Feature Article

posted Jan 27, 2015, 12:43 AM by Federico Araniego



Trischa Sheen A. Dumanjug

 Feature Writer/Broadcast Journalist

Fourth Year Student, Special Science Curriculum

Ozamiz City National High School


   Being enclaved in the bonds of self-expectations did not make it any easier for me as a writer, especially when the adage of ‘writing to express and not to impress’ is left to be a history.

            I had always believed that I could never achieve more unless it is going to be the end of something. Like having to compete in the National School’s Press Conference 2011 when I was at the end of my elementary education and having to experience that again, now that I’m at the verge of graduating from high school. I believed well. History repeats itself, indeed.

            In the days when I was a sprouting writer, I saw no evil, spoke no evil, and thought no evil about the happenstances around me. Everything was picture perfect, in the best of form—in the happiest of view. I got to express my heart’s content without actually caring about the errors in grammar and incoherent ideas—whether the conclusion connects to the introduction or whether the adverbs really weakens the sentences. It was a passionate and carefree writing made in the brightest sheet of paper and finest ink. That remained constant not until I learned how to react cruelly to the social issues in the community and in the nation. I learned how to hold ground to my principles and how to be blunt about my opinions. The world then gradually melted into this ugly reality—no more rainbows and sunshines; no more green grasses and flowers in bloom. I learned how to care about strict subject verb agreements and parallelism; uncommon adjectives and powerful kicks in phrases. That evolution came hand in hand with the mounting self-competition building in my guts.

            In the intense clash of brains during the journalism contests, everyone forgets the axiom they grew in. It was all about the impression. I have no hold against my inner A-game but instead of trying to pull back I allowed it carry me away. Like them, I threw that adage away.

            Disappointment flooded me when I felt like I was being rejected by fate every time the opportunity for Nationals nears me. I did not give anything but my best. I used to wonder how it happened; wonder why it happened.

            Upon another combat in the battlefield, recently at the Island of Camiguin, right about when I expected another rejection, I was hailed silver at the field of my expertise. It was glorious! It was a victory I yearned to achieve.

            As I search for the answers of why I came out the island a triumph, I realized that at that time, at that very seat, I spaced out from the ‘impression’ for my soul led me to the true ‘expression’ my heart has stored for years, in every stroke of the pen I held.

            Not only did my realization hit me hard in the head but also kicked me rigidly, just enough for the blossoming confidence to pour over me and get me ready for this summer’s competition.

            This very adage: “Write to express and not to impress” was not a history after all.