Meminisse by Jewel Irish Belascuain

photo courtesy of OUTCEN edited by Kinnah Marie B. Dejame

MEMINISSE

QUEER

MEMINISSE Volume 1, October 2021

The Literary Folio of Group 2 from HUMSS 12-C Published by the students of University of St. La Salle

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or any part or form. Kindly note that the contents of this Literary Folio are works of fiction. Characters, locales, and events that resemble actual people, names, places, and incidents are either coincidental, products of the authors’ imagination or are used for fiction.

Jewel Irish S. Belascuain Literary Editor Anjo Emilio D. Visitacion Layout Artist Asilef Jeremy S. Carbon Trisha Grace C. Mongcal Assistant Literary Editors Caesandra Shaine A. Cuachon Nicole G. Millan Assistant Layout Artists

Julianna S. Arrojado Aimee Shane D. Cordero Bryce Christopher A. Chan Kinnah Marie B. Dejame Ayen K. Martinez Visual Creatives Lauriane MY by Martinez Cover Page

photo courtesy of Elizabeth Loveland edited by Aimee Shane D. Cordero

CONTENTS FOREWORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

POETRY

Still, Never . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Song About Coming Out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shall We Dance? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wish . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Love Shall Win . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

14 16 18 20 22

SHORT STORIES

Coming Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dark Sky . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Greener Grass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Goodbye . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mornings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1999 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

25 30 34 38 40 42

DEFINITION OF TERMS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53

FOREWORD

"After years of hiding..." He has never seen the colors of the world for a long time. Maybe it is because he was locked away into the chambers of nothingness for who knows when. He always felt suffocated there—yet he believed it was the last place that would keep him safe. But safe from whom—from what? He felt himself changing within the closed space, something that turned him into not him. He felt the emptiness closing him in, squeezing him until numbness seeped in, breaking every chamber they could find into his system, and whispering into his soul that it can soon thaw his cold. Yet, he could not breathe. He did not feel like being remedied. No matter how hard he tried to accept the crawling being and the pain along with it, he could not bear it any longer. He wanted to escape. His mind demanded him to run. And so he did.

He ran but the unknown blinded him. He scoured and tripped and ran again. He panted as he frantically stretched his arms, hoping his fingers could touch a border—he demanded to break free. As he scampered for hope despite the darkness, he felt the monster coming his way. He screamed and clung to his last strength as he pushed himself into the air. Woody cracks echoed as his shoulder landed on soft ground. Whimpering at the sudden jolt of action, he looked up and was shocked to find that the darkness was—gone. The chamber he was once in disappeared, like how the smoke clouding in his heart soon floated to air—never to be seen again. Looking up, his eyes landed on fingertips that from nowhere was extended to him. Sensing how this sudden presence etched something within him, he helplessly caught its reach and stood from his fall, limping. A gust of wind blew and washed every last bit of negativity as his copper-colored eyes met his.

There he finally saw it. He vividly saw the gradients of skin and shades of the vistas as the heating light deemed above them. Those eyes encapsulated the message he waited so long to see—to believe. Yes, he finally found it. "... He finally found his true colors." Whether we found ourselves on the same pages as him or not, it is undeniable that the situation is never a rare one. At some point, we all often find ourselves locked away in a closed closet and have hidden our true colors in the deepest trenches, hoping it would somehow save us from the cruelty of reality. We pretend to be something we are not, masquerading our innermost selves until it feels like deceiving and robbing our own selfexpression. We have drowned ourselves with lies coming from our own tongues. We condition our minds that it is just nothing, but we forget that we were born to grow—to thrive and be different.

Instead of keeping these colors of ours, why not radiate them to the world? Why not use these as our medium to paint the streets, the meadow, and the heavens? We have forgotten that our spectrum was meant for the universe to see. Every hue written in this world reflects the quintessence of our being. It symbolizes the fragments we have sacrificed, the tears that pearled down, the wrinkles as our lips rose, and most of all, our side that shone differently from the rest. In a world that sees only black and white, now is the time that the rain should sweep these away—and finally let the rainbow appear.

Jewel Irish S. Belascuain

you were never born to be normal. come what may— you were known to be different, bold, and fearless. let no one dictate who you truly are for you only hold the key of your vibrant soul. let these verses etch on your heart; when the time of the storm surges in, look up again. for then, a rainbow will appear.

to the loud and proud people raising the flag of colors, this is dedicated to you.

photo courtesy of Myroslava Kalashnyk edited by Nicole G. Millan

Still, Never. by Kinnah Marie B. Dejame

She caresses me like the wind She adores me like lavender She comforts like rain at night Oh, she is my greatest treasure Her days can sometimes be dark Her words can sometimes be careless Her thoughts can sometimes be gloom Oh, how I love her, regardless Our love can never be perfect Our story is forbidden Our existence is a great sin Oh, how despise is written If our love is to be confessed If we, with all hearts plea If so, we would be hanged because, Oh, I am she, so is she

photo courtesy of Frances Tilio edited by Kinnah B. Marie Dejane

A Song About Coming Out by Aimee Shane D. Cordero

No matter what I try to do nothing's good enough for you you were once the sun too my moon but you shined too bright and dimmed too soon

I love you but I'm letting go I know it's hard to see you go But I've tried To set things aside

I'm saying goodbye to everything and everyone who doesn't serve me right I'm not afraid anymore It's time for me to walk out that door

So this is when I say goodbye I’ll see you in another life And there you’ll get to see my smile the smile of whom I’ve kept inside

photo courtesy of Matt Bernstein edited by Aimee Shane D. Cordero

Shall We Dance? by Trisha Grace C. Mongcal

The world was no longer made up of words Each one and all now cloth'd in silence But thee seem to hear my silent records Together, we shall face the consequence

Two girls trying not to stand on the sooth One wrong step and the air-raid sirens howl Trying to untangle the wires of truth Just for those folks to putteth on a scowl

Milady, eyes lock'd for a moment The sanctuary of thy arms 'round me Sapphic love they sayeth is infringement Still, my feet art taking me towards thee

For now we spin in unison, by chance Darkness comes, nobody can see us dance

photo courtesy of walkingthruafog edited by Nicole G. Millan

Wish

by Anjo Emilio D. Vsitacion

No one might believe Equality should be achieved Gender cruelty happens everyday And I hope it will change someday Discrimination is often taken as a joke No one knows how the joke gets people choke Why can't all gender be treated the same To have equal rights should have been our gain Why don’t we pull ourselves together Make this journey a joint endeavor We are all humans after all Equal even if we rise or fall

photo courtesy of Rib Illustrations edited by Anjo Emilio D. Visitacion

Love Shall Win by Ayen K. Martinez

The countless days of hiding one’s true self, To protect the cruel consequences that this world can compel For they were discriminated, hated and underestimated, To love whoever you want does not equal to being ill-fated.

To be so different, is it so bad? How can being yourself drive people to get mad? To be so different, is it so wrong? How come many are against it when one just wants to belong?

You do not have to live in hell, forcing yourself to be someone else Living life in the light and doing it with pride, No more hiding for who you are or having fear for what you are classified. To love and be whoever you want is not a sin, for it only tells that only the truth and love shall win.

photo courtesy of GQ magazine edited by Ayen K. Martinez

photo courtesy of Them.us edited by Nicole G. Millan

Coming Home by Jewel Irish S. Belascuain

My fists balled as I spat the blood that flooded my mouth. My arms were shaking in anger, struggling to carry my entire weight as I dropped to the floor. The throbbing bruise on my cheek felt nothing unlike the rage that’s arising within me. I fought the tears from falling as I faced him and met his bloodshot eyes. I settled my composure, not giving him the slightest hint that his response was like daggers piercing my chest. I took my jacket and fled from the place I resented calling my own home. Home. Its walls only reminded me how caged I was, how deprived I was. For years, I have suppressed myself—debating if I should or not give myself a shot. But the time when I found the courage to finally speak up, I was faced with a knuckle. I was sure that my face would hurt. But why did it feel numb? Why did it feel painful right here? My fingers traced their way to where it hurts most. My thoughts clouded with conclusions and insecurities as I remembered my father’s disappointed look. He resented me now. He will never accept. I was no child to him, but a shame who tainted his name, never to offer him with a woman he wished I’d conceive a child with. He ha—

It was as if the heavens learned how I felt. It was not long when my jacket was drenched. Kicking pebbles and jumping upon muddy puddles somehow brought warmth despite the coolness of the sudden change of weather, uplifting my spirit. Dance. I lifted my arms as I felt another breeze meeting my skin. I took a leap and landed gracefully on moist grounds, then swayed to make a turn. The wind’s whispers were my music, convincing me to feel free. But then, flashes of memories of being mistreated battled in my mind; I couldn’t think straight. Until I couldn’t stop thinking. I stopped dancing. Abruptly, I looked down on my dirty clothes. It was quite distinguishable now that the sun gradually shed light on me. Mud, dust, and grime. Funny enough, I did not see it as dirty. To me, my trousers were a canvas, brushed and splashed by muck. It reminded me of the color palettes I wished I applied on my lids. It reminded me of a rainbow painted on black sky. This only meant one message: All I see is color.

Panting, I raised my chin and met the sun. I was sure of what to face. If it will take me another jab to help me step out from my closet, then it was worth it. I was bound to cross this bridge anyway. That was for sure. “Excuse me? Are you all right?” Pulling me out from my reverie, I looked at the person who approached me. They were holding a colorful umbrella. Under the purple coat, they wear a white top, partnered with a black skirt and ankle-boots. Light makeup was evident, and it only enhanced their natural beauty. I fixed my posture. “I’m fine,” I whispered, shyly tugging my shirt. The corner of their teeth rose up until it flashed their perfect set of teeth. “You seem to be a very good dancer. You perform?” “No. No, I don’t.” I denied almost immediately. I can tell from their face how unfortunate my reply sounded. However, their smile never faltered. “Would you want to?” they asked. I turned to him with skeptical eyes, unsure if I heard them right or if I was too shocked to comprehend. “What?” I asked again.

Seemingly amused by my reaction, they took a step forward and placed their hand on my shoulder. The heaviness felt different. It gave me foreign feelings, but it somehow felt familiar. “I, too, have gone through the same thing as yours,” they said, looking me in the eye. “Maybe we differ on how difficult it was, but we cannot deny that it affects us.” Slowly, he lowered his touch until it reached my right palm. “There’s a home waiting for you if you like.” With their words, my mouth was left ajar. My mind was processing every word, and it repeated the last line all over again like a damaged gramophone. “A home is waiting for you. A family, who is ready to welcome you, is there too,” they continued. Every word goes along with time. It felt surreal—fast. However, I can not deny the fact how my heart danced to every beat whenever they spoke. Their words became the music, replacing the melody that was once the wind’s. A home, a family. These terms strung better than any guitar, and I would be more than willing to pirouette with its rhythm. With the puzzle pieces finally coming together, I finally learned what to answer the next question he’ll ask. “So I ask you again, do you want to dance?”

photo courtesy of Illustrator Tadashi edited by KInnah Marie B. Dejame

Dark Sky by Julianna S. Arrojado

Hearing the dogs barking, people in the streets chattering, kids laughing at their table—it was indeed a fun night for the people I see below from here on my rooftop. Deep thoughts pulled me from reality. My mind was battling against me. However, my heart chose a different perception. It was as if I turned myself into a person I no longer recognize, debating which side of myself I should listen to. Tears ran down my face as both madness and confusion raged. I thought I knew who I was, but why do I feel different? Do I know myself? What colors do I truly give off, or am I giving any? I looked across the sky. I wished there would be a star that could fall beside me and help me resurface from these waters.

I ducked my head to my legs. My mind throbbed like hell that I could not understand where the heat came from. However, the darkness surrounding me here on the rooftop gave me peace, a disturbing sensation that felt comfortable. Maybe darkness was meant to be with me. I have been living with shadows lately as I am afraid to be seen. Lord, help me! What should I do? What colors do I represent? I cannot think straight because I am drowning in whirlpools with sharks. Not bearing any more agony, I got up and returned to my room as I felt water pouring from the heavens. As I gaze out my window, the stars have all fallen out of the sky and only a black expanse remains. Looking up at the heavens, it dawned on me that I was nothing more than the deep black of the night sky. The stars which were my barrier, shielding me from a truth I've always denied, have vanished.

Hiding under all the darkness won't help if I do not take courage and be brave as a lion. I don’t want to lose a battle without even starting a fight. Now that I realize I can no longer hide, I’m illuminating the shadows left by my failure and accept the truth I could no longer reject. I wish I had realized this earlier: Being different doesn't make me a monster. I'm just a human in different clothes. No exchange of gold will ever persuade me to change myself. I'm embarking on a new adventure as I open a new chapter of my life that is unfamiliar to me, but I'm willing to battle demons that will oppose me. Other people may not accept me, but who cares? I am my own main character.

photo courtesy of LetterPie edited by Julianna S. Arrojado

Greener Grass by Asilef Jeremy S. Carbon

I sat under the shade of a tree, it was calming, and breezy. Surrounded by

and ambiance felt calm. The sun water, unmoving and stagnant, the peace shone intensely bright, its light reflected by the lake circling an island so pristine. Above us was a tree, providing shelter from the harsh rays of the sun. The grass underneath me was green and soft to touch, it felt eerily comfortable, it was as if it wanted me to stay. There was a sudden burning sensation at the tip of my fingers—it felt like it was being cooked directly in the fire. I urgently pulled back my arm, back into the comfort of the darkness brought upon by the tree. The burn remained, tainting my hands, tears started to form due to the immeasurable burning pain, and took solace in the comfort, a place I was told never to leave. I stared into the deep lake surrounding me, keeping me bound. The waters had frightened me, for it was deep and unforgiving, yet it just stood still, motionless. I threw a pebble, yet nothing had happened, there was no ripple, no ebb or flow—it just sank to the indefinite depths. As I looked around to gaze at the beautiful scenery, my eyes were brought to my wound, reminding me of the blazing sensation of a thousand degrees, so I stepped closer to the waters, I wanted to dip it in to help with the burn. Yet I was afraid—petrified that I would be devoured by the lake, hesitating, I could not continue my decision

As I pondered on my decision, my fingers were still in unimaginable pain, like charcoals being lit—a flaming desolation. Because of this, the comfort I felt was no longer there, the grass I sat on felt itchy, the bright grass had lost its color; the comfort it brought had disappeared and became an annoyance. The longer I stood, the more the grass became needles, piercing through my skin—it was too much to bear, I wanted to run. I wanted to, but I was afraid of leaving the shade for it would mean feeling more of this burning sensation on my tips. Pondering my choices, I stared at the tree to seek guidance, yet it seemed… It sneered, revealing its disgruntled, disgusted demeanor, making me flinch and hit the ground. It was looking down on me with a menacing grimace as the sharp needles bore through my skin. Without thought, I panicked and ran to the waters, hoping to escape, as each knife seeped through my skin yet I no longer cared so long as I would escape this. Yet I read the edge of this tiny island and gazed at the lake surrounding me, fear had filled my body. The anxiety was overwhelming, it was all that I was able to feel now, afraid that it would swallow me to its depths. I can’t, I—I’ve had enough of living like this, living in constant fear of being hurt.

I cleared my mind and ran forward, for I no longer wanted to be constrained by my thoughts, I wanted to be free. As I took my first step, the murky water that had seemed so deep had become clear; it had revealed itself as shallow as its measly waters tried to hold me back, to stay on the island. Yet I persisted, never wanting to look back—moving forward. As I came closer, my body began to slowly burn, like what had happened to my fingers. The sensation was painful, it was a thousand flaming needles touching every inch of my body as the sun showed me its rays. I threw myself to my knees as it was too much to bear, the lake slowly became deeper, swallowing my hips as I kneeled. I mustered all my courage and confidence to run forward, for each step I took was fire etched to my skin. With all the pain endured, and tough decisions to call, I had finally reached the other side. The bruises no longer felt any pain, yet its scars remained. I am proud of having such symbols etched to my skin, a symbol of trial—a symbol of hope. The luscious grass had greeted my feet, they were smooth and soft. The vibrant rays of the sun had enveloped the beautiful scenery, it was radiant, it was worth it. All the displeasure was worth it for I was free, colorful and happy.

photo courtesy of Rebekah Bethany edited by Julianna S. Arrojado

Goodbye by Aimee Shane D. Cordero

I was in my room packing for our cross-country move when I stumbled upon my pride flag. It was a six-colored rectangular piece of fabric that represented my community. It’s such a shame that I was never able to hang it up fearing that my parents would find out that I was gay. As I looked at the flag and reminisced, I started going through a rollercoaster of emotions. Feeling so overwhelmed, tears started running down my face. I put the flag down and wiped the tears off my face as I stood up, grabbed my things, and left. “Goodbye.”

photo courtesy of Corah Pace edited by Aimee Shane D. Cordero

Mornings by Kinnah Marie Dejame

He woke up to Elijah’s warm arms wrapped around him and his deep soothing voice whispering to his ears. “Wake up, sleepy head.” His gentle chuckle reminded him of his young fantasy of a beautiful man in every romantic movie, and it brought a smile to his morning. He rustled around in his arms, soft bed, warm sunlight gently kissing his skin and soft jazz music infiltrated his ears. “Good morning, love,” he said in his husky voice. Habitually, he buried his face unto Elijah’s chest and snuggled deeper into his arms. He smelled of perfume and a hint of after-shave, and he knew he had been up for long and ready for work. Finally, he opened his eyes. Elijah looked down on him, slightly disheveled hair and a pair of glistening blue eyes staring into him lovingly. He felt butterflies tingling his stomach and his heart was pounding like crazy. “Breakfast?” Elijah asked in his usual deep soothing voice. He then smiled at his offer and snuggled back to his arms. “Can you just skip work?” he shyly asked. Elijah softly chuckled and caressed his hair like he always does.

photo courtesy of Carolineprlta edited by Kinnah Marie B. Dejame

1999 by Asilef Jeremy S. Carbon

It’s the year 1999. It was a gorgeous afternoon in Paris, people would smile and greet each other as they passed by the serene streets of the city. The sunny rays would reflect on the glimmering canals and the fragrance of the nearby cafes would envelop the neighborhood. However, the smell of cooking in the kitchen was still the best, the aroma of freshly sauteed garlic and onion coveted the house. “What are you cooking mom?” I asked her as I went inside the kitchen. “Oh my, look who we have here, Chicken Fricassée, will you be mama’s kitchen helper?” she said as she embraced me. “If you want to burn down the house, then yes.” Mom giggled at my response and returned to cooking her dish. I sat at the table, prepared to draw—I loved to draw, to imagine what lies beyond the capabilities of our world. With a pencil in hand, I focused my mind as I looked for inspiration. Then suddenly, there was a sizzling sound of chicken on the stove, it was refreshing— I had finally found my subject.

With each stroke of the pencil, graphite had touched the paper, forming lines of different densities and shapes. My hands seemingly moved on their own, going with the flow of an initial idea. As an aspiring artist, my adrenaline was through the roof, it felt exciting; It was as if I had found myself as I drew the picture. Each curve and shade had emphasized the beauty of the piece, the features were on point. Yet something felt off. Something was missing. I had tried to look at the drawing from different angles, searching for a mistake, or—something! Panic began to fill my senses for I couldn’t perfect such a piece, I— “Are you okay?” I was frightened by the sudden hand caressing my shoulders, I hurriedly hid my sketch realizing it was my mother. I didn’t want her to think differently of me, and if she saw my drawing she definitely would. I looked up to her and gave a gentle nod yet she just sighed. “I know you’re not, I know when my little boy is having trouble.” She paused to look at our family picture hanging on the wall. “I am your mother after all." She smiled brightly. I felt a sudden pain —guilt in my heart.

“It’s fine if y—” “I feel like something is missing…” I interrupted her and showed her the drawing. My heart had felt like it was going to burst as she looked at the piece of paper I had given her. I lowered my head, trying not to look at her expression. I don’t want to see her upset. I— “William…” “M-mom, I’m s-sorry I—” Without hesitation, she hugged me tightly. “Baby, this is beautiful, I love it!” She had embraced me with all the care and love in the world. I felt sudden tears pouring out of my eyes, yet I had only felt relief and hugged mom back. I will forever cherish this moment.

“This should be in the Louvre! Together with the Mona Lisa, The Lock, and the Venus of Aries!” She giggled as she stood up and danced around the house, pretending to be a grand madame. “For those arts are none as beautiful as this!” she continued. “Mom, I’m not that good yet, it’s just practice,” I commented as I cupped my face with my hands out of embarrassment. She looked at me with surprise and laughed. “Very well then. For now, let’s just post it on the prestigious walls of our little mansion,” she remarked as she took out masking tape and posted it on the wall. I was happy that she thought that way, it made me feel relieved, I couldn’t help but crack a smile. As I was keeping my thoughts to myself I didn’t see the delicious meal she had prepared on the table. It was a chicken stew made with browned chicken pieces braised in a creamy white mushroom sauce, it was my favorite. I gently looked up and smiled at her.

She reached out to caress my face with her hands. She put her forehead closer to mine. “We both look beautiful in those frilly dresses, William, remember I will always love you,” she said gently, as tears started to form in her eyes. I took one of her hands and held it tightly, looked up to her, and said. “I know, thank you…” This was the moment where I had realized something. Art is fair in Louvre and in Walls. I Will be the Fricassee of my time. I William.

photo courtesy of Getty Images edited by Julianna S. Arrojado

DEFENITION OF TERMS bruise, n. an injury appearing as an area of discolored skin on the body, caused by a blow or impact rupturing underlying blood vessels. caress, v. touch or stroke gently or lovingly. colorful, adj. having many or varied colors; bright. comfort, n. a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint. consequence, n. a result or effect of an action or condition. cross-country, adj. across fields or countryside, as opposed to on roads or tracks. dance, v. a part of a finger at a joint where the bone is near the surface, especially where the finger joins the hand. dark, n. the absence of light in a place. discrimination, n. the unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people or things, especially on the grounds of race, age, or sex.

disappointed, adj. sad or displeased because someone or something has failed to fulfill one's hopes or expectations. equality, n. the state of being equal, especially in status, rights, and opportunities. flag, n. a piece of cloth or similar material, typically oblong or square, attachable by one edge to a pole or rope and used as the symbol or emblem of a country or institution or as a decoration during public festivities. forbidden, adj. not allowed; banned. free, adj. not under the control or in the power of another; able to act or be done as one wishes. fricassee, n. a dish of stewed or fried pieces of meat served in a thick white sauce. gender, n. either of the two sexes (male and female), especially when considered with reference to social and cultural differences rather than biological ones. goodbye, n. an instance of saying “goodbye”; a parting. grass, n. vegetation consisting of typically short plants with long, narrow leaves, growing wild or cultivated on lawns and pasture, and as a fodder crop home, n. the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household. ill-fated, adj. destined to fail or have bad luck infringement, n. the action of breaking the terms of a law, agreement, etc.; violation

knuckle, n. a part of a finger at a joint where the bone is near the surface, especially where the finger joins the hand. Louvre, n. the world's second-largest art museum and a historic monument in Paris, France, and is best known for being the home of the Mona Lisa. love, n. an intense feeling of deep affection. memories, n. something remembered from the past; a recollection. morning, n. the period of time between midnight and noon, especially from sunrise to noon. mother, n. a woman in relation to her child or children. pencil, n. an instrument for writing or drawing, consisting of a thin stick of graphite or a similar substance enclosed in a long thin piece of wood or fixed in a metal or plastic case. piercing, adj. (of mental attributes) sharp; profound. reverie, n. a state of being pleasantly lost in one's thoughts; a daydream. sensation, n. a physical feeling or perception resulting from something that happens to or comes into contact with the body. sin, n. an immoral act considered to be a transgression against divine law. skeptical, adj. not easily convinced; having doubts or reservations

sky, n. the region of the atmosphere and outer space seen from the earth soothing, n. having a gently calming effect. sun, n. the star around which the earth orbits tainting, v. contaminate or pollute (something) umbrella, n. a device consisting of a circular canopy of cloth on a folding metal frame supported by a central rod, used as protection against rain or sometimes sun. unison, n. simultaneous performance of action or utterance of speech. wish, n. a desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To the contributors of this beautiful masterpiece, I cannot thank you enough for reaching the stars, for catching rainbows, and for bringing the sun into this canvas. Every element reminded me of the hues from the sky— each was in its perfect position. You brought me into a wonderland where love freely thrives, and I will forever hold onto that reminder. Your effort, passion, and talent will now be etched in these pages, and it will soon carve itself into my dreams. May this serve as our reminder that words don’t just flow from our minds but rather it speaks from the heart and soul. To Ms. Coleen Jamili, for your guidance and support. You have taught us how to embed our message into white spaces into a craft that captures the entirety of our soul. You have allowed us to write and express ourselves through these narratives. We are thankful that you have brought us the colors from the skies. Without you, we might only see the black and white. To my assistant literary editors, Trisha Grace C. Mongcal and Asilef Jeremy S. Carbon, for your endless effort to make the pieces of these pages as beautiful as they can be, like how the rainbow shines amidst the darkness. You both have shared this burden with me and for that, I am grateful. Your critical mind, artistry, and passion were all I needed to stroke the last paint for this once white space.

To Anjo Emilio D. Visitacion, for your vision and for guiding the team in making a home for these beautiful pieces. You are a pot of gold, a treasure we thought we cannot possess. Your humility, patience, and understanding go beyond this world. Together with your assistants, Shaine Caesandra A. Cuachon and Nicole G. Millan, every work within this creation feels like they are where they are meant to be. Thank you for bringing them under the spectrum with you three.

To the creative team, Julianna S. Arrojado, Aimee Shane D. Cordero, Bryce Christopher A. Chan, Kinnah Marie B. Dejame, and Ayen K. Martinez, for encapsulating the full essence of this work and responsibility. You have supported every verse with a tapestry that befits it most. I appreciate your visions, hard work, and dedication to fill the pages with visual messages that our hearts can understand. Thank you for giving birth to new realms; it somehow proved that we can be creators of our composition of the universe. To our friends and family, for sliding down the rainbow with us. We have faced storms and darkness, but you were all there to splash us with colors, bringing us back to a reality full of fantasy and hope. Even if the storms are coming yet again, thank you still for being with us and for choosing to wait for the colors to shine again. You are our backbone, and with that, we appreciate you all.

To the loud and proud community, for evoking ingenuity to our hearts, for choosing to be true, for raising the flag high. This work of art may not be as inspired as it is without your fearlessness and queerness. We appreciate you. To the God that we serve, who always guides us and is there to lift us when we are down, for giving us strength when we are about to lose hope, for answering our prayers constantly, and for always lighting the way and leading us back to You when we were lost in darkness. You are the creator of the rainbows, the sunsets, and the fields. We are forever grateful. To You belongs all the glory, honor, and dominion—forever. To the person who is reading this, we thank you for taking the time to read our craft. May every word and visual from this work remind you that nothing stops you from standing out and for bringing color to the universe. After all, this world is yours to conquer.

illustrated by Caesandra Shaine A. Cuachon