Bukambibig Volume 1, Issue 1: Crowds

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BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

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Bukambibig Poetry Folio Issue 01 Volume 01: Crowds

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About Bukambibig Bukambibig began as most things do - with a small group of people, and an idea. The idea was that good literature deserved not only to be written, but to be read - and read by all. Our shared dream was to bring performance poetry to Filipinos everywhere, and to ensure that literature exposure remained a two-way street: writers would be able to reach a wider audience, and readers would be introduced to works of poetry that they might otherwise not have known. We wanted to push the limits of accessibility that exist between writer and reader, by providing an avenue where the poetry is excellent enough to lend a voice to itself, and where the audience, unhampered by geography, can listen. Fast forward to a couple of months down the line, and Bukambibig is now the country’s first folio containing transcriptions of spoken word poetry in both Tagalog and English. We have entries from all kinds of people, from all walks of life. We hope that with this folio, we will be able to bridge the performance to the page, one issue at a time.



Bukambibig Poetry Folio of Spoken Word Philippines Volume 01 / Issue 01 Copyright 2016. Illustrations by Sofia Hurtado Bukambibig is the official poetry folio of Spoken Word Philippines, a loose community of Filipino spoken word artists writing in Philippine languages and residing in the country or abroad. Copyright reverts to the respective authors whose works appear in this issue. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced in any means whatsoever without the written permission of the copyright holder. Correspondence may be addressed to bukambibig.ph@gmail.com www.facebook.com/BukambibigPH www.twitter.com/BukambibigPH Creative Direction by Jose Chipeco Art Direction by Sofia Hurtado


Bukambibig poetry folio of spoken word philippines

volume

01 issue 01 : Crowds


FOLIO IMPRESSUM

Alton Dapanas General Editor Mark Angeles Vim Nadera Consultants Chesca Hurtado Managing Director Jose Chipeco Creative Director Sofia Hurtado Art Director


BUKAMBIBIG TEAM

Chesca Hurtado Operations Head Alton Dapanas Folio Editor Jose Chipeco Sofia Hurtado Design L.A. Ariaga Ian Sudiacal Socials Meivelyn Caliboso Marketing Joseph Tadios Finance



FOREWORD

KUNG ANONG BUKAMBIBIG Vim Nadera

“Fiction and verse in the vernacular are still a tale that is told, a song that is sung, a poem that is recited.” --NICK JOAQUIN Una kong ginamit ang mga naunang kataga sa tula kong Tularo na lumabas bilang bahagi ng unang libro kong ALIT: Dalit Galit Halit Malit Ngalit Palit Salit na inilathala ng Anvil Publishing House noong 1994. Noong Dekada ‘90, o kahit noong mga naunang panahon pa, mababa ang tingin, lalo na para sa itinuturing nating Pambansang Alagad ng Sining, sa tuluyan at tulang nakasulat sa wikang Filipino at iba pang mga wika sa Filipinas. Una, dahil ang mga ito ay ikinukuwento lamang. Ikalawa, dahil ang mga ito ay kinakanta lamang. Ikatlo, dahil ang mga ito ay itinutula lamang. Kung baga, imoral ba kung ang mga ito ay oral? Hindi ka ba manunulat kung hindi ka nakasulat? Itanong mo kay Gutenberg. Paghihimagsik na maituturing kung sakaling mananatiling bukambibig ang Bukambibig. Saan nga ba nanggagaling ang lehitimisasyon ng lathala? Kailan pa ang ganitong imprimatur? Sino ang nagsabing mas mataas ang antas ng panitikang pasulat kaysa panitikang pabigkas? Ano ang lamang ng libro sa entablado? Bakit kailangan pang ilimbag? Ito ang tugon ng editor nitong si Alton Melvar Madrid Dapanas: “Sir, we thought of coming up with a quarterly poetry folio which will serve as a compilation of works of performance poetry of those who are members of the Spoken Word Community PH Facebook group.” Biglang nanariwa ang mga gunita. Parang sugat. Nasaan na ang mga tulang itinanghal at naging videong kung tawagin ay PoeMTV ng mga estudyante ko nang pinagturo ako ni Dr. Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo ng Performance Poetry sa Department of English and Comparative Literature ng Unibersidad ng Pilipinas? Natupok ng apoy nang masunog ang Faculty Center?


Nasaan na ang mga tulang itinanghal noong 12 Hunyo 1998 sa (KA)LAKARAN: Sentenaryo ng mga Makata ng Bayan – na pinagbidahan ng mga makatang gumanap bilang mga bayaning nagsasalaysay ng kani-kanilang talambuhay sa mga nasa loob ng Glorietta? Nakaligtaan na rin ba ang mga ito na walang ipinagkaiba sa kanilang mga nawaglit na resibo? Nasaan na ang mga tulang itinanghal sa mga programa at proyekto ng Literary Arts Committee noong ako pa ang kinatawan ng Timog Luzon mula 2001 hanggang 2007? Kahit nga ang National Commission on Culture and the Arts ay wala? Nasaan na ang mga tulang itinanghal mula noong 2004 nang simulan ang Conspiwriters’ Tuesdays sa Conspiracy Garden Café o mula noong 2008 O.M.G. (Open Mic Gig) sa Mag:Net Gallery sa Katipunan? Kasamang nagsara at nalimutan kahit nang pumalit na Sinangag Express? Nasaan na ang mga tulang itinanghal noong 2009 nang ipinagkatiwala sa akin ang Word Jam at ang Literary Zone ng Pasinaya o ang Dilang-Anghel na isang pagkalap ng pondo para sa mga nasalanta ng bagyong Ondoy at Peping bilang bahagi ng SagipSining noong 2010 ng Cultural Center of the Philippines? Natabunan na yata ng kontrobersiya sa pagbuo ng Kagawaran ng Sining? Mabuti na lamang at nagkaroon ako ng pangalawang pagkakataon. Ito ay nang anyayahan akong maging direktor ng Performatura noong Nobyembre ng 2015. Sa ngalan ni Jose Corazon de Jesus, ito ay naglalayong itayo ang tulay sa pagitan ng pahina at tanghalan, sa pagitan ng tradisyon at inobasyon, sa pagitan ng pook at panahon, o sa pagitan ng tekso at nagte-teksto upang linangin ang intertekstuwalidad habang ipinagdiriwang ang kultura ng ingklusiyon o kumbersasyon ng lahat ng anyong nangangarap makipag-ugnayan sa iba’t ibang panitikan at pagtatanghal. Bilang paghahanda sa Performatura 2 -- na gaganapin sa Marso 31 hanggang Abril 2 sa 2017 -- bilang pagdiriwang ng ika-229 na kaarawan ni Francisco Balagtas, binuo namin nina Herminio Beltran Jr. ang Pugad Adarna Network (PAN) o ang samahan ng mga alagad ng tanghal-talinghaga o “tanghalinghaga” – mula sa mambabalagtas, fliptoppers, rappers, atbp. Noong Hulyo 16 sa Entablado pinatunayan nilang buhay ang literatura at wika. Sa dami ng mga nanood at sa ikli ng oras, itinuloy ang palabas sa labas kung saan nakaparada ang sasakyang pabalik sa Executive House ng National Art Center. Doon nagtipon-tipon kinatawan ng Bukambibig na si Francesca Hurtado -- kasama niya ang pambato ng Alab na si Mark Dimaisip; ng Baguio Writers Group na si Kervin Calabias; ng Drunken Poetry Night na si Franchesca Casauay; ng Gunglo dagiti Mannurat nga Ilokano (GUMIL) na si Ariel Tabag; ng KM64 na si John Robert Luna; ng Linangan sa Imahen, Retorika, at Anyo (LIRA) na si RR Cagalingan; ng Mars and Friends in Action (MAFIA) na si Mars Mercado; ng Nagkahiusang Manunulat sa Cagayan de Oro (NAGMAC) na si Gari Jamero; ng Kuwit ng Philippine High School for the Arts (PHSA) na si Lora Noreen Domingo; ng Poetry is our Second Language (PSL) na si Eloisa Francia; ng The Batutes na si Siege Malvar; ng The Makatas na si Dakila Cutab; ng Ubbog Cordillera Writers na si Dumay Solinggay; at ng Words Anonymous na si Juan Miguel Severo. Humabol din ang boses ng Happy Mondays na sina Johanna Fernandez ng Greenpeace at Czyka Tumaliuan ng Knowledge Channel’s Czyka Tumaliuan. Binabalak na rin naming ilathala ang mga tulang itinanghal noong makasaysayang gabing iyon sa Los Baños.


Di naman dapat maging kalipunan itong lumalabas apat na beses sa isang taon. Di naman dapat itong may mekanismo sa merkado. Di naman dapat itong maging kakambal ng Bukambibig. Sapagkat ito mas masaklaw. Nandito ang Luzon kina Christian Patricio at John Levi Masuli ng Baguio; John Eric Santos ng Bulacan; Dennis Andrew Aguinaldo at Julianne Marie “Jules” Ruz ng Laguna; Junica Madrid ng Batangas; Jeric Jimenez ng Rizal; Jord Earving “Dyord” Gadingan ng Quezon; Elsie Albi ng Camarines Sur; Renea Lee Alcantara ng Nueva Ecija; Sylvelyn Jo Almanzor, Mark Joseph Arisgado, Jerickson Baarde, Rick Jay Cabildo, Shiennina Marie “Sam” Changcoco, China Pearl Patria, Lawdenmarc Decamora, Dennis Espada, Carmela Isabel Evangelista, Arnold Lapuz, Raul Roco Jr., Ma. Etheline Sanchez, Kenneth John “Ken” Sarmiento, Rapunzel Tomacder, Joshua Rei Ubaldo, Janielle DLR Villamera, at Vince Dioquino ng Metro Manila. Nandito ang Visayas kina Roda Tajon ng Eastern Samar, Carla Nicoyco ng Negros Occidental, at Melecio Turao ng Iloilo. Nandito ang Mindanao kina Natalie Gail Casiño Adeva Jane Esparrago, at Melrein John Viado ng Cagayan de Oro. Nandito kahit ang Italya kay Mary Mara Atienza at Troy Cabida ng Inglatera. Saludo kami sa Spoken Word Philippines sa malikhaing paggamit ng facebook. Bagamat inimbento ito bilang isang korporasyong pang-networking at para sa kita, napalalim at napalawak nila ang silbi’t serbisyo ng social media. Dito pa lamang may bandila na itong iwinawagayway. Dahil dito, napatunayan nito na higit pa ito sa “bucca” na nangangahulugan lamang na “pisngi” sa Latin. Patotoo ito mismo. Bukambibig ang lahat ng ating pananalita. Bukambibig ang lahat ng namumutawi sa ating mga labi. Bukambibig ang lahat ng karaniwan nating kasabihang walang iniwan sa: “Kung anong bukambibig, siyang laman ng dibdib.” Ngayon, sa tingin mo, tama ba si Nick Joaquin?


In the Heart of The Crowd by Mark Angeles

Writing is an incredible act of in`dividualism, producing your language, and yet to use it from the heart of a crowd as opposed to as an individual performance is a conflicting thing. (Roy, 2011) Where does one find a poet nowadays? What makes one a poet? It is as simple as ABC to say that if you wish to be (called) a poet, you have to create a poem. But do you have to write it? And after writing it, does it need to get published or performed in order to attain value? Does it require recongnition from a writing workshop or a poetry contest? What about the pieces which were recited or performed impromptu? Such are the questions raised in an oral art, already in vogue, known as the spoken word. Spoken-word poetry is the art of performance poetry. I tell people it involves creating poetry that doesn’t just want to sit on paper, that something about it demands it be heard out loud or witnessed in person. (Kay, 2011) The poets who made the cut in this anthology came from various groups such as Anonymous, UPLB Writers’ Club, Pedantic Pedestrians, Romancing Venus, Bigkas Pilipinas, UP Babaylan Eastern Samar, Monday Poets of Mt Cloud in Baguio City, Patlang in San Fernando, Pampanga, and NAGMAC (Nagkahiusang Magsusulat sa Cagayan de Oro). We have a couple of educators and bloggers. We have an anthropologist and a musician. We have a baker and a bum. Just like any form of art nowadays, individualism is high in writing poetry. One inks in solitude, even if that person is in the middle of a cacophonous crowd. But one has to look beyond writing poetry as a hobby or a mere form of expression. Here we have students, workers, and migrants who translate their political and economic concerns into the narrative and the lyrical. They are sons and daughters. They are Filipinos in the face of imperialist globalization. We see how poems react to global capitalist oppression. The narrator in Jerickson


Baarde’s “The Closet’s Song” (“My closet is an extension of a global silence,/The domestic isolation, my own domestic insanity.”) flies into a rage in Rick Jay Cabillo’s “Dayalogo ng mga Damdamin.” Some poems in this anthology are versified. Some fracture versification. Some even rupture the notion of individual and exclusive right of the creator. Why the intrusion? One has to remember that in performing poetry, an individual speaks to the crowd while onstage, the wall breaks, and the crowd connects. In the history of Philippine poetry, the individual was not placed in the spotlight, but was a part of the crowd— the collective singing about courting the beloved, harvesting rice, catching fish, and celebrating the victory of war. The individual poet ought to be placed in the heart of the crowd. As it was so and as it should be.

Works Cited: “Interview: Arundhati Roy, Author,” The Scotsman, June 19, 2011, accessed July 30, 2016, http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/ interview-arundhati-roy-author-1-1701968 “Sarah Kay: If I should have a daughter,” TED, accessed July 30, 2016, https://www.ted.com/talks/sarah_kay_if_i_should_ have_a_daughter


CONTENTS

DENNIS AGUINALDO, Eksenang Midlevel sa Dyip UN Day sa Kalsada Sa Lilim ng Motto Stella ELSIE ALBIS, On a Moving Train Mindless Manless Man RENEA LEE ALCANTAR A, Everything-in-between S Y LV E LY N J O A L M A N Z O R , Signifiers MARK ARISGADO, M R T- n o r t h b o u n d MARY MAR A ATIENZA, Sa Likod ng Pilantik, Kembot, at Mascara Pag-aabang sa Pagbabalik JERICKSON BA ARDE, The Closet’s Song T h e Wo r m ’ s D a n c e TROY CABIDA, Overture Business R I C K J AY C A B I L L O , Dayalogo ng mga Damdamin NATALIE GAIL CASIÑO, Wa l k SAM CHANGCOCO, Sa lila kami unang pinagtagpo ng aming pagkaligaw CHINA DE VER A, Note to the Messenger Pisi Counting the countless as of March 26, 2014

L AW D E N M A R C D E C A M O R A , Mikroponobyo Silence kit A Song for Buildings D E N N I S E S PA D A , Suwayin ang Bawal A D E VA E S PA R R A G O , Monsters C A R M E L A E VA N G E L I S T A , The Little Mermaid, Before Seafoam DYORD GADINGAN, Saan Sakay? Berdeng Bilog JERIC JIMENEZ, Napapanahon ARNOLD LAPUZ, Babae JUNICA MADRID, Fe e l i n g U n i c o r n CARL A NICOYCO, O n P a n d e s a l a n d Wa t e r m e l o n s (Carr y It) Nawala sa Pagsasalin To t h e Wo m e n W h o L i k e d M e C H R I S T I A N PA T R I C I O , Not a Jeepney Love Story R AUL ROCO JR, Yo u ’ r e m y T r a f f i c JULES RUZ, #678 #6632 ETHELINE SANCHEZ, Basura


JOHN ERIC SANTOS, A Protest to ‘ They-Self ’ No 'I' in Death KEN SARMIENTO, Solvent RODA TA JON, Babae rin ako R APUNZEL TOMACDER, G a i j i n (a f o r e i g n e r i n J a p a n ) Atashi (I) MELECIO TUR AO, Iloilo To S h a r o n , T h e V i l l a g e I d i o t To M y P e n i s JOSHUA UBALDO, Insequent MELREIN VIADO, Pagpukaw JANIELLE VILL AMER A , M i r r o r, M i r r o r VINCE DIOQUINO, I n a u g u r a l Te x t JOHN LEVI MASULI, Ice Tubig



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Dennis Andrew S Aguinaldo Nagtuturo ng mga kursong Panitikan si Dennis Andrew sa Departamento ng Humanidades, Unibersidad ng Pilipinas Los Baños. Noong kabataan niya’y naging fellow siya sa mga pambansang palihan sa malikhaing pagsusulat ng Ateneo Institute for Literary Arts and Practices, University of Santo Tomas, UP, at IYAS. Inilathala online ang kaniyang mga piyesa at collab sa The Cabinet, Plural, High Chair, at Kritika Kultura. Napabilang na ang kaniyang mga akda sa mga antolohiya ng PEN, ANI, at The Literary Life ng Sunday Times. Ang kaniyang mga tula ay naisasama sa mga antolohiya gaya ng ANI ng Cultural Center of the Philippines. Tagapayo siya ng mga organisasyon ng mga kabataang manunulat gaya ng UPLB Writers’ Club at PANTAS.

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Eksenang Midlevel sa Dyip Dennis Andrew S Aguinaldo Manikurista dito ang sinumang sumisipat sa mga minaltratong kuko, O di kaya’y artistang gumaganap bilang manikurista o makatang minamateryal ang artistang gumaganap bilang manikurista O artistang namatayan ng kuko at/o nanakawan ng kotse, o coding, sadyang wala pang kotse sapagkat hindi pa sikat. Sa labinlimang naghahangad ng kalayaan ng mga manikurista, walang humahaplos sa sariling daliri upang mangamba. Hawak natin ang bag, anak, bakal, kapareha. Higit sa isa ang nakapuna: Aba’y terno—o may pagka-terno— ang umuusok na gulong sa kulay abo na telepono.

Dennis Andrew S Aguinaldo • 2


UN Day sa Kalsada Dennis Andrew S Aguinaldo mga mumunting watawat at (pakpak ng manok unan sa baywang sanggol na alpombra) mga nanay ang pampigilhininga ng mga tambutsong ford chevrolet pagkaliko sa eskwela’y resiklo ang destino ng mga patpat

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Sa Lilim ng Motto Stella Dennis Andrew S Aguinaldo Kailangan natin ng mga mason, ilang masusunuring batang tagabuhat, isa o dalawang babaeng may tubig sa baso, o lalaki, kahit ituring pa silang Pilipino. Mainam kung may mga sulo, ngunit kung bumubuntot sa itim ng apoy ang mga kamera, magkakasya na lamang sa karimlan O sa iisang kandilang sapat kapwa ang panganib at pag-aabang sa mga pakpak ng lingid na insekto, sa mga maigagatong na mata. Bigyan mo kami ng estruktura. Bigyan mo kami ng ilang maliligaw sa estruktura.

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Elsie C Albis Elsie hails from Minalabac, Camarines Sur. She is a full time instructor at Ateneo de Naga University where she teaches English and literature subjects. She spearheads several activities in the same university with the hope of promoting and boosting performing literature, Bicol culture, and young Bicolnon talents.

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On a Moving Train Elsie C Albis A couple holding each other’s hand (arguing in a familiar tongue) An Indian staring at the sampaguita-skinned tad (his eyes aren’t even blinking) A Chinese boy busy watching an anime in his golden iPhone, (his body is rarely shaking) Two men talking in ancient patois, (they’re annoyingly loud) And a trifling lassie with strained eyes staring at me?

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Mindless Manless Man Elsie C Albis I remember one evening, I was on a train on the way to a bay to watch this what they call a magnificent evening show. It took me almost an hour to reach the place. Well, it was beautiful. It was magnanimous. Okay, I came from a third world country, so you gotta feel me. But, all of these faded in my green memory. I was reminded of you You, how you refused to join me. Why? Were you scared? Would you not want to be with me in this city? Together, we could have collected many memories here But you’re scared. I could talk to any guy here. Like that one, approach him, ask him to take a picture of me Start a conversation Talk about each other’s country Admiring all the things about us Even if we don’t understand. I can do that. I could do that. But hey, I gotta be here on my own. I gotta be happy even without men, you. I could do that, even without men, even without you. I don’t mind your absence here. I don’t mind you minding your money slid into your hand down to… hmmm… waste. Yeah, this is a waste for you. but, I don’t mind.

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Anyway, you would not mind if somebody approaches me, talks to me, treats me, and invites me go to a museum. You would not do that. You’d rather invite me collecting items in Dota 2 than collecting memories here. Maybe during that time, you’re in front of your desktop computer having sex with your games kissing the ass of your Ipad playing Dragon Bane. But I don’t mind. You see? I was happy there. Sitting alone on a bench, surrounded with a couple kissing, friends taking each other’s photos, group of men jogging, a family enjoying a convo, a girl struggling with her selfie stick. You see, I was happy that time. I remember that evening, you were not there. No, you were there. You filled my mind. You filled my mind. But, I don’t mind. Because like everyone in this lonely place, nobody cares.

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Renea Lee Alcantara Renea Lee is a faculty member of the Department of English and Humanities, Central Luzon State University, Munoz, Nueva Ecija. She self-publishes her poems in her blog and has been writing poetry to redeem herself. She attended the 7th Philippine International Literary Festival.

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everything-in-between Renea Lee Alcantara she was lost in the apparitions of uncertainties where fragments of her being slowly fall like those petals of red roses once given to her by the man she only loved when she was still young and vigorous and beautiful; she can still hear the loud, inscrutable silences of people waiting for the train as if the antidote for their long-suppressed emotional regressions depend on this vehicle where the inevitable cycle of coming and going makes them question their existence—yet, after all the nuisances this world offers she always finds herself lost in a swarm of human beings whose souls continuously wander for the enigmas of truth and shades of faith only for the reason that in the process of losing herself she could find herself—once more. she always wonders what lies within the eyes of people whose lives she randomly intersect with that made her feel alive. she felt that in letting herself get lost in places people normally crossed; one by one she was getting a portion of herself from their souls— the paradoxes of their expelled breaths; their incessant internal monologues; their bittersweet afflictions; the achingly pleasurable warmth of their skin; the vulnerability of their voice; the resiliency of their hearts; and the combination of their grotesque yet picturesque visions in her eyes— that made her whole. she was standing in the middle of nowhere; oblivious of her world’s existence when she remembered the reason why she forgot to redeem the love from those petals of red roses she buried within the pages of her favorite book. with the moonlight showering upon her being, she felt the rapture from her heart as it slowly knocks and awakens her soul with certainty— like a lost child coming home at last.

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Sylvelyn Jo Almanzor Sylvelyn Jo has found her life’s fuel in teaching literature. She currently handles art and literature classes in De La Salle University where she finished her Master of Arts in Language and Literature, major in Literature. This is her first attempt in creative writing. She is an advocate for the blurring of the lines between the creative and the critical. She has published critical works in international journals as well as textbooks and was a fellow of the 1st Kritika Kultura Criticism Workshop which happened in partnership with the Ateneo National Writers Workshop in 2015.

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Signifiers Sylvelyn Jo Almanzor You know how when you love someone you notice every detail about them? Like how their shadows become unique when you're in the middle of a busy street at high noon, Or how the strands of their hair stand out when you look for them in the crowded mall, Or how the scent of their skin envelopes you when you're drowning in the smell of a sweat-filled city, Or how their whisper echoes deep into your soul when you're commuting in a crammed vehicle. Or how they touch you with a finger when they've clearly embraced every fiber of your existence— every becoming of your being? There is no such thing as insignificance to a person of such significance. Little things matter because they are the semiotic synecdoches of the significant other.

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Mark Joseph Z Arisgado Si Mark Joseph ay nagnanais na sumabak sa larangan ng spoken word poetry. Nagtapos siya ng BS Economics (Oblation scholar at magna cum laude) at Master in Development Economics sa UP School of Economics, Diliman, Quezon City. Nagtatrabaho siya bilang Project Director sa Micara Land, Inc. May ilang tula na siyang nailathala sa ANI ng Cultural Center of the Philippines.

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MRT-Northbound Mark Joseph Z Arisgado Paralisado ang kamay ng nakabiting orasan. Habang nakapako pa rin sa hagdang bato ang tingin, pinakikiramdaman ko sa bulsa ang teleponong kanina pang tumahimik at kung minsa’y sinisilip. Ilang tren na ang dumaa’t tumirik sa ‘king harapan. Kailangan ko na nga bang ihakbang ang mga paa, upang lumipat ng lunan kung sa’n kita aabangan? Ano’ng kasiguraduhan sa pagbabago ng lunan? Sa gan’tong pagkakatao’y sinusubok ang desisyon: hanggang kaylan maghihintay, hanggang kaylan maglalakbay? Ang isipan sa kawala’y walang kasiguraduhan. Itong estasyo’y tanghalan at nagsisilbing tahanan ng maghapong pag-aaabang, pakikipagsapalaran, ng sari-saring emosyon, mga relasyon, repleksyon, ng damdaming hinahabol, at hinayaang sumibol, sa gitna ng kaguluhang di rin natin nalalaman. Habang di ka dumarating, pag-asa’y patuloy pa rin. At ang laging kakapitan, ay ang mga kamalian: sa nasiraang tren, ikaw, dalangin ko’y nakasakay, para may dahilan pa ‘kong manatili sa puwesto. ‘Niluluwa ng pintuan, ang mukhang walang ngalan, sabay-sabay, umaagos, hanggang ako ay maanod. Ngunit sana ay lumutang ang aking inaabangan, sabay nating lalanguyin, ang dagat na mapaniil. Ngayon ay kumukulimli’t tila umaambon na rin. Sana ay dumating ka na at may payong ka ring dala. O kung wala ay ayos lang. Mabasa na tayo mahal.

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Mary Mara Atienza Mara is an OFW in Milan, Italy as a home-based baker. She graduated at La Consolacion College Manila with a degree in Hotel and Restaurant Management.

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Sa Likod ng Pilantik, Kembot, at Mascara Mary Mara Atienza Habang ako'y naglalakad, mga mata'y sa akin nakatingin Unti-unti, naririnig ko ang mga bulungan mula sa mga taong walang alam kung hindi mag tsismisan Bulong..hanggang maging isang sigaw sigaw - na nagmistulang musika na ng mga kapitbahay "ay, bading!" "bakla, bakla, bakla!" keber,taas noo,tuloy lang ang lakad "beki, baklita, bayot, vaklush, vaklushii, darkitah, vakla, kla-kla, vakle, darkdex, balugang bakla" Sige pa,isigaw nyo pa! Ilabas na ninyong lahat ang inyong bala Sige lang,mang kutya kapa Hala,sige! Ipagsigawan nyo pa! "valugz, shoke, shokla, sward, jokla, bakleng, baklesh, bekimon, badingding, badaf, manay, tita, mader, paminta" Walang puknat ang kanilang pangungutya sinabayan pa ng mga nakakalokong halakhak pero hindi,hinding hindi ako matitinag kaya sige lang,sigaw pa! dyan naman kayo masaya,diba? Pagdating sa bahay - suntok, tadyak at sapak ang isinalubong sa akin ni ama "itay,h'wag po! maawa ka" suntok.. tadyak.. sapak.. "putangina mo! lumaban kang gago ka,wala akong anak na bakla!" suntok.. tadyak.. sapak.. "itay,tama na!" suntok.. tadyak.. sapak.. suntok.. tadyak.. sapak.. suntok.. tadyak.. sapak.. patuloy ang pagtadyak, pagsuntok at pagsapak wala na akong makita,biglang nandilim ang buong paligid at wala na akong maramdaman pa �Diyos ko,katapusan ko na ba? H'wag muna,maawa ka�

Mary Mara Atienza • 16


`Oo, sa likod ng mga ngiting inyong nakikita Nakatago doon ang tunay na nadarama sa mascara at makukulay na make-up na lang umaasa para mabura ang mga bakas ng luha at latay sa mukha namumutok ang mga labing kinulayan ng pula rumarampa suot ang damit at boots na nakita sa ukay-ukay may kasama pang shades na nabili sa bangketang aking nadaanan Gusto ko lang maambunan kahit kaunting pagmamahal na ipinagkait pa din sa akin ng aking mga magulang kinokondena na ninyo ako kahit wala akong ginagawang masama tinatawag na walanghiya, salot, sugo ng demonyo at makasalanan dinuduro at pinagpipyestahan pinupukol ng mga berso sa bibliya ng mga taong akala mo'y santong nagsisimba sa Baclaran hinuhuthutan ng jowang nakakaalala lang pag wala ng datung at matakbuhan Sino kayo? sino ba kayo para ako ay hatulan? Hindi ba't kagaya nyo rin akong nagkakasala paminsan-minsan? Hanggang alam ko na wala akong inaapakan Hanggang may respeto ako sa lipunan na aking kinabibilangan Hanggang nabubuhay ako ng marangal at isang responsableng mamamayan Wala kayong karapatan na ako'y husgahan wala... wala‌ Dahil sa huli.. ikaw, siya, ako, tayong lahat ay pantay-pantay lang Panibagong araw ang lola mo, hahada na naman! pansamantalang itatagong muli ang bahid nang kalungkutan sa ilalim ng makukulay na damit at ibat-ibang kolorete sa katawan

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Pag-aabang sa Pagbabalik Mary Mara Atienza Makabagong bayani ang tawag sa amin, nakipagsapalaran sa ibang lupain hirap at pangungulila ang araw-araw na kalaban sunod-sunuran sa utos ng banyagang panay ang sigaw basahan at walis ang armas pandigma umpisahan na ang laban! hindi na magkamayaw, natataranta na sa utos ng heneral patuloy ang pagkudkod ng mga kamay, na tinubuan ng malalaking ugat at kalyong makakapal tuloy din ang paghagod sa kabayong hindi gumagalaw ilang oras na ang lumipas, pagod na ang katawan, kumakalam na ang sikmura, nagaalsa na din ang mga alaga konting oras na lang ang hihintayin malapit na ang dapit-hapon, matatapos na ang isang araw nang pakikipagtuos At pagsapit ng dilim, pinagmamasdan na lang ang mga larawan na nagsisilbing inspirasyon upang ituloy ang laban kumot na lang ang nagbibigay init sa bawat gabing malamig habang yakap yakap ang basang unan na nagsisilbing karamay sa aming kalungkutan binubulungan ng mga salitang nais iparating sa pamilyang nawalay sa amin Kami ang makabagong bayani na naaalala lang kapag may kailangan at binabalewala kapag wala ng maibigay kami ang mga bayaning nakikipaglaban para sa ikakaginhawa ng mga mahal naming sa buhay

Mary Mara Atienza • 18


BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

CROWDS

Jerickson P Baarde Jerickson is currently taking Law at San Beda College in Mendiola and has earned his Literature degree from the University of Santo Tomas. He writes during the long hours of traffic, where epiphanies come from. He is learning French on his own and hopes that one day he could write poetry in French.

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The Closet’s Song Jerickson P Baarde My closet is made in the corner Of home, where silence is Held like flames, spitting and sizzling And calm, My closet is made with the fragments of Phrases and words of a song Lingering in lips and throats bleeding With splinters It rattles and breathes in the drawers The rattle, the exhausted song of the closet My closet is made with questions unanswered My closet is made with unreturned smiles My closet is made with nods, it is made with Unfound “hellos” My closet is made with the grimacing faces of Childhood My closet is an extension of a global silence, The domestic isolation, my own domestic insanity My closet is made from the wood of other closets My marital bed, where intercourse of Soul and nothing is made My closet is made with interrupted sentences My closet is made with hugs and kisses to mama My closet is made with “she knows, she knows” My closet is half-closed, I can leave My closet is made. I made the closet. I made the closet.

Jerickson P Baarde • 20


The Worm’s Dance Jerickson P Baarde A step away from the closet of home Another performance begins: the sway of My hips and arms, the asserting pout of my lips, Tell the story of the unchanging worm’s dance The strut of my legs rebelling against the sea Of stares, In the sea of stares, I am captured and raped My body an unwilling canvas, And then I feel the mild strokes of Blades, teasing the spine of my back I wait for the tips to break the skin And penetrate But the dance is not the bloodshed: It is the waiting The teasing blades can only trace the Beginning of a thought, Their tongues can only cradle the words And will never give birth, But I continue, still: in the sea of stares, I dance the unlearned steps Of the worm who will always be a worm, His wings swimming in the goo of his Melted Self Soon, the blades Exhaust me My shoulders Drop My arms and Hips Stiffens, My lips Relax, The stares look Away And the dance Is over.

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Jerickson P Baarde • 22


BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

CROWDS

Troy Q Cabida Troy is a Manila-born writer currently based in London, UK. Some of his recent poems have appeared on WORK, Pinched, We Are A Website, The Traveling Poet, W.A.L.K., Eastlit, and The Ofi Press, where his poem was translated into Spanish. He currently writes for Infinity House and has written for Instazine21, Migreat, The Online Rag and has been credited as editor for literary journals Siblíní Journal, Thought Notebook and poetry book 30 Days Dry by poet-playwright Robert Eric Shoemaker. He has a self-published poetry ebook, Lost in London, released in 2015. Catch him blogging over at http://troycabida.wordpress.com.

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Overture Troy Q Cabida 2007 The first thing you’ll remember is the denim of your backpack digging in your shoulders; the second, the words of advice/official protocol your Mother said to you before landing, ways you should conduct yourself when you meet your London relatives: 1. Look them straight in the eye. 2. Do not hug them. 3. Shake their hands. 4. Firmly. Like a man. 5. Remember: they’re family. One, two, twenty, a hundred people suddenly emerge from Arrival, spilling themselves up to wherever their next trip is, just as lethargic but not as alien to the steel winds outside, where your parents experience their first taste of Europe: stray accents from strangers they once thought were mythical and minty puffs of Marlboro, blowing out the seventeen hours from MNL to HK to LDN. And then there’s the September sunlight greeting you, old friend in sheepskin, its hands land on your nape but spare the prickly heat, which then makes it all so ghost-like and unsatisfying; the bamboo flute’s exhales cannot be heard from here. Uncles later rush from the parking lot, that crazy cousin you always heard about rips you off the ground; they’re family, strangers today, but eventually enough, family. The numb autumn spotlight looms over you as you walk deeper into new land; their excitement drowns you but you can only search for your breath calmly. Our song begins.

Troy Q Cabida • 24


Business Troy Q Cabida 8:15pm The television perched atop the wall continues to play the same talk show from earlier this morning, highlighting the very next young trendy primetime tandem, tanned, tempered, trained. The buzz outside the kitchen remains the same. There is no karaoke tonight. At the end of peak hours the old man inside the kitchen (also the stockroom) fishes out wet beer bottles for his busboy apprentices, telling them to take only quick swigs but big swigs because he doesn’t like warm and wasted beer; the resident rat sitting at the corner waits for his. The new stock boy in the twenty-year-old Filipino shop satisfies the dusty shelves bags upon bags of crisps he’s never tasted before. His particularly defined haircut, razor sharp short on the sides, erected on top is what makes him stand out, not anymore his accent. One of the hairdressers from the neighbouring parlour, this time Quezon born, comes for his Marlboro Menthols and chat with the cashier about how his heart’s coping after Alistair left him last week. The cue from behind him grows restless by the second.

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Troy Q Cabida • 26


BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

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Rick Jay Cabillo Rick Jay studied Master of Fine Arts (MFA) in Creative Writing at De La Salle University and graduated Bachelor of Science in Business Administration, major in Computer Applications from De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde. He currently works in Sarion Films as creative writer and videographer. He has been anthologized in DAGsmash! Antolohiya ng mga Piling Dagli, Bangkang Papel: Antolohiya ng mga Piling Tula, and Poets of the Apocalypse. He is affiliated with TAYO! Manila and was shortlisted for the 2015 Cirilo F Bautista Prize for the Novel.

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Dayalogo ng mga Damdamin Rick Jay Cabillo [Halakhak] Lahat ay nasa isip lamang Kaya kinalimutan ko silang lahat Ang natira lamang, ako, akong nahihibang Kinalimutan ko ang trabahong pumapatay sa aking kaluluwa, kinalimutan ko ang babaeng lumalapastangan sa aking puso, kinalimutan ko ang pamilyang arawaraw kong pasanin, kinalimutan ko ang mga kaibigang may silbi lamang kapag ika’y kakailanganin [Hinga nang malalim] Ha! Hinga nang malalim Tara’t isawsaw sa kape ang kaluluwa upang mahimasmasan Ipagdiwang natin ang tugatog ng kasiyahan Napakasarap sa pakiramdam kasiping ang kalawakan, wala na sila! Magsasayaw ako nang magsasayaw hangga’t gusto kong sumayaw Magsasawa akong kumanta lumawit man ang dila ko: Lala-lalala-lalalala [The hills are alive with the sound of music] lalamasin ko ang sarili’t huhubuin ang salawal at magsasalsalasalabad ang salansan ng mga ibig kong gawin ngayo’t kapiling ko na lamang ang sarili Walang kahalili Walang kahulilip, walang kapalit ang pagkakataong matagpuan ang sariling walang mapagsidlan ng tuwa Iisa ang mukha ng taong masaya, ang mukha ng buhay, ang mukha ng kawalan ng pakialam sa lahat Hayaan na natin sila, ang mahalaga masaya ka! Magshower na lang tayo sa dilim [Hush-hush-hush] [Singhot, hagulhol] O, bakit ka sumisinghot? Wala, nalungkot lang ako bigla. Kasi kung iisipin mong lahat ng bagay pansamantala, hindi ka na sasaya [Hikbi] Hindi masaya ang aking pag-amin sa katotohanang hindi talaga ako masaya. At wala naman ding ibang nag-iisip na sila’y talagang masaya Pumipitik-pitik ang mga hinanakit na nagpapasakit sa aking tikas Habang nahuhulog at nagmumumog ng mga gamugamong binabangungot Bawat hulas ng bawat taludtod pagpingol sa dibdib ang kapalit Hindi naman kami naglalaro ng pitik-bulag Hindi ako bulag. Sadyang malabo lang ang aking paningin Para sa kanya ang bulaklak na nalanta at hindi sa bintana ko Ang mga alaala sa paglipas ng panahon, nagiging mga panaginip. At sa paggising malilimutan na rin Malungkot ako dahil ayokong lumimot Malungkot ako dahil hindi ako makalimot Malungkot ako dahil hindi mo ako naririnig Malungkot ako dahil ayaw mo akong marinig Malungkot ako dahil masaya ka Malungkot ako dahil hindi ako ang dahilan

Rick Jay Cabillo • 28


Malungkot ako kasi walang internet Malungkot ako kasi hindi ko magoogle kung paano sumaya Malungkot ako kasi umuulan Umaampiyas sa pader ang mga larawan ng mga naunsyaming hangarin at mga nitsong walang pangalan Malungkot ako kasi hindi ko maintindihan ang kalungkutan At sa likod ng bakod ng lungkot nananahan ang kaba, nag-aabang ang takot. Pakinggan mo. [Bug-bug-bug-bug-bug-bug] Ang mga sandaling maladelubyong pumipintig ang puso, kumakapit, pumupulupot sa kalansay Mangingisay ka bagama’t nakalutang ang bungo, mamamangkang nakatingala, nakangangang magliliwaliw sa pamimingwit ng mga kahulugan, ang takot, maraming mukha Halintulad ng kalsada, sanlibong hitsura’t hilatsa, gusut-gusot, gula-gulanit, bukbukin, aspaltado Mga yabag at bagabag ng mga pangitaing umaahon mula sa mga bangungot Walang-katiyakang pagtakas Buntung-hininga ng awit ang tangi kong pahinga Sa’ng sulok ka nagsususuot, tapang ko? Hindi pa lubusang lumalantad ang mga balintataw. Sapagkat nakalambitin pa sa bingit ng mga talukap Kasalukuyang natatakot bumitiw nang ganap ‘Pag ‘di mo nakikita ang kanilang mga mata, hindi ka rin nila nakikita Nagmamatiyag beinte kuwatro oras ang mga mata ng mga makata Mga pira-pirasong kuko ng anino. Mga lubak na parang mga peklat ng kalsada. Hinati ng matatalim at malulutong na ugat ang langit Saan maaaring makahinga gayong giriwiri ang lahat ng nakikita? Ngatngat-kuko, balisa, bagama’t nakatitig walang makita Walang makikita kung bibig ang ipanghahanap Walang maipababatid kung iaasa lamang sa tingin Ang mga nais mong sabihin na hindi mailalahad ng mga bulong o mga dasal kundi sigaw! [Hah!] Katumbas ng sigaw ang pagsisiwalat! Kailangan mong isabog sa hangin ang galit na kuyum-kuyom ng dibdib! Pumapatak ang oras, nababawasan ng halaga ang buhay mo, walang makakatha ni isang hibla ng kuwento Ilang oras ang nagugol sa mga bagay na walang hilagyo ng kahit anong kapirasong anino ng talino. Katumbas din ng sigaw ang aksyon. Kulo ng dugo. Bilis. Ngitngit ng kalikasan, pananalasa ng mga bagyo Sigaw ang sasakyan ng galit! Mula sa mga krimeng nakunan ng CCTV, buhat sa mga balitang pamamasaker sa mga tagapagbalita, sa pamumugot ng mga rebelde sa mga sibilyan, paghahanda sa zombie apocalypse, sa gore porn, sa conflagration gawa ng napabayaang kandila, magkakambal na galit ng sunog at dalita, digmaan sa comment section, outrage sa mabagal na pagbabago, outrage sa load na kinain ng network, girian sa pagitan ng

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mga taga-Senado at mahinang resepsyon ng telebisyon animo’y nagdidribble ang mga palabas at patalastas. At pagkatapos ng pagsabog ay malalim na katahimikan, walang kaluskos, walang kilos. Kapayapaan. Patlang. Pag-ibig. Kumakabog na dibdib [Dug-dug-dug-dug] Nagkukumahog sulitin ang araw Dahil mahal kita sasabayan kita Huminto Bagama’t ayaw ko rin ng ganito. Pareho tayong walang magawa kundi tumigil pansamantala. At sariwain ang mga kapalpakan at katimangang nagawa nating dalawa Magmahalan. Awitan natin ang buwan tungkol sa init na hatid ng ating mga katawan. Sinta. Ikaw ang parati kong kasama. Kung hindi man, mawala ka lang saglit, kaagad akong nananabik. Sa iyong mga mahiyaing halik. Sa iyong tinig t’wing tinatawag mo ang pangalan ko. Natutunaw akong parang ice cream kasama cone kapag hawak mo ang palad ko. Nakakakilig. Walang kasintamis. Sa higpit ng yakap mo. Sa yumi mo ‘pag nakaponytail ka. ‘Yung madilaw mong ngipin na may pangil sa magkabilang-gilid. ‘Yung pino ng mga hibla ng buhok mo pati ng munti mong mga balahibo sa braso. ‘Yung mga mata mong mistulang parating bagong hilamos. ‘Yung mahinhin mong boses na parang ibon na parang violin na parang ebanghelyo na parang tubig na parang tinig ng pastor – maselan, babasagin. Pinagtagpo tayo ng salansan ng mga pagkakataon at samu’t saring mga paraan at mga pinagpiliang daan sa buhay. Matagal na tayong buhay, humihinga. Pero dama ng kaluluwa ko na bago pa tayo ‘sinilang, magkakilala na tayo. ‘Pag nasa tabi kita, parang langit ‘yung hangganan ng pumapalibot sa’tin. Parang pangarap na nagkaroon ng kaganapan Mahal kita. Higit kitang mahal kaysa sa mga salita. Higit sa dilim. Higit sa madaling-araw. Higit sa alaga kong aso. Higit sa karne. Higit sa nanay ko. Higit sa Diyos. Higit sa sarili. Higit sa saya, higit sa lungkot, higit sa takot, higit sa galit. Pag-ibig, ikaw ang pinakapaborito kong damdamin.

Rick Jay Cabillo • 30


BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

CROWDS

Natalie Gail Casiño Natalie took college in Cagayan de Oro where fast-paced life is observed, pretty different from her small, laid-back hometown, Gingoog City. She studied International Studies in Xavier University-Ateneo de Cagayan in hopes to study how different cultures collide and how diplomacy was used to understand each one. She currently works as an account manager in a media and design company.

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Walk

Natalie Gail Casiño

Walk until you stumble upon the homeless Veiled by different lies and unspoken purpose, You’ll notice they’re freer than us Walk until you stumble upon buildings with majestic chapped paint, Smelling the stench they bring, You’ll notice they beg for attention Walk until you stumble upon lost talents who struggle To find the passion they hold within, You’ll notice you’re one of them Walk until you feel beyond the bustle You’ll notice it holds a thousand faces, None of which everyone can see.

Natalie Gail Casiño • 32


BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

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Shiennina Marae ‘Sam’ S Changcoco A natural wordsmith and a strong-willed soul, Sam has hands relentlessly weaving words into pieces of art that shout the innermost corners of her mind. As a graduate of BA Behavioral Sciences at the University of the Philippines Manila, her talent and passion for the art of writing and spoken word poetry brought her to places. She has performed at Metro Manila Pride’s Hubad: Katawan, IpagLOVEan: Let Love In, Patlang Poetry’s Punan and Louder, Page Four’s Focus: Lagablab, Aloha: Init ng Pagibig, and at the Bedroom Beats Stage in this year’s Fête dela Musique.

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Sa lila kami unang pinagtagpo ng aming pagkaligaw Shiennina Marae S Changcoco Sa lila kami unang pinagtagpo ng aming pagkaligaw. Ito raw ang kulay para sa kalmadong mga ulap at tahimik na pagtanggap, ngunit ibang lila yata ito. Dito ang lungkot ay pinakilala sa amin noong akala nami'y oras na para lumabas sa aming mga aparador na puno na ng alikabok at sikreto. Sa lila kami unang dinusta at kinutya, tinulak at pilit idinikit sa lupa ang aming mga mukha. Dito sa patag kami nagkakilala, at dito sa lila kami pinag-isa. Matapos ang ilang taon ay nagkita kaming muli, sa gitna ng lila at sa mas nakakatunaw na laro ng kulay. Ang bughaw ay kulay ng lalim ng dagat, maulap na takip-silim, at mga bagay na nasa hinaharap na walang kasiguraduhan. Dito namin araw-araw nilunod sa lalim ng dagat ang bawat sigaw at takwil, at dito namin pinaulan sa ilalim ng aming mga ulap ang lumang mga kamison na pilit ipinasuot sa mga katawang ang hanap ay init, hindi ng isa pang katawan ngunit init ng yakap dahil sa pagtanggap. Ang mga bagay sa hinaharap ay hindi namin hawak ngunit unti-unti na kaming nakakalaya. Taliwas sa kanilang akala ay hindi kami pinatay ng aming mga kulay. Dito kami lalong lumubog sa katotohanang malayo pa ang lalakbayin para lang hindi pintahan ng itim ang aming bawat dadaanan sa tuwing gusto kong hawakan ang kanyang kamay, para lang hindi pakainin ng bibliya dahil puro kasalanan lang ito para sa kanila, ngunit hindi ito ang layo na aming susukuan. Berde raw ang kulay ng aming mga dugo, ito ang tuksong aming narinig musmos pa lamang ang isip na nabubuo. Berde raw ang dugo ng makasalanang kagaya namin, ngunit hindi niyo ba alam na berde ang kulay ng paglago, ng panibago, at ng buhay? Sa bukang liwayway ay hinabol namin ang linaw na dala ng bawat umaga. Dito ko nakitang hindi kailangan ikahon ang kasarian sa lalaki at babae, na ito ay parang pagdaloy ng iba't ibang ilog sa iisang dagat. Sa dami nang kinilalang pampang ay sa mga bisig na tanggap ang iyong bawat lihim ang matatawag mong tahanan. Dilaw ang kulay ng umaga, at malinaw na dahilan kung bakit ang bawat laban ay isinisigaw at ipinapakilala. Dilaw ang kulay ng tahimik na bugso at nagpupumiglas na nakulong sa rehas. Dito namin halos marating at matikman ang kalayaan. Kahel ang kulay ng paborito kong salita—"pantay". Gutom ang lahat sa kulay na ito, halos mapaos kakahingi at mahapo papunta rito. Uhaw na kami makakita ng mundong bukas para sa lahat, para sa mga pusong nais lamang lumaya. Huwag kang magkakamaling isipin na ito ay protesta lamang dahil ito ang laban para sa espasyo, para sa karapatang huminga at umibig.

Shiennina Marae ‘Sam’ S Changcoco • 34


Isang makata ang nagsabi: “Ang pag-ibig ay pag-ibig ay pag-ibig ay pag-ibig." Malakas ang hiyawan dahil ito ay tunay at tapat gaya ng tanghali. Ang kulay ng pag-ibig ay pula, wala nang iba. Sa bawat mukhang may nakapintang bahaghari at bawat kamay na may bitbit at hawak na bandilang puno ng kulay ay inulan ng pula ang daan patungo sa dulo ng martsa. Malayo pa man ang katapusan nito ay papunta na tayo. Ang mga mauuna ay may pabaon na ingat, at ang mga mahuhuli ay may bitbit na magandang balita. Ang mga pinapatahimik ng lipunan ay unti-unting nagkahimig at sabay-sabay nagkaboses, at nagmartsa bilang protesta sa pagkahon sa kanila sa itim at puti. Lunurin man ng mga tunog ng putok ng baril at iyak ng mga nauna na sa amin ay tabi-tabi kaming nagsiksikan at sumigaw ng hangos para sa mas malinis na hangin para sa mga bagang ito. Sumusugal pa rin kami sa mga bagay na hindi nakikita ngunit may basehan at ramdam ng kalamnan. Sa susunod naming mga buhay ay baka pagkapanganak ay hindi kami papapiliin kung bughaw o pula ang isusuot, baka hindi na nakakahon ang aming mga "Mahal kita" at "Oo, tinatanggap ko siya." Baka dito namin matapang na mahahanap ang aming tahanan at dito kami patuloy na lalaban at mangangarap. Sa susunod ay mga bituin na ang yayakap sa mga bahaghari sa langit at maghahanda ng mga sagot sa ikinubling mga tanong, at ulan ang magiging hudyat ng bagong sansinukob. Umaambon na, mahal.

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Shiennina Marae ‘Sam’ S Changcoco • 36


BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

CROWDS

China Pearl Patria M De Vera China Pearl Patria is a former grade school teacher, a storyteller, and a human rights advocate. She was a writing fellow at Palihang Rogelio Sicat and Cordillera Creative Writing Workshop. Her works have been published in High Chair, Eastlit, and ANI of the Cultural Center of the Philippines. She had an experimental, collaborative zine entitled Project 150. She is an MA Araling Pilipino student at the University of the Philippines, where she graduated with a BA Malikhaing Pagsulat degree. In between writing, she drinks tea and coffee.

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Note to the messenger China Pearl Patria M De Vera Remember Makata, talinghaga are of no use in this profession. Narrate accordingly even it sounds unflattering. How the body curl up, gouge out eyes, missing teeth and how one, cannot immediately recognize the face. Diminish the unnecessary words and gestures. Pretend you’re in a plenary, facts and figures: collected from the source. Their full comprehension probably will come later. Sobbing and gasping are the usual response. Some will render stillness and nod. Some will let you question the sky. When later arrives, you will find yourself uttering words: cursing all the falling things.

Pisi China Pearl Patria M De Vera Habang pinaghiwalay ang mga pantaas sa pambaba tinapos mo ang usapan sa sagot kung bakit hanggang dito na lang ang relasyon natin. Bago natin marating ang tagpong ito kanina lang ay sinubukang tuntunin ang sagot para sa mga sumusunod: 1.Bakit may nagdodonate ng mga damit na pang party o malabasahan. 2.Saan nagpunta ang pangulo pagkatapos mag walk out 3. Bakit naghihiwalay ang halos dekada ng magkarelasyon 4. Ano ang dahilan ng paghihiwalay ng kilalang pares na 4. Paano umaabot sa desperasyon ang tao sa panahon ng krisis 5. Saan humugot ng lakas ang tatay na mailibing ang anak sa island ng isang kalsada. 6. Paano ang rehabilitasyon sa mga nasalantang probinsya 7. Bakit kailangang balikan ang tanong na para kanino 8. Bakit hindi nagreply sa huling text message ko sa’yo. Sinubukan kong putulin ang pisi ng galit at lungkot pagkatapos mong magtahi ng mga dahilan kung bakit ito ang pinakawasto.

China Pearl Patria M De Vera • 38


Counting the countless as of March 26, 2014 China Pearl Patria M De Vera Before we proceed to the plane of artistic realm, Let me introduce you to numbers. Oxford define number as arithmetical value, expressed by a word, symbol, or figure, representing a particular quantity and used in counting and making calculations. Representing a particular quantity can best relate to the not so popular news, perpetually ravaging the north and the rest of the island. 30, 42 and 70 not the winning number in the lottery but the ages of the three exhumed bodies found in fetal position. Freddie, Edgar and Licuben from Binongan tribe, Tingguian. 25 and 6-7 are the date and time, somebodies father was shot treacherously from the back. As they say, that’s cowards do to brave men like William Bugatti. 19 is the number after 18. 8 is a cardinal number and though it’s not correlated, but I must say that our cardinal doesn’t do anything about this19 desaparecidos. 430 ends with number zero. In linguistics, zero modifies the absence of an actual word. But that doesn’t fit in, when we equate the definition of a person who is confined for years because of his beliefs, known as Political Prisoners. ¼ consist of numerator and denominator. To determine the ¼ of 430 one must do the mathematical operation. Once you reach that number, that’s the total Political Prisoners under BS Aquino’s regime.

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188, can be considered a fleeting number in the rising cases of extra judicial killings. When you look at the 8 closely, its like lemniscate. Infinity. But the other brave men said, it must not be.

China Pearl Patria M De Vera • 40


BUKAMBIBIG

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Lawdenmarc Decamora Lawdenmarc took his Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing degree at De La Salle University in Manila. His publication includes mostly poems appearing in Manila Bulletin, TAYO Literary Magazine, and Mad Swirl, a Texas-based online literary magazine. He was a fellow in poetry at the 21st Iligan National Writers Workshop and other notable regional writing workshops such as Cornelio Faigao Annual Writers Workshop in Cebu, Lamiraw Creative Writing Workshop in Tacloban, and Pamiyabe Regional Creativw Writing Fellowship in Bulacan. He also has presented his research works in conferences, one of them is the recent Elitism in Art & Culture conference at DLSU-Manila. He is presently finishing his second master’s degree, MA in Literary and Cultural Studies, at Ateneo de Manila University.

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Mikroponobyo Lawdenmarc Decamora hango mula sa ‘textual poaching’ ni Henry Jenkins Isang himutok ang nakaamba ang aabangan ko sa TV, kung sino-sino ako ang piging na mambubuska sa tila parisukat na tayo. At kung ako at ikaw ay magugutom ang hugis na ito ang sanay, sanay na sana’y bumusog sa mga mata natin na may isiniping peligro sa desenyo. Kumikintab, kumikendeng manok-dagitab sa loob ng kwarto ng (siyempre!) samu’t saring sarili! Babala: ang bumabasa nito ay papangit. Hayaang ang ilaw ang kumurot-kurot sa teksto— mga salitang selfie-ready, manining pa sa palabas i-like na-na-na ninyo.

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silence kit Lawdenmarc Decamora Friday— forever is this day haunted brimful of ochre hunted without closure my Manila against your Luxembourg whispers licking in the half-light a little lesson in philosophy how charm using a couple of cigs translates life in a sea of conversation words in transit be peace

space

the shapes of permutations congratulations! from (again!) Manila to our bones: we have no idea how beautiful a song is when we take out the words like a birdless sky emerging from the half-gashed wrist of mauve in the gloaming

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a song for buildings Lawdenmarc Decamora lost in the city lost. arms a distance. in scissored flight. what if this day soars. leaving. this sightline mirror you—town. colors and empty calls anything. how home feels (and still thinks!). of our selves swirling. in pixels suddenly then there's a creature out there, hiding, well, the art of understatement. into the buildings. pretty much like trees screaming our names. a gift. consumed by untranslated fire: never by a protocol. there: a flurry of heights, jeeps fly over C5. they heavily matriculate for simple things. buildings, these again, won't rise here, on our room-shadows. at least in the dream of a girl, dancing over city streets, jumping to forever. to rule over our—again

Lawdenmarc Decamora • 44


BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

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Dennis Espada Si Dennis ay mag-aaral sa masteral sa Polytechnic University of the Philippines. Nalathala ang mga tula niya sa ANI ng Cultural Center of the Philippines, Liwayway Magasin, Pang-Masa, Makata online poetry journal, antolohiyang Ipuipo Sa Piging, at iba pa. Naisama rin ang mga tula niya sa stage play na Huwan Tamad at ang Dagat ng mga Salita na ipinalabas sa Maharlika National Sunrise Arts Festival. Dalawang beses siyang nagwagi sa The Great Contender performance poetry contest na inisponsor ng Ricco-Renzo Galleries. Naging fellow siya sa Palihang Rogelio Sicat sa ilalim ng Departamento ng Filipino at Panitikan ng Pilipinas sa University of the Philippines-Diliman.

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Suwayin ang bawal Dennis Espada

Sa lipunan ng mga robot at makabagong alipin, tinatakot ang lahat na nagnanais baliin ang utos ng hari’t ang bawal ay suwayin. Bawal umihi dito, ang umihi putol titi. Bawal sa pool ang batang walang panti. Bawal ang gamot sa sakit ng bayang inaapi. Bawal tapakan ang damo. Bawal magtapon ng basura. Bawal ihiwalay ang bulok sa di-bulok na pamamahala. Bawal magpetisyon, magpiket o magwelga. Bawal kumain sa restawran ang may dalang baon. Bawal mag-Tagalog sa call center na may unyon. Bawal ang repormang agraryo’t pambansang industriyalisasyon. Bawal ang di naka-uniform. Bawal baligtarin ang tatsulok. Kung tagasunod ka ni Sakay, bawal magpahaba ng buhok. Kung biktima ka ng sistema, bawal kang mamundok! Bawal tumawid, may namatay na dito. Bawal ang matuwid, pinapatay ng estado. Bawal mag-online ang may dugong Bonifacio! Bawal isipin ang ginagawa kung ayaw mapaghinalaan. Bawal sabihin ang iniisip kung ayaw makagalitan. Bawal gawin ang sinasabi kung ayaw maparusahan! Pero kahit ang pagbabawal ay nag-uumang ng lupit, ito’y paanyaya ng hari sa mapangahas at makulit na suwayin ang bawal anuman ang kapalit. Harangan man ng sibat ng mga upahang bantay, suwayin ang bawal, hinding-hindi masasaway! Ipagtanggol ang laya’t karapatang mabuhay!

Dennis Espada • 46


BUKAMBIBIG

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Adeva Jane H Esparrago Adeva Jane hails from Cagayan de Oro. She graduated cum laude from Xavier University-Ateneo de Cagayan where she took up Bachelor of Secondary Education, major in English. She is currently working on her master’s thesis for an MA Education degree in the same institution. She teaches English in Xavier University Junior High School. Adeva is connected with NAGMAC (Nagkahiusang Manunulat sa Cagayan de Oro) and has been a fellow in the 1st Cagayan de Oro Writers Workshop. Her works have been published in Dagmay, literary journal of Davao Writers Guild and Veritas, the literary folio of Xavier University. She is one of CDO Poetry Night’s resident spoken word artists. When not crying over her thesis, she paints, practices Karate and sleeps.

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Monsters Adeva Jane H. Esparrago I have been told time and again I have to be responsible for my body If I weren't, I wouldn't be alive at all This monster does not sleep It stitches away inches from my jeans Carves away chunks from my esteem My heart is a cave now The holes this savage has made Can only be filled with more uncertainties Two fingers up my throat i choke and spit out “beautiful” My name, Synonymous to constant expansion My being cut up in parts Arms, legs, stomach Me, a woman reduced To numbers on a weighing scale To a measuring tape’s stretch “Why don’t you go on a diet?” I would But every time you tell me to, Your words add up and fill just one more cup “You’re just lazy” You’re just rude my life's worth is measured in numbers two for kilos and three for pounds After working so hard on my thesis, Not on my thighs The first thing they say to me is You got fat After years of being apart, Friends and family laugh The first thing they say to me is

Adeva Jane H Esparrago • 48


You got fat I am not fat I am made of stars If you can’t handle my universe, Then feel free to leave my orbit My gravity is nothing to you Who wants to feel weightless And you, woman Who haven’t been told You are a goddess You hold the world in one hand While you hold a book or a child in another And walk in six inch heels You are powerful You are beautiful You ought to know You are enough The world owes you

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Adeva Jane H Esparrago • 50


BUKAMBIBIG

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Carmela Isabel Evangelista Carmela resides in Quezon City, and is a budding anthropologist studying in the University of the Philippines Diliman. One would most likely find her crouched in front of a shelf in a local bookstore. She has dipped in several genres of literature from haiku to full-length plays to creative nonfiction, and has even tried her hand at journalism. This is mostly because she graduated the Creative Writing course from the Philippine High School for the Arts, and has published several works there, including, under the tutelage of Nikki Alfar, a collection of speculative fiction entitled Minor Mythologies.

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The Little Mermaid, Before Seafoam Carmela Isabel Evangelista The crumpled maps I’d brought over are all underneath your bed. I made them from stories of old expeditions towards you. We stashed them there, figuring you’d know this place enough to lead, and I would be brave enough to find a way, anyway. We fumbled without a map. We were adventurers without direction, the compass I held against my chest only always pointing right at you. In that journey, the only place to be was in your space. Like fishermen lost at sea, anchoring ourselves against Altair and Vega, sleeping with our hands held together, the lull of your breath my whole ocean. We wake at daybreak from the taste of salt against our cheeks. The water is my element. I do not tire of its shaking, pulled by the moon pushed against the shore, always at the edge of breaking. I am part mermaid, always, even now that I stand on two legs and do not hurt simply by breathing your own air. I learned to love you. But your court, a crowd of voices that refuse to listen, only speak, tells you that I am not to be trusted; only half human, that I would let you off the moment I am done with you. They buzz like flies. Even in our journey you bring them. I lend you my ear when you shake and falter. Maybe it’s their warnings, the storm signals they preach of even in blue skies. You get seasick far too quickly, before we’ve even gone too far out. There’s only so much rolling you can bear before your gut feels unsteady, unready to swim, even if I told you I would keep you breathing. It is at that moment that I turn back to saltwater. Above the surface, there is a prince that knows far too much of me. He will not have my part mermaid. He will only have the girl without a map. But when he wonders where I am and decides to unfold the crumpled sheets, he won’t know where to ask for me. He will only find my own song, tucked in the sweet curve of a seashell, the song I’ve made for him to have, but never hear.

Carmela Isabel Evangelista • 52


BUKAMBIBIG

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Jord Earving ‘Dyord’ Gadingan Si Dyord ay nagtapos ng kurso tungkol sa pagsasaka sa Southern Luzon State University; naging volunteer writer, music tutor, editorial staff, research assistant; at kasalukuyang isang social worker sa Kagawaran ng Panlipunang Kagalingan at Pagpapaunlad. Naging bahagi na rin sya ng ilan (pa lamang) na antolohiya ng tula at sanaysay, minsan ay nababayaran at minsa’y nakakalimutang pasalamatan man lang. Naging suki na rin sya ng rejection e-mails. Kasalukuyan rin s’yang part-time blogger sa tsa-tsub.blogspot.com at part-time bespren kay E-boy.

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Saan Sakay? Jord Earving Gadingan Mahilig akong bumasa Mula sign boards ng MMDA, Mga ads sa overpass sa Quiapo Hanggang sa mga nutritional facts Ng mga sitserya at bote ng ketsup, Adik yata ako sa mga salita. Bumiyahe ako minsan, Intramuros - PGH lang naman Dadalaw sa isang kaibigan Doon na rin magtatanghalian Sinampal ako ng sticker sa dyip: "Nakasakay ka sa jeep ngayon, Malay mo bukas, sa eroplano naman" Sa dyip, amoy mo lahat; usok, pawis, putok, Jackpot ang nagngangalit na anghit! Nangangarag at nauumpog kung malubak Nahahablutan ng karampot na pilak Pero. Mura lang ang sakay dito Sa eroplano, kita mo lahat; gubat, ulap, at dagat, Nakasandal sa malambot na upuan May kaunti pa ring karag minsan Ngunit walang trapik; Angat ka! Pero. Mahal ang kapalit nito. Sakay ulit ako PGH-Intramuros naman, Binasa ko lahat ng pasahero, di man salita Si Aleng nakadilaw ay tila pinagtaguan Ng haring araw, nagtutubig ang mata Di naman antok; di rin puwing Sumisingap-singap, kuha si panyo Papitik-pitik sa kanyang tuhod May tangan siyang enbelop Di ko alam kung saan ang punta Baka bukas, sa eroplano'y sakay na siya.

Jord Earving ‘Dyord’ Gadingan • 54


Berdeng Bilog Jord Earving Gadingan Kung bakit ka pa ga naman nauso Pampasikip ka lang sa kasing-kasing Mag-iilang minuto na kong nakatitig sa’yo Parang ang tingkad ng kulay mo Parang hindi ka na kulay ng paglago at buhay Pwede mo nang palitan ang kulay na pula O kaya ikaw na ngayon ang bagong kulay ng panglaw na bughaw Dahil sa pabalik-balik na pagbubukas sara ko sa istatus ko, di man lang ako napuna Lubog-litaw kaya ako sa hanay ng mga pangalan ng kaibigan mong may berdeng bilog din sa gilid Mapapansin mo lang yun kung nakatingin ka rin sa pangalan ko, kung may pake ka ba sa istatus ko Ikaw na ang bagong kulay ng walang pake Wala ka bang kailangan sa’kin ngayon? Kasi ako meron at palagi namang ako lang ang may kailangan Ako lang naman ang may pake sa istatus mo kada minuto, Na magpapatay-sindi ang berdeng bilog sa tabi ng pangalan mo na kung pwede lang sana ay nakikita ko kung paano gumagalaw ang iskrin ng selpon mo kapag active ka naman Pero hindi mo napapansin na may berdeng bilog din sa tabi ng pangalan ko. Pero siyempre, hindi ako talunan e. Hihintayin pa rin kitang umabot sa’kin na halos tawagin ko lahat. Lahat ng planeta at mito ng mga asteroid belts sa solar system Para lang mahatak ka na mapansin na may berdeng bilog sa tabi ng pangalan ko. Kasi parang tumitigil nang umikot ang sistema na nasa loob ng dibdib ko. Pero wala sinlamig ka ng Pluto. Pero hindi pa rin ako magpapatalo. Cumlaude ako pagdating sa pagpapapansin. Gugustuhin ko ang isang larawan mo kahit matagal na’tong nakapaskil Para masundot ka na gumagalaw ako ngayon at napansin ko ang larawan mo. Kasi parang gusto ko rin namang may pumasin sa’kin. Pero wala pa rin. Pero wala pa rin.

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Icha-chat na kita. Ang kapal lang ng mukha kong isipin na baka binuksan mo na yung kahon ng pangalan ko At hinihintay mo lang ako na umuna kaya papaalunin ko ang tatlong bilog na abo sa loob kahon. Mgatatlong minutong aakalain kong tinototure kita pero ang totoo ang wasak na wasak ay ako. Ako lang naman ang naghihintay. Kaya lulunukin ko na lang ulit ang lahat at papadalhan na kita Kahit smiley lang, tatlong tuldok, aprub, o kahit aksidenteng-random link lang para i-chat mo ko kahit ng tandang pananong. Kahit tandang pananong lang. Dahil gusto ko na rin ng sagot kung ano bang istatus natin. Hanggang sa ang berdeng bilog sa tabi ng pangalan mo ay napalitan ng ‘1m’ At maghihintay na naman ako ng ibang pagkakataon at magpapaikot-ikot sa maliit at masalimuot na mundo ng berdeng bilog.

Jord Earving ‘Dyord’ Gadingan • 56


BUKAMBIBIG

ISSUE 1 • VOLUME 1

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Jeric F Jimenez Mailalathala ang sanaysay ni Jeric sa Pandiwa III, journal ng Komisyon ng Wikang Filipino. Nailathala na ang kanyang mga akda sa Liwayway, Pang-Masa, at sa mga independent publications. Kasama ang kanyang mga dagli sa Diaspora: Isang Antolohiya at sa PYLON, antolohiya ng mga tula ng mga makata ng Polytechnic University of the Philippines. Nagtuturo siya sa Antipolo Institute of Technology, University of Rizal System Antipolo, at STI Cainta. Siya ang gurong-tagapayo ng The Managers, opisyal na publikasyon ng mga mag-aaral ng College of Business Administration-URSA. Nagkamit ng pagkilala ang kanyang mga akda sa Gawad Emman Lacaba at Gawad Patrocinio V Villafuerte.

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Napapanahon Jeric F Jimenez Napapanahon lagi ang pagpasok niya bilang saleslady sa SM. Alas siyete ng umaga. Bago pa man dilaan ng unang sinag ng araw ang lupa, nakaligo. nagsuklay at napitas na niya ang panty na nilabhan at sinabit sa sampayan sa labas ng bahay. Kahit basa pa, "ok na 'to" sa isip niya. Paulit-ulit niyang ginagawa iyon. Tulad ng paulit-ulit niyang gawain sa SM. Ngingiti kapag may kustomer. Hindi kailanman uupo. Laging may ginagawa. Kailangang makabenta. Kailangang makakota. Arawaraw niyang gawain 'yun. Ang pagpitas ng panty sa sampayan at pagpasok sa SM. Kapalit ng pananakit ng binti't pagkirot ng balikat. Napapanahon noon nang maramdaman niyang may gumagalaw sa ilalim ng kanyang tiyan. Lumubo ang tiyan niya. nawalan ng trabaho. Umalis ng SM ng walang benepisyo. Nagtataka siyang nagbuntis nang walang kasintahan. Nagtataka siya kung bakit may gumagalaw sa tiyan niya. Nagbuntis siyang may pagtataka't pagsisisi. Dinala niya ng siyam na buwan ang paniniwalang buntis siya. Araw-araw, gabi-gabi, sa tuwing pinipitas niya ang panty sa sampayan sa labas ng bahay, gumagalaw ang nasa loob. Araw-araw, gabi-gabi, sa tuwing nagpapalit siya ng panty sumisipa, kumakaskas ang nasa loob ng kanyang sinapupunan. Napapanahon noong iniluwal niya ang nasa loob ng tiyan. Umuulan at matatalas ang kidlat nang muntikang maatake ang kumadronang nagpaanak sa kanya. Kasinglaki ng garapon ang kutong iniluwal niya. Sumigaw ang kumadrona. Umalis itong nagbiling wag na wag siyang magsusuot ng panty lalo kung basa pa. nakangiti niyang kinanlong ang sanggol na kuto. Hindi na siya bumalik sa SM.

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Arnold Rosales Lapuz Arnold is a faculty of the Quezon City Polytechnic University in Novaliches. He graduated from the University of the Philippines-Diliman with a bachelor’s degree in Philippine Studies. He is currently taking his master’s degree in the same field at the same institution. He also has a two-year certificate course in creative writing in Filipino from UP Diliman. He lives with his parents and two siblings in San Jose del Monte, Bulacan.

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Babae Arnold Rosales Lapuz Sinabi kong hinulaan ko lang ang number mo Mabuti’t kumagat ka pa kahit gasgas na ang palusot ko Pakilala ko’y babae ako Babae sa puso katanggap-tanggap naman ‘yon Babae pa rin naman igigigiit ko kung mabuko mong wala akong suso Ginawa mo na akong babae sa text Sa palitan natin ng mga mensahe ako’y mabining-mabini Ikaw ang aking lalaki paulit-ulit kong sabi Ngayon ay nakikipagkita ka sabi ko’y bakit? ‘Di ba puwedeng patagalin pa nang kaunti? Baka habol mo sa ki’y puki Wala ako noon kaya nanggagalaiti Matatanggap mo kaya na ako’y babaeng walang puki?

Arnold Rosales Lapuz • 60


BUKAMBIBIG

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Junica G Madrid Si Junica ay muntik ng makapagmadre. Pero hindi ito natuloy dahil ang gusto niya talaga pala ay magpari. Hilig niya talaga ang magkape, magpinta, tumugtog, tumula, at magkape ulit. Siya, kasama ang kanya pamilya, ay nagtayo ng isang coffee shop sa Tanauan at tinawag nilang Barikafe. Dito niya naibuhos ang lahat ng hilig niya sa buhay kaya ang kulang na lang sa kanya ay ang hanapin ang hihiligin niya sa buhay. Siya ay 23 taon nang nag-eexist at sa awa ng Diyos ay nakapagtapos ng BS Accountancy sa La Consolacion College Tanauan. Naging editor-in-chief ng college publication office at journalist of the year noon taong 2013. Nang makatapos ay ginawa niyang raket na maging college instructor ng Art Appreciation, Philosophy: Logic, Retorika, at Philippine Literature sa kanyang Alma Mater ngunit ngayon ay visual art instructor sa grade school hanggang Senior High School ng St John Academy of Visual and Performing Arts.

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Feeling Unicorn Junica G Madrid Minsan iniisip ko pa rin 'yung mga tanong o comment o feedback (by words or by priceless reactions) kapag sinasabi kong ako ay Kinsey-3-Gay na mas sikat sa word na ‘bisexual.’ Natutuwa tuloy akong mag-comeback with interrogative sentences. "HINDI HALATA." Paano ba kami ini-stereotype ng society? Kailangan ba may statement-shirt kami? "ANG GANDA MO NAMAN PARA MAGING BI." Kailangan pangit para maging gay? "BAKIT? GALIT KA SA LALAKI?" Nasaan ang "man-hater" sa word na "bisexual"? Wait, alam mo ba ang ibig sabihin ng “bi”? "NAKAILANG GIRLFRIEND KA NA?" Kailangan ng karelasyon para patunayan ang gender? Hindi mo ba itatanong kung nakailang boyfriend na ako? "SINO'NG LALAKI KAPAG NAKIPAG-DATE KA SA BABAE?" 'Di ko rin alam. Siguro kung sino 'yung may bayag? "BAKIT MO SINASABI 'YAN? ALAM BA NG PARENTS MO?" Kailangan ng parents' consent?! "PAANO MAKIPAG-SEX SA KAPWA BABAE?" - Alam mo 'yung Google? Alam mo 'yung porn? Alam mo 'yung privacy? Pero may isang pariralang sumubok sa katatagan ko. "HINDI AKO NANINIWALA SA BISEXUALS." Hindi ako handang sagutin ang ganoong kataga. Hindi naman talaga kailangan ng sagot dahil hindi ito tanong. Pero kailangan ng comeback, for me! Yes, first time encounter. Natigilan ako at nautal-utal. Hindi siya naniniwala sa akin! 'Yun na rin 'yung tanong ko sa kanya... "Hindi ka naniniwala sa akin?!"

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Hanggang doon na lang ako. Wala naman akong kailangang patunayan. Kung maniwala man siya o hindi, hindi ko priority ang magpatunay. Parang religion ang gender-preference na iyan... it shouldn't be shoved down to someone's throat. You cannot always change one's perceptions. Pero nalungkot ako dahil hanggang ngayon, feeling ko unicorn pa rin ako, Kaming mga kinsey-3-gay sa ibang tao. Isang myth para sa iba tulad ni Santa Claus, ng awesome-almighty-above, ng true love o ng tadhana! Tapos, siguro para mapawi 'yung pagka-devastated ko, sabi niya... "Hindi. Naniniwala na ako. Unfair lang talaga kayo. You get the best of both worlds."

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Carla Nicoyco Carla was born and raised in Bacolod. She recently graduated at the University of Santo Tomas. It was in her third year in college that she first plunged into the amazing world of spoken word poetry. Accompanied by her roommate one trafficridden Friday of November 2014, they went to Sev’s Cafe where she had her first open mic and slam. That night led her from cafe to underpass to stage to a house and to galleries. She learned from people she stumbled to across the ‘scene’ and has now become part of White Wall Poetry in 2015. The group has conducted workshops in Warrior Poet Art Cafe and she has facilitated most of them. She has also been a resource speaker for events at the UST Junior High School, Saint Pedro Poveda College, and the UST College of Architecture. At the moment, she is at a crossroads between taking a master’s and going back to Bacolod; nonetheless, she’s under Class A ‘Unemployed,’ and still not in despair.

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Carry It Carla Nicoyco This is a not so random contemplation of a not so vocal tribulation of women, and their breasts. When you look at a woman, what do you see? You see eyes, hair, nose, mouth, neck, chest— Zoom in on chest, transcend the shirt. Put the woman on side view and you see the shy curves: A half-moon on the last quarter, a full moon, or a prudish concave. These days the worth of a woman is measured in cups, Of A, B, C, D, double D, or maybe a G, Or how your respect for them is a high as their cleavage is low. I feel sorry for my classmate with “watermelons.” Does that mean that they could drown in the sweet juice of your fleshy pulp? Woman, drown them, catch them by surprise like Manila and the 2012 habagat, Swallow them whole like a tsunami as high as your self-respect triggered by the earthquake that shattered your peace. Leave them breathless and senseless and witless. I feel sad for my classmate with “pandesal.” Is it something they could fondle for 2.50 Php each? Woman, ang pandesal, maliit man, siksik naman. Purely Filipino, classic, soft, and well-molded, Graciously welcomed by the taste buds, I swear, mine rejoiced upon collision. You are a bestseller any time of the day. I feel sincere concern for Candidate #9 who strutted and was raucously laughed at when her “racks” undulated. The chest is thought of as a place where emotions are felt And I’d like to believe that the Writhing, humping, bending, rolling, quivering of her boobs is not only caused by gravity But her excitement, her confidence showing through Despite the eyes seeing what it only wants to see. You are a spectacle, and your racks, carry it. Carry it from the moment you had your baby bra, to your first actual mature lady bra, to the time it sags and is no more. Carry it like cruets in the offertory. Carry it like it’s sacred.

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Carry it whole. Carry it home, to work, to school, to your bed. Carry it with a backpack, a sling bag. Carry it without giving a shit. Carry it like you’re not carrying it. Carry it to the 5th floor. Carry it in your uniform, in a neon sports bra, in the absence of garments. Carry it and don’t be sorry for having it and all the appurtenances thereof. Carry it without proportion. Carry it without permission. Carry it, woman, carry it. Even if people are fixated on your chest when they should be focusing on what you say, Even if society sniggers at your flat chest, Even if society giggles at your huge chest, Even if rappers go wobble-y wobble-y wobble-y Carry it, woman, carry it. Because I’ve been carrying it. Even if a vendor in Libertad elbowed my left breast, looked at it, and laughed a sorry, Even if I get teased for allegedly having big boobs, Even if I’ve had my guy teammates cup it with matching momentum in football Despite it all, Woman, carry it. Breasts, the milk-secreting glands on a woman’s body Is synonymous to belly, blood, bones, bosom Heart, heartstrings, Inner space, Inside, and soul. When you look at a woman, what do you see?

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Nawala sa Pagsasalin Carla Nicoyco Sa unang pagtapak ko sa lupang ito, Akala ko gamay ko na ang wikang Filipino. Punong puno ako ng tiwala sa sarili Porket ang nanay ko’y dito lumaki. Walang hiya kong sinasambit Ang mga salitang aking binabanggit. Ako’y Ilongga sa Manila, Hiligaynon ang salita. Ang malalambing nitong punto’y aking nahalo Sa salita ng nanay ko, o jusko po. Halatang ‘di dito lumaki, Ako ba ay dapat magsisi Na sa pag-apak sa kolehiyo Ako’y tunog taga-ibayo. Ako’y Ilongga sa Manila, Hiligaynon ang salita, Kagilagilalas sa Ingles ayon sa tenga nila Pero sa pagbukas ng aking mga labi, May digmaan sa aking dila na tila’y di mapapawi. Dalawa, tatlong lenggwaheng ‘di magkanda-ugaga Sa kung ano ba dapat ang mauna, ang tama, ang tugma Sa salita, ako’y nawala sa pagsasalin, Sariling wika ‘di matatawag na akin. Ako’y Ilongga sa Manila, Hiligaynon ang salita. Gakahalo ko ang Hiligaynon sa akon Filipino, Ang Filipino sa aking Ingles, English to my Hiligaynon. But moving on, The struggle doesn’t end where the sentences bend Or when the tongue meets the upper palate O sa kung anong lenggwahe ang ipapalit. Hindi ni sa kung ano ang nauna. Bawat isa’y mahalaga sa pag-unawa. Mga lenggwahe ko gakamikskla At ang pagkatao ko’y nadala Pero ang pakikibaka sa sarili’t salita, Ay giyerang ‘di lang sa akin kundi sa iba, sa bawat isa. Ako’y Ilongga sa Manila, Hiligaynon ang salita. Alam ko naman na mali ang ikahiya Ang kung ano mang puntong aking dala-dala, Sana inyong maunawaan sa aking pagsalita Na ang lenggwahe’t kultura’y iisa,

Carla Nicoyco • 68


Pinapahalagahan at ‘di binabalewala. Kung may magtatanong ulit sa akin Kung ako’y imported o lumaki sa labas, Nakangiti kong sasabihing ako’y taga-Visayas. At sa takdang panahon, matutuhan ko na ring maglaro ng wikang Filipino’t Makagawa ng mga salita tulad ng elibs, dehins, tomguts, imba, at igop, Maunawaan ang mga beki dahil ayokong tumambay sa kadiliman ng kamangmangan Kung itapon mo man ako sa kahit anong konteksto. Kahit ilang taon akong nandirito, Hiling ko na ang dila ko’y di makalimot sa Inang Wikang kanyang kinalakihan, at sa mga wikang kanyang matutuhan, at sa mga wikang kanyang mapupulot, at sa mga wikang kanyang mamana. Ito ang istorya ng lengua ng isang Ilongga sa Manila.

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To the Women Who Liked Me Carla Nicoyco When I looked at your eyes, I had mistaken the gravitational pull as something trivial, just a girl to girl connection inherent before time, just another brushing of glances. There was static, sometimes, when my arm dips to yours, it happens with everyone, to everyone, nothing special. I simply dismiss your arm draped on my seat and your hand on my thigh. But when you reached for my lips I just gave you my cheeks. I’m sorry, I cannot give you what you want. As a straight woman who looks otherwise, I must not be oblivious to the mixed signals you must be receiving with the way my body moves like a concrete pole trying to walk And the way my hair curls My hair was shorter, yes, I called it a fauxpixie because it never looked like a pixie-cut, ever. I had it done in a barbershop along 6th street in Nichols, and man, how they stared. When my hair was shorter, fresh from the shears, the store clerks and the grocery ladies and the security guards would follow me with their eyes. The stock expression they’d have is, “Sir, ay, ma’am,” or a, “Thank you Sir, come again.” They do know how to trip up on their nouns. As a straight woman who looks otherwise, I guess it is my duty to set things straight as well, but the jeans and the shirt and the Chucks spell D-Y-K-E when it’s simply U-N-G-I-R-L-Y. In one subject where our professor ditched our class, my classmates huddled up around me and brought out eyeliners, eye lash curlers, creams of different shades, creams in a stick, creams in powder. When they were done with me they all marveled At what they’ve done like, I should appear like that to walk the earth. But they don’t remember how you get used to things when you deal with it every

Carla Nicoyco • 70


day. As a straight woman who looks otherwise, I will, look otherwise. As you can see. And you can love me and I’ll be kind. I can be one thing and another. I say one thing, it could mean another, This many-sidedness of what is spoken, What we say always exceeds what we mean, I can’t be anything but honest and to be honest, I cannot fool you when I try to touch you a little more, wrap my hands around your waist and pull you closer, whisper I-love-you so close to your ear, rest my head to the curve of your shoulder, entangle my right hand to your left and kiss it, letting our lips collapse, there’s none to that. We’ve always hated too much breading and the extinction of meat, all air, less chips, thick bun and no filling, because feelings aren’t supposed to be empty, not customized shirts made to order, and definitely not just compensation. As a woman, I know how to love and to be loved is a house and lot grand prize in a raffle promo.

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Carla Nicoyco • 72


BUKAMBIBIG

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Christian Patricio Christian writes poems in Tumblr under the name of himlayan. He is a BA Communication (major in Journalism, minor in Broadcast Communication) student from University of the Philippines Baguio. He was also the Writer’s Pool Head (20152016) of Tanghalang Bayan ng Kabataan sa Baguio, a Baguio-based theater group.

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Not a Jeepney Love Story Christian Patricio Magtutula sana ako tungkol sa'yo. Kaso baka maging katulad lang ng ‘Jeepney Love Story’ ni Yeng Constantino. Ang kinaibahan lang, hindi tayo ang magkatabi. Katabi mo 'yang mga kaibigan mo, may ngiti ka pa sa labi, o. Syempre hindi na bago sa akin ang ganitong set-up. Magnanakaw ako ng tingin, aamuyin ang nanggaling sayong hangin– na mabango naman. Sa totoo lang, di ko akalain. Dumami ang mga pasahero. Napurnadahan, nagkalayo pa tayo. Buti na lang malapit na ang destinasyon ko. Kaunti na lang, hindi na kikirot pa ang puso. At ayan na. “mama, dyan lang ho sa may kanto.” Paalam, bulong ng labi ko.

Christian Patricio • 74


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Raul M Roco Jr Raul is known as ‘Ponj Roco’ in the art scene. He is a graduate of UP Diliman’s College of Arts and Letters where he majored in Comparative Literature (European). Aside from painting and poetry, he also hobbies on photography. His poetry varies from comedy to a serious touch. He prefers expressing through Abstract Expressionism through the meaning of colors. He’s in tact with Romancing Venus, Bigkas Pilipinas for gigs in poetry performances, and doesn’t have any designated art groups except in group shows, his own drive for passion, and love for these two arts is what creates his own collection of painting poems. He lives in Quezon City.

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You’re my traffic Raul M Roco, Jr You’re my rose that blossoms, I’m your seed that bleeds. I can’t give you a bag full of money or a feast fit for a king but I can give you, sweet honey or lyrics for you’re voice to sing. I may not have chariot waiting for you or a Lamborghini, as yellow as the sun, in this white canvas I can give you heaven, or with a pen, weave you the meaning of fun. I may not have a credit card with me, with accounts from here to Hawai! still, I can spin something for you, When I do, you will wonder why? It’s a world of laughter and tears filled with Hi tech material, a life of tug and war leaves an unsolved riddle, blurring sight and heart, where balance isn’t the middle. Whistling a giddy tune dusky night with a gleaming moon, in tedious traffic, singing a long, as a radio station plays a song. Inside a car, thoughts are afar, my heart’s in a whirl, for this girl a psyche whispers it’s true, I snap my fingers, then it is I, a gift I give to you. With love you shall not worry, With heart you shall not sigh, With wit, you will flurry,

Raul M Roco Jr • 76


look deep into my mischievous eyes. a smirk that is taunting, a touch that is teasing, nice and naughty, surely would be pleasing Hooters! Honkers! put me back on track, Oh…. Reality, its traffic I see, she’s just another billboard ad, smilling down at me. I shrug my shoulders looking around, heed, a voice resounds. Be my rose that blossoms I’m your seed that bleeds. December 17, 2008 / January 9, 2009

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Raul M Roco Jr • 78


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Julianne Marie ‘Jules’ Ruz Jules is a Computer Science student at UP Los Banos, spending her days programming, drinking, eating, doodling, and booze collecting, not necessarily in that order. She is a founding member of the Joint Select Operations Command (JSOC) and a resident member of the UPLB Babaylan. She likes Pale Pilsen, or Red Horse on good days, with two or three menthol Lucky Strikes or a Gudang. She trains Muay Thai when she can while waiting for the abs that she ordered as a child to arrive. In between learning how to be a game developer in the future and saving up for milsim and Airsoft equipment, she finds the time to go home to her mother, four cats, and a dog. She went out of the closet five years ago.

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#678 Jules Ruz What if belonging was a skill? Something like muscle memory Do plants practice putting down roots Or are they born knowing how to? Maybe that's why you and I couldn't be together, because we Never learned how to belong to each other, square pegs in round holes Technically we fit, but we don't make each other whole

#6632 Jules Ruz My suit fits well across these broad shoulders Cocky strut more than enough to assure Anyone that I'm the man of the hour Checking out the girls at the next table Maybe exchange a smile with one of them And we both know damn well what we're thinking When the rest of the world has gone and slept She'll get out of her bra And I'll get out of my briefs And make the switch, a long time trade secret Then when we leave, she'll feel more like himself Cocky strut more than enough to assure Anyone that he's the man of the hour And I'll have her bra, because frankly dear Don't you think it's more my color than hers?

Julianne Marie ‘Jules’ Ruz • 80


BUKAMBIBIG

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Ma Etheline V Sanchez Ethel is a brand strategist on weekdays and a teacher at the University of the Philippines Diliman on weekends. She graduated from St Scholastica’s College Manila with a degree in Marketing, Psychology and Guidance and Counseling under the 5-year LiaCom program. She studied MBA at the Ateneo Graduate School of Business and a certificate course in Social Entrepreneurship from the Wharton School-University of Pennsylvania. When not working, Ethel writes poems, essays, and short stories.

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Basura Ma Etheline V Sanchez NOON "Ang puti mo. Hindi ka Pilipino." "Hindi ka puwedeng maging majorette. Pandak ka." "Wala kang kwentang Class President. 'Di ka marunong manigaw." "Wala kang laban sa sepak takraw. Masyadong mahinhin ang iyong galaw." "Hayaan mong magasgasan at magalusan ka. 'Di maganda ang masyadong makinis." "At kaya ka siguro sakitin, ang mga kinakain mo'y masyadong malinis." "Ang laki ng baon mo, manlibre ka naman!" "Ang kapal ng pad paper mo, mamigay ka naman." "Ayaw mo? Ang damot mo naman!" "Ang tataas ng grado mo. Alien ka." "Puro ka 100. Suwapang ka. Ang damot mo. 'Di ka man lang magpa-kopya!" "Pati sa surprise quiz, handang-handa ka?! Sa bawat proyekto at takda na lang, pasikat ka." "Puro ka aral. Duling ka na, o? Sa kakabasa?!" NGAYON "Hindi ka nanonood ng Game of Thrones? Anong klaseng tao ka?" "'Di ka makasakay sa green jokes? Matanda ka na." "Ang hindi Englisero, hindi maganda ang pinanggalingang kolehiyo." "At ang hindi makasabay sa pagsuot ng uso, malamang probinsiyano."

Ma Etheline V Sanchez • 82


"Yosi break kami, sama ka? Ay, hindi ka nga pala nagyoyosi! Masyado kang pa-goody! O siya, 'di ka kasali. Maiwan ka. May bagong tsismis pa naman sana." "Kung 'di ka gagatong sa pag-aasim namin, hindi ka one of us." "Lagi ka na lang umuuwi ng maaga. Hindi ka one of us." "Ikaw na lang ang 'di pa nalalasing at nagwawalang parang tanga. Hindi ka one of us." "Hangga't hindi ka nagsha-share ng love life, paghihinalaan naming may maitim kang lihim." "Hangga't hindi ka nagpapakita ng kahinaan, hindi ka interesting." BUKAS Sa isang banda'y maaaring tama naman O di kaya'y busilak naman ang intensyong pinanggagalingan. Ngunit 'di maikakaila Ang putang inang mundong walang pakundangan; Ang putang inang mga salita Na dala ng kababawan ng pag-iisip At kulturang mapang-husga Mapagkait Malupit Sa naiiba. Binasag man ang musmos na ako Pinahina, tinakot, nilito Ngayo'y buong-buo Hanggang bukas, maninindigan Sa naiibang ako Ano mang basura Ang lumabas sa bibig ng mundo.

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Ma Etheline V Sanchez • 84


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John Eric V Santos John Eric has been teaching literature and philosophy courses for three years in a private school in Longos, Pulilan, Bulacan. He graduated at Bulacan State University where he finished Bachelor of Secondary Education, major in English in 2013. He is also part of PAPEL (Promote and Publish Excellent Literature). Two of his poems have been part of the first poem anthology of PA`PEL titled Bangkang Papel. As a student, he has attended the 54th National Congress of the Philippine Center of the International PEN at the Cultural Center of the Philippines.

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A Protest to ‘They-Self’ John Eric V Santos Das Gerede Das Nicht Should I or should I not [1] Bother to read stray lips Of nameless men and women, Of familiar faces even? Should I or should I not Count my steps as they Count mine? Perhaps sync them to theirs, That if they go two, I’d go two And if they go three, four, I’d go three, four. Should functions and actions [13] Be parallel plays, Should my I be they And their they be I? Shall I or shall I not [17] Laugh when they do? Must there always be Unison among X and Y And if so, Can I not question such harmony? What to Stirner is Idealized reality. Must my green be As green as yours? Must my eyes Be as clear as yours? If so, Am I—no, we!— Aren’t we merely Receipts rendered with Aligned letters and numbers Symmetrical; neatly laid? But—but I am new—I protest!— So am I not, in a way, a redeployment Of they dressed In avant-garde clothing? Differently homogenous. John Eric V Santos • 86


Should functions and actions [40] Be parallel plays, Should my I be they And their they be I? And resting men in graveyards— [44] Don’t they have such qualities? No deviation; Calm, still, and plain. But I am not dead—not yet! So I must refuse the tomb For the living: Embrace that speech, Embrace such look, Embrace decorum, Embrace A, B, C, and D... Can it be called a subtle blunder To confuse uniformity with unity? And it is an utter shame To misconstrue ‘parallel’ To ‘harmony’. Should everything rhyme to suggest unity? [60] Should I or should I not Be a man as the man they see; What a man appears to be According to the echoes of conformity? And if I choose what a man ought to be For the viewing pleasure of many, By depicting the same Infirmity and idiocy Would this be a slap to individuality, That to be happy, One must settle With the throes of monotony?

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No I in Death John Eric V Santos Nothing of me is original I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known I—the important I— [1] A mere collection of trillions Of cells Countless molecules, Countless atoms. I—the special I— A googol of unliving particles, Built from the mottled Strands of primitive floras And faunas And floras And faunas. I—the problematic I— [13] Measure life Based on the stares And lip movements Of every animated sentient goo Frightened, stiffened, softened To a degree That what is mostly said; That what is mostly acted; Is shit-filled meaningful Like a pre-ordained role, Like an oracle’s kiss. But what is this I’s worth [25] When fragmented memories Fleet just like a receding J ohn or Jane In a zero-point-zero-zero-one history? This I feeds on the illusion Of eternity As if severed leaves Could get to be part

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Of a tree again In another garden. This I— [36] Fuck this I!— Its significance and achievements; Its frustrations and vices. For once this I Exhausts the last air In its lungs, This I Would be nothing more Than maggot food.

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John Eric V Santos • 90


BUKAMBIBIG

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Kenneth John ‘Ken’ P Sarmiento Si Ken ay naninirahan sa lungsod ng Quezon mula pa noong siya’y isinilang at dito sa Pilipinas niya nakita ang iba’t ibang dahilan ng pagsusulat sa mga taon na siya’y narito sa mundo. Siya’y dating mag-aaral sa Politeknikong Unibersidad ng Pilipinas at kumuha ng kursong Pilosopiya. Sa ngayon ay isa siyang spoken word artist at sumasali sa iba’t ibang open mic kung may pagkakataon upang ibigkas ang mga tulang dating naisulat niya na sa kwaderno. Naging miyembro siya ng Kataga-QC.

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Solvent Kenneth John P Sarmiento Naghahabulang mga tinig Sa gitna ng ingay ng siyudad Pag-asa kong inanod at naging Biktima ng kalamidad Dulot sa aki’y lumagpak na pangarap Hinihilang papalapit ang singaw Ng kaunting sarap Sa paglambitin ng puso kong ligaw Tanging nais ay ginhawa sa araw-araw Itinitibok ko sanang lapis at kwaderno Pilit itinatago sa bakal na kamay ng impyerno Ako’y bulungan mo ng paanyaya Minsan ko na ring itinatak sa aking dungis Ang paraisong nais kong makita Mga kulay ng kasiyahan ko’y itim at puti Sapagkat lagi kong dinig ang boses ng luhang Binubura ang ngiti sa aking mga labi Nais kong itulak ang oras at ilayo ito sa ngayon Nang sa sandali lamang ay iligtas ako ng pag-ahon Babagtasin kong masukal na gubat ng aking kamusmusan Siya ring paraan upang makamit ang premyo ng kinabukasan Sa mapagbirong kasalukuyan.

Kenneth John ‘Ken’ P Sarmiento • 92


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Roda L Tajon Si Roda ay kasalukuyang nakabase sa Eastern Samar para sa isang proyekto na pinangungunahan ng Center for Disaster Preparedness (CDP). Dati siyang manunulat sa Northern Dispatch Weekly at para sa mga people’s organizations sa rehiyon ng Ilocos bago siya lumipat sa kalakhang Maynila at pumasok sa CDP.

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Babae rin ako Roda L Tajon Nakakulong ako sa lipunang ganda ang batayan upang matawag na tunay. Kailangang ihantad ang katawan sa entablado, lansangan at kompyuter Magpagawa ng malusog na suso matambok na puwet humubog ng perpektong hugis at mala-sutlang kutis salamat sa pildoras at iniksyon tiyak na ang pagiging ganap! Nakakarsel ako sa pag-asang mahalin ng isang lalaki puti, pula, itim, kayumanggi palayain sa kumunoy ng pag-iisa’t kalungkutan hindi ba’t pangarap ng bawat babaeng makahanap ng prinsipeng magsasalba sa kanya? Nakabartolina ako sa gawaing tanging para sa mga tulad ko: Magpatawa, magpaganda, magpaligaya kulayan ang itim ng puti at bahaghari sumayaw sa abuhan malublob sa kubeta mangudngod sa putikan lumamon ng ningas! Babae akong nananatiling nakapiit. Pagkat ayon sa pamantayan ang tunay na babae’y may sinapupunan. May puki may regla. Nagbubuntis. Ito’y tadhana ng bawat babae kailanma’y hindi maaring takasan isang sumpa ang kakulangan isang malaking kahibangan

Roda L Tajon • 94


ang mapanggap, umasa o mangarap! Ngunit babae rin ako. Sa isip. Sa puso. Sa damdamin. Hindi maipagkakailang katulad ng mga kabaro, tampulan ng pagnanasa nakalugmok sa pagdaralita at tagapag-anyaya ng dahas. nakatali sa tanikala! Sapagkat babae rin ako dama ang walang-patid na pang-aapi at pagsasamantala kaya kasama rin sa paghamon sa pagggapi, sa paglaban, sa pagbangon ng isang bayang kikilala sa akin bilang isang ganap na Babae.

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Roda L Tajon • 96


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Rapunzel O Tomacder Rapunzel graduated from the University of the Philippines Diliman with a Bachelor of Arts in Comparative Literature degree. Her works have appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer (creative non-fiction), Kritika Kultura (poetry), JapanTravel. com (photo essay), The International Academic Forum (language research), and Philippine Speculative Fiction X (fiction). She loves anything that has to do with words, literature, and language alike. She taught English courses at the University of the Philippines Diliman and is now teaching English to university students and entrepreneurs in Japan.

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Gaijin (a foreigner in Japan) Rapunzel O Tomacder Foreign. Outsider. Alien. A different face in a sea of black suits, white shirts, neck ties, and leather suitcases. What have I got myself into? Steps. Strides. Stairs. Rise onto the platform where the train doesn’t wait. Get on. Get off. Two different stations. Two different names. Same line. Same face. Everyday for the rest of our natural lives. Windy day. Gray skies. The world under an Orwellian spotlight. Time stops. Time moves. Time flies. Bodies falling in line, down the line, into the Chuo Line, life snuffed out. Splat. Like the windshield and just another common summer fly. Salaryman on my left looks at his Rolex, shakes his head, clicks his tongue. Made-up lady on my right checks her compact, readjusts her hair, every floral pin, still pretty, pretty, pretty.

Rapunzel O Tomacder • 98


I dig into my foreign heart, claw into my foreign body. Why am I bothered that everyone else isn’t? 120 million minus one tonight, everybody’s tired every body gets tired Straight face. Different face. Indifferent face. Similar face. Why does it have to be my train tonight? I’m late.

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Atashi (I) Rapunzel O Tomacder I am fragile with you I am every broken bone, every sakura petal in the wind every snowflake in your palm. I am a fragment of you I am a lost puzzle piece, a shard of glass, a tear, a thread in the fabric of your holographic memory I am a shrapnel in the flesh, a bullet on the ground, an arrow through the air I am the memento at the bottom of your box, the last coin in your purse, the man hanging from the tree I am just a head, a smile, sometimes a careful ear, and a friendly shoulder, a duelling arm and a writing hand, long legs, fleshy thighs, and warm breasts, often a kind word, and always a giving heart But really I am not somebody to you, I am everybody, anybody, nobody, just some body

Rapunzel O Tomacder • 100


BUKAMBIBIG

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Melecio F Turao Melecio is the author of two books: A Few Inflammables: Poems 1993-2009 (Central Books, 2014) and The Interior of Sleep: House Stories (Kasingkasing Press, 2015). He was a fellow at the 2016 UP National Writers Workshop. He writes from Iloilo and is working on a second book of poems.

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Iloilo Melecio F Turao His family is a familiar face in the church. Slightly schooled in the Gospel, they make up half of what we call Couple for Christ’s sake. The rest is a merry mix of poseurs and chronic debtors. It goes as piously far as him teaching catechism at the public grade school, the family hosting afternoon Bible study hours over beer and coconut wine on lean days. Then a ball grows inside of him. It doesn’t have anything to do with sports nor with fun and mixed drinks on the beach. He conceives what I and his neighbors fear: It’s his father and sister’s secret rising to the surface.

To Sharon, The Village Idiot Melecio F Turao At thirty-two you are the bitch in heat And the church where you live is no help at all. Not least the stiff and bearded saints who look in lust at you at all angles. They don’t move but seem to sweat underneath their robes. On the night you wake up wet, one of them climbs down To touch where you smell and singe. Another parts your legs while one makes you confess the sins of the tongue, back and forth, over and over. Foundling and bag woman, you are blessed to love the unlovable, and for taking it all in: Head, depth, sweat, pain, and ooohhh. Holy man! Holy hole! Holy humph!

Melecio F Turao • 102


To My Penis Melecio F Turao You’re called by many names, but I have none for you. You could be no one and everyone with panties on in the grip of my hand. The force I choke you with is man, the thought that drives you wild is woman. Your head rules my sense of direction: I thrust back and forth and grind a bit on humid days. These are hard times for you, though girls far outnumber boys, I’m told. But girls are saving their fannies for the next right man who comes along and they can keep themselves plugged in anyway; while you grow hard and put a lump in my crotch and throat to announce your presence. Who’s to say you’re there? Women go about flicking their hair, checking their cleavage , weighing in their buns. You’re as good as the next teen vampire publicity poster. Man, your radar reads nothing of hunger, pain, and love. Scented sheets, warm bath, and wet lips are your altar. You’re just a laying liar, lying layer. That’s the long and short of it.

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Joshua Rei N Ubaldo Joshua Rei holds a degree in Mass Communications and currently works as a Communications Development Officer for DENR. He spends his days trying to save the world, one word at a time. He is affiliated with the Monday Poets of Mt Cloud in Baguio City, as well as Patlang of San Fernando, Pampanga. When not writing or taking photos, he does Judo and Brazilian Jiu-jitsu. He is a Jedi and a Samurai at heart.

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Insequent Joshua Rei N Ubaldo Mark us insequent Out of sync with Time and space, Pretending to be Part of the Long-rejected human race Who, in the dead of night and dawn, slept soundly as knives stabbed into children in and out, Metal pistons glistening red Under the light of the Blue moon. Cries unheard through Cardboard walls, Shudders and gyrations Unseen through translucent doors Riddled with holes. Mark us insequent Us who, fall in and out Of love Like matches Igniting and burning out with every scratch And who, scratching every itch, Connect with wired and wireless media, playing with words and toying with emotions for more emotionless fucking and mental masturbation.

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Mark me insequent for I stand still in my quest for emptiness Emptying pen after pen into paper, Rubbing tip on coarse skin, Scratching, Scratching, Scratching, As the liquid flows and Spurts brain-farts onto page Poetry, my Ars Mark me insequent As I abandon rhyme and prose and Venture into Rage and emotion. I refuse to stand by As pig-headed bullies Bump into people deliberately, Then pretend to be victimized Until the day they truly are victimized By gun or a knife in the night Mark me insequent As I watch disconnect after disconnect grow Widening, Then tightening Like a migraine Throbbing With the strobe lights Flashing On the dance floor as the DJ Drops The Bass

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Mark me insequent, Unparticipative, As social media turns people less sociable Chatting but never really talking Anymore As the coffeehouse debate dies And keyboard warriors Slay trolls by the Blue hypnotic light of a screen Trapped, but Claiming freedom. Mark me insequent, Brain-raped so frequently By blood-splattered pages Shared on newsfeeds That I read About murdered children with Disconnect and coldness Mark me insequent as I reclaim my place in the long-rejected Human race with a Howl And a Scream On paper

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Melrein John Viado Melrein obtained his BS Development Communication, major in Development Journalism degree last March from Xavier University-Ateneo de Cagayan and is currently working as a freelance writer. He was a fellow for poetry during the second leg of the 1st Cagayan de Oro Writers Workshop and since then, has been more determined than ever to hone his skills as a poet. He is a member of NAGMAC (Nagkahiusang Magsusulat sa Cagayan de Oro) where he is one of the junior fellows for poetry. Aside from writing, he is also the creative director and founding member of The Concept, a university-based dance team.

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Pagpukaw Melrein John Viado Isang araw, Magigising ka na lang nang maayos. Mahinahong nakahimalay Sa gitna ng mga along Iniwan mong mamuo magdamag sa ‘yong kama. Ang unan mo: tuyo. Walang kahit anumang bakas na pagkamuhi mo Sa lamig ng gabi, Sa katahimikan ng dilim, O sa hindi pagiging patas ng mundo. Mamamangha ka. Mas gugustuhin mong ubusin Ang kapen iniinom mo Kaysa sa mga saloobin niyang Iniwang nakabuklat sa Twitter. Susubukan mong hanapin ang pait Na dating nakakabit Sa dalawang nabanggit Kaso wala kang makikita. Bagkus, matatagpuan mo Ang sarili mong abala sa kakahanap Ng ibang bigat na pwedeng dalhin, Ibang patalim Na pwedeng ipangtarak sa dibdib, Ibang sakit ng ulo, Ibang kirot na dulot ng pagsablay Kasi sa totoo lang talaga, Hindi ka pa sanay. Hindi ka sanay mamulat Nang banayad Na buong pagsukong nakayakap Sa katotohanang hindi na ang cellphone mo Ang napiling pantalan Ng mga mensahe niyang naglayag pa sa kalawakan

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Para lang ipaalam sa’yo Na ikaw at tanging ikaw lamang Ang s’yang laman ng kanyang isipan Bago pa man nagpalunod sa liwanag ng araw ang buwan. Hindi ka sanay. Hindi ka sanay bumangon Nang hindi dahil sa kanya Kundi para naman sa’yo Hindi para isisi o iasa na naman sa kanya Ang dahilan ng pakiramdam Na kulang ang gabing nagdaan At ang pagkakumpleto Ng araw mo ngayon, o ng kinabukasan. Hindi ka sanay. Hindi ka sanay mapahikab O kahit mapabuntonghininga Na walang nararamdamang hapdi Nang hindi nayayanig ang mga bakanteng loteng Nasasakupan ng iyong tiyan Na siyang dating tinitirhan Ng mga paruparong bigla na lang nagsulputan No’ng unang beses ka niyang nginitian. Kaya naman ngayon, Kahit ayos na ang lahat, Kahit namahinga ka man nang sapat, Tila ‘di ka makahanap ng direksyon. Matatagpuan mo ang sarili mong Nag-iisa, naliligaw, Giniginaw; Na tila nakaligtaang Hindi sa paglisan natatapos ang pananatili At iba ang paglayo sa pagbitaw

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Janielle DLR Villamera Janielle lives in Las Piñas City and is currently an AB Literature freshman at the University of Santo Tomas. A member of the Thomasian Writers’ Guild, she has attended several workshops including Haraya Manawari: 2nd Creative Writing Workshop (UST Literary Society) and the 3rd Thomasian Undergraduate Writers Workshop (UST Center for Creative Writing and Literary Studies).

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Mirror, Mirror Janielle DLR Villamera Mirror, mirror, a manifestation of deception Wanting to see genuine perfection. Make-up shall plaster what’s defective. However, a feign smile is better and inexpensive. Dress me up in black and white, Am I really a breathtaking sight? Now don’t complain, just nod your head. This place has had too much of the trend. Mirror, mirror, I see naught but sheer reflections. But who’s to whine and inquire for interpretations? Different eyes will see the same thing. But different words shall they sing.

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Vince Dioquino Vince works as a freelance writer. A fellow for poetry at the 2016 UP National Writers Workshop, he has independently published three works of poetry as chapbooks: nameless horizons, a lyric collection; tenderness, a mobile app-based epic; and kara krus, a visual sestina rendered from audio material in Filipino. His earlier works have appeared in the Philippines Free Press, Paper Monster Press, Buklod, Montage, Dapitan, Electronic Monsoon Magazine, as well as various underground zines and collaborations. A dropout from Asia’s oldest university, he continues to write theory and criticism as an independent researcher, with particular interest in continental philosophy and radical politics. He loves tokwa’t-baboy and cheap beer.

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Inaugural Text Vince Dioquinio [speech] comes to tear itself toward that which, or the one who, can no longer receive it; it rushes toward the impossible — Jacques Derrida, The Work of Mourning [poem processed from digitally transcoded audio of Rodrigo Duterte’s inaugural speech] Sedan. Fidel around most. Sarah. Selamat books for Paloma. Making the president. President Joseph is that it will use that idea. Senate president Franklin Drilon and the members of the Senate. We're good villains Beverly Schuch Nobel Monday and the members of the house above percent that thieves. Yes this money load etcetera and I know. I'm not stupid justices of the Supreme Court. He said Excellency disagreement or the members of the diplomatic corps. Incoming members of the cabinet. Fellow workers and government. My fellow countrymen. No leader however is thrown. Gunn succeed at anything. Of national importance. Or significance. Unless he has this report. And global ratio one of the people or. He starts school need. Unsortable. Sir. It is a bit more from home democratic governments does tend. And this administration he's not accept. That is right. We have to listen. The murmuring of the people. Fidel Hollis. Right that needs and forget why did fate. And the US. In us home be elected to public office. There are many amongst us. What runs the assessment but the problem is that the devil I've done did today. Which need to be addressed with urgency. Are. Gore Upjohn. Both in the high and low echelons of government. Criminality industries. Under a row by and see. Or if illegal drugs in all strata of Philippine society. And the breakdown of law and order. Through. But not absolutely so. For a city these unions. Another symptoms Vaterland social disease. That grapes. I've got in but the moral fiber of Philippine society. I sense a problem. Deeper. I'm more serious than any of those menu one or all of them book together. But of course. It is not to say that we will ignore him. Because they have to. But a means. By all means. But the law allows. There are shown over fate and that I was in government. That is that a real problem. That confronts us. So being that from. I sit here shown to people's thoughts. Been there done that this leaders. No notion of faith in our judicial system. The erosion of confidence in the capacity of our public servants. Don't make the big boys who lives. But there. Save them and build via. In. And here are. Ours is a problem but dumb been the human spirit. But all is not lost. I know that there are those who do not approve of mine methods of fight thing criminality. St then you also believe that Dobbs I don't look up soon. To say that my methods are on Aug adopts. And murders under your legal. In response. Let me say this. I am saying no blood up here and let the government funds. Which are a little bit better. What do you lose in uplifting to pull. Forgive my of the V. out in. I have seen no if you got that out to destroy NTV doors. Andrew in family relations. I have seen no criminality. By means all fall. It's not just from the innocent and the and the suspect being. They years and years of accumulated savings. You notice of bone and then suddenly. They are Bob. The where they stopped. Look at this from that perspective. And tell me. But

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I am a girl. In this fight I ask Congress. Under the measure W. one writes unknown authors who are similarly situated. 2:00 hours. 11 a liver nuns that is going to Houston balata Monday. The fight. Well built endless on it will be sustained. As a lawyer under flood my critique your daughter. I know the limits a bit while out on a thought it be all for the president. I know what is legal and what is not. Might I add headings. Did you will process. Under rule over all these uncompromising. You mind your. And I wouldn't mind mine. Let us a bit. They're laying up a bubble. We need a night. Uncle Simon. Lizardo odes to its but the bullet did made but the presidency. So all guns. What conceptualize. Not too will be sold purpose of securing devotes. The electorate. The look on my on the blue line mope the name and the moans item will be item no. Far from.. This year but that guys are to begin David Bowie me. NBA have about people or. I mean goody would do you know in and meaningful chains. That changes. If it is to be a better moment than significant. Must start. With us. And in our. What are the language of AB unit was a. We have become our own worst enemies. And we must have the courage. And bill will. Chains observes. Love of country. Subordinate you're no better signal interests. The difficult one good. Concern and care for D. L. less and the impoverished. These are among the lowest and faded volley of. W. seek boutique over and revitalize our street clemenza donate the wires. Bet.Philippines. The ride. Would be enough. But come on join me. Just the same. Then there. Shoulder to shoulder. Did the state new first wobbly steps. In these quests. There are public donations from a very vigorous. That I serve as the foundation upon which. This administration. Shelby been. Best of government. It's not the red then we add more to be a button guns. Overdose love much. It this word that we provide for those ovum lit. Phase. I'm from England they'd notice in this but. You'll go nuts then it then though week by weakening is strong. You could not help the poor by discouraging that each. You'll go not terrible doings and notably pulling down the waves failure. You got not far better but not the food. By inciting class hatred. Among men. Michael now bit unfair dies out political bodices unplugged thing in those quotations. The launch in general terms. Reading between the lines. I need that got the specifics now. They shall be supplied to you in jewel dying. However out of. That are set. Says on specifics. Which got up there. Wait for tomorrow to be announce. Data for. Are you done right or do apartment set good buddies. And the heads of agencies will read yours requirements under practicing by an oval or obligations. From the 7 Michelle. Tony leans. I applaud their own departments separate bodies and heads of agencies. Boating Merle what he done that requirements. And got lawyers did one department or agency shall be accepted a sufficient for all. I or data all that but Ben said with batteries and heads of agencies. But if what I am from changing and bending the rules about vitamin one. Then some shots and projects already approved. And awaiting implementation. Yeah. The loyalists win the game use on bowling. Use or all. I abhorrent sick receipt. And instead admirably transparency. In all but one man one that out. Najaf and businessmen Feb Jones. From sub bichon Oprah both sides. The negotiation on the perfection and finally dole wench emission. Know them. And we will work together. Do not know them. We were fired Saddam. Then let that. One day ago National Front and community ovation owns. Let me reiterate that but in public of different opinions we all know that it based on and they're not you know obligations. On the domestic front. My administration is committed to employment or to sign the peace agreements instead but constitutional and he got a. Reforms. I am elated by the expression of unity. I'm all our model brothers and 117 •

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leaders. Under this months of everyone else. To make smaller. For peace. I look forward. But the but this invasion of one other stakeholders. But big blurry of indigenous peoples. Then children inclusivity in the peace process. Let me remind. In the end. Of gestalt. The guy walks. Elected to the presidency. Serve. Diet and. I was not elected to serve. The interest of Amy put us on. Order a neat little. Or a new one class. Are you Sir everyone. And not only one. And that is why I have adopted as an out of the good of fate. The following lines so it in by someone host name. I would no longer be called. He said. I have no friends. Sir. I have no enemies. Please send email better volume I know I ask everyone I mean everyone. Join me as we embark on this crusade voted bet that a. And right there. D'amato. But before and let me express. The nation's be helpful but people are bundled insisted the. Republic of Turkey what us up and and. We offer our deepest condolences. Why am I here. And at the salad bar. A. The bus then slice the NBA because I love my country and I love the people of defeat. I am here white. Because I am ready to start. My water for the nation. Thank you bundled up and. Resources: audio: www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Dx4SiyERVg conversion: cloudconvert.com/mp3-to-wav transcoding: speech-to-text-demo.mybluemix.net click here to listen: soundcloud.com/vincedioquino/inaugural-text

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John Levi Masuli Si John Levi ay isang manunulat at propesyunal na musikero na kasalukuyang naninirahan sa Baguio City. Siya ay nag-aral ng Wika at Panitikan sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas Baguio. Siya ay bahagi ng kolektibong Pedantic Pedestrians.

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Ice Tubig John Levi Masuli Author’s note: Ang talaan sa ibaba ay notasyon ng eksperimental na piyesang “Ice Tubig.” Ang piyesa ay dapat na itanghal ng apat na tagabigkas (A,B, C, at D). Mahalagang magkasabay-sabay ang mga boses na dapat ay magkasabay. Maaring itanghal ang piyesa nang may tagakumpas o nang may metronome, ngunit maaari ring wala. Malaya ang mga tagabigkas na kolektibong mag-usap upang baguhin ang piyesa ayon sa interpretasyon. Maari ring bigyang puwang ang improbisasyon, ayon sa napagkasunduan. Ang piyesang ito ay interesado sa awral na dimensiyon ng bigkasang panulaan. Sinusubok nitong tahiin ang ‘spoken word’ sa lokal na anyo ng panulaan na sabayang bigkas. Tagabigkas A 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Kulang

Tagabigkas B Tagabigkas C Unang Bahagi

Tagabigkas D

Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Lango Lango Lango Lango

Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Lango

Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Lango

Kulang

Kulang Lango Lango Lango Lango Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang Kulang

Lango

Lango

Kulang

Kulang Lango

Ice Tubig

Kulang

Kulang Lango

Ice Tubig

Kulang

Kulang Kulang

Ice Tubig

Lango

Lango Kulang

Ice Tubig

Lango

Lango Ice Scramble

Kulang

Lango

Lango Ice Scramble

Kulang

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31 32 34 35 36 37 38 1

2

3

4

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

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Lango Lango Lango Ice Scramble Ice Scramble Ice Scramble

Minekaniko ni Moniko and Makina ng Manika ni Monica Masakit ang mawalan

Minekaniko ni Moniko ang Makina ng Manika ni Monica Masakit ang mawalan.

Ice Scramble Ice Scramble Ice Scramble Ice Scramble Ice Scramble

Pangalawang Bahagi Masakit ang Minsan, may mawalan. isang dapithapon, ang mga tao ay nagkulumpon Minekaniko ni Atensiyon ay Moniko and nakatuon sa Makina ng Man- isang ibong ika ni Monica naipit sa kable ng kuryente Masakit ang Maaalala mong mawalan. nabasa mo kahapon na lumuluha ang mga ibon Minekaniko ni Malulunod ang Moniko ang ibon sa kahel ng Makina ng Man- dapithapon ika ni Monica Pangatlong Bahagi Dila Dila Dila Minsan Tila Dila Dila Dila Ibon Tila Dila Dila Dila Malulunod Tila Dila Dila Dila Manika Tila Dila Dila

Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma

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Lango Lango Ice Scramble Ice Scramble Ice Scramble Ice Scrable Ice Tubig! Mayaman ang Pilipinas pero naghihirap ang sambayanang Pilipino Mayaman ang Pilipinas pero naghihirap ang sambayanang Pilipino Mayaman ang Pilipinas pero naghihirap ang sambayanang Pilipino Mayaman ang Pilipinas pero naghihirap ang sambayanang Pilipino Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang


19 20 21 22 23 24

Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma

Masakit

Pero

Dila Tila Dila Dila Dila Tila Dila Dila Ice Tubig!

Kulang Hinang Kulag Hinang Kulang Hinang Kulang Hinang

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GENERAL EDITOR Alton Melvar M Dapanas’ poems, nonfiction memoirs, travel narratives, and critical essays in English and in Binisaya are published or are forthcoming in local and international literary publications such as the Philippines Graphic, Manila Bulletin’s Bisaya Magasin, Dagmay Literary Journal, Kabisdak Cebuano Literary Lighthouse, We Are A Website, Eastlit, small po[r]tions, SAND, In-Flight, Into the Void, Open Road Review, Kitaab Asia, Prisma– Zeitblatt für Text & Sprache, Alien Mouth, and Bateau Ivre Journal of Performance, Literature, and Art. A product of a national writers’ workshop, he is also affiliated with Bathalad Mindanao and the Asia Pacific Writers and Translators. His poem Your Geography of Men has been shortlisted for an international poetry prize for young LGBT writers and translated to French. Some of his recent works will also be anthologized in Sakayang Papel: Anthology of Bisaya Poetry, Lagusnilad: Antolohiya ng mga Akdang Maynila, and in a creative writing textbook project developed by the University of San Carlos Press. Over a Cup of Coffee, a bi-annual forum with regional poets, essayists, fictionists, and playwrights, is his brainchild. He is the operations director and a senior fellow for poetry and essay of the Nagkahiusang Magsusulat sa Cagayan de Oro (NAGMAC), a young artists collective of new-wave writers from Northern Mindanao.

CONSULTANTS Mark Anthony S Angeles, or Mark Angeles, was declared this year’s Makata ng Taon by the Komisyon sa Wikang Filipino (KWF). He was writer-in-residence at the University of Iowa’s International Writing Program in 2013. He is a two-time Palanca awardee for Tula category (2010 and 2013) and two-time Mananaysay ng Taon (2013 and 2015). He was a product of the 2006 Iligan National Writers’ Workshop, the 2006 IYAS National Writers’ Workshop, the 2014 Kritika National Workshop on Art and Criticism, and the 53rd UP National Writers Workshop. He served as panelist at the Pamiyabe 15: Central Luzon Creative Writing Workshop and the 2015 Palihang Rogelio Sicat. He has authored children’s books, poetry collections, and edited a fiction anthology. He is also a columnist of Pinoy Weekly, the literary editor of bulatlat.com, and features contributor of GMA News Online. Currently, he studies MA in Malikhaing Pagsulat at the University of Philippines Diliman and teaches Filipino and Literature courses at a senior high school.

Victor Emmanuel Daelo Carmelo Nadera Jr, or Vim Nadera, taught performance poetry at the Department of English and Comparative Literature of the University of the Philippines Diliman. He was able to form groups like Gatula (1996), Oratura (1997), Toki (1997), Cofradia (1998), L (1998), amorphous mass (1999), and others known for promoting orature until 2006. The most popular among them was The Batutes, noted and notorious for deconstructing Balagtasan. In 2003, he became the Lakandiwa of the Balagtasan team called MTV—for Mike (Coroza), Teo (Antonio), and Vim (Nadera)—who has performed here and abroad like the Bowery Poetry Club in New York; the Union City Hall in Union City; San Francisco Library in California; and The Gallery Hotel in Singapore, among others. In 2008, the National Book Development Board (NBDB) hired Vim to serve as coach to celebrity readers such as Christine Bersola-Babao, Lyn Ching, Chinchin Gutierrez, Edu Manzano, Miriam Quiambao, Rhea Santos, et al., for their poetry recording for its project Tulaan sa Tren, which you can still hear while riding LRT and MRT. On 12 June 1998, through the partnership of the National Centennial Commission (NCCA) and Unyon ng mga Manunulat sa Pilipinas (UMPIL), he had the chance to direct, produce, and perform in his biggest and best performance literature project ever: the literary gathering entitled (KA)LAKARAN: Sentenaryo ng mga Makata ng Bayan wherein the performance poets played the role of their favorite Filipino heroes. In their costumes and makeups, they introduced their heroism to the shoppers at the Glorietta for almost an entire day highlighted by a poetry reading in the middle of the said mall in the heart of Makati. He, too, is a performance artist who represented the Philippines in art festivals in Malaysia (2000 and 2001), Taiwan (2001, 2006, and 2007), Singapore (2002 and 2008), Thailand (2006 and 2012), Japan (2010), United States (2011), Germany (2013), and South Korea (2013). As an actor, he was a delegate to the 27th Tokyo International Film Festival as the Godfather in Khavn de la Cruz’s indie film Ruined Hearts. Vim was chosen as the Festival Director of the first Performatura: Performing Literatures on 6,7, and 8 November 2015 at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. On secondment, he is serving the Philippine High School for the Arts as its Director IV.


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We’d like to thank the following people for their unending support and dedication to making this folio a reality. To the godfathers of literatures in the local languages, Edgar S. Godin of Manila Bulletin’s Bisaya Magasin, Jerry B. Gracio of Komisyon ng Wikang Filipino, and Santiago Villafania of the Pangasinan Historical and Cultural Commission for their support; recognized poets and the consultants of future issues in the first volume: Dr. Charlie S. Veric of Ateneo de Manila University, Rina G. Chua of the University of Santo Tomas, and Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon of Monash University; our foremost consultants, sir Mark Angeles and Dr. Vim Nadera. We would also like to thank Vladimeir Gonzalez and Om Velasco of Philippine Literature Portal (panitikan.com.ph) and UP Likhaan Institute of Creative Writing; Jose Ardivilla of UP College of Fine Arts and Inez De Leon of Ateneo de Manila University Department of Communications. We would furthermore like to recognize our editors for the local languages: Mark Anthony B. Austria (Editor for Pangasinan), Roy V. Aragon (Editor for Ilokano), Jason Chancoco (Editor for Bikol), Jesus C. Insilada (Editor for Ilonggo), Joel Donato C. Jacob (Editor for Tagalog), and April Mae Berza (Editor for English). We would also like to recognize the efforts of certain members of our team, who contributed to our work in gaining momentum: Valene Lagunzad, Ivan Mella, Robert Pulgo, Earle Gregorio, Lahrina Castillo, Reneil Sandaan, Trina Tuquib, Yzabel de Mesa, Allyana Deveza, Cara Mags, Jana De La Pena, Jelo Narag, Martin Tongol, and Rica Lopez. We would also like to thank Charisse Aganinta of DAYO Creative Solutions (dayoplayground.com) for her tireless work on helping construct our official logo, and for the following literary groups and institutions for working with us in forwarding the goals of literature in the Philippines: Pugad Adarna Network, Hiruhimangraw Journal of Waray Literature, Ateneo de Naga University Department of Language and Literature Studies, Nagkahiusang Magsusulat sa Cagayan de Oro, Drunken Poetry Night, White Wall Poetry, Spoken Word Poetry PH, ALAB, The Loudmouth Collective, Mark Ghosn of Ampalaya Monologues, and the Center for Creative Writing of the Polytechnic University of the Philippines. This folio would not have been possible without all of you. With love and gratitude, the Bukambibig team.