Solace | Literary Folio, Pendulum Chronicle 2021-2022 by Pendulum Chronicle

Pendulum Chronicle's First Literary Folio

Pendulum Chronicle 2021-2022

Artwork by Jesse Israel D. Francisco

PENDULUM CHRONICLE SOLACE, Literary Folio SY 2021-2022

front page artwork | Jesse Israel D. Francisco folio layout | Gan Louis Y. Grencio, Evita Lorreine I. Haban, Adrienne Gracey E. Manalo, Irish Carl C. Mancilla, Jelly A. Mendoza, and Venise A. Zapanta

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.

Editor's Note

IRISH CARL C. MANCILLA Editor-In-Chief

I was once fascinated by the idea of writing. Where does it come from? When does it feel like it is finished? From academic essays I pass at school to my entries in my 'dump diary', I think about the places, the people, and the feelings I encounter, and how I am able to translate them to words for pieces I pour my heart, mind, and soul into.

Writing has been my most excellent friend of all time. I always find myself writing short notes about what I am experiencing at the moment and pulling these little scribbles out when I feel like I've lost track of what I am dreaming and fighting for. The pandemic came, and everything came to a halt. In locked doors and masked emotions, feeling feelings and confronting them scared the hell out of me. I thought I was doing okay. Well, each of us thought we were okay, not until we realized what we lost during what we've been through in the last two years. But I was wrong about feelings. It is not a display of weakness, but rather a testament to living life. Pendulum Chronicle presents Solace 2022 under the theme of Loneliness and Comfort—loneliness in longing for the life that the current situation has stolen from us, and comfort in the presence of not just our own company but also with the ones who stayed. May this literary folio make you feel something again, and may you continue to fight for the things you want to achieve no matter how difficult it gets.

About the Cover

End of Chronicle Artwork by Jesse Israel D. Francisco This work was mainly based on the poster of the hit 1997 anime movie "End of Evangelion" written by Hideaki Anno, however it was parodied to look like an ACNSTHS version of the poster. 4

Editor's Note Irish Carl C. Mancilla, Editor-In-Chief

Editorial Board Pendulum Chronicle 2021-2022

SHORT STORY | Caffeine Affair Jelly A. Mendoza, 12-Curie

PHOTO Charilene Q. Ugali, 8-Euclid

POEM | Forget-me-not Claire Francesca Therese S. Bergonio, 8-Gauss

PHOTO | Spring Sofia Louise U. Melgarejo, 12-Curie

POEM | Dear Flower Raven Vera L. Sierra, 12-Curie

SHORT STORY | Here, where problems arise, a lighthouse was seen Marleex R. Reyes, 8-Gauss

ARTWORK | Hover Jelly A. Mendoza, 12-Curie

POEM | Sol and Luna Princess Mae B. Cardiño, 8-Euclid

SHORT STORY | Intrusive Nightmares Maria Katrina Paula M. Ube, 12-Curie

Table of Contents

ARTWORK Juan Miguel C. Jaminal, 8-Descartes

POEM | Holding On Claire Francesca Therese S. Bergonio , 8-Gauss

PHOTOS | A Glimpse Of Hope Unheard Voice Alea Bianca B. Julaton , 12-Euler

POEM | For the you of three Davy Floren M. Loyola, 12-Euler

SHORT STORY | The Inevitable Truth About Tomorrow Yzah Kathrine G. Baltazar, 7-Galilei

SHORT STORY | Goodbye, Maya Rajah Nouvelle F. Luzon, 8-Descartes

POEM | Caught Up Irish Carl C. Mancilla, 12-Euler

ARTWORK | Waiting for Loneliness to Pass and Comfort to Come Roshann Aimielle S. Uba, 9-Bernoulli

Closing

Letter of Thanks James S. Letolio, Jr. , School Paper Adviser

Layout Team

Contributors

Editorial Board Pendulum Chronicle 2021-2022

Irish Carl C. Mancilla Editor-In-Chief Josh Brent P. Aquino Davy Floren M. Loyola Associate Editors

Andrew G. Dumangas Venise A. Zapanta Managing Editors

SECTION EDITORS Davy Floren M. Loyola News Editor Deo Justine L. Lago Opinion Editor

Franchezka Suijen D. Mapa Managing Editor

Irish Carl C. Mancilla Science Editor

Andrew Dumangas Sports Editor

CREATIVES EDITORS Jesse Israel D. Francisco Sean Carlo G. Gamboa Head Cartoonists Alea Bianca B. Julaton Head Photojournalist

Evita Lorreine I. Haban Head Layout Artist

James S. Letolio, Jr. School Paper Adviser

Caffeine Affair By Jelly A. Mendoza

First Place Winner, Literary Contest 2022: Short Stories Category

It was a foggy morning, and I dragged myself to this dust-infested shed. I was waiting for a bus for it to probably honk my sleepy morning away just so my nerves would revive their life. My senses were shut until the dominating presence of an arriving bus snapped me out of my grogginess. I need not to be honked just to be reasonably motivated to sail through the day. The thought of another cup of latte served in a coffee shop was inexorable enough for me. That early morning was not meant for rushing to school or going to church. I liked my latte or cappuccino served amid the tranquil dawn. Coffee was everything my morning should be, and besides, I was lactose-intolerant until noon. So, I finally reached my destination: caffeine paradise! Though there was still sleep hemmed in the bottom of my eyes, it didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that I was about to have in my hands the fruit of my waiting when I was about to lull myself to sleep last night. To my surprise, what I was about to have been not just a hot rare serving of latte but also another reason for me to forget about sweet reveries, and wake up early fighting the morning drowsiness.

To cut to the chase, I met the one who could have been the man of my dreams. It was not love at first sight, nor was it definitely that oh-sotranscendental love at first sight. It was plain to see that how we sparked the communication circuit was from being romantic for the simple reason that he spilled his cup of blistering hot black coffee on my shirt. Earlier, my chest was freezing from the cold daybreak, but after the spill, it calmed from the chill—but the mishap left my torso with red throbbing spots and a newly-dyed shirt. His first words to me were apologies. My first words to him were profanities. We were uttering words to each other, but we were not communicating. He may have seemed to get down on his knees to ask for my pardon. Fat chance! I may have been near to boxing him out of consciousness. He was a spineless piece of disgrace. I was a fuming corybantic bitch out to dismember him limb from limb. I wreaked havoc through the whole of the before-serene coffee shop and scared other people just before they could sip caffeine. Through divine intervention, our next words to each other gradually came to a common timbre. It was like fate turning us into jerks with Alzheimer's. After all the short and crazed phases of our yet blossoming relationship, we would always meet at the coffee shop twice a week. I have never been friends with anyone like him before.

We never even talked about dating each other. I think we both silently agreed that each coffee break was a date to count for the record. And for! The record, we have been going out for about sixteen times in eight weeks. We could confide in each other just about anything. He even talked to me about his cheesy past relationship, and I would not mind one bit. I could not tell him about my past relationships because there was literally nothing to talk about, and he would always laugh about my painteresque lifestyle. We have talked about things from rock music to Gregorian chants; from computers to abacuses; from politics to dirty gossip; from basketball to Monopoly; from love to childhood memories; from philosophy to back masked ‘sinister’ songs. He was next to ideal, but not quite. But one thing is for sure, he made my mornings that I didn’t have to drag myself to wake up to heavy eve bags and comfy sheets. He called me up in the evenings to talk about what coffee to order the next day or sometimes just to solace me of my unwanted days. He is something else. He is so great a guy that he may be too good to be true. I could spend the rest of my life with him. But the sad part is, I never drank coffee in my entire life.

Photo by Charilene Q. Ugali

Forget-me-not

By Claire Francesca Therese S. Bergonio First Place Winner, Literary Contest 2022: Poems Category

Way out there, on the calm countryside, A modest garden chose to reside. In that little garden, there was a flower, That thought it only lived to be a bother. It was not a rose that defined beauty, Or a lily expressing purity. This certain flower was a forget-me-not, Ironically, since 'twas them they forgot. On one fateful day, a class of children came, Given a chance to find a flower they would claim, And as many flowers were picked up from left and right, The forget-me-not was far away from the spotlight. But then this little girl came whose int'rest was caught, Looking at the label that said forget-me-not... After a moment of reckoning, she smiled softly. "What a beautiful flower. I'll take this one with me." As she went out, it cried, "No, not me!" "Choose another, child! I’m not worthy!" But she continued and walked on and along the road, Until she stood at the front of a humble abode.

She approached this old man staring into the distance, Who looked at her, confused, and yet showed no resistance. The girl showed him the flower, and he gasped in recognition, And the old man reached for it with shaky anticipation. "...Why my child, this flower is a forget-me-not. It means true love that will always be in my thought. Your grandma's favorite, she told me in her last hour, ...No doubt, this one is such a remarkable flower." The flower realized with sudden epiphany 'I am of true importance to this man before me..' And as the man continued to hold it with tender wonder, For the first time in its life, the flower carefully pondered. I may not be as nice or as pleasant to the sight, And may never be, though I try to with all my might, But if I can bestow this one man such amounts of glee... Maybe I'm not as meaningless as I once thought to be.

Spring

Photo by Sofia Louise U. Melgarejo

Second Place Winner, Literary Contest 2022: Poems Category

By Raven Vera L. Sierra

Dear Flower

Fallen flower, you will never grow Nor will you ever have a chance to make yourself glow. Your only fate is to wither and vanish, Not a life where you enjoy luxury and lavish. Poor fallen flower, deprived of the sun. Did not have a chance for redemption, absolutely none. Fated to be alone the moment it sprouted, Destined to come and go with no one to save them. Poor little flower, water’s dripping from its eyes Could not take the loneliness, made one final cry, “Oh, Dear Lord, I am begging you, please,” “End this poor flower, let me rest in peace” Exhausted and drained, the poor flower felt empty. With no rain nor water, the flower was thirsty. Once again, the flower begged the God for mercy, “Oh, Dear Lord, I take back what I said mindlessly”

The morning came and the flower finally had a glimpse of the sun. Behind the trees, the flower squinted and saw the silhouette of a man. The man was carrying a bucket of water with one of his hands, Thankful for the hope and comfort, the flower made a very grand plan. The flower greeted the man with bright colors, It gave off a pleasant scent that got rid of other odors. Making its savior smile made the flower feel relief, It decided to make the man happy as long as he lives. The poor fallen flower is now long gone, Got redemption that before was impossible to reach by hand. The poor fallen flower who’s fated to wither and vanish, Its predestined future is now gone and tarnished. Dear little flower, you made it this far, With the man who saved you, what will vanish is your scar. The path that you choose is not the only way to get saved. Wait patiently, and redemption will sure be on its way. 16

Here, where problems arise, a lighthouse was seen By Marleex R. Reyes Second Place Winner, Literary Contest 2022: Short Stories Category

Being a sailor is hard, isn’t it? I paved my way through the infinite, gloomy, dark sea, transporting hundreds of favored passengers to their next destination while I stayed here: where problems arise, where every view is a storm, where everyone has a direction. These passengers won’t even remember me. No, they don’t even see me in the least. I am only here to deliver these successful people to a place where I will never be. Does my dad feel the same? It has already been years since he comforted me about mom’s death. I was naive to tell him that it was his fault when it was clearly an accident. Growing up, Mom has always been the great one, while Dad is just a lucky guy married to her. For a second, I felt embarrassed. I shouldn’t be. A flash of light distracted my eyes. The well-known lighthouse was seen in the distance. The passengers were amazed. I stood there knowing it for years. "These people are ignorant. Lighthouses are not for attractions but to warn seafarers of upcoming waters," I muttered under my breath. A kid then showed up from nowhere and told me otherwise. "No, you are." I was speechless. I ignored the kid, knowing that people might misunderstand me if I retorted. As I changed my direction, the child continued. "Lighthouses are a symbol of hope for every storm. You are clearly the wrong one."

Everyone looked at me. This kid has the guts to tell a professional mariner what lighthouses are for. At that same moment, a young woman, probably in her mid-20s, carried the child; I suppose that she was his mother. That situation kept running through my mind, not because of the kid’s response but because of his mom’s beauty. A chance was clearly given. Why did I become a coward again? Am I destined to be lonely? I left my dad after Mom’s funeral and abandoned all my friends so that I could pursue my dream of being a sailor. I am enraged by my past decisions. I was struggling to justify my regrets. I didn't notice an old bearded guy holding on to my jacket. He felt familiar, but I chose not to glance. He passed me a cigarette, telling me to smoke one, but I refused. I clearly remember how my dad used to warn me about these vices, and it did make me not drink or smoke. The guy then said, "Your parents did a good job raising you." I was going to object when I noticed that the old man had the same look as my father. My dad is almost certainly deceased. When I last saw him, he was elderly and frail. In awe, I glanced at the old man, hoping that he was my father. The old guy then broke the silence, "You have your dad’s eyes." That statement broke me. I was still contemplating if he was my dad. It turns out he was my uncle, my dad’s younger sibling. He used to say that to me when I was a young boy. He used to visit me in our old house. He raised me as if I was his own. He was the guy who was on my side when my dad was not around. He is just like me, alone. Except for the fact that he has a dog, a giant dog that used to follow me around. The silence was loud, as I was still recalling my childhood. "Collie, your dog, where is he?" I tried to strike up a conversation. He then told me, "He followed your good old dad." It worsened the atmosphere. He tried to think of a better response, but still replied, "I am so sorry for the loss." I felt empty knowing that my dad was gone for sure this time, and the same with my mom. I didn’t even have the time to say a proper goodbye to both of them. What’s worse is that I left my dad with bad feelings.

I walked away, not knowing where my feet were taking me. I kept walking until the door of a big cabin was in front of me. I opened it to see my wife and son waiting for my arrival. I went straight to sleep, praying for something I was unsure of. The next day, I was awoken by a boy who convinced me that I had made a mistake when it came to lighthouses. "Papa, your favorite lighthouse is approaching. Let's both wait for it," he said as he pointed me to a lighthouse with a modest home on its left. I was conquered with a sense of realization. I am the son of a couple who live near my favorite lighthouse. I'm not sure if it was the effect of the medication or a sense of comfort I was feeling, but I am sure that my loneliness has a cause. My mother died as a result of a storm, which I blamed on my father. Then I decided to leave my friends and become a sailor. I met the lovely woman who gave birth to my kid. But because of an accident, I harbored a disease that makes me forget. So, all this time, the comfort I have been looking for has been here in the place where I once viewed where problems arise, where every view is a storm, where everyone has a direction. I didn’t know that all my life, there was something that comforted me; my job, my wife, my son, my uncle and his dog, my mom, my dad, and the great Lord Himself. On this voyage of mine, I experienced a lot. I hope my son and future kids will hear this story before I forget everything. The storm that kept me lonely for years and the lighthouse that became my comfort too.

Hover Artwork by Jelly A. Mendoza

Sol and Luna By Princess Mae B. Cardiño Third Place Winner, Literary Contest 2022: Poems Category

One brings light One brings darkness One indicates a new beginning One, another ending With the loneliness that we felt Is it okay to find comfort from the opposite pair? Out of all the stars there were The brightest one caught me first Being the queen of all the moons Being seen when the sun sets How can I come to you? You are the brightest star, which only appears when the rooster crows. With the emptiness that I feel I still wonder if you are real Even though we try to conceal I know that they know, we are here Watching above the clouds Hearing stories about who we are I am amazed by the way they think, but that quote that they made will forever be glued to my heart "The sun has to die every night so the moon can live, for without the sun there would be no moon"

With the emptiness that I feel I am glad, the other stars are here They are my friends, and they comfort me Still, I fear that you are lonely Everyone watches in awe whenever we meet Mesmerized 'bout how astonishing one can be As we consume the sky, maybe two to four per year Eclipse, what an amazing name it could be Water turns into ice And day turns into night Ice turns back to being water And night goes back to being day Every year I'll wait As we meet I'll state Billions of years and I'll be here And all of them would be stunned, as the moon embraces the sun.

Photo by Charilene Q. Ugali 22

Intrusive Nightmares By Maria Katrina Paula M. Ube Third Place Winner, Literary Contest 2022: Short Stories Category

TW: Blood, intrusive thoughts and fake scenario

3 AM. It’s the usual time I wake up. I don’t even know if I wanted to wake up or just sleep forever. Neither is good enough for me. Walking through the empty hallway of our house has an eerie feeling for me because this is usually loud and happy in the morning. The bright sunlight passing through the large windows of the stairway contrasts with the dark midnight light that I am seeing. I passed through their rooms, resisting the urge to do something that usually happens in my nightmares. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs on their doors are scattered in the hallway covered in blood. The first room after the stairs is my little sister’s room. She is the nicest and cutest human being that I have seen, but sometimes it annoys the hell out of me, so here she is now inside her fancy Rapunzel inspired room covered in blood. Walking past the master’s bedroom, I checked my older brother’s room at the end of the hallway. His PC set is now crashed and barely working. I have always wanted to have that PC set, but he didn’t let me borrow it, so I crashed it like what I did to his head. Going down the first floor with blood dripping from my hand, I saw my lovely parents in the kitchen. The kitchen was chaotic too. No wonder, I hear my mom’s screams in my ear. Clean up. Oh yeah, right. Where do I start cleaning up? The whole house is a mess. There are also police sirens outside. Maybe they can help me clean up? As I went out, I watched how our neighbors were shocked to see me. The police began panicking, going to me as if to arrest me! "What did I do wrong?! You have no right to arrest me like this!" I screamed as they started cuffing my hand.

"Polly Delos Santos, 24 years old. Accused of killing her own family for psychological reasons. We don’t need enough evidence to consider you going out of your house looking like that, don’t we?" The police said it to me with a straight face. Fear. That’s what came to my mind. Did I really do that? I can’t do that! I love my family! I panicked when they pushed me inside their police car. "I did not kill my family! No! Let go of me-" "Sweetie? Wake up now! You still have meetings to attend to!" I heard a familiar sweet voice. Is that mom? I opened my eyes to check if it was really her and the moment I saw her angelic face, I quickly got up and hugged her. Oh, thank, God! "Were you having a nightmare? Oh, sweetie. Quickly freshen up and come down now to eat breakfast. The others are waiting." They are here. They are alive. That’s what matters. As I walk through the hallway to go down, I can’t help but compare it to my nightmare but this time, the hallway is lively. It is bright, and I hear my family’s voices from the dining room. With no patience, I went down to see them and eat with them. That nightmare has been haunting me ever since the COVID-19 pandemic started. I am actually afraid of sleeping because of that nightmare. I literally wake myself up until 3 AM to avoid that nightmare and when I sleep late, I will always have a good sleep. Luckily, I don’t dream of it every night, but it just keeps on coming back at unexpected times. The worst part is that there is this lingering feeling inside of my heart that I wanted to make it real. I remembered that last week of April, I had that nightmare every night. It just won’t stop bugging me. At 3 AM, I would wake up and cry. Sometimes, I cry myself to sleep. Most of the time, I freshen myself up and go down to the kitchen, checking the sharpness of the knives there. It was literally a hell week for me and I am very glad that I survived it.

No one in the family knows. Even my friends don’t know what is happening to me. It was about my mental health, I know. This pandemic contributed a lot to society’s health today, physically or mentally. I don’t even want to go to a psychiatrist to treat myself. I can’t afford someone to know about this. Trying so hard to contain my thoughts and nightmares, I found myself dreaming about it for one whole week. I can not do this anymore. I try so hard to not do it when I am in front of my family because I know, in one snap, this will not be me anymore. Impulsive as it may seem, but I really want to stay away from my family for a while. I booked a one-way ticket to Boracay tomorrow. Thinking about this trip made me sleep peacefully. Same scenario as when I woke up, I hastily went down with my 2 packed bags. Without them knowing about this trip and my reasons, they were shocked to see me go. Nonetheless, they still supported me. I have no itinerary. I just want to be far from them. To clear my thoughts. I relaxed myself in this empty room in one of the famous hotels in Boracay. Hearing the beach waves, the tourists, the boats, it’s refreshing. Maybe I should just move out?

Artwork by Juan Miguel C. Jaminal

Holding On By Claire Francesca Therese S. Bergonio

It came so suddenly from out of nowhere, That brought abrupt hopelessness and despair. A sudden disturbance in the everyday life, With tensions so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Staring through a small window, confined in your own home, Fervently feeling as if that you are all alone, The whole world was weeping, at least it felt like it... For a while, all were left dismal and desolate. ...Yet, with the gloomy clouds brought upon by the pandemic, A silver lining gleamed in spite of the pessimistic. How peculiar. Despite all the catastrophes that went down, You'll find that some light had come too, when you start to truly look around. You realized the importance to take better care of yourself, The value in taking a break and in getting much needed help, Rekindle old passions you decided to surrender, And finally treating thyself with a love so tender, Appreciating all our loved ones considerably, Sticking together through thick and thin decidedly, And Mother Nature was given the time to heal, So wonderfully, in a way so unreal. Yes, it's true that all of us still have a long way to go, Before we can flush the darkness we had to undergo, But please, remember all these things and continue to stay strong, For amidst the darkness, there will come great light. Keep holding on.

A Glimpse of Hope Unheard Voice

Photos by Alea Bianca B. Julaton

For the yo

By Davy Flore

the sound breaking like two rippling t memories split, f whether it’ll be make you sm it is but you to the memories fo one for the shallow and the last one meant f yet for all you w the song of you

u of three

en M. Loyola

of a heart g apart worlds through fold, form anew e sad or cheery mile or dreary urs to listen or the three of you w, one for the deep for the secrets you keep of these ill find ur heart, slurred

The Inevitable Truth about Tomorrow By Yzah Kathrine G. Baltazar

The day had once been tranquil and blissful... The car honks at its blast. Everywhere is filled with cacophony. How ironic! It was normal—at least before. Rushing to the subway in mismatched socks and a comb still clinging to your hair. You did not care. After all, the entitlement of becoming a Tetris master that comes after fitting your whole body like a sardine was the first achievement of the day. Going to school was a collective memory of friends welcoming you with a smile or stories only the both of you would know. Add the loud guys entering the room, jumping to reach the top of the door and, in an instant, playing around the chalkboard. That was life. And everyone said they enjoyed that. But to be honest, I hated it. I did not like the way I heard noises in the morning—especially if I knew I had some dreadful quizzes for the day. I did not like the idea that mathematics was the first subject every day of school. I did not like the way I saw younger students so excited to meet their classmates while riding their trollies. I just want peace. I just wanted to be alone. And suddenly, I was given peace for two weeks (the weeks I wish I had never been grateful for). "Just the right number of days to be alone!" Little did I know that it was the peak of the world shutting down-it felt like the world had just been unplugged from a plug socket. The world felt like freshly scooped ice cream that had fallen to the floor. I felt numb as I watched the ice cream melt before my eyes.

In an instant, the life I knew turned upside down. Stores were shut. The busy highways? "Oh, they were closed." People were forced to stay behind doors and talk behind masks—yes, the masks we thought were only worn by surgeons. Children are punished after crying because they cannot hug their best friends. "Stay away!" "Two meters, please!" And suddenly, I wanted to feel the same Earth back then. I wish people were not jobless now just because I wanted to feel peace. I hope that nobody was left behind after announcing that schools would be held online, and dream that kids did not find Zoom meetings normal! Two years of roller coaster rides, setbacks, and distress. I could not believe it had been that long. A lot suffered, and a lot went blue. But at least now we can walk down the street and meet new people. It was awkward. But, despite the dreadful experiences, I am still here. I was able to continue a lot of my passions, even the ones that were hidden in the back of my heart because of the pandemic. I got a chance to continue making YouTube videos, even if it was just a video of my day. I got to bake a lot, spend a lot of my time with my family, and dance—who would have thought that I would enjoy dancing? We cannot just stand and regret not living the life we have dreamt of. It was tough and felt like I was building a building without a blueprint. But one thing I learned is to just take risks (but do not build a building without a blueprint, though). I realized that life is still worthwhile once we accept that problems may be inevitable, but the way we perceive things is controllable. Live a life, kiddo!

Goodbye, Maya By Rajah Nouvelle F. Luzon

As every second passes by, the more I yearn for your presence. You taught me how to be dependent, but you didn’t teach me how to be independent. Now, what am I supposed to do without you? As I spend every minute of the day inside the home you created, the more I feel your absence. You only taught me how to get in, but now, how do I get out? As the sand completely falls from the upper half to the lower half of the glass, indicating an hour has passed, the more I feel your silence. You taught me to speak, but now, how can I bear being silent? The cycle goes on and on, as if I’ve been trapped in a time loop. How could a being as lovely as you do such a cruel act, befitting a monster? Have you grown tired of me? As every day passes by, the more I think about my absence. I was taught how to be independent, but how do I become dependent? As I spend every week of the month inside this asylum you created, the more I feel my madness. You only taught me that I am and will be accepted, but now, how do I accept? I was only taught that I am and will be accepted, but now, how do I accept? Why are you renouncing my words? I don’t even remember saying any of that." "What do you mean? I feel like I’ve heard you say something." "No, you didn’t say it like that, right?" "What are you saying? I really didn’t." "Really, I did?"

The cycle went on until the warmth I once felt became numbing, or perhaps it was the other way around. I’m not sure. The scale is tipping, did you do something? Or was it me? Why is it so messy? A woman silently heaved a sigh, as a smile slowly blossomed on her lips. I gave up. Goodbye, Maya. Once again, I felt the comfort of being alone and isolated from the world... just like what I felt during the pandemic 5 years ago. But now what? Author’s note: The story was messy; things were all over the place, but that’s the point. This short story was meant to portray the messy mind of a confused and gaslighted individual. She found the familiar comfort in saying goodbye and giving up. Because sometimes, we just need to let go of the present and move on to 'now what'. And, face the comfort of loneliness, even if it's lonely. Though it is still ambiguous, life isn’t always clear either. Story background: In Sanskrit, "Maya" means illusion. This is a foreshadowing of her role in the story; a manipulative/gaslighting imaginary friend. I used Goodbye instead of Farewell because Nara (which means "dreamland") is still reluctant to say goodbye forever. Not every ending should end with firm closure, mine will be a reluctant goodbye.

Caught Up By Irish Carl C. Mancilla

Once, in a sea full of dreams There comes a kid whose fears are tears Deep through her is a hope of bliss Where life would be sealed through love and a kiss But yes, the waves are much stronger than her It devoured every ray of light in a blur Blur in a sense that no one heard her call, Call of help near a cliff for a fall Down to the land of the dead Doomed to darkness and dread I must say, "there is something wrong with the plot, Why is she not given a chance?

A chance to stand up and be free from herself Yes, herself, who was lonely and a prisoner from her thoughts There must be justice from everything she had been through Where she felt as small as an elf!" Suddenly, a hand pulled her up Like a flash and a bang from the scorching sun Dreams that were once so cropped Are now gifted the freedom to run Finally, I can say, that the kid who was once helpless at dawn Touched hearts who are hurt; sees stars in a day Deep through her is a hope of bliss Where life caught up through love and a kiss

Waiting for Loneliness to Pass and Comfort to Come Artwork by Roshann Aimielle S. Uba

My artwork depicts an elderly man at a graffitied and dirty bus stop, signifying the loneliness we have felt and the thought of not knowing when it will be gone. The elderly man is waiting for something or someone to come to the bus stop as it is not his final destination. My artwork shows the idea that no matter how long you feel loneliness, it is still just a passing feeling and comfort will one day come to your life again.

Made with love and dedication by Pendulum Chronicle 2021-2022

Our school community excels not just in the field of science and research but also in literature and visual arts, and this collection is one of the demonstrations of Anscian’s gifts to the school community. This is the first-ever literary folio of Antipolo City National Science and Technology High (ACNSTHS), and the works that you will witness today: short stories, poems, illustrations, JAMES S. LETOLIO, JR. and photographs (which deal with loneliness and School Paper Adviser comfort), were written and made with passion, empathy, and love by the amazing writers, contributors, artists, and creators. May their creations inspire more people that there’s nothing wrong with showing our vulnerable side in tough situations. Meanwhile, I commend the undeniable commitment of the people behind this revolutionary collection of art, the editorial board of Pendulum Chronicle headed by Ms. Irish Carl Mancilla, the Editor-InChief of the publication (Batch 2022). Without their dedication, innovative ideas and concepts, and writing & layouting skills, this folio will not come to life. This indeed is a collaborative effort of brilliant individuals, but we owe the success of this work to God who continuously joins us in times of seclusion (loneliness) and brings us relief (comfort).

Letter of Thanks 40

Layout Team for Solace 2022

Gan Louis Y. Grencio 12-Euler

Adrienne Gracey E. Manalo 12-Euler

Evita Lorreine I. Haban 10-Pythagoras

Irish Carl C. Mancilla 12-Euler

Jelly A. Mendoza 12-Curie

Venise A. Zapanta 10-Pythagoras

Contributors LITERARY CONTEST WINNERS Short Stories Jelly A. Mendoza, 12-Curie - 1st Place Marleex R. Reyes, 8-Gauss - 2nd Place Maria Katrina Paula M. Ube, 12-Curie - 3rd Place Poems Claire Francesca Therese S. Bergonio, 8- Gauss - 1st Place Raven Vera L. Sierra, 12-Curie - 2nd Place Princess Mae Cardiño, 8-Euclid - 3rd Place

GENERAL SUBMISSION Short Stories Rajah Nouvelle F. Luzon, 8-Descartes Yzah Kathrine G. Baltazar, 7-Galilei Poems Claire Francesca Therese S. Bergonio, 8-Gauss Davy Floren M. Loyola, 12-Euler Irish Carl C. Mancilla, 12-Euler Artworks Jesse Israel D. Francisco, 12-Euler Juan Miguel C. Jaminal, 8-Descartes Roshann Aimielle S. Uba, 9-Bernoulli Jelly A. Mendoza, 12-Curie Pictures Sofia Louise U. Melgarejo, 12-Curie Charilene Q. Ugali, 8-Euclid Alea Bianca B. Julaton, 12-Euler