Every Step Forward Brings A New Perspective

Whispers to the World...

The anthology I worked on for my Creative Writing major project had to include five poems, two short stories, a play, and Part I of my dad’s autobiography. Creative Writing was one of three electives I took from the School of Social Science and Humanities (SHSS) at the University of Papua New Guinea (UPNG). It was the second semester of 2017, during my final year of studies.

I presented my poems to my lecturer for corrections. Earlier, she had asked us to bring our first drafts for her guidance. All my poems seemed beautiful to me, filling me with excitement and pride. The rhythm, the flow; they all sounded exceptional. But after glancing through them just once, my lecturer told me I had gone off-track.

Off-track? How? Her comment disoriented me. I was confident my poems were good; great, even. I had expected uplifting compliments, at least some encouraging words to motivate me as I completed the rest of the anthology. Instead, her critique left me feeling deflated.

To me, those poems were my best work. To her, they weren’t. She said I needed to replace all of them with better ones and advised me to “come down to my level and write like a student.”

Come down to my level? But I was a student. What other level could I possibly have been on? Did she mean I had written like an expert? Her words were confusing. I had hoped for clear, constructive feedback, but her critique was vague and unexpected. Yet, in an odd way, her comment also made me feel a bit proud.

I started to think, “Maybe she meant I did it so well it didn’t seem like student work. Maybe my poems were on par with a professional poet’s.” I wasn’t explicitly told why my poems didn’t belong in the anthology, so I began to assume my work was too advanced for my peers. I even, embarrassingly, looked down on other students, thinking I had outdone them; or even reached a lecturer’s level.

But now, looking back at those same poems, my feelings have completely changed. They’re riddled with errors. The diction sways inconsistently within each stanza, making it hard to identify a clear style or voice. The lines feel forced to serve the meter, which only creates a weak and thin rhythm. The themes are shallow, sacrificed for the sake of rhyme. Worse, the central ideas are muddled by careless collections of thoughts, further disrupting the structure.

My lecturer never pointed out these specific flaws at the time, and for that, I felt she missed an opportunity to help me grow. But the bigger issue was my arrogance; I had deluded myself into thinking I was better than my peers or even on par with the lecturers. Shameful, really.

From this perspective, the view is entirely different. But there’s something valuable in that. Those poems reflect how I viewed poetry back then. My understanding of poetry has since evolved, and the way I see my past work now tells me that growth happens with every step forward. When you're stationed at one place the view is the same. But IF YOU DESIRE A NEW VIEW, NEVER STOP MOVING FORWARD.

The Roar of Memories on Poreporena Freeway

As a first timer in POM, I didn't know a lot of places. I had no where else to go. It was around early Feb.in 2014. I got registered at school (UPNG) already, but before classes began I stayed at my Aunt’s place for a few more days. 

 I was so anxious that I would see the big buildings, nice cars, the famous Ela Beach and the sea and of course the whole city. I have heard a lot of nice stuffs about POM that got me restless even the night before I traveled.  Sadly however, my aunt and my uncle were both working. 

 We would go out in the afternoon a few times, but only for better reasons; like to buy groceries. They were both elderly and respectable and would focus more on better things than to go out for fun and see places. Since I was new, I locked myself up; water plants, watched a lot of TV programs, eat and sleep and stayed home.  

 In the middle of one of this big-yawn days, I had a call coming in on my phone. It was from a new number. I never had a lot of people’s contacts or neither did many have mine. I didn’t expect a lot of calls those days. Out of curiosity I quickly tapped on the answer key to know who it was. 

 As I placed the phone closed to my right ear, the first word came through was “Kami (brother).” It was clearly from a guy, but the voice was quite unrecognizable. I couldn't quickly tell who it was. I asked if it was someone I knew, or was a relative? 

 He (the person called) didn’t give me a positive response yet, not as quickly as I wanted to hear. He tried to bring me back to a point where he got my contact digits. He asked if I remembered us being together in my place in 2013 Christmas? And finally he went on and asked “Kami, Namb Willie Kaimining Andak Hul Kandep Kareyaban Dok Masyilyip Daah?”

 This made me remember everything at once and of course knew who was on the phone too. I deeply apologized for not picking up his voice quickly. I felt so down. Realizing it was actually him making the effort to call made me so humble. 

 Frankly, I couldn’t really believe that he called. He's not the kind of person you would want for him to call while you wait. He was a man of respectable traits. He said he was calling to find out if I was free so he could take me out to go around and see places. Following captures a few pieces of our conversation that day that lingers fresh as if it went down just yesterday; number of years gone never erase a good memory.

    Him: Kami, you free or doing something?

    Me: Kami, mi slip kirap lo house tasol ya.

    Him: Aiyooo, Kaimi Nabaen Yarae eret. Wanpla kisim you raun lo city finish too or nogat?

    Me: Kaimi nogat ya. Bel sigirap stret lo go tasol hard ya. Mi no save lo ples too na stap tasol lo house .   

    Him: Now yet you stap lo where? 

    Me: Me stap lo wanpla ples ol kolim Korobosea, but mi no klia tumas how lo givim details. Em mas 

            sampla ap beksait lo bikpla hausik ating. 

   Him: Okay my brother, now worries. I know where that is. Come out to somewhere I can see you.

 ....anyway, to cut it all short he came in a gray car (Toyota Camry) and picked me up. Now I know it was 2mile road that we went down through Koki and Badili to downtown. He showed me where Koki Market was, the famous Ela Beach and downtown and its pretty tall buildings. We kept moving and drove passed Konedobu to Hola through poreporena freeway. 

 As we took on the free way, the car picked up on its speed so strangely. There were no gear shifts. I wondered how that was possible. To a village guy who just moved in to Port Moresby, this was thoroughly an unusual thing happened. I used to think every car, big or small, has the same transmission sets (first to fifth). 

I sat nearside him and looked at his lags, his harms and his face back and forth and again.  He barely touched the gear. His both hands were on the steering wheel and eyes focused on the road. The roaring engine on the mountain affirmed that one of his legs was on the accelerator crushing it. But I was still confused how! I was on board a few times when my aunt was driving, but clearly I never noticed this one.

"Kami, how is that possible; you're kind of putting me through a lot of questions" I asked. I further asked if he could tell me why the car just gassed-up without having the gears shifted.  He just laughed and laughed again. He finally looked at me and said "Kaim, Welcome to Port Moresby."

Late Captain Sanol Kyakagen was a great young man of super leadership qualities. He had a lot of friends; some of whom were of very low standards, but he never cared. He would treat everyone in a way where those around him feels equally accepted. In his stunning charm, you would share your thoughts, crack jokes and laugh out loud freely. He was surely on his way up to flying above the horizons. So sadly however; he went to his eternal sleep - the most painful thing ever happened that left everyone whom he loved & treasured in so much pain and heartbroken.

Death is indeed a painful intruder. It only leaves us brokenhearted in great agony. A lot of people say time heals and yes it does. But what it doesn't are the  memories created; they linger forever. Late Captain S. Kyakagen had a lot of memories with his family members and and friends on which as they ponder they shed tears.  

To me, I can't easily forget that fine day when he lit up the whole world.  I can't forget the expression when he said "Kaim, Welcome to Port Moresby." He was the first guy who showed me that automatic transmission cars exist. And of course he was the first to show me many parts of Port Moresby too.

Every time I see an automatic transmission car or when someone talks about it, or when I travel down or up the poreporena freeway that endless simper on his face gets played in my mind over and over again. Our best moment was about 7 years ago, but it still lingers fresh and it ever will like it happened only yesterday. Not only this in me, but I hope you have left thousands of memories in the hearts of many. 

KAMI NABAEN AMEH, REST EASY IN ETERNAL PEACE  😭 😭💔💔