Pinikas, Unang Bahin

Fiction by | May 3, 2015

DAKONG Balita: MAMINGKAHAY, MIDAGAN PAGKA KAGAWAD.

Kini ang nakapakignat sa among mga silingan sa Baryo Panatayan. Sa ilang unang pagkadungog niini, ila ming gihimong pulotan sa bahal nga gitinda ni Nanay Pirmin nga among silingan. Ug usahay pod, samtang ang mga babaye gapanlaba didto sa Aplaya o gahingotoay man ganing dihas ilang pantawan, gapadparan sa hangin ang ilang diskusyon padulong sa among balay ug kini molusot sa mga buslot namong bungbong hangtod kini among madunggan. Dako gyod nga balita!

Ambot ba pod, di nako masabtan nga misulod man sa alimpatakan ni Mama ang politika, kay sa tinuod lang gyod dili ko ganahan anang butanga. Alang nako, ang mga politiko puro mangingilad. Maayo lang na sila panahon sa kampanya. Saad diri, saad didto. Buhaton ko ni, buhaton ko na. Apan kon modaog na gani, hala! Makalimot na dayon. Kon inyong duolan para mangayog tabang, mangatol dayos ulo, dayon sa kilid. Morag among iro nga si Pusoy nga labihan kakutoon. Aha na kaha to karong buanga, ay? Mikalit lag kawala. Wala nay uli-uli human sa eleksiyon. Basig nabiktima to sa mga tambay didto sa ilang Nanay Pirmin. Matod pas mga tsika-tsika, dili daw na gapamili ang mga hangal. Bisag kagiron nga iro, basta luto na, lami na kuno kaayo! Kangil-ad.

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Kay ang gugma puno ug kasakit

Poetry by | May 3, 2015

Ang gugma dili puro kalami
Dili pirminti nindot sa pamati.
Ang gugma dili kanunay mahimayaon
Dili kada adlaw sa preskong baybayon.

Ikaw buhatong kabos na ulipon
sa tanang kalisdanan paantoson.
Buang ang gugma kay malipay sa imong kapait
Giatay ang gugma kay biyaan ka sa kangitngit.

Burag kawatan sa tungang gabii
Kawaton imong pangandoy ug kinabuhi.
Walay ibilin ang gugmang tinuod
Imong pagkatao ibahug sa mga ulod.

Mas sakit pa sa kung matunok ka ug tuyom
Kay tamas tamason lang imong mga pahiyom.
Mas alaot pa sa pagkapildi sa lasto
Kay wala na jud mahibilin kanimo.

Ang gugma dili para sa mga talawan
Dili sa huyang ug sa dali muundang.
Kay ang gugma puno ug kasakit
Kay ang kasakit maoy dalan sa langit.

Busa kaugalingon ayaw pagpasagad ug sangpit
Nga ikaw gusto mahigugma nga hingpit.
Kay ang gugma puno ug kasakit
Kay ang kasakit maoy dalan sa langit.

—
Gary Mondejar is an engineer.

if i am to write about you&i

Poetry by | May 3, 2015

if i am to write about you&i
it will be like this—
no capitals, all small caps
no proper punctuation marks
some words have rong speling
stream of thoughts, free flowing
like a river meandering, unrelenting
like raindrops falling, dancing
sometimes freighted with meaning
other times devoid of anything

if i am to write about you&i
it will be like this—
no period, no sentences
peppered with commas to give us space
no rules, no labels
relationship rebels
with inside jokes between the two of us
shower, bon appetea—it just made me laugh
with you&i separated by an ampersand
us, holding each other’s hand

if i am to write about you&i
it will be like this—
fantasy colliding with reality
certainty with a tinge of ambiguity
the past doesn’t matter
only the present and forever
oozing with sweetness
sealed with a kiss
with an ellipsis
it shall end like this…

—
Gary Mondejar regards himself as “nationalistic”, having been to schools with the word “Philippines” in them: Philippine Normal University – Agusan Campus for elementary, Philippine Science High School – Southern Mindanao Campus for high school, and the University of the Philippines Diliman for college. When he’s not working as an engineer, sometimes he finds himself writing or sleeping.

Eyes That Were Gray

Fiction by | April 26, 2015

The rain still had not stopped. It was already getting dark and my phone’s battery was critically low. I sat, annoyed and wet, inside a small rundown waiting shed a town away from my apartment. I would have been alone if it weren’t for another girl on the other edge of the concrete bench.

The girl had a slender physique and long straight jet-black hair that covered the side of her face. I could have sworn her ears were long and pointed. In the dim light her skin glowed and it was almost translucent. She was wearing a summer dress, as it was summer. But weather was always fickle.

“Ang tagal matapos ng ulan,” she spoke, breaking the rhythmic tapping of water on asphalt and metal.

“Huh?” What a stupid reply!

“Maliliit na patak ng tubig, sinasalo ng simento at bakal,” she said as she stared intently at the curved edges of the rusty roof. She turned to me and for the first time I was able to see her face–for the first time, I was able to gaze upon her eyes, gray, like the rain clouds. She was crying.

She wiped her eyes.

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Tulo Ka Matang

Poetry by | April 26, 2015

alibangbang
nitugpa sa bulak
gikulbaan
pako di mabuklat
alibangbang
nawagtang ang kiat
ginapugngan
sa hangin mukalat
apan…
alindanaw
nilupad kapaspas
gilamian
nikirig ang lawas
alindanaw
gibitbit ang hawak
nitugsaw
sa tubig gilamat
apan,
ang apan niambak.

—
Rory Ian Bualan usa ka OFW sa Indonesia.

Puka Beach

Poetry by | April 26, 2015

Under the shade
of these cumulus clouds
here the earth greets you
with blinding light, but
the rain is always in
your somnolent eyes.
And you gather something
out of the viridian sea:
a handful of shells
for your dead loved ones
a fistful of sand
for your city of rust.
You hear flatlines
in the distance
as the horizon blooms
with a procession of waves—
beneath the fire rainbow
a sailboat drifts
towards carabao island
like a slow
moving funeral.

—
Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena, originally from Bais City, Negros Oriental, is now based in Iligan. Some of his works have already been published in Mascara Literary Review, Philippines Free Press, The James Franco Review, The Blue Hour Magazine, among others.

An Account of a Street Light

Poetry by | April 26, 2015

They also¹ call it “lamppost.” It is a raised² spring of light commonly on the edge of a walkway or a road. Technically, it only lights up when needed³. However, sometimes they are lit in the brightness of the day, but it doesn’t matter anyway. No one cares about it, as long as it won’t bother the light people needed as they cross the street.

¹You know I am fond of inventing names for the things I like. People might have emulated the same behaviour.
²This is the thing I was talking about. You know I call it not on its name but on how it behaves.
³Something not really necessary, something I can invent.

The early street lights were used by the Greek and the Romans. Predominantly, it was oil lamps that gave light to the street as they provide moderate and enduring flame. Interestingly, the Romans have laternarius ̶ a slave⁴ assigned to light the lamps in front of villas⁵. Until the Middle Age, the task⁶ remained but passed to a person tagged in different⁷ name: link boy.

⁴When I met you, I knew, you are. But you are meant to enslave me on some point.
⁵I don’t know if you know what it means. In our little talk you told me: Darkness is the thickest wall.
⁶To stand still. The only thing you are obliged to do. And the only thing you did.
⁷Light on the street is way up, vertical. I went down. Light.

Candlelight was engaged in cities before incandescent. A lamplighter was made in-charge of touring the city to light up the lamps until an automatic ignition⁸ device was employed to strike the flame once the gas supply become activated. Then in 1417, Sir Henry Barton, a mayor of London, mandated a public⁹ illumination*.

⁸I start. I start to think that we are all worth keeping. To be kept in memory, in the heart. This time, to keep you in a room or in a shed at least, is a good plan to start with. I start.
⁹Who would not know something always on the street? Who would mind things so common?
* I want to help you hold the light remaining on you. But you have way familiarized darkness. You go.

—
Jessrel E. Gilbuena is an islander who longs for more islands.

Lessons from the Field: The Sendong Experience

Nonfiction by | April 19, 2015

It has only just been three months, yet SURSECO-I has seemed to have moved on after the throes of tempestuous winds knocked down virtually all of its distribution line in its coverage area. All of the four decades as a distribution utility seems to have sprung back to life. Sendong left behind more than the broken and damaged poles and entwined service wires. There were uprooted Falcata trees in almost every road, and more houses fallen to the ground. Just along Brgy. Bigaan, Hinatuan, a once proud bungalow caved in, its posts unable to wrestle the harsh winds.

Even more, there were angry people shouting complains at SURSECO-I vehicles. Things had gone bleak. Perhaps it would have gone bleaker had the sun not shone—however just for a day. One by one, people went picking up parts of their lives strewn all over the road side.

On the 19th, a gust of wind rattled a few sitios of SURSECO-I. By evening, almost everyone had expected another round of Sendong. Yet, what came along was the first wave of the rescuers from one of the sister electric cooperatives.

It was Kuya Lando Ferrer, Shift Officer from the Agusan del Norte Electric Cooperative, Inc. (ANECO), who led the first of these rescuers. Yet the night trip almost lost these brave men.

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