CEO’s CORNER
The retelling of truths
It has been said that there is nothing completely original under the sun. The same can be applied to the written word, or creative writing as it were.
In fact, all great works of literature are really a retelling of something essential—the nature of our existence, human morality, man and his society, the list can go on and on.
But what makes literature and creative writing delightful and pleasurable is the application of the writer’s imagination and craft to retell the truths behind the things that have always perplexed us through the ages. Just as Shakespeare sought to show us the very nature of love in “Romeo and Juliet,” or the John Milton’s exploration of human nature and evil in “Paradise Lost,” or Jose Rizal’s depiction of oppression in both “Noli Me Tangere” and “El Filibusterismo.” These classic works and many others seek to retell truths through imagination but regale us as well with the brilliant use of the written word by their authors whose names we are unlikely to forget.
It is in this masterful application of imagination and craft in writing that we can find a sort of liberation, and maybe even redemption, from the malevolent forces that wish to shackle us since the dawn of time, like tyranny, despair, and oppression.
Of course, let us remember that the retelling of truths does not in any shape or form mean that we can justify any perversion of our immediate reality. Leave that to the purveyors of disinformation. As intelligent readers, I expect Perpetualites to recognize what is true and what is false. The truth, as it has been said, shall set us free.
The works found in this collection can be seen as a retelling of our truths. My congratulations to the contributors. Such is the job of the writer. They strive to show us what is and what can be, to write about the chains that bind us and implore us to free our minds and our souls.
Mabuhay ka, Perpetualite!
Editor’s NOTES
There is something beautifully poetic about opposing forces existing within our nature. It creates a cacophony of disagreement, turmoil, and complexity. That is what makes every experience in our lives undoubtedly human; not for its reasoning or logical thinking but for its wild and untameable feelings.
I firmly believe that life cannot exist as a whole without these dichotomies. Whether they might manifest through simple decisions we encounter frequently or moral dilemmas that go beyond surface-level allegories, conflict is essential in making sur think and act as we should: as people.
Light and darkness, love and hate, order and chaos, good and evil, life and death—these dualities capture what it truly feels like to be human. With that, it is with great honor that I present “Duality of Man.”
Kristine Clare Q. Landicho Managing Editor
DR/BGEN ANTONIO L TAMAYO, PAF (RES), FPCHA, PhD Chairman of the Board and CEO/Founder
ADVISER
Ms. Rowena G. Morta
EDITORIAL BOARD
Paola P. Rigor | Editor-in-Chief
Kristine Clare Q. Landicho | Managing Editor
Juliana Andrea L. Agbulos | Sports Editor
Mark Ivan O. Domingo | Features Editor
Christian F. Barnachea | Chief Photojournalist
Lilyanah O. Guarino | Layout Director
ARTIST
Rafael S. Cariño
Juliane Prayl A. Gayo
Marcia Anna L. Nuguid
Miaflor A. Valencia
Ann Janet F. Velasco
Kim D. Musni
Dareen Jillianne E. Corcoro
LAYOUT ARTIST
Jasper Jade O. Mallari
Marie Isabel S.J. Mallari
PHOTOJOURNALIST
Carlos Raphael R. Acosta
Alan Joshua G. Adoviso
Justine Miguel E. Romero
Elizeneth Kate S. Alvior
“Night’s hidden strength”
by Lloyd Andrei L. Agbulos
In silence, obscurity woven stories in the dark, where whispers of fears and dreams softly meet. The moon casts silver sheen with its guard, pathways of light piercing the vast, dark shadows. Stars are like the very truths flickering—spreading everywhere in the sky. Each one subtly brings to mind the challenges we confront.
As we slumber, the night descends like a sapphire tear, a safe haven where we cling to our tranquility. Every shade portends a glimmer of light to come— We find strength where we once bled in the embrace of the night.
Unspoken vows
by Lian B. Cochesa
“Do you, Amelia, take James as your lawfully wedded husband?” asked the priest.
“I do,” I whispered, feeling the weight of the emotions I had been holding back.
“Do you, James, take Amelia as your lawfully wedded wife?”
I stared at him, waiting for his answer.
“I do,” he said. I didn’t know hearing those two words would stir so much inside me—emotions I had buried deep, now rushing to the surface.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest said, urging the couple at the altar to seal their promise, to seal what I was feeling.
As their lips met, I found myself lost in the crowd, feeling foolish for answering when I wasn’t the one being asked. It should’ve been me, or should it? After years together, when we couldn’t even talk about a proposal, should it really have been me?
And when he dropped to one knee for her just three months after breaking me—could it ever have been me?
Pledge of allegiance
by Marie Isabel S.J. Mallari
As a police officer, I pledge my service to this country
“Can you explain exactly how the events transpired? Can you name the policemen who shot the victims?” The senate asks. I watch as the politician dodges the question and proceeds to name no one in the force. I smile and proceed to eat dinner with my family. As long as he is there, then I will remain protected. I shall continue to obey his orders, and pledge my service to him.
I will love and serve God, my country, and my people
I stop the fight between two civilians at a bar. One of them is a standard-looking man and the other man is wearing feminine clothes, makeup, and high heels. I grab my handcuffs and immediately grab the feminine-looking man and cuff him. It doesn’t matter that a woman is screaming at me telling me that he was defending her from a pervert. It doesn’t matter to me that I haven’t asked questions yet. I don’t need to know, I will do what I do best.
I will uphold the constitution and obey legal orders of the duly constituted authorities
We are currently on the case, just having shot 10 people because they were drug addicts. I look to my right and see a young man who suddenly runs away. I chase him down. “Please officer, don’t kill me! I’m not a drug user! I’m just a student! Please, I didn’t do anything, I sw-” I shot him. Why wouldn’t I? If he wasn’t an addict, why would he run?
And I will live a decent and virtuous life to serve as an example to others
My son is currently watching a variety show. There is a policeman and a kid. The policeman is showing off his medals while the kid watches, unimpressed. “Why do you look like that? Aren’t you impressed by his medals?” one of the hosts asked. “Why would I be impressed? They shoot everyone.” the kid answered. The audience was shocked and the laugh track was being played as the hosts tried to lighten the situation. I turn the TV off. My son has seen enough. I have to maintain my reputation in the household.
Blurred lines
by Mark Ivan O. Domingo
The little girl clutching the knife trembled as she looked at the shadow lurking in the dark. Her father’s voice echoed through her head: “We must always protect our family,” he said.
Inch by inch, the little girl stepped closer. What she initially thought was a shadow turned out to be a stranger. The man turned, startled at the little girl’s sudden appearance. His eyes met with the girl, filled with desperation.
A bag of bread, a mobile phone, and a wallet in his hand, he whispered to her, “Please, this is for my family.” But the little girl did not listen. The blade struck him, and silence filled the air.
His face fell flat on the kitchen floor, with each breath becoming more shallow. While the little girl looked at her hands now filled with crimson.
The little girl’s father entered, shocked at the scene, and hugged her daughter. His voice broke the silence. “My innocent little girl... what have you done?”
His gaze then shifted to the man, the ground beneath him tainted red, as he still held the items he took for his family. A faint hum came from the burglar’s back pocket. The father checked and it was a phone, the lock screen showing a little girl holding a doll, and a woman waving behind her.
Are flowers ever ready?
by Faith Emmanuelle G. Imperial
“Do you think flowers are ever ready to die?” asked the rabbit, gazing at the sky.
The ox, steady, with a thoughtful air, replied, “Perhaps they don’t compare.
Maybe they’re more concerned with the sun, blooming bright ‘til the day is done.
Each petal a moment, each stem a dance, living fully while they have the chance.”
The boy then nodded, soft and slow, “I guess it’s the same for all who grow. It’s not the end that we prepare, but the life we’ve lived, the love we share.”
So let the flowers bloom their way, for even brief lives hold their sway.
And when the petals fall, we’ll see, they lived in full, as we should be.
Purpose
by Kristine Clare Q. Landicho
“Where are we going, Mama?”
“Hmm?” She turned towards me. “I already told you, sweetie. We’re headed to the city.”
Almost as if on cue, the truck we were riding on hit a small bump on the road, causing the two of us, as well as the other passengers, to jump in their seats. Well… there actually weren’t any seats. Not really. With what little space was left, it was difficult to even sit.
“Is that where Papa was taken to the other day?”
She simply gave me a pat on the head. “Yes, my dear. It’s where everyone goes eventually.”
I sprang to my feet, eagerly watching the green pastures give way to bustling streets. “Do you think I’ll find my purpose there?”
“Purpose?”
I nodded. “It’s what Papa told me before he left,” I explained as I turned to her. “He said that the city is where he’ll find his purpose, what he’s meant to become.”
Mama smiled and said, “Whatever it is we’ll find, I’m sure it’ll be for the best.”
Thus, I waited.
I waited even as the truck pulled up to what looked like a factory. I waited even as we were herded through the steel doors and onto a conveyor belt. I waited even as the sound of metal churning filled my ears. I waited even as I looked toward Mama, her pink snout and pointed ears trembling in fear.
I didn’t know why she was scared.
This was our purpose.
Kapirasong liwanag
Isinulat ni Juliana Andrea L. Agbulos
Maaga akong nagising dahil sa tunog na narinig ko mula sa pagkilos ni Mama habang nag-aayos ng aming mga gamit. Pagmulat ko’y nagtitiklop siya ng ilang pirasong damit ko. Masyado kasing maliit ang espasyong ginagalawan namin ni Mama rito sa bago naming tinutuluyan kung kaya’t kaunting kaluskos, ay tiyak na maririnig agad. Hindi rin ako pwedeng lumabas dito kaya lagi ko na lang nililibang ang sarili ko sa pamamagitan ng paglalaro mag-isa.
“Mama, pwede na po ba akong maglaro ulit?” tanong ko kay Mama.
“Mamaya na, Anak. Masyado pang maaga, baka marinig ka nila,” sagot ni Mama.
Kaya naman umupo na lang muna ako sa isang tabi at pinagmasdan si Mama. Maya-maya ay bumangon na rin si Ate Mikay.
“Haaay, ano kayang almusal ngayon? Sana naman masarap! Lagi na lang walang lasa pagkain dito, diyos ko!” reklamo ni Ate Mikay. Dali-dali namang sumagot si Mama, “Ano pa nga bang bago? Sabaw at kanin lang naman ang kaya nilang
ihain, kulang na nga lang ipagmakaawa mo pa.”
“Kaya ikaw, Caloy, nako! Magpakabait ka ha! ‘Wag na ‘wag kang gagaya sa nanay mo, matalino ka pa naman!” sabi ni Ate Mikay sa akin.
Sa murang edad ko na ‘to, kung minsa’y hindi ko rin mawari ang nais ipabatid ni Mama ko at ni Ate Mikay. Ngunit, bigla na lang naputol ang aking pag-iisip nang bigla akong hilahin ni Mama at dali-daling itinago sa ilalim ng kama.
“Hoy hoy hoy, ano ‘yan? Ang agaaga, ang iingay niyo! Sino ‘yung narinig ko?” sambit ng lalaki.
“Ah, wala ‘yon, chief! Baka guniguni mo lang ‘yon!” sabi ni Ate Mikay.
Sa mga oras na ‘yon, habang ako’y binabalot ng kadiliman sa ilalim ng kama, ang kapirasong liwanag na aking nasilip ang nagsilbing pag-asa ko. Ganito pala ang pakiramdam ng tinatago? Ganito pala kahirap ang buhay ni Mama ko sa kulungan–kung saan niya ako ipinuslit para lang kami’y magkasama.
Puting Pinoy
Isinulat ni Jhona Love G. Cajayon
Bata pa lang ako, pinapaliguan na ako ng pampaputi. Sabi ni Mama, “Para gumanda ka, Anak.” Sa bawat haplos ng mahapding sabon, tila ba hinuhugasan ang kulay ng aking balat, ang aking pagkatao.
Sa eskwela, naririnig ko ang mga bulong. “Anong sabon mo? Ang ganda mo!” ani ng mga kaklase kong mapuputi ang balat. Ngunit sa akin, “Ang itim mo, naliligo ka ba?” sabi nila. “Sayang, kulang na lang sa’yo puti,” ani ng tita ko habang pinipisil ang balat ko.
Sa bawat salitang iyon, nararamdaman ko ang bigat ng kasaysayan—ang mga ninuno ko na nagtatrabaho sa ilalim ng araw, habang ang mga mayayaman na alyen ay nasa loob ng kanilang mga bahay, mapuputi at malinis.
Lumaki akong naniniwala na ang liwanag ng balat ay liwanag ng buhay, na ang dilim ng balat ay dilim ng kapalaran. Maitim ang kamalasan at kasamaan, at ang puti ay kalinisan at kagandahan. Ngunit sa bawat araw na lumilipas, natutunan kong ang tunay na liwanag ay hindi nakikita sa kulay ng balat, kundi sa kulay ng puso.
Pero ‘di ko na mapigilan sarili ko, “Ate! Isang kojic nga!”
Huling sugal
Kahit ilang beses na akong natalo,
Kahit ilang beses mo na akong pinaikot, Kahit ilang beses mo na akong sinaktan, Eto pa rin ako, umaasa.
Umaasa sa mga sandaling kasama kita, Umaasa na isang araw ikaw ay mayakap, Umaasa na isang araw ika’y muling lumingap, Umaasa ako, sa maliit na tiyansang manalo. Susugal pa ba ako?
Akala ko noon, sapat na ang pag-ibig ko. Inilaan ko ang lahat—
Puso, oras, pangarap ko,
Na para bang ikaw lang ang tanging sagot sa mga naipong poot.
Ngunit ngayon, ikaw na ang dahilan nang pag-kirot. Anong ginawa mo?
Hinayaan mo akong tumakbo at mapagod habang pilit mong nilalayo ang sarili mo.
Hindi ko alam kung bakit ‘yan ang ‘yong napagtanto,
Sabi mo masyado kang maraming alalahanin at ‘di kaya ng oras mo.
Hindi ko naman hiling ang oras mo, nais ko lamang maging parte ng buhay mo.
Isinulat ni Alan Joshua G. Adoviso
Nagmakaawa akong marinig, Ngunit sa bawat hakbang ko papalapit, Lalo ka namang lumalayo.
Hindi ko alam na matagal ka nang tumalikod, Habang ako, hawak pa rin ang mga salitang walang bigat,
Nakabitin sa hangin, tuluyang kumupas.
Kaya heto na, Huling beses na akong magpapakatanga para sa’yo.
Pagod na akong habulin ang mga pangarap na iniwan mo,
Pagod na akong magpanggap na may natitira pa para sa atin. Susugal pa ba ako?
Natuto na akong mahalin ang sarili ko, At sa laban na ‘to, ako na ang bibitiw.
Kaya ngayon hindi ko alam kung isusuko ko ba.
Dahil ba mahal pa rin kita?
O dahil mas mahal ko na ang sarili ko?
Ito na ang huling sugal ko, Huling sugal kung hahayaan mong manalo.
Kapag mahal mo, ipaglalaban mo
Isinulat ni Sanice Glyka M. Patalinghug
Sabi sa akin noon ng mga nakakatanda, “Kapag mahal mo, ipaglalaban mo.”
Kaya naniwala ako, ipinaglaban ko ang mga bagay, ang mga tao na minahal ko.
Ipinakita ko sa mundo kung ano ang kaya,
Hanggang sa minahal ko siya, at hindi na ang sarili kong halaga.
Nakita ko, naramdaman ko, totoo.
Totoo na kaya kong ipaglaban ang mahal ko,
Totoo na kaya kong tiisin ang lahat para sa kan’ya, Pero totoo rin pala, Na kaya niya akong tiisin mag-isa.
Tanda ko pa ang mga araw na parati mo akong pinapangiti, Halos ‘di na ako makatulog, dahil huli mo ang aking mga kiliti, Umabot sa araw na ‘di na ako makatulog, dahil sa sakit na tinitiis,
Pusong bigo at parating mahapdi.
Nanatili akong umaasa sa mga pangakong alam kong mabibigo, At hindi ako nagkamali—pareho tayong sumuko.
Umalis ako, at sa wakas, natutuhan ko, “Kapag mahal mo, ipaglalaban mo.”
Kaya ipinaglaban ko ang sarili ko.
Matematika
Isinulat ni Juliane Prayl A. Gayo
Ang paborito kong subject ay matematika; gusto ko ang koordinasyon ng mga numero. Sila ay tiyak, hindi nagbabago, marami pero organisado.
Ang paborito kong subject ay matematika, at hinahangad ko na bilangin ang hibla ng iyong buhok, isukat ang anggulo ng iyong mukha, at kalkulahin ang eksaktong sandali ng iyong ngiti.
Pero ikaw ay isang mahirap na ekwasyon, At hindi ko mapapatawad ang aking sarili kung ako’y magkakamali. Masyadong kumplikado at magulo, puno ng emosyon na hindi ko mawari.
Ikaw ang aking paboritong alaala. Hindi ka matematika kaya— nais kong matuto nang higit pa mula sa iyo, marinig ang lahat ng iyong paborito.
Hulog
Isinulat ni Ayeka Abrielle V. Chavez
“Manong, saglit lang po, may bata,” sabi ng isang ina na pasakay ng jeep kasama ang anak niya. “Huwag ka malikot, baka mahulog ka,” suway ng ina sa anak.
Tila lito ang bata nang nauna siyang pumasok. Tumabi ito sa akin. Maluwag ang jeep dahil masyado pang maaga para bumiyahe, halos walang nakasakay sa loob.
Inangat ng batang babae ang tingin niya at nginitian ako. Bigla siyang humawak sa kamay ko upang mas maayos siyang makaupo. Napatingin naman ang kaniyang ina at tumingin sa akin, tila humihingi ng paumanhin.
Hindi ko na ito masyadong pinansin at tumingin na lang sa labas ng bintana. Ang bilis ng takbo ng jeep. Kung kailan ayokong makarating agad sa paroroonan ko, saka naman walang traffic. Hindi talaga patas ang mundo.
Inabot lamang ako ng halos isang oras bago makarating. Nasabihan ko na rin ang kausap ko na nandito na ako.
Nagulat ako nang biglang may kumalabit sa likod ko.
“Hi po, ma’am, ako po si Liza. Kayo po ba si Rose?” tanong niya. Agad naman akong tumango. Nauna siya sa paglalakad. Makipot at madilim ang eskinitang dinaanan namin.
“Pasok po kayo, ma’am. Nandoon po si doktora sa loob. At alam niyo naman po, huwag niyo na po sana ipagsabi ito. Nandito po kami para tumulong,” sabi niya bago ngumiti, ngunit kita sa mata niya ang awa.
“Hello, Rose. I am doktora at ako ang gagabay sa’yo sa prosesong ito. Maupo ka muna riyan bago kita bigyan ng instructions,” sabi niya bago lumabas saglit.
Agad akong napabuntong hininga. Talagang gagawin ko na ito. Wala nang makakapigil sa akin. Napatingin ako sa aking tiyan.
Kung totoong may kaluluwa ka at makikita mo ako, siguro kahit sa kabilang buhay hindi tayo magtatagpo, panigurado at sa impyerno ako mapupunta. Pero kung makikita mo ako, sana hindi ka magalit. Hindi ko lang talaga kaya na buhayin ka. Hindi na kita maisisilang at hindi mo mararanasan ang masalimuot na buhay sa mundong ito.
Pagtakas sa katapusan
Isinulat ni Jhecelle Mei M. Marquez
Takbo.
Bawal mong ihinto ang iyong mga paa sa pagtapak at paglayo. Hindi maaring maabutan ka niya. Hindi maaring makuha ka ng anino ng katapusan. Huwag mo nang isipin pa ang puwang sa pagitan ng iyong hakbang at oras na dumaraan.
Suungin mo ang bawat eskinita. Lusungin mo ang bawat madilim na kanto. Huwag mong pansinin ang bawat boses na nagsasabing ikaw ay huminto. Hindi ka maaring maging gaya nila! Mga nakulangan ng oras at bumigay ang mga paa.
Huwag kang lilingon.
Huwag kang hihinto.
Sa oras na mapagod ka ay lalapitan ka na niya. Makikilala mo ang kamao ng malupit na tadhana, gagalusan ng matalim niyang kuko ang iyong pag-asa.
Huwag kang titigil.
Madaanan mo man ang iyong ina na abala sa paglapag ng taya, o ang iyong ama na muling naghahanap ng panandaliang saya.
Bawal kang huminto.
Bilisan mo pa. Itapak mo nang mariin at sandali ang iyong mga paa. Ano? Masakit na ba?
Huwag. Huwag mo itong damdamin. Isipin mo ang kanilang iisipin. Huhusgahan nila ang iyong pagsuko.
Mahina ka. Sige at habulin mo ang iyong hininga. Papalapit na siya. Subukan mo ulit tumayo mula sa pagkakadapa.
Ano mahina na ba ang iyong mga sikmura?
Wala na.
Wala ka nang magagawa.
Nakuha ka na niya.
Iyan na ang iyong huling hininga. Ngayon, isa ka na lamang katahimi- kan na sumisigaw ng katarungan. Isa ka na lamang kaluluwa. Mahina ang paa at mababaw ang sikmura. Wala ka na sa mundo ng mga payapa.
Dialogo
Isinulat ni Rafael S. Cariño
Ako ay pumasok sa kwarto.
“Musta naman po kayo?”
Siya’y nakaharap sa kisame, nakapikit ang mata. Ang kanyang mukha’y ‘di gumagalaw.
“May kailangan po ba kayo?”
Siya’y tahimik.
“Pasensya na kung naistorbo ko po kayo.”
Matigas ang kan’yang kamay.
“Eto na po.”
Nilagyan ko siya ng kumot. Siya’y malamig.
“Magpahinga na po kayo.”
Pasensya na. Ngayon lang ako nakabalik.
The Official Student Publication of the University of Perpetual Help System DALTA - Las Piñas
“Man is not truly one, but two... even if I could rightly be said to be either, it is because I was radically both...”
— Robert Louis Stevenson
