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Volume XV No. .2



The cover entitled

“WIRED REALITY� was painted by

Ronald Jeresano, an award winning visual artist who won in various national art competitions, and a BS Architecture Graduate of the Polytechnic University of the Philippines.

JURASSIC Engineering Spectrum Literary Folio Copyright 2009 The copyright reverts to the individual authors of the works appearing in this issue. The works may not be published nor reproduced without the sole consent of the authors. This publication is not for sale. Correspondence may be addressed to: Engineering Spectrum, College of Engineering, Rm. 423 Polytechnic University of the Philippines, Sta. Mesa, Manila.

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Editor’s Note Jurassic in the literal meaning: - (Adj.) constituting or relating to the period of the Mesozoic era proceeding the Comanchean and succeding the Triassic and the corresponding system of rocks. -Webster’s Third New International Dictionary Volume II But we ought not to box ourselves into this definition. For 30 years, the college has been tagged “jurassic” mostly because of equipments and laboratories. And as an institution with profound understanding of the college and its concern, we wholeheartedly accept the brand but with more positive insight than what the term suggests of. We are jurassic because we are history—the narrative of the past accounts us as a university with lowest baccalaureate tuition but nevertheless, quality education. We are jurassic because we are historic—flatter ourselves for we’ve got their eyes on us. The ideas, proposals, works of the college’s produced talents modifies the course of engineering history. And lastly, we are jurassic because we are the giants soon to be dominating. We envisioned ourselves to be globally competitive, conquerors of the technological world. This is the concept we want to impart with the present dwellers of the College of Engineering; so as the goal of this literary folio. Expanding imagination to the limit of your own, creating voices thru words written by the hands that knows only numbers and equations, to express artfully – these are all what this literary folio is for. Hitting two birds with one stone. Through such literary contest themed with “JURASSIC: History, Historic and Making History”, we try to listen to the student’s opinions and sentiments and try to urge their writing abilities. But we failed. Maybe because College of Engineering is not the world of languages and art work. But we are not losing hope. CEAns are human too that needs venue for expression. We will always be. Though contributions are lesser than expected we still managed to produce a folio. Compiled here are the short stories, poetry and essays from the previous issues of The Engineering Spectrum and contributions from the students and professors. This is just the start and it ain’t that bad at all. Enjoy reading.

Amalia B. Tamayo Associate Editor, External Affairs


Table of contents POETRY CEAn my Love 6 At The Tip Of My Pen 8 How I… 9 Cum Laude 10 Kublian 11 Life 12 Guilt Of Innocence 14 Enigma 15 Kape 16 A Writer’s Death 18 Fear 19 Untitled (Again) 20 HVC 21 Suntok Sa Buwan 22 (Not Just Another) Love Story 23 Just Like That 25

SOS 10:6 Joan C. Salas F.s. bono Daryl V. Lapuz Chris bliss_07 Joan C. Salas Daryl V. Lapuz Wizard Alchemist Edwin E. Abad Jr. Hephaetus_17 Daryl V. Lapuz ViNTen CE III Prof. Gay Bicomong Amalia Tamayo

SHORT STORY An Olden Epic Pyutyuristiks Ang Sarap Ng Laing Torpe

28 35 37 41

Edwin E. Abad Jr. Joseph Engr. Christian Lazana Abet

ESSAY Aa, Bb, Cc… Titik Undelivered Speech Patiently I Waited

44 Marvin John Perdido 47 Lloyd Luna 49 Joan C. Salas

LOVE LETTER 51 ART Changing Colors Major Target Jobless Crisis

57 Alexander Defeo 58 Ronald Jeresano 59 Ronald Jeresano

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CEAn my Love (SOS 10:6) (Vol II Issue No. 3)

I love you. (Jn. 15, 9). I have called you by your name, you are mine. (Is. 43, 1). Before I formed you, I knew you. And before you were born, I consecrated you. (Jer. 1, 5). You did not choose me, I chose you. (Jn. 15, 16). Because you are precious to me, and honored, I love you. (Is. 43, 4). I have loved you with an everlasting love so I continue to show my constant love. (Jer. 31, 3). How can I abandon you? My love for you is too strong. (Hos. 11, 8).

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Can a woman forget her own baby and not love the child she bore? Yet, even should she forget, I will never forget you. I can never forget you. See, I have graven you on the palm of my hands. (Is. 19, 15-16). For I, the Lord your God, am holding you by the right hand. (IS. 41, 13). Do not let your heart be troubled. Trust in me. (Jn. 14, 1). I will help you. (Is. 41, 4). When you pass through deep waters, I will be with you. Your troubles will not overwhelm you. The hard trials that come will not hurt you. (Is. 43, 2). Do not worry (Lk. 12, 9). Even the hairs of your head have all been counted, so there is no need to be afraid of anything. (Mt. 10, 30). The mountains may be depart and the hills will be shaken but my steadfast love for you will never end. (Jn. 54, 10). Come, my love (SoS 2, 10). Come, I will lead you into solitude and there I will speak tenderly to your heart. I will be true and faithful. I will show you constant love and make you mine forever. I will keep my promise‌ And you will really know me then as never before. (Hos. I, 14, 19-20). I am who I am. (Ex. 3, 14). I am the Lord, your God. (Hos. 13, 4). ‌the faithful God. (Hos. 11, 12).




At The Tip Of My Pen Joan C. Salas

With my heart at my hand, I wrote this. With my dictator brain shut off With my heart glowing With my ego set aside With all the outgrown criticisms And with a soul fully human I wrote this. With nothing to prove at all And with nothing to say at all For no reason at all Unexplainable, that’s how it goes I let my veins connected to my pen And let my blood run through it That way I have written this Yet it is not my hand that makes me write. For it is the conspiration of my thoughts My emotions, my experiences, My heart, my body, and my soul It is the wholeness of it all That makes me capable of putting letters together Words together And the universe together At the tip of my pen.

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HOW I….. F.s. (Vol. II Issue No.2)

How I love to wear this skirt So I can hang around and flirt, How I envy those girls With hair that’s long and twisted curls. How I like this make-up kit To color my face that will surely fit, Oh! I really just can’t imagine How guys will look at me with this thing. How I wish to use this pads To keep me dry when my period arrives I will surely feel confident That no single stain would be evident. How I dream to become a beauty queen With this wit and charm plus flawless skin Everyone’s eyes are set on me That I can’t decide on whom to stay How I feel to be hugged and kissed By my tall, dark and handsome prince I’ll not let him be out of my sight ‘coz I know he’s the guy who is just right How I wish that someday I’ll be A girl who possesses these things that I foresee But I know I just can’t be one Because the fact remains…..that I’m a MAN!




Cum Laude bono (Vol. VII Special Issue)

Di na naman pumasok si Prof, sem break na yata. Isang oras pa lang siyang nagtuturo, uwian na. Iisa pa lang ang example niya, next topic na. Palitan ko na kaya siya, pwede ba?

Nakakahiya naman sigurong mag-apply sa PUP Tapos magiging isa lang akong hamak na faculty Baka hindi ako tanggapin ng screening committee Kung puro uno ang grade ko’t isa pang-cumlaude

Pagsikapan n’yong maging isang guro Upang maisaayos ang mga maling turo Kailangan mo lang maging matalino Upang maituwid ang mga gawaing baliko

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Kublian Daryl V. Lapuz

Nagkumot ang pagluhang ninikat. Nagkubli sa larawan ng pagmulat. Ibinubo sa lumbay ang panilat... Sinta’t panulat. Anaki’y humagap sa balintataw, Upang humapis na kuta’y pumanaw. Sa tangis ng pluma, damdami’y nag-umapaw. Sa pagsupil bumubitaw. Tula’y kinathang kandungan ng lungkot. Kamatayang kibi’t ng isipang baog. Tula lamang ang kasama sa muog. Sa pag-igkas nananaog. Pinilit hindi isiwalat. Pinilit kong magtago sa pagsukol ng kamalayan. Bumulay akong maigi kahit sa kamangmangan. Upang damdaming sikil sa pait ay mapasubalian. Isinulat ko ang lihim sa hangin. Hindi ko hiniling na iyong ibigin... ang tulang may tanikalang hinaing. at binulag sa salita’t patalim. Lihim ko’y sambitin nang marahan. Bawat titik ay sumasaliw sa kasawian. Ang tula’y mistulang ‘sang kublian... ng panaginip... ng iwinaksing kaligayahan




Life chris (Volume XIV Issue No. 2)

Life... is an expedition yearning for a destination. needs a humble journey though there’s dismay, dirt and cruelty. requires voice though it doesn’t have the privelege to be understood. Is allowed to suffer ‘cause adversity sharpens character. is bounded by love seeking the smallest crack by which it may enter in. offers bliss more than anguish.

is all about us. the traveller, the actor, His follower…

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Guilt of Innocence Bliss_07 (Volume XIV Issue No. 2) Walking away doesn’t amend anything Running away will leave you barely breathing Unspoken words were better left unsaid At times where vanity was hard to comprehend Having hard time finding ideal word To define the secrecy of this world I felt every ounce of me screaming out loud But the sound was trapped and has no way out I found myself lying in my bed Having no thoughts in my head Reminiscing things I no longer recall Finding sweet escape from my downfall An unusual guilt was left within my soul Hesitant to speak as I feel all alone Missing a moment of bliss that I’ve dreamed of Invoked solitude as it already finds its way off A missing piece that keeps me searching To unravel the mystery that keeps me hanging In the confusion and the aftermath still seeks behind A signal fire to awake the brilliant innocence of mind.


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Enigma Joan C. Salas Torn pages of my life Past that keeps on coming back Heartaches that leave a scar I’m falling into pieces Too tired to continue Too sick of same old misery I’m afraid of what else life could offer I’m in a dilemma I need faith I need a blessing Hold me in Your arms My Lord—my Creator Light up my way Open up my eyes Bless my heart with purity Give me reasons to live life The life I once cherished Now, own me. Punish me. I am a sinner. Just take me End this up And I will just continue my life With You.




Kape Daryl V. Lapuz

Pinangarap kong maalaho sa ligalig. Kainin ng lupa at malibing sa pag-ibig. Nais kong pumanaw sa ‘di pagkatigatig. Kaluluwa ko’y sa liwanag manumbalik. Sa dilim ako’y nag-isip nang marahan. Hindi alintana minutong nagdaraan. Pumikit ako’t sumuray sa kawalan. Kinatkat ang isipan na ‘di maunawaan. Sumulyap ako sa butil ng liwanag. Natanaw ko ang lalaking sa sahol ay bihag. Mukha niya’y ‘di ko lubos mabanaag. Nakapikit siyang marahan…waring isang bulag.

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Tumindig ang lalaki’t mga labi’y nangusap. Iminulat ang mga mata at tumingala sa ulap. Nagmakaawa siya sa akin sa pag-aapuhap. “Nauuhaw ako…sa kapeng pinapangarap.” Noong gabing iyon, kami’y nagsalo… Tatlong litrong kape, sa aming lalamuna’y pumalo. Naglalagablab sa labi’y pumapaso. Tagay doon. Tagay dito. Madaling araw na nang kami’y matapos. Wala sa aming dalawa ang nais matulog. Mugto ang mga mata at sa umaga’y nahulog. Napatingin ako sa lalaki sa pagtangis ng kulog. Huli na nang malaman na ang lalaki’y ilusyon. Nasa loob siya ng salamin…siya’y aking repleksyon. Nalinlang ako ng sarili kong imahinasyon. Sa butil ng liwanag, ako pala’y umaawit ng sariling pasyon. Sa upuan ako’y napahawak nang mahigpit. Ayaw ko pang matulog ngunit ako’t ako’y napapapikit. Napahandusay ako sa saklap ng sinapit. Ito ba ang katuparan ng aking panaginip?




A Writer’s Death Wizard Alchemist (Volume XIII Issue No. 2)

Thy blood spills like a stream across thy vein, As my eyes weakened upon a blinding light of pain; Where the strange shadows grew bright concealing upon my sight, There was only I… Alone… Screaming with all my might. Lying upon this mystical and cold barren land, I hear sorrowful whispers like a breeze rushing through the sand; Someone is staring… No, He was looking blankly at me, As if He knew the inner me that is unlikely to see. Half dead I was, as I recall thy passion of writing the truth and free, Yes... A writer I was, devoted to express thy emotions in a spree; I write what most people do not see but felt upon despair, With hopes that someday many will listen, respond and share. Features I provoked had all been written upon the walls of my soul, Speaking the unblemished truth across thy imaginative and idealistic goal; With open letters I painted deepest thoughts upon my world, As I share what people have seen, heard, felt and long been foretold. Strange feeling grew boldly upon my bare fist, As I’ve clouded only part of a vengeful truth staggering in the mist; How I wish that I lived long enough to see the cold grueling sky, But end has begun and inevitably… I must die. Thy tormented soul died as a writer, And began seeking the truth wished upon a prayer… With all my best regards to my brethren in Writings I guess this is retirement, as I bid my world... Goodbye.

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Fear Edwin E. Abad Jr. I saw it… As our room became more claused, For the ceiling, the walls, and the floor They drew nearer from where I lied I saw it… The room widening again, Extending towards the void Engulfing the light of night I saw it! A vague specter, Embedded in torn rags, revealing an eye Gleaming on the ethereal soul within my flesh It saw me… The unknown entity summoned a wrath of leashes Held me to where I was, Heaving me back to my bounded state It saw me! Break the entanglements Attack with a vicious hew Rendering itself in a horrific retreat I saw it. Shift to a shape that was my fouled trousers Tattered and defiled, knowing then, I dread my soiled clothing more than the devil itself




Untitled (again) Hephaetus_17 (Volume XIII Issue No. 2)

Never imagined myself in this serenity, Although I must move and go my way Desperately I needed to change, In order to forget little by little No need to stop and look back, “Enjoy and be happy” all I can say is that. But as I slowly walk through this lonely road, Memories we’ve shared comes back in my mind On how she made my life so special, On how she made me feel so important I have never felt that way before, The feeling how she filled my life with colors... Though... I wanted to block the thoughts, But still in my mind it constantly haunts. And as I continue this sad journey, Her thoughts made my travel happy. How she made me understand why songs are sung, I can still remember how together we hummed… How I wish we’d never met, Knowing that losing her, Would be of this great effect... I had never imagine myself in this phase, So sad... So quiet... I hide all the hurt in me... Though I could not help it... For it sometimes show, even tough I did not knew it...

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HVC Daryl V. Lapuz Tears run dry from this weary eyed harness. A feast for loneliness and anxiety. This drug’s dosages kill the agitated calmness. Heroin-Valium-Cocaine speaks toxicity. Only I put myself to blame… For living a life of disgrace. When I could have lived solely in peace. Being not thirsty for love and justice. I kiss the faces of bald women. Bold, bald, bed, bad are all I can see. Inch by inch my skin gets burnt. Eyes wide shut…I’m broken with ecstasy. Whores they crown the queen of fools. They hail the harlequin… Queen of the Night. Queer as the quiet query of the quaint quarrelling quartet. As they quit each other’s questionable querulous might. Pandemonium!!! Pan-de-mo-ni-um! Pandemic dominion of doom. Hail to the queen… the whore and the fool! Hail to the Queen of the Ghouls. “Nadia!” I hear the vagabond cries. Nadia rides a can of milk… swiftly she flies. “Tengo hambre!” shouts the glutton Teodoro. He eats the lactic feces of his beloved amigo. “Stomp thy feet!” the music implies. Stomp… Stomp… Stampede! Snare rolls to the beat of Prep. 2. Bass pounds every listener’s bosom. While everybody is smoking the medicine. Heroin-Valium-Cocaine… so high it throbs the yearning.




Suntok sa Buwan ViNTen CE III – 1(Vol. III Issue No. 3)

Sumisikat ang araw Ngunit nananatiling madilim ang langit Matang nakapikit iminulat nang pilit Upang matanaw katotohanang nakapiit Sa pagkakagising bigla kong nabatid Pagbabalat-kayo pala sa’ki’y nakapaligid Binuksan ang tenga upang aking marinig Libu-libong tao sumasamo ng pag-ibig Unti-unting lumalawak saklaw ng pag-iisip Datapwat sinasakal ng mga pwersang ganid Paratang na iginawad paghuhukom ang kapara Patuloy pa ring ipaglalaban interes ng masa Marami ang nasa taas, pedestal ang akala Ang totoo’y nalulugmok sa burak ‘di sa lupa Unti-unting inuuod, inaagnas hanggang humawa Kanser ng lipunan ngayo’y laganap na Tayo’y mga pulubing sa ginto nakahiga Malayang lumilipad ngunit sa loob ng isang hawla Sumasayaw ng tugtuging pangpunebre palaebre pala Mga nilikhang robot sa lipunan ano nga ba Walang liwanag na masilip, anong kulay na ng mundo Mata nati’y binubulag ng mapanlinlang hunyango Patuloy na umaasa, patuloy ang pagsusumamo Ngunit suntok pa rin sa buwan, kalian mababago?

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(Not just another)

LOVE STORY Prof. Gay Bicomong (Volume XIII Issue No. 2)

My life was so ordinary Not good, nor great, nor starry No care, no worries No hurt, no sorries. As free as a dove, But there was no love. Then there was you. It’s us! Is this true? I started to care, I wasn’t aware. It’s you always I miss. Is this what love is? You’re young and pretty, I’m old and I feel shitty. ‘Coz when you’re not with me, I do nothing but worry. And so I admit, I’m in love shit! Yet, things get out of hand. That, we must understand. When we hurt each other, I feel bad like the weather. I wallow in gloom, But love grows into a blossom.



jurassic Then comes the beat scene, We look deep into our sheen. We never want to part, So with sorries we start. Another episode in our story Of love and sex! Oops, sorry! And so this is my life. How I wish you could be my wife Together we will be Forever you and me. Who cares about worries? No one’s hurt when there are sorries. All these are nothing. But our love, ain’t that something?

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Just like that Amalia Tamayo

She sat alone on the bench of faded magenta in the shadow of trees that fully catch the sun rays. And waited for the guy she calls her love the prince of his mediocre romance fantasies. Then solar beams grew cold and the firmament imitates the color of death. and still she sat there waiting. Cities’ fireflies were on the go dancing, honking, making music to her ears then from the darkness he came. Weak moon beam reveals his face a face that made her jerk made her heart beat a li’l bit faster than usual. She sat alone while he’s standing, whispering words of gratitudes, goodbyes and of memories that will never be forgotten.




No words exited from her mouth then lips narrowly opened by shock and only dry tears on her face. She got up and he started again – talking so she silenced him thru tracing his lips with hers. Just like that, she watched him little by little fade in the dark. and then she sat alone.

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short story



An Olden Epic Edwin E. Abad Jr.


ine hundred and eighty-one… Nine hundred and eighty-two… She reckons the number of times smiting that sword with force against the wind. A practice she does in a daily basis of her life as one of the king’s elite and noble knights. She believes that if she strikes the breeze habitually, she will become stronger. As her arms grew with intimidating strength, and her sword sang a vehement song each time she cleaves, the golden dusk along the kingdom’s valley blanketed the landscape with grace and beauty. One thousand… One thousand lunging slashes. Another morning accomplished by Crystal Hearth’s finest frontline commander. I. To Whom the Bell Tolls Eastern Castle THIS WALL WILL PROTECT THY CHILDREN A young man in a farmer’s hat gaped on to his left shoulder’s for an epigrammatic instant giving notice to a banner within the castle’s internal feud. Followed by another streaming slogan saying, THIS IS WHERE THOU TAXES GO With his burro strangled in its reins, he straddled the beast towards the bailey’s marble drinking fountain for a brief break after carrying heaps of hay to be fed for the royal horses. And he, instantly gulping water in his cupped hands to fight the thirst administered by the scorching midday sun. Turning towards the expanse between the fountain and the castle’s walls, he saw the third sign in immense canvas that he have overlooked aside from the two others. JOIN THINE MAJESTY’S ROYAL ARMY Upon seeing this, he suddenly swayed his head in an unpredicted manner of either dismay or mockery as he fills an earthen bowl with water for his weary animal to imbibe. Not long after, he could hear thunderclaps of hooves from the castle’s main ward. It was the kingdom of Crystal Hearth’s knights, fiery for another assault on a neighboring town on the western frontier of the Septimian Border, as the rumors say. At a distance, as if it was a routine, the castle’s drawbridge went down with a conspicuous creak announcing the demesne’s battle lords are off to attain territory under their ruler’s name and glory. The pack was led by the

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crowned princess. Like lightning, she and her squad passed the bailey-reinforced castle’s stone scattering dust all over. His silent contemplation was disturbed by the loud exclamations that he heard from a distance. As always, the castle’s feudal lord, Sir Frapielle Mauvoir alongside with the feud’s tax collector, Demetrius Faust was on the square’s stage having another street show demonstrating the fate that awaits the poor villagers that don’t pay their taxes demanded by Faust – a man so vile and wicked that he is so-called “Dimitri the devil” among the working class. A stage, about a couple of feet in height, tall enough for even a man as far from the drinking fountain to see, was set.There were two sturdy wooden posts on both ends with three thick sets of ropes looped on the gallows between the upright columns. Afterwards, some soldiers brought forth with brute force a pair of tattered-clothed men and an awfully groomed woman upon the stage. All of them had their arms tied on their backs with knots that were intentionally impossible to untangle. From where the man with the burro was, the bellowing of Mauvoir can still be heard loud and clear while he was introducing the three tax evaders to be hung. Soldiers then placed a stool in each of the looped ropes on the joist, and the poor criminals were kicked, battered, and beaten towards their impending doom – to stand on the wooden stools with their necks stifled on the thick ropes of the rafter. A usual two-sided crowd was present in a pandemonic stir. The man on the fountain with the farmer’s hat saw a number of churchgoers on the street, scurrying towards the chapel while the feudal lord kick the three stools where three lives were held in a balance. Along with the eerie sound of tightening ropes, the deep chime of the church bell was heard, signifying the start of an afternoon mass. Together, the resonances make an unsung requiem for the castle’s populace to hearken. Doves around the bailey, the keep, and on the gatehouse’s rooftops roused on their perches; a view that made the young man draw his head down as he mourn for the departed. II. The King’s Horses Three days past. The farm boy that was in the North Castle plaza woke from the same nightmare that he had each night. Men hung from rafters, heretics burned at stakes, women and children massively slaughtered… these were common visionaries on his every waking moment for a whole year now. Since the considerate king of Crystal Hearth, Septimus, fell into an unexplainable disease that had him bed-ridden, giving rotten wherewithal-grubbers like Mauvoir and Dimitri the Devil get instant powers to abuse the feud’s utterly poor peasants.



Over the years, these daily premonitions have never failed to stagger him into a usual state of numbness and discomfort. Then, it would stop. He’s back in the real world again. His sight can communally recuperate the kingdom’s grandest stable within Eastern Castle and the clearness of the Crystal Hearth’s robust stallions. After the torments from his reverberation, he stood up, brushed all the hay that stuck from his old, tattered work clothes which he slept on, and went to the chest that kept the stable’s cleaning implements and contrivances. His name is Willer Romani. Every waking day of his life is spent as a wage earner of kingdom’s Royal Stable, where the Fenris family and its knight’s horses and ponies dwelt. Willer religiously does the stable’s chores as if they were sacred arts that deemed to be mastered. He does this with two other lads and a seasoned stable master, who regarded Willer highly with respect not only for hid unparalleled fervidness work on the stables but for the verity that he stood fast, in spite of the tragedies that befell his existence. His mother, Sharie, died dreadfully early… It was during the time that she was delivering him to this world. The mishap had Willer frittering most of his living moments sulking and blaming himself for her death. Simeon, his father, thought otherwise. He always told Willer in his childhood that he was a blessing and her mother herself will be happy to have him too, if only her health could have allowed her to live longer. Willer’s father simply denounced their social stature; they were poor and should accept the fact that a good delivery from an herbalist was beyond their pocket’s worth. Simeon Romani was a son of a sea-borne merchant whose ship and crew docked Crystal Hearth once every harvesting season to trade their wares for barley and wheat. During those days, it was quite a fancy among sailors that it was a bad omen to be married to daughters of fishermen. Young and bold, Simeon challenged his ancestral beliefs, and his fate paid dearly for it. He then married his fiancée, Sharie. Discrimination, as they call it; Simeon then had greater taxes than local peasants, and some establishments, such as academes and sanatoriums, deprived him of basic privileges. Even until he became a father to Willer, the hardships never ceased to end. …ding, ding… ding, ding… ding… The noon bell. Willer set aside his tools and grabbed his filthy valise that he hung in a post earlier; and went outside the stable. “Oy!” Willer heard an inviting cry coming from the tree. It was old man Atkin, a family friend of theirs. A peasant, as they are too. A cow herder since the time he learned how to walk and ‘till now that he is bald and his face wrinkled. “Willeh! Aw r’ye son?” the senile old man has already been losing teeth, and his speech can sometimes be a bit hard for comprehending.

Volume XV No. .2


“Fine, Unc, fine,” Willer considered him as uncle for he is one of the few that comes between society and the Romanis. In the course of the conversation, Willer sensed his uncle’s dire need for a new business venture due to his sooner incapability of paying taxes. Nevertheless, it was a nice peaceful noon. A joke here, some small talk there, and both of them laughed the short lived noon. III. Uprising Willer was perplexed…thinking what his acting uncle said, he hoped that his assumptions will never be true. Is old man Atkin not paying his dues to the throne? Maybe he doesn’t anymore. It has already been a month since Lord Mauvoir raised the par for the commoner’s taxes. As his deep contemplation continued together with his chores, he soon found himself weeping… for the thought of his makesake uncle walking towards the hung rope might be near… tomorrow, or the day after that. Fired with rage, he threw the sweeper at a stall’s wooden pillar. Its handle split in two and the noise it made had the horses alarmed in a frantic manner. Willer is now on the floor, knee bent, wiping his face ridden in tears. His decision is now set. He will revolt. In his own accord, no longer will he, his father, old man Atkin and the rest of his fellow peasants be beaten, stolen, nor abused upon these wretched nobles. A faction…. He will start a faction. He will discreetly spread the word amongst the lads in the stable, on Zircon’s cornfields, and all the livestock herders of Crystal Hearth. From there, they will address their anguish in a revolution. King Septimus’ health will no longer have him fit enough to be an audience for their plea. Drastic action might be their only way. However, before anything else, he must gain the confidence of his sought comrades. He never had the chance to be in an academe, nor does he have the tact to raise awareness to his own social kind. And thus leaves him to one lone choice – bloodshed! His dreams were prophecies. Those knights under the King’s servitude are savage, barbaric fiends even if they wear handsome surcoats and gleamed armor. Their acquisitions of territories beyond the border was never made by the tongue, but rather by the cold steel of the blade… against the flesh of every man, woman and child that goes against their path… the very picture of Willer’s nocturnal visions. An eye for an eye, a tooth for one. Blood of a noble for each wound of a simpleton. In between the moments he had sitting on the stable’s floor, Willer heard distinct chimes of chausses from the stable’s entrance behind him. He felt the chilly gauntlets lying on his right shoulder. And with quick retorting, Willer grabbed the visitor’s forearm and lift its body from his shoulder and slammed it



to the floor in an instant. Grasping the broken handle of the wooden sweeper and its lethal point on the defunct end, he is persistent on stabbing the armored one on its unpanoplied eye. Just as the tip of his makeshift murder bludgeon could land on the unknown’s head, Willer’s hand was held fiercely by the stranger’s gauntlets. And suddenly, Willer unmistakably recognized the one he chucked down the floor. It was the prime commander he saw three days ago in the bailey. “Though day, huh?” Princess Alicia asked Willer with a smile as she was still on the floor with an improvised stake pointed at her face. Willer then eased, threw away the treacherous contraption and helped the dame stand up. “Forgive me, your highness. It’s just…” the stable boy said with a sigh. “Nay, it’s fine. When I get that mad, I also resort on hitting things.” Alicia then continued, “Works better for me rather than bottling them all up.” For Willer, everything Princess Alicia said was irony. He first met her when they were kids. Willer was aiding his father on his kiosk that sold food to the field’s farmers on Saphiron town’s outskirts, when some hooligans came to their humble stall and crashed their wares. But before the opportunistic brigands’ leader had the chance to sever Simeon’s head, a girl called upon them to halt and leave the man and his child alone. As expected, the arrogant bandit laid the man down and approached the fearless child that held a sword on her left hand, as the braids of her locks and the flounces of her royal dress was blown by the plains’ dusty gusts. The vile man with the dagger then rushed to the young challenger. After a while, the thieves’ corpses and their limbs spewed everywhere; whilst the girl stood with an elegant pose, her dress all crimson with blood, but unscathed. And as to where Willer stood today, the girl has still those conspicuous braids on her smooth flowing locks. The dress and its flounces, however, was now a lustrous breastplate as protection from the excessive fusillades. Her fate as the kingdom’s foreshadowed “prodigy of war” was just simply being fulfilled. “Willer.” “Yes, your majesty?” “You have been working too much again, haven’t you?” and the respected Commander drew a bottle of rare zinfandel wine and a pair of glass goblets from the satchel off her back. IV. Torment Daffodils and daisies… It was the spectacle that Willer saw sitting up from a sort of slumber as he felt the warm breeze of sunshine against his skin the next morning. The patch where he lay upon was, in fact, a whole field of flowers, stretching as far beyond the horizon. And no tree, mountain, nor edifice was in sight, just daises and daffodils.

Volume XV No. .2


In one blink, the scenery changed into a picture of a wooden joist, with a plank having a crack that let the late morning light in; giving illuminations of stray cobwebs and clutter throughout. Willer is back in the stable. For once in a long time, his nightmares have changed into a pleasant, vivid dream. Gone were those dying men, women, and children that died sinisterly under the clasps of the Fenris knights. He could now recall everything that happened the previous night. Princess Alicia went back to the castle coming from the campaign beyond the Septimian border. She has to have her stallion, Noir, checked up from an inflicted battle injury on his right thigh. Willer, being an experienced tender of these matters, took it inside and discovered three deep lacerations on the steed’s right thigh. He fully knows that Noir’s lesion was not made by any footmen’s sword, arrow, nor spear but by a mere farmer’s pitchfork. He uses one often, and Willer clearly knows the even spacing of holes it made in haystacks, the same that it did in Noir’s thick brauns. Some of the wine that Alicia brought forth that evening was unexpectedly exhausted on cleansing Noir’s wounds, for they weren’t any spring water at hand. After the tedious medicating operation on Noir, they consumed the rest of the zinfandel. It’s already noon, and the kingdom’s prime dame was nowhere in sight. Willer cut his recollection short as he got the empty wine bottle that coincidentally rolled by Noir’s stall. The stallion was asleep and it breathed gently. With that, Willer smiled, whilst he picked up the wine bottle and the pieces of the split sweeper that were all remnants of the night before. For the whole length of the afternoon, Willer was in a very lively mood. When he had meted hay and water among all of the horses’ stalls on the stable, Willer finally called it a day. He then proceeded outside the stable’s doors where he was greeted by a scene of gray, cloudy skies and somewhat a stirred crowd of people in the bailey’s plaza. Carrying his valise and wearing his round hat to protect him from the incoming rain, he went forth to know what the commotion was about. There, from where the stage have often been set, was Lord Mauvoir, staging another execution for tax evading simpletons. It could have been just another sigh, but as soon as Willer distinguished the ones to be hanged, it made him threw his valise and ran fast towards the direction of the gallows. Even at a distance, Willer can recognize his father walking up the steppes of the stage… tied at the back, battered, and pushed towards the impending death on the thick, dangled ropes. After Simeon, it was Old man Atkin with the similar beaten and constrained circumstance, one more cause for Willer to hinder the sentencing. Along the stable’s grazed yard Willer ran, and continued doing so as his bare feet fiercely went against the castle’s street of bricks. He may not be too late, but in truth, he’s not intending to be a hero that could boldly go up against the landlord and the tax collector. All that he thinks that he can do is at least ask



Dimitri and Mauvoir for further consideration and hope that amidst their greed, Willer could find kindness. He was quick on the way towards the gallows, but before he reached the throngs of people, he felt the shaft of a halberd flog his gut. Wincing in pain, this rendered Willer to curl down on the ground. The sentry that was in charge of regulating the execution recognized Willer’s reaction of anxiety and intentions from far away. Willer, despite the sharp contraption that trod the underside of his chin, brashly struggled sideways away from the tip of the halberd and with this, he broke away from the armed guard, but his throat was compromised, which was slit open and blood gushed freely down his neck. Still, going through the crowd, Willer shoved, pushed, and stomped anyone that was on his way. But from the way that his unconscious ferocity affected some innocent bystanders, three, five, then six castle sentries went to hold him down, with the front of his trunk slammed against the ground, to eschew further commotion. Willer was then flat on the dust, his limbs grasped by the castle’s soldiers but he can still see his father and old man Atkin being made to go up the stools for their heads to reach the looped ropes above the gallows. When Simeon up the stage and Willer very low down, their eyes met. The father called upon his son, in a voice unheard but clear, and this had Willer to judder away from the men that compelled him and scream to Mauvoir and Faust to defer the death sentences until he could compensate whatever they lacked, in a moment or so. But alas, with the incongruity of events, his voice rasped, and only then he knew that the wound on his neck hindered his speech anyhow. In spite of all these torment, Willer seems to fight back more, jerking until he could possibly be free from the armed men. The man that held Willer’s hair lost patience of the pesky peasant’s persistence, whence he began knocking down the captive’s head down the rough bricks of the plaza’s floor. When the six sentries have seen to it that Willer have already worn down from struggling, they’ve let him go, and each of them stood up, not knowing what to feel… whether it be guilt, sorrow, or anger. Even the whole crowd was silent, confused as well. Willer, now unbound, tremblingly lied on his back from the former position he had, being face down. He immediately heaved a deep breath for his once ruptured chest, squashed by the weight by the ones that gripped him steadfastly. His eyes are fixed in the sky where the gray clouds continued to pass by. Immersed entirely in pain as he was himself bathed in his own sweat and blood. The gray clouds were darkening, and even as they turned to an infinitesimal void, Willer felt no touch of relief. Not one. Never.

Volume XV No. .2


PYUTYURISTIKS Joseph (Volume VII Special Issue)


ko si Bartolome, 19 taong gulang. Isa akong universal baby, ipinanganak sa milky way ng aking inang space warrior noong kasagsagan ng planetary war kung saan halos madurog ang Earth.planet.solarsys mula sa superpowers ng Pluto.planet.solarsys. Akalain mo ‘yon, ang ganoon kaliit pala na planet ay may itinatagong sobrang lakas na puwersa. Kung sa bagay magaling kasi si Prime, ang kanilang lider. Dati raw itong miyembro ng galaxy marshall na nagpabagsak sa Imperyong Naboo ni BS Mechatronics ang course ko, at maipagmamalaki kong ako ang nagdesign ng Bratatatat Tatat.heavenly, ang robot na ipinadala sa heaven upang tanungin ang Diyos kung doon ba talaga ang hideout niya. Kaya lang hanggang ngayon eh di pa rin ito nakakabalik kasi—ayon sa ultra sensor communication textbomb device—ini-screen pa raw itong mabuti ni San Pedro. At saka, problemado ngayon ang housing committee.heaven dahil walang pumapasok na boarders, lahat diretso sa hell. Kung sabagay, ngayon pa lang kasi nadedevelop ang plutonium na mas mabilis humagod. Maiba tayo. Anong year na ba sa time watch mo? Year 15000? Late na naman siguro ako sa aking appointment. May usapan kasi kami ng buddy ko na magkita sa Moon mamayang Year 18023. Sana walang traffic at ‘di na magluko ang aking time machine. Kung sabagay, malapit lang naman ang Moon pwede na akong mag-space walk, tipid pa ako sa plutonium. Mag-commute na lang kaya?



Favorite hangout namin ang Moon. Maraming kwento kasi ang bumabalot sa lugar na ‘yon. Sabi nila, may nanirahan daw doong white monkeys ang missing link sa extinct race na Amerikano. Natagpuan kasi doon ang artifact ng telang may red stripes at boxed stars; ito raw ang flag ng kanilang lahi. Pero mahirap ring paniwalaan kasi hindi naman sigurado kung nabuhay ba talaga ang mga Amerikano. Posibleng joke lang ito ng Venus.planet.solarsys na mahilig manggoodtime. Eniwei, total nagsesenti na rin ako, paninindigan ko na. Ayon sa mga kwento ni Impong, 45 anyos at pinakamatanda sa buong universe, naka-store raw sa kanyang turtle-speed computer (halos 500 Nanobytes MHz lang ang memory speed) ang kasaysayan ng mundo. Ipinamana raw ito sa kanya ng lolo ng lolo ng lolo ng lolo ng tatay niya, na isa sa mga developer ng makasaysayang Windows Ninety Five Million. Ayon dito, noong mga 4 A.I. (After Impeachment), masyado raw komplikado ang buhay sa bansang Pilipinas, isa sa mga paksyon sa Earth.planet.solarsys. Pagkatapos raw ma-impeach ni Sherap, nagkasunod-sunod na: mula VP, Senators, at Cong. Hanggang Class President. Halos bukambibig na ang impeachment; ginaya na rin ito ng iba pang paksyon tulad ng Japan, Tsina atbp. Kaya ng sumugod ang mga taga-Pluto.planet.solarsys, madaling na-invade ang Earth. Wala nga namang gustong maging lider sa takot na ma-impeach. Isa rin siguro ito sa dahilan kaya di nagtagal ang mga taga-Pluto sa takot nilang ma-expose ang kanilang mga katarantaduhan. At saka, dumating na kasi si, ang super sayan na ubod ng lakas dala ang mga dragon ballz. Baka nga naman sila resbakan kaya dali-daling nag- alsa balutan. ‘Nga pala si Gokuo rin ang bumuhay muli sa araw (naging dead star na kasi ito) matapos niyang hilingin sa mga dragon ballz . Pero in the meantime habang ‘di pa umaaksyon ang mystical dragon@dbz.nemic, pinadala muna bilang replacement ang mga anti-sherap na sobrang init ng ulo. Mula noon, malaki na ang respeto sa Eath.planet.solarsys. Kaya nang magkaroon ng Solar System Convention, karamihan sa mga na-elect na officer ay taga Earth. Kailangan na kasing magkaisa na lahat ng planeta sa solar system upang maging handa sa anumang paglusob ng taga ibang dimension. Ganda sana ng istorya. Kaya lang, hanggang doon lang ang nai-save ng ninuno ni Impong Bukod kasi sa mabagal, halos kokonti lang ang hd space (800 Terabytes lang) at di pa supported ng kanyang Windows Ninety Five Million ang ibang files. Hanggang dito na lang. Sasama pa ako sa rally namin sa moon upang hinggin ang pag-resign ni President_Serena Kung may tanong ka pa, e-mail mo ‘ko hanggang ‘di pa corrupted ang aking utak. O kaya, sunod ka na lang sa Moon para mas marami tayo. (Pahabol: May barya ka ba d’yan, pahiram muna ng 2.5 billion. Wala kasi akong pamasahe!)

Volume XV No. .2


Ang SARAP ng LAING Engr. Christian Lazana (Vol. 13, Issue No. 1)


ay isang maliit na aalalahanin ang mga taong naiiwang magisa. <Ano na naman ba yan?> Kapag may kasama ka sa bahay ay hindi mo pag-aaksiyahan ng panahon kung ano ang uulamin. <Ano bang ulam natin ngayon?> â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Bahala ka na.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; yan ang madalas nating isagot. Pero kung nag-iisa ka lang sasakit ang ulo mo, hihimatayin ka na sa gutom, pero hindi mo pa rin napagdedesisyunan kuna ano ang uulamin mo. <OO nga no! e ano nga bang ulam natin? E mag-aalas onse na a.> Huwag kang mag-alala, nagluluto ng laing ang kapitbahay. <Paano mo nalaman na laing ang niluto ng kapitbahay mo?> Simple, kahapon ay may nakabilad na mga dahon ng gabi at chinapchap na mga tangkay nito. Kanina may dumating na dalawang niyog at baboy. <Di ka rin chismoso no?> Nanggaling ang dalawang niyog sa kabilang kalye, ang baboy sa katabing bahay nila, nanay ko ang nagturo kung saan siya makakabunot ng gabi, at ang kapitbahay ang magluluto, kaya sa maikling salita laing lang ang ulam ng buong Tortosa St..



<Ang pangit naman ng pangalan ng kalye niyo parang torta na bading.> Tik… <…> tak… <…> tik… <…> tak… <…> <Tomguts na ko eh… ahhhhh!!!!...> Anong nangyayari sa’yo? <Kinakain na ang small intestine ko ng large intestine ko… a!!> Sandali, ah, dyan ka lang, sandal lang… <Saan ka pupunta?> Tatawag ako ng embalsamador! <Ha? Bakit?> Para maalis ang large intestine mo! <Uy ano to? Maling… sinangag! Ayos!> Sandali lang! <Bahala ka dyan, di ko na kailangan yang laing, solve na ko dito… ang sarap!!! Sinong nagluto nito?> Ako… kagabi. <Ano yun?> Si Happy… aso <Bakit Umiiyak?> Eh kinain mo yung pagkain niya… di bale maya-maya yung dog food na lang ang ibibigay ko. <Anong dog food? Yung nasa ref sa may chiller, yung nakalagay sa plastic? Yung parang giniling na ang bango-bango na may green peas pa! DOG FOOD ba yon?!!?> Oo bakit? <A nakita ko kanina tinangay ng daga…> Anong nangyayari sayo? <Ah… ang liwanag… pare bye-bye, sinusundo na ako> BOINK-sound effect Tanga florisent yan… <Dumidilim ang paningin ko… bye bye na talaga… ahhh…> BOINK-sound effect uli Idilat mo kaya yang mga mata mo! <Himala!!!> <12:30 na, di ka na nun bibigyan…> E di pa luto eh <Paano mo nalaman?> Yun o, nakabilad pa yung ibang gabi. <…>

Volume XV No. .2


Ang tagal naman, di pa ba luto? Di na yata ako bibigyan. <E ikaw lang feeling sikat ka e, saan ka pupunta?> Sa bilihan ng ulam sa may kanto. <O ba’t wala kang dala?> Walang nagtitinda. <Ang init pa naman, sayang lang pagod mo.> Ayos lang. <Ha?> Nakita naman ako ng may crush sakin. <Teka, kapatid ba nun yung nanghiram ng is among gitara?> Oo. <Bakit di na lang yung bago, para dagdag pogi points?> Baka sabihin nila pinopormahan ko sila e, mahirap nang machismis. <Nila? Sila? Ilan ba yung may crush sa’yo?> Di ko alam basta marami dyan sa kung saan-saan at tabi-tabi. <Gutom ka na nga…> … … <Uy may tao ata?> <Para saan yang platito?> Lalagyan ng Laing. <Luto na? teka bakit di nalang mas malaking lalagyan?> Ano ka ba, paano kung magulat yun, pag malaki ang lalagyan mo, di yon pupunuin, kung platito lang, puno na, pupunuin pa yan. <Bakit?> Reverse Psychology yan. <Rebers Saykology? Ano yun?> Basta maghintay ka lang. <…> <…> <Ayan na! WOW! Totoo nga!> Teka sabi mo kanina solve ka na doon sa maling ha? <SInabi ko yun?> Oo. <May prueba ka ba?> Oo. <May ebidensya ka ba?> Oo. <Ows, may witness ka ba?> Meron.



<Kaya mo bang panagutan yan hanggang husgado?> Hindi. <E di pala e> Uso naman yan ngayon eh. <Sandali pero wala pa tayong pangalan ah?> Kailangan ba yun? <Oo, katulad nung pilo at lopiz> O?!? <May title at pangalan ang mga characters> Tsaka nay un. <Ngayon na> Wala na akong maisip eh. <Ako meron pa> Wala na… <Meron pa…> Wala… <Meron…> Wala! <O sige> O sige magpaalam ka na. <O sige next time ulit a, that’s all folk’s!> [Um…um…ummmm] <Ang sarap ng laing!>

Volume XV No. .2


TORPE Abet (Vol 10 No. 3)


ag nagkakasalubong tayo sa koridor, never kitang pinansin… Naging magkaklase tayo, halos di kita kausapin…

Sa tuwing birthday mo, nungkang binate kita… Pag pinagtatawanan ka ng lahat, sakin yung pinakamalakas… Pero sa totoo lang, ek-ek ko lang yon. Dahil pag naririnig ko ang boses mo, para nang mga butiking nagpapalakpakan ang mga tenga ko. At pag nakikita kita, parang palakang lumulundag sa tuwa ang puso ko. At pag kausap ka, parang pagong ang dila ko… kusang nagtatago sa sarili niyang lungga. Di na lalabas hanggang nandyan ka pa… You brighten up my day, Ewan ko nga ba, Makita lang kita… oks na. Kaya nga pag di kita nakikita, I feel like a dead meat. Napakalungkot. Malalim at hindi ko matarok. At kung hindi ko matiis, gumagawa ako ng paraan… Tulad ng test paper mo sa Math. Kinuha ko talaga yon. Talagang gusto ko lang na makausap ka kaya binalak kong ako ang mag-aabot sa’yo non. Pero nalaman kong umuwi ka na kaya kahit mapatid ang hininga ko, hinabol kita. Di mo yon alam. Pero para di halata, nilagpasan kita. Buti na lang talaga tinawag mo ko, hay talagang ang saya saya ko. Tinanong mo kung ba’t ako nagmamadali, sabi ko may lakad ako (kahit wala). Tapos, bigla ko naming sinabi, “Uy, na sakin pala ang testpaper mo!” at saka nag-goodbye. Ang lahat ng iyon… DRAMA ko lang. Pero pagtalikod ko, abot tenga ang ngiti ko, kulang na lang ngising aso. At least, nkausap kita, di ba? Yun lang, Masaya na ko. Teka, baka sabihin mo naman obsess na ako. Hindi a! Mahal lang talaga kita. At kaya kong patunayan iyon… sana lang maniwala ka. Pero kahit kailan, di ako masanay pag nasa malapit ka lang. Minsan tumabi ka sa akin. Wala lang, wala ka kasing maupuan. Gumagawa ako ng assignment



noon at nung maramdaman kong ikaw ‘yun, nawala na kaagad ako sa concentration. Nanlamig ang mga kamay ko pero ang init ng pakiramdam ko sa loob. Para bagang natatae pero parang hindi. Alam na alam kong pagkakataon ko na yun para makipag-close pero nabahag ang buntot ko (teka wala pala akong buntot… bura! bura! bura!). Naumid na naman si Pong pagong… Gago lang ako, e. Sabi kasi nila, kapag may crush ka na isang tao, maski pano, nararamdaman niya iyon. Takot ka lang no, kaya kung magkakaasaran ang buong klase, biglang may nang-asar sa’yo na medyo oversized ang iyong… ang iyong… ang iyong paa. Nagtawanan at sakin na yung pinakamalakas. Buti na lang hindi halata. Nainis ka. Umiyak. Kung alam mo lang, sising-sisi ako non. Dahil sa totoo, sa gabi bago ako matulog, isa lang ang pinagdarasal ko – na balang araw mapansin mo ako. At nangangarap na balang araw, maging ikaw at ako. Yung namamasyal-masyal sa parke, magkahawak ang kamay, walang pakialam sa mundo basta tayo’y magkasama. At nangangarap na balang araw, magsumpaan tayong magmamahalan habang buhay, til death do us part… At nangangarap na balang araw uli, bubuo tayo ng sarili nating pamilya at habang buhay na magiging maligaya… Pero paano ko sasabihin ang lahat ng ito sa’yo. Baka kapag sinabi ko, layuan mo ako. Masyado ka kasing maganda, masyadong matalino… masyadong mataas. ‘mantalang ako, panget na, butas pa bulsa! Kung sakaling tayo, di mo ko pwedeng idisplay sa ibang tao, baka akalain nila bitbit mo aso mo. Kung sakaling tayo, wala rin akong bread panggastos sa date natin. Kaya ko lang banana cue at sago. Kaya di pwede maging tayo. Di tayo bagay kahit baliktarin ko pa ang mundo. Corny at mababaw, oo pero gusto ko lang magpakatotoo. Hay, limang taon ko na ring kinikimkim ‘to. Ilang beses din naman akong nag-try pero oka tokat talaga ako. At ngayon ga-graduate na tayo… Pano na ‘to? Pano na ‘to…

Volume XV No. .2





Aa, Bb, Cc… Titik Marvin John Perdido (Vol. 11 No. 1)


ahagya akong nainggit sa aking katabi nang sa isang kisapmata, naihambing niya ang sarili niya sa isang gitara. Matagal niya na daw iyong sinasambit. Sa tuwing may magtatanong daw sa kanya kung ano ang simbolo ng kanyang buhay, buong pagmamalaki niyang sinasagot… “Gitara.” Hindi ko na nagawang itanong sa kanya kung bakit sa gitara niya nakuhang ihambing ang sarili. Dali-dali nang lumipad ang aking isip at naghahanap ng bagay na maaaring tumumbas sa kung sino at ano ako. Kailanman, hindi ko na naisip kung ano ang simbolo ng aking buhay. Matagal ding naglakbay ang aking hinuha sa pagnanasang makaisip ng isang bagay na sisimbolo sa aking sarili. “Sino nga ba ako?” sambit ng aking konsensiya. Hanggang sa maisip ko ang isang bagay na nagbigay kulay at mismong humubog sa kung ano at sino ako ngayon – ang titik ng buhay. Titik na immortal. Hindi ko akalaing ang buhay ko ay iikot sa nakakahilong kurba at matatalim na tuldok ng mga titik. Oo nga. Ngayon alam ko na. Isa nga akong titik. Naalala ko pa nang minsang tinanong ako ni Mama kung bakit wala akong kahilig-hilig sa basketbol, gayong ang aking yumaong ama ay isang magaling na basketbol player. Minsan pa nga daw hinirang na MVP si Dad ng maglaro siya sa isang liga noong nasa Saudi pa siya. Tuwing tinatanong ni Mama kung bakit di ako mahilig maglaro ng basketbol, sinasagot ko palagi… “Ma, ayoko. Mainit at nakakapagod.” Sa totoo lang, wala kasi sa personalidad ko ang pagiging “athletic.” Madalas, wala akong ginagawa sa bahay kundi magbutas ng bangko. Daig ko pa nga ang anay e. Kung ang iba kong mga kaibigang lalake ay halos sumpain ng kanilang rubber shoes sa kalalaro, ako naman, kulang na lang layasan ng aming sofa sa sobrang pag-upo. Madalas, kung hindi nakatutok ang mata ko sa telebisyon, malamang ay may tangan na naman akong libro sa aking kamay. Bago man o maka-ilang milyong beses ko nang nabasa, titik ng mga libro at babasahin ang nagpapakumpleto sa aking maghapon. Sa paraang ito, nilalakbay ko ang aking isip sa kung paano ako mahuhubog ng buhay.

Volume XV No. .2

Katulad nga ako ng isang titik. Ang bagsik ng aral na dulot nito sa buhay ay umuukit bagama’t tahimik lang itong nakamarka sa kapirasong papel. Tulad ng titik, patuloy kong tinatahak ang buhay nang matahimik – mahinahon at nang may pag-unawa. Magsimula nang ako’y mahumaling sa sining ng literatura, kasabay nito ang paghubog ko sa pagkurba ng sarili kong titik. Nakagawa ako ng mga tula at sanaysay na tanging ako lang at ang aking notbuk ang nakababasa. Madalang ko lang ipabasa sa iba ang mga komposisyon ko noon. Sa tuwing kinakailangan lang. Para sa akin, ang mga komposisyon ko ang aking buhay. Kailangang buo muna ang tiwala ko sa isang tao bago ko iyon ipabasa sa kanya. Ngunit hindi doon nagtapos. Ang relasyon ko sa titik ng sining ay lumawak. Maaga rin nang ako’y nahilig sa musika. Halos sambahin ko si Maestro Ryan Cayabyab sa mura kong gulang nang buuin niya ang grupong “Smokey mountain.” Ang kanilang musika na binubuo ng mga matatalinong titik ang gumising sa akin upang tangkilikin ko ang talentong Pilipino. Hindi ko kailanman ipagpapalit ang mga pilipinong kompositor na patuloy na nagpapayaman sa sining ng musika. Minsan ko na rin pinangarap maging isang kompositor. Sabi ko sa sarili… “Ako ang dudugtong sa simulain nina Levi Celerio at titingalain ang ating mga titik sa bawat sulok ng mundo.” Nais kong maging titik ng musika na nagsimula sa payak na imahinasyon na tuluyang naabot ang himig na pinapangarap. Matagal din akong naging manunulat ng “Spectrum,” ang opisyal na pahayagan ng aming kolehiyo.Pinagpatuloy ko ang alab sa pagsusulat sa aming payak na pahayagan at natuto akong ipagmalaki ang mga titik na noon ay ang notbuk ko lang ang nakakabasa. Ako ay naging titik ng bawat estudyante. Katumbas ng marka ng aking mga komposisyon ang serbisyong hatid ko bilang isang manunulat. Ako ay patuloy na nagiging titik – tahimik na humuhulma ng tamang moral at tamang asal, hindi lang ng mga estudyante ngunit ng kabataang Pilipino. Maraming nagtatanong kung paanong paraan alipin kong napapasunod ang mga titik sa aking mga komposisyon. Mali sila.




Ako ang alipin ng titik. Napatunayan ko ito ng matapos ang aking termino bilang punong patnugot ng aming pahayagan. Nauhaw ako sa buhay manunulat na aking kinagigiliwan noong ako’y nasa dyaryo pa. Natakot ako na baka kasabay ng pag-alis ko sa pahayagan ay ang katapusan ng relasyon ko sa aking titik. Hahanap-hanapin ko ang pagsusulat. Napatunayan kong hindi na ako mawawala sa sining ng aking buhay. Ako ay tuluyang naging titik na natutong tumuwid at bumaluktot sa kurba ng bawat tinta ng aking sining. Isa sa mga pangarap ko ang magkamit ng gantimpala sa Palanca. “Marvin Perdido: Don Carlos Palanca Awardee for Literature”… kay sarap pakinggan. Sa totoo lang, pangarap ko lang yan. Kung dadating, salamat. Kung hindi, salamat pa rin. Kahit kailan hindi ako susulat para lang sa kagustuhan kong magkaroon ng gantimpala. Susulat ako dahil ito ang buhay ko. Dahil nais kong pagyamanin ang sining at mabigyang inspirasyon ang tulad kong alipin ng tinta ng literatura. “Ako ay isang titik. Isang tahimik na marka sa mundo ng milyongmilyong letra na patuloy na nangangarap na makatulong upang mailimbag ang libro ng magtatagumpay na buhay.”

Volume XV No. .2


Undelivered Speech Lloyd Luna (Volume VII Special Issue)


onor and shame from no condition rise, act well your part. That’s where the honor lies.” Distinguished guests, fellow engineering students, friends, Good morning. I hardly know why I laudably stand here before you. But only one thing is certain: I want to speak up in your behalf and so as to speak in behalf of our professors. We know how unique everybody is. We are knowledgeable about ourselves being distinct from others. So as to our beloved professors. They do have their own way of expressing themselves and they have their personal reasons why they do a thing. This fact should always be in the mind of those who considered themselves intelligent. Ladies and gentlemen, I am only in the second year of my study yet I understand the life of being a student. It was during my first year when I got a grade of 3.0 that I claimed I didn’t deserve. It was a distressing and a heartbreaking part. No matter how hard I tried looking for my professor and trying to demand why I got this grade but it was already my mark. I pretended to be calmed every time I see her but deep inside me is hatred that I wish she were not my professor during those times. Everybody let me foresee, should agree with my feeling is right and everyone should be reacting the same thing I did before. It is a solitary and deserted moment of life (when one failed on his expected outcome). That is on so many cases on which he should be outshining hindered by a threat of darkness and selfish act of another party. Although he worked so hard, it is just nothing but an absurd deed and sacrifices. This is one face of an individual. This is one kind of professor who is normally visible in our college life. This is one nature that boils our very blood over a temperature of 2000°C. The bottom line here is this: Does the grade of 1.0 reliable when I speak of knowledge? We can’t say we are happy when we know that though we had a high rating, we acquire low learning. And we will not be proud unless we admit that we deserve to have such. Along with this is the figure that is a mistake when our professor gave us such encircled grade. Another faces? Yes, there are still. There comes the professor who goes in class one hour late. Who will be encouraged to be in school and study hard with that kind of instructor? For goodness’ sake! There is another who comes



very early, 10 minutes before the time that is , but dismisses his class an hour before dismissal. Some unconcerned students are glad because they will have time to wander but think of those who want to learn more. We have also instructors with nothing to do rather than assign seatwork and researches that are sometimes far from the subject matter. If you have your purposes unknown to everybody, I just hope it is for the benefit of the students for they are not the only ones concerned and involved but also their parents who work so hard that sometimes make their nights a running day of job. I also hope that they are not just from your mind but also to a certain extent from your heart. However, there are mentors who are doing their job well. There approaches the one who come on time, really explains the lessons and assigns related homework. There are some who are very dedicated on their field of specialization and able to abide with the universityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mission and vision, goals and objectives. They consider teaching not just as a profession but a life to live and service to work with. Those deserve a round of applause and a salute. Thereupon, we should take that fact. Everybody is distinct. Everybody is subjected to be different from anybody else. What requires us to do now is to respect our distinction. All we have to do, whether we are mentors or students, is to appreciate and to acknowledge our parts not tomorrow but today. We are given a chance to live our life not to step on anyone but to lift him up regardless of who is he when he is down. That is if we keep on touching somebodyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s heart. Quote: I will always be what I wanted myself to be; courageous to do right when everybody around me does wrong.

Volume XV No. .2


Patiently I Waited Joan Cajucom Salas


am in need of a true leader.

A leader who naturally has the love for his country and has the courage to speak the truth. A leader who is upright, straightforward and holds no wealth richer than his dignity. A leader who fears the consequence of doing wrong. Who has the right God to follow—someone that cannot be demonized by money, by fame and by power. A leader who sees the flaws of the system and is capable of delivering a well-planned act toward its resolution. What I need is a leader—a true leader. No more, no less. I am in need of leader who has a heart that beats for the people and a voice that calls out for change and progress. Someone who has the ears that hears the appeal of the less fortunate and not the bribe of the corrupt. Someone who stands behind the plight of the majority. Someone who was owned not by the Palace but of the Public. I speak as a youth. What I, as well as we, need is someone to govern our land. But standing before my very eyes are leaders whom I cannot trust. Leaders who deprived my rights and exploited my race. I am a youth and will be tomorrow’s leader. What I ask is guidance—the ideology that they voice out during campaigns. For all the animosity confronting our country and for all the disgrace it earned, how can this nation prove its worth?



The everyday news just seems to disgust us. The non-stop bickering both in Senate and in Congress, the unsolvable issues of corruption, the battle of the anti’s and pro’s, the uprise of the nationalist flare of the so called ‘leftists’, the defense mechanism of the Palace and a whole lot more. Our political situation is rotten. How can we, or rather, can we still make it right? Can we survive the maze of lies and perplexities that these leaders play? Or are we forever boxed within their promises? Nobody knows what lies ahead of us. But we can step our best foot forward to hone this country for the better. The citizenry have a big task at hand to help their leaders, and yes, we’re doing our best. But are they doing their best? The problem is we have leaders who act like leaders and called their selves leaders but in truth are nuisance to this country. They were in the position to work hard but not to steal hard. They gain a lot as we lose so much. Politics had been their passport to fame and prestige and their license to gamble and to overpower people. Worst, the few good men were outnumbered by the rotten ones. I laud, as well as the whole Filipino nation, those who continue to serve their sworn purpose of selfless service. With the mockery that the word politician doomed in the vocabulary, may the time come that politicians will no longer be called politicians but be named and known as public servants. Philippine politics had been generalized with all the mockery created throughout the history. We have to have a great Filipino leader who will uplift and alleviate our situations. Leaders who will save us from the ravine of dirty politics. Leaders who will awaken the true spirit of how was it to be a Filipino. I speak as a youth and I am in need of a true leader. The nation and I—we are patiently waiting.

Volume XV No. .2


love letter



hat night, we were face-to-face with files dated in the past, memorandums of previous boards and anything that is known to be “archives.”


We had one goal – to find every thing a place to fit in, to organize and systematically arrange those documents. But like a thief in the night something caught us off-guard, under the heaps of paper and prints we came across with LOVE. We found archaic love letters of Pam and Coco (1996) and of Cyrill, Elizabeth and Edgar (1995). Their names, we intended not to change to keep the memory alive and (somehow) to deliver these letters to the supposed owner. We tried to track down the characters, believing that its only 12 or 13 years behind, but like the letters, we were lost. But even if it’s expressed only in sheet of papers, even if it’s tattered by age... The feeling that brought those words together are the very same feelings that we felt as we read the letters that night. That was love. It endures the test of time. May this sentiment pass on to those who had loved, loving, and are waiting for a love to come.

Volume XV No. .2


November 29, 1995 Dearest ELIZABETH, Before anything else, I would like to say Hi, and I’m sure your fine kaya lang baka masira ang araw mo dahil alam mo na, nasira ba? Sana hindi. I’ll go straight to the point, kasi medyo nahihirapan na ako sa situation nating dalawa. Siguro bago ko muna ayusin ng husto ang relationship namin ni Cyrill, unahin ko muna yung sa atin. From the first time we talked I consider you as my friend, but when things started to change for example noong niligawan ko si Cyrill then naging boyfriend niya ako parang nag-iba ang ihip ng hangin, nagbago ka rin eh! Ewan ko kung bakit ganoon, may nagawa ba akong hindi kanaisnais? Siguro ikaw na makasasagot. Frankly, I feel frustrated everytime I glance and smile at you but your response is so cold, parang hindi mo ako nakikita. I have done that many times but ganoon pa rin. Gusto sana kitang kausapin kahapon but I don’t get a chance, siguro blessing na rin iyon. So I decided to write for you to know yung feelings na nararamdaman ko. Sana magkausap tayo, I really like that for us to straight things up and be friends like before. I’m not doing this for Cyrill, but as a person who liked to be with your company again. The truth is gusto kitang kasama dahil okey ka, so Im trying to make things good for us again. Alam mo siguro kung gaano kahalaga sa akin si LABZ, and you also know na mahalaga ka rin sa kanya. Sa totoo lang kaya niyang ipagpalit ako sa kanyang kabarkada, kasi parang second family niya kayo. Ang lahat ng mahal ni Cyrill, mahal ko rin. So in conclusion mahal ko rin kayong lahat (CORNY BA?) pero yan ang totoo, hindi lang siguro visible. Sorry sa lahat ng nagawa kong mali sa iyo, hoping na mapapatawad mo ako, kasi ayaw ko nang may nagagalit sa akin. Lastly, I hope you can respond to my letter, kahit ibigay mo na lang kay Cyrill or if you want you can set any day that we can talk privately. Marami pa kasi akong gustong sabihin at ipaliwanag pero siguro… Hanggang dito na lang, ingat ka sa pag-uwi. FRIEND? It’s M.E. EDGAR


jurassic August 11, 1996

Babes, Hindi ko alam kung ano ang mararamdaman ko ngayon, magiging masaya ba ako dahil 1 year na tayo, o malulungkot, coz I’m losing you. Sabi ko sana, gaya na lang tayo ng dati. Nung una pa kitang nililigawan, nung unang mga buwan natin, pakiramdam ko noon, mahal na mahal mo ako, but as time goes by, it was not what I expected. Siguro, sabi ko sa aking sarili, gumaganti ka lang sa mga nagawa ko sa’yo. Sa mga lakad nating ‘di natuloy, sa mga pagdating ko nang late sa usapan. Sa mga times na wala ako ‘pag may problema ka. I guess, I’m not that responsible enough for you. Sometimes, I took you for granted. And I’m SORRY FOR ALL THOSE THINGS. Sana, mabalik ang pagmamahal mo sa akin. ‘Yon bang tipong, ipaglalaban mo ako kahit kanino. ‘Yon bang, mamahalin mo ako ng TAPAT. Ako lang, wala ng iba. Kasi, madali akong masaktan. Kahit na sinabi ko na sa’yo, ginagawa mo pa rin. Hindi ko nga alam kung sinasadya mo. O talaga lang may kaagaw na ako sa puso mo. I’d tried hard enough para lang maibalik ang pag-ibig mo sa akin. And I guess, it didn’t work that well. There are times, na naaawa ako sa sarili ko. Nahihiya ako sa mga sinasabi ng iba, ng mga kaklase ko, mga kaibigan ko, sa kapatid ko. Sana sabihin mo na lang sa akin kung hindi mo na ako mahal. Mauunawaan ko naman eh. Naiintindihan kita. Gusto ko lang, magmumula sa bibig mo. Lalayo ako kung gusto mo. Wag mo lang sana akong ipahiya. Pakiramdam ko kasi nabawasan na ang pagkalalaki ko. Hindi ko matanggap. Nasasaktan ako. Sabi ko kung mahal mo talaga ako, hindi mo ako sasaktan. Kaya naman kitang ipaglaban, “Just Help Me.” I need your help. Nanghihina ako pag wala akong assurance. MAHAL NA MAHAL PA RIN KITA, WALANG NAGBAGO. MAS TUMINDI PA NGA EH. Kaya lang hindi ko alam kung gano’n ka rin.

UMAASANG MULI MO AKONG IIBIGIN, Coco “I love you so much & I always will.”



Volume XV No. .2



“CHANGING COLORS” Alexander C. Defeo Acrylic on Canvas

Volume XV No. .2

“MAJOR TARGET” RONALD Jeresano Acrylic on Canvas




“JOBLESS CRISIS” RONALD Jeresano Acrylic on Canvas

Volume XV No. .2


December 2008 Vol. XV No. 2 Official Student Publication of the PUP-College of Engineering Established: May 1993

Editor in Chief ORLAND D. TUBOLA Associate Editors ALEXANDER C. DEFEO Managing Editor News Editor Sci-Tech Editor Features Editor Circle Editor Art Director Moderator


Staff Writers Edwin Abad, Gimeil Abuda, Bejay Berces, Paul Lester Chico, Jan Leo Herrera, Mark Jason Ignacio, Arnold Lalongisip and Chester Mifuel Editorial Consultants April Angela Gumban, Marvin John Perdido Contributions, reactions and opinions are accepted in the publication. It should bear contributor’s name, address, course, year and section and signature. Name may be witheld upon request. Forward your contributions to Engineering SPECTRUM Editorial Office Rm423, Engineering and Architecture Building, PUPNDC Campus, Anonas corner Pureza St., Sta Mesa, Manila or send it via email to

A proud member Alyansa ng Kabataang Mamahayag (AKM-PUP)

MULTIVECTOR Review and Training Center “THE ESTABLISHED LEADER IN EE REVIEW” Ground Floor, Rm. 867, Isabel Bldg., F. Cayco corner España Sts. Sampaloc Manila (Fronting UST) Telephone No. 731-7423

jurassic back cover


Engineering Spectrum Literary Folio

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