Childhood - Imagine Nation (Literary Folio) 2016

I l lu st r at i o n a l l e n g r ac e ta b i

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Imagine Nation

I l lu st r at i o n u n i q u e ca n o n i cato

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P ro lo g u e

P o e t ry D o r e e n G r ac e F lo r i n L asa d o

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Numbers

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Such Vacant Vastness

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Molly

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Ang Pagkaimortal

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Alfheim

J O h n dav i d m a z a

ru s i e l j s lu n asc o

Ed r i a n d e lga d o

i s r a h m a r i e daya lo

angelika rey

A Child's Mind Jay Pa r ds D e los Sa n tos

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Relikya ng Kahapon

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Musmos ng Kahapon

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Salamat, Kamusmusan!

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Night to Dawn

L a r a N e p ta l i A n a m

N e st l e Ta a l a

E l l i e J o h n Ta-a l a

Nikki Marie Chan

Paramour

Hannah Hernalin

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From Innocent Love to Lost in Lust

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None

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The Childhood They Stole

J o h n Dav i d M a z a

Ay e s h a E u n i c e Ga rc i a

Imagine Nation

iii

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A r i e l lo r e n z cast ro n u e vo

Voiceless

C e l i n a M a loto

Abandoned Hope Ed r i a n e D e lga d o

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To The One Rotting

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Dead Memories

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Benighted Soul

V i c A l i zo n M o r e n a

Hannah Hernalin

V i n c e E rv i n Pa lc u l lo

Inexorable

C h r i st i a n  Ja m e s M asa n gya

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Sueat Para Kay Nanay

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Baynte Anyos

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Bituin

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Ihiliak

Pagbangon

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Halaga

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Wouldn’t it be Nice

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Conquistadors

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A Letter to Me

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Sandcastle

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J e n i m a ry I r i a n n a M o n t e l i ba n o

C e l i n a M a loto

T h eo J os e p h P i d o

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Kubli

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Graveyard for Dragonflies

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A Narrative of Candles

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Our Secondhand History

V i v i e n n e So n g cawayo n

Angelika Rey

V i v i e n n e So n g cayawo n

pau l m ac k e y m a r f i l

R h i c k L a rs V l a d i m e r A l bay

Pau l m ac k e y M a r f i l

Imagine Nation

E u l a Lo u i s e Ca n ata

The Nostalgic Dream

j i s e l l e ya n so n

Balete

J e n i m a ry I r i a n n a M o n t e l i ba n o

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L a r a N e p ta l i A n a m

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V i n c e E rv i n Pa lc u l lo

E ssays

C h a r l e s a rt h e l r e y

Sino Ako?

G i a n f r a n c i s To r r e s

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s h o rt sto r i e s Pau l m ac k e y M a r f i l

Undertow

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Blinding Spotlight

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Dear Ana

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Jelly

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Through a Child's Eyes

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Ang Palabas, Laruan at Pag-asa

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The Star Fairy

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Adventures ni Toto kag ni Inday

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Limang Tagpo, IsangYugto

I l lu st r at i o n u n i q u e ca n o n i cato

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J e z i e l Va rgas

C h a r l e n e M at eo

Angelika Rey

D o r e e n G r ac e F lo r i n L asa d o

C h r i st i n e fa i t h d u m a a n

E u l a Lo u i s e Ca n ata

O n e s i fo ro B e r i n a J r.

E u l a Lo u i s e Ca n ata

L e l a n Ro b e e O rq u i o l a

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Vanilla Ice Cream

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T w i tt e r at i Literary works in 140 characters or less

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EP ILOGUE

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EDITORIAL BOARD The Central Echo 2016-2017

I l lu st r at i o n m i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

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P h oto j e d r i c k l e i g h n o i r so l i n a p

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P ro lo g u e

PAGBABALAT-KAYO. Araw-araw tayong gumigising sa panaginip na ang mundo’y perpekto at walang kamalian. Nasanay sa mga yakap ni ina’t lambing ni ama. O ‘di kaya’y nalunod sa ilusyon ng pag-ibig at kabutihang loob, subalit isang araw, tayo’y namulat, na ang lahat ay isang haraya lamang pala.

KABUSILAKAN. Nagsimula sa isang halik – sa noo, sa pisngi, dumikit ang mga labi. Ikinubli ng yakap at halik sa leeg ang libog ng puso’t pagnanasa ng damdamin. Hanggang sa tayo’y nabingi sa napakalakas na tibok ng puso-hindi na makarinig ng payo at konsensya ang ating mga damdamin. Ang mga kamay ng kayamuan ay unti-unting dumapo sa kaluluwa at ninakaw ang natitirang kawalang-malay. Isang araw, tayo’y gumising na lamang sa kahuwaran. Akalang mabilis na kabog ng puso ay pag-ibig, ‘yun pala ay takot.

PANIMDIM. Naalala natin ang mga pangarap na inihip sa pilik matang nalagas, na minithing maging katotohanan. Ah, oo, ninais nating mabilis tumanda upang mapigil na ang kaliwa’t kanang pagsing-al; hindi inasahang ang pagtanda ay mas nakapopoot imbis na nakagiginhawa.

Naiwan na lamang sa baul ng panghihinayang ang mga bagay na hindi natin ginawa no’ng may oras pa.

LIMOT. Ang mga bagay, at tao, ay dumarating at umaalis nang napakabilis. Kamusta na kaya ang ating mga kababatang minsa’y pinaghatian natin ng luha at halakhak? Siguro’y nauumid na rin tayong lumapit sa noo’y pinakamatalik nating kaibigan, hindi inakalang malilimutan sila ng panahon. Ang alaala ng unang lapis, krayola, papel, o ang unang pagkakataong hinawakan ng inay ang ating mga kamay upang ikudlit ang letra ng ating mga pangalan ay naglaho na rin. Inihip ng hangin ang palasyong hinulma sa buhangin. At ang kwentong kababalaghan ay hindi na katakot-takot pakinggan.

Ang mga salita, saknong, at talata sa obrang ito ay ipinagtahi-tahing mga alaala ng kahapon. Ito’y salamin ng ating mga kwento’t damdamin.

Bagaman hindi lahat ng alaala’t kwento’y kanaisnais, buksan natin ang ating isipan sa imahinasyon at pagkamalikhain ng mga manunulat.

Ipagpatuloy mo ang pagbukas ng mga pahina, at unti-unti mo ring lusungin ang mga panulaan. Malunod sa imahinasyon at alaala ng nakaraan.

Charles Arthel Rey

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Glimpse

I l lu st r at i o n M i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

P o e t ry

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Imagine Nation

I l lu st r at i o n ro d g e r a r d f u e n t e s

Numbers d o r e e n g r ac e f lo r i n l asa d o

First time ever seen a light Reaching out, extending to grasp it A life created by a life A soul created by a soul And a love created by ones who loved Everything started like that.

One step out of this world Kind of mumble some ancient manuscript word Three and a toddler is running around Who believes in princesses, wizards, and tooth fairies And five been walking on his own now Brave enough to do something crazy.

Six when started to scrape his knees Stumble, fall, blunder, such clumsy trips Seven when realized the world is not fair And eight when puppy love bid him a dare.

Another year comes and another year past Don’t even care if the world’s a crass Just enjoying the day of playing around With paper planes not with a woman’s heart.

Imagine Nation

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Such Vacant Vastness j o h n dav i d m a z a

Such vacant vastness Afloat above Dull and bald How does one adorn?

With wool and cotton dresses Plain, plump, and airy Hems sewn with silver hairs With a cannon ball Great, strong and mighty On constant combustion

With flickering candles Cute and fun Arose from a pool of ink With dancing shadows Free and brave Ever wandering Or With itself Dull and bald Afloat above Such vacant vastness

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Imagine Nation

Molly ru s i e l j s lu n asc o

Her name was Molly The little girl who lived next door The little girl you played with before You were her only friend The only one she truly adored You were the only one who knew her For Mum, Dad, Nana and all the other boys and girls Shook their heads When you spoke about her Molly was shy, you see She didn’t want to show herself to others For they might take you away from her And Molly didn’t want that For she will be bored and lonely without you Into the wee hours of that night When no one was around, and everyone was asleep, you played In the playground, in the old fountain, in the swing set Molly told you about many things Of magnificent parties, porcelain dolls and carriages Of her Mama and Papa and their beautiful mansion But when the time finally came for you to ask Of her wounded head, her bruised eyes and her blood-stained dress She just nodded and smiled And you simply understood why.

p h oto j e d r i c k l e i g h n o i r so l i n a p

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Ang Pagkaimortal Ed r i a n D e lga d o

Sa pagkabata, kung kaila'y pisngi'y rosas, mata'y mga tala at katawa'y punong lumalago Tila ba bundok at batis at napapalibutan ng mala-langit na liwanag.

Mundo'y walang kasalanan at bawat minuto ay nilalasap ng pagiging malaya at inosente.

Ngayo'y kung saan medyo dumilim ang mundong kinagisnan,

Tila ba bundok at batis ay napapahiran ng lason at polusyon.

Nawalan ng kulay ang mundo at ang mga bulaklak ay walang sinasalita Kundi ang mga iyak ng tulong na walang nakaririnig.

Nais kong makabalik sa panahong puno ng liwanag ang aking buhay, Kung saan ang mga anghel ay nasa hardin at nag-aalaga sa aking pagkabata.

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I l lu st r at i o n u n i q u e ca n o n i cato

Alfheim i s r a h m a r i e daya lo

Yes, fairies do exist.

They fly almost everywhere, Waiting, wanting to be seen.

A Child's Mind

If you’ll just believe in them, Surely, you’ll be seeing them.

Even go with them flyin’

angelika rey

But ‘tis I know, Somewhere behind that pale moon glow, They’re watching and following you.

Drops of rain, a handful of sand Splash, splash, splash – the mud is grand The thunderbolts are thunderbirds, And mud and sand are their own cheese curds Bits of moss, one glassful water Drink, drink, drink – tea is ready For the bears’ brewing skills are now better, And the mermaids like it green and boggy Waves of sea, a songful shell Hear, hear, hear – the sound of a knell When whales are struck with giant arrows, And sirens cry like there’s no tomorrow Stars of sky, one gleeful moon Sleep, sleep, sleep – night is at bay Or ogres and orcs will rise up soon, And scare me down and take me away

I l lu st r at i o n m i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

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Relikya ng Kahapon jay pa r ds d e los sa n tos

Isang relikya na baul na lamang ang aking nadatnan Nang simulan kong buksan at nagpahiwatig ng aking kabataan.

Ako’y lubhang nalungkot pagkat ito ay umuukilkil ng pagpapaalam, Humihikbing pagpapaalam ng kahapong hiram.

Laruang nagtataglay ng murang pagtingkala, Larawang patuloy na humalakhak sa galak at saya.

Bumungad sa akin ang papel na eroplano at barko, Na kung dati’y pangarap at ngayon ay angkin ko na ito.

Bugso ng aking paghimok sa pagbubukad ng bawat pahina, Mauulinigan mo ang musikang sa aki’y tumusok ng bahagya, “Anak” na siyang nagpapaalala ng karanasang di na dapat balikan, Pagka’t sa buhay kailangan mong bumangon at dapat na lumaban.

Nananas ang kabataang gusto kong ibalik ng ibig, Mga ala-alang dapat nang isulat sa tubig, Karangyaan o kahirapan man ng buhay ito kaninuman, Ngiting may galak hudyat ng pagpapaalam sa aking kabataan.

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Imagine Nation

i l lu st r at i o n ca r m e l l i m a r e e z e pa n da n

Imagine Nation

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Musmos ng Kahapon l a r a n e p ta l i a n a m

Oras ay kumakaripas ng takbo.

Habulin ma’y, ako pa rin ang talo.

Sapagkat ‘di ko hawak ang panahon, Mga alaala na lamang ang aking baon.

Mga alaala ng kamusmusan Sariwa pa sa aking isipan.

Paano ko naman makakalimutan Mga araw na ako’y naglalaro sa ulan.

Sa habulan ako ang parating taya, Masaya pa rin ilang beses mang madapa.

Mag-away man sa ‘di pagkakaintindihan, Sa huli, magkakabati rin ang magkakaibigan.

Tumbang preso at piko, Mga paborito kong laro.

Sa kalye ako ay isang makulit na paslit, Libangan ay sa ilalim ng araw na nakatirik.

Masaya at malaya sa problema, O kay sarap maging isang bata.

Ngunit kabataan ay lilipas din, Kaya’t bawat sandali ay dapat sulitin.

Ilang taon man ang dumaan, Mananatiling makulay ang nakaraan.

Minsan ako’y naging inosenteng musmos, Sa mundong oras ay unti-unting nauubos.

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Salamat, Kamusmusan N e st l e Ta a l a

Panahong tanging pagsulat ng mga letra ang problema, O ‘di kaya’y sugat sa tuhod mula sa pagkakadapa.

Nakaraang labis at puno ng saya, Mundong animo’y isang malaking pantasya.

Pagtampisaw sa ulan, Tagu-taguan sa ilalim ng buwan.

Masisiglang paa’y para sa matinik na habulan, Laro’t kagalaka’y ganap kahit pa pinagpapawisan.

Tumbang preso, Nanay Tatay, Langit Lupa, Mga linya sa laro’y kabisado ng bata.

Pagalitan man ni Ina’y hindi alintana, Sapagkat kamusmusa’y nagbigay daan Sa higit na tuwa.

Pamumuhay ay sadyang kay simple, ‘Di iniisip umaga matapos ang gabi.

‘Di pa man nakahawak ng bente, Maging malugod sa buong araw ang importante.

Kung sa kaibigan mayroong ‘di pagkakaunawaan, Bati na muli kinabukasan.

Ito ang itinuro mo, O aking kabataan!

Na mahalaga ang kaibigan kaysa sa kasakiman.

Kamusmusan, alindog mo’y tuwina’y inaalala, Subalit ngayon ako’y mamamaalam muna.

Malaking mundo’y hinaharap tuwing umaga, Ngunit salamat sa gunitang babaonin hanggang Ako’y matanda na.

I l lu st r at i o n a l l e n g r ac e ta b i

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Paramour Nikki Marie Chan

Thou art my vice; my obsession Thou diamond blinding my discretion If thou shall leave, thy soul will die, But tis not you I will hear cry.

Night to Dawn E l l i e J o h n Ta-a l a

Lay down my friend Your sweet and tired head Night is coming The dawn is sleeping Sleep now I will keep watch Truth is knocking Darkness is creeping Why do you weep?

You’re not alone You have me Before you are even grown Rest now I will be your friend That I promise Now till the end Nothing lasts forever Not even the moon Not the darkness Light will be there soon

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Close your eyes The horns are ringing In the shadows of the night I will carry you walking For when you wake You will not see me For I am you And you are me Wake up my friend The horizon is near I can smell the sea Be free from fear Farewell now The sun now wakes Open your eyes The dawn awaits.

I l lu st r at i o n j o h n dav i d m a z a

From Innocent Love to Lost in Lust hannah hernalin

A face of an angel, I do not have Being stared by a man Like I was made from the heavens above Or more like a spell was cast on him Nonetheless, it was a splendid sight to behold Tell me everything From thoughts of needs to thoughts of wants Let no detail be spared from revelation For I don’t have all eternity And neither do you The spark that turned into a roaring fire Whenever our eyes would meet Became ashes like remnants of a corpse One day, it was ablaze But was lit by a different set of eyes I started craving for a pair of lips That I never tasted Craving for his warmth I never had the fortune to touch Craving for a love I’ll doubtfully have A long-drawn scratch To an itch that could never be sufficed Let my heart be devoured with desire Should I bare the lie I keep?

That my entirety is craving for a sin I’d won a reservation ticket to hell What once was an innocent love Became lost in lust You were a fine angel One truly made from heaven Who made me a demon From all these sinful thinking I l lu st r at i o n a l l e n g r ac e ta b i

Imagine Nation

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None

j o h n dav i d m a z a

Try writing Life with No pen To write it No paper To write it on No hands To write it with Not gone None

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Imagine Nation

The Childhood They Stole ay e s h a e u n i c e ga rc i a

You were just six but I had seen you mend your own bruised knees Suppressing the pain as you bit hard on your little clenched fist Because your mom was either too busy worrying about the fees Or too drunk, crying over your daddy who disappeared like a mist I’ve watched you grow battling demons in your head Playing with stones and matches, wishing you were dead While other kids played hide and seek under their beds You’re saving yourself from monsters trying to turn you into shreds On your good days, you’d make me wear costume of your favorite cartoon character And we’d fill the empty hallways of your home with our booming laughter But you’ve grown up too early and forgotten about me You left your childhood a little too quickly Now you’re standing on a cliff and I tried to grab you, honey I care But my hands touched nothing but December air And as you step closer to the ledge, ready to bend Please remember me, your lost childhood — imaginary friend

I l lu st r at i o n m i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

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Voiceless

Abandoned Hope c e l i n a m a loto

a r i e l lo r e n z cast ro n u e vo

You treat me – as if I was puny to the point of nonexistence; as if I was your gruesome slave; as if I didn’t deserve happiness.

You scold me – when I don’t speak much more when I do; when I try to help much more when I don’t; when I do things the hard way much more the easy way.

It’s always been like this – dining with the Monarchs; sleeping in a pressure cooker; listening mindlessly to countless, irrational rages.

I could have said something – anything.

The tables could have turned, But you ripped out my tongue, stitched my lips You made me fear speaking up.

That one moment – could’ve changed you, could’ve changed my life, could’ve changed me, If only I hadn’t been voiceless.

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Imagine Nation

Mother, Mother, can't you see?

That I learned how to walk so you can be proud of me?

I crawled on all fours day by day, climbing from one place to another until my tiny, little limbs were worn to a frazzle.

Mother, Mother, I memorized "All Things Bright and Beautiful" by heart, never abandoning hope that you will one day witness me recite.

Minor and major achievements I acquired, for I longed to be held in your arms, full of pride.

Mother, Mother, can't you see?

That everything I did was for you to be proud of me?

To the One Rotting e d r i a n d e lga d o

barbie doll dear barbie doll the wisdom between your plastic eyes is for the world without teeth to bite you in the back barbie doll dear barbie doll your blonde hair is full of frizz your skin is yellowing with jaundice yet you smile like nothing is wrong when I left you in the cabinet for so long barbie doll dear barbie doll I wish for your pink plastic smile and maybe I could play pretend to be just like you I snapped your head off in two there were a few broken ones like you barbie doll dear barbie doll you died like Ophelia without the flowers to commemorate you your head floating in the toilet water I hope you don't remember how back then I folded your arms bent behind your back like a salvage victim I flushed you away gone

I l lu st r at i o n ro d g e r a r d f u e n t e s

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Dead Memories v i c a l i zo n m o r e n A

“The other me is dead.

I hear voices in my head.”

Murder of all nightmares.

And of monsters.

Lurking in the darkness, Of his mind.

Traces of solitude, Of melancholy.

Gallows of hopelessness.

Bondage of a fallen soul.

Strappings of a broken heart.

Of a forsaken child.

A left-behind.

Rejected.

He was just a boy.

He wanted to die.

He wanted to be saved.

He was just a boy.

Longing for acceptance.

Belongingness and care.

Denied of love.

Deprived of joy.

Devoured by darkness.

Destined to be outlived.

Walls of sorrow.

Caressed by pain, Glumly adored.

Iris of broken dreams, And lonely nights.

A canvas of suffering.

Alone and cold.

Unwanted and unloved.

Devil and death.

Forgotten and forsaken.

Broken and lost.

A lost sheep.

He was just a boy.

He wanted to die.

He wanted to be saved.

He was just a boy.

“You will never survive.

With dead memories in your heart.”

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Imagine Nation

I l lu st r at i o n m i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

Benighted Soul hannah hernalin

“Time heals everything,” they say.

I say it is but a lie. 'cause wounds get deeper, Day by day.

They leave scars of tribulation, Rather tormenting than fresh wounds.

But I have outgrown them.

Hence, this child in me, has not forsaken my benighted soul.

Begging for one last time, To be in mother’s embrace; to feel its warmth again.

“I love you,” the last she said.

“I love you most,” I should have said.

Inexorable v i n c e e rv i n pa lc u l lo

Do not grow up yet Stay young a little bit more Childhood is freedom Yet time runs rapid Change is inevitable Maturity knocks Knees that are wounded Brought by climbing the tallest trees Turn into heartbreaks Sweet treats and candies Exchanged into medicines You’re healthy no more Feeling mistreated When forced to sleep in the noon Now, it’s luxury Life is not a game Childhood is preparation For the real battle So do enjoy it Do treasure every moment So you’ll not regret.

Imagine Nation

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Sueat para kay Nanay C h r i st i a n ja m e s m asa n gya

wo r ds i n a k e a n o n

Dear nanay, sa pag-eubog it adlaw, ikaw ro akong madumduman.

Imong maeamig nga limog ro akong gakabatian Gakanta ka habang ginahapeos buhok ko.

Nay! Kantahi ako it uman! Nahidlaw ako kimo.

Tag grade one paeang ako, madumduman ko, halin ka sa tindahan.

Masubo ro itsura dahil wa naubos atchara nga baligya Nagpangayo ka it pasensya dahil wa't pambakae it suea.

"Nak, humay eang anay atong kan-on ha", imo nga hambae habang gaeuha.

Nagsakit ro akon nga tagipusuon pagkakita ko nga gatangis ka.

"Nay, may chiz curls pa nga habilin sa akong baeon kaina.

Raya lang aton nga isuea sa humay ah."

Nakita ko sa imong pagtalikod ro pagtagas it euha, Ginabasoe ro sarili dahil wa it mapakaon sa unga.

Ginbuytan ko imong alima, habang gasumbil it chichirya "Nay, di eun mag euha, kung magdoctor ako, mabakae kita it abo-abong suea."

Sa sunod nga adlaw, nagpursige ka sa paglibod it atchara, Singgit idto, singgit iya ro imong gin-ubra.

Nadumduman ko, nag-uli ka nga may daea nga pansit.

May coke ag may salad nga paaman pa.

Sa imong pag-abot hay akon man nga ginpakita ro limang bituon nga ginbutang ni teacher sa colorbook ko sa eskwela.

Ginkupkupan mo ako sa sobrang kasadya "Nay, gusto ko mag first honor para madali akong magdoctor", hambae ko pa.

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Imagine Nation

Nadumduman ko man nga isa kaadlaw, nagtabok ako sa daean nga uwa't paabiso.

Eapit eang ako mabungguan it motorsiklo Gin-eagas mo ako ag ginpangisgan!

Ginbunae, ginhampak ag ginsermonan "Bukun ka eun nakon it love! Bukun ka eun nakon it nanay!"

Hambae ko, habang nagatangis Naakig ako kimo dahil ginbunae mo ako ag ginpangisgan Wa ka nakon ginpansin hasta ginbakean mo ako it Toblerone Nadumduman ko tanan nga imong gin-ubra, Nay Gintaguyod mo ako maskin wa eun si Tatay Doctor eun ako makara nay, Sayang, sa eangit ka euting makara.

Nay, doctor eun ako, di eun kunta kita magtiis sa chiz curls.

Makabakae eun kita it suea nga abo abo Nay, doctor eun ako Makabakae eun kunta kita it coke ag salad Nay, doctor eun kunta ako, di ka eun maglibod it atchara.

Di ka eun kunta magsininggit sa daean, Di ka eun kunta mabudlayan.

Nay, patawara ako, unga paeang ako kato Unga nga paghinampang malang ro nasayran Nay, patawara ako sa pagpinaugtas kimo Nay, patawara ako.

Nay, patawara ako dahil wa pa ako kasayod nga pwede gale maging ulihi ro tanan.

Patawara ako dahil abi ko una ka gid para kakon pirme Nay, patawara ako nga ulihi eun do tanan.

Kunta gintao ko lang kimo ro chiz curls ngato, Nay Kunta ginbuligan ta sa pagbaligya it atchara Kunta wa ta gin-away tag ginpangisgan mo ako Kunta wa ka lang naduea, Nay Saeamat gid dahil sa ginhigugma mo ako Saeamat sa toblerone nga mahae gale ro bakae pero ginbakae mo dahil palangga mo ako.

Saeamat sa Ginoo, ro sangka unga hay naadto kimo.

Imagine Nation

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Baynte Anyos c h a r l e s a rt h e l r e y wo r ds i n h i l i gay n o n

Kun tani ang paglab-ot Sang aton mga handum Daw parehos lamang kahapos sa paghuna-huna sini.

Kun tani ang pagpangalipay Daw kaangay lamang Sang isa ka yuhom kag ngirit Sang lapsag sa kamot sang iya iloy.

Kun tani ang pagsalig Dali lang mahatag Katulad sang dulse sa kamot Indi magdinalok sa isig-katawo.

Ano ayhan kahapos ang mag-ngirit Daw indi siguro mapunggan.

Pero indi!

Nagahamtong kag nagadaku na kita.

Ang aton huna-huna, Sa panganod man nagalupad, Apang nagakalunod na sa lawod Sang pangduwa-duwa sa kaugalingon.

Wala na ang mabakod Nga pagsalig sa kaugalingon; Ukon ang pagka-inosente Nabaylohan na sang bukas nga paminsaron.

Napuno na sang pilas ang aton Kasingkasing, tungod sa matalom Nga mga tinaga sang aton kapareha Kag kasakit sang mga kalaglagan nga naagyan.

Sa sini nga pangabuhi, Ang maisog lamang magapabilin, Ang armado sang pagtuo, Kag ang walay pangduwaduwa.

Padayon, padayon, Sa paghandum sang mataas; Salig-wala na iban nga maubra sini Para sa imo.

Kay kun sin-o lamang Ang indi malingkang sa Pag-antos kag kabudlayan, Amo ang maka-angkon sang kadalag-an nga wala katubtuban.

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Imagine Nation

i l lu st r at i o n b e jay so n g c o g

Ihilak v i v i e n n e So n g cayawo n wo r ds i n c e b ua n o

Sa una ug maulaw ko Manago, muhilak.

Kung kasab-an ni Ma’am, Muduko ug muhilak.

Ug gani magdula Dayon masam’dan kay nadasmag Nahadlok sa dugo’g kasaba Pada’g-an ra ug hilak.

Sino Ako?

Kung naa’y muaway Unya kay ako gamay Musumbong ni Mama Gabakho, gahilak.

l a r a n e p ta l i a n a m

Ako ang tinawag mong mataba.

Pinagtatawanan sa tuwing luluha.

Ako ang tinawag mong lampa.

Tinulak, sinuntok at iyong sinipa.

Ngano kaha’ng sa una Tanan pwede hilakan?

Pagkahuman, Okey na dayon tanan?

Ako ang tinawag mong pangit.

Pinandidirihan sa tuwing ako’y lalapit.

Ako ang sinugatan ng iyong salita, Matatalim na tingin at mga puna.

Ako ang tampulan ng tukso, Pinagtutulungan habang nakayuko.

Ako ang laman ng mga bulong, Sa mga pintas ako’y nakakulong.

Ikaw ba ang nanakit at naging pasimuno Ng walang kabuluhang panghuhusga’t panunudyo?

O ikaw ang nakatingin at walang ginawa.

Minsan ay sumasabay pa at nakikitawa.

Paano ba maging isang paslit Sa mundong ‘di gaanong mabait.

Sa iyong kalupitan ako’y nanahimik.

Tumangis man, wala pa ring makakarinig.

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p h oto ro m u lu s jac o b ca l a n z a

Balete

pau l m ac k e y m a r f i l

The fleshy roots of the balete tree Made their way through the back

Of my head.

They creep and fortify the

Non-cerebral dirt that Holds pictures of the half-forgotten house, Where sunlight played patintero with Leather belts and broken hangers.

My thoughts are now constipated with Memories—they carve a center in me, Where I move around in elliptical daydreams.

The Kamatsile bursts open; a swarm of

Caterpillars welcome me.

And believe me, the past stings like their hair.

While some childhoods are like secondhand

Coloring books, Mine is a pre-technicolor cartoon show.

No more fun now—just empty film canisters Of where the half-forgotten house should be, Hugging the thick, labyrinthine trunk of the

Old balete tree.

To remember means razors sketching crimson

Across the skin.

But I cannot help it.

I could still remember that night, when the sky melted As the distance between us and that house grew into

A serpentine monster.

But mine still clings to the fleshy roots of that tree—

The balete t ree, Where both of my malignos and diwatas came from.

Because some things from the past are just not that easy

To uproot.

Imagine Nation

27

Pagbangon G i a n f r a n c i s to r r e s

Nagsimula ang lahat sa sinapupunan ng ina Hanggang sa inilabas ang batang puno ng sigla.

Inalagaan, minahal, iningatan At itinuring na pag-asa ng bayan, Panahon ay lumipas at ito’y lumaki Nasanay na mag-isang naglalaro sa tabi, Ito ang kanyang kasiyahan; Maraming kalaro sa kanya ay hindi kailangan.

Mga taon ay dumaan At tila ba si Toto ay handa na sa kanyang unang hakbang.

Nasabik sila sa pagpasok nito sa eskwela, Mga magulang nito ay napaluha sa sobrang saya.

Kay bilis nga naman ng panahon at si Toto ay natuto na Ng mga simpleng gawain ng isang binata.

Nagkaroon siya ng mga kaibigan at barkada, Na ikinatuwa naman ng magulang na labis ang suporta.

Ngunit sa isang iglap mga bagay ay bigla na lang nagbago.

Sa kasamaang palad ay nalulong ang bata sa masamang bisyo.

Pakiramdam niya’y kanyang mga pangarap ay unti-unting gumuguho, Pero para sa kanya, pagbabago ay 'di pa malabo.

Gayunpaman ay 'di pa rin siya sumusuko sa paglaban.

Pilit niya pa rin iwinawagayway ang bandera ng tuwid na daan.

Naniniwala ako na sa huli ay magtatagumpay siya At maipagmamalaki ng kanyang ama’t ina.

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Imagine Nation

Halaga v i n c e e rv i n pa lc u l lo

‘Wag magmadali, pagkabata’y namnamin.

Ang bawat galak at pagkainosente’y damhin.

Mga alaala ng kahapong kailanma’y hindi mapaparam, Na sa mga balintataw ng mata’y madaramdam.

Mga bangkang yari sa papel na kasiyahan natin ang lulan, Pagtampisaw at paglalaro sa malakas na buhos ng ulan.

Pagtakbo sa damuhan habang tumatawa’t pawisan, Ilan lang sa mga pangyayaring babaunin kailan man.

Tansan ay ginagawang laruang barya, Sa pagluluto-lutoan, gamit ay bulaklak ng gumamela.

Sa mga musmos na panahong ito, tayo’y masaya na, Wala nang katumbas ang ating mga tawa.

Habang oras ay tumatakbo, Kaligayahan ay mahirap nang matamo.

Kaya habang ika’y nasa pagkabata pa, Hayaan ang sariling maging maligaya’t payapa.

Dahil sa huli hahanap-hanapin mo ang mga sandali, Na ang kaligayaha’y katumbas lamang ng isang bulaklak ng gumamela at tansang yupi.

I l lu st r at i o n u n i q u e ca n o n i cato

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Wouldn't it be Nice j e n i m a ry i r i a n n a m o n t e l i ba n o

Wouldn't it be nice?

To wake up cheerful and ecstatic; To go on your day with hope and optimism; To go home in a gleeful spirit.

Wouldn't it be nice?

To wake up embraced by your mother; To go on your day, climbing hills and trees; To go home carried by your father.

Wouldn't it be nice?

To wake up with no worries; To go on your day with no criticisms; To go home and not have mental breakdowns.

Wouldn't it be nice?

To wake up with no dried tears on your face; To go on your day without anxiety and pressure; To go home without being emotionally drained.

Wouldn't it be nice?

To be happy again; To be loved again; To be a child again.

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Imagine Nation

Conquistadors e u l a lo u i s e ca n ata

Recall the time when we were conquerors, Who’ve claimed the seas and stardust in the skies.

Back then, the world was glazed with metaphors.

We’ve slid past rainbows, straddling unicorns, Enslaving winds, detaining twilight fires; Recall the time when we were conquerors.

We’ve ventured fields, explored uncharted shores For waves of shells, and storms of dragonflies: Back then, the world was glazed with metaphors.

We’ve known no fears, stood tall in whirling storms, Believing every raindrop was our prize; Recall the time when we were conquerors.

But, oh! We’ve grown; those days, forgotten lore For time speeds up, too swift to realize: Back then, the world was glazed with metaphors.

Yet, should you weep as failures seize life’s course, Remember your victorious battle cries: Recall the time when we were conquerors.

Back then, the world was glazed with metaphors.

I l lu st r at i o n j e t h e r da n e g ua da lu p e

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A Letter to Me j e n i m a ry i r i a n n a m o n t e l i ba n o

Dear eighteen-year-old self, Do your very best in anything.

Do have faith and hope in everything.

Do remember you’re not a child anymore.

Don’t give up on the dreams you’ve worked hard for.

Dear sixteen-year-old self, Don’t be discouraged so easily.

Don’t take love too seriously.

Don’t be controlled by your pain.

Do dance in the rain.

Dear twelve-year-old self, Do have fun in the sun.

Do watch your way when you run.

Do take responsibility for your actions.

Don’t take others for granted for your satisfaction.

Dear ten-year-old self, Don’t let those bullies get you down.

Don’t make those smiles into frowns.

Don’t stomp those feet when you’re angry.

Do eat a lot when you’re hungry.

Dear eight-year-old self, Be as innocent as you can be.

Be as kind as you can be.

Be a child as long as you can be.

Because it’s 2 am and I lay awake Thinking if I would ever remember How it was like to have A mind as pure as yours.

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Sandcastle c e l i n a m a loto

Hidden beneath a baseball cap was a wisp of gray hair atop his already balding head.

With a wrinkled smile plastered across his heavily stubbled face, he walked hand in hand with a little girl along the beach.

Amused as he always was when looking at her, yet his countenance never ceased to put her at ease.

She complained and complained about her failed attempts to build a sandcastle as he sat beside the frustrated little girl.

The sound of the ocean waves crashing onto the shore impelled her to try once more, but the little girl’s tiny hands could barely grasp a handful of sand before it slipped through her fingers.

And so he told her, “Little girl, don't give up just yet.

Not even on yourself.�

She smiled, He smiled, and together, they made memories that the little girl will forever cherish.

I l lu st r at i o n a l l e n g r ac e ta b i

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Freedom

I l lu st r at i o n M i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

E ssays

The Nostalgic Dream t h eo j os e p h p i d o

You know how I was a child back then. The way I would play with toy cars and Superman action figures or in the way I was required to have an apple for a snack since it was taught that it would keep the bad, mean doctors’ needles away or in the way I would simply cry because I can’t have both of my favorite ice cream flavors in one cone; yes, those were the days.

They would still linger at the back of my mind, creeping their way into my thoughts and be idle, keeping still as they soothe my nerves and tell me that I was a child back then. But that’s the thing- it stopped only until “back then”.

How I wish I was still a child. Now, the world does look ugly. As reality sets into the environment, nothing looks the same as before. The tall, giant monsters with a thousand eyes are now just grey skyscrapers full of tinted windows. The hot, boiling lava that would often kill me as I step into it are now just dull tiles set on the floors of the house. The stars that kiss me goodnight once and then are now just specks of dust in the night sky, merely dots that show no interest in granting my wishes. For reality is an ugly truth and the truth is that reality is ugly; no more had I wished that I would grow up sooner than ever. Now, I just want to go back under the sheets as I try to listen to mother read a good old story letting me sleep back to my dreams where everything was better than being awake.

How I wish I were still a child. Everything has become more serious now, with the way that the world no more accepts child’s play. Adults tend to make it more intense. Wafer sticks now turned into bundles of cigars lying on ashtrays, enveloping my lungs with the breath of smoke and death. Water bottles now turn into real vodka down my throat, burning my tongue with pain yet burning my heart with greater passion to try seeing the dull, dull world as a happy place. Fist bumps turn into fist fights. Toys are still toys, just differing on where you play them, if you know what I mean. The thing is, adult life is no game. It’s serious business. And what’s more is that it’s already licensed to kill you.

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How I wish I were still a child. The way that I can’t go back in timethat is the problem. Now, I have no choice but to live like a slave of society, going with the trend, accepting the prejudices of a thousand mouths, and settling in the borderline. For I can’t dream high enough now and this is what I had feared so much that all my dreams could slap me so hard that they are just dreams. For dreams are not made to be true. Dreams are just for people who are still asleep, not waking up to the reality of life. For when you’re asleep, you only feel the softness of your pillows, comforting you with enough ease so that you will never feel the coldness of the floor.

Adults are awake, and this time, I just want to go back to sleep.

How I wish I were still dreaming.

How I wish I were still a child.

How I wish.

I just wish.

I l lu st r at i o n a l l e n g r ac e ta b i

Imagine Nation

37

Kubli

Buhay pakikibaka ng mga Beki sa kasalukuyang lipunan v i v i e n n e so n g cayawo n

Paano ba magpakatotoo sa isang mundong mapang-husga? *“Gamit ang pulbos na binili kay Aling Bebang Upang matakpan ang mga pasa sa mukha Na galing sa aking ama Na tila di natutuwa sa tuwing ako’y nasisilayan”

Bago pa man nila aminin sa kanilang sarili ang kanilang tunay na pagkatao ay kinakain na sila ng hiya dulot ng posibleng diskriminasyon, pagtawa, di-pagtanggap at iba pang di kaaya-ayang reaksyon na kanilang matatanggap mula sa lipunan, kaibigan, at lalong-lalo na sa kanilang pamilya.

Sa murang edad ay nakatatak na sa kanilang isipan na ang pagiging bakla o tibo ay bagay na maglalagay sa kanila sa alanganin na sitwasyon -‘di nirerespeto, ‘di pinakikinggan, minamaltrato, ikinakahiya at pinagtatawanan.

Magpapakatotoo ka pa ba kung bago mo pa man maiwagayway ang bandera ng iyong tunay na pagkatao ay nakikita mo na ang di magandang kahihinatnan?

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* Lahat ng sipi ay nanggaling sa kantang Sirena Ni Gloc 9

*“Pero bakit parang lahat ay nalilito pa rin Ano bang mga problema nyo?

Dahil ba ang mga kilos ko’y iba, Sa dapat makita ng inyong [mga] mata”

Hindi naman batayan ang kasarian para malaman kung ano ang kaya mong maabot at maibigay sa lipunan. Sa halip na pagtawanan ay bakit di natin sila tulungan.

Sabi nga ni DSWD Sec. Judith Taguiwalo, “ Ang bakla, kagaya ng isang Pilipino, ay kayang tumindig at makibaka para sa bayan.”

Hayaan mong tapusin ko ang sanaysay na ito sa pamamagitan ng pagsipi sa huling bahagi ng kantang Serena: *“Di sinusukat ang tapang at ang bigote sa mukha Dahil kung minsan mas lalaki pa sa lalaki ang bakla.”

I l lu st r at i o n m i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

Imagine Nation

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40

I l lu st r at i o n m i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

Graveyard for Dragonflies angelika rey

For once, the world was bigger than it was, and my backyard was a portal to another dimension. The trees were always asleep and would walk the Earth when they open their eyes. The clouds were vast arrays of cotton candy waiting to be harvested before they turn sour and become thunderclouds. The air was a friend, an invisible buddy who was always there when you need him. For that one moment - one era of my life - I was a child; a child who has a red-eyed imaginary friend on the mirror and happiness was cats.

These happenings become hazier through time, as I could never fully remember them – they remain nothing nowadays but snapshots of blurry images. I remember me and my elementary classmates trying to take a picture of an acacia tree to see if a ghost would appear on the camera. I remember me talking to my imaginary friend I called Cervanno, who now is something more of a character than a friend. I remember my lovely days with my beloved cats Hunter and Mufasa, and of course, Hunter’s children, which I would play with after school. Actually, I remember how I grieved for two months when the adults took them away from me as if a part of me was broken forever, never to be put back again. The event-yes, I know what happened but the clarity and sequence was nothing more than a phantasmagoric reel in my mind.

It feels empty, no matter how hard I try to see, to feel what it was like again to relive all those days where I was branded off by the vendors at school that I was insane, only because I talked to strange and wonderful beings only I could see. For just one moment I want to truly reminisce and understand again what it was like being a child, and understand the things I did before or the lack of it. I wish I knew again what The Mystic truly meant, or how the wind and trees became my friends in the first place.

There was more insight in me when I was a child, I think.

Skeletons of lizards were dinosaurs. Insects caged in jars and plastic was a zoo. The rocks and stones I kept were jewels. The river had mermaids.

The mountains had spirits. A graveyard for dragonflies was erected during those days, for all the dragonflies that I carelessly pulled the wings out.

Like the graveyard, my memories are still there, waiting to be dug up again; but never the same after years of hibernation in the ground.

Imagine Nation

41

A Narrative of Candles pau l m ac k e y m a r f i l

Exit: light.

We’re all lost children, playing and loitering in one gigantic room full of lit candles. And every time one of us grows older, a candle slowly melts away. My father grew older. My mother grew older. My friends grew older. And somehow, as they all grew older, the light in the room became dimmer and dimmer. And my candle melts.

Those young men who later on grew to become tycoons and world leaders, their candles have been shedding tears of wax. Children's stories and nursery rhymes stripped of innocence, all trapped in a frozen sea of solidified paraffin. The lullaby that once gave you the blessings of sleep became a faint echo in the trenches of your youth. Dream, they’ve always said, and you will feel a gentle escape from reality. But dreams are alcoholic . . . and who cares? Pour me another. And my candle melts.

It’s pretty hard to imagine life slowly drifting away as we sing our happy birthdays. But life is probably just that—a narrative of candles.

Because when you buy candles from life, you get two boxes: one for the cakes, and one for the grave. And perhaps, we, ourselves, are melting candles, with time slowly converting our wicks into ashes. And my candle melts.

Memories of my childhood still seep through, and they often make me scared. Scared because, as a child, one of the most sensible ways to live your life is to live it without the fear of being judged by others, and growing up means letting go of that mantra. I sometimes imagine a world where no one grows, where only babies live. Kind of like a bootlegged concept of Neverland, eh? You’d probably say that it’ll be a world of dying infants.

I’d say, between that and a corrupt world of barbaric adults fighting over pieces of land, numb to the cries of the weak, I’d still choose a world dying of innocence over a world dying of arrogance. And my candle melts.

Growing up means realizing that the world is not your fairytale.

The world is not always a safe place, and it can give you more than just a bruised knee. Growing up means realizing that dragons can be killed, not by magicians or gallant princes, but by deadlines and taxes. And you’d still

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miss those dragons. Growing up means accepting change. We can’t do anything about that. Growing up means letting go of things we don’t want to bid farewell to. When people die, they become ghosts. When moments die, they become memories. And both could haunt you. But at the end of the day, we know that, deep inside of us, there lies a crying infant. It’s beckoning to be cared for. It’s pleading for sleep. It’s telling you that you can’t force yourself to do everything at once. It’s reminding you that going too far could only harm you. But the world wants you to deny its cries. And my candle melts.

I am terrified that one day, we would all submit to the tedious life.

I am terrified that one day, we would all constantly cling to monotony. I am terrified that one day, we would all grow up and lose our childhood, and become the monsters that we had been afraid of. I am terrified that one day, that candle lit room will become so dark that we will no longer see each other . . . and be aware of each other’s existence. And my candle melts.

We can’t stay young forever, yes, but it seems that the world has become a darker place. From our infancy, we’ve grown to become a more sophisticated race. But it’s sad that through the inception of new technology such as the internet, most of us choose to use it as a tool to chastise and misguide our brothers. It’s quite ironic that despite being in the digital age, we still have our barbaric tendencies. I’m guessing that the candles of humanity are slowly dripping to their last, and as we progress, the room lit by candles begins to become darker. And together with the other candles, my candle melts . . . ‘til it’s no more.

Enter: night.

p h oto i s r a h m a r i e daya lo

Imagine Nation

43

Our Secondhand History Inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future r h i c k l a rs v l a d i m e r a l bay

As children, we heard our elders, in muted voices, talk about how police patrolled the streets, scouring every dark alley and street corner for violators of the national curfew. Loud knocks on your door at two-inthe-morning could mean you’ve been targeted for arrest, persecution, or worse.

Behind closed doors, radicals gathered in dimly-lit rooms, hushed in discussing the struggle against tyranny. Television networks and newspaper offices were barricaded, the airwaves and print media censored.

Journalists feared for their lives, the outspoken received death threats, activists disappear into the night.

Our Version of Events The very little this generation knows about the Martial Law and EDSA Revolution, they got from the footnote in Philippine History classes they slept through in high school, the gossip they’ve overheard from adults who lived through that time, or the white lies they’ve seen shared on social media.

Our generation has had to rely on secondhand accounts to imagine our own images of Martial Law. That’s why our version of events may not always be the most reliable.

It’s astonishing just how unaware most millennials are of the ills of the Marcos regime. I’ve seen and talked to my peers who think that the time of Martial Law (and I’m directly quoting here) “was not that bad.”

Bordering on blasphemy, these individuals rattle about the “peace and order” of the 70s, about the stable value of the peso, how the dictatorship was instrumental to the creeping progress we now enjoy.

They air similar views on Facebook, sharing the long list of supposed infrastructure projects completed under Marcos, fawning over the glamour

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I l lu st r at i o n u n i q u e ca n o n i cato

of Imelda and how she influenced dignitaries the world over, christening a time of oppression as a “Golden Age of the Philippines.”

And with the countless Pro-Marcos and whitewashed Martial Law lies circulating around the internet, the misled crowd grows, wandering further away from reality.

Millennials know about the 12’oclock curfews, Imelda’s lavish collection of shoes, and Marcos’ iron gauntlet. Swept under the rug are the Filipinos tortured and martyred, the trampling of freedom, the large-scale corruption, the thousands of desaparecidos who have yet to surface to this day.

Inheritors of the Past The first line of Carlos P. Romulo’s most memorized piece, probably still ringing in the ears of most of the Filipino youth obligated to recite it, goes: “I am a Filipino - inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future.”

What the line falls short of capturing is that we’ve also had to be heirs to the darker facets of our history. But “hostage to the uncertain future” sums up our situation spot on. The secondhand stories of Martial law atrocities, the worn promises of a brighter tomorrow, the hand-me-down records of a fraught democracy.

It’s been 30 years since the end of the Marcos regime, yet we still suffer its repercussions today. Extrajudicial killings have become a staple of all administrations since 1986, the fight of minorities to be heard continues, and the burden of the debt left by the dictatorship still hangs over our heads.

Some may say oppression never actually left the Philippines, it just took on a different form. Most of today’s youth choose to ignore this.

There’s a need to better the education about Martial Law, the Marcos reign and the EDSA revolution. The succeeding generations of young Filipinos need to see that no good can come of a repressive state, that there is no such thing as a “malevolent dictator,” that excessive power can only lead to greed and corruption.

There’s also a need to honor and remember those who fell in the night, those who fought for a freedom that they themselves did not get to feel.

The Marcos regime and Martial Law was an ordeal suffered through collectively by the Filipino people for 21 long years, young Filipinos need to be exposed to its raw facts– the casualties, the fraud and malversation, the stifling of free expression, the inhumane treatment – to better cement into their minds Never Again.

It’s the year 2016, thirty long years after the end of Martial Law. Yet, journalists still fear for their lives, the outspoken receive death threats, activists disappear into the night.

Imagine Nation

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Wonder

I l lu st r at i o n M i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

s h o rt

sto r i e s

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I l lu st r at i o n a l l e n g r ac e ta b i

Undertow pau l m ac k e y m a r f i l

It was almost four in the afternoon when I woke up to the sound of shattering glass. Still groggy, I dragged my arms across the table then lifted up my head. The room stank of liquor and dried-up saliva, thanks to me. It was a dimly lit apartment room—not a place where you would want to be.

The floors were dirty and flooded with unfinished manuscripts. The walls boasted no intricate design or whatsoever, thank goodness. The bathroom was okay; a simple pail and dipper and a decent toilet bowl were already enough for me, although water was oftentimes a big problem. Somehow, the faucet was occasionally having constipations. The bed was a bit dusty, but I don’t mind because I don’t usually sleep on it. And yes, I do live here with rats and cockroaches. Who doesn’t?

I stood up from my chair and walked to the window. Dark clouds began to take form in the horizon. I heaved a sigh, closed the blinds, and went back to my table. There were pieces of shattered glass all over the floor. I may have knocked the drinking glass off the table while I was asleep. What remained on top of the semi-dilapidated furniture were an empty bottle of cheap vodka, a half-finished can of Diet Coke, and some pieces of paper. I wanted to clean up the fragments of the drinking glass that I’ve sentenced to die in my sleep, but I was too lazy. So I lit a cig instead and listened to some Nirvana on my segunda mano MP3 player. Damn, the smoke did smell like teen spirit.

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I felt it again: the sudden rush of toxic nostalgia, the insidious burn of regret. Mother told me I should have chosen a different course. Father told me I could have been a better man. This apartment told me that they were right. Hundreds of manuscripts, all rejected. No decent job. No stable source of income. I was no J.K. Rowling or Walt Disney. I was more like a George R.R. Martin type of guy . . . if he decided not to have his works published.

It was raining outside. I could hear every tapping of raindrop on concrete and wood. I imagined those young, vestal years of mine, trapped inside every droplet of rain. Wait for it to drop from a cloud, watch it enjoy its fifteen seconds of fame in the air, then see it burst into nothing as it reaches the ground. The pain was corporeal, the memories amoral. I watched the smoke from my mouth and nostrils perform deathly acrobatics in the air as I drifted into a lonely state of I don’t know. The mind is sometimes an isolated machine, I thought to myself, as my thoughts gathered and spewed out syntaxes like comets through galaxies. Failed exams. Girls. Unfinished work. A kiss from caffeine in the morning; a sucker punch from alcohol at night. Romanticize. Fantasize. Paralyze.

Time check: it was nearing five. No more sticks to smoke. No more music. The whole room returned to realism. Then came a sudden knock on the door. I got off my chair and staggered to open it. It was a little girl dressed in red, her hair neatly tied in a bun. Her face drew no expression, but it did draw a lot of attention from me. I checked if there was someone with her. No one. So I asked her what she wanted, to which she replied nothing.

I noticed that she was holding a long brown envelope. It was bulky.

She handed it to me, but I refused. She made several gestures, insisting that I take it. So I did.

It was heavy, the envelope. I looked at it and visualized whatever could possibly be inside. When I was about to say 'thank you' to the little girl, she seemed to have suddenly vanished. She was probably in a hurry, I jokingly told myself.

I closed the door and went back to my chair. I placed the envelope on top of the table. At first, I kind of hesitated to open it. I wasn’t sure if I was scared or not. The air in the room began to thicken, as if changing form. I could not understand what I was feeling as I stared blankly at the envelope.

A few more seconds passed until I finally took the strange gift and opened it.

I felt a warm lump in my throat as I looked at the contents. They were pictures of me from my childhood. Each picture showing a younger me, smiling, playing, having fun with my toys and friends. There was me during my first day at kinder school. Then there was me giving flowers to my first crush. This one was probably taken during my elementary graduation day.

Then, high school. First girlfriend. First heartbreak. First honors. Then, some pictures of me posing with my medals. Precious moments, trapped

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within the corners of a Polaroid film. At that moment, while looking at the pictures, I could name all the butterflies in my stomach— happiness, melancholia, regret, solace. I was vomiting flashback bile. Where did the kid in me go? The child is grown, the dream is gone, said the guy who was in that Pink Floyd band.

I dropped everything and rushed out to find the little girl. I wanted to ask her where she got all those photos. I saw her at the end of the corridor. A glimpse, then she vanished again.

She reappeared. This time, outside the apartment. I took a jacket and ran downstairs. When I got outside, she was there, standing under the rain. But the rain didn’t touch her. I came closer to her and asked. Where? How? Why? She kept her silence. I grabbed her by her shoulders and pleaded that she give me answers. But the silence in her was pure.

We stood there, just the two of us, as the storm gave its all. Just when I was about to give up, she began to mutter something. Come closer, she said, and I will tell you what you need to know. So I knelt and lent my ears to her. And she began to whisper something. I could feel the rain slowing down as I listened to every word she said. There was beauty in her words, the kind of beauty that was both lethal and kind. She started out smooth and nice, like a prelude to a fairy tale with a happy ending. Then she began to drain the colors out of her words. A dark void slowly enveloped every sentence. Then she stopped.

She disappeared again, right after she finished her whispering.

And I was there left alone, under the rain, contemplating on what the little girl had just said. I could still hear them inside. It was pleasure.

It was torment. The dichotomy of the consequences of knowing.

I lay down on the concrete pavement. There was no one else but me. Somehow, I could not forget what the little girl had said.

It began to grew in me, like some sort of cancer. Time is cancer.

Growing up is cancer. Remembering is cancer. With her words still in my head, I slowly drifted once more into that lonely state of I don’t know. It was the serious and literal I don’t know. I don’t know why I came here. I don’t know how it all went down the waste pipe.

I don’t know where this life could lead me. I don’t know.

The rain didn’t stop. I imagined those young, vestal years of mine, trapped inside every droplet of rain. Wait for it to drop from a cloud, watch it enjoy its fifteen seconds of fame in the air, then see it burst into nothing as it reaches the ground.

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P h otos Ro d g e r a r d f u e n t e s, m o i s e s s eg u n d o a l ba , s h i e l a m a e a l i gway, v i v i e n n e so n g cayawo n , j e d r i c k l e i g h n o i r so l i n a p, j e t h e r da n e g ua da lu p e , i s r a h m a r i e daya lo, j o h n dav i d m a z a

Blinding Spotlight j e z i e l va rgas

They called me Summer.

Although I have never known what summer was like or how the sun’s warmth felt against my skin.

It was 19 years ago when the people of Earth last saw the sun. I was born on the very last day it showed signs that it even existed. They told me it grew so big in the sky, to the point when people all around the world panicked and ran for their lives. Almost everybody claimed it was the apocalypse, that the sun was about to explode into one big giant supernova and wipe out the entire human race in a tremendous explosion. The scientists thought the universe would end in a bang, and all the while this pandemonium happened across the globe, my mother was in labor.

Yes, it did explode in a sense, but more like half a billion solar flares bursting altogether, bathing the planet in its heat and light. It was in that exact moment when I was born, on that very last day of summer nineteen years ago when the world was about to end. Then everything went dark.

No more sunshine. No more beautiful sunrises and romantic sunsets. No more warmth. The world I grew up in was painted in gray and black. It was cold and bleak. Dark ominous clouds and rain were all I have ever known that the oceans rose up so high the government was forced to build floating cities to keep people from drowning. Rain, rain, rain that never seemed to go away.

As a young girl, I have spent my days daydreaming about the sun. I imagined its warmth creeping to my core whenever I stood close to the flames in our fireplace. I thought it was as bright as the spotlight shinning on me every time I sang on stage. Once, when I was seven, I spilled my

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watercolors, I wanted to get mad because it ruined my rendition of a sunrise but then I saw the beauty of the colors mixing together in a made up background. The golden hues fit perfectly with the soft pink and orange tones lightly scattered over the sky chasing the deep blue away. It was almost a picture of a new day dawning, I stared long and hard at my work of art and kept asking myself what it was like.

But my question would soon be answered because today, on my 20th birthday, scientists believed that the sun would show itself again just for an hour. I couldn’t contain my excitement. Anxiously I said “Finally I will see the sun,” I kept repeating to myself. I will understand what summer, a season named after endless days filled with sun, meant.

I paced the living room back and forth until the old carpet wore out. My thoughts were saturated by sunrays cheekily peeping behind the clouds until the door flung open and in came my stepfather. A no good drunkard is he, gambled my mother’s fortunes away resulting into us living in a cramped dingy apartment with mice and cockroaches as roomates. He reeked of cigarette and alcohol. He was evil and I feared what he might do to me, but it was too late for me to run and hide.

He held my arms and dragged me to the room. I couldn’t slip out of his grip even if I thrashed, screamed, and kicked. My assaulter held me close enough to see him face to face, “You want to see the sun, don’t you?” My face remained apathetic yet I trembled with fear. “You want to see your childhood dream?” he said and I almost gagged with the rotten stench that was his breath. I spit squarely at his face and earned his irk. Vengeance fell quickly and painfully on me in the form of a punch on my face. He then stuffed me in the closet. I heard the locks click shut and bile rose up to my chest as panic struck my every nerve.

“No! No! Please let me out! I’m sorry! I’ll do anything! Anything just let me see the sun today.” I begged in between my desperate wailing but my plight fell on deaf ears. He locked the door of the room. I was again held captive by my old friend, darkness.

Only ten more minutes were left before the sun would out. I screamed, hoping someone would hear me. No one did and the sun began to shine. I looked for any tools that I might use but, unfortunately, all there was were old clothes.

Fifteen minutes into the one hour time period, I repeatedly kicked the door with all my might. It didn't budge. Thirty minutes, I kept on assaulting the closet door. Forty-five minutes, I was getting desperate and exhausted.

I gave one last kick and a hole was made. I escaped, but the apartment I lived in was windowless with no working elevators. I had to run 15 flights of stairs just to see my life-long dream.

Five minutes left. I came out with burning lungs gasping for air. There it was: the sun in all its radiant glory. It was nothing compared to the flames or the spotlight. I was at a loss for words. One minute, but I didn't

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hear them say "look away". I didn’t notice them covering their eyes, I was too engrossed, too amazed to think. My brain was addled for I was in the presence of my childhood dream, so I didn’t remember what was about to happen.

I didn’t remember that I was supposed to look away, to find shelter and cover my eyes. I kept on staring at the sun as if it were my life itself.

The one hour period ended and just like before, the solar flares simultaneously erupted. Yet, I looked on undaunted and much more captivated by its lethal and blinding beauty. I looked on to see the star that lit up this solar system burst into a magnificent gold, red and orange flame.

Then everything went dark. I couldn’t see the buildings or street lights anymore. I was drenched in darkness. Then I heard rain but couldn’t feel it on my skin.

That was when I knew I wasn’t the same. My childhood obsession with the sun burned my skin to the point that I no longer felt any sensation. What’s worse is that this was the last time I got to see the sun, and anything else.

I l lu st r at i o n m i c h a e l a n g e lo fa n daga n i

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Dear Ana c h a r l e n e m at eo

Disyembre 1, 2030 Dear Ana,

Nagustuhan mo ba ang ibinigay kong pangalan sa iyo? Alam kong oo. Sorry at mula ngayon ay palagi na kitang kukulitin. Sina mama at papa kasi. Naririnig ko na naman sila. Nagsisigawan. Nagmumurahan. At nagkakasakitan. Narito ako ngayon sa loob ng aparador namin, nagtatago.

Ayoko silang marinig. Nasasaktan ako.

Disyembre 16, 2030 Dear Ana,

Kumusta na? Alam mo bang unang araw ng simbang gabi ngayon?

Pasko na pero hindi ko ramdam. Nag-aaway na naman sila. Nagkakasakitan ulit. Sinampal ni papa si mama. May tinatago raw siyang lalaki. Kitang-kita ko ang mga nangyayari. Wala akong magawa kundi umiyak.

Enero 1, 2031 Dear Ana,

Happy New Year! Alam mo bang ito ang pinakamalungkot na araw sa buong buhay ko? Bagong taon ngayon pero hindi ko ramdam. Hindi kami naghanda at nagsaya. Nag-away na naman sila. Mga sigawan nila ang sumalubong sa bagong taon nang pumatak ang alas dose.

Enero 2, 2031 Dear Ana,

Si mama. May ka-text. Nabasa ko iyon. “Mahal kita� ang laman ng mensahe pero hindi galing kay papa. Galing sa kaibigan ni papa. Galing kay Ninong Ben ko! Hindi ko alam ang gagawin. Sinabi ko kay papa. Nag-away sila ng dahil sa akin. Sinampal ako ni mama at sinabihang walang kwenta pagkatapos ay ikinulong sa bodega. Sobrang dilim, Ana. Umiyak ako nang umiyak.

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Enero 7, 2031 Dear Ana,

Wala na. Hiwalay na sila. Umalis na si Mama. Kami na lang ang natira ni Papa pero pakiramdam ko ay nag-iisa na lang ako. Hindi siya palaging umuuwi at kapag nangyari iyon ay lasing naman siya. Hindi ako nagpapakita sa kanya dahil binubulyawan niya ako. Tulad ng sabi ni mama, wala raw akong kwenta. Ana, hindi ko alam kung ano ang dapat gawin para magkaroon ng kwenta sa kanila. Gusto ko lang naman ng masayang pamilya. ‘Yung masaya, kumakain ng sabay-sabay, nag-uusap tuwing kumakain. Sana hindi na lang ako ipinanganak.

Pebrero 26, 2031 Dear Ana,

Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, Ela! Alam mo bang umiiyak ako habang mag-isang kinakantahan ang sarili ko?

Kaarawan ko ngayon pero mag-isa lang ako sa bahay. Ilang araw nang hindi umuuwi si papa at isang araw na rin akong hindi kumakain. Pinagalitan niya ako noong minsan na nanghingi ako kina Tiya Erna ng pagkain. Ayaw daw niya dahil mukha akong nagugutuman. Ginagawa ko raw kawawa ang sarili ko. Siyanga pala, sanay na akong hindi naghahanda tuwing birthday ko eh. Dose na ako pero hindi ko ramdam na ang tagal-tagal ko na palang nabubuhay dito sa mundo. Magpakamatay na lang kaya ako? Ano sa tingin mo, Ana? Abril 22, 2031 Dear Ana,

Graduation namin ngayon pero wala si Papa. Hindi raw siya dadalo sa isang walang kwentang bagay. Walang kwenta na naman. Palagi na lang.

Kailan pa ba ako masasanay na wala akong halaga sa kanila? Napatingin ako sa mga kaklase ko. Hindi ko alam pero parang maiiyak ako. Alam mo yung may kung anong dumadagan sa dibdib mo? Hindi ako makahinga.

Naiinggit ako. Bakit sila ang saya-saya samantalang ako, nandito lang, nakaupo. Walang magulang na kasama. Ni wala nga akong kolorete man lang sa mukha. Ang buhok ko ay tinalian ko lang. Bakit ganoon, Ana? Saan ba pwedeng makabili ng doraemon? Hihingi ako sa kanya ng gamit na maaaring makatanggal ng kahit anong pakiramdam. Gusto kong maging manhid.

Mayo 14, 2031 Dear Ana,

Uy! Alam mo bang masaya ako ngayon? Hindi ko alam kung ito nga ang pakiramdam na maging masaya pero buong araw akong nakangiti.

Hulaan mo kung bakit. Hahaha! Natanggap ako bilang scholar sa high school doon sa bayan. Libre raw lahat. Makakapag-aral pa rin ako.

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Hunyo 10, 2031 Dear Ana,

Umuwi si papa. Hindi siya lasing. Hindi rin galit. Hindi niya ako binulyawan. Hindi niya ako sinabihang walang kwenta. Pero hindi rin niya ako pinansin at kinausap man lang. Ilang buwan din siyang hindi umuwi.

Ang laki ng ipinayat niya. Kitang-kita ko na ang buto niya sa pisngi.

Agosto 27, 2031 Dear Ana,

Isang lingo na akong absent sa klase. Si papa kasi. May sakit pala siya kaya pumayat. Sira na raw ang kidney niya dahil sa alak. Kailangan daw ng operasyon. Hindi ko alam kung saan kukuha ng pera. Sinubukan kong humingi sa ilang kamag-anak namin pero hindi pa rin sapat.

Agosto 29, 2031 Dear Ana,

Patawarin sana ako ng Diyos pero‌.

Setyembre 1, 2031 Dear Ana,

Bakit ganoon? Ilang beses ko nang kinuskos ang sarili ko pero pakiramdam ko ang dumi ko pa rin. Napaupo ako sa sahig ng banyo ng hotel habang patuloy pa rin sa pagkuskos ng sarili. Ayaw matanggal ang dumi, Ana. Napakarumi ko nang babae. Hindi. Mali. Napakarumi ko nang batang babae. Natigil lang ako nang marinig ang mga katok sa labas. Naiyak ako. Hindi pa naalis ang dumi, may idadagdag na naman.

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Setyembre 20, 2031 Dear Ana,

Kalalabas lang ni papa ng hospital. Matagumpay ang naging operasyon. Gagaling na raw siya. Ilang beses niya akong tinanong kung saan ako kumuha ng pera pero tikom ang mga bibig ko. Hindi na niya kailangan pang malaman. Basta ang importante, hindi ako naging walang kwentang anak. Ginawa ko lahat para madugtungan ang buhay niya dahil pilitin ko mang magtanim ng galit sa kanya ay hindi ko magawa. Hindi maiaalis ang katotohan na siya ang puno at ako ang bunga niya.

Nobyembre 11, 2031 Dear Ana,

Palaging may tumatawag sa akin. Boses lalaki. Alam daw niya kung gaano ako karumi. Natatakot akong ipagkalat niya. Ayokong malaman ni papa. Sinabi niyang makikipagkita ako sa kanya. Pumayag ako.

Nobyembre 25, 2031 Dear Ana,

Hindi ko alam kung ano ang gagawin ko. Papayag ba ako sa gusto niya o hindi? Kung papayag ako, mas lalo akong dudumi at kapag hindi naman ay ibubunyag niya kung gaano ako kadumi. Alinman sa dalawang pagpipilian ang pipiliin ko ay talo pa rin ako. Hindi ko na alam ang gagawin ko.

Disyembre 1, 2031 Dear Ana,

Wala akong magawa. Pinasok ko ang isang sitwasyong na wala na akong kawala. Mas lalong dumumi ang tingin ko sa sarili. Unti-unti ko nang nararamdaman ang pagkadugmok at pagkawasak ng aking pagkatao.

Bawat haplos. Bawat halik. Bawat nakakalasing na inuming may halong tableta. Bawat indak ng aking murang katawan sa saliw ng isang maharot na tugtugin ay katumbas ng unti-unting pagkawala ng aking katinuan na pilit kong hinahawakan.

Disyembre 13, 2031 Dear Ana,

Huling araw ng Martes sa taong ito. Nagising ako dahil sa malalakas na katok ni papa. Galit na galit siya. Sinalubong niya ako ng isang malakas na sampal at malutong na mura. Alam na niya! Nalaman niyang nagtatrabaho ako sa isang kabaret sa bayan. Hindi ko alam kung paano niya nalaman.

Hindi ko rin alam kung ilang sampal na ang tumama sa pisngi ko. Para pa rin akong lumulutang sa kawalan. Wala akong nararamdaman kahit ano.

Walang sakit. Walang pagsisi. Walang po-ot. Blang ko. Hindi ko na pala kailangan si doraemon para maging manhid. Kailangan ko lang palang mawasak para hindi makaramdam ng kahit anong emosyon.

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Enero 1, 2031 Dear Ana,

Ang tahimik ng buong bahay. Oo nga pala. Wala na rito si papa.

Iniwan na niya ako dahil sa kahihiyan. Marahan akong humakbang pababa ng hagdan. Inikot ko ang mga matang nagkukulay talong na sa kabuuan ng aming maliit na salas. Ang ingay sa labas. Puno ng putukan at masasayang tawanan pero ito ako, nag-iisa. Biglang nanlabo ang aking paningin.

Pinahid ko ang aking pisngi. Bigla akong napangiti. Kailan ba ang huling araw na umiyak ako? Hindi ko alam. Kinalimutan ko na. Bigla akong napahagulgol ng malakas. Pagod na pagod na akong lumaban sa buhay.

Kahit anong gawin ko ay hindi na mawawala ang katotohanang walang kwenta ang naging buhay ko sa mundo. Nawala na ang lahat sa akin. Lahat ay naglaho sa isang iglap lang.

Enero 7, 2032 Dear Ana,

Salamat sa lahat. Salamat sa pakikinig. Salamat sa pakikiramay.

Salamat dahil hindi mo ako iniwan. Nalulungkot ako dahil ako pa ang mang-iiwan sa iyo pero ganoon yata talaga ang buhay. May mahuhuli, may mauuna. Paalam, Ana. – E.S

Iyon ang huling pahina ng kwaderno. Humigpit ang pagkakahawak niya roon. Nagsisisi siya pero huli na ang lahat. Nanginginig ang mga kalamnan na kinuha niya ang autopsy report ng anak. Namatay ang anak niya dahil sa droga. Nagkaroon din ng komplikasyon sa atay dahil doon.

Hindi niya alam. Ito pala ang nagdonate ng kidney para sa kanya. Mas lalo siyang napahagulgol sa huling dalawang nabasa. Napaka-walang kwenta niyang ama. Mas pinili niyang malugmok dahil sa kataksilan ng asawa.

Hindi niya alam kung paano tatanggapin ang lahat.

“Patawad. Patawarin mo ako…” napaluhod siya sa harap ng kabaong ng anak. Nilukumos niya ang resulta ng autopsy.

May AIDS ito at...

Buntis ang anak niya.

Dalawang buwan.

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Jelly angelika rey

The tiny multi-colored sparkly dots in the sky sketched on the dark azure, seemingly infinite canvas had connections, invisible but boundless connections that create images in one’s mind. Connecting those shiny points during night time was Louisse’s hobby, but the six-year-old, wideeyed brunette didn’t have constellations like Orion, Cassiopeia, Draco, and the like. She had those like Qualle, Haifisch, and Corbeau. She didn’t like the constellations in those picture books; it limited what she could see. For Louisse, she wanted to ‘un-see’ the official drawings in the sky, even if her teacher would encourage her not to. Her parents didn’t mind, so every night, before she went to bed and sleep, she would trace her favorite Qualle and noticed that it moved slowly, through time. Her mother would tuck her in afterwards, but Loiusse didn’t want to be told a story. She wanted to tell the story-the story of the Qualle and its adventure in the sky, until she fell asleep, dreaming of monsters above her roof and under her bed… **** Vertical spirals of white, pink, and blue solid light floated in the middle of the wide dark room with no windows. There were specks of light, too, like golden fireflies, alongside the spirals. They moved randomly, slowly, almost stagnant, with no constant direction. Sometimes they bumped into one another, and a being would be flashed into the room, right in the middle of the collection of solid light. The shockwave of the flash scattered the spirals and orbs all throughout the room, hitting the walls, turning them into a mush of lava from lava lamps. But the being raised his hand – or claw – and the malleable solid lights started spinning around the being like he was the sun and the lights were divided into orbits and planets.

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Zehl-ahl had studied the art called light-sculpting since he was a mere hatchling. It was a huge part of his planet’s culture, and they traveled to other planets to share their art. The more he traveled, the more he became known throughout the Milky Way. “You are getting better and better, little brother.” Another being popped into the room. Zehl-ahl raised his hand, and the lights vanished.

He turned to see his sister.

“Kak Mehr-ahl, thank you,” he said, “but you still are the greatest light-sculptor of our race.”

Mehr-ahl clicked her tongue. “Aye, our fellowmen say so…other races, too…” her voice droned. She snapped her fingers, and at an instant, the room was filled with golden diamond-shaped solid lights of different sizes.

Mehr-ahl closed her eyes and sighed. As she opened her eyes, the lights divided like the sea Moses parted with his rod, formed two giant waves that crashed against each other, shattering the golden diamonds into an ocean of turmoil. Mehr-ahl spread her arms and the shards of diamonds attracted one another, creating tiny eddies that turned into galaxies. This group of galaxies that Mehr-ahl had made was an exact replica of a particular point in the universe – the Virgo supercluster.

“Kak…you truly are the greatest…” Zehl-ahl muttered, awestruck.

Mehr-ahl snapped her fingers, the galaxies shattered in swirls of red and purple light. For a moment, it disappeared, but orbs of light reappeared at the corners of the room, just enough to light it up.

“Mukis…if indeed I am the greatest, my art must be admired by all, but they don’t,” she explained. “No creature is the greatest, remember that.”

Zehl-ahl shook his head. “But that does not discount your talent, kak.”

“Maybe…” Mehr-ahl looked up, “some beings disapprove of this art, though. Especially the hyoomenz.”

The younger creature looked at his older sister. He knew how she tried to show the hyoomenz her artwork, and ended up being rejected by the beings that looked quite similar to them. Those hyoomenz were either frozen in fear or scrambled like some jittery little rodent every time they saw Mehr-ahl’s art, even though the art and his sister never laid a finger on them. Zehl-ahl never understood why the hyoomenz either stand in awe or celebrate when they present their “light-sculptures.” When the rest of their planet was shown footage of hyoomenz “light-sculpture,” the elders and critics laughed and were confused on why such stiff, rigid, machinemade lights were celebrated. Why such “light-sculpture” (the critics refused to call it so) that imprisoned light so special? Even the hyoomenz

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I l lu st r at i o n j o h n Dav i d M a z a

other form of light-scupture – the one that explodes in the sky and actually frees the light – looked like a Haorrt’s excrement according to critics. Zehlahl then left his sister. He was worried, but he wasn’t the only one. **** Feeling uncomfortable, Louisse rolled on her sheets. She pulled her blanket to cover her entire curling body; lazy snails of ice cubes seemed to crawl on her skin. The girl gritted her teeth; the air was chillier than usual. She tried to sleep forcefully, her brows wrinkled, her lips frowned.

Darkness consumed the room, Louisse felt it – she knew it. The sudden light outside the window that the girl felt confused her, as it touched her closed eyelids behind the blanket. The chilly atmosphere gradually melted into warmth, into hotness – and the six-year-old kicked her blanket away from her body. The light faded, Louisse sat up on her bed groggily as she opened her eyes, rubbing them until her vision cleared. In front was an image of a being that may be grotesque to other people, but a creature too awe-inspiring for Louisse to gaze upon. A fifteen foot beast of pure muscle and obsidian exoskeleton – glowing acid yellow eyes, mouth filled with rows of sharp teeth, tusks from his cheeks to his neck, strong arms and claws that may have crushed puny organisms like Louisse – loomed over the girl as he rose.

“Girl…hyoomen child…” The alien’s voice was a husky baritone, eerie enough to send shivers on someone’s spine.

The six-year-old’s jaw dropped, her heart pounded – but she was too awed at the sight and was convinced that she was imagining - she never screamed.

“You…are - are….you listening?

Do…you understand?” His voice was calm, and Louisse nodded. The being knelt, offering his claw to the girl. “Then…I will…let you see…a wonderful sight.”

Out of stupor, or sheer curiosity, or pure childish excitement, the girl took the claw. Light engulfed her and the being for a split second, but it was enough to make Louisse blink. She rubbed her eyes several times; the room was filled with floating diamonds. It

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wasn’t her room anymore, but Loiusse was distracted by another creature inside the room-she was what Louisse envisioned of a space princess.

The creature had straight magenta hair, lilac eyes with long lashes, silver skin, stood almost six feet tall, and wore a golden dress with random polyhedrons as laces. Louisse thought that she looked a lot like a human, but knew that she wasn’t.

“So…pretty…” the girl murmured, dazed, until she noticed that the ghastly creature that brought her there was behind the space princess, his claws gently fondling her hair, purring softly. The female creature grabbed his claw.

“Kurix…what’s the meaning of this?” she asked in her language, which the young girl couldn’t comprehend, except the irritation in her tone, for her grip on the other’s claw tightened.

“A hyoomen…to show your art” Kurix grinned in a manner which would unnerve many beings.

Louisse watched as the ‘princess’ loosened her grip, and Louisse pointed at Kurix, “He…told me I was gonna see somethin’ wonderful!” She blushed, and sprinted to the ‘princess,’ “That must be you, am’right, your highness?” she remembered that’s what you call royalty.

Mehr-ahl could understand the hyoomen language, and she was surprised how the hyoomen girl admired her and her clothes. The malleable light became a source of several requests from the hyoomen, but she didn’t complain. A smile crept on her face and iridescent tears fell from her eyes as she fulfilled the girl’s desire to see light-sculptures of pulsing, half-asphere organisms with wavy tentacles. Those things reminded her of the floaters from Kurix’s planet, but a thousand times smaller.

The hyoomen child laughed and danced along Mehr-ahl’s close mimicry of alien life – Qualle – that was what the child called one of those things.

She folded her arms and leaned on Kurix, controlling the seemingly random movements of the light-sculpture jellyfishes with her mind, “We should at least return her…” Mehr-ahl bit her lip, feeling guilt inside her gut. She was consumed by pride, Kurix knew it.

The sun’s rays came in from the window, touching Louisse’s cheek.

Lazily, she sat up until the vague memories of her childhood flooded her. Quickly, she grabbed a pencil and several paper and sketched an otherworldly princess, a scary alien, and tons and tons of jellyfishes (she used to be very fascinated by them), before those ideas – those questionable memories – would fade away with reality.

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Through a Child's Eyes d o r e e n g r ac e f lo r i n l asa d o

I’m used to this kind of living. Everything floats and moves on its own… well, sort of. So many incredible creatures that only I can see.

Dragons… Unicorns… Fairies… All of these are real in my queer supernatural improbable world. For the sake of brevity, I live in a world where fantasies are real. Supernatural things happen and everything is beyond extra ordinary. And for me, this is all normal not until I enter elementary school where everything went horribly wrong.

From then on, everything changed. My world is different from them.

Back home, it’s a perfect castle for a princess to live. There, it is a different story. But here, it’s like a forsaken desert where all the ominous and perilous monsters dwell. The scariest monster of them all is the four-eyed lady serpent holding a long thunder bolt in her hands.

“Do your homework or I’ll cut your head off!” she yells at me. Oh! I forgot to tell you. She’s Mrs. Weirdsbak, our class adviser.

This is like a training ground for warriors to be brought to a battle where they will die. It feels like I don’t belong here.

“It’s a great place for a princess to learn.” My mother used to tell me.

That’s good news for me but I guess not all the things that come out of her mouth are true. I enter a battle each day with that four-eyed serpent.

My life is the craziest you could imagine. I enter a dark scary abyss in daylight and a fairyland at night.

It takes many sunsets and sunrises until I met a new ally. He’s like the smartest and the bravest warrior I’ve ever met. He fearlessly fights those scary giant bullies who try to hurt me. He’s like a prince on a white horse.

Tsk… tsk… tsk… My life is getting scarier, weirder and… sweeter.

For months on battle I thought things will not get worse. But I was terribly wrong. We’re going to face four frightening legendary beasts often having body shapes of different creatures. Some would call them First, Second, Third and Fourth Grading. I bet they are all siblings. Their bodies are made of metals, chemicals, old battle armor and numbers. It’s weird, I know.

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The four-eyed serpent also got her greatest ally: the winged creature with the body of a lion and the face of a woman-a sphinx. She demanded for me to fight that monster with only a pen. Was she insane? But what could I do?

The sphinx gave me so many riddles to answer. It involved history, local language, science, and obviously mathematics. Yes, I didn't need to face her physically but she’s torturing me mentally. I couldn't focus on the riddles of the sphinx because of what the serpent told me.

“You better pass this exam or you will get a low grade!!! I bet you don’t want to see me next year, do you??” And she made a hissing sound that brought me goose bumps.

That’s why I needed to beat this sphinx…exam rather or I would be stuck with the monster serpent for another year. I just used the power of my pen to answer all her riddles.

“Avemono vudlayanku!!!”

I cast a spell while raising my pen and instantly the pen moved by itself. It answered all the hard riddles of the sphinx. Yes!!! I beat the monster. Slowly the sphinx turned to ashes and disappeared.

The year of battle already ended. I thought I would not survive the entire school year but I was glad I made it. I’m back in our castle. It’s nice to spend my whole day with no monsters. It’s just me and my cute little pony.

Every afternoon I have a tea party with Alice, my friend from Wonderland.

Sometimes Snow White would drop by with her seven little friends. We really have a good time together.

I enjoy my fantasy land where every corner is happiness. But I can’t stop thinking about my father. I rarely see him in the castle. I once asked my mom where he is but the Queen just answered.

“Don’t worry about him dear. Your father is the bravest King of all. He went to fight monsters to keep his beloved princess safe. He will be back before dawn,” she answered with the sweetest smile.

Every night I waited and waited for the King to come but he didn’t. I fell asleep and when I woke up, he’s still not home.

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“Maybe he came last night but I’m already asleep. And before I woke up, he already left. My father is the busiest King of all. I bet he gave me a goodbye kiss before he left,” I told my mom with a smile. She just gave me a smile with eyes about to cry.

“What’s wrong mommy?” I asked her.

“Nothing my princess. I just miss your dad…” she answered while wiping a tear.

“Why? Have you not said goodbye when he left?”

“I haven’t, my princess…”

“Don’t worry mommy. I bet daddy will be home before dawn. I know I can’t see him again because I will be asleep, but you can because you will wait, right?

Please tell daddy 'hello' and 'goodbye' for me, mommy. And please hug and kiss him for me.” I smiled before I hugged and kissed her on her cheek.

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“Such innocence you have my dear. Your father is not only our King but he is also a soldier of our country. He needs to fight for our safety and for the entire nation. He fights for what he believes and because of that the light of heaven took your daddy,” she explained while those unstoppable tears started to fall.

“What do you mean mommy?” I innocently asked.

“You will understand in the future my princess,” Mommy said and I just hugged her again.

“Don’t cry mommy. Daddy doesn’t like to see you crying…” I said.

One night, I sneaked to my mommy’s room. I saw her crying again while holding a picture of a handsome well-built man: my father. I didn’t know why she was crying. Maybe she just missed her King.

“I know she will understand everything someday. I know you’re happy wherever you are. I will take care of our little princess… that’s a promise,” Mom said as she held dad's picture.

Maybe daddy’s not coming home tonight. Well, I went back to my room and slept. I don’t want to be caught by my mom and be mad at me because of sneaking to her room in the middle of the night.

I’m used to this kinda weird life. Our home has a Queen and a Princess but the King is not around. But it’s fine. Maybe there are also homes with no Kings like ours. I know that daddy will come home soon. I know because he promised me.

The world is wonderful. There are so many weird things that are happening around us. There are also wonders, fantasies and other extra ordinary things. Like the wind, we can’t see it but we know it’s just around… just like my father. Also the music, we can never understand what it wants to say unless we listen. Like the flowers around, they bloom on a certain season throughout the year but after that they will wither and be gone. But we know that it will bloom soon. Like the mind of people.

Imagine people who could create mental images which do not literally exist but can bring them to life through books. Isn’t that amazing??

The world is full of astonishing things. You just have to let your imagination conquer your mind to see the beauty of life. You just have to pause for a moment and breathe. The fantasy of life is whispering in your ear. You just have to listen. My world is different from yours but we only want the same thing: Happiness.

My world might be weird to you but I love what I see and what I believe. My world is a roller coaster of happiness, sadness and a little bit of craziness. What can I say…? I’M JUST A KID.

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Ang Palabas, Laruan,at Pag-asa C h r i st i n e Fa i t h D u m a a n

“Ador!” Napalingon siya sa kaibigang si Onyok na tulad niya ay nasa sampung taon pa lamang at kapwa huminto sa pag-aaral dahil sa sarado na lahat ng paaralan sa baryo nila. Sipit nito ang lata na may mukha ng isang oso na siyang sisidlan nila nang mapupulot nilang ginto mamaya.

Kasalukuyan nilang hininhintay ang isa pa nilang kaibigan na si Kardo. Ito kasi ang tagasabi sa kanila kung saang bayan may nagaganap na palabas.

“Sunod-sunod na ang palabas ngayon ano?” Sabi ni Onyok.

“Marahil para marami tayong mapulot na ginto.” Kibit-balikat na sagot niya bago biglang lumiwanag ang itsura na animo’y may naalalang isang masayang bagay. “Sana palaging may palabas para makakain tayo ng lomi araw-araw katulad noong isang araw. Pati si Tatang ay nakatikim ng binili kong lomi dahil sa nakabenta ako ng mahigit sa isang kilong ginto.”

Aniya.

“Buti ka pa. ‘Yung akin kasi, kinuha agad ni Nanay. Idadagdag daw niya sa ipon niya at nang makaalis na kami rito. Alam mo ba, takot siya roon sa manong na may maraming begote at may hawak na kakaibang laruan. Hindi niya kami pinalabas ng barong-barong hangga’t hindi pa nakaalis ‘yung manong.”

“Bakit kaya?” Nakakunot ang noong tanong niya sa kaibigan. “Si Inang ganyan din. Halos hindi nga matigil sa kaiiyak nang sumama si Tatang doon kay Manong. Mukha namang mabait. Hindi ko tuloy maiintindihan kung bakit. Naglalaro pa nga sila ng tulak-tulakan eh. Tinulak niya si Inang mabuti na lang nahawakan siya ni Tatang. Sa tingin mo, ano kaya ang tawag sa larong iyon?”

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“Baka tulak-tulakan? Tara, laruin natin. Ikaw taya!” Wika ni Onyok na bigla siyang tinulak. Lumagapak tuloy siya sa maputik na lupa.

“Humanda ka sa akin, Onyok!” Agad siyang bumangon at hinabol ang kaibigan para itulak. Malalakas ang tawanan nilang dalawa na natigil lang nang biglang dumating si Kardo.

“Kardo!” Sabik na sinalubong nila ang kaibigan. “Ano? Nalaman mo ba kung saan banda ang palabas?”

“Oo! Sa kabilang barangay. Doon sa palagi nating pinagkukunan ng bayabas at hibyok para gawing walis. Sabi ni Bebang matagal daw ang naging palabas kagabi kaya sigurado akong marami tayong mapupulot na ginto.”

“Ayos. Unahan tayo papunta doon. Ang mahuli ay gagawing kabayo katulad kahapon.” Ani Onyok na nauna nang tumakbo sa kanila. Hinubad niya ang sapin sa paa at buong bilis na sumunod dito. Syempre ayaw niyang magpatalo. Ayaw niya ulit gawing kabayo.

Malayo-layo na rin ang nalakad nila bago nila napagpasyahan na magpahinga saglit. Naupo sila sa isang nabuwal na puno.

“Ang layo naman,” reklamo niya habang paypay ang sarili gamit ang kamay.

“Kow! Parang ngayon ka lang pupunta roon,” ni Onyok sabay bato sa kanya ng maliit na bunga ng niyog.

“Oo nga. Ikaw pa nga ang palaging nag-aaya sa amin na manguha roon ng bayabas e.” Sang-ayon naman ni Kardo.

Sumimangot siya. “Kasalanan ito ni Tatang e. Kung hindi sana siya sumama doon kay Manong na maraming begote, hindi sana ako pagod ngayon dahil sa kakaigib ng tubig para may panghugas kami ng pinggan at panligo.”

“Sa tingin niyo, bakit kaya kinukuha niya ang mga tatang natin? Sina Abel at Kano na lang yata ang may natitirang tatang dito sa atin e.”

“Sabi sa akin para raw sumali sa palabas,” sagot niya. Simula noong nagsimula silang mamulot ng ginto ay naging pangarap na niyang makasali sa palabas para siya agad ang unang makapulot ng mga mga ginto.

“Sana lumaki na tayo ano? Sabi kasi sa akin ni Manong na maraming begote na kapag malaki na raw ang mga braso natin ay kukunin niya tayo para maglaro sa isang magandang lugar. Sa tingin niyo, ipapahiram kaya niya sa atin ang laruan niya?”, tanong ni Onyok. Katulad niya ay gusto rin nitong sumali sa palabas para makita ang tatang nitong ilang taon na ring hindi umuuwi matapos sumama sa Manong na may begote.

Tinapik niya ang balikat nito. “Huwag kang mag-alala, Onyok. Kapag tayo lumaki na, sasamahan ka namin ni Ador na hanapin ang tatang mo.

Kapag hindi siya sumama sa iyo pauwi, sabihin mong hindi na natutulog si Tiya Lupe sa kaiiyak at pagod ka na rin na mag-igib ng tubig at magsibak ng kahoy.”

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“Talaga? Kaibigan talaga kita, Kardo!” anito sabay apir pagkuwa’y nagtawanan ng malakas.

“Uy, ‘yung tatang ko rin, hanapin natin ha?” sabad ni Onyok na pilit na naupo sa gitna nilang dalawa ni Kardo. Sumimangot itong pinaglaruan ang gomang tsinelas. “Unahin nating hanapin si tatang dahil siya naman ang naunang hindi umuwi. Siguro masaya ang palabas kaya hindi na sila bumalik.”

“Huwag ka ngang sumimangot, Onyok. Lalo kang nagiging panget!”

Biro ni Kardo at biglang itinulak si Onyok. “Ikaw taya! Takbo na Ador!”

Animo’y nakalabas silang tatlo sa turil ng baka sa sobrang saya dahil sa bago nilang nalamang laro. Nagtutulakan na parang mga kalapating buong layang nailalabas ang kasayahan sa pamamagitan ng pagtawa.

Walang humpay ang tulakan nila hanggang sa makarating sa dapat nilang puntahan.

Tahimik ang paligid. Walang ingay. Kahit na huni ng mga ibon ay wala silang marinig. Ang dating barangay na puno ng mga barong-barong ay nabalot na ng mga nagtatayugang puno ng madre de cacao at mayayabong na damong ligaw.

“Hoy, Kardo, sigurado ka bang dito nangyari ang palabas kagabi?” usisa niya kay Kardo na kamot ang ulo habang palinga-linga sa paligid.

“Sabi ni Bebang dito raw eh.”

“Teka ano ‘yun?” napatingin sila sa itinuro ni Onyok. Bakas ng mga gulong sa maputik na daan. Patungo iyon sa pinakaliblib na bahagi ng bundok kung saan sinasabi ng ilan na pugad ng mga nakakatakot na nilalang. “Sundan kaya natin? Baka papunta iyon sa pinangyarihan ng palabas kagabi.” Anito na nagpatiuna nang lumakad sa kanilang dalawa ni Kardo.

“Hoy, Onyok!” tawag niya rito pero para itong bingi na patuloy sa pagsuyod sa bakas ng mga gulong. Napatingin siya kay Kardo na tulad niya’y nag-aalinlangan rin kung susunod ba kay Onyok. Natatakot siya na baka makita sila ng nakakatakot na tao. “Sumunod na lang kaya tayo kay Onyok, Kardo?” aniya nang medyo malayo na sa kinaroroonan nila ang kaibigan.

“Si-Sige pero ikaw ang mauna.” Itinulak siya nito paunahan kaya walang magawa na naglakad na lamang siya. Binilisan nila ang paghakbang dahil nawala na sa kanilang paningin si Onyok.

“Onyok!” tawag niya rito nang marating nila ang pinakadulong bahagi ng kasukalan.

“Ador! Kardo! Hali kayo rito! Bilisan niyo!” bakas boses sa nito ang sobrang saya kaya agad nilang tinalunton ang pinagmulan ng boses nito.

“Tingnan niyo!” Napatingin sila sa tinuro nito. Katulad iyon ng laruang palaging hawak ng Manong na may begote. Malapit sa hawakan niyon ay may nakakabit na mga magkakadugtong na ginto!

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“Sa laruan pala ni Manong begote galing ang ginto!” masayang sigaw ni Onyok.

“Ilang lomi kaya ang mabibili natin dito? Ang daming ginto! Sobra pa sa lata nating tatlo!”

“Oo nga!” sinubukan nitong buhatin ang laruan pero hindi nito magawa.” Sobrang bigat pala nito?”

“Patingin nga?” sinubukan rin niyang buhatin pero agad din niyang nailapag dahil sa may kabigatan nga. “Bibilhin kaya ito ni Mang Dado?”

“Oo naman. Dito galing ang ginto kaya sigurado akong may libre pa tayong isang balot ng kamote kapag dinala natin ang laruan sa kanya.”

“Ayos! Ako ang magdadala ng mga ginto tapos kayo naman ni Ador ang magdadala ng laruan.” Ani Kardo na pilit tinanggal ang mga ginto sa mula sa laruan.

“Ako na nga ang magtatanggal. Ang bagal mo.” Aniya sabay hila sa mga ginto.

“Sandali!” napabitaw bigla si Kardo at may pinulot na parang papel malapit kung saan nila nakita ang laruan. “Hala! Bakit nandito ang litrato niyo ng Inang at Tatang mo Ador?” inabot nito sa kanya ang litrato.

Kuha iyon noong ikapitong kaarawan niya. Nagtatakang tiningnan niya ang litrato. “Bakit nandito rito ang litrato namin?”

“Baka naman ninakaw tapos nahulog dito? O hindi kaya ay- “ ani Onyok pagkuwa’y biglang nanlaki ang mga mata. “Hindi kaya si Manong begote ang nagnakaw niyan? Baka kunwari nakikipaglaro lang siya ng tulak-tulakan pero gusto pala niyang nakawin ang litrato niyo! May nabasa akong ganyan sa diary-“ “Tumigil ka, Onyok. Hindi ka marunong magbasa.” Biglang sabad ni Kardo.

“Ikaw din naman hindi marunong ah!”

“Tumigil na nga kayo. Dadalhin ko na lang ito kay Inang. Sigurado akong matutuwa siya kapag nakita niya ito. Halika ka na, kardo. Tulungan mo na akong magbuhat nito.”

Ilang saglit pa ay masaya na silang naglalakad pauwi kahit na hirap sa pagbuhat ng mga ginto at laruang nakita nila. Gintong may bakas pa ng isang buhay na nagwakas at pagkasira ng isang pamilya. Laruang sagisag ng isang digmaan para ipaglaban ang paniniwala at relihiyon. At isang palabas na walang naidulot na maganda bagkus ay pighati na siyang dahilan ng unti-unting pagkawala ng sinag ng araw na siyang gumagabay sa umuusbong na pag-asa. Pag-asang walang muwang sa mga nangyayaring nagaganap, ang alam lang nila, bawat ginto ay may kapalit na pera at kapag may pera ka, makakabili ka ng lomi. Sila ang pag-asa ng bansang Agila, ng bansang Pilipinas, isang bansang mayaman pero laganap ang kahirapan.

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The Star Fairy E u l a Lo u i s e Ca n ata

The strangest dream that ever occurred to me happened yesterday, when my brother Carlo came home running with a big smile plastered on his face and a gold star stamped upon his wrist.

“Look—at—what—I’ve—got!” He shouted from the doorway, his voice faltering from a long-distance marathon, his face all sweaty and disheveled but held a childish pride similar to that I’ve displayed in my younger years when I made believe I had slain all the monsters that threatened to colonize my empire. In his hands he held a crinkled sheet of paper, which he waved back and forth over his head like a frenzied drunk.

I was seated at the dining table, hunched over a difficult Math assignment.

Mom was shaping cookies in a pan at the counter next to me. The moment she heard my brother’s voice, she left the cookie cutter halfway through the dough and hurried to the living room, thrilled and excited as I judged from the look she shot Carlo.

“Well, young man, you must have something grand to report to have summoned me from the kitchen,” she said, giving Carlo a hug. “Did you have a nice day? What’s the ruckus all about?”

Carlo puffed his chest. “Miss Sanchez had shown my drawing to the whole class and praised me for it,” he beamed. He raised his right wrist to show her the star he’d earned for his prized artwork. “See?” “Very good, anak,” my mom replied, her face all lit up. Carlo handed her the piece of paper he was holding for my mother to inspect and, probably, to admire, too. I became caught up in the fuss that I stood up and approached them, eager to see what it was all about and even eager to leave the Math problem alone. Mom was staring at some kind of an abstract impressionism painting, done in crayon rather than in oil, with crude lines and imperfect polygons and all sorts of whatnots only a seven year-old could muster. It looked worse than the engraved carvings in a Neanderthal cave, buried under layers of dust and grime. Carlo was that young, alright.

Being the spoilsport that I was, I asked the one question that would cost me a scolding later. “Would you mind explaining what that stuff is?”

Mom seemed not to notice that I was there, her attention fixed on Carlo’s artwork, lost in its whimsical qualities. Carlo looked up and returned my frown.

“Of course it’s a fairy!” he grumbled. “Miss Sanchez read us a story about star fairies and asked us to draw one. Look at it!” He pointed at the

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paper Mom was scrutinizing. “It has white wings and a crown with stars.”

When I peered closely, though, all I could see was large head rooted on a misshapen body and the part he referred to as wings looked like a pair of defective, transparent baseball bats. Carlo’s fairy had uneven eyes, a crooked nose, and a wriggly lip. Frankenstein’s monster looked way better.

“Interesting,” I mused. “Sorry to tell you, but fairies don’t exist, Carlo. They never did, and never will.” Mom lifted her head to look at me, and when she met my eye I knew I had said the worst thing I could ever tell a little kid.

Carlo stamped his feet repeatedly that sounded like a series of cannons.

“Of course, they do! Miss Sanchez said so!” He glanced at Mom. “Tell him, Mom! Tell him that fairies are real!” His face gradually turned from red to crimson, like he was stung by a whole hive of bees. I knew what came next.

He slowly pressed his palms over his eyes and began to sob. Carlo didn’t throw tantrums, but his method of crying, more like a lament, could clear the roof off its hinges and melt the hardest hearts, including mine.

“Of course,” Mom said, her gaze never leaving me. “Your big brother believes in them, too; he’s just afraid to admit it because he’s all grown up.” Her voice was consoling but her eyes were steely cold and were warning me to shut up and leave my brother be. I scoffed in disagreement, but I couldn’t say anything more. Mom’s words were laws I would rather avoid defying.

I marched all the way to my room and slammed the door, forgetting all about my homework. My bed was cluttered with laundry, half-read books, and stacks of scratch papers, spread all over the bedsheet like salad dressing. I kicked them one after the other until all the mess transferred to the floor, then tucked myself under the covers. Beneath the blanket I could see the glass windows misted by a slight drizzle, and I remembered a certain day in my childhood –the day written by thunderclaps, when every single cloud boomed and guffawed and the rain torpedoed down and flooded the rice fields where I and my friends managed to do front strokes, not minding the tractors that hummed around us as farmers prepared the soil for sowing. It felt like eons ago; all those journeys across the plains and afternoons spent ensnaring quails and catching dragonflies were now enshrouded in a fabric of shadow, lying spent in the darkness, never to return.

It was a different I who once roamed the world. The person that I was that afternoon was a stranger – a phantom of the past, a persona alienated from the self he once belonged to. A person who no longer believed in magic. Maybe it was wrong to have told Carlo that fairies didn’t exist, but I just didn’t want him hurt when he comes to know what’s real as what happened to me when life took its course. There is lesser grief in not believing than in believing and eventually knowing that you were wrong all along.

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I grew tired of thinking and forced myself to sleep, only to enter a strange and magical dream, which was the last thing I thought of.

I was back to the meadows which I and my friends once visited to chance upon fireflies, way back in the old days. It was all because of a silly children’s story our first grade teacher read that afternoon, probably the same story Carlo’s teacher had narrated. It told of a boy who captured fireflies in belief that he caught real stars, only to have them turned into fairies who begged him to set them free for they were on their way to joining the constellations in the sky. We’ve scoured bush after bush in hopes of catching sight of those tiny, glowing insects, only to have our efforts wasted and finding nothing. I shifted my feet and looked around, the blurry backdrop blossoming into detail, revealing trodden paths and familiar trees. The sky showed no evidence of stars. The only light that was flaring in the darkness radiated from a nearby lake, where stood a woman with long, flowing black hair, with her back turned to me.

Enchanted and magnetized by this obscure, surreal entity, I gestured towards her, sprinting across the grass. I was a few feet away when all of a sudden, the very earth where the woman stood thundered open, and a myriad of fireflies burst from the chasms, like life-sentenced prisoners eternally free at last. They shot up like firecrackers into the atmosphere, forming dizzy spirals and engulfing the place where the woman had been, their glory intensifying as more of their kind erupted from the depths, like a geyser of starlight from beneath the Earth’s crust. Too stunned beyond reason, I closed my eyes shut, fearing I might go blind. Then, remembering I was just dreaming, I opened them again.

The swirling vortex had receded, and I saw the woman facing me, all aglow. She looked like the blown-up version of Carlo’s fairy— uneven eyes, crooked nose, wriggly lip— and her body even had those blue lines marking a first grade pupil’s pad paper. She had a crown of crude stars, drawn in pencil. Her eyes met mine, and for a second I thought there was a tinge of human life in them.

“Leave the innocence intact,” she said.

Then the whirlwind of fireflies reappeared, and she was swallowed away from sight.

I woke up in a cold sweat, wondering what the woman meant, and saw Carlo bending at the foot of my bed, doodling on a clean piece of paper.

For a while I was confused, and then I sat up and stared at him. He glanced at my direction and, seeing that I was awake, curved a smile.

“I figured out you might not have understood my drawing completely, so I’m going to make another one.” He turned back to his artwork, immortalizing his star fairy with crayons.

I wondered what the strange dream meant, but, seeing my brother hunching over what he called his masterpiece, I, gradually, began to understand.

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Adventures ni Toto kag ni Inday* o n e s i fo ro b e r i n a , j r. *Ginbase sa isa ka Binisaya nga sugilanon

Sa isa ka malayo nga lugar may duwa ka mag-ulutod nga naga-istar, wala na sang iban pa kundi si Toto kag si Inday. Sa una nga tulok indi mo mabal-an kun sin-o sa ila ang magulang kay ang ila kadako-on daw parepareho lang.

Isa ka adlaw samtang sila galagsanay, gintawag sila sang dako-baba nila nga nanay.

“Toto, Inday , palapit kamo diri!”

“Ano tani, Nay?” pamangkot ni Toto sa iya nanay.

“Wala na kita kalamay.”

“Ti ano dayon, Nay?” sabat naman ni Inday.

“Kadto kamo to sa Intsik kag bakal kamo kalamay.” “ Ano na ang kalamay, Nay?” sabat liwat ni Inday.

“Kakita kamo pulbos? Daw amo na iya itsura pero matam-is kun tilawan.”

“Ang Intsik ya Nay, sin-o na?” dugang pa gid liwat ni Inday.

“Ay, na’no! Basta kun maghambal, indi ninyo siya maintyendihan!”

“Ah, bal-an ko na, Nay! Dali na Inday, lakat ta!” gadali-dali nga hambal ni Toto.

Kag naglakat gid man ang duwa pakadto sa Intsik. Kag samtang gakinadlawanay gulpi lang nga naghipos ang duwa sang may nabatian sila nga kokak-kokak halin sa isa ka sapat.

“Inday, batian mo ang nabatian ko?”

“Oo eh, matyag mo sa akon bungol.”

“Amo na ina guro ang Intsik Day. Dali, pangitaon ta.”

Nakita gid man nila ang ila ginapangita, ang gapungko sa bato nga paka.

Ginpamangkot nila ang paka kun pwedi sila kabakal kalamay, pero maski ano nila kapamangkot sa paka, wala gid ini gasabat. Kokak lang nga

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kokak. Sa kainit sang ulo ni Toto, hinaboy niya sang bato ang paka, maayo lang kay nakalumpat ini kag nakapalagyo kay kun wala, sigurado gid nga dunot na.

Galingin gid ila ulo kapaminsar kun diin sila makabakal kalamay, pero padayon gihapon sila sa paglakat. Kag dugay-dugay naagyan nila ila migo nga si Biboy nga may ginahigop-higop sa sulod sang gamay nga plastik. ”Ano ina ang ginakaon mo?” pamangkot ni Inday kay Biboy.

“Ari, tilawi niyo bala kay namit.”

Gintilawan gid man sang duwa. Abaw, nagdako gid gulpi ang ila mga mata sa kakibot . ‘‘Amo ini ang kalamay!” singgit sang duwa sa kalipay.

“Boy, baklon ni namon sa imo, ari kwarta.” siling ni Inday kay Biboy, dayon duhol sang bente pesos nga play money.

Lipay-lipay gid ang duwa kay nabakal nila ang ila dapat baklon kag naintuan pa nila ila migo. Baw lang gid nga mga bata. Kag imbes nga magpuli na sa ila balay, naglagaw pa ya ang duwa. Nagsaka sa bukid. Naligo sa suba, kag nag puli sang dulom na.

Ara pa lang sila dampi sa kudal sang nakita nila nga gatindog ila amay.

“Kamo duwa, kaina pa kamo ginahulat sang iloy niyo. Sulod na kamo!”

“Oo, Tay.” sabat ni Toto sa iya amay.

Nakatapak lang gid sila sa ila balay, sang akig nga nagsinggit ila nanay.

“Diin kamo halin?!!”

“Nagbakal kalamay Nay. Ari Nay oh.” dungan nga sabat sang duwa, dayon duhol sang MikMik nga ginbakal nila kay Biboy.

“Ah, gali! Kakita kamo sini?!” Gasiga ang mata sang ila nanay bibit ang isa ka hanger.

“Ano ina, Nay?” siling sang duwa.

“HANOT!!!”

Pagkabati pa lang nila sa ila nanay, nagharurot gid dayon dalagan ang duwa pakadto sa guwa sang ila balay, bitbit ang mga pakete sang Mikmik nga abi nila kalamay.

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Limang Tagpo, Isang Yugto E u l a Lo u i s e Ca n ata

I. Masikip. Sadyang nakapakasikip. Ginalaw-galaw niya ang mga binti at ipinadyak-padyak ang mga paa para man lang maibsan kahit papaano ang pamamanhid na nadarama, ngunit sadyang maliit ang naipahiram sa kanyang sapatos. Pinagpag niya ang uniporme at inayos ang kanyang kurbata, at saka pinagmasdan ang sarili sa salamin. Ayos na, ang naibulong niya. Ngayong araw ay masusubukan ang kanyang kakayahan. Ngayon ay mapapatingin sa kanya ang lahat. Binati niya ang batang babae sa salamin ng isang makabuluhang ngiti. Hindi na niya napansin ang mga espasyo sa kanyang gilagid na dapat sana ay kinalalagyan ng apat na mapuputi at malulusog na ngipin.

Binalingan niya ang inang abala sa pag-aayos ng buhok. Suot nito ang paboritong baro na tanging ginagamit lamang sa mahahalagang okasyon, habang nakasampay naman sa leeg ang isang bulaklaking kuwintas. Sa kusina nama’y naaninag niya ang kanyang amang nagluluto ng uulamin nila sa agahan. Tirik na noon ang araw pero madilim sa loob ng bahay.

“Nay, ‘asa’n na po ang mga kamatis?” Tanong niya.

Tiningnan siya ng ina na noo’y nagpo-polbo. “Naroon sa ibabaw ng mesa, anak. Itinabi ko muna, baka maupuan mo eh.”

Sabik siyang tumungo sa kanilang silid-kainan. Nadatnan niya ang amang inilalapag ang mainit pang ulam katabi ng isang buwig ng saging at ilang platito. Sumisirit pa ang mantika sa naiwang kawali.

“Tay, ‘asa’n na po ang mga kamatis?”

Napailing ang kanyang ama. “Kamatis ba, anak? Heto, isinahog ko sa Imagine Nation

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pritong itlog. Paborito mo ‘to, hindi ba?” Nakangiti nitong inayos ang mga kutsara, at maya-maya pa’y tinawag na ang kabiyak upang kumain.

Hindi niya makakalimutan ang araw na iyon, nang huli silang makarating ng nanay niya sa paaralan upang dumalo sa isang programang siya sana ang bida. Dali-dali siyang hinila ng isang guro at inihelera kasama ng mga batang maghahandog ng isang maikling pagbigkas. Lahat sila ay may dala-dala sa magkabilang kamay maliban sa kanya. Hindi na niya napansin ang pagod niyang mga paa.

“Uminom ka ng gatas, ikaw ay lalakas Kumain ka ng itlog, ikaw ay bibilog Ang saging at papaya, pagkaing pampaganda Ang suha’t kamatis, pampaganda ng kutis!”

Napuno ang silid-tanghalan ng malulutong na halakhakan at dumadagundong na palakpakan. Natawa yata sila sa kanyang bungal.

II. Alisto siyang nagtago sa likod ng isang umbok ng lupa, kawayang baril sa kanang kamay at isang kamao ng hilaw na aratilis sa kabila. Palihim siyang tinawag nina Beng at ng mga kasama, gumulong daw siya papunta sa kanila upang di siya matamaan. Tila may pinaplano ang mga itong kung anong estratihiya. May alinlangan niyang tinanaw ang kabilang kampo.

“Nakabantay si Tolits!” Magaspang niyang tugon. Narinig siya ng mga kalaban at pinaulanan ng sandamakmak na tuyong bunga ng balimbing.

Ginantihan naman ang mga ito nina Beng na nanghablot ng mga damo at binomba ang katawan ni Tolits. Hindi naman natigil ang pagbato sa kanya at patuloy siyang tinamaan ng isang toneladang balimbing. Hinagis niya ang kanyang nalalabing aratilis at itinaas ang magkabilang braso.

“Suko na ko!” Sambit niya, sabay hingal.

Tumayo si Beng at dinuro-duro siya, hawak pa rin ang laruang baril nito. “Ang ingay mo kasi, eh! Ayan tuloy, natalo tayo!” Bulyaw nito.

Napaatras siya.

“Talunan na, duwag pa,” dagdag pa nito. May gusto kasi si Beng kay Tolits kaya gustong-gusto nitong manalo sa giyera-giyerahan upang mapahanga ang huli. Kaso ay natalo sila dahil nga sumuko na siya. Dinuroduro uli siya nito.

Sumingit na si Tolits. “Tama na ‘yan, laro lang naman ‘to eh.”

Inismiran lang ito ni Beng.

“Duwag!” Sigaw uli nito.

Gusto na niyang maiyak sa pagpapakahiya nang bigla siyang makakita

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ng paraan upang gantihan si Beng. Kunwari siyang umatras habang patuloy siyang sinesermonan ng kalaro. Tatlo. Dalawa. Isang yapak pa palikod.

Abot na niya ang tinatamasang tagumpay.

Bigla siyang yumukod at hinablot ang tuyong sorpresang nakakalat sa kanyang paanan, pagkatapos ay walang pakundagang ibinato ito sa hitsura ni Beng saka patakbong tumalilis. Narinig niya ang kantiyawan ng mga nalalabing bata sa damuhan at napabungisngis siya. Pinahid niya ang namuong luha sa mga mata.

Tanong niya sa sarili: Ano kaya ang aking gagawin kung sakaling hagisan ako ng malaking tipak ng taeng baka sa mukha?

III. Nang makita niyang nakatulog na ang ina, dahan-dahan niyang pinihit ang pinto at bumaba siya sa tarangkahan. Dinig pa niya ang paalala nito na bantayan ang nakababatang kapatid ngunit tila may kung anong elementong panay bulong sa kanyang tainga na nag-uudyok sa kanyang pumasyal kina Aling Becca upang nakapuslit ng bunga ng kakaw. Kaninang umaga ay magkasama sila ng mga pinsan niyang nagpipiyesta sa lilim ng mga punong hitik sa bunga, sugat ang dila sa kakangasab ng manggang hilaw. Napagkaisahan nilang tumikim naman ng kakaw pagsapit ng hapon. Hinintay niya munang makaidlip ang ina bago tumungo sa bakuran ng kapitbahay dahil alam niyang hindi siya papayagan nito.

Wala siyang nadatnang kasama nang makarating siya kina Aling Becca. Nag-siesta yata ang mga pinsan niya. Marahil ay inantok ang mga iyon sa kabusugan at kagagala. Napagpasyahan niyang akyatin ng puno ng mag-isa.

Pinigil niya ang panginginig ng mga tuhod sa kanyang daan pataas.

Ang natipuhan niya kasi ay naroon sa pinakatuktok, naghihintay ng animo’y kabalyerong may sapat na tapang at kakayahan upang abutin ito. Siya na yata ‘yon. Nang makuha na niya ang bunga ay hinagis niya ito pababa dahil baka siya naman ang hindi makababa kung hahawakan pa niya ito pabalik. Nabasag ang kakaw sa lupa at nagpakalat-kalat ang mga masasarap nitong buto sa lahat ng direksyon. Naunahan pa siya ng mga tuyong dahon at basura sa pagtikim ng premyong pinaghirapan niyang makamit.

May natira pa namang mga butong nakakabit sa isang parte ng basag nang bunga, na siyang sinamsam niya sa daan pauwi. Hindi din naman siya ganoong minalas.

Huli na nang malaman niyang hindi lamang pala tamis ang dala ng kakaw. Minsan may kaakibat din itong hampas ng tsinelas sa puwet.

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IV. Beinte pesos na lang ang natitirang pera niya sa bulsa. Isang kapat nito ang gagamitin niyang pamasahe sa sasakyan pauwi at kalahati naman ang ibibili niya ng mumurahing ubas sa labas ng paaralan. Berde ang mga ubas na iyon at medyo maasim kaysa sa lilang uri, ngunit sapat na iyon upang kalmahin ang nag-aalburuto niyang tiyan. Sana naman ay wala siyang bulate.

Isinasawsaw na niya ang huling ubas sa asin nang mahagilap ng kanyang tingin ang isang kumpol ng mga batang lalaking nakapalibot sa kung ano sa di kalayuan. Isang mamang may mahabang bigote ang siyang tumatanggap ng barya mula sa kanila at nakatingin lamang habang tumutuklap ng maliliit na piraso ng papel ang mga ito at pinupunit ang mga iyon upang tingnan kung ano ang nasa loob. Naunahan siya ng kanyang pagkamausisa at agad na nilulon ang tirang ubas, sabay diretso sa pinagkakaguluhan ng mga bata.

Namangha siya sa kanyang nakita. Sampung dilaw na sisiw ang palakad-lakad sa loob ng isang bukas na kahon; nag-uumpugan, nagngingitngitan, at minsan ay natutulog. Piso ang bayad ng bawat pagtuklap ng papel sa bunutan. Kada sero sa numerong nabunot, isang sisiw. Kung wala, talo. Sinubukan niya ang kanyang kapalaran. Limang piso na lang ang natitira sa baon niya. Handa siyang ipakipagsapalaran iyon.

Sa unang apat na bunot, nagsisi pa siyang hindi niya nakita agad ang bunutan ng sisiw. Dapat siguro ay hindi muna siya bumili ng ubas. Sampung piso din ‘yon. Marahil ay hindi na bumalik ang mama kinabukasan. Sayang naman, baka manalo pa siya kung sakali. Itinaya niya ang lahat sa huling piso niya.

Huminga siya ng malalim at bumunot ng numero. Dinahan-dahan niya ang pagpunit. Puno ng kaba ang kanyang dibdib. Kailangan kong manalo, kailangan kong manalo. Pinikit niya ang mga mata, at dumilat ulit.

Numero 204. Nagwagi siya!

Ipinakita niya ang papel sa mama. Ngumiti ito. “Pumili ka,� turo nito sa mga sisiw. Walang pagsidlan ang kanyang kagalakan.

Marahil. Sa sobrang tuwa ay hindi niya napansing naiwala niya pala ang kanyang ID. Isinauli ito sa kanya ng isang kaklase kinabukasan, ipinabibigay daw ng mama sa bunutan ng sisiw sa labas ng paaralan.

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V. “Ate, pwedeng maligo sa ulan?�

Mula sa lamesa ay binalingan niya ang nakababatang kapatid na mabilis na nagtatanggal ng tali sa buhok at naglulundag sa sofa. Malalakas na patak ng ulan ang tumatama sa kanilang bubungan. Nag-uunahan ang kulog at kidlat sa pagsindak ng mga dumaraang pilit na sumisilong sa makikitid nilang payong. Walang ibang bata sa labas. Simangot ang tangi niyang itinugon.

Kumipot ang ngiti nito. “Minsan lang naman eh.�

Iniwan niya ang kanyang takdang aralin sa sosyolohiya at bumaba sa tarangkahan. Dahan-dahan siyang binasa ng mga patak na nililipad ng hangin paloob. Nagsasayawan ang mga punong kahoy sa saliw ng awiting mga dahon lang ang nakakaalam. Humampas ang lamig sa kanyang mga pisngi.

Naligo din siya noon sa ulan. Nakipaghabulan sa damuhan. Sumayaw sa ilalim ng langit. Sinamyo ang natitirang oras bilang bata. Tinanaw niya ang kapatid na nakadungaw sa bintana, pinipigil ang pananabik.

Tinungo niya ang hardin. Sa gawing ibabaw, tumatangis ang mga ulap. Binuksan niya ang mga palad at napangiti. Dalawampung taong agos ng mga alaala ang lumunod sa kanyang mga kamay.

Pumikit siya.

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Vanilla Ice Cream L e l a n Ro b e e O rq u i o l a

It was a perfect place to think. The seats were fluffy. A mixed aroma of sweet pastries wafted through the air. Gentle music played throughout the cafĂŠ like a lullaby for the lonely. There were only a few people lounging on their seats as they chit-chatted softly. At the corner table sat a woman in her forties. Her hair was tugged up in a ponytail, exposing her almondshaped eyes despite the purple glasses. She wore a white uniform that was

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somewhat creased, but somehow survived to stay clean. It wouldn’t need a second glance to see that she was exhausted physically. It had been a long day, and she needed to relax. The only thing that was loud tonight were her thoughts.

“Where did she go?”

Only silence answered the question in her boggled mind. It was almost past curfew hours, and here she was, sipping the coffee that had long gone cold. She shook her head in the midst of contemplation. The bitter aftertaste of the stale coffee did not distract her from the question echoing on her mind. Her coffee cup clinked onto the surface of the platter.

She made a sigh of distress.

“Do I need to find her?”

She gazed at the window beside her, observing the hypnotic city lights. People were leaving the café to head home already. And on the opposite end of the street, she saw a tiny child skipping towards her parents to clutch their hands as they crossed together. She watched them until their silhouettes vanished. It reminded her of someone she used to know… **** “ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM!” I looked up from the novel I was entranced in. There were two children jumping up and down with glee. The excitement of the siblings exploded like fireworks. It looked like their parents had brought them to this ice cream parlor for the first time.

“ICE CREAM!” Their names were Lisa and Renz. I know this because their parents consistently pleaded them to tone down their vocal happiness. The yells were deafening as they chanted the phrase repeatedly. The father tried to tone them down as he smiled in amusement.

“Hey, kids, lower your—” “ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM!” The mother took the cones from the cashier lady and bent down to offer it to her children.

“Alright, one vanilla ice cream for sweet Lisa, and chocolate for you, Renz.”

It was fascinating to see how sparkly the children’s eyes were as they ate their ice cream. Such simple happiness, I thought. They haven’t realized the challenges of the world just yet.

“Renz!”

I saw Lisa grabbed hold of her older brother and stole a bite from his ice cream.

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“Hey,” Renz complained. “That’s not fair. You got your own!”

“Hmm…” The mischievous girl gave her own ice cream a thoughtful lick.

“Vanilla is better. I’m going to love vanilla ice cream forever! Ice cream makes everyone happy!”

“Dad, Lisa’s being annoying!”

“There, there, now. Be nice.” The father patted his daughter’s head with affection.

“Mommy,” Lisa suddenly asked. “Doesn’t ice cream make you feel happy?”

“Sure, dear,” the mother replied. “Let’s go over that table until you finish your ice cream, okay?”

I watched as the parents slowly steer their children to the table next to mine. The siblings were still conversing loud enough for me to hear.

“Someday, I’m going to give out free ice creams to everyone so they can feel as happy as I am right now.”

Renz laughed at his sister and said, “But you will need a lot of money for that, sis! Do you like ice cream that much?”

“I love ice cream!” Lisa answered enthusiastically. “It’s the answer to all the sad things in the world.”

Not really, I reasoned in my thoughts. But then again, what do kids know at this age? It must be nice to feel so much happiness from a scoop of vanilla.

I was about to go back to my quiet reading when the young girl locked her eyes on mine.

“Hi.” Lisa waved at me with an innocent smile.

“Hey kid,” I greeted nonchalantly.

Lisa scrambled down her seat to move to my side. I glanced at her parents with mild concern, but they simply passed an ‘it’s okay’ look towards me.

“Is it okay to sit here with you for a while?” Lisa asked meekly.

“Uh. Oh, yeah. Sure.”

She giggled and it was contagious. I found myself smiling back at her by instinct.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you…”

Lisa pointed at my closed book, then shifted her pure brown eyes back at me.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay, kid.”

“I just thought of asking you a question. You don’t mind?”

“Ah. It’s not like I have anything much to do…”

“Hey,” she quickly said. “Ice cream is the cure to all sadness, right?”

“Um…” Do I go with the flow with this kid or not? I thought. I don’t want to crush her dreams or something.

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“You know,” I started. “It isn’t that easy. You’ll understand someday.”

“But how can ice cream not make anyone happy?”

“It’s not that. When you get a little older, being happy needs more than just ice cream.”

“Why?” “Well, when you work, you feel tired. When you study, you get tired too. Most of the time, being tired is the only thing you feel. It’s hard to be happy when you’re very tired.”

“But an ice cream would help.”

I paused at her insistence and decided to let her take the wheel.

“Okay. Tell me how?”

“Because it will make you happy.”

“Look,” I said, calmly. “Ice cream is just food you can eat in 10 minutes. I’ll be happy if work was less tiring... but I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Lisa was chewing her cone, seemingly not to notice the point I was making.

“You think too much,” she said in between bites.

“Yes,” I laughed a little. “Adults do that a lot.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Lisa added.

I took a tissue and gave it to her to wipe her sticky hands.

“What do you mean, kid?”

“Maybe… you’re looking for happiness in bigger things when it’s in small things after all. Like ice cream!”

I shook my head and gave her a defeated smile.

“It does look like you’re so happy.”

“It’s because I have a secret, ” Lisa stated with a wink. “It’s not just the ice cream.”

She leaned closer to my ear. I waited for a few seconds before I heard her childish voice again.

“I’m happy because my Daddy, Mommy, and Renz are smiling.”

I eyed Lisa’s family on the next table. Her parents were laughing at the messy chocolate-stained face of Renz.

“So, every time my family goes out for ice cream, I know I’ll see them smile. And that’s what makes me happy. It’s nice, right?”

I was silent for a while. Lisa gave me a knowing smile and slid off her seat to join her family. **** “Ma’am?”

The fatigued nurse looked away from the window to face the café waitress. ’ll be closing in 30 minutes.”

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“Oh, alright, miss.”

“Rough day, Ma’am?” The waitress asked kindly as she took the empty coffee cup and placed it on a tray.

“You could say that.”

The nurse slung her backpack on her weary shoulders, and stepped out of the café. She walked slowly toward a 24/7 fast-food chain to buy a take-out dinner before heading home.

She arrived at the counter and pulled out her wallet to pay.

“What flavor, Ma’am?”

“Vanilla, please.”

“We’ll call you when your order is ready, Ma’am. May I get your name, please?”

The nurse handed her money to the cashier lady, and gave a small smile.

“Lisa.”

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Ep i lo g u e

Hayaang manatili ang kamusmusan sa iyong puso, nang sa gayo'y 'pag ika'y makalimot ng bahagya sa iyong pagkakakilanlan, may babalikan kang alaala.

Umahon ka sa dagat ng panghihinayang, at hagkan mo ang iyong tadhana nang buong puso.

E d i to r i a l B oa r d AY 20 1 6-20 1 7

Charles Arthel R. Rey Editor-In-Chief Vivienne S. Songcayawon managing editor Jeziel K. Vargas associate editor News editor

Jiselle L. Yanson

features editors Rhick Lars Vladimer T. Albay Onesiforo B. Berina, Jr. literary editors Bryan D. Fran Angelika F. Rey patnugot ng Filipino Lara Neptali E. Anam sports editor Vic Alizon P. Morena Photography editor

Jether Dane T. Guadalupe

Online editor

John David O. Maza

web Administrator layout artist

Michael Angelo I. Fandagani

Unique M. Canonicato

Allen Grace B. Tabi Rod Gerard J. Fuentes digital artists

Staff writers Ariel Lorenz N. Castronuevo Celina L. Maloto photographers Moises Segundo D. Alba Israh Marie D. Dayalo editorial assistants Pearl Lorraine R. Cordero Rusieljs G. Lunasco

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