THE VESSEL JUNE 2021 VOL 1 ISSUE 1 by Argo LPU-L

THE OFFICIAL LITERARY PUBLICATION OF ARGO

THE VESSEL

JUNE 2021 | VOL 1 | ISSUE 1

editor's notes To sail stories anchored on truth has always been the promised journey. Now, it is time to raise the anchors of journalism and embark on an adventure toward a destination that is only marked by the imagination. Ever since its first voyage, Argo: The Official School Publication of LPU-Laguna High School Department has been venturing the stream of information to deliver reliable news, diving into the depths of interesting stories with feature write-ups, facing the storms of opinions through editorial articles, sailing the world of facts through science, and raising the tides of anticipation with sports news. Now, it is time to swing the bottle for another ship— The Vessel.

The Vessel is a literary folio that aims to take a separate course from journalistic writing and focus on the ocean of creativity flowing within every Lycean. This project shifts from the publication's accustomed culture of delivering written works to students to catering people’s compositions and letting the writers navigate their ways toward the abyss of the prompt— d i s t a n s i y a.

The word ‘distansya’ (distance) is relevant now more than ever. In these times of uncertainty, many have been left astray in the vast ocean, far from the safety of the coast. We are all sailors enveloped in the darkness of the pandemic, fighting towering waves, which pushed people indefinitely apart. However, through the unsettling storm, Argo's ships stayed afloat, now using different voices to connect people in this fathomless distance. This is a journey guided by the stars, shedding light on the beauty of poetry, not directed by the compass of journalism, but going beyond it. In this new expedition, we are sailing words without the goal of shortening the distance between us but to connect us even though we are apart.

For now, we cannot say that the ocean is calm. Soon, the shore will be visible, and we will dock on tranquil ports.

alyssa cuisia

“There is a distance that cannot be measured in kilometers or even in light years; it's the distance born from change.” ― Domenico Starnone, Lacci

The Vessel

TABLE OF

Contents

GPS: Geografie Pentru Suflet Jersey Denise Manahan

Rate Jenna Mariel Gonzales

3.7 Kilometers Audrey Agatha Edres

Death Waltz Clouie Mae Decena

Neglected Archives Karla Denise Gonzales

PLDT Hannah Reyes

Clueless r.d

Return Mail Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo

free fall Eathane Sarte

Iris Ysa

bifocal neil & zer

End of the Maze Qwyn Raissa Banaag

06 07 08 09 12

18 19

abandoned ecstasy anonymous

A Search for Solace Karla Denise Gonzales

"Illusionary Obsession" Mirasol "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" Jeysi Rodenas

D I S T A N S Y A

until the waves grow silent j

scarred poetry j & Ronan Reodica

Sol and Luna nc Moonlight Sonata Benevolence

The Vessel

If Mayari

Romatinc Professionalism Pauleen Kay Torres

a light-year away Tenshi

The Carnival Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo

Dalampasigan Shyla Maurice Sianghio

Exhibit Clouie Mae Decena

Sightless Destination Zia Lait

Zoom Karla Denise Gonzales

The Great Conjunction MJ Del Mundo

Swipe Right Prince Baldivino

Hypothesis Jenna Mariel A. Gonzales

Seating Arrangement Clouie Mae Decena

Other half Ysa

Sa labas ng Kahita Ysa

Love Letter Ysa

Yesterday's Shard Ysa

Stash Kim Batas

Waves and Pictures Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo

Posisyon Karla Denise Gonzales

Lightning and Thunder Pauleen Kay Torres

Laban sa Mundo anonymous

Half full Jegui

look inside j

To Where You Are Rory Gilmore

Love thy neighbor anonymous

29 31

Of Butterflies and Blood-scented Candles Annabeth Chase

D I S T A N S Y A

The Vessel

fireflies Neil Christian Balba

Parallel Worlds r.d

700 feet Catheryn

Birds Fait Marcus Lacatan

Curse of the Atlantic Neil Christian Balba

Saudade in Car Rides Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo

Stopover HAGKKAN

Ruta HAGKKAN

D I S T A N S Y A

distansya distance - an amount of space

gap a break in continuity

GPS: Geografie Pentru Suflet Jersey Denise Manahan

A lot of people believe that distance pertains to the amount of space from point A to point B. Are 10 miles really far? Or is it just a 10-minute car ride? From 0 to 1, lie an infinity of numbers. Maybe distance means everything is at our disposal yet beyond our reach. Endless traveling, every location is merely a stopover. How do we know if we've reached the destination?

In the midst of the journey, we always get lost. We take the wrong turns and follow the wrong signs. Even so, we find bits and pieces of our hearts in every place we wandered. Our poor sense of direction created a home at every turn. So, how do we know if we've reached our destination? Is it when the GPS finally says the words, "You have arrived at your destination?” Or if it lights up a burnt-out bulb inside of us? Maybe we're not meant to reach a certain destination. Perhaps we're meant to tread these paths forever and find home in every stopover.

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3.7 Kilometers Audrey Agatha Edres

Crossing that 3.7 kilometers, Every beat of a heart fading through seconds, Every gasp for air longing for a purpose. Crossing that 3.7 kilometers, A race against the hands of the clock, A competition between will and distance. Purpose defined by hatred and shock, Questions unanswered, drained persistence, Crossing that 3.7 kilometers

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Neglected Archives Karla Denise Gonzales

you are simply a page half torn, other half mislaid with burnt edges flown to ashes still begging to be read For you were used a thousand times Slipped through the hands of many Yet never understood

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Clueless r.d

Trails merged into pavements Like an endless path: Where only the lost stays, Where all eyes seemed to be covered in haze The silence was deafening. Yet voices in the distance were roaring. Nothing is clearly usual. But this feeling is something familiar. Clueless on why I am following this mysterious line. In search for something that was never mine

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Free Fall Eathane Sarte

one step i turn around and try not to fall two steps the night is colder, the wind goes stronger it’s hard not to dive when the urge consistently lingers last step the distance grows; you are now free forever

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bifocal neil & zer

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abandoned ecstasy anonymous

Splash of colors, abstract painters Lines look bigger, lyrics I cater Perfect circles, ones of flavour Things I adore, until later… Colors have contrast, abstracts look confused Lines so little, lyrics been used Parallel loops, flavours I refuse Things I once adored, ‘till the words you bruised

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A Search for Solace Karla Denise Gonzales

was home missing? where is it our scarred layers shed? As we run circles, feet begging bruises on fists from restless knocking on their locked doors and “welcome,” a word never heard Have you lost your keys? fail to know you are your home

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“Illusionary Obsession” Mirasol

There she is, standing with her back turned to me. Her long black hair swaying as winds pass by. Even though I can only see her back, I cannot help but feel intimidated by the air of regality and elegance that surrounds her. Other people’s eyes cannot help but be drawn to her as she exudes such charisma and confidence. From what I know, she has every reason to have that confidence. She possesses intelligence and wisdom topped with a kind personality which makes her a likeable figure among her peers. Only a small circle of friends surrounds her, but all of them like-minded when it comes to achieving their goals. I must have been staring for quite long now because she turned around and looked at me directly. Flustered that I was caught staring intensely, I made a move to avert my gaze but I cannot do that when she gave me a smile. I always thought she was quite daunting with her proper poise and stoic face but her smile showed me a different side of her instantly – gentle, caring, and warm. Holding out her hand, she asked me if I want to come with her. I eagerly said yes and made a move to reach her outstretched hand but, somehow, before I did, she vanished. I do not really remember when these feelings started; what I do remember is when these feelings reached their peak. It was during my junior high school years that I have totally fallen for her; that I totally became obsessed with her. I tried my hardest to reach her but no matter what I do, she is like an angel in flight – unattainable and unreachable. Everything started out small. It was not like those “love at first sight" situations that ‘from the moment I saw her, I knew she was the one.’

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I was content with admiring her from afar. I settled with just a few glances and that feeling of wanting to be with her whenever teachers will give us activities. During group activities, I was always hoping to have her in my team. Even with individual activities, I try to include her by making her an inspiration for outputs that are on the more personal side. It took a while before I noticed that these things were not enough for me anymore. My admiration for her went to greater heights. I was not content with just feeling a little bit of her presence anymore. I wanted to be much, much closer to her. Be it group activities or individual outputs, I wanted to make them worthy of her attention. These feelings reached a point where my academics are not the only thing affected; it controlled a bigger part of my life. I did not realize just how much of me was destroyed for wanting her. She was not just an inspiration anymore; she became an obsession. The effects of these feelings for her were very evident in every aspect of my life. The relationship I have with other people were on the point of breaking apart because of how I treated them. I no longer participate in conversations with my friends because of how much burden I feel whenever I talk to them. At that time, I did not consider my bedroom as my comfort place; it was just a room where I can hide from the eyes of other people. In terms of academics, countless hours of comforting sleep and rest were sacrificed to create the “right” outputs. Instead of starting immediately when an activity is given, I push it back in the guise of devising a “fail-proof plan” when in truth, I am simply scared of doing it. These feelings of burden and fear all stem from one thought – everything I do should be patterned after her. It took a lot of time and reflection before I made the first step to move on from this series of events and, fortunately, I am doing quite well. But then again, it is hard to forget our first love. Even now, these buried feelings resurface from time to time. A lot of looking into myself showed me these feelings for what they are – an

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unhealthy obsession that will destroy my sense of self. It took a long time before I eventually accepted that no action can guarantee that she will become mine. No matter how much I long for her, no good will come out of it. After all, that image of a perfect me is only an illusion.

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“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” Jeysi Rodenas

I turn to him, as my heart is hurting. He’s smiling down at me, stroking my hair like I’m something lovely. Like I’m someone worthy of tenderness, of comfort. It’s too late to warn him. My fangs tear out of my gums, my back bending and cracking, I’m screaming in my mind, fighting powerlessly as the curse takes control. He rushed forward as if to catch me, yet an inhuman growl tears out of my new structure. Pale, he made a step backward. “You said you weren’t one of them,” he breathes. Betrayal stings his voice. I can’t do anything but look as he is destroyed, his blood blasting over my tongue. Yes, the moon is beautiful. Even if it led to losing you.

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Rate

Jenna Mariel Gonzales

I blame myself for not being bright. I was chasing after taxis on an empty road. I tried to get home, but with the stop light blinking; I forgot why I wanted to go. The rate was getting higher but my thoughts are low, so when I was asked if I was getting off, I didn't know why I was standing before your door. I'm not really bright, perhaps like a dimmed room with flickering lights. So when my friend asked me to lead the trip we planned for so long, I took a left instead of right. I tend to forget that it wasn't black you put bleach with. Nor was it red you put white with. I dozed off watching the laundry spin, I ended up with faded clothes I had to toss in the bin. Maybe it's because I'm not really bright as they thought I am. So instead of turning my heels away, I reached for the cold knob. I entered, making myself feel at home in a place I once knew. Right in front of me I see the familiar brown orbs that cannot see me anymore but can only feel my soul.

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Death Waltz Clouie Mae Decena

I always found comfort in grey skies and dancing waltz during a storm. There is morbid sense of beauty in them that not everyone can admire. The skeletons of tree branches tapping on my window seemed so normal. Classical music playing in the background suppresses the eerie ambience of my candle lit room. The silence was suspicious and I’m too afraid of what will be revealed if I called out. All I have now is time but time is nothing more but a slow trickle of sand in an hourglass. Laying on my desk is a damaged book. You can see the scribbled notes I had written the night prior; “No one can run from the shadows; you’d be better off inviting them to dance.” It’s funny how all the lives I’ve lived are now just ink left on pages. I’m just now learning how to dance the stories I wanted to forget. Despite it, I was never scared leaping to death. Of course, one can argue that it takes more courage to suffer than to die. “I found you again, darling. And it looks like there is nowhere for you to run.” A familiar voice purred, hiding in the space the candle light could not reach. Hearing voices is a bad sign no matter the context. Though, I know a couple of girls who would trade me their lives to hear his. I shiver at the thought that this was it. I no longer have a choice. I always knew he would find me eventually. The cockiness in his tone toying with me, “You have no idea who I am, do you?” But I do. I knew that voice even after years. How could I ever forget? It was all I could ever think of. I know better than playing a dangerous game without so much as taking a glimpse into the rules. There was no poor little girl practicing footwork for her piece, it was always a poor little girl who struggles to stay on her feet.

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A deafening scream interrupted the quiet bliss of night and surprisingly, it wasn’t mine. My freedom was the small price to pay to stop the shadows from ever coming back. Maybe it was time for me to give in and prance into the dusk. Maybe being death’s bride wouldn’t be as bad as they make it seem. Maybe there are beauty in the darkness, as there are horrors in the light. Light is easy to love so show me your darkness. I fear no evil because darkness is mine. Doing a little curtsy, I looked him in the eye and finally, I found my voice "Well, do you want to dance?"

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PLDT Hannah Reyes

4:17 am *No internet connection* My mind cursed but my body was thankful.

Return Mail

Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo

I kissed the flowers goodbye and wished for it to go to whomever needs love. Today, I woke up coughing dried petals.

Iris Ysa

I was obsessed with his eyes. Now, I can’t stop staring at the mirror.

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End of the Maze Qwyn Raissa Banaag

If today seems like an unfamiliar scene We shall still dance until the clock passed thirteen If you finally reached the end of the maze Close your eyes, look back to all those days Because you struggled with all your might There is no reason to last the night The galaxy is deaf to your prayers Now you finally found the end of the maze

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remoteness the state of being distant from something else

until the waves grow silent

The stares of the sad sea Stirred my blight of disbelief Steer the sails of separation Or light the stars of grief In the distance, there's a lighthouse with spiral stairs of what-ifs They say that love is a shore with soft sand but ours are the bonfire and waves.

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scarred poetry j & Ronan Reodica

bigger dreams and distant skies begging hello and electrified goodbyes faithless belief lost my whole life running stranger heartbreak overnight recognize my scars then axe my heart with fifteen poems you didn't like

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Sol and Luna nc

I used to be the sun, seeing everyone's happiness with the bright blue sky, Now I am the moon, hearing cries and secrets of all sorts at night. We are placed on different skies; we only see what we have been told to see and discover what we have been taught to know, subtly separated from one's beauty. Yet no distance can come between, as one day we will coexist.

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Moonlight Sonata Benevolence

Under this lonely moonlight, I sound out my resolve. All alone, in this room. I sing out for you. Oiling out this rusty heart, Your smiles, warm even the coldest nights. In this ambiguous world, no one knows. This tune I play for you. I aimlessly sing, No matter how much it resonates, None of it ever reaches you. Until this voice dies out, I’ll sing for you.

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Mayari

Staring at the ceiling, Keeping all these feelings. Emotions poured out of my soul, It was hard to fight for you. But I should’ve known that it’s harder to fight without you. Regrets fill my heart knowing we could’ve been something. My foolish hesitation turned everything into nothing. Eyes darted in the room, waiting for you to meet mine. But I was too late, for you’re already locked tight in someone else’s gaze. I know you are happy now, As you finally told her your vows. If only I pulled you closer, Then, every night would not be colder. Instead of staring at the ceiling, I could’ve heard your heart beating.

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a light-year away Tenshi

If only you knew how I adore your astronomical eyes Down to your smile with the hint of the bluest skies Gazing upon your beauty that makes up the cosmos — only gravity preventing me to hold you close I'm so down to earth yet you're up in the outer space Reaching out for you means touching a heaven-sent grace Your iridescent presence can comprise a whole galaxy Indeed, the universe bows down to your entirety Oh how could I possibly admire you personally? Should I partake into a breathtaking journey? Passing through Saturn's rings to Pluto's moon Grasping tightly with the hope of meeting you soon Getting celestial glimpses of you from afar Not merely knowing that you are the real star What I truly desire is to make you stay So here I come to travel a light-year away

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Dalampasigan Shyla Maurice Sianghio

Patuloy mang gumuhit ng puso sa buhangin, hindi na ito titibok, Naisulat lamang upang maanod, mga natitirang alikabok Natangay ng alon ang hiram na pagkakataon Ang pangarap na tayo hanggang dulo, sa buhangin na lang ibabaon. Sa dagat na ating pagitan, Ika’y tanaw ngunit hindi maabot Sa dalampasigan ng isa’t isa Tayo ang mga alon na ang tanging dala ay mga pasakit at pighati.

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Sightless Destination Zia Lait

I dropped a pin, and that you hear Sightless eyes have shedded tears “lunatic” has become my middle name Pictures looked so happy, ‘till you got out of the frame Is it you or is it I who really lost sight? Or are you just darkness shadowed by the night? No response as I dismiss Silence, such a painful bliss I am west, do not go east Come back so I could smile at least You shut the door right in front of me How could that ever give you such glee? Do you actually exist? Felt like you were a mystical mist All these broken mirrors look at me in awe As I could never see the reality you saw

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The Great Conjunction MJ Del Mundo

I have no knowledge of what we did for the cosmos to punish us like this. Are we heroes who betrayed our own nation? all I know is that even in this life For you I will commit treason Maybe you were a great prince, a warrior And I am but your lover who died in war because I took your armor Maybe the fates cursed us to stay apart because we tried to alter destiny The reason why I can not hold you, When the only thing I want is your close proximity. Perhaps, before I took our final breath I wished for seventy-nine moons so you can see me from afar and you’ll know that it’s me wishing that I could hold you soon Perhaps, before you closed your eyes You asked for rings so I could recognize you in this lifetime. Darling, in galaxies there are no seasons But here, you are the spring I got contented for millions of years in the stories of you that comets whisper in my ears Even so, I am thankful for the chance of glimpse that the universe gives us every twenty years

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Then finally, the galaxy heard our silent plea not just a glimpse but a touch of our orbits after eight hundred years we can now be seen in the same sky But sadly that would just be a fleeting moment The meteorites you hang around, I envy. I do not need the North star to guide me to you And if I need to wait another millennium Or travel a thousand of light years to get to you again I will do it as fast as Mercury revolves around the sun Even Halley’s Comet, I will outrun.

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Hypothesis Jenna Mariel A. Gonzales

If in the cracks we’ll know why we keep missing the beat, Then we will still find ourselves exchanging seats. Maybe in the farthest row where the play isn’t so visible, We’ll laugh like we understand how the story goes. If a glance is enough to know what you’re up to, Then our words are no longer black that lost their hue. Maybe the longest road will feel so near our reach Within the tips of our fingers we’ll make a wish. If only the moon wasn’t changing its face, Then the tides wouldn’t have erased the traces of you. Maybe it was the reason why this tale was unfinished We’ll no longer wake up alone to songs that ate our souls If only our fate was a letter written on a scented paper, Then we’ll be ripping it to pieces and make our own collage. Maybe then we’ll realized it wasn’t the song that’s out of tune, Whose name will you whisper under the rays at noon?

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Of Butterflies and Blood-scented Candles Annabeth Chase

I can still remember the first time our paths collide In that exact moment, in that crowded hallway The flowers inside me bloomed but instantly they died Just like how it does when autumn comes For I know that we live in different circles and in mine you’ll never stray And if you ever did you’ll never stay. Whenever our hands will brush accidentally The butterflies are not fluttering in my stomach They were on my back carrying me, making me soar Forcing myself to be contented with stolen moments But do not make me impatient, look at me before I ask for more Red dots and pieces of my skin, now all I cut is your pictures A portrait of us is a luxury I cannot afford--yet So I covered my windows with photographs of you smiling From stolen handkerchiefs and glances I made you a shrine Imprison me in a crimson cell the judge can bring down the verdict If being a thief is the only way then I will gladly pay the fine If I could put the saccharine taste of your laughter in a perfume bottle Or use your honeyed scent to sweeten my afternoon tea I would, but your smiles will suffice for now For your affirmations I thirst, I can even drink the sea

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Didn’t you know that if there is an absence of nectar The butterflies will drink blood and tears instead? Like vampiric butterflies I crave your bloody scent But if you still refuse to love me I will be collecting your tears I will make candles out of your miseries and fears

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Sa labas ng Kahita Ysa

Buhat ng kamatayan ang pagtigil ng pintig ng puso, pagkaagnas ng mga kalamnan, paghinto ng mga lamang-loob at tuluyang pagsuko ng pisikal na anyo. Ngunit lingid sa ating kaalaman na may mga taong matagal nang wala sa atin--kahit araw-araw pa nating katabi.

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Yesterday’s Shard Ysa

I never understood the concept of love, until we were laying next to each other, our heartbeats almost in sync, we were closer than skin to skin—that is when my lips became familiar with the word love. I never understood the concept of love, until I tried to retrace every step that you left, replayed all the memories that we’ve shared, knowing it will drain me down to my very core— that is when the word love was snatched out of my partly closed lips. I never understood the concept of love, not until you came, and then left.

When you left, everything trickled down like rain drops that found their way through the pipes of yesterday’s house we called ours; down my cheek it stained red-but I did not know it would pour right through the doors that we’d come home to every night. Out the same door, you left. Today, I closed the flooded house of love that once bloomed from hope and now I am left alone in a hotel room for two.

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Waves and Pictures Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo

Amphitrite must have been so jealous When she saw us walking by the sea How the ocean is drawn to the moon That is how you looked at me. The goddess of waves knew That the love we share is something that Poseidon can not give her “There is no sea that can separate them”. She said So Amphitrite sent waves from river of lethe in my head instead The waves she sent was weak like stream the cold was electrifying but shallow it merely touches my feet So, My lover do not fret Your laughter will never slip from my ear I will never forget. Soon the stream of water became deep a river with jagged rocks with rapids fast that my words are being swept away Even the lyrics in our favorite song was erased But not my recollection of you, no. It will never decay.

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Oh, how this deity is testing me For the river branched into the open sea So I made a ship from every reminder of you Your smile that is etched on my soul Your face tattooed on my bones but it did have holes. I keep on reimagining every moment we made Tried to picture every candle lit dinner in polaroids but you know what happens when water touches photographs, they fade. Lying side by side in our bed Nothing to separate us but a vast sea of forgetfulness inside my head. I lose more memories as the sirens scream in my mind Lover, My consciousness may not remember your name but my lips will The goddess even sent Triton to trap me in a whirlpool where time is an illusion but what keeps me breathing is every emotion you made me feel. My ears filled with murk, eyes hazy from sea foam The colors of my world washed out and everything’s in monochrome Still Amphitrite did not win I might have drowned But the goddess of the sea can never have The love that we found.

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Lightning and Thunder Pauleen Kay Torres

Our love is supernatural, a resounding fantasy tied to the skies. It walks within the distance of thunder and lightning, wrecked through the gaps of our differences. You’re the reflection of all that is beautiful and I’m the shudder that tries to coexist. You’re always far ahead, like the speed of light, that keeps my trembling voice waiting. Heaven holds lightning and thunder in the same heavy ground that splits by the terror that waits between us; It is natural, it is all that we are. We are the effort that crashes across these reckless storms. The resounding glows of love that never meet.

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Half Full Jegui

Maybe it was when I followed you in the park yesterday night, that I noticed your hair color changed into a darker blue. I was not entirely sure if you wanted that dye again, but between my fingers were unfamiliar strands. I was trying to say it suits you well enough, yet words tangled and I just forgot. So Instead I apologized bitterly. I said “I’m sorry” I hate blue. If I was still dreaming I would hold you close right this time. I will not let you go far from me but Is it I or You who is making our shared glass empty

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To Where You Are Rory Gilmore

Take me to where the heavens are, Willingly and willfully Crossing mountains and oceans Enduring all the agony For whatever come, what may. I wish upon a star To see you smile, And those eyes that glimmer. If only for a while To know you’re there, A breath away’s not far To where you are.

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Romantic Professionalism Pauleen Kay Torres

There’s a certain thing you have to remember when you play a love interest in theater and that is to never fall for a guy who needs to memorize a stanza to say he loves you. Any man made by Shakespeare is to be avoided at all costs, they say. It leaves me wondering why I should be reminded. But then again, it was somebody I loved that played a fictional lover. I am swooned by his babbles and the lines that only we understand because we share them. I try my hardest to hold it back but William tells me to give in, be vulnerable and dramatically romantic. So there I go, walking towards you, letting go and forgetting my lines in the spotlight. “I love you,” I blurted and he stared into my eyes, saying it back. We exit the scene and I run to him backstage. He smiles and caresses my head and comes closer. Headstrong, my mind goes wild. “Great improv, I have your back when you blank out.”

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The Carnival

Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo

There is a rumor that in the middle of bustling streets and towering skyscrapers you can find something that you’re not even looking for. Some people just walked in straight in that place without knowing and came back with something that they do not know they need. I just do not know if it is something inhuman or something that takes one’s humanity. The first rule in this place is to not eat anything, for you take one bite of that shiny candy apple, you shall never return home. Do not speak to the jesters, for you will take their place, juggling fruits until they are rotten, juggling items until your limbs fall off. That is the second rule. For the third one, do not feed the dying monkeys and the starving lions no matter how their eyes plead but if you insist consider yourself as their treat. Abide all of these rules in your visit and the carnival’s magician shall grant your wish. And before I forget, do not seek for this place it will be the one that will find its way to you. I lived long enough to tell the tale of the abandoned carnival but I have never seen someone so ambitious that they marched their way to that wretched place uninvited. I guess after eons the primordial gods still have mercy and give me entertainment from time to time. A little girl (Although she is at the age where she can marry, but still little compared to my eternal years) somehow found the carnival and the magician. She never felt any desire to bite the candy apple, ignored the jesters and when she passed the cages of the crying animals she covered her ears. As if she knows the rules that trapped at least a hundred souls. “Magician! Show yourself. I followed the rules of your circus now grant my wish”. The girl demanded. To which she only heard a chuckle until in the fog she saw a man, no, a woman. Not sure but enchantingly beautiful.

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Hair below the shoulders, slender as a dame but their muscles firm as a knight. As androgynous their appearance is their voice. It sounds exactly like a siren trying to lure sailors but at the same time has the depth of a tenor singer. “They sure are feisty these days but my sweet, my domain is not a circus who fools people with dancing swindlers and cheap tricks. This is a carnival; a place where dull moonlight finds its place and where misused stardust deposits. A place where people used to find delight”. The magician mused. Then they proceed to ask the girl the question I have been hearing since the people discovered the feeling of desire. “What is your wish, my sweet. You have followed the rules of course I shall oblige.” The girl grinned satisfied at the magician’s answer. She fished for something in her bag and brought out an empty snow globe. “Put them here, my friends whom I love dearly so they cannot replace me. Put them inside this snow globe, my family whom I treasure the most so they will never have a day without me. And also my grandparents put them inside too, so they can no longer forget my name. Put everyone inside this empty snow globe. In that way, I shall never be separated from them”. The little girl sobbed. Poor child, I thought who would have guessed that the bravest souls have the most melancholy in their hearts “I can show you the future and make you go back to the time, I could even bring people back from the dead. But my sweet, that is something that I cannot do, Time and humanity are both perpetual motion. They flow and go, it doesn’t matter what you do as long as it’s still moving. Making people immortal and imprisoning them inside a snowglobe where time is frozen is way out of my magic”. The magician said apologetically. “Can’t you do something, Magician I am scared of distance. Why can’t things be forever in the same way.” At this point I want to intervene.

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You can’t just wish selfish wishes for they always take a bad turn. The Magician gave a smile so sinister it made the little girl shiver. “Well My sweet, if you really want there is a way”. I can put you in a time loop. In that way you are in a domain and not in prison, In a loop, everything still flows and goes but everything is repetitive”. “I would want that, Magician. Please grant my wish”. The child murmured. I want to scream at the child for agreeing. One should not agree to something you cannot understand. At a split second after the child spoke. The magician’s eyes glowered, the carnival’s washed-out tents became new again. The starving animals looked like a predator once more, the broken carousel was magically repaired. As if the carnival was fixing itself because its new master is coming home. “What is happening, Magician?” The child cried. “My sweet, I am merely fulfilling my wish.”

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Exhibit

Clouie Mae Decena

Maybe it wasn’t too late for me to encase my heart in glass to be put in a museum. At least with that someone would know if I, my heart, went missing.

Zoom

Karla Denise Gonzales

12 inches away from my screen, yet, to you, it was the closest I have been.

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Swipe Right Prince Baldivino

1 centimeter away from my phone. 2 feet away from my desktop screen. 3 taps away; between you and me.

Seating Arrangement Clouie Mae Decena

Destiny chose to separate us this time. Now I’m sitting in my grave.

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Other half Ysa

From a distance, you ran to the crime scene of your best friend’s death and shouted hysterically—asking how could someone inhumanely cut her off into pieces. “We are so sorry for your loss…” the investigators continued while they were just about to dig the crime scene.

Love Letter Ysa

I ran downstairs as I heard someone; a note was left on the dining table. “I will be home for dinner—I missed you, honey.” I was a widow for 2 years.

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expanse great extent of something spread out

Stash Kim Batas

Tracking down time, spending days filling the gaps in between. Have we achieved what we believe we deserve? Running hours, scavenging for scraps. Groaning in hunger; living the lavish life. Why do we revive the living, when some have one foot buried in the ground? Some are served oceans, yet some only have tears to quench their thirst. Bland living; taste of bitterness. The gaps between the stairs we’re both climbing yet you’re about to reach the skies. Should we fear the dark or the monsters lurking on it? My hands roam exploring the unknown. Slowly leaving spaces in between. Tingling pain scorching the sight of you fading. Same thread we’re crossing yet the paces in my steps are falling behind. Bothered by conniving eyes. Naked amidst the dark. Thou shall eat what’s been served yet the cleanest hands are to steal. Hanging by a thread; Prickled with my own needles. Men of no conscience, grabbing an innocent’s peace. Bulging stomach, left nothing but to crave hunger. Thirst for what we deserve, I have never drank, let alone experience those taste, for my sanity left my void long ago. Hollow mind; full of rage. Craving for blood, feeding on our flesh to satisfy their wholeness. The gaps between the stairs, I’m still about to land my first step. We are the missing puzzles to their bloody desires.

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Posisyon

Karla Denise Gonzales

Taas, baba, taas, baba, Patuloy kang pumikit Idiin ang pagkapit Hala, isigaw mo na! Ah, sa wakas! rurok ay siya nang bumakas Sa gitna ng iyong paghahabol-hininga, Napasakamay nila ang ligaya Kanya nang naabot ang langit, Habang lumulunok ka parin ng pait Dahil gaya ng dalawang anino, Siyang pumailalim, kahit pilit, ay hayop itrato Taas, baba, taas, baba Sa sayaw ng kanilang pang-aagaw Ng mga posisyon o pagkubabaw Walang makaririnig ng palahaw

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Laban sa Mundo anonymous

Hindi alam kung sino ang sunod Lumingon at namataan ang mga taong kanina pa tinititigan Nakitang nakaturo sa iba’t-ibang direksyon ang kanilang mga kamay Napansing ako na lamang ang nakatayo, wala nang karamay

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look inside j

You've been to different places and were blinded by their lights. The serene rush in the cities made your heart run wild. Leaving no stone unturned, you reach, run, and roam-these places let you in, but you just can't call them home.

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Love thy neighbor anonymous

five in the morning, everyone is awake freshly grinded coffee and pandesal two blocks away an array of flowers filled the backyard path covered with cobblestones and pebbles the scent of newly cut grass reached our home a few centimeters between the houses yet the snake in the grass is right around the corner

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Fireflies Neil Christian Balba

Every night after the rain A single glow plays within the darkness The buzzy hum of its delicate wings Echoes as it passes This gentle beast lights the forest Shines among the creatures Though it noticed something in the heavens Bright enough to light a pasture This tiny beast flapped its wings Soared high with all its might But how can a creature so small Dream of reaching for the starlight? I watched the little lightning bug as it pushed a thousand tries Though my eye shed a salty tear as I walk through a grave of fireflies

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Parallel Worlds r.d

Pre The

destruct sence of

bright ion caused the

creat

as est minds to act and

dark

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from trou scend

tran

ble to rub

700 feet Catheryn

Woke up in a structured nest Time to leave the large territory Resting won’t be an option Twenty-four hours will soon be over Tons of hefty labor All for the sake of the colony Taking orders from the ruler Four hours passed, twenty more to go Right foot, left foot one by one Marching like soldiers under the heat of the sun Walking in the cozy human habitat Half of the day was done Six legs forward, forming a straight line Carrying heavy pieces on their exoskeleton Tower of scraps alongside the habitat All will be given, all we’ll benefit from Now that they've collected Bunch of pleasant treats placed on the corner It is now the time to come home An hour left before the light turn to dawn A day of perseverance moreover exhausting 700 feet travelled in their lifetime of working Resting is still not an option Twenty-four hours had just begun

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Birds

Fait Marcus Lacatan

The famous Martin Luther King said, “Run if you cannot fly.” How funny it was to think that I could not even walk, much less run. I do not have any disability or anything. It is just that I woke up one day that my legs are not working anymore. "John?" The door opened then a head peeked inside. Clad in a red dress, a woman stood there. “Let's eat.” She went to the back of my wheelchair and started making our way outside. It was such an old house. The ceiling is filled with chandeliers. On the walls hung several paintings. But no matter how it looked, it never looked like a home. The table is filled with a sumptuous lunch. The three of us, including my father, sat around it. Only the clangs of the utensils are heard. No one is talking. Six months have passed since the pandemic occurred. It has been six months as well since I was crippled. I'm clueless about what happened. All that I could remember is how devastated I was that day. That was the day when they said that we cannot go to school anymore. “John, you should get dressed up after this. We're going out.” My mom blurted all of a sudden. That’s when I realized the reason why she wore such a fancy dress. “Okay, mom.” I wheeled myself back to my room. Not even bothering to finish the mutton. They didn’t even call me back to finish the food anyway. I tried hard to get to the bed from my wheelchair. I was staring at the window glass – looking at the raindrops that slide off there. It made me remember the time when I was still a baseball player. We won't stop running and playing even though the rain is pouring. I… was happy then.

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Now, all that I could see are the four walls of my room. I only have a small window to peek at the outside world. “John, let’s go.” We boarded the car without a word. I'm unaware if it’s only me, but no one would just speak. The car was silent as it breezed past the many houses at the side, colliding with the raindrops ahead. The only sounds that you can hear are the whirring of the engine and the wheels. I was dozing off when the car came to a halt. I noticed that we were up on a cliff. The rain stopped pouring already. I can only wonder how our car managed to get up here. My mom escorted me off the car. Then she pushed the wheelchair to the tip of the cliff. “Son, what happened?” The hands that are holding my wheelchair started shaking. “Why did your legs stop working?” I honestly don’t know how to answer. I’m clueless too. I want to know as well. I looked up when my mom went in front of me. “Mom.” What I saw is a face full of tears. Those reddish eyes that seem tired. I reached out my hand in an attempt to hold her face. Then she knelt in front of me. “It hurts to see you in that state, my child. Just thinking of how you ended up like that makes me tear up.” She’s struggling to keep herself from bawling. She even started smiling – it looked so ugly for a smile, for her face scrunched up. “Look, my child. Let me show you something. I hope that after you see this, you will finally be able to walk again. I love you.” She kissed my forehead, then stood up. She slowly walked three steps backward. “Goodbye.” She jumped. “Mom?” I never realized that she was going to jump. I-I can’t do anything to stop her. “MOM! COME BACK!” “Son.

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I was startled when I heard that voice. I looked up and saw my father. He was in front of me too. “Dad, are you going to jump too?” My tears fell when he nodded. “Son, what did you feel when the president said that you cannot go to school anymore?” I’m also not sure. All that I could think of was the games that I should have participated in. I missed all the times that my team spent outside. Yet they seem to be foggy and distant after I learned of the news. It feels like I will never be able to spend those times again. My father isn’t speaking too. He was only looking at my face. Then, he smiled. “Did you know that I have always been so proud of you?” “I don’t show it in my face but I am. Whenever I see your face that glows when you are with your teammates, I just can’t go and call you to congratulate you. I feel like I’m spoiling your fun if I did that.” “Yet, I just want to tell you that you’ve been doing great!” He nudged me when he noticed that I wasn’t listening. “Son, look up. Do you see that bird?” I nodded. “Do you believe that you will be able to fly like that?” “No, dad.” “Look, son. Me and your mom, we are teaching you today. Can you promise me something?” I only stared at him. I met those brown eyes that seem gentle and encouraging. “Can you promise that you would jump too after I did?” He raised his hand and held out his pinky. “Dad, don’t. Please!” He only smiled at me. I gritted my teeth as I held his pinky with mine. He stood up seeing that. “Goodbye then.”

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I-I can’t feel anything anymore. My vocal cords snapped as I wailed on that cliff. I didn’t even realize that they were so important to me. Not until they’re gone. I’m alone now. The sky is bright. It’s too bright that it’s blinding. Yet, why is it getting dark? I tried to look around and noticed that nothing seems to be changing – there were no clouds to make the surroundings dark. Am I going blind? I hastily looked at the tip of the cliff. I tried so hard to wheel myself there. Then, I pushed myself down too. The air was hitting my face hard that it was like a slap to me. It reminds me of their faces, those faces that smiled at me before they jumped down – saying that I should let go. Wait, something’s weird. My descent is slowing down. I opened my eyes and noticed that it was bright again. I’m hearing the flaps of wings. I’m flying? “John!” I looked at the source of that voice. It stunned me when I saw my parents there, smiling at me while hovering in the air. They are flying too! I immediately dived in their arms and cried. I did not even manage to utter a word. I just cried and hugged them tightly. I looked at their faces and said, “Please don’t leave me again.” Martin Luther King said, “Run if you can’t fly. Walk if you can’t run. Crawl if you can’t walk. Yet whatever you do, you have to move forward.” Not even a child can walk without effort. Not even a teen can run without effort. Not even an adult can fly without effort. Yet those who lose hope without even trying will never be able to do these things.

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Curse of the Atlantic Neil Christian Balba

The vivid moonlight shines above the crystal waters of the Southern English coasts. At the stroke of midnight, the amber-lit portlights lined the typically subdued harbors. The spectacular display was visible for miles to sailors, projecting like a bed of fireflies amass on the humble island. Crowds of people marched on the newly polished floors of the century-old platforms, marveling at their reflections on the mirror-like surface lined with intricate wood grains, last seen when the port first opened. The harbor has never been this alive in a long while. The folk sang with joy, the melody of the seas. “Sail the waves o’ new captain!” they all chanted in unison. Tonight, in the land of seafarers, a loud cry resonated with the crashing waves; this is the cry of a child, born of the land’s honorable captain and his lovely bride. The child, the fruit of a noble bloodline of history’s greatest sailors, the White Stars, was one day destined to sail the seas and lead thousands of expeditions, all in the name of their beloved island. Born of greatness, perfection, nobility, and high praise, he was named after the home of gods themselves— he is Olympic. Olympic grew as a lovely young lad. The whole town adored him; followed him like a flock of seagulls eyeing the freshly caught fish skipping on fishermen’s boats. He stands out in the crowd, with his golden blonde hair, emerald eyes, and rosy complexion. He is a portrait of innocence and the symbol of the island’s future. Knowing this, he did everything to follow in his father’s footsteps. He took lectures from sailor scholars, personally hired by his father. Twice a week, he would attend swimming lessons at the island’s man-made lagoon as the seas can be far too dangerous for amateurs. He would often stay up till a few hours before dawn, learning the map of the seven seas and studying centuries of literature from the great sailors of the past. The same cannot be said for his younger brother, Titanic. Titanic was born two years after his brother, but no one seemed to have noticed. He was a burnt-out flare 57 | THE VESSEL

compared to the lighthouse, Olympic. Titanic spent his life hiding in the shadows cast by his brother— and he loved it. Titanic was a free spirit, flowing like the waves in all directions. Unlike his brother, he never really fancied lectures. He would often hide beneath the docks when the tide is low, collecting beached items, to avoid classes. Instead of drowning himself in books, he sneaks out every night, listening to the stories of local sailors setting camp by the beach. He was especially fascinated by how sailors use the stars to navigate and tell the date during longer journeys. Like his brother and father, Titanic loved the ocean. He spends his days swimming alongside docking ships and testing how far he can follow a departing one before fatiguing. He learned how to swim, far from the safety of the lagoon and far from the guide of anyone but himself. He knew that he would be a sailor one day, exploring the endless seas from passion, and not because of the blood running in his veins. A few weeks before the appointing ceremony of the new White Star captain, the two brothers were in the mansion library. It is a twenty-shelf-high cylindrical room within the largest and tallest tower on the property. It has a window overlooking the ocean with a thick wooden ridge where Titanic sits, eating an apple while staring at the horizon. Meanwhile, Olympic was on the top shelves, perusing on remaining books in preparation for the upcoming event. Every generation of White Star captains has undergone a very specific challenge in order to prove themselves worthy of the position. Just before the break of dawn, a week before the appointing ceremony, “we would sail the punishing waters, embark in a seemingly endless journey through the ruthless ocean. Hours will feel like days; days will feel like months; and just before the last ray of sun escapes the horizon, on the day of the coronation, you will come back a new man,” Olympic read

soundly from their great grandfather’s journal. “We are the greatest sailors of the seas, yet we never crossed the Atlantic,” Titanic stated satirically. Shaking his head in contained laughter, Olympic started to wonder just why no one in their lineage even dared to cross the Atlantic. Upon browsing a few more book spines, he came across something he had never seen before.

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It was a fairly average-sized book bound in what Olympic assumed was dried whale leather because of the distinct uneven grooves and small bumps. It was coated in a thin layer of oak sap, giving it its faded golden brown color. He dusted off the cover which revealed a graceful handwritten script under the lacquer. “The Curse of the Atlantic,” he whispered in fascination. The cover is quite blank, with the exception of the title and, upon closer inspection, the White Star crest hot stamped on the bottom-right corner. Olympic knew that this is one of the oldest books in the library as most of the newer ones have mechanically stamped text on the covers, are numbered, and arranged alphabetically or by date. He immediately climbed down the ladder, gracefully jumping off the last few steps in excitement. He called out to his brother to share what he discovered. They were both stunned at what they saw when they flipped the cover. “Captain Edward Smith,” they looked at each other in astonishment. They did not expect to find a book written by the very first White Star captain. They spent hours reading about his journey towards the position, his adventures, and his journey towards being the very first White Star captain. As they flipped to the middle pages, they noticed a page bookmarked by a brown envelope. Inside the envelope was a handwritten letter by the captain. “A sailor is afraid of no boundaries, even if it takes their lives to get there. – Captain Edward Smith” The letter addressed to the captain’s men struck Titanic. He marveled at the ocean through the window with great enchantment. The seas he thought were very familiar still hold a lot of mysteries. Olympic reopened the book and flipped to the page where the letter was inserted. It marked a new chapter in the book with the same title as the cover. However, Olympic noticed that this section contains a very different handwriting, far from the distinct slanted strokes of the captain. Turns out, this was written by one of the chief officers in Captain Edward’s naval fleet who joined him in his expedition to cross the Atlantic. He described how trying to cross the Atlantic was one of the hardest journeys. 59 | THE VESSEL

"Even the toughest sailors will not survive. Day three of our expedition and we have already lost seven men. The seas were so rough, it was like we were cruising on boulders and not the ocean. The wind is mind-numbingly cold; the tears of fear falling from our eyes instantly turn into salty icicles. The storms punished the oceans in all directions. Supplies are running out, and no fish can be caught in the storm. The gods have cursed the oceans and brought hell upon Earth in the form of these waters.” “Our fleet of five was down to three as we entered deeper waters. Suddenly, the storm halted, there was an eerie silence. The waters were still, sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight. As we were about to rejoice, the calm was short-lived as the howl of more vigorous winds, accompanied by the roar of thunder, were once again heard from the distance. We boarded the captain’s ship, we know Edward Smith was a wise man. Instead, he instructed all the crew to abandon his ship and sail home with the other two. Alas, we have reached the midway border; you can see in the wise man’s eyes that he did not expect it to be this rough. This is his journey, therefore this is his battle, he firmly said. He would not let anyone sacrifice a life, no more.” “We watched as the thick blanket of mist, spanning from the horizon left-to-right, engulfed the captain’s beloved ship. At the third stroke of lightning, we finally lost even the vessel’s silhouette. We waited for months, years, but he never came back. All we have in his memory was his book for us to finish. Captain Edward Smith, a brave and wise man.”

The brothers learned that Edward Smith was the first and only White Star captain who set to cross the Atlantic. All the others have only sailed the eastern half, only as part of the tradition, in fear of what happened to Captain Smith. Until that day, no one knows what lies beyond the border, and the only brave soul who dared to learn never came back. “Let us find out ourselves then!” Titanic proudly exclaimed. At first, Olympic did not take him seriously and just laughed at him. In a swift motion, Titanic threw the keys of their father’s yacht at Olympic, which Titanic snuck while his brother was busy reading. “Are you crazy? Father will kill us!” Olympic whispered in panic. “Why? Don’t you want to know what’s beyond those borders?” Titanic 60 | THE VESSEL

replied. Olympic explained that appointing ceremony is in a few weeks and they can just do it then instead.“We will only have a week then to sail and prove ourselves. That will only get us to the border with only enough time to turn around and get back. If we can’t make it back before dawn, the day of the awarding ceremony, then none of us will be a White Star captain. If we sail now, we still have weeks to explore beyond the borders. When we come back, we can just tell them that it was all my idea and you just came to try and stop me. You’ll look good, I won’t mind being scolded. We get to explore what’s beyond that border, and you can still become a White Star captain. It’s a win-win,” Titanic explained as he was trying to convince his brother. Hesitantly, Olympic agreed. They carried sacks of potatoes and gallons of water to sustain themselves throughout the journey. They knew that their father has fishing equipment in his yacht just in case they run out of supplies. As the clock strikes midnight, the brothers snuck out the windows of Titanic’s room towards the mansion docks. The brothers filled the coal chamber and warmed the steam-powered engine. It was finally time for departure. The engines are warm and have finally started. Finished with their tasks, the brothers met in the control room. The turbines started turning and the yacht began to move very slowly. However, Olympic was still unsure about the journey. In a brief moment, hesitation got over him; he knew this was not right. He stopped the ship and turned the turbines backwards. Titanic knew what his brother was doing so he moved the throttle and took over the wheel. The brothers fought over the controls and with one rapid turn of the wheel. The yacht crashed into the wooden docks. Many port staff saw what happened and reported to what happened to the White Star captain. Despite Olympic’s pleads and explanations, all the blame was put on Titanic. Because of the incident, their father forbade Titanic to take part in the coming ceremony, ultimately stripping him of the chance to be a White Star Captain. “The much-awaited day has come. It is time to appoint the next White Star captain and now, Olympic was the only candidate. This was a big day for Olympic, though, he was a bit saddened that his brother was not there. 61 | THE VESSEL

No one has seen Titanic for weeks, ever since the incident. But, Olympic knew that his brother will just be fine. His father came to him, laying a firm grip on his shoulder. “Son, whatever happens, stay within the border.” Just as the sun peeks from the horizon, Olympic, set off in his father’s ship towards a journey which will determine his and his people’s future. The people of the island watched as the majestic vessel disappeared before their eyes in the horizon, due to curvature of the Earth. Now, it is all a matter of waiting. For days, Olympic and his crew sailed the unforgiving seas and battled countless storms. The ocean was just like how it was described in the book. Though, his dad’s large 19th-century luxury liner was a far more comfortable place than Captain Edward’s Galleons. Still, it was not a steady cruise. The cold weather keeps jamming engine components which the crew has to heat manually with gas torches. Water is getting into the cabin, not enough to sink the ship, but enough to damage crucial electrical components. After nights of battling what the sailors described as hellish waters, the ship entered calmer seas. At last, this is the border every great sailor has seen. Olympic went to the ship’s deck, leaned on its polished railings, and sighed in relief as he marveled at the view he has only imagined from descriptions. After a few moments, a watcher alerted him of an approaching vessel. It was a large rusty fishing boat, heading towards the liner. Olympic was surprised that such vessel survived the harsh conditions. The watcher told Olympic to make defense orders as pirates might be coming to invade the vessel. Olympic took out binoculars to take a closer look. After a moment of silence, he smirked. “They are not pirates—That is my brother.” Momentarily, the temperature dropped significantly, thick thunderstorms started forming, and they saw a thick blanket of fog spanning across the horizon. Finally, they have reached the midway border.

Olympic was already preparing his crew for the return trip when he noticed that the old fishing boat was missing. Then, it dawned on him. He steered the liner back towards the direction of the border, his actions puzzled the crew. “Always so reckless,” he whispered to himself with determination in his 62 | THE VESSEL

eyes. He could not let his brother go on this journey alone—not on that rusty boat.” They traveled for miles beyond the border. In these unexplored territories, there were no bashing waves, or barely any storm. Instead, in these uncharted waters were barely water at all. The temperature goes so low that the ocean is full of scattered glaciers. The mist grew thicker and the temperature fell lower and lower. Yet, there were no signs of the fishing boat. The golden sunlight peeked on the horizon, casting its delicate rays above the crystal waters of the Southern English coasts. Just before the break of dawn, the amber-lit portlights lined the typically subdued harbors. The spectacular display was visible for miles to sailors, projecting like a bed of fireflies amass on the humble island. Crowds of people marched on the newly polished floors of the century-old platforms, marveling at their reflections on the mirror-like surface lined with intricate wood grains, last seen at the birth of their new captain. The harbor has never been this alive in a long while. The folk sang with joy, the melody of the seas. “Sail the waves o’ new captain!” they all chanted in unison. Today, in the land of seafarers, the folk patiently waited and waited— but nothing. The sun was only a quarter of the way before fully rising and the horizon was still empty. The spirits were low. The townsfolk stopped singing, and the docks are getting less and less crowded. Just as the captain placed his cap on the docks in remorse, a little boy in the crowd shouted. “He is back!” Everyone stared in amazement as the silhouette of a gargantuan ship emerged from the horizon. The island came to life once again. As Olympic and his crew step off the ship, they were greeted by a welcoming ceremony. There were music, dancing, and many colorful decorations. His parents welcomed him with a firm hug. His father clipped his golden White Star crest on Olympic’s left chest, proclaiming him as the new White Star captain. The music and cheering were halted by the loud horns of a docking ship. It was a large 52-ton ship, 882 feet in length, 205 feet in height, with nine decks. It was made to be the largest ship in the world at the time and was the gift of his father to Olympic. The people were amazed by its majestic presence as the sun shined on the 63 | THE VESSEL

freshly painted lettering on the side. “RMS Olympic,” proudly written. Seeing this, Olympic rushed to board the ship in what the people thought was excitement; his father immediately followed. He went on the outer deck, carrying a spear-fishing rod he grabbed from the docks. He stopped just by his name and carved something on the freshly painted metal with all his might. The people’s applause halted in shock. They all stared in confusion as they tried to make out the symbols. “RMS Titanic,” Olympic wrote in crooked lettering. When his father asked why he did that, with teary eyes, Olympic handed him Captain Edward Smith’s letter. “I am just a White Star captain.” “—He is a sailor”

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Saudade in Car Rides Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo

The winding streets were my cradle as a child and the sound of honking cars and cursing drivers became my lullaby. Travelling from places to places, falling in love with a strange city that I might never visit again or making friends with the town’s locals with the probability of 1% that I will meet them again somewhere in my life makes my already vibrant existence more that I can hear the green go signal shouting at me, as if it’s telling me to live without any caution at all. I adore the idea of travelling because I found a point in a map in this forsaken universe where comfort and discomfort coexist. I remember being consoled by the smell of Vigan Empanadas but being scared by the ambiance of our accommodation. I will just endure the feeling of being watched by the walls because soon, once I hop into our family-owned car I am home again. You see when, travelling the comfort, the discomfort, the pain and the sufferings are shortterm you’ll just have to tolerate that. Until the temporary becomes permanent and you become homesick in your own house. Packing clothes is a thrill for me whenever we have to go someplace and we need to stay there for a day or two. You also need to choose your suitcase but this time, instead of travel bags, my mom handed me boxes. My family loves to bring a portable stove and a trusty rice cooker, whenever we camp. Maybe the location of the campsite on this trip is ridiculously far that we need to hire a separate truck to carry our whole kitchen. Finally, the preparations are over, here comes the time where we touch the doors and the locks of our house to whisper a short prayer. “May these doors protect the next family who’ll stay here. May the roof provided by the Lord Almighty keep them dry.” My mom prayed with a sad small smile. I was tempted to ask why she did not do the usual invocations like “Secure the house with your angels, that our belongings will be safe, until we return.” Except that I cannot open my mouth to utter a single word and I don’t think we’ll be coming back soon. I looked back at our two-toned walls that were once decorated by frames but now the walls are bare and the air is tinted blue. I watched as our house became smaller and smaller. I observed how the streets resemble a labyrinth as we go farther in distance. Will my soul suffice as a payment to pay the entrance fee in this intricate maze where I can intentionally go astray even though I know every turn and loops like the back of my hand, so I can have an alibi to stay? 65 | THE VESSEL

Detangling myself from the nets of hopelessness is what kept me busy as our pick-up truck sped on the smooth asphalt of NLEX. Long rides where you suddenly fall asleep is so therapeutic to me, except this time I can not force myself to sleep. Maybe the air conditioner’s temperature is too low to the point where my toes were freezing but I intend to keep it that way, there might be a chance that it can freeze my tears that are threatening to fall too. Counting the billboards, red cars, buses and playing a game of I spy by myself were the only leverage I had during that trip. My silly twelve year old self thought that if she turned her head around she could retrace the path that will lead to her home but nausea greeted me when I did that. The jungle of skyscrapers in the metro overwhelmed me and I felt so small and irrelevant. And the fact that I do not know the directions to go home was not helping. My mom must have felt my shaking hands and told my Tito to stop at the next gasoline station so we can eat and have a little bathroom break. My knees were wobbly as I tried to stand but I needed to get out of the car because everything suffocates me. “Burger nalang po and fries, Mom.” I said quietly, those are my comfort foods yet it did not stop me from falling apart, I just chewed my food and swallowed it along with my sobs so it would not escape from my mouth, keeping my emotions and faking smiles until we arrived at the destination we were supposed to go. “It’s time to go.” I am painfully aware of that but I ignored it. Just like how the brain ignores the nose because for the mind it is an information not needed to function. And that’s exactly what I needed. Blissful arrogance is what saved me for the most part. I told my friends that we’re moving but never held much weight to it. The furniture started to disappear one by one six months prior but I paid no interest because I refused to acknowledge it. Now all the weight is falling, all at once. I pondered in that whole car ride and realized that I am a fabric that was pinned in opposite sides being torn into two. Except that I fell apart in many fragments and not just on seams. It’s embarrassing to say that I lost shards of myself in gasoline stations and national highways and I know that I can never pick them up to make myself whole again. You can go from Bulacan to Laguna in just half a day but I spent the twelfth year of my life recovering from a car sickness that trip gave me. Moving from a place to another felt like you had amnesia and someone told you that you are their lover but no matter how hard you try, how big your efforts are to recall memories, 66 | THE VESSEL

or how much time you spend looking for that familiarity, you can never regain it. Because you do not know them from the start, you don’t have memories with them from the beginning. Unlike the many tours I had, I cannot tell myself to suck it all up because this time is different. A perpetual vacation with an unending cycle of adjusting, adapting, and becoming numb. As I unload the remaining boxes from the vehicle, I feel heavier. Our old home was probably as lonely as me and our new house does not feel like how it's supposed to be. Up until my seventeenth summer, I am still unpacking boxes but not the one we used to transport our things. I am unpacking boxes that the twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen me was afraid to open. I am emptying and tidying up everything that made me numb because I am ready to be filled up again.

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Stopover HAGKKAN

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Ruta HAGKKAN

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THE VESSEL Vol. 1 Issue 1 June 2021

Cover Image Enric Cruz López Layout Julie Ann B. Echano Ronan T. Reodica Alyssa Marie Cuisia Editor Mariah Jan Paulene C. Del Mundo Associate Editor

Managing Editors Neil Christian K. Balba Karla Denise S. Gonzales Consultant Ronan T. Reodica Advisers Julie Ann B. Echano Gerard John O. Fortaleza Marian Divine Lyn S. Obias Ediane Mae Cariño Vice President for Academic Affairs/High School Principal Dr. Lerma Y. Calingasan

THE VESSEL THE OFFICIAL LITERARY PUBLICATION OF ARGO

argolpulaguna@gmail.com facebook.com/ArgoLPULaguna

ARGO: THE OFFICIAL SCHOOL PUBLICATION OF LPU-LAGUNA HIGH SCHOOL DEPARTMENT