Morpheme Issue 5 August 2021 by La Estrella Verde

M O R P H E M E ISSUE NO. 5

Upon the shards of existence

mor∙pheme noun. /’môr fēm/

– a writer’s thorough armor in surviving the war of dying ISSUE NO. 5

A.Y. 2020-2021

ABOUT

TH E

COVE R

Disturbance in existence directs serenity To value the essence of perspectives In adapting and bearing the agony As we embark on a beaming journey in life. Cover art by Jericho Rasheed Celestino Divider art by Kristen Faith Maala

Literary Editor

Josephine Punzalan

Writers

Marcea Alcala, Shane Lira Laliag, Paulyn Dianne Laude, Anina Jiliana Manuel, Ara Janine Palecpec, Phoebe Denise Santos, Frances Nicole Umbao

Artists

Nikki Alexis Antonio, Chynna Ysabelle Brugada, Jericho Rasheed Celestino, Evalene Vianca De Jesus, Maria Sophia Emelda Initorio, Kristen Faith Maala, Leica Gwyneth Mendoza, Denise Preclaro, Rania Marie Pucan, Franz Maverick Vicedo

Layout Artists

Angienette Laurza, Jan Anthony Murillo

Photographers

Elisha Jezreel Ang, Ollie Alexandra Lanzar, Angela Belle Lumilan, Jazmine Levana Sico, Tricia Faye Velasco

Contributors

Jam Nicole Bay, Mary Abigail Manalo, Stephanie Nicole Rabacal

EDITOR’ S

N OTE

The illumination of human eyes tends to overlook ethereal sights. When the light was cast upon our lives, the journey in existence began as it perceived the world with its guidance. In times of disturbance, seeking reflections to bounce back is necessary to be mightier than ever. The refractions prevailed over the rainbows to gradually adapt in diversity and agony. During the darkest moments, the shadows became companions to value the essence of each struggle that was encountered. As we embark on our sole journeys, we will be the shards to furnish hope unto others. Having to deal with existence at this time of the pandemic has been a roller coaster ride of beaming anxiety and fainting enthusiasm. Isolation within the four corners of our homes led our minds to wander out of our comfort zones. Adapting to the new normal of virtual meetings and chitchats, maintaining our sanity while setting tons of effort to build our own sources of strength. At long last, our words, stories, miseries, and hopes are bound to reciprocate the same light that maneuvered us to provide guidance in your own journey. The tears and faith of my literary babies made our works as enchanting as it is. Each one of us had our own dark moments that caused us to be out of our wits, yet despite those times, we coped and used each word to convey our emotions and thoughts. Now we present to you the fifth issue of Morpheme, the folio that will be your guide as you embark on a beaming journey of existence manifesting Light, Reflection, Refraction, and Shadow. May the power of words console your venturing soul.

JOSEPHINE PUNZALAN Literary Editor

FOR E WORD

They always say that people learn better from the past. But as we kept pushing for the future, it seemed as though something from behind still held us back, especially as student journalists. Much like the powerful storms, it struck to deafen and crush our rights and what we truly believed in. Even if we came prepared, each rush still stabbed with painful sacrifices and bitter drawbacks. Through the bends of these seemingly endless waves, we must settle on a choice: adapt to the circumstances, or keep fighting them back. And just like that, each creation in every craft reflected their personal battles against the waves. For the fifth issue of Morpheme, it was these writers, artists, and photojournalists that fought with their hearts and souls to bring it into reality. Let this opportunity open your eyes once more to how we started this journey. We have the power to illuminate the facts from those who bend, reject, and hide them from the people. When the storm strikes once more, the pen will be our weapon in shedding real light to the truth, and the pieces we create shall be our ammunition.

JOHN ETHAN CASELA Editor in Chief

Light 9 Puting rosas sa pulang mundo

by Marcea Alcala Art by Leica Gwyneth Mendoza

12 Susuloy

by Shane Lira Laliag

13 An elegy to what once was by Mary Abigail Manalo (STM23)

14 Walang kukurap sa sinag ng liwanag

by Paulyn Dianne Laude Photo by Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

16 The silhouettes of dawn by Frances Nicole Umbao Photos by Tricia Faye Velasco and Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

20 A, ba, ka

by Anina Jiliana Manuel Art by Franz Maverick Vicedo

22 A farewell to Lukas by Ara Janine Palecpec

25 Crimsoned Cinderella by Josephine Punzalan Art by Jericho Rasheed Celestino

Reflection 27 Hiwaga ng batis

by Paulyn Dianne Laude Art by Maria Sophia Emelda Initorio

29 Beneath a man’s facade by Shane Lira Laliag Photos by Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

30 Sa dulo ng pagtila by Ara Janine Palecpec

32 The writer’s train

by Marcea Alcala Photo by Jazmine Levana Sico

37 The mirrors that mumble

by Stephanie Nicole Rabacal (HMS22) Photo by Jazmine Levana Sico

39 Siklo

by Josephine Punzalan

40 The final ride

by Phoebe Denise Santos

43 Monochrome dreams by Frances Nicole Umbao Art by Jam Nicole Bay (ABM15)

46 A boy in hot pink stilettos by Anina Jiliana Manuel Photo by Nikki Alexis Antonio

Refraction 49 The circus prince by Anina Jiliana Manuel

50 Traces of hope

by Paulyn Dianne Laude Art by Rania Marie Pucan and Evalene Vianca De Jesus

52 Nanay

by Phoebe Denise Santos Photo by Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

56 Sa huling tagsibol

by Ara Janine Palecpec Photo by Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

58 Aconite of purple

by Marcea Alcala Photo by Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

59 A thin thread to escaping death

by Shane Lira Laliag Photo by Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

63 Lihim ng umaasa by Josephine Punzalan Art by Rania Marie Pucan

Shadow 65 Bloody Sunday

73 The storm’s calm

68 Retirado

76 Lunas sa Lunes

70 Tanging tingin lamang

79 1898: was and always will

by Josephine Punzalan Photo by Elisha Jezreel Ang by Marcea Alcala Art by Chynna Ysabelle Brugada by Anina Jiliana Manuel

72 Chasing the light

by Paulyn Dianne Laude Photo by Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

by Phoebe Denise Santos Photo by Ollie Alexandra Lanzar by Frances Nicole Umbao Photo by Angela Belle Lumilan by Ara Janine Palecpec Art by Denise Preclaro

80 Ang patron ng bayan by Shane Lira Laliag

Light The spectrum of hope and guidance through the rise of phenomena.

Puting rosas sa pulang mundo Marcea Alcala Mars—isang mahiwagang planetang tagapangalaga ng buwan na siyang kumokondena sa kakayahan ng mga bituing kumislap at magpakita ng liwanag. Sa ilalim ng ilaw ng buwan, mas matingkad pa ang purong itim na kalangitan kaysa sa bawat kulay na matatagpuan sa mundong ito. Noon, ang lupain dito’y mailalarawan lamang bilang mabato at mala-disyerto. Samantalang ngayon, napupuno na ito ng malalago at kupas na mga pananim. Ngunit sa kabila ng mga kasaganahan ng planetang ito, mayroong kaisa-isang matagal nang pinanghahawakan ang mga taong naninirahan dito. Ang kaalaman na isang mapagpalang gabay ang gabi, habang ang liwanag naman ay panganib. “Umuwi ka na rito, anak. Paparating na ang liwanag,” pagod na sigaw ng isang matandang babae na tila bulong na lang sa layo ng pinanggagalingan nito. Nananaig ang kawalan ng emosyon sa kanyang boses na para bang milyong beses na niyang sinambit ang mga salitang iyon. “Opo, ma,” sagot naman ng musmos na dalagita habang inililigpit ang kanyang mga inaning rosas bago pa man makakuha ng pagkakataon ang liwanag na sirain ito. Isa pang malaking palaisipan kung ano ang nangyayari tuwing dumarating ang liwanag. Ang sabi noon ng kanyang ama, nakapagpalalanta raw ito ng mga tanim at nakatutuyo ng tubig. Ayon naman sa ilan, nakasisira raw ito ng paningin at wari nila’y malabong sumaya pa muli. Paniniwala naman ng kanyang mga kaibigan na mawawalan daw ng kulay ang lahat ng bagay o tao na madadampian nito. Kaya’t ginagawa nilang laro ang pagbalik sa kanilang tahanan tuwing sisinag na ito, paunahang pagtaguan ang liwanag. Walang sumubok na patunayang kabulaanan lang ang mga ito sa takot na mapahamak pa’t hindi na muli maging masaya. Ibinabaon na lamang ang kuryusidad sa ilalim ng dilim ng buwan—ang kaligtasan. Maliban ngayon. Sa musmos at maharayang kaisipan ng dalaga, hindi niya mapigilang isipin ang pakiramdam na masinagan nito kahit isang beses man lang. Malamig din ba ito sa balat katulad ng dilim ng buwan? Hindi na ba talaga siya muling makahahalakhak kapag dumampi ito sa kanya? Paano kung may kakayahan pala siyang baguhin ang epekto nito at hindi na niya kailangan pang magmadali sa pag-ani ng kanilang mga pananim at masaksihan ang pagkasalat ng hardin sa tuwing sisinag ito? Pilit niyang itinatago ang kasabikang ito sa kung sino man dulot na rin ng takot na hatid ng laging pagleleksyon ng kanyang ina. Noo’y saad nito na hindi na muling makikita ang sino mang madadampian ni kahit isang katiting ng liwanag. Mawawala rin ang kanilang sariling mga alaala, pati na ang mga pangalan at hitsura ng kanilang minamahal. Bahagyang nagugulumihanan lang ang dalaga kung ano ba talaga ang nararapat niyang paniwalaan sa dami ng mga kuro-kuro ukol sa liwanag. Sari-saring mga opinyon ngunit iisa lamang ang pinahihiwatig na mensahe—huwag magpahuli sa liwanag ng araw.

LI G HT

Kaya naman, gayon na lang ang pagmamadaling takbo ng kanyang maliliit na paa na tila isang kilometro ang layo ng kanilang masaganang hardin sa pinto ng kanilang tahanan. Untiunting sumisibol ang kanyang kaba sa bawat hakbang nang bigla-biglang mapatid siya sa isang malaking sangay ng kanilang halamang rosas. “Aray!” napahalinghing siya sa sakit habang nagkalat ang kanyang mga naaning rosas sa paligid. Sa likod ng mahalimuyak at payapang katayuan ng halaman, napaisip ang dalaga kung paanong naging sanhi pa rin ito ng pagkasubsob niya sa lupa. Patayo na siya nang mapansin ang bulaklak ng rosas na nasa ilalim na ng mga dahon nito; para bang nagtatago na rin sa papalapit na liwanag. At sa kaliit-liitan na bahagi nito, may parting matingkad ang pagkakulay—ang ilumina ng sinag ng araw. “Inay!” Bigla-bigla siyang napatakbo papalapit sa kanyang tahanan, malakas na kumakabog ang dibdib habang… Nabalot ang kanyang pandinig ng isang matinis at walang hintong tunog. Dumampi ang init ng liwanag ng araw sa kanyang balat. Dahan-dahang hinarap ng kanyang mga mata ang hugis ng nagliliwanag na araw. At sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, nasaksihan niya ang pagbalot ng puting sinag ng araw sa makulay na paligid—pula, berde, at asul. Mga kulay na hindi kupas. “Inay, tignan ninyo! Walang nangyari sa aking masama!” Muli siyang nagpatuloy sa pagtakbo patungo sa loob. Sa pagkakataong iyon, napalitan na ng pagkasabik ang takot na dating kumakabog sa kanyang puso. Inabot niya ang busol ng pinto at mabilis itong binuksan. Tumambad sa kanya ang bakanteng espasyo na salat din sa kahit ni isang kagamitan—malayong-malayo sa tahanang kanyang kinagisnan. “Inay?” muli niyang tawag habang pilit niyang hinahanap at iniintindi ang mga pangyayari. Muli siyang lumabas ng kanilang tahanan at napahinto ang kanyang puso sa nasaksihan sa paligid. Hindi na maitatago ang tunay nitong katangian mula sa liwanag. Halos lahat ng mga sabi-sabi ay pawang kabaliktaran ng katotohanan. Sumalubong sa kanyang paningin ang kumikislap na mga bituin sa asul na kalangitan. May luha ring tumulo sa kanyang kanang mata at hindi ito natuyo. At higit sa lahat, sagana pa rin ng mga tanim ang hardin na kanyang kinatatayuan. Ang tanging malinaw na sa dalaga ay ang tunay na epekto ng liwanag, maliban na lamang sa isa, dahil wala siyang maaninag kahit isang tao man lang sa paligid, pati na ang kanyang ina. Hindi maintindihan kung saan napunta ang mga bagay at taong tunay na minamahal niya. Patuloy niyang nilibot ang kanyang mga mata. “Nasaan ka na ina—” Bigla siyang napahinto nang mapatingin at masilaw sa liwanag ng araw. Agad niyang tinakpan ang sinag nito gamit ang kanyang musmos na mga palad. “Tama ang leksyon ni…” Hindi niya na matapos-tapos ang mga salita. Pilit na hinahagilap sa dulo ng kanyang isipan ang pangalan ng nag-iisang tao na nagsabi sa kanya ng katotohanang ngayon niya lamang napatunayan. Sa pagbaba ng kanyang palad, tuluyang naglaho ang kanyang pagkasilaw kasama na rin ang kanyang mga alaala. Lumuhod ang dalaga sa ngayo’y matingkad na hardin at inabot ang mga rosas na kailanman ay hindi na niya kailangan pang kunin mula sa masaganang lupain ng Mars. Isang bulaklak na noon ay araw-araw niyang itinatanim… Sa itaas ng puntod ng kanyang nawala ring ina.

Her Ethereal Glow Leica Gwyneth Mendoza 11

LI G HT

Susuloy

Shane Lira Laliag Sa pagkakabasag ng kahel na liwanag; Sisibol ang mga aninong lumalaki hanggang tuktok. Hinahabol ang ilaw hanggang sa mawala ang mga ito. Ngunit sa lupa’y sisibol ang mumunting puting bunga, Sarado ang mga puting talulot, yakap ng malalambot na pelus. Sa gitna ng kalawakan ng madilim na patag; Bumibigat ang mga lilim sa tuloy-tuloy na pagkain. Walang espasyo para sa pagtubo sa gitna ng mga halimaw, Pampataba’y kinakailangan, maaaring susi sa peligro Ngunit ang binhing tanglaw ay ‘di umiimik. Sa pagtakbo ng mga kamay ng oras sa kumot ng karimlan; Dahan-dahang mumulat ang isang malaking sampaguita. Aakitin at gigisingin nito ang maliliit na bumbilya; Sisinagan ang ginaw sa dilim na kasulok-sulokan. Ito ba ang regalong anghel ng munting suloy?

An elegy to what once was Mary Abigail Manalo (STM23) Mistrust. Walking in the shadow of doubt Stepping on shards of broken trust Shells of broken promises pierced into my mind They hurt me…but then again, I was too quick to offer my all My heart could only take so much, You always believed our lies. Forever broken. Fear. Haunted by the ghost of regret, yet terrified of moving forward Monsters of reality roaring, screaming into my ear I feel their talons sinking into my skin; I thought you were my allies You’ll never escape us. Forever broken. Anxiety. Facing the world with unease, fists clenched in distress Hiding behind closed doors So cowardly, easily afraid Consumed by my own mind Protecting what is left of my shattered heart You’re not good enough. Forever broken.

Walking down an endless path A stray, lost in my way Left alone in the night Shivering in the cold I have no one to guide me away from those who hurt me No one left to console me when my heart is tossed aside once again, left to bleed No one can help me. This is my inevitable truth. I will forever be broken. Then, the light cast upon me All so sudden, taking me by surprise A burning flame, my beacon of hope A helping hand, reaching out to me Pulling me out of the darkness that swallowed me whole You’ll be safe with me, hold my hand. Loving all of my pieces, even the ones I hated most They all belong to the puzzle of my beautiful soul. Hope. The shards from who I once was slowly brought back together.

LI G HT

Walang kukurap sa sinag ng liwanag Paulyn Dianne Laude Nang umupo ang mga payaso sa palasyo, dumanak ang luha at dugo, Naghasik ng lagim ang mga pasistang kibit-balikat sa hinaing ng mga maralita Kinumutan ng dilim ang kahila-hilakbot na kalagayan ng bansa, Umuugong ang panawagang hustisya subalit ito ay pilit na binubusalan, Namamanipula ang huwad na kalayaan at boses ng mga mulat ay itinitikom. Agit sa masaklap na sistema ang sanhi ng silakbo, Kolektibong boses ng masa ay siyang magiging sandata Galit ang magsisilbing lakas, lalaban nang may alab Ating ipagpapatuloy ang mahaba-habang martsa, Bayan ay gawing sandigan tungo sa liwayway sa dulo ng kalsada. Ang tunay na kapangyarihan ay nasa taumbayan, Manunumbalik ang siklab, sisiwalat ang taglay na tapang Hudyat ito na matutunghayan ang pagpapatuloy ng epiko Kaagapay ang liwanag, kinabukasang may trangkilo ay sasalubong Sa pakikibaka, lakasan ang mga sigaw na sana’y umalingawngaw.

awaken Ollie Alexandra Lanzar 15

LI G HT

The silhouettes of dawn Frances Nicole Umbao

Will tomorrow be like this again? The soft, pleasant noises of the waves kissing the shore lovingly faded into the background as I absorbed the view before me. The fragrance of sea life and promises of a calm afternoon wafted across the salty air. The scene was picturesque, something I would be daydreaming about for a while to avoid the bitter memories of familiar nightmares. Maybe tomorrow would be better, but could tomorrow even get any finer than this? I sighed. And like all nice things, it comes to an end. The gentle caress of the waves on the shore grew harsh at the wind’s command, crashing jarringly from the sea and hinting peril. The fierce waves washed the tranquility that pacified the lurking regrets in my head, and my eyes dimmed with the heavy looming clouds. Along with the clap of thunder came the blaze of lightning. The floods of white elapsing as familiar colors filled my surroundings, intricately weaving my nightmares piece by piece like spun cloth. “Adira,” the voice whispered, troubled. I turned to the voice. There was my aunt standing straightly, luggage in hand and an expression invading her face that I couldn’t conclude. I immediately nodded and obediently fixed my toys. I frowned at my dollhouse. I’ll surely miss it. But before I could leave the room, I hastily grabbed my favorite stuffed doll from the shelf and quickly tailed behind my Auntie. I attempted to count the trees that passed by the window, barely distinguishing the arboreal figures as our vehicle hurtled across the silent highway. My hand gripped the stuffed doll with desperation; I can feel the brooding presence of our fetchers behind our tracks, waiting to knock on the car door. “Adira, whatever happens, I want you to keep your head down. Remember what we talked about then.” My aunt darted her overwrought eyes to my face from the rear-view mirror, earning a pliant nod from me. “Okay, Auntie,” I mumbled lowly.

But death’s chase ended there. I could only hope her blood wasn’t in vain. She, who groveled and risked all of her to keep me safe, promised that as long as she was breathing, they could never hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I stared at the lifeless, bleeding body on the front seat of the car, still stunned and terrified by the crossfire. Her promises washed over me in austere waves, forcing the epiphany that I was all on my own now. We never talked about this. You promised to be with me in all the dawns that will come no matter what it entailed. Who’s going to protect me now, Auntie? Another clap of thunder burst the scene. Not long after that, flashes of long-buried memories unraveled like a film reel, reminding me of how the chase began. My small hands touched the blood that sullied the hardwood floor, tainting my fingers and soul. I dropped to the ground, hot tears streaming my face as I refused to absorb the scene before me. What once was a house imbued with our love was now washed out with sin and anguish. I watched as they apprehended my beloved aunt—the only one who treated me as a family—for the murder of my father. Her tear-stricken, terrified face reflected mine as she shook her head, remaining firm with her denial. But when her eyes found mine as she mouthed “I didn’t do it, Adira”, I believed her with all of me. I knew that whatever the future would cost us, I would gladly pay the dues. My eyes fluttered open. The sea moved serenely along with the sky’s clearing, leaving subtle vestiges of the passing storm like I eventually did. Some scars aren’t meant to heal at all, but as long as I breathe, I continue to hope. I may never know what the next dawns hold for me, or if its silhouettes resemble yesterday’s; nothing was certain in this life. But along the ripples of those uncertainties, I was sure of the light at the end of that blood-stained road.

LI G HT

Photo by Tricia Faye Velasco

hiraeth Ollie Alexandra Lanzar 19

LI G HT

A, ba, ka Anina Jiliana Manuel Abnormalidad; Naghalo ang kahel sa pula habang kumukurap ang dilaw. Parang tinutusok ang aking mata. Pinapaalala ang bigat ng aking katawan. Kaya’t pinahid ko ang tingkad ng buhay sa aking pisngi at kaunting dampi rin sa labi. Tik-tok, tiktok...biglang dumadagundong ang alingawngaw ng orasan. Makikita sa gilid ng silid ang paglapit ng naninindak na dilim sa namumutla kong repleksyon sa salamin. Sakto sa oras ang paglitaw muli ng multo ng nakaraan. Bangungot; Dali-dali kong binalot ang aking sarili sa init ng aking kumot. Tahang binubulong sa‘kin na dito, ligtas na mula sa mga halimaw. Ngunit paano kung sinumpa ako ng isang bangkay at namalagi ang kasangsangan nito sa aking isip? Gaano kasakit ang pagpatak ng luha, patuloy ang laban sa bigat ng aking talukap. Laban sa panaginip na lalamon sa nalalabi kong katinuan. Isang panaginip na nababalot ng mga ngiting anomalya. Kababalaghan; Patuloy akong pinaglaruan ng gabi. Tinuyo’t nilanta ng mga ngiti. Paulit-ulit ang pisil ng sugat. Unti-unting bumabaon ang pait ng mga alaala. Tuwing muling dumadagundong ang orasan. Binubugbog muli ako ng tamis ng kasinungalingan pati na rin ng kabaliktaran. At muling humigpit ang kapit sa akin ng langit. Tumagos muli ang kahel, pula, at dilaw sa aking pagpikit. Heto na naman ulit.

The Light Bearer Franz Maverick Vicedo 21

LI G HT

A farewell to Lukas Ara Janine Palecpec

Taking sedated steps to make it to the edge of the moss-covered plank and sit above the depth of chilly waters with the wind caressing my skin, waiting since 5 o’clock for the sun to set. Subtly magnetized by its beauty, the root for indulging in our pleasant memories. Here I am, at the place where we used to be and still patiently waiting for you to be with me, again. 5:12 pm The daisies still did not wither. Do I need to reminisce about the way you took the time to brush my hair and clip it on my ear? In those moments, I cannot see other sights but you. I will put one on my ear by myself. “Daisies mean new beginnings. Whatever happens, we will always go back to where we began,” your voice echoing. That’s what caused me to be here at our meeting place by this exact time and location. You could stop time through my Instax. Films are our evidence. By then, our memories were kept. Again, I would hear your voice. “Don’t you know how to flex your teeth? Aren’t you happy?” Smiles aren’t just the language of happiness, silly. Can’t you read what my eyes tell you and how my iris gets smaller? I bet you don’t know how it functions. They narrow, and the pupils constrict when we see the light, just like when the illumination of the sun attracts my sight. You are now my sun. So, every time we stare at things that shine, our irises get smaller. Did you ever notice mine? Why am I even trying to teach you how our eyes work? I should have told you these before when we were at the peak of the warmth of love. I can no longer stare into your hazel eyes that replicate the golden sun, but I could only possibly daydream about how it makes mine hide too. 5:15 pm Do I also need to go back to where I came from before reaching this edge? Can I take shortcuts, or could I just be carried by you again in a piggyback ride? I feel tired of sitting and doing this routine for three years now. I feel tired of wiping these tears from missing you. Climbing to the peak of our story is excessively draining my energy, weakening my strength, and pouring all my tears. Daisies mean new beginnings. Whatever happens, we will always go back to where we began. Look who’s repeating it all over, alone. Can I dissolve our pledges to each other? I hope you won’t get mad at me, and I wish you’d transparently see my misery. I would label you as God-given but a temporary gift too. Why do I realize a bunch of things just now?

5:20 pm I just remembered that one time you told me not to waste my time crying over unattainable situations. Now look who’s playing mischief and disobeying you—following what my heart wants. I might fail because I took a risk, but I won’t risk having regrets. Clueless about the reasons why I need to let go of things that held me first. Am I still an infant or a toddler that needs a walker until I can stand by myself ? I guess life is always taking that as a strategy to teach us—walk on your own when you already can. You would always tell me that when days are dark, I will just stare at things that shine and see a hint of you. But every time I do that, the tears running down my cheeks are the ones that glisten because of the sun’s light. 5:29 pm Just a minute before I can withdraw. Closing my eyes to feel the breeze telling me to take a breakaway. “Lukas, be here by 5:30,” I whispered with tears. Now I am the one setting the time of our rendezvous. I will wait for more hours, even if you’ll never come. You are my lighthouse who navigated me to where I should be. You have given me hope. You are Lukas, a light, and my guardian from above. 5:30 pm For a while, I just want to wait for your existence. But I feel like a clown, not just from my red nose, but from how I fool myself thinking that a stiff, cold body can make it here. It winded softly. The daisy fell.

LI G HT

Delightful Jericho Rasheed Celestino

Crimsoned Cinderella Josephine Punzalan

Hushing upon the ticking clock, In a hurry, the glass slipper slipped from her. Then on the petrifying stroke of midnight, birds cried As the mystical bibbidi-bobbidi-boo was eventually suppressed. The lustrous satin prevails on the ragged lady—concealing from the regime. Innocence of sprightly courage billed, Reminiscing the enchanting magnificence Of the majestic halls with refined nonconformists. Chinned high, as blue tux butlers knock on her doors, She was prime to accept her tremendous reality; biased discernment. The glass slipper fits her impeccably, Similar to the butlers’ silver cuffs on her wrists. Once upon a time, she banged the forthright placards Dreaming a fairytale for her beloved, exploited motherland, She gratified destiny, to agitate the palace where the wicked prince lived.

Reflection Bounce back from the ample thoughts and cast the face of chaos.

Hiwaga ng batis Paulyn Dianne Laude

Halumigmig ang sumalubong sa akin nang mapagpasyahan kong mapag-isa rito sa batis. Tunay na kahali-halinang pagmasdan ang mga berde sa paligid na sumasayaw sa indayog ng hangin kasabay ng mga ibong lumilipad nang malaya. Nahagip ng aking mga mata ang malaking bato at umupo na lamang dito habang ninanamnam ang tunog ng mahinhing lagaslas ng tubig. Para bang perpektong nakadisenyo ang lugar upang makapagmuni-muni ako ngayong araw. Sumagi sa aking isipan ang naglalakihang billboards ng mga artista habang tinatahak ang kahabaan ng EDSA patungo rito sa probinsya. Babaeng maganda ang kurba ng katawan, matangos ang ilong, at tila ba isang bulak sa puti ang karaniwang nakalagay sa mga ito. Waring umuukit sa pamantayan ng kagandahan. Mga katangian na siyang kabaliktaran ng mayroon ako. “Huwag ka na kaya sumali sa varsity. Tingnan mo, uling ka na.” Isa ito sa mga komentong madalas kong marinig sa mga taong nakapaligid sa akin. Unang taon ko sa kolehiyo noon at binalak kong ihinto na lamang ang paglalangoy dahil sa mga katagang ito na tumatak sa akin. Sinubukan ko pang tipirin ang aking baon para lang makabili at gumamit ng mga ilang produktong pampaputi na kahit anong lagay ko, bumabalik pa rin ang aking balat sa kaniyang tsokolateng kulay. Sa gano’n, tingin ko ay makasasabay ako sa mga kaklase ko sa Maynila. Masasabing kahit papaano, tumalab naman ito subalit makukuntento nga ba ako? Mahal ako ng araw sapagkat ilang oras ang ginugugol ko sa ilalim nito habang nageensayo sa tubig. Ngunit kailanman, hindi ko ito nagustuhan pabalik. Para bang ito ang aking mortal na kaaway. Tuluyan ko na sanang tatalikuran ang paglalangoy, subalit iyun lang din ang rason kung bakit naipagpapatuloy ko pa rin ang pag-aaral sa siyudad. Ito ang magiging daan para ako’y makahanap ng magandang trabaho at maigapang naman ang aking mga kapatid upang makapagtapos sa eskwela. Ang pagwawagi ko ng gintong medalya mula sa aking paglalangoy ang siyang naging tulay upang maging iskolar ako ng aming paaralan. Dahil dito, nagbukas ang oportunidad para makapagtapos ako ng pag-aaral. Naging malaking tulong ito para kina Inay. Sa paglipas ng panahon, unti-unti akong naging masaya sa pag-eensayo kahit pa sa ilalim ng nakalulusaw na init. Ngayong nasa huling taon na ako ng kolehiyo, aking napagtanto na kailangan kong matutuhang mahalin ang aking sarili, ang kung ano ang mayroon ako. Mahirap man ang proseso, ang mahalaga’y makarating ako rito at tiyak akong nalalapit na ito. Nabalik ako sa wisyo nang marinig ang sigaw ng kapatid ko. “Ate, tara na bago pa lumubog ang araw! Kakain na po sabi ni Mama,” tawag niya sa akin. “Oo, saglit na lang ako rito,” tugon ko habang nakatingin sa sariling repleksyon sa tubig. Naipinta ko ang ngiti sa aking labi na abot sa magkabilang dulo ng aking mga tainga. Iyun siya, ang hiwaga ng batis.

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Reviving Light Maria Sophia Emelda Initorio

Beneath a man’s facade Shane Lira Laliag

Fidgeting lean fingers in the hold of a champagne glass, My slouched body shaking as the bluish lights flash aghast. The crimson curtains hanging against the walls. My thoughts pouring like ravens gnashing the clouds As I stood amongst men of black three-suit tuxedos, With my pockets empty against their thick wallet of gold. I disregard the large hole in the thin socks I used, Ignoring the little stubby toes wiggling out. From the old, worn leather boots I always used A contrast to the floor of shiny A. Testoni shoes. An invitation with my name burning in a pocket, A black hole evolving as I faced the thin ice. My hand bruising in the pocket, my heels digging a hole I opened my mouth, but their eyes turned bulwark. My feet stopped, my five-foot-tall body turning into stone. I can feel the sun-glaring heat on my broad back As if they’re melting the lines of my wrinkled face, Replacing the icy glass with a sack heavy as a rock. Their eyes slithered when words rolled from my tongue I walked near—they faced the walls, ignoring my stand. My mouth hung open before closing it, tight within I clicked my tongue—their sight quickly cracked. Their eyes trailed from my ash-sprinkled hair to boots, Their sight wielded knives, raising every hair on my skin. I felt like falling from a cliff full of glass shards My head, pouring to empty the thoughts lingering. I bit my lip, teeth-baring as the liquid poured at my curved back. Is there a way to get out? Breathe deeper than the ocean, There was none; my heart fell out. My empty pocket is my only possession. With no weapons to defend, I felt bile crawling up. I am prey to be devoured by the roaring vultures My hands shook as their glares burned a deep hole. Large drops of liquid formed on my forehead As I screamed in the tight cage, they locked me in.

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Sa dulo ng pagtila Ara Janine Palecpec

Muling bughaw ang ihip ng isipan, salungat ng sumisilaw na alapaap kung saan malaya ang mga may pakpak sa pagtawid mula pula hanggang lila na bakas sa sinasalaming lusak. Naaabo ang pusong makulay, sumisikat ang mabibigat na ulap niyayapos ng sariling tingin at pilit na binubulong ang silakbo, ‘wag magpaalipin sa mundo. Mula nang dumungaw sa kalmadong tubig, lumitaw sa kahinahunan ang wangis, umukit ng maliksi sa isip na sarili ang kumikinang na bituin isang istoryang masining, ikaw ang iyong kislap. Nababalutan ng pagbitiw pag-asang tumitingala, sa paghalik ng luhang tumakas alay sa munting lawa, maliliit na kurba ang nasilayan tulad ng bahagharing mapagpalaya.

omen Ollie Alexandra Lanzar 31

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The writer’s train Marcea Alcala I have thought of a million poetic ways to jump out of a train and just run—each one of them was unsuccessful. Yet. Or so, at least. The temptation is higher than ever, now that the night train has stopped for the third time. “Hold the doors for me.” The man gripping my arm shouted at me as I hoarsely whispered… “Okay.” He ran out of the train and entered the pit stop store as the vehicle continues to rumble beneath my bare feet. Looking ahead, the double layers of cold glass separating the train and the pit stop store made his figure blurry, but still comprehensible. Beneath the distended hoodie I’m wearing, I started to wonder how mine looks too. Then our visions matched each other from afar. He lifts his palms for a moment, only to let them down. Signaling; always keep your head down. I wondered how long these doors would stay wide open since the cold night breeze is the only thing crowding this station. One. Two. Three. I started counting as he hurriedly scanned the bar for something. He is my only muse. The idea I cannot ever bring justice to describe fully. Four. Five. Six. The train horns are starting to fill my ears. He’s paying at the counter. The sight of his hands always ignites a thousand words in me, quickly filling up a blank paper’ especially when they are clenched. Seven. Eight. Nine. The train doors start to close. He runs out from the store, holding a bottle. Yet I’m lucky if I even got to write ten of them before my pen tumbles down. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Can this come quicker? My heartbeat syncs with the engine’s fast shutter. I could easily revise the words, but I wish I could do the same with the marks. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. The train begins to accelerate, and he starts to pound on the glass doors. At last, maybe if the marks were found on a paper, then perhaps I could. Oh, I wish I could! Sixteen. Seventeen—stop. I have finished counting. I wish I were just counting the seconds, but no, I was counting the times.

Every moment where I would find myself beaten and splayed on the floor thinking… These broken alcohol bottles lying all over the room seem much more intact than I do. The times when I can feel his shadow towering above me, the color next after violet displayed on his knuckles and livid face. I wonder how mine would look now too. “Look at me. Open this damn door!” I can hear the newly bought bottle of alcohol smashing against the train’s glass doors. By now, I should’ve become numb by the number of times that I’ve encountered his icecold anger. But every time, it never melts. It just keeps on getting colder. He burns me as if I was an old, unfixable, and useless doll. And with it, I became the girl who just melts. Slowly lifting my head, my tears became known as the train’s dimmed interior light captured them. I’ll finally look up and see my reflection, cheeks badly bruised, lips busted, and eyes puffy like a storm. So that’s what I looked like. For a moment, I felt like the train stopped. Here I am, facing a painting no one else admires. Every stroke is painted with pain, but the figure still smiles. Every other window in the wagon was splayed with different colors—each one representing the figure’s hoarse whispers. But, I was the only one on the last train who could listen through its poetic eyes. Slowly, and slowly the haze left, and my vision cleared. And at that moment, I got to see him once again. His running figure leveled my height. His palms are red from furiously banging on the wagon’s door. His grunts are muffled, but I’m able to recognize them as he continues to shout the exact words over and over again. “Are you crazy?! I said, open this door!” Then, at last, I looked into his eyes. Despite all his rage, they’re still blue. And then I’ll see the boy I once knew—the same boy I’ve read my poems about escaping the world to... But what if we still could? What if we could escape everything that happened together and just start again? What if he would finally tell me what I did wrong for him to make me believe that hoping is like reaching a star in the night sky? What if we could find a world to be happy again? I lifted my hands for the first time; it’s the farthest thing I’ve done to defend myself. Because by the time that they fell… The emergency button was pressed. And the door was opened once again.

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Photo by Jazmine Levana Sico

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Reflection Visual (3)

Photo by Jazmine Levana Sico

The mirrors that mumble Stephanie Nicole Rabacal (HMS22)

I was Liv, never owned a mirror—the personal one. You won’t see it in my bag, on my desk, in my room, nor on my hand. Many lend me theirs, and I felt like I can’t say no. I should look good. I need to be seen good in every way the clock ticks. Their eyes must witness the curls my long lashes have, the depth my dimples dive into, the natural tint painted on my lips, and the summer bod molded in me. That should be me. The clock still ticked, yet I didn’t look good. They said my lashes were cut, my dimples were forced fake, my lips were dull, and my body was just as typical as theirs. That was me, their eyes whispered. I should be on top. I must have the best scores out of everyone else, no matter how steep the podium is. Their jaws should drop every moment I raise my hand, and I must always stand tall when in front. The podium was too steep so I was not on top. My scores weren’t the best among the rest, but their jaws dropped when I whispered correct answers to my seatmates. I stood tall with their ears, listening. They said I think too bright and I’m great with anything I do, yet the origins lowered those words. They said I could never get any better, stepping over my finish line, hopeless. That was me, their lips whispered. I should be the toughest. But this time, it was not them. It was me. I restricted my tears unless I was only by myself. My eyes spoke of threats. They said everybody should just see me smile. My mind told me I got them deceived; now, they know I am tough. Everything can pass by me without hurting. I instantly pounded with glee, knowing to make others fool of believing a thing unreal. But some said no—slapping me with their realities. I was like glass, not steel that I should be. That was me, their hearts whispered. By then, the mirror’s glare was too eye-blinding. It reflected me so well that it’s much more than what I see. It was dazzling enough to hurt my sight until the water gates were wrecked, and my eyes began to overflow. Yet, I was strong. I persisted in keeping it into the insides of my tote bag or desk drawer. I needed theirs to check who I am. Although spotting my flaws underneath its glass felt punishing, I let it whisper what I need to alter or conceal for them to accept me.

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They said I lack color, so I added a shimmer of gloss. They asked me to be better than them, so I improved their versions for myself. They told me I need to win battles, so I let the pressure form its diamond. I ended up being shattered for loving their mirrors, and it can’t anymore reflect whenever I asked what I should alter and conceal. I have no more ideas to what extent I should change to get back in one piece, and I remain: broken but living. And the day came; the one they are waiting for, the one I wanted to erase from the calendar. It was when I started breathing and my limbs got perfectly processed—only waiting to be grown by mirrors I never asked for. I wanted to cry from the very time I woke up. My morning was welcomed with a cheering song and hugs and kisses, but I didn’t feel any right. I don’t find my life worth celebrating; perhaps, it doesn’t feel like my own. Many made me feel good for a second. Their eyes upon me say I was splendid, just like how I lived. From then, I began to splurge hundreds of ‘thank you’ as if the mirrors told me to look the kindest, holding the obligation always to return the favor. Then, someone tickled me, wanting for my ears to listen, yet I didn’t immediately respond. I’m still too busy declaring gratitude towards everybody, and I’ve got guts—it is something I need to read with my soul in full focus. As the night eventually cut its round, I laid to my bed, checking greetings and wishes blown beneath my phone. The final message I clicked was that, the greeting from the reflection I was most scared of because she’s too honest to hear. It started with a warning; I should try not to crumple my face while reading through the oozing note. She’s never fond of giving long greetings, what more telling what her heart says. I was under my sheets, sideways laying. She’s the beaming reflection of my whole existence. She recalled how we thought so alike and how we accepted our differences. She said she was grateful for me, pushing a teardrop to fall towards my ear because I still didn’t feel appreciated by those around me in the smallest of things. But she told me she did, and she is. And as the following paragraph came closer to cast my eyes over, the reflection broke me into wild silent cries. “Still remember the night you asked me if I hate you?” giving me a no. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Live your life as you live it,” Liv said next. Many words were written down for me to read at once, but tears covered my sight. All I could see was a blur of shattered borrowed mirrors in that instant. She, the mirror I’ve always hidden, broke the only mirrors I was tightly gripping on. She saw how I always tried to look at myself through their eyes, not mine. But now—before I sleep with these bulging eyelids—all those mirrors that weren’t really in my possession are shattered more than a mirror that can be put back into its piece.

Siklo

Josephine Punzalan Tiwala; pagal na maglalakbay iniinda ang bigat ng mga paa, ngunit pag-asa’y tatalima sa iginawad biyaya. Tulong; nakagawiang bukas-palad tikatik man ang ambon, banayad na yayapos sa hiwaga ng buhay. Hilom; mga palad na nagbubuklod patuloy na dumadalangin, bukal mapapawi’t makakaraos sa kirot na lumatay. Hubog; tanglaw ay luluhuran ng masikhay N’yang lingkod, hangad ang paraiso sa susunod na paglalakbay.

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The final ride

Phoebe Denise Santos It was a dismal night along the streets of Uptown, Metro Manila. The cold misty breeze whispered in my ear, and my tall heels clacked across the damp cobblestone sidewalk as I hurried to my destination. “Just a little more to go,” I sighed to myself, in regret of leaving my apartment after a long night of pondering. Finally, as I felt my ankles ache, I saw it: a bright neon sign that read a four-letter word with men in all black guarding the entrance. I timidly approached the guards while I fished through my bag for a gold envelope. “I have an invitation. Here,” I handed it to him as I softly bit the inside of my cheek. “Go ahead,” he said in a monotone voice allowing me to enter. Upon stepping a foot further, a whiff of enslaving scents quickly invade my nostrils. The place was hundreds of conversations competing with the techno music that dominated the atmosphere. The crowd was young, students from the university for the most part. Everyone appeared proper in their semi-formal attire, except for me, who—despite my attempt—still managed to look “normal”. “Hey, Legaspi, over here!” a man hollered from across the room. He wore a half-undone white polo shirt with slicked-back hair. His jacket was thrown roguishly over his shoulder as if he were posing for one of his television ads. Marco, one of my classmates, didn’t know my name until last week when he invited me to his birthday. I found myself navigating through the crowd of warm bodies, making my way towards the booths. “You made it!” He smiled from ear to ear, grabbing my waist and leading me towards their seats. “Everyone, Sarah Legaspi, we’re in the same Psych class,” the hair on the back of my neck stood as people glared, eyeing me from head to toe. “Ease up. You’re in for a treat tonight,” he winked as he handed me a glass of brown-tinted liquid. “Sorry, I don’t drink,” I murmured, receiving condescending sneers. Marco laughed warmly in reply, “You’re going to have to learn fast then.” I took the glass from him reluctantly. What was I expecting? Of course. So although the stench of the drink alone made my stomach turn, I brought it closer and closer to my lips. The first sip felt like gasoline down my throat, and my face scrunched up right away. “Good girl, Legaspi,” one of his friends smirked as he balanced a stick of nicotine between his lips. One glass came after the next. I was going to be sick. Not now, not right away, but sometime before the night was over, and there was nothing I could do about it. As the night went on, I grew more comfortable with the crowd, intoxicated by spirits and moments all at the same time. “Take this,” Marco muttered, handing me what looked like a colorful piece of candy wrapped in tissue paper. “It helps you loosen up,” I shook my woozy head.

“We’ve already had ours,” I glanced at their corner to see his friends sprawled on the couch with bloodshot eyes. “I should really go home,” I chuckled nervously. “Don’t be such a buzzkill,” he grunted, already putting the candy on my palm. This was too far. I knew I had to draw the line somewhere. But as I felt the heavy gaze of the people around me, I started to think of what they’d say back in school. I had no place with people like them who drove expensive cars and wore shoes that could pay for my month’s rent. I’m tired of sitting alone during lunch breaks and hearing quiet voices whisper behind my back. Maybe, if I took this leap, I’d finally belong. Just one. I told myself as I took a deep breath. I put the candy on my tongue, tasting its bitterness spread as it melted. His friends gave me a smile while Marco wrapped his arms around my shoulders. Almost immediately, I felt an overwhelming headrush as enchanting voices whispered upon my ears. They spoke clearly, yet I couldn’t make out what they were saying, almost like they were speaking in Greek? Maybe Italian? As I closed my eyes, I pictured myself riding a wave, surrendering to the slow, steady, and relaxing calm. Minutes went by—no, hours probably. The momentary stillness was replaced by a fast thumping in my chest, casually bewitching my breath. The room began to spin around like one of those merry-go-rounds I rode as a kid. My stomach has troubled butterflies, and before I knew it, everything blurred out into the darkness. But as the pitch-black sight surrounded me, I felt my soul return to my body. I stood up and walked straight for the entrance, not saying goodbye to anyone. There was only one thing on my mind. I needed to go home. I walked the streets of Uptown, Metro Manila, without a feeling of drowsiness. Then I saw a white cab by the curb, got in, and mumbled my address to the driver. He doesn’t seem to talk much nor care. The drive was long and almost quiet if it weren’t for the early morning radio. “Just in!” said the reporter, ending the last tune. “Five university students found dead in a nightclub in Taguig, Metro Manila,” I shook my head, thinking how naive those kids must have been. “Suspected cause of death? Drug overdose. Only the following have been identified: James Enriquez III, Marco Pangilinan,” my eyes widened as I heard those names. “And Sarah Legaspi.” What? It can’t be! I’m alive, they must have gotten it wrong! I leaned closer to look at my reflection in the rear-view mirror but saw nothing other than empty space. I sat there frozen while staring blankly at the driver, who wore a long, black cloak with a hood. I should’ve stayed home.

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Reflection of Light and Shadow Jam Nicole Bay ABM15

Monochrome dreams Frances Nicole Umbao

A spell was cast as the resonance of commune fades to a hum In the blur of white walls amidst the stream of pictures there it hung, A pair of beckoning monochrome eyes dared me to come close Her sharp eyes swirled with mischief and menace like the thorns of a rose. Fingers clad in resplendent jewels—her clothes an opulent exterior My head spun with stories weaved from the sight of grandeur, Skeletons in closets and scarlet letters perfumed in cigars All gazing at the heavy contrast and age-old allure. And so I dreamed of sumptuous monochrome dreams Of marble floors, angel ceilings, and champagne beams, A woman and her lover move to the silken tune of their affinity, Yet this fantasy could not suffice to unravel the mystery. Amidst the endless cascade of passing faces, unseen in the grand schemes Was the elusive face behind the tales weaved by entranced wanderers, And so my eyes flickered shut and dreamed of my own For the picture was black and white, yet the glint in her eyes spoke of many colors.

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stagnation Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

kintsukuroi Nikki Alexis Antonio 45

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A boy in hot pink stilettos Anina Jiliana Manuel

Have you ever heard of the Kabedon? Growing up, our static television, ominous as it was, reeled me in. Watching Ouran High School Host Club or Fruits Basket made innocent-me happy as a bee. But when I look back on them now, the thrill I felt is no different from eating ice cream on Sundays with Grandpa. One Friday night out, I was inside my man cave, which looked like it was nested by a goblin. My sunken eyes speak for themselves, and I was at my wit’s end trying to escape boredom. As I was speeding through the internet like a huffing madlad with Cheeto dust all over my mouth and crumbs on the bed crept after by ants, I stumbled upon Boys’ Love. As I inched closer to the screen, my eyes glimmered. This was going to be fun. Turns out, BL puts rose-colored lenses between two heroes, not with a heroine. It got me hooked much more than the irky cringe you get from— “Hello, Earth to Lila.” That seemed to come from my sister’s mouth. Looks like I was keeping my head up in the clouds, per usual. “We’re here, dumbass. Stop daydreaming, and move your butt out of the car.” My sister can be quite the Cruella de Vil, cruel with her words with a devilish heavy eye-makeup. The Grand Plaza. In this mall, everything was grand, like gold was seeping through the cracks. We were strolling around the third floor of the mall. The boutique level but for food. They have everything from the spicy but savory yellow curry of India to Japan’s salmon skin sushi. I was humming from excitement. This Japanese restaurant was red-carpet extra. It was hard to keep my eyes up, and everything shone radiantly. In front of the line, more sparkles were up in the air, paving the way for my eyes to reveal a forbidden love out in plain sight. The most dazzling gay couple you will ever see. I was lost for words. They look like Cali and Kani from the BL that I was reading. I grinned ear-to-ear like a lunatic fangirl when suddenly I heard one of my sister’s taunts, “Hmph, dumbass,” I just rolled my eyes in response. “Yes, ma’am. Your table is ready.” The short, kind waitress showed us our table. We both sat down, and I could barely stay still. A few tables back, I saw the trace of the shimmer that is, again, floating up in the air. I was cheery as ever—like all I was missing were pom-poms. Half an hour passed, I glimpsed at the couple, and distress was looming on their faces. Nobody had served them. The table felt like the devil’s pawn was sitting on their shoulders. Though it seems, at that time, my mind was still as childish as ever. So, I left it brooding in the air.

After hearing some complaints, they were finally served fifteen minutes later. As their food arrived, the waitress had accidentally spilled their drinks, leaving wet shirts and annoyed customers. If you look close enough, it’s like the couple has fumes coming out of their heads, and I felt the breeze swaying my way. So, I got left with a bit of curiosity and mild irritation. Is this what they called a 21st century quality service? Something wasn’t sitting well with me. Even my stomach felt like butterflies were stabbing through. I excused myself and headed straight to the bathroom. Was it from the food? When I got back, I heard a pompous voice, “We had clearly said no nuts. My husband is deathly allergic to them!” It seemed that his husband was heaving like a cow and swelling up. The other one went ballistic towards the manager and, afterward, immediately rang the emergency dial. I could hear echoing through the walls, murmurs, and whispers of the wicked eyes. Laughters went wild. “He looks like a balloon.” “Looks like they got what they deserved.” “This is hilarious!” “Ugh, when are they getting out of here?” My ears couldn’t believe what it heard, and I felt like the entire room was an enemy. Was somebody dying supposed to be funny? The ambulance had arrived. They went as quickly as they came. The beaming red lights slowly disappeared into the horizon, as well as the devil accompanying every table. The dense fog in the air had cleared up too, and the eyes had turned gentle once again. We got home, finally. Feeling drained from that dinner that God had seemed to turn away from. I just quickly stampeded to my room. Changed to mismatched PJs, flopped on the bed while looking up at the massive white ceiling. Thinking that, maybe, the dark fog had followed us home. Feeling like I have an itch in the back of my mind, I can’t reach. I turned my lights off, leaving only this light coming from my bedroom window from the lamp post outside the street. Covering my face as it knew that even angels stopped watching over me, over them too. No matter how unfair it is, the best I could do is to shed pity tears. Because that dinner isn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Refraction Gradual transitions of prisms to visualize the diversity of life.

The circus prince Anina Jiliana Manuel

Toddler; Playing with buckets of mud castles etches scars all over his hands Neither his echoey giggles nor parched cries reach through the distance The red-nosed kid searches for a string, miles away from his family With his own, right there, being led astray. Child; The clown in action, just to paint a smile on his facet To hinder the abomination inside, creeping after his trace Strings shunned him over, with the gap growing bigger and wider Ooh! A fool to play, to accompany the darkness with his grace. Teenager; With the gap turning into a whirling void, he started to sell his soul A familiar jester voice then whispers, “I’m willing to take that offer.” The carnival has arrived! Up in the air, streams of vibrance fly through Alas! Each one seeps into his heart and taints his string vividly with color. Adult; Though his veins still throb with the grim of the past With a tight grip, these hands of color through the depths of errors will light up the dim Escaping the island that consumed him over, tasting relief that never felt sweeter As the distance connects with his string, with the inch closing over.

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Traces of hope Paulyn Dianne Laude

My eyes felt so heavy as I walked amidst the darkness through our small alley. The pungent smell of rotten food and urine-filled my nose—the cue that I was in my neighborhood. I just got home from work late again. Slowly, I made my way to my room and turned on the lights to change my clothes. I was ready to doze off until I remembered, for the nth time of the day, the box of old photographs that I kept under my bed for the nth time of the day. Today is her death anniversary. It’s been a year. “Maybe it’s time to open it once more,” I muttered under my breath. I mustered up my remaining strength and took the box. Tears immediately trickled down my cheeks as I dug through the photos, now covered with creases. Those were the pictures of me and my grandma. She was my only family. “You don’t seem to get enough sleep,” she said in a raspy, weary voice. “Don’t worry about me, granny. Next week we’ll have food on our table,” I promised her though I wasn’t sure if I would be able to find money during that particular week. “It’s okay, really,” she chided. I intently looked at her cadaverous body and just barely put a smile on my face, convincing her that we would get through this. “Take care and don’t exhaust yourself too much,” she said while patting me on my back. “Wait for me, okay?” I requested before kissing her goodbye. “Alright. I will always be with you no matter what happens, darling,” she assured me. I nodded and left for work in hot fields. I hope I stayed home that day, but then our stomachs would growl if I did. I wish I cherished the moment or at least hugged her or bid goodbye forehead kisses. I left without knowing that it would be my last conversation with her. Later that very day, I went home just to witness her lying flat on the floor inside our room. For a moment, I thought she was just sleeping peacefully. Then, in a blink, I realized I lost her. I could not accept the fact that I was not able to provide food on our table before she drew her last breath. I returned to reality as the cold wind wiped my tears away. I could not help but sob. I thought, if it wasn’t for this pandemic, she would have been alive and breathing. If it wasn’t for this pandemic, I could’ve had three jobs to make more money. If it wasn’t for this pandemic, I would have the chance to at least give my grandma what she needed—her food and medicine. If it wasn’t for the inadequate response we get from the people in power... It’s been a year but nothing seems to change. I must still work almost 18 hours a day just to continue living. I took a quick glance at the old photographs on my hand. These are the only traces of hope I have right now. My grandma—the only reason why I want to reclaim my future and finally knock out of this isolation.

Colors in Me Rania Marie Pucan

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Nanay Phoebe Denise Santos Labinlimang taon nang nagtatrabaho si Nanay Dolores sa negosyanteng si Mr. Alfonso Del Pilar at anak nitong si Mahalia. Namumuti na ang hibla ng kanyang buhok at bumabaluktot ang kanyang likod. Kahit kulubot ang mga namimintig na kamay, pilit na itinutulak ni Nanay Dolores ang kanyang sarili na gumising nang maaga upang maghain ng masarap na pagkain sa mag-ama. Ganito na lamang ang pag-aaruga ng matanda sapagkat inaalala nito ang kanilang kalagayan mula nang pumanaw ang ilaw ng tahanan ng mga ito. Kahit tanyag na negosyante si Alfonso, nakikita ni Dolores ang mga namumulang mata nito dulot ng gabi-gabing pagiyak. Tahimik man ang pagtanggap ng asawa sa yumaong kabiyak, kabaliktaran naman ito sa nangyayari sa anak. Katulad na lang nang araw na iyon. Matirik ang araw sa unang umaga ng buwan ng Marso. Maaga pa ang pag-eensayo ni Mahalia para sa graduation rites sa paaralan. Napailing-iling si Dolores sa nagtutulong-laway ng alaga. Niyugyog niya ang balikat nito. “Mahalia, gumising ka na.” “Mamaya na.” Hindi pinansin ni Dolores ang kawalang-galang ng bata. Tumikhim siya nang maramdamang nangangati ang kanyang lalamunan. “Maaga pa ang practice ninyo. Gumising ka na.” Bumalikwas ng higa si Mahalia. Kunot ang noo nito at namumula ang mga mata. “Puwede ba? Alam mo namang kaarawan kahapon ng kaklase ko. Masakit ang ulo ko.” Umiling si Nanay Dolores. Naaamoy niya ang singaw ng Emperador mula sa kwarto nito. “Practice niyo na ngayon para sa graduation rites, Mahalia. Magtatapos ka na ng senior high.” Pumalatak ang dalaga. “Please, umalis ka na, ‘Nay. Kahapon pa nag-anunsyo na walang practice. Magsasagawa ng lockdown ang bayan ngayong araw.” Nangunot ang noo ni Dolores. “Lockdown?” “Duh.” Bumagsak ang kurba ng labi ng dalaga. Nagdadabog na tumayo si Mahalia bago masamang tumingin sa matanda. “Mayroong kumakalat na COVID-19 virus. Nakahahawang sakit, ‘Nay. Buong bansa ang mag-la-lockdown para hindi kumalat.” Napa-buntong hininga si Nanay Dolores nang walang lingong naglakad ang alaga tungo sa banyo. Naramdaman niya namang nag-vibrate ang telepono sa kanyang bulsa. Kinuha niya ito at nakitang nagpadala ng text ang guro ni Mahalia. Mukhang tama nga ang kanyang alaga. *** Hinihimas ni Nanay Dolores ang dibdib niya pagkatapos ng sunod-sunod nitong pag-ubo na parang kahol ng aso. Nananakit na rin ang kanyang ulo ngunit hindi niya iyon pinansin sapagkat kailangan niyang magluto. Naabutan niya sa kusina ang kanyang alaga na naghahain ng mga plato habang mayroon nang lutong ulam sa hapagkainan. Napakunot ang noo niya. “Mahalia?” Napaangat ng tingin sa kanya ang dalaga. “‘Nay Dolores.” “Nagluto ka?” Tumango ang dalaga bago tumalikod. Napahinga ang matanda nang maramdaman ang parang tumutusok-tusok sa kanyang nanakit na ulo. “Hindi ka na dapat nag-abala.” Umiling ang dalaga bago ngumiti. “Darating si Papa. Gusto kong ako ang magluto. Huwag ka ngang mangialam.” 52

Hindi na tumanggi ang matanda. Nakarinig sila ng mabibigat na pagyapak at sumalubong sa kanilang paningin ang lalaking kamukhang-kamukha ni Mahalia ngunit mas matigas at mas litaw ang panga nito. Yumakap si Mahalia sa dumating. “Papa!” “Kumusta, hija?” “Na-miss po kita, Papa.” Umalis sa yakap si Mahalia at iginiya ang ama sa mesa. “Nagluto po ako para sa atin, Papa.” Ngumiti si Alfonso sa anak at tinanguan siya. “‘Nay Dolores, magandang umaga,” bati ng lalaki sa matanda. Ngumiti siya kahit nakita niyang umirap sa kanya ang dalaga sa gilid ng paningin. “Sir, alam po ba ninyong ga-graduate na ang inyong anak? Magtatapos na po siya sa senior high.” “Napakagaling naman ng anak ko.” Ngumiti naman nang malaki ang lalaki bago hinalikan sa noo ang anak. Nang makaupo ang mag-ama, siya namang tumayo si Dolores. Ngumiti siya sa dalawa. “Ipaghahain ko kayo ng mainit-init na tsokolate kasabay ng masarap na almusal na inihanda ni Mahalia.” Nagsalang ng mainit na tubig si Dolores nang hindi niya mapigilang ubuhin nang ubuhin. Napaluwa siya ng laway sa lababo bago napansing dugo ang iniluwa niya. Kasabay pa nito ang malakas na pintig ng ugat sa kanyang ulo. Napaigik siya. “‘Nay Dolores, ayos lang po ba kayo?” Napaangat siya ng tingin bago ngumiti. Nagsisimula nang lumabo ang kanyang paningin. “Ayos lang ako, Alfonso.” Tumayo siyang nakararamdam ng nginig sa kanyang tuhod. Tuluyan na itong bumagsak at ang huli niyang narinig ay ang sigaw ni Mahalia, “‘Nay!” *** “Naka-intubate na po si Ma’am Dolores. Nasa laboratory pa po ang ibang test ni Ma’am pero sigurado po na positibo si Ma’am.” Napatingin si Mahalia sa ama niya na kausap ng doktor. Madiin niyang kinagat ang labi. “Mamamatay na po ba si Nanay Dolores?” Napatingin ang dalawa sa kanya. “Tatapatin kita. Maliit ang tsansa na maaaring maka-survive si Ma’am. Ang kaya ko lang i-assure sa inyo ay gagawin namin ang lahat upang malampasan ni Ma’am ang kanyang sakit.” Tumango si Alfonso. “Maraming salamat po.” Tumango rin ang doktor bago nagpaalam umalis. Napahinga si Alfonso bago tumabi sa anak. Hawak nito ang isang ziplock bag na naglalaman ng mga gamit ng matanda. Hinawakan ito ni Mahalia. Napatingin si Mahalia sa bintana ng kwartong katapat ng kanilang kinauupuan. Naroroon si Dolores na mayroong nakakabit na mga tubo at mga aparato. Nanginginig ang mga kamay niya habang tinitignan ang matanda. Alam niyang isa siya sa mga pangunahing dahilan kung bakit nagsisimulang bumigay ang katawan ng kanyang Nanay Dolores. Sa pagbibigay niya ng sakit ng ulo rito, sa mga pagsasagot-sagot niya ng pabalang, at ito pa madalas ang nagpapasensya sa kanya kapag matigas ang ulo niya. Tinignan niya ang bag na hawak niya at napansin ang isang locket sa loob. Kinuha niya iyon mula sa supot na hawak niya at tinitigan. Gawa ito sa pilak at tila nagsisimula nang mangalawang ang kwintas nito. Ginalaw niya ito at bigla itong bumukas para lang ipakita ang mukha ng isang batang nakangiti. Napakunot ang noo niya at napansing mayroon itong kamukha. Aksidente siyang napatingin sa kanyang ama para lang makita na kapareha ng kilay at mata ng kanyang ama ang mukha ng batang lalaki. Napatigil siya at napatingin sa matandang nakahiga sa kwarto. ‘Nay Dolores, anong ibig sabihin nito? 53

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espial Ollie Alexandra Lanzar

paradox Ollie Alexandra Lanzar 55

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Sa huling tagsibol Ara Janine Palecpec

Bumabalik sa aking memorya ang mababaw na dahilan ng kasiyahan, sanhi ng pagbabalik sa lugar na parati kong pinupuntahan—ang amusement park sa Mall of Asia. Saktong katatapos lang umiyak ng ulap, bakas ang amoy ng alimuom at lumitaw na nga ang bahaghari. Kung maaari nga lang maglakbay nang pabalik sa nakaraan. Kung saan prente lang ang lahat. “Mama! Tignan mo ako oh!” pagmamayabang ko kay Mama sa pag-swing ko, na akala kong mataas noong panahon na iyon. Ngunit ngayon na binabalikan ko ang aking memorya, kasing hina lang pala ito ng banayad na paghinto ng pendulum. Ngumiti naman siya sa akin at hinayaang maglaro. Sumunod lang siya sa akin kung saan ako tumatakbo. Kaya nauubos ang enerhiya ni Mama pagkauwi namin eh. May mamang nagbebenta ng mga lobong may iba’t ibang mukha ng kartun. Ngingitian ko lang si Mama at ituturo ‘yung mga lobo, ilalabas na niya ang pitaka niya at iaabot ang limampung piso sa akin. Babalik ako sa kanya nang ngiting-ngiti dahil nakatali na rin sa kamay ko ang sinulid ng lobo. Hilig din akong ayusan ni Mama dati. Iyun bang kumpleto lahat ng gamit ko mula buhok hanggang paa. Ang makukulay na hikaw, kwintas, pulseras, at singsing na gawa sa beads. Hindi ko rin malilimutan ang headband na tila korona at may kumikislap pang mga bato. Kinakalawang na ang halos lahat dito sa parke, hindi tulad ng dati na langhap ang amoy ng pintura kada buwan. Iyun bang pagkatapos mong humawak sa mga riles sa pila ng rides ay amoy pintura pa rin ang kamay mo hanggang makauwi at makapaghugas na ng kamay. Kaliwa’t kanan pa ang mga bilihan ng pagkain sa baywalk noon at mas nakatutuwa bilang bata na makita ang mga palamuti at ilaw lalo sa gabi. Ngayon, ang dolomite na lang ang tanging maipagmamalaki. Hindi maiwasan ng mga ngipin kong magpakitang gilas habang binabalikan ang mga ganitong klaseng alaala ng nakaraan habang nasa parehong lugar sa kasalukuyan. Umupo ako sa pinakamagandang pwesto para panoorin ang haring araw na magtatago na. Tila nagtatawag ang repleksyon ng tubig; pinagmamasdan ko ito sapagkat kitang-kita pa rin ang tingkad ng pula, kahel, dilaw, berde, asul, at lila. Nangyayakap ang ihip ng hangin, bagay sa tinatanaw ko ngayon. Itong kapayapaan ang naghudyat sa mga dahon na bumitaw sa kanilang mga sanga. I can think of all times You told me not to touch the light Pinikit ko ang aking mga mata para damhin ang hangin. Ngunit nagtaka nang biglang nag-iba ang temperatura ng pagkakayakap ng hangin sa akin dahilan ng pagmulat ko. I never thought that you would be the one Lalong tumingkad ang araw ko sa pagkakataong makita ko siya. Binigyan ko siya ng ngiting abot tainga at yakap na nagpapakita ng pangungulila.

I couldn’t really justify How you even thought it could be right “Salamat sa Diyos nakauwi ka na, Ma.” Sambit ko at naramdaman ang init mula sa mga mata ko. “Oo nga anak. ‘Wag ka nang malungkot, nandito na si Mama,” pangtatahan niya habang binabalot pa rin ako sa kanyang bisig. “Marami akong pasalubong sa’yo. ‘Wag kang mag-alala dahil mother knows best,” dagdag pa niya Ang ganda ng tiyempo ng panahon. Sabik na sabik ako sa boses ni Mama, talo ko pa ang batang napagbigyan ng kagustuhan. Kasi ako, napagbigyan ako sa kailangan ko. ‘Cause everything we cherished is gone “Kumusta ka naman sa Kuwait, Ma? Mabait naman ba ‘yung mga amo mo? Baka naman hindi maayos ang trato sa’yo doon.” Nakapag-aalala dahil marami akong nababalitaan tungkol sa pagmamaltrato sa domestic helpers. “Bakit ko nga pala tatanungin kung mabait sila, pinayagan ka ngang umuwi eh,” pagdadaldal ko. And in the end, can you tell me If it was worth the try? So I can decide “Inaalagaan mo ba sarili mo doon, Ma? Dapat kung paano mo ako punasan ng pawis maya’t maya dati, ganoon ka rin kaalaga sa sarili mo. Kumakain ka dapat ng limang beses sa isang araw, reward mo sa sarili mo ‘yun kasi sobra ang pagsasakripisyo mo para sa akin,” dagdag ko. Nang mapagtanto kong nakapikit pa rin pala ako, naglaho ang init ng yakap ni Mama. Leaves will soon grow from the bareness of trees And all will be alright in time From waves overgrown come the calmest of seas And all will be alright in time Sa pagdilat ko ay agad inikot ang tingin sa gilid at likod. Try as hard as I might To flee the shadows of the night It haunts me and it makes me feel blue But how can I try to hide When every breath and every hour I still end up thinking of you? Nasaksihan ko ang dahan-dahang paglubog ng araw, hanggang tuluyan nang mawala sa paningin ko. Tulad ng yakap ni Mama.

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Aconite of purple Marcea Alcala

Once you were a friend of mine, Lavender was once our crowns Your grip renounced them for a white veil In hopes of finding the undying garden, vision swathed. Beneath the towering woods with hues of green, It was the misty haze that caught your heed A scent so familiar was now glacier cold While the aconite of purple waves you in. Cloned as water-scented lavenders, River-smooth, thorning your finger with ink Red seared, deeper than its roots as you claw every itch You watered them through your eyes; it somehow eased. “These woods take care of me,” your small voice still echoed, With the sun draining your tears, wiping the trace Its stinging coldness, concealing your inner cries Embellished as a propitious haze, flowing like your veil. You walked further and further into unseen land, It was thrilling, like somehow your feet were new Yet it doesn’t make you feel colored Now that your trail is buried, gone from your view. The rashes came back, but your eyes had become so dry, Desperate for water, you dig through the soil until it shined An acrid reflection proves every scatch you believed otherwise, There were no rashes; you just let a flower twist and pick you from inside.

A thin thread to escaping death Shane Lira Laliag

It was a large wooden pole, higher than the trees surrounding the plain. It was sturdy with seven feet of old Narra wood and hardened with iron holding it down in the ground. Its height struck in the heavy sky. Above it hung a human-sized anvil, forged by the gods and pressured by the heat of the underground. A rope supported it, which led towards the lever at the end of the pole. Heavier than steel, it was used to forge the blades that were used in fishing and battle. Below is a cage where Hyperion sat, whose legs were weak from running. His body shook of tiredness from the beating he got from speaking against a guardia civil. His clothes were ragged, and his hands scraped flesh. The taxed document he got from the municipality ripped in shreds beside him. His face was full of purple-bluish spots with crimson blood dripping from his eyes. He looked in the sky where the anvil struck against the sky. Hyperion knew it would kill him. In a snap of the wind, his life would be gone. Why is it hard to give light to his people? Why is it hard to fight for the hope he wanted for his country? He sighed before looking at his front. There stood Felipe, the man whose blood was unto him. He wore the white uniform of the guardia civils in town, and medals hung unto the pockets of his uniform. With a shotgun in his thigh, he thought to himself that it would be hard to escape from this man. Felipe sighed. “Would this be the end for you, young lad? I warned you to take precautions against your protests. I warned you to stop, but you didn’t. We’ve spoken of this, lad.” Hyperion gnashed his teeth. “Do you think I would still succumb to your favor? You stole our money! You stole our country!” He gripped the iron bars with his crimson hands. “You slapped us with the reality of your dominance and egoistic ways. Who are you to ask us to die? Who are you to kick us from the place that was ours?” He clicked his tongue. “Remember this. You bastards stole what is rightfully ours.” Felipe clicked his tongue. “You gave me no choice.” The alperes pulled the lever down. Lord... The hope in his eyes fell as the rope paralleled its movement. It slithered like a snake as it was cut from the pole. Finally, it released the anvil, which then had been brought down to gravity. Hyperion’s eyes widened as his face lost color. Help me… He knew there was nothing left to escape from. The cage was iron, and time was ticking. There was nothing he could do. “This is the anting-anting that’ll protect you from the harm against the wicked forest, son. This is the only thing I can give you before I die.”

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He felt his blood rush in his body like lightning. He breathed hard, cold air crushing his lungs before uttering a simple phrase, “Mutya sa wasay, iligtas mo ako...” Pearl of the ax, save me from harm. The whole forest stayed quiet as the heavy metal cracked the earth beneath the ground. The resting birds flew from the trees when it shook. Felipe heard the anvil against the hardened deck as he looked below. No scream echoed. Nothing. Felipe smirked. “That’s work done.” He stepped away from the scene like no murder just happened with his hands. Hyperion felt his lungs crushed against the cold wind. His body cracked against the heavy weight of the anvil. He breathed hard, blood rushing in his head. He felt his throat choking like a straw tightening against his neck… No... Then he opened his eyes. He saw himself still inside the cage, inside the place where he was supposed to be dead. He heard his breathing stopped. How? He looked in his arms—there was nothing. He opened his jacket but there was no crimson dripping. No flesh ripped off from his body. No hair was tied to the ground. No bone was crushed from the heavy weight. No blood was dripping against the crisp ground. Hyperion felt his stature shake. His mind was spinning like a hurricane shambling his notions. He held the iron bars to stand up, but his heavy sole rang across a heavy metal. His eyes widened. Impossible. Hyperion checked his legs, only to see the heavy forged iron beneath his feet. He stumbled to hold his body up. His thoughts were flying like birds in his head. Eyes were melting as a gust of wind drifted upon his shaking hands. He couldn’t believe it. How was it possible for me to be alive? Hyperion looked below again. He saw the striking metal against the brownish ground, but his eye pointed unto the pouch that bore the anting-anting his father gave him. He breathed hard...before grinning. With the help of the height of the anvil, Hyperion gripped the iron bars and lifted his body. The sharp coldness rushed his blood to his mind but he plastered one thought in it—to escape. He pushed his legs outside the cage before pulling his body down the rust iron bars holding him down. He breathed hard. Mind in chaos, but he heard his heart beating calmly. Like the wind soothingly gushing in the forest, it walked against his running breath. Yet, it was calm like it trusted the anting-anting on his necklace from the beginning. Hyperion held his necklace. It was real after all. Shaking from the notion, he pushed his body to walk away from the scene, determined to finish his mission: to find light for his fallen country.

Hues to It Evalene Vianca De Jesus

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Art by Rania Marie Pucan

Liham ng umaasa Josephine Punzalan 10 Mayo 1897 Kataas-taasang Magdalo, Nais kong talastasin ang sukdulan kong hinagpis sa mga kabuktutan sa ating bayan. Magsisimula ako sa mga paratang sa iyo na wari ko’y batid mo na rin. Naging talamak na ang pagbatikos sa iyo, hindi pa man ginanap ang Kumbensyong Tejeros, dulot ng palihim mong pakikipag-ugnayan sa mga prayle. Kapos ang mga katibayan na aking nakalap noon kaya’t hindi naibsan ang aking pagtitiwala sa iyong pamumuno. Ngunit sa kasalukuyan, labis mong dinungisan ang samahan. Nag-ugat ito nang hindi ka tumalima sa pahayag naming pagsasawalang-bisa ng isinagawang kumbensyon at halalan. Sa halip, kalakip nito’y tinalikdan mo ang samahan at nanumpa pa sa harapan ng isang prayle—isang kalapastanganan! Ilang liham din ang aking natanggap na nagsisiwalat sa iyong mga kawaning walang habas na nanghahamak, nanlalapastangan, at nangyuyurak sa mga kababaihan sa samu’t saring baryo. Kasuklam-suklam ang iyong pamumuno ‘pagkat hinayaan mong gamitin ang kapangyarihan at dahas upang makapanlamang! Kataksilan ito sa iyong sinumpaang tungkulin na paglingkuran ang mamamayang Pilipino. Kay saklap gunitahin ng mga panahong sinubukan kong isaayos ang hidwaan sa pagitan ng Magdalo at Magdiwang. Noong minsa’y nagawi ka sa Naik, buong loob kitang hinarap sa datos na aking nakalap tungkol sa iyo, ngunit tinalikuran mo ako at ang mga kawani mong nais kang ituwid. Naging katwiran ko ito upang bukal na sukuan ka, ang kaisipang makakasama kang kalagin ang tanikalang gapos lalu’t lalo ang iyong kataksilan. Wala sa aking adhikain ang magsumamo upang iyong iurong ang sentensyang kamatayan sa aming magkapatid, dahil tulad ni Pepe, handa kaming harapin ang kamatayan sanhi ng pagkiling sa aming bayan. Ito ang kailanma’y hindi mo maisasakatuparan, sapagkat buhay ka pa ngunit iniluluwa ka na ng inang bayan. Matatawag mo kaming taksil sa iyong pamunuan ngunit ikaw ang tunay na taksil sa himagsikang Pilipino. Nawa’y ibigin mo ang iyong bayan nang sunod kay Bathala, sa iyong kapurihan, at higít sa lahat sa iyong sarili. Hangad kong balang araw ay makamtan ng aking tinubuang lupa ang kasarinlan mula sa mga kawangis mong hangal. Dadanak ang aming luha, pawis, at dugo sa ngalan ng mapagpalayang kasaysayang iuukit ng mga dalisay na kababayan. Sa ngalan ng haring bayan, May pag-asa

Shadow The blocks to draw strength in seeking its soul purpose.

Bloody Sunday Josephine Punzalan

Back when I was still an innocent child, my parents trained me to be vigilant at all times. There were times that I would sneak under the bed when my fear urges me, but my parents would read bedtime stories to calm me down. “The Passover is a story of Moses and the Pharaoh in Egypt. The Pharaoh ordered his men to kill each Jewish baby boy because he was afraid that the Israelites may rule over Egypt,” Aunt Anne started reading with enthusiasm. She’s been my guardian since then. “Ignore human rights, finish them when they don’t cooperate,” I heard from the fat ugly guy speaking on our television. Glancing at the Bakwit kids that were patiently listening to her felt surreal. They came from different ages and tribes, but here, no one is different. Each of us has trauma that we strive to overcome, a dire lesson from our past. I sat upon the vacant chair in the last row, trying not to disturb her class. She looked at me with a genuine smile on her face. “Wanna know why he feared the Israelites?” she asked the children and all of them nodded their heads while their faces traced a map of mystery. “Because their population was higher compared to the Egyptians. This means that the Israelites outnumbered the Pharaoh’s men and they could overthrow him,” she discussed with conviction. The heads of the kids simultaneously motioned upwards, seeming like they got her point. The people in power are always cautious of the masses—like the abusive generals who put the lives of the innocent in their own hands. “Papa, should I hide now?” I nervously asked my father while he and my mother tried to call for help. “Yes, baby. Just cover your ears. We’ll call you when it’s time to get out, okay?” Mama answered and bid a kiss on my forehead. The banging on our front gates was strident now. “Hide now, baby,” Papa hugged me while gesturing to go under the bed. I tried focusing on Aunt Annie as she continued. “The unsympathetic Pharaoh agreed to let the Israelites free only if they left their lambs and cattle in Egypt, which they disagreed upon because they needed those as a sacrifice. Therefore, the tenth and final plague was sent,” she paused for a while for a dramatic remark. They were evidently eager to hear the continuation, and I know she noticed that because she giggled while looking at them.

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“Before sending the most drastic of all plagues, Moses had been warned. Then, the Israelites used the blood of a lamb to mark their doors so the torment shall pass over them.” Silence filled the room as everyone attentively listened. If we were warned back then, what symbol could we possibly hold? An image of an iron fist or to raise a white flag? I heard the approaching footsteps beneath our wooden floor. I felt my heart throbbing as I heard the pounding in our bedroom door. They got in. I tried my best not to make any noise. This is my only way to secure my safety because I know my parents aren’t. “It was the most drastic of all plagues. All firstborns shall be killed by the angel of death,” she looked at the kids, their mouths were shaped to an “o”. How ironic could it be? Those who held the law were the ones who caused death. All we could do is try to mold the youth into a better generation, and I hope their trauma won’t hinder that. Then I heard gunshots and blood spilled upon the floor. I was quietly gasping for air while trying to hold my tears. No, please. No! “The angel of death came upon the houses without the blood marks. It killed every firstborn including the Pharaoh’s. Hence, he is the end of his bloodline,” she revealed, causing the children to hold their mouths. Such a demure reaction from them. But I couldn’t feel bliss because the opposite happened to us. When I heard that the footsteps went out, I peek underneath the bed. It was the most tragic memory that I could possibly have. I wanted to scream and weep so badly, but I’m too afraid that they might come back. All I could do was hug the cold bodies of my beloved parents. “While mourning for the death of his child, the Pharaoh freed the Israelites.” Aunt Annie ended the story. The kids were raising their hands for questions, and I was so amazed by it. The authorities drastically compelled bloodshed to end things. Peace advocates, labor unions, or anyone who steps up against them shall undergo the same death as my parents if the system remains rotten. These little lads certainly know how cruel the world is. They were far from the innocent and feeble child in me, and I know for sure that they are better than I was. Our Bakwit school will lead the war of the younger generations to stand firm on the principles for social change.

Photo by Elisha Jezreel Ang 67

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Retirado Marcea Alcala

Mandirigma ng araw Kanlungan ang liwanag, Bulaw na kalasag Tanging armas sa palad, Salat sa talim na mapamuksa Sasaluhin lamang lahat ng puwersa. Ang simula ng kanyang giyera Ay pagdanak ng itim na ulap. Waring binubulag ng dilim At kinikubli ang mundo Kumukupas ang lakas ng ginto armas Sa pagtimbang ng dilim, apoy ay bibigat. Lilingon sa kaliwa’t kanan Bibitawan ang dating kanlungan, ‘Di bali nang mapaso sa bago’t sariling mitsa Kaysa mayupi sa bigat ng dating sandata, Dahil ano ang kwenta ng lakas ng mandirigma Kung sariling kalaban ay hindi mapuksa. Magsisimula muli ang panibagong giyera Sa paglayag ng mga tala Mundo’y nagbago na. Mula sa matingkad na kalangitan Pagkabulaw ng mandirigma’y anino na lamang Magbubunga ng bagong pagkatao—ang kasalukuyan.

The Blade in the Dusk Chynna Ysabelle Brugada 69

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Tanging tingin lamang Anina Jiliana Manuel

Tag-ulan – Agosto May maririnig kang bumubulong. Mga boses na tila’y nanlalamon. Tinutusok ng matatalas na simoy ng hangin ang mga estranghero sa kanluran bilang isang babala. Itinatago ng mga mala-abong ulap ang aming tahanan sa pagitan ng siksikan at nagtataasang puno sa kanayunan. Isang tahanan na gawa sa kahoy na handog ng mga nakapaligid na puno. Ngunit kung titignan muli, walang dapat ipangamba. Dahil sa gitna ng gubat, makikita mo ang ngiti ng aking amo na nagniningning gaya ng isang perlas. Kung ako man ay kanyang tawagin, nasasabik ang pagkawag ng aking buntot. Pinangalanan niya akong Galang, mula sa pangalan ng pinuno ng nagtataasang kalangitan. Kasi ang sabi ng aking amo, para bang lumilipad dito sa lupa ang aking apat na mga paa. Walang sinumang makahuhuli sa’kin, kahit pa ang hangin. Kahit na malamig ang halumigmig, makikita mong kuntento kami rito. Tag-ulan – Nobyembre Mas ramdam na ang ginaw sa kasalukuyang panahon. Bumibigat ang putok ng mga ubo ng aking amo kaya’t bumibigat din ang pakiramdam ko. Humahaba ang oras ng kanyang pagpikit. Unti-unting natatanggal ang mala-rosas niyang amoy na pinahid sa kanya ng aming hardin na ipinagkaloob ng gubat. Ang amoy na binabalikbalikan ko. At nang unti-unting humihina ang liwanag ng perlas, dumidilim ang kinabukasan ko. Kanino na ako aasa? Tag-init – Enero Tuluyang naglaho ang ningning ng perlas. Walang imik ang aking luha mula sa nakapapasong tirik ng araw. Ngunit sa loob ng aking patpating katawan, nagising ang halimaw sa kanyang hawla. Bago ko man masama ang kayamanan namin sa habang buhay, pinunit ng napakaraming kamay—na walang ni kaunting balot ng init—ang pakpak mula sa aking mga paa. Narinig ko ang mga boses sa kagubatan at ngayon, sila ay nagkakaisa. Ang huling tunog na nakatuon para sa perlas, “Sa gitna ng kanayunan, nabunyag na ang sikreto. Wala na rito ang perlas ng tahanan. Mabangis ang kagubatan at malagim ang paligid, ngunit may dahilan ito.” At dali-dali nila akong inalis sa‘king tahanan.

Tag-ulan – Marso Dahan-dahang pumapatak ang ulan sa mga siwang. Ang aking bagong tahanan na yari sa nakapapasong lamig ng metal. Mahigpit ang yakap sakin, halos hindi na ako makagalaw rito. Tuluyan nang lumisan ang mga kamay na aking inaasahan, dito sa aking panibagong tahanan na walang lugar na liliparan o ningning na babalikan. Tama nga ang aking mga naririnig na mga bulong sa kabilang milya, “Masyadong mabilis ang ikot ng panahon. Kahapon ang lakas ng buhos ng ulan, ngayon parang disyerto na rito.” Mabubulok na lamang ako rito. Tag-init – Mayo Wala nang makikitang kahit isang patak ng tubig sa paligid at naubos na rin ang luha sa‘king mga mata. Tuluyan nang bumigay ang aking mga paa mula sa kapabayaan ng kanilang mga kamay. Unti-unting pumapasok ang singaw ng araw sa rehas ng aking kulungan. Binalot ng kagaspangan ng panahon ang aking lalamunan hanggang umabot na ito sa aking katawan. Nasunog ang aking balahibo mula sa tirik ng araw ngunit wala akong pakialam. Masyadong maliit ang aking hawla para kumasya ako at ang aking nadarama. Nang tumigil ang segundo ng aking oras, napadpad ako sa gitna ng kanayunan, na may sikretong muling tinatago. Binalot ako ng kaginhawaan. Kasabay nito ang pagkanta muli ng boses ng kagubatan, “Ang buhay ay parang isang perlas, kaya’t itrato ito bilang isa. Hindi na bale kung anong uri ka man.” Muling numiningning ang perlas ng aking tahanan.

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Chasing the light

Paulyn Dianne Laude

I certainly knew a rough day was on the horizon, From the break of dawn until the heavens became dark Staring at my silhouette against the dimming sky, Whose whispers were deafening inside my head The little voice lost its words within my soul, Her darkness stirred inside of me Now full of bites like I have been stabbed, But the wounds were buried deep in my core As the sunlight marked a new day, The feeling of hope radiated I begged the girl to cease the lingering pain, And take the burden of such a query down The golden rays of the sun warmed my skin, I gazed behind me, and there was the girl My shadow that now relentlessly chases the light, As she has now sworn to always look after me.

The storm’s calm Phoebe Denise Santos

The wind wanes through the panes of glass and the bitter coldness brushes against my skin. Warm light flickers amber from a tiny wick but no flame could soothe the chill that lingered. Soon, clouds boasting an ocean of tears hovered followed by blistering thunder and lightning claps. The raindrops enkindle disquiet in my psyche, for they mimic the pattering thuds of his rain boots. “Thud! Thud! Thud!” he drew closer with a fist as heavy as his bleeding heart. Like a flower in the storm, I was left to bloom the very eventide mother left his arms. The strong breeze ushers a brighter dawn as my petals drift to a beguiling liberty. Yet in freedom I am engulfed in a hurricane and carried away by the swirling air. New days may dull the wretched blade but deep scars remain etched on my skin. The lurking shadows entrap chaos in my psyche as the blazing sun hid until I found: the storm’s calm.

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rise and set Angela Belle Lumilan

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Lunas sa Lunes Frances Nicole Umbao

“Kasya pa ‘yan! Sakay ka na, hijo,” baling sa akin ng konduktor na aking sinunod bagaman tumatagos sa aking tainga ang reklamo ng ibang mga pasaherong lulan ng dyip. Mula sa bulsa ng aking pantalon, naramdaman ko ang bahagyang nginig ng aking telepono, hudyat na may nagpadala na naman sa akin ng mga mensaheng maaaring bubuo o sisira ng tuluyan sa araw ko. Kuya, punta ka sa ospital. Sinugod namin dito si Papa kanina. Wala akong mahanap na pambayad, binigay raw niya sa’yo. -Bunso. Uy, Anjo ‘to. Magbayad ka na raw ng fees mo sabi ni Sir, baka ‘di ka makapag-take ng exam bukas. Lunes na nga pala ulit. Binalik ko ulit ito sa aking bulsa. Malalim na hininga ang hinugot ko mula sa aking dibdib, ngunit dahil sa buga ng nakasusulasok na usok ng dyip ay tila nakasasakit na rin pati ang paghinga. Mataman akong tumitig sa mag-inang nakaupo sa tapat ko. Inaasikaso ng ina ang pagpapakain at pagpapaypay ng marahan sa anak habang kinakalikot naman ng bata ang kanyang laruan. Ano kaya ang pakiramdam n’yan? Sapagkat sa halos dalawang dekada kong pamumuhay, tila sama ng loob lamang sa aking kalagayan ang tanging naramdaman ko. Sinilip ko ang iilang pahalang na marka sa aking palapulsuhan, pilit na itinatago sa pamamagitan ng mahahabang manggas bagaman nakahahapo ang init ng bansa. Isang malaking kasalanan ang sumugat sa sariling katawan sabi nila, ngunit paano ko ito maituturing na isang kamalian kung sa pamamagitan nito lamang ako nakararamdam na wala akong ibang masisisi kung ‘di ang sarili ko lamang? Sapagkat ako lang ang may dulot ng mga sugat na iyon, ako ang may sala sa sarili ko, walang iba. Tunay na nakakapagod ang maging biktima ng mga sirkumstansya sa kabila ng patuloy na pagpili sa tama, at walang maaaring sisihin ang mga taong walang kapangyarihang baguhin ang mga ito. Sapagkat ang mga biktima ng sistema ay walang maaaring sisihin kung ‘di ang sistema lamang. Walang lunas sa pagiging biktima sa kawalan ng kapangyarihan.

At sa likod ng puting pintong kinakaharap ko ngayon ang mas nangangailangan ng lunas na ‘yon. “Kamag-anak ho kayo ng pasyente?” Diretsong tanong sa akin nito, ang sabi nilang makapagbibigay ng lunas. Ang mga taong malinis at plantsado ang mga puting amerikana. Tumango ako. “Opo.” “Hijo, hindi na mahaba ang nalalabing oras ng Tatay mo. Kung hindi siya mabibigyan ng bagong puso ngayon din, hindi na aabot ng buwan ang bibilangin niyo.” Maingat ngunit malamig ang boses nito na tila iisa lamang kami sa mga nakikita niyang nangangailangan ng lunas niya. Mariin ang ginawa kong paglunok. “Naiintindihan ko po. Maaari po bang iyong akin na lamang ang ipalit?” Kumunot ang noo nito. “Aba eh, hindi ata puwede ‘yan hijo. Ang mga pumanaw na pasyente lamang na may buhay pang puso ang maaaring makapagbigay nito.” Nilagpasan na lamang ako nito at iniwang tulala sa tahimik na pasilyo. Muling tumunog ang telepono sa aking bulsa na dali-dali kong sinungkit. Pare, nagsisisante na raw ng mga empleyado sa café. Nasisante ako. Kasama ka rin ba? Nalulugi na raw sila, wala nang pangsahod sa atin. Napahilamos ako sa aking mukha, tila pinag-bagsakan ng langit at lupa. Parang unti-unti na nga itong bumabagsak...ngunit bakit parang sa akin lang? ‘Di bale, ‘Tay. Kung hindi man ako mabibigyan ng lunas ng mundo, kahit ikaw na lang ang mabigyan, anuman ang kabayaran. Taas-noo kong tinahak ang pasilyo palabas ng ospital, palabas sa mga problemang patuloy na bumabagsak sa akin, palabas sa pagiging biktima ng sistemang patuloy akong sinisiil. At sa pagpapalit ng pulang ilaw sa berde ay hudyat sa pagpapatuloy ng mga kotse sa agos ng trapiko. Ngunit patuloy rin ang lakad ko paalis, diretso at matulin. Sumasabay lamang ako sa agos ng buhay, kaya’t mula sa busina ng mga kotse ay siyang paglagapak ko sa lupa. Nahanap ko na ang lunas ko.

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Shadow Visual (3)

Memoirs of the Lost Loser Denise Preclaro

1898: was and always will Ara Janine Palecpec

Chains unleashed in blue bearing the waves, ocean of despair in every tick and tock I only hear prolonged notes melodies in silence, choir of clouds’ weepings but hushed raindrops Spirit daunting in red but I visioned bleeding hearts of the frail, nameless souls paid the debts of leaders bullets at race targeted the lions roaring from thirst of one-sided lady justice Dove flying in peace but I visioned lies under the veil we are freed since the 12th of June we were never freed, you lied unknown answers, lacking evidence, when will these jesters falsify? The silhouettes of the past appear as the sun sets, trying to hide rays you know the drill, crows fly and cross the sky leaving their shadows under the light.

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Ang patron ng bayan Shane Lira Laliag

“Aba Ginoong Maria, napupuno ka ng grasya.” Umalingawngaw ang tilian nang pumunit sa langit ang malulutong na kidlat. Dumagundong ang kulog sa lupa na nagpakalog sa buhangin na aking kinatitirikan. Hindi magkamayaw ang mabibilis na pagkahangos mula sa pagtakbo dulot ng nangyayari sa aking harapan. Huminga akong malalim bago tumingin sa aking paligid. Unti-unting napapalitan ang bughaw na dagat ng isang ilog ng malapot na dugo. Sinasabayan ng pagkudlit ng kidlat ang siyang pagtatago ng buwan sa mga ulap na nagpabulag lalo sa mga naninirahan sa bayan. Punong-puno ng dungis ang mukha ng karamihan habang mayroong mga namumulang hiwa sa kanilang mga kamay. Naroroon ang pawisan nilang mga mukha at namimintig na mga braso na dahilan ng kanilang pagkahapo mula sa kanilang pakikipaglaban. Sa kabilang banda, doon nakatayo ang mga lalaking nakapula. Mga mapuputi na nagliliwanag sa gitna ng dilim. Mga maliliit ngunit punong-puno ng armas. Sakay sila ng malalaking bangka na mayroong bitbit na maraming baril at bomba. “Ang Panginoong Diyos ay sumasaiyo.” Dahan-dahan kong iniangat ang aking mga nanginginig na binti. Wala mang tsinelas at sugatan sa matatalim na bato, pinilit kong makalakad sa gitna ng kaguluhang nangyayari. Pumupunit sa tainga ang mga paputok mula sa mahahabang metal na baril. Dikit sa tela ng aking kasuotan ang isang uri ng damo na makikita lamang malapit sa tubig-alat. Naririnig ko ang matitinis na tilian nang magsimulang manghila ang mga lalaking may pulang kasuotan. Nakikita ko na ang sementadong kalsada na magdadala sa akin paroon sa bayan. Sa bawat dampi ng malamig na buhangin, siya namang pagbuga ng aking hininga. Parang mga karayom sa pakiramdam, at nagpapaagos ng dugo mula sa aking musmos na mga paa. Nakapikit ang aking mga mata at ininda ko ang hirap, makaalis lamang. “Come, idiot kid,” bulong ng malagong boses ang mga salitang hindi ko maintindihan. “Bukod kang pinagpala sa babaeng lahat, at pinagpala rin naman ang iyong anak na si Hesus.” Mas mabilis kong narinig ang bulong kaysa sa pagkahaklit ng aking braso. Malakas akong nabalibag sa kanyang dibdib. Naramdaman kong uminit ang aking ilong, at mga karayom na tumusok sa pagbuka ng aking balat. Napaigik ako, ngunit hindi ito pinansin ng humaklit. Napatingin ako sa may hawak sa akin at nakita ang kanyang singkit na mga mata. Mula sa dilat nitong mga talukap, siyang pagsulyap ko sa tila gabi nitong mga mata. Para akong hinihigop nito sa malalim nitong pagtingin—nagpapahiwatig na hindi lang ako ang gustong kunin, ngunit kasama na ang aking bayan. “Bitawan mo ako!” Nagpumiglas ako sa kanyang pagkakahawak subalit baliwala ang liit ng aking buto sa kanyang malalaking braso. Iginiwang ko ang aking mga binti, ngunit walang hirap niyang ipinasan ako sa kanyang balikat. “Shut up, brat.” Nag-iinit na ang aking mga mata. Akala ko, makatatakas ako sa kamay nila. Akala ko, makaaalis ako sa gulo. Akala ko, magagabayan ako ng Diyos. Bakit ganito? Nasaan ba Siya kapag Siya’y kinakailangan?

Ipinikit ko ang aking mga mata. Ayaw kong makita ang punit ng malalalim na sugat sa ilalim ng gabi. Naririnig ko ang pagkabasag ng alon sa buhanginan. Nararamdaman ko ang lamig ng kawalang pag-asa sa hangin habang nanginginig ang mga kamay. Sa bawat pagtapak ng kanyang paa, siya namang pagdagdag ng kilo-kilong bigat sa aking dibdib. “Santa Maria, Ina ng Dios, ipanalangin mo kaming makasalanan.” Mula sa dilim ng aking nakikita, nahihinuha ko ang kudlit ng liwanag. Napamulat ang aking mata. Doon nagpakita ang mukha ng isang babaeng maliwanag. Napapikit ako sa pagkakabigla. Hiniklat niya ang braso ng may hawak sa akin, at umikot ang aking paningin palayo sa babaeng sinag ng araw. Parang isang kidlat ang dumagundong sa aking puso. Naramdaman ko ang hangin na lumagpas sa aking katawan at malakas na pagkakabagsak ng aking likod sa buhanginan. Malakas na lumagatok ang musmos na mga balikat sa mala-kutsong buhangin. Doon ko siya nakita. Isang babaeng may hawak na mahabang patalim. Kahugis ng kandila ang kanyang espada. Kasing liwanag ng araw ang kanyang katawan. Kayumangging kulot ang kanyang buhok, itim na mga mata…tulad ng hitsura ng mga pigura sa simbahan. Naririnig ko pa rin ang ingay ng laban sa likuran, ngunit mas nakikita kong isang bituin ang bumaba sa langit upang kami’y iligtas. Ito ba ang kwento ng mga matatanda? Ito ba ang laging umuugong na balita? Ngunit imposible—lalo na’t kung agham ang tatanungin, hindi maaaring gumalaw ang isang santo. “Ngayon at kung kami’y mamamatay.” Parang alon ang kanyang mga galaw. Iwinasiwas ang espada sa haplos ng hangin. Nadampian ng kapayapaan ang galit ng mga taong singkit. Pinatatahimik sa agos ng tubig ang ingay ng lahat. Doon ko siya nakita bilang tagapangalaga ng bayan. Napatingin ako sa langit at iniangat ang aking mga kamay. Malayo ang langit ngunit bumaba ang liwanag. Malayo Siya ngunit nagawa Niyang bigyan ako ng pag-asa. Nagpakita ang isang bulto ng kamay ng liwanag sa aking harap at dahan-dahan ko itong inabot. Ipinikit ko ang aking mga mata sa paghaplos ng mainit na kamay sa aking nanlalamig na katawan. Init na nadarama ng pagmamahal, init ng kamay ng isang ina. “Amen,” bulong ko. Napamulat ang aking mata nang maramdaman ko ang malamig na hangin sa aking pisngi. Humahaplos ito nang dahan-dahan na parang kamay ng isang ina. Doon ko nakita na nasa loob ako ng simbahan. Punong-puno ng mga kama, at nakahiga ang mga sugatan. Nasa gilid ang mga bolo na ginamit nang gabing nakipaglaban. Malalim akong napahininga at napatingin sa kung saan sumisinag ang araw. Doon ko nakita ang patron ng bayan na suot ang kanyang ginintuang pananamit at nagliliwanag na kandila. Pumikit ako bago bumulong ng, “Maraming salamat po, Diyos.” At sa pagbukas ko ng aking mata, doon ko nakita sa tela ng kanyang damit ang nangingitim na mga maliliit na dahon. Doon pumitik sa aking isipan kung ano ito. Amorseko, ang damong tumutubo sa tabi ng buhanginan. Ang damong aking pinaghihigaan kagabi. Ang damong imposibleng makarating sa simbahan, ang pinakamalayong lugar mula sa dagat.

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* Paulyn Dianne Laude rise above it all

Josephine Punzalan Literary Editor

dala ang pag-asa sa bagong kabanata

Marcea Alcala

we admire what we are

Shane Lira Laliag

The greatest enemy lies within; its victor emerges from within.

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W RIT E RS’

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Phoebe Denise Santos

omne ignotum pro magnifico

Frances Nicole Umbao

Live. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing.

Ara Janine Palecpec One person’s sunrise is another’s sunset.

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Anina Jiliana Manuel

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Reading is like living for a million years…in one lifetime.

P RO FI LE

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G R A P HIC

AND

Angienette Laurza

L AYO U T

ART ISTS

Jan Anthony Murillo

PHOTOGR APHERS

Elisha Jezreel Ang

Angela Belle Lumilan

Ollie Alexandra Lanzar Photo Editor

Tricia Faye Velasco

Jazmine Levana Sico

ARTISTS

Nikki Alexis Antonio

Chynna Ysabelle Brugada

Jericho Rasheed Celestino

Maria Sophia Emelda Initorio

Kristen Faith Maala

Evalene Vianca De Jesus

Leica Gwyneth Mendoza

Denise Preclaro

Rania Marie Pucan

Art Editor

Franz Maverick Vicedo

La Estrella Verde The Official High School Publication of De La Salle University-Dasmariñas

EDITORIAL BOARD A.Y. 2020-2021

John Ethan Casela, Editor in Chief Vince Daniel Papa, Associate Editor Stephanie Nicole Rabacal, Managing Editor Mary Abigail Manalo, Copy Editor John Ethan Casela and Vince Daniel Papa, News Editors Stephanie Nicole Rabacal, Features Editor Krizia Isabelle dela Serna, Sports Editor Josephine Punzalan, Literary Editor Kristen Faith Maala, Art Editor Ollie Alexandra Lanzar, Photo & Video Editor Jezzyrae Maglente, Web Editor Ramil Benedict de Jesus, Radio Program Manager Dominic Benavente, Adviser La Estrella Verde has its editorial office at Room JHS241, High School Complex De La Salle University-Dasmariñas DBB-B City of Dasmariñas, Cavite 4115 Telephone: +63-2-7795180, +63-46-4811900 to 1930 local 3402 Email: laestrellaverde.dlsud@gmail.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/DLSUDLaEstrellaVerde Twitter: @LeviofLEV

For the next issue of Morpheme, La Estrella Verde will be accepting submissions of photographs, graphics, artworks, and literary works (flash fictions, short stories, and poems) from the student body of DLSU-D Senior High School. Contributions should be sent as an attachment in an email to laestrellaverde.dlsud@gmail.com with the author’s/artist’s/photgrapher’s full name and section. Anonymous contributors will not be recognized.

Morpheme: Through Changing Seasons Finalist: Best Literary Publication

All contributions in this folio are originally produced and created by their respective owners. No part of this publication may be reprinted without written permission from the author and La Estrella Verde.