I have always loved storytelling. That’s really how I started writing in gradeschool. I love fiction. So it’s no wonder that I would someday have one published.
Well, there are actually two versions. The original was written when I was a senior in high school. It’s really more of a vignette with some poetry thrown in. Then when I joined the college paper years after, I decided to share it through one of the regular columns. If I’m not mistaken, that was also my first time to write for a column. I’m not sure, though. (Will have to check on it.) I ended up sharing a second version instead. It became longer and more profound, if not moralistic, to suit the standard.
Truthfully, I’ve noticed that when I write stories in my native language, they seem to be more dramatic and meaningful. I think my style of writing in Filipino relies heavily on my use of deeper/older words that do not suit light stories.
The story here is about a young, unwed mother trying to flee from the garbage dump where she left her baby. But as she tries to run away, she is not able to hide from her conscience and her natural, maternal instincts…Now, while I like both versions, I honestly feel more fondness for the original. I wrote it with more passion. The second is the edited version that relied more on the thinking rather than the feeling.
I decided not to post a pic of the handwritten original. You might not be able to see the words, anyway. Below is the published version. Again, it’s in Filipino. One day, when I really have a lot of time in my hands, I’ll retype and translate my Tagalog stories.