Inward - Scintilla [Literary Folio] 2020 - The Hawk by The Hawk - CPU-SHS Publication

COVER PAGE BY Trisha Czarina Tordesillas

CONCEPT AND LAYOUT DESIGN BY Hannah Diane Urbanozo Kjetil Josth Acielo

LAYOUT ARTIST Tito Zafra III Hannah Diane Urbanozo

Scintilla | Literary Folio Publication Volume No. 2, Issue No. 1 Academic Year 2019-2021 Second and Third Editorial Board

Scintilla is the official literary folio of The Hawk. Works that may appear in this folio contains themes and topics that some may find disturbing. Readerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s discretion is advised. This folio is a work of fiction. Any references to persons or events, living or dead, is purely unintentional or coincidental. The opinions and views made by the creators are solely theirs and theirs alone and does not represent the views and opinions of the editorial board or the SHS community thereof. All rights reserved. Copyright reverts to the respective authors, photographers, and artists whose works appear in this issue. No portion of this folio may be reproduced or disseminated without the proper consent from The Hawk or the individual creators involved in this production.

ABOUT THE COVER The flower Clematis has some intriguing symbolism associated with it. This flower scales up trellises and walls, sometimes in incomprehensible ways. It symbolizes ingenuity, cunning, and often mental beauty. It blooms against a monochrome background, alluding to the black and white dichotomy of our thoughts. Perhaps it may symbolize that our minds, thoughts, and feelings, are intertwined between the two perspectives, that it may also epitomize our struggle of pursuing balance and clarity, and as we bloom, we find ourselves more disenchanted by the conundrum of this reality.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

SHORT SHORT STORIES STORIES THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN

2120

25 30 34 38 42

Maosky

Catherine Cosio

WORTH A LIFE

Atasha Gabrielle Vito

A STRANGER’S SALVATION

poems POEMS 7 9 11 13 14 15 16

GREAT STORIES

Nefalin Demafiles

A WRITER’S CRY

Angela Joyce Villasor

SUMUKO KA

Nefalin Demafiles

FREEDOM’S EXISTENCE Crizelle Andriah Ricardo

TANKAS AND HAIKUS Franchez Kyla Sonza

THE FUTURE’S PHANTOM

Crizelle Andriah Ricardo

THE WORLD IS BUT A CARNIVAL Nefalin Demafiles

PUPPETRY

Nefalin Demafiles

Thatiana Louise Ejemplar

YOU LIED!

Sheeren Anne Fernandez

THAT ONE SUMMER LAST 1952 Michelle Anne Juanitas

REVIEWS REViews NORWEGIAN WOOD

THE SUBTLE ART OF NOT GIVING A F*CK

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

THE DRAGON PRINCE

THE PLATFORM

Fiction, Haruki Murakami Review by Kjetil Josth Acielo

Non-Fiction, Mark Manson Review by Kjetil Josth Acielo Feature Film Review by Yiana Fea Macole Bales

esSAYS essays 50

FOR ME OR BE ME

THE MENTAL HEALTH CONVERSATION WE MUST NEVER HAVE

56 58 60 62 64 66

Antonette Jhudiel Tan

Kjetil Josth Acielo

RETHINKING SILENCE Joseph Nicole HiÃ±osa

HATE, LOVE, ALL THE ABOVE Kaizer Ver Alberto

THE IMPOSTOR AMONG US Lora Fym

UNRAVELLING TIED KNOTS Joanna Grace Beringuel

ANTIPAS: ANG PAGBUBUNYAG Ma. Krizzia Angela Paguntalan

IF THERE IS SOMETHING I MISS Kyronne Immanuel Arroyo

Netflix Animation Series Review by Leandro Saldajeno Netflix Feature Film Review by Hannah Diane Urbanozo

EDITOR’S NOTE “In each of us there is another, whom we don’t know.” – Carl Jung There are three faces according to the Japanese: The one you project to the world. Another you unravel only to your family and friends, the people you allow to dive deep into your soul, and, Third, the face that you, and only you know. This is said to be the truest reflection of a person with all their flaws and scars. These three faces often coexist in the same person and they carry with us the breadth of our experiences and worldview as individuals. They are a manifestation of the world we grew up in, the ideas we conjure, the feelings we feel, the memories, and the identity that make us who we are today. They are what we conceive them to be and what has been made in us. There is, however, a fourth face that goes by many names: Unconscious. Id. Alter Ego. split personality. Doppelgänger. This can potentially place us in a Dr. Jeykll and Mr. Hyde situation, an unpredictable cycle of normalcy and insanity when unleashed. We forever roam the dark forests of our consciousness, wary that manifests hidden secrets and knowledge of ourselves that we do not know and what it reveals may shake us to the core of our existence. We often forget that our fourth face is like the skeletons we hide in the closet, relegated to the void as we are poised to evade the fatalism it carries. But in this pandemic, we are forced to confront it again. At first encounter, it’s terrifying but as we delve in closer, we realize that it is a part of us that we need to accept. It is our fears, our insecurities, the flaws we are afraid to show, the fiery rage, the angst, melancholy, the vulnerabilities we are stubborn to display. All human beings are born with darkness and light and perhaps it is time that we accept the fact that we manifest both and as we resolve to look inward. Perhaps, we may know better of ourselves and accept what we are, and come out stronger to face the world again. For there is more wisdom in our bodies that our deepest and profound philosophies, let us reflect and look inward to seek meaning that in the end, we must make ourselves. Life is all about acceptance. “But there was no need to be ashamed of tears, for tears bore witness that a man had the greatest of courage, the courage to suffer.” ― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

KJETIL JOSTH ACIELO

GREAT STORIES Words by Nefalin Demafiles Artwork by Hannah Diane Urbanozo

At times, you’ll see the darkened sky up high Or hear some voices screaming to your ear With chains of sorrow tangling thee with fear You tend to give up, loosen loud a sigh Yet lend your ears: when timves like this is nigh Thou shalt be thinking sun shall soon appear To light thy gloomy path and bring thee cheer And set thee free; the chains of pain untie. You know, in life, perfection’s not a word, There’s none without a problem, bruise at least; And if in books, the conflicts ne’er occurred, How boring, dull, for this must give the twist If life’s a novel, trouble’s not absurd, Because sans these, great stories won’t exist.

A WRITER’S CRY Words by Angela Joyce Villasor Photograph by Love Golero

A thousand words can’t explain my feelings. A hundred stories can’t express my thoughts. I write when I’m glad, And especially when I’m sad. I write down my heartbreaks, My unsaid feelings. But no one seems to care. They laugh and say it’s fine. Not all writer pieces are fiction. Some already happened. Why does it feel unfair? I am a writer. And this is my last cry, Before I finally say goodbye.

SUMUKO KA Words by Nefalin Demafiles Artwork by Krystal Diane Tejada Minsan akong naging kriminal Pumatay ng tao—siya’y aking sinakal— Isang sekretong itinago ko nang matagal Kaya dahil dito, minsan kong naging tahanan Isang malungkot at nakakatakot na kulungan Piitan na puno ng kapighatian Piitan na hindi ko na nais pang balikan.

Ang rehas ay mabuksan Upang makamit ang inaasam na kalayaan. Kaniyang tinuyo, pinahiran Ang aking mga luha Mabigat kong kasalanan, hindi inalintana Lahat ng ito ay buong-puso niyang ginawa ‘Pagkat siya ay walang iba Kung ’di ang Amang lumikha

Minsan akong naging kriminal, Ngunit ang taong pinatay ko Ay ang humabi rin mismo Sa tulang ito— Ang sarili ko

Kaya kung nakapiit ka pa rin Sa kulungang iyon Hanggang sa kasalukuyan, Buksan ang iyong isip ngayon, At ito ang iyong pakatandaan:

Pinatay ko sa lumbay at pagiging negatibo Sa bigat ng loob, galit, at inggit sa aking kapwa tao Sa “sana all” ganiyan “sana all” ganito Sinakal ko sa pamantayan nitong mundo Pinatay sa lumbay at pagiging negatibo Kaya dahil dito, aking naging tahanan Isang malungkot at nakakatakot na kulungan Kulungan na katumbas ay aking isipan Kulungan na katumbas ay negatibong isipan

“Sa lahat ng mga pasakit sa buhay mo, Sumuko ka Sa tuwing pupulupot ang tali ng problema, Isipin mong wala nang pag-asa Magpakalunod ka na lang Sa dagat ng kalungkutan Magpatalo sa sakit at itigil na ang laban Sumuko ka” Ito ang mga linyang pumapasok Sa iyong isipan Sa panahong ikaw ay may pinagdaraanan, Ito ang mga linyang inuudyok sa’yo At binubulong ng kalaban Inuudyok sa’yo; pinipilit kang Iyong pakinggan, Subalit kaibigan, Hindi ito ang nais ihatid sa atin ng Panginoon Hindi ito ang nais niyang isipin natin Sa bawat pagkakataon

Naging bilanggo ako roon sa kung saan Luha ang almusal, tanghalian, hapunan At rehas ay problema na hindi ko Matakastakasan Ngunit mabuti na lang At mayroon akong abogado, Nangakong sa piitan ng pagdurusa Ay ilalabas ako Ang natatanging susi upang

Sa tuwing sinusubok ng problema, Nais niya tayong umahon, Manalig ng husto, Patuloy pa ring bumangon

Ang kaniyang pangako ‘Pagkat sa krus ay hindi siya pinako Para ikaw na niligtas niya Ay agad na lang susuko. Sumuko ka—linyang inuudyok ng kalaban Ngunit magpakatatag ka, Huwag mo itong pakikinggan.

Sa katunayan, ito’y nakasaad Sa banal na kasulatan Psalms 46:1—dito ito matatagpuan At ito ang nilalaman: Ang Diyos ay kanlungan at ating kalakasan, Sa panahon ng kapighati-an, Agad na masusumpungan. Hindi ka niya bibigyan ng pagsubok Na hindi mo makakayanan Hindi totoo na wala kang patutunguhan Lahat ng iyong nararanasan Ay hindi para saktan ka Bagkus isa lamang paalala Na hindi itong mundo Ang magbibigay ng tunay na saya Hindi rin kayamanan, pera, O matataas na marka

Minsan akong naging kriminal— Isang sekretong tinago ko nang matagal Kaya dahil dito, Minsan akong nagging bilanggo Sa piitan ng pangangamba At minsang naging bihag Sa kadena ng problema Subalit nang aking natanggap ang balita, Na Diyos ay buhay at pakikinggan ka, Doon lamang ako nakaramdam Ng tunay na saya Kaya kung hanggang ngayon Ay isa ka paring bilanggo Sa kadena ng pagdurusa na gumagapos sa’yo, Itanong mo ito sa iyong sarili: Sino ba ang pakikinggan mo? Siya ba na panghabambuhay mananatili? O ang kalabang kabaliktaran nito? Kanino ka ba tutugon? Doon ba sa kaniya Na sa hukay ng lumbay ika’y ibabaon? O sa ating Panginoon na problema’y Bibigyang solusyon?

Lahat ng mga ito ay paalalang Hindi kailanman maibibigay nitong mundo O ng mga bagay nito Ang kaginhawaang totoo Pagkat matatagpuan lamang ito Sa lugar na ipinangako niya sa’kin at sa’yo, Doon sa lugar na tinatawag niyang - paraiso. Sumuko ka—linyang inuudyok ng kalaban Ngunit sa utos ng Ama, ito ay kabaliktaran Pagkat ang nais niya ay manalig ka Ng buong puso, Maging positibo, at panghawakan

Kaibigan, mamili ka na ngayon Pagsuko sa buhay? O pagbangon? Nasa iyong kamay ang magiging desisyon

FREEDOM’S EXISTENCE Words by Crizelle Andriah Ricardo Artwork by Krystal Diane Tejada Given the microphone I’d grab the chance, To ask everyone for an idea to be enhanced, Is it an answer sleeping on its trance? Or are we too blind to even give a glance Freedom is something that is loud and clear, But maybe sometimes it is tamed by fear, Cradled by the idea of doing the things you love, Prolly the answer was quiet unpredictable thereof. Can freedom be felt by listening to your own playlist? Or being able to buy the things you wrote on your list? Maybe by reading a book out loud, In a world where only you can be found. Going to places also sounds nice, Where you can just slack off and drink something iced, Freedom anchors to something without restrictions, But the thought of being free draws hesitations. Rest assured you give meaning to what you believe, The art of freedom is yours to conceive, But for a writer who craves for wisdom delights, Freedom is when you write life’s best highlights.

COLLECTION OF TANKAS AND HAIKUS Words by Franchez Kyla Sonza Artwork by Krystal Diane Tejada

VOLUME OF SILENCE Remind me of raw laughter In mouth of thae innocents And crisp leaves brought by autumn If the streets turns mute And loud of silence

BONA FIDE Moonlight beam; shine still Til the golden roots of life Never cease living

SONS OF HISTORY Thump thump! The cries of the flood From soldiers who raised our flag Beseech of independence For the bearer Youth child of the war

REAPERâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S PEACE To the seabed, I soon be With the waves abase Lullabies the after calm 14

THE FUTUREâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S PHANTOM Words by Crizelle Andriah Ricardo Artwork by Krystal Diane Tejada

Menace brought by 3 am thoughts, Like a bee buzzing the mind exhausts, Wandering off to a discovery cove, A child within managed to throve. Magic shows tuning in, Prickly heat and tanned skin, The lack of grasp creates boundary, To an obviously merciless reality. If genies exist and are truer than true, A single pure wish perhaps will do, Ought once again to bear a juvenile soul, Realizing a diamond is heavier than a coal. Playmates rushing to thump every door, The day draws breath where laughters roar, And when Christmas exceeds every expectation, What a gift to reminisce that kind of situation. I shall close my eyes before it gets blurry, Avoiding the heart to once again feel heavy, Although nostalgia canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be ignored and punished, Let your childhood memories sink deep and be noticed.

THE WORLD IS BUT A CARNIVAL Words by Nefalin Demafiles Artwork by Ryan Dioven Aguilar

Impede thyself from going deeper Into the pit hole of yearning, this world could offer For yonder, the light that you would find Could caress thine eyes and make thee blind Obstruct thyself from thirst and hunger For gold, bronze, diamonds, and silver Hinder the cognitive whispers and abate, Avert thy gaze and contemplate Yet hearken me: Sparkling gems are not dire, Abundance itself isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t too, But being devoured and enslaved by it is While being dragged into its ghastly abyss

The world is but a carnival; A fugitive fair, a party, a festival Today, it is here to amuse and bring delight Tomorrow, all it would leave is an empty sight. The world is but a carnival, Where rides and lights could tempt and lure Yet fleeting and swift and temporal, And the bliss it offers may not be pure. Impede thyself from going deeper Into the pit hole of yearning, this world could offer For yonder, the light that you would find Could caress thine eyes and make thee blind Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t walk alone lest problems would be rife, Instead, fix your heart to the Bread of Life.

PUPPETRY Words by Nefalin Demafiles Artwork by Ryan Dioven Aguilar Remained unmoved, I stood before the gathering Until the puppet master came and held the strings Connected to my hands, my limbs—my everything! Bliss and astonishment—to them, I bring. I stood alone before the people witnessing In their eyes, I could walk and dance and sing, Yet truth be told, it wasn’t me at all, The puppet master—he was in control. He stroked my arms to amuse and please the crowd To hear their cheers and praises blasting loud Who am I? The answer, I couldn’t get For I knew, I am no more than just a marionette. These thoughts, in my mind, were lingering, Yet discernment came about to cut the strings, Connecting me to the puppeteer Who has been controlling My perception of myself, my thoughts My everything Enlightenment crawled through my mind, Realization, I was able to find Dimming the spotlight made me realize That life is not mere puppetry, No strings of opinions or standards of society Should ever manipulate and dictate our identity No praise or cheers to limit our ability No puppeteer to ever steal our liberty Life, my friend, is not mere puppetry, So if your heart whispers its desire to be free, Break the strings and do not fret For you are more than just a marionette

The man behind the curtain Words by Maosky Artwork by Hannah Diane Urbanozo

SNAP! LIGHT FLASHED AGAINST THE TREE, bouncing off the water droplets that sat on the leaves from the rain. Just below it, a woman stood in front of a group of kids posing for another photo, waving a silver camera in the air. Tears were dropping, making it seem like the rain from the night before foreshadowed the event at present. The young boy – a man to be – diverted his eyes from the camera and looked at the people, whom he had grown up with, for the last time. ‘I will really miss this.’ SNAP! “Bye, mom!” John said as he dashed out the front door. He walked alone, surrounded by people in groups, laughing and hugging, even crying. It made him remember his old school, his old friends, his family, everything in general. They all headed towards the same direction, wearing the same school uniform, carrying the same things. In this place, everyone is the same, everyone is equal. So he thought. Climbing up the stairs to the main entrance of the hall, he felt eyes burning through his skin. If looks could kill, he would have been burnt into a crisp by then. He pondered about the treatment he is receiving -- could it be his hair? His walk? Is something placed behind his back? He sped his way towards the main hall bustling with rowdy teenage boys, hoping to blend in with the crowd. Clutching the paper near his chest, and mentally chanting his room number, John bumped into a trio of mixed genders who eyed him up and down. He forced a smile, and was about to turn the other way when… “Hey, pretty boy! Your classroom is this way.” He shuddered at the name choice, but still built up the courage to face them. He managed to release a “thank you” despite of all the tension building up his throat. “Hey, Liam. You’re scaring him.” 21

a small voice broke through, making John whip his head towards the group. A petite woman with ebony hair stood, facing the taller man in a red bomber jacket – a typical jock look. “Don’t mind him, hun. He may seem tough, but… he has a whole gallery dedicated to cute dogs.” she added, slightly whispering the last bit. John looked down, trying to hide the amusement creeping up his face. “What’s wrong with that? They’re cute magnificent creatures.” the taller man said, crossing his arms and looking away to hide his embarrassment. “Oh! I’m Joanne, and this is Casey. This big dude over here is Liam.” John smiled and replied, “John”. Joanne wrapped her arms around his shoulders “Not much of a talker, huh. We’ll change that.” Wandering around the campus, John scanned through the people passing by – girls and boys—somehow trying to learn the type of behavior he should carry. Months have passed, yet he still receives weird stares from the others whenever he passes by. Joanne seems to notice the treatment her friend was receiving and always tries to divert his attention from them by cracking jokes. Should he try to change his walk? Maybe if he buys one of those bomber jackets, he would actually look cool. Should he try to style his hair differently? Maybe joining a sport will change how they perceive of him. He pondered and pondered, blinded by the obstacle in front of him. His body crashed into a hard substance, making him drop down the floor. A hand extended in front of him, which he hesitantly took, and pulled him up. He was surrounded by a group of men, who scanned him up and down, before giving him a smile. “You okay, bro?” one of them said, placing his hand on his shoulder. He nodded and backed away. He thanked them and tried to leave, but an arm snaked its way across his shoulders, jolting the inferior man. “Bro, come to the party tonight.” the taller man said, raising his hand to give the other a high five. John moved away as soon as the arm was lifted from his shoulder. Without looking back, he tried to straighten up his walk, attempting to imitate, but failed miserably, earning a chuckle from the boys. 22

Flaunting his way through the crowd of hot bodies, John mustered up the courage to face the group of rowdy boys sitting on the table filled with empty bottles at the other side of the room. Music blared from the speakers – each beat causing his body to vibrate – numbing his ears. The room was red. One of the boys spotted him from the dimness, and raised his arm to urge him to come to them. “Hey! I love the Barbie look you’re going for, but Halloween is next year.” He flinched at the statement and looked down at his outfit – a denim jacket, skinny jeans and a pink button-up – one he had taken hours to put together. A man, in ripped jeans – one that you can see his entire leg from how big the cuts were – and a baggy shirt, dragged his foot towards him, almost losing his balance. The smell of alcohol and smoke entered John’s nose, making him gag. He pushed him down the chair, shoving a bottle in his face. “Drink up. We’ll deal with that later.” He looked at them, their eyes full of anticipation, and chugged it down in one gulp, earning a cheer from the audience. This will be the best night of his life – a night that will change him. “John, we need to talk.” a voice boomed before he could shut the door. Bracing himself for what is about to happen, he turned around and faced the woman in the middle of the dimly lit dining room. “Are you okay, son? What has gotten into you? You have been going home late for the past few weeks reeking with alcohol.” she asked, slowly walking towards him. He ignored her, kicking his shoes off his feet, leaving it scattered in front of the door. She placed her hand on his shoulder, which triggered the younger man. War broke out in the middle of the night. Questions, which are yet to be answered, remained unanswered. Voices overlapped each other, not giving in to what the other has to say. Pans clanged and skins banged on wooden furniture – noises echoed throughout the house. “Maybe if you didn’t fail as a mother, I wouldn’t turn out like this.” Silence. All that was heard was the door slamming against the frame, rattling the walls of the house. 23

Three soft knocks echoed across the hall. The door opened, and tears started to pour down the boy’s face. He was ushered inside, and was told to sit down while she makes him coffee. A monologue played for hours non-stop. Different emotions – sadness, anger, joy, guilt – played throughout the play, as the events are being laid out. Dragging his feet up the remaining flight of stairs, arms filled with shopping bags, John could not stop the excitement building up inside him. He threw the bags on the floor and started sorting out the pile of clothes on the bed. Opening the closet door, he yanked out all the articles of clothing, and placed them in boxes. Despite the emotions he is feeling inside, he cannot bring himself to throw them away. “Hey! Let’s hang out after class.” Joanne shouted from across the hall. She was about to approach him when a group of boys surrounded her friend and dragged him away from her. He moved away from them and turned to face her, a light of hope growing inside her. “Sorry. Hangin’ tonight with the boys.” he said with no emotion in his voice, and left. Joanne remained silent the entire time, sometimes giving him reassurance to continue whenever he tried to hold back his tears. His voice broke when the monologue ended. The room was filled with silence. Another dialogue joined in – a dialogue that could open his eyes, and return to whom he was before. “A real man should not be labelled based off of a book. A man can be a real man without the need to be dictated by others.” Hearing those words, John sighed and looked at the small glimmer of light piercing through the curtains. Droplets started to tap on the window – the weather slowly trying to match up the mood in room. He stood up and walked towards it – his friend’s eyes following his every move. The curtains opened, exposing himself to the outside world, his reflection staring back at him. He turned to face his friend, who also looked back at him with anticipation in her eyes. For the first time in a long time, he smiled.

2120

Words by Catherine Cosio Artwork by Ryan Dioven Aguilar I hear courage and certainty echoing in my strides into the concrete parking lot as we headed towards the PNP Station protection unit where our key witness regarding my recent cover is situated. I shuddered with the harsh caress of the night’s breeze. With heart and mind pounding, I braced myself — this will eradicate the troubles hounding the Philippines, my country. The entrance is in sight. I doubled my pace as cars and motorcycles roared along. Chills ran over me as triggers clicked. The police forces in the station are on alert yet we’re still outnumbered. I dialed the number of my best friend. He’ll know what to do. “por un mundo mejor...” *bang* Gunfire. I wheezed like it’s the last breath I’ll heave in my lifetime; beads of sweat envelope my skin, yet it doesn’t feel hot - actually the opposite.

*** Round-faced shape set with short ombre hair... Vague features were caught upon having a glimpse in the mirror that I - no, that she has passed through. But I never dreamed before; guess this first time is something. I proceeded to my daily routine whilst shrugging off the nauseous event that morning. With a pair of black cargo pants, a white fitted v-neckline shirt, and boots, off I go. Hopping on to the Automated Aero Shuffle Bus (A-Sub), sliding my wrist on the scanner, “Lasseia, AI Student Society, Destination: Central AI Building (CAIB).” an automated system’s voice announced then the glass lifted. Excruciating stares are thrown in my direction, society’s way of greeting. “Zhīshì fēnzǐ, dànshì gū’ér. Kělián” whispered the brunette-haired lady in her mid-50s to her companion; my chip caught that and immediately translated the utterance into my ear. Oh yes, it’s a biggy that I don’t have a surname, cliche “Intellectual, but an orphan”. No one claimed me you see. So, I stopped in front of her. “A Chinese” I condescended, then squinted closer at her face like a microbe that I’d classify. “You guys eat bats for supper and it’s a shame they were extinct or so I thought.” leaving her dumbfounded, I choose the last row seat and clicked my watch, tuning in the melody to my ears.

*** 25

“Is that what they’ve been feeding you? How to disrespect your parents?!” father yelled, blood visibly gushing up his head. “Pa, I am not disrespecting you and Mami, I am just clarifying my side, it is unjust for you to conclude my shortcomings without knowing -” he cut me oﬀ through a thunderous slap that landed on our dinner table. “Shut your mouth up. You don’t have the right to talk back. You are just a child that we raised!”

*** Grecian nose and heart-shaped lips speaking up for herself... I gasped. The ringing of the man’s voice got me out of my slumber. That was intense and unacceptable, and it aches. Aches? I hastily wiped a tear attempting to roll down my cheeks. The huge gates of CAIB are within my sight. These preposterous dreams will pass. But the voice - it’s the same as the voice in my dream earlier. Uh, scratch that. Nanotechnology’s the field to study for today. As I walk through the corridors heading towards the Laboratory, I wonder what will be today’s agenda. All of the AISS Members are arranged according to their genetic codes. I take my place behind an owl-eyed girl, and ahead of the squinting boy. I didn’t bother to know their names. Members entered one by one as queued by the cyclin through the embedded olfactory chip, and as they pile in the observatory windows after their turns, I could see others emitting this ecstatic aura, while others are woeful. “Lasseia.” Our cyclin’s voice resonated as I entered. Her stern expression, fixed stance, and lifeless orbs warmly welcomed me. “Today’s agenda is about ‘triggering memories’, proceed to the NanoMachine and breathe.” I lie down, and though used to this tingling sensation in my ears, it still tickles so I involuntarily moved sideways then straightened again. Until everything went lightless that I’ve been aware that the nanobots had started their job.

*** Our presentation has gone smoothly and Sir Dom commended the concept of our project proposal, and without a doubt, accepted it! I am jubilantly springing on my way to the comfort room, “I don’t know, it felt like she’s too much.” a voice I know so well uttered that brought me to an abrupt halt, and I listened. “Yes! Did you see how victorious her smiles were? I just wanna smack that smile out of her face!” fueled the commoner. “I mean, the way she speaks- very assertive, how she acts, and probably all about her. It’s irritating.” my best friend fulminated. “Really, Ashy?”

*** Deep-set of almond brown eyes soaked with tears... I gulped my tears back; those are not my memories. But why does it feel like I am betrayed? Our cyclin noticed and, “here” she said while handing me a tissue paper. I was about to ask if it is possible to trigger other’s memories instead of mine in my brain but the idea already sounds absurd to be said.

“What is it about human’s memories that makes you unique compared to other intellectual species?” she asked. “Memories can take us back to the point of our lives where we felt the grief the happiness, the disappointment, the fulfillment, the love, and the hate. Humans are made of their flaws and greatness. Being able to recount events that made us who we are today is one of the features only a human created by the Greatest Being possess.” I answered as I heard applause coming from the observatory. After a nerve-racking encounter with the NanoMac, I sauntered the common hall for lunch. All tables are occupied with friends/competitors/foes except for my usual spot; still doesn’t make sense why humans have to be more artificial-like than robots. Glad, I need no company. I can sit alone with myself pretty comfy. While I’m pondering about the dreams and that memory, there came a burst of laughter between a circle. I then closed my eyes and saw vague images exchanging what seems to be a fun-filled conversation. Then their eyes diverted on me, smiled genuinely, even called me but their voices died down and I opened my orbs. I felt a pang of jealousy. If this is an imbalance caused by the nanobots in my neurons, it’s acceptable. You’re lucky…whoever you are. After all of my afternoon classes, I instantly directed to my cell unit and let my head rest on the couch. Tiresome life. *** I am wearing a mask and holding a recorder, with an I.D. labeled “communications”. Why in the name of AI am I here?! Youths gathering, protesting, wanting to be heard swarm my sight. Their banners were raised, megaphones on, and disconcerting evidence was enumerated. This seems to be a not-socivilized version of the Philippines; maybe the infamous year 2019-2020. 8.6 TRILLION DEBT! INCREASING COVID CASES! ACADEMIC FREEZE! STOP EXTRA JUDICIAL KILLINGS! OUST THE CORRUPTS! The ID! Above the COMMUNICATIONS were small imprinted letters - Alessi... *** I woke to the sound of the television, as I lifted my fingers to examine that ID. WORLD NEWS REPORT: “The Philippines ranked #1 in Asian Countries for rapid Economic growth, and ranked #10 in the World!” delivered the news anchor. “And wow! Also, to commemorate their victories, today is the 100TH ANNIVERSARY OF COVIDFREE PHILIPPINES!!!” Eyes brimming with tears, I feel my heart overflowing with life and happiness. Never been this overwhelmed before. A century ago, this is the success they’ve been yearning to have. And now, we

have it. What a day it is Lassy. Well, a fun, thrilling, and bizarre one. I turned all the lamps off in a click then emerged myself into my bunk. *** “Secova, ABORT, let us file the case and go into hiding now! Your cover has triggered plethoras of drug lords and is now plotting your murder! Alessia, please.” desperation is evident in my head’s voice, I’m grateful. “I have a police force on my wing, Sir, this man has IT ALL. Sir, this is a one-time opportunity to know and unveil the truth. IF WE DON’T ACT NOW, OUR WITNESS WILL DIE. Justice must be served and publicized now Sir.” *bang *** I am trembling, I saw the girl’s face, murdered for the truth to remain clothed. A journalist who aims to expose who is supposed to be condemned. A journalist who died doing her job. I got up, turned my code on, and slid my wrist upon the pc then searched for “Alessia Secova, journalist”. There appeared a lady who has been invading my dreams, memory, and emotions. “Alessia Secova, the journalist who’s been the catalyst of determining the real culprit behind the issue of drugs in the Philippines. She was ambushed by the other 16 police officers but alerted PC/SUPT. Mabanas to save the key witness abiding the plan they agreed upon. It paved the way for a better government. A hero of her country.” “por un mundo mejor”, her pleading yet hopeful voice is vivid than ever. The better world is now fulfilled, Alessia... Beneath the article lies the pieces of information: Alessia Secova’s Date born: November 08, 1992. Date died: July 19, 2022 “But…to-today is” I quivered with the thought. The shape of the face, the arc of the nose, the lips, and the eyes... *** “If I’m an orphan, who named me?” the inquisitive little girl asked. “Your mother, she said it was derived from a person who signifies greatness for she defends men, and that wherever life may bring you, you’ll be fine.” the lady replied while combing the little girl’s hair…Alessia. Lasseia. “Today is July 19, and today is my…birthday”.

WORTH A LIFE Words by Atasha Gabrielle Vito Artwork by Ryan Dioven Aguilar Magayon is used to a teenager’s daily drama. After all, she is one too. Min-Ra and the rest of her friends are all the same - the same human bodies and the mindsets of one. She a teenager lost in time. Born in the pre-colonial Philippines as Luzon’s most beautiful princess whose beauty is too much to comprehend. Even the gods trusted her to guard Mayon as soon as she is reborn. She died in the middle of a battle alongside her lover - a young man named Panganoron. However, she becomes very uncomfortable when the topic of suicide is discussed. Nowadays, Min-Ra told them to not discuss it due to the rising cases of suicide. One thing’s clear for Magayon: the purplehaired vixen is as ignorant as the chismosas in the neighborhood. Min-Ra suffered a lot. Her first heartbreak, her beloved grandfather’s death, disappointing herself for not knowing her half-brother’s existence and missing her family who lives in the realm of fairies. Her heartbreak affected her the most as she had become too arrogant. Ever since that happened to her, she never cared for the little problems such as the normal teenage dramas. The vixen was also aware of the youth being abused. As much as she can, she persecuted child abusers. She brought peace to the little ones who suffered. She flew away after she and the vixen argued after she sparked up a conversation about suicide. It was short, but it was getting to her nerves. The vixen just implies that it’s not worth it and even that the personal lives of others are not their problem because there are a lot of people who are alive. Still, Magayon kept flying, high enough to see the people walking. She was about to go to Leon and open a portal there. However, she saw something or rather someone. It was a boy, standing above a bridge’s handle and looking below the ranging and the unforgiving currents of a river. Below the handles are his belongings: his bag and seemingly his modules, mostly unfinished. The boy sulked, remembering the hurtful words his mother had said. It was a major argument that sent him on edge. His father did nothing, quieted by the screams of an angered woman. His sisters simply ignored his issues. With no reason to tell, he ran blindly until he sees a bridge. She landed on the traffic-less road, just a few meters away from the boy. She stomped her left foot, loud enough for the boy to flinch. As he had kept his balance, Magayon knew he was hesitant to die. “Hey!” She yelled, “What are you doing?”. “Why should you care?!” The boy replied with a heartwrenching sob, “You’re a fairy! You wouldn’t understand!”.

“Oh, I understand completely.” Magayon lowered her voice to avoid any tension, “You’re giving your life up for some stupid old module.” The boy froze in shock. How did a fairy know? It was as if Magayon read his thoughts as she answered him, “Because I’m also a student too.”. She walked towards him slowly. “I died once, but never again.”. She finally reached the boy, holding his hand while massaging it with gentle touches. The boy stepped down and looked at her, wallowing in his self-pity. She pushed the boy to sit down, offering him horseradish pandesal to eat and a bottle of water. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Magayon asked. The boy only lowered his head, completely ashamed. Most Filipinos consider that it is shameless to talk about feelings. It was a mindset that every creature wants to change, especially Min-Ra. “You know, it’s better to spill it than keep it bottled up~,” She said in an Ilonggo sing-song accent. She learned it while spending most of her time in Iloilo to learn the modern stuff alongside Min-Ra and her brother. “I just can’t do it anymore.” The boy struggled with his words, “My modules are too long and there’s not much time.”. It was clear that he had not answered the ones in his bag due to the lack of explanations and time. “I’m disappointing my parents.” He sulked, “I’m not doing any better than my siblings.”.

“Even if it’s hard, it’s not worth your life.” Magayon rubbed his back in comfort, “No life cannot make up for an unfinished module, dude.”. Finally, she had an idea that should affect this boy and his parents. She would talk to the parents and address the issues herself. “Say, where do you live?” The boy just stared in disbelief as Magayon held his arm. Suddenly, his memories concerning the argument with his family flashed before her. “Mom! I’m also working hard!” The boy cried, “I also need rest too!”. “Shut it!” His mother yelled, “Those are just excuses!”. His eyes darted to his sisters. The girls did nothing, but scoff and giggle. At that moment, he knew he was screwed with no one helping him. Had the gods hated him too much? “You’re just lazy!” The mother continued yelling, “Why can’t you be like your siblings?!”. At that moment, the chord was hit. Hurtful tears stung his eyes, now deaf to the cries of his family as he runs away. “I’ll talk to your mother big time.” Magayon decided. *** “Hello!” Magayon greeted the parents while holding the boy’s hand as she knocked on the door, “I’m Daragang Magayon, just a fairy passin’ by when I saw you boy about to kill himself.”. She smiled at the boy, who smiled at his parents’ looks of disbelief that their son had befriended a fairy. The parents, still shocked, offered the fiery orange fairy a space on the couch to sit on. The boy decided to sit across her and beside his parents. “You tried to kill yourself?!” The mother started by scolding the boy, who looked afraid, “You should be---”. Her speech was stopped when a fireball flew past her and burned a vase to ashes. “Wait, stop.” Magayon cut the woman off, knowing how that sentence would end, “It’s not his fault!”. “His modules are unfinished all because of his phone!” The mother screamed as she stood up while her husband kept quiet in shame. The husband of the woman knew what would happen if you lit Daragang Magayon’s fuse and he wants nothing of it. “STOP IT!” Magayon yelled, completely silencing the woman of her rants. She was thankful that MinRa is not here or else she would have cut the woman’s tongue - literally, but this was injustice towards a teenager in a helpless situation. “Your son tried to kill himself because he thinks he can no longer live as a disappointment in your eyes.” She snarled. The lady was completely silenced. Eyes widened when Magayon’s hair sparkled like flames. Her eyes looked like molten magma as she glared daggers and flame at the woman. Even her daughters looked afraid, wondering what had gone wrong as Magayon ranted. This was despicable, even for Min-Ra’s standards.

“I apologize for my wife, she’s just very impulsive.” The man pulled his wife down to sit and calm down. He did not want to see an incinerated wife afterward. “Would you rather value your son’s grade than his own life?” Magayon sounded disappointed, “No grade nor module can ever replace a life, especially the life of your son.”. She pointed at the mother then to the boy’s sisters, “You should help him! Support him!”. She massaged her forehead, barely controlling her temper. “But what did you do?” She glared at the mother, “You badmouthed him in front of ME!”. Her flames flared like an angered sun. “Remember this, you mambabarang-looking hag.” She spat the word with hate and disappointment, “No grade or module is worth a life, so lay off if you have nothing good to say.”. She faced the father, giving him hopeful looks that the father would help his son if the mother would not. “As for you, support him, help him.” She smiled at him, “He may be a teenager, but we have a truckload of problems to stress about.”. “Remember this, a perfectly-scored module can never replace a child.” She walked towards the doorway, flapping her wings slowly to prepare them for flight, “No problem is worth a life, especially modules and crap.”. With a salute, Daragang Magayon flew away. Her last glimpse of the boy was completely relieving as she saw him smiling with his father. The mother seemed to have been whispering her apologies to her son. *** Magayon smiled fondly as she looks through a window - the window of the same boy she had saved from the hands of suicide. The boy now had his mother and his siblings helping him with his modules. The mother carries a tray with a plate filled with biscuits and a glass of orange juice while one of the sisters carried a calculator. Beside her are her two rivals: Cesa and Min-Ra. She advanced to Min-Ra, who looked suffocated because of their previous arguments about mental health. The vixen’s cheeks are red, now she had lost the argument. Meanwhile, Cesa looks confused as she looks at the smiling boy. “Come on…” Magayon teased, poking Min-Ra’s red blushing cheeks, “Admit that I’m right about that…” “Fine!” Min-Ra exclaimed, “You’re right.”. Her orange-haired friend cheered as the vixen swallowed a bit of her pride. “We’ll look after them, okay?” She looked at her friends. “Of course.” The fairies agreed as they flew away, missing the boy’s fond look towards them.

A STRANGER’S SALVATION Words by Thatiana Louise Ejemplar Artwork by Belle Deza BEATRIX HAS IT ALL: money, beauty, intelligence, and a good heart. Despite having the things that everyone wanted, she chooses to live a simple life. She chose to become a teacher despite everyone else prodding her to pursue business like her parents. She is content with her work for she sees herself as an instrument in building the students' future. Her job as a teacher in a big institution in the city has been a stable life for her, but her destiny is set in stone. She was summoned to the division office and was asked if she wanted to volunteer in a new school in the last barangay of their district. Beatrix did not hesitate to volunteer. The next day, she found herself riding a motorcycle to barangay Tigbao. After 30 minutes of travel, the surroundings slowly morphed from what she was accustomed to in the noisy and busy streets of the city as the road became ragged and bumpy. “Are we close to the barangay?” she asked the driver so she won't fall asleep. “Probably we will arrive there in an hour ma’am”. After an hour of travel, she finally saw an arc indicating they are approaching the Barangay. “Do you know where the school is?” Beatrix asked while admiring the breathtaking panorama of this unfamiliar land. Who would have thought that behind the polluted city lies a great place? “Are you the new teacher?” the driver asked. “Yes, can you drop me by the school, I don’t know where it is,” Beatrix said, still awed by the beauty of the Barangay. “Sure ma’am” a minute after, the motorcycle stopped, the driver pointed at a small school. “This is the newly established integrated school, ma’am”. The driver helped her carry her backpack and leads her inside the premises. “There you are!” A petite woman showed up while catching her breath, sweat cascading down her face. When the petite woman noticed her presence, she was intrigued by her. “Oh! This is our new co-teacher,” The driver said breaking the silence. “You are a teacher?” The woman laughed. “Oh dear, yes he is a teacher but he also has many jobs”. ‘He probably has many sideline

jobs," Beatrix thought. “Come, I’ll introduce you to our co-teachers, Oh before I forget, I am Lea and this is Luis” and offered her hand for a handshake, “I'm Beatrix”. One night as she read her favorite book, a piece of paper fell. A proverb was written on it. “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man how to fish and you feed him for a lifetime”. She then remembered the people in the barangay who are jobless. She gets up from her bed and goes to the backyard of the house that she and her co-teachers are staying. “What if we teach them how to make living?” she tells Lea sitting next to her. She just replies with a questioning look. “Oh I am sorry, remember the other day that we are talking about the people here who do not have a livelihood” Lea nodded “So what are we going to do?” she then called the others to listen to what Beatrix is going to say. Everyone agreed to her proposal and soon, the barangay captain approved her proposal. She met with a person from TESDA and asked if they could help the barangay. When all the requirements are approved, the livelihood program seminar was underway. Almost everyone in the barangay attended the seminar. Beatrix also bought school supplies for the students and groceries for the families residing in the barangay. Barangay Tigbao is abundant in abaka, reeds, and other materials needed in handicraft making, which is sustainable. The people were glad that they acquire skills in making a livelihood, and their crafts would be sold. A trade fair is held to showcase their handicrafts. While everyone is enjoying the trade fair, a person stands in the corner looking sharply at Beatrix. Her heart is stoked with jealousy and bitterness. While Sheila and Lea are passing by the house of the barangay captain, they overheard the chairman talking about the land in Barangay Tigbao and the whereabouts of the land title.“Wha -" Sheila immediately covers Lea's mouth. “Shhh the chairman might hear us” then they hurried back to the house they are staying. “Is our land at risk again?” asks Lea. Both of them knew that many companies had tried in vain to buy the land and build whatever they want in it years before. “Is it going to repeat history?” Lea’s tears cascaded down her face. Lea lost her father because of the fight between the people of Barangay Tigbao and a big company. “Let’s pray that it will not happen again”. As days go by, rumors had spread that someone stole the land title of Barangay Tigbao and sold it to a big company. The whole place was beset with gloom. The people are unnerved by the news. Even the teachers could not focus on their work. Beatrix tried her very best to find out who bought the land, and to her horror, it is her parents.

Without notice, she hurried back home to beg her parents to spare the barangay. Luckily, they were home. "Please spare barangay Tigbao, they have nowhere to go if you grab their land" she begged while on knees hoping that her plea would be considered. "We already bought it with a reasonable amount we cannot take it back" her mother reasoned out. "But mom, the people will be homeless". "So, you are taking their side over your family?" Beatrix was shocked because of her mother's outburst. "No mom, I am helping them because the land belongs to them. The land title was stolen and sold to you." The four corners of the living room fell silent. "So, you are accusing us that we stole the land title?!" Beatrix held her face while crying, her dad was calming his wife. "You are being an unreasonable mom. I did not accuse you..." "Ha! Is that what you learn from that place?!" Beatrix could not stand it anymore, she got up from the floor and made her way out of their house. "Beatrix, go back here!" She ignored her father's call. She returned to barangay Tigbao as the sun mercilessly battered don on them to help them find solutions and the person who sold the land. She was surprised to be slapped by Lea. Great, she just received two slaps in a day. "Are you happy now? That must be the reason why you are trying to please everyone here because you have a bad intention". Beatrix doesn't know how to react to why Lea is blaming her. "Believe me I am innocent! I did not do anything that might harm the people and the barangay." All eyes are on her, probably accusing her. "Well, news flash you just did." She could not believe that they are accusing her of a crime she did not do. "Let's go, I'll send you home." Luis accompanied her to where his motorcycle is parked. She did not come home instead she stayed in her friend's house. While she's away, Luis kept her updated. The day before the demolition started, Beatrix rushed back to the barangay hoping that they will still accept her and listen to her explanation. When she arrived at the barangay, Luis supported her in explaining her side with the people still having faith in her resolve and integrity.

YOU LIED! Words by Sheeren Anne Fernandez Artwork by Krystal Diane Tejada White, all I can see is white. The ceiling is white! Everything in this room is white. I struggle as I am bound in bed. “Where am I? What am I doing here? Let me out! Somebody, help me!” I kept shouting and thrashing the bed. Tears keep pouring rapidly like waterfalls. Then suddenly, it dawned on me why I’m now in this godforsaken room in the first place. “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Everything was fun! I want to party more. Woo! Ha, ha, ha, ha!” The doctors and nurses are ready to scramble in case she does something. “Oh wait, ha, ha, ha, they lied. Mother! Father! My friends – they lied! Ha, ha, ha, ha.” I haughtily laugh flicking and counting my fingers. “YOU LIED. YOU LIED.” I eerily chanted like a little girl, like the person I was before the city. The people outside the glass case began to ease themselves when the girl was finally under control. But her chant grew louder, and louder, and louder. A blood-curdling scream pierces down the hallways and her maniacal laughter chilled down the spines of everyone near the vicinity. “I AM LEAD! THE LEADER OF ALL LIARS AND YOU LIED! HA, HA, HA!” The doctors began strapping her down and tranquilized her. An image forms in her head before she descends into unconsciousness, *** “Good Morning Lead,” the villagers greeted the smiling little girl, so innocent and alluring. “Good morning,” she replied as she skipped her way that morning. She reached the entrance of the village where the name “EMBUSTERO” was etched finely with enchanting gold letters. She gazed at the endless mountains ahead of her, staring at one particular point where she is bound to venture soon. It has been the requirement of every soon to be chieftain to study in the city. She was the daughter of the chief after all so she took on the responsibilities of her role. Time passed and Lead was ready to head out into the city. “Lead, take care of yourselves when you are in the city because we won’t be there to guide you

on your journey,” mother said smiling but also worried “and also remember to take caution of your surroundings and to remember what I told you to not drink…” “To stay away from bad people and blah, blah blah. Yes, father and mother, I will always remember to stay away from these things. After all, I want to have that happily ever after like those Disney princesses have. So, I’m going and maybe I can find my prince charming. Goodbye!” she bade farewell to her parents one last time as she headed out to the city. She is filled with excitement about her new life in the city. When she arrived, she is towered by buildings and skyscrapers in contrast to the huts she is used to in the village. *** I trembled looking at the big majestic Spanish-styled gate of her school. After a while, she stepped inside and was greeted by the large rectangular buildings of the school and the prying eyes of the students she becomes oblivious to. “Look, a new face,” a student whispered at her friend. Everyone preyed on the innocent naivete, waiting for the right time to lead her astray so she can be consumed by her own temptations.” Hello everyone! I’m Lead Todo from Embustero village and it’s nice meeting you all.” I greeted my classmates. My classmates became friendly with her but in reality, are slowly deceiving her into their ways. A girl with green locks and heavy eyeliner. “Hi Lead. My name is Maine,” she offered her hand and smiled. I was taught to be good to everyone and be respectful but I did not notice the dark aura that she radiated. I was the only one who had a halo on my head, the rest was not as pure. We became fast friends and every day she would constantly prod me to accompany her on her night outs with her friends. Maine was outgoing and had a knack for fun things, who was the opposite of me, timid, shy, innocent, pampered, and shielded by the villagers. I was strongwilled, so I declined her advances and focused on studying so I can lead better someday. *** Maine continued to pester me for weeks on end. Out of curiosity, I decided to agree to come along with Maine. I then realized things suddenly fell out of place. Her friends stopped hanging out with her and she admonished them with a sour face and the bat of an eyelash. “Maine, I don’t think this dress fits me. It’s so short” I said in front of a mirror wearing a very short dress opposite to what she usually and used to wear at all.

“What are you saying? It looks good on you.” She told me, “Now come on we are already late,” she said as she dragged me outside to go to the place called, The Promise. We were greeted with a mass of humans close to each other. I was greeted by loud, rambunctious music and dizzying lights. We continued to walk across the dance floor to the couches while men pawed their eyes on us. The other girls smirked at us for reasons I don’t know. “Lead is on the house!” Maine suddenly shouted and they all shouted too. They seated me to one of the chairs and poured powder on my drink that was rust-colored and a piercing smell. “What is this?” I asked.

“Try it it’s something really good” Maine urged me. “I don’t think so” I hesitated but I was being stared at. “Chug it down, chug it down!!!” they chanted, urging me to drink the glass and suddenly it caught others’ attention and they joined the fun of chanting the same thing. I looked at Maine asking for help through her eyes. “Come on Lead, you told me you want to have fun so drink it” Maine urged. So, without a choice, I drank the glass that made my throat burn like hell. I didn’t saw the evil smile of her friends for I was very busy drinking the alcohol that was given to me. And the night goes on like that, downing every shot glass that was given to me. The next day I woke up with a splitting headache and was very guilty and promised to myself that I won’t ever do it again. But as we all know promises are meant to be broken. The next day Maine and her friends were there again to bug me for another night out and though I declined it at first but later on agreed because Maine was guilt-tripping me. I told myself that this is the last time, but that last time was followed by one after another. I was very guilty about it but that didn’t stop me from partying and because of the influence of drugs until one day I felt a stabbing pain in my stomach but I ignored it as I had fun, then the bleeding happened twice. Moments later, I was on the bed writhing in pain, I heard a voice shouting my name. It was my parents and everything went black. *** Several years had passed and we can see a woman standing at a podium talking about her experiences in front of a very vast crowd and that woman standing at the podium is Lead. “I committed things that I shouldn’t have way back then. I was oblivious and very innocent as to what is happening and can’t seem to differentiate good from the bad. I was sent to a mental hospital because of too much consummation of drugs and the guilt of losing 3 children consecutively that I wasn’t aware of.” She said. You see, life might bring us rains of bullets but we should always remember that although we are not made of titanium, we are still bullet-proof and can withstand this rain of bullets. Life is interesting and full of challenges so we should learn how to adjust. We might not make the best decisions but I know we can make the right adjustments. Thank you. Once again, I am Lead, the leader of all liars and after all, Todo is “all” and Embustero is a “liar” in Spanish.

THAT ONE SUNDAY LAST 1952 Words by Michelle Ann Juanitas Artwork by Keryl Gwen Davila

In the peaceful summer of 1952, I remembered staring at myself in a mirror wearing a canary yellow dress. My jet-black hair is styled in smooth big curls just how I liked it to be. It was the first time that I wore the luscious perfume that I bought downtown. The sweet scent of the strawberries reminded me of the garden that I used to run through when I was a child. It was a perfect smell for the occasion. It reminded me how much I have been through for the past ten long years. The sudden incessant honk of the car outside awakened me from the deep reminiscing of my childhood memoirs. It was finally the time for me to go. I looked at my reflection for one last time and I took a deep breath as I prepared myself to face the inevitable. I put on my white elbow-length gloves and picked up the fresh bouquet of white daisies. It took all my strength to leave and head to the place where I should be. Walking with the bouquet of flowers in my hand reminded me of my mother when I was about 4-years-old. She had almost the same bunch of daisies in her hand as she walked through a red carpet with a flowy pearly white dress. There was this delicate but bright look on her face. Her hazel brown eyes shone in the sun rays that peaked among the windows of the church. She was filled with love and as her daughter, I was incredibly in awe at that moment. She finally reached the altar wherein my father who was dressed in a dashing suit was waiting. Their eyes locked at each other. Each was filled with bliss. They each said their vows and “I do’s” with the overwhelming feeling that I could see a hint of tears in their eyes. I didn’t see how their lips crashed into each other with much passion but from what I have heard in the cheers and years of our loved ones, it must have been beautiful. All I remembered at that moment was how beautiful love is because it changed our lives. We moved to a nice cottage by a hill with a garden of strawberries. My father worked as a plumber in the town a few minutes away from us. Meanwhile, my mother stayed to take care of me at home. Our life wasn’t full of gold and jewels but it was precious because we had each other. They taught me to see the good in every single thing.

My favorite time of the week was always Sunday because that is when my father is at home all day and my mother wouldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve baked the most delicious chocolate chip cookies. We would go to the garden and lay a picnic mat. We would spend the whole day sitting, eating, and talking about our experiences. My father would constantly crack some jokes and my mother would sing us some sweet tunes. It was euphoric. But who knew that those Sundays would not last forever? Time had passed and even though I had thought it was impossible, I had gotten a scholarship for a literature degree at a local university. The beam of my parents when they read the acceptance letter in the mail is still vivid in my memory. It was rare for a woman like me to study in college but what they had always taught me is that I should always follow what my heart desires. I did want to be a teacher or a writer someday. To support me for my dreams, my father decided to take another job as a janitor in a small store in the town. He would work nonstop, even on Sundays. So, sometimes it would just be me and my mother had our picnic in the garden. They also decided to cut off the expenses so they can pay for the things I need for school. Despite the hardships, they managed to help me get through my first to third year of college but everything started to change. We have less food on our plates and we donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have enough money to pay for the electricity so we only have to light up seven candles after sundown. I have to borrow some books at the library because I cannot afford to buy my own. My father lost his job as a cleaner so we were struggling a lot. My mother decided to sell strawberries but our earnings were not enough to support our needs. We were getting poorer. There were no quiet peaceful nights because all I heard from my room were shouts from downstairs. The once merry couple turned into people who are furious with each other. There were no greetings in the mornings as if both of them suddenly turned into strangers. It seems like their love was extinguished because of the adversaries that continue to drown us. She may not know it but I have seen my mother sob as she sat by the kitchen alone. It was painful to see her heartbroken. One night, everything had gotten worse. It was almost midnight and a series of screams awakened me from my slumber. My father had just gotten to our humble abode but this time, he was drunk. My mother was crying from both pain and anger. I had never seen them like that. Their sentences overlapped with each other so it was incomprehensible. Their rants went on and on until my mother held up a piece of paper into my fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s face. All his drunkenness was replaced by sobriety as he saw it.

“How did you find this, Clarisse?” he nervously said to my mother whose lips were already quivering. Her emotions are bottling up and she is struggling to be strong. “It was right over our dresser, Tim. How could you not have told me about this?” her voice was breaking. “You cannot just sign up to serve in the military without telling me.” “I have to, my love. I have to for all of us” he replied without directly looking at my mother. “There has to be another way you can no-” “This would not have happened if only you chose the guy who can provide you with better things than me!” he shouted back. There was a hint of regret in her eyes. My mother stood frozen, speechless at what my father had just said. A few silent seconds had passed. “You’re right.” she finally spoke. My father retreated to sit in the nearby chair and broke down in tears. “Go ahead and tell me that it is over. I do not deserve you, Clarisse. You do not deserve a man like me” he sobbed “You could have married Robert just like what your father suggested that you do and you would be happy right now” “Tim, he can give me the grandest and biggest of the houses but none of them would be a home like yours do. He can give me the fanciest of all dresses but none of those would make me feel beautiful like your words do. He can give me plenty of food on the table but it wouldn’t be as good without eating it with you and our daughter. I chose you because I love you” my mother sat beside him and lifted his chin up so he could see her face. “I love you so much that I am afraid to lose you. You are such a good husband and father. I couldn’t bear the thought of not hearing your voice at night for a few months” My father gave her an embrace as she completely broke down to tears. “I promise you that I would never stop loving and thinking of you when I am away. I have to do this because we promised our daughter a better future” he softly spoke to her as he caressed her long black hair. They stayed in each other’s arms for a few minutes. It was like a sudden calm after the storm. It was hard to think about the problems that we had faced but their love made it easy to find hope amidst it. The next day, I pretended to be clueless about what happened as I sat and ate my breakfast at the table. I was not mistaken that my parents did explain to me that my father was going to

enlist in the military a few weeks from that time. It was sad to not see him for a long time but he promised to send letters and that he would be back sooner. We took him to the deporting station. When I saw him wearing his soldier uniform proudly, I felt the corner of my eyes water with hot tears. My father dared to go through a dangerous path because of his love for my mother and I. He gave his wife a kiss and a warm embrace. Then, he faced me and gave me a smile. He handed me a couple of seeds. He made me promise to plant it in the garden so that when he comes home in the past few months, we could have a nice picnic together among the blooming daisies. I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get to say everything that I wanted to say because I was overwhelmed with emotions. The train blew its steam and my father gave me a quick hug before running to catch up with the train. He entered it and his head popped off the window to take a glance at me and my mother. Both of us waved goodbye at him and sent him flying kisses. He pretended to catch it and put it in his heart as well. We went like that for a few more seconds as the train disappeared in the distance. My father did keep his promise whereas we received letters from him every month. Whenever it gets in the mail, we would get all giddy and excited about it. Our every day was not the same as before but we were optimistic. I also kept my promise to him. I planted the seeds in the garden. Every afternoon, I would water them and make sure that they grew well. I also strived to do my best in my studies despite what everybody says. I exerted twice my efforts as before. Eventually, it all was worth it when an invitation arrived in our household one day. It is from the university. They are inviting my parents to attend my graduation. Both my mother and I squealed as we read the letter in unison. It was a dream come true and everything was worth it. We wrote a lengthy letter to my father about the good news. His reply came after a week. He said that he was extremely proud of me and it was such luck that he would be able to go home on Sunday after graduation. It felt as if the stars were perfectly aligned for us. After everything we had been through, we finally can be together again as a family. Soon enough, I wore my cap and gown proudly as I walked up on the stage and received my diploma. My mother was wearing a simple blue dress and a pearl necklace that we bought from our savings. Admittedly, I longed for my father to see me at that moment but at least a day after that we can get to see him again. Sunday came and my mother was joyous and energetic. She made her special chocolate chip cookies but it was tastier than ever. She also prepared some strawberry juice. She pampered herself up as she wore a tiny bit of makeup, a polka dot red dress, and a pair of earrings. I also made sure that the daisies we grew in our garden are presentable so that my father would see

how pleasing it is. We sat by the picnic mat and waited for the doorbell to ring. The time ticked by and there was still no one ringing the doorbell. We waited for hours until the sun started to go down on the horizon. Untilâ&#x20AC;Ś ding dong We hurriedly opened the door only to fall into disappointment because instead of father, it was a tall buff looking man in a military uniform. It was not papa but he gave us an envelope from... Father. We invited him in and he was looking quite sad. We were stunned to receive a message from my father. Was his travel postponed? We opened it and read with our eyes altogether. Dear my dearest daughter and wife, I am writing this letter whereas I might not be able to come home soon. The enemies bombed our area and I am in a temporarily safe place when writing this. I wanted to express how much I love and care for both of you. Clarisse, you never stopped loving me even if I have not been the perfect husband. I wanted you to know that I am glad you chose me because I could not imagine my life without seeing your mesmerizing brown eyes and aďŹ&#x20AC;ectionate smile. You are my one true love and you will always be in my heart. For my dear daughter, I believe in you. You are such an amazing young lady and I am extremely happy that you can reach your goals in life. I know that I was not there to witness your achievement but I just want to say that I am so proud of you. Continue to be strong and intelligent, my dear. Remember that Papa loves you so much. I am afraid that this is the only way I could send my message to you. I long for both of your hugs and kisses. I missed our Sundays already. If you received this letter, it might mean that I am gone. Not really gone, I think. I will be in the stars watching over both of you. I hope that both of you are safe. I love you so much Love, Tim

Both of us remained quiet after reading the letter. We were afraid to say it. The soldier looked at us with empathy and proceeded to tell us about how papa saved his friend by catching a bullet from him. My mom and I broke down in tears as the truth dawned upon us that the man, we loved the most is gone. It has been ten years ever since that day but it is still fresh on my mind. I carried the bouquet of daisies that I picked up from the garden to the grave of my father. I touched his name that is engraved in the cobblestone and smiled as I saw the words “hero”. He was indeed a hero for the family. I learned so many things from him especially when it comes to love. Love does not have to come from the perfect person sometimes it is from the most flawed. Love cannot give you everything but it will give you the best things in life. It is so special that even if the person is gone the feeling will remain in your heart forever. “Why are you smiling at the stone?” a soft old voice called upon me. I chuckled and stood up to face the confused gray-haired lady who w I chuckled and stood up to face the confused gray-haired lady who was sitting in a wheelchair. I smiled. “Nothing. I just remembered the time when Tim” “Who is Tim? Is he your husband?” “No, he wasn’t. He was my father. He was a hero of our country” She stared back at me more confused. “Was he handsome?” I smiled sadly. “He sure was, mama”

FOR ME OR BE ME? Words by Antonette Jhudiel Tan Artwork by Belle Deza “Dr. Tan, please proceed to OR 1” The announcement blaring from the PA system echoed across the hall as I ran towards the operating room wearing my scrub suit. There’s no time to waste – a person’s life is on the line. As I arrived, my colleague was there for me to assist in surgery as an anesthesiologist. This is what it means to be a physician. This is the path I chose but, is this where I’m really meant to be? “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Most adults often ask this question when we were kids. Before, I would always say I want to be someone like my parents, committing to business and burying in mundane office work. As a kid, whenever this was brought up, it was easy to answer. But when I grew older, I was expected to answer more realistically. Which brings me to this: “What do I really want to be when I grow up anyway?”. Passion and practicality are two things we need to consider in choosing our future careers. As individuals, we have our own strengths and weaknesses. With these, we know where we are suitable to work or what profession to choose from. In some cases, we are most likely to choose a career in a field where we are good at but it doesn’t necessarily assure you success right away. Some experiment their way through and eventually make their way towards their happiness and success. Although, we still cannot deny that there are factors that may hinder one’s self in pursuing what we really want in life such as financial problems, family expectations, and also peer pressure. The struggles in the transition from education to employment is nothing new. Every generation goes through a learning curve as they head out into the working world. Today’s youth have grown up being told to follow their passion and do what they love. However, this is hard to put into practice. The gap between expectation and reality is wider than ever before. Society, including parents and teachers, has built up the belief that anything is possible. Although young people are told to “follow your passion”, what they project may not be grounded in reality or have the lack of knowledge of the real work thereof. Don’t get me wrong, passion is a good thing. We’ve brought up a generation brimming with education, idealism, and

confidence but we haven’t, in the meantime, placed systems and experiences in place to help them figure out what that passion might be and where it will take them. The workplace hasn’t evolved to meet those same expectations, leaving a wide, unrealistic gap between expectation and reality. For many of the youth, this difficult transition is the first time they’ve truly failed at something. The sad reality most of us face is when we are making decisions. We should always consider its long-term effects even when it means sacrificing one’s passion just to meet the needs to survive. We are told to pursue what we want in life but sometimes, the demands in society seem more vital. This where being practical comes in. We spend so much on our educational expenses but the return can’t even compensate for what we totally spent. This is the reason why most of us would choose career paths that earn much more even when it means sacrificing what you really want to do. In some cases, those who pursue the arts, journalism, and the like are underappreciated and underemployed, which is certainly a big no but a reality today’s society face. Each profession should be valued and should receive the credit they deserve no matter what their contribution is to society. We are still living in a society where traditional courses and career choices are being pushed for our youth to pursue because financial security is guaranteed there. Personally, being a doctor isn’t really my first choice. I could have started pursuing my dream to take up International Studies or even Marine Biology but that’s the issue, I was pushed to take up something practical instead of pursuing what I really want or what I’m passionate about. As months turned to years of thinking it through, I am still on my very long journey in becoming a doctor. I took up the STEM strand in senior high school and I plan to take up a medical course in college and proceed to medical school to get that degree. I realized and thought it through that this decision I made can both be my passion and can be practical at the same time. So how do we decide between taking a practical route to career hunting or following our hearts to pursue a lifelong passion? The answer is that there’s no correct or definite answer. Choosing a career is really a hard decision. What we’re going to choose will surely change the course of our lives. Pursuing one’s passion is truly a remarkable and rewarding feeling. You won’t feel bored or won’t feel any work if you do what you love. However, there will come a time where necessity comes, practicality will arise. We can be both practical and be passionate at the same time but it takes acceptance and the ability to adapt. Thus, let us embrace and fight for what we really want to be. After all, this is our future, not theirs. So now, ask yourself again, “does it have to be for me or should I just be me?”

THE MENTAL HEALTH CONVERSATION WE SHOULD NEVER HAVE How Romanticizing Mental Illness Worsens Stigmas And Stereotypes Words by Kjetil Josth Acielo Artwork by Trisha Czarina Tordesillas The coronavirus pandemic skyrocketed mental health cases to an all-time high. A recent survey by the Department of Health revealed that around 3.6 million Filipinos suffer from different forms of neurological, psychological, and substance use disorders. Even before the pandemic, the rise of mental illnesses has been a nightmare for public health officials. It distresses me that mentally suffering individuals are silently dying without medical attention administered to them. The mental health pandemic can be as or even be more deadly than COVID-19. This adversary is as fatal and unseen as COVID-19, except that it’s curable. Yet, we treat it like something that can be dealt with by drugs only. Despite having a mental health bill in full force last year, a culture of stigmatization remains, amid rising awareness campaigns that aim to advocate mental health support against the tide of public opinion.

HOW DID WE GET HERE? We should be grateful for living in a world that no longer defames mental illness as a serious taboo. During the Middle Ages, being mentally insane can be indicative of demonic possession. Another primordial treatment was trephining, wherein a hole was drilled into the skull to release the spirits. Unfortunately, those who had their heads busted open died soon after. Even the Catholic Church decreed that the mentally ill were those who pledged their allegiance to the devil. By the 18th century, asylums were created for the mentally ill. Often, patients lived in deprived, subhuman conditions and were ostracized from society. In the 1700s, French physician, Philippe Pinel, argued for the humane treatment of the mentally ill. His humanistic treatment methods, such as bright warm places and talking to patients conducted at Paris’ La Salpêtrière in 1795 helped many patients reintegrate back into society. With the rise of our understanding of Psychology, medicinal innovations, and continuing reforms by mental health experts, mental illnesses eventually became normalized. Anyone who is diagnosed with mental illnesses can immediately garner the sympathies of those around them and receive quality psychiatric treatment. Representations and inclusivity of mental illness are everywhere in pop culture, from Jay Asher’s 13 Reasons Why, to multitudes of pandemic-era hashtags reassuring #itsoknottobeok. Despite this, there’s danger lurking in this widespread,

subjective dissemination without the proper scientific evidence explaining mental health accurately. It can potentially do more harm than it good.

OK BOOMER Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s an ongoing war waging on for years whose borders are age, ideology, and culture. Since the recent prevalence of mental illnesses, generational gaps have strained the mental health conversation Boomers versus Gen Z. Boomers argue that Gen Z is responsible for creating their own mental health problems. They often downplay the seriousness of mental illnesses as something alien and selfaggrandizing. Gen Z, on the other hand, rebukes these, noting the changing times and that Boomers have become insensitive to their views. Millennials and Gen Z face a plethora of unique problems and challenges that the previous generation has not. With sprawling job instability, reinvented social norms, and college degrees no longer guaranteeing financial security, the younger generation pressures to cope with the delirious landscape of the modern world. Furthermore, mental illness remains prevalent among the youth today. However, a point Boomers often rebut is how social media makes people indifferent and alienated from the world around them.

THE ASOCIAL MEDIA The world has become more interconnected than ever before. We are obsessed with speed and convenience. At the touch of our fingertips, we can access the world in our hands. Netflix, Facebook, Spotify, and many others have reshaped the way we work in the world. And these apps have made quarantine much more bearable. With social media comes the opportunity to propagate expressions of self-identity. We become wholly dependent on the validations of others online. We digest what we see online. This web of social connections has also made us alienated from one another. Often, we try to prove ourselves

more than we are, becoming intolerant of those who are different, identifying with those who agree on such, making us vulnerable to groupthink. Our fanaticism with these fixates us towards instant self-gratification. It impacts our tolerance and disposition in facing the harsh realities of life. Psychologists often infer that Low Frustration Tolerance has been commonplace among the youth today. In Erik Erikson’s eight stages of psychosocial development, teenagers confront a phase called Identity vs. Role confusion. Here, our sense of identity is formed by social forces and is crucial in our development. Psychologists argue that psychosocial stages have remained constant across different generations. However, specific social polarities and conditions (such as social media becoming an influencer of creating a sense of identity) of the 21st century have made this stage a daunting process for this generation.

ESCAPISM BREEDS ROMANTICIZATION Social media has become an avenue for mental health patients to share their stories of recovery. Our world is hungry for narratives like these to get through the rut. Sadly, fabricating stories under the guise of mental illness (though false or exaggerated by some people) to procure attention creates a potential where it can be misused. Our environment has also created a culture of escapism, which can become breeding grounds for romanticization. preying on our desperate fixations for immediate relief, attention, and self-control. On one side of the spectrum, toxic positivity has religiously been making rounds online. Everywhere from Facebook to Instagram, we are flooded with positivist content that makes us feel invincible for a while, oblivious to the problems we face. In contrast, there has been a cult obsession for death that run across lines of popular culture. A wave of pessimism and cynicism attempts to exemplify suffering to the point where one becomes powerless to act against it. And only through death and non-existence can it be alleviated. Romanticization begins when mental health conditions are misconstrued. For example, something as a simple case of the blues can be deliberately framed as mental illness. In most cases, people will desire mental illnesses to accrue the same attention and sympathy from others. Reverberate images and quotes such as “people who want to commit suicide are angels who want to go home” across the internet, and you’ll see it everywhere. These eventually turn into generalizations and stereotypes on mental health. Mental health is then skewed and falsely interpreted as an attention-seeking tactic for those who cannot cope with life or are weak. Teens and millennials are the most affected in the smearing, for they comprise a majority of netizens. Romanticizing mental health downplays the seriousness of the situation. It also worsens the stigma and forcing those who truly have mental illnesses into the shadows. This twisted view

of mental health as something desirable to garner social acclaim is damaging to those who are recovering from a battery of medicine and therapy. It’s insulting yet ironically pathetic to crave something that is hell to get over with. Ordinary sadness is not the same as clinical depression. Self-esteem issues is not social anxiety disorder. Not every behavioral flaw and insecurity is synonymous with mental illness, nor does it have to be used to sugarcoat our unwillingness to face reality.

HOW ABOUT THOSE SUFFERING MENTALLY? A common problem among most teenagers is suppressing their feelings and numbing themselves. Feelings, like thoughts, are metrics to our social experiences and not expressing them healthily is toxic to our psyche. In Mark Manson’s “The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck.” and “Everything’s Fucked - A Book About Hope.” he argues that instead of running away from our problems and resorting to escapism. Facing our problems head-on makes us robust in dealing with it. Humans must embody Amor Fati, or the love of one’s fate. It means accepting responsibility for all our events in life, intentional or not. We attain true happiness by taking it upon ourselves to overcoming adversity and become independent and mature. It’s really okay not to be okay. If you feel that you may have a mental disorder, seeking medical attention helps to dispel doubt. It’s normal to feel what you feel. Sometimes, showing vulnerable and seeking help without resorting to numbing oneself or develop attention-seeking behaviors is a sign of strength. How you deal with your issues matters! There is an urgency for mental health to be correctly interpreted, and we can contribute to the echo chambers of social media by disseminating scientific information. We must learn to identify between the ordinary case of the blues from clinical depression. We must also set aside the prejudice and become more sympathetic to those reluctant to admit their suffering. We should also refrain from posting content that romanticizes mental health to procure forced sympathy. A mental health pandemic is on its way after COVID-19 whose effects linger for years. Distorting mental health is a disservice that will stifle our recovery. Remember that we all have a role in the stigma that continues to affect us today and will continue to affect us one way or another. Mental health is a serious topic that matters. It must be told sans the stereotypes and long-held prejudices manufactured by years of uninformed bias and opinion. So, if you ever try to post something that can be misinterpreted as mental illness - Think before you post. Think before acting. Think before reacting. Stop worsening the prejudice depriving mental illness of the seriousness it demands from society and lend a heart to those who need your help most – and that includes you too.

RETHINKING SILENCE Words by Joseph Nicole Hiñosa Photographs by Gyber Kenneth Bayson. In 1952, at the Maverick Concert Hall in Woodstock, New York, a peculiar musical composition had its debut that night. When virtuoso pianist David Tudor sat down on the piano to play, he closed the lid and sat there in the silence doing nothing. The audience was baffled by the stillness, straining their ears for the slightest sound whilst the breeze stirred the nearby trees. The piece of music was called 4’3” (or Four Minutes and Thirty-Three Seconds, named after the entire duration of the piece) by John Cage, one of America’s influential experimental composers of the 20th century. It was so controversial that musicians and critics refused to call it music. For the duration of the entire piece, all you can hear is NOTHING. Yes. NOTHING. You might think that music in three movements whose only notes are rest doesn’t elicit critical reception from the audience but Cage’s musical style champions emotional expression through novel and unconventional ways. At the same time, he sought to find meanings in silence to make a powerful impact in an era where background music manufactured by the Muzak company stifling all pockets of quietude in the late 1930s and well into the 1940s. But whatever Cage wants to transmit to us about his keen interest in silence, there are a lot of variations articulating across different minds who have listened and interpreted 4’33”. The thing is, we create and evoke different meanings from sound, even in the depths of our silence. Which begs the question, have you ever tried listening to your silence?

It’s always been an inalienable part of our everyday life. We are frequently bombarded with noise: the bustling streets, the cries of babies, the revving roars of cars passing by, and even our voices conversing with one another. We all learn through listening from others. We bridge our souls and relate ourselves with every lyric entrenched in the songs we’re listening to. In everything that we hear, we always think and eventually, learn so much. Nonetheless, silence may be the most powerful element in the world around us. The pandemic compromised numerous opportunities for most, but in every dark chapter of each story lies slivers of hope. It has prompted us to slow down and reflect and recalibrate the directions of our lives. It was a time for transformation in all facets of life, giving us the agency for change. We learn to correct our waywardness, fixing it day by day. It was a time to look back, to realize how far we’ve become as a person throughout the years and how it brings us closer to total awareness. Amidst quarantine, we often catch ourselves gazing at the abyss haunted by silence. All we can hear is are the sounds of our heartbeat and our breathing, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. We’ve never listened to our silence - the noisiest sound we could ever hear. It’s intimidating. Terrifying. Daunting. But we have never tried to probe deeper, where strengths emerge, the greatest life lessons yet to be unearthed. Perhaps, we’ve never completely listened to ourselves. We might never be listeners to our silence, even once. There’s more for us to see if we just open our eyes and discover that there’s more for us to hear if we also fine-tune our ears to listen in the silence. We’ve settled for things within our comfort zones, never daring to pursue beyond our boundaries. We constrain ourselves to step out in the same place where we’ve been standing still for so long but we must remember that the greatest achievements one can attain are realized when you venture beyond the limits of your horizons. Life is indeed an exhilarating journey through so many ups and downs. We will become weary eventually but always remember that as we venture throughout the darkest moments of our lives, there’s always light at the end of the tunnel. It pains to be alone against the world, but we can always accompany ourselves, it can be our greatest enemy, but will always be our greatest friend. You don’t need to respond; you just have to carefully listen and feel every moment, every whisper, every message interlaced in the silence. It has spoken to us so many things and there’s more for us to see behind every silence than what we conceive it and never be adamant of what it imparts. There are so many lessons in life that we can get from nothing at all. Perhaps, it’s what we can find in silence that matters - we just need to learn how to listen and hone in closely to what it wants to tell us.

HATE, LOVE, ALL THE ABOVE Words by Kaizer Ver Alberto Artwork by Krystal Diane Tejada

American Drag Queen RuPaul once said, “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell are you gonna love somebody else?” I agree, because you will have to be the first to love yourself before loving someone else. Sadly, I regret not knowing sooner. Admittedly, it is frustrating to give your all and get nothing in the end. Expectations distort the reality of the situation. We expect if we are kind to someone, they will reciprocate our kindness but that is not the case. This is where the root of the problem comes - a build-up of days, months, years of getting taken for granted by people. And it hurts more when you love someone else. The world has always been unfair since the beginning. That’s what happened when I gave my all to someone else. Immediately after the person I invested everything in left me, walls began erecting around me. I used to be a sweet, loving person, but now, because that part of me that was whole and pure was now broken and gaping wide open, I became aggressive, upfront, and vengeful. It was appalling to accept what has happened. I could not bear to take responsibility of what happened. I feel cheated out. I took out all the anger I had and my loved ones and the people around me were affected. I ruminated in my angst. Existential questions come to mind. Why am I even alive? If I could go back in time just to comfort my younger self from crying, always asking “Am I normal?” I would. Comforting myself and reassuring myself that “Everything is going to be alright. You are normal” could not be cathartic enough. Feeling that you are not enough while you already gave your all is devastating. After that, it feels normal to hate yourself for what has happened and eventually becoming bitter to life. You become averse to trusting people. People believe that hating yourself is negative. Yes, it is, but where there is darkness there is light. Where there is weakness, there is strength. Learn how to overcome it and come out stronger. 58

The past will continue to haunt you but it won’t define who you are. It’s what you do now that counts. Will you lie to yourself and make a façade to others or embrace who you truly are and change the things you know are bad? Don’t let other’s perspective cloud the way you see yourself. You are worth loving. Just because no one said those to you doesn’t mean you are so. You love someone who doesn’t love you back? Let that person go immediately. Do not wait until it is too late to realize he/she is not worth loving. If hatred towards yourself comes from people saying nothing, it can also come from people who have a lot to say. They always target our negative traits and ignores what we do positively. Others may point out our mistakes but that doesn’t mean we can change for good. For those who think what they did was irredeemable, you may have done all those bad things but you can always be a guiding light for the people who you are about to do the same mistakes you did. It’s a hard-knock life for those who hate themselves. Being afraid to ask for help because you think they might get back at you for the bad things you did is tough. The thought of “Why would they help me? I’ve hurt them before” will cloud our judgment. Changing and focusing on one’s self-improvement is important. However, we must not fear to be seen for who we truly are. Change without the thought of pleasing others. Change to become better for yourself. Take your time to heal. It is scary to think that the new people in your life might hurt you again like before. To the ones who have felt all of these, it’s okay it is valid to experience these. It may take a long for you to trust them. It’s up to you but if they are showing effort, have patience and give them a chance. To the ones who have a friend experiencing these, thank you for understanding them when they don’t even understand themselves. Emotions are tricky but feel what you feel, whether if it is hate, love, or all of the above.

THE IMPOSTOR AMONG US Words by Lora Fym “Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.” - Albert Camus Many of us see ourselves as the main character in a coming-of-age film. Young people like us are bent on re-defining our identity. It’s a funny thing how we’re all up for world peace and unity when deep inside us, we want to paint the world red. To become reckless and depraved, to lose our morals, and even as far as wanting to commit murder. It’s a very Greek idea— losing control. There is a terrifying beauty in losing oneself. In literature, most unforgettable moments usually involve human degradation. As simple as seeing a character in hysterics over a lost child, mother, or lover. Humanity, for the most part of our history, has always been upfront with their desire to be more than what he is. And yet we find ourselves attracted to deviance, wanting to shed our mask of civilized contempt, eradicate polite conversation, and basic decency to become truly free. Recently, a digitalized mafia game rose to popularity: Among Us. Like the old-school Mafia Game, it allows a player to become a killer— impostor in this case— or a regular crewmate. It’s a simple concept, but it reveals an awful lot about the human psyche. The urge to be a danger to others, and to ourselves. It can even destroy friendships. It presents us with the opportunity of becoming the ‘bad’ guys. Somehow testing our potential in becoming evil. And it’s quite hard trying to prove one’s innocence when among us lies the threat. There is one question that drives us all: “Who are we?”— We claim to know ourselves. As if the varying personality tests and astrology sign tropes we’ve taken prove anything but mere illusions of ourselves. As far as I know, guessing the framework of our self-identity is pseudoscience. It is a variable. Understanding the psyche of man should be a priority, yet we do not take it seriously. We are at war with our own evil. The real danger here, my friends, is man himself. We are very unpredictable creatures. I know I’m not the only one who develops my own personality with the help of characters I relate to, influential people I admire, philosophies I believe in, and to that extent, I sometimes feel like my thoughts don’t belong to me. An identity stolen from a character’s personality. An Oscar Wilde quote perfectly describes this feeling: “Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” They call this the Impostor Phenomenon (aka impostor syndrome, fraud syndrome, the impostor experience), which describes the feeling of severe inadequacy and self-doubt that often leads people to undermine their abilities, or fearing they’ll be exposed as a “fraud”. This doesn’t specifically apply to everyone, but there are moments where we question our existence. It’s mostly done to appease our own ego or impress the people around us. Some of us go from changing our style or go to extremes to promote a supposed ideology to appear good and selfless in a capitalist society. And let me be bold and say— we are all fake.

One example is Caesar’s assassination: “Et tu, brute?” (You too, Brutus?) was said to be Julius Caesar’s last words. Seeing Brutus, like a son to him, a part of the conspiracy against him— betray him for the good of Rome had undone him. They stabbed him 23 times. Gauis Julius Caesar: the traitor, a dictator some say; a man with too much power. And such display of democracy led the inevitable fall of the Republic. By modern standards, he isn’t a very agreeable character. We only learn the half-truths nowadays. In fact, a lot of hate towards Caesar by the Senate has based on the reasoning that Caesar outsmarted them all. He was a man of the people, merciful, charitable— willing to pardon his enemies. Yet he was bad as the rest of them, a constant cheater, a ruthless politician willing to trample over his enemies to get what he want. He’s a very complicated person. Caesar like the rest of us is human after all. We all have redeeming and bad qualities within us. Black and White isn’t just a duality for good and evil; we’re all different shades of grey. Growing up we’re accustomed to seeing the Good and Bad. Hero and Villain. When in real life those who seek justice can be the oppressed and the oppressor. It’s hypocritical of us to say that Adolf Hitler is evil. We must remember, like Caesar, he was once human. He enjoyed Disney films. He was a vegetarian. He protected animals (and yet treat Jews as the scums of the Earth). His favorite film was Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. There’s a very thin line that separates us from Hitler. He was willing to go beyond what was acceptable, challenged morality, and set himself up as a Hero. Misinterpreting Nietzsche’s work and declaring that he and the ‘Aryan Race’ as the Ubermensch— the Superman. Nietzsche was not trying to promote the antisemitism and brutal philosophy of the German Nazis. His goal was to hypothesize an ideal human capable of creating their own values. A man that is master of himself, willing to further his cause outside of the box and to think against the majority. What’s scary is that Hitler was a very charismatic person. He wouldn’t have reigned at all without the support of the German people. In the eyes of the world, he represented the evil everyone was capable of yet refuse to do. He lived long enough to realize the falsities of his ideals, and that’s what got him shot in the head by his own hand. We’re not that different from the heroes, villains, and anti-hero figures of the past. They’re reminders that changing ourselves, and the minds of the people around take an unholy amount of blasphemy towards the greater good. Everyone wears a mask since we’re taught to exercise purity and obedience. We condemn those who don’t follow the code of normality. Not only that, throughout the years we’ve become very vocal about many things. Of course, we don’t have the same amount of insanity Caesar and Hitler took to dominate the world. Our distaste with other parties can be seen through something as trivial as ranting about the fakery of our peers on Twitter, joining the ‘#CancelWhoever2020’ bandwagon without knowing the full context, projecting concern about the deterioration of our environment yet preaching the exact opposite, criticizing the government as if we’re capable of anarchy. In a way, we’ve become impostors ourselves. In our journey of self-discovery, remember that we are our own enemy. We are the broken villain, and the hero, the foolish dreamer, the wise savior and sometimes we’re corrupted, someone undeserving of love, or the unloved. It’s up to us if we want to remain under a mask of lies or break free from the chains that bind us to a society unhinged.

UNRAVELLING TIED KNOTS Words by Joanna Grace Beringuel Photograph by Gyber Kenneth Bayson Culture, tradition, and social norms are considered to be sensitive topics for most Filipinos, especially among compatriots and older generations. This is because they are yet to embrace change and would choose to hold on to the past, living in a world that was “back in the day”. Cultural values are generally considered as abstract principles for action, while cultural norms are seen as a specific guide for people’s behavior. And here in the Philippines, the social norms are what we consider as the ‘pillar’ of our culture and tradition. Behaviors such as “palakasan” (patronage), “sakop” (in-group), “padrino system” (sponsorship), “utak talangka” (crab mentality), etc., are seen as values and yet they are concrete images on how to be in specific scenarios which can make them act as norms. Admit it or not, some of our elders have forced us to live a ‘Maria Clara’ and ‘Crisostomo Ibarra’ kind of life. Being limited in our gestures and words to say in the public. We all had those certain moments, right? Where we just want to be expressive but will be interpreted as an act of liberty. Where we want to try out new things for the youth that we are but misunderstood as a rebellious act. Wherein we do what we want but we are suddenly reminded that we should pay respect to our customs and culture. Philippine society is characterized by many positive traits and behavior. We are known for being keen and conservative, especially in the public. Regardless of the position in the caste system, every individual was taught to act dignified and modest. I, myself, grew up in that way of living too. But because we are adaptive to change, a constant and collective evolution, we are slowly untying our knots from the social norms and standards that have been set for us. Yes, it is us the youth who usually adapt to change and new ways of living. The one reason I see why this occurs because young people have a much wider and liberal mindset compared to the elders who are accustomed to the old standard of norms. That era is theirs they’re living in. It’s about time to normalize some things that are not even part of the norms we grew up with. We live in a modernized generation that demands change and renewal. As we move forward, we must also carry with us time-honored and preserved Filipino values that embody our identities and heritage as Filipinos. Timeless, as they say, our culture is a reinvented and reimagined work in the making and we must learn to adapt to the shifting sands of time. Perhaps the world is meant to be like this - where we have to witness the evolution of the norms, where we have to unravel the tied knots of our archaic beliefs in adjusting to what we have now—a newfangled and fancy living.

ANTIPAS: ANG PAGBUBUNYAG Words by Ma. Krizzia Angela Paguntalan Artwork by Belle Deza Nakangiti. Tumatawa. Humahagulgol. Samot-saring emosyon, samot-saring rason, puso’y nasasaktan, isip ay nababahala, at sarili’y hindi na maintindihan. Andyan na naman siya, ako’y sa muli; sasabak sa gyera. Isang gyerang lalabanan kong mag-isa. Isang labang ni isa walang nakakakita, ni isa walang nakakadama, suot-suot ang aking maskara, at ako’y lalabas upang harapin sila. Kahit na ako’y nasasakal at nalulunod na, ay kailangan kong maging masaya, kailangan kong maging matatag at malakas sa harapan nila, kailangan kong magpanggap, dahil kapag nalaman nila - ako’y talo na. Naranasan mo na rin ba ito? Ang magpanggap na masaya sa harap ng mga tao? Ang ngumiti kahit sa kalooblooban mo’y tila ang puso’y sinasaksak na? Ang pakiramdam na kailangan mong maging matatag at tumayo kahit ang totoo ay pagod na pagod ka na at gusto mo na lamang umpo’t magpahinga? Yun bang gusto mo munang huminto at kumalma pero wala ka nang magawa kasi lahat sila sinusumbatan ka na, “Magpatuloy ka, huwag puro kaartehan at drama”. Naranasan mo na rin ba ang pakiramdam na para ka nang nilulunod ng iyong mga iniisip? Yun bang hindi mo na alam kung ano ang gagawin kaya mas pinili mo na lamang ang magtago at mapag-isa. Yung nasasaktan ka na pero pilit mong iniinda dahil sa tuwing sasabihin mo sa kanila na nahihirapan ka na, sasabihan ka lang, “hayaan mo na yan”, “huwag kang ganyan”, o ‘di kaya’y “huwag mo nang pansinin, pabayaan mo na lang.” Naranasan mo na rin ba ang minsang nagkamali ka? At takot na takot kang sabihin sa kanila dahil baka sabihan ka lang nila na, “Isa kang malaking kabiguan.”, “wala ka nang ibang ginawa kundi ang maging pabigat.” O ‘di kaya’y, nasasaktan at natatakot ka na baka pag inamin mo sa kanila ay imbes na tulungan ka ay sisisihin ka pa. At ngayong may pandemya, mas lalo pa itong lumala. Nag umpisa na ang pasukan at panibagong sistema ay kanya-kanya nilang pinatupad. Ilang buwan na rin ang nakalipas, ilang buwan na ang nasayang, ilang buwan na rin tayong nakatago. Yung mga kaibigan natin, kaklase, barkada, matagal nang hindi nakita. Lahat ay nahihirapan. At habang tumatagal ay mas lalo pang lumalala ang sitwasyon. Yun bang hirap na hirap ka na sa mga gawain mo sa paaralan. Yung dumating ka na sa punto na, hindi kana makalabas ng kwarto dahil sa dami ng gawain. Yung hindi kana makatulog ng maayos at hindi ka na makakain sa tamang oras kakaisip ng iyong kinabukasan. Yung takot na takot kang umidlip, dahil baka paggising mo, andiyan na naman sila, panibagong gawain, panibagong problema.

Kaya ayaw mong magpahinga, dahil baka sabihin nila, “wala ka nang ibang ginawa kundi ang tumambay at tumunganga.” Yung lahat ito, nararanasan mong mag-isa, wala kang karamay at walang mapagsabihang iba. Yung nahihirapan ka na talaga, pero kailangan mong ipakita na okay ka, dahil takot ka nang sumbatan muli nila, “pag-aaral na nga lang inaatupag mo, hindi ka na nga nakakatulong dito, pero kung makareklamo ka akala mo pasan mo ang buong mundo”. Hindi man natin nilalahat, ay hindi rin natin maiiwasan na may mga taong nakakaranas ng ganitong pangyayari. Karamihan sa atin, ay minsan nang nasaktan. Minsan nang napagsabihan ng masasakit at matatalim na mga salita. Minsan nang napabayaan ng mga magulang at minsan na ring iniwan ng mga taong mahal nila. Marami sa atin ang pinipilit na bumangon kahit ang totoo ay gustong-gusto nang huminto. Sa kabilang banda, marami rin sa atin ang gustong magpatuloy ngunit pilit na pinipigilan ng mga alaala. Marami sa atin ang pilit na bumabawi pero patuloy na hinihila pababa. Marami ang gustong maging masaya pero palaging binibigo ng tadhana. Marami rin ang nahihirapan na pero pilit na kinikimkim sa sarili nila. Ayon sa isang lathalain, mayroong mga teoryang nagsasabi na ang pagtago o pagkimkim sa sarili ng nararamdaman ay nakakasama sa kalusugan. Dahil dito, maaaring makaranas ang isang tao ng kalungkutan, mabilis na pag-init ng ulo, pagiging malituhin, pag-isip ng malalim, madaling magkasakit, natututong magsinungaling at pagkakaroon ng negatibong pananaw sa buhay. Kaya imulat natin ang ating mga mata at palawakin natin ang ating mga isip. Lahat tayo ay dumating na sa punto na nahihirapan tayo. Lahat tayo ay minsan na ring nag-isip na sumuko. Lahat tayo ay nahihirapang magtiwala sa iba, lahat tayo ay nagdalawang-isip nang ibahagi ang ating nadarama, dahil alam nating ang mundo’y puno ng mga taong nandiyan lang para husgahan at punain lahat ng pagkukulang natin. Ngunit sa totoo lang, hindi naman nila hawak ang buhay natin. Hindi sila ang nakakadama ng kung ano ang nararamdaman natin. Hindi sila ang nahihirapan, at higit sa lahat, hindi nila ito laban. Kaya huwag kang matakot, tanggalin mo ang ‘yong maskara. Kung nahihirapan ka, isigaw mo. Iiyak mo. Ilabas lahat ng sama ng loob mo. Hindi kasalanan ang magpakatotoo. Hindi mo kailangang magpanggap na masaya ka kahit sa totoo ay sukong-suko ka na. Hindi mo kailangang maging masaya sa harap nila kung ang totoo ay naghihinagpis ka na. Huwag mong pigilan ang iyong nadarama. Ika nga nila, “okay lang na hindi maging okay.” Palagi mo lang tandaan na hindi ka nag-iisa. Nandiyan ang pamilya mo, ang mga kaibigan mo, at higit pa sa lahat, ang Panginoon na nagmamahal sa iyo. Iiyak ka, manlulupaypay ka, manghihina ka, pero hinding-hindi ka susuko. Tandaan mo na sa panahon ngayon, ang taong malakas ay ang taong mas buong-pusong tinanggap ang kahinaan kaysa sa ito’y takasan. Isang taong piniling magbago, at patuloy na lakbayin ang buhay na ito na walang kaakibat na pag-aalinlangan at pagtatago.

IF THERE IS SOMETHING I MISS Words by Kyronne Immanuel Arroyo Photograph by Love Golero It’s been nine months since I saw my dearest friends. We were overjoyed when we heard that the school declared a week’s class suspension. We had planned out what to do with that lengthy amount of time. We were awakened by the news of suspension for another week, another week after that, and soon a month. Little did we knew… that was the last time we got to see each other. I am a teenager blind to the outside world, contented and happy in the small settlement of my room; unaware of the outside world, I kept myself distracted in between the pages of books and the pleasure of my company. “I could get used to this”, I thought to myself. For a while, life was simple and happy. Life was good. But that happiness was short-lived. After a while, it didn’t seem fun anymore. With months passing by, I felt the need to talk to someone… to anyone. I felt a deep longing to talk again with my dearest and closest friends at school. I see my family every single day in the span of the whole quarantineeat with them, talk with them, and be scolded by them and it gets old. Though the internet brought people closer and interconnected more than ever, right now, the way you see your friends onscreen - you look around you and they’re not there, they seem distant - you are only with yourself. No matter how often I talk with them, it feels even lonelier. With the glass screen between us, the best of friends that were once beside me was now somewhere far away. The world is full of improving and upgrading here and there. Yet, it tends to forget the small and subtle things. I had been so engrossed in chasing accolades and setting the path for my career that I tend to forget what is also important. The time in self- isolation has been abundant for me to realize how the world seems to get distracted on how we measure success in our material wealth and dandy titles and my realizations have made me become a better and wiser person. The ‘self-time’ during this pandemic has given us a break from our hectic schedules and the everyday clashes of competitiveness in life. For some of us, the pandemic is a blunder and for some, a blessing; it has taken the world into a pause simulation so we can slow down and think for ourselves. Despite these circumstances, we still resolve to rekindle the hope that hides in the darkness. If there’s one thing I am sure of, the world will recover and things will be better soon. So right now, spend your time with your family and yourself, because when the world will be un-paused soon, it’s time to go back to the reality we all want to live in, except we’ve grown up changed, humbled, and wiser, ready to face the challenges of life.

NORWEGIAN WOOD By Haruki Murakami, Fiction Review by Kjetil Josth Acielo

PAPERBACK

PDF

EPUB

This was the book that launched Haruki Murakami into literary superstardom. Though Murakami is more renowned for his Magical Realism novels such as 1Q84, Kafka on The Shore, and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, this book is his first realism masterpiece. This is the book everyone in Japan has read at least once. Though it deviates from his surrealist themes, alternate universes, and talking cats, it’s still worth a read. His signature musical references, Japanese mythology motifs, and American pop culture are still there. All these are beautifully interlaced in the backdrop of 1970s Japan at the height of the student activist movement. It’s a coming of age romance that still has the deep, complex, and often psychologically perplexing characters that make Murakami connect with his readers. The title comes from the eponymous Beatles’ song in their Rubber Soul album. In 1987, Toru Watanabe arrives in Hamburg, Germany. Upon hearing the orchestral rendition of the song flowing out of the plane’s speakers, he is transported back into his past. The memories, though long forgotten, still overwhelms his consciousness. The field where he, and his unrequited love, the psychologically impaired Naoko wandered around so many springs ago coalesces into view though distorted it has become. Following the suicide of his best friend (and Naoko’s boyfriend), Kizuki, Toru is traumatized by his passing. He grows numb to life. Death follows him everywhere, pervading his waking hours, stalking in the background. He moves to Tokyo to start anew at University. He meets a wide range of characters. From OCD-ish roommate, aspiring architect “Storm Trooper,” to the ambitious Nagasawa, whom they bond over F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and their womanizing escapades. He continues to dote on Naoko, who remains emotionally absent, fragile, and still sullen by Kizuki’s death. Things take a darker turn when after sleeping with Naoko on her 20th birthday, she is committed to a psychiatric center deep in the mountains of Kyoto following a nervous breakdown. In her absence, Toru encounters the bright, upbeat Midori - Naoko’s polar opposite. The two deepen their bonds, and sooner, Toru is conflicted with his affections for the two. Murakami’s novels guide us through the darkest and often bleak nature of the human condition. Norwegian Wood deals with death, the struggles of accepting our circumstances, mental illness, and the conflicts of human behavior, as well as wisdom and understanding. He manifests Toru’s cathartic redemption in Midori, who becomes his source of life and a chance to leave everything behind. Despite her circumstances, Midori continues to radiate joy, unlike Naoko, who recedes deeper into her suffering. This is further consolidated by Naoko’s roommate, the 30-year-old Reiko Ishida, advising Toru to pursue the happiness he deserves and ultimately, inner peace. The ending is a dark one, but somehow the conclusion gives Toru closure to let go of the ghosts of the past and move forward. Murakami has a knack for open endings, leaving you the freedom to imagine what could be. What makes him resound through generations is that his novels acknowledge the enigmatic and fragile elements of the human psyche. Norwegian Wood epitomizes those qualities. It’s filled with intimate lessons for the reader. It renews you with a profound understanding of life, navigating us through the darkest, wintery nights that we traverse through. And hopefully, it will lead us to appreciate the things that stay in the heart and leave the things that vanish to slowly fade away into the dead center that was no place.

THE SUBTLE ART OF NOT GIVING A F*CK By Mark Manson, Non-Fiction. Self Help Review by Kjetil Josth Acielo

PAPERBACK

PDF

EPUB

By the time I finished reading The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living A Good Life, my world view was never the same again and I’ve never looked back since. In this anti-self-help, it doesn’t force-feed you with sugarcoated hopes and inapplicable advice. Instead, Mark Manson tells you to get your butt off the couch and start dealing with shit that matters than commiserating how unfair life is. And f*ck all that positivity! For decades, we’re told that unrelenting positivity and avoiding problems leads to living a fulfilling life. This book turns that thinking on its head. According to Manson, “Let’s be honest, shit is f*cked, and we have to live with it.” I agree. We’re living in a culture that shields people from facing their problems and idealize things far-fetched in reality. Manson argues that this makes us feel worse about ourselves. From its bold letters and bright orange cover, this is a manifesto against that dogma. It demands no-nonsense attention from you. It compels you to confront and choose the problems you face and makes you committed to learning not to give a f*ck about everything. Manson writes in a straightforward, frank manner that forces you to reevaluate your life choices and world view. It’s hilariously profane as it is relatable and colloquial, interspersing anecdotes and academia as well as Manson’s personal experiences that make this book feel personal and credible to the reader. It’s a slap in the face for people living in a world full of loopholes and delusions and leads them towards enlightenment. Though uncomfortable to challenge your beliefs at first, the further you progress, the more you’ll begin to understand what it really means to not give a f*ck. You won’t get bored reading, nor have your feelings hurt. In fact, you’ll feel resolute to figure out how to face and overcome the bitter truth in the end and make life better than it is. It’s not easy. Your ego will hurt awfully in the process. But you’ll grow into the best version of yourself with it. The book’s perfect for those struggling to find meaning or exhausted from dealing with life’s bullshit. It’s a handy companion for those seeking answers in this pandemic that has forced us to confront and reflect on our inner selves and eventually come out stronger and wiser. In a nutshell, we have the power to choose what to give a fuck about in life. How we accept our true selves, flaws and all, and harnessing the ability not to give a f*ck about life is what The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck aims to ingrain in all of us. After all, reality can only be as we make it to be. So, what are the things in life do you want to give a f*ck about?

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN FEATURE FILM Review by Yiana Fea Macole Bales

Who would’ve thought that intellect and wit would free you out of prison? Or, better yet, fraud millions of dollars through a lucrative cheque forgery gig? This is not your typical Prison Break and Shawshank Redemption story where using a rock hammer or a well-rounded strategic plan is where the story revolves. Directed by Steven Spielberg starring Leonardo DiCaprio as Frank Abagnale Jr., this 2002 film follows our anti-hero con himself into being a Pan Am Pilot, a Doctor, and a Lawyer, all while dodging the FBI at the age of 19, making him one of the most daring and youngest con artists in US history. This film is a unique plot turner through every transition of Abagnale’s escapades and it makes you wonder how he keeps up with all of his personas in one clean act. After running away from home following his family’s dissolution, Abagnale begins his criminal career first by impersonating a Pan American Airlines pilot. The scheme goes on as he forges the airline’s payroll checks, successfully defrauding millions of dollars. This attracts the attention of the FBI and he is pursued on his heels by Agent Carl Hanratty played by Tom Hanks. After deceiving Hanratty in a close encounter posing as an agent looking for Abagnale, he then turns to impersonate a doctor and his disguise soon goes unnoticed. His fellow coworker nurse, Brenda, falls infatuated with him and they pursue a relationship. As he asks for her hand in marriage, he then takes up to impersonate being a lawyer to appease her father, successfully passing the Louisiana Bar Exam. However, Frank is discovered and the chase resumes once again. The movie is rewarding comedy and action-wise, especially how Abagnale successfully eludes his pursuers one con at a time. It makes the crime work make so easy and the chase thill rewarding. DiCaprio plays his role as a suave manipulative con artist who is constantly at odds to survive and escape from the clutches of the law at a tender young age masterfully. It leaves you breathless but also deep-seated with the thought that hey, I can do this too, so why can’t I? This film is based on the real-life story of Frank Abagnale Jr, who wrote the book version of this movie titled, “Scam Me If You Can: Simple Strategies to Outsmart Today's Rip-off Artists.” He is now an American Security Consultant and pioneered safe check designs for Fortune 500 companies. Catch Me If You Can represent a distinct change of pace for director Steven Spielberg. This is a lighter movie than he has made in a long while, and you sense his relief that nothing much is at stake. Overall, this film will keep you on edge as Abagnale traverses from one con scheme to another. Better yet, catch this film while you can.

THE DRAGON PRINCE Netflix Animated Series Review by Leandro Saldajeno

Netflix’s fantasy-adventure animated series “The Dragon Prince” will surely transport you to another realm infused with sorcery, action, mystery, and a multitudinous serving of sarcastic comedy. Co-created by Aaron Ehasz and Justin Richmond of Wonderstorm studios, the series follows two young princes and an Elvin assassin in a desperate bid to avert war and unite the warring human and magical kingdoms of Xadia by returning the egg of the dragon prince. The show has some notable thematic resemblances to Nickelodeon’s 2008 animated series, Avatar: The Last Airbender, as Ehasz was the head writer of the series. It’s renowned for its storytelling, deep themes, diverse and humanized characters, and poignant messages brewed in the midst of uncertainty and war. The Dragon Prince is a nod to ATLA’s legacy with its own stylistic direction that makes it another thing worth watching. Set in the magical-rich land of Xadia, the premise of the show establishes that creatures can conjure up magic by tapping into the six primal sources found in nature: the sun, the moon, the stars, the sky, the earth, and the ocean. Dragons, Humans, and Elves coexist peacefully. However, humans, being unable to utilize magic naturally, began to use dark magic, which is fueled by the life essence of magical creatures. Following the death of the first human to use dark magic, Ziard, by dragon king, Sol Regem, the human race has been driven to the west with the continent split by a river of lava, guarded by the feared dragon king the humans named, “Thunder.” The story begins when five Moonshadow elves are tasked on a rogue mission to assassinate King Harrow, King of Katolis and the father of the two protagonists, Callum and Ezran, to avenge the death of the dragon king Harrow had slain years prior. As the castle runs amok, Ezran and Callum along with their potential assassin, Rayla, discover a dragon’s egg hidden beneath the castle, purported to be destroyed years ago along with the dragon king. Realizing the opportunity to deescalate the growing conflict, the trio join hand in hand to travel to Xadia and return the egg to make amends and establish peace in the world. Upon Harrow’s death, his adviser, the dark mage Viren usurps the throne and unites the five human kingdoms through a summit of the Pentarchy, and wages an all-out war against Xadia. The seasons and episodes are named by book and chapter, after the six primordial elements similar to ATLA. It has captured the same themes ATLA presents that make it resonant for all ages though it has embraced the traditional tropes of medieval-era fantasy fiction rather than basing on an East Asian-inspired mythos. The Dragon Prince has three seasons so far. With a fourth season being renewed by Netflix, it’s planned to continue until the seventh season, collectively named The Saga. This show also has a fascinating world-building full of mysteries and complexity that is yet to be revealed as the show progresses. Overall, the animated series is definitely worth watching if you adore fantasy and mysticism that goes beyond the stereotypical makings of the genre.

THE PLATFORM NETFLIX FEATURE FILM Review by Hannah Diane Urbanozo On the 48th level, a scrawny Goreng awakens to see himself in a morbid lockup with an older cellmate, Trimagasi. The older man explains to a bewildered Goreng how the prison system works. They’re incarcerated in a vast, vertical prison, hundreds of floors high, each accommodating only two cellmates. In the middle of each room and to the center of the structure extends a hole where a meal platform descends from floor to floor in a brief interval. The meal platform can cater to all inmates down the vertical hellhole, but because hoarding and gluttony are rife amongst the higher floors, the ones underneath scrimp on their leftovers or worse, left to starve, fueling resentment and a possible uprising. Goreng’s hatred for this system and his determination to rectify it grows as time passes. He instigates a movement to distribute fair rations, so no one dies from hunger. Although his ideas and intentions are good, Trimagasi rebuffs it as futile— the ones above won’t listen and the ones are below and are inevitable to starvation. Goreng also witnesses and assists a mute woman that occasionally descends along with the platform to look for her child in a strictly-foradults-only facility. As they’re about to end the day, Trimagasi reveals yet another evil part of the system. You can be eating lavishly on level 6 in your first month, but wake up on the 179th with a race to survive on the next. This unpredictability shivers every prisoner’s spine as they anticipate luxury or famine. Given the uncertainty of their fate, will the two remain on the 48th floor despite the old man’s claims? Will they see themselves on the deepest level? Will they be able to survive the turmoil, the discord, and the desperation of the floors below? Will Goreng continue to plot a movement to inexorably change everything and to start a significant precedent? Will his intentions succeed or will he meet his end? Gaztelu-Urrutia’s award-winning “The Platform.” shows us the atrocities of a system set in a dystopian world and how one man’s conviction to seek redress lures him into a test of survival and ordeal. It’s a social commentary and a political allegory filled with metaphors that will heighten your response to anguish. It’s a straightforward allegory on socio-economic divides. It depicts how the poor continue to fend for survival while the rich get richer and greedier. All these are dictated by the system. Though the director claims he did not intend for any metaphors, the film’s interpretation is left to the audience What’s more interesting is the storyline, clever, intrinsic but was easy to grasp— a cohesive masterpiece. The depth of the characters: their anger, selfishness, and despair are portrayed by the actors skillfully and fluidly. You’ll be immersed in the setting’s coldness and coarseness, adding more depth to the ambiance and cinematography. Lastly, the film’s messages and your realizations will surely leave you gasping in awe or pondering in confusion. Both the realism of the brutality and the desperation of survival amongst the inmates are unfathomable. Its cynical view of humanity and its portrayal of sensitive topics will just leave you in a constant state of shock though it’s something that must be heard by everyone. The themes depicted may be triggering for many, so be warned. Regardless, if you are ready to watch this gore-some film, you will not regret it. The film stands unwavering on its own with a motive to impart. It does not take bits from different movies with the same motive for a staggering message. The Platform portrays the dark reality we constitute. It displays some of the gnarly and terrifying reflections of our own world and its unsettling truths.

EDITOR IN CHIEF Kjetil Josth Acielo ASSOCIATE EDITOR Joseph Nicole HiÃ±osa MANAGING EDITOR Yiana Fea Macole Bales LAYOUT EDITOR Hannah Diane Urbanozo HEAD, NEWS, SPORTS, OPINION Antonette Jhudiel Tan HEAD, CREATIVE WRITING Catherine Cosio HEAD, VISUAL ARTS Trisha Czarina Tordesillas PATNUGOT SA FILIPINO Ma. Krizzia Angela Paguntalan NEWS, SPORTS, OPINION Kaizer Ver Alberto Joanna Grace Beringuel Hillary Belle Dellota Michelle Anne Juanitas

VISUAL ARTS Ryan Dioven Aguilar Gyber Kenneth Bayson Keryl Gwen Davila Belle Deza Lady RL Golero Krystal Diane Tejada

CREATIVE WRITING Kyronne Immanuel Arroyo Nefalin Demafiles Thatiana Louise Ejemplar Mayflor Fernandez Sheeren Anne Fernandez Crizelle Andriah Ricardo Leandro Saldajeno Franchez Kyla Sonza Angela Joyce Villasor Atasha Gabrielle Vito

MODERATORS Mr. Herman Jornadal Ms. Gazelle Aristorenas

THE HAWK The Independent Student Publication of Central Philippine University Senior High School

Fearless Views Change The World

2019 2021 SOCIAL MEDIA @thehawkcpushs GMAIL thehawkcpushs@gmail.com