2
ES
SHAD
OF
GRAY The offical student literary folio of De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde VOLUME XVIII 3
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WARNING We have received reports on escaped guests around the premises. These are highly dangerous and mentally unstable patients. Word of caution, if you encounter a smiling man singing at the end of the hallway or a little girl wailing in front of a broken mirror, be a dear and listen to their stories. BUT, when you feel something’s off...
RUN.
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STUDENT PUBLICATIONS OFFICE
BENILDEAN PRESS CORPS AY 2015-2016
Editor in Chief Creative Director Associate Editor for Print Associate Editor for Digital Media Managing Editor News Editor Sports Editor Kultura Editor Features OICs Literary Editor Art Editor Photo Editor Layout Editor Digital Media Editors
Katsy Garcia Neal P. Corpus Ralph de Vera Jomari Vista EJ Lanuza Bea Mendoza David Tongol Charlotte Mae Martin Neal P. Corpus + Ralph de Vera Jona Bisu単a Sofia Abellera Abby Magsanoc Nicole Valencia Mika Abad + Tricia Castillo
Head Ms. Dianne May E. Torres Coordinator Ms. Rizalyn Lagman-Manalili Secretary Ms. Janice C. Mones
Shades of Gray is the official student literary folio of De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde (DLS-CSB). No part of
this folio may be reproduced, whether by photocopying, scanning, or by any other means, without text permission from
the Student Publications Office (SPO). Copyright 2016. For inquiries, visit the SPO at 2/F Br. Miguel Febres Cordero Bldg., DLS-CSB, 2544 Taft Avenue, Manila, or call (02) 230-5100 local 1521.
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CONTRIBUTORS --------------------------------------------------------Antipara Bea Omilia Ella Lambio Franco Ramos Hamham Hannah Rodrigo i* ji Jim Dela Cruz Joshua Daniel Flores Karpiva m.p. Mara Obal Marc Vincent Soriano MK nemeCis Paladin Pvre Rain Russell M. Villaspin Sheillyn Pingol Solilo Q. Uy Tea
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Managers --------------------------------------------------------Cheska Cruz Lyssa Placido
staffers --------------------------------------------------------Eya Arceo Mark Baltazar Jona Bisuna Chelsea Perez Joshua Zoë Rosal Gab Torres
Illustrators -------------------------------------------------------Sofia Abellera Alberto Cinco, Jr. Jelenie Custodio Rica Diaz Chrstian Anthony Pacis Francis Tadeo Lyra Tan Natasha Ting Ralph de Vera Jaz Yabut Joshua Zoë Rosal 8
Photographers --------------------------------------------------------
Xi-anne Avance単a Joriel Bataan Abby Magsanoc Inah Maravilla Yves Publico John Roxas Nikko Veloso Ysabel Victoriano
Layout Artists --------------------------------------------------------
Alberto Cinco, Jr. Camille Bianca Ortiz Camille Santos Nicole Valencia
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Table of Contents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
21 Obsessed Heart text by i* illustration by Rica Diaz
28 Cookies text by Ji illustration by Francis Tadeo
33 Sarah Says text by Jazz Solomon photo by John Roxas
34 Wrong
text by fatlouie noc photo by Abby Magsa
36 Secrets are Secrets FOR A REASON text by fatlouie illustration by Jelenie Custodio
40 Closer text by Joshua ZoĂŤ Rosal illustration by Jelenie Custodio
41 Windflower; Reprise text by Nocturne illustration by Natasha Ting
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Table of Contents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
46 Sincerely Yours
text by Joshua ZoĂŤ Rosal illustration by Jelenie Custodio
50 Buhos ng Ulan
text by Alingbata illustration by Alberto Cinco Jr.
53 Blink
text by Antiparra Photo by John Roxas illustration by Lyra Tan
56 Beg to Differ text by Franco Ramos illustration by Lyra Tan
58 Doll
text by Paladin
62 Charity
text by Tea Photo by Xi-anne Avancena illustration Natasha Ting
66 Yes, You
text by Chelsea Perez illustration Christian Pacis
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Table of Contents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
70 Blackguarded text by Marc Vincent Soriano illustration by Ralph de Vera
72 [Untitled]
text by Solilo Q. Uy
76 Takot Ako
text by Rain Russell M. Villaspin illustration by Francis Tadeo
ting Game 79 The Waai Omilia text by Be but illustration by Jaz Ya
81 Night Tales
text by Hamham photo by Yves Publico
86 [untitled]
text by pvre illustration by Francis Tadeo photo by Christina Maravilla
88 Definition
text by MK photo by Anthony Marquez
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Table of Contents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
92 Paghabol Paatras text by Karpiva photo by Joriel Bataan
95 Hindik ng Pag-idlip text by Jim Dela Cruz photo by Ysabel Victoriano illustration by Rica Diaz
100 False Conscience text by Ella Lambio illustration by Rica Diaz
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Table of Contents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
104 Butterflies
text by Ji illustration by Christian Pacis
111 Help
text by m.p.
112 Departure
text by nemeCis photo by Anthony Marquez
116 [Untitled]
text by Joshua Daniel Flores illustration by Jaz Yabut
120 She
text by fatlouie photo by Christina Maravilla
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Table of Contents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
123 Some Days When I’m bored text by i* photo by Christina Maravilla illustration by Lyra Tan
128 The Rants of an Obsessive, compulsive, compulsive text by Tea photo by Ysabel Victoriano illustration by Sofia Abellera
130 Clean
text by ji photo by Gerarld Del Mundo
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Table of Contents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
135 Hollow
text by Mark Baltazar illustration by Joshua ZoĂŤ Rosal
136 No Swimmer
text by Ella Lambio illustration by Sofia Abellera
137 Ethereal
text by Hannah Rodrigo illustration by Sofia Abellera
fare
ugh 138 Throro
nt text by Diffide Veloso o kk Ni by o phot
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Table of Contents ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
142 Breach
text by Mark Baltazar photo by Nikko Veloso
144 Questions I Ask myself late at night text by Chelsea Perez illustration by Natasha Ting
146 Coffee
text by Joshua ZoĂŤ Rosal illustration by Jaz Yabut
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EDITOR’S NOTE ---------------------------------------------------------
Ever get that strange feeling you’re being watched? It’s called Paranoia, the loss of perspective and reality. We go darkest pit of our minds; the home of lurking deeper in the fears and anxieties. The thing about this is, it’s all in your head. Can you feel your sanity voices and the
slowly waning? Don’t fret; it is just the delusions causing the paranoia.
In this year’s Shades of Gray, we draw our attention to the fears and anxieties of diverse individuals who were courageous enough to share their deep dark secrets. This is a book full of madness and insanity about the things that go bump in the night to the unanswered what ifs of life. The time has come, no more hiding. It’s about time to let the monsters out. Witness, Shades of Gray Volume XVIII: Paranoia. NOTE: Kindly fill out the patient form found on the following page for certification. Only authorized patients are marked insane.
Jona Bisuña 18
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“I can’t move, breathe, speak or hear and it’s so dark all the time. If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead.” -Graboid27
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Obsessed Heart --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1151 i*
Like feeling the acid in your stomach as it churns and wanting to disgorge— Like being asphyxiated with someone’s massive grope, your face purpling— With stones in your pockets, hands tied behind your back, drowning beneath the sea— With a rope around your neck—feet dangling—as you hang from a tree It’s not like having your chest being pierced with a dagger, but a harakiri twice as slow the pace—like being eaten by vultures alive— like lying naked in the frigid grounds of Alaska— like swallowing a thousand needles— like having your flesh feasted by maggots and bugs— “This is how it like bleeding yourself dry and scraping the marrow out of your bones— feels to have like screaming at the top your lungs, anxiety raucously screeching, aching for the sound of your voice, but disorder” not even a whisper is coming out— like your lungs are belted to subdue expansion— like every vein in your body rupturing from pressure— like your heart is being grappled by a million hands altogether clenching their fists to suppress its beat—but you just don’t die.
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You feel everything. All at once. Not in successions. No lapses. All at once. Like dying a million deaths yet not dying at all. You just feel the pang. You know it’s there. You know it stings. You avoid it. ‘Cause you thought you could. And you fidget, and your toes curl and you tap your legs 22
and you walk and walk and walk as you think and think and think with your heart pounding and pounding and vigorously pounding, bruising your chest, leaving fissures on your ribs, shattering your joints, as everything is slowly devoured by the shadows one does not cast; then crushing—emaciated—at its own violent, furious pound. Make that a whole day. Even sleeping soundly at night itself feels like a reward.
e voices, th nd of the u so e th ould. As echoes u rarely w ead: ‘Cause yo e shrills, and their riek inside your h th sh , rs s e e whisp e— g echo of the wo llo er faintin their nev Hello, the misery He o ll e H o ello llow. Hell e Hello H b il a fr e in a the a goodby ost smell ould alm w u o y d . , an at a week f your rotting core Make th nch o e st s u ro malodo
You know it’s rotting when you hear it thumping. Doctors call it heartbeat. I call it a flatline. This is how it feels to have anxiety disorder.
This is what it’s like to hear the screams.
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This is what it’s like to be the only one who hears them. They are the rapists of a feeble mind, savaging it to rag; the pirates that wouldn’t disembark an almost sunken ship. Anxiety disorder is the euthanasia of sanity. It is not limited only to the word by which it was first denominated. Anxiety is tantamount to: Worrying Disquietude. Distress. Loving.
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The voices are loud. They prick my heart with your name. My psychiatrist knows about my anxiety, but he has not a clue where it’s rooted. He calls them panic attacks. I call it loving you. He gave me meds to quiet my mind, but science can never cure an obsessed heart.
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Evaluation No. 1 --------------------------------------------------------If your fears were real, what would they look like? Illustrate
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Cookies ------------------------------------------------------Patient Name Patient No. Ji 11511
e so much. I My mom loves m
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know that well.
I bruised my a tree branch and smaller, I tripped on ter, then un co the g pin wi W hen I was much ing. Mom stopped cry t crying me jus ho s nt wa I . we d ed knee an at happen a. She asked me wh leaned over e Sh . ch mu walked me to the sof so rt hu so k because my knee iled. And then I am then; I couldn’t tal e you, child.” She sm lov “I ee. kn my and kissed m t, I went home fro Not long after tha much better. trying s wa I . rm ifo un d school with a staine I x. bo ch little lun to hide it behind my m. I roo my to ing toe walked silently, tip d. see it. She’d be ma didn’t want mom to d because ma t ge to r he nt And I don’t wa bed m was there in my I love her. But mo ket roc ve ha lows. They room, fixing my pil g the gin an ch s wa om ships on them. M she in and smiled when covers when I got s. She seem ile sm ays alw m saw me. My mo she n’t know how, but to never be sad. I do my uniform. I on in sta the ed tic quickly no d be or, scared that she’ looked down the flo chin my ed lift y ntl ge just mad at me. But she ay. ok ’s “It d, ead and sai and kissed my foreh ” ay? ok u, yo e I’ll just wash it. I lov my mom mixing One Saturday, I saw wl. something in a bo
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“What are you doing, mom?” I asked. “I’m baking cookies,” she said, without smiling. “Mom? Are you mad?” “No, sweetie, what made you think of that?” “Because you are not smiling today.” “No, son. Mommy’s not mad. I’m just making cookies, see?” she smiled. I don’t know if this sounds crazy, but her smile looked sad. I chose not to say it, though. “Why are you baking cookies?” ain. A sad smile. e you,” a smile ag lov I se au ec “B . loves me. I know ng much. My mom She stopped mixi w. I miss her so no ht rig om m y I miss m that well.
I remember her sleeping by my bed when I get nightmares. “I love you, son.” I remember her preparing me sandwich for breakfast. “I love you, son.” I remember her putting powder on my back. “Take care, okay? I love you.” I remember her embracing me when I cry. “What’s the matter, son? Mom loves you.” I remember still every good night and good morning and sleep tight she said. “I love you, my child.” I remember her buying me ice cream. “This is for you. I know you love chocolate. I love you, okay?” I remember seeing her cry. But still she said, “Don’t worry. Mom is fine. It’s just little tears.”
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And then I would cry too because I don’t want to see her cry. And I felt like there’s a foot of an elephant on my chest and my throat felt like there’s a big, big marshmallow stuck in it. I know that feeling and I hated it. Because I know that I am going to cry. And I did. I burst out in tears. Mom chuckled. “Don’t cry, okay? Be a strong boy. Maybe tomorrow mom won’t be here. Maybe tomorrow mom will ride a flying carpet to heaven, just like in Aladdin. But mom loves you. Always remember that, okay? I love you. I very much love you.” My mom loves me so much. I know that well. The next day, when I woke, I looked for mom in her room. But her bed is made, like it has always been whenever I see it. She wasn’t there. Only the smell of her perfume. I looked for her in the living room. “Mom? Are you there?” But the magazines were stacked neatly. I looked for her in the kitchen. “Aha! I knew you were—” But she wasn’t baking cookies. I let days pass without her. But that’s okay. I still hear her, though. I hear her in my mind. She tells me she loves me, like how she always do. And I tell her I love her too. Sometimes five times a day, other days, she just keeps repeating it all through out the whole day: “I love you. I very much love you.” She never gets tired of saying that. And I will never grow tired of listening. Every morning I go to my routine of searching for her in the same places. But like the other yesterdays, I can’t find her anywhere One day, I saw Daddy crying on the couch. I approached him and asked why. “I know you love your mom and that’s okay. You look for her, I know that.”
r, ear he her h l l i t Is ar h. I he thoug ind. m in my
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“Dad, I don’t think I understand. What’s the matter?” “I always hear you say ‘I love you, too, mom.’” “I think you’re jealous, aren’t you, Dad?” “I am not, son. I am not.” “I say ‘I love you, too’ because I hear her, Dad. I hear mom. You know, last night she was beside my bed and
she was humming me to sleep. Mom’s humming is good. Like how it has always been. How about you, Dad, why don’t you say ‘I love you, too’ to Mom anymore? Please don’t make her sad, Dad. Tell her you love her,” then I lowered my voice to a whisper, “She’s just in the kitchen, baking cookies.” “Oh, son,” Dad sobbed, then grabbed me and hugged me. “I know you miss her. I do, too.” He broke the hug and held both my hands, and looked to me straight in the eyes. “Listen, you’ll be skipping class tomorrow. Okay? I’ll tell your teacher, so don’t worry.” “Why, Dad? Are we gonna go somewhere?” “We’ll visit your mom’s grave,” Dad said, “then we’ll see Dr. Jones.”
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Sarah Says --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11513 Jazz Solomon
Sarah told me I’d be pretty; that people would like me, “They will adore you!” said she – so I believed what Sarah said thinner; Sarah told me I’d be “You need to lose more weight,” she says – so I stop eating dinner, because Sarah says so. I believe what Sarah says Sarah told me I look better; thanks to weeks with only water. ‘still not thin enough’ is what Sarah thinks and I believe what Sarah says Sarah didn’t tell me I was dying; “Why are you still gaining?” so I smashed the mirror, shards around me, crying; on the floor, mother found me lying “Sarah, why are you
bleeding?”
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ng Wro -- ----------m Na e -------Patient uie -------tlo fa -------No. Patient 9 112 today wrong orts of of my bag, s ll a g lin et I’m fee deepest pock ent beings the h urg c in u s g e in ecom ls hid an the pil e somehow b out in ink of av th h e t a m comes s Th sh. e ly k u n r a o t m n it rong” cohere That it w in “ e n fi y to de bay, hen I tr eep at And w ed to k y okay ’, g a n a at I m w I’m finall o spair th and de inking ‘oh w y it v ce ti a th g e to n f in ll at on o id so a ection myself elings d g fe it e in ; e d th c All Delu ngean ver y dir leed from e b ngr y ve in an a blows come at they ther d th n a g in w ach o ack no ecause all the ns start blurr e b to e r a in te b apart They gree naviga to tell nd the harder hard to en the reds a e it d a g h s in h Mak betwe ng nd eac e lines ch feeli color a And th and ea ch of it g each t in h k g a u M ch tho name on ea in rize ea ke I am catego o I can put a d n a e e feel li am okay ts liz m s s ta ju e n k e g l; I ns ma t bein partm contro to com one coheren s of my demo e Tr ying c Into fa e on th names putting e s u a c Be
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Secrets are Secrets for a Reason --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1129 fatlouie 36
“An open book, they say she is, because she wears her on her sleeve.
heart
But what book, do tell, pages gives you blank when you ask invasive questions And gives you ten pages when you look for the index or publication? again None when you try to browse the contents but chapters dedicated to acknowledgements Sometimes you see a glimpse here and there of passages that makes you feel you’ve hit gold but are never enough for sense to bare. Like being able to grasp in your hands the blazing of a fire most beautiful But before you can feel its burn, it fades into ashes and gets lost in the air. An open book for all to read but the ink is special, you see. It is made from all her cries that you sometimes chose not to hear And on her sleeves, you say she wears her heart but look, the bruises on her thighs say otherwise.” 37
FACT Worms taste like fried bacon, wasps taste like pine nuts, and beetles taste like apples.
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And you’re sitting on the bathroom floor, (it’s okay) the shower running, (it’s okay)
Closer --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11410 Joshua Zoë Rosal
one hand tugging on your hair, the other patting your nape. “It’s okay,” you finally say aloud, but you know it really isn’t. And you’re fooling yourself by counting your makeshift raindrops, desperately trying to drown the sound of his footsteps getting closer.
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Windflower; Reprise --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11502 Nocturne
Whispers bounce back from the walls— morphing a touch of reality, that fades into something a tad far from consciousness,
It could be the lunacy of my nights, or maybe the festering musings of my days but I always wondered, if anyone could see what I thought It’s another hopeless hour, a fuzzy dreamscape
It’s the hushed cries of “It’ll be okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay” It’s the choked up laughter, 41
when the clank of footsteps, are heard by the door
It’s the unending shivers, the bumps rising from your skin
It’s the gush of fresh air leaving your lungs, when it should be the other way around It’s when the weight of too-deep thoughts, and too-high dreams, come crashing down— into something like a sharp blow of wind to your face, but not enough to completely knock you out from the dust
It’s that little crater on your face, from picking—ripping out—that piece of skin, that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of your face, pricking, tearing it; inch by inch that you were bleeding, crying, you were like the moon 42
It’s the patch of red crescents marked onto your palm and arm, when the shivers wouldn’t stop, and words get caught in your throat, into barely-there whispers that you thought that maybe, you could distract yourself with the image of moons seated at the palm of your hand The chill of tiles and drip ping water has never felt so warm but it bothered me, how tap water, could easily become sea
water
and how the scent of moth balls, could be the thick scent of seaweed and the sound of the exhaust vent, could be seagulls and waves crashing, in my head And another hour passes Whispers bounce back from the walls
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Sincerely Yours --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11410 Joshua ZoĂŤ Rosal
E N A S IN
g her unwind,
I love watchin
led couch ts her patch-fil fatigue, The way she le ith w sinks Eat her as she ding d ed food an ad r cooking cann own. he r of he l it el e sm ak e m Th es to All those spic e way she I find joy in th EA table. IK ina on her little ch , ke fa r he Sets put it together I’ve seen her back lls fa ad he r she is when he t, puffing, W hat a beauty And her ches r blouse. he g in in ru t Beads of swea her door on le ks the peepho ec g ch e sh ay w before headin And the Several times tly, gh sli en op or e do om, leaving th t not To the bathro whole unit, bu Steaming her not see to e m r fo h Enoug ing. The whole th ying her? ow it is I, enjo
Could she kn ecks for me, I
Maybe she ch
don’t know.
my her all day, if I could watch t me. Work hours le for a living. is th do d ul co I l day, ep her there al ear ke d ul co I d never disapp I wish e’ sh so locks shut Glue her door , see her, From my sight all the way to throom door Open that ba her ping, stare opposite Bare and drip d unblinkingly an r ai ch e th Sit on ts without W hile she ea t. en sm as rr ba Em g her.
I love watchin
end. her til my days I wanted to. I could enjoy for as long as ch at w to e in m She could be forever and mine to watch She could be ever and ever. 47
Evaluation No. 2 --------------------------------------------------------Paranoia (n.) Define
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-----lan ------ng U - - - - - - - - - - - - - s o e Buh - - - - - - - - - - - - t Nam Patien ta ---a ------b g n Ali t No. Patien 2 1137
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. akyan masas lan. g n o u ak intay abasa ko sa arapan aghih ang n ang pagkak aong nasa h b a h ala at ulan obr os ng hihina sa s itin ang mg ikita dahil w g g buh g b k in n n a k la a a n a la n s k o a la a ’t ak isang Malak mig na ako paano ko k i nila d siya . May g la lalaka . ila d Nanla o alam kun ag-aabang ‘ T ng pakialam abang nag kung n k m in h sila Hindi atiyaga ring ko i ko ala ig sa’k akatit n ko. Hind iya. Hindi m n g n o k n a p iya a ig n r it i a t sa h hind ang bakit ganu’t bakit dihan kung . in ng maint g tulo alok n ako in g yo nan kakala aiting a n a pa siy o sa w Hindi lahat ng ta a ng tulong n la a o k w a ang m gan n lang Kailan shed. lalaking ‘yu long sa’kin. g tu at ‘yon ng makaka atitira kong o n k g sa n m at ala umissunod ko lah siya, s sa pag laman il ig Inipon hinabol ko o naman m g t m ako tu a Walan o lakas a “tulungan Hindi bang niya. ming dalaw sa a.” Per n g k o a n a k m h w g i ang a a n d g g a n w iga g a u m n n k a g a aran ibilis lsada hay. siya h ako, p niyang bin ang ka undan ko ng isang ba lo in p S la a r . a a g . il h t a lan sa bo niy il siya pagtak tumig
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ako masok in. Pu in ito. ’k a s r am ilya ahay n a-pam akong napak o sa loob. B tila ba lalo id a n y a a t bah i ng t ako at a kapa Isang sa dam inabahan ri ba sa mg kt la u at nag nangyari? K ay nangya akit nagka an B M ik g Anon ig sa takot. n sila? akipagsiks kita a Nasaa m nanlam amilya ko? inilit kong ako nang m lan at p u P t ko? Sa g mga tao? hay. Nagula ang basa sa s n a a a b b , g lo y n u a a ag rat apasok g naka para m ko pala an ing dugo. a il . kong.. utan ng sar lib pinali
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“W ho haunts who? Is it I, or
is it them that haunts me?
- Anonymous
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Unsettling eyes, muscles stretched, mouths opened. Phonemes become entity. Spilling and reaching out onto me, following wherever I go.
Blink one, two, three
Blink --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11503 Antiparra
Blink one, two, three I was addicted to their faces— their pale lips, their hollow eyes, their aura is what I seek to be. I fell in love with the voices of the many and with that, I drowned myself with my insecurities. Blink one, two, three I stand on a familiar void, the place of the rising oppressed. It is where I watch and seek, my family, friends, and colleagues’ advises, turned me into a monster I meant to be. Blink one, two, three
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Blink one, two, three.
Heart beating, lungs breathing, body relaxing. Morning light shone upon me I stopped blinking And woke up from my inner insanity.
I’ve turned into a mess of my anxieties of societies’ impressions and expectations, battling out this world filled with broken ideals. Will I ever be accepted? Please, tell me!
Slowly these judgments vanished into smoke, blocking my ability to breathe into my actions, my decisions. Is this who i want to be? Someone who is fed up with all these glares melted on your skin, burning like an asphalt, slowly deteriorating the image of myself. I can’t reach, i can’t feel
Beg to Differ --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11268 Franco Ramos
The smoke ribbons out of the end of my menthol and whispers death, as the bass beats hard on my heart— resuscitates me, revives me from drowning— drowning in my own world of words that slash deeper, closer to my veins. I’m a different man— a different man than this. “But there’s life here,” I say. “I’m alive here,” I say. “I’m alive for a night. I’m alive for another.” The dim blue lights are blinding, but they paint a pretty picture on my skin— a picture of sureness, wholeness, more-ness-es that can’t conceal the patches of darkened flesh in the daylight. I’m a different man; people see me in a different light.
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I take another sip of a J-named elixir— the one that pulls on the ends of my mouth and draws out slurred words that were once buried deep within me.
I’m a different man. Jack makes me brave. Johnnie makes me honest. In my inebriation, my body hunts for lips that aren’t My Love And Forever. For tonight A different man— a different man than him.
My Love And Forever catches me and Just For Now attached at the chin, and a roar escapes his chest, drowned out by the current Pop #1 pumping through the club.
His cry pierces through and rings through my eardrums, telling me how much I’m losing. “You have a problem,” he says. I don’t. I don’t. “You’re a different man— A different man from the one I’ve known.” I’m not. I’m not. “I’ll be different,” I say, “I’ll be better,” I beg. But Love and Forever walks away, and each step he takes is a tear of another muscle in my chest. This is different, then. … … Permanent. And my heart starts to feel different. Empty. Dead. 57
Doll --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11509 Paladin
girl, naive pretty little girl Little Girl, pretty little Her hands are on a porcelain doll, an immaculate smile on her face She knows I’m looking to look I looked
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She turns her doll’s head around at me away.
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Evaluation No. 3 --------------------------------------------------------Are you afraid of losing something? Or someone? Please, do tell
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Charity --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11505 Tea
Money is a poor man’s love story My family’s lived in a cardboard house Even that house we never owned We were a shadow holding on to the last seconds of sunlight I remember empty wallets and paper bills But every birthday I had a cake and a bunch of treasures hidden inside wrapped boxes All from another country See, my bloodline grew up with a golden spoon But money never really looked at our direction that well Yet behind my bitter lines and frustrated sighs I knew that without money I’d be nothing And mother and father wouldn’t be this happy to call me their daughter So I thank blood for giving us money for giving me education
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And everything else But now knowledge whispered words to my ear every night Your life is a payment, he whispered Be worth all the money that was spent on you, he pressured These are the voices These are the shadows, the dominoes of everything I do You are a charity case, he screamed Everyday, I am reminded that I have to be worth every check signed for me Everyday I believe that without them, I wouldn’t have a chance Sometimes, it scares me that my own parents don’t think they’ve done enough for me The biggest things in my life I have And somehow, they might think they failed to do it for me I hope they don’t think like that I hope they know that love is a poor man’s money So what does it feel like being a family charity case? It’s the weight of the world sleeping on your shoulders It’s having to run outside and trying to put some air back into your lungs when pressure heightens All charity comes with a catch
“Your life is a payment, he whispered”
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FACT
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When you wake up at around 2 a.m. or 3 a.m. for no reason, there’s an 80% chance that someone is staring at you.
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Yes, You -------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11537 Chelsea Perez
Why is that I don’t want to love another writ er I’m afraid Our fingers would touch wor ds instead of our own skin And our lips would bleed poe try While our thoughts create shor t stories of how we met that Wednesd ay afternoon.
But the next Wednesday we saw each other Our lips screeched silence And our eyes avoided the frac turing gaze. Don’t get me wrong I still look for your name in pap ers And I do them tirelessly.
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I do that because I want to feel your name since I don’t get to touch you in real life
Though I try. I try reaching out to you But why does it feel like every time I do There’s a barrier between us I’m trying to break And whenever I try to tou ch you without using my hands You only seem smothered . The first time I read you r poems Each letter resonated wit h me. I can almost taste the bitt ersweet words you constructed wit h your rough hands. And then when I finishe d reading I knew I was fucked Because I know it’s not me you wrote about but then I wanted it to be me. I often ask myself Is it possible to fall in love with the words rather than the writer Because if it’s not Maybe it is possible that you resonated with me, too Do you notice all writers are impatient? Not in the same degree but it’s same shit. We’re perfections. We have the power to crea te Yet we choose to ruthless ly destroy
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So when we fall apart Like how our trail of thoughts float away in the minuscule box of wrecked ideas And the once delicately structured prose turns into staccato bursts of destruction An elegy written for the love that died before it began I’m afraid No, I’m terrified I’d write you love songs of how we met one Wednesday I’m terrified I’d write a whole book of how we parted one Wednesday. I’m afraid I’ll hate writing because I’ll find myself writing about you. It’s okay, love. I’d run away. It’s a writer’s thing. You know that.
“And our lips would bleed poetry”
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“Her mind is a dark room developing madness.� - Johnny Ox
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Blackguarded --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1138 Mark Vincent Soriano
My eyes focused on the scene I walk the wet pavements, fed up with lies The scent of my cigarette smoke wafting Faces grazing, tired eyes passing I cloak myself with a smile To hide away that I’m exiled Numbed by my scars, I’m the only one left I head the path to the throne by myself The earth, the dust, the sands and the filth Covers what was once brightly filled Now collecting patches for my survival Placing them on my torn self, this is my trial
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So I asked the heavens when will this end My boy you have a mission, to the abyss I was sent No skin can even touch me so I had to be alone They get hurt, I get hurt, and everybody’s gone Time is a wasting, there’s no time for love I had to be alone when push comes to shove Fighting an enemy I cannot defeat The youth I held on to was full of deceit Bombarded by my demons, they whispered me sorrow Yet here I am now fighting for the tomorrow So I picked up my yoke, to the throne I will run The prophecy is set then it shall be done
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[Untitled] --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1137 Solilo Q. Uy
It hurts not knowing what comes next in your life everybody says “it’s up to you!” but not having a single clue what to do not knowing where you stand or what to say is the scariest most frightening thought it’s like you’re running but having nowhere to run so you just keep going
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FACT
“The Scavenger’s Daughter” was a very brutal torture device used during the 16th century. It was basically used to squish a person so hard that his/her ears and nose began to bleed.
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Evaluation no. 4 --------------------------------------------------------Scribble here, recklessly/wildly.
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Takot Ako --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1140 Rain Russell M. Villaspin 76
Takot ako sa dilim at liwanag. Takot akong matulog at gumising. Takot ako sa oras, sa segundo at minuto. Takot ako sa mga tao. Takot akong magsalita, magkamali at mapahiya.
Takot ako sa tagumpay, gayundin sa kabiguan. Takot akong maging masaya. Takot akong maiwang mag-isa.
. impapawid dagat, at h . t, og ba ul gu ah sa m alunod at Takot ako maligaw, m g on ak ot Tak Takot akong mapalapit at mahulog sa’yo.
Takot akong magmahal. Takot akong umasa at muling magtiwala. Takot akong ibigin ka at iwan mong mag-isa. Takot ako sa pag-ibig, pananampalataya at pag-asa. Takot ako sa katotohanan at kasinungalingan. Natatakot ako. Natatakot akong gumalaw. Natatakot ako. Takot akong magmahal, masaktan, at muling umasang magmamahal. 77
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The Waiting Game --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1136 Bea Omila
Crash first, then burn. If left undone then who am I The climax should be spectacular The smoke of my ashes shall rise high When my smile is free of care and burden A new notch, inflicted unto my wall A collapse which is brief but powerful The strike of the chisel must do nicely Watch, how I’m to spend the rest of my youth Back bent from rehearsed defenses The arms that wield my shields, quivering Too long for comfort My heart is going to jump at the slightest sound 79
It’s should all come crashing down My mind is yelling timber A decade too long without a trace of tragedy I’m quite overdue Still, my ill fate could also be this To exist so anti-climatically that I’m left too struck At how lacking everything has been done To realize that no it’s not life who wasted on me But I who wasted life waiting in terror For the gut wrenching terror
“The climax should be spectacular”
This isn’t all of it. I’m quite sure. Something bigger is waiting for me. Crouching on haunches, eyes set to kill Everyone has been a victim of their big break It’s not an obsession I’m going to make it out alive I’m gonna crash. And I’m gonna burn The ending is near. I have to savour it well.
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Night Tales --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11386 HamHam
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She tries to submerge herself on her bed. She crashes her back against the wall, and slides down, trying to sink beneath the pillows. Her eyes are aimed across the room. Her vision passes through the glass, trying to catch the movement between the trees. She wills the shadows to crawl past her window and dares them inch towards her bed; slipping through the windowsill, creeping on the floor, and wade through the fibers on the carpet. It’s not just the shadows; the winds are in on it too. The cold air, wrapping themselves around her legs, grip and slide down from her thighs to her ankles as if teasing. This is only a taste of how we will take you. The winds slither to coax the darkness of the prize that awaits it, hissing all the while, excited. Light hairs on her legs stand, ready to protect like thorns, as the shadows swim through her sheets, advancing itself towards its prey. The mirror watches in a corner as it has done every night. She wonders briefly if it will do anything to save her, wonders if it could do anything but reflect the way the shadows advance to cover her from her toes, to her ankles, past her knees, to her thighs and further up. She kicks with both feet, straining to move further back.
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The winds pin the rest of her body down to submerge her into the sheets and her skin burns. The shadows thrust forward to fully take and envelope her in darkness. She pushes her head down and tries to drown. She lets all her breath escape her lungs as the waves toss her body back and forth, the sheets refusing to engulf her. The mirror, having watched enough, gathers the early light of the arriving morning to drive the shadows away. The darkness retreats. She rises and the winds fill her lungs. The mirror shows the aftermath of the tempest; the heaving figure on the bed, the shadows under her eyes, the patches of darkness littering her skin, and the rumpled hair. Her eyes assess the room, the shadows remaining motionless for now as the mirror continues to project light in the room. She lies back and hopes that, this time, she would drown.
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“I always believed that nightmares were better than my everyday problems.”
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[Untitled] --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11351 pvre i once met a strange strange girl
who had roots growing out of her legs with the skin of a dead rotting trunk while her flesh is dinner for the growing moths
her eyes were dark and deep like the barren ruined well in the center of the forest
where the violent screams and countless bodies roam endlessly, desperately
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in the few nights i shelter her in my lair pure moonlight washes our bare skin
her uneven cropped coal hair creeps on my chest
making me understand what she told me
the first night we met, her mind is the hell
body held captive by herself
her legs will never walk the aisle never with a pale silver veil
limbs of broken twigs, promises
to be broken by demons’ hasty lies
stormed and clouded, i still felt
how she wanted to be held
because nobody else but me wants to embrace
fragments of raw flesh
and dying things.
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Definition --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1140 MK
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. ange me and I’ll ch on’t be lax Define em flawed. I w st I. ju de , se el e u on yo t o t, right? N exactly wha , almost perfec Almost godly s se lest ptance, applau ding ovations Demand acce occasional stan e and th award. so and so. n earn me an naturally like living alone ca me co s ha it , nd ha On the other live in, es the mask I face. No one notic morph my real ld ou w high. up e on al e eventually it it and liv e me and a Get away with lies will consum n ow y m One day, ople like I that number of pe ease. pl to ly exist on ve. e I already ha u can…becaus yo if e… m e defin Now, . more…no less Six words…no
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Evaluation no. 5 --------------------------------------------------------Free page. Do whatever you want
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Paghabol Paatras --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1135 Κατρίνα
Isang hakbang patungo sa’yo, dalawang hakbang palayo sakin. Hagkan pa rin kita, kahit sinabi mong iwan ka na. Nakatitig pa rin ako, kahit mga mata mo’y ipinikit na. Pinakinggan ka, kahit mga salita mo’y kutsilyong’di inalintana.
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Isang hakbang patungo sa’yo, dalawang hakbang palayo sa akin. Hawak pa rin kita, kahit palad mo’y tikom na. Pangarap pa rin kita, kahit sa panaginip na lang may tayo pa. Hinahanap ka, kahit alam na ako’y nilisan mo na. Isang hakbang patungo sa’yo, dalawang hakbang palayo sa akin. Mahal pa rin kita, kahit sa akin ay ayaw mo na. Bumabangon pa rin ako, kahit hininga ko’y kinitil mo na. Umaasa na puso ko ay hawak mo pa. Isang hakbang patungo sa’yo, dalawang hakbang palayo sa akin. Muli kang nakita at akala ko’y nagbabalik ka. Ibinalik lang pala puso kong durog na. Upang isara ang kuwentong matagal na pa lang tapos na. Sa pagtigil kong humakbang, natatakot akong isipin, Na sa pagdilat ko’y hindi na mangyayari. Ilusyon lamang na nangyari kunwari, Na sana’y ang dalawang hakbang mo’y palapit na sa akin.
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Hindik ng Pag-idlip --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1135 Jim Dela Cruz
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Makitid ang salumpuwit na kinauupuan ko nuon, namamawis ang dalawa kong mga kamay sapagkat nadarama ko ang kaba at silakbo ng bawat minutong lumilipas. Dumadaloy mula sa noo pababa sa aking leeg, mababakas mo ang pangamba sa aking mukha ngunit di mo mai-pipinta kung anong nadadama. Hindi ako makahinga. Tik-tok-tik-tok. batingaw ng orasang nakasukbit sa aking pasmadong kanang kamay. Pumipilantod ang aking pakiramdam na para bang may ibang giyerang nagaganap sa aking isipan. Hindi mo magagawa ‘yan. Magagawa mo ‘yan!
Wala kang kuwentang tao. Walang katulad ang mga kakayahan mo, nag-iisa ka lang! Hinding hindi mo maabot yang mga pangarap mo. Matalino at masikhay ka, makakapagtapos ka ng pag-aaral at magtatagumpay sa buhay! Teka. 96
Ano ba talaga? Ako’y nagugulumihanan. Tila mayroong dalawang halimaw na nagdidiskusyon sa mapurok kong katauhan. Gawa ba ito ng pagiisip ko ng kung anu-ano? O sadyang may dalawang tao sa loob ko? Ako’y natatakot ngunit hindi naman nababaliw. Tila nagpapaloko ako sa kakaibang boses na aking naririnig, nakakatakot ako’y nanginginig, mistulang ako’y nakakulong sa seldang makitid. Di ako makapag-isip gulong-gulo ang utak ko. Di ‘ko alam ang gagawin. Nagmamakaawang sagipin dahil marahil ako’y sakalin.
Toooooooot. BANG! Mistulang mala-kuwago ang pagkadilat ng aking mga mata. Nakakasilaw. Sinubukan kong gumalaw ngunit naistorbo ko ang mamang may pinipindot sa kanyang telepono. Naistorbo ko marahil. Ilang sandali, nawala ang dalawang tinig na mala-world war II na nag babangayan sa aking isipan. Mukhang normal naman lahat. Totoo normal naman ang lahat. “Iho, saan ang baba mo?” Sambit ng isang malaking mama na naka-kulay berdeng damit na may kuwelyo. “Ahh, manong, nasaan na po ba?” Bigla kong binigkas. May naglalambingang magkasintahan sa harap, malakas na tawanan ng apat na magbabarkada sa gitnang upuan, tahimik namang may kausap ang lalaking nasa tapat ko. Nasaan ako? Pauwi na nga pala ako. Sumama kayang naglakbay ang dalawang tinig na aking napuna sa aking pag-uwi? Natatakot ako. Ayokong lumingon.
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Evaluation no. 6 --------------------------------------------------------You’ve come this far, but not further enough. Now tell, what keeps you up at night?
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FALSE CONSCIENCE --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1141 Ella Lambio
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There’s a voice inside my head other than my own Cautiously taunting And internally persistent Murmuring things of horror in my ear Creating a hollow cavity in my mind Taking up any space of sanity i have For every waking moment, It’s there Causing anguish to my frail body Casting anxiety into my soul It’s there Nobody else hears it It’s a careful whisper But i swear it could’ve been a scream
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“Silence lay heavily upon the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”
—Shirley Jackson 102
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BUTTERFLIES --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1151 ji 104
e door? we close th Mom, can my bedside, s creep by The creeper the floor. in sixes on They stand e door? we close th Mom, can g crickets, like jitterin They sound of the night, tra The orches ticket, door is the The opened ine in the moonlight. sh Their scales e door? we close th my good Mom, can d take away my feet an ab gr ey th etimes Mom som night sleep, ey feel like sleet, th On my skin eet. hairy legs gr Their tiny, e door? we close th Mom, can
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Mom, 32 weeks ago I saw one crawl out of my wardrobe. Mom, 32 days ago, I asked you to close door. Mom, they are marching around my bed, holding me hostage from the floor. Mom, 32 hours ago I saw nine crawlers in the kitchen. Mom, can we close the door? ‘Cause, mom, 32 minutes ago, I lied on my bed, And for 32 minutes I keep thinking of their itchy legs, and tiny suckers, and their wings. Mom, they aren’t butterflies. Mom, can we close the door? Mom, I see them swarm under my bed, and they’ll carry me to their kingdom. Mom, I don’t want to be there. They’ll feast on my body and burgle my mouth and sneak in my nostrils and my ears and bite my eyes with their tiny, tiny fangs; and they’ll prey on my guts with their teensy mouth and crawl inside my stomach and fill my lungs and eat my intestines! Mom, I can feel it! Mom, I can hear them! Mom, they’ll come under my bed! And I know I’ve said this 32 times for the past 32 seconds, but I’ll say it again: Mom, can we close the door? Mom, they are here! Mom, they saw me! They can hear my head! Mom, I’m not enjoying the moonlight nor my pillow nor my bed nor the night. Mom, they are here!
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They came after me! The nine I saw from the garbage bin has six legs and two antennae and two wings— But mom! They aren’t butterflies! Or if they are, mom, I am scared of butterflies! Mom! Listen! Please! I cannot sleep! I cannot breathe! I need to pee! I need to pee so badly. But I can’t get my feet on my slippers. The butterflies are under my bed. They’d prick me, mom! They’d prick my feet and crawl up my legs and make their way to my mouth and they’d enter my body! All of them! With their wings and scales and scary feet! Mom! Please! They are swarming! They are all over my walls! Mom, I’m starting to itch! I think one is on my hair! I want to scratch my head, but I cannot touch it ‘cause they might seize my fingers and eat it away! I don’t want to hug my teddy, it might burst full of them! Mom, they are flying! They are noisy, mom! Like bees. Like crickets. Mom, my heart is noisy, too. But my head is noisier. And they heard my head like it’s a call for them. Mom, please! Please, can we close the door!
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Evaluation no. 7 --------------------------------------------------------Anxiety (n.) Define
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Help --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 11411 m.p Everyday is a constant battle against the irony that sadness makes me happy. Depression became the drug that’s destroying my life. I’m putting myself in an ugly disposition, but what can I do? The sadness gives me comfort. And it scares me to think that the hell I call home will betray me. I feel it slowly crippling my ability to fight pessimism. I feel it slowly dragging away the people I treasure. I feel it slowly draining what little hope is left in me that is crying out “save me from myself ”. I am scared and paranoid that I’ll forever be stuck in this situation; alone in my personal hell.
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Departure --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1142 nemeCis
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l the lighter in my hand wil The radiance coming from ne. ose ker in sed dou ket cas spark aflame—the de as I went out of it. I kept you locked tight insi r arms assures your securiyou g ctin stri con These chains ift this world. adr uty ty; the salvaging of bea the flames incinerate as gs, lun r you ulfs eng As smoke release. find l wil you through your flesh,
rything that is I will continue to save eve th. ear en right in this rott rid of all that is Rejoice in your departure, ce. ten exis this decaying in the other side, There is nothingness on of this world ead inst void the ce embra . that rejects you to you, my love. For now, I will bid adieu 113
FACT There is a plant called the Hemlock Water-Dropwort that leaves its victims with a smile on their face at the time of death. The plant loosens facial muscles and causes facial paralysis when ingested. Scientists are now studying the plant in hopes that it will lead to the ultimate anti-aging cream.
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[untitled] --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1125 Joshua Daniel Flores Turn away, o human child, away from the gaze you were not meant to meet. Turn away, o human child, from the horrors that haunt your sleep. Gaze not unto the seeing it blink.
moon for fear of
daemonic cacophony that Hear not the lurks beneath your sink .
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Evaluation No. 8 --------------------------------------------------------What do you see? Describe
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She --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1129 fatlouie She walks the earth, a woman’s body She lives her life, yet a child She is merely She walks, She crawls, as trapped as She may be in a box that was made by Me. Her cries resound vines and thorns wrapped all around So guttural, Her chokes as She lies on pins and broken boats.
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She swims in open seas although She knows that in a tank She really is She asks the pain that only She can feel “Can no one really heal?� 121
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I look at the photos inside the pages of my dusty album. I smile.
I talk to my lamp. I say thank you. It has always been there to light up my lonely room. Thank you.
I talk to the white walls. I talk to my posters. I talk to my bed. I say “Thank you”. It has always been there to catch me. Thank you.
I cradle my beige pillow and talk to it. My pillow sometimes cries. All of a sudden it’s wet.
Some days, when I’m bored, I lock myself up in my room.
Some Days When I’m Bored --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1151 i*
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I am reminded of that day when I first had chocolate ice cream. I had it all over my face. When I first rode a bike. When I first learned that umbrellas aren’t always yellow. When I first knew socks don’t always have to touch your knees. When I first had my haircut. When I first had a music player. When I first listened to a song I personally chose. When I first had a book. When I first learned the difference between a sunrise and a sunset. When I first knew that lemons are always sour, and unlike umbrellas, they are always yellow. And green lemons are called limes. I saw that picture of myself on the annual fair, holding a pink candy floss with the ferris wheel on the background. I remembered what happened that day. I rode the carousel. I am dazed with the lights and overwhelmed with the smell of popcorn. I was with my dad. He was wearing blue. “Your shirt are like the skies, Dad,” I’d say. “That’s right,” he’d chuckle. I was happy. So happy.
They remind me that I once was happy.
The photos are faded now. Some of them appear overly exposed. Details are blown out.
Some days, when I am bored, I lock myself up in my room.
But I thank the photos. I thank them with all their obscureness and scratches.
I cradle my beige pillow. It’s suddenly wet with all my tears. I thank my bed for catching me when I feel so much misery. I thank the lamp; it cheers me up sometimes. I talk to my white walls and my posters and whisper, “Thank you. For listening to all my cries.” I tell them thank you. Because I am too afraid to say good bye.
In all the photos, I see myself smile. It never came to me, the probability of missing yourself. But I do. I really do. I miss the kid I see in the pictures. I miss him. I miss smiling. ‘Cause some days, when I lock myself up in my room, I am not at all bored. I am planning to kill myself. 124
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“I’m beginning to think that the sub zero temperature showers I take in the morning are not as half as cold as you are.� - Anonymous
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The Rants of An Obsessive, Compulsive, Compulsive --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1150 Tea
Talk to me about the voices in my head Watch me rattle and shake and count the beats of my heart Steady, steady, steady Again and again and again Obsessive Not organized Not clean Not neat No, I never was Pull the trigger A sight of blood A vision of a plunging fall A thought of pointing fingers “It’s all your fault I blame it on you” Repetitive Again and again I’ve been through this weeks ago But it’s never perfect That slight edge just doesn’t seem to fit That crack in the road Please, it has to go away
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“If it’s always in my head it must mean to be real” Compulsive It’s a new day Is my mom okay? Did my dad wake up today? Will I be safe? The rings of the phone have haunted me since then I’m sorry I’m like this “If you are thinking about it It will happen”
Impulsive On and off and on and off Do it three times and four more Just to be sure Leave, but did I do it right? Fire, some more, more fire Why me? Why not me? Talk to me about the voices in your head The ones that eats away your mind Take away every precious minute from you A nagging monster in your head That melts away to become you I’m stuck with fear, always on the edge A spike, more spikes, triggers, triggers Bombs, just there, just raining, always
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Clean --------------------------------------------------------Patient Name Patient No. ji 1151
His warm fingers left trails of rust-smelling stink on my skin of perfect white cleanness. Get this off ! I bathed twice, but the stench of blood remains. Get this off ! I scrubbed and lathered and scrubbed until my skin got red— I’ll scrub harder and harder still, until blotches of blood appear with scratches all over my immaculate body of absolute cleanness. I scoured and more aggressively scoured with all repugnance. Get this off !
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The trickle from the shower seem to burn my skin; But the trails, the malodorous odor like blood lingers. Get this off ! Get this off ! I abraded my neck, under my jaws, mercilessly, like a hunter looking for a boar to slaughter— only I am both. Get this off !
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I abraded furiously, boiling with repulsion and its surfeits, until my skin started to peel and raw flesh is exposed. But I did not stop. I abraded even harder. And I’ll abrade until all flesh is scraped off and I am a living structure of gleaming, ivory bones.
I can feel the germs sneaking into every fiber of my body; burrowing their way to the deepest pockets of my pores—vile! Utterly vile! So I scoured and abraded and scoured in rabid dread and disgust! My spotless cleanliness defiled! I can still feel the warmth of that man’s fingers on my neck—it is still there! from when he checked my pulse— It is still there! It left a mark. It left a smell!
Get this off ! Get this off ! Somebody help me get this off !
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These are the times when I feel like I’m a machine. 134
Hollow --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 111 Mark Baltazar
“Was it ever? Beautiful, I mean.” You asked. I looked at you in in the eyes, and then, slowly, down to your mouth. You were talking, and I wasn’t listening. Every angle of light from the lamp was casting shadows on the walls, but I didn’t see them as ours, but creatures of their own kind. I saw them as ghosts of dissonant memories. I stared at them and tried to make sense of this awkward conversation turned silent confrontation. I was at a loss for words, realizing that I have this tendency to drift away in an instant, out in my own wasteland of a mind. These are the times when I feel like I’m a machine. When I need to close my eyes and try to listen to the sound of my own heart to feel a little more human. But no, I am nothing but a hollow body with only the idea you trapped in the cavities of my chest. You see, It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t meant to be.
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IN SA NE No Swimmer --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1141 Ella Lambio She feels her lungs closing in on her Her eyes, growing dim The nerves on her body going numb A silent hum, ringing in her ears She’s drowning. She feels it by the way her body isn’t responding She feels it by the way she’s starting to fade away She’s drowning But it isn’t water It’s not the ocean that’s plotting against her It’s not liquid filling up her throat She’s drowning She wishes it was water Instead of her thoughts.
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Ethereal --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1127 Hannah Rodrigo
In a vast of breathing beings Our souls spoke for the first time It was as if meeting an old friend Dressed like a beautiful stranger. I listened to your long soliloquies And it took me to the light of your solitude — a sacred home no one else been. Slowly, I endured the fear of falling. Oh, my guardian angel awaits, farewell.
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Thoroughfare --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1140 diffident
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Blink away as it fades away fiddle and foray scuttle for I throttle sprint or sprain It might end, it might not as hope lurks at dusk darkest crevices peeked insipid journey seized Run to the edge of humanity seek until havoc and calamity let entropy reign while they gain sulk over chaos at main frost the atmosphere not with fear but with lunacy —‘ye hear? for the lost had been found Alas! he scowled.
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FACT
If you get decapitated, you can still be conscious for about 25 seconds after losing your head.
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Breach --------------------------------------------------------Patient Name Patient No. Mark Baltazar 1141
e way I felt.
I can’t change th
ing I saw you look a Tuesday when ng to iti wa re we It was 5 a.m. on u yo e ow. You told m in because you out at the wind sun on your sk e th of th rm ornings back M feel the wa . ld co sides were too out dreams ab s felt like your in ge of silent exchan n io e un a s wa then and listen to th urge to lie down . ow nd and the sudden wi y from the open sounds of the cit . ce it happened ting the days sin is, th ze I stopped coun ali e to for me to re It took a long tim ase ever y bit of you from the er lt cu ffi di that it’s so ain. br y m of es sid in iting to you. r you So here I am, wr ared to look fo that I’m too sc u yo cracks e ll te th at to g or Tr yin sheets some stranger’s ed to call us u yo in the creases of at wh iles away from of a sidewalk m rds home. ng that these wo ng to you, hopi ich was wh , gs in th Here I am writi no t ee the heap of sw pierce through d. are ha all we ever use our ghosts ng to you, beca Here I am writi ve, burning me ali but Here I am, breathing.
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Questions I ask myself late at night --------------------------------------------------------Patient No. Patient Name 1153 Chelsea Perez
y window knocks on m W hen dusk al black co ar inted ch The sky is pa darkness seeps in hen The time w wn streaming do e m Tears co ed away pp ri st is ht Like how lig er y thought, at bite my ev The words th ll asleep fa my desire to ay sane It snatches st to g in er hank lp me find It steals my he to d the Lor like But I pray to these questions that go to s er sw an The isted? humanity ex e like before ? lif de as si r w t he ha ot e W eener on th gr s as gr is y? W hy ter histor ens if we al ath? W hat happ rrounding de su ry te ys m e e of my th ut is in t m ha e W ck that on ba ke ta I n How ca e met? life when w
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E
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Coffee --------------------------------------------------------Patient Name Patient No. Joshua ZoĂŤ Rosal 11410 146
so,
res double shots of esp Order it venti with . ine ffe o ca turn your vitals int thing; It won’t mean no
ur hands tremble.
s why yo He already know
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em. just look for th of the monsters, bed, ur yo r de “Don’t be scared un , t, to your right up, Look to your lef t but never look r, in your close se es dr .” behind your en se she hates being es (Reddit)
- AnarchistWaffl
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Final Words ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That was fun, wasn’t it? But still, it pains me to say goodbye. Behave yourself, it’s an insane world out there. If it gets too tough, know that you’re always welcome to come back. And, one more thing, a friend would be a good company next time.
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Nocturne An illustration of the hope-lost and muddled mind searching for the burst of air that’ll bring it back on its toes, and be ready to run from the monster inside its head.
Marra Obal n. The excessive fear of the unknow
Karpiva Lahat ng paglisan ay may kaakibat na sakit, ngunit paano kung ikaw na mismo ang patuloy na nananakit sa damdamin mo sa patuloy na pag-asang magbabalik pa ang taong matagal nang umayaw?
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Bea Omilia Paranoia is: Occasionally good, generally annoying.
MK Judgement and adaption...these things, although unnecessary as they seem to be, can morph someone into multiple personas but somehow all of their victims can be defined by the six words that begin and end it.
Antiparra For me, paranoia is something that constantly knocks on your mind, but never appears itself
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Hamham
fied by the itimate fear justi Paranoia: A leg or not, that en ov pr ysically self, whether ph e grave us meone will ca something or so harm. i*
avel— nd, exhaling gr It is inhaling sa raveled. un e ud et ui sq di to shovel over ar Mark Baltaz they in the walls and There are ghosts r... ea ur yo h ug ro ad th crawl in your he
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fatlouie Paranoia is that insistent feeling that something’s wrong, that something’s out to get you. Sometimes that something is yourself.
Joshua Zoe Rosal I know I’m paranoid when I start to see faces in my cup of tea, and when I have to check my pocket for my Beep card eleven times before I leave.
Jim Dela Cruz Sa ilalim ng buwang maningning, bakas ang imaheng balisa’t tila napraning. Ang bigat sa ating paghunos, di makatulog sapagkat bawat isa’y may tanikalak ng nakagapos.
Tea Paranoia is sim ple. It’s when yo ur worst fears cover the rays of the mor ning sun and take the stars fro m the nightsky.
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z Chelsea Pere rn to hate, to red as love tu When blue turn continue I t ings happen ye I know these th . rs sta gue hiding behind ro
Diffident Paranoia: a deep feeling that crawls under your skin. Similar to claws seeking your flesh 3 in the morning. It’s just all in your mind although it feels real.
Hannah Rodrigo Fear is when you realize that there are doors that only you can enter.
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Marc Vincent Soriano My attempt to cry out hoping that someone might hear them. “Blackguarded” was the result of my anxiety. Solilo Q. Uy “Paranoia: an abnormal fear of what was, what is, and what will be.”
m.p. This work touches the surface of how much depression cripples my life and how desperate I am to get away from the comfort of it.
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Acknowledgments ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ng us all into We extend our gratitude to our Father, for bringi beauty and existence and creating a universe of never-ending blessings and ce guidan ending neverthe for Also, inspiration. lives. our of day every us that You continue to shower upon nt patience, To Ms. Di, Ms. Riza, and Ms. Janice, for your consta guidance, and support. g efficiently and for To the Editorial Board, for keeping BPC runnin we see each other team, a as g workin s beside that sure g makin always as one great family. tion, and To the Literary staffers, for their contributions, dedica folio. this cooperation in the making of able photos and To the Art, Photo, and Layout Staffers, for the remark tered in the illustrations as well as surpassing all challenges encoun process. To all the members of BPC, for the continuous making each day a memory to keep.
encouragement and for
ue living and To all our supporters, for encouraging us to contin alists. working our lives as student-journ rt and To our family and friends, for the never ending suppo uously being an encouragement all throughout our lives. For contin ul situations. inspiration and for serving as a motivator at stressf in writing To this year’s contributors, for the time and effort it to the readers. share to ness willing the and pieces exceptional literar y Thank you very much to all and God Bless!
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