Retrograde

TOLENTINESTAR

THE OFFICIAL STUDENT PUBLICATION OF UNIVERSITY OF NEGROS OCCIDENTAL-RECOLETOS

tolentinestar@gmail.com

SINCE 1947

Editorial Staff 2022-2023

EDITORIAL BOARD

CARLA JOANNE ROBLES Editor-in-Chief

CRISTIAN JAY PLAZA Associate Editor

CRISHA ARROYO Managing Editor

DESK EDITORS

Alea Jen Villahermosa Literary Folio Editor

Maecel Joy Priolo Magazine Editor

Krisha Danielle Ronzales Newspaper Editor

Tolentine Star would like to express gratitude to the following people:

GOD ALMIGHTY for His overflowing blessings, grace, and protection that have enabled the completion of the folio despite the adjustments in coming back to the university grounds;

TECHNICAL EDITORS

Lance Joshua Satojito Senior Multimedia Editor

Khrystal Key Claridad Junior Multimedia Editor

Kashina Ashley Gatilogo Information Manager

PUBLICATION MANAGER

Theresa Mae Dulman Editorial Assistant

THE GAWAD TOLENTINO PARTICIPANTS AND CONTRIBUTORS for expressing their narratives and perspectives through their pieces and art, and making us a part of that artistic journey;

THE TEACHERS for nurturing, recognizing, and supporting the students’ skills;

ENGR. ASHRAF KHATER, ChE, MEnE for eagerly mentoring, motivating, and guiding us;

KAYE EUNICE LAMERA, RSW, for the mental well-being advice, life teas, and sound counsel;

ALYSSA MARIE ARCEÑO for her comforting presence and sincere advice;

WRITERS

Faith Jarhoset Alipio

Nicole Bucayani

Keren Faith Dilema

Shaira Iwayan

Micah Ellah Jaylo

Shannon Marie Libo-on

Anne Tricia Olmillo

Nathalie Ortillo

Sharlyn Grace Palotes

Danica Rose Quindap

Lixie Imee Soriano

GRAPHIC ARTISTS

Jalyn Rose Elizan

Kristoffer Flores

Princess Alexis Moraña

Marlaw Thrextan Rendon

VIDEOJOURNALIST

Mary Pauline Santos

CARTOONIST

Shoppy Lynn Condemilicor

PHOTOJOURNALISTS

Karyl Eunice Anjao

Ma. Katreena Bernal

Jennyfer Briones

Divine Desoyo

Lesel Erexima

Raeverly Elena Ramirez

LAYOUT ARTIST

Kiarrah Manzan

CONSULTANCY BOARD

HUMAN RESOURCE CONSULTANT

Kaye Eunice Lamera, RSW

TECHNICAL CONSULTANT

Alyssa Marie Arceño

TECHNICAL ADVISER

Engr. Ashraf Khater, ChE, MEnE

DR. DEXTER PAUL DIOSO, CSASS, for the continuous support and trust as we keep the flow of love for art and literature alive through our outputs;

REV. FR. LEO ALARAS, OAR, for entrusting us with the holistic growth of the students through campus journalism.

It is an honor to be a part of what makes us humans alive, the passion for the arts. Dear readers, and authors of various shapes, sizes, and faces, you are the stars that make this universe of us fantastic, bringing forth the birth of our literary folio. Your bravery to put your talents onto paper, your hunger to read existence, and your unending support for literature in all forms fueled the creation of this literary folio. As we tread in the present, may you see the seeds you sow come to life once you look back here from the future. In your retrograde, may you keep your passion aflame.

- Literary Folio Editor

Shannon (Sexbomb Aspirant 2). Shannon is service-oriented and empathetic to other staff. While majoring in management accountancy, she is also a mental health advocate and a purposeful leader centered on awareness.

Sharlyn (Sexbomb Aspirant 3). Sharlyn, an ambivert who enjoys being out and about, takes delight in the beauty of breathtaking views. Adventures revive her energy, and traveling is where she unwinds. Shoppy (lost donut). Pau-Pau is an open book. She attracts company and ensures no one gets left behind in her social circle. Her soft heart creates a subtle space for others but never shatters in times of distress.

Theresa (barbie). Living up to her name, Theresa is always considered a giver and a good listener empathy for the marginalized and awareness of social injustice gives her a strong sense of compassion toward disadvantaged members of our society.

Thrextan (parrot). Thrextan tends to leave lasting impressions not only with his vibrant dance moves but through his refined animating abilities as well. His illustrations carry his heart and soul that even the most minor details have a significant impact.

Yna (the crown). Yna, the soft-spoken belle. Alongside her charm are her eloquence, wits, and charismatic persona, which sums up why she is renowned as a darling of the crowd.

Yzi (full bloom). Yzi is a beautiful, versatile lady. She doesn't only help those in need of health aid but also shows great strength as a future policewoman. Nevertheless, her love for the literary always keeps her heart in the right place.

better capture a moment.

Lixie (accelerated). Lixie is a calm and compassionate companion. The softness of her expressions complements her writing style, creating soul-stirring prose and poems.

Maecel (coffee lang). Maecel can be a little intimidating in her silence, but behind her girl-boss facade lies a bunch of witty puns and effortlessly great humor. She is a force to be reckoned with, along with her unique ideas.

Mary Pauline (hamster grandmother). Pau is one distinct ray of sunshine that stands out in the crowd. Wherever she goes, the beam of fun and life always follows. Just as she is passionate about coffee and literature, her remarkable versatility in every aspect also adds more light to her already bright character.

Mary Romi (jibaro). The versatile visual genius. Not only does Mary Romi expresses herself and craftsmanship through her love for cosplaying and cosmetics, but also through digital artistry.

Micah (glue stick). Micah is more than just a pretty face. She's effortlessly creative and eloquently expresses herself through a string of words. Beware, she might catch your heart on a string, too.

Nathalie (Selena Gomez). Nat and her extraordinary grit. Out of genuine altruism, she amplifies her strong convictions about societal issues.

Nicole (foot). Nicole, a silent yet strong-willed bookworm. The rush of her thoughts shared out creatively and passionately like stars waiting to be admired from afar never fails to remind us of the beauty of freedom through words and pictures and life itself.

Raeverly (drug dealer). Raev and her one-of-a-kind wit and charm can surely brighten the day of everyone around her. Her unwavering love for animals shows that she has a tender heart for those in need of protection.

Ron (film). The cinematic storyteller. Ron's visual expertise lies deep down in his passion for portraying emotions, stories of life, and humanness through photographs.

Sergs (dreams). A quick-witted gal who can make everyone laugh. Sergs prove that social workers are not only kind at heart but also artistic in being.

Shaira (Sexbomb Aspirant). Some might say Sashi studies all day with no play, but for her, study time is playtime. Not only is she smart, but she is also gifted with talents and virtues.

Keren (This is the voice). Once you hear Keren's timbre, you'll never stop longing to hear it. She projects emotions through singing and writing, astounding you with her warmth.

Keziah (Sylvia). Kez can make one immortal through her paper and pen. Her wit and unique writing style can surely make you want to read more and more pieces she intricately crafted; a genius in the art of words.

Khrystal (Dan Eslit). Kiki, the carefree lover of kinetics. Her sense of determination proves that talent shines out more with motivation on one side and perseverance on the other.

Kiarrah (deleter). Kiarrah, this hopeful soon-to-be medical health worker, won't let anything taint her dreams. From bringing pride to her family to traveling to her dream destination—Amsterdam, nothing can pull her away from the path.

Kim (shutter). The creative wanderer. His dedication to serve the student body is as powerful as his passion for photography. Despite all those, it is an amazing trait of his to allot time for his life ventures.

Krisha (why tho). KD, the dependable ate. She never thinks of making people shine as one way of dimming her light. She is the best supporter of talent and skills from friends and people she admires.

Kristoffer (hardbound). KD, or as we call him, KD guy, is a breath of fresh air with his unique and new ideas. This skilled cartoonist is both a dreamer and a creator of bright animations, evolving them into reality.

Kyn (pride). The multi-talented star. From her love for the arts and singing to effortlessly showcasing her dance moves, this risk-taker proves that life is meant to be lived to the fullest.

Kyun (pep talk mentor). If beauty and wits can be encapsulated in a person, Kyun would be the epitome of both. Her dedication as HR Consultant inspires the staff to be hard-working and dedicated like her, as she believes that words can move people to make a difference.

Lance (age: 64). Lance is a flexible thinker; overflowing with creativity, science, and intellect. This passionate nursing freshman is always a few steps ahead of the game.

Lesel (shot-shat). Lesel’s photography skills are admired by netizens and her fellow photojournalists. She is a trendsetter in the making, inventing possible techniques to

Chin Chin (orange skies). The vibrant and bubbly Chin Chin. Her devotion to God is a bright addition to her distinct personality. This lovely young lady has that kind of confidence that is seen riding along her humility.

Cristian (wiggle wiggle). Cristian's versatility has no limitations when it comes to creativity. He is mindful and attentive, especially to those around him.

Cyrin (Ride). Lia, through her lenses, sees the world in different colors and angles. Her appreciation for the art steers her passion for multiple picture-perfect shots and captures.

Danica (Miss Yasss). Danica, a social butterfly, loves to emit her zest to everyone in the room. This easy-going cutie enjoys meaningful conversations just as much as how she loves her iced coffee.

Divine (The Bangs). Divine’s passion for being of service to others is what drove her to become a camp journo. Although she gives an impression of shyness, you’ll be bawling into laughter once you hear her silly puns.

Faith (G is for Gaslight). Faith is said to be the incarnation of our Mother Mary. Her innocent face and charming charisma can surely make someone feel at ease just being with her.

Jalyn (Merida). Jalyn is a creative dreamer. In her pursuit of becoming the engineer of her dreams, she believes that friendship is an essential ingredient to pack along the way.

Jennyfer (Ms. COPRE). Not only does she have a passion for photography, but Jennyfer also loves martial arts and physical activities. She proves that beauty and brawls can be a strong combination to show a woman's strength and grace.

Joshua (phoenix). Joshua, the profound leader. Equipped with a competent skill set, this bright star ignites a burning passion for service and excellence.

Karyl (tiktokerist). Bubbly and creative, Karyl has what it takes to tell a story through clicks and lens manipulation. With unique insights, she is driven to merge her concepts into a solid plan of action.

Kashina (Harry's Girl). Kashina has the natural drive to be in charge. There is clarity in her words spoken and actions taken since she has what it takes to control a crowd.

Katreena (Ang C sa cover ay crush). Yna possesses a soft demeanor where comfort blooms. She can both strike a picturesque pose and immortalize moments with a click of the shutter button.

Alea (the crying lady). Alea's love for aesthetics creates an evocative experience for her readers through her writings. Like a mentor, she is goal-driven and has control over every situation, which makes her a model for her fellow passionate poets.

Aleczeah (blue lights). Along with her developmental skills for technology, Aleczeah is not only a certified schoolgirl but an artistic visionary as well.

Alexis (sweet tooth). As a food enthusiast, Pring loves exploring new flavors as a pursuit. Her love for coffee and cakes can be compared to her passion for colors and strokes.

Aki (receipts). Aki has the perfect balance of humor and thought. Her wise words are products of her profound understanding of one’s nature. In her strictness comes the warmth of motherly care, which serves to be the light of the publication.

Andre (computer). This brilliant writer isn't only tech-savvy but also skilled in the art of writing. He eloquently expresses his words that can make one wonder which new universe he will take them through his stories.

Andrea (prism). Underneath the calm and quiet demeanor is a passion burning for creativity. Andrea proves that still waters do really run deep.

Aly (Sexbomb leader). Aly might leave you wondering why you've missed out on too many glorious films of substance in your life. A true creative and an enthusiast. Her colorful touch in life centers on the vividness of her roles—one, in particular, is being a good mother to her cats.

Anne (mushroom). Anne is musically-inclined and is fond of wordplay. An affec- tionate sister and a strong defier of odds. Courage is her weapon in battling any hindrance that may shake her faith.

Ashraf (Pharaoh). Ashraf is the ever-guiding light of the publication. Like a sage, he provides us with advice and techniques that fuels our better to become best. Driven by his love for teaching, he sustains the ceaseless potential of the workforce.

Carla (air freshener). Sijey embodies flowers found in the wilderness— full of po- tential though hidden with thorns. The gift and prowess she possesses prove that brilliance is her most salient feature.

Chariz (theatre). Chariz, the resilient artist. She injects persistence into her system, bearing multiple talents and manifesting her visions into reality.

Charmmy (paws). Shammy is a part-time student and a full-time fur mom. Chained in her craft is her love for writing and passion for visuals, too.

Profiles

Going Back To The Old Days

By Kyn Lance Gelvero

Trip Down Memory Lane

By Andrea Bianca Uy

A Timeless Contrast

By Mary Romi Amechazurra

Lola Would Like To Battle

By Andrea Bianca Uy

To The Younger Me

By Kyn Lance Gelvero

Artwork

Back In Time

By Charmmy Plangca

By Ron Albert Libosada

Pangabuhi

By Chin Chin Demaraye

By Chin Chin Demaraye Pangabuhi

By Aleczeah Ysabelle Padre

A Foresight Through A Retrospect

By Kim Vistar

mawag kay tita.

"Thesa, saglit!" mayamaya pa'y lumapit si Emma sa kinatatayuan namin ni tita.

Nagulat naman kami ni tita kaya ramdam ko na parang nanigas si tita sa kinatatayuan nito.

"Thesa, salamat. Salamat, dahil nanatili kang kaibigan hanggang sa huli. Salamat, kasi kahit walang naniwala saakin ng panahong 'yon nagtiwala ka parin saakin. Ito…" sabay abot ni Emma sa diary niya.

"Para sayo ‘to. Liham ko para sayo."

Ilang saglit pa'y tumulo na ang luha ni tita at sabay naman ng pagbabago ng emosyon ni Emma.

"Akin to! Bakit mo kukunin sa akin to? Akin to!" pagsisigaw nito sa tita ko kaya kinuha na si Emma ng kanyang bantay.

Napaupo si tita sa sahig, ni hindi ko na alam ang gagawin kaya niyakap ko nalang si tita sabay sabing…

“Hindi ka niya mahagilap ng panahong iyon kaya naisipan niyang isulat ang lahat ng gusto niyang ikwento sayo. Kaya tita, kumawala ka na rin sa sakit dahil wala kang kasalanan at lubos na nagpapasalamat si Emma sayo."

“Anong gagawin natin dito, ta?”

“Edi, ipapakilala kita kay Emma,” maikling sagot nito habang nag patuloy sa paglalakad.

Iniwan ako ni tita sa isang bakanteng upuan sa ilalim ng puno at mayamaya pa ay tinawag ako nito.

“Ito si Emma. Ang may-ari ng diary na ‘ yan. ”

“Matagal niya na hinahanap yan.”

Hindi ako makagalaw sa kinatatayuan ko sapagkat ang Emma na nasa diary ay ibangiba na sa Emma na nasa harapan ko. Napakalaki ng kanyang ngiti at nangungusap ang kanyang mga mata.

Isa lang ang masasabi ko. Sinayang ng lalaking ‘yon ang buhay ng magandang nilalang na ito dahil ngayon, hindi lang siya sa masakit na alaala nakakulong kung hindi pati na rin sa apat na sulok ng mental hospital na ito.

“Liham ko,” paulit-ulit na sambit ni Emma pagtanggap nito sa diary.

Habang hawak hawak ni Emma ang diary niyayakap niya ito ng nakangiti. Mas lalo namang nangibabaw ang awa ko kay Emma. Ang biktima ng gahasa at cyber bullying sa social media.

“Ngayong kilala mo na si Emma.”

Napalingon naman ako sa aking tita na nagsasalita.

“Sana maging mapanuri ka sa mga bagay bagay hindi lang sa social media kung hindi pati na rin sa iyong mga kaibigan,” sabay lakas ng hampas ng hangin.

“Dahil kahit ngayon, araw-araw akong binabalikan ng panahon na ‘yon at iniisip ko kung sana nagkaroon ako ng oras na makinig kay Emma, hindi niya sana makikilala si Rus at higit sa lahat wala sanang trahedya ang nangyari sa buhay niya,” napaluha na kwento ni tita.

Matapos ang maikling pag-uusap ay naglakad na kami palabas, hanggang sa may tu-

nakita?

Bakit imbes na tulungan ako ng pamilya ko’y hindi nila ako kayang tingnan sa mata?

Bakit tinanggalan ako ng karapatan ng paaralan mangarap?

Bakit ba ang hina ng hustiya dito sa bansa?

Bakit?

“Hoy, ano yan?” tanong ni Nina.

“Nakita ko sa bookshelf ni tita ang ganda ng sulat kaya aking binasa,” pagpapaliwanag ko.

“Ah, ‘yan ata ang talambuhay ni Emma,” sabay lapit nito sa pwesto kung saan ako nakaupo.

“Talambuhay as in diary? Bakit nandito?”

“Hindi ko din alam. Mamaya tanong mo si tita.”

Habang naghihintay kay tita ay muli kong binuksan ang diary ni Emma. Doon ko nabasa ang iba pa nitong mga masasakit na mga alaala. Ang hirap naman ng ginagawa niya. Sa panahong naganap ang nangyari sa kanya tanging ang ballpen at diary lang ang kasangga niya. Mas gusto ko na tuloy makilala itong si Emma.

Mayamaya pa’y dumating na si tita.

“Sabi ni Nina binasa mo daw ang diary ni Emma?”

“Opo, tita.”

“

Tamang tama may pupuntahan ako ngayon. Gusto mo bang sumama?”

Hindi ako tumanggi sa imbitasyon ni tita at nagtungo nga kami sa kung nasaan si Emma.

Tumigil ang dyip sa isang malawak na lupain.

“Ayaw mo uminom?” pag-anyaya nito sa’kin.

“Hindi ako umiinom,” kabado kong sagot.

Sa una ay hindi niya naman ako pinilit pero ng malasing si Rus ay hindi niya ako tinigilan hanggang sa uminom na rin ako ng isang beses.

Kinabukasan, nagising ako na sobrang sakit ng aking ulo at nasa bahay na ako. Paglabas ng kwarto bumungad agad ang magulang kong umiiyak. Nang makita nila ako ay agad akong sinugod ng aking ina sabay sampal ng malakas sa aking mukha.

“Ano bang kasalanan namin sa’yo at pinaparusahan mo ang pamilya natin.”

“Ma?” gulat kong tanong.

Wala akong alam.

Hindi ko alam.

“Talagang nagmamaang-maangan ka pa. Nakakahiya ka Emma! Nakakadiri ka!”

Sa simula ay para akong nagbibilang ng buhangin sa sagot ng aking ina pero ng makita ko ang bidyo doon ko nalang naunawaan ang sitwasyon ko.

Pero teka… kasalanan ko ba?

Hindi ba’t ako’y isa lang ding biktima?

Bakit parang walang nakakaunawa?

At ngayon, ang bidyo sa social media kumakalat na.

Hindi ako makalabas ng bahay at hindi ko na rin maibabalik ang dati kong buhay. Kaya sa pagsusulat ko ibinaling ang aking oras. Kaya gusto ko lang din ilabas ang aking saloobin.

Bakit ang biktima ay mas lalong pinagpyestahan ng masa?

Bakit hindi man lang nila inalam kung ano ang totoong nangyari sa likod ng kanilang

Emma

By Charmmy Plangca

Pangarap ko ang mabuhay ng maayos at mapayapa ngunit ng dahil sa internet at makabagong teknolohiya nabago ang takbo ng aking mundo. Noon, sapat na sakin ang makabasa ng balita mula sa dyaryo, ang makipag-usap sa mga kaibigan ko at maging ang paggawa ng takdang aralin sa paaralan na walang kodigo. Maraming nagawa ang makabagong teknolohiya sa akin kung may masama man itong naidulot may mabuti din naman itong naitulong.

Sa edad na bente, napagtanto ko na tama nga ang sinasabi nila. Susubukin ka talaga ng tadhana hanggang sa mapapasabi ka na hindi mo na kaya. Lahat ng bagay alalahanin mo katulad ng iyong itsura, marka, at pera. Pero katulad ng karamihan, alam kong ito’y aking malalampasan. Kaya lang mahirap pala magkwento sa kaibigan lalo na't alam mong may sarili din silang problemang kinakaharap.

Kaya sa social media ako’y naingganyo. Kahit may mga kaibigan naman ako, naghahanap pa rin ako ng bago at sa limang nakilala ko si Rus ang bukod tanging hindi nagsawa na makinig sa hinaing ko sa buhay.

“Sa totoo lang ayaw kong maniwalang totoo ka.” Iyan ang mga salitang nasabi ko sa una naming pagkikita.

“Sabagay, madami na kayang na i-scam sa social media.”

Lubos kong ikinagagalak na nakilala ko kasi si Rus sapagkat hindi naman talaga madaling makahanap ng taong mapagkakatiwalaan. 'Yon bang hindi ka huhusgahan sa kwento mo at higit sa lahat bukas ang kanyang pag unawa.

Isang araw, sumama ako sa lakad ni Rus kasama ang kanyang barkada. Laking gulat ko at sa mesa’y may alak na nakalapag. Kinakabahan ako sa hindi maipaliwanag na dahilan. Dito ko lang din napagtanto na hindi ko pa pala gaano kakilala si Rus.

relief and took a moment to catch my breath.

But as I turned to leave, I noticed something else. The scenery was changing. The buildings, the trees, the roads – they were all morphing into something else entirely. And then I saw the figure again, but this time it was closer, and I could make out its features. It was me, or at least it looked like me.

Panic set in as I realized that I was trapped in some kind of loop. No matter how far I ran, I would always end up back in this same place. And worse yet, I was being chased by myself. The figure was gaining on me, and I could feel its cold breath on the back of my neck.

I knew I had to do something, but what? I was lost, confused, and terrified. I thought about the watch my lolo gave me and how it had brought me here. Maybe it could take me back out again. I pulled it out of my pocket and held it up to my face.

Suddenly, everything went black. I felt a jolt, and then I was back in my own world, lying on my bed with the watch in my hand. I can hear the ringing of the bells again and the unwavering noise that came from the near tindahan, the click and clacks of the tiles of mahjong, and the empty tin cans. It took me a moment to realize what had just happened, and then a wave of relief washed over me. I had made it out of that nightmarish world.

But then, I looked closer at the watch again, and something caught my eye. It wasn't ticking anymore. In fact, it wasn't moving at all. It was frozen in time, just like I had been. And then I understood – I was never traveling in reverse.

Am I?

And then,

I found myself in a place I didn't recognize.

I tried to stay quiet, hoping they would go away, but they didn't. The whispers grew louder and more urgent until I finally couldn't take it anymore. I burst out of the cave, ready to face whatever was waiting for me.

But as soon as I stepped out, everything went silent. The world around me was frozen, like time had stopped. And then, without warning, everything began to move in reverse. The trees shrank back into the ground, the birds flew backwards into the sky, and I felt myself being pulled back the way I had come.

I tried to fight it, but it was no use. The world was moving in reverse, and I was helpless to stop it. I was pulled back to the beginning of my journey, back to where I had first entered this strange world.

And then I realized the truth. I had never moved at all. I had been stuck in a time loop, endlessly reliving the same experience over and over again. The strange world, the whispers, the feeling of being lost - it was all just a trap to keep me there, trapped in the loop forever.

I felt a cold fear wash over me as I realized I was doomed to repeat this experience for eternity. But then, a small glimmer of hope appeared. If I had never moved at all, then maybe there was a way to break the loop.

I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of being pulled backwards. And then, with all the strength I could muster, I fought against it. I pushed forward, even as the world moved backwards around me.

But then I saw something that made me stop in my tracks. It was a figure, or at least I thought it was a figure, standing motionless in the distance. It was too far to make out any features, but I could tell it was human-shaped. My heart started to race as I realized that I wasn't alone in this strange world.

I cautiously approached the figure, but as I got closer, I realized that it wasn't a person at all. It was a statue, frozen in time like everything else in this bizarre place. I let out a sigh of

Barangay Tiempo

By Yzi Oquindo

Ugh, Sunday. The supposed to be the rest day, but it is impossible at Barangay Tiempo.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the noisy town, casting a warm glow on the clamoring street of Barangay Tiempo. I could hear the distant sound of church bells ringing, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of sizzling pork tocino filling the air, the click and clacks of the mahjong tiles from the neighborhood, and flying tin cans from tumbang-baka’ s tournament.

This is what a normal Sunday here in Barangay Tiempo looks like. "It's too early," I said as I looked at my watch, and I dozed off.

I found myself in a place I didn't recognize. No clamoring, no kids playing, no mahjong. The world around me was completely unfamiliar, and everything was overturning. It was silent. The trees seemed to be growing upside down, and the birds were flying backwards. Even the air felt heavy like it was pressing down on me.

I tried to leave, but I couldn't find my way out. Every step I took only seemed to lead me further in, and soon I was completely lost. I wandered for hours, hoping to find some way out of this bizarre world, but the more I walked, the more lost I became.

As the sun began to set, I realized I was going to be stuck here for the night. I looked around for some kind of shelter, but everything was backward. The houses had no doors, and the windows were on the roof. I eventually found a small cave that seemed to be facing the right way, and I curled up inside, hoping to find some kind of peace.

But as the night wore on, I heard strange noises coming from outside the cave. They were like whispers, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. They seemed to be coming closer and closer, and soon I could feel their presence just outside the cave.

With one swift move, she kicks Jerry out. She whispers, "Live for me."

As he fell off, all of his blood returned, reverting him to his original state. "Trish, NOOO!" Jerry screams in terror.

Some time passed.

Another couple approached the orb. Two remains caught their sight, gray hairs hinted death due to old age.

Both suffered the same fate, waiting for their lovers and never left.

“There’s that sound again.”

“VHUM VHUM VHUM ”

your mark in the world. This could be the breakthrough we’ve been searching for. This could hold the cure.”

“And what if it’s not?”

“Then we’ve got nothing to lose. I’m tired of being the laughing stock of the scientific community. Like you, I want to die in a hospice, and my life celebrated after I depart.”

“People say that it’s primed in the human condition to fear the dark. Darkness represents the unknown. But since when did people of science like us feared the unknown?” he boasted.

“But at what cost, Jerry?” she objected. “Dreams are made from the same stuff as nightmares.”

“For you, Trish, everything.”

Without thought, Jerry ran into the void. Trish, afraid of abandoning his lifelong partner, followed suit.

Jerry wakes up and sees Trish aging backwards, rapidly. Both naked. The cut in her heart was slowly fading. "Trish!" he tries to call out, but the sound is only muffled in the empty void. Blood leaks and spools from his body and enters her. Trish, meanwhile, sees Jerry aging forward and fast. Skin mounting upon skin, and gray engulfing his body. She can only assume that the void is draining Jerry's life to the bareness of being.

The fountain was never a place but a rift in space-time. A corporeal realm existing between two planes of existence: life and death. A vacuum where time loses its grip on the body. Where one's cup is emptied to fill the other.

A tear sheds from Jerry’ s eye.

“It’s okay,” he gestures with his mouth.

Trish musters up all the energy she has left. "Thank you for trying, but..."

“There it is again, Jerry!” Trisha muttered. The light started to change colors. Warping the room with every chroma in the spectrum.

The warping sounds like pool tides crashing against filtration gates or the pompous breathing of a dying cow. The narrow walls did nothing but amplify its ominous echo.

“Well, I guess there’s no other way but forward,” Jerry said.

The couple continued to walk. Jerry dragged Trish's weight, leaving blood trails in their wake. As they got closer to the light, they felt a brush of cold wind. The chatter of birds was strange and felt out of place. As they neared the exit, their eyes were rushed with light. They stumbled upon a lush green paradise teeming with life. This place was akin to a snow globe, lying at the heart of the mountain. A myriad of vibrant birds flocked the bubble. Fruits and flowers grew abundantly. And the water was surging down the rocky ceiling. "This must be it, Jerry."

“Surely, the Fountain of Youth was also called the Fountain of Life,” he replied.

But no fountain was in sight. Nor any mysterious body of water that could hold magical properties.

“VHUM VHUM VHUM ”

“There’s that sound again,” both jinxed.

They followed the sound and saw an orb of darkness floating above the grass floor. Its aura distorts the space around it, warping the light. Meanwhile, besides it, the remains of what seemed to be another traveler rest. Dead due to old age.

“Jerry, this is not something to be trifled with. We should go.”

“Trish, this is it. All maps lead here, all clues pinpoint to this exact location. You had always said that it only takes one moment, one defining act of bravery and brilliance, to make

travelers. “Now this is a good way to die,” declared the other. Armed with only battery-powered flashlights and the will to save the other, both showed no signs of fear and charged headfirst until their figures were swallowed by the darkness.

Time passed, and it felt like they were walking in circles.

“

My whole life has been a wild goose chase. And ironically, on my last day, I’m chasing a children’s fantasy.” The second one scoffed, “Fountain of Youth. Who are we kidding?”

“

Well, there must be some sense of truth to it,” defended the first one. “The myth must be grounded on reality.”

“You really believe that? Stories survive only by conquest. It feeds off our own ambitions. With outcomes decided only by winners, it thrives with deception. For us losers, we’ re merely footnotes and misplaced commas in the stories of others. It’s not our birthright to ask for a better end.” “VHUM VHUM VHUM ”

“

Wha what is that?” the second one stuttered. Struck by a sudden chill, the faint alien sound stopped them in their tracks, quivering. “Don’ t move. ” Underneath, the earth slowly cracked. Their youthful enthusiasm was replaced with a sudden ring on the ear and momentary paralysis. The hollow floor caved in, and both fell into a chasm.

“Trish, are you alright?” he coughed. “You’re bleeding!”

“Disappointing but, yeah, still not dead,” she humored. The pair regrouped and looked around.

It was a small enclosure, but the blackness suggested an otherwise endless space. It made the space seem bigger than it was. However, there was an obstruction to the darkness. From a distance, a beam of light slithers its way into the confinement, just enough to provide a slight reprieve of the senses but not enough to lit the way. For a moment, that small beam of light pierced the veil of darkness and allowed the pair to recoup their belongings.

The Fountain of Youth

By Sergs Nino Samson

“Heave!”

A cry broke the silence. “How ironic would my death be if we would just die here,” echoed another. The pair struggled to ascend the climb. “We’re not living if we aren’t trying,” the first one answered. “What’s a little hike for your last day on earth?” Both lowered themselves down the last few feet of rock and began to pick their way through the dense greens.

“

Are we there yet?” asked the second one.

“Almost,” the first one replied.

The pair emerged from the undergrowth. Thorns, creepers, and broken twigs latching onto their skins.

“Death by a thousand cuts, now that would be a great title to my autobiography. Yep, that would pretty much sum up my life,” exclaimed the second one.

“So dramatic, it’s just grass, not real blades,” heckled the first one. “Besides, can there really be a cut so severe that the cut in your heart pales in comparison to it?”

“Right, poke fun at the dying,” jokingly replied the other.

“I had always imagined my death to happen in hospice. Where I watched media outlets recalling my scientific achievements on TV as the general public mourns. For a day, I could live like God.”

“Alas, that is not the path paved for us both,” replied the first one.

“But hold that thought,” the first one added. “We’re here.”

The pair reached a massive opening in the mountain face. Its sheer scale dwarfs the two

Mariel sat alone in her empty room, surrounded by the remnants of Eula's life that she had torn apart.

She had also confessed that she had been working secretly with the rebel group, hoping to change things from the inside. But she had been discovered and was now imprisoned and facing certain death.

As Mariel sat there, drowning in guilt and sorrow, she suddenly heard a loud banging on her door. She knew immediately what it meant - the union had come for her too.

She had no time to think, no time to feel anything except terror as she scrambled to hide the letter from Eula.

It was not the soldiers but a representative of the awarding committee. She received a loaf of bread and a framed certificate with a red ribbon below. The lights flashed, and she had become everything the union wanted her to be, a pawn willing to betray even those closest to her in the name of loyalty. A model citizen.

As they forced open the door, the stench of decay and the sound of scurrying feet assaulted her senses. As she stepped inside, she couldn't believe what she saw.

It was Eula's house.

Her heart sank as she took in the familiar furnishings, the framed pictures on the wall, and the stacks of books on the shelves. This couldn't be happening. Everything was thrashed and ready for rummaging.

Mariel could pinpoint every corner from where they used to chase each other, but she pretended to be a stranger to the house where she spent half of her childhood.

The team started with the backyard and the kitchen. Mariel quickly sprinted to Eula's room. As she entered the room, everything was a mess though one thing stood out. Her eyes fell on a crumpled letter lying on the floorboards. The address on the topmost envelope caught her attention - it was her own name and address. She was sure she'd seen that letter before. Mariel's heart started pounding in her chest as she clutched the letter from Eula tightly in her hand, tears streaming down her face as she read and reread the words.

In the letter, Eula had written…

"How are things there?"

"Did you get the job at the records?"

That is the part she never read.

The beginning part of the letter was…

"In concern of rats..."

Mariel felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she realized what she had done. She had been so brainwashed by society's propaganda that she had reported Eula without even realizing it, driven instinctively by what the law dictated. And now, the woman she had admired and loved as a sister would die or is dead already.

At night, the whole country enters a different world as the rat-catching begins.

When she was young, she would cower from the distressing shouts and gunshots outside their house. Now it felt numb as she has heard it time and time again.

And as daylight approaches, the wind is shrouded with the smell of gunpowder, and the tang of blood always leaves a distinct aftertaste on the tongue.

It was the usual. More rats being disposed of, more possessions to abolish. She couldn't get the hang of it, as she was aiming for a job at the records where you just click and hit delete to a list of names given. And she was stuck moving around, hearing, seeing, and smelling the same thing in circles.

Morning took her by surprise as she was there was a house for them to abolish. Summit Vista is a strange place to do an abolishment, for it is a den of loyalists. That is where most families of high-ranking officials in the union reside. Among those was Eula, a close friend of hers. Eula's family was known for their staunch support of the regime, and their status was evident in every aspect of their opulent lifestyle.

Mariel couldn't help but notice the air of privilege surrounding her, a scent of entitlement and superiority that seemed to cling to her every move. She would often speak such terms in their speech class, where they write statements against rats:

“Down with the rats. May the rat catchers dispose of them. They shall squeak until they no longer can in the kennels or in the streets, may they rot, and rot.”

She could easily become one of those squabbling voices speaking aloud in the PAS speakers placed at every corner announcing propagandist speeches and policies. The speakers were broken in at where she lives, so she could not appreciate it though she would want to listen to Eula's voice.

As they approached the house, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that crept up on her. This wasn't just any other rat's house; something about it seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Ylaga, The Rat

By Andre Amar

Anywhere near the town smells of wet rags and rot. The air is thick with the stench of decay. Mariel is part of the abolishment sector, they don't have an official name for their job, but the folk just call them Rummagers, for they are tasked with collecting through the belongings of former civilian's houses who'd been abolished.

In this world, those who speak against the government are reduced to rats, vermin, disposable creatures to be hunted and exterminated. "Rats" is a term coined by an unnamed political writer whose name has been erased from the records after his works were labeled a threat to the collective.

Those suspected of being rats are rounded up and disposed of, and those who serve under the wing of the union are subjected to mind-altering culture to dehumanize the ones who speak up against the regime.

Slogans were being flashed on the high walls with their projectors, enough for half the city to see.

"No grave for the rats." It is one of the policies of abolishment where they destroy every record of your existence, and mass graves are not the option to dispose of the bodies.

"Cleanse our streets of the rodent plague." Loyalists are rewarded if they ever tip or point out rats and their hiding places. They are then awarded a model citizen title and a free loaf of bread from the local pastry shop of the area. Even rats would rat each other out for a loaf of bread.

The first row of houses was finished, and there was nothing too significant in their belongings to be collected or pawned, especially in the lower districts where barely anyone could afford anything.

At dusk, they stop operations and return to their designated housings.

searchedhispocket,showinghimtwomoresachetsofshabu.Anotherpocket.Marijuana.

Romar'svisionstartedtoblurashewatchedhisgrandmotherclutchingherchest,trying to get a hold of him. "La," his voice was muffled as he started sobbing. "Believe me, I didn't do it."

"La, I didn't," he shook his head intensely. "La,"

One last gulp, and he's done. He pushed the plate and glass away.

Taking the paper out of his bag. He read it carefully.

Release paper from the Supreme Court.

Parole after serving 27 years in jail.

Romar chuckled a bit.

27 years for something he never did.

Only if he never went out to buy cansi and sisig that night. Only if he listened to his lola that they could just have bihon for her birthday.

His grandparents would have never died because of him.

Romar's eyes looked around. He wonders what else has never changed.

Only ifs.

He looked around as he tried to analyze which part of the carinderia stayed the same.

From its interior, which used to be so crowded and cramped, to its high ceilings and massive windows.

"Sus, that's probably a lie," a customer near his table uttered as she watched the news flash on the TV.

It was an interview with an anonymous policeman who reiterated that there was a minimum quota for drug addicts they needed to arrest during tokhang.

"Some were really addicts that have been on the watchlist but we could not find anything on them for a long time. Meanwhile, some are just innocent civilians that "

Bam!

A bowl of batchoy scattered arouned the floor as the waitress dropped the tray she was holding.

Bam!

The plastic bag filled with cansi and sisig dropped on the road as 2 policemen tried to restrain Romar.

"What? Why?!" His lola stood in the middle of the road, struck and stunned.

"Romar De Jesus, you are arrested for carryingillegal drugs."

"Drugs?!Crazypolicemen!Whatareyoutalkingabout?!That'snotpossible.Apo?"His loloheldhislolawhentheoldwomanshovedthehandsofthepolicemen."No!"

Drugs. Illegal drugs. He never even had a single taste of a cigarette.

One of them blocked his lola. The other, held the back of his neck harshly as the other

"30 pesos, Sir." That expensive? It used to be 5 pesos per cup before.

The waiter excused himself.

Shhweet. Shhweet, whistling as left.

Shhweet. Shhweet. The cold wind blew into Romar's face.

It was a windy afternoon. The sun is still scorching, but the breeze can be heard as it comes and goes.

Hislolosatdownontheirbamboo-madepapag.Theyjustfinishedplowingthelandand weretakingarestintheirlittlekuboontopofthehills.

"IherebyagreetoraisemylandrenttoMr.GregorioLizaresby5%.Thus,Iagreetothe leasingpriceofP2,685.00perhectareeverymonth,"Romarreadthepaper.

Thedocumentwashandedtothemearlierbyalawyer.Itwasfromthehacienda,where hisloloandlolawouldplant.

"P2,600? They're buying our palay for only 12 pesos per kilo, and they're asking us to raise our rent? Unbelievable." His lola heaved a sigh as she sat next to his lolo. She took the document and eyed it as if she understood a thing, even if she was a no-read, no-write.

"Isthereawaywecoulddisagreeonthisone?Maybethecooperativecanhelpus."

His lolo just nodded and took the paper. "I'll try raising this concern to other farmers." His lolo smiled a bit and tapped Romar's head. "Good thing our intelligent apo is here. Remember Vilma, when we would just instantly sign every paper the hacienda would give us because we could not understand whatever their lawyer would say?"

Romar burped as he finished the sumptuous meal.

How he missed it.

revealinga20-pesobillthattheywouldusefortheirridehome.

The rich flavor of batwan mixed with chili made the soup even more familiar.

A waitress stopped in front of his table and said, "Free sabaw, Sir."

Using a metal cup, she poured more soup into Romar's bowl.

Romar squeezed the sliced calamansi on top of the sizzling sisig. He mixed it thoroughly with the egg. Then, together with the garlic rice, he spooned the right amount of it and munched. The small bits of pork was chewy and tender. He wonders how many hours it took them to simply chop such a meal.

Tak. Tak. Tak, the sound of his utensils.

Tak.Tak.Tak.Hislola'sknifemadesoundsassheslicedthepork.

"Lola, when I grow up, I will buy you a two-storey house in a subdivision!" Romar exclaimedashewatchedtheirneighbors'housesbeingchoppedtopieces.

"Really?Oryoucanjustrenovateourhouse.Hmm,maybejustreplacethesewornout woods with cement?"

"No,Lola.Iwillbuyyouahouseinabigsubdivision!Sothatwewillnotalwaysworry if our house will be demolished if there's a road widening," Romar exclaimed.

"Well then, I want a house with a biggarden."

ThepansizzledasLolaVilmasauteedtheonion.

Romar raised his hand to signal the waiter. "One extra rice, boss." The waiter nodded and came to his table with a cup of freshly steamed rice.

"How much is this?" He wonders as he stares at the white jasmine rice.

Serving Order

By Chariz Villarete

The sizzling sound of sisig and the strong batwan smell of cansi filled the four corners of the infamous Mang Robert's. It used to be a small block carinderia that is now a famous silog and cansi place in Bacolod City.

Romar, the 46-year-old man, never helped but feel nostalgic. The last time he ate there was 27 years ago.

He held the spoon tightly as his stomach churned at the meal in front of him. He wonders if it will taste the same.

Scooping a spoonful of soup together with a small slice of meat, he blew it twice and put it in his mouth.

Sssslurp.

Sssslurp.Onespoonaftertheother.

"Mhmmm..." Romar danced giddily as he ate and sniffed the aroma of the hot soup. "Thank you, Lola!"

His lola laughed as she watched his grandson merrily slurp the soup of cansi. "How aboutyou,Lola?Aren'tyoueating?Youcanbuyextrariceandyoucansharethisbowlwith me."

With those words, Lola Vilma's stomach grumbled, "I'm full apo. Just eat. You deserve it."

Romarhuggedhislola,thencontinuedeating.TheoldwomanwasinformedbyRomar’ s teacherthathergrandsonwasTop2inclass.

As she placed the grading card of Romar inside her bag, her wallet slightly opened,

Short Story

Inner Child

By Aleczeah Ysabelle Padre

Lost and forgotten. Abandoned and scared. The inner child cries out to be heard. Memories of neglect and pain, Echo through the mind, like an endless refrain.

Betrayed by those who should have cared, Left to face the world unprepared. The child within is wounded and bruised, Longing for love and to be soothed.

But blaming others won't ease the pain, Nor will it bring sunshine after the rain. Take a deep breath and look inside, Embrace the inner child with love and pride.

Nurture and care for that precious part, Heal the wounds and soothe the heart. For in that child lies a world of wonder, A source of joy, creativity, and thunder.

So let go of the past, and let love in, And let the inner child, begin again.

Granny

By Chariz Villarete

It was once a yellow, shiny morning in an old town. Over a wooden table sits them, and I, A rainstorm of familiarity from brewed coffee, cookie, and milk.

An old radio and an old song swaying to a tune of euphoria. An old woman and an old man, While I, dancing merrily in a new dress, Perfectly tailored by her.

A room full of art sits him and his laughter. My broken pen, crooked lines, His wrinkled hand and rhythmic strokes, A canvas that was once none, Became full of her and a part of him.

It's now all blue, a gloomy evening in a new town. Over a glass table sits me and I, Longing for familiarity, a leftover pizza and an upbeat tune. My pen and lines, no longer broken nor crooked. A canvas that has never been empty, Always been full of them, And always been All of me.

Last, Last Time

By Aleczeah Ysabelle Padre

Amidst the tapestry of my mind, I traverse back to moments long gone, To bittersweet memories of yore, Before moving on to a new dawn.

The past is like a work of art, A canvas of colors, hues, and shades, Each a story, a feeling, a lesson, A thread that's been weaved through the ages.

As I tread the corridors of time, I relive the joys and sorrows anew, And realize how far I have come, Since the days when I was lost and askew.

Now, the hour has come to bid adieu, To the ghosts of the past that I've known, And take with me the wisdom gleaned, As I set forth to reap what I've sown.

Walking barefoot through the memories, Embraced by the autumn-colored leaves, I leave behind what's no longer mine, And hold on to what's yet to be defined.

“Kami Sang Una…”

By Joshua Garita

Linibo ka tikang, Kinilometro nga alagayan.

Amon nga lalakton, Para makatuon.

Kamo subong?

Ano ang inyo rason?

Mga tinaga sang akon amay, Samtang sa akon nagalaygay.

Kami sang una, Sinako nga humay ang dala. Gaagwanta, gaagunto, Pero wala gareklamo.

Kamo subong?

Ano inyo rason?

Hambal sang akon iloy, Samtang gahakot sang kahoy.

Kami subong? Nagaatubang sa ispiho, Gapamangkot, gakadulaan pagtuo. Gapaningwa para sa inyo. Gapaningkamot, gapangaman, Para mabatunan sang kadam-an.

Ang inyo sang una, Amo man sa amon.

Nanari-sari kag pareho nga problema, Sa nagkalain-lain nga henerasyon. Ang inyo indi pag-ikumpara, Ang huna-huna palapara.

Kamo sang una, kami subong.

Amo-amo lang man gihapon.

Writing Backwards

By Yna Tessandra Talisay

[age 22]

Now, I write only what I can. often, it no longer makes sense— coveredwithtoomanymetaphorsandflowerywords.vague. Dreaming of the days when writing didn't seem bland tasteless— boring.

[age 21]

I began writingwhat I felt. Istilltrytopaintpicturesoftheskies, the words often only make sense to me. my words still resonate. they still make sense. But I could do better.

[age 20]

I wrote a novel though no one else can read it. I’ve immortalized every scene in my head, I can go back to it over and over again. This is good.

[age 17]

I write too much— these are all sad odes to the girl I once was. allpaintingsofthesamesadportrait. Allstoriesofthesameunhappyending. Still, I peaked at the end of it.

[age 12]

I love this. writing— paintingpicturesmadeofwords,imaginingscenariosonlyIcansee. havingconversationswithpapersandpens— I’m so good at this. Where will I be 10 years from now? Will I still write? I think this will make sense, if I start here.

Poetry

Winning Entries

Penitence

By Khrystal Key Claridad

My love for you, Halley, is so deep that it transcends time. Despite being lost and waitingfor too long, my love for you has and will never change.

As I am about to raise my arm to offer my hand to Halley, a man in a black tuxedo emerges behind me and reaches for her hand instead.

“You look so beautiful, my love.”

No, I am already lost, and I do not know what to do.

My eyes felt so heavy as I tried opening them up again. I leaned my head on the transparent walls of the convenience store. My head hurts so much, and I have not been eating for days. Good thing, I am losing my appetite, and my body seems ready to give up. I cannot deal with this anymore. I never once believed in divine beings, but whoever is listening to me right now, please take me with you now. I beg you.

A deafening silence filled the surroundings as I patiently waited for my end, but a familiar intervention emerged in front of me. It was a portal. I can't do this anymore. Every time I hop on a portal toward a new universe, I face the same outcome, so how is this different from the others? Will I see her again with her new boyfriend? Will I see her as an old lady on her deathbed? Will I see her liking only girls? What more? All universes seem to gang up on me and torture me in many ways that they can, and I cannot afford to be led on once again. This is too much.

“Go away! Just leave me here rotting.”

For some reason, the portal widens and strongly pulls me in. I tried to move my body against it, but the force was so powerful that I could not move my legs and arms. Why is this forcing me to go to another reality? Is this the universe telling me that I still have a chance? My body is slowly deteriorating, and I don't think I will be able to continue to the next dimension after this. Should I give it a try for the last time?

Thisismylasthope,hopefully.

1... 2... 3...

I am back in the current universe.

The smile on Halley’s face never faded as I saw her gracefully walk down the aisle with our eyes locked in with each other. I couldn't help but also smile. I am so happy I could die. Finally, a happy ending. The sweet and solemn orchestral music really matches the atmosphere of the vicinity. Everyone in their wedding attire was grinning from ear to ear like they had witnessed what I had been through and rooting for me ever since. Everything is so perfect.

I am glad I took the chance.

One of the guards mockingly grinned at me while the other was holding his laughter, “Are you nuts? Sophie won’t hit on you because she only likes girls.”

What?

Not this again.

What outcome was I expecting to have? Of course, she wasn’t Halley. She has the same face as her, but she is not her. When will I ever realize that?

I closed my eyes, still trying to process everything that I heard. We can never be together, aren’t we? When will I ever get that happy ending I always wanted? Can I never be happy just for once? Even if I hop on the portal toward the different universes, I feel like God has put a curse on me. A curse so strong that it affected all other realities. What did I do wrong to be cursed like this?

I felt the guards’ grip around my arms, pulling me away from Halley. The customers waiting in line stared at me like a lunatic. As much as I want to fight back, I know in my heart that there’s nothing that I can do. Ilost.Again. My heart felt way heavier than my body weight as the guards dragged me out of the store.

It baffles me how love truly pushes some people to the edge. I was one of those people who despised the idea of love and always thought that it was the silliest thing ever but look at me now. Look at how pathetic I am traveling through different dimensions, clinging to that speck of hope that maybe maybe in another reality, we could be together. Since when did I crave a happy ending so badly in my life? Is it because of the intense guilt and regret I felt that pushed me into changing the way things were?

That memory still haunts me every day.

Ever since the day I saw her body run over by a truck, my heart just gets smashed into pieces again and again. Maybe if I had tried my hardest to save her at that moment, I wouldn't be investing my whole life trying to look for her in the different timelines, trying to change everything I couldn’t do in my original timeline, but everything seemed impossible now. I can never go back to what it was before. I can never save her from that tragedy. I can never muster up the words I wanted to say when she was still alive.

Getagrip,Nico.Youarelosingyourself.

She heaved a sigh of disbelief and looked down, trying to compose herself. Why are you embarrassing yourself in front of her, Nico? Get a grip. Tell her what you really want to say. You traveled a hundred universes searching for her, but you couldn't even muster up the courage to say what you really feel after what you've been through?

“Is there any problem here, Sophie?”

Sophie. So that is her name here, but with the hundreds of names she has, she will always be Halley to me.

I saw the two muscular guards march behind my back with their piercing stares, enough for me to be thrown out of the store, but I looked back toward Halley with no fear of what would happen next. They don’t matter to me now. I need to do this now. This is my chance. My last chance, perhaps.

“Halle I mean, Sophie, I know this is weird, but I like you so much that it's crazy. And I have already traveled so far looking for you. Hoping for a chance that maybe... maybe—”

Halley stared at me with puzzlement. She must be thinking I am crazy for saying this, but I do not care anymore because since when was the last time I cared for something? I almost got the chance to be with her in the past and I will not let this chance slip over again. Never .

“I'm sorry, but I don’t know you. You must have been mistaken me for another person—”

“No, I mean, yes but... but you’re still Halley—the girl that I loved ever since middle school.”

Shaking her head in confusion, Halley looked towards one of the guards like she was signaling them to do something. Maybe to get rid of me? No, I have to make this quick. She needs to hear what I am about to say.

“Is this creep bothering you, Sophie?”

One of the guards tried to hold my arm, but I shrugged it off immediately.

“No, I’ m not, you you don’t understand! I love her and—”

The Last Hop(e)

By Seige Mode

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

She looks… good. I mean, she always does, but today, she just seems too ethereal. Her almond-shaped eyes wandered the pristine walls and windows as if she couldn’t believe what was happening before her eyes. As she continued to examine the place, her steady gaze landed on me, and the corners of her lips curved into a smile.

Damn.Iamsowhippedforthiswoman.

I closed my eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. I have been waiting for this moment in my lifetime. Now, I am here. Finally . The trials and tribulations I had to get through before witnessing this reality almost broke my spirit, but I think it’s worth all the pain it caused me.

I have already lost count of the universes I am in, and I don’t think I would ever be able to keep up with the numbers. But all I can say is that the previous universes were chaotic as hell, and I will never wish to return to any of those.

"Is there anything that I can do for you, Sir?"

The apparent exasperation in her voice cut me off in my reverie. Oh, she’s pissed. So as the customers waiting behind my back. Without any coherent thought in my mind, I grabbed the nearest chocolate bar at the side of the counter. Really, Nico, what were you thinking?

“That would be 38 pesos, Sir.”

38 pesos for a chocolate bar the same size as my index finger? Dang, that’s hella expensive.Sincewhendidachocolatebarcostlikethat?

“Sir?”

My hands went straight to my pocket to grapple some coins as I heard her enraged tone peeking through her voice.

Oh... wait... I don’t have any money here.

Retelling Tales

By Katreena Bernal

What if I didn’t go camping?

What if I stayed and spent your remaining days talking about the things we want?

What if I'm wiser to think that adults lie when they promise us things?

My dearest Gil, you’ve always been at the back of my mind for years and years. We are eternal best friends tied with a knot that even death can’ t sever.

In you lies my brightest days and sincerest laughs. You are my childhood.

My favorite summer.

I said a little prayer before touching the grass growing around your grave.

“It’s manang, Gil. I forgot to say this, but I love you to the moon and back. More than pink cars, more than silly camps, and more than backyard games.”

I ran outside and sat in the car, attempting to compose myself. No, it's a lie. Dad said he was in heaven, but maybe he just went home. It's not like he said he's dead, right? Why would Gil die? He was getting well. I saw it, and Mom promised that. His surgery was over. We talked. He even said we're going to fly our kites again. Yaya even cleaned the yard because we're still going to play bahay kubo! There’s so much we haven’t done yet.

“Liya... Liya,” Dad said as he pulled me into a hug again.

My head was spinning, and all I did was cry. I prayed as hard as I could. I called out all the angels and saints I remembered so bad. They can't do this to me. I felt betrayed, and my heart couldn't take it. Like a bottle of soda shaken up abruptly, my heart feels like it's going to burst.

We arrived in this dim-lighted place. It wrote St. Peters at the desk counter. We walked and walked and walked. We arrived at this room with a green cover lying on the top of a table. A strange-looking man removed the green thing. There,Isawhim. Peacefully resting. I pulled all the strength in my legs to go near. I tiptoed so hard to reach his hands. I don't care about toe bruises anymore.

“To? To? To Gil? This is manang. Why are you sleeping here? Come on, wake up! You promised to buy me a pink car, right? How can you if you stay here?!" I pleaded with this ugly, shaking voice as I tried to grab his arm.

Dad stopped me. I saw the look of pity in his eyes. It was painful. My soul is shattering, and words are not enough to paint the grief that filled my young bones. My flesh felt like it burns in hell. I was achingly numb.

Shouting. Loud, desperate shouting.

It filled the four corners of that room, leaving every wall deaf.

“Hi,” a young maiden whispered in the wind.

Putting a bouquet of yellow bells on a marble plate, she let out a sigh. With heavy shoulders, she stared at your name only to see a reflection staring back. Barely recognizing herself, eleven years made its own lines and scars. Eleven years later, the ghost of regret never left her side.

Cold and gloomy September came. Mom said Gil was doing fine, so I was assured that all was good as I went for our school's camping trip. I don't even wanna go since it's raining, but what power do I have over Mom, right? So I packed my things, and Dad drove me to the site. It was fun! We cooked eggs on oiled paper, did knot-tying, and slept on tents. The bonfire even gave me a chance to sit next to my crush! I can't wait to tell all of this to Gil.

Finally, it was time to go home.

Gil would surely love my stories. I hope I can go camping with him next time.

I was overjoyed seeing our red gate again that I clumsily unlocked it with my spare keys and ran as fast as I could to get in. However, I was greeted by a deafening silence. No one was around. There was this quiet sound that made my heart beat too crazy, like it was going out of my chest. I checked every bedroom, comfort room, and even the backyard. It was empty. At that time, I don't know what to call the feeling that creeps within me.

Was it fear? Anxiety? Loneliness?

The phone rang.

I immediately grabbed it as if it was my life on the line.

“Hello? Hello? Hello!” I said in desperation.

“Liya, are you home? I’ll pick you up.”

It was Dad. I was so lost I started crying. Minutes later, he arrived and hugged me tight as if it contained all the words he couldn't say.

“Liya, listen to Dad, okay? Gil, went home to heaven,” his voice faded.

I know I'm not smart, but I felt like cold water was being poured into me as I read between his words.

I froze. I can't speak. I can't think clearly.

"I'll go to the hospital," was all I managed to say.

Dad and Aunt Liza looks serious in the garage.

They are talking as if the candies went poof from the world. Out of curiosity, I went closer.

“We should take him to the hospital, Ne. Don’t worry about the bills,” Dad said while embracing Auntie.

They quickly packed stuff, and as if it was a blur, we're now in this white building called "the hospital." At first, I was confused, then the next thing I knew, I was scared.

Why hospital? Mom said it's for the unwell people, right?

I’m not sick.

Not Dad.

Not Mom.

Not Aunt. Then it struck me.

Gil?

As if everything happened in time-lapse, he was placed now in this room with nauseous white walls. Tubes are clinging to his body. I’m not supposed to enter warned the grumpy-looking guard, but Mom did her magic.

Gil was sleeping, so I gently placed all my favorite toys near his bed. I bet he'll giggle when he wakes up.

More months passed, and my ten-year-old brain couldn't process everything. It was too fast. I heard "surgery," "coma," "tumor," and "hydrocephalus." What are those words?

No one explained them to me, and I was left connecting dots to my notes, trying to figure out things on my own.

Months passed, and classes had already started. I hate July. I haven't seen Gil for a while since he stopped visiting. Maybe I'll go to his house later. When I went home, I begged Dad to take me to their place. Lots of crying is the key! While on our way, I was thinking of what I should narrate to him first. I have tons of stories to tell.

“Dad, can I borrow your pen?”

I started writing all the funny stuff in my hands. There was this time when Hannah slipped on the floor in front of our class. That time when my crush greeted me good morning. Also, that one when I was asked to–

“Liya!” called my dad.

Oh, we’re already here.

"You didn't have to shout, Dad."

“I called you three times already.”

Oops, my bad. But I was so excited! My hands are getting sweaty, and I'm trying to cool them off, but I'm only making it worse. Now, I can barely read what I wrote. I ran straight to his room, and he was just lying there.

“Gil!” I knocked.

“Hi, manang," he replied as soon as I got close.

"You look funny. Like Megamind. Are you sick?" I immediately touched his forehead and compared it with mine.

“I don’t know, manang,” he said in a meager voice.

“I’ll get you fish ball. I brought some. Wait here, it’s in the car,” then I ran back down the stairs.

Dearest

By Elizabetheia

It was the summer of 2010. Clear blue skies, yellow bells, and genuine laughter of youth. We flew our poorly handcrafted kites made of junk food wrappers and thought of it as something that could magically grant our wishes once it was up in the air.

“What’s your wish?” I asked.

"For me to have a red car and you a pink one," you replied.

Silly boy, age six. You can barely reach my shoulders. Why would you even spend half of your wish for me? That thought made me laugh. Dear Gil, my favorite cousin, my best friend; this is our childhood.

“Manang!” you said to snap me back to reality.

"What? What?" I replied, confused after realizing where my pondering had led me.

“It’s the ice cream vendor! Buy me that chocolate-flavored ice cream, please.”

Well, who can say no to ice cream? We bought our favorite dirty snack and hid back in the yard. If our moms caught us, we'd probably get scolded and spanked by their mighty tsinelas . Phew. That was the last cents in my pink barbie wallet. I got it when I volunteered to dance last family reunion. Gil was overjoyed. He even forgot to thank me.

“Toto, time to go!” shouted my Aunt Liza from the kitchen.

And just like that, he went home. Gil’s house is a few miles away, so he always likes to visit. Last time we played bahay kubo . I was a food vendor, and he was a rich man buying my meals. I got lots of money from him, and when I say money, I mean dried leaves of the jackfruit tree falling just near our fence. I wonder what we would play next. Maybe jackstones? Too boring. Dodge ball? He can’t run fast. Aha! Tintincross! I wrote that down in my list and fell asleep onwards.

Missing Piece by Lesel Erexima

Josmar

Date: March 19, 2022 | 8:00 a.m.

The sun’s up and frickin’ bright. It’s been quite hot these past few days. Ah, right. My hands. I need to wash them. I went to the kitchen and neatly stacked the dishes, turned the faucet, and let the water run through my fingers. It’s pink, not red. That’s funny. While I was washing the colors away, I heard the rev of a motorcycle by our gate. It’s Mai! I turned the faucet off and hurried to see her.

“Mai! Nanindahan kamo? ‘La gid kamo kahambal ba,”

She stares at me. Not look, she stared at me, for a bit too long. Did I say something wrong?

“

Papa! Nakita ko Cocomelon sa tinda, ‘pa! Ga- Ara- Hmm! Kanami pa!” Tupe interrupts my thoughts.

“Abaw. Te ginbuligan mo si mama mo gali panindahan. Good boy si Tupe namon ba!”

I picked him up and ruffled his hair. I looked at Mai and she didn’t look very happy.

“Anoniinyoginpamakal, ‘ga?”

She doesn’t answer me nor does she look at me.

“

Uy. Mai, sabat,” I jokingly said.

Bam! I stepped on a landmine. Mai-Mai stops moving and looks at me in a painfully slow turn.

I swallowed hard.

“Um...” I say, hiding my terrified self behind a smile. “Happy birthdaysary?”

Her face turns sour, and she opens her mouth. I close my eyes and prepare myself for the explosion.

“Anghulugasan,Josmar!”

I search the room. The cabinets’ drawers and doors worn out and tired from what I expect are daily struggles to satiate a child’s tantrums. The rugs are all out of place and fading in color. I look for her in the kitchen. At the sink, lies a story untold or at least to me, as piles of dirty dishes, metal chopsticks and rounded little plastic spoons lie on top of each other. By the burners of the gas range are the used pots and pans, from frying...

“Ham and eggs?” I inhaled the left-over smell from the pan. “Maybe some laswa?”

I looked under the makeshift island counter and there I find a rogue avocado green Lego block. But wherever I look, there’s just no sign of Mai-Mai.

Where is she?

Mai-Mai

Date: March 19, 2022 | 6:38 a.m.

The potatoes clung close to the light green plastic bag, beside the packets of MSG and banana catsup. With my purse safely tucked under my left arm, staple vegetables on my right hand and my sleepy four-year-old on my left, we explored the wet market for the week’ s batch of groceries and what-nots.

It was early but as usual, it’s as busy as every other Saturday – Isabela’s market day. The streets were clothed with political tarpaulins as vegetable covers, tabletops, and some used it as shade. More use than its intended purpose, I’d say. The uneven pavement, pungent smell of nearby canal waters mingled with the enticing scent of oven fresh bread, ground, roasted native coffee beans, and the smell of ukay-ukay.

“Ma! Cocomelon!” Tupe, my four-year-old exclaimed. That was a wake-up call to hurry home and prepare for the day.

“Sorry ‘nak. Inditadanaymakabakaltoys.Mayhapitanlangsimama,ha?”

We stopped in front of the massive grocery store – still closed and worn out from countless marketing posters and ads plastered on the railings and concrete walls. I remember it was a beautiful shade of royal blue, but now it’s blue and white rectangular markings of adhesives.

One last stop and I’ll come home.

Revel in Reverie

By Sij

As humans, we strive to find out the great beyond, the unknown, the big mysteries. It’s possible that its just our inquisitive nature to try and try and try and try to look for what feels lost, what feels missing, or what feels forgotten. Perhaps it’s the greatest quality of a person – to search for purpose and meaning.

Why am I alive? Why do I exist? Am I a significant being in this universe? What did I forget?

I am a man stuck in a scorching desert, in need of nourishment and hope, but only met by reveries I don’t even understand.

I know I’m missing something.

Josmar

Date:Unknown,somewhereover5a.m.maybe?

I woke up to the smell of breaking dawn, the cool and crisp air kissing my nape as I slept, the tiny beeping noises the streets made early in the morning, and to my aching hands. Perhaps it was the back of my hand or even my fists. I’ m not sure.

I look at my palms. It was a bit too pink, maybe a little too powdery. Was I fiddling with the pastels and crayons again? Why is my hand stinging though?

I lift my gaze and stare at the back of my hand. Red. Wounded. Might have bruises tomorrow. What was I doing yesterday?

There’s something different today. The house doesn’t smell like chocolates or coffee. There is no pungent smell of that cheap lavender essential oil or the faint smell of dishwashing soap and detergent. I shove the soft, vaguely white blankets off my body.

Where is she?

“Mai? Diin ka?” I said.

Altered Time

By Khrystal Key Claridad

XII XXI MMIX

By Carla Joanne Robles

A God That Listens

By Astra

Rhythmic whims and shrieking sobs, For what it was, all we knew was that it is alive. Renounced by birth, raised with loath, For what it will become, all we knew was that it is desperate.

With every crumb, it begs — for every opportunity, it steals. Tagged and tabbed and stabbed yet still alive.

Or is it alive?

Prayers become rituals, and begging becomes bargain, and bargain — to nothing at all. Heavens were deaf, and there was no one that listened.

It closed its eyes with a glint of tears and a smile. In silence, it saw itself living lavishly, loved, cared, and sheltered.

Thump- thump- thumpOn its last throb, another life was born.

Rhythmic whims and shrieking sobs, For what it was, all we knew was that it is alive.

Forthcoming

By Khrystal Key Claridad

Minute Before Timed

By Shoppy Lynn Condemilicor

Memoirs of...

By Khrystal Key Claridad

2022 felt so empty. Lost in an abyss, so warry, Layering dust on my barren canvas, These ceaseless agonies will neverpass.

2015 felt so serene. Full redolence of sunsets and coffee beans. The will to write is enkindled. Blissful souls, safely cradled.

2010 was exuberant.

Marching bands, a festive feast, and blaring chants, Ink and spectrum on a canvas—a mystique, Passion and aptitude are at their peaks.

2000 speaks of tranquility. Dulcet dreams and equanimity. A resting child in a mother's womb, A fiasco's tick-tock, a ticking bomb.

My anecdote ends and starts here. What year am I supposed to endear? Time stops; it moves backward. You're supposed to read my life upwards.

Old House

By Divine Desoyo

a decade ago, i had all of you.

Timeline

By Keziah Patrice Jocson

every piece of you held my hand tighter than anybody else could. with you, i am certain that my life would be much better. if i have you, i don't need to be prudent nor docile.

three years after that, i still had most of you.

up to this point, i took each stride with pride, knowing that you walk beside me. you called me by my name and gave me the boost i needed. i gave you my all, yet sometimes, they aren't just enough.

five years following that, i only had some of you.

i am reminded that i cannot keep everything in my possession. on some cases i still see a glimpse of your existence. you rarely appear when i need you dire. i cannot stand in front without your assistance, but sometimes, i choose not to cry for your help.

at the moment, i have none of you.

it seems like i grew to hate you. doing things i am not used to make me feel forced. i got my own back now, dear courage. i don't need you anymore.

"A Hopeful Wish"

By Maecel Joy Priolo

Let tomorrow end, and let me have this day-last; to say my goodbyes.

Time's Ticking

By Jalyn Elizan

Dakpan! Ikaw Taya.

By Khrystal Key Claridad

“

”

(Un)Sound Memories of Blue

By Shaira Iwayan

Thee,

Who saw the young lass roll, On fields beaming in green.

Chuckles were heard despite her fall, Bruised yet joyous as has always been.

Thee, Who remembered her in blue, Bearing freedom and tranquility.

Jovial, she stood despite the throe, Until passing time robbed her glee.

You,

Who saw the young lass roll, On fields drizzled in red.

Sobs heard upon her fall, Laid lifeless on her deathbed.

You,

Who remembered her in blue, Visit her grave but suppress your cry. For she's with the clouds above horizons, Despite being six feet under, in redeemed glee, she lies.

Brutal Modernism

By Lance Joshua Satojito

Scarlet Letter

By Rosette

I still remember,

The strange scent of iniquity.

A subtle touch, so reviving. Delightful, yet harrowing. It made me sing a thrilling tune, And pierced my skin with sweet relish. For the longest time, My heart was filled with contempt, Right after those fingers were brought to places We never should have gone.

I wish I could remember that grin, And I pray I didn't have to.

Tempus Fugit

By Kristoffer Flores

“Disappear”

By Maecel Joy Priolo

I am here standing with the thoughts of escaping this hellbent lifetime.

By Jennyfer Briones

Splintered Heart

By Kashina Ashley Gatilogo

Chapter One

You search for me as the moon draws in the waters or when the sky falls. You scream for my name even in the vast and bottomless pit. As soon as the sound hit the walls, I echoed your name. We go together like thunder and lightning or thunder and storms. You were embroidered in my heart and stitched into my mind. How I wish I could stay in a chapter like this one.

Chapter Two

We steered away from others' thoughts. You let me drown in the waters and refused to mention my name. And now that my mind is in chaos, you will find me insane. Still, I hope that one day, perhaps if we ever spoke, you will remember me warmly like an imprinted soul lying beneath your skin. We were doomed to never connect, like poles of two magnets. Well, that's the end of chapter two, and I'm yearning that someday it'll still end with you.

Pilgrim's Diary

By Nicole Bucayani

Hearken, a mourning of thy past. Scrawled in unstructured, childish hands. Musty leaf with a dreadful smell, Lest companion of thy weary soul.

Every morsel of regrets lies herein. Curses unsung— hatred and repressions. Icy contempt increases with emotions. Refused to be thawed, clog thy comprehension.

Thou art the protagonist of every page, Not a villain of your everyday scene.

In the darkest corners of sobs and gloomy visages, You write with savage vehemence.

Pilgrim's diary tracks thy quest. So, if the present juncture stagnates you— Begone! Reread, away from the multitude, You'll be enticed, warmed with gratitude.

Cinco De Noviembre Monument

By Divine Desoyo

Masipag Gumawa Ng Wala

Ni Theresa Mae Dulman

Gabi-gabing naglalantad ang mga misteryo ng dilim. Tila ako'y nakakalanghap ng malansang amoy ng bakal sa hangi'y sumasabay. Hindi galing sa baluti; hindi galing sa armas. Kung hindi dahil sa dugong dumanak dulot sa lungsod na walang patawad at walang pagod na nagmamatyag sa lahat. Tama at nagkakatotoo na kaya ang panakot ng matatanda tungkol sa mga halimaw na lumilitaw tuwing gabi? Sa mga krimeng nagaganap sa dilim- ito nga ba’y dulot ng tiyanak na mas gusto ang pagkukubli sa maruming bangketa’t humihithit ng pampagising kaya nasa alapaap? O aswang na sa mahamog na gabi’y naghihintay ang pulang mata’t naglalaway, sa walang katapusang pananabik sa mga walang kalaban-labang biktima; nagawa niyang pumaslang at magbigay ng pagdurusa.

Distant Longing

By Kashina Ashley Gatilogo

As a five-year-old, I look at the world as my playground. I climbed every monkey bar. I waited for my brother to push me down the slide, Or to swing me high up in the air, Till I can see the birds in the wind-whipped sky, Or the flowers against the horizon.

Over time, my world shifted. What was once a playground Is now a busy and hectic world. I started to climb mountains, but not just "mountains." Finding myself at a pinnacle, So that everyone will see me as successful And not as a disappointment. Failing was like slipping down the slide, Sliding back slowly as I fell apart.

Now, I am no longer a child. I want to change my path. For now, I am playing tug of war, Trying to fight against my own. Gathering the strength to pull myself back, Till I can be in the sky once more. Flying with the birds, Over ravishing flowers.

Yet, my path seems to be blurry. For now, I will ride a merry-go-round, And wish that maybe—

If I spin enough in circles; Somehow, I'll be transported back to my old playground. Where I could run as fast as I could, Without having to worry if I got bruises, And climb every monkey bar, yet again.

A Tesseract in Chimes

By Alexis Moraña

Reminisce

By Shaira Iwayan

Lay rhythmic scenes behind serene eyes, Feigning silence in deafening memories of the past. Follow the familiar beat from where it lies, The life once lived no longer lasts.

Used to wake up to beeping sounds of wailing motors, From outside small windows of a two-story pad. Smoke seeped through unleveled jalousie glasses, The odor imbibed in textiles hung on racks.

With excitement, her day commenced. Hair tied, her swollen face she rinsed. Prepped to walk amidst the downtown crowd, Sans umbrella, mirthful under a darkened cloud.

Now the same old town has become scarce of life. Empty, only the nostalgic church bell rings. Lost are the joyous smiles above asphalt road, Gone are the colors the purest light endowed.

Flash of Younger Years

By Raeverly Elena Ramirez

Oh Grief, How Horrid

By Keziah Patrice Jocson

What tool should I use. To measure the amount, Of my underlying remorse, The more I tried to contain it, The more it spilled?

How should I know, The weight of these unsaid words. They grew heavier than yesterday, They slowly break my bones. Every time I remain silent?

How could I tell, Which direction was my despair heading, When there was no true north, And the map was stolen By a face, I only saw in my dream?

How should I deepen, The shallow minds I tried to dive into— Those puddles and stains, And the mud thickens, Every time I take a leap?

How should I reach The end of my consciousness, When its breadth was wider than a desert, And its sandstorms buried the dead? Possibly, even the living.

Where do I hide

These skeletons from my closet, When I was close to being busted? The more I concealed them, The more they made me vomit.

By Lance Joshua Satojito

Naramdaman kong tumutulo ang mga butil ng pawis sa aking mga mata, mahapdi pero pinilit ko na di kumurap, natatakot na baka hindi ko iyon masalo, kaya kailangan maging kalmado. Andito ako sa pwesto na kung saan alam kong dito ulit iyon babagsak. Wari ba’y kabisado ko na ang projectile motion at ang trajectory nito.

Habang ako’y naghahanda sa pagsalo ng tsinelas ay bigla ko lang nakita ang napupusuan kong kaklase sa aking gilid. Pawang siya ang aking eba na kinuha mula sa gilid ng aking tadyang at namumukadkad sa sarili kong tabi. May kung anong lamog na ideyang dumapo sa aking isipan. Ito ay isang pormang pagtataksil sa aking mga kalaro, ngunit ito din ay isang pagkakataon na bigay ni kupido sa paglalapit ng mga puso.

Lahat ay nakatuon sa pagbaba ng tsinelas, puno ng pag-asa ang pungay ng kanilang mga mata, sisirain ko ba ang umaahong sinag o magiging parte ng pagsilak nito?

“Tumaob ang tsinelas!”

Hindi ko ito sinalo. Rinig na rinig ko ang bawat tibok ng aking puso. Ako’y lumingon ngunit hindi ko siya mahagilap. Sa ibang lalaki pala siya nakaangkas

“Paparating na si ma’am!”

Balik-Tanaw

Ni Nicole Bucayani

“

Oy, nakatihaya! Huwag kayo aapak sa lupa!” sambit ng aking kaklase habang pinapahid ang sipon sa manilaw nilaw nitong uniporme.

Dali-dali kaming nagtakbuhan at pumatong sa kung ano mang bagay na nakaangat mula sa lupa. Ang walang mahagilap na pwesto ay ginamit ang kanilang stamina sa pagtakbo, papalayo sa makamandag na tsinelas .

Nakahanap ng tiyempo ang taya, kaniyang inihagis ang sumpang ito sa kaklase kong babae, ngunit siya’y nakailag magaling umilag sapagkat ‘study first’ ang mantra sa buhay. Kibit-balikat na kinuha ng taya ang tsinelas at muling inihagis ito ng patalikod. Hindi ito nasalo, at ang tsinelas ay tumagilid.

“Magkingking kayo!“

Agad naming itinaas ang isa naming paa, na pawang mga tipaklong lasing na hindi mahagilap ang tamang balanseng ninanais.

Sa pangalawang pagkakataon, hindi parin nakahanap ng lunas ang taya, kaya’t naisipan niyang ihagis ang tsinelas sa ibang istilo, umaasang mawawakasan ang pagdurusa. Magkasabay na binigkas ng aking mga kalaro ang salitang ‘Kang’ matapos kong saluhin ang tsinelas. Pahikbing kinuha ng taya ang tsinelas sa mga kamay ko, at sinubukang muli.

“Ga!” Isang napakalakas na hiyawan at palakpakan mula sa aking mga kaklase ang umalingawngaw sa gymnasium ng eskwelahan.

“Galing mo tol!” saad ng isa kong kaklase sabay tapik ng aking balikat na may halong kaunting tulak.

Isang hagis at salo na lang, mabubuo na ang kangaroo at mapaparusahan na ang taong taya dito.

The Halt

By Cyrin Baticbatic

She Attends A Funeral Every Night

By Theresa Mae Dulman

She attends a funeral every night; mourning for her loss, she's uptight. Eyes shed tears; the pain she cannot bear.

He was here for a moment, and now, he's gone. Shattered, reckoned, and blamed; she's such a shame.

"Never tell a soul," t'was his voice that said, "...or it will be your end."

Alas, for the life he destroyed, his was the cost. She grabs the knife, ending him without a fright.

One stab, for the life he shattered.

Two, for the dignity he crashed.

Three, blood scattered.

No judgment, no remorse, she's unleashed. Awfully liberated.

She attends funerals every night. As death becomes her, And her becomes death.

Pedal

By Shoppy Lynn Condemilicor

“Abyan”

By Keren Faith Dilema

Halin pa sa akon pagkatawo, Ara na ang imo presensya. Bisan diin ko magsurong-surong, Yara ka gid kaupod.

Sang akon kabataan, Ikaw akon kahampang. Ginhawa ko nga kilala, Landong lang gali nga gasaot upod sakon bestida.

Have You Ever Been...?

By Nathalie Ortillo

Stood in front of the crowd, Never knew one could be found. Wandered around your eyes, Never knew they were full of lies.

Let my feelings grow, Watched it ache and drown. Let my tears flow, Watch it pool and roam.

Opened my mouth and whispered love, Felt the blood drop down. Opened my eyes once again, T'was you who wound it open.

Trusted you and thought twas enough, Dressed up like an innocent child to stand, In the crowd that we once shared memories with, Now, I vowed with my heart that I had never been.

Film Strip

By Lesel Erexima

Photograph

By Sharlyn Grace Palotes

A fleeting moment captured in time. Entombed forever, frozen in its prime. A memory that may fade away, But the image remains, forever to stay.

Framed upon a wall or tucked away? In the pocket of a coat, day after day. The youth, the love, the anger and the pain, All preserved, never to be lost again.

The poignancy of feelings, raw and true. Eternalized in a picture, to forever renew. The laughter, the tears, the joy and sorrow, Forever captured, to be re-lived tomorrow.

For though time marches on, and years may pass, The image remains to remind us, at last, Of a momentary second, now forever enshrined? A testament to the beauty of life left behind.

The Cathedral

By Karyl Eunice Anjao

“A Rewind of Timeless Mistakes”

By Maecel Joy Priolo

Going from child to childish to childlike is only a matter of time. In no more than a million years, everything will turn into rust from gold. As the clock ticks its last tick and points to three, a famine, disease, or an unseen battle will come. Although we have come this far and grand, we are still bounded by war and selfishness. Maybe we have been too careless of our actions, blinded by our own narcissism and inner child's desires. Perhaps we really are growing with age, but the question is “Are we really growing with intelligence and pure conscience?”

Did we miss the importance of knowing the importance of growing? How growing should be feeling and looking over others. But we overlooked this as we shrink back in time, and the world has caught up with our crimes. Now, it's payback time, and we must pay the price. Once again, Lucifer was surprised at the amount of life at Death Valley.

(Tick) Me Back

By Kiarrah Manzan

Fragments of Self

By Sharlyn Grace Palotes

I'm becoming more of a vessel of memories than a person; a collection of fragments pieced together by moments and emotions.

My past flows through me like a river, sometimes calm, sometimes turbulent, but always present, shaping who I am.

I carry the weight of my ancestors, their hopes, dreams, and struggles, woven into the fabric of my being.

Yet amidst the memories and echoes, I search for something truly mine, a sense of self that is not just a reflection.

I long to break free from the shackles of the past and present, to be reborn as something new, something whole.

But until then, I'll embrace the fragments, hold them close and let them guide me, until I can find my own way forward.

Newspaper

By Jennyfer Briones

Never, Again?

By Micah Ella Jaylo

She mourned for the blood that was never hers, but from the veins that protrude out of his neck for screeching in pain as the whip came lashing at his bare skin.

Him who came from yesterday's grave, down on his shaking knees, begging to see how the sun shone and the rain poured while a gun's pointed blankly at his nape.

And though she took his lifeless hand along with the masses to fight for the ashes and bones that received no light not too long ago

Their indelible ink came in red and green, splashing painful glory to an era unseen.

They snatched his death away from her hands to retake the whip and reuse the gun. To scream while stained with his blood stolen, while the truth's in the open.

History's forsaken.

Never just once, but once again.

“Ways to Look Back”

By Maecel Joy Priolo

The heavens have cried for the days that slipped away and chances – long gone.

By Cyrin Baticbatic

A Wistful Yesterday

By Danica Rose Quindap

Gloomy sun, midnight clouds, Soul amid the crowd. Moments run so fast, My thoughts now went vast.

Where the memories of good old days, Made my inner-child self craze. Indulging in my charcoal-covered foot on the sand, Never thought the pain I would land.

Taught to keep myself on the ground, Notion that fullness of life already found. Seems my soul's already gratified, Is my fate then exemplified?

But then—

Nerves shiver on the breeze of yesterday's bruises. The aroma of the nostalgic smell of history's blemishes, Wishing this moment won't last—

For it will lead me to a journey in the past.

Tatang, The Street Performer

by Jennyfer Briones

Spiral Misery

By Kashina Ashley Gatilogo

I want to escape thismisery , butitfeelslik e I am b ei n g p u s h e d kcab morfniagadehcnualdna eht .gninnigeb sI aereht botyawkaer f er e f r o m l i fe 's my s tery ? I amyouthfuluntilI am no longeryoung;I am runni n g unti l m y f eet g o n u m ;b I evol gIlitnuevi I;pu tuohs litnu bregnolonnacI e hdrae ; I w a i t for t he sun untilit no longersets; and Icriedand cried until I could n' t c r y a yn .erom ehT yrtIerom ot dnif ym tuoyaw , ht e erom ts r a n g le d I g e t, stuckin apendulum of timelessness . Now , I tak e m y l a s t s wart ,htaerbfo gnisolc ym ddnaseyeiseir n g a n en d to t he spiralof misery. Oned a y , one d a y .

How It Made - Me

By Lance Joshua Satojito

Hachiko’s Last Letter

By Shannon Libo-on

As I waited for him for over nine years, I see strangers walk by and children play.

True to my virtue, kindness perseveres, Stayed loyal to him, although far away.

Hachiko is my name, a lucky eight . A rescue with unwavering faith.

Cold and confused, but refused to foster hate, In stares and eyes of pity, I bathe.

Tale as old as time, friendship’s old as mine, May my life be a lesson in all seasons. In trials I've faced, loyalty shines, I’ve lived my life for all the right reasons.

My time has come; I am finally free. I jump for joy; my owner, I can see.

Time Lapse(d)

By Thrextan Rendon

Already Free

By Krisha Danielle Ronzales

Trails of dried-up tears, Echoes of laughter fade in silence. I know I'm caught up.

Trapped in the past, with no way out.

Glanced far away, Only to see a familiar face. An old friend from before, Who knows all of my lore—

Showed me how to get out. Helped me heal and escape from the drought. Free at last, No longer captivated.

Traveling through the past, I am now able to understand. I needed to be blind, In order to witness.

Never again looking down, The light I know now. I saw because it glowed. All around— when the dark on me bellowed.

Petrichor

By Anne Tricia Olmillo

Overcast, wind whispering. On the horizon, a distant storm brewing. Leaves rustle like your humming, Before I knew it, I was crying.

Softly came the rain down; On the heated, dry ground. A familiar scent rebounds, There I stood, spellbound. That earthy smell, How it makes my heart swell! For the mem'ries that it tells Of you and what hath befell.

Oh, the smell of the rain. Tho' to some be mundane, Dear to me, it remains, For it echoes your name.

Yes, the smell of the rain, And you are the same. Both none can restrain, Yet few know your name.

Like the smell of the rain, For some time did prevail. Brought hope, anon wane, With the wind, you sail.

The Blues of My Girlhood

By Sharlyn Grace Palotes

My girlhood was a time of blues, Of tangled hair and muddy shoes, Of scraped-up knees and tear-stained cheeks, Of loneliness and shattered dreams. I thought it was a time of love, But looking back, it wasn't enough, For the love I craved was out of reach, Leaving me with a void that couldn't be breached. My girlhood was a time of pain, Of heartache that left a permanent stain, Of feeling lost and so alone, With no place to call my own. But in the midst of all that sorrow, I found a strength that could not be borrowed, A resilience that was born from pain, A spirit that refused to be restrained. And now, I look back on those days, And see that beauty was not the way, For in those blues of girlhood strife, I found the strength to live my life. So let the blues of girlhood sing, Let them echo, let them ring, For in pain and in tears, We find the strength to face our fears.

Colic

By Khrystal Key Claridad

Natawa na lamang ako sa kanyang reaksyon at tumungo na sa lababo.Parang kailan lamang na paghuhugas ng plato ang aking pinakamalaking gawaing bahay. Halos maubos pa nga ang boses ng aking ina sa kaka sigaw para lamang malinis ang pinagkainan. Ngayon, ako na mismo ang lumalapit sa hugasin at nagpapasalamat pa kung ito lang ang aatupagin.

Ngiting-ngiti pa ako habang inaalala ang nakaraan pero para bang nabingi ang aking mga tenga sa biglang katahimikan na bumalot sa aming munting tahanan. Wala na ang mga yapak na lagi kong naririnig. Napuno ng kaba ang aking dibdib at agad akong lumingon sa higaan. Halos mawala lahat ng dugo na dumadaloy sa akin ng hindi ko siya masilayan sa loob ng bahay. Nakabukas ang pinto at naiwan akong mag isa sa aming tahanan.

Agad-agad kong binitawan ang platong hawak ko at tumakbo palabas. “Nay! Nanay!” aligaga kong tawag sa aking ina sabay ng pag-agos ng luha sa aking mga mata.

Biglang lumabas si Aling Delia sa kanilang bahay, “Ano ba yan Ella? Ano namang kaguluhan niyong mag-ina yan? Sinusumpong nanaman ba ang nanay mo?”

“Aling Delia! Tulong po! Naglayas na naman po si Nanay! Nagtampo po kasi sa akin,” maluha-luha kong paghingi ng tulong.

Nagbago ang mukha ni Aling Delia dahil sa aking sinabi.

“Ano pa hinihintay mong bata ka? Maghanap ka sa kalye! Ako na bahala maghanap sa kanya sa mga bahay-bahay. Bilis Ella! Hindi pa siguro nakakalayo ‘ yun. ”

Agad-agad akong sumuyod sa kalye para hanapin si Nanay.

“Nanay! Patawad na po! Hindi ko naman sinasadya kanina eh. Bati na po. Uwi na po tayo,” sigaw ko sa kalye nag baka sakaling marinig niya.

Halos maghalo na ang luha ko at ang nakaumbok sa aking lalamunan sa pinaghalong kaba at pag-aalala. Napahagulgul na lamang ako sa gilid ng kalye.

“Wag ka na iyak,” dinig kong pagsuyo sabay ang mga haplos ng dalawang kamay sa aking mukha na noon pa man ay ang aking naging kalinga.

“Wag ka na iyak. Andito na Nanay.”

“

Aray! Waaaah!” nagulat ako sa biglang iyak kaya naman ay nabitawan ko na tuluyan ang kutsara.“Waaaah! Arayyy. Si Nanay! Waaaah!” mas lalo na lamang siyang napaso dahil sa aking katangahan. “Pasensya po- pasensya. Hindi po sinasadya. Sandali lang,” taranta kong pag-agap sa kanya.

Dumungaw ang isa naming kapitbahay dahil sa ingay. Isang pulgada lamang ang layo ng aming mga bahay na pinagtagpi-tagpi lamang na plywood at yero kaya ang ingay ng isa ay rinig sa lahat ng kabahayan.

“Ano ba yan, Ella? Alas dyis na ng gabi. Makiramdam ka naman sa ibang tao! Hindi sa lahat ng pagkakataon ay iintindihin na lang kayo,” ani ni Aling Delia na naalimpungatan yata sa kanyang mahimbing na tulog.

“Pasensya po. Sandali lang po ito,” pakumbaba ko na lamang dahil kailangan kong makisama.

Napailing na lamang si Aling Delia bago bumalik sa kanila. Marami naman din silang nabigay na tulong ng nangangailangan kami, kaya hindi ko na dapat dibdibin ang nasabi sa akin.

“Shhh. Tahan na po,” ilang hikbi pa ang aking narinig bago siya kumalma. Tiningnan ko kung saan siya natapunan. Mabuti na lamang at hindi na ganun ka init ang lugaw kaya hindi siya napaltos.

“Galit nanay- Masakit kasi tapunan ako. Ayaw sayo Nanay,” mabilis siya magtampo kaya pinapayagan ko na lamang na ilabas ang kanyang sama ng loob.

Pagkatapos kong linisin ang kalat at siguraduhin na maayos na ang lahat, inilapag at pinalamig ko na lamang muna ang lugaw sa lamesa bago ipakain ulit sa kanya.

Napansin ko ang nakatambak na hugasin at napag-isipan na hugasan muna ito habang wala pa ako masyadong inaalala.

“Dito ka lang po muna ha? Maghuhugas lang po ako ng mga plato,” maamo kong kausap sa kanya pero inirapan lamang ako dahil nagtatampo pa rin siya.

Ang Liwanag Sa Iyong Ilaw

Ni Mary Pauline Santos

Beep. Beep.

Dinig na dinig sa isang maliit na kwarto na pinagkasya ang kusina, banyo, at higaan na tig-iisang hakbang lamang ang layo sa isa't isa at binuo ng bubong na sumasabay din sa pagtulo tuwing umuulan. Ito ang siyang minamahal naming tahanang mag-ina.

Hindi ko kailanman napagtanto na napakahirap maging ina lalo na't ika'y nag-iisa. Hindi mo man lamang maiwan ng isang saglit ang iyong anak.

Kailanman ay hindi ko na susumbatan ang aking ina sa kanyang mga hinaing sapagkat bilang suwail na anak, ako ngayon ay nakikipagsapalaran na rin.

Kung titingnan ko ang aking sarili ay nakakapanlumo. Buhaghag ang aking buhok na nakalimutan ng isuklay at damit ko na kahapon ko pa suot, dahil mas inuna ko pa igiban ng tubig ang labahan kaysa sa aking sariling katawan. Hindi tulad noon na ang pinaka problema ko lamang ay kung anong kulay ng bestida ang ipoporma kung gagala sa Luneta.

“Nanay! Gutommm. Nanay!” nagsanting ang aking mga tainga sa hinaing na nagbabadyang umiyak kaya dali-dali akong sumandok ng lugaw na kakatapos ko lamang lutuin.

“Opo. Gutom na po ikaw? Halika na po dito. Andito na po Nanay,” akay ko habang iniihipan ang kutsara ng lugaw na sobrang init habang papunta pa lamang siya sa akin.

Tandang-tanda ko pa noong ako’y bata pa, ganun na din lamang ang akay sa akin ng aking ina sa tuwing ako ay may dinaramdam. Iiyak ako sa tuwing may kailangan at siya namang takbo niya para agapan kung ano ang aking kagustuhan.

Kaya ngayon ay hapong-hapo ako, hindi ko inakala na ganito pala ang pakiramdam ng pagiging magulang. Hindi mo na pagmamay-ari ang iyong oras. Hindi ka na makapag-asta dalaga dahil may responsibilidad ka na mag-alaga.

Sa kakaisip ko ng nakaraan ay hindi ko namalayan ang pagtapon ng mainit na lugaw na hindi niya sadya matabig.

By Jennyfer Briones

The Antiquated Lensman

By Shannon Libo-on

Streets were filled with faces and smiles, Joyful emotions can be seen for miles.

Documenting every moment eagerly developing the pictures, Various people were posing in different figures.

With every passing time, white strands of hair grew on my head. Technology advancements have changed my life ahead. People now take pictures using their phones, I am now an antiquated lensman, all wrinkly and alone.

Now I stare at empty horizons; the camera in my hand is rarely used. Told people that I could take their photos, but they always refused. As I look back on my life, I'd just remind myself, I was once sought by many, a veteran in the industry myself.

“

Bangungot”

Ni Lixie Imee Soriano

Kama’y kumakatal tuwing hatinggabi, Pilit hinahatak sa madilim na lugar na ayaw kong tahakin muli kahit sa isang sandali. Pawis ay tumatagaktak na para bang tubig sa isang batis, Kasama ng mga luha at dugo na walang tigil sa pagdaloy na ‘di ko matiis.

“

Tama na!” aking sigaw habang ang mukha’ y ‘di maipinta sa sobrang takot, Isang multo ng kahapon ang pilit na bumabalik kasama ang kaniyang poot.

Mata niya’y kulay dugo habang ang kaniyang mga kuko’y parang mga patalim.

Hindi mawari kung humihingi ba ng tulong o gusto lang magpakain sa dilim?

Araw-araw na dinadalaw para ipaalala ang pagkakamali sa kahapong nagdaan, Siya’y lumapit habang ang kutsilyo’y nasa kaniya paring katawan.

Luha’y unti-unting umaagos para ipabatid sa’kin ang kaniyang hirap na dala, Dugo’y sumaboy sa’king mukha bago siya nawala na parang bula.

Gustuhin mang limutin ang nakaraan pero ‘di dapat, Napahagulgol na lamang ng iyak kasama ng mga ulan mula sa ulap. Ako’y tumigil pansamantala, Sapagkat aking pagpapanggap ay tapos na.

Sa likod ng aking mga ngiti’y isang sikretong nakakubli, Isang mahinang halakhak ang kumawala sa aking labi.

Dahil ikaw nga ay tama kaibigan, Ako nga ang naghatid sa’yo patungo sa iyong kamatayan.

Refugee

By Keziah Patrice Jocson

In case you'd gone insane, And could no longer mask your pain— As if you lived to die in vain, Runaway with me in this pouring rain.

If flying seems like falling, And you chose to cease dreaming; If the voices wouldn't stop screaming, Would it be fun if you'd reached the ending?

If all your angels drove you crazy, And only your demons could hear your plea— If you'd like to drown yourself in the sea, Would you do it with me?

If you wouldn't know where to stand, And things would get out of hand; If it is your head you couldn't withstand, Would you like to sink in the sand?

If you'd see rainbows as ropes in trees, And you would no longer feel the breeze If you'd hate days like these, Would you just let yourself fall on your knees?

If you no longer want to see my face, And you'd hate being on the chase; If you'd like to leave this place, Would you like me to pack you a case?

I wouldn't turn away nor act blind, Even if you couldn't hear me if I whined.

You're still my hero, even though you're hard to find. You're still my hero, even though you lost your mind.

Spring in November

By Shaira Iwayan

Last November, if my memory serves me right, The house used to be loud and merry. Youthful faces roamed the halls, Amid autumn, resembled spring on a daily.

Until—

Last November, from wee hours 'til dawn, A mix of nightshade and gloom. Clouds were eerily darker, Cries filled the empty room.

About

Last November, in the season of fall: Her eyes void of life, her lips dry. From years of escape and feigning mirth, Now spring has passed bid her goodbye.

Exactly—

Last November, on the same day as grief, From branches weary and frail, Leaves of passing fall on her tomb, Buried under grounds solemn and stale.

Rebirth

By Shoppy Lynn Condemilicor

Foreword

We are eternally bounded to the past. Like a ripple, it shapes our now and even our hereafter. Whether it may hold the brightest supernova of our hearts or the loneliest comets of our eyes, somehow, we find ourselves lost in its vivid universe.

But to be lost is to be found — in the flow of the void, in the tick of the clock. For centuries, people have found their own path to expression. And creatives, like you and like me, chose to scream back at what lurks at the back of our mind, at the back of our being.

Perhaps, the world is in retrograde and—

We are eternally bounded to the past.

Copyright © 2023

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Volume 12

LXXXI

Literary Folio of Tolentine Star, the official student publication of University of Negros Occidental-Recoletos

All rights reserved. No part of this folio may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Editor-in-Chief. Published by the students, faculty, and alumni of the University of Negros Occidental - Recoletos at Impress Quality Printing, Talisay City, Negros Occidental.

Literary Folio Editor

Alea Jen Villahermosa

Theme Contributor

Shoppy Lynn Condemilicor

Cover Artist

Kristoffer Flores

Editor-in-Chief

Carla Joanne Robles

Retrograde

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