Poetry by Genevieve Mae Aquino | October 3, 2010
The shortest distance between us
is the line that begins on my palm,
travels past a row of cubicles,
exits the revolving doors
and goes around the corner
of the Open University buildings;
meanders along the highways
onto the southern tollway
then with the crisscrossing wires
of the Manila Metro Transit rails;
Poetry by Fritz Gerald M. Melodi | October 3, 2010
We write to reclaim a part of ourselves about to be lost in time. To put in cryostasis, a part, a moment of our lives so heavy, so important, so significant we cannot trust our memory to keep it. So we write. To capture a fleeting nest of emotions that wrapped an experience, to nurture an imagination of what could have been. It is to craft into things that can be understood what your being has expressed not in human terms understandable. It may be a flight of the spirit into worlds known only to your universe. Or a profoundest experience so mundane as a clock or a sunbeam. We write to allow the public a glimpse of the private with the risk of being understood or maligned or both. It is to bare oneself, but still with clothes on, words, words as clothes.
—-
Fritz Gerald M. Melodi finished BA Psychology with minors in Philosophy from Ateneo de Davao University.
Fiction by Sheila Mae Milla | October 3, 2010
“You are your father’s daughter.”
She remembers how her mother used to say that to her, to spit those words to her as if pronouncing a curse, as if being her father’s daughter is a curse. Maybe it is.
Fiction by Krisini Nanini | October 3, 2010
He pulled her hand hastily and brought her to a dark alley away from a lonely lamppost.
They walked deeper and deeper towards the shadows until total darkness enveloped them.
He pinned her to the wall, his lips devouring hers, gentle and fierce, then suddenly her tongue forced its way into his mouth. For a moment she felt surprise, then he responded to her excitement. Roughly he pulled her closer, crushing her breasts against him. Tentatively he let one hand cup her breast and she coiled her leg on his hip. He slipped his hand into her dress and under her brassiere.