lit Vol. 3, No. 1

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Volume 3, No. 1 S.Y. 2019-2020 Literary Folio of Starlight, the official student publication of the University of Negros Occidental - Recoletos Integrated School (Grades 11 and 12) No part of this folio may be reproduced or distributed in any form and by any means without the expressed written consent of the Editor-in-Chief.

All entries and contributions become the property of Starlight and are subject to necessary revisions.

Published by the Senior High School students of the University of Negros - Occidental Recoletos at Makinaugalingon Press, Iloilo City.

Wynzel L. Desuyo Literary Editor Danell L. Jumayao 1Editor-in-Chief

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FOREWORD

H

ow much control do you really have over your identity? In my experience, what I am in my mind does not always translate to the person I am to everyone else. We like to think that we have absolute power over our actions, but our subconscious mind – that undercurrent in which the dim ghosts of emotions and thoughts swim – tells us that there are hidden parts of our natures, subtly influencing our desires, our decisions, and our destinies.

The process of writing for Inverse has brought me to the front porch of Jungian psychology, namely, to the concept of the “shadow” self. No matter who we aim to be, our shadow represents the self-serving, hungering part of our personalities.

It spoils our strength into arrogance, wisdom into manipulation, and love into obsession. It is normal to fall under the influence of our shadows, however.

Only by understanding what our subconscious craves may we learn to transcend ourselves altogether.

Inverse serves as our thesis to embracing the dormant natures laying within ourselves. This anthology is a reminder of the flaws in human nature – the selfish, the bitter, the hesitant, the obsessive – that nonetheless add to the value in mortal experience. You cannot be separated by your shadow – the inverse of your entire being. Together, you are fully, unconditionally human. It is prudent to remember, I think, that your shadow always has your back as you step forth into the light.

Let’s see your complete humanity. Let’s see the side less told.

Wynzel L. Desuyo Literary Editor

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Contents

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Kahit Tumigil Man Ang Oras

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Schizophrenic

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Quiet Days

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What I Have

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Trompe L’oeil

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Boondocks

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Truly Alive

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Kisame

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Grand Exit

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Entombed

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Cycles

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T’was All for Naught

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Unraveled Disaster

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Withering Thorns

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Anguish

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Glue

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Contents Let the Horses Rattle

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Augenblick

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Muse

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Thinking, Really Loud.

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Paalam Na

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Fleeting Seconds

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King

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Tanda ng Kapayapaan

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It Sounds Too Forward, But...

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Paradigm Shift

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Death

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Trolling Monstrosities

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Winning The Game But Losing

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At Wit’s End

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Witches’ Dawn

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Estranghero

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Sinagtala

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Award Winning Entries

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Artwork by Aira de la Fuente

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Kahit Tumigil Man Ang Oras

by Hazel Lorraine Herida

Siguro nga’t mapanlinlang ang tadhana.

Sabi ko, ayaw ko nang sumugal at umibig.

Ilang beses nang luhaan, puso’y durog na.

Pilit kong iniwasan ngunit tila ayaw makinig.

Hindi ko man lang namalayang nasa tabi ko, ang biglaang regalo ng mapanuksong langit.

Panahon lang ang makakapagsabi sa aking puso, Kung siya nga ba’y biyaya o panibagong pasakit.

Ngunit sa isang sulyap, nawala lahat ng alinlangan.

Hindi ko mawari bakit hinahanap-hanap ang kanyang ngiti, Na kahit takot ay wala nang pangamba kahit masaktan, At natuto akong magmahal kahit sariwa pa ang hapdi.

Walang dahilan kung bakit ikaw ang pinili at patuloy na pipiliin.

Sa bawat pagkanta mo at sa bawat paghawak mo ng aking kamay, Doon ko napagtanto na ang bukas na kasama ka ang tanging hihilingin.

Malayo pa ang tatahakin ngunit alam kong sulit ang paghihintay.

Ang totoo, mayroong takot parin kung saan ito patungo, Kung sa susunod ay magpapatuloy ba o mag-iiba ng landas.

Ngunit isa lang naman ang alam kong sigurado, Mahal kita at mamahalin kita kahit tumigil man ang oras.

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Schizophrenic

by John Lester Trafiero

If you love someone, let them go. Thunder. Hearken the roaring rage of the heavens as sunlight departed along with the good days of yore; the inclement weather, ironic as it may be, left a blackand-white contrast with today’s special occasion. Not a single daylight struck through the dark clouds.

Fancy me delusional but I am not naïve. I know, for a fact, that I am not the only one—little by little, a whiff of another passed through my nostrils. Such a foul play. Such shame. To think that even after countless years of devotion, infidelity crawled silently along the crevices.

The air was thin as anxiety built up in this restless heart of mine. She, in a few minutes, will arrive to the sight of a candlelit table adorned with flowers petals. Given the current situation, I can’t help but feel pity over myself. I love being hurt all over and over again by my feelings—though I gain nothing, my heart still flared up for the sight of her next to me—the smell of her body as she slowly neared me, and her voice stuck on repeat. This great passion came with grievous fury and envy. For all I know, she loved that boy from the very start. There supposedly was the two of us, only me and her. Each day that passed seemed to only be adding more needles sank skin-deep in my back, this must cease.

The moment awaited finally came. The doorbell rang. Each ring echoed through every tunnel in my mind. My adrenaline jumped up and my arms and feet started fidgeting. I opened the door and she was there, all stunning and beautiful as she always was in my mind. The lights that flickered from the candles on the table gently casted a warm glow all over her body. From that moment on, I was speechless.

Really, it was such a humiliation that I fell for the same face not once, not twice but thrice. I burned this beautiful image in my mind before I say farewell. With my last ounce of courage, I found the bravery to come up to her and ask her.

“She just needs to admit it,” I said to myself, “Maybe if she does that then I could forgive her... right?”

I asked her, “I know what you have been up to.”

“What? I don’t know what you ‘re talking about,” she was confused.

“Tell me! What have you been up to?” I asked again yelling.

“I said I don’t know what you’re talking about! Could you please calm down?”

That was all it took for me to know that I must put an end to this. She was guilty of a crime—a crime she must pay for. You ruined my life, I ruined yours. I slowly inched towards her and gave her a warm embrace. Then slowly but surely, I reached for the knife hidden behind my back. As I unhinged the blade, I talked to her in a soothing voice. In one, swift blow, I drove the knife straight into her back then slit her throat. I suddenly fell to the floor.

And so it ends. Years of torment, jealousy, and resentment finally resolved. Her first crime was deceit. Her second crime was the absence of remorse. I gave what is due, an eye for an eye. This mockery ended now. As her body slowly dissipated into vapor, I stood clueless as a different corpse lay lifeless across the floor. I wondered what was going on. I examined the man and was mortified with what I have found. The man was wearing my clothes, my face and even my bloodshot eyes and my maniacal grin.

Who dared to copy me? Was he my lover’s other partner? Was she so fond of him because he was a lot like me? Shame! Even if he tried so hard, I know I am better! My mind was trying to formulate every explanation it could think of. It’s as if everything I experienced was all just an illusion. Yes, maybe this illusion was created by my brain to cope with loneliness. An illusion created to mask the miserable life I have. In my room, there was no one. No one except me.

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Quiet Days

by Wynzel Desuyo

The morning starts in dwindling light As grey clouds cover the sun But the tall, flowering stalks outside Tell me this is only dark weather.

Timidly, people pour out into the streets.

The jeepneys break the silence as Their drivers hawk for commuters, So that this city’s undercurrent is alive.

Then the sirens wail, announcing – It is class time and the students should hurry.

The urgency is artificial; there is no danger, No threat to anyone’s life but the latecomers’.

No book or rucksack over the head As passers-by drop to their knees.

No screaming for shelter, I find; Nor is there a single frantic soul running past me.

Only the birds on the electric wires Seem to be cautious of the sky.

And yet the wind is too strong, Like an immeasurable force pushed it away.

It brings the monsoon chill, clean and brisk.

It shatters no windows, sweeps nothing away But the leaves outside the Laundromat.

Upon seeing a familiar scene Of vendors with billowing cigarette smoke, Memories come back of my grandfather, Now ashes in the December breeze.

I come to ponder on his deathbed thoughts – “How better it is to turn to dust.

Here – at peace with my world, than Becoming dust in a world broken And without peace.

The date will certainly come when One way or another, the world will turn quietly.

And not a cry of pain shall be heard – Perhaps Man has freed itself from madness, Or Nature has freed herself of us.

I warm my palms against this cold truth: How, blinded, humanity believes that Embers of a silent city – dying out forever – Sound better than a crackling fire among friends.

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What I Have

by Abbey Gale Cordero

What I have are these words Simply merged Not much intricacy involved Just to let my intentions for you be resolved What I have is this poem Either hidden from your view Or read by a few Just to cease this heart to roam What she has Are your words Your intentions Your attention Your promises Your tomorrows Most of all you.

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Trompe L’oeil

by Josh Aldrich Diola

avert your gazes from this utter grotesquerie hope’s on the hearses a blind wish on a dead star for a trompe l’oeil strum on this lyre like a maenad, play madness a world of idols with just one devotee dance to your heart’s discontent, eyes emerald covet, covet, you forsaken soul indulge in this ersatz rite you created the mirror’s communion, partake in delusion survive with a broken mask ungilded regret, regret, you insatiable soul scale the towers of green flowers undermine the ramparts launch the ships from poisoned lips for Troy’s silent vendetta seize the statues petrify the imperfect flesh by crumbling virtues rend the hearts, feast on chiseled stone blooming in a thousand petals thorns on your side, be the rose you wish to be a trompe l’oeil play on this lyre like a maenad, sing madness a world of idols, become the devotee flail to your own discontent, eyes emerald covet, covet, you enlightened soul indulge in this frenzied rite you created the mirror’s communion, rejoice in delusion live by with the broken mask ungilded regret, regret, you implacable soul

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Boondocks

by Esther Joyce Limbaña

Footprints leave its history Of sweat and blood To reach that summit In the mountain above Shattering knees with courage Thirsty passage of voice Climbing and crossing rivers To hear the trees and sky roars Halfway of soaring With a trembling ribcage Stopping at once To catch that breeze To witness the sunrise And the glory of splendors It is the why to keep running on Uprising in the vast wonders Through traces and routes Abiding in the toughest roads Viscid mud and rough edges It was not enough to say, “end this” Whispers of the wind in my ear Ripples through my clothes and hair The sun rays mirrors in thy face Thus, it was a valued phase

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Photo by Lester Garche

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Truly Alive

by Princess Aries Domingo

It was when I skipped school to drink, when Mom thought I was studying but I was sipping gin with my friends.

It was when I tiptoed the outside window of our 10-story apartment that I could actually breathe the summer air. My mom was shouting, “get back in here,” but I knew that I wouldn’t listen.

It was when I climbed the mountain with no gear that my memories flashed before my eyes. I was alone in a dangerous place.

It was when I was being chased by the cops that my heart felt like flying. I was driving past the speed limit and the sirens kept wailing.

It was in those days that I felt my heart pump blood through my veins, when I felt air rush in my nostrils.

It was in those times that I broke the rules that I thought to myself, “I lived.”

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Kisame

by Melody Joy Lumauag

Nakangiti ko siyang natagpuan Sa ilalim ng kisameng tinitirhan Ngunit ang dati’y mala rosas na bibig Maputi-puti kung titigan Ngunit ako’y napakamot Mata niya’y walang halong takot Ang kumot, mala lubid Sa leeg niya’y nakapulupot Kutis niyang kumikinang Ngayon kulay abo at magaspang Huli na nang napagtanto Ako’y napako sa kinatatayuan At nung nabuksan ang na ang pinto Hagulhol at sigaw sa silid ay pumuno Pero nakapagtataka, ako’y di sakop ng paningin nila Nung ako’y tumingin sa itaas Ang babaeng nakabitin pala Taglay ang nakangiti kong mukha

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Grand Exit

by Sergs Nino Samson

Snow fell below the blue-ridden sky as bombs trickled away Mother’s last hours. Only later did we learn that this blizzard is not only of ice, but also of ashes from broken citadels, and the dystopia that is this New World Insurgence.

It was only last week that the silos ran dry, we’d known that then we’d have to wander this murderous world with hands that know not how to kill. – This desolated world has a thing for guises, my sister would attest to that, because only 2 days ago India was killed quenching her thirst from the once clean spring we had; the only water source we had in this village. The local paramedics said it was poison that killed her, but we never knew if it were done by man or done by Mother’s wrath.

Our land was besieged daily by war up two fronts. It was the last refuge for the young, the damaged and the innocent. Toxic gas extorted us and our freedom, like mosquitos on rainy days. They concocted mutilation in bottles to be spread into the air like diseases, only to toy with one another.

This chemical warfare plagued humanity within the roots-- everyone had this beaked mask that scarred children’s nights, while we, the parents, had to bear ending our angels’ sufferings.

There were two schools and both on the far edges of the land where military bases from both sides fueled the war. Children were armed with guns instead of pens, teachers taught only deadly ideologies and gardens that once thrived with roses were now filled with metal thorns they called “defenses.”

It was a biased world, and even in crumbles empires still rose; dynasties of the now uncertain future. Perhaps the entire world was in rubble but certainly not its politics. After all it was them that started this plunge. Power – even if it meant a throne of bones.

It was Mother who had it worst. The sight of her children killing one another was unbearable for a parent. And even then, she too was vile; we made her vile. While both sides spread hatred and death, she too resurrected ancient diseases to cleanse her body of the virus that is us. Forests burn, tides ripped whole cities and while our cradle shook the very foundations of civilization.

The poor, the rich, everyone was equal to her.

The consequence of blood was not freedom at all. It was more blood and more oppression. Only now we’ve invited a third faction, one we never saw coming and one dying to kill herself so that we may never destroy beyond.

Universe and Mother had life for a test drive.

Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon only to be caught by a collector. Forever trapped within the frames of history; behind a glass that ridiculed its inferiority— Watching lifelessly as the Collector immortalized the brevity of its existence— --Hanging on the footnotes of her majesty’s present to Oblivion.

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Entombed

by Gio Patrick Baliwag

Closed eyes ye shall seek, Broken stones and brittle bones, They who bring peace to the meek, Breathing in the ash and dust, Breathing out the torrid rust, Inside a box ye remain, Never to be freed again, Yet this prison makes one free, In that box you shall see, All the light the world's retained, To ash and dust- return again, Eternal freedom is for real, The cage is broken, Freed are some – Those untainted by the blood, Those repentant for the faith, Shall stand before the pearly gates.

If you be ever inclined, Live life right – salvation primed, If you ever be inclined, Live by sin- be buried still.

He who bringeth an unbroken shovel, Guider of those in rubble; He who frees unbroken will.

Fear thee not, life's not forfeit; Death is not an endless pit.

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Cycles

By Wynzel Desuyo

Do you think we’re fragile?

Whenever we recline in bed and our foreheads press so snugly against each other, what do you think I see? Skin. What is skin? A handful of cells. And what are cells? A troupe of atoms deciding to try the mysterious waltz of life together.

Our atoms will inevitably be used for other things as Nature needs. Part of us will be the falling rain and the young roots that catch the drops. Part of you shall make up the mother bird’s beak and part of me shall live on aimlessly in the worms that feed her chicks.

There shall be a part of you, maybe this hand that I love to carry in mine, that builds the trunk of a massive tree, and for a second time, you’ll be keeping another thing steady and grounded.

I couldn’t care less about atoms. It’s frightening to think our existence – yours and mine – depend purely on the interactions of these miniscule fragments of the universe. We seem designed to live as meat and spit and anxiety.

But consider how fortunate we are that these bodies are ours at all, my special fellow sack of meat. They could’ve housed any combination of identities and dreams and beliefs. Any breakdown in the chemicals in our brain could turn us into different people. One well-placed concussion could make me forget life as I lived it with you. How tenuous can our existence be, no?

Then you try to realize that nothing of who we say we are and what we believe in is certain, and we’re left to claw relentlessly at the faintest hope of assurance in our lives – and the only certainty we’ve found is that a human life, just like a lonesome atom, is a momentary droplet in the endless cascade of the universe.

Despite everything, it’s a wonder – an absolute wonder – that in some transient, unknowable way, our spirits reached out from the vast unknown to hijack these lumps of meat and found each other, gaining consciousness, and a heart, and the bittersweet blessing of beholding the world as mortals.

If life were fragile, then it is right to call it a waltz. We are part of that unending dance that cares not for its dancers, only that the dance continues. In the grand scheme of things, we could say: you and I are nothing.

And nothing lasts forever.

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Photo by Mark Lecciones

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T'was All for Naught

by Jan Marienne Trinidad

I am nothing, So don’t remind me that I am so much thankful of who I am When in fact at the end of the day I don’t like myself in every way and I won’t tolerate and lie to myself by uttering There is goodness within me that matters More importantly I know it to myself That I am futile and good for nothing child Whatever you say, I won’t be convinced I still have the right to hold worth Since regardless of everything I am always not good enough to be trusted and I am not in the place to be acquainted Worth was never enclosed to me Because whenever the time comes to face other people I would constantly think and ask myself Am I really worthless? | Now read from the bottom to top |

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Unraveled Disaster

by Jasper John Barcenal

You were like a comet that I was looking up to, shining with the mixtures of colors Like a rainbow added with some sparks that travels through the caliginous sky.

Illuminated by the gleaming stars and blending in with that paradox, making an aesthetic scene.

Drowning to my world With all the given liberty, making our distance nigh in a nick of time.

With a sudden angle of realization, that you were indeed a sightly heavenly body But a sign of an upcoming cataclysmic event.

A fusion of romance and tragedy An abrupt beautiful disaster Yes you are And yes, you were

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Withering Thorns

by Gio Patrick Baliwag

They exist as a remembrance of what once was, The existence of greater- inner struggles, Scars from wars unknown- except those lips of which they were spake.

Chaotic, crimson horizon, Combusted corroding dawn, Thorns marking each grave struggle.

In time, they heal, In time they fade, Merely a darkened mark on an otherwise pale surface.

Each of them with a purpose, Each of them a reminder.

That light will shine on those who suffer.

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Anguish

by Melody Joy Lumauag

Oh pity, neglected wife The blood of his lovers stain your throne With his offspring born, you grow Powerless each day Deserted, mistreated Unbecoming for a queen But, oh Goddess of Matrimony It is not your error That your significant other Fails to do his part Lustful, treacherous Befitting of your revenge You, who would shatter worlds, Just to protect your truths Who would slaughter, if you must Who carries the burden of betrayal You, who bless and rule marriage, Paradoxically, grieving for your own Deserve every bit of loyalty he failed to give Let them cower before your wrath Let them kneel before your might Let them hear the jealous rage Of a woman who has been wronged And only then, will justice be served

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Artwork by Breia Lizada

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Glue

by Melody Lumauag

At 3am I watched as the ceiling contorts It shapeshifts into the face I never wanted to see My lips are as chapped like the dried glue I skinned From my tiny palm in kindergarten It stuck into my head like the costly adhesive Taking months—or years to be detached My nightmares linger like the pungent smell Of newly opened paste tubes The water from my swollen eyelids can’t seem to get rid of all the glue So I do what I had to do --I peel it off

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Let the Horses Rattle

by Sergs Nino Samson

Freed are the nightmen's horses Hey-a! let them chase all the men's cattles Grazing every evergreen brushes Leaving trails of blood and trails of carnage They have trampled the stars with only their hooves Even amassed by thousands, Apollo's arrows had melt To do what they do it hardens one's pelt Hey-a! but let them for they couldn't choose Hands have sought not to tamper With the master that puppets them over-Hey-a! let them chase all the men's cattles As they can take the night ever further Let them breed for they will sunder Order and Chaos' lasting skirmish Let them rampage like the thunder Those of whom were impoverished by the master They are the oldest of the sons of the elites They remained free and remained rattling the streets Let them! for here comes the master--- the Lion Here he comes as the Red East's greatest scion

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Augenblick

by Esther Joyce LimbaĂąa

Waiting to an end To endure this excruciation Pulling the strings inside my lungs And take that deep inhalation The snap of time Makes memories vanished And that blink of an eye Fabricates this existence I wonder how we can stop the pain Stop shedding tears For worthless things And close our eyes Yet those miseries Make us brave When we fail to escape We open our paired lights Take that time, in that instant Feel your lungs In brief space and turn Guard your pulsation It never lasts Nor forever It may be blue or bliss Everything is just a glimpse

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Muse

by Trisha Cabanillas

Tell me how hard it is to see the sky When it is dolloped with the lovely colors Of pink and blue and indigo Dolloped with the sun's warm marigolds Tell me how hard it is to feel the breeze Every touch, a whistle to your skin Cold yet warm Like an embrace from the Visayan winds Tell me how hard it is to be amazed By the vast greens of the scapes All beating with the life of what lives And what continues to grow Tell me how hard it is to believe in miracles When the world is this beautiful And you are here, true and bright A testament to the wonders in philosophy

Sike, xoxo

Tell me how I'm supposed to be DIFFERENT And how your recognition of that should F LAT T E R me and lead me to more of it for it serves as a break from MONOTONOUS downsides you see in women nurturing MINDSETS for you and only you, or so you were lead to believe.

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Photo by Clint Elbe de Guzman

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Fleeting Seconds

by Joshua Steven Calvo

Fragmented imaginary anamneses Desire mandates due affection Ignoring illocutionary admonitions Emanating sadness in the sundowns Masks shroud the longingness The year, the asymptotic happiness Inversion of he who got fixed and broken In under a single revolution The spring where pigs are infatuated by earth Impulse’s occultations may one regret His memories, although ravished torturous black Are unified with euphoric red and yellow Although confusing, Impulse still hopes Ensure hatred’s eradication with affection Diamond bricks make up the wall Impulse’s harmony abolished Love’s entrance suddenly rebuilt My baby, welcome home

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Paalam Na

by Hazel Lorraine Herida

Bakit nga ba mahal pa rin kita, Kung sa bawat pagnakaw ko ng tingin, Ay nasa iba nakapako ang iyong mga mata?

Pero kahit ganoon, pilit ka paring hihintayin.

Bakit nga ba mahal pa rin kita, Kahit alam ko namang wala akong laban, Sa puso mong may nagmamay-ari na?

Heto ako, nagmamahal habang nasasaktan.

Ilang beses nang sinubukan na muling ipagtagpi-tagpi, Ang mga larawan nating pinunit ni Tadhana.

Ngunit ako lang pala ang naghahangad na maulit muli, Ang mga panahong walang pait, puno ng ngiti’t saya.

Ayaw kong ikulong ka pero ayaw din kitang pakawalan.

Noo’y ipinangako mo na hindi ka magpapatalo, Pero para saan pa ang laban kung ika’y sumuko na tuluyan?

Para saan pa ang laban kung ang tanging natira ay ako?

Bakit nga ba mahal pa rin kita?

Siguro nga’t pasensya mo’y madaling naubos.

Siguro nga’t ako ang nagkulang at hinanap mo sa iba.

Siguro nga’t ako lang ang nagmahal nang lubos.

Pero salamat dahil pinadama mo rin sa akin kahit minsan, Na may puwang ako sa buhay mo at naging mahalaga.

Kailangan kong tanggapin ang masakit na katotohanan, Walang ibang dapat gawin kung hindi tumigil na.

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Thinking, Really Loud.

by Trisha Cabanillas

And so here I am caught in the unpredictability of universal conspiracies Lost in translation of misty glitter and all those things we'd see in fiction Was I a hero back then? An artist or a renowned contributor to society?

A question that perhaps will only be answered by the celestial bodies that listen in the milky way Yet, this I know and this I'll always believe to be the proof of clever transpiration Smiles will always reciprocate the grins of this universal gift to me.

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King

by Natasha Eve Sun

every creature gawks at you my king, ruler of the sky i laid low and bowed my head i cleared my presence before your stead you tacitly gasconade your strength and power you look enticing in your natural brown and white cloak i was your slave i submitted my time and spent my wealth to craft you the best ornaments you were hard to handle i had to endure the stares of the people when you flailed but as you stayed still you looked grandiose in that moment so grandiose that it even made me look worthwhile i may have been tested for a long time but when you settled on my arms i have never felt so much joy i was ecstatic after all, i manned the king.

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Artwork by Sean Olvido lit

Nagtataka ako kung bakit naaalala ko pa Ang eroplanong minsan nakita ko na lumilipad.

Wala akong maisip na dahilan; Parang tumatak lang sa aking isipan.

Tuwing gabi, pagkatapos kong umiyak sa magdamagan, Wala akong ibang hiniling kung hindi ay maging mas malakas.

Hinahanap-hanap ko ang lakas ng loob Para makamit ang pangarap kong iyon.

Kahit na isang malagim na kinabukasan ang nakaukit sa aking landas Na siguradong tatakahin ko balang araw, Basta’t ang sandaling ito, itong sandaling nakahihinga ako, Kakapit ako sa paniniwalang kakayanin ang lahat.

Sa aking kalooblooban may sumisigaw Gamit ang isang boses na sumisiklab ang damdamin, “Lumaban ka! Isang bese pa, lumaban ka!”

Kahit na namamaga na ang mga mata sa kaiiyak, Patuloy akong ngingiti para hindi mawala ang pag-asa – Iyon ang humihimok sa akin patungo sa kagitingan.

Kaya ko hinahagis pataas ang dalawang daliri ko, Ang tanda ng kapayapaan, Para ipagpatuloy ang kuwento ng aking buhay.

Tanda ng Kapayapaan ni Geoff

Salin ni Geoff Mula sa Aking Paaralang Pambayani

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It Sounds Too Forward, But...

by Princess Aries Domingo

Day in, day out, Days go by and about, Though their words turn to shouts, Piercing pain from their mouths.

“Nothing but lies,” they always say, Things they think that work their way.

But they never say the truth there laid, That what they say hurt everyday.

Is it worng to find something warm?

Someone who’d actually not be any harm?

But no strings attached, with no alarm, That all their lies would never swarm?

But human minds - so simple indeed Full of lies, tall tales and greed.

Not saying the things they truly need, But chains of lies never freed.

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stairs shift-I could now never reach you fully. a step upwards and the concrete floor melted; I rushed downwards but the walls clustered me. velvet carpets groped my leg while curtains shied from the dark-as you slowly creep to the hands of his’ planes shift-i could now, never see you not blurry ceilings started to evaporate, lamps flicker from yellow to pale red, as stairs danced to the tune of a piano that played by itself. while the roses i gave gobbled my left ear couches started to whisper and vomit things long forgotten.

mind shifts-i could now not remember you fully you remain a painful blur a broken reflection of a face; photo ensembles in mind burning within my inner eye, neither does memory help me for it forged a new i see her as you and we as us

dimensions shift-i could now only see eyes in your shadow books fell from below, as the walls bled and is now my floor; the ceiling is the sky colored by acrylic and coal. i hear it’s chatter as candles spoke in harmonious woe--a soul drenched in smoke as my burned letters choked my lung

Time shift-as i repent “glory to the time god save me from thee”; hours became seconds and seconds became days, i aged back and forth in a willow daze. as memories continue to fade gray-the eternal tick of ten million metronomes became my lonely friend. pieces of time shards halo overhead my eyes opened and i was now the new Time God but alas!

You are now not mine

Paradigm Shift

by Sergs Niño Samson

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Death

by Therese Dedoroy

The most fearsome element here on earth An opposite of the word birth Thing that people always quibble An entity that you can’t fondle.

It appears to be your world’s end But it doesn’t matter if you have a friend One that will cherish you, till you fade Even if you vanish, they’ll be you’re aide.

If you’re not vigilant enough You may be gone in a span of a cough Cause it can’t be easily quelled So be ready wherever it may held.

If your time has come you can’t escape Just accept it; I dictate Perpetrate what is right while you’re living And be yourself while you’re standing!

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Artwork by Aira de la Fuente

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Trolling Monstrosities

by Joshua Steven Calvo

Sanctity’s peace thought to be everlasting Filled with competent yet warm identities Two revolutions ere have past The curly eyed monster brought his dynasty Chaos and disorder ensued Swarms invaded and pawned flowers Little innocent dreams unrealized Endurances brutally tested Heroes remained pure in hearts Soon, the trolls, will get defeated

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Five feet from the finish line, Smirking, thinking the trophy is mine.

But later they announced to me, That there should be something more to win the trophy.

Confusion clouded My simple mind, Is love not enough to win the prize?

So I stood my ground unwinding, I simply cannot understand what they were saying.

So I stood in the middle of the crowd, Waiting, anticipating the crown.

As my memories flashed before my eyes, I stood searching where the truth would lie.

A tear dropped from My right eye, As I say My small goodbye.

As he chose his winner, As he chose not me, but her.

Winning The Game But Losing You

by Princess Aries Domingo

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At Wit’s End

by Gio Patrick Baliwag

When marble walls box you into the center of your grey consciousness, what do you do? When pure white intentions close in on you like hounds; and you, like a convict. A convict of your own making? Or a convict of theirs?

In that marble room, walls white painted with “all the best” that suddenly turn into “all the worst.” A mind lacking the sanity to discern what’s what. As the walls encroach, suffocating- positivity turns negativity. A spark meant to revive, fries the very core.

Walls painted red, caged in a macabre display. Yet through that crimson combustion, the room shines once more. A lantern to guide others’ way.

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Artwork by Aira de la Fuente

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Witches’ Dawn

by Sergs Niño Samson

They hunt because I reside in the darkest of flesh With tongue as restless as slaughtered sheep And spit as vile as a poisoned kiss But, persuasion, is the darkest – I possess Sold witchcraft and prophecies To senseless patrons with severed heads With eyes stolen by Master’s ravens-A master painted in a saintly vibe Until I slashed open its evil guise Dragged along the mountain’s tail By a Jester’s chariot By his blind legion’s whip Leaving maroon in a blooded trail Shredded to pieces by his kind idolaters Forced to carry his black cross Monetized like a monkey on his circuses Which he sold the adoring faithful Casted inside four corners Of a televised coffin, The labors of a witch – Sentenced to death By my own words Burning on paper Like a black angel’s wings Cut to fit the masses above

They called me Devil; They called me light.

But when they asked I simply replied ”Liberati, ego sum Liberation, I am” “And many more will come Burning the free” Below the crown my body lies Grey as ashes on my sisters’ graves The costly consequence of Playing on his forbidden playground Passed around the forgotten blaze A voice chained to the thieving whispers Of those who desert the Truth Tis only I who took the Fall

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Estranghero by ĂŚndll

Hindi mo kayang mahalin ang taong hindi mo kilala.

Sa gitna ng mga tawanan at hagikhikan, pilit na itinago ang bakas ng mga sugat - sugat ng kahapon, ng kasalukuyan, ng hinaharap. Ipinakita ang mga ngiting hindi umaabot sa mga mata, mga tawang sumasabay na lang sa paghinga. Sa bawat paglipas sa oras, sa pagagos ng araw-araw na pagsasama, hindi mo pa rin nakilala.

Nakalimutang isipin ang mga luhang pilit kumakawala. Nakalimutang sabayan ang pagtaas ng buwan at ng paglalim ng mga gabing nakalulunod ng kaluluwa. Hindi pa rin makita-kita ang mga basag na parte sa likod ng maskara.

"Mahal kita."

Mahal mo nang buo, o mahal mo lang ang ilang piraso?

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The 3rd

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Poetry First Place

Anno Domino ni Joellan Chris Arlos

Namulat muli ang mga mata sa panibagong araw, sa panibagong kabanata na may pangarap na isinaklaw.

Ngunit, nananatiling pikit-mata sa buhay na kinagisnan, sa paulit-ulit na sistema, na pinilit makagawian.

‘Pagkat sa paniniwalang aasa nalang sa susunod na henerasyon at ipapasa ang suliraning kasalukuyang ibinabaon.

Mga anak, na inalipin sa ideolohiya ng mga magulang.

Mga mag-aaral, na pinagbawalang isabuhay ang tunay na mithiin.

Mga mamamayan, na iginapos at pinagsamantalahan ng lubos.

Isang bayan, na umaasang balang araw na may dadating pang pagbabago’t bayani ngunit hindi nais na kumilos tungo sa pagbabago’t sa inhustisya ay madamay.

Panibagong araw, panibagong kabanata, ngunit parehong libro.

Tunay nga bang pagbabago ang nais mo, kung maghihintay ka lamang sa iba?

Tunay nga bang hawak mo ang buhay mo, o instrumento ka lamang ng iba, ng ganid, ng takot, ng kaba, ng pag-iisip na ‘di na maiiba ang hinaharap na ‘di makatarungan ang nagtakda?

Asahan lamang na sagutin ito bago ang huling hantungan: “Tunay nga ba akong nabuhay, o isinabuhay ko lamang ang idinidikta ng lipunan?”

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PROSE

Second Place

Pulchritude in Brokenness

by Jessele Anne Casiple

She was different. She had galaxies that held the most mesmerizing stars delicately imprinted on her skin. Secluded, avoided, yet she’ve invariably thought she’s beautiful. The loneliness came with freedom, her free spirit leading her to places she never thought she’ll be found in. And then there, she met them. She saw marks decorating their skin, but not similar to hers that shimmered under the scorching sun. Theirs were gruesome, an amalgam of purplish blue marks and stitches that almost looks too unpleasant. They were betrayed, left to live without love, and she saw herself in them. So she engaged, looked at them with amused curiosity, and in nightfall, she decided to fix them. She attempted everything to repay the happiness they bestowed her, furnished their necessities, but it was all futile. She screamed in distress, saying she just desired them to be beautiful.

She saw the flicker of red in their orbs, her sentiments burned turning into ashes. Go away, she was shunned all over again. Scurrying back to her house, she wept when she saw her mother’s backside under the kitchen’s dim lights. She asked- no, she pleaded to her to tell what the patterns on her arms conveyed, but it only fell on deaf ears. Kneeling and holding her mother’s shaky hands, only to be swatted away and slump on the ground. She then felt excruciating pain running along her veins, the burning sensation throbbing making her writhe violently on the floor. She saw how the shimmering galaxies turned into a vast universe that burned her skin, she witnessed how her arm flared, blinding her eyes and numbing all her senses.Then it was all black- void darkness enveloping her whole being.

Hesitation. It was evident as she approached them at their destination. Pulling down the hem of her sleeves, she desperately hid the fresh streaks that stretched towards her left arm. Silence, permission, followed by a meek nod, that was all it took for her to come back. She garnered fortitude and gradually released the cloth, ethereal ample speckles of light gleamed lighting the dark sky, reflecting the others’ dull ones.

But whatever point of view she may perceive it, she knew they were all wounded, scarred, scared.

Lonely, secluded, discriminated.

Yet the silence was not deafening, their presence were comforting. They were already beautiful- for acknowledging that they’re impaired instead of contradicting it, for recognizing their flawed selves, for finding people who still loves and welcomes them for whoever they may be. Her eyes burned and a lone tear fell from her eye, but she let it cascade freely. It didn’t make her feel weak, it made her feel human. Sad smiles were shared, and after a long train of thought, she can finally say I’m home.

Don’t pretend that your scars are beautiful. Accept them, then you’ll be beautiful.

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artwork Third Place

Artwork byNicole Arianna Resuma

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Poetry

Second Place

Muffled

by Camille Razonable

Wet rags by the Doorstep approached by ragged socks Slightly burning fire underneath the hearth Silent cabin with a gentle melody of the pouring rain The silent commotion.

Though approached from afar by the thunderous roar Of your fleeting anger, I remained calm . It feels as if i was wandering endlessly In the infinite green plains In which only the grass could feel my desperate sorrow.

I could not listen with the reality and indulged myself with the impossible fantasy.

The anger that filled the room by two creatures who vowed Infinite love and passion with each other escalated above others.

Neither compassion nor patience can enter their thoughts, Only hatred and insecurities.

Despite their raging and noisy emotions, I sat still.

Nonchalantly sitting and staring at the dying fire as if waiting for it to burn down.

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PROSE

First Place

Give the Gift? Or Give Up?

by Marcus Andrei Rafael Cartagena

The true Santa Claus of Christmas would be the parents of children. Although, children might ask too much from their “Santa” to suddenly end up on the naughty list. It was a day before Christmas Eve, as the father arises from slumber. He groans silently as his throat was filled with a chock full of saliva after sleeping for more than eight hours. Irritated, he forcefully coughs it out inside his bathroom. The gusts of wind seem to hate him, especially on a winter morning.

Nevertheless, this kind of dad aims to fight the morning winter with a smile on his face.

Aiming to become that jolly Saint Nick that his son deserves to prove that no one can stop him from showing his love towards his son. Unconditional love, he considers it, as he works multiple jobs in a single day. If it was for his beloved child the whole time, then he was fine with it. He smiles through everything, as he believes that anything can be taken on with a smile.

The father nervously grabs on the handle of the drawer and pulls it back to see plastic bags with coins and bills in it. He hastily shoves it inside his worn-out bag and immediately closes it. He calls out for his 16-year old. “I’m going out for an errand. I’ll be back before Christmas Eve.” The father yelled at the door of his son’s room, assuming the son heard him. Tough luck: he was still asleep.

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Artwork Consolation

Artwork by Khezia Paula Dumala-os

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poetry Third Place

Paradoxical

by Jessele Anne Casiple

As the world lingers with permanence and interminable change It’s an enigma to see such parallel abstractions collide but coexist in conformity Alike to bloodshed that comes to be a resort to cease the sphere’s disputes War becomes a mere negation of the complex notion of peace Life’s aspiration is for humans to live with a natural feeling of unpretentious presence But the greed human race possesses hastens the threat bringing us closer to damnation Intoxicating, gratifying the naked truth has always been there before our eyes Yet mortals has neglected to uphold it, by choice or chance, on the grounds of fear This cosmos has ordeal revisions which deconstructs the life’s fundamentals This place what people call home has wisdom that makes them question ideas and principles Sheer words spoken plausibly have underlying passages to voice out each individual’s beliefs As it can be in the form of affiliation or contradiction, an impelling saving grace or malevolent derogation

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Consolation

"Bakit Bagay ang Bagoong sa Maasim na Mangga?"

by Salve Asilan

Ang hirap hanapan ng babagay kay Mangga.Yung tipong swak na swak sila ‘pag pinagsama. Hindi magawang masabi ng iba kung bakit kay hirap mo hanapan ng kapareha, siguro dahil sobrang asim ng ugali mo. Mangga. O hindi kaya dahil kaunti lang ang nagkakagusto sayo, sa palagay mo?

Isang araw, minsan kang pinares sa asin. Ngunit lalong lumabas lang ang asim ng iyong pagtingin. "Hindi tayo bagay," wari ng asin. Pero dumating naman si Toyo, kaya lang mas lalong lumalala kasi ang pait ng inyong pagsasama. Away dito away doon. Kaya pinutol niyo nalang ang inyong relasyon. Ilang beses mong sinubukan, ilang beses nasaktan kasi kahit sino ay hindi talaga bumabagay sa taglay mong asim, Mangga.

Habang ika'y papalapit nang huminog, mas lalong nawawalan ng pag-asa na makita mo pa ang babagay saiyo talaga.

Hanggang dumating ang isang Bagoong na gustong-gusto ng lahat. Gusto mo rin siya, kaya lang nandoon ang kaba na baka hindi kayo bagay sa isa't isa.

Ngunit sinubukan ninyong dalawa, sinubukan ng Bagoong na tiisin ang asim ng iyong pagsinta. Sinubukan niyang bagayan ang hindi nyo pagka-pareha hanggang sa naging bagay nalang kayo bigla. Saktong-sakto ang asim ng Mangga sa maalat-alat at mapait na Bagoong.

Sakto kayo kahit alam mong may pagkakaiba sa inyo. Ginawa niyong perpekto ang inyong pagsuyo. ‘Kay sarap ibagay sa isang tao na babagayan pati ugali mo. ‘Yong tipong kagaya ng Bagoong na mas pinili ang Mangga kaysa sa ibang prutas na mas babagay pa sakanya. Kaya Bagoong lang ang babagay talaga sa isang maasim na Mangga.

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Artwork First Place

Artwork by Krisha Lei Cordova

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poetry Consolation

“ In case you lose me”

by Fryll Czar Montaño

I’ve heard in different words that we all bear our own crosses. We’ve all lost something, but what’s staggering is how we’ve all lost someone. How many lovers have you lost? How many lovers do you still love?

I see hundreds of people who have moved on from their old flames and look on with envy. Because either I’m weak or she was different.

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prose

Third Place

“How are you?”

by Mary Rea Gulmatico

A simple question. An act of etiquette. A norm.

Everybody knows the answer to such question, yet is everybody completely answering it? The question may pop when roommates get together for coffee after graduating college, or maybe childhood best friends who haven’t seen each other since high school, or maybe if you’re lucky enough, someone asks you this every day. As children we were taught to reply with “I’m fine, thank you.” but as we grew older our replies became shorter. A great conversation starter as many may attest, but this three-worded question is often replied with only two words: “I’m okay.” The response could either keep the conversation going or in sad cases, end it awkwardly.

Now, here’s a question. If you are one who often asks people how they are, has someone ever asked you how you were? We motivate ourselves with “I’m okay.” without even asking the “How am I?” We give the response even before we ask the question and this is the mistake that we always make.

Sometimes, we ask people how they are because deep inside, all we want is for at least one of them to ask us that very same question. We stop at the “…you?” even if we still have a lot to say. We have always thought “how are you?” was a question when in fact it’s a statement.

“How are you? (I hope you’re fine because I’m not.)”

“How are you? (I’m still waiting for your call that never came.)”

“How are you? (Please ask me how I am.)”

A lot can be accomplished from a question, only if we were brave enough to complete the statement.

We all have our it’s-better-left-unsaid moments but we’ll be permanently locked in the box of “What Would’ve Happened”. We want to get out of this box so we helplessly run in our thoughts without realizing that we are running in place. We want the key to our box, we want our answers; and in the rarest of moments, this is when we discover that the answer is actually a question.

“How are you?”

We take this question for granted for most of our days. It’s an everyday thing. It’s nothing special.

It’s just a question. We all want something more. Something that’ll make us feel magic, not some boring norm. Well you see, sometimes we are too focused on finding the extraordinary that we tend to forget the everyday ordinary. But to tell you the truth, there would never be anything exceptional if there wasn’t anything plain.

Behind every “how are you?” is a story waiting to be written. The best chapter of a page left unread.

An “ordinary” waiting for us to make it magical.

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artwork Second Place

Artwork by Claire Dawn Macanan

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Writers’ profile Francis: He captures moments in stills, what lies deeper still?

Jan: Warm light, good humor; solemn and complex interior.

Josh Aldrich: Often silent, yet his writing screams.

Joshua Steven: Truthfully unfiltered, resolve unwavered.

Mark: A multi-talented spirit, an artist with the lens and instrument.

Natasha: In what she writes, you will find riddles; a shoal, not a puddle.

Therese: Soul empathic, yet her resolve resounds in what she has writ’.

Wynzel: A well to draw knowledge from; a soul that's a much-more-thansimple conundrum.

Aira: Living testament to the idea that artistry and anarchy go together very well.

Azi: While she speaks with a loud voice, louder still speak the images she captures.

Breia: Just because she has a sharp eye doesn’t mean she’s afraid to be the blunt girl in the room. ændll: Her tenure is a lesson that leadership works well if you deal the hard decisions while speaking softly.

John Lester: In his heart, indefatigable youth; in his art, the worn and worldly truth.

Melody: Meticulously investigates any topic she is given. The world might actually run out of subject matter for her.

Gio: Contemplates a human skull daily to remind himself that life is a truly precious thing, indeed.

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Noah: Has somehow balanced his no-nonsense work ethic with his pompous, larger-than-life vigor.

Princess: A romantic beneath the surface; an idealist with a purpose.

Jasper: Ambition in the right place; takes the steps to improve his pace.

Abbey: Her smile's radiance spreads far but her inner self is what you'd truly be after.

Lester: His cheerful eyes makes you wonder what lies yonder. Perhaps sunshine? Or rolling thunder?

Clint: A lively chap with great beliefs; dare you challenge his depths underneath?

Hazel: Hazel is the ocean. Usually felt as soft, coastal waves until someone’s hubris leads them to the tempest.

Nina: A cautious observer – an innocent description that can also apply to lions on the hunt, eyeing for prey.

Abrielle: A case study in how subtlety disguises her tactically-smart mindset.

Jane Marie: Intricate in perceiving the world, but she characterizes it in ways that make everything seem so simple.

Jen: Attacks life with pinpoint precision, although her scope reaches far and wide.

Geoff: Mr. Give-It-All. He makes sures he does everything in the best way he could.

Jennel Marie: Creative but conserved; if Man could weaponize a rainbow, she would fire the first shot.

Trisha: Like the Bengal tiger, a creature of legendary grit and tenacity; equally regal and ferocious.

Sergs: Magma. Silently churning with new material most of the time, then erupts with immense fury.

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The official student publication of the University of Negros Occidental - Recoletos Integrated School (Grades 1 and 12)

EDITORIAL BOARD

Danell L. Jumayao Editor-in-Chief

Trisha G. Cabanillas Managing Editor DESK EDITORS

Noah T. Cambal News Editor Hazel Lorraine Herida Feature Editor Wynzel Desuyo Literary Editor John Lester Trafiero Graphics Editor Therese Mae J. Dedoroy Multimedia Editor NEWS AND OPINION WRITERS Jasper John Barcenal Joshua Steven Calvo Abbey Gale Cordero Natasha Eve Sun Jan Marianne Trinidad FEATURE WRITERS Josh Aldrich Diola Esther Joyce Limbana MelodyJoy Lumauag Jane Marie Sarmiento LITERARY WRITERS Gio Patrick Baliwag Princess Aries Domingo Sergs Nino Samson GRAPHIC ARTISTS Abrielle Kaye Barayoga Denise Aira De la Fuente LAYOUT ARTIST Jennel Marie Rontale PHOTOJOURNALISTS Nina Gabrido Lester Garche Clint Elbe De Guzman Kyle Jobe De Guzman Mark Daniel Lecciones AZ Rivera CARTOONISTS Breia Ysabel Lizada Sean Olvido VIDEOGRAPHERS Francis Mathew Vaflor Jan Faith Ramos

Jude Xerxes M. Herbolario, RMT, LPT Adviser

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS To Dr. Marisa Petalla, and Fr. Persiuz Joseph Decena, for becoming the tinges of Blue and Gold in the values we write in pages; To Ms. Meth, Ms. Ernestine and Sir Nikko, for providing the technicolored bird’s eye view in completing this work of so many minds; To Sir Jude, our north star, for reminding us to keep on trekking the paths with conviction, ever-binded; To the educators, who endlessly shape and ignite our light; To the studentry, whose cries and hearts empower Starlight in every journey; To the Sinagtala participants, who embodied their honest and side less told to words and artworks; To Makinaugalingon Printing Press, in helping us turn the scribbles into tangible mediums; And most importatly, To God Almighty Father, for the never-ending grace and guidance in our journey towards wherever He wills us to be in.

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