bd2009

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BANAAG DIWA 2009KATIPUNAN NG MGA AKDANGPAMPATINITIKAN NG ATENEWS

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BANAAG DIWA TEAMEDITORS Santigo Paulo Pascual • Karlo James

Bringas • Jobelle Obguia • Ma. Cristina Ramos PHOTO-

JOURNALISTS Mar Vince Reyes LAYOUT TEAM Karla

Degrano • Al Pascual • Ruki Trumata CONTRIBUTORS Mawe

Bautista • BREAD+BUTTER MODERATORS Dr. Macario Tiu • Dr.

Victoria Tatad-Pre MEMBER OF THE COLLEGE EDITORS GUILD OF

THE PHILIPPINES The Atenews is the official student publication of the Ateneo

de Davao University, Jacinto St., Davao City.


Movement. There is no physical state more beautiful or more exhilarating than movement. Whether in the gestures, both graceful and forceful, of dancers; in the rawness of energy and emotion crackling through and between

competing athletes; or in the intensely serene purposefulness emanating from people with important tasks on their hands, movement is the most fascinating thing in the world to watch, and just about the most heavenly thing to do and be inspired by.

Movement is art. The most noteworthy artworks all feature movement of some kind or another. This most common of literary plots (a disadvantaged kid yearns to escape the hardship of his/her present circumstance and so works hard to achieve something better) should illustrate this. Visual art through the millenia show movement or some aspect of it: from the grace and power emanating from the heroic statuary of the classical Greeks; the suggestion of interaction with a divine being in churches, mosques, and other places of worship; to the eclectic artforms seen in posters, advertisements, and contemporary painting and sculpture that reflect the various modes of living available today. Art has and still is taking inspiration from the motions of peoples in their societies as they go about with their lives. It always will.

One is never truly alive unless one lives at a purposefully frenetic pace. The keyword is “purposeful”: it is not enough that one engages in brisk, demanding activities like bungee jumping or hang gliding; rather, these actions should serve some noble calling. Get up and dance, if you want to; just be sure that every sway of your hips contribute to the common good. There are so many things that can be done to achieve this: joining fun runs; attending benefit programs for homeless kids and the elderly; partcipating in elections, demonstrations and other activities that promote democracy and push for the observance of human rights. What is useful is beautiful, and there is nothing more beautiful than actions that fulfill something that is good and necessary.

There is no substitute for activities done in the flesh. So what is the purpose of arresting art, and motion, in a literary folio like Banaag Diwa 2009? You need only read Faulkner’s quoted passage to know. Contained in this book you are holding are the echoes of movement by Atenean students, records of experiences and lessons they had acquired and are now sharing to a wide audience. Not a hundred years had passed since these events took place, but the objective remains the same: to capture motion and store it in a form that other people can relate to should they stumble on it. Their lives and art are here, spread in front of you now, just waiting to be experienced again.

Karlo James Bringas

“The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.” - William Faulkner

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FishLeah Aguinaldo

delectable, juicy fish at one time, it stinks at another, it smells heavenly.

then marinated, sautéed, flipped over, and served

then smelled, eaten, and followed by wine

shared by two in an expensive restaurant among other smitten people who gaze at one another with deep longing eyes.

FISH at one point, fish... at another, just another byproduct flushed down the drain

just like love.

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Chocolate Ice CreamISLE

You sit prettily on a wafer coneSprinkled with cashew nuts and marshmallows,You are overly sugarcoated.One taste made me hooked up on youAs your flavour leaves my mouth an aftertasteOf indescribable sweetnessAnd incredible antidote to my depression Until you melt away…Totally…

The Other Side Levi Aviñante

At some point, decisions must be made.Margins fence you in, not keep the others out.

Life is complicated, that’s how it is.So you can waste your time setting perimeters

or live your life crossing those lines.Get the agitation of trading the familiar for the strange.

But there are some boundaries that are way too dangerous to be crossed.

Once you’ve crossed, it’s nearly impossible to go back.Here’s what I know, if you’re not reluctant to take a risk,

the view from the other side is sensational.


Ang Ulan ug ang Pagsubang-balik sa AdlawMark Darryl A. Caniban

Hinumdumon ko sa kanunay ang panganodNaghangad-hangad ka’g naguol sa nagtaliabotNasugatan tika sa dalan patungasPatiaw nga nang-imbetar, apan mabalakon,“Ali sa amoa sa ta, basi mabasa kaAli na, dugay pa lagi musalop ang adlaw.”

Hinumdumon ko sa kanunay ang KilatNakuyawan ko kay mahadlok diay kaAbi ko gani’g isog, apan makuratan sad diayMao kini ang kasadya sa pila ka minutongKita nag-inilhanay -- “Ngalan mo gani?”Sama sa kilat, mubo apan tisok sa sulod.

Hinumdumon ko sa kanunay ang dalugdogSaba ug nagtinaguktok ang mga gibatiIgo’t singgit aron hurot ang naa sa dughan

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Apan nagpabilin sa kahilom, ulaw gipalabiKay kon gani isulti kong dili ka angay mubiyaBasi unya’g ibilin kong naghibi.

Hinumdumon ko sa kanunay ang ulanSamtang nahinanok sa akong abagaWala man ko naghandum nga mubalikWala sad nagsalig nga mupabilin kaKay kung mahuman ni, iya-iya na sad taSama tong wala pa kita nagtagbo.

Apan taliwala sa tananNalipay ko na nagpabilin kaSa hamubo nga panahon nga ikawNibiya ug nibalik sukad pa sa unaNangandoy na sad koNga unta mag-ulan na sab.

Pero sa pagkakaronMiundang na diay, ug tunhay na.

Dangop lang kung managsugod na sad,Lakaw na kay wala na ang ulan.


Seek me notMark Darryl Caniban

Hide, lovely angel, take exit wayBe incarcerated in my frown of lipAnd pray to him that he maySeek me not and go in unkind grip.

Hide its rainbow in the ray of lightBe cupped like asbestos whiteOnly then aerate it in my slumber;Will embrace when no longer sober.

Hide, dead hopes, in the happy songIn dark yellow dogears, laid amongOnce paged in pretty climaxed stories;

That with its every end, my joy flees.

Hide, as eternally, hide your soulAnd by no means reveal it to meFor when I do, I’ll be its silly foolI’d stay there and be its enslaved

wee.

So be veiled in the six feet of earth!Be gone and dare not give birth

To pain, to grim, to mess, to sore;Love, hide! Meet me no more.

*him refers to Greek deity Eros.

The TouristJobelle Obguia

He pulls the latch with ease She walks into the room He greets her with warm eyes She shook away her gloom He gives her a cold glass

Her throat was scorched and dry He offers her his bed She knew her bones were wry His breathing joins the ticking time Waiting for her eyes to shut But she stayed awake all night His distant dreams she can’t abut

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DaydreamsKarlo Antonio G. David

Lo! I dream of:

Touching the chain-tears of Red moon; kissing the lone-girl who gives life;Knowing why they cry-cicadas, why First and Mad’ra were in strife;Meeting the holder of brightness who, by rebirth, is returning;Wielding the power of Oa sth to insult Britannia while mourning;Catching the Moths of Wish-granter; saving the soul lording “princess”;Being the child of a stranger or falling from high with child’s meekness

If only I could leave this ennui!

Lo! I dream of:

Having a scar on my forehead or the kind soul of a Love-stone;With the cave-count seeking vengeance or, with sir Holmes reading dead bones;Wasting my youth for a necklace; falling in love with Wisteria;Loosing Leonora to illness, Dorian Grey to hysteria;Seeing Tadzio by the seashoreOr finding a Nymphet to live for

If these were true how great my life would be!


I AM SINGING SOLITUDEScarred Star

I’m singing solitude…And I, alone, can hear its hymn.The world doesn’t adore it;The world doesn’t want to bring it in.

I’m singing solitude… And I remotely know I sing. Neither the mountains nor the cities Have heard me sing and sing.

I’m singing solitude… With such sobs, scowls, and screams. I use my songs to call everything And everyone who doesn’t know I sing.

I’m singing solitude… Yet nobody cares why I sing. The drops of tears on my weary face Will never cease till they’ll hear me sing.

I am singing solitude… And I think I will be forever singing.

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Besos Para GolpesDuane Allyson Gravador

To learn to ignore the painTo cover the woundsTo finally know the feeling of being lovedTo experience how it is to be wantedTo lose all memoriesOf whipsAnd bucklesAnd slapsAnd more of theseTo replace the stabsAnd scarsWith affectionAlbeit momentarily.Kiss meKiss me for my blows.

*The title was taken from a line from the classic book, The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo.


CommandmentsReymond Pepito

Break my bonestear my skinburn it withflowing flames,‘Til you find none in me!Risk my lifeslay my selfsell my name‘Til you see no more in me!Neglect my wordshesitate with my voicebe annoyed with my silence

‘Til you here nothing from me!Fold my identitytrash my personalitydump my reality‘Til you wonder none from me!Kill my timeharass my presencedefame my morals‘Til you find merry in me!Do these thingsin regards of the TruthsThese are my commandmentsEarlier than you’re expecting me to do.

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I write.For when you smile

I can do nothing elseBut look down

And express your beautyMy joy

On this sheet of paper.

I write.For when you speak to me

I am left mutedAnd I resort to seeking

Refuge and SolaceIn a pen.

Yes, I write—These thoughts that

Flow within my beingThoughts I fail

And love failingTo contain

Thoughts that surface onlyWhen you are in sight

Well, even when you are not in sight

Thoughts that remind me That in all the worldThere is not a soul

More worthyOf me

Of my heartOf my pen

Of these linesOnly you.So I write.

AristotelianDuane Allyson Gravador


Sisiw Lang Kung Buot Hunahunaonpillow-sofa

Madali lang naman eh.Hindi naman ganoon kahirap ang hinihingi ko sa iyoTugon lang naman sa mga mensahe koMarami ka nang nagawang lalo pang mahirapKaysa sa pagtatayp ng mensahe sa teleponoIlang beses ka nang matagumpayNa nakapagpangiti sa kayraming mga tao,Sa mga paraang higit na malikhain,Kung ihahambing moSa hamak na pag-reply sa aking “Kumusta na?”Na siya nga palang nakakapagpangiti sa akin

Marahil naman ay iyon ang nagpapahirap—Ang katotohanang ako ang dahilan at patutunguhanNg iyong pag-aaksaya ng lakas at oras

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Mahirap sapagkat, siguro,Hindi naman ako sapat at nararapat na dahilanMahirap sapagkat, siguro, hindi mo lubos maisipNa maghihirap kaPara lamang sa isang ako

Mahirap sapagkat, sigurado akongIsang reyalidad ang kinakalaban ko—Na may mga panahong ang pag-ibigNa inaalay para sa isang taoAy hindi niya kayang ibalik;Maaari lamang niyang tanggapin at ipagpasalamat.Ngunit ang pilitin niya ang sarili niyaPara lamang ibalik ang parehong damdaminAy hindi kailanman naging tama

Mahirap, sapagkat naghihirap na nga ako,Ayaw pa rin paawatTila, hindi na ako marunong sumuko.


Dangling ModifierJefford Ray Mamacus

Where are you?I can’t find you anywhere

In this world of lies and pretenseMy only truth is

missing in the abyssWhere have you been?When I feel so aloneBeing with someone whodoesn’t consider my worthCan you please reveal yourself ?Whenever I’m lonelyWhenever I’m misplacedshivering in the coldLead me to your sideWhere I can find life’s meaning‘Cause I’m blinded by the darknessof this emotional warfare

I feel incomplete without youThe one who makes me feel alright

The one who wipes out all my tearsWhen everything seems so unreal

Where are you?

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I remember the sunrise in front of meThe one who cheered-up my leavesStrengthened my stemsAnd boosted-up my lousy day

The sunrise who’s embracing meWith thy glimmering raysSwinging like a hammockPlaced in a case

I remember the rainThe one who covered thy lightOver came his calmnessUntil dusk emergeAnd yes… it was thereRoaring like a vicious bear

Oh sunrise…I expect thy not to becomeA nightmare!Thy dried-up my leavesWeaken my stemsAnd defamed my heartrending day

Adieu!Is this must I say?When things are not yet clearWhen thy judged meIs not that glee?Open thou eyesandHear my plea!

My Sunrise My Nightmare

Reymond Pepito


MASTERPISJefford Ray Mamacus

Umihip ang hanginTanging ilaw lamang sa labasang sumisilip samadilim na pugadIpinikit ko ang aking mga mataat pilit na nilalakbayang dalampasigan ng aking utak

Masama pa ang aking loobPilit na ikinukubli angpanghihinayanghabang nakaupo sa isang suloknag-aabang Wala akong magawaNgunit may kailangan akong gawinNais ng aking mga kamayna magbunga ng kakaibabago pa man sumibolang umaga Nais kong isulatNais kong ipintaAng halimuyakAng init

Ang kislapAng kirotNais kong inyo ring madama Isusulat ko ang ‘di ko kayang ipintaIpipinta ko ang ‘di ko kayang isulatNgunit hindi ko kayang magpintaKaya magsusulat ako Isusulat ko ang bawat tintaSa kanyang pagdapo sa magas-pang na papelHabang inilalatag ang sariliat gumawa ng markaIsusulat ko ang bawat guhitna nagpapahiwatig ng tatag at tibay nitoIsusulat ko ang bawat kulaypula at bughawkahel at dilawitim at putiat ang liwanag at ningning dito Umihip muli ang hanginIdinilat ko na ang aking mga mataNabaling ang tinginsa hawak kong papelna kailanma’y ‘di mapapansin...

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HaircutISLE

Long, jet black hair It’s long been gone

Now, short and sleek locksWhat you see in my head.

Everyone asks me whyWith one shy smile

I’ll reply “split ends”When what I really mean is we split up

It ended.

Everyone wonders whyWith one sad look

I’ll reply “fly away”When what I really mean is he flew away from me.

PaalamArjonel Sala

Mga butong patay diligan man ng luha

wala nang laman kundi butas at malulungkot na ala-ala ng masayang lumipas


Dalha ko sa imong payagIpakita sa ako ang mga buak mong kolonAng mga kutsara’g lapis nga nagpasad sa abuhan.Ang bag mong dugta kagabii sa uwan,Ug ang mga libro mong giilo ni Tatay.

Dalha ko sa imong payagUg ipakita ang mga supot nga wa’y sudAng mga abo ning sug-angan, una gakayoMulupad sa iyang kapuwaDayon malumos ngadto sa hangin.

Dalha ko sa imong payagUg ipakita imong pahiyomMatam-is kung gitik-gitikon,

Apan mahimong luha kung pangutan-on“Naunsa ka ba diay inday?”Dalha ko sa imong payagUg mag-istorya kita’g mga matang sa kinabuhiSa akong uyab nga wala na’y pakita-kita,Sa mga pangandoy mo nga magkolehiyoSa atong kaugmaon nga ugma pa nato lantawon.

Dinhi sa imong payag, day,Nakahimamat ako’g kadaganan kung sa dihangBug-at na ning pas-anunon ko.

Mao nangDalha ko sa imong payag, ‘day.Ug didto kita manghilak ug usab.

Dalha ko sa imong payag

Mark Darryl A. Caniban

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MOMENTOUSLeah Aguinaldo

Your kiss

warm, enticing bubblegum tongue twisted and turned and played with mine

While we were in that dark, cold, humid place

Your hands busy explorers; curious wanderers

with lacy fingers tracing silken paths on my veiled mountains and oceans

Your face

angelic eyes closed, nose - just perfect as I adored you from this distance

of barely a millimeter away

Your body soft and lovingly close,

as I busied myself with my own exploration in this steamy tangle of limbs

And I

though heart, body and soul conceded, mind held back pondering how long this us will last.


SanaArjonel Sala

Higit akong nahuhumalingSa mga ngiti mong tila nag-sasabingMasarap ang buhay pag mali-gaya ang tao.Ang mga ngiti ko naman ay pilit kong itinatago.

Kung naririnig mo lamang ang puso kongTahimik na sumasabog sa tu-wing ngumingiti ka.Ngunit bakit pag katabi kita’yHindi ako makapagsalita?

Ang mga mata mo ay ma-paglaroAt puno ng emosyon:Naglalarawan ng masayang buhay.Naiingit ako sa mga nakikita nila.

Ang mga mata ko naman ay nakatingin lamang sa’yoPilit na binabasa ang bawat emosyon.Pinagmamasdan ang maamo mong mukha.Iniisip na sana’y mapansin mo rin ang tahimik kong daing.

Sana’y umabot ang araw na ako namanAng dahilan ng iyong ngiti.Ang makikita ng mga mata mo.Ang ititibok ng puso mo...

BukasSa susunod na LinggoSa susunod na BuwanAt sa bawat taong magsisimula at magwawakas

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ItimParagu

Ganun na lamang ang kanilang pagkutya sa’yoItinakwil ka, itinaboy, minaliit, isinantabi

Wala ka na nga sa pitong kulay ng bahaghari,Saan ka pa kaya lulugar sa pitong kontinente?

Itim. Kulay ka raw ng dilimHatid mo raw’y sindak, at sa puso’y hapis

Subalit ikaw yata waring tinatakotKanilang inaapi at nilulupig

Itim. Kulay ka raw ng kasamaanMinarapat nilang pagkaitan ka ng katarunganBibig mo’y binusalan, paa’t kamay pinosasan

Tau-tauhan, walang silbi sa lipunan

Itim. Kakulay mo ang gabiPatulugin mo silang sayo’y nang-aapi

Bantayan mo sila sa kanilang pag-idlipGantihan mo’t hagkan ng masayang panaginip

Patingkarin mo ang liwanag ng mga tala’t ng buwanSa bathala, ika’y manalangin

Sana bukas matutunan ka nilang mahalin.


Unya, Sa ‘Di Madugaypaul randy gumanao

BugnawAng hanginInitAng Kape

HilomAng katawhanBanhaAng kinaiyahan

Sayo sa buntag

Gikaligo ko angKatapusang kaboSa tumangKamingaw

Antos gamayUnya, sa di madugayTapisan ako’gMga gakos ni nanay

Ang cattleya, ang vandaMamukladSabay kamingSa adlaw manghangad

Ang citrus, ang kapayasMagdugaSabay kamingSa yuta moluha

Unya, sa di madugay

AkoMopauli nangadto saKIDAPAWAN

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Labing UlayShelfred Surdilla

Matod nila, anghel akoang hulagwayBarog ug pustura nindot kunuhay

Ikog duulon ug istoryahonKay basig silay di akoang tagdon.

Akong nasinati ang kahiubos sa ilahaSanglit wa koy mahimo kun mulikay ko anang butanga

Labing kasakit sa kaugalingunKay sayop tanan ilang gipang-ingun.

Nahulog na hinuon nga nagtago ko sa usa ka MASKARAApan ang kamatud-anan wa giyud gipangutana,

Kaharuhay niining kinabuhi nga pirminti ta itimbaya,Apan angay ba akong makaamgo nianang butanga.

Hayahay manginabuhi sa kinabuhing tunhay,Apan lisod kay dili ko usa ka LABING ULAY


PaglayaParagu

Ang tigang na lupa ay malambot sapagkat mabigat ang buhos ng ulanat ang mga matatapang na rosas ay namumukadkad.Sa paghampas ng agos, ang mga bato sa ilog ay kumikinis, at sa bawat pagtamang sinag-araw ay banayad na kumikinang.

O, anong sarap ng umaga! Isang matamis na pagbangonmula sa mahabang pagtulog…isang nakabibighaning paraan ng pagputol ng mga panaginip…Sadyang maligaya! Natapos din ang masamang panaginip. Sadyang maligaya! Natapos din ang masayang panaginip.Sadyang maligaya! Ngayon ay ‘di na mananaginip pa.Ngayon ay katotohanan na!

Salamat, kalangitan, salamat! Hinayaan mong ang mapupulang

ulap ay magdala ng ligaya…ligayang dulot ng bagong kapaligiran…ligayang dulot ng kalikasang puno ng kulay dilaw, luntian at bughaw.

At sa wakas! Ngayon ay mapayapa. Ngayon ay tahimik. Napakatahimik. Masarap sa tenga…at masarap sa dalawang tenga…Napakatahimik. Dinig na dinig ang mga ibong nag-aawitan, ang mga punog nagsisipagkawayan. Dinig na dinig ang agos ng ilog.Napakatahimik. Nauulinigan ang maingay na paghikbi ng mga sanggol…mga sanggol…mga bagong binhi ng bayan…mga may-ari ng kinabukasan.

Napakadalisay. Napakatahimik.Ang kalayaan ay tahimiksapagkat ang paglaya ay maingay.

31Panitikan Ng Pag-ibigArjonel Sala

Dumating ka sa aking buhay kasabay ng hanginAt binago ang paggalaw ng aking mga alonWalang pahintulot at walang babalaMong niligaw ang aking damdaminSa matamis mong pag-ihip atBanayad na paghaplos sa malamig kong balatMasarap pala ang buhay kapagUmaaligid ang Hangin ika ng aking diwa

Agad akong nahumaling sa masasarap naAla-alang unti-unting hinulma ng ak-ing kaluluwaAng mga pangarap ay pinag-isipan kong maigiUpang balang araw ay matamasa natinAng walang hanggang tamis ng buhayIsang buhay na sintamis ng pulot na mula saPuso kong nadidiligan ng kasiyahanSa tuwing kapiling ka at nakasandal sa iyong balikat

Ngunit tulad ng paglubog ng arawBabalik ka rin sa patag kung saan nahi-himlay ang hanginPagdating ng Bukas at wala ka naAy andito parin ako sa kanlungan ng ating pag-ibigNaghihintay na balikan ako ng hang-ing nagdala sa’yo sa simulaMananatiling malamig ang aking pusoSa mga mangingisdang pilit itong hulihinIbigay ko man ang mga yaman ng ak-ing dalampasiganAy mananatiling para sa iyo ang aking kabuuan

At kapag dumating man ang arawNa pumait ang mga binhi ng kapata-gang iyong pinakamamahalAt maputikan ka ng lupang iyong pinil-ing balikanHuwag kang matakot na lumangoy sa aking karagatanSasalubungin ka ng aking kaluluwaTuturuan ka nitong lumangoy at iha-hatid kaPatungo sa sulok kung saan ako maghi-hintay


OverdueTULA ni Karla Stefan Singson

Kahapon, ito ay isang tulang pag-ibig. Isinulat ko ito para sa’yo. Hinintay kita ng matagal, pero

hindi ka dumating. Ayan tuloy, nainip ito at naging isang hamak na litanya. Makinig ka ha? Mabilis

lang ‘to.

Kahapon, ito ay isang tulang pag-ibig. Binanggit ko ang lahat ng mga bagay na bumuo ng araw ko.

Binanggit ko ang mga makukupad mong ngiti, gaano ka kabuti sa pamilya mo, at ang katangi-tanging

paraan ng paghawak mo ng bolpen. Binanggit ko rin gaano ka kagaling gumuhit; pinuri kita hanggang nag-tampo ang mga kaibigan ko at hindi na rin nila hinintay

na dumating ka.

Kahapon kasi, ito ay isang tulang pag-ibig. Saan ka ba nag-punta? Ni hindi ka tumawag, o kahit nag-text man lang. Hindi mo tuloy ito naabutan. Tinalakay ko ang iyong tamis ng puno ng

saya. Pinili ko ang pinakamagagandang mga salita sa paglarawan ng iyong talinghaga. Sinubukan kong ipinta gamit ang itim na tinta at

puting papel ang lahat ng kulay na naiiwan sa aking balat kapag hina-haplos mo ako. Inilathala ko rin, isa-isa, ang iba’t iba mong paraan upang

dalhin ang sinag ng araw sa aking mga umaga.

Kahapon, ito ay isang tulang pag-ibig. Ngunit napagod ito sa kahihintay sa’yo. Nangako kang basahin ito. Saan ka ba talaga nagpunta? Natapos kong gawin

ang tula sa tanghali. Tumayo ito sa may pintuan ng bahay niyo at hinintay kang dumating. Nag-overtime ka ba? Na-traffic? Bullshit! Sumikat nalang ulit ang araw

hindi ka parin dumating. Iniwan mong tulala ang noo’y isang tula.

Ewan ko sa’yo. Maghanap ka nga ng ibang makata.

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the wheelsdrag on

like there wereunlimited tomorrows

and everythingwas just so

heavy, slightlypanting

you skid onto the side

and you fear offalling too hard,

you tread onso carefully

because therewas always

too much to lose

and too little togain for the sakeof pride

you don’t makenasty overtakes

you don’t fallasleep too easily

especially whenit’s very darkand all you’ve gotis an unreliablepair of headlights

more intelligent than yourown heart.

Of Chasing Loves and Riding an 18-Wheeler

TruckKarla Stefan Singson


History

Repeats Itself J. R. Mamacus

ReminiscingSilently covering up an oblivion deep insideExcruciatingThe pain is too slowI’m numbI can’t feel the painBut it sure is irritating me The candle’s flickeringThe wind’s blowingThe darkness’s spreadingThe silence deafening I am trying to find my way outI may not find my way outI should find my way outI would find my way outI can’t find my way out BlindnessToo much sight to seeBut too little details to notice aboutI’m too farBut every thing’s inches awayToo much sounds to hearBut too little thoughts to listen to History repeats itselfHistory against personalityHistory against norms

History against realityHistory transcending into clamorHistory prevailingwhile the future’s vague RepeatingRepeating over and over againRepeated hymnsRepeated voicesRepeated swirlsRepeated chaosOver and over again ItselfItself in the makingItself destroyingItself dyingItself survivingItself recoveringItself revivingItself resurrecting I amI am nowI am todayI am tomorrowI am out of timeI am deadI am aliveI am weakI am helplessI am foolishI am stupidI am dumbI amI..

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Ang Kanta MoBlair Tan

Gumuguho ang aking mundoSa tuwing naiisip koNa ang mga kantang iyong kinakantaAy di para sa isang katulad ko.

Baso Nga Plastic Jobelle Obguia

Ang ulan nahimo nang taligsikAkong gisalod sa baso nga plastic

Aron dunay mabuhat bisag atik-atikKay nagpaabot man sa imong pagbalik

belovedestC

I saw youspoon dragging

hands heavymetal scraping porcelain

your food spared of your destructionyour tears mingling with your soup

as she passed you by.

And I smiled.


Love in the Labpaul randy gumanao

Please!Remove that

Rubber stopper

Take meOut from

This erlenmeyer

You didn’t evenStir me evenly

With stirring rod

How dare youPlace me

On a tripod?

Mr. chemist,You wastedMy half-life

Grant me liberationFrom this

Endothermic reaction

37

Anuos sa Kagabhionpaul randy gumanao

Ngitngit na usab. Dungan sa karaw sa mga sarting plato Mao ang huni sa mga gangis ug wati; Human na ang takna sa panihapon Gisindihan ko ang sugaan sa altar ug nanguros Malaumon akong nangandoy ug nangamuyo Pagkaanyag nalang gayud sa dagway sa mga santo! Pagkabalaan!Pagkasagrado!

Samtang sa banig nagbarog, Ako namalandong sa’kong padayong pakigbisog. Kanus-a pa man intawon ako makalingkawas? Sa tumang pagpaningkamot,luya na ang lawas!

Ang sugaan sa altar naglamdag sa lawak Apan hinay-hinay ang anuos mikaylap, Mitapot sa akong lawas,Misulod sa ilong Dayon ako naluya ug nalipong

Apan usa ako nawad-ag kahimatngon Nahimo ko pang mulingi sa altar Ang mga rebolto nataputan ‘sag anuos

Nahadlok ako sa akong nakita!

Nangitom ang mga santos apan pabilin sila Nga gangisi


Sinasabayan ang Suding ng umuugong na KudlongHabang Pinilakang puno’y dahan dahang nagdadahon

Mga Balik-bayang babaylan, lumiligid sa lilimKayumanggi ang kutis, buhok ay itim

Ang kasuota’y katutubo, at ang kilos gayundinDamit ng dayuha’y sadyang ayaw suotin

Ngunit bihasa ang babaylan sa karunungang kanluraninAkay-akay ang Agham, sila’y bumalik sa bukirin

Tribo nila’y tinulungan, at lumago ang lumadKultura’y pinagyaman, pinagmalaking sila’y hubad!

Di naglao’y nakasabay ang katutubo sa KanluranMasasabi pa ngang ang nahuli’y nahigitan

Nanguna ang netibo sa kaalamang kalikasanSapagkat dito mismo siya isinilang

Mga dahong dumampi sa kanya ng sanggol paAng siya ngayong kanyang binubusisa

Gamot, gasolina, mineral at bitaminaLahat ng ito, sa tanim, ay nakita

Tatlong edukado ang tuluyang nangarapNa itanim ang pinilakang puno ng Pangarap

Sapagkat sa kanluran, ang lahat naging bakalLupa’y linapastangan, ang hangin sinakal

Dahil tumatakbo ang kanilang buhay sa makinaKulang na lang nga’y sa makina pa huminga

Buhat nito, buhay’y di na nakilalaMga ibon sa hangin at mga puno’y asan na?

Di naglao’y mga dalubhasa ay tuluyang napilitanNa busisain ang bakal, at ng buhay ito’y bigyan

Bunga ng Pinalaking PunoKarlo Antonio G. David

39Ngunit ilang laksang araw na ang tuluyang lumipasAng bakal na makintab, kinang nito ay kumupas

Sa tagal ng panahon ay wala pa ring paraanUpang makina’y mabuhay, ng mga dalubhasa, natuklasan

Hanggang isang araw, sa isang takip-silimAng Pinilakang Puno ng Danaw ay itinanim

Tatlong edukado ang siyang nagwagiSa pangarap ng kanlurang matagal ng minimithii

Sapagkat ang Pinilakang puno, ng ang daho’y gintoSa mundo ng ‘maaari,’ natatanging pinto

Ang puno’y mamumunga, ayon sa tatloNg isang itlog na sa kinabukasa’y bubuo

Kaya’t buong mundo, ng balita’y marinigSa mumunting Danaw, nagkaroon ng hilig

Sa loob ng pitong taon, mundo’y

nakatingin

Sa tribong umunlad, dala ng pag-ihip ng hangin

At matapos ang matagal na paghihintayMga babaylan, tuluyang nagbigay-pugay

Namunga na sawakas ang punong pinilakanAt kinabukasang matamis, bukas na matitikman!

Lumubog ang araw, at kinabukasa’y bumalikAng mundo ng sandaling yao’y napuno ng sabik

Ang pinuno ng tribo ang siyang naatasanNa akyatin ang puno at ang bunga, buksan

Hawak hawak na ng datu ang bungaAng amoy nito’y kay tamis! Ang kutis kay ganda!

Sinasabayan ang suding ng pag-awit ng babaylanNakabangon na ang araw ng bunga’y binuksan

At mambabasa’y bibitinin, sa kanyang nilalamanSapagkat matapos noon, ang araw ay di na kinailangan


EspressoKrisini Nanini

you left nothingbut bitternessonmylips.

a perfect bliss. Chasing Shadows

Krisini Nanini

I will still chase youwith my eyes

even if you runinto the darkest part

of the night.

That’s the only wayI can

seesomelight.

41

MURA’GJobelle Obguia

Adunay kahangawa sa imong mga mata nga makapahinam sa kasingkasing sama sa usa ka manulonda sa kalangitan mikanaog nganhi sa yuta ug mihalok sa akong aping makapaukyab... kulbahinam... ug daw sama’g tinuod


The Barefooted Girlk.a. galay-david

I put my slippers on.It was Saturday. The three o’ clock sun was hiding behind the floating

mountains of cloud, thus staining the peaks with a deep shade of copper. The city of Davao, now beginning to shift from her daytime business to her nocturnal vibrancy, was being bathed by the light that escaped through the clouds with a shade of reddish gold. The light gave a warm feeling, but it was not too hot as to burn the skin.

Our boarding house had a pretty convenient location for an Atenista like me. It was just adjacent to the Del Rosario Hall, and looking from the boarding house’s balcony, you could already see the corridors of the AdDU.

With my handbag on my shoulder, an umbrella in one hand and my long hair tied up in a pony tail, I went out from my dormitory and through the gate that faced the busy C.M. Recto Avenue.

Because it was a weekend, there weren’t any classes. I had no requirements left to do, for I finished making them already, and I had already studied that night. My dorm mates all went home to their provinces and I was one of the few that remained in Davao. The others who remained were out, so I was the only person in the dorm at that time.

In other words, I was bored. So I decided to go to the Gaisano mall. It was a great opportunity to get to

know the city better because you see, even though I was born here in Davao some sixteen years ago, I practically grew up in the nearby city of Kidapawan, which was a two hour trip away. I needed to be familiar with Davao, because after all, I was going to live in it for the next four years.

To make the experience even more intimate, I decided not to ride a Jeep, but to walk all the way to the mall. The sun wasn’t that hot, anyway, and a rare wind was blowing from Laurel Avenue towards the direction in which the Marco Polo stands.

I crossed Magsaysay after the traffic allowed me to. The Chinese gateway nearby was at the corner of my eye.

Then, I passed by the STI campus. It was a small building, and if you didn’t look closely, you would not realize that it was actually a campus. It seemed to blend with the stores that were around it.

“Hi, ate Sarah.” said a little Badjao boy to me as I passed him by.He was a rather ugly sight, with short, brown hair, dirty looking skin and a

very flat nose that had a bit of mucus dangling from one of its nostrils. He was

45

wearing what looked like a sando shirt and a pair of shorts that were meant for toddlers rather than six year olds like him.

He was one of those street children I and Shooti often pick up and treat to fast-food chains and restaurants.

“Oh, hi.” I replied rather meekly. I must be honest, of all the children we picked up, I could remember only a few, because there were so many. This boy was barely in my memory.

I went ahead after ruffling his hair. He, too, went away with a spring in his steps, towards the other direction.

After crossing Abrille, I began thinking about Shooti.His real name was Andy Lao, but his friends called him Shooti. He was my

friend since we were in grade school, and now that we were in college, we still remained friends.

Shooti was a very good-looking boy. That, I can tell you. He had this dark brown hair that he often gelled and brushed backwards. His complexion was yellowish but pale, making it obvious that he had Chinese blood. His eyes were, also because he was a Sangley, typically narrow and sharp cornered, but his pupils were strikingly brown, a trait that he got from his mom. It was also from his mother’s side of the family that he got his beautifully thick eyebrows, which were emphasized by the highbrow ridges he had. He also had really highlighted cheekbones that made him look mature. This was paradoxically but rather amusingly contrasted by his reddish, delicately protruding lips, which gave him a boyish charm. He was really handsome, and he could be mature or childish if you wanted him to.

But what I really liked about him were his hands. He had these really mature looking hands, laden with veins here and there. They had really emphasized angles, which made them look manly. I would often steal moments from him, mischievously taking those hands and caressing them.

He was your typical 20th century boy during our elementary years. It was hard to talk properly to him because if he was not in the internet café playing computer games, he’d be with his friends talking about computer games.

But for a certain period of time, he got tired of it. Since Counter Strike at that time was the only game that could be played, he got bored with it and decided to do something else. It was during this time, after Counter Strike became popular and before DotA was designed, that I spent a lot of time with him.

It was during this time as well


that I learned that he was a very interesting person after all. Having read a lot of books in his free time, along with having watched a lot of Anime titles, he could talk about a topic with me and make it really interesting. I remember when we were talking about Chinese literature, and he mentioned Journey to the West. He pointed out that the monkey king, Sun Wu Kwong, was actually the basis for the main character Son Goku in the anime Dragon Ball. He also had this really fun habit of telling a seemingly boring story in a very exciting way. Like when he talked with me about the French Revolution. He mentioned how one woman, namely Marie Antoinette, brought down the monarchy. He related it to me with a tone that made you think he was gossiping.

But when we entered High School, we became distant from each other. There were many reasons why. One could be that we had different sections. Then, there was also the fact that DotA was becoming popular among the internet cafés.

My High School years, which my uncle once described as being “the best years of your life,” were quite a lonely stage for me. Sure, I had friends, but it was him that I wanted to be with…

I was now walking towards Santa Ana. The sun was poised towards my face, so I opened my umbrella.

My mind returned to the past.After we graduated from High School, I decided that I’ll be taking up

MassCom. I was, after all, known for being talkative and very outgoing. The course suited me perfectly.

I was really happy when I met Shooti during the first day of classes in the AdDU. He was taking up Nursing, and I could have sworn he was going to SPC, but it turns out, his parents didn’t want him to go there because they found the hospital to be dirty and the uniform unflattering.

So we became close again, me and Shooti. This time, I could see that he has changed. It had been a while since we spent a lot of time together, and now that I was with him, I felt quite surprised as to how different he had become.

He no longer had long hair, but it was now short and spiky. He had a few pimples on his face, and he looked a bit dirty, with all the unnecessary accessories he wore. He also grew taller and a bit thinner. He looked more mature, but not in the way that he used to. It was a rather sad form of maturity, somewhat ruddy and untidy.

We got to talk a lot, especially there in front of the chapel and in the lounge of Finster’s fifth floor. It had been a while since we had our last conversation, and I could still sense the brilliance that I admired back then as I talked to him. But I also noticed how dull that brilliance had become.

47

We once had one of these conversations in front of the Chapel, just below the Mahogany trees. As we idly talked, I rather jokingly asked if he had a girlfriend.

The wind suddenly blew that afternoon, and the noise of the students seemed to have been dispelled for a moment. All was still…

Then, he said yes.I cannot say without lying that I could ever forgive him.He mentioned that it was Marielle Cipriano, or “Maying” as her friends

called her. He mentioned that they got together since third year, and that they were going on three years in a month. After that, he never mentioned the topic again.

Maying Cipriano was this popular girl in High School. Back in Elementary, it was my cousin Marian who was popular. But after Marian left to study in AdDU High, Maying took the popularity. Those two never really got along, because Marian was always sophisticated, often speaking in English and having very classy mannerisms. Maying, on the other hand, always contradicted Marian, saying that she wasn’t “being true to herself.” When Marian left, Maying changed the trend from wanting to be classy to wanting to be simple. With this, the Emo trend also began rising.

I heard that Maying was going to SPC, also taking up Nursing. Somehow, the idea that Shooti had a girlfriend never really sank into me.

It was like I was aware of it, but I never really believed it. Shooti wasn’t the kind of boy that would even consider having a girlfriend. He was too busy playing DotA.

No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. He had to be joking...At length I arrived at the crossing of Santa Ana, Laurel and Quirino. I

was standing beside the traffic light, waiting for the traffic to give me the opportunity to cross and go to the mall, which was just beyond the street.

It was about three thirty. The traffic allowed the vehicles coming from Quirino to enter Santa Ana and vice versa.

I could see people walking from the alley along Santa Ana to the Mall.

Finally, the flow of the traffic allowed me to cross the street. As I did so, I was closing my umbrella.

As I walked along the same alley that I was eying a while ago, I passed by various stalls. Some were selling peanuts. Some where selling these skinned pineapples. Some takatak boys were sitting on the stone benches with their wooden boxes filled


with cigarettes and candies. A few of them recognized me. They must’ve been some of the children I and Shooti treated as well.

Soon, I came into the main entrance of the Gaisano Mall. It was a Saturday, so there were expectedly a lot of people.

The guard looked into my bag before I was admitted to enter. Upon entering, I went down the basement, where the grocery department

was. Of course, if one would go through there, one would pass by the National

Bookstore. I could see from outside the best selling books, among them the works by Haruki Murakami and Gabriel Marquez.

When I went down the basement, the smell of freshly baked bread greeted my nose. The bakeshop near the stairs was packed with costumers.

I walked towards the Baggage counter, which was all the way up ahead. I planned to enter the groceries and leave my bag there.

When I arrived there, I fancied to first look at the petshop that was right beside the escalator.

It was more like a pet stall than a shop, because there wasn’t a concrete or even a wooden building that defined it. It was just a cluster of shelves with fish tanks on them. There were also cages for bunnies and a few tanks for turtles.

There, I enjoyed watching the Bichirs swim up and down the tank. I liked Bichirs. They were really elegant and snakelike fish that were affectionately labeled “dragon fin” by the pet shops. It made me feel relaxed watching them play around the tanks, lazily settling at the bottom after frolicking. They reminded me of souls, hovering from one grave to another in some ethereal cemetery.

After I spent some time in the pet shop, I decided to go back to the baggage counter.

I turned around.What I saw rendered me frozen.There, approaching the baggage counter from the direction of the stairs

was Shooti. Beside him was Maying Cipriano.Shooti was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a fitting black shirt with

short sleeves and the number “8” in front written in pink. He was wearing sandals.

Maying was wearing really revealing shorts. Her shirt had really short sleeves, so much so that it seemed sleeveless. She had shoulder length hair and had bangs. She also had fake glasses on.

Her left arm was around his right, as his left hand was busy texting.They looked intimate.

49

Before I realized it, I ran towards the nearby exit, just near the escalator. Once out, I ran. I ran all the way in front of the mall, back to the corner of Santa Ana and

Laurel.I was trembling. I was trembling heavily. I was trembling heavily and I couldn’t stop trembling.While waiting for the traffic to allow me to cross, I saw a trisikad pass by. I

called it and asked the driver to take me to Jacinto. He agreed.We headed towards Santa Ana. And then we entered a labyrinth of streets.

My mind and my heart just got lost within that maze of five minutes.Left…Right…Forward…Left again…Finally, we entered Juan Luna and eventually reached Jacinto. The trisikad

brought me in front of our dorm’s Jacinto gate when I pointed towards it.As I came down, I gave the driver a twenty peso bill. Then I ran back into

the dorm. I didn’t give any heed to the people and things around me as I entered. I

didn’t really care. I just went in, my heart confused as to what it should feel.When I entered the dorm, I rushed to my room. I took my slippers off.I fell on the bed and, before I knew it, I cried.I cried.I cried and I cried.The picture of Shooti came into my mind… He was with Maying, and they were holding hands. Suddenly, their faces drew nearer. And nearer…And nearer…They brought their tongues out and let them enter each other’s

mouth…Yes.This was what Shooti is now. I have to swallow

the truth. He was no longer the boy next door

of my childhood. He was no longer the innocent, naïve boy that I knew.

Yes.


Shooti has changed. He is a different person now.I didn’t want to let go of the past, but now, the past wants to let go of me.

I have no choice. I have to forget.Those happy days when we used to talk…The way he explained to me about the many novels that he read and what

made them fun to read…The time he looked really thrilled when he was telling me about how

Sakura and Shaoran ended up…That boyish laugh that he gave when we were joking around…I have to forget all of that.All of those memories were gone.Shooti was no longer the person I knew.I should have known this ever since we started bonding again. But no. I

denied it. I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see the truth that Shooti is no longer the boy next door I know.

But now, I am forced to swallow the truth.And so, I cried and I cried, trying to forget that those days even existed in

the past.And here I was now, still crying. Crying for what seemed like eternity.

Crying like a child who was ultimately aware that her crying is futile.I cried. I cried without my slippers on. No. I didn’t want to put them on

again. No, I didn’t want to wear those slippers again…Suddenly, the phone rang.Our boarding house had a landline telephone, and the boarders get to use

it.I dried my tears and cleared my throat. If I was going to answer the

phone, I didn’t want the person to know that I was crying!I went out of my room and approached the phone.“Hello, good afternoon.” A said courteously as I answered it.“You’ve been crying.”It was Marian’s voice. There was no mistaking it. The way she said that so

casually but so strikingly gave away who she is.“Can I help you?” I asked, trying to deny her allegations.“Don’t feign ignorance, Sarah. You know that this is Marian.”“Oh, Marian. It’s you. What is it?”“Oh, nothing, I’m just bored. Would you mind meeting me today?”There was always something about Marian that both convinced me and

commanded me to do what she wanted. This time, I could tell what it is.

51

I was troubled, and I needed someone to comfort me. Marian would be the perfect person to talk to.

“Okay, where?”“You know this coffee shop called the Kasagingan?”“Yes. I do.”“Fine. I’ll meet you there.”“Okay.”“Bye.”Then she put the phone down. I went back to my room and began to fix myself as I looked at my

reflection in the mirror.After a few minutes of retouching my foundation and fixing my hair, I put

my slippers on again and left the room with my handbag in hand.When I finally reached the Jacinto gate of our dorm, I looked towards my

right, towards the direction of the Ateneo’s Jacinto gate, towards the direction from which the trisikad came out from Luna.

Suddenly, I felt like looking at the Acacia trees.There were these two Acacia trees that grew inside Ateneo. Their branches

reached out to the alley along Jacinto, and they were very visible from there.I loved Acacia trees. Even when I was in kindergarten, I would stay

beneath this large Acacia tree in our school and just stare at it until it was time for me to go home. I never get tired of looking at it, because it has so many branches, and I find it fun to trace where each branch comes from.

So I walked towards the Acacia trees. It was just a short walk away from the gate.

When I arrived beneath the canopy of the one nearest to the library inside, I stopped.

Then, I looked up.A few birds were chirping as they hopped from one branch of the tree to

another. Here and there were small flowers, little tufts of red that resembled darts.

Ah! They were darts, and they pierced through my unrest.Seeing the tree, in all its simple complexity, calmed my

stormy mind. I remembered Shooti again, but this time, in a

more positive light.I remember the times that we spent helping

little children on the streets. Shooti had a very compassionate heart, and he would ask me to go with him and


walk around the city, picking up street children and treating them to fast food chains.

It was a very funny event, the first time I saw him do so. He just invited me to take a walk along San Pedro. Then, when he saw this dirty looking boy there, he beckoned him to stand up. He then took the boy’s hand and gently dragged him to the nearby Jollibee branch. There he asked the boy what he wanted. The boy couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but replied that he just wanted a regular Yum after Shooti repeated his question.

He would do it in almost any given place. He would sometimes pick three to five children up, and at one time, he even treated a child to a fast food branch in SM. He took the kid all the way from the Victoria Plaza, and we rode a taxi to Ecoland.

The birds continued on chirping. One of them hops down and sits inside one of the large Staghorns that grow on the tree’s trunk. The Staghorns looked like balconies as the tree itself seemed like a Majestic Palace of fairies.

Shooti has changed, I thought. But now that I think about it, there’s nothing wrong with that. The Shooti I know is still there, still kind and compassionate. He might’ve changed a bit, but nothing will change the fact that he is a kind-hearted person. He might have accepted some influence from the Powers of this World, but he shall never let them tarnish his innocence, that same innocence which I have known since childhood…

A wind blew. The yellow leaves, whose death sentences were long overdue, finally let go from their twigs and fell on me like confetti.

Suddenly, amidst the rustling of the leaves, I heard a deep sobbing.I looked towards the direction of the Ateneo’s Jacinto gate.There, walking along the street towards my direction was a little girl. She

was wearing a very loose blue shirt, something that looked like it was handed down from generation to generation. She walked dragging her bare feet forward, and her head was bowed down.

She was barefooted.When she drew nearer, she raised her head up.She was crying. The dust of the streets that clung unto her face was

washed away by her flowing tears. Her nose, flat and unflattering, was runny. Her lips, thick, dark and rough as large raisins, were quivering in a pathetic pout. Her long, brown and frisky hair was tangled, with some strands sticking to her sweat-soaked forehead.

She looked at me with eyes that showed misery. Then, suddenly, the misery was changed to a somewhat desperate surprise.

She began to speak with a trembling voice.“Ate..?”

53She seemed to know me. “What’s wrong, little girl?” I asked in Bisaya. “Can I help you?”She was trembling.“Ate… Don’t you remember me?” she replied in Bisaya as well.I tried to recall…“My name is Nene. You-, you treated me to-, to Chowking Bajada once.”

she said almost inaudibly amidst her sobbing.Oh. I remembered. She was this girl that I and Shooti picked up from the

overpass near Victoria Plaza. Shooti once took me to his boarding house, which was in Doña Vicenta.

He asked me to help him make his assignment.After we finished it, he walked with me all the way to Laurel. There, we

saw this girl in the malodorous overpass, sitting on the floor barefooted. Her feet were wet with the foul cocktail of urine, rainwater and phlegm that gathered on the floor.

Shooti asked her to stand up. Then we went to the nearby Chowking branch where he treated her.

As we did with every child we treat, we ask the girl about who she is. She said her name was Nene, and that she was eight years old. She was

a Badjao. She was taken to the city by her father after her mother died to find a good life. But unfortunately, the father wasn’t able to find a job and the two ended up being beggars. Just a few weeks before that, she said, her father went missing. She attributed it to the Mayor’s “cleaning up.” Then she commented that her father shouldn’t have started the trend of spitting at those who won’t give alms.

We found her to be quite an interesting little girl, being very opinionated and well informed about current events. She believed, like I did, that Mindanao should be separated constitutionally from the Philippine government in Manila. Yes. She even used the word “Constitutionally.” When we asked her where she gets her knowledge, she said that she got it from listening to the “grown ups:” the trisikad drivers and the passers by who frequent the overpass. The “grown ups” would talk about this and that, and she would sometimes join in listening and even asking.

But despite her extensive knowledge, she did admit that she had a hard time understanding English.

After that, I excused myself because I had to go and meet my friend Clyde. So I went out and went straight to my boarding house to meet him.

It had been a few weeks


now since I last saw her. I can therefore be forgiven if I forgot all about her, considering the fact that we treated many children after that.

Nene was crying, and she was looking at me with eyes that showed that she had been doing so for quite some time now. Her dark, dirty face, which I was accustomed to seeing as being filled with brilliance, was now filled with misery.

I knew I had to take her with me. Shooti would really admire it if I did. If I took her with me, then I’d be showing Shooti how he has affected me and he will be pleased with me. Maybe, just maybe, if I impressed him, I could win him back…

So I called the taxi that was passing by. I ushered Nene to get in first, then I got in before telling the driver to take us to Torres.

It was four-thirty. The sun was beginning to set. Davao now lost her daytime seriousness and replaced it with her nocturnal playfulness. The streets were filled with vehicles, and the windows of the high rising buildings mirrored the busy avenue in which our taxi was in.

Soon, the taxi came to Torres and we stopped by where the Kasagingan was.

The Kasagingan was this really popular coffee shop that was in Torres Street, which was perpendicular to Laurel. The wealthy youth usually frequent it, bringing their laptops and making use of the Wireless Internet connection.

After I gave the driver the fare, we came down from the taxi. The guard greeted us a good afternoon as we went ahead.

From where we were standing, I could see Marian sitting by the table on the farthest left side of the open area, away from the gazebo.

She sat with her legs crossed. The handle of a teacup was between her left hand’s fingers and its rim covered her lips. She was wearing a short sleeved white blouse and a pair of fitting denim city shorts that reached just below her knee. On her feet were what looked like a really expensive pair of slippers.

She had long dark brown hair. Her complexion was so pale that it would be difficult to miss her in a crowd. Her eyes, deep green and snake like, were looking at us.

She stood up.“Sorry for being late.” I said when we arrived at the table.“It’s okay.” she replied quite indifferently. “And this is..?” she added,

eyeing Nene.“Oh, her name is Nene. I and Shooti met her a few weeks ago. I saw her

crying outside the Ateneo and figured I should take her with me to cheer her up. Nene, this is my cousin Marian.”

“Pleased to meet you, little girl.” said Marian quite shrewdly. While she said that, she looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

55“You met her with whom?”“Andy Lao.”I looked down out of shame. Marian never approved of Shooti, and she

strongly discouraged me from associating myself with him. She always said that Shooti was just another one of those “pretty seeds that grow up into weeds.”

Marian was a very opinionated girl, and she always classified people into types. Boys, for example, she classified into four.

“The first type,” I could remember her telling me when we were in elementary “is the lowest. They are ugly seeds that grow up to become gruesome weeds. They will be drooling idiots with no breeding for the rest of their pathetic lifespan. You won’t need to uproot them because they’ll end up uprooting themselves.”

Yeah, I know, she’s mean.“The second is mildly better but all together more dangerous. They are

pretty seeds that grow up to be mere weeds. These peculiarities may attract your attention as young boys but they will grow up as drooling idiots with no breeding as well. These specimens are quite uncommon, but are very dangerous if not uprooted.

“The third is a rare type. They are ugly seeds that, with perseverance and sometimes a deep grudge, grow up to be prizes of great beauty and refinement. Your typical Ugly Duckling story, or perhaps, to spark more interest, ala Monte Cristo.

“The final type is by far the rarest. I have only met two of these in my colorful life. They are those that were born and will be destined to possess tremendous beauty and breeding. But alas! Most of them are doomed to have a tragic end, as in the case of the legendary Adonis.”

She stared at me with a raised eyebrow for a while, burning me with my own guilt. It’s as if, with those snake-like eyes, she was telling me “why didn’t you listen to me?” She was such an influential person!

Soon, she broke her gorgon’s glare and allowed me to sit down.Nene was still sobbing. Somehow, the whole “taking her out and

treating her” plan wasn’t working to improve her mood. I began to feel embarrassed by her noise.

I looked around.It was about a quarter to five. There were still

very few people in the Kasagingan, and only a few tables were occupied.

In the gazebo, a couple was together, smiling as they look at their laptop. On the other corner


of the area, beneath another banana leaf -shaped roof was a pair of women, probably in their thirties. Both had their legs crossed and both were smoking rather opulently. On the table right behind where Marian sat were two teenage girls, talking in deep British about James Joyce.

Thankfully, nobody seemed to be bothered. Even Marian didn’t seem to mind the little Badjao’s sobbing.

Suddenly, Marian clapped her hands to beckon a waiter to come.The waiter, who was obviously not used to being called like that,

nonetheless approached.“What will you have?” Marian asked me.“Oh, I’ll just have double hot fudge. And may I have a glass of water for

this girl?”The waiter nodded and left towards the counter to give the order.As was the trend in most coffee shops these days, some Bossa Nova tracks

were playing. This time, it was Sitti’s rendition of Fly Me to the Moon that was being played.

“Would you mind telling me about this girl’s life, Sarah? I am itching with curiosity.” Marian said suddenly.

That request struck me like a dart. It had a dual meaning. She knew what I was thinking…

“Uhm, okay.”I began telling her what Nene herself told us when we treated her

to Chowking. All the while, Nene continued to cry gravely and somewhat desperately.

As Marian listened, she was staring at the little girl, who was in turn staring blankly at the table crying. Marian’s face was so passive that I doubted if she listened to me. She would later prove that she was listening by constantly asking questions and nodding amidst her stare on Nene.

After I related to her Nene’s life, I was silent. “In other words, please be true…”At length our order came. I had a cup of hot chocolate while Marian was

serenely drinking tea. Nene, on the other hand, was still crying, though once in a while she would take the glass of water in front of her and drink from it. But then she would continue on crying.

“All of you had a bad day, I guess.” suddenly said Marian.That shattered the silence.Then, she gave a sigh.“It’s sad to know that there are fewer and fewer Acacias nowadays.” She

added, looking around.She knew what was on my mind. She definitely knew it…Then, she suddenly stood up.

57“I have to be going now, Sarah, Nene. I have an appointment with my

friend Clyde by five-thirty. If you will excuse me…”Then, with her handbag on her shoulder, she elegantly left.Nene continued to sob. But I could sense that her sobbing was beginning

to weaken.Somehow, at the back of my mind, I could guess why she was crying. But

it was too out of this world. It was too impossible. It was too unacceptable to me.

Honestly, I don’t want to know why she was crying. I never really did want to know why. I don’t want to know…

But this girl was a brave little girl. Her parents are gone, with one dead and the other hopelessly missing. She had to stand on her own two, bare feet, and this she did. She walked the distance from the miserable overpass near Victoria Plaza in which she lived all the way to Jacinto at the foot of the Ateneo via the Laurel Avenue, and she did so with full courage and with bare feet.

This was a brave girl, and she had no reason to be afraid.So she said it. She said why she was crying.But no. I don’t want to hear. She was brave, but I wasn’t.No.Please don’t.I don’t want to hear it.“Ate…” she began amidst her sobbing.No. Don’t continue.Please don’t.I don’t want to hear it.“ Ate, Kuya Shooti-, he-, he-”No.Please stop.I don’t want to hear it.“This morning ate, he-, he took me to-, to McDonald’s as he often

does. Like always, ate, he-, he was talking about this Maying”“Always?” “Maying?” what did this mean?“He always said bad things about-, about her and

that she was a slut that-, that didn’t let him fuck her.”

She said the “f” word so casually. She obviously didn’t know what it meant.

“He said-, he said, ate, that Maying was a useless slut of a girlfriend because he wouldn’t let him fuck


her and that-, and that his friends were bastards who-, who always boasted about-, about being fucked. Ate, I-, I never really understood why, but-, but he sounded really-, really angry when he said that. He said it in straight English and I couldn’t understand it. It was as if-, as if he never wanted me to-, understand anyway, ate. All I could-, I could remember were his-, his words ‘dat Maying is a paking slat’ and ‘dos paking bastards tink deyr so kool. Deyr paking bastards.’ Ate, what did those mean?”

I didn’t reply. I was deeply thinking, taking my slippers off and putting my feet on my chair, crouching, hugging my folded legs.

Images of Shooti entered my mind again.…He was banging his hand on the wall, frustrated at something. Suddenly,

some laughter came out from nowhere, and he began to violently look around him. The laughter was mixed with jeers, ones that insult how he was still a virgin and what a coward he was for not having been able to do it with Maying…

He was being pressured.No.No.Shooti would never think like that. He would never speak like that.No.I don’t want to hear it.“And then ate…”I don’t want to hear it..!Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars; let me see what

spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.“Then, ate, he-, kuya, he…” In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. “He-, he took me to his, to his boarding house…” Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore. You are all I long for,

all I worship and adore.“Nobody was there, so he-, he took me to his room...” In other words, please be true, in other words, I love you. “He suddenly, he suddenly grabbed me…” Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars; let me see what

spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.“He-, he threw me on the bed…” In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my heart with song…Fill my heart with song…Fill my heart…Fill my…

59Fill my…“Then, ate, then, he did it.”No.No.This couldn’t be.Keep on singing.Don’t absorb it.Fly me to the moon…No.No.This couldn’t be.No.Tears began to fall from my eyes. I couldn’t drown the truth anymore. I

couldn’t drown it with the song anymore.Shooti…What has become of you, Shooti..?What has become of you..?I looked at my slippers on the floor.It was five in the afternoon. Torres was beginning to grow busy with traffic

as the patrons of the various restaurants and clubs begin to come to their favorite places.

I looked at my slippers on the floor. I don’t want to put them on anymore.No. I don’t want to put those slippers on anymore.

000


FBLde Lima, Ingrid Diane D.

“…five more minutes…heck! Why is it like time is so slow?” I whispered during the last period of my schedule. And this Philosophy class is taking time so much! I’m really excited to get home…

“Verne, what are you doing? Just loosen up…” my seatmate, Lisa, said to me with hushed tone. I didn’t notice I was already pressing hard on the keys of my PC notebook.

“Sorry… and thanks” I whispered back to her.

RIII…III…III…NNG!!!

Gosh! At last its dismissal! Without any word, I quickly closed my PC notebook, grab my tote bag, put all my stuff inside and took a flight outside the door. This is what I like in college; you may get in and out of the classroom without saying a word. Once the professor gets in, the lecture will start right away and when the bell rings, you may leave up immediately without a murmur. Halfway through the corridor, as I was striding along with my high heels, I met my best guy friend (in the world, nope, universe…) already smiling.

“Hi Lawrence!” I greeted him with a smile.

“Whew, Verne! Never seen you before get excited to go home. Why don’t we hop on a café for awhile?” he said with a ‘tsk’ sound.

“Rence? Forget that café afternoons this time. It’s not everyday in my life to see both my Mum and Dad home. I still want to spend time ‘round with them”.

“My friend, it’s as if I don’t know? Of course I understand

61why you’re being so eager. Besides, there are a lot of café afternoons ahead of us! C’mon, I’ll drive you home”.

I didn’t know at all but somewhere behind his statement pricked my heart, but I didn’t mind for long. We were in the parking lot of the university in no time. We went to his car and he opened the car door for me. I sat on the front seat while he took the driver’s seat.

“Rence, I know I am really keyed up to get home, but it doesn’t mean that you have to show your racing skills, ok?” I said to him.

“Verne, relax, I exactly know up to what speed you can take”.

“Thanks for that, at least you know” I smiled at him.

Since birth, I’ve been diagnosed of having a heart problem. I’ve been avoiding any heart-racing incidents in any way possible. And having Lawrence as my friend since I was a child, I know he is perfectly aware of my limitations. Even though at some times, being an outgoing person, he unconsciously crosses the line that makes me palpitate, but he also has this very unique talent, he can also return my heartbeat in its normal pace in no time, in other words, he can calm me down when I am panicking, or worse, having an attack. Since I am an only child, Lawrence has been like my real brother. We’re super close with each other that my parents even requested to the school, where we took our elementary years, for us to be on the same class! Incredible, right? His parents and my parents are best friends from their high school that’s why both our family got so much bond together. He knows exactly well how I am looking-forward to go home right now because my parents had been away for five months from their business trip in France. And for several years that passed, I must say that I’m missing a lot of them. They’ve been so busy with our group of companies around the globe


that they’ve forgotten that they still have a daughter. Oh yes, I can have anything in this world in a snap of a finger, that is, except for the affection of my parents. And through the years, only Lawrence could make me temporarily forget that longing for my parents. I’m so thankful I have him as a friend.

“Verne? I can see that you’re deep in thought,” he interrupted my thoughts while on the road.

“What else can I say? I’ve been missing them all the while, and I don’t now if they are aware of it,” I said.

“I understand”.

“I know. But you can’t imagine me being insensitive after having none of their calls while they’re away. All I got and received was my weekly allowance, 5 new gold credit cards, and one e-mail a month, which I knew, originally composed by my Mum’s personal secretary. What do you expect of me? Be thankful?”

“Verne, what I am telling you now is that you must at least be contented for now. It’s not your fault if the two of them are so busy.”

“Yeah… Thanks, Rence. I really couldn’t go on without you. You’ve been such a great friend…and a brother to me.”

“Uhm, yeah…” was all he uttered.

Then for a minute or two, silence fell on us. I dunno’, but he suddenly act awkwardly. Nobody from the two of us dared to speak a single word to break the silence (as if it’s a crime). All through the way to our house, the two of us kept our mouth shut.

Just after a few more minutes, we reached the big gates of our house and entered the gardens. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the huge main door of the mansion.

63 “Here we are…Welcome to the Stanford’s Mansion,” he said jokingly as he helped me get out of the car.

“Thanks, Rence. You’re such a gentleman. And thanks for the ride, too.”

“That’s nothing. Anything for my sister, right?”

It took me a second thought to reply. ”Uhm, yeah…”

“By the way,” he quickly adds,” I’ll call you later, ok? Maybe at nine, you’ve got to tell me what happened…so, expect my call”

“I will…I always do. I think it’s been a habit for the two of us to have a chat before bed. So, gotta go inside… thanks again…bye!”

“Yeah…Bye, and good luck!” he finally made his way to his car and drove out of the gates of the mansion.

As I face the door of our huge mansion, a maid inside automatically opens the door for me.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Stanford” the maid greeted.

“Where are Mum and Dad?” I inquired immediately.

“Ma’am, they’re at the Master’s office”

“Thanks” I quickly left my things with her and ran my way to the master’s office.

Now I feel like I’m a child having her teddy bear back for so long. I know that the


master’s office is at the far side of the mansion, and it could take me few more minutes reach it. But I am damn excited to see them that I didn’t bother to watch my breathe at all. As soon as I see them, I’ll make sure that we can enjoy each company. I’ve got so many plans for all of us. I’m planning for a big vacation for us where we can talk over the things we’ve missed. And I’d like to have a parent-daughter conference with them so that at least I could tell them that I missed them so much and that I want them to stay with me as long as possible. I just wanted to spend more time with them, I knew they could, if only they would like to, they could find a way.So, as I was briskly walking along my way as fast as my etiquette could allow me inside the mansion, several of our assistants, secretaries, and maids are busy getting in and out of every office. Some maids even stop to shot a glance at me as if I’m an out-of-this-world creature, like giving a look of empathy. But as soon as I caught their eyes, they quickly change it to a soft-smile-with-a-practiced-greeting-of-‘Good morning/good afternoon/good evening, Ms. Stanford’. I didn’t mind it too much of it and went straightly to the corridor of the master’s office. I was able to find the corridor to the office in no time. As I reached the doorway, I took a deep breath, set a smile on my face and took three slow soft knocks on the door, (it’s a sign that a member of the family is knocking, a maid or a servant usually knocks four times simultaneously) and gently opened the door, stepped inside and closed the door behind me to face the spacious waiting room of the master’s office. I recognized the two familiar PC bags. I’m perfectly sure those are the PC bags of my Mum and Dad use when they travel so that they could handle their PC’s conveniently. But what are those PC bags doing here in the office? Those should be at the master’s library right now. Instantly, there was half-horror inside me as I remembered all those times that they call for me in this the same office informing about their departure thirty to forty minutes before their flight. But I quickly shoved this not-so-nice-idea out off my head giving a poor excuse for myself. Maybe they just came home. The door to the office went open and Ms. Leila, my Mum’s secretary, came out.

“Ahh, Ms. Laverne. You’re here. You’re parent s are waiting for you

65inside” she informed me with pity eyes. And I wonder why.

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll get inside” I went straight inside the office and found my Mum and Dad both in front of the computer and am pretty sure that they’ve just done talking with somebody via internet.

“Mum! Dad! I missed you!” I ran tot hem with open arms to hug both of them. But my Dad waved his hand signaling me not to continue what I was planning to. I stood motionless right in front them, but still struggling to smile.

“Laverne, daughter. Your Dad and I will be out of the country once again. Our company in Australia has an unexpected visitor and we need to be there. That is a family visit. Their family is the owner of the largest resort and hotel and Australia. And they’ve got a son at 21 years old. He’s interesting g enough for you. You should meet him soon.”

I quickly gave a false smile and said, “Interesting, huh? So, when is you’re flight?”

“It’s actually thirty minutes from now. So your Mum and I shall go” my Dad said.

“Ohh… Okay… Anyway, I’ve got a lot of things to do actually” emphasizing the last word, “So I need to go to my room… Bye…” unceremoniously, I turned my back on them. I went straight out of the office and through the corridor, focusing on nothing. I don’t know but I feel numb right now. My Mum and Dad are going out of the country, again, so what? I don’t really care about it at all, do I? I’ve been so used to it, so why should I bother to stop them? Right now, I just don’t feel anything; I am anesthetized, deadened, cataleptic, and out cold. What I only know is that I’m walking, just on foot… and after a few minutes, I just


felt that my feet were already sore, and I found myself in front of my bedroom’s door. I don’t know how long I was walking and how I was able to get here.

I went inside passing through my own lounge and to my bedroom and sat on my bed. The first thing that came into my mind was to contact for Lawrence. I picked up the phone and dialed his number. This was the thing I’m thanking. I’ve got my own private line that’s why I’m sure no one from the other parts of this dead-silent mansion will ever here my conversations over the phone. I waited for five rings until an answering machine responds at me.

“Hi! Sorry… Still out… Just leave a message after the beat” said Lawrence’s voice.

I tried to be cheerful but I don’t know if it worked.

“Hi, Rence! I’ve already seen Mum and Dad, just a few minutes ago… uhmm… They are now on the way to the airport… going to Australia… business trip, you know… By the way… Where have you been? When you get home, please call me up… I’ve discovered a new game on the net, it’s fun!” Then I hung up on the phone. It’s three minutes to six in the evening, still early, but I really feel lethargic. I just feel so alone… To ease my tension, I went to my mini-kitchen, passing through the door behind the curtained walls and got into my mini-bar. I opened a bottle of whiskey and filled a shot glass. I drank three shots of whiskey straight until I felt my face got hot. I went back to my bedroom and opened my PC desktop. There’s only one way for me to forget the world for awhile, to play Sudoku online. I played it all the, time, and must say that I’m an expert on it. But right now, I just badly need to play it. I just need to leave the world for awhile, and later, I know that I’ll be going back to the real world, to face the ghastly truth. Hours passed, it’s already quarter to nine and I’m still in front of this computer playing my fifth Sudoku problem. I don’t know why I am so slow at it right now. Usually, I can solve five problems in an hour. But I just continued, staring at the screen. My eyes are

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already puffy and frazzled, I wanna sleep but I can’t. Deep inside I wanna cry but not a single tear is coming from my eyes. I feel so disturbed, empty, deserted… But I know, anytime from now, Lawrence will call, he promised me that. I need to act cheerful, I need to sound like everything’s fine.

~*~*~*~

On the other hand while Laverne was so busy staring at the PC screen, she didn’t know that Lawrence is just behind her. He’s at the foot of her bed, sitting while looking intently at her. He’s from his cousin’s house when he arrived home nearly eight in the evening and heard Laverne’s message from his machine. The moment he heard the message, he wasted no time and went straight to his car and flew his way to the Stanford’s Mansion. He was so apprehensive about Laverne knowing how sensitive she is to her parents and what she really feels. Though at the message she was sounding ebullient, he’s perfectly sure that she was only pretending to be. He’s sorry but Laverne’s a poor actress. He had known her from the start. She always acts as if the whole lot is all right even when she’s not. But Lawrence can always see the truth in her eyes and could feel it too. As he reached the mansion, he quickly went inside and was greeted by a maid. He has been known inside the mansion and has been granted the rights to be at home.

“Good evening, Mr. Clarke” the maid said, fortunately it was Laverne’s personal maid.

“Good evening. Where’s Laverne?” he asked while already making his way to Laverne’s room.

“She’s at her room right now, sir. I had already served her dinner at exactly six-fifteen p.m. at her room, but as I’ve checked awhile ago, she still hasn’t touched it.


“What is she doing?”

“She’s just ogling at her computer since her parents left.”

“Thanks. You may now leave me here” he said to the maid.

“Heck!” he whispered to himself. Now he is terribly bothered about her. He ran and reached her room and found her there. He can clearly see that she’s distressed for she’s gazing blankly at the screen. He had already seen her dinner at the coffee table, completely untouched. He knew that she is so forlorn.

~*~*~*~

Suddenly, I felt somebody remove the headphones from my head. I was quite surprised but didn’t panic at all because I am perfectly sure that it is Lawrence. There’s no maid who would ever do that or dare, besides, there’s no other human creature in the mansion except for the maids and the servants. So I promptly set my mind to cheerful mode and flashed a fake smile and turned around to face Lawrence.

“Lawrence! You surprised me!” I gently grabbed the headphones from his hand and placed it beside the PC. “Anyway, what time did you came? Where have you been? I suppose you got my message?” I said in a way like someone’s chasing me.

“Verne…” he said.

I interrupted before he could speak more, “Thanks for dropping by… You’re not contented in phone calls, huh?” I said jokingly. As I was passing by his side making my way to my bed, he grasped at my arms quite roughly causing me to react a bit.

“What? Anything wrong?” I asked him.

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“Yep… And it’s you…” he answered stiffly.

“Me?” I lift my shoulders, hesitantly get out of his grip, and went to my bed. I sat on it and set my back at the headboard. “Lawrence, there’s nothing wrong with me, I swear” I defended on him.

Silence came…

“You haven’t touched your dinner yet”, he said in an emotionless manner.

“Rence, why are you talking to me that way? Have I done a crime?”

“Why?” he insisted.

“Sorry, no appetite…” I lied.

“Hmm?..” he nodded at me in a questioning manner.

“Really… Hey, why are you that cold to me?”

“Don’t change the issue…” he said stiffly.

“I’m not… Really, I just lost my appetite.”

“Liar…” he said in a domineering approach.

“Rence? C’mon! What’s happening? Why are you treating me this way? Please don’t interrogate me!” I said in an almost shouting manner.

“If you want me to, then don’t act as if you are okay! Stop pretending!” he said in a loud and heavy tone that shocked me a little.


I gulped for air and said, “Rence… I’m okay… I swear…”

“You’re not, I’m not stupid.”

“Of course not, I know that. But I’m fine”

“Shut up! You’re not! C’mon, talk to me! Verne, how many times shall I tell you that I’m always here and will never be gone! And in no way you can hide your feelings from me! It’s me who’s being affected the most! So stop pretending!”

“Rence?! I’m okay, I’m fine. Everything’s fine… So leave it!” I shook my head and stood up. I made my way to the coffee table and sipped the glass of water slowly as I quiver with hurt.

“I can smell whiskey”, he said while I was standing in front of the table.

I slowly placed the glass on top of the table and said, “uhm, I was sleepy awhile ago so I drank a few shots to boost my mind”, still without facing him.

Dead silence came, but I didn’t dare to face him, or else, I know my tears are ready to spill out. My eyes are by now watery, and I’m quite shaking. I’m not really good at these and am pretty sure Lawrence notices it. He really knows when I’m lying, but I need to teach myself to be strong, it’s not forever in my life that he’ll always be there when I need him.

And so I was there, standing like an effigy, controlling my breathing, and trying to stop my tears from falling down. Suddenly, I felt him near me, and from my behind, he hugged me. Once again, I felt his warm arms around me and the security he always provide me. I can’t stand this any longer and felt my tears run down my cheeks. They just came down chasing each and every tear. I covered my tears

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until I can’t bear it any further and I quickly removed his arms around me, faced him, and hugged him tightly. Then I cried so hard. On his shoulders I wailed as hard as I could. My heart’s totally in vain, and in him I could find peace. He just hugged me without saying anything. I sobbed like a baby in his arms. He’s really the only one whom I could lean on to. I really felt bad about what happened and I’m glad he’s the only person who could tolerate my crying. It took me few more minutes to hold on to my wailings. He gently led me to my lanai for me to take in fresh air. We sat on a couch and he continued to comfort me.

“Lawrence, I’m sorry…sorry…sorry…” I said in a cracking voice.

“Sssshhh… You don’t have anything to be sorry about”, he said sweetly. “How many times will I ever tell you that I can make myself available just for you when you need me? You’re such a stubborn girl. And I swear, you could be a really poor actress”, he said, trying to make me smile.

I said nothing and just shook my head and continued to wipe my tears.

“Rence, why are they so insensitive?” I asked, hoping to find an answer.

“Nobody knows, Verne. But here’s what I know, you’re their daughter, and all of the things that they are doing are for you. You may say that you’d rather have them and not their assets or possessions, but they might also feel guilty for not giving you the affection you wanted and that’s their way of paying their debts. We could just hope that one day they’ll be able to realize their mistakes, and I pray to the highest degree that it’ll be soon”, he said as he held my hands and looked through my eyes.


“Thanks for being here”, was all I mustered to say.

“That’s nothing. But here’s one thing I hate, when you play being fine and not confiding your thoughts to me”, he said to me still holding my hand.

“I’m sorry… But I thought —“

“Ssh… You always do that… But you can never hide anything to me… Because I know you… We’ve known each other more than half of our lives. And I thought I had told you before that I hate to see you in pain. It is I who will be the most affected, triple the pain you are carrying. And if only I could take it away from you, for me to handle it on my own, I would do. Remember that.” He said to me while gazing straight to my eyes.

Full with so much emotion, I hugged him. With no definite reason, I just knew that I love him. I don’t know up to what extent but I know it could me more than friends, or even more than a brother. I have known and seen his fondness to me; maybe I was just too stupid to admit it. Or maybe, I was too terrified that I was wrong. Whatever it is, and whenever it will come, I am ready to accept things. With him, I could forget all the haunting memories in my life, I could wait for my parents’ affection with him, and I can be the most enduring person in the world.

After that, he fed me my dinner. I somehow became his baby. He said he’ll be my temporary father. We talked for a few more moments. Until I felt sleepy and he tucked me onto my bed. He kissed me goodnight and waited until I fell asleep. He promised to fetch me and take me to school first thing in the morning.

As I woke up the next morning, I felt a very light spirit in me. On

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my side table, I found a piece of paper with a very familiar writing on it. It’s from Lawrence; he left me a note before he went home last night. I gently took the paper and opened it. It says: “A true Friend scolds like a dad… cares like a mum… teases like a sister… irritates but protects like a Brother… and finally… loves you more than a Lover.”

Now I tell myself, “Time will come, things will get better, and I want it with him”.

000


Bye bye, baby Mark Darryl A. Caniban

I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t grunt in protest or ask why. I just said yes, and nodded even though I meant no. And I couldn’t get off the wooden chair because I felt so heavy with disappointment and shame. After that discussion over dinner, the term adult never looked as vague to me. I thought it wasn’t real, just a cute accessory that looked like gold but was fake or the robe the emperor thought he was wearing when in fact he was naked.

Recently, my parents rejected my plan to work in Manila. I wouldn’t survive it, they predicted. I was devastated.

Here’s the thing. I have always been good with goodbyes. I move on very easily after I lose a phone, and it is not because I don’t realize its value but because I know that I gave a stranger an advanced Christmas gift. When a loved one leaves for foreign shores, I know that he would be better off there. Or when I drop a coin, I just think about how it will travel around the country or land in the hands of somebody who needs it badly. I have this positive outlook on goodbyes, but I guess I didn’t acquire it genetically.

Whenever I think of kindergarten, I am reminded of the birds. Our teacher told the story after siesta time when the other kids were still feeling sleepy. I didn’t know for what purpose she told it, but I am sure it made a lot of sense to me.

She told us that birds make good parents. They build nests for their young, feed them every day, and protect them from predators. But there is one thing grown-ups don’t do for their young and that is to teach them how to fly. They don’t teach their young how to flap their wings or glide in the air. In fact, biologists tell us that some parents simply push their chicks out of their nest so that they will learn how to fly. It’s nature’s way of saying that learning does not always have to be

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vicarious. Those young birds will have to learn flying the hard way.

Today I am 20, a fresh graduate from college, and unemployed. I still live with my parents in our rural home. Our family is not well-off so working is the next step for me.

It came as a shock to me when my parents said they wanted me to stay in town. It looks like a good idea—if I can find my first job here. I will have free meals, a privilege I didn’t have when I lived in the city and went to the university. I will get free rides, even though I don’t really mind commuting. I will have free board and lodging, too. So staying is a very practical move.

But it doesn’t seem to be much of a challenge to me. I soon found myself thinking about how boring it would be to wake up each morning to the sound of cocks crowing and see the same old neighborhood when I walk out of our gate. Soon, I will be sleeping all day long during weekends and whine that our hometown doesn’t have a movie house. My mom will still be washing my clothes and ironing them, afraid that I might burn all my shirts on the ironing board. In the long run, I will die from feeling bad about not being a responsible adult.

Here’s what I want to do: I want to burn eggs in the pan, dislike the taste of my coffee after putting too much sugar into it, and make a few chrysanthemums in the backyard wilt. I want to do things so badly that I would be determined to learn how to cook, to make a good coffee or do some gardening. I want to destroy a shirt on the ironing board. I want to burn one, two, or three, until I learn to slide the iron well.

But I wouldn’t be able to fend for myself if I stay in town. I want to make things right by knowing what is wrong. I want to commit mistakes and learn from them, not by having somebody lay down the moral of every story. I want to answer the quiz first before I learn the concepts.


I do well with goodbyes, but being independent is not the kind of goodbye that is easy to say. In the case of parting with my parents, it would mean leaving my comfort zone—the lovely home that nurtured me well and gave me the best of everything. Nobody will be waking up baby in the morning so he can eat a ready-made breakfast; I’d have to make one myself. Nobody is looking out for baby while he is at play; I’d have to manage my own affairs. Nobody is feeding baby the right formula; I’d be responsible for putting food on my table. Nobody’s chewing for baby before he swallows the food because you see, baby has to be a man.

I appreciate the effort of my parents to make things easy for me, but I think I wouldn’t be able to appreciate adulthood if I don’t see its face. I cannot afford to learn the basics when I’m already 40, which would be a great pity. There’s no better time than now for me to start acting like an adult.

Harsh and risky as it may sound, I think it’s time my parents pushed me out of the nest. Perhaps I will fall the first time and get some limbs broken and bruised. The second time, I might still struggle to stay in the air. But after that, who knows, I might be able to complete my first flight to the next tree. I will fall sooner or later, so that I can rise up again and fly. Learning to fly alone is worth the risk.

____________________

First published in the Youngblood column of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, May 5, 2009.

79

Through the blood-red doorHolden Caulfield

What becomes of a person after death?

Death puts on so many coats. To the diseased, to those who lead lives of stifled agony as their bodies are being wrecked by cancer or some other terrible affliction, death appears as a friend offering release on its outstretched hand. To those who are healthier and are not so lucky, death shows itself as a blight drying up a potentially full and golden life.

Beng Hernandez was killed by members of the military in Arakan in April 2002. She was a student journalist, an activist and human rights worker;


a vivacious, quirky girl as her friends and colleagues remembered her, and she was 22. Rachelle Mae Palang died at the hands of members of the AFP on September 2008. She was bubbly, with a tongue-in-cheek demeanor. She was also a student journalist and a medical missionary in Negros, and she was also only 22. Death came as their enemy: Beng was found with her hands tied up and folded together, as though asking for mercy; Rachelle was shot at point-blank range and her body was black and blue and bruised.

Articles and other written works about them never discussed their religious beliefs. One can only be kind and assume that they believed in God and the afterlife. If they did, and if there is an afterlife, perhaps they could have led the sort of lives they lived without this rudest of interruptions. They would need not experience the pain of having to watch one’s life being stripped away with blows and bullets. They could be happy there.

As it is, people who have shed off this mortal coil oftentimes lead afterlives in the being of those mortals they were close or associated to. Beng is remembered, always; she always will be, Atenews will make sure of it. Articles, causes, celebrations: all these were made in tribute to her. The brand of political activism she had espoused continues on in the persons of members of the new editorial board of this publication. Human-rights violations, campus militarization, charter change, tuition fee increase, a rotten system: Beng still wanders the land of living fighting against these in spirit. Rachelle will also be remembered by her publication, her wider national organization of college-level publications and her friends, it is also sure, in a similar manner. If there is no literal afterlife, this remembrance of them should just about atone for its absence.

Do the dead remember us? No one can ever know for sure; nobody has died and come back alive to tell the tale. But if stories of helpful ghosts nudging people out of the way of an out-of-control 10-wheeler truck are any guide, the living believe in the afterlife, and that their beloved dead cradle them in their time of need. Supposedly, ghosts are semi-physical

81

manifestations of the dead who cannot adjust to their non-living status and/or have some unfinished business to wind up. The school is said to harbor these spirits; at some late time of the night, elevator operators take spectral passengers with them, looking so convincingly alive in their uniforms and unremarkable movement. A friend told me of somebody taking a leak one night and finding himself on the corridor of a different floor upon leaving the bathroom. Does Beng still stomp about her old office, playing Puzzle Bobble and marvelling at the behemoth computer with its back to the door? I believe she does.

One dies when one loses absolute possession of her identity. This is the basic underpinning of the seriousness of identity theft: the stealing of a name and all things connected to it is almost tantamount to killing. A corollary to this is the deceased has no identity, being unable to control it. It is fortunate and unfortunate at the same time that this is so. The identity of the dead now rests in the people who remember them, giving these people license to do things in the name of the deceased that he or she may not approve of.

Beng and Mae-Mae, you are not forgotten.

000


MAG

ENTA

DRAG

ON

FLYKhalil A

ngelo Gam

ela

85THE IRO GLAMOURMayen Lozada

THE IRONY OF MORE TO LIFE

Mayen Lozada


DIV

ERG

ENCE

Khalil A

ngelo Gam

ela

87

EMBRACEKhalil Angelo Gamela


KO

DAM

AS

Miko Fornillos

89

ARCH

Mik

o Fo

rnill

os


CONTENTJM Mercado

91

JUST YOU AND ME BROTHER

Marvince Reyes


ON MY WAY DOWNMarvince Reyes

INIDORO NI ANDOY

Hannah Louise Enanoria

93

REALITY FRAMES

Marvince Reyes

DAYS OLD LOVE

Marvince Reyes


She danced under the daylightlike it would end so soonthe green cold earthcaressing the warmth of her feet.

round and round she tiptoed and stumbled- a graceful fall.

the flowers shakensilent sleepers of the earthawakena melodious flutterof thousand tiny wings –butterfliesof red and whitea heavenly bliss onher eyes.

gazing at their lastmajestic flightthe cold earthnow caressing all herwarmth

the blue skynow painted onher eyes.

Her Sweetest ReverieKrisini Nanini

95

POW

ER

Kris

ini N

anin

i


SOUL VENDETTAJM Mercado

97

LOOK DOWNKhalil Angelo Gamela


Pasasalamat

Ang

p a n g k a l a h a t a n

ng Banaag Diwa

ay nagpapasalamat

sa mga sumusunod na tao,

pangitain, bagay, kabanalan

atbp: Sa Panginoong maykapal

(lahat lahat na yan ng religous

denominations.), sa lahat lahat

ng magulang (sa pag unawa,

allowance at tuition fee, pwera

nalang kung working student ka.)

sa aming moderators na si Sir Mac

at Mam Pre (happy retirement

Sir Mac!), sa mga terror (wag po

please! huhu!) at mababait naming

mga guro, CEGP (Go Go Go!)

sa United Nations at United

Colors of Benetton (international

na ang AdDU don’cha know?) sa

Lotus, Pilot at Titus ballpens, sa

Canon Printer (na laging ubos ang

ink. huhu), sa

Canon “Canon

H u m o n g o u s

extreme Lens” Camera

(kayang kaya namin kayong

kuhanan ng pic sa malayo. ingat

ingat and don’t pick that nose

miss..) sa iMac (24 inches baby!),

sa Greenwich (na walang humpay

na nagpapaligaya sa aming

mga masisibang kahayukan), sa

admin esp. kina Father Samson

and Custard (the official mascot

of Atenyu. Daig pa ang McDO

and Jolibeeee), kay Sir Riki

(bonga!) at Sir Ratilla (ka-ching!

$$$), sa kabab sa may Jacinto,

sa Microsoft (hindi ung Vista na

sigeg hang!), Facebook (share and

connect kayo diyan!), Friendster,

Multiply at YM, sa Smart, Globe

(iPhone enge!), Sun (sulit pero sa

sending malupit), kay Dra. Vicky

Belo (ok lang yan Dra. malupit

parin ang epekto mo sa aming is-

skeeeen), sa mga papel (kelan ba

tau mag rerecycle?), kay Chopin,

Beethoven, Mozart and all the

Baroque (esp. Bach) - Classical

- Romantic - Modern music na

nakakastimulate ng brain growth

(!) ,sa mga mainstream na kanta

pag ayaw na sa makalumang

tugutugin, sa Pet Society and

Restaurant City na kumakain ng

oras namin pag may writer’s block

kami, sa pag-ibig (char!), sa Juice

ko Day for our sugar needs (and

LBM pag minalas ka), sa Nokia

at Sony for the mobile hardware,

sa Blizzard dahil sa DoTA (Mega

Kill!) at ang papararating ng

Starcraft 2 at Diablo 3 (wah! end

of the world na!), sa Philippine

Daily Inquirer (for some of

our article inspirations), sa

addictinggames at armorgames,

sa SM, NCCC at Gmall (R&R

you know?), sa Netopia and

Bits and Bytes for some of our

printing needs (pag wala kaming

ink remember?), sa aming opisina

(na minsang binahayan ng mga

gagamba at lamok. ecosystem in

motion siya), sa Avira Antivirus

na free at effective, kay Beng

Hernandez para sa inspirasyon

sa amin (may you rest in peace)

sa lahat ng Tinyo at Tinya ng

Ateneo de Davao University (kung

wala kayo, walang Atenews.),

MARAMING SALAMAT PO! :)

bd2009

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