BALAY: The Westernian Advocate Literary Folio by The Westernian Advocate

Cover by Angelo Mendenilla

Arguelles Hall Basement, University of Batangas, Hilltop Rd., Brgy. Kumintang Ibaba, Batangas City 0905-220-66-68, batangadvo@gmail.com ADVO FOLIO IS THE FIRST ISSUE OF THE WESTERNIAN ADVOCATE, A.Y 2021-2022

‘BALAY’ is the 14th edition of EKWILIBRIYO, the Literary Folio of The Westernian Advocate, the official student publication of the University of Batangas. No part of this collection may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written permission of the publication.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is coincidental.

Prose Icarus has fallen Wow, chiks Ugoy ng duyan All-nighter Nang minsan tumapak ang isang hampaslupa sa sementadong siyudad Pop-Corny Don’t tell Gaia Minsan, okay lang maligaw Perlas ng Timog Avenue The Crown Thief Kunyari magic Vanity Mirror Sculptures and their red endings PC4 Anniversary gift Chasing Jane Pulot Pukyutan Playing house A prodigy’s misadventures down south The Butterfly Effect Sa pagitan ng mga bala Window Shopping Ada

4 12 19 23 31 40 45 51 62 68 76 98 112 123 128 131 143 152 157 161 166 171 177

CONTENTS Poem Hand me the bow to shoot arrows Banal na pagtatanghal Genesis Ex-con Let the bedbugs bite Sunny Side up Kisapmata Falling, like a house of cards The roses, I dance over in an empty ballroom Bahay-bahayan Young man, play me a sad tune Ang Pangarap na Samgyup Once, in the silence of the slums Kumpisal On the tune of a broken record Toy kingdom Of treads with threads Dalawang dulo On Sundays, we mourn the living No one thinks about you

15 18 27 29 44 59 60 73 108 109 120 122 140 142 150 163 165 175 176 180

Introduction Alyssa An, Literary Editor

Humans are naturally defensive. Some defenses include standing still, we do not move to let it bleed. But most of us run away and use fantasy as a means of avoiding conflicts and problems of daily living. We build a wall and protect ourselves from hurting as we cherish this beautiful escape. There, we find peace—a certain comfort pushing us to fly without wings and grow our horns without earthly rules. We are free. We are supposedly free. But, freedom entails responsibility. Millions of thoughts are bugging our mind, thousands of them are about the future and the rest are memories of our past. And the thoughts come-forth in the present battles the reality, don’t want to be defeated. As people continuously combating against the inner thoughts many are gone, missing. There are many stories that remind me about the consequences of escaping. One is a vicious journey of a woman who found herself naked, waking up unconscious on the chaotic road. She once felt heaven where everything is harmless and warm after a leaf-intake. One is just an exciting voyage of a young kid travelling towards the finish line of a racing competition on an academic track— dodging failure like he’s a thirty years expert. Yet, I want to write my own version about how beautiful escape is. I believe we ran away to be lost and to be found. Escape is not always for the weak, it is also for those who are chasing

something—somewhere they would feel they belong, a place they would call home or a space ready for abduction and abandonment when everything falls apart. Now, let me tell you a story. The first time a girl lost herself in her own world was just eighteen. Let’s say she is kindhearted, well-mannered, has a good posture and can do things most cannot. Like god created her flawless, perfectly designed to be the standard. Yet, she remained unfocused as her existence was determined by religious sacred scriptures, feeling that freedom of choice was snatched from her. Curiosity leads her to live out of the biblical context. She took off her boots and tried to live on someone else’s shoes. Upon her journey, she met a friend who is devoted to her faith praising god like no other. They have no restricted rules to follow, they just need to worship. From the moment she stares at the altar, singing their glory and kneeling, there’s a voice inside her head telling ‘leave, it is not for you!’. In a nanosecond, without a second thought she leaves. Maybe, she doesn’t need a religion to feel herself. Then, the next person she meets is an atheist—the ruler of the world, mediating believers and non-believers where life is driven by moral instincts. Thinking gets hard as drowning in a water full of mud. There are questions on existence, unanswerable. Only infinite beings are capable of the answers. Again, she fled-- like a blank paper, no words are written. Not until she encountered the Agnostics, human beings who are God believers but not attached and committed to any religion. There, she felt most of herself. No complaints, no sculpture to pay tribute to, no saints ascending in heaven, no hell for sinners--just her and God communicating. She was now found and will never be lost again. For a young girl like her, braving a step against the norm is a risky move. But, nothing is worthy after a great triumph against your doubt in your own reality. Where the price is gold and winning feels like you are in the middle of the crowd and roses are being thrown at you.

Photo | Nicole Beatriz Rosales

Ang pagharap sa bawat araw ay gaya ng aking paglalayag na kahit minsa’y marahan, nahihirapan pa rin sa pagsagwan. -Katherine Nicole Lontok

Joviallyn Belegal

Icarus has fallen

(A sequel to We never owned the metro) by Clark Alduz Viray

Part I: Simon The wailing of his mother, followed by his father’s heavy footsteps woke Simon up. Despite the warmth caused by the late March air, which has caused sweats to form in his face and has settled in the folds of his thighs and armpits, Simon was embraced by coldness as he hastily left the comfort of his bed. Something is not right. Simon followed the sound of his mother’s cries—his younger brother’s room—and saw their mother cradling his brother’s body. At first glance his twelve year old sibling was the epitome of peace as his still budding body rose and fell, following the uneven rhythm of his breathing. It is past four in the morning, Simon’s brother must be lost in the realm of dreams, so what’s the problem? The bitter realization hit Simon as he noticed his father’s eyes. His father is a silent person and barely shows emotions but today, those unfeeling eyes show fear as they stare at the hands of his brother where multicolored bruises are slowly becoming visible “Ma, what’s happening?” Simon’s mother paid no attention to him as her sobs got louder and louder. She kept cradling Simon’s brother, rocking him gently as if he is the most fragile thing in the world. That night, time stood still for the four of them. Simon’s mother kept screaming hysterically-her cries echoed in the eggwhite colored walls of their house, as Simon’s father remained fixed on his position. A solitary tear fell down from his father’s right eye as Simon watched, confusion and shock engulfing him. Simon’s brother is patient zero.

Almost a month later, after Simon’s brother finally succumbed to the virus, Simon’s heart was filled with dread when he looked at the bathroom mirror in their unnervingly silent house. For the eyes that stared back at him was that of an unwelcomed stranger. Outside, the air is filled by the cries of mourning mothers, as their loved ones fall prey to the man-made virus that will eventually wipe out more than two thirds of the world’s population.

Fear, for Simon, is the most lethal power someone can possess. The man in front of him, who is naked from the waist up and bleeding from the cuts all over his body, is proof of this. From what Simon heard, the sobbing man is one of the top agents of the organization who allegedly found a cure for the virus that has left the whole world in shambles. “Please, I have a daught….” Simon’s left fist connected with the man’s jaw, followed by the cracking of bones as blood gushed out of the man’s mouth. It has been two tiresome hours, and the interrogation is going nowhere. No amount of pain or threats seemed to work. It is either he is unbelievably loyal to the organization, or he really knows nothing about the said cure. Either way, this man is wasting Simon’s time. As the man started whimpering once more, disgust filled Simon. Stripped of their guns and other weapons, these men are nothing. They are mere puppets, useless outside the sphere of control of their superiors. As the stench of the man’s urine filled the room, Simon threw one last look at his prey before lowering the vintage sunglasses that had been covering his eyes all this time. “Time’s up,” Simon snickered as he showed his victim his eyes. The man, despite the little strength left in him, struggled and squirmed in the rusty chair he was bound in as fear started consuming him. Drool and snot mixed with blood started flowing

from the soldier’s mouth and nostril. His eyes rolled on his sockets as he started convulsing, his body getting lost in a sea of spasms. The chair, as a result of the man’s uncontrollable convulsions, fell with a loud cracking sound on the floor. As Simon started walking away from his latest victim, a sinister smile crept in his face. Many cursed the virus for taking their beloved ones, not knowing that an extremely small portion of those who contracted the virus and survived, have their genes altered and are currently living with special abilities. Simon’s smile faded as he reminisced on how his parents became his first victims. He threw one last look at the man, who was thrashing and screaming on the ground, for it reminded him of how his parents looked three years ago. “Pathetic.” Simon spat on the ground, willing the image of his own parents’ descent to insanity, to go away. The illusions concocted by Simon’s ability usually wear off after two hours, and his victims will recover bit by bit in the next few days. And they will have no recollection of who gave them their worst nightmares. That is why Simon had to leave their house. After recovering from the illusions he instinctively created for his parents, Simon’s identity was removed from their memories. He is a ghost, a stranger, to them. Since then, Simon has been travelling around the dystopian landscape, in hopes that he can rid himself of the curse he now possesses.

Simon woke up at around four in the morning. Tears streamed down from his iridescent eyes, as he covered his mouth to silence the sobs coming from him. Man up, you fucking coward! He has been having the same dreams for more than two years. He is around five years old and is lost in a cornfield, screaming for his parents. He is running, his skin getting scratched by the prickly

bristles of the corn plants around him. In this recurring nightmare, he cannot find a way out of the mazelike field, and his young heart is already filled with dread. But somehow, he will see the familiar silhouette of his parents. He will scream for their attention and in slow motion, they will look at the lost boy with bruised knees, his green plaid shirt filled with dirt and bits of dry leaves. But comfort will turn to confusion and sadness, as his parents look at him the same way someone stares at an intruder. They have forgotten their own flesh and blood. The dream will end with the vivid image of a young Simon, hugging himself, rocking back and forth as his parents walk away.

Despite the coldness as his feet meet the tiled floor, Simon went to the bathroom to wash his face. As he saw his handsome, yet much hated by him, reflection in the bathroom mirror, anger consumed Simon as he punched the glass. He paid no heed to the tiny shards of glass that flew towards him, or the pain that filled his fist. He kept punching the mirror until he could no longer feel his fist no more. Until the crimson blood that flowed from his broken fist masked his reflection’s eyes. After the ordeal, he sat down on the ice like marble floor and hugged himself—the same way his younger self hugged himself in his dreams—and cried himself to sleep. Part II: Angela Three hours later and less than two miles away, Angela is wide awake and crying. She is grieving for whoever that young boy in her dream is for she shares his pain and sadness. As she wiped the tears that fell down her eyes, she prayed that the stranger in her dreams would soon find peace. Since surviving the still unnamed virus that killed her whole family, Angela made it a personal vow to help those around her in any way she can. She joined a small faction of soldiers and civilians

whose goal is to find the man whom they were told has developed a natural immunity to the virus. She serves as their nurse and at times, strategist. It was during this time that she discovered that something had changed in her. She considers her ability as a gift given by God, though she still hasn’t found any practical use of the said ability. Somehow, surviving the virus gave her the power to share other people’s dreams. During the nights, she grew accustomed to having strangers’ dreams and nightmares flooding her sleep. She cannot control whose dreams she will have. Angela likes to think of herself as a dreamcatcher who shares the sadness and happiness of others. But the sad truth is, she is only a vessel for other people’s dreams and nightmares, for she cannot have a dream of her own. At nights when she, by sheer luck, is not visited by other people’s dreams, her mind is an empty slate. After composing herself, Angela stared at the time in her barely working watch, and decided to take a quick jog and then visit a special place.

In the months following the death of her whole family, Angela found solace in this house. She was told that the previous owners have left the city following the death of their son. She can understand their eagerness to distance themselves from the place that will always remind them of the loss of their loved one. Angela has been there before. But still, this house brings her comfort. There is something about its faded cream paint, antique mahogany furniture, and its overall emptiness that enchants Angela, that is why whenever she feels sad, she pays this place a visit. She stared at the locked gates for a moment and uttered a short apology for her intrusion before picking the rusty padlocks of the gates. To her surprise, she found that the locks were already unlocked. In her visits to this desolated home, she is always alone, that

is why she is feeling mixed emotions as she felt for the dagger hidden in her back. She entered the gate and closed them as silently as she could before surveying the grounds. She suspects that the intruders are looters who are ransacking the house for supplies, and if she is right, there should be one lookout. After seeing no movement or the sounds of footsteps, Angela walked towards the door. She is already holding the doorknob, ready to enter the house, but someone pushed it from the inside. As Angela instinctively took a step back, she lost her footing and uttered a short lived cry as she hit the ground. “What the…” As Angela was standing up, she saw the intimidating silhouette of a tall man. He is extending his hands towards him, and Angela’s adrenaline kicks in as she reaches for her dagger. The man, realizing the danger, tried to evade the glittering blade of her weapon. A string of profanity filled the silent doorsteps of the house as the dagger barely missed the man’s arms. Angela took the opportunity to stand up and hit the man again, this time, aiming for his face. Angela was no good with weapons. Sure, she carries a dagger and occasionally, a gun, with her but up to now, she hasn’t encountered any reason to use them. As she tries to hit the man, she is fueled by nothing but sheer adrenaline and fear. She felt the blade hit something metallic as the man grabbed her hands. “Why the hell are you in my house!” As the stranger’s voice reached her ears, the rational part of Angela’s mind took over and she stared him in the face. The man tried to avert his face, but it was too late. The sun’s golden rays illuminated the stranger’s handsome face. It was not the bushy eyebrows, sultry lips or aquiline nose that caught her attention as she was momentarily basked in his loveliness. It was those iridescent eyes that were brimming with confusion as they stared at her.

Part III: Destiny Simon stared at the woman in front of him, wondering why his illusion making abilities did not work this time. After acquiring his abilities he started using the vintage eyeglasses to hide them because one glance at them and someone will start experiencing nightmarish visions. He released her hands, and she rubbed them to ease the pain. She picked up the vintage sunglasses that fell down due to their scuffle and gave them to him. He took them, stammering as he said, “Thank you, but why are you here?” Instead of answering, she pointed at his bandaged arm—a remembrance of his early rage at the bathroom. “What happened to them?” Simon turned his face away, hiding the red that was already spreading in his tanned face. “Please leave, this is private property…” His voice is faltering, what the hell? He felt her hands on his. “I am a nurse, show me where you keep your medicines.” Simon is blushing as Angela leads him inside his house. As they entered, their footsteps made a rustling sound in the dust covered floor. But all Simon can hear is the erratic, drum-like beating of his own heart.

“I thought they only had one son,” Angela said, pertaining to Simon’s parents, as she put Betadine on Simon’s wrist. “It’s a long story,” Simon said, grimacing at the pain. “Sorry for what I did to your arms.” Angela finished wrapping his arms in bandages before

resuming the conversation. “This?” She raised her arm and smiled at him, “this is nothing. I have had worse injuries before. Anyways, I gotta go, sorry for trespassing.” She stood up and turned to go. “Wait, will I see you again?” Silence lingered between the two of them. Simon lowered his gaze, ashamed of what came out of his mouth seconds ago. He heard the sound of footsteps towards him, and when he raised his still blushing face, he saw Angela holding a pen. She scribbled something in the bandages in his arm. “Find me here, if you want to tell me your story.” With that, the lovely trespasser was gone and time stopped for Simon as he stared at the address she wrote down. Of course I will find her! Simon decided as a smile made its way in his face.

That night, for what seemed like an eternity, Angela dreamed again. She dreamt about the sad boy who was lost in the cornfield. He is still lost, and she somewhat found her younger self watching him from afar. But this time, the boy was smiling as he walked towards Angela’s direction. And she welcomed him with open arms, the two of them leaving the field hand in hand—unmindful of the chaos that surrounds them. He has found home, at last.

Wow, chiks ni Nixon De Villa Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

Ipinanganak ako para maging maganda. ‘Yun lang. Mula sa unang liwanag na sumalubong sa akin ay ito na ang katotohanang bilin ng mundo. Kailangan kong lamnan ang tiyan ng pagkaing inihahain nila para makuha ang perpektong pigura na nakakaakit sa marami—malusog pero hindi mataba, petite lang, hindi mapayat. Wala naman akong choice, hindi ko rin naman kaya dumiskarte para sa sariling pagkain sa ganitong edad. Ito ang patakaran sa ampunan. Hindi ako sigurado kung akma bang tawagin itong ganoon, dahil wala namang nangangalaga sa amin nang ayos. Hindi na lang ako nagrereklamo, siguro ay dahil matagal ko nang tinanggap na ito ang tadhana ng mga tulad kong walang nakilalang magulang. Pare-pareho lang kami. At parepareho naman kaming makakaalis dito sa tamang panahon. “Ganito na lang ba talaga tayo?” sambit ni Rosa habang pinanonood ang paglipas ng bagyo mula sa bintana. “Ilang beses mo na ‘yang naitanong. Nakukulitan na ako sa’yo ha,” pabiro kong sagot, na may halo ring katotohanan dahil para s’yang sirang plaka na hindi rin naman marunong makinig. “Marami akong pangarap sa buhay. Marami akong gustong puntahan. Gusto ko rin makasali sa mga palaro. At alam mo ba, gusto ko na putulin ang dila ko dahil sobrang nakakaumay na ang binibigay nila sa’tin. Gusto ko rin makatikim ng masarap,” isang naratibong saulo na namin mula sa kanya. “Isa pa, napakababaw ng ganitong buhay. Humihinga tayo para sa palakpak at halakhak at titig ng mga taong hindi naman natin kilala, mga taong wala ring pakialam sa’tin bukod sa panlabas nating hitsura,” dagdag pa ng kaibigan kong ambisosya. Pero tama naman siya. Hindi lang ako, alam kong karamihan sa amin ay iniisip rin ang sinasabi ni Rosa, wala lamang kaming lakas ng loob na maging bukas dito tulad niya. Masyado lang siguro kaming duwag para kontrahin ang daloy ng buhay na tahimik

naming tinatanggap, tinitiis, at nilalakbay sa bawat araw ng paghahangad ng perpeksyon. Tama siya, ganito kami. “Nga pala, anong kulay gusto mo?” tanong ko sa kanya para malihis ang seryosong usapan. Nakakalungkot ang ulan, ayoko na dagdagan. “‘Wag mo nang itanong, sila rin naman pipili kung anong bagay sa buhok natin. Depende siguro sa kung saan ginaganahan ang mga parokyano,” ani niya. “Ako, gusto ko ay kulay kahel. Para kakulay ng langit habang unti-unting nagtatago sa dilim ang araw. Ang drama ‘di’ba? O ‘di kaya ay berde, parang luntiang mga dahon ng halaman sa init ng tagsibol. P’wede rin ang rosas, o kayumanggi, o pula. O dilaw na lang para mukhang natural,” sambit ko sa kanya. “Kahit pa mukha kang rainbow, pababayaan ka lang naman mamatay sa lamig sa gabi ‘pag nakalimutan. O sa gutom ‘pag wala na maipakain sa’yo. Kung malas ka, baka ikaw pa ipakain sa ibang hayop nila,” sagot niya. Pumasok na lang ako sa kulungan na mapula ang pisngi, hindi sa sampal ng kamay dahil wala naman kaming ganoon, kundi sa sampal ng katotohanan na ito na lang talaga kami. Mga sisiw sa fiesta, ipinanganak para maging maganda. ‘Yun lang.

I guess it would take a shooting star on bright daylight, to fulfill my wish of being locked behind bars in the selfish gates, I’d like to call freedom. -Jane Therese Banaag

Photo | Anne Lorraine Bautista

Hand me the bow to shoot arrows by Angel Joy Liwag

farther than the gap between us now, for I have grown weary of aiming at the center in the unpredictable wind of a hundred moods —of a boy who vanished from his frail sentiments. You were too busy getting lost in the drift, creating your own rules for fun as you fired our nocks from the ground to graze the yellow ten-pointer in mid-circle. You were just so careless, keen on the target but never with yourself while we pretended to play each other’s Cupid— but we were both bad at it. And for a moment, as you looked away, all your words dropped to the ground like broken dart pieces that we’ve already used up. We hurried as the breeze gets stronger— and there is no umbrella for clouded thoughts as I wait for them to become heavy rain It’s funny how we turned to be the wind ourselves —existing but never truly felt, never truly held, unless we poured our hearts out.

Israel Martin de Chavez

Banal na pagtatanghal ni Nixon De Villa Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

Luluhod sa harap ng krus. Hahalik sa sahig ang gasgas na mga tuhod, ‘sing kupas ng orasyon— tuwing tutula sa mamang ang balat ay kahoy, nakatulala sa walang-kibo niyang pagyuko. Pipikit, sa saliw ng musikang panlangit at aasang sa milagrong pagmulat ay pinakawalan ko na ang huling himno ng gintong kampana sa pawisang palad, at ligtas na sa titig ng mga santo sa dingding na takot lamang ang ambag. Titingalain, ang pintadong mural sa kisame na tanging saksi sa mga milagrong nakakubli sa ilalim ng musmos na ngiti. Sapagkat madilim ang mundo, taliwas sa kinang ng sutlang nakayapos sa mapagpanggap na mga balikat at ulo. Magpapaalam ang liwanag sa langit, at mula sa pumatak na puting kapa ay babangon ang demonyong mahusay magtimpla ng agua bendita, upang mangaral na sumuko at sumama; muling babagsak ang kurtina hudyat ng pagsasara ng sagradong palabas. Oras na para sa hating-gabing misa, luluhod— ngunit hindi sasamba.

Ugoy ng duyan ni Faith Valen Villanueva Dibuho ni Marion Macatangay

Ang dilim ng paligid. Wala akong maaninag at pakiramdam ko ang lagkit na ng aking katawan sa sobrang siksik at init sa loob. Sala sa lamig, sala naman sa init. Hay buhay, parang life. Aminin niyo, hindi lang ako ito? ‘Yung kinakatok ang pinto kapag naiingayan sa mga tao sa labas o hindi kaya naman ay may iginagalaw na hindi ko naman gusto at maaari ring ikapamahak ng mga ugat at kalamnan ko rito dahil sa makitid at pagkalagkit-lagkit na likidong maya’t-maya nang pumatak sa aking balat. Hindi naman ako pinaglihi sa panunuod ng war themed movie ng Nanay ko pero hindi ko pa naman nasisilip ang labas ay naiirita na ako sa mga taong maya’t maya na nanghimas ng aking likuran. Minsan may itinatapat pa sa akin na cassette, baka naman daw kasi makalahi pa ng manganganta si Inay sa aking paglabas.

Hindi pa kasi ako maaaring lumabas rito hangga’t hindi ko pa nakukumpleto ang nakatakdang buwan ng pananatili ko sa sinapupunan ng aking ina. Medyo nakakalungkot kasi mag-isa lang naman ako nililibang ko na lang ang aking sarili sa pakikinig sa kaganapan sa labas. Minsan naiipit ako sa reyalidad na gusto ko na marinig ang pinag-uusapan nila, ‘yung mga mukha n’ung pasimpleng dumudungaw sa akin habang ako ay namamahinga. Narinig ko nga sa balita na sa bawat pagdating ay may inilalatag na pulang karpet na para bang mala-Hollywood star ang datingan ng paglabas ng katulad kong matagal na nakatago. May ilang buwan pa ang kailangan kong bunuin para makalaya sa makipot na kulungang ito. Ika nga ng matatanda e, marami pa daw akong kakaining bigas Baka mamaya madisgrasya at matiktikan pa ako sa labas, mahirap na. Atsaka ayoko namang mahirapan ang mga mahal ko sa buhay. Nanggaling na ako sa pira-piraso, gusto ko na maging buo. Ayoko na bumalik sa dating ako. Ang tagal ko rin kayang nakipaglaban at sinisid ko pa talaga hanggang dulo para lang ako ang manalo. Okay lang ‘yun, ilang buwan na lang naman ang aking bubunuin at masisilayan ko na ang labas. Maririnig ko na rin ang hele ni Inay, at maisusuot ang mga inihanda niyang damit para aking pagdating . Sarap kaya sa feeling na alam mong may naghihintay sa’yo sa paglabas mo. ‘Yung nakaabang sila sa magiging pagbabago mo. Kaunting kembot na lang rito sa loob, makakalaya na rin ako. Matapos ang ilang araw kong paghihintay, isang gabi parang hindi maganda ang panahon sa dako paroon. Walang patid na tumitibok ang puso ko habang humahangos at pinipilit na huminga nang maayos. Habang tumatagal ang pananatili ko rito, pakitid na rin nang pakitid ang kulungan na ito. Kumokonti ang espasyo. Parang ramdam ko ang paghihirap ng mga taong nakapaligid sa akin at

pagtitiyaga na ako ay makalabas. Naambunan na rin ako sa loob ng parang maliliit na butil na mula sa labas, ang tawag yata nila rito ay ulan, ngunit tanong ko lamang, masakit ba ang ulan kapag lumalapat sa balat? Ang init sa pakiramdam. Para akong naiipit sa loob, mukhang oras na nga yata ng aking kalayaan. Sa gitna ng dilim, nakakita ako ng liwanag. Feeling ko, This is it! Ito na talaga ang pinakahihintay kong araw. Tama sila, kapag panahon mo na, itutulak ka na ng hangin palabas. Hindi ka na makakandado ngunit pihado luha naman ang aking hatid sa aking paglabas sa bagong mundo. Mami-miss ko ang kulungang ito. Ang masikip, minsan ay yumuyogyog na hawla, at ang minsanang paghagulhol ng aking Ina. Nakakaramdam na ako ng hapdi mula sa sinag ng liwanag. Ang paghihinagpis ni Ina mailabas lamang ako sa yungib na minsan na ring naging kanlungan ko. Ito na Ina iyong una at huling beses na pag-iyak sa hirap at sakit dahil paparating na ako. Nandito na ak-Malaya na ako pero pansamantala muna sigurong nakasuklob. At least, hindi na sa kulungan kundi sa isang kulob na kumot na ibabaon sa habambuhay na limot—ang lugar na inilaan ni Inay para sa aking pagdating. “Pasensya na, ‘Nak. Hindi pa ako handa,” bungad ng aking ina. Sa halip na paghalik sa aking namamalat na pisnge, tangan mo naman ako sa’yong mga bisig ngunit nakasaklob. Walang senyales ng buhay. Walang liwanag at may kahanggan. Humahangos at iika-ika kang humahakbang papalayo dahil sa natamo mong sariwang sugat. “Patawarin niyo po, Ako. Diyos ko,” paulit-ult kong naririnig ang humihinang bulong mo papalayo.

There is beauty in carrying the weight of your home amid the memoirs of lost footprints and madness. -Faith Valen Villanueva

Photo | Francis Aaron Magpile

Gerard Zairus Gupit

All-nighter by Kathryn Rae Custodio

The sun probably teleported into my room, or just outside my window, because it’s goddamn bright! Has every object in this world suddenly been sprayed with a thin layer of some sort of reflective coating? I close my eyes while waiting for them to adjust to the unusual light and fumble my hands over the bed for my phone. 2:17 pm. What. The. Heck. It’s less than three hours before the library closes, and I have to hurry there so I can use the free internet services. As I put on my last clean hoodie, I smell something acrid. My drunkard neighbors probably made a mess again next door and the smell is going in through these battered windows. They were singing loudly last night with off-beat voices and made-up lyrics. They probably added a puking party after that. Gross. I gathered the scattered photocopied pages and paper sheets littered with my almost unidentifiable handwriting from the table. Next to them is the ruins of a half-empty coffee mug. Houseflies were getting too curious, so I threw the mug in the sink with the other coffee mugs waiting to be washed. I’ll wash them when I get home. I think to myself knowing that I probably won’t. I’d rather spend more time trying to finish all these pending reports and a satanically demanding thesis. As I thought, everything really got an unnecessary upgrade of reflective coating. I can only squint as I walk outside. I went straight to the comfort room as I got into the university library to splash some water on my face. The bright light outside messed with my eyes and it took some time to adjust to the indoor lighting. I thought I sprayed a shit ton of perfume on my inner clothes earlier but why can’t I smell it now? Guess I got scammed with that bottle of perfume, huh? Could this day really get any worse? There’s no use in whining so I get straight to business. I occupied the vacant computer by the furthest corner so no one can bother me while I do my research. With the pandemic and all, it’s a blessing that the entire library is quieter than before. Earphones on, hands on the keyboard, eyes focused on the monitor. I spend the next hours being productive. Not because I want to but because I have to. It costs a shit ton of money to

go to university and I gotta do my best if I want to get out of this poverty hell. Study well, graduate on time, get a job, earn enough money for a peaceful retirement. I feel tired, more so than usual. My hands feel like jelly and I fumble for the mouse. I also think I dozed off several times, so I barely made progress on my thesis. It doesn’t help that the keyboard here—or the entire computer set, really—must have been poorly maintained so I have to hit the keys harder. I let out a long sigh. It felt like I’ve been holding my breath since I got here. One of the library staff stared at me. I get it, okay? I look horrible. It’s been weeks since I had a proper sleep, so I could very well rival a panda with these bags under my eyes. I haven’t taken a bath since yesterday either and my clothes are all wrinkled. I must have looked like a zombie in one of those lowbudget films. The librarian switched off the lights in the reading area. I looked around and noticed I’m the only one left in the internet room. Time to continue this work at home. I just hope my phone’s data can last me until tomorrow at least. I went to the usual fishball stall I go to before I head home but the tindero is ignoring me. He has his back to the stall, talking to his lover on the phone. This is annoying. Whatever. I pick up a few fish balls and kikiam and leave my payment beside the paper cups. Weird. I think as I walk home. I can’t seem to taste the food. I can’t smell the vinegar either. Did I catch the virus? Shit. Gods, no. My tastebuds are just asleep. Yeah. I distract myself by going through all the work I still have to do when I get home. Review all the references I got. Write down my own conclusion from all of those. Cross-reference all the facts. Check the messy draft my thesis groupmate sent me. I can never really understand how students make it to college without knowing how to write a proper essay or how to submit a paper without inciting an explosion of grammatical errors and misspellings.

I unlock my door and let out a loud grunt as my f*cked up room greets me heartlessly. It’s been weeks since I cleaned and there’s dirty clothes everywhere. I head to the table and set down my bag, my papers, my earphones, my phone. I wish I could also put down all these academic responsibilities. I take a moment to decide if I should grab a yellow or red bottle of Sting, the only resident of my desolate fridge. Just like last night, I pop a caffeine tablet into my mouth. I happened to find it at a pharmacy a few months ago and it really helps me stay awake to finish my studies. Just like last night, and almost every other night, I’ll have to stay up late to meet deadlines and get decent grades. I close my eyes as I walk to the window for some air. I reach the window and step into some sort of slush. What the hell?! Who puked in my room?! Traces of vomit spill from the window and onto the floor. My mind was quick to blame the drunkards next door, but did they really get around back just to puke into my window? My heart beats faster as I follow the vomit trail to the bed. I think I see a brown-ish red substance mixed with the vomit. There’s also a body (?) on the bed. Is that blood? Is that a person on my bed? How did they get in here? When? I search my memories of last night and my heart quickens even more as I approach my bed. After I took a caffeine tablet, I took a sip of coffee and stared at the sky from the window. I remember feeling nauseous. I remember struggling to the bed to get my phone. I remember… I went around the bed to look at the person on it. This person has my face.

Genesis

Art and Poem by Arielle Dane Adan

I. Writing fantasies There’s a cradle in between the spaces of you and I where nameless avenues stood, waiting impatiently to be baptized. A somewhere only we know, built in the after image of a sky full of stars —we’ve mapped out together but million miles apart. II. Waking up I was so enamored with the night, with how easy it is to find all the trapped words snuggled in between our twisting seams and folds; because in the dark, we are bold. But I opened my eyes when you said, let there be light. Bite marks on poisoned parts, fallen fruit on cursed grounds, oceans grew where valleys stood —I’m a million more miles away from you. III. Wayfinding Went adrift but not anymore, guided by our stars once more. I came back home even if the curtains were tightly drawn. But soon enough, the windows will be open wide unafraid from the outside, we’re welcoming the dawn breaking in. Fearless from getting lost, because following you is not the least thing I could do. I can now build a world not just for us two.

Minsan ko nang ninais ang magkatawang-tao sa hulma ni Ina, mula sa kanyang mapungay na mga mata hanggang sa banayad niyang kurba. Panay ang kanyang galaw sa himig ng sankaterbang gawain, habang pinapawi ng pawis ang namumuong inis sa kanyang mukha. Siesta ang kanyang tanging pahinga, ngunit ito ang aking pagkakataon upang lasapin ang gabok sa laruan at dungisan ang aking naninilaw na kamisa. Kailanma’y hindi ako naging taya sa habulan, o mahagilap kahit sa tagu-taguan; at paborito ring pagkaisahan ng mga kalaro, kaya naman tuwing sila ay mapipikon ay tanging ngalan ni Ina ang kanilang ibabaoy. May anak raw siya ngunit walang asawa ‘pagkat siya mismo ang nag-habla. kung tutuusin ay ako rin daw ay maysala bilang bitbit ko ang mukha ni Ama. Muling yayakapin ng dilim ang dapithapon, at ang yabag ng aking mga kalaro’y uurong papalayo. Masisilayan ko si Ina’ng naalimpungatan, waring hinahanap ang aking anyo. Kasabay ng aking pagtakbo sa direksyon ni Ina, namuo ang mga ngiti sa kanyang mga mata. Magkahulma man ang mukha namin ni ama, ay magkaibang eksena ang aming makikita ‘pagkat si Ina’ng lunod noon sa luha ay namumukadkad ngayon sa saya. ‘Kaytagal rin nga palang nabilanggo ni Ina sa higpit ng mga bisig at tigas ng kamao ni Ama.

Ex-con

ni Angel Joy Liwag Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

How could I step out from a place that just keeps on holding me back? And if I did have the courage to escape, will getting out of this box means stepping into a bigger one? -Arielle Dane Adan

Photo | Elaine Mapagdalita

Nang minsang tumapak ang isang hampaslupa sa sementadong siyudad ni Jane Therese Banaag

Princess Allyssa Plotado

I. Damn. Muli na naman naputikan ang vintage pair ng Levi’s na lagi kong suot. Hindi kasi nagiingat sa pagmamaneobra ng mamahalin niyang sasakyan itong bespren kong Amerikano. Palibhasa’t pinipili pang makipagpaligsahan sa sekyu sa pagbabantay ng pagmamay-aring Starbucks kahit uugod-ugod na makasulyap lamang sa mga dalagitang nagpapalipas ng hangover sa kanyang magarang kapehan. Ngunit bago pa man maging ArmaLite ang bibig ko sa sobrang dismaya, inunahan na ako ng isang lalaking tila pInagbagsakan ng langit at lupa sa lakas ng kanyang sigaw. “Punyeta naman! Mag-iisang buwan pa lang itong Raptor ko,” bwelta ng isang lalaking tila isang menor-de-edad pa lamang base sa balingkinitan niyang pangangatawan at uniporme niyang pang-hayskul. “The heck? You’re lucky isang buwan pa lang car mo. I only had this BMW three fuck*ng weeks ago pa lang tapos you’ll fuck*ng put a scratch on it? Pay for it, loser!” tugon naman ng nakabanggaan niyang balu-baluktot na ang Tagalog ay iisa lang din yata ang alam na mura.

Nagmistulang Korte Suprema ang kahabaan ng España Boulevard sa palitan ng kaniya-kaniyang dahilan at pasahan ng sisi ng mga aroganteng kabataan na itinuturing na laro ang karera ng buhay sa mga konkretong kalsada ng Maynila. Sa kanilang mga kokote, akala nila ay sila lang siguro ang tao sa mundo—o ‘di kaya, dahil sa haba ng kanilang bangayan ay ‘di nila naisip ang mga motoristang naiipit sa trapikong dulot ng kanilang kayabangan Ngunit paano nga ba naman tatatak sa kanilang isipan ang kalagayan ng mga taong hindi naman nila kasing-antas? Mga taong ang iniida ay hindi mga galos ng mamahalin nilang sasakyan, kung hindi mga galos na mamahalin ang sagot na lunas. Mga taong kagaya ko. ‘Di tulad ng daan libong mga sasakyan na nakikipagsapalaran sa trapiko ng Maynila, nandito na ako sa punto kung saan wala nang balakid sa daang aking tinatahak—saan man ito magsisimula o kung magtatapos man ito. II. Sakit na walang lunas kung maituturing ang init ng panahon na dumadapo sa mga konkretong pader ng makalumang Intramuros. Bukod kasi sa mga nakikipagtaguan na mga waiting shed, nagiging lata ng sardinas na rin ang distrito na ito sa kaliwa’t kanang mga paaralan na itinatayo sa bawat sulok ng tinaguriang Napapderang Lungsod. Ang dapat sanang init na sa kayumanggi kong balat lamang manunuot ay umakyat na sa aking ulo dahil sa grupo ng mga kababaihang nagkukumahog tulungan ang kaibigang walang tigil ang bahing. “Kanina pa ‘yan, girl. Sure ka bang allergy lang ‘yan?” nagaalalang tanong ng isang babaeng ni-ruler ata ang tuwid na buhok. “Hala. Baka ito na ‘yong sinasabi nilang coronavirus? ‘Yong bagong kumakalat na sakit galing China?” singit naman ng isa pa niyang kaibigan habang nag-aalangan lumapit sa kaibigan nilang may sakit.

“OMG! Nakakamatay raw ‘yon sabi ng family doctor namin!” bwelta naman niya. Habang agaw-pansin nilang pinupuno ng hindi kanais-nais na mga tsismisan ang kahabaan ng nangangalawang na mga haligi ng Mapua, aking napagtanto na maswerte akong hindi ko kailanman iindahin ang samu’t-saring mga kaartehan sa kalusugan na kinakaharap ng mga tisay na kolehiyalang ito. ‘Di tulad ng mga natatanging pook pangkasaysayan, na bantay sarado ng mga sinaunang kawal sa loob ng Intramuros, kahit ang pinaka malubhang sakit na inimbento ng mapanlinlang na siyentipiko ay hindi uubra sa katawan kong nakasubok na ng pambihirang gutom, malubhang mga galos, at ang lumilipad kong temperaturang dulot ng nagsasalungat na matinding init at lamig. III. Nagsisimula nang magkalampagan ang mga roll-up doors ng karamihan sa mga pwesto ng masisikip na eskinita dito sa Divisoria. Hudyat ito na muli ko na namang masosolo ang paraiso hindi lamang ng mga kuripot na mga Manileño ngunit pati na rin ng mga gastadorang mga probinsyana. Sa karamihan, Divisoria ang tokador ng Maynila—isang antigong lalagyan na napupuno ng samu’t-saring abubot, kasuotan, at palamuti na makakamit sa murang presyo. Ngunit para sa akin, isa ring malaking hapagkainan ang lugar na ito— ngunit nagbubukas lamang sa pagsapit ng madaling araw. Pinauuna kong umalis ang mga tauhan sa paborito kong karinderya upang ako’y masinsinang makapili sa kanilang iniwang mga putahe para sa akin na siyang nakasilid sa malalaking drum at may karatulang “Biodegradable”. Ngunit laking dismaya ko nang makita kong iisang ulam lang ang laman ng aking personal refrigerator—java rice ala kaning lamig. Habang umuugong ang alarm clock sa aking sikmura, nakipagsabayan dito ang tunog ng isang cellphone na siyang

bumalot sa bibihirang tahimik na mga sulok ng Divisoria. “Anak, pagpasensyahan mo na… Louis Vitton ng Divisoria lang talaga inabot ng pera ko,” malambing na saad ng lalaking may kausap sa kanyang telepono. “Babawi na lang si Papa sa ika-19th birthday mo, ‘nak… Ginabi na rin ako paghahanap nitong pinakamagandang Class A… Sorry talaga, ‘nak. Alam mo namang na-bankrupt ang bangko ni Papa,” maya-maya pa ay napansin kong lumuluha na ang lalaki sa lalim ng kanyang mata at pagkayukot ng kupas kupas niyang polo Sa sobrang taimtim ng pagtitig ko sa mamang nasa harap ko, hindi ko napansin na papasugod na siya sa akin. “Huy! Anong gagawin mo dito? Manghoholdap ka, ‘no? Ipapa-tanod kita, umalis ka dito!” sunod-sunod na pagbabanta ng lalaking iyon. Dali-dali naman akong lumiko sa kabilang eskinita kung saan puro mga gamit pampaaralan ang binebenta ng mga may p’westong tindera. Sa palagay ko’y mabuti namang tao ang lalaking pinagbintangan pa akong mangho-holdap kahit mas uso ang suot kong ripped jeans sa kanyang makalumang pantalon. Marahil ay nababalot lamang siya ng samu’t-saring suliranin at gastusin sa anak niyang mukhang nasanay na masunod sa luho. ‘Di tulad ng mga presyo ng mga bilihin sa pinakasikat na merkado sa Lungsod ng Maynila, wala nang pagtataas-baba ang ikot ng aking kapalaran dahil naabot ko na ang hindi makita-kitang dulo ng bilog nating mundo. IV. Hindi mabura ang ngiti sa aking labi habang tinatahak ko ang maingay at magulong kalye ng Morayta. Huwebes ngayon kaya alam kong inuwi ng anak ni Mrs. Chan ang kanilang mapangahas na askal. Isang senyales na wala akong kaagaw na boarder sa madalas kong tulugan na dog cage sa tabi ng kainan ni Mrs. Chan. Habang hinahanap ang aking antok, napatitig ako sa mga sumisilip na mga bituin sa pagitan ng bubong na rehas ng aking

tinutulugan. Sabi nila’y kapag lumagpas ng sampu ang bilang ng mga sumisibol na bituin sa kalangitan ay malayong bumadya ang ulan; dahilan upang mapangiti na naman ako sa tuwa dahil mapapasarap ang aking tulog sa kabila ng walang patawad na bolyum ng karaoke machine sa katapat na KTV Bar ng Dimsum House ni Mrs. Chan. Akin pang naaalala ang apat na pagkakataong ipinasara ang KTV Bar na ito sa hindi ko mawari-waring dahilan. Akin na lang namamataang lumalabas mula sa tatlong palapag na bar ang mga babaeng kahit wala na halos saplot ay mga mukha nila ang lubusang tinatakpan. Bukod sa kanila ay ineeskortan din ng mga pulis palabas ang may-aring balbas saradong Arabo na medyo may edad na. Hindi ko rin maintindihan kung paano niya nabuhay muli ang bar sa mahigpit na pagkakakandado dito ng mga pulis. Ngunit, kung iisipin ay wala nga talagang buhay ang Morayta kung wala ang Arabo at ang bar niyang ito. Ibang klaseng ngiti ang sumisilay sa labi ng mga kalalakihang estudyanteng inaabot ng madaling araw doon. Bakas rin ang kaparehong kasiyahan sa mukha ng mga babaeng pumuputok sa kolorete ang mga mukha habang isa-isang binibilang ang bigkis bigkis na salapi. Hindi mga ngiti ang kaakibat ng mga awitin sa KTV Bar matapos itong maungusan ng tunog ng mga umuugong na wangwang na nagmumula sa paparating na mga sasakyan ng mga pulis. Kaparehong eksena na naman ang sinubaybayan ng nagkukumpulang mga nagising na boarders sa likod ng Morayta— ang walang katapusang pag-aresto sa abusado at ganid na Arabaong ito. ‘Di tulad ng mga pabigla-biglang pagsibol ng samu’t-saring ingay sa namamahingang Morayta, wala nang kahit na ano pang sorpresa ang bubuo o bubuwag sa aking pamumuhay. ‘Di tulad ng matandang Arabo o ng mga babaeng walang saplot, ang konsepto ng pagkakaroon ng salapi ay patingi-tingi lang dapat sa aking perspektibo.

V. Dahil sa gulong dulot ng paghuli sa may-ari ng KTV Bar sa Morayta, muli na naman akong napadpad sa masisikip na kalye ng España Boulevard. Pero dagdag sa nana ng trapiko na nakabukol sa bawat kalsada ay ang hindi maawat na pagtaas ng baha. Kanya-kanyang diskarte ang mga estudyante, negosyante, empleyado, pati na rin ang mga drayber sa paglusong sa bahabahang perwisyo dulot ng malakas na buhos ng ulan. Mayroong nagpapabuhat sa kani-kanilang nobyo, mayroong pinipiling pumara ng mga taxi na abusado kung maningil sa pamasahe. At mayroon rin mga katulad ko na walang ibang p’wedeng gawin kung hindi isisid ang mga paa sa tubig baha. Balak ko sanang umakyat sa UST Overpass upang makaiwas sa mas malalang baha sa mga kalapit na imprastuktura ng unibersidad. Nagsisiksikan na ang mga estudyante huwag lamang mamantsahan ang namumuti nilang mga uniporme. Sa dami ng tao ay nahihirapan na rin akong ibalanse ang aking sarili habang umaakyat sa madulas na hakbang ng hagdanan. May kataasan ang susunod na hakbang sapagkat ito na ang mismong overpass. Kamuntikan na rin akong madulas kaya bigla akong mapakapit sa isa sa mga kalapit kong estudyante. Pero bago pa man magtagpo ang aking paa at ang palapag ay isang kamao na ang sumalubong sa akin. “Shet kang dukha ka! Hihipuan mo pa girlfriend ko,” sigaw ng mestisong kanina lamang ay kaakbay ang babaeng nakapitan ko sa balikat. “Naku, hindi ko naman sinasa—” hihingi na sana ako ng paumanhin pero isang mas malakas na suntok ang kanyang binitawan, dahilan upang mawalan na naman ako ng balanse at ang mga estudyanteng kanina’y nagkakadadumahog makaakyat ay tumatabi sa gilid upang makaiwas sa katawan kong dirediretsong nahuhulog sa overpass. Habang patuloy ang pagbuhos ng ulan, ang mga patak nito’y diretsong tumatama sa sariwang sugat sa aking mukha dahilan upang ako’y mapahiyaw sa kirot. Ngunit walang laban ang hiyaw

na ito sa lakas ng pambabastos ng mga kaibigan ng lalaking sumuntok sa akin. “Nice one, lods,” puri ng isa pang mestiso na para bang isang bayani ang kaibigan niyang inuuna ang paggamit ng mga kamao niya kaysa sa utak. Mukha bang uunahin ko ang kamanyakan kaysa makaiwas sa baha? “Resbak, resbak,” gatong ng pumapaalkpak ng kaibigan sa puti niyang t-shirt na may tatak na Never Give Up. Akmang tatayo na sana ako sa aking pagkakabagsak nang salubungin ang palutang-lutang kong katawan sa baha ng isang kotse na ang gulong ay kakaiba ang laki. “Puta, kung kailan naman bahang-baha. Hindi ka kasi natingin, pare,” buwelta ng lalaking nakaupo sa tabi ng drayber. “Hayaan mo na. Hindi naman tayo kakasuhan niyan,” pagpigil ng drayber sa kaibigang bababa na sana ng sasakyan. Habang humaharurot palayo ang magara at higanteng kotse na iyon, ang kaninang nanaig na kantyaw mula sa paligid ay napalitan naman ng kabi-kabilang bulungan na medyo naririnig ko pa sa kabila ng pagdanak ng dugo sa aking tagiliran at tubig baha na bumabara sa aking tainga. “Hindi ba anak ni Mayor Morena iyong nakabangga,” tanong ni Aling Marites, ang landlady ng dormitoryo sa tabi ng overpass. “Hala oo nga! Buti na lang iyan lang ang nadisgrasya niya. Kawawa naman ang ama niya kung nagkataon,” paliwanag naman ng kanyang kumare. Sa kaharian ng España kung saan ang katunggali ng sikat ng araw ay agos ng ulan, walang pinipiling antas sa buhay ang baha; pero may iba talaga na nakakalamang dahil matibay ang panangga nila sa agos nito—ang kani-kanilang pribilehiyo. At habang naliligo ako sa sarili kong dugo at naghahabol ng sarili kong paghinga, inaasam ko na dadalhin na lang ako nito sa hukay.

Pop-Corny Art and Story by Clark Alduz Viray

When I was around seven years old, my father used to take me on long morning walks in the old park near our apartment. As a young boy whose only happiness is spending as much time as possible in the comfort of his bed, I would always grumble when he would come to my room, open the venetian blinds and let the much dreaded sunlight enter my room. He would wake me up by tickling me, and then ruffle my hair while telling me that I am “his little prince.” After eating breakfast, burnt toast and eggs for me, and fried rice mixed with whatever leftover takeout we had for last night, for my father, the two of us will then leave our rented room hand in hand. He will whistle an old tune that only he seemed to enjoy while I sulked and grumbled because he woke me up too early. But after a few minutes, that childish tantrum will be replaced by wide eyed astonishment as we sit in one of the old benches in the park, sipping our morning drinks, a carton of milk for me and a cup of steaming coffee for my Father. During those times, he would tell me one of his timeless fairytale stories as we watched the morning scenery unfold before our eyes. Sometimes, my father will treat me with a pack of those cheap popcorn they used to sell in plastic bags. Most of the time, my attention will linger from the half eaten treat towards my father’s face, as if by turning away from him, I will miss the story he is telling me.

In his tales, he is always the valiant knight in shining armor, saving my mother from the monsters and villains that dared to separate the two of them. Needless to say, my childhood was a memorable one. It was filled with images of clashing swords, fire breathing dragons and alluring fairies. He will then accompany me to my school, and later, my classmates and I will form a small circle with me at the center as I retell one of my father’s stories, feeling proud at the admiration in the faces of my young peers. As I grow older, the park visits become less frequent. My father got caught up in the busy world of the city and I, on the other hand, became engrossed in finding new friends from my age group. As time passed by, a rift formed between the two of us. The room we are renting, which was once echoing with banters, became as silent as a mausoleum. He passed away last year. They say that he did not see the speeding car during the torrential rain as he tried to cross the street. It was a small funeral, with not much of our relatives attending—not even my mother. I have long known that she has a new family. I once tried to contact her, but I croaked and choked on my words. How could I tell her that all these years, a young boy, who is now a man, is missing his mother’s embrace? Sometimes, when I wake up early and I have no work, I will visit the old park and sit down on our favorite bench. I will watch the sun slowly rising on the horizon, imagining that my father is still there with me, holding my hands and telling me one of his stories. But everything is not the same. The stories seemed to be bland when I could only hear them in my head. I miss my father’s face, his comical narration of his stories, and the way his eyes widened when he got carried away with one of his fictitious scenarios. And sometimes, when I take a bite of the popcorn that I buy, they do not taste the same as the ones I ate when I was just a young boy with no care in the world. They taste bitter. Maybe because at times, my tears will just fall and mingle with them. I miss him.

I know you will forget, how our memories shatter into ashes. But our thorns remained intact While a new dawn blooms as we wither. -Joviallyn Belegal

Photo | Joviallyn Belegal

Marion Macatangay

Let the bedbugs bite by Alyssa An

Sugar coated nuts, under my pink dusty pillow where stink fleas live— partying beneath my sleep. ‘Hail our queen!’ shouted in small gossips of the little ants on their red dresses. Wild chants for the woman they praise— a gapped-tooth lady with no jewelry dangling around my neck. Songs of praises gave me courage, to take the braces off, while walking towards the crowd. Under my pillow, a wide curve is plastered on my face. I falter from the crowd with my pocket full of sweet candies. Call me G.

Don’t tell Gaia by Katherine Nicole Lontok Photo by Joviallyn Belegal

Run away. That’s all 20-year-old Gaia has ever wanted. As countries engaged in wars, Gaia and her family were brought to shreds. She has to live with alcoholics in the midst of the world’s downfall inside a rusted metal bunker with leaky faucets and an empty fridge. Somehow, everyone could still manage to live even with the threat of being shot or being dropped a grenade in the middle of a bright sunny day.

At this point, she wanted to get out. She wanted to leave. Perhaps, not physically. She didn’t want to wander off to some place only to come home to her drunk mother sprawled all over their living room. She didn’t want to go somewhere nice only to come home to a father demanding money. She wanted to leave, for good.

Unfortunately, Gaia still has much to live for. She tries to convince herself to stay. She excels much in robotics and technology—making her a great inventor at a young age of 20. It humors Gaia sometimes. How can a person be so smart and be so miserable at the same time? Despite the misery that they’ve caused her, Gaia looks at the only family she has with loving eyes. Being too soft is a weakness, her thoughts murmured, And God knows how weak I could be. Her heart clenched at this thought. How she wished leaving was as easy as saying goodbye.

It was Friday, December 2200. The young woman was covered with her usual long sleeves and sweatpants, the perfect attire for covering wounds and scars. She had just gone out of the bathroom, carrying her beloved blade with her and putting it back on the drawer of her night stand. “These ones for tonight we’re kind of deep.” To make her feel something aside from the constant numbness, she pours alcohol onto her bleeding arm before plopping on her bed, wincing as the sting kicks in. With a heavy sigh, she pondered “I wonder how I am in another universe…” the girl whispered as she looked up at her poster-studded ceiling, “I hope she’s way better than me.” After a single teardrop escaped the girl’s tired eyes, realization hit her. It felt like electric shocks running from her brain to her toes. “Another universe? What a great idea,” and faster than

light, Gaia made her way to her study table where all her notes, blueprints, and books are stacked in a dumpsite replica style.

She called it NEU EVE, a portal that could transport her to another universe— farther than Andromeda and the Milky Way but closer to home, a parallel universe. Gaia worked for an entire month to finish the machine. Unexpectedly, the portal gleamed as it touched electricity. Alas, it worked! Almost instantly, she hopped inside the machine. She was more than ready to leave her life behind. The machine was in the image of a tanning bed without the long rods of light bulbs inside. There, she laid comfortably. “Goodbye to this horrible world,” she uttered before the lid of her portal shut. Slowly, Gaia closed her eyes with a certain peace on her face. Relief flowed as she finally found her way out. Then everything was dark.

“What in the world?” she winced as the splitting headache kicked in. Her room was the first peculiar thing she noticed . It did not resemble the walls of their bunker. The walls were made of brick and wood. It looked absolutely unsafe. The next thing was the windows, revealing her a grass-filled view. Their bunker had no windows nor did it show a view aside from the usual hellish battlegrounds but now, everything was light, green, and beautiful; ethereal even. Gaia had never seen anything like it. Lastly and the most peculiar of all was her appearance. Her hair was kept nicely in a ponytail. She was wearing comfortable pajamas and the scars all over her arms, stomach, and thighs are gone, as if they were never even there. ”What is happening? Did it work?” she told herself as she

scanned her reflection from head to toe. She doesn’t know how to feel, should she be delighted? Or maybe she should be scared. The difference between the world she knew and the world where she is now is that of night and day. “What worked?” said a familiar voice from behind. As soon as she turned around, Gaia found herself falling to the floor as her knees weakened in shock. It was her mother dressed in a plaid blouse and light denim jeans with no trace of intoxication on her face. She was looking at Gaia with concern. “Gaia, is there something wrong?” she asked sweetly. The unknowing woman approached the shocked little Gaia who was still seated on the floor. “Tell me, darling. Did something happen?” Speaking was out of the question, Gaia could not even move an inch. The woman approached her and caressed her cheek, making Gaia flinch and turn away. Soon, another figure entered the room. A bigger shock and a bigger scare for Gaia. She opened her eyes, confusion filling it to the brim. “What happened here?” asked her father. A better version of her father was in front of her. “How could this happen? Wait, is it my machine? Did it work?” Gaia ran her fingers through her hair in panic, gripping the strands while trying to make sense of what she just witnessed. Beads of sweat decorated her forehead as she frantically looked around the room. Her heart raced but her mind was relieved. It was like a sweet ironic moment and it brought her to a confusing euphoria. She was indeed in the parallel.

Breakfast came and it was not like any other that she had in her own world.

“I never thought I could ever have a conversation like this with you two,” Gaia said with a full smile, “I have always dreamt of this.” Her mother chuckled at her words, “What do you mean, love? We talk like this everyday.” Gaia, still with a smile, shook her head in response. Gaia couldn’t bring herself to utter another word. Later on, her father drove her to school. Something she had never experienced in her life. The rays of the sun passing through the car window had no match for Gaia’s glee. By the time they reached the school, her father looked back at her and gave her money. “Here you go, love. Have fun at school.” Once again, in shock, Gaia furrowed her eyebrows, “What is this for?” she asked. Her father blinked innocently, curious as to why her daughter is behaving the way she is at that particular day. “That’s your allowance, why? Do you need more?” he asked. Gaia could not believe her eyes. This brought tears to eyes, water brimming at the rim of the windows to her soul. Her father noticed this but he only smiled at her. “Come on, sweetheart, you’ll be late for class.” Gaia sniffed and nodded. She waved her father goodbye. In the midst of the day, she realized something, the parallel universe is a dimension that actually exists in the same bounds of time just with different turns of events. That means another version of her exists as well. Where could she be? Gaia tossed and turned as she got home just to find the answer for her query but she found none. There is no other person that looks like her, asking for their life back. There is no one accusing her of stealing their family and fortunes. It was just her and her ideal family. Standing in front of the mirror, she sighed. “Would it be a crime

if I enjoy this feeling a bit more?” she asked her reflection, as it stared back at her. With a single teardrop falling from her eye, she smiled and nodded.

“We are deeply sorry for what happened,” a feminine voice said. “She’s in a better place now. I know it.” The woman was Gaia’s teacher in high school. It was the first day of her funeral. Her parents, for the first time, were sober in the time where being drunk would be understood. Indeed, the cut was too deep that night. Sadly, she failed to notice. And soon, she was in a dreamlike state. Perhaps, the parallel isn’t another dimension across our bounds of time but instead, the heaven we all wished for. Maybe, the afterlife is actually living our dreams as the versions of ourselves we all hoped to see. To Gaia, death was moving to the parallel. She didn’t notice at all. It was just another experiment. And yet, it felt like coming home.

Minsan, okay lang maligaw ni Clark Alduz Viray

Gerard Zairus Gupit

De-metro, de número. Sa dalawang salitang ito siguro mailalarawan ang kasalukuyang kalagayan ng ating mga buhay. Dahil na rin sa pandemya sa bansa, mas lalong naging limitado ang bawat pagkilos natin. Para tayong inihawla at binigyan lang ng ilang oras na kalayaan araw araw. Nariyan ang kabi-kabilang curfew at travel restrictions na ipinapatupad sa bawat probinsya. Maraming mga estrukturang ipinasara, gaya ng mga paaralan, at may mga gusali ring pinatigil pansamantala ang operasyon. Maging sa mga piling oras ng paglabas natin sa ating mga bahay, andyan ang face masks at face shields na pumipigil sa malaya nating paghinga. Ngayon, namumuhay ang karamihan sa atin sa mundong puno ng mga hangganan at limitasyon. Minsan nakakasakal na din kung tutuusin, hindi ba? Pero wala naman tayong magagawa. Mas maigi na ring sobrang ma-bore tayo sa ating mga bahay, ‘yung tipong saulo na natin at nalibot ang bawat sulok ng mga kwarto natin, kaysa naman mabiktima tayo ng Covid-19. Ika nga, “prevention is better than cure.” ‘Wag kayong mag-alala, hindi tungkol sa Covid ang sanaysay na ito, alam ko namang utang-uta na kayo sa usaping pandemya, na araw-araw nang bumubungad sa atin sa tuwing bubuksan natin ang radyo at telebisyon, o kaya nag i-i-scroll tayo sa social media applications natin. Tungkol ang akdang ito sa mga hawla na pilit nating tinatakasan, mga limitasyon at hangganang kumokontrol sa bawat pagkilos natin, at kung bakit minsan, okay lang na tumahak ng mga maling landas sa buhay.

Unang bahagi: Ang mga kulungang pilit tinatakasan ni Juan Aminin na natin, noon pa man, puno na ang mundo ng mga bagay na nagsisilbing hawla sa ating mga buhay. Mula pagkabata, itinanim na ng lipunang ating ginagalawan na may mga bagay na kahit gustuhin natin ay hinding hindi natin makukuha. Gaya na lamang ng mga laruang nakikita natin sa mga estante ng mall o kaya sa mga pamilihan. Kapag tinangka nating ipabili ang mga nasabing laruan sa ating mga magulang, napupuno ng pagkadismaya ang ating mga munting puso kapag sinabi nilang wala sa budget ang pagbili sa mga ito. Minsan, makakatikim pa tayo ng pasimpleng kurit at pagbabanta, kapag nagpilit tayo sa gusto natin o kaya naglupagi tayo sa harap ng maraming tao. Bukod sa unang pagkadismayang dulot ng mga laruang hindi natin nabili noong kabataan natin, napakarami pang mga hangganan ang ipinakita sa atin ng mundo, habang unti-unti nating binabagtas ang landas ng ating mga buhay. Nariyan ang paglilimita ng mga magulang natin sa oras ng paglalaro natin sa labas o kaya ang pagbabawal nila sa ating maligo sa ulan. Darating pa sa puntong susunduin tayo ng mga nanay natin sa parangan o kalye kung saan tayo naglalaro. Sariwa pa din siguro sa ating mga isipan ang hapdi ng mga pamalo na tumama sa atin noong kabataan natin, tuwing magmamaktol tayo kasi nabitin tayo sa paglalaro sa labas. Madalas, pinipilit din nila tayong matulog nang tanghali, para daw tumangkad tayo o mabilis na lumaki. Kung alam lang sana natin na sa pagtanda natin, mas maraming bagay pa ang magbibigay ng sakit sa atin kaysa sa mga pamalo ng mga magulang natin at minsan, hahanap-hanapin din ng ating mga katawan ang mailap na kapayapaang hatid ng pagtulog. Nang mas mamulat tayo sa reyalidad ng mundo, inakala nating sa pagtanda natin, matatamo na natin ang kalayaang pinagkait sa atin noong kabataan natin. Sa halip, mas lalo tayong nakulong,’di pa rin natin magawang maging lubusang malaya. Dala na rin ng mas malawak na pag-unawang taglay ng pagtanda natin, mas

nakita natin ang mga hangganang nagkalat sa paligid natin. Halimbawa na lamang ay ang mga pisikal na limitasyon natin. Matatawag na superficial ang karamihan sa mga Pinoy, kung kaya mas may appeal sa kanila ang mga taong maganda ang pangangatawan, may matangos na ilong, malaporselanang kutis at mga mukhang pang magazine, ika nga. Natural na ugali na ng iba sa atin ang isiping naka-aangat ang mga taong presentable ang itsura, kung kaya ang mga hindi gaanong gwapo o maganda sa ating paningin ay itinuturing nating mga katatawanan. dulot na rin siguro nito ay ang paglaganap ng mga nagpapaayos ng kanilang mga “physical imperfections” gamit ang iba’t ibang surgery at medical procedures na hindi biro ang halaga. Minsan, nakalulungkot ding isiping sa paghahangad ng iba na maging kasing gwapo o ganda ng mga artista o sikat na personalidad, itinatapon nila ang physical features nila na naging bahagi ng kung sino o ano sila. Pumunta naman tayo sa usaping pinansyal, kase nabanggit na din ang tungkol sa malaking halagang inilalabas ng ilan sa atin para sa pagpapabago ng ibang parte ng kanilang mga katawan. Isa pa ito sa mga limitasyong lagi nating nakakasalubong. Kung noon, problema na natin ang pagpapabili ng laruan sa mga magulang natin, ngayon, pinapasakit na din ang mga ulo natin ng mga bagay na hindi magawang bilhin gamit ang sariling pera natin. Minsan, sa sobrang hirap ng pagbu-budget natin sa pera, hindi na rin natin magawang lumabas kasama ang mga kaibigan natin. Pero wala pa ata ito sa kalahati ng hirap na aabutin natin kapag nagsimula na tayong magtrabaho. Mas hahanapin natin ang pahinga kapag lampas limang oras na tayong nag-o-overtime para lamang makaipon, o kaya kapag napipilitan na tayong kumuha ng kaliwa’t kanang sidelines o part time jobs, matustusan lang ang pang- araw araw na pangangailangan natin. Kung gusto niyo pa ng patunay sa mga limitasyong pinansyal sa mundo natin, alalahanin niyo lang ang Payatas Dumpsite, ang squatter areas na halos katabi lamang ng mga exclusive subdivision, lalo na sa Maynila, ang mga batang may mga

lobong tiyan at patpating mga katawang nagtitinda ng kandila o sampaguita sa harap ng mga simbahan, at ang marami pang mukha ng kahirapang halos araw araw nating nakikita. Isa pang tanikala sa ating lipunan na pilit nagkukulong sa marami sa atin ay ang pagiging regresibo ng bansa pagdating sa usaping may kinalaman sa sex. Makaluma pa din ang karamihan sa mga Pinoy. Bagama’t sa mga nagdaang taon ay itinapon na ng ilan ang mga makalumang paniniwala gaya ng pagiging dekorasyon at tagabantay lamang ng mga kababaihan sa bahay, sobrang layo parin ng Pilipinas sa mga bansa na vocal ang mga mamamayan sa mga isyu tungkol sa sex. Umiiling pa rin ang iba sa atin kapag nakakarinig ng tungkol sa divorce, same sex marriage, legal abortion, o kaya sex works. Tila ba sa pagbubukas ng mata at kaisipan nila sa mga usaping ito, nagiging marumi sila. Ang ironic lang na sa kabila nito, laganap pa din sa bansa ang mataas na bilang ng teenage pregnancy, at STDs. Tila ba dahil sa pagiging “taboo” ng mga usaping sex, mas lalong natutuksong magexplore ang mga tao. At kadalasan, ang pagiging mapusok nila ay nagiging dahilan ng mga problemang nabanggit. Medyo bumibigat ata ang akda ko, kaya bibigyan ko kayo ng medyo relatable na halimbawa ng hangganang mayroon sa ating buhay bago tayo pumunta sa ikalawang bahagi ng sanaysay na ito. Madami sa atin ang nag-aaral pa, at damang dama natin ang hirap ng pag-abot sa isa sa mga pangarap natin—ang magandang edukasyon at kinabukasan. Pero ‘di naman umaayon lahat sa atin. Minsan may mga kurso na may maintaining grades, isang mababang marka lang na ‘di pasok sa standards, ligwak ka agad. Nariyan din ang hirap na kaakibat ng expectations ng ibang tao, lalo na ang mga kapamilya natin, kung kaya napre-pressure tayo na mag-ayos sa pag-aaral. Dumarating pa nga sa puntong hindi na natin ma-pursue ang mga bagay na gusto talaga natin, kasi kinakailangan nating magpokus sa pag-aaral. Ilan lamang ang mga nabanggit ko sa mga hawlang pilit pumapatay sa kalayaan natin. ‘Di man aminin ng iba sa atin, minsan natatakot tayong subukang kumawala sa mga ito, dahil baka mas mapasama pa tayo o kaya baka maligaw tayo ng landas o magkamali. Sinanay tayo ng mundo sa pagkakakulong, kung kaya ang paglaya, minsan ay hindi na natin hinahangad.

Ikalawang bahagi: Tarang maligaw, kahit saglit lang Kung umabot ka na sa bahaging ito, siguro nagtataka ka kung ano pa ang gusto kong sabihin. Simple lang naman: Hindi dapat tayo pumayag na diktahan tayo ng lipunan sa mga dapat nating gawin sa buhay. Hindi dapat natin hayaang ikulong tayo ng mga limitasyon ng mundo, minsan, hangarin din natin ang maligaw sa sanga-sangang daan ng buhay—minsan, hangarin din natin ang lumaya. Hindi ko sinasabing mali ang pag-conform sa mga limitasyong nabanggit ko, kase kung tutuusin, iba iba naman ang mga tao ng pananaw sa mga bagay bagay. Siguro, ang nais kong puntuhin ay siguraduhin natin na sa lahat ng mga gagawin natin, handa tayo sa consequences na darating. Kung piliin nating may ipabago sa katawan natin, handa dapat tayong maging masaya sa kabila ng sasabihin ng iba. Kung pinipili nating magpakasubsob sa trabaho para kumita, huwag nating pabayaan ang sarili natin, may mas mahahalagang bagay pa naman kaysa sa salapi. At sa mga kabataang pinipiling i-explore ang sexuality nila, huwag sana silang pangungunahan ng kapusukan at mag-ingat kayo parati. Isang bagay pa, naniniwala din akong sa pagpipilit nating mamuhay sa loob ng mga limitasyon ng mundo, nalilimitahan din ang ating mga potensyal. Danas ko ang ganitong sitwasyon, ‘yung para bang may gustong kumawala mula sa kaloob-looban mo, pero hindi mo magawa kase hindi mo magawang putulin ang tanikalang inilagay mo sa mga paa at braso mo. Alam kong ramdam niyo rin ito. Sa kaso ko, ilang taon akong nabuhay sa paniniwalang mas dapat akong magpokus sa mga bagay na katanggap tanggap sa lipunan at sa mata ng mga tao sa paligid ko. Isinakripisyo ko ang tunay kong pangarap, ang maging isang guro, dahil hindi daw ito praktikal at magdadala ng magandang buhay sa akin. Pinilit kong kalimutan ang pagiging visual artist sa loob ng ilang taon, dahil laging ikinukumpara ang art works ko sa gawa ng iba, at dahil ayon sa mga guro ko, mas mahusay akong magsulat kaysa gumuhit. Sobrang dami kong ginawa, para lang i-please ang mga tao sa paligid ko, kaya nakalimutan kong unahin ang pagiging masaya at malaya.

Huling kanto: Kalayaan Kung tatanungin niyo ang mga kakilala ko, sasabihin nila na isa ang pinakanatatak sa kanilang katangian ko: ang pagiging mahina ko sa direksyon, kung kaya lagi akong naliligaw sa mga pinupuntahan ko. Siguro nagpapakatampisaw ako noong nagpaulan si Lord ng katangahan sa pagbiyahe, kase kahit pupunta lang ako sa bayan pihadong lalampas pa ako sa destinasyon ko, o kaya noong face to face pa ang mga klase, hindi ko na mabilang ang beses na nagkamali ako ng pasok ng room. Pero ang maganda kase sa pagkaligaw ng landas, may mga pagkakataong dito mo mas makikilala ang sarili mo, o kaya ito ang puntong ma-re-realize mo na mali pala talaga ang direksyong tinatahak mo dati, na sa pagkaligaw mo, hindi mo napansing naputol mo na pala ang tanikalang naglilimita sa paggalaw mo dati. Kaya minsan, okay din talagang tumahak ka ng “maling landas” kase maikli lang ang panahong ilalagi natin sa mundo , bakit ‘di pa natin subukang i-explore, at lampasan ang mga hangganan nito, at paminsan-minsan, maligaw?

Time taught us to be quick for with just one click, six turns to nine; red turns to lilac— and all of a sudden, you have gone blue. -Princess Allyssa Plotado

Photo | Joviallyn Belegal

Angelo Mendenilla

Sunny Side up by Alyssa An

Never have I ever fried a perfect egg. Sometimes, it is salty as those days I was lying on my dirty bed, isolating over dead petals of regrets. Never have I ever fried a perfect egg. Often, the spice burnt my tongue while my mouth was filled of lies you fed when there are butterflies on my stomach. Never have I ever fried a perfect egg. always as messy as my life, abandoned with bleeding tears, locked on your pepper-like taste left in bed.

Kisapmata ni Faith Valen Villanueva Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

Tila pinagbagsakan ng langit at lupa, hindi na naman maipinta ang mukha iritang-irita sa sandaling maaalala ang sinisintang lumisan. Alam na ang kahahantungan— isang serbesang kay lamig na inaasahang papawi sa pighati, poot, awit, saklap, pagdamdam. Hindi pa nababanggit mga katagang dapat mula sayo’y mamutawi at pilit magkukunwari na walang nasilayang bakas ng ikinukubling sikreto ng mga labi. *Mark as unread* Para saan pa’t aapaw rin, malalaman rin ng iilan ang nakatagong kulo sa loob. Kahit init naman ang namuo sa tiyan na dapat puntahan, ngunit sa diwa natuluyan.

Israel Martin de Chavez

Perlas ng Timog Avenue

ni Jane Therese Banaag

Hindi maipinta ang mukha ni Mauricio habang tinatahak ang landas papalayo sa isang eksklusibong village kung saan siya pansamantalang nagtatrabaho bilang isang construction worker sa isang pinapa-renovate na mansyon. Hindi niya kasi alam kung paano niya pagkakasyahin ang kinitang isang Manuel Roxas at dalawang Manuel Quezon gayong limang bibig ang kanyang kailangang patukain ngayong hapunan. “Hindi COVID ang ikakamatay natin mga tsong! Gutom! Saan naman kaya makakarating ang wamporti kada araw ngayong na-lay off si misis sa trabaho,” giit ng kanyang kapwa manggagawa na si Esteban. “Esteban, tayo nga na walang anak, gipit na gipit na. Paano pa kaya itong si Mauricio, na bukod sa apat na anak ‘e may tatlong tuta pang palamunin,” tugon naman ng isa pa nilang katrabaho na si Tonyo na bagama’t kinse anyos pa lang ay sumabak na sa pagiging construction worker nang mamatay ang ama. “Baka nga humiram muna ako sa inyo kasi itong sahod na lang natin ang pera ko ngayon. Sige na, wari ko ay tatlong subo lang ng bigas ang magkakasya sa wamporti ko,” pakiusap ni Mauricio. “Naku, negative, tsong. Alam mo namang kulangin lang ng isang sentimo ang aking sahod ay gigiyerahin na ako ni Nanay,” sagot ni Tonyo “Wala rin ako maipauutang sa’yo, pare.

Pero kung gusto mo, bibigyan na lang kita raket! Mahigit tatlong libo rin ang kikitain sa isang linggo dito.” masiglang suhestiyon ni Esteban. Biglang tumikas ang tindig ng papabagsak na sanang balikat ni Esteban. Hindi na siya nagtataka kung bakit sa kanilang lahat, si Esteban ang madalas mag-imbita sa kanila sa inuman. Hindi lang pala sa pagiging isang construction worker nakadepende ang kanyang kabuhayan. “Naku, malaking tulong ‘yan sa amin ng pamilya ko, Esteban. Kailan ako p’wedeng magsimula?” “Magsimula agad? Hindi mo pa nga alam kung anong raket ang ibibigay nitong si Esteban,” puna ni Tonyo. “Bata ka pa, Tonyo. ‘Di tulad namin ni Mauricio, hindi ka pa mulat sa hirap kumita ng pera. Hindi mo maiintindihan na bawat raket ay papatusin mo,” “Ano nga ba gagawin doon, Esteban?” masiglang tanong ni Mauricio. “Simple lang. Marami kasing mga perlas na sinasangla ng mga amigas ni Mrs. Aguilar sa kanilang bahay mismo. Kailangan nila ng delivery boy na magdadala nito sa sanglaan nila sa Timog. Sagot na nila sasakyan. Basta dalhin mo lang ang iyong lisensya at maari ka na magsimula bukas na bukas rin,” paliwanag ni Esteban. “Tamang-tama dahil hindi pa naman expired ang aking lisensya,” sagot naman ni Mauricio nang maalala niyang tatlong buwan pa ang natitirang bisa ng kanya Professional LTO License mula nang isanla niya ang kanyang ipinapasadang dyip nang magsimula ang pandemya. “Sige, sasabihan ko na lang ang mga tao ni Ma’am na ikaw ang bagong salta. Kilala ka na naman nila,” wika ni Esteban. “Maraming salamat, ‘Teban. Pangako, magpapainom ako kapag malaki-laki ang aking kinita,” taimtim na pasasalamat ni Mauricio kay Esteban na sumakay na sa nakapilang dyip.

Muntik nang makasabay ni Mauricio ang mga humaharurot na dyip sa bilis nitong pagtakbo pauwi. Sa wakas, masosolusyunan na ang matagal na niyang daing na problema sa pera. Pagkauwi, diretso na rin siyang tumungo sa kwarto at nahiga sa matigas niyang papag upang makapagpahinga para sa kinabukasang aahon sa kanila mula sa kahirapan. Hindi pa man tumatama ang mga kamay ng orasan sa alas kwatro ay nagising na si Mauricio. Mabilis siyang kumilos at nagayos ng sarili bago dumayo sa tahanan ng mga Aguilar kung saan niya sasalubungin ang gwardyang mag-aabot sa kanya ng vault. “Oh, Mauricio! Ang aga mo ata. Hindi ba alas singko pa usapan ninyo ni Esteban?” “Naku, hayaan mo na. Maganda na ‘yong maaga kaysa pahulihuli,” paliwanag ni Mauricio. “Huwag ka mag-alala, mabait na amo ang mag-asawang Aguilar. Basta malinis mong nagawa ang trabaho ay sapat na sa kanila,” tugon naman ng guwardiya, sabay abot ng napakabigat na vault at ng susi ng kotse kung saan ilululan ito. Mabilis namang isinakay ito ni Mauricio sa sasakyan. Bago niya paandarin ang bagong biling L300 na service van ng mga Aguilar ay tinitigan niya muna ang katabing vault. “Kung alam lang ng mga perlas na ito ang swerteng dala nila sa pamilya ko,” bulong ni Mauricio bago siguraduhin na maingat na nakasilid ang vault sa likuran ng L300. Hindi maalis ang malawak na ngiting nakapinta sa kanyang mukha habang tinatahak niya ang daan papuntang Timog Avenue kung saan nakatayo ang pinakamalapit na branch ng Aguilar Pawnshop. Ngunit habang isa-isa niyang nilalampasan ang mga humps sa baku-bakong kalsada ng village, ang kaninang ngiti na sumilay sa kanyang mukha ay napalitan ng labis na pagtataka. Napansin niya na walang tunog ng kalampag na nagmumula sa vault gayong sa bigat at presyo ng mga alahas na ito, dapat kanina niya pa narinig

ang pag-alog ng mga ito. Hindi na lamang niya ito pinansin dahil sa bigat at tibay ng vault ay tiyak na maingat at maayos namang nakatago ang mga perlas. Pero bago pa man niya tapakan ang pedal ng L300 upang muli itong paandarin ay biglang umugong ang wang-wang kasabay ang pagkutitap ng nagpapalitang asul at pulang sirena ng paparating na police car. “Huwag kang lalabas! Buksan mo ang likod ng kotse!” hiyaw ng pulis habang nakatutok ang baril sa noo ni Mauricio. Nang walang ano-ano ay bumalandra ang mga tunay na anyo ng mga perlas na nasasakamay niya. Ang inaakala niyang alahas ay mga puting pulbos na nakasilid sa maliliit na plastik at may mga marka ng sukat at bigat ng bawat isa. Hindi siya tumakbo, bagkus ay ngumiti lamang sa mga nakatutok na armas na nagpanginig sa kaniyang katawan. Napaluhod siya at dilat na humandusay sa lupa’t iniinda ang bumaon na bala sa kaniyang dibdib. Habol habol ni Mauricio ang kanyang hininga habang tinitigan ang kanyang anino sa sementadong kalyeng kanyang niluhuran. Magkahalong gulat at takot ang namutawi sa kanyang katawang lupa habang pinagmamasdan ang bakas na kuha pati ang taling niya sa bandang sentido, ngunit ‘di tulad ng kanyang anino, hindi sumama sa nakapatse sa dibdib ng kanyang katauhan ang karatulang, “Huwag tularan—adik!”

Minsan ang kaibigan ng malaya ay ang paglipad, at pagsabay sa hangin. O maaaring paghinga habang payapang nakatingala sa ulap. -Carlos Kim Raphael Perez

Photo | Nicole Beatriz Rosales

The Crown Thief Art and Story by Arielle Dane Adan

In the temporary solace of her fortress, situated in between the gap of the sofa and the wall, she curled her tiny body into a quivering ball—small hands cupped around her mouth. Another chunk of hair had gone missing from her scalp. She pondered over how many times it had already happened in the past month while furiously rubbing the sore spot on her head. She wondered how much more strangling her hair can take before she went bald. And gods, she hoped someone would already take notice before it got too far.

What she hadn’t wished for was for the wrong ones to hear her stifled desperate sobs, so immediately. Footsteps thundered down the tiled floors. Her solitary moment was broken. The monsters are here. Her heart pounded in her chest but a glance to the altar calmed her down a bit. It’s not the image of the divine almighty that eased her fears, as she once threw a pillow at that same crossstitched work before, but the smiling face of her queen beneath the glass frame beside it. Clad in red robes, she looked stunning with her glinting silver crown sitting regally atop her head before the sickness ate it away. A few seconds later, the intruder spotted her and snorted at her pitiful appearance. “Ano naman ‘yang inaarte mo diyan, Abby? Nagpapapansin ka na namang bata ka.”

“Ayo’ko na, gusto ko nang umalis dito.” “Ewan ko sa’yo, basta pag-uwi ng Tita mo, ‘wag kang magsusumbong. Wala rin namang maniniwala sa’yo, napakaweirdo mong bata ka,” her aunt’s future mother-in-law warned, her eyes stared her down with her nostrils flaring out. It’s a scary sight. Abby’s getting tired of this, tired of them covering up their granddaughter’s devil horns from peeking out. Just last night, they had forced the both of them to sleep in the same room, in the hopes that this would foster a connection between the two. However, it only ended in stolen pillows and blankets, a fight that continued in the morning which left her with lesser hair strands again. She fervently hoped that her aunt wasn’t seriously thinking of marrying into this wretched family. But the fact that they’ve already set camp in their kingdom said otherwise. “Tumayo ka na diyan, ihahatid ko na si Marissa sa school. Doon ka muna sa kapitbahay, kina Agnes.” “Bakit po hindi dito? Kasama ko naman po si Ate Joan,” she answered in a shaky voice. Kasama ko rin naman po si Nanay, she added in her mind. The thought of staying over in the house beside them troubled her even just for a few hours. “Isasama ko ‘yong kasambahay, walang magbubuhat ng gamit ni Marissa. Bilisan mo, male-late na kami.” She scrambled to her feet despite feeling apprehensive and indignant at the older woman’s audacity. She was ushered out of the house without giving her the chance to grab the copy of the High School Musical script book in her room, a gift from her aunt on her last birthday. She was just planning to memorize the lyrics of Breaking Free so she could sing along with the characters the next time she would be permitted to watch her favorite show.

True to the monster’s words, the seven-year-old was left under

the care of Ate Agnes for the afternoon. Abby surveyed the house, it was even darker and grimmer in that territory than their domain. Her queen wouldn’t ever leave her there. Ate Agnes touched her by the shoulder and stirred her deeper into her home, passing by the woman’s husband who’s smoking a fat cigar with a bottle of alcohol in the other hand. She directed Abby to her former playmates, they don’t play with her anymore as they’re already too old for her and they’re nasty. She quietly sat down and smiled thinly back at Ate Agnes before she rejoined her husband. Only a few minutes passed and her children are making fun of Abby already. Lewd comments came out of their filthy mouths and the little girl hurriedly covered her ears, pleading for them to stop. But the older brother heard none of it. He walked closer to her and she retreated, his hand flying to his zipper and pulling it down. Abby shut her eyes tightly, her brows furrowed in a distressed curve and tears flowed down her cheeks once more. They were cackling dementedly and started touching her quaking arms.

Marissa pushed her down suddenly and crouched down to her eye level. “Narinig ka ni Ate Joan sa sala nu’ng isang araw, may kausap ka raw kahit wala naman daw siyang pinapasok na kalaro mo. Wala naman na talagang nakikipaglaro sa weirdo na tulad mo. Ilang beses ka na raw niyang napapansin na ganu’n pero nitong nakaraan ka lang niya sinilip.” The brat’s sharp nails dug into Abby’s frail arms like talons of a large wicked bird. “Alam mo ba kung ano ginawa mo? Ha? Sagot!” “Hindi ko alam! Wala naman akong ginagawa.” She suddenly yelped when Marissa squeezed her arm harder, “Tama na!” “Anong tama na?! Pag-uwi namin ay nandu’n si Ate Joan sa

terrace, ayaw pumasok sa bahay. Uuwi na lang daw siya, kukunin niya na ang sweldo niya ta’s hindi na raw siya makakabalik. Pati ‘yung kaisa-isang kasambahay na tumagal sa atin ay tinakot mo na rin ng pagtatawag mo ng kung sinumang demonyo!” Grabbing a handful of Abby’s hair, Marissa yanked her up but it felt like a thousand burning needles had been dislodged from her scalp. A deafening scream tore through her mouth. Looking up through escaped tears, she saw Marissa with a devilish glint in her eyes and a thick lock of hair in her hands. She laughed slowly, surprised that she actually got that much hair from the younger girl. Satisfied with her demon-ordained work, Marissa threw the pulled out strands into the trash bin. In horror, Abby thought that maybe, just maybe, she really knew what to call an evil spirit. Abby let her shaking hands travel towards the top of her head and fumbled for a second, as if scared of stumbling upon the smooth spot she knew she would find. She thought that she could sympathize with the hairless area she discovered she also felt empty and worn out. There’s nothing left in her to retaliate. So, she didn’t fight back. She rose from the ground and fled to her fortress, but she didn’t fight back. And yet, when Marissa walked away to prepare for her afternoon class, she wished that she did.

With a yell, she kicked them and sprinted towards the back door. Out of that house, she climbed over the wall hastily. She scraped her hands from the broken bottle shards and fell clumsily into their backyard. She stood up shakily and limped towards the nearest door but found it locked, her wounded knee from the fall dotting a trail of blood on the ground. She went to the front door but to no avail.

Frustrated, she collapsed on the porch and sobbed, hugging her knees to her chest. The sun is still high up in the sky, signifying that the day is far from over and she has to wait long before her aunt comes home. But she honestly couldn’t wait anymore, she wanted to go anywhere but there. But a cool hand settled down her back, she looked up. Her queen’s sad eyes stared back at her. “Huwag mo ‘kong iiwan apo ko, wala na akong makakausap kapag umalis ka na.” “Nanay, hindi ko na po kaya. Pwede po ba akong sumama na sa inyo, sabi niyo po maganda ‘yong napuntahan niyo. ‘Wag niyo po akong iwan na dito. Iniwan niyo na po akong lahat, ni daddy, ni mommy. Ayaw ko na po talaga dito,” she pleaded desperately and crying louder. “Pangako apo, konting tiis na lang. Alam mo ba, nakita ata ako ng bagong kasambahay niyo nu’ng isang araw. Gusto nang umalis nu’ng na-itsurahan ako du’n sa picture sa may altar,” her grandmother smoothed her hair, stopping momentarily on the bald patches of her hija’s head. “Tatlo.” “Anong tatlo?” “Tatlong beses na po akong kini-chemo ngayong buwan. Malapit na po akong maging kalbo tulad niyo, nanay.” On second thought, maybe it wasn’t too bad after all. She would look like just her queen. And she would stay in the ruins of their kingdom until her lady welcomes her to her new one someday. There’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach. She remembered that line from the song she’s memorizing. She’s breaking free to get to that place and to be all that she can be.

Falling, like a house of cards by Clark Alduz Viray Artwork by Israel Martin de Chavez

As the cascading rhythm of the city subsides into the slow staccato of sleep, I found myself lost in a sultry dream that I was drifting in space. My weary eyes wandered into the nothingness that embraced me as I swim with the stars and bask in the beauty of a thousand exploding nebulae. I was lost in wonder, gazing at the mystery unfolding before me in the kaleidoscope like scenery but suddenly, I feel the weight of something dragging me down. Fear consumed me, as I feel the freefall and I woke up, in the bleak sea of entangled blankets and sheets as the pounding sound of my alarm clock mocks me— Tick, tock daydreamer, your time for fantasies is up! Like a child robbed of his favorite treat, I greeted the day in a mood of despair, as I walked into the unwelcomed limbo of my nine to five job. Waiting for another grey day to end, so I may hope, that festive dreams will be my visitors again. But there you are, my lover, waiting, as I leave the sliding doors of my ever-boring cage, a genuine smile, plastered in your handsome face. And as I listened to your own tales, of how equally weary your day has been, and how, meeting me, at the end of it, is the only good that happened today, a playful thought crossed my mind. Maybe, living beyond the comfort of dreams and fictions, is not a bad idea, after all…

Don’t you dare try to quench my thirst now that I have finally accepted the drought — so begone for I can bloom even without your spout -Gerard Zairus Gupit Photo | Francis Aaron Magpile

Kunyari magic ni Alyssa An Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

Bata pa lamang si Pipay ay kina-iinggitan na siya sa kaniyang mala-Diyosang ganda. Marami ang nasisilaw sa dala niyang hiwaga na animo’y bagyong mapinsala kapag bibili sa tindahan ni Aling Yasmin. Paborito niyang pakyawin ang tag-pipisong mikmik sa tindahan na ipinamimigay niya sa mga batang paslit na kaniyang nadadaanan sa bakanteng lote. ”Hoy! Mga hampaslupa! Gusto niyo ba ng mikmik? Mga bata! Hoy!” Walang kahit isang tumugon noon kay Pipay ngunit may maingay na boses siyang narinig sa gilid ng lote. Natanaw ng magandang bata ang kaniyang mga kalaro, hindi muna siya lumapit dahil mainit pa ang usapan ng mga ito. “Anong sinasabi mong patay gutom ako?” sigaw ni Mariset sa kaniyang kalarong nakatungo sa lupa. Bumwelta naman si Sasa, “Mukha ba siyang patay gutom? E ikaw nga ‘tong namamaltik ng pugo sa silong ni Aling Yasmin e. Sinusungkit mo pa ‘yung nakasabit nilang Magic sarap sabi mo papapakin mo.” Sigaw niya habang dinuduro si Mariset. Tumalon si Pipay mula sa mataas na pader na animo’y bidang hero sa paborito niyang palabas na Powerpuff girls ang paglanding. Suot ang makisig niyang puting t-shirt na naka-tuck in sa short niyang pink, pumustura ito at pumagitan sa mga kalaro niya “Tama na! Walang mamatay sa gutom dito, may dala akong mikmik! Magbati- bati na kayo para makapag-tiktok na tayo.”

Hindi pumayag si Mariset, Sasa, at Marga. Kay Pipay naibunton ang galit ng mga batang may mga mantsa na parang mga patak ng ketchup pa sa kanilang mga damit. “Ayaw na namin sa’yo Pipay, palagi kaming pinagtatawanan kapag kasama ka namin! Pumapangit kami sa mata nila!” Bida ni Marga kay Pipay na may pag-irap pa habang suot ang pula nitong hairband. “Bakit naman? Ito na nga ang mikmik na binili ko para sa make up natin e. Hindi niyo na nga ako hinintay e, nauna na kayo sa pag-aayos. Tingnan niyo ‘yung damit niyo oh! Halatang naglipstick na kayo!” wika ni Pipay habang nangingilid na ang luha. “Ayaw na namin maglaro! Uuwi na kami. Ang tagal mo kasing sumulpot. Ayan tuloy nag-away na si Mariset at Sasa” tugon niya. Umuwi na ang mga bata sa kani-kanilang tahanan habang si Pipay naman ay nanatili sa bakanteng lote. Maya-maya pa’y may maliit na boses siyang narinig mula sa umbok ng lupa. “Hoy bata! Ano ‘yang dala mo? Mukhang butas ‘yung isang plastik? Namamatak ang mga butil sa aking bahay?” tanong ng maliit na nilalang. Agad namang tumugon si Pipay at kinuha ang matamis na powder. Hinagis niya ito sa malaking umbok ng lupa ng walang pasintabi. “Sa’yo na ‘yan. Wala na naman ang aking mga kaibigan. Sayang magme-make up pa sana kami.” tugon ni Pipay habang papalayo sa lote. “Sa----“, hindi na naituloy ng nilalang ang kaniyang pasasalamat at bigla na lamang naglaho. Habang marahan na tinatahak ni Pipay ang kanilang bahay ay naisipan niyang bumili ng inumin sa tindahan ni Aling Yasmin tangan ang bente pesos na isinipit niya sa pagitan ng kaniyang bewang at short na kulay pink. “Oh? Malungkot yata ang aming Pipay? Anong nangyari sa iyo? Ubos na ba ang binili mo sakin? May bago akong labas dito,” tanong ng dalaga sa bata.

“Ay, gusto ko na lang po ng softdrinks. Binigay ko po sa duwende sa lote ‘yung mikmik.” Tugon ng inosenteng bata. “Hala ka, Pipay type ka ng duwende! Huwag ka na ulit lalapit doon at baka hindi ka na makabalik.” Pananakot ni Aling Yasmin. Ngunit, habang pabalik na siya sa kanilang tahanan ay napansin niya sa may punong Narra na nakatayo sa lumang bahay sina Marga, Sasa, at Mariset. Natanawan ng mga bata si Pipay at bigla nila itong tinawag. “Pipay! Tara na dito, bati na tayo basta pahigop kami ng konti lang sa juice mo!” bungad nila sa papalapit na kaibigan. “Sige! Pero tara na ulit sa bakanteng lote! Iniwan ko doon ang mga mikmik. Mag-make up na tayo para makapag-practice na rin tayo ng mga bagong steps sa tiktok.” Nagtakbuhan ang mga bata na parang walang away na nangyari. Isa-isa nilang nililimot ang mikmik at ang iba ay wala ng laman. Maya-maya pa ay muling lumabas ang duwende. “Bata! Ang sarap pala ng iyong kendi, may gusto ka bang matupad na kahilingan? Pwede natin parusahan ang mga kaibigan mo sa ginawa nilang pag-iwan sa iyo?” bulong niya habang nakabungisngis na inaalok si Pipay. “Ayaw ko po pero meron po akong kahilingan!” tugon ng bata. “Sige, ano iyon?” tanong ng duwende. “Sa aking pagpikit, nawa’y mawala na ang lawit. Ilipat ang galit ng mga kaibigan kong pangit” hiling ng bata na nakapikit habang hawak ang kung ano sa pagitan ng kaniyang mga hita. At tuluyan na ring naglaho ang dwende sa paligid ni Pipay. Pagmulat ng kaniyang mga mata ay nakatitig ang kaniyang barkada. Nagkatinginan sila at humagalpak ng tawa. “Ayan, nangangarap na naman ang bruha! Chusera.” wika ni Sasa na walang humpay ang pagtawa sa kaibigang si Pipay.

Angelo Mendenilla

ALLEGORY Marion Macatangay

BLUE LIMBO Marion Macatangay

KAPAG HUMAHAWAK NG LAPIS Erwin Tiberio

ZONED OUT Angelo Mendenilla

AGORAPHOBIA Angelo Mendenilla

PASAHERO Angelo Mendenilla

SEXCAPADES Israel Martin de Chavez

IN-GAME

Israel Martin de Chavez

XENOPHOBIA Clark Alduz Viray

ALIENATION Clark Alduz Viray

SIYAM NA SIGLO Konsepto at dibuho ni Erwin Tiberio

Gerard Zairus Gupit

Vanity Mirror ni Faith Valen Villanueva

5:00 AM, Press to Turn Off. 6:30 AM, Press to Turn O—*click* 7:00 AM, Press t-*click* “Shit.” Hindi pa bukas ang talukap ng mga mata, sinasampal na ng ngimay at ginaw ang aking katawan sa pagmamadaling maabutan ang first subject. Suminghot na lang ako sa ulam at sumakol ng isang sandok na kanin para lang may maipanlaman sa sikmura kong pasabay-sabay at nagkukumahog na buhayin pa ang aking internal organs habang hindi pa huli ang lahat. Chine-check kong maigi at paulit-ulit na parang isang sirang plaka kung sarado na ang gasul kahit hindi ko man lang nalasap ang init na ipinabatid nito sa dapat sana’y agahan ko, ang gripo kung bukas pa ‘pagkat madadali na naman ako ng Tiyahin ko tiyak sa susunod na singilan. Ganoon siguro talaga ‘pag praning at sigurista. Habang kinakandado ko ang mga pinto, mamamataan mo naman sa hindi kalayuan ang agang-agang bungad na mga alagad ata ni Satanas, walang ibang ginawa kundi kumuda at mag-narrate ng buhay mo na tila ba ikaw ang bida sa isang cliched na pelikula. “Ayan si Dane, panganay na anak ni Ka Roger. Sa UB ‘yan napasok, hindi ko maalala kung anong course, basta hindi engineering. Balak niyan ata maging report—“.

Lumingon ako sa gawi nila at huminto siya sa pakikipagpulong. Nakaramdam siguro ng hiya. Silang mga nag-umpukan at tinitira ang ininit na pansit kagabi na bigay ng napilitang kapitbahay. Nakakabingi ang halos araw-araw na pakikibaka sa mga gawain, immune na siguro kung tatawagin ang sariling bersiyon ko ng “everyday routine”. Madami na akong pinagsawaan, pero hindi ang mga kantang dumadaloy sa aking mga tainga kahit pa iisa na lang sa earphones ko ang gumagana. Isasagad ko pa ang volume hanggang sa hindi ko na mamalayan na nakalampas na pala ako sa dapat kong babaan. “Manong, para ho.” Ayoko na sana umulit pa pero para talagang nabibingi na ang drayber sa biyaheng ito. Parang wala siyang naririnig kaya iniumpog ko ang mga daliri ko sa kisame ng jeep, wala pa ring tumugon. Mahigit isang kilometro na ang layo ko sa overpass na palatandaan kong babaan, buti na lang may nakaramdam. “Manong, para daw.” “Intay lang sa tabi tayo. Hindi dito ang babaan.” Hassle na naman. Minadali ko ang pagbaba dahil tiyak aabutin na naman ako ng siyam-siyam sa pag-akyat pa lamang ng overpass. Natutukso akong gawin ang ipinagbabawal na teknik na lumiban sa kalsada kaso ayaw ko naman mapahiya para lang mapadali ang buhay. Gusto ko sanang tumawid pero hindi naman puwede. “Ooops. Maya ineng. Hintayin niyo matapos ang flag ceremony. Late na kayo.” “’Pag minamalas ka nga naman. Pambihira.” Parami kami ng parami na nagkukumpulan sa labas ng gate ng school. Mabuti na lang hindi ako nag-iisa. Nakita ko si Chelsea, tumutulo pa ang buhok habang naghihintay rin na makapasok sa gate. May hawak siyang papel na puro highlights. “Huy, Chelsea. Basa na likod mo. Nilublob mo lang ata ‘yang

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buhok mo sa tabo eh.” “Gaga. Nagmamadali ako. Hindi ako naka-review kagabi. Semis natin sa major ha.” “Ano ba kasing ginagawa mo pa sa gabi?” “Oo na, pokpok na ang frenny mo at may kapuyatan.” “Aba’y sana all na lang.” “Ikaw kasi, tatanda kang dalaga niyan. Tama na ‘yang kakapanuod mo ng serial killer movies, kaya sinasabihan kang intimidating e, daming nabo-borkot sa’yo.” “Magbanlaw ka muna ng ayos, saka na ako a-attend ng seminar sa’yo. Halika na nga. Bembang na naman tayo sa Proctor.” Ilang yabag pa kaya ang ilalaan ko rito bago pa ako makarating sa classroom. Ako na lang yata ang nagi-imagine na what if escalator na lang lahat ng hagdan sa bawat building at slide na lang pababa para hindi nakakapagod. Huli man daw at magaling, nauna pa rin akong matapos sa exams habang patuloy na naghuhuntahan sa likuran ang iba at animo’y nago-orasiyon, tinatawag lahat ng santo maging ang kampon ng mga espiritung may sapat na alam sa pagsasagot ng mga patlang. Naupo ako sa hagdan, kung saan hinihintay kong makatapos si Chelsea at ang barkada ko. Ganoon lagi ang pasikot-sikot namin tuwing exams. Kasama ko na siya simula kinder pa lang at talagang makikita mo na ang laking pinagbago niya sa anyo pa lang, samantalang ako hindi ko alam kung may nagbago ba o kung may dapat nga bang baguhin pa. “Ang hirap ng exam. Na-stress brain cells ko.” Wika niya habang nagkakamot ng ulo palabas ng pinto. “Ah, meron ka?” pabiro kong sagot. “Matatanggap ko since consistent honor student ka naman since then. Pero d’un sa beauty and brains na kasabihan, ako na

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‘yung beauty.” “Loka. Tara na mag-review.” “Mamaya na ako, sis. Manunuod muna akong bagong vlog ni Heart Evangelista. Bet ko bumili ng pang-skin care ko mamaya. Naubusan ako e. Sama ka? Tara sa Watsons, mamaya.” “Sige, may bibilhin rin naman ako.” “Taray. Sige, friends that Watsons, together, glow up, together.” “Puro ka Watsons. Nagbasa ka na ba ng pointers?” “Hindi pa, kaya nga nand’yan ka. Labyu, bff!” Hindi pa ako nakakasulyap sa mga hinighlight ko kagabi, hinablot na ng luka ang hawak kong notes at reviewer para sa sunod na exam. Buti na lang nakapagbasa na ako kagabi pa lang, kasi wala naman akong ibang pinagkakaabalahan kundi ang pagtutor ko sa mga kapatid ko at paggawa ng gawaing bahay. Bahay, School, Bahay, School, repeat lang naman routine ko. “Huy, ano naman iniisip mo d’yan? Pawis mo oh, tagaktak na. Kaya ka iniiw—sorry.” Ngumiti lang ako na parang hindi ako nakaramdam ng hiya bigla at binaliwala na lang ang mga salitang iyon dahil si Chelsea lang naman ‘yon at hindi siya katulad ng iba, naniniwala ako.

Natapos na naman ang araw na wala akong naiaambag sa mundo bukod sa pagdadala ng bigat na pasanin at sama ng loob buhat nung talikuran ako n’ung pinaka-unang taong naging tahanan ko, si Namtaan. Hindi ko na halos maalala ang mukha niya pero ‘yung mga salitang iniwan niya, andito pa rin ang bakas. *ringing*

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“Hello, babe. Hello, maniwala ka sakin. Wala akong gusto sa nakakadiring iyon. Yuck. Maniwala ka naman, please. Para din sa atin ‘yung ginagawa ko. Ginagamit ko lang siya para makapasa tayo sa mga exams. Ako bahala sa’yo.” Nakalimutan niya ata na madalas akong nag-aaral sa banyo dahil tahimik. Hindi ko naman inasahan na ‘yun ang kikitil sa katahimikan na inaasam ko. Ginugol ko ang lahat ng oras ko sa pagtatrabaho bilang isang library assistant sa eskwelahan para na rin makabawas ako sa bayarin at gastusin sa bahay. Kung saan naroroon ang tahimik, naroon din dapat ako. Minabuti ko na lang na iwasan ang mga dapat na iwasan at magkunwari na wala akong nasaksihan dahil ayaw ko naman kaawaan. “Huy, tara na sa Watsons. Gabi na. Mag-out ka na.” “Sige, hintayin mo ako sa labas.” Inayos ko ang salamin ko at nagbilang ng kaunting barya sa pitaka, sinisuguradong kakayanin pa at makakaabot pa ako pauwi kahit kapag ako ang lulan parang bumibigat ang angkas at nagmamahal na. Kita ko ang pagningning at paglibot ng mga mata ni Chelsea sa bawat sulok ng Watsons na para bang isa siyang fairy na may angking ganda at mahika na mabighani lahat ng titingin sa kaniya. Sinusuri niyang maigi ang label ng bawat skin care product na kukuhanin niya. Samantala, ako nandito na nakapila sa counter at pinagmamasdan siya sa hindi kalayuan, nagiisip kung anong potion ang hinihithit ng mga tao dito para bumili nang bumili ng mga product na idinidikta ng beauty vloggers, daw. “Excuse me, Miss? Ano pong sa inyo?” “Strepsils at White flower po ‘yung pinakamaliit po sana.” “May value card po?”

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“Meron po.” Hindi ko alam kung bakit naani ang mga kaklase kong maamoy ang halimuyak ng White flower sa room, air conditioned pa naman ang lab namin tapos parang sinasamaan sila ng pakiramdam kapag inilalabas ko na ito sa bag. “Ilang taon ka na ba, Dane? For God sake, pang-manang na ‘yang pamango mo. Order ka na lang sakin ng biktorya sikret baka ako’y natutuwa pa sa’yo.” sabi ng kaklase ko. Ewan ko ba, minsan pakiramdam ko na hindi na ata naayon ang aking mga gawain sa kagustuhan ng iba. Minsan nahihiya na rin ako na ilabas kahit na ‘yun lang ‘yung lunas sa mga sakit na iniinda ko na kahit reseta sa Generics ay hindi na tatablan. “Ayan na ang panganay na anak ni Ka Roger… oh pare, gabi na ata ang anak mo, saan naman ‘yan nagpunta?” bungad ng mga tambay na wala namang naiambag sa buhay ko kundi ituro ang bahay namin kapag may dumadating na parcel sa bahay. Hindi ko na lang pinansin at dali-dali kong sinarhan ang gate na tila walang narinig. Sumilip lang saglit sa kwarto ng mga kapatid para i-check kung humihinga pa sila, as usual, nagbabangayan na naman sila—enough na ‘yun para malaman kong okay sila. *beep beep* “Meralco bill sent you an email.” “Globe at home bill updates.” Hindi pa nakakapirme sa tabi, may isipin na naman ngayong gabi. Hindi na mahalaga kung hanggang kelan ang due date o kung lampas na sa bigay na oras, ‘yung pagkukunan ang malimit na problema. Minsan sa sobrang hiya ko na sa paghingi, ako na lang rin nagbabayad gamit ang mga napaghirapan ko sa trabaho, kahit na karampot lang iyon, sinisugurado kong may mapupuntahan kahit hindi na para sa akin, kundi para sa kanila. “Oh Nak, iyo ‘yan ha.” Narinig kong bulong ng aking ama sa mga kapatid kong naabutan kong abot-tengang sumasahod ang

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palad sa biyaya ng aking Ama na nakatama nanaman siguro sa taya. “Oh ito sa’yo, ipambili mo ng gusto mo.” Pagewang-gewang na ipinaabot ang kaniyang suwerte sa anak niyang ipinanganak sa kamalas-malasang araw kung tawagin ng iba. Tumango ako bilang pagtugon. Alam kong niloloko ko na naman ang sarili ko para ma-imagine kung may patutunguhan na naman ba itong salaping ito. Marahil meron, pero hindi para lang sa akin. Kinabukasan, nagtungo ako sa Bayad center para magbayad ng bills, napadaan na naman ako sa Watsons, natutukso akong pumila at maki-osyoso sa mga naghahanap ng magandang shade para sa kanilang mga kutis subalit hindi nagpadaig ang konsensya kong gamitin na naman ang perang galing sa chambang panalo mula sa taya para ipambayad sa lecheng bills na ‘yan. “When kaya?” napabuntong hininga na lang ako habang lumalabas sa pinto ng store. *beep beep* Text message from Bunso. “Ate, may meeting daw mamayang 1PM ang mga parents. Punta ka, hindi ko makukuha ang card ng ako lang. Ty.” Ganito na siguro ang bersikulo ng buhay ko—nagmamadali at paulit-ulit na parang hindi na natatapos at wala kang karapatang huminto.

“Magandang Hapon po sa ating mga butihing magula—. Yes, ineng, kaninong guardian ka?” “kay Daina po, Ma’am. Magandang hapon po.” Nagmukha akong kontrabida sa eksena, lahat sila nagbubulungan at nakatitig mula ulo hanggang paa sa aking pagpasok. “Sige, ‘neng. Maupo ka na.”

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Matiwasay ang aking pagdating, sana’y ganoon din ang kanilang pagtanggap. “Ang bata pa, Mars pero may anak na,” Sabi ng aleng nakaturban na floral at todo paypay gamit ang abaniko na galing sa kandidato noong nakaraang halalan. “Oo nga, D’yos ko. Mga kabataan talaga ngay’on.” Sagot naman ng kaniyang kausap na animo’y sampayan ang leeg sa daming diyamanteng kwintas na nakapulupot sa kaniya. Tumingin ako ng bahagya at iniangat ang aking ID lace, ayaw ko na sana silang patulan subalit kung hahayaan ko lang sila, nakakaawa naman kaming kapos sa ganda na daig pa ang may pamilyang binubuhay na. May mga araw na sinusubukan kong mag-adapt ng mga uso. Na-try kong mag-make up kahit tinutukso ako at later on, ginagawang katatawanan ang mukha. Sinubukan kong magsuot ng mga off shoulder pero para naman akong robot, miski skin care, walang talab, kahit na anong gawin ko nagiging katatawanan. “Nag-blush on ka ba o baka nasampal ka? Bakit gan’yan ang kilay mo parang busog na linta? May babae bang may bigote?” Sinusubukan ko namang makisabay kahit iba ‘yung lulan ko. Medyo gato pero matatag sa bawat alon. “Kelan kaya ako?” iniisip ko habang nakahimlay. “In your dreams…” may bumubulong na boses.

Sa pagmulat ko hinangad kong makakita ng salamin na maraming ilaw na para bang may sarili akong make-up room sa kwarto. Pumikit ako at nakita ko kung gaano kaliwanag na pwede naman pala, may salamin at may mala-rosas pang bulaklak sa bawat tabi, nakikita ko sila nakapalibot at namamangha sa ganda ko sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon. Hindi ko sila marinig pero nakikita ko ang ekspresiyon nila.

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May nakangiti, gulat at walang emosiyon. Sumilip si Chelsea at ngumingiti na parang baliw ang luka. “Ang ganda naman ng bessywap ko.” Biglang sumingit si Namtaan, bakit kaya ito’y biglang naparito? Siguro nakaabot na sa kaniya ang magandang balita na gumanda na ako kaya magpupumilit itong bumalik sa akin ngayon. Nakakilig naman. Pakiramdam ko ang haba ng hair ko. Marahil hindi sila makapaniwala sa panaginip na ito na nagkakatotoo. Ang ganda ng suot ko parang bagong ahon sa mundo, bago at mukhang may kamahalan ito. Hindi ko sila marinig pero alam nilang masaya ako pero may agaw eksena na namang nagna-narrate ng buhay ko. Sige, pagbibigyan kita dahil, ngayon bida na ako at alam kong kagandahan ko ang ipapamalita mo. “’Yan si Dane, masipag na bata, panganay na anak ni Ka Roger. Hindi ko alam na maganda pala siya ‘pag naayusan. Sa UB ‘yan napasok, hindi ko maalala kung anong course, basta hindi engineering. Balak niya sanang maging reporter, kaso hindi na siya nagising…..”

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Clark Alduz Viray

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The roses, I dance over in an empty ballroom by Katherine Nicole Lontok

The theater watch as I return as the same broken dancer, and if murals could make face, they would’ve scorned my current state. Stained glasses painted the entire room with a comforting brown hue, embossing me with a temporary burn, helping me stay warm as I colored roses in the empty ballroom. How it hurts. The graze of these thorns, and with each swirls, they mirror the emptiness in the rhythm while I unfold with every pivot the pandora of broken melodies— looped in my tone-deaf stereo. Perhaps even my nightmares can harmonize with these marble tiles, which coldness reeks of dying soles.

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Angelo Mendenilla

Bahay-bahayan ni Gerard Zairus Gupit

Kahit anong lakas ng yanig ay hindi matitibag ang balangkas, tunay namang kay tatag ng pundasyong inilagay. Dinaig pa ng tibay ng dingding ang mga binting nanlalambot sa pagod, at walang palya sa pagkatog. At halos yumuko na sa hiya ang telebisyon sa nasasaksihang palabas na ako ang bida — walang patalastas, walang tigil, buong magdamag ay tuloy ang aliw. Sa pagtatapos nitong pagtatanghal, hindi kinayang lunudin ng mga wangis sa pader ang naghihingalong andap ng halos pundido ko nang ilaw— sa palaro ni amang amang gabi-gabing uhaw sa linamnam ng aking munting laman.

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You made me lose when we played hide and seek so you can remain hidden, patiently waiting in a corner ‘cause you no longer wish to be found. -Joviallyn Belegal

Photo | Joviallyn Belegal

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Gerard Zairus Gupit

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Sculptures and their red endings by Nixon De Villa

Yellow is the tint of my once white robe draped over a frail, sweating body. It’s no surprise, no umbrella is ever thick enough to save a cloth whose fabric is constantly frayed and fried by the sun’s cruel heat. Even my skin is blotted with crimson dirt draping on my robe after years of walking door-to-door, city-to-city. But no amount of sunburn will impede my mission. With soles cluttering on rugged roads, I scanned a still neighborhood for doors I haven’t tapped yet. The last house I went into was a rough one—the owner, a middleaged businessman stranger to anything but money, was a pain to deal with. It’s almost a miracle how I was welcomed into his redbricked home during his couch potato hours, as I could see from unfinished wine and chips scattered as table mess. I adjusted my tie to hug an almost worn out collar, ran sweaty palms to soothe creases in my long-sleeved polo, and sighed hoping the next person had space in their brain for the good word I’m about to impart. I am equally impressed and disturbed by how I haven’t died of boredom yet from repeating the same routine for more than half my life. Perhaps when you act out of your calling, motivation rushes in naturally. Prior to taking on this sacred journey, life was a carnival of rejections. I knew I was a

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burnt matchstick in a box of fresh ones; and the world is never kind to the unusual—it only parades what it is used to seeing and dumps the rest of us in the alleys. While other kids wasted leisure time in fields and swings, with their faces painted with running snot, I would rest under any tree shade I could find. My eyes were ironically not in good terms with light. So were my ears with sounds. Had I not avoided noises from an unforgiving crowd in the classroom, or the market, or the park, simply anywhere silence dies, I might have gone deaf a long time ago. Heightened senses only impress in fiction, they are hell in real life. Yet, this physical paradox is one of the simplest pieces in the puzzle that I am. Coming-of-age rushed in like a jeep on a rural side road, slapping me awake that even in hobbies, I had no peers. Jocks held bats and balls, musicians held strings and sheets, geeks had comic books and video games, smarter ones dwelled in the library—at the same time I was in my backyard with a rusty machete and a freshly fetched block of narra. Carving has been my escape route for longer I can tell. It was a talent, remembering how impressive I molded clay cars and reptiles in my nursery room. Every time I was put in time out for rightfully and deservingly pushing away bastards who had no notion of my personal space, those soft unshaped bars patted my shoulders saying I was never wrong. These hands seem to know the right twists and turns a figure needs to be perfect and haven’t changed that much, only as I grew older, they grew tired of clay’s soft nature. And there began a career from my passion. Years really do fly in minutes when life is infallibly uneventful. The backyard that witnessed all the teenage rage and frustrated stabs against wood blocks turned into a freelance carver’s haven and for the first time, I felt like the universe that has ignored me for so long finally extended welcoming arms toward me for realizing a purpose I never knew I had. This is the only thing I was good at. And this is what I will be known for. After tedious months of talking to faces whose wooden mouths

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can’t respond, my shed welcomed its first customer on a cozy December afternoon. He knocked. I said come in. Meters across the dividing space between my hammock and door, I could see the ear-splitting grin he was flashing perhaps from the thrill of admiring my craft. “How may I help you, sir?” I said in full grace, knowing this is one of the few times I actually started an exchange of words. The only response he gave was a slightly disconnected smirk. I did not have anything to say. A customer’s silence wasn’t in my book of planned scenarios. “I am here to help you,” he uttered, almost ethereally. Again, something off my script, leaving me with no choice but to wait for him to carry the rest of the deal. “For centuries, I hast lent my hands to the likes of thee. Loathed and lost. Eccentric and empty. Gratefulness from those I helped escape this desolate Earth decorate this vessel of thine. Do what thou ought to from my offer, and grasp the freedom thou fancy forever,” he spoke. I have always been bad at words. I once broke a friend’s nose who told me to break a leg right before a soccer game, thinking he was wishing me to fail. But this man in a blazing red coat, whose lines were too blurry to read, spitting phrases twisted in the deepest metaphors, enchanted me as if he was speaking with a harp in his tongue. “But this is a contract devoid of pretentious intent. While the moon’s three rounds of compass over a slumbering night sky appears, return to me with the price I beseech of thee. Go thy way, heed, and a reward shall be given,” he said. He ambled towards my dumbfounded face and whispered the sole thing he wanted me to offer him. The request was unusual, but understandable. Might be hard, but doable. Three nights after he left the shop with no farewell, not even his fingerprints in any of my works, I began the mission I needed

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to complete for my reward. Whatever it is that is waiting for me, I had nothing to lose anyway. I knocked. They said come in. The first door that opened for me wasn’t the one I tried first. In fact it might be the twelfth—the house of an old maiden whose head shone with silver strands. “Oh. You must be one of those,” she welcomed me slowly with her old voice about to crack. By “those”, I knew immediately what she meant. A glance is all it takes for me to be mistaken as one of those religious missionaries with hair caked in liquid pomade. On the surface, I cannot deny the silly similarities. But my purpose goes way beyond theirs, for I do not move out of the words of someone who only exists in scriptures and ancient fictional books. I actually talked to my client. They haven’t. I rested my sling bag on top of her dusty cupboard right beside a yellowed picture of her and her husband, who, judging from the incense at her room’s corner, already transcended to the other side. How lonely it is to be the lone survivor of a lifetime’s vow, death surely did them part. I opened my bag to retrieve things I needed with a slight smirk knowing I can actually help her move on from the torment of solitude. I talked. She listened. I explained. For some reason, she was then hesitant to believe, a flush of doubt with a hint of fear began filling her crusty face. But through my desperate pleas and intentdriven will, I managed to finish what I ought to do and left her courteously with a gracious hat-on-the-chest bow. Her face spelt enlightenment, mine was filled with fulfillment. I beat the deadline on the deal and now my efforts are not in vain. But it never came. I was sure I heard him right, my ears never failed me, and was certain I did everything perfectly according to instructions. Have I been fooled by a flurry of words? Only losers would accept that. I shall prove my worth to that man, and insist on this mission until I

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get my reward. That night was long but morning still came. I returned to the metro for yet another attempt at completing this adventure, still donned in that crusty sleeved polo, shoulders still strapped by that worn-out sling bag. After an hour of being surrounded by seemingly-empty residences, I finally came across one where I sensed signs of life. I heard voices. I knocked. They asked, “who’s there?” in a thunderous tone. I merely responded with another tap. Nobody has bothered to ask me who I am, not even myself. Judging from a festival of screams and curses and all kinds of foul noises, it seems to be the harbor of a couple on the verge of divorce. It might come soon, hopefully. I tried my luck for the third time, knowing that hearing some sacred words might be the defusing plier in the ticking time bomb that is their relationship. And there came out a man in his 30s, gesturing me to come inside. I did, and wondered where his partner was. “She locked herself in her room. My apologies for the commotion,” he uttered. Same old, same old. I talked. He listened. I explained. As I went deeper and further into my speech, his masculine facade began to melt into that of an anxious child. I do not know what it is with people, why are they so afraid of my talent? As I stepped away from that home, if one can even call it that at this point, I heard his wife shriek. The fighting must have recommenced, which was strange because I left the man with peace and satisfaction in his spirit. Perhaps there really was no hope for their story. Just a year after my first and the job started going downhill as people became more and more hesitant to open their abodes to strangers like me. Maybe it’s the cold Christmas breeze because they don’t want to chill their skin. It could be all the smoke from the road’s car fest. Or they could just be paranoid from murmurs

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about a madman rounding the town in terror. It was the beginning of a full-out drought for my routine and soon enough, until decades to come, silence was the only echo of my knocks. I guess everything just went back full circle to its natural state. The tattoo of an outcast imprinted onto me by this fate sunk deep not only on my skin, but found its way into my veins and infiltrated my whole system and grew into a curse I could never dispel. The wall between me and the other kids never really fell. It only relocated itself into the division between me and the people whose welcome I would never taste. Mocking stares and laughter never left, they only come now from unfamiliar lips every time I tread the streets exhausted. Purpose was not enough. Purpose and effort still fell short. Now that I ran out of places to run to, despair seems to be the last resort before I officially become the personification of failures. I knocked. They peek through a glass opening, eyeball scanning every inch of me, and there come clicks of a double-bolt lock to elude the truth I carry in my bag. Whoever that man is must have won with his false promises. Arms uneven from carrying a bag too long, hands calloused from carving, fists swollen, scars all over crimson-stained skin, still lost and loathed, drained and disturbed, eccentric and empty—proof enough that the reward of freedom never really came. But no matter how many doors get shut in front of me, I will never quit opening the eyes of these ignorant lambs, even if it means gouging them out with a knife. I’ve been carving limbs for years anyway, rending flesh is a piece of cake.

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Nananatiling dahop ang aking isipan sa mga ingay at laban miski na idinaos ko noon pa lamang ang aking kabataan sa gitna ng lansangan. -Angel Joy Liwag

Photo | Elaine Mapagdalita

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Israel Martin de Chavez

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Young man, play me a sad tune by Clark Alduz Viray

and I will close my eyes and let my mind wander as I swim with the melancholic notes that remind me of my own lonely yesteryears. For young lad, you see, nostalgia is a bitter pill, I need your somber melody, that I may reminisce without shedding a tear. I guess I was young once, not long ago but even then, this soul has already been restless and empty, that I sought the company of far too many strangers to feel whole, to be not alone. Only to end as an enigma, even to myself. I’m a whore who sold my music to everyone, who is willing to hear my lonely musings, in exchange of a fleeting touch— a warm body on a chilly night. Please, don’t stop playing, even though your delicate fingers are aching, yearning for a quick respite from the worn out keys of that aged piano, that I used to play back when these ears can still discern the right notes, and these hands still knows no pain, but only affection when they kiss the same ivories. I know this crowded place is no place for a man consumed by his regrets of what his time on earth has become. But son, thank you for playing that bittersweet concerto. On my next sojourn on this cobweb covered tavern, and if my dementia laden eyes, failed to recognize your youthful face, Please, young man, play the same sad tune so my heart will remember what my mind will surely forget.

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Ang Pangarap na Samgyup

ni Alyssa An Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

Ina! Siyap ng animo’y kapipisang sisiw— na mga batang may tangang plastik. Bitbit, papalapit sa maliit na kubong sapin-sapin ng kartong binalot na rin ng pangambang dulot ng tren. Ngusong nanghihilamos sa masangsang na amoy ang lalapat sa pisngi ng madrastang pagal na sa pagtakal ng tubig sa kalapit na ilog. Anak! bungad sa pinapalaking batugan, walang muwang, nangunguna ang tiyan sa pagbati— tila may laman ang loob na masayang pinagkakaisahan ang bakanteng espasyong hangin lang ang may pakinabang. Ni walang saplot ang mga paa’ng yapak na tinatahak ang batuhan. Habang lumiliit ang puwang ng mga hakbang ay lumalayo ang ina’ng tinatanaw ay nabubura. Wala na pala. Huli na para sa tirang karne’ng aming pagsasaluhan.

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PC4

ni Faith Valen Villanueva Dibuho ni Israel Martin de Chavez

Tumitibok ang ulo ko nang umuwi ako sa bahay. Bukod sa hinampas ako ng kawayan habang papauwi sa bahay, naabutan kasi ako ng nanay ko na nasa braso ng isang mababang puno sa likod bahay. Umuwi akong puro dagta at punit ang damit at umiiyak dahil nakaalpas ang aking alagang pitik. Sinisinok na parang lasing ang ganap ko sa bakuran. Tulala ngunit naalimpungatan ako nang dumampi ang malamig na royal sa lalamunan ko. Para bang nagsasayawan ang bawat alon at kumpas sa aking lalamunan matapos isalang ng stainless na baso ang likido sa aking bibig. Parang nakalimutan ko kung anong ginagawa ko.

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“May bukas pa naman. Hanap na lang kami ng bago.” Kinabukasan, parang ibinawi ako ng kaban ng mga anghel sa pinakamalas na araw ng aking kahapon. Isang kahon na punongpuno ng pitik ang aming nahagilap. Tuwang-tuwa akong umuwi habang ipinagmamayabang ang makukulay at tila pagod sa laban na mga gagamba. Fast forward. Hanggang sa sumikat na si Bieber, naging ekperto na kami sa pagha hunting ng mga ito. Isang araw, may bagong bukas sa aming barangay, animo’y mga taong naninirahan sa kinabukasan ang nasa loob. May kompyuter at sandamakmak na tao ang pumipila rito. Naririnig mo ang kalansing ng mga baryang tila kinupit pa yata sa bulsa ng pantalon ng kanilang amain. “Boss, pa-extend pc4”, ani bata. Nakita ko kung paano namatay ang halaman sa pagkain lamang ng isang zombie, araw at gabi. Di naglaon ay natuto rin akong masaulo ang keys sa pudpod at hirap pindutin na keyboard na ito. Ginagawang araw ang gabi hanggang sa hindi na mawari, kung uuwi pa ba o hindi. Kasi nandyan naman si Cena ang tagasaing ng kulot na pansit canton na kahit malabnaw ay nakakapawid pa rin ng gutom at uhaw. Hanggang isang araw, bigla na lamang sumalubong ang yerong harang at hindi na muling naitaas ang maingay na yerong panangga at pangsara sa mga nagnanasang mauna. Umuwi na lamang ako, lulan ng isang kakaibang pampasaherong sasakyan. May signage na nakatala ngunit hindi ko mabasa. Pero nakita ko kung paano kumunot ang noo ng mga nasa loob nito. Teka, may ginawa ba ako? Parang nakalimutan ko ang ginagawa ko. Isang sasakyan na tila pamilyar sa aking kabataan. May harang

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ang bawat upuan at tila pagod ang mga lulan sa naging paglaban. Binabawi na yata ng aking mga anghel ang pinakaswerteng araw nang sandaling makaramdam ang aking lalamunan ng pagkatuyo’t hindi malaman kung anong nararamdaman at tila namamanhid ang aking dila. Pagdilat ng aking mata, umiiyak ang aking ina at kapatid sa sasakyan habang hindi ako makagalaw sa aking kinalalagyan. “May bukas pa naman. Hanap na lang kami ng bago.” Sabi ng kuya ko sa kanyang katawagan. Nakita ko ulit ang mababang sanga ng puno noong aking kabataan, ngunit iba na ito dahil tila naging bahagdan pataas. May tao sa isang gate. Hindi naman hayop pero parang tagapag-bantay. Nagpipindot siya na parang katulad nang nasa tindahan ni Cena, pero walang kulot na pansit. “Titingin ka na lang ba dyan? Papa-extend ka ba o hindi na?”

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When they asked him, a forlorn poet, “Why do you pen words that speak of loneliness?” With a bitter smile, he answered, “‘Cause all my life, sadness and abandonment, has been my only loyal companion.” -Clark Alduz Viray

Photo | Gerard Zairus Gupit

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Nicole Beatriz Rosales

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Anniversary gift ni Jane Therese Banaag

Maingat na nilakdangan ni Mang Isko ang bawat putik na kanyang madadaanan patungo munting tahanan. Bagama’t hindi na alintana sa isang kargador na katulad niya ang ganitong uri ng mantsa, ayaw niya nang maperwisyo pa ang asawa sa paglalaba ng kanyang pinakamaayos na pares ng pantalon—lalo pa at ngayon ang unang anibersaryo ng kanilang kasal. Dala-dala ang napakalaking supot na ang tanging laman ay ang regular sized fries ng McDonalds, nagpapawis ang mga palad ni Isko sa kaba habang palapit nang palapit sa bahay nilang sa pawid lamang gawa. Nadidismaya rin kasi siya na ito lang ang maihahandog niya sa kanyang maybahay. Ngunit umaasa siya na magiging tulay ang paboritong meryenda ng asawang si Tina sa panunumbalik ng dating sigla at giliw nito. “Tina, nandito na ako. Nakakain ka na ba? Bimili kita ng McDo fries sa bayan. Pasensya na kung tinanghali ako ng uwi, nilakad ko lang kasi ang daan pauwi,” sunod sunod bati ni Isko sa asawang hindi inalis ang kanyang tingin sa orasan na nababalot ng makapal na alikabok. Tanging ang umuugong na mga kahol ng aso sa kapitbahay kaakibat ang malulutong na mura ng lasing nitong amo ang mga ingay na bumibisita sa pamamahay nila. “Kahit ngayon lang, pansinin mo naman ako,” pagmamakaawa ni Isko sa kanyang asawa na ang kawalan na kibo ay hindi na niya ikinagulat. Mabigat man sa kanyang kalooban, matagal nang tinanggap ni Isko na ito na siguro ang binigay sa kanyang happily ever after ng tadhana—isang hardin na nababalot ng mga tanim ng sama ng loob.

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“Tina, isang taon na tayong kasal, at ilang buwan na ang nakakalipas matapos mangyari ‘yon. Gagawin ko ang lahat bumalik lang tayo sa dati,” pakiusap ni Mang Isko sa asawang kibit-balikat lamang ang tugon. Walang pinagkaiba ang blangkong titig ni Tina ngayon sa huling beses na tinignan niya ang kanyang asawa habang umaagos ang dugo sa kanyang mga binti noong nakaraang Pebrero. Ang kaibahan lamang ngayon, umagos na rin ang mga luha na tila matagal nang ikinukubli matapos malaglag ang bata na kaniyang dinadala sa kanyang sinapupunan. “Ano ba talaga ang gusto mo? Ibibigay ko, maayos lang natin ‘to,” mariin na dugtong ni Isko na siyang ikinatigil ng pag-iyak ni Tina. “Kwintas.” nangangatal na sagot ni Tina. “Talaga?! Anong klaseng kuwintas ba ang gusto mo? Ayos lang kahit may kamahalan, uutang tayo kay Aling Linda,” “Ikaw na bahala,” walang kabuhay-buhay na naman na tugon ni Tina sa asawang nataranta sa galak. “Sige, mahal. Tutal, lahat naman ay nababagay sa ‘yo. Ako ay hahayon na. Hintayin mo ako,” nagmamadaling sagot ni Isko. Mawawarak ang sahig ng ikalawang palapag ng kanilang munting tahanan nang nagkukumahog na bumaba si Isko. Ngayon niya na lamang muli narinig ang malambing na tinig ng kanyang misis. Higit pa rito, ngayon na lamang ulit ito humiling ng kahit ano sa kanya kung kaya’t kahit siguro lamang loob niya ay kaya niyang isugal kung ito ang ikakapanalo ng relasyon nilang mag-asawa. Habang tinatahak niya ang daan patungo sa isang lumang sanglaan sa plaza, kanyang inalala ang munting mga panahon na nililigawan niya pa lamang si Tina. Sa kung paanong ang anak ng

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alkalde ng kanilang munting bayan ay sinuklian ang mga sulyap ng isang ‘di hamak na kargador na kagaya niya. Sa kung paano nito tinalikuran ang marangya niyang pamumuhay maisakatuparan lamang ang kanilang pag-iisang dibdib. Kung ang ibang asawa’y mapapakamot sa ulo sa luho ng kanilang mga asawa, hindi si Isko. Ikinagagalak ng kanyang puso ang hiling ng kanyang asawa, lalo na sa ganitong estado ng kanilang relasyon. Sa lalim ng kanyang mga iniisip, tsaka niya lamang napansin na nalampasan niya ang sanglaang may bakas pa rin ng mga tama ng bala matapos ang nakawan na naganap dito, dalawang taon na ang lumipas. Agad siyang pumasok sa loob at naghanap ng kuwintas na pasok sa badyet niya. Gustuhin man niya na hindi secondhand ang ihandog sa asawa, ito lang ang inabot ng kanyang kakaramput na kita bilang kargador. Tinitigan niyang mabuti ang kuwintas na nagkakahalaga ng limang libong piso— nagliliwanag ang mata dahil kahit na katumbas ito ng sahod niya sa tatlong buwan, maisasalba na ng kwintas na ito ang nagkandawatak-watak nilang pagsasama. Matapos itong bayaran ng hindi na siguro mabilang na piraso ng bente pesos na perang papel, halos takbuhin ni Isko ang daan patungo sa kanilang tahanan. Hindi niya na alintana ang sakit ng paa o kawalan ng perang pamasahe sapagkat para sa kanya, walang makakatumbas sa ngiti ng asawang kay tagal niya nang hindi nasisilayan. Habang nakadikit ang malawak na ngiti sa kanyang mukha, dali-daling binuksan ni Mang Isko ang kanilang pintuang nagbibitak-bitak na ang pintura. “Mahal, nandi,” natigilan si Isko sa kanyang nasaksihan. Sa tinagal-tagal niyang nagising saksi sa kawalang-kibo ng asawa, ‘di pa pala siya sanay. Nanginginig niyang nilapitan ang nakabitin na katawan ng asawang ibang kuwintas pala ang nais at inaasam.

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Chasing Jane Art and Story by Clark Alduz Viray

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The dead don’t bleed; it’s the living that we must mourn when someone dear to them passes away. It was past three in the morning, and I was sprawled on the cold floor of my room, facing the bland, unpainted wall. I am still wearing the creased uniform of the fast food chain I am currently employed at even though my shift ended hours ago. I paid no attention to the pungent odor of my body, mixed with the aroma of leftover takeout foods and the stench of my still unwashed clothes dating back to a week ago— scattered all over my room. Four bottles of cheap booze bought from a nearby convenience store lay near me, their contents long gone. I have been staring at the nothingness around me for so long and my mind is already a blank slate. I swear, as I look longer at the walls, I can see faces of strangers, laughing at me, mocking my sorry state.

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On my hand is my cellular phone that has been playing a voice message which, even though it brings me pain and guilt as I listen to it, somehow lulled me to sleep.

It was past one in the afternoon when I woke up, still lying on the floor. My throat feels dry and my head is pounding in pain. I stood up and looked at the mess around me. My eyes caught the faded photograph of my friend Jane, who took her life less than a year ago. With a bittersweet feeling, I took the framed picture and stared at her lovely face. No one realized that she was depressed. She was always smiling, always the ray of sunshine in a crowded room. I guess she kept her loneliness to herself, just like what I am doing now. The only difference is that with me, I know that I am letting my life waste away. I I checked my messages and saw that David, one of my few remaining friends, has called me six times. It took me a while to realize that I promised to meet him today. I lazily stumbled towards the bathroom to take a bath, admonishing myself for forgetting the promises I make with everyone. As I walked towards the place where I will wait for a jeepney to take me to the nearest mall, I savoured the dim lighted scenery around me. I live in one of the quietest subdivisions in the city, although the identical houses I passed by never amaze me because each one is a replica of the other house next block. The same shades of yellow, green, blue and orange dominate the neighborhood. Even though I do not know the owners of these houses, I had already judged them. I believe that only boring people will choose to live in a house that has no character of its own. I grew up in this neighborhood but somehow, it is still an unfamiliar territory for me. I can still get lost in its bends and turns,

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partly because I am a person with no sense of direction and mostly because I try to keep my distance from this place as much as I possibly can. I saw a group of construction workers as I passed a site where another house will be built. The face masks they are wearing cannot hide the fun they are having as they talk. I cannot hear what they are saying but it is evident that they are enjoying themselves. It is times like this that triggers my paranoia. I cannot stand hearing strangers laugh. My overthinking mind will convince me that they are laughing at me-that they are having fun at my expense. I raised the volume of the phone in my hand, willing the music that is currently playing to drown the laughing voice in the back of my mind as I avoided going in the direction of the workers. The mall used to be my sanctuary before the pandemic. I fascinate myself with the faces of strangers. The writer in me loves making up tales about the people around, while the still budding artist inside, enjoys the colors that surrounds me each time I enter the doors of this restless arena. But since Jane died, everything seems to be covered in a palette of grey and somber yellow. Outside the National Bookstore, I saw David and he waved at me. It is hard to miss him. He is one of those persons whom you will easily notice, not only because of his six foot frame and bearlike body, but also because of his beak-like nose. Jane and I used to tease him about it, but he never got angry at us because he also has a big heart to match his physique. He is wearing a floral polo shirt — a gift from Jane and I. When Jane was still with us, the three of us spent hours searching for the latest Bob Ong book or window shopping for pricey art materials that we can afford, yet wouldn’t buy.

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“I freakin’ missed you!” David hugged me tightly and I had to pry his arms from me. If his hug lasted for a few more seconds, some of my bones would probably be shattered.

“You have lost weight, have you been skipping meals again?’’ I did not answer David’s question and instead, I played with the leftover chicken on my plate using my fork. The silence lingers between us for a few moments. David sipped the pineapple juice in his glass before continuing the one way conversation. “The wedding will be two months from now.” The fork in my hand fell to the plate, making a loud clanging sound that made few of the restaurant patrons look at us. David gave them an apologetic smile and reached for my hand. “It’s what Jane would have wanted.” I pushed his hands away and stood up. I was about to speak, but there’s a lump in my throat that made it impossible for me to utter even a single word. But David knew the thoughts circling in my mind. He stood up and was about to walk towards me, but I ran away. How could David continue with his life as if Jane’s death did not happen? How can anyone move on that easily, after losing a friend? As I stumbled out of the mall, a gush of warm air greeted my face. I searched for the nearest trash can and let the bile that has been rising from my stomach leave my body. As I finished heaving, my eyes caught sight of a nearby convenience store. I entered and searched for the liquors section. II Despite my drunken stupor, I decided to visit Jane’s grave. I had no trouble finding her resting place, as I have been visiting the

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cemetery almost every day since her funeral. I know the way by heart. As I neared her tombstone, I realized that I brought no flowers. My eyes darted around me and I saw a fresh bouquet of roses in another grave. I took it and staggered towards Jane’s grave. “Hello Jane, long time no see. I know you missed me.” I giggled at my stupidity as I started speaking. In between hiccups and peeing, I told Jane how my days have been since she died and how, if God really exists, I hope I will soon die. “I will probably go to hell, but I think you should be there too, Jane. After all, you fucking killed yourself!” By this time, it’s not me, but the liquor that is speaking. From behind me, I heard the sound of something hitting the ground, followed by a familiar voice. “What the hell!” It was Amy. Is that guilt that I see in her face? I don’t really care. Even in my state, I can see the similarities between her and Jane, especially in those doleful eyes that seem to always ask for love and affection from those who dared to look at them. I looked at her snidely. “What are you doing here? Making sure that Jane’s really dead?” “You’re drunk. Again.” I looked at what she dropped and realized it is one of those funeral bouquets that they sell for a cheap price-the ones that are adorned with those annoying white flowers with little or no scent at all. I threw her a look filled with disdain and pity before admonishing her for her hypocrisy. “Do you ever wish that it was you who is dead, and not Jane?” I did not wait for her response and started walking away. As I threw a last look at Jane’s grave, I saw Amy pick up the bouquet. I can tell from the rocking of her shoulders that she is crying.

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I guess like me, Amy is being consumed by guilt. For you see, Jane has been overshadowed by Amy her whole life. Jane used to tell me that she was a product of an unplanned pregnancy. Her parents married not out of love, but only to stop bringing more shame to their respective families. It was a loveless marriage filled with nights of screaming between the two of them, witnessed by a young Jane. When Jane was five, her parents were about to file for annulment, but when Jane’s mother found out that she’s pregnant; they decided to give their marriage another try. In a way, Jane’s existence is a reminder of the hurtful phase in their parents’ lives while Amy’s birth, for them, is a miracle that made them stay together. Their parents used to put too much pressure on Amy, while letting Jane fend for herself most of the time. I guess that was a good thing because Jane grew up to be an independent woman. But despite her independence, there is a fragile woman that has always been yearning for the attention of her parents. But their parents are too busy showering their time to Amy, that they did not notice how Jane’s mental state slowly deteriorated. They paid no heed to the early signs of depression that Jane has been exhibiting—the sudden loss of her interest in socializing, the sudden emotional outbursts, and the nights she just begged to be alone, entombed in her own room. They were the first ones who stabbed Jane in her heart. III I arrived at my apartment at half past six in the evening. I entered my room and looked at the mess. I have seen dumpsters that look better than my place. I went to my bed, which sagged under my weight, and closed my eyes. I hate this. I hate remembering Jane and the people who left her when she needed them the most. I hate myself. After a few minutes, I checked my phone and saw David’s and

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Amy’s numbers in the missed calls notifications. It’s a good thing that I keep my cellular phone on silent. I turned it off and looked around me. The walls, they are mocking me again. I can hear the voices from last night. “I didn’t know she’s depressed!” I shouted to the unseen entities behind the voices, as they screamed at me, blaming me for what happened to Jane. I should have seen the signs. I should have known. I failed Jane. I covered my ears as the laughter and mocking reached an unbearable crescendo. It’s as if the voices are everywhere and there’s no escaping them. After a few minutes, the laughter subsided. I surveyed my surroundings and I think I can still hear the faint giggling of the unseen beings created by my guilt ridden mind. My hands were quivering when I took my phone and played Jane and I’s last conversation. “Michael, it’s me, Jane. I think I owe you an apology for what I’m about to do……..” Should I confess? Could I have the courage to tell them that I was busy wallowing in my own misery when Jane tried to reach out to me? I keep asking myself, If only I had picked up my phone, if only I were not selfishly ignoring everyone during that day, would Jane still be with us? As Jane’s voice echoed in the mausoleum-like room I am imprisoned in, I fell on the floor, covering my ears as I started hearing the voices again. MAKE THEM STOP, MAKE THEM STOP, MAKE THEM STOP, PLEASE!!!! How long willI suffer? Am I losing my sanity? I don’t know. I don’t care anymore. All I know is that I will mourn for Jane until my very last breath.

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Maraming nagsasabing “hihimas sa malamig na rehas”, Kahit tagaktakan ang pawis ng s’yang nabilanggo. -Francis Aaron Magpile

Photo | Francis Aaron Magpile

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Solemn shrieks and rageful whispers crowded the harrowing airs of Tondo whose rumor and riot worshippers, roaring and rambling toddlers, reckless and rampant drinkers yearned for quick glimpses amidst heightened brick walls and solid cemented grounds— the devious facade where morbid secrets of last night’s ritual were unveiled. With sheets drenched in shades of crimson, screams as soft as thunderstorms, grips as gentle as tsunami tides, and feared fingers pointing at my direction. I guess Tondo will never know Of all the muted scars schemingly finding its way down to the depths of my guilt Of all the battered vows scribbled down as forsaken profanities onto my stripped numb flesh. I guess Tondo will never know how its noise and its mayhem were my escape from peaceful wars and tranquil duels where I now retreat six feet under.

Once, in the silence of the slums by Jane Therese Banaag Artwork by Marion Macatangay

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Kumpisal

(o Bakit berde ang kulay ng paglaya) Dibuho at Tula ni Clark Alduz Viray

Muli kong inihanda ang sarili sa isa na namang malanobelang litanya mula sa iyo. Sapagkat ikapitong araw na naman— oras na muli para sa isa na naman nating patagong pagtatagpo. Kagabi, sabi mo, ay binisita ka na naman ng iyong amain matapos ang maghapon niyang pagkakalango sa alak na inutang sa katabing tindahan. Mas malakas ba ang iyong mga hikbi, kaysa sa langitngit ng inaanay niyong katre? Salitan ang paghalakhak at paglandas ng luha mula sa iyong mga mata habang nilalahad ang nakasusulasok na trahedya, kasabay ng pagsayaw ng usok mula sa binilot na palarang naglalaman ng dahong dulot ay panandaliang pagtakas— pinagpapasahan ng ating nanginginig at pasmadong mga kamay. Isang hithit, isang buga. Matapos ang halos isang oras, sa mga labi mo ay may sisilay na ngiti at maririnig ko ang pinakahihintay na pahimakas gaya ng isang dasal na paulit-ulit sinasambit. “Father, salamat sa pakikinig.”

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Pulot Pukyutan ni Alyssa An Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

Umaga Isang tipikal na bata lamang si Berry, sampung taong gulang, sing taas ng punlang mahogany ng kanilang kapitbahay. Kulot ang kaniyang buhok, moreno at may singkit na mata. Sabi ng iba, pinaglihi raw sa maligno. Ngunit, sa katunayan ay anak siya ng isang Black American na nanirahan sa Pilipinas at kalauna’y lumisan at iniwan ang bata sa pangangalaga ni Mang Bet. Paborito niyang puntahan ang gubat. Marami ang naninirahang mga hayop doon, gaya ng ibon na samu’t-sari ang kulay ng mga pakpak, mabangis na baboy ramong mahilig manghabol ng nakapulang turista at mayroon ding kung anu-ano pang de sungay na hayop.

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At sa mga oras na iyon, narinig niya ang huni ng isang insektong may maliit na boses at bumulong sa kaniya ng ‘tulong’. Hindi alintana ng bata ang init at mula sa pagkakaupo niya sa ibabaw ng umbok ng buhangin malapit sa ginagawa nilang bahay ay sumilong ito sa ilalim ng puno ng Acacia. “Berry!” sigaw ng bubuyog na hindi makahinga sa kanyang panali sa leeg. Lumingon si Berry sa umaaligid na bubuyog na tila may ipinapahiwatig. Walang tigil ang kawawang insekto sa kakaikot hanggang bumagsak ito. Lumapit na siya sa bubuyog na may pagtataka. Papalapit pa lamang ang mukha ng bata sa lupa kung saan nakahandusay ang itim na insekto ay bigla namang lumipad ito at tinamaan si Berry sa ilong. “Aray!” sigaw ng batang hindi mawari ang nararamdaman. Lumipad ng bahagya ang bubuyog na tila nahihilo pa. Una itong lumapit sa tainga ng bata at bumulong muli. “Hinahanap ka ng inang bubuyog. Hindi mo ba siya bibisitahin? Ganoong siya ay naghihingalo na,” pakiusap ng insekto. Nagulat ang bata sa kanyang narinig at balisang nakatitig sa bubuyog. “Huy! Berry! Totoo ako! Nagsasalita ako! Nais kang makita ng inang bubuyog!” Muling pakiusap ng nilalang sa harap ng bata. “Bakit ako? Ni hindi ko kayo kilala! At paano kayo nakakapagsalita! “ tanong niya. Sa kaniyang pagtataka ay lumapit si Mang Bet dala-dala ang mahaba nitong patpat na anumang oras ay lalapat sa hita ng bata. “Berry! Kakaunin kita ulit mamaya! Andiyan na ang maninira!” nag-aalalang wika ng bubuyog na mabilis lumipad papalayo sa

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lumalapit naman na matanda. “Putik kang bata ka! Nandito ka lang pala! Sino na naman kinakausap mo? Anak ka talaga ng maligno e! Palibhasa mana ka sa tatay mong hindi marunong magsalita! Puro lang ungol,” hinalibas ni Mang Bet ang musmos na bata pauwi sa bahay. Walang awa niyang pinaglapatan ang bata ng patpat. Namaga ang buong katawan ng bata sa bugbog. Iyon ang ikalimang araw na nagsimulang maghigpit si Mang Bet. Dahil buhat noong kaarawan ni Berry ay nagbago na ang kinikilos ng matanda na para bang takot na takot sa pagsapit ng araw na iyon. Pagkatapos niyang apihin ang bata ay dumiretso siya sa basement upang kuhanin ang isang wand. Nang astang hahawakan na niya ang ang stick na may brilyanteng bato sa ulo ay iika-ikang sumilip si Berry. Nakita niya ang hawak na wand ng matanda na tila ba nag-aaral kung paano ito gamitin habang hawak ang puting librong may mga nakasulat na paliwanag sa ibang dialekto. Nang mapansin ng matanda na nakasilip ang batang si Berry ay nagulat ito kung kaya’t nagpatak ang wand at napasigaw siya ng ‘boom’. Doon ang patay na uwak sa kaniyang tagiliran ay naging isang kapang lumilipad. Sa mga oras na iyon ay naguguluhan na si Berry. “Tatay Bet. Anong nangyayari? Totoo ba ang aking nakita? Ano ang nangyari sa uwak? Pwede mo rin bang pagalingin mo ang aking mga pasa” tanong niya sa ama-amahan habang nahihirapan pang magsalita. “Patawad anak dahil nabigla lamang ako sa nangyari. Pakiusap, huwag kang lumapit sa mga bubuyog dahil sila ay mga mapanlinlang na nilalang. Kaya nilang talunin ang ibinigay sa aking kapangyarihan ng iyong ama,” naglalambing na tugon niya sa bata. Kumbinsido ang bata na ang bubuyog ay nagdudulot ng masamang samahan sa kanila. Hindi man niya maintindihan pa ang

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nangyayari at minabuti na lang munang sundin si Mang Bet. “Anak! Halika dito! Mula bukas kalilimutan mo na ang mga nagsasalitang bubuyog,” pakiusap ng matanda. Tinulungan ni Mang Bet ang bata na gamutin ang natamo nitong mga sugat. Inayos din niya ang hapag para sila’y magsalo sa baboy ramong ligaw na kanilang binangi na binabad sa toyo, suka, asin, paminta, sibuyas at bawang at saka inihaw. Matiwasay silang nag-hapunan. Sumapit na ang gabi at lubos pa rin ang pagtataka ng bata dahil sa kaalaman ni Mang Bet sa nagsasalitang bubuyog gayong limang araw pa lang siyang nakikipag-usap sa bubuyog. Tila ba alam niyang matagal na ang mga itong may koneksyon sa tao at gubat. Noong matapos sila ng hapunan ay natanaw niya ang liwanag sa bintana at ang ilaw ng buwan ay saktong tumatama sa bahay ng bubuyog. Nakita niya ang isang anino ng lalaki patungo roon. Sinundan niya ito ng marahan at hindi alintana ang sasabihin ni Mang Bet kung sakaling siya ay mahuli. “Berry! Mali ang iyong daan! Sundan mo ako!” wika ng bubuyog na tagapagmasid. “Teka, ano ba ang iyong pangalan?,” nagtatakang tanong ng bata habang kumakamot sa ulo. Bumulong ang bubuyog nang pagkaliit “Ako si Jepjep. Bilisan na natin ang paglalakad dahil baka mahuli na tayo.” Nagtungo na sila sa tahanan ng mga bubuyog at umalis ng mabilis ang anino. Pagkarating nila sa tapat ay naglabasan ang pagkarami-raming bubuyog na siyang ikinagulat ni Berry. Hindi magkandamayaw sa pagtaboy ang bata hanggang sa lumabas na ang inang bubuyog at nagsalita.

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“Narito na pala ang pinakahihintay kong katawan! Mga kawal! Hawakan lamang siya ng mahigpit” utos ng reyna na bahagya nang makalipad habang papalapit sa bata. Kinumpulan ng bubuyog ang bata at walang awang hinawakan. Sa isang iglap ay itinurok ng reyna ang kaniyang panusok sa leeg ng bata. At doon ay unti-unti nag-iba ng anyo si Berry. Una ang kanyang mga paa ay umigsi ng parang sa bubuyog samantala ang sa reyna ay nagkaroon ng paa ng dalaga. Sa mga sumunod na segundo ay naging ganap na bubuyog si Berry at ang Reyna ay tuluyang naging isang magandang dalaga. “Sa wakas! Tao na akong muli! Babawiin ko sa impaktong mangkukulam na si Bet ang aking wand! At siya naman ang isusumpa ko!” galit na wika ng reynang nakatitig sa malayong kubo nina Berry. Hindi alam ni Berry na naging ganap na siyang bubuyog. Samantalang ang reyna ay hindi na matanaw papalayo sa kaniyang palasyo dahil agad nitong pinuntahan si Mang Bet. “Mahal na Reyna! Magplano ka muna bago bawiin ang wand!” sigaw ng bubuyog na si Jack na siyang parating kumakaon kay Berry. Hanggang sa lumabas na ng bahay si Mang Bet at natatanaw na ang kinang ng lumalapit na Reyna. Nanlaki ang mga mata ng matanda dahil napagtanto niya na sa mga oras na iyon ay naging bubuyog na ang batang itinakda. “Anong masasabi mo Bet? Nasa akin na si Berry! Ibigay mo na sa akin ang wand upang maibalik na ang sangkatauhan! Hayaan mo silang mabuhay!” wika ng reyna habang nasisilaw si Mang Bet sa puting anyo ng reyna na animo’y diwata. Sumagot ng may paghalakhak ang matanda habang nakataas ang mga kilay nito. “Hibang ka ba? Sila ang umubos sa lahi natin! Hindi ako papayag na maging sunod-sunuran na lamang sa kanila at lalo na sa’yo! Umalis ka na rito kung ayaw mong gawin kita muling isang

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bubuyog!” Tumugon ang Reyna at astang sasaktan na si Mang Bet. “Isa kang traydor! Wala kang utang na loob. Kinulong mo ako ng sampung taon para sa paghihiganti at galit sa isang Amerikanong pumutol ng punong pinaninirahan mo! Matuto kang magpatawad! Pinigilan kita mula sa balak mong pagpatay dahil gusto ko ng kapayapaan. At dinamay mo pa ang anak niyang walang malay sa isyu natin! Nawalan ka ng puso dahil sa galit” Unti-unting nag-iinit ang mga batuhan ng salita sa pagitan ng dating magkaibigang engkanto. Muling nagsalita ang Reyna na nagpapaliwanag sa mga nangyari. “Uulitin ko sa’yo Bet! Ang galit ay pansamantalang emosyon lamang. Kung papanatilihin mo ito ng ilang taon, kakainin ka nito at ‘di mo na makikilala ang sarili mo! Tumingin ka sa salamin Bet! Naging sumpa ang galit hanggang sa hindi mo na alam ang ginagawa mo. Bibigyan kita ng sampung araw para pag-isipan ang ginagawa mo. Hindi sa’yo ang wand. Lalong hindi sa akin.” Ang kapaligiran na nababalot ng tensyon ay nasaksihan ni Berry at Jack na minabuting magtago sa likod ng mga bulaklak sa hardin. Sa mga oras na bumubuka na ang mga ito at sumisikat na ang araw ay natapos na rin ang usapan. Tinanong ni Jack si Berry habang lumuluha. “Ano na mangyayari sa’yo? Mukhang kapag hindi nagbago ‘tong mga matatandang ‘to habang buhay ka ng ganiyan,” sambit ni Jack. “Parang gusto ko na lang din maging bubuyog, malayang lumipad. At saka ‘di ba may powers tayo. One shot nitong panusok, we’re dead. Okay na ako sa ganito. Gusto ko na lang lumipad kasi bubugbugin lang naman ako ni Mang Bet, wala naman ako uuwian na matino. Wala naman akong buhay basta lang ako humihinga. At least dito sa paglipad may pakinabang ako

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sa mga halaman. At any time pwede ko gamitin ang powers ko to end things the way it is,” nakangiting sagot niya sa kausap din na bubuyog. Unti-unting sumisikat ang araw at ang lahat ay lumisan patungo sa kanya-kanyang destinasyon. Panibagong araw para sa panibagong yugto ng mga buhay ng mga nag-iisip pang mga nilalang. Mula kay Mang Bet na magdamag ng nakatulala sa kahoy na upuan upang pag-isipan sa kanyang ginawa, kay Reynang bubuyog na malaya na muling nakapagpalago ng mga halaman at kay Berry na nakahanap ng pamilya at kahulugan sa kanyang ginagawa. Samantalang si Jack ay hinahanap ang panibagong host na makakatulong sa pagpapalaya ng Amerikanong bihag ng kabilang pulot pukyutan.

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On the tune of a broken record by Carlos Kim Raphael Perez Artwork by Angelo Mendenilla

An aching head has brought me back to my cushioned rest. Glancing upon accounts of the same faces and names on different turns of events— upon my seat, I relish my state and hang onto these pieces of paper. I have once again stumble on narratives and recollections of a dying race, in here covered with warm blankets did I ponder that my youth was spent around the universe of one’s champion. But now I gnash my teeth from the bitter taste of the sweat trickling down my wrinkling guise while I flip on clone stories from different pages and swore to my flimsy skin that I would never dance again to a looping strain.

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I should have known sooner that adventure is just a fancy name for deceit because no matter how far I go, I always come back home empty-handed. -Nixon De Villa

Photo | Patrick Owen Gube

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Marion Macatangay

Playing house

by Angel Joy Liwag

It is morning again. The grass from the outskirts of our fence is still sultry from the fog, and the sun peeks from the horizontal blue. I knew better than anyone to admire the surroundings as I raced my laundry to the rising daylight. The unspoken rule in this house is chores first, and then meals after. Not that I have someone to lean on when it comes to both errands. I feel insecure with my body. My tiny hands and short legs often get entangled on the clothesline; and most of the time, I need to use a stool so I can reach the messy pantry in the kitchen.

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Nonetheless, it is every seven in the morning where I feel the most needed by Mom. Even though she refuses to utter a word or two, I only have to scan the path where her eyes rest and quickly fix whatever lies in that direction.

I don’t remember the actual time when we first had this role reversal. All I can recall was my dad bidding goodbye two years ago while mom was making a mess out of her face, drowning in a waterfall from her eyes. Since then, the familiar presence of the breadwinner in our family slowly disappeared along with mom’s warmth. If my memory does not betray me, it was also two years ago that I took my overdue vacation from school. Now, my tiny hands that once understood house plays have put down dolls and cooking toys in order to juggle the real life wonders happening in front of my naive eyes.

These childlike wonders were halted as I heard faint stomping in the fence. There goes my mom and her frail body trying to sit on a reclining chair. I immediately ran up to her direction and tended to her. Arms shaking from her nonchalance to move a muscle, mom hastily gave in and let me handle the brunt of her movements but the impact was nothing for I have gotten used to forcing my way into her embrace. “What would you like to eat for breakfast, Mama?” Again, no response from mom while she’s fiddling her fingers on the hem of her clothes, with her gaze fixed on the sky. It’s gotten bluer but the atmosphere has gotten colder. “Maybe I should just reheat the noodles from dinner, it looks kinda bloated though. Like my face, Mama. Look!” Need I say more as the unmoved amber hair and tired eyes reflects in the basin full of washed liquid.

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It takes only two attempts for me to stop trying. Besides, the day won’t waste its gracious heat in the hope of a conversation to happen.

It’s past ten in the morning when my sloppy laundry finally ended. I think it’s safe to admit that the real life battle begins in the kitchen. Just, how come I use one fork and the next thing I know, the whole pastry had become a mess? The bloated noodles are now reheated and are ready to be served but it’s the dishes that I hated the most for I often cut my fingers on their sharp edges. The bloated noodles tasted a bit metallic, it being a processed food may have been the reason, or the kettle that I have used has formed rust already. Not that it matters, there’s food, and two small appetites who will dig in. I look over the fence to examine my mom, and crap, she’s looking my way. But hey, if she’s got something to say with the smell of the noodles, then she better man up and say it to my face. Or she could just stand up and do the right thing. She can’t blame me for this one since I’m tired and hungry at the same time. Racing my hand to the running water, I quickly damp the utensils and head back to the fence. It’s time for feeding.

Filial piety is weird. One moment I was frustrated with mom’s silent regard towards my cooking and the next second, I am blown away by how emotional I have become whenever I lift the spoon and feed mom. She’s specifically obedient when she’s hungry. I don’t hear loud chewing and even in this casual moment, I still feel the coldness lingering on her eyes. How I wish she would look in my direction and talk to me. Ten minutes have passed and I haven’t come up with a good starter for conversation. I wanted to build a groundbreaking sentence that’ll lead mom into speaking. But not a word was blurted out as I slowly got up and accepted

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defeat. I went back to the kitchen and since we just had our brunch, there’s only dinner to think over.

Some time around late afternoon, I find myself watching a noontime show from our worn out television. I cannot quite catch the name since I can’t read it yet. Hey! I’m only seven and an elementary drop out, okay? It’s a segment which casted mischievous kids with good looks as they compete with another. The first girl with fair skin, who is probably younger than me, has already mastered English! She’s so fluent that I feel so intimidated by her despite my age. In the audience her mother is waving banners and there’s a battalion of cheering squad behind. What a family! I started feeling the second hand embarrassment brought by the crowd. It was chaotic but the girl looked so proud of the roars. When the show started shifting to drama with the hope to spice up her screen time, the girl shed tears because she was hoping to help her mom with the expenses. Being brought up by a single mom, the little girl bore unexplainable fondness when she talks about their life. In the audience, her mom was seen crying. A sob coming from my throat was all it took for me to realize that I was weeping. I brought the hem of my t-shirt on my face to wipe the tears that kept on falling down. The sun outside is slowly setting. The laundry danced as the wind blew, and my mom, with her gaze fixed on our gateway, began shedding tears, too.

Dusk simultaneously enveloped the sky which signaled me to throw my youth in the gutter. Crap, I forgot about dinner. I immediately got up and turned off the television, silently hoping that there were some canned goods or noodles left in the kitchen. While rummaging for food, I heard a knock on the front door bounded in the fence. That’s where mom is! My anticipation was

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short lived as I heard grandma scolding my unresponsive mom. “How long will you act like this,!?” screamed Grandma. “All these sulking and blank looks as if this is the first time you got your heart broken! Jesus Christ! You have a child to look after, you dummy!” Grandma’s litany halted when I peeked from the door. “Grandma, did you bring food?” I asked, eyeing the grocery bag on the entryway. Grandma was quick to turn her attention to me. “Of course, sweetie! That’s the reason why I’m here,” replied grandma. I was about to get the groceries when mom shifted from her seat. Ah. She was so quiet that I forgot she’s around. Grandma, on the other hand, having suppressed her annoyance only mumbled, “how insolent.” “Little pie, fret not about dinner. I’ll make one tonight and guess what, I might sleep here, too! Sounds good?” Grandma must’ve caught my overwhelmed reaction. So slowly, and ever painfully sincere, she embraced the form of a child playing house all along. “Grandma, how about you live here, too?” I asked, hopeful eyes looking up to the grown woman. “Kid, how about we leave this place tomorrow? Don’t you wanna see your friends at school?” Grandma retorted. In the salas, two noises will be heard. One from the static broadcast of the television that mom must’ve switched on. Second were stifled sobs coming from the same woman who’s in deep mourning for a runaway partner, and probably for a child she has ruthlessly neglected.

Even if I depart from this home, I will always be caught up in adult business. I wish my salad days were over.

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A prodigy’s misadventures down south by Jane Therese Banaag Photo by Joviallyn Belegal

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I lost a great deal of myself in the smallest confinements of this world—within the unoccupied seats of Quezon’s local theatre where my recitals were held, or the narrow hallways of my university’s four-storey Arts and Sciences building, but mostly in between the short gaps of that infamous 15-worded question, “Sa UB ka lang magco-college? Hindi ba sa international school ka nag-aral? Sayang naman.” For most of my life, I thought I had everything figured out. After all, I was groomed to be everything at once. I was the ace student of every year ‘s top section who spent postschool afternoons in competition training sessions, advanced Mathematics tutorials, and foreign language classes. At seven, I was already fluent in four languages but for some reason, rest was nonexistent in my vast vocabulary. I seek for the fulfillment that exceeds the fruitful academic year I spent in workbooks and problem sets. I seek for the fulfillment that extends to the highest octaves in violin lessons that consumed my summer vacations. To fill in my goody two shoes may seem overwhelming and taxing for some but to tell you honestly, I loved being caught up in the threshold of my childhood. I craved the adrenaline I get as I sprinted towards my French instructor’s antique studio a few blocks away from my school. I longed for the baby sweat absorbed by my favorite ruffled yellow sundress as I faced the crowd of my summer recital shows. By the time I reached high school, I was still drawn in the thrill of it all. My name was plastered like a Holy Scripture in every congratulatory tarpaulin and our living room was filled with gold plated medals and countless laminated certificates. In the exclusive walls of Quezon Province’s premiere international school, I was a seasoned archer firing in all directions. Unfortunately, it was not the same story for a collegiate life I never knew I was going to spend in the mediocre cements of this red school—or so I thought. The glory I thought was innate within me was cut short when I failed all my college entrance tests in the Big Four universities

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of Manila. But I refused to give up on the pursuit of what this provincial life has for my prowess. With a heavy heart, I decided to recalibrate the direction of my fate to the humble streets of Batangas City—or so I thought, again. Looking back, I don’t know how I managed to simultaneously spit and swallow the bittersweet taste of listening to my friends whining about agonizing Buendia LRT rush hours, inevitable España floods, and the impossible academic demands that studying in a prestigious school entailed; all while I was gradually embracing the truth that those dilemmas only take part as my could have been and that city is nothing but one of my distant what ifs. Clearly, people back in Quezon were living my dream, but the people in Batangas were living my reality—at least, the version of it that I have outgrown. It may not be my favorite ruffled yellow sundress, but it was the stained ID lanyard of our student publication’s editor-in-chief. It may not be my toddler-sized violin, but it was the adrenaline rush that lingers in their flesh as the crowd sings along to original compositions. It may not be the vast memory of various languages in a kindergarten’s head, but it was the lump in their throats caused by redundant utterances of “thank you-s” as they acknowledge praises for topping the Dean’s List. I would like to think that I was left behind in a marathon where I was once the frontrunner. But as my heart pounds in defeat, I have come to realize that while everybody else had their eyes on a prize, I had mine all over the place. I was headed nowhere— trapped in the boundless vicinity of what was once my kingdom. From being an academic all arounder in high school, I went on to be the freeloader in every college grouping. For a second there, I never knew how I was able to lie down in bed unbothered despite a pile of abandoned schoolworks and missed examinations I lost count of. But maybe it was a form of distraction from the reality that I was nothing but mediocre at best. No matter how bad I concealed it, the distasteful truth still lingered in the corners of my poorly maintained college

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apartment: I was an uncomplex soul of nothingness in Batangas— an empire I thought I could overthrow, only to realize I was nothing more than a worthless pawn in a chess game ruled by the wisest kings. Yet every time I think about returning to my base, I was uncertain if it’s any more sensible to endure one painstaking fourhour bus ride to a battlefield that once held me captive in the idea that a 7-year-old must already assert her worth to the world. Growing up, I thought I was doing myself a favor by getting myself involved in everything, but my superficial tenacity has only gotten me so far, in this case, a mid-tier college program. That’s the thing about my childhood, I was conditioned to think that anything ordinary is degrading. But after I lost myself in a world that is in constant pursuit of the avant-garde, maybe there is truth in the infamous paradox that less is more. As I redeem myself from being locked in vast spaces I could no longer navigate, maybe the uncomplicated realms of the university life Batangas City has to offer isn’t so bad after all—maybe it is exactly what I need.

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The Butterfly Effect by Angel Joy Liwag Artwork by Angelo Mendenilla

If getting old meant braving the strong winds when flying higher grounds, I’d rather look vulnerable as I remain cooped inside my pupa hut. Thrice. And again, another random company email received my resume as I hustle for sidelines appearing in my social media feed, one hand clasped around the cup of brewed coffee that worsened the rushing discomfort in my gut. I have stepped into my 20s with an empty pocket, and a head full of worries of an adult. Gone are the days spent weary from the sidelines available for a novice like me—a college senior being looked up to in the university because of my artistic prowess but an inexperienced job applicant outside the campus. I may have graduated from my teenage years but I am still a baby to the reality of work and my parents will always be the best spectators who scrutinize my

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capabilities as an adult. “Commissions are very hard, eh? You barely step out of your room,” was my mother’s usual greeting when she saw me making way to the kitchen. “Kids these days are too serious for things bearing little to no fruit,” added father as a way of discipline. Time for retorts that only lead to arguments should cease with a heavy sigh; not that they are wrong but my parents were not always right as they deemed to believe. I scanned the wires outlined around the vastness of our rooftop with no ceiling and even now I cannot get used to the rumbling from the pitter-patter of the rain or the symphonies of cicadas every night. The longer I traverse through the kitchen; shame conquers the eyes of a so-called artist who has sold a soul for aesthetics. My hands are meant to etch images of the vivid minds worth two digits. I was not greedy enough to put my skills for arts in a higher price for I know the limits of this talent but ironically selfish to let down my parents who wished I was born with a mind who visualized the palette colors of money. Comfort is unabashedly living through cracks of the walls covering my thick skin with pride as a creative somebody when in reality, I am in a form of caterpillar crawling around the wooden corners at home—scared that I might fall prey if I step out from my cocoon. I heard the heater beeped and the chatter from the living room just before I let my mind wander. Walking back to my room feels like tiptoeing on a landmine. I settled down and went back to scrolling through my boards for inspiration. Cold sweats are formed when an email rests among my inbox. Looking at the snippet sentence had my sanity hanging by the thread. We appreciate you taking the time to complete the job application requirements. Unfortunately… I heaved a sigh of relief.

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Sa kabilang dako ng makintab na salamin, halos maiwan ang aninong nakadikit, nananabik na mukha’t palad ng mga paslit. Inilabas sa kahon, sa estante itinindig kakat’wang nilalang na may libu-libong kawangis. Sa mga pasilyo sa likuran nakahilera, mga lagpasang tingin ay kitang-kita. Walang kumakalam na sikmura —halang ang bituka, makulay ang pintura at ang huwad na ngiti ay mapanghalina. Sa presyo naman, bulsa’y biglang gumaan kasabay nang halakhak mga numero’y nakaligtaan nang tuluyan, ‘pagkat sa isang pindot, mekanikal ang pagkibot at sa isa namang pihit, nagagalak nang pilit. Hindi magtatagal ay papalya ang baterya, kilos ay kakaldag mga litanya ay mauutal at iyon ang matitira, - plastik, sa una lang maganda.

Toy Kingdom ni Arielle Dane Adan Dibuho ni Erwin Tiberio

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Remember that when colors fade, I would be your shadow at night— a hidden luminescence you secretly crave when the rain ends. -Alyssa An

Photo | Joviallyn Belegal

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Israel Martin de Chavez

Of treads with threads (and feet trapped on tightrope) by Nixon De Villa

I walked and walked, weightless into a whirlwind of witless whispers. Closed eyes, chapped thighs, caged cries, from a world too keen to my trail’s rotten relics as I cross amongst thirsty onlookers. Curled soles, cursed souls, curved vows, from dwelling too long on spaces between applause and embarrassment; ever too afraid of drawing errors under the gaze of an unforgiving crowd. Creaky floor, crusty door, carved walls, my safe haven amidst a fault-finding audience whose mouths only murmur my worst. ‘Til they accept my scars and all that I am, I‘ll stride alone with lifted heels, to not hear their giggles if I fall.

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Sa pagitan ng mga bala ni Katherine Nicole Lontok Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

“Bakit ba hindi pa siya sumusulat sa akin?” Sa kasagsagan ng giyera, nakilala ni Julio si Romy. N’ung una, akala niya ay isa itong simpleng Amerikanong naligaw sa kanilang baryo. Nakasuot ito ng simpleng damit na pawang pang-Pilipino, ngunit ang kaniyang matangos na ilong, matangkad na estruktura, at maputing balat ang nagsasabi ng kanyang tunay na katauhan bilang isang banyaga. Pinatuloy ng pamilya ni Julio ang sugatang Amerikano sa kanilang tirahan hanggang sa ito’y gumaling. Ngunit, hindi inaasahan ni Julio na magiging magkaibigan silang dalawa. Ang mas yumanig pa sa mundo ni Julio ay ang pag-amin ni Romy sa kanya.

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‘Di kalaunan ay naging magkasintahan ang dalawa at walang ibang nakakaalam kundi ang kababata ni Julio na si Mercedes. Isang napakagandang istorya ng pag-iibigan sa gitna ng mga nagsisigawang putok ng baril at kanyon ang pinagsaluhan nina Julio. Hanggang isang araw, sinabi ni Romy kay Julio ang katotohanan. Ang magmahal na kapwa lalaki noon ay mahirap na, paano pa kaya kung siya’y sundalo ng ibang bansa? At paano pa kung biglaan na lamang kayong malayo sa isa’t isa sa kaniyang pagbalik sa Amerika? Sa kasamaang palad, ito ang naging reyalidad ng kawawang nagdadalagang binata. Sa pag-alis ni Gen. Douglas MacArthur, sumama ang kanyang mga sundalo, kabilang na dito si Romy na siyang tinik sa ulo at sakit sa puso ni Julio. Isang taon na ang lumipas matapos ang pag-alis ng grupo at walang ibang paraan ang dalawa upang mag-usap kung hindi sa paraan ng pag-liham. “Ayan! Naayos ko na!” biglang sigaw ng dalagang nakaupo sa sahig. Itinaas ni Mercedes ang radyo sa hangin na para bang sanggol na pinapatawa mula sa pagwawala. Agad namang umupo nang ayos sa sofa ang nagmumukmok na binata. “Bilisan mo! Maaabutan pa natin ang balita!” Binuksan ni Mercedes ang radyo at saka siya umupo sa tabi ng kanyang kababata na maigting ang hawak sa unan ng sofa, nagmamakaawa sa kung sino mang santo ang lumabas sa isip niya, na magkaroon ng balita ukol sa pagbabalik ng grupo ng mga amerikanong sundalo sa bansa. Muli, bumalik sa pagmumukmok ang binata. Wala man lang kahit isang balita tungkol sa Amerikano. Pawang mga bagong batas, pagtaas ng presyo ng bilihin, at patalastas ang pumasok sa nagpapanting niyang tainga. Isang taon ang lumipas at mukhang walang balak pa rin ang mestizo n’yang kasintahan na umuwi sa bansa. “Sabi ko naman kasi sa’yo, lokal na lang. Wag nang imported,” natatawang pangangaral ni Mercedes. Walang ibang naging

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tugon si Julio kundi ang kaniyang padabog na pagtayo papalapit sa pinto. “Babalik ako bukas,” wika niya na may bahid ng lungkot. Sinundan naman siya ng kanyang kababata na natatawa sa kanyang pagmumukmok. Bago pa niya mabuksan ang pintuan ay biglaan na lamang may kumatok. Nagkatinginan ang dalawa at napasimangot. Sino nga ba namang kakatok sa bahay ng isang babae sa dapit-hapon? Ang ama’t ina nito’y hindi pa babalik hangga’t hindi dumidilim. Sinanggahan ni Julio ang dalaga, “Ako na ang magbubukas. Diyan ka lang sa likod.” Dahan-dahang binuksan ni Julio ang pinto at saka sumilip sa maliit na pagitang nilikha niya sa pamamagitan ng paghila. Namawis ang kanyang mga palad habang patuloy na namumuo ang mga perlas ng pawis sa kanyang noo. Kaba, takot, at matinding pagtataka ang sabay sabay na dumagsa sa puso ni Julio. Sa kanyang pagbubukas ng pinto, hindi magnanakaw o kung ano mang maligno ang sa kanila ay naghihintay. Bagkus, ang nasa harap nito ay ang sundalong kay tagal inintay ni Julio ng tatlong daan at limampu’t anim na araw . Sa kabutihang palad, nakahingi ng permiso si Romy upang bumalik ng Pilipinas. Bagama’t nagpadala siya ng sulat upang ipaalam ito kay Julio, tila mas mabilis ang naging takbo ng eroplano kaysa sa lakad ng karterong nag-bibitbit ng mensahe nito. “Hi?” kinakabahang sambit ng binatang Amerikano. Isang lunok bago siya umimik. “Look, I’m sorry, I sent a letter over, but I couldn’t help but fly home earlier. I mean, I had to leave pretty urgently, and I found it rude to—”. Bigla siyang nahinto sa paglapat ng daliri ni Julio sa kanyang labi na agad din niyang tinanggal.

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Ang dalwang natahimik na binata’y nababalot ng umaatikabong emosyon—sumasabog, nagsisigawan, at nagwawala habang ang katawan niya’y patuloy na nanigas sa kinatatayuan. Sa pagitan ng dalawa, nakatingin lamang si Mercedes—nag-aantay lamang ng sunod na aksyon sa pagitan ng magkasintahan. Napa-buntong hininga ang dalaga bago siya nagwika, kinakabahan at pawis na pawis pa sa pagsasalita ng Ingles. “Come on, Julio. You come in na ha. This one waiting waiting you ha. You’re so far daw and so-- ano nga ang Ingles sa tagal?” Ang tahimik na pagtititigan ng dalawa ay napaltan ng maikling pagtatawanan dahil sa pagtatangka ni Mercedes na magwika ng Ingles. Matapos ito, nagkitang muli ang kanilang mga mata na halo-halong ang emosyon at nilalaman—pangungulila, galak, at umaapaw na kilig. “You’re here,” wika ni Julio. Unti-unti, ngunit walang halong takot at pagdadalawang-isip, niyakap ni Romy ang kaniyang nobyo. “I am, love, and I’m not leaving you like that again.”

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Life is fleeting— a quick walk from one’s cradle to his grave. So I dared myself to make the most out of every moment

and live a life my older self won’t regret. -Clark Alduz Viray

Photo | Anne Lorraine Bautista

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Window Shopping ni Arielle Dane Adan Dibuho ni Israel Martin de Chavez

“’Long! Samahan mo nga ako, nagpapabili ng bigas si Mama,” pag-aaya ni Asyong sa kanyang kaibigan na magabok na ang palad sa paglalaro ng karakrus. “Sige, tara!” Sagot ni Balong sabay hagis ng kanyang huling baryang nagkalansingan sa sahig. Tinahak ng dalawang binatilyo ang shortcut tungong pamilihan. Nilagpasan nila ang barung-barong at sa lakas ng pagtalak ni Aling Rosa, ang mga usapang hindi dapat marinig ng mga ligaw na tainga ay tumatagos sa mga pinagtagpi-tagping dingding. Inuutusan niya na naman ang kanyang asawa na tiktikan ang bagong lipat na pamilya sa may kanto. Samantalang dinig din ang pagpalahaw ng kanilang isang buwang gulang na supling, marahil ay gutom na simula pa kagabi.

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Nakasalubong din nila si Bebot nang sila’y paahon sa tulay, ang maninipis nitong mga hita’t braso ay nilalantakan sa tingin ng mga makasalanang mata. “Agang aga, Bebot, ah! And’yan ka na naman,” bati ni Balong sabay hampas sa puwitan ng dalaga. Inirapan lamang siya nito subalit batok naman ang natanggap mula sa kaibigan. “Siraulo ka, Balong. Bilisan na nga natin.” Walang katakot-takot na sumampa ang magtropa sa railing ng tulay. Hindi nila alintana ang nakaambang na disgrasya sapagkat sa oras na sila’y madulas ay tila sasambutin naman sila ng sandamukal na basurang bumara sa mga sala-salabit na ugat ng mga bakawan sa ibaba. Ilang sandali pa’y narating na nila ang bukana ng palengke ngunit biglang hinigit ni Balong ang gula-gulanit na manggas ni Asyong. “Oy, mamaya na kaya tayo bumili ng bigas. Magtingin-tingin muna tayo du’n sa King and Queen.” “Hala, pinapamadali nga ako ni mama.” “Saglit lang naman, may titingnan lang ako.” “Sige na nga,” pagpayag ni Asyong habang kamot-kamot ang ulo na bumuntot sa kanyang kaibigan. Pagpasok ng department store ay mariin silang tinitigan ng guwardiya hanggang matakpan na ng mga nagtataasang istante ang kanilang pigura. Hindi malaman ni Asyong kung saan niya ititigil ang kanyang paningin sa mga nakasalansang sangkatutak na anik-anik. Walang anu-ano’y sinitsitan siya ni Balong at pinalapit sa kanyang kinatatayuan. Hile-hilerang relo sa loob ng babasaging sisidlan ang tumambad kay Asyong. “Takpan mo ako dali,” pabulong na utos ni Balong. Sa labis na

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pagkagulat, hindi agad napagsabihan ni Asyong ang kaibigan na dali-daling pumatong sa display case at dumukot ng mga relo. “Bakit mo kinukuha ‘yan?!” “Ibibigay ko kay Bebot.” Kaagad na sinipat ng kabadong Asyong ang paligid—walang nagbabantay na saleslady sa likod ng istante at wala ring napapagawing kostumer sa pasilyong kanilang kinaroroonan. Pagbalik ng kanyang atensyon kay Balong ay nakababa na ito sa pagkakasampa at tanging bakas ng marurungis na daliri na lamang ang naiwan sa bubog. Tila tumigas na siya sa kanyang puwesto habang pinagmamasdan ang kaibigan na isinuksok na ang tatlong pinitik na aksesorya sa damit panloob nito. Nang hindi na magkasya, inabot niya ang isa kay Asyong. “Anong gawin ko dito?” Bulalas niya. “Tanga, ipasok mo na sa short mo. Dali!” “Tarantado ka, Balong! Pa’no kapag nahuli tayo?! T’saka nangangapkap ng mga bata ‘yong guard!” “Hindi ‘yan, sumunod ka na lang kasi.” Nag-aalangang inipit ni Asyong ang relo sa garter ng kanyang pang-ibaba, ang pagdampi ng bakal sa kanyang tiyan na wala pang laman ay tila nagpatayo lalo ng buhok sa kanyang nanlalamig nang batok. “‘Tas chill ka lang, mas lalo tayong mapapaghalataan sa pagiinarte mo, e,” pangaral ni Balong habang tinutulak palabas ang kaibigan. “Hoy, sandali!” Pigil ng mamang guwardiya bago pa man sila makalagpas. Ramdam ni Asyong ang tumulong pawis sa kanyang sentido. Pinabukas ang kanilang mga kamay at kinapa ang mga bulsa. Nakahinga nang maluwag ang binatilyo nang walang

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natagpuang kung anuman ang guwardiya. Subalit nanumbalik ang matinding pag-aalala nang akmang hihilahin ng manong ang garter ng kanyang shorts. “Oy, ser! Bawal ‘yan ah!” “Naniniguro lang, utoy.” Sagot nito nang biglang wagwagin ang kanyang pang-ibaba. Klang! Lahat ng mga mata’y sumunod sa relong kumalansing sa sahig. Humigpit ang kamay na nakakapit sa payat na bisig ni Asyong. Tatakbo pa sana si Balong subalit agad na rin siyang hinablot sa kuwelyo ng lalaki. Nang siya’y inspeksyunin tulad ng ginawa kay Asyong, nabisto rin ang kanyang nakulimbat. Wala silang nagawa kun’di ibalik ang kinuhang mga paninda nang sila’y dalhin sa Instik na may-ari. Matapos ang katakottakot na sermong halos hindi maunawaan dahil sa baluktot na pagtatagalog nito, kinuhanan sila ng litrato na ipapaskil sa harap ng tindahan kung hindi sila magbabayad ng multa. Napilitan si Asyong na ipambayad ang perang pinaghirapan ng kanyang nanay na sana’y pambili ng bigas. Pinakawalan na rin sila at pinagbawalan nang bumalik doon. “Hanep ka, Balong. Anong sasabihin ko kay mama?” mangiyakngiyak na tanong ni Asyong. “Ito, ibenta natin,” biglang may dinukot ang kaibigan sa brip nito at ipinakita sa kanya ang kumikinang na relo. Natulala na lamang siya kay Balong. “Pero amuyin mo muna.” Muling binatukan ni Asyong ang matalik na kaibigan. “Hayop ka, Balong. Iba ka talaga!”

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Dalawang Dulo Imahe at Tula ni Princess Allyssa Plotado

Parang may sumpa itong mga linya sa kalsada— minsan tuwid, madalas na hindi mabasa. Ang bawat hakbang ay may kaakibat na bigat– parang bangkerong nagsasagwan tangan ang batong humihila palubog, tungo sa pagkalunod. Saan nga ba ang dulo nitong ating paglalakad? Mayroon bang hangganan o babalik sa pinanggalingan? Siguro nga ay walang nakakaalam, dahil baka lahat tayo ay naliligaw lamang.

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On Sundays, we mourn the living by Clark Alduz Viray Photo by Nicole Beatriz Rosales

Glazed eyes, bruised cheeks; a nimble body that trembles with touch. Crimson sheets, nights of sins and ecstasy— a butterfly that left it’s cocoon far too early. Piercing gaze, mournful whispers— “she’s the pariah of this metro.” Trembling hands, as she utter a short prayer for the unborn souls that she helped flee this cruel world.

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Ada

ni Karl Justine Montejo Dibuho ni Angelo Mendenilla

“Saan ka na naman papunta? Ayos ang pormahan natin d’yan ah, seksing-seksi,” bati ng isang tambay kay Ada habang naghihintay ito ng traysikel. “Bolero! Akala mo naman eh nakakatuwa,” pagalit niyang sumbat kahit bakas sa mukha ang kaniyang pag-umis. Babago pa lamang lumulubog ang araw ay lantad na lantad na ang kaniyang kasuotan, nakahanda nang gumimik kumbaga. Walang tigil ang pagrampa niya suot ang hapit na hapit niyang leggings na parang puputok na sa sikip at ang crop top na damit na kaniyang pinasadyang malagyan ng garter upang mas maitulak pataas ang kanyang hinaharap. “Traysikel! Manong pasakay ako!” malambing niyang pagtawag habang pabebeng ikinukumpas ang kamay sa papalapit na sasakyan. Agad naman siyang nakita ng drayber na biglaang menor sa kaniyang lumang motor na RUSI ang tatak,at patuloy ang pagbusina habang papalapit hanggang sa huminto sa tapatan ni Ada. “Aba, ikaw pala iyan Ambet. Buhay pa pala iyang motor mo, parang hahabulin na iyan ng magbabakal ah,” pabirong bati ni Ada. “Maihahatid mo pa ba ako gamit ‘yan?” “Syempre naman! ‘Wag mo minamaliit itong motor ko ha, kahit may bumili dito ng isang milyon, di ko ‘to ibebenta,” tugon naman ni Ambet ng may pabirong pagmamayabang. “Parang may date ka na naman ata ah, papalapit pa lang ako, amoy ko na ‘yung pabango mo. S’an ba lakad natin d’yan?”

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tanong ni Ambet habang pasakay sa sidecar si Ada. “D’yan lang sa may restoran sa may palengke, ‘yung katabi n’ung grocery na drawing lang ‘yung kilay n’ung tindera. Basta alam mo na ‘yun. Bilisan mo na, baka ma-late na’ko,” pag-aapura niya sa drayber. Sa maikling biyahe ay patuloy na nagkamustahan ang dalawa na tila bawat humps na kanilang madadaanan ay bagong chismis ang kanilang pinag-uusapan. ‘Di na rin nagtagal at nakarating na sila sa patutunguhan ni Ada na pagkatapos magbayad ay dali-dali nang bumaba. Agad siyang dumiretso sa loob ng kainan upang doon hintayin ang kaniyang katagpo. Mahigit tatlong oras na ang nakakalipas at nakailang basong tubig na din si Ada sa paghihintay, ngunit wala ni anino ng kaniyang katagpo ang nagpakita. Pakiramdam niya ay pinagtitinginan siya ng bawat tao sa loob ng kainan, ngunit ‘di niya ito alintana at nagpatuloy sa pa rin sa paghihintay. Naubos na ang mga customer ng restoran at bakas na rin sa mukha niya ang pagkainip at pagkainis. Maga-alas diyes na, ngunit hindi pa rin sumisipot ang dapat sanang ka-date niya sa gabing iyon. Kaya kahit hindi pa man siya nakakakain ng dapat sana’y pagsasaluhan nila, tumayo na siya mula sa kinauupuan at tutok tinging tinahak ang daan palabas ng restoran. Gutom at pagkainis na may kahalong lungkot ang puminta sa mga mata ni Ada, na habang nakatulalang binabaybay ang may kadilimang eskinita ay hindi napigilan ang pagsigaw ng bigla niyang marinig ang boses ng isang lalaki mula sa kaniyang likuran. Bigla siyang inakbayan nito at kinuha ang kaniyang biyabit upang bitbitin. Sa pagkagulat ay wala siyang nagawa, ngunit kahit madilim ay bahagya niyang naaninag ang hitsura ng lalaki. Siya rin pala ang tambay na sa kaniya’y bumati bago siya umalis.

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“Na-indian ka na naman ‘no! Sabi ko naman sayo dati pa, wala nang papatol sa’yo,” bungad ng tambay na nasundan ng malakas na hagalpak. “Pakialam mo ba? Buhay ng may buhay eh. Saka umayos ka nga, aatakihin ako sa puso dahil sa’yo!” sumbat ni Ada bago kurutin sa tagiliran ang lalaki. “Lola naman kasi, hindi ka na bata. Gabi na oh, kanina ka pa hinihintay sa bahay,” bawi ng lalaki. “Ay nako! Kung ‘di lang talaga kita apo, makikita mo.”

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No one thinks about you by Alyssa An Artwork by Angelo Mendenilla

I was walled in my darkened room— staring on tormented pieces of memories on vintage images I held. At nine, I meet my demons, we chew some strawberry flavored gum,

gathered to smoke foiled cigarettes. As I look at the ceiling, disremembering my name supposedly written on heavenly papers. I closed my eyes, getting high on my herb, burnt in deception. My space are lit by shadows I laughed with.

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Joviallyn Belegal

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LIGAYA Joviallyn Belegal

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HIDDEN HEXAGONS Kathryn Rae Custodio

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BEYOND SIGHT Francis Aaron Magpile

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GREAT ESCAPE

Elaine Mapagdalita

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OUTDOOR FELICITY Elaine Mapagdalita

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DISCONNECTED Gerard Zairus Gupit

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HOME SWEET HOME Nicole Beatriz Rosales

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SHE LOVES ME NOT Joviallyn Belegal

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DO NOT ENTER Joviallyn Belegal

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WHEN THERE IS DOUBT Francis Aaron Magpile

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IN BETWEEN THE LINES Gerard Zairus Gupit

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SOLITUDE Patrick Owen Gube

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DALISAY Anne Lorraine Bautista

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SLUMBER Nicole Beatriz Rosales

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TANGLAW Patrick Owen Gube

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BAHAY-BAHAYAN Joviallyn Belegal

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ONTO MY NOTION Elaine Mapagdalita

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UNPERCEIVED Marie Joy Axalan

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UNCANNY COMPANIONSHIP Clark Alduz Viray

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Endnote Clark Alduz Viray, Editor-in-Chief

Realm—what an elusive idea to chase. When reality becomes too harsh and unbearable, at times when we are flooded with emotions, where do we go? And if there’s no freedom from the stifling limitations and cages that this world imposes upon us, what can we, mere mortals, do? We asked ourselves these two questions, among others, as we penned our literary pieces, captured the photographs and created our masterpieces in this literary folio, in hopes that we can share to you the beauty of this concept. We wanted you to explore the wonders of the world, one page at a time. This one is for the places that witness our first heartbreaks, to the sanctuaries that we seek comfort in, and the kingdoms we create inside our minds, as we seek solace from the bitter truths we have to face everyday. After all, no matter how we look at it, we are all travellers, with no idea where our feet will take us, or what surprises await us as we enter yet another phase of this seemingly unending journey we call life.

EXECUTIVE EDITORIAL BOARD Clark Alduz Viray, Editor in Chief Faith Valen Villanueva, Associate Editor Angel Joy Liwag, Managing Editor Joviallyn Belegal, Auditor Alyssa An, Business Manager Karl Justine Montejo, News Editor

EDITORIAL BOARD Francis Aaron Magpile, Editorial Board Head Jane Therese Banaag, Features Editor Arielle Dane Adan, Cultures Editor Nixon De Villa, Development Communication Editor Angelo Mendenilla, Chief Artist (Creative) Erwin Tiberio, Chief Artist (Technical) Marie Joy Axalan, Chief Layout Artist

AUXILIARIES Elaine Mapagdalita, Circulation Manager Marion Macatangay, Chief Correspondent

EDITORIAL STAFF Israel Martin de Chavez, Senior Artist

Gerard Zairus Gupit, Senior Photojournalist

Katherine Nicole Lontok, Carlos Kim Raphael Perez, Princess Allyssa Plotado, Junior Reporters

Anne Lorraine Bautista, Nicole Beatriz Rosales, Patrick Owen Gube, Junior Photojournalists

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You lay down on your favorite spot. Be it any room, a coffee shop, a random park, or somewhere you can be comfortable in your own skin. As time passes, leisure becomes burdensome for you now feel cramped in your posture. Either you leave and let others in or remain there for a little longer, after all, the spot is yours to savor. Folks walking away from your direction make you remember a saying that you can never really tell how small a place is. Not unless you look at it from a distance. You have grown up so fast, at least by age. Deep inside, you are but a child at heart who seeks for another five minutes after being woken up, or when cramming for an exam. You were old enough to part ways in every attachment shared with your favorite spot and apparently still weak to handle its lingering sentiments. Quite funny is it that in order to feel alive, you are forced to accept changes in your body, fortunes or losses, and ideals. What comes after transformations are challenges for breakthroughs while watching your numbing heart and dimming passion withering in the shadow. And now you’re either a visitor of somebody’s flat, a customer in a coffee shop, or a passerby in a park. The books that you once memorized are excess baggage inside your locker, the half-empty coffee that you ordered tastes more bland than before, and your five-minute walk is such a bother. Nothing feels like home anymore.