Veritas Literary and Arts Folio 2020: Recoded

Crusader

The

The official student publication of Xavier University - Ateneo de Cagayan

Cover design by Lex IĂąosa Art Direction by Derrick Kean Auxtero and Melvin Villacote Circulation: 2,000 copies

If only life came prepackaged with a reset button—like those dreams where we could consciously go back a few seconds to undo an ill-conceived choice, to try again with the power of hindsight and the remembrance of regret to guide us—wouldn’t life be easier? We wouldn’t need to worry about slipping up or ending with the outcome that is less-thanideal, because we would have the option to try again, to choose the better path, to relive every moment and go forth with the life we want and the life we choose for ourselves. We could rewrite our entire histories and recode the script that governed our existences in the first place.

But what would life mean then?

This year, the literary and art works of Veritas 2020 ventures into that very question, merging the themes of technology and existential dread to bring to you, our dear readers, our authors’ and artists’ innermost regrets and thoughts of self-condemnation (or a projection of those, at least).

While these questions of what ifs and these reimaginations of what could have been may be a bit too on the nose, or conversely, a bit too superficial for you, maybe there is something to gain from reflecting on your past and willing for it to change. Who knows, you might discover the parts of your life that are better off deleted, and the parts of your life you would always have saved.

The Crusader Publication presents you with a collection of the XU community’s finest creative pieces. From poems and prose, to art and photography, Veritas 2020 entices you to bring forth your origin story and ask yourself: what would your life look like, “Recoded”?

Abdel Rafi Lim Workshop Director Veritas Writers Workshop

P O E T R Y

1

Backtrack

by James Patrick Pabonita

The Lifecycle of a Stardust

by Beth Nalam

In the spaces between the Milky Way, cosmic crumbs in a vast array, remnants of a luminous explosion.

These globs of grain and gas… STARDUST. The proverbial seed to all that exists, Planets, people—it all consists.

Out of diverse galactic nurseries, and different atoms we were cast.

In the infinite possibilities, Mine, out of all realities, Came to being, leaving me wondering, What if I were to be a star?

A ball of gas teeming with hydrogen, Not the one adored by all men.

Yet all the same, keep them gravitating, Round my burning, naked body.

If strong enough in the right time and place, Form utopia in many ways— A fresh planetary system, Or even collapse into a black hole.

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In the midst of this daydreaming, What in the world was I saying?

Stars have died for me to be here today, The cosmos within my living being.

From stardust, I’ve come into existence, Travelled an orbital distance.

Yes, I bear the power to forge a life, Still, to stardust, I will return.

Illusion

by Melvin Villacote

6

Peace in Solitude

by Caryll Apostol

Imperfect

by Sumayyah Caris

8

Sulat

by Johanna Laplap Sa apat na sulok nitong aking silid, sa isang madilim na liblib, Katawa’y nakahandusay sa sahig, parang walang silbi sa daigdig.

Sa isang sulat ko nalang ibuhos ang lahat, sa dami ng gusto kong isulat, alam kong magiging mistula itong aklat.

Kaya dito ko nalang ipagkakalat.

Mga pasakit at pasà, aking dinidibdib.

Pati maaanghang na salitang aking naririnig.

Para akong isang tanim na hindi dinidiligan, parang isang bulaklak na nasa damohan.

Patawarin ako ng maykapal, sa mga naiisip kong hindi madangal.

Alam ko na ito’y aking malalagpasan, sa pamamagitan ng pagluhod at pagdasal.

Habang ang mga mata’y nakatulala, sa kisame ako’y nakatingala.

Dahan-dahang tumutulo ang luha, pigilan man ay hindi ko magawa.

Nawa sa mga taong katulad ko, maiisipan sana nila na huwag sumuko.

Habang may buhay, habang dumadaloy ang mga dugo, may pag-asa, na sa diyos ay siyang pinangako.

Ano kaya ang dapat kong gawin?

Buhay ko ba ay dapat ko ng putulin?

Bakit ba dumidilim ang aking paningin?

Hindi ko maintindihan ang aking damdamin.

Para akong isang tahimik na bulkan, gusto ko ng sumabog at ito’y pakawalan.

Ngunit wala rin naman makakaintindi, Kaya ito ay akin nalang sinasarili.

Higpitan lamang ang kapit, mga pangarap mo ay iyong makakamit.

Huwag lamang kalimutang pumikit, at sa susunod mong pagdilat, ay may araw pang titirik.

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10

Kahidlaw

by Jivi Roy Rizaldo

11

Solo Flight

by Melvin Villacote

12

Ang Layag sa Kawanangan

by Mario Tambor Jr. Gibitbit sa hangin ang layag, Nag anam ka ngit-ngit ang ilalom Daghan ang nangita ug Kahayag Pero di gustong mosalom Ang tubig naga-anam nag kabugnaw, Naga anam pog kalawom Ang palibot naga-anam kahapsay, Naga-anam pog kahilom Sa kabag-uhan ang mga isda, Nagahulat lang gyapun’g bingwiton Sa Kabag-uhan ang mga bituon, Naghulat lang gyapun’g kab-uton Sa mas lawom nga tubig; mas taas ang languyon Sa mas habog nga langit; mas taas ang luparon Busa Tawo, ang kahayag naa lang gihapon Motulo man ang luha ug singot, padayun gyapung pangitaon

13

Dungaw

by Jivi Roy Rizaldo

Withered

by Jayson Elvie Ty

16

Letter to T

by Caryl Trishia Yapac

Dearest T, Your world stopped turning on the 21st day.

Along with it, my hope ended slowly.

I knew my faith sounds wrong, For my heart lost the flow of tears.

As it pours through my soul the idea of living, I mourn as I drown in regrets On the sins I wish to forgive and forget.

Your world stopped, but if I spin my world, Again, like a cycle of rebirth and second chances, Again and again, you will still live in my memory.

There will always be you and me On the calming of the sea waves, While you carried me on your shoulders, Because fear was eating my senses, Fearing that the pockets from your cargo shorts, Like a mouth, will eat my feet.

I saw how it gobbled your keys and coins.

Your pockets kept on chasing me And I love how you tried to rescue me.

I am wishing for a replay but I got a restart.

In this new start, I will continue to miss, The way I held your hand, and, How it felt for the last time, How I watched you walk slowly, How you handed me the last bills on your wallet, How you offered the last bread of the day, How you knocked on the door while I sleep, How your lips echoed your favorite song, How your sermons hurt but I felt care, How your compliments kept me moving, How you support my meaningless decisions, How you healed my emotional wounds, How you looked at me, How you shared love without questions.

Your leaving is not something we planned.

I hate to move forward without you.

Please, wherever you may go, May your pockets be a vessel of memories, Feed them with a memory of me.

I am no longer afraid.

In this new home, I wish you are still here.

In this new page, you wanted me to be happy.

In this new road, I am embracing acceptance, So you could ease your suffering.

It feels different now, But this something new is something right.

17

Veritas

by Catherine Naldoza

Click to play

by Beth Nalam

“Click to Play,” Do you see life that way?

How nice, stranger. How ‘bout me, you say?

Someone must have put my life on loop every day.

Stop and go, Sometimes, hit a plateau.

I wish it wasn’t the case, you know.

I’d be suspended in time, go fast, or go slow.

Pause, rewind If I bring back my mind In the past, I wonder what I’ll find.

Recognize friends... and my foes! Will I still be kind?

Restart now?

We’re all wondering how.

Forget being holier than thou, To this life and world, we’ll be saying ‘Bella Ciao!’

Play, replay Look back at life that way.

But never confuse the night with day, To what if ’s and dreams, you might slave yourself away.

Start new game.

Each day might be the same, but it’s your chance to adjust the frame.

A new sunrise, state of mind, under the same name.

Mind the rules, Or end up like a fool.

Even when you delete all progress, What’s meant for you will always find its way to you.

19

Esc

by Sheil Ann Ashley Bruas

Binibini

by 22 Paula Elaine Francisco

Kislap ng Kahapon

by Louie Vince Gijan

Ika’y wari isang bituing natatanaw ng nangungusap kong mga mata, subalit ‘di maabot at mahagkan ng nagsusumamo kong mga bisig tuwina.

Kumikislap kang parang diyamanteng kay laki ng halaga sa mundong aking ginawa para lamang sa’ting dalawa.

Subalit habang ang daigdig nati’y umiikot sa ‘di mapigilang bilis, tila bumabagal naman tibok ng puso mong kaytagal kong ninais.

Sa isang iglap, mga buhay nating pinagbagkis, pinaghihiwalay; luha’y walang tigil sa pagtangis.

Maaangkin pa ba, sulyap mong kay halaga?

Mahahawakan pa kaya, kamay mong nagbibigay sa’kin ng saya?

Kikinang pa ba yaong kumikislap na tala, kung mga ala-ala’y mauuwi sa wala?

Sa nilapad ng papel na maaari kong sulatan ng kuwentong nais ko sa atin magpakailanman, walang bahagi nito ang nalalakbayan, ng lapis kong sira buhat ng ako’y nasaktan.

‘Di man ako makatang kay raming akdang naipon, sa aking isipan mukha mo’y laging nakabaon.

Dulot nito’y naisulat yaring kahapon na sana’y mabasa ng ‘di maglaon.

Aking kahilingan pagdating ng tamang panahon, masabi mong muli mga salita mo noon na sadyang para saki’y kasinglalim ng balon at hihila sa kamay ko nang ako’y makaahon.

Oo, ikaw nga’y isang bituin; marikit, makinang, nais kong sungkitin.

Matanglaw, mabusilak, nais kong maangkin; nagpapabuhay sa tulog kong damdamin.

O kay hirap isiping ‘di ko batid ang kinabukasan; kung sana lang ay maulit kay tamis nating nakaraan.

Ano na ba ang nangyayari sa ating kasalukuyan?

Tila ako’y marahan mo nang iniiwan.

23

Geisha 2029

by Lex Iñosa

24

In the Past Life of a Seer

by Levina Eunice Palarca

There’s one thing I’d like to do – to see the future. All that is possible. All that will be.

I take a step backwards, closer to the wall, barely in time to get hit by a passerby in a hurry.

She hands me the pink slip, all the result from not bothering to run. If I had known my watch was broken.

Only if I can control time, to slow down when I’m in a hurry and go faster in my sloppy days.

If I could, I would just dare it to stop. Don’t let me work, don’t let me age.

Don’t let me live any longer. Don’t let the people I love die. There are enough empty bodies, and enough filled.

My mom’s new necklace glint from the firelight that kept us warm, that burned the old pictures to make space for the unpredictable new.

I don’t want something new; I want all that’s old. All that has been, are the only things I’m sure of.

If my future was certain, if I had known my afternoon friend would want me blind, I would have never given her my eyes.

If I had known this was all I was going to get, this lightless room, this empty net, I would have stayed outside.

When you climbed into infinite high, where the palm trees remind me of my childhood, I wish I hadn’t followed you so I could’ve caught you on the infinite fall.

When leaves fall in the shredding season, when wind marks the trajectory of falling leaves unpredictable, fall in love with me.

Because I am not certain either. All the signs mock my broken sense of time and twisted sense of love. Like the leaves that fell, like the eyes that burn, 25

Whenever I enter a room full of strangers. Whoever is it I’m bound to know? Whoever is it that will know the version of me in that period of time?

And whoever is it that I will still think of five years since? I be damned, I don’t want them living in my head that long.

The hands that crawl into my arm, they go in multiple languages, shifting gears faster than a stoplight can signal green.

No, it wasn’t me who crashed the car. It wasn’t me who failed the finals. It wasn’t me who was robbed of affection and then sinned.

The priest asked me to pray three hours of Hail Mary and I wonder if time existed only for repentance of each second I waste.

Does God pity me each time I wake up late?

He made sure the streets I cross, the friends I make, the dinner that’s served, hold the uncertainty of an aftermath.

He takes me to a direction where I can never twist my neck, so I will be rid of a past while nudged into a plank blindfolded.

Each birthday that comes, there’s so much to thank but how many more years should I be thankful? If I cannot see the future.

In the new year they blast off fireworks and sing songs, only hoping, only keeping their fingers crossed.

All the plans that exist, converge and tangle but most of all they burn each other into sparks that flicker only in the present.

Once, I woke up late into the new year, God handed me a pink slip all the result from waking up too slow. And so, I curse my death.

That in the blur between death and rebirth, new and old, I would bargain with time. I will agree to perpetually fall into its pit – if I know where it ends.

26

#NoFilter

by Jayson Elvie Ty

every poop I take

by Alessandro Kennz Nioda

i wonder if you will give up on me, darling, only because of my poop—pitch-black, wet, capable of making your hands filthy. and we’ve made memories together! remember last week, when we were on the subject of telling the time with uno, dos, tres, cuatro, dazed by the tongue of iberia brought to life through your prof? or when you were answering a supposedly deepening reflection on a piece from the depths of your nation’s trove of verse and prose? enough pompous words. i wanna ask you again: will you give up on me? throwing away the good stuff isn’t meant for us. when you found me and looked at me like some helpless child, i sensed that all from the past had given up on you. perhaps i had no choice. desperation came loose, and here i am, bound by service and generosity found in my nature. we’re not brangelina. we’re not shaggy and scooby-doo. but at the very least, we are a pair, finding solitude at each other through white pages after white pages, leafing through the world and its consciousness that rules over us. in fact, you made this happen. you always never run out of words except when the calendar says, “no class.”

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or when you prefer to stick your eyes on your phone. at times, it’s both, but the latter is what really gets on my nerves. you know, with a touch of your calloused hand, every single day would be alright, yet it isn’t always the case. and after all the weeks we’ve spent, it seems that, with the unimaginable flaw of mine, there’d only be phrases and sentence fragments between us until there is silence left. every poop i take, i poop for love. for the bond that we started. i was hoping my doings would lead you to thinking i want to give more than i could offer, but you would more often than not get annoyed. we could do so much more—more productive than anyone else. let’s fill more empty white pages— fill them more about the same world until it’s finished, until we can finally think beyond, a whole new stupendous dimension that only we can create and be enticed of leaving everything behind. we could think of what its compositions are— t hings that we can take pleasure with— but, love, listen to me: the question begs to be replied. i know i can’t change what has already been part of me. i can’t change what has already been part of you. while i’m still around, while i remain pooping, please make a move.

29

At Stake

by James Patrick Pabonita

30

Turn table

by Leinarra Tumarong

I can see you from here, Can you see me too?

I can hear your laughter, can you see the blues?

You’ve turned deaf to people who yell, turned placid to people in wells.

How mighty are your souls who never had dirt?

Your neck stiffened with golden ores.

I can see what you’re hiding, I can see it here.

You’ve become their laughter, dressed in your blues.

31

Mahilom

by Paula Elaine Francisco

32

Shoreline

by Leinarra Tumarong

I felt you slipping between my fingers Slowly yet frantically; like sand in my fist.

A tiny matter composed of fragments of the past, You were broken yet beautiful; small but massive.

You are my shore, a golden place from afar And a resting place within my arms You work with the tide, the splurge of the waves And the gentle poke of the ocean.

You’re gentle caress upon my skin, You’re warm hugs on the sunkissed spot.

But you are still the sand, an invasive fragment of a beautiful coast.

You are made of specs, I forgot I can’t hold you tight.

You hide the past within your pasts, The treasure within your carcass.

You made me realize to cherish every moment, To look back to the footsteps before I journey forward.

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Que sera, sera

by Paula Elaine Francisco

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Pahiyom

by Jivi Roy Rizaldo

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P R O S E

Agu, the child soldier

by Paula Elaine Francisco

My Turn

by Nia Enrille Rabanes It has been three days since I started trailing your every move, and all that time wondering if the torment of my conscience is worth the reward I desire.

The city, albeit a different one, feels the same. The kind where I don’t belong.

As I watched, I made a mental note of your routine. You leave your two-storey house at around eight in the morning, bidding your farewell to a set of faces I never encountered in my world. You call them Ma and Pa, two people I could have had but didn’t. You ride a taxi to go to work where you’re an intern for a marketing firm. At five-thirty you’d return home. Except today you decided to head downtown.

I want everything that you have.

On this Friday night I’ve made up my mind as I wait for you in a passageway you always walked in. I had imagined the kind of look you would have on your face when you finally saw me, but reality beat it by a thousand. Your breath hitched and your features fell. The exact same ones I have, except I have looked like all the life of me has been stripped away everyday. You probably could not make sense of it. You might think, “How is this even possible?” I thought the same then.

If life was a game then I believe I was predestined to lose.

I have put myself in a series of holes difficult to come out of, but if I knew what I would be doing today I would have lived recklessly. Lived. Ironic as I have spent the entirety of my life the opposite of what living is.

My days are spent doing petty crimes, ones that could not provide even the slightest bit of stability. As if there was any other choice. Some days I walk away unscathed, others I finish barely alive. All so I would not rot in the slums I made my home. And God my stomach always hurt.

I did not know my name, so they called me Lin. Those who did only had one of two intentions: needing me for an errand or needing me to be locked up. So when an old man came up to me with neither a job nor arrest, I told him off so he could bother someone else. The photographs he threw on the ground however, reflect me in sets of 41

lively and momentous events. The ones I did not experience. Except they looked so real. Before I could question what they meant the old man spoke: “Tell me, Lin, what is it that you desire?”

A long list of things flashed before my mind, as if I had been waiting to be asked my whole life. Not that I was expecting a miracle to come to me, it was an instinctive response of being extremely aware of my inadequacy. The old man looked into my eyes and said I needed to trust him.

It all sounded like some sick plot to an impossible pursuit, and yet against my better judgement and in my desperation I decided to hear him out.

A place not far from here lies a fate that has taken another course. The old man held the key. It was up to me to take on the offer and do what I must to make that fate mine.

I’ve come to the place. This is the place.

Here I am now, looking at the girl who has had pretty much everything I didn’t. It took a trip across time and space to get here. A place where they call you Iris. A place where they will call me Iris.

Once again if life was a game, then its course is ever changing. It’s my turn to roll the dice.

All this time I’ve been trying not to die. Now I want a chance to live.

You don’t deserve what I’m about to do to you, Iris. But I’m sorry.

I clench the knife in my hand and take what is not mine.

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Apollo

by Melvin Villacote

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Medusa

by Melvin Villacote

Backspace

by Danica Ela Armendarez

Heto na naman tayo. Mulat at puyat dahil sa kabilaang requirements at hindi mabilang na pinagkakaabalahan. Kaya upang magising ang isipan ay naghahanap ng mapagkakaabalahan.

“Hai” “hAii” “Hi” Tatlong uri ng panimula, ngunit alam naman natin na panghuli lamang tutugunin.

“Hello” Sagot mo naman. Hindi dahil interesado ngunit gusto mo lang maaliw at manatiling gising upang “matapos” ang iyong mga gawain.

Sino nga ba namang mag-aakala na simplehang panimula ay hahantong pa sa makalawa o hindi mabilang na kamustuhan, nauuwi sa harutan at minsan ay ang pagkahulog ng kalooban.

Nakakatawa ang babaw ng mga rason upang tayo ay mapangiti. Kaya lang naman tayo naghahanap ng trip dahil sa gustong maranas na kilig.

Dahil sa mabilisang proseso ng pag-ibig. Mabilisan din ang paglaho nito, at kayang palitan sa iisang klik.

“Hey” Panibagong panimula. Tutugunan mo pa ba?

“Hel--” Muntik na, pero huwag muna kaibigan. Kung kaya pang pigilan, hindi mo kailangang patulan. Upang maiwasang magkamali ikaw ay mag backspace … delete … delete.

45

Jajanken

by Paula Elaine Francisco

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The Rush to Katipunan

by Melvin Villacote

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Passing through

by Alessandro Kennz Nioda

Yesterday was the last time I caught a glimpse of you. Though the corridor we were both on was dimly lit, in the middle of the buzz and the rush of mid-afternoon weekdays, my eyes immediately presumed your own person. I was right.

You appeared as if you had your dark hair trimmed to an extent. As clearly expected, you wore your clean uniform and polished shoes.

Perhaps that’s the main reason why I couldn’t seem to describe you in detail. But in certainty, even if we haven’t struck a conversation, I knew you keep standing out from all else.

And just when I expected I couldn’t see you again today, I’m proven wrong. On such an open space between school buildings, stridden footsteps become almost stationary. The antique greens, with their growing shade, sway lazily. A passing white sedan sedates itself. At the mercy of crammers, existence makes an adjustment.

What casual surprises you bring, as I cross the Main Lane. Only this time, I’m with friends. Eyes fixed on you, I start wondering of farreaching possibilities, of feeble, awkward introductions, of getting to the point where I can naturally say we’re bound for McDo for some coffee and fries like you knowing matters— On second thought…it doesn’t. You’re wearing black earphones anyway.

While I continue to walk, you do the same but in the opposite direction. While you’re giving in to the mellowed tunes, I dwell at my deafening thoughts. Nothing happened to that nth moment where we are feet apart. We’re purely two people trying to get to other destinations as much as we can.

Before I knew it, everything goes back to normal.

When will it happen again, I couldn’t say. But I know it’ll be the same thing over: meeting halfway in a way that we won’t.

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Song of David

by Paula Elaine Francisco

Reset

by Francisco III Sulita

“You up?”

I recognize the familiar arrangement of the numbers, the inside joke, and I remember why I promised myself I would never let myself be open.

Six years ago, I was unconsciously swimming in your ocean with nothing but ink and paper to weather the winds that brought sadness and anger. My boat kept capsizing whenever I see someone who looks like you, or has your autumn brown hair that glistens when light touches it, or whenever I see someone who wears their Jansport bag over their left shoulder like you did. I swear, the phrase “my heart skipped a beat” is real.

I am beyond repair, letting your waters fill my every craving, my hunger for your attention and your time. I see your name in stars, your eyes in constellations and I do not know how or why but everywhere I look in places we loved and shared, I see you, and it hurts.

You’ve apologized a thousand times since then, and I swear to god I keep telling you it’s okay but I don’t know whether that’s for you or for myself.

I promised myself that someday, I know my heart will no longer recognize a voice from the crowd and then second guess if it was you.

Someday, I know my eyes will no longer see your eyes in constellations or your face among the clouds, and I promise that I will give back to the universe the stars we swore was ours.

I promise I will forget. Slowly. Even if loneliness is the price to pay.

The phone buzzes again.

“Can we talk?”

My finger hovers over the keyboard.

But with her, I’ve never been one to keep promises. Even if it means I keep getting hurt.

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Tonyo

by Darren Camille Tabanera

Alexander’s lover

by Derrick Kean Auxtero

Creaks

by Francisco III Sulita

there are doors we do not open. when i was a kid i watched my brother pack his bags and run away never to return. his room felt hollow but his presence was always felt and my mom would shrug and pretend he never existed and she had me thinking her heart was stone but whenever it gets quiet at night and when she thinks I already am asleep i hear her whispers in the night her prayers to a god that didn’t care. her heart wasn’t hollow i heard it break and shatter into pieces while she asked for her boy only to mask it with smiles and dried pillowcases in the morning there are doors we do notopen. i was 12 when i saw someone die for the first time. i saw him fall as he jumped while he cried and i swear to god i thought he would’ve grown wings and flew until i hear the muffled crash and the screams of the people around me and the whispers of madness and insanity of the people who took him away 55

8 years later i wonder what he felt when his skin kissed the air for the last time as he glided towards the ground there are doors we do not open. i was 17 when i first fell in love with someone i couldn’t keep she told me it was impossible to love me because she couldn’t even love herself which was ironic because she said that after we kissed after I told her I loved her i told her we could try I told her that I didn’t care even if i knew in the end i’d get hurt because to me she was worth risking for i promised her the world i couldn’t deliver i promised her a life i still have not achieved i promised herto be the reason to keep on living- but only i wasn’t 3 months later she brokeno- i broke my own heart in the form of a poorly written eulogy with all the cheesy shit she would’ve slapped me for there are doors we do not open. these are the creaks we write stories with 56

Seize Your Moment

by Melvin Villacote

Death and Taxes

by Paula Elaine Francisco

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Unreconciled Stars

by Derrick Kean Auxtero

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A World of Color

by Reina Margaret Gwynette Villamor

“I’ve never seen color like I do with you.”

Those were words I told Reggie on our wedding day. And I didn’t just mean that to sound poetic—he literally made me see color. * I live in a world of black and white. The only way our eyes could see color was when we meet our soulmate. I have heard all the glorious stories of people meeting “the one” and experiencing a burst of color in their lives but I have never cared for any of it. Personally, I was content with the dullness. My parents never saw color, and they turned out okay.

Looking back, I guess I was preparing myself for disappointment. Only a handful of people ever saw color. I convinced myself that that life was not for me.

Until Reggie.

Reggie and I met at the school library. We were both college seniors finishing our majors and we bonded over our shared love for books and movies. He made me laugh, something nobody has managed to do in a long time. Just for that, coupled by the fact that he was really cute, I agreed to go on a date.

Over dinner, we talked about our greatest passions and biggest regrets. I told him my passion was to change the world and my regret was not realizing that sooner. His was a little different.

“My greatest passion would have to be finding color and it’ll be my biggest regret if I don’t find it in you.” Then he leaned over, swooped in for a kiss, and suddenly the world exploded.

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I saw his brown, sparkling eyes, raven-black hair, his sharp maroon suit. I pulled away and saw his smiling pink lips and the bright golden chandelier behind him. I didn’t even know how I knew the names to all those colors but I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t help but cry.

I knew one thing though—I was in love with this man. And as I looked over his beaming face, I knew he was seeing color too. * “I’ve never seen color like I do with you.”

I echoed these words today, on our 17th wedding anniversary. He smiled and kissed my forehead. “The world’s as colorful as the day I first met you too.” He said.

I studied his face. I couldn’t quite tell the color of his eyes anymore. Nor the hue of his lips. “I love you.” I said. I couldn’t even tell if that was true.

I don’t know when it started, but I was aware that everything began dimming. It came with every squabble, every invalidation, every realization that we weren’t the couple we thought we were cut out to be.

I tried to fight it but it was always there.

Little by little. And then all at once.

It was only a matter of time.

My colors were fading—but Reggie’s world was bright as ever.

63

They both die at the end

by Derrick Kean Auxtero

64

And they were roommates.

by Reina Margaret Gwynette Villamor

James used to think love was reserved for the big moments and the grand gestures.

Like flash mob proposals at Times Square or stealing a blue French horn.

He hated that idea.

James hated nearly everything. Like waking up early. And gardening.

But here he was, watering someone else’s bonsais at 6AM. Why he did it, he did not know. Maybe he was scared Lily would murder him if he killed another one of her plants. Or maybe he just wanted to be as good a roommate as she was.

“You would not believe how long I stood in line for these today!”

Speak of the devil.

Lily looked tired. Her wrinkled blue scrubs and unkept hair signaled another rough shift from the night before. Yet she was smiling as she entered the room with a bag of donuts from their favorite pastry shop down the street.

James put down the watering can and surveying the assortment of donuts available.

It was all topped with chocolate.

“I know you only like the butternut flavor, but they ran out.” She said wearily. “I can just make you breakfast.”

“No, this is fine. Go sleep.” James said, shoving a whole chocolate donut in his mouth.

James hated chocolate.

She smiled at him then walked to her room. The chocolate didn’t seem so bad now.

As he cleared the table of donut crumbs, he suddenly realized something.

65

James used to think love was reserved for the big moments and the grand gestures.

Like flash mob proposals at Times Square or stealing a blue French horn.

But as he stared at the bonsai he just watered and the donut he pretended to like, he started to reconsider.

Maybe love was all the miniscule moments too. Like watering someone else’s plants.

Or waiting in line for someone’s favorite donuts. Or pretending to like someone’s donuts.

Maybe love was tolerating things we hate just to see the other person smile.

And Lily always made him smile.

66

Takot ka rin ba sa dilim

by Danica Ela Armendarez

Sa paglubog ng araw, unti unting babalutin ng kadiliman ang bawat sulok ng daanan. May mga negosyong pasarado at may iilan ding kabubukas pa lamang. Gaano man kalalim o kadilim ang langit ay may mga buhay pa ring nagliliwaliw sa gabi.

“Ate Tulong!” hingal na habol sa akin ng isang dalagitang naka uniporme. “May nanghihipo po sa akin kanina sa jeep tapos sinusundan niya po ako.” Maluha at panginig niyang sambat. Habang ako ay nakatingin sa kanyang mga mata bigla kong naalala ang aking sarili. Malinaw at natatandaan ko pa na halos magdadalawang taon na rin sa araw na ito ang kamuntik kong pagkagahasa sa isang iskinita.

Mag aalas-nuwebe na non at ako’y mag-isang nag-aantay pa lamang ng masasakyan pauwi. Suot ang aking PE uniform habang bitbit ang dalawang makakapal kong libro sa kanto tinyo malapit sa iskinita. Habang nakatungangang nag-aabang ay bigla ko na lamang naramdan ang tila isang matalim na tusok sa aking giliran.

“Sumama ka sa akin kung ayaw mong masaktan.” Dahil sa takot ay sumama ako ng walang pag-aalinlangan. Dahil sa nginig ay napaluha nalang ako at hindi makasigaw ng tulong kahit sa mga taong nadadaanan. Habang papasok sa kahabaan at kalibliban ng iskinita ay dahan-dahan niyang hinaplos ang aking likoran … pababa. Pikit mata ko na lamang diniin ang pagkababoy niyang haplos sa iba’t ibang bahagi ng aking katawan. Sa sandaling iyon ipinagdasal ko sa Diyos na kung naririnig niya man ako ay sanay magpadala man lang siya ng anghel na sasagip sa akin. Sa parehong sandali ay isang anino ng balingkinitang babae ang pumaibabaw sa nanghihinang ilaw ng poste.

“Kapatid ko ‘yan!” tatlong salita sa isang sigawan. Nang bumaling ako sa kanyang direksyon isang hindi pamilyar na mukha ang aking namataan, wala akong kapatid pero napasigaw ako ng ate papatakbo sa kanya. Tila ang paligid ay umaliwalas ng ako ay nasagip at wala akong iba pang narinig ngunit ang naghuhurumentado kong puso at tumatakbo na isip. Ako ay napaiyak nang napaiyak at hindi namalayan na ako na pala ay nakauwi. Hindi man lang ako nakapagsalamat at naitanong ang kanyang pangalan.

67

“Ate andyan na siya ‌â€? Ako ay naalimpungatan at inakbayan na lamang ang dalagita at hinatid papauwi. Parehong gawi ng babaeng sumagip sa akin.

Parang bula dahil kasabay ng pagkawala ng naka ingkwentro kong manyak ay siya ring pagkawala ng aking anghel. Kaya’t sayang at hindi ko man lang siya nakilala sa araw na iyon. Bilang pasasalamat ko sa kanya ay natuto akong magpakatatag para sa mga kababaihan kahit sa ilalim man ito ng madilim na kalangitan.

Nakakatakot man kung isipin ngunit ang karanasan ding iyon ang nakapamulat sa akin kung bakit hindi dapat ako o sinuman ang dapat natatakot sa gabi. Dahil hindi multo ngunit mga taong walang kaluluwa ang gagambala sa iyo.

68

Dissolution

by Sumayyah Caris

69

Sayaw

by Jayson Elvie Ty

70

Reflection

by Caryll Apostol

71

Young Blood

by Caryll Apostol

72

The

Crusader P U B L I C A T I O N

Publishers Subscribing Students of Xavier University Editorial Board Winona Roselle Serra Editor in Chief Abdel Rafi M. Lim Associate Editor Derrick Kean A. Auxtero Design Editor Jayson Elvie G. Ty Managing Editor Nia Enrille R. Rabanes News Editor Paula Elaine D. Francisco Photography Editor Melvin P. Villacote Graphic Design and Layout Editor Rafhael L. Jabongga Freehand Editor Jean Mika M. Aporillo Video Productions Director Finance Officers Sumayyah G. Caris Auditor Rafhael L. Jabongga Finance Manager Ar-Raffi C. Macaumbos Junior Finance Manager (Trainee) Managers Paula Elaine D. Francisco Human Resource Manager Jean Mika M. Aporillo Office Manager Sheil Ann Ashley P. Bruas Circulations Manager Melvin P. Villacote Online Accounts Manager Moderator Ms. Ann Catherine T. Acenas

Panelists Lina Sagaral Reyes Angelo Lorenzo Gamos

Layout Artists Karla Mae H. Romero Darren Camille C. Tabanera(Trainee) Photojournalists Caryll M. Apostol (Trainee) Catherine Marie C. Naldoza (Trainee) James Patrick B. Pabonita Jivi Roy D. Rizaldo (Trainee) Freehand Artists Edshera Mae R. Abella (Trainee) Ganges Aisatingkitju B. Jurado (Trainee) Jaein Kim (Trainee) Gregory S. Pasal (Trainee) Videographers Jhovale Ryan A. Edloy (Trainee) Karl Anton J. Noob (Trainee)