EC HO E S
L ITFO L IO
201 6
Sa y hi to you r c op y of th e Ech o es Li tfoli o 2 01 6 . Co n ta i ned wi th i n th ese t h in pape r sto ri es a nd a r t c r ea ted by y o u r Co n si d e r you r sel f l u ck y to be abl e ex p eri e nc es of th e ta l e n ted peo pl e t h i s s m a l l c ol l ec ti on of wo rd s .
wall s are po et ry , pro se , fell ow Eco so c m e m be rs . to sh are in t h e lives and w h o h ave co nt ri bu ted to
As i t i s no ea sy fea t to bare o ne’s so u l so o pe nl y to an a u d i en c e , Ech oes wou l d li ke express g ra t i t u d e to eve ry o ne w h o su b m i tted a l i ttl e pi ece of t h e m selves and m a d e t h i s Li tfoli o p os si bl e . Echo es i s a l so g i v i ng ou t h i gh fives to all t h e peo pl e w h o can rel a te to ou r a p p r ec i a ti on of t h e m i gh t i est m ediu m t h e re i s: li tera t u r e . Ha p p y r ea di ng .
LAYOUT
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BY
A NNA
C OV ER A RT BY V ILM A R GAYU TI N PAGDA NGA NA N A ND SELENA YAO
B LO O DY B E AU T Y BY:
O L IV IA
S OLOMON
The first time I learned how to write penance on the back of my throat was when I was seventeen. I had just eaten three spoonfuls of rice and a molecular piece of meat. I was so weighed down by the guilt and the calories that I had to excuse myself from the table. I stared at porcelain throne waiting for me, calling me to beg for forgiveness because of the sin I was going to commit. I knelt reverently and pressed two fingers down my throat. Blocked airways, the scratch of nails, and the sensation of repentance in its purest form. That was my first time purging. Purging was a mix of perfection and guilt. Perfection was something I always wanted have. But my weakness as a human being was my need to eat. Sure, everybody needs to eat but I wanted to completely do away with that nonsense. And here comes the guilt. I eat meals as small as atoms but I feel the calories being multiplied in an exponential scale and the fat in me ballooning out into ridiculous proportions. I was a hundred pounds by the time I was nineteen. No one noticed that I was starving myself and vomiting out whatever I ate because food was dirty and I needed to be clean. For two years, I thought that tiny meals was equivalent to bingeing and bingeing was equivalent to nailing myself to the cross for my sins. So I did. Every day, every meal time. I was addicted to the pain. The sweat and the hunger pulled me in. I couldn’t stop. Someone help me but god, it felt so painfully lovely to be this miserable. I was beautiful with my prominent collarbones, shallow cheeks, and cuppable ribs. I was beautiful and so famished, yet I loved it. Being beautiful was so wonderful, I couldn’t eat because of joy. But look at me. I was twenty when I started to become happy with my body. I was so hungry for three years, I tried eating again. And I became 130 pounds of healthy. Wonderful. I stopped purging and obsessing about my weight. But after a year of happiness, I am back to my repentant state. I am once again obsessed with scraping out my fallibilities and drawing blood to achieve perfection. I look in the mirror and I see a puffed up face, sausage thighs, and a big elephant in the room that is me. I told myself two weeks ago that I wouldn’t eat anything for a week and I was fucking happy that I was able to do it. The hunger and the pain were so addicting I couldn’t stop but I felt that I was going to pass out anytime during the day. I didn’t care if I died that time because I would have been beautiful. Hunger was beauty and pain was being skinny. And he didn’t notice. I told him that I didn’t eat so I could be fuckable. He didn’t say anything and fucked me anyway. I didn’t eat because no one saw me as pretty or beautiful or even fuckable. I just needed some affirmation that I was worthy something beyond me. I was waiting for him to see what no one else saw. Heck, I even prayed he saw how famished I was. I tell him, “I am so hungry.” He says, if I work out more, I’ll be “hot” again. I stay quiet because he doesn’t understand. So I repent for my sins by worshipping his beautiful body. How he doesn’t have stretch marks or thunder thighs or jiggly arms or love handles. He’s so beautiful and I want to kiss every part of him. But I can’t because I’m fat. And I can’t because he’s not here anymore. He saw the ugliness in me. Why couldn’t my hunger make him stay? I am twenty one and I still feel dirty. I still feel ugly like mud. Like shit. Like food. I can’t eat, couldn’t eat, shouldn’t eat. I am hungry, someone help me but I’m sure I won’t listen. I won’t listen to anyone. Because my beauty is in my hands and I have chosen to stay hungry to be beautiful. You look at me and think I’m lying. How can a girl that looks like that ever be hungry? Look at the folds on my stomach, my puffed up face, my sausage thighs. Ugly, ugly, ugly.
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K AT I E ’ S S PA C E P O E M BY:
K ATIE
ABRE N ICA
I want to tell you how amazing you are And I want to tell you in a way that you’d believe me We’re surrounded by things bigger than us, greater than us But trust me when I say that we are not small If I zoomed out till I could see the milky way And go farther a thousand more galaxies I still see you right there Right there with me We’re small bodies but we’re flaring out the edges Like a supernova exploding Illuminating what’s around us Before releasing ourselves into nthe void We’re unimaginable The space rangers would never understand Inside us, a thousand stars die as a thousand more are born With nobody noticing, nobody hearing We have our own black holes inside of us Devouring us, consuming us slowly but At the end of it I’m sure We’ll be in a universe of our own We’re expanding infinitely in all directions The darkest, darkest matter Filling up the spaces inside us That we do not know about ourselves But the things that fill up the empty space Radiant and bright and celestial, they are stellar And it may take some time for your light to travel and it’ll bend and warp and scatter But it will never break, it will get there So tell me, would you run through the world with me? We can brave through the force of gravity, the space debris, the hurricanes on Jupiter, the dark side of the moon, everything, literally everything Because this is what we have inside of us And this is what I have to give you
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A LET TER TO THE SHEEP BY:
VA N
G U N O
When have I started noticing that your line of vision did not strike mine, Or was I just too blind to see that you were clearly out of the way But with names so fine and close and warm and real, I’d never ever guess they weren’t mine to keep I remember our hands touching as you tell me about your day The time we sang our hearts out on the car ride home As we ran the streets at night, flying like thieves on the run Shoulders touching, heads on shoulders, side by side I thought I felt eternity in our embrace Like you lifted me up in the air in public sight With weeks of not seeing your hard earned smile Solved by a simple lunch, a simple meeting, a simple chance I’m not even sure if you’ll ever see me beyond your sight Or that I’ll ever muster up the courage to tell you straight I figure that I’ll just curl up in my corner wishing you were mine Hoping I could say what I’ve thought of for so long
A LETTER FOR THE SONGBIRD BY:
VAN
GUNO
There is hollowness in the melody Murmurs of the absurd, an obscure message hidden within the waves of beats I stagger in the restlessness of it Hearing that frantic emotion that calls to mind the vapidness of what is meta A flicker within the dreamy skyline Proud and mighty, those who soar in the high ranks might recall their once untarnished reign Forged from cornerstone, I build my castle Can you hear the skeptics penetrating the perverse idea that is my own The music is only part of the feint No one seeks what is there but just what is supposedly there Do I dare retract my steps to find it “Run with me, my friends,” is what you tell me yet I just stand here moving yet steady
I’ll stand here waiting for the day you’d find your way to me Or better yet, the way to what makes you forever free You’ve always dreamed of bigger things, things I would’ve never imagined You’ve always tried to reach farther places, places I would never dare reach I thought I felt
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FISTFIGHTS BY:
ALON BY:
A N O N YMOU S
Natatanaw ko ang pamilyar mong mukha Nariyan ka sa dalampasigan, Narito ako at nakatingin Mula sa mga alon ng dagat. Nariyan ka at puno ng saya Dahil hawak mo ang kamay niya. Narito ako at nagpapalamon sa alon, Masilayan lamang kita. Narito pa rin ako, sinta. Nagpapaanod sa pag-asang Baka sakaling mayroon pa; Baka sakaling ang “tayo” ay buhay pa. Ngunit habang ikaw ay tila isang bulag Na muling nakakita sa piling niya, Narito ako’t naiwang pilay, pipi, at bingi Sa ating mga ala-ala. ‘Di na maramdaman ang buhangin sa paa, Nagpapatangay nalang sa alon, Nagbabaka-sakaling iyong magunita. Ngunit sa muling pagsulyap sa ‘yo, Ikaw ay tumalikod na parang walang nakita. Kaya’t ngayon, heto ako, Sabay na itataas ang aking mga paa. Magpapadala nalang sa alon, At ‘di ka na hihintayin pa.
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TI M M Y
JACOB
Come watch At a little past two There will be cursing and crying And brawling and violence At the local late night mental fist fights Featuring myself and freshly bruised knuckles With the bedroom walls in attendance They see and hear But I need more attention Come cheer I’m working babyface right now And they expect smiles But I keep talking smack and they don’t like that You’re the good guy Go put on a good show They say As my palms push my face in And I pull my hair out Come cry As the crowd turns on me I’ve been expecting it for years anyway There was no friendship here Distrust Only empty words Only the walls are here now And they still see and hear And still don’t pay enough attention
L A Z A R U S O N C E AGA I N BY:
G IO
PE RE Z
“Tell me anak, do people still curse and cry at the sound of our family’s name?” “ The people love us dad, our people love us.” A faint smile hinted at the father’s rough cheeks, “After all these years, they finally realize the path that you set out for them.” The sombre forty year old man wearing a worn-out plaid polo shirt and slacks the color of the dry rice fields surrounding their mansion, held his father’s elbow as the elder of the two who wore a barong tagalog that looked as crisp as it had been when he first entered the chamber, stepped out of the 6 foot tall iron-coated cryogenic machine that had held him for the past thirty years. The elderly man, who aged no more than a day in his time in the chamber, moved to the balcony at the opposite side of the room facing the hundreds of acres of the land that he himself believed he built up from the ground. He raised his left hand to cover his eyes from the setting sun’s rays, his vision having been accustomed to nothingness for the past thirty years while he slept. The moon had started to rise in the east, signalling dusk and the end of another day. But for the father and son who looked far south as they can, farther than the endless terrain that had surrounded Ilocos, a new era was just beginning. At 9 o clock in the same evening, the pair boarded one of the family’s private jets. The entry to the runway had been flooded with dozens of cameras from news stations around the country and the world and the faithful believers from all over Ilocos. The Risen One, they called him; the Messiah of our time come once again to save us. At 11 o clock, the Family dined on their lavish five-course meal, they watched the news slowly break out through one of the 50 Inch LED screens and rejoiced; a world that had once condemned them into exile now bowed down to their feet. And at as the clock struck midnight, only one member of the Family remained awake; for the fear of darkness consuming him once again, would consume him ‘til the end. And the Father looked out at the window from his gold-crested seat, already dreaming for the country that he knew could not dream without him. eople Power they called it, the day he faintly remembered he was cast away from his throne. And yet it P was on this same day in the months following his entry into Malacanang Palace that the Good Friday of 2016 was moved to in perpetuity. The death of the savior, resurrected once again on Easter Sunday, March 27 for all the years to come. The thousands who defied him thirty years ago and died with their ideologies have been denounced by the CBCP claiming them to have been misled souls; souls unknowingly fighting the one who was supposed to lead them to Paradise all along. 2016 was revelled by religions all over the world as the Year of the Second Coming with Islam, Hindu, Buddhism, and all others converting to Christianity in suit. And the Philippines, the millions who cast him aside long ago were now crying, stripping themselves of all dignity to bow down in front of the gates of his Malacanang Temple, spending hours and hours kneeling and asking for his forgiveness while he observed from the highest balcony in the building . For his first Presidential decree, he declared his bloodline to be Holy and for only them to be able to lead the Philippines as its King and Queen on Earth. For his second, he absolved the Philippines of its sins against him and the Christian Church; all other countries were demanded of gold and submission for their own places in heaven. As his third and final presidential decree, he declared for war and oppression (as befit in his eyes) to be over, and those who would cause such to serve a place in hell. It was then again on the 25th of February, 2030 that a historian snuck in to the Holy Family’s mansion in Ilocos. And in stumbling through the dark in search for hidden information that he bumped into a functioning cryogenic machine, took the photo of the discovery of the century, and was promptly shot in the back before he could even take a second one.
IMAGE
BY
KY L E
THOMP SON
PHOTOGRA PHY
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DEAR BOOBS BY:
OL IV IA
S OLOMON
Dear Boobs, I know that people usually don’t write to their boobs but I just wanted to say that I had to write this letter. Dear Boobs, Thank you. Dear Boobs, You know I got you, you got me. Thank you. Dear Boobs, I know we’ve gone through a lot. Your painful back-breaking blossoming and then the sometimes bounce-bounce-bounce, wait, let me support you kind of painful blossoming. Or maybe I’m just talking about jogging. Dear Boobs, I have a secret. Dear Boobs, I like sex. Dear Boobs, I like sex, but I also like equality. Dear Boobs, We like sex, right? Dear Boobs, I think we have some explaining to do. Because I keep telling people that my body is mine and that I make my own decisions. And I know you agree on this (except maybe, for the occasional tit-fuck which I know we really don’t get). Okay, maybe we get that a bit because you’re A B C D Double D-lightful. Dear Boobs, Remember the clumsy fumbling of nervous hands on the bra holding you up like you were freaking Simba? And that the whole animal kingdom was so proud of you? I am so proud of you, boobs! Dear Boobs, Those low-cut tops that you rock? Keep wearing them! There’s no shame in having boobs. But hey, awkward adolescent boy, my face is here. Sure, you can stare but with permission. ;)
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Dear Boobs, They keep asking me how I could subject myself to the hands of a man who only knows how to grab you. Dear Boobs, He knows how to grab you. Like oh, wow. Thanks. Dear Boobs, I know you like tongue. Dear Boobs, And maybe a little bit of teeth. Dear Boobs, He does it so well, I’d like to thank you once again for existing. Big or small, thank you again for existing. Dear Boobs, You are heavy but full of heart. The way he drinks you like it’s his mother’s first gush of milk. Dear Boobs, You are heavy and full of life. But they call you slut because they don’t agree with the way we work together. How I let men grope you. How we don’t conform to the status quo of being a woman, whatever the fuck that means. Dear Boobs, I’ll tell you another secret. They’re just afraid. The day we take off our bras in unity is the day we’ve toppled over their primitive views on women and brought forth freedom for us. For girls. For women. For boobs. Dear Boobs, I know you like bouncing on top or at the bottom. But we’ll never settle to just being stationary beings in this world that wants to make us into just sex objects or bodies. Dear Boobs, You are not just a part of my body. Dear Boobs, We can fuck whoever we want to. Dear Boobs, This is for those of you who have never been grabbed or groped because people are afraid of touching virgins.
ILLU STRATION
Dear Boobs, This is for those of you who’ve lost yourself too many times to angry hands ripping off your bra because you’re a slut or because you’re easy. Dear Boobs, You’re not a slut. You are not easy. Dear Boobs, Slut is a patriarchal term used to subject us to moral oppression. I find it ironic how those two words can stand beside each other and not ache at the disgusting contradiction.
BY
PEAC HES
TENORIO
Dear Boobs, Slut is a term used to make us ashamed of what we are. I am not ashamed. I hope you aren’t, too. Dear Boobs, Don’t stop being Boobs or Boob or Tatas or whatever you want to be called. Dear Boobs, This is ours. Heavy, light, big, small. A B C D Double-Delightful. Dear Boobs, Thank you.
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S E AG R A S S BY:
ANONY M OUS
I still have your picture in my wallet I don’t know why And I should probably take it out But I wouldn’t know where to put it anyways You’re seagrass in shallow waters Resurfacing whenever I decide to drown you out And it frustrates me Because I keep thinking that I’m out and I’m done And that the waves can’t pull me back anymore But apparently I’m nowhere near the shore I know you’re not perfect And you don’t fit into my life But somehow I keep forcing myself into thinking you are And I can’t believe myself sometimes For trying to find depth When the water’s just up to my toes And I’m not sad or hurting or anything But I’m tired And I think everyone else is tired too So let me just forget how to hold on to you And go to a deeper part of the sea So I won’t see you on the surface like I always do Because I’d rather tread through the heavy waters Than stay here Take care
I CAN’ T WRITE BY:
K ATIE
ABRE N ICA
I can’t write I wouldn’t know what to write about Write about you? I can’t write about you Because if I do That means I love you
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DEAR ROSS BY:
P EACHE S
TE N ORIO
They say that you’ll never find love in a club or meet the person who touches your soul in a venue where shots of alcohol or bumps of cocaine are served I did Or I think I did I loved you. I loved you ever since that night you noticed my isolation from the bodies crazed with ecstasy That night you pulled up a chair and asked if I needed to get lost That night you pulled me to that abandoned bathroom That night you made high that night That perfect night for two elated, distorted, emotionally unstable, hormone-infested beings. I loved you ever since. And I know you did. Or I guess you did. It wasn’t perfect. It was never perfect. It was months of intoxication. It was love that was never sober. It was that kind of love. There was never security. I wasn’t sure. You weren’t sure. We were sure of one thing. The moment our eyes meet, the moment our hands clasp, the moment our bodies touch, the moment our lips find their way together. It was love. It was our love. I can’t find any explanation. I can’t find any definition. I don’t know. I never did. We never did. We just did. Love. It was love. It was our love.
This love got me high. It made me see things. It made me hear things. We were on cloud nine above the heavens witnessing colors change, stars eloping, angels singing. Then I was falling; falling into a dark abyss. I can’t take it. I can’t. It was pitch black. I was distant and I was scared. You weren’t there. You made me crave. You made me yearn. I wanted more. I needed more. You didn’t give me more. But you weren’t there. You left me there. You left. You. I needed you. I loved you. Days have passed and I’m still stuck there. I see a light. It was you lying on the same cloud. You were so beautiful. You were smiling. I saw the glisten in your eyes. You were staring into somebody’s soul. You were happy. You were happy with her. No words can explain. It wasn’t me anymore. I guess it was never me. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to. I want to smile. I want to be happy for you. I want to. I can’t do anything. I can’t. I know I can’t. And till now, I long for you And till now, I love you I never stopped, I never stopped loving you.
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R E A S O N S W H Y I H AT E T H AT L I T T L E G I R L BY:
O L IV IA
S OLOMON
One She was too young. Too young to understand the mouth of the volcano she was diving into. She was too young to understand that some games end up with little girls being broken. Two She trusted too much. She didn’t know that reaching her hand out in confidence to a loved one would make her end up in a dark room not knowing what was going on. Pink shorts being pulled down then everything went blank. She trusted too much in the idea of family. She trusted too much in the idea that people would take care of her. Three I hate how she finally remembers. It took her about ten years to ebb away the pain in a sleepy state of forget. She hates how the moment that she finally remembered three years ago broke her in so many places she already thought she was broken. Four I hate how she remembers. I hate all of it. The recollection that was like red hot blood cementing her memory into a casket of forever. The wounds are forever. She hates that. His sick hot hands still branding her skin up to this day. And all hands and all bodies lead to him and only him and he was a monster. Five The memory reminds her of her filth so don’t blame her if she thinks other men can erase the ruin someone else dealt on the lonely city that is her body. There are no temples or places of worship here. Just slaughter houses and black markets and red light districts to remind the people that travel through her that she is expendable, temporary, doomed to a forever of hiding. She is not even a survivor of her of own ruin because she was buried with everything else that died that day.
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Six I hate how she grew up to be so broken, she can’t even sleep at night thinking about how fucked up she is. Her only goal in life is to prove to the person that destroyed her that she was worth every moment of molten destruction that he did to her. Seven She wishes to wither like daisies bathing in lava under the sun whose flames lick the fallibilities of its woeful sinners. She just wishes to be with the ground. She does not know how to erase the past. She hates that. She hates how the lava only fossilizes the painful memories. She has nowhere to run because she is so full of memories. Eight I hate that little girl because there are so many reasons to hate her. Like why did you even play there? Why didn’t you listen when they said you shouldn’t be alone? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why are you so sad? Why are you so fucked up? Why do you always play the victim? Why can’t you forget? Can’t you see? How can you not hate that stupid little girl? Nine I wish I can hate her longer but I think she’s already had enough of that. There are no words to wipe away tears that burn once they touch her skin. Her skin is burning. Don’t touch her. Never touch her. Never love her. Never look at her. She is already ashamed enough for herself that you pitying her will do nothing to help her. Ten I hate her because she wants your rage because she has lived many years knowing that one little girl playing in a room one sad afternoon can lead to moments like this where I am standing in front of you imploring, begging you to make sure that other little girls won’t have to go through the infinite circles of hell that she braves through every day.
THREE WORDS BY:
ERY EL
N IC OLE
BE N ITE Z
I remember the days we were laughing together I can never forget those times But when you left me alone I felt like I can never move on Without you by side What would become of me? You were the one guiding and helping me You completed my everyday Now that you are gone I am all alone In this cold place I once called home The moments of the past Is hard to forget But the present time Is hard to accept The past is past I can never bring it back If I could ever say one last thing to you Those words would have been I love you
THE ANNEX BY:
RYAN
JACOB
wasted days there’s history in the hills that canteen and your favorite corn baby blue had cut the noose have you heard the news? trudging now, comatose, oval odes and acacia roofs the asphalt on and in my boots proud of your laziness why do you still invite? keeping all between these walls they’re decades brittle and bound to burn i don’t look left to the annex anymore
STUBBORN BY:
A NON YMOU S
I’m sorry because I never learned. Your eyes bore witness countless times as the herbal essence hung tight in the humid air. Surely you thought I was losing my mind. Maybe I was, maybe I still I am. February 2 is a day I associate with dread. The last thing I expected was for my worst nightmare to come true. I always hate myself for what I did, and I would take any chance to undo. But I’m not that lucky.
My past will always be present. Peeking from the cornerstones, breathing over my shoulder, lingering close by so I get the shivers, the mistakes that didn’t teach me resurface to meet the air. I wish I could bury your memories of me deep beneath the ocean with the city of Atlantis. I want to take a stab at the pain you felt, and return the pride that I took away. Forget what you saw, forgive me for my sins. I’m sorry because I never learned.
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ODE TO THE 4 BY:
M IG GY
VILLAMOR
When I first came here, I was feeling scared I knew I was unprepared I’ve never done this before but I remember that lunch we shared I signed my name on a small white form The new friends around me began to swarm I was feeling at home
My soul began to feel warm Some things have hurt me, mostly me But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be I only just now began to see For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to flee Roses are red The food is a feast Out of all the people in Econ I hate you the least
PIGIL BY:
EN RIQU E
BAU TISTA
Gabing-gabi na Pareho silang nakahiga Puno na ng pawis ang kama Pikit na pikit ang mata Magkaakap. Hawak ang isa’t-isa Oh heto na lalabas na! Nako po, matatalsikan siya! WAG! Pigilin mo hanggang umaga Para mas masarap ang putok niya
I LOV E YO U BY:
GA B E
JAPLOS
Three words we want to hear, But deep down it’s something we fear, We wish it comes from someone who’s dear, But sometimes it’s just not that clear, I mean, love is something that should give us cheer, So why then am i holding this bottle of beer, Wishing and that the end is near. How i hope you were here.
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Malagkit pagnatuyo. Mainit at rumaragasa Di ko na kaya! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH At nariyan sila Ang batang di napigil ang ihi sa kama At ang unang basang basa.
W H A T D O E S T H E B I R D S AY ? BY:
M IG GY
VILLAMOR
Little Birdie talk, Little Birdie sing, will little birdie say what little birdie saw? Lady lies dead in a crimson lake, will little birdie tell what little birdie knows? I saw what I saw and I know what I know, Little Birdie is now all alone Fed me, loved me, kept me safe, Owner’s in a better place Poor Little Birdie cold and alone, little birdie say what little birdie saw Please, little birdie, we need to know, know what little birdie knows Bad man stabbed and stole, Little Birdie is now all alone Owner was fifty and five, Owner’s in a better place Help us little birdie find the man, little birdie say what little birdie saw We lock him up and keep the key, little birdie tell what little birdie knows Bad man took many glowing gems, little birdie is now all alone Lady trades pretties for paper, Owner’s in a better place Justice for your owner little birdie if little birdie say what little birdie saw Put him in stocks and gavel will ring if little birdie tell what little birdie knows Little birdie is called Heera, Little Birdie is all alone Bad man is brother’s son, Owner is in a better place
A N G PAG B A B A L I K BY:
A N ON YMOU S
Kung dumating ang araw na ako’y babalikan, Na tila wala kang narinig sa’king hinagpis, Huminto ka’t ‘wag nang buhayin ang nakaraan. ‘Yo mang maalala ang matamis na nagdaan, Isipin din ang sakit ng aking pagtitiis, Kung dumating ang araw na ako’y babalikan. Sa’yong paglisan, binasura’ng pagmamahalan; Kaya’t kung ikaw ay mangulila man ng labis, Huminto ka’t ‘wag nang buhayin ang nakaraan. Aking pagpapatawad ay iyo nang nakamtan, Ngunit t’yak, ating pagsasama’y ‘di na kikinis Kung dumating ang araw na ako’y babalikan. Kung pagsira sa tiwala ko’y kinalimutan At nais makabawi sa pusong tumatangis, Huminto ka’t ‘wag nang buhayin ang nakaraan. Labis na pagdadalamhati ang naranasan Kaya’t hapdi ng sugat, ‘di matangay ng batis; Kung dumating ang araw na ako’y babalikan, Huminto ka’t ‘wag nang buhayin ang nakaraan.
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4 SEASONS BY:
A NON YMOU S
Happiness is an everyday proclamation. Emptiness is the truth in every situation. Love is a feeling I’m not sure I can feel. Fear is the answer when I don’t know what’s real.
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ILLU STRATION
BY
B U C KY
A ND
LOU ISSA
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THE GIRL IN A LONG WHITE GOWN BY:
M IG GY
VILLAMOR
Last night while I was sleeping My sight was quickly dimming Homework, Ready, Made & Done Clock was doing its run
Damn, I thought we were done here Scene changed, vision was unclear Here I am at Grand Canyon’s edge Now I’m in Jesuit College
My dream was real vivid, Le’me tell you now One minute I’m a miner, now I’m a captain on his bow Oh, snap Here comes another big change From the duke of a town to a wise old mage
Schedule in hand, pack on my shoulder Felt like I was lifting a boulder Thought I was Luke with Lil Yoda Opened it up, saw my toga
Woah, what’s going on here, what’s up with the light? Damn, so bright, can’t see nuthin but white Now I’m standing in a small green lawn Nothin’ there but a cute lil faun Poor thing was shivering, cold with fright Gave her my coat, Did I wear it last night? When I put it on, she began to talk Shocked as I was, I just stood to gawk “I remember this, It’s been a while” The faun said and I saw her smile When I saw that smile and those cute lil eyes My gut felt like a huge butterfly The fly was there, next to me! Blocked the faun so I couldn’t see I heard a real big thunderclap That’s what makes me write in rap Butterfly flew into her hair I say her hair but no face was there That shit really did blow my mind The rest o her blocked by a dress o some kind “You don’t know me” said the girl I saw her eyes felt such a whirl Bright and yellow just like stars Thought they were made from soild gold bars Then they changed, nothing to fear Blue as the sky deep and clear Hey, It’s my dream tonight Different eyes, now that’s what I like
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Blink of my eyes, ev’rything changed Standing tall, stood on a stage My folks were there with my lil sis With her white skin, real hard to miss There she was, the girl with the eyes The dean then said “ My dear you’re wise” She saw me, flashed a grin Hope this ain’t a fake, punishment for sin We heard the cue “go back to your places” Lost the girl in a sea of faces She’s here no, here no there Seeing this chick everywhere Felt I was Marty with Doc Head spinning fast around the clock Time left said “2019” Life in between flashed like a scene Took a job became a lawyer Didn’ t end up like old Tom Sawyer Go ahead, steal from me I’ll sue you till eternity Hey there’s the girl, haven’t seen her in a while Those cute lil eyes and that sweet old smile She laughed and said “Hurry up we’ll be late” I thought, Damn! I’m late for a date? Blinked my eyes stood near a table Baby Jesus smiled from his small stable There’s the girl walkin down the aisle In a long white dress complete with smile
ALEX BY:
P EAC HE S
TE N ORIO
For what’s it worth, I think you’re wonderful I remember clearly I remember clearly each succulent word you said Phrases I don’t wanna believe in Paragraphs I never saw coming You made me crave You made me yearn You made me linger You made me want you What it’s like to be beside you What it’s like to be engulfed by you What it’s like to be loved by you You made me believe That I’m more than a mere one night stand That I’m more than what meets the eye That I’m more than what the previous guy described me I believed I believed everything you said They’re just fools They’re just blind Im amazing and worth it, you said I believed I believed I opened the door for you I let you in I let you in my heart In my mind
In my soul I tried to do it again I tried I tried to love again You made me curious You made me wonder You made me love you Latching, and latching onto you Scenarios in my head Thoughts before I head to bed I got lucky this time I was lucky Or I think I was I was never sure of anything I was afraid I was afraid how I’m sure of you You weren’t You were never You were never sure of me As I pace back and forth Pondering on your words Our conversations Exchanges that made me long for you I remember that day “They’re just fools, they don’t know your worth You deserve to be taken seriously You deserve to be loved” All those words you said But what if I’m the fool who thinks someone actually would
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SELL OUT BY:
TA X E S BY:
RYA N
JAC OB
truth or dare with yesterday fooling from table to table perhaps I’d want a piece of that an elusive thesis we seek to evaluate we stay here long and never not naïve not knowing much then place the charge on me for a lump sum of faults say old clothes and old ghosts, we need not linger we need not know: if heaven’s but a safety from hell so before we get old and computers take over let’s write songs and swing on swings and drive the wolves away and, maybe, make a saint out of me
ALEX
VI TASA
If I held a dagger in my hand And my tongue in the other Would i carve out my heart or give it a chance to speak? As it turned out, I was told that I didn’t have a choice anyway I was told that these will be Exchanged for something More valuable than my fight Or my right to speak It was as if selling pieces of myself Was the only way to prove To my Friends To my Family And to Myself that I was valuable Now here I am Sitting on a mound of gold That without color Just feels like a pile of stones
BIBLIOPHILE BY:
F LOR A
PALAB R I CA
i’d uncover you if you’d let me. set you down and gently spread you open skim my fingers along your spine and trace the inked patterns on your papersmooth skin i’d lie back with you beside me. hold you close, breathing in your scent the musk and mildew of old familiarity crisp sheets now worn with hours of my touch you’d whisper sweet words into my head. tantalizing me with tales seducing me with stories until i spend all day consumed with thoughts of you through the lonely hours of the night, you’d keep me company, as i explore each nook and crevice each twist and turn each nuance of your body and i’d return to you, each and every time regardless of whether or not i’ve put you aside for i’ve held you in my hands and marked you so that everyone will know you’re mine.
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S T U D E N T E R ATA BY:
M IG GY
VILLAMOR
Go placidly among the tests and grades And remember what peace there may be among friends Speak your truth quietly and clearly And listen to others, even those with lines of 6 They too have wisdom to share Avoid times of stress and strife They are hindrances to your mind and sanity If you complain to others regarding school They may see you as vain and bitter For actions speak louder than words Enjoy your tests as well as your soirees Keep interested in your own friendships, however few It is a real possession in the changing landscape of time Exercise prudence in your academic life For you can’t use physics in a real conversation But let this not blind you to the necessity of school many teachers strive to see their students in universities and everywhere memories are waiting to be made Be yourself, you can’t be anyone else
Neither be cynical about friendships and love For in the face of all failed quizzes and lines of 6 It is as permanent as the green and white Take kindly to the counsel of your brothers Gracefully bowing to their knowledge, greater than yours Nurture the strength of soul for failures both academic and social misfortunes may happen Many fears are born of stress and worry So make time for play and be gentle with yourself You are a student of the honors class No less than the valedictorian and his friends You have the right to be here And whether or not it is clear to you You are on the path you need to be to succeed Therefore be at peace with yourself to achieve a sense of calm needed for this life And whatever your grades and whoever your girl in the noisy world, keep the calm of your mind With the 6’s and the heartbreaks and the fights we still have a life worth living Be happy and strive to see your friends happy
ENOUGH BY:
A N ON YMOU S
i wish that i could say enough is enough that at the sound of that word finally, someone will listen everything will just stop enough i’m drowning enough i’m hurting enough i wanna stop feeling all the things that i’m feeling but, alas it is i who can’t hear it is i who won’t listen i let them take over, these stupid fears not much choice left as my thoughts darken
21
ANG BORING NG FOREVER BY:
EN R IQU E
BAU TISTA
Bakit ba gustong-gusto mo yung forever? Ang tagal kaya nun. Boring din naman siguro. Isipin mo. Isang tao para sayo. Segu-segundo. Minu-minuto Buwan-buwan at Taon-taon. Isa lang siya at siya lang. Kung may gusto kang halikan Siya at siya lang. Kung may gusto kang akapin. Siya at siya lang. Lahat ng pera, oras at atensyon Kanino napupunta? Siya at siya lang, Lahat ng pasensya at effort Kanino mo ibubuhos? Siya at siya lang. Ang lahat ng pangamba, takot at pagaalala Para kanino ba? Siya at siya lang Ang bawat isipin at emosyon Kanino ba nauukol Siya at siya lang.
Diba ang boring. Katamad. Paano pa kaya sa kanya? Sino kaya ang gusto niyang makasama sa kanyang kama? Ikaw at ikaw lang. Sino kaya ang pipiliin niyang pagkwentuhan ng kanyang araw? Ikaw at ikaw lang. Sino kaya ang tanging may pahintulot na siya’y hawakan ng buong buo? Ikaw at ikaw lang. Sino kaya ang inaasahan niyang patawananin siya Ikaw at ikaw lang. Sino kaya ang kanyang iiyakan sa oras ng problema? Ikaw at ikaw lang. Sino kaya ang gusto niyang kasamang tumanda? Ikaw at ikaw lang. Sino kaya ang pipiliin niya sa kahit anong sitwasyon? Ikaw at ikaw lang. Boring noh? Ang boring naman ng forever mo.
A L E T T E R TO T H E PA S T S H A D OW BY:
VA N
GU N O
Tonight I met a girl by the pool bathing in moonlight To see her form and meet her gaze for the slightest second I think of you Bathed in chlorine and wrapped in wet fabric With bleeding lips and wave-swept hair I see you In the refracting image of the brightly lit moon Within the noisiest wave dancing on the surface of the crystal ocean I feel you Looking at me with eyes like glass Reflecting my image in black and white Dawning that thought that I might not see her again No more glimpse of the forlorn moment When I thought, saw, and felt you. It has long gone.
22
TRIBUTE BY:
J ER E MY
GE MZON TAN
He asked me: “Who is she?” And I called her different, Because she was the difference in the lives of the many people she has touched and continues to touch. He was intrigued. “Tell me more about her,” he pleaded. I decided against telling him about her. Instead, I wanted to say what I found in her. Because it was in her that I found a semblance of comfort in the appreciation I held for the beauty of word. She shared this appreciation, and with her I learned to paint and create rhyme and measure, splashing metaphors and emotions onto a canvas so large that I was thankful she was there to keep me from being overwhelmed by it. And when he asked me what defined her as a person, I said it was how she had a horrible sense of time. Because whether it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning she would always be there for you. She’d always be late to the “Me, Myself and I” party and always a tad bit early to the “I’m here for you, friend” meeting. She was a 1am buddy in the truest sense of the word, because she knew that friendships were built in the day but tested in the wee hours of the morning, when someone either had too much to drink or not enough of it. And in her relationships, months and years that have gone by never mattered; at the end of the day, it was you that did. His last question was what came to mind when I thought of her. And it was a blanket. Because she knew exactly when to shower you with hugs, the ones that brought the warmth that lulled you to sleep on a chilly night. Because if you kept her close enough, you’d come to find that she not only had your back, but all the other sides as well. And if you held your grip and spread your arms wide enough, you’d see that she acted as your wings, because even guardian angels need some help once in a while. “What’s her name?” He needed to know. D******* *****a; artist, performer. 1am buddy, poetic genius. blanket, wings. Friend.
A N I D I OT ’ S DA N C E BY:
AN ON YMOU S
It rammed into me like a hundred-ton weight. It being the strange, unfamiliar feeling of lust? or was it love? probably infatuation. I’m supposed to be the girl who couldn’t care less. I wanted you because you acted like you didn’t care at all.
I should’ve never expected anything. This is pathetic, all of it a lie, a joke of epic proportions, and here I am at the receiving end. Again. What is wrong with me? Dawn breaks I swallow my daily dose of self-loathing as thoughts of your stupid face seek shelter in my restless mind.
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I L LUSTR ATION
24
BY
LOUISSA
A ND
B U C KY
A DREAM IN SEPTEMBER BY:
PI TA
OCHAVE
I pay no mind to the cracked yellow paint and the taho man, making his rounds I only know to worship the light that holds you and the smile you allow me a glimpse I no longer know where you begin and end. Only that I am possessed.
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C A N VA S BY:
J ER E MY
GE MZON TAN
AN D
DANI
ZAM OR A
The first time I met you I was seven and you were six and a half. This could work. Your hair was tied up into pigtails and you had crooked teeth. You had the brightest smile, and my seven year-old self thought that you were beautiful. The first time I saw you staring at me you looked about seven and I was six and a half and I thought, no freaking way. Your hair was flat and you were wearing a sweater vest. You had an anxious look in your deep blue eyes and I could tell you were nervous but there was something strangely warm about you. I was turning ten today. I went to the park to pick flowers. You were there poking at bugs and I was revolted. Your hands were a picture of mud and slime but you had a fascinated gleam in your deep blue eyes and I could tell you were happy. I felt warmth flood my cheeks as you caught me staring; I saved face and walked away with my nose in the air. I was 10 when I saw the most breathtaking sight: You were picking flowers; I was awestruck. A smile adorned your face as you went about your business, cradling life as it if were a child. You looked up, and I smiled. You left with a blush on your cheeks, and you were beautiful. High school changed everything. I was fifteen and I thought I was ready for the world but I wasn’t ready to see you down the hall, beat up sneakers, an old Ramones’s shirt, deep blue eyes set at me andI could tell you were amused. Where was the bug-collecting kid I knew from the park? The only thing familiar about you were your eyes and the way you stared at me and somehow it felt warm. Once we were in high school, I was sixteen, and you fifteen and a half. This might work. Your hair was down and black and shiny. You had braces and you were as cute as a button. And my sixteen year old self thought that you were beautiful. I was then 21; ergo the world was my oyster. I met the girl from my younger days, and I asked you out for a drink. And I was hoping you’d ignore the smell of pot and drinks cause you deserved more than me, you and your big eyes, always longing for a bit more. And I saw past them, and you were beautiful. 20 and ready for the world you invited me out for drinks i did my best to ignore the fog as you lit another smoke because no matter how many times i told myself i was better than this i kept coming back with no apparent reason except for your low waist jeans and the fire i saw in your deep blue eyes i could tell you were trouble by the way you stared at me and i stared right back I’m in my midlife crisis, and I don’t even know how old I am. Time flew out the window and it kept leaving me. I told myself I’d never get too deep; I told myself that this was just a phase I’d get past. I come back home tithe little apartment hiding in the shadows of all our dreams and ambitions and I begin to regret. I regret wasting my youth, I rue this commitment. But your smile greets me at the door and all the crooks and crannies of your teeth remind me of the young girl who used to pick flowers with which hope still resides. Mid thirties, I was just plain tired. The fifth argument this week and I wasn’t getting any younger. I wondered what I had gotten myself into when I remembered the way I’d always stare at your deep blue eyes which I still haven’t gotten used to, which still get me every time, which I wish didn’t because somehow I kept finding myself back at the apartment between the two suburban towns where everybody pretended they were living but we both knew that we were too stupid to let go... or at least I was, or maybe that was what love felt like. I’ve learned to lose count of the days. This helps with the pain. I’ve seen you through your worst, and you through mine, and I can’t help but say that I miss your ever watchful eye, the way you judge without malice, how your smile brought us through the toughest times and we always came out of it stronger. We made it work. And through it all, you still kept those crooked teeth which reminded me of the girl I first fell in love with, and to my old self, you are still beautiful. Maybe sometimes we don’t know what we’re looking for, maybe sometimes we should stop looking long
26
enough too see what really is around us who make up the spaces in between yesterday and tomorrow. Life is too short to waste chasing the enigmatic “happiness” because happiness is here, maybe we don’t see it because our chase places a shadow over those that really matter. Maybe life is a spectrum and we need spectacles for each color we feel each tint of emotion, each shade of life, each pot at the end of a rainbow, or each pain we’re willing to sacrifice because that’s what it really is. Life is a canvas, It has to be.
STUDIES FIRST BY:
GA B E
JAPLOS
Studies first That is what my mom would always say She would always remind me how school is important How it will shape who I am Studies first When I am at home I don’t waste time on hobbies I open my book and study for all my subjects Who needs hobbies because Studies first Even in school I don’t have time to make friends I’m too busy reviewing just to make sure i get good grades Who needs friends because Studies first I barely sleep anymore I’m always studying for tests I am always so tired, weak and stressed but who needs sleep because Studies first I always eat alone in school because I don’t have time to chat I need to study and get back to class; I’ll just give myself a pat Who needs a social life because Studies first
People are looking at me with judgemental eyes Whispering as I pass by But I don’t have time to listen because Studies first I feel so sick but I don’t want to let you down I promise I won’t rest and waste my time; I won’t even frown because Studies first I’m having a hard time now I tried my best but I don’t think I can do it anymore but Studies first No one wants to help me I don’t have anyone to talk to I don’t know what to do but Studies first School is finally done I don’t know how I survived See I didn’t let you down But why do I feel empty inside How come I’m alone all the time This isn’t the person I wanted to be How did this happen to me Studies first?
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LOV E I S A C H O K E H O L D BY:
OL IV IA
S OLOMON
I. “Does love suffocate you?” Is the question I ask on a Twitter poll. I get 8 votes. 33% say “yes” and 67% say“no.” I realize I don’t have that many followers on Twitter. II. “Real talk: does love suffocate you?” I ask people online on Facebook. I get 13 responses. I’d like to personally thank those people who gave into my “research.” III. My infant self cries at the first touch of my mother’s shaking hands and she thinks I’m the most precious thing in the world. Dad thinks I’m a baby diamond and pawns his career to buy a gold necklace to string me into. I allow myself to be worn by their love. IV. I am 21 and I still am being strung with love but the gold necklace I am wearing is starting to feel tight around my neck. I’m their only daughter. I’m their only child. One nest, too much love. V. “Does love suffocate you?” Is the question I ask on a Twitter poll. I get 13 votes. 31% say “yes” and 69% say “no.” I‘ll try not to make a dirty joke out of this. VI. “Real talk: does love suffocate you?” Platonic. No. If you have friends who are cool being weird with you, envelop them with your love. VII. “Real talk: does love suffocate you?” Romantic. Yes and no. If you can compromise, do it. If it hurts, it means it’s working. VIII. “Real talk: does love suffocate you?” Platonic. Yes. I wasn’t able to breathe for a few seconds when I noticed the purplish ring around your neck the last day I saw you alive. I wasn’t able to breathe the next day when they told me you were dead. I should have asked you what life felt like when you’ve numbered your days already. IX. “Real talk: does love suffocate you?” Romantic. Yes. If she asks you to distance yourself from your friends because it’s eating up too much of your time, compromise. If she asks you to change a bit because you don’t fit together anymore, compromise. X. Compromise. The gold necklace around my neck aches from the weight of 21 years of wearing it. I wonder if it was too tight the first time I wore it the day I was born. XI. Blatant choking in wrestling is illegal, my friend says when I ask him about chokeholds. The referee counts 1 to 5 and the opponent must release the chokehold. XII. I’d like to call out the blatant chokehold called love.
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XIII. Love is a touch. The way you look into each other’s eyes in the morning when dawn swallows the dark of dusk and you bathe in light. The light in those eyes you’re gazing into as you wash last night’s memories with today’s hope. Together. XIV. Love is a hold. The way your hearts intertwine like heartstrings in that famous Chinese proverb. You were made for each other. It doesn’t matter if she’s 8,314 km away. Heartstrings know of no distance nor of challenges too difficult to overcome. XV. Love is a grip. The way you give me a 9pm curfew even when I’m 21. XVI. Love is a chokehold. The way you ask me to change because I am not the daughter you want me to be. I’m a sinner, a rebel, a disappointment. XVII. Love is a chokehold. The way distance between us makes me love you less because I don’t get to touch you to remind you that heartstrings tie us together. The way I can’t make you taste my love nor the gravity of how much I miss you. XVIII. Love is a chokehold the day home does not feel like home anymore. The day I run away because if loving you meant sacrificing myself completely, I’ll die by the time I’m thirty. XIX. You scream at me and tell me to come home. How can I come home when the gold necklace around my neck starts turning into a noose and the diamond becomes a bullet in my mouth. I taste the iron tinge on my tongue. Of blood. Of suffering. Of love. Of chokeholds that are bounded by heartstrings through time, distance, and death. XX. “Real talk: does love suffocate you?” Yes. I made this poem thinking that this could be my apology. How I am not the daughter you want me to be or the lover you want me to be or the person you want me to be. Yes. I made this poem thinking that this could be my note. How I can only escape from this chokehold by giving myself completely and facing my fears even if it means pawning the gold necklace back to God before I’m thirty. XXI. “Real talk: does love suffocate you?” Yes. And I can’t breathe because my days are numbered. See you soon, friend.
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QUOTE
30
FROM
‘B IB LIOPHILE’ BY F LORA PA LA B RICA CA LLIGRA PHY J ESSICA OLA IVA R
THE MOON BY:
M A RK
BU E N AVE N TU RA
Simplicity is beauty, someone said And I think about it in my head Why does something so simple to see Bring happiness and joy to me? Its simplicity lights up the night sky, It’s a sign that the day has passed by, To be beautiful it doesn’t have to try It just shines there and says hi Smooth or rough, how does it feel? Is it crescent, half, or full like a wheel? Is it white or gray? I’m not sure The moon isn’t perfect, that’s for sure Every time I see the moon I remember you, All the crazy and fun stuff we do, Dinners and late night talks, Jogging and random walks
You’re like the moon to me, You bring happiness and glee Your presence makes me smile And when I do it lasts for a while Every time I see the moon I remember you It’s simplicity and beauty reminds me of you Seeing the moon brightens my day Just like how you do when you say hey, Seeing the moon reminds me of you Seeing the moon reminds me of us too I know this is all in the past But for sure these memories will last
ESTUARY
THE FRINGES
An endless summer looms in glory Youthful frolicking echoes the narrow, gravelled streets Audible is their chattering; collective and undecided Thine is bliss
I would like to stand On the edge of the world And forget about the depth Of the endless trenches below.
BY:
K EN
RE CASATA
Melons and popsicles and water pools and anesthetics Let there be light and so it was, we can see! We are blinded And when the lakes run dry we are left with salt and water When the ocean drains, none but bland tasteless moisture
BY
ANONY M OUS
Push me into the dark So I don’t spiral down myself. Maybe the fall will be the end of it. I mean it when I say I don’t mind. There is no way I’d rather go. I take the leap.
The sun is bright tonight And its warmth, eternal One light so banal So hackneyed, so trite
31
I. UNTITLED BY:
M RS .
MAN GO
C HE E S E CAK E
Ang paglayas ng liwanag Sa apat na sulok ng kwartong Ating unang pinagtigilan, Ang siyang mitsa ng ating Pagkakakilala... at pagtatago Sa kwartong puno ng mga tao, Ang mga mata mo lamang ang lumiliwanag Oo, alam ko, sapagkat ikaw lamang Mula sa napakaraming mga aninag Ang sa aki’y nakatingin Siya’y mariin mong hinawakan, niyakap At pawang pinaliliguan ng salitang matatamis Masaya siya sa iyong bisig, Habang kayo’y umiindayog sa tugtuging Hinding hindi ko maririnig Ngunit sa titig mo sa aking kaluluwa, Habang siya’y mariin mong kapit Ang pagkulong mo sa aking palaboy na mga mata, Ang yaong nagligaw sa aking landas tungo Sa pagtanggap ng huwad na kabulagan Bumuo tayo ng mumunting mundong Alam kong hindi tatagal, Bumuo tayo ng mumunting mundong Nilagyan mo ng ritmo Gaya nang sa inyong dalawa Bumuo tayo ng isang kasinungalingang Pareho nating pinaniwalaan At bumuo rin tayo ng isang katotohanang Ako ay hindi sa’yo At ika’y hinding hindi magiging akin.
II. UNTITLED BY:
M R S.
M ANGO
I share the same fate As The Ignorant Moth Thinking it was special enough To be showered by such wonder But it was not Consumed by the fire It was Consumed by your fire, I was But I Regretted Nothing
32
CHEESECAKE
It was a moonless cloudy night That I mistook you for a star Then I took you into my gaze Not thinking everything will hence ablaze You shone your light on me And I danced as you slowly Steadily Peacefully yet Uncertainly Reached your way to me Or perhaps it was I to you But either way I didn’t realize That indeed everything was Ablaze and Burning As you draw nearer and nearer Or perhaps it was I to you I was consumed Like a moth dangling To a flame’s beauty Not realizing It Can Destroy.
III. UNTITLED BY:
M RS .
MAN GO
C HE E S E CAK E
I like how it cuts through my chest I like how it makes me feel that this is As real as The fact that I am Never good enough And that I am Never anything you will Ever want I like how it consumes me Making me feel like there’s still Something left of me Something you can learn to love Or something you can easily choose To destroy
IV. UNTITLED BY:
M R S.
M ANGO
CHEESECAKE
I see myself On a table Of feasting men They devoured me With hasty gulps Until Nothing Was Left Of Me Help Please
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K A PAG D U M A DA A N K A BY:
RA M
BON S OL
Hindi na ko kinakabahan pag dumadaan ka Dati-rati’y napapaisip agad ng, “Paano kung tayo ang para sa isa’t isa?” Hindi ba’t nakakatawa Para isipin ko na ikaw sa iyong iyong talino, sa iyong galaw, sa iyong ganda ay mapapasaakin ka Tuloy-tuloy kong iniisip to, hanggang palayo nang palayo ka’t hindi na kita makita Ngayon tanggap ko na Na para sa isang babaeng tulad mo, na hindi pwede ang basta basta Hindi pwedeng nakakasura, hindi pwede ang burara, hindi pwede ang pala-mura Hindi pwedeng ako. Tang ina. Pero hindi ako nasaktan, bagkus, tinanong ko pa sarili ko kung gusto ba talaga kita? Pinilit ko ang sarili kong sabihing hindi na Na kahit ilang beses ka pa dumaan sa harap ko, hindi na ko magpapa-alila Hindi na ko magpapakatanga, hindi na ko magpapakasasa, hindi na ko aasa Baka mas makabuti pa sa’tin kung maging magkaibigan na lang pala Ngunit sa pagkakaibigan, dumating sa puntong parating nakakausap na kita Lagi tayong magkausap, laging magkatawanan, laging magkasama At sa paglipas ng bawat araw-araw, bawat minuto, segundo, mas nakilala ka pa Unti-unti nakita ko ang liwanag ng ‘yong ngiti, ang kinang ng ‘yong mata, ang tinig ng ‘yong tawa Mahirap, pero inipon ko lahat ng lakas ng loob ko para aminin sa’yo, na gusto pa rin pala kita Hinintay kitang sumagot na para bang babagsak na ko sa kaba Inisip kong bale-wala nang mabigo, marinig man lang sana kita magsalita Inisip kong, tanggihan mo na ko, basta’t tignan mo ko sa mata Hindi na ko kinakabahan pag dumadaan ka Ang dati kong takot at kaba, napalitan mo na ng sabik at saya Hindi ba’t nakakatuwa? Na minsan may mga bagay na akala mo imposible, hindi pwede... pero pwedeng pwede naman pala.
101ST AIRBORN BY:
PI TA
OCHAVE
land and you’ve got yourself a battlefield miss and you’re a bundle of broken bones THIS love is the American dream
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C . A . S T. BY:
RYAN
JAC OB
hardly the substance yawns for signals daily, I’m sick I’ve seen her in home and she aged with deceit months huffed heaps, seeps the truth in her downcast she speaks, but I won’t yet nothing is axiom still
born a phantom that will haunt her lie of a life yet even someone terrible is allowed to cry hidden cracks to wounds dressed in silk stay reckless and incurable they’ll find a vacuum in my chest, in her form resenting the sand spilled
S A M U L I N G PA G TATA G P O BY:
JAC K IE
C OME N DAD OR
Ikaw yung tipong di naman kailangang mapasakin masaya lang ako kapag nakikita ka sa bawat ngiti puso koy abot langit ang tuwa kasi sa bawat pagsara ng aking mata ikaw lamang tanging hiling ko sa tuwina hindi ko hinihiling na ako ang tawagin ng iyong puso ang gusto ko lamang na kahit isang saglit man lang ako ay maisip mo sapagkat sa isip ko walang tigil kang tumatakbo ikaw kakaiba sa lahat ng taong nagustuhan ko kasi ikay nagustuhan ng isang pusong akala ko na ay bato kung bibigyan ng pagkakataon na ikaw ay makausap siguro ako lamang ay tatahimik at kahit isang tinig, hindi ako iimik sapagkat ang aking bibig kapag nagsimula nang gumalaw pangalan mo lamang ang aking ibibitaw wag na wag mo akong kakausapin kahit na akoy nangungulila sa iyong malambing na tinig sapagkat sa bawat dampi ng boses mo sa aking tenga hinding hindi ko na mapipigilan kapag sayo ang puso koy nahulog na at kapag dumating ang araw ng milagro at akoy magustuhan mo pigilan mo ito at wag makinig sa puso sapagkat ayokong tayo ay maging tayo dahil sa mundong ito ay walang nagtatagal, lahat ay nagwawakas kayat hayaan mo ang aking pag-ibig sayo ay manatiling sa akin lamang hayaan mong sa aking puso itoy manatili at lumago at hihintayin na lamang hangga’t puso natiy muling magtagpo
35
NATÁTANGÎ BY:
PAOLO
TEJANO
Mahál kitá At walá akóng magawâ Buhay ko’y waring isáng sumpâ Bawat araw sinasalubong ng paták ng luhà Paano nga ba nagsimulâ Ang karamdamang ‘di maipagkailâ Paano nga ba na sa matá mo’y isáng kaibigan Ngunit nang sa mata ko’y biglâ kang nagíng kaibigán Pangakò, sinubukan kong pigilan Ngunit panahóng ako’y inabutan Na sa bawat oras kitáng tignán Animó’y ako’y balisáng hayop sa kulungan Hindî tayo magkaunawaán Kahit kapwà hindî kapós sa karunungan Waláng nagawâ kun’dî hadlangán Itóng pag-ibig na aking nararamdamán Pilit na pinagtitimpì itóng aking pusò Ngunit hirap at pasakit lang ang namumuò Bago ko naising mapugutan na lamang ng ulo Minarapat ko nang lahát ay malaman mo Sinikap kong mabuô ang aking loób Takót na lahát ay maglahò sa hangin Kayá’t sana ngayón akó’y iyóng maintindihán Ginawâ kong lahát dahil kinailangan Tulungan mo akóng iká’y malimutan At tuluyang tanggapín ang ating pinágdaanan Ang hirap nitó’y waláng kapantáy Tinangáy ang pagnanais kong mabuhay Binigyán mo akó ng panghabambuhay na sugat Ngunit handóg ko pa rin sa’yó’y pasasalamat Sa kabilâ ng masamáng kutób Takót na akó’y ‘dî mo patawarin Mahál kitá Dahil gustó kong malaman mo, sintá Kayá’t lahát ng itó’y aking ginawâ Na mahál na mahál kitá
(B AC K )
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QUOTE
FROM
‘ ROME O
A ND
J U LIET’ BY WILLIA M SHA KESPEA R E CA LLIGRA PHY BY J ESSICA OLA IVAR