Lost - Imagine Nation (Literary Folio) 2013

imagine

nation vol. 104 no.1

Imagine Nation is the official literary folio of the Central Echo.

All rights reserved. Copyright reverts to the respective authors and artists whose works appear in this issue. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publisher’s written permission.

Rhick Lars T. Albay Literary Editor Daniel Fern L. Tinagan Digital Artist Jessrell G. Gavan Illustrator Chalcedon S. SaĂąor Photographer Printed in Iloilo City, Philippines

by Makinaugalingon Printer and Bookbinder

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EQUULES

URSA MAJOR

Table of Contents Poetry 2

Anglerfish Spheres

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Alvin Tung Death's False Hope

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Maps Reyes A Journey Towards God's Home

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Joniemar Calderon Narra

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Airon Buenvenida Gindilian

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Russel Jude Pati単a Sa Pagtika sang Lampirong

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Lalaine Joy Bacalangco Blur

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Lyndon-Erl Beup Muta

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Rebel Rebel Sorrow

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Daniel Tinagan Afterglow

LIBRA

PEGASUS

CASSIOPEIA

ANTARES

SCORPIUS

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HERCULES

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Daniel Tinagan Tlka'gar

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Jayson Macabuhay Pangitain

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Zchiara Pati単o Lost in a Fairy Tale

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Bettina Perez Rolling the Dice

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Hedwig Turbulence

CORONA BOREALIS

DRACO

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Maps Reyes Libingan ng Pangako

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Russel Jude Pati単a Random Tendencies

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Dazen Dawn Lariza Mis(s)fortune's Fool

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Eula Louise Canata Lost and Found

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Mark Louie Villa Liwayway

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Ram Paulo Anayan A Lamp to Guide My Fellow Men

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Joniemar Calderon Faithful Submission

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Mark Louie Villa Under the Tree

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SAGITTARIUS

BOOTES

ARCTURUS

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DENEB

Essays CYGNUS

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Russel Jude Pati単a Closets are for Clothes

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Ron Adrian Dionaldo A Pointless Essay

29

Rhick Lars Albay On the Recurrence of Circles

Short Stories 35

Zchiara Pati単o Drive

37

Micaela Allen Garcia Aliping Kubli

40

Daniel Tinagan A Stranger Brew

43

Joniemar Calderon Longganisa

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Russel Jude Pati単a Nang Matutong Lumipad si Jr.

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Reyshimar Arguelles The Cubicle

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Dazen Dawn Lariza Origami Hearts

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Ron Adrian Dionaldo The Compass

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Twitterati

PISCES

SERPENS OPHIUCHUS

URSA MINOR

DELPHINUS

SERPENS

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Prologue Where do the things we lose end up? Our old toys, loose change, half-used ballpens. The bruises from our first fall, the memories we’ve repressed, our childhood friends whose names and faces we’ve forgotten.

Poems and stories that have never made it unto paper. The people who’ve left and never returned.

I imagine a place where all of the things we’ve lost have gathered; where we can go through piles of clothes that no longer fit us, pages of journals we’ve once burned, forgotten memories seen from the eyes of our three year-old selves; and find something that will retell to us a moment that truly spun our lives around, or answer a question we’ve long harbored, or reveal something we’ve tried to bury in us for such a long time.

May it be a faded photograph, shards of a long-lost experience, the echo of a familiar voice; we’ll spin it around our fingers, hold it in our palms, and feel its weight, never wanting let it go, never wanting to lose it again. Maybe a small voice inside us will even surface, saying “This is where I belong. In the place where everything that has been taken from me, everything that has just slipped away, can be found, I will stay. I feel complete here.”

Rhick Lars Albay

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Spheres Anglerfish

A sheet of white light surrounds me, Its intensity pulsating brighter and brighter Like vivid eyes that blink and open Amidst a thousand spheres All radiating to an unheard heartbeat I walk then start to run Reaching out my hands, Trying to grasp them all in my arms Only to see them burst Into shards of broken bottles and tiny sparks of fading color Dying as they reach the ground The lulling sound, The rays that shone, But how soon the lights were gone.

Death's False Hope Alvin Tung

Vines of tubes creep around his arms Delivering the atomic ounces of his residual life As fear flocks the already swarming room The gloomy alleys whisper thunders of scourge Overshadowing the powers of the white gowns.

His weakened body scorches, shivering His eyes deluge his face with an eternal sea Out the sky’s boundless dark blanket, he cries a ridiculous plead Her embrace to mask his ominous and tortuous fate The drumbeats emanating from their chest compose deafening roars.

The bloody rapids rush through his every portal Reflections of long rusted hope that barely radiate Pretentiously cloak the faces he recognized Shadowing death, courage, and God’s promise Lies are the dilapidating relics of his comfort.

With the pulverizing torment the drumbeats stopped Men with holy wings fetched the lost soul And the familiar faces wail with their concealed wounds The time bomb of their silenced fears howled a clamorous burst Echoing through the heavens and through his cozened yet consoled spirit.

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A Journey Towards God's Home Maps Reyes

Every cockcrow stings her with an eternal dejavu: A moss-covered dwelling that flawlessly compose an entirely foreign painting.

Her consciousness had gone astray in the infinity of the glistering stones of the dark sky; She remains trapped within the narrow maze of her innocence, wandering Searching for home that never even sailed off her feet.

Shadows with minute familiarity brought her bread and water Chained by her insecurity from the vagueness of the strangers’ voices, she shrieked.

Her eyes drifted from certainty towards the troubled waves of her thoughts; Her own blood she could not recognize, her own image she could not discern; Where is her comb? It vanished along with her memory and reminiscence.

Her mind is cloaked by the rust of age and slow-wittedness, But for a moment her lifeless perception awakened from the grave, yet again Her tongue uttered words beyond my understanding.

Verses like javelin that pierced the hearts of multitudes in her youth.

The weak, the dying, the poor, the rich and the sinners.

Who is her son? Her grandchild? Her brain had rotten in its grave!

Who is Abraham? Isaac? Her God and her Savior?

She preaches the scriptures as if the clock reversed its rotation with her sanity intact Her heart, mind, and soul are vigorously alive in the Lord.

She perceives nothing but the evil days’ darkness, But she knows the heavens, the word of God. Now she is lost in her lifetime, but never in God’s eternity.

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Narra

Joniemar Calderon

Sa lilim ng talipandas na ulap Nananaghoy ang hanging habagat Pagkat ang narrang malabay nabuwal Sa lupang kumandiling tahanan.

Nawalang luntian ang kumitil Sa yumi at ganda ng hardin Nang dumating sigwang dala’y hilahil Tumangis at humagulgol ang langit.

Sa pagsikat ng ginintuang silangan Naparam ng nanirahang inang maya Na ang pugad niya’y nawala’t nalugmok din Nasawi sa napigtal na sanga ng narra.

Pambansang puno’y pinaglamayan Sa kandungan ng mapanibughong baha Sa pagsaksi ng araw nag-akay din, nahapis At nagluksa sa libingang pusali.

Aanhin pa pinabayaang yamang namayapa Kung nawalang buhay ‘di na maibabalik pa Tulad ng nawawalang kaluluwa sa lupa Bukas hihimlay, hangin lang ang makikiramay.

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Gindilian

Airon Buenvenida

Nangayo ako sang pag-intyendi, Wala ako ginhatagan.

Panulokan ko nagdulom, Dughan ginpanitan.

Wala gid napunggan Paglanton sang kasakit Kay ako inyo gindilian.

Nangayo ako sang pasensya, Wala ako ginhatagan.

Panulokan ko nagturong, Dughan ko naglupok.

Wala guid napunggan Pagpitik sang balatian Kay ako inyo gindilian.

Nangayo ako sang piso, Wala ako gin hatagan.

Panulokan ko nagsiga, Dughan naglutaw.

Wala guid mapunggan Pagkadula sang twirka Kay ako inyo gindilian.

Sa pagtika sang Lampirong Russel Jude Pati単a

Ang aso kag kalayo Naga lutaw sa lawod, naga-saot sang magayon, Ginasuyop ang kalag sang tagsa-tagsa, Mga tinuga sang dulom.

May kabuhi nga matuga, May relasyon nga matapos, may kabuhi nga makutos.

Apang sa gihapon, paglapnag sang kagab-ihon.

Sila maga arangka, mga tinuga sang dulom.

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Blur

Lalaine Joy Bacalangco

Days, months, years have passed by, But the memory vividly lingers in my mind.

Still trying to remember what has been done Without knowing, it was already gone.

All things became different; Still trying to understand the event; I know everything is meant to change, But I don’t know, I can’t understand myself.

I suddenly feel a tremor of anxiety; I’m afraid to bury the memory; How can I forget those times; A happy experience of mine.

Though it was foggy, My heart felt clearly.

How could it be so fast, To lose a tremendous memory from my past.

Sorrow Rebel Rebel

I hear churchbells ringing solemnly, Lamentation, closing scene, Poisoned nectar, sorrow comes to me, Sensation bringing eyes to tear, I found no likeness in dismality, Mourning, wishing pains to clear, But still I think that something’s haunting me, Cause darkness fills my heart with fear.

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Muta

Lyndon-Erl Beup

Kaangay sang panulay, Parehas sang tik-tik; Sa isa ka hulot Ako gabalik-balik.

Maluming nga tingog Sa ilok gapangitik; Ilog sa lugay; Ako gapisik-pisik.

Ako wala magdumdom Nga sa iya kagayon; Kasing-kasing mahulog Sing madalum-dalom.

Sa akon pagpangalagad Ako pa gid nagtutom.

Ang akon gatong Matam-is niya nga yuhom.

Apang sa iya pagkabalo Sang akon tinutuyo, Amat-amat nagpalagyo, Bilin ang agi sang bagyo.

Matam-is nga yuhom Nangin mapait nga margoso; Malumanay nya nga tingog, Daw guba na nga radyo.

Ang yuhom niya karon Nga maka-ilila, Nangin tika-tika na lang Sa akon huna-huna.

Naghari kurisong, Ngirit nadula; Kalimutaw ko nagligna, Nagtig-a, muta.

Afterglow Daniel Tinagan

Conquer me, darling, Raise me to your lips; Nourish the dying ego, Undulating hips; I dream myself Inside your moisture’s eyes Feed me, feed the appetite.

Hold on to me tightly; Don’t inhale Inside this box.

I will sail, Make no words, But let me hear your sound.

It will taste better on our way back down.

Venus sings; A twisted tune Leaves us breathless.

In the morning’s blue The room is still, Sheets unwrapped Light invades, the darkness sapped.

In my room The air is clearest.

In my room, You can smell my dearest; I have your scent, You have mine, What we’ve lost, I’m sure we’ll find

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Tlka'gar Daniel Tinagan

There on top of Earth’s mighty peaks Lives a beast I dare not speak Fangs and claws, blood red eyes Things that speak of pure demise

Pangitain

Jayson Macabuhay

Sa kalagitnaan ng gabi Lumalakad nang nag-iisa Na tila may sinusundan Sa pinakadulo ng daan.

Bagkus may mga bagay Na parang nagmamatyag Sa gitna ng karimlan Humihiling ng kaluwalhatian At lihim na pumupukaw Sa puso ng dumaraan Ngunit may sumisinag Na humahatak sa dulo Sinundan ko ito Ako’y napatigil At ang nakita ko’y Isang punong nagliliyab Na nagbibigay liwanag Sa ilalim Ng isang pangitain.

Sticks and bones, skin and hair The beast made a lovely lair Names are not needed but names they are The beast called herself, Tlka’gar Once, the beast and her young roamed the lands Grazed the crops, ate birds and plants Meant no harm to the people there But she was more than they could bear They drove her off to the lonely peaks They drove her off with sharpened sticks She fell and stumbled, ran into the wild Fear and haste robbed her of her only child The townspeople caught her son Cut off his feet so it won’t run They skinned him alive, called him names Poked his eyes and bathed him in flames The men they laughed, they sang their songs Bathed him with water, death prolonged Finally, they got tired of their little show Smashed the creatures head, the final blow Tlka’gar still now looks For her son they took Faith one day, she will see The son she lost, the son they burned with glee There on valley down below Live beasts with eyes aglow Gloves and shoes, sharpened sticks Things that speak of things we have to fix

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Lost in a Fairy Tale Zchiara Patiño

It’s difficult to tell where we should go; Should we go left or should we go right?

Clearly, nobody told me what I should do; So, I hope for the best and keep moving forward.

I kept my hand on the wall and my eyes to the sky, But I wasn’t in a labyrinth with a hungry minotaur.

Nor was the sky bright enough for me to see A way home through the second star to the right.

If only I found a yellow brick road, Or put on a pair of sparkling ruby slippers; Maybe I’ll sprinkle on some fairy dust; Think happy thoughts and just fly away; I’ll grab my fairy dust and ruby shoes; Sing a song as I keep marching; I would very much like not to take too long, Or think of ridiculous things to go back home.

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Rolling the Dice Bettina Perez

I was once trapped in the dark world, Overpowered by fear.

Hiding at the corner, I never unfurled With my shattered screams that nobody dared to hear.

Shouting as loud as possible and hoping That someday I could sail away But day by day my soul kept sinking And my hope just faded away.

My body was cold as ice And my heart keep skipping a beat.

Pain enveloped me and I could never rise, And I was trembling to death with clenched teeth.

“BELIEVE” was lost in my vocabulary When I looked up through the sky.

I knelt to the ground and I grew weary, offering my everything to Him and ready to die.

Reminiscing valuable treasures and remembering the best days of my life.

That’s the only thing that I could measure Amidst all the merciless strife.

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Turbulence Hedwig

Emotions raining, pouring, I sense turbulence up ahead; Truths hurt and lies burn, I’m scarred by your shouts and cries; I try to run but can’t leave you behind, The future seems so dim; Let me hold you for one last time, I just want to say goodbye.

Libingan ng Pangako Maps Reyes

Isang malakas na dagundong ng kidlat ang naghari sa lupa’t kalangitan At ang mga munting tinig ay kagyat na umiyak at namatay Katahimikan ang umalingawngaw sa hangin kasabay ng pagbaha ng magkaisang dugo Mga taong may tatak ng krus laban sa aming mga taga-timog.

Lumuwas ang aking espirito sa mapayapang hilaga Mga mapanghalinang pangako ang inawit ng kapangyarihan sa amin Ngunit ang dugo’t pawis din ng mga dukha ang naging buwis Para pagsilbihan ng kapangyarihan ang kanyang tiyang hindi mabubusog kailanman.

Isang bansang may libu-libong awitin Hindi marinig ang tinig ng bawat isa Sapagkat walang pagkakaisa kahit sa isang awitin man lamang Saan nga ba tungo ang lupaing bininyagan ng dugo ng ating mga bayani?

Isang panalangin ang aking alay Isang pangarap ang nais kong matupad Pilipino ang nagdadarasal sa krus, Pilipino rin ang lumuluhod kay Allah Nawa’y mahanap natin sa ating puso ang bansang naligaw.

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Random Tendencies Russel Jude PatiĂąa

He had his back against the wall, against the world.

Clearly isolated by the steady beat that continuously pumps from his music player’s base, he builds a wall.

One that is not visible, made up of concrete emotions: anger, guilt, and angst.

Reason escapes his mind, Logic seems unnecessary.

Illogical to the point of insanity, Insanity that is void of any purpose Dwelling on the wound that was never.

It came like a tragedy, A storm without a name, A crusade without a cause.

Yet by all its means, Pure and not, came daunting.

Regret and its aftermath.

Now fumes and light leaks come to the picture Making pictures of candid memories Random and soon to be forgotten.

Beside the store that is Munsterific, on the half wet pavement a cup of ugly coffee clasped in one hand a stick of escape in another, his thoughts flood him.

Cars passing Each chasing after the tail of the other.

Flickers the yellow bulb Held up high.

Too high to reach Still, too low to drop.

Tail lights, stoplights Ped xing, u-turns.

He begins a drive The one that never stops.

Mis(s)fortune's Fool Dazen Dawn Lariza

You had her in the palm of your hands, took her unscathed innocence to be scarred, squirming under your control.

And you wasted precious time brainlessly using her entire being, pretending not to hear calls left unanswered.

Left her when you were done to curse under your breath.

Tossed cash into the counter; Oh, time’s up! You paid by the hour.

Nothing, you said, she’s just nothing, Moving away from the smell of defeat You said you were ready for the consequences you were to face.

You shivered, Snarled as others used her for victory.

Game over!

Lit a stick of cigar.

Forget that which you regret: You let her use you.

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Lost and Found Eula Louise Canata

When life foretold a sorrow undefined, I scowled upon such ill and cringed at fate, And mourned upon my soul unjustified Instead of killing love and waking hate.

The rainbows died and skies turned overcast And left my spirit stabbed in rains of knives; Turmoil sprang forth while life declined to last In unsure truths and hints of entwined lies.

Where to, my soul? Misled my being was!

Astray from all the world’s deep ignorance, I knew not where to go and felt like trash, Yet love emerged so hope then had a chance, ‘Cause when the darkness cursed my left-out self And scorn has all but cheered my empty heart, Your light sparked up and offered ceaseless help Enough to heal a scarred life torn apart; For anyone who’s lost sure would be found,

By Jesus’ grace, to abodes safe and sound.

Liwayway

Mark Louie Villa

Ihip ng mundong makasalanan, Kabataa’y nalunod sa masamang bisyo Kaliwa’t kanan ang harurot ng sigarilyo, Mga labi at ngiping nangingitim Hatid sa kalusugan ay lagim.

Batang uhaw sa droga, Nalulong sa bawal na gamot Kahit sino’y hinahablot Drogang lumalatay sa dugong sariwa Patungo sa utak ng batang kawawa.

Kabataa’y napariwara sa daang matuwid, Dilubyo ang naghagupit sa bayang malaya Kinulong sa selda ang musmusing bata Dahil kalupitan sa kapwa ang ginagawa Kinabukasan ay naglaho na parang bula.

Ngunit, hindi pa huli ang lahat Sa magulang, kaagapay ng bayan Atensyon ay dapat tutukan Bawat munting kilos ay tingnan Upang sila’y mabantayan.

Sa taong nagmamahala ng bansa, Opisyal ng ating gobyerno Simulan sa sarili ang pagbabago Huwag kalimutan ang sinumpaan Manungkulan na walang bahid na kasamaan.

Buksan ang pinto ng kasalukuyan, Tayo na! Harapin ang liwayway Gintong pangako ang taglay Sa ating bayan, sa ating buhay Isang puso ang patnubay!

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A Lamp to Guide My Fellow Men Ram Paulo Anayan

I light my lamp to guide you, fellow men, Though worthy not I am to lead a soul.

Like you, I long to reach these struggles’ end.

Like you, the wretched Fates denied me home.

But shadows cast their everlasting tears, As life is nothing more than strife and breath.

Thus power we desire and hold it dear.

How great is he who never fears his death!

To those whose fathers left you lonely, come.

To fathers too who thirst for comfort’s eyes.

If neither war nor plague had troubled some, Then march as brothers still and rise on heights!

Beside the bending roads of ashes black, May lie your greatest glory or despair.

Whichever shall you carry on your back, They neither can exceed your virtues fair.

So laden not yourselves with past complaints, For none of them compare to what’s beyond.

When winter chills, keep warm, lest spirits fade.

Lose not the hopes of masters old and gone.

If one must weep, o men, upbraid him not, For even kings and gods can taste defeat.

But wary be that pity may not rot The human will – forever strong as fleets.

I light my lamp for you, companions free For others may you light your words and deeds.

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Faithful Submission Joniemar Calderon

I lost my sight In seeking You, For You wanted to be my only vision.

I see…

I need no eyes To behold Your countenance But a heart to see truth Clearer than running water.

I lost my hearing In listening to worship And to Your parables.

I hear…

I need no ears To hear Your words But a pure soul To harken your wisdom Louder than clashing cymbals.

I lost my feet In walking with You. You delight seeing me crippled, And You’re glad carrying me feeble.

Now I know…

I need no feet To journey homeward, For whenever I’m with You I am found, I am home.

I lost my voice In singing hymns.

My thoughts give you pleasure, For You know I would pray: Lord, what more could I lose To satisfy You? Faithfully…

At the end of writing this poetry My hands are Yours.

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Under the tree Mark Louie Villa

The sun appears in the sky Illuminates the morning day, Clouds actuate far, far away Form shapes, just a sway In rhythm, singing birds fly Making dulcet sounds of goodbye Then, it starts the story Under the tree, he cries.

On the tree of despondency, No doors, no gateway A prisoner shouts and bawls, Freedom! But still unheard Feet were fastened tightly He stands but falls Goes gunning for light Seems darkness shall be.

Shade of black sees upon Taken away, a traitor’s smile Hands are the eyes, And eyes close for a lifetime Everything alters, the past is buried Hidden eyes will be kept In the coffin, where he sleeps.

On the other side of the tree Little hopes are hoping That the unripe fruit Shall mellow at the right time Yet, now seems imperfect Just like his story Unwritten happy endings Under the tree, he cries.

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Closets are for Clothes Russel Jude Patiña

The world is beset with so much bigotry, nonchalance, and sheer ignorance. With the rest of the population having such restricted concepts of what is moral and shrugged indifference on what remains in the equation, I couldn’t just sit and let the rest become a bloody history. No, not until I lay my fifty cents on the subject matter to the table.

Few years back, I was at the most crucial phase of my life. I did not understand why I felt differently from the rest of the kids my age. Ever since I could remember, I knew I didn’t belong.

The girls in my class would often gossip about one another and the boys, even since then, were just into games and horseplay, all that did little to interest me.

Growing up, the difference seemed to show up more often and my tendencies and inclinations weren’t inconsonant to the “norms”. Unlike boys my age, I detested getting sweat drenched under the sun dribbling balls and tossing them in baskets. I just did not see the logic or the amusement behind the game. I didn’t have many friends back then, it’s either they did not seem interesting enough for me to reach out to them or I just wasn’t really that much of an outgoing kid. During weekends, I found solitary confinement within the walls of my room, drowning myself in words that make better sense, literature.

My mother was alarmed and perhaps thought I was being possessed by an unnamed evil force. Her efforts to exorcise me, however, did not do any good. I just didn’t fit in and there was no pushing me to do the things I did not feel like doing. Gladly, I was getting high GPA’s, so I could say I wasn’t that dysfunctional child as anyone else in our neighborhood or in our class. That was enough to tell my parents I wasn’t losing it.

Behind the doors of my room though I was telling a story only I knew, up to this very day.

Heaven knows how many characters I’ve portrayed, how many landscapes I’ve painted, and how

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many tears I’ve cried behind the steel and chrome doors of my closet.

The faces I’ve worn, the pretenses I’ve pulled up, the excuses I’ve made. All of them haven’t made me a better person. I have made up lies to conform to society’s “standards.” I have bent over backward to adjust, but all my efforts to be “normal” failed.

I have suffered so much and unnecessarily. Why? Because I did not accept who I was and what I was capable of. I forced myself to multitudes of roles, changing every time my secret is threatened without realizing the fact that what I was actually trying to hide will define my very existence.

If only I knew before what I know now, I would have not run away from the ignorance the young and old posted and took against me. If only I had been enlightened and guided by the ideologies I am now believing, I could have held my faith to a firmer ground. If only I had the courage I muster now, I could have stood up against the uncalled humiliation from bullies who made me feel I wasn’t worth the life I was given. That was then, when I forgot to love myself because I badly wanted to be loved, to fit in and be accepted.

But I do not have to live in constant denial, I told myself, not when I have a choice. My college days began and the anonymity promised a new life and a beginning. I stumbled upon gay literatures and curiosity had me reading them. I was overwhelmed by the abundance of such materials even at the harbors of the university library. It was liberating to note that even a boxed and silenced topic, such as homosexuality, can be wittingly chronicled without losing objectivity, especially in such a patriarchal and myopic society such us ours. I realized that the gay world takes a multitude of forms that cannot be simply summed up by meager stereotypes. I was comforted by the fact that I wasn’t alone. That, after years of hiding behind the shadows of self doubt, I, we, have a voice and not just an echo.

The works of Danton Remoto, Neil Garcia and Louie Cano became staples in my readings. It was in their words that I found console, comfort, courage, and confidence to accept the difference that surrounded me. No, don’t get me wrong, I did not just digest and proclaim myself a believer all at once. My journey to self discovery and acceptance can be told in the internal arguments I fought, the discourse I challenged myself with and the constant weighing and consideration I subjected my convictions with and from. The road was not easy and up to now, I still am in constant tides of questions that endlessly give birth to more after being addressed.

How will I tell my family? Who will stand with me when all else fails? Will I get the chance to settle down and be happy with somebody soon? The cons are always larger but I have no choice but to hope. Wish that everything will fall into its proper place and proper order once and for all — everybody happy.

So much has been said and written about the gay world. Stereotypical images of men in drag holding a curling iron on one hand and a nail file on another is but a vivid and primitive way of painting the picture. Primitive in the sense that being gay in a traditional and highly religious community remains a taboo, a curse, and even a plague.

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To this day, we have not fully understood what being different feels like. Not if we were the subject of society’s unfair criticism and reduced to their concept of what we will become. We claim to have faced the new millennium yet our minds remain fickle, straight, and narrow.

As evidenced by how gays are portrayed mockingly as characters in television series, movie, and even in literatures, it only goes to show that while the rest of the world have long since coped with this childish issue, we are still stuck.

Gone were the days when being gay is tantamount to being a bully pulpit of those who are straight. Gay men are found in olden books of history often behind an able leader or at the forefront of the war. They are in powerful public offices, private corporations, holding the pillars of the judiciary, in the academe, bearing the banner of artistry and creative forms, and even sanctified in the holy of holiest places. We cannot deny. Or we may, but who are we actually fooling?

The day I embraced my being gay was the very day I realized I had nothing to fear. I told my close friend this long hidden secret two years back and I was dumbfounded with his reply. In his softest baritone while we were inside the church for a yearly festivity he whispered, “I know. We all knew, but we wanted it to come from you because it didn’t really matter to us.”

I was teary to a point of an emotional breakdown. All my life I forced my sexuality to be accepted only to realize that it didn’t matter. That whether I was straight, crooked or twisted, my friends, who were mostly straight and secured, accepted me altogether with my baggage. I couldn’t be more loved and I couldn’t ask for more. Never did they insinuate, instigate or inquire because it wasn’t their story to tell after all. I thought of them wrongly because I was primed with such a closed mindset.

I could only wish that the very same feeling of jubilation will take place when I finally tell my parents. I think my mother knows already, for as they always say, when it comes to their children and in this matter, they are always the first to know and the last to admit. My brother has long since accepted me and he even knows who I’ve been with for almost two years now. Although, I did not outrightly tell him, I know he understood and loved me well enough to know that I am, after years of self trial, now happy.

This happiness fuels my courage to face the everyday under the nose of those who are still stuck with their prejudice. Those whose objectivity and understanding is shadowed by hate and ignorance. They, who up to this day, mock, bully and humiliate people for their unconscious difference. They who have not grasped the full essence of humanity —a diverse collective that thrives in common understanding and love. They will not stop unless we all fully embrace our true brethren, not as defined by our sexual orientation, but by our foresight to where our happiness lies.

Gay after all simply means happy.

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A Pointless Essay Ron Adrian Dionaldo

Wait. Don’t turn the page yet.

The title might have put you off, but then again, you might have stumbled into this article without meaning to, which is, ironically, the point of this pointless essay.

Confused? You should be. But to clear things up, let’s put it in a quotation from a current NBC TV series: “Sometimes I’ll start a sentence and I don’t even know where it’s going. I just hope I find it along the way.”

Yeah, we usually do that whenever a teacher asks an expository question by surprise. Or when we have to hastily make a rebuttal in an argument. Or when we answer an essay question we know nothing about, hoping we’ll get a perfect score for the effort.

Oftentimes we tend to speak or write without a direction, clinging only to the small hope that whatever words happen to pass by our vocabulary would finally make sense in the end. But what if the words become actions? And the actions become attitude? And the attitude becomes a lifestyle?

Would it remain the same?

Is walking the winding, twisting, and cross-intersecting road of life without any direction the same as simply hanging a sentence on its last possible word? No. I should guess not. The unfinished sentence is subject to eternal speculations and numerous conclusions, but life is more than that.

Life has a definite purpose and a definite goal. It cannot be defined by speculation or hypothesis alone.

Unfortunately, most people lose sight of this truth and aimlessly wander around life’s many curves over and over. It does not necessarily portray that life in general has lost its path...but some aspects have somehow gone astray.

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Perhaps a Christian gets blinded by sin and so loses sight of God’s purpose. Perhaps a lover has lost passion and thus plays with love like a mere game. Perhaps a student aimlessly shifts courses, not knowing what he or she really wants.

Yeah, all of us had somehow experienced being lost one way or another. We start something only to falter in the middle and find ourselves walking back and forth, to and fro. We go into a lot of changes, identity crises, self-reflections. We hope that like a sentence, whatever we’ve started will find its main thought along the way.

And hope really is a powerful tool. One could lose direction only if there was a direction in the first place. We may get waylaid by countless of other things, but the fact that we somehow miss the point doesn’t mean the point itself had disappeared. Getting lost doesn’t mean the path had vanished. It’s still there. We only have to look for it.

The sentence that has been started will have to end —be it with a period, a question mark, or an exclamation point. Alas, life too has direction and goal, of different kinds, and no matter how indiscernible they may seem at present, they will meet you in the end.

And as this essay finally wraps itself up... one last question springs to mind. The sentence may have ended, but did it find its main thought along the way? Did the collection of words make sense at all?

Life, even when we think we’re lost, still retains its sights. When we reach the goal and look back, what do we see? An adventure or an aimless wander? Did the journey make sense at all? The goal is as important as the journey itself.

As the last sentence begins, I hope this pointless essay had somehow found its point.

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On the Recurrence of Circles Rhick Lars Albay

Seven pairs of hands gathered around in a circle. Hands that once dyed a stream red with scrapped crepe paper, hands bruised from playing amongst cylinders of concrete. I no longer remember their names, or their faces, just the sound of our laughter mingling with the humid air, dirt being scattered by our running feet.

The memories we chose to keep tell a lot about who we are. Like little jagged puzzle pieces, so unlike each other, yet still interconnected, pieced together they make us whole. A lot of times I’d wish there was a machine that would allow me to thumb through my memories, watch them all from start to finish, not once skipping or fast-forwarding, just letting myself be drowned by the atmosphere, observing my own actions from a different perspective; maybe even laugh at myself a few times, or cringe at my embarrassing moments, just to learn about myself better, and see the small details I may have overlooked when these memories were actually happening to me.

Up here, on the steps passengers climb to board the ferry, the pinwheel’s colored propellers are spun by the wind uninhibited. Mother had bought it for me before we left for the pier, a candy dispenser with three turning plastic fans at its tip. I took an instant liking to it, not once letting it go since my mother handed it to me.

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Near the top of the boat’s rusted stairs, a strong gust of wind catches the pinwheel’s plastic talons, seizing it from my grasp. Quickly I lean against the ferry’s railings, trying to grab it back, nearly losing my footing, almost falling to follow my toy.

Before mother tightly gripped my arm, pulling me back in to safety, I saw it one last time: My pinwheel falling towards the water below, still spinning, forming circles in midair.

Most times we never really realize when a memory leaves us. There is no sharp kick to our side or sudden pain in our chest when we forget something, no indication that a part of us may have just been lost. Time has sly methods of removing from us our recollections. Often, we consume days, months, years, so caught up in our everyday lives that the past just seems to not matter anymore. Let bygones be bygones they say, but those bygones may be pieces of us that we’ll never have back.

Mother guides my hand, tracing shapes on paper. “Small circle, small circle, big circle…” she sings to me softly. “This is the boat we’re going to ride on. Here’s mama, here’s papa…waving goodbye” Lines and curves spilling from the crayon, a blank sheet making way for a drawing. “Sixty times six is thirty six, six times six makes magic…” After my mother finishes singing the rhyme, she shows me a doodle of a bear on the piece of paper.

Once you try to put together all your memories, you see how each occurrence, each event has molded you into what you are today.

Strange a realization it may be, maybe even unbelievable to some, I’ve found that the circle is a recurring figure among my most distinct memories. I do not know exactly why this is so, though I have my own assumptions, it adds to why I want to have a better grasp on the thoughts and memories floating around in my head. I want to see the larger picture, myself as a whole, all of my pieces put together.

The points meet and form a circle.

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Drive

Zchiara Patiño

It was dark outside and the clouds were thick with rain. Carla fidgeted with her car radio, trying to find a radio station that would play songs of this decade or any adequate program she could listen to during her long drive to her hometown. She couldn’t hear much since the rain poured heavily on her old car.

She knew it was dangerous to drive somewhere far with a storm coming, but she had to go. It was her grandmother’s funeral, the grandmother who made her her favorite mango float, who sent her presents and money for Christmas and her birthday, the grandmother she forgot about when puberty kicked in. Several times, she was asked to pay her grandmother a visit and several times, she declined, forgot and deliberately busied herself. What was the point? Mango float can never fix her first failing grade nor the heartache she felt every time a relationship ended.

Carla gave up on the radio and plugged in her iPod. At last, music she actually wanted to hear. She steered the car left, coming out of the main road towards a shortcut she remembered her father used to take whenever they decided to visit years ago. She felt slightly nervous, recklessly taking a shortcut to save her time, but when she saw Tito Gary’s Sari-Sari Store, she relaxed. She remembered passing by the colorful sign each time they took this route.

Fifteen minutes and seven songs later, the rain poured harder and she was forced to stop at the side of the road and wait for the rain to thin out. She locked her doors and just laid back on her seat, listening to Lady Gaga. “Why do I even have her songs?” she said aloud, surprised to hear her own voice after an hour of silence. She skipped to the next song, then the next, then the next. She was getting pissed off at every passing minute that she could have spent studying for her midterm exams the next week. Instead, she was stuck in the middle of the road, practically nowhere, waiting for the rain to stop and it didn’t look like it was stopping soon.

Scratching her head, she turned on the engine and took a U-turn. She didn’t want to go to the funeral of someone she didn’t even remember. She just wanted to go back home and study or surf the net. She didn’t care what her parents would think, she didn’t care what they would say. She wanted to go home.

“Anywhere but here,” she thought.

She barely saw the road, but still she went ahead, driving slowly to make sure she wasn’t going to collide with another car. All she had to do was make sure she found the sari-sari store and turn towards the main road and return home.

Twenty minutes had passed, but there was no sign of the colorful sign of Tito Gary’s. Did she make a wrong turn? Did she accidentally drive towards a different direction, on a different dirt road? She started to panic. She started thinking of all the things that could possibly happen to her.

No matter how much she tried to be positive, her fear proved too strong.

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“Oh God, please,” she sobbed, her tears warming her face, “Don’t let anything happen to me.

Lola, please keep me safe.”

She stopped where she was and this time, she didn’t intend to move at all. She was lost and if she kept going, things could get worse. She just sat there, crying and praying for protection. She prayed to her grandmother and wished she could have some mango float that she used to make.

This, she thought, was a heartache that a slice of it could fix.

She cried hysterically, wailing and looking for mango float. She didn’t notice the silhouette of a person moving closer to her car. She held her breath and hoped that she was just imagining it, but she wasn’t. When the figure was close enough for her to make out, she was relieved to see the middle aged woman who tended Tito Gary’s Sari-Sari Store.

“Are you okay?” the woman said to Carla, “I spotted your headlights from the store and came here when my little boy said he heard a woman crying.”

Carla was thankful that she cried tears of joy. The woman got inside her car and led her right next to the sari-sari store. The woman invited her in to wait for the rain to stop. The two women talked about how Carla thought she was lost. They laughed and started talking about how her family used to stop at the store for ice cream in the summer and some treats they could eat while they were on their way to her grandmother’s house.

“So, you’re going to your lola’s house?” the woman said, “It’s been a long time. She must really miss you.”

“Yeah. I miss her too.”

“But I think you’re lost, dear. You were going the wrong way.”

“The rain was too thick.” Carla said, looking out to the dirt road that would lead her to her grandmother’s house. The rain wasn’t the only thing that blinded her, it was her selfishness.

The sky was beginning to clear up and the rain had finally stopped. She bid the woman and her son goodbye and hopped back into her car, hoping she wouldn’t get lost this time. But she was never really lost. She just lost something else with her grandmother: her heart. But what is lost can always be found and it is never too late.

It was a long drive and Carla fidgeted with her car radio, trying to find a radio station that would entertain her on her way to her grandmother’s house.

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Aliping Kubli Micaela Allen Garcia

“Malakas ka diba? Kaya mo yan!”

Unti-unti kong binigyan ng buwelo ang aking sarili. Nagbigay ako ng tamang lakas upang makatayo. Tinukod ko ang aking mga tuhod sa sahig sabay ang pagsuporta gamit ng mga kamay …Isa… dalawa… tatlo…

Ayon! Nakatayo na ako sa sarili kong mga paa.

“Malakas ka diba? Kaya mo yan! “ Unti-unti akong humakbang, kaliwa, kanan, kaliwa, kanan, hanggang sa naging marunong na akong lumakad paurong.

Ayon! Nakakapaglakad na ako gamit ang sarili kong mga paa.

Tila preska pa kung aking isipin ang mga naririnig ko galing sa iba’t ibang boses na nagpupursigi sa akin na maging maunlad noong paslit pa lamang ako. Habang lumalaki, marami akong natutunan sa pagdaloy ng panahon. Mga pangunahing kaalaman, mga pangunahing kilos na dapat matutunan ng bawat nilalang.

Pero tila nabura na rin ang mga lumipas na mga panahong sadyang isandaang porsyento ang animo o giting na pinag-aangkinan ko. Hindi ko na naiintindihan ang mga bagay na nagaganap sa kasalukuyan. Tinatanggihan na yata ako ng kapalaran sa mga oportunidad na ikalulugod ng aking sarili. Saan na nga ba ako? Nawala na yata ang landas kung saan alam kong uhaw na ito sa kahihintay sa aking pagdalo. Saan na nga ba ako?

Patak. Pumapatak. Hindi na humihinto ang pagulong ng mga luha sa sahig galing sa akin.

“Iiyak ka? Ha? Ano ka ba? Batang hindi napadede ng gatas ng kanyang ina? Huwag kang tanga!

Huwag kang umiyak! Akala mo makakatulong sa’yo ang pagtulo ng mga mala-baldeng luhang iyan sa pagbangon mo?”

Iyan ang mga salitang tumatak sa aking isipan noong panahong hindi ko halos maiyapak ang aking mga paa sa sahig o ‘di kaya’y maitukod ko ang aking mga tuhod upang makaipon ng lakas para tumayo; hindi gaya ng dati na laban sa mga paghihirap na aking naranasan ng ako’y inalipin ng aking malambot na puso.

Kung babalikan ko ang mga nangyari noon, tila na nagwala ang bawat bahagi ng aking katawan sa mga masasarap na tugon ng kanyang pag-ibig. Hindi man lang lumisan ang mga pagkakataong malunod ang masasariwang halik at yakap ng kanyang pagsinta noon. Napaniwala ako sa ritmo ng tibok ng aking puso sa kada oras na ako’y lumuluwa ng lahat dahil sa pagmamahal. Nagsilbi at nagpaalipin ako sa kaibuturan ng puso kong galak.

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“Ibibigay ko ang Buwan at mga Bituin sa langit, mahalin mo lang ako… Kaya kong paikutin ang lahat ng babae sa palad ko. Pero pagdating sa iyo, ikaw na ang mundo ng buhay ko… Daig ko pa ang nanalo sa lotto… Pwede na akong hatulan ng kamatayan basta’t alam ko lang na ako ang ipinagsisigawan ng iyong puso…”

Sinong hindi matutunaw sa mga maaamong salita na binitiwan niya? Sinong hindi mangangakong magmamahal ng totoo sa mga mukhang katotohanang iwinika niya? Sinong magpapakamanhid at magpapakayelo sa akalang katunayan ang lahat ng mga sinabi niya?

Hindi ako. Hindi ako ang babaeng naging madamot sa salitang “oo” noong hiningi niya ang aking pangako.

“Ayan! Sa ‘oo’ mong iyan, ipinasok mo na ang pili ng iyong buhay sa butas na ang lagusan ay impiyerno.

Nasaan ka na? Ang hirap makalabas ano?”

Sinisid ko ang dagat ng aking pagkatao, ang pagkataong sabi nila ay nalunod na sa kailaliman ng katangahan. Walang sinyales ng sarili ko ang nagpakita sa kinalalagyang iyon.

PAG-UNAWA, PAG-INTINDI, PAG-UNAWA, PAG-INTINDI. Pakiramdam ko ganyan nalamang ang nalalaman kong mga salita.

“Pag-iintindi? Pag-uunawa? Sumusobra naman yata yang puso mo ah. Napakadamot sa mga oportunidad na ika’y maaari pang maging malakas, sa oportunidad na ika’y maaari pang maging malaya.”

Ano ba ang salitang MALAKAS? Kailan ko nga ba huling narinig na ako’y pinuri ng iba na malakas? Kailan ba muling bumisita ang salitang iyan sa aking pagkatao? Ah, noong ako’y unang tumututo ng pagbabago. Eh, Saan ba matatagpuan ang lugar ng KALAYAAN, kung parati akong nagiging aliping kubli sa aking mga pagserbisyo na walang hangad kundi maasam muli ang tunog ng katotohanan sa pag-ibig? Nasaan ang tunay na kahulugan ng pangako?

Nasaksihan na ng dalawa kong mga mata ang mga pagtataksil na pumunit ng aking dibdib.

Ang mga katarantaduhang nagsilbing balat ng kanyang pagiging ahas sa aming sumpaan. Na kahit anong klaseng pag-intindi ang igamot mo sa sugat na iyong nararamdaman, tila bigo ka pa rin. Talaga namang ang ahas pag binalatan mo, ahas pa rin. Ang tukso, kapag tinuka ka sa harap, tutukain ka pa rin sa likod nang hindi mo namamalayan.

Ayan! Isinanla ko na ang aking pagkatao, ngunit naging sobra ang interes. Nag-iwan lang pala ako ng mga bakas na hindi pangmatagalan na parang mga buhangin sa dalampasigan na pagdating ng agos ng tubig, tila mabubura ito kasama ng kanyang paglisan.

Sobra pa ang mga ibinayad ko sa naging kasunduan namin noong una. Anong nakuha ko?

“Anong nakuha mo? Laway? Luha? Dugo sa puso? Ano pang klaseng likido ang pwedeng dumuga sa loob ng katawan mo para malaman mong mapuputulan ka na ng leeg sa pagsasakal mo sa iyong sarili?”

Oras na nga ba ng pagsuko? Kasi ikamamatay ko na yata ito kapag hindi ako nagbitiw. Masakit

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na. Napakasakit na talaga. At ang sakit na ito ay ibang klaseng sakit na hindi ko maipaliwanag.

“Magaling! Magaling! Magaling! Ayan! Ganyan ang mga nalalamang sagot ng mga LAMPA! Pagsuko?

Gusto mong mamatay na sasalubungin ka ng impyerno ng walang halong pagtanggi? Ililibing mo ba ang sarili mo na walang pinatunayang tatag at lakas ng loob? Sumuko ka na sa pagiging tulog na unti-unting pinapatay ng sakit ang sarili mo. May baliw na gumagaling, may sakit na nalulunas, may sugat na nahihilom. Higit sa lahat, may nahahanap kapag may nawawala. Anong klaseng problema yan? KAMATAYAN? Hindi naman ah. Pang-aabuso! Napakalayo sa bituka ng kamatayan. Bumangon ka! Ibasura mo ang pag-iisip ng pagsuko.

Buhayin mo ang salitang MALAKAS na matagal ng nawala at hindi nakita sa iyong kaluluwa!”

Kaya kong matuto. Kaya kong maging marunong. Pero ang alam ko, ganito talaga ako! Ngunit sabi ko sa sarili ko, kaya ko! Kapag hinayaan kong malunod ako sa aking kahinaan, hindi ako uusad.

Hindi ako lalakas. Hindi ako magiging AKO! Nakalimot na yata akong bumalik sa pagkabatang may nagsasabi pa sa akin na “ Malakas ka diba? Kaya mo yan!” Naalala kong tao lang din pala ako para magkaroon ng klaseng suliranin na kagaya nito. Pang-aabuso. Pang-aabuso sa damdamin. Pangaabuso sa kaugaliang mapag-intindi at maunawain.

Dumanak na lamang ang mga luha sa aking mga mata. Sumabog ang isang ideyang muntikan ko nang makalimutan. Isinangla ko lang ang aking pagkatao, hindi ibinenta. Ang nasasangla, kahit gaano man kataas ang interes basta’t hindi pa nareremata, ay tiyak na pwede pang tubosin.

Huminga ako ng malalim. Umipon ako ng lakas at sabay na itinukod ang aking mga kamay upang makatayo, tulad ng dati. Nang biglang tumunog ang aking cellphone sa loob ng aking bulsa, nakita ko ang kanyang pangalan. Aba, ang kalokohan namang isang libong mahigit na paulit-ulit niyang sinabi sa akin ay muli kong narinig.

“Babe, sorry na ha. Pramis hindi na mauulit. Umuwi ka na. Bakit ka nawala? Nasaan ka na ba?”

Inalis ko ang mga sagabal sa aking lalamunan. Habang nakadikit pa ang cellphone sa aking tenga, napagtanto ko na alam kong ipinanganak muli sa aking loob ang bagong ako. Naramdaman ko ulit ang pagkabuhay sa mahabang panahon na ako’y inalipin at binalewala. Ang bagong malakas na ako ay alam kong isinilang ngayong araw na ito.

“Hello? Babe?” - tugon niya sabay na may pagtataka.

Inayos ko ang aking sarili habang palakad sa harap ng salamin sabay na pinindot sa keypad ang pulang pindutan at nagwikang.

“Alam kong hindi ako nawala. Ayan! Nakikita ko na heto na ang bagong ako.”

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A Stranger Brew Daniel Tinagan

Ingredients needed to win back all the things you have lost. Ingredients for a cure to the obsession of trying to find things that you cannot, will not, should not find. The ingredients of a stranger brew.

1. 4 slices of Lover's Liver The taste still lingers. At first it melted like how butter would melt when it comes in contact with your mouth. Then the aftertaste assaults your tongue with a bittersweet flavor. A mild sting should be expected. You see, my friend, the best way to enjoy liver is to eat them raw. Slice it into thin strips, place a slice on your tongue and let it sit there for a few seconds. The full flavor will surprise you.

Today, my liver dish is extra special. This one is from my first love. The fact that she is still lying in the living room with her stomach open does not disturb me at all. I thought about eating her heart too but when I looked for it, it was not there.

2. ¼ cup Cream of Fallacy Requirements: • Bachelor’s Degree in Silver Crafting or a related field • Must be well versed in handling a wooden stake • Relevant years of working under a high wizard’s supervision or internship experience • Must be able to work in graveyards and on graveyard shifts • Must have a twisted perc

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(Applicants must possess a cold heart with a little pinch of fake gratitude towards society. Please bring your requirements together with your weapon of choice on Tuesday.)

3. 5 cups of Liquid Courage Come on Daniel, talk to her.

Why should I? What will I say? It has been almost 3 years since I last talked to her.

Oh, I can smell fear. It is all over you friend, can you smell it too? You are wasting precious time.

That is not “fear” you smell. That is the smell of the stomach contents of the good guy behind me. He didn’t know where to spray it all over.

Stop it, you are trying to change the topic.

I’m not trying to change the topic. Have you heard of this poem by Salvador Dali?

No, what about it? And stop changing the topic!

Never mind the poem. What topic are you talking about?

Dammit, I forgot.

Pass the bottle, I’m parched.

Here ya go. Cheers?

Cheers!

4. 2 tbsp of Worthless Hope “Come one, come all! A new product is in town! Presenting, Victor’s vitae! The wonder drug of the century! Are tired of lonely nights spent with your sorry excuse for a wife? Are you fed up with all the false grandeur brought about by the wrong use of an adhesive drug? Worry no more old chap, we got what you need! Victor’s vitae! For the loneliest of all the lonely hearts, take one sniff and journey across the universe. Say goodbye to the old you and welcome the older, more primal you.”

(No approved therapeutic claims. Not tested on reptiles.)

5. 1 medium Memoryflower, broken into florets She was the most beautiful soul that I have known. (She, still, is the most beautiful soul I know.) The long legs and large breasts around me cannot compete with the innocent smile she has.

The world used to stop whenever she’s around but now that I have realized her rarity, the world would spin a little too fast when she is around. It brings me winter chills in the middle of summer.

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(Yeah, winter chills, nice try.) Her eyes, lest I forget, has the power to transport your tongue to places unknown to any man. The stutter I have is my tongue’s foolish attempt on proving false courage.

6. 1 tbsp of Good Translation “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after.”

Jack Smith and Jill Smith of 420 Orange Drive, Mandurriao Iloilo City went up a small elevated land to get water for an unknown purpose. Jack Smith, 18, fell down and most unfortunately suffered from a minor concussion. Jill Smith, 17, thought that Jack killed himself. Jill, upon impulse, jumped down the hill because of too much sadness. Jill Smith has been diagnosed of mild psychosis and has been proven to be socially hostile. She also has suicidal tendencies during rare and special occasions. She speaks fluent English, acceptable Spanish and a little Bear.

7. a gallon of Harsh Reality You stand there in front of the class. Looking at the teacher like a half-wit. You don’t know how to explain your report. You grow silent. Dumb silent. You pretend that you are reading the words projected on the board but in reality, you don’t have an idea what they mean.

You smile your retarded smile. No Barbie, your looks will not do you any good now. Still hoping that your smile will save you, you smile some more. You try to say something smart but you miserably fail. The teacher stands up, clears her throat and looks at you with a not-so-good intent.

Before the teacher can speak, you notice an object flying fast towards you. You try to duck it but you are born too slow. A clash. Your head. A chair.

Now, I need to find another seat before the teacher figures out what just happened. Sweet.

8. A pinch of Unnecessary Information “Gina-panawagan ang mga himata sang dignidad ni Jan Nino. Kon mahimo, palihog magkari sa istasyon para ma-gawad ang nagakaigo kag kinahanglanon nga papeles para sa pagpalubong sini. Ini ang nagtaliwan sang nagligad nga Byernes, petsa uno, bulan sang Enero. Nasobrahan gid ini sang agwa de pataranta kag nasapwan nalang nga ga-kamangkamang kag ga-kupokupo sa mga baboy sa likod sang balay sang aton pinalangga nga Mayor. Nakibot gid si Mayor kag wala na sini napunggan nga mag-kuha sang shotgun sa sulod sang ila balay kag palukpan sang trenta ka beses ang aton nga suspetsado. Ang aton Mayor, yara subong sa Istarbaks para maka-liwaliwa kag para maumpawan sa trauma nga gin-dala sang nahambal nga hitabo.”

Manamit ang kape sa Istarbaks, maluwas nga sobra ini ka-mahal, damu ka pa pwede pa picturan dala ang kape nga daw sa piho lang ang imo itsura.

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Longganisa Joniemar Calderon

Enero 14, 2013 8:00 pm Mas malakas ang pangangatok ni Peter sa pintuan kaysa sa ingay ng buhos ng ulan. Galing sa matagal na pagkakaupo, naudlot ang larong DOTA ni Conrad at dagling tumayo at binuksan ang pintuan.

“O Peter!” napagulat na sabi ni Conrad sa kaibigang nakatalukbong ng asul na bag. “Trip mo na rin palang maligo sa ulan? Pasok.”

Mabilis namang sumilong si Peter sa makalat na apartment ng kaibigan. Matapos tanggapin ang tuwalya nagsalita na ito. “Tol... ampunin mo muna ako dito. Pansamantala lang. Pinalayas kasi—” “Engot...” Sabay kuha ng bag ng kaibigan at inilatag ito sa mesa. “Kahit kailan naman welcome ka dito, uh.” Umupo ulit si Conrad sa harap ng kanyang kompyuter. “Ano pa ba ang bago? Lagi ka namang pinapalayas.”

Gumuhit ang ngiti sa mukha ni Peter habang tumititig sa kaibigang halos gahasain ang kompyuter.

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Enero 15, 2013 6:30 am Tumilaok ang orasang manok. Nagising si Conrad at napabangon. Hinanap nito agad ang cellphone sa ilalim ng unan. Wala. Sa tabi ng TV. Wala. Sa paanan ng study lamp. Wala.

“Peter!” sigaw ni Conrad. “Nakita mo ba cellphone ko?”

“Diyan lang nakapatong sa laptop mo!” sigaw na sagot ni Peter mula sa loob ng CR. Maya-maya pa’y nagkita nga ulit si Conrad at si Samsung. 34 New Messages. 7 Missed calls.

Enero 15, 2013 5:00 pm “Peter!!!” sigaw ni Conrad na kararating lang mula sa paaralan. Gulat na gulat ang mukha niya na may halong pangamba. Tila hindi siya makapaniwala sa nangyari sa kanyang apartment. “Walang hiya ka! Engot ka! Hindi kita pinalilinis dito, uh. Baka sabihin nila inaalila kita, tol!”

Tumawa si Peter habang naglalakad palabas ng kwarto, akay-akay ang mga labahing damit.

“Hayaan mo na ako, ungas! Inampon mo na nga ako dito at dapat lang na... na may maitulong din ako, tol.”

“Engot...” sabi ng kaibigan habang ibinababa ang bag at isang malaking plastik ng tinapay. “Eh, teka nga lang... bakit mo hawak mga damit ko?”

“Ungas! Eh, syempre lalabhan ko! Ang hina mo naman, tol.”

“Kelan ka pa natotong maglaba, engot?”

“Noong... noong nanakaw ang washing machine namin!”

Enero 16, 2013 6:30 am Hindi alam ni Conrad kung ano ang nakagising sa kanya: ang alarm clock ba o ang longganisa.

Bumangon siya at tumungo sa kusina, amoy na amoy ang niluluto ng kaibigan. Nadatnan nga niya si Peter na naghahain ng almusal.

“Hanep ka, tol!” bungad nito kay Peter habang nagtitimpla ng kape. “Di ka lang dyanitor at labandero! Akalain mo nga naman, chef ka rin pala!” sabi niya sa kaibigan na sinabayan ng hagikhik na nagpapaalon sa malaki niyang tiyan.

Napangiti si Peter sa sinabi ng ungas niyang kaibigan. “Ungas! Wala ‘to... simpleng simple nga lang ‘to.” At dumampot ito ng pera mula sa kanyang bulsa at ipinatong ang dalawang libo sa mesa.

“Eto nga pala tol, bayad ko. Yong kulang babayaran ko nalang sa katapusan ng buwan.”

“Engot! Bayad para saan? ‘Di na, hoy! Pang-alawans mo nalang yan, tol.”

“Nakakahiya na kasi sa’yo, tol. Ang mahirap kasi... kung kailan pa ako natutong mag-aral

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nang mabuti, doon pa nagka-problema sa bahay. Mabuti na nga lang napadalhan ako ng ate ng panggastos.”

Enero 16, 2013 9:00 am Nakaupong sumisimangot si Bryan sa puting upuan, katabi ang nakangiti namang si Conrad.

Transportation Engineering ang klase.

Tumaas ang kilay ni Bryan nang mapansin ang abot langit na ngiti ni Conrad. “Con?” “Hmmm...” huni ni Conrad na tila abala sa pakikinig sa reporting ni Pierre.

“Kung papipiliin ka na maging isang maskot bakit si Barney?”

“Ano? Mukha ba akong daynasor?”

“Hindi. Kung makangiti ka kasi parang sinagot ka na ni Carleen. Si Carleen kasi, tol, mahilig sa teriks!”

“Meron kasi akong taga-linis, taga-laba, at taga-luto sa apartment.”

“Si Carleen, tol?” Nanlalaking mga mata ni Bryan sa ‘di mailarawang interes.

“Engot. Si bespren Peter.”

“Ano?” Gulat na sabi ni Bryan. “Naku naman, pare...si Peter? Double-kill ka niyan pare!”

“Anong pinagsasabi mo?”

“Magnanakaw yang si Peter,” pabulong na sabi ni Bryan sa kaibigan habang nagkukunwaring nagsusulat sa papel nang mahagilap nang tingin sa kanilang guro. “Itanong mo pa kina Pierre, Guillmar, at Joniemar na mga ex-roomates niya.”

“Engot...” bulong pabalik ni Conrad. “Anong nalunok mo? Isang buo na kompyuter sa kalalaro ng DOTA? Matagal ko na kayang kaibigan ‘yon. Ang maamong pusang ‘yon... na pagalagala... kawawa naman kaya inampon ko.”

“Hindi lahat ng maamo maaari mong pagkatiwalaan, tol. Minsan... ang leon nagpapakapusa rin.”

Hindi ito pinakinggan ni Conrad. Nagtaingang kawali na lang siya dahil sa paniniwalang mabuting kaibigan si Peter. Kapatid na nga ang turing nito sa kanya.

Enero 16, 2013 8:00 pm Hindi lubusang maialis ni Conrad sa kanyang isip ang ibinunyag ni Bryan sa kanya. Hindi man lang nakatulong ang masarap na amoy ng longganisang nakahain sa harap niya. Kung magkataong mali si Bryan, lalabas siyang sinungaling. Ngunit kung totoo ngang magnanakaw si

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Peter, maaaring siya na ang susunod nitong biktima. Mas madaling hulihin ang magnanakaw kay sa sa sinungaling, ang sabi ng isip niya.

“Tol, ang lalim ‘ata ng iniisip mo ha. May problema ba sa longganisa?” basag ni Peter sa katahimikan ng kanilang hapunan.

“Engot, wala. Nagdadasal lang ako ng pasasalamat,” pagsinungaling ni Conrad sa kaibigan.

“Tol, paano kung walang-wala ka na talaga, magagawa mo bang magnakaw?”

Napahinto si Peter sa pagkain. Napatingin siya sa kaibigan. Hindi pangangamba o pag-aalala ang nasulyapan ni Conrad sa mukha ng kaibigan. Nasaksihan ng kanyang mga mata ang baliw na ngiti ng kanyang kaibigan. “Ba’t mo naman naitanong yan? Asaynment sa anong sabdyek?”

Hindi sumagot si Conrad. Nagsimula na siyang kumain.

“Alam mo, tol...” bungad ni Peter habang panguyanguya ng tila matigas na malamig na kanin. “...mas pipiliin ko pang magutom kaysa sa magnakaw. Mas masakit kaya ang masunog sa impyerno kaysa manlubid sa ulser.” At natawa ito sa kanyang sinabi.

Kuntento sa sagot, napatawa na rin si Conrad na nagpatalsik ng kanin sa mukha ng kaibigan.

Enero 19, 2013 9:40 pm Madilim. Walang ilaw ang apartment. Nagtaka si Conrad. Hindi pa nakakauwi si Peter, at suspetya niya, sumama ito kay Jason sa Smallville. Dinukot nito agad ang susi sa bulsa at binuksan ang pintuan. Sa pagbukas niya ng ilaw, isang korus na“Surprise!” ang kanyang narinig. Tsaka bumulaga ang kanyang mga barkadang kumanta ng Happy Birthday na siyang sinabayan nang pagulan ng confetti.

Hawak ang chocolate cake, may isang umilaw ng kandilang hugis bote ng serbesa. At mula sa gitna ng mga nagtitipong mga kaibigan, lumapit si Peter sa nahihiyang si Conrad. “Bente-singko ka na, tol! Mag-wish ka na maging magaling ka na sa Structural Theory 1 kay sa sa DOTA.” Sa pag-ihip nito ng kandila, doon lamang gumuhit ang Barney na ngiti ni Conrad. Si Pierre ay sumigaw ng: “Let’s partiiiiii!!!” hawak ang isang bote ng Red Horse beer. Sa tabi niya ay sina Bryan at Carleen na nag-uumpugan ng ulo dahil sa pag-uunahan sa pagtikim ng cake. At si Guillmar naman ay nasa upuan kaharap si Elice at Elly na nagtatagayan na ng serbesa. Habang si Joniemar ay nasa labas, nag-iisang naghihithit ng isang metrong sigarilyo.

Enero 20, 2013 7:20 am Pitong bote ng serbesa at nakakalat na kaha ng Marlboro ang hinihigaan ni Pierre, Guillmar at Elly sa sahig habang mahimbing na natutulog. Malapit sa pintuang nakaupo si Bryan, dilat ang mga mata, hindi gumagalaw, may isang stik ng yosi na nakaipit sa bibig. Maagang nakauwi naman si Carleen at Elice, habang si Joniemar ay nakahimlay sa loob ng CR, pahilikhilik sa tabi ng inodoro.

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Mag-iisa’t kalahating oras nang pabalikbalik si Conrad mula sa kwarto at kusina, hindi pa rin niya makita ang cellphone. “Peter! Nakita mo ba cellphone ko?”

“Hindi! Lasing ako kagabi. Hanggang ngayon masakit pa rin nga ulo ko! Hanapin mo na lang,” sigaw ni Peter mula sa sala.

Bumalik ulit ng kuwarto si Conrad at hinanap ang nawawalang cellphone. Nag-aamok. Alam niyang naghihintay na ng tawag ang ina nito dahil nangako siyang tatawag alas-otso ng umaga.

Walang pakundangan niyang dinukot ang cellphone ni Pierre at tinawagan ang sariling cellphone.

Tumunog nga ito at nadatnan niya mismo sa loob ng isang bag. Hindi sa kanyang bag. Bumulagta ang kanyang pitaka at cellphone sa bulsa ng bag ni Peter.

Pebrero 25, 2013 8:00 pm Nanginginig ang mga daliri sa kalalaro ng DOTA. Pinagpapawisan. Nanlalaki ang mga mata sa kabababad sa kompyuter. Umalingawngaw ang langit at bumuhos ang ulan. Napatigil si Conrad.

Mula sa matagal na pagkakaupo, tumayo ito para isara ang pintuan. Naalala niya ang gabing iyon, ang pagkatok, ang basang-basang si Peter. Naalala niya rin ang araw na pinaalis niya ang kaibigan dahil sa ninakaw na pitaka at cellphone. At mga salitang sinabi niya kay Peter: Ang cellphone madaling mababayaran, ang pera madaling maibabalik, pero ang tiwala, kahit kaunti, mahirap nang buuin ulit.

Naalala niya rin ang araw na nadiskubre niyang si Bryan pala ang may pakana. Si Bryan ang naglagay ng cellphone at pitaka sa bag ni Peter. Pero paano pa niya maibabalik ang pagkakaibigang higit pa sa kapatid ang turingan na nasira dahil lamang sa nawalang cellphone? Mula sa mesa, kinuha ni Conrad ang regalong ibinigay ng kaibigan sa kanyang kaarawan. Binasa niya ulit ang sulat na kasama nito: Ungas! Happy Birthday! Pagpasensiyahan mo na ang regalo ko. Eto sling at buckle para ‘di mo mawala o makalimutan ang cellphone mo, at bumili na rin pala ako ng maraming longganisa, nasa ice box, sakto para sa isang linggo nating almusal —Engot.

At narinig niya ang pangangatok galing sa pintuan. Dali-dali siyang tumayo at pinagbuksan si Peter. Walang Peter. At nagpatuloy bumuhos ang ulan ng Pebrero.

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Nang Matutong Lumipad si Jr. Russel Jude PatiĂąa

Alas singko y medya Limang beses nang tumunog ang digital alarm clock na nakaupo sa mesa ni Jude. Limang beses na rin niyang napindot ang snooze button para patahimikin ito. Pilit siyang bumalik sa pagtulog kahit alam niyang may pasok siya ng alas otso. Screw the class. No, screw my classmates. No, just screw the entire academic institution for crying out loud, hinaing ng kanyang ulirat.

Pilit niyang nilabanan ang antok, bumalikwas pakaliwa at pakanan sa pagbabakasakaling muli siyang lulunurin ng dilim at iduduyan patungo sa mundo ng panaginip. Doon kung saan alam niyang tahimik. “Gumising na kayo mga pensyonado!� sigaw ng kanyang Daddy sabay katok sa pintuan ng kanyang kwarto sa iba pa niyang mga kapatid.

Pilit siyang dumilat at nakipagbuno sa kama. Ang malambot niyang unan, ang punda na may nakaburdang pangalan niya sa gilid na gawa ng kanyang Mommy at ang bagong laba niyang kobre kama. Ang kumot na bumabalot sa kaniyang hubad na pagkatao. Ang kwartong nagsilbing kanlungan niya. Muli niyang ipinikit ang kanyang mga mata at iwinaksi ang mga nagsisikarerang ideya sa kanyang utak.

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Alas sais y medya Bihis na ang tatlo niyang kapatid na nag-aagahan sa mesa. Si June ang pinakamatanda at isang empleyado ng gobyerno, si Joseph ang pangalawa at magtatapos na sa kursong enhinyero at ang bunso, si John na nasa high school.

“What are you staring at? Kumain ka na at baka mahuli pa kayo.” Tawag ng kanyang Mommy.

“Opo,” ang siya niya lamang nasambit.

Umupo siya sa gilid ng amang nagbabasa ng diyaryo habang humihigop ng kape. Tahimik ang mesa bukod sa pang-aalaska ni Joseph sa kanilang bunso.

“Mom, kuya is teasing me again,” apela ni John.

“Enough Joseph, bilisan niyo nang kumain dahil nagmamadali na ang Daddy niyo,” pangaral ng ina.

“Magpatuli ka na kasi,” hirit ni Joseph habang tumatawang patakbo sa kaniyang kwarto.

Nagsitawanan ang lahat puwera kay John at Jude: si John dahil siya na naman ang napagtripan ng alaskador na si Joseph; at si Jude dahil alam niya ang pakiramdam na maging tampulan ng tukso ng kanyang mga kuya. Napailing na lamang siya.

Alas syete y medya Eksakto lang ang pagdating nila sa unibersidad at alas otso pa ang una niyang klase.

Napansin niyang nakabusangot pa rin ang bunso dahil hindi nilubayan ng panunukso ni Joseph.

“Hayaan mo na, malakas lang talagang makapangasar iyang si kuya. Don’t worry, sa susunod na summer break I’ll come with you para hindi ka na niya tuksuhin,” pangako niya sabay tapik sa balikat ng kapatid na kahit papaano’y luwinag ang mukha.

“Mag ingat kayo at deretso uwi mamaya,” sambit ng kanyang Daddy.

Alas otso y medya “We are lucky to be a part of the Christian faith because we get to read the Bible. The scripture will save us and will pave the way for our spot in heaven,” panukala ng kanyang guro sabay kumpas ng kamay na tila isang kondaktor ng isang malaking konsyerto.

Naiisip ni Jude ang kaibigang muslim na si Ikram mula sa Malaysia. Naala niya ang sinabi nito noong naroon pa sila sa Japan para sa isang exchange program.

“I am lucky to have met a friend like you who does not treat me differently because of my faith.” Ito ang mga salitang nagpa-isip sa kanya. Papaano na lang kaya si Ikram na sampo sa kanilang pamilya.

Ibig bang sabihin nito’y hindi sila makakapunta sa langit? He laughed at the thought of how silly he has been thinking, dala siguro ng bagot at mainit na panahon.

“I think we must end the class now because I might be late for my next class which will be here likewise.

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Oh my other students are outside already so I will just leave you to study the next chapter and memorize the verses by heart, mind and soul because it will be a part of the next exam we will have for the finals,” tarantang ulirat ng guro habang nilalatag ang makeup kit sa mesa para mag retouch.

Somebody hire a proof reader to correct everything she just said. Gusto niyang guhitan ng pulang tinta ang bawat katagang tinuran ng guro.

Alas kwatro y medya Hindi niya namalayan na isang oras na pala siyang nakatulog sa gilid ng silid-aklatan.

Namumula ang mga mata, hinugot niya ang cellphone mula sa bulsa ng kanyang pantalon upang tingnan ang oras. May mensahe sa inbox. Dalidali niyang binuksan.

“Anak, your dad and I are going out for dinner with friends. We might go home late, so kayo na ang bahala sa bahay. Pinasundo ko na si John kay manang Gloria at nakapag-luto na rin ako ng dinner, Mom.” Mom. Hindi niya napigilang mapangiti. Sabi ng karamihan kahawig daw niya ang ina mula sa mukha, sa kilos, maging sa pagtugtog at hilig sa piyano. Hindi niya naman mapagkakaila na mas malapit siya sa ina. Una, dahil sakitin siya at may asthma kaya, ‘di kagaya ng mga kapatid na tangay lagi ng ama sa basketball court, lagi lang siyang nakakulong sa bahay. Hindi siya nagkaroon ng maraming kaibigan o kung meron man ay hindi nagtatagal at lumilisan din. Tulad ng kababata niyang si Mika na ngayon ay nasa Amerika na.

I’ll go home late.

Alas singko y medya Parang pagong ang usad ng mga sasakyan sa downtown ganun din ang bugso ng mga taong nagsisipag-uwian. Mausok, maiinit, at masikip. The pitfalls of a thriving economy sabi niya sa sarili.

Iba’t ibang mukha mula sa iba’t ibang sulok ng lipunan, strangers you won’t remember again and stories you will never know and they would never tell.

Ito ang pinakagusto niya sa paglalakad. Marami siyang naiisip, mga ideyang nagsisikarera sa kanyang utak. Mga epiphanies at realizations. Mga sagot na nanganganak ng marami pang katanungan. Hindi siya napapagod sa ka-iisip.

Lumiko siya papasok sa isang makipot na kanto at pumasok sa isang liblib na bookstore na iilan lang ang nakakaalam.

Binungad siya ng pagbati ng may-ari sa pinto at sinuklian naman niya ng panatag na ngiti.

Parati siyang nandito, minsan pagkatapos ng klase, pag ayaw niyang pumasok ng klase, tuwing lingo pagkatapos ng misa, noong nagpalaam si Mika, noong pinagalitan siya ng ama, noong tinutukso siya ng mga kuya niya, noong prom, noong nakapagtapos siya, at tuwing nararamdaman niyang mag-isa siya.

Nagsimula siya sa mga new acquisition. Ang mga libro dito ay pinagpapasa-pasahan ng mga

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may-ari o book trade kung tawagin.

Alam na ni Jude ang patakaran dito, tahimik ang iilang mga customer, halatang absorbed sa kani-kanilang binabasa. Tahimik niyang ipinasada ang kamay sa mga librong nakadisplay sa shelf habang sinasamsam ang amoy ng magkahalong alikabok, air conditioner, at ensenso.

Alas sais y medya Napadpad siya sa tagong bahagi ng bookstore, sa ilalim ng hagdan. Idinaan niya ang mga mapanuring mata sa titulo ng mga libro at napatigil siya sa akda ng isang Aleman. Kinuha niya ito at binuklat ang unang pahina. Sumangguni sa kanya ang isang nakadikit na note sa foreword. Sulat kamay.

“To the young who seeks to find himself amidst the chaos, I dedicate ’92” Ka-edad niya ang note. Lihim siyang napa-isip at patuloy na nagbasa sa ilalim ng kanyang hininga. Napatuon ang kanyang atensyon sa nailawan na berdeng tintang bahagi ng libro.

“Lovers are two people who used to be one, but now they’re together and they’re looking at the same hor-…”

Hindi niya natapos ang pangungusap nang may isang malalim na boses na pumukaw sa kanyang kamalayan. “…horizon. Kung saan nagiging isa ang dagat at langit, naroon tayo. Rainer Maria Rilke, first edition.”

Napatingin siya sa gawing pinanggalingan ng tinig. Isang matangkad na estrangherong may suot na salamin ang pinagmulan. Misteryosong nakasampa sa gilid ng hagdan at nakapako ang mga mata sa kandong na libro ni Tolstoy.

“Nagustuhan mo ba? That’s one of my favorites, but I had to sell it here because they’re piling up in my dormitory and sadly my roommates no longer approve anything that’s made of paper,” pahayag niya.

Binuklat ni Jude and unang pahina para tingnan kung nakasulat doon ang katauhan ng binata.

“I’m sorry, It’s Michael. Michael Cruz.” Tumayo ang estranghero, ipinagpag ang kamay at inabot kay Jude. “Lagi ka rito. Alam ko. Lagi ka rin nag-iisa sa library, sa auditorium, sa cafeteria.

Hindi pa kita nakitang may kasama.”

“Jude po.” Sabay salubong sa pangangamusta ng isang bagong kaibigan. Hindi niya maipaliwanag ang naramdaman.

“Huwag mo na akong pino-po, isang taon lang naman ‘ata tanda ko sayo.” Sumilip ang ngiti sa labi ng estranghero. “I’m glad na mapupunta siya sa mabuting kamay.” Nakatingin ang estranghero sa librong hawak-hawak ni Jude.

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“Ah, no. I don’t think I have enough money to buy it today. Sa susunod na lang siguro.”

Nagsinungaling siya, ngunit hindi niya malaman kung bakit.

“Hmmm, don’t get me wrong. Hindi ako nagbebenta dito. I’m just another worm, a slave of literature. Binabantayan ko lang talaga sila,” mahinahon niyang tawa.

“Sorry,” sabi ni Jude.

“Mahilig ka ba sa libro? Pansin ko kasi, everytime I would see you, lagi kang may hawak na libro?”

“Everytime?” bulong ni Jude sa sarili. Hindi niya maintindihan kung bakit nanginginig ang kanyang kalamnan sabay pamumula ng kanyang pisngi. Tanging tango lamang ang kanyang naisagot sa pang-uusisa.

“Here, if you want I can lend you some of my books. I’d like to see them in good hands if I were to dispose them,” paanyaya ng estranghero.

Alas dyis y medya.

“O Junior, ginabi ka ‘ata?” pambungad na usisa ng Daddy ni Jude na nasa sala at nanood ng basketball kasama ang kanyang mga kapatid.

“Sori po Dad. I just had to pick up some books from a friend.” Pumasok si Jude dala dala ang isang maliit na kartong may lamang libro. Hindi siya makatingngin sa ama.

“Kumain ka na ba?” usisa ng ina habang naghuhubad ng alahas na halatang galing sa isang party.

“Yes Mom. I’ll just get changed,” pag-iwas niya.

Alas dose y medya Kalmado niyang isinara ang pintuan ng kanyang kwarto. Inilapag ang kahon ng libro sa kama at tinitigan ang mga laman nito.

Pumikit siya at huminga ng malalim. Isang konsyerto ang nagaganap sa kaniyang isipan.

Muling puminta ang ngiti sa kanyang mga labi. Isang ngiti na hindi niya lubos na maipaliwanag.

Sometimes, the sky bows down towards the sea to meet the horizon.

Tahimik ang gabi, nanghihikayat. Naghihintay sa kanyang muling paglipad.

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The Cubicle Reyshimar Arguelles

Standing in an open field of cow grass, Sid noticed a tree about three kilometers from where he was. Beyond, a mountain range and the sun dying behind it. Perched on top of the tree was a golden owl. And trapped in its beak was a white mouse. It was still alive. Then, the grip tightened; the mouse struggled more fiercely, blood dripping from its mouth, as the sun sank deeper. Its movements became fainter before the owl swallowed it whole as the sun was completely devoured by the horizon.

He heard a whisper: “You’re not here to slack off.” Turning his head, he found himself back in his somber cubicle, invaded by The Manager who was leaning towards him and looking coldly at his dreary eyes.

The Manager continued, “I hope it will come across your mind that you are not here merely to daydream. Remember, sir, that we have a policy against fleeting revelries.”

Sid was not really paying him attention, for he was stunned by the fact that what was once a hallucinatory scene had transmuted into white walls, white cubicles wherein men in suits were endlessly tapping away at their keyboards, a clock with no hands that hung on the wall near which The Manager’s desk was situated, white lights on the ceiling that lit the room with an excruciating brightness but also provided it with a thorough cleanliness, and a water cooler on the other end of the room; to the left of Sid’s cubicle, a door, perhaps the only door in the room; to the right, a small compartment with a glass door that could have accommodated a fire extinguisher, but rather it contained a small, black case. Printed on the glass, in white, were the words “JUST IN CASE.” “Can you hear me?!” Sid only heard that part and placed his attention back to The Manager.

“Yes, sir. Clearly,” he replied in unsettled tones.

“Clearly?” The Manager childishly accounted. “Get back to work!”

“Yes, sir!”

When The Manager had left, Sid turned to the worksheet in his computer screen and saw letters, words, sentences of no fixed patterns, no logical construction, devoid of discernible content.

Only: “Bbbbbbbb bkkkkkkhgdgvcdsbcjhgvjvb bgvbjnbv csmart nsbacijjjlcmmjhnbgfjhakfgbkhfbbbjnl” Sid pondered for a moment, as the sound of rapid typing filled the room. He rubbed his eyes, lifted himself from his swivel chair and looked about. His colleagues were hard at work. It seemed that their attention was only towards their computers, typing without looking at the keys, without prior meditation. And what is more, they seemed to be so involved in their “work,” to be absorbed

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within their cubicles as to exclude everything that lay outside.

Sid’s consternation grew even more. He knew where he was, but he could not comprehend his being there, surrounded by about fifty people as mechanical as the machines they tinkered.

He decided to approach The Manager at his desk. His steps were in sync with the sound of the keys that had now become annoying. The Manager, as Sid came closer, was staring him down as he conducted himself in a procession of one.

The Manager, with his eyes piercing through rounded spectacles that reflected the bright lights, went off, “Go back to your cubicle.”

Sid stopped midway. The Manager’s authority seemed something one should never dare cross, but Sid ignored it all and breached an imaginary barrier, inquiring: “What am I doing here?”

Without any hesitation and as though he had already a preconceived notion of Sid’s curiosity, The Manager told him, “You’re here because you wanted to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not as difficult as it seems. But let me explain anyway. When we offered you this job, you were a sorry wretch. Your former job turned your life into a state of despair. And at one time, you declared that you are afraid of death and it brought you even more despair. You were tired of having to choose, of having to pursue happiness, of having to face the enigma of life,” The Manager uttered this without expression.

He continued, “You were looking for salvation. Presently, you are living it.”

Sid felt fear in his throat, for he could not remember being offered this job, let alone accepting it. He wanted to know more. “What if I don’t want to work here anymore?” he asked.

“Not possible.”

“What? Am I going to be here for… for the rest of eternity? Are you telling me that this is hell?”

The Manager laughed, “Not exactly. But indeed, you can live here for eternity and without fear. You don’t get to think about death and about having to choose. And your cubicle offers the ideal predicament: endless and monotonous labor. It beats having to swim in daily decisions. Now, will you be so kind as to return to your cubicle.”

Sid stood for a moment, trying to absorb everything The Manager had said. His scalp began to itch, yet he neglected it. Finally, he turned and walked towards his cubicle, The Manager eyeing him cruelly.

He sat at his swivel chair and looked at the worksheet in his computer screen, as if he had exhausted what was left of his curiosities. The cursor was blinking, inviting him to type. He

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positioned his fingers on the keys and took a deep breath. Suddenly, irascibility overwhelmed him as he asked himself which key to press first. “The ‘B’ or the ‘K’ or the ‘A’?”

His drives escaped him and for the first time in his life within the cubicle, within that room of the living dead, he felt human.

At this most crucial moment, a man from among the cubicles stood up. Sid ogled him. The man drew himself near the compartment. He opened the glass door, took out the black case, opened it and revealed a revolver, silver and terrifying. He gripped it, his index finger on the trigger, without much shaking. He pressed the muzzle against his right temple and squeezed the trigger.

BANG! Sid almost jumped out from his chair as he saw the man falling sideways, the wall near him splattered with blood.

Just then, the door, the only door in the room, opened. Three men in suits entered: One carrying a mop, another, a black case identical to the one within the compartment, and the last carrying nothing at all. They approached the corpse. The one carrying nothing proceeded to drag it by its arms towards the door, followed by the man with the mop cleaning after the blood stains on the tiles. The man with the black case, meanwhile, replaced the one opened by the self-destructive man. As the two other men exited, he picked up the opened case, walked towards the door, and exited. They did all this casually as they were flouted by the inhabitants of the room – except for Sid. He was irate and nervous. And now, he understood that the black case was the key to total liberation from his cubicle. He stood up and approached the compartment, opened the glass door, took out the black case, opened it, gripped the revolver, and…

Approached The Manager and shot him in the forehead. The typing in the cubicles ceased, and heads surfaced from them, one by one. They saw The Manager falling backwards with his chair, like an aged sycamore. He lay there, lifeless on a red pool. Sid was convinced that this really was hell.

The door opened once again, and the three men, the same men who had disposed the body and replaced the black case, walked towards the now inert manager. One pulled him by his arms towards the door and another followed up with the mopping. The last man approached Sid and told him, with a disinterested face, “Congratulations, you’ve been promoted.”

The men left Sid who was still standing in front of the desk. The people in their cubicles continue to stare. Sid thought this irritating. “What are you all doing?! Get back to work!” And so the typing continued.

And it became clear that it was Sid’s first day as The Manager, The Overlord of the Cubicles, unaware though that someone among the suited men had procured a vision, of The Golden Owl bitten by The Silver Cobra, in an open field of cow grass at sunset.

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Origami Hearts Dazen Dawn Lariza

And in that state of complete confusion and loss, you found what was lost when I didn’t even know I was losing it.

He stared into space as she always did when she thought of things even she could never be certain of. It doesn’t matter what she thought of. It always ended with her thinking that staring blankly into space and letting her thoughts wander was a complete waste of time and she’d search for her pen and start scribbling before her thoughts would start to drift off and she’d stare into nothing again. It was always like that with her, an endless cycle like rain or leap years.

As he stayed in that critical state of thinking and repetition, he was brought back to a different time in his head. Back to the moment when her episodes made her unaware of the rude stares people gave her or the Music professor’s confusing lecture on the importance of Biology to Music or the unwanted attention that a certain someone from class gave her. Not that she would have cared about that certain someone. She wouldn’t even bother if that someone found her mannerisms as amusing as an hour of playing a 5v5 game of LOL or a Mathematical equation that took hours to solve. What’s good about being someone’s source of amusement anyway?

And as “certain someones” never do, that certain someone surprised her by having his presence acknowledged. Her phone beeped with the usual text message. He, ironically, was that certain someone. She rolled her eyes and looked back at him as he waited for her by the door, that awkward half-smile of his making him look like he needed her smile to brighten up his boring day.

She smiled at him. “Would it kill you to say those words rather than text them?”

He grinned as she raised an eyebrow, the expression that would have also been on her face if she had said the words he was reading on his phone. He had imagined it that way. He had memorized it. “You’re in class. I’m not supposed to be here. That sums it up.”

She read it and rolled her eyes, “Not obvious. Play that song for me again. After class.”

He took a deep breath then looked at her with a face that said ‘seriously?’ She grinned. Class would be over soon. “I’ll be waiting for you in a few. The piano’s ready.”

And with that, he felt the tickling feeling of nervousness knock into his system. Not that he was a shy person. Heaven forbid that Jayce would ever be classified under that category. There was just something in her that made him a little bit more constrained than he usually was. Like she was some sort of invisible kryptonite and he couldn’t see how she could make him weak. It dated back to the moment he swore to God that his present fling would be the last he’d ever be in. As he raised his right hand to vow, she walked through the dusty old doors of the then usually empty Music room and he ended that little prayer with the words “I take it back, Lord. I was kidding.”

I was losing hope that love wasn’t merely a word, mere fiction like most things go, but you came and brought back that hope.

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He found out her name was Ashe when he heard it from her friends. Ashe, like what’s left after a cigarette burned out only with an additional silent ‘e’. Of course, he knew too much about it to not know how it was spelled and it made her even seem more mysterious, different, like the feeling he got when she walked by. He wanted to know her – the reason why he stole her number from his friend’s phone and wouldn’t even give it out to any of his mates who asked for it. But, as Adam Levine’s voice always sang in his head: she always belonged to someone else. She, unofficially, belonged to her best bud. Of course, he knew his place, but had this silent hope that maybe she’d felt a little something for him.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she lit a candle on top of the piano. It was just before dusk and they were having random conversations and silences which were more comfortable than they were awkward, as most silences went.

She smiled at him just as she took a photograph from her bag, its edges slightly torn and about to tear apart. It was a picture of her first, recently split up relationship and it made his heart churn a little. He watched as she stared into emptiness again, he knew as he kept his silence. She then shook her head as if trying to shake it off and grinned.

“Nothing,” she said as she drew the picture closer to the flames and watched as it was consumed into nothing; mere dust like how that relationship went. She smiled at him. “You know, I promised myself that I’d burn that thing up the moment I could get up on my two feet and say I’ve moved on.”

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“And you have…right?” he asked as he stared into her deep, emerald eyes.

She blew out the candle and grinned, “You know, if you turn that A-chord into a G-chord you’d have transposed it into a lower version of the piece.”

“But you do know that your whole A-chord, G-chord thing has nothing to do with my recital piece, right?” he said as he raised his brows skeptically as he ran his fingers through the black and white bars. She sighed in disappointment. He stopped playing his piece and looked at her. “You want me to teach you how to make origami hearts?”

Her face lit up as she nodded at him like a little kid. He restrained himself from laughing.

Then it hit him. “I guess we’ll have to use this copy of my recital piece to make them, eh?” he said as he took his piece from the piano’s music rack.

“Sorry,” she said.

He smiled. “Don’t worry. If I do forget my piece, I’ll play your favorite song instead.”

She smiled at him. The things he did for her.

“Let’s get started.”

You made me see that I lost ‘me’ and I had to lose you to see that.

He found origami hearts caught in between his clear book the moment she stopped showing up in class or replying to his messages. She just vanished. No one knew where she went. No one bothered. It was torture. A deep stab to an already open wound. There was no ‘farewell’, no ‘I’ll be back soon’. Just the blasted origami hearts caught in between his piano pieces and notes. This was too much. He took his clear book and threw out all the origami hearts into the floor and decided he’d tear them all into half the way she tore his heart. And as he was about to, he saw hints of inkblots on the pieces of paper. He began unfolding them instead. They were letters. Letters meant for him. And all he could ever do was unfold every origami heart he could ever find, read, and force back the tears that were never meant to be there.

You found me. I lost you.

That night he seemed to have “accidentally” forgotten about his recital piece and played her favorite song to a crowd of 300, 000 people. A crowd of people she probably never knew. Why would they care? She was merely a certain someone to them. And he forced back the tears as he remembered the lyrics to his piece: I tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone.

Thank you, Jayce, for teaching me how to create millions of origami hearts to make up for the sorry excuse of a heart that I was born with. I’m sorry it couldn’t beat long enough to spend forever with you. It’ll be over soon. I’ll see you in heaven.

I had to.

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The Compass Ron Adrian Dionaldo

It was supposed to be a peaceful night. I had plans to stay up late, although I promised my beloved little sister that I would watch Adventure Time with her before I retired to my video games.

Mom had just finished doing the dishes. Our dog, Max, was cozily sleeping on the floor beside the couch.

And Dad… well, Dad usually comes home late. As a biologist, he would usually spend the entire day combing the nearby forest from canopy to roots looking for artifacts of an unheard-of native tribe. It is a dangerous job, since a rebel group is rumored to be camped somewhere in the forest. But Dad always comes home safe, along with an assortment of artifacts he and his team manage to unearth, much to my mom’s constant fear that one of them might be cursed. But that’s okay. Dealers buy them at a high price.

But tonight was a different night. And Dad came home in a frenzy.

“Open the door! Son! Open the door!”

I jumped up from the couch and ran to open the door. Dad rushed in and took me by my shoulders. I looked and saw something in his eyes that I never have seen before: fear.

“Listen to me.” There was urgency in his voice. “Take Liz and Max out into the car while I get your mother.” A wave of protest and questions came both from me and Liz, and Max woke up and began howling ominously.

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“Shut up both of you!” Dad screamed, and we both shut up, because Dad is usually kind and screaming is not his thing. “Into the car! Now!” I lingered a second longer then took a crying Liz out of the house, Max following obediently behind. I looked back and saw Dad and Mom talking. Dad was waving a small silver box he found in the forest two days ago. I liked the box because it contained the most beautiful compass I have ever seen. The design told me it did not belong to some tribe, but nonetheless it was what Dad called an archaeological find. It caught the light and for a brief moment I was mesmerized.

The sudden explosion knocked me off my feet, and Liz and I fell down. I scrambled and looked just in time to see Dad dragging Mom out of the house. Behind them, our backyard was in flames.

“Run! Run!” Dad shouted.

I wasted no time. I scooped up Liz and a barking Max and ran to the car parked precariously on the driveway. I reached it just as a second explosion blew half of our house. I scrambled into the backseat with Max and Liz as Mom rushed into the passenger seat. Dad looked back one more time before climbing up the driver’s seat.

Dad hit the pedal and we were cruising off the road at illegal speed. Around us, neighbors were stirring, but suddenly the sound of gunshots made them run back into their house in panic.

I panicked too, because somehow I knew who fired the shots. The rebels. Dad and Mom were arguing loudly. Mom tried to grab the compass, but Dad yanked it out of her reach.

Another explosion went off. I looked back and saw the last remains of our home burn up in flames and smoke. I couldn’t help but think of my bed, my things, and all the memories our family shared inside the house. But I would mourn next time, because all I felt was confusion. Inside the car, our parents were shouting, Liz was crying, and Max was barking and howling. I felt lost in the senseless cacophony.

Suddenly Mom screeched and Dad swerved sharply to the right. A bomb went off where our car would have been had Mom not screamed. I looked back and saw headlights following us at a terrifying speed. Mom was shouting “Just give them the darn compass!”

We were near the forest when the firing from behind began. Liz and I ducked and held each other under the backseat, all the while shaking with fear. Dad did his best to avoid the bullets, but one hit the gas tank. He stopped deep inside the forest and ordered us all to go out. I saw sparks sprang up in the metal. Any moment now, the car would explode.

I could still hear the gunshots as I ran behind a tree with Liz and Max. Mom was just passing the car’s hood when she screamed—a scream of terrifying agony that woke up the entire forest. I looked back in horror and saw a blood stain forming on her chest. A bullet had found her heart.

Dad, Liz, and I screamed. And Max began howling yet again. Dad rushed to Mom’s side and

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caught her before she reached the ground. Dad caught my eye, and in one swift motion, he threw the compass at me.

In the coolness of the forest night air, I felt a chill ran down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature. I lost my Mom. Or will lose her. Or whatever. Liz threw herself at me as she continued to cry. Dad was holding Mom and trying to get her away from the car.

Then the car exploded.

I stood paralyzed at the scene. Mom...Dad...both were consumed by the flames. Liz screamed her most bloodcurdling scream yet, then choked and began wailing uncontrollably. Max was yipping pitifully. The trees caught fire, and the forest sounds sprang to life.

I stumbled to the moss-covered ground and held Liz closer. I was crying now. Who wouldn’t after seeing his parents die right in front of him? Every muscle was shaking. Every nerve was tingling. Max was howling and barking, mixing his sounds with that of the forest. It made my hair stand on its end.

I suddenly became aware of the cold metal in my hand. I clicked it open and looked at it with scornful eyes. In the glow of the flaming car and trees, the compass shone with a deadly beauty, unaware of the trouble it somehow had caused.

As the night grew darker, I used some of my Boy Scout training to set-up a camp where I think we would be safe. We had to go to sleep hungry. The following day, we must try to find water at the very least. The forest was big, and I didn’t plan to stay longer, no matter how senseless the world outside is now.

I was half expecting the rebels would find us in our sleep. Thank God, I woke up alive. Liz was already awake and was crying. I lay down beside her.

“They’re gone, Liz,” I whispered. “Mom and Dad… they’re gone now.” I knew I was not doing anything good to comfort my sister, but I had to vent out too. Now that the morning had dawned and the forest seemed less scary, I remembered everything that had happened the previous night.

All my life, Mom and Dad had been there. Now they’re gone, and I have never felt so lost, so senseless, so confused. It’s like I don’t have a purpose anymore. Or direction. I don’t know where to go. I don;t know how we will survive. I am at a loss for life itself.

As if reading my thoughts, Liz turned and faced me. She pressed her forehead on my forehead and wiped my eyes. For a second I thought I will break. Then I gathered up my courage and made my face straight. I have to be strong for Liz. I am her brother and I will protect her now that Mom and Dad are gone.

“Where’s Max?” I broke out of the hug and looked around. Our dog was missing. There was no way I would

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lose somebody else now. In a panic, I called him, but there was no answer.

“Max will find us,” I said, giving Liz a forced smile as she too stood up and started calling his name. I took out the compass and checked if it could help us out of the forest. The needle pointed helplessly to the north as I realized I do not have a map. The compass was useless.

Liz called again and to our relief, Max answered. However, our relief was short-lived. Max was not alone.

He came with a group of soldiers behind him. Instinctively, I drew Liz closer, but Max yipped at me then wagged his tail, then ran back to the group, his tail still wagging. He repeated the process until I got it. These weren’t the rebels.

“I am Sergeant Gonzales,” said a man who was probably their leader. “I know you have a lot of questions.” The air grew eerily calm as if waiting for a revelation. There was an anxious silence for several seconds. Then he told me the story.

Dad wasn’t just an archeologist. He was a tracker and a spy, looking for clues that could lead to the rebel group’s headquarters. Two days ago, he stole the compass box which contained important information. It was a clean job, but not all went as planned. The rebels extracted their revenge on him last night, and stopped when they thought we all died in the car explosion.

I gave the compass to Sgt. Gonzales. He took it then tinkered with it until the compass sprang up like a lid. To my surprise, he took out a folded map underneath the glass. It showed exactly where the rebel’s base is, along with guardhouses, supply routes, and other important locations.

I was still shaken by the loss of my parents, but soon I found out that the sacrifice had given me peace. In a few months, the rebels have been subdued. Plans which included bombings and assassinations have been thwarted. Liz and I received medals of honor in behalf of our Dad. And we got support from the government because of his work.

Liz and I stayed with a distant uncle from then on. The scars of the past continue to hurt us, but at the same time they molded us in the most painful yet beautiful way possible. I thought all hopes and dreams exploded with our home, and the future died with our parents. But I was wrong.

Somehow, the road found us again. And now we walk it with dignity. All is not lost.

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Twitterati* *Twitter + Literati || tidbits about the author’s words in 143 characters or less Airon Buenvenida @lucidinterval Wala niyo ko gin-intyendi. Naglingin akon ulo. Wala nyo ko ginpasensyahan. Nagsakit akon ulo.

Wala niyo ko ginhatagan piso. Nagbuang ako. Sadya na kamo? #lost #gindilian Alvin Tung @tunatheexplorer On duty at the hospital. Doctors rush to the ER. Patient in critical condition. Wait. Doctor tells news to the family. He’s gone. #lost #deathsfalsehope Anglerfish @anglelonaman Pretty liiiights! Oh! They’re gone. I shouldn’t have held on too tight :( #lost #spheres Bettina Perez @ferdiarchuletta I can’t take this darkness anymore. I’m numb. Cold as ice. I need to be free. God! Help me! #lost #rollingthedice Daniel Tinagan @mynameisfern The air is at its clearest here in my room. I have your scent, you have mine. Just us two. Forget about the beast who calls herself Tlka’gar. #lost #afterglow #tlka’gar #astrangerbrew Dazen Dawn Lariza @youdawntdothattome You had her in the palm of your hands. Fool! She was in control. Unanswered calls. I needed you.

You will lose me. Maybe you’ll find ‘you’ #lost #missfortunesfool #origamihearts Eeva @eevalikniyoako What the f----!? What the hell am I doing here? Where the *&#^@* am I?? #lost #mascot?

Eula Louise Canata @canatangmakabayan Gone astray. My soul’s lost. Found no hope. Rainbows turning into grey. He found me. Thank you, Jesus! #lost #lostandfound Hedwig @imbald Like being in a roller coaster of emotions. I can’t take this. It’s what’s best for us. Goodbye. #lost #turbulence

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Jayson Macabuhay @habangmaybuhay Alas dose na naman. Pauwi pa lang. Ano ba yung lumiliwanag sa dulo? Mapapakanta na yata ako. I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes :) #lost #pangitain Joniemar Calderon @boylongganisa Umuupo sa ilalim ng Narra. Miss ko na best friend ko. My fault. Wala nang magluluto ng longganisa. What more could I lose to satisfy You, Lord? #lost #narra #faithfulsubmission #longganisa Lalaine Joy Bacalangco @blard Why is it easy to forget? It’s all a blur now. Like so blarred, like low quality Instagram.

So BLARRED! #lost #blur Lyndon-Erl Beup @mutaon Ako nagluha. Naghangin. Nagmala. Nagtig-a! Boom! Muta! #lost #muta Maps Reyes @imthemaps She’s gone from this lifetime. Poor woman used to preach scriptures here. Promised land. Libingan pala ng pangako. #lost #ajourneytowardsGodshome #libinganngpangako Mark Louie Villa @resortsapunta Poor boy sitting under the tree again. Crying, weaving unwritten happy endings. Kailan pa maaayos tong mundong makasalanan? #lost #underthetree #liwayway Micaela Allen Garcia @hellogarci Kaya ko to…diba? Kaya ko naman palagi to. Pero ayaw ko na yata. Masakit na. Kaya ko pa ba?

Kailangan ko nang magbago. Malakas ako. #lost #alipingkubli

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Ram Paulo Anayan @inanayangkahoy Lighting my lamp to guide you as our ancestors did. Hoping you’d light a path for those who’ll follow after. #lost #alamptoguidemyfellowmen Rebel Rebel @rrwilson Church bells ringing. Feeling bitter. The memory still haunts me. #lost #sorrow Reyshimar Arguelles @dalansajaro Killed the manager. Had enough of his crap. Let him rot in hell. Oh wait! This office is hell. Won’t even let me see a bit of sunshine.*&#^@#(!! #lost #thecubicle Rhick Lars Vladimer Albay @phatrhick Small circle, small circle, big circle! Kiss Mama, kiss Papa… just draw a freaking bear, b***! #lost #circles Ron Adrian Dionaldo @emillioadionaldo Tragic night. Flames consumed them. We’re orphans: me, my sister, Max. But it’s ok. Rebels got busted. My Dad’s a hero. Proud to be his son. #lost #thecompass #apointlessessay Russel Jude Patiña @heyjude Random thoughts @ Munsterific. Ignore the world. Ignore the system. Ignore the status quo. Might as well get myself a new book. #lost #randomtendencies #closetsareforclothes #nangmatutonglumipadsijr #sapagtikasanglampirong Zchiara Patiño @zchiarakananaman Made the wrong turn on the way to Granny’s.*sighs* Happy thoughts. Wish the fairytales she told me were real :/ #lost #lostinafairytale #drive Isang Centralian @tagaCPUako Winner! Lit folio na naman! Oi! Level up ha! May colored pages na! Hayyy! Sayang! Na-corrupt yung USB ko :/ #lost #bitterkoya Outsider @labaynamankoliwat Bakod! Ngaa nami ni ya kuno ya man? Weew! Salamat lang sa friend ko da nga taga-CPU. Lapit na lang ko madula sa campus niyo kung wala ka. #lost

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The Central Echo Editorial Board SY 2012-2013

Editor-in-Chief: Jo Jan Paul Pe単ol Associate Editor: Reyshimar Arguelles Managing Editor: Airon Buenvenida News Editor: Dazen Dawn Lariza Feature Editors: Alvin Tung Ron Adrian Dionaldo Literary Editor: Rhick Lars Vladimer Albay Filipino Editor: Almina Marie Gange Photojournalist: Chalcedon Sa単or Digital Artist: Daniel Fern Tinagan Illustrator: Jessrell Gavan Editorial Assistants: Ferdinand Ba単ez, Jr. Krystille Camille Bontuyan Daphne Claire Buenaflor Katrina Joyce Mabanes Russel Jude Pati単a Advisers: Prof. Esther Rose Romarate Prof. Rea Angelica Villeza

Acknowledgement Lilibeth Lorio, for your patience and understanding, for letting us freely experiment with all the resources and possibilities Makinaugalingon Press has to offer, and for instilling in us the value of time.

John Henry Miranda, good guy John. Thank you for always being at hand to help us during our cramming sessions at Maki, for your keen eye on aesthetics and detail, and for the countless nightshifts you’ve spent with us.

Dr. Alice Tan Gonzales, Mr. Alain Russ Dimzon, Dr. Erwin Sustento, Prof. Emmanuel Lerona, Prof. Edgar Eriman, Prof. Susan Mila Tosalem, Prof. Sharlene Gotico, Mr. John Paul Castillo, Ms. Jackie Articulo; our judges for the 2nd Central Echo Literary Awards, people who’ve kept the fire burning for us whose passion is in telling stories, educators who’ve molded minds and continue to hold on to their love of Literature and the Arts. We thank you for lending to us your time and knowledge; we wish that your words and images continue to inspire generations to come.

Jessrell Gavan and Chalcedon Sañor, they say a picture paints a thousand words, but you guys are living proof that it can capture more than a million. (Cheken, ahahaha) Thank you for your beautiful sketches and amazing photographs. It’s creative people like you that make CE the place to be.

Daniel Tinagan, INTJs unite. Thank you for the synergy that has essentially molded this year’s literary folio and crafted the character that is Eeva. I look forward to more collaborations to come.

Airon Buenvenida, Russel Jude Patiña, Dazen Dawn Lariza; constant companions at Maki, thank you for never leaving, even when subjected to harsh commentary and insults, I want you to know that it’s just my own twisted way of saying I care. Cheers for more issues of CE to come.

Jo Jan Paul Peñol, Reyshimar Arguelles, Alvin Tung; a year seems to be such a short span of time, but having you guys has made all the difference. As you go on to the new paths you’ve chosen, may you continue to hold a special place inside you for CE, a motley crew of insane and eccentric people who’ve treated you as family. Thank you for taking this journey with us. See you around.

Ingat.

Prof. Esther Romarate and Prof. Rea Villeza, our two guiding lights, like Polaris and the Moon in our pitch-black sky. (Double cheken, ahahaha) Thank you for leading us away from becoming living personifications of this folio’s theme: Lost. Thank you for the time you’ve spent with us, and the advice and support that we’ll surely keep.

And to all who submitted their literary works, whether your work has won an award or not, whether it has been published in this folio or not, we thank you for your overwhelming support.

Truly, Imagine Nation would be nothing more than empty pages without you. Till next time.

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In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream— Lingering in the golden gleam— Life, what is it but a dream?

—Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass