Abacatanduanes ikapito working pdf cheese spread liver spread by Bren Rivera

ABACATANDUANES IKAPITONG PAGHABI

7 T u l a M a i k l i n g K u w e n t o S a n ay s ay L a r a w a n D i b u h o O p i s y a l n a K a l i p u n a n n g m g a Ak d a n g P a m p a n i t i k a n n g T h e C SU S t a t e s m a n

ABACATANDUANES IKAPITONG PAGHABI 7

T u l a M a i k l i n g K u w e n t o S a n ay s ay L a r a w a n D i b u h o O p i s y a l n a K a l i p u n a n n g m g a Ak d a n g P a m p a n i t i k a n n g T h e C SU S t a t e s m a n

ABOUT THE COVER As assinim quo omnit asped quid quunt laudiciam alis eum remquos eic tecus voluptate sum, odis exceatiorum net veliqui culparum aut autet et officid eum quod qui rendis adit quos eum iur ma vollab incta volorita volupta aut auda pratum non pos dolo dolupta quuntibuste nus re nos am, non. Ed esciist quat. Itassima elest, cum vel molectur? Or solorionest maximin cienime nimaxim explibus quae is estiatur, teni rerferepe nusaest quae volum nest mo iusda a volorecum sit faccupt aturerovite magnimi ncitaquam, quo tem. Namusda estium nullant a dolupta ercienda sum et eatur, quas excessum num sapideni ut quam quiscim invent eatenessimin nonseru ptatis sam inum estias dollaut moluptur adi andi aspero mos volori netus volorest, non net excea intium esto quam fuga. Nequias eost lici di consed et acilitius. Pudande sendis eossi berum ex eum faces aut id quis sus pernate solorep udions.

ABACATANDUANES: Ikapitong Paghabi Tula | Maikling Kwento | Prosa | Dibuho | Larawan Tomo VII BLG. 1 October 2016 Karapatang-ari ABACATANDUANES: Ikapitong Paghabi Reserbado ang lahat ng karapatan. Walang bahagi ng antolohiya na ito ang maaaring sipiin o gamitin nang walang nakasulat na pahintulot mula sa mga may-akda at tagapaglathala.

Para sa ika-dalawampuâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t limang anibersaryo ng The CSU Statesman

MSG EIC 2016 At nakita ang kariktan ng lahat sa pagsapit ng ikapito. Marahil hindi sapat ang kapangyarihan ng lohika upang ipaliwanag ang hiwagang bumabalot sa bilang na pito. Kalianma’y mananatiling palaisipan ang kanyang pagkakaluwal. Ang pitong palumpong punla ng buhay na kumakatawan sa anim na araw ng banal na paglikha at ang pagbabaliktanaw ng Diyos sa kanyang dakilang obra ang malinaw na repleksyon sa pagkakahabi ng natatanging sining na ito. Katulad nang patuloy ng pag-agos ng tubig sa batisan, imortal ang mga letra. Iluluwal sa ikalawang pagkakataon ang mga kadakilaang marahil ay nalimot na. Muling patitingkarin ang nagliliyab na damdaming pinapusyaw ng panahon, sapagkat ikapito ang kapanganakan ng lahat. Nagsama-sama ang mga pantas ng mga panahon at ang kanilang mga tala upang ihandog ang habing mas pinino at mas pinadalisay, sapagkat ikapito ang talinong pinag-isa. Taglay ng bawat habi ang kulay sa mundo. Sa obrang ito, muling paglalaruan ng kulay ang lahat ng pandama, sa pagkakataong ito’y mas ilalapit sa kung ano ang reyalidad malayo pagkahulog sa mapanlinlang na kulay ng kablintunaan, sapagkat pito ang totoong kulay sa mundo. Ito, katulad ng mga nauna’y salamin ng buhay, tradisyon at paniniwala sa lupang pinag-ugatan ng mga ugat. Ang mga bakas ang magsasabing ni minsan di ito nalayo sa kanyang kalikasan. Ang bawat letra, tugma o tula sa habing ito ay nananatiling nakatuntong sa baybayin ng Islang Catanduanes. Sa kabila ng lahat, tatak ng obrang ito ang pagbalikwas sa karaniwang daan. Ang ikapito ay pangangahas ng galugarin ang hiwaga ng bawat. Sumalungat ito sa dikta ng kapalarang tahakin ang lahat ng pasulong upang makipaglaro sa mga bagay na di tiyak. Naglakas loob na baliktarin ang siklo’t pagmasdan ang mga bagay gamit ang ibang paningin. Ang mga titik ay di lamang nakahimpil sa diwa ng isla, bagkos ay lumalagos sa bawat usapin. Naging boses ng mga paos, paningin ng mga bulag sa mga panlilinlang, paningin para sa palahaw ng mga naghihirap, panlasa sa lansa ng bawat dugong idinididilig at pandama sa gaspang ng umiiral na sistema. May kapangyarihang lumikha’t magbigay hininga ang imahinasyong dumadaloy sa bawat daliri. At iniluwal na ang bagong habi, patuloy na magsusupling ang panahon ng makabagong makata upang ipagpatuloy ang rikit ng himagsik na dala ng mga titik, sapagkat ikapito ang pagsisimula at ang bawat pagtatapos. Hindi kailanman magmamaliw ang katalinhagaan ng Abacatanduanes. At nakita ang kariktan ng lahat sa pagsapit ng ikapito.

MSG ATE MAU

Gent re doluptio. Itaerum fugitasse voluptatia diatis est, tem faciet que nos ut is dolorep elitatu ritenectur re voles sinihiciet il is eatur, sum niment apis evenda pro mo conecab idist, conet evelitati bla si omnimpos essit, quid eicatur molupta tusdae cum num con et quid qui idunt, core, ut mos modis sequuntia si omnihic aborepro blaturit etur, offici dolo to mo in et pe pera quia consequae consequae vel el is aut autatum rem nis est, officit ut faccaborro is que possunt. Usa pa erchit ex ea non estotae voluptus solorat isinctur soloris eturem is doluptas as dolum fugia qui alit es ut es qui dus sed et rerio. Nam, sit doluptatum volorest, sequiae struntio estia quissinus et essunt officit ianimagnis dicipsapide estiur, omniet lique volupti antionsequat il inihilit di denihiti omnihicil et volut aut laut fugit quae sinvenimus inctotatur? Evelic tem sam sanit preictae voloremquam, que vid explaborit poribusam reperferum aspelig enimpel itenihil molupta quasimin comnihilitis sitatem poratur autas verit voluptaqui odis ni sitias alitaeri tem fugiam aut as reperum fugiatu mquodis mi, od quiam, sitium asperro venienda ium lamet aut quamet alita nestiam aborem que volor moluptae aut alique qui unt ulparup tatecea cupta coribea nit, comnitasit dolupiciis ut es venecabor minum que conectur, untibus sim harcienditem re anistem fugitias sus aut quaerch ilitatem. Alibusdant il in cum et atus di dellanda quae nate ilibus doluptatempe peditae porestis nobis alis am que di id magnis quam, tectiisinis modi ut quiae inusaest aperuptatqui quam fugit exero volecum qui tem con pori net assequi ommod eaqui velestendam a provit optaquiam es iderspellam et omnim rem la sume ex esti corum quo omniet evelesedion porit harionem nonsequas simus doluptaquam aut minci dolut ex etur? Daecust runtectis et audit, qui sit paruptatur? Id mo ea volorest, si dolupta velibea tquibus andunt rat am ligendae quatur sim fugia quas.

MSG JOHN DALE

MSG BONGBONG

Em. Et et pre que diatur, consenda vel et, tem. Evendunt laut aliquia denis enderum quibus nis dundige niatium et erspid elitemolupta quibus am quas modi quiaturi que quiduci vendiore volore nostem et alignis unte dolesti non prerent ut in num nulpa sa quam, odipsam et, te voluptatur? Qui voluptate velianto eatiaestis alitia qui doluptatur? Em excepe volorer epratem et demod quatiunto testio. Nam eatium quide natempo rporem restrum endae. Neque pa si aut et esequo ommos eatem labo. Ut vene nitiore heniatur? Se simet aut odis quia eati arum alia por aciet hilibusam id quam simusan digenim intotat que autat. Incillam quid ut hil ipicimi ntore, unt parchit aquatium adis que veruptatet, aut omnis am corem ipis et vel intem assum raturis ut dolum faccuptist, sam nonsect atiati ommodip icatur reici de volorporum labo. Bero exped que ent laborem aliqui si quam expedip ictempore voloris experup tatincte aceria dolorrovitet fugia velendandunt ommolest, unt vellant ea ides molupicatus sust porehenetur rest, omnis ut mil. Eribeate mquunde rnamet ditataesti nata porioste volo vel imin rem re voloreium volorec uptiones as prem eos sit iliquas sam que porrorit ant que porepudiam alignam am ex exerorem harcilit esteserovit etur aut harum repercium eictotae restrup turecate doluptu ritatur? Rionsen escipsum elestiam a sequasiti nisciisquias veliam explam quas as dolesto et que que rem rero etur aut re nusantem ipsapelit et dolum, sed quibero exceratus et vollign ihitatio. Dae omnit am resed ut lanias sam facias estem fugiam nus ut quamus volo te estem sit, est, optiusdant fuga. Nem sam quias et volectur? Net fugias vitiis si dolut auteniendis volorum fugit volupti onsequate venes nusape ad qu.

MSG KUYA ELMO

MSG ELABI

Pe voluptus. Ration non es aspid quid ullandus, ut aut adist voloriae non eserum none volenit eatem debit, undit, siminus magnihi liquiae pratio quae net odita nus, omnis aut quos niatinim essimol uptam, omnime nam restemquist am, vereris volenis inverum quam venis dolo eos voluption nam eum aliquam, quo molo expella ceproresciat remporatem iniscip sapiet, si quas simusandit eumque autecat quae landit parum, nessequae reperunt vitiunt qui il ipicient aut prempor entempo sanite vendi nobis sitaepe llamus sus modis et labo. Itatendis expel ipsant latem int esequam, niate niasped quiatempere, te nonserum aliquid quo omnihil modipsuntus res autem es et rem inverferum aliquis moditis volendi cum et essed eaquis veriatecto derenisitae nonem numqui tenempos reperuptur acest, qui occupta ne nim quas es qui omnimi, audaectum eaquis vitate omnimaio. Nequunt mos quossim reratus aecatiae simus nulparum nonsedi oditamus, aut re volessi taecus audi tota con conemposto consequis ad quatur sitatem perovit expe pero te omnia simus sunt quis ex exceat alic tem quatur? Ipiciatquam reperatus dolleni hillaut vendunt iatquas aliaecus aut res vid ma iderchit quodi ut anistotate pellitio. Itatiorisim ea parum quaeped quis id ma que pa archil magnien imuscil moluptatint dias inctasped quuntem dolectus dunt pe volorep tatemquunt quas apis enduntiunt prae voluptiis ex et acipis quis di dipsam vendici aerio. Sed quae viderfe repera non re nit aut doluptur, con num nis maximus et accus veliquo stinctempore platibeatem quam, offic tem doloria dolor rerion ea nit la conempos que pa ariatur magnist, sinvenist lantent quodis dolecereni ut faccupt aecupta eum inimusci qui conse exerior epudandis andi ut pos eatium volupta tionsed maios restrum sed ullam inveliq uaecumquis quiditatis qui ad et omnihitati vellentotas eaquae nonectas exceperum volendant harum, optur aspedit dolupicime.

Aperum dolesciendi omnim iur, sant, omniae pe nonsece ssincte nienden ihilitatur, in consecturit eat ist molorae ctiunde ndiscitatum aligendundam explatur antuscillit prae delit et adis moluptaqui reriorumquas destiatum sit asim nam, id quiae nulluptia venihicit rerumquamus dolorem qui dem assim vid modipsa nderibus dolorep rerovide esciis volestiis quo ma sum qui volo temolup tatibusda sequam audam faciam, que min parciasped magnis quatur, tem re, iscideriatia dest, utecerae vendi sinullament excerum imin re volles dis et reprae nimagnam, elia sitiaturia dolori voloris pro occae voloreris eium labore, ut derite odictur sentia ium quibus aut a quam ex earumquam am et di tecaten daerspictur? Lessiti te ex ea volupta velentur, culpa doluptiur, event adi ulpa doluptas se molorro voles audae delignis poremqu ationseque exceptiature si occat. Dipsa quam vollatus alibusda consecte pro magniam volupta tiore, conem ut pediscia aut ipiendunt as ea sequibus ipicipis susam et earias eaquias doluptate porepeles inimperrovid quam il im haritiur? Qui doluptatur sime ab ipsa vel exceped ma quatemque eumendis sitatem porrovit poris autemque as aut et officip itatemo luptasp itaquo mi, oditibus et et preptaque culparis molecab orentio eum inciis cuptate solorios ipsae nusci odiatest quodignis auta voluptatecea quod qui doloribus consequibea quatae perate eum ipsae doluptam latio estruptatur? Bit laborpo reptatq uistiosam dolore vit reptas esseque odit ime volum am quodignient aut volorep erumetum eost facipit voluptatia es natemporatem ut quo consero oditat. Busda cullanimaion cus minctot atemporum ea audipsa vollam, quam eum, quo dit hite corem nate exces nis id moluptur amus aut es a nis volor modias doluptiunt harum quia cora dolum sumeni dolorum quaturiae pliquist, custio quodita que ipsus eumeniae nullest, omniasped.

MSG ANDING

FLYLEAF

Kagaya ng araw na takot lumihis sa dinaraanan, utos ng kapalarang tahakin ng tao ang daang subok na. Ang daang malayo sa pagkaligaw, daang tiyak pa sa kung ano ang tiyak na kalalabasan. Walang bakas ang masasalat, sapagkat lahat ay may kalayaan, sa batas ng tao o sa batas ng kalikasan, walang nagsabing ang pagbalikwas sa kung ano ang tiyak na daan ay mali. Ang natangay ay di nagpapatangay sa kabalintunaan na ang karamihan ay nagpatangay upang sumalungat. Matagal ng nagkukubli ang mga misteryong hindi pa nabubuklat. Palaisipan ang tala sa bawat rebolusyon. Ang pagsalungat ay ang pagkakaroon ng pagkakataong makita ang hiwaga, ang realidad, ang eksaktong kabaliktaran ng kinakapitan mong paniniwala. Bagamaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t likas sa atin ang takot na tayo ay maligaw, makita ang katotohanan, kadikit na nito ang pusuang pagsugal. Ang Ikapitong Paghabi ay isang pagbalikwas sa karaniwang daan upang galugarin ang hiwagang taglay ng bawat buwan. Sa dahilang ang pagkilala sa panahon at oras ay minsan na rin nawalan ng katiyakan. May rikit ang paghihimagsik. Mahalagang huwag maging mangha sa mga bagay na hayag. Ang lahat ay tauhan sa dula ng mga pangitaing mapagpanggap, maskarang kubli ang mga mukhang payak. Ang paglaya, kasabay ng pagsalungat kung gayon ay isang pangangailangan. Sa huli, walang katahimikan ang patuloy na pananahimik. Sa mga buwan na sinubukan naming baliktarin ang direksyon, palagi at laging mahalaga ang pagkatutoâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; sumabay, makipaglaro at sumuway. Hiling naming na huwag maging manhid sa siklo ng pagkakatangay, sa minsang pagsalungat, pakiramdamang mabuti ang agos ng buhay, karuwagan ang piliing mawalan ng imik. Sa mundong pisikal, ang kawalan, ang pagkabigo at muling paghanap sa sarili ay ang katuturan ng buhay. Ito ang bukod tangi naming mapanghahawakan. Allan-Jay B. Madrid Literary Editor

Mga kathang inilimbag pagsapit ng bukang liwayway, mga kamay na ibinuro sa sagradong hamog Pinatamis ng pawis at sugat katumbas ng pagal, salapiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t pangarap

MAY TABLE OF CONTENTS

Sakahanduanes

Eleksyunada

Simputi ng perlas at kinang ng bituin ang abuab sa Catanduanes

Ang bandila ng pangakong isinasalita, Ay iwagayway na muli sa bibig ng dakila! Sa libong taon ng pagpupunyagi Sa libong taon ng kawalang-lipi.

Sing-itim ng uling At singlabo ng putik ang inaagiwan na budhi Singkinis ng hibla at lamyos ng silhuweto ang tabas ng abaka sa Norte singgaspang ng buni at singtigas ng bato ng ganid dito sa Timog Singhaba ng habi at singtibay ng uway ang bawt pasing hinugot sa tugod ng sakahan Singliit ng tungaw at singrupok ng nababad na kahoy ang por kilo katumbas ng sikad at usong ng magsasaka Singdami ng uhay at singsidhi ng supnit ang bawat impit sa angkla ng butungan Sumaraing sa sakit ng hinaing ng pagpapakasakit MANNY PANER

Mga lupang tingala’y lihi, Humayo ka’t uulan ng salapi Mga ulap na sagad sa puri, Humayo kayo’t uulang dili? Sa isang kilometrong papel, kung itatala, Ang mga salitang puno ng dusta, Isang libong pangako sa mga dukha, At proyektong milyones ang mapapala. Bayang sa pag-asa’y walang-wala, Kasaysayang inulit at uulitin pa, Saan naroon ang iyong tadhana, Sa mga pangakong, lamang, hanggang salita? Ilang tao na nga ba ang nagnais Sa pagbabagong panay pilit? Ilang tao na nga ba ang nagpakabuti, Upang ang ngala’y malinis, eleksyunadang yari? Paulo dela Cruz

Ikan ako dream

Magugutom din ang Baboy

Gusto ko lavender Lavender na Harley Davidson Lavender na t-shirt, yung ikan muscle na drawing Gusto ko lavender ang Mersan Lavender ang bording haws namo Lavender ang bonor Tamong, bag, sapatos, girlfriend, toothpaste Gusto ko lavender ang langit Ang isteyt Gusto ko an kolor ning talong Gusto ko lavender ang rebolusyon Lavender ang coverpage nin Isteytsman Gusto ko lavender ang surot nin nursing Lavender na watusi Lavender na kutay-kutay Mae man daa problema sabi ni Mama

Para sa mga baboy na gumagala... May isang baboy sa isang kulungan Gumugulong sa makakapal na alikabok na hinubog ng dekada Nagtatampisaw sa gintong putik na dinungisan ang asul na langit Sumasayaw sa indayog ng mga nagnanaknakang uod sa himig na nakakaindak May isang baboy sa isang kulungan Sinusubuan ng kalawanging kutsara na nagpapasinok sa bundat niyang katawan Pinapainom ng tubig imburnal na nagpapadalisay sa kanyang uhaw na lalamunan Pinapaliguan ng burak pagkatapos kumain upang sa pagtulog ay tuluyang mahimbing

Lavender man pano si Mama eh. Nimfo C. Yamen

Subalit paano kung wala na ang alikabok? Wala na ang putik? Wala na ang mga uod? Wala na ang kutsara? Wala na ang tubig imburnal? Wala na ang burak? Wala na Wala na ang lahat. Magugutom din siya Magugutom din ang baboy Magugutom din.

At patuloy na binababoy ang ating lipunan

John Michael P. Veruen

Pila, ‘Noy?*

Band players

Tanda na siguro ng aking huling harutan Sa tag-araw ang tawag sa akin Ng tinderang binibilhan ko Ng pantawid gutom sa katanghalian.

In red suit they tramp Dressed with uncommon valor Like a harbinger armed With windpipes and percussion

“Pila, Noy?” Ilang dahon pa ng kalendaryo ang mapipilas At tuluyan nang maglalaho ang katawagan Huhulagpos na ang overstaying na kabataan Bakas pa rin sa treinta y dos na bughaw na buwan

Their cortege veered to left In a pedestal less trekked Playing the same old radical chant Breaking the fascist silence With its uprising euphony

Ninipis ang anit, mabubuyangyang ang tukbuan Ang balat, kusang susuko sa grabedad Hihina ang pagkuyom, kusang kakawala ang lakas Babagal ang dating matuling hakbang Patungo sa iisang hantungan. Wala nang malilinlang.

While covered with scars They march still even in the fleet Of orchestrating fusillade But the blood sprinkled the street As the cadence of drums halt As the crushing of cymbals

“Pila, Noy?” Huwag mo na akong tanungin, Tiyang, kung ilan Ang bibilhin ko para sa aking tanghalian Wala naman akong ibang pagpipilian Matatawid din naman ang aking gutom Ng mga palasak at pang piyon mong ulam. Ang alam ko, sa katanghalian tapat ng aking Mga nalalabing oras ng pakikipagpatintero kay Peter Pan, May isa lang ang tiyak kong hindi malalanta... Mga yugtong sasariwain, babalik-balikan. At Tiyang, di kita kailangan nitong pagbilhan Kahit halaga nito’y singkong duling lang.

Were heard no more The great line shattered then, But the hymn they played Remains unbroken Remains immortal Even to their final march The parade segues still To an infinite distance For it is not the accompaniment That keeps us all marching

*’Noy: (Bikol) - pinaikling “Nonoy” - pambalanang katawagan sa bata (at medyo bata pa) na lalaki *Pila: (Bikol) - ilan.

But the symphony of defiance They once played

GSR

That was left undying ELMO RUBIO

SILANG MGA BITIN SA VALUE MEAL NA TAKE-OUT

Four Eleven

Nangangatal pa sa pagitan ng Pagsandok at pagsubo Ang mga kamay Napasma Sa paghihintay.

She sits atop the golden throne Hovered with relentless injustice Cocooned in her passive leadership Crashed thousand times against tons Of condemnations But she’s still sitting there

Sa pilang hahantong sa Tsinitang kahera na Sinampal sa pisngi ng mumurahing blush on At minura ng putya red niyang Lipstick.

A mystic power caged in That miniscule dot upon her face Praised by her blindfolded alipores Sugarcoating the bittersweet reality Of her lunatic ideology

Nakangiti ka pa sa pagitan ng pag-usal Ng tanong kung ano’ng order Kahit sa sarili’y minsan ka na ring nangarap Ng mas marami sa karaniwang salat

For there’s always the euphemism Enough of this nonsense verbosity For the Filipino’s never anymore Embrace masochism

Take out

Nine years, for nothing But she’s still there She’s BIG enough to be Four eleven.

Dinala ng mga nanlalatang paa ang sarili sa Abangan ng tricycle Habang takam sa amoy ng kumawala sa Eco-friendly’ng paper bag Pagpatak ng ala-una Dumulog sa hapag ang sabik na pag-asam At pag-alburuto ng tiyan Bundat sa kakulangan. Hayok sa pagkasuya.

Isang karangalang lamon Para sa mga Pilipinong nagpapawis

Isang dura sa ebak Ng iilang Baboy na palamunin ni Juan.

MAMARU FERNANDEZ

JONATHAN V. TULOD

Mga Tala Ukol sa Sadomasokismo

Paglawod

Palo

An old man set sail to the sea, From a shore where the townfolks claim Sirens and nymphs dwell

Ng latigo Ang bawat patak ng Segundo

He pushed the wooden boat away from the side, The waves forced current And his feet were soaked in scum

Hampas Sa ulo ng pakoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Ang hagupit ng kada Oras

It-it Ng anay ang ginugugol na Minuto

From the shoulder he drew strength For his thin arms to paddle, In his paddle he drew strength. Gently, he stirred the serenity Of the silent moon in the water, And left a disappearing trail; He brought out of his lamp, A firefly in the middle of the sea That gazed the creatures below.

RS VALDEPEĂ&#x2018;A

The hook lowered Then, it was only him And the bed, and the waves He stared around the seas He owned Once, long forgotten Then, he set his sight unto His old eyes perceived Hazy city lights The water remained tranquil And the hook, still; He looked above for compassion Where the stars welcomed This old man They stared a long time ago JOHN ELY B. TEMPLONUEVO

T.N.T. Kawangis mo’y ulap na walang baong ulan Bagkus ay umaapaw na hanging humahaplit sa hapong katauhan Kung kahit kapiranggot sanang wisik na sasaboy sa tayantang na bumbunan Malunod man tiyak huhupa rin pagsapit ng kinabukasan. Buhat noo’y umusbong ang ningas sa nagyeyelong kanlungan Unti-unting pinawi ang ginaw na hatid ng iyong pagyao Noon ang inusal ay sisisirin ang talurok Subalit tinangay sa libtong at dali-daling naaliw kaulayaw ang mga taliptip na hibang. Naisin ko mang sungkitin mula sa tuod na hitik sa tulyapis Dagit na ng lipos na sirenang huwad Ika’y tuluyang nalibang at hinugot ng lilong tangan. Kung sakaling ito’y malango at ika’y lumigwak sa pagdighay At tangkaing magkalawkaw sa lungaw ng batis Sana’yang dati parin nitong tubig ang humalik sayong kudlitang talampakan. ELVIN RANDOLPH R. JUBAY

Tseyr Komportableng untadan, Ikan kakabit na bayad, Mai gatindog ta isiraman, Pirming nakauntad, Pirming busug-busog, Sisiram na pagkaon, mamahar na inumon, Dili ng suhestiyon, Ta ang gusto komisyon, Taun-taon, gapagapos sa untadan. Paralisado na yu tuhod. Paralisado pati angog, Mga untadan na bakante, Gusto pang untadan. Mai na nakuntento. MABEL TRINIDAD

Tabla Pinaglaruan ng bata na parang teks ang tatlong wallet size na kalendaryong may mukha ng iisang pulitiko. Sabay-sabay itong tumalsik na parang baraha. Hindi niya ito napalipad ng maayos dahil sa laki nito. Tumambad sa bata ang mga araw at buwan habang si konsehal ay nakahalik sa lupa. JAN KEITH A. ABUNDO

An Oripon nin Oras*

Abaho

Luway-luway mong hinari an lampin Na nag-sapopo sa atì nin mag-damrag

Naghapon kang gabók sa lati. Sa kada hawan mo sa gabon Maw-ot mo ang pagparibód Na ikan búgong na pangsugpón Sa kamaihon

Mai ka nahagas sa agrangay Nin siko kasin tuhod Na kada lagutok iyo man ang plos ng pako na Piga-bábá sa nitso kan sainyang lawas Nonò, dun ka mùna lamang sa luwas Siring man sa pagbabá ko sa hagyan Ikan nin tagnak ang huminandok sa labò Syerto ako na sa ako ang saro, Nagduwa-duwa ako kun saimo ang saro. magpirmi ka, duwagi na sana. Dai na ini maawat pa.

Sa pagdarusdos ning sinarapid na pisí Na binugkos mo sa limang Sapād ning saging Suminabay ang pagkatupag ning apád Ning saimong paghinguhá Na bukudon ang inanod na limang sapād ning paglaóm. Anóm na piye kararom Ang libtong na kaipuhan mong busuhon Ta nganing maisalbar ang mga buminutas na Pidaso ning kalibo –

mieng nahubon sa imong isusugnad.

*Para ki Emelia RS VALDEPEÑA

Tinan-aw mo ang kubar sa imong samaíl Kuros sa pagkahumog sa ginabók Na latí nin pagtios. Luway-luway binatlay mo ang malamdók Na sagop ning buhay kasabay Ang pagsurnop ning ardaw Sa imong daran dangan mo sana narumduman Hari ka sa lupak, maparibod ka man sa lupak.

Anong pagar ang dara ning pagpahingaró.

JONATHAN V. TULOD

Maria Magiliw kang magparaya Maliit ang sambit ng labi Na sumasalat sa pulang beda Ng pabaong panalangin Sa inaangking misteryo Sa paikot na hapag tinitingnan Ang anak tungo sa paglayo Kailangan at kinakailangan Para sa iyong kasiyahan Para sa kanyang kahirapan Sa iyong pagsakit Sa kanyang pagsakit Hindi pa tapos ang mga araw Kailangan pang maglakad, maghimala Ihampas ang mga penitensya sa sariling likod Upang maiukit ang mukha ng santo Sa palad ng nanay Na wala nang maipuslit Para sa sariling anak john ELY b. TEMPLONUEVO

The Devotee Fiesta is over, she is packing up her things, Panganiban to Virac will be a long ride back home, There will be ravines to pass by and macadam roads to trudge, and the Volvo backhoe, she will see once more ravaging the steep edge of mountains that will give way to a circumferential highway snaking around her island, her home. The jackhammer bore holes unto the granite mountains – pockets for dynamites that will blast the boulders into smithereens. This is progress, she said. We are bidding goodbye to the crudely carved periphery of our mountains, our island’s main arteries – dusty in summer, a cesspool in monsoon season. The wild ferns that have grown even wilder, “Believe me, she muttered, they are twice my height And the trunk, oh rivaling my sinewy thighs”, have one by one spiraled unto the gully. The streaming rivulets cascading along the mountainside of this narrow and potholed thoroughfares are starting to dry up, They were diverted elsewhere.

But these are different stories, she said, I have other profound tales to unload, No, not those heavy equipment in San Andres town reportedly burned by NPAs when China Road Construction refused to pay revolutionary taxes, Last night, she divulged, at Vesper ball, the band mockingly played Brownman Revival piece, But never mind, she assured, the visual feast sedates a wounded being, the public plaza was a huge ballroom She was a child marveling at the fancy footwork Where dancers, dressed to the nines, rivaled the firmaments. Now, fiesta is over; she is packing up her things It will be a long ride back home, There will be ravines to pass by, macadam roads to trudge, and a spiteful memory of a perfidy to bear. Soon she will forget the taste of tiger prawns, and crabs succulent in its steamed splendor, The plethora of meat dishes, achara, and santan sprinkled with pili nut will waft in oblivion. The bitter tang of squandered time, Portends to linger longer. Next year, she will pray to Sr. Santiago Mayor, Panganiban’s patron saint, to spare her from the pit of her own perdition. GERRY S. RUBIO

GRABa Hills

Ang Hindi Maitatanggi ng Tumatanggi

Napukaw ang dapat sana’y Natutulog pang kaluluwa Bilog na bilog pa ang buwan Halatang malalim pa ang gabi

I. Maalam ang sambit ng binatang halatang mulát sa nagaganap:

Agad tumungo sa isang sulok Kinuha ang pala at asarol Muling bumalik upang Kunin ang pamatid uhaw

“Hindi ko ipagpapalit ang sagradong karapatan sa isang singko!”

Tuluyang naghabulan Ang dalawang tikis ng biyas Malalim pa ang dampa Ngunit kailangang lusungin Isa, dalawa o higit pa Konti nalang Handa ng kunin ng makina Ang munting mga burol Kasabay nito ang Pagtagaktak ng mga butil Mula noo hanggang pisngi At tuluyang bumagsak sa lupa

Ito raw ang dapat tandaan ng mga bata sa pagtanda. II. Nang dumating ang bathala, (may dalang balita o ng pagkutya) Nabahag sa pagkahabag ang buntot ng kawalang-muwang nang maguluhan sa kahulugan ng paninindigan laban sa pangangailangan. Napakamot.

Kalyo at ilang datal Kalakip ng Maghapong pagbanat ng buto Nang bigla na lang Sumaklob ang dilim Bumulwak ang sunod-sunod Na pagragasa ‘Di lamang munting burol Ang natibag Pati ang ilang sentimong Pantawid sana ng nauupos na segundo SHAINA MAE M. BENAVIDEZ

May nakalimutan o may kinalimutan sa kanyang kinamulatan? PAUL JOHN C. PADILLA

Pulang Aplaya ng Gigmoto

Matatamis na Salita

Naaalala ko ang bula ng mga sumasabog mong alon na nagsilbing paalala ng maagang umusbong na pag-ibig.

Isang araw, inikot namin ang kalawakan Pangako nila, pag nalibot ito Mabibigyan kami nang isang kahilingan.

Aking naaalala kaming mga batang naging alipin ng iyong malambing na ihip ng hangin Ngunit sa lahat, aking naaalala ang aking kabataan, ang nakaraan, na maaring hindi ko na muling balikan mula sa malamig na yakap ng iyong tubig-dagat. RUZZEL S. VALDEPEÑA

Nagpaiwan si Mama at dali-daliang nag-empake Nanginginig na kinalap ang mga damit At namumutla ang kamay.

Di nila binanggit kung saan magsisimula, O ano ang magiging dulo Ang tanging habilin, maniwala ka.

Wala sa kilos ang isip ni Mama nang basagin Ang pinakatatagong alkansya Na pinaingay ng kumalat na barya.

Dumagundong ang kalawakan, Sa nanginginig na boses ng Nagmamakaawa, Hudyat ng huling ragasa.

Tumatakbong pinara ni Mama ang dumadaang traysikel Pasigaw nyang inutusan ang drayber, Magmadali ka!

Mabilis na bumulusok, ‘ sa tuktok ng tayog, Ang nag-aapoy na bituin Hindi ko alam, pero ramdam ko.

Andito na si Mama! Kausap ang anak sa kanyang isip Tinulak nito ang pinto

At nagliwanag ang kalangitan, Sa hiwa ng nagdaang bulalakaw, Narinig ang isang panalanging

Magiging maayos din ang lahat.

JOHN ELY B. TEMPLONUEVO

Old Boy A week from now the harvest season will start This morning my father and I decided to visit the field and see how our ricefield is doing a familiar sight of vast lea swaying on the gusty wind and the stream of the water echoed from the drainage system so calm and serene

It rained after I left With nimbus clouds Inside the sockets of my eyes I stare at you

Not to memorize the details,

But to earnestly communicate That you turn into a sun— My sun, to dry up the rain Before it falls. JOHN DALE LOQUINERIO

everything are the same except for the big mahogany tree that loom over and is planted over a islet situated at the center of the field it was leafless, not much greener than it was I learnered someone intensionaly made small cut around the trunk of the tree Because it was believed to be hosting pests I’ve lost no one. I’ve just witness death A cold air blew, I knew it was its last breath. NIKKO FRANCO B. TEMPLONUEVO

PAGHUHUSGA Nauna pa akong bumangon mula sa aking higaan kaysa sa pagmulat ng bagong araw. Bungad ng aking amaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ina ang mainit na kape at tatlong pirasong tinapay. Maaga ang aming pagpalupa Maaga pa sa pagdikit ng araw sa lupa Inihanda na rin ni Nanay ang damit na aking isusuot sa umagang ito Makikiisa at hahalik ang aking mga paaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t kamay sa malambot na lupa. Sa bawat hakbang ay kasabay ang pagsukong sa mga kuhol na dahndahang pumapailalim sa lupa upang magtago. Maaga akong nagising para sa kuhol. Tatlong lingo palang an gaming palay mula ng itoy itinanim. At dalawang araw pa lang ang nakalilipas matapos ang isang baha ang sumira ng sagop na ginwa ng tatay. Magdadalawang araw na rin nagpipyesta ang nga kuhol sa aming mga palay Sa aking masinop na paglalakbay sa palayan ay napunta ako sa tabi ng bunganga ng sagop. Nakita kong nakalalay sa dahon ng palay ang isang kuhol at mga punla nito. Tila alam ng mga kuhol na darating ang paghuhusga at sa mga bagong punla nakasalalay ang kanilang umaga Kinuha ko ang mga itlog At walang pasubaling ikinubli ito sa aking mga kamay Hiwatig ng maputlang dugo ang kapalarang hatid nito sa aming palay. Ngayong araw, patas ang laban. NIKKO FRANCO B. TEMPLONUEVO

Nanunulay ang mga misteryong bumabalot sa bilang ng pitong salitang inuusal ng mga pagpapakasakit at mga panaghoy ng pagtitiis. Pinilit iwaksi ang bawat pagpapaimbulog sa datay at kalyo ng mga nagdaang sugat sa pamamagitan ng pagtakip sa mga talukap ng katotohanan na tanging magiting lamang ang makauunawa sa tunay na kahulugan ng pagkabuhay matapos ang kamatayan.

APRIL TABLE OF CONTENTS

Salubong Sa aking harapan naganap ang paghaharap na gumising sa buong bayan. Tulad ng iba, itiningala ko ang pag-aabang sa mangyayaring dati ko ng nasaksihan. Muli, may batang babae na nakabihis anghel ang ibaba ng lubid mula sa tuktok ng tore. May bahid ng kaba ang kanyang awit kaya hindi mapatid ang kanyang mga titig sa inang marahang ikinukumpas ang pagpapapanatag sa nakabiting anak. Minsan, kinakabahan ako sa nanlalaking mata ng ina na tila may pagbabanta. Maaagaw muli ang aking pansin ng paglapit sa isaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t isa ng mabulaklak na karo ng Birheng Maria at ng Kristong idadaan sa mata ang pagtapos sa paghahanap ng Ina. Nang tangalin na ang belo na tumatabing sa mukha ng Birhen, nakita ko sa akin siya nakatingin. Agad inawit ng mga anghel Awit ng dalamhati. JOHN ELMAR B. TEMPLONUEVO

Chinese Garter (Sa loob ng mundong pinapaikot ng laruang lubid) Grade one tayo noâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;n nang minsan kang makasama Kasabay na tumalon sa ritmo Ngunit sa paglipas ng taon Hindi rin ako tumagal Napatid Sumemplang Sapagkat hindi na masabayan ang pag-igpaw o sadyang nagkamalay na rin sa wakas Na hindi itinakda ang aking mga paa Upang malagpasan ang bawat pagsayad Ng laruang lubid sa lupang kinatatayuan Iniwan na lamang kita sa loob Ngayon tinatanaw na lamang Mula sa labas ng mundong pinili mo Matayog pa rin ang lundag Hindi man lang hinahapo Tumatalbog nang walang pangamba gaya ng iba Pagkat ang totoong Lubid na sana ay Magbubuhol at gagapos sa iyong mga paa Ay naputol na Malaya ka na rin sa wakas Maniwala ka Hindi ka na madadapa Hindi ka na magiging taya tulad dati â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Pagkat kasabay na ng kumpas ng lubid Ang tibok ng iyong puso. ELMO RUBIO

Tagu-taguan

Salin Mula sa Wikang Walang Nakauunawa

Dai sa hinagap ning sakong paglaom na ika makakaiba Pero ang kawat na tagu-taguan pinades kitang duwa. Dai pwedeng magbutasan kamot. Maibahan kita maski saing su£ok.

Ang ating pananampalataya

Kasabay ning pagbukod nin tagá ang pagbuag tang daing tunong Galaom na kita dai maabutan asin dai mapabutas ang sa’tong pagkakakopotan

Pagtagpuin ang bukas na mga palad upang sumahod

Pero sa kada kaskas ning bikat na kopot-kamot tang binuag, padiit-diit kang nangluya. Nangalo. Nagtunong. Hanggang sa ang kamot mong kopot ko Buminutas na sa mga pa£ad ko.

Nakasulat sa wika ng kasalatan ang abot-tanaw

Dakop na kita Dai na makakabuag pa. Pero makapades ka man sa otro o dai na sa’ko pa man syempreng gigilumdumon ang kakawat kong minsan kong nakopotan ang kamot kasabay nin sa’mong pagbuag paharayo…

mabilang na mga pakpak

Paharayo sa nakabubungog na husga ning katotoohan Papunta sa lugar kung sain daing matang mahiling daing taringang madungog asin daing kimot na mataram na ang kamot na akong kinopotan, dai ko palan dapat kopotan. GISELLE P. TRAPAGO

butil-butil ng hamog sa lunduyan ng dahong hindi nababasa

sa kahinugan ng liwanag

Dito nakaugat ang ating dila Kay bigat ng ulap ng salot na hindi makayanan ng hindi

Kay gaan ng pagdatal ng anino ng Diyos sa ating pagtingala tila may awa o isang biyaya ALLAN C. POPA

Kung Paano Ko Nakilala ang Kasalanan

Huwebes ng mga Santo

I. Nasa kasunod na kanto lamang ang aming bahay ngunit hindi ko masundan ang huling hakbang.

Sa kanto Sa tambayang Napapalibutan Ng apat na troso Isinalaysay ang nakalipas Ng lumikhang nasa itaas

Ginagalugad ng isip kung paano magpapaliwanag ngunit walang nalabing salita kundi patawad. Wala mang lakas ng loob, nagkusa ang mga paa at inihatid ako sa punoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t dulo ng pangamba. Kay gaan ng aking kamao sa pagkatok. Lumangitngit ang pintong sumasayad sa sahig. Agad lumisan sa katawan ang aking anino. II. Hindi nagbilang ang taya nang akoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y magtago. Alam niya, mabilis maglaho ang ayaw magpahuli. Mabigat ang yabag ng naghahanap. Niyayanig ang dibdib ng hinahanap. Sumiksik ako sa pader. Kobre kama ang tumabing sa aking kawalang latay. Makapal na alikabok sa sulok ang nagsabing ako ang nauna rito: malamig ang diin ng semento. Bumukas ang pinto at ipinagkanulo ako ng sariling pulso. Natuto akong manampalataya. JOHN ELMAR B. TEMPLONUEVO

Nagpahirap sila Nang walang kurap Umagos Ang dugo Sa katawan ng Kristo Pinako Tumusok Sa puso Ng Ina Ang hapdi. Huwebes santo Natutulog daw Si Kristo Kaya ang sabi-sabi Laganap ang kasamaan Sa paligid Nakabalatay Sa mukha ni Aling Pepay Hindi kalungkutan Kundi inis Pilit na pinapatulog Mga batang makulit Walang nais tumawa Maliban sa mga kaluluwang Musmos pa. KAREN AILENE P. BENAVIDEZ

Carboro Kasabay ng kinagisnan Napagod ang munting mga paa Sa amaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y nagpakarga Sa itaas Lubos na nasalat Ang katotohanang Hindi maintindihan Mga matandang nangungusap Hindi dasal Hindi magandang asal Kundi mga sabi-sabi Sa kanto Sa bahay ni Esperanza Walang magawa Kundi sumalat Manghusga Magduda Sa Mundong Balatkayo KAREN AILENE P. BENAVIDEZ

Vice Versa Mala-ostiya ang dalawang maliliit Na palad ng nakadipang paslit, Ipinalaman sa kulu-kulubot na kamay Ng kanyang lolang nagtutunaw Ng Katawan ni Kristo Sa bunganga. Yumuyuko ang matanda sa pag-akay Sa musmos na inaaral pa ang paghakbang Nangangapa sa paghagilap Sa sentro ng grabedad Yumuyuko katulad ng kandila sa gilid ng altar At ang bisig - tila pawis Na dumadilisdis sa marupok na gulugod Doon daw tumatayo ang kandila sa pagkatunaw. Kanino ang magagaang yabag na iyon? Wariâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di sumasayad sa pasilyo Ng katedral. Apat na paang humahakbang O lumilipad? Lolang tangan ang apo O apong saklay ng Lola.

Tadtarin (Ang Pagtigil ng Araw) Muling nabuhay ang espiritu ng libog Pinagpipiyestahan Pinapaparusahan Ninanamnam Sa kabilang dako Maririnig ang hikbi Walang katapusang atungal Mga impit na ungol Habang ang banda ng prusisyon ay walang tigil sa pagtambol Kinakalembang ang mga tengang nagbibingi-bingihan Pinupukaw ang mga damdaming nakatago Hinahablot ang mga maskarang nakatakip sa mukha Ang prusisyon naging rebolusyon Katawan sa katawan Init sa init Gumiling ang espiritu ng tatarin Sumayaw Humiyaw Si Juan ay payapang nakatingin Nagmamanman Nakikiramdam

JERARD PAUL V. TULOD

Nauunawaan niya ang lahat Hindi siya bulag Hindi siya bingi Panahon na upang maunawaan ang damdamin Ni Adan kay Adan. ANTHONYMS EMERENCIANA

Ikaw dahon

A World Named After Me

Nagpipilit kumawala sa Sangang iyong kinakapitan Subalit hindi pa rin makawala At maghihintay pa rin Sa simbuyo ng hanging umaambon

I’ve made a world beyond what you see.

Kusa kang sasama. Magpapatangay. Hanggang maabot ang lupa. Naligo ka sa putik. Nakipagbunuan sa malalaking bato. Unti-unting nalusaw ang kulay sa tubig-ulan. Kaylayo nang iyong narating. Sumayaw na muli ang hangin At ninais mo nang umuwi. Dahan-dahan ka sa paglapag Sa malalapad na ugat. Napapikit ka. Subalit dinig na dinig pa rin Ang hiyawan ng mga kapwa dahon Waring nagbubunyi Sa muli mong pagbabalik. ELAINE DOLOR LAZADO

Not in the sun. Not in the Milky Way. I know that it is somewhere in between me, Somewhere in my juvenile reverie There, I’ve met a friend named Death. Together we clamber dale called Hell, And we tangle a tango to the tune of the midnight sonata. There, I’ve been alone, For your shadow is a constant company, As we sail on a paper boat, And trek the way to the sun Reason is still under my control. Hey, I’m just a child, And my world is— Too little for you to see yet, Too big to understand. ADELMO V. RUBIO

CRoSSINg WhAT SEPARATE ISLES

Sa Pinaglahuan

Manoy Ben sets sail Home after a hard, long day at the Pacific And while The engine creates a hum He takes in the picture:

Sa puno ng Balite Mailap Ang mga liwanag Ng nilalang na isinupling ng dilim

In the horizon is a still scene momentarily suspended in time as if a painting, an islet and a bigger island as the main subject punctuate both ends in the frame he has conjured Everyday he notices the last color that leaves the earth is red; (there is a sense of unfolding) that waves do not caress anymore his banca; the blue drowns the sea, and the blue is drowning in the sea, he is drowning in the blue Manoy Ben hopes again that he sees the sea is calm near the shore and the motorboat shall glide smoothly towards Home Home is always welcoming. ACE JOHN F. TABUZO

Saksi ako sa Mga imaheng Iginuguhit ng malilikot nilang galaw Sampung maliliit na yabag Bubot at mumurahing mga kamay Ang pilit bumibihag rito Tunton balagon magbaba ka na... Ang awit sa di nagbabagong tono Ang paulit-ulit nilang tugon Sa walang muwang na nilalang At nagtagumpay nga sila Naigarapon ang liwanag Nag-uunahang umalis ang mga musmos Hindi ko na nasaksihan pa ang ganoong tagpo ang mga nilalang mula sa dilim ay malimit na ring magpakita. ALLAN-JAY B. MADRID

The Cycle of a Pro-Creation Polygamous Man and the Euphemism of It Noon Ngayon

Ako ay mula sa isang binhi Namuhay sa binhi Binuhay ng binhi.

Ako’y gagawa ng binhi Mula sa sarili kong binhi. Sa pamamagitan ng binhi ko Isang binhi ang mabubuo Isang binhi ang mabubuhay.

Bukas

Ang binhi na mula sa aking binhi Ang sa aki’y magpapangiti

Ang binhi mula sa aking binhi Ay gagawa ng isa pang binhi.

Hanggang sa dumami Ang binhi na mula sa aking binhi.

Mga binhi ng mga binhi At bubuo ng sanlibutan.

MONGHA Piniling talikuran ang mundo’t Ikinulong ang sarili Ngunit hindi rehas malamig na bakal o kalawanging kandado sa tarangkahan ang hinarap Tanging puting pintura, Ilang rebulto Iba’t ibang kulay ng misteryo Mga larawan ng dakilang maestro Ng natatanging obra Itinago ang lungkot Sa mga talukbong Tuluyan mo nang nilimot Ang makamundong bagay Piniling maging masaya Sa mahabang paldang Kulay puti’t asul Dinalaw ng siyam na buwang Nagdala’t nagluwal Tanging maliit na butas Ang mag-uugnay Ng dalawang nananabik Na dampi ng kamay Walang konbersasyon Tanging pakiramdaman Sana sa iyong pagbalik Hindi lang parte Kundi ang iyong kabuuan SHAINA MAE M. BENAVIDEZ

THE TEN MINUTES AFTER THE EUCHARIST WHEN I TAKE REFLECTION SERIOUSLY Amen. I finally went back to my seat after receiving the Body of Christ. As I passed through the aisle, I looked around and saw the same faces—the same old faces that I see everytime I go to church on weekdays. There were my grade four teacher on the side, the two old maids at the opposite side, and Tiya Tita who was just two rows in front of me. As I reached my seat, I stopped and thought. Isn’t it ironic that those elderly who are expected to stay home knitting blankets or gardening are the ones who go to church almost every day while the younger generations who are able to do so fail to even stay for a while and say a little prayer? If the young ones do pray, they only ask for things which they don’t even need, and instead of thanking Him for what they have, they keep on complaining about all their misfortunes. Perhaps it’s already a clichéd issue in our society that there are people who only remember to call on the Church in times of need, but they forget everything else when they already have what they want. I remembered one of my lola’s neighbors. Their family suffered from severe financial crisis when Tiyo Lando died because of a liver ailment. During those times, they put their lives into the hands of God, as Tiya Nimfa would say. But when one of her daughters married, their suffering was alleviated. After some time, the whole family changed their religion. They even threw away everything in their house which signifies Catholicism. The priest had already given the final blessing, but instead of going straight home, I stayed in my seat for another minute or two. I heard two voices murmuring behind me, and I thought that they were still praying. To my surprise, they were gossiping about someone else. What kind of absurdity is that—attending a mass the first hour and then spreading rumors in the next? My thoughts drifted once again. I wondered why people only tend to change on the superficial level. A perfect example of this absurdity is Tiya Helen. As she keeps telling her suki, her family was healed after they had attended a bible study. Yes, somehow I saw this “transformation” that she kept going on about. She pulled out all the liquors and cigarettes from her store and was often seen reading the Bible. It was after a month or two when I realized that these were only surface-level changes. We inadvertently learned from my mother’s manicurist that she was the same old Tiya Helen. Despite her bible readings, she still spread rumors—and not just rumors, but rumors about her own daughter-in-law whom everybody knows that she does not get along with. Hypocrite. Interestingly, most Christians follow the beliefs of the religion solely because these are already part of the tradition. As for me, I was raised following religious beliefs. I grew up commemorating Lenten season and All Saints ’ Day, and celebrating Christmas and Easter each year. Because of this, I just take them for granted and accept them as they are. I never attempt to question why we worship saints or why we should confess our sins. I don’t even remember how I acquired many of these concepts and beliefs. They have been instilled into me just like language and culture. For many of us, merely going to church is already considered a sacrifice especially if one attended an early mass. But many show up at a mass just for the sake of showing the people that they are good children of God. They wouldn’t even put an effort to learn the beliefs of the church by heart. In fact, many wouldn’t even listen to the gospel or the homily. They would be busy attending to other things while the mass is ongoing. Multi-tasking—it’s what we’re good at. Even I mastered the art of texting while gloriously responding to the psalm. While most people pray for blessings in life, there are also some who pray for the harm of

others, just like my classmate, Benedict, who happened to be an altar knight. He once told me that he was consistently praying for a particular Agnes to break up with her Oliver for his personal gains. This just proved to me that robes do not measure morality; they never have. Ten minutes have passed and a lady occupied the seat in front of me. She was praying the rosary. I thought that maybe she was praying for good fortune or a husbandto- be or perhaps, a better job opportunity. I saw that the lady prayed so solemnly which implied that she badly needed what she was praying for. Someone praying the novena and asking for good fortune was another scenario in church. But then, these people rely solely on their prayers. They fail to do their part because of their belief that God will provide them everything; that they need not to worry because God has already planned everything for them; that everything happens for a reason; and that everything would be well in the end. I find it a very farcical idea that people’s worship of God coincide with their despondency to money. I remembered a time when I saw Tiya Landa praying in front of the Sto. Nino statue in their home, and I could see traces in her face that she really prayed intensely. And then afterwards, she inserted two lotto tickets in the hands of the statue. But her prayers were not enough, her lotto tickets did not win. But she hasn’t lost hope, she still buys tickets and prays that she has picked the right combination to win and be able to alleviate their sufferings in life. I recollected the days when I used to keep my coins in the pocket of our Sto. Nino, so that no one would dare steal them. But then, my brother knew my secret, and he kept digging into my savings. Since then, I stopped making a piggy bank out of our Sto. Nino’s pocket and transferred my money under our figurine of the Virgin Mary, praying that no one would find out where they are. To be fair, the Virgin Mary turned out to be a good teller. After a few more moments of sitting, I finally decided to head home. As I went out of the church, I passed by the belfry. I wondered if they already caught the thief who stole the clapper from the bell. It had already been months after the church had a thorough campaign in different junkshops in the town, especially Belaro’s, to find that missing iron clapper. It was depressing to know that some people were so desperate that they had afforded to steal even the things inside the house of God. It was just sad to know that there are some who are misled by the guiding principles which ought to guide us in our undertakings. As I walked home, I remembered Sister Marissa who asked me to join the congregation. I had just found out how to answer her. First, I like jeans. Second, I want to spend my honeymoon in Prague. Last, I do not want to reassure people that there’s a Heaven waiting for them. Christine May P. PETAJEN

SOLDIER “…Eve was the snake that drove us away from Him. May our faith save us. The mass has ended, go in peace.” I looked straight into her captivating brown eyes as I lock her close to my being. The tantrum of bliss started to enliven our soul as our skin caressed each other. My thoughts, emotion and conscience were in rage. Their mandate confuse me, then slowly ravaged all the faith that I have. She was hanging… waiting. From the weight of the turmoil, the need vanquished. I yielded to the invitation. I cut the waiting. We kissed. For the first time in my whole service, I felt the teeming joy enclosed in the Bible and which I spoke to His people. Never did I expect to obtain that feeling from her and not from His ways. With contentment, I left the church forgetting the commitment I built. I underdressed myself and travelled with her across the land of milk and honey – the paradise. After all was through… tears blurred my vision. Suddenly the running tears on my cheek confessed a memoir beyond a life in a vestment. I was born when Nanay Angie was only 19. She stopped pursuing her Engineering course to take care of me while my Tatay Torning, 34, supported us as a teacher in a catholic school. I don’t know how they met but I once asked Nanay about their age difference. She just snapped, “love blinds any rule, including age.” By her calm voice, I nodded. What I am now is because of my Tatay. My ambition was actually to become a pediatrician but he stirred me to trail what he failed. He was an ex-seminarian. Since his parents were only farmers, he took up Education instead of finishing his Theology. “Your lolo and lola suffered a lot already… to continue my ambition means killing them in pain. For once in their lives, I want to give them the rest that they deserve” I was touched by his sharing. Father made me feel his compassion, leading me to realize how vital his ambition was. From that time, our father and son bond developed firmly. If Tatay botched in his dream… he succeeded lodging it to me. After eight years in the seminary and two years of waiting, I was ordained and assigned in the town of San Gabriel. “Fr. Rommel de los Santos… my boy!” Tatay embraced me so tight as the river of tears ran down his eyes. ‘We will die proud!” Nanay Angie looked straight at my eyes, “Please serve Him well. You are His soldier.” For the past five years, never did I forget my Nanay’s words. And in every breath I take I swear I served Him well. San Gabriel became more religious than ever. Like hoe my Tatay planted his dream on me, I effectively encouraged the youth in my youth in my parish to be open in God’s calling – the seminary. I established several projects and in five years time, we achieved the distinction as the best parish in our province. As the parish head, shower of praises poured on me. However, I took it modestly for it was

Him who’s worthy for it. I’m just His soldier and it’s my honor to make Him great. I was happy but I never was complete. There was emptiness inside me that my service can’t fix or fill. “Why am I feeling this?” I oftentimes throw this question to Him. I believe I’m doing what He wants but still I’m not graced with contentment. Everything was answered unpredictably in the cold night of August 1. That time, I was invited the guest speaker of an induction ceremony of high school leaders in the town where I was assigned. Like what I always do. I delivered my speech substantially and stirringly to guide the future leaders to integrity. I joined the teachers afterwards and while enjoying the conversation with them, a girl whispered to my ears, “Father, can I dance with you?” Surprised, I immediately turned my head to face her only to find out that our lips are close enough for a kiss. I immediately distanced my head from hers. The teachers who saw what happened teased me. I was embarrassed of course. I ought to scold her but the glance in her angellike face mesmerized me and without my knowledge, I was already holding her hips in the dance area amid other pairs of students. “I love you so… love is the beautiful one…” My eyes were fixed on her as the song completely numbed me. I really don’t know what I was doing until she broke in, “Are you okay, father? Without thinking I answered, “What’s your name?” “Azelle Reyes. I’m a third year student here. You’re a good speaker father… do you know that?” She sounded just like my Nanay. “Well… thank you. You’re beautiful…do you know that? “You’re the first one to admit that to me… that’s what I know.” The song stopped. The night ended. But the dance started something that made my life different. Three weeks later, she went to my convent. I was surprised to see her sitting at the sofa. I don’t know why but I immediately sprayed my t-shirt with Bench Ion Rock, checked my breath and applied Gatsby water gloss to my hair before facing her. “Good evening father… did I disturb you? “No no no… I’m free. What I can do for you? I chuckled, for the truth was, I was very busy that time. She told me that she was sent by her English adviser to ask me to write an oratorical piece for them. Perhaps if she is not the contestant, I will immediately say no. I can’t deny the fact that I keep thinking about her after that dance. My eyes were often rascal during mass – ravenous to see her from the people in attendance. Angst filled my heart if she’s not present. On the other hand, I make sure that machismo is seen in me if she’s there. And so, I accepted it and even volunteered to train her. It all happened. Every six in the morning I would practice her to elicit the idea of my piece. Never did I become tired and I know she was enjoying too. During our break, we dined together then watched her favorite teleserye before practicing again. At Saturdays, I taught her how to play piano. I feel relaxed every time I hear her voice. I can’t believe she was just 18 for she looks like

ahead of that. I wasn’t stunned to know that she won. What I was stunned of was her reaction when she went to my place after the competition. She hugged me tightly. I felt a kind of current striking my nerves as her bossom touched my chest. Her frangrance swayed my thought to hug her back. She then looked into my eyes, “I want to tell you something.” She was confident but her eyes confessed her fear. “Don’t mention it. You deserve that price. Just thank Him instead of me.” “No, that’s not what I want to say!” she rebuked. “I love you father… I love you.” She then ran out of the convent crying. She left me groping on what had just happened. I knew from the day I met her that I have feelings for her. She completes me. But it’s not right. I’m a priest while she is a student. I have a commitment. So I tried to thwart the urges. Yet, I can’t. She weakened me. When I was totally lost, I remembered what Nanay told me about love. I then madea decision. Two weeks later, she visited me again. It was 9 in the evening and I was about to sleep. Without saying anything, I brought her to my room and let her to my room and let her see the images of Christ, my prayer book and the rest of the things that guide me in my service. I want her to understand my life. She held my hand. “Do you love me?” Tears ran down on her face. I knew I have to answer. As I wiped her tears I finally said, “I do. But…” She immediately put her fingers on my mouth. “It doesn’t matter who you are or who I am. What matters is our love.” She carried me to her faith, to her stand, completely erasing mine. That was not the last time that I succumb to her… I couldn’t defend my faith against her words, against her touch. I know I’m happy with her but at the back of my mind rang my promise to my parents and to the Cross. She just won me. She always does. Lately, the priest that I built is now shattered into pieces. My desire duped me, soaking my life to arid happiness. I lost the war against it. Frail faith yields to temptation. Frail faith is what I have. I dishonored Him. I truly am unworthy. I wiped my tears as I stared at her naked body. The calm night comforted her deep sleep slackening her tired soul. I was holding the gun my friend Marvin gave me in my last birthday. “The evil must be destroyed,” I said to myself. I want to correct everything. I want history to forget the shameful soldier. I want my parents to be proud again. Two loud gun-shots echoed the town that night. The sleeping San Gabriel was unaware of the bloody end of its forbidden love. That love is the love that conquers any rule but destroys one’s faith. Shines satisfaction but abandons integrity. It’s the love that credits heart but humiliates His. Since the early years of the Catholic Church, history witnessed how priests turned turned to husbands and fathers because of Love. To my friend Susan and her dirty little secret. JOHN ELMAR B. TEMPLONUEVO

OBSESSION Lord I come to You, let my heart be changed, renewed Maituturing na siguro akong tunaw na yelo. salamat sa mga matang nakalapat sa akin. Pinapatindig niya man mga balahibo ko’y tuloy lang ako sa aking pinaroroonan. Kailangan kong maisubo ang katawan ng Diyos. Kailangan ko ng gabay at kaginhawaan. Pagka’t sa Kanya ko na iniaalay ang pangkahalatan kong dagok. Flowing from the grace that I have found in You “Panginoon, sinuway ko po ang Inyong mga salita’t patakaran dahil sa ako’y mapagsala. Sinadya man o hindi, nagawa ko po ang lahat ng ito para naman sa ikabubuti ng lahat. Upang makaiwas din sa gulo. Sa lahat po ng aking mga kasalanan, patawad po sana ang munting kahilingan. Nawa’y handugan Niyo pa rin po ako at ng mga mahal ko sa buhay ng biyaya upang aming gawing gabay sa pang-araw-araw. Salamat po sa patuloy Niyong pag-antabay sa aming mga buhay. Nawa’y ilayo niyo po kami sa kapahamakan. Amen.” And Lord I have come to know the weaknesses I see in me will be stripped away by the power of Your love Ilang segundo lang ng kapayapaan ang aking nadama nang bigla na namang bumalik ang kaba. Ang mga matang ‘di pa rin patitinag sa pagtingin ay sinusubukang makalapit. Dahilan para itong puso sa dibdib ay pilit na nagpupumiglas. Hindi ko kayang maidampi niyang muli ang hinga’t balat niya sa aking pagkatao. Panginoon…tulong… Hold me close, let Your love surround me. Bring me near, draw me to Your side Nanalo siya. Nanigas na rin ako sa aking kinauupuan. Hindi tatagal bibigay na din ang mga luhang matagal-tagal ding inipon. Sa mga matang iyon, literal na wala na akong kawala. Nangingitim, nagnanasa, umaasa, umaasam, iyan ang pangusap ng mga matang titig na titig pa rin sa akin. Oras na para sumagap ako ng maraming hangin. “Dyan, kailan mo ba ako sasagutin? Mahal kita. Mahal na mahal kita. Buong buhay ko ikaw lang ang nakikita kong liwanag. Hinding hindi kita sasaktan. Dyan…” Pumadausdos ang kanyang mga haplos mula sa mga kumukuyom kong palad papunta sa aking nanginginig na mga paa. Lumalabo na ang aking mga paningin. May namumuo na ring tubig. And as I wait, I will rise up like the eagle “Dyan… hindi kita iiwan. Mahal na mahal kita. Dyan…” “Sid, tama na. Ayoko na. Pakiusap. Makailang beses ko na ikaw na tinanggihan. Lubayan mo na ako. Pakiusap…” “Bakit?!! May iba na ba?! HA?!! DYAN, ako lang ang makakaangkin sa’yo. Akin ka. AKIN KA!” “Sid… maawa ka…” Unti-unti ng nabubulabog ang mga tao. Hindi magtatagal pati buong simbahan mapapahinto sa aming eksena. Tuluyan na ngang bumuhos ang mga luhang kay tagal kong inimpok. Panginoon…muli akong hihingi ng tawad… And I will soar with You, Your Spirit leads me on “MOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYY!!!!!” Nagwala ang katabi kong bata sa kanyang nasaksihan. Tama nga ako. Kay bilis naming nabulabog ang mga tao. May ilang kagyat na umaksyon at humingi ng tulong, yung iba nama’y tila napadikit sa kanilang kinaroroonan. Pare-parehong nahigop ang mga kulay sa kanilang mga mukha. Si Father napanganga’t napahinto na lang din sa may altar, hawak-hawak pa ang gintong baso sa kanang kamay at ang puting panyo naman sa kaliwa. Pati ako nabigla sa mga pangyayari.

In the power of Your love Kriminal na ba ako? Bilanggo na bang panghabambuhay ang sintensya sa akin? Wala akong kasalanan. Hindi ko ginusto ang nagawang kasalanan. Panginoon… ako pa ba’y patuloy Mong aakayin sa walang pasubali Mong paglingap? BALITA Sampung saksak ang ipinakawalan ng 19-taong gulang na dressmaker na si Dyan Mae A. Solero sa 23-anyos na binatang si Christopher Sid B. Pacis, magaalas-nuebe ng umaga sa simbahan ng Cabugao, Bato noong Abril 12, 2009. Ayon sa mga nakasaksi, bigla na lang tumabi at mistulang hinipuan ng binata si Dyan ng mangyari ang insidente. Nabigla na lang ang lahat ng biglaang tumayo ang dalaga’t pinagsasaksak sa dibdib ang walang kalaban-laban na si Sid. “Taimtim lang ako nung nakikinig ng misa ng bigla na lang sumigaw ang anak ko. Yun pala’y may nangyari ng krimen sa aming kinauupuan” “Nilabas ko lang naman yung kutsilyo kong pangtais para suriin kung kailangan na ba itong palitan ng bigla na lang hinablot nung babae ang kutsilyo ko. Napatunganga na rin lang ako sa kanyang mga ginawa.” Sinasabi ring ang napaslang na biktima’y matagal ng ginugulo ang dalaga. Mayroon din itong schizophrenic tendencies kaya labis na lang ang paghihinagpis ng naulila niyang ina na si Merijoy B. Pacis. “Ako na mismo ang palaging humihingi ng dispensa kay Dyan sa mga ikinikilos ng anak ko. Hindi kasi mapagsabihan si Sid. Nagiging bayolente kapag hindi nasusunod o kinokontra ang kanyang mga plano. Hindi ko inaasahang sa ganito na pala aabutin ang puot na binuo ng anak ko sa kanya.” Sa ngayon, patuloy pa ring nag-iimbestiga ang mga pulis sa nangyaring insidente. ANDREA S. MORALES

Sa bawat pagtatapos ay ang tuldok. Dito magsisimula ang bagong yugto.

MARCH TABLE OF CONTENTS

Tumba Lata

Pinakainibig Kita Sa Iyong Pagtalikod

Sa tampad nin baray inot nadungawan Mga aking kinabitan nin magimang maskara sa loog nin nagitong baray Ikan lawas na nahumanan na nin punaw asin nagtarubo an mga kubaran na siki.

Kay M.

Gadaragan. Gapanaw. Sa daran Piot. Malagkot. Puro kulangot. Mi-e mapugulan nin mainit Na ulan O mapunok kun init na ang magburos. Padagos na pinalupad nin Kaharangkaw pa sa mga iwata Pinaligid sa aspaltong mapurot An pato, huwa. Gisi. Manipis, Raot na tsinelas. Dakuro man o kadigi pa Na taklaong Ligo o Mega Sapol! Natumba an lata. Buag! Baad ika maabutan. Pero an hingunay, bitbit mo an saimong pamato? Oras na naman para kumaripas ng takbo, kahit patutunguhaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y walang katiyakan. At wag ng tangkaing magtanong, sapagkat â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di rin batid ang sapat na kasagutan. elvin randolph r. jubay

Dahil nais mo lamang madanas muli kung paano umahon mula sa lalim ng yungib nang hindi umaabot sa kaibuturan lumusong tayo hanggang kapwa lukubin ng sapat na dilim Nauna ka sa pagpihit pabalik at nang sundan kita paanong hindi mapapatda sa pagkamangha sa hubog ng iyong aninong napatda sa pagkamangha sa bungad ng liwanag allan popa

Guhit-Tagpuan Kung bakit puno ng dahas ang ating paglalayag ay di ko rin batid, kung bakit marahas ang bawat kumpas ng hampas at bikas ng pagpupumiglas. Tulad mo, akay din ako ng metal na balyenang naglalakbay sa lawak ng kanyang maalong paraiso. Hindi alam kung saan at kailan dadaong at susulong sa dalampasigan ng laot. Ako, ikaw at itong ating mundo ay binalot din ng takot at panibugho. Di batid kung paano sasabay sa pagpanhik at pagpanaog, sa pagkampay nang walang humpay para sa buhay, sa kawalan ng buhay. Sa pusod nito marami na rin ang nagbuwis at ibinuwis sumisid at lumitaw ngunit mas marami ang nanatili, marahil ay sa paniniwalang pagkalunod ang dulo ng bawat paglubog. Subalit hindi dapat, magpahumaling sa halinang

bitbit ng pamumukadkad ng mga porselanang bulaklak mula sa kanyang maharlikang balat at baka mahalina sa lansang hatid. Ako, ikaw, sukbit ang agam-agam ay gagaod tungo doon sa linyang nahiratiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t nakaratay kung saan kalangitan at karagatan ay pinag-isaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t pinaghiwalay. elvin randolph r. jubay

Tigang Na Ang Sapa

Sa Kawalang Katiyakan

Kung sana kahit kakarampot na tubig Man lamang ang bumukal, Kahit papaano’y Naibigan ko pang magtampisaw

Galugarin natin Ang minsa’y naging rurok ng alaala

Noon, marahil, marami na ang nangahas maligo Walang pasintabing sumisid Inabot ang rurok Dinumihan ang sapa Ngayon, isa na lamang malalim na hukay Tanging palamuti ang mga tuyong damo Na nanganganib nang malagas, ang gandang taglay Ay mito na lamang Bahagi na ng nakalimutang kasaysayan Makulimlim man ang ulap Ngunit walang baong ulan Na sanay kikitil Sa matinding pagkauhaw kailan pa kaya matatanggap Na ang buhay ay isa nang mahabang Tag-tuyot Adelmo V. Rubio

Halika. Magtungo tayo roon. Humimpil kahit ilang saglit man lang ‘Wag kang matakot. Maging ako’y Walang alam kung Saan man tayo dadalhin Ng ating pag-aalinlangan. ruzzel VALDEPEÑA

2km/hr on a Treadmill

The Unseen Crown

Every recurring tick slicing to set seconds my eyes meet the path laid to be covered

Ignite this burning, flaming crown In a simmering broth of violent broil

An uncertain road of a nowhere man A nowhere road of an uncertain man

A nameless walk of the nameless On a beginning and end called here.

For the chicken headed Filipinos, For the Pyrrhus, the winner of all the losers, For the little damned.

Just put the crown above my head And I will stir into blissful shame.

john elmar B. templonuevo

For all the crownless ella v.

Pinatos na Pagrugaring

If a 5-minute Glance Could Span a Gnarled Man’s Lifetime

When Elvin finally finished his college education on March 2011, he deliberately left his personal belongings in his locker at the CSC Statesman student publication office. He skipped the departure ritual of editors and staff of the publication, who, after a day or two after their graduation, literally and figuratively, heavily pack their belongings. This was the literary theme given during the Screening for SY 2011-2012 BOE. Elvin’s bag of belongings was the central subject. - GSR

The old gnarled man listened to the music, The notes and tunes of his youth. The jukebox was gone, in its stead, Modern CD swiftly float in the air. As he gaze, transfix at nothing. The plaque of recognition was plastered on the wall, Like a megalomaniac, power tripping authoritarian.

Sa saró, duwá o nagkapirang beses kong pagbukás kan saimong trangkáhan, tulos kong nahilíng an gapó na hinurmahán kan saimóng ladawan. An daí masukol na gabát kan pinagpatong patong na dunong kan papel asin alpog sa sapatos An taróm kan pinapanás mong lapis, an libtóng kan diklom sa sarong gilid kan kwadrado mong paimbongan, Asin an huyop-huyop kan tingog mong minadaging sa kapalibutan, kasabay an rubdob ning saimong bulahos na pagkatawo. Alagad, dai mo nuarin man pinagmaw’ót na ika itingarog, apisar kan saimong langkaw, duman ka nag erok sa poro kan kadlán, kun saen mo sinapo an rapado kan bagyó, Dumán sa kataid kan bintana, kun saen pinag-atubang mo an sirang kan aldaw asin apyas kan urán, Dumán, sa saday na espasyo ika nagpasirong kaidtó. Ngonian, sa saimong pinatos na rugaring nagkukurahaw an paggilumdom na an gabos mabalik sa alpóg.

He was inside a worn out circa 80’s shirt, Adorned with the logo of his former company. Those were back then, once he cuddled bunch of kids, On his untiring lap. Now they were gone, Off to somewhere to make their own little lives. Big. He’s drunk a thousand bottles Beer, gin, champagne, red wine, And his favorite, rum. Bottles have been piling, collected. Just like us, in our childhood, he made Mr. Junkman happy. He is readable, as most old folks are. On his mind--- “I want to continue my painting, I would make my apo proud, And make them boast of their lolo To kids no little nor bigger than them.” Cool dewy air slipped through the window Its steel grills doesn’t seem to notice The rum cured bone and flesh of a body Reacted with the misty thin air. Too weak to curl the body, Too weak to shelter the body. Weak. Too weak. The expression on his face spelled: Fulfilled? Retired.

Jonathan V. Tulod FOURPLE LEAD

AT SA IyoNg PAgBAlIk ANg DATINg BINTANANg kAhoy, NgAyoN Ay SAlAmIN NA Hinahabol kita ng luhaang mata Mula sa kahoy na bintana Halos hindi mo na maiangat ang maletang guyod guyod dahil sa bigat Kay tagal mong nawala Nagkailaw ang bahay Ngunit nawala ang ilaw sa patutunguhan Ang hatid na liwanag ng mga materyal Ay daan patungo sa kawalan Sa pagbabalik ng ilaw Ang bintanang kahoy ay salamin na Punong puno ng emosyon Ang iyong mga mata Hindi ko na alam kung paano umiyak Nakalimutan na rin kung paano ngumiti Ang tanging alam ko nalang Kailan man ay hindi ka nagkulang. DEMY CELESTINE

TRAVELOGUE TO FATHERHOOD I went to Bazaar on my birthday to buy three pairs of socks and thought about life which I seldom do. Indeed, life is better now, I consider; like an old school waiting its new students after the wornout summer flee to its own vacation. Old school is used to changes; that could be like my 22 years of defying gravity and wondering when is the right time to learn. After implacable family conflicts, I learned to breathe air again, but alone. Two days from now, God will see the gift He gave me in His sacred altar. My one and a half month daughter will be spelled with holy water to avow religion she is unknown of. I am so happy that God gave me the Gift, only except that it was delivered to me like an Express Padala knocking at my door at 12:00 midnight while everybody was snoring soundly. Too young, too early, they say. Anyhow, I'll be used to surprises and changes as life on. When you love the thing most, it costs the happiness you don't want to lose. Nobody can buy it except when God wants to wholesale it from you. God gave me this gift at the right time with the wrong life. I know there is no such thing as wrong time; it's always the wrong life. If God thinks I deserved the most precious gidt in the world, I'm thankful and happy. I am happier. I went to the second floor of the miniature mall to find suit socks. I picked two black, the other dirty white. I fetched my five-hundred peso bill from my chained pocket, and looked seemingly indifferent to the cashier at the counter. Will she think or recognize me as a father? I hardly had time deciding what are the best socks for my 22 years old restive feet but I think this is not the standard to disqualify me of being a good father. Who cares for the socks with nothing to please but my unpretentious down-to-earth feet? It doesn't require tough decision that would cost your future. I paid the price; got my change and the gift of three pair of socks. For one hundred twenty pesos price of my gift to appease my 22 years existence, I discounted everything what a father needs to have. I learned how to think life and thanked God that day. These socks brought me wisdom to continue tread my life's road. ADEM NALU V. RUBIO

Ang rebolusyon ng pag-ibig Ang pag-ibig ng rebolusyon Ang rebolusyon ay pag-ibig Ang pag-ibig ay rebolusyon

Dead String Inaagiw na sa hanging cabinet malapit sa Headboard ng aking narrang higaan Ang Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Play Guitar ni E.P. Santiago, Tuluyan na ring binukbok ang pagnanasang Matututong kalabitin ang kwerdas, alamin ang Kaibahan ng plucking sa strumming, Ang mga pagkakaugnay ng headstock, tuning pegs, Fingerboard, soundhole, pickguard at end pin. Hindi ko na rin masusubukan sa pulang librong ito Ang mga tutorial na awiting nilapatan ng nota Someday Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll Know ni Mandy Moore at Jonathan Freeman, Torete ng Moonstar 88 Can We Just Stop and Walk a While na bersyon Ni Gary V. at Kyla, o kahit man lang Silent Night.

febRUARY TABLE OF CONTENTS

Paano pa nga ba kita haharanahin, kung mulat ako Sa katotohanang ang mga daliring titipa sana Sa bagting ng gitara, ay siya ring lalagot Sa aking hininga? GSR

Black Coffee: Ang Tamang Timpla ng Rebolusyon Marahang buksan ang thermos Alisin ang tapon. Isalin ang tubig sa uhaw na tasa. Mag-ingat ang tubig sa uhaw na tasa. Mag-ingat dahil mahapdi makalapnos Ang kumukulong kalooban sa sariling palad Ibuhos ang isang kutsarang kape. Mapait. Mas pinapait pa ng mahabang kasaysayan ng pagtitimpi. Isunod ang asukal. Kakaunting asukal na hindi na makakapagpabago pa sa lasa. Sa mapait na kalakaran Dahan-dahang haluin, pino--- magpakapino. Yumuko. Itago sa ilalim ng kape ang paghihimagsik. Iangat ang mukha. Ngumiti. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Yung pinakamatamis. Ngayon singtapang mo na ang mapait na kape. Idulot sa kanya. Hintayin ang reaksyon. Halata sa ekspresyon, sa mga kurba ng labi. (giyera na naman ba?) Huwag mo nang hintayin ang susunod Lunurin mo na siya sa bumubuluwak mong kalooban. Sadiyosan na isapraktika ang 16 character formula. Mamaya lang, wagi na ang matagal ng pagrerebolusyon. FOURPLE LEAD

Paanyaya sa Pag-aalsa Halinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t anihin ang mga uhay ng damdamin Atin itong gilingin sa pabrika ng pakikibaka at I-rasyon sa gutom na masa October 10, 2013 RS VALDEPEĂ&#x2018;A

Pagkatapos ng hunos

Tigil Pasada

‘Hindi ako isang tumpok na asin lamang’ - Asawa ni Lot

Huwag mo nang tangkaing sukatin Ang distansya kung gaano man kalayo O kalapit ang agwat na nag-uugnay Sa terminal ng Cubao at Catanduanes Para hanapin lang ako.

Payapa na ang ilog. Sa kabilang pampang natapos ang aking pagtawid. Basa ako at nilalamig Malamig. Wala ka pala sa tabi ko Napansin. Ngayon ko lang pinansin Kahit di pinagpapawisan nakakapagod Din pala ang paglalangoy patungo sa’yo Pagod na ako sa kakahingal Huminga. Humingal Nagpalinga-linga. Natigilan. Nasilip kita mula sa mga matang ngayon ay kinurtinahan na ng luha Kinakain ako ng asin Habang kalmado kang tinatangay ng agos Nagpatangay ka, bakit? Naging pader ang mga luha. Nabitak, gumuho, naging langis, Sa iyong ilog, kumikinang, Kailanman di sila magiging isa.

At ipagpaliban mo na rin ang paglipad Hindi mo rin masasalat sa ulap Ang kasagutan. Walang saysay Ang apat-napu’t limang minutong Pagpaimbulog at paglapag ng eroplanong Maglululan sa inyong mga pangarap Mula Paranaque Hanggang Virac Pagitan man nati’y Gapintig kalapit Hindi mo rin lang Naman ako Madarama. Ipagpaumanhin mo, Gumarahe na ako. GERRY S. RUBIO

Tinitigan kita. Tapos na ang pagpapasya. Ihahatid na lang kita. Pero hanggang doon na lang, mula sa lagusan ng aking mga mata Hanggang dito na lang. Kasama ang alat ng mga bahagi kong iyong naitangay sana masiyahan ang ilog sa iyong paglalayag, Sa kabilang pampang, payapa rin ako. JOHN DALE LOQUINERIO

Bangkero

Express Padala

“If we are always arriving and departing, it is also true that we are eternally anchored. One’s destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things.” –H. Miller

Tinupi ang sinangkapat na papel, laman ang damdaming nakapinid

Marahil, mas malalim na dahilan Kung bakit ilang beses nang hindi natin halos Marating ang lundo ng malayang paglalayag. Lagi, at laging naiiwan kang nakahimpil Sa gitna ng maalon nating paglalakbay, At ako, ang bangkerong nasanay na Sa paspasang biyahe, Ay mag-isang sasagwan Pabalik sa katihan. Nadidiskaril tayo ng agam-agam, At nitong huli, nagpasya tayong Ikambyo ang giya ng timon, Dahil may pumatak na dugo Sa karimlan. Siguro nga, may mas malalim Na dahilan ang mga pangyayari, Gaya nito: Bakit hindi mapang-abot Ang ating mga kamay, gayong Hawak na natin ang isa’t isa. Marahil nga, sapagkat hindi tulad nila, Mas marami pa tayong gabing pagsasaluhan. Subukan pa nating muli Na lakbayin ang lawak At lasapin ang alat Ng pinag-isang Katawan. GERRY S. RUBIO

Ikinulong sa sobre, at nagsilbing kandado ang laway sa dilang nanganganib nang matigang. Huwag pag-isipan ng mahalay kung sasabihin ko sa’yo na nakapikit ako habang dahan-dahang pinapasadahan at hinihimod ng dila at pinapalambot ng laway ang kwelyo at puwerta ng sobre. Maingat lang, baka mahiwa ang aking laman ng talas ng papel at selyadong alaala. Sa makalawa, hintayin mo ang pagkatok ng karterong nakapula, baka ako na ‘yun binagaheng Express Padala. GERRY S. RUBIO

Sorry Mama, But She Kissed me While we’re Naked and Kissed Her Too I left our backyard With the same sober salmon-colored sunset’s caress Over the six half-blithe smiles framed on the cold wall While waving my hand with its known warmth you felt. I went to the moonlights up the hill you warned me off, Sketched the nudity of the nocturnal panorama And the spot that enchanted me in perfect unison of mine I’d savored the sweet paint of the pallets of lover’s pallets. That night, she paintend me Mama with the blackest nights’ black with love With love, she painted me with the blackest night’s black Mama Love me no more if I failed God and failed you But love your grandson ADEM NALU V. RUBIO

Salubong Sa aking harapan naganap ang paghaharap na gumising sa buong bayan. Tulad ng iba, itiningala ko ang pag-aabang sa mangyayaring dati ko ng nasaksihan. Muli, may batang babae na nakabihis anghel ang ibaba ng lubid mula sa tuktok ng tore. May bahid ng kaba ang kanyang awit kaya hindi mapatid ang kanyang mga titig sa inang marahang ikinukumpas ang pagpapapanatag sa nakabiting anak. Minsan, kinakabahan ako sa nanlalaking mata ng ina na tila may pagbabanta. Maaagaw muli ang aking pansin ng paglapit sa isa’t isa ng mabulaklak na karo ng Birheng Maria at ng Kristong idadaan sa mata ang pagtapos sa paghahanap ng Ina. Nang tangalin na ang belo na tumatabing sa mukha ng Birhen, nakita ko sa akin siya nakatingin. Agad inawit ng mga anghel Awit ng dalamhati. JOHN ELY B. TEMPLONUEVO

Alas dos ng madaling araw, kasama si Philip at nakikinig ng pambansang awit Ilang taong alipin Ganun pa rin Walang asenso Kadahupan Kapalaluan Nakakawalang gana Sentenaryo ng kalayaan Pasismo ang umiiral Demokrasyang bulok Utak na kolonyalismo ang nasa loob “Rebolusyon bata, Rebolusyon! Ang itak na bibitak sa Mga manhid na utak”

Interseksyon “Tingnan mo ang mundo sa labas ng LRT at maniniwala ka ring sila ang gumagalaw hindi ang iyong sinasakyan.” Nakatayo ka sa lugar Kung saan pinagdugtong Ang Line 1 at Line 2 Habang hinihintay mo ako Sa isang mahabang pila At habang pumipila ka Ng mahabang paghihintay Dumating na ang LRT Lumingon ka sa paligid Wala pa ako At bago pa man sumara ang pinto Sinubukan mo akong hanaping muli Sa mukha ng daan-daang pasahero Ngunit nabigo ka lamang

RASELDO SUALIBIO VALDEPEÑA

Huli na nang dumating ako Hindi na nga kita naabutan Lulan ka na ng mundong Walang hapong umiinog, Tumatakas, lumilipas at nang-iiwan Alam kong nagbabakasakali ka Na makasumpong ng bagong Istasyon Baka doon ka na rin bumaba At kung bumalik ka man Sana hindi pa ako nakasakay Sana datnan mo pa akong Naghihintay ADELMO V. RUBIO

Pintong Bintana

Sagupa

Tinangay ko na yung 24” flat Panasonic TV niyo hindi na kayo mag-aaway ng kapatid mo sa remote. Hindi mo na nanamnamin ‘yung nabubulok na pansit at Tender Juicy Jumbo hotdog Na pilit pinapakain sa inyo. Wala na yung mga plato at mga kasangkapan wala nang ihahagis sa iyo ang tatay mong lasenggero nilimas ko na rin ‘yong limang gramong shabu na rasyon sana ng nanay mo. Sa wakas hindi na magiging pusher ang kuya mo. Isinilid ko na sa sako ang Tita mong GRO, hindi na ako iiyak habang binubugaw ka sa kanyang mga parokyano. nilimas ko na lahat sa iyo. alahas, pera at mga kagamitan niyo.

Sumisilyab na apoy ang kanyang mga mata. Habang dumudulas ang kaniyang pagkakalingkis Sa katabing tumatagaktak ang pawis, Sumisirit na dugo, At nagbabagang hinagpis Na tapusin sa ilang paghiyaw Paos na palahaw Ilang dipang hakbang Ang rehimeng umaalipin Sa libu-libong mahihirap Wala nang atrasan Kailangan nang tapusin Kailangan na.

Ngunit iniwan ko ang mahal mong alagang si Bantay laban sa mga gumagalang akyat-bahay Tulad ko. Sa susunod Ikaw naman ang nanakawin ko. JOHN THELI BIEN

RUZZEL S. VALDEPEÑA

Konsiyerto

Manay Selya

Nakakasawa na ang musika ng kalsada Businang basag at kapos na notang tili ng nagnanasang gulong sa aspalto **%&#@*&*, mga murang bato sa isaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t isa ng mga driver at pasahero

Hindi na nagbago ang iyong damit pati ang iyong araw-araw na dala

sirang plakang tinder ng DVD, yosi mineral water, relo, mp4, charger, at kendi korus ng mga langaw sa nakatinggal na basura kuliling ng kalawanging kalembang ni mamang sorbetero birit ng amoy laway na silbato ni pulis trapiko koda ng mga namumutik na mga pusang ligaw at askal pagal at naninibughong tinig ng mga bata at gurang na namamalimos Ngunit, katumbas ng pagkasuya ang silakbo ng bagong komposisyon ng pakikibaka sulak ng pagbabago ang kuryenteng dumadaloy sa instrumento, sa mikropono sa banda patpat na humahataw sa pisngi ng tambol ang pang malitid sa pagdilig ng pawis sa kilometrong unat ng uhaw na semento Buga ng megaphone ang walang takot na panawagan ng bokalistang nakapwesto sa pinaka-unahan. Metal at rock ang sigaw ng banat at paos na lalamunan. Tigang at tuyo man ang laway walang puknat pa rin ang palahaw ng hanay. Sa mayuming harana sa tenga at gunita ng kontemporaryong himig ng kalsada, patuloy ang pagkatjat sa paghihinawa ng masa Huwag kang mabahala, bukas makalawa, isasama kita. JOHN ELMAR B. TEMPLONUEVO

Hubad parin paa, ngunit buong loob mong tinungo ang bayan para magbakasakali Tila sabik sa bagay na hindi hayag Bagay na di tiyak At madami ang nakarinig Sa matagal ang pagtawag Tawag ng Lakas na gumagalaw ng puso Tawag ng umaasang puso Dumapo sa kamay ng matanda ang bente singko sentimos Mula sa isang musmos na bata na Hawak hawak ng ina Natuto akong mangarap sa aking paggising. NIKKO FRANCO B. TEMPLONUEVO

Amandaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Page I want to read your body Like a Neruda poem Written in Braille, My fingers searching The pages of your skin, Gently brushing away The hair that falls Like a silken bookmark Across your face. I will skim my way Down the pages, fingers Trembling with excitement desire, Anticipating between the lines will follow. Fingers will linger In some areas, reread So that on forlorn, cold nights Like this one I will Be able recite The subtle nuances of Your neck or the riddle Surrounding your navel. I would try to interpret The verse for others, But there is no translation For your lungs breathing Into the palm of my hand, Or your heart, beating Its ancient tribal pulse In rhythm with mine. RUZZEL S. VALDEPEĂ&#x2018;A

Impermanence

Balentayms

Something came first before nothing He once have a plan, He once have a dream. Something came first before nothing He once have a world, He once have a universe. Something came first before nothing He once have a heart, He once have a soul. Nothing tried to destroy something, Something never changes.

Magiliw ang bilin ni Tiya Liling: Magdala ng pulang sinangkapat na cartolina, gunting, imperdible.

JOEBERT ANGELO TOLLEDO

Nang mag lunchbreak, Nadumog ng tumatagaktak na pawis Ang tinabas na munting papel

Kinabukasan, mabini ang pagsusod ng gunting sa pinatern na puso, At masiglang inimperdible sa kaliwang bahagi ng kamiseta -pumipintig sa pagkadugo.

Signos na hinugasan ng alat ang pula, at nagmantsa sa dirty white. *Sa matandang dalagang teacher noon sa Grade I. SLN. GSR

Imelda Boulevard: Ang Simula at Wakas Sa ilalim ng buwang natutunaw Mga daliri’y naglingkisan Habang mga paa’y nagkalawkaw Sa mga bubog ng dalampasigan. Tulad ng mga rumaragasang alon Naghabulan para masipat ang laylayan ng pampang Maragsang sinuong ang laot Nagpatangay sa halinang hatid ng paglagablab ng ningas Bumayo sa saliw ng malamyos na hampas At nang maarok ang talurok, ika’y nilamon. Tulyang ginumon ng maalong mundo, Bangka’y lumubog, hindi na muling gumaod. Marahil ikaw ay nalunod. Hanggang sa muling pagsapit ng takipsilim Bitbit ang mga sinungkit na bituin Kakalkalin ang bawat buhangin, hindi man narinig ang sagitsit ng iyong tinig. Mga kahapon nama’y muling nakaniig. Sana sa muling pagbulwak ng dapithapon, Tangay ka na ng mga alon. *Imelda Boulevard is the place frequently visited by the People of Virac, Catanduanes especially during night time. ELVIN RANDOLPH R. JUBAY

Tagpuan Paano makakalimutan ang gabi kung sa lilim ng mga tala at hagpos ng hangin naroon ako at naroon ka. Paano kakalimutan ang gabi kung sa lilim ng mga talang ‘di kumukupas naroon pa rin ako at ang malamig na hangin. ADELMO V. RUBIO

On this Jeepney Bound For Morayta/Gastambide From your house to Metropoint, Metropoint up LRT1 Edsa-Taft, Edsa-Taft to Doroteo Jose, Doroteo Jose down to the slums of Recto, Recto to this jeepney bound for Morayta/Gastambide Rain falls incessantly. The cactus plant you gave me last Christmas sits on my lap. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not destitute for water to thrive, I know But rain falls down on its cinnamon barb, Its green torso to pause at its parched piece of earth. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have the courage to tell the gods, To make the rain cease. Rain falls incessantly From my eyes Damn It was somewhere in geometry That parallel lines never met. Parallel words never do, either. MAUREEN BRILLANTE

Sila ang totoong nakatungay sa iyo

Deadstring 2*

Naaalala mo noon? sabay nating hinihintay ang mga guhit-tala sa tagpi-tagping bubungan ng barong-barong

Pilitin mang ibagay ang kwerdas Hindi na rin kita mahahanap Sa bawat fret na kinakapa ko Hindi na nga susog sa damdamin Ang ikinukumpas ng mga nota

sinisid natin ang kalawakan ng di sukat abot ng ating mga kapalaran Madalas hininga lang ang nag-uuusap Ikaw, nakakulong sa iyong imahinasyon Ako, sinusuyod ang pagkislap ng kalangitan parehong nakikiramdam sa himalang dinadala ng alapaap Ngunit binasag mo ang katahimikan nang iniluwal mo ang mga katagang pinanghahawakan ko pa magpahanggang ngayon

Noon paâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y alam ko na Mga daliri ko ang magdidikta Ng kalalabasan ng tunog Ngunit puso ko ang maglalapat Ng tunay na musika Tanging komposisyong bigong tapusin Ang iniwan mo Paano ko pa kaya ipa-plucking Kung broken chords na Ang laman nito? *pasintabi kay GSR GINGER-SCENTED FINGERNAILS

Inaakala mong nakatungay ka sa tala ngunit ang totoo, sila ang nakatungay sa iyo Inaakala mo, ikaw ang humihiling sa kanila ngunit sila pala ang humihiling sa iyo Sana isang bituin lang ang ating titingnan na kung magkataon man sana iisa ang ating hinihiling Ngayong gabi, muli akong nakaabang sa bubungan ngunit walang mga talang nagpakita, at tumambad ang mga nangungulilang ulap sa kalangitang abo Mas malamig pala sa katotohanan ang nag-iisa ANDREA S. MORALES

Mie Ako Naanga Maogma ang gahurat sa ato, ang kaagahon Sasadirihon ko na Pati ang lawod, pati ang asa kaibong Maski magbilik ang hangin Maski maguba ang katig Aakuon ko na Pati ang asa kaibong ning bulod Maski magdarusdos ang tilis Maski magbawog ang lubi Sasapuhon ko ang pagkahurog ning ardaw Huhuraton ko Hanggang sa paghunas ning taob Hanggang magtaob utro Ang pagkamoot mo sa ako.

There are Too Many Spaces to Fill This page [un]intentionally left [not] blank. We are never â&#x20AC;&#x153;emptyâ&#x20AC;? receptacles which take in, and settle for less than the masses deserve We clamor for empty spaces to fill.

Jonathan v. tulod ASYONG

WHEN WE PICKET AND I GET MYSELF BRUISED

March with the blue collars

I hail

It is not a false alarm Paint the blue flags like the farenheit of these badlands

Mary

despite faith fading like burnt lungs underwater of insatiable longing for Miracles. Our

Father

listens to the agonies of hearts denied of equal Blessings. Glory

Tell the storm my mood A little louder, deeper than Tartarus;

to the breaths that lost their warmth of craving for Grace. I shall recite the rosary of ill-fated brethren. And I shall not fail in recollection when you robbed off our soiled pockets and sold our souls to demons We are still five mysteries towards heaven when I pick up my rhythm of brandishing this bruised pride to this rotten system. And I regain paradise as I watch angels descend with dagger to stab you through hell. RUEL FERNANDEZ

Your dear Themis is locked up with her tintinabulation At the reigning turret behind these raging clouds

Open correctional gates to hot desert, Ares said. Tell the irons do not move. Tell the tides do not move. March with the blue collars Tell those horned to move. NEIL T. TRILLES

Uncultured Soil On the morrow flies would gather Around the ground where these fruits grow From the soil of blood and bullet seeds Was the scent these rotten ones bleed. They lay on the same path we walk It was all beneath my feet. Of protruded eyes And bulging chests Strange are these crops.

Why I was a Fugitive Blessed feet Run to live Your grave runs after you; Justice-chasing crime Full of hypocrisy ill-healing illed. JOHN JOSHUA L. TESTON

CLOIE t. TAPEL

Sakim ang iyong Panginoon

Araw-araw, Araw ng mga Patay

Duwag Ang panginoong Estranghero na malansa ang dugo

Dis oras na ng gabi Sinisilaban ng matinding kaba Ang inang kanina pa hinihintay ang panganay na anak Habang pinapatahan ang bunsong, kanina pa umiiyak

Duwag, Ang panginoong may awa ang letra ng kataga Duwag ang panginoong nag-isip sa iba. Sa lupang dugo ang nagbungkal at naging pataba Kailanmaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y Di naging duwag ang panginoon Sakim! Ang mga hintuturong Kumikitil Duwag Nananatili at Mananatiling duwag Ang nagpupunla Sa lupang Dugo ang nagbungkal at naging pataba. ALLAN-JAY b. MADRID

Sa umagang balita binatilyo ipinapatay ng pulitiko Ina nagpatiwakal, matapos ipapatay ang anak Sanggol napabayaan namatay Sa kalagitnaan ng tanghali Maaaninag ang maraming nagdarahop Pulubing nagugutom Pamilyang nawawasak Sa pagsapit ng gabi Mangingibabaw ang salitang Kasawian, kahirapan At kamatayan Nananatili na lamang ang mahihinang Tikom ang bibig Nakaposas ang kamay At kahit sumigaw, walang makaririnig Habang ang malalakas Patuloy sa isang bala ka lang Paghalakhak habang nagpapahirap At paghari-harian. Sana bukas, balang araw ang mundoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y bumaliktad Hindi na tatsulok kundi isang linya na lang. Sana bukas, balang araw hindi na patay ng araw shaina mae m. benavidez

ang kulay

Sapagkat Ikaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y Wala Namang Pakinabang Kanino mo maipagmamalaking Magaling ka Kung ang lahat sa paligid mo ay Nilusaw mo na Saan ka nga ba kumukuha ng liwanag Kung ikaw mismo ay Kinuha na ng dilim Ano nga ba ang iyong magagawa Kung ikaw mismoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y ang iyong laway Ay pinanis nang kakasalita Inangkin mong magaling ka Sinabi mong nasa iyo ang liwanag Marami ka nga raw nagawa Ngunit nasaan ka Nang humingi ako ng hustisya?

LUPA PULA ULAP Pula ang ulap Habang bumababa sa langit ang liwanag Ang lupa, pula Nang mabuhos ang dugo ng hinulmang alabok Ang ulap, pula Nang maubusan ng init ang hiningahang alabok.

Andrea S. Morales

Pula ang ulap dapat Ngunit ngayon, Pati ang lupa, pula. ARIADNE MAE B. TESORERO

Arenola, Aswang, Pag-ibig at Paglimot Tinitigan ko ang pulang lobo sa sala, pinagmamasdan habang umiindayog sa malamig na hanging pumapasok mula sa bintana. Bilog ang lobo. Bilog din ang buwan. Ngunit mas may lungkot na dala ang tingkad ng kulay pulang lobo habang nakikiulayaw sa hangin ng gabi at dumadampi sa arenola ni lola, half-empty,half-full. Langya kasing lobo to. Naalala ko tuloy si baby LekLek, ang tanging pinakamamahal. Dalawang linggo, limang oras, talupmpot isang minuto at limang segundo ang nakakaraaan makalipas ang Pebrero katorse at hindi pa rin ako naliligo dahil kay LekLek. Plok. Ayun. Pumutok din ang lobo sa wakas. Tumilamsik sa aking mukha ang likidong galing sa arenola ni Lola. Mapanghi dahil dalawang araw ko nang nakalimutang itapon. Anyway, di na rin iba sa akin si Lola. Kung maliligo ako, para ano pa? Matatanggal ba ng tubig at sabon ang sakit ng mga kalamnan ng damdamin ko? Walang move on, walang maliligo. Nalulungkot pa rin ako. Lobo nga pala yun ni Leklek na binigay sakin nung katorse. Dali-dali kong dinukot mula sa arenola ang gula-gulanit at mamasa-masang bahagi ng pumutok na lobo. Walang pag-aatubili, kung puwede pang hipang muli, yun bang resuscitation, dinakma ko ang lalim ng arenola at tinipon ang mga bahagi. Pinagtagpi-tagpi ko upang buuin ang mga salita. Leklek and Kanor forever Napangiti ako. Baka may pag-asa pa. Dinakma kong muli ang lalim ng arenola dahil may naaninag pa akong bahagi ng lobo. Idinikit ang bahagi sa hulihan. Leklek and Kanor forever ? Langya. Bakit may kwestyun mark ang hulihan? Ngayon ko lang ‘to napansin. Hindi ito puwedeng mangyari. Ang saya-saya pa namin nang mga gabing iyon. Malamyos pa ang mga yakap niya at alindog. Gutom lang siguro ito. Optimistic ako, mga bagay na natutunan ko sa aking tiyuhing wala pang asawa sa gulang na singkwenta. “Habang buhay, may pag-asa.” Ito ang paborito niyang kataga habang nilalantakan ang isang boteng gin. At sasabayan pa niya ng mga litanyang, “Once I believed in God but he let me down.” At hahagulhol at tatawagan si Catherine, ang paborito niyang pusa na pinakain ko ng patay na daga na namatay pala dahil sa rat poison. Ayun, damay damay na lang. Tinitigan kong mabuti ang tandang pananong. Imposible. Oo nga, korteng puso. Hindi ito tandang pananong kundi kalahati ng puso. Malamang may bahaging napunit ito. Ngunit hindi ko maapuhap ang bahaging napunit. Tumingin ulit ako sa arenola, muli hindi ako nag-atubiling hagurin ang lalim nito. Mas malakas ang kutob ko na ganito ang nakasulat sa lobo. Leklek and Kanor forever Kailangan kong mahanap ang kalahati. Lang ‘ya. Hindi ako naniniwala na hindi niya ako mahal. Kung ang pagtu-toothbrush ang argumento, mukhang napakababaw naman upang ganituhin niya ako. Clueless ako. Tusukin ko na lang kaya ang sarili ko o magpakalunod na lang sa arenola. “Totoong aswang si Ate Leklek, Biboy.” Napatigil ako sa momentum ng drama ko at inagaw ng atensiyon ng boses ng isang bata sa may puno malapit sa bintana.

“Nakita ko siya Biboy. Natatakot ako magkuwento kasi di ba bilog ang buwan.” “Sige na. Wag kang matakot. Nandito naman kami,” tugon ng isa. Aswang si Leklek ko? Pagpupukpokin ko ulo ng mga duwendeng ito. Manang-mana sa mga ina nilang tsismosa. “Oki. Ganito Biboy, nakita ko si Ate Leklek kumuha ng ipot ng mga manok kina Tiyo Berting. May hawak-hawak siyang sungay ng kalabaw. Doon niya sinisilid ang ipot ng mga manok. Nang sundan ko siya, nilagay niya ang sungay sa isang altar at nagdasal siya ng Ama Namin.” “Ano? Ama Namin? Di ba dasal yun ng Diyos?” tanong ni Biboy. “Ay mali pala ako (nag-isip). Dinasal niya yung dasal ni Tatang Moises. Nung makagat ako ng aso ng engkanto at nung bago kang tuli noon. Yung ganito: Satur, Arepo, Tinit, Opera, Rotas “Hala. Matindi ang orasyun na yun,” manghang sabi ni Biboy. “Isang gabing kabilugan ng buwan, sinundan ko ulit siya.” “Ikaw lang lang mag-isa?” tanong ni Biboy. “Kasama ko si…(nag-isip uli) si Rambo. Yung tanod ni kapitan. Matapang yun at maraming muscles.” “Talaga? Ang galing ninyo naman,” kumbinsidong tugon ni Biboy. “Oo naman Biboy. Kilala mo ang tapang ko. Tapos lumabas na si Leklek sa kaniyang bahay. Inunahan ko si Rambo sa damuhan. Nakita ko siya na tumitingala sa bilog na buwan nang matagal. Pagkatapos nun, kinuha niya ang sungay ng kalabaw at hinaluan ng langis at pinahid sa buong katawan. Unti-unti siyang nagbago ng anyo. Sobrang pangit niya at nakakatakot.” “Mas pangit pa at nakakatakot kesa kay Mam Ramos?” tanong ni Biboy. “Oo Biboy. Lumalabas ang kanyang mga pangil na parang ngipin ng bampira. Ang kanyang kuko ay parang kuko ng uwak. Ang mata niya ay parang may sore eyes na maliwanag. At ang nakakatakot sa lahat, humihiwalay ang kalahati ng kanyang katawan at nagkakaroon ng pakpak. At naiiwan ang kalahati.” Lintek. Hiindi ako nagkakamali, si Buloy ang nagkukuwento, ang anak ni ate. Kahit madilim alam kong siya yun dahil sobrang iniidolo niya si Rambo dahil sa malalaking muscles nito kahit amoy putok naman. Lagi niyang kinukuwento sa akin si Rambo lalo pa nung mapanood niya ang pelikulang Rambo 1, 2, at 3. Maraming puwedeng pagtripan, si Leklek ko pa. Mabuti pang hindi ko na siya sinama noong nakaraang buwan sa bayan upang manood ng “Aswang.” Didikdikin ko siya sa paglapastangan niya kay Leklek. “Babalik pa ba siya sa katawan niya?” takot na tanong ni Biboy. “Hindi na siya makakabalik. Nilagyan ko ng maraming asin ang kalahati ng kanyang katawan. Doon na lang siya sa buwan.” “Ha? Ano? Hindi ba si Leklek, chicks ni Kuya Kanor? Alam ba niya ang ginawa mo?” tanong ni Biboy. “Hindi niya alam. Galit ako kay Ate Leklek. Kinuha niya ang puso ni Kuya Kanor. Lagi kasing sinasabi ni nanay na kinuha na ni Ate Leklek ang puso ni Kuya Kanor kaya lagi siyang wala sa sarili. Wala ng puso si Kuya Kanor kaya hindi na niya ako sinasamahan sa sinehan sa bayan.”

Nang marinig ko iyon parang may gumapang na yelo sa buong katawan ko. At may pumukpok na iceberg sa ulo ko. May mga tao pa pa lang nagmamahal sa akin na mas higit pa ngunit hindi ko lang napapansin dahil sa isang pag-ibig na hangal. Di ko napansin, tumutulo na ang luha ko. Ngayon, natauhan na ako. Bumalik na ang sensasyon ko at handa na akong maligo. Gusto kong yakapin nang mahigpit si Buloy. Tumakbo ako palabas at isinigaw ang pangalan ni Buloy. “Buloy! Buloy! Buloy! (garalgal na tunog ng boses ko at parang iiyak).” Nagtinginan ang mga bata sabay kanya-kanyang takip ng ilong. Muling nagtinginan. “Pumapahid ka rin ng ipot na manok Kuya Kanor,” tanong ni Biboy. At sabay-sabay silang kumaripas ng takbo maliban kay Buloy habang hawak-hawak ang kani-kanilang ilong. Hindi ko na niyakap si Buloy dahil batid ko na rin sa wakas ang tunay kong kalagayan. Nagpasalamat ako sa kanya. Mahal ko siya. Siya ang nagpaalala sa akin ng kabuluhan ng pag-asa at pagmamahal sa kabila ng pagkabigo. At pati na rin ng pagligo. Hindi pa rin tinatanggal ni Buloy ang kaniyang kamay sa kaniyang ilong. Mukhang sobra naman ata ang reaksiyon niya. Inaya ko na siyang pumasok sa loob. “Nandito pa rin ang puso ko at kailanman hindi nakuha ni Ate Leklek mo. Salamat.” Pumunta ako sa sala para linisin ang mga kalat pati ang arenola ni Lola. Langya. May tae pala ang arenola. ADEM NALU V. RUBIO

Inihasik ang liwanag sa madawag na kalangitan hudyat ng pagsisimula ng panibagong yugto na magsasabog ng pag-asa sa sanlaksang puso

Sampilas ng Kalawakan Ang bawat sukat ng sikat ng araw ay may hatid na milyang pasakit Sa mga dumaranas ng sakit. Nawalan ng eksaktong hubog ang tikas ng katawan. Hindi tiyak Ang bigat nang timbangin ang kahulugan ng sarap. Hindi kayang ilarawan ng payak na salita kung saan ang hangganan ng katamtaman.

JANUARY TABLE OF CONTENTS

Hindi ka sapat para punan ang patlang. Nang mahawi ang lahat, kung naging parisukat ang buwan, titingala ka pa kaya? DAVE s. TOLENTINO

Rush Hour Ten construction workers were killed and one was injured after falling off a building being built in the city. - Witnesses recall death fall from Makati building, abs-cbnnews.com, 01/27/2011 The weight of hunger was too heavy to bear For the gondola traipsing down Eton Tower, Steered by ten men taking the task of Charon*, Ferrying themselves to the underworld. The journey too swift, disparate from sluggish River Styx, No funeral sonata of boats sighing and waters weeping, Only horrified howls of peĂłn clutching each other, screaming, as they hit a lower floor dismembered; Their mangled bodies sprawled on a metal screen, One with debris, one with specks skydiving. And this corner in Paseo de Roxas turns into the great marsh, Where Styx, Phlegeton, Acheron, and Cocyton all converge Eton now is a slab bathed with blood, separating the Earth and the Underworld; There will be no coins placed on their eyes as toll for crossing Styx; they have been bailed out by Hades, A banquet for these ten, rushing for a pauperâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lunch, has been laid. *Charon - in Greek mythology, the ferryman transporting souls from Earth to the Underworld through River Styx. GSR

Sa Muling Pag-Retouch ni Cherry

Kellerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Gaze

Tumalsik sa iyong leeg Ang likidong may mapanlinlang na halimuyak

Those eyes are blank and gentle But the stare is in despair

Dumampi sa iyong mukha Ang pulbos Na magtatago sa bawat luha At pighati ng pagkakasala Sa pagsiil ng kasinungalingan Sa iyong mga labi

Of the blindfolded reality That your darkest visions havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seen. But your gaze is a gift Because its glow is the brightest

At sa pag haplos ng dilim Sa iyong mga mata Mapusok mong haharapin Ang mga sumasayaw na ilaw

And in just a wink Creates the greatest possibility ELLA V.

Kampante ka. Sapagkat alam mo Na buburahin ng panibagong maskara ang duming matitira sa iyong mukha. JOEBERT TOLLEDO

Nilamong Takot sa Pagbagtas Binagtas ang buwan ng naglalakad may bumabagabag sa isipan Isang mahaba-habang biyahe na pinagtagpi-tagping tela lamang ang bumabalot sa paa Mapangahas, mapanlinlang tunay na nanglilinlang Kumawala na sana ang nagbabagang apoy nang sa madaling sabiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y matapos ko na rin ang pagbabagtas Ang mga behikulong humaharurot palagpas Butoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t balat na asong nakatiwangwang Saan ako lulugar? Saan nga ba ako patungo? Kailangan kong bumagtas ng mag-isa kailangang bilisan ang pagtakas Papalapit na rin naman ang dulo Dalawang hakbang na lang ang nalalabi sa kumikirot, nagkandasugat-sugat na paa Natapos din ang pagbagtas, mapapalingon mapapahinto, muling maglalakad Tanga lang ang muling babagtas sa buwan ng naglalakad ANDREA S. MORALES

Lahat pasimpleng nagmamasid, humihiling, umaasa, sa mga nagkikislapang tala sa alapaap. Tinitisod ka ng lambing na halik ng mga batingaw kasabay ng mala-anghel na boses sa kalansing ng mga tansan. Ginaw at nangungulila, hihilahin mo ang mga nalalabing mga araw, masambiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t lang ang halimuyak ng yakap nila. At sa minsanang pagkakataong muli kang iluluwal mula sa iyong Pananampalataya, manalangin ka.

La Tasa Dolorosa Harayo sa pagnamit nindo ang sakong timpla Kamo, na igwang mga dilang metikulosa Mayo sa kalingkingan nâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;yo, inaako ko. Simple lang ini: tubig na mainit, Pinakala-kaga sa luma na asin oringon na takuri, Tutunawon an asukar na brown (o pula?) Asin CafĂŠ Puro buda kun sinuswerte, gatas na Abrasa. Kumpleto na,

DECEMBER TABLE OF CONTENTS

Iibahan na ako kan sakuyang tasa, Sa paglakaw kan sakuyang isip, Sa kamatanga-an nin bangi, na ako gimata. Linalamayan ang pagkamoot, na sa kahaluyan Nin panahon, padagos nang remata. Dai na mabubuhay pa an dating kala-kaga nin daghan. Higupon ko man an ultimong tagdo Nin matap-haw kong timpla. GERRY S. RUBIO

Papaitan

Watching By A Sixty-feet Lighthouse

Cut my belly for yours is my lung trepilya, libro, tuwalya my heart the cut hit the sac bitter love apdo, bitter is all you’ve left and won’t feel the same even if you add more magic Sarap.

Watching by a sixty-feet lighthouse I reached you with my eyes as you paddle as you sail and vanish in the horizon.

RS VALDEPEÑA

But soon, you’ll veer direction towards me as you heed my distressed call and you’ll see me standing, smiling, waving in this sixty-feet lighthouse hollering Welcome! with sweet smile.

Watching you at this height seems not far No gaps in every long mile No fear in every ocean’s wreck

Because I watched you embark In your journey South ‘Till the moment you came back. MAMARU FERNANDEZ

Sa Ilalim ng Pisong Nakataob

Litanya sa Awit ni Sheena

Sa ilalim ng pisong nakataob, libo libo tayong mga puta Libo libo tayong anak nila.

Hinagod ng boses mo Ang apat na dingding Nitong bar na pinagkasya Ang mga mesitang Pinag-uumpukan Ng inyong parokyano. Swabeng kumawala Ang bawat nota. Walang sablay, Hindi man lang sumabit Sa mga eskwaladong kanto, Malamyos na gumiling Sa saliw ng acoustic Na instrumento. Pero di mo alam, Habang dumadaloy Ang bossa nova mong tinig Sa lumalalim na gabi, Nilulunod mo naman Sa siphayo ang kaluluwang Muling nagpapahilom Ng narumpag na animo.

ADEM NALU V. RUBIO

ELMO RUBIO

Nakatingala sa mga langit ng dilim Di mapigil damhin ang langit at sukat na impyerno Sa butas ng mga butas Na pilit itinatago at hilumin Laksa-laksang baryang pumaibabaw sa ibaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t-ibang akrobatiko Sa mga ungol na bumibingiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t bumibilog sa mga kamang parisukat Sa ilalim ng mga bilbil na hayok sa kamunduhan Sa ilalim ng mga pang-ulam sa tahanan. Kailan pa hihilom ang sugat ng mga sugat na pinipilit sugatan? Kawawang warat na laman Kawawang mga punglong anak ng mga piso Kawawa ka Rizal nailagay ka sa mukha ng piso. Ilang alkansiya pa kaya ang mababasag at madudurog sa Pamamagitan mo?

Curtain falls Kukurtinahan kita Pansamantala Sa iyong mga bintana Hayaan mo Ako. Nais kitang samahan Sa iyong pag-iisa Hayaan mo Ako Sa Aking pang-aabala. Batid kong tutol ka. Magkagayon pa man, Hayaan mo Ako. Kukurtinahan kita Pansamantala Pansin kong tumitindi na ang sinag Na nagmumula sa araw. Pansin ko rin tumatagos ito sa balat mo Habang ika’y nakadungaw nang matagal.

Hayaan mong pahirin Ko Gamit ang kurtina. Ngunit inalis moa ng kurtina Ang mga bintana’y sarado na rin. ‘Wag mo nang sagutin ang tanong kung bakit, Sa simula pa lang alam Ko na. Subalit, Sa araw, sa gabi At sa susunod pa marahil, Asahan mong kukulayan ka ng araw. Mas matangkad pa sa morena mong balat. Mararamdaman mo na rin ang init At pagsapit ng gabi Babalutan ka ng lamig. Mahigpit pa sa ginawa mong pagkumot Sa iyong sarili. ELAINE DOLOR LAZADO

Kukurtinahan kita Pansamantala. Nilalamig ka ng hangin sa gabi. Sasamahan kita, Huwag kang mangamba Kasabay ng pagkumot sa sarili. Kasama mo ako. Kukumutan kita Gamit ang aking kurtina. Ang mga bintana’y kukumutan ko muna Pansamantala Dumarami ang alikabok sa iyong pisngi,

Talaarawan

Eupemismo

Gabi matapos makasalubong sa pasilyo December 14, 2011, 7:45 p.m.

Pinigil ngunit nagpumiglas ang mga katagang Hudas sa loob

Tumingala sa langit walang tala sa langit hindi tula ang langit ngunit ang langit aking itatala sa kalawakan ng kuwaderno sa lupa ang langit ang tala nakita ko nasa iyong mga mata kumikislap. JERARD PAUL v. TULOD

ang naamoy ay bango ang punyal ay malambing na halik Nawalan ng bigat Ang timbang na hindi masukat ALLAN-JAY B. MADRID

HOPELESS

Per Diem Sesión

Rusted grills, shadow paints, its insides as you try to enter that small compartment No matter how strong the rays of sunlight were, not even if you’re drizzled with blossoms, that door will forever emanate shadows. Shadows gnawing someone’s nightmares. Shadows eating up sanity. Shadows befriending your inner emotions. And then madness. Like they say, what lies beyond are glooms of despair. No righteous being would live in there, not unless you’ve been doomed to existence. Yet here comes a taker A scrawny man owning that place. He has no choice It’s the only spot with no bother. For years he will live in it. for years he’ll try to make his self at home For years he will adapt If only he had a choice But right now He’s been doomed to existence.

Tik-ti-la-ok!! As the rooster began to express its morning duty, sun rose again putting an end to the dimmed sky that almost covered the entire place. I woke up, looked at my own reflection at the window glass and sighed, “This day is going to be a hard-hitting one again.” It was not my habit to wake up as early as 6:30 am, but since I engaged myself in this kind of life, I don’t have any reasons to nag. After I took a bath, and consumed all my meal, I decided to prepare myself for another show. Dressed in those plain white skirt paired with ragged flip-flops, I put on a simple powder on my saintly face, and gazed at the mirror. Who would suspect that such innocence would have a much darker side than others? I departed myself out of my house and trudged the long, narrow road directly towards my new destination. Breathing heavily, I entered the errant world. My mind was set to plunged myself into his room without doubts and hesitation. But the moment I looked around the elegant house, there’s nobody home. All I could feel is the wintry weather. I felt like I was being deceived and dumped. An hour passed and the person I was waiting for was still not here. When I was about to step out of the door, something cold and firm snatched my body from where I was standing. He took me on his playroom and it suddenly morphed into a den of lions. I grabbed him by his neck and started pulling him in, savoring his mouth, pressing my skin against his skin. He couldn’t keep my hands off myself. Little by little we were heading backwards, stopping only to tumble on his bed. I could feel the warm sensation escaping our bodies. For quite some time, we have reached nirvana. Ending only this sinful act when our bodies couldn’t take it anymore. Our session made us have quickened breaths. Pleasure and contentment fuelled my insides once more. For the finale, he shoved three crisp blue bills on my Everests and disappeared into the winds. I stood up and get dressed. Another ritual awaits.

ANDREA S. MORALES

ARNILA C. SALDUA

THE REBEL Dale is dying. He knew he was dying of the foiled attempt to defend his post. Two bullets from his foes lodged on his emaciated chest, the other one near his heart. This laid him half-dead, half-living in this “quartered materialist world” that he once adorned much in his early writings. This may be heroic dead end for him but hesitant of saying it death rather than sneering it as a momentary “gripping lose of M-16 rifle” which they usually said whenever one of their comrades dies in combat field. It backed up courage. He euphemistically tagged it revolutionary war, a process of radical change, a drastic transformation from a rotten scheme of government to a classless order society. He was a bright man and they named him pundit. Others call him saint except the right wing who accused them terrorists where an undeniable preference, to be termed rebel would fit arguably less. Two hours more to dawn, to victory or loss. To Death. He suffered enough pain that anaesthetized his whole body. It will be a serious dawn for him. All gunners from his flank went falling down with lacerated bones. Some were slightly wounded. His company was sinking and he had witnessed how his lines protruded eager firing against the advancing enemy. It’s the first time he had been seeing his troop fall or maybe the last time to fight well with them. “What time is it? ” a cold voice came from nowhere. It sounded tired and seems a desperate tone of death. His voice faint to answer but doesn’t lack courage. He knows he’s not dead yet. He cannot move his body from the piled sack of earth, serving as fortification where he laid his back and his lowing vigor. 3:00 a.m. exactly. He scratched off his soiled wristwatch. “3:00 a.m.,” he answered throwing back his look to the rugged man in his red circle. He knew it’s red at that dark sight; it couldn’t be any color other than red. 3:00 a.m. he went again. He forced his voice to be heard. “A bullet in your head,” he cried. The guy fell down with head crushed. His red headband appeared redder than before. Must he die? He is one of Dale’s funniest buddies. It could be the most decent death. He should die for their “struggle.” He cussed to conquer not his fear but to get rid of his wrath. Never did the pain agonized him. All he wanted is to fight. He roamed his eyes around the pit. Most were dead. Soon the war would be over. Darkness got off dimming. He tried to lift his rifle but the attempt was futile. He was futile. He sang his rage like Zack dela Rocha. Like a Zapatista advocate, like a real warrior one. “A bullet in your head!”, he screamed but he can’t. If father was alive, they’d not be in this kind of destitution. His father was a manager of a company. “A bullet in your head”, there’s no melody. Bloods frothed from his mouth. He weeps. He really weeps. The saltwater flows down quickly to the red bandanna girdled around his neck. Arid enough to imbibe all his tears. He managed

to be stubborn in the abyss of death like when he was always finding place of justification on his obstinacy and always winning it. But he couldn’t. he was like a helpless stray cat on now. It’s no cowardice. So much idealism fled him away from the earth. Maybe it will be the last time he’ll cry. The first time was when he was six. His runny nasal weeps as he bellowed like a carabao on the stage during his first graduation. He graduated valedictorian. His mother embraced him and the world started to pour ugly wail. After the graduation he was teased “mooo” whenever his classmates bullied him. The second time he wept was all because of a butterfly, Lanie, his first love. He’s ironic of doing that. As the youngest of the three siblings her mother pampered him by calling him “mokoy”. His two older brothers call him “momoy”. His mother taught them to pray before and after going to bed. He had learned the sign of crucifix at one year old. His first uttered prayer is “Amen”. Mokoy remembered it. When he painted a picture of a butterfly from the book of tales his mother’s bedtime stories told to them, his brothers jeered at his work. Though it looked like a maggot, it’s still a butterfly. Her mother loves butterfly; he hated it. He detested his brothers of putting wings on his maggot. His father died in a car accident, when he was just in his mother’s a womb. His father, they said is a good-looking man. That he smiled very much like his father. He usually thought if only his father was alive they’ll not be in this kind of destitution. His father was a manager of a company. At age of seven he used to imagine wearing a soutane. He admired the front man of R.M. band. He had the bizarre thinking of a grunge-head-banging priest performing a mass. But that last only when her mother pawned their karaoke for the study of his older brothers and until the typhoon wreck their house and lost the picture of his first communion. He doesn’t want to be a priest anymore. He started to write his namby-pamby feelings. Writing, his new chased appetite. He won the first literary writing competition when he was in grade V. His title – “I Hate Butterflies”. Look! Hating them helped somehow, thanks to his brothers. He’s good they said. He disproved a history teacher to walk out at the middle of discussion because of embarrassment. He wrote a good faked excuse letters for himself and for his classmates. He was good maybe because he graduated salutatorian in elementary or maybe because… they always say he’s good. Indeed he was like any other brat prat. What do they know that a little chap can kindle a firecracker? It was during their amateur singing contest when he fire up a firecracker under a framed movable stage. He was six at that time, laughing at a dark corner with his pardonable spree. He was the one who got a big black eye when he went up to the stage hiding his right eye while his mother proudly pinned his ribbon and medal as the topnotch pupil of the grade three class. He got fracas before that occasion because of the bad nickname he had from his playmates. He was even summoned by their principal knowing lately be accused peeping-mokoy when you learned vey late how to knock the door before opening it. It’s because he rushed and came accidentally, he saw, but he was the conquered. A slap. For the frst 12 years of existence, it’s no more than a movie he used to creep in the neighborhood. But it was a real accident and he felt sorry for it. When he graduated salutatorian in elementary, he scoffed Mr. Basino, a history teacher and his mortal enemy. He expected to be the valedictorian. When he delivered his salutatory address, he asphyxiated. He managed to breath well. There’s a danger of crying, his eyes got blurry and

his voice will stammer, he felt. He watched his mother’s face expectantly joyous. His brothers? They’re nowhere perhaps, puffing cigars. He’s not a little “mooo” anymore, but a grown up one. No. not one of them. He conquered himself. No saltwater. At last after an hour, he bode farewell. He will never forget his mother’s present, a manual for script writing by Ricky Lee. A Trip to Quiapo. She knew he will love it. Her mother wrapped it for him. Only he was bothered it has no lilies where butterflies could dwell. When he was in high school, he doubted God. He has no God because he had hated Him. He doubted His existence and mercy probably because of hefty poring on Marxist’s dialectical materialism, the after-effect which is premature activism and obstinacy, or maybe because of so much fraternizing to his punk friends. When his mother died everything had change. Everyone. His oldest brother went to Pangasinan because Ana’s parents despised his brother. He wasn’t even sure if they got married. The one who seldom sent him allowance was his older brother who is working on his uncle’s farm in Zamboanga. He is Ronnie. It’s an exodus and he was not part of it. His mind was gradually eaten by baneful asceticism. He began to emerge into the world of reality. His life in high school is the area of dark ages- renaissance, a seismographic twisting of life and beliefs. ADEM NALU V. RUBIO

His Cup of Melancholy My cup is a far cry from the concoctions enjoyed By the likes of you with discriminating palates. I do not even come close at par, I admit For I thrive in this simplicity: Hot water boiled in an old soot-caked kettle, From which I melt grown sugar, Then add Café Puro. On lucky days, there’s a hint of Abrasa, If none, I make do. That’s it. This cup is enough to keep me company As my mind sleepwalks In the wakefulness of evenings such as this When I dwell on love, Watered down by the passing of time And ponder why silenced heartbeats Can’t be drummed back to life, Even by the very last drop of this bland brew. GERRY S. RUBIO

Ligaw ang kaluluwa ng mga naghahanap. Sa pagtahak sa landas tungo sa walang katiyakang direksyon, may pag-alala, pagsakit, pagtangis, hindi lang takot, sepia colored scene, at trick or treat ang dulot nito kundi pangamba at pag-asaâ&#x20AC;Ś hindi dikotonomiya ng pagiging patay/buhay. Habang patuloy kang namamalagi sa mga dimensiyon, mananatiling palaisipan na ikaw at ang mundo ay iisang misteryo.

NOVEMBER TABLE OF CONTENTS

Litanya sa Nananahimik I. Sa ngalan ng iyong pamana, Ng iyong pitaka at iyong kamaâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;

II. Sa kabila ng lahat, Alam mo na alam namin

Pinag-aralan mong huwag Matunaw ang asin sa bunganga sa Pag-asang kumapal ang bulsa nang kusa. Nagtagumpay ka.

Hindi laging katahimikan Ang hatid ng pananahimik.

Nabali ang pakpak ng balita. Nabingi Ang tainga ng lupa. Nagsanga ang dila. Hindi mo na tinakpan ang butas Ng batas na minsan mong tinapakan At tuluyang nilublob ang sarili Sa makasariling kalooban.

Alam namin na alam mo rin Diyos lang ang may alam kung kailan At paano ka tuluyang patatahimikin. Sa ngalan ng Ama, Matuto kang manalangin. Sapagkat kailanman, hindi mapag-aaralan Ang hiwaga nitong mapagparayang salitaâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; Amin.

Nang may naghanap, itinikom ang mga labi. Alam mong walang batas Ang makapagpapalabas sa ikinukubli. Walang pangambang dapat ipangamba Ang naghuhunos-dili. Walang ibang gagawin. Ipasok lahat sa isang tainga saka ilabas Sa kabila. Huwag sa bunganga.

PAUL JOHN PADILLA

Ode to an Inamorata If by your wide imagination I could think a myriad picture, And by your winsome visage I could paint manifold portraits, I promise you my lassie Your portrait shall be the fairest And most regal at first sight, Or even by sudden glance of eyes, For this moment you are The prettiest fraulein to mine. For it is by your ivory feet That I stand fraught firm in faith, And it is by your twinkling eyes That I behold the vermilion sunrise, For it is by your vestal mind That I realized the pulchritude of life. And it is by your soft ears That I happened to hear The sweetest and loveliest music Ever made by a romantic composer And this is true my dearest That all songs will become dirges, If I chant them as I swear “These are only I can offer!” Yet, you listen though you suffer And your eyes swell frigid tears. For your corpus is my corpus And your soul merged with my soul, I am gloomy when you’re lonely, I am happy when you’re merry. For your body is my body I’m sturdy when you’re healthy, And your adversaries are my foes, And your problems are my woes.

For your miseries and your distress Are my sorrows and my heartaches; All your pains and sufferings Are also my aching adversities. For it is by your soft lips I can slay pernicious gossips; And it is by your divine mind I can conceive my holy plans. And if we’re awakened a pleasant morning By a seraph knocking on our door, To grasp you with his big hand And heave you high from land, In Lord’s sacred name I’ll pray To grant you one final day. For it is by your love That I utterly understand Every meaning of sound. And it is by your love That I soar with flock of dove To evade the maddening sound Of the boisterous crowd. For it is your true love Which taught me to fight So for your sacred covenant I attempt to survive. For it is by your love I’m inspired to obey God, And it is by my love, I’m allured to betray God. FRANCIS TATEL

Rebulto de La Guardia Hindi ko na, sa poòn, maipararating, Ang iyong mga pagsamò’t hiling, Ninakaw na ang aking paningin Bago pa man ako mamulat, At walang mamumutawi sa aking pinid na mga labi, Wala akong mauulinigan, Mabigat ang palitada ng himangòt ; Tugon* Napingas na rin ang aking pang amoy, Wala akong masasagap na babala, ‘Di ko na rin maikakampay ang aking mga pakpak; mabigat na ang kapit rito Ng lumot ng pagkabagòt. Samantala, walang hanggan akong tatanod Hanggang maging malayang alabok.

Para ki Lolo Patugtugin ang mga paboritong kanta Boses ni Frank, Matt, Nat, Lettermen, at iba pa Lalo na kung nalulungkot at gustong maalala Batid mo ang sentimyento ng Diyos Mas batid ng Diyos ang alimpuyo ng iyong sentimyento Dahilan marahil Kung bakit ginawa kang mortal Di mo makakakayanan ang dulot na lungkot ng mga paglisan At imprenta nitong alaala

GSR

*Bikol na salita ng habilin ADEM NALU V. RUBIO

Untitled

Ang Nakikita Ng Iyong Mata*

Words lulling a matinee, weeping a beguiled rhythm as her hours ceased at quarter to four.

Sapagkat Pinaniwala mo na

Words were uttered in ultimatum as if trying to revoke her immobility in that stiff nichĂŠ she would use as her oarÂ to sail towards endless sleep. Quarter to four: my day is dead, the day she halted articulating words I would always love to hear. What words can stain the pages of this epilogue, when words only speak goodbye and goodbye speaks only words, you could no longer hear, forever. GERMAN t. TEJADA, jR.

Ang prusisyong apoy ay tao sa lipod Ang pagkahiya ng tala ay Ulan At ang maglakad Ng walang ulo, Kamatayan Tatanda ako Lalabo ang paningin Manghihina Ngunit asahan mong Taglay ko ang nakikita ng iyong mga mata *Para kay Pay Nestor ALLAN-JAY B. MADRID

Ave Maria Silang walang butong inilibing Ngunit may kaluluwang ligaw, naligaw, naliligaw sa alingawngaw ng kawalan sa puntod na walang laman ay dadalawin. Halimuyak ng alay, hinagpis at pagtangis, alab na â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di magmamaliw. Baliw ang balintataw sa pagka-aliw sa mga kahapong nagpapanggap na bukas. Hilam sa luha; hindi titigil sa pag-agos ang sinindihang kandila, hudyat ng paglalayagÂ sa mga alon ng pagkauhaw. November 1, 2014 KAREN AILENE P. BENAVIDEZ

333 Peñaranda Extension* The birds squashed under the steel Of the cage, of the roof That housed your pet whose Vocal chords strained, but dirt crept Up your arms, legs-damp Yellowing. So you never felt Howling, fingers trailing ghost by grains Human remains Of the concrete floor, waxed, red and Polished everyday, but Today Coarse like the jalousies that screen Light behind screens that Never darkened your view of The pimply Makopa tree where You used to play with your brother While adobo essence wafted From the kitchen your Mother ruled As she slapped your giggly Father Before he took Lunch’s first bite – It bites to know Nature stomped over your very first burrow *written for the childhood home Reming gobbled. “Thank you for the meal,”-she should’ve at least said that. CYRIL PATRICE O. BERNARDINO

Ang Ugat

Secret Death

Nag-unahan sa pagbagsak ang mga pares ng yabag ng mga paslit na ‘di pa maalam ng abakada.

If tomorrow I shall perish May the world not witness My lachrymose extremities

May lihim na kumawala sa mga initsang pamato sa ere.

I want to perish by stealth Inducing neither pity nor tears From my kindred, brethren or friends.

Paanong nausong gawing katatawanan ang kamatayan? Ang pagkresendo ng boses sa pag-awit ng saksak puso, tulo ang dugo at langit, lupa, impyerno na naging himno ng kalye. Tumatanda na nga kapag natutunang tawanan ang sarili. Nang mapikon ang taya, umayaw. Nagtipon sa likod-bahay. Humilera. Ibinaba nang bahagya ang salawal. Inilabas ang kamusmusan. Doon sila nagsimulang magpataasan ng ihi. DAVE S. TOLENTINO

I will lay on my deathbed Without hoping soporific vigil; For I, who they think eccentric, Will forsake The face of earth Without the faintest footstep And vestige of feat. With great Apollo’s consent, I’ll tether his chariot’s steed While dark encompasses everywhere During my funeral vesper, Where nobody but myself Trudge as a sole pallbearer; And no one but my spirit Wails beside my grave. FRANCIS TATEL

Thy Will Be Done Writhing in pain While intravenous drugs dripping fast Suffusing into her aged veins with Oxygen reservoir supporting her dyspneic breathhumidified with our tears paregoric known to science desperately augmenting the brevity of days left or just prolonging the agony otherwise, fragile life is now a story to tell short suddenly the crackling sound that resonates in the ICU vanished so is the rhythm of he carotid pulse like a nightmare, her final hours succumbed in sick bed folded its last page in sullen its sharp 12, one rainy noon when Nanay left us all (and death is never as beautiful as told by novel books) Tatay whispered in her ear: “I love you” those words remained the sweetest through their faithful years together, they never get old

and in his prayers he’ll wait for another rendezvous to come— where they’re no longer saying goodbyes forever. ELVIN RANDOLPH r. JUBAY

C-130* Tatakas tayo Kasama ang mga sardinas, Ang mga sako ng NFA At pilit kakalimutan ang unos Hahawiin ang mga ulap Hahanapin ang araw At magbabaka sakaling masumpungan Mula sa alapaap ang mga tinangay na pangarap. At sa muling paglapag Sana hindi ko na datnan ang kahapon Ang mga pangarap na minsan nang winasak Ni Reming. *Alay kay Laloy, sa 130 pasahero ng C-130 at sa kanilang pagtakas ELMO RUBIO

Big Bang

Siin Kita

Lying adrift the soiled linen Cloth soaked in blood Innocence hailed to its sanctuary. Gasp of first breath, Calmness of weep filled The ashen room Wrapped in the thick blanket that gave warmth to the fragile souvenir. But a vacuum pierced The miniscule openings Caused a stifling being. Then, a sudden pause of fatal heart tone. Distress. Failure.

Mara, ibahan kita Doon sa karayo, Kung siin maing libok Doon sa maliwanag, Kung siin gabos malinig. Doon sa maing kapagaran, Kung siin puro sana kaogmahan. Doon sa libre sana ang gabos, Kung siin kita gairibahan. Doon sa langit, Kung siin bagay kita.

Deafening stillness decants As sober crafted its way A sudden death of birth. A sudden birth of death. A borrowed existence made an early surrender. ELVIN RANDOLPH r. JUBAY

MARIBEL TRINIDAD

PAUNANG LUNAS Tahimik na naghihintay ang bata, Hawak ng ina ang isang paa Na dinapuan ng galis Nakuha raw ito ng anak dahil sa buong araw na paglalaro sa kalsada ng walang sapin sa paa at ang madalas nag paglusong nito sa kanal upang kunin ang pamato nitong tsinelas gamit sa tumbang preso Tutok ang mata ng mag-ina sa paghahanda ng matanda Una nitong kinuha buyo Sunod na nilagyan ng apog piraso ng tabako naman ang siyang pinalaman nito At matapos ang paghahanda, ay isinubo ng matanda ang Gamot, sabay sa bawat nguya ang paglabas ng katas ng nganga sa bibig ng matanda Nilapitan ng matanda ang bata Idinikit nito malapit sa kanyang mukha ang paa Nagpaiwan ng isang simpleng dasal Iniluwa ang kanina pang nginunguya Ipinahid ang mamasa masang nganga sa sugat Sa kanyang bibig iniluwal ang milagro. NIKKO FRANCO B. TEMPLONUEVO

Sweet Farewell

One-scented memoir

Atop that sweet box Is a slice of choco fudge cake Lying alone in golden Amber saucer Tempting your thirst For guilty pleasure craving Because the world is yours Of how life is saccharine as chocolates Not to spoil the bittersweet fluffy Subsistence Yet deliciously killing you In your sweetest deep grave.

I entered the eleven digit number of my cellular phone All I’m purchasing from your store is an all-text load Not an enigmatic stare from you

JOHN MICHAEL p. VERUEN

I failed to decipher its weight Until you asked: What is the brand of your perfume? It is convenient to reveal But what you smell is not a perfume Just a mélange of shower gel, oil and hair lotion I am afraid to say it is never been much like With the brand of someone endeared to you And even if I use the same brand I cannot replace Nor bring back the same memory You’re longing for The scent is just to remind That he’s not really lost That you’re keeping him still So is the pain *dedicated to a store keeper I met who lost her boyfriend in a vehicular accident ELMO RUBIO

Purgatory

Inferior

In this haven hidden in paradise Where evils knock at heaven’s door And savor that forbidden apple We painted that wonderful panorama Amid angels in disguise

Sitting atop the dying tree in a barren field is a broken-winged bird can’t fly, can’t sing of the pain of the sorrow.

But now we’re forsaken, Our wings got broken, I lost my glory You lost yours. Please Forgive me this time Before I finally ascend into another heaven. ERJ

This bird fear to fly above the clouds because the fall is high and makes him helpless in this barren field frozen with shattered dreams and spoiled existence. “He had come a long way into this blue lawn And his dream must have seemed so close that He could hardly fail to grasp it.” - Jay Gatsby ELLA V.

Phantom Noong isang araw narito ka sa lungga Subalit kahapon ay lumisan Tuluyang lumayo Walang paalam Magdamag akong naghintay Naghanap Sa kapitbahay Sa parke Sa tambayan Sa tambakan ng basura Naubos ang nakasusulasok na amoy Pinagpiyestahan ng mga gutom na lamok Maging sa buwan ay nakiusap. Mag-isang sinulsi ang kadiliman ng gabi. Diwa’y buhay hanggang sa muling sumilip ang Liwanag sa butas ng bubong Sa uwang ng niretasong dingding Natigang ang mata’t isipan sa pag abang sa iyong Pagbabalik Ngunit anino’y hindi naaninag Ating pasong nabasag, paano muling mabubuo? Ika’y lumubog Lumitaw Pauloy na lumubog Namuhay sa mundong ikaw ang nagpinta Nabura Naglaho Mamaya, hindi na ako magtataka kung hindi ka umuwi Ngunit bukas, sa muling pagsikat ng araw Sukbit ang bagong pag-asa Maghihintay sa iyong pagbabalik Hindi para muling mang iwan Kundi upang muling manirahan At kami’y saluhan *Alay kay Ka Mer, kalian ka muling mananahan? Kailan ka matututo? ERJ

DEAD END

MAMATAY SA SARILING PANINIWALA

Pinasyang kumanan Pagkat pakiwari, mali ang kaliwa Bumalik upang baybayin Ang kabilang kanto

Tayo ang kanilang tanghalan. Artista Nangahas suwayin Sumuway sa pangangahas Nangahas mangahas Mahirap na kalaban ang ahas Hayop ang ahas

May sumunod May sumusunod Anino sa dilim Biglang nawala Nang masipat ng liwanag Sa pagtigil Bumulong ang Malamig na Tilamyos ng hangin Nagpadala sa dagundong ng dibdib Tila sasabog Nangatal ang labi, buong pagkatao Walang anuman sa paligid Hindi tao, hayop O engkanto O ng kahit ano Bigla na lamang Lumiyab ang apoy Umusok at bumaga At naging abo

Sinukat nila marahil patuloy na sinukat, susukatin, pinasukat, at naghirap na nanukat Sa hanganan ng mata, Hanganan ng pagkilala Hanganan ng kinikilala Pagkilala sa sarili Matagal nilang ipinagkait ang di maitatago ng dilim Maghuhukay Naghukay Di ang patay Ngunit ang buhay Ililibing Ipagdadasal magdadasal sa taas titingin sa baba ililibing NIKKO FRANCO B. TEMPLONUEVO

SHAINA MAE M. BENAVIDEZ

Another Way of Killing a Person With Hypertension Acceptance of prevailing standards often means we have no standards of our own. - Jean Toomer December 2, 2009, 04:35 a.m.—I was awakened by the voice of my little sister as she repeatedly uttered the words, “Ate, dead na si Lolo.” At first, I thought it was just a nightmare trying to trick and upset me. I tried to ignore her as if she was not even resounding. But as her voice reverberated and the words grew more vivid, tears rolled down involuntarily. I cried and cried without saying anything until I grasped that it won’t change a thing. “Do not cry, Ate. Lolo won’t like it if he sees you cry. I’m sure he’s fine now with Jesus,” she said and gave me a warm hug. Yet as I learned by heart how my last encounter went, there were no more tears, just a pinch in my heart and a sad note saying that it will never happen again. I saw the sun shine the next day. I had thought I would be smiling as that day arrived. There was brilliance that I longed to see but it was nowhere to be found. I left my room hoping that I will still have a glimpse of him in his favorite couch. And to my desperation, I even planned to make coffee like how I do for him every morning. Instead, I saw a beautifully arranged coffin placed parallel to the longest wall of our house. It was full of flowers—fresh and artificial—making the vicinity smell like a wellcared garden. There were people—family and the unfamiliar ones—weeping and sobbing. As I gazed at them, I found the courage to accept his death, to be strong and to stand for everyone who is about to fall. But not until I realized that my Lolo was actually killed. The grief that I was trying to dodge was suddenly replaced with rage. I felt it creep out of my very scheme. He was murdered by a man in white apparel whom I thought should rescue the dying. He was rushed to the hospital because of Hypertension. That was not new to us, since it happened many times before. However, unlike those nights when he fought for his life, my lolo did not make it this time. Blood pressure was checked; dextrose and oxygen was put; and a syringe of medicine was pierced through his veins. Gradually, there was an escape from that dramatic scene. For a moment, there was hope that things will be better for Lolo, until another syringe of medicine was stabbed into his veins without checking first his status. Result: BP, zero over zero. Come to think of it, hypertension is the abrupt rise of blood pressure. That was supposed to be his cause of death—high blood pressure. How ironic is it that he died of a zero over zero blood pressure? Yes. The doctor, the man in his white suit who once slept in his couch when Lolo was rushed into the emergency room, had put an end to his journey in life. The worst part? This was not the first time that that same doctor had done it to us. Being left by a family member for the second time because of a dim-witted mistake is excruciating. I doubt that he had something against our family. I’m in the position to wonder how he had gotten a license in the first place. Resignation and determinism—the Stoics taught us that. They thought that destructive

emotions resulted from errors in judgment, and that a sage or person of “moral and intellectual perfection,” would not suffer such emotions. A calm, rational outlook, the Stoics believed, is the natural human disposition. Passion and inner turmoil are unnatural experience—ephemera caused by our confusion about the facts of life. They say that emotions are enemies of nature. They say that when someone dies, we are just giving it back to nature and God that we should just confide with it because it is not really ours. Then what? Forget about everything? Proceed as if nothing has happened and should just apply resignation and determinism over and over again when in fact there are people in the society who should first give up their immorality and flawed actions? I don’t think so. The story does not tell that hypertension is a dangerous disease and that losing someone is the hardest—we all know that. It is an eye opener that today carries a lot of malpractice that resulted in a lot of injustice. A “nod” for the many flaws in civilization like how we passively react on issues of vote buying, how we simply tolerate our classmates who cheat, how we gossip about others, and how a doctor can make and unmake lives during his duty will not help in honing the town to be better. A “yes and a smile” for all the immorality is a manifestation that we allow degradation in our community when we can really do something to oppose it. We eventually realize that we are living in an unintelligent world and sadly, we are part of it. Then, the shame is on us. It turns out that it is just us, as well, who endure with the cost. How can we be above blaming others for mistakes that we inadvertently allowed? They say that acceptance is the only way to happiness and that the best thing to do when raining is to let it rain. True enough. Yet, acceptance creates a distinction with resignation or with apathy. It doesn’t mean running away from the struggles and leaving it as it is. It is not fully conforming to what had happened and what is happening. Acceptance is not paralyzing the will to action. It is recognizing what it is and determining how to evolve from there, creating a new yardstick higher than what they call standard. KATHLEEN M. ARCILLA

Ang tulang hindi bagay saâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;yo

Mga tanong ng sarili sa sarili

Sabagay, Ang mga bagay na binigay para makibagay kahit gaano kadami at kakinang, Hindi bagay saâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;yo ang mga bagay na nakuha sa pakikibagay, maganda subalit,

Gaano nga ba kalalim ang gabi Kung wala namang hukay. Gaano nga ba kaliwanag Ang paliwanag kung wala namang liwanag. Gaano nga ba kataas ang mataas kung pantay ang paningin ng langit.

Hindi bagay ang Diyos... sa makabagay mong pananaw. Sinasamba ang bagay, Iniiyakan ang bagay.

Gaano nga ba katotoo ang katotohan kung wala namang kamalian. Sa mundong pisikal, ano nga ba ang tunay na napanghahawakan? JOEBERT ANGELO TOLLEDO

Hindi bagay. JOEBERT ANGELO TOLLEDO

HIMLAY Kung akoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y ililibing nais kong mangyari ito bago magbukangliwayway, habang ang hamog at lamig ay nasa laylayan pa ng mga dahon nagkukubli, habang tulog pa silang mga hindi mapakali gising na gising ang mga naalipusta. Nais kong bago pumaroon sa aking huling hantungan ay may mahabang prusisyon, hindi tahimik na nagluluksa ang aking pamilya at mga mangingibig kundi may hawak na sulo, ang apoy ay simpula at sing-init ng nagniningas na adhikaing makaalpas sa mga kabalintunaan ng lipunan. Bago sila lumisan at bumalik sa siklo ng araw-araw na pagkabuhay at pagkamatay hihintayin nilang halikan ng liwanag ang malamig kong puntod. ACE JOHN F. TABUZO

DAMAGAN Kay Ben Sa iyong isipan, nananatili ang punong iyon na naraanan nang minsang abutin ng dilim sa paglalakad. Isang punong hitik na hitik sa mga alitaptap. Napahinto ka. Namangha. Parang batang muli na nabura ang lahat ng pagdududa at pag-aalinlangan. May bahagi ka na gustong humuli, tulad dati, ng kahit isang kulisap at pagmasdan sa pagi-pagitan ng mga daliri ng nakakuyom na palad ang pagpuslit ng marahang liwanag. Napakarami nila. Halos sabay-sabay ang pagkutitap sa kahuyan. Hindi mahirap paniwalaan na pinamamahayan ng engkanto ang ganitong puno katulad ng narinig na kuwento sa malayong kabataan. Hindi mo nagawang lumapit. Hindi mo nagawang bulabugin ang mataimtim na pagtitipon na waring dasal. Noon mo nadama na tila nariyan lamang sa paligid ang lahat ng naglahong mga kalaro. Katulad mo nakatitig sa hinahayaan. Punong-puno ang mga kamay ng liwanag ng pagbitaw. ALLAN POPA

ANG PARAANG NAIS KONG AKO’Y MAALALA

PAMAHIIN

Nais kong lumayo Malayo Malayo sa katotohanan Katotohanang nauupos ang buhay Buhay na hinihingal ng oras Oras na hinahayaan akong manatili Manatiling nasa alaala Alaalang di maalala Maalala ng mga di makaalala

Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom. -Bertrand Russell

ALLAN-JAY B. MADRID

When I was a kid, I didn’t mind following or disobeying some superstitions. I just did things the way I wanted to do them—without rules, yet with limitations. It probably didn’t help that my lola often said, “Daing sala sa pagsunod.” I can still recall the time when we transferred to our new house. It took us months of deciding and decorating every corner of it considering that it will be our home forever. Doors must not face another door. Pathways must not lead directly to a door, especially the one to the bedroom. The main gate must not lead directly to the main door. It signifies departure of luck. There were also guidelines that governed the number of steps of one’s staircase. Starting with the first landing, count the steps using the words oro (gold), plata (silver), and mata (death). The perfect last step is ‘oro’. Steps ending in ‘plata’ is not too bad either but, understandably, one would not want to ever end up with mata. With the fear that something unwanted might happen, we followed the oro-mata-plata setup. The steps of the stairs in our house end exactly in oro. I once knew a couple, one of my grandfathers and his wife, who were not ‘mapamahiin’; one of their doors leading to the terrace was positioned by the door of a bedroom. Their life was bountiful and fruitful given that they have seven children and they afforded to send them to school and all of them are now professionals. Everything was going right until illness struck the head of the family. After just six months of fighting, he succumbed to cancer. During the funeral, the family, upon the advice of the people in their neighborhood obeyed “what the old people say” and some pamahiin during wakes. In the house where the wake was held, no one swept the floor as they believed that one may be “swept away”. At the gravesite, toddlers were passed over the casket from one side to the other so that the good qualities of the deceased would be inherited by or passed over to them. Just a month after the burial, the wife of the deceased fell ill and in a span of six months, she too died of the same illness. I remembered my mother’s friend whose house during that time was undergoing renovation telling my mom about the oro-mata-plata thing. Given the fact that my grandfather’s family lived in a three-storey house, I decided to count the steps of my grandparents’ stairs and landed on the fifteenth step— mata. That was the point when a part of me started to believe in and act on those superstitions. I have noticed during funerals and wakes, especially for those living in the provinces and barrios, that many superstitions are being followed. For example, old wives say that a rosary in the hands of the body of the dead will cause nonstop death in the family. There was even an instance where a family in Barangay Sta. Elena dug the grave of their loved one just to remove the rosary, which was believed to be the cause of continuous death of the family members. I’ve always wondered if the saying was rooted to the fact that a rosary has many mysteries, and unless those mysteries are completed prior death, then Death will have to visit a family more often for closure. Superstitions are not limited to natural tragic events in our lives. They tend to loom over Facebook-Wall-Feature-worthy achievements, as well. I’ve been attending weddings since I was young either as part of the entourage or a visitor. I have always noticed that during weddings, the

bride and groom follow certain traditions and superstitions for their marriage to prosper. The bride must not fit her wedding dress before the wedding or else she will be married twice, not counting her current fiance. The candles at the altar must not die or else same fate will be met by the family on whose side the blown candle was located. After the ceremony, a bride must not walk ahead of his husband or else the groom would be submissive to the wife later in the marriage dynamic. Last April 26, 2012, my first cousin on my mother’s side was wed. A day before her big day, she fitted her wedding dress. According to old wives’ tales, fitting a wedding dress before the wedding will bring bad luck, such that the wedding will be cancelled or something bad will happen to the groom. It has been almost two and a half months since then, and of course, thank God, nothing terrible has happened. The thing about superstitions that compels me to trust them is the fact that they are not exactly wild inventions; these suggestions do have rather logical—say, historical, cultural or literary bases. For example, sweeping at night must be avoided. I remember my high school teacher said that this has “no scientific evidence”. Still, I find this a reliable tip, because superstitions like not cutting nails at night began long ago when electricity was not yet available in majority of the places in the country. Hence, sweeping at night might cause the disappearance of important documents, papers and other belongings. Likewise, cutting fingernails at night might cut your fingers due to darkness. One of the primary causes of superstitions that involve especially good and bad luck comes from a case of misplaced association. Most of the time we adopt any superstitious belief is when we see its prosperous effects on a person who adopted it. We don’t search for the logical reason in this; we just instinctively follow that superstition. For instance, I personally follow the belief that, as a symbol that one would not have to take the same examination twice, one must give away the things one used to answer in an examination, such as pencil or eraser. Still, I realize that somebody who has given away his pencil or eraser after the test would pass if he worked hard for his exams. Of course, if the person took superstitions to heart then all the credit he owed himself would instead be directed at the inanimate object he gave away after the exam. When would he start believing in his own talents, efforts or abilities, then? If I never gave away paper or pencil after an exam, then at least, that is an oversight easier to focus on than, for instance, the laziness I wasn’t able to overcome or my misaimed efforts in a particular lesson. An easy method of brushing away the hanging unknown fears is having something else to blame failure on aside from our ineptitude. Superstitions have a disturbing effect on our lives. On the other side of the spectrum, all our thinking and working power get paralyzed under the influence of unknown fears. We consult priests, pundits, astrologers and others for making our life “lucky”. We often use other mantras and spells to ward off evil forces. We are disturbed only because we are afraid of the unknown. Inevitably, I am wiser now, and I can only go forward from here. ABYGALE A. BAGADIONG

Once, a man made a tower of irregular stones â&#x20AC;&#x201C; different shapes, sizes, and peculiarity. Successfully, he sought their equilibrium, demonstrating an explanation that every tangible thing has its center of gravity. Then the tower could be sat upright without tipping its balance. The process is a trial-and-error enigma. But once unravelled, it creates a masterpiece.

OCTOBER TABLE OF CONTENTS

Paratula

For a who is burning the drapes

Pababaun ang mga bituon sa panganuron Kitkitun ang mga kagan kan lugad sa daghan Paduguon, pamunduon Nganing pasamputon sa langit ang agrangay nin kalag Asin purisawun ang Kagurangnan “Anong pangadyiun ini? Kisay pangadyiun ini?” Dispensa tabi kagurangnan, rinibo kami sa kinaban Nabuhian naman ang samong lalag na kamunduan, dai nanggad aram Huna sana buradol na nasagkudan kan samong paghiling Na dai matugdon sa kudal kan saimong kalangitan Giraray, masurat, matula kami Nganing ika naman ang mapurisawan kan samong kapurisawan Asin pababaun ang mga bituon sa panganuron.

Every time you write those tidy piece of literature of yours You burn the drapes and kick-opens a door. Because in a moment of trepidation and boldness You are swallowing a double-edged sword (no pun intended) With no intention of being exposed but with the desire To broadcast. The feelings. The longings. You can’t have one without taking the other. You either flaunt yourself or please the gods of literature Or succeed in your masquerade and end up with a foiled half Baked piece. Your use of metaphors, Presumes that it could camouflage you. But it is just a flimsy curtain Between your craft and persona. Your style of over killing the verbs, You fancy that it conveys only the actions you wanted to be Seen. But beware! It also displays the calculated and hidden sway of hips From that life sentenced drag queen who is caterwauling for Release. Your attempts at subtleties, Deliberate vagueness Purposely sent a clear message. It betrayed the diva play-acting Gloria-Gaynor. But good news! You will survive. Your hap hazardous condition of anonymity Is just as revealing. Clever. How you managed to lose us in your labyrinth Of punctuations and phrases, yet the fish is to be caught thru its Own mouth.

ADEM NALU RUBIO

Now, will you fly or hide? Just an old hag’s advice Be careful with words for they always mean What you are afraid to mean. JOHN DALE LOQUINERIO

Anatomy of Failure

Si Kulas, ang Tanging Saksi sa Naganap

(to Iunice and Gellie Anne)

Dose anyos na mabining dalaga Akbay ng treinta y otso anyos na boga Beinte nueve sa tagiliran mayuming, balat na naaaninag ang ikapitong tadyang sa kaliwa

Sis, won’t you ever remember Our NPO night shift class Getting paper cuts in tearing The skeleton of Seeley, Stephens And Tate’s gross anatomy, Digesting some spare parts Excreting, flushed out, forgotten Still, you never dare To bare losing the missing pages Overdosed of the bitterness Of that harsh adieu Fifth vital sign is inevitable, unbearable Yet girl, it’s not the end of the Beating of your heart As long as those neurotransmitters Constantly send messages of hope Circulating in your system Life goes with no more physiological alterations.

Kendi sa mayuming palad ng piping bata, Kinse minutos Lumagas ang siyete pulgada. Naluha, nagdugo habang subo-subo Ang Frooty chocolate lolipap Lumagpas sila sa itinakdang labing-isa Wasiwas ng kogon na tila walang pakialam sa nangyayari Hindi na niya nagawang kumahol pa. Tanging ang pagtakbo palayo ang kanyang nagawa.

JOHN MICHAEL P. VERUEN RS VALDEPEÑA

Another Bottle About death, they were never wrong The Old Masters have transcended such dimension bottled And canned, now consumed and consummated: The amalgams of conviction on civilian market. When the Masters defied, while they defined passing on an art For such pieces that immortalized those who recognized They, who never neglected never forgot That sometimes during their reverie, beyond periphery Whilst they dwelt and bled on passion sweet expression A wrinkled man falls counting cracks on the white ceiling By second, in time with a medic scanning For traces of pulse and fading beeping In an ambulance trailed by a hearse neglected, Watched or honked at by the growing mass or traffic. Somewhere a maiden black-clad calmly turns her face away From the cool of a perfumed light breeze coughed by a window. With a gush of radiance skewed by the indoor greens, The bright blooms shadow darkly against her frailty. She could also be counting stitches on her nurses knitting By second, in tune with the fading hatchlings twitters Or the husky scurries of every tot playing white among spring blossoms

Since long, man lived a confine much like the frame Of Munchâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Spring and the calmness it allows the restless That one should doubt wearing the timeless beauty of black Subconsciously when a watch is checked for time, backwards One finds himself conscious of his footsteps By second or less of a stroke, we unfailingly count â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;till we are relieved the agonizing wait, birds sing still. (AFTER SPRING. EDVARD MUNCH. 1889. NATIONAL GALLERY. OSLO) CYRIL PATRICE O. BERNARDINO

Mang-aawit sa Quezon Avenue Station

Libukay

Hagdanan ang iyong tanghalan.

Nagsampawan ng hagikhik ang lagari at malyete Sa may talampakaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y nangangatal ang ligaw na talahib. Kulay dugo ang pinta ng warehouse, Amoy libog ang pawis sa kanyang noo. Sumingaw ang dapyo Bulag ang araw sa makailang-ulit at di-miminsang paggaod sa manibalang na katawan. Naglayag sa mga kusot ng tablang kinatam ang kanyang puson At inulila ang balsang Tumaob sa laot.

Dito idinuduyan ng iyong tinig ang mga lumulusong na katawan mula sa tren na nasusukat mo lamang ang haba sa tagal ng dagundong ng kanyang pagdating at pag-alis. Sapagkat isinilang kang hindi mawari ang kaibahan ng pagdilat at pagpikit. Dinukot ko ang beynte pesos sa bulsa ngunit dagli ring isinuksok. Pinalit ay singko at ihinulog sa butas ng nakakandadong kahon. Kumalansing ang aking pagpapakumbaba. Hindi ko ipagkakait ang hindi maitatago saâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;yo ng dilim. john ELMAR b. TEMPLONUEVO

Ang paghalik ay di laging pag-usal ng pag-ibig Ang linamnam ay sumusuka ng pait Huwag sanang hasain ang ngipin ng ulap nang maupos na ang ulan sa kanyang pagpatak Paano mo nagawang lawayan Ang pusod ng sarili mong anak? DAVE s. TOLENTINO

Burn, Baby, Burn*

Socorro

for Anne Stephanie Cruz

Bare hands, she plucks cold dying leaves then caresses the flowers. She sweet talks them into full bloom, pleading using the vernacular of roses and orchids as if she understands them as if thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a need to convey human warmth as if her touch would make their hues more vivid.

Five hundred and fifty miles, I thought of how you look like When you said you took the fund drive challenge of literary fanaticsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;slip on a mini-skirt to raise Not just temperatures but pennies. Oh, and, five hundred and fifty miles, I saw on my mind a giggly girl, fecundity and all, Gushing forth from the seams of teeny skirt Like champagne ready to burst forth unto the nose Of Huey helicopter all set for its maiden flight,

Bare hands, Mama always tends to her garden with bare naked hands.

Dearest, five hundred and fifty miles, I imagined how you look like, Fifty-percent dress, and fifty-percent flesh? Ah, the skin, coddled by nightly trysts with cocoa butter lotion

She stands in the middle of her small garden.

And oh, those limbs, made holier by unfailing communion with the pews, in genuflection, to exorcise the phantom of the past. Five hundred and fifty miles, I thought

MAUREEN BRILLANTE

of how you look like, And dearest, the red wine, I suppose, Must have cavorted longer on those reddest lips, To sanctify the spirit. *with apologies to Disco Inferno GSR

For all you know she could be Eve as if this is Eden as if she is waiting for Adam.

Nang Basahin Nila ang Sinulat Mong Tula Upang Husgahan Kung Tula Nga Ba Kinabahan ka. Tulad nang nangahas kang galugarin ang dibdib ng una mong nobya. Di mo alam kung iigtad ba sa sarap. Ididiin ba ang kamay sa ginagawang paglamas o mababastusan? Sasampalin ka’t hihilab hanggang bagang. Parang nang una kang bukalan ng malansang dugo. Natuklasang malagkit din ang pagtitig ng mga tambay sa mantsang namukadkad sa pwetan ng puti mong salawal. Habang nagbabasa sila, titingala ka. Sasalubungin ng liwanag mula sa flourescent lamp ang mga matang naghahanap ng bagong uniberso. Supot na kwitis ang hatol. DAVE s. TOLENTINO

Tapsi Piráng beses ko man suyudon, ang sinarapid na kurbada kan saimong dilá, Bakong maninigô ang pitong-pulô ko pang buhay Ta ngani sanang matoóm ko ang lágom kan saimong pagnamit. JONATHAN v. TULOD

What is it with this Friday morning?

Paradox

a cup of mixed Alaska Powdered Milk and Nescafe Blend and Blue, which after being half-empty I left for a stroll, a moth had drowned in it

“Sometimes you have to be strong enough to admit the fact that you are weak.”

a bike, far from rusty, silver in most parts a boy riding the bike does circles 10 times in front of the Main Building a panting, with small laughs in between a drizzle, a reflection in puddles an aftermath of a break, a realization, a teenager watching once again, lost in time *October 28, 2016, after presswork

When you try to make yourself too sure of making things right, you’d end up with a big mistake… By making yourself better and different from what you used to be, the world and things around you pushes you back to your past and your usual self… Sometimes the sour of fruits and essences gives you the sweetest sensation in your tongue… just as the most sweet-smelling fragrance comes from the most rotten source. By believing too much to superstitions that seeks to bring good, it ends up resulting to a disaster.

ACE JOHN F. TABUZO

Most painful intelligence leads into insanity and in the most lunatic of views Lies behind an elusive truth. FERDINAND CAMILO KIMURA

Boarding House

Crab Ment

Naglalakbay ang mga mata At mabagal na sinusuyod ang bawat sulok Ng masapot na kisame.

Bahagyang nakauwang ang dulo ng mga kagat Ni Aling A sa mga bintana Vng basket. Magdamag siyang hindi natulog. Nagbantay. Nagmasid. Nakiramdam sa paligid. “Haay salamat at tulog na siya.” Dahan-dahan sa paggapang. Aakyat pataas. “Di dapat maistorbo ang tulog na si Mang O.”

Nakatihaya, malumanay at limitado ang bawat kilos. Naririnig ang bawat pagdampi Ng mga kutsarita sa mga bandehado at plato Sa mga nakapalibot na kwarto. Dahil sa mga naririnig mo Ay pinili mo na lamang tumaob At bumulong Punyeta

Isa, dalawa, tatlo. Malapit na siyang makalabas dito. Isa, dalawa, tatlo. Malapit na sa kanya si Mang O. “Huli ka!” Gising pala ang nagtutulug-tulugang si Mang O. Sabay hila sa nangunguyapit na si Aling A.

Walang allowance DEMETRIO E. CELESTINO III

Kinabukasan, iba na ang sitwasyon. Ang Ale ay naging Mang, At ang Mang ang naging Ale. Ganito tayo; mga alimango. Ganito ang ating lipunan; basket ng kompetisyon. Panalo ang makaalpas. Ang maiwan ay talunan. Kailan kaya matatapos ang laro? May pag-asa pa bang makalaya? ELAINE DOLOR LAZADO

Kasimbagan

In Front of the US Embassy Bodies dispersed as the police mobile ran back and forth Plackards and streamers flew to different directions, voices howled as men and women go under the jeepney, bloody and bruised In the distance, the mass of uniformed men protected some aliens, a wall that Is too strong to destroy, and an eagle flying high. In another distance, a Moro cried, a woman shouted for peace, a student-activist hugged another student-activist fainting. They were there to close the distance, and soon create a distance from the oppressor and the abused. *On October 19, 2016, violence prevailed in the dispersal of protesters in the Many decried the violent dispersal done by the Manila Police District. ACE JOHN F. TABUZO

Ka Wanda* Bahaghari ang kulay na magdadatal sa mga mukhang pagal. Matingkad ang pula at nagsasayawan ang kahel, dilaw, berde, asul, indigo, lila doon sa sulok ng bundok kung saan ang tilamsik at ragasa ng tubig sa talon ay magbababad sa katawan ni Ka Wanda. Hubad sa ilalim ng gabing payapa Lilinisin ng buwan ang dumi at putik, ang pangamba, ang lumbay na dulot ng pag-iisa. Bukas, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;makalawa tuloy ang paglalakbay sa laban kung saan bahaghari ang dala at sigwa. *Si Ka Wanda ay isang manunulat at aktibistang namatay sa edad na 30 nitong Oktubre 2016. Pinili ni Ka Wanda na iwan ang magandang buhay at mamundok sa Mindanao para doon ituloy ang kaniyang laban. Siya ay nagturo sa mga katutubo ng mga paraan ng pagtatanim. ACE JOHN F. TABUZO

THE STING 1970’s. The touch of South monsoon winds from the Pacific was very convivial. From Virac pier, it passed through the windows of our school, Catanduanes Colleges, down to its alley towards my whole persona while songs the like of Beatles blend the air. I had this vivid picture of Marilyn Monroe, my own calendar version, as wind continuously swooped our skirts up and down while going out of the gate. I pressed my high school uniform conservatively from the wind becoming quite invasive beyond being friendly. “Maiba ka o dai?” yelled the girl. “Iyo ngani. May inasikaso lang ako,”replied the guy patiently. “Maiba palan, aduman na sinda. Awat na akong halat uya. Naghari na lamang,” with much frustration, the girl sighed submissively. “Sorry na. May motor man baga ako. Masabay na lang kita,” resolved the guy. All of a sudden, the scene countered the wind as if it vacuumed all the air back to the Pacific with this cinematic incident. It antagonized the mood I had at that moment. It was right at the entrance of the school, outright my face. I stared at this cheeky girl, far from being provincial in her grace and character I thought. They said she was the daughter of the Philippine Airlines manager of the town and studied at University of Santo Tomas. She was known in the island and admired too. It was noticeable with the glamor in her manner of accenting Virac dialect which sounded a very typical “kolehiyala.” There was an imeldific semblance. Perhaps she was dominating but absurd on her part because she waited for hours yet she was easily doused by the cavalier manner of pampering this guy has learned. If I were here, I’d probably leave the guy or dumped him for sure. From her looks, she deserved none other than a princely curtsey. For weeks, it went down in our classes like a blockbuster movie. It was the talk of the town. The aftereffects were incessant gossips until one day I overheard the girl went to Manila. Maybe, to help bury gossips into oblivion but not me. That moment haunted my memories. The moment when I was only dreaming what it feels like to be kissed when the sun sets or while eyes are closed. I wished I had the same man so ragged but gentle over my caprices and impatience. A man who could do a motorcycle drive-by while taking me from the danger of chasing hooligans just like one of the James Bond act or doing a Che Guevara motorcycle diary adventure anywhere. Luckily, I found my one true north, if not, I promise myself I will be a spinster. My friend told me that she hasn’t yet married which I could hardly believe. My cousin who is her batchmate informed that she was in the island to visit after years of being out of the island. This had become intriguing to me more than a gossip. For my classmates and I who had witnessed that moment of lovers caterwauling in the streets during high school, it imprinted us caveat and thrill. We were like anticipating a TV series or a movie sequel. It became a habit especially for them. “Baku an. Ang totoo kaan gusto niya mahiling dating umok niya. Baku panu malinaw ang break-up nin duwa,” giggled my friend. But the guy was already married, it would be a hope against hope, I thought defensively. Indeed she has lived and carried the life of the metro where liberal minds always find rational explanation of everything. I like the roots of her charm which I know came from this island but to pursue such kind of stupidity is to outlive tradition and vitiate herself and her family. My concern is genuine for her unlike my friends who loved purely tongue-wagging.

“Dai man palan nagkahilingan. May plano daw na i-petition su lalaki, mala pa may agom na. Grabe man palan kuta pagkamoot,” said the woman from the neighbor’s neighbor. In my thought, the girl perhaps had given up. She would accept it with difficulty but I am sure she will understand. She must, anyway. The pain is only unbearable at first but it will numb itself. Time numbs everything. Everyone. The next summer she appeared ahead of the season. I know how literally she can paint the town red with her looks even from distant miles. Somehow it got to my bones that this girl whom once we admired is getting cheap or maybe the goddess sometimes has to walk with humans and mingle through a cup of coffee and kisses. “Uya naman daw. Dai naman nagkahilingan ta on-travel si Jun. Pero naghubon daw olor sa hotel. Yapatao sa boy ning hotel,” fervently said by a friend of my friend. I was mute for a while after hearing that from neighbor’s neighbor and from friend’s friend. She probably is looking for a disaster. “Ngata nagduman sa halong kasu lalaki?” said the kibitzer near the market, I overheard while alighting a tricycle. I felt everybody is partaking from this issue and it easily reached me. I was so intrigued and irritated why all neighborhoods would find time to consummate their universe gossiping about it. Maybe it wasn’t gossip at all because I confirmed too that the girl was madly, stupidly in love. It was obvious that she came from abroad to settle things with perfume and wreak havoc to a married person. I imagined that the girl will come to take what was her against all odds and the guy will seize the moment to cohabitate with her until they escaped from the gossips of islands and they lived happily ever after. That could be an interesting plot, unscrupulously. With burning passion and elegant style of lovemaking as portrayed in a movie, they will each other’s spirit suck until they become one soul. That was one of a hell marvelous plot of a romance in the making I couldn’t resist to read and anguish. Decades passed. Several typhoons had frequented the island to rock from time to time the lives of its poor people. Plenty of stories had survived in the gossiping neighborhoods unperturbed by the typhoons that might come in a form of horror, adultery, concubinage, rape, murder, voyeurism, and the like. Among those epochs, one plot remained in my guarded recollections – the adventures of restless, unrequited lover. “Gahingagdanun na pala si Tess sa Canada, may helang,” a friend delivered this like an overture in my ears while fixing my hair one day in our house. “Dai na nag-agom,” she continued. The world suddenly stopped. I heard her voice like a sound of an offbeat drums out of synch to the beat of my heart. My emotions responded not in harmony with what I should feel. “Dai man lamang daw nagkahilingan saka si Jun poon pagparabalik-balik uya. Closure kumbaga,” then her overture turned into staccato and came to my ears like crashing cymbals of an outro fading in a small crowd of concerto. The show has ended but it waited an applause. Everything rewinds again back from the top of my earliest remembrance of her. The touch of South monsoon has never been this convivial, now with the biting aroma of “dita” petals. It no longer passes through my whole persona but through my soul while the songs the like of Beatles blend the air. No more Marilyn Monroe. It is just the girl in the street in 70’s jeans waiting for her lover to fetch her for a date. For the long wait that will cost her forever. One early morning, I was walking with my husband when a girl approached us. She was pocketing something she was hiding. “Good morning po mam. Ika po si Myrna?” she asked sheepishly. “Iyo. Ngata?” I asked.

“Nasugo lang po ako ni Tess. Nakisuyo po sako kung puwedeng picturan ko kamu. Mahari po ako for a few minutes sakay sa eroplano. Madali lang po,” she insisted shyly while slowly drawing the camera from her pocket. I didn’t know how to respond. I held the heavy hand of my husband and we both gave the consensus. It was just like the gravity had acted upon our heads. It bowed our heads unconsciously. She started taking shots. Of all the worst thing could happen, the camera stopped to function. It was only few minutes before the flight. Without any shots taken, the girl apologetically hurried to the airport. One morning while my husband was about to take shower, an unknown insect came from the sprinkler and stung his left chest. He yelled so loud that I instantly towed him out of the comfort room and took care of the wound. The way his face grimaced in pain I was pretty sure this was slightly venomous insect. I dismissed any fooling around with that kind of look in his eyes so we went to the near clinic for medication as he was still grimacing pain from his chest all over his body. The physician gave the prescription and I left to buy it the near drug store. It took me thirty minutes more than the usual ten minutes of walk the nearby drugstore. “Kaawat mo Myr, kaipo ko na mainom so bolong,” my husband impatiently begging my usual briskness while still holding his chest. “Jun, wara na daw si Tess,” I uttered whispery and gave the medicine. He removed his hand from his chest. The anguish in her face was eclipsed with somber wonder that slowly transformed to sadness. I couldn’t tell if the pain of the sting is gone or another more painful feeling has emerged. “Inumon mo na ining bolong,” I insisted. “Okay na ako Myr. Maparibud na kita.”

Arsonista “Biyaya ang kamatayan Kung sa minsang paglisan, Mababalot ako ng sariling liwanag.” Noon pa ma’y inibig ko na ang apoy. Mga tuyong dahon ng mangga’y Iipuni’t sisilaban hanggang pumailanlang Ang ilang nangapunit na alipato sa ilang O sa bubong ng bahay ng kapitbahay Na ayaw magpa-akyat ng bayabas. Nipa ang bubong ng bahay ng kapitbahay. Lumulutong pagsapit ng tag-init. Noon pa ma’y ginusto ko nang maglaro ng apoy. Ang mundo ay isang malamig na kumpol Ng lupa

ADEM NALU V. RUBIO

sa kalawakan.

JERARD PAUL V. TULOD

Sa gitna ng digmaan at ng pag-aaklas, nakadungaw ang Ina na nais hilumin ang natamong sugat sa mga Krus na bitbit ng Anak pagtangis Nagdadasal ng “Aba Ginoong Maria.”

SEPTEMBER TABLE OF CONTENTS

Digdi sa daga “Tapos na ang misa Magdanay lugod kamo Sa pagkamoot ki Cristo!” Hudyat na ng pagpaalam, sa Paring kay hirap mawatasan ang sinasambit sa mga pukyot na sabay sabay humiging ng kabulagsakan, hindi ng pangangailangan. Nagsilabasan na ang mga taong nanlilimahid, nakalimot magbunyi, at pasalamatan ang lalaking sugatan sa harapan, duguan nakapako. Sa halip nagbigay pa ng ‘di mabilang na latay ng kapritso, Sa tabi ko ay isang ina, akay ang dalawang supling na pawang nakagayak ng mga bestidang pinilit pagkasyahin, lansak pa rin siyang nangungusap sa mga imaheng walang imik,

sa kabila ng solemneng pagsasamo, bakas sa bawat linya ng kanyang mukha ang hapong hapong kaluluwa, nakaupo, nakapirmi, tulad ng mga pigurang kinakausap:

mata sa mata

sa ama, at anak, at salikmatang espirito santo. nakikipagtagisan ang ina kung sino sa kanila ang unang mapupuwing. Mami’bi kita. Jan Keith A. Abundo

KUYA LENNON Minsan sinubukan kong sumabit Sa mundong pangako ng musika. Sa bawat tipa ng tunog ng piano Sa aking tenga, unti-unti’y umaaapaw Ang aking pananabik. Malayu-layo na rin ang aking narating, Sa katunayan ay naaaninag ko na ang Huling nota. Ngunit nasaan? Nasaan ang pangakong mundo? Bakit sugatan ang baga ko sa basag na hangin? Sino ang bumulag sa kanila? Paanong may bingi sa malakas na sigaw? Ito na ba yun? Pinilit kong kumalas Ngunit sablay ako sa aking pakay. At sa pagmulat ko’y tumambad Ang katotohanang ako’y isa pala sa Bigong suki nito. At tulad din naming mga umaangkas Sabik din pala si kuya sa dulo ng kanyang Imagine Naibulong ko na lang sa hangin Sino pa kaya ang sasabit? JOHN ELMAR B. TEMPLONUEVO

Sanctum (before the deluge)

Liham Mula sa Isang Rebelde

Iligan, you told me, is cocooned by mountains, I can see the pride smoldering in your eyes as you spoke with fondness of those rangers â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a rampart of a homeland from the wrath of winds.

I. Sa aming pagkawala

Convince me too, of your invincibility, Could you also claim to me, of a robust fortress that guards tender hearts, from unforeseen tempests?

Sa paniniwalang hindi Didilim ang anumang abutin ng tanaw matakapan man ito ng mga anino sa tuwing maghahabulan ang mga ulap

GERRY S. RUBIO

Hindi magiging pula ang bahang Magmumula sa mukha ng bundok na luhang dalisdis patungo sa mga estero at pusali Mauuna nang sipsipin ang Aming dugo at magiging pataba Sa natigang na lupang titingalain sa silangan

II. Sa aming mga anak Hayaang umiral ang hindi mawawala sa kaisipan na kapag tirik ang araw at tipid ang buhos ng ulan binabalisawsaw na naman ang langit, walang panganib May ikinakasal lamang na tikbalang hindi kalayuan sa kagubatan BREN RIVERA

Amihan

Musmos tayo noong hindi marunong magbasa Ngunit nangangahas isaulo itong mga tugma:

Panganib. Panganib. May nasasagap akong panganib. - Gill, Dragon Ball GT

Little flower, show your power. Stop the shower.

I. Nagngangangawa Ang bibig ng bata

Nilisan na tayo ng mata ng bagyo Sa labas Walang kapangyarihan ang bulaklak

Sa harap ng umaandar Na bentilador

O baka naman hindi niya tayo narinig (Mali ka. Baka di natin siya natawag.) hHalika, kikilalanin natin ang mga hangin.

Habang tumatalsik pabalik Sa mukha ng tilamsik Ng laway na idinura sa elesi. (Tanggap kong wala akong laban) Kakatwa ang tunog na nilikha Ng kawalang-muwang. Umaalimpuyo ang mga salita. Para akong robot. II. Sa bunganga ng langit Nilalaman ang mga buhawi Sa pagkikiskisan ng mga ulap Hinahasa ang mga kidlat

JERARD PAUL V. TULOD

TWO IN ONE

STAr wITNESS

Forget Hegar, Chadwick and Goodel Of whatever symptoms Will they ask of you Whatever maneuver would Leopold Perform Or Valsalva bear down to push it through. Still, there’s no Halt to deflate the inflating phenomenon It would yet be another beautiful story revealed otherwise Those heartbreaks auscultated are Audibly pounding with two different lives.

This was what he testified:

JOHN MICHAEL p. VERUEN

VS Perhaps, it won’t be too long or short To count some time your signs of living In this rented makeshift refuge For within the hasty ten minutes The world is spinning in the orbit of my wristwatch life’s four vital forces ae breathing forever. JOHN MICHAEL p. VERUEN

There before my eyes the transformation I witnessed: How a man turned into a Demon;

it preyed on flesh, fed on men’s sorrows, savored the taste of them, tormented in hostile the weak, wailed it laughed maniacally at the crime it commits

How it became an Angel; it enjoyed the riches, rolled with gold which gleams, glorified the paradise it stole, stripped itself the wrongness and wore white How it then turned itself To disguise as a Man; innocent, incapable of being the Demon the Angel he had become I succumbed to fear And remained mute for long Spill the beans To exempt myself The transformation I also had. ACE JOHN F. TABUZO

Sa base

Press(ed) Work

Narito ako. Dinuduyan ng kapaguran, Nakukumutan ng hamog ng katahimikan.

Six warm bodies Asymmetrically piled, Maureen, at the foot of Anthony Loraine head intersecting At Maureen’s toes.

Patay na ang sindi ng gasera. At pansamantalang naghari ang agiw ng kadiliman sa kapaligiran. Pansamantala, ang dilim-ngunit kay haba. Habang ang kuliglig Sa aming isipan ay sabay-sabay Humuhuni, nag-iingay. “Naririyan lang ang kaaway” Kay Alex at Sam Fourple Lead

At the edge of the room Francis John’s long limbs Curl on a 3.5 by 2.5-foot office table While Alex and Ralph Lay supine on the floor. Their journey to Halcyon has long begun. But I am awake. My words blend in the cacophony Of their random breaths. This room morphs Into an infinite space. *3:33 a.m. while laying out the Intramurals Newsletter Special Issue Office of the Student Publication, September 15, 2005 GERRY S. RUBIO

Kahit pilitin mong kabisaduhin ang letra, hindi sa lahat ng oras, makabuluhan ang mga titik na naisasatitik. Makapangyarihan ang Wika. Makapangyarihang wika.

AUGUST TABLE OF CONTENTS

Ako’y Makata Nanahan akong walang tahanan, Sa isang bahay na may namamahay, Nag-iisip kahit lamang kathang-isip Pinipilit ang ayaw magpapapilit. Manunulat akong hindi manunulat, Dilat ang matang hindi maimulat. Umid ang musa’t dila rin ay umid, Pansin mo ang pitang hindi napapansin. Katulad ay taong walang katulad, Minsan ay masipag, alisaga kung minsan. Tanyag sa papuri’t sa alipusta’y tanyag, Namatay ang akdang walang kamatayan. Sumikat nang ang araw ay ‘di sumikat, Nilalang na luminlang sa buong nilalang. Inakit kayo sa panulat, sa panulat ako’y naakit, Narating ang imposibleng marating.

A-BA-kA-Da Pinilit mong kabisaduhin ang mga letra Isinulat Makailang ulit Ngunit walang maaninag na bakas ng tinta Sinubok mong gumuhit ng pahalang na linya Liko ang gitna, lumihis ang dulo Lumabis sa asul Nagkulang sa pula Hanggang sa napansin mo

Ganyan ang makata, makata ay ganyan, Alam ang talinong hindi pa alam. Hinahangaan subalit kinaaawaan, Kinaaawaan datapwa’t hinahangaan. Francis Tatel

Hindi guhit ang iyong iginuguhit Hindi tula ang pagtugma ng mga salita Hindi awit ang litanyang may tono at ritmo Hindi lahat ng naisasatitik Makabuluhang titik SHAINA MAE M. BENAVIDEZ

Tercio* Natanyóg ang dagâ sa pagbayó ning pa£oy ni Nang Piling. Sa lambáng pagbagsák ning ha£-o sa £ubang, Minasabáy ang mga naípon na gabát ning sainyáng himángot. Saarín n’ya man kayâ maáni ang mga binúbod na pag£áom, budâ mga tina£ók na pangato£ógan sa sagóp ning buhay? GERRY S. RUBIO

*Tercio, in tenant system, is the 1/3 to 2/3 sharing of rice produce in favor of the landowner. The symbol £ is used to ‘textualize’ the unique Virac (Catanduanes) dialect – not “L”, not “Y”, not “R” and it is not found in the alphabet. The articulation of this vocal sound is achieved by touching the tip of the tongue to the inside edge of the lower lip, not the palate which is usual in enunciating most of the letters in the alphabet.

SA£ONG BAGO£ BAGO£ NA U£A£HOT: SLUR, STIRRINGS AND SALVATION “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.” -- Meditation XVII, John Donne Ang isla ning Catanduanes, kompwesto ning onseng munisipyo. Sa parteng silangan kaini, dai na ning iba pang landmass. Uya sa parteng ini ang dagat Pasipiko na minaabot ang kadaku£aan sa kaibong na parte pa ning kinaban. Uya man sa silangan na ini ga agi ang mga makusog na bagyo. Midbid ang isla na pirming biga bagyo. Pero sa mga Catandunganon, ini sa£o sanang infamous tag. Dahil dai na ning iba pang landmass o lugar na mas ha£ani sa typhoon belt, pirming biga gamit ang Catanduanes na reference point nin PAGASA, maski dai man ngani direktang ga tamà dindi ang bagyo. A£og kang disbentaheng inabot kang Catanduanes sa pagiging reference point ning bagyo, naging disbentahe man ang samu-yang lenggwahe kung kami galuwas sa isla. Ang £a£om kang tata£amon Ini dahil apesar sa letrang “R buda “L,” igwa pa kami ning “£.” This unique phoneme made us the butt of joke. Language bully-ing was palpable. Ironically, those who make fun of our language are the ones who are ‘bilot’ because they can’t even precisely pronounce the “£.” Kaidtong mga enot na panahon, hasta kang mga 1990’s, masyadong susceptible ang taga Catanduanes sa slur na ini. What could be more demeaning than being ridiculed of your roots and identity? Kang mga panahon na ini namundag ang sogot na “sa£ong bago£ bago£ na u£a£hot” buda ang “sa£o, duwa, to£o… £ukso.” Since non-Catandunganons cannot enunciate the distinct sound, they turned it into an annoying gag. Lately, when we reasserted our distinctiveness, they played it down, telling that there are also places in the region that use words with ‘letters’ that cannot be found in the alphabet. Nonetheless, the downplaying—fortunately—demolished the pro-vincial slur we have suffered for many, many years,(at least from what I felt then). In our literary outputs, we use with pride our native tongue. Tuwang kang teknolohiya Technology played a big part in ‘globalizing’ our language. The mushrooming of webbased groups in the late 90’s and 2000 onwards shattered the bigotry, or so we think, towards our distinct language. Naging sa£o sa mga makosog na ‘medium’ ning Virac Bikol ang pagsurat ning tula, opinyon, etc., sa Internet, o maski sa sim-pleng pag post ning comments sa mga tag board, buda ngonian, sa mga wall kang social media. Biga considerar ko ang sadili ko na in-bred, pero nagkaigwa ako ning tsansang madagdagan

pa ang kamatidan sa paagi ning teknolohiya. Kang naggibo ako ning blog kang early part of 2000, nagkaigwa ako ning oportunidad na maimbitaran sa sa£ong online poetry group, ang Pinoy Poets. Dindi nahiling ko ang rough edges kang sakong pagsurat. Nakatabang na gulpi ang peer critiquing, buda insights generously shared by the members of the group. Indeed, they lived well to the Pinoy Poets dictum, which is, ‘sharing is enriching.’ Masyadong limitado ang tema ning mga biga surat ko sa hayokong na isla ning eksperyensya. Sa online group na ini nagkaig-wa ako ning oportunidad na makaluwas sa probinsya ning sakuyang pagsurat buda sa probinsiyang sakuyang kinamundagan. Naka atendir ako ning poetry reading buda poetry workshop sa Metro Manila. Naging parte man ako ning Kabulig, buda naim-bitaran man na magbasa ning tula kaidtong July 2007. Binasa ko ang tula na “Bo£okonbokon” na ang boot sabihon “inter-twined.” Unlike sa binasa ko na tula na surat sa Filipino sa Pinoy Poets poetry reading somewhere in Metro Manila, ibang ek-speryensya ang namati’an ko pagkatapos kong basahon ang “Bo£okon-bokon.” Igwang naghagad ning kopya kang binasa ko, tapos naging interesado siya sa klase ning lenggwahe na ginamit ko. Duman ko namatean ang pag-akseptar sa lenggwahe ning Virac—and the homage to the diversity of our language in the re-gion. Mas lalo pa akong naengganyar kang mapili akong Fellow for Bikol Poetry sa Ateneo National Writers Workshop. Ang £a£a ning sadiling lenggwahe Talagang mas mapanas ang mga tata£amon na hari sa sadiling dila. Sa£ong ehemplo ang commentary column sa Catanduanes Tribune, the longest running newspaper sa Catanduanes, ang Isip isipon Ta ni Tang Tacio. Mas igwang binino buda mas ga kurit sa sense and sensibility kang ga basa ang lenggwahe na surat sa Viracnon na para man sa mga taga Virac. Dai na ning mas maharitihit pa sa pagtokar ning mga isyu buda kritiko sa politika, panggogobyerno buda mga pangyayari sa komunidad ning Virac, hasta sa probinsya ning Catanduanes kung ini biga surat sa sadiling tata£amon. Pero maski kami sa£ong isla, Catanduanes is in itself a Babel of an island. For instance, ‘bongkang’ in Virac and other south-ern towns, is a small crab. Pero sa Pandan, the northernmost town sa Catanduanes, bongkang means female genitalia. \ Sa Virac, ang Botong, bamboo; sa Viga-Payo-Bagamanoc, it is young coconut; ang young coconut ang apod samo sa Virac, tipong. Banana is batag. Pero sa Northern Catanduanes, ang tawag nila dito ay saging. Maski sa Virac, may variations man bako sana ang lenggwahe kundi ang tono. Iba ang ‘rising-falling’ intonation kang nasa downtown kaysa itong nasa Dugui, the geographical heart of Virac. The towns are a plethora of language. Harimbawa, ang mga taga Codon, San Andres—na 45 minutes boat ride away from Car-amoan—speak like the 4th District residents of Cam Sur save for their sing-song intonation.

Paglawod sa dagat ning lenggwahe Gusto kong iheras ang ginibo kong tula na ang titulo “Varadero” para mas klarado ang pagsabot kung ano ang mga tipikal na konteksto ning mga kurit-kugit ko. Sa mga taga isla ning Catanduanes, ang tata£amon na “Varadero” daku£a ang implikasyon. Pag “varadero” ang barko, limitado o kaya dai ning biyahe sa mga masunod na a£daw. Ang barko ang samuyang pinaka-accessible and affordable mode of trans-portation. This literary piece speaks of my view about the worn out routine of comings and goings in an island. This was heavily criti-cized in a writing workshop for “lack of energy.” Well, it is indeed a depiction of the sluggishness that occasionally bugs us in the island.

Varadero Like dry-docked ships we are, Weary from endless sailing, We have learned the routes like the back of our hands –

Varadero

arriving, departing; We have turned rusty

Bagí na kitang mga barkong varadero na rugádo na sa biyaheng padúman, padigdí,

in memorizing weather patterns, Like when waves surge cathedral high,

pamilyar na sa rutâ maduong, maharí,

Or flatten in placid times; Slough off, we must,

Pig tak£á na kitá sa pagsau£o kang mga panahón,

those thickened rust of certain uncertainties;

Kung nuarín ang bu£an na simbahan ang lungsô, o lantóp ang dagat

‘Pwera bisita..., ’pwera bisita.’

Kaipuhan nang tiktikón Ang nag hib-óg na tak£á ning mga siguradóng daíng kasigurohán. Pwera bisita... pwera bisita.

* Varadero - (Sp.) dry dock (n.) dry-docked (adj.) ** Pwera bisita, pwera bisita: roughly translated, “except vsitors” This is a warning sounded off over a public address system before a passenger ship undocks from the pier - last call for non-passengers to disembark. Jumpshot Catanduanes: Sa£o, duwa, to£o… lukso! Ako na nasa isla, nahiling ko kung inano ka agresibo ang pag promoter ning sadiling tatalamon sa mainland Bikol. And be-cause of this, I can clearly see our need to nourish our own. Sabi ngani ni Ann Lauterbach sa sainyang librong The Night Sky: Writings on the Poetics of Experience: “Poetry protects language from serving any master. One can see better from the periphery than from the center.” Alog kang pag bag’o kang panahon, o biga apod na Climate Change, bako nang ‘exclusive’ sa Catanduanes ang bagyo. Medyo detached na ang tag samuya na pirming biga bagyo, ta ngonian na panahon, dai nang insulated sa mga rapado ning £a’ot ning panahon. Kasabay man kang Climate Change ang padiit diit man na pagkawa£a kang pag olog-olog sa lenggwaheng Virac.

The rapid saturation of information and communications technology in our lives, and the developments that are taking place in the literary world, lalo na ang pagtao ning atensyon sa regional literature, sa hiling ko, nagiging dahilan kang pagkatunaw ning pagkantiyaw sa dila ning Viracnon. Ga hangay ako na ang pagsabi ning: “Sa£o, duwa, to£o… £ukso!” magiging slogan ning pagta£ubo ning iba-ibang lenggwahe sa Catanduanes. Ha£a£om ang ribtóng ning posibilidad. [1] A small fish, dilis/manamsi. ----------------------------Delivered during the Plenary Session of Ika-4 na Pagsúrat Bikol: Paghuróp-húrop, Paghurónhúron, conducted by Ateneo de Naga University and National Commission for Culture and the Arts on April 29, 2012.

An dai mawawara Masakát ako dumán sa pinakaitaas. Aabuton ko an hinog na bunga, an pula na gatago sa mga dahon. Dai ka sana tabî magsunod. An saro sató kaipuhan maghalat sa ibaba asin magtingalog. Matulay ako sa matapô na kahoy. Tan-awon mo ako hanggan mawará sa mga dahon: duman taká tatan-awon.

GERRY S. RUBIO

Ika na mahanap sa pag-ultan kan mga sanga sa mahamis na bunga na mamantsa sa saimong badô. ALLAN POPA

Payas ni Juaning

Pawas

Bugsá ang rapado Ning hangin

Bumulwak sa leeg ng takure, ang mga bula ng pumutok na minuto.

Pastidyo ang kurókusó Ning bagyó

Itinulak ng nahihilo mong ulirat, ang kamalayan sa iyong ulo;

Sa kamayangan Nanginturunan ka Minatindóg,

At tuloy-tuloy na dadanak, ang asim at pait ng buhay sa paanan mo.

Sukob mo ang gabos Na pusak, galagatób Ang darugdog Maatí ang lutáb Ning tapuyas, galangguyod

Aapaw ang mainit na tubig, na didilig sa tuyot mong sikmura, Sa palibot ng bahagyang bitak na tasa. At muling paiikutin ng kutsarain, ang pansamantalang tumitigil mong mundo. JOEBERT ANGELO TOLLEDO

Mie ka lamang gapiyod. Anong pisóg ang asaimo Ta mie ka natanyog? Purbahan mong magsukong. Mie mo na huraton Na magbilik ang Habagát– Mas mahapdós ang barós. JONATHAN V. TULOD

Core Belief

Agosto Milenyo

August 22, 2012, 4:30 P.M.

Sapagkat nagdahilan ang ulan, nanumbat ang kidlat nagdabog ang kulog diwa’y pumaimbulog. Nang nagulat si Habagat nagmura ang lupa at isinuka ang baha

I am early The laity recites the rosary But the stillness seems palpable Silence engulfs me My breathing is heavier My thoughts adrift I wonder if they can hear me I scanned the pews And saw few faces— Infuriated with the cacophony of the two lovers

ulirat ay tuluyang nalanta.

Hypocrite, I whisper

ELVIN randolph R. JUBAY

Or am I only vexed by my solitary presence? Ill at ease, I searched for my seat Fourth from the back and left of middle aisle I am a regular Downcast, I’ve got aptitude to pray I guess that is why I found refuge in here— where sins intercept, and sinners intersect I knelt, gravity pulled harder Not long after, the lector was on the pulpit And realized I lost my Novena count: “Is it ninth or eight?” But ended consoling myself that there is another Wednesday or one week left for this predicament ROY D. TABLATE

GOZOS

The Eloquence of My Brother’s Silence

Kung ang pagtabâ Pwedeng maparâ, Sa opisyo o panatâ Ay, awat na kutâ, Na ako nagsodot, Sa Patron na maboót. Daing misteryong Palampasón, Milagro hahagadón, Matunaw sana, ang kawsâ nin pagkabonog bonogon. Ay, ba’a na bayâ, kung ang paghangay kutâ, Arog sana kang pagsabrìt, Sa mitsa ning kandila, Tapos ipadokot, ipainit, Ngani sana ikatunaw, Tabáng nakapurisaw.

“I believe that the act of speech is total process, that when it reaches optimum effectiveness, the whole man communicates. What one is is always a part of what one says.” - E. Christian Buckner

GERRY S. RUBIO

“Yayay!,” JB shouted as soon as I got out of the van from an hour travel from Virac. There he goes again. My youngest brother used to call me such a name. It sounds so much like a nanny, but I don’t really care. I don’t even hate it, though. In fact, I love the name— so personalized; a name that sprouted from a little boy’s enthusiasm to recognize his ate. A name, I believe, borne out of love. He must have missed me so much to be able to run towards me in a matter of split seconds and enveloped his slender arms around my waist. It was my fault, since I haven’t been home for almost a month, which is very unusual for his Yayay. That’s what I’ve missed about him: the genuine warmth of affection you would feel from a simple smile, embrace and kiss that would translate his voiceless struggle in letting people know that they are treasured and deeply loved. For four years, I have been taught about the power of language, both written and spoken. Actually, I am not sure if words revolve around my world or if it is the other way around. The thing I am sure about is that I haven’t used the gift to utter words in the most special reason I have and to the dearest people in my life. Even if words almost inundate my day, still, I fail to grab the opportunity to swim. I fail to fight for the life that a simple “I love you” would give to my mother’s aging motionless body or to my father’s thinning gray hair. That is why I envy JB. He has a different language—a language I find hard to master. I remember how my mama often cries whenever my brother cannot say what he really means to say. Even my Lolo Panyo (may his soul rest in peace) stayed with him for three hours every day in Marian Formation Center, a school run by nuns, just to guard him from bullies who would just isolate him from the group during his preschool days. When he reached his school age, my parents let him sit beside my cousin who is of the same age in order for him not to feel cast out. I can just imagine the dependence my brother had endured for all the words spoken for him by other people. Nods and head shakes equaled the messages he could have articulated. One time, I caught him crying in our bedroom under a thick sheet of blanket. I heard him saying between sobs words like “Bobo talaga si Baby,” because my sister reprimanded him for not successfully reading the simple sentences constructed for his reading practice. It hit me. The words hurt me like a sword pierced to an already wounded body. It must have been a difficult stage but he handled it well. In fact, three weeks before I went home, I learned from my father that JB opted to miss a day in class just to watch and take care of Mama. Bedridden, paralyzed and numb from shoulders down, in addition to the discomfort brought by the loss of electric supply in our town for two days, Mama needed to be fanned constantly, and JB volunteered to do it for her in place of Tiya Ruth, our maid. A ten-year-old fourth-grader chose not to attend class just to attend my mother’s needs.

Phonology, morphology, semantics, syntax nor pragmatics never helped me in explaining the language my brother is living. If language, they say, is the lifeblood of a culture, my brother’s language then creates a culture worthy to sustain life. So, it never mattered to me anymore whether he calls me “Yay” or “Yayay”. The moment he called me such for the first time is enough to explain his effort just to tell me that I am loved by a young boy. The moment he wiped sweat from my mother’s face and pulled a gray hair from my father’s head is enough to enunciate a love often hidden and jailed by those who were gifted by the power to express their feelings fully. That is JB’s language—a language of the soul. So, when was the last time we told our parents that we love them? I can never tell because I, too, never expressed it verbally. But I can speak. And JB cannot. However, he tries his best to show it in ways he can, which made me think that my mother also cannot move any limb but she tries her best to express her love in words. It may hurt to realize, but I noticed that my mother and my brother complement each other. The loss of one is earnestly satisfied by the other. They speak of love and care, which we often neglect to show to the people nearest to our hearts. Complete with all the speech mechanisms, normal intelligence, and working limbs, we never pushed ourselves to meet optimum effectiveness in everything we do or say. JB made me realize that everything we do or say should exhibit meaning not trash; sincerity not cleverness; and forthrightness instead of superficiality. In our family, every word my brother utters is a gift no matter how alien it may sound. Marian Claire V. Tulod

“isang Ama Namin at isang ngiti mo nang walang pangambang bukas ay muli nating pagsasaluhan ang alat ng mga dinaing na pangarap...”

Napangiti si itay nang si Kakaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y Nag-SONA

JULY TABLE OF CONTENTS

Nakalinya paitaas Ang iyong katas na Marahil ay simbolo Ng nagbabalat-kayong ligaya Tulad ng kalayaang Sumirit at pumaimbulog sanhi Ng rebolusyong ningas Ang mapagpalayang pananaghoy Ng paghihimagsik. Siya ang apoy na naglalagablab Sa sagitsit at init ng matagal Nang kinikimkim na galit Naglalaway na malasap ang tamis Ngunit tulad ng lahat ng Makamundong bagay Panandalian din lamang Sapagkat ang usok, Sasabay din sa hangin ng pagkaalipin Ang ligayang mula Sa biluhaba mong kaha. Ruzzel S. VALDEPeĂ&#x2018;A

Mamang Kanluranin Pahingi ako ng pangalan Para sa pagkakakilanlan ng mga kalat-kalat kong kapuluan Bilang isang bayan, Ang kapalit nito’y ang aking soberanya at kalayaan na sa iyong kamay ay iaatang. Pahiram ako ng iyong kultura Para rito’y makakuha ako ng mga bagong konsepto’t ideya na aangkinin na animo’y sariling akin para maging kaaya-aya sa paningin ng iba, Kapalit nito’y aking pagtatwa sa mga tradisyon at paniniwala na aking minana. Palimos ako ng kabuhayan Para ika’y makinabang sa aking mga likas na kayamanan na boluntaryo kong iaalay upang iyong gahasain kapalit ng interes ng aking mga abang supling, Kapalit nito’y walang-awa nilang pagkaalila sa iyong mga lupain higit pa sa mga makinang de grasa upang iyong mga dolyar sa aking mga kaha ay manalasa.

Sa Tuwing Maalimuom sa Labas

Pautang ako ng lahat ng mayroon ka Para ritoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y habang buhay mo akong maging alipin na susunod sa lahat ng iyong mga naisin, kapalit ng pagyurak ng mga kapatid ko sa akin na sa kanilang mga sariling paa ngayoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y matayog na nakatindig dito sa lupalop naming silanganin. FERDINAND CAMILO c. KIMURA

Langis ng pinagsapalang mansanilya sa aking palad ang ipinahid ko sa kanyang tiyan kagaya ng bilin sa amin ng Nanay noon (bago sumandok sa bagong saing) Krus pababa sa puson padapang idudulas ang palad guyod ang mga daliri sa Krus itong pusod daw ang interseksyon ng pananampalataya bago tumawid iiwan pansamantala pagdududa, pangungutya BREN RIVERA

Toyang

Hininga

Maingat mong hinimay ang laman hiniwalay ang tinik sa kakarampot na kanin habang kinakalong ang kahoy na upuan ang hapo mong katawan

Walang ibang malinaw sa paningin ng dalawang bata kung hindi ang tingting na tila umusbong mula sa daliri

tatlong pirasong tuyo, isang Ama Namin at isang ngiti mo nang walang pangambang bukas ay muli nating pagsasaluhan ang alat ng mga dinaing na pangarap kahit papaanoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y sa kumakalam na sikmura ng gabi binubusog tayo ng pangakong magsasama pa rin tayong managinip ADELMO RUBIO

Hindi sukatan ang liit ng galamay sa bilis ng hakbang ng dalawang gagamba mula sa magkabilang dulo papunta sa gitna. Walang kumukurap. Sinasalamin ng mata Ang bangis ng bilis Ng pagsunggab. Punong-puno ng paghanga ang titig. Walang bumibitaw hanggang sa paikot-ikot na binalot ng sapot ng nagwagi ang nagapi. Balisang kinuha ng bata ang talunan. Maingat na hinubad ang sapot nang â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di lumala ang pinsala. Lupaypay ang mga galamay. Ihinimlay ang nilalang sa ginusot na dahon ng bayabas. Inilapit ang labi. Hinipan. At nagkatawang tao ang Diyos. JOHN ELMAR b. TEMPLONUEVO

Gin-It

Ilog

Ako nagtanom Nin bako man na puon Nin bako man na pisog Kundi nin pagkamoot Sa puso nin sakong mga katuod. Ining sakong itinanom Sa sakuyang kamunduan Nagadan Sa dai ko maaraman na dahilan. Ini sako man pig-aataman, Pigaburubaribhi, pig-aabunuhan. Sakong pig-aataman Hadaw daw ta nagadan? Hanggang sakuyang maaraman Ining sakong itatanom... An iba napunta sa matagas na daga, Sa daghan nin tawong Sakuya kulang ang pagtitiwala. Gusto kong magtanom otro Alagad natatakot ako Ta baad ini magadan man Nin arog kan mga naenot Nin huli ta an napuntahan Bakong mayaman na daghan. Pero napag-isip-isip ko Maski anong mangyari Matanom pa giraray ako.

Tatlong pares ng paang sumisisid sa maitim na ilog.

ALEX a. ASUNCION

kulay-uling na yupi-yuping retasong yero, kalawanging orinola, baling tubo na pasungawan sa poso-negro, sombrero ng pulis (kulay-ilog), biyak na plywood, paspas na sipit ng tsinelas na kulay bughaw. Tatlong hubad-dibdib na katawang nakiki-ayon sa agos ng tubig. Hakbang na alam na alam ang direksyon ng paa kung saan meron. Patpating dibdib, pusyaw na balat, walang lapis at papel na mababanaag sa kanyang mata. Naghihintay sa daungan ang barkong styrofoam sa loob ng binugkos na sako na sa unahan ay ang timong goma na magsisilbing giya sa kanyang paroroonan. MANNY PANER

NFA

Aking duyan

Bilisan mo! ‘Wag kang pahahabol Sa hiya o sa pagod man, sasagupain natin ang masikip na pila titiisin ang samu’t saring amoy yayakapin ang init ng araw para sa kilong liligtas sa’tin, sa mga butil na magbibigay lakas.

Isang lingon sa nakaraan, Ikaw ay di ni minsang Nadalaw rin ng kadiliman.

Hindi pwedeng maubusan Hindi pwedeng walang maiuwi Nag-aabang ang kaldero Pati na rin ang plato Naghihintay ang pitong bibig Takbo habang mura pa! Sana kinabukasan Buhay pa rin ang pila Upang mailigtas kami, Mabusog at buhayin ng mga butil ng pag-asa.

Sa pagharap sa ngayon, Ang sinag ng haring araw Ay unti-unti ng sumasayaw Sa saliw ng musika ng pag-unlad Ang mga butil ng pangarap Ay unti-unti ng nagkakahugis Sa inaapakang lupa. Tila mga kabuteng nagsitubo Ang mga berdeng halaman sa iyong paligid. Sa dako pa roon, Alam kong lilisanin rin kita Na matagal ko ring hinimlayan. Muli akong babalik hindi upang humilik Sa iyong kandungan, Kundi upang muli kang samahan Sa pagsalubong ng sinag ng pag-asa na minsa’y Atin ding pinagsaluhan.

john elmAR B. TEMPLONUEVO Misty Irish Gail Villasana

PAGSISIWALAT Di makaimik minsa’y sa takot Patuloy ang pagdanak ng pulang likidong uudyok na huwag akong magsalita Tila tigang na labing nanginginig Nangangatal sa marahang pagsaklob ng dilim Maiksi ang pantig ngunit makahulugan Marahil ako’y inutusang manahimik muna sandali Kasabay ng mga batang inihasik sa uniberso ng karimlan Ang katotohana’y nakausli ngunit mahirap masilayan Ako’y saksi sa lahat ng pangyayari Ngunit tenga ko’y kawali Bibig ko’y nakausli Si Kuya? Paano si Kuya? Kapatid ko ang madadawit sa aking pagsisiwalat Sa tuktok ko maaalala Naiwang salita ni Ama, katotohanan Lihim nila’y itinakas ko sa dilim Maaaring may masaktan sa pagbubunyag Isa lang ang aking ipinagdarasal Sana ay sa kulungan siya dalhin Hindi sa langit O kung saan man.

Ang Sugo Mula sa Hinaharap Kanina sa kanto “Apoy! Bulkan! Kamatayan!” “Tutunawin ng tingga ang mararahas” “Iluluwal ang bagong Eva’ Adan Mawawala ang ako at ikaw Ngunit hindi pa huli ang lahat Ako ang sugo mula sa hinaharap..,” “Naririto ako upang sabihin sainyong...” biglang naputol ang ingay kinulata ng isang tricycle driver ang matandang nag aakong propeta ALLAN-JAY B. MADRID

PAGBIGYAN NAMAN

Spoliarium

Natutumba paisa-isa Nasasaksihan Napakikinggan Lupang binabagsakan namumula.

Pinagpipyestahan Ng mga malalansang kayumangi Ang mga kinalawang na perlas Na nasa nahamugang lupa.

Hinaing ng karamihan Pantay na parusa ibigay Aking buhay Sagrado Huwag bastang ipatangay

Humalo rin ang mga basyong nakahimlay Sa malapot lapot na parang Sapot na dugo Na galing sa mga taga at baril.

Lisanin ko man ngunit hindi kaya Bitawan man ngunit Hanap hanap pa ng katawan Silang mga naka uniporme Dahan-dahang lalapit Pintong kahoy Kakatukin

Nakatihaya, sabog ang kanang mata At nakaikim din ang kanang kamay. Sa kanyang pagkawala Ay nawala narin ang pag asa Ng kasarinlan. At nagdiwang na ang mga Puti sa kanluran. DEMETRIO E. CELESTINO III

Sandali Saglit lang Pagsisimula ng bago Pagbigyan naman Aantayin na lang ba Na duguang karatula Ang ilalagay Sa aking katawan Wag tularan pusher ako. JOHN CARLo R. MONTERO

ANG ILAYA AY PARA SA MGA IBONG GALA Agarang ipinasok ni Elvin ang susi sa kandado. Hindi na niya matagalan ang init sa labas. Sumabay pa sa alinsangan ng panahon ang pangyayari kanina. May bumingo na naman sa mga pataya. Bente pesos para sa numerong singko-uno. Sa kala-karang pinasok ni Elvin, ang bawat kamalasang tatama sa kanya ay dobleng biyaya naman para sa iba. Sa mga pagkakataong gaya nito, wala siyang ibang maiuwi kundi isang platitong kanin at isang takal ng dinuguan na pwedeng mabili sa halagang labinlimang piso sa karinderya, ‘di hamak na mas mura kaysa sa ibang tindang ulam. Pagpasok niya sa ba-hay, nayayamot niyang inihagis ang dalang supot sa uuga-ugang mesita at nahigang saglit sa papag. Amoy ipis na ang unan. Medyo makati na rin sa balat ang kobre kama. Matagal na rin siyang hindi nakapaglilinis ng tirahan. Hindi pa rin niya makalimutan ang hitsura ng lumitaw na imahe sa salaming pader ng isang fast food chain. Araw-araw siyang dumaraan sa kalyeng kinatitirikan niyon pauwi. Araw-araw ring inaabangan ng naturang establisyimento ang kanyang pag-daan. Subalit kanina lamang siya naglakas-loob na harapin ang sariling repleksyon. Tila pinagsiksikan ang laman at buto sa katawang halos tatlong piye lamang ang tangkad. Mas lalo pa siyang nainis sa kanyang malalaking mata, sarat na ilong at makakapal na labing waring lalong nagpapalaki sa kanyang biluhabang ulo. Idagdag pa riyan ang disproporsyon ng mga braso at binti na sa unang tingin ay parang namamaga; at inusbungan ng mga daliring pagkakamalang kumpol ng mga pinitpit na luya. Umiling-iling ang unano. Ilang minuto pa’t napatingin si Elvin sa kinalalagyan ng kanyang sirang telebisyon. Nakapatong doon ang isang bagay na pina-kaiingat-ingatan niya. Katabi ng pigurin ng Sto. Nino, isang modelo ng eroplanong kamikaze ang bahagyang nababalot sa al-ikabok. Bigay iyon ng kanyang pumanaw na lolo na isang beterano ng Ikalawang Digmaang Pandaigdig. Nakatatak sa laruan ang magkahalong numero at titik na 52c Zeroes. Ang laruan ay gawa sa aluminyo at tanso at tumitimbang nang halos sangka-pat na kilo. Napipintahan ng berde ang mga pakpak ng eroplano na nagbibigay tikas sa laruan. Taglay nito ang pares ng mga de-makinang baril na kung magiging totoo’y kayang pumaslang ng daan-daang katao. Sopistikadong tunay ang pagkakayari. Biglang naalala ni Elvin ang mga sandaling buhay pa ang kanyang lolo. Maglalaro sila ng baril-barilan sa kanilang maliit na bakuran. Sa sandaling hapuin ang matanda, uupo siya sa mga hita nito at ihahanda ang tenga upang makinig ng mga kwento tungkol sa naganap na giyera- ang panunupil ng mga Hapon, ang pag-aaklas ng mga gerilya, ang pagpapasabog ng mga base militar. Manghang-mangha siya sa mga naririnig. Pinagpapawisan siya at napapaigting ng kapit sa laruang eroplano. Sa katunayan, lihim rin niyang ginustong maging sundalo. Sa gitna ng pagbabalik-gunita, dumapo sa kanyang kamalayan ang imahe ng mga pulang langgam na umaaligid sa kanyang pananghalian. Agad siyang tumayo, tinungo ang lalagyan ng plato at inihanda ang pagkain. Akmang susubo na sana siya nang may marinig na boses mula sa labas. “Mang Binoy, nariyan na po ba kayo? May dala na po akong dyaryo… Mang Binoy?” Napakunot ang noo ni Elvin. Narito na naman ang batang iyon. Mangungulit na naman. Kahapon, nangako nga pala siyang tutulungan ito sa paggawa ng saranggola. Hindi na siya

nakatanggi dahil ayaw umuwi ng bata hangga’t hindi siya pumapayag. Napakamot si Elvin sa bumbunan. “Bakit nandito ka na namang bata ka?” “Si Mang Binoy naman. ‘Di ba gagawa po tayo ngayon ng saranggola?” “Pagkatapos nito, tantanan mo na ako ha. Sandali lang. Kumakain pa ako. Maghintay ka diyan.” “Sige po. Bilisan nyo ha. Mahangin po ngayon sa parang.” Lalong nagusot ang mukha ni Elvin habang ngumunguya. Mag-iisang linggo na rin ang nakalipas nang magtagpo ang landas nila ng batang si Botchok. Nang araw na iyon, walang nanalo sa mga tumaya kay Elvin. Ibig sabihin, malaki-laki ang delihen-syang maiuuwi niya. Bago lisanin ang palengke, binilang muna niya ang kinitang kwarta. Limang daan mahigit. Hindi niya mapigilang ngumisi sa paglalakad ngunit sa daan pabalik, napansin niyang may sumusunod sa kanya- isang batang nakasuot ng kupas na maong at puting sando. Naalerto si Elvin. Ilang beses na rin kasi siyang napagdiskitahan ng grupo ng mga kabataang hawak ng mga sindikato. Mainit sa mata ng mga mapagsamantala ang mga nagpapataya sa ending na tulad niya, lalo na’t ki-tangkita na wala siyang laban. Walang anu-ano’y kinumpronta niya ang bata. “Gago ka ha! Bakit mo ‘ko sinusundan? Anong kelangan mo?” Nagitla ang payat na batang may kung anong kuyum-kuyom sa kamay. “Ah… eh… wala po. Ibabalik ko lang po sainyo ‘tong singkwenta. Nahulog nyo po kasi kanina sa may tindahan ng patuka. Heto po.” May kung anong naramdaman sa dibdib si Elvin. Nakita niya ang sarili sa kausap. Habang inaabot ang singkwentang papel, niyaya niyang kumain ang bata sa karinderya ni Aling Ligaya na nauwi sa pagkukwento ng paslit tungkol sa sariling buhay. Maingay at masalita si Botchok ngunit napaka-lambing. Nalaman ni Elvin na sa edad na siyam, ulila nasa magulang si Botchok at nasa pangangalaga na ng kanyang tiyuhin. Gayunpaman, ang paanyayang iyon ni Elvin sa bagong kakilala ay dala na rin ng kanyang prinsipyo na hangga’t maaari, iwasan magkaroon ng utang na loob sa iba. Ngunit sa paglipas ng mga araw, panay na ang pagdalaw sa kanya ng bata. Kung hindi makikiinom, dadalhan naman siya ni Botchok ng mga bunga ng aratilis o kaya nama‘y duhat. At nito ngang nakaraang araw, nagpapatulong naman ito sa paggawa ng saranggola. Ayaw mang aminin ni Elvin, madalas niya man itong sungitan, may katit-ing na responsibilidad siyang nararamdaman, na kusang iniaatang sa kanyang balikat tuwing kasama ang bata. “Mang Binoy, napag-isipan nyo na po ba?,” biglang sambit ni Botchok habang ginugupit ang hininging dyaryo sa kapitbahay. Nagsalubong ang kilay ni Elvin, “Ang alin?” “Yung hinihingi ko pong laruan. Yung nakapatong po sa TV n’yo. Sayang naman po eh.” “Hindi nga pwede, ang tigas din ng ulo mo ‘no?” “Naglalaro pa ba kayo nyan? Parang ang tanda nyo na para sa ganyan eh,” nakangiting biro ng bata. “Tigilan mo ‘kong dugyot ka ha. Napupuno na ‘ko sayo! Magpabili ka na lang kay Douglas. ‘Di ba malaki ang kita ng tiyuhin mo sa pamimirata? Bumili pa lang kayo ng karaoke kahapon ha.” Ilang minuto rin ang hinintay ni Elvin bago tumugon ang bata. “Wala… wala naman pong pakialam sa akin yun. Lagi pa akong pinapalo. Minsan nga

pinasama nya pa ako ‘dun sa mga nakasa-kay sa pulang sasakyan. Ayoko... pero hahampasin n’ya raw ako ‘pag hindi ako sumama tapos…” Biglang nag-iba ng tempo ang usapan ng dalawa. Tahimik na inilapat ni Elvin ang tingting sa mukha ng dyaryo upang maging gulugod ng saranggola. Nakatingin naman sa kawalan ang bata. Pinakiramdaman ng una ang kilos ng huli. May kung anong gusting sabihin ang mga mata ng musmos ngunit tila ibinuhol niya ang sariling dila. May alam si Elvin. Tuwing mapapagawi ang unano sa bahay nina Botchok upang maningil ng pataya, maririnig niya ang sabayang paghikbi nito at pagmumura ni Douglas, ang tiyuhin ng bata. Ngunit ni minsan, hindi niya tinangkang makialam. Hindi niya tinangkang tanungin ang paslit at alamin ang mga bagay-bagay sa buhay nito. Sapat nang may alam siya. Humikab si Botchok sabay takip ng palad sa bibig . “Mang Binoy, pwede bang makitulog muna? Pwede po bang pakigising na lang ako kapag pwede na nating paliparin ‘yan?” Hindi na muling tumingin si Elvin sa mga mata ng bata. Ipinikit niya ang isang mata sa pagsipat ng sukat ng gagawing tri-yanggulo mula sa pisi. Tahimik niyang itinuro ang kinalalagyan ng papag. Sa natanggap na hudyat, agad na isinampa ni Botchok ang katawan sa inialok na higaan. Mukhang napuyat na naman ito kagabi dahil sa pagsideline sa bingohan bilang taga-bola ng numero. Maya’t maya ang pagkiling ni Elvin sa noo’y natutulog nang si Botchok. Naiinggit siya rito dahil alam niyang sa pag-usad ng panahon, lalaking makisig at matalino ang bata. Pwede itong maging inhinyero, doktor o di kaya’y sundalo na minsan nya ring pinangarap. Kung naging normal lamang siya, di sana’y may asawa na rin siya ngayon at may panganay na pagbibigyan ng kanyang laruang eroplano. May disente sana siyang trabaho at ‘di na niya kailangang magabang at magbilang ng bawat maibu-buslong bola. Pero tanggap n’ya na ang sumpa ng kapalaran. Hanggat may nahuhumaling magsugal at manuod ng basketbol, patuloy siyang mabubuhay. Para kay Elvin, iyon naman ang mahalaga, ang manatiling buhay. Habang nakamasid si Elvin, biglang napakamot sa tiyan si Botchok. Ikinagulantang ni Elvin ang sumilip mula sa ‘di si-nasadyang naitaas na t-shirt. Tumambad sa unano ang nangangati’t nakaumbok na pilat ng paslit. Nakabalatay ito sa kanang bahagi ng tiyan, pahalang malapit sa pusod at mga limang pulgada ang haba ng hiwa. Para itong natutulog na alupihan; ang mga mababakas na tahi sa naghilom na sugat ang nagsisilbing mga paa at pangkagat. Kinutuban si Elvin at nanghilakbot. Na-palunok ng laway. Gusto niyang yakapin ang bata. Kakatwang sa puntong iyon naman naalimpungatan si Botchok. “Oh Mang Binoy, anong oras na po? Gawa na po ba yung saranggola ko?” Dali-daling bumangon si Botchok at kinuha ang yari nang sa-ranggola sa mesita. “Bukas ko na lang po ‘to paliliparin. Sayang naman po ang kikitahin ko sa bingohan ngayon. Maaga po kasing pupwesto sina Aling Ligaya. Sige po, salamat… Ay! Hinog na nga pala yung balimbing namin. Dadalhan ko na lang po kayo bukas.” Lalabas na sana si Botchok nang kumiling ito pabalik sa unano. “Kapag nakapa-gipon ako ng marami Mang Binoy, kayo naman ang ililibre ko. Tapos kapag may sobra, iipunin ko ulit para makapag-aral ako sa Maynila para maging piloto. Mahal daw kasi sabi ni Ma’am mag-aral ng pagpapalipad ng eroplano eh. Tapos isasama ko kayo sa Amerika. Ay s’ya, sige po. Una na po ako.” Patakbong umalis si Botchok. Nautal si Elvin at halos ilang minuto ring hindi nakakibo sa

pagkakaupo. Kahit ganoon ang kanyang panlabas na kaanyuan, malaki ang respetong ipinapakita sa kanya ng bata. Masaya siyang malaman na may indibidwal din palang kaya siyang isama sa pangangarap. Nagawa sa kanyang ipakita ng paslit na mali ang pag-aakala niya sa mundo. Na hindi mundo ang may kagagawan ng lahat sapagkat siya mismo ang mundong umiinog sa piniling hantungan. Huminga nang malalim si Elvin. Buo na ang kanyang pasya. Bukas, susubukan din niyang lumipad. Magtatanghaling tapat na at nakaharap si Elvin sa nakasarang pinto nina Botchok. Hawak ng kanyang kaliwang kamay ang laruang kamikaze na lubos niyang itinatangi. Sa likurang bulsa naman ng kanyang pantalon, nakasuksok ang bolpen at isang ending card na gamit niya sa paghahanapbuhay. Kumikiliti sa kanyang tenga ang tunog mula sa telebisyon ng isang kapitbahay na nakaantabay sa NBA. Tatlong minuto na lamang ang natitira sa laro at lamang ang Lakers kontra Celtics. “Tama na po tiyong… hindi ko na po uulitin. Tama na po!” “Talagang hindi ka na makakaulit dahil pipilayan kita! Walang hiya ka… wala kang silbi! Pinapalamon kita para pakinabangan dito sa bahay, hindi para magpalipad ng bwisit na saranggolang ‘yan!” Dinig na dinig ni Elvin ang pagtama ng sinturon sa balat ni Botchok. Gusto niyang kumatok at awatin si Douglas pero dinadaga ang kanyang dibdib. Katabi ng mga paso, naroon ang saranggolang ginawa nila kahapon. Bali-bali na ang tingting at nilamukot na ang kabuuan. Isa na lamang itong bunton ng ebidensya ng kalupitan ni Douglas sa pamangkin. Hindi niya kayang harapin ang malaking bulas na mama. Naglakad siya papalayo sa bahay ng magtiyuhin ngunit naaninag siya ni Douglas mula sa bin-tana. Mabilis itong lumabas ng bahay, iniwan muna ang nilalatayang pamangkin at hinabol si Elvin. “Pare, teka lang, sandali. Pasensya na ha. Pinapangaralan ko kasi yung pamangkin ko. Lumalaking sutil eh. Oh, bakit ka pala napadaan?” “Wa... wala. Itatanong ko lang sana kung tataya ka. Ma… malapit nang matapos yung laro.” “Ah… hindi na muna siguro. Pass na muna ako pare. Wala akong barya dito eh. Puro Ninoy. Ay teka, maiba ako. Napag-isipan mo na ba yung dini-deal ko sayo?” Hindi kumibo si Elvin. Yumuko nang bahagya si Douglas upang magpantay sila at makausap niya nang maayos ang unano. Marahan itong nagsalita. “Ano pare? Sige na. Gusto lang naman kitang tulungan. Malaking pera ‘to. Ang tagal ko na ‘tong inaalok sayo ha. Hindi mo na kailangang magpataya at libutin ang buong barangay.” “Papatak daw ng sitenta mil ang isang bato. Malaking tulong na rin ‘yun sayo. Magkakaporsyento pa ako kay bosing dahil ako ang nagreto sa’yo. Ligtas naman ang operasyon eh. Nung isang buwan nga, ibinenta ko yung sa pamangkin ko. Bata pa kaya trenta mil lang ang ibinayad. Pero tingnan mo, nakabili na ako ng motorsiklo. Minsan lang dumating ang swerte, pare. Baka makawala pa. Ikaw rin.” Biglang bumigat ang pakiramdam ni Elvin sa narinig. Nagmistulang demonyo si Douglas sa paningin niya. Nagpupuyos niyang siniil ng kamay ang laruang eroplano at nagdilim na nga nang tuluyan ang kanyang paningin sa kausap. Isinapak niya nang ubod lakas sa mukha ni Douglas ang hawak na laruan. Matindi ang naganap na pagsalpok. Nawasak ang laruang eroplano. Bumulagta ang barumbadong tiyuhin ni Botchok. Putok ang nguso.

Sa unang pagkakataon, naging mataas ang tingin ni Elvin sa sarili. Nanginginig man ang mga kamay at binti, nakuha niyang itaas ang noo kasabay ng marahang paghingal. Alam niyang nakatanaw sa bintana si Botchok. Nasaksihan nito ang ginawa niyang pagbuwal sa tiyuhin nitong sanggano. Pakiramdam niya, kabilang siya sa mga sundalong madalas ikwento sa kanya ng kanyang lolo. Pakiramdam niya, siya ang pilotong sakay ng pandigmang eroplanong sumalpok sa mukha ng gabapor na kaaway. Humangin nang malakas. Hindi natinag sa kinatatayuan si Elvin. Pinagmamasdan niya ang unti-unting pagbangon ni Douglas. Pilit nitong pinipigil ang pag-agos ng dugo mula sa napuruhang ilong at labi. At sa lakas ng pagkakasapak, natagalan itong kapain ang balanse ng ka-tawan. Tumingin ang duguang mama sa kanya. Dumura. “Pu… pwehh! Tang’na kang hayop ka! ” Habang sinusubukang tumayo ni Douglas, malaya namang binubugbog ng ihip ng hangin ang mukha ni Elvin. Sa kanyang pandinig, lalong lumakas ang nagbubunying boses ng banyagang commentator sa telebisyon ng kapitbahay. “… and the Los Angeles Lakers has made a convincing win over the Boston Celtics here at Staples Center, with the final score 109-93!” Swerte si Elvin. Wala na namang tumama. DAVE S. TOLENTINO

Lingid sa kaalaman ng ilan, kinapapalooban ng paghulagpos sa mga tanikala at pagbulahaw ng mga â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di mausal ang bawat pagdarahop. Matinding silakbo ng damdamin ang pinag-uugatan ng pagnanais na makawala. Ngunit ang bawat pagkawala ay hindi matatapos ng wakas, sapagkat ang una nagsisimula sa bawat wakas.

JUNE TABLE OF CONTENTS

Harong-harong

Chasing Lights

Kaidto naguiromdoman ko pa Sa apat na lapisayon na taldok Pinanasan asin sa daga tinugdok Piglipudan nin alang na balagon Hanggang sa mahaman Satuyang harong-harong

(8-08-07 3:00am, after getting off in a waiting shed at Julia Vargas Avenue)

Nakanuod kita magsapna sa saday na lata Gamit an binagid na botong Asin mga balang panggatong Sa satuyang pagtaid Kaiba ang magayon na pangiturugan Dara sa pagmata ang paglaom Na ang kinab-an para sa satuyang duwa sana Dai kita nahandal kung magparos man O magturo nin makusog ang uran Ta aram tang sa mga sakong pandong Na pigsasalumsom nan in ripot Digdi inot nagpaimbong ang pagkamoot Dai na akong pigahagad pa Kundi ang mahiling ka man guiraray na maogma Maski sa bag-o mong kakawat ngonian Na pigpadagos mo na hanggang sa paggurang Mamati mo lamang sa dakulang harong nindo Ang kaugmahan na namati mo sa harong-harong ta kaidto

Wiped my rain drenched palms on the side of my pants These rainy nights get me in the mood for strolling around city streets when downpour turns to drizzle, Lights a red So crisp, so cold, so calming... The chilly air pacifies the need to hurry as it bites through my sweater, Puffs The night lights swarm puddle streets like fireflies, bouncing off every surface, reflections radiate subtle signs that life hides behind heavy tinted glass doors, Exhales

Mabalos sa minsan mong pagsirong…

Enticing... beckoning... those fireflies... it is almost impossible to refuse joining their trance... a mating Dance

ADELMO V. RUBIO

Tips off the ash I couldn’t afford to give in, to get lost, I still need my week’s allowance, There might be classes tomorrow. I won’t yield. JOHN BRIAN NAVAL

To an I.T. Student Who Asked If My Face Pic was ‘Photoshopped’

Calculator

I beg your pardon, I don’t have the deft of execution. I have longed to be an expert But what you see is what you get, And if ever I have the gift, I won’t erase imperfections anyway, Nor highlight those that strike them off.

Upon the entangled crosshairs of my transit Your aura radiates my tormented gaze For your presence brings me this Unfathomable integral, Your gravity disturbs my equilibrium And thy pulchritude elevates my profundity.

I’d rather keep those minuscule age spots, And parched and sullen eye bags that tell a story or two, Or let you know that those ridges on my forehead, Were weighed down by the gravity of contemplations.

Made two circles circumnavigating In the shadows of your memories, Your radius collinear to mine From the point of tangency Two lines were drawn Lines of our parallelism Magnitudely equal, Vectorially opposite And so, we never intersect.

Soon this will be my Life’s page, for you to draw off wisdom, And just in case I meet you, In the crossroad, I hope you’ll have Those same child-like questions still, So that when I am about to finish off my journey, You can read between the lines (Which, by then, will be more comprehensible) Life’s unaltered stories. GSR

I’ve lost your grip Far enough to ascend The slope of your hypotenuse I’ve got three equations with one unknown Still, I couldn’t find the answer The velocity of your escape blurs my vision But your cosmic persona magnifies this infinite waiting Pythagoras’ or Euclid’s language Wouldn’t be just enough Perhaps, I could never find the mathematics Of your miscalculated heart. Not in my transit. Not in my calculator. Not anymore. Syntax Error. JONATHAN V. TULOD

Highest Heights Let this be your lonely wandering in the clouds lost in the stretch of limits and boundaries gloom and harsh the nimbus clouds would fall in teardrops drizzles, sorry for the inconvenience lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dried hearts flooded with immense coldness. But you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have enough courage to spread your frozen wings and fly because all the falls seem high yet bold to dare to defy gravity, to grab opportunity not to fall below the sea of uncertainty nor kneel to Poseidon just to give you a dose of bravery.

This must be the greatest journey the highest height to reach is to go beyond the sky Catapult your souls to the apex of your heart of your longest flight. JOHN MICHAEL P. VERUEN

Abakada ni Bunso

THAT IS NOT MY NAME

Sa minsang pagsaboy Ng mga nagtatampisaw mong bigkas Nilulunod mo ng luwalhati Ang pang-ulinig naming nananabik Sa bawat pagtahi mo ng mga salitang Dapat sana’y noon pa nasambit Iniiwan mo ang aming mga pusong habag Na tila tikatik ng ulang pagal

“Eh, ano kaya kung magbati ako sa harap mo?” Needless to say, I was more than shocked by what I was just offered. Magbati has always been part of my pitiable Filipino vocabulary, but I’ve always used it in the same one sentence: “Ako na lang magbabati ng itlog para sa keyk.” I knew beating eggs had no involvement whatsoever with his vulgar-looking hand gestures. I think I would’ve looked distressed if through the eyes of some distant audience. “Oh? Ba’t di ka makasagot, Beauty?” I didn’t know what to say, Beauty he calls me and thus… so does the whole class. He doesn’t know my real name. He rarely ever calls people by their respective real names. I’ve always thought he thinks he thinks that remembering names, especially names of people who haven’t earned his respect yet, is a waste of memory. On the other hand, maybe he finds less effort in recognizing and naming people from and by aspects of their life that were shared with him. For example, I have a classmate who carries a red coffin-shaped bag with a skull on it, which interested him enough to make the guy sing for class. The song my classmate sung was “Perfect” by Simple Plan, which was quite sad a definition of rock (but what do I know?) that earned another “sing-infront” punishment. The next day, that classmate was christened Bungo after he sang for the class again in a black shirt painted with a white skull on its right sleeve. Another classmate received the name Afghanistan because she told us her father worked overseas… In Afghanistan, to be exact. Dushesne (pronounced Joo-kayn), that eccentrically appealing name, was demoted into Chihuahua. Beside Chihuahua sat Doberman. Infront of me sat Calabanga. Behind me, Baboy claimed his seat. Somewhere at the back, Heterosexual tolerated the lectures apathetically. “Sir… Bastos?” I asked hesitantly. He must’ve caught that I was reassuring myself of what the real question was, since he grinned widely like he always does when he’s having fun disorienting his students. He restated his query in a manner that finally reconnected with what we recognized as the official subject for discussion. “Beauty kapag nagbati ba ako sa harap o, bastos o malaswa?” “Bastos po, Sir?” I repeated. This time, with conviction. “Bastos na malaswa?” His smile wavered as he tried to helpfully sharpen my answer with more structure. “Bastos lang po, Sir.” I confidently decided.

Subalit, hindi ka sawi Lalong hindi ka api Dahil isa kang anghel At sa iyong mga ngiti Mamumutawi ang alimpuyo ng Damdaming nag-aasam ng pagkalinga Dahil sa musika ng munti mong tinig, Bunso, Pagal na katawan ni Inay muling iindayog. JONATHAN V. TULOD

He coughed a laugh that pasted his mischievous Cheshire-cat grin back on his face. “Bakit hindi malaswa?! Alam niyo, ganyan tayo pinalaki ng mga magulang natin eh. Nakatatak na sa isipan natin na lahat ng malaswa bastos. O kaya naman kapag bastos malaswa. Samantalang ang mga magulang naman natin naglalaswaan… Kahit nga mga mag-asawang matatanda na naglalaswaan pa rin. Anong pagkakaiba, Beauty? Ano ang malaswa at ano ang bastos?” “Sir…?!” I half-shouted on impulse as I half-raised my hand to redirect Sir K’s attention on me even as the responsibility to answer was still mostly mine. This earned me some stifled chuckles and giggles from a few who caught my slight desperation to redeem myself. Himself laughing, our teacher gestured at me to take the floor. “Beauty.” He said, winking at Dominic – the other Baboy, whose uncontained sniggers I was tempted to shush by Sir K’s usual playful insult to him: “Hoy, usapang tao ‘to.” “Eh di Sir, kapag nagbati ka sa harap ko-” I started, only to be disrupted. “Ba’t ako pa rin yung nagbabati…?!” He exclaimed, while the class erupted. With raucous laughter at my expense. About time, I thought. They’ve been trying to restrain themselves since the direct attack of “pagbabati” at Beauty. “Si Bungo naman-” “Eh ikaw naman po gusto ko, Sir!” I jokingly retorted over the overwhelming merriment that turned into louder catcalls at the boldness of that “defensive proclamation of love”. “O ako daw. Ako daw…” Sir K cried to finally hush the class. “Sige na, ako na lang. Continue, Beauty…” “Sir, kapag nagbati ka sa harap ko… Bastos. Kasi hindi tayo close. Pero Sir… Kung sakaling intimate tayo sa isa’t isa and involved tayo sa isang relationship, malaswa siya pero hindi bastos. Because it would be appropriate and would more or less come out as sensual and not… walang modo.” Again, the class almost exploded with laughter. I almost cried from embarrassment, but the go-for-anything /laugh-at-everything side of me won. I was red from unnecessary giggling and pressured cheek-mushing. “More or less.” Sir concluded and the conversation died. A moment more and he inhaled some of the infectious nitrous oxide again and laughed his guts off. Until, he caught a glimpse of Afghanistan just smiling, instead of freely and loudly expressing amusement like the others were. “Hoy, ikaw… Afghanistan! Bakit di ka tumatawa? Hindi pa kita nakikitang tumatawa kahit kelan. Di nga. Tingnan mo si Baboy oh. Tawa ng tawa parang nanghihigop. Tumawa ka nga. Ganito oh, HA! HA! HA! HA!” He imitated the stereotypical Prima Donna laugh that oddly sounded so sadistic that the giggly, shaking Afghanistan actually buried her face in her hands to keep herself from complying. “Hindi nga… Di kita ipapasa. Gayahin mo ako. HA! HA! HA! HA!” The loud happy chorus reached higher peak. “O, ang makapagpatawa diyan, ‘A’ na sa class na ‘to…”

As everyone gladly attempted to win an ‘A’ through that challenge, the mirthful sound fluctuated all over that last session of our Art, Man, and Society class. In the end, he never called me by my real name that whole semester. Not one of the three he could have chosen from in my test papers or in his class record. That just makes me miss Sir K’s classes even more. A couple of my previous teachers used to tell our old class that a class’ success rests more on the students than on the teachers. Students have to prove to their teachers that they are worthy of being their students. The more knowledgeable the student, the harder the teachers have to do their jobs. Having had teachers like them, I can’t help but feel so lucky… and confident. If hardworking students make hardworking teachers, then shouldn’t be up to us to see which teachers are up to challenge their professions? Isn’t it ironic how most of the power actually rests on the students even as teachers claim authority? Students are empowered individuals. Don’t feel awkward when you want your teacher to clarify something. Don’t hesitate to tell them when you feel like your teachers said something wrong. Don’t just take everything they say as facts. Don’t be afraid to start a discussion. Challenge authority. That’s how you start to learn. That’s what Sir K and the many other teachers I so admire made me believe in. CYRIL PATRICE O. BERNARDINO

UNDOCKING MANUEVER I hate the sea. Heaven knows that I hate it the most in my life. I don’t know but it seemed that I was destined to hate it and it hates me back. We are like two opposite energies that will never get along. It is still fresh in me how pitiless that salt water was. It took away so many things from me, the strawberry lollipop my childhood crush Nene gave me; my right foot Spartan slipper that I bought from my friend Macoy where all I have to pay was 10 Stik-O’s because it was his favorite; the eagle-like kite that I stole from the rich kid they called Junior at Barangay Cormidal; my blue Darna T-shirt where Angel Locsin beautifully exposed her cleavage; my one and only favorite underwear because I only have one, and just like what Aling Nimfa used to utter every time I buy Pan de Coco as lunch. The sea has stolen my future. I heard that my father was a seaman and a victim of pirate assault in the seas of Madagascar. He was one of the ship crews who were hostage and never recovered by the Navy. My mother, because of the trauma, decided to jump off the ferry in the middle of the trip from San Andres to Tabaco, leaving me alone in her seat. She loved my father so much and can’t live without him yet believed that I can survive without them. She originally arranged to start a new life in Manila and begin to collect herself there yet she could bear it no more making her to follow Papa. She too was never recovered. I don’t know if the story is a hoax or not. I was an infant that time who only knew three things – sucking milk, peeing, and pooping. I was auspicious somehow that a widow named Lilibeth claimed me as her own. She literally stole me in that ferry. Until now I’m wondering how she proved to the investigators that I’m hers. Maybe because of that mole on my nose which she also had, only that hers was as big as a nut. For eight years, she raised me in her small house at Riosa St. near the port of Tabaco. She was a fish vendor. She tried one stormy night to join her fisher friends in catching fish. Unfortunately, she too was stolen by the sea. From there I started to live on my own. Her house was taken by old Hilario, owner of the three sari-sari stores and two eateries in the alley going to the seaport, whom she owe a huge amount for my hospitalization when I got ill of Typhoid. I recalled a little what she told me that time. She said that she don’t want to lose another child again. Perhaps, she really deemed me as one. With no relatives to go to, I made the city my home and simply slept wherever the night hails me. Food? I eat by begging alms in the cathedral, in the port, anywhere where there are people who have coins in their pockets and purses. Then, I realized that I never was alone, that I was not the only wasted kid in the world. I met my friends who are just like me, Sam and Wilson. The three of us made the city our very own playground. We were blithe. We were free. We were happy. Unluckily, it was Wilson and I who grew together. Sam died after he was hit by an SUV when he tried to ran after a ten-peso coin thrown by a passer-by. We mourned but we persisted to enjoy our playground for Sam. We began to use other ways of gaining money… out of plastic, metal, garbage, and even out of our own body. We just have to look for a sucker or the third creature they

say and alas! We’ll get ourselves 100 pesos plus. Yet we found it malevolent so we only do it every Christmas so we can buy something that is out of our custom. I remember, we savored our first pizza and Nestlé ice cream last year because of that means. And then I met Helen. I found her one night crying, sitting atop the dim-lighted part of the dike at Bonto Boulevard with feet hanging down on the cemented wall. She was just garbed in an I-don’t-know attire, but one thing for me was apparent that moment: she was so damned gorgeous even though her face looked like a map because of the tears that half-rinsed her makeup. Gravity walloped my heart at that instance. And so I did what I can do. I became what she needed and in return is what I need. The night etched something that revolutionized my life. We shared our different world and made it intertwined. Hers was the world of neon lights and dance floor. Mine was the city. She didn’t like it there. Her eyes own up her being disgusted to herself. I could decode it every time we spent hours sharing our stories with each other. She was only sixteen… same as me. Yet her built wouldn’t say that way because Helen is a woman… her face, her bosom, her legs, her voice… she is definitely a woman of her age. She told me one day that if there’s one thing that she yearns the most, it is to escape the city and return to her province. But she couldn’t pay for it. It’s Mama Ef, the owner of the club, who collects the payment of the customers who dwell on her being every night. And they were warned that they will be killed if they will not adhere to whatever their boss orders. She never wished to be in her situation right now. If there’s someone to be blamed, it was her father who desperately sold her to Mama Ef in order to bring her mother who was suffering from a pancreatic cancer to the specialists in Manila. Her father promised to claim her back but it was only a promise. It never came to pass. I may be too young at my age but my world helped me grasp how arduous and thorny it is for her to breathe in a world she never chose to have. A world that made her rot even she still lives, burns her though she’s not on fire, and a world that makes her foul even with how many times she drowns in a lake of perfume. Her body is hers no more. It is now a stairway to heaven that any man can climb as long as he can pay. Politicians, engineers, business man, police, Philosophy professor, Chemistry teacher, principals, spoiled brats, senior citizens, lotto winner… all of them, they all climbed and frolicked in her heaven. They come and go. She was like a machine… but a machine that sheds tears because that heaven was never made for her pleasure. This planet dictates that only the strong will survive and the weak will suffer. I thought at first that she is weak. But at turn tides, I realized that I am weaker. I was so feeble succumbing to her completely. For so long, I played in my playground selfishly yet now she made me rolled the dice for her. The road was so dark for me to see where I am heading… blackout… I suffered. They said that Superman is only true in comic book and TV. Yet they were all wrong for I became Superman, only with no cape, boots, underwear, and the rest of the blue costume, just my

black three-stars-and-a-sun T-shirt that I also stole from Junior, jersey short of L.A. Lakers, right foot Ramboo slipper, left foot Spartan slipper, and pure will. Day and night I buried myself working. I should hurry before the spark fade out in her. From every corners of the city, I hunted for fortune. I doubled everything that I usually do. Wilson trained me to swim so we can beg for coins the passengers of the docked ferry. I never cared even if shits are floating in front of my face or if the sea tastes like a concoction of oil, gas, urine, vomit and shit. I never troubled if the passengers are spitting down on me, throwing thrash and even insolent words. I’m after their penny and I’ll swim 10 feet below just for it. For all I care about in what I do is Helen. She was shocked to see me at Amor sa Kanto, the club that slaves her. The people of the city call the place where it stands Barangay Mabuli because it is known to be a spawning ground for Evas. She didn’t recognize me abruptly. Perhaps, she thought I was another spoiled brat who asked too much allowance from their parents to get wild on her. I wore a stripe of green and white polo-shirt, blue jeans, and black Converse shoes with my hair brushed up and held by a five-peso Jackie gel. Thanks to the poster of Dingdong Dantes pasted on Aling Nimfa’s store where I bought the gel. It bestowed me the idea on how to dress myself. And thanks to the 11 suckers, I could now bail her out from another night of painful drive. I took her out and brought her to an abandoned room not far from the port. Wilson discovered it lately and told me to bring Helen there if I made it. I saw her intent look at me as I gave her something to change on. She was still on her club attire that time. I turned my back for her to put on her new clothes. Suddenly, her hand dragged me to face her… naked. Beads of scorching heat started to gush as my breath sank deeper. When I was about to drop a word, she started to fire her kiss. I could feel her passion and desire pleaded by her moan, her lips and her tongue as it plays and intertwines with mine. She vigorously forced me down the floor where a plastic mat was laid. She held my right hand to her bosom and my left to her legs. I felt it. She wanted me to climb her stairway. And she…… she succeeded. I didn’t want to disturb her profound sleep but I had to wake her. The sun would be on its pedestal, proud and vain again. She should be inside the ferry by that time. My kiss woke her and on her left ear I whispered, “We are going home.” ********* While the sun enthrones the sky casting its pompous rays to the peninsula, I lie down, bathed-wet both of sea water and tears, on a sand bar near the seaport. Three hours have passed since the Calixta bound to San Andres, Catanduanes left.

Helen, Magpoon ka ning bag’ong buhay. Sana magkairibahan kamo giraray na jekjek asin jen-jen. Nasa subre kaiba kaining surat an kwarta na tinipon ko para sa imo. Dispensa sa dai ko pag-iba. Adito ang kinaban ko. I love you. -Joey Maybe she is crying over this letter right now. I told her to open the envelope I gave her if she saw San Andres again. I saw her clutching that envelope hard on her breast the time I jumped off the ferry ten minutes after it left the seaport. I shamefully stared at the arrogant sky then throw my glance at the city. I stood up and picked a stone then forcefully pitch it to the blue water… Splash. JOHN ELMAR B. TEMPLONUEVO

Tula sa Pagkasilaw Inaabot ng musmos ang liwanag sa sahig mula sa labas pasado alas-kwatro ng hapon Ginto ang liwanag sa buhok na bagong tubo sa bumbunan Katulad ng mga aanihing palay sa labas Gumuguhit ang sinag Sa prismo ng bintana pinagsama-sama bawat kulay sumasabog ang puti Gumuguhit ang sinag, may ilaw Sa prismo ng bintana ng kaluluwa pinagsama-sama ang puti sumasabog ang sari-saring kulay sa hapdi munting mga mataâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y maseselan pa sa binhi BREN garette z. RIVERA

Contrast When black is at its darkest and white is at its lightest and the grays are all dead neon Colors in between BREN garette z. RIVERA

Pagtunong*

Ang Supot Kong Paghihimagsik

Kiwaw na an pulo Kan saiyang bolpen Gabuag nin duwang pulgada kada oras Awat nu ikumpara sa buag nin totoong rimalaso Dae mo pati mahihiling dagos kung saen maagi asin matama an mata Sa laog pero nin kwarto Minapusak an tensyon sa pagtaribong Nin langilang sa papel Uminabot an poypoy Kinaturugan an pagbaha kan mga tatalamon Kan nagimata tighiling guiraray an nahaman Dae na nin tada Nagtubod na sanang pigtalbo nin paros An gabos Huminagab an salatan Na gasuway nin bagyo.

Mas lumakas ang hiyawan Nakapanliliit ang dilat ng matang nakatunghay

DAVE S. TOLENTINO

Mainit pa ang sapak ni Bugoy sa aking mukha ako na naman ang napagtripan kahapon, sa kwento ni Lolo naalala ko kung papaanong tinalo ni David si Goliath gagayahin ko? ngunit papaano? humarap ako pikit-mata kong sinunggaban si Bugoy Hindi ako bumitiw alam kong talo ng malambot at manipis na papel ang matigas at matibay na bato sa Jak en Poy tinamaan ko ata ang Gago sa loob koâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y may kung anong nagdiwang Di ko na alam ang sumunod Nagising na lang ako Sa school clinic Allan-jay b. madrid

Blue Mirror*

Pagsadili

Kettles at the point where two worlds touch Devoid of buffer, a million gigabyte per second Like an ignorant, I bend my head How did you witness every frame per second?

An pagdukot nin satuyang mga bitis sa daga iyo sana an satuyang puedeng akuon

But A watched pot never boils No one will make it snappy One by one, all her parts went into motion. *from the movie Blue is the Warmest Color neil t. trilles

An duminukot na arpog nin labo sa satuyang mga siki an puede tang iparibod Gabos sa kinaban poon kan kita inaki bako an saato. Kon kita matugot, hanggan katigbakan kitang oripon, hasta kita humiwas kontra sa buag nin sulog. Dai nin mawawara sa satuya kondi an satuyang mga kadena sa pagtios. October 16, 2015 Ruzzel S. VALDEPeĂ&#x2018;A

(Toothbrush /Doon sa kaparangan) ni Dave Tolentino toothbrush Doon sa kaparangan, sa pagtirik ng mata bandang alas tres ng na pudpod hapon sumasayaw ang mga dahon ng kogonsa mamasa masang lupa. Sa gitna ng masukal at madawag na lugar na dating taniman ng kamote at tubo, dinig ko ang pagungol ng di ko kilalang ibon. Doon kami nagtalop. panghilod Mahirap kamutin ang balat kapag sumasayad sa mga damong ligaw. Makakapa ko sa may bandang tagiliran ang niyog na di pa nabubunutan. Pero nakapagtatakang walang sawa ang hangin sa paghagod nito sa gulugod ng nakatiwangwang na araro. Wala siyang pakialam sa ipupukol sa amin. sabon Swabe ang alatiit ng mga sangang nababali sa sabayang pag igtad. Sobrang dulas 8/24/16 High Chair Poetry - Elizabeth Bishop - 12 O'Clock News www.highchair.com.ph/issue16/16_12oclocknews02.htm 4/4 ng leeg niya’t di ko magawang igtingan ang pagkakakapit.Ngunit sa panahong yao’y naging mabango ang amoy ng mga “amor seco ”. Ngunit sabay sa samyo ng pag-ibig ay ang malansang amoy ng sardinas.

Output (Labahan/Nagtatampisaw ang lambat) ni Jonathan Tulod Nagtatampisaw ang lambat labahan na sumasalabid sa bumubulang tubigalat. Hampas sa bawat pag-gaod ang bigat ng mantas sa hiblang pilit humuhulagpos sa laylayan ng pagkabata. Sa wakas, abot-tanaw ko na planggana ang lawak ng dagat. Sakop ko ang dayametro ng mundo. Dito ako gagalaw, dito ako mananahan. Dito na marahil iikot ang pag-asang lisanin ang paglisan. At sa pagdalisdis ng tubig sa gripo mga di-mawaring liko at pihit ng buhay, patuloy akong magpapaanod sa alon at muli’t muling tatangkaing 8/24/16 High Chair Poetry - Elizabeth Bishop - 12 O'Clock News www.highchair.com.ph/issue16/16_12oclocknews02.htm 2/4 sisirin ang misteryo kung bakit may linyang humahati sa langit at lupa

Matatamis na Salita Isang araw, inikot namin ang kalawakan Pangako nila, pag nalibot ito Mabibigyan kami nang isang kahilingan.

Nagpaiwan si Mama at dali-daliang nag-empake Nanginginig na kinalap ang mga damit At namumutla ang kamay.

Di nila binanggit kung saan magsisimula, O ano ang magiging dulo Ang tanging habilin, maniwala ka.

Wala sa kilos ang isip ni Mama nang basagin Ang pinakatatagong alkansya Na pinaingay ng kumalat na barya.

Dumagundong ang kalawakan, Sa nanginginig na boses ng Nagmamakaawa, Hudyat ng huling ragasa.

Tumatakbong pinara ni Mama ang dumadaang traysikel Pasigaw nyang inutusan ang drayber, Mag madali ka!

Mabilis na bumulusok, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC; sa tuktok ng tayog, Ang nag-aapoy na bituin Hindi ko alam, pero ramdam ko.

Andito na si Mama! Kausap ang anak sa kanyang isip Tinulak nito ang pinto

At nagliwanag ang kalangitan, Sa hiwa ng nagdaang bulalakaw, Narinig ang isang panalanging

Magiging maayos din ang lahat.

JOHN ELY TEMPLONUEVO

Graphics, Photos & Illustration Credits

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Poetry & Prose Credits MSG SIR ADEM

The CSU Statesman To Exalt God; To Honor Man The Official Tertiary Student Publication of the Catanduanes State University 3F Right Wing, CSU Administration Building Catanduanes State University Calatagan, Virac, Catanduanes 4800

EDITOR IN CHIEF ASSOCIATE EDITOR MANAGING EDITOR/FINANCE OFFICER

MSG GSR

Jerard Paul V. Tulod Jan Keith A. Abundo Ace John F. Tabuzo

NEWS EDITOR Ariadne Mae B. Tesorero FEATURES EDITOR/FINANCE OFFICER Giselle P. Trapago LITERARY EDITOR Andrea S. Morales SPORTS EDITOR Nikko Franco B. Templonuevo ONLINE AND MULTIMEDIA EDITOR Marianne Claire T. Ogalesco Mikka Angela Bonifacio PATNUGOT SA KULTURA AT LATHALAIN Allan-Jay B. Madrid ART EDITOR Demetrio E. Celestino III LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS EDITOR Jordan T. Ignacio ASSISTANT LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS EDITOR Mikko V. Isorena ASSISTANT ART EDITOR Neil T. Trilles CIRCULATION MANAGER Shaina Mae M. Benavidez JUNIOR STAFF WRITER Roy D. Tablate Arnila C. Saldua John Carlo R. Montero ADVISER Adem Nalu V. Rubio

Abacatanduanes Ikapitong Paghabi

Abacatanduanes Tomo VII, Bilang 1. Oktubre 2016 Tula | Maikling Kuwento | Sanaysay | Larawan | Dibuho Ang Opisyal na Kalipunan ng mga Akdang Pampanitikan ng The CSU Statesman Punong Tagapamahala EDITOR IN CHIEF ASSOCIATE EDITOR MANAGING EDITOR

Ace John F. Tabuzo Nikko Franco B. Templonuevo Roy D. Tablate

ALLAN-JAY B. MADRID

Katuwang na Tagapamahala NEWS EDITOR Ariadne Mae B. Tesorero FEATURES EDITOR/FINANCE OFFICER Andrea S. Morales LITERARY EDITOR Allan-Jay B. Madrid SPORTS EDITOR John Carlo R. Montero ONLINE AND MULTIMEDIA EDITOR Marianne Claire T. Ogalesco Bren Garette Z. Rivera PATNUGOT SA KULTURA AT LATHALAIN Shaina Mae M. Benavidez ART EDITOR Demetrio E. Celestino III LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS EDITOR Neil T. Trilles ASSISTANT LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS EDITOR Mikko V. Isorena ASSISTANT ART EDITOR Godfrey B. Evasco CIRCULATION MANAGER Arnila C. Saldua

SHAINA MAE M. BENAVIDEZ

Tagapamahala sa Produksiyon at Paglilimbag ANDREA s. MORALES ROY D. TABLATE

Tagapamahala sa Tula NIKKO FRANCO B. TEMPLONUEVO

Tagapamahala sa Prosa JUNIOR STAFF WRITER ADVISER

Alexia Therese Bihag Roselle Templonuevo Cloie Tapel Joshua Teston Rodolfo Tomagan Nathalie Tivar Apple Vargas

ACE JOHN F. TABUZO

Tagapamahala sa Dibuho DEMETRIO E. CELESTINO III

Tagapamahala sa Larawan Adem Nalu V. Rubio ROSELLE m. TEMPLONUEVO

Tagapamahala sa Sirkulasyon JOHN CARLO r. MONTERO NEIL T. Trilles

Mga Kasapi MIKKO V. ISORENA ARIADNE MAE b. TESORERO MARIANNE CLAIRE t. OGALESCO ARNILA C. SALDUA ALEXIA THERESE l. BIHAG NATHALIE claire m. TIVAR CLOIE t. TAPEL RODOLFO b. TOMAGAN APPLE a. VARGAS johN JOSHUA l. TESTON GODFREY B. EVASCO

Pa-Thank You Po

Tagapayo ADEM NALU V. RUBIo

Mga Nag-ambag GERRY S. RUBIO JOHN MICHAEL p. VERUEN

JOHN KURT VALLES BREN garette z. RIVERA

JOHN DALE t. LOQUINERIO

JOHN ELY b. TEMPLONUEVO

JOBERT ANGELO c. TOLLEDO

MARIANNE CLAIRE v. TULOD

DAVE S. TOLENTINO ADELMO V. RUBIO JERARD PAUL v. TULOD CHRISTINE MAY PETAJEN KAREN AILENE t. BENAVIDEZ CYRIL PATRICE O. BERNARDINO

MANUEL PANER ALEX a. ASUNCION RUEL c. FERNANDEZ FERDINAND CAMILO KIMURA MARIBEL TRINIDAD FOURPLE LEAD

ALLAN C. POPA

GINGER SCENTED FINGERNAILS

JOHN THELI D. BIEN

PINIPIG SCENTED FINGERNAILS

RUZZEL S. VALDEPEÑA BEVERLY TATEL-VALDEPEÑA MAUREEN T. BRILLANTE ELVIN RANDOLPH R. JUBAY JAN KEITH a. ABUNDO GISELLE TRAPAGO GERMAN t. TEJADA, jR.

KATHLEEN m. ARCILLA JORDAN T. IGNACIO HOWELL t. CILOT JOHN ELMAR B. TEMPLONUEVO ALEX A. ASUNCION ANTHONY TAYAM EMERENCIANA JANN MARVIN POSADA

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A B A C ATA N D U A N E S I K A P I T O N G PA G H A B I OCTOBER 2016