D E R on
ersi v s ’ t efron r o f the
features the work
THE FOREFRONT PUBLICATION UNIT THE OFFICIAL STUDENT OF GORDON COLLEGE
all rights reserved 2022
s of:
r ay mark espiritu earvin jon arsua reggie boy vargas aila nicole sario jez anne r adam o anna marie donat ton karen ann gatbun
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This is how we take our power back.
FROM THE E
Taylor Swift—an artist of whom I have loved since “Teardrops on My Guitar”, have despised during my woke era circa 2017 when I thought that her feminism was borne out of white privilege, and have finally learned to adore again after her politics and artistry have become intersectional—took the internet by surprise when she revealed that she doesn’t own the masters to her first six albums. The music industry, much like the print industry in the Philippines especially in campus context, is broken. Both industries, quoting Taylor herself, have an “incessant, manipulative bully.” The Titan of Pop music was unfazed. As we all know by her lyricism, Taylor is one brilliant artist—the kind of artist that you don’t want to mess with or you’ll be immortalized by her penchant of turning her story into chart-topping hits. And so she decided to re-record every single track from the six albums (and add new ones) to finally own the rights to her own brainchild (or children if you want to get technical). We, too, have a bully—from inside and beyond school grounds. I simply shrugged off the constant bullying and continued writing. And what would a truehearted Taylor stan do afterwards? Nonchalantly add “(Taylor’s Version)” to my Twitter name, not to jump on the bandwagon but to signify that, though I may be singular to the millions of loyal followers Taylor has, a fan has returned to back her up as she has inspired him once more. Suddenly, eureka: write a culture article—“Red (The Forefront’s Version)”—as tribute to the songsmith. I immediately pitched the idea to the most trustworthy features editor, and the rest is history. So here we are, reinventing our publication, taking our power back, and doing whatever the hell we want in this experimental album-esque issue which has the best of intentions in bequeathing necessary dialogues through personal interpretations and social metaphors. From Taylor reclaiming her music masters to reclaiming our editorial freedom, we move forward. RAY MARK ESPIRITU EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
EDITORS I was in a state of grace before chief (Ray Mark) pitched an article with the title Red (The Forefront’s Version), excitement rushing, I would jump, I almost do. Being a fan of Ms. Swift’s discography, I immediately responded that it was a great idea and told him to stay stay stay because I have to begin again listening to the whole album so I can think of concepts. Then there’s me, skipping the part where he said that this is only an article, and so I suggested a whole mini-folio. That was the moment I knew that this was going to be treacherous. The last time I checked, I was only capable of writing and I have never imagined myself heading this project but you know what, everything has changed, all thanks to the help and guidance from my co-editors—The Forefront’s editorial board. We are never ever getting back to the place we’ve grown out of. So shine, like the starlight that you are <333 I’ve learned so much this year of ‘22; with my first project—the lucky one and my holy ground. From the amazing minds of Reggie, Jez, Karen, and Anna, and from our outgoing editors Ray Mark and Aila (come back…be here, please), this folio contains pieces that are inspired by the vault tracks which should express themes that may be sad beautiful tragic in hopes that one day you will remember them all too well. I Knew You Were Trouble, EARVIN JON ARSUA FEATURES EDITOR, PROJECT HEAD, LAYOUT ARTIST
All Too Well EIC’s Version
The RED Pink Revolution
It has been an uproarious election season a little while back, more distinctly for the volunteers of Robredo’s People Campaign or what is now known as the pink movement. Kakampinks (Pink Allies)—as they fondly call themselves—the supporters of outgoing Vice President Leni Robredo, have been painting the Philippines pink, their chosen political color and symbol of new-found hope. Up until to the last stretch of the campaign period, Kakampinks went through multiple hoops to simply champion, based from critical analysis of platforms and track records, the best presidential candidate, notwithstanding the many layers of attacks being thrown, left and right, by the patrons of the other presidentiables.
Sweet disposition “Lalaban ako. Lalaban tayo.” This was among the many encouraging words VP Robredo uttered during her presidential bid pronouncement on October 7 of last year, 2021. From the onset, her speech was filled not with empty promises or motherhood statements but genuine liberation from previous administrative ineptitude and continued to list down the many projects, despite budget and power limitations, of the Office of the Vice President. It served as a reminder and,
page 6 photo grabbed from vp leni robredo facebook page
more so, testament that her seeking presidential aspiration is not a prelude to another power-hungry politician. “Ibabalik natin sa kamay ng karaniwang Pilipino ang kakayahang magdala ng pagbabago.” And these words ignited what seemed to be the slumbering bayanihan spirit of thousands upon thousands, if not millions, of Filipinos. This has become more evident during the ever-lively campaign rallies of Robredo’s electoral alliance. In fact, the initially-running-quip Olympinks— wherein the total summation of attendees were ranked from lowest to highest—became a mainstay, so much so that big and small cities and provinces prepared for their own sorties to both showcase their unique support for Team Robredo and try to best the previous grand rallies. “Ang nagmamahal, kailangan ipaglaban ang minamahal.” Beyond the events’ roaring clamor and visual resplendency, the pink movement was borne out of volunteerism and charity—a sweet disposition that lingers from one Filipino to another. And despite the glaring affection the Kakampinks show for Robredo, they, too, are free to call her out if necessary, given that their criticism is done constructively and not through mob mentality, or known in the modern times as cancel culture.
Fuck the patriarchy (and dynasty) But of course, no election is peaceful, not ever in the Philippines, especially when the majority of the presidentiables chose to gang up on the only female aspirant. Most notably, Mayor Isko Moreno, Sen. Ping Lacson, and Norberto Gonzales have called a joint press conference and urged VP Robredo to withdraw her candidacy. Long before that team up was a long-term, strategic tirade against the Veep that has slowly, yet undoubtedly, exacerbated during its six-year course.
Since 2016, the combined forces of Duterte-Marcos devotees have created a well-oiled disinformation machinery against Robredo, calling her all sorts of libelous claims—fake VP, communist puppet, adulterer, mistress of fake news, lugaw queen are only among the many unoriginal yet still damaging name-calling thrown at her. Not once has she faltered. And so the trolls tried taking down the Vice President’s daughters into the pits of the ill-natured political playgrounds. Maligning the two, Aika and Tricia were villified via the fabrication of non-existent sex tapes—a tactic pulled straight out of a page of the mysoginistic playbook. Even the youngest daughter, Jillian, wasn’t spared from these gendered attacks. But hers was different from what her elder sisters experienced: during a market walk campaign in Baguio, Jillian was heckled by a local resident, an avowed Igorot, and shouted that the Kakampinks were mere dayuhans (tourists) and that they shouldn’t be causing any human congestion in the public market. A video debunked the claims of the heckler, who was believed to be a confederate or a planted instigator of the rival candidate(s) to twist a story. What they went through was traumatic, but, just like their mother, they soldiered on. They, too, were unfazed. The Robredos could have easily displayed exasperation and they could have exhausted all the resources and connections of the OVP to prove that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But they chose not to; this further mirrored their central campaign theme of radical love (mas radikal ang magmahal).
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photo by: raffy lerma
Alongside the attempt to end the eons-old patriarchal system in national politics and Philippine society in general was the urgency to end political dynasties. As the de facto leader of the opposition, Robredo was projected to be the principal person to oppose the Arroyo-Marcos-Duterte coalition—a political party composed of graft- and plunderridden politicians, as evidenced by rulings of the Supreme Court. If elected, Robredo would only be the third female president the Philippines has had and, more remarkably, the only one who has had the cleanest of records. And she was eager to claim that role not because of its prestige of a title nor does it have perks and benefits, but because she is more than qualified and has continuously defied gender roles and standards, and has perpetually resisted the evils of traditional politics. To quote Robredo herself during the Comelecsponsored #PiliPinasDebates2022, “the best man for the job is a woman.”
in a new hell While the Robredos have perennially stood their ground, the Kakampinks started feeling the election’s ingrained disquietude. The anxiety that chaperoned the supporters, fanatics, blind followers, and dissenters alike had only worsened over time—most especially during D-day, just last May 9. It was on this exact day that the Filipino people finally came to their designated precincts to exercise their right to
page 8
suffrage and, at long last, cast their vote to whomever they deemed most worthy to sit in the highest political position. This was the day they were most hopeful. But it was also on that exact day that their hopes came crashing down. Multiple reports of defective Vote Counting Machines (VCMs) and digital SD cards, caught-in-the-act massive vote-buying, videotaped destruction of several ballots, numerous footages of sample ballots still being distributed, voters being told to leave their ballots—these were only a few of the evidence that rendered the election not foregrounded on integrity and fairness anymore. This is an election of clear desperation. It only went downhill from there. When the Comelec started showing the partial and unofficial results, a major gap between the two frontrunners of the election was shown: Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos, Jr, son of dictator, was leading by a mile—31 million versus 14 million—putting Leni Robredo, the pink rose, on second spot. Eternally etched in the memories of the Filipino people, Kakampink or not, many believed that this has been the dirtiest election in the history of the Philippines. Another Marcos is set to claim the presidency.
sacred prayer...it was rare While hundreds of thousands are still mourning over the possible lost of the best president the Philippines never had, heightened by the fact that this generation may have failed the victims and martyrs of both Martial Law and the
photo grabbed from vp len
War on Drugs because of the return to power of the Marcoses and the extension of rule of the Dutertes, VP Robredo, on her speech during the wee hours of May 10, unsurprisingly, was perfectly calm and collected. She continued to inspire her supporters. “Tuloy tayo sa pagtungo sa mga nasa laylayan, at sa pag-ambagan para umangat sila,” she stressed. “Pero hindi tayo mamimili ng tutulungan.” On May 13, at a scheduled thanksgiving rally of the Leni-Kiko team in Quezon City, Robredo announced that she will be launching the Angat Buhay program of the OVP into a Non-Government Organization that is set to have the broadest volunteer chain in Philippine history. Angat Buhay NGO is set to open its doors and continue its legacy on July 1, just a day after her final stand as the Vice President of the Philippines. A clear testament that she has the best and purest of intentions before, during, and after the national elections. Not a single hint of concession from those two speeches. Much like from the beginning, she is still the beacon of hope the Kakampinks hold onto. For many Filipinos, she has been the answered prayer from hopes of being liberated from years of suffering; she is supposedly the face—of the few and far between public servants—that would have finally helped the country get back on its feet and for the masses to be finally freed from the shackles of poverty. She is the embodiment of hope, perhaps not as the President (just yet), but as the pink rose who managed to blossom from the crevices amidst the darkened years.
ni robredo facebook page
Just like how Kakampinks believed in her, so too as how she now believes her supporters will continue to emulate the radical love that she has been advocating since day one. And that radical love will transform into something more magnanimous and historic. So long as we never forget, the pink movement will inevitably turn into the pink revolution. Because, we remember these, as Taylor Swift once said—all too well.
*Apologies to Taylor Swift—the subheadings were culled from her remastered song entitled “All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault)”
all too well
i bet you think about me earvin’s Version
socmed ave.: the highway for disinformation socmed ave.: the high... earvin jon a. arsua
This overloaded avenue joyride of fake news and disinformation may wheel into a car crash if not cautiously amended with laws before they run over the people on the streets. THE FOREFRONT
Three AM and I’m still awake—scrolling through my Facebook feed. My job right now is to find any unsuspecting account to troll. I do comment on their posts—bashing, saying irrelevant things, and replying to my own comment. Social media platforms have now become the avenue for disinformation and fake news to continuously jam reliable sources and cause a blockage that prevents the truth from reaching the netizens. For as long as lockdowns are keeping the Filipino citizens inside their houses, the amount of social media usage will grow—paving the way
for fake news peddlers to propagate with their festering contents dug from the dark depths of desperation. On the lighter side, several news outlets debunk these claims. The netizens, however, would still prefer news from unreliable sources. But reality crept in, the dissenters lose when the majority still believes in the false reality. Mr. Superior Thinking is what they call him by having an empty podium, dodging most interviews, and giving out vague plans for the future. Though these facets were hardly plausible as qualifications, the trolls will always find a way to defend and make a “fierce tiger“ out of him (or they could just resolve in personal attacks). These are also the exact fake news peddlers who publish social media posts filled with disinformation that favors the presidential candidate Ferdinand Marcos Jr. to the point where news outlets who are giving out reliable service for many years were called out as biased for giving him a bad image. This election season’s ingenious tactics to win the race emerged which specifically include creating misleading infographics, splicing videos, and conjuring straight-up false information. Months long of this campaign with the same script repeatedly etching his father’s grim greatness onto the digital world and making it look like he too possesses greatness—without the grim this time. The Filipino people’s characteristic of being witty and creative manifested, though it benefits one and then harms the other.
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photo by: ande
photo made with: photofunia
The big day came. The majority made their choice and he is now the presumptive president; though it seems like a troll’s job never ends here. Even if the campaign period has now ended, the outgoing Vice President Leni Robredo is still getting attacked with disinformation regardless of being the second in the presidential race and considered the loser—it turned out she’s harder to forget than she was to leave. The current national election’s result was influenced by threads of two sides fighting and its cause—the massive amount of published
erson guerra
pieces containing disinformation flocking different social media platforms. This overloaded avenue joyride of fake news and disinformation may wheel into a car crash if not cautiously amended with laws before they run over the people on the streets. I bet you think about me for ignoring your callouts, your “debunking” of myths, and you correcting the things they said were right. I bet you think about me for not answering your ultimate question, “why did you let her go?”
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THE VERY FIRST NIGHT REGGIE’s version
BANGON PILIPINAS
BANGON PILIPINAS reggie boy vargas
Libu-libong Pilipinong nawala na parang bula na bumula ang bibig para itaas ang tinig kahit may nginig. THE FOREFRONT
Lahat tayo, uhaw sa progresibong pagbabago — bagong Pilipinas, bagong mukha. Pero huwag nating baguhin ang kasaysayan kung saan minsang naging kulay tanso ang dugo at kulay ginto ang gatilyo. Mahigit tatlong dekada na simula nung huling natamasa ang tunay na pamahalaang Pilipino ang numero uno. Payapa ang kapaligiran at dama mo ang kaligtasan kahit sa madilim na espasyo ng lansangan. Hindi nakabubutas bulsa ang bilihin at tiyak ang kabusugan ng bawat sikmurang uhaw at gutom. Pilipinas, “I miss you like it was the very first night.” Sabi ni lola, wala raw gulo noon. Walang mga kabataang nagwe-welga sa kalsada dahil hindi
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sila reklamador noon. Dagdag pa niya, lahat daw ay sumusunod lang kay dating Pangulo Ferdinand Marcos Sr. “Magaling kasing mamahala e. May pinag-aralan at nasa taumbayan ang puso para magsilbi,” dagdag pa niya. Isama na rin ang daan-daang imprastraktura na ipinatayo sa loob ng dalawampu’t isang taong paghahari-harian ng mga Marcos tulad ng Lung Center, Heart Center, Light Rail systems, flyovers, at mga kalsada na hanggang ngayon ay ating pinakikinabangan. Bukod pa rito, patok din noon ang Nutribun na ipinamamahagi sa eskwelahan para sa mga bata. Malaking sustansiya raw ang hatid nito kaya laking pasasalamat ng mga mamamayan noon. Isama na rin natin ang murang bayad sa buwis ng kuryente at tubig na siyang pangunahing pangangailangan hanggang sa ngayon. Subalit hindi ang mga nabanggit ang tunay na pakay kung bakit maraming nagnanais na bumalik sa nakaraan... Upang magkaroon ng pagkakataon na makausap ang biktima ng karahasan at kalupitan ng kamay na bakal na buhat ng madugong diktaturya; libu-libong Pilipinong nawala na parang bula na bumula ang bibig para itaas ang tinig kahit may nginig; at mga ordinaryong Pilipinong nanindigan para sa kapwa Pilipino. Nakakaawa iyong mga hindi kilala — mga
karaniwang estudyante, manggagawa, madre, pari, mga tatay at nanay na nangahas kalabanin ang diktadura ni Marcos. Sa gitna ng mga pasabog at pasikat, sa kadiliman ng mga kulungan ng militar, walang katapat na kalupitan. Nangyari ito sa napakaraming Pilipino — ‘yong mga binugbog, ginahasa, kinuryente ang mga ari. Mga pinahiga sa yelo, isinubsob sa kubeta, pinakain ng kung anu-ano, binantaang pahirapan, gahasain, patayin ang mga minamahal sa buhay kung ‘di sila makikisama sa diktadura. Kaya pala tahimik, maraming sapilitang pinatahimik ng gatilyo at kutsilyo. Kaya pala may libreng pagkain na mula sa mga dayuhan ay dahil sa malawakang gutom. Kaya pala maraming naipagawa ay dahil din sa napakalaking utang ng bayan. Kaya ngayon ay naguguluhan ako. Sana, pareho tayo ng dahilan kung bakit gusto nating bumalik sa nakaraan. Panigurado, magiging malubak ang daan, mahamog ang himpapawid, at maalon ang karagatan papunta sa “Bagong Pilipinas” na ating ninanais. Marami pang aklat ang kailangang mailimbag na magbubukas sa
photo by: aleksandar pasaric
mga matang bulag sa katotohanan at kolektibong tinig na hindi matatakot at mangangawit na tumindig. Kaya sa napipintong pagbabalik ng mga lumang mukha ng mga trapo sa ating pulitika, gawin nating motibasyon ang ating mga nanay, tatay, lolo’t lola na sama-samamg tumindig sa EDSA para patalsikin ang dapat, palayain ang nararapat, at iluklok ang nagsilbing pag-asa’t liwanag sa lahat. Ang pagpapasakop sa bagong administrasyon ay hindi nangangahulugang pagtiklop ng ating sarili sa pagpuna ng bawat anumalya, pagdarambong, korapsyon, sa timbangan ng hustisyang ‘di pantay, pagpatay, pagtapak sa karapatang pantao at pagagaw sa pagkakakilanlan natin bilang Pilipino na “taas noo kahit kanino.” Kaya sana, pareho tayo ng dahilan kung bakit natin gustong ibalik ang dati. Dahil bilang isang mamamayan ng Pilipinas, lahat tayo, uhaw sa progresibong pagbabago. “Back then we didn’t know we were built to fall apart, we broke the status quo, then we broke each other’s hearts...”
nothing new aila’s version
POV: Angeline Dela Cruz I was lost in a time of uncertainty.
I began washing my hands.
Minutes have passed, and the darkness is now slowly drifting into the whole room. Each second, I’m trying to fill every gap with heartbeats.
It is already 8:00 in the morning and I am currently checking my email.
A slight creak of the chair breaks the silence; I decided to stand up. Having that first cup of coffee in the morning can feel downright magical, but today, it feels different. “How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?” I thought and sighed. As I walked through the kitchen, the mess that was scattered on the floor caught my attention– crumpled receipts of rent, internet, electricity, and water bills that were already due. How did I go from growing up to breaking down? It is starting again. It. is. starting. again. Being an adult sucks. Being at the age of 22 sucks. Every day seems like running along a dark narrow corridor—like something scary is chasing me. I looked at the mirror right in front of me and asked myself, where did the 18-yearold girl fond of exploring something new go? I laughed. I changed, did I?
“Good day, Ms. Angeline, kindly send me the report that was due last week. Thank you.” Being an executive secretary that works from home sucks. “That’s life,” they said, and indeed, I was tested by the time. Pressure rose, responsibilities kicked in. For minutes, I typed some words but ended up pressing the backspace button. I used to think of something, but at this moment, I couldn’t. Type and delete. A single dot wasn’t enough to end everything and process my thoughts.
“I must do this; I must do that.” “The outcome should be perfect.” “I should never disappoint my parents.” “I should be the daughter they’ve created.” Echoes that sometimes shout in my mind, but guess what? My cheeks are growing tired from turning red and faking smiles.
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photo by: reddit u
photo by: roman ska
I then hung up. Keeping up with reality is difficult for someone who has lost the motivation to do such things. This is not where I imagined myself to be years ago—a financially stable girl with her own home, car, and dog—yet here I am, in a small apartment with a broken shower. Quite satisfied as I looked at my arranged clothes, I washed my hands again. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I washed my hands again. But harder this time. I decided to stop doing my report and started to arrange my clothes according to their color. Black looks good to my eyes, though. I think I should buy more of it.
Life. Some may describe it as a game wherein one can win or lose, a facet of existence, or even something to treasure. But, for me, life sometimes lies with misery and defeat, where one might feel like a slave or a prisoner in their own cage, surrounded by suffering, hardships, and failures. Am I one of them?
And suddenly, my phone rang. Or can I call myself lucky?
“Hello?” I don’t even know the answer.
“Hi, Ate! I miss you! When will you come home?” It’s my younger sister, Aimee. “I’ll come home very soon. How’s mom?” “Still sick, ate. The medicines are so expensive.”
Perhaps I should start cooking because it’s already past 12 o’clock in the afternoon. All I can see are noodles, noodles, and noodles. How can one effortlessly exist in this chaotic world, when even breathing exhausts me?
“Don’t worry, Ate will find a way. Be a good girl, okay?” I dozed off and fell asleep.
“Yes, Ate! Always take care.”
user ambrosem123
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A loud bang at the door woke me up the next day.
“Angeline, it’s been a month. You need to pay your rent right now!” Aling Nita, the landlady said.
My hands were drenched with blood and as I reached for my mother…she, too, was covered in blood. I looked around and saw chaos. What’s happening? A car accident.
I sighed. When is this going to end?
“No!”
It’s early in the morning and my mind wandered back to the days when I was 18.
“You can’t put me here. I am not crazy!” I yelled.
“Mom, I’m going to school!” Really? A mental institution? I am Angeline Dela Cruz, an 18-year-old senior high student, and currently taking up the strand of Accountancy, Business, and Management.
“Don’t touch me!” Did he just touch me?
“Very good, anak!”
No, this can’t be.
A candidate for being the batch valedictorian.
I began washing my hands.
“Stop!”
Again.
“Guys, be like Angeline, okay?” My hands are shaking. A so-called “perfect girl”. I am trembling.
“Mom! Wake-up!”
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What’s happening to me?
model: aila n
nicole sario
I suddenly heard a voice.
Again.
“Ms. Angeline, you are diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder due to the car accident. You unconsciously wash your hands as a way of trying to prevent the fear and anxiety you have as if something bad will happen again.”
“Being 18 is not quite bad, right? For being completely by myself, I learned a lot of things.” I began washing my hands. Again.
I began washing my hands.
“This is what they call responsibility, huh?” Again. I began washing my hands.
“Good job, Angeline! You can now leave the institution!”
Again.
I began washing my hands.
It’s bleeding.
Again.
Time made me do it.
“I need to find a job for my mom.”
Time makes me who I am right now.
I began washing my hands.
Time makes me.
Again.
Every day is a battle, not just with my life, but also with myself.
“For the expenses.” It just keeps on repeating. I began washing my hands. There is nothing new. photo by: nick aloria
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message in a bottle jez anne’s version
Secrets I’ve Told To Aman Sinaya secrets i’ve told to... jez anne radam
As the sun slowly descends beneath the horizon...so do these messages, both written and unwritten—reminiscent of the uncharted waters, eternally undiscovered. THE FOREFRONT
My face detailed an expression after a wet weekend as my hopes and dreams drifted away after a long and tiring fight to keep them. I blankly stared at all these empty bottles in my room. Nothing could explain the sadness that I felt, and emptiness dawned on me as I faced the uncertainty that is the future. What if there is another me in an alternate universe or what if I can talk to my younger self? Would she pursue what would make the other me truly happy? What if I achieved my dreams in a different timeline, will I still be yearning for genuine happiness? But just like an actual message in a bottle, all my ‘what ifs’ are unlikely to reach reality because it can be easily washed off and will forever wander cluelessly. But for every uncertainty, there
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is a hint of hope, a one in a million chance. Could that be the version of my reality that is yet to come? Or could that be the dream that may never come? I’ve been restless these past days as time moved seemingly faster. With the pandemic affecting both the people’s physical and mental health, I asked myself: is it still practical to pursue my life-long dream? Or should I just go the most practical way—one which includes sacrificing my happiness and just blindly hoping that in another life there is a chance for me to pursue that dream. Guessing on my situation today, I chose the most realistic path wherein hope is as thin as a line of thread and despair is apparent. At times, I still feel happy about my decision. After all, just like how unpredictable the tides can be, I can’t do anything about the choices that I have already made. All I can do is let the consequences flow and allow myself to just float away from my lifelong dreams. But I can’t help but wonder—that I can be extremely happy but that would only happen in an alternate reality, wherein a pandemicfree world exists, and I chose what I really wanted. As the tide tickled my toe, I saw that the ocean was laughing at me while I am standing beside her looking like a dirty child with no home to go to. Am I really that stupidly hopeful? As the sun slowly descends beneath the horizon and hides under the deep blue sea, so do these messages, both written and unwritten—reminiscent of the uncharted
waters, eternally undiscovered. Maybe because it is kept as a secret or simply it is neither here nor there. My eyes were drawn on the shore and I kept on picturing an image of a goddess with a smug smile, it seems as if those letters were belittled, and I am being mocked. I wanted to prove her wrong, but I am not up for that battle. She has the whole ocean and once I set foot on it, I will surely drown forever. I felt weak and helpless. If I can’t prove myself to the goddess, how will I make myself feel proud and happy? Sadness crippled me and anxiety painted my blank canvas as I am nearing the end of my college journey. Just like the vast ocean, I don’t know where the end of this longingness for a bright future is, I am clueless of what lies ahead. As the salty breeze sticks on my skin, I, once more wondered, will I ever have the chance to talk to my younger self? I watched the sea foam playfully trickle on my feet and leave a trace of sand, and, upon impact, a splash—making my face wet. I hope I could reach my younger self at some point and warn her about the future. I poured my heart out into writing on a blank and damp piece of dirty paper, I wrote a letter for my younger self. With high hopes, I sealed it inside a bottle and threw it with all my strength in a far distance. As I saw the bottle getting consumed by the crashing waves, I stood there; I blankly stared at the vastness with hopes that the letter would reach my younger self. But just like every message in a bottle, it is unlikely to reach the intended recipient. Oh, how I wish I could turn back time to achieve the reality that I dream of. With a heavy heart, I went home hopeless, answerless and had nothing with me but just sandy feet, salty hair, and wet face.
photo by: jez anne radam
run ray mark’s version
Forensic Evidence #28: Retrieved Letter from the Future Forensic Evidence #28... ray mark s. espiritu
Every day, I choose to educate myself. I have always had this thirst to learn new things. Maybe that was the antidote to an otherwise oblivious world— curiosity. Is it enough, though? Will curiosity ever be enough? THE FOREFRONT
Forgotten at a distant time in the past, possibly post-cold wars and pre-human negligence, is a world bred by miscommunication and false dichotomy. “What has become of humanity?” is a question I often agonize myself with. Admittedly and obviously, I have not lived in the past. But if I were to use the time machine in the canteen right now, I would totally take a peek at what once was the elegance of yesteryears. All the colors in one piece of clothing; all that dash of shimmering silver and gold in both teeth and flesh, I wanted all of that, except for the ridiculous face masks. We were once the peak of affection; of being friendly; and of all that is rainbows and sunshine.
Or so I thought we were. I did not know of the blatant prejudice, the systemic racism, the state-sponsored killings, and all forms of hate being thrown back then. I thought killings only happen in real time, as I type this. Even so, I still had in me that longing to experience the previous life. Why? Neighbors used to exchange viands as an expression of kindling friendships anew, and giving hat tips and sly smiles to each other were kind of a thing back then. I would not mind fake grins or lashing out at the neighbor’s uncooked chicken. All those were probably for proof of contact which were effective until politics played god and made earth its playground. Many would agree that there are certain things that should not be tainted by politics; that some aspects of our life are just there—one with us and nothing else. I, too, agreed to that once. Silly are the people who incorporate politics into everything. From the air we breathe in up to that boy being scolded because of the way he said a word, even just playfully, was wrong. I thought it was puerile for words to have restrictions. It was just a word. But no, it was not; it was me, the ignorant, who was being silly. The moment I found out about the history of humanity, of recent archaeology, that politics comes into everything, and I do mean everything—that’s when I knew how gullible I was.
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photo by: jooinn user frhuynh
It is not silly to restrict the use of a word; it is offensive to some. Calling a particular person the son of a dictator was punishable by law. I now understand why some people do not romanticize the idea of traveling back to the past; they do not have much of an enjoyable option. Every day, I choose to educate myself. I have always had this thirst to learn new things. Maybe that was the antidote to an otherwise oblivious world—curiosity. Is it enough, though? Will curiosity ever be enough? I am curious. I am curious as to why we had to fall into the pits of regression? I am curious as to why we let ourselves be the cause of all the chaos that is happening right now? I am curious as to why there isn’t a divine intervention happening at this very moment? We could all use a sequel of the great flood. Or maybe I am just blurting out anger-fueled and from the archives
muddled up word vomit. That all came out quite nihilistic. No, it’s not the self-neglect that’s speaking but yes, I am one of the possibly few in the younger generation choosing not to have children, because why, in good grace and economic recession, should I want children all the while the world is defecating humans? That was but a rhetorical question. * Has any of you tumbled to that moment when you are sure you know that word, phrase, or terminology yet you simply cannot say it? Or that idea, concept, or ideology, yet somehow cannot verbalize it? I hate it when that happens. The moral epiphany that comes with finally saying what has been stuck at the tip of your tongue is invigorating. It’s like that first sip of water after being exposed for so long under the heat of the sun. It’s that first time finally sitting down after hours of walking or just standing up. I know, I am talking nonsense. I should have left all this in my drafts; but you know what? Not all things should be left unsaid. The world would not know of gravity had Newton shut his mouth after his eureka moment. History books would all be the same had the victims kept themselves locked in fear. I would be puking my brains out had I shushed about that spoiled spoiled pancit my grandmother bought. But even with trying to speak up, it comes with dangers because, as we know it already, everything is politics, and not everything has its silver lining. I cannot, for the life of me, remember the time when people could freely air out their sentiments without being bombarded by ad hominem and baseless accusations,
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or worse, being threatened with death. I am not even sure if there was such a time where the general public would choose to educate the brainwashed—if it indeed existed, then I am also one of the many brainwashed. Maybe. Possibly. The same narrative goes with that maddening unsaid thought of which timeline does that dichotomous era reflect the most with; I mean, the killings, the silencing of the dissenters, the reign of oligarchs. Was it four years ago, during the 2016 presidential elections? Was it even before that? Was it during Martial Law? Was it during every possible timeframe pre-pandemic? Why do I specifically remember red and yellow—wait, no… was it pink? I guess I am not sure. Honestly, things are getting blurry, but one thing
photo by: peng sheng wong
is still a bit vivid: I know a lot of people who voted for a certain person who they thought was the agent of change. This person promised to get rid of drugs in just a short period of time unity. And something along the lines of lowering the price of rice? I’m having trouble remembering everything. But he was voted in by millions. He was worshipped. I can also still recall a bit of numbers. I am not sure why. I just know that currently thousands were already murdered and we now have billions of debts. Did I travel back to 1972 or maybe just in 2022? Maybe I do know; it is just on the tip of my tongue. I just have to bite it because if not, they will make me. So, word to the wise before it’s too late—run.
D E R on
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forever winter karen’s version
When your song is no longer a music Sitting by the park’s bench, birds humming. Bought coffee for two, he’s approaching. Catching up like lovers who missed a year, What a nice day to lend an ear. “Why fall in love, just so you can watch it go away?” Truths if go unnoticed, lifetime of dismay. He told me about his song, That it’s pretty heavy and I can’t get along. His love’s gone and seems to give up the residue. His guitars lost their strings And his thoughts are overdue. It’s 2 hours before dawn, Maybe he’s playing with the storm, Thought he was getting an inspiration for his song— Something that I can’t get along. Felt neglected but the sheeps passing by my head Became a hundred and thirty-two. May it be true, he deals with the song that’s pretty heavy too. Called him to say the opposite of “boo!” The hours passed by, A good morning and a coffee for two. Waiting by the bench, welcoming me a smile seemed so true.
photo by: susa
anne jutzeler
I will never ever be able to handle my own song, If this man no longer put his earphones on. “There’s a bunch of unsolved puzzles in my head,” he said, Didn’t take it lightly, my cheeks turning red. Shivers in fear and loneliness too. That summer will no longer be available for us two. Never dreamt of forever winter, His song must get better. Dawn starts to see me. Called—checking up on him, badly wasted. Want to defuse the bomb inside your head Your song never ever would want it. All your life, you feel like a wrench because you’re a man. You hated your song and want no witness You’re scared it might come out as weakness. I understand that it gets heavy— That some days it’s pure nonsense melody. But I’d like to acknowledge the bravery. Hang on, songs don’t have to sound so perfectly. Birds humming, coffee for two. This may be hard to believe these days, But I won’t go away from you. See you in all summers!
Babe ray mark’s version
Polysyndeton
photo by: pexels user cottonbro
it’s always about my look and how I behave and how much skin I’m showing and my earrings and the tone of my voice and the way I chew the chicken— and my incessant insistent of red over white wine and the way I smiled ever so nicely to the busboy and how I tried to reach for your hand and everything else minor
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but it was never about my wasted efforts nor was it about looking pretty nor my validation to your mad evenings, all the while lulling myself after crying; nor was putting the perfect hoops for our scheduled date night nor was the fact that you have been craving cordon bleu so I ordered one for you nor was it about the hidden gospel that you chose to hyperfixate on the waiter’s nice gesture instead of confessing to me that you kissed another so you took me out on a nice date out of guilt
and if I pour this glass of cabernet sauvignon and red velvet parfait and order some more in the name of overbilling I’ll still be the person who you thought was no fun I’m sorry what a shame but we ain’t getting through this one
better man anna marie’s version
Bare Min.
It all started with a simple yes, Believing that I was blessed— To have you here in the midst of distress, Because I finally found my rest. I gave you the authority, To save me from this dark reality, Because you told me that you’re my fantasy, In this world full of ambiguity.
Then on a Friday night, you left me at the bar, Because someone offered me a ride in his car, You thought that I started this war, So you stopped me from meeting all my friends from afar. That’s the first time that I thank God more for Friday, Because I start seeing the real you today, And I’m scared that I might not be okay, Though the only thing I have is you, I still tried to run away.
I accepted all those little things you did to me, Like it was the only blessing that I’ll get for free, At this point, loving you was tough, But still, I believe you’re more than enough.
My reality doesn’t have any meaning, But I blame you for manipulating Something we had like it was amazing, And this love is the only thing that could save me from dying.
You never let me go, Because you’re afraid to see me with someone I know, So you decided not to take things slow, And I can’t believe that you stoop that low.
But you knew that you didn’t save me from anything, And I blame myself for thinking That you’re better for me, Where in fact I’m best off without you, baby.
But you said that’s how you show your love, And I am the only one you could ever have, I think I’ve mistaken sorcery for magic, Because I still believe that reality is sick.
Yes, I loved you and I wish you’d be better Because bare minimum is all you can offer So, try to understand if you can Because, honestly, I deserve a better man.
page 27 photo grabbed from sex education (tv series)
ray mark samson espiritu editor-in-chief / aila nicole sario associate editor / clarissa mae berja news editor / earvin jon arsua features editor / reggie boy vargas opinion editor / emmanuel john gacayan sports editor / vladimer laguisma graphics editor / simon gerard granil web designer and editor / danielle lewis dionisio multimedia editor / fatrizha alejah boongaling illustrator / eugene seguiban cartoonist / johnoel atienza, desiree catipulo, anna marie donato, i-man klay garcia, karen ann gatbunton, camille lacanilao, patricia rose lacorte, john ian marquez, jez anne radam staff writers / mr. guiller tiosing marila coordinator
The Forefront informing and empowering
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notes 6. editors’ . 4 d r o 10. i w 3. fore l (eic’s version) l e v w ar in’s All too ut me (e o b a k in h t night b e t yo u ery first ew v e h t . 2 n 1 version) sion) 14. nothing a r e v in ’s e g ie a g (reg . mess run rsion) 18 (ail a’s ve nne’s version) 20. r za eve bot tle (je version) 24. for e b ’s k b r . a 6 n) 2 a (r ay m ’s versio n r e e r t a t e (k b 7. winter rsion) 2 e v ’s k r (r ay ma version) a’s man (ann