SILAKBO
Copyright 2020-2021
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright reverts to the respective authors and artists whose works appear in this issue. No part of this book may be reproduced or reprinted in any means without prior permission from the copyright holders. Published and Distributed by:
AQUINIAN HERALD
The Official Student Publication of University of Sto. Thomas-Legazpi, Rawis, Legazpi City Member: Bicol Association of Student Campus Journalists (BASCAJ) College Editor’s Guild of the Philippines (CEGP)
COVER BY
Eugene Kyle Oligo
SILAKBO (Outburst) The literary and art folio Of Aquinian Herald, The official student publication Of the University of Santo Tomas-Legazpi
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Silakbo (n.) An outburst of emotions. Human emotion has been the subject of a multitude of human literature, often revealing itself in poetry and notably cementing itself as an object of scientific inquiry. However, its true brilliance is not simply seen in its capacity to generate various written works. Rather, it is in its capacity to be genuinely felt and shift the gears of human life that make human emotions a genuinely remarkable concept.
ABOUT THE THEME:
Silakbo
is a term used by the Tagalogs to characterize an intense outburst of emotions. Typically associated with rage, one’s silakbo is perceived at an ominous light and is often shunned. However, to merely view it as such is to disregard the complexity of human emotions.
The immense happiness one can feel at the sight of a beautiful sunset, the seemingly overwhelming feeling of love brought about by the support of peers, and even the fiery rage of the oppressed who thirst for change are all fitting examples of silakbo that are worthy of acknowledgement and expression. Our emotions yearn to be felt in all of its entirety and magnitude. It demands to be unapologetically released into this world. It does not (and should not) merely reside in the dark recesses of our minds; it deserves to be out in the light, free from any personal and society-made shackles. This year’s edition of Layog, the literary and art folio of the Aquinian Herald, is a heartfelt chronicle made possible by individuals who embraced their silakbo, harnessed them, and gave them fitting forms that are both brilliant and resonant with their souls. True to the nature of human emotions, these masterpieces convey both diversity and volatility, showcasing the richness of our emotions and its worthiness to be accepted and illuminated. Embrace your silakbo, dear reader. Bring forth vibrant and meaningful explosions of emotion in this world.
SILAKBO IX - 2021 EDITORIAL TEAM
PROJECT HEAD/LITERARY HEAD
JULIUS PHILIP BOLIMA GRAPHICS HEADS
EUGENE KYLE OLIGO PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO DESIGN HEADS
HANS FRANKLIN REQUIERO ZHYRON WYNRIEL ALIMON
KABANATA 1: PAGTATANGGI
Finding “Yesterday” by Chi-Square I search for you in The threads of people passing by Hoping to find, a little trace A scent, a footprint, a memory A little sense of normalcy. But you’re lost forever, Never to be found, only remembered, And yet I tear the present, Deny the future, And live in the remnants. I guess I’ll stay here a little longer, Sink a little further Until like you, I’ll drown, Lost forever.
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
Dawn of Sorrow by Zaerra
It is darkness, I feel in my silver soul, A darkness that makes my day whole. It is dark, but not a stormy night It is fear, I see with everyone in sight A dangerous poison fills the air It’s uncomfortable trying to get to anywhere. “Wear a mask,” the scientists tell, I wonder if the world just entered hell. “All of you must stay inside!” Our needs, who will provide? “In this time, we will make no error.” Please, end this terror. Looking through the news Videos, millions of views “Oh no the virus is getting bad” Oh God, near that place, my dad “Son, with your mother stay strong.” This kind of life will not be too long “Remember, to always pray.” I wish that this isn’t the only way. As the world is being enshrouded by the dark, Please don’t make this the new Noah’s Ark. As the horrific crown starts to spread, I dream of a good life instead.
ART BY ELIDA DOMINIQUE L. MOROÑA
PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO
Admiring Ghosts by Vincent John Abordo
The sun was resting in front of my eyes, Yet, I can feel the night approaching, But as I await for the grand blue, I found myself having a glimpse of paradise. A silk hair as cold as the moon With untouched skin as warm as spring, Stand before me as tears brush my cheek. “I was so alone,” I whispered. “I missed you ever since.” Paradise no, Juliet loomed closer, As her eyes fold and her face curve with a smile, A calm voice soothed my soul, “You’re not supposed to be here.” I feel my whole skin tingle, I watched my hands slowly turn to dust. “Leave, and set sail,” she continued. “Pull your anchors and keep your sanity, Move on and tell our story.” I feel a pull, as a warmth blankets my chest. The sun was resting in front of my eyes, I feel the night non-existing, But as I await for my eyes to open, I found myself clinging to paradise. “I choose to die than to live pointlessly, I choose to lie than to live empty, I choose you more than me.”
As the last leaves fall from the branches’ light, I started running, running towards you But our distance lingers. I kept running as my whole body turned to dust. I close my eyes and carefully, Peacefully stared into the graceful abyss. I feel a pull, as a cold breeze embraced me, The sun was resting in front of my eyes, I felt the night looming. But as I slowly gave up, I noticed, We were closer, closer than ever. “I’d rather stay and experience the void with you forever,” I sang as our hands overlap, “than go back and tell our story.” And so, it was, I came to be, The living among the dead.
PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO
October
by Bitter Melon
You don’t need to point your fingers at the sky for me to see the fireworks. You don’t need to take me on a coffee date to prove that Cupid exists. You don’t need to drive me miles for me to enjoy the sun and see the beach. You don’t need to tell how bunnies lay eggs, that we should pick it for good luck. You don’t need to visit the flower shop for you to buy me pink lilacs. You don’t need to promise a diamond ring and talk about our wedding. You don’t need to cook soup and vegetables as I am ten times healthier. You don’t need to get excited, packing up lunch before I go to work. You don’t need to wake me up when September ends, a memory of pain, Nor abruptly close the windows to keep me from hearing November rain. You don’t need to prepare red socks, candies, greeting cards, and gifts for Christmas. You don’t need to. You can’t. I need to. No, I need you.
PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO
My Little Candlelight by arielle
My little flame, how are you doing? Mommy will protect you. My little flame, aren’t you excited? Mommy wants to see you. I wish to see you grow As vibrant as your own father I wish to see you grow As bright as your own mother You are my only hope My candlelight in this dark world Could you at least show your spark? Or a sign of life in your dull eyes? I know you’re in here, my little one So please light up, wherever you are I waited nine months for your arrival Where could you have gone? Do I have to find you, my little one, In this dark, empty, void of space? It’s hopeless, but then I need you. Please. Let me see your face.
ART BY EUGENE KYLE OLIGO
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
Little Timmy’s Birthday by Taubenfeld
Spaghetti’s ready, To fill your tummy. Balloons inflated, Children be seated.
But little Timmy is worried, He cannot stay still and seated. “Auntie, where is mommy?” “Little Timmy, just wait and see.” The old lady dialed numbers, Calling the phone of the father. “How’s my sister? She well?” But only sobs were the answer. “I understand,” she said calmly. She didn’t ask for more details. Encouraging herself, “Now, it’s time to blow the candles!” “Auntie, you’re back!” “Now, where is mommy?” “She’s already here,” She cried, hugging little Timmy.
Continuity of Cael by Vincent John Abordo
I always look for something eternal, Every breath and heartbeat counts, I’m afraid of spending time, Not knowing it’s being wasted. “Nothing is permanent.” that’s true, But if one chooses to be, Nothing’s impossible, Even to exist indefinitely. I go for whatever cael offers, As long as it’s eternal, I keep as long as cael gives, Hoping it’s perpetual. The soul ages yet, I can see those who left Even in their absence, Hence, I see immortality. To tell me that nothing’s eternal, Is to say that nothing counts, But the difference of a hundred to none, Is nothing, yet it’s something. Nothing is not forever, For I choose it to be, Because every breath and heartbeat counts, Knowing it will be worth it. PHOTO BY KAI
Sundown Special by P.Y.R
Tired brown eyes turning red Working for the 25th hour in bed So much work due Too little rest to know what to do “It’s okay. Just breathe.” You whisper until you believe. You repeat it like it’s a saying when you know you’re actually lying. And now you miss the world outside, the people, the parks, the jeepney rides. They tell you to be positive, be strong. You say you’re doing well but it feels wrong. “I’m fine. I can finish by sundown.” You say as your signal goes down. You pause and breathe momentarily and you finally feel your heart beating rapidly. The tears rush out as exhaustion sets in. Sleepless nights and too much caffeine. They start to turn into a big crash, a wreck. You cry, “I’ll be fine in just a sec.” But you’re not and you won’t be until you’re honest enough see that you’re not fine at all today that it’s valid to say: “I’m tired and I’m not okay.” PHOTO BY DANICA BELLEN
PHOTO BY PAM ANGELA ESPARTINEZ
Contradictions by Camille Dilao Nuñez
I’m imprisoned by chains, Then I got free. I’m blinded, Then I can see. I’m angry, Then I’m laughing. I’m happy, Then I’m crying. I can feel, Then I get numb. I embrace, Then I let go. I can hear, Then cover my ears. I run away, Then chooses to stay. I cut my wrist, Then aided it. I move my lips, Then I bit it. I tried to reach out, Then I stopped reaching. I open up, Then closes again. I am yellow, Then again blue. I love, Then hated you.
KABANATA 2: GALIT
PHOTO BY DANICA BELLEN
Resent by Taubenfeld
I’ve never been afraid of death, As no one will attend my funeral. No need for a fancy casket, Just bury me directly on the ground.
I don’t want to hear sobs and cries, Nor mellow songs akin to lullabies. I know your sorrows are scripted, A mechanism once learned, repeated.
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
Weeds
by Patrick Rov Patricio You chose to be the frame where his tendrils grew Where you let his embrace wrap around you. Because in your arms, he felt no shame, And gladly flourished in words that lacked rain. You were the roof that sheltered him whole, Uninvited, yet he slept soundly. Because in his eyes, the sun was no match To the warmth that he found on you only. You were the ground where he sank his roots, And built a home that budded his shoots. Fragrant promises, almost like flower, Nourished in false bodies of water. But this is not a garden, and you were no gardener, Your hands were rough, but to him, no one was gentler. But he, he didn’t deserve any of this, You were no gardener, and he was not a flower. He was a parasite, a weed with no wonder, Pull him out!
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
Maimon
by Julius Philipi Bolima Dati satuyang kinaban matoninong Dawa saen ka magpasadpasad, Warang mga nakahiling na malainon. Alagad ngunyan ang kinaban maimon, Bawal magluwas asin maglusad, Riraw, ika bibiglaon, dadakopon, Mayo ngani nin kasahlang pampresohon. Sa dae ta man ini ighagad, Marhay na magtinir na sana sa harong. Ta baad ika usipon na may sipon Kan mga warang aram pero maisipon.
ART BY SIMEON MAGALONA IV
PHOTO BY DANICA BELLEN
No Comedy in Errors by Zaerra
I woke up one morning in the summer heat, “Abandoned by the government,” as I brush my teeth. The country is a mother with children of stubborn heart, People left in isolation; we all had our part. What things shall I do while I stay at home? I could not think of anything so I grabbed my phone. After all the scrolling here, I see people have fun Outside of their homes, no masks, now I have a frown. Here is the truth, all the nurses have been beat, There are people with no food to eat. Front liners full of bruises, now knowing what is well, How about the people that are currently staying in a cell? Feels like the leaders had us cheat, We just lay and stand and sit. Avoiding the true problem here, Do they still have an ear? Still we won’t let the virus win, Our fathers they may have sin. With leaders full of pride, Just please, stay inside.
Lost Policy
by Louise Marie Cabalquinto A rampant record of more than one storm A thread of paragraphs your mouths have sworn, Confusion is a game that should be told While you played it with your eyes closed. Color the words with silver and gold, You’d play safe as those promises unfold To where and when do I give my trust? Isn’t it too much to desire power with lust? I’m in a trap of constantly rolling the dice, Clueless if your control would suffice The infuriating choices in this downtime, Left blood and frustration before my eyes. The brimming emotions inside of me, Are penury outside that no one can see. I am left with one option, to collect it with my hands I could be more honest but this is where it ends.
ART BY DANICA BELLEN
Goddess
by Patrick Rov Patricio Eyes are wide open, wary and wild On the look for the dangers of the love she kept mild So that every name, every shadow Every kiss, every fellow Will not slip through her bow and arrow To strike to death those who threaten; Her sisters, foolish lover’s brethren For she wanted it all, she wanted it bad She wanted it whole, now she’s rotten and sad Because ignorance is bliss, but her eyes, like an owl Can see every kiss and label it foul If jealousy was a wine, then she drank it all Full of hatred and frustration, now she is bound to fall Because for a Goddess, nothing was ever stranger Than loneliness from the love she couldn’t wrap around her finger But who can blame her, O fair and lovely Hera? For dreaming to be the one and only bella?
PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO
Clearly, I See You by Taubenfeld
Sometimes I don’t feel existing, I would rather be lost in the shadows “Of yesterday? Of tomorrow?” No, completely. But someone’s out there, pushing me, Pulling me away from the dark. “The darkness that I’ve created?” “ You want me dead?” Again, you’re killing me with light, Despite the fact that I told you to stop. You wouldn’t stop unless you see “ Your eyes teary?” Guess, I’ll play a role of a blind, With a guiding stick ready to hit you. A clear destructive obstruction, Be gone sorrow!
Shades of Red by arielle
colored you with love yet I see it in your blade how could you betray?
PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO
Half-worthy Blame by Louise Marie Cabalquinto
What were you thinking again? Thought you’re already over it. If you keep going you might go insane, And you think it’s better than feeling nothing. You did it to yourself You run on the quicksand You crushed the glass with your hands You picked a stone and throw it to yourself. What kind of player who let other’s win? Is it to make yourself less guilty of sin? You dumped all your emotions in a bin, Where you come and pick it up again. You lost the game without even playing. You brought damage while you are living. How come you didn’t see it coming? Oh well, just pretend you’re not also a victim.
PHOTO BY HONEYROSE BERMUNDO
Lovesick by P.Y.R
Who would have thought love could actually kill you? I used to think of love as a murder weapon, a bow and arrow to the heart. It wounds your identity. And I was so angry at the thought of not knowing who I am or losing the possibility of a better me just because I loved someone more than I loved myself. That was before I was forced to face the reality that love can kill you in more ways than one. Wanting physical contact with people you love can literally make you sick now. Tight hugs and a sweet kiss hello can be the start of a goodbye. It takes one “It won’t happen to me” to put you in the arms of danger. That hug, that kiss, that one moment of weakness just because you’re eager to feel loved can make you lovesick. It can put you into a coma, into anaphylactic shock, into a state of helplessness you never thought could happen.
PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO
But it’s hard to think about dying because it angers you. It angers you that loving could kill you, so you push it into the darkest corners of your mind. It angers you that getting what you want is less important now than it was before. You try to make yourself believe that it’s okay to be angry but it doesn’t remove much of the rage. You want to go back to the days when love could kill you softly… when love could only kill you if you’d let it. You want to go back and you’re angry that you can’t. But then, you learn. You learn to love enough to wait, to hug tighter and kiss sweeter when you’re finally able to. There will be a day when love no longer aggravates, when love no longer angers. There will be a day when the light drapes over your skin. There will be a day when you can kiss someone without a mask telling you that you can’t. There will be a day when love just is. But until then, stay angry at the people responsible as to why you can’t be close to the ones you love.
The Fire Watch’s Duty by arielle
at night, the fire watch watches a lightning goes by to lit up the forest and burn anything alive slowly, the flames consumed every tree burning every home of every beast anger. earth roars in pain and revenge for anyone who dares to hurt her again yet, we fire watches resume our daily lives and hope to God that her rage won’t burn us next time
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
KABANATA 3: KASUNDUAN
PHOTO BY DANICA BELLEN
Precious Bid by Julius Philip Bolima
Good evening! Ladies and gentlemen. I present to you, A human. Now open, The body parts auction. Raise your highest bid. Speed, speed, speed. Who wants legs? It’s nifty, bright, and swift. Who wants intestine? Clean and sheen. Who wants arms? You hug them anytime. Who wants healthy hair? Come on, there! No more bid? I guess, it’s time to show. The most awaited, Precious bid. Smiling mouth! From rare human species. Exchange your sadness, Bid the best.
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
Praying for time by P.Y.R
About ten months ago today We were ready to run away We were young and beautiful Almost twenty and grateful Spinning around the days like it didn’t matter Drowning ourselves in immeasurable laughter We planned to swim in outdoor pools To be together like a pair of fools But suddenly our lives went on pause Lots of time wasted and lost I grieve for our lost love Prayed to have it back to the Man above And the feeling will be bittersweet When that love is found wandering the streets
Love is never easy for those who want it Our hearts are like houses haunted By titillating love stories And remnants of old poetries I keep asking God for a rewind To trade my future for more time I can’t let go of my youth Because to tell you the truth We were ready to runaway About ten months ago today
PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO
The streets of Rizal Avenue Where I have yet to look again for you That was where we last saw each other Where our hearts were last sewn together
ART BY DANICA BELLEN
On Frail Wings of Sanity and Masks by Zaerra What’s this? I need a mask? “May I go out now?” I always ask The sweet air I miss to breathe Six feet apart from my friend, Keith Walking outside, scrolling inside I hear my friend’s voice on my side “You like this don’t you?” a touch of evil I’m making a deal, am I, with the devil No more forced smile at strangers Handshakes? It’s full of dangers People around me, six feet away Isn’t it amazing that life’s now this way? No more handshakes This life, I am willing to take I don’t want to touch someone again Weal days from this, it doesn’t give pain An escape from interaction Quite weird, is it my reaction Finding satisfaction with this life, so formal I’m liking this, this “new normal”
To See Her Again? by arielle Why couldn’t you just have kept her alive? The flame that once used to lit up the room Has been blown away by its inevitable doom You searched every pocket in every part of your body For a match, a lighter, but you only had a penny Soon it gets to you, “You will never get her back.” You cried out in tears, “She’s all I ever had.” “Your light isn’t there anymore,” he muttered with a sigh. “Not for long,” your nails pierced the skin of your thighs. You start searching for answers in the dark. No matter what happens, you end up in a rut. Your hands find themselves at your hair, Pulling and ripping until there’s nothing there. The darkness consumed your sanity. Why does the blood look like flames? You put your head on the unlit candle. You finally saw her again.
PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO
PHOTO BY PAUL JOSHUA
Makilimos by Julius Philip Bolima Wara akong mananribo, Pero muya ko magpasensilyo. Bako tabi amimiso, Alagad bako man asirinko. Aram kong aram mo ighagad ko, Kahaloy nang pangadyi saimo. Mientras itatao ko na gabos, Maski panhudyang buhay nin ikos. Nata baya dae kang pandangog? Dawa boses ko grabe nang kusog. Huna ko ika maherakon, Lalo na samuyang mga tioson. Ano muya mong kapalit? Maibalik sa ngimot ang kurit, Asin ang laad kan mata, Kan padaba kong aki, maherak ka.
TF
Flashlight by Taubenfeld
Funny how I am being nostalgic, Lost with the idea of time machine. Asking, “Is this some kind of lucid dream?” Seeing what the world had become, magic Head on, as everything seems strategic. Leaving is not an option anymore, It became an ideal, show me more. Give me the benefit of true escape, Here, I will close my eyes and see my fate, Time, revert, flashing lights, and eyes dilate.
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
Etymology by Patrick Rov Patricio
What does this word mean? When you looked at me with your eyes so green What does this word say? When you leave, I want to make you stay How did you come up with these words? When you speak to me, butterflies become birds Honey This is me, trying to make meaning From kind words that you leave hanging. Assuming the sweetest from the slightest of things Then drive me crazy on late Saturday evenings. Darling, I’ll keep them all in an anthology And I’ll anticipate more, no room for apology. So come, speak to me ever so casually, And let me write meanings with assumed etymology.
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
Descend
Patrick Rov Patricio
I wanted a listener And I found a friend. I wanted advice, You made me laugh instead. You promised to be there When no one else was. And all I wanted was a listener, And now I want more than just that.
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
She
by KC Jamin Nolasco
She’s an art waiting to be explored. Once explored, she wants to be improved. Once improved, she wants to be exposed. Once exposed, she wants to be known. Once known, she wants to be inspired. Once inspired, she wants to touch lives. ART BY JESSICA BACCAY
TF
The Language of My Heart by Louise Marie Cabalquinto
My heart is where You are Nothing can compare; Impossible to comprehend How I love to dwell in You forever! Because of You, I am drenched in lavender, Smells like rose buds filling the air, As if it’s the chamomile’s season again, And will last long as it can. What an undeserving soul You welcomed to your home. The one who’s worthy to be laying in the tomb. You changed the ending when I am certain to what I have decided. You let me reach the peak of pain, joy and – Made safe by Your command, a calling to be fulfilled Love that cannot be confined and will always be my shield. I cannot wait to be with You. Whilst I am here, protect my soul. Remember me when the day has come, In Your heart is where I am.
PHOTO BY DANICA BELLEN
PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD
Turnover by Chi-Square
This feels like being thrown In a land so foreign Your body tries to unlearn Your gut tries to digest Your body clock adjusts The time to wake up, to rest You vomit the firsts Of many realities Until it gets better Until the truth settles down. Ah, this life is not what it once was.
KABANATA 4: PAGKALUMBAY
PHOTO BY GERTRUDE TUAZON
L O V E T O S AY THE LEAST BY CAMILLE DILAO NUÑEZ
I looked at him in the eyes, Those eyes, Black orbs and cold as ice I returned his gaze, Yet I got lost in his maze Eyes, that made me fell over And over again “I love you,” he said. I was surprised, Mesmerized The man I’ve love Says he loves me back Those three words, Words I’ve waited to hear Words music to my ears But no, As he stared, I saw. I cried. The agony I’m feeling Is not healing Coming from the depths of my heart To every corner of my soul Up to the tears I’ve been holding back I was happy for a little time Yet that happiness simmered down My heart, Again, I’ve heard it breaking For the thousandth time today I smiled bitterly at him. I loved him, but not this way... With all my might, I utter pain “Heok”, I gasped. Love to say the least, It hurts To love, To be loved Was love really worth it? “you don’t love me...” I started. As tears escaped my eyes “You just love the thought how I love you so much...” I ended. I totally messed up eveything
ART BY DANICA BELLEN
GARDEN MADE OF STONE by Zaerra
I thought I was ready Never realized isolation is so deadly “I am ready for this,” what a lie Lying in my bed, I am scared to die Seeing the news of people resting in pieces The infected, why keep their secrets Although I know not their name I felt it, and wish I can absolve from the pain Where’s the bridge to the past? My identity’s been stolen by a mask Scared of things with a fingerprint is there hope? God please send a hint I’m not ready to bleed to make amends The world sleeps in dirt, or is it a bed? Will the present fall, or shall we pretend? We can’t rewrite this bitter end As I rest here alone, like words on a page Feeling no emotion, no sadness, no rage With a candle in the night, I see this ghost It is me, oh passing, I need you the most
PHOTO BY SIMEON MAGALONA IV
ODDS AND ENDS by Honeyrose Bermundo
Fantasies, goals, daydreams Breath full of hopes and gleams Bounded us to have supposition Suddenly a failure transition. I am in a state of limbo, they said Something came and made me wrecked Just chucking out some shot See if what sticks or not. Having an acerbic wit But not reaching even a bit How can I believe If everything’s got me pensive?
PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO
I Have Always Feared the song of grief in my head. Each chord that seems to cut like knives, Slashing through my heart in its bitter waltz of despair. But pained I may be, I still hope For a time where this Song of grief Becomes No More.
Sinfonia Della Mente by Ken Andrei Cuarto
PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO
Suriaw
by Julius Philip Bolima
Nata baya ika nasusuriaw? Mayo man ngani nakapatinting ilaw. Ang mata mo agid sa manilaad, Alagad nagtuturo nin maaskad. Labulabo na ang pagpupunas mo, Biyo nang nagkarulugad ang dungo mo. Matinir asin dae mapupundo, Ining makamunduong bihikulo. Dawa daeng daplos, pagal mo silag, Basud sa mata mo pwede nang itundag. Hule ta bubutahon ang sadiri, Uyam nang mamukmuklat sa puro pagkumbinse.
PHOTO BY GERTUDE TUAZON
ART BY: ELIDA DOMINIQUE MORAÑA
B I S E K L E TA by Julius Philip Bolima Likod dumog Nin hinang na madinukot. Atubangan mamara Nin pangudtuhang pasma. Pidal, padyak Kaskasi ang bisekleta. Lusot sa eskinita, Malugsot sa bangketa. Tiya Gloria Hala! Huyan na ang suki. “So dati sana tabi,” Panload na manalapi. Ah ariba Arangkada, patukad na Harani na sa bulod An solterong malawod. Mapasa na, Modyul sa matematika. Sarong liko na sana, Mapapahingalo na. Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Awto asin bisekleta Tarangkasan ang rida, Interyor yuropi na. Muklat! Muklat! Diit na pindot na sana, Sakong ser pasensya na, “Dae kuna maipapasa.”
PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO
Rocky Rivers and Dreams for Dinner by p.y.r
I’ve always known how easily I am swayed by emotion, how sadness infects me as quickly as laughter does. I unzip my lips but no words come out. I unclench my grip but there’s nothing inside my fist. I unscrew the top of my head and it’s filled with emptiness. These days I can’t tell the sheets and my shirt apart. They cling to me like anchors but oddly enough, they’re not what feels heavy. I feel lightheaded but my body is filled with baggage that pins me down. My mind’s afloat but my ribs are cracking from the downward pressure. It doesn’t make sense, yet it’s the only thing I cling onto. It’s the only feeling that is present and without it I am nothing. It’s been months. I wish I could tell you the number of days it’s been but I can’t even tell if it’s morning or night anymore. Time flows by like a river and it feels like I’m close to drowning in it. There are rocks nearby. They’re sharp and truncated and I am so close to hitting them. Time is taking me to these rocks and I am letting it. What they don’t tell you about isolation is that it strips you of your identity. It stunts your growth to the point that you don’t know if you’ll ever change for the better anymore. When it comes to that point, you start to question your purpose. And when you can’t answer your own question, you start to feel empty. You can unzip, unclench, and unscrew all you want but nothing’s there anymore. Yet, you feel so much weight inside and gravity pulls it all down. I start to trick myself into thinking that these blankets will merge with my skin and I will become my dreams. When I do, I will no longer be sad because for you to be sad, you’d have to be real. And dreams aren’t real.
Bed by Ken Andrei Cuarto
Being enveloped by darkness never feared me, but If I was being honest, I think that I have a subtle fear of what lies within or beyond it — I’ll never be certain. My bed is the only place where the dark seems to bring my soul peace and comfort, where I can let my thoughts and tears run amok without fear of gazing into eyes filled with disappointment. There are times when I feel a certain pain coursing through every part of my body, rendering me immobilized. It was the type of pain that chained me to my bed, but I guess that’s better than crumbling in broad daylight. The ceiling became my sky, and I’ve grown to be content with its dirty-white hue and barrenness. It may not contain the stars, but at least it’s much bearable than looking at the mirror and seeing me at my worst. Here, I don’t have to pretend or to muster up false smiles just to assure people that I’m still sane — I get lost at times, and I think it would be better If I wasn’t found at all.
PHOTO BY GERTUDE TUAZON
The New Normal by p.y.r
I remember the parkway that closed since quarantine started. I heard the echoes of my hopes as it faded into the walls of my kitchen. They say that people only value each other when death is involved, when it’s time to say goodbye and you realize you’re not ready to do it. I can see so many fallen heroes, so much anxiety from people who lived so freely before all of this fell on our shoulders. Several months in and nothing has changed. This burden of a pandemic feels like hell on Earth. We’re all high on emotions, hugged tight by fear. We’ve been waiting for so long to return to normal but we’re never going to go back to normal, are we? We’re stuck. We’re stuck with facemasks and social distancing. Physical touch will feel criminal as judge-filled eyes dart towards you and an old friend while you shake hands. People who cough or sneeze in public are outcasts. The new normal is lengths away from how we were before and we are lengths away from being happy like we were before. Being with each other is the kind of happiness they say is wrong. The truth runs wild and rumor has it that we’re never going back to the way it was.
PHOTO BY LX
ART BY SIMEON MAGALONA IV
A risk you’d take for a Disney ending by arielle
A sad, little Robert walked through a forest. He was following a little rabbit that was hopping through the forest. He found a gaping hole that looked bottomless and dark. Robert figured he could jump in since no one would look for him after all. Robert recalled a fairytale as similar as this. He wondered if it would happen to him as it is. Fairytales could deceive; It could wind you up dead. But poor little Robert couldn’t see anything but his end. Or so he thought as when he was about to leave: a flicker of light lit the bottom of vacuity. He was now prepared for his jump, and got on his little feet. “This is madness!” screamed his mind. But so was he.
Tin Woodman by Louise Marie Cabalquinto
Oh, to hurt someone is tears in my eyes A heart of stone cannot even make lies Wipe this streaming water before I shatter For breaking down is like being froze by the winter. There is no blind eye to feel But meeting you could allow me to heal These emotions always feel like a curse Tainted like a hamster full of bruise.
PHOTO BY LX
How to Un-love you by p.y.r These past few months, I took the liberty of trying to un-love you, of untangling the chains that were always unlocked but hugged my wrists tightly enough that I didn’t think trying to free myself was an option. I unlived the life, the happy on the surface but toxic underneath life. I unraveled. First, I had to un-hold your hand. Metaphorically, I had to detach myself from the “help” you constantly gave. The days you would tell me you needed me proceeded by the tone of “I’m a saint for loving you because you’re just too hard to love.” It would comfort me that someone loved me even though I was difficult, even when I thought people lied when they said I wasn’t hard to love but left anyway. You were solace in place of loneliness but I realized I was the loneliest when you held my hand. Next, I had to un-lose my mind. You took away my peace, clobbered me with words that echoed through my space every single second of each tiring day. I could cry it out or sleep it off but it always appeared in my dreams and in all my reflections. Finally, I had to unveil reality, tug at the red curtains and reveal the audience. I had to realize that to you, love was a performance and all you wanted was the satisfaction of receiving a standing ovation. You were a great actor. You made every single one of us believe that you could love me and make me happy when you knew that once the lights turn off and the stadium clears, I am nothing but a story to you. Knowing all of this, at the end of the day, I still don’t know how to unbreak my heart.
PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO
KABANATA 5: PAGTATANGGAP
PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO
What Lies Ahead by Arielle I see the light ahead of me. Do I run or do I let it be? If I stay, I’ll become blind from it If I run, it’ll continue to chase me I have been running away from you Afraid of what would come to be Fate has always told me to meet you Dream tells me there is someone I need to see I have never reached you, Dream Is there something that I lack? Whenever I take a step forward, I find myself two steps back Soon I am much older and closer to the light. I could see Fate watching over from behind. Dream is still far away, barely in my sight. I decide to give up and stay ‘til I’m blind.
ART BY EUGENE
What have you been doing? by Ken Andrei Cuarto
I yearn for catharsis, and for someone who constantly bleeds his soul on pages, it would be the greatest irony if I didn’t feel at ease when all I do is release. And then it got me thinking — maybe it was my fear of tearing down my heart’s defenses that made the words within flow out so rapidly like a tidal wave about to crash into the coast, maybe I just don’t want to inflict pain on other people anymore because I feel that I’ve been doing that even without my knowledge — I can never be certain when I’m bombarded with uncertainties. I have become so detached from myself that my skin does not feel like it’s mine anymore, and my teeth intensely chatter from the rumbling of foreign bones. There’s this voice in the back of my head whispering, “You’re better off on your own because no one can ever handle the way you combust without notice.”, and oddly enough, I find myself heeding those words until they’re no more and they slip out of my memory. But that is not enough for me — and now, I constantly wait for the moment when the words spill out of my soul; sporadically, uncontrollably, violently, and all the other words within the realm of my mind, even the profanities that you cannot simply utter so plainly. I will be listening to those words. After all, no one else ever dares to do so.
PHOTO BY LX
PHOTO BY JESSICA BACCAY
Enticing Presence by Louise Marie Cabalquinto It must have been the poets, honey, When I look at you and describe delicate When they wrote how the veins of your hands move gently They speak, if sky is a person, you’re made of it. It must’ve been the universe, my beloved, When the constellations allowed us to point them however we wanted The distance, we’re miles apart, but they pulled as in one bed Under the covers, like an eclipse, but I know our minds are shattered. What I’d give to see you try and smile As the darkness occur and you carry the world with fire When everyone was asleep, you and I are here, To breathe the word solitude hoping for chaos to disappear. The nature must’ve been delighted. But I’ll put you back, so I could rest When everything does not make sense The thought of you left me enchanted.
Masterpiece by Honeyrose Bermundo She’s a wounded work of art Beautiful but torn, Wreaking havoc on everyone’s lives. Camouflaged by anxieties and insecurities, Blinded by it all. Wind whistling, rain glistening, She tries to listen to it, To distract herself from those, But can’t evade it.
She’s a wounded work of art An old soul who has galaxies in her head, And stardust flowing through her veins. She lives on a bed of clouds with her head in the sky, And exhale daydreams. “La Vie Est Belle,” she said to herself, She told herself that, To dodge from negativities.
She’s a wounded work of art People prejudice her as a feisty soul, But let me tell you, she’s not. People often presume the odd, Throwing shades to somber her glister, Nonstop until she almost roughly believes in herself. Her existence perchance, against the eye of the people, Maybe because she is a protagonist, Which her opponents know nothing about.
She’s a wounded work of art, Other people may see her as “just an aesthetic pietce” Kill that thought because she is not, Let me tell you, she’s more than that.
ART BY JESSICA BACCAY
Paano ba magalit? Dapat bang bumasag ng pinggan? Punit-punitin ang mga damit? O magmurang talampasanan? Paano ba malungkot? Dapat bang humikbi sa panyo? Ang buhok gawing gusot-gusot? O sumigaw na parang anino? Paano ba sumaya? Dapat bang yumaman ng higit? Pumunta kung saan madala? O humalakhak lagpas langit? Paano nga ba talaga? Dapat bang may dapat? Hindi ko rin alam, Basta ang alam ko lahat ng emosyon ay tanggap.
Paano ba?
by Taunbenfeld
PHOTO BY ASTHER SOSITO
Just Little Flights of Fancy by Camille Dilao Nuñez
“Ahh,’ here it is again. Pretending I’m okay when I’m not Seeing a happy place when it’s not there At least I know what it feels like to be happy Even if It’s only temporary It’s all just little flights of fancy.
PHOTO BY SIMEON MAGALONA IV
I’ve always known what it feels like to be happy Like laughing so hard until my tummy aches Like tears coming out of my eyes unable to control it Or something like rolling on the ground You know how it feels like? It’s as if I’m in an empty field with green grasses growing here and there Hearing the water bubbling from the distant brook Smelling sweet fresh air given out by flowers Like flying towards the clear sky Clouds hitting my face like little marshmallows Or jumping up and down in a trampoline Or letting the waves of the ocean carry my body Pulling and pushing Pulling and pushing Different colors meet my eyes I don’t know where to look That’s what it feels like to be happy Then I started blinking, All of them vanishes Like a memory in the process of fading Then the stretch in my lips suddenly decreases The smile was wiped out The tears all dried Heartbeats are back to normal I look around and see nothing
Pages
by Arielle Camille Espiritu There is this one chapter, I wish to not remember. Spilled with the darkest ink, Edges burned with ember. I’ve constantly tried to destroy it, to rip these pages out of my book. Yet it’s bounded by the strongest glue, So, I folded it; I’m afraid to look. Not one can remove a part of their life, No matter how dark and blue they were. You’ll only have to accept the truth, Those pages of who you once were. They haunt me in my dreams, My only defense is to survive. Read these pages of my book, So, I can get through the other side.
PHOTO BY LX
Hidden Messages and Confessions by p.y.r Good Morning! There’s nothing good about this morning. I’ve been crying my eyes out in the shower because I miss you. I miss your hellos. I miss your “I love you’s”. I even miss your goodbyes.
Good morning! How’s your coffee? I take my coffee with tons of sugar because maybe enough of it would rub off on my mood. I’ve been feeling less than normal for years but more so these past few months in quarantine.
The weather is nice today isn’t it? No matter how sunny it is, I still feel cloudy inside, lonely without you. You’ve always been the sunlight encapsulating my world. Maybe I should tell you that.
It is! It’s bright and warm. But I can’t help but feel cold because you’re my warmth and I like to think that I’m yours. Maybe I should tell you that.
I have to tell you something. Here goes nothing.
So do I. But go ahead. Here goes nothing.
I miss you, I really do. It feels like you’re a world away. And I know we have no power over what’s happening right now but I’d like to think that we can still make it work. I’ve been crying. I’ve been crying because I love you so much that it hurts. I hope you’re missing me as much as I miss you.
My heart is on fire right now because, I miss you too. More than anything, all I want is to be with you. A thousand storms could not keep us apart. A pandemic cannot break us, not now nor never. We will be together again when the time is right. but for now, let’s skip the small talk and get straight to the “I love you.”
Livid (adj) by Ken Andrei Cuarto My knuckles remain as spotless and white as the walls I’ve been punching so intensely, no fires to burn pictures and letters, no shards of wine glasses in sight, no furniture toppled over, no wild screaming in the dark corner of my room until it ceases because of the weariness of my soul. However, there is rage. So vivid, I forget the parts of me that are too good and tender for this world. Too good, they always say. Or at least, that’s what they see, what they assume. It was almost like second nature for me to have people hurt and leave me, but even then, I’d still weave poems in their name. They paint me into this vicious monster, a nightmarish tale they speak of during boring afternoons and drunk evenings with their friends because that made them cool, made them heroes. I feel my rage in corners that never mattered before, a subtle tremor at my fingertips that used to be ignored in the past. At times, I retreat into my imagination and create a person out of this feeling, fixing up the bangs covering his eyes before I let him run his mouth. Spit words as painful as fresh wounds and as chilling as nights filled with isolation.
I imagine him as someone very strong and firm, Someone who doesn’t drown in his tears, someone I can only hope to be. I’ve always wanted and tried to vanish into nothingness, but my name has other plans. In text messages, handwritten poems, mouths of everyone who merely saw but failed to understand. The rage sits in my throat, an uncomfortable lump growing vigorously, waiting earnestly for the moment it can wreak havoc. It sits at the back of my mind in case it slips away to nothingness, which I really want to. Broken promises are like a bitter taste in my mouth, a painful acid lurking inside my stomach. Anger never really looked good on me, but I let it linger inside my body. I let it stay as long as it wants to until it decides to leave me like everyone else. I create a home for it, using bitterness and regret as its bricks. I apologize to myself for all the pain, anger, and sadness because selfish people never uttered apologies nor mean it — I won’t be like them. I won’t hurt me anymore.
The Rays of Chastise by Louise Marie Cabalquinto Oh, they stab like an arrow Someone has been sowing words For them, the sight is like a rainbow, Never-ending and believe it’s far from shallows. It has reached me, my dear To tell you the truth, it is one of my fear. Chastise travels to different homes, They don’t care if it would make feel cold.
Even if the spears became their voices I shall not rely on things that they confess. I’ve been scrutinizing my own in this eroded valley I shall live and conquer the devouring uncertainty.
PHOTO BY SIMEON MAGALONA IV
How easy for it to walk from pole to pole Not even marred when it made its fall The rise keeps going on and on The rays were leading to satisfaction.
AFTERMATH by Zaerra I was writing all these poems the other day, Thinking about how this life is now the only way. Scrolling through my feed lots of news to read “Please just some good news,” it is what we need. No matter what happens I’ll hold my pen, It is mightier than the sword, depending on the man. Even in this life there should be a plan, What lies beneath rests upon my hand. It’s sickening how still this world is full of lies, Even without a mask, I am in a disguise. Stepping outside now I don’t have clue, Writing these poetries, I am longing for you. In this new world no one’s alone, Without the virus this is still my home. It’ll take time for myself to train, Even if all this just brings me pain. With my pen, outside I am ready for you, All these changes, we can make it through. As change is forever, but the heart remains the same, I’m still scared of what the world has came.
PHOTO BY LX
PHOTO BY LX
Toxic Positivity by p.y.r There’s magic inside the four corners of a home. I learned this when I spent my birthday alone. During this generation’s worst possible year yet, I celebrated my first and only twentieth. If I turn up my music loud and blaring, It starts to feel like a live band playing. If I blow my candles out at six a.m., It starts to feel like I’m born again. Loneliness is the interlude to insanity, Experiencing reality as clarity. Party’s over now and so is the magic. Sometimes we live through things that are simply tragic.
It’s all smoke and mirrors, this magic here. It’s true that we should all feel fear That this sickness going around is deadly, That funerals of victims happen without their family. Going out creates a life or death situation. There’s no space for us to make a bad decision. In this eccentric time in history Being positive has its dose of toxicity. We can no longer continue to pretend That quarantine rules can easily be bent. But we can’t deny that this length of isolation Isn’t helping our mental cognition.
Ingatan mo by Angelica Bertis Sige lang nang sige, ‘Wag mong sukuan. Alam kong pagod ka na, Pero ika’y lumaban. Sa panahon ngayon, Tayo tayo lang magtutulungan. Nang sa gayon, Ay ito’y malalagpasan. Simulan natin sa ating sarili, Alam kong ika’y pagod na. ‘Wag limutin na nandito lang kami, Kami ay nandito para damayan ka. Ang buhay mo’y mahalaga, Ginawa mo ang iyong makakaya. Ingatan mo sarili mo, ‘Pagkat tayo ang pag-asa. Pagbabago ng bansa ay nasa atin, ‘Wag kang mag-alala ito’y kakayanin. Sa laban na ating pinaglalaban, Sa laban na tayo ay makikinabang. Kaya ingatan mo sarili mo, May laban pang naghihintay. Ang laban na para sa lahat. Na sa atin nakasalalay.
PHOTO BY ASTHER SOSITO
PHOTO BY ASTHER SOSITO
Paghilom by Ken Andrei Cuarto At sa pagmulat ng aking mga mata Isang nilalang ang aking nakita Mata nya sumasalamin ng pighati Mga labing pilit umuukit ng ngiti Natatanaw ko ang mga bisig niyang sugatan At ang kabuuan niyang niyayapos ni Kamatayan Ngunit sa harap ng aking mga nakita Isang mumunting apoy ay sa kaniya’y nadama Isang maliit na bulong ang siyang narinig “Lubayan mo ako, Kadiliman. Hindi na ako magpapadaig.” At sa saglit na iyon, ako’y namangha Sapagkat ang liwanag ng pag-asa’y umusbong sa kanyang mga mata Mga bukal na ngisi, sa kanyang labi’y nagpakita Mga matang dating matamlay ngayo’y kumikinang sa sigla Sa kagalakan na nadama, isang ngiti’y sa kanya’y inihain Kalakip ang pusong panatag, sarili’y nagpaalam na sa salamin
EDITORIAL BOARD & STAFF Editor-in-Chief: Ken Andrei Cuarto Associate Editor for Content: Earl Dwayne Gaston Associate Editor for Arts: Eugene Kyle Oligo Feature Editor: Stephany Mae Chi Literary Editor: Julius Philip Bolima DevCom Editor: Ralph Vincent Lagunsing Head Lay-out Artist: Hans Franklin Requiero Head Photojournalist: Philippe Reggie Castro Staff writers: Vincent John Abordo, Aedam Isidore Ampongan, Angelica Bertis, Louise Marie Cabalquinto, Mitch Angel Escopete, Arielle Camille Espiritu, Katrina Claudia Jamin, Camille Dilao Nuñez, Victoria Ogo, Patrick Rov Patricio, Patricia Yzabelle Reverente, Fredrick Ira Sta. Teresa, Gertrude Tuazon Photographers: Honeyrose Bermundo, John Chan, Rolaine Nicole Co, Kristine Kim Gonzales, Paul Joshua Mateo, Asther Tariman Sosito Artists: Jessica Baccay, Danica Bellen, Jayrold Borcelis, Simeon Sam Magalona IV, Elida Domique Moroña Layout Artist: Zhyron Wynriel Alimon, Christian Belchez Technical Adviser: Martha Joy Ruivivar
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT This year has been a tough moment for almost everyone of us as we are confronted with unprecedented and taunting novelty that changed how we perceive life as it used to be—being normal, without much restrictions. Much of us are confined in the corners of our room, seemingly disconnected and separated by digital screens. Despite these boundaries, it didn’t deter us from striving and imparting our talents and aspirations in making a white lifeless paper bleed with creativity and color. This is all thanks to the unwavering support of Legazpi Thomasians for making SILAKBO a reality. To all the students who put their hearts and souls in expressing the beauty of their stories especially in this dire time, we salute your bravery for making it known. To all professors and personnel especially to our adviser Martha Joy Ruivivar, for the steadfast love and commitment to us as members and to our publication, our authentic thanksgiving to all of you. To our Heavenly Father who gave us various and unique talents, all glory and honor we give to Him. And to you, thank you for being with us. You have read the wonders of our mind and soul and became a part of SILAKBO.
AQUINIAN HERALD
SILAKBO