PLUMAGE Vol. I - Beacon New Beginning by The Eagle Publication

PLUMAGE

LITERARY EDITOR Shannen Aika Rodrigazo LAYOUT ARTIST Arienne Joyce Amodia ILLUSTRATORS Danielle Acap Arienne Joyce Amodia Charlene Mae Canja COVER & DESIGN Remedios Angeli Vito

PLUMAGE

Volume I, April 2020

The Literary Folio of The Eagle Publication Published by the students of Colegio San Agustin - Bacolod

FOREWORD

Shannen Aika Marie Rodrigazo We all have our own untold stories buried deep between the lines. If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re reading this, then you are halfway to discover one. Perhaps you are now even thinking of your own unspeakable truths. The narratives of the fear that paralyze you to step forward, the raging storm in your mind that keeps you awake at night, the anger of the past that stops you to forgive, and the pain in your heart that limits you to love and be in love. Which one is your own? And after pondering and battling to grasp the almost perfect words for this, I for the first time finally have it on my hands. But strangely, you look at me then you shift your gaze to my hands but instead of mere words, you see an image. The image of despair. The image of darkness. Slowly, you touch it and it moves. It starts to uncover. You smile and I do too. Without a doubt, you gently trace the rays of the sun as it beautifully illuminates the shady clouds, the trees, the meadow, the roofs, and the earth itself. The rising. The image of the dawn. After some time, you hear music. The melancholy whispers, songs, and lullabies that echo in your mind. Incomprehensible yet you continue to listen. Then to your surprise, the image begins to shimmer. It is sparkling too much yet you fix your eyes harder. Why are you so drawn into this? What more do you want to see? You place your palm against the image and start feeling it then little by little, you understand. That this is not just a plain image but pages filled with untold stories crafted in the hearts of the people who do not only know how to love and understand words

but by those who are able to speak to it. They say that most untold ones are encounters with darkness. Oftentimes, when we are in those moments, we feel trapped. The force of the bondage seems too strong that it drains the little hope within us. We think that after the fall, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the end. We feel that there are no tomorrows for us to begin once again. And if you feel this way, flip the page, and the next, then the other. What you are holding now are scribbles and pictures of untold stories of ordinary people with extraordinary minds. These are not to tell you how cruel and terrifying darkness is, but to remind you of the beauty and power of getting through it just like the uncovering of the image. Aurora describes the dawn. The dawn is the symbol of tomorrow and tomorrow signifies a new beginning. As you go through the pages, I hope you will find the treasure hidden between the lines, the hope you always search for, and the courage to start anew. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time, the awakening has come.

CONTENTS POETRY Alexithymia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2 Wake Up . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 The Depth of Untroubled Desperation . . . . . . . . . . 4 Pushing Perfect . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Revival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Homebound . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Untitled 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Uninspired . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 On living and hoping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 The the frightened . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 To the one who kept it all . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 As seasons, they changed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 A Lonesome Dawn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 A Ticket to Ride . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Lemon Squeezed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 To love anew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Cruel World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Shades . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .26 The Painting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .28 We are all a tree; a metaphor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

Ily . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Rainy days . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Captive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 The Presumed Self-Love Ordeal . . . . . . . . . . . . . .36 On the Courage of the Human Soul . . . . . . . . . . .40 Taking Back the Light. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 O Brave Knight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Untitled 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Shoreline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Indecisive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Dreams in Black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 The Art of Living . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .50

FICTIONAL PROSE The Bus Ride . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54 Dungog kag Kapawa. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 Dying Sunset . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Panibagong Umaga . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 Susceptible; Not Surreal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 ACKNOWLEDGEMENT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .75

POETRY

Art by MENES VILLAR

Alexithymia MARY ABEGAIL PASTRANA there’s something about weeping in the shower or sudden soju nights or trying to keep it all together. there’s something about dreams consisting of you at the edge, ready to lean back and drown and jolting up awake with barely an ounce of sleep. there’s something about repeating things out of proportion causing you to question why such things are that way. there’s something about unfinished poems and homeworks and taking it up on another day. there’s something about that certain melody that brings all these sudden nostalgia, caressing your cheeks as they descend like endless streams of pain. there’s something about enclosing your shell to protect your own hope of salvation, that after all these dark days, there’ll be days in between where you’ll find a glimmer of hope, and that’s something you should always be proud of.

Wake Up PRINCESS GUZMAN Hands that have clamped their cries Feet that have stumped their rights Someday shall serve what is due To this land thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s stained red and bruised blue; The disturbed will not rest Until the clamor rouses All who sleep on injustice; Echo the grievances Of the oppressed Of the silenced So all may hear; Roosters Signalling a new dawn.

The Depth of Untroubled Desperation JACQUELINE EDRALIN “True happiness is within our grasp… no, its primary existence is hard to find” She was perfectly unbothered, perfectly dealing with immature situations nonchalantly. She made understandable mistakes that became the basis of her identity as a mere young child who did not know what most people knew. Her youthful innocence has been long forgotten, has been covered up by the inescapable turmoil of what is truly real - the reality of living. She grew up and she realized, the fundamental sequence of life as it is. Mixed emotions she had gotten from knowing, the temporary state of existing and existence. She came to believe that her purpose is concealed, amidst the total human population living around the world. She made a promise to herself, imagining the unimaginable of what she wanted, to become and yet she needed to double her efforts in the process of dreaded transformation. She was unideal, blind to the norms that fit normality and looked upon it as something unbefitting to her inborn character. “Here it is” she says, “it” corresponding to her valuable worth that may be viewed as a mere insignificant quality. However, she needs to die trying, however it may be to give herself a chance. A chance of a lifetime that for once she just needed to be brave. A becoming of an ignored someone to someone who is actually needed. She believed, and then she made it.

Photo by SHANEN AIKA MARIE RODRIGAZO

Pushing Perfect CLOUD Rising numbers Unforgettable moments A golden stage I find myself at the top. Reading books Writing notes Perfecting rhythms But time changes all things. Failing thoughts Memories I wish I could forget Only a seat left at the bleachers I find myself at the bottom Pushing for perfection Unreachable.

Revival WAYNE BENIGAY In the dying light, when everything starts to fade, not all is lost. It may seem that nothing goes right, that every effort, every action goes to waste, and all your struggles are in vain, but fret not, for not all hope is lost. We may fumble in the dark, but the night will end. It is darkest just before dawn, and as the first rays of sunlight peek over the horizon, heralding the start of a new day, another opportunity begins anew.

Homebound KATRINA LEYVA I became lazy lazy to the point of hazy I ask myself, “What am i even doing here?” ‘Why is it that everything around is not so clear?” Then suddenly, I became productive, So obsessed with being active. I gave all my efforts, I gave everything that my lithe and fragile physique could muster. Scared of being left behind, scared of the idea of banishment from a cluster. And then, I pondered on and deciphered a lot of things, All these years, I was the slave of the society, a slave to their wants and needs. The realization stings. I became someone who became pliant and stoic amidst all the life stampedes. This is not my way, I never wanted to be manipulated like a marionette. I never asked for this events and chaos in array, But why did they arrive on set? I made the biggest decision. A big decision that would leave their mouths hanging open. I formulated a seemingly impossible vision, I started to create a new path towards my new aim. I became lazy with the world’s demands. So decided I’ll go home to my solace, my eternal peace. I decided to go home, to start a new chapter, a new job, In which the one I’ll serve, is myself. 8

Photo by Erika Joille Patayon

Photo by ERIKA JOILLE PATAYON

Untitled 2 MARY ABEGAIL PASTRANA days on end, pen in my hand, It was a long drought cages locked, they flew wildly, It was a long drought a single look, now they run free, a long drought smile my love, be my muse, it was not a long drought

Uninspired CLOUD A name is left on my lips Leaving me speechless. No thoughts are formed And I am left uninspired. My silence becomes an answer I laugh with the coming days. You are not the one I need But it is too late for me now. I no longer see colour Beauty escapes from my sight. My childhood days are gone And I am left with nothing. I am listless but awake, It is quiet but my heart is chaotic. I made mistakes that cannot be fixed And so I erase everything to live.

On living and hoping CML the wee hours of the morning amplify the silence that ruled the land a pair of watchful eyes from the shadows a restless mind wanders, under the smothered sullen moonlight, probing and poking all cracks and corners--for peace, for justice, for help- for answers. skins and bones shiver a throbbing pain hits the head breathe in, breathe out what a luxurious early morning snack the pain worsens perhaps it’s time for “folded grocery-carton box”, the ones that was left down in the alley, since there is no bed no food no work no basic commodities nothing. still, skins and bones shiver the ceiling stares back it’s not listening, this time tired of hearing musings and stories and prayers delivered in whispers across thin air it’s a one-way conversation,

but it’s better than pure silence for silence is elusive, on days like these, “What exactly are you silent about?” skins and bones continue to shiver

time zooms past the space, heavy sigh disrupts the air the first birdsong is like a shout in the void a streak of light attempts to pull apart the dark the heart knows when to beat faster this part of the world ushers in the birth of a new day another day to spend to endure to hope to live. skins and bones shiver it’s not okay, it never was but hang in there; we are still alive. Just swear to live courageously, the next day, or the following week, or maybe the month after, because to live is to constantly revolt against despair.

To the frightened JELDINE TAN Everything seems to reach its end And everyone started running toward the dead end. They never knew which path to take Thus, without thorough thinking, they put everything at stake. I wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t say that you shall not fear For voices, at times, are scary to hear. Seasons change, so should you. Change the bad habits and get your life a redo. Get up everytime you fall For you are not blessed with legs only to crawl. Be the voice of those who are mute to speak honesty. Be the hope of those who are drowned in insanity. Each day is a pleasant chance to live. Learn from your past and focus on what you want to achieve. If one day you find yourself at the verge of giving up, Recall and recite what you wanted to see at the mountaintop. Pick yourself up and remodel it to be someone better. Dance in the rain if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a means to ease your jitter. Mold your courage to strive toward your goal. Sharpen your comprehension to thrive from your fall. Look at the silver lining as it tells you a story About the market of hope, dreams, and glory. Admire the skyline of passion and humility For it will paint your canvas of joy with dignity. Step out into the sun and feel the heat Since you must learn to accept every defeat. The breeze of forgiveness will unleash you from the cage As you journey life to the end of age. 14

Photo by ERIKA JOILLE PATAYON

To the one who kept it all JELDINE TAN To some, overthinking is a disease. But to you overthinking is your inner peace. To overthink is not to lose oneself. To overthink is to understand yourself. Overthinking means going out of your comfort zone And facing choices that could make your mind blown. Such choices will lock you up inside an empty, directionless train That could either keep you sane or make you insane. The silent battles in your head tear your heart apart. Your silent cries were the soothing melody to your aching heart. But always remember that you were born brave and beautiful. You are a ray of sunshine, and the definition of wonderful. Each day you win a war you fought on your own. But never lose hope for you will never be alone. As the sunset flaunts its astonishing serenity, You, my friend, will bloom and grow to your full beauty. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time for your mind to find its peace. Embrace life and courage to make your pain at ease. The sun shines and always shares its warm To light your way as you seek your charm.

Look at the moon and how she changes phase by phase. Trust yourself as you deal lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s challenges face to face. Get yourself out on that pit of uncertainty. This time, make yourself as your top priority. Believe me when I say everything happens for a reason. One step at a time and you will reach your final destination. Take chances and appreciate the art of life. Be the better version of yourself to win lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s bitter strife. Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t dwell on the things that make you sad and upset. Trust the process and be daring to reset. Life has so much more to give If you only know how to believe.

Art by CHARLENE MAE CANJA

As seasons, they change DANIKA THERESE IGMA In summertime a tree has grown, And so had my love for you. Watered, cared and given warmth, I am in comfort of your embrace. Time passed by and still it stands tall, free From all those strong winds and typhoons. Sometimes it seemed to be hard enough, Enough for the tree to be broken down. But for everything that has happened you were there. The leaves had fallen for it is now autumn, I could feel the chill and coldness everywhere. But I always know I can rest in your embrace, More leaves fell and the branches have soon broke And here you are, also in the depths of cold I tried to give you warmth but you rejected me. Beaten me and scolded me, Blamed me for the cold that I have not done. The winds grew colder and you weren’t there, This must be winter, coldest among the seasons. I remember when it was summer, Our love was burning as the sun above. But now, we can’t even light a single spark, As seasons they change. Your embrace is all that I yearn for, The tree has died and I thought my feelings for you did too. The snow had finally come to an end, And the sun came out today. It’s spring, time to clean up winter’s mess, I reminisce our love that once died. Now I’m falling for you all over again, The leaves blossom and the branches open wide. But then I stop and think, as seasons they change, And as seasons, they come to repeat again and again.

A Lonesome Dawn A. M. APARIS He sees her weeping, weeping And many nights it had been since her last smiling If only she knows, the pain is his too. How could he make her smile, when she could but say adieu, adieu “Darling, darling, please look at me,” he says, his hands on her face She stares, her light gray eyes, lost and forlorn He leans closer and kisses her cheek, her tears a bitter taste “Let go, let go,” she whispers, his chest being torn “Never,” he says, his arms crown around her She lay in his embrace until the break of dawn “I love you,” she says with a curl on her lips, his face a blur And she is gone And still the sun rose And he is forever alone.

A Ticket to Ride CLOUD Take me on the ride that you promised me, Where I will not hide but instead be free. I already bought my ticket to la la land, Ready to be shot off to all that is grand. Bumpy roads may come our way, But you know, my faith will never sway. For there are no refunds where I got my ticket, So on we go with your secret shortcut. Now that we have arrived I realized something, Paradise never existed, only a beheading. Because you are a liar and nothing more, Your promises are lies you never swore.

Lemon Squeezed CLOUD A shout of annoyance, Bright yellow covering my eyes. I wish for peace, yet you sour my mood. When I give, you like to take. How greedy are you? A glare of irritation, Bitter citrus trapping my tongue. Like a drug I like the numbing feeling, Even when I hurt myself. Arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t I a fool? A squeeze to hurt, Lemony sweet disturbing my ears. I close my eyes to run away but you chase me, Nothing left, you leave me empty. Will it ever be enough?

Art by 23 DANIELLE ACAP

To love anew WAYNE BENIGAY Amidst sorrowâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s grasp, a vow was made, To love no more for it shall fade. In solitude I shall reside, To no one else I shall confide. Yet at a most unlikely time, I met you, we seemed to rhyme. In a sudden twist of fate, The grief I felt, you did abate. In this moment I am renewed, My point of view no longer skewed. May this be the start of something new, And maybe this time it will be true.

Cruel World CLOUD I often think about how cruel the world is, for making two people fall in love at a distance.

Shades MARIELLE OMEGA I’d like to be in love In a way that colors Are never vivid But pastel Blended Translucent Because being in love Is never plain and clear Transparent and straightforward Like a laser aimed through glass No, not like that It’s driven by what-ifs Companied by could-haves And a baggage of high hopes It’s seeing through the eyes The words and body language But never through one’s mind Maybe that’s why we went away Heading towards a dead end Where a fresh start awaits A blank canvas Because I was never just red Or black or blue or green I am always grey Or peach or mint or ivory Plunged in paleness Jabbed at in-betweens. 26

The Painting TRECIA GUMBAN There will always be the time When a good painter Be brushed out by his own colors One by one, the strokes gone free Coloring the canvas, it was not empty. Starring there is a girl Who once loved a soldier Oh, red is the saddest color As blue is what the peace figure The painter was left confused Of what color will he use But green is a good suggestion So he painted the soldier with a great dedication. The brush rushes Back and forth Now, this soldier is heading to the North Poor girl, never had a chance To touch his face nor glance Left as her eyes water Wondering if she can see again her beloved soldier.

Bombs and bullets are just sounds Grey is the color to be found Time through time it gets darker As the soldierâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s death comeS closer The girl had lived by uncertainty Wishing he can still continue their story. The painter stopped He could never let the girlâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wish drop So he chose to paint it with blue No more fading promises and I love you The soldier came back But left his promises unpacked. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s why among of all battles, The love between the girl And the soldier Was the deadly grenade That made every color fade. Maybe they were meant to start together But not winning the battles forever.

Photo by CHRISTIAN JOHN CAMORAHAN

We are all a tree; a metaphor KATHRYNA AGUADO We are all a tree, Planted here for a purpose. Strongly rooted underneath Though we appear fragile on the surface, In this enormous wild world, We evolve and began small. And when the present became past, We morphed to stand tall. We are all a tree, We give life to others. Even if sometimes that meant We consume ourselves in the process. We battle with lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s storms And though we may bow to the wind We conquer and stand strong For courage is what it takes to win We are all a tree When we get a glimpse of sunshine We find hope for the storm is over And once again the birds will freely fly We are all a tree We live, we grow, and we die We change with the seasons All to conform to the cycle of life.

Ily CLOUD Roses are red, violets are blue. I don’t know what love is, but I still choose you. Trying to find a way, because all of these are askew. but there’s always something I wanna say, which is I love you. I am not a poet, but your love makes me one. everyone knows it, that I love you a ton. distance doesn’t matter, when our hearts are one. everyday gets better, when I know you’re the one. but my love, don’t be scared. bor my love, will not be shared. it is you, and it will always be you. ‘till death do us apart, I love you.

Rainy days CLOUD It was raining yesterday So I bought an umbrella It is still raining today But raindrops did not touch me. The skies are my masterpiece The clouds, my droplets of paint. I colored the sky red And made it free from all taint. With my brush I can create A painting bathed in red. With my color Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be free And the same goes for your head. I wish it would always rain Vermillion drops from the sky And paint my umbrella red As well as all things I made fly. It started with bright hues And ended in the inception of me Because they loathed this world of mine, I burned everything into only what I can see.

Captive KATHRINA AGUADO #2 Have you ever heard about monsters Residing inside peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s head? For they have been bothering me All day, even as I go to bed. They keep me in darkness, And deprive me of the light. That I keep finding and losing, And is now nowhere in sight. I often hear their soft whispers, And the words they fill my ears. Tend to drown me in dark waters, And build in me imagined fears. They plant doubt in my heart, And water it with insecurities. They drive away those that I love, These monsters are our anxieties. For eons I have been held captive, Of these lonely, worried shadows in my mind. I have been battling with them, Hoping someday I will find. The bright end of this forlorn tunnel, And win the freedom I have yearned. To no longer be a prisoner of my mind, And all these, with faith I shall earn.

Art by ALYSSA LOIS DELA CRUZ

The Presumed Self-Love Ordeal JACQUELINE EDRALIN Sunken views, sullen doses of a mournful cure. A cure that engulfs me into false tranquility. This is me, I say to myself, But what about that? What about me? I am incurable, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know what is left of my dispirited soul. My soul that seeks worthless attention, I often procrastinate the need for self-acceptance. Are other people just like me? Restricted confidence and judgmental madness? I am here alone, Lying on the wrong side of my bed. Thinking about the things that I often dread, My indifference to othersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; sensible intentions. I am that hard to persuade, that hard to win over. Negativity overwhelms me, Am I even a part of this world? Do I even deserve to be happy? When happiness is just an inch away from me, It is just right there in front of me. But I do not have the courage to pick it up, And give in to its undeniable charm. Why do I even care? Do people really ever care about themselves? When all they do is indulge in unruly desires.

The life I live is just like the othersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, Different circumstances account to different people But we are all one and the same I make these mistakes that put me into growing self-doubt Steadily engraved into my heart That I am not one with power Not one with character And not one with a purpose.

Why is that so? Is there still hope amidst all those dark lingering figures? That haunt me every second, every minute, and every hour of everyday. I dream a dream of misery, All those gloomy moments of dejection. A lost emotion in the depth of my essence, The missing substance for my subtle remedy. I had just remembered, This is me that weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re talking about. All those enduring moments that I had gone through, This is me who has survived all those times. I had just begun the easily forgotten, The supposed beginning of my faith. I have lived life neglecting, Overlooking my contented image.

Art by DANIELLE JANICA PENDON

Grasping that fading light, That feeling of delight. It was inside me all this time, I had never imagined that love was my only cure. I hadn’t had the time to understand, To be considerate of myself, To know my true worth. This realization hits me only today, Before I have been able to have life-long regret. I love myself, I won’t do anything to hurt this connection anymore. I won’t undermine my own potential. I love myself, And I’ll forever will.

On the Courage of the Human Soul CML Hold on, shall we, to promises whispered in gushing winds about unknown lands, so far way and of streams somewhere down in a valley hidden Hold on, shall we, to the warmth of daylight clumsily tiptoeing through the window, spilling sunshine stains on its trail golden Hold on, shall we, to memories of empty streets the stars were our lighthouse we were lost, yet we felt safe home Hold on, shall we, to dreams born over cups of coffee, the ones that turned existence into life burning and passionate and bright alive

Hold on, shall we, to hope that even if, someday, fate interferes and valleys and streams are gone or mornings no longer feel like one, or home becomes so foreign, or dreams wilt in the barren; Someday, if fate so cruelly interferes, and we have outgrown each other, continue holding on to hope because thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not how it ends perhaps for who we were and everything that was, but not for who we are and all that we will be; Our souls are infinite, timeless and enduring, far braver than starlights; so, even after the end, hold on; this is how we outlive our bodies, this is how defy the oblivion; Endlessly, we will carry on ;

Taking Back the Light JACQUELINE EDRALIN Your crooked smile that covers distress, Hopelessly misguided by doubtful glory. Brewing madness, you are shivering cold, Losing yourself to a temporary mirage. Your unruly bloody falls of tears, From shattered dreams beguiling doom. A ransacked mind left empty, blank, Blackness seeps in to murder aspiration. But the tiniest point remains unscathed, That hazy memory filled with love. Now, desiring rare serendipity, Do believe the reason for existing.

Photo by ERIKA JOILLE PATAYON

O Brave Knight A. M. APARIS Awaken her from deep slumber O brave knight, For it is but a kiss that befall life on her lifeless body. Hasten the journey, o time is turning, Sleep, dearest princess, sleep soundly. The night is but a babe crying for his mother’s breast, Wake, dearest princess, wake for sunrise is near. Hastened is the walk of your dear knight’s voyage, Why hasn’t young love woke from dreamless worlds? Sleep, dearest princess, sleep soundly, For I am but a teardrop away from your longing. Wake, dearest princess, wake for your knight has set foot in your chambers, The night is no longer young, the stars no longer shine. Here I am, the sun who rode from east, To the hills and valleys, the sea shook the child out of me. Wake, dearest princess, wake for sunrise is here, Your eyes I have missed so fondly.

Untitled 1 CLOUD amidst the chaos that is happening today in our generation, all I can think about is the chaos that is happening inside of me. my gruesome thoughts of lust and pain mixed together, to form a perfect ambidextrous of selfishness and indifference. is this a cry of a narcissistic man, or a cry for help?

Shoreline MARIELLE OMEGA She’s the sea I’m a tree I’m on land Won’t be able to hold her hand Forever I stand witness To her enchanted waves Can my love be preached Even if she’s out of reach But longingly I shall let her be Ebb and flow I will always see The grace and glow That enamored me For she is my only Beautiful sea One day at a time, my roots shall be closer to thee.

Illustration by ARIENNE JOYCE AMODIA

Indecisive CLOUD i cannot decide, though I wish I could. putting all my wants aside, just for them to feel good. they say, “put yourself first.” but why is it so hard? sometimes I burst, not knowing where to start. but as I grew older, I’ve realized some things. I became bolder, and screwed a lot of things. but because of this, a life lesson well taught. a life full of bliss, for a battle I’ve fought.

Dreams in Black KATHRINA AGUADO Even if I close my eyes and open them again,, I’ll only see black yet I try to pretend. That I see the vivid colors of the world I have longed to see, And that I am not blind as I was destined to be. Lucky are they who can see the mountains and seas, But luckier am I who has no vision but still sees. Hope and beauty in the heart of every mankind, For in the present it’s like those that can see are the ones really blind. I heard the world is filled with people and black hearts, I heard everybody’s hurting each other and wars are waged to start. I heard the world is dying and that maybe soon we will be too, I heard causing the fall of soaring beings are now what people usually do. I heard all these- not seen for I’m deprived of sight, I lived in darkness for eons but why am I seeing there’s lightThere’s still hope, we still have a chance. We can change the world if we all take a stance. If only everyone has a mind with the depth of a sea, And a heart that loves beyond the limits and gives kindness for free. If someday I gain back my sight and be able to see the world again, My dreams in black would be given colors if all of these do happen.

The Art of Living AGNES PATOS Something is hidden And here you are, stuck in running Constantly battling, are you still living With emotions unwritten? I can see it through your eyes It’s all black and white Hues of vivid emotions Trying to escape The demons dwell inside It’s pointless, quit running No more drowning There’s nothing left to hide This blank canvas When it’s full, it blasts Rupture of emotions To luminescence of colors Take a space and try to feel Pick a color and paint your life Visible brushstrokes of yourself It’s beautiful, you’ve created a masterpiece.

Photo by ERIKA JOILLE PATAYON

Illustration by ARIENNE JOYCE AMODIA

FICTIONAL PROSE

The Bus Ride TRECIA GUMBAN

Illustrations by DANIELLE ACAP 54

Bus no. 815165 taught me everything in life. I really hate rain. It makes me unproductive and sad for no reason. But guess what? I am now outside trying not to get wet as I wait for some bus to stop. Few minutes later, a yellow old bus came rushing in my direction. At first, I was hesitant to take the ride but because I was getting late for school, there’s no choice that I can opt for. As I stepped my feet that twitched to the rusty ladders, I immediately placed my being to the seats at the back of the bus near the windows that welcome the heavy splash of water. The windows were cracked and too rusty to pull down even if I’ll use all of my strength. So, instead of trying to ask for help, I just accept the fact that rainy days would never be a perfect day for me. “What else could be worse on rainy days?” I whisper to myself. Unnoticed, an old man answered “Worse on rainy days? Hmm, I guess not owning a house” as he chuckles to his own words. But how sensible he is and to my curiosity I asked, “Why? Don’t you own a house?”, it made him silent for a moment. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him that question. So instead, I just faced the broken window as my fingers busily traced the vestige cracks trying to figure out the vim of objects that hit the glass. ‘’I am homeless and just like you, I hate rainy days

too. Rain washes off all of me” he replied. I was muddled by his words. I just looked at him waiting for what he was about to say next. His eyes contain all his struggles as the lines on his face present all the emotions he had gone through when he was at my age. With his hand, is a crumpled journal. The pages were out of colors as the tint of his pen spread to all the areas of the pages and I guess that’s what all he had aside from the few coins in his pocket that clangor every time the bus passes a hump.

”When I was your age, I really enjoyed rain. You know it’s a free gift from God especially to those who weren’t able to pay their water bills,’’ he laughed again. “Life is more than a bad weather. So if you think that rainy days are your worst days. How can you expect yourself to survive the storm of life?” This time the silence has diverted to my being. I just looked away again, trying to scoop up my thoughts to answer his question. But no words came out to my mouth. He is an intellectual product of life, I can tell. Maybe that was the reason he has the journal on his hand or maybe he was just listing all bus’ numbers he had ridden. No one knew but I want to exclude myself. ‘’What do you write on your journal?” I curiously asked. “These are my memories. And this is the reason why I hate rain. One moment it pours to its fibers, surely I will be drained by the perplexities left by the tint on its pages but somehow it’s part of life: to not know yourself and start again knowing yourself even if it takes every day. Right now, enjoy the rain while we’re not on the same umbrella’s of life. 56

While you can still remember yourself amidst all the storms you had surpassed, I tell you dear, you have to love the rain. I have to go now.” as he composes himself to next bus station. I was drowned of how deep his words are. It feels like I was left in maze: confused with words and questions that were left unspoken.” It was nice meeting you. And by the way, I had Alzheimer’s so I wouldn’t mind knowing you again.” as he point his fingers to the washed off pages of his journal. His last words made sense. In that moment, the rain gradually stopped. I got off the bus and see how the marks of rain let every being to stop and start again may it be a busy people walking on the street or even the sun that refused from shining. I smile, everything was so clear now just like the sky. I don’t hate rainy days anymore - knowing that the bus no. 815165 taught me everything in life.

Dungog kag Kapawa MJH

Art by JHON LAURENCE VELASCO

Part I “Charge 360 joules. Clear!” Ini ang mga tinaga nga nagapangibabaw sa sulod sang ICU. Isa naman ka pasyente ang ara sa bingit sang kamatayon kag ini tam-an pa ka bata para madangtan ang kasakit. Apang natabo gid ang iya nga ginakahadlukan kag nahambal ya gid ang mga tinaga nga indi ya gusto mabatian, “Time of Death 5:43 am” Naghalo ang balhas kag ang luha sa sulod sang iya PPE kag indi ya mabatas ang kasakit nga iya nabatyagan. Bilang isa ka doctor, gintudluan sila nga wala emotional attachment sa ila mga pasyente apang sa isa ka semana nga nagadamo ang naapektuhan sang masakit kag mga gakalamatay sa iya atubang, indi ya mabatas ang kasakit. Siya na lang ang mahibi para sa iloy nga nawad an sang bata; para sa amay nga nawad-an asawa; para sa bata nga nawad-an tsansa maagom ang iya handom. Mabugnaw ang hangin sa guwa sang hospital kag manugbutwa na ang adlaw. Kanami tan-awon sang pag-amat amat baylo sang kapawa sa kadulom nga daw wala lang sang may natabo. Napayuhom lamang ini sang nadumduman ang ginhambal sang bata sa iya, “Doc, gusto ko pagdako ko maging doctor pareho simo kay gusto ko magsuok sang amo na (referring sa PPE) kay du ninja kamo. Gusto ko kontrahon ang virus.” Apang sa pagbutlak sang adlaw, isa naman ka anghel ang iya ginsugat. Bal an ya nga maging maayo gid nga doctor ang bata sa langit kag matapna ang virus. Pero malawig lawig pa ini nga away, kag bal an ya nga may pagasa gid nga sila magdaog.

Part II Ako ay isang anak na nangungulila sa atensyon ng magulang. Lumaki akong lagi silang may emergency. Nakasayanan ko na yatang maging pangalawang tahanan ang hospital at maging kapatid ang mga nurses. Ang hirap ng doctor na magulang pero heto ako sumunod din sa yapak nila. Tinitingala ko sila dahil parang nagiging bukang liwayway ang hospital kapag nandyan sila at nasasagip ang mga pasyente sa bingit ng kamatayan. Pero hindi ko lubos akalain na darating sa puntong ako ang magsasagip sa kanila sa bingit ng kamatayan. Ako ang bubulong sa kanila na â&#x20AC;&#x153;Lumaban kaâ&#x20AC;? Pinalaki nila akong hindi sumusuko kaya hindi ko rin sila susukuan subalit sa puntong ito, parang tinapos na nila ang laban. Nararamdaman ko ang kamay ng mommy na gina guide ako habang tinatanggal ko ang oxygen support nilang dalawa. Naduwag ako sa puntong iyon pero alam kong hanggat sa huli, pinili parin nilang mag serbisyo at lumaban. Bilang isang anak, napakasakit mawalan ng magulang ng sabay at kahit sa huli, pinili parin nilang mamalagi sa hospital. Kaya heto ako, patuloy na lalaban para sa kanila at para sa bayan.

Part III Isa na lang ka oras kag makumpleto ko na ang baynte kwatro oras nga duty sa hospital. Sa kadamuon sang pasyente nga gakinahanglan bulig, indi mo na maisip ang magpahuway kay gusto mo lang sila mabuligan. Manami sa balatyagon ang makabulig apang kasakit nga malayo sa pamilya. Nakibot ako nga nag text ang akon bana nga ara sila sa guwa sang hospital. Diri na kami gatulog nga mga nurses sa hospital para indi namon mahawa ang amon pamilya sang virus. Dali-dali ako nag gwa kay basi kung ano nga emergency, layo pa lang nakita ko akon mag amay. Gakuba-kuba akon dughan sa kalipay kag kasakit. Duwa ko na sila ka semana wala nakita kag gusto ko na gid sila hakson apang indi pwede. Ang akon tatlo ka tuig nga bata gin alsa ya ang iya nga mga kamot nga daw kami gahaksanay, naintindihan ya nga indi pwede kapalapit sa iya si mama kay delikado. Nagahibi ini samtang gahambal,â&#x20AC;? Mama, halong ka. Bal an ko kapoy ka na amo na hakson ta ka. Mama, matan aw ta sunrise sa beach tapos mo work ha, love uâ&#x20AC;? Tam-an kasakit sa isa ka iloy ang indi makita ang iya bata kag maproteksyonan ini. Nagyuhom ako samtang nagatulo ang luha kag ginkuha ang ginbilin nila nga pagkaon. Parehas ka sanag sang adlaw ang akon handom nga makaluwas sang kabuhi kag tapnaon ang paglapta sang masakit para sa buwas damlag sang akon bata kag katawhan. Apang wala gid ko naglaom nga amo na to ang ulihi nga tion nga sila akon makita bag o ko nabaton ang resulta sang test, Positive.

Dying Sunset KATHRINA AGUADO

Art by ALMIRA CARLA PROLOGO

Memories flashed as soon as I took my first step down the aisle. This is exactly how we’ve imagined and dreamt everything should be. I’m wearing the white dress you bought for me as a gift back when we were eighteen. I told you I’d wear it on our special day. You told me I can’t because you’ll feed me with so much food and I’d get fat it would no longer fit me, remember? But I did. Because I promised you I’d wear it on our special day. Little steps, beating heart. I glanced at all the people whose eyes are fixed on me. All the special people in our lives filled the pews in the church. I can see Natalia from here, the little girl we’ve seen alone and cold in the street. Can you still remember? We had a date and it rained so we ran across the street to evade the sky’s tears. That’s when we found Natalia. Sitting on the ground, shivering from the cold night, hungry, sad, and homeless. You took her, fed her at home, treated her like your own child- our child, and gave her all the love she deserved. That moment, I knew I’m the luckiest girl alive for I’ve found a man with the heart of a gold. My father walked beside me, just as you’ve told me years ago. “You’d be trembling in nervousness for sure, your father will be there to guide your steps, my love”, you’ve promised me that as you planted a kiss on my forehead. I was happy, happier, happiest. You are every girls’ dream, but you told me I am your dream. I smiled and realized I really found the one. I’m nearing the end of the aisle. I didn’t realize my tears we’re falling. Of course, who wouldn’t cry? I can see you there, waiting for me so peacefully. My father let go of my hand. I walked to you, smiling, my tears were flowing down my cheeks. You’ve made me so happy I forgot some things that are happy have endings too.

I stared at your face, it’s the only face I’ve ever dreamed waking up to. But love, your face, your body... You’re now caged in a huge box with a glass I can’t ever open again, forever. My heart broke at the scene. It would have been our special day, our wedding, that I’d be walking down the aisle while people stare at me. It would have been our special day, our wedding, that I’d be wearing this white dress you’ve given me. It would have been our special day, our wedding, that my father would have held my hand as he walks me to you so carefully. It would have been our special day, our wedding, that I’d be able to kiss you and make you feel that you’re not the only one who reached your dream when you had me, but also I, for you are the dream that made me think and make every other dream that could ever be. But now, I can only kiss you through a glass that will separate us for eternity.

Panibagong Umaga FAYE ANGELA ALIMANE

Photo by CHRISTIAN JOHN CAMORAHAN 66

Napatingala ako sa orasang nakasabit sa pader. Mag aalas tres na pala ng umaga at heto ako, hindi pa rin matapos-tapos ang kabanata ng libro na aking binabasa. Ilang oras na lang at sisikat na naman ang bagong araw, ilang oras na lang bago ang aming pagsusulit. Nakapag-aral man ako, di’ pa rin sigurado kung preparado. Isang malalim na buntong hininga saka sasabihin sa sarili na “Kaya ko to!” Pagod man at puyat, babangon pa rin para pumasok. Maliligo, magbibihis, ihahanda ang gamit at papasok. Nakalimutan ko bang kumain? Tama. Nakalimutan ko nga, mamaya na lang sa tanghalian para isang kainan na lang. Naturingang ‘future medical professional’ pero pinapabayaan ang kalusugan. (Huwag tularan!) Pagka dating sa eskwelahan dadaan muna sa kapilya, magdadasal ng taimtim ipapaubaya kung ano man ang maging resulta ng pagsusulit. Pagpasok sa silid-aralan ay mag bubuklat muli ng libro, pipiliting pagkasyahin ang nalalabing oras bago mag simula ang pagsusulit. “Good Morning Class!” “Naku! Andyan na si Miss! Magsisimula na! ” Hindi talaga maiiwasan na kahit nag-aral ka man, meron at meron ka talagang makakalimutan. Ayos lang yan, bawi ka na lang ulit sa susunod na pagsusulit. Pagkatapos ng sumunod na pagsusulit, may nakalimutan ka na naman, kaya sasabihin mo na naman, “Bawi ako ulit sa susunod,” hanggang sa na ubos na ang mga sumunod na pagsusulit. Alas dose na at mag tatanghalian na, “Sabay ka samin kumain?” tanong ng katabi ko. “Wag na lang muna, may pupuntahan ako eh,” sagot ko. Ang totoo gusto ko lang mapag-isa, kasi paglalamayan ko ang iskor ko sa pagsusulit. Nakakapagod nang lumaban araw – araw, pero ayaw kong sumuko. Kapag may pangarap ka ilaban mo, wag mong isuko. Isa pa na isip ko, nahihirapan din naman ang mga magulang ko, pero hindi sila sumusuko, kaya ba’t ako susuko?

Lumabas ako ng paaralan para kumain at habang naglalakad ako ay may nakasalubong akong matandang may tinutulak na kariton. Naawa ako sa kanya kaya nilapitan ko. “Tay kumain ka na po?” tanong ko sa kanya. “Hindi pa nga Ineng eh,” sagot niya sa akin. “Sama po kayo sakin kakain tayo,” aking pag aanyaya. Nangangalakal si Tatay kaya medyo marungis ang kanyang damit, pagka dating namin sa aming pagkakainan ay pinapili ko siya ng kanyang nais kainin. Pritong isda ang kanyang piniling ulam, masarap daw kasi iyon. Habang ang ibang tao gusto ng maraming ulam kahit na hindi naman nila naubos, itong si Tatay pritong isda lang masaya na. Pumili kami nang upuan sa loob para kumain, umupo kami at nilapag ang aming binili. Napalingon ako sa gilid at nakita ko ang pagismid ng isang nagbabantay na tindera. Tila ayaw yata nitong dito kami kumain. Bakit? Kasi marumi yung damit ni Tatay? Kasi nakatsinelas lang siya? Wala akong pake! Nagbayad kami, kaya kakain kami dito. Wala akong sinabi sa kanya, tinignan ko lang siya at ibinaling na agad ang pansin ko sa pagkain, gutom na kasi ako hindi pa ako nakakakain mula kanina. Si tatay hindi pa man nakakakain ay sobra na ang pasasalamat. “Ineng salamat ha. Pagpalain ka nawang Diyos,” ang sabi niya. “Walang anuman Tay,” sagot ko sa kanya. Sa isip ko, yan lang nga ang naibigay ko, tapos grabe na ang kanyang pasasalamat. Dahil kumakain na kami ay naisip kong magtanong tungkol sa kanya “Tay, ano po yung pangalan niyo?” “Ako si Jose,” sagot naman niya habang sumusubo ng kanin, halatang gutom talaga si Tatay mas lalo akong naawa. “Ilang taon na po kayo Tay?” tanong ko ulit. “67 na ako ngayon Ineng,” sagot niya sa akin. Ang tanda niya na pero nagtatrabaho pa rin siya, na isipan kong mag tanong kung may anak ba siya,

“Tay may anak po ba kayo?” “Meron pero may kanya-kanya na silang pamilya eh,” ang sagot niya. Nalungkot ako, may anak siya pero heto at natatrabaho pa rin siya para may makain. Kanina inisip ko na ang bigat nang dala kong problema, pero nang nakilala ko si Tatay nawala yung bigat, naisip ko kasi may ibang taong may mas mabigat na bitbit sa buhay pero kinakaya nila. Kung tutuusin mas magaan ang dala kong problema kaysa kay tatay. Mababawi ko pa yung iskor ko sa pagsusulit, kaya ko pang mabawi ‘yon. Naisip ko rin na pagbubutihin ko lalo sa pag-aaral, kasi paglaki ko gusto kong makatulong, maliban sa pamilya ko gusto kong makatulong sa mga katulad ni tatay. Bukas ay panibagong umaga ang sasalubong sa akin at matapang ko itong haharapin, dahil magsisilbi akong pag-asa para sa pamilya ko at sa mga taong nais kong matulungan.

Susceptible; Not Surreal JOSHUA CASTILLO

Illustrations by CHARLENE MAE CANJA

Every moment matters. A minute can change our lives. We are living in a world where you can’t predict what’s going to happen. Though, you are living as a good example, still you are not valid for exemption for being stupid, ignorant and hypocrite especially when you are in the influence of the society. Don’t let yourself be controlled of guilt inside you or else you will suffer. The midnight seems so glacial although it was not a winter season. No actions nor playing sounds, just the clangorous and attention seeker wind dancing through the open window. It was so cryptic that the foolish bulb was blinking on its radiance together with the curtains that swayed back and forth through the window glass. He’s ill. He’s dreaming. He was guilty. It was all darkness. It was the night that helped him to realize what was truly meant for him. It was a night to remember, a nightmare to live for. He was a man with a great purpose as he believed. His name was Dwain Brandon McPherson, a broad - manly gentleman who works as a police officer in a huge town, Cops’ Den. He doesn’t have a family of his own but he’s a father of a young girl who is a stranger to him, a daughter of someone close to him. They don’t have any connection to reach out and reconnect to each other. But as he lived, he lived independently but brave enough to make all his ideals in reality. He always wanted to have a good name to make sure that his professionalism will endure and that he can attain respect from others. But the time’s fate goes ironically.

It was the day of his promotion. A day to be lived like no one else has. Everyone was so happy, rowdy and drunk. The celebration brings a harmonious relationship among his fellow cops. Different faces, personalities and mindsets make them as one as the day of celebration. Until the time of idiocy came as it only passed by. In the midst of their happy time they got their guns but those were not permitted. Brandon, was the one who got his gun first and put a bullet on it and he rashly raised his right arm.

“Rang!Rang!” Someone’s calling but he ignored it. He shouted and shot the next door unintentionally. Everyone panicked. The shot came across the Shawl’s residence. A loud shot of a gun killed someone innocent together with the dreams drawn in the night sky. The sound of sadness and anger of Mrs. and Mr. Shawl bonded together. The victim was identified as Cara Shawl, a 17 year old sweet girl lying in her bedroom, her hands wanting to be touched by a fatherly love and care, and even her eyes showing regrets. No more goodbyes and living stories. Dark hopes are approaching but the sun rises as it were, the shadowy lights came across in the window of his room. The air crushingly invited him to wake up. His house was a mess of unclaimed piggery. The liquors, the glasses and bullets make an art on the floor. It was not a house you wanted to live in. It was the dullness of him that shattered and began to create depression. He must pay for what he had done especially to a person he secretly kept in a long span of time. 73

So he was arrested. His name is now just a name. No more jobs. No more people came and stayed in his life. He suffered.

As the darkness of sky slowly came to its downfall, the lights began to rise again that served as hope to his life, but it’s not hope that he’s waiting for but only the day that all his guilt and pain that makes a home in his heart will disappear. So the time has come and the clock continued ticking on its warm sound as he slightly opened the door of his room and stood watching his face in the mirror like trying to be calm but it didn’t go that way. It was just a blink of an eye. He suddenly smashed the mirror and fell down to his own blood. “It is not enough!” He saw a broken piece and grabbed it up and stabbed his legs again and again until he could not breathe normally. Without a minute, he died along with his own guilt. It was just like he lived in oblivion. Nothing goes back. Nothing’s matters. He lost her daughter’s life. He lost his own life. Everyone was living in their own tears.

Acknowledgements

The awakening has come. As we gaze the rising sun in the horizon, we are reminded of a new beginning and a hope that everyday we can be someone better and we are worthy of the chance to live. Hence, we hold unto that hope and continue to inspire others to do the same. The Plumage: Beacon New Beginnings wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;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. SoquiĂąo, 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 2019-2020 for treading against all odds in order to weave this piece of art and sharing their skills and time to the publication. To our family and friends, thank you for believing in our capabilities and pushing us to carry on in life.

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 saw the beauty in dawn; be awakened by every illustration; and found hope in every word etched along these tainted pages. It is time.

the eagle Editor-in-Chief SIDREY MEL FLORES Associate Editor FAYE ANGELA ALIMANE Managing Editor KASHMIR GAMBOA News Editor MARY JANE HORTELANO Literary Editor SHANEN AIKA MARIE RODRIGAZO Photos Editor CHRISTIAN JOHN CAMORAHAN Layout and Graphics Editor ARIENNE JOYCE AMODIA Writers JOAQUIN ANGELO ALPAS CHRISTOPHER JOHN SALA SHAINE MAGHARI BEATRIZ NIKKA CORTES PRINCESS JEWEL GUZMAN AMICHI SULLIVAN TRECIA GUMBAN THERESE BENARES KATRINA LEYVA Photojournalists CAMILLE BIESCAS WAYNE ANDRE BENGAY RALPH MONETEMAYOR ESTELLOSO Illustrator CHARLENE MAE CANJA Publication Moderator RUDY REVECHE

Untold stories buried deep between the lines gathered. This literary folio is about the journey of pain, suffering, love, and hope. Within these pages, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll discover raw emotions from the Augustinians in Plumage: Beacon New Beginnings.

Plumage 80

2020