Workshop in Batangas

Now this is worth blogging: I returned to Manila late afternoon last Sunday from Batangas, where I conducted a playwriting workshop for selected high school students of schools owned by the Oblates of Saint Joseph. I’m thankful that Grace, a friend and fellow Writers Bloc member, picked me for the job—and only after she had tried (and apparently failed) to get in touch with Rene Villanueva last month. I’m also grateful for the fee, just enough for thrifty me to last a month, at least. But that’s not the only one I got out of the workshop: a still-hoarse voice; memories of cheerful nuns, a senile but creepy French octogenarian priest, and a dead bird in the room I had stayed in; and several new friends.

The workshop—at least, my workshop—lasted for five looooong days. God knows it wasn’t smooth sailing, but on the whole it went well—or I’d like to believe it did. I also like to believe that I did a good job, but of course I could always be better. Rene’s unplanned presence last Saturday was definitely memorable. He really played his role as critic to the hilt, trashing the unsurprisingly amateurish short plays that we read that day and eventually assigning them to write new ones. I remember telling Grace then, half-jokingly: “Let the bloodletting begin.” Both of us are used to his sharp tongue, but I rather felt sorry for the kids when they experienced his tongue-lashing firsthand. I’m very relieved that no one cried. I don’t resent his presence, though. If nothing else, the participants’ second output, though still flawed, were much better. He even shared with me an incident in last month’s UP workshop, about one fellow who had a breakdown because two of his poems earlier received some flak from the panelists on the first week. He even sobbed right after his first poem got dissed. How pathetic.

Before the workshop, Grace told me that the accomodations and food will be taken care of. And man, she wasn’t kidding. Sure, they’re not fancy, but no one’s complaining. I stayed at the OSJ retreat house at the back of the school—Holy Family Academy—where the workshop took place. The nuns were very hospitable, and they truly looked out for me once I was in their premises. But Rev. Elias, the only priest living there, really unnerved me. It’s not his fault, really. Thanks to his senility, he acted like a child again: refusing to take his medicine, calling for his mother. If that’s not enough, there’s something about his eyes—piercing blue, and set too near to his nose—that made me (and later, my companions) uncomfortable. At breakfast, he would sit at one end of the table and I at the other and he would try to talk to me or comment about me to the other nuns. Their patience with him is not only admirable, but also incredible.

I slept in one of the large bedrooms on the second floor. It felt rather odd to sleep in a room with several unoccupied beds, with one ceiling fan looking as though ready to drop and a dead bird lying so close to the blades on the other. And the religious pictures hanging in almost every wall, with each one looking as if they were watching me, didn’t exactly make me feel at ease. With nothing else in the retreat house to entertain me, I just slept earlier than usual, and alone, during the first few days, only to wake up several times during the night, and it wasn’t because of the heat.

No doubt the best part of the entire workshop, for me, were the people I befriended. There’s Dough and RH, cool cats and quite fun to be with. There’s also Rey, whose life is so full of drama it could inspire several plays. And there’s also Joel and Naya. We spent the last two nights of our stay hanging out in my and Joel’s room, discussing and reading good poetry (theirs and other poets we know), dissing bad ones, and of course, playing "Name That Movie" and especially "Twenty Questions", which kept us busy well past midnight. We even played another round of it on the way home.

I remember feeling a little nervous about the workshop while I was on my way to Batangas; I never really faciliated a playwriting workshop or handled teens before. I guess I shouldn't have worried.