The Flame-Hope&Home, Literary Folio-Academic Year 2021–2022

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OPE OME LITERARY FOLIO

Hope and Home: LITERARY FOLIO 2022 March All rights reserved. No part of this literary folio may be reproduced in any form or any means without the written permission of the copyright owners. The copyright of the individual works remains with their respective author.

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OPE OME LITERARY FOLIO

Contents Contents Contents

08

Spiders and Safety

10

Room of Hope

Shergie Gwyneth N. Ocampo

Shergie Gwyneth N. Ocampo

15

17

12

Emotional dungeons at home, how does it feel?

Shergie Gwyneth N. Ocampo

18

Descending Safely in the Depths

Is it me?

Kylene Jorge R. Delluza

Alas-onse Gayzel S. Sueno

21

24

26

Kimberyly Mae V. Añis

Dulo ng kaligtasan Marylou D.C. Riva

28

Risking Chances Stephanie V. Quitiong

35 Ilog

Rowell DS. Ulang

Open letter

Patriz Fae M. Mangalindan

30 Ligalig

Gayzel S. Sueno

Shush

Patricia Mae H. Angco

32

Hiling na litrato Dionysis P. Berja

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I

s I rush to him while looking brightly, It was so vivid when he smiles at me, I was right, my decisions were paid off, And it secures my will to love you more.

Risking Chances,

Stephanie V. Quitiong

S

piders and Safety Words by Shergie Gwyneth N. Ocampo

“You, you’ve been the one destroying my sanity.”

“Ricka!”

I trembled as I heard his fist smash the restroom door. Those fingertips brushed up my face numerous times.

He yelled, “Open this door, or I’ll split it up!”

The bathroom curtains were raised above the window. Although concealing here would not give full defense, it would at least minimize the loudness of his deafening voice.

The unfilled tub kept my feet cold. My only haven was cold, tiled flooring. I was entrapped, but it might have slowed him down when he eventually made it in.

A spider was traveling down the curtain, something I started noticing.

Rather than just yelling, I sat still, and gazed at the calm constraints of my porcelain tile, and allowed it to approach me without moving away.

Fascinating how the little actions which used to frighten me now seemed insignificant in contrast to twisted fingers, bruises, and wounds.

I did not even quiver when her little espresso-stained body reached my hand. Rather than being repulsive, I found solace from my only friend I could seek. They’re the scenes of me trying numerous times to communicate with my next-door neighbor, Nica. I was afraid my weakness could not match their strength.

The spider came to a halt at the tip of my thumbnail. There would be no verdict. There was no doubt in my mind as to why I lingered so long. She was not nearly as frightening as Miguel, the man claiming as my lover.

Each pounding became louder and more strained, but I was no longer bothered. The entrance squeaked open. He rushed in. He smashed in, and flung the door open. “Just what is wrong with you?” He scowled.

In reaction, I raised my hands, trying to protect my trembling body.

I screamed as he grabbed it so fiercely. He crushed the spider, and threw its body away without remorse. My eyes flooded up with tears. I was in fear. Would he treat me like the spider once he’s eventually beaten me?

I screamed, “She didn’t do anything bad to anyone!”

His palms pulled my neck forward, and I was surprised by the agony.

“What is wrong with you?” He pondered.

I was not sure where the words came from, but I shoved him against the wall.

“You, you’ve been the one destroying my sanity.” I’ve been blaming myself for far too long.

My pulse was thumping through my soles and racing through every muscle in my body. I was trembling, but not for terror. The wave of rage coursing through my veins was strong enough to keep me fighting. I took a strong stance, and stared him down until he managed to avoid my look.

He astonished backwards, his eyes wide with surprise. I was swept by him, but he clutched and bent my arms as he moved around me. My elbows were popping. The strain was increasing. It pained me so much. I was afraid my limbs would break, yet I couldn’t stop now. I took a deep breath and struggled beneath his grip. A piercing agony traveled up from my chest to my head.

There would be no one here who could help me. There was never anyone I could rely on, in the same way as the spider.

I was not going to let him destroy me as he did her. Something must be done. I stopped fighting his strangles to let him know of my defeat.

He whispered in my ears, “That’s better.” Through one hand, he clasped my wrists together as one and ground his knuckle to a critical location I didn’t even know existed. He then took his trousers off and unzipped them.

“No,” I said as I kicked his crotch and struck his knee. I dashed to the doorway as he collapsed. I picked up the phone off the table, and called the police station. For the first time, I called support.

“Ricka, baby, don’t drag the police into our mess; you’re completely aware that I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only did it to keep you by my side.

I love you so much baby” “You never did. This ain’t love Miguel.” I said as I ran outside the streets looking for a place to hide, and secure my safety.

I started picking up my speed and took time to look behind. He’s standing there murmuring. Miguel J’s shadow hovered as if it’s about to attack. I got quicker as I got a little farther away from our house until I was sprinting with the wind. When I got to Nica’s door, I screamed, asking if she’s home. I knocked so quickly that I simply could not stop myself.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I looked up, at the sky smudged with blue clouds. There was no bright star. I held my hand, and massaged my wrists. I have nowhere else to go. I heard Miguel’s demonic laughs as he shut the door behind him. It resonated all the way down the street.

When Nica’s door creaked, I jolted and spun. “Ricka, what would you be doing out so late?” Her eyes flickered with an understanding gleam.

My mouth quivered, but I couldn’t say anything. My throat has been pricked. She motioned for me to come in as she gazed down at my bare feet, and bruised body. She gave me a sweet smile and said, “You know, you’re always welcome here.”

The sound of police sirens was approaching. I fell to my knees, and started trembling. “I am now free,” I said in between my sobs.

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oom of Hope

Words by Shergie Gwyneth N. Ocampo

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his area is too narrow to feel the comfort. The sun shone through the frames of my blocked window. While stumbling to my feet and approaching the entrance, I punched through the pavement. There seemed to be no one else in the room. I could hear cries and yells through the thin walls. The loud buzzing sounds filled my ears and sent shivers up and down my spine. All was silence after I heard her door was shut. Another loud cry has vanished. I haven't seen or heard where they’re taken, and I'm not sure if I’d like to know anyhow.

Sometimes, it's wonderful to be clueless.

It became too conventional to live in this eight-by-eleven dungeon. A daily plan, displayed on my wall, informed me what I had planned for the day. All of my actions were scheduled around the findings of my previous tests. 2 -3 times a day, psychotherapy discussions were scheduled. Panic and anxiety attacks became more frequent and lasted for hours at a time. My arms were covered with open wounds, and I was losing hair at the rate of an aging 40-year-old. The triggers appeared around practically every corner, often in the most unexpected places.

I don’t have any memory of my life outside. They keep on telling me to focus on myself and not get too anxious thinking about who I am outside these walls.

Nurses and staff have always told us that this place is our haven. But, one thing is for sure, this place is excruciating.

People with suicide attempts are gathered. We can see from each other how tired we are of living this life.

I don’t have any clue about my life, yet a feeling for wanting the idea of death lingers on my mind. It felt like death was the only way.

As I ate the meal our nurses had served, I raised a question making the nurse gasp from surprise.

“Why do you people try so hard to keep us alive?” I asked.

“Why don’t you people just let us die and be free from ourselves?” I added.

The lady was stoned at first, but she let out a sweet smile.

“You know what, my sister died three years ago from suicide. No one was there for her; even me, who studied Psychology, never had a glimpse of her suicidal feelings. I guess, I want to save you and everyone around here from death because your life is worth saving. Most people here feel lost and scared to survive. Some people here cannot decide fully on their own.” She spoke.

“Do I deserve to live?” I asked, secretly hoping that she'd say yes. And just like what I hoped for, “Yes, you deserve life and survival,” she answered.

Thank you. I mouthed.

This place locks me up from the outside world. I lost my identity and lived here as an aged newborn baby, and just like a child, I deserve my life.

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motional dungeons at home, how does it feel?

Words by Shergie Gwyneth N. Ocampo

They say Home is where we feel our safest.

People say that our Home is the place we ran to at our darkest point in life.

What if that ‘home’ doesn’t offer the feeling of safety in our minds? What if we feel lost in our own Home? Or maybe, what if our Home doesn’t feel like Home anymore?

Many of us experience that uncomfortable feeling flowing through our bodies: anxiety. That sensation might range from profound five-alarm bells noisily wailing to dread lurking in the shadows of our mind. When this happens, people may disengage socially to escape the feeling of hopelessness.

People go through life afraid of confronting the source of their constant anxiety. We think we’re worried because both our parents are already anxious.

We recognize that we are worried because we have suffered from trauma around one or more moments in our lives. We believe that there's no way out of this situation, but we do our best to squeeze it out and make it through.

There are several instances wherein people feel that their Home is a pit of depressive feelings. Fact: we don't feel safe a lot of the time, and this lack of safety is the primary cause of all the dread we experience. Most have no clue what it means to feel safe. Plenty of us have never had our parents reassure us that no matter how bad things were in our lives. We will eventually not only be okay but prosper. Optimism and hope were never fostered in several homes.

The notion of safety at Home became a dungeon of oppressive rules that needed to be followed. The idea of being mentally safe at Home became a pit of bashful words and manipulative actions.

Whenever I see how happy other children are with their families and parents, I notice how bright their parents glistened just by the sight of their child. It made me ponder: did my parents ever gaze at me with warmth? I guess that sensation that being passionately loved offers a child comfort, self-assurance, and protection.

I guess that sensation that being passionately loved offers a child comfort, selfassurance, and protection. Feeling wanted makes us feel secure. Being safe means not reprimanding yourself or believing that everything excellent in your existence is on the verge of disappearing.

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motional dungeons at home, how does it feel?

Words by Shergie Gwyneth N. Ocampo

Safety is not the feeling as if you're about to tumble over a high peak and not being concerned about being judged by people. It's the ability to rediscover the secure area within oneself put aside when we're younger. That safe zone is present when we are born, but we lose our way there due to the abuse and neglect of those who are supposed to look after us.

Being mentally healthy is also a result of a healthy environment.

If the Home doesn’t feel like ‘home,’ where should we run to?

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escen the De

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escending Safely in the Depths Word by Kimberly Mae V. Añis

knife in a gun fight, hands above our heads during a thunderous night, a small boat that merely makes it in the middle of the deepest ocean, and a pair of fragile feet in a bustling crowd of strange people.

There will undoubtedly be times in our lives when we must face hurdles. As naive, innocent youngsters, we foolishly believed that life would be simple and effortless, but as we grow from children to adults, we will encounter a slew of new challenges that are more consequential than a mere game with basic mechanics, and the major stepping stone in this facade of venturing is to keep ourselves physically, mentally, and spiritually safe.

Our journey starts with our first loud cries, which appear to be seeking affirmation that we are safe and secure. We are gradually maturing and coping with everything around us. Everything appears to be normal and flawless, and we are unconcerned about what may transpire along the way. It was nothing but pure happiness and ecstatic moments. Not until we grow up and realize that life is a different kind of game with complex mechanics, and from there, you no longer care about the physical wounds, along with the realization that emotional safety is one thing that we are always running after. This is the faculty where we keep our list of weaponry. The more stable it is, the more solid our base becomes, thus, closer we arrive to our destination, safe and sound. At this point, we are probably pondering the bizarre turn of events that just transpired. Seems like we're being dethroned as the superior ruler of this planet, with the fact that it is not only the virus where we should keep ourselves safe from, but also from the risk of being emotionally and mentally unstable. The COVID-19 public health crisis has resulted in an increase in risk factors for mental illnesses, orchestrated with social isolation, unemployment, and a general sense of insecurity and instability. It is riddled with unknowns, entombing us into the gossamer of its dangerous nature. As legislations regulating social contact continue to roll out, our day-to-day existence is swiftly changing and our routine has been affected in so many ways.

nding Safel epths Being entitled as the captain of our own ship does not always mean that we are in full control. Sometimes, sailing means sinking and diving into the depths of the ocean. However, life was never designed to be easy; it was meant to be a quest-filled trip, but the seed we once planted shall always be watered, and the bricks we once built if destroyed, shall be repaired for we are our own drivers that allows us to know more, to do more, and to be more. It's all on us as to how we will navigate the steering wheel, no matter how fast, no matter how slow, so long as we drive safely and get to where our journey heads to.

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s it me?

Words by Kylene Jorge R. Delluza

I looked in the mirror at 3:00am on Saturday, August 7.

What did you notice?

Who did you see when you looked in the mirror?

Take a good look. Who is it that is staring back at you?

And when I saw that human thing with the lonely and empty sidewalk that followed it, I ended up getting my phone seeking to capture the radiance of that quiet. When I took a shot, I was inspired to write. Everything started here.

Your words shone a light on everything around you.

Looking back, I saw my past—the sensations I was so familiar with; the stories, reminiscences, and personal experiences; my flaws and passions; and my wishes. I was the one who walked the depressing roadway and its shadows.

It’s practically hard to distinguish the two, since we didn’t just notice what’s on the surface, our exposed trunk and branches, but also a head, a cheeky smile, a birth mark, a sorrow.

You were dreary and deserted street. How many souls were not stolen from your soil? How many thieves and thugs did not taint your corners? And how many ghosts in sorrow did not haunt your streets? We know what was behind the dirt: our foundations which ran deep and comprised our individual feelings, and the stories we’ve been given, the stories we’ve enacted because we believed this was who we were.

Your message put an end to the misery of this street, which has been abused by human evil, and brought everything back into focus, and made sure that tiny human play in this street again, that old people gathered on your seats to talk, that many women returned to stroll their babies through their alleys, and that this unhappy, gloomy street transformed into unique old street.

This was the point at which we could start living.

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las-onse

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Mga salita ni Gayzel S. Sueno

a isang eskinita dito sa barangay Payapa Quezon City kung saan naglipana ang mga taong tulog sa umaga gising sa gabi. May sari-saring ganap sa buhay kung kaya’t tuwing dumadaan ako ay napakaingay ng lugar na ito. May mga batang naglalaro sa ilalim ng liwanag ng buwan. Mga babaeng nagkukwentuhan, may mga jowang naglalabingan sa kalye, at ang pinakamalala ay lalaking animo ay may mga negosyo na sila ang mga kasosyo.

Tuwing alas-onse ako napaparaan sa lugar na ito dahil wala akong ibang pwedeng daanan dahil nandito ang paradahan ng traysikel papunta sa aming tahanan. Lagi kong napapansin ang nasa kwarenta y singko anyos, mapayat, at tila hindi na natutulog, isang lalaki na nakaupo malapit sa tumpok ng mga lalaking naguusap-usap, tuwing dadaan ako ito ang palaging naabutan ko.

Isang alas-onse ng gabi nagulat ako ng may kausap na batang babae ang lalaking nakaupo, “bugaw ba s’ya? “isip ko, medyo lumapit ako sa kanila habang naghihintay ng kasama sa traysikel. Narinig ko ang kanilang paguusap; ano pong ginagawa n’yo rito? “ani ng bata sa lalaki, “wala may hinihintay lang, umalis ka na bago may makakitang iba na may kausap ako” tugon ng lalaki at umalis na ang bata, at hindi n’ya ako napansin. Saktong may dumating nang ibang pasahero, umalis na kami.

Lumipas ang ilang minuto at malapit na ako sa bahay namin ng mapatingin ako sa likod ng traysikel driver, nandoon ang lalaking may kausap na bata kanina, sa gulat ko ay pumara ako kahit sa ikalawang kanto pa bahay namin.

“Manong para po” sabay abot ng bayad na sobra at sinabing keep the change po. At nagmamadali akong naglakad, buong akala ko ay sinusundan ako ng lalaki ngunit wala ito sa likod ko. Saka pa lamang ako kumalma.

Isang gabi ng alas-onse ng muli akong dumaan para umuwi, pagod na pagod akong naglalakad. Nabigla ako sa nakita, pinagkakalipunpunan ng mga tao yung puwesto noong lalaki na palagi kong nakikita, unti-unti akong lumapit at nagtanong sa isang ale.

“Ate ano pong nangyari?” tanong ko. “Aba’y iha, nabaril iyan no’ng grupo ng lalaki na dumating, may hinahanap sa kanya at sinabi pang magbayad na raw ng utang. Kung hindi raw magkakapagbayad ay ‘yong anak na lang ang kukunin. ”sagot ng ale.

Oh my god! gulat na sambit ko. “Bat hindi n’yo po dinala sa hospital?” gulat na sambit “Ayaw eh, may ihahatid pa raw sa bahay”. Sa sobrang curious ko nilapitan ko ito, ang akala ng iba ay patay na ito sa dami ng dugong umaagos sa nakahandusay na katawan. Nagulat ako sa bigla nitong pagmulat kahit hirap na hirap sabay sambit ang katagang “Hinihintay kita! Bilis tumakbo kana, anak.”

D

ulo ng Kaligtasan Mga salita ni Marylou D.C. Riva

“Pangako, sa akin, mananatili kang ligtas” Paulit-ulit itong tumatakabo sa isip ko, ngunit habang tumatagal, tila ba nagbabago ang himig nito. Sa una’y malumanay at matamis, ngunit ngayon, dala nito’y sakit at pait.

Maligaya kong hinaharap ang bawat bukas dahil alam kong kailanman, ako’y hindi mag-iisa. Tinuturan mo sa akin lagi na kaya mong ibigay sa akin ang buong mundo, at kakayanin mong mawala ang kahit ano ‘wag lamang ako.

Dumating ang dagok sa ating pamilya hanggang sa puntong hindi ko na namamalayan kung ano ang totoo. Nakulong ang itay dahil umano sa pagtutulak ng droga. Alam ko kung gaano mo siya kamahal, kaya ang sakit na dulot nito sa ‘yo ay sobra pa sa sobra.

Sa pagkakakilala ko sa ‘yo, aking ina, alam kong hindi ka mauupo lamang, at maghihintay na may dumating na himala. Kaya naman ang gabi ay ginagawa mong araw para magkaroon lamang may pampiyansa kay itay. Hindi ko alam kung saang lupalop pa kami makakukuha ng pera. Halos isang kahig, isang tuka lang naman ang aking pamilya.

Nagising ako isang araw na naririnig ang nanay na may kausap sa harap ng kaniyang telepono kung saan inuutusan siya nitong maghubad kapalit ng malaking pera, subalit ayaw pumayag ng nanay dahil nga baka ikagalit pa ito ng itay kapag nalaman. Sinikap kong hindi makagawa ng ingay palabas ng kwarto, kaya siyang gulat ko na lamang nang tawagin niya ako.

“Sige na, anak, saglit lang naman ito, at para makatulong ka naman sa pamilya. Kailangang-kailangan lang talaga natin para sa tatay mo.”

Bumuhos ang luha ko. Hindi ko alam kung ano ang dapat gawin.

Hindi ko ito gusto, ngunit anong magagawa ko? Napuno ng tanong, sakit, at pagkalito ang puso ko. Hindi ko na namalayang tuloy-tuloy na ang pagbagsak ng luha sa mga mata ko. Sobrang bigat. Hindi ko kinakaya.

Sa muling pagmulat ng aking mata, katabi ko ang nanay na mahimbing ang tulog. Hindi ko alam kung panaginip ang nangyari o katotohanan. Naghintay ako ng senyales na totoo ang mga nangyari.

Naluha na lamang ako sa takot na tama ang aking hinala. Sa muli kong paghikbi nagising ang inay. “Tahan na anak, narito ang nanay.

Poprotektahan kita, at mananatili kang ligtas sa aking piling.”

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II I

tong panginginig ng lubog kong templo, Nagpapakasakit ‘pagkat hinuhugas Ang duming ligalig; pagsasakripisyong Bagyong espiritwal ay maipanatag.

Pinapatawad ko, pag-ahon, ang agos Sa sagradong bigat na hindi inanod.

Rowell DS. Ulang

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Ilog,

O

pen Letter

Words by Patriz Fae M. Mangalindan

Years ago, you wailed, “Nothing matters anymore!”

I remembered how you bawled, then sobbed a little softer Until everything went quiet but your sore throat throbbing With the roars of the faucet to hide shrieks of your suffering.

Years ago, you sniffled, feeling tears in your eyes Fall slowly on the pages that saw all of the lies And all of the daydreams you claimed true for yourself; Its poison laced with how you breathe its own breath.

Years ago, while scribbling, the scent of rust lingered Among the grieving walls while the crimson then crawled Deep from the flesh of a lifeless body benumbed; Its defunct soul in Underworld where it yearned to return.

You wrote from the claret ink your arms have wept With the tears that smudged its frail serif.

Years ago, you wanted to flee from being kept By the voices who screamed loudest to drown your pleas for help.

Years after that, darling, do you still remember How the embers of your dying hope slowly rekindled?

I saw how you decided, “No more, it’s enough!”

Then you thrashed the shadow; crushing its shackles of woe.

Indeed, the battle was not for the faint of heart!

You were ready, darling, and you were more than willing To finally commence your siege of rhapsody To the defenseless foe that once colonized your entirety.

Your wails of agony turned into shrills of sheer laughter.

Your tears of misery turned into sighs of euphoria!

Every day you fought until glorious rays of sun Killed the haughty gleam of the once gloomy night.

You see, darling, you have come so far From the tragedies that came to the serendipity that’s coming.

Frantic, you may have been, but you carried on and braved Through the ventures of life with your aegis of resilience.

You are yet to conquer life with all its twists and turns.

But don’t fret, young one, because where I am now Proves just how much plight we have already won.

As I went about writing this, I hope you felt and knew How I adored having witnessed the chapters you’ve gone through.

Don’t give up, young one, for you have brighter days ahead.

I’m certain, and I’ll always be here. Love, your future self.

S

hush Words by Patricia Mae H. Angco

I have seen what you’ve done there, Turning blind eye to hypocrisy, Who cares, I wonder?

Lest you'll tangle what's already a complexity, Then, let well enough alone.

Albeit it's baldly casting a feather of white, That'll swift in futile strife above a thorny spike, Thus, hold your tongue from now on.

For it's better to be wrapped in a cotton wool, Than exhibit the art of being fool, So, let well enough alone, That is how valiantly cowards are born.

R

isking Chances Words by Stephanie V. Quitiong

I only want to know what’s in his mind, Because I’m curious about his thoughts, I want him to feel the same way as mine, Because I have fallen deep for him first.

I feel sleepy, but I need to move, And have a feeling that I will see him, I hope it won’t rain like yesterday’s mood, A day I’m down, unable to see him.

I am here, and I need to wait for him, Taking a glimpse towards the far entrance, I can’t see him, only the sunrise beam, Thinking if I’ll see your appearance I notice that he wears a blue or white, So I wore a plain white shirt that you like, I hope we wear the same color of shirt, Undo, I said, he wears blue he alike.

I am here in the secret universe, Rather than looking at him from afar, And I just can’t help myself anymore, Love, that I want him to be aware of.

What harm is there in believing in love?

I’m willing to take this path towards him, Even if he doesn’t acknowledge me, It will always be my choice just for him.

I want to achieve this one thing at once, I’m utilizing several schemes, I should go as far as my heart wants to, I shouldn’t hold back anything this time.

Life is very helpless, so as for him, It may doesn’t have a correct answer, I may confess now then life lucky, Life is also very lucky for me.

I can turn decisions correctly, I may not know how important it is, But it taught me how to face it this time, Perhaps persevering was important.

As I rush to him while looking brightly, It was so vivid when he smiles at me, I was right, my decisions were paid off, And it secures my will to love you more.

L

igalig

Mga salita ni Gayzel S. Sueno

Sa rehas na bintana nakatanaw; Nakatitig sa kawalan, Isip ay nalilipay.

Sumasaliw sa hangin ng buhay.

Sinusuot ang pinakamasalimuot na agam-agam.

Tila ba ito’y karagatan, Malalim at walang hangganan.

Sa’n ba nakamasid?

Sa búkas na wari’y kaydilim, Sa mga ibon na naglipana sa himpapawid; Malaya’t walang iniisip, Sa nakaraang punong-puno ng kulay at kaluguran.

Nalilito, Nananaghili sa buhay na nakatabi.

Napupunpon ang sakit at pagdadalamhati.

Matuling dumadaloy, Naglalakbay; Ang buhangin ng panahong hindi; Namamatay, Ngunit sa mundo ko’y kasalatan; Naghihintay.

Bunsol na tanglaw sa kadiliman, Unti-unting nauupos ng nakaraan.

Sa mga sulok ng silid at sa rehas na ito, Kinakandili ang sarili, Natatanto ko’y; Ito ang tahanan ko, Panatag ba ang tampalasan kong isip o lito?

Ligtas nga ba ako?

H

iling na Litrato Mga salita ni Dionysis P. Berja

Gabi na iyon Nang si tatay ay umuwi.

Nagwawala na parang wala sa sarili Lagi niya itong bungad parati.

Dahil sa mahal ko ang aking Ama, Tinanong ko ito kung okay lang ba siya.

Ngunit ang sagot niya’y suntok at sipa Napahandusay sa sahig at tumulo ang luha.

Kinabukasa’y napagpasiyahan, Tulungan si Inay dahil siya’y lubos na nahihirapan.

Humanap ng trabaho at mapagkakakitaan, Sa murang edad ito’y napagdesisyunan.

Nakita ko ang isang Pamilya — Lubos ang pagmamahal nila sa isa’t isa.

Dito’y naramdaman lubos na kalungkutan “Bakit di ko ito maramdaman sa aming tahanan?”

Dumating ang araw, Ito ay aking kaarawan .

Ngunit di ko dama bunsod ng kagipitan Kaya’t piniling magtrabaho para punan ang kumukulong kalamnan.

Isang Litrato lamang ang aking kahilingan, Ngunit dahil sa gipit ay di mapagbigyan.

Litratong matagal nang inaasam Kutya ng mga kamag-aral ay walang isahan.

Kaya’t pinili ang iguhit na lamang, Ngunit di tugma at wari’y may kulang.

Sarili kong mukha’y hindi maiguhit, Sapagkat nakakurba ang ngiti na pilit.

Huminto sa pag-aaral, Piniling magtrabaho at ito ang pinairal.

Kaawa na si Inay pati na rin si Itay Maging ang mga kapatid ay lubos na nahihirapan.

Tuwing sasapit ang gabi Paulit-ulit na lang ang nangyayari.

Suntok, sipa, latay, at pasa, Maging pagsuka ng dugo’t lubos na nakababahala.

Hanggang sa dumating Si Tatay ay inatake, Sigaw rito, Sigaw roon Ngunit lahat ay tila walang pake.

Isinugod sa pagamutan At doon ay nilunasan.

Maraming salamat sa poong Maykapal, Isinalba ang buhay na si Itay na mahal.

Ang naipon na pera, para sa larawang kahilingan, Napagpasiyahan na roon lamang ibigay.

Hindi inisip ang litratong nais Dahil sa mahalaga ito, kesa maghinagpis.

Sumapit ang araw Lubos na akong nahirapan , Patawad at pagmamahal ni Itay Di ko na naabutan.

GUMISING AKO SA MADILIM NA KATOTOHANAN NAKITA ANG ISANG ATAUL , AT DOO’Y NASILYAPAN AKING KATAWAN. HINAGPIS AT KALUNGKUTAN ANG PUMAPAIBABAW, IYAK NI AMA’T INA DI NA MAPIGILAN. SINUBUKANG TANUNGIN, NGUNIT DI UMIIMIK, AYOKONG ISIPING, TOTOO ANG NASA ISIP. ANG REKTANGGULONG HIGAA’Y AKING NILAPITAN AT DOON NAANINAG, INAASAM-ASAM NA LARAWAN.

I

log

Mga salita ni Rowell DS. Ulang

Narito ang diyos sa rumáragasáng Ilog ng balisà at nagdedebosyon Akong lumulusong; ibig kong madama Ang lumalagaslas na peregrinasyon Ng pagkabagabag sa aking katawan.

Buo’ng pananalig na mauunawa Ang tumitilamsik na lamig ng tipan Sa maputlang balat; pagsampalataya Itong panginginig ng lubog kong templo, Nagpapakasakit ‘pagkat hinuhugas Ang duming ligalig; pagsasakripisyong Bagyong espiritwal ay maipanatag.

Pinapatawad ko, pag-ahon, ang agos Sa sagradong bigat na hindi inanod.

EDITORIAL BOARD AND STAFF Academic Year 2021-2022 College Paper Adviser

Jeremias U. Rivera, MAT Editor-in-Chief Rowell DS. Ulang Managing Editor Kylene Jorge R. Delluza News Department Head Patricia Mae H. Angco Literary Department Head Cherrylyn C. Jimenez Writers Dionysis P. Berja Carl Andrew Dela Cruz Quennie P. Lessano Shergie Gwyneth N. Ocampo Liahona Mae S. Padilla Stephanie V. Quitiong Marylou D.C. Riva Ira Linea N. Ruiz Cartoonists Vanny Sadder Virl SJ. Corpuz Johnwell M. Villasanta Layout Artist Crysta Jean B. Pabilonia