Irong - Irong 15

IRONG-IRONG XV

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF MANAGING EDITOR ASSOCIATE EDITORS MODERATOR

Emy Rose Gallego Xena Hyacinth Estiñoso Jeff Tolentino Glaiza Rae Amable Maria Cristy E. Daguay

ART AND PHOTOGRAPHY TEAM A RT D I RE C T O R Geremy Gallenero P H OT O G R A P H Y D I RE C T O R Rotsen Agreda STA F F A RT I ST S A N D P H OT O G R A P H E R S Renz Arbis Kendra Felizimarie Magsico Joshua Patrick Santillan Alexandra Rose Libar I N T E RN Dianne Nayeli Montero C O N T RI B U T O R Leunamme Pabion COMMUNITY AFFAIRS TEAM Marlyn Rose Marcelo Hector Cofreros

COMMUNIT Y EDITOR STA F F W RI T E R S

CREATIVE WRITING TEAM Sharaine Ghail Taaca Pauline Marie Arada

L I T E R A RY E D I T O R STA F F W RI T E R S

PROGRAM MANAGEMENT TEAM Joanna Wayne Horneja Honey Mabelle Villarba Shergen Villanueva Hannah Jhanylle Po I N T E RN Mary Wen Anthony Rivera

P RO G R A M D I RE C T O R STA F F W RI T E R S

DISCLAIMER: This book, unless specified otherwise in the individual works, is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, and events portrayed are either products of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

COLOPHON: This book was crafted using Adobe Caslon Pro and Cambria typefaces. Page design and Enhancements were done using Adobe InDesign, Adobe Illustrator, Adobe Lightroom, and Adobe Photoshop.

The cover images were crafted by Geremy Gallenero, Joshua Patrick Santillan, and Kendra Felizimari Magsico Special thanks to Mr. Elsed Togonon for imparting his expertise and time in crafting this folio.

The overall layout and book design were done by the USA Publications.

PRINTED BY: Panorama Printing, Inc. Corner Simon Ledesma and Lopez Jaena Street, Jaro, Iloilo City, Philippines 5000

PANDORA’S BOX

Irong-irong is published annually by the USA Publications, which envision itself as an Augustinian center of campus journalism, focusing of the advocacy of the common good and acting as voice of the student body through responsive, developmental, and research-based campus journalism.

Published in November 2020 by the UNIVERSITY OF SAN AGUSTIN PUBLICATIONS The Official Student Press Corps of the University of San Agustin 2/F Alumni Building, University of San Agustin General Luna Street, Iloilo City, Philippines 5000 Email Address: usapublications1@gmail.com Copyright © 2019 by the USA Publications For the collection and the individual authors, artists,and photographers No part of this publication may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form whether virtual, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission and approval from the owners.

Based on a famous Greek myth, Pandora’s Box, Irong Irong XV delves into the cradle of complications, reckless decisions, and troubles of humanity in its literary works.

Pandora— who in Greek myth was blamed for all the torment and agony in the world, was created by Zeus out of wrath and vengeance. No myth is more familiar than that of Pandora, none perhaps has been so completely misconstrued. Pandora is the first woman, a beautiful mischief: as she opens the jar with its enigmatic figure of hope, out comes every wicked that flesh is heir to; hope only remains.

On feminism. How long have been women building barriers against men, against the world?

Take her as your ideal, your dearest secret.

The torment of your life, your beautiful regret.

A piece of heaven, a glimpse of hell.

Take her as she is, worth traversing as poets tell.

On inner conflict and insecurity. Is the language of beauty adequate to deal with the world’s melancholy?

Audacity is to open Pandora’s box, to wreak havoc.

Despair crumbles by the eyes, anguish slips out, where unpoetic and dreadful days flicker, enthralling the beauty of torments in myriads of quandaries.

On tempering with the unknown. With all the uncertainties, can we still leave it untouched or not talked about as if the box was not opened at all?

The tale begins when I’m at sea with a raging thirst, wrapping me through my weaknesses, showing me stories of madness, thoughts touching on where life lingers my deathly soul.

On healing and hope. Would you have the courage to unleash world’s miseries whispering hope within?

Saw a world of trouble and struggle, scenarios of distrust, disdain, and disaster.

Yet, strokes of hope breathe a little sigh, revealing vivid colors through cracks of sun.

Contents POEMS

1

The Light Beckons The Dark Shergen Villanueva

2

Like Clockwork Hannah Jhanylle Po

5

Unfolding with a Spark of Hope Sharaine Ghail Taaca

7

Silent Eve Marlyn Rose Marcelo

9

Box of Hoax Marlyn Rose Marcelo

10

Daybreak Kendra Felizimarie Magsico

12

Dear Hopeful Heart Hannah Jhanylle Po

13

The Diver Marlyn Rose Marcelo

14

Chaos, Enmity, a Glimpse of Hope Nico Julleza

15

Situated Kendra Felizimarie Magsico

16

Pandora’s Box Sharaine Ghail Taaca

17

Resilience John Patrick Santillan

18

άνδρας γυναίκα

Xena Hyacinth Estiñoso

19

SHORT STORIES

21

Remaking the Pandora’s Box Ma. Danica Campos

22

Lost Souls in Oblivion Shergen Villanueva

23

Hellhound Jose Anthony Gerard Muyco

25

Old Friend New Friend Tiffany Rose Montinola

27

Towards the End Laica Esel Sobremesana Laicha

28

The Song of Pandora Ma. Danica Campos

30

A Sequel Pauline Marie Arada

31

ART AND PHOTOGRAPHY

35

POETRY

Crafted lines. Bleeding masterpieces. Painful rhymes.

You knew that opening this book was irreversible yet alongside the stride, will you set hope to temper the consequences?

POEM BY

Shergen Villanueva

The Light Beckons the Dark

(a sequence of a world-breaking rebellion) i. future shadow nine cups of blood at the pedestal, all bore behind the glamours of night lamps on broken wings, gleaming candles on ancient lines, and silver locks on moldy chests. adieu to neverland, the ripple came — deflecting the perfect facade of above ashes to ashes, the ground responded — bodies lie from wonders of innocence ii. birth from recess honey-licked patches at the sky, azure contours on sleeping seas, greens breathe on pasture lands, everything was in accordance but — the heaven said, “too good, too godly.” goodness was in dire need of a break and so, a girl’s conceived of chastity, of curiosity at peak for no one knows, bound to an ill-fated natural state.

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photography by rotsen agreda

iii. hex as gift long gauche on living plains of new days and stellar minds, the god handed a one-way ticket to not fro at the winter mist of inner wars and unspoken moves. from old mouths of stories untold, creep to majestic — everything’s a blessing, even so, when a keyed mystery’s bestowed, a question dawdled in her, “why me?”

iv. ghastly ghosts box defined stocks through a single lid, chasmic waves arked of totality in torture, drought, famine, battle — is it all the peace’s competent enemies? a nightmare wrapped for a newborn, one peek of her sight alludes the unknown, for this, the bar of desire grew in wondrous time — “should i?” v. the shadow and she did, raising a dreadful cup of greed, envy, hatred, pain, disease, hunger, poverty, war, and death hail the rebel of chaos! defying the valleys of immortal and not-so ones in a flick of hand.

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vi. last sword scavenging through the holes of a lustrous tomorrow, the last wisp ascended for which is hope — the most ferocious of them all assembled philosophies scream the ending as a comeback from maydays, storm, and broken oaths — but no, ‘tis the bitter taste of illusion, giving a sense of dependence, and placating humanity in an unseen hearth vii. blame oblivion is lust in disguise, pulling saints in a whirlpool of sins but where is the court? who is the judge? and what defines a sinner

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POEM BY

Hannah Jhanylle Po

Like Clockwork Tick tock, tick tock, I hear the cogs and wheels spin and turn.

As the sky blazes in transient reds and orange, Another day passes, another opportunity burns.

Within the hush of a city in slumber, Noise festers within the weakened heart.

A monotonous tapping and endogenous snapping, Threatening to pull the seams apart.

I long for silence, a true silence, The kind buried beneath ashes of fallen cities.

When the mind was clear, and the goal was near, When there was no need to dig into the nitty and gritty.

But I am tangled in a web of truths, Blurred by proximity and unrelenting convictions.

Perhaps this is where my story remains, Lost in a sea of predilections.

artwork by joshua patrick santillan

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Somehow, the clicks are loud and empowering, Though they are but a drone in the backdrop.

They travel the midnight canvas in long, invisible radio waves, Whispering lies into those who dare make a stop.

Sometimes I wish to reverse the turn, See the rain rise and shriveled leaves untwist.

To see regrets fade into oblivion, Is but a fool’s tryst.

Tick tock, tick tock, The world says its piece, With every fabrication and false illumination, Like clockwork, the regrets never really cease.

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POEM BY

Sharaine Ghail T. Taaca

Unfolding with a Spark of Hope Awakened in a memory of feeling the warmth of the summer, harking back to the places we used to share and to meander.

Our dream ended yet the sun refused to shine in the horizon, wrapping us in a world of troubles and disturbances for a reason.

Too many are trapped in the precipice of total global failure, yet we must never let our faith waver and still cry for a prayer.

Across continents and oceans, we have heard the concerns of the powerless, Listening to science and news every day have turned us fearless. artwork by joshua patrick santillan

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I will recall these locked and down moments at the sea of uncertainty.

Stories of madness, experiences of surviving adversity.

This is our new normal, learning and working without leaving home, traversing the landscape of our lives and there we roam.

As we unpack traces of reality of the new normal, bravery will radiate, And healing for all will be answered in this new world we create.

Our nightmare will end when the sun rises and when a rainbow fills the sky.

Mirth will gleam from every place; a sliver of hope will breathe a little sigh.

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artwork by kendra felizimari magsico

POEM BY

marlyn Rose B. Marcelo

Silent Eve Pale moonlight, Veiled by thick, gray clouds, Covered the expanse of sky– Unceasing droplets fell Willed by nature’s command.

It was a night of heavy rain; Streets glistened, winds were cold, Lights faltered from dusk till dawn Darkness embraced the crossroads.

She was left standing alone, Saddened by deafening seclusion; In the abyss of sudden tranquility, Heartbeats faded slowly.

Drums of thunder dampened the noise, Resounding blasts, somehow, can’t be heard; Only the downpour and silence were left, When he stepped away.

She thought she’d be happy, Yet, she was trapped in the loneliest prison; Those bearing thoughts forlorn, Must miss what solitude is– an isolation.

artwork by renz joshua arbis

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POEM BY

Marlyn Rose B. Marcelo

Box of Hoax As the notion spills onto scratch, Untold tales unfold, Revealing mystic metaphors, Meanings become so intricately profound.

Words are coming out like waves, Castaway in the moments of abstraction, Upto the realm of uncertainty, Nothing new, the subject’s still you.

Suddenly, the tint of the pen depletes, Flowers slowly tilt and wither, Cold breezes grasp the dark field, It is no longer the old spring day.

Days pass at full throttle, Would you still read my creation?

Would you still unveil my lost thoughts?

Or never, for they are in the box of hoax.

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artwork by joshua patrick santillan

It’s when the flowers begin to bloom along the greenfield, Fresh breezes, gracefully embrace each branch of trees, Days grow longer than darkness itself, A warm spring day, indeed.

Here comes the tweeting of the bird, A recurrence of cadence rhythm, Picturing montage of the good old days in meadows, Nostalgic vision of happiness that conjures.

While holding a pen and paper, The tint flows onto a blank sheet, again.

It’s been a long time since the phrases— Will start turning into stanzas.

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POEM BY

Kendra Felizimarie P. Magsico

Day Break Night looms in as light falls.

The minutes on the clock wait patiently Until the seconds would greet them on their run.

Words pile up in thoughts, The birth of questions and solemnization through answers By tomorrow, a renaissance.

Pre-existing unanswered mysteries of the past Boundless instances that would coexist in the future, An endless feed of curiosity.

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photography by alexandra Libar

POEM BY

Hannah Jhanylle Po

Dear Hopeful Heart Dear Hopeful Heart, This is a message for you, About the pain and misery, You and I went through.

Ephemeral, we always were, Happiness but a fleeting sensation, Shared through unshed tears and insincere smiles, And a fractured story of our machination.

Enigmatic, we would act, A ball of sunshine with warmth lost, A spectre, really, Wrapped around in a layer of permafrost.

When we inevitably submerged in the depths, Where above, waves crash and winds roar, I wonder, did we ever find a sliver of silver, And breathe with clear lungs once more?

At that moment, A question struck my heart, Were we ever hopeful Or just torn apart?

artwork by geremy gallenero and renz joshua arbiz

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POEM BY

marly rose b. marcelo

The Diver She looked into his eyes, Twin deep oceans of blue; While everything else blurred, The great wonder of tomorrow persisted.

A cold gaze met hers as she dived, Down into the bottomless depth, Darkness stretched through the void, Leaving nothing but hope with her.

She probed and prodded – an insurmountable quest Wandered every crevice in the cosmos, For even the slightest chance of answers to withering doubts.

When she could no longer sustain, She began grasping for life, With no choice but to ascend– Before it was too late.

She used to chased after everything, Now it was time to catch her breath It was when she walked away - defeated That he ran for her.

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artwork by kendra Felizimarie Magsico

POEM BY

Nico C. Julleza

Chaos, Enmity, A Glimpse of Hope Screams Endless screams as the haunted hung themselves in ropes of misery Murder Blood of murder Kindred souls engulfed In moans of the pitiless Dolor A sea of dolor Where the innocent feign betrayal Of heavy hearts Loneliness Alas, loneliness Deep desolate mires With only death as company Unclouded World unclouded As the land and seas Mourn their dead Glimpse A single glimpse Seize her in distance for it all be worth it

artwork by kendra Felizimarie Magsico

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POEM BY

Kendra Felizimarie Magsico

Situated Flesh, she was born with But her soul was embedded with star dusts Her eyes glowed like how the sun’s rays would hit the ocean bed What she held within her heart was the universe.

The wind kissed her skin, “Cold” she sighed as she knew it was afternoon’s goodbye.

The sunset spreads its colors on the horizon, “Palette” she slowly pronounced as she wondered how the yellow and orange hues were placed like fresh paint.

The birds flew above, “Flight” she said with her head held high, in thoughts of how wings can reach so far.

Night began to step on the surface, And even when tomorrow comes, these thoughts will remain Etched on her mind.

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photography by alexandra Libar

POEM BY

joshua patrick santillan

Resilience I was used, and used well A curse in the guise of a blessing With wrath and misery wrought By an instrument of mankind many think me weak for I am just a girl Clever, beautiful, all-gifted I am Pandora – more than what you can be.

Blame me, hurt me, engulf me in flame From the very ashes of which I will rise.

photography by renz joshua arbis

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POEM BY

Sharaine ghail taaca

Pandora’s Box Tempest gnawed at all my jagged edges.

The pain that once burnt like fire, Delved into numbness – icy and unforgiving. black pooled along the edges of my vision, as my breath came in ragged, shallow gasps.

Naive to the darkness of the real world, my eyes shifted to and fro, glazed over a glassy layer of tears, dripping from my eyelids, yielding – falling shut.

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photography by rotsen agreda

POEM BY

άνδρας I promised you forever six days shy of Valentine’s, when everyone craved and yearned for trophies of love as if flowers do not rot and chocolates do not spoil.

I defied the odds like how Prometheus disobeyed Zeus. I gave you fire –my own.

I gave you knowledge and wisdom. I molded you in generosity and peace like how Zeus fashioned Pandora in the likeness of Aphrodite—goddess of beauty.

I made you.

I locked my love for you in a box and bit back my tongue – for the tempest that collapsed entire cities blew the same breezes that laid down carpets of spring.

artwork by kendra felizimarie magsico

xena hyacinth g. estiÑoso

γυναίκα Had you known better, you would have treated me as if I was an entire garden of flowers – chockfull of buds in bloom with thorns lying in wait.

I shouldn’t have felt that I was an orchard of the most bittersweet fruit your mouth can never afford to taste.

Had you known better, you would have known that I was a flame— incandescent, iridescent, brimming with fury.

Had you known better, you would have known that the chains you used to tie me to a rock would inevitably become your demise. You threw me far out to Caucasus, so no one will see how you preyed on my living tapestry. You feasted on my torture, one that never even included pain. You destroyed me.

I made me. You locked me in a box, afraid that whispers will spin the tale of how you opened my legs like Pandora opened her box. Only, you did not shield the world from evil. You are the evil of this world.

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SHORT STORIES Hope is a lover’s accomplice; walk with that, and you’ll manipulate despairing thoughts.

If you believe in love, read on.

Curiosity is a paradoxical nature; a blessing and a curse.

If you’ve been hurt by love, just read on.

Box of uncertainties. Bluntly sweet initiations.

If this book is the forbidden fruit of paradise—read on, as you commit the first sin of love.

short story BY

Ma. Danica Campos

Remaking the Pandora’s Box First rewind the accidents.

Embrace the pain. In time the wounds will heal somehow.

Simply pick and patch up the remains of the horror and colors in a brightly colored chest.

Learn to listen, a melody lingers on it will be transcendental if you hear it.

Leave some traces of magical deeds (they will spread like wildfire) and restore the world with words. Nothing insignificant, nor hiding from what we fear, but with a purpose.

Be proud, unbreakable, hopeful, joyful, bewildered: you’ll need a box to carry your flaws and it will be reopen when the time is ripe, a Fool to insist that flaws should stay hidden inside.

No sadness just beautiful disaster no meanness just kindness. Out of nothing something and out of something nothing: all inside the New Pandora’s Box.

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artwork by Kendra felizimarie magsico

short story BY

Shergen Villanueva

Lost Souls in Oblivion (Clarissa Fray is Pandora)

“Have you fallen in love with the wrong person yet?”

Within the interim of gold and silver, the black roof that trailed overhead opened a path for wrapped up angels to roam the mortal world, for where no one sees them but some feel their force and sink into the arrant darkness they profess. I was one of thosewho ventured the war and day of wrath without the gods, straying away from the curated notes of my ancestors for I was one of them — a hunter descent, singled out for a man with the contrast of blood. But despite the wards clouding my parade, I know I live in a hideous dream where anyone can love certain dark things. So, I did and it was him.

“To prevent chaos, there must be order.” photography by alexandra Libar

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What price is too high to pay, even for love? When everything starts to be in sync, the shade will appear like a frightful night after weeks of heavenly skies. As for my conundrum, the mother of viciousness relived a creature to be a counterweight to my man, binding him to an eternity of breaking away from his innate predicament. Fire, prison, denial — being lost is a much stronger bloodshed to conquer.

“Regret is such a pointless emotion, don’t you agree?”

The price is diving into oblivion, to the threshold of uncertainties in between life and death. The horizon for which reflected hope seemed farther away, I see. But the worl will surely crumble if I depend on the conformities of the silent brothers and iron sisters so I wore the faerie’s whimsical rings and set forth to the city of lost souls. Alone, unarmed, plainly relying on the meters of my desire and curiosity to break the devil’s tie to my sanctuary, my own haven of being alive.

Cosmic thread of blood, ashes of warlocks, fires of the greatest Alicante, rejection from the woman of power — I opened those with bravery, careless ness, and subtle ardo of the knowledge of everything. I am the Pandora of the Shadow World. I am Clarissa Fray.

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short story by

Jose Anthony Gerard “Jag” Muyco

Hellhound

I was once fascinated of occult practices. That was the basis of my studies in college and I was very foolish for pursuing these disciplines. If it wasn’t for what had happened I would have been damned to hell. It isn’t exactly what I wanted to remember but it is something worth sharing. Now let me tell you the story of how I managed to escape the clutches of damnation.

It was one midnight before graduation. It was something I would never tell my family, but this time I have to break my silence. I was still studying occult practices then and I was looking at practices of Mambabarangs or Sorcerers. They had many rituals and curses that they could lay upon their enemies like placing bugs inside of them. However, I discovered one ritual that stimulated my curiosity.

In a small parchment was a summoning ritual. It contained the details of summoning a hellhound. It said that if one can summon a hellhound one can become a master sorcerer. So I decided to try it. It said that one must say the prayer ritual in the darkest hours of the night at exactly three in the morning. Once the time is right, the person must offer his blood and say a prayer ritual. After completing the prayer ritual, the hellhound will present itself.

artwork by renz joshua arbis

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But the ritual warns that if done incorrectly, the hellhound will attack its master and send it straight to hell. So I decided to try it. I did not know what came over me to try this ritual, maybe it is my recklessness, or maybe it was my pride, either way it led to the inevitable horror that I had faced. I checked the clock, 3:30 AM. It was half passed three, but I decided to risk it. I took out a knife and slit my palm and blood oozed like teardrops. Afterwards I said the ritual. Closing my eyes, I spoke as if in solemn prayer.

As I opened my eyes, I saw a large ferocious black mutt with eyes of blood snarling and growling glaring at me. It was barking furiously and its nose flared. I wanted to scream but it was as if the hound was suppressing my voice. I knew that one wrong move, and I would be done for. In a moment the mutt immediately seized me by its claws and tried to drag me away. I fought for my life, I tried to scream, but my strength could not rival the mutt’s. I could feel its claws penetrate my skin. So I decided to pray. One Hail Mary, it was all it took.

Finally the mutt just disappeared. It felt as if I suffered from a hallucination. But I felt a sharp pain on my chest. There, claw marks that would remind for the rest of my days of what my curiosity has brought me and the horrors I’ll never forget.

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short story BY

Tiffany Rose Montinola

r ie n d F N ew d r ie n d Ol F

She puts on the only black dress she owns, pulling the sleeves taut to cover the bruises on her knuckles. With her lips trembling, she looked at her reflection. An unrecognizable face was staring right back at her, eyes swollen, cheeks hollow, skin as pale as a ghost.

Every conversation was toned down the minute she appeared. They all looked at her with pity and she hated every moment of it. As if saying they were sorry will change anything. As if it will mean anything. She wanted to run away or lock herself in the toilet but her pride would not let her.

Having a mind of its own, her feet carried her to the casket. A picture of a young boy with tousled hair and a toothy grin was in view. The lighthearted expression of her bestfriend mocking the emptiness she was feeling right now.

She pulled out a candle, lit it, and watched the flame dance, her actions rehearsed, mechanic even.

After the funeral she made her way to the playground and picked as many santan flowers as she could get. She took her time making a flower crown and did not notice a toddler watching her with curiosity. When she finally looked up, she almost fell down from her squatting position.

“Here, I’ll put it on you,” she placed the flower crown on top of the toddler’s hair as the toddler cheekily smiled at her.

She was taken aback when the toddler hugged her. She heard herself finally laughing again and she did not feel lonely anymore.

artwork by joshua patrick santillan

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short story by

Laica Esel Sobremesana Lachica

Towards the End

The unmistakable sound of rain drummed steadily as her cold fingers hit every key. Words were shaped – amorphous for they served ambiguity, yet present. The author -mad but keen not to be unraveled — not yet.

Only the truth could both destroy and heal two worlds. It is why suppressed feelings grow and gradually die akin to strangled individuals fighting for breath. Looking for answers is never as easy as being told but perhaps, the truth becomes your daunting nightmare. More often than not, the one who seeks already knows, and the burning flame only attracts the bravery of those who are foolish.

Remembering the early April—crisp and ethereal, neither of them wanted to call home. The mattress sank under the weight of the silence between two figures that found their way into each other’s arms beneath the warm blue sky. Without even seeing or touching, the smell of baby’s breaths summoned butterflies. Every promise filled the atmosphere with vibrant shades of hope.

Early April— the first day of the month, exactly two years from now, what could have been done to redo the past? In the autumn of life, her robin’s egg blue dress would never fade and the flowers tucked behind her ear will never wither.

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photography by alexandra libar

Despite her blasé exterior, she fell -- hook, line and sinker. She fell into the man’s possession like a helpless lamb. The storm within his eyes never once faltered, and the debris from the tempest outgrow him.

It was never meant to have a beginning and yet, it ended just as quick.

That was the last entry before the mouse dragged the arrow and click ‘send’.

On the other side of the wall, the man dropped the mug he was holding. It made a loud crashing sound as it hit the tiles. He scrambled through his phone and immediately saw a new update from her sister’s blog. It gained thousands of visits already.

Despite the ringing in his ears, her voiced echoed in his mind, loud and clear -

“Tell my brother I loved him.”

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short story by

Ma. Danica Campos

The Song of Pandora

When she lifts her chiton skirt and twirls into the darkness, her laughter unravels the miseries of this world. He stands there in his tunic, trinkets in hand, watching the girl with the tampered box spin away. His thoughts trail, but do not trail after her. He is confronted by a blessing cursed by Zeus who knows what he inflicts, his will has no elusion. A prophecy of morbid things to come was given; A brotherly advice he did not heed.

She leaves him in his own world, to doubt every ensuing times and caress along the nape of his neck until there is nothing in his vision but a speck, a very small spark left from an electric shock on the track of the heart (where the wounds are still bleeding) and it hurts so much worse when she cries.

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Chaos settles in; Until hope was found.

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artwork by dianne nayeli montero

short story by

pauline marie arada

A Sequel

“This is your fault. You said yes to a maiden like me.”

That was the last line Epimetheus heard before he promised himself it’ll be the last one to take, after he touched those blood-red bitten lips, then slowly golden tunics gone; a bittersweet love echoed throughout the night. It happens every night—Epimetheus hearing the same words then carrying the stubborn maiden while sealing her crimson lips with sugarcoated sentiments.

Though he once grew tired, yet he brushed aside those vitriolic thoughts saying, “Without this lovely maiden, I’d never have a purpose.”

He would tucked her golden strands of hair that cascades around her ethereal waves of beauty, as she gazed into the looking-glass. Epimetheus caged her up in his arms, whispering into her ear with utmost enormity, “Don’t you have time for me? It seems like you never loved me, agápi mou.” With sadness in his eyes, his façade looked shattered, his mind was distorted with ‘what-ifs’.

And each time Epimetheus would ask the same question over and over again, the maiden would answer him with the same words too.

“This is your fault. You said yes to a maiden like me,” while brushing her long caramel hair.

The mere lad felt melancholic most of the time, because of a scarce love whom he now question whether it is worth the risk or not. The maiden grew busy embellishing herself with some hint of sweet compliments from numerous beaus and even dames. She would laugh—she always had the happiness she wanted, but never with Epimetheus. Just not in him.

A vision of a hypocritical love and make-believe happiness. Now, it’s only make-believe, not even happiness.

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Days have gone by, and the mighty Epimetheus was nowhere to be seen; the maiden was worried sick.

She came searching for every part of their kingdom but to no avail— the young lad cannot be caught by her wicked eyes.

Until…

Her stares darted into a tall, beautiful, young man with his eyes locked into another dame. He held the other dame’s hand and even ardently kissed her.

Now the poor beautiful maiden paced forward; eyes filled with animosity and hatred. As she interrupted their sweet farewells, she went rage.

“You cheater!” “You liar!” “You heart breaker!”

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The maiden was indeed in great pain—no wonder she’s drowning in her river of regrets; tears trickling down her cheeks.

Yet the young hunky Epimetheus just took her hand and said, “This is my fault. I fell in love to a maiden like you.

artwork by dianne nayeli montero

ART AND PHOTOGRAPHY Compose yourself, three-second-counting echoed.

The shutter released--flash!

You scourged the artists and made them furious; You manipulate their minds capturing their passion.

Beware, you may once own their heart but never their art.

artwork BY

geremy t. gallenero

“Shallow” Digital Art

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artwork BY

Georvin Delotavo

“Pandora’s Paroxysm” Graphite

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artwork BY

Dianne nayeli montero

“ Apalled” Digital Art

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IRONG-IRONG XV

artwork BY

Kendra Felizimarie P. Magsico

“Entrusted Gift” Digital Art

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artwork BY

joshua patrick santillan

“Solace”

Digital Art

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IRONG-IRONG XV

artwork BY

geremy t. gallenero

“ You and I” Digital Art

IRONG-IRONG XV

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photo manipulation BY

renz joshua arbiz

“Resurface”

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photograph BY

rotsen agreda

“The Controller”

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photograph by

Rotsen Agreda

“Free”

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IRONG-IRONG XV

photograph by

Rotsen Agreda

“ Youth”

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Downfall, Salvation You, my love, are my entire dream, and I am you— I am my dream.

Marlyn Rose Marcelo Tears are okay.

Xena Hyacinth Estinoso Hoping to be seen, wanting to be heard.

Jawn Caryss Justalero The portrayal of women in mythology as deceitful, manipulative, and the downfall of men corresponded with oppressive treatment and forced seclusion, which mirrored Greek patriarchal society.

Ma. Danica M. Campos If curiosity won’t kill me then the next candidate must be my impulsiveness.

Tiffany Rose Montinola Ignorance can be a blessing.

Jose Anthony Gerard Muyco A journey of a thousand regrets starts with a single choice.

Nico Julleza Hope...which is whispered from Pandora’s box only after all the other plagues and sorrows had escaped, is the best and last of all things. Without it, there is only time. And time pushes at our backs like a centrifuge, forcing us outward and away, until it nudges us into oblivion.

Ma. Danica M. Campos

Your voice is your power.

Jielyn Anne L. Bastian I am the poet; my mom will always be my poetry.

Pauline Marie Arada I belong in a place where ocean quenches my thirst; sanity of heaven satiates my hunger.

Sharaine Ghail Taaca Farewell to hale nevermore — ascent from dust and shadows. When you play with fire, the descent to hell comes easier.

Shergen Quilla Villanueva A galaxy of uncertainties and an abundance of hope.

Kendra Felizimarie Magsico Despair is just a stepping stone for greater hope.

Dianne Nayeli Montero That picturesque tale of ours will linger forever like the smell of burning candle, and the sight of plummeting dying leaves.

Laica Esel Sobremesana Lachica We all carry these things inside that no one else can see.

Renz Joshua Arbis Something about knowing when it’s right.

Geremy Gallenero Life is not a book, a race, Pandora’s Box or whatever metaphor we put on it — it is just a word until someone gives it meaning.

Joshua Patrick Santillan Meet me in those crooked parallels, a strange place where fate and chances creep.

Rotsen Agreda Dream as if you’ll live forever, live as if you’ll die today.

Alexandra Libar