The New Dentists

Cholo Mercado

I suppose it’s normal for anyone who loves books as much as I do to feel animosity for anything that exhibits bad grammar or, for that matter, just general unattractive misuse of the English language. I know I did. I remember getting into fights with my friends just because I pointed out their grammatical mistakes a bit too harshly. I used to do it with an intention to condescend, as if saying bad English is a symptom of a greater intellectual malaise. It felt good too. I was like a genius pointing out their excess of commas and sentence splicing, something of a redeeming factor when one considered my general mediocrity. My friends hated me for it, and, to an extent, I hated that they hated me for it—but it made me feel good, it made me feel superior; that is something we all want, and I was entertaining the delusion that I had it. 

I ceased to be a child, however, and eventually—messily—I grew up. Meeting different people and going through different experiences taught me that human beings have more than just linguistic and intellectual dimensions, and these two do not even necessarily  correspond to one another. I’ve met people who cannot speak proper English admittedly, but know a vast number of things to make up for it. I’ve had brilliant professors in college who stumble in their grammar so much that I can count the errors—and a couple who stumbled so much more that I would frequently lose track. I’ve met people who can write poetry in Filipino like you wouldn’t believe, but have trouble making their subjects and verbs agree. 

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Grace Wang

How should I begin? First lines are, as a writerly rule, important. They draw you in—moreso an introductory piece like this. How do I rein your attention in? I could begin with a joke, something that establishes my character as “quirky.” But you don’t need any more quirky types, I’m sure. Enough of them running about and imposing their quirkiness onto you—like what I’m doing right now. But enough about me.

So you think you’re a writer. Your parents look over your shoulder and tell you what a genius you are. Your teacher tells you to read your works in class.  You get positive, one-word comments on your blog. If you are satisfied with that then stop reading this right now and move on with your happy little life. You’ll only waste your time.

I’m writing here for those people who scribble little notes on their tissue paper on lunch breaks. To those who attend to their jobs without quite resigning themselves to it, to those who pay a little more attention to things than other people—I’m writing for those kinds of people. These are the kinds of people who get that itch to say something, to talk about things that other people don’t notice, to show the beauty that others wouldn’t care about. These are the people who can be writers.

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Pepe Serapio

Hi. My name’s Pepe Serapio and I’m here to blow your mind…in a non-terrorist kind of way. Please don’t call the police. 

I’m actually writing this introductory editorial, which was requested by our young Editor-in-Chief, without my laptop. That’s not an important fact for anyone but me. Like most modern writers, I work well with technology. Without it, I’m pretty much screwed. 

Speaking of getting screwed, my laptop died the other day. The blue screen of death killed it. Now I’m trying to piece together this thing with a stiff ballpoint pen and a yellow pad paper that’s too flexible for my taste. This whole traditional thing is both annoying and frustrating. Cholo said that someone said good writers write with a pen. This just goes to prove that I’m nowhere near being a good writer.  

I do like low expectations. Less stress for anything I write means I get more chance to blow everyone’s minds, though I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon. Money makes the world go round and it’s making mine spin aimlessly. 

After reading all that, you probably get the idea that I’m one of those lazy, narcissistic, random and technologically-reliant writers and, by jove, you’re absolutely positively correct. Don’t ask me who jove is, I’m not British.  

Growing up in a feminist habitat, mainly because everyone around me was female, I developed a sense of retarded sexuality. I’m physically a man though emotionally a woman and philosophically a go-between. My strange infatuation with the color pink doesn’t help my case any better.  

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Cholo Mercado

First off, I’d like to thank everyone who’s reading this right now. This would be useless without you. Applause for everyone. Now, as we now exist—after a long period of primordial preparation—we’d like to share with you who we are and what we stand for. it is only fair to let you know what you’re getting into, correct?

We are The New Dentists. We are not actually dentists. But we say we are. It’s a game of pretend, you see. If we say we are, then we are. Blah, blah, reality, philosophical arguments—here’s the point: you, my friend, may have been told all your life that you are not a writer. You’ve always called yourself an “aspiring” writer or a “frustrated” writer. You may not actually be a writer, for writing requires tons of skills. Very understandable. But—in here—you can say you are. In here, call yourself a writer and we will believe you. We do not need your credentials. What we need is your soul within your writing. Give us that, and we will publish it.

You’re scratching your head and you’re saying that sort of makes sense, but not really. Well, to be honest with you I just made that up and The New Dentists just sounded cool so we went with it. See? We’re not actually publishers, but since we say we are, we can be! Magical, yes? I’m sure we’ll figure the name out one of these days.

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Cholo Mercado

It is here. This is the first issue of The New Dentists’ online literary journal. Times have been rough and we are six months overdue—but here it is. The site is still somewhat of a mess, but things will get better. Thank you again, writers, for submitting your work. I cannot just let works like these go to waste! And thank you for those who’ve helped us along the way.

Since we’re here, if you want to contribute, please feel free to send your submissions to thenewdentists@gmail.com. Include information about yourself. The editors and I will deliberate on it as soon as we can.

My pessimism may have gotten the best of me a few months back, but despite that, here it is. These are the works of ordinary Filipinos with extraordinary hearts who chose words to express themselves. I have longed to show you their sentiments, their experiences, and here they are. I wish I can continue to do this. And so I do ask of you: please reblog this and let the message spread. Contribute. Comment. Join us.

Contact us at thenewdentists@gmail.com

Any help is welcome.

Further, we would like to acknowledge the support of the following: Aldrin Calimlim, Ali Ramirez, Patrick Vinalay, Thomas Co and Carlos Malvar—without them this project would have been a magical sort of impossible.