Memento V

MEMENTO

MEMENTO

ATLAS

MEMENTO Volume 5, April 2021 The Literary Folio of Kapawa Published by the students of University of St. La Salle All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or any part or form.

Please note that the contents of this Literary Folio are works of fiction. Characters, locales, and events that resemble actual people, names, places, and incidents are either coincidental, products of the author’s imagination, or used for fiction.

Sabrina Ysabelle C. Ledesma LITERARY EDITOR Chelsea Anne A. Rallos LAYOUT ARTIST Kim T. Diaz Ryan A. Rodriguez ASSISTANT LITERARY EDITORS Ana Dominique G. Manabat Joseph Bryant J. de los Santos COVER AND DESIGN

Stephanie Anne O. Alolon Joseph Bryant J. de los Santos Hannah Nicole R. Esblaca Mary Andrea S. Geolingo Eli T. Gozon Stephanie Louise L. Gregas Lucille Marie L. Magcumot Ana Dominique G. Manabat Charlize Reyanette T. Nicasio Rizle M. Patopatin Chelsea Anne A, Rallos Cassel Dave G. Tiva VISUAL CREATIVES

illustration by Ana Dominique G. Manabat

CONTENTS FOREWORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 08 POETRY anemoia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 élan vital . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Can You Hear My Heart? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 The Time Traveler’s Daydream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Praise to the Ancient Hearth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Carrion of Cosmos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21

part i . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 .............................

part ii . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 ............................. cosmic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 A Lament to the Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 parallel lines . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 rust and stardust . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 the big bang . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 To Infinity and Beyond Realities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 Asteroid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Twin Fire Signs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 SHORT STORIES Genesis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 How Does Astronomy Work? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 The Young Man in the Furnace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44

part i . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 .............................

part ii . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Connected . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Odyssey of a Torn Soul . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 In This Life, and the Next . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49

chapter i . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 .............................

chapter ii . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 .............................

chapter iii . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 .............................

chapter iv . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 .............................

The Crater . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 My End is Only Your Glorified Beginning, Darling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 death to all constellations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 Clandestine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 After Us . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Extinction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 The Protector’s Woes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 DEFINITION OF TERMS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80

FOREWORD After years of constantly moving from one place to another, she wakes up in a new home. It doesn’t faze her, though. She doesn’t care that they were finally settling into a place that didn’t come with the haunted memories of what used to be, or that this was gonna be the last stop after a long time of welcoming places only to say goodbye again when the six months were up. She doesn’t care that her dad finally quit the job that kept shuttling her back and forth to a different home every moment she felt like she could finally just belong somewhere. Because without realizing it, somewhere along these lines, she kind of just lost herself.

She lived through different worlds instead of carrying her own. It was just easier that way, to just exist and feel pain vicariously through everything else but herself. And now she’s here, in what her dad claims to be their final move. But it just doesn’t matter anymore.

The thing is, she’s all grown now. It had been years since she last dreamt of finally finding a place that would scream her name and tug her towards its orbit every time she loses her way. And she has, so many times before, maybe even to the point where she numbed herself of life that she forgets to live it. So even when she has the chance to rebuild her ruins, she prefers to stay in the wreckage she is too used to.

She never really knew how to keep her ground anyway. After growing through milestones faster than seasons change, shifting from one home to another, and losing people before she can even have them, permanence just stopped being something she continued to seek. Even when stability finally met its long-overdue homecoming, she was left floating away, still begging for the clock to turn back and be baptized by oblivion.

She was so used to the whole world moving around her that when it finally stopped, she had to keep going—find a new axis for her to rotate on, a new world for her to be devoured by.

Every day, she would open book after book, trying to find something to make her world spin again, finding realms to get sucked into so reality won’t feel real yet.

But perhaps all her luck has been poured out on the years before. She no longer has a reason to stay lost in the broken world she once dreaded but now all she wanted. She can no longer lie in the midst of the darkness as the world spins madly on. Now, more than ever, she is forced to carry the weight of the world.

Whether we see it or not, this isn’t a rare occasion for most of us. At one point or another, we ended up attaching ourselves to the forces of the universe that have never been on our side. We spend every day trying to go the distance when deep down, we all just want to go back into our naïve lives. We pretend that we’re ready to face what 08

the world has for us but when it comes knocking on our doors, we pretend that nobody’s home. We even condition our minds into normalizing our trauma that we forget how we were always meant to grow and become.

And just like that, we find ourselves living an apocalypse, only surviving for the sake of life. We only see the heartbreak of our existence to the point that it’s the only thing we allow to define it. We take the pain and throw it into the deepest reaches just to forget about it. We bask in our nothingness thinking that it’s all we’re going to get.

We spend our lives thinking that the whole universe is painted at the back of our hands, we forget to look up and see what was there all along.

Much like this vast world before us, our lives have a lot more meaning than what we see. Mapping out everything we have yet to become, the revelation unravels that life begins the moment we demand weight into our existence. We begin to find beauty in life the moment we let gravity play god, pull ourselves into focus, and let the weight fall into our fate.

Look at where you are now. Have your shoulders slouched far enough from carrying the world you can never seem to let go of? Back curved from the heavy memories you’ve painted in your gallery? Hands bruised from every slip you never meant to make but are now the stories of your battle scars?

Or are you just floating mindlessly? Tired of the weight of having nothing to carry? Letting the pieces of the clock run into years of opportunities while you stay frozen?

There is a world that awaits our discovery, places that await our arrival, and people that await our seams to intertwine. No matter what we find, it is us who will have to carry it.

Sabrina Ysabelle C. Ledesma

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let existence go beyond the definition of an apocalypse— you shouldn’t spend every breath just trying to survive. redemption is bound to outlive your tragedy so let the weight of it all keep your world spinning. it is yours, after all.

POETRY

illustration by Ana Dominique G. Manabat

anemoia

by Zerjemae C. Zaragoza We fall apart like plucked blossoms, like stars at the end of their lifespans, except not as grand and poetic, nor tranquil and picturesque— only an ending that resembles happy if you squint hard enough that tragedy blurs amongst stalls of lantern lights.

It’s funny and infuriating all at once, how much life likes clean sheets warmed by sun, but time likes them cold and drenched, and how you are in the middle of their petty arguments about which glass should be filled today— misery or happiness, war or peace?

And usually, the fights end in compromise.

“Let humanity experience the best of both worlds in one decade, even better if in one day—best in one paradoxical minute that stretches into a lifetime like skin.”

illustration by Joseph B

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Bryant J. de los Santos

So just like that, we become the guinea pigs of this equation, answering the questions: What is pain divided by regret?

Or multiplied by tomorrow?

I think, we will never know the answer to the experiments we were subjected to, because time and life, no matter how much they claw at each other’s throats for control, end up in caresses and hugs that exclude us.

So really, what weapon of ours is worthy enough to defeat two gods in love?

The answer: none.

So we suffer, as we have millenniums ago and as we will centuries later.

Because time and life stretch like bubblegum, smear themselves in every timeline, mix and match enlightenment with ignorance, through months and years until it’s all a blur.

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élan vital

by Lou Marcial M. Cuesta the sun looked at my very being.

the warmth felt like Apollo’s divine kiss, to which i embraced back in sensual beats. a rhythm thrusting in tunes of meadow convergences, penetrating my tanned, skinny intentions with the great star’s stare.

he ate up my late Wednesday afternoons.

i was drunk in the sun’s honey, devouring every dripping nectar—balmy gold in the lips. every inch of April skin relished in the glorious rays, and for a transient minute, i, too, was king.

we ended in deep light.

we died as we danced off-key on top of burning bed sheets; soul, friction, meaning cusped in naked, fragile thrones. and the sun attempted to gawk on my being, for one last love, to which i, in unholy convictions, gazed back.

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photo by Lucille Marie L. Magcumot

Can You Hear My Heart?

by Grace Kay L. Milan

You are there

—and I am here.

Our paths are crumbling as we walk along them, and I can’t tell if this is pulling us together— or tearing us apart.

The work of fate or a horrible omen?

I don’t want to know the answer to that.

Because one glance at you reveals a thousand different endings

—all of them connecting me to you.

And the answer was as simple

and

as

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complicated

as

that.

photo by Lucille Marie L. Magcumot

edit by Lou Marcial M. Cuesta

The Time Traveler’s Daydream

by Kyle Bryan T. Palparan Sometimes, I close my eyes and paint your face as I ripple through a wormhole of memories.

You would tell me how time would never lose the aching we yearn for— that we were born to fight through the paradox of the world if it meant loving each other completely.

But you were wrong— shifting the truth in my reality.

Still, maybe we’ll meet once more, in a different destination, where I won’t need a time machine to fly back into your arms.

After all, I’d rather run through a million timelines than wait in a time where we will no longer dream of each other.

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Praise to the Ancient Hearth

by Justin Andrei D. Tanilon i of iv grew inside the dark, the firstborn and the youngest— chieftess of deities. ii of iv the warmth and comfort, which ensnared the sun and sea, had been the gateway for her to offer wholly in the eternal duty of taming the divine flames. iii of iv once, there laid the hearth goddess on the grass; Priapus came not knowing his fate, alas! came close and awakened her. next thing he knew was all but blur. on Olympus, never again would he pass. iv of iv the greatest of honors are praised to you, whom the ancient Olympian could not bend, whose love was for her duties, through and through. to you do all men and deities depend. you are the great gateway to all praises. for you do the flames burn in offering. hearth maiden, glory is yours through ages, fires of man will forever be burning. like all abodes of the Romans and Greeks, your warmth will continue to resonate. your guidance, we will eternally seek, protector of all mankind and the state. forever will the hearth of Hestia glow, so should life in all eternity flow.

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Carrion of Cosmos

poems by Ma. Enrica Clarisse M. Dio illustration by Cassel Dave G. Tiva

The Setting Moon (part i of ii)

In the settling dusk, in this graveyard of stars with prickling blades of grass, my back meets the cold ground.

Sinking as the heavy weight on my chest pushes me further down the grave within a coffin of flesh— I lie still.

My ribcage clasps my heart to shut up, to stop beating.

Every thump draws a tally in my mind of every wasted breath I take.

My friends become sirens, singing the laments of my soul with sweet venom, hoping to lull me to sleep— forever.

In this pointless slumber, gloom seals my empty voids.

My life−naked as a blank canvas, leaves nothing but my dull reflection.

Even in this darkness, the moon has no place to shine.

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The Rising Sun

(part ii of ii)

A spear of light cracks through the overcast heavens.

At the threshold, hope opens its door for me— an unworthy visitor.

I stand at the solstice of a place in time, in a land where seasons can’t command flowers to blossom nor wither or rain to thirst nor drown me.

My family becomes soul-bound wishes the stars have granted me, with presence like a warm breath— silencing the noise, and lulling me to dream— soundly.

In the breaking of dawn, in this meadow of relics, lie decaying bronze skeletons of different versions of myself.

In a place where even the sun has courage to enter the grey courtyard of our world’s sky— I rise.

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photo by sapphocated

cosmic

by Sabrina Ysabelle C. Ledesma they say it all started with a big bang— an unstoppable force m e e t i n g an immovable object, colliding into a massive explosion in the silent void of space. perhaps it’s the one thing we are yet to witness. the aching to be p u l l e d into each other’s orbits until our wandering souls clash stronger than supernovas and brim light within the universe. we would paint the sky with constellations, we would plant prophecies among the stars, we would prove our existence in the shadows.

—and yet, i can only imagine. but even when you feel a thousand revolutions away, i don’t need the world to crumble down and breathe life into a second creation to know that we are cosmos, born in the same gravitational force, bound for a greater collision. so until then, i’ll keep spinning madly on.

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A Lament to the Moon

by Ma. Enrica Clarisse M. Dio

Your lifetime, weaved by the mother of dawn, stretches beyond any man’s.

You have been blinded by the darkness of wars and disasters, scorched by the ferocity of a star— but still a blossom in the graveyard of celestials.

Your glow, enduring, despite burning from another’s light.

At times, overshadowed by your radiant companions, yet you never fail to appear once darkness consumes the world you shine for.

Your illuminated reflection appears in crescent pieces, only shards of your beauty.

You too are at rest, only to return more beautiful as your reincarnated form.

Only some know your gaze falls upon them, others don’t even spare you a glance, and everyone seems to forget your ancient presence.

But my mind’s darkness is the night sky that holds you tight to stay within my reach— for I am only an admirer, singing you a lament from light years away.

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edit by Lou Marcial M. Cuesta

photo by anonymous

parallel lines

by Lou Marcial M. Cuesta

we were going to meet in all lifetimes. where:

the dirty subways reeking of urine,

the autumn streets under foliage sheets,

or perhaps the brimming lust over city lines. and the frozen lakes inside the dead woods, the candlelit house beyond the hills, or mayhap, the wild sea of our youths. why:

to hold your pale pinky finger, to beckon the great stars, or perhaps, to live our final days. and

how:

to forget the price of loving you, to string the fates of us, or mayhap, to not die alone. we swore we were going to find each other. no matter the heavy traffic or the fogging of the night, we promised—the warmth of your faux wool shirt and the cherry smell of my cologne. and we said we will try. we vowed on paper rings and wilted ivy, no one will arrest us— even if my heart breaks into two and yours melts in the bonfire, we knew that this was love. because we swore, we were going to meet in all lifetimes.

but we never did. but we never did.

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photo by cosmic joke

rust and stardust

by Khriztyl Grace J. Bulao before i combust into a spontaneous supernova, i hope it already dawned on you that for every death and birth of my whole being, i exist solely to outshine every possible glint that catches your eyes. i pray— before interstellar dust hits right near absolute zero; before saints of the starships and angels in their true form of nebulae gathered to witness my disambiguation— it delights your soul enough to make it shiver. i could blame gravity for rooting you lightyears away, but then i am a blazing sphere planted in an orbit that revolves around a heated core. this space between us runs infinitely— shaming eternity short-lived. i pray— after carbon monoxide and dihydrogen molecules condense together, whilst i burst into a kaleidoscopic explosion, as gods of the galactic core baptize me into rebirth; your eyes set on me, sparkling in rectified recognition— a wish come true.

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photo by Lucille Marie L. Magcumot

the big bang

by Khriztyl Grace J. Bulao it was almost 13.7 billion years ago when everything happened. in the middle of nothing and everything else, it led us right to this very moment; you and me, living in the in-between of dusk and dawn. drawing ecliptic lines to trace how far we’ve come— eventually taking shape in a constellation. there’s a tug in my existence that pulls me towards your orbit. i’d be lying to myself if i say this feeling doesn’t resemble a cataclysmic explosion— from billions of molecules in space to this atomical void occupying my chest. from now i can only admit, that we are one big bang away from another; continuously— infinitely.

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To Infinity and Beyond Realities

by Krisla Gail J. Batac

reality is a god of its own and history has shown the fall of those who challenge celestial beings. a human cannot worship two gods but betraying the god i was born to worship to bow down to yours is thrilling— my reality is nothing without your existence in it. so i climbed onto the wings of the raven, who promised to take me from my god to yours. the eyes she possessed were as black as the spaces between the stars and her coat, ink-stained from soaring through. her charge is trust— and many people have paid the price. without a thought, i bought her bargain; i believed her, too. i wonder why celestial beings have a thing with faith. she asked me to close my eyes, count, and never stop but i am not from the heavens; i’m but a feeble human. if there are numbers beyond the limits of my fingers, who am i to not fall asleep counting? obviously, faith is not my forté. did i not spit on the face of my god to kiss the feet of yours? though i may have forgotten— my god loved his pride as much as i loved you. his gravity was the chains that kept me from leaving, how naïve of me to think my conviction could break them. the weight of the numbers grew heavy on my palms; my eyes itched to flutter open; my mind has lost count. as one to one hundred slipped from my fingers, so did my faith. my price wasn’t enough; so she, who shifts realities, refused to fly me to yours and here i am again—broke and cursing divinity. was fate scared of what we could’ve been? did our gods want us all to themselves? had you known me, would you have done the same? would you put your faith on a raven’s promise? tonight, i’ll challenge my god and attempt to conquer yours once more if she forgives me, i’ll climb her wings,

close my eyes,

and count again.

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illustration by Eli T. Gozon

Asteroid

(part i of ii, In a Dead Sea)

by Ryan A. Rodriguez Do planets ever tire out from coursing around the sun?

Who are we to answer?

It is not we who shackles celestial bodies into constant orbits that only cease to exist, if they will too.

Still, it’s wonderful how they partake in this unknowing battlefield, constantly drifting away from the gravity of the sun, hellbent on following their own axes, even if it reaches billions of light years.

I sometimes wish I could do the same, but it’s too late for the stars to hear my last songs, as I know they deceive me, for their twinkles in the sky don’t foretell dreams I wished for but are only echoes—the rambles of a child and they never told me that.

Yet you lean your head close to falling into illusions of orbs that only flame in your hand?

It grazes me with burns for me to stretch to the sky but I’ve long forgotten to catch stars that flicker as soon as it glints my eye, for I’ve found the moon—bright and stark all the same.

I wonder, had there been someone who answered my questions of the mysteries of the universe, would the stars inside my heart twinkle still?

I’m sorry, that I exist only as light around you slips away, as shadows do.

But I will wait here still, till you find another light, I will be by your side.

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photo by Charlize Reyannette T. Nicasio

Twin Fire Signs

by Frank Ampil

I pray to God that we’re dead and burnt out before we know it.

That I only see your ash before the air currents blow me upward like the mirroring of an hourglass, singing the eulogy of my days, because this earth deserves bodies— ones that are currently burning.

Yet I can’t help but wonder how we’ll come to be charred and crumbled, or whole and matte; but down the blackened path either way.

Some theatrical, pyrotechnic me wishes to combust, to burst, to be unruly gunfire— a ringing in their ears like ghosts.

To possess death the way the wakes of stars do, losing our heights and shapes— our definitions, amorphous marks, nebulous histories, like the wax off a candle —still, and having dripped on the table.

That no matter how hard they try to chip us off to take as their dinner, you can still see us carving in the wood grooves, permanent thumbprints.

Something singes in my chest at the thought that we can never be destroyed, despite the ashes that we may be and the winds that take us away.

My flame-faded self would go wondering if the only thing between the two of us keeping us alight is you, and I am barely a crackle off your burgeoning wildfire.

But right now, in this meanwhile of the night, I only pray to God we never see it coming.

Only that we know of a road to ash ahead, and that you and I are well on our way.

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SHORT STORIES illustration by Ana Dominique G. Manabat

photo by Lucille Marie L. Magcumot

Genesis

by Sabrina Ysabelle C. Ledesma In the beginning, there was darkness—and space was nothing but a barren sea of thoughts, waiting to be formed. Until one day, strings of light pulled the universe into focus and from there, the world was born.

We think so precious of this earth, only for it to pull apart at the seams and leave us to deal with the debris. It greets us with life and love but robs the very essence of these the moment we’re aware of them. And human as we are, we let it.

Like everyone else, I greeted existence with a loud cry. Welcoming the air to fill my lungs, taking in my earliest taste of life. And from this very first breath, came everything ahead of me, everything I became, and everything expected from a kid.

My childhood plays into my mind like a film reel—montages of oblivious happiness wrapped in the better end of my memories, and flashbacks of the trauma I have yet to discover by then. Things were so much brighter when all it took were the ringing of ice cream bells and a mother’s embrace to feel complete. But it’s all just a part of the delusion.

Life will take every chance of crashing down on you if you let it. So I started playing god. I remembered that no matter the theory, the universe all started the same way—with darkness in the face of the deep. Now, every time my life dims even just by a little, I send a black hole into this realm and create a new world. Erasing what once was, and replacing it with happier proxies for the truth.

For every damned mistake, I basked in the feeling of nothingness, until I found fiction strong enough to bring light into my perspective. For every death, every goodbye, every heartbreak, there was a whole new world waiting to be made without it. So I went and conquered, colonizing every piece of grief in my bones, over and over again until numbness was the nearest I’ve gotten to being happy.

But all I am now is stuck in a void—floating, but never holding up. I send a thousand portals into this empty sphere, only to be the one who gets sucked in.

I wonder if that first breath I took was worth the soon bitter taste of life. It’s been seven years of trying and still, I’m faced with the desolation that creeps and destroys the deepest reaches of my mind. It’s been seven years, and I’m still tricking myself into these false scenarios that are long gone.

It’s been seven years, and maybe it’s time to lay myself to rest.

Maybe when I wake up and once again see the light, I’ll finally learn to live in a world I didn’t create.

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How Does Astronomy Work?

by Frank Ampil

Stars are an oft-curious thing, no?

Scattered, brilliant, and cataclysmic up close but mere blemishes as long as our feet keep contact with the ground beneath us. Sometimes, I plant my soles into whatever concrete or dirt lay under and shoot my eyes up, trying to see what our ancient Greek astronomers did.

How four stars, so far apart they might as well be nothing to each other, somehow fill in the shape of a ram. Aries, they call it. Formerly a farmhand, then the ram on which the Golden Fleece was crafted from, then just a regular ram. Eons of transformation and these four points are forever defined by the others, the parts of a greater sum.

But I don’t see it—how these specific stars are important specifically to the rest of their astral cabal. How some people just base their personality off of them. How they’re impulsive, and brash, and all-too passionate just because a bunch of stars in the shape of what was apparently a ram cluttered itself in space at just the right place and the right time.

Then you are on my mind, matter-of-factly in your stance—like no matter the unstoppable force I could create to deal with you, you just wouldn’t budge. So far inside my thoughts that your image almost seems delayed. That you are so many lightyears away I never realize I’m just wasting my time with only your shadow.

The first time we met derails my train of thought, bright and razor-like as it slashes across a black nothing. Our first kiss rises above the horizon, but I only feel the sunlight splash against whatever lay inside me. A heat conjured by memory—almost like seeing our initials carved in wood—only reminds one of what isn’t warm anymore. The day you left. Grief sat soundlessly in my throat; whatever I wanted to scream would be rendered silent in the vacuum of space you used to occupy.

Sometimes, you pass me and I can only look away, in awe of the light I could have bathed in for days. But you burn too bright for me now that I don’t know how I wasn’t blinded any sooner. You were a supernova looking for another space to disrupt and I am the nebula you left behind.

So I apologize to the first astronomers I can think of. I see it now—how stars can make someone so brash and impulsive and all-too compassionate. How four stars can make the outline of a ram, and me the outline of someone who used to be whole.

All because he was at the right place, at the right time.

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photo by Charlize Reyannette T. Nicasio

The Young Man in the Furnace

by Meatman

I. Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Arthur was to remember that distant afternoon when he finally knew:

It was better to have questions he couldn’t answer than answers he couldn’t question.

Strawberry was a village of twenty nipa huts, built on the bank of a clear river that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs.

As it has always been, Arthur would reel out his bootstrapped mechanism of a slender nylon thread hooked to the end of a long, narrow twig he finds along the way.

“Quite the drought today, ain’t it?” Arthur exclaims to the man at the other side of the river, as he too struggles to find fish in the steady stream.

“Nothing beats the old times, Arthur.” The man says.

In a quick flash of memory, Arthur pictures the drapes of evergreens, which had painted every wilting tree of Strawberry. Yet as much as he was able to remember, the only colors his eyes were opening up to were the asphalt grays of the city’s tainted touch.

“It’s a changing world,” the man announces, “but I hear there are opportunities down there.”

“Opportunities?” Arthur raises his voice, “in exchange for what?”

need.”

“A bit of honest work here and there,” the man adds, “then we’ll have all we ever

“The strawberry days are over, man.”

As the water quiets down to a still, Arthur, in an act of tranquility, takes a moment to breathe in the howling winds that rustled the leaves—or what’s left of it. He then takes a glance down towards the river’s end, where the opportune City of Stars stands forthrightly like a paragon of hope. And somewhere, deep inside him, he knows that man was correct—

But he wasn’t right.

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II. Triking down back to the nipa huts, Arthur thought deeply about the conversation he had with the man. To him, the city’s opportunities were never worth more than the tobacco leaves that stretched from acre-to-acre; generation-to-generation.

Out of the blue, he saw clouds of smoke, appearing in a thick nimbus as if it was coming from the village—his home.

Adrenaline surged through Arthur’s every beat. The ache of his bare, calloused feet wasn’t his main worry anymore. Because beyond the thick, phosphorous smog—there was a world to save.

But his pleas for help and cries for anyone’s existence were merely verses to the symphony of the blazing choruses of the kerosene. The orange flames have tattered down everything to the charcoal ruins of history and sent them away on a wind-turned-dark from burning. It was as if it was a lie, the damnedest joke anyone could tell—the town was that of a marshmallow in a stick; toasted atop a bonfire, only to be served as ash.

More than a leg of his body had been covered in soot, but it seemed as though he refused to burn.

Slowly, steadily, footsteps were brushing against the village grounds. Faint, wan, and pallid, was the feeble gleam that came peeping over them. And there, the last remaining villagers saw—a foot, resembling that of a man, was bursting out of the pavement.

Dusting aside the debris, inch-by-inch; the body was found to be of Arthur’s.

And ergo, in what seems to be an act of God, his heart still beats. He hears a cesspooldeep murmuring behind the towering echoes of the inferno.

“Wake up Arthur, we have a city to burn.”

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illustration by Ana Dominique G. Manabat

Connected

by Zerjemae C. Zaragoza There is an intangible, and often perplexing concept that pulls us along.

Human as we are, we doubt and we question, from the smallest ripples in the water to the crashing waves—we ask. What is meant to be and who decides what isn’t? We tell ourselves that fate is but a fool’s god, that our destinies are ours to twist and unravel as we see fit.

And yet—when something tugs at the strings of our heart—we comply.

For so long I have thought that my fate was this. To be tied down to this city—as its god, its beacon and its guidance. And for so long, I have believed this. I have made a rock out of myself, rooted myself in this mountain, forever staring at the shine of the horizon. The thrill of adventure is but a passing heartbeat, gone in a flash, buried under the crushing intensity of that which we call fate.

I have thought that my red string was the banner hanging high above the welcoming arch, that it was the cry of a newborn and a mother’s gratitude—that it was my name spoken from reverent tongues.

But you passed by me, in colors of gray and gloom, a stark contrast to the blazing reds of my domain. And as fate would have it, my heart skipped a beat. I knew in an instant, that you were the adventure I had been seeking—and yet the same danger I had been pushing away. My nightmare wrapped in pretty lies.

And I recalled a phrase I had heard once from a storyteller, destiny would make even enemies meet.

Fate had always taken delight in the misfortunes of its people. So much so that even I—a god—am left unable to escape. But as fate would have it, I have been long tired of running.

So I will stand, rock-solid and firm. I will brave this storm that you have caused. Your sins, your transgressions, and your regrets, I have heard them all. And I will forgive, simply because it is you.

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Odyssey of a Torn Soul

by Ma. Enrica M. Clarisse Dio

What happens when I find myself at the brink of the blacks and whites of the past, and the enigma of the future—in the twilight of both?

Every nerve in my system shudders as I find myself in a hall of broken reflections, warped senses, and misty illusions. Not a single sense of direction but two black holes at the opposite ends of this hall—the maelstrom of both yesterday and tomorrow, a place to wield me—or perhaps destroy me?

Breathing in, breathing out, I count to tame the chaos.

Three.

The voices: murmurs and screams, young and old, of the past and the future, all silence at a whim. The violent streaks of moving memories and visions all screech to a halt. The rapid beating of my heart decelerates as if being tamed as my legs find their balance both in time and space.

Two.

Like gazing at a battlefield after a bloody victory, I wait for the glorious feat to dawn and the weight of the loss to pull me down. A whisper from the core of my mind seeps through my thoughts, telling me I cannot leave this combat zone—keeping victory for myself and leaving the loss behind.

One.

No one knew that the bang that rattled the cosmos was my war cry for victory after a long battle.

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IN THIS LIFE AND THE NEXT story by Aleia Nichole M. Tayo illustration by Mary Andrea S. Geolingo

chapter i: quirks “Love hates you.”

With unwilling ears, I chuckled it off, flipped through each tome and novel, and stuck my nose between the pages. Breathing in the sweet, musky aroma of old books and the woodsy smell of new ones masked the exhaustion of having to organize them.

“Are you even listening?” Noah continued, newfound frustration cradled in his tone.

Standing on my toes, my body slightly shook as I reached the uppermost shelf. With a sigh of relief after finishing today’s work, I hovered towards the cabinet and picked up my brown cashmere coat. I was preparing to leave the shop when he chased after me and grabbed my wrist.

“Can you at least go to the person I keep telling you about?” Noah insisted.

“She’s a quack, you should really grow up, and I’m gonna be late, ” I replied, attempting to free myself from his tight grip.

“Amelia, for as long as I’ve known you—which is most of your life—you wander around the daisy field on Sundays like an idiot, avoid watching romantic comedies because they make you sad, and lay down under the stars every night,” he said, with a concerned tone muddled in his whiny voice.

“Everyone has quirks, but if you actually start dating, you’ll have someone to share these with.”

“Noah, we’ve already been through this. I don’t want to date,” I firmly replied.

“At least see my friend. Look, if you visit her once, I promise I’ll never bug you about this again.”

deal.

Crossing my arms over my chest while shooting him a squinted look, I agreed to the

“Fine. I’ll head over there tomorrow.”

“Nice! Here’s her address. Just tell her you’re my friend,” he excitedly replied while rummaging through his pocket for pen and paper.

After a long day of school and work, I rushed home, freshened up, and laid down in the frog grass-covered backyard; gazing at a sky full of stars. Most teenagers spend their spare time hanging out with friends, some use up free hours frolicking in books, and others—like myself—tuck themselves in the night blanket.

It’s okay, Amelia. Just one session with that quack and Noah will be out of your hair after months of tormenting you. Just one session.

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chapter ii: what once was Pushing the wood-framed glass door rang the bell dangling from the inside. My eyes scanned the oddly designed room serenaded by a musty odor, a nostalgic experience that made you feel cozy. Small lamps, scattered across the brunette walls, lit the whole space. Furnished with antique chairs and tables, the room had a drab recliner settled in the right-most corner and shelves carrying vintage trinkets mounted the walls.

“Hello?” I spoke, breaking the silence that filled the space.

Emerging from another wooden door on the left side of the room was a young lady, dressed in a neat beige suit and a pair of nude stiletto heels. She was the complete opposite of the space’s projected aura; a modern contrast to the otherwise rustic feel of the surroundings.

“Hi! You must be Amelia, Noah’s friend, right?” She asked in a friendly tone.

“Yes—”

“Great! Have a seat.” She pointed towards the caramel brown recliner.

I walked towards it and sat down with my back resting against the soft cushion. With a tremulous voice, I spoke, “I actually don’t know what we’re supposed to be doing.”

As she descended onto a chair beside mine, a faint smile formed on her face. “Today, we’ll be visiting your past life,” she stated, nonchalant.

“What? I—”

“Trust me, okay? You’ll see things in a different light once we’re through,” she said with such a reassuring tone that my mind backed down from putting up a defensive front.

Once she saw my eyes calm down, she picked up an old pocket watch from the drawer and began by saying, “Noah told me you feared love.”

I scoffed. “It’s the other way around. Love hates me.”

“Why?” She asked, to which I replied with the three words a person says when they don’t have the answer.

“Okay, then think about the one thing that makes you, you.”

My mind drifted off towards nights spent stargazing out in the backyard. If anything, that sculpted pretty much my entire being, as if I, too, am made of stars constellated by the heavens.

“Follow the watch while thinking of that.”

My brown eyes swayed left and right, trailing after the timepiece, while my soul danced under a blanket of stars.

“Five...four...three...” Slowly, my eyes batted to a close.

“Two...one…” With a snap, I woke up and found myself standing in the exact same room. Except I wasn’t alone—there was a little girl looking out a windowsill.

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illustration by Mary Andrea S. Geolingo

chapter iii: the price I looked over to the left and saw that a new portion of the room appeared. There stood a wide wooden table dimly lit by an army green banker’s lamp. Sprawled across it were parchment papers, a little bit of spilled ink, and a fountain pen. The calendar was opened to the page: March 14.

Attached at the bottom of wide casement windows at the opposite wall was the windowsill. On it sat a teenage girl in a long nightgown adorned with puffy sleeves. Her chin was resting on her arms nestled above the windowsill, with her short, dark brown hair framing her face perfectly. The moon’s pale glow enhanced her jawline and reflected her ebony irises.

“Hello?” I said, stuttering. No response.

“Hello?” A louder voice escaped from my mouth. Still no response. It was right then and there that it dawned upon me that I can’t be seen nor heard in this world—or time, that is.

I inched myself closer to the window, when all of a sudden, a streak of light flashed across the night sky. She jolted up from her position, quickly slipped into her slippers, and dashed outside. My consciousness beckoned me to follow her, so I did.

Through the fairly lit cobblestone streets, across a dozen houses with steep, gabled roofs, I ran as quickly as I could to catch up to her, who was surprisingly pretty fast for a person with small legs. After a few minutes, we passed the tall city gates and crossed the wooden bridge.

We arrived in a sublime woodland that opened to gentle-sloping hills. Lilacs swayed to the rhythm of the night breeze as she inched closer and closer to a wide crater, occupied by the smoking asteroid. Her footsteps became heavier as she moved slowly towards the crash site.

A figure emerged from the gap. As he walked through the smoke, his body muddled in thick dust and eyes blazing red became clear. Surprise was plastered all over the girl’s face as she took a couple of steps backward.

Snap!

The sky’s midnight tint washed off into a baby blue color. I looked over my shoulder and saw the same couple. Except, the girl’s hair grew significantly longer than it was when I last saw her.

Their fingers were intertwined as they walked across the field. By the way they held each other’s hand and looked into each other’s eyes, you could tell that neither of them wanted to let go. After a while, they settled into a shady spot under the tree and just talked. Laughter echoed all over the plain as they teased each other. Her gleeful smile tugging at her eyes did not match his; for he bore a faint curve that stretched on his face, and a pair of somber-filled eyes.

“You’re not from this world, are you?” She asked, breaking the joyful mood. He averted his gaze towards the branches that teased slivers of the blue sky.

Sitting up from his lap, she spoke, “When are you going to tell me the truth?”

His eyes met hers, and with a sigh, he finally answered, “Once a year, a god visits the mortals, lives amongst them, and grants wishes to the desperate but pure. If an innocent soul wishes upon the falling star, they get their innermost desires without knowing the deed was done by a god.”

Her eyes widened. “So, where does that leave us? Does this mean we’re breaking the rules, or something?” He chuckled and gently brought her head back on his lap.

Snap!

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...

A starless night took over the bright sunny day. With sorrow and fear etched all over his face, the boy was standing over the crater, when a faint blue light rose before him.

“Immortal, you have committed a sin. You were sent here in on a mission to help humans, not get attached to them,” it said in a voice that could pierce the skies.

Despite the authoritative being that could send beasts running to the hills, the boy stood his ground and replied, “You sent me here to bestow hope, and I did. Am I not allowed to fall in love if it were the hope she bears for herself?”

“You think you’re her hope?” The being asked in a snarky tone. “Immortals have no business with humans. You know that better than anyone.”

“I’ll take my chances,” the boy bravely responded.

“The repercussion is already unfolding under your nose, and if you continue to defy this, it’ll reach its pinnacle.”

Snap!

I was back in the musty, vintage house. But this time, the door where the suit lady emerged from, opened to a cozy, lapis-painted bedroom. From it, muffled crying echoed. I made my way inside, lightly pushing the door open. Shock paralyzed my entire body when I saw who was laying on the bed.

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chapter iv: a sinner’s world Long strands of silver graced her head. Wrinkled sheets of skin blanketed her entire being. The only thing that remained the same were her eyes; ebony irises that gave an obvious tell that she was the girl I followed all this time. Sitting right beside her was him who looked like he never aged. My gaze landed on the bedside calendar that said, March 21.

As the clock ticked, her life started to slip through her fingers. The calendar pages rustled, as the faint blue being appeared once more.

“I warned you, foolish one,” it spoke in a deep voice. “You were never hope.”

“My life, in exchange for hers,” the boy replied with tear-filled eyes and a shaky voice.

With a sing-song tone, the being answered, “I don’t make that kind of bargain.”

“What if I put my immortality on the table? Does that pique your interest?”

The unseen being paused in its tracks, and with a snarky voice, it replied, “I’m listening.”

“I revoke my immortality, my name, my birthright, in exchange for her life.”

Silence occupied the room, and after a minute or so, “Very well.”

The exchange was about to be made when the girl reached for his hand. Tears trickled down her cheek as she looked at his soaking eyes. Her gaze turned to the blue being when she said:

“I get a wish, right? I was the one who followed the fallen star.”

Seeming to be very intrigued, the faint blue force listened.

“I wish for him to live instead.”

“No! No, no, no.” He shouted as he stood up from the chair.

“You’re supposed to grant a wish. I’m desperate but pure, aren’t I?” She gently tightened her grip on his hand.

other.

Cries in protest paraded on one side of the room, while tears of goodbye hailed on the

“Grant the wish, immortal,” the being ordered.

Stroking his hair, she said, “I will die either way. Please, let go.”

His eyes were brimming with tears as he sobbed on her chest. He lifted his head up and cupped her face with both hands as he whispered, “I will find you. In this life, and the next. In this world, or another. I will find you.”

“Wait for me, then,” she replied with a faint smile.

He pulled away from her, his eyes now burning red, and did the deed. When fragments of her being fluttered into the wind like the ash remnants of burnt paper, he fell to his knees and cried out in pain.

“What a costly price to pay,” the being declared, vanishing into oblivion.

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...

Snap!

I jolted up—finding myself in the exact same room, with the quack beside me. Tears drenched my face while I let out shaky, unstable breaths.

“You okay?” A deep, sultry voice asked. I looked beyond her shoulder and saw Noah leaning against a shelf.

“What are you doing here?” I groaned from the discomfort.

He answered with another question, “How did I look back then?”

“What do you mean?”

With both his hands tucked in his front pockets, he said, “I did what you asked.”

My brows furrowed in confusion, as I gulped down the glass of water the quack offered.

“I waited patiently,” he continued.

My eyes widened, my whole body froze, and I slowly looked back towards him. His irises turned red and a soft smile formed on his face, as he playfully asked,

“Ready to sin again?”

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photo by Lucille Marie L. Magcumot 57

The Crater

(part ii of ii, In a Dead Sea)

by Ryan A. Rodriguez My eyes jolt open as the sound of thunder roars through my resting ears. I steer them towards the open window, hoping to catch the after-strike of the white downward stream. Yet it seems that I am late for such a sight, for I see only the moon whose rays illuminate the dust floating in the room. Darkness lingers around the light’s touches—spaces of black where specks of dust fall to, or is it the other way around?

In a trance, I feel my body suspend as if I’m being pulled toward the open space, despite feeling the cushion that sinks my back. I swear to have gazed upon a colossal orb towering over me sitting right outside the window. But the image snaps itself away, as something that I should’ve realized since I woke up makes itself known to me—

I can’t move.

My heart begins to bang, my breaths turn to shuddered heaves as my eyes flicker from left to right, up, and down, in search of something to ground myself in—or someone. I hear the ticking of the clock. My only company, the teetering of the dark night, complete with a form to sneer at me.

The witching hour.

A frigid wave clutches my feet, slowly gnawing upwards, hands clawing near; a tick, a tock. I force my foot to an inch of movement, pushing relentlessly against cement. The windows start to rock in discordant intervals, furniture trembling as they pull objects to the ground. My pulse steadily drums in my ears as liquid tickles down my neck. Bones screaming towards the doors of escape, fleeing as though the devil chases me with the shackles branded in my name, bound for the underworld.

Eyes open wider in the dark.

I realize now—there’s no way out. I rest my trembling body, surrendering to the prickling blanket engulfing my body and tremors that shake my senses, for I finally understand.

The unceasing shadows peering into the light. The parallels of warm light, the spaces of pitchblack that grits its teeths with the arms of a pendulum. To unleash itself as doors of salvation unhinge;

I can finally rest.

I motion my thawing limbs upright. A blackness follows all the same, shifting towards my unmoving body. The shrouding cold falls sub-zero as though a radiator fumes, caressing my bare face and murmuring whispers. The first words then break through the looming silence, the last words I may ever hear.

“Have you decided?”

Echoes of steps replies as luminant streaks unfold the source of sound. Drawing closer, a dashing grin that extends itself comically to the ears, gleams. Two streaks of scarlet, petal at a canvas of darkness, unveiling its visage. Bearing the same face of which I use to gaze upon my reflection in dirtied mirrors, only—black.

A figure eating away the light.

I slowly trail away from the bed that witnessed all these, reluctant in moving away from the warming linens. Even so, I persist, for I know they are not so strange. I know them truly for what they are, for I once looked them in the eye. As I will do now, as I stand in the direct shower of the moon’s glow, the gust of transient winds greet me all the same, as before.

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...

Except now,

I answer,

as I reach my hand out to the moonlight, its rays against my body, moving closer. The form that was tethered to my being from when this body was first conceived faces me, behind it the looming orb, opening its gates. I walk straight to the arms of the moon, as the shadow dissipates as it has promised. To behold a new light—

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diving, at the end of the tunnel.

My End is Only Your Glorified Beginning, Darling

by Doctor Death-Defying

She rose from her seat, a plush leather recliner of red. It had cost her a hefty sum to get the color, but to her, such was only chump change. Lit by the warm orange of the fireplace, she stared straight into a mirror of shattered glass, features untouched by time—a pair of white eyes and red hair, over sickly-pale skin. To some, she was known as Alina; to her coworkers, Doctor Einzberg—but to those of the underground, Doctor Death.

A knock came at her door, followed by a pair of rough smacks—a dynamic change of their signal. She rushed over to open it, almost tripping on needles and syringes and boxes she had not cleaned up. As she did, a man dressed in a leather trench coat and black shades stood— his fashion sense could use some updating, we don’t live in the Matrix anymore—she thought.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he said. His lips were curved into that of a smile, although she could tell it was most definitely—

“Fake smiles again? You never do learn to go with the times do you?” she said to him.

“Don’t you prefer kindness over cruelty?”

“No, I prefer realism. In fact, I prefer if you leave my property for the rest of our godforsaken lives.” Her face was contorted, and those blue eyes had now earned lines of red running amok.

“The client ain’t happy with your dealings, woman, but at least you got the job done.

He’s offering you this as a compromise,” he tossed a bag of double-wrapped plastic. It felt oddly heavy, as if she was paid double her typical fee.

“He said he won’t accept failure from you.”

As the man dressed like a middle-aged Neo walked away, she found herself out of breath as she fell to the wooden floor of her apartment. How could she have known that the man had ingested a ton of methamphetamines and wouldn’t die so easily? God, she wished she never even thought of the job she was doing now. Being just a doctor should’ve been more than enough for her.

Unwrapping the plastic, she found it hard to undo the adhesive—black duct tape that stuck like flytrap paper unto the package. As she finally did though, no relief came to her, only a split second reaction of throwing what was in her hands and running behind that damn red recliner.

Just as she anticipated, the package exploded with a deafening blast.

But her body moved—inch by inch she dug her way out of the blasted rubble.

Everything she had soiled her hands for, now nothing but ashes and blackened scraps. The mirror still hung from the center wall of the building, almost as if untouched by the explosion.

Its cracked glass reflected her bleeding flesh, shrapnel and third-degree burns covering those once graceful elements of her figure.

Now dear patients, sickly and weak in your lavish comforts of life, the doctor is in— and she’s out for blood.

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illustration by Kirschten EE

death to all constellations

by anastasia

It was an honor to die at the hands of a god.

The village would include you in every prayer, your family would be given the riches of a thousand sultans, and the deities would engrave your soul into the night sky. Whether they were the direct cause of your passing or simply served as guides to the afterlife, only those proven worthy enough were given this privilege.

Huari was born on the first day the sun rose after twelve weeks of darkness and rain.

Her family believed her to be a blessing from the gods because even as they fought in the skies to protect the village, they managed to make the sun rise again. The name she was given couldn’t describe the child any more, as during the daytime, she was up and about either playing with friends or looking for flowers to pick.

But even a child born from light had her own share of darkness.

The girl’s first encounter with death was not a pleasant one, as most deaths aren’t.

Huari’s grandmother had grown old and weary, she had been an influential figure in the village, so it was no surprise that the gods themselves visited her on her deathbed. As Huari and her family gathered around her grandmother, the final breath she took materialized into the air and created a blinding gold light. Huari averted her eyes and felt a lump in her throat, she wanted to leave the room, but her mother had a tight grip on her wrist. She needed to learn of this rite of passing, and how the actions in your life define your death. As night fell upon the village that day, Huari’s tears rolled down her cheeks. Even with her mother by her side, she still couldn’t completely understand what had happened, all that Huari knew was that her grandmother wouldn’t wake up the next day.

“Look up, Huari. Look at the stars that are shining tonight. Because of the grace of our mighty deities, grandmother will always be with us in the sky.”

“If grandma is only a single star, how can we tell that it’s her?” As Huari spoke through her tears, her mother smiled at her. She gently pulled Huari close to her chest before responding.

“Oh, dear child. She is not simply a star; she is a galaxy of them. Every star you see right now, she is in them. That is the blessing the gods gave to our family. Each of our ancestors is living in their own constellations.”

Huari was silent after that. However, it was not because she was satisfied with the answer her mother gave her. If anything, the only thing she felt was dread. At her young age, she wondered why the ones she loved had to leave so soon. Each time she looked at the shining heavenly bodies up above, she only thought of putting their lights out. She wanted her family to come home.

Following the death of her grandmother, the village became divided. There was a power vacuum that everyone was trying to fill. This weakened the gods, as their strength relied on the unity and trust of the people.

The evil forces that tried to get their hands on the village were only growing stronger, as did the gods’ impatience. Perhaps with all their power combined, they could wipe out the enemy in one fell swoop. Their timing had to be perfect, they wanted to make sure that no innocent lives were lost in the crossfire.

The sun had just set when Huari’s mother gave her the task of gathering herbs for the meal that night. Most of the villagers were in their homes with warm food on their plates. Those who were still outside hurried to finish the work for the day. Huari, on the other hand, strolled along the dirt roads, peacefully swinging the basket in her hand. She knew that the best herbs were deep in the forest and so she took her time getting there. As she arrived at her destination, she crouched down to dig out the roots of the herbs her mother had asked her to pick. Humming her grandmother’s favorite lullaby, she didn’t notice the harsh winds whipping at the branches

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and how they were picking up in speed. The surrounding animals grew agitated, flying and running away from the forest. Huari approached a bush to grab some berries for dessert, but instead was blinded by a mighty blast. She felt every bone in her tiny body crack for a split second—then felt nothing at all, as if she were in a dream.

Oh, how she wished she were dreaming.

The basket Huari had with her was now destroyed, and the herbs in it were scattered along the dirt path. It was only the day after the ordeal when the gods realized what they had done. The benevolent deities descended from the skies, ready to announce their victory to the village, only to discover a pile of charred bones left over from the blast. All-knowing as they were, the gods immediately knew who they belonged to. Had Huari made her way back home a few moments sooner, would she have been spared from the unintentional wrath of the gods?

Even the divine beings themselves did not know the answer.

As to not alarm the villagers, they quickly cleaned up Huari’s remains. Though they were perfect, otherworldly beings, they still had emotions. And the guilt they felt for killing someone so young was too much to bear.

Usually, the only mortals great enough to become one with the sky were those who lived long, sin-free lives. But Huari was far too young to even face the same judgment an older soul would forego.

As the gods brought her soul to the heavens, they paused for a moment, wondering if being reborn into the sky was enough to pay back the life she could’ve lived.

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illustration by Chelsea Anne A. Rallos

Clandestine

by Sabrina Ysabelle C. Ledesma

They always told me that in the deep, empty regions of space, nobody could hear a single sound. That this sky full of colliding bodies couldn’t even make out a whisper. That no matter how hard I scream or cry, the air can only go so far, and I’d be left gasping. Like a tree falling in a lifeless forest, even the hardest of crashes just sink into nonexistence.

I often find myself wondering about this, and the very thought of it scares me—to have the whole world illuminated and screaming at the top of its lungs, only for me to end up in isolation with my tongue held back. So when I get the chance, I lay myself against the dirt and underneath the stars, plug my ears, and press play. I let the music echo into my mind and fill the silence I’ve created. A reminder of this giant sphere of existence, this spinning chaos of noise I have grown to love. And so, I keep wondering, will I always have to live in this suffocating quiet?

It wasn’t until I met you when my whole world tilted at a different angle. When the playlist of my life shifted into songs that accompanied the beating of my heart, as if the clamor of this cruel world were just two ballads away from diminishing. It was naive to think so, but I pieced every dumb bone in my body and fell headfirst.

I didn’t recognize days and nights, only minutes lost and moments lived. When the sun rose, it meant another time of loving you in secret. It meant writing poetry, only being with you in spilled ink and torn paper, the only place where my confessions were welcomed in the daylight. But when it sank below the horizon, it meant finding you underneath my window, throwing stones like a star-crossed lover in the anthology of romantic tragedies. You were always brave like that—and I was always ready to brave everything with you.

For the first time, the music never stopped playing and the harmonies only got sweeter through the months. But soon enough, pandemonium broke out and it grew louder each day, a sick yet strong attempt to drown us out. When did the world I’ve grown to love become the one I’ve grown to be hated in?

I never knew your stones knocking on my window were asteroids that would collapse our very existence—but I’m the fool ready to take every single hit. Let me leave every piece of me open, mark exes on every weak spot, and surrender to your piercing crash into my atmosphere.

I’ve spent too long in fear of holding my tongue to know that it is only in hushed courage where actions are most powerful.

So keep the lights off, lock the door, and let the music fade out from the night. Here, we speak the language of silence, echoing louder than anything else. We are the planets that crumble into space—precious fragments of the wreckage, living beyond moments and floating along the strings of fate. Somewhere, in this infinite map of darkness and quiet, we still exist.

After all, if I fall for you, and no one is around to hear the whispers of my heart, doesn’t it still matter all the same?

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After Us story by Nicole Kaye E. Lipa illustration by anonymous

Some said the world would end in fire, some said in ice. But no one told me it would be like this.

I leaned my back on the century-old oak tree as I heaved what seemed to be my hundredth sigh for tonight. Embracing the whispers of the growing winter seeping through my ebony skin, I closed my eyes. That’s when I realized how the leaves hummed in perfect harmony with the wind, putting even the greatest musicians to shame.

“I am still too sober for this,” I mumbled, the quiet intently listening. “Seems like time ran faster than I did.”

“We should have stayed in my chamber. I knew it!” he whispered in between gritted teeth and heavy breaths.

I could not help but laugh at his regretful remark—it was as if he cursed all the stars in the sky for letting our paths cross. Well, we are fourteen years too late for that, I must say.

Still panting, I tried to get a glimpse of his face hidden beneath the faded cloak. His raven hair was sticking with sweat and his lips were now pale from all the running.

“Just make haste, Crown Prince,” I mockingly uttered. “Aren’t you the fastest runner in the castle?”

Unlike all the other days where we would spend our time listening to Lady Julie’s dragging lectures on table etiquette or Lord Gael’s clumsy self-defense demonstrations, today, we decided to break through the knights’ rigid stance on the castle’s gate. It was fun, and the plan was perfect.

Not until I tripped and caught the attention of the First Knight.

“Cut that foot of yours the moment we return! It only has one job and it even managed…” he jumped over the line of goats parading across the country lane. “… to flawlessly fail!”

With brows furrowed, I asked, “You think I wanted it to happen?!”

I mirrored his movement and looked back to see if the knights are still running after us.

I cursed when I saw them getting closer. “Neo! Run faster!” I screamed.

The clanking of their armor became louder as they extended their arms in an attempt to seize us. My heart was beating wildly against my chest and I could hear the pounding of blood in my ears. I would have loved to indulge in the feeling when Neo suddenly pulled me into a corner. His grip was too tight and sudden that my body became parallel to the ground as we took the abrupt turn.

As soon as we huddled on a veiled spot, I glanced at my feet and saw that my left shoe was torn. I grunted. The list of things I have to explain to my grandmother when we return just grew an inch longer! With that thought in mind, I opened my mouth to complain but Neo absentmindedly covered it and pulled me closer.

“Shhh…” he whispered in my ear. He was seriously peeking on what seemed like a tiny hole above my head. Weird enough, I felt a tickling sensation on my chest and it gave me the urge to giggle.

“Are they still there?” I asked after a while, my voice muffled against his milky hands.

He knitted his eyebrows—probably wondering why I sounded like that—and bowed his head down to look at me. However, I guess it must have been the wrong idea. Our eyes locked, and only until then that I realized how mesmerizing his brown orbs were. It wasn’t hypnotizing, it didn’t pull me in—instead, it made me want to linger.

I was too young back then, if only I understood.

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...

I was too young back then, if only I understood.

“You are too much of a loner to be a Healer, are you aware of that?”

A familiar voice echoed through the vast emptiness in front of me and I didn’t even need to open my eyes to know who it was. For years, that voice resonated in my head like a broken record. I was stuck in a loop I didn’t even know existed.

“What are you doing here?” I quietly asked him, my gaze searching for the stars. They all gleamed their brightest, adorning the midnight sky like blinding diamonds stretched across the looming darkness. For a moment, I almost thought it was unreal. I wished everything was just unreal.

Unwillingly, I tore my gaze from the sky and basked on the features of the man beside me. He was just looking straight ahead, almost void of life, but I knew better. His lips were tightly pursed, his jaw clenched, and his eyes piercing—he was never emotionless.

“Happy birthday, Trey.” he breathed the words like it would be his last.

“Happy birthday, Trey!” his unusually high-pitched voice bounced against the walls of the castle as soon as I opened the door of my own chamber. He was wearing his custom-made silk nightwear and that bright smile that I promised to always protect. Behind him was nothing but pitch black, but his face was illuminated by the burning candle on top of what seemed to be a cake—I guess.

Neo rolled his eyes when he saw me grinning while staring at what he was holding, “It doesn’t look appealing but it’s edible!” he defended.

I burst into a fit of laughter. “Does it taste good then?”

“I told you it is edible!” he shot back, emphasizing the last word.

I just shook my head in amusement. “Fine, fine. Come closer, let me make a wish.”

He nodded eagerly and inched a little too much that I had to take a step backward. The candle was too close, I didn’t want to get burned.

“Two years from now, you will be journeying to the north to earn the title of a Healer, and father will give me the throne,” he blurted out while standing on my doorway.

I looked at him in confusion, not really getting his point. “And what are you trying to imply?”

“We only have two years left.”

Maybe I was too young back then, but still, I never really understood.

“Cassiel told me that you already packed your bags,” he mumbled. His eyes now glassy, his lips trembling.

I said nothing and the wind grew stronger in my silence. Truth is, I am afraid. I fear the day that I would have to leave because I know that I would be leaving half of myself behind.

Growing up, we both felt like clay—we can be separated and molded into a thousand different things, but we will always be part of each other. Neo had always been my safe space, an escape from the suffocating eyes of the people who are only waiting for our downfall. And somewhere along the way, I found myself caring a lot more than I should.

“What happened?” I immediately asked after I banged the door of the castle’s infirmary. The old healer flinched with my sudden appearance and I heard her mutter the spell

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...

Good thing Neo didn’t become a beetroot at that exact moment. It would be pretty hilarious, but that was the least of my concerns.

With my shaking knees, I ran closer to his bed. I can still feel my heart beating incessantly after Cassiel went to my chamber informing me that the Crown Prince was involved in an accident. For a fleeting second, nothing else mattered but him and his safety.

Yet when our eyes met, Neo just shrugged and gave me a smug face.“Well, reaching the stars doesn’t sound so bad, right?” he laughed and winked at me.

“He fell from the oak tree,” Cassiel whispered.

From a distance, the faint light coming from the townspeople’s kerosene lamps slowly vanished. One by one, the colors of the night faded, and when the remaining luster of the Capital Hall succumbed into oblivion, I knew it was time.

I straightened my back and was about to stand when I felt him holding me in place.

“Don’t leave.” His voice was hoarse, laced with desperation. I dare not to look unto his eyes because I might be brave enough to stay and let go of everything. The quest for being a royal healer is a tradition that is honored by our kin for centuries. We take pride in being the only pure-blooded healers of the south, and as the last descendant of our kind, I could never break my family’s lineage for the Crown Prince.

“I never asked you for anything, Trey. Just this once,” he pleaded.

I permitted myself to look at him for a few seconds, trying to memorize each and every detail of his face—the bulging vein on his forehead, the tiny mole on his nose, and the healing scar beside his eyes. The world is dawning behind us but he remains as ethereal as the midnight sun.

“Can you fight for me if I stay?” I asked him, smiling sadly as I searched for answers in his eyes.

I would have preferred to see none, but I knew there is, and it was the exact reason why I have to leave. Neo’s tears continuously fell as they glimmered under the moonlight. He closed his eyes as my hand embraced his face to wipe the tears away.

“Wherever I go, remember that you will always be with me,” I told him, almost inaudible. “I love you.”

Right then and there, I wished our paths never crossed at all.

“Do you think stars really grant wishes?” he asked me one night while we were sitting on his chamber’s balcony. He was leaning against the railings while I propped my arms behind me, the summer air grazing our skin. It was a serene night in the midst of June.

“No,” I quietly answered before I glanced at him. “Because if they do, then the world would not close their eyes when I kiss you.”

No matter how we both loved the stars, they never really aligned for us.

I have always loved the Crown Prince, but a love like ours is forbidden in history books. He has an empire to rule, and it cannot have two kings. I am set to be the Royal Healer, to take care and protect the King’s family—I am not meant to be his family. In between silent eye contact and loud, playful banters over the years, we both felt the weight on our shoulders.

Our love is not just for the two of us—it had never been just the two of us.

He cried on my shoulders, solemnly uttering his apologies like a prayer.

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...

“Don’t be sorry,” I smiled. “Just promise me one thing,”

“Anything,” I shuddered with the defeat in his voice. I vowed to protect his happiness, but even if I mean it, I knew that it was just an empty promise. This was bound to happen—our fate was written on the stars.

I took one last deep breath and leaned my forehead against his, my thumb still caressing the hollow of his cheeks. “Remember me when nightfall comes,” I told him, hopeful. “But forget me before the daybreak.”

All my life, I’ve been chasing after the beginning, in fear that dusk is always just minutes away. But today, the past was running after me—after us. And we cannot escape anymore.

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photo by Lucille Marie L. Magcumot

Extinction

by the saint of rage

The first message was clear: Do not go further.

Hot on the heels of sending the first man to Pluto, we hadn’t known it was a warning, then. The missive was global, popping up on personal holo-screens and major broadcast channels alike. Everything was linked to the Cloud and hackers were an expected nuisance, but this was unprecedented—and humanly impossible. How could it have overridden everything at the exact same time? But unexplained things scared us, and so we sought them out. …

When the sun burned too bright, two billion years earlier than the calculations predicted, we retreated below the earth—or soil, in the interplanetary colonies. Like roaches in the dark, we thrived, still, as all traces of carbon burned on the now-barren surface. Beneath the desert sands, the second warning blared through the tunnels, in a low-frequency babel that broke the transmitters. It came like a booming, broken cry from an old familiar voice:

“Cease—end, fear not! Fear—nothing, you—nothing!” …

We learned to source spacecraft fuel from nuclear fusion, just as Sol began to swell. As the red giant expired, we boarded ships from the homeworlds and sent ourselves to the heavens.

We may find another planet, but the course is set—running from the great heat death of the sun is just trading one demise for another. The Maker—the King Undying, the Lord Prime—will hunt across the stars to crush our lungs before we take our final breath.

We may die by god’s hands, but we will die fighting.

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illustration by Hannah Nicole R. Esblaca

The Protector’s Woes

by Zerjemae C. Zaragoza

For many years, I’ve stood.

Alone—peering at the cheerful city beneath me, only able to feel the pulse of their laughter that shakes the ground in gentle waves. It is this steady vibration that has lulled me to sleep for a millennia, and it is their calls that have awoken me every day.

For many years, I’ve stood.

Unchallenged—the protector of this city by the sea. Every day the incense travels through the air, carrying their cries and praises. Every day, I must fight a battle that they do not see, defend them from ghosts long forgotten and demons long conquered.

For many years, I’ve stood.

But now, the thought of sitting creeps ever steadily into the corners of my aged mind.

The statues of me that they have erected are always seated, lounged comfortably in a throne. A cruel irony it seems.

As a god, I have spent too long a time on this earth. And now I begin to wonder, to question what lies beyond this seemingly unending quest of mine. For too many years, I’ve stood—but perhaps it is time to step down from this lofty seat in heaven. Perhaps it is time to pass the burden to another, and for me to finally sink my toes in the sands I have kept safe. To feel only the winds of freedom against my cheeks and not shiver from the memories of storms.

For many years, I’ve stood.

And now, this god has laid himself to rest.

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DEFINITION OF TERMS prepared by Sabrina Ysabelle C. Ledesma inspired by the poetry, stories, and themes found in this folio anemoia, n.

The world is never as we see it. There is always more beneath the surface and beyond the cracks that we are yet to unravel. Soon enough, we’ll realize there is no war between man and life; or time and existence. No matter how far we pull at the limits of these strings, we could never fight an enemy we can’t even begin to understand. All that is expected of a human being is to see the earth and every moment it spends through their eyes. Let sight record every encounter of time and life, experience the best of every side of existence through someone else’s memories, and come up with our own mundane conclusions. But still, all we can do is just observe––and never understand. Not even when these forces fight tooth and nail for greater control, nor when they smear themselves into our own paths. No, in the end, all we can do is sit down, watch, and long for a day where we would finally understand. astronomy, n.

In retrospect, it’s all really just ridiculous. How can four stars, who shouldn’t even be aware of each other’s existence, determine one’s fate? How can the distance in between outline the shape that dictates who a person is? How can the perfect placement of these celestial bodies make everything make sense to someone? Oh, of course. Of course, the answer is still you. I guess I can’t really question the stars when you’ve been lightyears away and I’ve been adjusting every beat of my heart just to try and get over you. It’s hard seeing you around, this constant reminder of what I lost. But I don’t see you as I did before. No, you’re different and I’m...well, exactly as the four stars foretold—brash, impulsive, and all– too compassionate—all because you were at the right place and just at the right moments. atlas, n.

We’ve all been there. Nobody tells you, but it happens to all of us. It’s not like the stories we hear, though. The world doesn’t crash down on you out of nowhere until you suddenly become the hero amongst many. No, it was never that simple. Like a heavy heart, the odds will stack against you, weigh you down day after day. There will be forces that will entangle you in uncertainty, people that will burn your life to ruins, and moments that will leave you stuck in the retelling. But the world is still yours and it is you who carries it. To be the titan who holds up the earth is one thing, but to be the fickle heart who braves through this sphere of doubt is the true victor. So live this, every second of it, and command weight into your existence. You can only rise from here on out. axis, n.

I don’t want to keep yearning for a lifetime with you. This was never just something to pass the time. When I said I was meant for you, I meant it. And there’s no more pretending here. I can’t go on with the lie that I’m not helplessly in love with you… because I am.

What I feel about you isn’t just some wish on a shooting star because it is like the axis that my world turns on. So even when the world shatters itself, I can always rely on this probability of us meeting. But for now, I’ll spin madly on until I wouldn’t have to. big bang, n.

They say the world was born from this cataclysmic explosion, but mine just started with you.

In the midst of silence and chaos, it all led to now. To my existence constantly yearning to be pulled into your orbit. My heart has now grown to be the singularity, the crash site of every feeling you’ve brought upon me, like cosmos that rush down to my very core, stretching more and more every minute spent with you. You truly are something, aren’t you?

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clandestine, adj.

Here we are again, in this quiet. The same one that used to be so deafening, so painfully empty that my mind began to wander in the worst places. Luckily enough, my heart went to the right orbit—her. When I’m here, in this infinite map of darkness, nothing else matters but the whispers of our hearts. In this silence, we exist far more than they’ve ever let us. From beyond the earth, we become the wreckage of order and the living proof of fate. After all, why would I keep listening to a sphere of chaos that has grown to hate me, when I can bask in the silence of loving a person completely? clay, n.

When daylight breaks, I hope you forget about me. Even when it stings every vein in me, I hope you stop begging me to stay. Some sick and desperate part of me wishes we never met at all. We both know this was always ephemeral, just an illicit affair that fate allowed to expand into years of shamed looks yet passionate hearts. It was never even meant to happen. You have your kingdom and I have my legacy to fulfill. And that’s okay, it has to be okay. Because we will always be a part of each other. We will always be clay. We will always be the dust of dust from which this earth was created. And someday, as we take our final breaths, maybe we’ll be back to where we were, where we were always meant to be—each other. collision, n.

I like to believe that in some weird way, my orbit is meant to go along yours. I know it’s crazy and we have our own specific place and I’m not even supposed to see you like that but… what if I was right? Maybe we were born from the same crash billions of years ago and we’re the ones who are meant to retell this story? I don’t know, I can’t stop thinking about it, how great we would be. How the stars would be reborn from the moment I hold your hand in mine. How fate will once again switch its gears in favor of this celestial creation. How we will exist even in the darkest reaches of space. It’s a silly thing, I know but… maybe one day? constellation, n.

Life hasn’t been easy without you. How could it be when it was always you who made it feel like it was supposed to be? Everything has been so different ever since you left. It’s as if your death suddenly meant the demise of the village as well. It’s quite sick if you think about it, how these gods just take and take, and glorify their murders by painting them in the sky. Meanwhile, everything underneath unfolds in inevitable chaos. But knowing you’re somewhere up there in the sky, living in your own constellation, helps me feel closer to you.

I wonder, when I die someday, would my mark in the sky be worth the loss? cosmos, n.

They say this is what we call the universe when we believe there’s more to discover than what we are shown. That space has its own secrets and the earth has more to unravel. One thing remains, though—perspective. No matter what lies beyond us or what creeps around, humans grow with the vocabulary of poetry. These cosmos we’ve grown to love the sight of are the very things we sacrifice ourselves for, the ones that remind us of subtle pinks and blues of the skies. For some, it’s the skinny intentions with the great star’s stare; for others, the oak tree where the young crown prince once fell as he reached for the skies; for most, the in-between moments of dusk and dawn. creator, n.

It’s okay, really. When everything falls apart, you’re allowed to curse at the world. You can curse the heavens for not putting enough stars in your eyes, blinding you every time you look in the mirror. You can curse the oceans for being too deep, catching everything but your fall, leaving you stuck within the boundaries of a bitter life. And you can curse at god for leaving you in this forsaken place that has only gone to show that you don’t belong here. Our maker is nothing but words on a book, but you? You can always have one genesis after the other and rebuild history with your heart. The earth is nothing but a sphere of ignored existence and life is too short for the constant wreckage of humanity. Remember, this is your world before it is god’s—you can always renew its torn nature or bear a new one. crown, n.

A lot of people think that the moment you earn a crown, life treasures you with every fortune there is. Perhaps in some ways, that is true. But all it really did was grow heavy on my heart—a weight that burdens the one it has always beat for all the same. There couldn’t be

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two kings, after all, and I know that’s on me. Was it even the universe who wasn’t on our side, or just my fear to fight for you? It’s too late to question this, and god knows I’ve spent every second since you left trying to piece together what has already been gone. Maybe when dawn arrives, I’ll really forget about you this time. earth, n.

It all started from dust and dirt and in the grand view of things, it really all is just that. Without question, however, there is still a lot more weight to it. It carries itself with so much I often fear it’ll crack and shatter into the ruins of endless memories. Sometimes I feel like that too.

Just dust, dirt, and a whole lot of chaos to make me feel less hollow (it doesn’t work, by the way). The difference is, will there be anyone who’ll see me as their world and carry the weight of this emptiness? Or am I just another body, on the edge of breaking into fragments of a wasted life? existence, n.

I’m tired. I really mean it this time. I’m tired when I shouldn’t be. Life has been good, it’s just… the same old thing over and over again. I’ve been living in a world of black and white with nothing in the midst of it. Even my best moments are all lost in the in–between, faded and blurred the moment I get back home. It’s like I have nothing to ache for, nothing to shake my senses and keep my world spinning. I yearn for the pain I’ve spent too afraid to demand.

Now all that’s left of me is a tired heart and nothing else. Just a hollow silhouette, waiting for something that might never come back. Shouldn’t life carry more weight than just this sad excuse for living? I really hope so… But maybe all I am is an apocalypse, existing only for survival. extinction, n.

The first message was clear. We weren’t supposed to go further. Not when we were just cluelessly approaching death. But how were we supposed to know an early arrival by billions of years was even possible? So we went, no matter the circumstance. It was a battle between fear and pride and of course, we chose the latter. If fate has its plan for us, then so be it. We set the course of demise, but death doesn’t have to mean losing. Let god’s wishes come to life, let the path towards us glow brighter than the swelling sun, and let the maker find us, crush our lungs until life becomes nothing but a fight well-fought. The first message was clear. We weren’t supposed to go further but how were we supposed to know? forces, n.

I know I was always the dreamer, too much of it that I’d fall off trees while I try to reach for the stars. You enjoyed it though, every second of my wandering mind. But I know you fear it too, sometimes. Like now—when we’re both just a dusk away from reality pouring its inevitable misfortune. But fate and reality are two different things. The truth is, I’ve spent so long living through fantasies, I never let the weight of the world get to me, and now it’s all crashing down. We’re not kids anymore and you’re no fool. You know I only beg from my heart but my mind always wins. You once thought the stars never aligned for us, but we are just hours away from them finally sharing the same orbit or forever drifting apart. And it’s all up to me. I know I was always a dreamer, but reality grounded me too far and this destined collision—well, it seems like our worlds are never gonna bear a better beginning and just witness this unexpected ending. fate, n.

They say it’s nothing but a fool’s god, that our lives are ours to map out and erase until we see what we want. But the moment our hearts feel a tugging from within, we follow along its orbit. So when you came in and dropped storms all over me, am I really one to blame for letting you? After all, how can I be unforgiving when it is you who destiny intertwined me with? genesis, n.

Like everyone else, I greeted existence with a loud cry. It was no big bang, but perhaps it was still some sort of explosion to welcome in the birth of a new life. Or maybe it was a siren, a desperate warning for a new victim that life only knows two things: to steal and to kill. Think about it, we think so precious of it all, we don’t even realize we’ve been robbed of love and readied for death all along. So when our god proves he’s against us, why shouldn’t we create our own worlds?

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god, n.

Don’t blame yourself for betraying what you were always meant to praise. Nobody should hold that much power anyway, not when all gods do is bring life into chaos or steal it before you even realize. From warriors, from the ordinary, even from little kids. How can they expect you to think of them as a source of faith and joy when they don’t even look at us as real, living beings, with lives of our own to preserve. You don’t have to hide the bruises on your knees, it must be tiring to worship someone who can only betray you—so you can always return the favor and curse at your god for creating a life so cruel to you. We’ll all end up in the same inevitable paradox anyways, either die in the hands of god or pray that we never see it coming. lifetime, n.

We ache for what we can’t have. And human as we are, we let ourselves. We let minutes stretch into a lifetime and lifetimes shrink down to trinkets of false hope. We are drawn to the uncertainty of existing, as I am drawn to you. It was a promise, after all. For every lifetime you are born in, the earth would welcome me there too. As the clocks spin their gears and recreate one realm after another, the universe will paint the exact same skies we were under in every single reality. Because there is one thing that survives the shifts of time—the truth.

Whether our paper rings crumble into dirt or the cherry smell of your cologne fades from my senses, we are going to meet in every— moon, n.

It’s a shame nobody sees you the way I do. I would never understand how they overlook you. You, who learned how to keep your glow even in this graveyard of lifeless celestials.

They may never see you for what you truly are—the radiance who only reincarnates into greater beauty and never loses the battle of demise—but my mind is the void of the night sky, holding you tight in the precious reaches of my dreams, singing you a lament from my heart. Infinitely. paradox, n.

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an unchangeable occurrence? I wouldn’t know… I just know that I keep running to every realm where I’m still hers. I haven’t gone back to reality for weeks, it’s all really just a blur now. It keeps aching for me, though. For every jump to a different fantasy, I start getting pulled back as if my silhouette has created a ripple effect of nonexistence. But that’s not mine to care for, not anymore. Nothing can set me off my course, not when fate allows me to control its gears. I know I’m never truly gonna have her again but I also know that there is always a wrinkle in the truth, a loophole I can get myself sucked into. This is just where I belong, I guess—in the pulling of the truth and the tugging of the heart, the paradox of everything I’ve lost and loved again. price, n.

We don’t determine our fate, sometimes it just doesn’t work like that and reality hits. But when you’re really lucky, you find something stronger than fate—fear. The fear to love and to lose. So you sacrifice every piece of you for her—your world, your time, even your immortality. We don’t determine our fate, but life has its very own loopholes; its own clever ways of living forever, you just need to know who’s worth the price. reality, n.

It truly is a god of its own, isn’t it? It demands pain, only for us to crumble at its feet. The truth seeks what we have chosen to avoid, and I am a fool caught in this trap. I find myself surrendering to you once more, betraying the very god I was taught to worship to bow down to yours. For I love you far more than I love him. So I’ll fly on the raven’s back, brave through this bitter treachery, and praise the god you worship. I’ll let the weight overcome me and crash me down over and over again. Life is nothing without your existence, so I’ll conquer the forces of fate until the truth means having you. realm, n.

Snap! There they are again, that same couple I’ve been seeing. A little bit different, but just as happy. They sit under a tree, echoing laughter into the field in front of them. They probably think so otherworldly of each other to be this in love—oh… he really isn’t from here? Snap!

The sky looks empty here, a huge contrast to the first memory shown. He’s alone this time too, talking to some determining force of his fate. Deadly threats pour onto him but all he can

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seem to do is be an immortal foolishly defying his purpose. He goes through all of this just to love a mundane who he should have never clutched onto in the first place. Snap! She’s back.

Or rather, I’m back visiting her life. Or at least, the last moments of it. The immortal begs her to stay, to go on without him but in the end, the mundane paid the price. Snap! I… I’m back?

I don’t understand… What was th—Noah? What is he doing here? Oh, it’s him. He waited, from our first world to this one, he really stayed. I guess realms are just short distances from another when a promise is made from the heart. stardust, n.

I really don’t think you understand. My existence solely lives for you, and nothing else. So when I collect every speck in me into my core and multiply my lifespan by millions, I hope you understand that this disambiguation is my attempt to combust bright enough and outshine everything else that blur your eyes from me. The moment I immerse into my rebirth, I can only pray I’ve left enough debris to leave you aching for more. everything else that blur your eyes from me. The moment I immerse into my rebirth, I can only pray I’ve left enough debris to leave you aching for more. time traveler, n.

It’s hard to shift back to reality when I have to turn back time to exist in yours. I often kid myself with the thought of meeting you again. Of seeing your eyes and knowing that you’ve been yearning to see me too. But the moment I hear the deafening ticking of the clock, I’m reminded of my own ridicule. So why shouldn’t I go all the way and control the gears? For every second I spend aching to come back to you, I’ll relive every minute I didn’t have to.

I’ll keep running through all the timelines where love still meant now. I’ll chase after every beginning I had with you and detour when dusk arrives. So trap me in this wormhole of memories, wrap me in the ivy of the past, call me a fool for love—in the end, I’d rather keep running than run out of time. torn, adj.

I keep finding myself stuck in this paradox: the blinding shades of the past or the obscure reality of the future? Even my body is starting to question it. Every nerve inside it trembles to the sight of this hall that warps my senses. I can’t help but lose my way in this maze of foggy illusions. These loud murmurs haunt my surroundings as I relive every violent streak of memories and visions. There’s nothing here but the black holes of yesterday and tomorrow.

These maelstroms of time and pain tug at each other against my very will but all the while, I remain to be nothing but a torn soul. universe, n.

The universe, as vast as we know it, has plans for all of us; stories that lie behind its very celestial bodies; and mysteries waiting to be discovered. Don’t rely on your time here. Time is the earth’s way of trapping us in a cycle of mundanity. It’ll trick you that you’ve seen all there is, that the hourglass is emptying its days in you, that you are just a remnant of an afterthought. And life? It’s nothing but an illusion to make you feel like you have to leave a mark in a world full of sand. So forget it all. Forget the rules of living and seek what your heart aches for. No matter what it is, there is always more to unravel. weight, n.

Would you question the world and wonder if it questions you too? Would you reverse astronomy and let the skies discover you? Would you take the risk of knowing pain like the edge of a knife? Would you gamble the agony of losing someone for the work of loving them?

Would you even dare to ache for your heart’s longing? Would you even dare demand weight into your existence? Is it even really living when your hands aren’t bruised as harsh as your chest should be? The world is a hollow sphere waiting to be filled, do you really wanna carry a casket of what could’ve been your whole life?

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ACWKNOWLEDGEMENTS To the contributors, for sharing your worlds—ones that overflow with passion and talent. Your effort has not gone to waste. As collision demands, a new realm is born because of you. From nothing, you’ve all created something meant to exist within these pages, infinitely.

To the Kapawers, for your passion that has made this folio what it is. Fate has made me lucky enough to come across your paths and share my heart with you. Your trust, patience, and perseverance are unlike any other. You have made this journey worth the weight of existence. Now, pieces of you will forever be a part of this map to home. Thank you for every glimpse of darkness you’ve shown and for every planet you’ve made out of it. May you continue to live out your passions and discover the secrets of the universe, just like you taught me.

To Ms. Rhiznan Faith D. Fernandez, for your earthly guidance. Thank you for always being the biggest supporter. You have been the axis in our sphere of organized chaos. Without you, this world would have spun on a completely different angle.

To Chelsea Anne A. Rallos, for your unconditional effort to build a better world within these pages. Your cooperation and patience goes beyond this earth. For every globe, there is a map and for every map, there is a maker. You’ve sketched through every piece of land I’ve chosen and with your talents, all is in place.

To Joseph Bryant J. de los Santos, for understanding my vision and bringing it to life. You are proof that art is a living metaphor of cosmos—a timeless admiration.

As a billion thoughts ran through my head, you took every piece and collided them into its very own atlas, showing the smaller details through the bigger picture. Thank you for the time and effort you put into every stroke.

To Ryan A. Rodriguez and Kim T. Diaz, for your endless effort to make the pieces in this folio as beautiful as they can be. You two have shared with me your unique artistry, precision, and most of all, passion. I appreciate every second you spent offering your critical minds. I am thankful for this collision and the grand world it created. None of this would be the same without you.

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To the creatives team, for giving birth to new realms within these pages.

You’ve crashed into the brightest of pieces and made a universe out every one. Your art goes beyond every expectation. Thank you for showing us that we truly are the creators of our worlds, not just the carriers.

To our friends and family, for your neverending support. For carrying the weight of the world with us. Thank you for believing in us and sticking with us even in moments where the earth feels like crumbling down. You have been more than we have ever expected and for that, we thank you.

To Kathleen Joy C. Aruta, for trusting me to continue your legacy. Thank you for guiding me through every first step and sharing with me your knowledge and passion. Though the unexpected surfaced, you gave your patience and for that, I am forever grateful. You once told me that everything happens for a reason; you were right. I then realized the universe isn’t the only one that could make me believe in fate —and in me. You have truly left a mark on me and the literary team, always.

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KAPAWA A.Y. 2020-2021

THE OFFICIAL ENGLISH STUDENT PUBLICATION OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ST. LA SALLE - SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL

editor-in-chief assistant editor-in-chief associate editor assistant associate editor managing editor assistant managing editor news editor assistant news editor feature/magazine editor assistant feature/magazine editor literary editor assistant literary editor sports editor assistant sports editor layout, graphics, photos editor assistant layout, graphics, photos editor creative layout editor assistant creative layout editor news writers Lance Rafael M. Lazaro Anna Sophia C. Galzote Sam Hervey T. Sabordo literary writers Josie Ann H. Apdol Khriztyl Grace J. Bulao Maria Enrica Clarisse M. Dio Kyle Bryan T. Palparan Tavin Kale T. Villanueva science and technology writer Zerjemae C. Zaragoza sports writers Ben Joseph L. Maido Yamana D. Montero

Kim T. Diaz Lou Marcial M. Cuesta Justin Andrei D. Tanilon Jewel Irish S. Belascuain Jed Emmanuel M. Reysoma Nicole Frances H. Sazon Nicole Kaye E. Lipa Angeli M. Geroso Aleia Nichole M. Tayo Frank Exequiel P. Ampil Sabrina Ysabelle C. Ledesma Ryan A. Rodriguez William Khalid Vibar Giollan Henry P. Demaulo Hannah Nicole R. Esblaca Joseph Bryant J. de los Santos Chelsea Anne A. Rallos Ana Dominique G. Manabat feature writers Grace Kay L. Milan Rieden Denielle N. Cuadra Anastasia R. Alcantara Krisla Gail J. Batac Miles U. Guancia illustrators Mary Andrea S. Geolingo Eli T. Gozon Stephanie Louise L. Gregas Rizle M. Patopatin Cassel Dave G. Tiva photojournalists Lucille Marie L. Magcumot Charlize Reyannette T. Nicasio Stephanie Anne O. Alolon

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