Malate Literary Folio Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

malate LITERARY FOLIO

MALATE LITERARY FOLIO Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2 Karapatang-ari © 2022

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ng Malate Literary Folio ang opisyal na publikasyon ng sining at panitikan ng Pamantasang De La Salle - Manila, sa ilalim ng awtoridad ng Student Media Office (SMO).

Ang mga komento at mungkahi ay maaaring ipahatid sa: 503-Media House, Bro. Connon Hall, De La Salle University-Manila, 2401 Taft Avenue, Malate, Manila.

E-mail address: mlf@dlsu.edu.ph Facebook: fb.com/malateliteraryfolio Twitter: @malatelitfolio Nananatili sa indibidwal na may-akda o may-dibuho ang karapatangari ng bawat piyesang ipinalimbag dito. Hindi maaaring ipalathala muli o gamitin sa anumang paraan ang alin man sa mga nilalaman nang walang karampatang pahintulot ng may-akda o may-dibuho.

Ang tomong ito ay hindi ipinagbibili.

Ang pabalat ay likha ni Therese Diane Villanueva Ang layout ng folio ay disenyo ni Jamie Shekinah Mapa

MALATE LITERARY FOLIO

TOMO XXXVII BILANG 2

PEBRERO 2022

THERESE DIANE VILLANUEVA

It’s Raining Stars

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INTRODUKSYON The beginning was pitch-black and dull.

And then a sudden burst of light appeared, igniting all kinds of possibilities. Life sprung forth, and the order of nature as we knew it, was born.

There is day, there is night. A balance of both darkness and light. It is an order that we follow, century by century, year by year, day by day.

With each new day, we welcome the light and the hopeful yet terrifying uncertainty it brings. We move through the day with an attempt at direction. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat. And like the sun, we rise and then we rest.

And then the night comes.

When the darkness settles, we cannot tell which day is which anymore. All of them looking too similar. Like well-oiled machines, we continue on with a familiar routine. We long for the freedom that comes once the dawn breaks but we can only wait for the darkness to pass. Time passes by, but not fast enough.

The sun arrives.

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But it is harsh and unforgiving. Too radiant, too bright.

We cannot close our eyes. In the light of day, we look at the reality we are afraid to face, that we have ignored for too long. We count the hours left ‘til the dark arrives.

Because at times, it’s terrifying to face the ugly truth in the light of the day.

The darkness reaches us.

And we succumb to it. We rest in the comfort of its murky abyss. Nature has never been forgiving. Its changes have always been staggering. It comes at times we do not expect. Fear evaporates. All that is left is the rage and doubt that consumes us. Everywhere is pitch-black and dull.

And yet despite the dark, possibilities still appear, bursting through the night as the dawn breaks. Nature has always run its course. And while it has become a part of us, we are also part of its pattern. As we shift with nature, it also moves along with each move we make.

In this issue of Malate Literary Folio, we become one with nature as nature becomes one with us. Each day, we wake with the sun and we recline when it rests. We are an order of nature, made of both light and dark, death and life, wrong and right, hope and strife - shifting and remaining, falling yet rising. And while the seasons change before us, we are the forces of nature that decide how to face the blinding sun and how to move through the inconceivable darkness.

CATHLEEN JANE MADRID Punong Patnugot ii

NILALAMAN

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Introduksyon

i

Prosa The Spell Jemimah Abbigael Tan

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Home Wreckers Mary Joy Abalos

30

Morning Monologues Lynette Marie Ang

52

For Her Allysa Nicole Dequino

84

Weaving Legacies Mary Joy Abalos

115

Haraya Miguelle Cortez

122

Sining Pain and Safety in Unison 20 Janina Beatrice Cortez

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Departure John Allen Caballa

27

Unorthodox Consumption Jamie Shekinah Mapa

29

(in)stability Thea Enrica Ongchua

60

Nightmare Network Jamie Shekinah Mapa

65

Spotlight Dana Beatrice Tan

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Loose Bolt Eliana Angela Fabia

79

Doubt Ana Gabriela Magno

91

Devoted’s Demise Jamie Shekinah Mapa

92

Bahay Buhok Armando Miguel Valdes

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A Tale of Three Wanderers Thea Enrica Ongchua

121

Anito Matthew Rafael Florendo

135

Tula The Bell Tower Sings saile

1

Victor’s Secret Joshua L. Mahilum

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Longing for Reprieve 21 Vince Gerard Victoria Sub Rosa Sentiments Loving in Naivete Pauline Sharry Tiu

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Bedtime Terrors 61 Erica Bernardo Rain Mikael Ong

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Brevity Christian Pacalunan

77

Bulagin Adrian Neil Holgado

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alon

108 Juliah Faye dela Vega Field of Dreams Aleena Marie Concepcion

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Retrato pahinga Nigelle Jorgia Louise Lim

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Wednesday Blues

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Hawak Kamay

55

Life to Come

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Destruksyon The Parable GREEN SCREEN Gabrielle Palmos

82 110 64

Bilanggo Benedict Lim

70

untitled Kyle Noel Ibarra

75

pagod na Uriel Anne Bumanlag

109

Audience Therese Diane Villanueva

111

Pasasalamat

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PATNUGUTAN Cathleen Jane Madrid Punong Patnugot

MGA SENYOR NA

Mary Joy Abalos Pangalawang Patnugot Patnugot ng Prosa

Vince Gerard Victoria Patnugot ng Tula

Maria Gabrielle Galang Armando Miguel Valdes Van Rien Jude Espiritu Kyle Noel Ibarra Adia Pauline Lim Paula Bianca Maraña Chaunne-Ira Ezzlerain Masongsong Querix Keershyne Rose Recalde Cielo Marie Vicencio

Benedict Lim Patnugot ng Retrato

MGA TAGAPAYO

Isabella Tuason Tagapamahalang Patnugot

PATNUGOT

Jamie Shekinah Mapa Patnugot ng Sining Tagapamahala ng Layout

Dr. Mesandel Arguelles Mr. Vijae Alquisola

Dominique Bianca Yap Tagapamahala ng Marketing at Events

STUDENT MEDIA OFFICE

Therese Diane Villanueva Tagapamahala ng Pagmamay-ari Matthew Rafael Florendo Tagapamahala ng Dokyumentasyon

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Ms. Franz Louise Santos Director Ms. Jeanne Marie Tan Coordinator Ms. Ma. Manuela Agdeppa Secretary

MGA KASAPI Prosa Guion Lorenzo Castro Jeremy Dale Coronia Miguelle Cortez Daniel Ricardo Evangelista Jihan Marie Claire Ferrer Samantha Krissel Kwan Jennifer Santos Odelia Raizel Taban Tula Erica Bernardo Claire Madison Chua Faith Lynnwel Dela Vega Juliah Faye Dela Vega Adrian Neil Holgado Moses Isaiah Ojera Mikael Ong Christian Paculanan Pauline Sharry Tiu Joshua Rich Valentin Lorenzo Manuel Villaluna

Retrato Trisha Marie Baranda Isabella Alexandra Bernal Uriel Anne Bumanlag Nigelle Jorgia Louise Lim Sean Xavier Nieva Gabrielle Palmos Brandon Kyle Pecson Jose Isabel Rea Raymund John Sarmiento Denise Alyssa Somera Sining Jacquiline Alagos Francesca Therese Baltazar Pablo Mulawin Casanova Eliana Angela Fabia Elijah Nicolas Ferrera Adair Nevan Holgado Ana Gabriela Magno Chloe Julianne Mariano Thea Enrica Ongchua Bea Mira So Dana Beatrice Tan Marketing and Events Elijah Mahri Barongan Lauren Angela Chua Maxine Lee Heavenleigh Faye Luzara Jan Aireen Magcaling Daniela Racaza Mary John Saquilayan ix

mga nagwagi sa ika-35 na

DLSU Annual Awards for Literature at ika-10 na DLSU Annual Awards for Visual Arts Tula DELUBYO Ericka V. Nieto 2nd Place VICTOR’S SECRET Joshua L. Mahilum 2nd Place

Poetry THE SPACE BETWEEN WORDS Celine Marie Dabao 2nd Place THE BELL TOWER SINGS Marianne Therese Roque 2nd Place SUB ROSA SENTIMENTS Pauline Sharry Tiu 3rd Place A TALE OF TWO Lea Myka Espanola 3rd Place KAIROS Ysobel Vera Zamora Honorable Mention x

LONGING FOR REPRIEVE Vince Gerard Victoria Honorable Mention IDIOSYNCRASYER Diego Francisco Veluz Honorable Mention

THE SPELL Jemimah Abbigael Tan 1st Place HOME WRECKERS Mary Joy Abalos 2nd Place LUNA Pauline Sharry Tiu 2nd Place JASMINUM SAMBAC Maridelle Alcantara 2nd Place FOR HER Allysa Nicole Dequino 3rd Place THE PRESSURE OF BLANK PAPER William Geoffrey Lindog Honorable Mention xi

UNORTHODOX CONSUMPTION Jamie Shekinah Mapa 2nd Place gReeN Juliet Christine Dayao 3rd Place DEPARTURE John Allen Caballa Honorable Mention ALPAS Caitlin Faith Reyes Honorable Mention

PAIN AND SAFETY IN UNISON Janina Beatrice Cortez 3rd Place

MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL Ranier Lanz Alarcon 3rd Place

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mga hurado sa ika-35 na

DLSU Annual Awards for Literature at ika-10 na DLSU Annual Awards for Visual Arts Poetry and Tula

Dr. Mesándel Virtusio Arguelles Dr. Ernesto Villaluz Carandang II

Short Story

Dr. Clarissa V. Militante

Digital and Traditional Art Ms. Jenny Jasmin Lacay Mr. Lionel Kempis Ang

Photography

Mr. Pedro Rodrigo A. Dimaano Mr. Sanjeev H. Thakur Paalala: Ang mga kategoryang Maikling Kwento, Sanaysay at Essay ay napawalang-bisa dahil sa kakulangan ng kalahok.

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35th Awards for Literature

xiv

10th Awards for Visual Arts

Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

SAILE

The Bell Tower Sings Narcisa A mother of two takes a seat at the pews and waits for the father to come home—hands neatly folded, like so, mouth curling around a prayer she does not know. The bell tower sings the song of choir boys and rings like two gold coins clattering to the ground. She knows a hungry stomach has no heart, but neither does the man she married at the altar. The madman across the street teaches her patience and turns a peasant into a saint. The poor know not of Christmas miracles and their dead know not of peace. A boy cradles his mother’s head and lays her down to rest.

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Maria Clara If a man takes seven years to come home, can he still call it home? The curious case of a lover who thought he could come back the hero. He said he would die for you? Well, what good is a man on his deathbed? He will put you in yours.

Your father meets your mother at the confessional, speaks in the tongue of false gods, preaches in the same church you were baptized. Stained glass paints the sunrise the same red that gushes from the womb. Unborn child, dead mother, sisters in arms. A man lays down his life for Maria Clara, the Filipino woman, and does not get up.

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

Salome An old friend plays martyr to bury a grudge larger than himself but smaller than the future he wants to save. The hero writes you in and writes you out, throws your heart into the river and lets it drown. Crocodile skin in the same murky waters where he chooses what he becomes. This world was not built for you, you have known this to be true since the day you were born. The sun rises, the sun sets, and even the Son of Man was shunned from His motherland. O, how cruel the way the wind blows the flames of our sorrows.

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Juliana Woman, you are the vessel from which all life is conceived. Daughter, you are the light your brother does not see.

You are your father’s daughter, raised by bloodied hands on bloodied lands.

Pray to the God you were named after, whisper grace before they feast over the splinter of your ribcage like your mother and sister before you. Live a life of servitude to settle the debt of poverty. Forgive yourself for the goodbye you never gave your family.

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

Paulita Sweet little orphan boy holds her hand and tells her about his dreams. He speaks in rhythm and rhyme, waxes poetic about her eyes. What’s so special about a boy who is in love with her? Even flies could serenade, sweet little orphan girl—one summer night on the balcony, where she fans her mouth and calls him baroque instead of romantic. All the boys are in love and all the girls hem their sleeves so their hearts may not fall apart. What is a woman but an object of affection and desire—the apple of his eye or in his throat?

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JOSHUA L. MAHILUM

Victor’s Secret Sumpa ni Adan, Sumpa ni Juan Ito ang sinabi ng Diyos kay Adan: Ito ang sinabi ng lipunan kay Juan: Sa hirap ng pagbubungkal, pagkain mo’y magmumula; Sa pagbubungkal sa basurahan, pagpag mo’y magmumula; Mga damo at tinik ang iyong aanihin; Palay na sampung piso kada kilo ang iyong aanihin; Halaman sa gubat ang iyong kakainin; Bigas na limampung piso kada kilo ang iyong kakainin; Sa pagod at pawis, pagkain mo’y manggagaling; Sa pagod at pawis, pambayad sa mga utang mo’y manggagaling; Maghihirap ka hanggang sa malibing; Maghihirap pati ang pamilya mo sa gamutan at libing; Dahil sa alabok, doon ka nanggaling, sa lupang alabok ay babalik ka rin.

Dahil sa alabok, doon ka nanggaling, sa lupang alabok ay babalik ka rin.

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

Pagpapastol ng Saranggola

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Ihip sa Kandila Paranas po sana ng libro, ng abakada, ng mata sa pisara; baka sakaling magkaboses ang sikmura.

Paranas po sana ng almusal, ng tanghalian, at ng hapunan; baka sakaling magkabuhay ang isipan.

Paranas po sana ng kama, ng kumot, ng lambot; baka sakaling dumalaw sa ‘min ang manggagamot.

Paranas po sana ng abay, ng saklay, ng kumpletong atay; baka sakaling ‘di lumalim ang hukay.

Paranas po sana ng kaarawan, ng handaan, ng kandilang hinihipan.

Baka sakaling nakikinig ang kalangitan.

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

Pangako Darating din ang araw na hindi na tayo unang titingin sa presyo, ‘Nay.

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Victor’s Secret Ang sumusunod ay ang mga sangkap sa paglikha ng tanyag na Victor’s Secret: -½ kilong hasang ng isda -1 mangkok ng kaning baboy -1 baretang panlaba -4 na piraso ng basahan -1 kutsara ng muriatic acid -¼ litro ng pinakuluang mantika -1 talbos ng walis tingting -10 pirasong barya -7 pirasong tubó, nakahiwa -5 dakot ng putik -6 na gatang ng semento -50 baso ng pawis -1 Diploma

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

JEMIMAH ABBIGAEL TAN

The Spell

Carmen flings open the windows and pulls the curtains back to one side. The midday sunlight filters through the pale grayish green cotton curtains—the color of Soler street. The porcelain kitchen tiles resemble the white and pearly sun beaming through the glass panes, and a liquid glass finish appears on the polished tiles from the way light is reflected across the surface. A semblance of calm washes upon her for she starts to feel that every exhale meant one breath more.

It feels good to put her feverish head down on the cool pillow. When at last Marcus has fallen asleep, Carmen lets out a sigh of relief. At one and a half, he is quite the energetic one, squealing away at every interesting thing.

As Carmen drifts off later that evening, she thinks back to her phone call with her sister just now, to Gloria breaking it to her slowly. Her voice was cool and calm, clear as a bell and sounding a

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The Spell

single resonant note, “Carmen, I have lymphoma cancer.” Carmen froze on the spot. She bit the inside of her cheeks hard, her lips a contorted shape.

“It’s not that bad,” Carmen recalls her sister telling her. “Gabriel’s been accompanying me to my chemo sessions, not that it would help much.”

Carmen knows her sister has been neglecting her health, toiling away her life at a big hospital in the States. But she never saw this coming.

“Is it stage four?” she had forced herself to ask.

It had taken a while for Gloria to answer. Right then and there, Carmen already knew.

“I know I should have told you sooner.”

Carmen’s heart was a lump in her throat. On the other end of the line, she could hear sniffling. She listened to it until it faded into a gentle breathing. Only then did she place the handset back on the cradle, careful not to wake her up. The next couple of weeks are spent planning. Although the news had devastated them both, they have moved past that obstacle and are already looking for a place with a cliff view, to fulfill Gloria’s dying wish of renting a house by the beach until the time comes.

Carmen hops on the first flight to Hawaii, to the little beach town she has only heard Gloria talk about on their many phone calls. She is glad that she brought Marcus with her. She rolls down the window and takes it all in. The air smells salty and wet, like it might rain any second. She drives past the local handicraft shops and surf stalls along the side street, bringing her subcompact car to a stop right where the restaurant stands. The place is an outdoor café, positioned alongside the oceanfront. The view of the modern skyline towers

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

above the expanse of sea like it is just a few miles away—not fifty.

She does not remember the last time she went out for a nice meal.

She has, for the longest time, been caught in a cycle of cooking meals, fetching the kids, and supporting her husband in his growing career. It feels refreshing to break free from the everyday monotony that has gobbled up her more youthful years. Ben had asked her whether it was necessary for her to leave, and whether it was a wise idea to bring a barely two-year-old along. But Carmen had made up her mind and told him that she would be back in a month or two, and that she knew in her heart this was something she had to do.

And leaving him in your care isn’t an option, not with you so close to a promotion, she said. Ben didn’t argue anymore. He gave her and Marcus a tight hug and she felt some of the weight disappear with his blessing.

That morning, she picked out a white sundress that sets off her tan like a picture frame, the material luminous against her skin. It has been a week since her flight to Hawaii. By now, her complexion has already taken on a nice golden shade from her house hunting trips alone. It was only a few days ago when she found their house. The house Gloria will absolutely love, too. The house is large and gray and white. It looks like any other beach house with its wraparound porch, but it is the only one Carmen could imagine Lorrie and her drinking pots of brewed coffee in—if she closes her eyes she can almost hear her sister’s cheerful chatter in the mornings.

Carmen’s long hair covers her shoulders, and just below her right shoulder blade is a birthmark. She recalls how she used to scrub her mother’s apricot salt scrub all over it in hopes of lightening it, until the small patch of skin became red. Her mother was highly superstitious. She would scold her for not knowing any better and tell her that it was a sign that she would be extremely lucky in this lifetime. Carmen hates it. She hates how her birthmark reminds her

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The Spell

that she is the healthy, cancer free one while her sister is stricken with sickness.

She steps out of the vehicle and pushes her car key deep into her purse. The bright pink hue of the restaurant’s concrete stucco facade on the wide sandy beach has earned it the moniker “The Pink Palace of the Pacific.” The palm fronds on the trees stand out with its verdant green. A young man in a crisp white polo leads her to one of the more prominent locations; it is still early and the place is nowhere near full. Each table has its own bright pink umbrella opened over it. The tranquil pink-accented setting is complete with linens just as crisp as the staff ’s uniform and table top flowers reminiscent of the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

She is just about to take her seat when she hears a shrill cry. Gloria is beaming. Carmen almost jumps as she runs to her. She has not seen her since Gloria’s wedding day.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks Carmen lightly. Her eyes are worried though.

“Are you kidding? I’m just so glad to see you,” she tells her, tucking her head in the space between her neck and her shoulder. There is a distinct sweet, chemical scent to Gloria that Carmen cannot quite place.

“Me too,” she says, sighing, her soft weight sinking into their embrace.

“Promise me something.” “Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll try your best.”

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“I promise,” she says without hesitation. Carmen lets out a breath, and then she lets go. “You don’t look forty-five.”

Gloria laughs, her only wrinkles appearing at the corners of her eyes.

“God, I’m aware I’m ancient.”

“Happy birthday, Lorrie,” Carmen smiles. Sitting with her, watching her sip from her mocktail, it feels to her like Gloria will be there forever.

In the quiet house with the washed-out wallpapers, the blue green in them reminds Carmen of the worn out welcome rug back home. She looks outside the glass window and imagines herself running to the end of the old sugarcane road, climbing up the beach’s north cliff, and leaping from it. Then, as she dives into the realm of gods and beg for their mercy, for whatever sin it is that she has committed, the ancient Hawaiian myth will come true for the both of them. She will take Gloria with her and they will swim to Polihale’s offshore waters together.

The legend about the beach tells of a pahapaha (“sea lettuce”) that grows in the bright, turquoise water. It is said that the sea lettuce has been blessed by the Hawaiian goddess of ocean, Na-maka-o-Kahai.

It possesses a special quality: when a wreath of pahapaha is made, it would dry out and fade, but when submerged in water, it would return again to its fresh and vibrant state, revived to its original freshness.

Carmen cups her hands around her mouth and shouts towards her sister’s direction.

“Lorrie!”

From afar, her jet-black hair looks lighter under the bright sun, assuming a sheen that seems almost blue, like the iridescence of a 15

The Spell

raven’s wing. Gloria stops and turns to face her, “If you’re about to talk me into offering sacrifices at heiau I’m heading back to the house.”

“Aren’t you curious?” she says, her eyes glinting. “It’s a giant door built right into the facade of the mountain, surely, you are.”

“Carmen, please.”

She stops. She does once she feels that Gloria’s back in her depressive state. Carmen has a feeling Gloria knows she doesn’t really believe in all those Hawaiian myths and legends. It’s just something she thought of bringing up to keep them occupied. Just a silly thing to keep their minds off the bigger matter as it looms closer each day. The cancer, she means.

“I’m sorry,” Gloria says afterwards. “I’ll go lie down for a while, call me when we’re leaving for the marketplace.”

Carmen nods, “I will.”

The tide crashes on the shore. The sunset finally comes, and Carmen lets herself be bathed in gradients of colors for half an hour. As the day draws to an end, her sister’s illness feels closer than ever.

Later, Carmen goes back inside the house. She sees Gloria asleep, her body curled up in a ball. Her hands and feet cold regardless of how many blankets Carmen drapes over her small frame. She feels a pang of pain and realizes that it is at best a measly amount in comparison to her sister’s. She decides to wake her up a little later.

They find themselves on the Waikiki strip the following month, making their way inside the small indoors farmers market on a bustling day. The odd sense of comfort in the physical space clings to their skin. Hyatt’s Farmers Market is within walking distance 16

Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

of Waikiki’s popular surf beach, easily making the place a tourist’s stopover. The stall owners are overwhelmed with the sheer amount of customers, leaving not much room for any short conversations, though this works for Carmen and Gloria who have decided to just grab food and go.

Walking from the beach across the street, the rows of festive stalls look as ubiquitous as the swaying palms. The balmy weather envelopes Gloria as she waits for Carmen who is pulled away by little Marcus to the pineapple juice stand in front of the old canoe shop.

They come back with an order of lilikoi mochi, soft and tart and sweet. Marcus happily gobbles one up, and Carmen picks up another one to his mouth. She is struck with how a one-and-a-half can have such appetite. The three, mostly by Marcus, polish off the small bag of mochi on their way back to the beach house. She admits that she spoils her child too much by giving in to his requests of “weekly ice cream.” The comfort of Hawaiian takeaway joints have started to grow on them as they make the lifestyle in the dense little city their own.

Carmen can see her sister slipping away before her eyes. Her skin is slightly blue and blotchy. And the faint smell she has detected on their first day only grew to be more intense, now impossible for Carmen not to notice the creamy yeast smell that reminds her of stale beer. Her complaints have become more frequent, and whether or not they were an effect of the cancer is another question.

With those in mind, Carmen can’t help but think back to the legend of the beach. While the stories testifying to it are hard to believe, they do not seem so out of the ordinary, really. The legend is at once a miracle and the most natural thing in the world. She goes up to Gloria’s room and knocks, wild with anxiety.

“We have to give it a chance.”

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The Spell

Suddenly, Carmen seems so small. She remembers their childhood, when Gloria would rush to her school after hearing that she has gone on another fainting episode. Carmen would wake up on the bed of the school clinic hours later and find Gloria, seated at the foot of the bed, her head bent doing her homework.

Gloria gives a nod and the two walk out of the house, down the beach, to the huge door at the side of the mountain. Somewhere deep inside them flickers the tiniest of hope.

She passes away in her sleep a week later. Some part of Carmen believes that the gods have given her a peaceful death, so unlike what cancer patients typically go through.

It does not happen that often, losing one’s sister and guardian at once. It is unfamiliar to someone like Carmen, who is supposedly blessed with good fortune.

Carmen and Gabriel pick a sunny day to bring Gloria’s ashes to rest at sea. As the ashes are scattered, the mariner’s farewell verse is read as the ship’s bell tolls eight times. They each toss a flower into the water as a final farewell.

Gloria is wearing an orange dress in Carmen’s memory, like the sunsets they have watched together. The sun sinks into the Pacific Ocean, far from any land mass that can disturb the atmosphere or break the horizon line. Having stayed on the island longer than the usual tourist’s trip, Carmen realizes that sunsets are best after the sun actually sets, the steep angle produces the gorgeous deep reds, pinks, and oranges, while the rest of the sky develops shades of purple, blue, and sometimes green, and gold. She lingers a few minutes after the sun has set, watching the colors develop. Everything appears vivid, and she feels sure that she can triumph over everything when she returns home.

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Carmen goes back to Polihale every once in a while. As if on cue, the sky turns purple and orange, the sand cools and the beach becomes quiet and peaceful. Its huge expanse of white sand beach gives way to neon-blue water that seems to stretch from here to eternity. She had once hoped that Gloria’s illness would magically disappear, with the place casting an almost sacred spell on all who visit.

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Malate Literary Folio

JANINA BEATRICE CORTEZ

Pain and Safety in Unison acrylic on canvas

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VINCE GERARD VICTORIA

Longing for Reprieve Leaving for College When I packed my home Into three white sacks I knew I left there A whole life behind When I gave away My toys and books I knew I had to Grow into my age When I fell asleep In my room that day I knew I’d wake up In a cruel world When I said goodbye To my closest friends I knew I’d say hi To them again soon When I took my love Into my embrace I knew I’d let go And leave her for now

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When I climbed aboard My dad’s white truck I knew I’d hop off On to grey concrete When I unpacked here My memories, old I knew I’d require Some pills for the pain

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

Sitting on Grass I have longed to go home for a lifetime, To be rid of the filth from this stone cage; I require a short reprieve from this rage.

My love for my province requires a rhyme-In prose-- it is possible, but poetry’s my prime.

I can’t wait ‘til I take a break off-stage From this city of pretenders. Engage My pained senses with the bright greens of thyme, Like those from my garden in the backyard.

The cows are sure to bow before their prince, Who has come home after long years abroad.

The sun looks straight out of an old postcard-I have not felt its loving rays years since.

Grass called my rear like lightning to a rod.

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No, The Void Does Not Answer When we speak into the deep and dark void, The works of the past beg it to whisper.

In real life, though, the fantasy’s destroyed-you’re foolish for talking to a fissure.

It is with sorrow that I have to say, and with great worry, I do implore you seek mental help. The world does not work the tales’ way.

No, the void will not babble back, you freak!

The next time that you peer into the dark, seek not a presence that does not exist.

Look for a way to bring a light that’s stark, and hope that your sad longing soul’s dismissed.

Now go, seek someone true to converse with.

You waste your time and skill as a wordsmith.

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Repairs A stranger approach and sees two droids, both crouched behind a rock, hidden from fire that looks to have hit; damaged one of them.

The red one speaks to the stranger, panicked Please, sir, my brother is hit, he leaks oil I have spare parts right here, but I know not how to fix brother mine, please save him, oh sir.

I cannot function without my dear pair.

No, negative, that unit malfunctions!

Its old behavioral core is faulty.

Use the parts instead to bring unit back to battle-ready status. Leave me now.

I cannot believe you worry deeply about my programming, while my dear brother lies dying beside me. I cannot leave him!

Please sir, he can still be repaired, trust me!

I’m beyond any repair. That is not.

That unit has experimental chips-meant to increase our unit cohesion.

Replace it, so that it may get to work.

What shall the stranger decide for the metal pair?

Repair the dying droid, and put one at peace, Or remove the living one’s sentience?

A choice must be made ‘twixt love or function.

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Malate Literary Folio

Asthma An unseen hand grabs me by the throat I wheeze and cough My mouth is filled with something alien I begin to shiver An inferno burns in my body I am awoken by pain My eyes become a waterfall of molasses I begin to immolate An unholy mass blocks up my nose I sniffle and sneeze My breath sounds like the screeching of a cat I begin to drown An evil vice grips my arms I wince with every movement My body is enveloped by my bed’s embrace I begin to faint An empty void clouds my mind I grasp around the dank nothingness My senses are assaulted by a sheer muteness I begin to die Again

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Malate Literary Folio

JOHN ALLEN CABALLA

Departure digital art

Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

JAMIE SHEKINAH MAPA

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Unorthodox Consumption digital art

Malate Literary Folio

MARY JOY ABALOS

Home Wreckers

Dexter had never been the kind of person who stayed

still. He moved like he was on a mission, like he had something to prove. This was exactly what he did on the morning of September 3rd. At eight in the morning, he was walking around his room as if he was performing a ritual; he folded his blanket, fluffed his pillows for added measure, took a shower in 20 minutes, brushed his teeth, and threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt. It was a ritual he knew well.

Although Dexter appeared to be the organized, precise person he claimed to be, one look at his room debunked that preconceived notion: his closet was a mess, he had college textbooks strewn all over the floor, and he had unwashed dishes and pots from last night’s dinner. The ants climbed onto the sink as they feast on the leftover creamy pasta sauce stuck on the plate. Dexter paid no attention to this and let the ants celebrate, because he had a celebration of his own. One look at his table easily pointed to his cause for celebration — a printed ad for a vacant apartment at Olympia, Makati City.

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Dexter hadn’t been this happy since he graduated three months ago. Upon graduating college, he found a nice boarding house he could afford on a budget. Before, he had to muster the courage to tell his parents he wanted to be financially independent. They were furious, but Dexter knew it was the right move for him.

It had been going well for him for a few months, but he knew he couldn’t pretend that he could keep living in that house forever. It was cheap, sure, but he also hated it. It was cramped, and he hated the neighbors. He wanted to throw rocks at them every time they blasted loud music on a Sunday morning. He would have left a long time ago, but he knew the landlord well and she offered him a reasonable price so he could keep living there. 4,000 pesos was passable for a college graduate, but if he was going to have a legitimate adult life, he needed to move somewhere else.

He’s been preparing for this move all month, so he decided to gather the things he didn’t need anymore. Dexter hated giving his stuff away. He had this absurd idea that objects would never leave him, unlike people who do, but of course, that came from an incredibly bitter experience that he never wanted to bring up. Nevertheless, he couldn’t bring a box of crayons, five reams of paper, and an ungodly tangle of broken earphones to his future home. There were just some things that had no space in his life anymore.

This thought prompted Dexter to place the printed email inside his bag, careful not to crumple or destroy it. There was a better life waiting for him when he walked out that door, and he knew it.

Just as he was about to leave, Dexter’s phone started to ring. On his screen, the name read: Sid Castro. Dexter unconsciously frowned as he read the name, but picked it up anyway.

“Dex, are you on your way to Olympia?” inquired Sid on the other end of the line.

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“Yeah, I’m on my way. I’ll get there early. I have a job interview in the afternoon, remember?” responded Dexter.

“Interview? Was it this afternoon? Sorry, it slipped my mind.”

Dexter ignored the bubbling annoyance surfacing, “Yeah uh, I’ll see you there. Can’t wait to see the house.”

“I’m pretty excited dude. We’re going to be roommates,” exclaimed Sid, but Dexter could only roll his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s going to be a blast. Well uh I have to go, see you there.

Don’t get stuck in traffic or I’ll kill you.”

Sid laughed and ended with a, “Bye dude” as he dropped the call.

Dexter released a sigh of frustration. Sid, to Dexter, was a person of many facets. To Dexter, Sid was his classmate for all four years of college. They had the same course, same subjects, and they worked on their undergraduate thesis together. To Dexter, Sid was also his closest friend. He wouldn’t call him his best friend, but he was his closest friend. Even though Sid had witnessed Dexter in all his glory, through the good and the bad, he was nowhere near the title of best friend. Why? Because to Dexter, Sid was, most of all, his greatest frustration. Sid, on more than one occasion, has disappointed Dexter. All the times he left him drunk at a bar and went home without telling him, all the times he failed to invite Dexter to important occasions like birthdays and celebrations because he simply “forgot” made Dexter distrusting and unforgiving. These disappointments that grew unresolved over the years led him to harbor ill feelings towards Sid. To him, if he could drop Sid, he would have done so a long time ago, but that was something he was never brave enough to do.

As Dexter left his boarding house, he decided to take a Grab to get to Olympia, Makati faster. When they both graduated as cum

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laude from De La Salle University, they both agreed to live together once they finally found a stable job. Sid, who had been working in Ayala as a Human Resource Officer for a month, contacted Dexter to inform him that they should start apartment hunting in Makati.

Dexter, at that time, rolled his eyes at Sid, but he knew he was right.

It was for the best. Who else was he going to go through life with, if not with Sid? When the Grab car arrived, he got in and sat in silence. Outside his window, he could see people in semi-formal attires, probably on their way to work, people in casual clothing carrying books in their arms and their backpacks bouncing as they rushed to school. Dexter thought that sometimes, life in the city was too fast. One day, he was out of college, and then the next day, he was getting his first job. He wished that life could slow down, and if he could make that happen, well, he would be pretty happy. For now, all he could do was enjoy the view.

Dexter arrived at Gladis Residences, a residential building in Olympia, Makati, in under 30 minutes. Considering he was from Manila, he believed 30 minutes of travel time was a miracle. After he paid the driver and bid him goodbye, he looked towards the entrance. Waiting by the door of the building was a man of average build, approximately 5’5, wearing jeans and a polo shirt, tapping away on his phone, not noticing Dexter as he approached him. When he stood in front of him only then did the man notice and placed his phone inside his jean pocket. Dexter was pulled into a hug, the kind of hug that guys did—one arm over the shoulder and two quick pats on the back, before he could protest. He knew anywhere else that the only person who was allowed to hug him like that was Sid.

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“It’s nice to see you man, it’s been awhile since we’ve hung out.

I’ve been busy at work,” said Sid, with that grave nonchalance Dexter always despised.

“Uh yeah, I’ve been trying to keep the online business going to make ends meet. Must be so easy for you to forget about me with your fancy job,” Dexter passive aggressively said before he could stop himself.

Dexter swore he saw Sid frown, but it was gone in a split second, as Sid responded, “I totally meant to call, but you know how things are. I’m just glad we’re finally going to live together.”

Dexter smiled, unamused, “Can’t wait” as Sid stood there, uncomfortable, not knowing what to say next.

By divine intervention, a woman stepped out of the building dressed in a crisp, clean cut pencil skirt, white blouse, and blue blazer. She stopped at the entrance and looked at Sid and Dexter with a smile, sticking her hand out while saying, “Hi, you must be Sid and Dexter. My name is Katherine and I’m the property specialist that you contacted online. Would you like to come in?” Dexter shook her hand while Sid followed, as she led them inside the building.

Trailing behind Katherine up a flight of stairs, Dexter looked over at Sid and tried to determine how he was feeling. Was he a little overboard with his statement earlier? Should he apologize? He didn’t know. All he knew was that Sid irritated him, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that he was fine with him.

Katherine stopped at a wooden door with a sign that said 2D. She took a key from her pocket and unlocked it, revealing the apartment before them. The first thing that Dexter noticed was the smell.

It was the kind of smell that told him no one had lived there at all, judging by the fresh white paint on the walls. He inhaled deeply, hop-

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ing the paint fumes gave him a peace of mind. It didn’t. He looked over at Sid to see if he did the same, but he was too busy observing the interior from the outside.

“Come on in, you can see more of the house from the inside,” said Katherine as she waved Dexter and Sid inside.

Stepping into the house for the first time, Dexter felt a sense of calm born out of his desire for a fresh start, away from his parents, away from his boarding house in Manila, away from unemployment, and maybe away from something else. As Dexter took in the view, he noticed right away it was a giant space, too big for two people to live in, complete with a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom. As if on cue, Katherine decided to speak up, “I can tell this apartment is to your liking and it has enough space for two people as well.” Before Sid and Dexter could say anything, she surprised them with an all too familiar question.

“May I ask why you’re buying an apartment?”

Dreading to answer, Dexter looked over at Sid for an answer.

Thankfully, Sid always came through and answered in his stead, “Well, we’re hoping for a fresh start, Katherine.” He looked directly at Dexter, and continued, “Life in Manila is different. It’s filled with memories, good and bad, and I think Dexter and I have enough of those in that city.”

“Living in Manila is difficult.” Dexter chimed in, as he returned Sid’s look. “There were some experiences that we just want to move on from. After graduating college, you always think there’s a new life for you out there. I think me and Sid want to find that new life together, even if it means leaving some things behind.”

Sid was caught off guard, but he maintained his composure almost immediately, like it was his superpower, “Yeah Katherine,

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Makati is a good place for us. We’re hoping to build something here.

We’re not sure yet, but yeah, we want to leave some things behind in Manila and start something here.”

Katherine smiled at their answers, as if she knew more than she led on. Nonetheless, she answered, “Well, I think this house is a perfect place to start fresh. College graduates are always confused as to what they want out of life, but I admire you both for knowing what you want. I’m hoping this house is one of those things.” As she said that, Katherine walked to the center of the room where she stood firm. She looked at us and smiled, “This unfurnished living room is 14 square meters.”

Pretending to listen as Katherine droned on about the technicalities of the living room, Dexter roamed around to inspect the number of electrical outlets in this space. Dexter felt like that was what he was going to need the most. On the other hand, Sid went to the opposite side of the room and stared at the floor for some reason and started stomping on it. What he said next made Dexter’s blood boil, “Do you think these hardwood floors won’t disturb our neighbors if we stomp on them? Sometimes, I have friends who sleepover when they get a bit too drunk and they end up on the floor, hitting it with their fists for God knows why.”

Upon hearing Sid’s incredibly specific question, Dexter was taken back to March 2018, on the night his boyfriend of 6 months broke up with him. He could hardly remember that night, but he knew he was drunk, beyond cohesion. Sid picked him up from the bar near their school after Dexter called him a bunch of times by accident, and decided to have him sleep over at his condo. While Dexter was there, he remembered not wanting to sleep on the couch or on the bed. He wanted to sleep on the floor. He forgot why, but he knew

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it was out of grief. While he was on the floor, Sid kept trying to pick him up but Dexter held onto the floor, even hitting it a couple of times, so he would be left alone. Sid gave up after ten minutes and went to bed. Dexter woke up the next morning, hungover and ashamed of his actions.

Bringing it up now out of spite made Dexter angry, almost like Sid was just saying that to humiliate him. He knew how much it hurt when his boyfriend left him, but it seemed like Sid didn’t care.

Dexter wasn’t proud of what he did next. He decided to ask questions out of spite too because he refused to let Sid have the last word. “Yeah Katherine, do these floors prevent people from slipping? I had friends over before who vomited on the floor and slipped anyway, even after I asked them to stay still while I clean up their mess.”

Dexter knew what he said wasn’t the mature response, but he was glad he was victorious in having the last word as Sid looked over with an annoyed expression on his face.

Katherine, unaware of the mental, petty tango between the two, decided to answer anyway, but Dexter didn’t bother to listen.

He didn’t want to because all he wanted to see was Sid’s sour face, looking away in shame. As Katherine concluded her talk in the apartment’s living room, she decided to lead Dexter and Sid into the kitchen. They let themselves be led, as they stood a few feet apart, trailing behind the audacious woman.

The kitchen, a separate room at the farthest right side of the apartment, was as modest as it got, with a simple kitchen counter topped with a sink and a stove. Aside from that, the room remained empty, but ready to be filled. Dexter observed the kitchen sink, pretending to be interested. He turned the faucet on and off, hop-

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ing water would come out of it, but nothing did. He was not sure if he was disappointed. While he was doing that, he noticed Sid at the center of the room, talking to Katherine. He was not sure what they were talking about but he was far away enough not to care.

While Dexter was distracted, he failed to notice the two approach the kitchen sink. As he was playing with the faucet, Sid came out of nowhere as he sayid, “You’re pretty good at manipulating, aren’t you Dexter?” Sid gestured at the faucet with his chin, and continued, “You can keep manipulating faucets, just not people, especially people you consider your friend.”

That was it. That was the final blow. Dexter was fuming, but also felt ashamed because he knew exactly what Sid was talking about. At this point, Dexter wanted to feel guilty but he chose not to be. He didn’t want Sid to know how he truly felt because some part of him always felt like he didn’t care, so he didn’t deserve to know.

Dexter looked over at Sid, and he couldn’t read him at all. He decided not to respond or react because he didn’t want to give Sid the satisfaction. He turned around and faced Katherine instead, asking her about the water in the area. Katherine, finally catching onto the underlying feud, showed slight signs of discomfort but she shrugged it off and focused on explaining how the water system in the building works. As Dexter continued to listen, he failed to notice Sid leaving the room. It seemed that Katherine also failed to notice because once she finished explaining, she looked around with a confused expression, likening her to a lost puppy. Dexter observed as Katherine gathered her composure and said, “Perhaps your friend went to the bedroom? We should go there next. It’s the last room in this apartment.” Katherine smiled and walked ahead of him as Dexter trailed behind.

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Finally, they arrived at the bedroom. Unlike the rooms that were barely furnished with furniture, the bedroom had a metal bed frame, a plastic-covered mattress, and a desk. Sitting on the desk was Sid, mindlessly looking outside the window. He didn’t notice them when they entered, so Katherine and Dexter exchanged a look before she cleared her throat. Only then did Sid turn around and face them, expressionless. Dexter turned to Katherine who tried her best to smile even though she was clearly uncomfortable. “Well, I think this room is the best room of all in this apartment. Although we advertised it as a semi-furnished apartment, we’re only able to provide for the furniture inside the bedroom. I think this is the perfect place to have friends over and bond with them.”

When she said that, Sid and Dexter looked at each other, as if they were aware of what the other was thinking. Dexter, as if entranced, was taken back to all the times they hung out and slept over at each other’s places. All the drinking, smoking, talking about school, talking about boys, talking about girls. It was those little, intimate moments in their respective bedrooms where they really became close friends. Hell, Dexter was just going to come out and say it. That was when they really became best friends. They had their moments, but it just wasn’t the same anymore after everything that they had been through. Sid knew it too because he was looking at Dexter with an apologetic smile, and this time, Dexter returned it.

As if on cue, Sid slid off the desk and placed his hands inside his jean pocket. He approached Katherine, and with one last look at Dexter, he asked, “So uh Katherine, you say this space allows for intimate moments right? Dexter and I want to try it out.” Katherine was bewildered upon hearing this and so was Dexter, but before he could protest, Katherine muttered, “I’ll give you two some space” and left the room.

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Once they were alone, Dexter laughed out loud and said, “What was that? You made it sound like we were going to have sex in here.”

Sid sat on the plastic-covered mattress and scoffed, “You wish dude, you’re not even my type.”

In their silence, Dexter looked at the bedroom, terrified and excited for what was about to come. As if reading his mind, Sid began and said, “We’ve got some problems between us huh?”

Dexter sat on the desk, looking out at the window. The cars below him honked and the people walked alone in a straight line, like ants in a colony. They were too little for Dexter to observe from afar. “Yeah, we do.”

“I figured all this time, I thought we could move past it you know? We were never the types who talk. We were the types who drink.”

Dexter laughed, “Yeah, but even if we drink our problems away, especially the ones between us, they’re still there.” He said and looked over at Sid, who was looking right at him.

“I thought if we just forgot about it, we could move on. All that anger could have been left behind in college and we could, you know, live together as roommates and maybe we wouldn’t fight so much.”

Dexter sighed, dreading this next question, “Was that why you were so excited for us to live together?”

“Yeah dude. I thought if I could find a job, we could live together and maybe fix what’s left of our friendship. Maybe we could get you a new boyfriend too, so you could move on,” Dexter laughed at that remark and so did Sid, “but I think we’re past that. There’s just too much anger here, too much to be replaced with new memories.”

Dexter could only bring himself to nod. “I think I know what we have to do.”

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“I think I do too.”

With newfound conviction, Sid and Dexter stood up, ready to face Katherine, ready to face each other, and ready to face the world.

As they stepped out of the bedroom, they found Katherine texting on her phone. When she noticed them, she tucked her phone away and smiled with that real estate agent smile Dexter knew well enough by now. “So, how was the bedroom?”

Dexter and Sid laughed, but it was Sid who responded, “It works.”

Dexter looked over at Sid, and added, “Yeah, it did wonders.”

Katherine smiled at them both, and Dexter thought she was glad it worked out between the two of them. If only she knew.

“Now that you’ve seen Apartment 2D and all that it has to offer, are you ready for the life that begins in this house?” She asked, hopeful to make the sale.

Dexter and Sid looked at each other, but this time it was Dexter who responded, “No.”

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PAULINE SHARRY TIU

Sub Rosa Sentiments Loving in Naivete

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i.

crushed.

I am wearier than most, these days. eyes downcast, drowsy, doze-denied, limbs drained, donning death-like weight skin damp with debarring rain, yet come one glance, did they dissipate.

I wonder (woefully, maybe wakefully) just where or when did we wander off what was once a world of whimsy?

Was it the wit? The winsome smile?

The honeyed words or eyes of whiskey?

I am warier than most these days; I profess, I have begun to be: (afraid), amazed, (perplexed), in daze, of what has yet to come.

For what else can pause a heart’s perfect hum, but a hope that hails from pocket crumbs.

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ii.

this is love! (i think!)

I think!

Perhaps, perchance, That I must be in love!

What other reason can there be For the dreams I’m dreaming of ?

A glance, a dance?

A moment of chance?

Have I lived a life so listless?

Who knew that a phantom touch could turn a cynic to an idealist?

This blinding trust leaves me nonplussed— What I mean to say— I guess I just— I’ve never been so restless!

A poet at a loss for words, I guess you leave me speechless.

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iii.

the grounds of burning bridges

Please, it was never your fault, but mine.

I feared it would come to this.

No lies, no blame, no excuses— for shame!

Yet the truth would be taken amiss.

The silent hours and frozen showers — these, you cannot see, but deep in the crevice of my mind is a pain that will not leave.

We talk at the present and laugh today, but the future spins a tragic psalm, I will scorn you for who you cannot be, and you shall loathe who I’ve become.

Skin sheathed in sweat, and drunk as a fool yet my tongue tastes of bile, not wine.

To nip it in the bud, I shall wound you only once.

See? It was never your fault, but mine.

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iv.

playing pretend.

I cried today, cried in silent.

For the first time, my sadness is valiant.

It took me by surprise to feel the dampness in my eyes.

Did you hear the drop, in the quiet?

No, I hid the sound where you can’t find it.

(In a tin can with shards inside it) My fingers are nostalgic— and they shouldn’t be.

They find blessing in stupidity.

They lie, called it curiosity.

With a thought that’s quite absurd, that maybe this time, it wouldn’t hurt.

So, they pick the ceramic up, but to no surprise, they get cut on the edges of overthinking, over-aching, over-crying, over what?

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“How’d I get here?”, I’d been thinking.

Last I saw myself, I’d been sinking through these ghastly rhymes, scrawling down poetry lines— but the tidal wave of better times, and better people— they suffocate, Smiles and sweets that would medicate, this ugly, lonely, stream of hate.

I wait. until I forget.

The fences bend, just as planned.

Writing lies with a fountain pen.

Fingers graze and I start again.

Back to the game, of playing pretend.

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v.

you be will okay today!

Hey! You will be okay today.

Well, maybe not today, okay?

But the dawn is new, and brighter still So, trust in the morrow that you will.

Time and time, what’s been torn apart Awaits the healing your heart can start When you unroll what’s uncontrolled, and soothe a scribbler’s saddened soul.

Learn that love unveils predestined pain, never placed in a picture-perfect frame.

So, thank the bad, the good, and all the gray— And all that’s lost and all that’s stayed.

And if those troubling thoughts insist, Know that you’ve prevailed because you persist.

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 2

Lynette Marie Ang Lynette Ang is a graduate of BS Accountancy in De La Salle University. Her works often include ruminations on the absurd and unnatural and how it relates to the ordinary, more often than not verging on the macabre like how a brain looks when it’s been smashed to a million pieces. She was a Prose Staffer of Malate Literary Folio from 2019 to 2021.

As of the moment, she is pondering further on the absurdity of the ordinary and is quite convinced that the world is meaningless…might as well do your best, right?

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LYNETTE MARIE ANG

Morning Monologues

At 7am, I wake up to the sound of my phone alarm, its

trill, repetitive tone an assault to my senses. I guess alarms were made to be that way, a shrill start to an otherwise dreadful day.

I laze around in bed for 5 minutes as the guts inside my stomach shift and groan. When they become impossible to ignore, I head straight to the bathroom, stretch my asshole out to face the puddle of water at the bottom of a big, glorified porcelain bowl, air and other, more solid, acrid matter coming out to land at the bottom of the bowl with a resounding ‘ploop’. I switch on the exhaust fan to drive out the stench of my morning accoutrements and wash my asshole to clean out the excess excrement still hanging on for dear life. I then wash my hands with soap, make sure to get under those nails where the truly clever nasty stuff hide then pat it dry with a paper towel. Then rub them down with isopropyl alcohol for good measure.

For breakfast, I stand around in the kitchen debating what to make before deciding on brewing myself some coffee, a perfect 52

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accompaniment to morning ennui. I open the refrigerator and get myself some 2-day old cold loaf of brain. I slice it up and slather it with some wine jelly. Yum. Brain food. I finish them all up in a grand total of 10 minutes. Can’t stretch it on for too long else I’d have less time to get to the more important stuff. I then head on to my bedroom and sit on my bed for 15 minutes before I go over to my ‘work’ desk.

I pull open my desk drawer and take out a knife. I start on the skin on top of my left ear and slice. Skin is quite tough you know. Stretchy and a bit resilient. I may need to sharpen my knife.

It takes a while but I manage to slice through to the top of my other ear. Blood stains my hair and gushes down my forehead, my ear, my neck. It seems to be everywhere. My knife grinds against my skull, sending calcium-rich dust floating into the air. The stench of rust fills my room. After that’s over, I grab half of the split skin on the top of my head and pull it down to reveal bone. The flesh tears at some parts and I have to really force the skin down. Skin is surprisingly elastic and resilient, almost like a rubber band. You have to really get a grip at it and pull. I don’t think biology textbooks really get to emphasize that. I take the bone saw lying on the wooden surface of my table and start cutting open the top of my skull. It takes a while, calcium-rich white dust fly around the room and the smell of smoke begins to cut through the air as the saw struggles to do its work. Eventually, I’ve managed to section the top of my skull.

I put the bowl-shaped piece of bone on my table and proceed to knead at my brain matter, like making a whole wheat loaf. If I bake it, will it turn into a warm, delicious puff of carbohydrates, crisp on the outside and soft and airy on the inside? I pick out fistfuls of my temporal lobe and my cerebral cortex, mixing them in with my occipital lobe and prefrontal lobe until they’re one big pile of mush.

My mouth hangs slack and I drool. I can barely even control my adjfjfdksk;wijher thou3ght;adjfss. My surroundinajdfjs; shi3ft and swildrl in3flto kal3idosopic ima3r;agjages.

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As;djfl;ajdfljelwj;sajfadjjoigheajl;sjdfjjapei;fjadkals;af;diaidlsla ;;adjflkajf;gghaeioivxnc,mzm.rjej;aq;asdkf;aiewnmannczkcnskwiw23 2pqer “Honey?” a voice echoes, dull and distant. It repeats, “Honey? It’s time for— Luuuuuuuuuunch.

Suddenly, I am jolted back into my chair. I’m sitting in front of my computer, reading some PDF file. My face is intact, so is my brain and my skull. Despite the dull pain behind my eyes, I am perfectly well.

“Just come out when you’re done with whatever you’re doing.”

Okay mom.

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NIGELLE JORGIA LOUISE LIM

Hawak Kamay

NIGELLE JORGIA LOUISE LIM

Wednesday Blues

Malate Literary Folio

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NIGELLE JORGIA LOUISE LIM

Life to Come

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THEA ENRICA ONGCHUA

(in)stability mixed media

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ERICA BERNARDO

Bedtime Terrors Locked door, twin-size bed, and the eerie sound from the 10-year-old aircon.

The room’s darkness — not the mere absence of light, but the kind you feel in your gut like the twisting of an upset stomach or the struggle of trying to catch your breath.

Terrified of it — you turn the bedside lamp on, pick up your brand new pen and notebook, and try to find comfort in the words that have always felt like a weighted blanket in the nights that make your lips shake.

With your back against the headboard, you squint to scan the room and find that your only company are the shadows on the blank sheet.

The words are nowhere to be found, like a puzzle waiting for its missing piece or a labyrinth with no way out but the minotaur.

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Paralyzed by the intolerable coldness, you harden your grip on your pen, slide it harshly across your notebook, and feel the night grow even darker as you’ve now torn the pages of what felt like the light at the end of the tunnel.

So you fix the pillows, grab the comforter, and leave the lamp on.

Tonight, maybe this will do.

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INSERT PHOTOGRAPHER’S NAME

Insert Title Here 63

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GABRIELLE PALMOS

GREEN SCREEN

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JAMIE SHEKINAH MAPA

Nightmare Network mixed media

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DANA BEATRICE TAN

Spotlight digital art

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MIKAEL ONG

Rain It’s been a while since it rained like this.

Not the ferocious kind of weather, beating a staccato against my window.

Nor is it the intermittent kind of rain, as if a knife slit the sky for a moment.

No. It is somber, steady. Like a drum.

It has made a rhythm for itself.

And I am a witness to this cacophony of sounds, blending into unanimity, Leaving a pristine mist hovering in the air.

In the distance I glimpse the scene of a lone building, made special by the gray blanket draping over itself.

As if the heavens wished to descend upon this dreary, dreary world we live in.

I shut my eyes briefly, cementing the image in my mind. I open them to discover a woman, staring at the damp cement.

Her eyes boring holes into the ground.

Searching for reprieve in the murky puddle.

Earlier I asked myself, “what’s the point?”

She seems to be contemplating the same.

But the only sound that surrounds us, is the everlasting drum of mournful rain.

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BENEDICT LIM

Bilanggo

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CHRISTIAN PACALUNAN

brevity. words are often lost In the moments of grief—nothing.

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NIGELLE JORGIA LOUISE LIM

Destruksyon

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Allysa Nicole Dequino Allysa Dequiño is a Bachelor of Science in Management of Financial Institution scholar-graduate of De La Salle University - Manila.

They have been a member of the Prose Section in Malate Literary Folio since 2017. Their works usually tackle stories of what it is like to live with mental illnesses. The scenarios in their narrative show the unawareness of what happens around a person, and a person’s self-made illusion shattering because of reality’s harsh strike. Right now, they are going through the pandemic, destroying their own selfmade mirage and throwing their fear away to enter their new reality.

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ALLYSA NICOLE DEQUINO

For Her Trigger Warning: Mentions of bullying, dissociative identity disorder, selfharming, delusions, hallucinations, suicidal and intrusive thoughts, as well as manipulative behavior.

I was not the first to be born. There was Elliot and Danny, and I was the third one. I was born when she was nine, and no, she is not my sister.

I first saw her leaning on the ledge of the school rooftop, alone, looking down at her peers on the first floor, wishing she could be a part of them but knowing she never could be. She was too different, she thought. She was too smart, I corrected her. People cannot handle what they cannot control, and she was a force to be reckoned with.

Isolation was her greatest friend before we met, and I know she reveled in the freedom of the aloneness but sobbed at the loneliness that came with it. I was always beside her when she was like that after we met. I seldom saw her happy.

With that in mind, we became inseparable. When everyone else would tease her, I was there behind her, telling her to ignore them. They were only jealous of what she was capable of—of what she could be. She believed me because she always trusted my words,

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and it helped her cope with the cruelty that came with peer rejection.

Then things started turning worse. It did not matter to her that she had the highest grades or that she was the top student in the whole school—she was lonely despite having me. So, she sang to forget the loneliness.

So, there we were on the rooftop, me watching on the side and her singing her heart out. She kept imagining someone out there was listening in—someone out there was secretly amazed by her voice, and so she entertained these ideas and did her best to make a great performance whenever she sang. She was adamant that someone was sneaking in—to listen to this sixth grader sing. She told me it was real. She yelled at me when I said it was not. She did not know it was her first taste of delusion, and I was terrified for her.

She started believing that she can control the wind, and that the sun was following her—giving her a spotlight with its ray of sunshine. That she was the world’s ray of sunshine. Every single thing had meaning—every single thing revolved around her. It excited her.

Too much, might I add. I told her to stop. She told me she won’t.

She once said Danny taught her something that opened her eyes to the many possibilities.

“Every sentence deserves an exclamation point because everything excites me!”

I tried to be her voice of reason, but she would not listen to me. When she finally did, she was devastated to understand that she was acting like a “lunatic”—her words, not mine.

She stopped eating—telling me she lost her appetite. She gave her food to other students who were willing to take it. Said they needed it more than she did when it was actually the other way around—especially since she became severely underweight.

I once asked her if she was afraid of gaining weight. She scoffed a disgusted no. When asked why she was doing it, she paused for a moment, thinking, before saying she didn’t know.

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But I did. I know more about her than she knows about herself. I completely saw through her. It was her way of punishing herself. She was disappointed for not having other friends, for being alone, for being “worthless,” for relying on me to carry on every day.

It was there, deep in her subconscious.

It did not help that I knew that Elliot’s words had resonated within her.

“No one deserves anything they receive,” he once told her— something she told me she would never forget.

At this point, she thought she did not deserve the luxury of a basic necessity.

Her family did not even know she was being ostracized. They thought she was too naïve to notice. I told her to tell them, but she refused to shatter the illusion they had built for themselves. It wasn’t embarrassment, she said, not exactly. She didn’t care about them. She just didn’t want anyone to take action or place justice where justice was due. She just didn’t want anything to change. She didn’t want to be labelled as that kid. She didn’t want a name to be placed over her head, she told me.

Despite the torture, she resented change.

Until she had seen me grow more sullen and quiet around her.

Until she had seen my eyes darken over the short time we had had to get to know one another. Until she had seen the bruises I had taken on her behalf. Until I knew she was blaming herself.

She, then, kept eyeing the empty ground from the school rooftop. I already knew what path her mind was taking, and I did not like it one bit.

I asked her what she was feeling, and I was surprised I got an honest answer.

She told me how easy it’d be for her to just… fall. For everything to just stop—the pain, the loneliness, the cruel voice in her head.

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Everything’s too much, she said. She was only ten, she said.

I knew that cruel voice in her head, but I did not say anything.

Instead, I told her not to jump. She looked at me then, and her expression told me she was asking why. I knew, at this point, she did not care about her life, and there was nothing I could say that would convince her to stay for herself. So, I took a different route.

“If you die, I will die with you.”

These words will forever be in my being.

Yes, I emotionally blackmailed this poor kid to keep herself alive. It was a morally grey way of saving one’s life, but I did not have any other choice. Nothing else would have stopped her— especially his voice in her head. But this one, this one can.

Her fatal flaw is that she cares too much, and that she cares more about others than herself. So, she did not jump—for me to stay alive, not because she wants to stay alive.

After that little incident, we did not see each other much. She carried on with my life over her shoulders, and she was not happy about it. She made sure to forget about me. She probably felt it so burdening for me to stay with her—a reminder of that day. But she gained friends after she left me, and I was happy for her.

All right, I resented that I was not needed anymore, but you have to believe me, I was happy for her.

But that was the calm before the storm. It did not take too long for her to need me again.

She lost all control of herself, her body, everything. She told me she gained these people in her mind she called, “The Audience.” The voyeurs who watched everything she did and psychoanalyzed her every move. They loved the angst, she thought, and so sometimes, she gave them what they wanted. Like when she sang on that rooftop, she gave them the ammunition that would make them think of her as a person in anguish—not believing she actually was.

She gave them enough “content” to “write meta-theories” on why she did the things she did. She did not like it when I said she was a people pleaser.

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She screamed at the walls. She cradled herself and rocked her body in the corners of the room. She made herself cry and wept the whole night on the floor.

She demanded the Audience to tell her what they thought of her—if they were having a field-day over her extreme and selfinduced breakdowns. Were they happy that they had more content to analyze? Were they feeling pain just as much as fans love feeling their favorite character’s pain? Did they love the drama she was creating whenever she was alone?

That was when Danny and Elliot decided to come back after a decade and a half of lurking. I knew where they were, but we never communicated. I never met them before since Danny was born when she was four, and Elliot was born when she was five.

Sometimes, they would leave a word or two, but we never really interacted before. All I knew was that they trusted me enough to be there for her on my own—that she did not need more of us to protect her.

But at this time, I needed their help more than ever.

Danny, I believe, is the epitome of innocence—with questioning eyes and bright smiles. She would come whenever she cried—to help her push through with a breakdown she did not make for the Audience. Despite that innocent front, Danny knows pain like the back of her hand.

Elliot, on the other hand, is the epitome of anger—with clenched fists and cold gazes. He is Danny’s older brother and he would come whenever Danny could not handle the pain of seeing her break into pieces.

He was ruthless, and still is. A cruel lurking intermediary.

He never cared about what other people thought of him—what I thought of him, and he did not care about the consequences of his actions. He tried to be helpful, but his ways were not exactly what you would call “beneficial.” He once got her to drink several pills of paracetamol and said it would help her get rid of all the pain—not just the physical ones.

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I managed to come in time to help her vomit them all out.

That is my job. I put everything in place. I am the one who protects us. I am the one they all really need. I am the one she really needs. All three of them are so young, so naïve. I needed to grow faster than all of them.

The four of us had often talked to one another since then.

We were there in our little space—in our own little world. We would console each other. We were there for each other, but most importantly, we were there for her. I was there for her, like I used to be.

As time went on, the breakdowns were so frequent that whenever she was down, Danny could not handle seeing her that way and kept hiding away—leaving me to take care of her. This left Elliot in charge of being there for her. Looking after Danny, I could not really look at what Elliot was doing when he grabbed hold of the steering wheel.

Yes, I am the pillar of this little makeshift family. I am the blanket that hides us from danger—except the danger that Elliot causes.

Elliot was supposed to be my best friend, but I am more loyal to her. We started a war between each other while Danny locked herself in the shadows, cowering over our screaming matches when we could not help ourselves.

Eventually, she got herself medicated, and she grew out of our little group. We saw each other only about once every three months.

She changed, and we were all happy for her because she was happier.

But we were also frustrated.

We could not communicate with her anymore, because she did not want to see us anymore. She grew tired of us. She grew tired of our little world. So, what were we now? We were not wanted anymore. What was our purpose in life? Nothing.

So, we tried coming back.

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I know. I know. I know. We should not have tried to do so. We should have been happy and left her alone, but we cannot. We felt like parents who watched their child grow up, only to find that child not wanting them to be in their life anymore after they have grown.

It hurt.

But did that stop us from leaving her? No. That is how much I love her. That is how much we love her.

Even the ever-destructive Elliot loves her.

Sure, we could be selfish at times. We would show up when we were bored or in need of fresh air. Sometimes, we even show up because we were jealous of her, for being in control all the time when we do not even have some semblance of control left. The system we had made was falling apart. What system is useful when its purpose is gone? A system to protect—unneeded.

But even though we were selfish, she allowed us to… because she loves us just as much as we love her. I never really knew the extent of her love for me and the others. I always thought we were nothing to her, but she does—love us, I mean. She keeps pushing us away, but that would not stop us.

We are a part of her.

We are her.

But most importantly, we are there for her.

Nakamit ng maikling kwento na ito ang Ikatlong Gantimpala sa 35th DLSU Annual Awards for Literature noong taong 2021.

Ngayo’y ang inilathala ay ang narebisong bersyon.

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INSERT ARTIST’S NAME

Insert Title Here medium / other info

ANA GABRIELA MAGNO

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JAMIE SHEKINAH MAPA

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ADRIAN NEIL HOLGADO

Bulagin

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Pinanuod kong muli ang eksenang nasa ilalim ng aking mga talukap: tayo’y sumasayaw— alinsunod sa ritmo ng mga takong ng ating mga gula-gulanit na sapatos tila mga bulag na naliligaw ang kalamnan.

Nakilala ko pa ang init ng iyong katawan: nakiliti sa ating pagtitigan— hanggang sa ang mga mata ko’y naglakbay patungo sa hangganan ng iyong mga daliri at sinabi ko sa sarili na ito’y aking muling mahahawakan.

Mayamaya, naramdaman ko na ang nagpipilit na sakit na tila tinutusok ang aking mga mata gamit ng mga takong mong makukulit hanggang sa ang mga mata ko’y nagbunga na ng mga luha.

Ako’y napadilat— nawala na ang iyong mga daliri, napakawalan na ang aking mga luha, at sa wakas, natapos na rin natin ang ating munting pagsasayaw.

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JULIAH FAYE DELA VEGA

alon dapa-dapa’y napupuno na ng puting buhangin, natutuyo, nayayamot, ngunit nag-hihintay pa rin maabot ng mga humahampas na alon, mga malalaya, nagagalak, mga nagsasayaw sa musikang sa dalampasigan lang maririnig dapa-dapa’y nais nang lumusong, magtampisaw sa dagat na nakatingin, tumatango pa’t, kumakaway-kaway, nanunukso sa ilalim ng araw, subalit mga paa ay hindi makahakbang, nanginginig, nangangamba, baka sa pagyapak, alon ay lumayo at sa susunod na hampas, ‘di na muli maabot ang aking mga paa

_____________ dapa-dapa is a Hilagaynon word meaning “sole of the foot”.

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URIEL ANNE BUMANLAG

pagod na

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NIGELLE JORGIA LOUISE LIM

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THERESE DIANE VILLANUEVA

Audience

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Aleena Marie R. Concepcion Aleena Marie Concepcion, also called Pam by family and friends, is a graduate of Industrial Engineering, minor in Communication and New Media from De La Salle University – Manila. She was a member of the DLSU Lady Batters Softball team from 2016 to 2019, and a poetry staffer of Malate Literary Folio from 20182021. Her poetry reads between the lines of mundane, everyday experiences, habits, routines, and beliefs to resurface what has fallen deep into the subconscious and recall how it got there. She has written about a wide range of topics like women in sports, adolescence, beauty, femininity, and westernized school curriculums.

She is currently observing the least observed, which could either be ants, or her own subconscious.

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ALEENA MARIE CONCEPCION

Field of Dreams I walk towards a box of white chalk, lined on freshly watered soil.

The soles of my feet feel the heat from beneath as I slide my cleats from left to right until common ground is found between the two.

Through squinted eyes and rusted grills I look past the ground beyond my box and lock my gaze on the mound across.

As throws wound up, pings and dings and thuds echoed in the box Creating a beat leading to a chorus from a distance I hear cheers and jeers yet my mind remains distant

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from the refrain when my fears are at such a close distance.

So I shifted my stance to follow the pace of the pacing rhythm hoping to get on base— bracing for the throw that throws off my rhythm.

Within two hundred fifty feet from where my feet stand, are the stands where game winning hits often land on someone’s bare hands.

As I fix my stance in the box, I pray that today is the day I finally reach the stands.

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Weaving Legacies

Malate Literary Folio

I got into every university I applied for, except for the one school I wanted to get into. Here’s why it’s okay.

Entrance tests had plagued me even before I started applying for college. I still remember four years ago, exactly around January 2016, I was waiting for the Ateneo Senior High Admission Placement Exam (A-SHAPE) results. I remember two of my friends getting their calls for an interview, and eventually their acceptance letters. I remember breaking down in one of the bathroom stalls during recess because I didn’t want anyone to see me mourn over my failure. I was with my friend at that time and she held onto me until she was sure I was better.

I never told her I never got better.

However, I thought, if I wasn’t good enough for Ateneo, maybe I would be good enough for De La Salle University (DLSU). I waited for the results of the senior high school exam three weeks after I got my Ateneo decision letter.

I found out I didn’t get in.

I ended up going to University of Santo Tomas (UST) for senior high school, but deep down, I always felt unfulfilled and unsatisfied. I wore the mantra, “You define the school but the school doesn’t define you” like a scarf wrapped around my body for everyone to see. I wove legacies and achievements into obscure patterns of self-validation, and kept it close to my chest because it was the only thing keeping me from questioning myself and my capabilities.

I knew I could be better, even if I wasn’t in Ateneo.

Fast forward to 2017, it was finally the College Entrance Test (CET) season. I vowed to redeem myself and finally rise from the smoldering ashes of my wrecked self-esteem. I wasn’t going to be defined by my failures again.

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I prepared for all my entrance exams, but the amount of effort I placed into my application for Ateneo was beyond all that. I believed in myself way too much for me to fail. I told myself I was ready for anything. As ready as I could ever be.

Fast forward to the first week of January; while all my friends and family were still in their respective provinces, I came home to Manila a week earlier before classes resumed because Ateneo College Entrance Test (ACET) results were scheduled to be released around that time.

I remember my excitement when the Ateneo Office of Admissions announced that results were going to be released a day earlier.

I remember going to Katipunan that day around 5pm, two hours before the scheduled release. I remember entering the campus with a smile on my face. I remember seeing faces of hope, faces similar to mine. I remember fighting my way through the crowd as the small truck carrying the names of the accepted applicants finally arrived.

I remember the proud voices of the students singing the Ateneo hymn. In that sea of proud, hopeful fighters, I could envision myself among those students singing along with them. All I could remember were the tears threatening to spill from my tired eyes as I looked around while saying to myself, “This is where I will be for the next four years. This will be my home.”

As I fought my way to the front of the bulletin board, I scanned through the list of applicants to catch a glimpse of my name. My heart was a burning rage of thunder and fire and stunned silence as I realized my name wasn’t on the list.

People were messaging me asking me how I was but I could only look back at the crowd as I felt my tears begin to blur my line of vision. I remember going back at least 10 times to check if I had missed my name, hoping if I came back around, it would suddenly appear. After the millionth time, I lost my breath and gave up. I leaned against one of the trees and buried my face in my hands, failing to keep the sounds of my disappointment and anger rising

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up my throat. I dragged my pain with me back to that bulletin board because I had promised my friends I would check their names and tell them if they passed.

They were there, only I couldn’t bring myself to be happy for them. I was too angry at myself. I was too angry at the world for depriving me of the education I wanted. I was too angry. I watched as countless others broke down in front of their friends and family. I remember this one girl crying as her friend sat down and comforted her. I remember him saying that it was not the end of the world and that she was good enough, but what did he know? He didn’t know what it was like to not get into Ateneo. I sympathized with the girl.

I sympathized with every single person who was mourning their failure that night.

I stayed in Ateneo until 9:00 PM. My demons were too strong at that point, so the only company I had was my journal. I remember writing in the dark. I remember staring at my shadow and wishing it would swallow me whole. I remember leaving, taking the train, and going home.

Sleep did not come easily that night. My muffled screams kept me up and I thanked God my dormmates weren’t there. I didn’t want to have to hide and pretend I was asleep when I was actually crying.

Nobody knew what happened that night. I deleted all of the apps of my social media accounts and didn’t talk to anyone for two days. Not until after I checked the online results. When I found out I wasn’t even waitlisted, the feeling suddenly got worse.

I kept refreshing the page like I was a broken record but I knew doing that would only make it even more painful, so I took a deep breath, sucked it up, and began to reply to the messages I’ve been ignoring.

I specifically asked for my friends not to comfort me or give me words of encouragement because I didn’t want words at that time. I only wanted to feel the sadness. I didn’t need words because words weren’t going to give me a slot in Ateneo.

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I only felt better when I found out I got into DLSU. Even then, I was still angry.

To be honest, even now, I still am.

However, that’s only one part of the many lessons I’ve learned this season.

Being one of the first graduates of the K-12 program made this feat especially hard since I had to fight for a slot in four of the best universities in the country while competing with at least 100,000 students. Nonetheless, I will never forget the moments I spent with the people I cared about — from the application process to the release of the actual results.

I will never forget chasing after my professors and asking them for recommendations. I will never forget the process of getting my documents as well as submitting them. I will never forget Cenne being by my side during the entire Ateneo application process. I will never forget sleeping over at Leila’s while we anxiously waited for CET results together. I will never forget Eunice asking how I was after ACET results even if we weren’t speaking at that time. I will never forget reviewing with Leila, Bea, and Jewel at Brain Train and going though those grueling sessions together. I will never forget Kim, Lawrence, Denisse, and Aera being there as they comforted me during my failures and celebrated with me during my victories. I will never forget my friends who persevered until the end and got into the universities they wanted to go to.

I will never forget anyone who helped me while also becoming one step closer to realizing their dreams.

Regardless of not getting into the university I wanted to go to, I knew my future didn’t end there. My future didn’t end with one failure. My future was always where I took myself. It started when I chose to get up and make a name for yourself.

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my future or the goals I set out for myself. It only changed the doors that opened for me. Whatever path I chose, I knew I could still get to where I needed to go, even if it took a few more detours. My path didn’t define my future, but what I did as I attempted to navigate that path did.

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THEA ENRICA ONGCHUA

A Tale of Three Wanderers digital collage

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MIGUELLE CORTEZ

Haraya

Nimfa was reading the Halloween edition of Girl Code, which was one of the most popular magazines among girls in her class. She skipped the first few pages and headed straight to the Stories of the Unknown section, where her fellow readers submitted accounts about paranormal and mythical creatures. Nimfa had never encountered any of these mysterious beings, but she considered herself to be a firm believer, and the stories in the magazine solidified that faith of hers. As Nimfa read different encounters with beings like the tambal and the duwende, she began to feel a strong urge to know if they were really true. In the background, she could hear Tita Baby’s voice, who was in the living room with Lanie, Nimfa’s mother. The latter advised her not to come out of the room unless she was directly called for. Nimfa’s gaze suddenly landed outside her window, as she saw something from the corner of her eye. She noticed a mysterious butterfly, which was glowing, even in the bright light of the morning. She rubbed her eyes intensely, but she was more than sure of what she saw.

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“Nak, breakfast is ready! I cooked your favorite–fluffy, scrambled eggs!” Her mother’s voice was audible even despite the closed door. Nimfa laid down her magazine on her bedside table, which was full of trinkets and all the essentials she could ever need: magazines, flavored lip gloss in tubes, and bright butterfly hair clips.

Nimfa went out of her room and joined her Tita, who was patiently waiting for all of them to start eating. She glanced at Tita Baby, noticing her eyes were a bit puffy and quite red, her hand gripping onto a checkered handkerchief for dear life. Her mom arrived at the dining table, holding a steaming plate of rice. She spoke no words, but dragged her feet across the wooden floor. Right after breakfast, she would then leave for a forty-eight hour shift at the local hospital.

“Nim, I’m sure your mother talked to you about Tito Ambrosio’s passing,” Tita Baby’s voice cracked once she said his name. Nimfa nodded, her face sullen. “Your mom told me you’re free for the summer. She’s going to be even busier, as she pledged to do extra shifts. I know you’ve always liked visiting us,” Tita Baby looked at Nimfa without breaking eye contact, “What do you say about spending some time with me at the old house?”

Going to the province would mean giving up internet connection, heated showers, and sleeping in on the weekends, but Nimfa imagined all the good things that could happen if she did decide to stay there. She would have all the time in the world to take it slow, read a few books, finally pick up how to play the guitar, or watch chickens roam around in the clearing beside the house. Nimfa also thought of the different places she and her Tita could go to, as the province was filled with many beautiful caves, falls, islands, and even ancient historical bells that were recently brought back from overseas. It would be totally different to what she was used to here in the city, where she could stretch out both her arms and immediately touch the walls. It could be a good experience for her, instead of being alone for long periods of time in her small, cramped house.

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“What do you think, Nim? I have to be out for days at a time. It would be hard for me to take care of you here,” Nimfa’s mother brushed through her hair, her dark eyebags causing a slight frown on Nimfa’s lips. Her mother looked like she was tired, but the smile on her lips assured Nimfa that everything was going to turn out fine. “It wouldn’t be such a bad idea, ‘Nay.” As Nimfa said this, Tita’s face instantly glowed. “It would be good for me, and I would get to watch over Tita Baby there as well.” The older woman enveloped Nimfa in a hug, patting her head with care. Once they were all done eating, Nimfa quickly packed her things. She brought pairs of clothes, books, teen magazines, and a few board games she could play alone or with Tita Baby. “Are you ready, Nim?” Tita looked over to Nimfa, who gave a slight nod. The both of them headed out the door, hand-in-hand.

Tita opened the front door while Nimfa was busy looking at the leaves and vines of plants creeping their way up the house’s walls. The patio was decorated with lovely bunches of camellias, their fragrance enticing her to go on and come see. “I’ll show you to your room, Nim. Let me know if you need extra pillows or blankets, alright?” Tita Baby pointed to the second door in the hallway and told her to head inside. Once she went in, the door gave out a slight creaking sound. The room and the furniture in it were meticulously placed, each one of them spotless and clean. The twin bed was placed in the left corner, and above it rested a colorful quilted blanket. The large chest beside the windowsill captured her attention instantly. It was brown, newly varnished, and had intricate carvings.

It couldn’t be fully closed because it didn’t have a lock. There was a slight gap, a crack where she could peer in and look at what was inside. She stuck her hand inside the gap and tried with all of her might to lift the lid.

After a few moments of constant struggle and several huffs and puffs of her breath, Nimfa successfully opened the chest. The

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inside appeared to be in good condition, with no evidence of spiders or insects. The only thing in it was a worn-out notebook, its pages fraying and yellowing. She turned to the first page, and was instantly hooked by the intricately detailed drawings. Once she turned the page, a paper fell to the floor. Nimfa looked at it and found a map with three symbols acting as pinpoints: a flower, a water drop, and a tree branch. She placed the loose paper in her pocket and continued to browse through the notebook. In the pages were magical drawings of things and places she could feel through the pages–the fresh scent of flowers in the meadow, the rays of the sun warming the river, and the captivating aura of the humongous tree. The matching one-liners that accompanied these drawings gave more depth to the experience Nimfa had while browsing through the pages. As she turned the page once more, she was greeted by what appeared to be never-ending grass, with flowers glittering on the page.

Underneath the glow of the morning sun, wildflowers sway in the path of the wind.

Nimfa turned the page again and saw a long, winding river; the reflection of the water she swore she could almost feel on her fingertips. Near the river, a bright blob of mystery was drawn, illuminating the area despite the darkness of the night.

The glistening body of life that fails to be still, the fate of the forest intertwined.

She turned the page once more, and found out that there were no more sheets of paper to browse through. There was a thick, huge-looking tree in the middle of the page. Its roots looked like ginger, and the wideness of it overwhelmed Nimfa. On its branches, she saw several animals, like squirrels and birds. They were all a few branches away from each other as the big tree was more than enough to house them all. She couldn’t stop her eyes from focusing on the mysterious tree, but she snapped out of it to read the passage below it.

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Near the river, hidden from the eyes of the unworthy, lies an everlasting force to be wary of.

Nimfa fished the paper out of her pocket after looking at the notebook, and realized it was a map of the province she was currently staying in. She identified several landmarks like lakes and mountains, her Tita’s childhood stories playing at the back of her mind. Nimfa rushed out of her room, clutching the notebook and paper with her, and said “I’ll be back, Tita!” as she slipped on her sneakers, not stopping to wait for a response. She decided to go to the place which was nearest to the old house–the area marked with a flower. The journey took her ten minutes to walk. The provincial scenery never failed to refresh Nimfa, who was used to walking on pedestrian lanes beside countless highrise buildings, not a single tree in sight. Now, she could see endless groves of trees, the chirping of birds like music to her ears.

She found herself in a meadow, the grass stretching far and wide with spots of color due to scattered flowers. Nimfa stumbled upon a patch of grass that seemed too soft to resist, so she laid down, staring at the cloudless sky. She reached for the mysterious notebook, flipping to a certain page, her hunches proving to be right.

This was the same place as the drawing in the notebook! It barely looked like anything had changed at all. After a few minutes of silence, Nimfa noticed that there was an orange cat limping towards her, clearly in pain. She sat back up, and watched as the orange cat inched closer, its tail rubbing against her jeans.

“What are you doing here? What happened to you, kitty?

Your leg is hurt!” Nimfa cautiously extended her hand to caress the amiable-looking cat. “I always go here to clear my mind… It seems like I’m not the only one here now, isn’t it? I’m fine, though. Thanks for asking–” Nimfa jumped in shock. She immediately pinched her cheeks to see if she was dreaming. She hadn’t been sleeping much lately, because she spent most of her nights memorizing the lyrics of her favorite boy band songs. This might be a side effect of sleep

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deprivation. “What? Are you shocked by a talking cat? Wait, you can hear me?” The cat turned its head curiously, as it was used to its speech being interpreted as mere meows and purrs.

Nimfa’s first instinct was to stand in a way that allowed her to run with ease. She looked back down at the cat, staring dumbfounded at it. “I…” She stutters, “You… Talking cat… This can’t be real.” She began to run far away, leaving the cat shouting “Where are you going?” a few times, as she slapped her cheeks for affirmation. She ran far, far away until she could no longer hear the cat speaking. Nimfa did not know what to feel, whether she should laugh or cry. “Maybe I should just go home…” Nimfa stared at the notebook she got from the chest, and as she looked at it, the glowing butterfly she saw earlier this morning landed on the front page. It was still glowing, its bright light almost making Nimfa close her eyes.

She was suddenly reminded of her Tito Ambrosio, as she felt the same warmth as she did whenever she went gardening with him.

Nimfa extended her finger to touch the mysterious butterfly, but it flew high up in the afternoon sky. After a few seconds of silence, the girl broke into a slight smile. She found a mysterious notebook, complete with drawings of places that she had never seen before.

Okay, not too freaky just yet. But then she chanced on a talking cat.

Nimfa was initially scared, and was unsure if she wanted to continue her journey. However, having a feeling of comfort wash over her, she was now renewed with the drive to carry on. What other beings could be waiting for her in the next place, if she were to find them?

She took out her map, her heart beating with a desire to know more about what lies ahead.

The lines on the map led to a spot marked by a water drop, a river near the forest. After a few minutes of more walking, Nimfa spotted the body of water, seeing something that shone so brightly, she had to close her eyes. As she walked nearer and nearer, her blood seemed to flow out of her face, as her lips were pale as a sheet of paper. Despite her hands slightly trembling, she continued

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to lay her eyes on the being before her, entranced by its mysterious glow. In front of Nimfa was a glowing woman with long jet black hair reaching to the backs of her knees. She was crowned with white flowers that made her deep tan skin pop. She was wearing a white, flowy gown, her lips pink and plump, her eyes a shade of warm, inviting brown. This being was crouching down in the river’s shallows, the ends of her dress drenched in water, picking up trash and debris that were littered all over the place. It suddenly clicked with Nimfa that this was the place in the second drawing she saw in the notebook.

The being noticed her presence and stared intensely. “Let me guess, you want water, too? Well, too bad. It lost its magic,” the lady sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “Are you here to ruin my river even more?” She accused, whispering incoherent words while picking up trash. Nimfa was in awe of the woman’s alluring voice, which struck a chord within her. She fought her fear, as the thought of wanting to know more about this lady was proving more triumphant. “What happened to this river?”

“If you help me with all this trash, maybe I’ll tell you,” The lady stood, catching Nimfa’s gaze before staring back at the littered river. The girl agreed and lowered herself down to the water, fishing out a candy wrapper. Both of them picked up leaves, branches, the occasional cigarette butt, and whatever piece of trash they could find. The two worked in silence, doing their best to rid the water of anything that did not belong in it. Time passed by, and the sun, high in the sky, continued to provide warmth to the waters. The mysterious woman’s shoulders eased significantly as she stared at the now sparkling clean river, and Nimfa could tell that her shoulders were no longer as tense as before. The woman motioned to a large rock near the river, and asked the girl to sit down beside her. “Sorry, kid, for my behavior. I thought you were going to bring further destruction to my waters…” The woman’s mouth twitched. “I guess I owe you an explanation now, after all your help.”

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The woman then proceeded to tell her story. Her name was Maria Pablita and she was born as small as a fingertip, but as the years passed by, her limbs extended as far as they could, until they separated and became waves in the river. This caught the attention of the townspeople nearby, who observed the emergence of this particularly mysterious body of water. After a while, people from nearby residential areas flocked to this place to see the steady changes that would magically occur each day. One fateful afternoon, a man with a roaring fit of coughs decided to drink water from the river, as he was thirsty and in need. Once he went home, he was surprised to find out that his illness disappeared completely. News spread, and not long after, dozens of people started collecting water intended to be drunk by the sick. It was all fine until a few years later, when the magic of the water slowly began to fade. Maria Pablita was extremely tired of these people who took and took, but gave her nothing in return. This resulted in the townspeople polluting Maria Pablita’s river, as well as neighboring sources of water, as retaliation for the lost essence of magic.

“That’s terrible! I can’t imagine how bad it must have made you feel, all these strange humans only thinking of themselves,” Nimfa shook her head from side to side. “And throwing trash in the river is just plain cruel.” Maria Pablita’s gaze flickered, as she exhaled, looking like a huge weight was lifted off her shoulders.

“Humans certainly do not deserve my magic, but you’re one of the good ones.” Nimfa let out a smile, after being complimented. As the afternoon rays were scorching Nimfa’s skin, she was reminded that there was still one more place for her to be. As if Maria Pablita completely read her mind, she said, “Go on, young girl. I know it might be getting dark soon, and you look like you still have some other place to be.” Nimfa pouted, not wanting to leave the nymph.

“I wish you the best of luck. May you never forget this encounter, for years to come,” the woman extended her glowing hand to the small girl for an earnest handshake. Once their hands touched,

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Nimfa immediately felt an electric shock go through her entire body.

After recollecting herself, Nimfa said, “Thank you, Maria Pablita. I truly do hope for nothing but the best for you and your river.”

Still a bit shaken from what happened, Nimfa mustered up the courage to search for the final area marked on the map. It was located near the river, in the forest nearby. She found herself in the depths of the trees, an overgrown area full of shrubs and plants. “It must be around here somewhere… Or maybe this is it?” Nimfa said to herself as she spotted an intersection. She picked the left path, but was faced with another identical fork in the road. Nimfa went down the right path, and the process was repeated for what seemed like hours. At this point, she was blindly picking paths, and was finally greeted by… more bushes and shrubs. She spotted an area beneath that was large enough for her to crawl into. Nimfa was aware that this may be a bad decision, but she still crouched and crawled her way inside the clearing, and was shocked by what she saw.

There was the large Banyan tree she saw in the notebook, and it looked even better than the drawing. She heard the cries of birds, and the feet of squirrels racing up and down the tree branches.

But what really surprised Nimfa the most was the giant kapre sitting on an equally large tree branch. It had dark fur, with a rich set of hair on top of its head, and an unmistakable odor. It was naked, except for a bahag, and between its fingers housed tobacco that never seemed to diminish. She heard the rustling of leaves, even if the gusting wind did not seem to make an appearance just yet.

She craned her neck as she heard passive laughter coming from the surrounding trees. The kapre noticed her presence, and a smile appeared on his face. He motioned for Nimfa to come closer, and something in her snapped, as her feet started to drag towards the giant without a second thought.

“Come… here…” The kapre slurred its words. Nimfa was in a state of shock, having only read about the giant in magazines.

Now that it was right in front of her, she wanted to know for sure

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if everything she had heard of was true. Her steadily beating heart served as background noise as she inched closer to the humongous tree, ready for anything that would happen from her entertaining the giant’s request. She began to climb and climb towards the kapre, not stopping even for a second. “Will you… be my… friend?” The giant proposed. Nimfa stared at his deep, black eyes, and concluded that she did not perceive a hint of evil. She looked back at every creature she had encountered today–the talking cat, the nymph, and now the kapre–were all kind to her. Who’s to say this giant would be any different? It didn’t seem like a bad idea to be this giant’s friend.

After all, maybe it was lonely, as it looked like it had been alone for all this time. “Okay, I’ll be your friend,” Nimfa ended up on the same branch as the kapre, whose tobacco mysteriously disappeared.

“Do you… want to… come inside?” The branches started to move, making way for a large hole in the middle of the tree. It was completely dark, and it was impossible to see what exactly was inside.

The kapre, still smiling, began to move towards the hole, which caused the whole Banyan tree to shake intensely. Nimfa gulped, trying to fight her fear, as she held onto her overwhelming desire to know more about this mysterious creature. “Don’t move too much,” she whispered, her voice small and shaking. “I’ll… go inside… and wait for you.” The kapre moved its limbs with big movements, grabbing onto one of the branches for balance. When it reached the center of the tree, he turned around and once again showed Nimfa his best smile, its teeth charcoal black. The kapre began to disappear from Nimfa’s sight as it went inside. The only thing she could see was its long, hairy arm, waiting for her to grab onto it. It was as if Nimfa could not prevent her hand from reaching out to the giant’s outstretched arm. She was in some sort of trance, curiosity and fear mixing together, and her actions betrayed her thoughts of caution.

The forest suddenly became quiet, and the ominous laughter that was audibly heard subsided. Nimfa heard a familiar voice that inched its way to her attention.

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“Nimfa? Nim?” The voice started to grow louder and louder. The kapre grunted as Nimfa started to turn away. “No… no… no…” the giant garbled. The little girl added to the space between her and the kapre. She began to go down the branches, looking towards where she could hear the voice. “I’m here, Tita!”

She said, as loud as she could muster. “Nimfa?” Tita Baby’s voice was evidently growing more and more anxious. Nimfa ran far, far away from the Banyan tree and crawled back into the clearing in the bushes.

“Tita Baby!” Nimfa immediately ran to the woman standing with her hands clasped in panic. “Nimfa! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Tita engulfed Nimfa in a tight embrace, “Why did you leave like that?” She looked at Nimfa, her eyes watery with tears. “Who knows what could have happened to you?” The woman caressed Nimfa, before examining her arms and legs without explanation. She let out a long breath, her doubts and anxieties slowly withering away once she did not find anything out of the ordinary. “I’m sorry, Tita,” Nimfa’s gaze hit the floor. Tita Baby shook her head and said, “We have to get out of here, Nim. It’s not safe,” Tita Baby held her hand tightly, and they both ran as far as they could from the forest.

Once they found their way back to the rows of houses, Nimfa began to explain herself. “I found this notebook with all these drawings on it. I decided to go out and see them for myself,” she was looking at the ground. “That, I figured, since the chest was wide open.” The woman put a hand to her forehead, looking away in thought. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left it here. I didn’t intend for you to see it.” Tita Baby grunted while smacking her lips. “You know about the notebook?” Nimfa finally looked up to the adult. “Yes, iha.

I made it myself,” Tita Baby exhaled loudly. Nimfa’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock. So Tita Baby also went to all the places she had been? And had seen everything she saw? “I think I need an explanation…” Nimfa hesitantly batted her eyes. The woman looked

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at the sun, which was about to set, and said, “Okay, I guess I’ll tell you, iha.”

When Tita Baby was a young girl, much like Nimfa herself, she was on her way back home after visiting a friend’s house. It was late at night, and there were no lights in sight, so she had a hard time figuring out where to head next. The streets morphed into one identical stream, every turn and corner looking exactly the same. She was confused, but went by her instinct. After a few cycles of the same thing happening all over again, it miraculously stopped. At the end of the road, Tita Baby discovered a meadow, and a particularly talkative cat. She thought she was in some sort of weird dream, and tried to snap out of it. It didn’t work, not one bit. Once the cat finally left her side, she went on and found a river, meeting the nymph that guarded the waters. Even though it was late at night, she was surprised to see the swarm of people collecting water. She tried to get their attention to the glowing nymph, but they all claimed they could not see a thing.

Tita Baby continued her journey into the depths of the forest, where she saw a huge tree, with a kapre perched on top of it.

It asked her to come nearer, and she could not prevent her legs from moving. She sat in silence together with the giant, but began to feel feverish, so she decided to say goodbye and find her way back home.

Her parents were worried sick, as she had been missing for a long time. Tita Baby felt too nauseous, so she spent the rest of the night in bed. The next morning, she woke up with unexplained bruises and marks everywhere. Her parents were immediately alarmed by her current situation, so they brought her to an albularyo to have her checked out. The albularyo then deduced that she had caught the attention of a kapre, and gave her a small white stone and told her to keep it with her at all times. Without it, the kapre would continue to pursue Tita Baby, and terrible things could arise from that.

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known what to do if something were to happen to you.” Nimfa felt guilty about disappearing, her hand scratching the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry,” she tried to begin, but was halted by uncontrollable tears. “It’s okay, Nim. What’s important is that you’re safe and back here with me,” the woman held her in another tight embrace. “Was it scary? Seeing all those creatures, and being all alone?” Tita Baby asked, as she patiently waited for the girl’s tears to stop falling.

“I’ve only heard stories about them, but I swear I knew they were true! Seeing them was definitely scary, but looking back at it now, it was magical,” Nimfa, in between sniffles, said. Silence broke the two, as they relished each other’s presence underneath the setting sun. “After everything that happened… Do you still want to stay here with me?”

Nimfa noticed the glowing butterfly flying near her and Tita Baby. She smiled once again, as she started to think of all the good experiences she had whenever she visited the countryside. Tita Baby and Tito Ambrosio had always welcomed her with open arms, and they made sure that she was well-fed and entertained. Encountering the mysterious creatures today allowed her to appreciate her experience in the province even more–even if at first she was rattled or was in a state of fear. Nimfa could have never experienced such wonder if she chose to stay alone in the city, with only a television to keep her company. She was able to wander around and see different views, and did not have to worry about the constricting feeling she had when she was in her house in the city. The girl did not have to think twice. “Yes, Tita. I really like it here,” she decisively spoke. The girl hugged the adult, at peace.

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MATTHEW RAFAEL FLORENDO

Anito

digital art

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Pasasalamat Nais pasalamatan ng Malate Literary Folio ang mga sumusunod— mga kaibigan, kapwa manunulat at manlilikha, at mangingibig ng sining.

Dr. Mesandel Arguelles, at Mr. Vijae Alquisola; Ms. Franz Santos, Ms. Jeanne Tan, Mrs. Ma. Manuela Agdeppa, at ang Student Media Office; Dr. Anne Frances Sangil at ang Departament of Literature; Dr. Rowell Madula at ang Departamento ng Filipino; ang Bienvenido Santos Creative Writing Center; College Editors Guild of the Philippines; Ateneo Heights; Ms. Lynette Marie Ang, Ms. Aleena Marie Concepcion, at Ms. Allysa Nicole Dequino sa pagbabahagi ng kanilang mga piyesa sa isyu na ito; Dr. Chuckberry Pascual at Mr. Patrick James sa pagbabahagi at pag-gabay sa Malate Writers’ Workshop; Mr. Ronuel del Rosario at Mr. Sonny Thakur sa pagbibigay ng inyong saloobin sa Art and Photo Camp; Mr. Brendan Matthew Barcena at Ms. Leonor Reyes sa pagbabahagi ng iba’t ibang ideya sa Marketing and Events talk; Mr. Archie Oclos, Mr. Albert Raqueño, Ms. Weng Cahiles at Ms. China Pearl Patria De Vera sa komprehensibong pagbabahagi ng iyong saloobin ukol sa progresibong paglikha, at sa BLB Live sa pagsagawa ng livestream para sa Sining Alay sa Madla: Malate Convention for the Arts 2021: Sining Alay sa Madla; Ms. Nelca Leila Villarin at ang Office of Student Affairs; Dr. Lily Ann Cabuling at ang Health Services Office (Taft); DLSU Bookstore; DLSU Student Co-Operative (SCOOP); Council of Student Organizations (CSO); Office of the Legal Counsel; Finance and Accounting Office; Security Office; Mr. Michael Millanes at ang Student Discipline Formation Office; Ang Pahayagang Plaridel, Archers Network, Green Giant FM, Green & White, The LaSallian at ang Student Media Council, Magicus Junctra Corporation Printing.

At higit sa lahat, sa mga kasapi’t kaibigan na patuloy na umaalalay sa paglago ng Malate Literary Folio. ix

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