LITERARY EDITOR
Katrina D. Levya
LAYOUT ARTISTS
Charlene Mae Canja Joy Mae O. Tamayo
ILLUSTRATORS
Amelia Fatima S. Alaban Charlene Mae Canja Hannah R. Develos Angelika M. Odango Hazel Aze M. Sabordo Joy Mae O. Tamayo
COVER AND DESIGN
Charlene Mae Canja Hannah R. Develos
PLUMAGE
Volume II, June 2021 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission from the publication and its consituents.
PLUMAGE VOLUME II - JUNE 2021
THE LITERARY FOLIO OF THE EAGLE PUBLICATION Published by the students of Colegio San Agustin - Bacolod
Foreword KATRINA LEVYA
We have different stories and experiences to tell if we are going to talk about the COVID-19 pandemic. Such things like time management, productivity, procrastination, burnout and some other words that have been imprinted already in our minds. If you’re reading this, then you are probably smiling in nostalgia or frowning out of frustration because these words have reflected your own stories and experiences with this whole fiasco. Perhaps you are now even thinking of new ways to reflect and ponder about it. No matter how much we try to avoid it, the question will always find its way to us: Can we ever escape the unknown? It’s been months since i have properly write a decent piece. Throughout the whole school year, if i am not immersed in a massive amount school works, you can always find me reading a book, holding my phone, tapping to something, and if a miracle will appear, you’d see a slightest bit of what you could consider as a smile. As i look back from those rushed moments, there will always be a lingering sense of regret because I failed to ponder about my purpose. I wasn’t able to reflect on my actions. I can only listen to my own playlist as of now, let the moment pass, and pretend as if things are fine. Hence, the theme reflection was chosen. If we are to describe the word reflection, most of us will envision a mirror right in front of us. With reflection, we are able to look through ourselves in a mirror. Imagine that you are standing in front of it, and as a few minutes have passed, your past stories and experiences are played like a movie.
Every moment is shown crystal clear in the mirror, from your moments of triumphs to your worst defeats. As your moments are being played in the mirror, you started to reflect on what could’ve been or what if things have turned out differently than the ones that happened. Reflection is all about looking back with some serious thought and considerations of what ifs. Reflecting within yourself means that you have accepted the darkness that looms in you in order to welcome fresh stories and experiences. The mirror that is right in front of us, looking at it in front of us could be the symbol of a new tomorrow and tomorrow signifies a new beginning. As you go through the pages, I hope you will also find the time to reflect between the lines, the hope you always search for, and the courage to start anew. Find your truest form of reflection. Reflect but do not forget to move forward as you do.
Contents POETRY Hold 4 Mind at War 5 Mind Mangler 7 Worn Out 9 Regain Resight 12 The Hill and Valley Flowers 13 Untitled I 16 Versed Senses 17 Bittersweet 19 Untitled II 21 Fragile 23 lump 25
square one 28 Untitled III 29 scared 32 Slight taste of heaven 33 A poem dedicated to angels from above
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FLASH FICTION The Space Inside Me 45 BUBOG 47
FICTION Naked Mausoleums 51 In The Right Time 55
NON - FICTION it’s not your fault 64
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 68
Sinking ART BY PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN
Hold
SCRIBBLER_OF_TODAY
I’m hanging on a tight rope My hands are sweaty from all the gripping that I did It hurts so bad, the material of the rope provides a stinging sensation I can feel the skin of my palms slowly bleeding How long will I last? How long until someone finds me? This rope is my only pillar of strength If I let go of it, what will happen? Days and days have passed But nobody seemed to care Nobody came to pull me up from this forsaken place And so I cut the rope I cut the only thing that holds me up The only thing that prevents me from falling down into the unknown Slowly, I can feel my whole body as it freezes from the adrenaline rush that surges within me Slowly, I am falling down And just like that I let myself fall Down into the unknown Down into the abyss of darkness, which will soon consume my whole soul
Hope amidst the darkness
ART BY MA. RICHZEL BEATRIZ GUINO-O AND CHARLENE MAE CANJA
4
Mind at War KYLE VINCENT P. PULA
Late evening is when I think and try to clear my head. I often stay awake all night, just lying in my bed. As soon as I get drowsy, thoughts begin racing in, I start questioning everything and regretting every sin. At first, the thoughts are gentle. Like what will I do tomorrow? But as time crawls by, they escalate -till I’m drowning in my despair. I think of all my downfalls, every detail of what I did wrong. After hours of relieving pain, I assure myself I don’t belong. I suddenly feel isolated and like the silence will never end. I feel like I will never escape; there’s too much I just can’t mend. I don’t understand why it is so complicated now. When before, it might not have been simple, but it by far was never this bad. I can’t hear the whisper anymore; I don’t know if I ever will again. Why can’t I wake myself up? I haven’t cried in a long time. I haven’t indeed expressed any type of emotion except for anger. I don’t remember myself anymore. I miss many things; if I knew back then, what would I be like now? I would run like hell and try to change a lot of things. I try to ask myself, what are the regrets that I lived with so far? I regret the day that I decided I wasn’t good enough. I regret the day wasn’t interacting and remain silent and reserved. I regret that I was unable to value time and moments with my peers.
5
I regret that I told myself - a worthless thing. There are so many regrets, Far more than just this shortlist. I’m in a moment of life where things never seem to get any better. There are still the same unsolved issues as yesterday, life still doesn’t get any easier. I feel vanquished and insignificant, like I’ll never do anything right. I let obscurity till the world fades away, and now I’m aroused by the light. Our existence has shortcomings where it was inevitable. The foremost I can do for now is smile that things matter. I realize a new day has come. It’s time to pose on a brave face. I put those negative thoughts away. Until I return to this place.
ART BY HAZEL AZE SABORDO
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ART BY CHARLENE MAE CANJA
Worn Out CYLAH ANGELA ALEGRE
I am worn out. My eyes are weary from the countless sight of fake happy faces, My ears are exhausted from hearing unreal laughter, My mouth cannot utter a single flattery, I am worn out. I am worn out. I fear that my hands can no longer feel others’ warmth, that my voice can no longer speak kindness, and that I could no longer recognize the calm, I am worn out.
I am worn out, of staying under the shade, because the grown-ups told me not to, and I did, now look at the mess I made, I am worn out.
AR
TB
YA
NG
EL
IKA
OD
AN
GO
I am worn out, of being an image of bliss, like a ray of sunshine in the morning, and like a daisy’s midsummer’s kiss, I am worn out.
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ART BY BY CHARLENE CHARLENE MAE MAE CANJA CANJA ART
I am worn out, of the beautiful, ideal, and whole, aren’t that the reason why the youth continue to look for their lost souls? Aren’t we all worn out? When do we ever stop getting tired? Every time I look at each person passing by the street, I see fake happy faces, I hear unreal laughter, When do we ever stop deceit? Now tell me, aren’t we all worn out?
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ART BY CHARLENE MAE CANJA
Regain Resight JACQUELINE D. EDRALIN
Deathly sparse mindless trails Blunt slams through fading screams An impossible trajectory insists adaption A lost bewildered soul insists rejection Redemption exemplifies a faulty premise Repulsion intensifies a constant weakness Lifeless replays Redundance repays Breathless to hold the breath Painful to still the pain Regretful to fill regrets Careless to display care A miniscule clarity remains Whatever shall it bring Whatever shall it say Sight the bounty amidst the loss Temporary exists a promise
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The Hill and Valley Flowers Adrelle Modina
The Hill and Valley Flowers
Flower on the hill
O, how the sun bathes you, warmthADRELLE MODINA While I lay here between the valley
Flower By the mucky road, where humans walk on the hill O, how the sun bathes you, warmth Flower on the hill, While I lay here between the valley Bytothe mucky road, How nice would it be have bloomed withwhere you? humans walk Where the breeze is gentle
Flower on the hill, How nice would it be to have bloomed with you? Where the breeze is gentle Flower by the valley, Andaren’t the world Blessed by Mother Earth’s dew, you? below is far And the world below is far
While I am rooted in the hill, baked in the noonday sun
Flower bywander the valley, By the highest point, where humans never in Blessed by Mother Earth’s dew, aren’t you? I am rooted in the hill, baked in the noonday sun Flower byWhile the valley, By the where humans never wander in How nice would it behighest to have point, bloomed with you? Where the clouds would swim atop And the sunlight is just enough Flower by the valley,
How nice would it be to have bloomed with you? Where the clouds would swim atop And the sunlight is just enough
13 11
ART BY AMELIA FATIMA ALABAN
ART BY JOY MAE TAMAYO
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Untitled I RÊVEUR
I know you’re the wrong person at the wrong place in the wrong time. It’s a shame that I’m wishing for your mind and soul wrapped in a different body just so I can justify that I’m not making any crime. Is it a sin for me to see myself in you? I was almost tempted to call you by my name even though the cracks of your soul clearly illuminates that it already found the same. It is the way you listen when I speak that makes me feel that I can be anything. You stop what you do as if my words are hypnotizing terms arranged in dancing poetry. You lean forward from your seat as if my words are your unsaid and untangled thoughts. You place both of your hands under your chin and look at me as if I’m an illusionist building a ship out of the pages of the books you’ve read. For a split second, I almost let my heart melt with those flattering gestures but my thoughts brought me to this reality: If this is the way you listen to me, how much more beautiful would you be when you listen to the person who speaks the very language of every beat of your heart?
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ART BY CHARLENE MAE CANJA
Bittersweet CYLAH ANGELA ALEGRE
I grieved, I mourned to the sound of your shattering, that night when you cried your heart out. I got broken as much as you did, when every soul you’ve met came crashing yours, I never understood. Dear, you got plenty, you have much, you are ever enough, let me tell you that, you are just as ethereal as the sound of ocean waves, just as surreal as the hues of sunset, don’t ever let someone tell you otherwise.
We were once little kids, who fell in the tricks of grown-ups, with such a great dismay we’ve outgrown false hopes and happy endings,
ART BY HAZEL AZE SABORDO
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it was always a bittersweet truth, you shiver in cold, heard secrets unfold, had to let some people go, sometimes you had to be on your own, now that we’re adults, do we yearn for the genuineness.
Searching around every corner, while bottling up emotions behind laughter, and the melancholy is hidden only when you are sober if that’s being a coward, then we all are, we all have come this far, after all, we all go seek a great perhaps.
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Untitled II KHY D. CANILLO
The flowers went dry. The sun is dying inside and so her brain, draining as she tries. She’s out of words; she’s lost as she tries to stare in her blank notes. I used to love this, she thought. Grey and dark colliding in her heart. Can’t figure out what’s happening inside her art. And so the sky begin to cry. It seems the clouds were unseen. The star were forsaken. Yet, His love remains saying … Embrace all your thorns. Let go your fears. Ease your heart from tears. As the flowers went dry she realized, she should count the flowers that still blooms; not the leaves that fall.
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Red
ART BY PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN
Fragile ARTEMIS
She is frail, mummified her own identity Her aura screams fragility The shattering noise is louder than a siren She constantly breaks into pieces, again and again. Her name sounds like “Handle with Care” She keeps on vanishing into thin air Her limbs are made of shards of glass With every step, a new crack forms, threatening to crash. She believes she is inside a crystal globe Made of a combination of ice and love She treads on her own rubble Hiding inside her own self-made bubble. “I’m fragile,” she admitted All this time, she’s been holding unto herself A cycle of letting go and shattering herself If only someone can handle her as if carrying a snow globe in a finger If only she’s not that fragile to easily fall apart To be fragile is to know you can be broken and be mended but you will never be the same.
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Arise from the shattered past ART BY MA. RICHZEL BEATRIZ B. GUINO-O
lump
PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN
Sometimes in silence I sit and wonder What it would be like to scream To a void. Something is building up But I swallow the lump; It’s a small house And it’s filled with bruises.
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ART BY ANGELIKA ODANGO
Padayon
ART BY CHARLENE MAE CANJA
square one PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN
No endings Only beginnings We start But never stop. All at once Back to square one Disappointment mounts As old habits prevail. I start But give up halfway Seeing, but never reaching The end that’s within grasp.
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Untitled III DYSTE
the sun had already relinquished its warmest flashes, leaving the surface with murky and icy-cold gloaming.
the blustering of northerly wind relentlessly entering through your windowsill, which suddenly clasps your warm breathing and reciprocally imparts an inhalation of cold.
you aggressively rubbed your arms under your cream-colored anorak, as the gusty and restless wind whacks through your freezing clothes once again.
although this occurrence seems to deaden your frigid lips, still, you’ve managed to breathe in solace— savoring the idea of solitariness.
momentarily, you are away from the cacophony of busy streets and fiery stares it’s just only you and a cup of americano.
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ART BY PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN
Breathe
ART BY PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN
scared
PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN
At bedtime, I tell the scary stories And take delight in your whimpers But it’s I who jump At the sight of my shadow.
Breath
ART BY _JEANYIE
32 32
Slight taste of heaven TIMEZONEKID
i thought college was synonymous to hell not until i met a brother that’s one of the best I can tell
from bearing the agony of NSTP mornings to spontaneous afternoon food-trips, sing-alongs and sharing
that afternoon came when you invited me to lunch i blame myself for minding my acads than you that much
yet you ended everything in a blink of an eye indeed college was synonymous to hell
i hope you’re running free and in peace i’ll see you soon, my brother you’ll always be in our hearts enjoy heaven as i start to make one, once again
PHOTO BY CHARLENE MAE CANJA
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Before Storm PHOTO BY SCRIBBLER_OF_TODAY
Orange Lines PHOTO BY PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN
A poem dedicated to the angels from above POEMELA
I couldn’t think of the right words, yet I had so many in mind; I recalled everything about you to the point where I cried You were the best in the world An inspiration to us all You were the biggest supporter; One who never made us feel small Can’t believe it’s been three years, Can’t remember how it felt, To lose someone so special Sadly, it wasn’t well dealt And it still hurts up to now, We miss you, we really do, but we know that you’re okay there Besides… Heaven’s lucky to have you.
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Filled S
ART BY PRINCESS
Spaces
S JEWEL GUZMAN
After Scho
ART BY PRINCESS
ool Chika
S JEWEL GUZMAN
Sleepy
ART BY PRINCESS
y Rides
S JEWEL GUZMAN
THE SPACE INSIDE ME ARTEMIS
Hollow. Empty. Void. Light. Weightless. Black. Uncertain. Blank. When you have everything everybody wants, you don’t have the right to question or want some more. But did they ever think that you want everything that you have? Never. I have to live in a space inside me with other people dictating how to live my life. Because I did well, everybody thinks I can do everything. I don’t have the right to rest, to weep, to be weak, to give up or to say no. It is tiring not to see your own real reflection but see it into how others want to portray you. I live in a broken façade of perfectness and in my own lifeless bubble. I’m slowly losing myself along the process of gaining some attention from other people. There will be always a deeper meaning behind “I’m fine” and an agony someone else’s eyes. Most people chose not to see it or chose to be blinded with it. We are lost in the vast space inside ourselves. Hence, it is time to step up the game and start looking amidst the darkness. It is not your fault, it’s everybody’s fault because we took ourselves for granted. In my case, I’m still navigating my way through. I’m still in the middle of emptiness, of the vastness, of the hollowness, of the gravity-less, of the blankness of myself.
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ART BY HAZEL AZE SABORDO
BUBOG ARTEMIS
Nakakalat ang mga bubog sa sahig ng kanilang maliit na barung-barong. Ito ang kanyang nadatnan pagkauwi niya sa bahay matapos ang kanyang panggabihang “shift” sa trabaho. Isa lamang ang ibig sabihin nito, lasing na naman ang kanyang ama. “Asan ka galing? Inuumaga ka na lang lagi ng uwi!” bungad ng kanyang ama. “Tay, alam mo namang nagtatrabaho ako para may makain tayo. Nawalan kayo ng trabaho dahil sa pandemya kaya kahit nag-aaral pa ako ay sinisikap kong makatulong sa iyo,” tugon niya. Nanlisik ang mga mata ng kanyang ama at hinawakan nito ang kanyang buhok at kinaladkad siya nang nakayapak sa mga bubog sa sahig. “Sumasagot ka na ngayon sa akin? Iyan pa ang tinuro sa inyo sa paaralan, ha?” galit na sigaw nito. Hindi niya iniinda ang sakit ng matutulis na bubog sa kanyang mga paa dahil tagos ang pighati nito sa kanyang puso. Tila namanhid na ito sa sakit; wala siyang imik at walang luhang nagbabadyang kumawala sa kanyang mga mata. Sa bawat bugbog na kanyang natatanggap ay kanya ring unti-unting pagkabasag. Sa bawat hampas ay mas sumisidhi ang kanyang damdaming tumakas. Ang tanikalang gumagapos sa kanya ay lalong humihigpit na imposible nang makawala. Isang kalapastanganan ang walang respeto sa magulang subalit kailangan bang maranasan ng anak ang kalapastanganang ito? “Good morning class, please turn on your camera for the checking of attendance. Ms. Dalisay, are you there? Kindly open your camera,” ani ng kanyang guro. 47
“Pasensya na po maam, sira po kasi ang kamera ng selpon ko,” pagsisinungaling nito. Ang mga pasa, sugat at galos na kanyang natamo ay pawang mababaw lamang na parte ng sakit. Hindi niya kayang tingnan ang kanyang repleksyon dahil ito ay naglalarawan ng kahinaan at takot. Nakakalat pa rin ang mga bubog sa sahig subalit hindi lamang ito mula sa bote ng alak kundi iilang piraso rin ng kanyang durog na pagkatao.
ART BY CHARLENE MAE CANJA
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NAKED MAUSOLEUMS GEM
ART BY HANNAH DEVELOS
51
“Is it dead?” I asked. The fathers looked at the other side of the road, the mothers hushed their timid remarks, the children asked for resolved questions— mere passersby. Mayhem’s news greeted the early twilight dew. “A fatal gunshot, as it appears.”, said the old man beside me. The bird’s convulsing body soaked her brown plumages in a deeper tinge of carnal vanity. Unfortunately, it is another August day for a crestfallen Maya. Tweet. Tweet. Tweet. “But it’s just a bird”, I spoke. Just a creation flocking the skies at her will and soaring the clouds— but always lands her humble feet at ground. She would even pulsate her melody that tends the graves of voiceless, fallen men. “Then they must fear her songs.” And that was the last thing I heard before the old man turned his way, leaving this bloodied street that caught a glimpse of such naked bereavement. The Maya finally clutches her last breath. Kill. Kill. Kill.
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Art in the Time
ART BY L
e of Pandemic
LU M I È R E
In The Right Time DANIKA THERESE IGMA
ART BY AMELIA FATIMA ALABAN
Seven years ago I met a girl. She was wearing a yellow sundress and her hair was in pigtails. I did not know how old she was, but judging from her smile and bright eyes, she looked about 13 years old. She was cute, and she was young. She told me her name was Love, and wants to play. So we did. We played throughout the day, and every day since. We were inseparable. She was happy, and she made me happy. She let me experience things I had never experienced before. I was not familiar with that feeling, but it was what Love has made me feel. And during those times, I was contented. Nothing can ever take away my Love, no one. Four years have passed and I noticed she was not wearing her favorite dress anymore. Her hair was hung in a pony tail, and the light on her eyes has dimmed its glow. I seldom see her smile. So I asked her what was wrong. She told me she was simply growing up, and I should too. We did not play games anymore. There were days when we did not see each other. We became busy with our lives, but I know that Love was still there. We just needed to focus more on what was ahead. But honestly, I had no idea about what I would become without her. Tomorrow does not seem to exist if she was not there. During the times we were together, I could tell she was not happy anymore. If I asked, all I get is “nothing” or a scream, or she would plainly ignore me. Over time, I felt lonely. And I blamed Love for letting me feel that way. 56
Love has made me sad and hurt, and sometimes I thought of letting her go. Although I can clearly see that we were growing apart, I tried to make her happy again. I tried to make Love stay. So I gave her everything she wanted, and did everything she said. Even when those things frustrate me, I still did them, because Love told me to. I have become her slave without realizing it, following anything that Love says. Love was cruel. Love was not kind. One day when I finally got the courage to tell her how I felt, she just ignored me. She turned her back from me and started to walk away. Tears welled up in my eyes, and out of anger, I grabbed her wrist and dragged her with me. She was shouting and crying, but I did not care. I needed my Love. I had to have her. I chained her up and locked her in. But then I noticed that where there should have been bruises on her wrist, there were on mine. The more that I tried to keep Love from going away, the more bruises appeared on my arm, and the more I got hurt. But I did not mind the pain. I wanted Love so badly, I did not care about the damage. On her first days as my prisoner, she was mad at me. Always forcing me leave her alone. But eventually, we talked, and remembered how we were so happy years ago. Reminiscing our past, we both started to cry. She said she was sorry and promised to treat me better. 57
From then on, our bond was stronger. I felt the same feeling from when I first met her. Difference is, only now, that feeling also came with doubt. I was once happy, and she took it away. What if it happens again? But I did not want to waste this time worrying. We tried to play like the little girls we once were. She was already wearing her smile, and I could not help but do the same. And just as I smiled back, she fell. The smile on her face gone and the light from her eyes vanished. She crumbled to dust, and the wind swept away what was left of her. What happened? I didn’t know. For on that day, Love died. Or so I thought...
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For many nights I prayed for Love. I prayed to have her back. Day after day, I looked for her, yet she was nowhere to be found. I see her face in everyone I meet. I wanted to see her so badly, I tried to force anyone to be like her. But sadly, Love was gone. But is she gone forever? I cried until my eyes were red, and I kept thinking where I went wrong. We were already starting to be happy again, but why would Love leave me? Almost three years have gone by and I almost forgot Love. I kept myself busy with other things to do, and it made me feel okay. I was doing fine on my own, but then one day, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and that was when I saw her. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She wore a white blouse with a matching white skirt, and her hair was gently flowing in the wind. Her smile warm, and a kind of familiarity in her eyes. Like I already knew her. Without hesitation I called, “Love”. She smiled again and nodded. I couldn’t have believed it, but in my heart I knew it was her. So I asked her how she came back to life after years of being gone. She just said, Love doesn’t die, but she already left before I even forced her to stay. I was holding on to a memory that I thought was still her. Turns out, I cannot put chains on Love.
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And when I asked her why she looked different, she said Love is supposed to look this way. Love is supposed to be beautiful. When I met her years ago, many things have changed. I still couldn’t believe it, Love is here again. But is she here to stay? She didn’t answer, but what she told me was, I should not go looking for Love if she is gone. In the right time,
Love will come and find me.
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it’s not your fault YACHI
ART BY ANGELIKA ODANGO
It’s scary. How someone I knew so well and learned to love over the years became someone unrecognizable and unbearable. I didn’t know how, when, and why it happened but it did. I spent years trying to love you, understanding every part of you, but the day came when I realized I somehow unloved you. I’m trying to love you again but it’s hard. My chest is empty but heavy when I look at you. It doesn’t even make sense how something so shallow can feel like it holds all the weight of the universe by a thread, gritting on the edges of your heart as it drags down, almost making you one with the ground. It gets overbearing when I look at you sit down and lay your head on the table as you ride out the feeling in its whole intensity. It’s vicious.
I can’t do this anymore. I want to end whatever this is. I want to leave you on your own and never look back. But that’s what I’ve been doing the entire time. I can’t leave you. I don’t like looking at you when you wake up and wait for the day to end when it’s the only thing you’ve been doing now. 65
I want to leave so bad and I want this to end but I can’t. I have to help you. I have to try. I’m trying but it’s hard - love, it’s so hard. I want to say it’s not your fault, no, but I want to blame someone. I want to say this situation we are in is all your fault but you and I both know that it isn’t anyone’s fault. You did this. I’m fine. I’ve been trying to get to you. Maybe I can learn from someone else how I can make myself fall in love with you because all I’ve done was unlove. If I learned how to love you before, then I can do it again.
It’s not your fault. I will learn how to love you again, I promise. Not as soon as I’d like it to be but I’ll get there. Until then, I’ll watch over you as you bury your head in your arms like how you would cradle something fragile because that’s what you are. I’ll watch over you as you come home from feeling full but will leak out 66
because your heart can’t hold it in and you become empty again. I’ll watch over you because it’s time I do. I won’t look away anymore; unlearn what I’ve been used to. But for now, I want to thank you for holding up. For allowing me time to realize this, for buying me time to get you back up. I can’t do it now, but I will appreciate you wholeheartedly. Unraveling my feelings and writing this down as I look in the mirror at you, in the reflection, looking back at me is one step closer. One day, I’ll be able to do it for you.
I’ll do it for me. 67
Acknowledgements
Acknowledgements Why is my reflection shows someone I don’t know? We tend to view situations differently and in different perspectives. Sometimes we see ourselves positively but often we see a different reflection staring at us. Despite of this, the mirror reflects hope that tomorrow awaits for us, a new beginning. The Plumage: Reflection wouldn’t be possible without the support of the school administration specifically the Office of the Vice President for Student Affairs and External Relations headed by Fr. Tito D. Soquiño, OSA. A huge thanks to our adviser, Mr. Rodolfo M. Reveche for guiding us in our endeavors and imparting his expertise to the publication staff. We also acknowledge the efforts of the staff of the Eagle Publication A.Y 2020-2021 for always producing noteworthy outputs. You exceeded our expectations and we are beyond grateful that you have been part of the flight of the Eagle again. To our family and friends, thank you for believing in our capabilities and pushing us to carry on in life. 69
To all the Augustinian students and alumni, this is our token of appreciation to all of you. Thank you for giving us an opportunity to serve you and giving us an avenue to showcase our art. We hope that you see your reflection as an epitome of your true self and not mere façade of someone else. May you see hope and brighter tomorrow beyond that mirror and reflect on what life awaits for us.
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The Eagle Publication The Official Tertiary Publication of Colegio San Agustin - Bacolod Mary Jane D. Hortelano EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Tricia Nicole G. Panzo
ASSOCIATE EDITOR
Arienne Joyce O. Amodia MANAGING EDITOR NEWS EDITOR FEATURE EDITOR LITERARY EDITOR COLUMN EDITOR PHOTOS AND VIDEOS EDITOR
LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS EDITOR
ILLUSTRATOR EDITOR NEWS WRITERS
Faye Angela S. Alimane Laarni T. Arro Beatriz Nikka L. Cortes FEATURE WRITERS
Kirk Simoun D. Guimbal Audie Jeorge Salazar Katrina D. Leyva Joaquin Angelo A. Alpas Camille D. Biescas Ylric Marc Jalando-on Charlene Mae Canja PHOTOJOURNALISTS
Trisha Pauline P. Advincula Wayne Andre R. Benigay John Joseph P. Coronel Mary Eden L. Ordanel
Therese Marie B. Benares Princess Jewel V. Guzman Shanen Aika Marie Rodrigazo Amichi L. Sullivan
LAYOUT AND GRAPHIC ARTISTS
COLUMN WRITERS
ILLUSTRATORS
Alexcis T. Caringal Shannon Marie R. Libo-on LITERARY WRITERS
Cylah Angela M. Alegre Danika Therese Igma Mary Abegail D. Pastrana
Juan Paolo P. Agapito Abigail L. Cordova Joy Mae O. Tamayo
Amelia Fatima S. Alaban Hannah R. Develos Angelika M. Odango Hazel Aze M. Sabordo Mr. Rudy Reveche
PUBLICATION MODERATOR
