Writers from all over the country got together and talked about the latest in their regions in terms of the written word. Dean Francis Alfar shares his Taboan experience with us.

‘Taboan’ means ‘meeting place’, among other things; and my first day as one of the Taboan Writers’ Festival delegates from all over the country was both pleasant and enlightening. It was great seeing old friends again, as well as people I generally see only on special occasions—but even better was being able to meet fellow writers whom I had previously known only through their work or reputation. As if I had needed convincing before, I am—now even more so—utterly of the belief that the ‘Imperial Manila’ train of thought (i.e., that the ‘best’ writers come only from Manila) is a crock of bull.

TABOAN: The Philippines’ International Writers’ Festival 2009 celebrated the written word for three amazing days. Writers from Luzon, the Visayas, and Mindanao got together and talked, argued, laughed, and shared what they were doing; what was going on in their regions in terms of the written word. Senior writers (including the likes of F. Sionil Jose, Butch Dalisay, Krip Yuson, and more) mingled with the junior writers (These 80 or so seemed handpicked based on some mystical combination of publication history, peer recognition, prizes achieved, and alcohol tolerance), representing a cross-section of who was writing what where.

Ricardo M. de Ungria, the festival director (and big kahuna of the Committee on Literary Arts of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts) did an excellent job of programming, managing to schedule discussions and sessions on a variety of writerly concerns and areas of interest. I liked the fact that I was torn between which of two or more sessions I wanted to attend. The first few sessions alone were worth the leave of absence I had taken from work so I could participate.

National Artist F. Sionil Jose delivered the keynote address on ‘Philippine Literature Today’, a synoptic overview of where we’ve been and where we are, taking into account our literature in Filipino, English, and the regional languages; Philippine literature in the 21st century; and Philippine literature in the Asian and global context.

That was followed a moving tribute to Edith ‘Mom’ L. Tiempo—the sole female National Artist for Literature—by Marjorie Evasco, Merlie Alunan, Dinah Roma, Ronald Baytan (all of whom attended the Dumaguete National Writers’ Workshop, established and headed for years by Mom and her husband, the late Edilberto Tiempo) and poet Gémino Abad. Mom Tiempo is one of the Philippines’ most influential writers and mentors; she certainly deeply influenced me and my writing.

In ‘Ganito Kami Noon: Writing Through the Decades’, representatives from the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s talked (and waxed nostalgic) about the conditions for writing and publishing in their eras, and how things have changed. These were Elmer Ordoñez (1950s), National Artist Virgilio S. Almario (’60s), José ‘Pete’ Lacaba (’70s), Marjorie Evasco (’80s), and Angelo ‘Sarge’ R. Lacuesta (’90s).

The events of the three festival days were spread across three venues. While the first two days were celebrated in geographically academic territory (U.P. Diliman and the Ateneo de Manila University), coordinators Sarge Lacuesta and Joel Toledo made sure that the last day was representative of the fact that writers also live outside of academe; their choice was Cubao X, over at the Araneta Center.

The festival took over the eclectic area, cramming into restaurants, shoe stores, and independent film venues, and spilling into the streets, where a tented setup provided the largest space. It was there that I was part of the panel on speculative fiction (or the ‘Fictional Showdown’, which is what that particular session was called), along with Adam David, Jonathan Siason, and Alvin B. Yapan. Let me tell you this: put any number of writers together—especially ones filled with passion—and you’ll get the equivalent, in words, of a wrestling match. It is not only inevitable but quite a necessary part of improvement. We need to ask each other tough questions; challenge each other to expand and think in both broader and finer strokes; and of course, we need to produce—to write and write and write.

The interesting thing about talking with writers of my peer group, especially during the festival, was the quiet recognition of the fact that 1) none of us position ourselves as authorities in whatever areas we work in; and 2) the impending sense that our ‘junior writer’ badge would soon be replaced with another daunting appellation, given the Lion King-style ‘circle of life’.

None of us are in a rush to be ‘senior’ writers (despite the annoying fact that you cannot stop the years from piling on). I feel there is still much to learn from our current senior writers—as mentors in writing fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, plays, TV and film scripts, and whatnot; but more so as people, and certainly as friends.

(Dean Francis Alfar has won many writing awards and been published nationally and internationally. He is a leading advocate of the speculative fiction movement on the Philippine literary scene. )