Morpheme Issue 4 August 2020

M O R P H E M E ISSUE NO. 4

Through the Crossroads of Fate

mor∙pheme noun. /’môr fem/

– a writer’s armor in surviving the war of dying

ISSUE NO. 4 A.Y. 2019-2020

ABOUT

TH E

COVE R

While our eyes are closed Life held our hands Leading us to the world That only we could feel.

Cover art by Gabrielle Ravacio Divider art by Sim Daeun

Literary Editor Paulene Abarca

Writers Arianne Buendia, Sophia Dado, Berenice Medina, Josephine Punzalan, Stephanie Nicole Rabacal, Juliana Marie Villanueva Psalm Mishael Taruc, Alyssa Nicole Fernandez

Artists Sim Daeun, Gabrielle Ravacio, Danielle Mari Tanael, Kristen Faith Maala, Gizella Katrine Gawaran, Jerrika Mikaela Tonio, Angela Nicole Hernandez, Valerie Anne Antonio, Courtney Ivannah Gracio

Layout Artists

Sean Patrick Serrano, Cristelle Corpuz, Aijren Tribiana, Christian Philip Renono, Athila Ian Marie Surtido

Photographers

John Paulo Templo, Sofia Andrea Baldonado, Jazmine Levana Sico, Reinald Aldrich Mateo

Contributors

Genelina Sta. Ana, Stephanie Paredes, Cybelle Buenaventura, Raymond Matthew Tuvilla, Ella Lorraine Regudo, Wallace Roland Beltran, Robin Madlangbayan, Maria Yssabel Magsino, Elaine Samantha Olona, Edcel Derick Padulla

EDITO R’ S

N OTE

The three concepts of afterlife are famous tropes in every story.

Heaven is paradise. Hell is punishment and Purgatory is an endless realm of nothingness, a place for souls with nowhere to go. However, for this issue, these three concepts are not viewed in the perspective of afterlife but in the perspective of experiences in which we, humans, are experiencing all in a circle of life.

Fate gives us the good and happy times in every situation. To balance this, it would give us the horrible times when we might feel angry and dejected. But sometimes for us to regain happiness, fate would let us wander the empty darkness so we can find within ourselves our own happiness. In fact, in making this issue, all of these even decided to play in real life.

Fate decided to give us turbulence in making this issue.

Plenty of things happened that the literary team never expected to happen. A catastrophe and a pandemic decided to wreck the country, turning their tables upon us. Everyone was out of their wits, continuously worrying about the uncertain future of this folio. Yet, despite these, we decided to push through no matter the feelings we had in this pandemic.

Every word in each line screams of the hard work that my writers managed to do in these unmotivating times.

Now we are presenting you the fourth issue of Morpheme, the folio that will bring you the human experiences embodying Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.

May you find your solace in this circle of life.

PAULENE ABARCA Literary Editor

FOR E WORD

End is inevitable. Whatever we do, whether we regret it or not, end is something that we cannot escape. But have you ever asked yourself, what will happen at the end? Most will answer that we either go to heaven, hell, or purgatory. They call it a spirit’s states of being and exemption is impossible.

However, the end is still too far to see.

To give you a glance of the unsolved mystery, the fourth issue of Morpheme is dedicated to feed those hungry minds and souls of words that were unspoken for a time unimaginable.

A craft where people, from the writers, artists, and photojournalists, worked day and night behind the scene and dedicated a while of their existence to debunk such mystery.

These states of being will unravel and you are still in a position to write your own story.

The words, arts, and photos that are in the material that you are holding will tell you a story.

Remember, open your eyes to have a glance of what you are dying to see—unravel the mystery.

Three words, one will be your future. The choice is in your hands.

EDCEL DERICK PADULLA Editor in Chief

Heaven 9 Seasick

by Cybelle Buenaventura (HMS11)

10 Black Labeled Soul at Dawn

by Genelina Sta. Ana (HMS23)

13 Friday Evening Routines

by Stephanie Nicole Rabacal Art by Jerrika Mikaela Tonio

14 Dalawang Segundo

by Alyssa Nicole Fernandez Photo by Reinald Aldrich Mateo

23 Rekindled Flames

by Psalm Mishael Taruc Art by Courtney Ivannah Gracio

24 A Victim of Stereotypes

by Arianne Buendia

27 three senses of weaponry

by Edcel Derick Padulla (STM27) Photo by Jazmine Levana Sico

28 Piraso ng Paraiso

by Juliana Villanueva

18 Bagong Lakas

31 Through the Chaos

20 #ChelseaLovesFreak

32 Birthday Surprise

by Berenice Medina Photo by Stephanie Paredes (HMS22)

by Stephanie Nicole Rabacal

by Paulene Abarca Art by Raymond Tuvilla (STM21)

by Berenice Medina

Purgatory 35 Sisyphus Overseas

43 Last heartbeat

36 Craving Solitude

44 In the Loving Memory of a Martyr’s Soul

by Berenice Medina

by Ella Lorraine Regudo (HMS23) Art by Danielle Mari Tanael

40 A Moon’s Tale

by Arianne Buendia

41 The Prisoner’s Last Stand

by Paulene Abarca

by Josephine Punzalan

by Paulene Abarca Art by Gizella Katrine Gawaran

46 The Final Test

by Juliana Marie Villanueva

50 A March of Empty Words

by Psalm Mishael Taruc

51 Ang Bayani sa Loob ng Impyerno

by Paulene Abarca

53 A Creator’s Tireless World Building

by Wallace Roland Beltran (HMS21)

55 chaîné

by Alyssa Nicole Fernandez Photo by John Paulo Templo

56 Mga Mukha ng Maynila

by Psalm Mishael Taruc

58 Oras na

by Josephine Punzalan Art by Wallace Roland Beltran (HMS21)

60 Through Rose Colored Lenses

by Juliana Villanueva

Hell 63 Underneath the Graffitis

76 Sa Natitirang Oras

64 For a While and For Ever

78 Sisa

by Sophia Dado

by Robin Madlangbayan (HMS23)

67 Aphrodite

by Maria Yssabel Magsino (HMS11) Art by Sophia Andrea Baldonado

68 Tawag ng Pag-asa

by Berenice Medina

70 Idolo ng Masa

by Juliana Villanueva Art by Gabrielle Ravacio

72 Nobody’s Fool

by Alyssa Nicole Fernandez

75 The Color of Privilege

by Juliana Villanueva Art by Sim Daeun

by Arianne Buendia

by Elaine Samantha Olona (HMS11) Art by Valerie Anne Antonio

80 Ang Tahanan ng mga Taingang Nakakandado

by Paulene Abarca

83 Mga Sintomas ng Sakuna

by Paulene Abarca Photo by Sofia Andrea Baldonado

84 The girl lost in tragedies

by Psalm Mishael Taruc

87 Lucifer’s Eve

by Josephine Punzalan Art by Kristen Faith Maala

88 A Night Worker’s Sunrise

by Paulene Abarca Art by Angela Nicole Hernandez

Heaven A sacred castle Created by the Heaven’s judge In which its pillars meant freedom

Seasick

Cybelle Buenaventura (HMS11) The sea breathes tonight, in a steady rhythm of rising and falling.

I sailed away from the shore as my parting shot, left behind with nothing but a broken compass.

Getting by with a helm that’s rusted and that creaks, I put my faith in where the flow takes me.

Rose tinted glasses protects my eyes from the sun that burns through the worn out lenses.

The calmness before the storm crept up my skin as if a cruise on the night of 1958 at Lituya Bay. From old unpatched holes comes the inevitable sinking.

No one dared to warn me of the deep blue’s wrath.

Swimming against the current I once trusted, I found myself in a trench of comfortable silence.

And so I begin to question my heart for the sea.

Treading water to stay afloat, the essence of salt sits upon my tongue.

My voyage has come to an end.

I awoke on an island with a lighthouse— one I’ve been building all along.

Like the waves that return to the ocean, I was home.

9

H E AV E N

Black Labeled Soul at Dawn Genelina Sta. Ana (HMS23)

It was the 18th of July when I attended a friend’s 18th birthday celebration in Silang, Cavite. First plan was just to go there and drop off my gift, but maybe it is true that things are always easier said than done. Unlike most of her guests, we weren’t that close but that invitation she gave me for her celebration also stood as a gateway ticket to the most cinematic night of my life.

Party’s done, drinks were served. At our table, her family gave us alcoholic drinks. Some are light but majority are not. We each had a bottle of beer, mule, and one other bottle of Black Label for the whole table. All fun and games came until dawn and I started feeling how the alcohol flushed every bit of bottled up emotions I’ve been keeping for so long.

When one of my friend’s brothers told us that he would accompany us on our way home, I gladly accepted the invitation but only until we reached Aguinaldo Highway. When we waved our goodbyes, I knew at that moment that I’m not ready to go home yet. I went out of the car, crossed the other side of the road, and bought myself a buy-one-take-one burger from Angel’s.

There I met Ate Lea. At around 2:30 am, I was just there sitting at the kiosk, eating my burger, talking. With the alcohol inside my body, I had the courage to be loud and annoying so I never stopped asking Ate Lea about everything that I could ever think of during that moment. She works at the kiosk at 5:00 pm to 5:00 am every day. She has a son, her husband is a Mexican, and they travel across the globe. She even showed me some of their pictures together and the countries they’ve been to. Looking back at the time of my arrival in her kiosk, I think it is safe to say that these were the sad hours. Where we think deeper than how we do during the day, where we usually look back at the things that happened to our lives and reflect on it. In that case, I was left amazed with how this person, who was a stranger to me a few hours ago, has such a wonderful story to tell.

Ate Lea and I talked about the things I don’t usually put my attention to. Having that conversation with her felt as if I met my mom in a different person. She was talking to me from a perspective of a mother, and I felt like I was showing her a part of me that I could not tell my mom about. She asked me why I drank, or if I am fine, when I will go home, or if I can even go home all by myself. Not that I want to brag about it but she even told me something like, “Ang ganda ganda mo, nasa kalsada ka pa. Delikado na.” I felt the sincerity of her concern when she told me that. Not because she called me ganda, but because I was staying there for almost an hour and a half and she never asked me to leave. She gave me her time and she listened. At that moment, I felt like I found a friend in Ate Lea’s presence. I decided to leave when her manager came, which made her busy. I’ve had enough of her time, and I am already beyond grateful for that. That Angel’s Burger kiosk along Aguinaldo Highway will no longer be the same for me.

10

After I said goodbye to Ate Lea, a bus bound to Olivarez, Tagaytay stopped right in front of me. I hopped on to the bus, paid my fair, and made the most out of that night like I was in the movies. When the driver told us that we have already reached Olivarez, I didn’t know where to go. No malls are open at 3 o’ clock in the morning, even balut and penoy vendors are in deep sleep.

I was just walking there, with the cold breeze touching my skin. Thinking of where I could go. I thought of the days where me and my friends would go to Tagaytay just because we were bored and it’s hot here in the lowland. A boho-themed boutique and bed and breakfast popped out of my mind: Dreamland—an arts and crafts café along Tagaytay-Nasugbu road.

There, I also met another person named Josh. He was at the cashier when I went there. He’s also the one who took my order of a cup of coffee and a banana muffin. I sat on a table for two, and there I cried so much.

It was probably the weirdest yet the most satisfying thing that happened to me during my teenage years. Few gulps left from my cup, Josh approached me. He offered me their charms that can be made into an accessory, books, board games, and most of their arts and craft products, and he gave me a bunch of tissues. For my tears, I guess?

When I finished my food, I went inside the store, left my table, and looked at the charms he was offering earlier. A piece is around ₱20-₱50 each, and they all look vintage. Like it’s found somewhere from the past. An old stainless feather caught my attention so I told Josh that I’ll be buying it. He asked me if I want it to be an earring, a bracelet, a necklace, keychain, or what. I said I want it to be a dangling earring but it doesn’t have a pair so from their boxes of charms, we looked for the same thing: an old stainless feather charm. Few minutes later, he found one and made it into an earring. When I was about to pay, he told me something like, “Libre na ‘yan. Wag ka na lang babalik ulit dito ng malungkot ka o para umiyak.” He handed me the earring, and I left the place to finally go home.

Who would have thought that for a few hours at dawn in Tagaytay, my rebellious soul would feel as if I met two of the most genuine people left on this planet? Looking back at what I did that night, I am certain that if my family knew about this, they would automatically think that I am ruining my life, that I need help. But actually, all I needed was a time for myself. Being in a situation where I feel so overwhelmed about everything that’s going around is not something new for me. What’s new is the fact that I lost myself halfway through. Sitting for a table in Dreamland gave me an opportunity to think, to be able to wake up a part of myself who knows courage and hope, who finds beauty within the tiniest things in life. It was a chance given to regain myself, and even if I sounded like I have no plans of coming back home, believe me; in that place, I found it. As I leave Dreamland, I know that regaining myself will begin once I step foot in our home.

As inevitable as heavy rainfalls and earthquakes, I have realized that bad days aren’t also something we can really run away from. And in my case, it is solitude that will keep me from finally falling every time I stumble.

11

Slumber Jerrika Mikaela Tonio

Friday Evening Routines Stephanie Nicole Rabacal

Finally, we’re now at the dot to end it all.

The rusty palms withdrawn the clench of the pen’s body and as it closed its tip, it breathed like it never had a chance to.

Soul had no deep sleep since, longing for the visitor in my dreams every Friday, amidst the silence of the night.

Papers worn out, pressed together; scrunched up, fired straight into the bins.

School bag dropped unto the floor instantly, can’t feel itself as it weighed so heavy.

These 10 rounds of clock finished, all at rest, laid backs on its beds.

But what I only waited for is at last, I can meet grandpa again On the depths of my sweet dreams.

13

H E AV E N

Dalawang Segundo Alyssa Nicole Fernandez

Sumabay sa aking pagpasok sa gymnasium ang mga huling alaala ng aking paglaro dito.

Bumisita ako sa eskwelahan ko noong high school dahil sa pagkapanalo ng kanilang basketball team. Parang lalabas na ang puso ko sa’king dibdib sa tuwa nang naamoy ko ang katad ng bola kasabay ang ingit ng aking sapatos na rinig sa court.

Sa gitna ng katahimikan at sa aking paghinga, bumalik sa aking isip ang isang taon noong naglalaro pa ako.

Kinuha ko ang bola ng basketball na nakakalat sa sahig ng gym at sinimulang paglaruan ito.

Sa pagkuha ko nito, bumalik ang mga pananabik sa tuwing maglalaro kami noon. At sa pagalala, sumikip ang aking dibdib sa kalungkutan.

Dalawang segundo na lang sana.

Kung pwede lang sanang balikan ang dalawang segundo na ‘yon. *** “Defense! Defense! Defense!”

“Kaya natin ‘to! Isa-isahin lang natin!” sigaw ko sa kanila.

Isang minuto na lang ang natitira, dalawang puntos pa ang lamang ng kalaban.

Isang steal sa likod ng kalaban.

Dali-dali ko itong tinakbo papunta sa direksyon ng bola. Palapit ako nang palapit sa dulo ng court. Inihagis ko ang aking sarili papunta sa bola. Napakalapit na ng aking mga daliri para mahawakan ko ang bola nang biglang sumipol ang referee.

Natagpuan ko ang sarili kong nakaluhod sa sahig ng gymnasium.

“Out of bounds! Bola sa Enoch High School!”

Patuloy na humihiyaw ang mga tao sa matinding labanan ng dalawang pinakamahusay na eskwelahan sa larong basketball. Malabo kong nakita ang kalaban na tumulong sa akin tumayo.

Nilingon ko ang scoreboard.

67-69 Hingang malalim.

“Nice hustle!” “‘Wag mong intindihin…Kaya pa natin ‘to.”

“Paano kami mananalo nito?” Tanong ko sa’king isip. Limampu’t siyam na segundo na lang ang natitira. ‘Di ko namalayan na nakalakad pa ako sa aking posisyon, ang mga sigaw ng tao’y nawawala sa aking pandinig at ako’y napatugon sa realidad.

Nagsimula na ang countdown, sa kalaban ang bola. Kung gugustuhin naming manalo, ito na lamang ang paraan. Sa isang hininga, ako’y sumigaw, “Defense! Lipat sa full court defense!”

“Full court defense? Pagod ka na—” “Huwag niyo ako alalahanin! Kailangan na natin maging agresibo kundi ‘di tayo mananalo!”

14

Nanahimik sila bago sumigaw si Manuel, ang aming point guard. “Narinig niyo, guys? Full court defense!”

Ang mga tunog lamang ng kaladkad ng sapatos ang naririnig ko sa buong gymnasium. Nasa dulo ng kanilang upuan ang lahat dahil sa matinding labanan.

Naipasa sa tao na aking dinedepensahan ang bola. Nakita ko kaagad ang pagkakataon, hinarang ko ang aking kamay upang kunin ang bola. Ngunit nilayo kaagad ng kalaban. “Gago ka ah! ‘Kala mo makukuha mo agad sa akin ang bola?”

Isang malakas na tawa ang narinig sa buong stadium, “Hindi lang siya akala—” Sa isang mabilisang galaw, nakuha ko ang bola nang walang problema. Alam ko talagang makukuha ko ito.

Hingang malalim.

“Fast break!”

“Defense, mga bobo! Parating na siya, balik agad,” sigaw ng isang kalaban.

“Hoy! Pigilan niyo si number 4!”

Nakalagpas ako sa mga kalaban at sa aking mga kasama at tumigil bago ang puting linya na naghihiwalay sa three-point basket.

Bumilis ang tibok ng aking puso. Sa pagpatak ng aking pawis at sa yapag ng aking sapatos, lumala ang aking pangamba sa bawat segundong lumilipas. Nahagip ko sa gilid ng aking paningin ang natitirang oras.

Limang segundo.

Sa aking pagod, pinilit ko ang aking mga paa na tumakbo patungo sa basket, ang katad ng bola ramdam sa aking palad habang ako’y nag-di-dribble.

Kaya ko ba ‘tong gawin?

Apat na segundo.

Ang nasa dulo lamang ng aking paningin ay ang basket na lumalapit sa bawat yapak ng aking mga paa. Sa dulo ng aking paningin, nahagip ko ang mga kalaban na sinusubukang makahabol sa akin.

Sa isang hininga, lumabas sa aking isip ang ilaw ng pag-asa, “Hindi pa naman tayo talo, kaya pa natin ‘to.”

Unting-unti akong pumunta sa posisyon para sa shoot. Mistulang bumagal ang paligid, ang aking mga kalaban at kakampi parang nakatigil. Ang hiyaw ng mga tao’y nawala sa aking pandinig. Sa akin na lamang ang pag-asa, sa akin nakasalalay ang aming panalo o pagkatalo.

Tatlong segundo.

Sa isang buntong-hininga, sinubukan kong paalisin ang aking takot at pangamba, “Isaisahin lang natin...”

15

H E AV E N

Kumawala ang bola sa aking mga kamay papunta sa basket. Ang aking mga mata’y nakatingin lamang dito. Nanahimik ang lahat habang bumabaybay sa himpapawid ang bola.

Lahat ng tao sa loob ay naghihintay sa pinal na resulta ng laban na ito. …Da...lawang...Segun..do Bumagsak ang aking puso at dumating ang aking pangamba at panghihinayang.

“Hindi pumasok ‘yung bola! Kunin niyo na! Atin na ‘to!” rinig kong sigaw ng mga kalabang malapit sa akin.

Nanigas ako sa aking kinatatayuan nang nakuha ng mga kalaban ang bola matapos nitong hindi pumasok. Sa oras na iyon, alam ko na ang kapalaran namin.

“TIME, Enoch High School defends the championship!” *** “Kuya! Magsasara na po ‘yung court.”

Tanging talbog lang ng bola ang aking narinig. Dinig sa buong gym ang pag-ingit ng aking sapatos. Pagkawala ng bola sa aking kamay, isang perpektong lay-up…

Score!

“Kuya!”

Napatigil ako nang mapukaw ako sa sigaw ng labas. Tinatawag na pala ako ng guard. ‘Pag nga naman nadadala ka ng alaala.

“Kuya, estudyante ho ba kayo dito sa eskwelahan na ito?” Tanong sa akin ng guard habang palapit ako sa kanya.

Umiling naman ako.

“Alumni lang po. Nabalitaan ko lang kasing nanalo daw ‘yung basketball team kaya napabisita ako.”

Tumawa naman si kuya at hinayaan akong lumabas ng gym.

“Ganun ba? Pasensya na, ha? Bago lang kasi ako dito kaya wala akong kakilalang alumni. Pero, oo nga raw. Ang galing nga nila ngayon,” saad ng guard sa’kin. Mapait naman akong ngumiti.

“May kapatid ka ba roon?”

Lumingon ako sa guard at sinikmura ang pait na nararamdaman ko sa loob. Nararamdaman kong patulo na ang luha ko.

“Wala naman po, fan lang. Sige, Manong, salamat po!”

Sa paglisan ko mula sa gym, isang imposibleng kahilingan ang namutawi sa aking isipan.

Sana man lang nailaban namin ‘yung dalawang segundo na iyon.

16

Photo by Reinald Aldrich Mateo

H E AV E N

Bagong Lakas Berenice Medina

Pang-walong beses na akong lumapit noong araw na ‘yon Sa mga naglalakihang palasyong nakalinya sa tabi ng kalsada.

Ngunit hindi man lang lumabas ang kani-kanilang hari’t reyna.

Dahil ba sa takot para sa panibagong kaaway?

‘Di mawari ang anyo o kung paano matatalo; Mabilis daw itong makapasok at makapatay ng tao Akala ba nila isa ako sa mga natamaan?

Ang tanging nararamdaman ko lang ay ang pangangatog ng mga tuhod ko Ang ulo kong parang lumalangoy sa hangin At ang giyera sa kalamnan ko Naglalaban-laban para sa sustansyang natitira Nang kumain ako dalawang araw na ang nakalipas.

Napatingin ako sa kalsada kung saan Unti-unting nauungusan ng mga anino ang liwanag Pangalawang araw na akong walang ibang magawa Walang mapagtrabahuhan sa natutulog na siyudad Walang magawa kundi magdasal na sana ngayong araw May makapansin sa buong katawang Nanginginig sa kada lakad ng aking mga paa Umupo ako sa gilid ng kalsada Ramdam na ramdam ang disyerto sa bibig ko.

Tuluyan na bang tumalon sa kawalan ang isip ko’t Nakakaamoy na ako ng hindi naman totoo?

Pero nagulat ako nang makarinig ng tawag, “Sir!” tumingala ako at nakita ang isang lalaki; Nakatakip ang bibig at ilong ng asul At may hawak siyang mabangong lalagyan.

Inabot niya sa akin ang lalagyang hawak Lumakas ang amoy, manginig-nginig kong tinanggap Ang sagot sa mga panalangin ko Pinasalamatan ko siya na may hapdi sa mata At sa unang subo ng biyayang natanggap Hindi lang katawan ko ang napuno ng bagong lakas.

18

Himlayan Stephanie Paredes HMS22

H E AV E N

#ChelseaLovesFreak Stephanie Nicole Rabacal

Top 2 Trending #ChelseaLovesFreak 2,549 followers to 602 alive.

793 likes to 86.

Two weeks have passed but I am still trending.

Until now they shame me for liking a guy named John. Because of that, the bags under my eyes became vividly dark; my perfect lashes toned down.

You see, I was expected to be perfect. Like a Netflix leading lady, entering their campus with posh nails, red stilettos, winged eyeliner, and a bucket of pastel pen highlighters.

And of course, as someone who’s the campus chic, the girl that’s so hard to get, I am that someone who is expected to date those guys with blings, the latest phone, and a pair of Yeezys—a part of the varsity.

“Hey, doing fine?” Marissa said on the line at 1:00 am.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, sighing. “Soon, I hope. Just need some air.”

I hung up the phone since I don’t have the energy to pick up my body. I know Riss understands. I gazed at my phone. It kept buzzing with notifications, probably about that issue. I just hope they will stop.

I laid back on my bed, thinking that sleep could help me forget everything that happened.

But I kept imagining all the details on how everyone looked at me when Enzo busted that I liked someone nerdy. I mean, it’s just so stupid. Why is that a big deal to them?

Damn it.

Every lips were moving, tittle-tattles under their breath, with pupils flickering, casting bullets on me. I heard Riss trying to chase me as I ran from the scene, but I didn’t mind. I left the campus in bliss. My feet went straight home in just a bit second.

I know I should not be feeling this. Liking some nerdy guy wasn’t even a crime. I checked up on my social media once again. I sighed as I saw the trend name is still on the trending list.

Tears slowly erupted, making my cheeks feel cold from my room’s breeze. It felt so sick being the talk of the town. I tried being perfect, but I guess it’ll just give more room for mistakes.

My phone rang waking me up from unnoticed sleeping from last night’s drama. The tears dried up, making my eyes harder to open.

“Hey, Chels. I guess you should come to school now. Ms. Sanchez will be tackling this term’s research paper starting today,” said Marissa on the phone.

I detached my body from my bed, getting myself back together. I only got two days and I might be kicked out. The only mission for today is not to get any contact with John.

When I arrived, it felt like deja vu’. There is tension; eyes were on me, but this time, not for being perfect anymore, but for something different. I kept walking, my makeup concealing all weak spots, curled lashes stashing puffy lids, red lippie disguising the vanished natural tint.

I tried acting normal. Thankfully, the day went by so fast.

20

Hugging all my books and journals, Marissa and I went down the hallway to drop our things into our lockers. 155 and 156.

I looked upon the right side of the lockers and caught a familiar sight. This familiar figure kept coming close to us and I could only get shocked until he arrived near my locker.

It’s him. On my locker. It’s him on my locker.

“Oh hey!” Riss greeted, being friendly and nice and I stared at him as Riss nudged my waist.

“O-oh, hey,” I greeted as I mustered a tight smile on my lips.

I need to be cool. I am Chelsea Noelle.

“Can we talk?” he confidently spoke. “Wait...are you really fine now?”

“Y-yeah. I am t-trying.”

Why is my voice shaking?

“Sorry for everything that happened. And sorry if I’m just this guy,” he apologized, while Riss seemingly looked for an opportunity to escape.

“Uhh. I think my stomach needs the restroom!” Riss said and started walking away.

“Wait—” “Take care of Chels for me, okay?” she said and winked at us. The nerve of that girl.

Then, we’re left alone by ourselves. Everything’s so cliché right now, I’d just like to melt on the ground.

“So, uh...I get that you’re embarrassed with you...liking me, and all that stuff.”

My brows scrunched, looked up to him “W-well, first I was really embarrassed. With all those titles and all, it’s just so sick.”

“But even if Enzo didn’t pop your name, I know it was you, Chelsea. And I just want to let you know, I liked it.”

My eyes grew wide. “W-wait, how? Just how?”

“You’re the only one who can make that weird smiley sketch, and the pen and the paper you used, it’s all in your IG stories and stuff, you know? It takes logic.” He smirked.

I felt myself blush. I hate myself for doing all those things and for him being smart enough to connect the odds.

“I know everyone’s been on you but if you need a friend, you know I’m easy to talk to. It may be a rough path, but just let yourself feel the emotions. You’re still human, Chelsea, don’t let anyone steal that from you.”

My lips couldn’t say a thing. I felt my eyes getting wet, but I tried not to cry.

I never knew that one of the reasons why I cried and bawled for 2 weeks will be the one who’ll make me feel safer.

“Yeah, so…are you free tomorrow? Seven in the evening. At Pepper’s. We need to let it all out.”

I said yes, my heart hammering in its cage. Then, he left.

And now, I guess I won’t need to hold back anymore, because my own prince will meet me at Pepper’s tomorrow.

Tomorrow will surely be a historical feature of me. #ChelseaLovesFreakIndeed tweeted.

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Acceptance Courtney Ivannah Gracio

Rekindled Flames Psalm Mishael Taruc

It’s 3:00 am You hear the clock count the seconds, as your mind empties of everything but one You twist and turn, digging through memories, those you have long buried and locked away, like secrets the daylight can’t see It’s been years since the day you tucked me into chambers, succumbing into fear and giving in for security, believing lies that the world didn’t need poets or words to make the living alive—blatant lies that blinded you who knew otherwise And now The past years wrote itself into symphonies, when you threaded through this moonlit room, reaching to the corners of an abandoned youth Across the old wooden desk I hold you the same, as wildfires burn from rekindled flames At dawn it begins; undoing wrong turns back at the crossroads, as poetry surges within walls of withered veins, breathing life into numb fingers and dead eyes And before the sunrise, you hold me the same, a promise that this will remain

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H E AV E N

A Victim of Stereotypes Arianne Buendia

I’m supposed to be having fun in Emerald City, everyone’s dream destination, with all the city’s intricate landmarks and polite townsfolk. This is probably the only vacation I could compensate for myself after those deadly overtimes in the office.

However, the raging rain ruined my chances of enjoying my first time here.

I glared at the sky as I attempted to dry my wet floral dress and the fact that I’m here inside a not so populated cafe, stranded, dimmed my mood. As the cafe door opened, a short, skinny, and pale woman in her twenties hugging a stack of flyers with utmost pressure rushed inside, catching her breath.

I figured she must be one of those people who gives off advertisement flyers.

“Um, excuse me?”

“Yes?” I uttered in a low voice that seemed to echo in every corner of the cafe.

She maintained a long distance as she bowed lowly, and reached out both her pale hands showing the almost wet flyers. “Would you please be as kind as to donate for the children out in the streets?” In one breath, she uttered all those words with her tiny voice and clear English accent.

“Hey! Get out, you’re disturbing my customer!” a man in his forties shouted from the counter as he pushed his body into a sitting position with his drooling mouth and reddish lines marked randomly all over his face. The woman stood straight and initiated to face the door without looking at my direction. I had to think of a reply as my bewildered face seems to be frozen.

“W-wait, the flyer, please give one to me…” I stuttered as I shivered in daze. “And, please let her stay,” I said to the man before guilt could choke me later on. The man just rolled his eyes and went away.

“Thank you for lending your time!” She bowed again, sharply this time. I guess it’s a common act for them, though it’s an unusual sight in this country.

“Please have a seat.” I smiled at her while directing my hand to the chair parallel to me, hoping for a less colder second impression.

She sat in her seat and placed a flyer on the table. “I’m a volunteer from a charity organization, my name is Alice.” She brought out her right hand, motioning a friendly shake but I think she saw the hesitance in my eyes, so she immediately hid hers.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked.

“O-oh, no, yes I was drenched in the rain, but I-I won’t scam you,” she uttered shyly.

“What do you mean? I know you won’t do that.”

“Y-you believe me?” My talkative mind stopped as I heard someone chatter right next to our table. A bit loud for a chatter, I guess.

“Sweetheart, don’t talk to those people, ” the voice said. I turned to look at her and saw that it was a mother unwittingly advising her child not to go near Alice.

Alice’s eyes kept looking left then right, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“They’re bad guys who fool people, sweetie.”

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I glared at the woman who’s giving a smirk and a raised eyebrow to Alice who’s sitting in front of me. Disgust filled me. How dare she?

“What did you just say?”

The woman avoided my gaze and stood up from the chair, probably to evade me.

My ears heightened its senses as they left the cafe, the mother still wearing a scruffy face directed towards me. I probably would have barked at her right now, but I’m disappointed with some folks here already and just prefer having a long chat with Alice instead of going against a fight.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked after the mother and her child was gone.

“Oh…I’m used to them.”

“Hey, Alice.” I straightened my back and looked straight in her eyes.

“I remembered something that someone once told me.” I paused, “if you greet your enemy with a smile, do you think that they would smile back?” Silence overlapped with the smell of our drinks, and her face stayed blank while having eye contact.

“No, they would just be confused on why you’re giving them smiles.”

“And what if you’d just ignore them?”

“They’d glare at you? I guess? Well, I get hot stares wherever I went, anyway.”

“Why would they do that?”

“It’s obvious, just like what the woman said earlier.” Her tone was dull as her eyes rejected mine.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself ? You’re not a criminal, Alice. For goodness’ sake, they’re trampling you.”

“As if those people would actually listen.” She huffed bitterly.

“Alice, you have to fight back.” She raised her eyebrows at me. “Tell them off. Besides, you’re helping other people, aren’t you?” She only smiled gently, though bitterness tainted it.

“With the line of work I have right now, people probably think I’m just a nuisance.”

I placed my hand on her shoulder as an assurance of some sort.

“Then, how about me? I don’t think you’re a nuisance, though.”

She smiled—a genuine one this time.

“Thank you for that. But I heard you’re new in this city. If you’d like, I can tour you around while giving flyers once the weather calms,” she offered.

“Sure,” I replied, looking up the window as grey clouds filled the sky. My gaze landed at Alice’s flyers on our table, grabbing one as curiosity filled my mind.

“An event?” I asked her. Alice smiled, enthusiastically. “Oh yes and…you know, there’d be food and music there. It’s sort of a casual party. So, if you’d like to come…” she faltered shyly.

My eyes brightened in glee. Raring to go for a party in Emerald City, I decided to say yes.

Alice’s smile is happier this time.

And maybe, I’d get to enjoy Emerald City this time too.

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Photo by Jazmine Levana Sico

three senses of weaponry Edcel Derick Padulla (STM27) eyes; when night is too dark to be seen when morning is too early to begin look at me, look at me just like how you look at stars, shining in the night sparkling despite absence of light ears; not everything can be seen but hear me out Hear me out as if everything around us is quiet for a second but an eternity for me Hear me out even when unknown voices are a hindrance But you—your name is what I am screaming, praying Saying that I am still waiving from a distance holding your favorite—I am out of words yet still hoping, praying, screaming, dreaming That you’ll listen to me Even if words are already dead silent. mouth; here’s an apology ‘cause I will still shout for your name play when there is no game and, when the time comes that what I say is different from what I said Bother no more, the feeling is still the same.

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H E AV E N

Piraso ng Paraiso Juliana Villanueva

DECEMBER 23, 2016 10:07 pm Matagal nang tunaw ang niyebeng minsang nananahan sa lupang kinatatayuan ni Angel.

Ang minsang damong nababalot ng isang manipis na kumot ng puti ay bumalik na sa kanilang mala-abong kulay; lanta at salat sa kulay. Walang nakatatagal sa marahas na lamig na handog ng buwan ng Disyembre sa bansang Canada. Mainit man ang pananabik ng dalaga para sa mainit na klimang nakasanayan sa bansang kinalakihan, alam ni Angel na mas mainit ang pangangailangan ng pamilyang naiwan sa Pilipinas. Kaya kahit hindi sapat ang manipis na telang ipinangsaplot sa katawan upang maibsan ang lamig, nanatili itong nakapirmi sa pwesto.

Sinulyapan nito ang mumurahing relo na nakasuot sa kaliwang kamay; mahigit isang oras na rin pala siyang naghihintay para sa huling customer niya para sa buwang ito.

Unti-unting naibsan ang nagsisimulang pangamba nang masilayan niya ang itim na kotseng kanina pa hinahanap ng kanyang mga mata. Napahinga nang malalim si Angel, may ipang-nonoche buena na ang kanyang pamilya ngayong pasko.

10:16 pm Hindi sapat ang manipis na telang mahigpit na yumayakap sa katawan ng dalaga upang maibsan ang lamig na nadarama. Tanggalin man ang nasabing saplot; magpalunod man sa init na nadarama mula sa malalaking bisig na mahigpit na nakabalot sa kanyang katawan—dama pa rin ni Angel ang ginaw na unti-unting bumabalot sa kanyang buong pagkatao.

10: 56 pm Hindi sapat ang manipis na telang mahigpit na yumayakap sa katawan ng dalaga upang maibsan ang lamig na nadarama ngunit kahit na ganoon, pinulot niya pa rin ito mula sa lapag at dahan-dahang isinuot muli. Tahimik nitong pinagmasdan ang paglalagay ng saplot ng lalaking nakatayo sa kanyang harapan habang hinihintay niya ang paglisan nito. Kahit halos dalawang taon niya nang kilala ang lalaki, hindi niya pa rin ito lubos na kilala. Lumingon ito sa kanyang direksyon at tumango, bago inilapag ang isang makapal na sobre at ilang pakete ng mala-nyebeng pulbura sa may paanan ng dalaga at umalis nang walang imik. Ngiti lamang ang iginunton ni Angel.

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11: 38 pm “Hello, ma?”

“Okay lang, ma. Magpapadala na ako ng pera bukas, ha.

Kunin niyo nalang po agad para makabili agad kayo ng panghanda.”

“Bukas meron na ‘yan, ma. Sige, mauna na po ako ha? Madami pa po akong gagawin eh.”

“Angel, anak! Kamusta?”

“Nako, salamat anak. Nung kailan pa namin hinihintay iyan.”

DECEMBER 24, 2016 12:00 pm Kung anong lamig ng niyebeng bumabagsak mula sa langit ay siya namang init ng luhang pumapatak sa pisngi ni Angel habang itinatabi ang perang ipapadala sa ina at mga kapatid sa Pilipinas. Nandidiri at nadudumihan man sa sarili, alam ni Angel na kailanman ay hindi niya magagawang itigil ang trabahong nakasanayan nang gawin, lalo na kung ito ang naglalagay ng pagkain sa kanilang lamesa. Isang mala-impyernong siklo na araw-araw niyang kailangang isabuhay. Pinahid niya ang mga luha, inabot ang paketeng ibinayad sa kanya at saka inilatag ang laman nito sa lamesita sa dulo ng kanyang kama. Masyado pang mataas at malayo ang langit para sa kanya, kaya naman ibinaba niya ito sa lupa; isang pribadong paraisong nababalot ng puti. Ngayong gabi, muling bibitawan ni Angel ang mga makamundong problemang masyadong mabigat para dalhin papunta sa mundong sabik na sabik na niyang balikan.

Huminga nang malalim si Angel bago nilanghap ang puting pulbura na nakalatag sa lamesa.

Ngayong gabi, tatakasan muna ni Angel ang hagupit ng realidad.

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H E AV E N

Through the Chaos Paulene Abarca

you and I ruled the magnificent city our crowns engraved in crumpled papers a huge bounty sealed our fates our names—a menace to the men in blue yet, here we are; our hands clasped together frolicking in silence beneath the watchful gaze of a buzzing city your lips caressed my forehead as I held your hand tighter like my lifeline is tied with your warmth as if you’d vanish at any moment your lips uttered silent promises of far-fetched dreams and happy endings your eyes whispered of high hopes that lied beyond the paradise of eternity you are my partner-in-crime the Bonnie to my Clyde we roam the streets of old eternity cast upon us Our lips met Inch by in— BANG!

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our feet scrambled on the road— as quick as the lightning in the skies faster than cars racing along the streets our legs carried us away from the pursuers clad with guns and our breaths; a mess along the run our hearts pound of energy raged within our veins keeping us sane in each step yet, here we are; our souls felt alive a spark renewed its existence as we run towards freedom with our hands clasped and hearts beat in unison For a moment even as our lungs ran out of air and fatigue slow down our flight that moment we know one thing: not even death could tear our hearts apart

Art by Raymond Matthew Tuvilla STM21

H E AV E N

Birthday Surprise Berenice Medina

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NATHAN!” I jumped as I switched on the lights; my relatives and friends got out of their hiding spots and screamed their greeting. I stepped into the house and smiled widely, turning to look at the blue and green decorations against the walls.

I turned just in time to see Mom come up to me and pull me in a hug. “Mom! You’re here,” I said as I wrapped my arms around her just as tight. I was surprised to see her since lately she comes home very late and is gone just as early.

“Of course, baby. I wouldn’t want to miss your birthday.” She let me go and placed her hands on my shoulders, looking at me and sighing. “Oh, I can’t believe you’re 10 now.” Then she cupped my face and peppered me with kisses, making me laugh.

“I know I haven’t been around much lately. A lot has just been going on. But I promise I’ll find a way to spend more time with you. Alright, honey?” She smiled gently, her eyes shining.

I nodded to her, hoping to see her smile more often since it makes her look more beautiful.

She placed one last kiss on my forehead.

Then I heard a familiar voice call me.

“Hey, bud! Do you like it?” I turned around to find my Dad smiling widely down on me.

I was yet again pulled in a tight hug and felt myself being lifted off the floor. I squirmed in protest, not wanting to look like a baby in front of my friends.

“Dad! I’m a big boy now! Put me down. Please.” I prolonged the last word, looking up at him with pleading looks to match. Quickly looking around to see if any of my friends were looking.

“Oh, alright, big boy.” He laughed as he finally put me down, ruffling my hair and then letting me head to where my friends were huddled in front of the desserts.

The party went on for a few more hours. I had loads of fun with my friends and cousins.

But whenever I look at my parents, I always find them on opposite sides of the room.

Whenever Mom is home, even our neighbors would probably know. Since she and Dad always seem to have shouting matches.

Though sometimes during the party I catch Dad looking at Mom. She didn’t seem to notice or look at him as long as he did to her. Hopefully the party would also make them happy. I love them both very much.

It was around nine in the evening when the last of our visitors left. I started looking for Mom, wanting to spend more time with her. But then I noticed the brown boxes beside the front door.

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Dad, what are these boxes for?” I turned to him. I noticed how red his eyes were. His hand on my shoulder tightened slightly.

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Then I gasped as I saw a familiar book in one of the boxes. Mom’s copy of Greek Mythology.

The one she used to read to me every night. I saw the other boxes filled with Mom’s things.

Then she walked down the stairs, carrying a few more of her things before telling my Uncle that it’s all ready to be loaded on the truck.

So that’s what the truck outside was for.

“Mom, why is your stuff in boxes?” I didn’t realize I was already crying until she kneeled in front of me and wiped my cheeks.

“Are you leaving, Mama?” A tear fell on her face as well, but she said nothing. I reached out to wipe it. She held my hand against her cheek for a while, kissing my palm softly before guiding it back to my side and standing.

Before she could go far, I hugged her, pressing my face to her stomach. “No, Mama. Don’t leave, please. You promised.” Her familiar scent of lavender and jasmine made me cry harder.

“Can’t you just stay for a little more, Amara? It’s still his birthday, for Pete’s sake! Don’t scar his birthday with this memory.” I heard my father’s shaky voice ring above my cries.

Yes, then maybe I could convince Mom to stay forever.

“We’ve talked about this, Daniel. Don’t start with me again.” I felt her try to remove my hands from how they were fisting her shirt.

“I’ll come visit you during the weekends, baby. Then we can spend some time together.”

But I didn’t want her to leave. I tried to cling harder, but then I felt Dad’s warm hands pulling me away from Mom. I screamed and kicked. Trying to go back to her, but she was already walking out the door. I reached my hand out to her, but she had already slammed the door shut.

I cried for at least an hour. Dad wasn’t much better. Tears were also soaking his cheeks. But he held me against his chest, reassuring comfort despite Mom’s absence.

So I asked him, “Dad, w-why did mom leave?”

Dad was silent for a while. “Was it because of me?” I sobbed.

“What? No, buddy. Everything has really been in chaos between Mom and I. So, when she finally couldn’t take it,” Dad paused, running a hand through my hair. “She left.”

“Wi-will she come back?”

Dad sighed. “Well, who knows, right? But Mom loves you so much, son. And I do too.”

“I’m scared, Dad.” I sniffed. “Will we ever be okay?”

Dad tightened his hug and placed a kiss on my head.

“Yeah, we’ll be okay, bud. Maybe, not now. But we will be.”

I closed my eyes as I let myself get swept up by Dad’s hug, I felt a sense of comfort despite everything that has happened.

Maybe I’ll be okay, as long I have Dad.

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Purgatory The special void for indecisive souls In which eyes are blinded by fear And ears clogged by hesitance

Sisyphus Overseas Berenice Medina

As the land is spread with red and gold A King can be seen at the foot of his hill, Pushing a gigantic boulder up, and up To the top, that would mark his triumph.

This King is different though, His head and heart adorned with kindness Instead of the cunning that had Crowned the king of old.

Each day he endured the weight, His muscles quaked as his sweat dripped Worlds apart from his family; Soft laughter and warm of his household Echoed on his mind, fueled his body

But one might ask, “Why the punishment?”

Well, it is no such thing

Each time he nears the top he lets himself hope that it is enough That he would finally go home To make up for the time he lost As he endured this penalty for living

The kind King had gladly taken the rock When offered silver for his sweat and blood But do not mistake him for a peasant His household, known for its love overflowing— If only love could tame its growling stomach

But no matter how hard he tried No matter how hard he pushed himself like every other day As the rock is perched on top Calm as the sea and still as a twig

So each day the King pressed on Hoping Death would avert his gaze Whenever he stops to catch his breath His head ducked when the furies come circled over him, searched for his Achilles’ Heel

for a moment— Then rolls down once again When will it be enough?

Will it ever be enough?

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P URGATO RY

Craving Solitude

Ella Lorraine Regudo (HMS23) I was scrolling through Facebook one day when I came across a post tackling different mental health illnesses and disorders. I, being the curious kid that I am, decided to read every caption on each photo uploaded in the post. Looking through the content, it felt like I was in a room surrounded by people I am familiar with because of the amount of times I’ve seen and heard about them—or so I thought. One disorder captured my attention because (1) I did not know there was such a thing and (2) it was pretty accurate with what I have been struggling ever since I was a kid. It is called the Dependent Personality Syndrome (DPD).

I opened my personal computer and searched for it in Google. Basically, people with DPD tend to depend so much on other people that even their own decisions are affected. They also tend to be anxious all the time and in need of constant reassurance and advice from others whenever they are planning on doing something. I swear, if I had P1,000 for every symptom or situation that me and DPD have in common, I’d be able to afford a new phone by now. Kidding aside, DPD is no joke since it needs psychotherapy and counseling in order to be treated. Which is why I was so scared the moment I thought that, maybe, I have DPD too.

Some might think I’m just overreacting, and maybe they’re right. After all, it was just selfdiagnosis and analysis, I haven’t really sought a psychologist for this because I don’t think my parents have fully grasped the idea of mental health disorders, especially if they can see their daughter looking fine and functioning well. But every time I think about it, I have survived most of my life depending on someone or something. For example, I am always late at gatherings not because it takes a lot of time for me to get ready, but because I won’t leave the house until someone I know texts me that they are there already. Also, I depend too much on my earphones to the point that I can’t even go to the grocery store, alone, without wearing one. I make sure to ask my friends or family a bazillion times whenever I’m going to an event alone or I’m fixing my papers and applications on my own because I tend to be anxious a lot.

Other than that, I think most of my almost “relationships” ended because I am in constant need of reassurance and I spend most of my time for them, which I think is too much for them to handle. There are still a lot of circumstances where I depended on others so much that if I count it with my fingers (and toes included), it still wouldn’t be enough.

It may not be as serious as clinical depression or high functioning anxiety, but possibly having DPD is a scary thing for me because it somehow implies that I can never truly be happy by myself. Everyone keeps on saying that your happiness is your responsibility, but that’s the point of DPD right? You just can’t because no matter what you do, you depend your every move on others. As time goes by, I decided to embrace being dependent on others

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because I thought to myself that I’ll never really be alone, right? Wrong. There will come a day where I have to learn how to stand by myself, without the comfort of my home, my family, and my friends, and that is probably one of my greatest fears. I hate being alone or doing things alone. I don’t think I’ll survive because I spent most of my life thinking that things would stay the same and that I’ll still have the same group of people to support me along the way. But boy I was wrong. I woke up one day and the universe finally said, “Okay this has to stop,” and punished me. If you live in a province, parents would send their kids to cities when they turn to Senior High School (SHS) or college to have good education, and that’s exactly what they did to me. One of my greatest fears has finally come to life and I was not ready to face it yet.

To cut the long story short, yes, I was sent to Dasmariñas to study and live with my uncle and his family. Even though I was not completely alone, I am not that close with my uncle’s family which means I am too shy to ask for anything. Plus, my mom strictly told me not to ask for anything to my Cavite parents unless it is a life and death situation. By that she means I need to start taking care of myself and learn how to do things by myself because no one will do it for me or with me from now on. Everything was a total shock for me, and the drastic change took a toll on me and my health. I would get sick almost every month because of homesickness, which is not an advantage for me since I have to go to check-ups alone and buy my own medicines, meaning I have to speak to people which I am very anxious about. I also tend to lose my way countless times because I am shy to ask people. Everything feels so new to me because obviously, being independent is far from who I am. There came a point where I would cry and convince myself that I am weak, because I am surrounded by people who can survive on their own while I am struggling to make it by the end of the day. I felt so lonely and alone because there are no familiar faces to pat my back and tell me it’ll be alright.

But that was 2018 Ella speaking. The first four paragraphs was me a year ago, when I was at my most vulnerable and fragile state. It’s amazing how a year can change you, not lose who you are, for the better. I have learned how to eat alone in fast food restaurants, watch movies alone at the cinemas, do the groceries or shopping on my own, go to the library to study alone, attend mass alone, and so much more. Who would have thought that this clumsy and anxious girl would be able to commute from Cavite to Manila, and vice versa, whenever she wants to? That she can literally cross the ocean alone to go home to Mindoro during holidays or long weekends? And that she can actually fly to Iloilo, fight her aerophobia, without her parents? 2018 Ella would have been so shocked, but proud.

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P URGATO RY

There was no really exact happening or moment that made me convert into independent living, but it was not an overnight change either. It started small, when I would have to commute alone and I would console myself by saying, “I won’t be alone the next time I’ll commute so just bear with me for now, self,” yet I always ended up doing it alone. Same goes with doing the groceries, eating outside, and self-studying. I got used to it that sometimes it feels strange when I have someone else to do it with me. It’s like I finally gave in into the peace of doing things alone that I sometimes crave for it. Don’t get me wrong, there are still certain things that I can’t do on my own, like going to the bank to pay bills or setting an appointment for check-up, but it’s a start. At least I have proven to myself now that I shouldn’t be scared of something I haven’t tried yet. I still get anxious when I’m trying something new, and I still need constant reassurance because it feels like I’m diving into something I’m not sure where it’ll lead me but I’ll still do it anyways. And somehow I’m thankful for what I did, because it brought me to where I am now. It shaped the person that I am now. I may not be as independent as everyone else, but slowly and surely, I know I’ll survive and I’ll be proud to say that I made it. For now, I will continue to allow myself to grow and not limit myself to what I can do and what I can still experience. Somewhere along the way, I know I’ll be able to conquer this just like what I did on the little things I used to fear. I just have to constantly remind myself that it is okay to have setbacks every once in a while. I’m still human, I still feel emotions, and that’s perfectly fine.

Sometimes I still think about DPD, and the possibility that I might have it, but now I am no longer scared. I think I have proven to myself that I can surpass my fears by dealing with it and learning from it. The examples I have cited may seem small but compared to who I was before all of this happened, I must say I made progress. After all, small progress is still progress. There are days where I would find myself walking alone or going to a café alone and just reflect on what I feel, what are the decisions I made and will make, and actually just enjoy my own company. Being alone does not equate to loneliness, sometimes people just crave for peace of mind and they find that away from the crowd. I’m not saying that I am a 100 percent lady today, because obviously I am not. There are still days where I would catch myself depending on other people or other things and that’s okay. I don’t think so harshly about myself anymore whenever I do that because sometimes all we really need is a helping hand.

We have to admit that there are things we can’t handle alone. It is not bad to need someone, because sometimes all it takes is just one person to make it seem easy; also, being alone is not something we should be scared of, sometimes what we need is to just take a step back and see that there is so much beauty in this world, and sometimes you just have to discover it alone.

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Nightbound Danielle Mari Tanael Dedicated to Britney Spears

P URGATO RY

A Moon’s Tale Arianne Buendia

The moonlight surrounded the vast night trying to bleed through leaves, accommodating the shadow of an old man beneath a widowed tree.

Gazing at the corner of an opened patio a trembling child peeks, at the same moon that soothes his eyes— with the midnight hue, and paralyzed lips mustering passive breaths.

A plain of a grand front yard that the wind prickled into, exposed the white dust as it danced to one direction; flaunted its long travels that has seen lavish cold dinners.

Constellations shone brighter as two gazes met— conveying the rhythm of numbed heartbeats, Gentle whispers Of an old man’s embrace, gripping coarse little hands that bare nightmares; the warm fingers twitch in the dead of the silence, responding to the moonlight as it caresses their figure.

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Owl-like eyes grasped the stars behind the mansion of clouded stories, heavy throbs of the old man that reached a drying stare, shall wait for daylight as they sneak past the widowed tree.

Granting a child’s prayer briefly through the night, Just until the sun paves a way To misjudge a noble act.

The Prisoner’s Last Stand Paulene Abarca

“Is this afterlife already?”

Surrounded by large blooming flowers, and colorful hordes of insects pollinating their buds, I watched as the visitor scanned the whole garden.

You see, people have long misunderstood this place. They would often call it, the void.

But this place is the garden of the gods—it could save or punish the life of a human being. In my case, this was both: an escape from reality but a punishment for leaving my moral duties.

As a gardener, I am here to test the visitors and lead them astray as instructed by the gods themselves. Except those chosen ones.

Those with privilege to choose in their own will.

“Not quite. It’s Eden—a paradise between Earth and the afterlife,” I explained, a snarky laugh resonating from my throat.

His eyes darted around the whole garden. While he absentmindedly gazed upon the flowers, I noticed something in his hand.

A tiny white ribbon is wrapped in his right pinky—yet it’s fading.

Looks like he was given the privilege to choose.

“Is this where I am going to stay from now on?” he asked. I frowned at the tiny ribbon wrapped around his pinky. This visitor is dead set on dying, isn’t he?

“It depends. Do you want to leave your life on Earth?”

He sighed.

“Well, I am dead now, aren’t I? It’s not like I could do anything about it,” he answered exhaustedly. I arched my eyebrows and nodded.

“Well, let’s see. How about you tell me about yourself first?”

A timid smile graced upon the visitor’s face.

“Dylan. I’m the eldest of the five siblings,” he started, bitterness splitting upon his lips.

He paused for a while but the timid smile on his face turned upside down. His eyes shimmered with tears that looked like it had been kept for so long.

“And…you know, even if I am the only one left caring for my five siblings, I-I was so proud of them,” he stated, his voice quivered a little bit. “Even if…we struggle with food and money…they never failed to be good people…I was so happy.”

But I stared at him curiously because how could he even call himself happy when he’s slowly tearing up?

“Then, what happened?”

“You see…I snatched a bag from a woman. I…I only wanted to have money to buy food for our dinner. So, when the woman fought back for her bag, I accidentally hit her head with a rock I found lying on the ground. So, I-I ran away but…when I got on the streets…a speeding car straight up hit me.”

“So, you think you’re dead now because a car hit you?

He chuckled, a hint of bitterness coloring his voice.

“How am I supposed to survive with a car speeding up towards me? You’d have to be superman to even survive, you know. Even so, I killed someone innocent. It must be karma.”

I smirked at his wishful thinking. He stared at me curiously.

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“Then, can you see that string on your pinky finger?”

He quickly raised both hands to look at the string. His eyes widened as he saw the string wrapped around his right pinky finger.

“H-hey, what’s this? Aren’t strings of fate just a myth?” he asked me. I guffawed at his statement. Seriously, what kind of myths do humans invent in their world?

“That’s not a string of fate, you dolt. That’s your life cord. Humans can’t feel it no matter where they are. That string connects you and Earth. If that string fades, you’re dead. But it’s not the case with you, isn’t it? Yours is faint but still there.”

“W-what should I do now?”

“You get to choose between staying here or returning to Earth.”

That made him stop in his rambling. His eyes grew sullen and became more conflicted.

“But I killed someone innocent…h-how could I even face my siblings? The police would punish me. For sure, I’d get a death sentence, or I’d rot in jail for eternity. I…I couldn’t let that happen!” he cried out, the unshed tears in his eyes started to come out.

“You’re welcome to stay here if you want to escape. But how about your siblings? Would you leave them there? You said, you’re struggling for food and money. How would they fend for themselves, then?”

For a moment, Dylan stood in silence. Tears streaming down his face as he emptily stared at the flowers in the garden. Then, his knees fell in the grass and strong sobs racked his whole body. I waited as his heartbreaking sobs echoed throughout the garden.

“Dylan?”

He looked towards me; a shadow of hopelessness masked his whole face.

“It is hard. I know. I’ve been there before. But there is only one way and that’s choosing between the two, Dylan. You either choose Earth or this Paradise.”

A deafening silence greeted me, but I heard him sigh heavily this time.

“Wi-will I get to see my siblings if I choose Earth?”

I nodded in response.

“But...I’ll get punished, right?”

I nodded grimly this time. He clenched his fist and sighed in determination.

“How can I get back?”

I smiled this time. I see, so he didn’t choose Eden. Well, good for him. He would take the punishment of the mortals but not the gods’. That’s more...painful.

“Alright, cross the Arch over there,” I said as I pointed towards an Arch made of flowers.

“You’d be able to get your soul back to your body.”

His knees quivered as he stood from the ground and bowed respectfully.

“T-thank you…”

I smirked at him.

“Then you know what to do, don’t you?”

He nodded and turned his back away from me. While his departure might grant me more years in this euphoric prison, I figured out that I won’t let the gods have their way this time.

They could punish me but I won’t let another of my kin be their slave.

42

Last heartbeat Josephine Punzalan

An angel from above Entwined by milk and blood, Deficiency in my womb Deprived their light to be seen, Bliss was blown in swift As their blood flooded, No scream is silent Yet no one heard theirs Lullaby of death plays, Which broke me into pieces Lost in the river of Styx Numb even when chariot hits, Can a god return you In my longing arms?

For living in darkness Left me crumbling in chaos.

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P URGATO RY

In the Loving Memory of a Martyr’s Soul Paulene Abarca

In front of the laptop screen I found my soul loving yours in eagerness Clicking upon your name And typing an abashed and uncertain, “Hi” I already knew— You’ll be one of my greatest what-ifs I found my soul hoping for your love Even if I know that hopelessness is evident Every night I let our conversations run rampant Like a wild Cheetah running through grasslands Jumping from different stories Like a frog hopping from scattered lily pads I found my soul craving your stories Even knowing that my cravings are all for naught But then— Our conversations went freezing Slowly…

Starting with a single “Hi” like always But ending with listless goodbyes Still, I found my soul clinging upon slivers of hope That I kept saving in every conversation But not for long.

Soon, I felt the embers of its dying breath; of the conversations I kept saving The greetings I typed in confidence went back with no replies Like a soldier marching to war but dying and not going back home In front of the laptop screen, I found my heart grieving upon its death Yet my soul kept loving yours in eagerness Like a foolish martyr stuck in a pleasant memory Treasuring its remains with her gentle caress.

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Guilt Gizella Katrine Gawaran

P URGATO RY

The Final Test Juliana Marie Villanueva

He can practically see tomorrow’s headline now: President Danilo Ochoa dies at 74, bringing an end to a 15-year dictatorship.

Before, his eyes were everything. And then there was none.

The exact moment he went escaped even his faultless memory. One moment he was being consumed by total darkness, and the next he was on the floor of a world he didn’t recognize.

The eternal slumber he had been expecting hadn’t come, and whether he was reborn or was in heaven or hell, was unclear to him. Dan snickered in disbelief. He really just died.

He took small steps at first, looking around as he did so.

The first thing he noticed was the temperature. For such a dim place, the air around him swelters as if a thousand people were breathing in his direction all at once. Suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of unfounded dread, he picked up his pace. The next thing he observed, however, provided something more ominous. It was the sound of feet shuffling from the distance, gradually getting louder. As the horde approached, Dan could hear them crying out his name; a distorted chorus of wails from figures he was yet to see. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he began to run. The darkness seemed to stretch with every step he took, giving purpose to his aimless wandering.

Dan ran until he couldn’t anymore. He slowly crumpled to the ground and tightly gripped his ears in a vain attempt to filter out the noise. Over the horizon, the outline of a horde appeared—once they stepped within his field of view, what was taking place slowly became apparent to him.

People of all ages inched towards him, fury and agony sculpted into their features.

Their clothes were torn and stained with dark-red blood, various parts of their bodies were mangled, and bullet wounds still oozing with gore and filth was visible on their ashen skin.

They gathered all around him, chanting his name like they did ages ago. He used to love the sound of his name being chanted, after all, it was the very same noise that let him know his place at the presidential throne was sealed. This time, though, was different.

He recognized some of them especially those who were the news’ headline for months at a time. He even attended some of these people’s funerals; poorly concealed publicity stunts made to further anger those who were saying that these deaths had been his fault.

“Make it stop, please. Make it stop!” He screamed in desperation.

“You know how to make it stop.” Dan looked up, eyes wide with fear. He hadn’t expected anyone to answer him.

Dan looked around him and saw that they were showing no signs of giving up. He turned back to ask the man how, but he had already vanished. Dan scrambled to his feet, stopping midway when his hand touched a cool, metallic object on the ground.

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Stunned, he picked up the gun and basked in the familiarity of its shape in his hands. He was going to stop the noise one way or another, and he’s going to do it the way he knows best.

Without another thought, he raised it and pulled the trigger. Echoes of bullet shells dropping to the ground began to ricochet around the place as he shot them one by one. The impact made the horde turn into ash and Dan watched with glee as they vanished before him. He fired once again, this time driven by pleasure instead of the need for silence, and in just a few minutes the place was swept clean of any wailing creature. *** Azrael watched the man from a distance, amused. He feared Dan was finally losing his mind. This place and its test can do that to people sometimes. He should know, he had been ministering The Final Test for several millennia now. The show he had just witnessed was entertaining, but it has to end. Dan had just made his choice, and so did the Heavens. Tugging his cap further down his face, Azrael strode towards Dan. “You just had to further complicate things, didn’t you?” Dan looked up and the same man from before was there again, grinning from below his cap.

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t have to kill them.”

“How else was I supposed to make them stop? I mean, t-the bloody gun appeared out of nowhere. I thought it’s what I was meant to do! I had no other option.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You knew there were other ways to deal with it,” Azrael said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, the gun was only there because you wanted it to be there.”

“What was I supposed to do, stare at the goddamned gun?”

“You could have apologized. I know you know who they are. I mean, it’s kinda hard not to, with the cardboard placards taped to their backs and all,” Azrael said, heaving a sigh as he prepared to leave. “No point in telling you all that, though. Your fate has been decided.”

Dan blinked, the weight of what he just did dawning on him. He still didn’t know where he was, but he knew for a fact that a) he was dead, b) he had just been submitted to some sort of test, and c) that there’s no way killing all those people will get him to heaven.

He was up to his feet in a second, chasing the man’s retreating figure.

“I can still apologize!” He shouted, a desperate effort to get himself out of the mess he just made for himself.

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” Azrael snickered.

The ground slowly started to hiss, and Dan watched in horror as dust rose from the ground, starting to form vaguely humanoid figures.

“You just failed the test, buddy. Welcome to Hell, I fear you just created yours.”

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Photo by Reinald Aldrich Mateo

P URGATO RY

A March of Empty Words Psalm Mishael Taruc

The amber light shone on the blank canvas Imploring the pen to spill seas of letters Yet it’s been long since the sun stole the waters Without the waves’ graze, the shore stretched Churning into a desert with nothing but salt The watch screamed in echoes of worry Tons of weight circled my wrists, pinning it down With roads from the tongue to the palms fading Scribbled were strokes far from familiarity As the fire slips away from my fingertips Syllables stuttered its way up my throat Air uprooting itself from my lungs; bleeding into ink Glittering the paper with an unfounded eloquence Digging through cinder of what’s left Desperately searching for flame

50

Ang Bayani sa Loob ng Impyerno Paulene Abarca

“Sir, nagkakamali po kayo…may inabot lang po ako sa kaibigan ko,” pakiusap ni Angelo habang mahigpit na nakahawak sa kanya ang pulis. Subalit patuloy lamang siyang kinaladkad ng pulis tungo sa selda.

Pagkarating sa mga selda ay itinulak si Angelo ng pulis sa isa sa mga loob nito at kinandado ang kulungan. Kinalampag naman ni Angelo ang rehas.

“W-wala po akong ginagawa. Maawa po kayo…may klase pa po ako bukas. Lagot ako kay Mama.”

Umiling na lamang ang pulis. “Pasensya na, iho. May ebidensya eh. T’saka, aktibista ka, ‘di ba? Kayo ‘tong protesta nang protesta d’yan. Imposibleng wala kang kinalaman dito.”

Humigpit ang hawak ni Angelo sa makalawang rehas.

“Sir, aktibista ako pero ‘di ko ‘yun ginagawa. Ipinaglalaban lang namin ‘yung mga taong kinukuhanan niyo ng karapatan! Wala kaming taong sinisiraan!”

Tinawanan lamang siya ng pulis.

“Eh, ‘yung gobyerno, ‘di niyo ba sinisiraan? Makinig ka nga sa mga sinasabi mo. Naku, ‘tong mga aktibista na ‘to, ‘di raw NPA. Mga sinungaling. ‘Di ligtas palusot niyo rito, hoy,” banta ng pulis kay Angelo at lumakad na paalis.

“Sir! Pakawalan niyo na ‘ko rito! Wala akong ginagawa!”

Subalit wala nang nakarinig sa kanyang huling hinaing. Lugmok na napaupo si Angelo sa malamig na sahig ng selda habang tinititigan ang mga lalaking kasama rin niyang nakakulong.

Lahat sila’y nakatitig sa kanya, siguro’y iniisip kung bakit ang kabataang tulad niya ay nasa loob kasama nila.

Habang umiiwas ng tingin mula sa iba, may kumalabit sa kanyang isang preso.

“Ayos ah…may bago tayong kasama,” ani ng isang lalaki. Hindi naman sila pinansin ng ibang preso ngunit hindi siya komportable sa atensyong binibigay nito.

Tumingin si Angelo sa kanya.

“Bubugbugin mo ‘ko?” Matapang na singhal ni Angelo sa kanya. Humagikgik naman ang lalaki.

“Relax lang, hindi naman. Gusto ko lang makilala ‘yung bago naming kasama. Pero, teka, bata ka pa, ha? Ba’t andito ka?” Tanong ng lalaki sa kanya.

Bumuntong-hininga si Angelo. “NPA raw kasi ako tapos may kaso pang libel at bribery kasi nang be-brainwash daw ako ng inosenteng tao.”

Humalakhak ang lalaki sa kanya. “NPA? Seryoso? Mukha ka ngang inosente pa eh.”

Napakunot ng noo si Angelo. “Anong ibig mong sabihin?”

Natigilan ang lalaki sa tanong niya. Naghari ang katahimikan sa loob ng selda. ‘Di nagtagal sumagot din ang lalaki.

“Naranasan ko rin ‘yan. Nung kabataan ko, napaka-aktibo namin sa mga kilusan. Hanggang sa isa-isa naming nakitang nakapaskil ‘yung mga pangalan namin sa kung saan-saan,” kwento ng lalaki.

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“Kung saan-saan kami nagtago. NPA raw kasi. Pero, ‘yun, tulad ng nangyari sayo…nandito ako, nabubulok sa loob ng mabahong selda na ‘to,” mapait na sambit niya kay Angelo.

“Hindi na ba nagawan ng paraan ‘yung kaso mo?”

Napapikit ang lalaki at bumuntong-hininga sa tanong ni Angelo.

“Paanong gagawan ng paraan eh pagkatapos nun, iniwan nila ako sa ere. ‘Di man lang ako pinyansahan. Mga gagong ‘yun…kahit kailan kampon talaga ni Hudas. Dahil mahirap lang kami, edi nabulok na lang ako dito. Kainis na sistema ‘yan,” galit na kwento ng lalaki.

Napatikom ng bibig si Angelo. Hindi niya inakalang ganito ang sinapit ng bilanggong kasama niya sa selda.

“Pero, bakit ka tumagal dito? Ano po bang kaso niyo?”

Mapait na ngumiti ang lalaki. “Murder ‘yung nilagay ng pulis sa record ko. Pinrotektahan ko lang naman ‘yung sarili ko kasi sinugod nila ako nun sa pinagtataguan ko. Talaga ngang gagawin nila ang lahat, maalis lang ang mga ‘di sang-ayon sa kanila.”

Tila hindi makapaniwala si Angelo sa narinig. Habang tumatagal ang oras, mas lalo siyang naguguluhan sa mga nangyayari.

“Paano po ‘yung mga magulang ninyo? Binibisita pa rin po ba kayo?” Tanong naman ni Angelo.

Umiling ang lalaki sa kanya. “Itinakwil na ata ako nung mga ‘yun nung nalamang aktibista ako. Terorista na raw kasi ako. Hindi ba sila natutuwa na handang ipaglaban ng anak nila ang bansang ginagalawan natin? Ewan ko ba. Kung ako sayo, ‘pag lumaya ka, itigil mo na ‘yang pag-aaktibista,” payo ng lalaki sa kanya.

Kumunot ang noo ni Angelo sa inis.

“Itigil? Kailangan nga tayo ng bansa natin ngayon eh. Misyon natin ang ipaglaban ang mga walang boses, ‘di ba? Alam kong alam niyo po ‘yun, pero bakit kailangan niyo pong sumuko?” sagot ni Angelo sa kanya.

Ngumiti naman ang lalaki. “Inosente ka pa nga. Alam mo, ‘pag tumagal ka rito sa loob ng impyernong ‘to, malalaman mong totoo ang mga sinasabi ko. Sa dulo ng lahat, pipiliin mo ring mabuhay nang malaya kaysa habang buhay sa loob nito.”

Napatayo si Angelo sa kinauupuan niya at mahigpit na hinawakan sa balikat ang lalaki.

“Siguro nga po, totoo ‘yung mga sinasabi niyo. Pero, naniniwala akong may pag-asa pa… kahit nakakulong tayo sa loob ng silid at hinihiwalay tayo ng rehas mula sa mundo, naniniwala akong may pag-asa pa rin. Please, ‘wag na ‘wag po kayong susuko,” pagmamakaawa ni Angelo.

Napakamot naman ng ulo ang lalaki at umiling.

“E ‘di tingnan natin. Pero sa ngayon, kailangan mo munang mabuhay dito sa loob. ‘Wag mo munang isipin ‘yang problema na ‘yan. Mula ngayon, buhay-kulungan na ang haharapin mo,” sagot ng lalaki sa kanya.

Taimtim na sumang-ayon si Angelo sa kanya at napasalampak siya sa malamig na sahig ng selda. Sa oras na iyon, ipinangako ni Angelo sa sarili na mabubuhay muna siya sa loob ng impyerno. Dahil sa oras na palayain siya, alam niyang hinihintay ng bayan ang kanyang pagbabalik.

52

A Creator’s Tireless World Building Wallace Roland Beltran (HMS21) Watcher of the valley Haven’t you gotten tired?

Of building spires and pyramids overtop of your blank slate of sand— May your eyes be wary and sunken bleached under your man-made sun— insisting pressure onto your skin for terrorists you have none— Watcher of the valley hear the single drum— bringing nerve and anxiety and your lungs out of your chest— Can you watch over the horizon?

Can you see where this valley ends?

You’ll have to stop somewhere... sometime...

Until the next dawn descends.

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Photo by John Paulo Templo

chaîné

Alyssa Nicole Fernandez Mama said, don’t dress so crude.

Clean up your mess, tie up those shoes!

Stay away from those children, don’t play their silly games.

Don’t worry and remember; mother knows best.

Papa said, don’t ever cry.

Get the good grades he never came by.

Be the prodigy, the genius, and he would be proud— So long as perfection is reflected among numbers.

Mama once asked, why are you quiet?

But you said, to be your child was to smile and please.

Leave it to myself to talk amongst my fears, I’ll pick up my shoes, and dance through the tears.

Papa asked, why did you lie?

But I only tried to make him smile.

A glimpse of the answers is all I need, to be the genius you want me to be.

Mama, why do you turn away?

Whenever I enter the room, you never look my way.

Don’t you see, don’t you dare leave!

I’ll dance and twirl, just to make you believe.

Papa, why do you frown?

Seeing those numbers slowly dwindle down, I can’t be the genius nor the one to take over your dream, The child you wished of, would never be me.

Mama, Papa, days have taken a toll.

I’ve lost all the chances to be the child you dream of.

But everything I did, was all to make you proud.

Now, here I am, your perfect child, Trapped inside my imperfections.

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P URGATO RY

Mga Mukha ng Maynila Psalm Mishael Taruc

Nagsimulang maglakad ang mga constable sa gilid ng makalat na kalsada. Binalot ng nakapapasong sikat ng araw ang Divisoria at ng hanging dinudungisan ng maitim na usok mula sa mga sasakyan.

Matulin ang mga yabag ni Mateo. Sa gilid niya naroon ang superyor niyang nakapamulsa pati na ang truck na tinatahak ang kalsada. “Luha ang bala ng mga tao dito,” saad ng nakatatanda. “Kung gusto mong magtagal sa ganitong trabaho, dapat alam mong labanan ‘yan.” Napatango na lamang si Mateo sa binigkas ng superyor. Lalong lumakas ang kabog ng dibdib nito sa sobrang pananabik.

Samantala, ilang metro lamang ang layo mula sa kinaroroonan nina Mateo ang maingay na lansangang napupuno ng mga hiyaw at busina. “Tatlo, isang daan!” Nakahambalang sa kalsada ang makukulay na paninda. “Ano ho hanap niyo?” Nakalatag sa mga asul na trapal na bumabalot sa bangketa. “Singkwenta na lang ang kilo!”

Isang nakaririnding sigaw ang bumulabog sa kalsada. “Mga hawker!” Sa isang iglap, natigil ang mga transaksyon. Dali-daling hinatak ang mga paninda paatras sa bangketa. Tinanggal ang mga nakasabit na laruan. Itinago ang mga kariton at lalagyan. Nagpulasan ang mga walang mapuntahan.

‘Di nagtagal, kasabay na rin sa kaguluhan ang mga naka-bughaw na kalalakihang mga paninda nila ang pakay. “Sige, hakutin niyo lahat!” utos ng superyor.

Tila nanigas si Mateo sa kinatatayuan habang ang mga kasama’y nakikipagsagupaan na sa mga pasaway ng bangketa. Inikot niya ang paningin sa pagkakagulong nagaganap.

“Kuya, teka lang! Inaayos na nga oh!” pagmamakaawa ng isang tindera habang nakaluhod at pinupulot ang mga tsinelas na paninda.

“Hoy Sarmiento!”

“Lahat ng lalampas sa bangketa, ikakarga! Itabi niyo, bilis! Ang babagal!” hiyaw ng kasamahan niya sa mga tinderong pinagpatong-patong na lang ang mga bilaong napupuno ng produkto sa kabilang bahagi ng kalsada.

“Sarmiento! Ba’t nakatulala ka diyan?”

Sa bawat sulok maririnig ang pagsusumamo’t murahan, galit at pangangatwiran.

“Mateo! Malilintikan ka hoy!”

“Akin na kuya! Ibalik niyo, nakatabi naman na eh!” sigaw ng isang babaeng mahigpit ang kapit sa mga maneking plastik na binihisan ng matitingkad na kulay. “Wala kayong disiplina,” nanggagalaiting bigkas ng kaagaw nitong constable. Napabitaw na lamang ang babae nang makitang hinahakot na rin ang karton-karton niyang panindang damit papunta sa truck.

“Sarmiento!” Isang sigaw mula sa superyor ang gumising sa kanya sa katotohanan. “Hindi ka ba talaga kikilos?!”

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“Po? Opo! Eto na po!” nagmamadali niyang bigkas sa takot na lalo pang uminit ang ulo ng superyor na kasalukuyang kaharap ang isang lalaking nakikipagtalo.

Dali-dali niyang tinulungan ang mga kasama na ikarga sa truck ang isang side car ng pedicab na nakahambalang sa daan. “Dito muna, itulak niyo pataas,” pagmamando ng kasamang nakasampa sa likod ng truck. Ngunit bago pa man sila kumilos, biglang hinila iyon ng isang lalaki pababa. Nilingon ito ni Mateo. “Bitaw!” Pinagtulungang ikarga ng mga constable ang side car hanggang sa wala na siyang nagawa.

Bayong-bayong ng mga mansanas ang sunod niyang namataan. “Kuya—” Nagmartsa si Mateo papunta roon at agad itong ikinarga sa truck bago pa makapagreklamo ang tindera.

Sinunod niya ang puwesto ng samalamig. “Sandali lang naman! Hanapbuhay ko ‘to kuya!” Marahas na inagaw ni Mateo ang lalagyang puno ng gulaman, hindi alintana ang namamantsahan niyang uniporme. Nag-agawan ang dalawa hanggang ang nagawa na lamang ng tindera ay magsisigaw sa galit.

Sapatos. Candy at sigarilyo. Pambahay. Sirang mga relo. Pamusod. Pantalon. Bolpen at kwaderno. Hindi na niya mabilang.

Sa sulok ng kanyang paningin namataan ang mga tumatakbo papasok sa eskinita. Hindi na tumawag pa ng mga kasamahan si Mateo at nag-iisang nagmadali papunta rito.

Hindi alintana ni Mateo ang hapong mga binti maabutan lang ang mga nagnanakaw sa kaayusan ng Maynila. Subalit sa pagtapak sa kanto papasok ng eskinita, nawala ang lahat ng parang bula, maliban sa isa.

Halos tumumba ang kariton sa dami ng laman nito. Gumulong ang mga mangga mula sa tumpok papunta sa kinakalawang na gulong hanggang sa maruming kalsada. Narinig sa eskinita ang matinis na pagkatapon ng mga barya nang dumulas ang lalagyan nito.

Natigilan si Mateo.

Pilit mang nagmadali, mabagal ang kilos ng mga kulubot na kamay na pinulot ang ilang natapong prutas. Bumaling agad ito sa arinolang lalagyan ng benta nang masulyapan ang lalaking nakatayo ilang dipa lamang ang layo sa kanya. Lalong bumilis ang kanyang paghinga habang pinupulot ang mga baryang dumudulas sa kanyang makalyong daliri.

“Sarmiento! Meron pa ba diyan?” Bumaling ang atensyon nito sa tawag ng kasamahan mula sa ‘di kalayuan.

Bumaling ang tingin ni Mateo sa matandang ngayo’y nakatitig na sa kanya—pinaghalong pagkamuhi at pag-aalala ang bakas sa mga mata. Isang tinging pilit minutawi ang mensaheng hindi niya lubusang maintindihan.

“Wala na ho,” sagot nito.

57

P URGATO RY

Oras na

Josephine Punzalan 3:00 pm; Niyapos ng katahimikan ang mga kamay na ‘di mapakali, hininga’y kinakain sa bawat oras 9:00 pm; Nanginginig na mga palad binabangungot nang dilat, kinakagat ang kuko sa daliri wisyo’y naghihingalo sa kaba 12:00 am; Kumakalampag ang posas sa kamay mga binti’y nawawalan ng lakas habang hinahatid sa hantungan ang inosenteng magdurusa sa kamay ng kabilang-buhay

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Art by Wallace Roland Beltran HMS21

P URGATO RY

Through Rose Colored Lenses Juliana Villanueva

Page # 1: 12/17/2020 The afternoon I learned about your death may just be forever engraved in my mind.

The sweltering heat suffocated me, but even with the humid air, that afternoon was a pretty one. I was in the kitchen, mug in hand, when I first noticed it: a thick and pristinely white envelope. In the middle, in small handwriting, was my name.

It was a letter from your lawyer, notifying us about your death. Cancer, they said, something we didn’t even know you had. There were also directions to the chapel where your remains were displayed and cash to cover the expenses of our travel. It was an invitation to your funeral, so to speak.

I was unsure of how to feel. Grief was out of the question; it simply wasn’t possible to feel with the absence of affection. And trust me, affection would be the last thing I feel towards an absentee father who left us for another family.

The realization that you left us once again ignited the deep rage and resentment that always topple over whenever I think of you. This rage, pure and unwavering, drove my hand to throw the mug into a wall, shattering it into hundreds of pieces.

It was the first thing Anna saw after coming home from school: a shattered glass and her shaking older sister crumpled on the floor, rage coursing through every fiber of her being.

An unpretty sight for a pretty afternoon.

Page # 2: 12/21/2020 Sometimes Anna can be stupid, simple, and naive.

At least, that’s what I used to think.

17, Anna should’ve known better than to see the world through rose-colored lenses. She always believed that one day you’ll come back, and all will be well again. One day, she said, whenever I think of dad, I’ll have more than a monthly remittance of a fat wad of cash to remember him by.

Your death put an end to that fantasy.

For the last 3 days, she’s been begging me to go and I wondered how the rage that has attached itself to me like a parasite missed her. Her longing for a man that abandoned her, the absence of the resentment she had every right to feel, sickened me. On the third day of arguing, I think she finally reached her last straw.

She called me stupid, said letting my rage control me made me stuck in the past. Then she asked me why I was letting my life be controlled by the memory of your departure when I probably hadn’t thought of us since the moment you walked out the door 10 years ago. I slapped her then.

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I told you, sometimes Anna can be stupid, simple, and naive.

But that doesn’t always make her wrong.

Her words echoed in my head for days, unable to let me rest. Maybe I ought to be more like Anna and look at the world through rose-colored lenses. You see, red is the color of rage, and without rose-colored glasses to block the color out, it was all I could see.

I was blinded.

Page # 3: 12/23/2020 I kept seeing you.

Every night, in my dreams.

For 6 days straight I’ve been dreaming of the same thing. You, me, Mom; all in our respective places that night 10 years ago. Your voice dripped with rage as you pulled Mom off your feet.

“If you weren’t pregnant with Anya, I wouldn’t have married you!” You said before looking at me one last time. I waited, but the apology never came. You simply turned your back and left.

Awake or asleep, the memory of you will forever haunt me.

Page # 4: 12/24/2020 On the day of your funeral, the weather’s too hot to wear black in, but I can’t exactly wear pink, can’t I? Moments ago, when your coffin was lowered to the ground, and my letters were buried with you, it was then that I realized that I lost you for the second time today.

This is the first time I mourned when you left.

But this time, I saw a different kind of red.

Dad, today I learned that red is the color of rage, but so is love. I can see it now. In Anna and in our siblings’ faces when they cried while your coffin was being lowered to the ground and beneath my tears that I didn’t know I would shed for you. I didn’t know that it would take a second goodbye just so I would cry for you. This time, I know I won’t be seeing you in my dreams tonight.

For the first time in 10 years, I am finally free from the past.

From you.

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Hell The manifestation of war and chaos In which its fires aren’t seen but felt Destroying the society itself

Underneath the Graffitis Sophia Dado

Walls painted of souls fused with anger resisted the system that tormented the relentless cry for the silenced, fat kings oblivious of their chaos A scene of chaos and mess, the blind says where were they when blood stained the streets, vulnerable natives lost the comfort of their homes, and the voices of the powerless were caged?

As each line disturbed the circles of comfort Screams of pleas echoed within its shapes while one rests in their own bed of roses this pain in the eye may be one’s last resort.

63

HELL

For A While and For Ever Robin Madlangbayan (HMS23)

Let me tell you something I’d rather not say at all.

Let me be less selfish for a while.

Let me hope you forget this, because I don’t want you to think about me.

Once upon a time, I really suck at this.

I once knew a girl who forgot she was human. She was amazing. She knows it. You’d look at her and think she has it all. When it poured talents and color and light, she was dancing in the rain. She was a god in the form of your seatmate. She was kind. She was judgmental.

She was trustworthy. She was unpredictable. She was honest. She was hesitant. She was too careful.

Careful.

It would be a bore to list down every single good thing about this really amazing person.

There’s not much drama. All coffee, no tea. There aren’t many thorns and weeds in her garden. There are roses, though. She doesn’t water the flowerbeds. She doesn’t know she has flowers in her garden. Secretly, I’d snuck in and planted those flowers, as much as I could. I know she’d never let me if I asked. She lets puppies and kittens play in her garden, which I think is nice. What bothers me is that there happens to be a snake somewhere in the bushes.

The snake hides, watching the puppies and kittens play from a distance, beneath the leaves.

She hides. How she takes care of her garden may seem a little off to you, but you don’t know her the way I do. You don’t love her the way I do. You don’t mourn for her the way I do.

Infinite.

Who am I fooling? I know her. She sees the world just as I do, and still convinces herself that she’s the only one. I don’t know where to begin with the things she’s done and can do.

Her mind works so much wonders and it’s awesome. Her gut and grit are a powerful combo, so much that even without either of them, she still does something amazing. I really don’t know what she does with it. She has her way with words. She can compose a poem for you in less than 2 minutes (tested and proven). She’s not the most outright expressive person in the room, yet her way of storytelling can lead you to galaxies. She absentmindedly scribbles on her notebook and when you see what she’s drawn, you’d ask if you can have it. She’d say, “It’s nothing. This is just trash.” But you’d say, “Are you kidding? I’d frame this and hang it on my wall!”

I know her.

She’s not a fan of memories, of feelings, or of pain. She learned those in workshops.

She felt none of that in real life. She’s an actor, and it’s her job to show you feelings. Honey, they’re for show. They’re nothing more than show. I know people who pour it all out, and people who keep it all in. She is in between. She’ll make you believe every single word here is true and reflect who she is, while holding back what really is behind what you call perfection.

Perfection my ass.

She was always the good girl—the one who’d never hurt you. Sinners look down as she passes by in hallways. Saints invite them over to her table. Sometimes, she’d find herself listening to souls who are neither sinner nor saint; they talk of a life she never knew, a language she doesn’t understand, or a feeling she never felt. I’ve met every person she’s talked to, so I know exactly how her mind worked whenever she had those encounters.

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You can bet she was curious. You can bet she was scared. You can bet she was pushed to step out of her comfort zone once or twice. Being too good to be true made her too comfortable to see what lies beyond what she knows is acceptable and safe. I wanted to prove her wrong, but life beat me to it.

Let’s be unreal for a while.

She has loved before. It’s quite unusual for me to just see her heart so full. She fell in love. It was utterly by chance. She never even dreamed of the dream she fell into. She’s not that type of girl. But still, she did—wholly, deeply, honestly. I saw the look on her face and I told myself, this is a different kind of happiness. This is a dreamer’s sickness. I kept that thought to myself; if only you’d seen how her face lights up, or how her eyes just sparkle with complete genuineness, like you know if you tell her to wake up, she’ll lose it and you don’t want that to happen because you love her and you want her to stay in this different kind of happiness. Some dreams are just too pretty for a world like this, and hers was that of a child who had to grow up.

Grow up.

I caught her crying once or twice. It was really awkward. I didn’t know if I should go talk to her, if it would help or would she punch me, so I stood off a fair distance and observed.

I don’t hear any sniffs or any irregular breathing so I don’t know if her tears are valid. Call me heartless, but it’s true. I can’t hear her crying. But I see her. And for the first time in my years of knowing this seemingly unreachable and untouchable soul, I realized—perhaps, remembered—that she was no different than me. Prideful like the sun at noon; naked like the moon at night. I let her be. I let her accept it. I let her learn. I gave her the time and space to come to terms with the truth that she is unbalanced. That was the problem with her ever since. She was too proud, too complacent she forgot she was human. She left.

Forgiveness.

Still, I hope she dreams again. She told me she won’t. She told me those stars have long turned away from her. She thanked me for the flowers I planted in her garden, but they’ve wilted and there’s really nothing we can do about it. The trees were taking up the space, the bushes grew thicker, and the snake has come out to play. The world will keep turning with or without her. There are people who need her. She’s spent so long trying to prove something she doesn’t even truly stand for. No matter what she does, I told her, she’ll never make the east and west meet. “You’re not the only dreamer the stars sparkle for. You don’t hold the heavens and the Earth. Just hold what you have now—your heart, and I’ll make sure you are held closely to mine.” She never gave herself the chance to be told, “It’s okay.” She needed that. All that talk of getting there, and she’s forgotten about just being here.

Forever.

I saw her today, and I think she’s more human now. I see more gratitude than hunger, more control than demand, more forgiveness than shame. She’s more open to things she’d rather hide. She’s less selfish now, in my opinion. She accepts and welcomes more. She’s not happy. She’s not sad. She’s not winning medals per minute. She’s not secretly, quietly judging the person sitting next to her. She’s more of herself now.

She’s more like me.

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Vanquished Pneuma Sofia Andrea Baldonado

Aphrodite

Maria Yssabel Magsino (HMS11) The gods live among us now, the fools, the gullible.

Even Aphrodite with all her love and beauty, She plays with the mortals, like a child, we’re her toys.

Oh, goddess you are as dangerous as you are enticing.

She hesitated at the apple, shiny, delectable, and so sweet.

Her stomach growling at her in anger, burning inside her.

She wants to be thinner, scratching her too thin thighs with a razor, Another sweet soul destroyed by the mirror.

Oh, goddess, pity her pretty face…

Draping fabrics across her body, letting it flow behind her, Pulling at her short hair wanting it to be longer, Pushing her flat chest together. Her mom calls her— James, time for dinner.

Oh, goddess damn those who deny her…

Creamy white lithe body, posing, the one they covet, On posters on the wall and commercials, they were all the same.

She looked at her dark skin, her legs that don’t fit skinny jeans, But she marched to her own tempo, they shall covet her.

Oh, goddess bless her bravery…

The goddess of the stunning and the stunned, Our Lady of Beauty now lives among them. Us. The hurt, the confident, and the beautiful.

The gods live among us…

67

HELL

Tawag ng Pag-asa Berenice Medina

Nagkaroon lang ako ng lakas ng loob na imulat ang mga mata ko nang marinig kong sumara ang pinto. Dahan-dahan akong umupo sa kamang hinihigaan, kagat-kagat ang labi para maiwasang mag-ingay nang maramdaman ko ang sakit sa mga kalamnan ko, at sumilip sa lamesang nasa tabi ng kama. Nakita ko ang natatanging paraan para makalaya ako sa lugar na ito.

Sa kanya.

Nanginginig ‘kong inabot ang cellphone. Pinipilit na manatiling tahimik at masidhing makinig sa paligid para sa kahit na anong senyales ng kilos sa labas ng kwarto. Nang makuha ko na ang cellphone ay pinindot ko agad ang mga numerong 9-1-1 at naghintay ng ilang segundo bago ko narinig ang boses ng isang babae sa kabilang linya. Hindi ko na napigilan ang pag-agos ng mga luha ko.

“9-1-1. Paano kami makakatulong?”

“Block 6 Lot 66, Darvaza Street, Barangay Timoria, Quezon City. Block 6 Lot 66, Darvaza Street, Barangay Timoria, Quezon City...tu-tulungan niyo po ako. Please,” pagmamakaawa ko sa kabilang linya.

Pabulong man ay pakiramdam ko sumisigaw ako. Sinabi ko ang minemorya kong address na nakita sa isang nakabolang bill sa basura ilang linggo nang nakalipas. Umaasa na magkakaroon ako ng pagkakataon na magamit ito para makatakas.

“Okay, miss. Pwede ko bang malaman ang pangalan mo?” mahinahong tanong sa akin ng babae.

“A-Andara Torrez, po.” Nilagay ko ang malaya kong kamay sa sumisikip kong dibdib, lumilibot ang paningin sa tila lumiliit na kwarto para hanapin kung saan nagtago ang hangin.

“Sige, Andara. Gagawin namin ang lahat para matulungan ka, pangako ‘yan. Pero kailangan kong kumalma ka, okay? Hingang malalim.” Sumunod ako, pinipilit na huminga ng dahan-dahan sa kabila ng mga hikbing yumayakap sa dibdib ko. “Pwede mo bang sabihin sa‘kin kung anong problema?”

“Tatlong taon na po niya akong kinulong dito. Hindi niya po ako binabalik sa pamilya ko. Ayoko na po. Tulungan niyo po ako. Baka bumalik na siya. Please, hindi ko na po kaya.”

Tinakpan ko ang bibig ko para maiwasang marinig ang mga hagulgol ko. Nararamdaman kong nanginginig ang buong katawan ko.

“Nahanap ka na namin, Andara. May mga pulis nang papunta diyan. Huwag ka na magalala.” Napapikit ako sa narinig na balita. May papunta na. May pag-asa.

“Andara, ‘wag mo ibababa ang tawag, ha? Anong alam mo sa kasama mo diyan?”

Bago ako makasagot, napatalon ako sa ingay ng biglang pagbukas ng pinto.

“Anong ginagawa mo?” Giit ng boses na nananahan sa mga bangungot ko. Umikot ako at nakita siyang nakatayo sa pintuan, isang halimaw na inaambaan ang kanyang biktima.

Sinubukan kong gumalaw, lumayo, ngunit hindi sumunod ang katawan ko. Patuloy lang na umagos ang mga luha ko. Sa kabilang linya, parang narinig ko ang babae na tinatanong ako kung anong nangyayari pero hindi ko na masyadong maintindihan ang mga sinasabi niya. Masyadong malakas ang pagpintig ng puso ko, napaisip ako kung naririnig din ba ng kasama ko ito.

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Bigla niyang kinuha ang cellphone sa kamay ko at tiningnan kung sino ang tinawagan ko.

Napatalon ako nang marinig ang pagbasag ng cellphone nang ihagis ito ng amo ko sa pader. “‘Tangina naman, Andara. Bakit mo naman nagawa sa’kin ‘to?” Napahiyaw at hinawakan ko ang pisnging pumipintig nang mabigwasan ng lalaking nagnakaw ng tatlong taon ng buhay ko.

Tatlong taon.

Simula noong labing-apat na taong gulang ako at sumama sa tito ko, pag-aaralin daw niya ako sa ibang bansa. Huli kong nakita ang mga magulang ko nang ihatid nila ako sa paliparan kasama ang tito ko.

Sabi ni tito may naiwan daw siya kaya kinailangan naming bumalik sa kanilang bahay.

Kaya naman nang malapit na ulit kami makabalik, nagtaka na lang ako dahil nag-iba ng daan si tito. Sabi niya, gusto raw niya ako ipakilala, ang pinakamaganda niyang pamangkin. Itong kaibigan daw niya ang magpapa-aral sa akin talaga.

Ngunit nang makarating kami sa bahay ng kaibigan ay kinilabutan ako nang mapansin ko ang tingin sa akin ng kaibigan ni tito. Naramdaman ko nang parang may hindi tama nang makita ang makapal na sobre na binigay ng lalaki sa tito ko. Nagmakaawa akong huwag akong iwan ni tito. Umiiyak at punong-puno na ng takot nang lumabas pa rin siya ng pinto at iniwan ako. Hindi ko na siya muling nakita.

Tatlong taon na ang nakalipas nang huli kong makapiling ang pamilya ko. Tatlong taon nang nakawin ako sa buhay ko. Nang ninakaw ang pagkabata ko; ang mundo ko.

“Akala mo ba makakatakas ka pa dito, ha?” sabi niya habang mahigpit niyang hinawakan ang buhok ko at malakas na hinila ito palikod. Walang silbi ang pagpupumiglas ko sa higpit ng hawak niya sa akin. Wala nang natitira pang lakas sa katawan ko upang lumaban sa maskulado niyang katawan.

“Bakit mo pa gugustuhing tumakas? Wala namang naghihintay sa‘yo sa labas ng bahay na ‘to.” Sinuntok niya ako sa tiyan. “Hindi ka man lang hinanap ng pamilya mo.” Hinagis niya ako sa sahig at bumaluktot man akong parang bola’y di pa rin niya ako tinantanan.

“Walang may pakialam sa‘yo, Andara. Ako lang ang nagmamay-ari sa’yo! Akin ka lang!”

Tinadyakan niya ang puson ko. Para akong hinambalos ng dos por dos.

Wala akong magawa kundi humiga sa sahig at humagulgol. Sa sobrang sakit ay hindi ko maigalaw ang aking katawan.

Sa gitna nito’y naalala ko ang mga magulang ko. Ang mga kapatid na minahal ko at alam kong minahal rin ako. Ang nanay kong palaging naglaan ng oras kada umaga para matalian ang buhok ko.

Ang tatay kong kahit pagod na sa trabaho’y nagagawa pa ring makipaglaro sa amin noong mga bata pa kami kapag uuwi siya sa gabi. Ang ate’t kuya kong nalalapitan ko sa kahit na ano. Nagdasal na lang ako na ligtas sila, na magiging masaya pa rin sila kahit wala na ako.

Lumalabo na ang palibot ko. Nagdidilim. Alam kong hindi na matagal bago matapos ang lahat ng sakit.

Pero nakarinig ako ng himala. Isang sirena. Mahina…ngunit lumalakas.

Bago ko makagisnan ang kadiliman, naramdaman ko ang sarili kong ngumiti.

Mukhang papalapit na ang kalayaan ko.

69

HELL

Idolo ng Masa Juliana Villanueva

iisa lamang ang idolong sinasamba ‘di tulad ng iba, dasal ko’y rinig niya sa kanyang salita’y hindi nagdududa ‘pagkat aming pangarap sadyang iisa kaya nang siya sa amin ay nangako bumagsak na paraiso’y, muling itatayo matitigas na ulo’y tuluyang iyuyuko para sa pagbabagong ninanais matamo ngunit sa paglipas ng oras, bakit tila nag-iba? taliwas ang kanyang sinabi sa kanyang mga ipinakita kanyang pangako at gawa’y ‘di naman nagtutugma ngunit walang kumekwestiyon sa idolong sinasamba sa pagtanim niya ng pundasyon ng ating bukas idinilig sa lupa ang mga alay na pulang katas ngunit sinong makapagsasabi sa nakatataas na ang balang itinanim ay ‘di magpuprutas? ilang taon pa ba ang kailangang magdaan? mga pananim na aanihin kanino ba nakalaan? ilang beses pa ba itong kailangang diligan? dagli! paubos na ang dugo ng inang bayan

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Humiliation Gabrielle Ravacio

HELL

Nobody’s Fool

Alyssa Nicole Fernandez *** “It’s surprising how your feeble and filthy kind managed to make a fire this warm. Tell me your name, boy.”

“I am nobody.” *** He was a fool for even trusting a human.

Polyphemus roared, as the hot rod pierced his eye, white clouding his vision before it turned to black. In fear, Polyphemus stumbled around the dark cave, blinded by betrayal.

Odysseus and his men crawling for their escape as he fumbled around, with a desperate cry that pierced through the enclosed space.

“NOBODY! WHERE ARE YOU NOBODY!?”

A smash and a crack, he felt around, his hands searching for the filth who did this to him. A cyclops! This was beneath him, this was a...

Complete disgrace.

A hiss fell on his lips as a sharp rock sliced his palm, hearing drops of blood pit-patter towards the ground.

“NOBODY! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME!” He heard the soft bleat of one of his sheep and immediately turned towards her, placing a gentle hand on the back of her wool. Deciding to do the same to the other sheep, he felt each and every one of them, knowing who they are as he felt each and every skin, how Bathilda had soft fur, how Feronia had coarse wool...

“THEY’VE RAN AWAY!” He roared indignantly, turning away from the sheep and stumbled his way towards the cavern’s exit, feeling the cold rock against his skin. Cursing ‘nobody’ as he searched his way to the bloody exit, he vaguely heard his sheep clip-clop away, as Polyphemus shouted indignant insults in the open air.

Finally reaching outside, Polyphemus knelt down to the grassland, crushing daisies and ancient plants from long ago with his huge physique. His ears buzzed with fury, not even noticing how the Earth trembled and the hazy outline of his brothers near the hills.

Running towards him, they knelt down with him. One of the cyclops, named Bronte, looked at Polyphemus’ face to see what was wrong and widened his eyes with disbelief and cold fury.

“Who did this to you, older brother? We shall avenge you.” “‘Twas nobody who pierced my eye!”

“Why do you scream and cry? Tell us who did it!”

“IT WAS NOBODY, HE PIERCED MY BLOODY EYE!” Bronte held back a snort, looking at his older brother who didn’t see what was happening.

“You mock us, brother. Tell us who did it.”

“I have told you it was nobody! He got away with his men and is escaping right now!”

A younger cyclops from Bronte’s right whispered, yet loud enough for Polyphemus to hear. “With Polyphemus and his antics, it’s no wonder he lost his sense and wisdom.”

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The other cyclopes laughed as Polyphemus scowled. “Know your place, kid. If you don’t believe me, then leave. I’ll find nobody myself.”

The cyclopes laughed once more before slowly turning back towards their homes.

Bronte, the last to follow, is about to head his way back before asking once more. “Brother Polyphemus, please tell me who did this to you.”

“It was nobody.”

“If you refuse to tell me who because of personal reasons, such as pride, then I shall head my way home.”

Bronte walked back towards the hills, but not before hearing a shout.

“IT WAS NOBODY, YOU HEAR ME! NOBODY!” *** Polyphemus followed the sound of the waves rocking against the shore, stumbling, and falling down every now and then. He knew he couldn’t make it in time.

Never again. Never again.

He sniffed the ocean winds, smelling the salty air drift across the sands. Polyphemus walked towards the sea once more, feeling the cold water against his feet. Goosebumps erupting against his skin, he smelled the air again and widened his now milky-white eye.

The smell of human flesh.

Focusing on the scent, he yelled as loud as he could muster.

“NOBODY! YOUR BLOOD WILL BE MINE!” He felt around for a few seconds before his hand landed upon a huge boulder. Clouded with fury, he threw the rock towards the scent, hearing a huge splash.

Missed.

Mocking laughter from the filthy humans rang through the shore, making him roar in frustration.

“Oh Polyphemus, if someone asked who had blinded you, do not say it was nobody—“ He threw a boulder again. A splash.

Missed again.

“But it is I, Odysseus, King of Ithaca!”

Despite being blind, all Polyphemus saw was red, a dark and hazy red.

Never again. Never again.

Shouting in fury, he threw huge rocks in succession but to no avail. He threw them even if his arms were begging to be rested. He threw and he threw and he threw...

Never again. Never again.

Polyphemus ceased once the stink of human filth went away, adrenaline still in his veins.

He roared in pain, his voice echoing on the whole terrain.

He cried out, suffering.

“Father! Lord Poseidon! Hear my pleas!” He vaguely felt his tears that fell down towards the rough sand.

“Make Odysseus suffer as I did! Tear out his eyes as he did to mine! Rip apart his body as his kind did to mine!”

“Because... Never again... Never again...”

Should his cruel kind ever win again.

73

Masking Sim Daeun

The Color Of Privilege Juliana Villanueva

the sun roared with rage turning ebony skins golden battered bodies littered the ground empty cases of flesh bereft of life blood dripped out of their wounds, and seeped into the Earth’s rich soil a deep shade of brown, like their skin around them, children kneel as silent howls escaped from their famished little lips hollow cheeks damp with tears shed for the souls before them men who once walked the Earth but never will no more and yet their brothers, with skins as smooth and silky as cream roamed the same Earth freely blood on their pale feet like red wine on white silk yet no one batted an eye nor raised a finger for their own children are safe, nestled under their covers certain that tomorrow the day after tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come they shall walk free and unharmed unlike the bodies on the ground even as they leave a trail of red behind them

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HELL

Sa Natitirang Oras Arianne Buendia

Madaling araw nang mapansin kong may kakaiba sa aking katawan.

Sa kwarto na tanging ilaw lamang ng kandila ang masisilayan ay dahan-dahan akong tumayo nang malamya at bumangon sa pagkakahiga. Naaapakan ko ang mga tableta at resetang nakalatay sa sahig subalit wala akong nararamdaman kahit nasa mismong talampakan ko na ito. Bawat hakbang ko’y sumasabay ang malamig na hangin at tila hindi ko nararamdaman ang aking paghinga. Subalit, paanong buhay pa ako kung hindi ako humihinga?

Wala rin akong maalala kung bakit ako nakahiga sa sahig kanina.

Ngunit napukaw ang atensyon ko ng nanginginig ngunit umaalingawngaw na boses ni Mama na nakaupo sa sahig at umiiyak. Ang kanyang magaspang na boses at tuyot na labi ay nakangiting bahagya sa hawak-hawak na litratong hindi maalis ang kanyang titig. Pawang ang mga mata niya’y inaagusan ng dilim at ang isip ay nasa sariling mundo.

“Ma, wala pang umaga. Gusto niyo po bang samahan ko muna kayo sa kwarto niyo?” mahinhin at mausisa kong wika sa kanya, subalit hindi niya ito pinansin.

“Ma?” “D-Dianne...patawad,” saad ni Mama. Paulit-ulit lamang ang mga salitang iyon, pero ito ay may dalang kakaibang kilabot sa buo kong pagkatao.

“Ma, bakit mo naman ginalaw ‘yung resetang gamot sa’yo?” napatanong ako nang maalala ang mga nakakalat na tableta sa sahig. Pinulot ko sa tabi ang hindi pa masyadong lukot na reseta at tinitigan ito nang ilang segundo. “Mamayang alas-singko pa ang susunod mong gamot, Ma.” Tinupi ko ang papel at ilalagay sana ito sa ibaba ng unan.

“H-hindi ko sinasadya, Dianne...patawad,” patuloy niyang iyak. Ngunit tumili ang tainga ko sa magaslaw at sumisikip niyang tinig sa pagbitaw ng salitang iyon. Tila nanikip ang dibdib ko nang marinig ang mga salitang namutawi sa bibig niya.

“Mama? Ano—” Lumagutok ang paligid at mas lalong umulyaw ang apoy ng kandila. Sumakit ang ulo ko at tila unti-unting pumapasok ang mga kapiranggot na alaala sa aking isipan.

Sinasakal ako ni Mama habang sumisigaw siya ng mga mura.

Nabitawan niya ang kanyang hawak. “Dia—” at sa oras na makita ko ang litrato, “D-Dianne...” Mas lalong namuo ang paso sa lalamunan ko. Mas lalong tumitindi ang mga alaalang pumapasok sa aking isipan. Makikita sa kanyang mukha ang lubos na pagtuyo ng kanyang mga labi at pagkunot ng kanyang mata na inaapawan ng walang hanggang luha.

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Nagmamakaawa ako sa kanyang tumigil.

Sa huling sandaling iyon ay tumigil ang kanyang paghagulgol at muling napangiti nang lumuhod at inabot ang larawan namin nila Papa.

“Bumalik ka na…w-wag mo akong iwan...”

Tinitigan niya ito ng sobrang uhaw sa presensya at niyakap ito na kahit bisig niya’y naiipit at dugo’y di makadaloy.

“Bumalik ka na...wala na ang anak natin. Ligtas ka na...”

Nalulula ang aking tainga sa kanyang malambing na tinig. Iilang segundo na nagiging minuto ay bigla na namang babalutin ng dusa ang kanyang pagmumukha.

Hanggang sa hindi ko na nakayanan ang higpit ng mga kamay niya sa aking leeg.

Naunawaan ko na ang rason ng pag-iyak ni Mama hawak ang litrato ko. Subalit nagtataka ako kung bakit ngayon lang siya nagsisi. Ngayong namatay na ako dahil sa kanya.

Bumibilis ang pag-ikot ng nangyayari na siyang nagtulak sa’kin na harapin ang katotohanan. Lumalala ang kirot sa’king pagkatao nang makita ko ang pamamaga ng aking leeg mula sa sakal ng pagkamuhi na nakatatak sa katawan kong nakahandusay sa tapat ni Mama. ‘Di ko man lang naramdaman ang pagmamahal niya nang mamatay si Papa.

Parati na lang sa’kin ang sisi. Kaya ngayong nawala na ako, sino nang sisisihin mo, Ma? Sumisikip ang dibdib ko sa alaala ng mga sigaw ni mama sa akin araw-araw. Lahat na ata ng insulto nasabi niya sa’kin. Dahil daw sa’kin, namatay si Papa. Pinrotektahan niya ako sa pagkakasagasa noon. Nais umagos ng luha sa aking mata subalit isa na lamang aparisyon ang katawan kong natitira sa mundong ito. Umiikot ang aking paningin sa sumisingaw na liyab ng kandila na tuluyang lumalabo kasama ng nahulog na litrato nila Papa.

Bumulong ako at kasabay niyon ang pag-ihip ng isang malamig na hangin sa kwarto.

“Ma, sana sumaya ka na.”

Kasabay ng mensaheng iyon ay tuluyan nang namatay ang apoy sa kandila. Tuluyang gumaan ang aking loob at nagwakas na ang ilang sandali ko sa mundong ito.

Nakalaya na rin ako sa impyerno, sa wakas.

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HELL

Sisa

Elaine Samantha Olona (HMS11) Inang nanakawan at inagawan ng lahat ng nararapat sa kaniya Binibining dating kay ganda at kay ligaya Dahil sa isang ‘di inaasahang sakuna Ang buong mundo niya’y napuno ng hinagpis Mga luhang pumapatak sa lupang linalakaran Ang naging lunas sa kaniyang nagsusugat na paa ’Di matinag ang malalakas na bulong na paulit-ulit na sinasabing “Ayan siya, si Sisang kaawa-awa” Gusto niyang sumigaw, nais niyang umiyak “Ibalik niyo sa’kin ang nawawala kong anak!”

Walang kumikilos, walang gumagalaw Mag-isa nalang siya sa kaniyang mundong ‘di natitinag Mayroon ding lumalapit sa kaniya Nagtatanong kung anong maaaring gawin nila Ngingiti lang siya, minsan pa’y tatawa Dahil alam niyang wala nang magagawa; wala na talaga ang anak ni Sisa Gumuho ang buong mundo, ng inang nagmamahal Ninakaw at winasak nila ang buong pagkatao niya At tila anghel na pinutulan ng pakpak, ‘Di na muling makalipad ang binibining dating kay saya

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Roses are Red Valerie Anne Antonio

HELL

Ang Tahanan ng mga Taingang Nakakandado Paulene Abarca “Hoy, ikaw, Pina! Sa susunod nga, pagdating ko dapat nakapagsaing ka na, ha? Kita mo nang pagod ‘yung tao eh!” Reklamo ni Tatay sa nanay ko kasabay ang paghambalos niya kay Nanay palayo sa kanya. Naamoy ko ang simoy ng sigarilyo at alak mula sa tatay ko. Mukhang nakipag-inuman na naman siya sa mga kumpare niya buong maghapon.

Tumama ang aking Nanay sa paanan ng upuan at tumititig lamang sa baba, siguro’y pinipigil ang iyak. Napahigpit ang aking kamao sa kanyang sinabi at tinulungan na lamang ang aking Nanay na makatayo mula sa sahig. Nabaling naman ang atensyon ni Tatay sa akin.

“Oh, ikaw naman, Juan. Binigay mo na ba kay Tito Melchor mo ‘yung pera?” tanong ni Tatay sa’kin. Natitigan ko siya nang masama nang maalalang ang natitirang pera ay para na lamang sa pantustos namin sa bahay, ni wala nga kaming pambili ng gamot ni Nanay na kailangan niyang inumin.

“Tay, alam mo namang pantustos na lang natin sa bahay ‘yung natitirang pera? Tapos ibibigay mo pa kay Tito Melchor? Paubos na nga ‘yung bigas, pati gamot ni Nanay wala rin.

Paano ko maibibigay yung natiti—” “Edi, hindi mo binigay?”

Imbis na sumagot, umiling na lamang ako at tinulungan na lamang si Nanay. Ngunit sa pagsagot ko sa kanya, natiyak ko na ang kahihinatnan ko ngayong gabi. Hindi ko pa naitatayo ang aking Nanay mula sa sahig nang hilahin niya ang braso ko papunta sa kwarto.

“Isa ka pa, eh!” sigaw ni Tatay habang kinakaladkad niya ako tungo sa kwarto.

“Rodrick, tama na ‘yan! Maawa ka naman sa anak mo!”

Pasensya ka na, Nay. Pero matagal nang walang balak makinig si Tatay sa atin.

Nang makarating kami sa pinto ng kwarto, binulatlat niya ang pinto at ihinagis ako ni Tatay sa sahig nito. Kinuha niya ang isang sinturon na nakasabit sa may pintuan at ipinulupot niya ang hawakan ng sinturon at nagsimulang mamalo.

Dumaplis ang sinturon sa aking binti.

“Kahit kailan ka talagang bata ka. Mabuti pa si Karlo, masunurin. Eh, ikaw? Pabigat ka lang dito sa bahay. Simpleng utos lang…hindi pa magawa.”

Muling pumasada ang sinturon—sa aking braso naman. Hanggang sa magsunudsunod ito. Ngunit dahil wala namang araw na hindi niya ito ginawa, nawalan na ata ako ng pakiramdam sa mga palo niya. Sa dami ng luhang iniluha namin ng Nanay ko mula sa mga kamay niya, parang nasasanay na lang kami. Pero, habang naalala ko kung gaano niya pagmalupitan si Nanay kahit may sakit na siya—nag-iinit ang dugo ko. Parang gusto ko ding iparanas sa kanya lahat ng mga paghihirap na ipinaranas niya sa’min. Kaya naman, hindi ko na napigilan ang pagsabog ko.

“Tay, puro ka naman katatambay diyan sa kapitbahay! Hayaan mo namang gamitin namin ‘yung pera. Lahat ‘yan galing kay Nanay, sa pagtatrabaho niya. Eh, ikaw? Anong ginagawa mo? Nakikipag-landian sa kapitbahay? Nakikipag-inuman?”

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Isang suntok ang umabot sa aking mukha. Napadausdos ako sa dulo ng kwarto at napahawak sa kanang pisngi kung saan tumama ang suntok. Masakit ang suntok ni Tatay subalit mas masakit sa akin ang araw-araw na pagmamalupit niya kay Nanay.

“Anong nangyayari dito?”

Napatigil si Tatay dahil dumating na ang kuya ko galing sa school. At dahil maliit lang ang bahay namin, ang kwarto na ‘to ay nagsisilbing kwarto para sa aming dalawa.

Panigurado ako, pagsasabihan na naman ako ni Kuya na sumunod na lang kay Tatay.

“Mabuti at dumating ka, Karlo. Pagsabihan mo nga ‘tong kapatid mong pasaway. Hindi na naman binigay kay Tito Melchor ‘yung pera. Tangina, napaka-walang kwenta,” reklamo ni Tatay kay Kuya. Ibinaba naman ni Kuya ang bag niya at lumapit sa akin.

“Sige po, pagsasabihan ko ‘tong si Juan.”

Ginulo ni Tatay ang buhok ni Kuya na para bang tama na naman ang ginawa niya.

Ngumiti si Kuya at napasimangot naman ako.

Kahit kailan talaga, si Kuya napakabulag.

Nang lumabas na si Tatay, padabog niyang isinara ang pintuan. Nanatili ako sa sahig na nakatulala habang nagbibihis si Kuya. Pagkatapos niyang magbihis ay umupo siya sa tapat ko.

“Juan, sa susunod, ha? Sumunod ka na lang kay Tatay. Kung ayaw mong mangyari na naman ‘yan. Sumunod ka na lang. Pati si Nanay, alam mo naman si Tatay, Juan. At saka, tingnan mo naman si Tatay, pagod na pagod na. Madami kasing ginagawa eh. ‘Di ka ba naaawa sa kanya?” pangaral ni Kuya sa akin. Subalit hindi ko na ‘to matitiis pa. Kung kayang tiisin ni Kuya ‘tong pinagagagawa ni Tatay sa’min ni Nanay, ako, hindi na.

Pagod na pagod na ako.

“Kuya, hindi ba araw-araw mo namang nakikita ‘to? Itong mga pasa? ‘Yung pambubugbog niya kay Nanay. Napapansin mo naman, ‘di ba?”

Tumikhim si Kuya. “Juan, gusto lang ni tatay na susunod tayo sa kanya. Kung susundin mo naman siya, ‘di ka niya gaganyanin.”

Napakamot ako sa ulo ko. Kuya ko ba talaga ‘to?

“Tangina, naman, Kuya. Ikaw ‘tong hinayaan ni Tatay mag-aral, wala ka ring pakialam?

Ako, pinatigil niya ako ng Grade 6. Samantalang ikaw, umabot ka hanggang college. Kuya naman, makinig ka naman sa’kin!”

Tahimik lamang na nakatitig sa akin si Kuya. Ako nama’y pinipigilang tumulo ang luha sa aking mata.

Akala ko’y may sasabihin pa siya sa akin subalit bumuntong-hininga lamang siya at tumayo mula sa sahig.

“Hay, naku, Juan. Tumayo ka na nga lang diyan at tulungan mo si Nanay. Iiyak-iyak ka pa eh. Magpakalalaki ka nga!” naiiritang saad ni Kuya at lumakad na palabas ng pintuan.

Katulad ni Tatay, isinara niya rin ito ng padabog.

Nang tuluyan nang makalabas si Kuya, tuluyan nang dumagsa ang mga luha ko. Ganito na lang ba lagi sa bahay? ‘Di man lang ba makikinig sa mga hinaing namin ni Nanay si Kuya?

Parati na lang bang ang mapang-abusong kamay ni Tatay ang mananaig?

Matagal ko nang inasam ang pagbabago. Pero, kung ganito parati, walang mangyayari.

81

Wander in the Untold Sofia Andrea Baldonado

Mga Sintomas ng Sakuna Paulene Abarca

Sabi raw, may kumakalat na sakit sa bansa: Matinding paghihirap—ehem! ng mamamayan at—ehem!

EHEM! –hindi mailabas ang mga plemang bumabara sa pag-unlad ng lahat dahil patuloy lang sila sa pagsinghot— singhot dito— singhot doon— ng mga anomalyang dapat isinisinga palabas hanggang sa— palala nang— palala, pati daloy ng paghinga, wala na ring usad, hirap na— hirap na ang bansa kaya nang uminit ang taumbayan sa sistemang ‘di pa rin nagagamot, binuhusan lamang sila ng malamig na tubig— umaasang mawawala ang init na taglay ng sistemang may lamat.

Ngunit sa lamig ng tubig na ibinuhos lalo pang uminit— tumindi ang dikit ng plemang—ehem! bumabara sa maayos na pagdaloy ng kaginhawaan sa bansa.

Minsan naitatanong ko: “May lunas pa kaya?” subalit itong mga manggagamot ng bayan— parang wala naman silang balak gumawa ng lunas.

Kaya habang sila ang may hawak ng trono siguro’y magdurusa na lang tayo sa mga dinulot nilang sintomas.

83

HELL

The girl lost in tragedies Psalm Mishael Taruc She was a flower, Who sways along the music of summer breeze, singing fantasies with rapids of a stream, her eyes lighting up beginnings and dreams, as youth brims from her chest to her fingers, her dance captures the eyes of strangers, she enjoys the crowd around her blossom, before their touch pulls dangerously close, They pick her petals crushing them within fists tearing her bright smile and not leaving an ounce behind trampled on the ground and buried deep into dirt was a wounded ignorance— a girl who believed a lie that she was unlike a mere centerpiece, she withers.

She was the ocean, Who hums lullabies in gushes and tranquility, the waters flow throughout continents filling gaps, and welcoming herself into lackluster grounds, her tireless waves kiss the sand of an invitation, waiting until someone nears and sparks attention, bliss surging at the presence of a rare company, until greater waves grew into retreat and worry,

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Into her coldest depths they refused to go terrified of diving into the deep and facing the wicked engulfed by the dark was stolen breaths and regrets that curled around her neck—a bitter inquiry of who would dare embrace the ugly, she empties.

She was the sky, Trapping what was left of yesterday’s sunlight, she conceals the gray with layers of festive shades, caking on yellows and reds until the woe fades, gathered are those who admire glory and height, stretched arms wanting a piece of rays of light, and commanding the clouds to lower its crown, but not even to hurricanes she was bowing down, A spark roared into thunders and downpours the winds thrashed like mad cyclones and she spilled remorse from ink-stained creeks and raging waterfalls— a mask built by wrath as she hides her limbs and bones in the midst of the storm, she dims.

Then she was a mirror, reflecting misery before she shatters.

And she was the sun, hovering above valleys until she burns.

Then she was the moon, shining as the dusk churns into gloom.

Finally, she turns to ashes, fleeing into the void and, succumbing into an unfailing fate.

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Deadlines Kristen Faith Maala

Lucifer’s Eve Josephine Punzalan

My dearest Eve, My Father knows I have done nothing wrong yet people have criticized me and worse— He even punished me by getting you away from me. I endured this pain because I’m going to fulfill my promise to you. That promise.

Whatever I do, I’ll always think of you. No matter how much millenia I suffer in ruling this hell or no matter how many souls arrive to be punished—your name will always be in the back of my head, guiding me in this darkness.

How I wish to reveal who I am long ago, but these scales won’t let me. I deceived you to eat the forbidden fruit, because that’s the only way I can make you look at me.

You already had my heart after our first meeting—the day you ate the apple back at Eden. The way I looked sternly into your eyes that reflects the roaring sun, right after He cursed you. That curse of bearing a child of the man you don’t even love in your womb for 9 months made me sick of Him. You are a treasure, you’ll never deserve that...atrocity and I despised Him for that.

The moment you laid your eyes on me, I knew we had the sparks that could possibly break His paradise. The undeniable connection between us made the butterflies in my stomach go crazy. You made my heart so soft that I could feel every possible emotion when I’m with you. Every touch of yours made me feel that I deserve to be loved; you became my sun, my pillar, and my peace.

When we admitted to ourselves that we are truly, madly in love with each other, we knew it would never be right. He said love was never a sin, but meddling with His plans displeased Him. You were thrown out of Eden and I was sent to rule the pits of Hell. You, my beloved muse, were taken away from me. I could barely catch my breath when our hands let go of each other. I never knew I could scream that loud, cry a thousand buckets of tears and entirely lose my life—right after He took you away from me: the devil who happened to learn how to love because of you.

He made you for Adam and not for me. For He said that a human like you deserves better than a demon like me. Now we’re both suffering in different hells. But you and I know that it is me that you love and not Adam.

I don’t believe in graces for it has long abandoned me but I long for your presence to grace me again. I know committing another sin could ruin the peace and harmony that humans are supposed to have, but that’s how our lives are meant to be. No matter how many lifetimes, I’ll wait for you to be in my arms again.

Remember my promise? One day will come and you’ll be my queen.

But for now, I’d be enduring my punishment, fighting all the pain just for you.

Until we meet again, my Eve. Sincerely yours, Lucifer.

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HELL

A Night Worker’s Sunrise Paulene Abarca

As the fiery beacon smiled the time stopped; for those who hustled within the shackles of labor for those who exchanged their lives for peace, fighting the unwanted darkness at night; their paradise was born once the dark hues of the sky turned gold in the horizon hungry stomachs suffered from cold morning meals, minds groggy with fatigue as exploited limbs seeked the caress of white linens and cold pillows ‘til the light of the beacon faded again.

Yet, as night unfroze their time, their short-lived utopia became a ceaseless cycle of far-fetched dreams and euphoria.

88

Odd Angela Nicole Hernandez

Paulene Abarca Literary Editor

Mangangahas para sa kinabukasan.

WRIT E R S’

P RO F I LE

Josephine Punzalan Handa na sa bagong kabanata.

Juliana Villanueva “18. human before anything else”

Arianne Buendia

Psalm Mishael Taruc

A day-thinker and night-dreamer.

incepto ne desistam

Stephanie Rabacal

Sophia Dado

To always be continued...

a world so corrupt has nothing against the palms that face up

Alyssa Fernandez

Berenice Medina

“Tayo’y parang sigarilyong ‘di nauubos, nalulunod sa alak na tinatawag nating lungkot.”

Ph 4:13 | He’s walking with you through the valley

GR A P H IC

AND

L AYO U T

ART I STS

Sean Patrick Serrano

Cristelle Corpuz

Athila Ian Marie Sutrido

Christian Philip Renono

Valerie Anne Antonio

Aijren Tribiana

Layout Editor

PHOTOGR APHERS

John Paulo Templo

Jazmine Levana Sico

Sofia Andrea Baldonado

Reinald Aldrich Mateo

Photo Editor

ARTISTS

Sim Daeun

Gabrielle Ravacio

Danielle Mari Tanael

Gizella Katrine Gawaran

Kristen Faith Maala

Jerrika Mikaela Tonio

Valerie Anne Antonio

Angela Nicole Hernandez

Courtney Ivannah Gracio

Art Editor

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

EDITORIAL BOARD A.Y. 2019–2020

Edcel Derick Padulla, Editor in Chief Wallace Roland Beltran, Associate Editor Rheine Noelle Requilman, Managing Editor Enrico Jose Taguinod, Copy Editor Ella Lorraine Regudo, News Editor Psalm Mishael Taruc, Features Editor Chelsea Janelle David, Sports Editor Paulene Abarca, Literary Editor Sim Daeun, Art Editor Sean Patrick Serrano, Layout Editor John Paulo Templo, Photo and Video Editor John Benedict Aguirre, Web Editor Ayanna Franchesca De Asis, In Charge, Radio Athila Ian Marie Surtido, Green Herald Editor Din Rose Mirar, 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 3302

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 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.

40th

CATHOLIC MASS MEDIA AWARDS 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.