2021 Synapse Literary Folio

sYNAPSE

ANG

2021 Issue #1

SALINGSING

Literary Folio

Contents 01 Editorial Board

12

02 From the Editors

05 Garden of Bones Ronald Ray Enselada

13

14

Kidlap

Mark Alden Arcenal

Tabanog

Mark Alden Arcenal

15

16

26

The Unwelcomed Visitor

The Unguarded

Writer

Huwag Mo Akong Salingin

Mark Alden Arcenal

Daryl Niño Jabil

35

53

56

Where Do Fallen Heroes Go? Nijño Jan Miole

Canvas Face Berry Finj

Life's Irony Rizaldy Baguio

Mas

Matt Erickson Malagar

Ginabot

EDITORS NOTE: Photos without credits are taken from PININTEREST APP.

2 0 2 1

Editorial Board

Joshua Carredo

Ramon Alfonso Hiponia Consultant

Consultant

Daryl Niño Jabil

Mark Anthony Abellana

Managing Editor

Associate Editor

Niño Jan V. Miole Editor-in-chief

Ronald Ray Enselada

Keith Abram Uy

Opinion & Art Editor

Social Media Manager

Jurex Phil Suson Jem Cloyd Tanucan News Editor Matt Erickson Malagar

Science& Research Editor

Literary Editor

Homer Joshua Inoferio Ginbrey Cayao Joe Aperdo Mark Alden Arsenal Marc Lennard Colina Jefferson Ombe

Staff Writers

From the Editors The claw of COVID-19 pandemic has mercilessly been puncturing the veins of our country. Its revelations were too overwhelming that our eyes are too fragile to discover; the people's cries were too loud that our ears are too frail to listen; and, the protests of minority were too low to be heard that our mouths are unready to speak. We, the Jaycees, are the outgrowth of these seemingly surprising facts notwithstanding.

Salingsing is a Cebuano term for outgrowth. Apparently, we are the wreath of foliage from a trimmed plant however inspired by the cruelty suffered nevertheless. We wander through our struggle, interact through our noble undertaking, and educate people through our aspirations to provide visually appealing yet informationally profound Litfolio.

Padayon kita sa pagsalingsing, bai!

Niño Jan V. Miole Editor-in-Chief

Matt Erickson C. Malagar Mark Alden Arcenal Literary Editors

The Garden of Bones

A short story by

Ronald Ray Enselada

H

ere they go again, I mumble every time I hear the engine sound of white vans passing by the road. When they do, it means it’s already May, and this small peaceful barrio hidden beneath the boondocks of Dalaguete transforms into a tourist trap.

They all come to see the Old Panas, a vast garden of colorful flowers and plants nested in the heart of our barrio. Every time they pass by, we throw out our plows and sickles and start selling them souvenirs, tortas, habal-habal services, and even fridge magnets of flower symbols. Turns out, it pays more.

When I first saw the garden ten years ago, I was confused about why the garden lures a lot of visitors every year. The garden is half a hectare wide, but nothing in it was special. Well that if you ask someone like me who has no interest in flowers. But even my science teacher, who taught stuff like gymnosperms or angiosperms, thought it was just a typical country garden; you know, that garden enveloped with untamed trees rising over floral topiaries, neatly enclosed in bamboo fences or black antique-style, wrought-iron gates.

But on a closer look, nothing in the garden is that innocent. It wasn’t just the flowers people visit there for.

I remember my mother who once told me not to go there and smell or touch them. I thought she was being overdramatic when she talked about not smelling the plants. I found out they weren’t ordinary flowers.

They were poisonous; and by saying the word, it means they kill.

The garden, which appears to be already century-old, remains untouched. How did it get there? Nobody seemed to know definitely. But one thing is certain – this garden had already killed countless victims.

When I was six, I used to listen to many strange stories about the Old Panas. I remember one; about a daring group of farmers who were eventually paralyzed for the rest of their lives after sniffing some of the flowers they picked there. Eyes turn red. Skins peel off. Necks become stiffer. Veins appear like they’re coming out of the skin.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 6

But that is not the worst part. Once you reach the middle of the garden, you have reached the point of no return. A four-year-old girl hid behind the hanging purple flowers in the middle of the garden. Two days had passed, but the girl never came out.

She definitely had no clue that these flowers would later make her drool, vomit, dilate the pupils in her eyes, and in an instant, bring her to death. No one has carried out the poor girl’s body for the fear of getting contaminated. It just remained there. Probably it’s rotten. These toxic flowers certainly do not choose their prey.

But not all the plants in Old Panas kill. I reckon the night Uncle Ben went home from his herd scratching his skin incessantly. He wasn’t sure why it happened but he recalled he passed by the garden the other day, and that maybe some white laurels from the garden fell into him. Shirtless, his swollen skin turned redder than a chicken comb. The more he scratch it, the more it gets itchier.

It was the worst day of his life; he was only in his bed for a couple of weeks and did nothing but scratch his skin over and over again until tiny pecks of blood would go out from its pores. In the meantime, I was in-charged of taking care of his pet goats.

Fortunately, after about two weeks, the inflammation mysteriously vanished in thin air and his skin went back to normal again. We didn’t know how, but thank goodness it’s gone.

These stories happened long ago and the local government had been exerting precautionary measures to protect the community by sealing the garden with three layers of gates and signages, making sure these incidents will never happen again. Even putting up these gates was not at all easy, since they have to wear face masks and protective suits to avoid contamination. Why don’t they just burn it? That would be a complete disaster.

For the moment, everyone felt safe. But I still dreaded going to the Old Panas, which is just a half-kilometer from where I live. The deadly fumes might accost me even on the trail, and then I might live the rest of my life scratching my skin, or being paralyzed, or the worst, never live anymore.

But every time I listen to the stories about the garden or look at it from my window, wild thoughts would race through my mind. What would the flowers look like when they

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 7

prey people? How would their victims look like when they get stung? Do they become zombies? Do they kill in different ways?

There were even nights where I frequently dreamed about the flowers turning into giant monsters, as they grow bigger and bigger in size and in numbers. It took me straight sleepless nights figuring out these things. It sounds crazy I felt that those nightmares might be true and someone should do something to prevent this from happening.

So, I woke up one early morning, jumped off my bed, and sneaked out to the kitchen, where I saw my mother who I only found asleep on the table, snoring loudly with hands holding souvenir items she would sell on that day. To see how the toxic flowers work, I concocted a plan to throw one of Uncle Ben’s goats into the garden before the sun rises, where nobody can see me. So, I fetched a potato sack and placed the goat there, stole a ladder leaning on our neighbor’s porch, and proceeded to walk my way to the Old Panas.

I also brought with me a strip of the sack to cover my nose and mouth. It was still dark and no one’s around. It was also quiet that I can only hear my footsteps. I wasn’t sure about this, but I need to do it if it would put an end to these nightmares and this stubborn curiosity.

It was quite a long walk, but I finally reached the garden, panting hard. I paused, stared at the flowers for a minute, and felt a wave of fear rush through me. They look innocent, but the longer I stare at them, the more I see their nectars slowly turning into huge monstrous eyes and their leaves into sharp dragon-like claws. I shook my head, conquered my fear, and proceeded to place the ladder into the 20-foot tall iron gates while carrying the goat-filled sack on my shoulders. Fortunately, the gates, unlike other gates, do not have sharp objects at its top edges, which made it easier for me to jump off inside.

I finally landed inside the first gate. Now, I needed to climb up the second gate. This garden is quite a challenge, my mind concluded. But I noticed that the gaps between the bars of the second gate were a bit wider compared to the first one. So I tried to fit myself beneath the bars by putting my right leg in first; then, I twisted my body until it got in.

But my head can’t seem to get through it. So I pulled my head in as hard as I could until the rough rusty bars scuffed my chin and my forehead so hard that it looked like it was scratched by the nails of a cat.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 8

It didn’t bother me though so I continued my way to the last gate, where some flowers vine around its bars. I stopped in the middle to get my mask and dropped the goat, which had remarkably been behaving all this time.

It didn’t bother me though so I continued my way to the last gate, where some flowers vine around its bars. I stopped in the middle to get my mask and dropped the goat, which had remarkably been behaving all this time.

The cold black dawn pierced my bones. I couldn’t believe I was doing it. I opened the sack with my shivering hands and released the goat cautiously, trying not to make any noise or otherwise the flowers might wake up and stung me to death. The goat innocently galloped his way to the gate and passed through its bars. My eyes watchfully followed the goat’s footsteps as he entered inside the thick bushes of flowers. I never winked. I waited for what could happen. But the goat never came out from the bushes.

My heart beat furiously as I slowly walked back to the second gate. I was thinking the goat began vomiting, leprosy struck her, or the leaves start peeling off his skin. I waited, waited, waited once more for something to happen, something I have never seen before.

The bushes move rapidly.

My eyes widened. Panic started to engulf me as I held the bars of the second gate tight.

Then, the goat bleated loudly. Terror finally seized me, so I quickly turned back to the second gate. Paralyzed with fear, I could no longer command my body to use some strength to get me out of the gate. I got stuck and I felt the garden has trapped me inside.

I have no choice but to scream for help.

Two farmers passing by the garden heard me. I thought I could finally use their help, but instead, they ran away. They were thinking I got stung with a contagious poison or virus from the garden. A few minutes later, my mom passed by with a blazing torch on her hand. When she saw me, she immediately dropped her torch and held the bars of the first gate. Now, she was also shouting for help. Some people heard us and stopped by but were afraid to approach us.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 9

The sun slowly rose, just as more and more people slowly camped around the garden.

But none of them helped us for the fear that they might get contaminated. They just grabbed their camera phones to record how the plants in the garden do their deadly work to me, the victim. I was devastated, felt hopeless. I sat down on the loam soil, watching my mother crying and begging the people to save me. None of them moved.

None of them talked. My eyes blurred, and my mother’s screams faded. I thought I was going to die. All the townsfolk went to see what is happening.

But a few minutes later, the goat scooted out of the bush at the speed of light. The goat easily got through the bars from the second to the first gate and galloped out of the gate fast. Thinking the goat has carried with it some virus, the crowd panicked wildly. Uncle Ben recognized the goat and was so relieved. But as Uncle Ben caught the goat and hugged it, everyone turned their eyes on him.

There was a moment of silence.

Uncle Ben slowly stood up and stepped once. They all stepped back.

.

It was a bit late for Uncle Ben to realize that the goat lying in his arms has already contaminated him. A haze of suspense surrounded the crowd.

“Kill me,” Uncle Ben said, with a shivering voice. He looked at my mother and said the same words again. My mother covered her mouth as she broke down into tears.

“KILL ME!” He shouted with nerves on his neck.

My mother never moved. Uncle Ben wanted to keep the virus to himself so it won’t spread to others.

So, he ran to her and snatched her blazing torch to kill himself. But as he did it, the goat escaped from his arms and ran to the crowd. Everybody panicked to the top of their lungs, some running for their lives. As the goat threw itself unto the warm bodies, the wild crowd began to lose trust to themselves.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 10

Afraid of being contaminated, they began killing each other. With bolos, stones, fire, anything to keep them away from contaminated people.

The sun rose up half, shining on the bloodbath that covered the road. The sight of dead people all around struck me with nausea and left me inside the garden lying unconscious.

The sun rose up half, shining on the bloodbath that covered the road. The sight of dead people all around struck me with nausea and left me inside the garden lying unconscious.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The sun rose up half, shining on the bloodbath that covered the road. The sight of dead people all around struck me with nausea and left me inside the garden lying unconscious.

I woke up to the sound of the chirping birds, still behind the bars of the garden. It was late afternoon. The silence was deafening, except for the breaths that escaped from these familiar people lying on the road.

I stood up and squeezed myself out of the iron bars of the gate to get a closer look. I saw mother, lying on the road with the torch on her hand that would never blaze again, just as her. Beside her was Uncle Ben, whose eyes were open but can no longer see.

I walked my way to the end of the road, not knowing where to go. I just looked straightforward. Emotionless. Footsteps limping.

I reached the highway, where a tricycle stopped by me and asked, “Going to Poblacion?”

I nodded in my darkest face, without saying a word, and took a seat inside.

The end.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 11

Mas Matt Erickson Malagar

Mas Lisud (HARDER)

Karung mga panahona

Kinauyokan sa kinaiya, susiha

Winakat na unta ang mga tawo

Nakalimot man sab magpakatawo

Mas Maayo (BETTER)

Mudiskarte ang mga panuway

Maidlas nga maniobra sa kaaway

Dagha’g naangin ug napatay

Hasta ang paglaom, pagsulay

Mas Paspas (FASTER)

Mulihok ug magpakatag

Daghan na ang nahisalaag

Sa kalisang, kalibutan nataptan

Makalolooy ang wala’y kalibutan

Mas Kusgan (STRONGER)

Angay ang atong pagtuo

Kangitngit, ayaw ipatukbo

Diha sa linaw mamahimong lig-on

Dautan ug kahadlok gun-ogon

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 12

Kidlap Mark Alden Arcenal (Translation from the poem Kutitap by Jed-AR Dublin)

Halayo ang iyahang panglantaw, Nag-aninaw sa kahayag nga makasisilaw.

Adtoon niya latas sa kahingawa.

Susihon ang nagpahiping tanghaga.

Duha-duha ang iyahang inahan; Masugamak unya sa tumang suliran.

Mangingilad kuno ang nagkidlapkidlap.

Aduna na siyay igong kusog; Latason ang dalang makalilibog.

Nakab-ot na unta sa pa’d ang kalampusan.

Midan-ag apan ang sugang dagitab Nang-agni sa iyahang kahuyang.

Madanihon gayod ang nagkidlapkidlap.

Kasadya diay sa kalibutang puno sa nagkidlapkidlap.

Harang mao ang nagkadaiyang kalingawan.

Gituboy kaniya ang tanang kagamhanan; Tanang kagustuhan siya makapatuyang.

Apan, kalit nausab ang nagkidlapkidlap; Nahanaw ang sangud nga kahayag, Gidaog sa makalilisang nga kangiob.

Napalid siya balik sa sinugdanan.

Lahi na ang kaniadtong naandan; Nakalitan sa mga kabag-ohan; Napapas mismo ang kusog sa pakiglimbasog; Sa mga panghitabo siya naglibog.

Bisan tubag wala siyay nakaplagan.

Natumpawak ang kinabuhi sa kapakyasan.

Mudangop siya balik sa nagkidlapkidlap, Taliwala sa nipatigbabaw nga kangitngit.

Maglaom gihapon sa bidlisiw; Didto siya magpataantaan.

Hain hayag ang kidlap... hain siya ilaron sa kahangturan.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 13

Tabanog Mark Alden Arcenal

Taghoy sa huyuhoy nga wala madungog Pangandoy nga gitaptap sa tabanog.

Kahinam sa kasingkasing nga gisalig Sa nipis nga dyaryong gigamit.

Gihulma susama sa naandan, Hugon-hugon nga nalunlon sa kasinatian; Hulga sa panahon nga paspas og lakang, Mugna sa kagahapong hapit na makalimtan.

Sa halapad nga kamagayan nagdagan-dagan; Hanoy-hanoy ilawom sa silong sa kawanangan.

Ang kuyamoy sa adlaw ang nagtuboy sa Kahitas-an, Habu-habo ang naghatod sa pahulayan.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 14

The Unwelcomed Visitor

The Guarded Writer

What a good day!

It's a good day Isn't it a good day?

It's a busy, messy, awry day.

A lazy, hazy, crazy day.

It's an every which way kind of day.

Knock. Knock. Who's there?

Kroo! Kroo! and there was silence Wind blows, swishes the air Creaking, creeping over the fence.

Knock , Knock, who's there?

It's the same story again Nobody cares, it never says beware Always rainbowless after the rain It's an every which way kind of day.

A lazy, hazy, crazy day.

It's a busy, messy, awry day.

Isn't it a good day?

It's a good day What a good day!

Lights out, pitch black Dreams light up and run free Count 1 2 3 and the darkness is back And now it's hard to flee Tremors from head to fingers Mind over matter to control Count 1 2 3 but it lingers Feels like drowning, trapped in a sinkhole Breathe in, breathe out Chest is tight and the heart is pounding Count 1 2 3, what is this about?

It strikes again and I hate the feeling Tears welled from deep inside Pours down the cheeks, stains the pillow Pierces deep while gleam of hope is denied It's rock-bottom, I got hit with a big blow

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 15

Huwag Mo Akong Salingin

A short story by

Mark Alden Arsenal

I

S a isang malawak na eskwater area sa Cebu, may mag-asawang Timon at

Felina ang naninirahan malapit dito. Barilan, rambolan at patayan ay 'di na bago at talamak ito sa kanilang lugar. Tubong Samar si Felina at napadpad ng Cebu upang maghanap ng trabaho dahil sa kahirapan. Si Timon, laking Inayawan, Cebu at pangungumpuni ng mga sirang gamit at pagmemekaniko ang pangunahing hanapbuhay. Sila'y unang magkakaibigan at nang kalauna'y humantong sa pag-iibigan. Nabuntis si Felina at hindi sapat ang trabaho ni Timon sa pangtustos nila sa pangaraw-araw kaya humanap siya ng trabaho.

Pumasok siya bilang drayber ng isang hasyenderong nagmamay-ari ng lupang kinatitirikan ng kanilang bahay --- si Don Simon.

Maraming hinanaing at sabi-sabi tungkol kay Don Simon. Marami-rami na siyang ipinagibang bahay malapit sa eskwater area dahil sa hindi pagsunod sa utos at batas niya. Halos lahat ng mamayan sa lugar ay galit sa kanya. Subalit, hindi pa rin ito nagawang dumugin ng iilan. Bukod sa bakal ang pader ng mansyon, pinapatumba pa nito ang kung sino man ang magtangkang papasyal sa bakuran niya ng walang pahintulot at permiso galing sa kanya. Wala siyang sinasanto, pati kasambahay niyang babae'y pinagsamantalahan niya ito.

Dahil sa hirap ng buhay, binalewala ni Timon ang lahat ng mga daing na narinig n'ya. Natanggap siya bilang drayber ni Don Simon at palagi siyang isinasama nito sa t'wing may lakad ang kanyang amo Don Simon: "Heto nga pala 'yong sahod mo, ako'y natutuwa sa katapatan mong ipanapakita sa akin, Timon."

Timon: "S-s-sir? Sa susunod na linggo pa po ang sahod ko."

Don Simon: "Bonus ko 'yan para sa'yo. Ayaw ko ng maraming daldal.

Tanggapin mo na bago pa magbago ang isip ko."

Timon: "Maraming salamat po, sir!"

Tuwang-tuwang umuwi sa bahay si Timon. Bumili siya ng maraming masasarap na pagkain at prutas para sa kanyang asawa.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 17

Tatlong hakbang na ang siya bago marating ang kanilang bahay nang biglang may narinig siyang...

"T-t-ti-timon! Manganganak na yata ako."

Kumaripas ng takbo si Timon at dali-daling binuksan ang pintuan ng bahay at nagmamadaling inakay ang asawa patungong ospital.

"Kumapit ka lang mahal. Malapit na tayo."

Pagdating sa ospital ay 'di lubos maintindihan ni Timon ang kanyang naramdaman; magkahalong saya at kaba.

"Panginoon, ikaw na po ang bahala sa mag-ina ko."

Ilang sandali pa ay...

"Uhaaaaa-aa-haaa..."

Napaiyak sa tuwa si Timon sa kanyang narinig. Isang makisig at malusog na batang lalake ang naging bunga ng kanilang tambalan. Niyakap niya ang asawa at hinalikan sa noo.

Felina: "Mana sa'yo, Timon. Ano nga pala ang ipapangalan natin sa kaniya?"

Timon: "Man... Manuel... Manuel ang ating itatawag sa kaniya." Pangiti niyang sabi.

Mariin na niyakap ni Felina si Timon.

"Kayo na ang pinakamagandang nangyari sa buong buhay ko."

"Kayo na ang pinakamagandang nangyari sa buong buhay ko."

II.

Kinabukasan, umabot ang balita kay Don Simon at binisita sila nito sa kanilang bahay. Nabighani si Don Simon sa aninag ng probinsyanang kagandahan ni Felina.

Timon: "Sir, magandang umaga po. Pasensiya na po kung hindi ko po napaghandaan ang pagdating n'yo."

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 18

Don Simon: "Magandang umaga sa 'yo, binibini..."

Felina: "Mag-a-andang U-m..."

Timon: "Si Felina po sir, asawa ko."

Kinuha ni Don Simo ang kamay ni Felina at kanya itong hinalikan.

"Ang suwerte naman ni Timon sa iyo."

Pumagitna kaagad si Timon sa kanilang dal'wa at inutusan ang asawa.

Timon: "Mahal, pakikuha mo ng juice si sir."

Don Simon: "H'wag na Timon, ako'y naparito upang makilala ko naman ang pamilya mo. Aalis na ako't hihintayin kita sa mansyon."

Nag-iwan ng ngiti kay Felina si Don Simon bago ito umalis. Napansin ito ni Timon at hindi na lang n'ya ito pinansin dahil utang na loob niya sa kanyang amo ang kanyang trabaho.

Pagdating niya sa mansyon, nilinis n'ya ang kotse ng kanyang amo.

Don Simon: "Aba. S'ya nga pala, ano ba'ng trabaho ng asawa mo?"

Timon: "Nag-aasikaso lang po sa anak namin, Don Simon."

Don Simon: "Wala ka bang balak na pagtrabahuin siya? Ako'y nangangailan pa ng kasambahay. Puwede siya dito."

Timon: "H'wag na po sir. Wala kasing magbabantay sa anak namin."

Don Simon: "Dito na rin kayo tumira. Dodoblehin ko sahod n'yo."

Biglang nagtaka si Timon sa pag-aalok ng amo. Pag-uwi niya sa bahay ay kinausap niya ang asawa sa alok ni Don Simon.

Timon: "Payag ka ba?"

Felina: "Alam ko mahirap sa 'yo. Lumalaki na 'yong anak natin."

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 19

Pumayag na rin si Timon sa gustong mangyari ng asawa. Bukod sa libre, mas madadagdagan pa ang kanilang ipon. Ang 'di niya alam, hubad sa katotohanan lamang pala ang lahat. Tumira sila sa iisang mansyon kasama si Don Simon -- ang magpapabago sa takbo ng kanilang buhay.

Mabilis ang takbo ng panahon kasabay sa paglaki ng anak nilang si Manuel.

Wala sa pangangalaga ni Felina ang anak. Ipinaubaya ito sa isang kasama niyang kasambahay sa mansyon --- si manang Daya. Si Timon ang palaging inaatasan ni Don Simon sa tuwing may transaksyon samantalang si Felina nama'y ipinagbilinang tagapangalaga sa hasyenda.

Kapalit nito, pinagsasamantalahan ni Don Simon ang pagkababae ni Felina tuwing wala si Timon. Hinahalay niya ito at inabuso.

"Huwag kang magtatangkang magsumbong sa asawa mo kung ayaw mong uunahin ko sila."

Walang nagawa si Felina. Maraming beses itong nangyari ngunit walang kaalam-alam si Timon.

Timon: "Mahal, pagpasensiyahan mo na kung ngayon lang ako may oras sa 'yo ha, marami kasing ipinagawa si Don Simon nitong mga nagdaang-araw.

Felina: "'Wag kang mag-alala mahal." Sabay patak ng mga butil ng luha sa kanyang mga mata ngunit hindi ito napansin ni Timon.

Timon: "Ang bait ni Don Simon sa atin mahal, 'di ko lubos maisip na patitirahin niya tayo dito. Teka, si Manuel nga pala...

Manang Dayaa..."

Manang Daya: "Naku Timon, tulog na po si Manuel."

Felina: "Maraming salamat manang sa pag-aalaga n'yo kay Manuel. Anim na taon na ang lumipas mula ng lumabas siya dito sa sinapupunan ko."

III

Lubhang ikinagagalak ni Timon sa mga pangyayaring nababalot ng ilusyon.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 20

Lagi siyang ipinapadala ni Don Simon sa ibayong lugar para sa kanyang negosyo. Lagi na rin n'yang naiiwan ang kanyang mag-ina. Buo ang kanyang tiwala sa kanyang amo.

Samantala, kalapastangan ang mga pangyayari sa mansyon. Isang araw, habang naliligo si Felina, sinilip ito ni Don Simon at pinagpapantasyahan. Napansin ito kaagad ni Felina.

"Sir, 'wag po muna ngayon. Maawa po kayo." Nanginginig ang buong katawan ni Felina sa takot.

Hindi nagpaawat si Don Simon. Pinasok niya ang banyo kung saan naliligo si Felina.

"Ang ayaw ko sa lahat, ang may sumisira sa kaligayahan ko. Akin ka lang Felina."

Tinakpan ni Don Simon ang bunganga ni Felina upang hindi ito makasigaw.

Nangyari na naman ang 'di dapat mangyari. Napaiyak na lang si Felina habang binababoy siya ni Don Simon. Siya 'yong tipong nakakapagsalita ngunit hindi makapagsalita.

Takot.

Pangunahing sanhi kung hindi n'ya pa rin kayang magsumbong sa asawa.

Lumipas ang ilang buwan at may napansing pagbabago si Felina sa kanyang katawan. Palagi siyang nahihilo. Hindi na rin siya binibisita ng kanyang buwanang-dalaw.

Paulit-ulit pa rin siyang ginagalaw ni Don Simon.

"Puwede bang tantanan mo na ako Don Simon, maawa ka." Napaluhod si Felina sa harap ng kanyang amo.

"Buntis ako. Oo buntis ako Simon!" Humikbi ng mariin si Felina.

"Magiging isang pamilya tayo Felina. Magiging maligaya at maginhawa ang buhay mo sa akin. Mahal kita Felina. Mahal na mahal..." pagpupumilit ni Don Simon.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 21

"Si Timon lang ang asawa ko. Siya lang mahal ko. Hindi i-ikaaa..." pagsusumigaw ni Felina.

Hindi na ipinatuloy ni Don Simon ang nais iusisa ni Felina.

"Kung hindi ka magiging akin, pwes..."

Pinagbuhatan niya ng kamay si Felina sanhi ng pagkawala ng kanyang malay.

Tinanggal ni Don Simon ang lahat ng saplot ni Felina at pinagsawaan ang kanyang katawan.

Hindi pa rin napawi sa kanyang isip ang mga narinig niya mula sa bibig ni Felina.

Kumukulo ang kanyang dugo nang dahil sa kanyang natuklasan. Gusto niyang iligpit si Timon at ang anak nito.

Pagdating sa bahay ni Timon ay pumaroon agad siya sa silid ng asawa. Nakita niya itong umiiyak.

Timon: "May problema ba, mahal ko?

Felina: "W-wala 'to. Masaya lang ako..."

Timon: "Alam ko nayayamot ka na sa akin. Pasensiya ka na mahal." Niyakap niya ang asawa.

Biglang pumasok ang anak nilang si Manuel at nagyakapan silang tatlo.

Timon: "Manuel anak, hayaan mo sanang ako ang maghahatid sa 'yo bukas sa paaralan."

Manuel: "Sige po itay."

Timon: "Magpapaalam muna ako kay Don Simon, anak."

Bumaba ng mansyon si Timon patungo sa hardin kung saan nandoon ang kanyang amo.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 22

Timon: "Sir, kung puwede po sanang humiram ng kotse bukas ihahatid ko lang sana ang anak ko."

Don Simon: "Walang problema 'yan. Magsaya kayo."

Timon: "Maraming salamat po!"

IV Nabuhay ang budhi ni Don Simon sa kanyang narinig. May namuo siyang malagim na plano.

[Pag-uusap ni Don Simon at ng kanyang tauhan sa telepono.]

"Sir, may maipaglilingkod po ba ako?"

"May ipapagawa ako sa 'yo. May gusto lang akong ipapaligpit. Siguraduhin mong hindi ka papalpak."

"Magkano ba to?"

"Ang dami mong satsat, punta ka dito sa mansyon ngayon din! Lagyan mo ng bomba ang sasakyan ko at dapat sasabog ito tuwing gagamitin ang brake. Pagkatapos pumunta ka sa opisina ko, do'n ko na lang ibibigay ang bayad."

"Opo, sir."

Walang alam ang mag-asawa sa masamang balak ni Don Simon.

Kinabukasan.

Maagang gumising si Timon. Ipinaghanda niya ang anak at pinaliguan.

Samantala, naudyok sa isang karumal-dumal na bangungot si Felina. Napanaginipan niya ang trahedyang kinakatatakutan niya --- ang mamatay ang kanyang mag-ama.

"D-di-diyos ko pooooo...." sigaw ni Felina.

"Mahal, gising..." pagpupumilit ni Timon.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 23

Napaiyak si Felina at niyakap niya ang asawa ng napakahigpit.

"Pagod ka lang mahal, ihahatid ko muna anak natin. Hintayin mo 'ko," tugon ni Timon.

Niyakap muli ni Felina ang kanyang mag-ama.

Konsensya ang bumabalot sa isipan ni Felina sa bawat nagdaang mga araw na walang kamuwang-muwang ang kanyang asawa sa mga pangyayari. Buo na ang kanyang desisyon na isumbong sa asawa ang lahat-lahat.

Sa kabilang banda, masayang-masaya ang mag-ama papuntang paaralan. Sa kalagitnaan ng kanilang biyahe, biglang tumawid ang isang aso at inapakan niya ang brake ng sasakyan at...

"BOOOOOOOOM!" Wasak na wasak ang kotseng minamaneho ng mag-ama at kutay-kutay na ang mga katawan nito na tumilapon sa gitna ng daan.

Habang sa mansyon ay naulit muli ang pang-aabuso kay Felina.

Felina: "Itigil na natin 'to. Isusumbong na kita kay Timon."

Don Simon: "Nailigpit ko na ang mag-ama mo. Wala ng sagabal sa akin."

Felina: "Demonyo ka Simon. Walang hiya ka!"

Sinampal-sampal niya si Don Simon ngunit patuloy pa rin ito sa kanyang ginagawa.

Mangiyak-ngiyak na siya sa kanyang galit.

Nang makaraos si Don Simo'y umalis ito kaagad. Lumapit si manang Daya sa kanya.

"Ako'y biktima rin sa kalibugan ni Don Simon, Felina. Wala na akong nagawa noon.

Pero, ang hirap ng pinagdaanan mo ngayon," pakikiramay ni manang Daya.

Niyakap ni manang Daya si Felina.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 24

"Huli na ang lahat manang. Wala na ang mag-ama ko," hudyat ni Felina.

"Ipaghihiganti ko sila," dagdag pa niya.

V Binisita niya ang mga nakahandusay na bangkay ng kanyang mag-ama. Ramdam niya ang bigat at hinagpis ng mundo sa kanyang balikat. 'Di niya napigilan ang sunod-sunod na patak ng mga luha sa mga mata niyang nagluluksa sa nangyari.

Pagsapit ng dilim ay umuwi siya sa mansyon. Tinungo niya muna ang kusina at kumuha ng kutsilyo at pagkatapos ay humayo sa kanyang kuwarto. Inilagay niya ito sa ilalim ng kanyang unan.

Bago pa man siya tuluyang mahimbing sa tulog ay napukaw siya sa paggalaw ng kanyang kumot at sa pagbaba ng kanyang suot na pantalon. Pumanhid kaagad sa kanyang harapan si Don Simon. Dahan-dahan niyang binunot ang kutsilyo at.."Tsssssssssks..."

Sentro sa dibdib ni Don Simon ang tinunton ni Felina at tumalsik ang dugo sa kanyang mukha at sa buong kwarto.

"Hayop ka. Huwag mo akong salingin!"

Paulit-ulit niyang sinaksak si Don Simon hanggang sa mabawian ito ng buhay.

Bumuhos ang kanyang galit na galit na mga luha. At sa kahuli-huliha'y kanyang naisambit. "Mapapatawad n'yo pa kaya ako, Panginoon ko?"

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 25

Ginabot Sugilanon ni

Daryl Niño Jabil

NAG-ASO-ASO pa ang ginabot nga gitugpahan sa pananaw ni Henry dihang kalit siyang nakalingi sa pungkopungko sa iyang kilid. Bag-ong haon. Ang baho sa pinirito nanuhot-suhot sa iyang ilong. Gituyo niya nga ibalewala ang nakit-an ug natimahoan, bahala nag nagkutoy ang iyang tiyan. Bahala na pod kon naglutawlutaw na karon sa iyang hunahuna ang hulagway sa ginabot nga gihiwa ug mipaka, ug ang kagubkob nga tingog niini sulod sa baba. Layo pa siyag laktonon pauli sa inabangan niyang kuwarto (nga upat ka buwan na niyang wala mabayri) ug di niya buot mausik pa ang iyang panahon (nga ambot kaha unsaon niya paggasto karong serado pa man ang tanan ug kontrolado pod ang matag lihok sa katawhan), gininhawang gitak-opan sa itom nga panaptong face mask (nga kinahanglang sul-obon sa tanang dili gobernador kay ang dili magsul-ob, aw, kuyawg pusilon, pila ray kinabuhi) ug mga sensilyong uyamot sa busloton niyang bolsa (nga pastilan, labihan na ra bang gamaya). Mipadayon siya sa paglakaw.

Pero ang kahumot sa bag-ong haon nga mga ginabot nga mao lang poy paghabwa ngadto sa food tray, nga bisan pag iya nang gitalikdan ug gipaspasan pa gani niya ang iyang matag lakang, nagsige gihapon og panuhik sa bangag sa iyang ilong, morag mga langaw nga di makita. Katol kaayo. Makagutom kaayo. Midaguok iyang tiyan.

Sa pagpadayon sa iyang pagbaktas sa Dalan Jakosalem hinuon, kalit siyang nakadungog og paka-paka sa nagbukal nga manteka sa kaha sa kilid. Pastilan, fried chicken! Nakapanglingo si Henry. Mihunong siya. Gilingi niya ang gabukal nga kaha.

Galingo-lingo. Sa iyang hunahuna, dungog gihapon ang kagubkob nga pag-usap sa ginabot.

Ug unsang pagkaunsaa, sa hinungdan nga wala pa niya matugkad niadtong daklit nga nahunong siya— sa kagutom o kakapoy o kaguol o kalibog ba kaha— di na mabangbang ang himaya nga mipaturatoy og sulod sa iyang baga, ug sa way daghang langas, way dugayng paghunahuna, mitalikod siya ug sagol-dagan nga gilakaw ang iyang naagiang ginabot kaganiha— ang matag tikang paspas, paspas pas inaringkil nga nahimo sa nagtingog-tingog niyang sensilyong uyamot (upat ka singko ba to ug duha ka diyes?) sa pitaka sa bolsa sa iyang karsones. Sa pungko-pungko, gisugat siyag

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 27

maabiabihong pagyango sa tinderong nagsul-ob sab og itom nga face mask, gipalingkod, gitadtaran og sibuyas-bombay nga ang kasipa sa kahumot milusot sa panapton ngadto sa iyang ilong. Himaya! Daling mipungko si Henry atubangan sa nag-aso-aso pang ginabot.

Nagpangurog ang tampihak ni Henry, apil na sad ang iyang mga tudlo, samtang gipunit ang usa ka makapasong ginabot sa nagmantekang food tray. Naglisod gani siyag pabilangkad sa gipunit pod niyang puso nga tagsingko ang buok, iyang mga tudlo danglog sa singot sa gisuot niining plastic. Dihang gitangtang niya ang panaptong nagtabon sa iyang baba ug ilong, nangomosta niya ang lalaking tindero.

Di god sila kaila, pero una man god ning adlaw nga nakabalik og pangabli sa iyang gamayng kan-anan ang tindero human sa pipila ka buwang gidili ang mga kan-anang pungko-pungko. Maabiabihon baya gyod ning mga Bisaya, dili ba? Pero morag way nadungog si Henry. Nagbalik-balik lang siyag tuslob sa ginabot ngadto sa siniliang sukang pinakurat ug hatod niini sa galaway niyang baba. Sa kada hungit, mopiyong sa iyang mga mata— pinaduot ra ba.

Mipunit siya sa ikaduhang hiwa, gipaningot. Nagpangurog ang iyang dughan sa unang paak niya sa ikatulo.

Taympa, unsa na bang orasa karon?

Miduko siya sa pulsohan ug didto niya nahinumdoman nga iya na man diayng naprenda kagahapon ang iyang relo de pulso nga Casio. Hinatag tos kliyente niya sa miaging Pasko, walo ka buwan na pod ang minglabay. Kaniadto, buhong pa siya sa mga laag nga mabuntagan— kon di man gani sa tagay ug club hopping from Mabolo to Banilad to Mandaue uban ang mga kaubang ahente og sakyanan, ngadto siya sa laing isla aron ilawig ang nahalin nga Nissan Navara 4x4 nga maoy kasagarang paliton sa mga suki niyas Mindanao. Kinsa bay magdahom nga pipila lang ka buwan gikan niadtong panahon sa tinggasto— gikan og Pasko sa Disyembre, Sinulog sa Enero ug mahalon nilang laag sa Balentayms sa iyang hinigugmang si Ellen sa Singapore sa Pebrero— kalit man dayong gipahunong ang tanang komersiyal nga kalihokan sa tibuok nasod.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 28

Paspas nga mingsaka ang gidaghanon sa mga nangatakdan sa bag-ong klase sa sakit sa baga nga “imported from Wuhan, China.” Linibo ang nangamatay. Nahutdan og lantay ang mga ospital. Hasta mga nars ug doktor, naapil og kamatay.

Aron mahunong ang pagtinakdanay, daling gihimong ilegal ang paggawas sa balay sa katawhang dili apil sa industriya sa pagkaon, medisina ug panggobyerno. Ang mosupak posasan, pahayangon ilawom sa naglagiting nga Adlaw sa Plaza Independencia, pasayawon sa tokar nga “Budots” ug “Pit Señor!” atubangan sa mga kamerang mopakaulaw sa mga dinakpan adlaw-adlaw sa social media, sa dili pa temporaryong presohon sa guot, tayaon ug way limpiyong Kaohsiung Bus nga gipabarog kilid sa City Hall. (Atoa lang ni, ha, pero ingon sila ang uban lagi daw kunong mga nagpabadlong ani, labi na kadtong mga hugaw gyod og panamit, aw, pusilon.)

Ug kay lagi ahente lang og sakyanan si Henry— wala mahilakip sa lista sa, matod pa, ‘esensiyal’ nga patigayon— nga nagsalig lang sa komisyong porsyento sa matag mabaligya niyang sakyanan, nagtinihik siyag sugod sa inadlawng gasto. Matod pas gobyerno, antos lang samtang nakiggubat pa ang tibuok nasod, este, kalibotan sa makatakod ug makamatay nga bag-ong matang sa pulmonya.

Ang labing epektibo ra man kuno nga solusyon sa pagkakaron mao ang pagdili sa mga tawo nga mogawas sa ilang panimalay aron walay magtinakdanay. Ang gianunsiyong pagsuspenso sa mga patigayong lakip ang kang Henry, kutob ra man pod kuno sa hinapos sa Abril— buwan nga tingpaso unta sa mga anak sa dato, ug tingpalit og bag-ong car nilang mommy ug daddy alang sa ilang bag-ong gradweyt— buwan nga kon wa pa lang ning nasodnong, este, kalibotanong kakulian, makahatag na untag halin sa ulitawo.

Miabot ang Mayo dungan ang paglugway pa sa pagsuspenso sa mga patigayong sama lagi sa panginabuhian ni Henry, ug ang inadlaw niyang kaon nga kaniadto katulo nahimo na lang nga kaduha— pamahaw sa alas onse ug panihapon sa alas singko.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 29

Nahadlok siyang mahutdan sa dali kaayong minipis niyang tinipigan, ilabi na kay wala man diay siya maapil sa listahan sa mga hataganan og P5,000 nga kuwarta alang sa mga nawad-an og trabaho kay, ingon pas taga barangay hall nga iyang gipangutana sa facebook, ahente lagi kuno si Henry ug dili gyod matawag nga “regular” nga empleyado.

“Base diri, kuan, self-employed ka, Sir,” pahinumdom sa taga barangay niya. “Not qualified, sorry.”

Apan dihang miabot ang Hunyo, gilugwayan gihapon ang kuwarantinas sa tibuok Sugbo (opisyal ug legal nga ngalan: “enhanced community quarantine”) ug kausa na lang si Henry maligo sa usa ka semana. Hasta sa sabon ug de metrong tubig nga ikaligo, nagtinihik na pod siya. Nanghuwam siya og kuwarta sa ilang sales manager (gipa-fund transfer sa iyang ATM human makapasalig nga bayran niya sa unang buwan nga makabalik na silag pamaligya), apan wa ra gihapon ni magdugay kay ang kuwarantinas sa dakbayan mikaon og apil sa tibuok buwan sa Hulyo.

Ang sabon nahilis na.

Misugod nag katab-ang ang iningkitang bahin sa ikatulong ginabot sa baba ni Henry.

Dihang hapit na man god unta niya ning matulon, gibira man dayon pasaka sa iyang dila ang inusap. Wa siya masayod nga kaganiha ra siyang gitutokan sa tindero sa atbang, kasultihon-dili sa kadaghan sa liso sa singot nga mingtulo gikan sa agtang ni Henry ngadto sa sukang pinakurat niya sa ubos. Mihuot iyang dughan. Mosta na kaha iyang amahan?

Ang iyang amahang drayber og multikab sa pikas Isla sa Mactan, nagsige gihapon og padalag mga text message sa iyang anak nga wala na mareplayi kay ang selpon ni Henry, hagbay rang gi-airplane mode. Di matawagan ni makadawat og text.

Nahibawo na man god si Henry nga hasta ang pagpamasahero sa iyang Tatay Simo naapektohan pod.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 30

Unsaon ta man nga nahubsan na man sad siya. Di niya kayang balibaran sa pulong ang iyang amahan; mas maayo na lang nga dili lang usa tinggan. Mobawi ra lagi siya puhon, maoy sulti niya pirme sa kaugalingon, kon mabalik na sa naandan ang tanan… kon mobalik man.

Ug karon sa unang adlaw unta sa iyang trabahong gitugotan nang mobalik sa Agosto, igo lang silang gitapok (nga usa ka dupa ang gilay-on sa usag usa kay ang pagdikit, pakig-estoryag hunghong bag-o lang pod nahimong ilegal) sa gikandadohan diay gihapon nilang showroom.

Tul-id pas tinaing nabusog ang mga pulong nga giyagyag sa presidente sa ilang kompanya kaganiha: “Effective today, we are closing down the business.” Ug unya kahilom.

Lahi sa ubang mga miting kaniadto nga kada hunong og pamulong sa tag-iya, ulanon siyag mga pakpak ug abiba. Naplanohan sa mga tag-iyang Uykingtian nga gamiton ang nahabilin nilang pundo sa laing patigayon nga makatabang nilag bawi sa nahanaw nga unom ka buwan. May iglulusad silang “food and delivery business, pandemic-proof” ug misaad nga hatagan sa kataposang suweldo ang tanan nilang “essential employees,” kansang mga serbisyo lugwayan pa sab og dugang duha ka buwan alang sa paglimpiyo ug pagbalanse sa tanang bayronon, ulianan ug singlonon sa kasosyo nilang mga supplier, ug mga banko, “to close our books in a very clean manner. ” Ug alang sa mga ahente nga sama kang Henry: “Wishing you more success in your next endeavor.”

Ug mao nang mihuot ang dughan ni Henry samtang giusap og maayo ang wa dayon niya tunlang kataposang bahin sa ikatulo niyang hiwa sa ginabot. Dili niya buot mahinumdoman ang mga nanghitabo kaganiha sa showroom— ug wa na gani niya dayona ang giplanong paghulam pa unta sa assistant sales manager nila og kuwartang panggasto na pod karong buwana.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 31

Sa kalami sa mga pulong-pasalamat nga gilitok sa iyang amo kaganiha, iyang nabati nga mas hapdos ang mga pulong nga wala niya madungog. Kadtong mga butang nga iya untang gipaabot, apan wala moabot. Mga saad sa kaniadto, karon wala na sa plano. Mga plano sa kaugalingon nga makabangon, mga plano nga tawgan na niyag balik ang iyang amahan aron ingnon nga nawala ang selpon niya adtong Hulyo ug karon lang niya makitag balik (bahalag bakak gihapon aron dili pod maguol og apil ang iyang amahan).

Labihan ang kagutom nga mihugpa kaniya— kagutom nga mananapon. Maong kinahanglang patalinghogan…

Sa iyang pag-ingkit sa ikaupat nga hiwa sa ginabot, mikubakuba ang iyang dughan.

Dili, dugdog gyod diay. Pagkakusog! Iyang kalibotan morag giuyog. Linog? Taympa, nganong mipungko man siya dinhi nga wa na man kaha siyay kuwarta? Pagkabuang!

Pero gutom pa man...

Kaparat sa ikalimang ginabot. Ang ginabot nga, matod pas kanhi pod niyang kliyente niadtong Enero, mga salin ra kuno sa mga adunahang nasod sama sa Netherlands nga gituyo og labay dinhi sa Sugbo aron makaon pa. Igo lang siyang mikatawa adto ug nakapanglingo kay sa kaabunda god sa pagkaon nianang mga nasora, maayo na lang nga gipaanad ta nilag lamoy sa ilang basura. Hinuon, puwerte man pong lamia.

Dugdog.

Ug unya nakahinumdom siyang gisaaran man diay to niya iyang landlord nga unyang gabii na niya bayran ang iyang abang alang sa miaging buwan. Nagtuo lagi siyang makahulam siya didtos opisina ganiha. Dugdog.

Mibarog siya nga nanghinuktok sa hangin. Dugdog.

Maklaro ba ang iyang pagpangurog? Dugdog.

Si Henry, naglakaw sa kaugalingon niyang hunahuna. Dugdog.

Mitalikod siya sa pungko-pungko ug mipahawa. Dugdog. Gitawag siya sa tindero, pero mipadayon lang siya sa hinay ug daw galutaw niyang linaktan. Dugdog.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 32

Wala siya kadungog? Misinggit ang tindero, gilabay og sudlanan sa suka ang iyang ulo. Dugdog.

Hinay apan gakurog nga gikawot ni Henry ang iyang ulo. Nagkakusog ang dugdog.

Wala siyay lingi-lingi.

Dugdog.

Mipadayon siya paglakaw.

Dugdog.

Nagpakitabang ang tindero sa mga amigo sa dalan. Nadungog ni Henry. Dugdog.

Misinggit ang tindero. Misinggit siya ug misinggit.

Dugdog.

Ug ang iyang singgit gisanong sa usa sa mga tambay. Dugdog.

Ug ang tambay paspas nga misumbag kang Henry. Dugdog.

Natumba si Henry.

Dugdog.

Nahigda si Henry sa aspaltong karsada; mitabisay ang dugo sa iyang walang kilay.

“Pilay bayranan ani?” singgit sa gasumbag ngadto sa tindero.

“Taymsa, taymsa,” tubag sab sa tindero nga daling nangapkap sa mga dahon sa puso nga nabuliskad sa gipungkoan ni Henry kaganiha. Nangawot pod siya sa iyang bagulbagol dihang gitaghap ang gidaghanon sa ginabot nga nahurot. Mipiyong ang mga mata ni Henry. Dugdog.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 33

“Buhi pa, buhi pa?” singgit sa tindero, ug sa dihang nakita nga misaka-kanaog pa ang tiyan sa naghigdang kustomer, miusab sa iyang pangutana: “Nakuyapan?”

NAG-ASO-ASO pa ang ginabot nga gitugpahan sa hunahuna ni Henry human siya matumba sa kakusog sa sumbag nga misugat lang og kalit niya sa dalan. Gipiyong niya iyang mga mata.

Iyang nadunggan ang singgit sa tindero sa pungko-pungko, ang pag-ihap niinig usa hangtod lima, ang pangutana niini sa tono nga morag gikulbaan: “Buhi pa, buhi pa?”

Naghuwat siyang kapkapon ang iyang mga bolsa.

“Nakuyapan?” O ba kaha dalhon sa usa ka stretcher palayo sa dalan. Magkuha kaha silag ambulansiya? Uroy og matakdan hinuon si Henry sa makamatay nga sakit didto sa ambulansiya o sa ospital kon asa siya ihatod!

Naghuwat si Henry nga nagpiyong, sama sa paghuwat niya sa lima ka buwan nga gihikawan siya sa katungod nga makapanikaysikay aron may ipalit og makaon ug uban pang panginahanglan.

Naghuwat siya sa kangitngit ug kabalaka sa sitwasyon sa iyang amahan sa pikas isla.

Naghuwat nga mabalik na ang naandan.

Naghuwat nga luwas na niyang maablihan ang iyang mga mata.

Naghuwat.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 34

Where do

fallen heroes A short story by

Niño Jan Vergara Miole

go?

I slept tonight wrapped in darkness.

I slept praying for the world to stop revolving or my heart to stop beating.

I just want the abysmal depths to swallow me whole tonight.

I just want to disappear.

Disappear.

Disappear.

Disappear.

Disappear.

Just like what my brother did.

He just vanished and the next day, he was gone. His body was found hanged in the nurse’s lounge where he worked.

Where he once worked.

Maybe, he was over fatigued. Surely, being a covid nurse is a taxing job, but I felt there’s something more into it that people failed to recognized.

That I failed to recognize as his sibling.

Maybe he lacked support or the experience was too traumatic to him. However, an exuberant person like him was the last person anyone could think of, commiting suicide.

It was impossible.

I didn’t believe it when the hospital director called and informed us about his cause of death.

Maybe someone killed him? Maybe someone orchestrated his death to make it look like suicide?

But no, I was just in denial.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 36

Maybe I was wrong about him.

Maybe he wasn’t as strong as I imagined him to be.

Maybe he was a coward.

Maybe he ran away like a dog with its tail behind its legs.

Maybe he was…

Maybe he needed someone to talk to.

Maybe he needed to rest.

Maybe he needed reassurance.

And I wasn’t there.

No one did.

No one.

He suffered this all alone.

He suffered it behind a facade of a smiling face.

Everything was okay, he once said.

But he wasn’t.

And now everything was clear.

His death was a fatal reminder to me that strong ones have weak moments, too.

That strong people are human, too. And sometimes, people fail to recognize that.

Truth be told, nobody does.

Even me.

I took for granted every missed opportunity that I had to help him alleviate his struggles.

He called me thrice last week after his shift yet I failed to pick up the call because I was having my online exam.

He also sent me a text message, saying “how are you?”

But I didn’t have had any load and was lazy to go to a local store in the middle of the night. Days passed, I forgot to reply.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 37

I rubbed my swollen eyes to check my phone. I squinted a bit, from the harsh light emitted by the device. I scanned my messages and there his name was, “Nate.”

I clicked his name and scanned through the unread messages and my awful replies.

My heart sank even further, reading the last text message he sent three days ago: It said, “whatever happens, you know that I love you. Say my regards to mom and dad too.”

And I replied, “ok.”

Ok. Ok. Ok. The word reverberated in my head, causing my hands to go numb and I dropped my phone in the ground. The cold breeze from the window sent shivers to my spine and I lost it.

I cried hysterically. I threw my punches at my innocent pillows and threw them at the edge of the wall. I began to hyperventilate.

I gasped desperately for air but the feeling made me ecstatic instead. The feeling that I might actually die is quite refreshing.

I just want my lungs to collapse and my trachea to burst and lose every breath until I pass out.

Time perhaps froze and the seconds and minutes and hours were spitted out of the clock and now I took shelter in this distorted space, this sort of limbo where I can cry forever, for a decade or for a millennium.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 38

I don’t want to live anymore now he’s gone.

I just want my brother back!

Oh God, bring him back.

God. Please. I sniffled and inhaled sharply. I hugged my knees tight and assumed a fetal position.

My head suddenly felt heavy and I close my eyes, allowing the darkness to consume me. ****************************************************************************** Chirp.

Chirp.

Chirp.

A chorus of sounds of what seems to be birds woke me up from my terrible sleep.

A ray of sunlight danced across my face and I used my arm to cover my eyes.

From all the drama last night, I actually slept.

I stood up still in daze, and looked at the clock.

11 AM. I sat down in my bed and pondered deeply on what happened last night and the terrible days that transpired before it. I shifted my body to look upon my reflection in the mirror by the left corner.

I looked terrible.

Even the word terrible is an understatement. I looked like someone who just rose from the dead. The image that stared back at me in the mirror is someone that I don’t recognized-dry and messy hair, pair of swollen dark circles beneath the eyes, and a thin body frame that seemed to hang on the laces of my night dress.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 39

This is how 16 days could change a person or rather this is how grief can change a person within 16 days.

It has been 16 days since my brother’s passing. 16 days where only his memory clinged to me until I too, shall be dust in this world.

Within those 16 days, I moved out from my parents’ house because of a heavy argument. When they heard about the news of my brothers ‘disgraceful death’ as they call it, they were reluctant to offer a mass for his soul because in our practice as Catholics, it is a sin to kill one’s self no matter what the reason was. They were ashamed when our neighbors, relatives, and family friends knew about the horrible news.

What I hated the most was how they labeled him as, “he was once a good person,” “he knew better,” and the like. It was as if he made a mistake. For God’s sake, suicide is a plea for help!

Where were they when he needed us the most? They were only harnessing a prodigy to work for their future retirement. My brother, who always excel in everything that he does and now one failure of meeting their expectations, they just abandon him.

I was utterly disgusted by their reaction. They mourn the loss of my brother briefly and were too focused on fixing the bad image he left in his passing.

I couldn’t take it anymore and went to my grandmother’s house in distress. My grandma, Luisita, welcomed me with a warm embrace and I’m glad she was not like mom and dad. Truly, grandparents are gifts from heaven.

I let out a tired yawn and before I stood up, my phone vibrated, indicating a message. I took my phone out from my bed and I almost threw it in horror.

There was an email from my brother.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 40

I calmly inhaled and assured myself that he won’t be haunting me for my exodus at home. This must be a scheduled message he sent.

With a clear mind, I grasped my phone firmly and opened the message: Dear Ana, I wonder if you will open this message. I wonder if you open this with a frowning or dismal face.

Well, I hope you don’t, because it doesn’t suit you. I’m sorry if I had never reached out and talked to you like we used to. I mean I tried, but words never came out freely.

Do you remember when I used to tell you stories before you go to sleep? I used to scare you every night when you don’t sleep early; the monsters under your bed will crawl and devour you. Hehehe. How sweet are those times? I just missed my little and carefree sister.

I want you to know that I have thought about my decision, over and over and that despite what will happen or what happened, I never loved you less. You were the only member of the family who understood and cared for me genuinely.Remember when dad used to punch me because I had one mistake in my math quiz, you threw your teddy bear to daddy and yelled, “Stop it! You're ugly and mean daddy! Don’t hurt my brother!”

I was stunned by your bravery standing tall at the age of six from a towering 6 foot monster I mean dad. I don’t want the horrible cycle of our family to haunt you. Also, when moms always tell you that you’re the only stupid one in the family with poor grades, you just shrugged your shoulders and told her, “and I’m the only pretty one in this household.” Your grin and shocking remark made mom’s face red with anger. If I haven’t calmed her down, God knows what she might have done to you.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 41

The worst thing that might happen to my life is not losing it, but thinking that you will not remember me. I want you to remember me, Ana. Just keep the good moments. I don’t know where I’ll go after this, no one knows really. Does heaven or hell exist? I don’t know.

I know you and I share the habit of reading novels and we both aspire to be one right? I’m not comfortable of sharing my recurrent nightmares in the hospital, but maybe through a story, I might gain the confidence. Ana, this might be my last write up, and I hope you keep it. Here it goes:

THE DAY THE SUN NEVER GREETED THE SKIES WAS A PRELUDE TO A NIGHTMARE I COULD never escape. I could run, I could hide, I could plead, but there’s no point of return. It was as if I’ve never woken up from my sleep. To be trapped in a world where your fears sit right next to you, I’m flabbergasted how my ordinary life could shift to a peculiar one in a few days to come. Well, I’m not sure if I made the right decision today, but it was a decision that my family was fine as long as I can use it as a credential to work abroad and earn large sum of money. What a family. They even reminded me of how mundane my life was and that a few months of rest would be fine.

I’m already 27.

My bills are greater than my salary.

I’m still single for the years I’ve never counted.

I packed my luggage with garments for a month’s worth of stay in the hospital and went to my sister’s room to bid good bye.

“Hey there, little girl, don’t want some goodbye hug? I mean I won’t be seeing you in a month.”

I opened my arms in a wide embrace but my sister just rolled her eyes and told me, “I’m not six anymore and I don’t want hugs. Just get going you know you can reach me through text. Please don’t disturb me, I’m reading the latest novel of Brandon Sanderson.”

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 42

“A decent goodbye would earn you a hardbound of that book.” I said mocking her.

She turned to me and rose from her chair and told me, “I’ll miss you. I need that hardbound badly. Don’t use it against me.” She said with her eyebrows drooping.

“Yes yes. I will.” I replied. I took my luggage out of the door and waved her goodbye.

“God bless and take care, brother. Call me when you’re not busy. Come back soon, okay?” She said in a monotone.

“I will, I promise.” The words stung me because everything was uncertain. I took a final glance at our little abode. Sinking in the image and adding in a few extra details from the imaginary future. “I’ll come back.” I muttered under my breath as I closed the rusty gate with a little determination.

As I sauntered my way on the streets, people from the adjacent area gestured others to fall back and shot me a disgusted look. “The nurse is out. His going to bring the virus to our homes! Such a brazen young man! He should never come back.” The curses faded in the distance as I hastened my pace.

“Since when did nurses become the new harbinger of death? If it comes with a bigger salary, I might be tempted to apply.” I talked to myself to let the feelings of uneasiness go by. I raised my head to see if a battalion of raindrops would descend.

To my disappointment, the sky was just a blanket of dark clouds. The sun must be asleep. Not a ray of light guided my steps towards the inevitable.

While I waited for the bus, an unfamiliar gust of wind made me shiver. The once bustling streets of Cebu was now lifeless. The noisy honks of the cars and the hoard of people waiting for a cab or a jeepney was a distant memory. What was left behind the city that never sleeps was nothing but the howling of the wind on the empty streets.

My sentiments carried on as I arrived at the Operating Room. I walk passed the station and greeted my supervisor who frowned at me and said, “No cloth mask here. Get some facemask and face shield and leave your luggage in the quarters.”

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 43

Just 5 minutes before the endorsement, our supervisor gathered everyone for a huddle.

“Like I told everyone before, our hospital will not be catering any cases for the time being and all the man power will be directed to the floors 7 and 8 as the newly furnished covid ward. We will no longer be following the regular 8-hour shift but the 12 hour shift a day for six days straight with 2 weeks of quarantine and vice versa. I know that these are trying times and that staying here for a month will be bothersome. Offering my sincere prayers for everyone. Always remember how to don PPE correctly…” “ Hey, do you think we don’t get the chance to think about saying yes to this?”

My colleague nudged at my bag and whispered in my ear.

“I don’t even know if they’re giving as room to decide.”

I looked at her distraught face and replied in a hustle tone.

“Didn’t you applied to be as a nurse educator?” She looked at me with disdain.

“Nurse educator who?” I said while giving her a wink.

“Bastard. If I were your mother, I’d eat you alive.”

“Oooh scary. Is cannibalism even legal?”

I snorted.

Annoyed, she punched me lightly under my stomach.

“Ow! That hurts.” I said holding my stomach.

“You deserve it.” She said while giving me a hair flip.

After a few preparations, we arrived at the covid floor. The endorsement has already started, so I quickly looked at the rooms of the patients I’m assigned, which was 9. I looked for the charts and took a spot right next to the charge nurse.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 44

“Catch up, Ace. We’re full housed.” The charge nurse said then continued to where she stopped.

“Got it.” I said, while grabbing my pen to jot down the medications of each of my patients.

It took an hour and a half to finish the endorsement of 40 patients and I looked for the morning shift nurse and we began our detailed endorsement.

We were only 3 nurses for tonight’s shift. I’m glad they were seniors.

“Hi I’m Ace. I’m hoping to learn from both of you, my seniors.” I said with my sincerest smile.

“You’re making me sound too old, call me Abram instead.” He said.

“5 years in this hospital does make you old, Abra--haaaam.” The girl said while prolonging Abram’s complete name.

“For Christ’s sake not my full name!” he dropped his brows.

“By the way, this gloomy girl is Natasha” he smiled mockingly.

“Gloomy your Ass” Natasha smacked his shoulder. “I’ll show you who’s stronger” she said doing a Wushu stance.

Why are women so violent these days…

Anyway, after the 2-minute ruckus, Natasha and I exchanged our greetings and the three of us started donning the PPE. We started by wearing a n95 mask and on top of it was the regular facemask. Then the bonnet, and the foot covering. The thick gown comes next, then double gloving with clean gloves and completed it with a face shield. We parted ways to go to our patients individually for scheduled medications.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 45

The chaos started the moment Natasha screamed, “CODE ORANGE, ROOM 839!”

Abram and I rushed to the sound of her voice, bringing the heavy Emergency cart with us.

Usually, we call it Code blue for adult patients who needed immediate life-saving measures, baby blue for children. For covid positive patients, we changed the color to orange for easy identification.

We arrived half a minute to scene were Natasha doing the CPR to an 87 year old woman with high flow attached to her mouth for breathing. Her eyes stared to us blankly. She was unresponsive and her vital signs shown in the monitor were critically low. “be the timer and do the medication first, Ace then we all rotate from doing manual bagging and chest compressions. “ “Prepare the Epinephrine 1 ASAP” Natasha screamed.

“Yes ma’am! I said trying to break an ampule with my hands trembling “how many more minutes before I end my cpr? “ah,wait I haven’t counted” I drastically looked for my phone in my makeshift pocket attached to my PPE “EPINEPHRINEEEEEE!” she said panting “Ok! I broke the ampule and took the syringe and gave the epi” “Epi 1 given!” “uhmm 30 seconds left before rhythm check” I made a simple estimation of the time. “rhythm check pls” “No pulse. continue CPR.” “Abram was the next compressor and the code leader, and Natasha took my role as the timer and giving medications, and I did the manual bagging for air.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 46

We shifted roles twice, and then thrice but I haven’t heard any footsteps coming to our aid. “bro abram, has no one heard the code orange that was announced? Why aren’t doctors or Covid ER nurses coming here? I don’t think the three of us can hold on much longer.

“Bro no ones coming.”

“Those words not only echoed in the room, it reverberated deep inside my subconscious.

My brain cells burned it through their synapses.

That no one is ever coming.

No one will be.

After 30 minutes, we shifted roles for more than 10 times yet, there were no signs of revival.

Abram went out to inform the doctor and I was tasked to go down to the ER to get the ECG machine and do a final confirmatory of the patient’s quiet passing.

I went down and my brain couldn’t comprehend what my eyes saw. The ER Covid team was beyond chaotic. Three assisted in a code while the other half assisted the Anesthesiologist in the intubation of one patient and the last ER Nurse was calming more than 20 angry people outside who were impatiently asking when will they have their turn next.

“All 90 rooms are full ma’am, let’s wait for another hour before we have another discharge” The Er nurse said politely.

“Fuck it so useless! Is this even a hospital!”

“Ma’am my dad is not breathing well, please attend to him first” “okay ma’am will check his vitals” “HEY BITCH I WAS HERE FIRST!” “NO I WAS!” “Ma’am can the doctor at least order a medication for me to drink? My throat has been so dry for the couple of hours” “Ma’am my child needs water! I was asking for it 15 minutes AGO!” “Ma’am can you refer us to the nearest hospital?”

“Where is the comfort room, nurse?”

“Is the canteen open?”

“Do you have a wifi password?”

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 47

The relentless crowd continued to barrage her with endless questions. The overwhelmed ER nurse asked for everyone’s consideration about how they are doing their best and that they have to follow the triage protocol to know who they should cater next and that they are still attending to 2 other emergencies. I slipped my way through and went back to the elevator as swiftly as possible.

After doing the ECG, we did the post mortem care of Natasha’s patient. I got three call bells from my other patients and I immediately attended to them. My legs were starting to break and I feel my bladder leaking and my stomach rumbling. But I can’t change PPE yet. I have to persevere. We have too.

8, 10, 12 hours has passed. Breakfast arrived and we distributed them to each room.

We finally managed to doff our PPE and we were drenched with sweat from head to toe. Our scrub suits were all dampened as if we were caught in the middle of the rain.

Abram went down to get the unit dosing for the medications for 24 hours with the charge nurse while Natasha took her spot to do the charting. I, the less experienced, went to the rest room.

The day became a blur and I don’t feel comfortable sleeping inside the hospital as well.

Yet my body was too bruised so when I hit the bed, I dozed off immediately.

Days passed, the same routine occurred. Long endorsements, hungry stomach, full bladder, doing code oranges and losing patients. I gave it 2, then 3, then 6, then 10 months. I never get used to it.

When the lockdown commenced in the entire Philippines, it made everything worse. I couldn’t go out, eat what I like, buy what I like, and hang out with friends. I was stuck in a painful time loop of going through death and back. My colleagues and I have braved 12, 16, even 24 hour shift in the covid ward most of the times skipping meals, sleep, and bathroom breaks to save lives we can’t even save. We braved the battles together, yet the foe seems to have outnumbered us every day. When I have a time to rest, I always ponder upon these questions:

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 48

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Is there a meaning to this endless battle?”

“Is this what I signed up for?”

“Do I have the right the complain?”

“Do they treat us humanely too?”

“Aren’t we human too?”

Every time we catch a glimpse on the TV or through our phones, we can’t deny the fact that deep inside we’re boiling with anger to the Politician’s false promises and our administrator’s false reassurances. We are tired of praises calling us heroes when in fact we are martyrs or pawns to be sacrificed. Every single delay our administrators tell us to calm down, help will arrive. Months has passed, no one came to lend a hand.

We were told that we were understaffed and some of our ‘over time’ are not justified and thus, turned into an ‘offer time’ because the hospital can no longer afford to increase the pay due to the pandemic. They wanted us to understand them but did they ever understand us and our pleas? Sometimes some of our colleagues get absent due to contracting Covid or can’t work due to over exhaustion. Yet, we can’t blame them. The work is too suffocating and hazardous. That vacancy or when one staff is absent, our burden is multiplied. Imagine two nurses are left to man a full house ward with 40 people and we divide the loading, so one nurse gets 20 patients to care.

It would have been manageable if the patient’s conditions in the ward are only mild and stable. But no, we are faced to handle patients who are in mechanical ventilator, attached to numerous IV lines, and the worst part is, that they are left alone with no Significant Other, so we have to frequently monitor their critical condition. They weren’t transferred to the Intensive Care Unit because either it’s also full or they can’t afford.

Does it sound like I’m complaining?

Yes, I am, because it’s toxic for me to handle these stressors. It’s too much and we have every reason to voice out. Despite being mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually drained, we never threw our frustrations to our patients.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 49

We are often the last people they can see, and interact in this world so we do our best to listen to their final words, stories, and heart breaks. We are with them when they narrate their fears, failures, and regrets in life. We are there when they write their final will and when they take their last breath. We call their families to inform the dreadful news to them and it hurts us too. We held back our tears and become a strength our patients can lean on because they badly need one.

We do our best to for our patients to live or make the remainder of their days count despite the horrors we faced every day. Reality strikes and I get to ask: “who does their best for us, front liners?

The painful words that my colleague Abram once said stabbed me in the back again: NO ONE IS COMING. We are left to fend for ourselves like stray dogs while some people lavishly go out and break the protocols. We are left to rot in this hell hole to be called heroes, even if we don’t want to.

They tend to forget that we too, are human and we need what humans need to thrive: GOOD REST. GOOD COMPENSATION. SAFE WORK. I thought I was relentless. I thought I loved my profession, my dream job. Now, I don’t know if I’m ready to let go or not.

We were losing this battle and almost every day, countless lives were lost. The blood that stained our PPE’s was a reminder of our terrible defeat. It mocked how futile our efforts were, as not a single life was saved-and soon it may come to take our loved ones and our lives, too.

I’m afraid of getting the virus and killing my loved ones in the process.

The anxiety of looking towards an uncertain future is adding insult to injury. I couldn’t sleep every night as the faces of the patients which I can’t save hunted me in my dreams, telling me I could’ve done better, their death was my fault, and many more. I wake up crying from these and after a year and a half of working as a front liner, I told myself, I’m giving up.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 50

I’M GIVING UP. I felt trapped in a burning building with no rescuers. The only choices I have left to choose from is to either be engulfed by flames or find a makeshift exit and jump out of the building. Either way, there is peace.

I’m sorry Ana. I messed up this story, it sounds like I’m ranting…

I want to tell you that I have tried to stop all these voices in my head or quit my job.

I tried to find solutions. No matter what I did, there were never other choices. So I make my stand to stop all of these, to stop the pain, to stop the bleeding from my vulnerable heart.

Ana, I saved up all my hazard pay and transferred it into your account. I’m never giving them to mom or dad.

Ana, I love you.

Ana I want to tell you this one last thing: LIVE. Not for me, but for your dreams, for your ambitions, and for you future. How I wish I can be with you on those moments, but I can’t. I failed as your brother. I’m not asking you to forgive me but to remember me instead. The only person in this world I can’t bear forgetting me is you.

Writing this letter gives me so much freedom I burn all my love into this.

The clamor for peace is unending. Let the tides flow, Ana, and not against its current.

Love, Nat Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 51

After reading his letter, I went numb. I can’t speak. I just let my tears flow from my cheeks and let sorrow succumb to me.

“My brother, I won’t ever forget you. I will do my best to help other people who are faced with trauma and horror. You deserve more; my dear brother and I love you too. Thank you for everything.” I said, wiping the tears off my cheeks.

I closed my eyes, and told myself: A fallen hero deserves wherever he wants to go.

If he must venture to places to seek for peace, then the universe, too, conspires.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 52

Canvas Face Berry Fin

I looked into the mirror and saw a blank canvas. I reached out for my shelves lined up with books. "To Kill a Mockingbird," screamed a title. I took it and placed it in my purse, making a mental note to read it in dreadfully awkward scenarios. Across the room, I walked and tapped a lose floorboard. I opened it to reveal my painting materials. Brushes, big and small. Colors, dull and bright. I secured a few, and whispered, "These will do."

I kissed my mom goodbye. She took a small brush, dipped it in yellow and painted a smile. The walk to school was peaceful and calm, just as I wanted it.

A few birds sang a harmony only they can understand. The wind was cool, refreshing. A few breaths later, I reached the school yard. The bell rang for first period - History. Mrs. Baker. I shouldn't be late. I bolted across the corridor and unluckily bumped into "Her Highness, The Queen." She rolled her eyes, grabbed a red paint, and splattered it across my smiling canvas. She shrieked in delight and went to her first class.

I entered History and everyone looked at me. Mrs. Baker shot me a warning look for making a spectacle. I hurriedly sat on my desk near the window, resisting the urge to look at my reflection. Mrs. Baker droned on. She recited a few presidential speeches until I almost fell asleep.

The bell rang for next period. Math. My favorite. I sat on my desk, looked to my right and caught "Charming, The Prince" looking at me. He reached for my purse, contemplated for a minute and finally chose the brush and color he preferred. After finishing his masterpiece, he signed his name at the bottom of my canvas and smiled in satisfaction. We went on solving equations, finding X and Y along the way.

Lunch time.

People stared. Their eyes shifted to the bottom of my canvas where Charming's name was plastered. Some shot a look of envy, others of

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 54

admiration. "Her Highness, The Queen", upon seeing that a commoner was attempting to steal her spotlight, turned to look at me in disdain, yanked off my canvas, replaced it with one of her own and whispered, "You ought to thank me."

I ran as fast as I could muster. Tears streamed down The Queen's canvas. My heart raced and my breathing tried to keep up. Someone caught my hand. I stopped running and looked at "Genuine, The Friend."

She quietly removed The Queen's canvas, and gave me back my own. I placed my canvas back to where it belongs. "Genuine, The Friend" did something that shook my whole being. She cut me open and allowed me to bleed. I looked at her with sorrow in my eyes. Gently, she poured wine on my canvas. I felt the sting, the burning sensation. But I knew I was healing. Slowly, she scrubbed the paints off my canvas and handed me my favorite brushes and colors.

"Genuine, The Friend" realized how damaged I was. She allowed me to face the truth of my brokenness. She allowed me to paint on my own canvas. She stayed by my side when no one else did. She allowed me to grow. She allowed me to heal.

I looked into the mirror and saw a blank canvas, ready to face what lies ahead.

I secured my brushes and paints, and whispered to myself, "This time, I'm not letting go. This time, my canvas is my own."

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 55

Life's Irony

Rizaldy Baguio

Life is the biggest irony - as I understand. Those who claim to influence the world, but fail to impact the people closest to them are a shame. Those who speak a lot only know the tip of an iceberg, and those who think and understand rarely talk. Those who have a gun in their pockets for protection will never have peace until they learn to drop it.

Those who call themselves "successful" will never be content. Unlike the farmers who know when to work, know when to call the day, and then fall asleep listening to the air that whispers an upcoming bountiful harvest.

Those who have a lot of acquaintances are the loneliest people. Those who speak bad things to others hate themselves. Those who are looking for love will end up in a mediocre relationship. But those who choose to complete themselves will forever be full of love - self-love.

Those who brag want attention their own homes cannot offer. Some of the prisoners are innocent, and some of the vicious criminals are free. Some of them are even governing a country.

Stop mocking the people who suffer from insanity. They are the ones who created their world far better than the world of the sanest people. They are always smiling, while the "normals" always focus on thinking about everything. Those who numb the pain and call God for it are the same as those who numb the pain by drowning themselves in alcohol. Most of the hypocrites know every verse, but the most valid and sincere prayers come from an unbeliever. Too hard to bear the world that even he knows how to throw the last delusional sunset.

Those who claim to understand sadness and loneliness but never lost someone special are commoners. Always saying the expected, but don't necessarily comprehend. Better be honest than presenting oneself as formal, but deep inside is a damn clown. Those who are afraid of death, never live.

For those who claim their wrong doings are the most right. The soldiers in every war frontier are the weakest. It is not a smart move to deploy the strongest on hand to waste energy fighting the unworthy.

Life is an irony. It might be dark on this side, but on the same planet, the other half is light.

Ang Salingsing | Synapse Literary Folio 57

"The experience of life that you and I have is pretty much a jigsaw puzzle in the box: Dayto-day experiences of disconnected pieces that don't seem to justify the efforts we make each day."

-Robert Adams