Thoughts at the 60th Palanca

Generally an early bird, I am hardly late for any event. For the 60th Palanca Awards Night, I was an even earlier bird. One hour too early, in fact.

When I got to the venue's door, a large flock of similarly eager birds were already taking pictures there. My turn, click.

Somehow, this event always brings out the rush, adrenaline rush, in people.

I spotted F. Sionil Jose, who was swarmed with fans and peers. Mental note—bold, all caps: have a photo with him. Nothing occupied my mind more. When I finally worked up the nerve to approach him, after the awarding, he was gone. Sob, sob.

Greg Brillantes, the guest of honor, was still lolling about, though. Click.

When I was young and fearless, I marched to his office at Graphics to turn in a manuscript—an essay I sweated over for a year. He gave me a cursory glance, took my manuscript, and threw it into one of the editors' cubicles. It would have been the end of my writing dream, but that one single act challenged me to slog it out.

Krip Yuson was at the table beside ours. He read two award-winning poems, bravo, bravo! He's one literary star I read often and was I pleasantly surprised to discover he chaired the board of judges for my category. I had a chance to tell him, after receiving my award, "You judged me!" He laughed.

JC was kind enough to escort me (only one guest per winner). He usually drops the duty on JR's lap, but JR was nursing a 39.5-degree fever. JC said, "Bravo!" after Krip Yuson read the first poem. Most of the time, though, he was fiddling with his cellphone, maybe reading his e-Bible (?).

 

Tony joined us much later, after he had feasted on food elsewhere, which he claimed was "better than Palanca's buffet." He was my alert and willing photographer and I owe him the images on this page.

Luis, my dear friend, was one of the judges (not in my category). I should have sat at his table. I would have quintupled the number of photos Tony took.

Writers, writers, writers everywhere. If Rolando Mendoza hijacked the Manila Peninsula Ballroom instead of a tourist bus, he would have wiped out or held the country's literati captive.

A great equalizer, literature is. Two of the winners were, at the very least, uh, centenarians: a respected Professor Emeritus and a Ph. D. holder. Three were in their teens and one was a 12-year-old! The day I'd stop writing would be the day my fingers could no longer press the keyboard because my mind would have forgotten what a keyboard is.

Going up the Palanca stage, even for the 5th time, is always an unnerving, first-time experience. You don't know what to do, how to walk up, how to smile, how to receive the certificate, how to walk away. I guess it has something to do with expectations of oneself—how to raise the bar, and where to go from there.

The hundred steps from our table and back were one prayer walk, thanking God, with every stride, for this unmerited favor spelled like my name—grace.

Passion for what man calls literature, can it ever be quenched? For 60 years, the Palanca Awards has been honoring writers who churn out manuscripts bearing and baring heart and soul. Masterpieces, they are called.

A book that lists all the winners since 1951 was handed out to this years' awardees; it shows varied names—some known, some unheard of, but all with one common thread: love for writing. I looked once, twice, thrice, many times over, to believe my name is actually on the list.   

(My winning piece was "I Am an Apple" in the Short Story for Children category.)