When Writing Morphs into a Lifetime: A Novel

By Myrna Lou Jastra

This book comes from a rarified atmosphere. It stems from an original love story. Its mission is to remain true to one's self.

The author has, for more than half-a-century of residing in the United States, continues to live in her adopted land and visits her native Philippines regularly. A product of the University

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen Culture Solutions
• Release date: Apr 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781638126799

Myrna Lou Jastra

The author has, for more than half-a-century of residing in the United States, continues to live in her adopted land and visits her native Philippines regularly. A product of the University of the Philippines (U.P.) where she obtained her bachelor degrees in the sciences and arts as a college scholar, she proceeded to complete Graduate School degrees from the University of Southern California, Los Angeles, while she held an academically tenured position. She started her professional writing career as a reporter on beat at the Manila Bulletin after graduation from the U.P. Living in America continuously, the author first glimpsed, then embraced what she eventually promised to do, continue writing her column in the Philippine News, the sole coast-to-coast Philippine American weekly in America founded in 1961. She started her column-writing for the same weekly in 1971, so she could "give something of myself," to her community. In her great wish to weigh her adopted land's influences, the author has offered compelling alternatives not only for her own ethnicity to mull over, but offers the same to those who left their original homes in the quest of a new life in America. She zeroes in on home values, relating these to the irreplaceable role of education, a passion she has adhered to as she forges ahead in her belief that transplants should aim for it if they are to take their place in the U.S.A. Her call stems from her convictions in the goals of higher education, never giving up on what she had sworn to pass on to a trio of children (her second generation) who, as she shares intellectual growth with them, remain acutely aware that they are passing on the same hopes and dreams to the families they are raising.

Book preview

When Writing Morphs into Lifetime

A Novel

Copyright © 2023 by Myrna Lou Jastra

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63812-678-2

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63812-679-9

All rights reserved. No part in this book may be produced and transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher. It hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Published by Pen Culture Solutions 03/30/2023

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GRACE, THE UNIVERSITY PUBLICATION’S OFFICE administrative assistant, called the attention of a young sophomore who seemed to be in a rush, Lor, you have mail. Aren’t you from that city? Isn’t that your home? Grace pointed at the envelope’s return address.

Thanks, Lor said and nodded.

Only when Lor arrived at her dormitory did she find time to open the mail, an invitation dated August 30, 1948, from an editor of an all-boys military academy, asking her to write for their school’s special issue.

Lor found it puzzling. She never had an acquaintance with anyone among that school’s editors.

She read through the letter again:

In line with our policy of dedicating a number yearly for the fair sex, we have decided to make our November issue entirely feminine. For this purpose, our official publication’s staff is requesting your assistance in putting this issue out successfully. Please send us your short story, poems, essays (preferably humorous ones), and whatever contributions you think of. We have set the deadline for October 1, inasmuch as the printing of our magazine is done in Manila. Kindly accompany your articles with your picture. Your cooperation will be highly appreciated.

Ermin Oro, the femmes editor, signed the letter on behalf of The Corps, the official publication of the Philippine Military Academy in the city of Baguio, Lor’s hometown.

After a week, a phone call came. Gloria approached Lor in the midst of acknowledging receipt of her just-delivered laundry and asked her to hold the line. The caller identified himself as the incoming editor of a publication. Lor recalled the name.

I have only ten minutes to explain my request. Did you receive the letter mailed to the office of your university’s publication? the caller queried.

Lor was visibly miffed by the call. She was feeling a sense of guilt. Yes. I’m sorry I was not able to reply to you immediately. I had my midterm exams and three term papers to write. But I’ll respond in writing tomorrow.

The caller, who further identified himself, seemed relieved. But as he continued the conversation, he informed Lor how photos were requested to accompany all contributions. He seemed friendlier as they continued their phone conversation. Lor assured him she would answer queries in less than ten minutes.

Lor told Ermin Oro how she doubted very much if a picture of hers would do justice to photography and assured him two pieces bearing her authorship would be in the mail the next day. Living up to her word, Lor sent a short story and an essay accompanied by a school picture on September 14, 1948:

I am sending a picture. It is a copy of my ID as a representative of our school paper. As I have told you, I doubt very much if it does justice to photography. I have enclosed a short story. It is not humorous. And if you believe that it cannot be published in the November issue, I shall understand. Please send it back to me. Kindly pick out what you believe will suit your purpose.

The semester flew by. It was time for Lor to return to her mountain home. Attending the university in her native land’s capital was far from the environment she recalled at five thousand feet above sea level. Each time she would visit Baguio, Lor had more than a tinge of sadness as she viewed the physical state of her hometown, which bore the scars of World War II.

Before December 8, 1941, her city stood alone as one of Mother Nature’s favorites, unparalleled in its beauty and clean air. World War II had just come to an end in mid-1945. The city she loved was still in rubble and ruin three years later. But she was grateful that the scenery remained. Pine trees and floral beauties continued to bloom amid the cool weather that was uniquely Baguio.

November arrived. It was the end of the first semester. It was also precious time to visit home. While planning her semester break, Lor remembered an invitation to attend a social at home. The function, a hop, was a dance to join cosponsors and cadets of her university’s reserved officers’ unit, a welcoming gesture from another government-funded educational institution.

Lor was not at all surprised that her school’s host would be the country’s national military academy. Along with her college friends who were invited to join the event, Lor went to the dinner reception and dance. Dance music was heard as guests approached the venue’s entrance. Their hosts escorted them to the dinner table.

The dance hall seemed bereft of familiar faces. As Lor and her company sat at their assigned tables with their place cards, cadets approached them to dance while the music went on. Band music was on target for boogie-woogie, jitterbug, guracha, rhumba, and tango. Four dance pieces in a row kept the dancers on the floor.

As soon as Lor and her tablemates were seated, one cadet approached their table and introduced himself as he eyed Lor.

I presume you are Miss Arce, he said. I am Cadet Oro. Lor extended her hand.

Still standing as erect as the post behind him, Ermin continued his introductory remarks while dance music filled the hall, I saw you dancing from afar. I don’t dance that way at all. No wonder my classmates have talked about you. Your name should be Lore, with an e.

Lor felt embarrassed. She thought Ermin was aggressive as he emphasized lore, which was new to her. She said, I’m not legendary. But she smiled as she felt the term lore was literary and reminded her of her sixth-grade English teacher, who was responsible for sending her entries to writing contests.

Your last name means gold too. That’s also part of lore, she commented.

Once more, Lor excused herself when another friend asked her to dance. It was clear that she loved dancing. Those who asked her to dance fell in line. Ermin remained behind and took one seat at their table.

Returning to the same setup, Lor joined her college group after three consecutive dance pieces. She was surprised to see Ermin still seated where she had left him. He stood from his seat. Again, he stood erect.

The evening wore on. Lor and Ermin had snatches of conversation. She found out he came from the southern tip of the country, a typhoon-ravaged region. He was the fourth of a dozen siblings. His father was an English major at the same university campus that Lor was attending, and he had taught at a language school.

Lor wanted to learn how Ermin obtained her name and address when he extended the invitation to write for the magazine that was to be off the press very soon. But she stopped herself. She would find out later. She preferred to continue dancing her favorites. Her partners proved to be excellent dancers.

Lor’s timepiece indicated it was close to eleven thirty. The invitation, as she recalled, said 7:00 to 12:00 midnight. Ermin didn’t ask Lor to dance at all, which was puzzling. Nor did he dance with anyone else.

As though Ermin had read her mind, he mentioned in a casual tone, We have a dance class. Maybe it’s time for me to start learning fancy steps. Then he ventured to ask, How long will you be in town?

All week because it is our semester break, Lor answered.

Then the last dance piece’s notes struck loudly, a waltz, Auld Lang Syne, as the bandleader encouraged everyone to dance. Last call, he said.

Although it was the last dance, Ermin didn’t ask for a dance. Nor did he dance at all.

Lor bade her friends good-bye and extended her hand to Ermin, who walked her to the hall’s exit and off to her family car.

The next day, a Sunday, the phone rang at the Arce residence. It was Ermin. He inquired whether her vacation schedule would allow her to accommodate a brief visit that weekend. Lor informed Ermin she was having guests for an early dinner and some dancing, nothing formal, so she extended the invitation, saying he could dress casually.

Ermin came forty minutes before the scheduled time. He explained how cabs were at a high premium on Sundays and he didn’t want to wait. He was dressed in the academy’s uniform, nothing casual.

Lor asked for hors d’oeuvres from the kitchen while she waited for the other guests’ arrival. Ermin continued to introduce himself. He made mention of his family origins—how his parents decided to move to the southern part of the country, where there were more and better business opportunities. He didn’t ask about Lor’s family.

Lor asked