Musketeers

Fiction by | May 20, 2012

The night-out we were having was crucial, a reunion of sorts, and it would determine if I’d been a fool or just half a fool to have come back to General Santos City.

My cousin Dondon waved goodbye to our grandmother. “Don’t worry, La,” he said. “We’ll take care of your favorite grandson.”

“You better,” Lola said. “I know Ramil is a good boy, and you two are tonto!”

“La, that’s no fair!” Thirdy, another cousin of mine, complained, smiling at Lola. I’m sure it’s the smile he used to charm the local beauty queens. “We’ve never done anything that tainted the name of the Esguerras.”

Hala,” Lola dismissed us with a wave of her hand, “you kids do whatever you want. You are all old enough.”

Lola closed the opened leaf of the double door, straining a bit in its weight. The large door, made of narra and carved with intricate eagle figures, was a reminder that the big house had once accommodated people who came in droves, when Lolo was still alive and ruling the city as mayor.

Thirdy closed the gate of the family compound. “We thought you’d forgotten Gensan,” he told me. “How long has it been, fifteen years?”

Continue reading Musketeers

Grave of Pens

Fiction by | May 6, 2012

We have all your pens. Every single pen that you purchased and lost is now in our possession. The black ones, the blue ones, the red ones, the new ones, the old ones, the empty ones, the ones with bite marks, the ones that you think are in your bag, the ones that are important to you, and the ones that you’ve forgotten. We’ve got them all.

We keep them in a dark room somewhere between nowhere and everywhere. It’s an odd room now that we think about it. It is dimly lit by faint patches of sunlight that would fade from one spot then illuminate in another. The smell of dry ink and rusted pen-points pollutes the air and makes living here a pain. The sounds of pens being stored and sorted reverberate throughout the entire room, giving a rhythmic tick to the place that we find endearing. And there’s an unusual pewter-colored fog that would hover over an empty mahogany stool. All these make up the peculiarity of room. The room where we keep all your pens.

Continue reading Grave of Pens

Fast-break Breakfast

Fiction by | May 6, 2012

“Dino, did you know that there’s some really good toast served in a mysterious island somewhere around Samal? It’s rumored to be the greatest dish of toast ever toasted. One hell of a breakfast!”

“Rex, dude, are you serious? That sounds seriously interesting. The world’s best toast, huh? How do we get there? Is there like a secret boat that will take us there?”

“No. We’ll have to swim.”

“Swim? To Samal? From Davao? Fart yeah! How do we recognize the island though?”

“It breathes fire. I don’t think it’ll be that hard to miss.”

“Should we go now? I mean it is 2 am.”

“No better time than the present, bro.”

Continue reading Fast-break Breakfast

Future Husbands and Nail Polishes

Fiction by | April 29, 2012

As I am painting my nails on this 26th of January 2012, I wonder what my future husband is doing. He might be someone I haven’t met before. He might be someone who just got his heart broken, sad, angry, and alone.

Or he might be laughing at some joke his girlfriend just said or just buying milk from the grocery.

Or, I might have already met him.

He might be reading a book or pretending to listen to someone drone on and on and wishing I was there beside him. Or he might be thinking the same way as I am. Wondering if she may be the one?

As my nail polish dries and my toes glimmer from the paint, I wish someday I could look back and think that I got one thing right from all those things I just said now.

I don’t know what, but I wish I would be up to it all when it all hits very close to home.


Golda Ceniza is a graduate of San Pedro College and is Registered Nurse. She comes from Digos, the City of Mangoes. This is her first work featured in Dagmay.

Ang Manggagamot

Fiction by | April 15, 2012

Sa loob ng silid gamutan ni Manong Jose, na kung saan naliliwanagan lang ito ng iilang kandila at maliliit na ilaw.

“Anong maitutulong ko sa’yo, iha?” tanong ni Jose sa dalaga niyang pasyente.

“Ano kasi, Manong, ilang linggo na ‘tong tiyan ko na sumasakit. Tapos nung pinatingnan ko po ito sa doktor, eh wala naman daw silang nakikitang masama sa’king tiyan—ayon sa kanilang pagsusuri. Pinainom lang nila ako ng gamot na pampaalis daw ng sakit, pero hanggang ngayon hindi pa rin natatanggal ang sakit. Naabala na tuloy ang trabaho ko. Ilang araw na akong hindi pumapasok dahil dito,” salaysay ng dalaga kay Jose.

Continue reading Ang Manggagamot

Homecoming

Fiction by | April 8, 2012

Nagising ako. Nanibago ako sa oras. Sinilip ko ang wall clock. Alas-tres ng umaga. Tahimik ang buong bahay ngunit di ako payapa.

Itinodo ko ang ikot ng electric fan at itinutok sa akin. Muli akong nahiga. Ipinikit ko ang aking mga mata. Alam kong ayoko nang bumalik sa pagtulog.

Ito ang unang umaga ko sa bahay namin nang ako ay mag-Saudi tatlong taon na ang nakalipas.

“Nagmata na man lagi ka,” narinig ko ang boses ni Mama. “Sayo pa kaayo”.

Kilang-kilala pa rin niya ako. Alam niyang gising ako kahit nakapikit.

Continue reading Homecoming

White Roses

Fiction by | February 19, 2012

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright.”

Noah is busy adjusting the lens of his camera. His back is facing Karen, who has arrived fifteen minutes late. Karen is upset. It’s not usual for her to be late, especially for business appointments. And who can blame her? Her boss just asked her to drive all the way from the city to his rest house practically located in the middle of a forest.

Now, she’s standing here in her boss’ safe haven surrounded by trees approximately fifty feet tall. She watches him take pictures of leaves and flowers and insects and so much more. The trees scare her a little. But the forest is peaceful, very peaceful, and she likes it.

Continue reading White Roses

Night Visitor

Fiction by | February 12, 2012

Editor’s warning: What follows is a horror story; it contains some disturbing imagery.

The sun was setting. It was surrounded by an unusual reddish orange, the kind usually seen in landscape art pieces. It was visible through the clear glass windows that surrounded the office. Countering the view were photographs of the top salespeople in the company.

The clock ticked exactly five and everybody in the office prepared to log out from the company database. All except for Althea.

Every afternoon, when it was almost time to go home, her face would cloud with gloom. She did not really want to go home. Behind her back, her officemates said she was going through an emotional roller coaster, but she was careful enough to hide it.

Althea waited until the line of coworkers at the biometric scanners dwindled before she got up from her desk. Althea slowly half-stumbled half-walked. She continued in this manner until she reached home. At times she would cover her right ear, but hesitantly, as if she wanted to conceal her actions.

Continue reading Night Visitor