WHEREABOUTS The Atlas Domain ISSUE 01
Team
Viniz Caceres Editor-in-Chief
Sher Loyola Teacher Partner
Avery Potter
Fatima Kashif
Meera Ettie
Onos Paris
Paridhi Jain
Sylvia Marie Staff Writers
Lost Onos Paris
I have come a long way
I thought I wanted to leave it all behind
But here I am Lost Alone
And my thoughts of regret are driving me mad
What would I have done differently
If I could go back to the place my heart longs for The place that gave me
Purpose Company And felt like a home away from home
It's not like I ever had a home
So I cannot say I understand the full meaning of home
Although I guess the only home I knew was Filled with love
With peace
And with genuine thoughts for one another
Nothing can take me back I have to accept the fact, that I left
Now I have no place to go
I'll just wander
And wander
And still long to go back to the place I called home
Speak to the Waves When You Return
Sylvia Marie
come apart, one seam, then two these ropes of trust binding you a moon ago, you chased the storm now, you lie, neither cold nor warm.
mermaid, mermaid, how you gleamed dreaming he could be redeemed a rescuer to the man who drowned now, you neither smile nor frown.
break apart, one crack, then fourpromised pearls, emeralds, and more cut your throat, daggered heart but you neither cried nor laughed. wasn’t having legs such fun? yet life with less salt still stung why, oh, why did you let him in? now, you neither talk nor sing.
come apart, one seam, unsealed these blinded visions, hurt and healed speak to the waves when you return mermaids, mermaids, never learn.
In Between the Creases
Avery Potter
Tracing over the familiar etchings, Of a book still not open, My mind relaxes into it. The smell of paper beckons me in, As I flip over pages, To a world akin to a home.
Swords clink, the smell of wine wafts in, Ink splatters, and scrolls knock over. Incense follows wherever I look, And the dead shriek, their sounds mixed in With the melody of a distant flute.
The book closes, my mind is blank, Having being forced out of its home yet again. The desire to be back gnaws at me.
My heart pleads with the book to open up, To open up the world and bare its corners, And allow a part of myself to squeeze in between the creases, Staying there forever, Surrounded by the scent of incense and wine.
Home Sadia Gazi
Getting in the cab, I tell the driver to take me home. “Where’s that?” He asks me. I rest my head on the windowsill and imagine Home.
A magical place full of spells and moving staircases where enchantments come alive.
A portal through a wardrobe where a land unbeknownst turns into a perfect adventure.
A land where rings rule the world, where a wizard leads hobbits and dwarves to dangerous quests.
A mythological place where demigods live in harmony, where half-bloods and titans fight head-to-head.
A place where friendships are the strongest, where people feel like home.
A land where dragons and centaurs and cyclops and minotaurs are the only reality of life.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” I startle. “Where to?” And that brings me back to thinking of my boring home.
Beyond the Veil
Fatima Kashif
They say all things must pass, Yet my love for you remains, Unyielding, boundless, A flame that time cannot tame, Eternal and unwavering.
Though the world may fade, And perhaps we might too, I still hold onto dreams of you, In a fleeting world, Our love endures, forever true.
Broken Vase Meera
Ettie
Long ago, When the petals would fall, Down the stem, Leaving the vase, Winter turned into summer, Yet the vase’s love for the empty stem didn't change, It cared about the stem, More than the thing that the empty stem drained it's beauty, But to the vase, The beauty was the empty stem itself.
Not it's petals, Not its appearance, It was just beautiful… The way it was. Everything had an end, So did the stems lifetime, All brown, all broken, Let the vase fall, Broken vase.
Whispers of the Waves
Patricia Nicole Tan
It was the 1980s, and all I wanted was to savor the last week of my vacation. I had buried myself in books for endless days and sleepless nights, and now I craved a simple escape. My red Ferrari purred beneath me as I sped along the coast of Subic, Zambales a town where the beaches may promise me the comfort I needed. My friends teased me about traveling local when I could easily fly abroad, but solitude called me, and for once, I wanted to be alone.
The resort I chose was luxurious, with its white sand beaches that met the cerulean sea. Everything seemed perfect, but strangely, it all felt routine. I had seen countless shores like this in different countries, yet there I was, trying to convince myself that I was here to unwind. I walked outside to breathe in the coastal air, desperate for some sense of newness, and then I saw it monkeys at the parking lot. Wild and unexpected, they startled me so much that I froze, my Walkman cassette dangling from my ears. After what felt like forever, the monkeys left, and I laughed at the absurdity of my fear. It was then that I noticed a figure approaching from the trees.
A young man, his face sunkissed by the sun, his clothes loose and simple, stood before me. “Miss, you dropped your cassette tape,” he said, his voice as gentle as the sea breeze.
Flustered, I scrambled to pick it up. “Oh, thank you,” I stammered, feeling oddly exposed in my panic.
“No need to rush, miss,” he chuckled, helping me to my feet. “I’m Zephyr. You must be new here,” his tone was warm, familiar yet I had never seen him before.
“Yes,” I replied curtly. “I’m just here for a short vacation.”
Zephyr grinned. “Then let me show you around. You’re in for more than just pretty beaches.”
I hesitated at first, my city-dweller’s cynicism creeping in. But there was something in the way he said it, his confidence, as if he knew secrets about this place that I could never discover on my own. And so, I agreed.
For the next few days, Zephyr became my companion, guiding me to hidden coves and serene shores that the tourist brochures never mentioned. We sat together on the docks, watching the sun dip below the horizon, its golden rays melting into the water. There was a stillness in these moments that filled the air between us, but also a warmth a quiet kindling of something unspoken.
He showed me the wet markets, full of smells and sounds I would have turned my nose up at before. But with Zephyr beside me, I didn’t care. I wanted to taste everything, to breathe in the unfamiliar, to let myself be free of pretenses. We laughed over sticky yema and puto bumbong, foods my parents would dismiss as “too provincial,” but they tasted like freedom to me. He spoke of his simple dreams to be a fisherman like his father, to live quietly by the sea.
It sounded so different from the life I knew, so different from what my parents expected of me. Yet, in those moments, I found myself longing for that same simplicity.
On the last day of my stay, Zephyr led me to a hidden beach. The world felt untouched there, as if time had forgotten this palace. The sunset cast an orange glow across the water, painting everything with an ethereal light. We stood together, silent, as I felt tears well up in my eyes. I didn’t want to leave, didn’t want go back to my world of expectations and responsibilities.
“I’ll miss this,” I whispered, half to myself, half to him.
“You can always come back,” he said softly, his hand brushing against mine. “You know where to find me.”
As I drove away that evening, the weight of unspoken words pressed heavy on my chest. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t just leaving Subic I was leaving a part of myself behind, the part that had begun to dream of a simpler life. But I couldn’t say it. So I left, with only his address and a promise to write.
Years passed, and life went on. I became the orthopedic surgeon I always dreamed of being. My name was in the papers, my accomplishments lauded by peers and patients alike. But despite the success, something always felt missing. I thought of Zephyr often, of the life I could have had, but the letters between us dwindled, then suddenly stopped altogether.
Finally, I returned to Subic, determined to find him, to tell him that I still loved him, that I wanted that simple life he had shown me. But the place we had shared was unrecognizable. The secret beach was now a resort, polished and perfect, devoid of the magic it once held. I asked around, but no one knew of Zephyr. The more I searched, the more desperate I became, until finally, an old man approached me.
“You’re looking for Zephyr, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes heavy with sorrow.
“Yes,” I said, my heart racing. “Do you know him?”
He nodded slowly, and I felt a rush of hope until I saw the look in his eyes. “I’m his father,” he said softly. “Zephyr passed away a year ago. There was an accident while he was fishing… dynamite fishing. He… he didn’t make it.”
His words hit me like a wave, knocking the air from my lungs. I fell to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Zephyr was gone. The man who had shown me a world so different from my own, the man who had made me believe in simplicity and love, was gone. His father led me to his grave, a simple stone in a quiet corner of the island. I sat there for hours, crying for the life we could have had, for the future that would never be.
As the sun set, I whispered, “I’m here now, Zephyr. I’m here.”
Thought he was gone, I knew that a part of him still lived in the sunsets we had watched together, in the winds that whispered through the trees. I bought a house in Subic soon after, returning whenever I could. And on days when the weight of the world felt too heavy, I would go to the beach, look out at the horizon, and remember that somewhere, in the waves and the sky, Zephyr was still with me.
Wood Between the Worlds
Kimberly Co
The bell rings above my head
I step into the thick wood of bounded promises
Promises to steal me away to somewhere far from here
I frolic through a field of knowledge and reverie
Because the in-between is always there for me
To find the place I am destined to be
Cut off from the rest of society
Looping a daydream I will never tire of
There are ever-growing trees that block out the sunlit sky
I browse the reflections of myself, and one catches my eye
Cracking open the portal’s spine,
The glassy pages ripple through the fabric of time
The portal is a mirror into oneself
You travel far
Just to return to who you are
A space that exists outside reality
Shimmering pools of plastic covers
Glimmering surfaces of potential escapes
I enter the wood between the worlds
Stick my hand through the space between the words
I try and find where I might lose myself
They sell portable portals on the shelf
The shelves themselves corridors to countless wonders
We feel ourselves growing taller
If you stay too long, you might forget who you are
You might sleep and never wake again
Now I write portals to help other people escape
Because we are too deep for this shallow landscape
We are our own guinea pigs,
Experimenting on ourselves as we travel Into the wood between the worlds
With the rings we promised each other as kids
You dust the shelves, humble shopkeeper
For us mere transitory children
Who like to pretend magic and snow still exist in wardrobes
And maybe they still do
But they exist within the portals we carry
The portals we purchase from the in-between
And after a long journey of adventure,
You keep coming back for more
More glimpses into other dimensions
More pockets into other universes
With a child-like, faith-infused curiosity
Because only those who carry their youthful tapestry
Can see past the surface, see who they long to be Those who keep their eyes wide, and their minds wider
Can reach the castles in the air
We are ever-evolving trees
Our roots drink up the water of these pools
And when we thirst for more, You can find us drowning
In the wood between the worlds
Song of the Winter Cicada Cecy Grace
June, 2028
Jude Looi’s valedictorian speech at the National University of Singapore began with a familiar joke about the fate of relationships started in junior college. “I say ‘unfortunate’ and ‘impulsive’ because I was one of them,” she confessed with a self-deprecating smile. The audience chuckled softly. Encouraged, she continued, “When the guy goes to National Service (NS) and the girl goes to university (NUS), what they’ll be missing is each other (U).” This time, the crowd laughed, easing the tension in her shoulders as she continued.
Before them, she appeared unfaltering, confident in her perfectly drawn eyeliner and calm tone. But the irony of the joke cut deep, threatening to unravel her. She supposed the joke really was on her. As she wrote her speech two months ago, she had thought about how four long years had passed since her first love and her first heartbreak. Four years should have been enough to let the distance between them solidify. Yet sometimes, Jude still found herself lost in the golden haze of those memories.
In the middle of her speech, she paused for a moment, struggling to keep her composure as thoughts of him tangled her tongue and stole the breath from her lungs. As she smiled and continued, she could almost feel his breath on her cheek and remember the way he whispered her nickname into her ear, like a promise: Qing Ting.
As Jude spoke with a cool detachment, observing the audience’s reactions, memories washed over her like waves. She and Hong had parted ways in 2024, around the time when life was returning to normal after the COVID-19 pandemic. Despite her hopes to maintain a long-distance relationship, like so many other hopeful young couples, Jude’s mother had warned her that it wouldn’t work out.
The past four years had not been easy, but as she stood on the podium delivering her speech, she found some solace in knowing that it had not been in vain.
“I dedicate this speech to all the eighteen-year-olds who first entered university feeling lost and unsure. Thank you all very much.” Jude flashed her brightest, most winning smile and bowed. Yet, even as the audience erupted in cheers, she had never felt more alone. ***
Jude didn’t have anything to do on this particular night, but she roamed the streets anyway for the sake of her mother’s peace of mind. A Telegram notification popped up on her phone – a night festival happening at Armenian Street. Armenian Street was in the bustling, tourist-infested Orchard area. She supposed that would make a good cover.
She boarded the MRT train, its carriages rattling beneath the fluorescent lights, and traveled to Orchard Station. Following Google Maps, she navigated to Armenian Street, just past a busy traffic junction. The street was alive with pulsing blue and pink lights and the lively chatter of a bustling crowd.
She stopped by the nearest attraction and stood on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the small stage where a female singer and her band were filling Armenian Street with vibrant music. People around her held up their phones, capturing the moment’s magic. Jude had always been good at blending into crowds, and she navigated her way to the front row.
Then she caught a whiff of a familiar scent sandalwood, and...
Her head whipped to the side as she realized who was standing beside her. A young man stood there, his attention on the singer as he recorded with his phone. Sensing her gaze, he turned to her, pulling his focus away from the performance. Their eyes met.
“Chan,” she breathed. In that moment, beneath the flashing lights and the bustling crowd, the world seemed to go silent, like his namesake a cicada in winter. She suddenly became acutely aware of her smudged eyeliner and rumpled hair.
A look of surprise and recognition crossed his face. She watched as her name formed on his lips, whispered like a prayer. “Looi. It’s you.”
They stood under the twinkling fairy lights, surrounded by the noise of the festivities and the distant crooning of the female singer. His gaze was as clear and tranquil as it had been the first day she saw him, and she was swept back to that day, feeling a slow, bone-deep ache in her heart. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many words caught at the back of her throat but never reaching her lips. Wordlessly, she watched him fish something out of his pocket. “I have something I want to return to you,” he said, holding it out.
Feeling like she was in a dream, she took it, turning it over her fingers. It was the dragonfly brooch she had given him five years ago when they’d gone on their first date, a performance at Victoria Concert Hall. She’d stopped him as they climbed the stairs leading to the hall, to pin it to his left lapel. The words hung unspoken between them. “So I’ll always be close to your heart.”
Scenes from their past flickered through her mind like a monochrome film. It was like an open door, a warm breeze in the darkness of night, leading her down a winding path of memories she had long suppressed. As she touched the dragonfly brooch, she smiled despite herself.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, though her voice was little more than a whisper. She saw him raise his eyebrows in a questioning gesture. She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she needed to say it anyway. Her words yearned to be spoken, even if they would go unheard. She watched his face, the sharp angles and soft curves shifting under the lights, painted in shades of azure and magenta, the fragmented beams rippling like water in a pond. She felt as though she could stop time right there. “I hope you’re happy,” she added, a smile spreading across her face like the dawn of a new day.
She awaited his response, her heart aching with a desperate wish: “I hope you are, too.” She imagined collapsing before him, pouring out her pain from the past four years, confessing how she had tried to bury her feelings in her studies, how she missed him every day, and how seeing him now made her so happy it felt like she could die
“I am,” he said, nodding towards the female singer. “And I hope you’re happy, too.”
The words hit her like a flash of lightning sharp and silvery. Everything else seemed to fade away as he smiled and gestured to her hair. “I see you’ve grown your hair long! That must be why I didn’t recognize you at first,” he remarked casually.
Numbly, she smiled and nodded in thanks. Their conversation faded into the background as she silently replayed the unspoken words and memories of their time together. She couldn’t tell him how she had grown out her boyish haircut over the years, hoping he might one day return and run his fingers through her hair again. It now seemed foolish, even delusional. Only now did she realize how misguided she had been.
“Sorry, just one moment. Virginia wants me to record this song of hers,” he said, turning back to the singer, making sure to keep her in his phone’s frame. When he looked back, Jude was already gone.
It shouldn’t have been any of her business. Why had she come to Armenian Street today? Why had she stopped to watch the female singer’s performance? Most of all, why had she struck up a conversation with the boy who had broken her heart years ago? His gesture his nod to the singer as he said those words, “I am” hit her like an apocalypse. It filtered into her mind slowly, as if her brain was trying to shield her from the impact of those words. Slowly, painfully. He is happy... with someone else.
She trudged down Armenian Street, her steps heavy and aimless. Numbly, she looked up and saw a standee promoting the night festival. It featured a photo of the female singer who had unwittingly shattered her world. Below the photo was her name: Virginia Wong, along with the setlist for her album, Butterflies. Jude scanned the words, each one like a bullet to her heart. How could a dragonfly compete with butterflies?
She looked down and unclenched her fist. In her palm lay the dragonfly brooch, split cleanly in two; its sharp edges had left dark imprints on her skin. Over the past four years, she had endured countless paper cuts that had scarred and healed. Among the myriad of old cuts on her hands, the marks from the dragonfly seemed the most painful.
Jude stood before the standee of Virginia Wong, feeling like a madwoman, struggling to stifle the laughter bubbling up from within. Why had she expected anything different? After all, she had orchestrated her own downfall. It was death by a thousand cuts.
The Atlas Domain WHEREABOUTS