Writing After a Borrowed Notebook

Classroom is a place where it starts all— the friendships we’ve made, reading of stories, and the strokes of our pens. I did not begin writing with the idea it was called literature. I actually began with an imitation, a drop of curiosity, and a borrowed notebook. Everything starts in a worn notebook. In elementary school, I had a friend who carried his worn notebook everywhere he went. The notebook has scratches, the edges are crumpled, and no design, just a simple, old notebook. But looking from it, I knew it carried stories behind it. Inside it was full of drawings and scenes— simple sketches partnered with handwritten stories that made the sketch pop into life. It was also the time that I realized that simple images could speak through the help of words. He is really blessed with hands that could write and also draw. I remembered when I borrowed his notebook and began reading it and started to really love it. He noticed my interest and told me that I should try it myself, and I said I would. My first attempt is not really from what I expected. My drawings were terrible but somehow it carries the story that I wrote. At that time, all I felt was purely fun, I did not know that I was already writing. 

I did not know that what I was doing was part of a larger tradition or that it had a name. There was no intention of becoming a writer, I had only the desire to create something that mirrored what I had seen in my friend’s notebook. That innocence, that absence of pressure, grades, and expectation, made writing feel natural and free. It existed only in my imagination and the pages of my notebook.

A year ago, that same friend passed away in an accident. His notebook and story exists only now in my memory, but the influence he brought to me in my life still remains and I even reclaimed it now in college. Loss has a way of sharpening a person, and when I think of how I came into writing, I always return to that moment when I read his notebook and invited me to also create my own. That imitation became an inspiration to me now in the present. That friend also taught me that stories do not have to be perfect and very polished, it just have to be told. Looking back at those times, I merged into thinking that the first time I encountered writing as a fun hobby came not from a lesson in a classroom, but it started with a friendship. 

Writing. I later realized that it is also an act of preservation. What my friend placed in his notebook was not only his imagination but it was proof that a moment existed, that a thought once mattered enough to tell and show. After his passing, that realization became more heavier and more personal. Writing always carries voices forward even when the writer can no longer speak. The fact that my first encounter with writing and storytelling came from someone who is no longer here, it gave me a sense of responsibility to continue. 

In high school, however, I drifted away from writing. As academic demands also increased, writing for me began to feel like something now structured and formal that it should follow rules and correct manners. I stopped seeing it as a hobby. Yet while I was no longer writing regularly, life has continued to write itself for me. Those were the years where my life filled with movements and stories. I learned how to stand on my own, how to be independent, how to manage my responsibilities, and how to exist within different spaces. I also joined clubs and organizations, worked with different groups of people, and participated in pageantries that really developed me holistically. I even experienced heartbreak and also falling in love. Falling in love not only with people or activities but also with the arts— performing and also doing creations. These were the experiences I accumulated quietly. Those years I believe were not wasted, but it was the time to learn what to write now in the present. And although I was no longer writing in those years, I was unconsciously collecting materials. Those moments of triumphs, success, and failures. Those relationships I have made and moments of self-doubts. It became part of my time archive.

During the pandemic, I found myself discovering another form of storytelling through music. I learned to play the guitar by myself with a little help from YouTube. I spent long hours practicing chords— those were so painful. Eventually, I  began composing songs of my own, well it's just two compositions actually, and often laughing at the realization that some of the melodies that I thought were original already existed. Around that time, I wrote poems that were mostly inspired by a long-time crush which I now look back on with fond humor. I wrote honestly without thinking of an audience or critique, only for myself. Somewhere along the way, that small notebook where I kept the writings from my heart just disappeared— I forgot where I put it. 

Many of the works in this collection are rooted in my experience and my memory. I write from moments that I remember. Well, memories, for me, is not an archive of moments, it is a living source. In writing, especially when it is from a memoir, I reinterpret it not just recalling it. Now, when I write, it allows me to revisit those experiences again with much understanding, to give meaning to those times that were confusing, and I am even doing it now while writing this. 

Each genre of writing explored in CW100 required different approaches and it taught me more about my own writing process. The food essay allowed me to combine my memory and our tradition into narrative. Writing about food does not just make me drool, it also helped me to recall the bond of my family while cooking a special dish and also makes me not forget the process. Writing it required sensory details— the taste, the smell, and the texture. In flash fiction, I struggled with compression, because it is hard to tell a complete story in just a limited space. I had to make some short cuts which also actually helped me not to over-explain a certain scene. I also struggled with recalling a past sad event in which my flash fiction was full of emotions. In playwriting, I really learned to think and act beyond my own voice. The dialogue demanded clarity and authenticity which pushed me to consider how people speak differently depending on context and emotions. Lastly, in our poetry, I found myself to really look onto the imagery and symbolism to my sonnetina part. I kept revising each line until it felt precise enough to carry what I wanted to say. 

Revision was perhaps the most transformative part of my writing process. Honestly, before this course, I viewed revision primarily as a simple correction only, like fixing grammars or adjusting phrasing, and little did I know that it was far more than that. Sometimes you gotta change many sentences and even change the whole plot! And that was a fun experience. CW100 is a course that molds your writing into something bigger that you think. Through the guidance of Prof. Jhoanna, I really learned that revising is also an act of listening to the piece, to the feedback, and most especially to oneself. I really often struggle to find my true voice. I often questioned how I should sound, how I should write, how I should end it, and whether it is strong enough to stand beside the works of others. I often followed the feedback, and it also made my work better than the original one. There are really times where I revised entire sections because I felt it misaligned the plot. I let go of the lines I loved but it made the writing work better. Revisions also forced me to confront my own standards and insecurities and pushed me to write beyond what I know. 

This collection reflects my creative outputs and also the starting process of my becoming as a writer.  It carries the traces of my childhood discoveries, adolescent distance, rediscovery, and a disciplined practice. I now see writing as an ongoing process in which a writer evolves. I may not know and cannot tell where my writing will lead me to, but I know now that it is something I will return to. Writing is a way of telling, remembering, and continuing.