RACING THOUGHTS

Poem by Ma. Angelica Blessing Agaid

As time passes, I am slowly drifting away from the things that I love. I constantly find myself staring at the shelf full of books, untouched, paintbrushes and palettes clean and colorless, skateboard unscathed, and myself; empty.

My hands suddenly had a mind of its own, carefully plucking the strings of my guitar—it feels like I am in a trance, I have forgotten what I was doing. What was it? Oh, I was trying to play the guitar. I don’t know how to play the guitar anymore. At the back of my mind, I still know how to, I just don’t have the courage and the energy to do it like I used to.

I am now terrible at the things that I used to love.

I am constantly tired. 4 hours of sleep are no different to 15 hours. The more I had sunk in bed, the more energy I drain. Is it possible to lose strength while in deep sleep?

I need to stand up.

Why was I standing up? I need to write this one.

That house across my bedroom window has been left unoccupied for the last eleven years. The moment I have stepped foot on this room, and I looked outside the window, it looked empty. It was interesting for me, then. The things that are completely opposite to what we are, are deemed interesting. I wonder if I had grown accustomed to that house, so much, that it doesn’t feel that interesting anymore, or maybe I have grown attached to it. In my head, on the other hand, says neither of the two.

I have come to understand the emptiness within its wall. A foreseen revelation: I am mirroring that house, empty and worn.

Time had passed. The only thing productive in this room is my head. Its constant rambling and thoughts are the only thing running in this room. If I can only channel that energy to pick up a book, stroke a brush, pick up a skateboard, and play the guitar, maybe I wouldn’t be so empty.

If I can only stop these thoughts.

ANECDOTE FROM A ‘SPECIAL’ STUDENT TO HIS ALMA MATER

Non-Fiction by Chanyel Fritz Tome Illustrated by Justine Jay Dacocos

It struck me in the gut when the only school that accepted me when I was a pre-elementary kid closed down during the pandemic. When I walked down the street where we used to play Langit Lupa at school, I was greeted with an “Apartment for Rent” sign in front of the school gate. Like many small establishments, Paulinian Learning School met its fate amid economic struggles.

I quickly took pictures of the repainted three-story building with my tablet. The school logo was no longer there. I recognized no marks of the former institution – the school logo and name were no more, and its insides piled with renovation work. The only remaining clues that the school ever existed were its old wooden armchairs used in a nearby milk tea stand and my memory.

At the back of my head, I wondered what would have happened if the school did not enroll me because I was a ‘special’ child. It was already a bane for my parents to deal with me since it occurred to everyone around me that I needed special treatment. Most other schools denied me because I screamed when I heard music, kicked walls, and could not focus on the tasks given to me. It did not matter if I can read and write, count, and even spell words. I was on the path to be a no-one, abandoned by even the formal education sector.

My mother even told me that she once went to a shrine in the neighboring province to pray that I get a formal education. The way she sounded that time realized to me that it was her last hope – she could not let go of that hope when everyone else did.

God answered her prayers. Paulinian Learning School, though a small, private school, enrolled me for its nursery class from 2008-2009 and then accelerated me to preparatory. When I asked my mother how the school accepted me when all others did not, she said that the principal, Sir Mike, recognized what I was capable of – something that other schools did not notice. He even suggested I go straight to 1st grade, but my mom insisted that I take pre-elementary classes first.

However, I could still imagine what would have happened if the school denied me like every other school. Maybe I would have been homeschooled until at least 1st grade. Maybe the roads would stray me away from people who have influenced my life for the better – my girlfriend, passionate teachers, and writing buddies.

and emotions

Maybe I would not have the courage to write to the University of the Philippines (UP), the flagship campus of the country, about my experience.

I am eternally grateful to the institution for molding who I am today despite being one of the smallest schools around Cabuyao, Laguna (its perimeter is effectively that of an apartment). A writer-journalist is about to join UP in its literary endeavors because of the school’s initial faith in me to reach greater heights and of my mother’s unending hope. This ‘nobody’ started his passion for writing when he was studying in Paulinian, and his teachers encouraged his pursuit of knowledge, which he still journeys in today.

I snooped around the school even more, desperate to catch a glimpse of the classrooms where I dwelled, but without luck. The doors were boarded up, and it was dark and lifeless inside. What used to be bustling centers of academic activities at this time of the year were now ghost rooms – an experience that is a far cry from the life-changing moments as I had always known them.

Defeated from my attempt at nostalgia, I left the vicinity with only the pictures of what remains of the building, and the memories it had on me. As I reviewed the images, emotions weighed on my heart – it was like losing someone you dearly loved and who had an enormous influence on you. I had hoped that Paulinian would stay strong in the pandemic and continue to help children like me and give chances to kids whose talents and wit seem to lead to nowhere and mold them into the right direction. However, I cannot always get what I want, and Sir Mike did what he had to do.

Sir Mike released a video talking about the shutdown of the Paulianian’s operations the night before. He thanked all the parents, including mine, for trusting them to educate kids with aspiring dreams like me. I saw in his face how much the pandemic has affected him and to us – and based on his tone as well, he did not want to close down the school for good.

But what sticks with me was his dare to the Paulinian kids – he challenged them to study hard and be the leaders of our nation. I could tell in his eyes how much he want them to grow with the potential each child had, just like how he had faith in me even though I was a bit ‘special’ back then.

I went home, bringing with me the growth they have spurred. I am now a Grade 11 Humanities student – a far cry of personal development from when he left the school. In my head was the promise I intended to keep – to study hard. Perhaps along the way, I could become a Sir Mike of my own – recognizing the potentials of each individual and molding them the best I can.

You will not be disappointed, Sir Mike. You have answered my mother’s prayers; now, the Paulinian kids will not leave your institution’s teachings in vain.

ALMOST THERE

Flash fiction by Diahnne Hazareno

“Hang on,”

Whisper the roots of the small plant with only a green leaf up, swaying in the whistling wind. As the little plant looked around, he saw other hundreds of plants, tall and proud--- almost reaching the sky.

He suddenly remembered that fateful day. That one day when the old woman decided to have a garden full of different plants. The old woman will water the plants regularly, she always makes sure that all of them have had the shade and light they needed. She wouldn’t forget to talk about how beautiful the world is, and that sometimes it’s beyond ugly too; but what’s important is that they will make it more colorful. They will eventually grow and help others. A year later and this one plant didn’t even grow the way they expected him to be. It frustrates the plant, knowing that those around him have started growing immaculately. Yet there he is, the same as before. A little plant, excited to see what’s up there, and a little confused about what he should be.

There were many times where he would think that maybe he was destined to be that way, maybe he should stop hoping that someday he will be something. But then, the old woman would always tell him, “Oh, I see on your little leaf that you worry too much, dear. Don’t be troubled, with your determination to grow, you will soon get there. For now, just be happy for those plants surrounding you, because their life is starting to make sense. While you think they already got the best of both worlds, some are still as confused as you. Scared, merely existing, and some are… exhausted.” The plant didn’t really know what to feel when the old woman said that. But one thing is for sure, he may be a little different, but somehow, they are still the same.

He will never know when the insecurity will strike, and during those hopeless times, he will remember this one sweet message. She never forgets to say, “Just, love your own kind and be who you are, because being yourself will help you realize what you are meant to be, and what you’re actually worth.” So he waited, and waited, and waited. He never stopped doing what he loved doing and explored other things he really wanted to try. Then he grew, and bloomed into something undeniably worth all the hard work and pressure he felt.