Rosas - Imagine Nation (Literary Folio) 2018 by The Central Echo

IMAGINE

NATION 2018

IMAGINE

NATION vol 108 no 4

IMAGINE NATION is the official Literary Folio of The Central Echo. Works that appear in this book may contain themes and topics some may find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised. All rights reserved. Copyright reverts to the respective authors, photographers, and artists whose works appear in this issue. No portion of this book may be reproduced without consent from The Central Echo. Printed in Iloilo City, Philippines by MAKINAUGALINGON PRINTER AND BOOKBINDER 251 Lopez Jaena St., Baluarte, Molo, Iloilo City, Iloilo 5000

Cover by

ISRAH MARIE DAYALO & JOHN DAVID MAZA

Layout by

JOHN DAVID MAZA

For those who are yet to listen to the way a flower speaks

viii

Illustration by J O H N P E L B A Ã&#x2018; A R E S

Prologue

1. Two KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

Lilac GIANFRANCIS TORRES

Panaghoy DAZEN DAWN LARIZA

Sabi-sabi po BEJAY SONGCOG

Howl ELLIE JOHN TA-ALA

Broken ZHARINA MARIE STEPHANIE LUGO

Reminiscing C OL E E N CA S A NOVA

Its beauty GIANFRANCIS TORRES

Rose and a rose

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

JEZREL ANDREA SANCHEZ

Still, I don't mind the thorns

Digmaan

Mga Bakas ng Bukas

KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

FRANCIS MATHEW GAPPE

ISRAH MARIE DAYALO

DENMARK MOLINA

Nang Hinila Ko ang Tinik sa Aking Dibdib

Certain abode

Her

Because of me

de Lata

Mga Sambitla

RACHEL BEATIZULA

FRANCIS MATHEW GAPPE

Hanggang sa Huli, Hanggang sa Muli

C OL E E N CA S A NOVA

JEHUEL DARAS

11. May be

FRANCIS MATHEW GAPPE

ARIEL LORENZ CASTRONUEVO

How to make a Bouquet

Why wasn't I born a prince?

JOHN DAVID MAZA

111. Tossed into a sea KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

Amaranth Memories ARIEL LORENZ CASTRONUEVO

Daisy RACHEL BEATIZULA

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Warzone

ONESIFORO BERINA, JR.

Ituro mo, Hija APRIL CAITLIN DADIBALOS

Espada KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

Buntis JOHN DAVID MAZA

Ala una y medya PAUL MACKEY MARFIL

On the same beach, 2015 SACHIKO GUBAT

Tuliro RYAN JAY SORIANO

Ang Ligaw na Rosas

1v. of Tears that give RODJIE PERUCHO

ISRAH MARIE DAYALO

Wither

ZHARINA MARIE STAPHANIE LUGO

ARIEL LORENZ CASTRONUEVO

In between Wormholes

Adhikain

Home RENATO PAOLO TORRES

JISELLE YANSON

Cortege

Beauty Wanes DAZEN DAWN LARIZA

Vanishing Point ZHARINA MARIE STEPHANIE LUGO

Double-Faced V I NC E F R A NC I S A N T HON Y GA B AWA

Of the world

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

MOISES SEGUNDO ALBA

Thorns of us ZHARINA MARIE STEPHANIE LUGO

Utopia Untold APRIL CAITLIN DADIBALOS

v. Warmth

in the cold

Tadhana

JOHN DAVID MAZA

ONESIFORO BERINA, JR.

The Opium

KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

RODJIE PERUCHO

Grave The Conversation

Castle JAYVONE FRANCO

JOHN DOMINIC LAGARDE

a star

Dire PAUL MACKEY MARFIL

Last Sunday My Prayers Found their Pathos

God only knows

Twitterati

2019 Planner

ELLIE JOHN TA-ALA

a.y. 2018-2019

xii

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

114

Editorial Board

116

Epilogue

Prologue Every February, she gets entertained observing the way cheeks turn pink every time sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s picked up from the flower shop and how contagious this is once she is handed over to the palms she is destined to be held by. Every May, she accompanies tiny hands excited to give warm and tight hugs around the waist they floated in for nine long months. Every June, excitement rushes into her as ornate gloves of lace grip her firmly before tossing her into a sea of hopefuls. Every November, along with candlesticks who would weep until the wind comforts them and dries their tears, she lays down on slabs of stone who have survived the chiseling of heartfelt epitaphs to spend time with the ones who have once shared a life with her. Every December, she covers herself from the cold, realizing that the same way shivering fingers need the warmth of mittens, she, too, is desperate for those thawed hands to reach out to her. Every event she shows up in, routine it may seem, is always unfamiliar to her. In her life, even without eyes nor ears, she has seen and heard and walked down fields of circumstances she was thrown into, longing to share how she has flourished beyond all the paths she has gone through. As her leaves unfold, dig into what she has to tell.

JOHN DAVID MAZA

Rosa gallica regalis, 1824 by P I E R R E - J O S E P H

REDOUTĂ&#x2030;

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Two

Lilac The way he looks is an etch in the heart, His brown eyes tell his soul. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a galaxy full of fantasies, Trying to overthrow stories, A cliffhanger; hoping for your comeback. He smells like lilac, The fragrance that stilleth the earth, Stealing my eyes from the focal, Keeping the bridge searching for the scent. I was lost and there you came, You saw an army ready to battle up the game. You held me strong and in that moment, I knew, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re my human that saved me from these all. Yours is my favorite scent.

KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Illustration by J O S H U A A N T H O N Y P E N E T R A N T E

Panaghoy Dapat nga ba kitang tuluyang limutin? Wagas na pag-ibig sa iba na ibaling? Bakit hanggang ngayon ikaw ang hinihiling Na aking makasama at makapiling Ang sabi nila kalimutan na kita Tanggapin ang katotohanang may mahal ka ng iba. Ako nga ba'y baliw o isa lamang tanga Nagmamahal ng lubusan sa iyo Sinta. Bakit hindi malimot ang mga ala-ala Larawan mo'y araw gabi aking sinasamba Hindi mawaglit masayang pagsasama Pinagsaluhang ligaya nating dalawa. Dama ko ang hapdi ng pangungulila Dampi ng iyong halik hinahanap sa tuwi-tuwina Sa maiksing panahon na tayo'y nagkasama Langit ang katumbas,walang hanggang ligaya. Ang tangi kong hiling sana'y iyong dinggin Kahit man lang saglit ako'y mahalin pa rin At kung sakali man ang nakaraan ay manumbalik Narito ako't naghihintay sa iyong pagbabalik.

GIANFRANCIS TORRES

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Sabi-sabi po “Masaya ako sa’yo” Yun ang unang sinabi mo Buti nalang tanga ako Tangang naniwala pa rin sa’yo

“Ikaw lang habambuhay” Lagi mong bulong Buti nalang bingi ako Bingi sa mga nagsasabing ako’y iyong niloloko

“Hindi kita sasaktan. Ito’y ikamamatay ko” Di ka naman namatay Noong pinatikim mo ang iyong kamao Buti nalang manhid ako Manhid sa katotohanan dahil buong akala’y

mahal mo

“Ikaw na ang tahanan at mundo” Laging kanta-kanta mo Buti nalaman ko Na kaya palang “limutin ang mundo”

“Hindi ako magsasawa sa’yo” Buti nalang pala marunong kang magsawa Kasi pagod na ako At ang pagsawa mo ang dahilan upang ika’y bitawan na.

DAZEN DAWN LARIZA

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Howl At a blink of an eye Started, a hope not to tell a lie How foolish am I Desperate as I erase myself knowing there is no way out Realizing my stupidity Acting like a friend to the one I love the most

BEJAY SONGCOG

Illustration by B E J A Y S O N G C O G

Broken Silver petals fell on endless sky, every second an eternity to answer the question: why? Looking for love on endless stars, and bring back the song of a broken heart. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;cause love is like roses on the morning dew, alive, beautiful, honest and true. yet alongside it comes the risk of tears, the pain, the agony, the sum of manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fears.

ELLIE JOHN TA-ALA

Reminiscing He held the barb and sliced his palms yet he didn't care, for he knew our love would heal him anyway.

ZHARINA MARIE STEPANIE LUGO

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Its beauty So beautiful will it ever be, No one can disagree. Like how a lily attracts a bee, Like a bee, I cannot flee. It's alluring, enhancing its beauty, But like its beauty, it can be greedy. A flower as beautiful as the lily, Having poison, we can only admire its beauty. A flower pleasing to the eye But never should be given as a gift to you and I. The beauty that entices Is also one that symbolizes distances. A flower that is connoted to death Can take away a personâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s breath. A field of lilies will leave you in a trance, As you look at it in a distance.

C OL E E N CA S A NOVA

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Rose and a rose It's summer solstice roses bloom will scent again your fragrance soon I love roses; they remind me of someone beautiful and attractive, yet harmful Thorns around you yet I risked to love you painful when I touch but still I embraced you Time passes by your petals are drying oh wait, I'm feeling something, my heart, my heart, it's not beating

GIANFRANCIS TORRES

Still, I don’t mind the thorns Have you ever loved someone You cannot let go Even when they’ve had caused you pain Still, I don’t mind the thorns. I’ll hold you tightly My grip is getting stronger I can see my wound dripping Still, I don’t mind the thorns. Your imperfection, I can see Fully in this different light My love will remain just as it is Still, I don’t mind the thorns. And when the day comes That you’ve had enough of Causing pain within my heart Still, I don’t mind the thorns. When my world turns blue Due to the sadness that you’ve made I’ll just keep you deep within this heart Still, I don’t mind the thorns.

JESREL ANDREA SANCHEZ

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Illustration by F E L D I A N N E A R A G O N

Digmaan Tumatagaktak ang pawis. Sa bawat patak, hindi nakalilimutan mga binulong, mga salitang binitawan Tunog ng putok ay kabisado na, mga ibinuga ng labi sa harap ng lumikha ay ang tanging naririnig. Armas na dapat magsilbing proteksyon, hindi magawang supilin ang pagka-ulila sa aliw, sayang hatid sa bawat oras na magkasama. Sinakop man ng uwak ang kalangitan, Hindi susuko upang makabalik sa dating kinang. mga bituing nakakola sa mukhang paborito pagsilayan. Naging magiting sa paglaban. Kaaway ay napaalis ng tuluyan.

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Ngunit hindi kalaunan, may dumating na hindi inaasahan. Akala’y tapos na ang sabakan. Sumigaw pero hindi natakot. Nagpatuloy sa ginagawa. Hindi man lang naisip na kung kukunin ang isa’y dalawa ang mawawala. Lumaban ngunit nabigo. Kumalaskas sa kama, napanaginipan na naman. Sa ika-labing isang beses, hindi pa rin napagtagumpayan. Maaari ba akong sagipin sa bangungot na kumakain sa akin? Hindi ko kayang baguhin kahit na ulit-ulitin. Babalik pa ba? Iyong sagutin dahil ako’y takot sa susunod kong sasabihin. Mahal kita ngunit ako’y pagod na

KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Retrato ni K A T H L E E N F R U G A L I D A D

Mga Bakas ng Bukas Pinuno ko ng mga sana, Ang bawat araw na nagdaan. Sana’y magkatotoo, sana'y maramdaman. Ang mga guhit sa aking isipan. Pinaglapit muli ang mga palad, Ipinikit ang mga mata at pilit nanahimik Nang ang mga bulong ng puso’y madinig Para sa mga pangarap at ambisyong Magkaroon ng tinig Ngunit sa bawat pagtingala, Ako’y nangamba, natakot at nag-alala Sa mga bagay na nais makamit, Ngunit baka, ito’y kay pait, mahapdi, masakit. Tinatanong ang sarili, Paano kung hindi, paano kung wala. Paano kung ang sana, ay malapit sa hindi, at malayo sa tama

FRANCIS MATHEW GAPPE

Tutuloy pa ba kung ang isip na ang nagdikta? Kay sarap isipin, Mga pangarap, na bulong ng isip at damdamin. Napupuno ng saya ang isipan, Ngunit nababalot ng mga pagaalinlangan Sa aking diwa, ito ay tama Ngunit, sa dulo nito ay may takot na makikita Lumalamon sa mga pangarap at nagsasabing “hinto hanggang dito lang tayo." Kahit ang mga guhit sa palad ay may dalang tinik, Magdadala sa iyo sa mga pangarap Na kay sarap tingnan, nakakapanabik masulyapan, Ngunit masakit ‘pag hinawakan.

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Nang Hinila Ko ang Tinik sa Aking Dibdib DENMARK MOLINA

Mabilang ang mga patak ng ulan buhat sa bubong na hinahampas ng sanga ng akasya na nakayuko doon. Ang paghinto ng rumaragasang ulan ay siyang paglakas ng kaba na hindi ko naman masisilayan ang lalaking noong sumaklolo sa sakunang napawi ng mga luha. Hindi ko pa alam ang kanyang pangalan. Ang alam ko ay siya ang lalaking nilipad ng tadhana para sa akin lamang. Alas singko ng hapon, hinahabol naman ng takip silim ang natitirang bakante ng langit. Hindi ako nagmamadaling umakyat ng jeep. Nasa gilid ako ng dalawang babaeng nagtutuksuan habang inaantay na umalis ang mapupunong jeep pauwi sa amin. Bakit hindi ko naman lubos maunawaan na ang aking munting pangarap ay siyang magiging bunga ng pagtatanggol ko sa sarili. Martes ng gabi, nag-iisa akong tinatahak ang makitid na kalye papuntang photocopying shop. May isang lalaking bilugan ang mukha na nakasuot ng punit na asul na sando ang kumapit sa kanan at binuklas ang aking kamay na nagmumura. Ninais kong alisin ang kumakapit na matigas nâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;yang mga kamay ngunit parang lantang tanim akong nagbigay ng pasya na hahamakin ang aking kahinaan. Hindi ko alam kung ang mga taong nakakita sa pangyayari ay alam na mali ang ginagawa ng lalaki o sadyang walang pakialam sa maaabot ng aking sarili. Bago pa man ako nakasigaw ng tulong, may isang matangkad na lalaking naka-uniporme ang umawat sa aming pakikipagtalunan. Natapon ang aking mumurahing salamin sa putikan. Hindi ko na alam kung pupulutin ko o manonood na lang ako habang may matatamaan sa mga suntok nong gabing iyon. Bago pa man bunutin ng mandurukot ang bagay na nasa likod niya, hinampas ko ng aking payong at tumakas sa eksenang naiwan ko ang nagligtas sa akin. Habang tinutupi ko ang mga pahina ng makapal na aklat sa Agham, huminto ang aking paghinga nang muling sumabit sa aking isipan ang nangyari, nakaraang limang araw mula ngayon. Hindi ko mabasa ang mga teksto sa aklat. Sumisingaw sa aking magulong isipan ang lalaking tumulong sa akin. Pero malaki ang kutob ko na ang poging lalaking iyon ay hindi mapupuruhan. Hindi ko naman nabalitaan na may isang lalaking sinaksak ang naibalita sa radyo. Alam kong nakatakas siya sa kapahamakan. Alam niya ang kanyang laban. Nilalagnat ako sa aking kalagayang hindi din kami nagtanungan ng pangalan. Palatandaan sa akin ang kanyang maliit na nunal malapit sa dulo ng kanyang kanang

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Illustration by M I C H A E L A N G E L O F A N D A G A N I

Nang Hinila Ko ang Ti n i k s a A k i ng D i b di b

kilay. Hindi ko gustong mag-imbestiga tungkol sa kanyang sariling pagkatao dahil hindi ko rin gusto na malaman na baka siya ay may iniibig. Binulag ko ang aking mga mata. Ilang araw ding pundido ang mumunting utak ko sa mga pagsasanay sa aralin. Nariyan man ang magdadapit-hapon na siyang nagbibigay sikat sa mga paningin kong noon pa’y may kapansanang tukuyin ang kariktan ng pagmamahal. Doon sa silong ng maliit na puno ako nagpahinga at nag-antay ng muling pagamoy ng ihip ng hangin habang siya’y lumalakad sa aking harapan. Makalipas ang ilang linggo sa loob ng kainan habang inaayos ko ang aking sarili ay may isang babaeng humahawak sa kaliwang braso ng lalaking minsan kong nakilala sa mukha. Dinampot ko ang lilang panyo at inilagay sa aking naglalamay na mga mata. Pumatak ng bahagya ang mga luhang hindi ko alam ang kadahilanan. Nakatirik ang mga mata ng lalaki sa akin. Gusto n’ya akong kausapin. Alam ko. Pero humihila ang mga kamay ng matangkad na babaeng nakabihis empleyado ng bangko at doon ko lamang nalaman na ang lalaking sakaling may pagkakataon, ay may iniibig na pala. Linakasan ko ang tunog ng aking cellphone habang tumutogtog ang mga kantang lahat ay pumapalo sa aking emosyon. Nalimutan ko na ako ay nagaaral. Puro pagkukunwari ang aking ginagawa sa sarili. Hinuhugod ko ang aking malayang paghikbi sa mauling hapong iyon. Ayaw ko ng imulat pa ang aking mga mata para sa susunod na mga araw. “Trenie eto ho. Para sa’yo ‘yan. Alam kong magugustuhan mo talaga iyan.” Bulong niya nang marahan habang ibinigay niya sa akin ang dalawang piraso ng hikaw bilang simbolo ng aming sampung buwang pag-iibigan. Namulat ako mula sa pagod na pag-iyak ilang oras mula matapos ang hapunan. Nariyan na naman ang numero lima na makikita ko sa nakasabit na orasan. Mahalaga man sa akin ang bilang na iyon na nakatakda sa bawat hapong pag-aabang sa kanya, subalit ninanais kong aliwin ang sarili sa mabagal na panahong makaaalis ako sa mga paningin na sumasanhi ng pagkabulag ng aking mahinang kaluluha. Mabilis na natapos ang tatlong taon na muling pagganap bilang mag-aaral. Mas napagaan ang aking pakiramdan at napabuti ang lugar ng aking pag-iisip na tuluyan ng wala sa aking paligid ang lalaking binurol ko na sa tigang na lupa. Huli ko nang nabalitaan na siya rin ay magtatapos ng kursong nursing sa Maynila. Limitado ang aking alam tungkol sa kanya at hindi ko na gusto pang igugol ang panahon sa kanya…sa kanyang buhay pag-ibig. Nang mga panahong sumasadsad ang aking suwerte sa trabaho, nilamon ang buong pag-iisip ko sa pagbibigay ng unang pangangailangan sa aking pamilya. Nakapag-ipon ako ng sapat na pera at nakabili ng magandang sasakyan. Untiunti namang tumamlay ang aking kalusugan sa walang humpay na trabaho kahit sa promosyon na mabilis kong nakamtan. Pitong taon ko na ring hindi nabalitaan ang lagay niya. Wala naman akong hangarin na magtaglay ng butil na pag-asa sa imposibleng bagay.

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Gayunpaman, nagdiwang ang loob ko na kaunting sigla sa kaliwaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t-kanang bagay na ibinigay sa akin ng opisinang pinamamasukan ko. Binigay sa akin ang walong bayan sa probinsya namin na ako ang magmamasid ng mga proyekto doon. Nakilala ko si Tom, isang taga-tiwala ng malaking lupain na apektado sa paglalagyang ospital. Marapat na sa loob ng limang buwan naming pagsasama ay nagbunga ng matatamis na hiyawan at paglalakbay sa malalayo ngunit magagandang pook nila. Hindi ko naman sinagot si Tom sapagkat hindi talaga naman siyang nanligaw sa akin. Sa palagay ko, dinadalaw naman ako ng aking abnormalidad sa pag-ibig. Ngunit hindi malayo sa inaasahan, isang hapon sa gitna ng masukal na tubuhan, hindi ko inakala na noong binubulong ng aking mga ugat sa puso at kumiyab nang bigla. Hindi ko na madampot ang mga buhok ni Tom sa marahan ngunit malalim na mga halik. Sinablay ko ang aking bag sa sangang naging bakod ng tubuhan. At unti-unting kumayab ang aking dibdib, napikit ang mga mata. Bago pa man binuksan ang de metal na butones sa aking saplot, nandurog ang aking mga kamay at pinahinto ang hindi dapat maging sangkap ng aking magkatanga. Sinuklay ng kumukurog na kamay ang aking mga buhok at inayos ang sarili. Hindi na ako nagpaalam kay Tom. Alam na niya ang ibig ko. Tumawag ako sa opisina kinagabihan upang magpa-re-assign ng sinasakupan. Hadlang man ang turing kay Tom ngunit hindi ko malunok ang aking pangalan sa mga di kanais-nais na nangyayari sa akin. Bigo mang hindi pinahintulutan ng aking ninanais, ngunit kinuha sa akin ang proyekto sa lugar nila Tom. Laking saya ko na ibinigay sa akin ang opsital na proyekto tatlumpong kilometro mula sa una kong superbisyon. Hindi pinaasa ng tadhana, madali kong kinalimutan si Tom at tumutok sa pagpapatayo ng proyekto. Sampung buwan matapos ang pagpapatayo, ibinigay ko ang proyekto sa tagapamahala ng nasabing ospital. Bago ang opisyal na-turn-over, nilalamig ang aking pakiramdam at tuluyang nahilo sa mga nagtatambakang responsibilidad. Tinawagan ako ng ospital upang ipaalam ang inugurasyon. Sapat na limang araw mula noon upang taglayin ko ang lakas ng aking mapurok na kalusugan. Doon lang sa araw ng inugurasyon ako nakadamdam muli ng halimuyak na tila matagal ko nang hindi naaamoy. Sinundan ko ang hangin patungong palikuran at sa aking pagliko, nakaabang dekadang nabaonan ng tinik at kumikurot sa sakit. Ang matangkad na nakabihis ng naghahalimuyak sa bango ay ang lalaking una kong iniibig, at huli ko rin iniwan ng walang paalam. Si Lance! Sâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ya nga. Sa taas ng aking sapatos, mabilis kong tinahak ang looban ng palikuran ngunit inawat ng mga matikas na katawan ang aking pagtakas. Inuwi ng mahina kong kaluluwa at sinaniban ako ng mainit na halimuyak mula sa mga labi ng una at huli kong minahal sa buhay. Naging ambisyuso naman upang imungkahi sa kanya na wala akong ibang iniibig at handa sa muling pagbusilak ng pag-ibig, hindi ko batid na pareho kaming nag-aabang ng aming muling pagbabalik. Bago paman pinutol ang mga laso sa bagong ospital, kinitil ni Lance ang makarosas kong bibig at hinila ko ang tinik sa dibdib. Marahang inilunsad ni Lance ang aming mga pangarap at simula ng mga iyon, naging gantimpala ang matagal na panahong paghihintay sa taong hangin ang nagdala ng tunay kong tadhana.

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Hanggang sa Huli, Hanggang sa Muli FRANCIS MATHEW GAPPE

Tinatanaw ko sa malayo ang iyong mga ngiting minsan ko nang binasag. Nadidinig ang mga tawa mong ‘di ko narinig noong dating ako’y nasa piling mo. Sinusulyapan ang mga mata mong puno ng saya, ngunit nang nasa tabi ko’y pinuno ko ng luha. Patawad. Sana ay marinig kahit—hindi ko kayang sambitin. Kasabay ng tugtog ng awitin ng gabing iyon ay ang mga damdaming nais sabihin. Madaming taong nakatitig sa iyo, na tila lahat ay namamangha at hindi maalis ang mga mata sa iyo. Sana ay magawa kong lapitan ka at sabihin kung gaano ka kaganda sa gabing iyon. Ngunit ako’y napako sa aking upuan tulad ng mga pangako kong napako na lamang sa buwan. Pinilit kong inilalayo ang aking mga tingin sa iyo nang hindi ko makita ang babaeng minsan ay nasa mga kamay ko. Malapit nang magtagpo ang gabi at umaga, at sana ganoon din ang ating mga palad. Nakatayo na ako ngayon, kasama ang mga taong importante sa buhay mo. Hindi ko lubos maisip kung bakit naririto ako. Pero habang paunti-unti silang umaalis matapos makasama ka sa bawat hakbang na sumasabay sa tugtog ng mga gitara ay mas lumalapit na ako sa iyo. At ang tanging dala ko lamang ay ang rosas na alay para sa binibining tulad mo. Sampung hakbang. Sampung mga hakbang na tinahak kong mag-isa, tulad ng mga oras na nilakbay kong mag-isa ang mga daang papalayo sa’yo. At sa huling pag-apak ng aking mga paa ay nagharap tayong muli. Hinawakan ang mga kamay mong minsan ko nang binitawan. Iniabot sa’yo ang huling rosas. Hinawakan ang mga palad at inalalayan ka kasabay sa bawat paghakbang. At sa bawat paghakbang ay nauubos na ang mga segundo, kung hindi ko lang sana sinayang ang malalayang oras. Sinabayan ko ang bawat pag-apak ng iyong mga paa, sinigurong hindi ka na muling masasaktan. Hinawakan nang mahigpit ang iyong mga kamay, nang hindi na muling bumitaw. At nagsilbing balikat na magsisilbing kanlungan mo at hahayaang umagos ang mga luhang papatak. Na sana’y ay dati ko nang ginawa.

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Ang mga katagang dapat sambitin ay naubusan na ng mga tinig. Ang tanging nakikita ko lamang ay ang mga talulot na nahuhulog kasabay ng mabilis na paglanta nito. Mga talulot na hindi na pwedeng maibalik. Unti-unti kong tinanggal ang mga kamay sa pag-alalay sa iyo. Pinaglayo ang mga palad. Wala ng mga hakbang na dapat idagdag. Tapos na ang huling nota ng mga kanta. Wala na ring rosas na natitira. At ang tanging iniwan ko lamang ay ang mga tinik, na sa muli ay susugat sa iyo. Humakbang muli akong mag-isa. Muling lumayo sa iyong piling, iniwan ka namang mag-isa, at sana ay kayanin mo. At mula sa malayo ay natanaw ko muli ang iyong ngiti, ang iyong tawa at ang iyong mapupungaw na mga mata na mas magandang pagmasdam nang ikaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y nasa piling na ng iba.

Guhit ni R E N A T O P A O L O T O R R E S

May be

How to make a Bouquet How does one make a bouquet? Pick up, gather A generic answer. I tend to be picky. I don’t need a canvass, silly Then maybe a runway? Scented? Of course. A Primrose at its prime. But don’t expect it to cost just a dime. How about Lilac, Lily, Daisy? Sought-after symbols of innocence and purity. Wrap up the best of yours. My, my, my, guy in a tux. Why isn’t this your lucky day? Your flowers are available for pick up today. The sooner you have them delivered, the better. But if you want those that can take the heat, the weather, You must be willing to cash in big bucks. So that’s how you make a bouquet? Take it or leave it, but I’m no psychologist. I am just your local florist.

ARIEL LORENZ CASTRONUEVO

Illustration by B E J A Y S O N G C O G

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Why wasn't I born a prince?" Every time I think of Cinderella I ask myself that question On those moments I tend to forget Cinderella herself wasn't born a princess nor is she real to understand how it feels

JOHN DAVID MAZA

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Certain abode

What about her? She was human. her eyes her ears her mouth her future her dreams her life. Her sacrifices, too great Countless days and nights just to look after us Ruling geniuses You can see it on the largest telescope with powerful magnifying lenses Their language, a marvel of simplicity A far beautiful being that surpasses Their moral presence cleanses the world.

Herself shown and always take care of you She and only her, Showed you the world with her own hands Showing interests and excitement She understands and always does with everyone. Then, Suddenly comprehension came to her From some deeply buried place… She saw your face Watching, teary. Though you can’t remember if she smiled.

ISRAH MARIE DAYALO

She was human. Until, You never thought You’d see the day You would call her “mother”.

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Her Her size Her shape Her lovely weight Defined by what the scale says The curves she has, The thickness she earned, With the love of all Her beauty shines from any call She is loved She is divine His masterpiece, His creation. Her pure heart has no limitations

RACHEL BEATIZULA

Illustration by B E J A Y S O N G C O G

Because of me C OL E E N CA S A NOVA

As I gripped its thorn-clad stem, blood oozed from my palms. The prick of each thorn did nothing on my numb fingers as I felt nothing. Staring blankly on the cadaver that was slowly lowered six feet on the ground, I was urged by the people behind me to let go of this one white rose, her favorite. But I can’t, letting go of this flower is like letting go of her, letting this one rose slide out of my fingers is like letting her slip from my grasp, unable to hold her anymore. “I can’t,” I whispered, my voice was hoarse from lack of use. All this time, I never had the strength to function. Tears freely welled up on my eyes and ran down my cheeks, no one can stop it, I can’t stop it and I can never let her go. Why? Why did this have to happen? It was so sudden, nobody expected it, I never expected it. We were happy, although she was suffering, I was more than ready to suffer with her, I was ready to carry her burdens with her. All those time, I was trying to make her happy, to make her forget, but I never hoped this would happen. It occurred in my mind a few times, but I quickly dismissed the idea. She can get through this, I’ll help her, I’ll never leave her, I thought to myself that time. However, who knew, the moment I stepped inside her room that day, holding a bunch of the same flowers on my hand to give her, I wouldn’t see her anywhere in that small space but noticed the bathroom door slightly ajar. I called out to her, a smile on my face as I hid the bouquet behind me. She would like it, it will make her happy, I happily thought as well. There was no response, I got curious; that idea popped into my head again, however I shook my head, forcing out the anxiety. I called out for her again, but there was still no response, so I slowly approached the door, each step was heavy, each pound of my heart was loud on my ear, my throat was dry no matter how much I gulped. I pushed it open. I was not prepared for it. I had no initial response. She was

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Because of Me

lying there, her head lowered and skin pale. She was clad in red, you wouldn’t notice the liquid that stained her dress and flowed from her wrist that rested on her lap. When my brain kicked in and made me aware of what happened, I couldn’t help but scream. Falling onto my knees, staring at her pale face that was covered by her messy hair. My ears were ringing, I was unaware of the people that came rushing in, screaming, crying, wailing. No one expected this, no one wanted this, who would ever want this? “You have to let it go…let her go,” a voice whispered beside me and a hand guiding mine forward, loosening my grip on it. It was her mom, the other person who wholeheartedly supported her daughter through tough times, the person who was there for her from the start, the only other person who understood she was depressed and suffering. Even though she uttered these words to me, I knew she was also having a hard time. She was telling me to let go, but she was also struggling between letting go and moving on. “I can’t,” I whispered back, saying the same thing I did every time they told me to let go, to move on and to understand that this was bound to happen. Bound to happen? This wouldn’t have happened if they just tried to understand that she was going through something! They were here attending this black parade but they never knew why it happened. She was taken advantage of, a night a few months ago that scarred her. I could never forgive myself. I cannot blame her. I would never blame her. It was all because of me.

Illustration by R E N A T O P A O L O T O R R E S

de Lata â&#x20AC;&#x153;Patawad, itay" sabi ko nang nakahiga sa kanyang mga paa, Patawad kasi hindi ako nakapagsaing ng maaga, Patawad kasi hindi ko na masikmura pa, Patawad kasi hindi ko na kaya, Pitong taong gulang palang ako ng mawalan ng ina, At si itay naman ay nawalan ng asawa, Parang sinaksak ang puso namin at binaon sa lupa, Nang kami'y iwan niya, At doon na nasira ang aming pamilya, Iniwan niya kami para lang sa lalaking hindi pa niya lubos na kilala, At doon ay nagbago ka na, Gabi-gabing bisyo; alak, sigarilyo, at pati droga, Gumagasta ka na para bang pinupulot lang ang pera, At kung may pera ka mang matira, Sakto lng nman ito sa 555 na delata, Na hindi pa makabubusog ng ating sikmura, Umuuwi ka lagi ng lasing at kapag walang pagkain sa lamesa, Sinasakal mo ako at sinusuntok sa bituka, Pero kahit ganyan ka, Nagpapasalamat pa rin ako dahil nakakapasok ako sa eskwela, Kahit ang baon ko lamang araw-araw ay limang barya, Nasisiyahan pa rin naman akong matuto at magkaroon ng medalya, Dagdag pa doon ang mga kaibigan kong parang pamilya ko na,

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Isang araw kami ay gumawa ng proyekto at gumala, At ang mabilis na pagdaloy ng oras ay hindi ko naantala, Umuwi akong takot at nangangamba, At dumating akong tama ang aking akala, Si itay ay lasing at nagwawala, Sinubukan kong magtago pero ako ay kanyang nakita, Pinagbabato niya ako ng kung ano man ang makita ng kanyang mga mata, Hinabol niya ako at mahigpit na sinakal ng walang awa, “Saan ka galing?" Sumbat niya, “Bakit walang pagkain sa lamesa?" Dagdag pa niya, Nagkaroon ako ng pagkakataon na makawala sa kaniya, Kaya tumakbo ako sa kwarto at di ko na napigilan ang aking mga luha, Dalawa at kalahating oras akong nakakulong ng mag-isa, Nang tumahimik na ang paligid, ako ay lumabas na, Hindi ko na kaya, Kinuha ko ang pinakamatalim na kutsilyo sa kusina, Isang hiwa, Isa pang hiwa, Teka kulang pa, Namanhid ang katawan ko sa bawat hiwa, At isang huling hiwa para sa lahat ng alaala, “Patawad Itay" sambit ko habang tumutulo ang mga dugo at luha, Patawad kasi hindi ko na kaya, Patawad kasi hindi ko na masikmura pa, Patawad kasi hindi ako nakapagsaing ng maaga, “Patawad itay" sabi ko nang nakahiga sa kanyang mga paa, “Patawad itay" sabi ko sa katawan niyang wala nang hininga.

JEHUEL DARAS

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Mga Sambitla Binigkas kong muli ang mga letrang nakasalansan sa mga pahina ng dating kahapon, Mga dahon, nananatiling buo makalipas man ang matagal na panahon. Tiningnan muli, ang mga katagang, minsa’y napalapit sa ‘kin, Sa librong minsan ko nang iniwan. Pinalitan Sa bawat paghawi ko ng mga papel, Na puno ng mga tinta ng katuturan at karunungan. Unti-unting nahulog ang mga patak ng ulan at binasa ang iyong mga salita Na dati ko nang binasa, narinig, isinagawa ngunit nalimut at nagpaubaya. Nagpabaya

Ako pa ba ay matatanggap sa iyong kaharian matapos akong lumisan at umalis ng tuluyan. Magagawa pa ba akong akayin at alalalayan patungo sa landas na iyong ibinigay, Kahit ako’y nagkamali, nagsarili, nagkasala, sumuway Hindi mo ko pinabayaan. Hinagkan Kahit makasalubong man ng tinik sa aking daan Ako’y patuloy sa paglakad at paglapit sa sa iyong kaharian, Matusok man ng tinik, ako’y hindi hihihinto sa paghakbang at pag-apak. Sa piling mo, Ama, ako’y akayin matapos akong mabasag, maligaw, mawala. Mabiyak

FRANCIS MATHEW GAPPE

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111

Tossed into a sea

Amaranth Memories KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

Sun rays knocked at the window pane. A nostalgic beginning of the day dawned. The fast pounding of his heart woke him up. He felt anxious but after a very long time, he caught himself breathing. He felt alive again. He got out of bed with a smile on his face. His pajamas quickly changed into a suit he bought just for this very day. Today’s a date he’ll never forget. The epoch of their love story. Photograph of a dame. Diamond ring clenched in his fist. A blanket and a basket full of food she likes were prepared. An apple already peeled because she doesn’t like peeling. A triple deck of PB and J sandwich sliced into halves. Chocolates, the dark ones. A bottle of wine, specifically Chardonnay. Her velvet cake he tried to perfect. Books of her favorite author and poetry pieces he has written just for her. And, a final touch of daisies dyed red, she likes it custom-made. Everything was set and he was finally ready to go. Heart beating fast. He couldn’t contain his excitement. He couldn’t wait to play songs to her and sing until their throats ached. A glimpse of them laughing their hearts out, telling stories of how their week went well. The same thought echoed. “I’ll be there soon, my love. Wait for me.” Today will never be like any other day. He assured, he committed. He stepped outside, called a taxi. “Where to, sir?”

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Amaranth Memories

“To the hospital, please.” He walked out of the cab. He felt steps of joy and anxiousness. He walked in and there lied a wrinkled beauty. The love of his life. She wore his favorite face of her. He clasped her body gently and held her frail hands with utmost care. She looked at him in the eyes. Smiled. “Who are you?” she asked curiously.

Illustration by J O H N P E L B A Ñ A R E S

Daisy People called her Daisy. In spring time, she blooms. Catching the eyes of boys on the run, Wanting to pick her up from the roots. One time, Daisy diffused a tantalizing fragrance. A scent the whole garden envied. A scent that attracted babies. A scent that attracted not babies. Daisy swung left and right, People carried her around day and night. Her symmetrical petals were adored, Especially her sunshine center. One day, a petal fell off, Then she was rejected. People were disgusted. More petals wilted away. Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s left is a stem. No one wanted the stem. No one wanted the withered. So they threw her away.

ARIEL LORENZ CASTRONUEVO

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Warzone I went out to war With nothing on my hand. Where should I go? Whom should I fight? To a place where words are sharper than any sword And a battlefield of minds that has battalions of thoughts inside? I know I can win this time Combating with my strongest disguise A faith I have in me In a fight that no one can defeat

RACHEL BEATIZULA

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Illustration by J O H N P E L B A Ă&#x2018; A R E S

Anong sinabi mo? Di ko yun naalala. Anong ginawa ko? Di ko ‘yun kaya!

Ituro mo, Hija

Paulit-ulit na akong piniga, Walang magbabago, ganon pa rin. O, yelong pader at matinik na rehas, Bakit diin ay sa'kin pa rin? Sa alak, yosi at rosas, Irog, sino ang tatanggi? Sa hubog at samyo mong likas, Laway sa labi'y namumutawi. Nang si araw ay sumikat, Diwa ko'y lutang sa ulap. Tulala, nakatitig sa dingding. Nang, biglang posas ang sa aki'y gumising. Anong sinabi ko? Mga kwentong gawa-gawa. Anong ginawa mo? Pag-ibig mo'y ipinadama. Pero tinatakot—pinapipili ako Ang buhay ko kapalit ng kalayaan mo. Sa hukuma'y dinala tayo't tinanong ako, “Sino ang nanamantala sa'yo?"

ONESIFORO BERINA, JR.

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Piniringan at bunganga ko'y binusalan. “Ituro mo, hija," sigaw nila. Hustisya ay napagtawanan, Nang itinuro kita.

Espada Alam naman ng karamihan Iilan na lang ang hindi naiimpluwensiyahan Kung ano ang uso sa pamilihan Ako din! Para maging parte ng samahan. Pero hindi kaya ni ina Sa layaw ko ay sumuporta Kaya ako na lang ang gagawa Para may pambili, pang gala. Maaga pang aalis ng eskwelahan Skip muna sa kwentuhan Nagmamadali ng hindi madiskubrehan Kung saang kalye ang dutyhan Inaayos na ang postura Mukha't damit ay handa na Maya-maya tumawag na â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hoy, bilis! Labas na!" Iginiling ang bewang sa hawakan Maka-quota lang sa isipan Lahat ng hiya ay iiwanan Kahit dignidad ay kakalimutan. Pero hindi niya ito ideya Kasalanan ito ng kanyang ama Na sa edad niyang labindalawa Walang awa siyang minolestiya.

APRIL CAITLIN DADIBALOS

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Buntis KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

“Oy, bago ‘to ah,” dama sa mumunting mga mata ang kasabikan. Nananalaytay ang kagustuhang tumuklas. Sabik maniwala. “Hali na, paano ba ‘to?” Kahit man may hindi alam, ginusto pa ring subukan. Bihirang makabisado ang alintuntunin ng laro sa unang pagsubok, hindi madali. Nakakasulasok ang kaba. Bago ang lahat, naipuna na kahit ano man ang mangyari, hindi hahayaang matalo ang sarili. Kinondisyon. Huminga ng malalim. Pumikit. Dumilat sa kakaibang pangyayari. Hindi pa ito natala sa lista ng mga naging karanasan. Sa unang pagkakataon pa lamang itong nasilayan ng mga mata. Nabighani. Nanalaytay ang tuwa sa kumukulong puso. Hindi makapaniwala. Iba ito sa lahat: nakakabihag. Naitanong sa sarili, “Kaya ko ba ‘to?” hindi sapat ang ngiti na abot tenga upang masagutan ang mga katanungan. “Ayos ba?” pati dikta ng puso’y naitatanong sa sobrang kaba. Kaba na baka hindi manalo at baka umuwing talunan. Ibinuhos ang lahat. Naniwala. Rehas ay ang damdaming ayaw masaktan. Pusong ayaw madurog. Tibok na ayaw tumigil. “Kailangan ko ba talagang gawin?” naninigurado. Mahirap ipaglaban ang mga bagay na walang kasiguraduhan. Ang magapi ng sariling takot ay kahabagan ng buntot. Kakayanin.

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Tumatagaktak ang pawis. Mga kamay ay nanginginig. Tinanong muli ang sarili. Tila kinakayang dinggin ang mumunting boses na magpapatigil, magpapakonsensya. Hinahanap. Ngunit, ibang boses ang narinig. “Syempre, sa paraang ‘yan ka lang mananalo.” Madaming naging kalaban. Puso. Damdamin. Integridad. Bumigay. Nagpatuloy. Tatlumpong minuto na ang nakalipas. Kahit anong bilis ay hindi matapostapos dahil sa kabang nadarama. “Bilisan mo nga d’yan, Ryan.” Hingang mas malalim pa sa balon. Nananalanging hindi sana mahuli. Sa pagpapatuloy ng ginagawa, malakas na sigaw ay narinig. “Mr. Reyes, give me your paper,” puna ni Ma’am. Inabot. Nanalangin. Muntik ng mahimatay ng ang papel ay pinunit. Pumuti ang mga mata. Mga paa’y nanginig. Nanlalamig. Parang isang bangkay sa paninigas. Sa bawat paggutay ng pinaghirapan ay labis na paghihinagpis. Pinigilan ang mga luha ngunit unti-unti itong hinihila ng nararamdaman palabas ng mga mata. Guhit ng buntis na numerong singko sa papel ay damang-dama na.

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Guhit ni J O H N P E L B A Ã&#x2018; A R E S

Ala una y medya Nang may narinig na sigaw Nanginig sa pangamba Sa ilalim ng kumot, dali-daling namaluktot Sabay pinilit na ipikit ang mga mata Makalipas ang ilang sandali Saglit na sumilip Nagbabakasakaling makatakas Habang hindi pa nananaginip Tumindig ang mga balahibo nang “Nakikita kita,” ibinulong sa tainga niya Sa takot, pinagsikapang maging mahimbing Pagtulog na pinuwersa Ala una y medya ng hapon Tinanong sa mukhang maluha-luha “Upang maparusahan ng siesta, Ano ba ang aking nagawa?”

Umalulong na ang lobo Nagsimula na ang pagbabantay ng kuwago Hatinggabi ay lumipas, antok ang pasan Ang kama, naumagahan na lama'y ‘di pa rin masulyap-sulyapan Kahit, ng kapeng barako, nakailan nang baso Kay hirap pa ring panatilihing dilat Magdamag na nakatitig sa bundok ng mga gawain Mga talukap ng mata'y kay bigat Dahil sa pagod, hindi namalayang Sa upuan na lamang napayuko Hindi na kinayang tiising maging gising Ng paninging lalabo-labo Ala una y medya ng madaling araw

JOHN DAVID MAZA

Labis na nanalanging mabalikan Mga araw na sinisigawan “Tulog na!” pagkatapos mananghalian

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On the same beach, 2015 The afternoon is telling itself in the way we are gathering sand between our toes, crushing sea shells into tiny pieces of chalk, gashing the shoreline and seeking salt wherever the water drags itself to forget our footprints like a memory it never wanted. The last streak of sunlight falls on us like a lowly spotlight, the sky a wounded animal heaving itself into a shade. Behind us

is a river that houses a secret you never wish to talk about. So we shy away from its mouth still pouring rum and tattered petals into the sea. Here, the wind comes to speak to us in a cold acoustic â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Nick Drake, or Bon Iver. The strums of a daydream are undoing your hair. We sink our hands into the water â&#x20AC;&#x201D; our fingers getting cold, saying it is okay to miss heat. The ocean

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is holding us with shy wrists. We tread quietly in its palms, carefully dropping the names we've been trying to forget. Everything gets swallowed up eventually, even the day. We fall silent, our words drowned out by a chorus of tides. Soon, the horizon will raise itself towards us, and all will be lost beneath it.

And the tides will fold themselves to meet us once more, blanketing our feet in the foamy cold. You then tell me how kicking a wave has become a habit, how you once thought that one can bring your anger to whoever hurt you first. So we welcome the night kicking each wave that comes to us.

PAUL MACKEY MARFIL

We know the waves will kick us back, our anger rolling to greet us back, too.

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Guhit ni B E J A Y S O N G C O G

Tuliro Mga relikyang kagyat bumabagabag sa isip Nakakabinging kalansing ng kadenang sumasabay sa ihip Bulong ng dumadagundong na puri’t pigapit Kamay na sa batas ng iba kumakapit Kagalaka’t tagumpay na kinita Kaakibat ay pag-aalinlangan, luha’t duda Dugo’t pawis na binuhos, ikinasaya ng madla Sarili ba naging masaya? Mga tanong na nais bigyang kasagutan Ito na ba ang buhay na kinagisnan? Kalayaan sa likod ng rehas, ngiting tila nag-aatubili Nakaseldang puso, tigmak ng poot at pighati Pakiramdam na parang palutang-lutang na papel Parang nasa relasyong wala namang lebel Parang isang puwang na tila walang kasagutan Nakatigalgal na parang kwadernong wala namang laman Puno ng emosyong ‘di mailarawan Tumatakbo sa buhay na ‘di maisakatuparan Sariling sinakal ng takot at lungkot Kakulangang ‘di kailanman masasagot

SACHIKO GUBAT

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Ang Ligaw na Rosas Paninging nakakasulyap ng kariktan ng mamula-mulang rosas, Datapwaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t natatabunan ng ningning ng ganid na umaalpas, Matingkad na pula na sumisimbolo ng ninanais, Ngunit nagwawalang-kibo at ipinipikit ang mga mata nang labis! Umalingawngaw ang di-mawaring panaghoy, Dahan-dahan na lumalagas ang talulot nito na parang kumunoy, Buksan ang natutulog na kaisipan, Halinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t hawakan ang bulaklak at maging palaban! Biglang dumaloy sa mga ugat ang dugo ni Bonifacio, Walang anu-anoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y hinawakan ang sanga na hindi nerbiyoso, Sangang sumasagisag sa mga oportunidad na dumarating, Subalit mararanasan ang pait at hinanaing! Kamay na nababalot ng likido ng pagsasakripisyo, Tinik at tulis ng pagsubok ay magiging susunod na isyu, Mga hamon sa nadarama na susubok sa iyong pagsisikap, Sa kabila ng malalalim na sugat ay pipiliting mangarap!

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Buhay na namumukadkad sa bawat patak ng tubig, Paggalaw ng dalawang kamay ng orasan ito’y may pagkakahawig, Habang may pagkakataon ay bigyang halaga ito, Upang hindi masayang ang magagandang bunga na hatid nito. Sana hindi maisakatuparan ang masamang pangitain, Kapag ‘di naiukit sa puso’t isipan ang mga dapat gawin, Ito’y malalanta na senyales na tapos na ang panahon, Kaya habang maaga pa’y maging produktibo upang ‘di lumaon. Hindi lamang sa Agwa ito’y nauuhaw, Gabay sa nasa itaas ang siyang magiging tanglaw, Sa napakaliwanag na sikat ay magtatagal ito, Upang maiwaksi ang maling daanan at pagkalito. Bintana ng kaluluwa ay nasasaksihan na ang tunay na ganda nito na malapitan, Ani ng paghihirap ay ngayon makakamtan, At sa wakas! Matutupad na ang natatanging hangarin, Ang malanghap ang halimuyak ng tagumpay na matagal nang gustong sungkitin! Ang buhay ng tao ay salamin ng tinik at rosas, Nasa kamay ng bawat isa ang pagiging suwerte at malas, Handa ka bang yakapin ang darating pang mga pagbabago? Pwes! Ikaw nga ay isang tunay na henyo!

RYAN JAY SORIANO

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Wither I hugged myself as the cold breeze touched my bare skin The sun hid himself gently It was getting dark and the air was getting colder and colder All the thoughts in this world were circling all day in my mind I am in agony I am at the point where I am standing between life and death Between darkness and light The intense sensation of guilt, sadness, despair and hurt are stabbing my heart I am not in control My body is shaking and shivering My nerves, raging I am losing my mind Unknown anger conquered my whole being I calmed myself and realized My life is now falling into pieces The last thing I knew, I still have a story to tell and a drop of tear rolled down my face.

ISRAH MARIE DAYALO

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In between Wormholes ARIEL LORENZ CASTRONUEVO

The saltiness of my tears touched my lips before the dry gust filled with dust blew over my rugged face. All I could see was the aftermath of a war: elevating smoke, crackling fire, desperation. My disheveled hair seemed to act like I was Medusaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s understudy. One step forward, two steps forward, no. I knelt, never minding the piercing pain of the coarse ground; I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t take the weight of my thighs anymore. Finally, I dropped: face against pebbles and grains of sand.

Illustration by RODJIE PERUCHO

I n B e t w e e n Wo r m hol e s

I opened my eyes halfway but immediately closed them and rubbed my temples to sooth my recurring migraine. The creamy white ceiling was the first thing I saw as I reopened my rheumy eyes. Turning my head to the side and reaching for my phone, the screen flashed 2 a.m. brightly. I forced my weary body to get up and brew some coffee since I won’t be expecting sleepiness anytime soon despite my throbbing headache. My shoulders were slouching as I dragged my ass back to my bedroom and placed the mug on the table. I took a second glance and realized how it was precariously perched on the varnished mahogany’s edge. Making sure I gave as minimal effort as possible, I nudged it a few inches forward. The Monobloc didn’t seem too comforting, but I sat anyway. Heaven, I thought as my eyes fluttered skyward after taking a sip of coffee. My free hand had to gather the scattered paperwork on my desk before putting down the mug again. Grabbing my phone from the bed, which was thankfully just an arm’s reach away, I scrolled through Instagram. My feed was loaded with landscapes, architecture, and urban night life – just my type of content. It was something I longed for—to go—somewhere I longed to be at. I saw islands and beaches, a view from the window of a skyscraper, the Balinese Gates, Santorini, Christ the Redeemer, Venice Canals, Las Coloradas, the Van Gogh Museum in the Netherlands, and Heaven’s Gate in China. I can’t help my fascination towards these places. It seems as if they’re calling for me. Pausing momentarily, I saw someone posing next to the Eiffel Tower. The picture was of a guy trying to make a perspective shot that looked like his back was against the tower’s side. His arms were crossed and head turned sideways towards the camera with the widest smile. I downed the last gulp of coffee and got up from the plastic chair. Keeping my eye on the phone, I inched towards the bed with an unsteady but gentle gait. I tried to imagine myself on the tip of that iconic building. The sun’s warm, embracing rays showered around us as the chilling breeze kissed my pastel cheeks hundreds of feet from the smoke-hued pavement. The chirping birds hastily flapping their wings while gliding in flocks granted a sweet melody to my ears. The serenity was enough to guarantee the tourists to forget about the struggles in life, and enough to reminisce the blissful past. The effervescent scenario from up high provides the kind of solace you would never want to end, and the kind of memories that will make you teary-eyed. I woke up and realized I took a quick shut-eye while imagining myself in places I want to be at in the future. My phone was still on and I saw the photo again. Noticing it was 5:30 a.m., I got up, prepped my bed, and tuned off the lights. I went back to the manifestation of comfort that is my mattress, spooned my pillows, and wrapped the baby blue blanket around myself. Except, that is, for my feet poking out with their thick socks hugging them. With a jovial curve etched on my lips, I went back to sleep, and kept on conjuring ways to reach for the stars.

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Adhikain Mula noong puso’t isipa’y musmos pa, Bawat isa, may kanya kanyang hangad na, Maging doktor, guro o inhinyero Iba-iba, nais at gusto. Kasabay sa pagdagdag ng edad, Tayo’y namumulat Na sa pag-abot ng mithiin, Maraming kailangang tahakin. Nakakabighaning isiping Sa pag-aaral, ilang taon, dapat gugulin. Di mabilang na pagsusulit at takdang aralin Araw-araw, handa nating sagupain. Sa bawat taon at antas, Katagang “ayoko na,” sa ating pandinig, kay dalas. Ilang beses magtangkang sumuko, Ilang beses na mundo’y tila gumuho. Ngunit pagkatapos ng paghihirap, Gantimpala nama’y malalasap Sa paghawak ng diplomang ilang taong pinaghirapan, Kagalakan sa ati’y nakalaan. Kapag hangari’y abot na, Pananaw sa buhay, agad mag-iiba Ating mapapagtanto bigla, Kabuluhan, lahat ng ating mga paggawa. Pansamantalang hirap at dusa Kaligayahan, dulot at dala.

JISELLE YANSON

Retrato ni K A T H L E E N F R U G A L I D A D

of Tears that give

Inside

Cortege

Where neither the cadence of wind, nor azure, nor verdant, nor ivory can descry the viscus of my coffin. Where only the howling holler, and peep sound of toddler— echoes continously through ear. Where stoic complaint and grievance, uncontrollably shakes and jumps, and back impinging frames my room. Where incapable tears becoming mild, affliction becoming wild and grave becoming nigh. Outside Where ominous rain is dark, people crying loud, and a retinue holding white flowers. Where euphonous voice comes to blow, with whimper beseeching— screaming my whole name. Where the thick fur that covered skin— flows the deepest wound. Where in every valiant face, and gallary of palatable smiles— lies a hidden scar.

RODJIE PERUCHO

Both lives a graveyard with broken shards and sun loses vermilion.

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Home They flew one by one, with the sweet lullaby of a voice. Those things were fragile, moving slowly in mid air. They settled in silence, in a pond full of wonder. And some fell down the fire that burnt memories and souls. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Liar!" A voice echoed madly, With sheer force, they fell off from their mother made of thorns. â&#x20AC;&#x153;You are just a symbol of love." The words sounded bitter. Little by little, they quietly withered in pain. But the one thing they wanted was to find the place they were seeking. They scattered peacefully on a rare box. And bury themselves into slumber, in colors of white, pink, and red. Finally, they felt at ease, in a box holding a person who has met eternity . They peacefully settled in a casket, they were just petals seeking for a shattered heart and a place they could call home.

ZHARINA MARIE STEPANIE LUGO

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Beauty Wanes Beauty wanes and with it thy sanity Fragile bud exposed to antipathetic Fault to concede defeat to vanity Crawling through thy veins feigning parasitic. Hefty burdens source thy rapid decay Necessities obtained commence to sense numb Blindness enthralled origins of delay Too desperate to attain, to feel freedom. Squandered crusade a sovereign of thorns reign Fiercely thriving to demolish the tower Intimidation led by the profane Increasing numbers smothering the flower. Beauty wanes leaving nothing sentimental Decelerating for each rotting petal.

RENATO PAOLO TORRES

Illustration by R E N A T O P A O L O T O R R E S

Vanishing Point D A Z E N D AW N L A R I Z A

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

Double-Faced ZHARINA MARIE STEPHANIE LUGO

Silence was always there. Lurking from the shadows, seeping through my bones. Another dead body of a girl was found on the hallway, with blood pooling on the floor. The crowd created soft murmurs, and yet some students had the guts to take photos of the gruesome crime. “Students please go back to your respective classrooms." The voice of the teacher darted back on the hallway, startling the crowd in unison as they marched away as fast as they could. “She was the third victim. Nobody could say who did all of this, yet there were clues that could lead to the suspect!" My ears were able to pick up pieces of gossips from a nearby student whispering to his phone. Out of nowhere, pain started to seep through my neck, yet I continued to walk as straight as I can. “Why do you have to do this?" Soft voices entered my head. “You are a worthless friend! Useless friend!" Another voice retorted. Fear and anxiety battled in my nerves, triggering my whole body to tremble. Suddenly nausea threatened to consume me and a series of unusual dreams flickered in my head. My hands froze in fear, feeling nothing but panic swirling in my stomach. What is happening to me? I shot back to my head, then it was the perfect time when darkness devoured everything around me. Strips of light sliced through my deep slumber, my vision revealing the peaceful school clinic. “Good thing you're awake Miss." Her voice was filled with fear. “You fainted a while ago. Good thing someone rushed you here." She hummed and handed me a glass of water. The scent of rubbing alcohol stung my nose, making me recall what really happened . My mind swirled upon the idea that someone had actually helped me. People would avoid me, as if I was the worst person in the whole campus. Even the school nurse gave me a terrified glare as she pretended to look at the medicines on the shelf.

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Double-Faced

Little by little, a tiny pint of energy made me walk towards the library. Everyone froze as soon as I arrived; hundreds of eyes sheepishly pointed to my direction. I sprinted away and hid behind the last shelves of the library. Towering before me were the books about botany. My mind fell off the cliff of peace, scanning my way to the books of flowers. When I was about to reach my hand for the near exit, a sound of a heavy footstep froze me. “We knew you were up to something." A voice echoed behind me, sending a ribbon of cold air on my spine. “You killed your very own sister! And now your best friend?" This time, a silhouette emerged from the dark. Her presence made me feel she was someone I know. “What are you talking about?" I replied, holding my head excruciating in pain. My vision began to blur, tears escaping from my eyes. Darkness appeared once more, yet the voice of the stranger was still there. “Wise move my dear, but they are going to catch you. Run, my dear." She chuckled endlessly in the dark, hammering my head with more pain. “Who are you? You are accusing me of something I did not do!” I shrieked. “Yes. You did not do it alone. I helped you, my darling." Her voice sounded like mine, as if my heartbeat slowly claimed the truth. Everything blurred once more, then the dreams I had were never dreams at all. Hands painted with blood; laughter of fear dancing with satisfaction. Paranoia in different hues Lifeless bodies on the floor; Oh, It was a dream come true! Red petals and thorns on the victim's sleep! Who killed her? That's how their questions leap. Red petals; A symbol of victory of murder, Take their words back to the world of wonder!

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My own voice was slicing me softly, and waking up was my worst nightmare. Another body drenched in blood bloomed before me. The place was a complete chaos, yet one breath-taking moment made me chuckle in fear. A gigantic flower painted with blood was on the wall, blood red with revenge, anger and awe. I ran as fast as I could, escaping from the dreadful masterpiece I had seen. Voices began to sing a lullaby behind my brain, shrieking and drilling into my bones with my vision began to quiver. They call me mad, crazy artist who does not have art at all. They failed to appreciate my artwork with all these bloodshed, petals and thorns. And now I saw the culprit's face on a window pane, And so it was so clear, as it reflected a face that I own.

Illustration by R E N A T O P A O L O T O R R E S

Of the world Unblemished and pure, in radiance of neon hues, Carved in worldly perfection in every mortal's view, A worshipped deity of the world, embellished in roses, Shedding fragrance polluted with ego and contempt, Intoxicating every tongue of men with venom on her lips, Weaving webs of silken lies and bitter twists, Her garden infested by thorns and grudges, Abomination crawling in every pillar of her kingdom, Tainting her fields and streams with Death and crimson, Allowed her townsmen pillaged and women raped, Enslaved her children to Famine and Plague, conquered by Conquest, Her peace devoured by War, and every breath was to take, In unceasing descension to Sheol, to be forgotten without trace, On the threads of fate, she has lost her place, In reflection of judgement's taste As she waits for Azrael to take her bait, And deliver her from life's Hell state.

V I NC E F R A NC I S A N T HON Y GA B AWA

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N A T I O N

Thorns of us MOISES SEGUNDO ALBA

How does one hold a rose? Surely not by the petals on which its beauty and fragrance nest, but by the stem that is home to the green leaves and the not so obvious thorns that may prick our fingers. Thorns protect the rose and makes it stronger. The rose adapted to the stark realities of the world and changed to become a beaut with pikes. The rose cannot hold back its redolence. Its fragrant beauty attracts both friend and foe. It is not the fault of the rose to warrant such attention or strife, for the rose is but a rose, and to fragrance and bloom, its nature. Consider the butterfly in relation to the rose. What a wonderful picture indeed. The bright red bloom and distinctive fragrance of the rose announce the nectar that is food for the butterfly. As the butterfly feeds on the roseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nectar, the grains of pollen on its legs and wings, carried from previous rose flowers, inseminate this present rose. A true friend indeed. But think for a moment. This same butterfly which acts as the vector agent for rose pollination, spawns the caterpillar worm, the deadly predator-parasite-pest which considers the rose plant as food. To its defense, the rose developed thorns to ward off the caterpillar pests, while its fragrant bloom draws in the butterfly pollinator.

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Illustration by J O H N P E L B A Ă&#x2018; A R E S

Th o r n s o f U s

We can learn from the rose. The rose stem is equal to our values, the green leaves are equal to our attitudes, the bloom and fragrance are equal to our personalities, and the thorns are equal to our learned defenses that may lie suppressed and repressed within us. A beautiful rose is one which holds everything in balance. The rose with an attractive fragrant bloom and without thorns will never last long. While it attracts the butterfly benefactor, it is defenseless against caterpillar pests that would consume it as food. The rose with an ugly miniscule bloom, with a multitude of thorns, will be left to itself and die alone. The rose without a strong stem is easily bent and broken. But the rose with a right balance of the fragrant and attractive bloom, the right amount of thorns to ward off threats, sufficient leaves to draw in light, and supported by a sufficiently strong and rigid stem is sure to thrive and multiply. In the same way, a young lady or lad who has been so sheltered in life as to be unable to develop sufficient defenses within can be easily groomed and victimized by predators who are wolves in sheep’s clothing. Diametrically, the youth that has been battered and bullied by dream stompers may develop such insecurities and accept that he or she would never amount to anything, may shrink into the oblivion shell. So how do we strike the right balance? Paul comforts us that we all begin in stark difficulty because sin is a reality. “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me.” —Romans 7:15-17 We have to work on ourselves. We start by developing a strong and rigid stem based on righteousness, based on God’s Word, as our defense against our own weaknesses and insecure tendencies. Then, we develop skills, our petals, that will make us grow into self-sufficiency. But also, we must not neglect to develop the right amount of thorns to ward-off predators and harmful wolves who intend us harm. Finally, we shall seek to connect with others with our individually distinctive, beautiful, and fragrant bloom that adds beauty and inspiration to the world around us. “To love our neighbor as ourselves is such a truth for regulating human society, that by that alone one might determine all the cases in social morality” —John Locke.

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Utopia untold Ink splattered in sheets of paper, Voices unheard haunting through abandoned skyscrapers, Roads and buildings choked by tall weeds and peeled-off paint. Silence roamed the vast places left by humanity, The world was cloaked with sudden insanity. Vehicles unused snaked below the sleeping buildings, Blankets of smog clogged my lungs.

Deep breathing could almost kill me, Loneliness, please set me free. Shattered windows glimmered in the fainting sunlight, Witnessing my reflection could make me writhe with all of my might. I wore the mask of shame and fright, Upon knowing that I am the only human left.

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N A T I O N

My heart continued to stammer in pain, Refusing to think about things in vain. My tongue had missed to taste the sweet meat of defeat, Of a wonderful winter that in this lifetime would not repeat. My hands quivered grasping the dry sand of dread, For it sought the texture of flowers painted in weary red.

To seek the past in this plain of the future was merely impossible, To watch everything collapse in silence was totally unbearable.

ZHARINA MARIE STEPHANIE LUGO

Photo by R A C H E L B E A T I Z U L A

Tadhana APRIL CAITLIN DADIBALOS

Naniniwala ka ba sa tadhana? Naniniwala ka ba na ang mga bagay ay inilaang may iisang misyon, iisang hangganan? Kasi ako naniniwala ako, dahil alam ko na totoo ang mga bagay na nakikita ko. Kagaya niyan, totoong nasa kabaong na siya; kabaong na halos takpan na mga puting rosas. Maganda, mahalimuyak, simbolo ng kapayapaan. Kagandahan na magkukubli sa pait ng realidad na ngayon niya lang siguro mararanasan ang kapayapaan; na sa kabila ng hinagpis at bukam-bibig ng lahat ng naroroon na sana'y hindi iyon nangyari ay ang paniniwalang masaya siya. Masaya nga ba siya? Ang wakas na ito ay nangyari dahil nagsimula. Saan nga ba, at bakit nga ba? Simulan natin sa normal at kadalasang simula. Ipinanganak siya sa mahirap na pamilya. Ika-apat siya sa anim na magkakapatid na iniluwal ng mag-asawang walang permanenteng pinagkakakitaan. Dalagang panganay sa siyam at binatang bunso sa labintatlo ang aksidenteng bumuo ng pamilya sa isang malamig at tahimik na gabi. Ano nga ba naman ang mali doon? Ang bawat bata ay biyaya at utos ay magparami. Pero naniniwala ka ba? Naniniwala ka ba na sa bawat paghalakhak mo, sa susunod na sandali ay ang pagtulo ng sakit at kirot mula sa iyong mga mata. Napansin mo bang kapag sobrang lakas ng tawa mo ay bigla na lang may lumalabas na luha? Tadhana... May posibilidad bang nakadisenyo ang ating personalidad na maghangad ng mga bagay na wala tayo? Naghangad kasi siya... Ninais niya na makaahon sa kahirapan. Gusto niyang maging mayaman, na mabili ang mga bagay na linggo-linggo kung ituro niya sa palengke. Ginusto niya na makapagsuot ng mga damit at sapatos na nakikita niya sa telebisyon o sa mga

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kaklase niyang de-kotse kung ihatid at sunduin sa paaralan. Hindi naman mali yun, kung tatawagin mo na pangarap... Nag-aral siyang mabuti kaya taon-taon siyang nasa entablado at may medalya. Pero mali, mali yung sinasabi nila... â&#x20AC;&#x153;Matalino kasi talaga siya! Henyo! Namana niya siguro!" Paanong magiging totoo yun? Hindi nga nila nakitang nangyare... Pero ako, nakita ko kung ilang oras lang siya natutulog sa kaaaral. Nakita ko kung paanong hindi na siya kumakain ng maayos dahil gusto niya makakuha ng mataas na grado kahit proyekto lang iyon. Nakita ko na hindi siya gumagala kung gabi dahil gumagawa siya ng takdang-aralin. Nakita ko kung paanong mula sa lupa ay tumubo at umakyat siya. Gamit ang mga magulang niya bilang haligi, nakipagsabayan siya sa ibang baging na nais rin makaabot sa langit dahil naroon ang liwanag, ang buhay. Hindi naman mali iyon, kung tatawagin mong resposibilidad, sipag at tiyaga. Pakikipagsabayan nga bang maiituturing kung mas mataas at mas maraming pamamaraan ang kayang gawin ng haligi nila? Tama bang sabihin mo sa isang pulubi na naiintindihan mo ang nararamdaman niya kung may bubong kang uuwian? Paano kung nahihirapan na siyang kumapit, kung nagiging madulas na yung haligi dahil sa tagal na hindi nalilinisan? Maabot mo pa ba ang langit kung ang mismong haligi na ang bumigay sa pagsuporta sayo? May paraan pa, at nadiskubre niya iyon. Para maabot ang langit, tinanggal niya ang baging sa dingding, hinabi iyon upang maging matibay. Maingat niyang itinali sa kisame at saka siya tumalon. Mali iyon. Dahil hindi ang taling iyon ang nagdala sa kanya sa langit, kundi ang mga lobo ito na binitawan nila na may dalang pagsisisi kung bakit hindi man lang nila napansin na bibitaw na siya. Pero tama naman diba? Itinadhana naman na sa lupa pa tayo magbabalik; malas niya lang dahil sa batobatohan siya bumagsak. Pero kahit sa hapdi at paghihirap siya nagtapos, ang wakas ay masaya siya. Alam ko, kasi ako siya.

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The Opium Kill her! Kill her! I hear them say. Suddenly, a vision. Kill her! Kill her! I myself say. Lurkingly, an ideation Save her! Save her! Words they ne'er say. Dearly, a poignant thorn. Pick her! Pick her! Nearer they get to her body. Tearfully, a cold creation. See her. See her. Roses and tears they lay, Deadly, Is her last option.

ONESIFORO BERINA, JR.

Illustration by R E N A T O P A O L O T O R R E S

Grave I get tired of my self carrying my personal dark. Cursing the world for turning my life distant. Perceiving heartaches and controlling cramps. I'm not a vivid volcano where you can take inimitable photographs Not blessed water, nor remedy of throes. I'm not those walls around a chĂ˘teau. Nor a gallant vying to win the war. I'm not a paradise with intermediate peace. Not the Garden of Eden, nor bliss in heaven. For I am a grave, skilled at hiding death.

RODJIE PERUCHO

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

The Conversation JOHN DOMINIC LAGARDE

It was already 7:10 p.m. as I looked at my watch. I’ve been waiting here since six in the evening. People passed by but they didn’t even give me a glance. Only my colleagues noticed me. Sometimes, they gave me a nod. I looked at my watch again. It’s already 7:13. It’s time. Without knocking, I enter the room. The smell of anesthetics wafted all over the place. The sound of sobbing was heard. I looked at the group of people huddled and crying over someone lying on the bed. Usually, on occasions like this, it’s hard for me to find the person I needed to meet. But strangely enough, he’s just standing there looking at the group. “He looks so peaceful,” the man said as I walk over to him. This was strange. This was the first time I’ve met a guy who seems oddly relaxed over the scene unfolding in front of him. “He had a wonderful life, even though it ended too early. I’m going to miss him.” Huh. This was interesting. “How can you say that he had a wonderful life?” I asked him. “I just feel it. Just look in front of you. Look at how his family is reacting. You should aim for this in your life: When you are born, you’re the only one crying and everyone is smiling, and then when you die, everyone else should be crying and you’ll be the only one smiling. That, my friend, is the secret to living a wonderful life and I think he has achieved it,” the man said, apparently awed by what he was witnessing. He went silent after that. He had a hint of a smile on his face. But looking him in the eyes, I sense his sorrow. “Even though he had achieved it, I don't think it was easy to get this far. Nothing is easy in our life,” he said, still staring in front of him.

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Then silence engulfed both of us again. “Hey mister. Want something to eat?” he asked me suddenly which totally caught me off-guard. "Well, I’m actually feeling a bit hungry right now." I looked at my watch. I still had time before I do my job. “There is a store which actually sells some good burgers by the garden. But is it alright for you to go out? I mean, someone special to you just died moments ago and you still have the appetite to eat? ” I told him. “A hungry man’s got to eat and I'm already starving here,” he replied, oddly happy. I just shrugged and we both went out of the room. We walked down the corridor without saying a word. The man was just humming to himself seeming oblivious to his surroundings. People passing by just minded their own business. Some of my colleagues passed by but they were also busy with their work. “Where do you think we’re headed?” he asked out of nowhere. I gave him a questioning look and answered, “We’re going to buy some burgers, right?” He just chuckled to my answer. “I mean, our lives? When or where do you think this path will end?” Oh. That’s what he means. And here I thought he’s losing some memories. “I don’t know. Everyone is always asking those questions.” I replied. “And here I thought you could answer that because of your work,” the man said, looking a bit sad after hearing my answer. We continued walking to the gardens without any more conversations. After each of us bought some burgers, we took a seat on a bench under a tree. “Hmmm. This is tasty,” he said as he was gorging on his burger. I am also eating mine but still thought about the question this man asked me moments ago. “Hey, about your question a while ago, I always thought that life is just meaningless. That nothing we do is special. We’re just a speck in this vast universe. Even if you don't listen closely, the world keeps on telling you that you don’t matter.” We both went silent after that. The guy was still eating but his eyes were gazing into the distance, looking sad. “Does God exist?”

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Th e C o n v e r s a t i o n

Another weird and out-of-nowhere question but I still answered him. “If you’re going to say that God always gives meaning to our lives, then why does he give us so much pain for just being alive? Does suffering and despair count as a meaning of life? Yes, people pray to be cured of their sicknesses or to pass their exams and if they get answered, we celebrate and call it a miracle but how about the millions of people who die in wars or of hunger? They also pray to God but they all die without their prayers being answered. And everyone in the end dies. So what’s the point? It’s like the meaning to life is just to die.” I said some pretty grim things to the man. I was actually hesitant to look at him now that I told him all those dark stuff of life. But to my big surprise, he looked peaceful. He was actually smiling and the sadness in his dark eyes was gone. “You actually know the meaning of life. And you said you don’t know it," he said solemnly. “Huh? The meaning of life is actually to die!?” I asked outrageously and somewhat annoyed. “Well, in a sense, yes. God, before we were even born, has a script for all of us to follow. That said, our lives have meaning. We just don’t have a full grasp of it. That’s why for centuries, people keep asking “What’s the meaning of life?” but God knows it all. We just have to believe in him. Yes, some may have a hard and difficult script written for them but then again we cannot say that it is meaningless. Soldiers might die in a war, but they did for their country. Prostitutes sell their body for the pleasure of others, but with the money they earn, they can feed their families. Someone died of hunger, now his body can give nutrients to other living beings. Yes, we really are a speck in this vast universe, but we can still contribute to this world in our own small and special way. And yes, everyone dies in the end. But our real lives start after it, with us living with God.” He grabbed a small fruit on the ground and threw it at a small kid. The fruit hit the kid in the head, startling him. “Sometimes problems and despair hit us in the head. You never see them coming. You just look around cursing the world, feeling sorry for yourself for being unlucky or having a meaningless life. And when this fruit of despair hits you on the head, the hardest part is trying to stay away from misery. To be strong and to not give up. That’s why I haven’t given up on my life.” He finished his burger and wiped his lips and hands with a tissue. After he finished cleaning himself, he faced me with a satisfied look and smiled. “With your job, I was surprised to think you didn't know anything about that stuff. Well, maybe this is a part of the script of my life,” he said, feeling happy. “Well sir, let’s get going then. It’s your turn of the script now.”

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As I stood from my seat, the man suddenly asks me, “Hey mister, one last question. What’s the use of that scythe you’re holding?” This guy really was interesting. “Can’t tell you. Classified Information. Aren’t you going back to the room and see them one last time?” I asked him. “I have a feeling that I don’t need to. I have trust and faith in them and in God. And I will always be watching over them,” the man answered. “Well then, let’s go," he said before walking together. “A new script for my life is waiting for me.”

Illustration by R O D G E R A R D F U E N T E S

Warmth in the cold

a star

I saw a star glowing amongst the dark clouds twinkling like other stars I saw a star I could only watch from afar even though the eyes were uncertain, the heart was convinced that I saw a star my star JOHN DAVID MAZA

Illustration by J O E L B A G O Y O

Castle Once when I was too afraid, I found myself hiding. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve never trembled this way. The ground kept holding my feet, I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t do much but crawl with the dirt dragging me around. I have never stepped an inch. Along with the twigs I grew, In a castle no one has ever tried to get through. I was blotted with pain and agony, The oil kept flowing, It was hard to get rid off. I waited for somebody to rescue me, Fortunately, not just anybody, You stood in front of the willow tree, Searching for a way to set me free. You are the mist of a light, A droplet of sunshine. You gave me everything I needed, The sovereignty to outdo being hurt.

KATHLEEN FRUGALIDAD

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N A T I O N

Dire You were never a home that shelters people during a storm. You were never a sweater that provides heat during winter. You were never the wings that come to set me free. You were never a brush that puts color into a canvas. Insteadâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; You were the fuel adding to the fire, a swollen river devouring a village;

you were the hands around my throat.

JAYVONE FRANCO

Illustration by R O D J I E P E R U C H O

Last Sunday My Prayers Found their Pathos The moment my hands come to meet in prayer know that I am holding two broken fists held together by lola's rosary beads so tight against my skin you will mistake them for blood clots. It is difficult to pray inside an unfinished church: A welder goes about joining iron the way one gathers his ironies before prayer. The sound he makes becomes too shredded it could be the sound of

metal screaming for mercy. At the back a woman stretches her hand like a five o' clock shadow. Something holy stands frozen in time. Say pray for us. She lights a candle. When the fire went out, she is pressed back into the dark. The last time I was asked to write something for the Lord, I ended up worshiping my own silence.

There is a sin a knee could no longer carry. I am sorry. Forgiveness is a room with a door left ajar.

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

You are inside that room. I know my chances will expand like an earthy bough, I know one of them will break at the welcome of confession. You are . . . Perhaps hell is for those who used the wrong adjectives. A churchman opens a window, pours out a summer's worth of lightâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; see it fall between the pews like sand between one's fingers. Here where there is no light, anything that shines will feel like a judgment. Tell me how can one hold a prayer the way an empty hand can hold so much waiting. Tell me how can one

not weep in the shadow of a gospel and see the light where it is aimed at. Somewhere down here there is a worn down piano that never doubts the hand that plays it. It could be me. Perhaps at the worst end of having a choice is the consequence of guilt. Perhaps this is how things should have ended: us raising an amen

PAUL MACKEY MARFIL

to our lips.

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

God only knows ELLIE JOHN TA-ALA

She wakes up, her heart beats, and tears fall endlessly as she looks around. The night is still deep, keeping the entire world in slumber, hiding the sorrows of those whose rose petals are slowly falling one by one. She doesn’t want to sleep, doesn’t want to enter Hypnos’ realm, afraid of what she’s going to see if she does. Nobody is there to comfort her. A petal falls as memories hound her mind like bloodhounds.

God only knows what you’ve been through. She did her best. She tried to make everything right. She tried to pick up her life—the shattered pieces, which is her life. An endless torrent of tears she had already shed and it still isn’t enough. The pain, the suffering, the agony of life remains as troubles and disappointments mount up. It feels as if the walls were choking her slowly. Nobody was there to help her in her loneliness, in her quiet place. All was silent. Another petal falls as she does her best to try to keep her secrets.

God only knows what they say about you.

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

She smiled as she did her daily routine. It was the only option for someone like her. She was not beautiful, she was not funny, and she was not someone who would stand out. She was just a face in a crowd, another number on the endless sheet that makes up humanity. Thus, she smiled, she smiled and made do; going with the flow, afraid of what might happen if she showed how much her heart was aching. She tried to keep whatever friends she had left in any way she can. She destroyed her life, broke every rule that her parents told her not to do and wrecked her future, all to quench that loneliness that stung like a rusty nail in her heart. Despite all these, she knew. She knew that she’ll never be one of her friends no matter how hard she tried. Still, she held on. She held on to that stem of thorns even as her palms bled, and her soul wailed for it to stop. Another petal falls as the weight of life brings her to her knees.

God only knows how it’s killing you. Loneliness smothered her like a blanket. She had known. She had known that her peers will leave her; she had expected it, but to experience it? No words can describe the agony of being left alone. Her heart thundered as it bled. Shame. So much shame! She had destroyed her life, she lost her future, and she’s alone, broken, forgotten, nothing to her name and no hope for her future. No job, no money, no friends, no family, an endless amount of nothing. And she knows that it’s all her fault in the first place. She knows that she’s the one to blame and no one else. Now, that stem of thorns is taking its toll and how gladly it drinks from the wound of her palm as life takes everything back. Another petal falls, finally bringing the whispers from the dark.

But there’s a kind of love that God only knows. It tells her of freedom, it tells her of escape, it tells her of breaking the chains

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

God Only Knows

of her pain and finally letting go of the stem that she has seized so strongly. It tells her of a way out of everything, a final rest for her. It tells her that everything is in her hands alone. All it takes is for her to take that leap, that final leap where the abyss awaits. Forget the stem of life, it is painful. Why should she not let go? The last petals drift away, leaving nothing but a single tiny one barely holding on.

God only knows what you’ve been through. Her soul cries. Oh, how her soul cries as she walks those final steps, the doors of her small apartment balcony sliding open. The whispers are stronger this time, urging her, encouraging her even as every fiber of her being knows it’s wrong. Her heart wails. It wails even as the fingers holding the stem of thorns tighten its hold. This is it, the final breath of the plunge. The last petal holds on, doing its best not to be plucked away even as winds buffeted it. The encroaching hands of darkness slowly ensnared it with its claws.

God only knows how much it’s hurting you. Why does she hesitate? This is her chance. This is her final plunge, all it takes is for her to take that small leap and everything would finally be over. Why does she not take that last step? The voices whisper more urgently this time, impatience lacing their voice. It tells her that if she doesn’t take this chance, she would be in pain again. The voices tell her that she’ll slowly be bled dry by the accursed life she’s living. She must do it! She must let go of that irritating stem of thorns of life that made her miserable the very first second she came to this world. More winds blew and the final petal let loose its cry as it felt its hold slipping. The laughter of the darkness echoes on the gloom.

God only knows the real you. She cries. Oh, how she cries. She knows that what she’s doing is wrong. She knows that once she does this, there would be no turning back. But the pain, the pain is too much and she can’t handle it anymore. It must END!

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

She feels strength fill her legs, that one moment where everything comes together slowly pushing through, that tiny piece of her left still cries out for help without even realizing it as old memories of falling to your knees and looking up to heaven surface for the briefest of moments. The fingers let go of that stem of thorns that is life— The last petal falls as her heart flies— The entities of darkness laughed smelling their victory—

But there's a kind of love that God only knows. Nail pierced hands appear out of the gloom catching the flying petal away. White light follows in a flash and it seems as if dawn pierced the darkness, bringing life to the once dead petal at its fingers. Hope blossoms anew as the person it belongs to remembers the One to whom everything is made true. Blood flows out, touching the broken soul, bringing life back. The veil of darkness cracks and death itself turns itself backwards as that single cry once more connects the now fully grown rose back to its stem. The entities of darkness fade away like scurrying rats, the Light driving it far away to the darkest corners where it creeps out of. Life is made anew, and all she can see is that radiant smile looking down on her. She wakes up, finding herself on her bed once more, the rain falling down in torrents outside her windows. She remembers her problems and her worries, those uneven weights stressing down on her shoulders threatening to tear her down to her very roots. She throws off the bed covers, crawling towards the edge of her bed, pulling up a small leather-bound tome covered by dust. It is given to her by her deceased grandmother and she never had the chance to open it. Opening the worn out cover, throwing dust and grim everywhere, she knows that she is no longer alone. She found Hope. And if one would look, all he or she could see is her hand holding the fully grown rose on the stem full of thorns alongside a nail pierced hand holding it with her along the way.

That’s a kind of love that God only knows.

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

2019

Planner

I wiggle my toes In the sands of time Trusting the touch that controls my motion

â&#x20AC;&#x201D; N I K K I G IOVA N N I

W E D

T H U

F R I

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2019

T U E

Carnation

January

S U N

M O N

fascination • admiration • distinction

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

W E D

T H U

F R I

S A T

2019

Iris

T U E

February

S U N

M O N

valor • wisdom • hope

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

9 8

W E D

T H U

F R I

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2019

T U E

Daffodil

March

S U N

M O N

spring • rebirth • respect

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

W E D

T H U

F R I

S A T

2019

T U E

Sweet Pea

April

S U N

M O N

gratitude â&#x20AC;˘ pleasure â&#x20AC;˘ departure

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

W E D

T H U

F R I

S A T

2019

Lily of the Valley

T U E

May

S U N

M O N

happiness â&#x20AC;˘ appreciation â&#x20AC;˘ humility

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

W E D

T H U

F R I

S A T

2019

T U E

Honeysuckle

June

S U N

M O N

sweetness • affection • embrace

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N A T I O N

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2019

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Larkspur

July

S U N

M O N

joy â&#x20AC;˘ levity â&#x20AC;˘ fickleness

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N A T I O N

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N A T I O N

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T H U

F R I

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2019

Gladiolus

T U E

August

S U N

M O N

intergity â&#x20AC;˘ character â&#x20AC;˘ remembrance

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N A T I O N

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N A T I O N

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T H U

F R I

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2019

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Aster

September

S U N

M O N

daintiness â&#x20AC;˘ patience â&#x20AC;˘ magic

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N A T I O N

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

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F R I

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2019

T U E

Marigold

October

S U N

M O N

comfort â&#x20AC;˘ protection â&#x20AC;˘ healing

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N A T I O N

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

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W E D

T H U

F R I

S A T

2019

Chrysanthemum

T U E

November

S U N

M O N

friendship â&#x20AC;˘ compassion â&#x20AC;˘ cheerfulness

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N A T I O N

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2019

T U E

Poinsettia

December

S U N

M O N

success â&#x20AC;˘ salvation â&#x20AC;˘ fulfilment

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N A T I O N

I M A G I N E

N A T I O N

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FOUNDED

1910

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Epilogue An Iranian poet once wrote that a flower perfumes the hand that shreds it. But I am not the hand to gather such amour from a flower. Instead, let it hit me like rain on a cold, dark morning, that smell. It will lead me to where the sky becomes the color of our ashtrays. I know the ground will soon tuck itself in a blanket of leaves, only to scatter them in the rain like an offering. I know the flowers will follow them, too. But on colder days, there is a petal dreaming of fire. You told me it has a secret name, and that by uttering the name correctly, one can pluck it without bursting apart. Dear, I am trying my best not to shred it this time, like a mirror trying to live one last reflection moments before hitting the floor. But should the dream wither, too, I will gather heat in the palm of my hands and cover that one petal. The way I once covered you.

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Words by P A U L M A C K E Y M A R F I L

IMAGINE

NATION 2018