oido

The Devil Wears Happy Feet

February 15, 2009 at 4:05 pm (Starweek, writing)

“We don’t do poetry here,” was the first thing editor Doreen Yu said to me as she handed back the poem I had included in my portfolio. I had barely sat down for the interview for internship at the Starweek magazine of Philippine Star. I was late, and I had cancelled our previous meeting. All I could do was sit up a little straighter in my chair as Doreen perused my resume and sample essay. Being the movie addict (and, not to mention, drama queen) that I am, I could not help but think that right in front of me was a real life Miranda Priestly to my Andy Sachs.

“Why do you want to pursue journalism?” she asked, peering at me over her wire-framed glasses.

“I don’t really want to do hard news, just features,” I said, mentally kicking myself right as the words came out of my mouth.

Doreen confirmed my blunder by repeating her question, “So, why do you want to persue journalism.”

I was a literature major. I did not want to become a journalist. I wanted to be a poet. I had found myself at the Philippine Star office because I was looking for a place to do my required internship.

“I would like to reach out to many people through writing for the magazine,” I said instead, hoping she would look past the cliché answer, the tardiness, the poetry, and give me a chance.

“Coordinate with Rosal for your schedule,” she said – her only sign of acceptance. With that, she turned back to her computer screen and left me to her assistant.

I was to report again the very next Tuesday to help close the magazine.

Everything about Doreen is no nonsense – her severely short haircut; her glasses and behind them, those piercing, ever critical editor’s eyes after which her column, “Singkit” is named after; her patterned shawl over a simple white shirt; her black pants fitting snugly around her willowy frame. Everything about her is no nonsense – except her footwear.

For the first year that I knew her, Doreen was always in Happy Feet – those wooden bakyas turned high class clogs with brightly colored leather straps. Hers were lacquered black with brick red straps. You could hear her clomping about the office from cubicles away.

When I was a new intern, her Happy Feet-clad steps would be a warning to work faster. As her footsteps grew louder, I knew she would soon be hovering behind me to see if I had finished my tasks properly.

At that time, I had never read a newspaper, save for a few articles of interest and the comics page. My family did not even subscribe to Philippine Star. Reading through the entire Starweek magazine each Tuesday – from the cover story to the smallest announcement in the weekly calendar – I was in proofreading hell.

The first time I proofread the magazine, there were corrections to be made in each and every page. Looking back, I am pretty sure that Doreen was testing me, trying to see how I would deal with the jumble of words I faced. It was a Tuesday, a school night. When we finished, it was past midnight. After doing a final read, Doreen turned to me and said, “You may go. That’s all.”

Closing the magazine was quite a leap from not reading the paper to having to carefully correct the whole thing. After proofreading, I was often so dazed and frazzled that I would get my left and right mixed up when doing the captions. And, subsequently, got yelled at for it.

Working at an office took some getting used to we well. I answered the phone once and told the caller that there was no one of that name in the office. Turns out, the guy was in the next cubicle, and the caller was the Philippine Star boss. Doreen said nothing, pretending not to overhear the whole fiasco, but since then I have not been asked to answer the phone.

Like Andy Sachs in the novel/movie, I had many awkward moments, many mistakes. But, I always found a way to fix things. And, like Miranda Priestly, Doreen has somehow found reason to keep me on.

Doreen does not tolerate carelessness. She herself seems to always have a handle on things, and expects everyone to be the same. It was a few months into the internship that I really began to get to know her better.

She was busy at work on her computer and I was asked to fetch a copy of an article from the office printer. As I walked back to my cubicle, I happened to look at Doreen’s computer screen, which she was so intently staring at. She was playing Text Twist.

Doreen has many little nuances like that. They are both pleasantly surprising, though out-of-character. Or, maybe, that’s because I’ve assigned her a certain character.

She calls each of the regular column(ist)s by secret nicknames that only the Starweek staff know – Sala Set for Harold Sala; Basket for Lydia Castillo whose column is titled In My Basket; Kleng for the Sunday to Sunday calendar; and Lola Basyang for Rosalinda Orosa. It was only when I felt more a part of the team – months later – that I started using those nicknames as well. Come to think of it, it was only months later that the staff actually used those names around me.

As I became a member of the team, I got to know Doreen even more. Though she is not one to flatter and commend, she is quick to exclaim “It’s so sarap” whenever any food would strike her fancy.

She is an environmentalist and an art advocate. For a whole year, we had a regular feature on different environmental issues, called the Green Page. We would also do many features on different artists and groups, which I was assigned a lot, being a musician myself.

She has a soft spot for dogs, melting completely when an officemate brought her dog, Pretzel to the office. She has endless stories about her own dog, Sophie.

In my mind, she became less and less Miranda, and more Doreen.

My first article was quite an adventure as well. It featured a charity event of ladies in Alabang and the unveiling of their record-breaking mural. In so many words, Doreen told me that she was assigning me the job because she did not want to do it herself. When I got to the area, they were just starting to set everything up – meaning, no mural, no fund raiser, and in effect, no story. It was another test – make a story out of nothing, out of thin air. My first article was entitled, “Breaking Records, Building Communities.”

Since then, Doreen has assigned me to a wide range of different interviews – I’ve found myself everywhere, from Alabang to Quezon City to Mt. Apo, interviewing everyone, actress Karylle to Xavier School president Fr. Zuloaga, from comedian Michael V. to Nobel Peace Prize laureate Jose Ramos-Horta. I’d like to believe that I have earned her trust, allowing her to give me increasingly important assignments.

Towards the end of my internship, I learned that I was Starweek’s first ever intern since Doreen did not usually accept any. She has also not had an assistant editor for a long time since she never seems to get along with anyone. Around October, months after I had finished my on the job training, Rosal called and asked me to come to the office. When I got there, Doreen turned from her computer and said, “Do you have a job yet? You work nalang for me.” I had barley sat down. I was late. And all I could do was smile and say “yes.”

Now, I proofread the whole magazine every Tuesday, I write the captions, do the heads, edit the columns, and write articles. Sometimes, when we have some extra time after work, we discuss possible articles. I still don’t answer the phone.

The click-clacking of her Happy Feet no longer brings a sense of dread. It is the only noise in our silent bond – my quiet admiration, her wordless approval.

That’s all.

(a revised version of the profile I submitted for my CNF class)

Permalink Leave a Comment