The Classroom, Giftedness and my Muse

Coming up with a creative output for my Creativity and Giftedness class was not an easy task. As I've said before, since I graduated from college I have been led to believe that my muse has left me, along with her my ability to transform my emotions, sadness especially, into poetry and art. It has been more than seven years since that realization and until now I am struggling to overcome my poetic tongue-tied-ness and artistic lethargy.

After learning from this course that one cannot teach the creative unless one is creative, I felt a sudden wave of panic. How can I teach, then? The need to find my muse became all the more urgent. In my teaching career I am still at the stage of struggle as the transition from the corporate world to the academe is proving to be quite difficult. With the harsh realities of teaching beginning to sink in—schools turning into mere enterprises, unsupportive (and mediocre) superiors and equally unsupportive parent-clients, the exodus of good teachers to greener pasteurs—I felt all the more compelled to seek other endeavors not only to help me thrive and survive in this profession but also to keep my sanity intact.

Seeing an old journal-cum-poetry-notebook gave me an idea on what kind of output to have. I have always wanted to see my works published. Writing a book is actually in my "things to do before I die" list. My major product, therefore, was a small collection of favorite poems/writings salvaged from memory (along with one new material which suddenly came about after one creative encounter), mingled with photographs and vector illustrations. The images were either a direct product of a creative pursuit (photographs taken during my travels) or a piece inspired by it (digitally produced and/or enhanced).

The experiences from which the product materialized included mostly travels to new and less chartered places—road trips that stretched from Antipolo to Quezon and an exploration of Cagbalete Island (in Mauban, Quezon)—as well as to the more crowded spots like several markets in Benguet and tiangge's in my hometown. Seeing places, I believe, brings me nearer to my ever-fleeting muse. Indulging in gastronomic and aesthetic adventures—tasting new fares, treating myself to simple spa treatments, as well as painting faces and bodies for several campus events—proved to be inspiring, too. Exploits of the tongue and body helped me to find exquisiteness in the simplest of things, including the appreciation of my own body, quirks and all. Some endeavors, like listening to music (Tori Amos in particular), watching television (National Geographic and Discovery), reading (I have just started reading Alvin and Heidi Toffler's "Revolutionary Wealth"), and chatting with colleagues and students over fish balls and kwek kwek, though simple, seemed to have squeezed more cerebral juices than the other activities. Perhaps the most surreal of experiences was when I went under the knife to have a lipoma removed from my back. During the entire painless procedure, words, which I later arranged into poetry, drifted into my thoughts like a mantra. The poem I cannot consider to be a "masterpiece"; nevertheless, it was included as an output because I believe the event from which the inspiration came was one of those rare moments that my muse has made her presence known.

Until now, perhaps due to low self-esteem, the word "mediocre" still passes my mind whenever I look at my creative output. But it’s the start of curing my so-called artistic gout. Sans my muse, I was still able to create something I believe is worth sharing.

The experience, therefore, has taught me to never stop looking for my muse, however frustrating it may seem. After all, I have nothing to lose. In fact, I gained a wealth of wisdom from the search. More importantly, I was able to rechannel my artistic energies into other worthwhile undertakings, which helped uplift the spirits dampened by the challenges of this seemingly not-so glamorous profession. Moreover, I am now able to heave a small sigh of relief at the thought of facing the exceptional in the classroom. I anticipate such encounters that may bring about the rubbing off of some of their gifts on me, if not bring my muse back for good.