Engineering SPECTRUM Volume XXIII No. 1 Section B

THE OFFICAL STUDENT PUBLICATION OF THE PUP COLLEGE OF ENGINEERING

Literary

Spectrum

2

March 2017

I remember it like

YESTERDAY Dave Allen Motea

“WHAT’S the last thing you remember?” asked Grandma.

As I sank into recollection, my very first memory floated into my consciousness; A misty picture of my former school, with Mom and Dad walking with me to my first day of class. On the way to the school, I can’t help but be furious of the idea of being away from them for a whole day. I looked like a spoiled brat with the way I yelled and cried by the gate “Don’t leave me please! This place is scary” I cried. I was causing such a scene that they both ended up staying outside my classroom until the end of class to keep me calm. They missed work to show me that they were there for me, they stayed and chose me.

the _

Tethered_ Child_

Von Ryan Maicle

Tiny hands, plainly tainted.

Fingers crossing, pain was painted, Holding promises, innocence fainted.

The innocent tethered child.

Green lushes turned asour By lustful deeds, a higher power Slowly poisoning what lovely flower Peaceful dreams, abhorrently wild.

Grinning corpses, hooked and chained By hearts unknowing, dark and stained Where love has left, abandoned, waned At the morgue carelessly piled Singing lullabies of comfort and care With bones in gutters laid ghastfully bare Caught by the neck, unsuspecting, unaware Poor, orphaned tethered child!

Unhappy was the one, Shackled by fate challenged by none.

The beautiful mind, soon will be gone, Gone for anxiety, greed defiled.

A story written, legend of old Of a purpose hidden yet untold.

Revealed at where essence take hold, To protect the tethered child.

But weariness conquers the will To continue enduring still.

Tempting frostbite with ghastly chill; The deathwish of the tethered child.

So let slumber surmount thy shade.

The child smiling, as shadows swayed.

For in death, all anguish shall fade.

Tethered no more, o little child.

Graphics by: Alec John Gracia and Martin Santelices

Another memory came after; a memory of Christmas that I will never forget. Even though it was a very short, it was a very poignant memory. It was the last time my Dad carried and tucked me to bed in the many times my Dad carried me to bed because I was sometimes found sleeping elsewhere. I realized how much I was growing up with each moment that I fell asleep on a place that was not my bed and woke up still not on it. This little boy was steadily growing into a big man. Their guiding hand faded slowly as my independence grew.

I remember my 10th birthday, it was the first time after a long time that we ate as a complete family for dinner. Mom and Dad was always busy at work so I usually ate with my sitter. I recalled that on my 10th birthday, they surprised me and brought me to my favorite restaurant. I was happy with the idea of us being complete.

I remember flashes of memory of growing up craving for the love, for the attention that only a parent could give.

I recall all the “lasts”, the last bits and pieces that made up my childhood. And as I continued to grow up; we unconsciously grew apart. But something may have whacked my brain, like a hammer to a nail, it hurt a lot then suddenly, a not so distant memory flashed before me. I remembered the night I fled home, angry at my parents. I was mad at them for not buying the tickets for a concert that I wanted so badly. They told me we had no money and that the tickets were too expensive.

I didn’t believe that we had no money because I clearly saw money in their wallets when we went to the drug store to buy my asthma medicine, oh the innocent ignorance of my youth. I was so mad that I yelled at them and ran away without a second thought. I hated them so much. An hour or so in the streets, my stomach began to grumble as my anger simmered down. I got hungry so I decided to go back home. When I got back, they weren’t there.

I waited and fell asleep. When I woke up, they still weren’t there.

Then a call came, and that was when everything went black. I woke up to the sound of my Grandmother waking me up. She then asked me, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

That’s where pieces of memories started to come together like a jigsaw puzzle. I see Grandma’s face and the tears she’s trying so hard to hold back.

I asked her where my parents were, she was silent. In her silence, I found the painful answer.

Apparently, Mom and Dad were searching for me when their car was hit by a truck. A day later, the mailman appeared on our door, and gave me an envelope with the concert tickets inside.

Sa Barrio ng Bataan Joshua Cabatuando

Sampung taon,

Sa pagtakbo para sa iyo

Sampung taon na ang nakalipas

Ang pag-ibig na lumiyab

Sa barrio sa Bataan

Na parang mga bituin

Ng ating kabataan

Sa kalawakan

Kung saan tayo ipinakilala ng ating mga

Sa ibabaw ng barrio sa Bataan

magulang

Na ating pinagmasdan

Sa barrio sa Bataan

Sa bawat gabi ng ating kabataan

Kung saan ika’y kumaway

Kung saan unang dumulas

At ako’y kumaway pabalik

Sa kabado na bibig

Kung saan ako ay ngumiti

Ang pag-ibig

At ikaw ay ngumiti pabalik

Na kahit munti

Kung saan namula ang pisngi

Ay tunay

Sa iyong munting ngiti

At kahit hindi ito ang huli

Kung saan una kong natikman

Ay mahalaga ang alaala

Ang sipa ng pag-ibig

Sa barrio sa Bataan

Noong tayo’y naglaro

Kung saan una kong naranasan

Sa tabing-dagat

Ang sipa ng pag-ibig

At hinabol ka ng paa’t kamay

Sa iyong pagsagot ng

At puso

“Hindi”

Na hindi tumigil

Literary

Spectrum March 2017

3

Letter of an

Imaginary Friend Zarce Abaracoso

HERE are the six things I know about myself and about us. First, my name is Bilbo. Second, we have been the best of friends for five years already. Third, your parents call me an imaginary friend. Fourth, this friendship’s temporary but this kind of friendship will always live forever in my heart and memory.

Fifth, this story exists in the kingdom of your own childhood, were nobody dies except me.

And lastly, I AM NOT IMAGINARY. I know that this moment will come so I’m writing this letter for you because I know that you will never remember me. You will forget the whole concept of me. That once in your life you had me. But even though it’s the reality, in which you will forget about me, I’m still hoping that I will not perish in your memory. It was a warm day in September and you’re getting ready for school.

You’re wearing your school uniform and brushing your hair in front of the mirror.

I called your name three times in a row, but you didn’t turn towards me. So I thought, maybe you were just mad at me.

Then we were in your classroom, same day. Your teacher was telling the whole class a story about friendship. I was waving my hand outside, at the spot where you can easily see me. Again, you didn’t turn at my direction and that’s when it hit me. That’s when I felt

the balloon growing inside me and in that moment I knew that the time has come.

When I glanced at you, our memories flashed before my eyes. The day we first met. The days we spent together playing hide-and-seek under the heat of the sun until we lost track of time. When we used to play your Legos and toy cars. The number of times you scraped your knees. Your first day in school when you told me that you were scared and you wanted me to be there. Your first drawing of me on a piece of white paper. The memories of me and you. Then it’s gone, and I’m back to reality.

Death is scary, but I’m prepared to face it. I have accepted the fact that I’ll be gone from the first day we met, that I’m only temporary in this world that you’ve built. I am just sad because I’m going to miss the thousands of days you’ll be having in the future.

I will not see you grow up, be a man and have a little You someday. I will not see you become an engineer like you always wanted to be. But if I will be given the chance to live forever, which is impossible, I’d like to watch you, the boy I loved so much, from afar, growing up and living his life to the fullest.

That will make me very happy, even if you will not remember me.

Living for five years is long enough for someone like me. I never lived this life for myself, neither have I existed for me.

Everything I am and was has always been for you.

My body’s getting cold and the balloon inside me is getting bigger and bigger. I can’t see myself anymore but I am glad that I can still see you. I can see your happy face smiling at your teacher while she tells the story. You have real friends already and you don’t need me anymore. I know that you’re safe now. I will not see your life in the future but, I know it will be great and happy.

Slowly, invisible tears streamed down my imaginary eyes and the gooey balloon starts to swell in every nook and cranny of my body. And I started to rise. I’m floating. I’m fading. I am no longer whole. I am no longer me. I hold the image of you in my mind as long as I can. Until I am no more.

“I love you. Goodbye my friend.” I whispered. You glanced at my direction, like you heard me and you smiled, the smile that I will surely miss. Even though I know that you can’t see me anymore, I smiled back. Then you and everything in this world fades to white, the same color of the piece of paper where you first drew me on.

CHOCOLATE Moonlight

I was 7 years old, and the world felt new. On the street where we played the same old games at and made new friends, there was an old man who sold chocolates.

I took a quick glance back at our house to make sure my mom didn’t catch me sneaking out. “A single spanking session from her would hurt for a week! The chocolates are worth the risk.” I reasoned to my nervous as I walked towards the Old man’s house.

I readied my coins as I got near to pay for the chocolates. As soon as I got to the gates, the old man opened the door. “Do you want some chocolates?

Come inside.” He said with a smile.

His house had this mysterious feel to it. I always wondered what it looked like inside. Guilt swelled up inside me as soon as I stepped in.

I hesitated as the voice of my mother continued to ring in my ear.

“Don’t go outside without telling me.”

I could almost feel her spanking me for my disobedience.

So, to help ease the burden, I recalled how my mother always told me to “Follow the orders of the Elderly.” So I followed the invitation of the Old Man.

A.K. Luna

a game no little girl wanted to play. I looked outside and wondered if I can open the gate as fast as I can. 10 seconds, I counted.

Maybe I’m dreaming, I wanted to wake up.

“After I give you some chocolates, we’re gonna play a game! Do you want that?” I gave a quick nod and then he told me to sit still while he had to finish something first. I didn’t know what that thing was for my concern was on the things in the living room.

10...9...8... should I stand and open the gate?

So, I let my eyes wander around the different corners of the room as He went into the bathroom.

3... I wanted to run outside. I looked at the gate and wondered how many seconds have I left. If I run, will he be able to follow me. Or am I free?

I heard the faucet being turned on and for some reason, my heart started to beat louder. I was sitting on the couch.

I sat there waiting patiently for the games that he promised. I sat there and realized that there was something wrong here. I sat there afraid. This was

Better past

7...6...5... What if he hurts me if I try to run?

4... I heard a door creaked.

2... I heard footsteps coming near.

Should I run? Should I run?

1...

How I wished I was brave enough to run...

“It gets better” We whisper We console ourselves To help us forget The bliss of innocence When it was easier to carry dreams Because the world felt lighter When we reached for the skies Because the stars seemed closer When it was easy to see beauty Because awe and wonder came naturally When it was so easy to pray Because faith did not have to face tragedy When the worry for the future Had no place in our hopeful souls When suicide was never a question Because the world made so much sense Even when we understood so little And as we move forward We can’t help but look back And ask Can the future really get better Than the bliss of an innocent past

Layout by: Martin Santelices

Spectrum

EDSA

Feat

4

The Third People Power Maria Pamela Patawaran, Mariel Campomanes, Nehemia Ibarrientos and Alec John Garcia

A

MIDST thousands of buses and cars and millions of pedestrians, a silent and unnoticed revolution occurs. Not the type where people flocked on EDSA, that sparked the moniker EDSA People Power I and II, trying to oust someone; but the kind where people pursues for that common dream of having a better life. People continues to battle life on different forms. But this will always be the common ground, where all of our small but same fights collide into one- a chance to live the life we all think we deserve.

Photo by: Christian James Concepcion

‘P*t*ng *nang traffic. Uwi ka na pope’ Last July, the Engineering Spectrum challenged a team to walk EDSA from tip to toe, from Mall of Asia to Monumento. Initially, it was supposed to be a walk—simply to see EDSA through a pedestrian’s point of view. But all changed that morning.

It was five o’clock, Tuesday morning. With the misty air, the sky was divided in darkness and blues, a heavy rainfall creeping ahead. Cars and jeepneys looked tired, yet still seemed to run better. No. This is not EDSA, yet. This is the Ramon Magsaysay Boulevard, which was the team’s rendezvous. Soon the team had to go.

Reaching the old district of Avenida, where notorious crimes occur in no chosen skylight, the team waited on a station platform where five

jam-packed train coaches had already passed.

Soon, it became apparent that taking two train rides at six o’clock in the morning to reach their destination within 30 minutes was impossible.

Perhaps, this is the new normal. Everybody was rushing up at almost everywhere. Eventually, the team decided to completely scrap the train ride, took a van and two jeepney rides to reach their starting point- the SM Mall of Asia.

The team had not started their walk yet, but the adventure had begun already. They had a fair share of stories with the van driver. Along the lengthy conversation, one story arose- a story he said he’d never forget out of fear. He was robbed, got stabbed five times by a passenger on his van. He was just thankful for his survival but that experience had almost completely destroyed his trust towards other people. Yet, he was more delightful, jolly, and talkative with his passengers—as he also even told them. That ‘almost’, oddly though, turned him to become otherwise instead.

On a patch of reclaimed land, flashing an imeldific view of the Manila bay—originally planned to be a naval base in the 70’s—stood the Mall of Asia.

Finally, with rubber shoes, sandals, and slippers ready, the team was set to start. But one variable entered this experiment- the green

pedestrian-shaped cut-outs, bicycle signs, and red heart-shaped cardboards with written statement of “love pushers”.

Although these were not in the initial plan, these mere signs had turned everything odd and unexpected.

Obosen!

As they went, all eyes were laid upon the cardboards and on the holder’s faces.

“Pusher? Bawal ‘yan ah” said flatly by a guy selling cigarettes near MRT Ayala station to Mia, 17, holding a heart-shaped cardboard etched with ‘pusher ng pagmamahal’.

The guy mocked, and then smiled, as if he was suddenly a totally different person. The only thing the team could do was look past him and smile.

At the Taft Avenue station, another man in a blue over-sized shirt shouted, “puro kalokohan lang ‘tong mga ito!” Then sneered, pleased with himself.

But, compared to the first two, the third one was more of an amplified noise- one that Filipinos are facing now.

“Eliminate the pushers, rehabilitate the users.” These words were not spoken right to their faces. This one’s different, a silent one yet seems to be much louder.

Because on public spaces, police quarters, façades of most barangay stations along EDSA, and perhaps all throughout the metro, these slogans had become the real silent perpetrators.

These thick words hit the team hard, as the words contradict their carried messages.

Maybe at this point in time, a lot of people remained tight-lipped, afraid of what consequences they might deal with, or maybe just tolerant towards what’s happening.

Nevertheless, looking past their eyes, they were silently aware and concerned.

To these people, life is as grey as the walls on EDSA, or as tormented as some of those the team came across who were emotionally

tures

March 2017

Alec John Garcia, Editor

5

drained, physically exhausted, and mentally tortured.

‘Let me live in hell as long as you live in paradise’

Before reaching Guadalupe bridge, two women in late sixties were taking a rest beside their cleaning cart. As they wiped their sweat, and refreshed under the shade, one of them darted a look at the placards, smiled, and excitedly grabbed the arm of one of the team for a picture and gave a warm hug. Nanay Vicky, 58, a street sweeper, asked how they ended up doing this. After the team explained, she responded with an unexpected conviction, helplessness, and pity. She said killings and hate should be stopped because nowadays, not all the people who were killed were pushers or users of drugs. Some were just victims of anger, cruelty, insecurity, and poverty.

“Iyong iba naman kasi hindi naman talaga nila ginusto ‘yung ginawa nila. Karamihan, kumapit lang sa patalim para mabuhay sila.”

Cliché as it may sound like, but, it really is a classic line- old, standard, but the truth.

In contrast to how enthusiastic the team was at the start, at this moment, the team decided to put the walk at rest. Certainly, walking under the heat of the sun in hours was a hard time: the air went beyond the livable standards, the water brought ran out, the five-hour time set to finish the walk passed. But, these were not the reason why the team halted their walk at the Shaw Boulevard.

They had met many different people with many different stories. And no matter how far they go, they realized, this walk will never tantamount to those whose lives were already there. Because for them, this isn’t just

a randomly planned challenge. This is their everyday.

They are the blood that keeps EDSA an artery, Manila as its heart, and this country as its body, alive and kicking.

Two revolutions have passed, but many contemplates the third. But perhaps never did we know, that EDSA III is now. It is the every MRT ride of the people; every patience taken by the traffic; and every call in the BPO’s. It is every Filipino’s fight. For this is EDSA III. Where it is not a fight against someone, nor anarchy, nor propagandas, but a fight for our own ideals without dropping our real values in life.

*** At the end, some of the team went back home, some went elsewhere to do their errands, and some went back to CEA. Yes, they didn’t make it up to the twenty-third kilometer. They had not reached Monumento. But what’s already monumental for the team is the fact that once, they had this fight- a fight they will continue until their next walk along who-knows-where.

But for the meantime, bringing this lesson, there were little battles they too had to face.

Iyong iba naman kasi hindi naman talaga nila ginusto yung ginawa nila.

Karamihan, kumapit lang sa patalim.

BEFORE THERE WAS EDSA Christian James Concepcion SIX hundred thousand to one million vehicles a day. Thirteen malls. Six cities. Three major financial districts. Two revolutions. One Epifanio Delos Santos Avenue.

Made in the 30’s, the 23.8-kilometer road was originally known as North-South Circumferential road, also called as C4. It was the fourth circumferential thoroughfare, parallel to the semicircular wall of Intramuros.

In 1946, a decade after the American occupation, late President Manuel Quezon renamed the road to Avenida 19 de Junio (June 19 Avenue) after Rizal’s birthday.

However, in the 50’s, a common misconception has been etched into the minds of many Filipinos; EDSA was said to be 54 kilometers long just because after the World War II, the Americans renamed it to Highway 54.

Different sectors fought over its name; Rizalists wanted it to be kept as Avenida 19 de Junio; the then President Ramon Magsaysay wanted it to be named after Rizal himself; while Rizal province residents sought it to be named after a Filipino scholar other than Rizal.

Back then, Epifanio Delos Santos was a highly distinguished scholar tagged as “the great among great Filipino scholars”. And so, under the Republic Act no. 2140, Epifanio Delos Santos Avenue was born.

Features

Spectrum

6

March 2017

S C A L L O U

O F

A

“ N A M T A “GRE Yna Escoton

“FOOL me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

If this was written in 1972, you probably won’t be able to hear anything from us after this. Or worst case: we’d probably have to tear this paper and eat it while there’s a loaded gun pointed to our heads.

Filipinos from either side of political ideology are not naïve of Martial Law. And as much as we wanted to see it with rose-colored glasses and in the same enamored light those staunch defenders views it in, we cannot turn a blind eye on the fact that people had been abducted, demoralized, tortured, and killed.

As part of the younger generation dubbed as the “millennials”, we aren’t even remotely born close to that era; but as citizens of this country – or simply as humans –, we owe it to ourselves to remove the blindfolds off our eyes, lend our ears, and adduce what life was in the past that made us who we are today. After all, history doesn’t end in a sheet of paper.

Deafening Silence Imagine if Martial Law is still in effect.

This article you’re reading will be taken as a negative whimper against the administration, and our one way ticket to jail.

Image source: Google images

TO EAT THIS E V A H U O Y WARNING:PAPER AFTER READING IT

Then, imagine us as your brother or sister, stripped bare and raped in front of you. You could cry helplessly for you’ve got nothing to do but watch. You could put every ounce of will to fight and scream and wail. But no one would try to help. No one around could.

Or we could be taken from our home, unknowingly, until that day you saw our dead bodies bearing cigarette burns in lips, gun and injection marks on arms, internal organs removed, and sex organs sawed off to cover signs of torture and sexual abuse. A hideous crime that seems to be unrealistic but truth be told, this was what happened to Liliosa Hilao- the first female casualty and martyr of Martial Law. Lily Hilao was a prolific writer of Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila’s school paper. She was a mere 23-year old whose dreams and ambitions got crushed for a single damp of her pen against the government. During those days, silence was truly the best armor one can use to stay alive.

Big Brother Disappearances increased widely during this so-called golden era. Behind the promise of the great “new republic” is the grief of families

who still have no trace of their mothers, fathers, sisters or brothers.

It was one random evening; but a night full of terror for Kuya Charlie who was mindlessly mounting up posters before he disappeared.

Kuya Charlie has been recorded missing for 35-years. Yet, the will and hope to find him has not yet thawed out in the hearts of his family, especially his sister who is active with FIND - Families of Victims of Involuntary Disappearance; and his mother who calls out his name every night.

Charlie Del Rosario was a brother and a son, a broad-minded student, a humorous and approachable professor, a Filipino, an activist and the founding member of Kabataang Mamamayan, and the first ever desaparecidos of the Marcos era.

In the “1984” novel by George Orwell, a fictional character “Big Brother” was coined taking up the meaning of an omniscient and omnipresent entity, who caused forcible deprivation of liberty of a person termed “vaporization”. And somehow, it is also a big coincidence that people easily identified the kuya in its anti-disappearance poster- Kuya Charlie.

Silenced truth Criticisms were highly not tolerated by the Marcoses. One example was Archimedes Trajano who was only 21 when he got tortured and thrown out of a building window for questioning the presidential daughter, Imee Marcos, who was irritated by the said inquiry.

Others such as the following names, suffered the same fate as Trajano for opposing the “golden era”.

A young doctor, Dr. Juan Escandor, was found dead, his mustache pulled out, with his skull stuffed with trash, underwear, plastic bags, and rags; and his brain inside his abdominal cavity.

Hilda Narcisso, a church worker, was repeatedly gang-raped and fed with a soup of worms and rotten fish.

Trinidad Herrera, a community leader in Tondo, got electrocuted in her fingers, breasts, and vagina until her interrogators were pleased with her answers.

Neri Colmenares, an 18-year-old activist, who was made to play Russian roulette and was repeatedly strangled, also witnessed fellow tortured victims being electrocuted through a wire inserted into their penises, and being buried alive in a steel drum.

Never Again Last November 25, a burst in the seam happened at Luneta Park. In line with the sudden burial of late President Marcos on the Libingan ng mga Bayani (LNMB), a grand rally called as Black Friday Protest was organized by the Campaign Against the Return of the Marcoses in Malacanang (Carmma).

Spontaneous rallies with the same drive also occurred on different places throughout the country and abroad.

In the rallies, several millennials carry their clever words and witty slogan that became viral on the internet because of its humoring yet strong disapproval, which simply shows the unique trait of being a millennial. “Hukay?

Hukay.”, “‘Pag nahukay si Marcos, magda-diet na ako. (HUKAYIN NIYO NA PLS)”, “fact boys not fuck bois”, “MARCOS: THE MAN OF STEAL”, and “Sa EX ko lang ako magmoMOVE ON”.

People tells us stories of Martial Law. But who knows how much truths there are in those stories? That’s why we need to assess and reread the fairytale stories we’ve been told, and pinpoint, not just who, but what the real villains are that triggered these horrors? With the expense of “collateral damages” just to sustain a single man’s vision of his own definition of “Greatness”, our fears were born.

We should give that era the applause it deserves for the good things it bore but we still need to give pages to all the horror stories it contains instead of tearing them out. Let us bring all these accounts of torture and murder into the light because this history, our history, is not just a comet passing in the sky.

And no. You certainly don’t have to eat this paper now.

Circle

Spectrum March 2017

7

Saan Aabot ANG FIFTY Pesos Mo? Ria Rivera LAGI bang gipit ang budget mo? Nasubukan mo na bang dumukot sa bulsa para kumuha ng barya pero basura lang ang nakuha? Eh buksan lahat ng compartment ng bag mo para patusin yung mga nilaglag mong barya pero wala na rin pala? Nanghinayang ka na ba

Sharina Prudenciado CpE V

“50 pesos ko? Sa Boschok.

Liemposilog yun plus half rice.”

na di mo pinulot yung pisong nakita mo sa daan kasi piso na lang kulang mo sa pamasahe? Pwes! Nandito na ang malulupit na diskarte para matipid mo ang gipit na gipit mong baon sa eskwela. Saan nga ba aabot ang 50 pesos mo?

Shimei Laguit CE V

ROMMEL DELACRUZ IE IV

“Intramuros. Kung gusto nila gumala at manood ng sunset habang nagha-heart to heart talk. Pamasahe lang nagastos niyo, nakapag-date pa kayo.”

Rachel Bernabe EE IV

“Ibibili ko ng tig 30 pesos na ulam tapos dalawang kanin na tig 10. Para tanghalian at hapunan na yon. Haha #buhayDormer.”

Joshua Chavez ME V

Jehosophat Castillo IE IV Kim Francis Alcantara REM III

Aabot ang 50 pesos ko sa isang mini size ng Dairy Queen, o kaya naman sa dalawang order ng buy one take one ng Angels Burger hahaha. Baka sa isang maliit na Red Horse na lang mapunta yung 50 pesos ko kung sakali, panglasing sa namimighati kong puso.

“Manuod ng movie sa SM Centerpoint. May ka-date ka pa. XD” Kevin Oliva ME V

Ninia Panganiban IE IV “Pamasahe ko pauwi ng bahay.

Where Wi-Fi is automatically on and food is always available.”

2 hours DOTA sa infi tapos meryende na burger. ‘Yung buy-1-take-1. Yung pampadulas ihingi ko nalang sa laging may baon na tubig.

Pang-cheeseburger at fries sa tapat ng CEA. Kasya na yon kesa sa Jollibee, ganun din naman makakain mo haha.

50 pesos? Simple lang. 9 pesos sa tinapay, tatlo na yun. Yung parang Spanish bread. Tapos 10 sa tubig. Tapos 15 sa DOTA haha di naman mawawala e. 6 pamasahe, estudyante e. Tapos 10 sa savings edi 9+10+15+6+10=50 haha boom, galing ko sa math no? Pwede na kong magkonduktor.

Graphics and Layout by:Richard Clapano

Circle

Spectrum

Joshua B. Cabatuando, Editor

8

March 2017

ENGINEERING isn’t easy at all. Walls of formulas to memorize, tons of problems to solve, and hundreds of brain crunching tests to pass. But even after failing

in some of these challenges, the CEan spirit never falls short in bringing out the joy in the midst of teary trials and prove that It is indeed MORE FUN IN CEA.

Ball is Life The college doesn’t lack in it’s share of people who know how to throw a good game. Be it basketball, volleyball, or table tennis; there is no shortage of ways on how you can practice your athletic passions.

Reaching New Horizons Studying Engineering is considered to be one of the hardest but most rewarding courses. What joy awaits once this institution is done building up our character through it’s trials of fire?

The College Week If it’s one thing we engineering students know how to do well besides collecting 3s on our report card that is we know how to party! Be marveled yearly at how you and your friends, would be able to enjoy the bandfest on Saturday and still be able to pass the test the following Monday.

Squads through Adversity They say the best of friends are found through the toughest hardships – and what better place to find these friends but through your CEan journey?

Friends who’ll laugh and cry with you in the face of the hardest trials make life all the more sweeter no matter how sour it may get.