Meraki Vol. I

The official student publication of Xavier University Senior High School

Layout by Eric Noel B. Jabagat with contributions from Sean Phillipp C. Valencia Circulation: 1,500 copies

Ang Meraki ay isang salitang Griyego na ang ibig sabihin ay ang paggawa ng isang bagay nang buong puso o pagmamahal.

Inilalarawan din nito ang pagbibigay ng parte ng sarili para sa isang gawain, maging ano pa man ito. Kaugnay nito, ang Meraki ay inihahandog ng The Squire Publication kasama ang mga estudyanteng manunulat at manlilikha ng Xavier University Senior High School (XUSHS) upang mapakinggan at maipalabas ng mga mag-aaral ang kanilang mga hinaing at damdamin sa iba’t ibang mga bagay, ito man ay tungkol sa araw-araw ng pamumuhay, pag-aaral, pag-iisa, o pagmamahal. Dito mababasa at makikita ang mga orihinal na komposisyong naglalayong makapagbahagi ng mga emosyon at damdaming tagos sa puso.

Ang Meraki ay ang unang malikhaing lathala ng XUSHS. Sa pamamagitan ng The Squire Publication, ang opisyal na publikasyon ng XUSHS, maipaparating na ang damdamin ng mga mag-aaral sa pamamagitan ng pagsulat ng mga tula, maikling kwento, at mga sanaysay, at maging sa pagguhit at pagdisenyo na rin ng iba’t ibang orihinal na likhang sining. Ang Meraki ang siyang magiging daan upang maibahagi ang mga mensaheng totoo galing sa mga mag-aaral at para na rin sa mga mag-aaral. Sa karagdagan, ang Meraki ay may temang “magnify” na ang ibig sabihin ay ang pagbibigay-pansin sa mga maliliit na bagay o detalyeng bumubuo sa isang pangkalahatan o malawak na ideya, pangyayari, o bagay.

Ito ay mahalaga sapagkat sa pamamagitan ng pagkilala sa mga detalyeng ito, maliit man o malaki, nabibigyan ng importansya at bagong kahulugan ang binubuo nitong kalahatan.

Sa kabuuan, ang Meraki ay isang instrumentong susubukang mulatin ang mga mata ng mga mag-aaral ukol sa mga bagay-bagay.

Hindi lamang ito simpleng pagbabahagi ng mensahe, dahil lahat ng nakalimbag dito ay inilikha nang may puso at kaluluwa. Lahat ng ito ay inalayan ng oras at panahon, dugo at pawis, at higit sa lahat, pagmamahal at katotohanan. Handa ka na bang mamulat?

Isinulat ni Razil Gullem

Anonymous Lover

by Janelle Buragay

That’s she disco love. She satisfied what she so she de to change

Unwritten & Untouched

by Angelic Mae P. Jumadla

The room was filled with all the silence in the world, she took a deep breath, picked up the pen and began to write. That’s how she discovered love. She wasn’t satisfied with what she wrote, so she decided to change it.

She crashed out the words one by one until there was nothing left. That’s how she experienced love. She crumpled the paper, took out a new sheet and thought for a bit. But then, “a bit” turned into hours, days, weeks, months and years, yet she still couldn’t write a thing. That’s how she lost love, and so she left. She left the pen and paper on the table and decided to go out and explore the world.

Quite some time have passed when she decided to go home. Upon entering her room, she saw the pen and paper lying on the same spot in the table. Just the way she left it. It was untouched and unwritten. She sat and stared at the paper. Unlike before, she felt something now, something within her that was pushing her to pick up the pen and write, and so she did. She let the feeling take over her as she wrote about the memories inside her head, the memories she safeguarded in her heart. She wrote about the things that happened when she went away, the new people she met, the adventures she took, the experiences she had, and the lessons she learned. She kept writing until there was no more space left, until she had to get another sheet of paper to fill. That’s how she understood love.

She then realized that love begins with a decision to start, it begins with the decision to try something, just like picking up the pen and beginning to write. However, she discovered that love isn’t just static, it comes with uncertainty, indecisiveness, mishaps, confusions, and scars.

Starting anew would be necessary, just like crumpling the old sheet of paper and getting a new, clean, empty sheet. Love can make a person feel so full yet leave that person feeling empty in a blink of an eye. Until such

Juan’s dreams snapped and his world fell

time that the person loses love, and gives up on it. It comes with the event of diverting the attention to other things, just like leaving the new sheet of paper and getting up to go and discover the world.

Love is leaving, and coming back as a better version of yourself—a version full of memories, adventures, and experiences to share.

She realized this as she arrived home after such time of going away.

She saw the paper and pen lying on the same spot on the table, untouched and unwritten. Right there and then, she understood what love really is.

Love is like the paper lying on the table, it was unwritten and untouched.

No matter how long she was gone, it was still there, unchanging and just waiting for her. Love, she realized, is always there even if we decided to give up, quit on it, or even take a break from it. Love is always there, patiently and untiringly waiting for us to come back. Love is like that clean sheet of paper, unwritten and untouched. It is always waiting for us to be ready. It waits for us to be ready to explore, embrace, enjoy, and appreciate what we have, just like allowing us to leave, come back, and write about everything we had experienced. This is so that when the right time comes, we are able to properly experience and dwell in the feeling of being in love.

T she love. satis what so sh to ch

by Nyx

That’s how discovered . She wasn’t sfied with t she wrote, he decided hange it.

d untiringly iting for us come back.

Speechless

Untouchable As the angry policeman snapped and pulled the trigger, Juan’s dreams snapped as his world fell down, for at the same time the cop lost a bullet shell, he lost his father.

- Lawrence Kyle R. Bondoc

so full yet leave that person feeling empty in a blink of an eye. Until such time that the person loses love, and gives up on it. It comes with the event of diverting the attention to other things, just like leaving the new sheet of paper and getting up to go and discover the world.

Love is leaving, and coming back as a better version of yourself; A version full of memories, adventures, and experiences to share.

She realized this as she arrived home after such time of going away. She saw the paper and pen lying on the same spot on the table, untouched and unwritten. Right there and then, she understood what love really is. Love is like the paper lying on the table, it was unwritten and untouched. No matter how long she was gone, it was still there, unchanging and just waiting for her. Love, she realized, is always there even if we decided to give up, quit on it, or even take a break from it. Love is always there, patiently and untiringly waiting for us to come back. Love is like that clean sheet of paper, unwritten and untouched. It is always waiting for us to be ready. It waits for us to be ready to explore, embrace, enjoy, and appreciate what we have, just like allowing us to leave, come back, and write about everything we had experienced. This is so that when the right time comes, we are able to properly experience and dwell in the feeling of being in love.

Away

by Bea Mateo

How your eyes have searched for a face in a crowd

Message sent: undelivered Date 05/06/2016. It’s raining again.

Sent 11:19 PM. I miss you.

Fingertips brushed the empty sheets again,

A Question

Reaching for the familiar curve of where it

So, tell me how your day went

Date 13/08/2016. I love you.

How your eyes have searched

Sent 4:09 PM. I miss you again.

For a face in a crowd

I should have known better,

That has not yet resurfaced

“Message sent: undelivered.”

Tell me how your day went

Recently, my soul wakes at night

How you filled yourself of thoughts

With the moon as my companion, and so is

About how she has been doing

your ghost.

Or if she’s had her lunch yet

How time flies, how soon it’d happen

began.

Now, the world seems colder with your Tell me how tedious it was

absence.

To fetch yourself a ride home Your thoughts of how probable it was

Regret and resentment settle in my heart.

For her to have the same ride as you

Mirror, mirror, why did I let you fall apart?

Today, again, I write to you a letter.

Tell me how tedious it also was

“Message sent: undelivered.”

For you to keep her off your mind

- Andrea Felice J. Abesamis

And how it wasn’t easy to be careful For you not to carelessly utter her name So now tell me how much you love her But don’t tell me everything just yet For we’re all certain how unfathomable Love is, as a question.

Tell me how tedious it was to fetch your

- Steffany Kate H. Balace

Sampung daliri sa dalawang kamay, Ako’y isang tangang nagmahal sayo ng tunay.

Pitong araw, isang linggo, Ganon lang kadali nagkaroon ka na ng bago.

Dalawang paang lumalakad, Isa kang walang hiyang walang katulad.

Tatlumpong araw sa isang buwan, Ganon kita kahaba iniyakan.

alawang a n g alakad, kang l a n g y a n g l a n g

Ikaw

Isang taon na ang nagdaan, Di pa rin kita makalimutan.

Ginawa ko na yata lahat na maisipan; Nagpagupit at naglakbay mag-isa, Sinubukang hanapin ang sarili ngunit napadpad sa ating dating tagpuan.

Idinaan sa alak ang sakit na nadarama, Sa bawat pagkalasing binabanggit ang iyong pangalan.

Iniyak lahat ng luhang natitira, Naghanap ng bago para lang makalimutan ka.

Sa aking naging paglalakbay para makalimot, Mas naaalala ko lang ang sakit na iyong naidulot.

Higit sa lahat ako’y nakararamdam ng takot, Dahil hanggang ngayon, alam kong ikaw pa rin ang laman ng puso.

- Razil Gullem

Isang taon na ang nagdaan di pa rin kita makalimutan.

Nine hun nine mo

by Bea Mate

D p lu is w h w

ndred ninety ore to go

eo

Timeless

I will remember your name.

I will carve it on old rocks; I will hang it with the stars at night.

I will leave its mark in every stranger’s mouth; I will share its wonders to every child’s delight.

I will paint it on blue skies, on sightly sunrises and sunsets.

I will picture it on beautiful places, on breathtaking horizons.

I will sing songs of it, uttering every word in every heartbeat.

I will engrave it in my heart, every letter with every memory that went with it.

I will remember it through melancholic ballads and rusty strings of guitars.

I will remember it through dusty aging books and the presence of holy edifices.

I will remember your name.

And I hope you will remember mine.

- Glayzell Altrinna R. Bulang

Mode of Art

by Rachel Alvarez

Ikaw

You were far, there beside the afternoon sun Glimmered upon the seaside enjoyed fun Staring at you takes away my blue Just these eyes cannot fake a wonderful view An illuminating gaze that stuns yet purify And a mesmerizing beam stats of beauty clarify With the boys I wowed many about you Yet my last utter cleared a cloud for an “I like you”

troubled nd of mine ent to sleep eath the es it went, t and deep

Dazzled by You

A morning bird also helped me be awake You noticed then briefed, truly I’m in a bad shape But I’ll keep, shan’t go beyond the pond Or by your singing will our bond expand?

- Ronn Gil Ochavillo

In the Dark

An illuminating gaze that stuns yet purify and a mesmerizing beam stats of

A troubled mind of mine It went to sleep Beneath the skies It went, fast and deep In my chamber of thoughts Where visions are made There in that lightless room A life was laid - Steffany Kate H. Balace

Heads or Tails

by Tatiana L. Maligro

Sometimes, Rosaline thinks back on it all and wonder if it would have been different, had she kept her mouth shut.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Have I?” he asks, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Yeah. Is something wrong?”

“No.” -yes. His shoulders scream at her. His cheeks glare so hard she winces.

Then, two days later, she meets him outside his house with a box of his things, a box of those damn memories that he had once trusted her with, the ones she had trusted him to trust her with (but what did mom say about boys being liars), and hands it all back.

Here, she wants to say, here is every single thing that reminds me of you, every single thing that has ever made me happy, every single thought that you’ve ever left behind when you got up in the morning to go to class and left those sticky notes along my dorm room. Here is the key that you made me to the window of your room, in case I ever wanted to visit and I always, always did. Here is the first bottle of soda we finished together and the tap that you tossed up in the air for heads, we’ll stay together forever, tails we’ll stay together ‘till the end of time; it was tails.

And Rosaline smiles- if time were to have an end, it would be now, standing on his doorstop with a box of his things, her things, really. Things that once belonged to the both of them.

He only nods and takes the box and glances up at the sky.

“Looks like it’s going to rain soon.”

The sky is so clear it almost hurts to look but Rosaline nods anyway.

“Yeah, it does.”

“So you’d better get going...”

“Think I will.”

She turns and a part of her wants to hear him call her back, a part of her wants him to drop that damnable box and break everything in it and run over and wrap his arms around her while the piano music swells in the background, the scene unfolding from four different angles, and for him to tell Rosaline it was all just a mistake- that he still loves every part of her for making her who she is, just like he used to- because they’re what makes you you, and you are my favorite.

It doesn’t happen.

Instead, he closes the door and Rosaline walks home alone.

It doesn’t snow for another three days. But when it does, Rosaline wraps herself up in a blanket and sits by the window, watching the snow streak across the glass, counting down seconds, minutes, hours, ‘till days pass by and eventually, she gets a package in the mail.

I loved everything about you, and everything that made you you, the label said.

Rosaline smiles and presses her lips to the clear tape holding it shut before walking across her front lawn and dumping it in the trash.

Rosaline learns to say his name with her lips, and her lips alone, not with her eyes, or fingers, or the lashes she used to find on his cheeks. She learns to say his name and it sounds beautiful, even when someone else says it to her, she grins as they do- Drew Javier, yeah I know him, well used to, at least.

Roll Credits

by Riane Nichelle Daeve I. Acharon

The audience stood up to leave as the movie rolled the credits. Everyone was satisfied with yet another on-screen couple who made it through a flimsy plot and withstood the challenges of overrated antagonists with background music and slow-motion frames. Another plot wasted.

But us? We were the plot twist no one really wanted to see on-screen.

It begins like some sort of cheesy scheme from a rom-com movie really, where the story follows a short, simple and common recipe. We begin with girl meets boy or boy meets girl, however way you might put it. But let’s just go for the former, shall we? It’s as if she found herself grounded by the eyes of a complete stranger staring at her with such curiosity in the middle of the street. He said she looked like someone, anyone, like no one he’s ever met before. Then comes the instant connection, where everything so nonsensically detailed is in the exact same sync as that stranger. And then the boy leaves, leaving the audience in sheer desperation to see them end up together, and rightfully so.

A few more accidental run-ins here and there and our two leads resign themselves to the idea that maybe this is a good thing. Fate wouldn’t throw them towards each other over and over if it didn’t want them together right? She feels that wretched feeling of belongingness she has whenever with said boy and it overwhelms her senses, but leaves just the right amount of space between them to assume Fate’s “guiding” hand in all this.

They have a lot in common, she’s amazed at just how much. He shares her love for coffee and cheesy musicals, and sings along with her in the car on a trip to the beach. They sit together in the sand while the sun sets, the sound of the ocean breeze and the splashing waves the perfect soundtrack.

She leans her cheek onto his shoulder, burrowing into it as his arm lazily wraps around her and pulls her close. A chorus of “awws” resonate among the viewers, eagerly waiting for the climax, the moment that the two finally

confess their love and realize just how perfect they are for each other.

Probably too perfect.

The moment they’re all waiting for arrives, and she invites him over for dinner, offering to cook. He arrives at exactly 7:00 PM sharp, a bouquet of tulips in hand – her favorite. She smiles widely as she accepts them, ushering him inside. They later move on to the couch and put on a random show. His hand slowly inches towards hers, and she freezes. He clasps her fingers in his. Her head whips toward him. And in the dim light of the television, he utters those three fateful words.

The audience cheers in the background, words of exclamation thrown around the theatre. “Finally!” and “At long last!” being some of the most common. A faint “Now kiss!” is even caught, and the crowd laughs as everyone awaits the words of assent from our female lead. But her eyes are downcast instead of shining with happiness, her hand shaking as she pulls it away from him. “I’m sorry.” She murmurs, almost to herself.

Sorry... because as much as she was wanted her heart to beat for him, it stubbornly said no. As much as she wanted to love this boy who was perfect for her, her heart didn’t yearn for perfect. It yearned for the mess that was her lost love, the squiggly lines and the burnt holes. She wanted the uncontrollable laughter, the fights over burnt toast in the morning and all that came with it. It was far from what the love she’d envisioned to find, but it was the one she wanted all the same. She cups his face in her cold hands, and takes a quick glance at the audience. She knows they’re watching, and improvises her lines for him and for them.

“I’m not your leading lady. I’m only the prequel to your real story. No true love story can ever be as perfect as we have been. I’ve seen this movie, and you don’t end up with me.”

Batan-on ingon si mama di ko magbisyo tuon daw ko aron mopaso ingon si papa dapat magtarong dapat sa klase bagag nawong oo nalang ko, 100 gud baon lisod ning wa tay kwarta buntag paingon hapon sulod kog klase sayos buntag bag-ong laba ang uniform gi ayo’g kuskos sa among manang sinaw ang sapatos murag gi floorwaxan courtesy ni kuya ang claydoh karon nigawas gyud ang kagwapo pagkakitag laki, diretso amigo dota dayon ang sturya namo kitag amiga, naa najuy partner’s kopya kitag gwapa, palamo-lamo’g pangutana “hi miss, single ka?” ug sa dihang nisulod ang maestra... day 1 pa lang gikapoy nakog skwela “ta sm downtown ta” ana sila pagkaugma ok ra unta to, dawbi wa ko kasagang sa divisoria ra diay mi taman “asa ta brad?” akong pangutana tubag man kahag “shat ta!” ug sa dihang kadumdom kong mama kurog ko gikan anit taman lapa-lapa

“pass ko gaw” ug niaction kog hawa baso naman kahay gipasa “ayaw sa!” ana ang isa ka bayhana “ayg kahadlok, walwal nata!” daghan pang nisunod na taknaa videoke ug shat maskin asa di na mouli kay nagabiihan daghang kabuang giagian panagsa ra ko bata matod pa nila ni daghan akong mga gabi ug nigamay akong mga buntag tarong man sad kog grupo-grupo natarong ug dawat limpyo ba wa koy hanaw sa akong himuon libre nalang kos kagrupo aron gradohon tunga kos klase panagsa uli man sad ko ilang mama ug papa wa man sila nabalaka akong grado kahagbongon na para asa mana tanan? wa man gihapon koy paingnan nipadayon nakos akong kinabuhi wa nakoy magawasan sa gibati suko kos akong pamilya wa koy paki kung ang maestra galakag na

sa baso rako gakahimong ako sa klase hilom rako wa koy matubag di ko ganahan magpaatubang ug sa akong kaugalingon di na gyud ko kapugong

sa baso rako gakahimong ako sa klase hilom rako wa koy matubag d

akong kaugalingon bungkag na maypa ang junior high, naay pag-asa*

niabot ang adlaw na gipatawag kos guidance dako akong tingala naa akong ginikanan hilak akong inahan pugong sa kasuko akong amahan nilingkod ko’s ilang atubangan ug gikuha ni mama akong kamot ug nangutanahan “nak asa mi nagkulang?” wa koy matubag nihugno akong kalibutan pati si papa ang luha di na mapunggan nanakit akong dughan ug kato na higayon ako ra silang naingnan, “ma, pa, ako ang nagkulang” - Rodaliza Tamela P. Villa *”Pag-asa” is the official school publication of Xavier University Junior High School.

they could be them I often wonder If people think of themselves As too much or too little If their existence inspires them Or makes them doubt of themselves Do people know me?

Do people know of somebody like me?

Do people see a gay person And smile at them thinking “How lucky are they,” Or do they look at this gay person And spitefully say to themselves All the flaws and mistakes Of this person?

Do they see this gay person Come home to their mama Kiss their mama hello Kiss their baby sibling hello But when that gay person Enters their room They spit at themselves They hurt themselves with words Then they take off their smile And let out their tears Because they are, in denially Unhappy?

And then this gay person Lies on their bed, cries out their eyes Whispers to themselves, What is wrong with me?

Because really, the gay person

Isn’t really gay Because they’re sad And hollow And empty Because mama goes out to the city every night She tells her kids she’ll be out on graveyard But she’s selling herself out In business clothes Because she would not call herself ‘that’, For she finished college She’s more than that And papa He’s in and out of jail And he never comes home He misses his children But he turns off the phone When they call And baby sibling?

Baby sibling is only two And the sad person Hopes to finish the new curriculum Graduate, but never make it to college So they can find work And every night They go to sleep For when the sun rises The sad person dies another night And the gay person lives another day

y m , y l at ecent

- Nina Therese R. Bernales

Home I want go home wherever that may be Whether it be to a lullaby that plays on a

I want go home wherever that may be

guitar from 1991

Whether that be in an old Chinese house in

Strings golden, silver, and bronze kept

a secluded corner

tucked between her fingertips

A garage filled memories dust and paper

From hard earned pay

dreams

Or never ending stereo

A house filled with issues unsolved and

Alive still today even after decades of

love shattered

exchange

Or to a new box house with a pool by its side

To a warm cup of love present on the table

A baby crawling its way up the family

Beside heavy smiles and warm conversation

A new generation knocking by the door

Hesitant to leave but necessary this I know

And long walks to be taken to reach the

Rushing to wherever the roads leads me

destination

Whether it be to a friendship filled with a

I want go home wherever that may be

mountain of secrets

Whether it be in an old farm house or

Or to a night filled with poetry and milk tea

fishing grounds

Yesteryear

Halls filled with memories I can’t seem to

memories

filled

with

basketballs and Barbie dolls

remember

Nostalgia fills my bag I carry with me

Baby steps I haven’t took in a long time Ghosts walking around to see faces long

I want go home wherever that may be

missed

Whether it be to a hilltop by the trees

Businesses failed trying to rise again from

surrounded in the city’s breath beneath

ages ago

starry skies

Watched by strangers long remembered

Endless

nights

of

loud

conversation

banging outside my bedroom door

I want go home wherever that may be

Into the field of dreams, I run

To arms and a heart that always welcomes

An escape

me

Running along the streets with dogs a plenty Houses and shops side by side Noisy streets paved on the backs of sikad drivers and Xavier teachers Near by schools grabbing each student possible

- Gwyneth Sarah Marie C. Bengzon

A Traverse Through Time

by Glayzell Altrinna R. Bulang

I was walking along the narrow streets of Xavier University, feeling the tingling breeze as I close my eyes and thought about all the fading images of the past and how each were marked along the walls of Faber Hall and Magis. There were things I wanted to remember, and some I wished I didn’t. The walls reminded me of my innocence about four years ago, and how my eyes were opened to the ugly truths of reality. It opened all the corners of my mind and heart, and then it was the first time I said to myself: “I wish I never grew up.”

Where was I? I was in Mom’s office. Crying my heart out, screaming I was tired. Not that it was my first time being tired, but it felt like it was the most tiresome moment in my life. I have listened to the newborn demon inside, and allowed its arms to wrap around me as if it were my kind of comfort. That demon still exists now; less vicious, but still disturbing as ever. This time I shielded myself from its embrace, but it was still close enough to touch me. And I still let it touch me.

Years later I have met quite a number of people as seasons have changed, yet my ever-so-emotional heart has remained constant. I let them explore my mazes while realizing who remained no matter how hard it is to find a way out; but there was no way out. No one has found the exit, but at least I wasn’t alone. I keep falling into my own abyss, but there were several arms that were always willing to lend a helping hand; but I was still a mass of chaos.

I passed by the statue of St. Ignatius, and I saw a happy memory with the people who always mattered: my family. We used to celebrate Xavier Days together when I was younger when the festival had been celebrated with food and dancing, and not with liquors and raves. We took pictures at every landmark; I was wearing my Crocs back then. We had fun and I was all smiles, and there was no room for loneliness in my heart.

I sat in one of the benches in Xavier University’s soccer field, and I looked at the rooftop of the Engineering building watching the sunset remembering what this person once said to me in the same place with the same view, in a different time: “Glayz, life is beautiful.” It was ages ago, but it remained fresh in my mind. It was one of the most colorful images I reminisced; but that person has left that image a long time ago.

I went up to the 6th floor of Aggies building, and saw room A602. It was the classroom of an old friend. I can still remember that pillar infront of its main door where I would lean and wait for my friend to come out, and we’d eat our lunches together. We’d laugh about all sorts of things, not realizing that a year after, I would be eating my lunch alone with no one to eat and laugh with anymore.

I look at the main entrance of Xavier and I thought I saw our Toyota entering the vicinity as my father drives while I was in the shotgun seat.

It was 5 PM, and we were off to pickup mom from her office. I transfer to the backseat, and I remembered how I loved listening to their conversations while I casually cut them off to say something and we’d laugh altogether; now, it’s never the same anymore.

Obviously, most things have changed. My heart that was full of sunshine had been tinted with ebony-like shades as if it had fallen into eclipse by experiencing such; but my heart has never stopped beating. It will continue to, until it seeks the sunshine no more.

Vivid

by Nyx

Venus

by Nyx

crap. th here. i co my hair my fi while tryi finish wh

Come Close

by Alessandro Kennz Nioda

i heard a knock on my door. crap. they’re here. i combed my hair with my fingers while trying to finish what i wrote on a small sheet of paper. it’s best that don’t mess this up. i shouldn’t. “how hard can it be?” i sarcastically muttered under my breath. going serious, i, by all means, tried to have this done. “just one last sentence to wrap it up. come on.” a second knock echoed around the apartment. i was able to get it right. finally. looking at what i just wrote for the past ten minutes, i slightly smiled with the corner of my lips. then worry went inside my body. the smile was gone like it never happened. i gulped, chills spreading through my spine, my mind going against my will. i heard a third knock, with a voice saying, “hello?” putting the paper on my pocket, i went to the door as fast as i could and gripped the knob hard. i sighed, “this is it.” their faces were the first thing i saw as i opened the door, and they grew bigger and bigger while they quickly went for a hug. “ow!” i reacted. they just laughed. the hug went tighter and tighter, making me more uncomfortable. “we missed you so much,” they said affectionately. “well, you have the gall to say that,” i said. “you are literally killing me.” they laughed again but worse. “same old, same old,” one of them remarked. sometimes i asked myself how this friendship persisted. half a minute or so had passed, and they finally let go of me. i swore to the heavens i felt my body shattering to pieces.

wrote

they went inside the living room and placed the snacks on the table in front of the couch. doritos, instant noodles, fries. wonderful. they do really knew me. and for six long years. father time must’ve done his job well during my college years. “do you know how long it took us to get here, considering the rush hours?” susan, clearly exasperated, asked. “you probably wouldn’t care, but i’ll tell it anyway: three damn hours.” in a sardonic move i interjected with a no, the syllable prolonged so they can get my mood, which they did. “can you believe that? i couldn’t believe it. anthony, can you?” my other pal shook his head. as she went on with their journey, i was too busy thinking about the small paper. i didn’t even consider minutes before whether to tell them what was in it or not. while they were not here yet, i just felt my hand grabbing the pen and the notepad with my own instincts. maybe i should, maybe i shouldn’t. there was no in-between. seconds passed, and i didn’t know what to do anymore. this was getting more frustrating. at this point i knew i was not being myself again. “are you okay?” anthony suddenly asked me. “is there something you wanna tell us?” i smiled. “nah. go on, you two.” i secretly took out the paper and crumpled it, seeing at as my decision. so much for problems. god better let it eat me alive.

in a sardonic move i interjected with a no, the syllable

Bitter Pill

i think of her words the world owes you nothing it’s all so cliché how cruel this world is so i say when no one hears me, i didn’t choose to be here in the first place so why do i need to pay for inferno? now crumbled. i think of society it’d be a sin to bring a child here but it’d also be a sin to succumb this is a living hell because i can’t picture the whole blueprint i don’t know where to go next i don’t even know where to go now but here’s something i can say screw that blueprint screw these unfortunate circumstances

it’s all a matter of choice but it won’t happen with a flick of my wrist i’ll need to write the clock’s next ticks to write even when talent betrays to write even under the blinking nothingness to write and crush my own mediocrity to write even when my own words drown me out and never cease to write even when my fingers callous a dead girl’s revolution may not tip earth’s axis but to defy fate upfront will crown her victorious - Maria Franchesca Louise P. Fajemolin

i think of ociety it’d be sin to bring a hild here but t’d also be a sin

if i died a peaceful death today it’d be no different no different from this warm shell maybe physically, but not where it matters not in this gaping hole holding schrodinger’s poison sure, it still beats as i write this but does it really?

Remnants

by Audrey CastaĂąares

In between I will write you in the middle of “maybe” and” almost”.

Because that’s how you made me feel.

With you, I felt like I was a “maybe.”

Something that you are unsure of, yet you still take a chance on.

And you once told me that ever since you were a child, you adored Atlas.

Honey, I could not hold it against you for choosing the world and letting go of my heart.

I felt like I was an “almost” every time we keep going back and forth yet it seems that we can’t reach it, whatever it is.

- Angelic Mae P. Jumadla

It seems like what we were and what you were to me were two different things.

Worlds apart, but impossible to miss.

You had the weight of the world and the weight of my heart pulling you in different directions.

i felt like i was an almost every time we keep going back and forth yet it seems

But in those unguarded nights and blurry city lights, You held my hand and I became yours and you were mine, For a moment, for the night, just until the dawn.

And in the morning, I go back to pretending we never happened.

Heart’s Desire

by Cyra Barros

will member through lancholic ads and y strings

i will carve it on old rocks; i will hang it with the stars at night. i will leave its mark in every s t r a n g e r ’s

i re it m bal rus

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