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"Why come to this convention? You don't write for the komiks anymore."
THE question was asked innocently, maybe with a dash of curiosity, and it came from my son. This was during the recently held Filipino Comics Convention, or KOMIKON, nearly a month ago at SM Megatrade Hall. Since the annual Komikon has been part of my must-attend events, I thought I would ask my son to meet me at the convention hall before we proceed to get refreshments. The convention venue was conveniently located halfway between our respective residences, and frankly, I don't get to meet my son and his wife and their charming kid, little James, a lot. It would also be the first time I'd see the family after their house in Pasig got submerged, for over two days, in chest-deep Ondoy flood.
That his question took me by surprise was an understatement. It took me a few seconds to realize that I have not really apprised any of my children with regards to what komiks means to me. True, I have not written any komiks script for ages -- well, aside from the three special projects with three different publishers a few years ago -- but that does not mean I'm done with komiks.
So why was I at Komikon?
The most obvious reason was that I'd like to see my komiks colleagues. But apart from exchanging hellos, having brief chats, getting around the exhibits and stalls and seeing the new and newer crops of indies, and buying stuff from them, being in the midst of kindred souls had a salutary effect in me. It feeds the sense of gratitude I have for the komiks.
Indeed, that was my undivulged purpose -- until now -- that drove me to go to the KOMIKON year in, year out, whenever I could.
You might think it odd to feel grateful to something that is not living or breathing. In my heart and mind, however, having a sense of gratitude to something that has done a lot to my development as a writer and in supporting my family is instinctive. As instinctive as responding to calls for help in attempting to revive the industry; as instinctive as contributing, however little I could, to the idea of a 'komiks reborn' -- without any thought for subsequent material gains. My sense of gratitude was so unconsciously ingrained that I just wanted to do my wee part for the new breed of komiks creators.
Nothing positive for 99% of us, komiks people, came out of that attempt in 2006-07. But that has not blurred the sense of what komiks means to me. I was, and will always be, grateful to Philippine komiks.
After all, gratitude has no expiration date. Do you turn your back on something that nurtured your being when that something -- or someone -- is no longer capable of dispensing nourishment?
"There is no use-by date to gratitude," I said to my son.
Nerd that he was (and I'm saying nerd with much affection for my computer-genius son), I think he understood.
2 comments:
Wordsmith:
I like your new banner. Awesome.
Meandering memories. I dig that, indeed.
Reminiscing memories while we still can reminds me of what Robert Herrick said in his poem: "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying."
And in modern times, my favorite is what Spanish filmmaker Luis Buñuel once said:
“You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realize that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all, just as an intelligence without the possibility of expression is not really an intelligence. Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it, we are nothing.”
Recalling the past. This is my favorite preoccupation, too. It brightens my days, gives color to my existence, keeps me anticipating for another tomorrow.
Thank you for dropping by, CoolCanadian.
Thank you, too, for intimating that recalling the past is also your favorite preoccupation. :D
I like that quote from the Spanish filmmaker for we are, indeed, nothing without our memories.
But I hope not to start losing my memory, even bit by bit, until after I've recorded most of it. There's just too much I'd like to recall and share, mostly for those I hold very dear and even for those who're not so dear.
I've spent [still do] the better part of my life writing for 'faceless people' generally. However, a few years ago, a daughter said in passing that I should write for them, too; or maybe not necessarily for them but for their children.
I knew what she meant. I stayed glued to work with hardly any time spent with them when they were growing up. The things I've seen and felt, over the course of my eventful life, were incorporated into my novels, but I have not sat down at length with them to share those things in full, and without embellishment.
Perhaps I should let my meandering memories get recorded with regularity lest its petals wither, droop, and drop dead into oblivion.
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