Hearth: In the Cracks of Light (Part II)

Hearth: In the Cracks of Light

Second Literary Folio S Y 2022-2023

Pendulum Chronicle is the Official English Publication of Antipolo City National Science and Technology High School

The copyright for each piece in this folio is owned by the author/artist No content may be reprinted or used in any way without the express permission of the author/artist.

Cover art | Aisley Pheona Lumontad

Layout | Evita Lorreine Haban, John Gabriel Guion, Paolo Miguel Cabugoy

Editor's Note

Literature and writing have been significant in my pursuit of intellectuality. I will never forget the teachings of our 7th-grade Filipino adviser: you will never have an output if you do not get some input. How can we get input? It is definitely through reading, listening, and watching. We often forget that literature has always been an integral part of our lives. Wherever we go both physically and virtually, literature always greets us astoundingly and subtly. It is with a keen eye that one can unlock the gifts of literature.

Many people know me in writing mostly because of my tenure as a sportswriter in the field of journalism. However, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Along the way, I have grown my love of writing whether it be academic, creative, technical, or journalistic. It’s been a fire that’s continuously burning from within just to follow suit in my journey

My excitement for learning was also rekindled when the face-to-face classes officially returned My longing to meet my classmates was granted and our friendship grew stronger than before. But tragic thoughts struck my mind, I almost fell into the unnerving abyss of despair. I questioned my capabilities but thankfully, I was still on the path I charted.

With the warmth that our passion, our people, and our peculiarity radiate just to keep us from being devoured by the greyness emitted, Pendulum Chronicle offers to you Hearth: In the Cracks of Light 2023 with the theme of Warmth and Greyness– where the warmth from friendly memories meets the decolorizing greyness thus mixing the emotions and ultimately manifesting the humanity of individuals. May this literary folio augment your strength and your passion in your hopes of striving towards that good success you long for no matter the situations give

Andrew Dumangas Editor-in-Chief

Illuminate Illuminate

by Aisley Pheona A Lumontad

Even from small things such as matches, a flame of hope can be seen and found amid the grayness of life. This hope can be the hearth of a person, providing warmth and light to their journey in this gray world. Its small blaze casts a shadow that projects the person's capability and the greatness they can share in this world. It can also illuminate a light, just like a glint of hope can bring someone to try and strive for the best. This work shows that if there's light, there's hope. A b o u t T h e C o v e r A b o u t T h e C o v e r

Part II: General Submissions

Roshann

Reyca

Roshann Aimielle S. Uba

Reyca

Reyca Mae D. Eduarte

Niña Ysabelle

Reyca Mae D. Eduarte

John Patrick M. Pagauitan

Striking Flames

Poem by Reyca Mae D Eduarte

What's not to like about winter?

The wind outside may be biting

But the warmth inside will forever be incomparable

When the breeze gets too cold, I tend to seek warmth

Wrapped in blankets and sipping hot coffee

I feel a sense of satisfaction, rubbing my palms together

The fireplace, with its flickering flames

Comforting crackles and flying sparks, Becomes the center of my winter lounge

It’s powerful enough to turn fire into something beautiful

The way the flames dance and flicker is dangerously mesmerizing

The circulating heat lures me in, so I watch

I watch the logs crackle in a roaring blaze

As my thoughts slow down with the feeling of emptiness

As my curiosity peaked, I wondered, what makes the warmth so unique?

The fire is genuinely enigmatic, leaving silvery grays behind

I sit with a sigh, seeing how the fire dies down And I can’t help but feel like I was stolen from The chill creeps up slowly and spreads across my face

The grayness of ashes is like my state of mind

For though I’m in the fireplace, no warmth I can find I find myself seeking the warmth

To burn the greyness in my eyes

Full

Short story by Roshann Aimielle S Uba

Reynaldo, that’s my name. Reynaldo Guzman S. Arcillo, 53 years of age, worked as a senior manager at a soft drinks and beverages manufacturing company outside Quiapo, widowed, and a father to three daughters. Let me rephrase that, I was a father to my three daughters. You might think that it’s peculiar that I continue to refer to myself in the past tense but well, there is a reason for that, and that reason is because I am… well… dead.

I don’t mean that in a sort of emotional or even hypothetical way. In fact, I never really liked using any fancy-schmancy words or complicated figures of speech. Back to my current condition, I am physically dead. Heart-beat: zero, breathing: zero, sign of life: absolutely zero. It all happened so quickly, too quickly even. It was around half-past nine and I was driving home from work to see my daughters when I suddenly realized that the brakes of the car weren’t functioning An SUV was coming in my direction so I swerved to avoid collision and the rest is history Was history Now, I sit on the sidewalk in this phantasmal or even “ghostly” form that I now possess, watching as first-aid responders and emergency services carry the cold and lifeless corpse I once called mine out of the car wreckage.

It all happened too quickly but if I’m being honest, I’m not really scared, or angry even. Sure I was confused at first, especially since I am now what most people would call a ghost or spirit, but I got over it after I took a few deep breaths and watched as people gathered around the scene of my incident and the ambulance came.

I accept death. It comes and will come to everything and everyone someday, and for me, that day is today. The only regret I will leave behind is never seeing my daughters’ faces one last time. Then, a sudden thought came to mind. I don’t want to leave with a single regret. Not a single one.

I ran in the direction of our house Passing through walls and cars and even people; never once stopping. I can feel that this form won’t last very long and I was starting to hear angelic voices behind me telling me to “come home” and to “rest”. I whispered under my breath, “Not yet, just a little more time” as I continued to run. After some time, I reached home.

The lights were off and the house was quiet. Well, I kind of expected it to be this way since I almost always get home late due to working overtime. I only get to eat with my daughters during the few chances I get off work early. My daughters are usually asleep by this time already, tired from work mostly. The door was locked, which was no problem for me in this new form of mine. I entered to find the three of them sleeping on the couch, probably waiting for me to get home. My eyes got teary from imagining the grief and pain they will feel in the morning, but for now, they deserve this peace. Concentrating to the best of my abilities, I was able to pick up a blanket after failing several times in the bedroom to cover them so they could sleep comfortably. My death will bring pain and greyness to their lives for a short while, but I believe that all the memories and times we have spent together will bring them warmth. I muttered to them, “I love you all, take care of yourself for me” with a weak smile on my face. Now, I’m ready to go home because I can say proudly that I’ve lived a full life

Chiar

Sonnet by A

In the depiction o A sonnet of warmth

Contrasting hues tha Creating a masterpiece of every part.

The warmth, a gentle sun on winter's day, Caresses souls, keeping darkness at bay. Residual comfort of cherished desires, Ignites a spark, kindling passion's fires.

Yet greyness lingers, casting its own shade, Mixed emotions, a symphony unswayed. aving it stark, s; light grows dark.

th and greyness, uman likeness. ns intertwine, divine.

Aimless Bourn

Rhymed poem by Angela Nicole Cordova

A

hollow,

bottomless pit that yearns

Has made one unrestful and stern

A flightless bird that wanders

Towards an obscure path, one maunders

The world keeps on going

As the heart keeps shattering

One could look up on the stars hoping Yet the hope seemed to be fleeting

Melancholic breeze had me petrified

In this empty room I am terrified

The somberness I can’t hold inside Is swallowing me, it won’t subside

Yet right when I thought there’s no light

A warm embrace extends its invite

The solace to escape the night

Impromptly regaining my sight

Tenderness seeping through the crevices

Beats the scar of the dreariness

A companion that taught blissfulness

Became a comfort, a profoundness

Keeping Warm

Artwork by Roshann Aimielle S. Uba

Keeping warm is an artwork representing the warmth and passion inside of everyone. The flame inside of us is subject to harsh winds and rain, a feeling of greyness in our everyday lives that we try to fight off. To keep warm is to continue to live, to embrace the lingering good in hopes of a better tomorrow rather than focusing on the pains and anguish of the current.

To You Who Taught Me Warmth

Short story by Roshann Aimielle S Uba

There was once an eccentric but very talented artist named Nikolas. His dark brown hair and pale skin were his most defining physical features, but there was something else he was acclaimed for. Nikolas was a well-renowned artist for his paintings of scenery and architecture with extreme detail and precision He was also known for being a recluse, a modern hermit despite his high social standing Despite all the fame and fortune Nikolas had garnered, he began to develop a feeling of emptiness and greyness in his chest. He felt as if his heart was slowly being pulverized to dust.

One day, he went to a gallery that was displaying several of his works. There, he saw a woman staring at his painting for an unusually long time. Confused, Nikolas approached and asked the woman, “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you miss, but is there something wrong? I noticed you haven’t moved a single inch and were only staring at the painting for what seems to be quite a long time now.”

“It’s empty.” replied the woman.

“I’m not sure that I follow. What’s empty, miss?”

“The painting, it’s empty,” replied the woman in a sorry tone. It was a confusing remark, but Nikolas knew what the woman meant.

He suddenly laughed with joy and delight, which echoed throughout the gallery. The woman nearly jumped from Nikolas’s sudden laughter. People around the gallery immediately recognized him and were confused as to why such a cold, quiet, and reclusive man was now boisterously laughing

“My apologies for the sudden burst of laughter, I realized I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Nikolas, the artist of the artwork you just criticized, and yes, you are right madam, my artwork could not be more empty.” he stated.

Although embarrassed and confused, the woman still replied “My name is Emilia,” she said as she shook hands with him and smiled cheekily, “it’s nice to meet you, Nikolas.” Nikolas’s only thought at that time was how radiant Emilia’s smile was, and how he wished to see it again and again.

Many years passed since Nikolas had disappeared from the art scene. Many wondered where he went. Suddenly, an unusual piece of news spread around the art community. Nikolas resurfaced and announced that after several years, he was going to exhibit a new painting. On the day of the event, many went to the gallery where he announced that he will be showing his new work. Nikolas, now an elderly man with wrinkles on his face and white hair, walked up the stage where his new painting was covered with a white cloth.

“Thank you all for coming here today,” Nikolas said. Although having grown a bit older, it seemed as if he has more life compared to back then.

“Years ago, before I took a break from painting, a woman called one of my works empty. I realized immediately that what she said was true. My works were merely visually pleasing, but held no deeper emotion. All my works were as empty as I was.”

Reporters and visitors from all around the globe listened to the man’s words with their full attention

“However, I wanted to change that. I yearned to fill the emptiness inside me and my art with warmth rather than a cold and freezing greyness. Luckily, there was someone to show me the way.” He said with a smile on his face before pulling the cloth and revealing his painting to the world.

Everyone was astounded, not for the artistic prowess that Nikolas had shown again, but rather because of the subject of the painting. For the first time, instead of the usual architectural or scenery painting, the artist had drawn a person. Nikolas painted a woman, one with auburn hair and green eyes with a smile that could melt ice because of its radiance.

“To my Emilia, my wife, thank you for showing me that greyness is something I can escape, and teaching me that warmth is found in other people,” Nikolas said with teary eyes that he quickly wiped with a handkerchief. People were surprised that the artist was never seen because he was busy with married life.

What the people did not know was that Emilia had just recently passed away from a terminal disease. From their first meeting, the two of them quickly developed feelings for each other, and eventually got married. They spent all of their time together until Emilia’s passing, with Emilia always filling the void of greyness that Nikolas had felt. The portrait was his final piece, a dedication of thankfulness to his late wife.

“To you my dear Emilia, who taught me warmth.”

Flickering Lig

Rhymed Poem by Naeumi C. Gonzales

Water seeped from my eye, It burnt my cheek as it ran dry. One flash. One shot. One take. The smile they never knew was fake

The gas lit as I spoke, Things weren't the only thing I brok I'm a walking double-edged sword, Everyone you ask will accord.

Inside was a fleeting fire, Don't know what I truly desire. Their delight was my pleasure, Until I can't escape from capture.

I was the torch amid the dark, Not too long I lost the spark. I lost direction, I lost sight. Everything fell from a height.

The flame was then ignited, My ire I thought I comforted Grew like thousands of acres, Waiting for a moment to burst.

A successful one, they told. Years passed, I felt dull and old. Standing still in the same stage, But not ready to flip the page.

Evangeline

Poem by Reyca Mae D. Eduarte

Gray skies above and gray walls around

She’s bottled up all her joy and fun

The sunshine seems to be lost

One that I love and miss this time around

She longs for days when she could play And laughter filled her every day

When sunshine warmed her every thought

And childhood dreams were all she sought

Back when the world was bright and the days were long The trees around her whisper low

The leaves flow like a soothing balm

To heal the wounds that linger around

A child no more, she wishes to begin

To search for what was lost so long ago

A warmth that only children know

A light that shone so bright and true

When the world is no longer bleak Her spirit will once again speak. Now lost in the shadows, growing old

Through forests deep and valleys low

She journeys on, her heart aglow

Photo by Charilene Quimson Ugali

Setting Sun

Poem by John Patrick M. Pagauitan

The sun is setting in the west, the warmth of the soil felt, and the petrichor emanated, through the sad man's face.

Filling everything with water, like droplets, tears fell, a hole in his heart throbbing, ceaselessly, constantly, perpetually.

Like leaves dancing for wind, he danced forever.

The Boy and the Sea

Free verse poems from “Letters for Magnolia”

by John Patrick M Pagauitan

reflecting beautifully in the sea of vast blue waters your light, ever so enchanting, you were like the sea, and I was the shore, waiting for your waves a soul was swept away by the breeze,

like footsteps in the sand, washed by the tides, my heart was stolen, and you were the thief, the melancholy sound of birds in the morning rise, resembles your voice that was sweet and lovely, I stood there waiting for the winds of yo b e, always longing, missing, in the shores that remind me of you,

The Art of Balance

Free

verse poem by Niña Ysabelle

L Ramos

The moment she accepted the compromising chance, Urgency is visible within her eyes.

From her tone, to her posture, Seemingly uneasy, finding no comfort from her chair.

But from the way she spoke, no hesitation was hinted. It's as if she's anticipating it. She truly hasn't figured it out yet. So for now, she could only hope.

Hope that everything will turn out as she wished for. Hope that the world may be in her favor. She wished she had full control of what she was feeling. But for now, she could only hope.

Basking in the Gray

Free verse poem by Reyca Mae D Eduarte

In the warmth of youth, we basked in the sun

Free from worries, and uncertainty, life was all fun

Days were bright, and hearts were light

The world was ours; nothing was out of our sight

But life is not so kind

I used to love a game of chase

The rush of getting things done at a steady pace

But now, only a never-ending chain is there And the things I used to cherish now seem tiresome

In a vicious cycle of productivity

I feel chained not to complain

As the years passed, the dishes grew A “chore” is what life has become

The vibrancy of youth, ever so bright

Unseen like the stars in the daytime

It’s easy to forget what we once felts

As we trudge through life, trying to excel

A joy-filled heart of mine

Now replaced with a sense of being torn apart

The weight of dishes dims my light

Making me feel like I’m losing the fight

As if I carry the world in my palms

I yearn for days when I can just dance in the rain

But I face the weight that I bear

Finding a way to cope each day

And perhaps I can find a moment to rest

To take a break from the never-ending test

But honestly, the gray we wear is what we need For in its depths, we find our peace

So I let the world be bright and bold

Bright and bold, revered by others

For I find solace in the stories untold The quiet moments in the grayness

There’s beauty in that stillness

In this gray, a peaceful shade

No need to choose between left or right or pick a side

The world may rush and spin so fast

But in the gray, we can outlast

A place where we can all reset

Lost in the routines, we forget to play. The monotony makes us dull and gray. But it’s the part that cannot be denied

A reflection of who we are, And a symbol of all that we’ve come far Gray with age, the world may seem

But basking here, I find a certain charm that’s hard to sway within.

Artwork by Chevre Lu

Firelights

Poem by John Patrick M Pagauitan

Firelights in the sky, shining bright with their loud voices, beneath my shoes, flowers bloomed, in the place where we both stood wondering if I could forever stay forever, inside your embrace

Ephemeral light in the night, once again, charmed me in sight

"Such a beautiful thing to see, isn't it?" yes, it is, you're such a beautiful thing to see.

Acknowledgement

2020-2022. Years of seclusion. Years of uncertainty. Years of transformation The pandemic has changed the way we view ourselves, people, and life in general This compendium of art, the second edition of Pendulum Chronicle’s literary folio, reflects every possible memory and lesson we gained during those times This could be any disastrous moment or potentially a gratifying feeling or experience

When I found out that HEARTH is the title of this year’s folio, I cannot help but think of Hestia, one of the Greek Olympians –goddess of hearth and home. Literally speaking, a hearth is a place in a home where fire is traditionally kept. It provides warmth, light, and protection to every family member. But beyond these, it also symbolizes life, family, and comfort. And just like Hestia’s simple tale in the myth, when all else fails, the only things left are home and hearth. Pandemic years showed us that everything can collapse in a snap and our hopes can be shattered and turn grey. But the light and warmth that our home and our faith show will remain intact.

My sincerest appreciation and gratitude are extended to all writers, illustrators, contributors, editors, and everyone who made this work of art possible May your innate talents, skills, and expertise inspire more “Anscians” to spread their imagination and share their inspiring stories not just with the school community but with the rest of the world

James S. Letolio Jr. School Paper Adviser

Short Stories

Roshann Aimielle S Uba

Poems

Reyca Mae D. Eduarte

Andrew G. Dumangas

Angela Nicole Cordova

Naeumi C Gonzales

John Patrick M. Pagauitan

Niña Ysabelle L. Ramos

Artworks

Roshann Aimielle S. Uba

Chevre Lu

Pictures

Charilene Quimson Ugali

Editorial Board

S.Y. 2022-2023

Andrew G. Dumangas Editor-in-Chief

Evita Lorreine I. Haban Associate Editor

Franchezka Suijen D. Mapa Managing Editor

Section Editors

Karyl Alexandra C. Ipac News Editor Erin B. Matro Opinion Editor

John Marc A. Gulangayan Science Editor Franchezka Suijen D. Mapa Feature Editor

Andrew G, Dumangas

Julius Luis P. Ventura Sports Editors

Creative Heads

Juan Miguel C. Jaminal Head Cartoonist

Ashley Venice P. De Guzman Head Photojournalist

Evita Lorreine I. Haban

Aisley Pheona A. Lumontad Head Layout Artists

James S. Letolio Jr. School Paper Adviser

Layout Team

Aisley Pheona A. Lumontad Cover Artist

Evita Lorreine I. Haban

John Gabriel V. Guion

Paolo Miguel M. Cabugoy

Yzah Kathrine G. Baltazar

Layout Artists

The fire is out.