Marejada 2021: MADRUGADA

COVER

Marejada is the official annual literary folio of Ateneo de Zamboanga University.

The copyright reverts to the individual authors and artist of the works appearing in this issue. No part of this folio may be published or reproduced in any medium without the consent of the copyright holders.

THIS PUBLICATION IS NOT FOR SALE. Email: beaconpublications@adzu.edu.ph Cover Artwork by Abeer U. Uri Layout and Book Design by Martha Bernaldez Jillian Renee Calo Ann Jucylle Ellorin Rashid Ian Taupan Marejada Curators Jillian Renee Calo Cybrealle Cruz Rosen Gabriel Garcia

FOREWORD

O

nce upon a time, the world we knew was very vast. We were always on the move - we sought new horizons, connected with others, and dedicated ourselves to something that we hold dear in our hearts. We always knew life was never easy for those who did their best, yet we still found beauty in it through the fruits of our efforts in reaching our life goals. The world continued its natural processes and we always kept up with it no matter how it never held back on us. We never knew what tomorrow will bring us, but we always braced ourselves for it – most of us found this exhilarating.

After a year of living in the new normal, the narrative of the world we once knew feels like a fairytale.

We are slowly recovering from a tragedy – we are still mourning for the loss of countless lives and aspirations, empathize with those who still struggle to adjust in these times, and even loathe against people who are being clowns.

The pandemic has taken many faces more than a life - threatening pathogen.

Educational gaps during online classes, medical frontliners who struggle to treat people getting infected, lost jobs and opportunities, and people who are not able to perform at their best due to the platforms not suitable for them. These feelings of yearning to be able to spend time with our peers like we used to. These are all faces of pandemic as the world is still on its knees after the crisis brought by COVID – 19.

The pandemic has put the world into a slumber – it has been midnight for a very long time in our hearts. We continue to struggle for the awaited sunrise – the time when we can live our lives full of vigor once again.

The 2021 issue of Marejada is a collection of bottled wishes – it assumes that “recovery” is a spectrum. Mourning for the things we lost during the pandemic, the aspirations we realize to push ourselves, and acceptance of new normal are all part of the process of healing. These experiences are put into prose, poetry, and visual arts hoping to make a call that no matter what tragedy we face, there is light at the end of the road.

A light that will shine brighter than it used to. The light from our awaited Madrugada.

Madrujada Curators 2021

POEM 7 - Torment 8 - A year worth of winter 9 - Dolores 10 - Empty Can 11 - Surrender 12 - Iglap 13 - Postremo 14 - Everybody Dies Everyday 15 - Beyond the Border 16 - Into the Evenfall 17 - Boxed 18 - Breakfast 19 - Love in time of Corona 20 - My Beacon

PROSE 22 - Blossom 23 - When the Sun Rises 24 - Musings on a Film Scene

PHOTOGRAPHY 25 - In Sight

TRADITIONAL ART 29 - Daily Battles 30-31 - Hopes and Sky Series 29 - Daily Battles 30-31 - Hopes and Sky Series 32 - A Long Slumber 33 - Past Closed Doors

DIGITAL ART 35 - Plenty Activities 36 - No Energy 37 - A Question 38 - Social Distancing 39 - Reconnected

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT EDITORIAL BOARD & CONTRIBUTORS

POETRY POETRY

Torment

by Fatima Riesa A. Karay

Days stretched into months Deaths became rhythmic People are in fear -stress intensifies Myriad of broken dreams, Cancelled plans and trips Hope is slowly crumbling I curl, I cry, I scream Falling deeper into the abyss Loud screams drown in the dark Its blinding, the silence-deafening When will this ever end?

7

A year worth of winter

by Annsel Therese Magno

The snow drops on the window as the beauty of the forming crystals enchants me to go outside, but I can’t go.

The harsh coldness swept me away.

One step out and the cloak of death is seen.

Yet, the glimpse beauty affects the feelings inside, but not me.

I was blinded by a hope that is hopeless; a hope attached to an uncertain future.

A future so unclear yet they recognize, but I can’t perceive.

“A reminder of hope” they claimed and the metaphor of the journey to happiness unfolds.

As its allegory appears like clear as ice that the obvious is perceived, but I can’t feel.

This winter brings nothing but misery, like a lone wolf separated from its pack, The image in the mirror is nothing but reflection, but they can’t see.

8

Dolores

by Kristine Mae Isabelle D. Segayo

With trembling lips, Dolores smiled.

Never wanting to leave goodbye, Dolores cried.

Cried in silence, cried in weakness, Cried with the darkness.

And although dry tears were evident, Dolores took her balaclava, Strutted towards the massive door destiny opened for her, And welcomed tomorrow with her beautiful goodbye.

9

Empty Can

by Fatima Riesa A. Karay

I sat at my usual place It’s unusually quiet these days The once bustling street filled with haze Feels empty, left without a trace I see one or two people Faces covered with some cloth and shield But they seem to not notice me at all Walking in distances as if contained in a field It’s now the month of July But I see no students walking by Less adult workers to say hi I guess new normal days are bland and dry I stretched out my bare hand Wanting to reach a raindrop as it started pouring I looked at my empty can I guess I won’t be able to eat till next morning

10

Surrender

by Fatma Shaheen S. Hadjirul

Within these closed walls and empty halls, I let my favorite song jingle on loop for so long, ringing across my ears as if it’s the last time I’d hear it chime.

Beneath my ragged blanket, I hide and embrace my jacket scented like agony— my heavy breathing in harmony with the ache my heart thumped, fist clumped on the warm sheet wrapped around me.

As weeks bled to months, my soul has been blunt— of faith and hope, of pain and sorrow, while it numbs to nothing, all the rumbling fumbling between my stutters like nothing makes sense and matters.

Eyes shut with tear-stained cheeks, I surrender to the anguish— I surrender to the shrieks, and whispered to myself; “Good night, sleep tight, never let the bed bugs bite.”

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Alas-tres ng kinaumagahang tanaw [3:00 AM], ang mga mata ko’y dilat sa harapan ng aking laptop, lubos na ako’y pagod sa mga aking gawain na pang-akademya.

Wala pa ni-isang takdang-aralin ay natapos, cramming pa more ghorl.

Alas-sais sa mga pinagmasdang takbo ng mga ulap [6:00 AM], ‘Tiktilaoook!’, dinig ng aking mga tainga sa lakas ng huni ng panabong manok ng aking erpats, buhaghag ang aking isipan na sadyang ngayon na ang itinakdang araw ng pagsumite.

Sa wakas, may inihandang kape’t pandesal para nga naman sa isang panibagong araw. Puyat is layf, ika nga.

Alas-siete ng mga rumaragasang alon sa palanggana’t tabo [7:00 AM], ngipin ko’y sinisipilyo, mga muta ko’y hinahalik ang aking mga mata.

Kasing lamig ng tubig na dumaloy mula sa gripo, nung na-busted ako ng crush ko.

Aray ko bhe, pighati nanaman sa umaga.

Alas-siete y treinta ng mga pilang-pila’t jeep at mga tinig ng mga barya [7:30 AM], “Ubos na pala ang gas, patungo muna tayo sa gasolinahan”, dinig ko galing sa tsuper ng jeep.

Tangi kong tinatanggap na mahuhuli nanaman ako sa aking klase, ika nga.

Mapa-awts gege nanaman ako ng aking guro.

Alas-otso ng takbo, liksi at kaba papunta sa isang silid [8:00 AM], Saang silid ako’y patungo?

Skip class sa silid-aklatan o

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maging isang masunuring mag-aaral sa aking silid-aralan?

Bahala na si Batman, matutulog nalang ako kasama ng mga libro at ang lamig ng aircon.

Alas-nuebe mula sa simoy ng mga pagkain sa canteen [9:00 AM], “Sup’ mga mabahong nilalang”, sigaw ko sa mga tropa kong mukhang shunga.

Tawanan, mag-soundtrip at kainan lang sa recess…

Bhe, male-late nanaman tayo sa next subject natin na nakakaantok.

Alas-dose ng mga nagugutom na tiyan ng bandang tanghali [12:00 PM], May pagsusulit na naman sa susunod na subject.

Hay nako, nakakaumay.

Sayang pa naman ang siomai rice ko at kainin ko nalang ang mga lectures ko.

Ubos na ang mga brain cells ko, awit sayo.

Ala-una ng mga kaluluwang lutang sa white board [1:00 PM], Ika nga, magsisimula na ang aming pagsusulit.

Saglit lang nung lumabas si Ma’am Santos, ingayan nanaman para sa kodigo at sa mga sagot.

“Sis, letter C ang sagot sa number six”. Big brain move ang ginawa mo dyan, bes.

Alas-dos galing sa isang matagumpay na labanan gamit ang utak [2:00 PM], Sa wakas, absent na ang aming guro para sa last subject.

Maki-jamming nga ng Eraserheads.

“Magkahawak ang ating kamay at walang kamalaymalay…”

Yabag ang boses ng mga

kaklase ko, kabilang na rin ako, ngunit damang-dama namin ang tinig at ang bumabalot na emosyon.

Alas-tres mula sa ingay ng school bell at ang mga yapak galing sa hagdan [3:00 PM], “Class dismissed”, dinig ko galing sa isang guro sa kabilang classroom.

Oo nga pala, uwian time na, Sa wakas, itapon na lahat ang mga responsibilidad.

Arats, go na tayo sa stick-de-kariton ni Mang Emar.

Alas-kwatro mula sa halakhak galing sa takipsilim ng araw [4:00 PM], Isaw, tempura, fish ball, chicken skin na may spicy red sauce…

Simple lang, ngunit may nakakaindak na sarap at busog on the spot.

“Pabili po ng Ha? Hatdog”, ghorl ang korni mo.

Ngunit…

Ang lahat na ito ay nawala lang sa isang iglap, Nakakadismaya, tanging naging alaala nalang ang lahat na ito…

Hindi na maibabalik ang nakaraan, sa ngayon ay naka-maskara na may pangamba sa hinaharap.

Tik… Tok… Tik… Tok… Naglaho na sa pitik-bulag ng mga hinihinalang iglap.

by Marianne Julia R. Feliciano

Iglap

Post remo “At last"

by Ronzel Denie T. Magsayo

A ticking clock and a hazy glow from a dying study lamp The sound of rain and a bed, cold and damp Her shabby study table and a pile of paperwork to be read in poor lightThese were her only companions in that dead of the night Silence all around, but peace was nowhere to be found She buried her head under her greasy hair to get rid of that sound; “The pressure’s grasping on me too tight.

Nothing’s going right and I’m losing the strength to fight.”

Reading only made her tire and no, she didn’t learn. Headaches made things worse as she understood less.

Eating, at times, wasn’t even an option. And most of the time, she was a complete mess.

Literal sleepless nights and frequent power outages kept pulling her behind, making her feel so alone Her dream was to save lives but it seems that in the process of it, she was slowly losing her own.

But someday, she’ll see graves and say I helped in giving them peaceful rest Someday, she’ll see how far she walked Someday, she’ll see lives who live to tell her story- that she overcame many tests Someday, she’ll say, to her petered student self, “You finally made it, Doc.”

13

Everybody Dies Everyday

by Ronzel Denie T. Magsayo

Everybody dies everyday When you wake up each day, not knowing why you do, When you look at the mirror and see that it’s not you, When you believe in words that are rather untrue And you build up people who eventually break you.

Everybody dies everyday When you keep comparing yourself and sulk on one corner, When you convince yourself, things will never get any better, When you pity yourself too much, while you give others praise And you push others far but you’re still stuck on the same phase.

Everybody dies everyday When you give up your triumphs and give in to the tests, When you trade anniversaries to arguments, When you let love leave you scarred and you’re filled only with hate And you let pride overrule you, then regret when everything’s too late.

Everybody dies everyday When you watch starving children stare at your full plate, When you refuse to right the wrongs and make every mistake, When you take for granted, everything you should value And you trash the only planet that took good care of you.

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Everybody dies everyday Because we abandon more than we appreciate, Because we only care for ourselves and for the people that we relate.

So we choose to turn a blind eye on things that deserve more than just a peek.

We chose to pursue our greed and abuse the meek.

Everybody dies everyday Because we let our hearts speak, Too loud that we don’t hear the hearts of others, Too loud that we forget we’ve got sisters and brothers, Too loud that we forget their lives also matter.

Everybody dies everyday The lies become lessons.

And with every death, we are born anew.

But many are called, chosen are few.

Everybody dies everyday But only those who choose to make the most of everyday, Only those who refuse to be blind and close their eyes to pray, Only those who choose to walk in the right way, Don’t die in vain like fallen warriors who’ve gone astray.

Everybody dies everyday.

But you my friend, will rise up today.

Beyond the Border

by Ayesha S. Tulete

Within the border, Cruelty and despair gushed in between cracks.

Sheer terror engulfed us as fools, Rendered our rationality muffled.

But all games end.

Spades, hearts, clubs fade, and the diamonds break.

Tiptoeing between life and death, The yearning is to live.

With memories for when the meteor struck, The sun shone as I wakened.

With a valued life is a new world that awaits.

There, beyond the border.

15

Into the Evenfall

by Khwynn Geollainne

And so we slip into the evenfall like we’re afraid to get into the way of the sun for what would it have to utter of our two heartbeats on the run only the mellow clinch of darkness can know our need to venture away as it dips out of existence at the onset of every day, we taught ourselves to keep our voice to whispers lest we awaken it from its sleep as we share all sorts of secrets that the daylight makes us keep there’s something about the sky of stars that compelled us to hold onto our trust as though for just these fleeting, witching hours the whole world belongs to us, but we know that soon the moon will bid its farewell and the east will once again give birth to light, we know it’ll cast its shadows on the friendship we created with the night, so let me relish in these fraying seconds before we decide to let our souls become withdrawn because honestly, I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that we can simply never outrun the dawn.

16

BOXED

by Sophia del Castillo Explore the endless Trapped in comfort and relief; A new world awaits.

17

B reakfast

by Philip Christian D. Macatangay

Three months since we’ve been lock asking when will we be back but it was the only time I drop my phone and look at the clock Morning as the sun tries to peek we had breakfast but before I eat look around and try to seek of people around me I used to see And that’s how it started to hit That time just pass as I blink And see my parents before me Of how old they could be Mother taking heavy breaths Father smiles with missing teeth Brother shares stories to hear And I have missed too much this year As I glance on my phone Look at them and held my grip Realized and smiled to myself I still have time with them to keep

18

Love in the time of Corona

by Louie Gorme

Corona is a killer and it has taken the lives of many, Like a villain in a movie whose intentions are deadly. But God gave us frontliners who risk their lives daily; They are our armors, protecting us quietly.

Now, face masks and face shields are the new trend. Social distancing is a rule we should not break or bend. We listen to advise so we don’t put others in harm’s way, And we remember that God is love, as we kneel and pray.

19

MY BEACON

by Cybrealle D.C. Cruz

I’ve once lost sight of the light As I embraced the creeping darkness, I was left with hollows to fill The burst of vigor long gone; Living each day with disease I was stunned but moving, longing As the hands pivot the clock, I found my being In the lens of the screen and the sounds of the click; I was clinging The disease unraveled “this ease” I looked for my Beacon and navigated my way while I was on (the) line The hands of the clock overlapped at zero hours and it was the morning The void filled with disease is now at ease As I waited, I felt a curve forming my lips Finally, after the long night, I am witnessing the light

20

Blossom

by Fatima Leila P. Sahac

It’s interesting how much tears a person can hold—can cry in a span of months.

I fairly wonder how it would have been like if the virus never existed, how I could’ve said a proper goodbye to my grade school years, how much better the start of my Junior High journey could have been. I fairly wonder how much easier life would have been.

These wonderings of what could have been brought tears.

Tears that fell from the unkept promises of a farewell, that fell from the hardships, failing friendships, and parting.

But then I think back and ponder on the memories of what had been. I think back to the unlikely relationships I’ve made, to the things I would have never done, to the books I had time to finally read.

I realize that my tears were just to water a garden of flowers that have now blossomed. I realize that without the tears, the memories I’ve made wouldn’t have been so beautiful. The hardships I’ve been through wouldn’t have been so full of meaning.

In a seemingly dull, dim field, flowers of hope for a better tomorrow, a wonderful today, blossomed.

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PROSE PROSE

22

When the Sun Rises (I Will Be Alright)

by Raye Angelique Y. Bongabong 28/50.

Leo’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the results of their quiz. A chill slowly crept from his spine and engulfed his shaking body.

It can’t be… how is this even possible? I studied for three days for this quiz, how did I not even get a passing grade on this? How could I be so careless?

What would Mama say?

Leo slumped in his chair, eyebrows furrowed, a sigh escaping from his lips. He wasn’t used to seeing this low of a result in his academic career. He glanced at the dozens of medals lined on his bedroom wall, glinting softly in the afternoon sun. The sight put Leo’s mind at ease, heart pounding with hope. It was just one quiz, I could always do better, he reassured. I must do better. My scholarship depends on this. Mama depends on me.

Leo’s ponderings were interrupted by the loud clanging of pots and plates in the kitchen. The comforting and hungry-inducing smell of home-cooked meals wafted in the air. Leo figured it was best to help out Mama in the kitchen and eat dinner. After all, there is no problem in the world that can’t be fixed by Mama’s cooking.

“How is my future accountant doing?” Mama asked, passing the plate of steaming rice to Leo. “Getting high grades as usual, yeah?”

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Leo let out an awkward chuckle. Wrong question, wrong place, wrong time. “It’s been hard adjusting to online classes, Mama.

Every class session feels like a blur. But don’t worry, I’ll be back to getting high grades in no time!” Leo said with a cheeky wink.

Hopefully.

“That’s my Leo!” Mama gleamed, kissing Leo’s forehead. “Now hurry up and finish your food, you still have studying to do! I’m counting on you, my future CPA!” Mama’s words resonated in Leo’s mind that night, serving as a reminder of encouragement. He doubled down on studying, staying up until the crack of dawn, reading until the words and numbers jumbled together. Leo’s pile of accounting books towered over him while coffee mugs took up space on his study table. He didn’t leave any page unturned, any paragraph unread, and any problem unsolved. He was ready and determined. He will get that perfect mark.

But he didn’t.

22/50.

God, an even lower score. I guess I underestimated this one. It’s okay, I can do better in the next quiz!

38/70.

Huh? Why were my answers wrong? At this rate, the final examination will make or break my final grade. I have to focus.

58/70.

What was that exam?! Those questions seemed to come from another planet! Not a bad score, but is it enough to keep my grade afloat? I hope my professor will grant me bonus points for all of my class recitations.

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Leo couldn’t sleep a wink that night. At any moment, their grades will be posted and any hope in his heart slowly crumbled by the passing minute. He wasn’t used to this anxiety and he never wants to experience it ever again. It was not fun—at all. He kept glossing over the results of his quizzes and final examination, every number leaving a deep pang in his chest. Leo, breathe, it’s okay. You’ll get through this. You’re THE Leo, you’ll get a high grade. I know you can do it. Mama knows you can do it.

And when the notification pinged on his phone, his stomach dropped, full of dread. Leo’s fingers trembled as he logged in the portal.

This is it.

Please be a 4.0. Please be a 4.0. Please be a 4.0. Please be a 4.0.

Please.

2.0?

Average? Was his grade really between 71-76?

Leo blinked and rubbed his eyes. Is this for real? Denial kicked in his system and Leo closed his eyes. He counted to three and opened his eyes once again, hoping that the number would increase. One, two, three.

2.0.

Average. His grade was really between 71-76.

He still passed but the number stung his eyes.

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Leo didn’t know what to feel. Honestly, it wasn’t that low of a score. He even thinks he deserved it, given his disappointing academic performance, but he still hoped. Others would even be elated to get a 2.0, especially on a major subject, just to escape from a glaring F. But for Leo, it means that his academic scholarship is hanging in the balance. What would Mama say?

Leo didn’t want Mama to worry and he especially didn’t want to become an additional financial burden.

But Mama had to know. She deserves to know.

It was an ordinary dinner, save for the knot growing in the pit of his stomach. Leo opened his mouth but, before he could utter a single syllable, anxiety reared its ugly head. He fidgeted, looking down, picking at his fingers. Mama noticed Leo’s strange behavior and held Leo’s hands. Thank God for Mama’s maternal instincts.

“Leo? Is there something wrong?” Mama asked worriedly. “I know you have something on your mind. Don’t be afraid.” She enveloped him in an embrace, patting his back.

And with that, Leo burst into tears. He told Mama everything— the 2.0 grade in his major, the uncertainty of him retaining his scholarship, his disappointment in his quiz results, his anxiety— all of it. He can’t keep track of what he was saying between choked sobs. “I’m afraid of disappointing you, Mama. I know you expect a lot from me and I want to return the favor by doing my best. But my best wasn’t enough.”

“I’m even more disappointed in myself. Where was the Leo that always got the highest grades in class? I feel like I’m just an empty husk of my former self.”

“Oh, Leo.” Mama said lovingly as she cupped Leo’s cheeks. “I’m sorry if my encouragement came off too strong. I didn’t know how much you were struggling.” Mama patted Leo’s back in a steady rhythm, calming the sobbing boy down. “Your disappointment in yourself is valid but validity doesn’t always equate to the truth.”

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“I’m not disappointed in you, honey. I’m even more proud of you for being vulnerable and continuing to stand up and do better despite the numerous obstacles you faced. After all, isn’t that more admirable than getting high grades?”

“Whenever the sun rises, you can always do better. Don’t dwell on it too much or else you wouldn’t grow. Trust in Mama, okay?”

Leo nodded and hugged her tightly, his knuckles turning white.

“I love you, Mama.”

“And I love you more, sweetheart.”

Thank God for Mama.

Leo slept soundly that night. He had never felt this relieved ever since online classes started. Perhaps crying his eyes out to Mama was the best solution he needed to get his worries off his chest.

Mama always knew what to say to lift his spirits.

Leo woke up to the gentle rays of the rising sun. The usual dread he felt whenever he started another day is gone. It seemed fitting as new classes started, signaling a new and better beginning. The hope in his heart grew stronger than ever and there was a spring in step day by day.

He worked and studied harder than ever without forgetting to be kind to himself. Instead of the usual self-pressure and overthinking, Leo studied with purpose and renewed determination.

Gone were the days where the rewards of his hard work were unjustifiable. Leo definitely did better, as evidenced by the latest quiz score he received that week.

A gleaming 25/25.

Darkness and uncertainty are only temporary. What is certain is that the sun will always rise, bringing light and hope into the world. As Mama said, when the sun rises, I will be alright. I can do better. I will do better.

27

Musings on a Film Scene

by Shariful Mansul An old lady was tailing an old man to what seemed to be ruins of an unfinished structure, hidden behind trees and shrubs.

“Follow me. I have something to show you,” he said.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

“Which do you think is more pleasing,” he spoke again, both of them now sitting on an empty platform. “this butterfly or those carcasses of rats?”

“But what happens if I cannot choose?”

“There will come a time when you have to choose.”

“Is that so? Then what I will choose is the one that will live.”

I still find the scene absurd. I kept rewinding the segment over and over again and still, I could not find the sense in asking the possibility of beauty in a pair of dead rats. More so the idea that she couldn’t choose. Did I mishear something? Did the old man say that you can only choose those rats whose life already ascended to heaven? Did I mix my cognition English and Bahasa Sug? Or is there something between the lines that I am yet to grasp?

The film was the first one that I watched wherein the language used is my native tongue. Which partly means that despite my inability to demystify that otherwise meaningless portion in a 2-hour movie, I was relieved. I was at peace. I do not particularly know why.

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“Is that so? Then what I will choose is the one that will live.”

There is no question about life. One can even go as far as declare that life, in both its abstraction and tangibility, is the center of all vibrations, all work, all thinking, all logistics and all politics. When we think of the world as a complicated subject, we are merely thinking of the various permutations of a singular thing, existence. The sperm hitting the ovum, penetrating. The announcement of a rite of passage that an entity once unseen and unheard of in the kingdom of being, is to be.

Yet it’s never merely an instance. It’s also continuity. It’s movement, music, a bee moving from one flower to another, leaving trails of dots in the Cartesian plane. It’s the child being breastfed, going to their first class, getting stars on their quiz paper, having their first crush, passing a college entrance exam, failing, moving out, ruminating on love, and so on. Life isn’t a sentence. It’s an ever-elliptic diary moving and swooning with the mysteries of time.

“Then what I will choose is the one that will live.”

Yet, despite its pervading nature, if not inseparable to the very idea of nature itself, despite its logical clarity as the imperative end of all undertakings, it cannot be so surpassing as to eclipse its counterpart. Death. As much as there is, there is not. One flows from the other and vice versa.

We like thinking of death as belonging to another compartment of the human condition. This is life. That is death. Between is a red neon line that makes sure that the two do not overlap. If it does, then there is no turning back. Yet, in the midst of what we would consider as periods of personal silence, are the occasional electrical circuits that renew: What am I here for, to begin with?

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“There will come a time when you have to choose.”

The problem with living is, it’s a daily task. Each meal taken and each glass drunk are statements that verify the value of dreams, of aspirations and the better days. The only true philosophical question is whether or not to kill oneself, writes the French thinker Albert Camus. Hence, given that you are still breathing in the here and now, you have chosen this.

I escaped so-called homes that didn’t match my imagined future quite a-many times. I have my own complications. Choices can either negate your reasons for holding on or amplify them. You can either ride the train of comfortable nonexistence or struggle to keep the sprout alive in the motive of seeing flowers.

Either way, it’s a path of multiple chambers. Each stop has an interrogation. Was this what I imagined myself when I was younger? Was the choice of keeping the water to my own roots too selfish for humanity? Is life even worthy?

Of course, but we cannot underestimate the possibility of wilting, its slow dominion and its own rationalizations. But I’d like to make a clear conviction. I am a butterfly.

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PHOTOGRAPHY PHOTOGRAPHY

“In Sight”

by Ayesha Tulete

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TRADITIONAL TRADITIONAL ART ART

“ A Mess of Thoughts”

by Dominic Ian Cabatit

35

“Alone with Strange Company”

by Dominic Ian Cabatit

36

“Daily Battles”

by Kiana Mae Morgia

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38

“Hope and Sky Series”

by Erika Dalida

39

“ A Long Slumber” 40

by Dominic Ian Cabatit

Past Closed Doors

by Kiana Mae Morgia

41

DIGITAL DIGITAL ART ART

Plenty Activities

by Jiane Leryz Abinales

No Energy

by Jiane Leryz Abinales

43

A Question

by Jillian Renee Callo

44

Social Distancing

by Jiane Leryz Abinales

45

Reconnected

by Jiane Leryz Abinales

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

We are extending our gratitude to the ATENEO COMMUNITY Students, Faculty, Staff and Alumnus for their contributions and endless support

EDITORIAL BOARD A.Y. 2020-2021 Editor-in-Chief: Sharmaine Canama Associate Editor for Reveille: Sophia Therese Del Castillo Associate Editor for Sinag: Mickaella Joyce Dumayag Associate Editor for Social Media: Zacharee Masamayor Associate Editor for Website: Ayesha Tulete Managing Editors: Vinz Harrold Basilio, Renz Marion Suarez News Editor: Wisey Democrito Sports Editor: Yusrhina Usman Feature Editor: Shariful Mansul Copyreader: Yves Joey Flores Communications Officer: Kelly Cassandra Teja Head Cartoonist: Karl Onayan Head Photojournalist: Teriez Michove Bokingkito Head Layout Artist: Neil Ericsson Miro Adviser: Mrs. Leah M. Panaguiton

WRITERS Hemelyn Jilian Renee Agayam, Almira Almiñana, Aungus Alpasain, Alfaruc Andas, Jefferson Aray, Clairizza Arcillas, Raye Angelique Bongabong, Jillian Rene Calo, Cybrealle Cruz, Tasha Deanna Eugenio, John Fabian, Fatima Marwa Fadzlulkarim, Nicole Gagula, Rosen Gabriel Garcia, Raihana Habbi, Fatma Shaheen Hadjirul, Shariefa Jadji, Fatima Riesa Karay, Myron Larracochea, Annsel Magno, Kiana Mae Morgia, Shifa Naeem, Erika Jenn Quisil, Patrick Dale Angelo C. Rivera, Kristine Segayo, Chrizelle Jane Sicat, Rolly Songcayauon, Renzo Tan

CARTOONISTS Jonie Alaban, Ayana Dawn Atis, Ma. Sofia Carro Falcasantos, Crystalane Hagonoy, Shamy Jailani, Francis Jae Oliveros, Maria Reolyn Pilones, Allysa Marie Ramiso, Gwen Toribio

PHOTOJOURNALISTS Rochelle Elaine Bautista, Denzel Bautista, Jean Clarice Bue, Sean Vincent Del Castillo, Christianne Denise Ebreo, Zefanie Fernandez, Lance Kirby Gigante, James Hamoy, Charlene Laran, Jerecho Salinel, Danielle Joen Mercado, Gian Dominic Pareja, Shannen Semil, Edweena Saipuddin, Deanna Toledo

VIDEOGRAPHERS Kezzia Jeiel Luzon, Peter Valmonte

LAYOUT ARTISTS Martha Bernaldez, Ann Jucylle F. Ellorin, Charlene Lizardo, Jan Angelo Tan Belda, Rashid Ian Taupan, Abeer Uri

CONTRIBUTORS Philip Christian Macatangay FFP/NSTP Formator Marianne Julia Feliciano 12 HUMSS - St. Walpole Mary Louise O. Gorme Grade 6 Ronzel Denie Magsayo BS Nursing - 1 Khwynn Geollainne 12 - STEM Fatima Leila Sahac St. John de Brebeuf - 7 Dominic Ian Cabatit ADZU SLA Staff Erika Dalida BS Legal Management - 2 Jiane Leryz Abinales BS Computer Science - 1

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