-year-old mother ‘dalagang pilipina’ in what he thinks is affection. In April, Tita had her uterus removed, stitched virgin tight, and now wears sanitary napkins for the post-surgery bleeding. Her uterine prolapse, her visible womb— leftovers after having all six of her children’s births all-natural. (To accommodate the passage of a baby’s head during labor, the cervix must dilate to 10 cm, the length of a KitKat. She delivered them all without epidural.)

Both hysterectomy and hysteria have etymological roots in hystera, the Greek word for uterus. Emotional disturbance as an illness of the womb but the birthing pains have not stopped.

What else is there to remove? She provides for her grown children and their families as a domestic worker in Madrid. When she is laid off for taking recovery leave, still, she sends a balikbayan box of chocolates, shoes, and pasta to Panabo in lieu of their monthly allowance. In return, they refuse to move out and inherit their late father’s love for motocross.

“Alangan naman, kinsa may di masinggitan kay nga kamo mura man pud mo ug si kinsa. Unsa kami, imong maid?” (Of course, you 2 From WriterSkill Online Zine of S.Y. 2020-2021 (Captive).

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will be scolded when you act all high and mighty. What are we, your maids?), she calls out to her youngest who waits to be told to help out in our household. Her temper stirs the pot.

Once melted, the gelatin from the tissue will thicken the sauce as the pork simmers in the mixture of soy sauce, vinegar, pineapple juice, and aromatics. She prepares the banana heart by plucking its petals and rinsing off the bitter sap. It is said that the maroon tear-dropped flower strengthens the uterus. In Philippine folklore, swallowing a drop of liquid from the flower at midnight grants one magical powers and protection to offset imbalances of power.

She does not hear her son’s muttered reply from where he lies watching TikToks on the couch—that she should not be so angry when she is wombless. As if the source of her outrage is not from providing for a brood of thankless men that think of her as a maid.

Motherhood is the invisible wound that disfigures her in the eyes of her children, so expectant of her labor.

After lunch, I gather the dishes to wash them—one of the few chores Tita has allowed me to do as her tenant. On his plate, her son leaves the tausi and banana heart untouched.

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Jerome Agpalza (3 BFA Creative Writing) Jerome writes in Quezon City, but usually from Tondo. He witnessed the twilight of the analog. He last held a diskette years ago while cleaning.

Miguel Arroyo (3 BFA Creative Writing) Lost under so many layers of irony, he doesn't know who he is anymore.

Martin Celiz (3 AB Communication) A music enthusiast through and through, Martin is an aspiring singer-songwriter and music journalist. He is currently a writer for the Guidon's Vantage Magazine, and a vocalist and writer for the Ateneo Musicians' Pool. Journalism just seems to be the easiest way for him to talk about his interests without putting his friends to sleep.

Agnes Christie A. Corpin (4 AB Literature-English) Confused, but trying.

Aylli Cortez (2 BFA Creative Writing) Aylli is a writer, theatre actor, and guitarist based in Metro Manila.

They enjoy setting spoken word to music, as well as writing short stories, essays, and poems about the weirdness that comes with growing up. They are the current Associate Vice President for Events in WriterSkill. Find them on Twitter @idleroots.

Christian Dasalla (2 BS Management Information Systems - MS Computer Science) Si Christian ay isang mag-aaral na sinusubukang maglingkod sa iba't ibang paraan—tulad ng pagsulat—upang maunawaan ang pagkiling ng masa at palakasin ang kanilang boses. Sa mga okasyong hindi siya nagpapakalunod sa acads o org work, gumagawa siya ng mga bagong bagay-bagay upang mas maging mabisa ang mga proseso o sistemang kanyang pinapanatili, o 'di kaya'y nanonood ng bagong 200

episode ng K-drama o K-variety. Sundan siya sa @cfdasalla, lahat ng platform na 'yan.

Istra Therese Dela Cruz (1 AB Interdisciplinary Studies) Istra is an 18 year old first year AB Interdisciplinary Studies student who has been a part of three orchestras in her life time. e.g. The Miriam Student Orchestra, the Philippine Suzuki Youth Orchestra, and she is now currently a very proud member of the Blue Symphony Orchestra, a student led orchestra based inside the Ateneo de Manila University. During her free time, she usually looks out for various opportunities to grow as a person expanding her horizons, daydreaming about her life after college, while arranging musical arrangements on the violin.

Nicole Dela Cruz (1 BS Chemistry) Nicole Dela Cruz is currently a freshman majoring in Chemistry from the Ateneo de Manila University. When she is not worrying over academic requirements, she could be found either playing Genshin Impact or starting personal projects that she could never seem to finish. Other than that, she would probably be asleep.

Ervin Delas Peñas (4 BS Management) Being the President of a cultural organization, Ervin likes to dabble in languages by learning Spanish and switching the language settings as he plays Battlefield 1 on most days. Ervin considers himself a sophomore mentally, and a COVID-19 survivor physically. He hopes to again set foot on Ateneo as an alumnus, and resume reveling in the nightlife he thought was only exclusive to college students.

John Divinagracia (3 BFA Creative Writing) John is an aspiring writer whose greatest readers are his friends and family. In an attempt to satisfy their hunger for literature, he has written several short stories and even published his first novel, "It's Always Snowing in Iberia," in the Amazon Kindle Store.

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Gayle Dy (3 BFA Creative Writing) Gayle is an aspiring poet/filmmaker who is obsessed with pretty, temporary things like moments and sunsets. When she's not writing (which is most of the time), you may find her deeply lost in thought, dreaming about being a fairy in Pixie Hollow. Or living in a mushroom house. Surrounded by fauna and singing animals.

Gap B. Estrella (3 AB Literature-English) No matter how much he says he's tired of writing, Gap seems to always find himself back into it. Whether it's for the academe, sports journalism, or personal consumption, writing has (and unfortunately always will be) a part of his life. He believes in being able to make a change one page at a time.

Marcus Gawtee (3 AB Literature-English) Marcus focuses his time to writing, research, design, and reading.

He admires the act and idea of creating. This admiration translates to his love for culture and the arts from films, books, music, and other media. He hopes to continue creating.

Andrea Gerada (4 AB Literature-English) Andrea is still studying the art of a good story. She is obsessed with yogurt soda and cat photos, and prefers to think of writing rather than actually doing it.

Gerick Go (4 BS Computer Science - BS Digital Game Design and Development) "Every experience is a chance to learn, grow, and evolve!"

This is Gerick's mantra in everything he finds himself into—may it be in his hobbies or his aspirations. He aims to tell stories and lived experiences in the future games he will make. You would see him lurk on the side playing with arnis sticks, playing computer games, or doing improvisational theatre.

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Layon (1 BS Applied Mathematics/Master in Data Science) Kasalukuyang nag-aaral ng matematika si Layon sa Pamantasang Ateneo de Manila. Akala niya nga noon, matematika na ang kaniyang mapapangasawa, ngunit nang makilala niya ang panitikan sa gitna ng kuwarentena, hindi na mabuo-buo ang kaniyang isip. Hanggang sa kasalukuyan, hinahanap niya pa rin ang kaniyang sariling layon.

Willem Sergei B. Lim (4 BFA Creative Writing) Sergei Lim is currently a senior at the Ateneo de Manila University.

He likes long walks along the beach, quiet moments in a coffee shop, and going all over for inspiration—especially in the everyday. Each day, after all, has something new.

Lexie Longboan (2 AB Interdisciplinary Studies) Lexie is currently a student in the Ateneo de Manila University, majoring in AB Interdisciplinary Studies with tracks in Political Science and Communication. Outside of the many to-learns and tohones Lexie has as a student and writer, she now constantly wonders how to improve as a fish hobbyist.

Shania Lyn Mediavillo (1 AB Interdisciplinary Studies) Shania is a freshie who loves where her talents lack.

Renee Melitante (2 BS Legal Management) Renee is your typical casual writer who writes for fun. She aspires to do something great with her life, whether that is in the field of law, business, or both. But before doing any of that, she would like to get some sleep first.

Kean V. Nerecina (1 BS/M Applied Mathematics, Major in Mathematical Finance) Kean wishes he could write, but he unfortunately does not know how to! He has always loved the arts, and has been making music (or trying to) for around a decade. Aside from music, fashion is also one 203

of his passions. #fashionismypassion Follow his IG for occasional OOTDs @keanvn. Despite his evident interest in the arts, he ended up in finance because he’s vaguely good at math and wants to secure a rich future.

Mikhaila Neri (1 AB Communication) Mikhaila Neri or Khai is from Cagayan de Oro City and is currently studying at the Ateneo de Manila University. She likes to read, travel, and explore new music. However, this is her first time working for a publication. Although she may or may not pursue a career in writing, she still thinks that it gives her a sense of comfort while living in an uncertain world.

Rina Julia Ortega (3 AB MA Political Science) Rina's writing has often wandered elsewhere, what with several years' worth of working with jargon and journalism. Regardless, no essay or extracurricular has managed to fully dispel her love for the literary (and the alliterative).

Andrea Posadas (3 AB Communication) Under most circumstances, you’d find Andrea alone with her thoughts being jotted down on her notebook or laptop. She hopes to pack as many punches in her voice as there are in her words someday.

Rest assured that she’s getting there, though, even if it takes her a thousand dramatic monologues.

Danica Marielle L. Quijano (3 AB Diplomacy and International Relations) Danica Quijano is a junior majoring in AB Diplomacy and International Relations with specialization in East and Southeast Asian studies and a minor in Korean Studies. She likes equal doses of locking herself indoors to explore and enjoy literature (fiction, nonfiction, and research), film, and music, and going out to find something new in her small yet ever-changing hometown of Subic 204

Bay. She also dabbles in amateur landscape and street photography and learning Asian and European languages.

Teo A. Ricaforte (4 AB Communication) Teo is a 21-year old college senior from Bacoor, Cavite studying communication. He advocates for press freedom, autism and neurodiversity awareness, better public transport, education reform, dismantling the Adobe supremacy, making people from North Manila go to South Manila to keep things equal, mint chocolate chip tolerance, and the Oxford comma.

Maria Sophia Andrea E. Rosello (2 AB Communication) Pia or Sophia, is a current Sophomore of the Ateneo taking up AB Communication under the Journalism Track. Later in life, she plans on pursuing a career either in publishing or the academe, with the latter focusing on the enrichment of the Filipino Language.

Marcus Sahagun (4 BS Biology) Marcus Sahagun is self-diagnosed with senioritis but surprisingly still finds the time to do extracurriculars. Despite being tired, he remains to have a positive outlook in life and to stay true to himself as he believes that life is too short to act like something you're not.

Lyle Surtida (3 BFA Creative Writing) Lyle Surtida was born in Makati and currently lives in Las Piñas City.

He is currently a BFA Creative Writing major in the Ateneo de Manila University and specializes in the fiction track. In 2019 and 2020, he participated in the HEIGHTS English Staff workshop and is also the current Associate Vice President for Sponsorships of the Ateneo Collegiate Society of Advertising. When he isn’t doing schoolwork, he likes to spend his time listening to music and more often than not saying, “Why didn’t I think of that?”

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Aline Ivy Salillas (3 BS Psychology) She prefers to be called Lin—in fact, through this moniker, she was able to save time explaining how to pronounce her name. Lin is a scholar and an aspiring scriptwriter and filmmaker who has yet to find the balance between her two selves: the Artist and the Scientist.

Either she will be a scientist or a film director in the future. Or maybe both. We will never know.

Lin loves watching films, especially the vintage ones made by great directors throughout history. She continues to edit videos, write scripts, and create brain dumps for possible film synopses. She hopes that one day her films will help lift the Filipino film industry into global success (and resolve the country's increasing debt).

In the meantime, Lin is currently working on a play, her adulting skills, and lastly, her life purpose. Other than that, she is happily following her passion.

Eric Christopher V. Tan (1 BFA Theater Arts) Eric is a freshman who is still trying to find his true calling(s) in life.

He has developed a deep appreciation for the arts, from gaining hobbies such as dancing, improv, and creative writing. He hopes to inspire others through his poems.

Libby Zorilla (2 AB Literature-English) A willing prisoner of art—in all its forms. This is one of her attempts to break free. Reach her through her email: zorillalibby@gmail.com

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Acknowledgments Fr. Roberto C. Yap, S.J. and the Office of the President Dr. Maria Luz C. Vilches and the Office of the Vice President for the Loyola Schools Dr. Leland Joseph R. Dela Cruz and the Office of the Associate Dean for Student Formation Dr. Josefina D. Hofileña and the Office of the Associate Dean for Academic Affairs Dr. Jonathan Chua and the Office of the Dean, School of Humanities Dr. Priscilla Angela T. Cruz and the English Department Mr. Martin V. Villanueva and the Department of Fine Arts Dr. Gary C. Devilles at ang Kagawaran ng Filipino Dr. Allan Alberto N. Derain and the Ateneo Institute of the Literary Arts and Practices (AILAP) Mr. Gino Cecilio N. Flores and the Office of Student Activities Ms. Marie Joy R. Salita and the Office of the Associate Dean for the Student and Administrative Services Ms. Liberty P. Santos and the Central Accounting Office Mr. Regidor B. Macaraig and the Purchasing Office Dr. Vernon R. Totanes and the Rizal Library Ms. Carina C. Samaniego and the University Archives Ms. Ma. Victoria T. Herrera and the Ateneo Art Gallery Ms. Ma. Mercedes T. Rodrigo and the Areté The MVP Maintenance and Security Personnel Dr. Vincenz Serrano and Kritika Kultura Ms. Tatiana L. Maligro and The GUIDON Ms. Dar Cerafica Brazil and Matanglawin Ang Sanggunian ng mga Paaralang Loyola ng Ateneo de Manila, and the Council of Organizations of the Ateneo - Manila And to those who have been keeping the arts scene alive in the community by continuously supporting its organizations.

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Special Issue Team Project Head

Stanley Triston Y. Guevarra

Advocacy Editor

Ryan Gabriel B. Suarez

Communication Arts Editor Jose Antonio D. Carballo Performing Arts Editor

Stanley Triston Y. Guevarra

Programs Manager Ryan Joshua F. Reyes Logistics Manager Design and Promotions Promotions

Research Deputy

Deanne F. Sy Justin Dhaniel C. Tan Mia Genine Tupas, Divine-kai Tan, Isabella Lozada, Sarah Huang

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Lars Michaelsen V. Salamante

Editorial Board Editor - in - Chief Stanley Triston Y. Guevarra [ab lit (eng) 2023] Associate Editor Ignacio C. Bunag [bs hs 2022] Managing Editor for External Affairs Paul Stanlee V. Añonuevo [bs mis 2023] for Internal Affairs for Finance

Cydney Maegan M. Mangubat [bfa cw 2022] Alexis Nicole N. Ferreras [ab ec 2022]

Art Editor Andrea Faustine A. Isaac [ab am 2023] Associate Art Editor

Kimiko Gabrielle R. de Guzman [ab com 2023]

English Editor Alexie Nichole S. Cruz [ab pos 2023] Associate English Editor

Maria Angela D. Lanuza [bfa cw 2023]

Filipino Editor Ryan Gabriel B. Suarez [ab ds 2024] Associate Filipino Editor

Ziona Gillia S. Castro [ab pos 2023]

Design Editor Aitana Therese T. Nellas [bfa id 2022] Associate Design Editor

Justin Dhaniel C. Tan [bfa id 2023]

Production Manager

Melanie Mae D. Silverio [bs me 2022]

Associate Production Manager

Lindsey Therese U. Lim [ab mec 2024]

Heights Online Editor Andrea Mae U. Tibayan [ab com 2022] Associate Heights Online Editor Natania Shay S. Du [bfa cw 2024] Acting Associate

Maria Sophia Andrea E. Rosello [ab com 2024]

Heights Online Editor

Head Moderator and Moderator for English

Martin V. Villanueva

Moderator for Art Alfred Benedict C. Marasigan Moderator for Filipino Christian Jil R. Benitez Moderator for Production

Gino Cecilio N. Flores

Moderator for Heights Online Regine Miren D. Cabato

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Staffers Art Lucas Abaya, Mikaela Alvear, Jude Buendia, Kevin Castro, C C. Crespo,

Regina Due, Kelsey Escareal, Eric Noel Jabagat, Hannah Jaugan,

Rianna Nolido, Ana Lucia D. Pineda, Ryan Joshua F. Reyes,

Lars Salamante, Rachel Tan, Adrian Teng, Nicole Tolentino, Justine Valdez English

Isabella Abelardo, Mikaela Bandera, Beatris Cabana, Jose Carballo, Dreibee Criste, Angela Divina, John Divinagracia, Ariana Domingo, Gayle Dy, Sophia Escarez, Harvey Felipe, Lian Leonen-de Vela, Sofia Nicdao, Rina Ortega, Andre Pandan, Pauline Piedad, Andrea Posadas, Gianina Respicio, Bea Salcedo, Sophia Co Sy, Adrian Teng, James Tiu, Renee Villegas

Filipino

Jerome Agpalza, Anjanette Cayabyab, Princess Angela Cole, Bernardine de Belen, Ivan De Leon, Richell Flores, Vincent Halog, Marie Joson, Ma. Patricia Larga, Alyssa Llorin, Jerome Maiquez, Sola Fide D. Ramos, Maria Sakay, Lars Salamante, Marie Santos

Design

Karl Alconis, Alfonso Arellano, Francisella Avila, Justine Bello, Jana Codera, Carmencita Dolina, Patricia Fermin, Kayla Geraldoy, Sarah Huang, Giulia Lopez, Isabella Lozada, Raven Nakpil, Danelle Natividad, Kristine Pabua, Franz Reyes, Marie Jilliene Sison, Divine-kai Tan, Mia Tupas, Nicole Vargas, Dagny Yenko

Production

Ashlee Baritugo, Alexandra Bringas, Maria Cabanos, Reign Centeno, Paolo Gabriel Estrella, Mariana Gardoce, Angelika Portia Lapidario, Christina Bianca Mallari, Vaughn Ramos, Rashed Andrei Zafra

Heights Online Betina Aragon, Aidan Bernales, Alexandra Catapang,

Czarina Dela Cruz, Mariana Gardoce, Margarita Eliana Guevarra,

Jylianne Macazo, Deanne Sy, Riana Tumale, Ines Verzosa, Simone Yatco

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