(2019) Heights Tomo 67, Bilang 1 by Heights Ateneo

TOMO 67 BILANG 1

heights tomo 67 bilang 1 Karapatang-ari 2019 heights ang opisyal na pampanitikang at pangsining na publikasyon at organizasyon ng Pamantasang Ateneo de Manila. Reserbado ang karapatang-ari sa mga indibidwal na awtor ng mga akda ng isyung ito. Hindi maaaring ilathala, ipakopya, o ipamudmod sa anumang anyo ang mga akda nang walang pahintulot ng mga may-akda. Hindi maaaring ibenta sa kahit anong paraan at pagkakataon ang kopyang ito. Maaaring makipag-ugnayan sa: heights, Publications Room, mvp 202 Ateneo de Manila University p.o. Box 154, 1099 Manila, Philippines Tel. no. (632) 426-6001 loc. 5448 heightsâ&#x20AC;&#x160;-â&#x20AC;&#x160;ateneo.org facebook.com/HeightsAteneo @HeightsAteneo Malikhaing Direksyon: Juan Carlos I. Luna Dibuho ng pabalat: Juan Carlos I. Luna Paglalapat: Justine A. Daquioag, Pilar Gonzalez, Eli Alconis, Giulia Lopez, Anya Nellas, Casey Del Rosario, Valerie Cobankiat, Trisha Tan, Justine Bello, Patricia Fermin, Chino Acero, Justin Tan, Piper Berbano, Mia Tupas, Carmen Dolina MJ Sison, Maxine Marquez Folio Launch Team: Alexis Nicole Ferreras, Angelika Portia Lapidario, Bianca Mallari, Cesar Fabro, Gianna Paula Sibal, Jm Andawi, Julia Abella, Louise Dimalanta, Mariana Gardoce,Nicole Brofas, Sofia Guanzon Inilimbag sa mvb Verdigris

Mga Nilalaman Jerome Allen Agpalza 2 Dalawampuâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t tatlong beses Martina Herras 3 Tula Pagkauwi mula sa Emergency Room Reina Adriano 5 Ang Pagtitimpi kay Galatea Kenneth Isaiah Ibasco Abante 6 Nang humigop ako ng sabaw ng sinigang 89 nails of gold Carissa Natalia Baconguis 8 Ang Paghahanap kay Bathala 26 Tungkung Langit at Alunsina 28 Noong Nalaman Nila Na Hindi Na Kailangan Matakot sa Kamatayan 85 Anagolay will birth Maria Bianca Alva 31 elohiya para sa lotus Dorothy Claire Parungao 32 Kapitbahay Shao 33 Langit Lupa Mikaela Adrianne C. Regis 34 Libingan ng Medyo Bayani Sola Fide Ramos 71 bulong ng lumuluhang salakot Richell Isaiah S. Flores 72 barter trade 73 ukol sa mga pangyayari nitong hunyo 75 xiv (2)

Aisha Rallonza 77 The Drive from Cabanatuan Joaquin J. Santana 78 The Last Poem Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll Write for the MWSS Balara Watershed Likka Laude 80 Arrivals Marty R. Nevada 81 Instructions on Drowning Karl Lorenzo S. Estuart 82 Vanishing Regine Cabato 87 Daylight Saving Time Mark Anthony Cayanan 90 He was most surprisingly conscious of an odd expansion within himself, a kind of roving unrest, a youthfully ardent desire for faraway places, a feeling so intense, so new or at least unaccustomed and forgotten for so long, that he stopped short as if rooted to the spot 92 He had not expected this precious appearance, it came unhoped-for; he had not had time to settle his features into an expression of dignified calm Madeleine Sy 93 Monuments Kevin Castro 94 buhangin Danielle Cabahug 95 Passersby Alec Bailon 97 Until the City Michael D. Pante 106 excerpt from A Capital City at the Margins: Quezon City and Suburbanization in the Twentieth-Century Philippines Clare Bianca Tantoco 112 Thank you, Mama

Tamia Gloria F. Reodica 115 To have and to hold Juan Carlos I. Luna 116 International Frustrations Jayvee del Rosario 117 Troubled Water Alfred Marasigan 118 Restless 1 Corinne Victoria F. Garcia 120 public space pizza-eleksyon special 124 The body stares back Enrico Sebastian P. Cruz 123 stake holder Lennon C. Villanueva 126 Tide (series) David Felix 129 God of the Sea (series)

vii

Editoryal Since heights’ 65th anniversary, the publication has been devoted to upholding the belief that politics is inherent in the production and dissemination of art and literature. In the last two years, we have published volumes with themes such as politics, power, and fear to approach narratives about prevalent issues from varying perspectives. This year, in the spirit of further dialoguing with the community both within and outside of the Ateneo, the Editorial Board came up with the resolution to broaden the ways we approach these discussions. When we released our call for submissions for this folio, we asked for works about land and ocean and how they influence the imaginary. In an effort to continue broadening our exploration of matters that demand urgency and attention, we reframed our questioning and asked our contributors to explore the physical environment as an avenue for inquiry. The works that we received represented a wide variety of interpretations, ranging from the personal to the social, which incorporate both concrete and abstract notions of the ties between humanity and our environment. Because livelihood and lifestyle depend so much on what surrounds us, it follows that our cultures are also affected. With this folio, in asking how we respond to the limits imposed by land and ocean, we also ask how the environment is formative in shaping our consciousness. In contemplating relationships in Aisha Rallonza’s “The Drive from Cabanatuan” and Regine Cabato’s “Daylight Saving Time,” both works make use of distance and mobility as models for rumination. Clare Bianca Tantoco’s “Thank you, Mama” similarly explores the same

viii

themes through the diaspora, by depicting what symbols we hold in place for what’s out of reach when we are landlocked elsewhere. The environment’s influences, however, are not confined only to stories, beliefs, and practices, but are also reflected in such matters as the recognition of territories and the reinforcement of its borders. Consequently, the idea of entitlement to land and ocean determines who can manipulate it, or use its resources, and in what way. Today, with the development of technology and infrastructure, more and more lines are blurred between utilization and exploitation. Sola Fide Ramos’ “bulong ng lumuluhang salakot” and Kenneth Isaiah Ibasco Abante’s “nails of gold” reflect these issues by juxtaposing man’s dependence on the environment for livelihood, with the inequality propagated by the extensive abuse of resources and the disregard for workers. Both poems explore how the command over land and ocean becomes a catalyst for countless injustices. In the same vein, Corinne Victoria F. Garcia’s “public space pizza-eleksyon special” affirms power dynamics in the urban setting by calling attention to the distinction between vandalism and advertisement. This line of questioning challenges us to ask who has authority over the control and manipulation of our surroundings. Dorothy Claire Parungao’s “Kapitbahay” explores the same questions by using the image of a kapre displaced by urbanization. In doing so, “Kapitbahay” examines supernatural beliefs associated with the environment, and how these beliefs are overtaken by modernization. Here, the landscape mirrors the negotiation of which sensibilities we hold on to or abandon in the face of rapid development. In light of pressing environmental and geopolitical concerns, there has been growing discourse devoted to ideas that are generated by humanity’s relationship with the environment.

And it is important that we participate in these discussions. In the last couple of months, our country has been caught in a territorial dispute, recurring cases of displacement of indigenous peoples, and constant exploitation of resources and workers. Internationally, borders are reinforced and movement between countries is restricted from those who need it the most. The extent to which we impose control over land and ocean has also found manifestation in the alarming environmental changes we have witnessed over the last few centuries. Even within Manila this year, the water and transport crises that we suffered were symptoms emblematic of much larger issues related to the worsening climate crisis. Elsewhere, across the globe, forests are burning, water levels are rising, and species go extinct. Every year, heights is confronted by the necessity to reevaluate where we are situated as a publication in the context of our present realities. In the face of such massive issues, art and literature seem to accomplish little, and it becomes all the more tempting to defer to impartiality. But as artists, writers, and readers, we recognize that the works we create and consumeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;even on an aesthetic levelâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;will always be premised on the sociopolitical realms that we operate in. Because art and literature represent the real-life effects of these issues on a personal capacity, then their truths are emphasized. In reframing our line of questioning, we broaden what perspectives we have to respond responsibly to these concerns. When the alternative is silence, then we must confront the matters that need attention, through whatever means we can. Patricia Sarmiento November 2019

MGA AKDA

jerome allen agpalza

Dalawampu’t tatlong beses nila sinabing para lang ito sa aming kasiyahan. Sa may Showtime kahapong tanghali, ng baklang hindi naman kagandahan. Lahat daw, oo, lahat, basta’t masaya kami. Nandito ako, alas kwatro, sa may E. Rod., sa may jeep, naiinitan (ang init-init). Hindi mawiliwili ang salitang iyong sa akin mula kahapon: kasiyahan. Nagtataka ako kung ilan, kung may isa, o dalawa, o tatlo man lang sa amin ang masaya. Dalawampu’t dalawa kami ngayon, sa jeep, siyaman. Ayos diba. Napadaan nga kami sa bungkos ng tao, kasya pa raw dalawa. Imaginin niyo na lang, ang reklamo ng sekyung maton, nanlilimahid na sa pawis, galing dyuting damagan. Yung apat na store clerk, galing Ayala, naubos na ang chismis, mapapanis na ang laway. Yung katulong, kalong-kalong ang pilyong ngumangawa na. Wala naman sa amin ang mukhang masaya. Katunayan, miski yung katabi niyang kundoktor, humihiyaw na, mainit raw, mainit. Edi bumaba ka, sabi ng driver, ngumisi yung dalawang trabahador, wala namang nakakatawa, diba? Ang init-init naman talaga rito, siksikan pa, ang traffic pa, putang ina. Paano kaming sasaya niyan, napakahaba ng E. Rod., napakaraming stoplight. Bibilis kami’t babaaagal, hihintong bahagya, parang, ganito, titigil. Parang ganyan. Wala namang nakakatawa, aling bakla, hindi naman nakakatawang umupo sa initan. Hindi rin masayang tumayong maghapon, sa de-aircon na opisina. Walang nakakatuwa, sa pagtatrabaho na laging nanganganib mawala. Hindi rin kami nasisiyahan sa sweldong di-makatarungan. Baka nasa lansangan ka ngayon, aling bakla, alam kong gusto mo lang kaming sumaya, pero hindi namin ‘yun magagawa. Traffic ngayon, aling bakla, malamang traffic din diyan (tablado na tayong lahat). Wala kaming aircon ngayon sa jeep, aling bakla, wala

Sa unang araw, nagbalat ako ng dalanghita sa hapag-kainan, isang bundok ng pinagtalupan ang naipon sa aking paanan. Ang sabi sa akin, asahan ang paghilab ng puson, kaya nagtiyaga akong maghintay hanggang sa gumuhit ang sakit. Araw-araw, tuwing almusal, ipinapatong ng aso ang kanyang nguso sa hita ko, ang kanyang pagngungulngol ang tunog ng pagmamahal. Pinupuno ko ang kanyang kainan. Nagpapahaya ako. Sumusulyap ako sa balita at umaasa na sana hindi ako maabutan ng ulan pagkauwi. Pero ngayon, ako ang gutom, ako ang giyera, ako ang bagyo sa Biyernes ng sweldo. Gusto kong maglaho sa aking kama. Gusto kong maubusan ng ilaw ang araw nang malaman ko na kung anong gamot ang aking lalagukin. Gusto kong matunaw ang dalanghitang hawak na para bang kumukulong putik o nasusunog na gubat. Gusto ko nang maramdaman ang sakit para makasigaw na ako sa bukana ng isang rumaragasang ilog, hanggang sa walang matira, kahit tubig. Sa halip, nasa paanan ako ng isang bundok, pinapanood na manilaw ang mga kuko gawa ng prutas. Ito ba ang pagsisisi? Ang pagpapahayang madurog ng ngipin ang mapapait na buto? Pinag-iisipan ko ang mga susunod na araw, kung saan kakaskasin ko ang natuyong katas mula sa mesa, na didikit

Tula Pagkauwi mula sa Emergency Room

martina herras

sa aking mga palad at sa beep card na gagamitin upang mapilit ko ang sarili na piliing mabuhay. Iniisip ko na magtawag ng kaibigan na samahan ako sa Sagada, o sa La Union, na para bang katapusan ng isang pelikula kung saan masakit ang lahat hanggang sa makita mo na ang mga pangalan. Noong minsan umakyat ako sa isang bundok, nahiwa ko sa mga bato ang aking hita. Nang bumalong na ang dugo, pinilit ko na tingnan, na para bang ibang kulay ang inaabangan kong lumabas. Takot ako na ito na ang rurok ng lahat ng pagkakabalisa. Hindi natin alam, baka nga palatandaan ang dalanghitang binabalatan, o mas masahol pa, wala itong kinalaman sa kahit saan.

reina adriano

Ang Pagtitimpi kay Galatea Walang bitak sa wari ng iskultor ang kaniyang nililok maliban sa espasyo kung saan dapat mamalagi ang unang halik kapag balat na ang turing sa marmol na dahan-dahang inukit at paulit-ulit na kiniskis ng mga daliring tila nagbigay-pintig na batid ang kaniyang pagtitig. At sa sandaling iyon: ang higpit ng kapit sa mga guwang ng babaeng inukit na siya lamang dapat ang maaaring pumuno.

Bunga. Bago pa man

Bigyang pansin, halimbawa, ang pampaasim ng sabaw: Itong kalamansi na itinanim ng magsasaka at pinatubo ng araw at ulan. Pinamulaklak ito ng libo-libong kulisap na milyon-milyong taรณng nabuhay, namatay, at nagbanyuhay. Binhi, araw, ulan, kulisap, bulaklak,

Merong sinigang kaya merong Diyos. Nasa sabaw ang buong mundo.

Kaya tinataya ko

Meron nang Meron na lumalang sa lahat-lahat nang sabay-sabay, pati sa tinitikman ko ngayon.

Bago pa man nagka-oras at lalim at lapad at lawak,

Bago pa man nakapagsalita ang tao, Bago pa man naging tao ang tao at mundo ang mundo at araw ang araw,

Nang humigop ako ng sabaw ng sinigang

kenneth isaiah ibasco abante

Merong Diyos kaya merong sinigang at habambuhay akong magpapasalamat.

Bago pa man pumasok sa wika ng Kastila ang ‘kaldero’ o ‘kutsilyo’, Bago pa man nila sakupin ang bayang ito,

Utang kay Ferriols at Calasanz At sa mga ate, kuya, madre, at pari sa Cenacle at Mirador Lalo na sa masarap magluto.

Ika-31 ng Hulyo 2019 Cenacle Retreat House

gamit ang dila na nakalasa sa asim na Asim ng kalamansi at sa linamnam na Linamnam ng buong mundong nasa sabaw:

nagningas ang apoy na nagpapainit sa kalderong lutuan ng sabaw at tumunaw sa bakal ng kutsilyong panghiwa ng kalamansi,

8 Labinsiyam na taon nang nakatambak ang mga tuhod ng diyos na biyaya o sumpa sa tapat ng iyong pisngi, malamang sa malamang ang tiyaga upang hindi magsara ang mga binti nito hanggang pundya na lamang ang ulo ng tauhan at upang hindi ito bumagsak sa iyong balikat sa bigat ng iyong mortal na katawan. Mula sa diyos hindi mo man nakikita ang kataas-taasang larawang nais ipahiwatig. Ngunit hindi mo man mabibigyang uri ang katawan ng Diyos sa diwa, mayroon kang pagnananais na walang ibang makasasagot kundi ang Diyos. Sa ganitong paraan, ano pa ba ang kayang gawin, kung narito, at hindi narito, na nangyayaring sabay?

Ang Paghahanap kay Bathala*

carissa natalia baconguis

* Ang Paghahanap kay Bathala ay unang nailathala sa 23rd AHWW Culmination Zine

Una: Isadiwa ang mukha upang mailarawan ang kayang tanggapin ng kakayahan ng isip. Pangalawa: Tangapin din ang iyong sariling kakulangan. Hindi mo masasalo ang sarili mong kapangyarihan sa paraan ng pagsasalin sa utak papuntang papel. Hindi malalarawan ng pakiramdam ang aksyon. Hindi nakikipagtulungan ang iyong mga salitang isinusulat. Pangatlo: Upang makiusap ang iyong sariling gawa na gumawa sa iyong sarili, alalahanin na hindi mo kayang kausapin ito. Pang-apat: Dito natin ipakikilala ang iyo: ang ikaw: ang pinakamadaling taong kayang ikatha upang malampasan ang pag-uusap tungkol sa sarili: ang ikaw: ang kulang: ang hindi maaaring bigkasin: ang pagpapanggap na tayoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y nakabahid sa kalahatlahatan: ang pagbuka ng bunganga, katulad ng kamay: katulad ng puwang: ang bulong, tulad ng akit: simula: pagtapos: hinga: hanap: pag-iral:

Sa ganitong paraan, may kakayahang gumuhit ng bulaklakan ang galaw ng dila. Samantala kahit ang alaala nakikita bilang delikadong imahe ng pagbubukas ng talulot, na sa bawat pagluwa ng pagbunga, kahit ang hamog ng umaga dumudulas. Ngunit itoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y mapanlinlang tulad ng ating isipan. Babad sa uhaw ang bawat salita samantalang nalilimutan natin na mortal lang ang mga ito sa ating isipan, na ang alaala ay muling hanggang paglalaro lamang. Ang simoy ng hardin ang katulad ng lumilitaw na amoy ng sampaguita. Itinanim ang mga supling pababalik, pababa sa mga baga. Mahirap bang huminga kung ang baga mo ay puno ng mga bulaklak na hinding hindi makalalaya. May mga talinghaga kung saan hindi natin mabibigkas kung walang pag-aalay sa harapan. Mga salita ni lolaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y matingkad at marikit tuwing dinidiligan niya ang hardin sa labas ng bahay, at biglang binago ang anyo ng sandaling mga salitaang iyon, hinugis semilya at nilamon. Isang saglit malayo nang narating sa una niyang kapaligiran. Bigkas niya: Kailangan mo lang isipin itong mga bulaklak, kung hindi mo sila diniligan, mamamatay lang. Bigkas:

Kailangan mo lang isipin ang diniligan kong mga bulaklak, kung hindi silaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y mamamatay. Bigkas: Kailangan mo lang diligan ang mga bulaklak, kung hindi ako na naman ang magdidilig. Bigkas: Kaya ka iniwan kasi hindi mo siya pinag-isipan tulad nitong mga namamatay na bulaklak. Bigkas: Hindi mo siya pinag-isipan at mamamatay na rin ang lahat. Bigkas: Alam mo naman kasi ito ay walang saysay dapat kasi inalagaan mo. Bigkas: Hindi mo kasi inalagaan. Bigkas: Ikaw kasi, iyan tuloy.

Ang iyong anak na dumiretsyo mula sa utak, isinilang sa wika. Sa bawat pantig na binibigkas may nawawalang aspeto ng kanyang sarili mula sa iyong sarili. Ginuhit mo siya sa iyong dila at inilabas sa bibig papuntang salin. Hindi baâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ito ang rason kung bakit tayo hinikayat ng karagatang sumipi

Hindi iyong anak ang mga anak mo. Sa katunayan, sa iyong kabataan alam mong ikaw ay mabibigo lamang sa ganitong paraan ng pagiral. May kakayahan ang distansyang humingi ng magkarugtong ngunit ang iyong anak ay hindi anak kundi sudlong lamang ito na hindi pa rin hanggang doon lamang. Mula sa iyong hininga ang kanyang hininga. Mula sa iyong mata ang kanyang paningin. Ngunit hindi bata kundi anyo ang nanggaling sa iyo. Masdan kung paano ang katawang lumiliko upang makabuo ng salitaan: ganito nga ba ang pakiramdam ng magiging isang ina? Buntis ka sa pagdududa. Ikaw ang Santa Maria at Maria Makiling nang sabay-sabay. Diyos at Bathala at Bahala na ang Diyos. Ikaw na bumabaluktot sa haraya ng pananampalataya.

ng anyo: hindi baâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ito ang rason kung bakit pinili mo ipabalik-balik ang salita upang makipagtitigan sa iyong mga konsepto. Kapag nabasa mo na ito, mamamatay na ang Ako. Nakikita mo ba ang anak at iniisip kung kakulangan lang ba ito ng pagsasalin. Narito lang ba ang kakayahan ng ikaw dahil malayo na ito sa aking pagiging ako; kung ako ang nasa isip sino ba talaga ang pumapasok tungo sa utak, tungo sa ugali, tungo sa pag-iral. Sa ganitong paraan ang pagiging walang maliw at walang buhay ng sabay-sabay: ang panganganak sa pag-ikaw. Kung laro lamang ito, hanapin mo ako.

Heto ang pamamamaraan ng pagbabasa: sinasabi ko na ngayon bago pa man makapagtapos ng pagtiklop ng pahina sa utak na tunog tik-tak, kumakalkula, minsan ay malamig-lamig. Hindi para sa makata ang pagsasagawa ng pagsulat ng dula. Ngunit, katumbas ng kakayahan manulat ng tula ang pagsulat para sa klase, samantalang kahit ang tungkuling ito ay mayroong iniiwasan. Parang ganitoâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;dito natin ipakikilala ang ikaw. Masdan kung paano ito nagiging isang tauhang malaya sa sarili. Pagkatapos ng linya: sagutan ang nag-iisang atas, kasama na rin ang ngiting manipis lamang. Plano mo na ito bilang manunulat. Ang pamamaraan ng dula ay ang pagbibigay boses sa konsepto sa mga tauhan, sa paligid, sa pamamaraan ng salitaan. Ano bang ikinakatakot mong maalis sa iyo. Bilang manunulat, pinagpapanggap mo lang ang iyong manuskrito. Nagpapanggap lamang ba ang mga konseptong ito habang binibigyan mong buhay? Alam mo na ang mga pinagsasabi, dinadala ka lamang ng pagsulat, binubuhat lang ang iyong kamay, katulad ng pagsasapi ng isipan: kung

paano ang pagmumulto ng iyong aral, kung paano ito nagiging isang pusong nakakabit pero malaya. Nais mo ba magsalita sa katawang hindi iyo, sa pamamaraang malayo sa iyo. Bilang manunulat ika’y anino rin ng mambabasa. Hindi mo ba kayang kumaliwa sa binibigay. Anong pumipigil sa iyo; ano ang nasa gilid lamang ng pagtuklas—hindi ba’t ikaw Diyos, hindi ba’t hindi mo rin ito masasagutan, hindi ba’t alam mo na ngunit ano ba talaga ang pumipigil sa iyo, anong klaseng pagkabigo ang iyong ninanais,

Palibhasa laging magkasabay ang pagkawala at ang pananatili. At iyon ang mas nakatatakot kumpara sa pagkawala lamang. Palibhasa ang pananabik. Palibhasa ang pagtagal. Ngayon sa Linggong ito nasa loob ang isang pastor. Nakaupo ka sa labas ng hardin ng simbahan, kung saan may isang kalachuching tumutubo sa gitna ng mga halaman, mataas, dalisay, at likong liko sa sariling kurba. “O,” bigkas ng pastor, boses nisnis na sa pagbigkas sa kanyang katawang pagong, “manalangin tayo.” Balat na krema, kutis na kulubot, kahit siya sa kanyang mga kulay-abo’t bughaw na mata ay nakatitig sa inaantok na umpukan. Sumunod ang pagbaba, ang pagsadsad ng tuhod sa damo. Sa pagtama ng parehong palad sa tapat ng iyong bibig; mga salitang nais na ihatid. Bakit ba tayo naririto? Bakit ba tayo namamatay? Siguro hindi naman natin kailangan malaman. Mas importante yatang tanong: nahihipo ba ng laylayan ng iyong suot ang maruming lapag? Tumayo na lamang nang mabilis tapos magpagpag. Lumuhod. Hawak-kamay. Sa labas, may ibong lumilipad, malayo, ni walang binigyang sulyap.

Katha ang multo dahil sa pag-alaala. Bagamaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t walang mukha ang multong hinahanap ko pa rin ang mukha ng Diyos, naghahanap kung mayroon siyang sagot. Gayunpaman akoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y nagkamali. Tiyak sa isip na mananatiling magulo. Samantalang binibigkas ng teksto ang bawat salita, ang pagpili ng wika. Ang inay ko, napakabalisa, inutusan ako magsulat para sa ninong ko, ngunit wala naman akong naalala kundi ang koleksyon niya ng mga platong tsina at ang aso niyang siguroâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y patay na rin. Tiyak ang pagdaan papuntang kamatayan. Mangyayari ito. Nangyari ito. Ngunit may kapangyarihan akong masaktan at hindi masaktan sa oras, na nangyayaring sabay. Sulat: O, Ninong, napakasakit ng iyong pagkalipas! Sulat: O, Ninong, napakasakit ng iyong pagkalipas sa akin! Sulat: O, Ninong, ang sakit ng iyong pagkalipas! Sulat: O, Ninong, sinaktan mo ako! Katha natin ang multo ngunit kahit iyan ay hindi sapat.

Sa bundok, naniniwala pa rin ako. Tuwing umaakyat ako mayroong estatwa ng Maria. Pininturahang puti ang kanyang buong pigurin, kahit ang mga hayop-marmol sa kanyang paligid, mga taong nakaraan. Ngayon tuwing lumalapit ako sa kanya, ang kanyang braso nakaladlad, nakikita ko ang mga kumukupas na puting pinta may halong abo. Malayo pala ang pagitan ng kanyang mga mata, at masyadong matangos ang kanyang ilong. Ang kanyang mga labi, hindi gumagalaw, walang hanggang nakahugis upang makabigkas ng â&#x20AC;&#x153;oâ&#x20AC;?. Nakikita ko ang sarili kong kakulangan tuwing naalala ko na ay, oo, gumana rin ang bungangang iyan dati. Tuwing naglalakad ako, tulad ng mga yapak sa panaginip, nakikita ko siyang nakikita ako, sa pinagmamasdang biyaya o sumpa. Siya, na sentrong katawan ng mahika nakikita ang anino ng Diyos ngunit sino nga bang Diyos ang nais niyang ihatid patungo sa aking diwa. Sa guniguni siyang lumalapit, binibigkas kung nalimutan ko na ba raw ang ako. Ang kalahatan ay nasa loob ko ngunit nawawala rin sila: kung sino nga ba

ang nagsasalita ngayon. Kung pinatahimik mo ako paano ba makabibigkas ng hindi maaari at hindi kinaya. Ano ba ang sinasabi ng mga walang bibig, mga wala, at siguro wala ka rin. Siguro isa ka lang halo ng mga datihan, anino ng nakaraan: pag-iral nakasalalay sa kawalan, ano bang kaya mo? Maria: nalimutan mo ba ako, ang ikaw ba ay isang uri ng pagmamadali? Isang talinghaga kung saan nananatili ang ganitong pag-ibig: lahat bumabalik sa akin: sa ako. Ako bilang anak ng aking ama, ako bilang anak na babae, ako bilang babae, ako bilang ikaw, ako bilang ako, ako bilang tahanan. Iniladlad ni Maria ang kanyang braso, upang umabot. Hindi ito ang paalam: masyado na tayong huli. Sa bundok, naniniwala pa rin akong walang tumataas dito upang kausapin ang diwata. Wala silang mga sagot ngunit hindi pa sapat ang katanungan. Kahit na subukan mo nang subukan: babalik at babalik pa rin sa iyo: sa ikaw: sa ako.

Ang upuan ay ang inuupuan, katulad ng salumpuwet, malamang sa malamang na hindi ang iyong guro, na pinagsasabihan kang huwag mo na siyang tawagan nang ganyan; ito ang pangapat na buwan na ikaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y pinagsasabihan tungkol dito. Nais mong magpaliwanag, oo, nais mo, ngunit humahayag ang iyong kilos, ligaw, hindi kayang mangopya sa lagitik ng dila at palatak ng ngipin. Ang pag-alala sa barya ay ang simbulo sa pagkilos, kahit dito ikaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y nagkakamali. Gumagalaw ang iyong daliri, hanggang braso, parang mayroon ka ring sinasalo, o mayroon kang pinapakawalan, ngunit kahit anong mangyari mukha kang walang inaatupag, walang hinahawakan, at walang nakukuha sa iyong sayaw habang ang iyong bungangaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y bumabaliktad parang hinahanap ang kakayahan ng mata. Nakatatawa kung paano ang ating bigkas ay papuntang garapon. Kung paano ang wika ay katumbas ng piso. Sa ganitong paraan, dumalaw sa akin ang mukha ni Bathala sa harap ng salamin. Ibinulong niya sa kanyang bungangang pinalilibutan ng hamog

Bakit

Umiiyak ka ba? ka umiiyak?

Halimbawa, statiko sa kanilang galaw ang mga langgam, at sa kanilang paligsahang kilos umiiba ang kulay sa itim at puti. Kung ang statiko nga ba ang walang katapusang sagitsit ng bagong biling soda. O ang ngimay ng paang hindi ginalaw, o ang isip. Kung ang statiko nga ba ay katulad ng waks. Kung ang katawang itong maaaring gumanap sa katal ng mga imahe upang makaranas; iilan lamang ang magkakakulay. Kung heto, Heto, ang iyong kamay

Hindi sa iyo ang katawan mo, anak.

22 Ako.

Ako.

Paano ba at tayoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y lumilikha ng sarili nating kuwento gamit ang kuwento ng iba. Paano ba at nais natin lumikha ng kuwento para sa atin. Gumagawa tayo ng magkasalungat katulad ng ating pagawa ng mga kuwento. Nais natin maunawaan. Nais natin ang komportable. Nais natin ang hindi magulo. Nais natin ang ikaw, malayo sa ako, dahil mas madali. Nais natin ang pagta-â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;tayoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. Nais natin ang Diyos. Nais natin ang pagnananais. Bakit ka nahihirapan? Hindi ikaw ang madla. Hindi tayo ang madla. Ako ang madla. Ako,

(Ginhawa lamang sana.)

Siguro ang karagatan ang nagyaya. Katulad ng anino nararamdaman ko ang kanyang pagkawala sa pagitan ng mga alon. Itong karanasan ng parehong kagandahan at kapanglawan, sa oras na ito: tapos na ang pagligo sa umaga, nagtataka kung paano ko masasalo ang sariling pagtutunaw sa ambon ng pagliligo. Mayroon akong katawan. Ako ay ang aking katawan. Ang katotohanan ay ano nga ba ang nararanasan kong nais kong masagot sa ganitong klaseng pagsasalin. Sa ganitong paraan ako nagiging isang klase ng walang hanggang paroroonan. Nagbabagonganyo ang isip at ang alaala: nagiging buo: mukha ng Diyos, taong hugis dapit-hapon, tuklasan, ito ang kapangyarihang mula sa akit. Ang bighani ng dagat, kung saan dinadala ng alon ang alon, palayo at papunta sa baybayin. Nais ko lamang tumingin, nais ko lamang matuklasan kung ano: kung ano, hanggaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ang huni ng mga kuliglig, ang hipoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t kuha ng karagatan, karahasan, ang ina ng ina ng ina ng inaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ang kanilang mga ninuno, katawang itinago sa katawan: hugis ng boses: itong pulang araw pababa, ikot ng panahon:

anak ni Bathala: namamaga ng kawalan: hanap ng silakbo: tagyawat: ito nga ba ang gusto kong sabihin kapag sinasabi ko na akoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y muling hindi magtatagumpay:

tinadtad ang mga sanga bilang hagulhol at bilang pangalan paa naging lupa at lupa naging tahanan ng alaalang nawawalaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t lumulutang at naging digmaan ng himig kaya kinailangan itoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y pababain sa lupa tulad ng dagat na hinding hindi aatras, at nang itoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y hindi mawawala sa hustisya tulad ng baging na tumutuboâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t sumasakal, ang itong pighating naglalaman ng karugtong sa katawan alisin mo lahat ng nakaimpake kita mo, kaya ko rin maging makapangyarihan sa luha, na para bang hanggang dito na lamang ang pagtubo upang muli at muli mababalik tayo sa sinaunang panahon isaalang-alang itong mundo bilang karahasan at ang konsepto ng pag-ibig na tahanan lamang at bilang bahay ng dalawang katawang tanghal

isaalang-alang itong katawan

Tungkung Langit at Alunsina

carissa natalia baconguis

at ang buwan ay ang suklay, ang bituin ay ang kuwintas, hindi na ako umiiral: katawan na lamang ito ng alaala masdan ang pag-ikot ng kawalan sa atin at narito ang kapangyarihan ng pagkawala

Pagkatapos sinabi mo sa akin na hindi mo pa nakikita Ang lungsod, kaya kinuha natin ang katawan ng mga estudyante At sumakay ng mga tren at bus. Iniwan natin ang gubatâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;o

Pagmasdan kung paano naaalala ng mga buto ang bawat katal ng agos, ngunit wala tayong nalalaman sa kanilang alaala. Hanggang paa, braso, at kapangyarihan lamang sa karagatan.

Sabihin nating tumawa tayo noong sumabog ang mundo. Kinuha natin ang mga katawan ng mga marinero, Sapagkat sinabi ko sa iyong hindi ko pa nakikita ang karagatanâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;

Ginawa nilang kodigo ang ating mga alaala: Para sa mga panahong nasunog na ang ating katawan, Maaari pa rin tayong lumipat ng kamalayan.

Noong Nalaman Nila Na Hindi Na Kailangan Matakot sa Kamatayan*

carissa natalia baconguis

* Noong Nalaman Nila Na Hindi Na Kailangan Matakot sa Kamatayan ay unang nailathala sa The Youth is On Fire Issue 7 ng Young Star Magazine.

Lagi tayong nagbabago, mahal, hindi na natin nakilala ang kasiyahan. Maaaring tumatawa tayo ngayon. Sinasabi ko na mahal kita Ngunit hindi ko alam kung anong balikat ang sinasandalan ko.

Kaya hinanap ko ang iyong mga mata At wala na ring natira sa mga dati nating pagkakilala sa isaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t-isa. Mga mata ito ng estranghero. Hipo ng banyaga. Sunog ang langit.

sumabog na ang mundo. Tayo nga ang sinuwerte. Akalain mo iyon, mahal? Mukhang dapit-hapon lang ang pahayag. Napakalayo na natin sa ating tahanan. Napakalayo ng ating panaginip.

Sinabi natin na suwerte tayo. Sa buwan natin pinapanood ang planeta, ngumiti ka At ngumiti rin ako pabalik. Tapos,

Ang kapinsalaan. Sa ganitong paraaan mo ring nabanggit Na hindi mo pa nakikita ang planeta. Kaya kinuha natin Ang katawan ng mga astronawta. Pinasukan ang kuwitis.

Kung anumang natira sa harding iyon. Iniwan natin Ang mga dati nating katawan, hubad at nananabik. Sa sinumang makakakuha sa kanila, pagmamanahan lamang nila

Kaya tiningnan kita. Tiningnan kita habang lahat ng mga labi Tumutudla patungo sa atin. Sa mga dapit-hapon na ganito, Naalala ko na minahal nga kita.

Subalit kapag wala na ang mga bagong katawan, matututunan natin Maging pamilyarâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; papatayin tayo ng himpapawid, At nauubos na ang oksiheno para makasalita.

Wala nang natira kundi ang alaala. Walang mga estatwa, Walang mga bundok. Hanggang itong mga mortal na katawan lamang. Kahit ang iyong mga mata ay kalawakang hindi pa nauunawaan.

bianca alva

elohiya para sa lotus maaari bang mamukadkad sa kalagitnaan ng lumbay? mapaglinlang ang mga matang hanggang talulot lamang ang tanaw at mugto sa luhang salaula kagaya ng estrangherong lumulunok sa akin tuwing gabi. bighaning lantad na sumibol sa â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di mabitawang putik na sinilangan, sanaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y makalaya sa sunggab ng bangon, babad sikat, sisid lutang, lunod. Nelumbo nucifera: isang bukas na sugat, isang makinang nangangalawang sa tubigang nilapastangan. maaari ba? kung hindi, ang nais ko lamang ay, sa kalagitnaan ng lumbay, marinig ang hele sa ingay ng mga along kinalulunuran ko.

dorothy claire parungao

Kapitbahay Kagabi, may kumatok na mga kapre sa pinto ko. Sobrang liit na nila ngayon. ‘Di na rin sila nagyoyosi. Tinanong ko naman kung bakit sila napadalaw. Sabi nila, wala na raw silang matirhan dahil nagkakaroon ng clearing operation sa mga balete sa kanto. Ang ingay din daw ng mga makina sa gabi dahil sa paggawang kalsada. Nagtataka nga sila na lagi na lang mayroong ginagawa, pero wala namang sira. Sa gabi, hindi takot ang mga manggagawa sa kanila kasi mas sinisindak daw sila ng mga makinanang gamit nila. At saka, mahal daw kasi ang kaha ng Marlboro. Mga 140 na. Tumawa pa sila nang sinabi na, mahal na rin kasi ang magpagamot. ‘Kita ko ‘yung harap ng Marlboro, a. Parang ‘yoko namang magaya ro’n.

shao

Langit Lupa Langit, lupa Mga buhay na ginugol Sa lupaing noo’y laya Ngayo’y nasa impyerno. Saksak puso Himig ng pagtutol Sa kanayuna’y umugong; Tumulo ang dugo. Patay, buhay Mga tinig ng paghihimagsik Sa itaas ay‘di rinig; Pinutol ang mga hininga. “Umalis na sa puwesto!” Kinagisnang lupa’y Sirko ng mga payaso— Pinagpipiyestahan ng Sentro.

mikaela adrianne c. regis

Libingan ng Medyo Bayani* dulang may isang yugto mga tauhan alice dimaguiba â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Babae, 27, News writer. juanito â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Lalaki, 11. Masayahin, palatanong, at walang bahid ng kasamaan. tagpuan Sa ilalim ng isang puno sa loob ng malawak na sementeryo sa may Taguig na pare-parehong mga puting krus ang hitsura ng puntod ng mga nilibing. Sa bandang harap ng puno, isang malaki, itim, at parihaba na puntod ng kontrobersyal na dating pangulo. oras 5 p.m. Bago bumaba ang araw. Kasalukuyang panahon.

*Itinanghal ang "Libingan ng Medyo Bayani" ng ENTA sa ilalim ng "Tungkulan: Mga Dulang Tungkulin Nating Panoorin" sa direksyion/pamumunuan ni Jethro Tenorio

Papasok si ALICE sa kaliwang bahagi ng entablado, uupo sa ilalim ng puno habang may kausap sa selpon. Liliwanag. Malapit sa kanya, puting krus na walang bulaklak, ibang-iba sa mga katabi nitong puntod na nag-uumapaw sa mga bulaklak. Malayo sa kanya, ang itim at parihaba na puntod. alice

‘Te, sunduin mo na ‘ko please.

Saglit. alice

Ang dami ko pang gagawin.

Saglit. alice

Bakit?

Saglit. alice

Kaya mong gawin ‘tong pinapagawa sa‘kin?

Saglit. alice

Oras na?

Saglit. Hindi makapaniwala si ALICE sa nasabi ng kausap. alice

Kailangan ko nang umuwi, may isusulat pa’kong article na due bukas.

Saglit. alice

Bakit ako magsisinungaling?

Saglit.

alice

Batang tinamaan ng ligaw na bala, buy bust op. Lando Garcia. Iimbentuhin ko ba ‘to?

Saglit. alice

Oo, huli ko na‘to, ayoko na.

Saglit. alice

‘Edi maghahanap ng bagong trabaho.

Saglit. alice

Basta sunduin mo na ‘ko, please.

Ibababa niya ang selpon at ipipikit ang kanyang mga mata. Papasok si JUANITO mula sa kaliwang bahagi ng entablado, may dalang mga bulaklak na paninda. Maririnig ang kanyang paghuni ng “Lupang Hinirang,” na maguumpisa sa linyang “lupa ng araw ng luwalhati't pagsinta buhay ay langit sa piling mo” at magtatapos sa “aming ligaya na 'pag may may mang-aapi.” Mapadidilat si ALICE. Makikita ni JUANITO ang hubad na puntod at iaalok ang mga bulaklak kay ALICE. juanito Gusto niyo po? alice

Pa’no ka nakapasok dito?

Ngingiti si JUANITO na tila nahihiya. juanito Mahigpit sila rito ‘a. 36

Iiling si ALICE. Iaalok ni JUANITO ang mga bulaklak. juanito Isang daan lang po. Hindi papansinin ni ALICE si JUANITO. juanito Sige na ‘te. Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. juanito ‘Te. Iiling lamang si ALICE. juanito ‘Te. alice

Baka mamaya ninakaw mo lang ‘yan sa mga puntod.

juanito Hindi po. Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. juanito Pramis po, hindi po ako nagsisinungaling. Sabi ni mama, masama raw ‘yun. alice

Alam ba ng mga magulang mo na nandito ka?

Ngingiti at mapapakamot sa ulo si JUANITO. juanito Hinahanap na po siguro ako. alice O. juanito E kayo po, alam ba ng mga magulang mo kung nasaan ka?

Ngingisi lamang si ALICE at ipipikit na muli ang kanyang mga mata. Titingnan ni JUANITO ang paligid. juanito Ang ganda po rito â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;no? Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. juanito Ang laki-laki! Tatakbo si JUANITO paikot ng entablado. juanito Ang sarap siguro tumira rito. Susubuking abutin ni JUANITO ang langit at dahan-dahang ibababa ang kanyang mga braso. juanito Ang luwag-luwag po kasi. Saglit. juanito Kasyang-kasya kami rito nina Danica, Althea, Utoy, Michaelâ&#x20AC;Ś Sa bawat hakbang ni JUANITO, sasambitin niya ang pangalan ng mga kapatid niya. Iikutan niya si ALICE. Mapadidilat si ALICE. juanito Puwedeng-puwede magpahinga.

kang

maglaro,

tumakbo,

Saglit. juanito Pero ang pinakamaganda, [ibubulong] tahimik dito. Lalaki ang ngiti ni JUANITO.

juanito Tapos ang astig kasi, “Libingan Ng Mga Bayani.” Pero mas astig kung “Libingan Ng Mga Superheroes!” Tatayo muli si JUANITO at aarteng lumilipad sa entablado, sinusuntok ng kaliwang kamao niya ang langit. alice

Umuwi ka na, bata.

juanito May hinahanap pa po ako e. Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. Ngingiti si JUANITO. juanito Pero kung makita ‘ko ni mama ngayon siguradong sasabihin niya: Magboboses matandang babae si JUANITO. juanito “Huwag kasing bibig ang ginigamit sa paghahanap!” Sabay pingot sa tenga ko. Ngingiti si ALICE at mahinang magsasalita. alice

Kasi raw, mother knows best.

juanito Maders knows best? Mapapatingin si ALICE kay JUANITO. alice

Pero hindi palagi.

Saglit. alice

Huwag mo nalang sabihin sa mama mong sinabi ko ‘yun.

Mabilisang itataas ni JUANITO ang kanyang kanang kamay. 39

juanito Pramis po! E ano po bang ibig sabihin nun? Saglit. alice

'Laging 'yan ang sumbat ng nanay ko sa'kin kapag ayaw kong makinig. Mas alam daw niya kasi nanay ko siya.

juanito A, a, a! Tulad nang nakapila na kami sa libreng patuli sa barangay namin, tapos takbo ako ng takbo sa takot tapos bigla akong kinurot ni mama sa singit! Sana sinabi na lang niya, “Maders knows best!” Ngingiti si ALICE. alice

Pero hindi ‘lagi.

juanito Bakit naman po? alice

May naaalala ka bang inutos sa’yo ng mama mo na sigurado kang mali, at puwede mong tanggihan?

juanito Siguro po noong nasunugan kami tapos nasira mga damit ko tapos ang pinasuot sakin ni mama 'yung pink na shorts ni Ate Maymay. Mapapailing si JUANITO. Matatawa si ALICE. alice

Iba ‘yun, tama ang mama mo. Wala kang ibang damit, e ‘di gamitin mo ang sa Ate mo.

juanito E, pa’no po ba? alice

'Yung pinipilit ka ng nanay mo na gawin ang isang bagay, pero kung gagawin mo, mahirap.

juanito Mahirap po kayang lumabas sa bahay ng naka pink na shorts! Mahinang tatawa si ALICE juanito Kayo po ba, may pinagawa na po ba saâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;yo nanay mo na ganun? Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. juanito Pinag-pink na shorts din po kayo? Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. juanito Pinasayaw po kayo ng otso-otso sa harap ng mga kamag-anak? Matatawa si ALICE. Seseryoso si JUANITO. juanito Ginising po kayo sa umaga para lang kamutin likod niya? Ngingiti si ALICE. juanito Ano po? Saglit. juanito Okey lang naman po kung ayaw mo sabihin sa'kin. Hindi po ako magagalit Ateâ&#x20AC;Ś Ano po ulit pangalan mo? alice

Alice.

Tatango si JUANITO. juanito Ako naman po si Juanito. 41

Ngingiti si JUANITO. Saglit. juanito Pero Ate Alice, puwede niyo naman po pala hindian ang mama mo, bakit pa po kayo nagpapakahirap? Mahabang katahimikan. Titingnan ni ALICE ang kanyang relo, pagkatapos, ang kanyang selpon. Titingnan niya si JUANITO bago sumagot. alice

May sakit kasi â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yung tao.

juanito Po? Saglit. alice

Malubha sakit ng nanay ko. Mga ilang linggo nalang daw, kaya hindi ko siya magawang tanggihan.

Saglit. alice

Pero hindi naman niya kailangang malaman na hindi ko magagawa ang hiling niya.

juanito Nako, sabi po ni mama masama magsinungaling. Saglit. juanito Ano po bang ipinapagawa saâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;yo? Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. juanito Ay. Sorry po, sabi rin po pala ni mama, masama raw ang chismoso.

Ngingiti lamang si ALICE at tatanawin ang paligid. Titigil ang kanyang mga mata sa parihabang puntod. Susundan ni JUANITO ang kanyang tingin. juanito Ano po ‘yun? alice

Puntod din.

juanito Bakit ang laki-laki? alice

Sa dating presidente kasi natin ‘yan.

Saglit. alice

Bagong gawa lang ‘yan noong isang linggo.

Manlalaki ang mga mata ni JUANITO. juanito ‘Yan nga po ‘yung napanood ko sa TV! Kaya ko po nalaman na may sementeryo pala para sa mga superheroes lang. Ang galing, gusto ko ganyan din kalaki puntod ko! alice

Bata-bata mo pa. Mag-aral ka muna nang mabuti, tapos tumakbo kang presidente paglaki.

juanito Kailangan po ba magaling ka sa Ingles? alice

Pa’no mo kakausapin ‘yung mga dayuhang kapitbahay natin?

juanito Nako, sabi pa naman ni Teacher Judy mag-ingles daw ako sa bahay kasi kulang pa raw ako sa praktis. alice

Ginagawa mo ba?

juanito Isang beses sabi ko kay mama, “Mami, plantsa my i-skul polo!” Tapos binatukan lang ako? Babatukan ni JUANITO ang sarili. Matatawa si ALICE. juanito Huwag daw akong pa-english-english, pang mayaman lang daw ‘yun! alice

Dun ka sa tatay mo para ‘di ka batukan.

Saglit. juanito Hmm… Kung kailangan marunong ka mag-ingles para maging presidente, pero kailangan mayaman ka para makapag-ingles, e ‘di kailangan mayaman ka para maging presidente? Magdadabog si JUANITO. juanito Pa’no na ‘yan? alice

Masyado mong sineseryso ‘to.

juanito Magaling po ba mag-ingles ‘yung presidenteng ‘yan? Ituturo ni JUANITO ang parihabang puntod gamit ang nguso niya. alice

Lahat naman ng presidente magaling mag-ingles, [saglit] pero siya raw ‘yung pinakamatalino sa lahat.

juanito Weh? alice

Alam mo ‘yung exam para sa mga gustong mag-abogado?

Iiling si JUANITO. 44

alice

Basta top 1 siya dun. Top 1 pa nga ata sa buong Pilipinas.

Tatango si JUANITO. juanito Ako rin naman top 1 din. alice

Naks.

juanito Sa noisy at standing. Ngingiti si ALICE. alice

Loko ka. Sagana raw tayo sa bigas noong panahon niya. Nagawa pa nga nating magbigay sa ibang bansa e. Pati raw mga kalsada, umayos at lumawak. Tapos, nagpagawa pa siya ng maraming silid-aralan.

Sisimangot si JUANITO. juanito Sana mga basketbolan na lang pinagawa niya, wala na hong lubid basket namin sa barangay e. Seryosong iiling si JUANITO. Matatawa si ALICE. juanito Kaya lang, hindi ko rin naman magagamit. Hindi ako pinapayagan ni mama na maglaro sa labas kasi raw maraming demonyo. Saglit. juanito Ano po ba â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yun? alice

Mga taong may masamang balak ang sinasabi ng nanay mo.

juanito Masamang balak? alice

Oo. Yung mga holdaper, snatcher, kidnapper... Baka anuhin ka nila.

juanito Aanuhin po nila ako? alice

Basta, makinig ka na lang sa nanay mo.

juanito Wala rin naman po siya sa gabi e, hindi po niya malalaman kung lalabas ako para maglaro. alice

Pero anong sabi ng nanay mo saâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;yo?

juanito Masama ang chismoso? Iiling si ALICE. Ngingiti at mapapakamot sa ulo si JUANITO. juanito Masama ang magsinungaling. alice

Ano baâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ng trabaho ng nanay mo?

juanito Dati, katulong. Ngayon, ka-tulog. Matatawa si JUANITO sa kanyang sarili. juanito Joke lang po, wala pa po siyang trabaho ngayon. alice

Saglit.

Sa panahon niya, [titingnan ni ALICE ang parihabang puntod] marami raw ang may trabaho, at kaunti lang ang mgaâ&#x20AC;Ś

alice

Demonyo.

Saglit. alice

Kasi may disiplina raw ang lahat. Ikaw, may disiplina ka ba?

juanito Gabi-gabi po akong sumasayaw sa harap ng salamin. Sabi rin kasi ni mama, mahalaga raw ang ehersisyo. Ngingiti si ALICE. alice

Sumasayaw ka pala?

Tatango si JUANITO. alice

Hip-hop?

Iiling si JUANITO. juanito Maglalatik. Tatawa muli si ALICE. Sisimangot si JUANITO. alice

Buhay pa pala â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yun?

juanito Baduy po ang hip-hop. Pambata lang â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yun. Lalakas ang tawa ni ALICE. alice

E ilang taon ka na ba kuya Juanito?

Mapagmalaking sasambitin ni JUANITO. juanito Eleben. 47

Ngingiti si ALICE. alice

Bagay ka pala sa CCP e.

juanito Ano po ‘yung CCP? alice

Cultural Center of the Philippines. Maraming performances dun, lalo na folk dance. Asawa naman niya nagpatayo n’un.

juanito May asawa po siya? alice

Mahirap kapag walang asawa ang presidente.

juanito Dahil hindi niya kaya mag-isa? alice

Parang ganun na nga.

juanito E bakit hindi niya po katabi asawa niya ngayon? Nag-away sila? alice

Ano ka ba, buhay pa kasi ‘yung tao.

juanito Ay. Sorry po. Saglit. juanito Ang haba naman po ng buhay niya. Sana, ang lolo ko rin. Kung ‘di lang nasira puso niya. alice

Maraming ospital para sa mga gan’ong sakit dati. Meron pa nga para sa mga batang ‘tulad mo. Asawa rin niya nagpagawa.

juanito Kaya pala ang laki-laki ng puntod niya, kasi siya ‘yung pinaka da best superhero sa buooong mundo! Mababagabag si ALICE. juanito Ate? Saglit. juanito Bakit po? Malungkot na ngingiti lamang si ALICE. alice

Wala.

juanito Ano po ‘yun? alice

Wala ‘yun.

juanito Talaga po? alice

Wala nga.

juanito Sige na po. Saglit. alice

Alam mo kasi…

Saglit. alice

Huwag na lang.

juanito Ano nga po ‘yun?

Saglit. alice

May iba pa kasing nagawa â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yung presidenteng â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yan.

Titingnan ni ALICE ang parihabang puntod. juanito Meron pa po? Waw daming taym! Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. alice

Masyadong maselan.

juanito Maselan? alice

Mahilig ka ba sa mga numero?

juanito Opo! Kailangang magaling po ako sa Math para masuklian ko ng tama mga bumibili saâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;min. alice

Three thousand two hundred seventy-five. Kaunti o marami?

juanito Depende. Kung mga de lata, ang dami po nun! Pero kung buhok lang sa ulo, kaunti lang. alice

Three thousand two hundred seventy-five na tao raw ang nawalan ng buhay noong panahon niya.

juanito Nawalan ng bahay? Saglit. alice Saglit. 50

Buhay, Juanito.

alice

Thirty-five thousand naman ang mga taong tinorture. Seventy thousand naman ang mga taong ikinulong.

juanito Bakit po? alice

Sa school, may kaklase ka bang ayaw na ayaw bitiwan ‘yung laruang hindi rin naman kanya?

Tatango si JUANITO. alice

Tapos kung susubukin mong hingin sa kanya, magagalit.

juanito Sabi ni Gani hihiramin lang daw niya ‘yung paboritong lapis ko, pero noong kukunin ko na ulit itinulak niya ako. Isusumbong ko na sana siya kay Ma’am kaya lang itinulak niya ‘ko ulit. alice

Ganun din ang ginawa niya sa mga taong nagalit at nawalan ng tiwala sa kanya. Pero hindi lapis ang nawala sa kanila, kundi buhay.

juanito Bakit naman po kasi sila nagalit sa kanya? alice

Tumigil na raw kasi siya sa pagiging superhero. Naaalala mo ‘yung mga ospital at gusali na sinabi ko sa iyong ipinatayo nila?

Tatango si JUANITO. alice

Masyado raw naging magastos ang pagpapagawa ng mga ‘yun. Tapos ‘yung perang ginamit? Sa’tin.

juanito Hala Ate Alice, wala po kaya akong pera.

alice

Paglaki mo, magbabayad ka ng buwis. Alam mo ba â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yun?

Iiling si JUANITO. alice

Lahat ng mga matatanda dapat magbigay ng pera sa mga superheroes para magawa nila ang trabaho nila nang maayos.

juanito May suweldo po pala ang pagiging superhero? Iiling si ALICE. alice

Hindi natin sila binabayaran. Bilang mga superhero, tungkulin nilang gamitin ang pera natin, para rin sa atin.

Malilito at kakamot sa ulo si JUANITO. alice

Trabaho nila ang magpagawa ng mga gusali at kalsada. Pero siya?

Titingnan ni ALICE ang puntod. alice

Hindi nila tinipid yung perang binigay ng tao. Naubos tuloy at kinailangang mangutang sa mga dayuhang kapitbahay natin.

Bubulong si JUANITO sa sarili. juanito May utang pa nga pala akong bente kay Gani. alice

Bente ang kay Gani, twenty billion dollars ang atin.

juanito Marami po ba â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yun?

alice

Habang buhay tayong may utang. Simula noong bata pa ang lolo mo hanggang sa mga magiging apo mo.

Saglit. Iiling si JUANITO. alice

Isa. Kaunti o marami?

juanito Kaunti. alice

Para sa pamilya ng mga taong ito, numero lang ang mga binigkas ko. Kahit gaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;no pa sila kalaki. Pero sa nag-iisang buhay ng taong mahal nila, marami na ang nawala.

Mahabang katahimikan. juanito Ayoko na lang po pala maging presidente. Saglit. juanito Sayang, ang ganda-ganda pa naman dito. alice

Hindi lang naman presidente ang mga nakalibing dito.

juanito Sino pa po? alice

Mga scientists, national artists, sundalo, digâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;

juanito Ayun! Magsusundalo nalang po ako, mas astig pa! Tatayo at tatakbo si JUANITO paikot ng entablado. Gagawing baril ang mga kamay niya. juanito Paw! Paw! Paw! Ratatatatatat! Tatalon at bigla siyang gugulong sa entablado. 53

juanito Parkour! Mapapangiti si ALICE. juanito Pag nagsundalo ako, top 1 ako sa langit. alice

Hindi rin.

juanito Po? Mahuhuli ni Alice ang sarili. alice

Sorry, wala.

juanito Ano po ‘yun? Iiling lamang si ALICE. juanito Sayang ate, akala ko pa naman po close na tayo. Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. juanito Sige na po. Tatahimik lamang si ALICE. juanito Ate Alice sige na— alice

Ba’t ba ang kulit mo, ang dami mong tanong.

Tataas ang boses ni ALICE. Magugulat si JUANITO at manlulumo. Mahabang katahimikan. Tutunog ang selpon ni ALICE. Tatalikod at sasagutin ito. Lalayo ng kaunti si JUANITO at susubuking pagpagan ang mga puntod.

alice

Yes, hello ma’am.

Saglit. alice

I haven’t started on the Lando Garcia article pero I’ll have it by the deadline ma’am.

Saglit. alice

Yes, itutuloy ko pa rin po ang pag-resign.

Saglit. alice

Opo, sigurado na po ako. Pasensya na po. Pero ma’am thank you for giving me an EJK victim’s story as my last, I think it’ll be an honorable end to my career.

Saglit. alice

Salamat po.

Ibababa ni ALICE ang selpon at mapapansin si JUANITO na nakaupo sa gilid at pinupunasan ang isang mata na naluluha. alice

Sorry Juanito, bakit kasi hindi ka pa umuuwi, magdidilim na.

Susubukang iabot ni JUANITO ang basket ng mga bulaklak kay ALICE. Kukunin ni ALICE ang wallet at bubuksan ito. Walang laman. Iiling si ALICE. Akmang aalis si JUANITO. Titingnan ni ALICE muli ang kanyang selpon. Mapapatingin siya sa puting krus sa tabi niya, at kay JUANITO. alice

Hindi siguro lahat ng sundalo nasa langit.

juanito Po? alice

Hindi lahat ng sundalo top 1 sa langit.

Tatakbo pabalik kay ALICE si JUANITO. Parang walang nangyari. juanito Imposible po ‘yun! Inaway nila mga umaway sa’tin, nakipagbarilan sila, [paw! paw! paw!] binigay nila ‘yung buhay nila, tapos hindi sila top 1? Saglit. juanito Bakit, may kilala po ba kayong ganun? Buntong-hininga, titigan niya si JUANITO. alice

Tatay ko.

juanito Waw! Sundalo po tatay mo? Astig! Saglit. juanito Pero, ba’t hindi po siya top 1? alice

Magaling na sundalo siya. Superhero ang turing sa kanya ng mga kasama niya. Pero sa bahay?

Saglit. alice

Inaapi niya ang mama ko. Palaging sinisigiwan at binubugbog. Dahil sa kanya lumala ang sakit niya sa puso.

Ngingisi si ALICE.

alice

Tapos huling hiling ng nanay kong bisitahin ko siya rito at patawarin?

juanito Sabi po ni papa sa’kin, laging magpatawad. alice

Pa’no ka magpapatawad kung wala namang humihingi ng tawad sa’yo?

Tatawa si ALICE. alice

Mag-move on na raw ako. At bilang retiring journalist, ialay ko raw sa kanya ang huli kong article. Ipagmalaki ko raw ang tapang at giting niya bilang sundalo at ama, pamamaalam ko na rin daw sa kanilang dalawa.

Saglit. alice

Anong masasabi ng mama mo roon?

Tatahimik si JUANITO. alice

Masama ang?

juanito Magsinungaling. Saglit. juanito E Ate Alice, ano po ‘yung retiring? Tatango si ALICE. alice

Pero, baka umalis na ako sa trabaho ko. Mas mahirap na kasing gawin ang ginagawa ko sa panahon ngayon.

juanito ‘Di ba nagsusulat lang naman po kayo? 57

Matatawa si ALICE. alice

Oo, pero hindi puwedeng kahit ano na lang ang isulat namin. Ang pinaka-importante sa lahat, kailangan totoo.

juanito ‘Di naman po ganun kahirap magsabi ng totoo e. Ngingiti si ALICE. Guguluhin niya ang buhok ni JUANITO at pipisilin ang mga pisngi niya. alice

Tama ka rin, pero ang mahirap kasi, iba-iba ‘yung totoo sa bawat tao.

juanito Hala! Paano po isusulat kung iba-iba ‘yung totoo? Kakamot lang sa ulo si JUANITO. Matatawa si ALICE. alice

‘Yun ang trabaho namin, ang ipagkaisa ang lahat sa katotohanan.

Ngingiti si JUANITO. juanito Superhero din naman po pala kayo e. Malaki ang ngiti ni ALICE. juanito Dito rin po ba kayo ililibing ‘pag mamatay na kayo? Matatawa si ALICE at iiling. juanito Kaya po ba ayaw niyo na sa trabaho niyo? Iiling muli si ALICE.

alice

Pino-post din kasi sa Facebook at Twitter ang mga sinusulat kong articles. Tapos kadalasan tungkol siya sa gobyerno natin. E karamihan sa mga nareresearch ko, hindi kaaya-aya. Kaya maraming nagagalit. Hindi raw ako nagsasabi ng totoo. Gusto ko lang daw siraan ‘yung pangulo. “Biased” ang tawag sa akin.

alice

Akala ko, ‘yun na ‘yung pinaka-masakit na puwede kong marinig bilang journalist. Pero iba rin pala kung may halong mura, at paminsan, death threats pa.

juanito ‘Di ba masama po ‘yun? alice

Pero hindi mo rin naman sila masisisi, talagang naniniwala sila sa sistema ng gobyerno natin e. At sa isang banda, hindi ‘yun masama.

juanito Sabi niyo po trabaho niyo ang “ipagkaisa ang lahat sa katotohanan.” Gawin niyo lang po ‘yun, sabi nga nila, “try and try until you succeed!” Ngingiti si ALICE. Saglit. alice

Ang ganda pakinggan ng trabaho ko ‘no?

Saglit. alice

‘Yun naman ang lagi kong sinusubukang gawin sa mga sinusulat ko.

Saglit. alice

Ewan. Basta Juanito, hindi ko na makita ‘yung saysay ng trabaho ko.

Saglit. alice

Tulungan na lang kita magbenta ng bulaklak.

Matatawa si ALICE. Saglit. juanito Sorry po. Saglit. alice

Bakit ka nag-sosorry?

Mahabang katahimikan. juanito Nagsulat din po ba kayo tungkol sa libing niya rito? Tatango si ALICE. juanito Bakit dito pa rin po siya inilibing? â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Yung tatay niyo po, superhero pa rin ba siya? alice

Wala namang may alam na ganun ang tatay ko sa bahay, wala ring maniniwala.

Saglit. Titingnan ni ALICE ang parihabang puntod. alice

Siya naman, maraming ayaw na ilibing siya rito. Pero marami ring superhero pa rin ang turing sa kanya.

juanito Kahit bad siya? Saglit. alice

Oo. Nasa batas kasi. Basta presidente dapat dito.

juanito Kahit bad siya? Mahabang katahimikan. Tatayo si JUANITO. Kukuha siya ng isang bulaklak mula sa basket at maghahanap ng isang espasyo na walang krus. Hahaplusin niya ang lupa at ilalapag ang bulaklak sa napiling puwesto. juanito Sayang, dito ko po kasi sana gustong ipalibing si Papa. alice

Sundalo rin ang papa mo?

Iiling si JUANITO. alice

Nako bata, hindi puwede ang mga ordinaryong tao rito.

Saglit. alice

Ano ba ang trabaho niya?

juanito Sa umaga, dyipni drayber. Gigising ng alas singko tapos alas otso na po siya makakauwi. alice

Ano ba siya sa gabi?

juanito ‘Yung “age is just a number”? Siya po nagsabing sabihin ko ‘yun. Sagot niya kasi ‘yun kay mama nang sinabi niyang masyado na raw siyang matanda para mamasada. Noong suot ko naman ‘yung pink shorts ni Maymay sabi niya, “’Nak, don’t worry, be happy ‘cos I labyu, just the way you are!” Ngingiti si ALICE.

juanito Hindi na nga po ako sigurado kung natutulog pa siya e. ‘Yun po siguro ang superpower niya, ang habang buhay na gising. Mapapangiti si JUANITO. alice

Puwede ko bang itanong kung anong nangyari sa kanya?

Tatango si JUANITO. juanito Pinapaliguan ko po ‘yung kapatid kong si Nic-nic. Sabi po niya, “Kuya! Bilisan mo! Gusto kong mapanuod si Ate Maine Mendoza!” Sabi ko, nandyan lang ‘yung TV sa labas. ‘Wag ka na lang mag-ingay para marinig natin siya. Saglit. juanito Pero may iba kaming narinig. [mahinang sasabihin] Vroom, vroom. Tapos... Saglit. Papadyak si JUANITO. juanito Ang ingay, may mga tumatakbo, ‘yung lamesa, ‘yung mga plato’t pinggan namin, nahulog. Si Mama sumisigaw o umiiyak, o pareho ata? Tapos biglang, bang bang bang bang, blagag. Lilingon-lingon si JUANITO na ‘tila hinahanap kung saan nanggagaling ang ingay. Saglit. juanito Hindi ko maalala kung kailan ko po binuhat si Nic-nic, pero biglang karga-karga ko na po siya. Mahabang katahimkan.

alice

Ilang taon ang kapatid mo?

Iaangat ni JUANITO ang kamay upang bilangin ngunit hindi man lamang ito aabot sa kabilang kamay. juanito Lima po. Ngingiti si JUANITO. juanito â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Yun po ang superpower niya, habang buhay siyang bata. Saglit. alice

Ano ba ang ginawa ng papa mo?

Iiikbi ni JUANITO ang kanyang mga balikat. juanito Basta ang sabi nila, huwag siyang tularan. Bakit kinailangan pa pong mangyari â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yun? Mahabang katahimikan. alice

Mauunawaan mo rin siguro balang araw.

juanito Siguro? Saglit. alice

Bata ka pa kasi.

juanito Si Nic-nic rin naman po a. Mahabang katahimikan. Magbubuntong-hininga si ALICE. alice

Peace and order. 63

juanito Po? alice

Alam mo ba kung para saan ‘yung listahan?

Iiling si JUANITO. alice

‘Di ba hindi ka ipinagbabasketbol ng nanay mo sa gabi dahil sa mga… demonyo?

Tatango si JUANITO. alice

‘Yung listahan, pinagsama-samang mga pangalan ng mga… demonyo. Para mas madali silang kunin ng mga pulis, ng mga may superpowers at [saglit] tulungang magbagong buhay at maging anghel.

juanito Anghel po si Papa. Saglit. alice

Baka kasi dating-dating-dati pa, may nagawang hindi maganda ang Papa mo. Kaya siya nasama sa listahan.

juanito Kapag hindi ko po ba ibinalik ang bente ni Gani, kasama na po ba ako sa listahan? Iiling si ALICE. juanito Dahil ba naninigaw si Nic-nic kapag galit, kaya siya nasa listahan? Takot at sakit ang maririnig sa boses ni JUANITO. Sasaluhin ito ni ALICE. alice 64

Hindi, hindi.

Paiyak na si JUANITO. juanito Kayo po, paano ‘yun? Ayaw niyo pong sundin ang mama mo, baka ilagay din po pangalan mo… Kanino po ba galing ang listahan? Saglit. alice

Ideya ng presidente.

Mahabang katahimikan. juanito Kapag napagod na ‘yung presidenteng ‘yun, dito rin po ba siya matutulog? Kahit... Saglit. juanito Alam niyo po, kahit presentation lang po sa classroom, hindi po mamamasada si Papa buong araw para lang mapanood kami. Saglit. juanito Si Nic-nic kinakantahan po si Papa kapag umiiyak siya. Saglit. juanito Dahil wala akong bente, turon nalang ni Mama ang ibibigay ko kay Gani. Saglit. juanito Kayo po, ayaw niyo pong sundin ang mga magulang mo pero andito pa rin po kayo.

Saglit. juanito Ano po ba talaga tayo? Masama o mabait? Mapapatingin katahimikan. alice

ALICE

parihabang

puntod.

Mahabang

Alam mo, buti ka pa, bata ka pa.

juanito Po? alice

Huwag kang mag-alala, pagtanda mo, baka maintindihan mo.

juanito Baka lang? Ngingiti lamang si ALICE. Katahimikan. Kukuha si JUANITO ng isa pang bulaklak sa basket at iikot muli sa sementeryo upang maghanap ng isa pang espasyo. Hahaplusin niya ang lupa at ilalapag ang bulaklak. juanito Sana, hindi po mangyari sa ibang pamilya ang nangyari sa amin. alice

Bakit gusto mong hanapan ng espasyo ang tatay at kapatid mo?

juanito Bilang panganay gusto ko pong hanapan sila ng magandang matutulugan. Ngingiti si ALICE. Saglit. alice

Kung iisipin mo, tayo lang naman talaga ang nakikinabang sa mga â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;to.

Ituturo ni ALICE ang sementeryo. alice

Wala sa kakayanan natin ang basta tanggapin na lang ang pagkawala. Gusto nating intindihin kung bakit, alalahinin ang sino. Kaya ang pagpunta natin dito, hindi pagbisita lang. Isa itong paraan ng pagbabalik.

Titingnan ni ALICE ang puntod sa tabi niya. alice

O kung ayaw man natin, hindi rin tayo papayagan ng panahon na makalimot.

Mahabang katahimikan. Kakamot sa ulo si JUANITO. juanito Ate Alice, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di ko gets. Matatawa si ALICE. alice

Saan niyo balak ilibing ang kapatid mo? Baka puwede ko rin siyang bisitahin?

Saglit. alice

O â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di kaya sulatan ng news article.

Saglit. alice

Puwede rin ako sigurong maghanap pa ng ibang mga bata na makakausap, o kahit matanda, para mas marami akong makuwento. May iba ka pa bang mga kilala?

Ilalabas ni ALICE ang maliit na notebook at ballpen. alice

Damihan natin ang mababalikan ng pamilya mo, at ng mga katulad niyo. 67

juanito Akala ko po, last article na â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;yung isusulat niyo? alice

Next time na lang ako susulat ng last. Pakiramdam ko kasi ngayon madami pa akong ikukuwento.

juanito Kahit inaaway kayo? alice

Kahit inaaway ako.

juanito Salamat po. Biglaang yayakapin ni JUANITO si ALICE. juanito Pwede na po akong umalis. alice

Oo nga, nag-aalala na siguro pamilya mo.

Nakatanaw si JUANITO sa entablado. juanito Hindi po pala magandang tumira rito. Ngingiti si ALICE. alice

Siyempre naman. Doon kasi kayo sa tunay na bahay, Juanito.

Titingnan ni JUANITO ang kadiliman ng entablado. juanito Akala ko po hindi na ako makakaalis dito. Buntong-hininga. Magtataka ngunit ngingiti lamang si ALICE. alice

OA mo talaga, hindi naman ganun kadilim a. At magbubukas na rin sila ng mga ilaw maya-maya.

Saglit. alice

Takot ka ba?

Matatawa si ALICE at kukunin ang kandilang para dapat sa ama, sisindihan at ibibigay kay Juanito. alice

O, para may ilaw ka man lang palabas.

juanito Salamat Ate Alice. Ingat po kayo ha? Tatawag si ALICE sa kanyang selpon. Aayusin ni JUANITO ang kanyang dala-dalang mga bulaklak habang hawak-hawak ang nakatirik na kandila. Kukuha siya ng isang rosas at ilalagay sa puntod ng ama ni ALICE. alice

Hi ma’am, I’d like to take back my intention to resign if it’s alright with you.

Saglit. alice

Thank you so much ma’am. I have so many stories I want people to read pa po pala. After the Lando Garcia article, I’d like to start on another child’s story as soon as possible. Pero kuwento naman po ng tatay at kapatid niya.

alice

A, I met him today. Juanito po. Juanito…

Maglalakad si JUANITO papalayo, itutuloy niya ang paghuni mula kanina ng “Lupang Hinirang”. Magsisimula at magtatapos sa linyang “ang mamatay ng dahil sa’yo.” Susundan ni ALICE ng tingin si JUANITO. alice

Shocks ma’am sorry, I wasn’t able get his last name.

Saglit. alice

Po? Lando â&#x20AC;&#x153;Juanitoâ&#x20AC;? Garcia?

Saglit. alice

Y-yes po, what a coincidence.

Saglit. juanito Bye Ate Alice! Hihipan ni JUANITO ang kandila, kasabay ng pagpatay ng apoy, magdidilim ang entablado. -Telon-

sola fide ramos

bulong ng lumuluhang salakot sa paglalahad ng araw ng kanyang sarili sa silangan kanyang pagkakurba'y tulad na ng aking likuran sa harap ng mga palay, sa harap ng malawak na taniman buong araw: araro, tanim, ani pagal, pagod, hingal ga-barya lamang ang dadamputin ng aking mga palad sa gabi kahit gabundok ang salaping kanilang inaani sa lupaing maaaring kanila ngang pagmamay-ari ngunit kami naman ang siyang dito’y nagdidilig ng pawis ng luha minsan nga’y dugo rin “tinapay lang ho” “pasensya na ho, kulang ito” ang pinagpawisan ko pala sa umaga lilimusin ko rin sa gabi

richell isaiah s. flores

barter trade noong una’y porselana’t seda kapalit ng kamote ngayo’y kapayapaan kapalit ng isla’t lupain

richell isaiah s. flores

ukol sa mga pangyayari nitong hunyo hindi na bago sa iyo ang bagyo pati ang pagragasa ng bahang pumapasok sa inyong bahay. hindi na bago sa iyo ang lumakad sa silong ng payong na hinahangin, para bang mawawasak at bibigay sa loob ng tatlong ihip. hindi na bago sa iyo ang mabasĂ˘ at kung kailanganin, lumangoy tungo sa pinakamalapit na lupa. sanay ka nang masiraan ng sasakyan. sanay ka na sa laro ng langit at lupa, ang pag-angkat ng init ng araw sa tubig ng Pasipiko palapit sa iyong bayang hindi na bago sa bagyo hindi na bago sa iyo ang dagat sa bawat bagyo, nasa isip ang amang pumalaot, kahit sinabihang mataas ang alon. kunwariâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y kasundo mo ang dagat, at kung maaraw, nakabilad ang daing kasama ang maalat na simoy ng hangin. pinahango ang sinampay dahil sa patak ng ulan. narito na naman. pero hindi na bago sa iyo ang bagyo. hindi na bago sa iyo ang dagat. nakabalik na ang amang nasa bangka, wala na namang hĂşli. pero hindi na bago sa iyo ang bagyo. hindi na bago sa iyo ang dagat. may bago siyang kwento

sambit niya ay isang engkwentro hindi kakayanin ng sasakyang wasak at tumitirik ang isakay ang damdaming nais kumaripas at magalit. hindi masasalo ng payong ang ihip ng mga tanong nasaan ang tulong hindi na bago sa inyo ang bagyo hindi na bago sa inyo ang dagat ngunit itoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;y bagong bagyong â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;di mula dagat Pasipiko

richell isaiah s. flores

xiv (2) nasaan na ang sugo ng Panginoon na itataas ang kamay sa gitna ng lupa siyang pagpapalaing maghati ng isla ngunit bakit sa halip ng pagpapala nanumbalik ang isang salot sa tubig, pula ang bumabalot. ang paraon ay tumango sa mga bagong Ehipsiyo handa nang bitiwan ang Lupang Pangako hindi Israelita ang bagong sugo sapagkat siya'y paraong tinuturing na panginoon sambahin ka ng mga inutil – ‘di nilang umaani ng mga butil – ‘di nilang nananaghoy sa tahanan – ‘di nilang nawasak ang kalooban – ‘di nilang napagbintangan paraong makapangyarihan kaawaan mo ang aming bayan Israelitang mamamayan kaawaan mo ang aming bayan

Panginoong lubos ang kakayahan kaawaan mo ang aming bayan Moises, Moises patas ba ang hati ng namumulang dagat

aisha rallonza

The Drive from Cabanatuan after Anne Carson’s “Merry Christmas from Hegel” it was the year Lolo died. He was from the north up in Nueva Ecija with his ten siblings now all dropping one by one (yellowing pictures and market flies and peeling paint on street signs). We drove there for three hours to fetch an old ironing board he had built himself and then we drove three hours back. I was sitting in the backseat next to clumsy mangled wood trying to fight off car sickness to read something about Hegel. You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t know much about Hegel and what I do know, I don’t agree with, so I’ll have to paraphrase, bias and all. It was something about speculation. About how statements weren’t facts so much as a space to float and meet and touch each other. I wasn’t a fan of this kind of uncertainty. One hundred kilometers per hour and the fields blur into an endless expanse of things passed by (lost names and short lives and wondering what it used to mean). A slow-fast procession of in-between cities lit by the sky beginning to burn away, the softest kinds of orange, gentle in its accusations of how you take, how you leave, how you never come back. The world equated itself in layers. I stared out the window and the straight lines carved into earth and wonder that this must mean something, it had to, I could hear it. Air conditioner rattles, engine snarls, the radio that kept lapsing into static. It was ravishing discomfort but in the archaic sense; to be seized by force. Discomfort wrought not by the highway stabbing through me, but simply passing through. Definition is getting from one place to another, from what it is to what it means (and it means “gone now” and “swat away the carcasses” and “how will we get home now?”). Perhaps if we took a winding road, I’d be more open to the dance of maybes and whatifs, but that day, we took the highway. There was only one way to go from there, to Manila from Cabanatuan. 77

joaquin j. santana

The Last Poem I’ll Write for the MWSS Balara Watershed “Sometime in 1965, petitioner MWSS leased around one hundred twenty eight (128) hectares of its land to respondent CHGCCI for twenty five (25) years and renewable for another fifteen (15) years… allowing the latter to exercise a right of first refusal should the subject property be made open for sale.” – MWSS vs CA, G.R. No. 126000, October 7, 1998 If I’d been twenty a century or so ago, I wonder if you could have loved me. Lola says you did in theory, but what’s A thought to every white wine picnic You never got to take me on? What’s A home to every picket fence promised To your darlings, and every child left to Peel your name from the paint? But That’s how it is with you: walk me beyond The setting streetlamps, show me what our Subdivision looks like from the top of The hill just past the guardhouse, and Now, I can tell everyone that I’d lost you Thrice before I even knew how to lose

Anybody. We dug your buko tree out of Our backyard and planted avocado seeds In the hole it left behind, but I’m sure my Parents will tell me to thank you for the Fruit before eating any of it. Anyway, I Hope you’re proud of the space I leave Between visits to the park and the graveyard – I leave them there for you and nobody else.

likka laude

Arrivals an occupation of the space doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t allow for furniture set-up. your boxes stay with you, they canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be unpacked. in the event of an open box - and this should never happen - a reminder will shout that the man in the suit is armed. at night, the lake by the space sees everything: boxes growing in width, inventory static, space starving. lifespans are dictated by the shape of sardine cans and fish pellets. this is not your safety. the boxes are important. they need tape.

marty r. nevada

Instructions on Drowning Consider the difficulty of the sea, how fine sand can only do so much for the feet unless the feet are soaked, how the salt punctures the eyes as the sunlight does, how the high tides are lukewarm yet it is cooler to submerge, how submerging means kicking the anemone and opening the mouth to say sorry, how the apology demands breathing which is involuntary, how the lungs cling to water instead, how the gaze counts the bubbles fleeing upwards, surely disordered marbles, how the body only knows what blue is, how I was not meant to be coastalâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;when I ask the earth to take me in, gag and hush my squall, I cannot imagine what it means to drift afloat.

karl lorenzo s. estuart

Vanishing “I wanted to disappear.” —Shin Hae-Mi, Burning when you have hunger, you cease to have a name. We are hungry for only one thing, yet to already describe it this way is a kind of violence to it. To say it is one would be to refer – and what ambition, reference – to a differentiated object, brought to the lab light, dusted off like an unearthed rib, denominated as one among others like it, arranged on a neat line that is a horizon. No, it is not one thing, but neither can anything be said to be one thing. A thing leads to another, like a village at the foot of a mountain is already a mountain, or the mountain already a village. In each thing – what else would you have me do – is an opening, a void which is wanting. Hunger is to fill this, with a thing which can only satisfy us back to another hunger. Hunger is an openness, subjection to a play of openings and half-lights. There is no breaking or entering, only suppressions, provisional satisfactions. In this way, I am able to describe an island as hungry. The island is an opening of the sea, a tracing of where the sea no longer meets itself. The island is a hungry thing, but it is also a hunger. * Walking through the island was like tracing a memory. Time folded in that space, things half-formed, people half-remembered, the land giving way to the sea when we fail to remember the finer details. I saw three people standing on the water. Two made a couple, in an embrace, and the other, this dreamer or dreamed-of, was off at a distance, raising a camera to them. They were all at least half a hundred meters away from the shore, out on the sea, submerged up to their ankles. Nothing in my language can possibly refer to what they 82

could have been doing, out there. So I can speak, instead, of the large shanty that stood on wooden pillars wasting away to the pull of the waves. It is a house of forgotten things, of sea salt, of tropical gusts. On a balcony, bougainvillea plants are lined up on the sill, tattered sundresses serving as curtains to windows ajar at the frames. At night, the house is adrift at sea. It stands up on the ocean. Walking out the balcony to watch the moonlight glide off the surface of the water – So we stood amongst the starfish strewn across the shore, slowly giving way to the sea. These starfish were no larger than a child’s hands stretched open, their color matching the loose sand. The only animal life on the island was the kind that spoke in ways so utterly remote from our own, as though projections of the island’s own life, tethered to the sea and its rhythmic proclivities. To stand on the island was almost a violation. We construed paths cutting across the bush of trees, wide enough for our group to drift through. But there can be no human life on this island, no thinkable imprint or trace. The island effaces itself in alternative turns with the ocean. The path was a meaning that belonged only to us; this clearing, as the starfish adrift, are organs of unspoken functions. They are sites of unconscious, nonhuman traversals that belong to none but the island itself. So who were those three? They are, to this day, planted on that sea, stuck as though in a photograph. * They called it the vanishing island. Or should I say the Vanishing Island? The Vanishing Island reveals itself – is revealed by the sea – only when the tide is low. When it is high, it effaces itself, conceals – is effaced by the sea. The island and the sea are complicit, though to claim effacement is a kind of arrogance – effacement from whose language, whose touch? We find the island, after all, through a telescope, a vision, contact with the eye that is a human eye. It is land divided by the sea, its surrounding organs submerged so we cannot see them from where 83

we drift. This division is a line cutting across the land and the water; it is a conjunction of infinite, individual points. This is all simply to say that this division is composed of nothing: there is no point we perceive in itself without implicating a field composed of infinite others. To say one is a point is to say one is nothing at all: in becoming only itself, it denies all possibility of contact, from the inside and the outside, two realms of already indeterminate enfoldings. And this line, belonging both to the land and the sea, belonging neither to the land and the sea, it wraps itself around the earth’s body, its flesh of stones, of irruptions, its pressure points. And it shifts: no island now was an island prior, to a time before the first castaways that could give things names. The island, in other words, gives itself to no one, except perhaps itself, only itself. Karen Barad speaks of self-touching as “an encounter with the infinite alterity of the self ”: What is this skin, from beneath which my fingernails draw blood? A thing has always already set about all the possibilities of its becoming, a thing undoes itself, encounters the stranger, the animal, the human, the inhuman, the island, the sea, that has always already been itself – the vanishing island is no island, is an island. It is the sea that brushes against itself, pushing and pulling against the seams. The vanishing island is the ocean returning to itself, the ocean pulling back from itself, the ocean differing from the ocean, the ocean’s difference with itself, the ocean that is no longer ocean and remains therefore indecisively ocean: that which, as I name this that pools at my feet, has already pulled away, slips through the gaps and at the same time through me, in a voice that resounds in me but which I cannot claim. I call you by a name; from the beginning I was already mistaken. * The island as hunger, the island as desire, though not sea for want of itself. The object of desire must remain submerged, else it annihilates itself, pierces through itself. This is the great hunger; feast. 84

carissa natalia baconguis

Anagolay will birth Maria* Be still, my beating Pulse, my quivering organ, for Stories are named after women Like storms. Limb by limb we weave Together loss into a body yet I ask you Not to wither here: before you eat me from the inside, See this body as mountain: take the trees and animals And suck them dry. What is left of this flesh but the stir Of what is yet to come. I hold you, here, be still: you do not Want. You only promise me a new chance of death As I offer you life granted only by brutal tenderness You were not asked to be given. If you ask for blessing, take the mountain and fall in love: Return myth into the ground and sow limb into earth. This is how we are born into soil, heaven breaking Itself to become body; Hell rising into the history of skin. But before this, a name: when I see your trembling face and finally You are held I will only need to look. Say you look like me, Say Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sorry. What is a body if not the will to become. After you have left me only then * Originally published in Marias at Sampaguitas in 2019

Will this crying stop. Then, you, bloody baby Girl will do it all over again. You will inherit this myth. You will inherit What I cannot give.

regine cabato

Daylight Saving Time Manila to Los Angeles feels lightyears apart. I never understood how daylight saving worked, except: the next minute pulls you away by an hour. The clocks make room for more light. In our country, we woke when the sun rose; when it went home, so did we. You and I operate on different clocks, always two minutes ahead or behind, hands never at the same place at the same time. For a year we saw the same coconut trees, the same fast food chains, but turned different corners. We sat on each otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s horizons. When you returned for good, only then did I notice the Pacific Ocean between us. After you arrived, we woke on a bus as the sun climbed over the expressway. We said nothing. Under the traveling blanket, you took my hand. Must love always be like this: secret, undercurrent, a thing of the dark?

In the evening, a train is coming to take me. When it departs, I will be gone. Do you have anything to say? We felt so close when we were apart. In his Maryland office, a man standardizes time. In California you followed suit, taking down the wall clocks in your father’s flat, turning their knobs. Are you saving light, or saving time? Do I waste mine: Between March and November, there were all these empty hours between us. On your birthday, my only present was all my hours. We stayed in the dark after daylight. We mistook love for fear. I take it back now. I would uproot my comfort. Please allow me to waste my time on you. Your dad married to get a green card, but I’ll marry you for love. We’ll dance around the bar after it closes, speed down the L.A. freeway. Say anything. In the distance is the sound of a sunset. The low rumble of an arriving train. The steady ticking of this atomic heart.

kenneth isaiah ibasco abante

nails of gold these roots i skin with a silver spoon are plucked from the earth by the hands of a farmer. sunburnt knuckles, calloused palms, hard as stones, jewels of labor. on the heels of his rheumatic feet form hills of dust, the only land he owns. my fingers rub against bare turmeric flesh. steeped in its blood, my nails are painted gold. joined at the wrists, my hands are the crown of a king. of midas, of saul, of philip, of ferdinand? i boil these naked roots. i drink this blood to ease this biting gout. i have enough crystals in my gall. on this summerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s day, in this nationâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s capital of Capital, why do i have time to make a crown with my hands? June 2019 New York, USA

mark anthony cayanan

He was most surprisingly conscious of an odd expansion within himself, a kind of roving unrest, a youthfully ardent desire for faraway places, a feeling so intense, so new or at least unaccustomed and forgotten for so long, that he stopped short as if rooted to the spot1 2 As final in form as a seizure, this longing he wants to sacrifice a name to: in this humid heat it deflates like a body after orgasm; at his age it’s a front-end loader backing into the street, everyone walking around it in hurried steps: its goal is omnipresence, its source, whose inattentive erection is a summary of his life, summons a look that has the eloquence of a dormant volcano: there’s rainwater in that look, like a pig it roots into earth for fungi. He once overheard his mother say that his father smelled of cigarettes and embarrassment: he gets from his father the kind of look that’s really an appeal for forgiveness, says Sorry: the dream’s only expectedly erotic: a post-winter vineyard under a sky with a blue that burns and clouds that curl like sighs. He wants his longing inhaled and inside the mouth, wants it with notes of apple blossom and cherry, to demonstrate he pops his lips the way a drag queen would: he loves his ephemera the way a house cat sharpens her claws on the couch, meaning 1 Stanley Appelbaum translation of Death in Venice by Thomas Mann (Dover, 1995) 2 Previously published in NightBlock

constantly he’s been carrying the look within him: when he fishes it from his left lung and opens it, out unrolls an ocean, in it are trenches that swallow saltwater, ugly fish call it their home, and mermen with dull tails braid each other’s hair in the steady dark: their eyes when they blink light up the opal walls like a disco. He rides a vaporetto across his ocean until he reaches the canals, bisected every which way by alleys that reek of spunk and unaffordable healthcare: he writes poems because everyone who’s been there has: its church doors aren’t gold and its pigeon population ignores the tourists posing at the square: when he finishes a draft he picks up his life off the shitstained masegno pavement and wears it like a backpack stuffed with newspaper. Turning to those who chitchat in shrill tones that locals dismiss as ambient noise, won’t you tell them why this city is known for the desire it creates and keeps thwarting: in this bawdy city, affection is trite as colored glass, cheap as red wine: it claims his best elegies and kisses.

mark anthony cayanan

He had not expected this precious appearance, it came unhoped-for; he had not had time to settle his features into an expression of dignified calm* So you row the kayak with an efficiency that belies the loss of youth. Awe distracts you from your burning arms, your tinny voice registering the green water as if it weren’t obvious, the mossed-over cave mouth as it swallows morning light. So you see less and less until there’s only the sound of water trickling down into more water, a local guide’s rote instructions, your shallow river of questions. A god must exist, who else architects this intricate dark, who else can erase you almost absolutely. You move from one version of terror to another, Will you come back from it. Of course you do. A batch of tourists has already paddled out unscathed, some a bit flustered, the return just another anecdote of travel. And the you who’s seen you through is the you who, years later, out on the front porch where he spends time smoking with you and flicking ash in a pickle jar, him touching his forehead to yours and telling you what you are and he’s so beautiful to the point of remorse, stands right beside yourself and whispers the next few parts of the plot, to which you say yes, there’s no need for hope, you would wish him dead, here comes the only denouement.

* Stanley Appelbaum translation of Death in Venice by Thomas Mann (Dover, 1995)

madeleine sy

Monuments Demarcation marks tragedy and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m made to believe this is an offering of peace and remembrance. This man-made structure is little more than the men who made it, much less the men who died for it. A study of crumbling ruins and weathered surfaces makes up my vocabulary, as transient as puffs of cold air from murmurs of sympathy. Empty condolences to be had when reason is hinged on vacuous reminiscence. Permanence becomes fleeting, as if time removed from itself. I wonder, how is it like to study fossils encased in amber, a heart thrust into anachronism, its sense of space diluted. There is nothing to be done when I watch the self capture this image and shove it into the banks of my memory, perfectly consigned to oblivion, the bodyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s feverish attempt of securing the intangible, the individual erecting an icon of masonry and memorial. A testament to the human spirit is secondary when it is housed in nothing but a mausoleum of stone. Timelessness is unsettling when all I hear is pity. Reflexivity is stereotypical in the face of scrutiny. What follows is decay.

kevin castro

Buhangin we are the sand on which man with his ever arrogant gait treads. we are his tools, his land, his obstruction, his childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s playthings, his building blocks bounded only by the limit of his imagination. to him, we are docile, but we are in conflict, refusing to give way, robbing each other of the space for breath, for drink. we outnumber man as stars do, yet our friction renders us subservient to his hands. we could be so much more. if it were not for this friction, this damned friction, we could bury oceans and change the course of rivers. it is my hope that a great raptor shall beat her wings, uniting us in her wind to rend flesh from bone, that manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s blood shall be our water, a medium to swallow him whole, and we shall by dyed red like our brothers on a former earth who killed the god of war.

The day’s news heading reads, Abu Sayyaff bandits release 9 Badjao captives in Baguio. A cruel game of catch and release, whose playground spans The entirety of the archipelago. A game that strands The sea nomad in the urban jungle, cargoed up Into a city carved into a mountain. Boatless, at the turbulent turn of the tides.

Badjao. The Baguio rain is relentless, colorful umbrellas raised Amid heavy downpour and fog, the torrent testing The sea nomads’ tattered hand me downs and mismatched sandals. There are rains that drown, More than any dive for pearls in the depths of the sea.

They think themselves wise, Walking down Session Road. No words to spare for the shadowy fixtures, Of sun bleached hair, and leathery faces; Ones they call Sama pal’au, lumaan, mabaho,

Passersby

danielle cabahug

Most of them take the easy way out, reminded by authorities that Charity and alms-giving breed the indolent sea gypsy. Today do-gooders, they’ll drop a coin in the beggar’s cup, Perhaps wish them good luck. And it seems to make a difference.

There is a displacement no diagram of assimilation and separation Can illustrate. A distance from a land once called home, no map lines Can trace to a completion. The Badjao’s song rings out, a broken cry In an unfamiliar dialect, lost in translation, Begging, in the bustle of the street.

alec bailon

Until the City behind the window of this FX, this bus, this jeepney, I begin daydreaming. The billboards, electric lines, and streetlights zoom in and out of sight, out of time; memories, personal geographies, maps drawn on my palms as we held hands in packed train cars, broken sidewalks, and tight tricycle rides. There are always stories about this place – about streets in New Manila, inside neon lit Cubao bars, underneath lots in remote pockets of Fairview. According to the official narrative, the man dreamed of a place where the common tao can grow “roots” and “wings.” Somewhere along the line these stories became true. He took different barrios from Caloocan, Pasig, San Juan, Marikina, and stitched them together. Along the road between dream and reality are specters:

In mornings on the way to school, I used to love seeing the sky open up at the Donya Carmen turn. Here was where Fairview ended: Commonwealth breathes open from tight road to highway. The buildings have changed and the roads have been widened, but the view has remained the same since I began commuting here in grade school. Now, the trees have been cut down to make way for a new train; we will lose the view upon its completion. The corner where she would drop me off used to be a body of water before it was road; there are now gaping trenches where flyovers used to be, the mountains from Montalban can be seen as we enter Fairview. And I asked her about home. She told me of the sprawling plains of Nueva Vizcaya, the hidden waterfalls, a cave her father named after her, the houses on mountains where they would bring books to kids. A river thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s important to her. She told me about the time her ex took them there after a fight and they made love inside his car.

She apologized.

I told her itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s alright.

There is a city in me

and it wants to keep going.

The city was created, among many other reasons, to ease population in Manila during the Commonwealth period. During that time, the urban middle and upper class wanted to escape Manila without severing their ties to the capital city. Thus, the emergence of suburbia from the surrounding municipalities like Pasay, Makati, Mandaluyong, San Juan del Monte, etc. Many wanted to remap Manila to include these municipalities. But Manuel Quezon had another idea. He wanted to create his own new city. A capital city, that would push the country into modernity, taking cues from American cities and architecture – his models of progress. He brought government buildings here, and even moved the main campus of the University of the Philippines to the Diliman estate. He envisioned a haven for the Manila working class. We always refer to QC by its parts: Cubao, New Manila, Commonwealth, Fairview, Sta. Mesa, Novaliches, Tomas Morato, Maginhawa, Kamuning, Teacher’s Village. Awkwardly together in places. The poet Vincenz Serrano once said that to walk through a city is to cut into parts. We take a part of the city, perhaps a street like Hidalgo, or a place like San Sebastian, or Luneta, and still have Manila. Quezon created a city of homes, from these homes people went to work – consider how the long road that connects Manila to QC is called Quezon Avenue, which intersects EDSA and extends to Commonwealth Avenue from Elliptical Road (also called Quezon Memorial Circle, where President Quezon’s Washington-esque monument stands).

I never learned to drive because we haven’t owned a car since 2011. She began driving regularly when we started seeing each other, before this she would also just commute, sometimes we would even run into each other on the jeepney from Tandang Sora. When she began driving to school I would hitch every day. When we would go out she would take the car. So, I often became navigator because she didn’t know her way around. She was from the province and I never knew any place other than here. It was difficult not to compare. She’s seen different cities, I’ve never even been out of the country. She lives in a gated village, I can’t even bring her home because our house is too weathered. To me, it’s always been about being interesting enough. She used to say that this is what she had come to love: the city and the feeling of approaching and departing from it. She was always seeing things for the nth time, the same stopovers along NLEX, fields in Tarlac. I began to wonder what it felt to be perpetually coming back and forth from city to home, home to city. But she told me this isn’t so. She said she was coming from home to home. Perhaps I understand what this means. Quezon City is predominantly residential, parts of it were designed to feel like home. President Quezon began it with housing projects for the masses, which feels ironic now as most of the city is filled with gated subdivisions – many filled with high profile elite personalities. This distance is so clear to me now as well: on the nights we would come home, she would drive us to her place, and in the evening, I would walk out the quiet village streets alone to commute back to Fairview. It’s a six hour drive to Bayombong, eight if you take the bus. She stops by restaurants and roads I’ve never seen before. She tells me about them. Always sends photographs. There’s a shot of the sky with nameless trees. That’s how I saw her: the perpetual landscape of traveling from home to home. It wasn’t untrue then. Somewhere along the road it must have turned untrue. The sunlight filters through her eyes, rivers I’ve never felt before. 100

Quezon City became a commuting city. The residents needed a way to get to work. The Americans brought automobiles during the same time the city emerged, dominating the urban space. And eventually along with it, of course, traffic. We became people that understood places by the neon placard routes of the jeepneys, buses, and FX. We understand it by the color of the tricycles we have to take, and which ones cannot cross another’s border: like how maroon stands for Philcoa and orange for Sikatuna, but asking either to cross Kalayaan Avenue will cost you double or even triple versus crossing the street yourself and taking a white one for Barangay Pinyahan. I take this to mean that Quezon City is a city in perpetual transit. Michel de Certeau talks about the urban mobile experience, simultaneously about walking in the city and traveling in a train. To walk through the city is to participate in its tangible chaos; you are in many ways a participant in this controlled environment, text, footsteps on a map, a rational digit in the city’s limits. But, doubly, this capacity allows you to rebel against that rationality: take detours, find shortcuts, trail unmarked territory, walk backwards. Commuting is different: destination is fixed, you are to be transported from point A to point B. To commute is to cut through the city. De Certeau calls this travelling incarceration. The body in the vehicle is as immobile as the scenery that blurs by. The commuting vehicle untethers us from the city. Behind the windowpane, he says, we become spectators. A distance is created in between. We become apparitions, petals on a wet black bough. We see only traces of places, signaled real only by the conductor announcing arrival – Tandang Sora, Litex, Batasan, Cubao, Kalayaan, Panay, National, etc. This is where we begin to imagine. De Certeau says, “But paradoxically it is the silence of these things put at a distance, behind the windowpane, which, from a great distance, makes our memories speak or draws out of the shadow the dreams of our secrets.” The distance the window creates between us and the city puts us closer to our thoughts. The image of the train and the windowpane is tied to ideas of nostalgia and dreaming. 101

We watch the rain dance for us against the window. We imagine our lives in montage. The vehicle untethers us from the city but we begin to tether our memories to the cityscape, we assign new signs to fixed things, we create scenes in our head. We turn our music up to create perhaps something a little more cinematic than this sweaty, tired, and overcapacity bus. Whatever they may say, we are city constantly dreaming, constantly longing. We all just want to get home.

102

“Dear City, explain your irreverence: in you, rain is a visitor with nowhere to go. Where is the ground that knows only the love of water? Where are the passageways of your heart? Pity the water that stays and rises on the streets, pity the water that floods into houses, so dark and filthy and heavy with rats and dead leaves and plastic. How ashamed water is to be what you have made it.” – Conchitina Cruz, “Dear City,” from Dark Hours (2005) Nothing falls softly here. No five centimeter-per-second leaves, no snowfall: only rain. This is the only kind of water I don’t enjoy, rain in the city. Murky puddles form in cracks of broken road. You begin to smell the pavement. Rain and sweat mix on skin as people sit against each other in commute. I prepare mismatched containers to catch leaks from our roof. We have flood in the streets but no water in our homes. We come home filthy from rain, and leave for work unbathed. The word shortage here seems inaccurate. There is no shortage of water, but a scarcity. This is an economic term. Which means it is an issue of distribution, it is an issue of supply and demand, of control perhaps – we have water but dams control our access to it. There are more bodies here than the rain knows what to do with. According to the historian Michael Pante, the creation of Metro Manila as a political unit was tied to the metropolis’ history of floods. As early as the American occupation, politicians and the government have been looking for ways to control floods and mitigate their damage: creating technologically advanced sewage and drainage systems, commissions focused on flood control, relocation attempts for informal settlers on waterways, etc. Their solution was to build bigger things, more things, and remove the unwanted things. But as history shows us, we cannot control water so easily. And until now we are probably asking for the wrong things. Flooding is still a problem, and now we are lacking water. There is talk of a new dam being built 103

to supply water to the city, but this will potentially destroy the ecosystem in that area and potentially displace the people who rightfully live there. And Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not the only one here that longs for water. The lines are long in Cubao bus stops. Bodies getting ready to take that long trip and find the ocean, wherever it is. Because maybe we are longing for this: slowness. An ocean view, soft sun on our skin, steady waves â&#x20AC;&#x201C; water that we can worship. Water we can desire. I am longing for a bus ride that feels an approach rather than an escape. Rather than feeling like stillwater in a river of cars. But, in city rain, we can hear it. We see this in movie scenes, the lover and beloved stand uncaring in pouring rain, body in protest to fate, to ask for forgiveness, for another chance perhaps, as if to say, come letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s find a way to turn this flood into future.

104

And our parting happened in her car. I stepped out of there and never came back. Now, I find myself walking this city again. I realize now that this is something we never did. Lines are drawn on my palms, my heart, I hold hands along streets, stories of this city spill from our lips. I find myself looking at maps now, a habit I never learned because I thought I knew this place by heart. Now, distances matter. I try to remember streets, posit what I can from the names. For myself. Had she been able to walk with me, perhaps she would have seen my heart. I might never see that river she told me about but Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be able to see that view from Donya Carmen again, in a train car perhaps. There are days I look for forgiveness in the streets where we once drove through. But there are no apologies needed. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a city in me and it wants to keep going.

105

michael d. pante

excerpt from A Capital City at the Margins: Quezon City and Suburbanization in the TwentiethCentury Philippines1 2 for much of the postwar period, Quezon City had been (and still is) a heterogeneous space, and Marcos-era Cubao was a microcosm of that heterogeneity. On the one hand, Cubao bred consumerist conformity. Developed by the Aranetas, a clan that was simultaneously linked and opposed to the Marcoses through marriage ties and electoral rivalries, it was the city’s commercial and entertainment center. It was an “urban escape hatch,” a place of leisure “affording escape from the sameness, tedium, or funlessness” of suburban living. Mimicking Makati, Cubao represented middleclass aspirations and the economic dominance of the elite. At the same time, akin to the bread-and-circus strategy of Roman emperors, Marcos utilized its potential to pacify the populace when in October 1975 his government supported the historic boxing match between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier at the Araneta Coliseum. Dubbed “Thrilla in Manila,” the much-hyped bout enhanced the regime’s popularity. Three years after this fight, the Araneta Coliseum cohosted the FIBA Basketball World Cup—a significant event in a country where basketball is the most popular sport. On the other hand, Cubao signified a new form of dissent. From feminist groups protesting against beauty pageants to labor groups establishing networks with traditional politicians, Quezon City’s commercial hub attracted various underrepresented sectors who mobilized their ranks for progressive causes. For example, it was at the Araneta Coliseum where the Kilusang Mayo Uno (May First Movement) was founded in 1980, with the choice of the venue 106

indicating the new labor confederation’s alliance with opposition politician Gerardo “Gerry” Roxas. Labor Day celebrations were again held there the following year. And it was at the Araneta Coliseum that labor leader Felixberto Olalia delivered a speech calling for a general strike to denounce Marcos’s anti-worker policies.3 Another notable articulator of Cubao’s position as a space for dissent, but in a rather nontraditional manner, was Tony Perez. In the 1980s Perez established his place in the Philippine literary scene by publishing a series of novels and stories that were set in Cubao. His writings showed the quotidian and fantasy worlds of the new urban sub-middle class composing the labor forces at the lower tiers of the service industries of the metropolis. In his Cubao series, Perez’s abiding interest lies in how individual persons experientially renew themselves out of the demeaning and crushing conditions of their daily grind as small-time or casual service providers.4 For example, the plot of his novella Cubao 1980 revolves around the “redemption” of the narrator, Tom, “from the demeaning, petty living he makes as a call boy [male prostitute] on the proliferating seedy inner fringes of Cubao.”5 Despite its reputation as a modern commercial center, by the 1970s Cubao was already showing signs of urban blight6. Its innermost nooks harbored spaces for the world’s oldest profession. As Nick Joaquin described it: “The night spots in the Cubao area still have the every-hour-on-the-hour floor show and the nudes on parade travel the tables.”7 That Cubao became Quezon City’s most prominent red-light district was no surprise because it was sandwiched between two masculine spaces: to its south, the martial masculinity of Camp Aguinaldo and Camp Crame; to the north, libidinal manhood contained in UP and Ateneo, which remained an exclusively male school until 1976. After all, male students and soldiers had always been the traditional clientele of Manila’s brothels since colonial times. Unmistakably counter-culture, Perez’s works tackled homosexuality in the city amid the masculinist atmosphere of martial law and the Marcoses’ attempt to “normalize” the traditional, nuclear family.8 Perez believed Cubao to be the historic birthplace of the 107

Philippine gender revolution, as emblazoned in the title of his 1992 book, Cubao 1980 at Iba Pang mga Katha: Unang Sigaw ng Gay Liberation Movement sa Pilipinas (Cubao 1980 and Other Writings: The First Cry of the Gay Liberation Movement in the Philippines)9. Alluding to the first cry of the Katipunan when they began their anticolonial revolution in 1896, Perez consecrated Cubao as a revolutionary space akin to Balintawak or Pugad Lawin. J. Neil Garcia, however, notes the paradox in Perez’s text for being “appallingly homophobic” in its didacticism, yet it “does contain [the] most disturbingly lurid descriptions of male-to-male sex.” In a sense, the book advocates “a kind of half-hearted if disingenuous ‘liberation’ after all.”10 In her analysis of Perez’s works on Cubao, Neferti Tadiar notes that he “fashions unremarkable characters”11 in stark contrast to those that inhabit fictional Manila in the works of literary giant Nick Joaquin and the movies of Lino Brocka and Ishmael Bernal.12 Perhaps, the setting of Cubao is part of the reason behind this contrast. Whereas Edgardo Reyes, and Brocka in the film adaptation, gives grit and grime to his characters in Maynila: Sa Mga Kuko ng Liwanag (Manila: In the Claws of Neon Lights) by situating them in the streets of Binondo, those in Perez’s stories seem to fade into the suburban anonymity of Quezon City’s generic-looking streets. In the few literary works that mention Quezon City in passing, the image of the city is often one of opulence set against Manila’s proletarian attributes. F. Sionil Jose’s Sin, The Feet of Juan Bacnang, and Ermita, Liwayway Arceo’s Canal de la Reina, and Rosario de Guzman-Lingat’s Ano Ngayon, Ricky? (What Now, Ricky?) depict the city as an elite space. In Jose’s works, which chronicle the experiences of the Filipino elite across generations, the city is booty, apportioned for Quezon’s trusted cronies. In Ano Ngayon, Ricky?, a bildungsroman novel revolving around the radicalization and disillusionment of Tondo-born Ricky set against the context of the FQS, the city is a place of guarded mansions, swimming pools, and private cars.13 The description of the Quezon City residence of Professor Alba, initially Ricky’s mentor who turned out to be a manipulative character, is worth quoting at length:

108

maganda ang bahay na nakatirik sa isang malaking sukat ng lupang malapit sa hanggahan ng Maynila at Quezon City. May security guard na nagbukas ng pinto ng bakuran at sumaludo sa kanila nang makilala ang abogadong kanyang kasama. Malawak ang hardin at sadya ang pagkakaayos. May mga ilaw na kinulayang nagsabit sa mga punongkahoy. Sa tagiliran ng bahay, kumikislap ang tubig ng isang swimming pool. Ang mga halakhak at kalansing ng kristal ay sumasabay sa magandang tugtuging nagmumula sa loob ng bahay. 14 (The house situated in an expansive lot near the boundary between Manila and Quezon City was beautiful. A security guard opened the gate entrance and saluted before them upon recognizing the lawyer. The garden was big and manicured. There were colored lights hanging from the trees. At the side of the house, the water of the swimming pool sparkled. The laughter and clink of crystal accompanied the lovely music that emanated from inside the house.) Arceo turns to this trope in describing the Quezon City abode of character Gracia in Canal de la Reina, set in pre-martial law Manila. The narrator begins the description with the living room—“Ang salas na maliit ngunit may mamahaling-anyong tahanan” (small living room but in an expensive-looking house)—that had a thick, sliding glass door, a black piano, an oil painting of Gracia. The house was not gated, but it had a garage, as well as carpets, a telephone, and an air conditioner. Arceo thus paints a contrast between Gracia’s space of comfort and the main setting of the novel: Canal de la Reina, a populated and polluted estero in Tondo.15 The same distinction appears in F. Sionil Jose’s dichotomization of well-known schools in the metropolis in The Feet of Juan Bacnang: a contrast between the university belt’s raucous streets, rowdy and bloody demonstrations, and scattering of slums, on one side; and the “antiseptic confines” of Ateneo and UP Diliman, whose students had “bodyguards the whole day.”16 109

1 Charles Abrams, The Language of Cities: A Glossary of Terms (New York: The Viking Press, 1971), 329.) 2 Primitivo Mijares, The Conjugal Dictatorship of Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos, rev. ed. (Quezon City: Bughaw, 2017), 710–11. Quezon City’s lack of global appeal is evident in how the bout was titled “Thrilla in Manila” despite the fact that it happened outside Manila. This event’s legacy is somehow preserved in the form of a Quezon City shopping mall. Named Ali Mall, this establishment was built in 1976 in the Araneta Center after the match. For an interesting description of Ali Mall, see Gina Apostol, “The Unintended,” in Manila Noir, ed. Jessica Hagedorn (Mandaluyong City: Anvil, 2013), 154: “During the best of times Ali Mall is a decrepit, cramped cement block of shops hosting Rugby glue sniffers, high school truants, and depressed carnival men on break. It was built in 1976, a paean to the Thrilla in Manila, which took place directly across the street at the Araneta Coliseum in Cubao, site of the match that destroyed the career of the heavyweight champion of the world, Joe ‘The Gorilla’ Frazier, and the source of our modern discomfort perhaps—a sense of the futility of earthly striving—whenever one thinks about Muhammad Ali. Cubao is the omen of Ali’s shambling shadow. Cubao heralds an incommunicable fall.” 3 Judy Taguiwalo, “Babaeng ‘Makibaka’ sa Likod ng Rehas” [Makibaka Woman behind Bars], in Tibak Rising: Activism in the Days of Martial Law, ed. Ferdinand C. Llanes (Mandaluyong City: Anvil, 2012), 44; Ferdinand C. Llanes, “Mga Huling Mayo Uno ni Ka Bert Olalia,” [Comrade Bert Olalia’s Final May Firsts] in Tibak Rising: Activism in the Days of Martial Law, ed. Ferdinand C. Llanes (Mandaluyong City: Anvil, 2012), 220–22. 4 Neferti Xina M. Tadiar, Things Fall Away: Philippine Historical Experience and the Makings of Globalization (Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 2004), 220. 5 Ibid., 229. 6 Salvador P. Lopez, “Quezon City: Cinderella Capital of the Philippines,” Philippine Planning Journal 4(2)/5(1–2), 1973/1974: 9–13, esp. p. 10; Emere Distor, “Out of the House: Activism 101,” in Tibak Rising: Activism in the Days of Martial Law, ed. Ferdinand C. Llanes (Mandaluyong City: Anvil, 2012), 32–33. 7 Quijano de Manila [pseud. Nick Joaquin], Manila: Sin City? And Other Chronicles (Metro Manila: National Book Store, 1980), 265. 8 Rolando B. Tolentino, Contestable Nation-Space: Cinema, Cultural Politics, and Transnationalism in the Marcos–Brocka Philippines (Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 2014), 95. Depictions of heteronormative suburbia in the global north are but hollow stereotypes nowadays, as shown in Robyn Dowling, “Suburban Stories, Gendered Lives: Thinking through Difference,” in Cities of Difference, ed. Ruth Fincher and Jane M. Jacobs, 69–88 (New York and London: Guilford, 1998), 69–71. 9 See chapter 3 of J. Neil C. Garcia, Philippine Gay Culture: Binabae to Bakla, Silahis to MSM, 2d ed (Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 2008). 10 J. Neil C. Garcia, “The City in Philippine Literature,” Likhaan: The Journal of

110

Philippine Contemporary Literature 8, 2014: 161–84. Quotes are on p. 178. J. Neil C. Garcia, “The City in Philippine Literature,” Likhaan: The Journal of Philippine Contemporary Literature 8, 2014: 161–84. Quotes are on p. 178. 11 Tadiar, Things Fall Away, 225. 12 On Manila’s cityscape under Marcos’s rule in the films of Bernal and Brocka, who directed the film adaptation of Reyes’s Sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag, see Tolentino, Contestable Nation-Space, 85–120. On Manila as a subject and setting in Philippine literature, see E. San Juan Jr, “Encircle the Cities by the Countryside: The City in Philippine Writing,” in History and Form: Selected Essays, 150–67 (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1996). 13 F. Sionil Jose, Sin: A Novel (Manila: Solidaridad, 1994); F. Sionil Jose, The Feet of Juan Bacnang (Manila: Solidaridad, 2011), 30; F. Sionil Jose, Ermita: A Filipino Novel (Manila: Solidaridad, 1988), 40; Liwayway A. Arceo, Canal de la Reina: Isang Nobela (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1985); Rosario de Guzman-Lingat, Kung Wala na ang Tag-Araw/Ano Ngayon, Ricky? (Dalawang Nobela) [If Summer is Gone/What Now, Ricky? (Two Novels)] (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1996), 283, 374. 14 De Guzman-Lingat, Ano Ngayon, Ricky?, 414. 15 Arceo, Canal de la Reina, 57, 99–101. 16 Jose, The Feet of Juan Bacnang, 131.

111

artist statement for Thank You, Mama The flower used is a white carnation. “I’m sorry, anak, Mama has to go again.” “Mama will be back okay?” “I love you, anak.”

112

Clare Bianca Tantoco. Thank you, Mama. Cardboard box and flower.

113

Thank you, Mama. Cardboard box and flower (detail).

114

Tamia Gloria F. Reodica. To have and to hold. Digital photography. 2005 x 3024 px.

115

Juan Carlos I. Luna. International Frustrations. Marker. 20 x 20 in.

116

Jayvee del Rosario. Troubled Water. Film photography.

117

Alfred Marasigan. Restless 1 (1). Video installation. Documentation photography by Kristine RĂ¸d.

118

Alfred Marasigan. Restless 1 (2). Video installation. Documentation photography by Kristine RĂ¸d.

119

Corinne Victoria F. Garcia. public space pizza-eleksyon special 1. Plywood, acrylic paint, tarpaulin, and film photography.

120

Corinne Victoria F. Garcia. public space pizza-eleksyon special 2. Plywood, acrylic paint, tarpaulin, and film photography.

121

Corinne Victoria F. Garcia. public space pizza-eleksyon special 3. Plywood, acrylic paint, tarpaulin, and film photography.

122

Enrico Sebastian P. Cruz. stake holder. Digital photography. 20 x 36 in.

123

Corinne Victoria F. Garcia. The body stares back. (Documentation 1-dress). Arcylic paint on fabric, performance.

124

125 The body stares back. (Documentation 2-dress). Acrylic paint on fabric, performance.

Lennon C. Villanueva. Tide (series) 1. Ink on paper. 9 x 12 in.

126

Lennon C. Villanueva. Tide (series) 2. Ink on paper. 9 x 12 in.

127

Lennon C. Villanueva. Tide (series) 3. Ink on paper. 9 x 12 in.

128

David Felix. God of the Sea (series) 1. Digital photography.

129

David Felix. God of the Sea (series) 2. Digital photography.

130

David Felix. God of the Sea (series) 3. Digital photography.

131

David Felix. God of the Sea (series) 4. Digital photography.

132

David Felix. God of the Sea (series) 5. Digital photography.

133

David Felix. God of the Sea (series) 6. Digital photography.

134

David Felix. God of the Sea (series) 7. Digital photography.

135

136

137

MGA MAY-AKDA

Kenneth Isaiah Ibasco Abante (BS Management Engineering, Minor in Philosophy 2012) Coming back home is not a sacrifice; it is the greatest privilege and joy of my life. I am the happiest I have ever been. Thank you, Dr. Rofel G. Brion (Lobo), the grandfather who found me when my grandfather passed away, for reading and commenting on my work. Reina Krizel J. Adriano (BS Applied Mathematics with specialization in Mathematical Finance, BFA Creative Writing 2016/2017) Para kay Mâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;, sapagkat nangakong babalik ako. Jerome Allen Agpalza (1 BFA Creative Writing) Si Jerome Allen Agpalza ay isang mag-aaral ng sining sa isang pamantasang de-kotse lahat ng bata. Bungang Tondo, Manila, natuto si Jerome mag-commute sa edad na sampu papunta-pabalik sa bahay ng kanyang Lola. Dahil pinasa-pasa sa kanyang mga titang nanonood ng TV tuwing hapon, nahimok ang kanyang interes sa pop culture. Dahil nais pumiglas sa mundong kinabibilangan, natuto siyang magbasa ng mga bagong mundoâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;at araw-araw niyang tinatangkang gumawa ng bago. Bianca Alva (5 AB Literature (English)) Missing my dog Kylo, 2015â&#x20AC;&#x201C;2019. This one's for you. Carissa Natalia Baconguis (BFA Creative Writing 2019) Si Carissa Natalia Baconguis ay isang munting diwatang nagkukunwaring tao. Marami siyang mga palayaw (mas kilala bilang Ives o Isay) at berde ang kulay ng kanyang buhok ngayon. Sana'y patuloy niyo rin siyang suportahan. Stan SB19. 138

Twt:@dallsay IG:@ivesthetic Alec Bailon (BFA Creative Writing 2018) “Pangako na hindi ka na maghihintay at (‘Di na)/ Hindi ka na malulungkot malapit na ko baby/ Pauwi nako/ Ako'y pauwi na/ Baby pauwi nako.” — PDL/O.C Dawgs (Feat. Yuri Dope, Flow G) Danielle Cabahug (4 BS Communications Technology Management) Danie Cabahug is a management student with a heart for the humanities. She writes about things that bother her. She hopes to write herself to a better understanding. Regine Cabato (AB Communications 2016) "Being a writer is like having homework every night for the rest of your life." —Lawrence Kasdan Regine Cabato works as a journalist in Manila. She is a recipient of the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Award and Loyola Schools Award for the Arts for poetry. She is also a fellow of the Ateneo National Writers Workshop and Western Mindanao Writers Workshop. Her works has been published in Kritika Kultura, Cha Literary Journal, and Rambutan Literary among others. She hails from Zamboanga City. Kevin Castro (3 BFA Information Design) Kevin Castro is the current Art Editor of Matanglawin and Finance Officer of DECO, and is a part of Heights’ Art Staff. He doesn’t know how the work hasn’t killed him, but eh one doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He currently aspires to one day actually eat his weight in avocados and get his band, OK Club, famous. That’s why it gets plugged in the bio.

139

Mark Anthony Cayanan (Department of English) Mark Anthony Cayanan is from the Philippines. They obtained an MFA from the University of Wisconsin in Madison and are a PhD candidate at the University of Adelaide. Among their publications are the poetry books Narcissus (Ateneo de Manila UP, 2011) and Except you enthrall me (U of the Philippines P, 2013). Recent work has appeared in Foglifter, The Spectacle, Dreginald, Crab Orchard Review, and Lana Turner. A recipient of fellowships to Civitella Ranieri, Villa Sarkia, and Ventspils House, they teach literature and creative writing at the Ateneo de Manila University. Enrico Sebastian S. Cruz (5 BFA Information Design) late-bloomer Current Netflix to-binge: Peaky Blinders (2013—) Current best from Spotify’s Discover Weekly: “WHITNEY”, Gavin Turek Karl Lorenzo S. Estuart (MA Philosophy 2019) Looking for the right questions to ask. Richell Isaiah S. Flores (1 BS Mathematics AMF) Sinubukan ko lang sumulat. Kung ‘di man magtagumpay, ang mahalaga ay sinubukan ko kahit minsan. Corinne Victoria F. Garcia (BFA Information Design 2018) Corinne Garcia is a multidisciplinary artist based in Quezon City. Her works often converse with the landscape of the city, the natural world, and the female experience. Her visual works have been previously exhibited in traditional and alternative art spaces locally. She is currently taking up her 2nd Degree at the University of the Philippines, majoring in Painting.

140

David Felix (BS Environmental Science 2014) David Felix is an elementary school teacher in Japan and the creator of Miru Cameras - a brand of self-made and handcrafted wooden pinhole cameras. David has exhibited his camera creations and photographs in the Philippines, Japan, Ukraine, and Mexico. He uses photography to express his love for nature and its Creator. Martina Herras (Kagawaran ng Filipino) mapagpatawad. tinyletter.com/alun-sina Likka Laude (5 BFA Creative Writing) Set your heart ablaze! Juan Carlos I. Luna (4 BFA Information Design) Juancho firmly believes that art and design are his passions and prisons. Alfred Marasigan (Fine Arts Department) (b. 1992) is a visual artist from the Philippines. Often tackling issues of belonging, Marasigan's works cuts across various media including painting, sculpture, video and performance; at the moment, he is working with livestreaming to question concepts of real time, virtual space, magical thinking, and decolonization. He recently graduated MA Contemporary Art from UiT Arctic University of Norway's Tromsø Academy of Art. He has worked as an art lecturer for four years, and is now an instructor in Ateneo de Manila University’s Department of Fine Arts. His other artworks have also been exhibited, screened, and presented in Tromsø Kunstforening (Tromsø, NO), Meinblau Projektraum (Berlin, DE), Arctic Moving Image & Film Festival (AMIFF) (Harstad, NO), Small Projects (Tromsø, NO), c3 Contemporary Art 141

Space (Melbourne, AU), Galerie Métanoïa (Paris, FR), Poh Chang Academy (Bangkok, TH), Metropolitan Museum of Manila (Manila, PH); Altro Mondo Creative Space (Makati, PH), and included in publications like Fordham University’s CURA Magazine, SFMoMA’s Tumblr, and Ateneo’s Heights, among others. Marty R. Nevada (4 BFA Creative Writing) Marty R. Nevada is a senior at the Ateneo de Manila University, majoring in Creative Writing, with a minor degree in Education. She was a fellow for poetry for the 24th Ateneo Heights Writers Workshop. She once devoted an entire summer to learning how to clap with one hand. Michael D. Pante (Department of History) Michael D. Pante is an assistant professor in the Department of History, Ateneo de Manila University. He is also the associate editor of Philippine Studies: Historical and Ethnographic Viewpoints. Dorothy Claire Parungao (5 BS Chemistry with Materials Science and Engineering) Mumunting pangako na makibahagi sa mundo, sa kariktan at kaguluhan. Sa karagatan ng isla, naniniwala ako sa pag-asa. Aisha Rallonza (4 BFA Creative Writing) Busy looking for more dead things to obsess over. Shao (Pseudonym) (1 BS Management) Bukod sa pagtulog, si Shao ay mahilig sa lumpiang shanghai. Sola Fide Ramos (1 BSMS Computer Science) Nagsusulat dahil nagmamahal. Mikaela Adrianne C. Regis (4 BFA Creative Writing) Patuloy lang.

142

Tamia Gloria F. Reodica (3 AB Communications) Guided by the wisdom of Joni Mitchell, driven by the wildness of Stevie Nicks. Jayvee del Rosario (AB Political Science 2019) "Everything Stays" by Marceline the Vampire Queen Joaquin J. Santana (3 BS Management Engineering) Nico is a management student who makes fun of management subjects, but secretly thinks finance is actually pretty enjoyable. One day, when heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s run out of video games and comics to write poetry about, he might try to write something about stocks or taxes or something. Madeleine Sy (3 AB Economics-Honors) When she's not reading or writing she likes to make meticulous notes of everything. One day she dreams of making a fantasy novel, but for now she'll stick to reading them. Firm believer that everyone should listen to Sufjan Stevens once in their life. Clare Bianca Tantoco (3 BFA Art Management) Hi Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m Clare and I think the Cervini Caf is the superior caf. Lennon C. Villanueva (6 BFA Information Design, BS Management Information Systems 2018) Sining na malaya, sining na mapagpalaya.

143

Pasasalamat Fr. Jose Ramon T. Villarin, sj at ang Office of the President Dr. Maria Luz C. Vilches at ang Office of the Vice President for the Loyola Schools Dr. Roberto Conrado Guevara at ang Office of the Associate Dean for Student Affairs Dr. Josefina D. HofileĂąa at ang Office of the Associate Dean of Academic Affairs Dr. Jonathan Chua at ang Office of the Dean, School of Humanities Dr. Priscilla Angela T. Cruz at ang English Department Mr. Martin V. Villanueva at ang Department of Fine Arts Dr. J. Pilapil Jacobo at ang Kagawaran ng Filipino Dr. Allan Alberto N. Derain at ang Ateneo Institute of the Literary Arts and Practices (ailap) Mr. Ralph Jacinto A. Quiblat at ang Office of Student Activities Ms. Marie Joy R. Salita at ang Office of Associate Dean for the Student and Administrative Services Ms. Liberty Santos at ang Central Accounting Office Mr. Regidor Macaraig at ang Purchasing Office Dr. Vernon R. Totanes at ang Rizal Library Ms. Carina C. Samaniego at ang University Archives Ms. Ma. Victoria T. Herrera at ang Ateneo Art Gallery Ms. Ma. Mercedes T. Rodrigo at ang AretĂŠ The mvp Maintenance at ang mga Security Personnel Dr. Vincenz Serrano at ang Kritika Kultura Ms. Geming Andrea A. Alonzo, Executive Director of sos clans at Mr. Allan de Vera, President ng Tunay na Alyansa ng Bayan Alay sa Katutubo (tabak Phils) Ms. Thea Soriano at ang The guidon Ms. Caila Noche at ang Matanglawin Ang Sanggunian ng Mag-aaral ng Ateneo de Manila, at ang Council of Organizations of the Ateneo At sa lahat ng nagpapanatiling buhay ang panitikan at sining sa komunidad ng Pamantasan ng Ateneo de Manila sa pamamagitan ng patuloy na pagbabahagi ng kanilang mga akda at sa patuloy na pagsuporta sa mga proyekto ng heights

144

Patnugutan Editor - in - Chief Patricia Sarmiento [ab lit (eng)] Associate Editor Mikaela Regis [bfa cw 2020] Managing Editor for External Affairs Brianna Cayetano [ab comm 2021] for Internal Affairs for Finance

Zianne Agustin [bfa id, bfa cw 2021]

Lorenzo Miguel Reyes [bs mis 2020]

Art Editor Jude Buendia [ab ds 2021] Associate Art Editor Zofia Agama [ab lit (eng) 2021] Design Editor Juan Carlos Luna [bfa id 2020] Associate Design Editor

Jana Codera [ab comm 2022]

English Editor Madeleine Sy [ab ec-h 2021] Associate English Editor Danie Cabahug [bs ctm 2020] Filipino Editor Gewell Llorin [bs ch-mse 2020] Associate Filipino Editor Ignacio Bunag [bs hs 2022] Production Manager Justin Barbara [bs mis 2021] Associate Production Manager

Justine Psyche Villanueva [ab com 2022]

Heights Online Editor Aletha Payawal [ab ds 2022] Associate Heights Online Editor Arnold Rillorta [ab ds 2022]

Head Moderator and Moderator for English Martin V. Villanueva Moderator for Filipino Allan Popa Moderator for Art Alfred Marasigan Moderator for Design

Tanya Lea Francesca M. Mallillin

Moderator for Production

Enrique Jaime S. Soriano

Moderator for Heights Online Regine Miren D. Cabato

145

Mga Kasapi Art

Lucas Abaya, Benjie Bernal , Kevin Castro, Aisha Causing Enrico Cruz, Pilar Gonzalez, Andrea Isaac, Fernando Miguel Lofranco Aquirine Ong, Regina Anica Rivas , Rachel Maxine Tan, Clare Bianca Tantoco, Adrian Lance Teng, Justine Valdez, Katherine Sophia Wong, Charles Yuchioco

Design

Chino Acero, Karl Eli Alconis, Justine Bello, Piper Berbano, Valerie Cobankiat, Justine Daquioag, Carmen Dolina, Patricia Grace Fermin, Pilar Gonzalez, Giulia Lopez, Maxine Marquez, Anya Nellas, Casey del Rosario, MJ Sison, Justin Dhaniel Tan, Trisha Tan, Mia Tupas

English

Ma. Arianne Aleta, Cat Aquino, Sofia Ysabel I. Bernedo, Beatris Cabana Sean Carballo, Lexie Nichole, Ariana Gabrielle S. Domingo, Amber Garma, Stanley Guevarra, Nathan Lim, Keisha Mercado Marty R. Nevada, Caila Noche, Andrea Posadas, Trisha Anne K. Reyes Lyle Surtida, Mika Alexei G. Tan, Adrian Lance Teng, Justine Psyche B. Villanueva, Nigel Yu

Filipino

Anj Cayabyab, Bernice Dacara, Rouella Danao, Bern de Belen Brylle Fajardo,Martina Herras, Iva Magsalin, Jerome Maiquez, Cydney Mangubat, Dorothy Parungao, Bill Perez, Fide Ramos, Nina Romero, Lars Salamante, Nico Santana, Lulay Santiago

Production Julia Abella, Jeff Andawi, Paul Anonuevo, Justine Borja, Nicole Brofas Giane Butalid, Louise Dimalanta, Cesar Fabro, Alexis Ferreras, Mariana Gardoce, Sofia Guanzon, Angelika Portia Lapidario, Robert Kwan Laurel, Camille De Luna, Bianca Mallari, Daniel Manguerra, Aisha Said, Gianna Sibal, Melanie Mae Silverio, Charles Yuchioco Heights Online

Ticia Almazan, Zoe Andin, Julia Carpio, Rocio Castillo, Jarred Irwin Chiang, Enrico Cruz,Isabella Darang, Miguell Emerson Enriquez, Hazel Lam, Andrea Mikaela Llanes, Hana Severina Matociños, Ezri Mitra, Maiko Aira Ng, Tamia F. Reodica, Joaquin Santos, Gianna Sibal, Andrea Tibayan, Simone Yatco, Iya Zafra

10th ateneo heights artists workshop october 26â&#x20AC;&#x201C;27, 2019 ABS-CBN Corporation Innovation Classroom, Arete Panelists Kay Aranzanso JV Calanoc Cru Camara Mich Cervantes JL Javier Alfred Marasigan Raxenne Maniquiz Tokwa PeĂąaflorida Patricia Ramos Jilson Tiu Fellows Giulia Clara Lopez [digital, animation] Clare Bianca Tantoco [paper] Leane Povreau [photography] JJ Agcaoili [digital, 3d animation] Benjie Bernal[photography] Juan Carlos I. Luna [marker] Cid Gonzales [digital] Mikee Norlin Magat [digital] James Elijah Yap [digital] Cristina Batalla [photojournalism] Workshop Directors Mikaela Regis Fernando Lofranco

Workshop Deliberation Committee Mr. Carlomar Arcangel Daoana Ms. Corinne Victoria F. Garcia Ms. Yuri Tan Workshop Team [programs] Jude Angelo Buendia, Miguell Emerson Enriquez, Lars Michaelsen Salamante [logistics] Cat Aquino, Hana Severina Matocinos, Lyle Surtida, Stanley Guevarra [documentation] Justine Valdez, Andrea Tibayan, Adrian Lance Teng, Ma. Arianne Aleta Finance Luigi Reyes Design Patricia Grace Fermin Justine Bello Head Moderator Martin M. Villanueva