…but there are ants in my Pancit Canton

Nonfiction by | January 16, 2026

There are ants in my Pancit Canton!

Is what a YouTube clickbait title would look like. But on a faithful morning, there are literally ants in my Pancit Canton. I opened a pack and there were not only five, six, or seven, but what appeared to be a whole colony! A colony of ants on MY Pancit Canton!

I told my dad, “May langgam sa Pancit Canton.”

“Hayaan mo lang, mawawala lang sila,” he said as he returned to his TikTok consumption.

But there are ants! In my Pancit Canton!

Crawling around like tiny imperialists on an instant noodle package they recently conquered meant for me, a hungry human. Pancit Canton, nonetheless. Ants! In my Pancit Canton! Who would believe me!? It sounded like an obscure version of “Honey, I Shrunk The Kids,” in my head. I tried to blow the ants away from my Pancit Canton as best as I could.

But there were STILL ants! In my Pancit Canton!

I cooked my meal Lucky Me: Pancit Canton Calamansi Flavor (with ants) as per packet instructions: three minutes over hot water. I watch the noodles hydrate with ants squirming in a Pancit Canton and ant-broth. Some off to the side, slowly dying, but some still clinging on to my Pancit Canton. I grab the strainer, forking over ants that were still left on my Pancit Canton. I do the same as I mix in the sauce over the noodles of my Pancit Canton.

I took one forkful bite of my breakfast which, I quickly found out, was ants and Pancit Canton! Ants on my breakfast, imagine that! The crunch of ants hit my teeth first, then my tongue. Some people eat crickets as a delicacy, but ants? I haven’t heard of it. They tasted like a doorknob, like rust.

But there were ants in my midnight Pancit Canton snack! While writing my thesis!

Around 4:00-ish AM, I took an hour break from writing my thesis. The 7PM dinner I had went to my keyboard and onto my manuscript. I looked to the top of the refrigerator and found a care-package combination for college students: Skyflakes and Pancit Canton; with no ants yet, unbeknownst to me. The coffee options were well-travelled, spanning Vietnam, Malaysia, Dubai, and NCCC Ma-a Sentro. The ref was also full of eggs, newly bought.

Not wanting to wake up anyone, I quietly grabbed a pan and an egg. As I opened the pack of Pancit Canton, I came to find that there were ants. Not as many as my breakfast excursion, but ants, nonetheless! In my Pancit Canton! As opposed to the previous ant-filled experience, they all died down after one boil. Instead of chewing on ant carcasses like a bottom feeder, I was once again a mighty human eating a snack. I put on a YouTube video to pair with my now ant-free Pancit Canton.

I still couldn’t believe that there were ants! In my Pancit Canton! Along with Wheat Flour, Vegetable Oil (Palm Oil, Green Tea Extract), Salt, Stabilizer (Guar Gum), Acidity Regulator (Sodium Carbonate, Potassium Carbonate), Emulsifier (Polyphosphate), Seasoning: Coconut Oil, Soy Sauce (Water, Soybean), Salt, Preservative (Potassium Sorbate), Maltodextrin, Flavor Enhancer (Monosodium Glutamate, Disodium 5 Inosinate, Disodium 5 Guanylate), Salt, Cane Sugar, Artificial Chicken Flavor, Dehydrated Vegetables (Carrots, Chives), Acid (Citric Acid), Spices (Onion, Garlic), Color (Caramel Color), Citrus Flavor.

Ants, of all things! In my Pancit Canton!

Rean Marco Regno is a Development Studies graduate of Ateneo de Davao University. He was a fellow of the 2018 SOX Summer Writing Camp and is currently affiliated with the Philippine Sociological Society (PSS).

4-21-21

Poetry by | January 12, 2026

At dawn, Baba stirred me from sleep,
his voice a careful knock on my heart:
You must visit your Ina.
It trembled softly,
like clouds gathering behind the sun.
Guilt rose in my chest—
I had not bathed her as I vowed,
and seven days had passed
since my eyes last met hers.

Baba stepped out and no footsteps followed,
except my two little sisters came along.
I wished to go, but illness bound me still—
my body is weak, unsteady,
a fevered weight pressing me back.
So I stayed,
alone with the heaviness of myself.

By afternoon, Baba and Mama rushed again,
moving like wind pushed by unseen urgency.
Then my little brother came,
his words barely standing:
You are needed. Now.
His voice shook with an unspeakable truth
and I felt the world tilt slightly,
pulling me to my feet
despite the ache I carried.

Rain welcomed me on the way,
Sky pouring grief upon the earth,
as though heaven had long prepared for this sorrow.
A strange stillness held me
when I entered Ina’s room—
a silence louder than any cry.
She lay in peace, and for the first time,
her oxygen mask no longer bloomed with breath.

My tears broke free, a flood from deep within,
carving disbelief down my face.
Everything blurred into ache,
a broken puzzle of moments
I longed to rearrange.
I had always stayed close to her side,
yet fate chose this cruel timing,
making me the last to know…

“Salman, giya bes i kapatay.”
Her final whisper, fragile as ash,
drifted through the room,
a soft farewell rising itself into the quiet.

#

Author’s Note: The title means a lot to me as it is the date of my Grandmother’s passing. I wrote this poem using the date as its title to always remember the exact day of her death.

Jehan B. Bimbas is a student at Mindanao State University-Main Campus, pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in English Language Studies. She is passionate about language learning and academic writing.

Tsokolate Ka

Poetry by | January 12, 2026

Tsokolate ka. Pero ang bigat mo, talaga.
Sa una, tamis lang ang ginakita ko—
init ng hapon na hindi nanunugod,
ngiti na sige’ng maghintay.

Tsokolate ka. Pero habang nagatagal,
may pait din pala sa ilalim.
Hindi para manakit,
kundi paalala lang na ang init ay marunong ding magtiis.

Tsokolate ka. Pero hindi ka madali intindihin.
May mga adlaw na parang puro saya—
tawanan sa bukás na bilog ng daan—
pero sa pagitan, may katahimikang mabigat,
Daw lupa na sanay sa biglaang ulan at may pasensya.

Tsokolate ka. Kapag ginarinig ko ang pangalan mo,
nagabagal ang oras.
Ang bawat salita,
parang tsokolateng nagatunaw
sa gitna ng pagod ng biyahe.

Tsokolate ka. Pero ang init mo, iba.
At sa tuwing nagatingin ako,
parang naga-higop ng tsokolate sa gilid ng dalan—
may kilig na hindi ipinagsisigawan
at init na hindi kailangan ipaliwanag.
Sa hangin, may halong amoy ng kape at alikabok,
paalala na may pahinga sa gitna ng araw.

Tsokolate ka. Pero sapat ka, talaga.
Baka kaya ko gusto ang tamis, kasi paalala ka.
Hindi masyadong matapang, hindi rin mapait—
tama-tama lang ang timpla para sa mga adlaw
na pagod’t saya

Tsokolate ka. Pero may salakot ka.
Kaya kung sakali, ’wag mo isipin na ikaw ’to.
Isipin mo na lang
na may isang lugar
na marunong maglatag ng salakot sa ulo ng pagod,
at mag-alok ng init
na hindi nagakwenta,
hindi nagasingil

Dumaan ka minsan—
parang tsokolate sa ilalim ng salakot—
simple, tahimik,
at sapat na para manatili.

Paborito ko ang tsokolate.
Tacurong, tsokolate ka.

Bryan Emmanuel G. Bugas is a first-year college student at the University of the Philippines – Mindanao, pursuing a BA in English, majoring in Creative Writing. He writes because he sees words not just as letters on a page, but as seeds of thought that can grow into ideas, stir emotions, and leave traces in the minds and hearts of others. For him, writing is both a craft and a quiet rebellion—a way to make the world pause, reflect, and feel.

lamok

Poetry by | January 12, 2026

maingay ang lamok sa
labas ng kulambo

tinatangkang pasukin ang
kalayaan sa loob

alam niya ang nakaambang
panganib

pero nagpupumilit pa rin
siyang pumasok

para lamang makasipsip
sa katawang humihilik

dahil kung habang buhay siyang
mananahimik

walang mangyayari.

Si John Rey T. Gaballo ay nilalang na inukit sa pusod ng lungsod Heneral Santos. Nag-aaral siya sa Mindanao State University- General Santos City (MSU-Gensan). Nagsusulat siya ng mga tulang umiikot sa sarili, karanasan, at pagwasak sa nakasanayan.

Almusal ni Gabriela at ng mga Kababaihang Hanggang Ngayon ay Hinahanap pa

Fiction by | January 12, 2026

Noong dekada sitenta, ang almusal ni Gabriela ay walang iba kundi itong tatlo: pastil na may matigas pang bigas, tinapay na umuusok sa init na para bang sigarilyo, at kapeng itim na itim na pilit pinapatamis ng gobyerno gamit ang propagandang pasista sa dila ng mga tao. Ito ang kanyang mga pantawid-gutom sa panahong mas pamilyar pang pag-usapan sa hapag kainan ang mga kasamahan niyang isa-isang nawawala kesa sa pagkaing nakahanda.

Paano nga ba sisimulan ni Gabriela ang araw niya? Paano nga ba kung sa lansangang kay tagal niyang pinainit gamit ang bukal niyang pagkilos para maihain ito sa lahat ay mayroon pa ring kumakalat na mga matitigas na butil na may dalang armas? Saan niya ilalagay ang inaasam-asam na pastil at katarungan kung walang espasyong hindi nilapastangan ng mga berdeng butil na ito? Paano niya nga ba simulan araw niya, kung iniisip niyang mas mabuti pang may bangkay siyang maibalot sa dahon ng saging kesa habang buhay siyang maghanap ng mga nawawala niyang kasamahan na hindi naman kinikilala ng mga gobyernong talaan?

Masarap ang pastil, oo, pero mas masarap ang buhay na kung saan ay hindi ka dinidikta ng sistemang mas piliin pang pumatay kesa umamin ng sala. Masarap din ang tinapay.

Mas masarap talaga ang tinapay pag ibinabahagi, at siyempre kung mainit pa. Sa kabilang kanto bumibili ng tinapay si Gabriela. Lumalakad siya sa panaderya na sa isip niya sa pagbalik niya ay mauuwian pa siyang pamilya. Matuwa siyang nakadating sa panaderya, matuwa din ang panadera na nakadating siya na hindi hinaras at pinagpyestahan. Madalas na kasi sa bayan nilang may mga sundalong hindi ginagamit ang mga babae para makipag-usap lang.

Noong umuwi na si Gabriela, hawak hawak ang papel na supot na may munting usok, napansin niya ang lamesa ay napuno lamang ng kahungkahan. Ayun pala, inakusahan na ang kanyang asawa bilang isang rebelde. Hinanap siya ni Gabriela. Hinanap at hinanap hanggang hindi na mainit ang tinapay. Malipas pa ng ilang taon mapagtanto ni Gabriela na hindi na maibabalik ang kanyang asawa, at hinding hindi na magagalaw ang tinapay sa lamesa.

Mayroon pa namang kape. Gusto ni Gabriela ng kapeng maitim. Maitim-itim para hindi mawala sa isipan niya ang pait ng buhay na kanilang dinadanas sa pamamahala ni marcos. Isang wilig ng gutom, isang kutsara ng korapsyon, at dalawang dekadang pag-aabuso ng mga karapatang pantao at kalayaan. Minsan, ang tubig niya ay ang dugong hindi dapat inalay ng kanyang mga kasamahan. Ito ang tinitimpla ni Gabriela tuwing umaga sa kanyang munting tinitirahan. Nilulunok niya ito araw araw sa pag-aasam na mapapawi nito ang kanyang gutom pero mas lalong sumasakit ang kanyang tiyan. Patuloy itong kumukulo sa gutom para sa hustisya, at uhaw na uhaw na rin siya para sa rebolusyong magbabago sa landas ng bansa niya.

Hindi dito nagtatapos ang almusal ni Gabriela. Ang iba nga, hindi na talaga nakakapag almusal. Maaaring sila ay dinakip, inaresto, hinaras, hinubad, o pinatay. Ang pinakamasaklap, sa sobrang daming kababaihang binaboy sa panahong batas militar ay hindi na sila kinikilala at sinasali sa bilang. Madalas sila ay kinakalimutan nalang. Kahit maging numero nalang ay pinagkait pa sa kanila.

Mahirap na silang mapangalanan at mahirap na ring sikmurahin ang almusal. Kahit na sa panahon ngayon ay mas nakahanda at mas may laman na ang lamesa, mas mabuti pang pag usapan natin sila. Sila na mga babaeng Mindanao, mga babaeng Gabriela, mga babaeng hanggang ngayon ay hinahanap pa.

Mahirap na, isang marcos ba naman ulit ang padre de pamilya.

Iha, mag-aalmusal ka pa ba?

Henri Marie C. Belimac is a budding writer and filmmaker from General Santos City with a father from Glan, Sarangani and a mother from Tantangan, South Cotabato. She was a fellow for the 21st Ateneo National Writers Workshop, and Film Development Council of the Philippines x Filipino Screenwriters Guild Screenwriting Workshop – Davao Leg. She is also currently a student of BA English (Creative Writing) at UP Mindanao, and she believes that the arts should always serve the people.

Madonna and Child

Poetry by | December 22, 2025

They looked at each other
and kissed each other’s cheeks.
Peace be with you.
Their eyes were beaming with love.
His hand wrapped around the other man’s waist
as they sang the hymn.
Lamb of God, have mercy on us.
The mother caught her son staring at them.
Lamb of God, have mercy on us.
She gently tugged her son closer to her.
She kissed him on his forehead
and whispered,
Isn’t love a beautiful thing?
He nodded and joined the chorus.
Lamb of God, grant us peace.
The air in the cathedral felt cool.
The angels carved on the ceiling
finally free.
The saints praising His glory.
And him, crucified with his own cross,
was relieved from agony.
The mother wiped his son’s swelling eyes
as he sniffled and kissed his mother’s cheek.
To love is never a sin, his mother said.

John Gilford A. Doquila is a graduate of the BA English (Creative Writing) program of UP Mindanao. Presently, he’s teaching in one of the IB World schools in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. 

Fireflies

Poetry by | December 22, 2025

We barely see fireflies now.
But here in the city, they’re everywhere.
They are the colorful logos of fast food chains
and the windows of inns and hotels.
They’re moving on busy streets
in different sizes and hues.
They’re inside big malls
just taking their nap inside
the smallest bulb that the big structure is selling.
They’re in the eyes of the little Badjao girl
who passes by the wide LED light
installed in the heart of the city.
They’re in the filthy creek – wings and body
bended here and there by the breathing of the
waters.
They’re suspended to every pole blanketed
by the incantation of the gnats and midges.
They are shattered— scattered in the sky—
and had existed before things were named.
They’re everywhere; lingering,
Learning the language of the streets.
We barely see fireflies now
But here, here in the city—
They are everywhere. 

Jevin Astillero is a writer and a recent MA Panitikan graduate from MSU-Iligan Institute of Technology. He loves language and literature and dreams of championing regional voices someday through his writings. 

Kawon

Poetry by | December 22, 2025

Su lukës ta i nagayun
Apiya di ta galiliyag
Apiya di ta pakaulalëng
Na da lëkita a ungangën.

Namag su kabamaluy sa lëkita
Uway na niyapan a mailay ko sëka
Mana aku manuk a di pun bamitas
Muna pan sa wata a di mataw mëdtas.

Saguna na pëdtindëg ta sa hadapan nu Tuhan
Manguda su mga pamikilan
Bagibi si dalëm
Lagid di gaanup su lalan.

Migkalëbug i kapëgkailay ku
Sabap ku mga lu
Pakailing sa pulangi sa Pikit
a di pëndëgka i kabagukit
Banalus–
Bangilay sa gadsabpan.

Taliman ka niya i kulis
Apiya maibped pa su mga lu migis–
Sabap ku simba
Sabap ku agama
Na da manggula. Continue reading Kawon