THE WORLD WAITS IN THE DARKNESS FOR THE LIGHT THAT IS YOU: DAY 2 OF SEMINAR AND WORKSHOP

Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world. All things break, and all things can be mended. Not with time, as they say, but with intention. So go. Love intentionally, extravagantly, and unconditionally. The broken world waits in the darkness for the light that is you."

Excerpt from L.R Knost writings in gentle parenting resources.

This was the line I echoed within the four corners of our room during the second day of our seminar and workshop. If you were able to read my last blog, you would know what happened and what led me to this narrative. This is the second and last part of our seminar when Tabogon Roosevelt High School invited us to bring light to underdog stories and the concept of journalism that its students could use for future battles of words.

We woke up as early as we could despite being restless from last night. If you could remember what we did, then you’ll understand why I felt restless. It was an opposition of life—beauty and cruelty, energy and tiredness. I might be overdescribing it, but that is how it felt to sleep for just 3 hours and rise for 11 hours during the seminar. We did our things quickly, and an hour after we woke up, we found ourselves squeezed into a vehicle we had never ridden before.

We started our seminar at the same time as the first day. It was exactly 8:00 o'clock, and none of the students were present in the conference room by then. I mean…it was a humble Sunday—who would want to rise early in the morning on the only rest day? So, we waited for another hour before everyone was finally complete and ready to make sense of everything we discussed.

The second day was supposed to be all about a short discussion of photojournalism and layouting, but since literary writing was not included on the first day, we had to change the program.

The first thing in the morning was a discussion on literary writing and, compared to sports writing, I was more passionate about discussing it since it is my forte and best friend. Literature is my training ground for dealing with the outside world—it developed my empathy and built ways for me to express my identity in a way that is honest and faithful. Bringing light to literature during the seminar was a milestone for me, to emphasize how it is at the center of all writing, and how it could change the world.

I enjoyed discussing and sharing my insights with the students, and I was hopeful to inspire them through my words to write for the entire studentry. The students were not equally passionate; they did not share the same sentiments toward journalism—or simply toward writing. Speaking in front of them was not the goal, nor was it to merely inform them, but to let them feel the words I carefully chose and hope that some of these would perch in their soul at the deepest level of humanity they carry.

"Bring the people to the places they could not go in real life" was the line I emphasized in the discussion. It was an urge and a mandate that they should be unrealistic and idealistic in viewing the world and writing their crafts. We were told to always be realistic and practical, we were taught to touch the physical, but in the years of making myself do that, I felt stagnant and unclear. Maybe it was because of the pressure I received to craft stories based only on what could happen in real life, limiting my creativity and not bringing life into it at all. After that realization, I urged myself to be unrealistic and consider all possibilities I could think of, even if no one would put faith in them. Then the magic happened: I wrote more authentically and crafted words that were new in the buds of the readers—and of course, to me.

Before I ended my discussion, I left them an excerpt from L.R Knost, which I basically put in the first paragraph of this blog. "The world waits in the dark for the light that is you," I uttered again and again until I saw the promises through their eyes—that they would use their words to be the voice of the students and be brave enough to surpass the challenges existing in journalism.

After my discussion, one of the teachers approached me and quietly asked what my motivation in writing was, and asked me to share it in the discussion because they felt that was what was missing in the students. I was caught off guard, but I still spoke of my inspiration. I talked about it during the open forum and shared my only drive in writing, which is "them." To write for the people who are strangers to me but in dire need of being silenced. Raising their voice through journalism is my primary motivation, and to learn they were finally heard means success to me.

I was followed by layouting, and my co-member was so good at discussing it. Layouting is one of the hardest parts of publishing a magazine because it has to best encapsulate the story the writer has written. Then photojournalism followed, and I was happy to know that our former head photojournalist was invited. I listened to him carefully since I am now training in photojournalism just to propel the team during event documentation. But even if I started it in a forced manner, I learned to love it now and am eager to be honed not just by the lens but by the story I can capture.

Now, the most bittersweet part of conducting a seminar is knowing that it has to have a "last" day. Meeting those brilliant students and teachers is not permanent—it is fleeting in nature. Every time we are given the chance to do it, I always remind my co-writers to cherish the moment, especially on the last day. So whenever we have a short break between discussions, we make time to converse with the students and know them in ways they want us to know them. It might be hard at first to talk with them, but as the conversation flows, we always build rapport, which is essential to get sincere answers from them.

As student journalists, talking with them means trying to figure out the story of the seminar—to find out what this seminar could be about through the lens of innocent students. Last days of seminars are always bittersweet—bitter to know it will end at a random time and sweet to know that we gave our best and prepared them for their future endeavors.

The whole afternoon was all about the workshop: making sense of what we spoke about through the stories they would narrate during the session.

I was so excited about the workshop, to tell you honestly, that I let them make numerous outputs in an hour to discover their skills and potential.

In sports writing, I had this little man who wanted to be a sports warrior. I gave him a task to watch a whole game event on YouTube and write a sports article about it. The sad thing was I was not able to give him feedback since we ran out of time and it was past school operating hours. I just hope he learned a lot during my first discussion.

For literary writing, this girl had to be tough to my tasks, but I know she enjoyed it. I made her write four different pieces of prose and poetry, and the piece that was so important to me was the children’s poetry. She found it hard, but I believed she could write it. It was important to include poetry for kids to know how far she could write and how much "wonder" she had as a writer. The wonder of things and the belief in magic—two things I am searching for and found in her writing.

We prepared certificates for the participants, and we ended the program by giving them out.

We also gathered at the same spot where we had our photo opportunity the previous day, and there we breathed our farewells. Students were about to leave, and they hugged the speakers, telling us how grateful they were to listen to our words.

We also had an interview with the teachers, a recollection of the seminar, and a reflection of what we experienced. It was about to get dark, and the driver who fetched us on the first day was waiting, so we had to leave as soon as we received our honorarium, LOL.

We were restless and soulless during the trip, but some of us were still laughing. My energy had run out, but the car was still moving—telling me that my tired soul was not meant for the sole purpose of stopping, but of moving forward with the words I reiterated in the seminar.

It was 7:00 P.M. when we were dropped off at the main school, and there we all parted ways as if nothing had happened that very day. I left with my Editor-in-Chief, and the rest was another story.

It was a long, happy journey, and the words we painted on the walls of Tabogon Roosevelt were our humblest offering to the world. I hope you learned something in this blog and enjoyed the content. For now, that was what happened in our seminar, and I’ll be closing it with this line:

Words and ideas can change the world.