ATSPAR (III) contenders must hear a ****

“There are two major types of contenders joining a writing contest: those who expect and those who don’t… But what should both realize after the contest?” (My response to ColdExpress’s “ Meet the Natives”)

ATSPAR III preludes ALTPA in a regional level. The latter is in Luzonwide level and is being held in February of the subsequent year, few months after its regional counterpart during November. For the benefit of those who live outside this archipelago, these two are writing contests held annually for campus journalists. The words “tertiary schools press conference” can be extracted from these acronyms, which technically means they’re intended only for college students. Meanwhile, ATSPAR III has celebrated its tenth anniversary this November.

THAT NOVEMBER 2008 DAY I’ll never forget. The azure November sky was crystal clear, the atmosphere was unruffled, and the temperature was tepidly blended. Although being consternated about the results and feeling nauseous, I was still certain that I will hear my name and see myself once again, going in front of the faceless crowd of campus journalists, receiving my opulent medal of either bronze or silver, and being applauded by all and sundry. Afterward, I thought I’ll be seeing my banner flogging in front of our university’s main building. And so I expected that from Edwin de Leon too. These were then my expectations…

In 2005, Maix Rustia, The Pioneer’s chief-of-correspondents (a position below all the editors but above all the writers) in the said year, brought pride for the university paper by winning first place in the English feature writing category of ASTPAR III. It was then Maix’s first time to join the ATSPAR III because she was in first year college. She was the only winner by then while all her seniors brought nothing. Unfortunately, although she was a first placer in the regional contest, she fell short in attending the Luzonwide press con due to a strain of avalanche issue in February 2006, as I recall.

In 2006, Edwin de Leon, The Pioneer’s managing editor in the said year, brought pride for the university paper by winning first place in Filipino sports writing category and second place in English feature writing category of ATSPAR III. When he advanced to the Luzonwide press con, he still won as tenth placer for one category—Filipino sports writing. Also, that year was Edwin’s first time to join both the ATSPAR III and the ALTPA.

In 2007, Al Christopher Mendoza (I’ll be using “I” for the following sentences since I’m referring to the person typing in front of the laptop), The Pioneer’s features editor in the said year, bagged third place in English feature writing category. When I advanced to the Luzonwide press con with Mike Tiotuico, the said year’s news editor who was even a higher-rank achiever for both his Newswriting and editorial writing categories, I also won seventh place. That year was our first time to join the press con. In my case, my victory was out of the blue; I thought it was a matter of fluke for the novice that I was. My two records, I suppose, were the last times that The Pioneer won medals in the individual feature writing category until this November 2010 when Josh Esteban, a current Pioneer writer, bagged silver medal in the said category.

In 2008, Mitch Frazier, Tim dela Paz, and Michelin Santos won in Filipino editorial writing, English photojournalism, and English literary (poetry) writing categories as fourth, fifth, and second placers, respectively. Among the three, Michelin—this year’s editor in chief of The Pioneer in tandem with the managing editor, Cherry Anne Mungcal, who also won this year and last year's regional press con in editorial writing—also emerged as champion in her Luzonwide contest by then. (As ironic as it may sound, she gained a higher recognition in a macro-wider level.) It was their first time to join their respective categories too. As well, the said year was the period when Edwin and I were the senior editors at our senior years; also the time when we unexpectedly lost in our own categories, which we have proven ourselves with in the past years. So my expectations were not met after all, an event which happened to be a fleeting downer for me, swabbing my hopes like the avalanche that occurred in 2006…

After reading Ryan Marimla’s post last November 19 on ColdExpress regarding his unexpected winning in sports writing and simultaneous defeat in two other categories, which might be his fortes, I abruptly recalled what I felt during those days. If that event were food, it tasted pungently. When I didn’t hear my name hailed by the announcer in my category, I stashed to our room, running through the pool side—wherein I hallucinated that I could have slept and consequently submerged into the pool, getting wet and dramatically concealing my tears. Before my hallucination ended, however, I saw myself in front of the mirror: with clothes still desiccated and face sodden with conspicuous tears. I shrugged and then I picked something from a desk, something I thought of whacking against the mirror. But then my colleagues came and saw my (formerly) gray eyes-turned-red because of tears. Then Edwin met my eyes just for a second, gave me a jovial tap, and told me, “It is okay. We’ve proven ourselves in the past years.”—I gained fleeting composure.

Since I suppose our 2008 tabloid paper was better than the 2007 tabloid paper, which actually gained a greater deal of recognition despite the fact that it seemed like it has been produced by a former PR firm where I was also a part of, I tried to contest the judges’ decision in the same year, even with the group awards. As well, I conjectured if how was it possible for me, winning in a year when people disliked my articles compared with losing in a year when people, even professors, extolled my writings. Thus, I hypothesized a strain of paradoxical deterioration in my style—even though I can’t quite discern the disparity between a paradoxical deterioration and an “unparadoxical” or logical deterioration. However, I gave more value to going home earlier.

Perhaps, it’s all a matter of judgment. If not, then the contest might be for novices since, if I would analyze, the series of winnings in the previous years all have something in symmetry: first time. Or maybe, sometimes we win, at times we lose. Conversely, losing doesn’t mean you’re not good; it may hypothetically mean somebody is better. From these thoughts, I was trying to calm myself, but they seemed to be nonsensical. So, I just thought of the readers who comment on my writings and I thought their faces are my forever banners; their hearts are my timeless medals. I also thought that someday, more blessings will come (and yes, they came within the past two years). Going home, still, was a bit melancholic. Inside the van, my eyes were noticeably watery. There were pauses because of the traffic and these pauses gave me more time to cry. When the vehicle in front of you, however, moves, you better do so too. I just thought that all victories might be worth it; winners deserve what they have achieved.

Not all defeats, however, are equal. Some defeats are difficult to accept. And sometimes, no matter how much we think in cognitive dissonance, those defeats leave a mark engraved momentarily.

In that November 2008 traffic, the next thing I heard was a soft sound of a vehicle horn from behind—telling us to move forward.