LITERARY FOLIO TEAM
Shaira Rae Y. Billena John Spencer B. Tañalas Michaelle Christiane C. Con-el Dominique Ishmaielle S. Hibionada Jethro G. Rada Jr. COVER ARTIST
Shaira Rae Y. Billena MAIN ILLUSTRATOR AND DESIGNER
Shaira Rae Y. Billena LAYOUT ARTISTS
Shaira Rae Y. Billena Salve Rachelle Y. Billena
AMARANTHINE THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO VITAL SIGNS PUBLICATION COLLEGE OF MEDICINE WEST VISAYAS STATE UNIVERSITY LA PAZ, ILOILO CITY COPYRIGHT © 2020. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THE RIGHTS OF THE WORKS IN THIS ISSUE BY EACH ARTIST, AUTHOR, AND PHOTOGRAPHER ARE THEIRS, RESPECTIVELY. THE IDEAS AND OPINIONS PRESENTED IN THIS LITERARY FOLIO DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF THE PUBLICATION, COLLEGE, OR UNIVERSITY.
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ILLUSTRATION BY SHAIRA RAE Y. BILLENA
The present—”sining karun,” we could call it—may be full of bitterness, but behind all these is the reality that it is full of triumphs, too. And these triumphs are the ones often overlooked because of a misplaced focus on a rigorous daily grind. The present—”sining karun,” we could call it—may fill us all with morose notions about ourselves. But our “sining karon” is actually a testament of how amaranthine our spirits are. Because day by day, we are surviving. Because day by day, we are fighting. Because day by day, we are making a beautiful impact to other people that we may or may not be aware of. May your “sining karon” open your eyes to the realization that you are an amaranthine soul. You are a stalwart warrior that can withstand any tempest. You are a lover with a passion that burns like a wildfire. You have a beautiful soul, and as long as you love, you will never cease to be beautiful. You are amaranthine—beautiful, unyielding, timeless... (An introductory message to “Sining Karun” on page 63) WRITTEN BY MARJOE RENZ DOMINIC P. DEITA
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AMARANTHINE
TABLE OF CONTENTS POEMS Bangon Na Amalya Digital Detox Trust Grace Through Nights and Days Veins Kaleidoscopic Explosions Hambal ni Lola Lilium Babangon Tayo Lights of Home Saudade Love Waiting Not in Vain Prose for a Woman Modern Day Princess
04 05 06 06 07 08 09 09 10 12 12 14 16 16 16 17
An Everlasting Night The Colossal Kind of Way Daydreams How Much of Us Matters The Actress Damdamin ang Damdamin Despair The Marionette He Did
18 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
Amethyst The Idol Word Play Gisselle Untitled
27 27 27 28 29
PROSE, ESSAYS, AND SHORT STORIES Once Shattered Broken Wings Can Fly Again The Medical Dictionary Prayer of a Doctor Who is a Patient Surreal Untitled Untitled Decaffeinated Purple Days The Day After
30 31 32 34 36 38 39 41 43 45
Sa Tahimik ng Ingay Karga Tapas The Moon is a Pizza Thoughts and Dreams Little Cristina An Angel Named KK Untitled Sining Karun
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45 48 51 53 55 58 60 63
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AMARANTHINE
BANGON NA NIKA GRACIA I. LEGASPI
Nag-aawitan na ang mga ibon kahit madilim pa ang umaga. Ikaw na puyat at wala nang sigla’y pinilit na imulat ang mga mata. Isang panibagong araw na noo’y iyong kinasasabikan, Tila bumangon ka lamang ngayon para itanong, “Anong oras ba ang uwian?” Papaano? Ang dating ikaw, masiyahin at puno ng pag-asa’t pangarap, Pinalitan ng lumbay, pangangamba, pagod, at paghihirap. Ngunit sa gitna ng magulo mong damdamin, Kasabay nang paghigop mo ng mainit na kape, Ay ang pagpasok din sa iyong isipan ng pasyenteng binisita mo kagabi. Mainit at mahigpit ang kaniyang hawak sa iyong mga kamay, At nang kanyang ibinuka ang mga bibig, ang siyang sinambit ay– “Salamat, Doktora.” Simple lamang na mga salita, Pero ang puyat at pagod ng kahapon ay wari’y nawala. Dahan-dahan kang naglakad, pumwesto sa harap ng salamin, At sa pagpatak ng iyong luha ay siya ring pag-agos ng damdamin. “Kaya pa ba?” lagi mong tinatanong sa kanya, Ang sagot, isang malalim na buntong hininga, at ika’y nagmadaling umalis na. Nang matapos ang araw, at sa pagpikit ng iyong mga mata, iyong naalala Na ang pag-aaral ng medisina ay hindi nagtatapos sa pagkilala o diploma, Ito’y pang habang buhay na pangako na magseserbisyo’t magmamahal, Nakakapagod, oo, pero lahat matatagumpayan sa sipag, tiyaga, at dasal. Kaya’t piliin mo sanang mabuhay na sa puso mo ay may ligaya, Na lilipas rin ang bagyo, at wala kang hindi makakaya. Bangon na ulit, Doktora! Isa na namang bagong umaga. ILLUSTRATIONS BY SHAIRA RAE Y. BILLENA
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Amalya, makikita rin kita sa tuktok Sambit ng nanay kong bulag Hinahaplos ang lahat ng takot Hanggang sa makita ko ang liwanag Pinapalibutan man raw ng kawalan Hiling ay paabutin sa mga tala Minsang hindi alam paano sisimulan Isilbing gabay nang hindi mawala Amalya, naaamoy ko ang tagumpay mo Mala-bulaklak ng walang katapusan Lipad ay higit pa sa mga ibong morado Abot hanggang dulo ng sansinukuban
AMALYA JIRAH GRACE C. BACONGCO
Amalya, ipagpatuloy mo lamang Hangga’t may butil ka ng pag-asa Walang balakid ang makakahadlang Walang bagyo ang makakasagasa
Dinig ang tumatagaktak na patak ng ulan Habang nakadungaw sa dagat ng bituin At sa pagmulat ng mga mata ipawi ang saklap Sabay sipol sa hanging walang lulan Panibagong araw ang bubuhay sa realidad Kundi nakakabinging hangarin May bituin pala sa umaga na kayang kumislap Walang imposible sa anumang kapasidad Amalya, tahakin mo lahat ng iyan Bulong sa akin ng pipi kong inay Amalya, ramdam ko na ang iyong luwalhati Nakakandong sa urnang lamayan Lumipad ka sa kasarinlan ng iyong pakpak Ng mga pangarap kong patay Dahil walang kadena ang pilit kang itatali Habang ako’y nakatingala at papalakpak Ngunit tuwing gabi ay napapaisip Anong bukas kaya ang matatanaw Amalya, ika’y malaya na. Kung may kidlat pa rin bang sisilip O bahaghari na ang nakadungaw
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AMARANTHINE
ROUTINES
MICHELL DESIREE A. ESTRIVER
Some days we want early mornings Looking forward to new beginnings With coffee and toast, we start the day With a cheerful heart leading our way Some days we want lazy afternoons Relaxing in our cozy bedroom Under the comfort of the sheets Away from the busy streets Some days we want fun evenings Having good beer with good friends With the upbeat music playing Can life always be this relaxing? But most days we want the nights in bed After the hussle and bustle of the day Knowing we enjoyed the most of today Then we talk to Him as we pray Saying, “Thank You, God, for another day”
TRUST GRACE SNOWDROP
Trust is being in the vastness of the ocean Not knowing how to swim or float Yet knowing that your feet are supported By Grace Trust is being clay that is malleable Not knowing the form or shape you take Yet letting the Artist’s hands mold you In Grace Trust is being able to jump from the high dive Not knowing where you will land Yet knowing you’ll land in water Through Grace Trust. Grace.
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THROUGH NIGHTS AND DAYS JOHN SPENCER B. TAÑALAS
Through nights and days, I think of you Through joys and sorrows, my heart endures The days go by in tune The melodies for cure Through nights and days, I’m put to test Through highs and lows, I give my all The hours which give no rest I find in you, my all Through nights and days, I slowly change Through ebbs and flows, I live to fight All that I have gained All for your delight
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AMARANTHINE
VEINS THNDR
Your hands are stained with blood And are cold against my skin, But I am not afraid— My veins have grown with time, Weaving a dress that keeps me warm; Strong enough to give me life. Even if your fingers close around my lungs And even if you cut me open, I will not bow down. For the art inside me will keep me safe And give me strength To hope and dream, And hope and dream.
DIGITAL DETOX MARIELLE PATRICE S. LAMASLIG
Saying you’ve stared at your laptop for 10 hours today, Would have been an understatement. Your phone, now an extension of your hand, Tied to every task with every beep. Each day a palindrome of routines for you, Stuck to your desk for the half of it. Struggling to stay in the loop of updates, It easily overwhelms you. And on some days you feel the rocking back and forth, Never feel guilty for giving yourself time.
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
KALEIDOSCOPIC EXPLOSIONS CYLER KAI
Bit by bit, they took it What they left was black and white We got lost for a moment We counted only day and night But when we dug deep enough Our mind, heart, and soul alight They all crashed and clashed, it was rough, The collision was unbearable, setting off a light It was the best explosion to happen in my life What was once was just black and white It became C O L O R F U L ~
HAMBAL NI LOLA CYLER KAI
Ano gid bala ang kabudlay nga aton ginaagyan? Kulang sa ihibalo kag mga dapat pamatud-an. Halin sa mga istorya sang aton katigulangan, Ano bala ang problema naton nga kabataan? Ginapahanumdom ko lang sa aton mga hunahuna. Indi kita magsalig sa tinaga nga “bahala na.� Magaumpisa kita sa aton kaugalingon Para ang bwas damlag naton indi mag-alanganon Tanan kita may nagakalainlain nga mga abilidad. Sa kabuhi, diskarte kag kapisan ang dapat mausad. Kayanon ang tanan nga mga ginaagyan. Padayon pa, doktor kag doktora, akon mga abyan!
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AMARANTHINE
LILIUM
PRINCESS JAUHALI
Marvel at the joys of the golden teardrops, Pouring, drowning, seeping through my senses, Irresistible goodness, the ambrosia of the heavens, Hush now, Olea, I am soon to be at peace. Fourteen more winters, fourteen more songs, Bury me firmly beneath this castle of stone. Angel of the pit, serpent of the Lord, I am the diadem’s lily ‘til I fade to gold. Euphemism beneath this silver swell, Color my crime, my poison, my sinful whole, Spare me from torment, chain me now with hope, Ah, I beseech thy Lady Aine for the stephanotis’ soul. I am the gift to the madness of the well, The gods of the many, the devils of the few Broken and beaten, bless me, dear Aine still, For the tulips had been blind, silent, and deaf. Spare me a thought, spare me a psalm, Oh, for blossoms lost, unnamed and unsung, Masters of the moors from which I unravel, Bless me with peace, bless me with freedom.
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
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ILLUSTRATION BY SHAIRA RAE Y. BILLENA
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AMARANTHINE
BABANGON TAYO CYLER KAI
Mayroong mga araw na hindi mo magawang sagutin Kung bakit ba ganito ang mga nangyayari sa atin Subalit ikaw ay bumangon at nagpatuloy pa rin Walang kahit na ano ang hindi kayang tapusin Sinimulan niyo na, mga doktor at doktora Malakas man ang dulot nitong nakakamatay na pandemiya Huwag aatras, kahit ika’y iiyak pero magsisimula ulit Ang nag-iisang ikaw ay walang makakapagpalit
LIGHTS OF HOME STEPHEN RANIE P. BELASCUAIN
When fatigue latches to the soul and rest is stars away. When nothing can make me whole, not even the brightest of day There is no light in earth or heaven but the unfading lights of home. Where road leads to the unforgotten seasons of violet monochrome I do not fear a world like this when the lights guide me along. How sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
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ILLUSTRATION BY CANDICE COLOMA
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AMARANTHINE
ILLUSTRATION BY SHAIRA RAE Y. BILLENA
SAUDADE CLYDE AUBREY O. ROJO
In the deep stillness of my musing, I got this tingling, fleeting longing. There’s something about you, I ponder. Is this déjà vu? I seriously wonder In another lifetime, have we met before? Something tells me, you are someone I adored. Waves after waves, as my emotions freely spew, My heart discerns, you are the boy I knew. Echoes of the past reverberate persistently, We have the same beginnings and endings, definitely Memories flashing little by little, blow by blow. Everlasting moments, feelings with unfading glow. Forged by one flame, into a shared body and soul. This is love, this is destiny beyond any control, Light of the same stars, rebirthed into this life eternal. To burn again and again in our fiery love infernal.
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ILLUSTRATION BY SHAIRA RAE Y. BILLENA
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AMARANTHINE
PROSE FOR A WOMAN CYLER KAI
Cometh with thy wordless tongue Of prose and lyrics to be sung The melancholy of youthful prime Poisoned by a lover’s crime Rise, ye woman, stand tall with pride Thou need not a man on thy side Woman, so glorious and lustrously so You are immaculate, in case you needed to know
WAITING NOT IN VAIN ANONYMOUS
As her lips dazzle in style, I know that I will always do an extra mile, For me to produce that elegant smile, That makes waiting a little worthwhile.
LOVE SNOWDROP
Its definition Does not lie within frail words But within action
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
MODERN DAY PRINCESS MICHELL DESIREE A. ESTRIVER
Before, I thought princesses were all the same. In all of land, they have the most beautiful faces, And are clad in dazzling gowns of silk and lace. But in this era we live in, princesses evolved, They’re no longer pitiful damsels in distress, They can save themselves, having no inch of fear. A princess picks up her own shield and spear, Fights the monsters that come her way, Rescues those in need and save the day. Now, their beautiful faces are covered with masks, Their thick, long hair now neatly tied up. Completed with PPEs, a steth, and accenting gloves. What never changed was responsibility. Despite the pandemic, service is her top priority. Giving her full time, unselfish effort, and the best of her ability, To serve the Filipino people with utmost dignity.
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AMARANTHINE
THE COLOSSAL KIND OF WAY YSL G. REDOBLADO
When I look at your eyes, I see stars, stars that light up the sky, the sky that embraces the moon, the moon that engulfs the universe. But as you prance, in the light and the dark, I realize it isn’t just merely your eyes it is you, the whole complexity of you, who made me see the universe in us.
AN EVERLASTING NIGHT ANONYMOUS
Oh, lonely night, Why hath you come tonight? For as I look unto the skies, The moon shines into my eyes, Projecting someone’s reflection, That undoubtedly caught my attention. Her strong looks and fierce eyes, Make my stomach feel like it’s full of butterflies, Oh, lonely night, I promise to find her with all my might, And when I do, Oh, farewell, my lonely night.
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
DAYDREAMS PRINCESS JAUHALI
The silent morning was filled with smiles As Peter knocked my door “I’ll carry you a little farther Into my nonexistent home.”
An apple laced with poison Half-truths we’d never kept Dreams we fervently held Up above the teacup realm
Pitch-black solitary skies Laced in melancholic hues A better-made fantasy All built exactly for you
How long is your eternity? Hours within my minutes Let the boy exhaust the seconds Before my days are spent
But she saw the fireworks Dream and truth now converged. I held your hand tightly One vice we could never afford.
We’d never meet in a new world And perhaps we’ve built another But I knew it’d pass like this And forgotten altogether
“I’m confused, I’m sad, I’m lonely,” That’s all what Peter said “But Wendy came for me, And promised now to stay.”
Come, my little insomniac For soon I’ll drift like wind Too far to whisper thank you And guide you now to sleep.
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AMARANTHINE
ILLUSTRATION BY SHAIRA RAE Y. BILLENA
HOW MUCH OF US MATTERS HANNAH ANDREA A. SAGSAGAT
Go and love life When everything was good And was still in place When situations were calm And little to no challenges to face They treat us with respect And full of dignity They look up to us And not with irrationality
But everything has changed Since the dreadful pandemic arrived We were judged, mistreated, and overworked No proper compensation, and were always irked The once old treatment was now all gone What the pandemic created cannot be undone. And since then I have been wonderin’ How much of us matters?
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THE ACTRESS SHADRACH JOSEF A. YAP
My feet have been rooted, my mind is in the dark Blue lights flicker, white lights flicker Consumer of worlds, arrives and leaves I don’t see her My heart beats chaotic, my head beams electric She floats above, I float forward Seated, I am not without motion My soul wanders forth Silhouettes and soliloquies, self-doubt and pain “Who are you?” The devil has cried She screams to herself “I am No one” I am paralyzed The stars are real tonight, the moon began its flight Blue and gray speech, white and black voice Delusion divorced reality There is no choice
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AMARANTHINE
DAMDAMIN ANG DAMDAMIN A poem on acknowledging feelings and rejecting false positivity
HANNAH ANDREA A. SAGSAGAT
Sa pagdilat ng iyong mga mata Dala nito ang bagong pag-asa Na ang umaga ay mag-iiba Ang kahapo’y malilimutan na Manunumbalik ang lakas Na harapin ang ngayon at bukas Dahil iyong maaalala Ang mga taong rason ng iyong pangarap Ngunit kung hindi man makamit Ang resultang ninanais Huwag mo sanang ipagkait Ang totoong nararamdaman ng iyong sarili. Karapatan mong malungkot Karapatan mong umiyak Pero ‘di sana ito maging basehan Na ang iyong pagkatao’y isang kamalian Karapatan mong maging mahina Kung ito ang magpapalakas sa iyo Karapatan mong magduda Kung sa susunod, ika’y magiging sigurado Karapatan mong maramdaman Ang bawat damdamin Kung isa ito sa mga paraan Upang mapabuti ang iyong sarili Bagkus lagi mo lang tatandaan, Na kung ano man ang iyong nararamdaman Lahat ng ito ay hindi kasalanan.
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
DESPAIR
A poem on the effects of despair and depression
HANNAH ANDREA A. SAGSAGAT
As the skies darken And stars begin to appear Windows start to moisten Sounds of crickets you hear. In streets of darkness Where no street lights gleam Only flashes of lightning And half the moon hiding There, a man slow in steps Cloaked in silk, Knife in hand, The door knob at reach. He took everything in sight Even her soul, her spirit Leaving her lifeless body Worthless and unwanted As if a punishment Drowning her in misery Embracing her for countless moons But he walks away A shameless thief. A merciless murderer. Leaving nobody an exception.
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AMARANTHINE
THE MARIONETTE KENNETH JULES A. APURADA
Gleeful dancing under strings of sanity; With frozen body twirled into graceful scene A sly crimson smile bears a century-old story The which, only heard by patient ears so keen. Sapphire sweet little eyes, gaze streets of Old Town Across thrilled crowd of peasants, nobles and kings. Enchanting flute wailing on the hands of a clown Taut silky wires for the show that soon begins. Oh what bliss there is in common folk’s whistling; Mending weary eyes with dulcet string quartet. Appease the mob with delicate wrist twisting And charm of the wooden waltzing marionette. Endlessly resounding tunes of busy streets Fill the unforetold dreams of the doll at rest. “What could be one of life’s paramount feats?” But to break away from the threads of a jest. Alas! The silver wired tales of a pure heart Snapped, yet finding himself in absent regret As the puppeteer’s crystal tear breaks apart, On cracked wooden limbs of the gleeful marionette.
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HE DID
HANNAH ANDREA A. SAGSAGAT AND DANIEL LORENZO OPERARIO
I met someone. He was courageous as I am. He was annoying as I am. I hated him as much as he hated me. But I loved him the moment he loved me. I made him wait till we graduated. I made him wait four years. He did. Way back in medical school, I asked him to teach me when lessons were hard I asked him to accompany me to de-stress in any way. He did. When we got busy as doctors, I still asked him to stay with me during spare hours. He did. When we had our first child I asked him to change the spoiled diapers. He did.
Whenever little son needed assistance On school works He did. Menopausal stage made me uncomfortable and moody I needed everyone to bear with me. He did. We got old And my back would occasionally hurt It needed some touch and massage He did. One day, he breathed slowly and hard I asked him to get admitted. He did. On the hospital bed where he was lying frail and weak His heart stopped and he left me I bade him to come back He didn’t.
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AMARANTHINE
SOUR TRUTH, SWEET ILLUSION HANNAH ANDREA A. SAGSAGAT
Red roses, pale passion Bright promises, but faded loyalty Pretty face, ugly character Clever tongue, foolish ears Long texts, short temper Many lovers, but few sincere True love and a false receiver, Hard to get, but easily forgotten Warm welcomes, cold stares Wet kisses, dry cheeks Soft whispers but loud quarrels Deep understanding, shallow arguments Slow courtship, but quick break-ups Sensitive heart, numbed mind Expensive gifts, but cheapened self-worth Displayed affection, hidden insecurities A world dwelling in polarity An endless loop of irrationality Of sour truth and Of sweet illusion.
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
AMETHYST PRINCESS JAUHALI
Amidst the harrowing cacophony Of this universe, I will love you in silence And lose you in silence.
THE IDOL
SHADRACH JOSEF A. YAP The room had been tepid before she came But a fire had risen within me I instantly needed to know her name And to know if my heart can convince me To take a huge chance, to take a huge risk To make summer last until the moon’s death If ever this girl can bring me true bliss Bring me memories I will not forget Warm nights bring forth excitement and rage Failure to finish what hasn’t been done Dancing figures were renowned by the stage The morning star has vanished, Time to meet the sun Expressive melodies burst at the seams Upon realizing the sorrow of dreams
WORD PLAY CYLER KAI
Go and love life Without a lovelife Venture and dive into the waterfall Instead of just watching the water fall Because some goodbyes Are good byes And not all goodnights Are good nights
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AMARANTHINE
GISSELLE THNDR
One time you curiously asked, “If I were an element, what would I be?” That made me smile, And I figured in my mind: Dear, you would be phosphorus; Atomic number 15, Named from a Greek word For light-bearer glows in the presence of oxygen; Ignites in the dark and burns brilliantly in the process. Found in the Earth’s crust, The same way in supernovas. Essential for life— A component of my DNA. At some point we learn The essence of chemistry In a level to understand the world around us, But these elements change in ways we cannot imagine. I look at you, and God, How I’d want you to keep that undying light.
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
UNTITLED SERLYNM
Awaken the spirit that is inside you. Maker of his dreams at the mirror—preview. Runs, crawls, dims, glows, a sight so scintillating, Around those nimbus clouds, a light glimmering. Night is day, series of inhales and exhales Till the break of doubt, comes a growth of patience. Happiness is redefined, purpose—delved in. Is the resounding of the echo from within? Never will let go, Never will surrender Ending—no such thing, life carries us further. Awaken the spirit that is inside you. Maker of his dreams at the mirror—preview A blaze of fire, without an absence of hue, Runs, crawls, dims, glows, a sight so scintillating, Around those nimbus clouds, a light glimmering. Night is day, series of inhales and exhales Till the break of doubt, comes a growth of patience. Happiness is redefined, purpose—delved in. Is the resounding of the echo from within? Never will let go, Never will surrender Ending—no such thing, life carries us further.
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AMARANTHINE
ONCE SHATTERED LERA GAY V. BACAY
You were once shattered and lost The heart was tested the most The beating slowed, it weakened you Till your mind came to the rescue Memories played back, dreams reminisced You were once yearning for those imaginables That one day, though hard, can be reachable Strength, courage, and passion you then cultivated Gradually, you saw tangible results You cheered, you rejoiced All the fallbacks and faults Turned to success, you felt accomplished You were used to the shimmer of the spotlight Until you were set for a series of curveballs Hardly hit, countlessly bruised; ‘twas such a plight You lost momentum then lost it all. You were then shattered and lost The heart suffered the most Its beating slowed and it weakened you Until your mind came to the rescue. You realized that you are in your own circle Of failing, succeeding then failing again and again You can be shattered until lost in your own pain But there’s beauty in recovery, you can grow back—stronger and wiser. Yes, you were once shattered and lost And your heart now was healed the most Your frailty became the strength in you ‘Cause this time you’re completely rescued.
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BROKEN WINGS CAN FLY AGAIN JEZIEL K. VARGAS
Nothing is promised to be yours forever and yet you make plans as if all the time in the world is yours. You live freely and dream wildly because of the people who helped spread your wings when you were still learning—eyes wide, mouth agape, and eager to fly. But how do you dream again when the person who taught you to dream isn’t around anymore? How do you spread the wings that person meticulously groomed day and night so that one day, you will take flight? How do you dream when the very reason for your dreaming was taken away in a flash, in a twinkling of an eye? No dramatic premonitions, no falling picture frames and glasses breaking, no cold breeze or chimes to signal the worst thing to happen in your life. How do you dream when the person who breathed life into your dreams vanished and you’re stuck against a rock and a really difficult place? Tell me, how do you dream? How do you dream of seeing far horizons with no one to soar with? How do you dream of reaching pinnacles but having no one to share the view with? How do you dream of achieving greatness, breaking glass ceilings, and being the boss when all you’re left of the person who made you dream in the first place is now just a handful of ashes in a marble urn? Tell me, how do you dream? How do you shake off the feathers of the wings bathed in your own tears as you cried an ocean? How do you spread the wings someone else lovingly crafted just for you? How do you take flight? Soar? Try again? How do you learn to fly again? But broken wings will mend. Wet feathers will dry. Shattered hearts will be glued back together. They may not look the same but they can be made whole again. No missing pieces to fill in. Every shattered shard is pieced back and accounted for. When the raging storm passes over and the sun shines anew. When the world is allowed to heal again, slowly unfurl your wings, take deep breath, start running, and fly again. When this is all over, because this, too, shall pass, I’ll shake off my ruffled feathers and try again. Painfully fly again. Hopefully, soar again.
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AMARANTHINE
THE MEDICAL DICTIONARY MARIELLE PATRICE S. LAMASLIG
Arrhythmia (n.) It pulses steadily, until I have a hummingbird flapping in my chest.
Fracture (n.) I realize that patients don’t need to break a bone to feel broken.
Burn (n.) Certain areas are damaged but their degrees are unidentifiable.
Geriatric (n.) It’s all but age: heart reflects youth.
Cancer (n.) The abnormal cells should’ve asked for consent. Dyspnea (n.) I couldn’t breathe well enough, until you said, “I’m here.” Excision (n.) Remove what weighs you down then stitch yourself together.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY SHAIRA RAE Y. BILLENA
Hypoxia (n.) It wasn’t oxygen that I needed, but you. Juvenile (adj.) I hope this society knows that being young doesn’t invalidate one’s opinion.
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO
Nicotine (n.) There’s a lot of ways to cope. Apparently, you chose a stick. Oxygen (n.) How ironic it is to need something that we don’t ever see or smell. Pacemaker (n.) I figured I have this irregularity, but I don’t think it’s something I can control. Quarantine (n.) I hope there’s a way out from all of this. Retrospective (adj.) Every time I look back, I see why it never worked.
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Surgery (n.) I don’t know what’s worse— being cut open or not knowing if I’ll ever wake up. Terminal (adj.) Never thought all it takes is one word for you to know your time. Tylenol (n.) I wish I couldn’t feel pain, but that’s not how it works. Wean (v.) You’ve grown accustomed to the cracked parts, that rebuilding yourself felt counterintuitive.
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AMARANTHINE
PRAYER OF A DOCTOR WHO IS A PATIENT NEZER A. SORIANO, MD WVSU – COM 2004
Dear Lord, I cannot breathe and I long for the breath of life from You. My lungs are weak and failing, may You give me some strength, too. My body is sick and aching, come heal me with Your hand. My mind is confused. I’m worried, help me to understand. I am not afraid because You have promised You will always be with me. I am not alone because I know I will feel Your presence with me through the healthcare workers who sacrifice themselves to be instruments of healing. My X-rays, CT scans, laboratory results, and vital signs are not looking good. But my hope in You remains. There is nothing else that I can hold on to. For the facts do not count when the Great Physician is at work. My spirit is in crisis. But my faith is in You, Lord. Thank You for the moon that reminds me that the dawn is coming. Thank You for the morning light that shines so bright. My soul praises You for I was able to experience You again. Intensely. Thank You for the opportunity to refocus myself back to You. I can now look beyond myself. God of grace, let my experience be mine alone. Keep my loved ones and everyone else safe. Spare the weak. Protect the vulnerable.
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God of love, thank You, for showing Your unconditional love to us. Thank You for Your Son who showed obedience to Your will. Thank You for His life and victory over death. We are not afraid because of His triumph. We will overcome this illness. We will overcome this pandemic. We will overcome. I am not alone because of family and friends who keep me company. Thank You for technology that allows video calls, short message services, and chats. We have felt Your presence, O God, through each other’s messages. I am not afraid because You are the God in times of calmness and in times of storm. You are the same God before COVID-19, in this time of COVID-19, and even after COVID-19 is gone. My mind has received the peace of God which surpasses all understanding. My body is now rested. With the Balm of Gilead I have been healed. My lungs are now stronger with the power and might bestowed upon me. I can breathe now for the breath of the Almighty gives me life that is full. Amen.
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SURREAL
MARIELLE PATRICE S. LAMASLIG
For some, 10 minutes is enough. You can finish your lunch, rush a bath before work, or maybe watch a random video explaining “that chickens swim.” But 10 minutes can also be a car crash, a life being taken away, and us, slowly burnt to ashes. Within those 10 minutes, one can feel like a distorted cassette. Ten minutes of stacked emotions in such a distorted sequence. One... two... three... shivers down your spine but you can barely feel them. At four, you can feel the calm before the storm. Looking at your screen you blink twice, thrice, blink a hundred times to confirm that everything is real. Ten minutes have turned you into a time bomb, knowing how long before destruction comes. Six… Seven… Eight… The silence is deafening as you lose hope, that you’re in an alternate reality where none of this is real. Nine is overwhelming. It is real. . . BUT WE ARE NOT.
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ILLUSTRATION BY SHAIRA RAE Y. BILLENA
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UNTITLED (13-10-2020) DR. REY A. ISIDTO WVSU-COM 2005 Former Editor-in-Chief, Vital Signs
Sometimes you lie awake at night and wonder. You stare into the darkness, reveling in its velvety emptiness, secure in its inky embrace. But sleep eludes you, as it does now. You can see it dancing away in the periphery of your mind’s eye and every time you consciously focus to grasp at it, it dissolves into a diaphanous shadow, fluttering in an absent breeze. So, like any other insomniac, you recount the events of the day. Being a doctor is exhausting—not in the physical sense like when you climb three flights of stairs to make in-hospital rounds, but in the more subtle decay of the senses until everything is blurred away in a haze of languishing apathy, much like when you peer at the world through slitted eyes brimming with unshed tears. The day’s events eat away at you; especially the time spent carefully apprising a 58-year-old of his impending hemodialysis, looking down at the pit of his bottomless sorrow and utter dread, the sense of helplessness and futility. You try to distance yourself, but the experience leaves a mark, like the nasty black stain in your shirt pocket from whence the pen’s ink has seeped into the fabric. But there are bright spots coming from your victories; a resolving acute kidney injury, a healing complicated UTI, a sincere “thank you” from a patient, an unwavering sense of purpose explicit in being a nephrologist. You realize that you are the sum of your experiences and decisions, and each day brings with it its own portion of sorrow and elation. Such is the life of a doctor. Such is the life you have chosen. Despite the inherent unevenness of this realization, you find comfort in this. So, you welcome elusive sleep, as your mind has finally ceased its senseless running. You sigh contentedly as you burrow deeper into the familiar dip in your bed. Tomorrow is another day.
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UNTITLED (26-08-2020) DR. REY A. ISIDTO WVSU-COM 2005 Former Editor-in-Chief, Vital Signs
I was standing outside a restaurant at Smallville waiting for my take-out dinner. The afternoon has mellowed into soft violet hues of approaching dusk. I allowed myself a 10-minute respite from the now customary onslaught of mental verbiage and settled with an empty but soothing cacophony of images that melded together in a smooth stream of idle alpha waves. My reverie was broken when the waiter came out with the paper bag of stewed vegetables and chicken. It was then that I noticed an old lady in her 70s vainly wheedling the security guard to look into her baskets of kakanin. Her back was bent not just from kyphosis, but from the weight of both baskets which she held up from the crooks of her elbows and stick-thin arms. Her face was wet with sweat and her skin shriveled like leather left out in the sun. She had no umbrella, only a frayed, mustard-colored sweater she probably had since the 70s. She walked away, shuffling her slippers in the dusty pavement, her shoulders slumped in defeat. I raced after her, being mindful of my distance since I still make daily hospital rounds. Who knows? I might be an asymptomatic positive. I stopped her, briefly chatting and surveying her baskets of native delicacies. Ilonggos love their sweet nuggets of sticky rice and sugar in banana leaves, but at five in the afternoon, her baskets were still full to the brim. My heart sank. “Here, this is for you,” I said, offering her some money after scrambling to spray my hands with alcohol to get rid of fomites. “Ayyy, I’m not begging,” she told me matter-of-factly. This was a punch to the gut. She just wanted to work—that’s all. She should be at home, puttering about the house or looking
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after her bawling grandkids. But despite her failing body, and the weight of her daily route, she wanted to prove herself useful and contribute to her family. “Oh, okay then. Which one is the most delicious?” “Puto lanson!” she said without hesitation, referring to the delicacy of grated cassava and margarine. “Duha gani, Nay,” my voice muffled by the mask. I handed her the money which she perfunctorily deposited in her wallet. She wrapped up the puto lanson. “Para na sa imo, Nay, pamahaw mo, ah,” I said, refusing the treat, and the change she handed me. “Ay salamat gid!” Her gratefulness is evident by the glow on her face. I received many “Thank yous” in the past months, but it was her smile and gratitude that I will remember most. The pandemic has all but upended the health system in our country. Hemodialysis service is no exception. Patients infected, nurses afflicted, and doctors discriminated. The past months had been draining my mental, physical, and emotional reserves. At times, I have often scraped the bottom of the barrel. But I will remember to be like Nanay, despite her daily Golgotha, she finds purpose and pride in her work.
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ILLUSTRATION BY NIKA GRACIA I. LEGASPI
DECAFFEINATED HAS AND PVP
A lot of you probably loves coffee, especially on the nights when studying medicine needed extra energy to pull off all-nighters, and on the nights that only a cup of hot coffee could give you the warmth you wanted from him. Sipping coffee was a constant tug-ofwar between sweet words and bitter actions that complement each other tastefully.
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As you sit and stare at the steamy coffee on a cold summer night, the froth will always remind you of the foamy mustache the two of you had when you both sipped your first cappuccino during the first semester of your freshmen year. And then your thoughts wandered willfully around, like a doe having the time of her life in the middle of the forest. You then regained focus on the steam of that coffee that clearly resembled the chances of you being together. As the steam steadily faded, you became perplexed, lost. You could not even pick the right words to express how you felt. Everything was ineffable. We were ineffable. Words were not even enough to fathom what we were…and there it was. A fresh pot of coffee that was yet to be brewed. That was us, we both loved how it took time to get the perfect brew. The process itself reminded me of how we started: the grinding of the coffee beans somehow took me back to the time when we were just starting to know each other. Then the beans started heating up, and wow, the sweet aroma of what was you and me. You could feel the aroma starting to muffle our private conversations. That aroma lingered—every turn I took, every stoplight and pedestrian lane I crossed before getting home—it would not leave my soul alone. I think the aroma was one of your tactics so that you could leave an impression. When we held hands, the aroma slowly got into me, the aroma that I knew, the aroma that I would never forget. You thought that I did not notice, but I saw how your ears slowly blushed when our hands intertwined. All I could do was show a timid smile. There was not a bit of ruefulness in every breath that I took, for I knew it was you all along. As you started to dawdle around my thoughts and senses, you managed to get into my bloodstream. But you were not my ordinary caffeine; the usual ones make you stay up all night, but you, you gave me the deep sleep that overwhelms me in thoughts of us. I was craving for it right from the start. I didn’t know how you gave me that slumber. Caffeine? Slumber? They don’t make sense. Nothing did. Then I realized, everything did not make sense since I had you, my caffeine. Everything went mad since day one.
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PURPLE DAYS JEZIEL K. VARGAS
I am not a prolific writer. Far from it, truthfully. Others can craft words more artfully than me. I can sing but 9 out of 10 way off-key. I tinker with the piano, but only to produce a simple melody. I am no virtuoso, not a connoisseur, not a genius, no title with grandeur, so what am I really? I call these thoughts my purple-day thoughts. Purple like the satellite bruises mapped across my skin as I clumsily get intimate against corners, furniture, and doors. Purple days are worry-filled days. Worrying about the unfinished tasks at hand and the many more to follow. Worrying about how the world stopped dead in its tracks and politicians play the part of Nero as he watched Rome burn to ashes. Worrying about how nowhere and no one is safe these days. Purple days are melancholic days. The melancholy of being jilted out of the life you’ve known, into a setup that is draining you to the bone, and yet you have no choice but to carry on. With a plastered smile and a chirpy voice, you must press on.
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AMARANTHINE Purple days are mourning days. Days when the sun is shining brightly outside, but in your heart there’s a maelstrom of emotions whirring and buzzing. When you mourn the lives lost and the time wasted. When you mourn the hopelessness of the situation. When you mourn the vague and uncertain future before you. You mourn all the what-ifs, what-could-have-beens, the missed chances, and all the second chances you were too scared to take. You mourn the words unspoken and the words spoken too soon. You mourn the love you earnestly believed was yours, but now, now you simply don’t know if there is even a love meant for you. These are my purple-day thoughts. Like the bruises on my skin, in time these purple-day thoughts leave as the violaceous patterns slowly fade and turn into a pale green tinge. I find distraction in mundane things, like painting my walls to get my hands moving and my brain working on something else rather than being preoccupied in a toppling domino series of one tragic thought over the other. As the days go by, the green spot turned yellow like the cheery disposition I am in as I hum tiny tunes. Slowly but surely bruises heal and so do my thoughts. But here’s the thing about being clumsy. Try as I might to keep myself safe, and even if I were to invest in a human bubble wrap armor, I’ll never know when will my hip hit the table corner, or when will my skull connect to an innocent cupboard, or when will my elbow bang against the door making my funny bone tingle in pain. I try to avoid purple-day thoughts, but I don’t know when they will come to pay me a visit. But don’t feel bad or sad. It’s okay. We all have purple-day thoughts sometimes, that’s just how life goes. If you feel like you can’t thrive today, then you just have to survive. So take it one day at a time. One purple day at a time.
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THE DAY AFTER CYLER KAI
A few days ago, my friend told me that I was glowing differently, glowing happily. She claimed that my aura was brighter and she grinned so wide that I could practically feel how happy she was for me. Nonetheless, I just asked, “Am I?” I went home that day, after whatever needed to be done. I stared at the mirror. Who I saw was someone who had a chubby, round face, a few pimples here and there, and a slight glint in her eyes. “Am I?” I questioned again. I thought about it and smiled unconsciously. “I AM,” I announce. And for a moment, I knew I glowed even brighter.
SA TAHIMIK NG INGAY ESCOAZUL
Ginising ako ni ulan alas sais ng umaga. “Matutulog pa ako. Ikaw na muna ang umiyak para sa akin,” wika ko. “Sige. Lalakasan ko ba,” tanong nito, “o malumanay pero buong araw?” “Ikaw na bahala,” sagot ko nang biglang sumagot si kulog. “Sige ako na rin magsisigaw ng sakit na nararamdaman mo.” At nakatu--------The ending was intentionally left open.
46 PHOTOGRAPHS BY JULINCHEL H. LICAYAN (Upper Left and Lower Left) LERA GAY V. BACAY (Upper Right and Lower Right)
47 PHOTOGRAPH BY LERA GAY V. BACAY (Below)
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KARGA TAPAS SNOWDROP
Habang palubog ang araw na mistulang natutunaw sa likuran ng kabundukan, pinunasan ni Ramil ang pawis na pumatak mula sa kanyang kilay. Gamit niyang pangpunas ang paborito niyang damit na matagal nang kumupas. Tapos na ang gawain para sa araw na ito at bukas ay panibagong araw na naman ng matrabahong hanapbuhay. Bago pasanin ni Ramil ang panghuling sako sa kanyang balikat, siya’y huminto at napatingin sa kalangitan. Nakita niya sa kanyang munting imahinasyon ang pagsayaw ng kulay kahel na kalangitan at mga ulap na may halong kulay rosas at lila, na parang nagsasayaw na apoy sa kandilang sinisindihan ng kanyang nanay tuwing gabi. Mas malaki nga lang. Ang sinag ng kulay kahel na may halong dilaw ang wari nakadiin sa mga tubo sa bukirin ng isang plantasyon sa Talisay City, Negros Occidental. Hindi man bihirang makakita ng batang sakada ngunit hindi rin ito kasanay-sanay. Sinimulan na rin ni Ramil ang paglinya kasama ng ibang sakada. Maya-maya’y iniabot rin sa kanyang magagaspang at maliliit na mga kamay ang 150 pesos na kanyang sahod sa araw na ito. Habang papaalis na ang delivery truck ay agaran siyang nakiangkas. Bumaba siya sa isang hindi aspaltadong krosing at nag-umpisa ng kanyang isa’t kalahating oras na lakad pauwi. Kanyang naramdaman ang pagod sa mga kalyo ng kanyang mga paa ngunit patuloy ang mabilis na pagtakbo ng kanyang isipan habang inaalala niya ang kanyang mga natutunan mula sa mga nakababata niyang kapatid. Kanya itong ginagawa kapag bahagyang natatakot sa kanyang paglalakad habang gumagabi. Si Ramil ay katorse na ngayon. Tatlong taon na nang una siyang magsakada.
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Siya ang pangalawa sa pitong magkakapatid at siya ang unang hijo. Ang kanyang ama ay dati ring sakada ngunit siya’y nagkasakit at hindi na muling nakapagtrabaho pa. Ang kanyang ina naman ay dating labandera ngunit hindi na nakapagtrabaho noong nagkasakit ang asawa. Kaya nahinto si Ramil sa kanyang pag-aaral. Mayroong ate si Ramil na napilitang maging labandera para makatulong sa ikabubuhay nilang mag-anak. Samantalang ang tatlong nakababatang kapatid lamang ni Ramil ang pumapasok sa paaralan at may mga kapatid sila na wala pang limang taong gulang. Gaya ng pangkaraniwang ina ay gabi-gabing naghahanda ng hapunan ang kanilang nanay at bumibili ng kandila para makapag-aral ang kanyang mga anak. Si Ramil at ang ate niya ay tinuturuan ng mga nakababatang kapatid nila tuwing gabi tungkol sa mga natutunan nila sa eskwelahan. Tuwing umuuwi si Ramil ay nagmamano siya sa kanyang ama’t ina. Ang kanyang mukha ay nangingitim sa dungis at ang kanyang damit ay kasing kulay na ng gabi. Pabagsak niyang iniupo ang kanyang patang katawan sa gapok nilang upuang kawayan at hinihimas ang kanyang mga paa. Makaraan ang ilang sandali’t pinilit niyang iniangat muli ang kanyang katawan at dumiretso sa kanilang batalan pero ngayong gabi ay masyadong pagod si Ramil para maligo. Kanyang isinawsaw ang mga daliri sa plastik ng baretang katabi upang simutin ang natitirang sabon na tunaw. At ang karimlan ng gabi’y unti-unting niyakap ang aba nilang kubo na yoon habang patuloy ang pagsayaw ng apoy mula sa kandila. Binigyan liwanag nito ang kung anumang pangarap mayroon ang magkakapatid habang patuloy silang nakinig at natuto sa mga aralin mula sa Spelling papuntang Math. Ibig ni Ramil na muli siyang makapag-aral. Gusto niya ring maglaro ng basketbol kasama ang dati niyang mga kaklase, ngunit hindi na siya masyadong umaasa dahil halos dalawang taon nang sumasakit at kumikirot ang kanyang dibdib. Pakiramdam niya ay parang napakasikip ng kanyang mga damit kahit na maluwag lahat ng suot niya. Sa kanyang murang isipan, wala siyang nagawa doon dahil wala naman silang pera para magpakonsulta sa mga manggagamot ni pera para makapagbiyahe sa libreng pagamutan. Tanggap rin niya na siya’y minsang naiinggit sa kaniyang mga nakababatang kapatid sapagkat sila’y nakakapag-aral pa ngunit mas madali niyang naiintindihan ang mga aralin kapag ang mga kapatid niya ang nagtuturo. Habang siya’y patuloy na
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nagpapaturo sa kanyang mga kapatid, kanyang napag-alaman na kaya niya na ang i-spelling ng necessary o kinakailangan sa tagalog. Ang salitang necessary ay matagal nang may kahulugan kay Ramil. Kinakailangan. Kailangan ng kanyang pamilya ng sapat na pera para sa pagkain nila pang araw-araw at pag-aaral ng kanyang mga kapatid kaya’t kinakailangan niya ring magtrabaho. Ang kanyang munting mga daliri ay matagal nang kinakalyo, magagaspang, makapal. Ganito araw-araw. Ang kanyang isipan naman ay patuloy na tumatalas tuwing gabi. Pagkalaunan ay tag-ani na naman at may napansing kakaiba sa plantasyon si Ramil. Tila may konstruksyon na ginagawa sa daang malapit. Minsan lang magpahinga si Ramil habang nagtatrabaho, pero kung magpahinga siya’y minamasdan niya ang konstruksyon. Habang palumpasay na nakaskwat paupo, nagpapahinga, kanyang napansin ang pagsunod ng mga manggagawa sa isang partikyular na lalaki. Nakikita niya kung paano gabayan at turuan ang mga manggagawa ng lalaking iyon kasabay ang pagbibiro kung minsan. Kinasasabikan niya itong pagmasdan tuwing siya’y nagpapahinga. Ginusto niyang malaman kung bakit tila importante ang gawain ng lalaking iyon. Bagaman nahihiya ay kinilala ni Ramil ang lalaking iyon pagkatapos ng trabaho nito. Tinanong niya kung ano ang trabaho ng lalaki. Ngumiti ang lalaki, binigyan siya ng softdrinks at sandwich, at sinagot na siya’y isang inhinyerong sibil. Malumanay na ipinaliwanag ng lalaki na ang kanyang trabaho ay magplano, magdisenyo, at pangasiwaan ang pagpapatayo at pagpapanatili ng mga gusali at imprastraktura tulad ng mga kalsada, tulay, dam, at mga proyekto sa irigasyon. Pagkaubos ni Ramil ng kaniyang sandwich ay kanyang tinanong kung pwede rin ba siyang maging inhinyerong sibil. Marahang parang ginulo ng lalaki ang buhok ni Ramil, napangiti, at sabay sabi ng “Oo.” Nanlaki ang mga mata ni Ramil na halos hindi makapaniwala at hindi masukat ang kasabikan sa mura niyang puso. Animo’y isang bata na sinabihang dadalhan ng pasalubong ang batid sa mukha ni Ramil. Kinamamayaan, nang papauwi na si Ramil ay hindi niya napigilang tumingala sa langit, sa mga bituin, at sumilay ang matamis na ngiti sa labi ng batang ito. At kanyang kinasabikan ang mga susunod na aralin ngayong gabi.
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THE MOON IS A VIOLET PIZZA STEPHEN RANIE P. BELASCUAIN
The torrential rainstorm turned into a light drizzle and it was pleasant to think that the rain would stop soon. A creeping idea in the back of your head, however, believes that the rain is not done yet, and that the dark clouds overhead hide a secret ocean that will eventually spill over. The sun was out all day and its faint orange glow behind the dark islands of clouds turned violet, casting a reddish hue on the moon. You were washing the dishes in the sink and you thought to yourself that the moon was just a big plate in the sky, and the red glow that it had tonight was because of the leftover sauce from the spaghetti they had for dinner. “Or maybe even lasagna,� you spoke to yourself, then paused, wondering why you just said it out loud. You laughed at yourself, surely you were just hungry, and a nice plate of spaghetti would be perfect tonight. You looked at the sky and it was still dark. You thought the rain would catch you if you went out for that spaghetti and the cold would kill your appetite. So you tried those food delivery services that are so common nowadays. You opened your phone, looked for the perfect spaghetti, you even saw some delicious looking lasagna and had to second guess, but after a few mental debates you settled for your first choice, spaghetti. With a smile on your face, you placed your order, sat merrily on the couch and your eyes on the road out the window. But to your horror, it started to rain hard, as if an entire ocean was dropped from the sky. You were worried that your spaghetti would get drenched at this rate. Then a single cone of light appeared on the road and approached your gate. A tall lean man came forth with a square bag in his hand, said your name, and you acknowledged. He reached for something inside the square bag and to your surprise it was a pizza box. Though a bit annoyed, you calmly told the delivery man that you ordered spaghetti and not pizza. He was troubled.
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The rain raged on, and the sound of water crashing against the metal silenced everything else. The man mentioned your name for confirmation once again, and you snappily said yes. It was spaghetti you ordered. The man checked his phone, and confirmed that your order was indeed spaghetti. He asked for pardon as he himself had no explanation for this mistake. Irritated, you opened the box, and took a look at the pizza. It was the strangest pizza you’ve seen. It had tomato sauce and cheese like an ordinary pizza, but it had violet petals for toppings. You decided not to pay for it, and won’t take the pizza. The man became furious, after all the trouble he went to deliver it. You asked how much the pizza was, and he looked at his phone, and replied, “It’s 3000 pesos.” In utter disbelief, you reiterated that you wouldn’t pay for that outrageous violet pizza. The man, quite angry at this point, threatened that he would call the police. You scoffed, and with a smile called the police yourself. When the police arrived, the man related his story, and unwillingness to pay for your order. You explained that your order was spaghetti and not pizza, that’s why you wouldn’t pay. The police then asked the man if this was true, and he admittedly said yes. “In that case,” the officer said, “you are completely at fault here, Mr. Deliveryman, and this honest person here need not pay. But before that, I’d like to see some confirmation ID that it was you who ordered since you’ve already opened the pizza.” Now it was your turn to be in shocked because you didn’t have any valid ID to save you. The officer told you to produce an ID, otherwise you will be sent to jail. You suddenly lost your appetite, and the coldness that once bothered you was no more. The only thing that was running in your head was how wrong you were about the moon, that it was nothing like a plate. Instead, it was that violet pizza in that box.
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THOUGHTS AND DREAMS CYLER KAI
There was nothing but the blurred lines of the streetlight, and the cold air surrounding them. He had grown tired of waiting for her as she had anticipated the moment he would give up. She knew the day would come; she just did not know when. Two years had passed, they were living a good life, not perfect, but good. She’s a nurse and aspiring doctor, he worked in a bank. From the beginning of their relationship, everything was unexpected. One thing she did expect was him giving up on her. It’s not a mystery that all the boys who’ve claimed to love her, leave her. Then again, she thought, Maybe this one really is different. It’s been years already. Sadly, she shook her head and disregarded the thought. They walked under the moonlight and shining stars, to the jeepney stop, heading for home together. As always. Him with a tired expression, and her always meek and silent beside him. They took a turn to the left, deviating from the normal route of other people, passing through an alleyway.
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This was it, he was finally tired of me, she thought with a sigh, only responding with a series of nods. “I know we’ve been together for two years now to be exact, but I feel like something isn’t sitting right with us,” he explained. “Go on, what is it you want to say?” she encouraged him, smiling weakly. She saw him opening his mouth, but no words came out. Her cellphone rang, she reached down her pocket to get it. It was surely her ringtone, but her phone was not ringing. With a blink of an eye, she realized she was lying on her bed. It was just a dream: her alarm going off, the sun glaring from the windows, and the hot smell of breakfast aerated from the kitchen. “How silly of me. How can I break up with someone when I don’t even have a ‘someone’ to begin with,” she laughed at herself. She got up from the bed, arranged her things, and got ready for online classes. “Well, at least one of my dreams is coming true,” she said as she logged into her online class for her freshman year of medical school.
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LITTLE CRISTINA
GLORYBELLE MOLANO, MD WVSU-COM 2003 PGI, AFP MEDICAL CENTER, QUEZON CITY (FORMER VITAL SIGNS CO-EDITOR IN CHIEF WITH DR. EUNICE SERMONIA)
She decided to come at an evil hour, so they say. At 2 in the morning, I was called to the Operating Room (OR). To “catch” the baby, so they call what we do as Nursery interns. She was not in any rush, although her arrival had been anticipated for more than a week now. Her mother was confined in the Labor Room for monitoring even though she was not in labor. We would go in and out of that room, and the baby’s mother would offer a smile, or chat with us sometimes. She looked forlorn, even sad occasionally. Most times, she was just by herself, looking peaceful. We would catch her sitting in a corner of her bed, quietly stroking her big belly, murmuring strange hushing words. She spent most of those days like that, talking to her baby, savoring those special moments with her, those few days of togetherness as mother and child, willing it to last. I was nervous. It was my first cesarean section baby to catch. I did not know the exact mechanics. I was not briefed properly where to connect this tube and that. I did not know what to do with the suction and poor me, even if I really needed to scrub. I’ve had similar first times before, and this wouldn’t be my last, I sighed resignedly. With my
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mask and cap donned, I ignored my anesthesia resident’s comment that it was past my bedtime, and went out to search for my OR. The room was being prepared when I entered, so I looked for my corner to stay awhile. I immediately perked up when I saw a co-intern who might just have all the answers. He was so helpful. He oriented me with the needed equipment: the oxygen tank, the suction and mask, even the light and its recommended distance from the baby, etc. He got me a comprehensive orientation, stat. I got a good enough picture on what to do, thankfully. An OB resident scrubbed the mom’s belly thoroughly. It was heart shaped, from vantage point two feet away from the foot of the OR table. It was a most unusual shape, two big mounds of flesh with a deep cleft in the center. My pediatrics resident came in on time, and we exchanged greeting smiles with our eyes. The baby was literally maneuvered out, feet first, breech. She was a big one, but only afforded us a faint soulful cry. We all gave a gasp in unison and a hush came all over the place. All eyes, at that precise moment, 2:20 AM, were on her. A slippery, blood-covered squirmy little thing. Then she answered all our questions with yet another faint cry. She was pinkish, with darkened limbs. She was flailing. She was just our little piglet, another baby who just survived a week of medication in the Nursery and now safely home. I noted every detail of this bundle of energy as I wiped the whitish sticky substance from her body. It was all over her, even though she was milky white at first. She was giving that steady small cry as we suctioned and then warmed her. Her legs, her thighs, her trunk, and arms were perfect. She had one eye opened, peeking at us. The other one was still closed. She had strawberry-kissed lips and a cute nose. My resident can’t help but murmur that this one would have grown to be a beautiful girl. I agreed, nodding. But above those eyes, she had nothing. She had no forehead and anything else. She was anencephalic and it was a big pity. Something got caught in my throat. I had no tears but sorrow gripped my whole body. I happened to look around the little space in our OR corner, and saw my sorrow mirrored in three other pairs of eyes watching our ministrations to that poor little baby. They were shaking their heads and murmuring questions to themselves I do not have any answers to. Maybe it was because of medications, or maybe it just runs in their family, they say. Maybe it was just pure fate.
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They have 100% mortality rate, the books say. And most die within the first two weeks of life. Treatment is supportive. Mostly, emotional and psychological help for the family. About 75% are stillborn. So this little one is, in fact, luckier than most. “This is the world outside your warm, watery shell, baby. Too bad you won’t see, or experience much of it,” I whispered. “Anong paborito mong pangalan?” (What’s your favorite name?), I heard my resident ask. “Cristina,” was my response. “I got it from the Lord’s name.” So the angel’s name got to be Cristina. The resident made a sign of the cross and I followed her lead. She murmured a prayer and we both made a sign of the cross on Cristina’s pinkish body. I swallowed back a sob and stroked her little body once more. Then we bundled her up with two OR blankets and placed her on a basinet for transport to the Nursery. Because of the anesthesia, her mother was asleep and was unable to see her. Maybe it was better that way. It would have been heartbreaking. Cristina gave her last breath a mere eight hours after. Many came to see her, all went away with moist saddened eyes. All came to see her head, or lack of it, but most did not fail to appreciate her perfect little cuddly body. They didn’t have much to say, but their faces expressed their pity and shock. The most prevailing emotion was regret, that this little one was not given much choice, and chance. In the presence of an aunt, and amongst attendants, interns, and doctors, a priest administered a final blessing for Cristina. I gave Cristina’s hand a godmother’s squeeze of comfort and whispered, “Kung saan ka pupunta, baby Cristina, perfect ka.” (In the land where you will soon go, Cristina, you will be perfect.) P.S. Little Cristina will remain to be the most precious goddaughter I’ll ever have. She now rests with the Lord.
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AN ANGEL NAMED KK
GLORYBELLE MOLANO, MD WVSU-COM 2003 PGI, AFP MEDICAL CENTER, QUEZON CITY (FORMER VITAL SIGNS CO-EDITOR IN CHIEF WITH DR. EUNICE SERMONIA)
“One surgical intern to the OR, please,” the crackling voice over the rustic paging system of the hospital called. Seeing none of my co-interns in the immediate vicinity of the Surgical Ward, I resigned myself to a skipped-lunch workday. With a grumbling stomach, I geared myself up with things needed for the Operating Room. Glancing enviously at the nurses enjoying their afternoon snack, I made my way to the elevator. With quick, hurried steps, I traced the patio leading to the OR, with its distinctive Zonrox-like smell and sorry walls. I easily slipped into my brown-and-black fatigue scrub suit and mercy, blue cap and mask, and downright marched into the designated OR. I waited expectedly for my favorite resident to call out his usual “Desert Storm” greeting but he was not around it seemed, and that dampened my mood a little.
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I proceeded to the Recovery Room (RR) to check on my patient. He was in bed, still, probably scared silly. I smiled at him, only my crinkling eyes visible. He smiled back, hesitantly, and I was assured that he, even in that scared-silly state, was still gathering strength to act tough. A bed away from my patient’s was a small yet bulky bundle, swaddled in a white organic RR blanket. A warming lamp was focused on it. Poor cold thing. Curiously, I approached and saw something pink and fair-skinned peeking out. It was a baby! I felt a little glow inside of me—then something warm crept into my heart which went up to my eyes to form silly small tears. This was a familiar and predictable reaction whenever I am confronted with such sweet vulnerable creatures. I blinked away my tears and forced a smile, but, really, beneath the mask, it was no use. I touched what was supposed to be his leg and I felt a jerk. The arms were flailing under the blanket, maybe irritated with the IV line. The feet were impishly cuddly and soft. I did not even suppress the urge to give a gentle pinch. The baby, I discovered, was not oblivious to my misdoings. Beneath the tubes that emerged from the dressing on his head and the all-too-big oxygen mask that gives him the much-needed air, he was focused on me, too. Two round, curious eyes were staring into my own. They were doll-like eyes with jet black pupils, fringed with spiky lashes which would be the envy of mothers with baby girls. One eye, though, was a little smaller, but they were both beautiful, honest eyes, And there was pain in there. As if he was asking me why he was in such a state. I felt my tears again. “Lumabas lang Mama niya para bumili ng pagkain (His mama just went out to buy food),” I heard from somebody in the vicinity. So, I thought then, this poor angel is for me to take care of in the meantime. I lingered for a while—finding peace and comfort holding his warm and living little body. He was breathing laboriously giving out occasional gasps, and I would sooth him with murmurs. He would stare at me and take a few normal breaths. He would close his eyes occasionally, probably glared by the full light of the room. Then he would sleep. I begged for a little more time, so I’d still be there when he opens his eyes again. I glanced at my patient and noted that it was time. He was being prepared—about to be wheeled into the OR. I knew that this chance, but beautiful meeting would soon end.
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I drew the baby near and squeezed him a little. With my lips next to his ear, I whispered a prayer and a promise. “Bibisitahin kita sa ward, baby. Antayin mo ako, ha (I will visit you in the ward, baby. Wait for me there, okay?).� A day later, I learned his name, Baby KK, and he has hydrocephalus. He is a happy and worry-free child. He eats well, thus his size, and he only has his mama to care for him. Folks or family of other patients would sit with him when his mama runs errands. And he makes no fuss. I will visit KK again, I promised myself as I walked away from yet another teary-eyed stay with him in the Neurosurgery Ward. That is all I can do for now, along with my prayers that he leads the most meaningful life the good Lord would grant him.
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UNTITLED (21-03-2020) DR. REY ISIDTO WVSU-COM 2005 Former Editor-in-Chief, Vital Signs
You wake up on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. It takes a few minutes before your senses focus and you realize that you’re staring at the hospital ceiling. Outside, the early birds squabble like old biddies and the incoherent sounds of the morning have started. The past few days had been a blur—with the COVID-19 cases exploding like lethal time bombs, random but deadly. It was nice for the hospital higher ups to secure several rooms for residents and fellows to bathe and sleep in while you doctors serve as frontliners. The first cases in China spread like relentless wildfire, skipped borders, and cut huge swathes across several countries. You watch the evening news on Facebook while perfunctorily eating a cafeteria dinner—the cheapest rice and viand pair they have. Heck, nothing in the Metro is cheap. Once you finish specialty training then you can practice and hopefully live comfortably. You and your family. That’s the plan all along. You stand up and surreptitiously pocket the bit of fried fish wrapped in tissue. There is this cat who hunts near the Emergency Room that waits for you. It’s missing a left eye and there’s a bald patch on its back which you presume might be from a bad mauling. You see it half-hidden in the santan shrubs, its lone eye agleam in the darkness. It would hiss when you noiselessly crouch down. Carefully, you unwrap the fish, throw it halfway, and pocket the used tissue. The feline skittishly steps forward, takes it in its mouth, and eats in place. This, for you, is a small triumph. Usually, it adamantly glares at you and limps away to eat your offering in the safety of the bushes. You are glad that some semblance of meat had started to form under fur caked with dirt.
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You carefully stand up, not breaking eye contact, and slowly back out. This daily ritual is your normality. It serves to anchor you in place because the Emergency Room pandemonium, which you have gotten accustomed to, has escalated to a higher degree of frenzy, this time with the acrid taste of fear mixed in the bedlam. The plague has come to our country’s shores and the ER is the first line in the health system structure to stem the tide. You and your colleagues are the dam that valiantly keeps it in check. But weeks of this relentless beating has inevitably found the chinks of your armor. You and the others have become perpetually exhausted. This, with the rapidly diminishing supply of PPEs should alarm you, but you have ceased caring. You’re too tired. You shrug this off and step into the ER. Immediately, this 60-year-old plump lady launches herself at you, screaming and flailing her arms. Her husband is seated in the corner, laboriously drawing his breath in through pursed lips. You elicit important information— travel history, contact with PUMs/PUIs, but each query is immediately answered with a screamed “No!” each one several octaves higher than the last. She screeches the names of several politicians who will surely have your head in a platter if you pester her with questions. The tirade continues, albeit muffled, as you listen with the stethoscope against her husband’s chest. It really is time for you to get up, and you try to. But you can’t. Alarmed, you imagine chains pinning you to the bed. But there are no chains, your hands are free, but you can’t lift them. They remain immobile, despite your efforts to will them to move. You try shouting out for help, but no sounds come. Now you realize it isn’t the incessant chirping of birds, but the mindless chittering of the VR machine as it pushes precious oxygen into your lungs. The tears start to flow and for once during this ordeal, you’re happy there is still something your body can do. So, in the cold sterile ICU you noiselessly cry, lamenting for yourself, praying for your family, hoping for your colleagues to hang on and for the beloved country to survive. After a while sleep creeps in, its tendrils insistently tugging at the edge of your consciousness. For a blissful moment before you draw your last breath, you see your cat patiently waiting at the shrubs. In your pocket you find some of the fish you saved, and so you walk toward it, your steps light and airy.
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In their external reality, they’re bombarded by voices—the mourns and shrieks of their patients, the herculean commands of their superiors, the laments of their attention-deprived families... As the dissonant voices of the outside world corrode their beings, so do the cacophony of voices in their minds—in a much more destructive way, to say the least. Their thoughts tell them that they’re up to no value... Their thoughts tell them that their efforts are futile... Their thoughts tell them they’re not good enough. But in the midst of all the discord from inside and out, they found proof of what makes life worth living. ---------
Note: Sining Karun was a performance written by Small Groups 2 and 8 of the West Visayas State University College of Medicine Batch 2022 during the yearly Suicide Summit in 2019, where the issue of suicide among medical professionals (clinical clerks, residents, and consultants) was tackled. Clinical clerks are fourth year medical students, residents are licensed physicians undergoing specialization, while consultants are doctors who have finished their specialization. An introductory message to “Sining Karun” WRITTEN BY MARJOE RENZ DOMINIC P. DEITA
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Sining karun lang ko may ginbuligan, Ako pa naggwa nga wala nabal-an. Sining karun lang ko may ginserbihan, Ako pa ang pirme ginatalikdan. Akon pamangkutanon, ngaa pirme na lang Nga ako ang nagabaton sang inyo suya nga tanan? Akon pamangkutanon, ngaa daw ako lang Ang nagaisahanon sa paglakat diri sa aton kalibutan!
Sining karun nga pangabuhi, akon na lang ginapanumdum, Pwede bala nga ako indi na lang magpadayon?
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Ako gid man bala gakabagay diri, Ukon kay Mama na lang ako tani nagpati? Basi tsakto man gid sila, nga ako indi para sa medisina Nga ako napilitan lang bangud doktor si Papa? Ang akon masakit gabalik-balik kag wala gaayo, Kay ang imo pagtatap kulang kag indi husto! Ang akon lang tani, hatagan mo ako sing gamay nga atensyon Agud magmulumag-an man ang akon kondisyon! Madoktor ka man gid tuod ? Kay ang imo animo wal a labot, Sa gakalatabo sa imo pali bot! Pagtatap sang tawo, wal a sa imo buot! Madoktor ka man gid bala ? Kay daw labing makatili ngala! Ngaa ang paminsaron mo daw wala diri? Sa mga pasyente mo wal a ka man nagakari!
Sa kadamuon sing pasyente kag tambak nga ulubrahon, Sin-o, ano man gid bala akon nga unahon?
kasyon, Indi ko gid makita ang imo dedi wala balatyagon. kag sto nagu gapi nga lang ka Daw robot sang imo atensyon Ang imo pasyente, gapangita imo pagtugon! sang tag gaha gid Pero wala ka
Sige lang, naubra mo man tanan nga makaya mo!
Te, kita
mo, wa la ka pu Mangu! los! Mangu!
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Nan, uyaya! Dasiga bala! Ano kay indi ka kabalo!
Excuse me, clerk! Naano ka? Galain gid buot mo? Pareho lang ta diri tanan may ubra, Ikaw ya mareklamo? Ari charts o, pagdali ka, Ka uyaya sa imo!
O, Ginuo, para gid man bala ini sa akon? Hatagi ako sang dugang nga kusog para akon ini tapuson.
Clerk, ano ginahimumugto mo dira? Kadamo sing pasyente ta, indi mo makita? Abi pagbalik sa imo animo, balik ka sa ubra! Indi kami paghibi-i, wala kami labot sa imo luha!
gid pos ata o! m , i o in tus m a m ag-an ng kay ula Ma ang p agk . gm a n y I a l sa i ka ag w Ind gta ma
Kapoy-kapoy na gid ako, Tanan na lang nga ubrahon ko, indi intsakto! Kabuhi ko bala, wala gid katuturan? May pulos pa bala ang mabuhi diri sa kalibutan?
Wala ka gid ya pulos, tapusa na lang bala kabuhi mo!
Panumduma ang mga pasyente nga nabuligan mo.
Sining karun nga pangabuhi, akon na lang ginapanumdum, Pwede bala nga ako indi na lang magpadayon?
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO Matahum ang kabuhi, amu na ang sugid sang kamal-aman Indi ko bal-an kun tuod na kay akon kabuhi akon ginadudahan, Kun may pulos man gid sya, amu na ang indi ko bal-an Kay puros pasakit kag kaakig akon naaguman. Ako residente sa ospital nga ini, ang pangalan Maria. Mga pasyente sa Internal Medicine ang sa akon nakakilala. Ang pangabudlay sang doktor asta lang sa eskwela, hambal nila. Pero ngaa, ngaa nagaluhod ako subong sa luhaan nga duta? Sa pagtaliwan sang amon sultirito, Ikaw gid ang may sala! Kay sa ubrahanay wala ka pulos, Nasobrahan lang ka pabaya! Ari ang subpoena, Ang balos sang hustisya sakama! Agud wala ka na may mabiktima Ukon mapahibi pa nga pamilya! Nanay, Tatay, gapangayo ako sing pasensya Ato nga tinion, wala ta man ginpangayo nga disgrasya! Te, ano na lang ni karon, kami pabay-an mo lang bala? Nga nagaantus, nagapasakit, kag nalubong sa problema? Ngaa nagdoktor ka pa, ngaa ikaw nagpatuga-tuga? Nga sa ubrahanay gali, wala ka man may ibuga? O Maria, akon pinalangga nga asawa, Ang pag-upod sa matag-adlaw, imo ginpromisa. Apang subong indi ko na bal-an ang isabat sa aton bata Kada mamangkot sya, “Papa, Papa, ngaa pirme wala si Mama?�
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AMARANTHINE Sa adlaw-adlaw na lang, indi ko bal-an ano akon ubrahon. Sin-o akon unahon, sin-o akon hatagan atensyon? Aber, abi ko nag-eskwela ka sing maayo sa medisina Pero ngaa sa ospital nga ini, naglapta ka sing disgrasya? Te, paano ko ni sabton ang iresponsable mo nga gin-ubra? Abi pagpuli ka, wala ka pulos, Diyos ko, Maria Santisima!
Sa adlaw-adlaw nga pangabuhi, akon na lang ginapanumdum, Pwede bala nga ako indi na lang magpadayon?
Sining karun nga pangabuhi, akon na lang ginapanumdum, Pwede bala nga ako indi na lang magpadayon? Ako ang consultant nga ginapalapitan, Nagabulig para sa ikaayo sang tanan! Ikaw amon ginapasalamatan, Sa pagdul-ong sa amon sa kaayuhan!
Mga pamangkot nga indi namon masabtan, Tungod sa imo, amon nahibaluan!
VITAL SIGNS | THE OFFICIAL 2020 LITERARY FOLIO Siling mo ang sakit ko malunasan, Pero ngaa gindala mo ako sa Diyos nga gamhanan?
Ako clinical clerk nga imo dapat tudluan, Pero ngaa, ngaa ako nimo ginapabay-an?
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Sugo diri, sugo didto, Wala ka kabalo nga kadamo na sang ubra ko? Sa gamay nga sala, pirme mo ako nasinggitan! Wala ka kabalo, gabatyag man akon dughan?
Nakuha ko naman tanan—balay, kaalam, kag bulawan. Pero sa pag-anghaw sa bintana, mga ginabatyag gulpi gintalana, Kahanusbo sa tagipusuon kag sa panghuna-huna, Nagabug-at kag naga-anino sa akon kalag, kag nagahana-hana. Sa akon naman ang tanan, ngaa sa gihapon may kulang? Bisan sa damgo, ang akon lawas nagahayang. Kasadya kag paghigugma sa kabuhi, nadula na. Ang akon lawas kag kalag, wala na gid gana.
Sining karun nga pangabuhi, akon na lang ginapanumdum, Pwede bala nga ako indi na lang magpadayon?
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AMARANTHINE Apang sa isa ka bes sa akon pagpanglakaton, Isa ka estranghero ang malipayon nga nagpalapit sa akon. Nagtikab sya, “Doc, dumduman mo pa bala ako? Ako to gali, ang pasyente nga imo ginpaayo!” Ako nakibot samtang sya naghambal lamang sing padayon, “Doktor, kun wala ikaw, wala man ako diri subong!” Ang akon balatyagon nagmag-an, kag nagklaro akon paminsaron Kay tungod akon nahibaluan, may kasanag sa likod sang gal-om.
Ako, ikaw, kita tanan, may pagbuot kag may balatyagon, Kis-a aton lamang malimtan nga ang kabuhi ta indi lang puros kadulom. Ang kabuhi naton tanan nga mga tinuga matahum, pagsalig lamang, Hasta nga sa ulihi, ang mga tinaga na nga ini ang aton ginamitlang… Ako, ikaw, kita tanan, may pagbuot kag may balatyagon, Kis-a aton lamang malimtan nga ang kabuhi ta indi lang puros kadulom. Ang kabuhi naton tanan nga mga tinuga matahum, pagsalig lamang, Hasta nga sa ulihi, ang mga tinaga na nga ini ang aton ginamitlang…
Sining karun nga pangabuhi, akon na lang ginapanumdum, HUO GALI, ANG KABUHI MAAYO, DAPAT LANG MAGPADAYON.
VITAL SIGNS EDITORIAL BOARD EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
NEWS EDITORS
SPORTS EDITOR
Lera Gay V. Bacay
Marielle Patrice S. Lamaslig
Elan Joseph G. Peraren
MANAGING EDITORS
OPINION EDITORS
LITERARY EDITORS
Marjoe Renz Dominic P. Deita Shaira Rae Y. Billena
Kenneth Jules A. Apurada Stephen Ranie P. Belascuain
Michaelle Christiane C. Con-el Dominique Ishmaielle S. Hibionada
ASSOCIATE EDITORS
FEATURE EDITORS
PHOTOJOURNALIST
Cyril Jay E. Villanueva Hannah Andrea A. Sagsagat
Nika Gracia I. Legaspi Jeziel K. Vargas
Jethro G. Rada Jr.
CIRCULATING OFFICERS
FILIPINO EDITOR
Salve Rachelle Y. Billena John Spencer B. Tañalas
Michell Desiree A. Estriver
Eunice V. Sermonia, M.D.,FPPA
ADVISER