By Camille Loren Martinez
Isang mundo…
Isang pagkatao…
Isang kaluluwang namumuhay sa tila kawalan,
At isang pusong nananabik sa katotohanan.
Palasyong pinagpalang tirhan
Isang madilim na kamunduhan
Isang tinitingala at minamasdan
Ang mundong puno ng kadiliman.
Isang salot at kahinaan,
Ang pagsamba sa kamunduhan
Pagkat ‘di lamang natin nalalaman
Na tayo’y dinadala sa kadiliman.
Iisang Diyos na siyang may karapatan
Upang sambahin at mahalin kailanman.
Ngunit atin Siyang iniiwan at sinasaktan
Sa tuwing tayo’y nabubuhay sa karimlan.
Ang lugar na puno ng kamalian
Ang lugar na halos ating sambahin at hagkan
Isang lugar na makasalanan
At napupuno ng kamunduhan.
Digitized
By Klaris Chua
Speaking under hits
tongues not moving
underlined, undefined clicks
almost honest Carpal Tunnel
Hidden light beams
transferred by the lines
we move in such different worlds
until I welcomed you unto mine
Wandering semi-colons;
a glimpse of letter :P maybe
moving around, getting lost
signals sent but never understood
Sticking to a feeling
stuck with some kind
the words you gave, so vague
laid out on a coffee table
What’s your real name, what do you do
we’ve never even met
and even if we ever did…
I still won’t recognize you
Speaking under hits
tongues not moving
underlined, undefined clicks
almost honest Carpal Tunnel
Hidden light beams
transferred by the lines
we move in such different worlds
until I welcomed you unto mine
Wandering semi-colons;
a glimpse of letter :P maybe
moving around, getting lost
signals sent but never understood
Sticking to a feeling
stuck with some kind
the words you gave, so vague
laid out on a coffee table
What’s your real name, what do you do
we’ve never even met
and even if we ever did…
I still won’t recognize you
Adam’s Apple (A Tale of Father and Son)
By Patrick Magpusao
I am your blood.
I am your skin.
From my seed
you came to life…
My sin is yours
You sinned because of me
hush, son…
Your mom’s asleep
I am your blood.
I am your skin.
From my seed
you came to life…
My sin is yours
You sinned because of me
hush, son…
Your mom’s asleep
Of Love and Off Hinges
By Jeffrey Thomas
Many shades of white surround me
In the confines of four empty corners
Where a sea of paddings embrace me
In a place void of sense or reason
My love companion, a straightjacket
The binding arms that embrace me whole
Straps me to earth, restraining
But strips me of mind and the will to flee
Consumed by the inviting allures of sleep
I lie in a bed of my own undoing
Where the only sound that fills the space
Is of gnashing teeth and skin-grazing sheets
I gnaw at the collars and nibble on the sleeves
Of the straightjacket that is you
Trying to make sense of an insatiable madness
For which there is no cure
Many shades of white surround me
In the confines of four empty corners
Where a sea of paddings embrace me
In a place void of sense or reason
My love companion, a straightjacket
The binding arms that embrace me whole
Straps me to earth, restraining
But strips me of mind and the will to flee
Consumed by the inviting allures of sleep
I lie in a bed of my own undoing
Where the only sound that fills the space
Is of gnashing teeth and skin-grazing sheets
I gnaw at the collars and nibble on the sleeves
Of the straightjacket that is you
Trying to make sense of an insatiable madness
For which there is no cure
Katotohanang Ikinubli ng Kasinungalingan
By Pepito Dizon
“Mahirap sisihin ang nakaraan. Mahirap manumbat nang hindi mo alam ang katotohanan. Masakit mang tanggapin ay kailangan ko nang magpaalam sa buhay na aking nakagisnan.”
Pinalaki ang batang si Pekto na malayo sa karimlan ng kahirapan. Hindi man mayaman ang kanyang mga magulang na sina Tatay Isko at Nanay Lukring ay sinikap nilang maibigay ang buhay na kailanman ay hindi nila nalasap sa kanilang kamusmusan. Magagarang damit, masasarap na pagkain, at mga usong laruan -- lahat ito ay minsang makamtan ni Pekto.
Pilyo at masayahin ang batang si Pekto. Siya’y makulit at laki sa layaw dahil na rin sa magaang kamay ng kanyang mga itinuturing na magulang. Hindi niya kailanman natikman ang hagupit ng sinturon, ang malalapad na palad, ni ang mga patpat. Malaya niyang nagagawa ang mga bagay na nais niya. Nakakapaglaro siya buong araw nang walang tigil. Nakakapunta siya sa malalayong lugar nang walang paalam.
Lumipas ang panahon, naging ganap na binata na si Pekto. Inaasahan mang makakapagtapos siya ng pag-aaral ay tila mailap na pangarap na lamang ito para sa kanyang mga magulang. Nagbulakbol at napariwara si Pekto hindi dahil sa kamalian ng kanyang mga magulang sa pagpapalaki sa kanya kundi bagkus ay sa tigas ng ulo na kanyang angkin.
Hindi naglaon at naging pariwara ang binata. Nalulong siya bisyo at ipinagbabawal na gamot. Natutuhan niyang manghablot at magnakaw kasama ang kanyang barkada. Masaya siya sa ganitong buhay. Tila nga raw nasa heaven ang pakiramdam, ayon pa sa kanya. “Hindi ko kailangan ang eskwelahan. Mas marami akong nakukuha sa mga ginagawa ko!” wika ni Pekto.
“Anak, ang buhay na mayroon ka ngayon ay hindi magtatagal. Maaari kang makulong. Maaaring masira ang buo mong pagkatao. Itigil mo na iyan,” pagmamakaawa ng kanyang nanay sa kanya.
“Lintik na buhay ‘to, ginusto ko ‘to! Wala kayong pakialam sa kahahantungan ko,” sumbat niya.
Nasuntok siya ng kanyang Tatay Isko dahil sa kabastusan, “Hindi ka namin pinalaki upang bastusin kami. Wala kang modo! Kung isa ka lamang palang ahas na manunuklaw matapos pakainin at alagaan, sana noon pa…”
“Ano?” sabat ni Pekto. “Sana noon pa… ano?”
Napuno ng galit ang bahay na dati ay panay mga silid ng kasiyahan. Ngayon, ito ay lugar na ng pagtatalo at ingay. “Huwag mo akong pilitin,” sabi ni Tatay Isko.
Gayunpaman, hindi nagpatalo si Pekto. “Ano nga iyon, Tay? Aminin mo na! Aminin mo!”
“Anak, parang awa mo na, tumigil ka na,” namagitan na sii Nanay Lukring.
Subalit mabilis ang mga pangyayari at nabitawan rin ni Tatay Isko ang hindi inaasahan, “Sana noon pa ay hindi ka na lang naming inampon!”
Sabi ko na nga ba,” pahayag ni Pekto na may halong poot. Matapos iyon ay lumayas siya sa bahay dahil sa mga hindi inaasahang rebelasyon.
Kinabukasan, nang-holdap ng dyip ang barkada ni Pekto. Sa kasamaang palad, may pulis na sakay ang naturang sasakyan kaya’t tanging kabiguan ang kanilang natamo. Nahuli siya kasama ng mga kaibigan at nang lumaon ay nakulong.
Walang nalalaman ang mga magulang niya sa nangyari dahil na rin sa kanyang ginawang paglalayas. Isa na ngayon siyang bilanggo sa madilim at siksikang kulungan. Pighati, galit, at lungkot ang kanyang naramdaman sa gitna ng karimlan.
“Isa akong ampon at bilanggo ng sarili kong kalapastanganan. Walang mga magulang at hindi alam kung sino ang tunay na ama at ina. Ito na rin siguro ang kapalit ng mga nagawa ko. At kung ito na nga talaga ang katotohanan ng buhay ay nais ko nang magpaalam sa kasinungalingang itinuring kong realidad,” wika ni Pekto bago siya abutan ng antok sa kanyang selda.
Ang buhay na pilit ibinigay sa kanya ng mga magulang na nagmamalasakit ay isa na ngayong alikabok sa alapaap. Malayo na sa tunay nangyayari, at nakakulong na sa apat na kanto ng kulungan na tinanggap niya bilang niyang bagong mundo at bagong buhay.
“Mahirap sisihin ang nakaraan. Mahirap manumbat nang hindi mo alam ang katotohanan. Masakit mang tanggapin ay kailangan ko nang magpaalam sa buhay na aking nakagisnan.”
Pinalaki ang batang si Pekto na malayo sa karimlan ng kahirapan. Hindi man mayaman ang kanyang mga magulang na sina Tatay Isko at Nanay Lukring ay sinikap nilang maibigay ang buhay na kailanman ay hindi nila nalasap sa kanilang kamusmusan. Magagarang damit, masasarap na pagkain, at mga usong laruan -- lahat ito ay minsang makamtan ni Pekto.
Pilyo at masayahin ang batang si Pekto. Siya’y makulit at laki sa layaw dahil na rin sa magaang kamay ng kanyang mga itinuturing na magulang. Hindi niya kailanman natikman ang hagupit ng sinturon, ang malalapad na palad, ni ang mga patpat. Malaya niyang nagagawa ang mga bagay na nais niya. Nakakapaglaro siya buong araw nang walang tigil. Nakakapunta siya sa malalayong lugar nang walang paalam.
Lumipas ang panahon, naging ganap na binata na si Pekto. Inaasahan mang makakapagtapos siya ng pag-aaral ay tila mailap na pangarap na lamang ito para sa kanyang mga magulang. Nagbulakbol at napariwara si Pekto hindi dahil sa kamalian ng kanyang mga magulang sa pagpapalaki sa kanya kundi bagkus ay sa tigas ng ulo na kanyang angkin.
Hindi naglaon at naging pariwara ang binata. Nalulong siya bisyo at ipinagbabawal na gamot. Natutuhan niyang manghablot at magnakaw kasama ang kanyang barkada. Masaya siya sa ganitong buhay. Tila nga raw nasa heaven ang pakiramdam, ayon pa sa kanya. “Hindi ko kailangan ang eskwelahan. Mas marami akong nakukuha sa mga ginagawa ko!” wika ni Pekto.
“Anak, ang buhay na mayroon ka ngayon ay hindi magtatagal. Maaari kang makulong. Maaaring masira ang buo mong pagkatao. Itigil mo na iyan,” pagmamakaawa ng kanyang nanay sa kanya.
“Lintik na buhay ‘to, ginusto ko ‘to! Wala kayong pakialam sa kahahantungan ko,” sumbat niya.
Nasuntok siya ng kanyang Tatay Isko dahil sa kabastusan, “Hindi ka namin pinalaki upang bastusin kami. Wala kang modo! Kung isa ka lamang palang ahas na manunuklaw matapos pakainin at alagaan, sana noon pa…”
“Ano?” sabat ni Pekto. “Sana noon pa… ano?”
Napuno ng galit ang bahay na dati ay panay mga silid ng kasiyahan. Ngayon, ito ay lugar na ng pagtatalo at ingay. “Huwag mo akong pilitin,” sabi ni Tatay Isko.
Gayunpaman, hindi nagpatalo si Pekto. “Ano nga iyon, Tay? Aminin mo na! Aminin mo!”
“Anak, parang awa mo na, tumigil ka na,” namagitan na sii Nanay Lukring.
Subalit mabilis ang mga pangyayari at nabitawan rin ni Tatay Isko ang hindi inaasahan, “Sana noon pa ay hindi ka na lang naming inampon!”
Sabi ko na nga ba,” pahayag ni Pekto na may halong poot. Matapos iyon ay lumayas siya sa bahay dahil sa mga hindi inaasahang rebelasyon.
Kinabukasan, nang-holdap ng dyip ang barkada ni Pekto. Sa kasamaang palad, may pulis na sakay ang naturang sasakyan kaya’t tanging kabiguan ang kanilang natamo. Nahuli siya kasama ng mga kaibigan at nang lumaon ay nakulong.
Walang nalalaman ang mga magulang niya sa nangyari dahil na rin sa kanyang ginawang paglalayas. Isa na ngayon siyang bilanggo sa madilim at siksikang kulungan. Pighati, galit, at lungkot ang kanyang naramdaman sa gitna ng karimlan.
“Isa akong ampon at bilanggo ng sarili kong kalapastanganan. Walang mga magulang at hindi alam kung sino ang tunay na ama at ina. Ito na rin siguro ang kapalit ng mga nagawa ko. At kung ito na nga talaga ang katotohanan ng buhay ay nais ko nang magpaalam sa kasinungalingang itinuring kong realidad,” wika ni Pekto bago siya abutan ng antok sa kanyang selda.
Ang buhay na pilit ibinigay sa kanya ng mga magulang na nagmamalasakit ay isa na ngayong alikabok sa alapaap. Malayo na sa tunay nangyayari, at nakakulong na sa apat na kanto ng kulungan na tinanggap niya bilang niyang bagong mundo at bagong buhay.
Changes
By Eulaine Liza Dawa
Liza is leaving her country. At the young age of twenty, she believes that this is the only way to get herself and her family out of poverty.
“Wherever God leads me, I will go,” she keeps telling herself. Her principle in life is as hard as a stone; the doctrines taught to her remain still.
Liza grew up as a Christian Baptist -- a pretty conservative and obedient child of God indeed. She appears to be following all the laws of the Church and of the Bible, but as she began her new life abroad, everything seems to be changing.
Modernity versus modesty. Thinking about it, she remembered Pastor Earnhart’s sermon: “We live in a modern world but it doesn’t mean that we have to lose our modesty by wearing skimpy clothes.” But did she listen to those principles?
From longer skirts to shorter skirts; from decent blouses to backless blouses and plunging necklines. Is this what she really wants?
In her mind, she wants to try it. “There’s nothing to lose if I wear those, right?”
Once, a man of deep hazel eyes named Deepak approached her while she was having a good time at a pub and said, “Hey, can we dance?” After dancing wildly, he asked her for a drink.
After the first gulp, she wanted another.
And another.
She had never done these things before. Is this what they call freedom?
In her mind, she whould like to believe that it is freedom. Freedom away from her family, her friends, and her church.
Is she away from God? No, because God sees everything that she does.
As she goes away from her rock solid foundation, she’s also bending the rules day by day. She then loses her good testimony as a Baptist.
Time will come, God’s trumpet shall sound.
One time, her friend called her mom to give an alert on what’s been happening to her. With great confidence, Liza’s mother replied, “I do believe that my daughter knows her limitations.” Goodness, what could be more saddening?
She’s having an unbeliever for a boyfriend. Their cultural differences are radical. Their beliefs are pretty much worlds apart. Is she really bidding goodbye to holiness and saying welcome to worldliness? Is this really how her story should develop?
In the crossroad of confusion and despair, all we have to do is pray and ask God to lead us in His path of righteousness. Let us not allow ourselves to jump into worldly affairs up to the point of neglecting our spirituality. We should rather be strong; we should hold on and faint not. Let God be our foundation.
Let us not allow the world to change us but rather, let us change the world.
Liza is leaving her country. At the young age of twenty, she believes that this is the only way to get herself and her family out of poverty.
“Wherever God leads me, I will go,” she keeps telling herself. Her principle in life is as hard as a stone; the doctrines taught to her remain still.
Liza grew up as a Christian Baptist -- a pretty conservative and obedient child of God indeed. She appears to be following all the laws of the Church and of the Bible, but as she began her new life abroad, everything seems to be changing.
Modernity versus modesty. Thinking about it, she remembered Pastor Earnhart’s sermon: “We live in a modern world but it doesn’t mean that we have to lose our modesty by wearing skimpy clothes.” But did she listen to those principles?
From longer skirts to shorter skirts; from decent blouses to backless blouses and plunging necklines. Is this what she really wants?
In her mind, she wants to try it. “There’s nothing to lose if I wear those, right?”
Once, a man of deep hazel eyes named Deepak approached her while she was having a good time at a pub and said, “Hey, can we dance?” After dancing wildly, he asked her for a drink.
After the first gulp, she wanted another.
And another.
She had never done these things before. Is this what they call freedom?
In her mind, she whould like to believe that it is freedom. Freedom away from her family, her friends, and her church.
Is she away from God? No, because God sees everything that she does.
As she goes away from her rock solid foundation, she’s also bending the rules day by day. She then loses her good testimony as a Baptist.
Time will come, God’s trumpet shall sound.
One time, her friend called her mom to give an alert on what’s been happening to her. With great confidence, Liza’s mother replied, “I do believe that my daughter knows her limitations.” Goodness, what could be more saddening?
She’s having an unbeliever for a boyfriend. Their cultural differences are radical. Their beliefs are pretty much worlds apart. Is she really bidding goodbye to holiness and saying welcome to worldliness? Is this really how her story should develop?
In the crossroad of confusion and despair, all we have to do is pray and ask God to lead us in His path of righteousness. Let us not allow ourselves to jump into worldly affairs up to the point of neglecting our spirituality. We should rather be strong; we should hold on and faint not. Let God be our foundation.
Let us not allow the world to change us but rather, let us change the world.
Night Club
By Jerome Ganzon
Pumipitik-pitik ang ilaw
sa bawat segundo ito’y sumasayaw
nagsisimula nang yumugyog
ang musikang pinatutugtog
Lumabas na rin ang pinakahihintay
sa entabladong sila’y sanay na sanay
humiga at mamaluktot
upang ipakita ang kanilang talulot
Nakakailang serbesa na
ang aking natutungga
pagod at nagsawa na
ang aking mga mata sa kakatitig sa kanila
Nang mag-init na ang aking kalamnan
agad-agad kong nilapitan
ang Ebang aking natitipuhan
upang sa kanya ibuntong ang tawag ng laman
Agad kaming nakarating
sa isang murang motel sa Santa Mesa
‘di na kami nagatubili
umupa ng kwartong luxury
Tumirik ang aking mata
sa pagsabog ng dalang kargada
kay sarap; ang sarap, sa uulitin
huwag lang sana akong bibitinin
Natapos din sa wakas ang aksyon sa kama
at kami ay tuluyang namahinga
tapos na rin ang gabi ng sarap
bukas, babalik muli sa buhay kong hirap.
Pumipitik-pitik ang ilaw
sa bawat segundo ito’y sumasayaw
nagsisimula nang yumugyog
ang musikang pinatutugtog
Lumabas na rin ang pinakahihintay
sa entabladong sila’y sanay na sanay
humiga at mamaluktot
upang ipakita ang kanilang talulot
Nakakailang serbesa na
ang aking natutungga
pagod at nagsawa na
ang aking mga mata sa kakatitig sa kanila
Nang mag-init na ang aking kalamnan
agad-agad kong nilapitan
ang Ebang aking natitipuhan
upang sa kanya ibuntong ang tawag ng laman
Agad kaming nakarating
sa isang murang motel sa Santa Mesa
‘di na kami nagatubili
umupa ng kwartong luxury
Tumirik ang aking mata
sa pagsabog ng dalang kargada
kay sarap; ang sarap, sa uulitin
huwag lang sana akong bibitinin
Natapos din sa wakas ang aksyon sa kama
at kami ay tuluyang namahinga
tapos na rin ang gabi ng sarap
bukas, babalik muli sa buhay kong hirap.
Sine
By Bernard John Abraham
“Boss, service?”
Nilapitan ni Erwin ang lalaking kapapasok lang. Hindi ito sumagot at mukhang hindi rin siya napansin. Nilagpasan siya nito at nagtungo sa balcony at doon naupo. Sinundan niya ito. “Boss, service?” bulong muli ni Erwin, sa tinig niyang higit na kaakit-akit ngayon.
“Ano’ng pangalan mo?” tanong niya sa mama habang hinihimas ang balikat nito. Hindi naman pupunta ito dito para manood ng sine, dahil kung ganoon, dapat sana’y nasa SM siya kung saan mas matino ang sinehan. At wala pa ni isa ang pumasok dito para lang manood ng palabas. Iba ang dahilan ng mamang ito, at alam ni Erwin kung ano ‘yon.
Sa wakas, sumagot din ang lalaking nakaupo. “Magkano?”
Maya-maya pa, dalawang anino ang nilamon ng kadiliman sa likuran ng sinehan.
“Kuya! Kuya!”
Kakapikit pa lang ng mga mata ni Erwin. Naisip niyang maidlip lang sandali bago maghain ng almusal para sa mga kapatid. Isang balot na tasty bread at spaghetti galing karinderiya sa kanto ang uwi niya. Medyo nakarami siya kagabi at malaki-laki ang kinita niya kaya’t sulit na rin ang pagod. Mga ilang minuto marahil nang mapanaginipan niya na ginigising siya ni Biboy at parang natataranta ito.
“KUYA!!!”
Napabalikwas ng bangon si Erwin. Hindi pala panaginip ‘yon. “Ano ba yun, Biboy?” Garalgal ang boses niya. Gaano ba siya katagal nakatulog?
Humahangos si Biboy, akala mo’y hinabol ng sampung demonyo. “Si Nanang! Inaatake na naman!”
“Kunin mo yung mga gamot niya, dali! Nandu’n sa ibabaw ng tokador,” dali-daling utos ni Erwin habang siya nama’y kumuha ng isang basong tubig. Agad niya itong itinakbo sa hinihigaan ng matanda na nakahukot ang katawan sa pag-ubo.
“Nang, gamot n’yo ho,” inabot niya ang tabletas habang hinahaplos ang likod ng matanda.
“Ano’ng oras ka dumating? Kumain ka na ba?” tanong ni Nanang Conching nang medyo maibsan ang pag-ubo niya.
“Shhh… ‘wag nyo ‘kong alalahanin Nang, ayos lang ako. Magpahinga na kayo,” sabi ni Erwin habang tinutulungang humiga ang lola niya.
“Malaki-laking halaga pa ang kailangan para maipagamot ang Nanang,” pagmumuni ni Erwin habang inihahanda ang hapag-kainan. Hindi pa sapat ang naiipon niya para doon. Wala naman siyang magagawa. Kahit nasusulasok na siya sa ginagawa niya, kahit dapang-dapa na ang pagkatao niya, wala siyang ibang alam na trabaho na makakapagbigay ng malaking halaga nang mabilisan. Bukod pa roon, nag-aaral pa sina Biboy at Marie. Marami siyang pangarap para sa mga kapatid niya, at ayaw niyang matulad ang mga ito sa kanya na hindi man lang nakapagtapos ng high school. Alam niya ang hirap ng buhay ng walang hawak na diploma, ng walang natapos. Kaya kahit hindi niya ginusto, pikit-mata niyang pinasok ang mundong ito.
“‘Tol, hindi kakayanin ng pagsisikyu mo ang pagpapagamot diyan sa Nanang mo.”
Hinila ni Marco ang nakasabit na lighter sa may bintana ng tindahan at sinindihan ang sigarilyo niya. “Magha-hayskul na rin si Biboy, mas mahal na ang mga gastusin niyan.”
“Alam ko pare,” inubos ni Erwin ang iniinom niya at itinapon ang lalagyan nito sa basurahan, “kaya nga naghahanap pa ‘ko ng pwedeng sideline e. Baka naman may alam kang pwede kong maging raket?”
Tinignan siya ni Marco mula ulo hanggang paa. Maganda ang hubog ng katawan nito. May itsura rin naman. Pasado ‘to. Napangiti si Marco sa pumasok sa isip niya.
“‘Tol, sama ka sa’kin, ire-refer kita sa pinapasukan ko. Tanggap ka dun! Ako’ng bahala.”
“Saan ‘yan?”
“Diyan lang sa Quiapo.”
Mahilo-hilong tumakbo si Erwin sa mabahong palikuran, tumapat sa inudoro at dumuwal.
“Masasanay ka rin,” sumandal si Marco sa may pader habang humihithit ng sigarilyo niya. Sinundan pala siya nito. “Ganyan talaga sa umpisa, pero pagtagal, masasanay ka rin.”
Tagaktak ang pawis sa noo ni Erwin. “Pare… hindi ko kaya ‘to,” humihingal niyang sinabi.
“E ano’ng gusto mo?” medyo pasigaw ang boses ni Marco. “Panooring umuubo ng dugo ang Nanang mo? Panooring nandidilat sa gutom ang mga kapatid mo? Panoorin silang isa-isang nangangamatay sa harap mo?” Tinapon ni Marco ang upos sa timbang may tubig.
“Huwag kang gago, Erwin! Ito na ang pinakamadaling paraan para kumita ka ng malaki-laki. Yung kinikita mo sa isang buwan sa pagsi-sekyu, kikitain mo ng isang gabi lang dito. Pera ‘to ‘tol, pera!”
Hindi nakakibo si Erwin. Hindi niya maitatanggi ang katotohanan sa mga sinabi ni Marco. Wala siyang magagawa kundi gustuhin ‘to. Kailangan, kahit duming-dumi siya sa sarili niya.
“Masasanay ka rin,” sabi ni Marco habang tinatapik siya sa balikat.
“Masasanay din ako,” pagpapaniwala ni Erwin sa sarili.
Minsan, nadatnan ni Erwin na nagkukumpulan ang mga kapitbahay sa harap ng dampa nila. Wari mo’y nagtsitsismisan ng ganito kaaga. Pero napuna niya sa mga mukha nito ang halu-halong ekspresyon ng pagkaawa, pag-aalala, at pakikiramay.
“Sinugod nina Pedring sa ospital ang Nanang mo,” inaalo ni Aling Irma ang humihikbing si Marie. “Inatake na naman yata kagabi. Nagsisigaw si Biboy, humihingi ng tulong. Umuubo na raw ng dugo.”
“Boss, service?”
Naglaro ang mga daliri ni Erwin sa dibdib ng lalaki na nakuha niya. Mahirap magkakitaan kahit may liwanang na nanggagaling sa tabing. Pakiramdaman lang lahat. Kamay ang gagabay sa kanila. Kamay ang magsisilbing mata nila sa dilim.
“Nag-perform na kami ng initial tests: X-ray, lab tests, CT scan…”
Naglaro sa isip ang mga salitang sinabi ng doktor nang puntahan niya ang Nanang Conching sa ospital. Paulit-ulit na parang sirang plaka. Parang panaginip, parang galing sa kabilang dulo ng isang lagusan. Mahina. Malayo.
“…Bronchriectasis. I suggest na –confine muna siya dito for further tests…”
Nakapa ni Erwin ang butones ng pantalon ng lalaki at binuksan niya ito habang humahagod ang kanyang labi sa dibdib nito. Naramdaman niya ang mainit nitong hininga na dumadampi sa kanyang noo.
“…medyo hirap ang paghinga niya at napansin ko ding bumaba na ang kanyang timbang…”
Sumandal si Erwin sa upuan ng sinehan habang hinahalikan siya ng mama sa leeg pababa sa dibdib niya. Impit siyang umungol ngunit peke lamang ito. Mga natutuhan niya sa trabaho: ang papaniwalain ang kostumer na nasasarapan ka sa nagaganap, na gustong-gusto mong ibigay ang pinunta nila -- ang langit sa loob ng madilim at maduming impyerno sa kalagitnaan ng Quiapo.
“…may kasamang dugo na rin kapag umuubo siya. We suspect na nasa advanced stage na yung sakitn iya, baka kailangan niya na operahan or I-transfer ng ospital for a transplant…”
Pinaluhod siya ng lalaki sa harapan nito. Scripted na ‘to, alam na niya ang susunod na mangyayari. Natatawa siya sa sarili niya kapag naiisip niya ang mga unang araw niya sa ganitong “trabaho.” Tama si Marco, nasanay na rin siya, at natutuhang gustuhin habang kinasusuklaman ang ginagawa niya. Pero mas natatawa siya kapag naiisip niya kung paano naglaro ang kapalaran sa kanya. Kahit hindi mo gusto, isusubo mo pa rin ang inihain sa ‘yo, lalo na’t wala ka sa posisyon para mamili.
May dinukot ang mama sa likuran ng pantalon nito. Kumikinang ang bagay na iyon nang madaplisan ng liwanag na nagmumula sa tabing. Ngunit bago pa mapagtanto ni Erwin kung ano iyon, bumulusok na ito sa kaniyang dibdib. Wala siyang naramdaman maliban sa tila mabigat na nakatarak sa mga buto niya. Marahil dahil na rin sa gulat, o dahil sadyang matagal na siyang manhid. Sumagi sa isip niya sina Biboy at Marie, pati ang Nanang Conching niya. Napangiti siya. Naglalaro ang kapalaran, Nanang. Nakakatawa, nakakainis, pero wala tayong magagawa kundi ang makipaglaro dito.
Dama ni Erwin ang ginaw ng sahig na humahalik sa kanyang mukha, habang unti-unting naglalaho ang liwanag sa loob ng sinehan. Tapos na ang palabas at oras na para umuwi.
“Boss, service?”
Nilapitan ni Erwin ang lalaking kapapasok lang. Hindi ito sumagot at mukhang hindi rin siya napansin. Nilagpasan siya nito at nagtungo sa balcony at doon naupo. Sinundan niya ito. “Boss, service?” bulong muli ni Erwin, sa tinig niyang higit na kaakit-akit ngayon.
“Ano’ng pangalan mo?” tanong niya sa mama habang hinihimas ang balikat nito. Hindi naman pupunta ito dito para manood ng sine, dahil kung ganoon, dapat sana’y nasa SM siya kung saan mas matino ang sinehan. At wala pa ni isa ang pumasok dito para lang manood ng palabas. Iba ang dahilan ng mamang ito, at alam ni Erwin kung ano ‘yon.
Sa wakas, sumagot din ang lalaking nakaupo. “Magkano?”
Maya-maya pa, dalawang anino ang nilamon ng kadiliman sa likuran ng sinehan.
“Kuya! Kuya!”
Kakapikit pa lang ng mga mata ni Erwin. Naisip niyang maidlip lang sandali bago maghain ng almusal para sa mga kapatid. Isang balot na tasty bread at spaghetti galing karinderiya sa kanto ang uwi niya. Medyo nakarami siya kagabi at malaki-laki ang kinita niya kaya’t sulit na rin ang pagod. Mga ilang minuto marahil nang mapanaginipan niya na ginigising siya ni Biboy at parang natataranta ito.
“KUYA!!!”
Napabalikwas ng bangon si Erwin. Hindi pala panaginip ‘yon. “Ano ba yun, Biboy?” Garalgal ang boses niya. Gaano ba siya katagal nakatulog?
Humahangos si Biboy, akala mo’y hinabol ng sampung demonyo. “Si Nanang! Inaatake na naman!”
“Kunin mo yung mga gamot niya, dali! Nandu’n sa ibabaw ng tokador,” dali-daling utos ni Erwin habang siya nama’y kumuha ng isang basong tubig. Agad niya itong itinakbo sa hinihigaan ng matanda na nakahukot ang katawan sa pag-ubo.
“Nang, gamot n’yo ho,” inabot niya ang tabletas habang hinahaplos ang likod ng matanda.
“Ano’ng oras ka dumating? Kumain ka na ba?” tanong ni Nanang Conching nang medyo maibsan ang pag-ubo niya.
“Shhh… ‘wag nyo ‘kong alalahanin Nang, ayos lang ako. Magpahinga na kayo,” sabi ni Erwin habang tinutulungang humiga ang lola niya.
“Malaki-laking halaga pa ang kailangan para maipagamot ang Nanang,” pagmumuni ni Erwin habang inihahanda ang hapag-kainan. Hindi pa sapat ang naiipon niya para doon. Wala naman siyang magagawa. Kahit nasusulasok na siya sa ginagawa niya, kahit dapang-dapa na ang pagkatao niya, wala siyang ibang alam na trabaho na makakapagbigay ng malaking halaga nang mabilisan. Bukod pa roon, nag-aaral pa sina Biboy at Marie. Marami siyang pangarap para sa mga kapatid niya, at ayaw niyang matulad ang mga ito sa kanya na hindi man lang nakapagtapos ng high school. Alam niya ang hirap ng buhay ng walang hawak na diploma, ng walang natapos. Kaya kahit hindi niya ginusto, pikit-mata niyang pinasok ang mundong ito.
“‘Tol, hindi kakayanin ng pagsisikyu mo ang pagpapagamot diyan sa Nanang mo.”
Hinila ni Marco ang nakasabit na lighter sa may bintana ng tindahan at sinindihan ang sigarilyo niya. “Magha-hayskul na rin si Biboy, mas mahal na ang mga gastusin niyan.”
“Alam ko pare,” inubos ni Erwin ang iniinom niya at itinapon ang lalagyan nito sa basurahan, “kaya nga naghahanap pa ‘ko ng pwedeng sideline e. Baka naman may alam kang pwede kong maging raket?”
Tinignan siya ni Marco mula ulo hanggang paa. Maganda ang hubog ng katawan nito. May itsura rin naman. Pasado ‘to. Napangiti si Marco sa pumasok sa isip niya.
“‘Tol, sama ka sa’kin, ire-refer kita sa pinapasukan ko. Tanggap ka dun! Ako’ng bahala.”
“Saan ‘yan?”
“Diyan lang sa Quiapo.”
Mahilo-hilong tumakbo si Erwin sa mabahong palikuran, tumapat sa inudoro at dumuwal.
“Masasanay ka rin,” sumandal si Marco sa may pader habang humihithit ng sigarilyo niya. Sinundan pala siya nito. “Ganyan talaga sa umpisa, pero pagtagal, masasanay ka rin.”
Tagaktak ang pawis sa noo ni Erwin. “Pare… hindi ko kaya ‘to,” humihingal niyang sinabi.
“E ano’ng gusto mo?” medyo pasigaw ang boses ni Marco. “Panooring umuubo ng dugo ang Nanang mo? Panooring nandidilat sa gutom ang mga kapatid mo? Panoorin silang isa-isang nangangamatay sa harap mo?” Tinapon ni Marco ang upos sa timbang may tubig.
“Huwag kang gago, Erwin! Ito na ang pinakamadaling paraan para kumita ka ng malaki-laki. Yung kinikita mo sa isang buwan sa pagsi-sekyu, kikitain mo ng isang gabi lang dito. Pera ‘to ‘tol, pera!”
Hindi nakakibo si Erwin. Hindi niya maitatanggi ang katotohanan sa mga sinabi ni Marco. Wala siyang magagawa kundi gustuhin ‘to. Kailangan, kahit duming-dumi siya sa sarili niya.
“Masasanay ka rin,” sabi ni Marco habang tinatapik siya sa balikat.
“Masasanay din ako,” pagpapaniwala ni Erwin sa sarili.
Minsan, nadatnan ni Erwin na nagkukumpulan ang mga kapitbahay sa harap ng dampa nila. Wari mo’y nagtsitsismisan ng ganito kaaga. Pero napuna niya sa mga mukha nito ang halu-halong ekspresyon ng pagkaawa, pag-aalala, at pakikiramay.
“Sinugod nina Pedring sa ospital ang Nanang mo,” inaalo ni Aling Irma ang humihikbing si Marie. “Inatake na naman yata kagabi. Nagsisigaw si Biboy, humihingi ng tulong. Umuubo na raw ng dugo.”
“Boss, service?”
Naglaro ang mga daliri ni Erwin sa dibdib ng lalaki na nakuha niya. Mahirap magkakitaan kahit may liwanang na nanggagaling sa tabing. Pakiramdaman lang lahat. Kamay ang gagabay sa kanila. Kamay ang magsisilbing mata nila sa dilim.
“Nag-perform na kami ng initial tests: X-ray, lab tests, CT scan…”
Naglaro sa isip ang mga salitang sinabi ng doktor nang puntahan niya ang Nanang Conching sa ospital. Paulit-ulit na parang sirang plaka. Parang panaginip, parang galing sa kabilang dulo ng isang lagusan. Mahina. Malayo.
“…Bronchriectasis. I suggest na –confine muna siya dito for further tests…”
Nakapa ni Erwin ang butones ng pantalon ng lalaki at binuksan niya ito habang humahagod ang kanyang labi sa dibdib nito. Naramdaman niya ang mainit nitong hininga na dumadampi sa kanyang noo.
“…medyo hirap ang paghinga niya at napansin ko ding bumaba na ang kanyang timbang…”
Sumandal si Erwin sa upuan ng sinehan habang hinahalikan siya ng mama sa leeg pababa sa dibdib niya. Impit siyang umungol ngunit peke lamang ito. Mga natutuhan niya sa trabaho: ang papaniwalain ang kostumer na nasasarapan ka sa nagaganap, na gustong-gusto mong ibigay ang pinunta nila -- ang langit sa loob ng madilim at maduming impyerno sa kalagitnaan ng Quiapo.
“…may kasamang dugo na rin kapag umuubo siya. We suspect na nasa advanced stage na yung sakitn iya, baka kailangan niya na operahan or I-transfer ng ospital for a transplant…”
Pinaluhod siya ng lalaki sa harapan nito. Scripted na ‘to, alam na niya ang susunod na mangyayari. Natatawa siya sa sarili niya kapag naiisip niya ang mga unang araw niya sa ganitong “trabaho.” Tama si Marco, nasanay na rin siya, at natutuhang gustuhin habang kinasusuklaman ang ginagawa niya. Pero mas natatawa siya kapag naiisip niya kung paano naglaro ang kapalaran sa kanya. Kahit hindi mo gusto, isusubo mo pa rin ang inihain sa ‘yo, lalo na’t wala ka sa posisyon para mamili.
May dinukot ang mama sa likuran ng pantalon nito. Kumikinang ang bagay na iyon nang madaplisan ng liwanag na nagmumula sa tabing. Ngunit bago pa mapagtanto ni Erwin kung ano iyon, bumulusok na ito sa kaniyang dibdib. Wala siyang naramdaman maliban sa tila mabigat na nakatarak sa mga buto niya. Marahil dahil na rin sa gulat, o dahil sadyang matagal na siyang manhid. Sumagi sa isip niya sina Biboy at Marie, pati ang Nanang Conching niya. Napangiti siya. Naglalaro ang kapalaran, Nanang. Nakakatawa, nakakainis, pero wala tayong magagawa kundi ang makipaglaro dito.
Dama ni Erwin ang ginaw ng sahig na humahalik sa kanyang mukha, habang unti-unting naglalaho ang liwanag sa loob ng sinehan. Tapos na ang palabas at oras na para umuwi.
Worshippers of the Midnight Skies
By Bernard John Abraham
In the darkness that embrace us
we thrive. Far from the waking illusion
that they call their own.
In the midnight blue descending,
we arise from the cradles of day
to greet the twisted morning
of the silent, silent world.
This is reality
where the unfelt emotions rise
to a crescendo. Where the suppressed
are set free, on their own.
To be felt, to be noticed, to be known.
In the loneliness that no one feels,
save the worshippers of the midnight skies,
we wake. Far apart, yet bound as one.
We raise our ethereal hands to heaven
and sing to the forgotten White Deity,
save the worshippers of the midnight skies.
In the darkness that embrace us
we thrive, and in the same darkness
shall we ascend to the midnight blue,
far from the waking illusion
that they call their own.
In the darkness that embrace us
we thrive. Far from the waking illusion
that they call their own.
In the midnight blue descending,
we arise from the cradles of day
to greet the twisted morning
of the silent, silent world.
This is reality
where the unfelt emotions rise
to a crescendo. Where the suppressed
are set free, on their own.
To be felt, to be noticed, to be known.
In the loneliness that no one feels,
save the worshippers of the midnight skies,
we wake. Far apart, yet bound as one.
We raise our ethereal hands to heaven
and sing to the forgotten White Deity,
save the worshippers of the midnight skies.
In the darkness that embrace us
we thrive, and in the same darkness
shall we ascend to the midnight blue,
far from the waking illusion
that they call their own.
Caramel
By Bernard John Abraham
Innocence was ripped.
The half-dark was on.
This is so Greek
and there was heaven for sodom.
Not a chance in hell
that anything could be sweet.
But then we’re steaming, flowing,
swimming in dreams
and I can taste your skin.
We’re failing, but then
who expected us to win?
No rain of fire, but fire there is.
Fuelled by the potent brew
shining in your eyes.
Oh, it’s you
flaring, flaming, alive
in every inch of your body.
and I loved it.
Then I asked,
could anything be as sweet as this?
Or was it just a dream?
Innocence was ripped.
The half-dark was on.
This is so Greek
and there was heaven for sodom.
Not a chance in hell
that anything could be sweet.
But then we’re steaming, flowing,
swimming in dreams
and I can taste your skin.
We’re failing, but then
who expected us to win?
No rain of fire, but fire there is.
Fuelled by the potent brew
shining in your eyes.
Oh, it’s you
flaring, flaming, alive
in every inch of your body.
and I loved it.
Then I asked,
could anything be as sweet as this?
Or was it just a dream?
Blue Dancer
By Bernard John Abraham
Swirl.
Your slim countenance.
Your appearance, a wisp in the air
before me.
Your presence thickens the otherwise
thin atmosphere. And the heat...
‘midst the clouds of heaven
I find it hard to breathe.
Swing
to the rhythm of a beat unheard.
To the sultry melody -- illusion.
The seductive gait
you pose before my eyes.
Blue. You’re so blue.
You surround me, dancing
to oblivion.
Sway.
Dance with the wind.
Your breath consumes me,
and the heat consumes you.
Then suddenly my breath
and yours are one.
You take me with you -- slender
and silent, gentle and sweet.
A kiss, my kiss.
Until we’re such delicate ashes
crushed by this obsession.
Swirl.
Your slim countenance.
Your appearance, a wisp in the air
before me.
Your presence thickens the otherwise
thin atmosphere. And the heat...
‘midst the clouds of heaven
I find it hard to breathe.
Swing
to the rhythm of a beat unheard.
To the sultry melody -- illusion.
The seductive gait
you pose before my eyes.
Blue. You’re so blue.
You surround me, dancing
to oblivion.
Sway.
Dance with the wind.
Your breath consumes me,
and the heat consumes you.
Then suddenly my breath
and yours are one.
You take me with you -- slender
and silent, gentle and sweet.
A kiss, my kiss.
Until we’re such delicate ashes
crushed by this obsession.
Made in China
By Sonny Crestfort Lim
Hindi alam nina Mama na isinangla ko ang aking relo para maipagawa ko ang aking nasirang typewriter. Kaunti na lang at matatapos ko na ang aking kuwento. Mahirap ding magsulat dahil hindi butil ng pawis ang tatagiktik pababa sa iyong leeg, kundi mga butil ng dugo.
Kabubuhos lang ng ulan kani-kanina at ngayo’y ambon na lang ang pumapatak. Agad kong dinala ang aking makinilya sa isang pagawaan malapit sa Divisoria. Tinignan ng lalaki ang ilalim nito.
“Tol, made in China.”
“Ano namang koneksiyon no’n sa pagkasira?”
“Madaling masira kapag galing Tsina.”
“Kaya ko nga dinala para ipagawa.”
Lumabas muna ako saglit upang manigarlyo at mangalap ng ideya sa labas. Made in China? Halos lahat na yata ng gamit ng mga Pilipino ay gawang Tsina. Mula plato, hanggang sa pamunas ng puwit, karamihan ay gawa sa Tsina. Kasisindi ko lang ng sigarilyo nang may biglang bumulaga sa aking harapan.
“Pa-u-tang, li-ma pi-so.”
Napaubo ako nang malunok ko ang usok ng sigarilyo dahil sa pagkagulat.
“Pautang? Sino ka ba?”
Nakayuko lamang siya. Tinanong ko siya muli ngunit tila iyon lang ang alam niyang salita. Tinignan ko siyang mabuti. Maputi, singkit ang mata, at mahaba at itim na itim ang pinong buhok. Nakatingin lamang siya sa sahig.
“Miss, Chinese ka ba?” tanong ko sa kanya.
“Pa-u-tang, li-ma pi-so.” Inulit niya lang ang sinabi kanina.
Nagulat ako nang umiyak siya sa harapan ko kaya’t binigyan ko siya ng beinte pesos pero ibinalik din niya sa akin. Hindi ko mawari kung ano talaga ang kanyang gusto.
“Li-ma pi-so.”
“Limang pisong buo ba ang gusto mo?”
“Wo hui-pe. Li-ma.” Hindi ata siya marunong mag-Tagalog.
Kumatok sa bintana ng shop ang may-ari upang matawag ang aking pansin.
“‘Tol, ipapakita ko sayo ang sira ng makinilya.”
Muli akong lumingon sa babae ngunit pawang mga gusali’t mga sasakyan na lamang ang aking nakita. Umalis na ang babaeng kanina’y kaharap ko. Tinitigan ko na lamang ang limang pisong barya sa aking palad at ito’y aking ibinulsa.
“‘Tol, yung typewriter mo kinalawang sa loob.”
“Tsk tsk tsk… dati kasi, natapunan ko ata ng kape nu’ng minsang nagsusulat ako.”
“Bumili ka na lang ng bago.”
Ipinaiwan ko muna sa kanya ang aking typewriter at tinanong ko siya kung pwede munang umarkila ng maayos na makinilya sa kanya. Malas ko lang at hindi pwede kaya’t nakipag-ayos na lang ako na doon ko na lamang mismo sa kanyang shop ita-type ang natitirang kalahati ng aking kuwento.
“Pero limang piso ang bawat pindot ng letra sa typewriter ko.”
“Ulol,” sambit ko. At sabay kaming natawa.
Kinabukasan ay agad ko ring binalikan ang shop dala-dala ang aking mga gamit. Sinubukan kong katukin ang tarangkahan ngunit wala pang tao at sarado pa ito kaya’t naisipan ko munang tumambay sa tapat. Nangangati na ang aking kamay, at nangangapal na rin ang aking kalyo dahil ilang araw na rin akong walang tigil sa pagsusulat.
“Li-ma pi-so. Pa-u-tang.”
Utang na loob. Heto na naman siya’t nasa harapan ko. Hawak niya ang kapirasong papel habang binabasa ang mga sinasabi sa akin.
“Li-ma pi-so.”
Sige na nga, para matahimik lang. Inabot ko sa kanya ang limang piso at dali-dali siyang tumakbong papalayo sa akin. Pinulot ko sa sahig ang papel na hawak niya kanina. Hindi ko ito mabasa dahil panay Intsik ang nakasulat.
Naaninag ko mula sa malayo ang kulay rosas niyang kasuotan kaya’t sinundan ko siya hanggang sa umabot kami sa isang mall. Pumasok siya sa loob at sumunod din ako.
Nadatnan ko siyang naglalaro sa harap ng UFO catcher kung saan kailangan mong hulugan ng barya ang makina at igalaw nang tama ang joystick upang makakuha ng manyika. Pinindot niya ang pulang buton. Sablay siya. Hindi siya nakakuha ng manyika. Maya-maya, pilit niyang inalog ang UFO catcher habang naluluha.
“Phao khiam pieng yiu…” umiiyak siyang mag-isa sa harap ng makina habang hinahampas ito.
Nang mapansin ng guwardya, pilit siyang pinalabas ng arcade at sumisigaw siya sa wikang Intsik. Hindi ko na napigilan ang sarili ko at lumapit sa guwardyang nagtataboy sa kanya. Kinausap ko ito at sinabing kasama ko ang babae. Binitiwan din siya nang malaman ito. Nilapitan ko ang babae at inabutan na lang ng tissue dahil hindi ko maiabot ang aking panyo na puno ng sipon.
“Kham sia…”
Iyon lang ang alam kong salitang Intsik. Ibig sabihin nito’y nagpapasalamat siya sa akin. Nginitian ko siya at itinuro ang UFO catcher. Kumuha ako ng barya mula sa aking bulsa at sinubukan kong kumuha ng manyika para sa kanya. Ngunit may itinuturo siya sa akin, na para bang iyon ang manyikang dapat kong makuha.
“Hiet teh. Hiet teh,” sambit niya habang itinuturo ang manyika.
“Hiet teh,” sabi ko sa kanya kahit hindi ko naintindihan ang ibig niyang sabihin.
Makailang-ulit din akong naghulog ng limang piso sa makina. Nang maubusan ay kinailangan pa naming magpabarya. Sa ika-pitong ulit namin sa paglalaro ay nakuha rin namin sa wakas ang manyika. Napahiyaw kami sa tuwa. Lumuhod siya at kinuha ang manika sa ibaba ng makina at mahigpit niya itong niyakap.
“Tsin tsue kham sie a hia’n…”
Hindi ko alam kung ano ang sasabihin ko kaya’t nag-imbento na lamang ako ng kung anu-anong kalokohan, “Chong, ching, chong, ching.”
Pagkatapos ay kumain kami ng calamares at gulaman sa kanto sa may labas ng mall. Napapaisip ako kung anong meron sa manyikang yon. Gusto ko sana siyang makausap ngunit hindi ko alam kung papaano. Ginamit niya bilang chopsticks ang mga barbeque stick na panusok sa calamares. Itinuro ko sa kanya na isinasawsaw ito sa suka.
“Ho tsiah!” nakangiti niyang sinabi sa akin. Siguro’y nagustuhan niya ang aming kinakain. Pagkatapos naming inumin ang gulaman ay kinuha niya ang aking baso upang itapon ito sa basurahan.
Pagbalik niya ay lumapit siya sa akin at hinalikan ako sa pisngi. Nagulat ako. Natulala ako. Hindi ko namalayang tumakbo na siya papalayo, kumakaway habang nagpapaalam.
“Bukas magkikita tayo! Babayaran mo pa yung mga utang mo sa akin!” kumaway rin ako sa kanya. Hindi pa rin ako makapaniwala.
“Tzai tzian!” kumaway siya hanggang sa hindi ko na siya maaninag.
Kinabukasan ay binalikan ko ang aking made in China na typewriter. Gusto kong kunin ito sa may-ari ng shop. Ito pa rin ang gusto kong gamitin sa sinusulat kong akda. Kumatok ako ngunit sarado na naman ito gaya kahapon. Umupo ako sa harapan ng shop at inilapag ang isang folder sa sahig upang gawing upuan. Nakayuko ako nang mapansin kong may nakatayo sa harapan ko. Tama ang hinala ko.
“Pieng yiu…”
Nagulat ako dahil may dala-dala siyang mga bagahe. Tumayo ako upang itanong sa kanya kung bakit. May hawak siyang maliit na Chinese-Tagalog dictionary at sinabing kailangan na niyang umalis. Pilipit ang kanyang Tagalog pero pinipilit niya pa rin itong sabihin sa akin. Kinuha niya ang aking kamay at inilagay ang isang papel sa aking palad.
“Tzai tzian. Xie-xie…”
Tumayo ako’t niyakap siya. Sinabi ko sa kanyang mag-iingat siya sa biyahe kahit na alam kong hindi niya maiintindihan ang mga salitang iyon. Mahigpit din ang kanyang yakap at pinilit niyang magsalita ng Tagalog habang hawak ang diksyunaryo. Nagsalita na lamang siya sa Chinese habang lumuluha nang hindi na niya mawari kung ano ang nais niyang sabihin. Kumalas siya sa pagkakayakap at pumara ng taxi. Kumaway siya sa akin habang papalayo hanggang sa hindi ko na siya matanaw.
Bandang tanghali ay nagtungo ako sa isang Chinese restaurant. Kaibigan ni tatay ang may-ari. Naalala ko na bago umalis ang babae ay may ibinigay siyang sulat sa akin na hindi ko naman mabasa dahil panay Intsik ang mga nakasulat. Sinabi ko sa kaibigan ni tatay na o-order ako ng dalawang malaking mangkok ng mami basta’t isalin niya sa Tagalog ang mga nakasaad sa papel. Pumayag naman siya at nagkuwentuhan kami habang hinihintay ang aking inorder. Umupo siya sa harapan ko nang iabot ko ang sulat. Inilapag na sa harapan ko ang dalawang mangkok na mami.
“Babae ba siya?” tanong niya sa akin.
“Mei-leung ang pangalan niya. Heto’t babasahin ko na.” at binasa niya ito sa aking harapan:
Pigil ang aking luha habang binabasa ito sa aking harapan. Nanginginig ng bahagya ang aking kamay habang hawak ko ang chopsticks. Hanggang sa hindi ko na napigilang mapaluha habang kumakain ng mami. Tinakpan ko ang aking mga mata. Bakit nga ba ako naluluha? Hindi naman siguro malaking kawalan ang limang pisong barya, pero sa ikli ng pinagsamahan namin ay naging espesyal na siya sa akin lalo pa nang malaman ko na ang tunay niyang kuwento.
“May iniwan siyang address at telephone number.”
“Maraming salamat po sa pagbasa nito sa akin.”
“Huwag mo nang bayaran yung mami, libre ko na lang sa’yo iyan. Nakakaantig naman.”
Nginitian ko na lamang siya at muling nagpasalamat.
Naubos ko na ang dalawang mangkok ng mami. Hindi ko alam kung bakit ako napatingin sa puwitan ng mangkok, ngunit nang basahin ko ang nakasulat, muli akong napangiti. Ito rin pala’y made in China.
Hindi alam nina Mama na isinangla ko ang aking relo para maipagawa ko ang aking nasirang typewriter. Kaunti na lang at matatapos ko na ang aking kuwento. Mahirap ding magsulat dahil hindi butil ng pawis ang tatagiktik pababa sa iyong leeg, kundi mga butil ng dugo.
Kabubuhos lang ng ulan kani-kanina at ngayo’y ambon na lang ang pumapatak. Agad kong dinala ang aking makinilya sa isang pagawaan malapit sa Divisoria. Tinignan ng lalaki ang ilalim nito.
“Tol, made in China.”
“Ano namang koneksiyon no’n sa pagkasira?”
“Madaling masira kapag galing Tsina.”
“Kaya ko nga dinala para ipagawa.”
Lumabas muna ako saglit upang manigarlyo at mangalap ng ideya sa labas. Made in China? Halos lahat na yata ng gamit ng mga Pilipino ay gawang Tsina. Mula plato, hanggang sa pamunas ng puwit, karamihan ay gawa sa Tsina. Kasisindi ko lang ng sigarilyo nang may biglang bumulaga sa aking harapan.
“Pa-u-tang, li-ma pi-so.”
Napaubo ako nang malunok ko ang usok ng sigarilyo dahil sa pagkagulat.
“Pautang? Sino ka ba?”
Nakayuko lamang siya. Tinanong ko siya muli ngunit tila iyon lang ang alam niyang salita. Tinignan ko siyang mabuti. Maputi, singkit ang mata, at mahaba at itim na itim ang pinong buhok. Nakatingin lamang siya sa sahig.
“Miss, Chinese ka ba?” tanong ko sa kanya.
“Pa-u-tang, li-ma pi-so.” Inulit niya lang ang sinabi kanina.
Nagulat ako nang umiyak siya sa harapan ko kaya’t binigyan ko siya ng beinte pesos pero ibinalik din niya sa akin. Hindi ko mawari kung ano talaga ang kanyang gusto.
“Li-ma pi-so.”
“Limang pisong buo ba ang gusto mo?”
“Wo hui-pe. Li-ma.” Hindi ata siya marunong mag-Tagalog.
Kumatok sa bintana ng shop ang may-ari upang matawag ang aking pansin.
“‘Tol, ipapakita ko sayo ang sira ng makinilya.”
Muli akong lumingon sa babae ngunit pawang mga gusali’t mga sasakyan na lamang ang aking nakita. Umalis na ang babaeng kanina’y kaharap ko. Tinitigan ko na lamang ang limang pisong barya sa aking palad at ito’y aking ibinulsa.
“‘Tol, yung typewriter mo kinalawang sa loob.”
“Tsk tsk tsk… dati kasi, natapunan ko ata ng kape nu’ng minsang nagsusulat ako.”
“Bumili ka na lang ng bago.”
Ipinaiwan ko muna sa kanya ang aking typewriter at tinanong ko siya kung pwede munang umarkila ng maayos na makinilya sa kanya. Malas ko lang at hindi pwede kaya’t nakipag-ayos na lang ako na doon ko na lamang mismo sa kanyang shop ita-type ang natitirang kalahati ng aking kuwento.
“Pero limang piso ang bawat pindot ng letra sa typewriter ko.”
“Ulol,” sambit ko. At sabay kaming natawa.
Kinabukasan ay agad ko ring binalikan ang shop dala-dala ang aking mga gamit. Sinubukan kong katukin ang tarangkahan ngunit wala pang tao at sarado pa ito kaya’t naisipan ko munang tumambay sa tapat. Nangangati na ang aking kamay, at nangangapal na rin ang aking kalyo dahil ilang araw na rin akong walang tigil sa pagsusulat.
“Li-ma pi-so. Pa-u-tang.”
Utang na loob. Heto na naman siya’t nasa harapan ko. Hawak niya ang kapirasong papel habang binabasa ang mga sinasabi sa akin.
“Li-ma pi-so.”
Sige na nga, para matahimik lang. Inabot ko sa kanya ang limang piso at dali-dali siyang tumakbong papalayo sa akin. Pinulot ko sa sahig ang papel na hawak niya kanina. Hindi ko ito mabasa dahil panay Intsik ang nakasulat.
Naaninag ko mula sa malayo ang kulay rosas niyang kasuotan kaya’t sinundan ko siya hanggang sa umabot kami sa isang mall. Pumasok siya sa loob at sumunod din ako.
Nadatnan ko siyang naglalaro sa harap ng UFO catcher kung saan kailangan mong hulugan ng barya ang makina at igalaw nang tama ang joystick upang makakuha ng manyika. Pinindot niya ang pulang buton. Sablay siya. Hindi siya nakakuha ng manyika. Maya-maya, pilit niyang inalog ang UFO catcher habang naluluha.
“Phao khiam pieng yiu…” umiiyak siyang mag-isa sa harap ng makina habang hinahampas ito.
Nang mapansin ng guwardya, pilit siyang pinalabas ng arcade at sumisigaw siya sa wikang Intsik. Hindi ko na napigilan ang sarili ko at lumapit sa guwardyang nagtataboy sa kanya. Kinausap ko ito at sinabing kasama ko ang babae. Binitiwan din siya nang malaman ito. Nilapitan ko ang babae at inabutan na lang ng tissue dahil hindi ko maiabot ang aking panyo na puno ng sipon.
“Kham sia…”
Iyon lang ang alam kong salitang Intsik. Ibig sabihin nito’y nagpapasalamat siya sa akin. Nginitian ko siya at itinuro ang UFO catcher. Kumuha ako ng barya mula sa aking bulsa at sinubukan kong kumuha ng manyika para sa kanya. Ngunit may itinuturo siya sa akin, na para bang iyon ang manyikang dapat kong makuha.
“Hiet teh. Hiet teh,” sambit niya habang itinuturo ang manyika.
“Hiet teh,” sabi ko sa kanya kahit hindi ko naintindihan ang ibig niyang sabihin.
Makailang-ulit din akong naghulog ng limang piso sa makina. Nang maubusan ay kinailangan pa naming magpabarya. Sa ika-pitong ulit namin sa paglalaro ay nakuha rin namin sa wakas ang manyika. Napahiyaw kami sa tuwa. Lumuhod siya at kinuha ang manika sa ibaba ng makina at mahigpit niya itong niyakap.
“Tsin tsue kham sie a hia’n…”
Hindi ko alam kung ano ang sasabihin ko kaya’t nag-imbento na lamang ako ng kung anu-anong kalokohan, “Chong, ching, chong, ching.”
Pagkatapos ay kumain kami ng calamares at gulaman sa kanto sa may labas ng mall. Napapaisip ako kung anong meron sa manyikang yon. Gusto ko sana siyang makausap ngunit hindi ko alam kung papaano. Ginamit niya bilang chopsticks ang mga barbeque stick na panusok sa calamares. Itinuro ko sa kanya na isinasawsaw ito sa suka.
“Ho tsiah!” nakangiti niyang sinabi sa akin. Siguro’y nagustuhan niya ang aming kinakain. Pagkatapos naming inumin ang gulaman ay kinuha niya ang aking baso upang itapon ito sa basurahan.
Pagbalik niya ay lumapit siya sa akin at hinalikan ako sa pisngi. Nagulat ako. Natulala ako. Hindi ko namalayang tumakbo na siya papalayo, kumakaway habang nagpapaalam.
“Bukas magkikita tayo! Babayaran mo pa yung mga utang mo sa akin!” kumaway rin ako sa kanya. Hindi pa rin ako makapaniwala.
“Tzai tzian!” kumaway siya hanggang sa hindi ko na siya maaninag.
Kinabukasan ay binalikan ko ang aking made in China na typewriter. Gusto kong kunin ito sa may-ari ng shop. Ito pa rin ang gusto kong gamitin sa sinusulat kong akda. Kumatok ako ngunit sarado na naman ito gaya kahapon. Umupo ako sa harapan ng shop at inilapag ang isang folder sa sahig upang gawing upuan. Nakayuko ako nang mapansin kong may nakatayo sa harapan ko. Tama ang hinala ko.
“Pieng yiu…”
Nagulat ako dahil may dala-dala siyang mga bagahe. Tumayo ako upang itanong sa kanya kung bakit. May hawak siyang maliit na Chinese-Tagalog dictionary at sinabing kailangan na niyang umalis. Pilipit ang kanyang Tagalog pero pinipilit niya pa rin itong sabihin sa akin. Kinuha niya ang aking kamay at inilagay ang isang papel sa aking palad.
“Tzai tzian. Xie-xie…”
Tumayo ako’t niyakap siya. Sinabi ko sa kanyang mag-iingat siya sa biyahe kahit na alam kong hindi niya maiintindihan ang mga salitang iyon. Mahigpit din ang kanyang yakap at pinilit niyang magsalita ng Tagalog habang hawak ang diksyunaryo. Nagsalita na lamang siya sa Chinese habang lumuluha nang hindi na niya mawari kung ano ang nais niyang sabihin. Kumalas siya sa pagkakayakap at pumara ng taxi. Kumaway siya sa akin habang papalayo hanggang sa hindi ko na siya matanaw.
Bandang tanghali ay nagtungo ako sa isang Chinese restaurant. Kaibigan ni tatay ang may-ari. Naalala ko na bago umalis ang babae ay may ibinigay siyang sulat sa akin na hindi ko naman mabasa dahil panay Intsik ang mga nakasulat. Sinabi ko sa kaibigan ni tatay na o-order ako ng dalawang malaking mangkok ng mami basta’t isalin niya sa Tagalog ang mga nakasaad sa papel. Pumayag naman siya at nagkuwentuhan kami habang hinihintay ang aking inorder. Umupo siya sa harapan ko nang iabot ko ang sulat. Inilapag na sa harapan ko ang dalawang mangkok na mami.
“Babae ba siya?” tanong niya sa akin.
“Mei-leung ang pangalan niya. Heto’t babasahin ko na.” at binasa niya ito sa aking harapan:
Maraming salamat sa pagtulong sa akin. Mahigit isang buwan na rin akong nandito sa Pilipinas. Alam kong nagtataka ka kung ano’ng meron sa manyikang iyon. Noon, dahil sa kawalan ng pera, wala akong nagawa nang magkasakit ang kapatid ko. Kaya’t naisipan kong ibenta lahat ng gamit na alam kong maaari kong maibenta, kasama na rin yung manyika ng kapatid ko. Ngunit nasayang din ang lahat dahil namatay din siya. Naisip ko, kasalanan ko ito dahil ibinenta ko ang pinakamamahal niyang manyika. Pinilit kong bawiin ang manyikang iyon. Nalaman ko na lang na isinama ito sa mga manyikang dadalhin sa Pilipinas. Kinuha ko ang address kung saan ito dinala kaya’t nang maging maayos na ulit ang buhay namin ay pinuntahan ko ito nang mag-isa. Nahirapan pa rin ako sa paghahanap nito sa Pilipinas. Laking gulat ko na lang nang makita ko siya na nakakulong sa isang makina na hinuhulugan ng barya.
Maraming beses kong sinubukang makuha ito. Hanggang sa pinilit kong kausapin ang mga empleyado na babayaran ko na lamang ang manyika basta’t buksan nila ang makina para sa akin ngunit hindi nila ako maintindihan. Minsan, sinubukan ko pa ngang basagin ang salamin pero itinaboy ako ng guwardiya. Nagtrabaho muna ako sa Divisoria ng pansamantala ngunit hindi ko rin kinaya, kaya’t nagpalaboy-laboy akong walang pera. Mahal na mahal ng kapatid ko ang manyikang ito at alam ko sa sarili kong kantangahan ang ibenta ito sa iba.
Nahanap na rin ako ng aking pamilya sa Tsina. Alam kong pagagalitan nila ako dahil tumakas lang ako at mag-isang nagpunta dito. Pero masaya ako’t maisasauli ko na sa aking kapatid ang manyikang ito at tinitiyak ko na matutuwa siya.
Maraming salamat sa limang piso at hayaan mo, pagbalik ko sa Pilipinas ay babayaran kita. Salamat ulit at paalam, aking kaibigan.
- Mei Leung Chiokai
Pigil ang aking luha habang binabasa ito sa aking harapan. Nanginginig ng bahagya ang aking kamay habang hawak ko ang chopsticks. Hanggang sa hindi ko na napigilang mapaluha habang kumakain ng mami. Tinakpan ko ang aking mga mata. Bakit nga ba ako naluluha? Hindi naman siguro malaking kawalan ang limang pisong barya, pero sa ikli ng pinagsamahan namin ay naging espesyal na siya sa akin lalo pa nang malaman ko na ang tunay niyang kuwento.
“May iniwan siyang address at telephone number.”
“Maraming salamat po sa pagbasa nito sa akin.”
“Huwag mo nang bayaran yung mami, libre ko na lang sa’yo iyan. Nakakaantig naman.”
Nginitian ko na lamang siya at muling nagpasalamat.
Naubos ko na ang dalawang mangkok ng mami. Hindi ko alam kung bakit ako napatingin sa puwitan ng mangkok, ngunit nang basahin ko ang nakasulat, muli akong napangiti. Ito rin pala’y made in China.
Menacing Deep Wounds
By Gladys de Leon
Flowers blossomed amidst the light and darkness. Slowly, they are menaced by a gadfly that has no distinction from the other pests.
Along came a milkweed butterfly, which flew around a couch. On the couch was a little girl, lying like a withered, hapless herb. Sanguine blood kept streaming down her angelic face.
Drowning her in tears, the sea of red turned into a deep ocean of hate. Fiery emotions burst like an angry volcano that was awaken from a hundred-year’s dormancy.
Little by little, the girl fades away to nowhere, tasting the jaundice of her bittersweet downfall. She can’t seem to pick up the pieces of her heart that was crushed and shattered into a million pieces by the deceptive world. She was ungratefully admonished by all, dolefully forsaken by the ones she taught were worth her love.
“Why?” the question kept troubling her innocent mind. “I did nothing but be true and good to them. Why are all of these things happening to me? Am I not worth their trust? Am I not worth their love?” These queries only daunt her the more.
Like a broken piece of china, her dreams have fallen down. She could hardly weep now, considering the span of time she had already spent for crying. Her tear ducts have dried up for grieving every single night. Poor little angel, she shouldn’t be suffering from the cruelty of such an unjust world.
Days have passed and the lachrymose angel has finally arrived at the place called nowhere. This so-called paradise lies on a creepy corner where faded colors are clearly visible. This is a place were lightness has been veiled by the gloomy shadow of rejection.
With her precious weapons -- a pen and some pieces of paper, she faces her new world of unwanted thoughts and emotions. Screaming in silence, the little angel wrote things down: harsh words, explicit phrases, things that reflect what she truly feels. Deep inside, she’s bleeding. No one sees her and no one feels her; nobody cares.
Only dimmed lights are radiating. From these, she could see that her eyes are dull, and her heart is tearing apart. To be in her place is painful, isn’t it? No one ever thought about this -- living a sorrowful, unwanted life. But this poor soul is, sadly, going through this.
Consider her brave for being able to withstand the pain. She got so used to all the hate, anger, worries, and fears, all along pretending she’s alright. How sweet her smiles are! But no one truly sees what’s in her heart. Within her heart lie thorns deeply penetrated in every vein, causing blood to gush forth. Deep scars have remained in her heart.
But this misery is but a challenge she must surpass. Maybe she’s not giving up, but rather trying to take a rest and aiming for a break to be able to continue the struggle. “If only they could see what’s in my heart and if only they could hear my thoughts,” she muttered as tears streamed down her face like a waterfall that descends from a crest.
“Heavy rains kept on pouring down. All day long, I lie on this floor, drop-dead, thinking of nothing. My mind is filled with void,” she wrote on a parchment.
Sick and tired of things around her, she keeps on enduring the pain. With light and darkness hovering over her, she wanders through the paradise of her broken dreams. So much time has been wasted; so many chances have been ignored. With too many mistakes committed, too many tables are yet to be turned.
The poor flower solemnly waits for the right time to come, where lightness and joyful memories will start to surround her life again. She goes on and on, though she’s finding it too difficult to deal with.
Flowers blossomed amidst the light and darkness. Slowly, they are menaced by a gadfly that has no distinction from the other pests.
Along came a milkweed butterfly, which flew around a couch. On the couch was a little girl, lying like a withered, hapless herb. Sanguine blood kept streaming down her angelic face.
Drowning her in tears, the sea of red turned into a deep ocean of hate. Fiery emotions burst like an angry volcano that was awaken from a hundred-year’s dormancy.
Little by little, the girl fades away to nowhere, tasting the jaundice of her bittersweet downfall. She can’t seem to pick up the pieces of her heart that was crushed and shattered into a million pieces by the deceptive world. She was ungratefully admonished by all, dolefully forsaken by the ones she taught were worth her love.
“Why?” the question kept troubling her innocent mind. “I did nothing but be true and good to them. Why are all of these things happening to me? Am I not worth their trust? Am I not worth their love?” These queries only daunt her the more.
Like a broken piece of china, her dreams have fallen down. She could hardly weep now, considering the span of time she had already spent for crying. Her tear ducts have dried up for grieving every single night. Poor little angel, she shouldn’t be suffering from the cruelty of such an unjust world.
Days have passed and the lachrymose angel has finally arrived at the place called nowhere. This so-called paradise lies on a creepy corner where faded colors are clearly visible. This is a place were lightness has been veiled by the gloomy shadow of rejection.
With her precious weapons -- a pen and some pieces of paper, she faces her new world of unwanted thoughts and emotions. Screaming in silence, the little angel wrote things down: harsh words, explicit phrases, things that reflect what she truly feels. Deep inside, she’s bleeding. No one sees her and no one feels her; nobody cares.
Only dimmed lights are radiating. From these, she could see that her eyes are dull, and her heart is tearing apart. To be in her place is painful, isn’t it? No one ever thought about this -- living a sorrowful, unwanted life. But this poor soul is, sadly, going through this.
Consider her brave for being able to withstand the pain. She got so used to all the hate, anger, worries, and fears, all along pretending she’s alright. How sweet her smiles are! But no one truly sees what’s in her heart. Within her heart lie thorns deeply penetrated in every vein, causing blood to gush forth. Deep scars have remained in her heart.
But this misery is but a challenge she must surpass. Maybe she’s not giving up, but rather trying to take a rest and aiming for a break to be able to continue the struggle. “If only they could see what’s in my heart and if only they could hear my thoughts,” she muttered as tears streamed down her face like a waterfall that descends from a crest.
“Heavy rains kept on pouring down. All day long, I lie on this floor, drop-dead, thinking of nothing. My mind is filled with void,” she wrote on a parchment.
Sick and tired of things around her, she keeps on enduring the pain. With light and darkness hovering over her, she wanders through the paradise of her broken dreams. So much time has been wasted; so many chances have been ignored. With too many mistakes committed, too many tables are yet to be turned.
The poor flower solemnly waits for the right time to come, where lightness and joyful memories will start to surround her life again. She goes on and on, though she’s finding it too difficult to deal with.
Dala ng Bukas ang Pag-asa
By Pepito Dizon
Bukas, sa pagsikat ng haring araw, dala nito ang hudyat ng bagong panimulain upang tahakin ng bawat nilalang ang buhay na malayo sa masalimuot na karanasan ng kahapon. Bukas ay sisikat ang araw ng mas maningning at mas maaliwalas. Bukas din ay magliliyab ang init ng araw upang wakasan ang gabing tila baga’y isang malupit na bangungot. At bukas na bukas din ay mag-uumpisa na ang bagong kabanata ng buhay nating hiniram sa Maykapal.
Ang buhay, gaya ng gasgas na paglalarawan, ay parang gulong na paikut-ikot lamang. Minsan ay nasa ibabaw ang isang bahagi at minsan nama’y nasa ilalim ito. Tayo, bilang mga instrumento sa mundong ito, ay mga nilalang na isinilang kakambal ang kaligayahan at pighati sa buhay.
Mahirap mang isipin at tanggapin, ang buhay ng isang taong sakdal sa sumpa ng kahirapan ay isang pangyayari na tila iginuhit na sa ating mga palad at nakasaad na sa ating tadhana.
Mahirap maging mahirap. Napakapayak, ngunit ito’y isang lantaran at makatotohanang paglalarawan sa buhay ng mga taong isang kahig, isang tuka. Sila ang mga walang maisuksok sa sikmura sa oras ng pagkirot, paghapdi, at pagkagutom. Tanging ang mga sira-sirang karton at punit-punit na diyaryo ang nagsisilbing unan at kumot. Ang ilalim ng overpass o sahig ng underpass ang nagsisilbing kanilang malawak na palasyo. Hindi ba’t ito ang kayamanang minana ng ating mga kapatid na kailanman ay hindi tinawag sa kanilang pangalan bagkus ay sa tagos sa pusong bansag sa kanila na “dukha?”
Kasabay pa ng kirot ng katotohanang sila nga ay mahirap ay ang mapaghasik at matatalim na salita ng sanlibutang mapanlait. Tanggap nga nila na sila’y mahirap, walang makain di gaya ng mga nakaluluwag sa bulsa, at walang pera at tila mga basurang inililipad ng hangin sa abalang kalsada ng lipunan. Ganito na nga ang kanilang kalagayan ay tila nalatayan pa sila ng bagong sugat na higit na nagpapasakit sa kanilang nadarama. Walang taong maykaya o mayaman ang lumambot ang puso upang sila nama’y mabahaginan. Abutan man ng barya sa kumakalansing na lata ay kaakibat nito ang pasaring na kasalanan nila kung bakit sila naghihirap.
Ang buhay taong dukha ay isang buhay na isiniwalat sa mapaglarong mundo. Hindi man nila ito sapilitang ginusto ay tila tadhana na ang humusga at wala silang sapat na sandata upang labanan ito. Gayunpaman, ang buhay ay isang gulong -- bilog at patuloy na umiikot; minsan nasa ibabaw, at minsa’y nasa ilalim, kadikit ng lupa. Hindi magtatagal at magbabago ang ihip ng hangin at buburahin ang yugtong ito ng kanilang buhay. Bukas ay sisikat ang araw mula sa likod ng mga kabundukan na dala ang bagong panimulain. Walang makapagsasabi kung ang mayaman ngayon ay mananatili pa ring mayaman bukas, o kung ang mahirap ay patuloy pa ring maghihikahos.
Isa lamang ang tiyak: bukas ay may bagong pag-asa para sa mahihirap.
Bukas, sa pagsikat ng haring araw, dala nito ang hudyat ng bagong panimulain upang tahakin ng bawat nilalang ang buhay na malayo sa masalimuot na karanasan ng kahapon. Bukas ay sisikat ang araw ng mas maningning at mas maaliwalas. Bukas din ay magliliyab ang init ng araw upang wakasan ang gabing tila baga’y isang malupit na bangungot. At bukas na bukas din ay mag-uumpisa na ang bagong kabanata ng buhay nating hiniram sa Maykapal.
Ang buhay, gaya ng gasgas na paglalarawan, ay parang gulong na paikut-ikot lamang. Minsan ay nasa ibabaw ang isang bahagi at minsan nama’y nasa ilalim ito. Tayo, bilang mga instrumento sa mundong ito, ay mga nilalang na isinilang kakambal ang kaligayahan at pighati sa buhay.
Mahirap mang isipin at tanggapin, ang buhay ng isang taong sakdal sa sumpa ng kahirapan ay isang pangyayari na tila iginuhit na sa ating mga palad at nakasaad na sa ating tadhana.
Mahirap maging mahirap. Napakapayak, ngunit ito’y isang lantaran at makatotohanang paglalarawan sa buhay ng mga taong isang kahig, isang tuka. Sila ang mga walang maisuksok sa sikmura sa oras ng pagkirot, paghapdi, at pagkagutom. Tanging ang mga sira-sirang karton at punit-punit na diyaryo ang nagsisilbing unan at kumot. Ang ilalim ng overpass o sahig ng underpass ang nagsisilbing kanilang malawak na palasyo. Hindi ba’t ito ang kayamanang minana ng ating mga kapatid na kailanman ay hindi tinawag sa kanilang pangalan bagkus ay sa tagos sa pusong bansag sa kanila na “dukha?”
Kasabay pa ng kirot ng katotohanang sila nga ay mahirap ay ang mapaghasik at matatalim na salita ng sanlibutang mapanlait. Tanggap nga nila na sila’y mahirap, walang makain di gaya ng mga nakaluluwag sa bulsa, at walang pera at tila mga basurang inililipad ng hangin sa abalang kalsada ng lipunan. Ganito na nga ang kanilang kalagayan ay tila nalatayan pa sila ng bagong sugat na higit na nagpapasakit sa kanilang nadarama. Walang taong maykaya o mayaman ang lumambot ang puso upang sila nama’y mabahaginan. Abutan man ng barya sa kumakalansing na lata ay kaakibat nito ang pasaring na kasalanan nila kung bakit sila naghihirap.
Ang buhay taong dukha ay isang buhay na isiniwalat sa mapaglarong mundo. Hindi man nila ito sapilitang ginusto ay tila tadhana na ang humusga at wala silang sapat na sandata upang labanan ito. Gayunpaman, ang buhay ay isang gulong -- bilog at patuloy na umiikot; minsan nasa ibabaw, at minsa’y nasa ilalim, kadikit ng lupa. Hindi magtatagal at magbabago ang ihip ng hangin at buburahin ang yugtong ito ng kanilang buhay. Bukas ay sisikat ang araw mula sa likod ng mga kabundukan na dala ang bagong panimulain. Walang makapagsasabi kung ang mayaman ngayon ay mananatili pa ring mayaman bukas, o kung ang mahirap ay patuloy pa ring maghihikahos.
Isa lamang ang tiyak: bukas ay may bagong pag-asa para sa mahihirap.
Simple Journeys
By Kristine Lomeda
Whenever there’s available time for me to catch up with my friends and relatives, I can’t help but ask: am I really getting old? I haven’t been able to share my thoughts and dreams with them lately. Have I lost my precious chances of spending quality time with them? Or is it just because I didn’t make an effort to have time with them?
The family’s recent trip to Punta Fuego opened so many opportunities for me to bond with my cousins. Only now did I realize my regret of opting not to join them on their vacations. The Palawan escapades, the Hong Kong shopping, and the once-in-a-lifetime chance of visiting The Netherlands are just some of the travel opportunities I passed up.
The Punta Fuego vacation was an eye-opener for me. It made me realize that spending time with my loved ones and having simple family gatherings can yield stories which I can share with my children in the near future.
The trip also doubled as a sort of soul-searching activity for me. Most people treat their vacation as a device for escaping the busy downtown or a means of getting rid of their problems. We often take this scenario for granted, maybe because we have been robots who refuse to be emotional because we need to be dominant and strong in our work. We choose to be practical with everything so it won’t hurt too much. But at the end of the day, we tend to examine ourselves. We are like lost sheep wanting to be herded by shepherds -- our loved ones. We find ourselves like empty cups wanting to be full again.
But how would we be able to achieve all these if we become too technical with our lives? We need to reflect on ourselves, for us to be familiar with the unfamiliar; for us to feel better.
The sudden death of someone close to my heart had brought me great fear. All these years, I’ve wanted to end everything -- my schooling, my problems. Many of us want to make things easy, we tend to become “happy go lucky.” We often look at our lives as a strenuous, perplexing journey full of ups and downs, highs and lows, success and defeats. For most of us whose lives are always on qualm, we just want to put an end to it at several occasions. But when we see somebody face death, we could only ask for one more; just one more day. I can only imagine how confused the Lord already is! We know, we shall all come to pass and when that arrives, that itself becomes a journey guaranteed to be infinite.
So before that time comes, let us all make the most out of our lives. Let’s take a short detour, a momentary pit stop to see how thankful we should be. Then we can resume our journey again.
Remember all the people who touched our lives, the places we’ve been to, and the experiences that made us what we are today. We can take souvenir photographs, or write on our journals, or simply hammer the things into our memory banks.
Once we reach our life’s peak, we can blissfully travel back to these memories with the pleasure of being able to meet these people, the delight of being able to go to these places, and the gratefulness of being able to create these wonderful experiences while sitting on our comfy rocking chair and waiting for the late afternoon sun.
Whenever there’s available time for me to catch up with my friends and relatives, I can’t help but ask: am I really getting old? I haven’t been able to share my thoughts and dreams with them lately. Have I lost my precious chances of spending quality time with them? Or is it just because I didn’t make an effort to have time with them?
The family’s recent trip to Punta Fuego opened so many opportunities for me to bond with my cousins. Only now did I realize my regret of opting not to join them on their vacations. The Palawan escapades, the Hong Kong shopping, and the once-in-a-lifetime chance of visiting The Netherlands are just some of the travel opportunities I passed up.
The Punta Fuego vacation was an eye-opener for me. It made me realize that spending time with my loved ones and having simple family gatherings can yield stories which I can share with my children in the near future.
The trip also doubled as a sort of soul-searching activity for me. Most people treat their vacation as a device for escaping the busy downtown or a means of getting rid of their problems. We often take this scenario for granted, maybe because we have been robots who refuse to be emotional because we need to be dominant and strong in our work. We choose to be practical with everything so it won’t hurt too much. But at the end of the day, we tend to examine ourselves. We are like lost sheep wanting to be herded by shepherds -- our loved ones. We find ourselves like empty cups wanting to be full again.
But how would we be able to achieve all these if we become too technical with our lives? We need to reflect on ourselves, for us to be familiar with the unfamiliar; for us to feel better.
The sudden death of someone close to my heart had brought me great fear. All these years, I’ve wanted to end everything -- my schooling, my problems. Many of us want to make things easy, we tend to become “happy go lucky.” We often look at our lives as a strenuous, perplexing journey full of ups and downs, highs and lows, success and defeats. For most of us whose lives are always on qualm, we just want to put an end to it at several occasions. But when we see somebody face death, we could only ask for one more; just one more day. I can only imagine how confused the Lord already is! We know, we shall all come to pass and when that arrives, that itself becomes a journey guaranteed to be infinite.
So before that time comes, let us all make the most out of our lives. Let’s take a short detour, a momentary pit stop to see how thankful we should be. Then we can resume our journey again.
Remember all the people who touched our lives, the places we’ve been to, and the experiences that made us what we are today. We can take souvenir photographs, or write on our journals, or simply hammer the things into our memory banks.
Once we reach our life’s peak, we can blissfully travel back to these memories with the pleasure of being able to meet these people, the delight of being able to go to these places, and the gratefulness of being able to create these wonderful experiences while sitting on our comfy rocking chair and waiting for the late afternoon sun.
Paraiso
By Mark Lester Abriza
Paraiso pa kaya ang mundong ito?
Mundong punong-puno ng kasalanan
Kasalanan na ‘di matapos-tapos
May mapagmataas at may mga luhaan
Ito ba talaga ang paraiso?
Mundong puno ng kalat at dumi
Kalat na dala’y kahinaan
Dumi na dala’y sakit
Ito ba talaga ang paraiso?
Ang tao’y walang alam
Walang alam kundi magkalat
Walang alam kundi makapanakit
Ito ba talaga ang paraiso?
Paraiso pa kaya ang mundong ito?
Oo, magiging paraiso pa ito
Paraisong walang dumi at kalat
Paraiso na ang tao’y may kusa
Paraiso na puno ng pag-asa.
Paraiso pa kaya ang mundong ito?
Mundong punong-puno ng kasalanan
Kasalanan na ‘di matapos-tapos
May mapagmataas at may mga luhaan
Ito ba talaga ang paraiso?
Mundong puno ng kalat at dumi
Kalat na dala’y kahinaan
Dumi na dala’y sakit
Ito ba talaga ang paraiso?
Ang tao’y walang alam
Walang alam kundi magkalat
Walang alam kundi makapanakit
Ito ba talaga ang paraiso?
Paraiso pa kaya ang mundong ito?
Oo, magiging paraiso pa ito
Paraisong walang dumi at kalat
Paraiso na ang tao’y may kusa
Paraiso na puno ng pag-asa.
Ray of Hope
By Camille Loren Martinez
This is an imperfect world.
For several times, I have asked myself why life is unfair. But I have already formed a conclusion that this is due to the fact that life is… well, life.
Sometimes, I ask myself, “Could I get a ray of hope despite this world’s imperfections?” But I am certain that one reason why I’ve encountered a lot of frustrations is because I am weak. I have a lot of weaknesses inside, which I’ve been trying to fight. But whenever I exchange blows with these distressing situations, I feel more human.
I guess that’s how it really goes. Though I never planned to be exactly like this, and though I never chose this, God made a way.
I have long decided to let go of the anger and pain I felt from the past even if it still hurts. I used to cry a lot, and I have lived my life the way others wanted me to, but I decided to stop. In some way, somehow, I am moving on. I can manage.
I want the entire world to know that I wasn’t born to weep all the time because the real purpose of my life is to live, breathe, and be happy.
Though my head and heart tells me I’m not yet completely healed, I must move on. Besides, I believe I deserve to be free. Everyone does. I want to share my insight in order to inspire people to live their lives according to what they believe is acceptable and right.
Let me end this by leaving you with a cliché: life is too short. Whenever we feel like complete losers, we must find ourselves a ray of hope that would prompt us to move forward.
This is an imperfect world.
For several times, I have asked myself why life is unfair. But I have already formed a conclusion that this is due to the fact that life is… well, life.
Sometimes, I ask myself, “Could I get a ray of hope despite this world’s imperfections?” But I am certain that one reason why I’ve encountered a lot of frustrations is because I am weak. I have a lot of weaknesses inside, which I’ve been trying to fight. But whenever I exchange blows with these distressing situations, I feel more human.
I guess that’s how it really goes. Though I never planned to be exactly like this, and though I never chose this, God made a way.
I have long decided to let go of the anger and pain I felt from the past even if it still hurts. I used to cry a lot, and I have lived my life the way others wanted me to, but I decided to stop. In some way, somehow, I am moving on. I can manage.
I want the entire world to know that I wasn’t born to weep all the time because the real purpose of my life is to live, breathe, and be happy.
Though my head and heart tells me I’m not yet completely healed, I must move on. Besides, I believe I deserve to be free. Everyone does. I want to share my insight in order to inspire people to live their lives according to what they believe is acceptable and right.
Let me end this by leaving you with a cliché: life is too short. Whenever we feel like complete losers, we must find ourselves a ray of hope that would prompt us to move forward.
Manatiling Nakatayo
By Karen Derilo
Ang buhay ng tao ay sadyang masalimuot. Kung minsan ay hindi mo na alam kung saan ka patungo. Masyadong maraming hamon na sa iyo’y naghihintay at hindi mo mo na mabilang ang mga pagsubok na nagdaraan at hinahanap mo marahil kung ang pag-asa’y nasaan.
Maraming beses mo nang ninais na sumuko at sabihin sa sarilin na hindi mo na kayang tumayo. Mga problema sa pamilya, sa kaibigan, sa opisina, at higit sa lahat, sa iyong sarili -- na tila ba lahat ay nais mo nang bitiwan at pakawalang dagli.
Ngunit ano ba sa tingin mo ang kahahantungan ng lahat? Kung sakaling talikuran mo ang kapalarang naghihintay, mapapawi ba ang hapdi at sakit kung iiwan mo na lang ito nang basta at kalilimutan? Kapag nadapa ka ba’y di ka na muling babangon at tuluyan nang matatakot at mawawalan ng pag-asa?
Ang tunay na pagkatalo ay ang pagsuko nang hindi lumalaban. Lahat ng tao’y nagdaraan sa masukal na gubat. Iba’t iba man ang itsura ay halos pare-pareho lang ang mithiin at kalalagyan: ang pagiging matapang at matatag. Hindi ito nasusukat sa lakas ng bisig upang makapanakit, at lalong hindi sa talinong ginagamit upang makapanlamang kundi sa pagharap sa pagsubok nang may katatagan at sa pagpapatuloy sa buhay nang hindi nawawalan ng pag-asa.
Ang Maykapal higit kaninuman ang nakakaalam ng kapalaran ng tao. Siya ang nagbibigay ng hamon upang masukat kung hanggang kailan ka mananatiling nakatayo. Kailanman ay hindi ka dapat mawalan ng pag-asa sapagkat Siya ay nasa puso mo lamang parati -- gumagabay at nananatiling nananalig na kaya mong malampasan iyan.
Parati mong iisiping hindi lang ikaw ang nagdurusa sapagkat bawat tao’y may pagsubok ring dala na nilaan ng Maykapal upang mas lalong tumatag at tumibay ang bawat isa. Walang ibibigay ang Diyos na hindi kaya ng iyong lakas at abilidad dahil noon pa ma’y nakaguhit na ito sa iyong mga palad.
Ang buhay ng tao ay sadyang masalimuot. Kung minsan ay hindi mo na alam kung saan ka patungo. Masyadong maraming hamon na sa iyo’y naghihintay at hindi mo mo na mabilang ang mga pagsubok na nagdaraan at hinahanap mo marahil kung ang pag-asa’y nasaan.
Maraming beses mo nang ninais na sumuko at sabihin sa sarilin na hindi mo na kayang tumayo. Mga problema sa pamilya, sa kaibigan, sa opisina, at higit sa lahat, sa iyong sarili -- na tila ba lahat ay nais mo nang bitiwan at pakawalang dagli.
Ngunit ano ba sa tingin mo ang kahahantungan ng lahat? Kung sakaling talikuran mo ang kapalarang naghihintay, mapapawi ba ang hapdi at sakit kung iiwan mo na lang ito nang basta at kalilimutan? Kapag nadapa ka ba’y di ka na muling babangon at tuluyan nang matatakot at mawawalan ng pag-asa?
Ang tunay na pagkatalo ay ang pagsuko nang hindi lumalaban. Lahat ng tao’y nagdaraan sa masukal na gubat. Iba’t iba man ang itsura ay halos pare-pareho lang ang mithiin at kalalagyan: ang pagiging matapang at matatag. Hindi ito nasusukat sa lakas ng bisig upang makapanakit, at lalong hindi sa talinong ginagamit upang makapanlamang kundi sa pagharap sa pagsubok nang may katatagan at sa pagpapatuloy sa buhay nang hindi nawawalan ng pag-asa.
Ang Maykapal higit kaninuman ang nakakaalam ng kapalaran ng tao. Siya ang nagbibigay ng hamon upang masukat kung hanggang kailan ka mananatiling nakatayo. Kailanman ay hindi ka dapat mawalan ng pag-asa sapagkat Siya ay nasa puso mo lamang parati -- gumagabay at nananatiling nananalig na kaya mong malampasan iyan.
Parati mong iisiping hindi lang ikaw ang nagdurusa sapagkat bawat tao’y may pagsubok ring dala na nilaan ng Maykapal upang mas lalong tumatag at tumibay ang bawat isa. Walang ibibigay ang Diyos na hindi kaya ng iyong lakas at abilidad dahil noon pa ma’y nakaguhit na ito sa iyong mga palad.
Pagsubok
By Karen Aujero
Sino nga ba sa atin ang hindi pa nakararanas ng mga pagsubok sa buhay? Gaya nga ng lagi nilang sinasabi, walang halaga o saysay ang buhay kung walang pagsubok. Ngunit minsan ba’y naranasan mo nang manghina at mawalan ng loob dahil sa tindi ng pagsubok na dinaranas mo sa buhay? Naranasan mo na bang limutin ang Dakilang Lumikha dahil sa paniniwalang iniwan ka na Niya?
Oo ang tugon ko sa mga katanungang iyan.
Ang mga pagsubok ay hindi talaga natin inaasahan, ito’y kusang dumarating. Ngunit, sa mga ganitong pagkakataon, ako’y nagpapakatatag at patuloy na kumakapit sa Kanya. Kinakausap ko Siya sa pamamagitan ng aking panalangin dahil alam kong Siya lamang ang makatutulong sa akin higit kaninuman, upang malutas ang lahat ng aking mga dinadalang suliranin.
Nakalulungkot nga lang isipin na lubhang napakahirap ng mga pagsubok na ating dinaranas sa ilang pagkakataon. Tila napakabigat ng mga ito at wala naman tayong ibang alam na solusyon kundi ang umiyak. Minsa’y naiisip natin na tila mas makabubuti pa kung wakasan na lamang natin ang ating buhay upang hindi na kailanman makaranas pa ng mga ganitong pagsubok.
Mga pagsubok din ang nag-uudyok sa atin upang makagawa ng hindi tama. Minsa’y sa sobrang dami ng mga pagsubok, nagiging makasarili na tayo. Hindi na natin naiisip ang damdamin ng iba at nakapagpapasya tayo nang hindi pinag-iisipan. Nagiging desperado na tayo. Ang akala natin, wala na tayong matatakbuhan.
Pagsubok ang humuhubog sa atin upang patuloy na lumaban at nagpapatibay sa ating damdamin. Dapat nating ipagpasalamat ang mga pagsubok. Magpasalamat tayo dahil binibigyan tayo ng Panginoon ng mga pagsubok. Nangangahulugan lamang na malaki ang tiwala Niya na magagawa nating lampasan ang bawat bagyong ibato sa atin. Huwag tayong bibitaw. Patuloy lamang tayong kumapit sa Kanya.
Sino nga ba sa atin ang hindi pa nakararanas ng mga pagsubok sa buhay? Gaya nga ng lagi nilang sinasabi, walang halaga o saysay ang buhay kung walang pagsubok. Ngunit minsan ba’y naranasan mo nang manghina at mawalan ng loob dahil sa tindi ng pagsubok na dinaranas mo sa buhay? Naranasan mo na bang limutin ang Dakilang Lumikha dahil sa paniniwalang iniwan ka na Niya?
Oo ang tugon ko sa mga katanungang iyan.
Ang mga pagsubok ay hindi talaga natin inaasahan, ito’y kusang dumarating. Ngunit, sa mga ganitong pagkakataon, ako’y nagpapakatatag at patuloy na kumakapit sa Kanya. Kinakausap ko Siya sa pamamagitan ng aking panalangin dahil alam kong Siya lamang ang makatutulong sa akin higit kaninuman, upang malutas ang lahat ng aking mga dinadalang suliranin.
Nakalulungkot nga lang isipin na lubhang napakahirap ng mga pagsubok na ating dinaranas sa ilang pagkakataon. Tila napakabigat ng mga ito at wala naman tayong ibang alam na solusyon kundi ang umiyak. Minsa’y naiisip natin na tila mas makabubuti pa kung wakasan na lamang natin ang ating buhay upang hindi na kailanman makaranas pa ng mga ganitong pagsubok.
Mga pagsubok din ang nag-uudyok sa atin upang makagawa ng hindi tama. Minsa’y sa sobrang dami ng mga pagsubok, nagiging makasarili na tayo. Hindi na natin naiisip ang damdamin ng iba at nakapagpapasya tayo nang hindi pinag-iisipan. Nagiging desperado na tayo. Ang akala natin, wala na tayong matatakbuhan.
Pagsubok ang humuhubog sa atin upang patuloy na lumaban at nagpapatibay sa ating damdamin. Dapat nating ipagpasalamat ang mga pagsubok. Magpasalamat tayo dahil binibigyan tayo ng Panginoon ng mga pagsubok. Nangangahulugan lamang na malaki ang tiwala Niya na magagawa nating lampasan ang bawat bagyong ibato sa atin. Huwag tayong bibitaw. Patuloy lamang tayong kumapit sa Kanya.
Make it Right
By Karen Aujero
Have you ever felt like nobody wanted to be with you? Have you ever experienced being an outcast in a group? Have you ever been brought down by people who don’t seem to like you because of their wrong impressions about you?
Well, that’s the case. People always judge someone they don’t even know. They tend to have a mindset wherein they think you should be like this or that, taking for granted the way you’ve been molded extraordinarily. That’s the problem with most people. When you’re not doing things they usually do, they’ll label you as someone who’s different. When you’re not acting the way they do, they won’t like you. When you don’t feel what they feel, they’ll hate you.
They don’t understand that every individual has different ways, feelings, perceptions, and points of view. They are not pleased by someone who has a different lifestyle. What they only want is to be understood, to be treated fairly as if we’re the ones who need to adapt to their attitudes. The phrase “give and take” seems absent on their vocabularies because for them, only the term “take” exists. They typecast others, which often ends up in hating and hurting some people.
It will take one person hundreds of good, satisfying deeds to be liked by these people. On the other hand, it would only take that person a single mistake for them to be hated forever.
I remember all of those people I’ve encountered who had bad impressions about me only because I seem to be different. I am deemed as someone different because my attitude doesn’t meet their expectations nor do I fit the stereotype. But what could I do? This is me. This is how I live. This is my philosophy, my perception, my point of view. I’m just being true to myself. I am transparent regarding the things I want to do, the thoughts I want to ponder on, and the emotions I want to feel.
Every individual has their own prerogative on fulfilling their lives. It is just proper to allow others to live their lives the way they want to.
Some people ask me why I am brutally frank. I tell them that they don’t know my deal and they don’t know situation, or how hard I’ve been trying to make my life right. In other words, people don’t know what I’m going through; what every individual is going through. They don’t know what others have experienced or what others have accomplished. There is so much truth to the adage that you only live your life once, so why not live it the way you want to? Live your life and make it right.
Have you ever felt like nobody wanted to be with you? Have you ever experienced being an outcast in a group? Have you ever been brought down by people who don’t seem to like you because of their wrong impressions about you?
Well, that’s the case. People always judge someone they don’t even know. They tend to have a mindset wherein they think you should be like this or that, taking for granted the way you’ve been molded extraordinarily. That’s the problem with most people. When you’re not doing things they usually do, they’ll label you as someone who’s different. When you’re not acting the way they do, they won’t like you. When you don’t feel what they feel, they’ll hate you.
They don’t understand that every individual has different ways, feelings, perceptions, and points of view. They are not pleased by someone who has a different lifestyle. What they only want is to be understood, to be treated fairly as if we’re the ones who need to adapt to their attitudes. The phrase “give and take” seems absent on their vocabularies because for them, only the term “take” exists. They typecast others, which often ends up in hating and hurting some people.
It will take one person hundreds of good, satisfying deeds to be liked by these people. On the other hand, it would only take that person a single mistake for them to be hated forever.
I remember all of those people I’ve encountered who had bad impressions about me only because I seem to be different. I am deemed as someone different because my attitude doesn’t meet their expectations nor do I fit the stereotype. But what could I do? This is me. This is how I live. This is my philosophy, my perception, my point of view. I’m just being true to myself. I am transparent regarding the things I want to do, the thoughts I want to ponder on, and the emotions I want to feel.
Every individual has their own prerogative on fulfilling their lives. It is just proper to allow others to live their lives the way they want to.
Some people ask me why I am brutally frank. I tell them that they don’t know my deal and they don’t know situation, or how hard I’ve been trying to make my life right. In other words, people don’t know what I’m going through; what every individual is going through. They don’t know what others have experienced or what others have accomplished. There is so much truth to the adage that you only live your life once, so why not live it the way you want to? Live your life and make it right.
Till it Ends
By Ryan Saavedra
As long as you live, there is still hope.
I’ve been into different ups and downs, trying to surpass each of them. But it seems that the more I push myself, the more I fail.
I think it isn’t fair, because I am always losing. I feel like a piece of trash with no chance for achievement.
As long as you live, there is still hope.
This adage is still my motivation to pursue my activities even though I oftentimes fail. I may be prone to falling down but what really matters is the fact that I can stand up and continue my journey. I am still alive -- breathing, walking, talking, and thinking -- and that motivates me.
Success is like building a house; you must dig deeper during construction so that the foundation would be firm. In effect, the house would not be easily dumped by natural disasters.
I guess failing several times creates the possibility for me to become successful. The secret is to learn the lesson from every failure so that when confronted with a similar situation, you are already equipped with the necessary response regarding the matter.
At this moment, I am still striving to go far and get a hold of my dreams, slowly coping from every trauma I gained from my failures. But successful people are trained from their experiences, so why the hell would I give up? I have no right to give up and it would be very foolish of me if I do.
So for as long as I can breathe, as long as I am capable, I still have the ray of hope to achieve whatever dream I have. The choice is still mine -- whether I should give up or continue despite the hardships. I still have the chance to succeed because I still have my life, hope is all around me, and success is but a few steps away.
I won’t give up. I won’t surrender until everything else ends.
As long as you live, there is still hope.
I’ve been into different ups and downs, trying to surpass each of them. But it seems that the more I push myself, the more I fail.
I think it isn’t fair, because I am always losing. I feel like a piece of trash with no chance for achievement.
As long as you live, there is still hope.
This adage is still my motivation to pursue my activities even though I oftentimes fail. I may be prone to falling down but what really matters is the fact that I can stand up and continue my journey. I am still alive -- breathing, walking, talking, and thinking -- and that motivates me.
Success is like building a house; you must dig deeper during construction so that the foundation would be firm. In effect, the house would not be easily dumped by natural disasters.
I guess failing several times creates the possibility for me to become successful. The secret is to learn the lesson from every failure so that when confronted with a similar situation, you are already equipped with the necessary response regarding the matter.
At this moment, I am still striving to go far and get a hold of my dreams, slowly coping from every trauma I gained from my failures. But successful people are trained from their experiences, so why the hell would I give up? I have no right to give up and it would be very foolish of me if I do.
So for as long as I can breathe, as long as I am capable, I still have the ray of hope to achieve whatever dream I have. The choice is still mine -- whether I should give up or continue despite the hardships. I still have the chance to succeed because I still have my life, hope is all around me, and success is but a few steps away.
I won’t give up. I won’t surrender until everything else ends.
What’s Missing?
By Mary Joy Florentino
One day, I was lying on the green grass under a blue sky,
And I feel very happy I even wanted to fly
All is well, a bright future is ahead
Everything is fine until I rested on my bed
I have slept and woke up one day,
It feels like I have nothing to say
At the back of my head I know there’s something missing
I tell myself there’s none, but it isn’t convincing
My energy was drained,
My body and soul in vain,
I walk with my head bowed down
And my face, always with a frown
I woke up the other day wondering why,
Everyday feels hard for me to get by
A lot of things should be done
But my passions are gone
My blue sky had turned into gray,
And I have a lot of questions to say
Why did a lot of things change
The answers to my questions are all in a far range
As dark clouds continue to build
I know I should prepare and find a shield
But unfortunately, for me it was hard
I have nothing for myself as a guard
I’m open to attacks, so weak and vulnerable
And a lot of people tell that it’s too visible
Confusion came, insecurities crept in
In many sides of my life, anxiety walked in
It feels like I have fallen on the ground
And it made a really loud sound
I was hurt, damaged
Continuously carrying this baggage
I know there’s something missing,
So I cried for help wishing
But I guess no one heard it
Now I’m the only one who’ll bear all of it
Today, I’m trapped inside a maze
Hoping for those things to be seized
I shouted, “Give me back my faith,
Faith in myself and faith in having dreams!” and then I silently wait
All alone looking for comfort
Looking for someone who will give support
Out of nowhere in my mind, a quote snapped:
“When you reach the very bottom, there’s no other way but to go up!”
And now that I’m starting to learn how to fight,
I’m trying my best with all my might
Right now I’m living the renaissance of my life
I don’t want to go back to the dark ages I survived…
One day, I was lying on the green grass under a blue sky,
And I feel very happy I even wanted to fly
All is well, a bright future is ahead
Everything is fine until I rested on my bed
I have slept and woke up one day,
It feels like I have nothing to say
At the back of my head I know there’s something missing
I tell myself there’s none, but it isn’t convincing
My energy was drained,
My body and soul in vain,
I walk with my head bowed down
And my face, always with a frown
I woke up the other day wondering why,
Everyday feels hard for me to get by
A lot of things should be done
But my passions are gone
My blue sky had turned into gray,
And I have a lot of questions to say
Why did a lot of things change
The answers to my questions are all in a far range
As dark clouds continue to build
I know I should prepare and find a shield
But unfortunately, for me it was hard
I have nothing for myself as a guard
I’m open to attacks, so weak and vulnerable
And a lot of people tell that it’s too visible
Confusion came, insecurities crept in
In many sides of my life, anxiety walked in
It feels like I have fallen on the ground
And it made a really loud sound
I was hurt, damaged
Continuously carrying this baggage
I know there’s something missing,
So I cried for help wishing
But I guess no one heard it
Now I’m the only one who’ll bear all of it
Today, I’m trapped inside a maze
Hoping for those things to be seized
I shouted, “Give me back my faith,
Faith in myself and faith in having dreams!” and then I silently wait
All alone looking for comfort
Looking for someone who will give support
Out of nowhere in my mind, a quote snapped:
“When you reach the very bottom, there’s no other way but to go up!”
And now that I’m starting to learn how to fight,
I’m trying my best with all my might
Right now I’m living the renaissance of my life
I don’t want to go back to the dark ages I survived…
Isang Panibagong Umaga
By Manilyn Managbanag
Tik-tak! Tik-tak! Tik-tak!
Umaga na naman. Umpisa na naman ng panibagong araw na kung minsa’y ayaw ko nang harapin. Bumangon ako sa aking pagkakahiga at humarap sa salamin. Isang binibini ang tumambad sa aking paningin. Hindi na bago sa aking paningin ang kanyang itsura. Mukha siyang masaya, pero isang bagay ang kumuha ng aking pansin: iba ang sinasabi ng kaniyang mga mata. Tila may nais itong ipahiwatig na hindi ko maunawaan.
Matapos humarap sa salamin ay ipinagpatuloy ko ang mga bagay na nakasanayan kong gawin sa tuwing may pasok. Lunes nga pala ngayon. Hindi ako dapat mahuli dahil unang araw ng linggo ngayon. Naligo ako at nagbihis. Kinain ko ang nakahandang pagkain sa mesa at naghanda na para sa aking pag-alis.
Tumungo ako sa kwarto ni Mama. Gaya ng dati, hindi ko na naman siya naabutan. Hindi na bale, sanay na naman ako.
Nang ako’y malapit na sa tarangkahan ng aming eskwelahan ay nakita ko ang aking mga kaklase na nag-uumpukan. Mukha silang nasisiyahan.
“Uy, congrats ha! Alam mo na ba?” bungad ng isa.
“Ang alin?” malaki kong pagtataka.
“Ikaw ang napiling kinatawan ng paaralan para sa tagisan ng talino,” sabi ng isa.
Natuwa rin ako, ngunit napawi rin agad. Naisip ko, matutuwa kaya ang Mama ko?
Nanabik ako sa aking pag-uwi dahil alam kong magandang balita ang aking dala-dala. Pagpasok ko sa may pintuan ay naroon na si mama, nakahiga sa sofa.
“Ma, good news! Napili ako sa…”
“Punyeta! Istorbo kang bata ka! Alam mong pagod ako tapos heto ka’t nanggigising! Lumayas ka nga sa harapan ko!”
At hindi na ako nakaimik pa. Dumiretso na lamang ako sa aking kwarto at baka sakaling matuwa pa si Princess, na lagi kong kaharap at kausap. Akala ko kasi matutuwa si Mama. Bakit ba kasi hindi pa ako nadala? Ilang beses na ring nangyari ito.
Siguro, tanging si Papa lamang talaga makapagpapasaya sa kanya dahil simula nang mawala siya ay hindi ko na nakakausap si Mama nang mahinahon. Lagi niya akong sinisigawan at sinasaktan. Naiisip ko tuloy, kasalanan ko ba talaga?
Kung hindi ako nagkakamali, hapon noon. Sa may terrace, naglalaro kami ni Princess, ang manyikang regalo sa akin ni Papa. Kaarawan ko noong araw na yon. Sa sobrang likot ko ay nahulog si Princess mula sa ikalawang palapag ng aming tahanan. Nagpagulong-gulong siya hanggang sa umabot sa gitna ng kalsada. Dali-dali namang bumaba at lumabas si Papa upang pulutin si Princess. Hindi sinasadya na may rumaragasang sasakyan na nakahagip sa kanya.
Kitang-kita ng dalawa kong mga mata ang buong pangyayari. Duguan si Princess habang si Papa naman, wala nang buhay. Sumisigaw si Mama at humihingi ng tulong; habang ako, tahimik na lumuluha sa aking kinalalagyan na tila nagulat sa bilis at lupit ng pangyayari.
Lumipas ang isang linggo. Araw na ng paligsahan. Mas kabado pa ata ang aking mga kaklase. Ang daming tao pero hindi ko nakita si Mama sa kanila. Hindi na yata talaga siya darating. Natatpos ang paligsahan nang naaayon sa lahat. Naipanalo ko ito. Tuwang-tuwa sila. Naisip ko tuloy, matutuwa kaya ang Mama ko?
Pagpasok ko sa aming bahay ay naroon na si mama, nakahiga sa sofa. Hindi ko na siya muli pang inistorbo. Ayoko nang maulit pa ang nangyari noong nakaraan. Dumiretso na lamang ako sa aking kwarto. Naisip ko tuloy, hanggang kailan kaya kami ganito?
Tik-tak! Tik-tak! Tik-tak!
Umaga na naman. Umpisa na naman ng panibagong araw na kung minsa’y ayaw ko nang harapin. Bumangon ako sa aking pagkakahiga at humarap sa salamin. Isang binibini ang tumambad sa aking paningin. Nakita ko sa kanyang mga mata ang kalungkutan at pighati. Sino na lang magpupuno sa mga pagkukulang ng kanyang ina? Bumuhos ang kanyang luha at muling tumingin sa salamin. Ang binibining ito nga pala ay ako.
Tik-tak! Tik-tak! Tik-tak!
Umaga na naman. Umpisa na naman ng panibagong araw na kung minsa’y ayaw ko nang harapin. Bumangon ako sa aking pagkakahiga at humarap sa salamin. Isang binibini ang tumambad sa aking paningin. Hindi na bago sa aking paningin ang kanyang itsura. Mukha siyang masaya, pero isang bagay ang kumuha ng aking pansin: iba ang sinasabi ng kaniyang mga mata. Tila may nais itong ipahiwatig na hindi ko maunawaan.
Matapos humarap sa salamin ay ipinagpatuloy ko ang mga bagay na nakasanayan kong gawin sa tuwing may pasok. Lunes nga pala ngayon. Hindi ako dapat mahuli dahil unang araw ng linggo ngayon. Naligo ako at nagbihis. Kinain ko ang nakahandang pagkain sa mesa at naghanda na para sa aking pag-alis.
Tumungo ako sa kwarto ni Mama. Gaya ng dati, hindi ko na naman siya naabutan. Hindi na bale, sanay na naman ako.
Nang ako’y malapit na sa tarangkahan ng aming eskwelahan ay nakita ko ang aking mga kaklase na nag-uumpukan. Mukha silang nasisiyahan.
“Uy, congrats ha! Alam mo na ba?” bungad ng isa.
“Ang alin?” malaki kong pagtataka.
“Ikaw ang napiling kinatawan ng paaralan para sa tagisan ng talino,” sabi ng isa.
Natuwa rin ako, ngunit napawi rin agad. Naisip ko, matutuwa kaya ang Mama ko?
Nanabik ako sa aking pag-uwi dahil alam kong magandang balita ang aking dala-dala. Pagpasok ko sa may pintuan ay naroon na si mama, nakahiga sa sofa.
“Ma, good news! Napili ako sa…”
“Punyeta! Istorbo kang bata ka! Alam mong pagod ako tapos heto ka’t nanggigising! Lumayas ka nga sa harapan ko!”
At hindi na ako nakaimik pa. Dumiretso na lamang ako sa aking kwarto at baka sakaling matuwa pa si Princess, na lagi kong kaharap at kausap. Akala ko kasi matutuwa si Mama. Bakit ba kasi hindi pa ako nadala? Ilang beses na ring nangyari ito.
Siguro, tanging si Papa lamang talaga makapagpapasaya sa kanya dahil simula nang mawala siya ay hindi ko na nakakausap si Mama nang mahinahon. Lagi niya akong sinisigawan at sinasaktan. Naiisip ko tuloy, kasalanan ko ba talaga?
Kung hindi ako nagkakamali, hapon noon. Sa may terrace, naglalaro kami ni Princess, ang manyikang regalo sa akin ni Papa. Kaarawan ko noong araw na yon. Sa sobrang likot ko ay nahulog si Princess mula sa ikalawang palapag ng aming tahanan. Nagpagulong-gulong siya hanggang sa umabot sa gitna ng kalsada. Dali-dali namang bumaba at lumabas si Papa upang pulutin si Princess. Hindi sinasadya na may rumaragasang sasakyan na nakahagip sa kanya.
Kitang-kita ng dalawa kong mga mata ang buong pangyayari. Duguan si Princess habang si Papa naman, wala nang buhay. Sumisigaw si Mama at humihingi ng tulong; habang ako, tahimik na lumuluha sa aking kinalalagyan na tila nagulat sa bilis at lupit ng pangyayari.
Lumipas ang isang linggo. Araw na ng paligsahan. Mas kabado pa ata ang aking mga kaklase. Ang daming tao pero hindi ko nakita si Mama sa kanila. Hindi na yata talaga siya darating. Natatpos ang paligsahan nang naaayon sa lahat. Naipanalo ko ito. Tuwang-tuwa sila. Naisip ko tuloy, matutuwa kaya ang Mama ko?
Pagpasok ko sa aming bahay ay naroon na si mama, nakahiga sa sofa. Hindi ko na siya muli pang inistorbo. Ayoko nang maulit pa ang nangyari noong nakaraan. Dumiretso na lamang ako sa aking kwarto. Naisip ko tuloy, hanggang kailan kaya kami ganito?
Tik-tak! Tik-tak! Tik-tak!
Umaga na naman. Umpisa na naman ng panibagong araw na kung minsa’y ayaw ko nang harapin. Bumangon ako sa aking pagkakahiga at humarap sa salamin. Isang binibini ang tumambad sa aking paningin. Nakita ko sa kanyang mga mata ang kalungkutan at pighati. Sino na lang magpupuno sa mga pagkukulang ng kanyang ina? Bumuhos ang kanyang luha at muling tumingin sa salamin. Ang binibining ito nga pala ay ako.
The Best Cup of Coffee
By Bernard John Abraham
And the sunlight from the window betrayed me when I thought it was going to be the morning of all mornings.
The wind caressed my face, thinking it was your hand that got me out of bed; only to find out that the day was murky -- and I was soaked. I heard the phone ring and picked it up. Your voice was on the other end, you were saying words I could barely hear for I am still groggy from the hangover of the treacherous dream that I knew was too good to be considered a reality.
Then I sat at the edge of my bed (which would soon become my coffin), with a cigarette in one hand and disbelief on the other, staring at the steaming cup at the floor right in front of me. And I knew that you probably laughed when I scalded my tongue upon the first gulp of the bitter truth and watched me erupt in flames, into consumed bits in the ashtray with a smile.
Well, somehow, I did, too, myself.
I’m not to be put off, though the day threatens me with a deluge; though the walls close in on me and the room seemed to get smaller; though the words over the telephone slice through my mind creating an idea that it was just a bad dream of nighttime conjuration -- or maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
I’ll don my mask of a smile in seeming continuance of an illusion that started with this accursed morning.
So come. Make me believe that you’re the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had, and I’ll make you believe that I’m doing just fine. That I never got jolted out of my wits when I tried to sip you once.
Come. Make me believe that this was the best morning in my entire life, which will never be superseded by tomorrow, and I’ll try my best to make myself believe that I’m not holding back any tears or that I ever woke up from the dream that betrayed me.
And the sunlight from the window betrayed me when I thought it was going to be the morning of all mornings.
The wind caressed my face, thinking it was your hand that got me out of bed; only to find out that the day was murky -- and I was soaked. I heard the phone ring and picked it up. Your voice was on the other end, you were saying words I could barely hear for I am still groggy from the hangover of the treacherous dream that I knew was too good to be considered a reality.
Then I sat at the edge of my bed (which would soon become my coffin), with a cigarette in one hand and disbelief on the other, staring at the steaming cup at the floor right in front of me. And I knew that you probably laughed when I scalded my tongue upon the first gulp of the bitter truth and watched me erupt in flames, into consumed bits in the ashtray with a smile.
Well, somehow, I did, too, myself.
I’m not to be put off, though the day threatens me with a deluge; though the walls close in on me and the room seemed to get smaller; though the words over the telephone slice through my mind creating an idea that it was just a bad dream of nighttime conjuration -- or maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
I’ll don my mask of a smile in seeming continuance of an illusion that started with this accursed morning.
So come. Make me believe that you’re the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had, and I’ll make you believe that I’m doing just fine. That I never got jolted out of my wits when I tried to sip you once.
Come. Make me believe that this was the best morning in my entire life, which will never be superseded by tomorrow, and I’ll try my best to make myself believe that I’m not holding back any tears or that I ever woke up from the dream that betrayed me.
Daybreak
By Ma. Francesca Domenica Estrada
It opens the sky as if awakening from a long sleep. It points the canvas with hues of red, pink, and yellow, signaling a promising day ahead.
It is one of the many gifts given to us as we spend our days on earth. Life may not always be as bright as we expect it to be, but the sight of this utter beauty assures us of more bright days to come.
The dark night sky sweeps its clouds away to make way for morn’s coming. The air is soft and breezy, welcoming everyone who awaits its arrival. The sun, warm and bright and subtle, waits to kiss our skin with nature’s warmth. Birds of flight take wing, and flowers slowly open to beckon the wind to scatter their delicate scent. Man partakes in this early morning orchestra by waking after a deep, long slumber.
But does anybody ever appreciate the daybreak in this fast-paced lifestyle which everybody leads? Everything has to be methodical and on the move when daybreak strikes. For some, it comes as a signal to sleep. Others believe that daybreak means tardiness. And for some, it simply is a thing that goes unnoticed in this world of haste.
If life is a box of chocolates, then the daybreak belongs in the box. It is one of the most expensive pieces, yet it is simply wrapped in brown paper. Nowadays, we take things for granted, sometimes only for aesthetic value, appreciating them only when we need to and we tend to remember them only when they’re gone.
We contribute to destruction, yet we hardly notice what’s left with us.
Daybreak may seem mundane, but its beauty is still unsurpassed. It comes around everyday, we claim to have seen it, but the fact is -- we don’t.
So tomorrow, when the opportunity knocks, take it as a ticket to see one of the most beautiful films on show. When daybreak comes, let the air kiss your face, let the sunshine sparkle on your skin, and let nature’s symphony linger in your ears.
And let yourself finally realize that the best things in life are free.
It opens the sky as if awakening from a long sleep. It points the canvas with hues of red, pink, and yellow, signaling a promising day ahead.
It is one of the many gifts given to us as we spend our days on earth. Life may not always be as bright as we expect it to be, but the sight of this utter beauty assures us of more bright days to come.
The dark night sky sweeps its clouds away to make way for morn’s coming. The air is soft and breezy, welcoming everyone who awaits its arrival. The sun, warm and bright and subtle, waits to kiss our skin with nature’s warmth. Birds of flight take wing, and flowers slowly open to beckon the wind to scatter their delicate scent. Man partakes in this early morning orchestra by waking after a deep, long slumber.
But does anybody ever appreciate the daybreak in this fast-paced lifestyle which everybody leads? Everything has to be methodical and on the move when daybreak strikes. For some, it comes as a signal to sleep. Others believe that daybreak means tardiness. And for some, it simply is a thing that goes unnoticed in this world of haste.
If life is a box of chocolates, then the daybreak belongs in the box. It is one of the most expensive pieces, yet it is simply wrapped in brown paper. Nowadays, we take things for granted, sometimes only for aesthetic value, appreciating them only when we need to and we tend to remember them only when they’re gone.
We contribute to destruction, yet we hardly notice what’s left with us.
Daybreak may seem mundane, but its beauty is still unsurpassed. It comes around everyday, we claim to have seen it, but the fact is -- we don’t.
So tomorrow, when the opportunity knocks, take it as a ticket to see one of the most beautiful films on show. When daybreak comes, let the air kiss your face, let the sunshine sparkle on your skin, and let nature’s symphony linger in your ears.
And let yourself finally realize that the best things in life are free.
Fragments: Self-inflicted
By Donnie Lomat
the sky
will not cry for us,
so, run,
lest we keep the faith.
and aid your release
with dead words
as you struggle for
the tears to take flight.
let the red lines guide your escape to dysnoia.
the sky
will not cry for us,
so, run,
lest we keep the faith.
and aid your release
with dead words
as you struggle for
the tears to take flight.
let the red lines guide your escape to dysnoia.
Fragments: Return to Sender
By Donnie Lomat
alienated by the
happy faces around you,
a sudden longing for intimacy pierces your soul.
it permeates
and takes you on.
like letters left for dead.
alienated by the
happy faces around you,
a sudden longing for intimacy pierces your soul.
it permeates
and takes you on.
like letters left for dead.
Fragments: Insipid
By Donnie Lomat
pouring over sentiments
lasting far beyond the night,
we were lost in the sea of existence.
the vastness engulfs us,
a cacophony of being and nothingness
for which we allude to the sky an uncertain peace.
seeking solitude in your eyes,
a one-sided love affair
with the hollow.
crashing down on our lungs,
the light betrays our lies.
we are but shadows playing god.
pouring over sentiments
lasting far beyond the night,
we were lost in the sea of existence.
the vastness engulfs us,
a cacophony of being and nothingness
for which we allude to the sky an uncertain peace.
seeking solitude in your eyes,
a one-sided love affair
with the hollow.
crashing down on our lungs,
the light betrays our lies.
we are but shadows playing god.
Fragments: Seemenot
By Donnie Lomat
i was not expected.
still confined in the shadows,
dearth of being.
a mere miscalculation.
you can relax now.
i was not expected.
still confined in the shadows,
dearth of being.
a mere miscalculation.
you can relax now.
Anhedonia
By Donnie Lomat
drunk from sorrow
of false hopes
and stupid smiles.
a breakdown of sorts.
i can’t feel my hands
anymore.
numb and sore.
from fighting.
from giving in.
disrupted.
and folded up.
like forlorn.
drunk from sorrow
of false hopes
and stupid smiles.
a breakdown of sorts.
i can’t feel my hands
anymore.
numb and sore.
from fighting.
from giving in.
disrupted.
and folded up.
like forlorn.
Discordia
By Donnie Lomat
i.
stick to the sidelines
for a change,
and wait
for the lines to converge.
a slow descent to nothingness.
ii.
chain-smoking all the
hurt, and
out of reason.
indifference rules us all.
with thy pulse turned to
pulp, and
blue all over.
you remain heedless
and never.
iii.
in effect, an
unwanted dichotomy.
i.
stick to the sidelines
for a change,
and wait
for the lines to converge.
a slow descent to nothingness.
ii.
chain-smoking all the
hurt, and
out of reason.
indifference rules us all.
with thy pulse turned to
pulp, and
blue all over.
you remain heedless
and never.
iii.
in effect, an
unwanted dichotomy.
Sumasagi sa Tanikala
By Raissa Azarcon
Unti-unti, dahan-dahan
Ang mga daho’y naglalaglagan
Bumibitaw, kumakalas
Sa tubig lumalagaslas
Nahagip ng tingin, ‘di man salaminin
Parang alikabok na sumasabay sa hangin
Mga tikom na halimuyak sa aking paligid
Mga ilang-ilang na nakapinid
Wala nang natira pang bakas
Mga yapak at yabag na kay lakas
Mga luhang naparam
Mga pares ng matang nahilam
Ang mga sariwang sugat
Inilihim ko nang pahat
Namumutawi ang dilim
‘Di ko man makimkim
Tama na ang paghihikahos
Pagod na ang pusong sa lagusa’y naglalagos
O, kailan nga ba matatapos?
Mga luhang di tumitigil sa pagbuhos
Unti-unti, dahan-dahan
Ang mga daho’y naglalaglagan
Bumibitaw, kumakalas
Sa tubig lumalagaslas
Nahagip ng tingin, ‘di man salaminin
Parang alikabok na sumasabay sa hangin
Mga tikom na halimuyak sa aking paligid
Mga ilang-ilang na nakapinid
Wala nang natira pang bakas
Mga yapak at yabag na kay lakas
Mga luhang naparam
Mga pares ng matang nahilam
Ang mga sariwang sugat
Inilihim ko nang pahat
Namumutawi ang dilim
‘Di ko man makimkim
Tama na ang paghihikahos
Pagod na ang pusong sa lagusa’y naglalagos
O, kailan nga ba matatapos?
Mga luhang di tumitigil sa pagbuhos
Love and Hate
By Katrina Manapat
Six months flew quickly,
Here I am, longing for thee
Though hatred filled me up before
Now I’m waiting on your door
Every step is solely dedicated
Hoping I might see you lose your hatred
That if you’d see me, you’d welcome me
With wide arms and stories of glee
Then I finally saw your face
But still, there’s a tenacious space
I want to kiss and hug you
Yet something prevents me to.
You were uttering new words, yet old
Your pride’s never sold.
You’re still the guy I know
Who stands and acts on every show
Love? Yes, I still do.
Hate? Oh yes, and it grows, too.
I want to get you back in my life
But I want to push you in the lonely strife.
Six months flew quickly,
Here I am, longing for thee
Though hatred filled me up before
Now I’m waiting on your door
Every step is solely dedicated
Hoping I might see you lose your hatred
That if you’d see me, you’d welcome me
With wide arms and stories of glee
Then I finally saw your face
But still, there’s a tenacious space
I want to kiss and hug you
Yet something prevents me to.
You were uttering new words, yet old
Your pride’s never sold.
You’re still the guy I know
Who stands and acts on every show
Love? Yes, I still do.
Hate? Oh yes, and it grows, too.
I want to get you back in my life
But I want to push you in the lonely strife.
Black Suit
By Mary Jane Aguila
I don’t understand why there are some people who can’t live a day without tormenting others. Not just once did I ask myself if there’s something wrong with me. What I don’t understand is why somebody would take the time to point out every move I make and put me into a humiliating spot. Everything I do seems laughable to her.
“Do you know why I hate you? It’s because I don’t like you. I hate the way you speak, the way you dress, laugh, sit, basta. Everything! I hate your accent. You’re so maarte. You’re so baduy manamit. You’re so -- ”
These words are still etched on my mind. I can forget these words easily, but what I detest is the simple fact that I’m being machinated by someone I can’t even consider a friend.
Exactly an hour and a half had elapsed since I woke up from my afternoon nap. I don’t want to get up yet so I stayed on my bed, just lying there with eyes closed, trying to get more sleep. But then again, I remembered her. Suddenly, a pang of anger crept all over me. I felt so angry. I was trembling.
Moreover, I kept on thinking why I didn’t fire back. Why can’t I tell her that the only reason why she keeps on intimidating me is just to please her so-called friends? Why can’t I simply shout out loud that she’s being stupid trying to please them? Why can’t she just leave me alone?
What if I was the one who could humiliate her in front of the class? What if it was me who could call her names? What if it was me who could bully her and taunt her? God, forgive me for this. But sometimes I imagine giving her a swift kick between her thighs as she shouts repeatedly so she could at least feel the dose of pain she had inflicted on me. Mocking can make someone lose her confidence and self-respect, and it may be enough for one to develop an inferiority complex.
But then again, guilt poured over me. I used to tell myself that I should understand her -- perhaps she’s just having fits due to various unknown factors. But then again, I am so tired of holding myself back and keeping my anger and frustration that I can no longer control my emotions.
Am I weak? We both are, only in different aspects. But despite this devastation, I pity her.
Yes. I pity her because she can’t wear girls’ dresses. I pity her because she can’t express herself the way girls do. That’s because she can never be a girl. She can wear skinny jeans and tight-fitting blouses as much as she wants to, but she will never be treated as a girl. She’s like a ballerina trapped in her own music box.
Why can’t she see that despite everything that she had done to me these past two years, I am still trying to see her good side? I know she is a good person. It’s just that she needed someone: a real friend. Someone that is different from the crowd she has, very far from those people who love her for what she has, people who stay with her because they want something from her or are way too afraid of her bitching and backbiting. I pity her because she can’t see the reason why up to now I don’t dare humiliate her even if I could. I pity her because she can’t see that no matter how stupid she might seem, no matter how rude she is and no matter how she loves tormenting me knowing that I hate it, I still like her. I feel bad for her on certain occasions.
I know that each of us have our own dreams to fulfill, own duties to accomplish, and own principles to carry out here in this world. Our school, for instance, is a very large room for us to grow. We came here to develop our personalities, to enjoy our youth, to prepare ourselves for the real world. Unconsciously, we are creating our own plot of story. An anecdote that we could share to everyone, one that we will carry forever, and it could probably be a story which one might consider as junk, but could be valuable to another. Bear in mind that we can’t force someone to change for our sake. For whatever it’s worth, there are some people who make us stronger even when they are disguised in a black suit called torment.
I don’t understand why there are some people who can’t live a day without tormenting others. Not just once did I ask myself if there’s something wrong with me. What I don’t understand is why somebody would take the time to point out every move I make and put me into a humiliating spot. Everything I do seems laughable to her.
“Do you know why I hate you? It’s because I don’t like you. I hate the way you speak, the way you dress, laugh, sit, basta. Everything! I hate your accent. You’re so maarte. You’re so baduy manamit. You’re so -- ”
These words are still etched on my mind. I can forget these words easily, but what I detest is the simple fact that I’m being machinated by someone I can’t even consider a friend.
Exactly an hour and a half had elapsed since I woke up from my afternoon nap. I don’t want to get up yet so I stayed on my bed, just lying there with eyes closed, trying to get more sleep. But then again, I remembered her. Suddenly, a pang of anger crept all over me. I felt so angry. I was trembling.
Moreover, I kept on thinking why I didn’t fire back. Why can’t I tell her that the only reason why she keeps on intimidating me is just to please her so-called friends? Why can’t I simply shout out loud that she’s being stupid trying to please them? Why can’t she just leave me alone?
What if I was the one who could humiliate her in front of the class? What if it was me who could call her names? What if it was me who could bully her and taunt her? God, forgive me for this. But sometimes I imagine giving her a swift kick between her thighs as she shouts repeatedly so she could at least feel the dose of pain she had inflicted on me. Mocking can make someone lose her confidence and self-respect, and it may be enough for one to develop an inferiority complex.
But then again, guilt poured over me. I used to tell myself that I should understand her -- perhaps she’s just having fits due to various unknown factors. But then again, I am so tired of holding myself back and keeping my anger and frustration that I can no longer control my emotions.
Am I weak? We both are, only in different aspects. But despite this devastation, I pity her.
Yes. I pity her because she can’t wear girls’ dresses. I pity her because she can’t express herself the way girls do. That’s because she can never be a girl. She can wear skinny jeans and tight-fitting blouses as much as she wants to, but she will never be treated as a girl. She’s like a ballerina trapped in her own music box.
Why can’t she see that despite everything that she had done to me these past two years, I am still trying to see her good side? I know she is a good person. It’s just that she needed someone: a real friend. Someone that is different from the crowd she has, very far from those people who love her for what she has, people who stay with her because they want something from her or are way too afraid of her bitching and backbiting. I pity her because she can’t see the reason why up to now I don’t dare humiliate her even if I could. I pity her because she can’t see that no matter how stupid she might seem, no matter how rude she is and no matter how she loves tormenting me knowing that I hate it, I still like her. I feel bad for her on certain occasions.
I know that each of us have our own dreams to fulfill, own duties to accomplish, and own principles to carry out here in this world. Our school, for instance, is a very large room for us to grow. We came here to develop our personalities, to enjoy our youth, to prepare ourselves for the real world. Unconsciously, we are creating our own plot of story. An anecdote that we could share to everyone, one that we will carry forever, and it could probably be a story which one might consider as junk, but could be valuable to another. Bear in mind that we can’t force someone to change for our sake. For whatever it’s worth, there are some people who make us stronger even when they are disguised in a black suit called torment.
The Wanderer (A Sonnet)
By Klaris Chua
A trace of gloom upon thy withered face
I stroked it, thou soyned not to notice me
Thence, I allotted my tepid embrace
A dun ne’er felt was forsaken by thee
Trussed a bouquet of blooming roses,
Thou swiftly ran athwart the barren land
‘Til the garden of remembrance flashes
Essence of tragedy almost at hand
Beside a tombstone, thou sat down and wept
“Dear, my love, in my arms I’ll swathe you”
Alas! ‘twas this lass thy heart gently kept
But as I see those inscriptions, wind blew...
They’re for my grave, those blooms of brilliant red
Ne’er did I discern I’m already dead.
A trace of gloom upon thy withered face
I stroked it, thou soyned not to notice me
Thence, I allotted my tepid embrace
A dun ne’er felt was forsaken by thee
Trussed a bouquet of blooming roses,
Thou swiftly ran athwart the barren land
‘Til the garden of remembrance flashes
Essence of tragedy almost at hand
Beside a tombstone, thou sat down and wept
“Dear, my love, in my arms I’ll swathe you”
Alas! ‘twas this lass thy heart gently kept
But as I see those inscriptions, wind blew...
They’re for my grave, those blooms of brilliant red
Ne’er did I discern I’m already dead.
Chrysalis
By Klaris Chua
I am a daughter
of a cowardly zealot
who pretends to know
wisdom, respect,
and everything in between.
I am a sister
hiding under her shadow,
engulfed by her energy;
g’damned the way she perfects everything!
(gross.) the way she glides makes me cross.
I am a friend
one that spurts
peals of ejaculation
but when everyone’s home
I spend the rest of my days alone.
I am a lover
of a boy who barely knows me
he’ll surely step back once he finds out
the Beelzebub hidden beneath
eagerly awaiting her beautiful awakening.
And at one click, I shoved the world away
I am no longer a daughter, a sister
a friend, nor a lover --
someone needs me better.
(I saw it in the rear view mirror.)
Tonight, as I swim in the sea
of solitude and soliloquy, I cast this.
The butterfly that once touched the sky
who speak of inner brutes in a marching band declares:
“I will forever be trapped in this chrysalis again.”
I am a daughter
of a cowardly zealot
who pretends to know
wisdom, respect,
and everything in between.
I am a sister
hiding under her shadow,
engulfed by her energy;
g’damned the way she perfects everything!
(gross.) the way she glides makes me cross.
I am a friend
one that spurts
peals of ejaculation
but when everyone’s home
I spend the rest of my days alone.
I am a lover
of a boy who barely knows me
he’ll surely step back once he finds out
the Beelzebub hidden beneath
eagerly awaiting her beautiful awakening.
And at one click, I shoved the world away
I am no longer a daughter, a sister
a friend, nor a lover --
someone needs me better.
(I saw it in the rear view mirror.)
Tonight, as I swim in the sea
of solitude and soliloquy, I cast this.
The butterfly that once touched the sky
who speak of inner brutes in a marching band declares:
“I will forever be trapped in this chrysalis again.”
Never Forgotten
By Ira Zagala
Mediocrity was never an option
To be average is a sin.
Unacceptable, unforgivable
Such is the pride of one
Which drives us all
High hopes and ambition
Achieved, it seems,
With ease unprecedented,
Served only to fuel his avarice
For excellence even more
Eradicate every hindrance in sight
Obstacles too far below your eyes
To even be deemed worthy
Your disdain apparently knows no end
So high up, you’ve placed yourself
Atop your lofty, self-made pedestal
Rightfully so, as chosen by you, yourself
Far from prying and knowing looks
That could possibly see through
Your fragile façade
Forever stoke the fire
With misanthropy and mistrust
Never lose sight of the memory
Of her, the reason
The beacon which guides
Your blind vendetta
All is for her…
None can ever come close
The indelible mark of love
You so painstakingly pave the way for
Must burn all in its wake
In the path you blaze
To leave all in oblivion
For eternal remembrance
Mediocrity was never an option
To be average is a sin.
Unacceptable, unforgivable
Such is the pride of one
Which drives us all
High hopes and ambition
Achieved, it seems,
With ease unprecedented,
Served only to fuel his avarice
For excellence even more
Eradicate every hindrance in sight
Obstacles too far below your eyes
To even be deemed worthy
Your disdain apparently knows no end
So high up, you’ve placed yourself
Atop your lofty, self-made pedestal
Rightfully so, as chosen by you, yourself
Far from prying and knowing looks
That could possibly see through
Your fragile façade
Forever stoke the fire
With misanthropy and mistrust
Never lose sight of the memory
Of her, the reason
The beacon which guides
Your blind vendetta
All is for her…
None can ever come close
The indelible mark of love
You so painstakingly pave the way for
Must burn all in its wake
In the path you blaze
To leave all in oblivion
For eternal remembrance
Lolo
By Beatriz Uy
Maraming mga kabataan ang higit na malapit ang loob sa kanilang mga lolo o lola kung ikukumpara sa kanilang mga magulang. Kadalasan, sila yung mga lumaki at nagkaisip sa puder ng mga ito. Tulad na lamang ni Joyce, na sanggol pa lamang ay naging ulila na magmula nang masawi ang kanyang mga magulang sa malagim na aksidente. Ang kanyang lolo ang tumayo bilang ama’t ina niya.
Nang magdalaga si Joyce ay nakasanayan na niyang gumising ng maaga. Siya ang nagluluto ng agahan at nagwawalis ng kanilang bakuran. Pagkatapos ng mga gawaing-bahay ay tutungo siya sa bayan upang kumita ng ipambibili ng gamot ng kanyang sakiting lolo. Iba’t ibang trabaho na rin ang nasubukan niya.
Nagsusumikap si Joyce dahil mahal niya ang kanyang lolo. Hindi lingid sa kanyang kaalaman na mahina na ito at kailangan nang mamahinga. Matagal na itong kumikilos para sa kanila. Para kay Joyce, panahon na upang tumanaw ng utang na loob sa taong pinagkakautangan niya ng buhay. Nais niyang masuklian ang mga isinakripisyo nito para sa kanya -- mula sa pag-aaruga sa kanya mula pagkabata, sa pagpapaaral sa kanya hanggang hayskul, at hanggang sa paghahanap ng ikabubuhay nila upang may makain sa araw-araw.
Hayskul lamang ang natapos ni Joyce kaya naman naging mahirap para sa kanya ang makahanap ng trabaho. Sa ngayon, nagtitinda siya ng mga damit sa bayan at nag-aalaga ng bunsong anak ni Aling Betty, isang mayamang taga-bayan.
Sapat naman sana ang kinikita ni Joyce para sa pagkain nila ng kanyang lolo subalit magmula nang magkasakit ito, kinailangan na niyang dumoble ng kayod.
Tuwing umuuwi siya ay bakas ang pagod sa kanyang mukha at minsan ay hindi niya namamalayan na napag-susungitan na niya ang kanyang lolo.
“Kumusta ang trabaho mo? Nagpagod ka na naman, ‘no? Hinay-hinay lang sa pagtatrabaho, apo,” sabi ni Lolo Simeon.
“Aba’y, natural, pagod! Lo, pwede bang huwag mo muna akong kulitin, napapagod ho ako eh,” sagot ni Joyce.
Nang minsa’y napayuhan siya ng kanyang lolo ukol sa mga gastusin, napagsasalitaan niya ito ng masama: “Ako itong kumakayod, Lolo. Bakit kailangang kayo ang magsabi kung papaano ko gagastusin ang kinikita ko?”
Makailang ulit pa nilang napagdiskusyunan ang bagay na iyon. “Apo, huwag mo naman sanang masamain ang mga sinasabi ko. Iminumungkahi ko lang naman na…” ni hindi pinatapos ni Joyce sa pagsasalita ang kanyang lolo. “Pwede ho bang huwag n’yo nang sabihin kung ano’ng dapat kong gawin sa pera? Ako naman ang kumikita sa atin, ah. At bakit, sa gamot lang ba dapat mapunta ito? May mga pangangailangan din ho ako,” sambit niya.
Noong gabing iyon, masyadong dinibdib ni Lolo Simeon ang mga salitang nabitiwan ng apo. Unti-unting nagsikip ang hininga nito, dahilan upang tuluyan nang atakihin ang matanda. Dali-dali itong sinugod sa ospital ngunit hindi tinanggap dahil sa kakulangan ng pera.
Tila biglang natauhan si Joyce dahil sa nangyari. “Pera ba? Mas mahalaga ba talaga yan kaysa sa buhay ng lolo ko? Hindi ba’t tungkulin ninyong mga doktor na manggamot? Wala ba kayong puso?” maluha-luhang bulalas niya.
Natanggap man ang lolo ni Joyce sa ospital kinalaunan, hindi naman ito nabigyan ng sapat na atensyon. Hindi rin nagtagal at namatay rin ang matanda. Ngayon ay nagsisisi si Joyce sa masamang ugaling ipinakita niya sa kanyang lolo.
“Lo, patawad po. Mahal na mahal ko po kayo. Hindi man po ninyo ito narinig sa akin nang tahasan noong nabubuhay pa kayo, at bagama’t huli na ang lahat, nais ko pa rin pong sabihin ito sa inyo. Mahal ko po kayo, Lolo Simeon,” wika niya habang umiiyak sa ibabaw ng puntod ng kanyang lolo na tumayong kaibigan, magulang, at gabay niya noong nabubuhay pa ito.
Maraming mga kabataan ang higit na malapit ang loob sa kanilang mga lolo o lola kung ikukumpara sa kanilang mga magulang. Kadalasan, sila yung mga lumaki at nagkaisip sa puder ng mga ito. Tulad na lamang ni Joyce, na sanggol pa lamang ay naging ulila na magmula nang masawi ang kanyang mga magulang sa malagim na aksidente. Ang kanyang lolo ang tumayo bilang ama’t ina niya.
Nang magdalaga si Joyce ay nakasanayan na niyang gumising ng maaga. Siya ang nagluluto ng agahan at nagwawalis ng kanilang bakuran. Pagkatapos ng mga gawaing-bahay ay tutungo siya sa bayan upang kumita ng ipambibili ng gamot ng kanyang sakiting lolo. Iba’t ibang trabaho na rin ang nasubukan niya.
Nagsusumikap si Joyce dahil mahal niya ang kanyang lolo. Hindi lingid sa kanyang kaalaman na mahina na ito at kailangan nang mamahinga. Matagal na itong kumikilos para sa kanila. Para kay Joyce, panahon na upang tumanaw ng utang na loob sa taong pinagkakautangan niya ng buhay. Nais niyang masuklian ang mga isinakripisyo nito para sa kanya -- mula sa pag-aaruga sa kanya mula pagkabata, sa pagpapaaral sa kanya hanggang hayskul, at hanggang sa paghahanap ng ikabubuhay nila upang may makain sa araw-araw.
Hayskul lamang ang natapos ni Joyce kaya naman naging mahirap para sa kanya ang makahanap ng trabaho. Sa ngayon, nagtitinda siya ng mga damit sa bayan at nag-aalaga ng bunsong anak ni Aling Betty, isang mayamang taga-bayan.
Sapat naman sana ang kinikita ni Joyce para sa pagkain nila ng kanyang lolo subalit magmula nang magkasakit ito, kinailangan na niyang dumoble ng kayod.
Tuwing umuuwi siya ay bakas ang pagod sa kanyang mukha at minsan ay hindi niya namamalayan na napag-susungitan na niya ang kanyang lolo.
“Kumusta ang trabaho mo? Nagpagod ka na naman, ‘no? Hinay-hinay lang sa pagtatrabaho, apo,” sabi ni Lolo Simeon.
“Aba’y, natural, pagod! Lo, pwede bang huwag mo muna akong kulitin, napapagod ho ako eh,” sagot ni Joyce.
Nang minsa’y napayuhan siya ng kanyang lolo ukol sa mga gastusin, napagsasalitaan niya ito ng masama: “Ako itong kumakayod, Lolo. Bakit kailangang kayo ang magsabi kung papaano ko gagastusin ang kinikita ko?”
Makailang ulit pa nilang napagdiskusyunan ang bagay na iyon. “Apo, huwag mo naman sanang masamain ang mga sinasabi ko. Iminumungkahi ko lang naman na…” ni hindi pinatapos ni Joyce sa pagsasalita ang kanyang lolo. “Pwede ho bang huwag n’yo nang sabihin kung ano’ng dapat kong gawin sa pera? Ako naman ang kumikita sa atin, ah. At bakit, sa gamot lang ba dapat mapunta ito? May mga pangangailangan din ho ako,” sambit niya.
Noong gabing iyon, masyadong dinibdib ni Lolo Simeon ang mga salitang nabitiwan ng apo. Unti-unting nagsikip ang hininga nito, dahilan upang tuluyan nang atakihin ang matanda. Dali-dali itong sinugod sa ospital ngunit hindi tinanggap dahil sa kakulangan ng pera.
Tila biglang natauhan si Joyce dahil sa nangyari. “Pera ba? Mas mahalaga ba talaga yan kaysa sa buhay ng lolo ko? Hindi ba’t tungkulin ninyong mga doktor na manggamot? Wala ba kayong puso?” maluha-luhang bulalas niya.
Natanggap man ang lolo ni Joyce sa ospital kinalaunan, hindi naman ito nabigyan ng sapat na atensyon. Hindi rin nagtagal at namatay rin ang matanda. Ngayon ay nagsisisi si Joyce sa masamang ugaling ipinakita niya sa kanyang lolo.
“Lo, patawad po. Mahal na mahal ko po kayo. Hindi man po ninyo ito narinig sa akin nang tahasan noong nabubuhay pa kayo, at bagama’t huli na ang lahat, nais ko pa rin pong sabihin ito sa inyo. Mahal ko po kayo, Lolo Simeon,” wika niya habang umiiyak sa ibabaw ng puntod ng kanyang lolo na tumayong kaibigan, magulang, at gabay niya noong nabubuhay pa ito.
Shed Your Gradient
By Eric Francis Dimapilis
I am dimmed.
Reduced to a darker grey;
Lighter than that of a shadow.
Creeping onto wooded floors
Of your long-forgotten past.
The uninhibited past you detest
And shamefully buried
Beneath lies of a striking green,
Deep burning scarlet,
And playful canary yellow
Stroked, and smudged to finish --
A careful spotless blending
Of lavish hypocrisy.
The silly men that flock to your side
Fooled by the colors you proudly wear.
When in truth and in happenstance,
And in fleeting time, herself at daybreak,
You realize you are colorless, empty.
But you dread change, and uncertainty,
Afraid to lose everything; afraid to go back
To being simple -- a thing that you left in shivers;
And eventually dry, and dull,
And desperate and lonely
It is I, a part of you who believes still
In clear blue skies, in fields of green,
In how simple things were, and how beautiful;
Without your bright pretenses
To darken the majestic scene
The uninhibited past you once had,
The subtle hues you cast,
You were then easier on the eyes.
Oh, will you shed your gradient for me?
Return to your once silken texture
Drown, the stark contrast,
Wipe the excess, layer by layer.
Remind yourself and welcome
These memories of sepia
A slowly fading nostalgic hand,
Knocking onto wooded doors
Of your long forgotten past
I am dimmed.
Reduced to a darker grey;
Lighter than that of a shadow.
Creeping onto wooded floors
Of your long-forgotten past.
The uninhibited past you detest
And shamefully buried
Beneath lies of a striking green,
Deep burning scarlet,
And playful canary yellow
Stroked, and smudged to finish --
A careful spotless blending
Of lavish hypocrisy.
The silly men that flock to your side
Fooled by the colors you proudly wear.
When in truth and in happenstance,
And in fleeting time, herself at daybreak,
You realize you are colorless, empty.
But you dread change, and uncertainty,
Afraid to lose everything; afraid to go back
To being simple -- a thing that you left in shivers;
And eventually dry, and dull,
And desperate and lonely
It is I, a part of you who believes still
In clear blue skies, in fields of green,
In how simple things were, and how beautiful;
Without your bright pretenses
To darken the majestic scene
The uninhibited past you once had,
The subtle hues you cast,
You were then easier on the eyes.
Oh, will you shed your gradient for me?
Return to your once silken texture
Drown, the stark contrast,
Wipe the excess, layer by layer.
Remind yourself and welcome
These memories of sepia
A slowly fading nostalgic hand,
Knocking onto wooded doors
Of your long forgotten past
Deeply Wounded
By Gladys de Leon
Trapped in vacuity
Feeling empty and futile
Without a thought to think
An indolent heart that doesn’t beat
Promises led me to wreckage,
Vengeful conceptions ardently prevail
Blood imbrued the innocent hands
Unwanted emotions mold the furious mind
Ungraciously forsaken by the world,
Causing me to believe the untrue
Had me nullified by deplorable mistakes
Benumbed by repetitious dismay
Confined with so much sadness,
Illusions are patently evident,
Diminishing light menaced my paradise,
Drifting me away as oblivions rise
Trapped in vacuity
Feeling empty and futile
Without a thought to think
An indolent heart that doesn’t beat
Promises led me to wreckage,
Vengeful conceptions ardently prevail
Blood imbrued the innocent hands
Unwanted emotions mold the furious mind
Ungraciously forsaken by the world,
Causing me to believe the untrue
Had me nullified by deplorable mistakes
Benumbed by repetitious dismay
Confined with so much sadness,
Illusions are patently evident,
Diminishing light menaced my paradise,
Drifting me away as oblivions rise
Struggling for Air
By Bernard John Abraham
I’ve taken on a new addiction.
I gasp for breath,
hanging in limbo, wanting to die.
The clouds surround me
I’m scared, gripped by fear.
Guess I’m afraid to face my own demons after all.
What they thought was a fortress is a castle of sand
Crumbling down as the waves of anguish,
Crashing down against my shores.
I feel the pressure crushing my being.
I hope it would, and fast!
For maybe somewhere down there, peace awaits.
Maybe the writhing would cease, the torment gone.
Where I would be stoic but serene.
Maybe that darkness would be my heaven,
A still silence engulfing my soul,
Where I gasp for breath no more.
I’ve taken on a new addiction.
I gasp for breath,
hanging in limbo, wanting to die.
The clouds surround me
I’m scared, gripped by fear.
Guess I’m afraid to face my own demons after all.
What they thought was a fortress is a castle of sand
Crumbling down as the waves of anguish,
Crashing down against my shores.
I feel the pressure crushing my being.
I hope it would, and fast!
For maybe somewhere down there, peace awaits.
Maybe the writhing would cease, the torment gone.
Where I would be stoic but serene.
Maybe that darkness would be my heaven,
A still silence engulfing my soul,
Where I gasp for breath no more.
Pinned on Nowhere
By Amalia Airiz Casta
Caged in my ribs, it pulsates out undeserving life to my futile flesh.
It injects the throbbing of the demise it denies.
It is the very thing that pinned me on the board.
I’m unable to go forward; I’m unable to go back.
They called it the heart.
Beneath the solitary starlight, alone I hover;
Betwixt insomnia and sleep, half-dead and half-alive
Clobbered by shadows of ambiguity, I gasp for air.
I flash a lost stare across the realms of my melancholic nostalgia,
But you were never there.
I’m a marionette of my grudge and love for you.
You pulled and cut the strings, but you caused them to mend and move again.
You put me to life; yet you prepared my grave.
You renew and medicate my aches. I thought you could hear me,
But you were never there.
I close my eyes, but I never slept and dreamed.
I simply glance back at the memories…
Tumbling over one another,
Mixing, colliding. Merciless. Suffocating.
And you were never there.
Ring-around-a-carousel, am I just your murder doll?
Hate nourishes my affection for you,
My oblivion longs for my memory of you.
My broken, shattered, pulverized heart sings for you.
Yet you were never there.
But though you were never there,
My bruised wings will still struggle for you.
I abhor and care, I remember and forget.
Emotions really are razor-edged for my brittle soul,
But I’ll abandon suicide and my grave for you.
Caged in my ribs, it pulsates out undeserving life to my futile flesh.
It injects the throbbing of the demise it denies.
It is the very thing that pinned me on the board.
I’m unable to go forward; I’m unable to go back.
They called it the heart.
Beneath the solitary starlight, alone I hover;
Betwixt insomnia and sleep, half-dead and half-alive
Clobbered by shadows of ambiguity, I gasp for air.
I flash a lost stare across the realms of my melancholic nostalgia,
But you were never there.
I’m a marionette of my grudge and love for you.
You pulled and cut the strings, but you caused them to mend and move again.
You put me to life; yet you prepared my grave.
You renew and medicate my aches. I thought you could hear me,
But you were never there.
I close my eyes, but I never slept and dreamed.
I simply glance back at the memories…
Tumbling over one another,
Mixing, colliding. Merciless. Suffocating.
And you were never there.
Ring-around-a-carousel, am I just your murder doll?
Hate nourishes my affection for you,
My oblivion longs for my memory of you.
My broken, shattered, pulverized heart sings for you.
Yet you were never there.
But though you were never there,
My bruised wings will still struggle for you.
I abhor and care, I remember and forget.
Emotions really are razor-edged for my brittle soul,
But I’ll abandon suicide and my grave for you.
Autopsy
By Juan Paolo dela Cruz
When the day is at its expiration
I am left here: stagnant, cloistered, and confused
Alone, eaten by my admiration
Burning the laughter and smiles that were abused
Again, felicity had hidden itself from me
Forsaking the boy that lived by its existence
A hunger, a gasp, for happiness till eternity
To pay for the lifeless clown that lost its smile...
When the day is at its expiration
I am left here: stagnant, cloistered, and confused
Alone, eaten by my admiration
Burning the laughter and smiles that were abused
Again, felicity had hidden itself from me
Forsaking the boy that lived by its existence
A hunger, a gasp, for happiness till eternity
To pay for the lifeless clown that lost its smile...
An Apology Unsaid
By Jiea Dee
The darkest moment of my life was hollow. It was so hollow that I never knew what I was feeling nor what I was supposed to be feeling. It was when my dear grandfather passed away.
My grandfather. We affectionately called him “Papa Tony.” He was such a fun-loving and generous person. Every Christmas used to be a blast. My cousins and I all had mountains of presents as well as extra money to spend for the holidays. Everything seemed jolly until his death.
Only in my teenage years did I begin to tilt on the negatives. Back then, he would habitually give me unwanted sermons on what to do with my life, what course to take up in college, who to choose as a boyfriend, to think only of earning money, get out of the country, and all the tedious when-I-was-your-age monologues given by wheezy old men to their grandkids.
I couldn’t take the blabbing anymore. It gave birth to annoyance. The annoyance soon evolved to spite. Spite, in return, spawned to hatred. I began talking behind his back, calling him a grouch, a Hitler-wannabe, and the worst: a greedy, malcontent, power-hungry plutomaniac. There was even a time I had the balls to yell straight at his face.
We never saw each other again. Only during the Christmas holidays did my Mom call me up, tearfully informing me that our Papa Tony has liver cancer. He might not last long. We all gathered around his hospital bed. Mom couldn’t bear to see him helpless in bed. I left the room just to stay away from the melancholy.
Only two days after Christmas did we hear the grave news. Papa Tony has finally passed away. I felt numb. Guilt and conscience suddenly flooded me like a breaking dam. I suddenly remembered all the kind things he did for us. I felt so empty yet I wondered where my streaming tears were coming from.
I often ask. Why is it that people are loved only when they’re gone? Why is it that we tend to take them for granted and only reminisce on the goodness of their existence in the end? Why do we know the answers only when it’s far too late?
Months passed. We habitually visited his grave in Manila Memorial Park. Even though I would look straight at his epitaph, I still can’t look straight at his face. I never got to apologize for everything I said about him when he was still alive. And I’d rather not now that he’s dead. I believe it’s a form of cowardice to apologize indirectly.
Even if my cousin Raph encouraged me to apologize to his grave, I still couldn’t do so. I’d just sit in a corner and let regret torture my soul.
Raph put his arm around me. “Papa Tony has already forgiven you long before you even thought of apologizing. Even if you still haven’t said the words, he has already looked for those words in your heart. And he perfectly understands you’re sorry. There’s nothing to be guilty about, alright?”
Yes. All is well. At least Papa Tony is already in a world where he can fly around and feel no pain. We shall all see him soon.
The darkest moment of my life was hollow. It was so hollow that I never knew what I was feeling nor what I was supposed to be feeling. It was when my dear grandfather passed away.
My grandfather. We affectionately called him “Papa Tony.” He was such a fun-loving and generous person. Every Christmas used to be a blast. My cousins and I all had mountains of presents as well as extra money to spend for the holidays. Everything seemed jolly until his death.
Only in my teenage years did I begin to tilt on the negatives. Back then, he would habitually give me unwanted sermons on what to do with my life, what course to take up in college, who to choose as a boyfriend, to think only of earning money, get out of the country, and all the tedious when-I-was-your-age monologues given by wheezy old men to their grandkids.
I couldn’t take the blabbing anymore. It gave birth to annoyance. The annoyance soon evolved to spite. Spite, in return, spawned to hatred. I began talking behind his back, calling him a grouch, a Hitler-wannabe, and the worst: a greedy, malcontent, power-hungry plutomaniac. There was even a time I had the balls to yell straight at his face.
We never saw each other again. Only during the Christmas holidays did my Mom call me up, tearfully informing me that our Papa Tony has liver cancer. He might not last long. We all gathered around his hospital bed. Mom couldn’t bear to see him helpless in bed. I left the room just to stay away from the melancholy.
Only two days after Christmas did we hear the grave news. Papa Tony has finally passed away. I felt numb. Guilt and conscience suddenly flooded me like a breaking dam. I suddenly remembered all the kind things he did for us. I felt so empty yet I wondered where my streaming tears were coming from.
I often ask. Why is it that people are loved only when they’re gone? Why is it that we tend to take them for granted and only reminisce on the goodness of their existence in the end? Why do we know the answers only when it’s far too late?
Months passed. We habitually visited his grave in Manila Memorial Park. Even though I would look straight at his epitaph, I still can’t look straight at his face. I never got to apologize for everything I said about him when he was still alive. And I’d rather not now that he’s dead. I believe it’s a form of cowardice to apologize indirectly.
Even if my cousin Raph encouraged me to apologize to his grave, I still couldn’t do so. I’d just sit in a corner and let regret torture my soul.
Raph put his arm around me. “Papa Tony has already forgiven you long before you even thought of apologizing. Even if you still haven’t said the words, he has already looked for those words in your heart. And he perfectly understands you’re sorry. There’s nothing to be guilty about, alright?”
Yes. All is well. At least Papa Tony is already in a world where he can fly around and feel no pain. We shall all see him soon.
Pagkatakot ni Doding Daga
By Pepito Dizon
Natatakot akong lumabas
Baka nariyan siya at kumakaripas
Natatakot akong maglaro
Baka nakamasid mga mata niyang tuso
Tumatayo ang aking balahibo
Baka matulad ako sa iba kong kahalubilo
Ayaw kong gumalaw sa aking kinalalagyan
Baka may mangyaring di ko inaasam
Subalit ano pa ang saysay ng pagkatakot
Ngayong ako ay nasa kanya nang pangil
Ilang saglit na lang ay mawawalan na’ko ng hininga
Tuluyang lalamunin at dudurugin ng kanyang bituka
Mamamatay na nga lang ako,
Natatakot pa ako
Ngunit wala namang saysay ito
Pagka’t mamaya, idudumi niya na ako.
Malayo na ako sa pagiging daga
Isa na lamang akong dumi sa lupa
Na nginuya at pinahirapan ng gutom na pusa.
Subalit kahit ako ay isang dumi sa lupa…
Natatakot pa rin akong maapakan ng paa.
Natatakot akong lumabas
Baka nariyan siya at kumakaripas
Natatakot akong maglaro
Baka nakamasid mga mata niyang tuso
Tumatayo ang aking balahibo
Baka matulad ako sa iba kong kahalubilo
Ayaw kong gumalaw sa aking kinalalagyan
Baka may mangyaring di ko inaasam
Subalit ano pa ang saysay ng pagkatakot
Ngayong ako ay nasa kanya nang pangil
Ilang saglit na lang ay mawawalan na’ko ng hininga
Tuluyang lalamunin at dudurugin ng kanyang bituka
Mamamatay na nga lang ako,
Natatakot pa ako
Ngunit wala namang saysay ito
Pagka’t mamaya, idudumi niya na ako.
Malayo na ako sa pagiging daga
Isa na lamang akong dumi sa lupa
Na nginuya at pinahirapan ng gutom na pusa.
Subalit kahit ako ay isang dumi sa lupa…
Natatakot pa rin akong maapakan ng paa.
Twilight Massacre
By Katrina Tapang
Furious breathing
Echoing to the opaque corners
Of a strange cylindrical dream.
Moonlight’s arms peep between
The cracks -- tangerine shadows
Dancing with the soft breeze
Singing with the crickets of the night
A sketch of a fatal scythe
Sways, aiming at the porcelain neck
Crafted for wicker rope
Frightening moans vociferate
Highlighting the doom that embraces her slowly.
She is a fallen angel
Murdered by a sordid nightmare.
When dusk paints the horizon,
She’ll be a painted history of annihilation.
Furious breathing
Echoing to the opaque corners
Of a strange cylindrical dream.
Moonlight’s arms peep between
The cracks -- tangerine shadows
Dancing with the soft breeze
Singing with the crickets of the night
A sketch of a fatal scythe
Sways, aiming at the porcelain neck
Crafted for wicker rope
Frightening moans vociferate
Highlighting the doom that embraces her slowly.
She is a fallen angel
Murdered by a sordid nightmare.
When dusk paints the horizon,
She’ll be a painted history of annihilation.
Self-destructive Diorama
By Katrina Tapang
Behold how she dances
To fulfil the syringed dreams
Amputated by the potent mortal
Who becomes her reason to live.
Like a shadow clipped behind
Together with those mocked-up wings
She flies.
Dragged in pitch-black hollow paradise.
Tinge of darkness dawning slowly
Like an eclipse, disturbing the serenity
That fakes the bliss she breathes.
Every gesture of those sturdy arms
Signals her to tango with their satisfaction
The tempo madly increases
Over and over; and she gets sober
By everything that has been composed to destroy her
Her innocence betrays her too --
It pulls her to vow on a hope
That was stitched over her wounds.
Her life only exists when the spotlight lights up
The dying corners of her world.
Behold how she dances
To fulfil the syringed dreams
Amputated by the potent mortal
Who becomes her reason to live.
Like a shadow clipped behind
Together with those mocked-up wings
She flies.
Dragged in pitch-black hollow paradise.
Tinge of darkness dawning slowly
Like an eclipse, disturbing the serenity
That fakes the bliss she breathes.
Every gesture of those sturdy arms
Signals her to tango with their satisfaction
The tempo madly increases
Over and over; and she gets sober
By everything that has been composed to destroy her
Her innocence betrays her too --
It pulls her to vow on a hope
That was stitched over her wounds.
Her life only exists when the spotlight lights up
The dying corners of her world.
Contradictions
By Vivian Joy dela Calzada
The Lord is the very reason why even in the saddest part of our life, we smile. Even in confusion, we still understand. Even when betrayed, we trust. Even in rejection, we still care; and even in pain, we love.
We need to fall to be able to fly. People suffer, because we care. We have to unlearn things, for us to know the real lesson. We have to give up, because we are strong. We have to be wrong, in order to make things right.
Life’s complexities are also life’s source of beauty. We should cry to laugh again. We have to surrender so we could be free. We have to be broken to be whole again. We have to feel crazy at once in order to appreciate our sanity. We experience hurt so we could love; we are subjected to denial, so we could be recognized; and we forget in order to realize.
Christ hungered as a man, yet he fed the hungry. He is weary, yet He is our rest. He paid tribute, but in truth, He is the king. He was called a devil, yet he cast out demons. He wept, yet He dried our tears. He was sold for thirty pieces of silver, yet He redeems sinners. He was led as a lamb to be slaughtered, yet He is the good shepherd.
He gave His life, and by dying, He destroyed death.
Life is full of contradictions. Sometimes we need to put down our sword and renounce war with the opposition. But whenever you feel like giving up on these situations, remember that Christ died on the cross for our salvation.
The Lord is the very reason why even in the saddest part of our life, we smile. Even in confusion, we still understand. Even when betrayed, we trust. Even in rejection, we still care; and even in pain, we love.
We need to fall to be able to fly. People suffer, because we care. We have to unlearn things, for us to know the real lesson. We have to give up, because we are strong. We have to be wrong, in order to make things right.
Life’s complexities are also life’s source of beauty. We should cry to laugh again. We have to surrender so we could be free. We have to be broken to be whole again. We have to feel crazy at once in order to appreciate our sanity. We experience hurt so we could love; we are subjected to denial, so we could be recognized; and we forget in order to realize.
Christ hungered as a man, yet he fed the hungry. He is weary, yet He is our rest. He paid tribute, but in truth, He is the king. He was called a devil, yet he cast out demons. He wept, yet He dried our tears. He was sold for thirty pieces of silver, yet He redeems sinners. He was led as a lamb to be slaughtered, yet He is the good shepherd.
He gave His life, and by dying, He destroyed death.
Life is full of contradictions. Sometimes we need to put down our sword and renounce war with the opposition. But whenever you feel like giving up on these situations, remember that Christ died on the cross for our salvation.
A Journey Through Reality
By Leah Alvarez
As we all climb the ladder of success,
There are those trials we cannot escape.
Every path leads to uncertainty
With every obstacle we are bound to take.
Sometimes you’re up, sometimes you’re down
But no one else except you must be blamed --
The flashes of light, poignant and still
Recall memories and your world screams:
“Life itself is not a place
For unworldly acts and doubtful games!”
Reality speaks and whispers its way
Through cruel minds and heavenly stares...
Suppressed and disoriented by fears
The wide, ethereal sky screams
It is not the end; it is only the beginning
Of life’s journey on its way to success.
Facing the aisle of success as
Nostalgic thoughts mark its way
Like the cool breeze of the sea
That pampers its way through the skin.
It looks like heaven and hell collides
Like a battle that summons every man
One must pass though the path he takes
For success lies only within our hands.
As we all climb the ladder of success,
There are those trials we cannot escape.
Every path leads to uncertainty
With every obstacle we are bound to take.
Sometimes you’re up, sometimes you’re down
But no one else except you must be blamed --
The flashes of light, poignant and still
Recall memories and your world screams:
“Life itself is not a place
For unworldly acts and doubtful games!”
Reality speaks and whispers its way
Through cruel minds and heavenly stares...
Suppressed and disoriented by fears
The wide, ethereal sky screams
It is not the end; it is only the beginning
Of life’s journey on its way to success.
Facing the aisle of success as
Nostalgic thoughts mark its way
Like the cool breeze of the sea
That pampers its way through the skin.
It looks like heaven and hell collides
Like a battle that summons every man
One must pass though the path he takes
For success lies only within our hands.
Roses and Crosses
By Kristine Lomeda
You can kiss the sky hello,
And bid goodbye in the echo
Though you failed once or twice
You have proven you can be wise
Too many things worth thanking for,
Too many wishes to ask for
Thank Him every day of your life
And pray once in a while.
The sorrow and the pain,
That somehow tied you in chains
The joy and the laughter,
That feeling of riding a roller coaster
The people and the places;
The memories, experiences,
See each of them as an eternal gift
To our Lord you may offer and lift
Lady, be happy, be glad
For what you have and what you had
You have lived your life to the fullest
And our Lord had found you at your best!
You can kiss the sky hello,
And bid goodbye in the echo
Though you failed once or twice
You have proven you can be wise
Too many things worth thanking for,
Too many wishes to ask for
Thank Him every day of your life
And pray once in a while.
The sorrow and the pain,
That somehow tied you in chains
The joy and the laughter,
That feeling of riding a roller coaster
The people and the places;
The memories, experiences,
See each of them as an eternal gift
To our Lord you may offer and lift
Lady, be happy, be glad
For what you have and what you had
You have lived your life to the fullest
And our Lord had found you at your best!
In God’s Grace
By Jackielyn Perez
Calling God as our Father
Is better than calling Him as our soldier
Because a soldier fights for power
While He is our great Provider.
We might not see Him with our naked eye
But our conscience could never make a lie
And every time we let out a relief of sigh
He’ll always be the one to wave us “Hi!”
Pretending to be somebody or anybody
Is something we can’t adopt as a hobby
God gave us a unique identity
For us to be able to face reality
Given the chance to love others
Is an opportunity grabbed by us, seekers
We want a simple thing called love
But His grace is the grandest thing we have
Calling God as our Father
Is better than calling Him as our soldier
Because a soldier fights for power
While He is our great Provider.
We might not see Him with our naked eye
But our conscience could never make a lie
And every time we let out a relief of sigh
He’ll always be the one to wave us “Hi!”
Pretending to be somebody or anybody
Is something we can’t adopt as a hobby
God gave us a unique identity
For us to be able to face reality
Given the chance to love others
Is an opportunity grabbed by us, seekers
We want a simple thing called love
But His grace is the grandest thing we have
Kapayapaan
By Althea Reganion
I
Sa araw-araw ay katahimikan
ang nais kong makamtan
sa nagkakagulo nating bayan,
kailan pa makakamit ang kapayapaan?
II
Tulad na lamang sa ating gobyerno,
away-bati ang mga tao
ginagawa anuman ang kanilang gusto
nang masilayan ang kapangyarihang nais matamo.
III
Maging sa loob ng mga tahanan,
Sermon ng ina ang napapakinggan
Away ng magulang, ng buong pamilya,
May katapusan pa kaya?
IV
Lagi na lamang ganito
Tulungan mo po kami, O, Diyos ko
Nawa’y kapayapaan aming matamo,
Upang sa buhay kami’y makuntento.
I
Sa araw-araw ay katahimikan
ang nais kong makamtan
sa nagkakagulo nating bayan,
kailan pa makakamit ang kapayapaan?
II
Tulad na lamang sa ating gobyerno,
away-bati ang mga tao
ginagawa anuman ang kanilang gusto
nang masilayan ang kapangyarihang nais matamo.
III
Maging sa loob ng mga tahanan,
Sermon ng ina ang napapakinggan
Away ng magulang, ng buong pamilya,
May katapusan pa kaya?
IV
Lagi na lamang ganito
Tulungan mo po kami, O, Diyos ko
Nawa’y kapayapaan aming matamo,
Upang sa buhay kami’y makuntento.
Windblown Soliloquies
By Edelrita Rizo
The Breeze flitted over the vast expanse of green, pausing only to play lightly with the lilies that grew plenty in the fields. The Breeze loved the feel of the soft petals, and he lingered a little while longer over the fragile blooms before resuming his usual patrol of the meadow.
It was customary for the Breeze to have little skylarks flying with him as he meandered lazily across the fields. The tiny birds sang cheerfully as they glided along, enjoying the extra height that the Breeze provided for them. He took joy in sifting through the soft feathers of the skylarks, reminding him of the lilies, though he took care not to ruffle the fine strands too much or the birds will veer off their course.
He swirled three times over the flat rock that stood under the shade of a towering oak, and which often had furry little squirrels on it, squabbling over acorns. Then he visited the fluffy white bunnies he was very much fond of. The Breeze could not help but waft through the white fur and whisper in their ears that wiggle charmingly when disturbed far too long.
Ah, and there they are. The soul carriers… two of them. Twice every moon, they visited the far end of the glade where the heliotropes and lavenders grew, which gave the place a cool, calming scent. The soul carriers always had with them a red sheet upon which they sat, talking and laughing as they ate the food they bring along. They would stay for hours at a time, and the Breeze lingered over their place until they left at sundown.
The woman smelled a little like honeysuckle and musk, sweet and captivating. The Breeze often played with the long strands of fur upon her head, and he reveled in the sound of her laughter as she tried to prevent her fur from tangling. The other one, the man, has quite shorter fur, and often smelled like graphite and paint and fresh canvas. The man soul carrier loved the way that the Breeze cooled his brow, and always smiled after the Breeze had fanned his cheek.
The Breeze loved to drift lazily over these two soul carriers -- to tousle their fur, listen to their laughter, and witness their contentment in each other’s arms. Whenever they went to the glades, the Breeze made sure he did not bring too many clouds that block the glorious sunshine. The company of the soul carriers was his escape from routine, and he was glad that the soul carriers seem to appreciate his company as well.
And now, the sun was setting, painting the sky a pinkish-orange glow. The soul carriers were getting to their feet, preparing to leave. The Breeze felt a little mournful at their departure, but he knew that they will be back. It was quite a long wait, but the Breeze knew that the anticipation will only make their return a much more welcome respite.
He caressed the woman’s cheek and ruffled the man’s fur a little more before they left. The soul carriers smiled as they walked away, and the Breeze swirled around them for the last time.
The Breeze flitted over the vast expanse of green, pausing only to play lightly with the lilies that grew plenty in the fields. The Breeze loved the feel of the soft petals, and he lingered a little while longer over the fragile blooms before resuming his usual patrol of the meadow.
It was customary for the Breeze to have little skylarks flying with him as he meandered lazily across the fields. The tiny birds sang cheerfully as they glided along, enjoying the extra height that the Breeze provided for them. He took joy in sifting through the soft feathers of the skylarks, reminding him of the lilies, though he took care not to ruffle the fine strands too much or the birds will veer off their course.
He swirled three times over the flat rock that stood under the shade of a towering oak, and which often had furry little squirrels on it, squabbling over acorns. Then he visited the fluffy white bunnies he was very much fond of. The Breeze could not help but waft through the white fur and whisper in their ears that wiggle charmingly when disturbed far too long.
Ah, and there they are. The soul carriers… two of them. Twice every moon, they visited the far end of the glade where the heliotropes and lavenders grew, which gave the place a cool, calming scent. The soul carriers always had with them a red sheet upon which they sat, talking and laughing as they ate the food they bring along. They would stay for hours at a time, and the Breeze lingered over their place until they left at sundown.
The woman smelled a little like honeysuckle and musk, sweet and captivating. The Breeze often played with the long strands of fur upon her head, and he reveled in the sound of her laughter as she tried to prevent her fur from tangling. The other one, the man, has quite shorter fur, and often smelled like graphite and paint and fresh canvas. The man soul carrier loved the way that the Breeze cooled his brow, and always smiled after the Breeze had fanned his cheek.
The Breeze loved to drift lazily over these two soul carriers -- to tousle their fur, listen to their laughter, and witness their contentment in each other’s arms. Whenever they went to the glades, the Breeze made sure he did not bring too many clouds that block the glorious sunshine. The company of the soul carriers was his escape from routine, and he was glad that the soul carriers seem to appreciate his company as well.
And now, the sun was setting, painting the sky a pinkish-orange glow. The soul carriers were getting to their feet, preparing to leave. The Breeze felt a little mournful at their departure, but he knew that they will be back. It was quite a long wait, but the Breeze knew that the anticipation will only make their return a much more welcome respite.
He caressed the woman’s cheek and ruffled the man’s fur a little more before they left. The soul carriers smiled as they walked away, and the Breeze swirled around them for the last time.
Blink
By Donnie Lomat
I suck at this.
A fool, rendered helpless with just one stroke.
All the years of conditioning gone to waste.
And all you have to do is smile.
And you did.
Damn your eyes.
I suck at this.
A fool, rendered helpless with just one stroke.
All the years of conditioning gone to waste.
And all you have to do is smile.
And you did.
Damn your eyes.
Someday
By Kristine Bernadette Cruz
You asked for patience and I gave it to you
My love and respect, I provided them, too.
You asked me to wait for you and your love
I promised I would; what choice did I have?
“Someday,” you said, someday I’ll see
When we’re together how much you love me
So I sat and I waited day after day
For you and your love to at last come my way.
For the promises and dreams you instilled in my heart
To come true, to pass, and to never fall apart
But with each day that passes, you drift further away
And I sit here knowing I’ll never see someday
My dreams remain broken upon distant shores
My soul never stops crying, but my heart remains yours;
My love and respect, you’ll have them forever
Even now that I know that someday is never.
You asked for patience and I gave it to you
My love and respect, I provided them, too.
You asked me to wait for you and your love
I promised I would; what choice did I have?
“Someday,” you said, someday I’ll see
When we’re together how much you love me
So I sat and I waited day after day
For you and your love to at last come my way.
For the promises and dreams you instilled in my heart
To come true, to pass, and to never fall apart
But with each day that passes, you drift further away
And I sit here knowing I’ll never see someday
My dreams remain broken upon distant shores
My soul never stops crying, but my heart remains yours;
My love and respect, you’ll have them forever
Even now that I know that someday is never.
Goodbye
By Camille Loren Martinez
We became friends real fast
I almost thought it would never last,
But we learned about each other more
And our friendship never became a bore
You know how much this means to me
It’s a shame there wasn’t a chance to see,
We don’t want to set each other free
But we know this is all we’ll ever be
With my heart covered in tears,
I heard your shaky voice in my ears,
And all I can do is cry
When I heard the word goodbye
We became friends real fast
I almost thought it would never last,
But we learned about each other more
And our friendship never became a bore
You know how much this means to me
It’s a shame there wasn’t a chance to see,
We don’t want to set each other free
But we know this is all we’ll ever be
With my heart covered in tears,
I heard your shaky voice in my ears,
And all I can do is cry
When I heard the word goodbye
Eroplano
By Klaris Chua
Hindi ko nalilimutang tumingala
Sa tuwing maririnig ko ang ugong
Na nagmumula sa himpapawid
Kung saan ka pumapaimbulog
Kahanga-hanga ka,
Malayo na ang iyong narating
Iba’t iba ang nakasalamuha
Sa iba't ibang lupain
Kailan kaya kita malalapitan?
Nangangamba ako sa aking kapalaran
Baka ito’y hanggang pangarap na lamang
Na wala rin namang katuparan
Kailan mo ba ako isasama?
Makalipad din kaya ako
O mananatiling nakalapag sa lupa
Humahangos, humahabol sa’yo
Ngunit alam kong may mga araw
Na minsan ika’y bumababa’t nasisira
At balang-araw malalaspag ka rin
Papabayaan hanggang sa maluma
Hindi ko nalilimutang tumingala
Sa tuwing maririnig ko ang ugong
Na nagmumula sa himpapawid
Kung saan ka pumapaimbulog
Kahanga-hanga ka,
Malayo na ang iyong narating
Iba’t iba ang nakasalamuha
Sa iba't ibang lupain
Kailan kaya kita malalapitan?
Nangangamba ako sa aking kapalaran
Baka ito’y hanggang pangarap na lamang
Na wala rin namang katuparan
Kailan mo ba ako isasama?
Makalipad din kaya ako
O mananatiling nakalapag sa lupa
Humahangos, humahabol sa’yo
Ngunit alam kong may mga araw
Na minsan ika’y bumababa’t nasisira
At balang-araw malalaspag ka rin
Papabayaan hanggang sa maluma
In-between Days
By Klaris Chua
Warning signs
of things yet to come
today, we’re not fine
tomorrow
we’ll be well.
Palms will tremble
knees will shake
fire and ice
Collide.
When will we finally be what we dream to be?
Quand serons-nous des amoureux?
I can’t hurt you
you’ve been hurt
for so
many
times before.
You can’t hurt me.
no one ever does.
So let’s wait until perpetuity
comes and hurls
butterflies and clouds
upon us
and let love
Unfurl...
Warning signs
of things yet to come
today, we’re not fine
tomorrow
we’ll be well.
Palms will tremble
knees will shake
fire and ice
Collide.
When will we finally be what we dream to be?
Quand serons-nous des amoureux?
I can’t hurt you
you’ve been hurt
for so
many
times before.
You can’t hurt me.
no one ever does.
So let’s wait until perpetuity
comes and hurls
butterflies and clouds
upon us
and let love
Unfurl...
Hopscotch and Palaver
By Klaris Chua
Skip into the next track
The world is turning now
Breaking down is the point
Piercing to the core of my soul
Don’t be mad if I disagree
That’s natural for skeptics like me
Try to understand my closed mind
Open yours and seek silence
The magic will start the sparks
Sooner you’ll see what lies ahead
Take control of everything and
See through the disguise
The infinite rustling of skirts
Creates some skirmish here or there
Form-fitting doors have spikes
See you in my world at ten
Skip into the next track
The world is turning now
Breaking down is the point
Piercing to the core of my soul
Don’t be mad if I disagree
That’s natural for skeptics like me
Try to understand my closed mind
Open yours and seek silence
The magic will start the sparks
Sooner you’ll see what lies ahead
Take control of everything and
See through the disguise
The infinite rustling of skirts
Creates some skirmish here or there
Form-fitting doors have spikes
See you in my world at ten
My Princess
By Joseph Catapusan
You’re my princess in distress
I am a knight in a warrior’s dress.
I’ll save you from the dragon’s peril
With a heart of immortal zeal.
You are a flower in the garden of weed,
I am the butterfly; you’re the one I need.
Every spring morning you’re the one I hold
And when the winter night gets cold.
I am like Romeo, whose love is true,
But you are like Juliet, you leave me blue.
Despite everything that happened to us,
I still love you, against all the odds.
You’re my princess in distress
I am a knight in a warrior’s dress.
I’ll save you from the dragon’s peril
With a heart of immortal zeal.
You are a flower in the garden of weed,
I am the butterfly; you’re the one I need.
Every spring morning you’re the one I hold
And when the winter night gets cold.
I am like Romeo, whose love is true,
But you are like Juliet, you leave me blue.
Despite everything that happened to us,
I still love you, against all the odds.
Click
By Bernard John Abraham
Jagged wisps of
eternity studded the sky on
feather-like projections that kept my eyes
fixated on them --
immobile,
unmoving, unblinking, as if
I was afraid to lose it.
For I know its ephemerality as a fact.
So I raised my hand to my eye
and froze the scene in my memory
where it would be held forever.
Jagged wisps of
eternity studded the sky on
feather-like projections that kept my eyes
fixated on them --
immobile,
unmoving, unblinking, as if
I was afraid to lose it.
For I know its ephemerality as a fact.
So I raised my hand to my eye
and froze the scene in my memory
where it would be held forever.
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