WYSIWYG

HAVING A unique name could be a blessing or a curse. On the upside, you wouldn't have to worry about other people sharing your name, and it could make things like applying for an NBI clearance much easier. But the downside? Your name could confuse a lot of people or even become a point of ridicule.

For me, it was a bit complicated.

"What's your name po?" asked the barista at the counter, holding a paper cup in one hand and a marker in the other.

"Wysiwyg," I replied with a smile.

"Lizzy Big?" she repeated.

"Wiz-e-wig."

"Wheezing wig?"

I let out a long sigh. "W-y-s-i— You know what? Just surprise me with your spelling of my name."

"Pasensya na kayo. Napaka-unique kasi ng name n'yo, eh."

This wasn't the first time people had misheard my name. If there were a contest for the hardest name to spell, I'd probably win first place. My name was likely the most unique—and maybe the weirdest—name anyone would ever hear in their lifetime.

If I had it my way, I would've chosen something like "James" or "Conan"—something simpler. But my parents loved their jobs as IT specialists so much that they decided to name me after a term related to web design. Who in their right mind would name their child something with two W's? Only my parents.

What did "Wysiwyg" even mean? Was it just a random jumble of letters that somehow made sense? Or was it simply gibberish?

"What you see is what you get." That's what the acronym stood for. Students who took web design classes might recognize it, if they ever bothered to memorize it.

Could the same thing be said about my personality? Was I a what-you-see-is-what-you-get type of person? I couldn't say. Only those who met me could tell.

While waiting for my order, I sat on the stool near the counter and rested my elbows on the countertop. This was my favorite cafe in the university mall. The cozy ambiance paired with mellow background music was perfect. Customers were mostly quiet.

Aside from the affordable drinks, this cafe was also accessible to students like me. By "accessible," I didn't mean it was easy to get to—it was on the second floor, and one still had to walk a few meters from the escalator. If someone preferred a more convenient cafe, this one would probably be their fifth or sixth choice.

I glanced at the students tapping their IDs on the sensor at the cafe's entrance. I had done the same when I got here. Although this cafe was a public space, not all students could enter and enjoy a cup of coffee while chatting with friends. We had to accumulate a certain number of merit points to gain access to this place.

"Sorry, Ma'am, kulang po ang points n'yo," the guard told one of the four female students. "'Yong tatlong kasama n'yo lang po ang puwedeng pumasok sa loob."

"Girl, paano na niyan? Hindi pala ako puwede rito. Kulang ako ng 190 merit points."

"Hindi ba tayo puwedeng mag-transfer sa kanya para umabot siya sa minimum?"

"Wala pa yata tayong gano'ng feature."

"Sige, sa ibang cafe na lang tayo tumambay, doon sa mas mababa ang required points."

Clark University was unique in its own way. Three years ago, the university administration and the student government proposed a groundbreaking merit-based reward and penalty mechanism for students, aptly called the "Management of Educational Records and Incentive Tracking" or M.E.R.I.T. system. Back then, most students thought it was a cool, unique concept, so they voted overwhelmingly to implement it through a referendum.

The idea was simple: good performance would be rewarded while bad habits would be punished. To enjoy the perks and privileges our campus had to offer, students had to accumulate merit points by behaving appropriately.

Today, I earned 10 merit points for checking in early at the campus entrance. I had already accumulated 5,580 merit points. Maybe I would be at 6,000 or more by now if I hadn't been late or absent for classes, or if I had maintained my grades during the first semester.

"One chocolate chip cream, one strawberries and cream, and one matcha tea latte for... Wis-i-sig?"

I raised my hand as the barista placed the three drinks in a cup holder. I checked the name she had written on the cups: Wisisig. I sighed. She wasn't the first to get it wrong, so I let it slide.

I exited the cafe and left the university mall. Yes, we have our own mall on campus. It was nine o'clock. My classes would not start until ten-thirty. I headed first to the university library where my groupmates and I were meeting.

"Ang point threshold ay bawasan!"

"Ang point threshold ay bawasan!"

"Aming panawagan ay pakinggan!"

"Aming panawagan ay pakinggan!"

I walked past a group of about two dozen students gathered in the center of the campus square. One of them was shouting through a megaphone while most held up placards with their chant written on them. A few were handing out flyers.

"Suportahan po natin ang petisyon! Oras na para umaksyon!" a female student with a bob cut said as she handed me a flyer and asked me to sign the petition. I glanced at her ID and read that her name was Marietta.

Then someone blew a whistle, interrupting the repetitive chants. I grabbed the flyer and walked away quickly. Looking over my shoulder to see what was happening, I noticed a group of students approaching the protesters. They stood out, each wearing a silver brooch on their lapels.

"Excuse me? Meron ba kayong permit para magsagawa ng rally dito?" one of them asked.

"Wala, pero karapatan naming kalampagin ang university administration at student council."

"Nah, that won't do. Pakikuha ang student number ng mga 'to at paki-deduct ng 100 merit points. Ang reason? Illegal assembly at public disturbance."

"Teka, wala naman kaming ginagawang masama, ah!"

"Sorry, Miss, pero rules are rules."

What a shame. Those protesters got their merit points deducted for nothing.

I looked down at the flyer handed to me. It contained a list of proposals to review, particularly regarding the point threshold. For instance, they wanted the requirement of 1,000 points to vote in elections removed so every student could have their voice heard.

Nice try. I crumpled the flyer and tossed it into the nearest bin. I admired the dedication of those protesters who spent their free time trying to make their voices literally heard. But... how many protests had they organized? And how many changes had actually come from their actions?

None. What they were doing was like debating a rock that would never budge, or throwing a paper at a wall hoping it would crumble.

If they wanted real change, they would have to do more than yell in the campus square.

I tapped my ID card on the sensor at the entrance of the university library. There was a short queue at the counter so I had to wait for my turn.

"Sorry, but you can only borrow three books," the libriarian told the female student in front of me. She pulled the other two books behind her desk.

"Ma'am, baka puwede namang ipahiram n'yo na sa 'kin ang mga 'yan?" the student pleaded. "Hindi namin matatapos ang report namin kung wala 'yang dalawang reference."

"Miss, rules are rules. You don't have enough merit points to borrow five books. Kung para sa group report 'to, kausapin mo ang isa sa groupmates mo na may sapat na merit points para mahiram ang mga libro."

The student frowned as she walked away with only three books. Even if she begged, or even knelt before the librarian, it would not make a difference.

My turn. I stepped forward. "Hihiramin ko po 'yong deluxe study room para sa meeting namin."

There were three types of study rooms in the library: regular, deluxe, and premium. In my choice—deluxe—food and drinks were allowed inside. We could even watch a movie or stream a series there since a projector and screen were included.

The librarian scanned my ID card. Thanks to my merit points, she had no reason to deny my request. She handed me the keycard, and I went on my way.

One thing I liked about the deluxe study room was the privacy. Unlike the regular room, our walls were not made of glass, so we wouldn't look like fishes in an aquarium being observed by passersby.

While waiting for my groupmates to arrive, I took my black laptop out of my bag and placed it on the well-polished table. I logged on to our university's own networking site—UniVerse. How creative. Funny how the administration bothered to build a network that was only going to be flooded with face-palming selfies and photos of what students, faculty members, and school personnel ate for lunch.

As I scrolled through my news feed, I came across a post of my classmate. She said she was worried about her grade in our Logic subject. Sigh. Just the thought of it made me shiver. Our tyrannical professor—who looked like a toad dressed in a decent polo barong—saw himself as a god. He thought he could control our lives just because he could control the numbers that mattered in this university.

Our college instructors could manipulate more than just our grades. They could also award and deduct merit points. In a way, they were overpowered.

The door slid open, and two students came in.

"Hi, Wysiwyg! Kanina ka pa ba rito? Sorry if we kept you waiting," my classmate Irene Iverson greeted me. Her shoulder-length hair bounced as she took the seat next to me. I noticed the flyer in her hand—the same one I got earlier. If she signed the petition, I wouldn't be surprised anymore.

I sat up straight and cleared my throat. "Halos kararating ko lang din dito kaya hindi ako masyadong naghintay nang matagal."

"Ito kasing si Serena, may dinaanan pa kaya na-late kami ng dating."

"Okay lang 'yan!" my other classmate Serena Sanchez said with a grin. She took the seat next to Irene. "Naintindihan naman tayo ni Wiggy, 'di ba?"

My left eye twitched. My name had been butchered countless times, but I still hadn't gotten used to it.

"Uy, meron pang pa-free drinks sa 'tin si Wiggy!" Serena exclaimed when she noticed the cup holder on the table. "Ang bait mo talaga."

I didn't buy the drinks specifically for her, but I didn't have much choice since she was part of the group.

"Irene, para sa 'yo 'to." I grabbed the strawberries and cream drink and handed it to her. Next was the matcha tea latte. "Heto naman ang sa 'yo, Serena."

"How did you know I like strawberries and cream?" Irene asked, smiling. "Thank you, by the way. Hindi ka na dapat nag-abala pa."

"I remembered seeing you drinking one before."

"Eh, bakit sa 'kin, matcha tea latte?" Serena asked, eyes furrowed. "Never pa akong uminom nito kasi hindi ko bet."

I scratched my head. "I thought you were like the others who love matcha."

"Matcha is okay, pero hindi ako masyadong nagke-crave ng gano'n," she replied. "Ang daya naman!"

"Magpasalamat ka kay Wysiwyg dahil kahit paano'y binilhan ka niya," Irene told her.

"Thank you, Wiggy," Serena said, sounding a bit forced.

Since we only had an hour and a half to use the deluxe study room, we started working on our group project in CCPROG2 o Programming with Structured Data Types. They brought out their laptops, and their fingers also began flying across the keyboard. From time to time, we sipped our drinks before resuming work.

Beep! Beep!

I raised an eyebrow as I checked the alert that popped up on my screen.

Your grade in Logic has been uploaded.

"Meron na raw tayong grade sa Logic," I said, glancing over them. They were also checking their phones.

I immediately logged on to the Student Information Management System or SIMS to check my grade. I shut my eyes first, praying for a good result. Once I was ready, I opened my eyes.

I groaned when I saw the number. This wasn't what I had expected! Thankfully, I wasn't on a scholarship, so I didn't have to maintain at least an 85. But the merit point deduction stung! Every grade point change was equivalent to 25 merit points. If my grade went up by two points, I would gain 50 merit points. But since it dropped, I lost 50.

"How are your grades—" I began, but I stopped when I saw Serena's shocked expression.

"82 ang nakuha ko," she muttered. "P-pero paano nangyari 'yon? Mataas ang prelims ko kaya kahit bumaba ang raw midterm grade ko, hindi dapat sobrang mahihila ang midterm grade ko. Kung ganito talaga kababa, mahihirapan akong hilahin 'to sa finals... 'tapos baka matanggalan ako ng scholarship."

Oh, right. She was an academic scholar who had to maintain a general weighted average of 90 and couldn't have any grade below 85.

"Maybe there was a calculation error," Irene suggested, standing up to pat Serena's back. "Let's ask Sir Cesareo. I need to ask about my grade, too."

Serena nodded, still in disbelief. Just half an hour ago, she was cheerful. Now, she looked devastated. Even Irene looked a bit troubled.

I stopped typing. "You can go ahead para may time pa kayong puntahan at tanungin si Sir Cesareo bago ang 10:30 class natin. Leave the rest to me."

Irene looked up at me. "Thank you, Wysiwyg."

They packed their laptops into their bags and said goodbye before leaving the study room. I stayed here for another half hour.

By ten in the morning, I left the university library and headed to the administration building. My classes were usually in the Information and Communication Technology or ICT building, but I wanted to have a quick word with our Logic instructor first.

Like Irene and Serena, I had doubts about my grade's calculation. The drop didn't matter to me, but the merit point deduction did. I would have to arrive early for the next five schooldays just to make up for the loss... unless there was an error.

When I arrived in front of the Social Sciences Department on the third floor, Sir Julio Cesareo had just stepped out of the room. He looked like a toad on two legs, dressed in a light blue barong. His bloated face held a permanent frown, matched with brows that seemed permanently furrowed. He was shorter than me, only reaching my shoulders.

"Sir!" I called before he could head down the stairs. "Can I ask about my grade in Logic? Bumaba kasi ako ng two points. Sa pagkakaalam ko, nai-submit ko po ang lahat ng requirements ngayong midterms, 'tapos lagpas pa sa pasado ang scores sa quizzes at major exams ko."

He raised an eyebrow, staring at me with his portruding eyes. "Who are you again?"

"Wysiwyg Watson," I said, showing my ID card. I couldn't believe he still didn't know my name or face! "From CS 2-A."

"Ah, the guy with the most ridiculous name in the world," he muttered. What ridiculous? The only adjective that should be associated with my name was unique. "There's nothing to discuss about your grade. I only calculated based on what you submitted for midterms. Walang labis, walang kulang."

"Hindi naman po siguro masama kung hingin ko ang computation—"

"Are you doubting my math skills?" His nostrils flared. "Do you think I'd be that stupid to make a mistake in the computation?"

"Sir, with all due respect, all I want is to see for myself if I really deserved that grade, just to put my mind at ease. Wala naman po sigurong masama ro'n—"

"What's with you and your class?" he scoffed. "You're the third student to come here this morning and question my computation. That Iverson bitch and that Sanchez crybaby just came earlier, demanding that I show them how I got the numbers. Ang kakapal ng mukha n'yong kuwestiyonin ang grades na ibinigay ko sa inyo?"

I clenched my fists, holding back the urge to punch this walking toad. He could call my name ridiculous, but he should never, ever call Irene a bitch. If only it wouldn't cost me 500 merit points, I would put him on his ass right here in front of the passing students. But that might only make things worse.

"Ang lakas ng loob ng Iverson na 'yon na magbantang isusumbong ako sa Office of Student Affairs." He chuckled as if something was funny. "You're classmates, right? If you see her again, tell that bitch to never show her face in my class. And if you're planning to question my grading skills too, drop my subject now."

He used the b-word twice and got away with it! Professors could penalize students for bad behavior, but we students had no way to hold professors accountable for badmouthing students who did nothing wrong.

My attempt at seeking clarity was futile, so I headed straight to our specialized classroom in the ICT building. I looked around to see if my two classmates who had confronted Julio Cesareo were there. Their bags were on their seats, but they were nowhere to be found. I asked their seatmate where they went, and she said they went to the rooftop. I left the classroom and climbed two flights of stairs.

Out of breath, I stopped in front of the rooftop door. Running wasn't exactly my strong suit—if I joined a marathon, I would be out of breath in no time. I pushed the door open slowly, letting the outside light seep in. If I opened it too quickly, I might scare them into jumping.

There they were, standing near the edge of the rooftop with their backs to me. Irene was gently caressing Serena's back, who was sniffling beside her. Since the door let out a faint creak, Irene looked back in my direction.

"Wysiwyg?" she called out my name.

"Irene? Serena?" I pretended not to know they were here and what had happened. "Kumusta ang pakikipag-usap n'yo kay Cesareo?"

Irene looked down, shaking her head slowly. "It didn't go well. Imbes na i-explain sa amin ang computation, mas pinili niya pang sigawan kami at ipahiya sa harap ng iba pang faculty member."

I sighed. "I thought of asking him about my grade, too, pero minasama niya ang pagtatanong ko."

"Nainsulto nga rin siya sa amin kasi parang wala raw kaming tiwala sa pag-compute niya sa grades natin," Irene added with a nod. "All we did was make a simple request, which I believe is within our rights as students. Ang sabi niya, final na ang midterm grades natin sa SIMS at wala na siyang intensiyon na palitan o i-adjust 'yon."

My fists clenched as I listened. Irene was absolutely right. As students, we had the right to understand how our grades were calculated. There was nothing wrong with that. But the toad-faced instructor's pride would be hurt if his calculations were proven wrong.

"Sir Cesareo did say that he could raise Serena's grade if... if she did him a favor in return," Irene said, sounding a bit disgusted. "Nang sabihin niya sa amin kung ano 'yon, nagbanta ako na ire-report namin siya sa OSA. Agad siyang kumambyo at sinabing nagbibiro lag siya. But just because I threatened him, he deducted 50 merit points from me. Unfair, right?"

I couldn't explain the anger building inside me. It would have been more acceptable if he had shown the grade calculations and they turned out accurate. But no, he pulled the "trust my math" card.

What's worse? Irene didn't say what Cesareo had asked of our classmate, but I had a strong idea. How dare he abuse his power as a grade manipulator to demand an inappropriate favor from his student! And he punished Irene just for standing up to him.

He was already lacking in both height and morals, and he managed to stoop lower.

I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and handing it to Serena, her face streaked with tears. Then I looked at Irene. "You risked getting merit points deducted."

"I only did what I believed was right," Irene replied with a smile. "Pero hindi 'yon na-appreciate ni Sir."

That's one of the things I admired about her. She would never hesitate to speak up for her beliefs and act on her principles. Some might find that admirable. But people like Cesareo? They couldn't see it that way.

"Something must be done," Irene said with conviction. "Hindi natin puwedeng hayaan na abusuhin ng mga gaya niya ang merit system."

She and Serena excused themselves, leaving me alone on the rooftop. I walked to the edge where they had been standing a moment ago and looked down. The wind blew so strongly that my unkempt hair swayed with it. What I had seen and heard today made me think about a lot of things.

That girl who only wanted to enjoy a cup of coffee with her friends, but wasn't allowed to enter to the cafe because she didn't have enough merit points.

That student who wanted to borrow five books for her research from the library but was limited to three because she didn't have enough merit points.

Those students who wanted their voices be heard, but were scolded and punished through merit point deductions.

Now, Irene and Serena who only wanted to seek clarification, but were reprimanded and had their merit points deducted.

I stared at my right palm, remembering the flyer I was given earlier. It outlined proposals to make the merit system better and more balanced.

For the past two years, all I had wanted was a peaceful college life and to graduate on time. I didn't care about anything else.

Today, that changed.

"Reforms, huh?" I clenched my fist and gritted my teeth. Would asking people to sign petitions and handing out flyers bring about the change we needed in this university?

I beg to differ.

Irene was right. Something must be done.

-30-

Hi there! If you've read Waltz of Wysiwyg before, you might have noticed some changes from the previous version. Expect more changes in the coming chapters as Wysiwyg's story grows bigger and bolder.