Marejada 2015 (Colors)

Marejada 2015

Annual Literary Folio of The BEACON Publications

Marejada Vol XVI, Issue I email: marejada@adzu.edu.ph All rights revert to their respective authors and artists Credits: Cover and Back Image by Ioneebel Garcia Layout by Bianca Alyana Zamora Various Images by Lea Alessandra Lim Various Digital Arts by Ioneebel Garcia and June Karlo Suan Layout in Adobe InDesign Digital Processing in Adobe Photoshop/Illustrator Typeset in Minion pro, Times New Roman Distant Stroke, Kokila

FOREWORD

This year’s Premios Marejada showcases a little bit of everything. The theme being Colors, free to be interpreted any which way, has inspired a myriad different interpretations.

The pieces we have culled this year from our pool of writers, photographers, and artists are quite diverse and special in quirky ways, once we have brought them together. When you go through them, you may even think that from one piece to another, if you were to plot them on a straight line, a lot of them will be on opposing ends; in fact, one straight line would simply not do – I doubt you could even plot them on the same plane.

Together, they form a multi-faceted diamond of so many planes.

This year’s Marejada refracts light. It is a prism that lets you see through to iridescent colors. Beyond the colors theme we have set, an offshoot of other different themes have also sprung, perhaps from the endless possibilities colors presents.

In the short fiction category, inadvertently, three of the works have apocalyptic and dystopian themes. For poetry, the recurring offshoot theme is love – and everything else associated with it, from lust to heartache.

When we hoped for there to be a piece about sexuality, we weren’t disappointed. In fact, the winning piece for this year’s Premio in the Poetry category bears sexual themes. Also, for the first time in several years, we have reopened our essay category to accept the lone essay contribution this year. Writing about his journey in finding his, or her true self rather, Salvador Memoracion Jr.’s Tiptoeing from Blue to Pink is a breath of fresh air, a sort of comic relief from the other entries that are too intense and full of emotion.

Indeed, this year’s Marejada refracts and reflects the light we have all created from bringing together all our different colors. These colors are part of who we are. It is now part of who you are.

Pristine Padua Marejada Curator February 2016

TA B L E O F CONTENTS

POEMS

03 Products of a Green Mind 04 A DISTANT YELLOW 05 Sapphire dissolving

into lavender 06 Your White Lie Beneat h the Op al Sky 07 Saving Gray 08 Double The Rainbow 09 Haiku 1 10 LOVE ME AND SEE RED 11 COLORING COLORAO 12 Maitim na Tsinelas 13 COLOR BLIND 14 RED STRING 15 BLUES OF WAITING

SHORT STORIES 18-20 Pitch Black World 21-22 The Red Jack-O-Lantern 23 THE GOLD PENDANT 24 The Silver Maiden 25-27 IN YELLOW HIGHLIGHT

A SPECIAL CITATION TO AN ESSAY 28-31 Tiptoeing from Blue to Pink

PHOTOS AND ARTS 34 THE PINK UMBRELLA

35 FEELING BLUE 36 STAINED GLASS 37 DETRAS DE TRAYSI 38 UNTITLED 39 UNTITLED 40 UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT 41 WANDERING

P O E M S

WINNER 2015

PREMIOS MAREJADA

The 2015 Premios Marejada winner for Poetry is an invitation to take a plunge into the abyss of desire –that one word which evokes at times, excitement, at times, guilt but almost always, a world of pixilated colors set in the frame of blacks and grays.

Products of a Gre en Mind \by

Louriane Mae Gallardo Red The perfect mark I’ve left on you, angry and bleeding; A mirror of our bodies sliding together and breaking apart.

You beg me to sink my teeth into the groove of your neck and shoulder, And I oblige, hypnotized by the supple flesh you willingly offer.

03

Blue The bruises that trail and mar your perfect body, aching and violent; Increasing the anticipation, the excitement of what’s yet to come.

The crescendo of pain and pleasure ignites a fire within you, And I surrender, engulfed by your flaming desire.

Silver The map I’ve drawn all over you, searing and slippery; You shiver wantonly, my mouth on the space between your thighs.

Your sweetness on my tongue makes me heady with hunger And I indulge, addicted to the power I have over you.

Brown The windows to your soul, behind curtains of lashes fluttering close.

You throw your head back in a silent plea for relief and submission.

The sharpness of your lines belies the tenderness of your palms; And I restrain, intoxicated by the sight of you trembling under me.

Black The sound of your voice, moaning and calling out my name.

Your sweat making every bit of you glisten beneath my hands.

You writhe under the unrelenting push and pull of my teeth and tongue.

And I dominate, empowered by the music I create with your body.

White The space between release and exhaustion, when you’re finally honest.

I burn it into my retinas knowing that it’ll be my last glimpse of you.

We created a masterpiece only I can appreciate.

And I crash, broken from painting every part of you I can reach.

Yellow The dancing curtains in my room, delicate and soft.

A heavy reminder of the bitter reality that awaits me.

It feels so real I could almost taste you on my fingertips, on my lips.

And I crumble, conquered by the fabricated memory of me and you.

A Distant Yellow \by

Jamila Becca Daud It’s 7:30 am and the morning bell just rang I ran towards the rails and watch you race against time You’re late. What’s new?

You climb the stairs two at a time Hoping to make it before the doors are locked You haven’t really changed, have you?

It’s 11:00 am and the bell signals lunch I ran downstairs towards the cafeteria Wishing and hoping that you’ll be there too Indeed, you were.

With your slicked back hair and perfect smile You haven’t really changed, have you?

It’s 4:00 pm and the bell tells me go Go where? I ask myself Outside, to see you once more before the day ends Or home, to wonder if you feel the same Of course outside is what I’ll choose I guess I haven’t really changed, have I? It’s 6:00 pm and it’s 3 years later I’m at a party and I see you’re here too I refrain myself from staring but God why can’t I You looked like you always did I stare once more to make you last a while We haven’t really changed, have we?

04

Sapphire dissolving into lavender \by

Jamie Bernadette Cabayacruz

05

And with some moments, I feel light and blissful, Like the April sunlight streaming through my window, And the way I feel the summer breeze on my skin.

All your sweet hellos make mornings better.

My heart swells with warmth, And there is delight in my state.

And with every inhalation, I breathe in love And then exhale out doubts and anxieties I can feel the gentle touch of your hands The sensation flowing down my spine Telling me your hands were made to lock with mine.

And on some nights I feel the luckiest Like the echoing chant of the birds My heart wallows with the thought of you Halfway across the globe thinking of me And then I dissolve into the foggy midnight sky And an array of constellations above me, Knowing that even miles can’t stop something like this.

And on some days, I feel light and blissful Like a sudden kiss on the nose Or a flash of awe in your eyes I can feel your arms wrapped around me Like a sweet caress.

And I’m like sapphire slowly dissolving into lavender Slowly melting in your presence Becoming something that is burning with fire and desire Something that is alive and breathing.

Your White Lie Beneath the Opal Sky \by

Mary Kathereen Cacayan If I’ll ask you my dear ‘what color is the sky’?

Will you tell me it’s blue like the tears you now cry?

You said you’re ‘fine’ though your eyes refuse to dry, The azure sky simply watched as you tell me that lie, “But is the sky really blue?” I asked with no clue, In morning’s full glory, the sky’s indeed blue, But its vibrant shade changes as if on cue, It paints itself in another charming hue, When the sun descends from his place on high, the sky dresses in lovely pastels to say goodbye, with palettes of lavender, pink and yellow, It’s now a watercolor painting so sweet and mellow, But sweet loveliness fades as darkness slowly creeps It’s the moon’s turn to reign as the sun sleeps, Stars scattered by breaking into a walk, a run, or hop, to find their places against the midnight-blue backdrop Alas! the evening shall end with the moon’s sleepy yawn, As the sky discards his elegant coat of obsidian stone, In his full glory, the sun will come to seize back his throne, Fall in love with the captivating blush of rose-colored dawn,

the beautiful sky is like a kaleidoscope that mirrors, the world with love, sorrows, hopes, and terrors, like an opal stone that shines in fifty different colors, It is likened to a heart that wildly flutters and soars, for the feelings that the heart can hold is never few, As much as the sky that can’t always be blue, darling, We are not limited in just a single hue, So flaunt your vibrant colors like the sky proudly do, When in love, you can either laugh or cry, Never try to hide sorrow, I’ll tell you why Because saying you’re ‘okay’ isn’t a white lie, for it’ll bring so much pain, you think you’ll die, Come and lift your bare face towards the not-blue sky, Let your suppressed emotions run loose! Let them fly!

You have such beautiful colors so don’t be shy, Your white lie fades to nothing beneath the opal sky.

06

Saving Gray \by

Bianca Roma De leon #000000 You were wearing a black bonnet Your hair was jet-black, so were your eyes – a complete opposite of what’s inside.

And you were my universe back then.

At 11:00 PM, the sky was a pitch black ocean that night, where I was drowning in watered-down versions of starry-eyed thoughts.

#FFC0CB Your drink was pink, matching my dress.

And when I laughed so hard at something you said, You wiped the spilled drink off the bottom of my skirt with your pink handkerchief.

We talked all night.

07 And you pulled me out of the dark waters, #FF0000 Out of the deep, black loneliness, We went out again, and again, and again.

Just in time to see the first pink rays of the rising sun.

On this particular night, I remember your flushed cheeks, red against We parted ways at 6AM. It was a good party. the cold wind.

I remember the red stain my lipstick left on the rim of the wine glass.

I remember my red dress, the kind of red that mothers frown upon.

You made me see red. #808080 You made me fall in love.

My life used to be black and white,

#FFFFFF One night, I found myself drowning again.

I felt lonely, and miserable, and everything dark.

And then I saw you and your searing whiteness You’re the light at the end of the tunnel And you saved me.

Good or bad, yin and yang. Everything compartmentalized.

And then I met you.

And now everything is so gray, so mixed.

In my world of black and white, You’re the only one that’s gray.

Double The Rainbow \by

Therese Margarette Duterte I was wrapped in yellow, she in pink.

She writes neatly while I in messy ink.

Gloom was on my face while you see her beam.

At prom, I wore blue, she was in green.

So many good things come in pairs.

Like our clothes, phones and teddy bears.

So many good things come opposite.

Like saying we’re unique to everyone we meet.

I root for Batman, she’s for Superman.

I like the white Presto creams, she likes the green one.

I crave for sundae, she disgusts it.

She likes 17, I like 8.

So many colors as we both grow.

I decipher life twice the colors of the rainbow.

So much fun with having two.

Double trouble and laughter too.

Black cars are cool when she wants a motorcycle.

I prefer Stefan over her Somerhalder.

She’s scared of heights, I am a little do not.

She befriends spiders while I squish them into a blot.

Although at times we dispute.

They say a twin’s loyalty is absolute.

So, I’m sharing a seat with you in this roller coster, My sister and I, like sigma bonds held much closer.

I like Filipino when she’s an expert in English.

She knows Spanish while I fool her with my “British” Father calls me a red tomato.

Ha! Mother says “She’s a camel, too.”

She roars in yellow. I soar in blue.

Quarrel over pink and blue, things must multiply by two.

I dream of Disney Land, she dreams of Prague.

I dissected a frog, she panics over frogs.

One day, she’ll wear a black suit, I, in a white coat.

Together we’ll make an oath.

I’ll be in my scrub suit, she’ll carry her briefcase.

While saving lives and defending the human race.

08

Haiku 1 \by

Diego Jose Esperat

Pink, the sun rises.

09 Yellow; the sun lights our lives.

Red; the sun now sets.

LOVE ME AND SEE RED \by

Fathima Mohamed Zubair Ahamed Kabeer

red. ill make you see Love me and I w u bare. tick and beat yo ps li ad. ur yo r ea sm I will e you to bleed de av le d an u yo k rain you and brea beware!

I will hurt you, sp and bruise you so air u yo y ro st de u, ream for I will crush yo u will gasp and sc d care yo r, ge an of s he Hot flas d love an to me; hold me an g in cl . l il w u yo Yet th desire and fear bo u yo t ha w dear. is le nightmare, my Because this love ab in ag im un ur d yo eet daydream an I will be your sw

10

COLORING COLORAO \by

Angel Ridette Cenas Coloring colorao, mi pecho machacao, coloring colorao, mi vida bien trambulicao.

No quere mas pensa, no quere mas tristeza.

Coloring colorao, na mi corazon tu permamente, coloring colorao, di tu amor ta dale mas na otro gente.

No quere mas pensa, no quere mas tristeza.

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Coloring colorao, tiene yo prigunta: Di quien poder tu vene alegre?

Coloring colorao, con ele, tu ay sinti duele.

No quere mas pensa, no quere mas tristeza.

Coloring colorao, yo ta sinti hambre.

Coloring colorao, dia mas dia yo ta cambia costumbre.

Coloring colorao, yo ta queda durmilon.

Coloring colorao, pirmi mi boca quere man lamon.

No quere mas pensa, no quere mas tristeza.

Coloring colorao, porque tu ya deja un ni単o te esta na mi bariga.

Maitim na Tsinelas \by

Precious Kate Olano Naaalala mo ba noong tayo’y bata pa?

Pinagmamasdan natin ang orasan tuwing hapon, hinihintay na ito’y pumatak ng alas kwatro.

Galing sa paaralan tayo ay dali-daling bibihis at hahanapin ang barkada sa plaza.

Lahat tayo ay nalilito.

Ano nga bang dapat larong uunahin?

Patintero, tumbang lata o tago-taguan?

Magsisimula sa maibang taya at magtatapos sa paramihan ng panalo.

Abot langit ang ating kaligayahan, saksi ang araw hanggang sa paglubog nito.

Ngunit sadyang walang kasing bilis ng panahon.

Bagong henerasyon, bagong kabataan.

May ala-ala kayang gaya nito silang babalikan?

Di ko minsan maiwasan at magtanong Anong pinagkaiba ng noon at ngayon?

Sa ilalim ng puno at ibabaw ng berdeng damuhan dito matatagpuan ang mga batang noon.

Pagod at pawis ang abot sa bahay kasabay pa ng sermon ni nanay.

Paano naman ang kabataang ngayon?

Higit na nais nilang magkulog sa kwarto kaharap ng kompyuter o cellphone.

Oras ay di na napapansin pati sa oras ng pagkain ay naisasantabi.

Kay laki nga ng pagbabago ng kabataan kumpara sa noon at ngayon.

Gayunpaman, sana’y sila rin ay makaranas nito.

Maranasan ang saya ng pagkakaibigan, ang matamis na ngiti kahit pa madungisan.

Pagkat sa ilalim ng marumi at maitim na tsinelas dito nababalot ang masasayang araw natin noon.

12

Color Blind \by

Venjovi Pondevida Seven billion pairs of eyes I saw yours lit up like fireflies Seven billion sunshine smiles I saw yours radiate miles and miles

13

You were the rainbow in my darkest days The kaleidoscope in rains and sunset rays You were the colors in the black and white In every dusk, you were the light But I’ve grown color blind Left the past, present and future behind Should’ve known that less is more So sudden and so fast, you walked out the door

Where are you now?

The colors that once filled my heart, now suffocates my mind If you could only tell me how How to see you again and how to find A cure in this illness The colorblindness Is killing me inside There’s nowhere else my body could hide Turn my white into red My black into blue Soak my grim world in your colors Because darling, still, I love you.

Red String \by

Nova Joy Salajug Pulled in divided ways, Running an individual race; That’s the life we have to face, The life we have to chase.

Wandering the blue skies, In different wings we fly.

Different lairs, different cries, Different from what we used to try.

Climbing distant mountains, Surviving distinct rains.

Achieving separate gains, Crying our own inescapable pains.

These days are what we’re seeing.

This is how patented we’re living.

Different thoughts we’re conceiving, Different things we’re aspiring.

But keep in mind, As long as it speaks eternity A red string will forever bind The promise of our loyalty.

14

Blues of Waiting \by

Irene Wahab Hear the music of the ocean.

See the beauty of the sky.

You’re both here in this blue planet.

With barricades between you so high.

15

Listen to the old blues, Watch the world with the sound.

Everything will go in slow-mo, Just like when she’s around.

Sometimes she will show herself.

Seemingly out of the blue.

You’ll can’t help but stare While she sees everything but you.

You will feel breathless, Like you’re blue in the face.

It will hurt and hurt and hurt, And will leave you a bitter taste.

But you’ll say it’s okay, That it’s fine to feel blue.

Because deep down you know, She’ll eventually come to you.

You see, I know you And I’m positive all these will come true.

But darling, I want you to know, I will wait ‘til you run out of blue.

S T O R I E S

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WINNER 2015

PREMIOS MAREJADA

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What is it in the future that captivates us?

That terrifies us? Tura in her piece, ‘PitchBlack World,’ provides what appears on first reading, a simple narrative but culminates in a cathartic experience –the purgation of hope out of despair in its blackest. An achievement that merits the 2015 Premios Marejada for Short Story.

Pitch-Black World \by

Reyjean G. Tura

I

t has been dark for almost a hundred years now. Pitch-black. I could feel the cold, hard stone under me. I could hear the scuttle of a million feet behind me. I could smell the foul water that dripped from somewhere above. I could taste the parchedness that soaked my tongue. My heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I don’t remember what the sky looked like. Or how the sun felt like on my skin. Or the green, green grass that tickled my toes. I don’t remember the varying hues that painted the flowers. Or the clear jade waters that tumbled down those strong dark boulders.

What did a rainbow look like? I remember the colors, even memorized them. ROYGBIV. But the letters don’t make sense now. None of the memories I imagine do. Everything was now pitch-black.

I waited. And waited. I patiently waited. But until when was I supposed to wait? I should just give up and let go.

But somehow, I still foolishly believed.

Why was it so dark? When was this going to end? I keep telling myself that it’s okay, that I’m okay.

Everything would soon get better, wouldn’t it?

Suddenly I hear a strange, majestic voice. At first it was a gentle whisper carried by the wind, then it grew louder, clearer, more urgent. It was calling me. I stood up, my joints furiously whining. I started moving towards the voice but I couldn’t pinpoint its exact location. It seemed to be echoing from everywhere.

“W-where are you?” my voice cracked from waiting so long.

It kept calling my name.

“Where am I supposed to go?”

It didn’t answer.

“I need to see you. I need to see where I’m going.”

The voice stopped chanting my name. “It’s time now. Do you trust me?” it suddenly said, its tones deep, velvety, the kind that makes you want to believe him.

I didn’t answer. How could I trust him when I didn’t know him or where I was headed? When everything was shrouded by a canopy of eternal darkness? What if it was a trap? What if the way forward was no better than where I was now? Or worse? Would I have waited for nothing?

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How could I trust him?

“Do you trust me?” the voice was patient and kind. It didn’t assert. It waited.

And suddenly I knew. All my life I have been waiting for this very moment, this promise. Trust was insanely irrational. It was a leap of faith. I didn’t know why but I trusted him. “Yes,” I was breathless. I was ready to move forward.

“You can open your eyes now,” he finally said.

And I did.

The first thing I noticed was the golden glow the sun cast on anything and everything. The mango trees and their produce. The cornflowers and their pollen. The hummingbirds and the bumble bees. I thought I didn’t remember, but it seems my heart did. It never forgot every single beauty that littered this world.

I looked up and saw a rainbow peeking through the dense evergreen foliage. They were all there.

Those wonderful colors: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet. I was in awe. Everything was so magnificent that I felt the first stubborn tears trickle down my cheeks. Everything was worth the wait.

“Do you like it?” I turned and there was the owner of that mysterious voice. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to find him in pure white robes. He had salt-and-pepper hair, an old-fashioned beard and chocolatey brown eyes.

19

I couldn’t help it; I gave him a huge heartfelt smile. The stranger was no stranger at all. “I love it,” I told him.

The stranger and I strolled down the sloping, winding paths of undergrowth and grass. We didn’t talk but the silence was more than comforting. We stopped by a clearing to rest and eat the delicious fruits the forest offered us. There were oranges, blueberries, green mangoes, bananas and a lot of others I couldn’t even name. We continued our stroll down the enchanted forest. A nearby stream provided us with fresh water. Wild animals peaked around the bushes every now and then. I saw the tips of a deer’s antlers here and the tail of a hiding chameleon there. The forest was so full of the beautiful life I have been deprived of for such a long time.

How could I have ever survived a world without this paradise?

But more importantly, how could I have ever thought, even for a split second, about giving up?

At the end of the forest was the sea with its sparkling azure waves that washed the shore. We sat side by side on the pinkish white sand, our eyes trailing the horizon. The day’s almost over. I still couldn’t believe every single blessing I saw this day. I wish it would never end.

“Will it be like this forever?” I asked, my heart caught in my throat.

“Yes,” I met his gaze to see if he was lying. He wasn’t. He smiled, the crinkles forming at the edges of his twinkling eyes.

I looked away. The sun was already kissing the horizon. I watched the sky dramatically change from a fiery orange to rosy red to sweet, tranquil lavender. I could see the first stars claiming their spots in the inky black night sky.

I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

A single tear escaped. Then another. And another. “Thank you,” And I knew that wasn’t enough to tell him how I really felt.

----“Is it true, Mommy?” The little girl eagerly asked, clutching the book in her tiny hands. She hugged it near her heart, never wanting to let go. “Did the old man keep his promise?”

She was leaning on the headboard of her small bed. Her mother sat on a rickety wooden stool beside her. Her bedroom was cramped, only enough for a single bed and a closet. Instead of a closet though, a bookshelf lined the other side of the room. It was made by her dad; it was full of the adventures she wanted to dream about every night.

“Yes, dear,” her mother said. She adjusted the blanket around her daughter. She had tried to salvage it yesterday by sewing patches from her old maiden dresses. “The girl was never going to have to live in the dark anymore,” she added.

“Why Mommy? Why did the old man give her such a generous gift?” the little girl asked, smiling, her enthusiasm never wavering.

The mother looked at her seven-year old daughter. She asked this every night, every single time they finished reading the story. She was sure her daughter has it memorized, every word, every emotion. And yet she always wanted to talk about the same thing over and over again.

The mother pursed her lips and forced a smile. She didn’t want to say it, but she wasn’t going to smother that tiny flame lighting her daughter’s heart. “Because she always had hope, my dear. She believed.”

The little girl clutched the book tighter, not minding the covers that hang in tatters and the pages stained by time. She smiled to herself. Then she looked up, and her mother didn’t want to tell her that her eyes missed her by several heartbreaking inches. “I have hope, mommy. Always.”

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The Red Jack-O-Lantern \by

Jorace Dayrit

I

stare at my mum’s pumpkin. I mean an actual pumpkin, you know, the orange ones you see on Halloween cards? It looked just like that.

She left it on our round dining table. It was so huge, and our table was too small, there’s hardly enough space for anything else, let alone my dinner plate. Her friend gave it to her, and she was honestly thinking about cooking it. But I’ve had enough of trying to enjoy something meant for someone else, or pretending there’s room for me when there’s none. With a grunt I decided to take my dinner out.

I decided to stay on our porch. The cool night breeze shocked the hell out of me. I liked it. It was the realest thing I’ve ever felt since forever, it seems. The city lights seemed magical in that eerie kind of way, like beauty in death. I bask in their glow and pretend to feel warmth against my skin. I’m exceptionally good at fooling myself. Pretending to feel warmth when there’s none, ignoring the searing pain when it all but insists to be felt. I still have that pan burn on my palm from my attempt to cook dinner.

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Dinner.

It was sitting there cold on the coffee table. I prodded the sides of the plate, and suddenly, I lost my appetite to eat despite the trouble of having to cook it. Funny how we go above and beyond to get something and end up not liking it anyway. I laugh with hysteria. Finally I get a grasp of the feeling. I went to the railings and picked my own pocket, pulled my phone out. There were 86 messages on it, quite the number. But only a handful of them must be addressed to me, and in that handful, I doubt there’s one that really cares.

I learned a long time ago that eventually, the string of communication ends up being for the benefit of the sender. I stare at the screen and tried to guess what ends do they want to fulfill now. What means am I to play again? With I sigh I give up the guessing game. I don’t usually give up but sometimes we’re just too tired to keep the fight inside us going. I rummaged my other pocket for earphones, plugged it in and turned my back against the world. I leaned against the railings. I need something else to support my weight.

“It Ends Tonight.”

By The All-American Rejects. It’s been a while since I stayed my hand from hitting the next button when this song plays. Yesterday, I might’ve switched it to Ed Sheeran, or Adam Levine. I thought I have grown out of my Punk Rock phase. But I guess it wasn’t a phase after all. It feels so good to be myself again.

I want to do something. I need to do something. Every beat of the song wakes a different pulse in my veins, and I feel that it’s a capital sin to waste such adrenaline. I waltz my way back in. Matching my steps with every beat. Grazing my hands over the wall. Closed eyes, mouthing the words.

The sound of breaking glass breaks me out of my reverie. My mum’s frame, I must’ve caught it with my arm. I bend over it and realize it was the one that framed the photo where she was in her Sunday’s dress.

All in orange, with orange makeup. I always tell her that that get-up makes her head look like a pumpkin. I try

to suppress a chuckle. I fail, as usual. I hear the sound travel around the room.

I get up and resume my waltzing. My hasty feet brings me back to the table.

It’s still there, the pumpkin. And then, with a sudden jolt, I want it to be something else. I want it to be like me.

So I got a kitchen knife and carved a hole at its top, tossing the peelings aside. My mum’s going to kill me. But too late, I already carved a whole on her pumpkin. I stabbed the inside. One. Two. Three. Until I got it soft. I want to hollow it. It was a taxing job, but I thought that it wasn’t that hard for people to hollow me, so why should this be any harder?

So slowly, handful by handful, I toss the insides out. A handful for the friends who left me when I needed them. A handful for him cheating on me. A handful for the teacher who failed me. A handful for the fight I had with my mum awhile back. It went on like that and it hollowed out quickly. Now it was like me, hollow; except for one more thing— a smile.

Skillfully, I carved it on its face. This was always something I was good at, arts and crafts. And I guess when it involves ruining, I get a whole lot better. But my mum never saw this as a talent, probably the reason why we don’t see eye to eye on anything. I took a step back and behold my work. And there it was, smiling but hollow inside. In my mind I gave myself a slow clap.

Now, I just have to clean out the trash.

And then I remembered that I have another trash to clean out. It was caused by much the same thing I did on this pumpkin.

I looked under the table, because that’s where the other trash was.

I stare at my mum’s pumpkin, her other pumpkin. You know, that metaphorical pumpkin I called her head.

...

Now she looked just like a red jack-o-lantern. All I have to do was carve a smile on her face.

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Ang Gintong Palawit (The Gold Pendant) \by

A

Kim Elaine Saipuddin

ko si Arya Mionette Monteclara, at ito ang kwento ng pag-ibig ko.

Noong unang buwan ng pag-aaral ko sa Villafrancia Cooking Academy sa Maynila, nakatagpo ako ng isang lalakeng ‘sing kisig ni Adonis, mala-Tom Cruise kung tumindig, at sa lakas ng dating aakalin mong ililipad ka ng hangin.

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Kagaya ko, hilig din n’ya ang magluto. Noong una s’yang masilayan nitong aking mga mata, kakaibang pintig, kakaibang pananabik ang aking nadama. At sa paglipas ng panahon, para bang tumitindi pang lalo ang aking pagsinta. Maging sa aking pagtulog, larawan ng kanyang mukha ang s’yang aking nagugunita.

Kapag s’ya sa aki’y nakatitig, puso ko’y ngumingiti ng bahagya. Ramdam ko, sa kaibuturan nitong puso ko, na sa aki’y may lihim din s’yang nadarama. Dahil sa bawat kilos, bawat hininga, bawat pagpikit nitong aking mga mata, ramdam kong ako’y pinagmamasdan n’ya. Sa dinami-rami ba naman ng mga magagandang babae sa Akademya, ako at tanging ako lamang ang s’yang pinagtutuunan ng pansin n’ya.

Lagi n’ya akong inaayang kumain sa labas nang sa gayon ay lalo n’ya pa raw akong makilala. At sa mga lakad naming iyon, titig n’ya sa aki’y tunay ngang kakaiba. At saka ko lang din napansin, magkawangis pala ang aming mga mata, parehong singkit o kung tawagin nga ng iba’y bahagyang nakasara. At kagaya ko, paborito din n’ya ang pritong hipon na isinasawsaw sa suka. Soulmate ko ngang talaga siguro s’ya, ang pinagkaiba lang, 16 ako at 36 s’ya.

Oo, si Chef Armando Ruiz ang tinutukoy ko, ang unang lalakeng nakapagpatibok nitong puso ko.

Noong isang araw ay inaya n’ya na naman akong kumain sa labas, may ipagtatapat daw s’ya. Eto na ‘to, eto na talaga ‘to. Ramdam kong sasabihin n’ya nang mahal n’ya ako.

Nag-ayos ako ng pagkatagal-tagal para sa araw na iyon. Pagdating ko sa restaurant, tanaw na tanaw ko s’ya, nakaupo sa may gilid, halatang hindi mapakali’t para bang ihing-ihi. Humakbang ako ng dahan-dahan papalapit sa kanya, may hawak-hawak s’ya subalit ‘di ko mawari kung anong ikininukubli ng mga palad n’ya. Umupo ako sa kanyang tabi, ilang segundo ding tila puros kuliglig lamang ang aking naririnig. Bigla n’ya na lamang akong hinagkan, wala akong mawika, ako’y nagulantang, ramdam ko sa init ng pagkakayakap n’ya kung gaano n’ya ako pinanabikan.

Hinawakan n’ya ang aking mga kamay sabay abot ng isang kwintas. Kasama nito’y isang gintong palawit na korteng puso. Nang buksan ko ito, bigla na lamang akong napaluha. Saka lamang s’ya nagsalita…

“Mia, ikaw ang dahilan kung bakit nagtuturo ako sa Academy. Ikaw ang dahilan kung bakit magpahanggang ngayon ay patuloy parin akong ngumingiti. O Anak ko, kay tagal kong pinanabikan ang araw na ito. Kay tagal kong pinanabikan na mahagkan ka sa mga bisig ko. Inilayo ka sa akin ng iyong Ina bago ka pa man ipanganak kung kaya’t hindi mo na ako nakilala. Patawad, Mia. Patawad, anak ko. Mahal na mahal kita.”

The Silver Maiden \by

Putli Monaira Amilbangsa This is the end...

Blue flames engulfed her as she thought those words. It was the end of the world for her. The deceitful government tried to seize her, claiming to have ownership of her powers. They almost succeeded, if not for the evil schemes of the Unknown Society.

They got to her first. She was trapped, surrounded by the Powers, the Society’s lethal weapon. They wanted to turn her into one, a hireling to deliver their monstrosity to the world, a slave to their menace. Confusion settled bitterly with her pain and fear. Surely they would recognize if an innocent has been wrongly accused.

But deep inside, she knew how and why they ended up chasing her.

“Show us your powers!” the shadow with the flaming whip finally lost patience. His crimson eyes livid with the anticipation of bending her will. How brazen of them to capture her without even confirming her abilities with their own eyes.

Rumors... It was what led them to her. Strange it was not to her knowledge that the townspeople speak of her. Words spread of her silver hair, the lustrous sheen of her glowing skin, and the gleam of her chrome eyes.

It was really no secret that they were fearful of her, enough to strike interest from the government and society.

The sudden understanding of her present situation had her snicker unwittingly, until a growl silenced her. She turned to the other woman in the vicinity. Her feline eyes seething hatred for her prey.

“What do you think is funny?” she gritted through clenched teeth. No response was gathered as the other only looked down, continuing to mock her captors with her laughter.

“Enough! Show us your powers, freak!” the man who controlled the skies ultimately stepped up and hushed them with his rage. The loud claps of thunder announced the wild cracking of lightning. The night shifted to a new level of darkness as rain started pouring.

The blue flames around her vanished as the rain dulled them into smoke. The lightning showed only a part of her face as it gave her a frightening aura. With an evil leer that showed her sharp incisors, she looked up to the master. Meeting her liquid metal eyes with the now ashen gaze of her captor, she answered with sweet finality.

“I have none.” ...

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In Yellow Highlight \by

Marion B. Guerrero “Hey, Chris!”

Groggy with my three-hour nap the night before, I managed a ‘hi’ if only to diffuse the f-bomb I was about to launch at Nicky. Roused and rubbing my eyes, I snatched the handout to hide the polka dots my drool made.

“You were snoring. Did an all-nighter again, huh? Gee. You’re so stereotypical.”

Stereotypical. Who uses that in a regular conversation? Well, Nicky does. Wait till you have lunch with him, he’ll lecture you on price elasticity just by looking at the menu. Once, I got a serving of vegetable curry, he side-dished it with a summary of what GMO is vis-à-vis trade liberalization. I asked for a bottle of Coke, he offered a straw while giving a litany about “soft power” and the Kyoto Protocol. So we took a seat and I returned the favor by declaiming what the acronym IDGAF stands for. That shut him up.

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Nicolo –Nic for others, Nicky for me—happens to be the debate club president, the year prior he was editor-in-chief of our school paper and later this year, he’ll be class valedictorian. He missed out on the student council because he found the system too egalitarian (“There’ll be no democracy without elites,” he once retorted aloud while we were in an orphanage for NSTP).

Our classmates posed as counterclaims to God’s fairness. In one corner, there was Ria, heiress to a local drugstore chain and Math Olympiad champion. Over there by the window staring at the treetops was Salman, varsity player and regular dean’s lister. These two were joined by Nicky plus three-fourths of the class who did not worry about scholarship grade requirements or the future in general.

“You seem too perky for a 7.30 a.m. class. Didn’t you have debate prax last night?”

“Nope,” he answered with a wink.

“Are you hitting on me? ‘Cause I don’t dig chinitos.”

“Speak for yourself, Princess of China.” He guffawed, and Ria’s face told me she just witnessed something blasphemous. It was rude to be happy before the exam. You jinx the results, they claimed.

“Mr. Malarejes, you assume too much.”

“Ba’t ang taray mo?”

“Ba’t ang saya mo?”

“Ba’t ang ingay n’yo? Pumasa kayo ha!” thundered Salman. A hush fell in the room. And like a wet puppy, I gave Nicky the sidelook and went back to my pretend perusing of our notes. Just in time, the clic-cloc of a

stiletto announced the arrival of their proctor.

As we placed our bags down to convince her that we were no cheaters, Nicky whispers on my left ear, “Kami na ni Chad.” First, a sting. The name.

“Chad?”

“The guy you were with when you watched the finals of Verdant Cup. The one with the manbun.

Aren’t you friends? So thanks for bringing him that night.” He was giddy, then he proceeded to give me a pat on the shoulder, the way owners do to their dogs after a successful “play dead” trick.

A stab. It could be Chad. It was Chad.

“Uhm.. uhm.. since when? Like how? He’s not from this uhm.. school. How did it uhm.. Chad?” The stutter was trying hard to conceal my shock.

“You have so many queries, you’d make a good second speaker. Basta. Last night lang.” He smiled and gave me a second dose of that annoying wink.

“Are you two going to take your seats or are we just going to watch you do pantomime?” Ms. Deluca snarled from behind us.

“Kanina pa yan sila, Ma’am!”

I gave the owner of that voice the death-stare.

I crumbled to my seat as the test papers were passed from row to row. From across the room, Nicky, gave me the heart sign and mouthed “Good luck.” Yeah. Just my luck.

In a daze, I mustered a stare at the questionnaire. The letters swirled in curlicues and vectors and I began to panic. Nothing seemed comprehensible as every item, every space and every punctuation dissolved into an image –of Nicky and Chad together. Wasn’t Chad texting me, too? Wasn’t he supposed to be… No, I must focus. I couldn’t fail the exam. It was the damn Final Exam. Was this final? Were they final? Were we final? Focus, Chris. Focus.

With a suspended mind, I rushed through the numbers. Reckless but I had to get out of here.

Supply the answer. 10. This is particularly difficult to fight because the victim often unknowingly assists the perpetrators in committing the crime.

Blank. Just blank.

I wrote false billing. I crashed it. Sales skimming. No, that was not the answer. Bid splitting? “Puta!” My own exclamation surprised me.

“Watch your mouth, Mr. Diaz!”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

From the back, “Easy. Easy.” Then laughter.

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“That’s enough, go back to work,” scolded Ms. Deluca.

I caught Nicky staring at me, then he made another wink. The urge to gouge that winking eye out of its socket was homicidal.

I stood up, an hour into the finish time. I walked straight to Ms. Deluca and handed her my paper.

“You sure you’re done?”

“Never been sure.”

A glimpse at Nicky, frowning on an item and I was through the door. In a moment of long lost athleticism, I ran.

Gasping and cursing at my nicotine-weakened lungs, I settled on the foot of the stairs, pulling out my Fraud handout from my backpack.

Chad just inquired about possible cross-trainings and that seemed innocent. I referred him to the debate club and didn’t hear anything about it. It was nothing. There should have been nothing. By that time, I was flipping, no ripping pages.

There on the second paragraph it read. Sweetheart schemes are particularly difficult to fight because the victim often unknowingly…

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A plop of teardrop. The single horizontal stroke of neon yellow was soon devoured in a ripple.

In a first, Premios Marejada awards a Special Citation to an essay penned in palpable honest y –a sincerit y that can only emanate from an autobio graphical perspective, an introspection that is both pensive and creative. For revealing an unabashed colorful life, Memoracion rightly deserves this honor .

Tiptoeing from Blu e to Pink \by

Salvador Memoracion Jr.

W

hen I was growing up, I lived the life of a prince. I got all the toys, attention, food, and everything I wanted from my parents. I can say that I was indeed a normal, yet very lucky little boy. I enjoyed playing with robots, action figures, and video games from elementary, to high school, and up to the present – until now I still play with those toys. But of course things are no longer as normal as before.

When I got to high school, I did the usual things a normal young adult going through adolescence would do. Go out swimming, play sports, hang out with friends, play computer games in net cafes, watch “porn,” flirt and court girls in class. And yes, I did have a girlfriend. And she was lucky to have me, if I may say so myself. We had our fair share of Friday night dinners, Sunday movie dates, flowers, chocolates, and stuffed toys. Even the free “hatid-sundo” from house to school then back home. We only broke up when she and her family moved to Ilo-ilo. We did meet again though, and when we did she had the greatest shock of her life.

It was also during my high school days when I lost my dad. And maybe, just maybe, it somehow affected who and what I really was and now who I am. It was in my senior year when I felt the “change”. The sudden “urge” to really discover my true sexuality was really strong. The attraction to the same sex grew even stronger. The young prince within started to die out and a princess long imprisoned was working her way out from the deepest chambers of my heart. And besides, the little boys whom I have been with are now transforming into very fine young men.

The girls remained like ugly little trolls (in my opinion), the so called “Sumpa”. I had my list of male crushes and the list grew longer. As for my female crushes – poof; gone with the wind. Bye ladies.

Hello boys!

I remember the intensity of my attraction to them back then. There is just this feeling whenever I see any of my boy crushes, like when they pass me by and I just stay fixated on their handsome and angelic face in the middle of class, all through class. Trust me you wouldn’t want this to happen to you. Always remember:

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1.Try to stay focused no matter how good looking he is.

2.Bring a handkerchief in case you’d drool when you see him topless while playing ball games.

3.Despite blushing, act and talk normally when you’re in a conversation with him.

4.Avoid stealing photos of your crushes from the yearbook office where you work at.

5.Use them to be inspired to get good grades – they will notice you, tend to copy your homework, use your lectures, even ask for answers during examinations (you know it’s too much but there’s simply nothing you can do; it’s your weakness).

6.And if you do let them copy, and they give you a hug, don’t ever smile like you’re having an orgasm.

7.Finally, ask your friends to slap some sense into you when you act silly when he is around.

I did approach some of my guy friends for advice about the dilemma I usually have – if I should embrace the princess or bring back the faded and washed out prince. My guy best friend that time told me to try both ends. He knew I already had a girlfriend, so he meant for me to try having a boyfriend and then judge which side I prefer better. The good thing about his suggestion was that he volunteered to make me feel like a very special girl (*me blushing*). We ate together during recess, lunch, or even when the class went out on outings. He lets me keep his phone and other stuff when we are together. We keep texting all night long and talk about anything under the big blue sky. Once again, I can say that I am indeed lucky; not all guy friends would volunteer to do such deeds of sweetness and sincerity.

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It’s pretty obvious which persona I chose to live with. The dainty, flirty, fun-loving, outgoing, and pretty princess was now set free. Stepping into college was the perfect platform where “Czarina” – my name as a divine princess – could shine and spread her wings. What can I say, in college there are more activities, more freedom, more fun, more indecent proposals and most especially more BOYS! Yet the greatest hurdle I had to overcome was the fact that there would be more competition.

As a young newbie, in a big university, always bear in mind: 1.Be careful, there are older and more powerful “dyosa’s” around you.

2.Be kind, smile, and don’t be snobbish. Respect begets respect.

3.Never act as if you are a “somebody”. Or else.

4.Try to be noticed, but in a subtle way.

5.Stick with the good gays and never have too much fun.

6.Be prepared to be stabbed in the back. It’s actually an everyday thing for us gays.

7.If you ain’t pretty, don’t ever feel that you are.

8.If you ain’t pretty, don’t ever wear f*cking make-up to make yourself think and feel that you are pretty. Trust me on this one.

9.Choose the guys you hang out with. Remember: a lot of them see you as a piggy bank, walking wallet, or credit card. You are not a hot chick. Never!

10.Finally, don’t flirt with guys you don’t personally know, if you don’t want to end up with a purplish-blue eye.

I had my time with make-up and playing dress up. I used to have tons of imported and branded make-up; semi-permanent foundations, shades of blush and cheek tints, berry and earth toned lip stains and gloss, and high quality eyeliner and mascara. It was a gay’s basic survival kit,

not to mention the concealer, sun block and the ever important fan and umbrella. But since I was still hidden behind the closet, I kept my make up stash under the bed and just bring it out in time for school. I even bring toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, tissues (for on-the-spot overnights and gimmicks), and even feminine pads for my girl friends in need.

Playing dress up at home was always fun, at the same time exciting and thrilling. I remember it as if it were just yesterday. I was alone at that time, I had a clear idea of what to do that sunny afternoon.

Since it was my dream to be a designer, I’d play around with blankets, scarves, shawls, skirts, and heels that my mom owned. I’d even use different cloths and fabrics that my mom kept.

I recall ramping in our sala/living room dressed in a gown supported by safety pins while wearing my mom’s expensive designer high heeled shoes. Czarina was having her moment on the runway – swaying her hips and stomping her heart out, putting on a one-model show and changing outfits and footwear.

But in the midst of the fashion fiesta and pseudo-cleavage moments, I heard footsteps on our front staircase, so I hurriedly unpinned all the joints of the gown I made (I was able to do it in a flash, though) and threw all the mess I made in a box. I wore my shorts and answered the knock on the door. I was sweating like hell! It was my brother (damn you!), he was asking if my mom was home since they heard footsteps of someone wearing heels (hehehe it was actually me). I replied “she just left”. Indeed she did. I was so stupid that I forgot we had wooden floors that the people downstairs would actually hear the clicking of the five inch heels. That was a close call but the party didn’t stop there. I carried my box to my room and continued my fashion show in there (the floors are carpeted, so less noise will be made by my heels). Again I was in my momentum when all of a sudden my nephew opens the door and comes inside my room. I immediately leapt like a gazelle (escaping a lion’s treacherous claws) and slammed the door in his face. I’m not sure if he saw me but I unfortunately broke a heel of my mom’s designer shoes and ripped the skirt I was wearing (actually, it was too tight. Hehehe).

From then on I learned: 1.When playing dress-up, always have an escape box.

2.Don’t force yourself to have cleavage; you’ll end up having an irritated chest and sides.

3.Don’t force your foot to fit in your mother’s shoes since you probably have a bigger foot size, you’ll just end up ripping the shoe or breaking its heels.

4.In creating homemade gowns, don’t use too much safety pins; the more they are, the harder it is to remove in a flash.

5.Open the electric fans or air conditioning in your room, to avoid sweating on the clothes you wear (they’ll stink if left unwashed).

6.Do not ramp the sh*t out of yourself on wooden floors. It’s really going to make a LOT OF NOISE. 7.Make sure to lock doors to avoid being caught and getting discovered that you are a goddess, a beauty queen, a supermodel.

8.Lastly, don’t slam doors in people’s faces; that would hurt and probably leave a mark.

After all the hiding, thrilling events, funny and stupid circumstances I have had as a growing and exploring gay teenager, as well as my carefulness inspired by my paranoia at being

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found out, my true identity was still unearthed by my mom, and later on my family. I guess it was pretty much obvious from my choice of music, circle of friends, secret stash of make-up, girlish gestures, photo collection of shirtless male celebrities, etc. They did accept me, so I finally stepped out of the closet and into the spotlight. But never will those foolish mistakes and careless actions I have done see the light of day ever again. All my past experiences taught me valuable lessons and made me better and stronger as a gay person. And hey, my family even allowed me to grow my hair.

But of course with freedom to express my gender and sexuality comes rules and responsibilities, which I should obey all my life (no boyfriends allowed at home. Huhuhuhuhu).

Rules still depend on my family; call my family conservative but at least, Czarina is free.

Final tips: 1.Love yourself.

2.Never lose respect for yourself.

3.Cry if you’re hurt but learn from the pain.

4.Family is always the priority.

5.Always respect your mom and dad. Be grateful.

6.If you have a boyfriend, make sure your mom won’t catch you holding hands together while eating in a fast food joint in a mall (hahahahahaha).

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Now all I can say is that; don’t be afraid to step out my dear. Just do it slowly, don’t try to kill your dad with a heart attack or get beaten up by your brothers and cousins. Surely they will understand you and accept you, just don’t cross their boundaries and defy the rules.

Look at me, Czarina who was once a hidden princess, lingering in the shadows, is now a queen, fully bloomed and discovering more about herself as she lives life full of love and happiness one gay day at a time.

P H O T O G R A P H Y A N D A R T S

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WINNER 2015

PREMIOS MAREJADA

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A subdued echo of the iconic red in Steven Spielberg’s ‘Schindler’s List,’ the 2015 Premios Marejada winner for Photo graphy preserves for posterit y a scene often lost in the muted colors of routine existence –the inadvertent ways daily living surprises us in a study of contrast.

John Renzo Wee

the pink umbre lla

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FEELING BLUE

Joshua Jhune Bughao

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stained glass

June Karlo Suan

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detras de traysi

Gualbert Caces

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UNTITLED

Mohammad Sarajan

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untitled

Ioneebel Garcia

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under the spotlight

Mark Phillip Ycaza

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wandering

Kent Kerby Bayona

A C K N O W L E D GM E N T S We a r e e x t e n d i n g o u r g r a t i t u d e t o t h e following for their support:

F R . K A R E L S A N JU A N , S J President, Ateneo de Zamboanga University

DR . REBECCA FERNANDEZ Academic Vice President

MS. ANGELA BAES University Treasurer

E N G R . S T E VA N D I M A GU I L A Director of Student Affairs

D R . R O B E R T P A N A GU I T O N Dean of the School of Liberal Arts

M R . M A R I O N GU E R R E R O Communication Department Chair

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