To Whom It May Concern

Lean Jane Pantorilla

To: leanpantorilla@gmail.com From: leanpantorilla@gmail.com Re: Pandemic Concerns

To whom it may concern:

First and foremost, I hope this message finds you well. I’m most certainly not. The past few months have been grueling, if not almost cruel, especially for us who can barely make ends meet before given the context of the pandemic. I imagine much has taken place during my absence a lot has certainly happened on my end, and no amount of excuses could make up for my lack of correspondence not that you’d give a fuck anyway. Still, I write to you in good faith, hoping you would grow a heart and a conscience that whatever force compelled you to open this letter… will be the same force to have you read until the end.

I don’t even understand why I feel the need to explain this, when work and university are the least of my worries right now. My family is struggling, my mind is in shambles, and my health has gotten worse throughout the course of the pandemic. Honestly, my body would very much like to kill itself right now, with how bad I’m treating it. I wish I had a detailed report of every struggle I faced along the way, a financial statement to prove how bankrupt I am, and a medical certificate to justify why I can’t seem to get my shit mind together whenever I am needed. There’s no paperwork for grief, loss, anxiety, or breakdowns.

After all, we don’t get paid nor do we graduate for being human.

But rest assured, I don’t ask you to understand my situation. All I know is that you’re probably struggling too, in ways I can’t also hope to understand. This probably won’t be the first letter to find itself lodged in your mail, nor will it be the last. For both of our sakes, I hope it’s the latter.

I can’t apologize for doing what’s best for me, nor can I promise

to get back on my feet within a certain time. I can’t even tell whether I can survive. All I ask is that when you read this letter, I hope it reminds you that many of us are struggling—those of us who live in places that privilege cannot reach, and in the farthest corners where blessed people cannot see. On the other side of this screen, it’s taken all I have to simply put words on paper.

The reality cannot even compare to that.

I am only one among the many, but when you finally cross my name off the roster, I hope you remember that it took a pandemic to get me off the list. It took the whole world falling apart for me to quit, and even then, it hadn’t been my choice: it was the world who made the choice for me.

So to whom it may concern, if you still have any of those left, may you never run out of it before this whole crisis blows over. You will need it, and so will others. These trying times will change you, as it changed me. Whether it changes you for better or worse… I hope it’s the former.

Until then, I hope you would never have to write a letter such as this for yourself.

flash fiction

Kandila

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Makapal ang balot ng gabi sa ating mga katawan. Nagpakalunod tayong dalawa, parang isang sakramento. Malalim. Malamig ang simoy ng hangin sa ating munting espasyo. Ako’y nanigas, nanginig sa tabi. Halos yakapin ko na ang sarili upang hindi matamoy ng sumisigaw na ihip. Nandito ka ba talaga?

Narinig ko ang kiskis ng posporo. Nagsilbing istorbo ito sa tahimik na kasalukuyan.

Bigla-bigla namang nabuhayan ang aking sarili. Nakakabulag na ilaw! Ang apoy ng kandila’y sumasayaw na para bang matalik silang magkaibigan ng hangin. Nakita ko ang matalim mong mga ngiti. May diin at may lalim. Ang mga mata mo naman, malagkit ang mga tingin at naglalakihan ang inla. Hindi ko mabatid, pero ang sarap ng init na ibinibigay ng apoy ngayon. Sa aking gabing pagtanda, kasama kita at itong nag-aalab na sinulid ng maliit at makulay na siryo. Nakatusok sa matamis na mamon na nabili natin papunta sa ating taguan. Sa gabing ito, ako’y sigurado na...

“‘Lika, ihipan mo na ang kandila.”

Elena

Kayla Nicole De Quiroz

Jane looked at the ceiling, thinking about how hot it was inside her room. At this point, two weeks had already passed since the government implemented the lockdown. People could only go out to buy groceries and receive packages, and gone were the days spent rifling through busy streets and congested roads. Work was suspended, and Jane’s equipment at the office was sent to her, enabling her to work from home. It had been a week since she settled into her makeshift office, which also meant one week of being toasted in the heat.

She went toward the fan that stood on the side of her room, and rotated the dial to the highest setting. She felt relief as the cold air blew on her face. It was probably a bad idea, but she had been thinking about making herself some coffee that was trending on TikTok for a while now.

She put two scoops of instant coffee in her mug and began to stir.

“You know that’s bad for you. You’re acidic,” a voice told her.

Jane smirked at the tone and answered, “Come on, Elena, it’s not like I’m gonna die drinking one cup of it.”

Elena laughed.

“You say that now, you’re gonna be cursing yourself later,” the girl replied.

She ignored Elena’s pleas and went back to mixing her coffee. She called Elena last Wednesday because she could not bear to be lonely. Her thoughts had been intrusive, especially with bad news coming in from all over. She knew it would be easier for the sadness to creep in.

Elena had been keeping her company ever since, talking to her, stroking her hair and eating together—just like how old friends used to be. When she’s working, Elena would just sit beside her and read a book, or hold her hand whenever she reached out to her. They became inseparable. The small room apartment was never too crowded for the both of them,

and for the first time since the world halted, Jane’s had actually started moving again.

It had been three months ever since Elena left. She was no longer on the couch where she used to sit whenever she was reading, or in front of the fan where she always positioned herself, or the kitchen where she used to cook for Jane her favorite food. It happened when Jane went out with a friend and simply didn’t find her when she came home. There was no note indicating where Elena went, or when she would come back. That was fine by Jane, after all, by that time could now call her other friends to hang out with, and they did. They smuggled liquor and allowed themselves to drink their stress away.

However, the surge happened and the lockdown was imposed once more, leaving Jane alone with her thoughts again. She remembered Elena, and wondered if they could simply go back to the old days, when the lockdown had started. But even after calling Elena several times, for some reason, she wouldn’t come. Jane tried to convince herself that it was expected: after all, Elena may be dealing with problems of her own. She’ll come around eventually, Jane thought. This marked the beginning of another farce: by constantly doing her work and learning new hobbies, Jane kept the growing sadness at bay, pushing it in a small corner of her mind. It kept pestering for a while until it finally won her over, sending her to the depths and making her incapacitated as the days went by.

She never called on for help. She stopped calling for Elena too, knowing she wouldn’t come anyways.

One night in September, Jane got retrenched. It seemed inevitable in the face of a pandemic, but still, Jane could not believe it. Refused to believe it, rather. She tried looking for another job, and tried to be positive while doing other things to get it off her mind. But as the bills suddenly piled up, so did the mounting pressure. No reason to continue. It had to happen that night, she was tired of being lonely and broke. The numbness was gone and she could feel everything as if it was begging to be felt. Jane went to her night stand and took a handful of her sleeping pills and laid peacefully.

That was a month ago.

She couldn’t remember anything from that point on save from the fact Elena was there. In her most desperate time, she had actually gone back and forced Jane to vomit all the pills that she took. Elena kept an eye on her throughout the night and apologized for not coming back soon enough. She cleaned the mess and called the ambulance as Jane slipped in and out of consciousness. When the ambulance arrived, Elena had gracefully moved to the side of the room to give way for the medics. Jane could vaguely recall doctors asking her to stay awake, and Elena blending in with the background. She reached out an arm to touch her, hoping for Elena to reach back like they used to.

Instead, Elena had only smiled at Jane from afar, right before the ambulance whisked her away.

When Jane woke up at the hospital, she asked the nurses if Elena had come for her. They told her that only her family did. When her brother visited her, she asked him to call Elena but her brother told her that she had no contact named Elena.

“You might be having delusions,” her brother said.

After a year, most countries including hers have already been recovering from the pandemic. There were no traces of the girl who saved her as she came back home. No clothes, books or anything that Elena used or touched.

There was nothing.

Maybe it was her imagination, but where Elena had left no evidence of her existence—not a crease in her bed or in the pages she left unread, her mark had stayed with Jane with every breath that she took. A bittersweet reminder of that dreadful night.

Da Capo

Juliana Patricia Octavio

I found myself in a woeful position. The room was pitch black, except for a tiny crack on the wall where the street lights peeked in. Its utter silence allowed malevolent whispers to torment me, leaving me no choice but to stand there and take it. They were no longer glorious as they once were, I thought as I stared into the trembling hands bracing my knees. The gaps between my thighs were narrow, but the space felt endless—as if I was falling over the Seven Hells.

Before I descended any further into madness, I collected myself and tiptoed out of the room. The space I ended up in felt familiar and foreign at the same time. It looked like a small greenhouse. Its ceiling was transparent, the path draped in soft covers of moonlight. At the edge of it stood a big harp, illuminated with a soft light as though it refused to be touched by the night. I propped myself up the wooden stool beside it and ran my fingertips the thin strings in back and forth motions. Then, as if they had a mind of their own, the plucking started to form a steady rhythm, trapping me under.

I could still hear the music, but the darkness faded away as the awfully familiar scene unfolded right in front of me: the cityscape lit up like stars as cars sped into the evening rush hour. Pedestrians packed the corner of the street where the restaurants were. Suddenly, a woman came out from a black sedan that parked just right by, wearing a long-sleeved polo and a pencil skirt with bright-colored pumps to match. It was an ensemble I vividly remember. She waved at the girl who just came out of a Japanese food place and walked toward her.

“You didn’t think I’d forget the take out, did you, Mom?” the girl who just came from the store beamed, raising the small paper bag she was holding. In turn, the woman ruffled her hair in approval and assisted her to the backseat. Clueless about what’s to come, they smiled as if all was right in the world, especially the girl. And for that, even though we look nothing alike, I knew that girl had to be me.

In a blink of an eye, a force thrusted me inside the car beside my then-self. I waved a hand in front of her, but she didn’t seem to respond. My hands passed through her shoulder when I attempted to tap it. Fading in, the harp changed its echoing tune and it transitioned into something ominous. I wanted to stop the music, to stop time. Yet my heart could

only sink to the floor as my Mom pulled the handbrake down and slowly drove the car towards the highway. These people were clueless, but aware as I was, I hastily gripped the edge of my seat and leaned on the back of the passenger seat. There was no time for prayers, or last minute bargains to any entity with the power to intervene. Minutes later, the car jolted from a huge impact.The shaking vehicle swung back and forth, and I caught a glimpse of the yellow truck that hit us just in time before it exploded into flames.

Everything stopped. The motions, the harp, the city’s sounds, everything—until all that remained was an obnoxious ringing noise piercing my ears. I tried to scope my surroundings despite my throbbing head, only to find myself unable to make out anything sensible. The rubbles and dented parts of the car separated us, but I could see enough of Mom from where I was. In that moment, she was all that mattered.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” she asked weakly, followed by a violent cough. I let out a grunt in return. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be—” She dropped her head down and winced in pain. As her voice faded along with the white noise in my ears, I forced myself to raise an arm to reach out to her, but they barely moved an inch. They were ashen and extremely sore, and the smell of fire looming around didn’t help either. My eyes felt heavier and it was getting more difficult to stay awake as I waited for the sirens to blare at a distance.

Waiting felt like forever, and it was nothing like impatiently yearning to finish a recital with my harp. In what seemed like hours later, the first aid responders finally arrived at the scene. They pulled me as carefully as they could away from the vehicle and laid me on a stretcher gingerly. I was vaguely aware of the crowd of onlookers that circled the crash site, mumbling to each other with pitiful looks. They didn’t matter; getting out of that car felt like flying, and I was gasping for air desperately. But my relief came to a stop when I realized who I was missing.

“Mo...ther…” I whispered to one of the medics. He didn’t say anything, but he slightly nudged his head to the direction of the scene. I looked back, and to my horror, a stretcher covered by white fabric was

also being carried away. The last thing I could remember was another bout of pain stabbing through my heart, as though I was hit by a truck all over again. Tears ran down my cheek right before I closed my eyes.

I woke up once more and found myself in a woeful position. Only this time, the room was blindingly bright, the curtains flew with a breeze. My fingers continued to roam around the strings, unable to find relief even as I approached the end of the piece. I already knew what came next even without looking at the music sheet.

Upon hitting the last note, my fingers have resumed their starting position: D.C. Again, the torturous instrument whispered. From the beginning.

Makakalabas na ‘Uli

Josua Marquez Soralbo

Alas-singko ng umaga. Lunes. Bagong ligo, nanunuklay pa at ganadong pababa si Hernan mula sa ikalawang palapag ng kanilang bungalow na bahay sa maliit na eskinita sa may Blumentritt.

“Sioni, naplantsa mo na ba yung polo kong kulay asul?” masayang pagtatanong ng padre de pamilya sa kanyang asawa.

“Halos dal’wang buwan din kaming di nakalabas nila pareng Vergel ano, Sioni? Nakakamiss din palang makalanghap ng itim na usok,” pandagdag pang sabi ni Hernan habang nagtitimpla ng kape. Sabay tawa na parang si Santa Klaus.

“Hindi ga delikado yang labas nyo Hernan. Ah-ah! Ehhh. ECQ pa eh. Ayaw nyong magsipirme dine. Kating kati mga palad n’yong kumambyo aba,” nangangambang sagot ni Sioni habang sige naman sa paghagod ng polong asul ni Hernan.

Napahinto sa paghigop si Hernan sa mainit nyang kape. “Hindi naman kasi sakto ang bigay ng munisipyo. Anim tayo dito sa bahay. Hindi natin alam kung kelan pa ulit ang ayuda o kung meron pa ba. Pa’no naman tayo mabubuhay kundi kami magbabakasaling lumabas.”

“Ay sya sya! Hindi ako mananalo sayo. Basta mag-ingat lang kayo. Baka kayo mabagansya sa tigas ng ulo n’yo,” sagot ni Sioni.

Sinuot na ni Hernan ang mainit init pang polong kulay asul. Humarap muli sa salamin na parang batang pupunta sa graduation ceremony.

“O, nakalimutan mo ata ‘tong goodmorning towel mo. Halika nga rito nang mailagay d’yan sa leeg mo. Parine ka dali,” pang-e-engganyo ni Sioni sa kanyang mister.

“Ay ka-gwapo naman talaga nire oh. Pahalik nga! Mamaya eh

amoy araw at usok ka nanaman,” dagdag pa ni Sioni habang nakalingkis kay Hernan.

“Ikaw naman. Kahit amoy araw at usok ako hindi ka naman nakakatanggi sa’kin. Kaya nga tayo nakagawa ng anim ey,” pabirong palambing ni Hernan.

Tok! Tok! Tok! “Pareng Hernan, tara na! Baka maunahan pa tayo sa pwesto.”

Dali-daling kumilos si Hernan nang marinig ang pagtawag ng kaniyang pareng Vergel, “Ohh siya mauuna na kame Sioni. Pagmagandaganda ang kita eh mag-uuwi ako ng masarap na ulam. Tulog na tulog pa ang mga bata. Sabihin mo na lang sa kanila.”

Binigyan pa ni Sioni ng matamis na pabaong halik ang asawa. Sabay itinuro ang susi sa lamesa.

“Hindi yan ang gagamitin namin ngayon, tabo muna hanggat bawal pang mamasada,” sagot ni Hernan sa senyas ng asawa.

Sabay silang naglakad ng kaniyang pareng Vergel patungo sa mga kalye na dati nilang iniikutan subalit hindi upang mamasada kundi para paglimusan.

Garapon

Shekynah Angelene Samadan

Kakaiba ang kanyang alingawngaw. Hindi ko mawari sa kanyang kaliitan na ganoon ba naman ang kanyang sigaw! Pinilit kong harangan ng unan ang kanyang mga iyak, ngunit pinilit din nitong pasukin ang mga hiblang bumubuo sa aking punda.

Unga nang unga, bumabaon sa aking mga tenga ang ingay na nanggagaling sa maliit na garapon sa ilalim ng aking higaan. Kasama niya ang mga napag-iwanang laruan at masisikip na damit, mga bagay na nais ko nang kalimutan.

“Pwede ba!” isinigaw ko sa nagbabalot na kadiliman sa aking silid. “Tama na!”

Kakapirasong balat lang siya at wala pang bunganga pero sobra ang kanyang hagulgol. Dapat nga’y ako ang nagkakandarapa sa pag-iyak ngayon, ngunit ang mga mata ko’y tila namumuti na sa galit. Sa aking labinlimang taon na pagkabuhay, ngayon lang ako nakarinig ng ganitong klaseng tunog. Naghahalong takot at pagsisi ang aking naramdaman.

Nagpatuloy pa rin ang nagmamakaawang iyak niya, ngunit ako ay pagod na sa pagtitimpi. Tinanggap ko na lang ang kanyang mga sigaw, binitawan ko na rin ang naghihigpitang dakma ko sa unan. Nilunod ko ang aking sarili sa kanyang mga hagulgol. Siguro, ito na ang aking kabayaran sa aking pagkakasala. Ngunit, kasalanan ba kung gusto ko na lang mawala ang problema? At iyon ang pinakaepektibong solusyon para sa katulad ko? Kasalanan bang ako ang nagdala kaya ako rin ang kailangang maghila palabas? Kesyo ako ang laman, ako rin ay may karapatang mabuhay ng matiwasay at walang inaalala.

Ipinatong ko ang aking mga nagbibigatang kamay sa aking tila hungkag at patag na tiyan.

Hindi ko pa kasi kaya…

Ako’y nanatili na lang sa kama at inihalo ang sariling pag-iyak sa lumalamon na kaingayan.

Solidago

Juliana Patricia Octavio

Sa kabila ng mga magagandang bulaklak at simoy ng hangin, pinakatumatak sa aking isipan ang pundidong ilaw sa bahay ni Tatang. Minsan na siyang tumayo sa ilalim nito at nagmukhang santong iniilawan ng Maykapal, ngunit ang walang buhay niyang katawan na lamang ang aking naabutan sa aking sumunod na pagbisita. Kasing bilis ng kanyang pagkawala ang kanyang lamay dahil agad siyang inilibing matapos ang tatlong araw. Hanggang ngayon, hindi pa rin ako makapaniwalang wala na siya. Maliban sa mga bulaklak na ibinigay ng mga hindi kakilala, wala nang laman ang bahay na dati ay punong-puno ng ilaw at buhay. Natakpan na rin ng kanilang samyo ang natitirang amoy aparador na aking kinagisnan.

Bumunot ako ng isang pirasong bulaklak mula sa palumpon at isaisang pinagtatanggal ang mga talulot.

“Aalis, hindi. Aalis, hindi,” pakanta kong pinaulit-ulit hanggang sa isa na lang ang natira. Napatigil ako at napasimangot. Bigla akong napatayo.

“Hijo, saan ka pupunta? Padating na ang sasakyan mo,” wika ng boses ng isang babae. Hindi ko na mawari kung si Inay ba iyon o ibang tao at dali-daling umalis papalayo ng bahay. Hindi ko na rin napigilan ang tulo ng luha ko, sapagkat bumabaha ng mga alaala sa aking isipan. Naninikip ang puso ko sa bawat hakbang sa mga kanto kung saan minsan kaming naghabulan ni Tatang hanggang sa mapagod at maligo ng pawis. Mas lalo akong napahikbi nang aking maalala na sa kabila ng iniindang pananakit sa bawat bahagi ng katawan, pilit niyang sinabayan ang malakas at maliksing batang ‘gaya ko. Mas mainam kung umalis na lang ako, sabi ko sa sarili. Pero bakit tila may salikmatang posas na nagtatali sa akin sa lugar na ito at hindi ko magawang lisanin?

Tulala akong nagtungo sa bukid. Ninais ko ng katahimikan para makapagmuni-muni, ngunit natagpuan ko ang sarili ko sa gitna ng plaza, kung saan puno ng tao at napaka-ingay. Hindi hamak na rinig na rinig ang mga matatandang kababaihan na nag-zumba sa lakas ng kanilang paghiyaw.

Patuloy ang daloy ng mga taong naglalakad sa kalye, at ang ilan sa kanila ay mapagpasensyang naghihintay sa senyales ng mga nagmamaneho ng traysikel. Sa kabila ng maingay na busina at mainit na pagtirik ng araw, kuntento kong nilanghap ang sariwang hangin at tumingala para lasapin ang pakiramdam na natatangi sa baryo. Sa aking pagtungo ng ulo, napukaw ng dalawang mag-ama ang aking mata. Nanlaki ang inosenteng mata ng bata habang pinapanood ang magtatahong nilalagyan ng arnibal ang baso, at ang tatay niya’y napangiti sa kanya reaksyon. Hindi ko maiwasang tahimik na tumawa sa aking sarili. Ganyan na ganyan din kami noon ni Tatang, sambit ko sa aking isipan. Madalas kaming tumitigil pauwi noong elementarya pa lamang ako para abangan ang magtataho, habang hawak niya ang aking kamay sa takot na baka ako ay mapahamak o madakot, subalit gusto kong isipin na ninais niya rin sulitin ang bawat oras namin na magkasama.

Tuloy-tuloy kong inalala ang pinagsamahan namin sa bawat bagay na napansin ko sa mga naglalakbay. Kinalaunan, nakarating na rin ako sa malawak na bukid kung saan kami huling nag-usap.

“Salamat at nakarating din,” sambit ko habang hinahabol ang hininga. Aking naabutan ang dilaw na langit na tinatakpan ng mga ulap. Hindi na mahapdi ang sikat ng araw, at naging mapayapa at mala-ginto ang himpapawid. Tahimik ang lugar at tanging mga huni ng ibon lamang ang maririnig. Muntik ko nang malimutan kung gaano kaganda ang takipsilim sa probinsya. Kaliwa’t kanan akong lumingon para tignan kung may taong makakakita sa akin, ngunit ang kalabaw na nakatali sa malayo lang ang nakita ko.

“Tatang! Nakikita mo po ba ‘to? Ang ganda, ‘di po ba?” sigaw ko habang nakatingala sa langit. “Tara! Sabay po ulit tayong manood.” Bigla na lang nanginig ang aking boses at katawan.

Subalit walang tumugon sa akin kundi ang simoy ng hangin. Doon ko lamang naramdaman na magdamag, tanging sarili ko lamang ang kasama ko. Sa pagnanais kong makapiling si Tatang muli, may bahagi sa aking iniisip na kasama ko pa rin siya habang nagbabalik-tanaw. Siguro umasa ako na kahit saglit man lamang ay kaya siyang ibalik ng Itaas, kahit isang saglit lamang. Napaupo ako sa damuhan panlulumo, kung saan may naramdaman akong mga maliliit na bilog sa aking palad. Inalis ko ang aking kamay, at doon tumubo ang paboritong bulaklak ni lolo: ang mga tatanduk.

Muli mang tumulo ang aking luha, hindi pa rin napigilan ng mga labi kong mapangiti. Padalos-dalos kong pinunasan ang aking mukha gamit ang braso at tsaka muling pinagmasdan ang paggalaw ng mga ulap. Binalot ako ng mga alaala mula sa aking pagkabata, kung saan ilang beses kami naupo sa pwestong ito at pinaglaruan ang mga tatanduk kasama si Tatang. Sa munting paraan, kahit mag-isa lamang ako sa yakap ng mga bulaklak, pakiramdam ko ay kasama ko siya.

Lumipas ang ilang sandali nang biglang may tumawag sa akin mula sa likod, “Hoy! Kanina pa kita hinahanap. Sa sobrang tagal mo dinala ko na yung sasakyan papunta sayo, ” sabi ng pinsan kong si Caloy na nagmamaneho. “Uuwi ka ba o ano? Ibabalik ko na sa bahay mga gamit mo kung—”

“Hindi, hindi! Tutuloy ako,” tugon ko sa kanya. Saka ko lang napagtantong hindi ko na pala namalayan ang oras, at nakalimutan kong luluwas ako ngayon. Gusto ko mang manatili pa sa baryo, subalit kailangan na ako sa Maynila. Sumakay ako sa harap ng kotse, at umandar na ang sasakyan palayo sa palayan. Lumingon ako at sa wakas, ngumiti.

“Hanggang sa muli, Tatang.”