Misha was the next to arrive at the second floor corridor, before journalism class started. Ten minutes previous to that I arrived and waited for the locked room to be, well, unlocked. There wasn't any time to point anything out regarding her seemingly flawless American accent - usually I take it as more of a matter of word speed than upbringing - and I remember that she was insisting that I sit down. Five minutes remained before the class was supposed to start, and I barely gave in to her offer.
Almost everyone from LC18 were in that class. The remaining third were filled by what John calls "full-blooded" CAM students, most of which aspired to become journalists at one point. If you've known me long enough, you'd know about my newspaper-reading childhood, about my wild imagination put to work during my elementary school years, and the reason why I took up this degree program in the first place. And probably that was the reason why it got annoying barely midway through the class, when most of the class became achingly honest as to why they enrolled in that class. If it wasn't the schedule, it was the number of field trips. To be honest, I didn't really know about them until Misha mentioned it to me.
She was supposed to enroll in film management class until she found out that there won't be any shooting or editing involved. It was a very stressful aspect of last term, notwithstanding the fact that Sir Groyon wasn't around to teach. (Marcia eventually said that Miss Lee, the one who's handling segment production class, requires a lot more: thirteen segments on topics that, I believe, take more than a week to develop, especially if you're only two in the production staff.) When Meh arrived, she was waving half-frantically at the empty editing bay, bidding it goodbye forever, until either Nadia or Mae shook her back to reality, and to thesis.
It was one of the ironies a CAM student had to face. Turns out film management class teetered very closely to the mainstream, with the final project being a concept for a film that would have a lot of potential for entry into the Metro Manila Film Festival. It's funny thinking that, for the past few terms, we have been taught (if silently) the independent culture, where creative freedom is more than a dream. I remember Kat's face when she pointed that out, before we started film writing class under Sir Doy, and everybody knows that he's so much into the independent mindset - the need to make scripts personal, or else they become fluff.
The group discussion was fluffy. Not that I wasn't particularly proud of it, but I complained about it to Marcia when we went home. Having two-thirds of the class uninterested means not everybody pays attention, although (sickeningly safe, this approach is) we eventually pulled through with answers and insights. Or maybe half of our group did. I don't know if Miss Bacalla was slightly annoyed at everybody's insistent hinting about the (rumored) field trips, but we somehow managed, still, to get good answers about what journalism really is. Hopefully soon things get really started, because if they don't, then I don't know what will.
Society class suddenly posed a challenge upon us - we are required to write someone in the media industry. At least two letters, one in each half of the term, would be the output, and each would contain our feedback regarding whatever we see in the media. My concern is putting my complaints into words and rationalizing them, to be honest, because I apparently have so much to say. But seven weeks - make that six - is still a long time, but not too long for procrastination. By now most of us have learned the art of not doing anything until the very last minute, so maybe we can manage unless we forget, or if we decide to insert the paranoia Caresse was describing the day before. She said it went beyond what she was capable off. But it was off my head when the first of Friday's classes commenced, partly because I actually enjoyed the view. Dismissal, however, flew so fast it gave me a headache.