Malate Literary Folio Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

malate LITERARY FOLIO

malate LITERARY FOLIO

MALATE LITERARY FOLIO Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3 Karapatang-ari © 2022

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ng Malate Literary Folio ang opisyal na publikasyon ng sining at panitikan ng Pamantasang De La Salle - Manila, sa ilalim ng awtoridad ng Student Media Office (SMO).

Ang mga komento at mungkahi ay maaaring ipahatid sa: 503-Media House, Bro. Connon Hall, De La Salle University-Manila, 2401 Taft Avenue, Malate, Manila.

E-mail address: mlf@dlsu.edu.ph Facebook: fb.com/malateliteraryfolio Twitter: @malatelitfolio Nananatili sa indibidwal na may-akda o may-dibuho ang karapatangari ng bawat piyesang ipinalimbag dito. Hindi maaaring ipalathala muli o gamitin sa anumang paraan ang alin man sa mga nilalaman nang walang karampatang pahintulot ng may-akda o may-dibuho.

Ang tomong ito ay hindi ipinagbibili.

Ang pabalat ay likha ni Matthew Rafael Florendo Ang layout ng folio ay disenyo ni Jamie Shekinah Mapa

MALATE LITERARY FOLIO

TOMO XXXVII BILANG 3

ABRIL 2022

MATTHEW RAFAEL FLORENDO iv

Renais(sean)ce

INTRODUKSYON The world is big and limitless and we open our eyes to it, gasping at its wide expanse. From afar, everything looks perfect and harmonious. Every crevice and corner breathes hope and adventure.

And with the promise of numerous possibilities, we take our first step.

We make our first move with untainted eagerness.

While we wade through the vastness of the world, we uncover the systems that make up its entirety. The harmony of the structure we are enclosed in creates a wonderful landscape that works together. And with this, we seek our place in the possibilities around us — only to find that it is not that easy. The world is not always kind to those who trek in its grandeur. The more we move forward into its breadth, the more we see how small we are in its stretch.

And so we stop and pause. Time passes and the world continues to move in seemingly perfect synchronization. We stand still in the lonesome space of it all, hesitant to take a step further in fear of disruption. We are limited by a limitless world, boxed in its system that we cannot help but be critical of.

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We remain unmoved and unresolved. Standing here, we see the way the world works up close. Before our eyes, every move and shift does not go unnoticed. As we watch and stand still, one question arises: Is it me or is it the world around me that is lacking?

In this issue of Malate Literary Folio, we take the step to look closer into the world around us. To question, to seek answers, and to learn each side of the spectrum. We examine the structures that surround us, and see that possibilities can only happen only if we are brave enough to stretch its limits. We step forward, we pause. We stand, we listen, we probe. And then, we move through the walls that box us in, bit by bit building and rebuilding a world that is truly wide and limitless, breathing hope and adventure into every crevice.

CATHLEEN JANE MADRID Punong Patnugot

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NILALAMAN

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Introduksyon

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Prosa What’s a Raindrop to the Stars?

Sophia June Ng

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Midnight Mass Francis D’Angelo Mina

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Sa Hindi Pagbagsak Cathleen Jane Madrid

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Nawawalang Koneksyon Mary Joy Abalos

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Sining

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Renais(sean)ce Matthew Rafael Florendo

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Obscured Thoughts Ines Margarita Padilla

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Filter Mode Eliana Fabia

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I Am The Seagull Ines Margarita Padilla

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King of Carrot Flowers Ana Gabrielle Magno

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Sa Huling Sandali ng Pagpigil Cielo Marie Vicencio

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Tula Mirror Joshua Rich Valentin

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Dearest Me Mikael Ong

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My beloved near a police station Rigel Ruel Portales

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Sundays When We Were Delivered Rigel Ruel Portales 98 Watermelons Worth a Jackson Aleena Marie Concepcion

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Pants in the Infinite Rice Field Rigel Ruel Portales

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A group where we pretend to be ants in a colony Aleena Marie Concepcion

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Infinite Rotation Rigel Ruel Portales

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To Carl 63 Dominique Bianca Yap Fatal Mikael Ong

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Retrato Odyssey Jamie Shekinah Mapa

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Paglilimi

11 Cathleen Jane Madrid istruktura Kyle Noel Ibarra

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Reconnecting. . .

Isabella Tuason

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afterthought Benedict Lim

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Mindoreños Therese Diane Villanueva

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Hating Kapatid Cathleen Jane Madrid

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Pasasalamat

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PATNUGUTAN Cathleen Jane Madrid Punong Patnugot

MGA SENYOR NA

Mary Joy Abalos Pangalawang Patnugot Patnugot ng Prosa

Maria Gabrielle Galang Van Rien Jude Espiritu Kyle Noel Ibarra Adia Pauline Lim Paula Bianca Maraña Chaunne-Ira Ezzlerain Masongsong Querix Keershyne Rose Recalde Cielo Marie Vicencio

Isabella Tuason Tagapamahalang Patnugot Vince Gerard Victoria Patnugot ng Tula Benedict Lim Patnugot ng Retrato Jamie Shekinah Mapa Patnugot ng Sining Tagapamahala ng Layout Dominique Bianca Yap Tagapamahala ng Marketing at Events Therese Diane Villanueva Tagapamahala ng Pagmamay-ari Matthew Rafael Florendo Tagapamahala ng Dokyumentasyon

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PATNUGOT

MGA TAGAPAYO Dr. Mesandel Arguelles Mr. Vijae Alquisola STUDENT MEDIA OFFICE Ms. Franz Louise Santos Director Ms. Jeanne Marie Tan Coordinator Ms. Ma. Manuela Agdeppa Secretary

MGA KASAPI Prosa Guion Lorenzo Castro Jeremy Dale Coronia Miguelle Cortez Daniel Ricardo Evangelista Jihan Marie Ferrer Samantha Krissel Kwan Sophia June Ng Jennifer Santos Odelia Raizel Taban Tula Erica Bernardo Claire Madison Chua Faith Lynnwel Dela Vega Juliah Faye Dela Vega Moses Isaiah Ojera Mikael Ong Christian Paculanan Rigel Ruel Portales Eloisa Sison Pauline Sharry Tiu Joshua Rich Valentin Lorenzo Manuel Villaluna Retrato Trisha Marie Baranda Isabella Alexandra Bernal Uriel Anne Bumanlag Nigelle Jorgia Louise Lim Sean Xavier Nieva Gabrielle Palmos Jose Isabel Rea Angelito Raphael Reyta Raymund John Sarmiento Denise Alyssa Somera

Sining Jacquiline Alagos Francesca Therese Baltazar Pablo Mulawin Casanova Eliana Angela Fabia Elijah Nicolas Ferrera Adair Nevan Holgado Ana Gabriela Magno Chloe Julianne Mariano Thea Enrica Ongchua Ines Margarita Padilla Bea Mira So Dana Beatrice Tan Julianna Andrea Villarosa Marketing and Events Elijah Mahri Barongan Lauren Angela Chua Maxine Lee Heavenleigh Faye Luzara Jan Aireen Magcaling Daniela Racaza Mary John Saquilayan

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

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Malate Literary Folio JAMIE SHEKINAH MAPA

Odyssey

Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

SOPHIA JUNE NG

What’s a Raindrop to the Stars?

T

he crackle-buzz of thunder echoes in reply as sunshine filters through the suspended droplets in the air. I am one among the many, gaze turned to the one at fault for my need to fall, for my need to perform.

We could not be more different, you and I. You draw the moisture away from fertile earth, yet people still wish to bask under your light.

You scorch skin and set forests alight, yet people sing praises of your marks and tolerate your smoke.

You make this life worse, haunting the living with diseases that entice the body to attack itself, and blinding the poor creatures that dwell on the surface. You leave me to clean up this mess, 3

What’s a Raindrop to the Stars?

to soothe what has been hurt, and to cool the heat that you inflict. It’s a wonder that they do not follow in the footsteps of the earthworm or the mole, for they surely have the right idea.

We cannot be more different.

I hate you. I despise you with all my being. I wish I was large enough to extinguish your fire for good.

Yet I wish I could be like you.

After all, we are of the same make, of the same material, of hydrogen and oxygen and carbon and bond. Yet you burn so brightly, and I am here, dwelling, seething, quenching, waiting for my day to shine as you do. ...

Time to go.

Recesses of water coagulate into intricate nets, hand in hand as they pull themselves together. I hold on to my fellowman, knuckles blanched white with my force of grip. My fingers tremble with fine-tuned tenseness, tendons playing a chord that trembles beneath my skin.

Scared. Who wouldn’t be?

I watch with bated breath as the sunlight shimmers through them in fragmented colors, burst after burst as they are gently warmed. A thin, delicate thing, more air and pomp than solid things, real things, but as the threads draw closer, it takes form.

Wispy edges crispen in my hand, pulling it in like a fish to 4

Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

home. Ever moving, the cotton condenses into a current that traces the creases of my hand. Weak, especially in this form, but…

Dew turns to darkened clouds, as quiet reigns supreme. ...

Closer, closer, ever closer. The mist and fog condense, pressing against every bare surface of my skin. It clings to the lungs, the throat, the mouth; an unending mucus that steals my breath away. Funny how a man could choke on air as if the atmosphere had all but turned into the sea.

And yet... it was tranquility unknown. Dark blankets shroud against the gathering droplets, shimmering like gossamer wings. It calms the heartbeat and soothes the nerves, rocking like a ship unmoored into the sea. If I hold still, my body sways with the movements, and for a brief moment, I can’t tell the difference between me and the rest of the sky. The thunder cracks in time with my heartbeat. Lightning lashes on each inhale I take.

Is this a bad idea?

What if I fail?

The sun, unwilling to share the stardust with someone so opposite of them, would burn me up, return me to molecules and tear my soul from my body. A speck of dust with all its hubris is much the same as an asteroid in all its strength, able to rend me in half.

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What’s a Raindrop to the Stars?

I can hear the sun now, flaring with dank amusement, a chuckle of ash and smoke as their hand curls to point at my crumpled heap of mist and failure. An anvil, over my shoulders, crushes the air from my chest and replaces it with dread. The oil of the sun’s mockery clings to my limbs, paralyzing, and I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe.

Can I do it?

What if I can’t?

No. I will prove you wrong.

Heart in my throat, a long plummet. Red, red, red, burning away dots of blue, turning them to the spirits of whence I came. Asteroids of carbon and smoke pelt my cloak as I descend, tearing holes and gashes to bleed water freely.

Rattling, freezing, then— The first splatters of rain drip against dry leaves. Sliding down, down, ever down, hesitating at the precipice before the call of the void turns overwhelming.

One jump is all it takes.

Jubilant, shining, with the sun stabbing through my torso and sparkles blinding my eyes. For one moment...

The raindrop remembers what it was like to be a star.

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INES MARGARITA PADILLA

Obscured Thoughts digital art

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Malate Literary Folio

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

ELIANA FABIA

Filter Mode On gouache on paper

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Malate Literary Folio

JOSHUA RICH VALENTIN

Mirror Trigger warning: themes include body dysmorphia and intrusive thoughts on self-hate I follow the hand gestures of the grotesque figure in my room: how its slender hands traces its lanky figure as it fixates on the rough patches of its scarred face.

The disturbing figure glares at me as I look at it: “You’ve gained weight,” it tells me, planting images and intrusive questions rolling off my tongue.

Every second I stare deeper at a reflection that’s just as confused as I am.

My mind seeks the solutions to its own dilemmas: if the distorted silhouette I see is the flawed figure everybody sees— I would like to know if what I see is real.

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CATHLEEN JANE MADRID

Paglilimi

INSERT PHOTOGRAPHER’S NAME

Insert Title Here 11

Malate Literary Folio

MIKAEL ONG

Dearest Me Dearest Me, I wish I could tell you that I’ve smothered these words with an arched eyebrow instead of palpitating rhythms.

My ribcage straining, holding firm against the bitter batter from the ears dripping and ringing with ----Wishing my legs could run to slide and kick all at once; willing every phrase to not slash my organs so deeply Even though you don’t mean to. Hoping to have written what is ancient and is to come; to have caressed a quill and grope for nothing in a time when that is demanded.

I wish you wouldn’t applaud with your slapping hands: I feel like they’re meant for my cheek.

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INES MARGARITA PADILLA

I Am The Seagull digital art 13

Malate Literary Folio

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

RIGEL RUEL PORTALES

My beloved near a police station left me a voicemail about a dying man whose cries hung on the slats of her windows, whose perforated belly was drawn by her baby sister’s crayons.

In her half-moon city, she wanted me slowly to listen. Like this. Corral my fear and coax me.

So I call her back the morning after.

I end some dreams prematurely to tell her that her voice is breaking into my body like static.

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Malate Literary Folio

ANA GABRIELLE MAGNO

King of Carrot Flowers digital collage

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Francis D’Angelo Mina Francis D’Angelo Mina is a graduate of International Studies, major in American Studies, and Business Management from De La Salle University - Manila. He was also the Prose Editor of Malate Literary Folio from 2019 to 2020. His pieces often concern themselves with the supernatural and fantastical, and how they mingle and intertwine with modern Filipino people like you and your best friend who moonlights as a pyromaniac bent on eating every cookie known to man. As of the moment, Francis is teaching a cricket the importance of cleaning keyboards, as well as twelve basic karate forms.

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Malate Literary Folio

FRANCIS D’ANGELO MINA

Midnight Mass

Noelle shivered as she stepped foot inside a church after sixteen years. It did not help that her mother literally dragged her from her feet as she was watching Linus van Pelt deliver his Yuletide monologue. They bickered and argued on the way, the mother lamenting on the daughter’s unattended Simbang Gabi masses, saying, You’re an adult, Noelle, and it’s time to get over your childish fears. Don’t you just miss listening to the choir? Noelle whined that she didn’t want to, and she needed to meet up with her boyfriend who was supposed to give her gifts, one for Christmas and one for her birthday, as was his thing to do, which convinced Noelle that he was a keeper, for people rarely give two gifts for Christmas babies, and Mama scoffed and pulled out the guilt trip card again, that went like, Is your boyfriend more important than Jesus? Is your boyfriend more important than celebrating Christmas with your dear Mama? and Noelle had no choice but to comply, because at the end of the day, it is Mama’s cooking that she’ll be wolfing down later 18

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on, and Mama’s special crispy pata was always a winner in Noelle’s arteries.

She followed her mother closely from behind, her head down. This was one of those moments where she wished she had blinders. When they made it at one of the front pews, Noelle shook her left leg as the organ began the refrain. She felt their eyes. Do not look. Stop being so awkward, Noelle, her mother whispered. She diverted her attention to the thurifer, coughing and making his way through the thick incense, to the altar boys trying to maintain a steady hand and not let the candles fall to the extraordinary ministers struggling to recreate the pacing of their steps they had rehearsed minutes ago, to the yawning Fr. Ramirez, a lanky, unimpressive thing who might get swept away by the giant Iwata coolers. Noelle felt a sharp pinch at her left buttock as her Mama hissed, Sing along! And she sang with mighty praise Adeste Fideles, just to keep her mind off the staring.

Noelle did not dare look during the readings and the psalms and the Gospel. Do not look! she repeated–she had to set her sights at anything other than them, but Mama stopped her turning with a well-placed slap on the back of her neck and said, Stop fidgeting, Noelle, you’re embarrassing me in front of these lovely seniors! to which Mama waved to a row of whiteshirted old people behind her. Noelle scratched her head and hoped that Fr. Ramirez would move about the dais and make grand gestures like he did in his prime, but he is now the shell of a man he once was and contented himself droning on behind the lectern, and this was rather unfortunate for Noelle, who was prone to boredom, so she fished her phone from her bag and scrolled through her inbox, three of which were probably cringy holiday GIFs, until she felt another pinch and turned to her mother, making the face that all mothers do when their

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Midnight Mass

daughters suddenly cry out in the middle of the supermarket, the one that said, If you don’t keep quiet now, I’ll hand you over to the guard! and Noelle pouted and crossed her arms, because there wasn’t anything left to look at.

Do not look, Noelle. Look you shall not. The nativity scene adjacent to her shone with twinkling lights adorned around the roof, illuminating the Holy Family, the Three Kings, the shepherd, and the animals of the manger with a quiet yellow that made them seem more alive. Do not look. Midnight bells and forgotten December silence rang in her head and she repeated to herself, Do not look, but Noelle could not keep her eyes away from Joseph, who carries the lantern and peers down curiously at the infant who may or may not be his son–Do not look–from Mary, who kneels overjoyed next to her miracle who may or may not be Joseph’s son–Do not look–and from the Child Jesus, who sprawls out on the hay, wide-eyed to his surroundings, who pays no mind to the fate that awaits him, who blinks and distorts his painted features into a smile.

Noelle would like to thank whoever it was who planted the idea in her head that if you stare long enough at religious figures and portraits, they will stare back at you and even move on their own. It works better in the dark! a certain someone claimed, but it was useless to remember who that was now that she was scarred for life, so of course, Noelle and her Mama did not want to recount the Incident of 2004, in the very same church with the very same presiding priest, when eight-year-old Noelle first stared into the belen and nearly broke her vocal cords shouting at a figure of Mary slowly approaching her with arms wide open for an embrace, interrupting the homily and sprinting out of the church and into the adoration chapel, trapped with a portrait of the Sacred Heart winking at her, until her mother and a few others who gave chase found her in a fetal position,

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eyes closed and whimpering, I don’t want to become a saint!

For she realized that her Christian Living teacher mentioned that saints who experience revelations and apparitions become famous in their lifetime, which was why she doused their figures in kerosene and nearly burned down the house the next day, for she did not want to carry the burden of martyrdom at such a young age. And we still do not have property insurance, presentday Noelle thought.

After the Christmas dinner, Noelle dumped all their religious paraphernalia, much to the annoyance of Mama, who had to run after the garbage truck. Mama covered them in shrouds instead, but this did not console Noelle, who was unlucky to witness the Sto. Nino draped in black, walking in her barely lit room. The thing was, these things never moved when it was not Christmas. The doctor who saw her two years later burst out laughing and diagnosed her with christougenniatikophobia, a sort of disorder Noelle still could not spell to this day, and thereafter she gained nothing from the experience, other than perfecting the craft of excuses not to attend Sunday Mass and step inside the church, because she felt bare and naked when St. Joseph narrowed his eyes and made a peace sign at her.

Then, there was that unwanted effect on her social life when her friends began asking her, Why did you quit the choir? to which she replied, I don’t need to go to church if I want to pray, I can always pray in my room. It’s not as if I earned a place in hell or anything!

Noelle took in a deep breath and almost cried out: Good Lord, why are you doing this? She could not scream, not if she wanted to reenact the Incident, but she could not look away either, not when Joseph fixed the flame on his lantern by striking a match on the manger’s wood. Okay, calm down, Mary’s standing, she’s brushing the hay off her skirt, she’s beckoning

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Midnight Mass

Joseph for something. What could it be? Calm down. They don’t look like they bite. They won’t lunge at you all of a sudden. She straightened herself. Calm down. I am a grown-ass woman. If I can deal with ungrateful customers screaming at me all day, I can deal with moving figures. I can do this! And for a while she was comforted with the thought that God, the real Jesus, was inside her, guiding her every move and living off her bodily fluids.

What do you want from me? Why do you show yourself to me? What do you want me to do? If you want to make me your prophet or something, then you have the wrong person because I can’t commit! she screamed, but! She looked around her, but no one batted an eye, no one shouted in response, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, for midnight bells and forgotten December silence rang and rang in the walls of the church, and Noelle felt in her hands what she thought was acrylic and stone, but flesh and blood, the Child Jesus’ hand, and Mary and Joseph standing next to her, and they were illuminated with a quiet yellow that made them seem more alive. What do you want from me? Noelle repeated, but there was no fear in her voice, rather a slight determination, and Mary leaned in closer to her ear, and whispered in three tongues, one on top of the other, and Noelle looked at her in astonishment, thinking, What the hell? Is that it? but then Jesus burst out laughing, and Joseph smiled widely, and Mary made the little tee-hee virgins do and Noelle blinked her eyes– And the midnight bells and the forgotten December silence faded out and faded into the youthful sound of the choir, the soft tones of the keyboard, the melodies of Hark!

The Herald Angels Sing, and thus Noelle knew. In her mind, she saw herself as an eight-year-old standing in the soprano section and waving at Mama, instead of putting her daily practicing to good use. How out of practice am I? So she cleared her throat,

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and went along with the second verse, her voice almost golden and bright, reverberating throughout the church and enveloping the Mass with warmth, and yet she did not steal the spotlight from the children’s choir, some of whom were transfixed on the woman who but a few minutes ago acted strangely.

Mama looked at Noelle in shock, and Noelle, whose face was wet with tears, turned to her and exclaimed, Mama, I miss Christmas Mass! to which Mama asked, Why are you telling me things you already know? Noelle wiped her face with her hands, but Mama pinched her cheek and said, I love hearing your voice every time you sing. You always loved singing in the house, even now. You also lull your boyfriend to sleep. Noelle muttered, Good God, that is so embarrassing. I hate moving statues, but now I know why they tried to reach out to me after all this time, and Mama twitched in confusion at Noelle. Well, why do they move? Mama asked, What do they want from you? and Noelle kissed the side of her head, and said, her voice cracking, Do you think this is cheesy? I think it’s cheesy. But something tells me I haven’t been around you a lot lately. How can I make it up to you? And Mama nearly dropped the offertory basket full of bills, but she smiled and retorted, Maybe it’s because you’re with your boyfriend all the time? Noelle sighed. Oh, what would I give to hear your singing all the time, she continued.

Before the Christmas dinner, Noelle and her Mama brought out some of the Jesus and Mary merchandise that they have been storing in the back of their house and erected a makeshift altar out of the old gaming table they had and placed an old miniature belen on top of it, complete with the Holy Family, the Three Kings, the shepherd, and the animals of the manger. They offered a prayer in thanksgiving for the food and drink, and after, Mama wondered, Do they move, Noelle?

The daughter shook her head and wrapped her arms around her mother, and the night was filled with her song.

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Later that night, Noelle yawned and laid herself down on her bed. As she cloaked herself in her blanket and drifted off to slumber, she saw, in the corner of her eye, the Sto. Nino clothed in red, walking in her barely lit room.

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Malate Literary Folio

CIELO MARIE VICENCIO

Sa Huling Sandali ng Pagpigil acrylic on canvas

INSERT PHOTOGRAPHER’S NAME

Insert Title Here 26

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CATHLEEN JANE MADRID

Sa Hindi Pagbagsak

Sa isang panaginip, patuloy at walang hanggan akong nahuhulog.

Mabilis ang paghila sa akin pababa. Nakahiga ako. Nakatingala sa langit. Hinahampas ng hangin ang aking pisngi. At halo-halo na ang mga kulay sa aking tanawin. Hindi ko mapikit ang aking mga mata, hindi ko magalaw ang aking mga braso. Hindi ko mapigilan ang sariling pagbagsak.

Naririnig ko ang galaw ng hangin, ang huni ng mga ibon.

Parehong malaya sa bawat galaw at kilos. Gusto ko rin lumipad. Gusto ko rin makisayaw sa simoy ng hangin. Pero heto ako, patuloy na lumulubog. Tungo sa lupa. Tungo sa paglahong hindi ko malaman kung darating ba.

Hanggang kailan ako malalaglag? Hindi ko alam kung ano ang mas gusto ko: makamit ang aking katapusan, o magpatuloy sa paghulog na hindi kailanman matatapos.

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Sa Hindi Pagbagsak

Pinikit ko ang aking mga mata. Pabilis lang nang pabilis ang tulak ng hangin sa akin pababa. Para bang may hinahabol.

Ako’y munting katawang nahahatak ng grabidad. Gumagalaw sa kung saan man siya itangay ng hangin. May dulo ba ito? Ang langit lamang ang makakaalam.

Nagising ako. Hindi ko matanto kung ito ang katapusan ng paghulog o ang pagpatuloy nito.

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RIGEL RUEL PORTALES

Sundays When We Were Delivered They have x.

We governed our response precisely.

Should I ask how much is covered by their health plan?

We need it now. Why now?

A receiver rings in their right lung.

We answer with our ear to their shoulder.

What’s wrong? How much is wrong?

At the bottom of your leather wallet, there is a tiny hole that opens and lets nothing through.

Like a quiet god of gauze.

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Malate Sa Hindi Literary Pagbagsak Folio

KYLE NOEL IBARRA

istruktura

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istruktura

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Malate Literary Folio

MARY JOY ABALOS

Nawawalang Koneksyon

“Ma, ubos na yung load ng wifi!”

Heto na naman tayo. Lumingon ako mula sa aking naghihingalong Acer eMachines laptop at sumilip sa maliit na butas ng kurtinang nagsisilbing pinto ng aking kwarto. Tumayo ako mula sa plastic kong upuan at sumiksik patagilid sa aking kama. Hinaharangan kasi nito ang labasan ko.

“Ma, wala na tayong load!”

Naghintay ako ng sagot mula sa labas ng aking kwarto pero wala pa rin. Nakailang sigaw na ako, hindi pa rin ba niya ako narinig? Kaunti na lang at baka bumigay na ang boses ko sa kakasigaw. Mareklamo pa kami ng kapitbahay sa nipis ng pader.

Sumiksik ako muli patagilid upang makapunta sa kusinang para na ring sala namin. Napabuntong-hininga ako. Sa sobrang sikip

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ng bahay, kailangan ko yata putukin yung tiyan ko para lang magkasya dito.

Heto ang ayoko kapag umuuwi sa bahay eh. Pahirapan pa para lang makapunta sa iba’t ibang kwarto sa dami ng gamit na wala namang silbi. Tinitigan ko yung samu’t saring shoulder bag ni mama na nakatambak sa tatlong upuang kahoy. Hindi ko maintindihan bakit hindi na lang niya itapon? Iisang tao lang siya, kailangan niya ba ng sampung shoulder bag? Tapos isa pa yang mga upuan. Alam na nga niyang maliit yung bahay, pinipilit pa niyang ilagay sa loob ang mga malalaking upuan.

Pinagmamalaki niya na gawa daw siya sa narra at masyado daw mahal para ilagay sa labas. Eh mukha bang may maitutulong ang mga narra niyang upuan kung hindi naman ako makagalaw dito sa bahay? Mas mabuti pa kung nasa dorm ako. Doon may sarili pa akong espasyo. Sumimangot ako at tinalikuran ko ang mga kagamitang nanganga-alikabok.

Dito sa kusina at sala namin, nagmamantika ako sa nakakamatay na init. Maiinom ko na ata ang pawis kong patuloy na pumapatak mula sa aking balat. Sinilip ko ang kusina saglit, pero walang tao. Wala ring tao sa hapag-kainan. Bakit ganun? Saan nagpunta si mama? Hindi man lang siya nagsabi na lalabas siya. Umupo ako sa narrang upuan at binuksan ang maliit na fan upang magpalamig. Itinapat ko siya sa akin.

Nawala nang kaunti ang init ngunit malagkit pa rin ang aking balat.

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Nawawalang Koneksyon

Kay lagkit din ng balat ko noong araw na naghiwalay ang aking mga magulang. Sabay ng pagpatak ng pawis sa likod ko ang pagpatak ng luha ko. Maliit pa lamang ako noon, pero sa kabila ng aking mga hikbi, pansin na ng mga inosente kong mata ang distansya namin ni papa mula kay mama. Hindi ko maintindihan kung ano ang nangyayari, pero ang sabi lang sa akin ni papa, na huwag akong iiyak, na may bago na akong mama, at hindi na pwede isama si mama. Hindi ko alam anong sinasabi ni papa noon. Iisa lang ang mama ko, at walang makakapalit sa kanya.

Dala-dala ni papa ang mga bagahe namin habang nakatayo ako sa labas ng gate. Hindi ko pinansin ang mga bagaheng punong-puno ng mga damit ko. Hindi naman iyon ispesyal sa akin dahil mas importante ang suot-suot kong puting bistida. Binili ito ni mama para sa akin noong ika-sampung kaarawan ko. Nawala ang atensyon ko mula sa mga bagahe at mula kay papa, na patuloy pa ring naghahakot ng mga gamit papalabas ng bahay, at napunta kay mama, na nakatayo lamang sa gilid ng pintuan.

Nagkatinginan kami. Wala siyang imik. Umaasa ako na sasama siya sa amin ni papa, kasi ayaw kong mawalay sa kanya.

Gusto ko magkasama pa rin kami. Ayaw ko ng bagong mama.

Si mama lang ang mama ko. Wala nang iba. Ngunit sa liwanag ng araw, unti-unting nilunok ng dilim ng bahay si mama. Bakit hindi niya ako hinabol? Hindi na ba niya ako mahal? Ito ang mga tanong sa isip ko, na kahit si papa hindi niya maisagot

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kahit ilang beses ko siyang tanungin. Ang huli kong alaala bago kami umalis noon ni papa ay ang anino ng likod ni mama.

Hindi niya ako pinanood umalis. Hindi niya ako hinabol.

Tinanong ko sarili ko noon kung tatalikuran niya ba ako muli kung sakaling babalikan ko siya balang araw.

Tanghali na nang makarating si mama sa bahay. Bitbit niya ang kanyang pulang ecobag habang nakasuot ng face mask at face shield. Binitawan niya din ang kanyang bulaklaking payong at nakaboteng tubig. Akala mo galing sa bakasyon hetong si mama sa dami ng dala niya kapag lumalabas siya.

Tumayo ako at inilabas sa bag ang mga binili niya.

Yun oh, Pinoy Tasty. Buti na lang may Cheez Whiz pa kami.

Ito muna kaya kainin ko habang wala pang ulam? Ay hindi, baka masyadong mabigat sa tiyan. May burger buns din at may dinner rolls.

“Ma, bakit puro tinapay lang? Hindi ka bumili ng iba?”

“Wala, tinapay lang. May binili akong hopia at Spanish bread kung gusto mo.”

“Sige, mamaya na lang.” Sayang, walang sitisirya. Yun sana gusto ko kainin pagkakain ng tanghalian.

Habang inaayos ko ang mga binili ni mama, napaupo siya sa harap ng maliit na fan. Tinanggal niya ang kanyang face mask at face shield. Inilatag niya ito sa lamesa. Hindi ko ito pinansin. Iniwan ko ang mga tinapay sa lamesa at tinitigan si mama. Tumitig siya pabalik, walang imik. Hindi ata kami nagkaintindihan. Inilapat ko ang kamay ko sa tagiliran niya

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Nawawalang Koneksyon

at inusog ko siya para magkaroon ng espasyo. Umupo ako sa tabi niya. “Ma, hati tayo.” Inusog niya kaunti ang fan para mahanginan din ako. Tahimik lang kaming magkatabi.

“Onga pala ma, naubusan na tayo ng load sa wifi.”

“Edi magpaload uli. Problema ba yun?”

“Nandito naman ako sa bahay, bakit hindi na lang tayo magpakabit ng internet?”

“Gastos pa yun. Babalik ka rin lang naman sa dorm pag wala ng pandemya.”

“Kailan pa yun? Abala pa yung paputol-putol na internet. Naistorbo pa ako sa paggawa ng assignment.”

“O sige na sige na, papaload na lang ako mamaya.”

Ang hirap naman suyuin ni mama. Kailangan pang ulit-ulitin mga punto ko pero hindi rin naman ako binibigyan ng diretsong sagot. Tumayo ako mula sa upuan at tinitigan ang mga biscuit sa ibabaw ng ref. Oo nga pala noh, hindi pa pala ako kumakain.

“Ma, may ulam na ba?”

“Magluluto pa lang.”

“Hapon na, bakit hindi ka pa nagluluto?”

Hindi siya sumagot. Humiga na lamang siya sa upuan, kahit alam niyang hindi siya kasya. Napasimangot ako at tumungo na lamang sa ref para kumuha ng biscuit. Tinitigan ko rin ang mga tinapay sa lamesa. Siguro hindi muna ako magtitinapay. Baka mabusog agad ako. Kumuha ako ng dalawang Vanilla Fudgee Bar. Binuksan ko na rin ang ref at

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

kumuha ako ng malamig na bote ng tubig mula sa freezer.

Gutom na ako, at pagod pa si mama para magluto. Hindi na ako makakapaghintay pa.

Pagbalik ko sa kwarto, bitbit ang aking meryenda, humarap ako muli sa laptop. Mas mabagal pa siya kaysa sa pagluto ni mama ng tanghalian. Kung nasa dorm lang ako, hindi na ako magugutom nang ganito. Lalabas na lang ako at maglalakad sa pinakamalapit na 7-Eleven. Bibili ako ng dalawang sisig busog meal, coke, at Cheezy, tapos okay na ako.

Pero wala eh, wala ako sa dorm. Nandito ako sa bahay. Buti sana kung marunong ako magluto pero hindi rin eh.

Habang kumakain ako, naisipan kong ituloy yung assignment ko. Essay pa siya tapos deadline na sa Biyernes.

Ano na nga ba ngayon? Sumilip ako sa Android phone ko at nahagilap ko ang petsa. Shet, bukas na pala pasahan tapos hindi ko pa nagagawa. Sisigaw na sana ako para ipaalala yung load kay mama, pero biglang may lumitaw na text message.

Ano kaya ito? Huy, galing sa Globe. Binuksan ko ang text at binasa ko ang laman. May 1,500 load na pumasok. Ito na ata yung load para sa wifi. Niregister ko sa GCash ang Broadband Home Watch 1499. Pumasok siya matapos nang isang segundo.

Sana magtagal itong 80gb ng isang buwan. Baka maubos muli pagkatapos ng dalawang linggo.

Binuksan ko yung laptop habang ngumunguya paonti-onti sa Fudgee Bar. Baka pag kinain ko nang mabilis, magutom muli ako. Hindi yan pwede. Papatagalin ko ito.

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Nawawalang Koneksyon

Hinintay ko magbukas ang laptop ng isang minuto. Logo ng Acer ang lumabas, tapos may puting bilog na umiikot sa ilalim. Sige, mahaba naman pasensya ko. Naghintay pa ako ng limang minuto. Umiikot pa rin siya. Maiinis na sana ako pero kumakain pa naman ako kaya pwede pa ako magtiis. Naghintay muli ako ng labinlimang minuto. Ano ba, magkakalahating oras na, ayaw pa rin bumukas? Susuko na sana ako matapos lumipas ng dalawampu’t minuto pero naramdaman ata ng laptop yung inis ko. Ayun, lumabas din ang mahiwagang desktop.

Hindi ko muna ginalaw ang laptop. Alam ko maghahang din siya pag ginalaw ko. Hahayaan ko muna siya magload para hindi bumagal kapag ginamit ko na.

“Anak, kain ka na.”

Sakto, may pagkain na. Sige, diyan ka muna laptop.

Sana pagbalik ko bumilis ka na.

Umupo ako sa hapag-kainan at naamoy ko agad ang tustadong hotdog at scrambled na itlog. Tinamad siguro si mama kaya hindi na siya nagluto ng iba pa. Lumingon ako para tignan siya. Nakaupo lang siya sa tapat ng fan habang nanonood ng K-Drama sa maliit na CRT. Ang luma na niyang TV namin. Si mama, kay hilig manood ng mga K-Drama sa CRT noon pa lang. Sinasamahan ko pa siya manood dati tapos tuwang tuwa ako sa mga mala-porselanang tao at magaganda nilang damit; para bang nagniningning sila. Pati mga sinasabi nila, nagniningning sa screen. Lumilipad ang bawat salita at nagpapalit-palit habang

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

nag-uusap sila. Hindi ko sila maintindihan, kaya tinatanong ko si mama anong pinag-uusapan nila. Sabi niya sa akin sikreto raw; masyado pa akong bata para malaman. Nagtiwala ako sa kanya, kaya patuloy akong nanood kahit hindi ko maintindihan.

Iniisip ko dati, okay lang na may sikretong usapan, basta sasabihin sa akin ni mama balang araw.

Matapos noon, napapansin ko rin na nagkaroon na ng mga sikretong usapan si mama at si papa. Habang naglalaro ako sa sala, naririnig ko sila sa kwarto, nagtataasan ng boses.

Tumatahimik ang kabilang kwarto kapag kumakatok ako.

Paglabas nila, tinatanong ko si mama kung anong pinaguusapan nila ni papa. Gaya ng mga usapan sa K-Drama, sinasabi sa akin ni mama sikreto raw muna. Hindi pa raw ako handang malaman.

Mga ilang buwan din nagkaroon ng mga sikretong usapan si mama at si papa, pero hindi na ako nagtanong kasi may tiwala ako kay mama na sasabihin niya sa akin ang sikreto kapag tingin niya handa na ako.

Noong naghiwalay sila, hindi na kinailangan sabihin ni mama sa akin kung ano ang sikreto. Nang maipaliwanag sa akin ni papa bakit kinailangan namin umalis ng bahay, parang nanonood muli ako ng K-Drama sa CRT; wala akong maintidihan tapos ang tanging nagniningning lang ay ang ulo ni papa ngunit lumalabo ito bunga ng nagluluha kong mata.

Iniisip ko noon kung mali ba na nagtiwala ako kay mama. Natakot akong isipin na kaya niya laging sinasabing may

41

Nawawalang Koneksyon

sikreto siya kasi nagbabalak na pala siyang iwanan ako. Kahit hindi man niya sabihin sa akin, ipinaintindi sa akin ni papa na hindi raw ako kailangan ni mama. Lumaki ako, at namunga ang galit ko, dahil kay dali lang pala sa kanya na iwanan ako.

Pero hetong CRT niya, ilang taon na ang nagdaan, hindi niya kayang iwanan. Kahit noong bumibisita ako sa bahay ni mama, CRT pa rin ang gamit niya. Kahit may binili ng LCD si papa at doon na kami nanonod ng mga anime at cartoons, ayaw pa rin bitawan ni mama ang CRT niya. Kahit noong iniwan ako ni papa para sa bago niyang pamilya at bumalik ako kay mama para siya na magsustento at magpaaral sa akin, sa CRT pa rin siya nanonood. Kahit ilang taon na ang dumaan, ito ang kaisa-isang bagay na ayaw niyang pakawalan.

“Ma, bakit ayaw mo bumili ng bagong TV? Ang liit liit na niyan.”

“Eh gusto ko dito manood. Bakit ba?”

“Ayaw mo sa mas malaking TV? Nakakasakit kaya yan sa mata.”

“Hindi naman siya masakit kapag nanonood ako.

Ikaw kasi huwag ka malapit sa screen kapag nanonood. Kaya sumasakit mata mo eh.”

Sinermonan pa ako, nagtanong lang naman ako.

Hinayaan ko na siya manood at hinati-hati ko ang tustadong hotdog. Paborito ko ito. Alangan naman na kakain ako ng hilaw na hotdog tapos hindi naman mukhang luto diba? Habang ngumunguya ako, inaalala ko yung laptop na naghihintay lang sa kwarto. Tapos na kaya siya mag-load?

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

“Ma, ang bagal na ng laptop ko.”

“Huwag mo kasi gamitin lagi. Ipagpahinga mo din.”

“Anong magagawa ko? Kailangan ko talaga gamitin araw-araw kasi may online classes ako.”

“Ganoon talaga.”

“Bakit hindi na lang tayo bumili ng bago?”

“Wala tayong pera.”

“Mag-iipon ako. Pag may pera na ako, pwede ba tayo bumili?”

“Osige, mag-ipon ka.”

Kinain ko ang natitirang hotdog at itlog sa platito ko bago ko siya iusog palayo sa akin. Ang hirap mag-online na klase kapag wala kang pera. Sa akin kasi, hindi naman talaga problema ang mabagal na laptop. Sanay na ako doon. Noong wala pang pandemya, madali lang naman ang solusyon. Kapag mabagal ang laptop, pwede ako gumamit ng mga computer sa library ng eskwelahan. Libre pa. Hindi ko kailangan gumastos para mag-renta sa computer shop. Ngayon? Wala, bawal nga lumabas eh. Paano ako makakapag-aral nang maayos kung wala akong matinong gamit?

Madalas kong kinakausap si mama tungkol dito. May kaya naman kami, at kailangan kong grumaduate agad para makapagtrabaho. Syempre hindi ako papayag na madelay ako dahil lang online ang mga klase. Kaso, may mga araw talaga na ganito. Mabagal ang laptop. Nauubusan ng load ang wifi. Hindi ko naman ito mararanasan kung nasa dorm ako. Napilitan

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Nawawalang Koneksyon

lang ako umuwi kay mama, eh alam ko naman ayaw niya na makasama ako.

“Ma, mag-aaral na ako ha. Ikaw muna maghugas ng pinggan.”

Patuloy lang si mama sa panonood, kaya inulit ko muli ang sinabi ko. Nang marinig ko ang hmm mula sa kanya, nakuntento na ako at bumalik sa kwarto.

Nadatnan ko ang laptop kong may ulap ulap na wallpaper sa screen. Napaupo ako muli at tinitigan ko ito.

Kaunti lang ang mga applications ko — Microsoft Office at Adobe Photoshop lang halos ang laman. Kahit alam ko nagpapabagal ang Photoshop sa laptop, kailangan ko ito para sa course ko.

Binuklat ko ang lumang notebook kong may alikabok pa sa plastic cover. High school ko pa ito binili, pero tanga ako kaya ngayon ko lang siya ginagamit. Pumunta ako sa listahan ko, at inaral ko yung notes ko. Okay sige, kailangan ko raw magsulat ng essay tungkol sa libro na binasa namin. Lumipad mata ko sa susunod na pahina. Nakita ko ang notes ko ng America is in the Heart ni Carlos Bulosan. Sige, kailangan ko muna magsaliksik bago ko ito isulat.

Binuksan ko ang Google Chrome sa laptop, pero hindi ito lumabas agad. Mga anim o sampung segundo ang lumipas bago ito lumitaw sa screen. Puti ang background. Kasimputi ng kamao ko; halos hindi ko napansin ang sugat sa palad bunga ng pagdiin ng aking mga daliri. Hinawi ko ang mahaba

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

kong buhok sa gilid para makita ko nang maigi ang screen.

Ayun, lumabas din si Google. Lumuwag ang kamay ko habang nakahawak sa mouse. Sige, magsesearch ako ng america is in the heart carlos bulosan literary analysis. Sana may maganda akong mahanap.

Pagkapindot ko ng enter sa keyboard, puti muli ang screen. Walang lumalabas matapos lumipas ng isa, tatlo, walo, labimlimang segundo. Napakamot ako ng leeg at napabuntonghininga. Tinitigan ko ang screen, at pinatong ko ang aking siko sa lamesa. Madiin ang pagpatong. Pinaglaruan ko ang aking labi gamit ang daliri ko. Ginawa ko na ito at lahat-lahat, pero ang lumilitaw pa rin sa puting screen ay Waiting for www.google.com sa ilalim ng Chrome.

Irerefresh ko na sana ang Chrome pero biglang lumabas ang kinatatakutan kong dinosaur. Oo, dinosaur. Ayan siya o, handa nang sakupin ang screen ko. Nakatayo siya sa linya niya at inaasar ako ng No internet. Potang no internet yan?

Kakaload lang ng wifi ha?

Sa ibabaw ng laptop ko, nakapatong sa may shelf ang Globe Prepaid Wifi. Binunot ko ang plug at binalik ko muli sa saksakan. Baka sakaling gumana siya. Nirefresh ko ang Chrome, at nagpakita ang mahiwagang puting screen. Nagdasal ako sa Diyos at nag-abang ako, at nag-abang, at nag-abang.

Subalit, bumalik si dinosaur na patuloy ang pagbabanta sa akin. Wala kang internet. Wala kang internet. Wala kang internet.

Umabot na ako sa punto ng walang hanggan. Naglabas ako ng

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Nawawalang Koneksyon

paiyak na tunog, na may halong tawa. Hinawakan ko ang pisngi ko, at naramdaman ang init mula sa aking palad.

“Ma!” Walang sagot.

“Ma! Halika rito.”

Hinintay ko ang sagot ni mama. Umupo ako sa kama at nag-abang sa may kurtina. Maya’t maya, sumilip si mama sa kwarto.

“O bakit? Ano nangyari?”

“Walang internet uli.”

“Diba kakaload lang?”

“Kaya nga eh, bakit wala uli?”

“Baka babalik mamaya, hintayin mo na lang.”

“May deadline ako bukas, paano ko siya gagawin?”

Hindi umimik si mama.

“Sabi ko kasi magpakabit na tayo ng internet pero bakit kailangan pa umabot sa ganito? Araw-araw na lang ba ako aasa sa paputol-putol na internet?”

Nag-iba na ang tono ko.

“Naka-prepaid wifi naman tayo, hindi naman natin kailangan magpakabit. Sino gagamit ng internet kapag umalis ka na? Sayang lang sa pera.”

Nag-iba na rin ang tono ni mama.

“Bakit kasi iniisip mo kung kailan ako aalis? Parang pinapalayas mo na ako eh.”

“Hindi kita pinapalayas, ang sinasabi ko lang, okay na yang pansamantalang wifi.”

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“Hindi mo naman ako maintindihan. Nahihirapan na ako. Sana nasa dorm na lang ako kung hindi mo ako tutulungan.”

Naipit ang boses ko, pero itinago ko ito. Hindi na umimik muli si mama. Akala ko aalis na siya ng kwarto, pero bigla siyang nagsalita.

“Eh ‘di balik ka na lang sa dorm kung ayaw mo na.”

Lumabas siya ng kwarto, bitbit ang huling salita. *** Maliit pa lang ako, alam ko na na hindi ko kaya matulog mag-isa sa kwarto. Gabi-gabi, sinasamahan ako ni mama pagkatapos ko maghilamos at tinatabihan niya ako sa kama para makatulog ako. Yung takot ko sa dilim, sa mga maligno, at sa mga anino, naglalaho kasi alam ko katabi ko siya.

May mga gabing nagigising ako tapos kakapa ako sa tabi ng kama para higpitan ang yakap kay mama, pero hangin lang ang nahahaplos ko. Tatayo ako at lalabas para hanapin siya. Sa mga gabing iyon, lagi ko siyang nakikitang naglilinis ng lababo sa ilalim ng nag-iisang bukas na ilaw.

Mahina ko siyang tatawagin at mapapatigil siya para tanungin bakit ka pa gising? Ang lagi kong sagot sa kanya, takot ako kasi madilim. Titigil siya sa kanyang paglilinis at hahawakan niya ang maliit kong kamay. Maginhawa ang init ng kamay niya sa aking naglalamigang mga daliri.

Pareho kaming babalik sa kwarto. Hinaplos ko ang mga ugat ni mama sa kamay. Ipinagpatuloy ko ito hanggang

47

Nawawalang Koneksyon

sa makabalik kami sa kama. Uupo siya sa tabi ko, at ngingiti pero hindi iyon sapat sa akin. Hihilahin ko siya papabalik sa kama at ipapalupot ko ang malambot na kumot sa aming dalawa. Sa pagsara ng aking mga mata, niyayakap ko si mama at naniniwala ako na naglalaho kaagad ang kanyang pagod. *** Gabi na nang makalabas ako ng kwarto. Sa huli, hindi rin ako nakagawa ng assignment dahil hindi pa rin bumabalik ang internet. Mukhang kailangan ko pa pakiusapan prof ko para bigyan ako ng extension. Bukas ko na siya proproblemahin.

Dumating ako sa kusina para uminom ng tubig, pero hindi ko nakita si mama. Narinig ko ang daloy ng tubig mula sa labas ng bintana. Nandoon ang aming balcony at lababo.

Baka naghuhugas lang siya ng pinggan. Sisilip sana ako para panoorin siya, pero pinigilan ko ang sarili ko.

Pumunta ako sa ref para kumuha ng tubig, pero napansin ko ang mga platitong pinagkainan noong tanghali.

Hindi pa ito nahuhugasan. Sumilip ako sa bintana at nakita ko si mama naglalaba pa ng mga damit kahit gabi na.

Napasimangot ako at tinitigan ko ang mga platito.

Kailan pa ako naging bulag sa mga paghihirap ni mama? Kailan ko pa hinayaan mag-isa si mama? Kaming dalawa na nga lang ang nagsasama, pero magkagalit pa kaming dalawa.

Pinakinggan ko ang tubig mula sa gripo habang naglalaba si mama. Nagtaka ako kung naghahalo ba ang luha 48

Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

niya sa mga basang damit. Kumirot ang puso ko habang iniisip ito.

Kukunin ko na sana ang mga platito at huhugasan ito sa banyo nang marinig ko ang pagtigil ng daloy ng tubig mula sa lababo. Binitbit ko ang mga platito, kutsara, at tinidor at naghintay sa may pinto.

Pumasok si mama sa bahay. Nakadikit ang basa niyang t-shirt sa kanyang balat at may nagtalsikang tubig din sa paligid ng mukha niya. Nagkakatitigan kami. Walang umimik. Kinuha ko na lamang ang mga huhugasan, at dinaanan ko siya.

Mula sa bintana, pinanood ko si mama habang binuksan niya ang fan. Matapos, nakita ko siyang umupo sa narrang upuan. Binuksan niya ang CRT at narinig ko ang tunog ng nag-iiyakang mag-ina. Pumunta ako sa lababo, at pinakinggan ko ang masayang pagluha ng ina at ng kanyang anak. Baka sa ibang panahon, magiging iyak namin iyon ni mama. Ngunit sa ngayon, tanging tunog lang ng daloy ng tubig mula sa gripo ang panghahawakan ko. Sa daloy nito, humulma ang dating imahen ni mama; ang nangniningning niyang ngiti habang papasara ang mga mata ko sa antok.

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Malate Literary Folio

ISABELLA TUASON

Reconnecting. . .

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Malate Literary Folio

Aleena Marie Concepcion Aleena Marie Concepcion, also called Pam by family and friends, is a graduate of Industrial Engineering, minor in Communication and New Media from De La Salle University – Manila. She was a member of the DLSU Lady Batters Softball team from 2016 to 2019, and a poetry staffer of Malate Literary Folio from 2018-2021. Her poetry reads between the lines of mundane, everyday experiences, habits, routines, and beliefs to resurface what has fallen deep into the subconscious and recall how it got there. She has written about a wide range of topics like women in sports, adolescence, beauty, femininity, and westernized school curriculums. She is currently observing the least observed, which could either be ants, or her own subconscious.

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ALEENA MARIE CONCEPCION

98 Watermelons Worth a 98 Watermelons Worth a Jackson Jackson I always take too long counting my change after buying something.

Coins spread out on my hand as I separate centavos from pesos. While clutching the centavos in my other palm, I sort the Rizals, Bonifacios, and Mabinis in their own corners. Then I Do the same with the centavos.

53

I

sor

five

valu

Once they’re sorted, only then will I mentally add

from

the coins’ monetary value— and if things add up

3b

I dump them all together in my wallet’s coin holder.

aB

Malate Literary Folio

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RIGEL RUEL PORTALES

Pants in the Infinite Rice Field I am fabric, holed but not bullet-holed.

Your mother wore me early into the daily days before the first cup of coffee, before the first good deed, during the bedside flicker of rayuma that comes with age.

But I know how she stands: With me rolled-up, left over right in an infinite field.

I know little but I know: the gentle wash of each left step, and a muddy grip upon the path home. I know water as she felt it and its innumerable weight compared to blood, stained with lead.

55

Sa Hindi Malate Pagbagsak Literary Folio

BENEDICT LIM

afterthought

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

ALEENA MARIE CONCEPCION

A group where we pretend to be ants in a colony I was invited to a group where we pretended to be ants in a colony. It’s funny how ants gravitate towards sweet words that resonate with the food for thought they previously ate.

We accumulate on a plate to take a tiny bite of cake enough to carry at the back of our minds. Convenient for when we crave to sweeten our palates after we’ve eaten a salty plate.

The taste of sugar gives solace to the dissonance of saltiness and the favored flavor of sweetness.

A trick to treat our appetite for being right, despite the need to be taken with a grain of salt.

The food for thought—or so we thought— taught us that sugar and salt do not get along on a dish, spitting disfavor instead of complementing the other taste to bring out each other’s flavor.

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Malate Literary Folio

THERESE DIANE VILLANUEVA

Mindoreños

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RIGEL RUEL PORTALES

Infinite Rotation After Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Steel Ball Run Long after, I still need your horsepower, rim-spinner, chrome-duster.

I am a car. I am a car.

Not a horse, not power, Certainly not the axle but the wheels. More certainly, you are the axle, I could rest as a part of. Our rotations make us a good thing, make a car more than a carriage.

Could friends make marriage a perpetual motion machine?

Supposing air resistance was a myth like a crippled leg wrapped in my waist, a gimp horse whinnying for a spring strait, could I stand again? In opposition to myself, in your tandem, in a lost position with 50m before the finish line and your axle broke off and why was I left with the carriage before I could bury you with my dust?

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Partner, here I am walking with the loss.

I follow a foreign skyline and I confess some rivers recede into the sky, some three-legged dogs are never lonely, and that there were trains that kicked dirt into my eyes before they departed from the forest and my life.

How fast we went through the leaves while they were falling.

I could go on longer about the world as this was our journey.

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DOMINIQUE BIANCA YAP

To Carl To Carl I I love you.

I whisper it because it is a Secret between You and I. I say it ebbs and flows like ocean waves— and you give me a nod.

It is Sympathy, maybe A Sorry, but not Solidarity.

I love you.

To Carl II

I Inform you on a nondescript day, and there is your nondescript face, and here lies my nondescript statement.

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To Carl III I love you.

The skies are tumultuous.

Raindrops attack the ground until puddles form small lakes, and I ask how you are, you say you are fine, then the conversation Dies.

To Carl IV I love you.

I ask you Why— Why Not Me? You scramble for the right words, you say the wrong ones, they are daggers to my heart— Carl, Carl, Carl.

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To Carl V The moon waxes and wanes, there is the frigid December air embracing me, there is your “Can You Forgive Me?”, a thousand sorries, a thousand reparations, and the question hangs in the air, suspended in time, waiting for me to be able to Love you Again, like the first time, like the old times, before the irreparable hurt.

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To Carl VI

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Tomo XXXVII Bilang 3

To Carl VII A million sunsets have passed.

I love you.

I Share the endearment With you.

“I love you too”, With the gentle certainty Of an unnamed forever.

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CATHLEEN JANE MADRID

Hating Kapatid

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MIKAEL ONG

Fatal

It’s been a fourth of a day

since my last inspiration,

but even longer still after,

our bodies stood beside.

You shuffled your way to

my being with meaning,

and my mango-like organ

exhaled for the first time.

How you are, so volatile

standing next to my husk.

As we exchange prides

to revive what used to be.

When will they realize,

that all life is… is to exist?

That in truth, enigmas

are onions waiting to be

unwinded and unravelled.

Much like beings that fly.

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Pasasalamat Nais pasalamatan ng Malate Literary Folio ang mga sumusunod— mga kaibigan, kapwa manunulat at manlilikha, at mangingibig ng sining.

Dr. Mesandel Arguelles, at Mr. Vijae Alquisola; Ms. Franz Santos, Ms. Jeanne Tan, Mrs. Ma. Manuela Agdeppa, at ang Student Media Office; Dr. Anne Frances Sangil at ang Departament of Literature; Dr. Rowell Madula at ang Departamento ng Filipino; ang Bienvenido Santos Creative Writing Center; College Editors Guild of the Philippines; Ateneo Heights; Mr. Francis D’Angelo Mina at Ms. Aleena Marie Concepcion sa pagbabahagi ng kanilang mga piyesa sa isyu na ito; Dr. Chuckberry Pascual at Mr. Patrick James sa pagbabahagi at pag-gabay sa Malate Writers’ Workshop; Mr. Ronuel del Rosario at Mr. Sonny Thakur sa pagbibigay ng inyong saloobin sa Art and Photo Camp; Mr. Brendan Matthew Barcena at Ms. Leonor Reyes sa pagbabahagi ng iba’t ibang ideya sa Marketing and Events talk; Mr. Archie Oclos, Mr. Albert Raqueño, Ms. Weng Cahiles at Ms. China Pearl Patria De Vera sa komprehensibong pagbabahagi ng iyong saloobin ukol sa progresibong paglikha, at sa BLB Live sa pagsagawa ng livestream para sa Sining Alay sa Madla: Malate Convention for the Arts 2021: Sining Alay sa Madla; Ms. Nelca Leila Villarin at ang Office of Student Affairs; Dr. Lily Ann Cabuling at ang Health Services Office (Taft); DLSU Bookstore; DLSU Student Co-Operative (SCOOP); Council of Student Organizations (CSO); Office of the Legal Counsel; Finance and Accounting Office; Security Office; Mr. Michael Millanes at ang Student Discipline Formation Office; Ang Pahayagang Plaridel, Archers Network, Green Giant FM, Green & White, The LaSallian at ang Student Media Council, Magicus Junctra Corporation Printing.

At higit sa lahat, sa mga kasapi’t kaibigan na patuloy na umaalalay sa paglago ng Malate Literary Folio. xii

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ABRIL 2022