ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To Kynah, Hana, Patrick, for showing the direction and the steps as I jive on the wooden floors of poetry; for your patience and constant pulling whenever I fail to dance on two feet. You didn’t just give me a window of opportunity; you placed doors before me, and I am forever grateful for that.

To Ivee, Kristine, for being my aching pocket’s bed of roses. My fingers cannot count the number of times you have saved me from financial ruin.

To Meryl, Mikey, for joining the Midnight Drama Club and sitting on the bench with me. In a life full of melodramatic expositions, your prudence and comfort are my sanities.

To Perlyn, Jaziel, Hason, for seeing mise-en-scène through the eyes of an artisan god. Your creative abilities and majestic hands have etched a spectrum of cement-stained colors across the entire folio.

To Krizzia, Lance, Alyssa, for lifting the prop boxes, hanging the painting frames, lending the tools, and for sculpting the rough edges of this folio. Regardless of how fully packed your luggage was, you never hesitated to ask if I needed more assistance in carrying mine.

To Karl, Jobe, Keilah, Phoebe, Dea, your leniency for static motions paved the way for the immortalized carvings on the wall. What you laid bare will never be forgotten.

To Voen, Zaldy, Ferry, Paula, at some point in life’s history, it was your unwavering devotion that I carried with me as I leave the place where your art flourished. This past self and the self to come will remember your works as a memorial only time can provide.

To Drexel, Anna, Alan, Christian, Elizabeth, Gabriel, Addy, for the appetent yes! heedless of the faint whispers of cants. Howsoever the travails brought by the nonstop Z-paths to the top, you perversely persevered with passion.

To Angela, Eazel, Zack, for taking the leap of faith that no matter what was at stake, you took the risk, bearing the misgivings of the brush’s tip you held. It took one tick of a clock; one swing of a conducting wand; one hit of Beethoven’s nocturne note to be versed by the sublime handicrafts you brought to stage.

To Jerianne, Dhannalee, Khen, for reviving the demised momentum of the artists. Oh, chanteuses of Buglas, your ballads shall remain holy in the hollows of mise-en-scène.

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To Arish, Joyce, Josh, Crystal, Kurt, for breathing life for the dramatis personae of the museum’s grandiose, giving justice to the damned. Misfortunes were hard to conquer, but your conviction knocked the nemesis out.

To Franz, Reenan, MJ, for sculpting the performers of the great magnum opus— the musical. I could never weave the faces, lines, and acts without your God-given prowess.

To Kadenang Tibag, say, how many times does a castaway trip over its own hem? As countless as the times it gets up and tries over and over again. In my seemingly never-ending detours and falls due to my own scarcity, my frail hands will always be grateful for your constant support and consolation.

To our contributors, for auditioning to be part of the most-awaited musical of the Scribe. Your verses have sung with the songbirds of the night; free, at long last.

To our families, for cheering on each of our individual journeys, and for being the pillar that stands up for us when we need them the most.

To Sir Mikee, for keeping the cup from spilling over the deepest void we tried too hard to avoid. It was only one of the year’s twists and turns, but you made it all possible with one phone call. And nothing is as significant as the story’s unexpected plot twist.

To God, for the times my skin was numbed from the raindrops that pour on sleepless nights, you did not cease to embody the form of a compass that led the process of the folio and its production beyond the finish line. And then I knew: everything did have a purpose.

And to you, for persevering despite the never-ending tug-of-war with your dead selves, and for still looking for obscure reasons to keep going. This is for those who never give up and find themselves in the most extraordinary and unimaginable places they have or have never been. In the hopes of discovering an uncharted remedy for the aching bosom, may you take a break from the edge of the pedestal that society has placed you on to finally master the artistries of your life story.

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