YUGTO

YUGTO

Copyright 2021-2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright reverts to the respective authors and artists whose works appear in this issue. No part of this book may be reproduced or reprinted in any means without prior permission from the copyright holders.

Published and Distributed by:

AQUINIAN HERALD

The Official Student Publication of University of Santo Tomas-Legazpi, Rawis, Legazpi City Member: Bicol Association of Student Campus Journalists (BASCAJ) College Editor’s Guild of the Philippines (CEGP)

COVER BY

Eugene Kyle Oligo

LAYOG (Flight) The literary and art folio Of Aquinian Herald, The official student publication Of the University of Santo Tomas-Legazpi

Y

U

G

T

O

Yugto (n.)

Chapters from our childhood.

Childhood is one of the most important aspects of one’s life. It is the beginning of one’s journey in the gift of life, with most of the lessons learned as children having relevance today. Although the essence of childhood in literature is often seen in children’s books, it could still be the center point of an art. With the combination of memories not forgotten, may it be happy or sad, or the lessons and experiences one has passed through, it brings out a room of emotion and opens the heart of someone.

This year’s edition of “Layog”, the literary and art folio of Aquinian Herald sets about the chapters in our childhood, its relevance and impact to who we are today.

LAYOG X - 2022 EDITORIAL TEAM

PROJECT HEAD/LITERARY HEAD

FREDRICK IRA STA. TERESA GRAPHICS HEADS

EUGENE KYLE OLIGO NICOLE HABLA SIMEON SAM MAGALONA IV PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO DESIGN HEADS

HANS FRANKLIN REQUIERO

CHAPTER 1: DREAMER

PHOTO BY HONEYROSE BERMUNDO

A Dream

by Andrea Marie Lachama Every night I lay in bed, Hoping to drift off somewhere I actually wanted to be.

No burden to feel, not a reason to dread But to feel free and nothing but glee.

In this generation full of expectations, Perfection is the standard.

I think often that the only option I have is isolation Living with such pressure to be pretty can be hard.

I used to want to stay inside all the time Consumed by the social media craze.

Now, I can only dream about being carelessly free outside, With no obligation to be perfect, Too bad dreaming is for bedtime.

ART BY DANICA BELLEN

Youthful Musings

by Jose Nico B. Codia

Inclined to deadlines Working for quite some time PC fans whirr and your head’s coils whine Wondering if I can make it in time As my aching fingers falter Mind’s muddled like muddy water Yet it wanders to dreams of childish grandeur I recount the memories, despite nary a raconteur I dreamt I could ride a ship to space Made friends with the alien race The Earth looked better from the stars Stars right above from where you are In my own world, balladeers sung praises to my name I was a dashing knight, with as pure a heart as my horse’s mane Childish dreams to contrast my present situation “Am I wasting time with youthful ideation?”

A ring from the alarm halted my musings Alas, it seems like my time limit’s ending “Better get right back to it” I say as I expend the last of my wits

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

Dreamer’s Fight

by KC Jamin

We are the dreamers of our dream, The master of the team.

The worker of our reality, The compass for our destiny.

A warrior against negativity.

On some days we’re strong On other days we’re weak Yet will always start the week And will never gonna quit.

For a dreamer is always on track Not ready to be crack Never will be a quack For the dream is always at the clock.

A dreamer who never give up.

A dreamer who always fight.

PHOTO BY PAM ANGELA ESPARTINEZ

Pixie Dust

by Aedam Isidore Ll. Ampongan

Imaginations inside and out of my head, Made me dream of something seem too impossible to happen.

Dream someday soon, it’s going to be big that’s true, Wherever you are, remember you have the magic in you.

Sometimes I wish, I wish I can fly, Grow my wings and circle around the sky.

The moon and stars shine so bright, Hand in hand with you, our hands clasped so tight.

Dreams are better when we share it with someone.

The flight of our dreams makes us go underneath the sun.

Dance through the meadows and race through the fields, Look at the magic of pixie glide through your life.

Fly away be free, the best is yet to come.

Pixie dust has its limits, but I know you won’t hold back.

Discover things and achieve your sparkling dreams, Pixies taught us how to dream, let it shine like a beam.

PHOTO BY PAM ANGELA ESPARTINEZ

Carry On

by Jan Angelo B. Bermas I used to dream of luck, and love Of ‘Once Upon a Time’ Of plans aligned and mapped above Of purpose, truth, and rhyme.

Browsing the subconscious mind Diving really deep Sometimes not sure if by design That you’re awake or fast asleep So, if you wake to tears you’ve cried, Then try your best to cope For still there lives a dream inside And that, my friend, is hope.

ART BY DENIECE SHERMIE ANTE

A Hopeful Dreamer

by Aedam Isidore Ll. Ampongan

DREAM Everything starts with a dream, A dream that tells you to achieve what’s deep within.

A dream, like an overflowing stream, Clear, sparkly under the moon and stars, A dream that told me, you’ve come this far.

PURSUE Everything what your heart desires.

Dreams that will make you shine from afar.

A dream that will tell you to take risks in life, A dream is a wish of our heart, Your dream is a vision of what you wanted to start.

FAILURE Is an obstacle that you need to surpass.

Like everybody’s dream, not everyone ends with a happy ending.

There will be times that you’ll end up crying.

Dry those tears and rake my hand, That’s my dream! That’s your dream! Yes, we all have a dream.

TRY Until you succeed in life.

Little rascals used to dream, different things they wanted to be.

My dream is to be pilot! I want to be a teacher! Move because I am a nurse!

All of it is full packed with joy and colors.

Alright, alright, come let’s sleep my little hopeful dreamer.

PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD

HI

by Vincent John B. Abordo Walking by this grey and gloomy street, Filled with fog and bliss, Streetlights can be seen afar, A familiar shadow looms below my knees.

A child’s voice giggling, Haunting and echoing across this damp street.

“Did we make it?”

I sigh in disbelief.

I sat down the floor and replied, “No, I’m sorry we didn’t” I watched as the happiness fades away from the kid’s eyes.

“I tried everything but I can’t.”

“But did we at least catch a glimpse of it?”

I scoffed and yawned patting the kid’s head.

“Don’t worry, we’re someplace better now.”

We smiled and waved goodbye.

Maybe the kid could’ve felt different, Maybe I could’ve done better, Or maybe I could’ve avoided the conversation, If only I didn’t say “Hi.”

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

The Ghost of you

by Jose Nico Conda Ghost, ghost Her ghost dwells within me Her childhood dreams, woes were reposed But they will never die Born with a twinkle in her eyes A world disillusioned, a firm resolution Through the pen she sets to open eyes Revolution through idealistic ideation Till one day in the Philippines, April 1973 Her soul was torn in two Dictator’s goons struck her with impunity Till she passed on, like many others too The death of hers and many made it so Childhood dreams of us could grow The childhood dreams to live, to love To reach the sky, to build towers towering amongst the tree

PHOTO BY EARL DWAYNE GASTON

ART BY ERIN ZULUETA

An Ode to a Child’s Dream

by Camille Dilao Nuñez

A lot of people would ask me of what I want to do when I grow up.

I’d say, “I wanna be princess, ‘Cause they’re all-so-pretty, I wanna be mermaid, So, I can swim all day.”

At 6, I wanted to be an actress At 7, I wanted to be a doctor At 16, I wanted to be an I.T. At 17, I wanted to be a vet.

But I’d never really dreamt of becoming an artist No one really expected that I’d paint or create for a living.

But as I grew up, No one really asked me, What I wanted to be.

All the dreams, I’ve envisioned We’re all just an inconsistent child’s dream.

ROME

by Jan Angelo Bermas Dreams filled with wisps of wonder Dreams with unseeing eyes Dreams of scenes and sailing under Serene, starry skies Longing for days of better fortune Amidst the chaos of our times To dare that dream amongst misfortune A test of courage in our lives Hold to those dreams charged with hope so purely Don’t let them slip away For dreams do happen, slowly and surely After all: “Rome wasn’t built in a day”

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

You Are

by Aedam Isidore Ll. Ampongan I used to think that I can be anything.

Seeing no boundaries of what I wanted to be.

Conquering the world like it was meant for me, I’m a child, I’m a dreamer, and I can turn it into a reality.

You can be anyone, anyone who you wanted to become, Never stop yourself from reaching those fairy tale kingdoms. Look from afar and you will see a great big world for you and me. Trust your dreams and you’ll find your way, to somewhere you wanted to be.

Close your eyes my precious one, Unleash those dreams and let yourself shine from within.

Life is perfect for you to grab it, A dreamer’s dream is a fun sanctuary.

Don’t look back and chase those dreams.

Follow the path where you think is right for you to be, You are loved, you are valid, and you are appreciated in many ways, Your dreams taught you to become the person who you are now.

You no longer want to hide where timeless journey fills our lives. Little one, open your eyes.

It’s time for you to walk on your feet. See no boundaries of what you wanted to be.

You are a dreamer; choose to live your dreams.

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

A Writer or a Lover?

by Mitch Angel Escopete

Walking with books, Empty streets are finally awakened.

Misfortune to fortune, Options to foundations.

Flashback to 1850’s, women were submissive to men.

I offer everything to you, mi amour.

My beloved human, We are already connected.

You and I promised, To live a life, we wanted.

I dreamt to be a writer, And your lover.

Walking with books, Empty streets are finally awakened.

A lot of familiar faces, I became delighted.

Saw you in black in the church where we were nearly bonded.

Our love ended, by the dreams I followed.

Now I am a writer but not your lover.

PHOTO BY JULIUS PHILIP BOLIMA

Chocolate Factory by arielle

Oversized candy bars stand tall Chocolate waves flooded the shore Overhead, you’d think I am small But I’m in a huge candy store I did win the golden ticket Candy delights in full access In awe of the mad exhibit The confectionery excess I eat. I eat. I eat. I eat.

Cinnamon. Sugar. Bonbons. Sweets.

Until. There. Are. Holes. In. My. Teeth.

‘Til. I. Can’t. Feel. My. Hands. And. Feet.

PHOTO BY SIMEON SAM MAGALONA IV

A Tale Fulfilled Too Soon

by Vincent John Abordo

This world is colorful and I like it, I wish I could stay as long as I can, I wish to grow up faster.

I wish to see what the world has to offer.

I want to be a teacher, So, children would admire me, I want to be a leader, So, people would look up to me, I want to be a doctor, To help those people like me, I don’t know who I can be, But I just want to be like everyone else.

Yet of all those dreams I dreamed of seeing, I wanted to become who I wanted to be, But unlike those who are given a path, An ending was given too soon for me to have.

As I lay in this white bed I await, And continue to dream of all things I could’ve been, I relax and smile as I wait for the last beep, I close my eyes and go to sleep.

Maybe my tale wasn’t meant to be told here, Maybe I was meant to be in a world with magic, With dragons, wizards, and monsters to slay, At least that’s a tale I would rather say.

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

CHAPTER 2: FACADE

PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD

SIMPLY

by Jan Angelo B. Bermas Once young, you’ve shortly found The harshest truth to bear Was learning life the world around is hardly just, or fair.

The world was great, and I would fit Where I was meant to be – Because, as I was made for it, The world was made for me.

But now I know my dreams of youth were simply that - a dream

PHOTO BY JULIA CHEVELLE DAET

I Thought

by KC Nolasco Jamin

Caught up in the world, yes, I’m troubled.

This void inside that I can’t avoid, Searching for the missing piece, to reach that internal peace.

I thought it was a dream.

I thought it was a high grade.

I thought it was a relationship.

I thought it was a friendship.

I thought it was a food.

I thought it was music.

I thought it’s all enough.

For all I thought was wrong and leave me at frowned.

Satisfied I’m not, for I was in a fluctuating path.

By His grace, the once frowned is now crowned.

He meets me in the dark to put a light in my path.

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

Rules

by Vincent John Abordo I live in a valley with townsfolk, From long ago before my time, Made immortal by frail strips of trees, Tenets and sets to be followed until death, Created in a time with fire and smoke, But all I see today are meadows and sunshine, We were tasked to leave the valley, But only to go through a millennia old bridge, A bridge created south, towards the smoke, But I want to create my own, A bridge towards north, away from the smoke, Towards the sound of the ocean, But the elders ridicule me, Giving me ill-will for being free, Rules were made to be broken, For new generations to create anew.

PHOTO BY JESSICA BACCAY

The Sound of Amethyst Mists

by Vincent John Abordo

A gentle hum of rain on my rooftop, Hearing that sweet buzz underneath, It gives me an odd comfort, like being excited, yet alone.

A child I once was, When it rains I run out to play, Forget about getting sick, My friends are here with the gentle rain.

As the thunder roars along the clouds, It echoes on my mind, Yet it doesn’t scare me, But it echoes with the laughter of my childhood.

As I gaze upon my window, Watching strokes of amethyst mist, I see three ghosts on the field, playing on nature’s soul on manifest.

A child I once was, When it rains I run out to play, The sound of rain is our fife, for me and my friends to enjoy our childish life.

How colorful rain once was, Ghosts of a distant past haunt me, As I am as sad as I am happy, As I try to look back to the sound of rain.

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

ART BY ERIN ZULUETA

Flip A Coin

by Jose Nico B. Codia Flip a coin, heads or tails What could it be?

Who would be right guessing?

You or me?

People, the lot of them Far as the eye can see Could you tell well Nay just their psyche, but their whole story?

A woman, blessed not in dime nor penny And a man, bequeathed with higher standing Who’s to say that she (Who’s to say that he) Be bound to the other by the Fate’s string?

Of two backgrounds of stark contrast And of two, sharing entrees and scathing repartees Who would’ve thought? Who would’ve guessed?

They would end up together at love’s behest Flip a coin, heads or tails What could it be?

No one would be right guessing Not you nor me People, the lot of them Far as the eye can see No one can tell well Their psyche, nor their whole story As people are always more than they seem Their thoughts Their memories Always bursting at the seams.

The Little Boy

by Angelica Bertis

When I was young My favorite color is blue Sometimes green, Or either of the two They said I’m a boy, So, I should like blue more.

They said pink is for girls, And I shouldn’t pick that color.

I grew up boxing my identity Because of false ideologies That growing up as a guy I should be tough, I should not cry They lied; it was never made that way.

But lying is bad, they say.

What makes them think that color and toys, Will make me less of a man, less of a boy?

They don’t have to lie, Children might ask out of curiosity But little children can try because reality is never made to be easy.

Big Boys Don’t Cry

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

Big Boys Don’t Cry

by Camille Nuñez

ART BY DENIECE SHERMIE ANTE

There’s someone behind your back, I looked.

There’s something under your bed.

I looked.

There is something hidden in the dark.

I looked.

With all the monstrosity they say, I became afraid of opening my eyes, Afraid of crying, Afraid of speaking, Afraid of reaching out.

“Big boys don’t cry”, they say But even if I say I am, But even if I become, Boys no matter what, Will cry.

A Girl

by Andrea Marie Lachama When I was little, my mom would dress me up like a brand-new doll of hers.

She’d always say, “don’t sit like that” and she’d teach me to cross my legs and put my hands on my lap.

I did just that, without question.

I trusted her to know the best because she’s older, as she repeatedly reminded me.

As I grew, I witnessed girls who played sports as aggressively as boys did.

I’d get confused, isn’t that improper? As what I have learned from my mother.

So, I grew and grew just to see the world for what it was, Then I’d question, does my mother really know the best?

I once believed that it was improper for a girl to do things that a boy is expected to do for her, when it is not.

A girl can clean and cook, but also throw a punch as hard as any boy would.

A boy can be strong and sporty, but also cry harder than anyone in a movie theatre.

I eventually learned that now I know best.

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

TIME

by Jan Angelo B. Bermas In youth, the hour for bed was tough; I couldn’t bear to wait When ‘soon’ was never soon enough, And ‘later’ far too late.

The summers dragged an age ahead.

And minutes seemed like days.

‘Be patient, child,’ my father said, ‘Don’t wish your life away.’

And so, the time would carry on, With every moment spent But that was then, and now it’s gone, Not knowing where it went.

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

Last Hope

by Jan Angelo B. Bermas

Sometimes it feels like you’re out of hope, And nothing seems to cross your mind Sometimes it feels hard to cope, When silence passes and you feel left behind When days are lost in trying to hide The emptiness that won’t go away, The pointless hollow deep inside And you know that feeling’s here to stay, I hope for these times when you think you’re alone And that no one seems to care at all, That you cling on, to face the unknown And pick yourself up, every time you fall

PHOTO BY SIMEON SAM MAGALONA IV

Rainbow

by Andrea Marie Lachama Living my life inside a box, Terrified of coming out.

Hidden underneath a latch full of locks, So, doubts I have known all throughout.

They told me it was shameful to be who I am, My young, naive self-believed.

I was ashamed and felt like a sham.

So alone, I hid and covered and grieved.

A part of myself, I suppressed. in fear of rejection from the world who knew “best”.

Then, I realized there is nothing I owe, But freedom to myself, and nothing more.

Hiding is not living, When all I’ve done is cross the social norm.

If love is indeed as natural as breathing, Then why must I conform?

The black and white life is not for me, When all I ever wanted is to show my rainbow colors.

PHOTO BY ROLAINE CO

Falling Colors

by Mitch Angel Escopete

This or that, they always prolong Why everything does seem so wrong?

So much questions, with pure intention Is there something wrong with my gender expression?

Mommy said while sipping coffee in a cup, I should find a prince when I grow up What if a prince is not what I want?

Should I find a princess that can make my heart drop?

When dad arrived home, calling me for a surprise.

“Happy 18th Birthday honey! Someone’s waiting for you” I saw a guy smile, offering his hand I started to get sad, this wasn’t in my plan.

I don’t want to disappoint them So, I did my best to pretend like a femme But a part of me doesn’t want to act I want to scream, be proud and come out With my tangled tongue and trembling knees I made a decision so that my heart could rest This is the right time that I should confess “Mom, Dad, can I have a Princess?”

PHOTO BY JESSICA BACCAY

Come Out, Come Out

by Arielle

The spaces between these walls grow smaller And all I ever did was grew bigger The pouring tears are all that could fill her And my proud heart can’t get any thicker I knew that one day I had to come out But all I’ve ever done was sadly doubt If there was such a place out there for me Accepting individuality The small bottle was my only safe space Glass walls protected me from human race The evil that kills what is “not normal” Who forces me to be “traditional” Now that I have left the sheltered bottle I’m much older now; I’m free to throttle The cruel world doesn’t seem so bad so far So come out, come out. wherever you are

PHOTO BY HONEYROSE BERMUNDO

Grow Up

by Gianne Faye D. Velasco Life also got me flying to see the world But no little prince appeared when I crashed my plane There were no stories of a rose he loved Neither was there a wise wild fox to tame “Grow up,” they say as I read them my poems Reality can’t be beautified with rhymes Your words can’t pay your future loans nor will they be worthy of your time Eleven years ago, they’ll say, “Keep on dreaming” But they never meant for you to actually reach it They’ll say, “Grow up,” and I’ll seek for answers and meanings Constantly wondering what I might have missed The world seemed colorful ‘til the clock strikes 18 Dreams are wonderful ‘til you reach an age filled with ifs and whys The child screams, “I want to grow up to reach my dreams!”

But they just nodded and smiled then frowned when she turned to try

The little prince had said, “Only the children know what they are looking for” “What did children mean? Who are they?”

I ask What happens to everything that was lost when you can’t find them anymore?

Where is the child I had known from the past?

Matters of consequence what really are they?

Do they just revolve on arithmetic means?

Are dreams not responsibilities, or so they say?

I would like to personally ask the little prince Tomorrow, like a child, I’ll watch the sunrise I’ll look back to the dreams I decided to forget Children, they know what they are looking for The facade ends with the beautiful sunset

PHOTO BY HONEYROSE BERMUNDO

CHAPTER 3: STOP & REWIND

PHOTO BY JULIUS PHILIP BOLIMA

ART BY DENIECE SHERMIE ANTE

Would you like to go back?

by Gianne Faye D. Velasco

“Would you like to go back?” a question echoes in this empty space Seconds passed and a light appears in front of my face “Yes,” it says, as I wonder where the word “No” might be As I try to remember what I would once again want to see Going back, I wonder what that means “What’s past is past,” isn’t that how it has always been?

I tried to breathe, stopping my anxious thoughts As I am aware of the moments of distraught Reminiscence, where does it lead to?

Won’t it take me back to the pain I outgrew?

“Would you like to go back?” the voice grows louder “Do I have another choice?” I respond with faint laughter Nightmare—I believe this to be one It’s common rule to just leave the past behind I closed my eyes, afraid of what awaits me Afraid to see the things, never again did I want to see

I hear a voice, a familiar one Calling my name with that same warmth Stunned to speak, my eyes opened by impulse Then there’s that smile, followed by those dimples I couldn’t move my feet, but I wanted to run Jumping straight towards those arms I feel the tears rushing down my eyes “What’s past is past,” but this is where my future lies Going back, I wonder what that means When all that’s forgotten isn’t what they really seem To stop and rewind, where does it lead to?

Would you say yes if given the chance to?

The question echoes inside my mind “Would you like to go back to what you have left behind?”

So, I pushed the only button that had appeared Stop and rewind, the past isn’t always what you have feared

Pause to Go

by KC Jamin

Stop and rewind, thoughts are alive, Questions surrounds, yes, it’s found.

Mind and heart at battleground, Still in love in circle round.

Love is supposed to be easy, Not broken, never crazy.

Never taken away, promise to stay.

Stop walking away.

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

A love once felt, but never kept.

A love to keep, in ocean deep.

A love forgiven, but isn’t living.

A love for real, yes, it’s leaving.

If only I could go back in time I’d probably make sure it shines Time is running, always ticking Stop rewinding, start going.

Think, Achieve, Believe

by Aedam Isidore Ll. Ampongan

THINK: Of how you are capable of anything.

Of how you can achieve your dream.

Don’t limit yourself; don’t live your life limited, Life’s a challenge but you will succeed.

ACHIEVE: Take control of how you’ll make an end to your story.

In every circumstance remember just to be yourself.

You are far from done, You’re almost there, but the best is yet to come.

BELIEVE: To achieve you must believe, When you think of something you must achieve.

You can live with all those dreams, Believe and make it through, there’s a person inside you, And it’s you.

You can learn from your past, It’s been there to make you great even you are the last.

Break those chains and let yourself free.

Your future is there, go forward and just let it be.

PHOTO BY SIMEON SAM MAGALONA IV

PHOTO BY LX

Innocence Gone

by Arielle

a fragment of her memory an image of a younger she an innocent face; unaware of what the girl’s dark fate could be she takes another nervous step and reached her hand out to the door the silence was loud; so was he a moment she was not prepared for

When I Was A Child

by Ralph Vincent Lagunsing

When I was a child, I see things differently.

There are no problems, no responsibilities.

There are always the best days, no nightmares.

But that is, when I was a child.

When I was a child, I love all the people.

There are no lies, no greed, no bad, no hatreds.

There is always goodness, innocence, and love.

But that is, when I was a child.

When I was a child, I feel I have the luxury of time.

There are no pressures, expectations, and failures.

There is always a dream, and a waiting future.

But that is, when I was a child.

When I was a child, I believe I can do anything.

There are no obstacles, challenges, and difficulties.

There is always a path where everything is easy.

But that is, when I was a child.

When I was a child, I do not know what my future holds.

There are different dreams and beautiful goals.

But that is, when I was a child.

Now, I am a grown-up man, and life is different.

ART BY ERIN ZULUETA

A.R.A.

by Jose Nico Codia In bed I’d toss and turn Like the unruly sea Memories entombed in a rose-tinted urn These I’d keep so close to me Lullabies and alibis You’d often whisk me away Softly stolen under blanket skies We’d sing songs when we’ve got nothing to say Whether by fate or perchance Ours was an ill-fated romance Imbibed in my heart and its deep confines It’s now a has-been for my long-lost valentine Three cheers for all those tears This beers for all those years If I never loved, I never would have cried But if I never cried, I never would have truly lived

PHOTO BY PAM ANGELA ESPARTINEZ

I Miss Her

by Andrea Marie L. Lachama I can’t remember the last time I played tag, I can’t remember the last time I played hide and seek, I can’t remember the very last time I played without caring about the day and date.

Without knowing the consequences of every action I make.

Holidays were lighter, and the days were brighter.

There are days where I would dream about growing up, I thought “what a great thing it is to be a grown up”, Take me back to those lucid days where everything is not a maze.

The person I was then Is the person I want to bring back again.

She was stronger and braver, Everything she did was savored.

I guess I am still that person but only devoured by fear, Fear of that the demons would soon appear.

PHOTO BY PAM ANGELA ESPARTINEZ

ART BY ELIDA DOMINIQUE MOROÑA

Makilimos

by Julius Philip Bolima Wara akong mananribo, Pero muya ko magpasensilyo.

Bako tabi amimiso, Alagad bako man asirinko.

Aram kong aram mo ighagad ko, Kahaloy nang pangadyi saimo.

Mientras itatao ko na gabos, Maski panhudyang buhay nin ikos.

Nata baya dae kang pandangog?

Dawa boses ko grabe nang kusog.

Huna ko ika maherakon, Lalo na samuyang mga tioson.

Ano muya mong kapalit?

Maibalik sa ngimot ang kurit, Asin ang laad kan mata, Kan padaba kong aki, maherak ka.

White Noise of Lies

by Zeirra

“You want something in life?

Then why don’t you go get it?”

Words that I always heard, Thinking it’s inspiring but it’s not

They said I was going to be great Now, they call me full of pride and ego “We miss the ‘old’ you” But I’m still the same me

They said actions speak louder than words Recently I’ve been too quiet Looking at the state that I live in, Makes me wonder how I managed to survive

Why do they act like everyone should be perfect?

Don’t pretend that you care, if you don’t I don’t need claps or congrats What I need is the truth

I grew up with people that challenged how I think Which made me smart, and not be naïve Yet, there are still those that cut me open and watched as I bled Watching, and do nothing

“Do you often think That your life is in danger?”

“Because of the war?”

“Because of principles.”

“Always be yourself” – a common saying “It’s okay to be hated for who you are, Than to be loved by something that you are not.”

But I never once pretended

Lines from a movie I love When I die, I wish that I lived for a reason Life can be taken away easily But not what you believe in

PHOTO BY JULIA CHEVELLE DAET

Concept of Time

by Ralph Vincent Lagunsing

I grew up thinking that time is continuous But today, I realized that time is relative.

I grew up thinking that time is infinite.

But today, I realized that time is limited.

I grew up thinking, that time is always forward.

But today, I realized that time is simply the present.

I grew up thinking that time is just a number But today, I realized that time is like a star-crossed lover.

I grew up thinking that time is just a concept.

But today, I realized that time is an experience.

I grew up thinking that time is a dream.

But today, I realized that time is a goal.

I will always grow up, and the concept of time will always be relative.

But today, I realized that this is just one of the time(s).

In this second or so, you and I are growing up; Maybe our concept of time is now different from the last second.

Remnants from The Childhood I Had

by Clarisse Ann C. Dela Cruz remember the dolls we used to play or the miniature castles we made we left footprints on warm sands and shed salty tears when we cried the things we used to cry about grew into bigger issues we now fuss about and suddenly need a bigger shoulder to cry on remember when we were in an old, shabby church surrounded by candles we lit we sang poems we can’t even seize we were always forced to sleep which we hated and took for granted now all we wish for is a long break our innocent and youthful minds that are always up for rides had grown to a garden that rarely smiles remember when we used to go to the woods where footsteps are more carefree but now we walk cautiously and in misery our dreamful childhood we thought would go on longer had turned into movie scenes from yesterday but now we smile to these memories remember the dolls we used to play and the tunes we used to make now turned into nightfall and became our everyday nightmare

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

The Day I Left the Womb and Lost My Way

by Zeirra Have I lost my way?

I’m falling short of what I wanted to be in the end Everybody told me I’d be okay Even through the storm and the wind Now for this part in life I still don’t know If I’ll be something more I am still in the path that I chose to go But I feel like I can’t take it anymore Day and night, my mind is running Looking back to when I was born I was scared to chase what I was dreaming Beyond it all, I have never been withdrawn I believe it’s time for me To move forward, and chase my dream I remember times when I was free A kid that always had a scheme A troubled head when I went away I miss it all, I miss their side I need their love everyday Like a boy that needs his parent’s side

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

The Kid in Me

by Camille Dilao Nuñez Bruised knees and stained shirt Greased face with playful smirk The playhouse is now full of teasing Children playing, is never ending Laughter can be heard as well as crying Watching the cartoons on TV replaying The unproblematic scene came As I gently close my eyes again Wishful thinking fills my mind But I can’t go back, there’s no rewind Back then I deal with playing, Right now, I deal with studying.

But my child self, will never cease, for I’m still embracing the kid in me.

PHOTO BY JULIUS PHILIP BOLIMA

CHAPTER 4: HAUNTED & UNWANTED

PHOTO BY EARL DWAYNE GASTON

The Disgusting Era

by Niña Sabrina Nicole Alcantara

Hundreds of diapers and milk bottles, and do not forget her rattle.

A man and a woman giggled, as she uttered her first word.

Full of sweat and energy with clothes unclean, never went home without bruised skin.

Full of sweat, smell, and loud voices, it was always full of surprises.

“Ew!”, “Gross!”, “Yuck!”, “No!”, she exclaimed as she saw every photo.

A little girl smiling wide, clueless on what the future will provide.

Despite she declared ugliness, photos screamed realness.

But … there were no tears with smudges of mascara, in what she called, “the disgusting era”.

I am she; I am her

PHOTO BY EARL DWAYNE GASTON

To be wanted

by Bittermelon I am a child, a blank slate Taking in what’s on my plate Doesn’t know what path to take Mimicking what others make I’m a child without a voice Follow orders without choice Tiptoeing without a noise Carefully I don’t annoy In terror of being scolded Fear of rejection is molded Pleasing people to be wanted suppressed feelings I am haunted

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

From Childhood that has been instilled Approval needs to be fulfilled And so, I’m loved but unhappy True feelings haunts & don’t want me

Tang

by Zeirra

Having pets is wholesome to a child The best friends to have to make one smile Parent’s scared as they might be wild But these pets are blessings for a while Nobody forgets their first, as they say Tang and Hina, two dogs I adored Playing with them almost every day Joining me in “adventures” I explored Time will come when they will say goodbye I remember that day; they said it was an accident Hina, my friend, I wasn’t with her when she died All that’s left is her memory intact Tang lived until he was old He watched me graduate grade school High school came and I was enrolled He would lick my hand, good thing she won’t drool It was a habit every day, a lick to my hand Especially at night when he would sleep on my floor His gestures are something I understand Until one night I heard him scratch at the door It was late at night, no light to make me see Tang stopped scratching, licked my hand to connect I pat his head; felt he wasn’t there so I slept Thinking that he just moved on ahead The morning came and all I heard were all screams My best friend, Tang, he was dead what a gruesome view Mutilated here, wanted to believe it was a dream Then there was a note that’s stuck; “people can lick too”

PHOTO BY JULIA CHEVELLE DAET

The Little Old Man

by Talitha Sophia T. Diño

After we were dismissed, My trip to home began.

Until I came across, A little old man.

It was a fun time, I really must admit.

Stood up and continued to home And finally got to it.

He was very short, Yet old and jumpy.

From his long, slender ears.

To his skin that’s so lumpy.

But as I opened the door, My parents were aghast.

Shocked and hugged tight, Where have I been, they asked.

His eyes tinkered excitedly, While his wide smile showed.

His noise was quite pointy, And colored like a tree toad.

I told them, from school And reiterated my story.

Wasn’t sure why, though, Their faces were full of worry.

“Come and be my playmate.”

He asked me.

Was hesitant at first, But I agreed to be.

They looked strangely at me I wondered what I’ve done.

Then they told me, “For 3 months, you’ve been gone.”

So, we played and played To our heart’s content.

Lasted for at least 30 minutes, A great time well spent.

Then at their backs, To my own terror and sorrow.

It was the same man eagerly smiling, “Longer again tomorrow.”

Until I finally stopped And decided to go.

He smiled and agreed, “Longer again tomorrow.”

ART BY DENIECE SHERMIE ANTE

Kahapon at Ngayon

by Ma. Khristine France Palacio Bayot

Pantao Libon, Albay Mayroong isang malaking balay Kung saan nagsimula ang magandang buhay Nang pamilyang sama samang nagtagumpay.

Tapat lamang nito ay karagatan At pagsasaka ang pang kabuhayan.

Simple lamang ngunit puno nang tawanan, Ang pamilyang sabay sabay sa hapag kainan.

Hindi man kami bilyonaryo, Lagi paring positibo at purisigido.

Yan ay ang pamilya Palacio, Na nananaig sa isang maliit na baryo.

Taya-tayaan ang paboritong laro nang aking mga pinsan.

Nagtatakbuhan samay dalampasigan, Dulot lamang nang laro ay kaligayahan Ni wala man lang madaramang kapaguran.

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

Pag tumingin ka sa kalangitan, Mapapawi ang yong kalungkutan Sa kaliwat kanan puro lamang nagtatawanan Mga matatanda man o kabataan.

Kay gaan sa pakiramdam Mabuhay sa ganitong bayan Simple at maliliit na kabahayan Na nagtataglay ng katahimikan.

Ngunit isang araw ang nag daan, Kinailangan naming lumisan.

Tumungo sa kasyudadan Na puno ng kaingayan.

Sa isang iglap mundo ko’y bumaliktad Dating kasiyahan, Napalitan nang kalungkutan.

Hangin ay tila nawalang nang kaginhawanan.

Habol-habulan ang nagsilbing laro ng mga kapulisan at mga tulisan Nagtatakbuhan sa kacentruhan Na ang dulot palay kasamaan Sa mga taong gusto lamang ay maproteksyunan Maingay pakinggan Ang mga busina nang sasakyan At kapitbahay kong nagchichismisan Sa subdibisyon na malayo sa aking pinangalingan.

Pantao Libon Albay, Kay sarap balik balikan.

Siyudad ng Naga, Kay hirap pakisamahan.

NEWSPAPER

by Mitch Angel Escopete

Years ago, I remember what she said: “I began thinking about how much be better everyone’s life would be without me.”

Then her eyes flow like a river of water, So much misery was streaming in her face.

A year so later, I saw in the newspaper A young lady ends her life Sitting on a couch, holding a knife.

Her mother starts to cry Her father starts to deny What they saw astounded them They lost their one and only gem.

Over what I saw, I am in excruciating pain.

Wondering’ who can I blame Now I see Now I know We should always ask So, we can know As I awoke from this nightmare With all the sweat and heavy breath I realize that it is not the end Find a friend whom you can depend.

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

Time Ticks in Years

by Patricia Yzabelle Reverente

We trace our dreams with dark ink Whenever it gets too hard to think Though worlds away the future may seem It feels like we’re moving at light speed Yesterday I was just seventeen Wild with Marlboro and Hennessey Today I woke up four years older With the weight of the world on my shoulders If I wake up tomorrow, will I be twenty-five With no will to continue, no reason to thrive?

Will I look back and remember being young With no pills landing on my tongue?

There aren’t enough words to describe this feeling The tale of getting old is truly deceiving You’ve dreamt of having the world at the palm of your hand by this time But now, the only dream you have is to finally feel fine

PHOTO BY EARL DWAYNE GASTON

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

DEATH

by Talitha Sophia T. Diño

What’s like inside the casket?

I never want to know.

It certainly is not a basket Where happiness would show.

Fear is always akin To the day that you once dread When your family puts you in Mistaking that you were dead.

The darkness inside.

The very tight spot.

And your mind is tied While your breaths are caught.

You cannot call for help.

You are six feet under.

No one can hear your yelp.

You can only be still and wonder.

You cannot see anything Other than what you fear.

Fear of never seeing spring, Forgetting you were their dear.

You can never once explain The misunderstanding that you are in.

You can just endure the pain And accept your story’s “fin.”

ART BY DENIECE SHERMIE ANTE

Underwater

by Talitha Sophia T. Diño

My very life flashed before my eyes, It’s like the feeling of someone who dies.

One strong wave got me going underwater, Is this a dream? Am I asleep? I still wonder.

Eyes shut, and heart’s been pounding, Unable to scream, as I feel like I’m dying.

Hands were waving beneath the blue sky.

Can’t help but to worry, yet I can’t even cry.

No one noticed, maybe because of enjoyment.

I certainly hope so too, yet what I felt was torment.

I can’t help but wonder, what could possibly happen?

If I die right here, right now, I will just be forgotten.

Still, I decided to go for it and fought for my dear life, Even if I feel like I’m walking on the edge of a knife.

I manage to survive, live, and get out of the water, And now, life is just worse than I can remember.

The Girl That Whispers, “I don’t wanna be alone, Mom”.

by Camille Dilao Nuñez

I don’t wanna be alone, in the night, by myself The dark, the empty streets, the stolen sweets The secrets, the mystery and the ones lurking free Trying to captivate a person, shaking Of the things you cannot see, The void that fills the empty wee hours The danger that awaits, and something that devours Please, let me know, please let me go I’m trapped in a place where there’s no escape Where shadows roam and change its shape Who are you? In the dark Are you cloaked with the anguish brought to you by your peers?

Or are you lying in your pillows filled with tears?

Do you stay awake at 3 am, because of over thinking?

Or invasive thoughts that keeps on coming?

There’s something out there,

That whispers, isolation, filled with darkness And talks about vulnerability, and that you’re worthless It dehumanizes a person, because it’s depression.

There’s a girl by the corner, Bony, thin and nothing to be seen It tells you not to eat, It tells you that treats are threats That’s anorexia, and next to her is bulimia It keeps crashing you, Telling you that by swallowing, is disgusting It’s binging and purging, telling you to eat more It grosses you from what you eat, and that beauty won’t restore Then there’s the real chaos Barbaric, alone, scared and helpless The only thing that’ll cure it all are pain killers Drugs, to end your agony Drugs to kill every suffering and anxiety

Drugs for sleeping and drugs for shunning Drugs for ending pains, for a little while longer or forever Then by relieving, is correlated to cutting That by relieving is called self-harming Whispering that by cutting deeper will be peace That if you keep digging you’ll achieve pure bliss, Enticing you to stop the misery, with it utters as melody They said that consciousness is the real disaster, True, Because when a baby starts to talk, When a baby starts to walk It will learn its own beliefs It will learn the world’s griefs It will start fighting for his own rights It will start putting up fights For all these demons surrounds me, In a quiet room, with nobody Fighting my own battle, trying to survive Trying to hold on to my dear life

How scary, because the ones that we build are the ones that’ll destroy us That’s why, I don’t wanna be alone.

I don’t wanna be alone mom, Monsters might come; they might hurt me with their mighty roar I don’t wanna be alone mom, Monsters, might come they might injure me and give me wounds that sore I don’t wanna be alone mom, The darkness enveloping my room emits some strange noise I don’t wanna be alone mom, The darkness enveloping my room whispers some voice “I’ll kill you,” it said.

I can’t do anything but cry in my bed I don’t wanna be alone mom, Because the monsters might come and I’m afraid that they might take me and I won’t be able to see you again I’ll be trapped in a box, now and then I don’t wanna be alone mom, Just please, why won’t you believe me?

Why can’t you see?

That the monster I’m talking about is me

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

An Engkanto’s Loop

by Talitha Sophia T. Diño I go through the same path Almost every day, Yet today was a bit odd.

I walk my way To my home Yet the road seems to be flawed.

I tried again, But it’s still the same.

I’ve never felt so awed.

I tried to run, Still cannot progress, It’s like I’m moving in place.

Currently worried, I started to panic About the dilemma that I face.

But I remembered What my lola told me If this would be the case.

I removed my shirt Turned it inside-out And made a poker face.

I wore it like that, Walked straight again, Hoping to see.

True enough, The loop has ended.

I was able to travel free.

I felt so relieved, While the duwende laughed at his play, Unbeknownst to me.

PHOTO BY TAUBENFELD

ASWANG

by Patricia Yzabelle Reverente Children do not like sleeping early From day to night, they are brimming with energy Lolas and Nanays prey on their fears By telling ghost stories until they burst into tears Perhaps the concept of overthinking at night Began with being scared of closing one’s eyes With fear that the aswang is out to eat your heart That you can’t wake up and your body is torn apart Maybe staying awake is the only way To safely get through each day But maybe what’s tearing us apart is not the aswang on the roof Maybe it is the idea that it was easier to fear the myth than to know the truth When I look at the midnight sky, I wish she would take me away Hoping it’s not too late to save me from this place This place I call my mind Where all the real fears reside

PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

Sweet byDiscovery Zeirra I was a kid when this happened, although memories of each detail are fuzzy, I could still vaguely remember the shouts from our neighbours as they discovered the scattered remains of their chickens on their rooftops. My older cousin not bothered by the commotion as he was busy watching some prank videos on his computer.

As kids my friends and I were curious about it, rumours even started among us that our neighbour, Angel, was a manananggal. We then had a plan about stopping this monster, but we were kids so all our ideas were “find the panday”, “become power rangers”, and all of that. We played outside and keeping an eye out on Angel’s house.

Later that night I stayed awake while playing on my Gameboy, ironically, I was at Lavander Town in Pokémon, as I was about to catch this Gastly out of nowhere I feel a gush of wind. I looked out and there she was. Angel, she flew out her window. I rushed towards my parents’ room, but Dad just laughed it off while Mommy just went back to sleep and told me not to watch TV anymore.

I decided that morning that I will take care of this monster myself, I didn’t need help from my friends, being 8 years old that time was a big deal already. My cousin loves pranks and would often scare me, and if I can handle that then what more for a mananaggal, right?

I snuck onto my cousin’s computer and searched “how to kill a manananggal”, it said there that I needed to pour salt on the lower half of the body. That way they will feel the pain of their other half and not be able to fly home, dying in the morning sun that will come.

With the jar of salt in my hand I waited until Angel would leave, I saw her fly into the night and then I ran into her house. I tip-toed my way inside her house just like in those cartoons. Then I saw it, the lower part of her body under the pale light of the moon. Staring at it, I was paralyzed by the thought that our beautiful neighbour would tear apart her lower half and grow wings and claws into the dead of night.

Slowly I approached it; I opened the jar of salt and poured all of it unto the lower half of her body. I ran as fast as I could back into our house, leaving my slippers out. It was a success.

The day came and I woke up to my Dad shouting that his coffee tasted salty.

“Why is the jar of salt empty?” Mom asked as she was about to cook breakfast.

“You don’t need the salt honey, here it is in the sugar jar,” Dad exclaimed with a tone while looking at my cousin.

My cousin chuckled and said “Oh I saw a video how they switched the salt and sugar, thought it would be funny so I switched them yesterday and it worked haha!”

I laughed too and sat down on the table with no slippers on and drank my Milo.

“Though, I could have sworn I put the sugar in the salt jar,” my cousin, sounding confused.

I nearly spat my drink with the realization; before I could even speak, we heard a knock at the door. My mom opened the door to see Angel.

“Oh, hi ate Let, I just made some bananaque and thought I could give you some, your kids seem to be the kind that loves sweets.”

“Why thank you, Angel. They sure do, and good timing too, why won’t you join us for breakfast.”

“I would love too!” Angel said while she walked towards the table, “good timing indeed.”

She sat next to me with a sharp glare and whispered, “I discovered your slipper near my house. Better luck next time – if there is a next time, sweet boy.”

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

Hide and Seek

by Patricia Yzabelle Reverente She was young with the face of a doll Skin smooth and soft, not a scar to be found Static noise and steps growing heavy These are what lives in her memory She ate less, cried more Kept hiding in the closet and locking the door He always won these games of hide and seeks And in all the rounds, she would have tears streaming down

ART BY ERIN ZULUETA

Looking Through a Keyhole

by Talitha Sophia T. Diño

Inside the chest, That’s where I hide.

From a smiling monster Who treated me like a bride.

I was mere kid, I didn’t know what to do.

So, I stayed still, While the trauma grew.

He looks for me, He wants know, Where I reside And where do I go.

I hated to see him.

But fear grew too.

So, I hid myself, To forget what I knew.

He hides in plain sight.

No one sees him like this.

But no one ever knew, That he took away my bliss.

Now, I am old.

An adult at last.

Yet here still I hide, Still troubled by the past.

I never saw him as bad When we first met.

Saw him as family, But saw me as his pet.

Whatever I do, I still come back to this chest, Hoping these are just nightmares, Created by that pest.

He loved me very much, I thought I felt saved.

But he betrayed me When his body had chafed.

But I cannot escape, I could never get out.

I still see him in my dreams, Haunted by a monstrous lout.

He lured me to a place, Where we could both play.

In that moment, though, I knew I hated to stay.

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

Please Remember…

by Elida Dominique Moroña

Tears still slowly falling, I jumped on the day when I die. But when I die, time won’t stop and just pass me by. By the time you read this, remember I won’t regret you my family…my family, I still yearn to once again see you live happily. Happily, I always smile, hiding the heart that silently screams. Screams that won’t reach anyone so it seems. Seems that I’m a useless child, so no one would want the past me. The “Me” hides those painful memories others never see.

See terror in my sibling’s face saying “they hate me so much!” filled with fear. Fear that I always have but must conceal and hope I could wipe away all their tears. Tears slowly fade away, “that’s not true at all.” I always say. Say there’s no need to be afraid and everything will be okay…Okay is what I say, but I know everything is falling into… into a world where everything broke and is filled with sadness too. Too much I can’t hold on; I crumble down and wonder why. Why can’t I be good at anything? So bad even if I try. Tried to be useful and helpful but I always cry, cry about all the problems and that’s why I chose to die…die with all the problems I take with me sadly. Sadly, I pray for them to once again be one big happy family.

The family I left behind is grieving as the world they knew was changing too. Too complex to comprehend, that the life I’ve lived just broke into two. Two billow tears won’t fade away, as the people that I loved keep crying out. Out the window, no one noticed, I jumped, died, and flew out. Out with all the emotions, the pain, and I can take no more. No more of the drama, the misery and so much more. More tears keep falling as the answer somehow becomes clear, clear to the “me” who smiles falsely and scream which no one else could hear.

Hear the story of my life, such sad life which I could not save. Save from the misery and just couldn’t be brave…brave enough to speak for myself and have courage somehow. To somehow become happy, but I guess it’s too late now.

Now that I’m gone, are they smiling again to one another? Another thing that I pray is that they will get along with each other. Although others may hate me now or maybe just hurt, I wonder. I wonder if the “Me” they can still remember…please remember the people that I loved with every bit of me. The “Me” who died and was once part of that family. To that family that’s slowly breaking apart, I say goodbye to you. But you must remember…I’ll always love you too…

PHOTO BY EARL DWAYNE GASTON

Nightmares

by Talitha Sophia T. Diño

With the cold night breeze, I then sleep longing for peace, Yet dragged by demons.

Falling through, crying Reaching out from an abyss I cannot go through.

My chest feels heavy Nothing only but darkness, Still longing to see.

I try to climb out, Forget what it’s all about.

With peace I sought out.

ART BY ELIDA DOMINIQUE MOROÑA

CHAPTER 5: PSYQUALIA

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

Afternoon Daze

by Clarisse Ann C. Dela Cruz These unwanted noises of slow and silent destruction take me to suburban dreams of songs upbeat and fine weathers – where nobody shall ever sag from fatigue.

The subconscious feeling of lying down the clouds – thick and fluffy – keep me from reeling while trying to see the end of this hurdle even if this is out of my league.

Like tiny pieces of petals, I tried to dance with the wind. Echoes of chirping and summer breeze – a faint palette appeared. Tinges of orange, yellow, and pink – they pass through my eyes as I blink.

With the whistling of leaves beneath my feet, I wonder about my daydreams. The sun finally kissed the oceans, settled down, and resonated its promises.

I shall see more of you on the morrow. I shall feel you Through the surface and quit now my humming.

For now, I will try to escape the hollow.

PHOTO BY PAM ANGELA ESPARTINEZ

PORTAL

by Bittermelon

Pag bukas ng social media Ibang sarili ang nakikita Tila walang problema Magandang buhay naipapakita Tila gumaganda pag bukas ng camera ‘Di kailangan ng derma, filter ang nagdala Magagandang larawan ang aking napuntahan, Pagkaing masasarap, at masasayang kaarawan Portal sa perpektong buhay na tila nakamit ko na Takas sa realidad na kakulangan at paghihirap Pagliban ng WIFI, Access sa portal nawalay Balik sa katotohanan, payak at malumbay na buhay.

PHOTO BY LX

A Queenby Defenseless arielle The haunting growls induced her curtains closed.

These thin red veils are merely feeble shields.

Tremor crept from the cold ground to her lips.

The queen knew: the prophecy has fulfilled.

Orders to close gates were followed by guards, And locks the door with the key she’d swallow.

“Stay still in position, no matter what!”

The last order they will ever follow.

Darkness enveloped the smallest castle.

The doors and gates were completely futile.

A woman’s scream follows uxoricide.

Defences were too late. He is inside.

The queen still stays under her red-veiled shield And watched her soldiers meet their demise He wins the battle uneventfully “Come out, Queen.” He slurs. “I have a surprise.”

“I’m under my bed.” the queen’s last cries.

“I’m under my bed.” The veil starts to rise.

PHOTO BY JULIUS PHILIP BOLIMA

PAGES

by Gianne Faye D. Velasco I touch the carved letters on its face Eyes closed, as the magic took its place The noise was finally shutting down I am off to a world I can never be found I leapt through words as they crawl through my skin My insides felt light, I can feel them tingling I flipped the pages as the scent devoured me These papers felt more real than reality Where am I heading? – No one actually knows Just flip the pages and the path will show The trees are taller, and the world more bright Heroes exist – with the villains they ought to fight Time passes by slower than it should be It felt a little sooner to be pulled back into reality The last page is up; time’s already up I close the book, and set it on my lap The empty walls stare back as I drown in silence Silence – does the word even make sense?

There’s chaos in the world, and noise is all there is There are tons of villains, but heroes also exist From the window I stood, gazing upon the skies Processing what in my escape I’ve realized I will run away, but I will always return ‘Cause this world has a lot more pages to turn PHOTO BY NICOLE HABLA

Icarus, Fly

by Gianne Faye D. Velasco

A single blink changed the world Standing on the mountain edge as I embraced the cold I spread my wings disguised as arms I took a step, then I jumped The wind created a tingling sensation It slaps through my skin but pain made it fun I can imagine Icarus as he yearned to fly Who would not want to touch the glorious sky?

I watched the blazing sun and laughed Amazed that like Icarus, I might fall flat But my wings are fine, and I melt as I got high I found myself realizing that what’s made of wax was I I stopped my wings from flapping just to let me fall They embraced me like having a mind of their own I tried to reach outside, letting a little light inside I think I see the ball of sun, laughing as I lose flight I closed my eyes, and then I smiled I spread my wings another time I open my eyes; I was standing on my ground I was no longer flying, nor was I falling down Step by step I go, forward to the sun Letting my wings embrace me so that I will not burn Step by step I run and melt, then mould myself again This was the best flight I have ever taken PHOTO BY DANICA BELLEN

Ocean Dreams

by Clarisse Ann C. Dela Cruz

I went on a voyage and saw rainbows of woven dreams.

Calm waters – abstract creatures moving on the surface.

Northeast monsoons, I enjoyed catching winds.

Putting us high up I almost touched the fluffy clouds.

The orange dusk became my background painting, yelling “all aboard!” to awaken every sleeping cnidarian.

The cynical mountains became my company as my boat pushes on the sacred sea.

No dreams are sleeping tonight for the stars will continue to light the way.

My boat drifted away to the shoreline, soon greeted by walking crustaceans - what a strange voyage.

PHOTO BY PAM ANGELA ESPARTINEZ

The Broomless Witch

by Clarisse Ann C. Dela Cruz I put on my velvet cloak pretending to be a witch, imagining my books to be potions out of reach.

I’ll sew your dreams and hang them with the stars; creating galaxies, reaching Mars.

Taupe, opal, and cerulean, I’ll pick one concoction to cleanse things deep within.

Whisking away the soft vines before I lose all the signs.

Practicing witchcraft as a prowess to turn things around, May all the lost children of hope be found.

Manifesting constellations like divine maps, keeping us away from the pending mishaps.

I now cease this short interlude, taking off the cloak forthwith and a change in attitude.

Truly brave - my quest to forge an alternate escape, Before I retreat, let me cast one cantraip.

PHOTO BY ASTHER TARIMAN SOSITO

Making the tall forest trees move and be alive, On this day forward, I’m not going to hide.

I’ll use the birds and squirrels, Film all these musicals and make some scribbles.

Alternate Moment

by Clarisse Ann C. Dela Cruz

You know the feeling of something incredibly unknown when your favorite singer’s new song gets released?

Then you spend your hours, days, that turned to weeks listening to that song, because you’ve been waiting for it long ago. That feeling of waiting for something that really matters to you, something that you know will make you happy.

That’s what I want to feel every time I am piled up with things to do. Even when I know that the feeling is going to come to an end, that it will fleet and go away, and I am just passing by another dreamlike moment in my life; I still want it. It is like reading a book, only I started at the end before reading the prologue. I already know the ending, but it did not matter to me.

Just like when you are about to eat the dessert course, or when your crochet starts to have a shape, or when the fictional characters in the series you’re watching finally develop feelings for each other, or when your favorite bridge in a song cues in.

I want to stay there, as if I am in an alternate moment feeling something different. I want to be stuck there and feel fine, because in that moment, I feel like nothing could go wrong.

PHOTO BY HONEYROSE BERMUNDO

Pendulum Pendu lum

by Clarisse Ann C. Dela Cruz

Wasting time staring at the ceiling On each day of my mind withering.

Trying my best not to cave in to outburst Comes with the times I want everything to be reversed.

Movies as friends on free weekends, Endless talking like an ode to amends.

Sounds of crunching popcorns as music Of passing time instead of dirges.

Hitting the rewind to go back in time Only to see same things happening to me all the while.

To grow and to shrink, coveting Alice except this isn’t wonderland – Not in these episodes that feel like quicksand.

“Where’d all the time go?” I thought.

Deep in my mind, my tongue’s burnt and hot, Still tasting the chocolate flavour – lingering, Then travelling in imaginary places while reading.

I need to dream more; breakthrough such stillness I abhor.

Oh, lay down and pretend I’m doing what I swore, Indulging to a fleeting tranquillity; I’m minding myself before I sink into the floor.

PHOTO BY PHILIPPE REGGIE CASTRO

Poseidon

by Gianne Faye D. Velasco

I feel the waves carrying me as I drown I feel myself being sucked deep beneath the ocean With blurred vision, I struggle to open my eyes Numbness was taking over, I can barely see the skies My lungs are running out of air to breathe Just then I saw a trident flashing underneath I called out, but not a single noise was made Shoulders sank, in the darkness I let myself fade I was ready for the worst, but something filled my lungs I saw a flicker of gold, in my ears a shriek had rung I’m breathing underwater, or am I just dead?

Why am I unconsciously walking through the seabed?

“Poseidon,” a voice in my head exclaimed Then I asked myself, “Does death make you insane?”

I flinched as the trident stopped me on my tracks I saw him standing before me leaving me in shock “You can swim,” he pointed out with a scary voice I know I must respond but I couldn’t make a noise “You can swim but you did not, why?” he asked “Isn’t your kingdom wonderful?” I responded at last

He toured me around but the light seemed to distract me “Did you not like the land where you could roam free?”

I asked myself the same, but no answer was found ‘Cause whatever the answer to that question is, this is what I want I was drowning anyway, but I wanted what’s beneath The ocean has always calmed me and now I am in it I see myself staring through the open waters Alone on the shore, as the night uncovers

“Swim,” he said so off I go I woke up as sweat through my body also flowed I breathed heavily; the scent of the ocean filled my nostrils I covered my face with my hands as I burst into tear

PHOTO BY JESSICA BACCAY

“I love the ocean,” my voice seemingly small “You do, but staying here is not your call...

You love the ocean as much as you wanted to drown in it That is not living; instead, it’s worse than death.”

Rain and Rides

by Angelica Bertis A storm in your window still goes on, But eventually it subsided past dawn.

Bringing you new hope, and some joy.

Keep it up, even after you’re destroyed.

Rest in a while and don’t be too hasty, When it arrives, I’m sure you’ll be ready.

Your emotions can be a rollercoaster, Full of uncertainty yet makes you bolder.

You’re scared, but you’re also happy, That’s life, you don’t have to worry.

But sure, the ride can be little boring too, Might take a while, but you will get it through.

The rain and the rides will always be there, But we’ll also never leave, we’re everywhere.

I know you’re finding a way to enjoy your day.

Cause sometimes it sucks but babe, it’s okay.

PHOTO BY JESSICA BACCAY

ART BY ELIDA DOMINIQUE MOROÑA

ITS OKAY

by Talitha Sophia T. Diño

When all your days are days for doubt, You try to find yourself an out.

When every task’s an ask too much, And all your dreams are out of touch, Remember it’s alright to sit and say: I need some help.

I’m not okay.

And though it won’t come quick or neat, Or all at once, or all complete With work and will and time and space I hope, one day, you find your place.

EDITORIAL BOARD & STAFF Editor-in-Chief:

Vincent John Abordo External Communicatons Editor: Aedam Isidore Ampongan Internal Communicatons Editor: Elida Dominique Moroña Associate Editor for Content: Talitha Sophia Diño Associate Editor for Arts: Erin Zulueta News Editor: Jose Nico Codia Feature Editor:

Arielle Camille Espiritu Literary and Culture Editor: Mariane Jade Pepito DevCom Editor: Clarisse Ann Dela Cruz Head Lay-out Artist: Deniece Shermie Ante Head Photojournalist:

Julia Chevelle Daet Social Media Moderators: Jan Angelo Bermas, Mitch Angel Escopete, Andrea Marie Lachama Staff writers: Angelica Bertis, Katrina Claudia Jamin, Camille Nuñez, Patrick Rov Patricio, Patricia Yzabelle Reverente, Fredrick Ira Sta. Teresa, Gianne Faye Velasco Photographers: Honeyrose Bermundo, John Chan, Rolaine Nicole Co, Earl Dwayne Gaston, Nicole Habla Graphics Artists: Danica Bellen, Jayrold Borcelis, Simeon Sam Magalona IV, Victoria Ogo, Eugene Kyle Oligo Layout Artist: Hans Franklin Requiero

Contributors: Niña Sabrina Nicole Alcantara, Ma. Khristine France Palacio Bayot, Julius Philip Bolima, Pam Angela Espartinez, Ma. Rita Carmela Jaralve, Ralph Vincent Lagunsing, Asther Sosito, Gertrude Tuazon

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The past two years has been a tough moment for almost every one of us, even if we have already adapted in this new normal, there are still times when we still feel enshrouded in an eternal darkness with only a glimpse of hope to guide us. With this, some of us would think back to the days when life was still so simple for all of us, living life with the only limit being our imagination, being connected with everyone and no digital screen that distracts us. Using this, it gave us inspiration to bring life to a once lifeless canvas. This is all thanks to the unwavering support of the Legazpi Thomasians for making YUGTO a reality.

To all the students who put their golden hearts and silver souls in telling tales of their childhood, we are grateful for your wonderful stories and salute those who bravely shared their traumas.

To the Office of Student Services, for allowing us to have this opportunity and provided guidance to all students.

To all professors and personnel; especially to our former adviser Martha Joy Ruivivar, for still giving her steadfast love, support, commitment and concern to the publication.

To you, we are grateful that you are with us. You have read the fascinating works of our minds, hearts, and souls.

You are a part of YUGTO.

AQUINIAN HERALD

SILAKBO