forewordHumansareunavoidablydrawntoprettythings.Thisisfoundtrueinmanyaspectsspanningfromromance,art,fashion,andevencommerce.Werelishprettyideas,thosethatstandoutandmakeusfeelgoodaboutourselvesandtheworld.Itiswiththispracticethatwegiveappreciationtoattractivepeople,beautifulpaintings,exquisitedesigns,andinnovativebusinessventures.Morethanthat,itiswhatmakesuswanttodream.Thisinclinationtowardsallthings“pretty”mayberegardedasnaivetyasitplacesonlythefiner,morepleasantthingsinlifeonapedestal.Itcanbeelusivetothewars,economicupheavals,andharshrealitiesthattheworldcurrentlyfaces.However,itiswiththisveryreasonthatanenthusiasmforprettinessandthecouragetodreamshouldflourish.
This year, the Veritas Literary Arts and Folio brings forth that very enthusiasm by collecting the University community’s most inspired stories. The Crusader Publication has collated the “prettiest” works from poems and prose, to art and photography as it invites you to dive into your deepest daydreams.
daydreams serve as scales of balance. We tend to dream of the qualities we want to embody within ourselves. Thus, they create a balance between who we are and who we ultimately want to be. In the same way, dreaming of pretty things in life balances the negative parts of it, reassuring us that the world is not all that bad and that there will always be a chance to make it better.
In this bleak, borderline cruel, world we live in, an enthusiasm for prettiness gives way for daydreams. These dreams serve as emblems of hope. They remind us that no matter how awful and unfair our situations may be, there can still be good to come out of it. Dreaming of pretty things, may they be in the form of loved ones, careers, or hobbies, keep us from spiraling into the negativity brought about by a world we cannot
Moreover,control.
Lastly, daydreams serve as weapons of creativity. Our dreams, may they start as simple “what if’s”, can motivate us to imitate and implement beauty in the real world. Daydreaming, then, is not limited to the arts and the pretty things. Rather, it allows you to be kind, passionate, and even help make a positive change for tomorrow. With this enthusiasm, we can move forward and enact greater change in our society and hopefully build a better, prettier world to live in.
Reina Margaret Gwynette T. Villamor Associate Editor T he Crusader Publication
By exploring our writers and artists’ dreamscapes, Veritas provides you an escape through the figment of fantasies. It is our sincerest hope that, through this brief escape from reality, you allow yourself to be pleasantly lost in the fantasy, and have the courage to dream and reimagine a brighter, more hopeful story for tomorrow.
poetry
Evenaboutin my dreams, I am reminded of your springlike presence
I guess we’re all better sane and sober. But, who wouldn’t love the high, the fun. Having all worries gone. Just being drunk and waiting for the sun.
Take a shot, give it a go. Alcohol may not mend the heart that was once shattered.
But we can be more alive when we are not Danicasober.Ela P. Armendarez Emmanuel T. Cababarros Jr.
9.12.21
THOUGHTSSOBER
But now, just a glimpse from you is enough to satisfy my heart
When I read, it’s you I’m thinking about When I dream, it’s you I’m dreaming
With cheeks flushed, I am in shambles with you in proximity I can’t seem to remove you from the recesses of my mind
you’re my ocean, painted blue you were a stranger, with a hint of a clue you’re the dream, I wish to come true you say I was the waves, but your fear’s still in cage
Your mere existence had completely stirred me up That I can no longer quit any thoughts that crowd you
you’re looking on the other side, now I am left behind no water as deep as him, but you were terrified and can’t swim and I tried to reach the deep, yet you were never mine to keep there I was wondering alone, enduring the pain to the bone
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SPRING
A trifling smile from you is enough to steer me into a helpless fool
Claire Ivy T. Vanguardia
The soft rosy colors, the sweet scent of Theair budding feeling of hope and the joy of something new You wander in slowly, draping others in Alwayswarmthin my dreams, I seek your Iaffectionhopethat soon you would come to realize my fondness
I find myself completely beguiled by your quiet remarks And with how you bestow color to the most lifeless affairs
WHAT LIES BEHIND THE WHITE LIES
Kate Louise P. FranciscoGouache
Joharah L. Adap
You should never trust May
YOU SHOULD NEVER TRUST MAY
Follow the beat of the drum, Until my worries are gone, Dance as long I can, I wanna enjoy life and this is my plan.
Sing! And Sing! And Sing! While the music is playing, I am here enjoying and dancing, No one can stop me from what I am doing.
It is in May that we witnessed a dead field of broken promises and pipe dreams yetdominate,itisalso in May that an enchanting garden began to blossom like the euphonious voices of the young lost in the dark.
I will follow all the rhythms, I will make my own hymn, This is all I wanna be, In singing, I will shine, you will see.
FOLLOW THE RHYTHM
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Angel Bernadine G. Banaag
It’s so satisfying when the music is playing, The timber is so relaxing, And here I am now enjoying, While my eyes are closing.
Because despite the continuous apoplectic roars of the storm, graceful streaks of red, green, and blue may appear. And when the sun starts to scintillate, the alliums will poke their buds out of the earth.
You should never trust May, For the scourging claws of the sun may Intomorph.amiffing boast of the gunmetal gray clouds tramping in the infinite skies. The grounds would never care to warm your calloused heels, especially when everything begins to be Youdamp.should never trust the whispers of the Theyold.knew truths that may haul your fingers even deeper into the water Or lies that would encase your mind in a false, endless reverie. Questions you never thought would exist will start to leak, And you might end up saying too much, too Thenloud.again,
STASIS
DigitalOrtezaArt
Chloe Alexandra T.
LITTLE MOUSE
Shaun Arthur O. Pao
SHE
Her beauty is like no other. She’s an outline of youth, As she mirrors the face of mymother.Danica
little mouse cry to me, have the cats had their fill? -crumbs of dust in biscuit jars, the river blood runs still.
the daughter of autumn and spring whose locks are crowned with flowers old and lips that sing of vintage springfields her newfound femininity stirs the calm seas of yesterday’s minds. her joy is keeping flowers as bookmarks pressed between timeworn pages. she is never not out, never not speaking, yet moves around like an uncursed swan. paint her olive or yellow or pink or tan, never gray like the shadows and smog of arrogance and pride and prejudice and instability. no matter how dreamy this may be, never paint her. let her paint herself.
Ela P. Armendarez
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I woke up with her staring at me. Lines wrinkles at the side of her eyes whenever she smiles. Skin with the shade of tan that turns golden when strike by the rays of the sun. Curves that defines the shape of her nose and the bow of her lips. Deep shades of brown combined as I stare at her eyes and the tips of her hair.
little mouse, tell me, do you dream in fields of rice? -ears of corn I only hear, the cries of burning mice.
little mouse where would you go, when the silo runs out of grain? -a land far away from pain and woe, where blood on wall won’t stain.
PAINT LOVECHILDTHIS
Ivy Gayle R. Lozada
SPIRIT
Kiarra Dlahmane P.
DigitalLingatingArt
DREAM NYMPH
John Ian G.
PhotographyBradshaw
I envy the lights that pass through this cage And yet all the same It feels comforting I’ve come quite acquainted to the way I am constricted The way I am forbidden
I once tried opening the doors Just to sate my curiosity But the scalding stares and the judgmental looks forced me back in I Evencrawledfarther from where I was originally positioned
OPEN LETTER
I might see Of what their reactions might be Most times, I daydream about leaping out and dancing in a field of green carnation Where I am carefree, where I am loved Where the scalding stares and the judgmental looks Are replaced by smiles of sunlight and breaths of fresh air
Rustom Louiegie P. Duran, Jr.
Now, I’m back where I started
OfTerrifiedAfraidwhat
The sunlight filters through the space Only stretching as far as the toes on my feet The air is suffocating Taking, and taking, and taking My breath away
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Shaun Arthur O. Pao Digital Art
EPITOME
Take me back to my colorful kindergarten days When I was very eager to put on that pink backpack When I was excited to perform even with my heavy flower headdress
Take me back to my spirited first day of stepping into the Grade 1 classroom When I shared about how many pockets my pink Snoopy trolley had When I would happily bring out my three-lined paper
Take me back to my awfully shy self in Grade 7 When introducing myself and my supposed talent were nerve wracking When answering the teacher’s questions in front of new faces were immensely awkward
Take me back to these days To thank my supportive parents, friends, acquaintances, and teachers To thank my persevering self To give my praises to the goodness of God To remember that to live a beautiful and grateful life is a choice.
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Gee Marriel L. Gaputan
TAKE ME BACK
Take me back to my curious and anxious first months in college When I frequently battled with having quality late output versus average on-time product When I questioned my decision on the program I chose
Take me back to my hopeful senior high years When I first decided that I could survive studying away from home When I developed a wider perspective of the beautiful world I live in
Kevin Matthew N, DigitalPacanaArt
COSMIC ESCAPE
PORTRAIT
Kate Louise P. Francisco Digital Art
brown eyes, perfect smile Looking over at you in your red car driving in style
But our luck was long overdue
girl I was, too confused
Despite the mistakes, I chose to forgive you last June I saw you that afternoon
Dark hair, brown eyes, perfect smile
Maybeabusedit was wishful thinking
If you loved me right
The stars realigned
You were my high Until our love was buried with lies Ignored me for a week So suddenly you could not speak?
You did all you could and waited for me to Thereplygood
Our love would have turned white
The perfect man who made me compete Without you, I felt so incomplete
My heart races as I look into your eyes Who would have known that you’d be my lover in disguise?
P. Moreno
I would not have been able to cope Reality sets in, Ali The daydream of us grew weary, I’m sorry
Alyssawhy?Chantal
The first time you ever saw me cry All I wanted was to fall in your arms, oh
Our worlds are too different, but you convinced me to try You did all you could and waited for me to Thereplygood girl I was had to choose The vision of us made me break the
Mindless dreaming
My feelings have changed Thoughts deranged
A daydream of hope
Ourrules hands intertwined
It was too good to be true
The daydream of us was the best fantasy, Ali Sadly, second chances weren’t taken too Darkseriouslyhair,
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MAD
Our worlds are too different, but you convinced me to try
Looking over at you in your red car driving in style
The daydream she once had was
Josa Marie H. Marintes
With dreamy butterflies and rainbows
Josa Marie H. Marintes
Once, I dreamed of red hearts in your letters, Filled with heartfelt words and metaphors, Of promises of always and forevers, That just wanting and waiting to be ours. Then, I dreamed of orange skies and sunsets, Of spending time in beach-side wanders Revealing our what-ifs, maybes, and heartaches, While slowly losing the sun in the waters. Then I see your eyes reflecting the golden sunrays As emotions exude from your hazel brown eyes. I watched you lovingly glimmer in my sight, And be enthralled by your beauty under the sunlight. Then there were the days I dreamed of green meadows,
DREAMS OF HUE (YOU)
As you stared back, my heart melted. Then I dreamed of a blue bracelet hanging in my wrist, The exact same color of the ocean waves, The one that you gave on the first day you love me, Because you know how much I love the sea. But I love most when I dreamed of pink roses, And a book of dedicated poems and Proses. We read that together freeing ourselves from the pain Before singing our favorite song, prince’s purple rain. But if I was asked about what my favorite dream was, I would not hesitate to say that it is you, Because I dreamed of you in colored, When it’s usually in monochrome and bland words.
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Filled with excitement like bursting fireworks once lighted.
Or should my imagination be put to blame?
Lou Andrea Nueva
I remember your sweet little smile
PARADISE
But why do we not know each other outside the dream?
You made the idea of tomorrows so worthwhile
Tell me, oh stranger, did we ever share a lifetime before?
Whenever I whisper poetry pieces into your ear
Let me hold onto you longer than yesterday, my dear I remember our cold fingers intertwined
Nostalgia pains me in my soul’s deepest core
Your existence can only be seen through my eyes
John Ian G. Bradshaw Photography, Digital Art
Are we merely destiny’s terrible scheme,
SOUL SPEAKS
Why can I not remember your name?
Memories vivid within the depths of my mind
SONNET 1.
How we exchanged hush wedding vows under starry skies
In this arid afternoon, however, you are brought to a tale that of Icarus, the unfortunate winged male. We all know how the story went stale, when his fragile feat to soar utterly failed
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Preconscious, daydreams are a bliss you choose not to miss. Here you are the main, the master of the domain. You’ve dived into the depth of your daydream’s abyss, where you are a hero, omniscient, or even a white-bearded wiz.
Andre’ Socorro F. Doria
Instead of wax, a parliament of owls comes your way. They perched on the tower and nested below the roof. They seemed to talk human and they welcomed your roose as you ask for wisdom and wings abreast so as to never lose.
You lie here today, breathing slow and pure. The sun’s in sight, moving low and demure. You are here in this instant, head at rest with oozing zest, yet your thoughts are distant, Far-reaching and forward-looking to a crest.
A BALLAD OF AFTER(NOON)ANTHOUGHT
The sun is out and you retreat to your inn. You take your siesta wearing clothes quite thin. You take a nap at a finger’s snap. but with eyes wide open to a world you’ve unwrapped.
In your dream, however, the story is yours to tell. Thus, the plot is yours to play as well. You learned from Icarus and sought other means, by means, we mean the power of dreams.
Oddly though, your thoughts became calm at present a Godsent moment that’s seemingly clement. Perhaps it is Helios’ light or the shadow of his might; Perhaps it is the respite you chose by your right; Perhaps it is contrite after looking into the Light; Perhaps it was the lesson of the tale that we often cite.
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People praised your silhouette over lands tales were told of the redemptive man only to fall by the blow of Zephyr who feared you would go beyond a mortal’s tier.
Like true Icarus, you fell by a long drop to an endless well. Your spirit seemed to have left your body for the falling to quell. It was real and felt, you woke up so abrupt that you couldn’t tell. Only to grasp that you’re back in the banal realm the real world they call it, I’d rather say the cruel.
Praise! You were granted Athena’s blessing, with the wisdom to fly by an owl’s guidance. Upon taking the leap of faith, the owl’s served as your winged guardians. The gods were impressed by your undertaking a feat indeed, a rewritten legend by the mind’s making.
Back in your humid room, you’ve arisen from a daydream’s tomb the dream became foggy amid the gloom, and only parts of the plot are recalled while the rest is never to be resumed.
It seems you’re brought to a pensive end or better yet, a thoughtful send to a world rarely sought if not given to the true unbeknownst to you, it’s a world anew
Nevertheless, the daydream’s visit left a moment’s mark that dreams by day are wonderous and stark. They proclaim possibilities in alternate realities like an Oracle’s play, it foretells opportunities. It does bring hope within the horizon, and it also brings wishes that go as far as the Orion.
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Beware, however, of its tempting curations for some are out of reach disguised as solutions. Some are nice and quick to entice, so compelling that you are called to surmise.
beneath the azure blanket of comfort in this brief escape, hours were passing minutes and in minutes, reality was only a matter of dreaming just as your soul embossed in my bespoke sanctuary we fear for the front, we despair for the rear we must face the uncertainty of tomorrow’s bliss, as we must embrace the reality of yesterday’s corpse Engelbert V. Bahia OF MY DISTANT DREAM
by the narrowing streets of cloudless firmament, our tictacking gaits tranced old-time beat if stares could speak, we’d be a two-man parade with only hands clasped, familiar of each inch the clawing trees piqued your fountain of youth demanding every splash to fondle their barks yet, I, for one, knew your desire for freedom wishing that in time, it would be our solitude
The ballad ends when the daydream’s afterthought takes shape, that at daytime, there are no limits to what one can make. But the sun too sets and so will you. Just let the afterthought stay within your view, for it may be an omen, a lesson, or a foolish clue. Therefore, one can only wonder when the next daydream takes its cue.
My eyes stare blankly into the darkness, a void inevitable of apathy and tragedy. Now the altar of which you stood, is nothing but a ruin... and the image in which the altar held left nothing more than you, a human.
it’s been like this for a while now no! he’s been in my mind for a decade now it’s funny how I remained silent about this it’s funny how I feed myself with daydreams up to this time, I still don’t know how could I ever recognize love? how could I know genuine gestures of love, when what my parents had were just for Ishow?see,good for some, they found it in no particular time, no particular place maybe sometime, I’d recognize love as I wait but until then, I’ll hold on to these fantasies.
bleeding, your eyes are bleeding, the fallout of the altar rumbles and the glorious light fades. Images of your grace torn from the bottom up. The ghasts and demons circle around, screams of the damned arise! Oblivion
Theawaitsworld
Here, I weep Here, the teeth lashes My skin crawls in the cold dark
THE BALLAD OF THE DAMNED
WILL I EVER FIND LOVE?
Gina H. Adanza
Zuriel John P. Baugbog
if there’s one thing I’d say about love in Igeneralwould say it’s something unconditional I’ve seen this kind of love from my mother but never have I tasted it with a significant theyothersay it’s as complicated as life a mixture of sweet, sour, and some bitter wine I bet it’s true, though I must admit this opinion is based on observations I met seriously, I have no idea what counts as love if it includes the man I have in mind or not all I know is that I think of him tirelessly and that I daydream of him thinking about me
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turns and everyone weeps. The procession commences and the sinner is paraded. has my heart gone cold or was I too bold? Where did I go wrong, or was my image of you mistaken? My belief mishappen.
SEARCH FOR THE PERFECT HEADSPACE
In my room, I’m asleep and awake exploring the crevices where the light passes, the water flows, the wildflower grows.
Andrea Mae C. Bayeta
Arbil Rey L. DigitalEstosoArt
Beneath the dark-sheathed fragile frame is a timeless universe, a barren sea, a tranquil forest, a room of my own.
A INWILDFLOWERTHECREVICE
ONE’S REALM
Time had become fragmented, arriving Chaotic clumps of hours unmanageable, Findingdepartingout how tiny the world is Indeed, adventure is just around the Andcornerso, there was so much more Of the past to get lost in Happy in my own company Not needing for anyone else Possessing simple magnificence Conscious creature that feeds on light
A square green room filled with unending desperation
Phoning my friends, hello Filled with poison, regret, and sorrow Didn’t mind the cries and bellows It took me one drunken night to finally have some mellow
After all, the cosmos is a place I’ve been Andbeforeit welcomes me back whenever Kyla Gabrielle P. Tuto
Where else do I go?
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Punched walls, wounded hands, and lost hopes Crying for help but unheard Seeking happiness but obscure
Where else do I belong? No one can save me No one is there for me, besides me Christian A. La Victoria
CUARTO
Woke up the sun was bright Dizzy, hungry, and empty Nowhere to go, don’t know what to do Stuck in the void of misery
Often feeling foolishGiggling at our silly mistakes, Stepping into each others’ shoes. Know that I may miss many things, my Butdear;I will never miss to catch your Youhand.fill this dreary room with a glow only I can see Oh, how I wish to stay inside this little Butdream.like a whisper of a kiss, “Open your eyes now, my August” I return to the aching truth once more Soft melodies lost to the silence I Anddread,you are no longer here.
Spinning endlessly To move with grace, along the gentle Ourtunesfingers lightly touch when I am leading you, Your cheeks close to mine as you lean onto Kristianeme. Shane M. Torrejos
You are not real But with this musical piece I play - a special part of you, I fall for the loveliest lieBelieving you are here. Across me, I gaze upon your most charming smile The one, I remember, only made for “Danceme. with me!” You say it with such delight as you reach for my hand, Pulling me towards daylight, away from my sorrows. Then we glide, So effortlessly around the wooden Asfloor.you twirl for me, Or as I lift you up, Your bright summer dress flows like the afternoon breeze.
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JULLIANE
MEET ME IN THE MIST Aira May L. PhotographyPlaga
Kate Louise P. Francisco
Oil Painting
WOMEN AND FACES
That’s the feeling I get when I look at you.
front of you while you faced me as well, sitting crosslegged, your arms resting on your thighs. I kissed you, and it felt just like real life, but I no longer remember how.
I was heading towards you.
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I. Nonfiction
That would be the last peaceful dream I had of you.
II. Fiction
Abigail C. James
You know when you’re on the way home and the weight of the world seems to rest on your eyelids that you just have to sleep? Some people would be afraid that they’d miss their stop, but because you’ve made these trips hundreds of times - every day of your life - that’s not a problem. You open your eyes once and you know exactly where you are. You know how many minutes you still have before getting off. All is well.
I dreamt I was in a car, moving. But this time, unlike so many dreams before, I was not driving, merely riding.
And in my dream, I looked for a split second and I knew just where I was going. There was no doubt in my mind.
LETTERS
I dreamt of you last night. We were on a bed in our underwear. You looked a bit different, but I knew it was you - your lips were the Isame.satin
I had another dream of you. This time, we had called it off. You were with someone new - a friend, actually. I was surprised, hurt, but it was more about the fact that both of you were trying to kill me. Yes, this would be the first of my many nightmares of Inyou.my
III. Real, Not Real?
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It was the fact that I was ready to accept it all; accept that you had moved on, that we were no longer us. I still wanted to be with you, but I was fully aware that I wouldn’t let you hurt me again,even if it meant losing you forever.
dream I felt so devastated to lose you... But it wasn’t regarding your absence. It was more of a realization - that truly, nothing would be the same anymore. Being apart from you in that dream - I could almost feel my heart clench as you found someone new and even tried to harm me. Yet that wasn’t the scariest part.
LIQUEFY
Kevin Matthew N. Pacana Digital Art
Some don’t believe in fairy tales Yet, they are gazing at the stars Some don’t believe in fantasies Yet, they dream away from realities
John Ian G. Bradshaw Photography, Digital Art
Most of the time when I’m thinking of death I’m really looking for love
LOST IN PHANTASM
SOME LOVE
Love should never be thought in terms of deserving Love the person inside entirely Love may change forms, but it never goes away Love allows you to pick up where you left off
No one is entirely predictable We all have surprising bursts
I am one of some Are Kylayou?Gabrielle
P. Tuto
Hindi mo man lang hinintay ang araw ng aking pagtatapos sa kolehiyo Handa pa naman ako at buo upang maging doktora niyo Nangako akong aalagaan ko kayo kahit na sa akin mabigat Na makita kayong nanghihina at di na maka Tandaanmulatmo palagi na ikaw ang aking Papa,tahanankay bilis mo namang lumisan
At dun mo pinakita at pinakilala ang may Papa,poon sa mga huling ala alang binitawan natin sa isa’t isa Sana man lang puno ng pagmamahal ang iyong nadarama Pa, di man kita makita ngayon Alam kong mahal mo kami at sobra na yun
Sagot mo lahat ng pangangailangan sa Pangaraptahanan mo lamang pasayahin at bigyan kami ng katuwaan Kahit na walang ni piso matira sa yong Dibulsamo pinagkakait kahit huli mong barya Ako’y nalulungkot sa tuwing nanghihina “Pleaseka wag mo kaming iwan, laban pa” Palagi kong wika sayo, sa huli mong mga “Paarawwag muna bibili pa tayo ng sasakyan balang Salamataraw”sapagkat hindi mo pinagkait sa amin ang buhay maginhawa Kahit na sa mga bayarin at utang ikaw ang namomoblema
Sa mga panahon na wala akong Ikawmaintindihanangnagsilbing inspirasyon at Mahirapsandiganman kalabanin lahat ng suliranin Masilayan ka lang, buo agad ang aking mga hangarin
Sa iyong mga ngiting hindi nakakasawa Akoy labis na nabibigyan ng kaligayahan at Kahitnatutuwaproblema moy isang dozenang Hindikalabanka tumitigil at patuloy na lumalaban
Mga luhay araw araw na kumakawala Kahit sa anong bagay ikaw ang laging Paanotinitingalamo nagawang maging anghel sa mundong puno ng galit at poot
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Andrea Marie L. Tan
PAPA
The desk is one’s stage where miracles are Sleepborn,isthe stadium where they go beyond the ether and soar
Or a cloistered world that only they inhabit Over this earthly garden, a celestial pit?
In the mid of this field, however, I appease From the same old uncertainties, I seek to Dusk,pleasethen night as it seemed, on the grass I lean
Yet something soothing that fair swirl has Demeaningorchestratedthe dusk, has it also venerated
MIRAGE
Is it an invitation, a passage to the pearl?
The one who dreams of this world’s Soothedorigin, into slumber by the sounds of flutes and trumpets; May everything remain a mystery, masking their true desires and worries
Alongside Hell’s collapse was heaven’s Maydownfallthetrain of salvation fly through the sky with its eternal passenger aboard The gears of time shall revolve in Acontinuity,never-ending cycle full of love and piety
I ponder what it feels like to be caught in that whirl
Who cares about destruction?
DUSK, THEN NIGHT, THEN LIGHT
That is, after all, to satisfy one’s ego and Butsatisfactionwhoknows of creation?
As the planets align and the aurora waves over the horizon, The birth of a new world is celebrated with the symphony of stellar explosions
A hand that paves over reality with falsities, footsteps that tread the lands of those who don’t dare; All of the above are nothing but dreams of a student whose pleasure remainsAndreaunshared.Mae C. Bayeta
A cloud of dark plumage and of glossy Asheenwhirlwind of starlings, my deep eyes Isgleamed,about to land on this field, redeemed
And at that point I am just believing That I’m the angel they’ve vested to bring
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With the sea above one’s head, the night sky is one’s dance floor
The sky has summoned again a vortex Of falling, of dancing feather that wrecks
Llansze Luel A. Abuton
FAR AWAY Aira May L. Photography,PlagaDigital Art
PRESENTIMENT
Melvin P.DigitalVillacoteArt
in clusters, to witness how they’d cross borders and claim more firs i’d say it’s a rarity, a privilege to be a seer of a cascade of paragons, to take vows from the vehement wind they’ll make, to hear tales from their hushed flaps and i’ve never basked myself in the sunlight, yielded my body this easily, leaned back this fervently, not when I find myself standing among a swarm of Monarchs flying through me for a little while
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THE MONARCHS
Llansze Luel A. Abuton
the sovereign of the trees and friends of the sun will once again flutter their wings to bid adieu at the branches they once swarmed and claimed they will deceive more fair, delicate flowers to revere after them and offer their sweet nectars like it was their gain they will utter their names at the maiden wind, marshal the humid streams, to have their bodies carried over the damp duff over that ground that unfolds the grove they will once again parade their flags, those cosmically-arranged wings those frail yet imposing splatters of pearls and black veins on flat ambers they’d boast on the flyway so once more i’ll attempt to walk my way close to their roost to watch them trickle away
—
They meet me as the end credits roll they call, they eyeroll, they say, “welcome to Youhell”
Maybe it’s the broken toe nail, hurting still Maybe it’s the anklet in my leg, dangling will
HYMN OF DEVOTEEVORACIOUSTHE
At the conversations read in their head reread in my chest, down my spine, to forget
My Faith may rest in God, but my religion is our Love.
The clothes on the floor, thrown in the Anwasheruneasiness in rearranged shelves
snuggle up like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit well.
Or the stomach churning, they’re fluttering Alas, this butterfly curses its unravelling
The walls, they breathe how they do at 9 PM But the clock on the corner strikes twelve
Jerusalem bells chime, the roman choir raise battle cries that fill my heart as I take a stand and wield my heart. My darling, in a world of the wicked and unbelieving, let’s build a cathedral with our love worth keeping.
Zuriel John P. Baugbog
The flowers you had given to me have been blooming deep in the crevices of my heart and flushes out the agony and longing of long ago.
First is to ignore the shift in my feet After changing the color of my bedsheets
I desire to enter your gardens, To grovel at your feet. Your presence, the radiance of my flowers bleeds it’s essence.
LIMINAL SPACES
Levina Eunice O. Palarca
Come, I will build you an altar of Grace and Roses for I touch heaven when I am in your presence.
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To love another is to see the face of God
All the languages that I cannot speak Let me hear, dimelo suave, damelo suave
John Ian G.
LUCID
PhotographyBradshaw
AMARANTHINE MEMORIES
Over the horizon lies the wall, both a bridge and a barrier between what is reality and what is false. Lies and strength are what make up the plot, as the chosen hero continues on chasing the why’s and why nots. Dreaming of the escape that we yearn for so tenderly, making within arm’s reach the good ending we seek. Endless were the scenarios, the fables, myths, and legends of yore; raising up in arms to protect the ones we love and defeating the foes of our cause. Secrets and sacrifices were the true protagonist’s tools, defending and resisting against the ones hiding within the shadows The story, in the end, its truth and origin were nothing less than shocking; nothing but a simple child who sought love in the midst of suffering
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Every day was a toll on one’s mind, body, and soul; yet hope is there to push you when you’re about to fall A story for the one who survived because of its saving grace, I bid you farewell and a safe journey when you return to reality May you always live well and true, for love and happiness shall always find their way back to you.
Andrea Mae C. Bayeta
Thorough was solitude’s embrace every single day Haven was the home where one can safely be alone Enduring and struggling as I strive to move forward
Desiring the end, the symphony finally plays as the credits finally roll “Reader of mine, this world of yours has only just begun”, such words are whispered
These are the nights you wish to never forget Reality is a distant world you never heard Daydreams are taking over On the night that is nothing but surreal
These are the nights that nothing matters But that joy and euphoric feeling rushing to your Fillingveinsevery part of you Until you shed that tear of joy
These are the nights that are one for the Youbooksmake history You make memories Memories you wish you could relive
Kennethinfinite
For these are the nights you swear you are Wallace G. Melendez
THE AFTERMORNING
Life has always been unforgiving Like waves crashing against cliffs Your resolve threatens to crumble Your heart screams in anguish Tear stained cheeks Red puffy eyes As indelible as the ink on your skin Rest my friend, tomorrow we fight once again
Life has always been unforgiving Yet the waves cannot erase our hope For tomorrow, the rose tinted sky Shall greet us once again
These are the nights for your soul You set it free You let it go Your fears, your sorrows, your misery
These are the nights of immortality Doubt is gone, and you are certain Certain that you are in control
Hyacinth L. Premacio
THESE ARE THE NIGHTS
These are the nights that we pray never end Dreams could take us anywhere Tomorrow doesn’t exist And life is here and now
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LOST
Sheil Ann Ashley P. Bruas Digital Art
I woke up from a dream where it all went slightly wrong And brought the feeling with me when I woke, A line in a verse where I did not belong. Somehow this was not where I was supposed to be.
I had always had this sick fascination with the wide open sea, The raging deep blue played by rogue waves, mint emerald peeking from it’s concave, rushing white horses and their foamy manes, Disappearing after a violent short race.
Alex Andrea Noble
It had drizzled for days and I stood at the crescent white bay staring, beyond constellations of tide pools and reefs, the wide open ocean was just moments away. The grey sky made the dark blue water swell, and the thought of being swept away into its belly was a joke I dare not tell.
For a while I let the tide reach and kiss my flesh with its bubbling teeth, I feel the pounding of the rain and its rhythmic breathing with the sea. Disrupted and panicked on the surface that held an endless world of calmness only the men stuck in its eternal blue waters dread and notice. I felt an intricate weaving of emotions within me, of excitement laced with morbidityThere is nothing stopping me from getting lost in the legend of the Pacific. As if I were looking over a ledge, pulled by a instinctive curiosity for the ultramarine depths, I could see the peaking white horses from afar Crashing into one another like a scene that I long to play a part. A whisper of a tune from a washed up conch shell breaks an unnoticed reverie, and I washed it with the reaching tide as if asking for permission. And I held it against my ear and found a symphony that sounded Like a deep longing beyond the lost echo of the raging emerald seas, Like a line from song only I understood, Like the beginning of an unbelonging dream.
PRIMORDIAL SONG
41
prose
Kevin
Matthew N. Pacana Digital Art
ALL EYES ON ME
EVERYDAY I DROWN
Regina Noelle C. Arquiza
I’ve always been afraid of the water. Despite my family having constant trips to the beach, I always found myself afraid of the water, this is because of that one time when I was still a little kid and we were celebrating my grandfather’s birthday at the beach. I remember enjoying myself near the shore when my cousins started to drag me to the deeper part of the water, because I didn’t know how to swim I started to panic and that resulted to me splashing them away. By that time we were far away from the shore and I couldn’t reach the ground, I was flailing my arms because I was swallowing too much water and I couldn’t breathe. My cousins noticed me struggling and hurriedly came for me and carried me back to shore. That was enough for me to hesitate coming near the water again. My apprehension grew when my mother told me that a lot of people died of drowning, and that it was starting to be a common thing now. When I asked her why they were drowning or why they drowned, she told me, “Because they were sad.” I found it weird that these people started drowning because they were sad, usually when I get sad, my mom would just buy me ice cream and then I would be fine afterwards, but nonetheless, what my mom told me was enough for me to know that drowning was bad and to never go near water. As years went by, I’ve come to realize what my mother meant when she told me that story all those years ago, and since then I’ve learnt to tolerate the water, I’ve learnt to control it but I would still be cautious because a lot of these drownings happen so often that they even happen to kids my age and it made me wary of venturing further.
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The time I started to consider venturing further was when my mother got sick. Seeing her slowly withering, her health declining, I envision myself at the beach shore once again, looking out into the horizon and anxious of the unfamiliar water.
We all have that irrational fear to be underwater, you know, when you used to have that mini heart attack when you were a kid, when you go underwater and you would see this great white shark coming straight towards you and suddenly you go straight into panic mode, but then it seems that it only made the shark move faster, then you start flailing your arms like an octopus and when you finally do come up the surface, you realize that there wasn’t really a shark there. We’ve all been afraid of the water at least once in our life, after all the depths of the water are like human emotions and our capability to deal with these emotions, a lot are curious enough, but only a few are brave enough to venture out.
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For every day she got worse, I found myself stepping one foot further into the water. When my mother died, I was already in knee-deep. I hear distant cries of my name at the shore, but they were all faded, voices carried by the wind. By that time, all my fears of being near water were replaced by numbness, so numb that I couldn’t even feel the pain in my arms where jagged rocks cut them when the waves swayed me once or twice. Stuck in a trance, I continued trudging further into the water, my feet started to sting from all the cuts caused by corals and more jagged rocks. I continued to trudge along when I took one wrong step, and found myself underwater. I could feel my throat closing up, I could feel my pounding heartbeat and my vision starting to blur, but not before I see a bright light above me, and reaching for me, my father’s hand. When I resurfaced, I was crying and clutching my father’s shoulder. We both knew what happened wasn’t an accident, and that made me more ashamed than I was scared of what Afterhappened.that
“incident” my father made sure that I wasn’t going anywhere near the water for a while, and he was successful, but it didn’t last long. He too soon got sick and once again I was helpless in watching my father slowly wither. I wanted to make a run for it, I wanted to run to the water but my father held my hand to stop me. I knew what he was asking for and I held on for as long as I could, but when he passed away I couldn’t stop myself anymore. I was already shoulder deep in the water, I thrashed around, cutting my arms in the jagged rocks and corals, I screamed and cried until my salty tears became one with the ocean itself, then I plunged myself deep into the water. I could feel my lungs filling up with water, it is getting harder to breathe, it is getting harder to see, and just like that it was like my grandfather’s birthday all over again, drowning with no one to yell for, it was me again on that beach when my mom died, only now I let the unfamiliar waters take me. I look up and see people, some have familiar faces, some I just happened to meet once and some faces I have long forgotten. They all seem to be crying out my name, but I feel I’m in too deep for help. I am suspended in space. I am in the in- between. I’m at that crossroads of continuing to sink deeper or to come up for that long needed air.
Now imagine this, what if there was no water? And drowning was something else entirely? That as I grew up, the picture of these people “drowning” became more vivid to me and I finally understood what my mother meant when she said they were “drowning” because they were sad. It’s because I’m in the same situation too. I was taking one step towards “drowning” in sorrow and grief. Until I finally did drown, in my emotions. It was filling me up that I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my vision blurring and I as too caught up with it, in too deep that even the cries of my loved ones are so distant I couldn’t hear their pleading when I took different and dangerous measures in dealing with my grief among other emotions. I am still suspended in space. I am still at that crossroads of whether resurfacing from those emotions or let it beat me up, and drown me completely. Every day I struggle with this decision, every day consists of constantly sinking and resurfacing, every day I drown.
DREAM HAVEN
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I have sauntered through this hallway a couple of hundred times now these past few years. The walls here are warm, unlike the ones I have in my room. The ceilings extend far and far, beyond the heavens and the constellations. Frowning, porcelain angels fly in an endless circle, and with each angel two bright red magpies follow. Violet clouds fill the torquoise and emerald ground. Marble pillars stretch along the path forward. Every step I take, the ground after me crumbles and takes an endless fall down. To where, I never know, nor do I really care. I walk forward slowly.
I’ve always found this place to be quite the perplexity, but I walk forward anyway. Many times I’ve walked this hallway and each time I reach its end, a white swing waits for me. It’s a simple swing, tied together by manila ropes. I sit and each time I do, a memory greets me like a cloud of flashback staying afloat. It’s like watching a movie. My movie. The memories are always different from the last and they are always pleasant. The moment I learned how to ride a bike for the first time. The day we celebrated grandma’s 80th birthday and we all had birthday cupcakes and waffles. My first field trip. My first kiss with my first boyfriend. All of them, all of these memories pin my heart to a wall far colder than the ones in my room, and it aches and aches and aches, but I allow it. These memories were once my reality. But for the time that I am here, for the fleeting time that I am here, I can relive these moments, if only to make up for the bleakness of my reality. If only to make up for the blackness of my life. If only so I can be happy, just for this very moment. I know that once I awake, I’ll be greeted with the usual ice-cold walls of my room, the perpetual dullness of my days, the gnawing solitude of my life. But at least I’ll have something to look forward to, even if it’s not real. I know it’s not real.
Fritz F. Bustamante
Jayson Elvie G. Ty Photography
UGHAN
Lou Andrea Nueva
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her cup was poisoned several times. she was gradually becoming numb, but the intoxication continues to spread and often spill out from her mouth like acid, scorching the flesh of others. another he looked at her sadly, carefully offering, gently approaching. “you have to drink or you will die of thirst,” he said, “trust that i am pure water.” finally, she cried. she cried for the first time in so many years. “that is what they told me, too.” and so she imbibed her own tears.
TRUST
she began to grow a garden, but he plucked her flowers without permission. he said it was all her fault for making it beautiful, that it was natural for him to touch and claim pretty plants once he comes across a garden. “why else would you make your garden pretty, then?” he said. she created a castle made of chocolates and cookies because she yearned to bake a throne for herself and wear a crown of candies. another he came as a guest. they danced in her court of sweets. but then he ate it all one day until what she had built crumbled down in bite-sized bits. “why else would you create a tempting chocolate castle, then?” he said.
Yellow... What does yellow even look like? Is it really the pigment that the flaring disco ball hiding behind the thin clouds owns? It was foolish of him to even try to describe the world using the words that he came across in a soot-covered book once, especially if it’s something that he has never seen nor will he ever see. Everything is in a lonely shade of black and white. It was bland like the taste of a poorly-made coffee that clings to his tongue whenever he pulls an all-nighter. Will the endless rotation of the earth ever be fast enough one day so that the things he hears and casts his eyes over on the tabloids that his father buys but will never read will finally be witnessed?
#FFFF00
The fragrance of flowers never fails to mesmerize the bypassers as they swiftly caress their noses, the yellow sunlight gingerly painting an even brighter hue to its petals. Countless species of insects paraded the moistened grass and adorned its blades, crawling on it like how a star would rest on a blank evening sky.
Angel Bernadine G. Banaag
Crunch Crunch. The dead leaves that the townsfolks walked on a couple of meters away cried in agony, yet he never bothered to look at them. It’s still going to be in black and white anyway. He knew that they were leaves by the sound that they made, so there wasn’t any point in checking if it was in a bright tint of orange or a serene hue of brown like how forbidden textbooks that are written by those that are fortunate enough to distinguish the color of their hair from whence they were young and when they turn 80 describe them to be. People always hate it when others stand on a different platform than them. Not long after those that can see colors started to write about the art that the heavens deprived them of seeing, the literary pieces that they made were immediately stripped away from history.
It“Grey?”hasbeen an hour since she spoke a word. Grey knew Aquilina never really liked to talk, but she would always look at him with those big, round eyes peering behind a set of prescription lenses whenever he speaks. Her calling out his name would either mean that she wanted to ask him because he said something that confused her or he has spaced out for some time now. In the current case, the answer seems to be the latter.
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He tried to dig into his mind for the reason as to why he fell into an abyss of thoughts in the first place. However, when he witnessed the young woman turning on her position to look at him inquiringly, a small spark of light ignited in his heart. He remembered telling
a stupid joke earlier, and when he heard her ever so quiet laughter, questions started to rise at an alarming rate. Her voice was as smooth as honey small, childish chuckles that for sure made her lips contort into a grin in a desperate attempt to not let him hear it. Then, her cheeks began to get clouded with a different hue. He doesn’t have a clue what it was, and that was when he started to submit to the weary arms of wonder.
“Hey, Aquilina... do you dream about me?”
Laces of thin clouds scattered in the illuminating gray sky, the afternoon breeze becoming even more lovely as the hour hand dove deeper into the chasm. The almost retiring sun grinned in complete bewilderment as it continued to admire the view of two young lovers lost in the beauty of a now-empty pasture. Aquilina simply hummed at this as a response before she returned to her original position.
took the time to gaze over the unreadable expression that adorned his face after she muttered the start of her response. A small smile began to be sketched on her lips as she shifted her sight back to the scenery unraveling in front of her, closing her eyes to take note of the fact that he never halted his combing of her hair even after what she “...Isaid.stay awake to be with you.”
Grey let his fingers be buried with the countless strands of Aquilina’s hair as he continued to brush it ever so gingerly. He has been doing this for who knows how long already. Along with the serenity of everything that surrounded them, the pale beams of nature’s flaring disco ball left butterfly kisses on his fragile skin, the grass beneath them prodding out of the tired earth and poking into his jeans.
When will he ever know what color is the one that dusts the tip of her nose whenever she laughs? He wants to decipher the hue that swirls in her irises whenever she looks up at him. In her eyes, he would always see his reflection a sight of him being painted with a smile that would win him a medal in a contest despite having flawed, crooked teeth; a sight of him being happy and whole.
Despite the calm swaying of the invisible wind on the flowers that encircled them, his heartbeats weren’t subtle. His irises twinkled in anticipation after noticing the young woman looking over her shoulder.
“Sorry. Had to think about something.”
Oddly enough, despite the world being in black and white, Aquilina never stopped looking so vibrant in Grey’s eyes.
Aquilina“No...”
51
Melvin P. Villacote BS Biology 4
Alex Andrea Noble BS Marine Biology 1
Kate identifies herself as a self-taught artist who enjoys exploring art mediums in both traditional and digital arts. Despite having such a passion for visual arts, she aspires to pursue a career in the field of science and technology.
Alex is a first-year Marine Biology student who lives vicariously through art and secondhand experiences, enticed by nature’s mysteries and an unexpected lover of the ocean.
Kristiane Shane M. Torrejos BS Biology 3
SHORT BIOGRAPHY
Kate Louise P. Francisco STEM Grade 12
Melvin is a self-taught artist and has been practicing his craft in the field multimedia for about a decade already. He is currently a senior Biology student and is planning to pursue a degree in medicine afterwards.
Kristiane always found great importance in creating stories that can reach people through words and sound, sparking a moment of reminiscence, hope, and comfort. This inpires her to become a great storyteller.
Kenneth Wallace G. Melendez Broadcast News Director
Derrick Kean A. Auxtero
Chloe Alexandra T. Orteza ( Trainee)
Kenneth Jhon D. Sanchez
Kyla Gabrielle P. Tuto (Trainee)
Claire Ivy T. Vanguardia Campus Features Editor
Alyssa Chantal P. Moreno Local Features Editor
Jayson Elvie G. Ty Freehand Editor
John Ian G. Bradshaw
Publishers
Jean Mika M. Aporillo Design Editor
Racquel Vaneza Kate B. Agustin (Trainee)
Sumayyah G. Caris Auditor
Sheil Ann Ashley P. Bruas Graphic Design & Layout Editor
Jivi Roy D. Rizaldo Online Accounts Manager
Melvin P. Villacote Editor in Chief
Broadcasters
Christian A. La Victoria (Trainee)
Editorial Board
Andrea Marie L. Tan (Trainee)
Hyacinth L. Premacio ( Trainee)
Rafhael L. Jabongga Managing Editor
Andre’ Socorro F. Doria (Trainee)
Paula Elaine D. Francisco Senior Research Manager
Catherine C. Naldoza Senior Computer Systems Manager
Reina Margaret Gwynette T. Villamor Associate Editor
Danica Ela P. Armendarez News Editor
Edshera Mae R. Abella Human Resource Manager
Levina Eunice O. Palarca National Features Editor
Staff Writers
Abdel Rafi M. Lim
Zenju P. Espinosa
Subscribing Students of Xavier University
Kiarra Dlahmane P. Lingating
Shaun Arthur O. Pao
Moderator
Mr. Raymond A. Ybañez
Karl Mykell M. Tabbay Video Productions Director
Nia Enrille R. Rabanes
Reyjean Marie S. Bacud Senior Finance Manager
Kevin Matthew N. Pacana Office Manager
TheCrusader PUBLICATION
Aira May L. Plaga Circulations Manager
Angelyne I. Bonani
James Patrick B. Pabonita Photography Editor
Regina Noelle C. Arquiza (Trainee)
Fritz F. Bustamante
Managers
Rustom Louiegie P. Duran, Jr. (Trainee)
Staff Artists
Aliyah Francine G. Salan (Trainee)
