Yugto Alpas 2020-2021 by The Blue Bridge

‘20 ‘21

A.Y. 2020-2021 BRIDGE THE GAPS. UPRAISE THE DISCOURSE.

Editor-in-Chief Andrea Georgia Villegas Associate Editor Princess Louise Gracelle Managing Editor Althea Ren’ee Limpao News Editor Jared Madrid Literary Editor Jade Calica Art Editor Krianne Jay Figuracion Head Layout Artist Gessfer Dorado

Senior News Staff

Moderator Reil Benedict Obinque

Junior Editorial Staff

Junior News Staff Senior Editorial Staff

Senior Feature Junior Feature Staff

The Official Student Publication of Ateneo de Davao University Senior High School MacArthur Highway, Bangkal, Davao City, Philippines

@ashsbluebridge @ashsthebluebridge ashsbluebridge@gmail.

Senior Literary Staff Junior Literary Staff Sports Staff Sci-Tech Staff Senior Art Staff Junior Art Staff Senior Photo Staff Junior Photo Staff Layout Artist

Earl Justin Chan Frankie Lapiz Gabriella Augustine Vibas Kirby Anoche Jan Kevin Mabanding Lili Marguerite Isabeau Sevilla Mark Kirchner Estrada Elijah Johnson Pleños Kobe Atasan Jasmine France Josol Giancarlo Rafael Tabios Sophia Ledesma Iris Edselle Patriarca Andrea Leila Andam Bea Ysabel Bogoy Jeanna Rein Borres Samantha Marie Bien Claudius Barroso Kyriene Griar Escosora Denise Marrione Layague Jeofre Jan Española Kurt Jon Lapeciros Antonia Danielle Padilla Hanny Mabale Eve Schleye Mcenzie Han Ishna Raizza Cruda Reana Venisse Bermudo Bea Alexis Emmanuelle Gatmaytan

VOLUME 3 NUMBER 1

THE PALE HORSE

Yugto Alpas | The Pale Horse The Literary, Art, and Photo Folio of The Blue Bridge Volume 3 Number 1 Copyright © 2021 by The Blue Bridge ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Published in Davao City, Philippines. This publication is protected by copyright and permission should be obtained from the publisher prior to any prohibited reproduction, storage in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or likewise. To obtain permission(s) to use material from this work, please submit a written request to ashsbluebridge@gmail.com. The Blue Bridge Bridge the gaps. Upraise the discourse. The Official Student Publication of Ateneo de Davao University Senior High School MacArthur Highway, Bangkal, Davao City, Philippines

Cover Art “Onto Demise” by Krianne Figuracion

THE PALE HORSE

The array of phenomena that one cannot look to count on the fingers of both hands are what defined a greater portion of the year 2020. What once appeared to be a new decade many had foreseen with fervor turned out to be a chronicle of unfathomable events of different kinds. Especially with the global pandemic overwhelming the world to this day, the last thing that one would like to imagine is failing to live through days of uncertainty, isolation, systemic ills, and days of losing all hope to breathe into normality rather than the “new normal”. Needless to say, the weight of one’s fear and longing for a better reality is perpetually getting out of hand, and the part of most malignance is that no one seems to know when such longing reaches its satisfaction. Anyone whose ambition is to make it out alive of this crisis must move with wariness, for the pale horse knows well of its promises. That said, the Blue Bridge 2020-2021 brings out Yugto Alpas Volume 3: The Pale Horse which touches on pieces produced by students of the Ateneo de Davao Senior High School community as a means to portray the various realities that have shaped the lives of Filipinos during the COVID-19 pandemic. It seeks to represent the youth’s call for social change in light of the cases of oppression, inequality, and injustice that continue to threaten the welfare of communities in need. All in all, this volume incorporates perspectives on subjects relating to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse with emphasis on the fourth horseman who is known as the rider of the pale horse---the paragon of death. Moreover, it acknowledges the contributors’ right to creative expression and is sincerely dedicated to everyone who has played a part in its completion.

Jade Calica Literary Editor 2020-2021

poems VAST OF SEAS CONTRADICTORY THE AWAITED KNIGHT THE DOORMAT SINGS INTROSPECTION IDLE NOT MY TIME I. WHEREFORE II. THEREFORE HULOG NG LANGIT A LETTER TO MY LOVE

GABRIELLE SHANE VISTO SOPHIA LEDESMA JADE CALICA

MERRY JANE BATARA DENISE LAYAGUE

EARL JUSTIN CHAN KOBE ATASAN GIANCARLO RAFAEL TABIOS THE LULLABY PRINCESS LACORTE

ODILE’S MASTERPIECE RESILIENCE PENCIL CASE LOUIELA MARIE PLAZOS WE’LL SEE THE END, WE’LL BE THE END ALTHEA REN’EE LIMPAO

I’ve been hiding in my light long enough CARLOS ANGELO DEAN

at least, meron. KRIANNE FIGURACION

GABRIELLE SHANE VISTO

Vast of Seas

Crimson blood just caves in rustling around Dead upon dead; all cold bodies pleading breathlessly They are scenery of death; A melancholy that brings my emotions deep down the ocean’s chasm and abyss. Bullets are like a rainfall Bombs are a firework of bloody state They all come in noise and ear splitting wreckage And I am here in black and grey Dying inside; wasting away like the thief in the night. Where is my voice? Where is my song? Can anyone find it and sing it for me They’re all the music of Hades A hymn of war and melody of death. Eyes now closing, praying at the side of Abba The world is at war, but His presence is but peace My lips utter help under the shadow of his wings Until my God saves, brings me peace within. No matter how noisy my world could be I’ve found peace, all-calming serenity One day soon the world will be safe But for now my heart is held by Thee.

YUGTO ALPAS

Darkness, my longtime friend For how long shall we be? Wrapping me in agony Oh, please set me free. For so long I’ve waited for light, It tickles, the feeling of delight Yet silly me thinking the light would save me This pale white horse hits contrary.

Contradictory SOPHIA LEDESMA

Umbra of Faith REANE BERMUDO

SOPHIA LEDESMA

The Awaited Knight I’ve always dreamed of a knight and shining armor Clothed with grace and ravish As I, his damsel in distress, Waits for his arrival Night and day have slipped away Still no sign of my knight What is this that I feel inside? Is it just me, longing for my dear knight? How things swiftly turned upside down This year beholds my darkest time As I felt the curse in the wind. Mask me to defend my life Not knowingly, longing leaded to immense malady My body departed from my control All I feel is pain and this illness taking over me Isolation giving me doubts of my sanity Consciousness gradually leaving me Right then and there, I see my knight coming Riding his white horse, coming to get me As innocent as I was, I didn’t know death was this sightly.

The 13th Trump Card

FLORENCE ANNE BAHALA

the old doormat sits as a menace they let my pair of feet stand during moments i ought to face the sounds of my least favorite band the lullaby of a complete stranger i kindly beg not to hear it all such wicked tune of danger leads to what looks to be his divine call as when the sallow, screeching stallion cues the unbecoming noises of one’s feeble system you can only imagine how much you’ll lose like chances to hear life’s sweetest anthem i used to sing myself songs of comfort yet today i am hooked to a certain beat relentlessly mouthing riffs of some sort sounds my lungs cannot cease to repeat the old doormat sits as a menace reminding me of a requiem an appointment with the ruthless at a place far from all mayhem

the doormat sings JADE CALICA

Resilience

REANE BERMUDO

JADE CALICA

introspection bane of my ruins the wake of my composure a mere passing thought

PRINCESS LACORTE

resilience

there will come a day the burning phoenix will be drowned in its ashes

JADE CALICA

idle

whenever an idle emergency comes to light it proceeds to breed all the world’s plight then get boldly glorified by them alone as when idle swines claim to atone only uncertainty is set to stone

lutang

KRIANNE FIGURACION

YUGTO ALPAS

MERRY JANE BATARA

Not my time I walk on different paths each day, Some were curvy and zigzags, But I never try to walk on a straight path, Not wondering if it might cause me harm Or danger, It is just that I was never meant to wander on it.

FAITH

REANE BERMUDO

why is it always the forlorn, whe hungry, and the unborn? their pockets hardly filled with dough and mouths barely uttered all but woes the ones that ruthlessly begged for another sunrise with knuckles shackled white, an agony epitomized the merest flesh that hung freely by a thread are those who elude themselves of their own death may it be centuries, millennium--until all have spurred letting dire pleas left unheard, not the first and not even the third i ought to meet the eyes of the effete, ones that zest for life for what it’s worth, accompanies me, a pale horse dulled as afterlife

I. wherefore DENISE LAYAGUE

YUGTO ALPAS

DENISE LAYAGUE

II. therefore did you happen to hear some lyrical gallops? it could have been centuries, millennium--for all i know but on the lookout, i’ve procured nothing but teardrops they’re certainly pleas, yet never a woe it’s the brief respite--the wind circling the ash tree unbound and along with the gust, the silenced’s inaudible voices like the righteous bends with beliefs, their bones fetter to the ground crimson-covered corpses, who’d assume are adept of such noises? in deranged whispers, the highlight of sorrow “why is it a mere kid in his stead? is it cataclysm that you desire?” ah--but if not a kid that leads, then would the depraved be thorough? for whatever it’s worth, alas--a pale horse comes galloping to its new rider

Awaiting ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

Panalangin natin sa Diyos, Kanyang pinakinggan Katapusan ng pandemya’y malapit nang madatnan Lahat ng paghihirap at pagdurusa’y tiyak na may hangganan Huwag nang mag-alala, mayroon nang lunas na pangmatagalan Sa awa ng Diyos, milagro’y kanyang ipinadala May nalikhang bakuna laban sa sakit na hatid ng pandemya Buhay natin noon, siguradong manunumbalik na Gigising tayo sa bagong umagang puno ng pag-asa Talagang hulog ng langit kung ituturing ‘Pagkat banta ng pandemya’y kaya nang harapin Huwag na sanang maulit ang sitwasyong ito sa darating Upang lahat tayo’y ‘di na magdusa pa sa ilalim ng dilim

Hulog ng Langit EARL JUSTIN CHAN

Mother’s Love

REANE BERMUDO

24 KOBE ATASAN, GIANCARLO RAFAEL TABIOS

A Letter to My Love

I remember the times we used to bask in the sunlight The birds chirping, the flowers blooming, The cool breeze of the wind Oh how I miss those fun and innocent times Where laughter is all we care about Where there is nothing to stop us from flying off into the sunset Now when I look upon my windowsill, all I see is emptiness Where streets are filled with color and music, Now it’s filled with nothing The wide cage that I’m in feels so narrow, so tight, so restricted All I can do to ease my sorrow is Hope that I may see your smile again Being chained into this cage has made me reflect on my life Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, lost chances Made me realize the memories I took for granted Made me realize that I’m loved by many I never knew how life is worth fighting for once I’ve felt an embrace from my family All these small things made my heart bigger,

Awful jokes from my dad, heart-to-heart talks with my mom, constant teasing of my sibling

All these simple things made my life extraordinary It amazes me how they’ve seen me at my worst, Yet they still love me the best I hope that you’re doing fine without me I can’t even imagine a life without experiencing A love of a father and a care of a mother I know it’s hard to accept that fact, But know that they’re proud of what you’ve become Know that I love you for better or for worse and I’ll never abandon you no matter what The time we spent together would always linger inside my heart It’s funny how distance had separated us When we used to be inseparable I hope that even after all of these You would still look at me the same way You adored every sunrise before When this pandemic is over, I can’t wait to hug you into my arms Watching movies together, holding hands while ice skating, Stargazing under the night skies I can’t wait to cherish every hour, every minute, Every second we’ll spend together Just remember that even though we’re worlds apart, Our hearts are always intertwined

YUGTO ALPAS

Hope

REANE BERMUDO

i once loved the dark he hummed me a song that put me to sleep singing all night long his voice was tailored to sing only for me a song of love and he wrapped me in melody then his song changed into that of a screech a haunting lullaby woven from empty screams we still sings for me but i’ve begged him to cease this angered him so he brought his song to my dreams

the lullaby PRINCESS LACORTE

YUGTO ALPAS

28 PRINCESS LACORTE

odile’s masterpiece she danced to the song of ruin to the melody of death’s flute while the world watched in shameless awe of her dance that saw no flaw if it were not for her grace, you would not see how the world that watched slowly burned in the wake of her feet that danced light as a feather the white swan gazed at the dancer from behind the blood red curtains Odette herself was fascinated, unnoticing how her clipped wings bled devoured by the taste of freedom was the woman who gave her all recklessness masked in elegance the earth in the palm of her hand she spun and spun and spun around like the world around her finger like a bird unfurling its wings she could fly to where her heart sings Odette’s cries were drowned out by the black swan’s haunting opera stirring discord and chaos with glee this is odile’s unending masterpiece

29 LOUIELA MARIE PLAZOS

Pencil Case

Heto nanaman tayo magsisimula sa isang eksenang medyo patok na sa takilya Dalawang estudyante, magkatabi ang mga silya Magkaibigan na parang hindi dahil parehong mga pilya Magkakakilala ang isa’t isa nang dahil sa mga pamilya Isang araw sa klase habang nagtatawanan Nagalit ang guro sa malakas na halakhakan Nahulog ang lapis ng isa at natigil sa pakikipagtawanan Pinulot ang panulat at sa pag-ahon tila bulang nawala ang kaibigan Nakita niya isang pencil case sa ibabaw ng kanyang lamesa Nakasulat ang pangalan ng kaibigan sa malalaking letra “Bakit nandito ‘to?,” tanong niya pa Matapos ng klase ay hinanap ang may-ari ng pencil case na siyang nag-iwan nito sa kanya Wala, wala siyang mahagilap Ni anino niya hindi na kailanman nagpahanap Napaluhod siya at napaiyak, hindi alam anong gagawin kung wala siya sa hinaharap Ang iniwang gunita ay siyang yakap-yakap Matapos ang ilang taon ‘di parin napupunan ang kalungkutan at napatulo kanyang mga luha Kinuha ang regalong tanging naiwang alaala Inilapag sa isang maliit at kulay gintong lapida Na may pangalan ng kanyang kaibigan na nakasulat sa malalaking letra.

YUGTO ALPAS

And now, you’re at the dead-end. To the man who always sought for freedom May you now rest in peace in his kingdom Your efforts are worth it For without you, they couldn’t make it It hurts leaving your loved ones behind But you did it, for the sake of your mankind You broke the curse Instead of making it worse Now, rest in peace For everything is already at ease.

We’ll see the end, we’ll be the end

ALTHEA REN’EE LIMPAO

See you later, Eren. ALTHEA REN’EE LIMPAO

MARK KIRCHNER ESTRADA BEA ALEXIS EMMANUELLE GATMAYTAN BIEN CLAUDIUS BARROSO PRINCESS LACORTE JADE CALICA LOUIE IZAK JACOBE ALTHEEA MAY ASOY

PRETTY GIRL FROM CASCADIA THE NAKED WOMAN A DELIVERY ON DOWNING STREET A NEW SOUND ANTHURIUM A THOUSAND MIRACLES IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP

short stories

Perseverance REANE BERMUDO

MARK KIRCHNER ESTRADA, BEA ALEXIS EMMANUELLE GATMAYTAN

Pretty Girl from Cascadia “When will we meet again?” A faint voice echoed throughout my mind as I stared blankly at the dull green ceilings done justice by the dim lights. The voice in my mind reminded me of a pretty girl from one of my trips with my closest friends. Six months before this agonizing quarantine, we visited a small province far away from the city that screams a superficial dream we called “freedom”. The province named Cascadia is surrounded by big and tall pine trees that made the weather oddly pleasant. It is famous for its lush landscapes and its isolated steep twin misty mountains that await to be explored. Although the folks there are zealously conservative, they are open and hospitable to tourists such as ourselves. Most of them are quite mature, and the absence of liberalism made it very noticeable that most of the young locals left for the cities and the liberty they craved. As my friends quarreled about the cheap, crowded rooms that we were to accommodate for three days, I met a pair of olive eyes staring at me from the lobby. Those green eyes were rather dreary, yet they craved for adventure and screamed for immediate attention. Even though the motel’s interiors were neatly arranged with vintage possessions, they were hideous compared to the girl sitting on the rustic leather sofa. Not only were her eyes compelling to look at, but her red hair also flowed from her soft, elongated face down to her chest. The longer we gazed at each other, the more inclined I grew to know this pretty girl. The more I yearned to be close to her. To feel her touch...

The days of that trip were quite tedious and tiresome as we climbed the twin mountains, yet delightful as the girl I played and danced with through the corridors late at night. Although her eyes spoke like a matured and hardworking woman, yet she acted as quite childish and innocent, like a lost lamb playing with a wolf in a foreign land. She did not tell me her name, not even at the last minute before my friends and I left, yet she kissed me as if it was not her first time to slip into a man’s heart. It was like she knew I would continue to adore her and embrace her in my dreams, despite the insufferable distance between us. Was it her coyness that I longed for, or was it her eyes that cried out to search her deeper? “You seem quite off today, huh?” A friend’s call abruptly cut my daydream short and I looked at him smiling his cheeky smile. They knew how… captivated I was by this girl. I may have only known her for a few long moments but she held my heart as our lives depended on it. I may not know how to understand my emotions, but I knew I fell for her. “You know, you don’t actually, like, properly know her?” My other friend raised in a slightly concerned tone. chuckled in a low voice as I knew that my attraction to her was more than an infatuation. It was as though I wanted to worship her. See her grin with pure joy as I drift through the beautiful hills and valleys of hers. Grasp the auburn rays of the setting sun as the sleeping moon rises and shines in those same eyes that I longed for. She wasn’t the first girl that I found attractive, yet these painful days of isolation and her eyes that spiked in the depths of my mind made me realize that there was more. The simple joys and tasks grew mundane as months passed to the point that I knew I needed to release the suppressed and sorrowful soul. However, one day that utter need was satisfied when I once again saw those same eyes. She was not there to hold me and make me happy, yet her mere presence from one tap of my screen was enough. It was not lively unlike before, yet I was committed to seeing the girl and her burning hair on her fair skin. These thoughts evoked quick goodbyes to my friends and the search for the thrill to fill my emptiness. As I drew my finger on the screen, I heard the voice that I hungered after. “We meet again,” she whispered as she slowly danced her fingers on her skin. “I want, no, need to know your name.” I begged, yet I knew she would not respond. It was only a video. As I watched her explore her Cascadia, I looked up at the dull green ceiling and howled from the adventure I had. She was the same girl that I met months ago, yet it broke my heart that she was not coy and outgoing anymore. She was not a lamb in a foreign land; she was the wolf who devoured the hearts of poor men.

YUGTO ALPAS

A Piece of Cake?

ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

BEA ALEXIS EMMANUELLE GATMAYTAN

The Naked Woman

I’ve always dreamed about being a writer, creating truth with fiction with characters who are relatable and endearing. If not for this pandemic I’d be outside looking for anyone willing to publish my manuscript. But sincet we’re here, I’m going to read it over. The story opens when Annalise, a seductive yet childish, troublesome lady finds herself imprisoned... No, no. This won’t do! My Annalise is a character, not an archetype! She needs to be well-rounded and true-to-life! But of course! If I want my characters to be realistic, I should draw inspiration from things that are realistic. Then, I have to understand them, put myself in their shoes. But I live alone and the pandemic only seems to be getting worse and worse. It might be a while before I see any other real people here. I was carrying my pile of books from one side of the room to the other when somebody tripped me. How strange! While on the floor, I glance around to see who could’ve done it. Then, in the patterns of the wooden floor, there she was! The lines in the floor curved and crossed to create the form of a naked woman. She seemed to be trapped in the floorboards. I bet it was she who tripped me! Because if not her, then who else? I thought, hold on... promiscuous, full of mischief, and imprisoned... She’s just like my Annalise! Yes! I could draw inspiration from her! Soon my Annalise shall be brought to life! In the days that followed I would find books, notes, and other things left in places though sure I’d moved them someplace else.

YUGTO ALPAS

Other days I could swear I saw the same lines that formed the naked woman’s body in the marble tiles as I showered, or the shape of her shadow in the dim light of my desk lamp as I worked at night. I knew it was all the work of the naked woman. Who else? But how can that be? I wondered, she is trapped in the floorboards. Unless... she somehow found a way to escape to cause her captors trouble behind their backs and slip back into her prison when they aren’t looking? It’s definitely something Annalise would do... I should watch her closely, so the next time she tries something I’d be there to witness it. I watched her for three days straight and she didn’t move an inch. Perhaps it is because of me. Of course! She must think I’m her captor! Clearly, she can’t go around causing trouble if her captor was watching her. I have to show her I mean no harm. I have to show I’m just like her. I strip off all my clothes. But it’s not enough. I must free her myself! Yes! I dug my nails into the wood and pulled as hard and as much as I could. My nails and hands and arms and knees were scratched and cut and bleeding, but that didn’t stop me. I won’t stop until she’s free! Months have passed and perhaps the pandemic had calmed down. So when my mother came to visit it must’ve been a shock for her to find me in the floorboards! I’ve done it, I remember saying, she’s real now!

Atypical ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

BIEN CLAUDIUS BARROSO

A Delivery on Downing Street The fog outside cleared up this Friday morning, but, as usual, there isn’t much outside to enjoy. I woke up to the sound of the telly “Eighty deaths confirmed as of today in the UK-” I must have forgotten to turn it off last night. I shut off the damned thing to enjoy some of my breakfast tea, alas, that still didn’t quite get the job done. Even with the machine dead, there still wasn’t any peace and serenity to complement the sweet aroma of my warm yerba mate tea. It was the blasted sirens again. How unlucky am I for being on the same street as the nearby hospital? These hollering wagons have been filling the streets faster than the tub when my lass gets randy on one of London’s finest evenings. Roaming the city, making noises so bloody irksome it kicks the forked tongue out of even the nicest blokes such as myself. Ambulances used to have hefty competition on these roads. Black cabs would’ve swarmed in packs; a single soul wouldn’t be saved. They’d have their lungs out from coughing and yelling for help before getting a visit to the doctors. Now, those blue and red lights just zip through, trying to save men from rotting in their homes, reminiscent of vultures searching for a decaying corpse. I remember watching the Yankees celebrate their beloved fourth of July. Lights filled up the sky bright enough that it could blind a sharpshooter’s eye, but the streets emptier than my wallet after basking on some celebratory booze and chin wag at the ole pub with the chaps. I wonder how Oliver and Harry are doing; those bloody womanisers wouldn’t last a day without spilling some hard-earned quid to catch a hard-on. The last I heard from those twits was when they cheesed me off and went over to my flat on a bloody Sunday knowing very well that’s when I savour some amorous moments with the sweetheart. “Dingdong” must be the silverware I ordered the other day. I never thought of myself as a heavy spender; online shopping has been my ecstasy these past weeks. I can’t help but be left skint.

That’s just the beginning of the sod quirks ever since Sally left. “Good day, sir” the delivery man greeted with a smile covered by his mask. England might be chilly, but I have never seen a man so coated under the sun. He was wearing a jacket over another two layers of shirts. He was quick to notice the strange glint in my eyes and began to explain himself. “Might not be the finest of threads sir, but it’s all just to keep us from catching it” he said. “You wouldn’t be catching the Queen rewarding you a medal of valour from wearing that outfit either” I replied. He looked well offended after that; all I wanted was for the fella to get chuffed. He reached out his hand; I assume he’d waited long enough for his payment eh? Didn’t mean to take the piss out the old chap. I reached out my hand to give him his thirty-quid. “Another contact, another risk”. I checked if the package was the one I ordered. Surely enough, it was a set of kitchen knives I’ve wanted to use. I gave it a quick sharpness check, the prick on my thumb approves. Returning inside, I put the package on the kitchen table running swiftly to the sink, rubbing my palms to kingdom come. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I try to compose myself; this wasn’t the first time either. Thoughts like these are just troublesome aren’t they? I’ve heard enough of the stories from the news, of men and women, children and elderly looking down from their balconies, and with their final statement, they wish their troubles away. And they did. As an act of desperation, I turned the telly back on. Hoping it would help distract me even if it was watching reality shows on channel five or lengthy documentaries on the history channel. I was dead wrong. “Forty more deaths reported this day on Downing street Central Hospital. Eight of which are suspected to be caused by severe self-inflicted harm.” I looked away from the screen as I see the silhouette of what looks to be a middle-aged man, dressed in shadows, holding the knife I just left on the table. “Funny, I live alone”.

YUGTO ALPAS

42 PRINCESS LACORTE

A New Sound The first night it happened, Maya didn’t think much of it. However, it happened the second time, a month after the first. She still thought it was “normal”, that this was something all couples went through. And then the third time came, then the fourth, until it happened every single night. It didn’t take long for Maya to realize she was forcing herself to think that this was normal when it wasn’t, fooling herself into believing that the home that accepted her while her parents worked outside the country was still deemed “safe”. She had just finished dinner when her uncle came home from work, stumbling through the front door in his police uniform. His face was dark, bone-chilling glare fixed on his wife. The girl knew what was coming, retreating to her room when she glanced at her aunt’s knowing stare, the terrified glint in her tired eyes didn’t go unnoticed. As Maya whizzed past him, the sight of his silver gun hanging menacingly from his belt as it glinted against the chandelier’s light made her turn away immediately, shutting the door behind her. Maya cupped her hands over her ears, a futile attempt to drown out her uncle’s slurred yells through the paper-thin walls that separated her from him. He was loud. So ridiculously loud she felt that even the neighbors were listening in. “You never appreciate anything I do! Never!” he yelled. “You’re not the one risking your life out there in this damn pandemic and yet here you are! Glaring at me like a mad woman!” The 8-year old waited for the noises to die down, back against the wall on the bed that was too large for her small frame. Though it was spacious, she felt cramped, restricted, and struggled to breathe. Her thoughts drifted to her poor aunt who has not uttered a word ever since he came home.

She was alone in the other room with her yelling husband, and Maya was unable to comprehend how much her aunt was able to tolerate him this entire time. 20 years of marriage, and this is what it came to? Perhaps she was too young to understand, too wet behind the ears to have even the slightest idea of the fundamentals of marriage. But this, this was just different. It was so much, and so... wrong. A particularly loud noise boomed through Maya’s muffled ears, like the sound of a body being thrown across the wall. She was familiar with it all too well, and the poor girl pressed her palms into her ears harder. Punch after punch, the sound resonated through the walls, pounding as hard and as loud as the beat of Maya’s heart smashing through her ribcage. There were too many noises at once, and she couldn’t take it. The almost rhythmic beating of the man’s fists to his wife. The erratic beating of her heart. The woman’s ear-splitting screams. Her own thoughts as she prayed for someone to come save her. Tears pricked in Maya’s eyes as she fell to her side on the bed, petite hands flying from her ears to her mouth and contain the sobs that rumbled from deep in her chest, threatening to spill. “Make it stop, please.” she whispered in a soft voice, looking at the gloomy darkness through blurry eyes. The darkness stared right back, and Maya was sure it was grinning wickedly, reveling in her fear and desperation. The noises didn’t stop. Instead, they grew louder. The screams, the slams, joined by the crashing of vases and furniture. The sounds echoed like a maelstrom of violence and pain as if there was no longer a wall to separate her from it all. “Make it stop...” she begged.

YUGTO ALPAS

“Please... please...” something crashed into the wall and she flinched. She squeezed her eyes so hard, swirling figures were dancing behind them. “Please stop - “ Bang. Maya opened her eyes and blinked, a lone tear escaping from her lids. The sound was new. It wasn’t like anything she had heard before. It pierced through her ears, a ringing noise lingering in the air. Bang. Bang. Bang. This time, Maya kept her ears covered. It wasn’t until when the ringing had died down when she heard the door knob rattling. Maya sat up, dazed and confused, her cheeks littered with streams of her tears. She watched in anticipation, both in dread and curiosity, as the door slowly opened. Her aunt emerged from behind. Maya was relieved to see her aunt safe, a lightness washing over her. But when her eyes wandered to the woman’s bloody dress and the crazed, wild look on her face, Maya couldn’t utter a word in horror. “Maya, honey...” her aunt’s voice rang through her ears, a delighted sparkle in her bloodshot eyes twinkling, “I’m sorry it took so long, but you don’t have to worry about the noises anymore.”

Dystopian Necessity ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

JADE CALICA

Anthurium The clock’s hands have fifteen minutes to chase the very hour preceding midnight, which means I’d have to leave her alone. She lives off the responsibility to keep us alive, so saying she’s the word busy in the shape of Della, a loving mother of mine, would be an understatement. Her room—consistently tidy, illuminated by a tint of tangerine, and where a lilac vase sits beside a framed photograph of us on a tiny oak desk, is her workspace. Her favorite anthuriums fill the last item until they’re wilted altogether. Upon dinnertime’s conclusion, she immediately heads inside to prepare for a virtual meeting with her co-workers from the same conservative college I attend. Just like me, she’d always have her eyes glued to a screen for hours and hours—a dire experience, so I understand how aggravated she’d get whenever I try knocking on her door. She never lets me in, but it’s okay. However, I could never be okay with thinking she’s done this much for us both in these trying times, and I’m just leaving it all to her. “Suvi, I see you’re still on that computer,” she abruptly enters into a dialogue through the half-open door of my room. “And you look more presentable than usual,” I utter, laying eyes on her lips coated with lustrous, pink gloss. “None of your business, dear. Good night.” Thereafter, she flees the room and I reach for the knob. I reckon the coast to be clearer than ever now that she’s out and off to drowse. I hastily turn on my laptop and open its camera. An image of me comes into my sight—one I take pride in. I’m always ready to take on moments of celebrating myself, especially for a purpose this good. I painstakingly unbutton my top and stare into the reflection of my self-indulgent and bare self. As odd as it sounds, I love making a living out of this. A message pops out at the corner of the screen. I figure it’s from Mira, a friend I’ve had for a while now. Her words read “Hey, it’s getting late and I think you need to get some rest. Burnout might get to you. You’re doing great, okay?”

“Nooo sis, I swear I’m fine. I just have a 1000-word essay due tomorrow and I’ve barely started.” “Well...you better! I mean, did I mention I’m loving how my lips look right now? And oh, please tell me more about that cranky chemistry teacher,” she asks, then I simply acquiesce. She gives me a warm, safe place to dwell in, despite knowing nothing about each other’s true identities. After what seemed to be a good seven minutes of chitchatting, I prepare for another week of running on this brand of “hustling” to get me through this crisis. Regrettably, all the following days only made it more troublesome. Almost every passing hour would let me run into conversations on what people make out to be a controversy—a student’s suspected involvement in the same online platform where I try to find...opportunities. I expect a strict institution to condemn this behavior, but I never thought it’d condone such spiteful comments and death threats being projected on people like me. I feel my heart thud in rapid motion and my fingers quiver one bit as I continue scrolling down just to stumble upon something like “You put a price on your body & that’s your worth. Anyway, anyone got links?” Nobody spoke of a certain name, but everything just led me to dread my future, my mother’s, and even my relationship with Mira. The circumstances continue to drown me in apprehension and question the unimaginable life ahead of me. For the last time, I face my computer’s camera while poise and panic engage in a grapple. Mira then requests to speak to me via video call, then I instantly accept it. To my surprise, the screen doesn’t reveal her face. All I get to see is what looks to be her room. It is minimally decorated, and I could feel its warm and saturated atmosphere. My eyes traverse through the wooden desk at the back and shortly, I spot a vase of flowers beyond familiar. Out of disbelief, my consciousness mimics the anthuriums—cold and crumbling.

YUGTO ALPAS

LOUIE IZAK JACOBE

A Thousand Miracles I’d like to quote Mary Davis, “To walk in nature is to witness a thousand miracles.” I went through something most people would consider a “traumatic experience”. But not me; for me, it was a realization of the miracles happening all around us. We spent our Christmas break in Malaybalay, Bukidnon. During the trip, I fell asleep and had the most vivid dream, even now I can still clearly recall what transpired in my dream. I saw someone floating around the void, when along came a colossal body of water moving towards him. I shouted, “Look out!” but to no avail. The enormous body of water engulfed him, and as he struggled to swim for air, I was helplessly observing the situation, with restricted movements, I allowed the body of water to consume him; fear controlled me. Suddenly I woke up panting and anxious, only to see the van has stopped moving and, in the distance, mountains, and forests in my surroundings. We had arrived at my Uncle’s place and were greeted by their family. Our families agreed that we would stay over at their farm for the entire trip, except that night.

Last Tatay Standing

REANE BERMUDO

As the others slept for the night, I stood just outside the gate. The nightmare continued to irritate me. I believed I was up for anything if given the challenge, sadly that dream crushed that belief. The next morning, the rest of my family went on ahead to the farm, while stayed behind because I participated in this inter-cluster competition. that afternoon my parents came to pick up a few cooking utensils they needed for dinner. A few hours later, the seven of us who stayed behind, left at around 4:25 pm and arrived halfway near the farm at around 6:65 pm. We stepped outside of the car and in front of us was the river. To confirm whether it was crossable or not, I checked to see if the distance between riverbanks was longer than the main highway road. I glanced sideways and saw that the current was downhill, and it looked strong. At that moment, I should’ve realized, but it never occurred to me that the nightmare was possibly some form of foreshadowing. “Dad, I’ll walk from here on.” Tita Sweetie said as she gazed into the river all tense and nervous, “Mi, we’ve been through deeper water. The car can handle something like this.” Tito Tayong confidently reassured that this is safe and doable. “Still, I have this bad feeling.” She replied. They asked my cousin, Shawn, to accompany her as darkness swallowed us whole, and no lamplight nor moonlight shone, just the lights coming from the car. The rest of us went back inside the car when a knock was heard on the passenger’s side window. It was Tita Sweetie. “Mi Lars, maybe you would like to join me?” she asked my mother. The fear in her voice was crystal clear as if she knew something wrong was about to happen. Sadly, my mother declined her eager request and said, “It’s okay, Mi Sweet. I trust your husband,” she replied. As the two of them went ahead, the remaining four of us held on tightly to something as Tito Tayong started to cross the river. I blatantly stared out the window as the water was rising to the point where it almost went above my head. The car engine roared as if a water beast was swimming opposite the river’s current. As we came close to the other side of the river, the back of the car was hit by something strong and heavy. Tito Tayong put the car in reverse, and we ended up back in the middle of the river. I was shocked; I knew they’d joke around from time to time, but not like this. It immediately came clear to us all that this was a matter of life and death. The situation was overwhelming. As if pulled from a trance, Tito Tayong told us what to do. I quickly climbed up the car to secure the bags and priority items as the river continued to push, rocking the car back and forth. With not a moment to hesitate or even to think of what could possibly happen, we tied both ropes found in the trunk to the hook on the back. A light pierced my eye, flashlights and motor lights quickly surrounded the river; help has arrived.

Bringing their own rope, I grabbed the rope in my cousin’s hand, climbed up the car again, and swung it like there’s no tomorrow. Once both ends of the ropes were tightly secured, the first to go were my parents. As they slowly crossed the rope, another torrent of water pushed them. Petrified, I watched as the river tried to submerge my parents right in front of me. Not even hesitating, I ran and jumped from the roof of the car, hoping I could at least push them to the side. As I fought the current’s push, all I thought of was them, hoping they’d live, for my sisters’ sake. Almost within my reach, I could see them, fighting for their lives, as I desperately swam towards them. Fortunately, one of the rescuers caught them both. As I struggled, I desperately clung to one of the rescuers’ leg. Luckily, all of us managed to get out of that dreadful situation unharmed, but at a price. Every single thing, besides the bag that we each individually carried, was gone, swallowed by the river as if an offering in exchange for our lives. We know that material things can be replaced and that our lives can’t, but it does make one think after everything that had happened, could we have done more? Could we have done better? Those questions led up to the understanding that everything was a miracle. All of us made it out alive, which in itself was a miracle. If one single thing were displaced or disordered, the results would have been completely different. It made me realize the importance of life and fighting to keep it. That experience made me more whole, as if the crumbly foundation I had, was rebuilt into something sturdier and stronger. Life can be taken away at a moment’s haste. One must not let fear get the best, and enjoy, be grateful for every single thing one has and will have for life and death are lovers, as life sends gifts to death, he then keeps them forever.

YUGTO ALPAS

ALTHEA MAY ASOY

It’s Time to Wake Up I have lived watching people come and go, and live only to die in struggles. I have watched the stars fall and got bored of counting the days and nights before the end of the world comes. I have always noticed how people are dependent on one another, how lovely is the sound of their laughs, how they have certain kinds of emotions called love and happiness—but not her. And there she goes again, for the fifth time around failing her attempts. I thought this time her plan would succeed after her stupendous tries, but she failed again. What’s stopping her? Conscience? Does she even have it? It was 3 days before her 18th birthday. She waited for the night to come, went to the road and waited for a car to hit her. God knows how much I prayed and hoped that she would die this time because I—I am also tired now. I closed my eyes and waited for that, I heard the car screech its way to a full stop. I opened my eyes and saw her still standing in front of the car with her eyes shut. I couldn’t explain my happiness when she suddenly fell to the ground. Unfortunately, she opened her eyes and asked “Am I in heaven?” “No, you’re not.” I blurted out. I watched her closely and noticed that her face is pale, she has dark under eyes, her almond-shaped eyes—it’s filled with thousands of emotions. She turned her head towards me and now her eyes are as cold as an ice, empty—yes, they are empty now. “You can’t take anything from me because I am left with nothing. So just please, leave.” she pleaded. “No, I can’t. God knows how much I wanted to be free from you—but I can’t! You know that I can’t.” tears starts to form from her glistening eyes. No, I can’t bare seeing her cry. “Please, I’m here now to help you realize that you should take care of yourself because every time you ever try to end your life there are a lot of people who’s struggling so hard just to live. There are lots of reasons why you have to stay alive and live your life. That’s why I’m here to let you know that.”

She struggled to move while shaking her head, “Do you even know what I feel? … Do you even know how much I struggle every single day? To be stuck—hoping for something… anything to happen for me to escape this hell of a reality.” tears rolled down her pale cheeks and it pained me seeing her like this… it reminds me of… myself. “Death… I can only think of death as an escape plan.” She cried in pain while nodding—like convincing herself that that’s the only way to escape the agony. “If only you’d allow me. Allow me to help you. Yes, I admit… there are times that I want you gone… but it pains me to see you like this. So please, learn to let go of the past and start a new one.” “Better said than done.” “Then, trust me.” I offered her my hand. “Hold my hand and I will help you.” She reached out for my hand and held it tightly like it’s her only chance to be happy again. Yes, this will only be her chance… and I’m not wasting any of it. “Close your eyes. Feel it… remember everything and overcome it all. Bury each and every memory deep in your heart. Stop running away from what’s haunting you. Embrace it all or you’ll always be a girl whose soul never grows.” Tears welled from deep inside and coursed down her cheeks. “You have to know that life is a constant struggle. The road is tough but you have to be tougher for you to survive. Only those with such memories buried deep in their hearts can truly become happy and strong.” I can clearly see the agony from an awful nightmare, painful memories of the past, deep regrets, and hurtful memories of being abandoned. I’d never thought I’d wait so long for you. The storms have calmed inside her. I can clearly hear her heavy breathing. I sighed. The stars are aligned. The timing is right. “It’s time to wake up now” I whispered. A solemn tear fell down her cheek and her eyes opened.

YUGTO ALPAS

empty checkpoint ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

A Promise of New Tomorrow REANE BERMUDO

en route

ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

A Growing Market REANE BERMUDO

Priceless

REANE BERMUDO

On Duty ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

untitled

JEZEL MAE VIDAL

WE HAVE LIVES TOO

ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

MARLA JANINE JADULANG

21st Century Plague

artworks FLORENCE ANNE BAHALA MARLA JANINE JADULANG ALTHEA REN’EE LIMPAO JEZEL MAE VIDAL KRIANNE FIGURACION

we have lives too ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS

THE 13TH TRUMP CARD 21ST CENTURY PLAGUE SEE YOU LATER, EREN UNTITLED AT LEAST, MERON LUTANG ONTO DEMISE

I’VE BEEN HIDING IN MY LIGHT LONG ENOUGH ANDREA GEORGIA VILLEGAS A GROWING MARKET A PIECE OF CAKE? ATYPICAL AWAITING DYSTOPIAN NECESSITY EMPTY CHECKPOINT EN ROUTE ON DUTY WE HAVE LIVES TOO REANE BERMUDO A PROMISE OF A NEW TOMORROW FAITH HOPE LAST TATAY STANDING MOTHER’S LOVE PERSEVERANCE PRICELESS RESILIENCE UMBRA OF FAITH CARLOS ANGELO DEAN

photos

For several years, the world has not faced an economic and health crisis as equally severe and deadly as the one grasping the world at the moment, which continues to claim the lives of millions of people across the globe and keep us away from our loved ones. This turning point of global history ensued an unprecedented chain of grave repercussions, affecting each and every individual of the worldwide population. Amid the dire straits, we aimlessly wander around the labyrinth of isolation, inundated in great depths of distress and ambivalence within ourselves, all while the fourth horseman breaks loose and parades every corner of the world. The theme for this year’s Yugto Alpas, Pale Horse, seeks to explore the different chronicles that came to light amid the events that shaped and defined the year 2020. This literary folio intends to accentuate the several sentiments that emerged in this time of ambiguity as the whole world straddled the pale horse of Death. Through literary works, photographs, and artworks, the folio yearns to invigorate the value of imparting each and every story we come across while we stray an uncertain route, be it mounted on a pale horse or on our barefoot. May this literary folio ignite hope and fortitude among the hearts and minds of the learners in this time of significant doubt and serve as a reminder that as we navigate the unforgiving currents of today, we must never let our trepidations get the best of us as we collectively pursue the light at the end of this dreadful and tumultuous tunnel.

Andrea Georgia Villegas Editor-in-Chief 2020-2021

‘20 ‘21 Literary, Photo, and Art Folio