One night before leaving school, I decided to spend some time thinking about an array of randomness. I found a place in the park, sitting in the middle lane facing the Arch of the Centuries, an arch under which the Finest breed of Filipinos passed under (and yes, I may sound like an egomaniac, but that is what is said on its side).

The place was in a way, serene, though there was a burning building just near P. Noval street, I was not really bothered, I focused myself on my surroundings, entertaining every piece of idea that attempt to enter me, and leave me, good thing I always have my dynamic pen and paper duo.

I wanted to write a story but I dod not know where to begin, then I remembered, how do you start writing stories? There are many ways, just choose the one thats suits you the most, I started by jotting down things around me, practically anything would work, may it be an action, and emotion, tangibles and intangibles, basically anything. And then the list was completed.

Skimming the list of twelve words, I began thinking of any possible story, and from the words:

1. TUMATAKBO
2. PINALO
3. KUMAKANTA
4. FRENCH FRIES
5. SAPATOS
6. PUNO
7. KISLAP
8. MAGKASINTAHAN
9. GUBAT
10. HUBAD
11. DAMO
12. KAKILALA

I began to think, which should come first? or maybe, what should the object of the story? Then I had an ordinary beginning, just like a recipe.

Saan ba nanggagaling ang pinakamasarap ng FRENCH FRIES?

Incidentally, the night after writing this, I dreamt of French Fries.

Una, maghahanap ang mga tagaluto ng mga kakaibang tubo ng patatas sa GUBAT.

The setting is quite peculiar if you will think of French Fries as the object of the story, but this kind is so speical, that is grows only on forests.

Matapos ay itatakbo nila ito sa isang lalagyan, TUMATAKBO sila upang hindi gaanong mahanginan ang mga patatas.

A considerably valid reason for them to run. I thought I would be losing the story because I had nothing going on, but then cam the idea of a problem, a painful one.

Kaso, habang tumatakbo ang mtagaluto, tumama siya sa isang PUNO dahil natanggal ang sintas ng SAPATOS niya, mabuti nalang at may kasama siyang KAKILALA na siyang umalalay sa kanya, PINALO niya ito upang bumalik sa dati at tumuloy na sila sa sasakyan habang KUMIKILAP pa ang paningin ng tagapagluto.

I thought it would end here, nag-isip pa ako ng paulit-ulit, ayun, alam ko na.

Sa daan nila tungi sa sasakyan, nagulat sila dahil wala ang mga patatas, hindi nila napansin na gumulong sila sa DAMUHAN. Bumalik sila para kunin ang mga ito pero nang makita nila ay hawak hawak na ng dalawang MAGKASINTAHANG unggoy. Kinantahan nila ang unggoy, sa pag KANTA niya ay nabawi nila ang patatas, HINUBAD ng tagaluto ang jacket niya at binugay ang mga unggoy, at bumalik na sila para makapagluto na.

The story basically, as any other fiction, is a figment of the writer’s imagination. I will not categorize this as speculative because it does not really bring up many questions, it is just, for me, a simple plot driven three-minute story having a set of simple problems with corresponding simple solutions.

I won’t be a hypocrite who will say I did not enjoy writing it because truth be told, I enjoyed writing it. This is one of the stories that I wrote that actually had a plot (a beginning, rising action, climax, a denouement,  and an end), though the end did not actually yield a pocket of Calorie Sticks, still, it was a yummy story to tell.

And since I wrote the story facing the Arch of the Centuries, I made a very ambitious sketch of The Arch which I also enjoyed; made me think I have a CFAD (College of Fine Arts and Design) blood hahaha.

For some reason ( knowing the Jose Rizal was one regularly passing through the same Arch I passed, I remembered the tale of the moth and the lamp, and lines started rushing from my id; since it was a literary urge, I had no reason no attempt, nor a single particle of desire to even stop it, I just let it flow. The piece was about flame.

Afterwards, I found a vacant lamp post by the grasses, I moved there; other posts had people underneath them, running around, talking about stuff, and enjoying he night, and I went under the post to think. The night was young as the saying goes, and I know there was more to come and I did not want to ignore the: instinct.

In my attempt to SSS (scan, skim, and survey) once more just as I did to gather the first twelve muses of my story, I tried to encapsulate them all into once piece, trying to mentally do the previous writing hunt, but I cannot, perhaps because I was mentally drained after adjudicating debates the during the day, but that did not stop me from writing, instead, I write about the hostility happening inside my mind, and that was the final piece.

The night was long, long enough for me to finish pieces, but so short, I reached the curfew hours; a man wearing a sombrero hat approached me saying:

“Ser, karpyo na po”.