Padugo

Fiction by | January 25, 2015

“Legends say that blood allures gold and for a gold mine to be full of gold, it needs blood. But a goat’s blood is not enough.” Said the 58 year-old Mang Berto as he shared his story to his fellow small-scale miners during siesta as they rest in the Nipa hut near the Matiao River. “It needs a blood that is something pure and innocent.” Mang Berto said coldly to everyone in the Nipa Hut.

Mang Berto and his family now lives in Matiao province where mining has been the primary business and a source of profit for most people. In his early 30’s, he worked in a large-scale mining company called King Midas Mining Corp in the Gumayan province. The boss of the company, which the employees called Supremo, believed in a legend that a sacrificial ritual that involves offering of blood every last day of the month inside a mine would allure the elusive gold nuggets. During his stay in Gumayan, Mang Berto worked as a hired kidnapper and the one who executes the ritual along with other hired kidnappers. His job was instant money as the job gave him enough money to buy a small house. However, until one incident changed the course of his life.

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Bukid ug dagat (oo, ako ug ikaw) 

Poetry by | January 25, 2015

Unsaon kaha pag-abot aning duha?
Sa pag hinuktok usahay maka hinuklog ka,
kinabuhi ko ug ang imo mag abot ba?
Ayaw ka balaka,
ug ayaw huna-hunaa nga ang dagat
magpanguhit lang sa tiilan sa buntod.
O ba kaha, ang bukid mudungaw lang
sa ka katahum sa lalum.
Dili.
Anaa pa’y lahing pamaagi,
sa pagtan-aw ug pagtuki
sa lain-laing matang sa butang.
Ug kay gani, sa mata sa langit,
ang bukid ug dagat nagtapad,
nagtinandayay.
Ug diha sa pag aninaw sa mga panganod,
ang atong kalipay makab-ot,
ug ang kining pag tandi ma hingpit.

—
Keith was born in Cebu City, was a psychology major at the University of the Philippines in Cebu and currently teaches the Social Sciences at USeP Obrero.

Call for applications to the 15th IYAS National Writers’ Workshop

Events by | January 21, 2015

The University of St. La Salle-Bacolod (USLS) is inviting young writers to submit their application for the 15th IYAS National Writers’ Workshop which will be held on April 26 – May 2, 2015 at Balay Kalinungan, USLS-Bacolod.

Applicants should submit original work: either 6 poems, 2 short stories, or 2 one-act plays using a pseudonym, in two (2) computer-encoded hard copy of entry, font size 12, double-spaced, and soft copies in a CD (MSWord). Short stories must be numbered, by paragraph.

These are to be accompanied by a sealed size 10 business envelope, inside of which should be the author’s real name and chosen pseudonym, a 2×2 ID photo, and short resume. Everything must be mailed on or before February 16, 2015.

Entries in English, Cebuano, Hiligaynon, Tagalog or Filipino may be submitted. Fellowships are awarded by genre and by language.

Fifteen applicants will be chosen for the workshop fellowships, which will include partial transportation subsidy and free board and lodging.

This year’s panelists include Grace Monte de Ramos-Arcellana, Glenn Mas, D.M. Reyes, Dinah Roma-Sianturi, John Iremil Teodoro and Marjorie Evasco as Workshop Director.

Please submit your application to: Ms. Rowena Japitana, IYAS Secretariat, Special Projects Office, University of St. La Salle, La Salle Avenue, Bacolod City. For inquiries, please email iyasliterary@yahoo.com.

IYAS is held in collaboration with the Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center of De La Salle University-Manila and the National Commission for Culture and the Arts.

Abu Bakr Talks to His Boss's Imported Car from Germany

Poetry by | January 18, 2015

Hello to yu der da new Germany car of my boss, my pileng is so bery comportable inside wen I draybing.
My boss Ahmad maybe lab yu because he rily buy you in bery big money from da bery cold Germany.
So dats why I take care of yu because I lab you too also layk my boss, because yu relax me bery much.
I think da taym when we go to da city of Cotabato to visit da first lab of my boss Ahmad, Madam Sawda,
What a so bery relaxing pileng while I draybing yu. In da taym of six hours of travel, I jas pil okey.
But when we arrive to da place, I see dat Madam Sawda is bery hot in da fever.
We sleep in der house in da city of Cotabato only one week and den go agen to his oder lab,
And when we action to go away por da next wife, madam is still coughing so bery hard.
And my boss Ahmad say he will sleep one day agen wid her to take care to her.
But Madam Sawda don’t say yes to boss Ahmad, she rily No No. She say dat my boss Ahmad must go.
She say dat my boss Ahmad hab responsibility to da oder wife. So my boss jas follow what madam say.
So we go away in da city of Cotabato after one week. I think in dat taym dat Madam Sawda will jealous.
Because maybe she will jealous to da oder lab of boss Ahmad now she is hot in da fever.
But you know Germany car, Madam Sawda is so bery understanding woman.
Maybe ebrything’s jas okey to her.

So I hab anoder agen a travel with my boss Ahmad today, but I think sad a little bit about it.
Today in da brayt day, we will going to da Tawi-tawi so dat my boss will be in his third lab, Hafsa.
I question in myself about Hafsa, da wife of my dead frend Khunais: why she marry my boss Ahmad?
I’m problemizing to my dead frend Khunais because if he is not dead, what he will say about this?
He don’t want dis to happen! Dat his first lab is now the sweetheart honeybunch of my boss Ahmad ?
Who is a so bery faithful to Islam ? complete all da salah and do da fasting in da Ramadhan;
Who is a so bery rich man ? give zakah always in da week and give his families bery bery big houses;
Who is a bery smart person ? da teacher of da big madrasah and writer also in da books.
Oh! But you know Germany car, Khunais is so bery understanding man.
Maybe ebrything’s jas okey to him.

But maybe opkors not my oder dead frend Ubaydah, when he will know dat Zaynab marry also to boss.
My dead frend is not hab many money; he only hab small nipa house in da Indangan.
Oh I’m is so rily sad about dat man. I praying before dat I can help in da financial to him, but no.
And now, I can’t think inside my mind Zaynab and der children and der lives when he is nothing already.
Dey will not hab food every day, no clothes por da little kids, even der small nipa hut
Wid jas many empty sacks of rice por the roof is a little bit surrendering last time I go der.
My boss Ahmad is so bery good person; he take out Zaynab and da kids from der small nipa-hut.
My boss Ahmad is so bery good person; he give new house and many foods, and clothes por dem.
Yes, my boss is so bery good man; he marry to Zaynab and he adopting her children.
Oh! But you know Germany car, Ubaydah is so bery understanding man.
Maybe ebrything’s jas okey to him.

I never never ever want to say about Aisha because I don’t want to cry, no anymore.
Da bery first time I will know dat she will marry to my boss Ahmad, it break my heart like a glass.
But I don’t angry to my boss Ahmad por sure and also not to Aisha;
Because it is da ama of Aisha dat say to her dat she marry to my boss Ahmad than me.
I am nothing, Germany car. I am nothing but just a driver and servant; I don’t hab many money
Dats why I am only da man who don?t marry to da rich lady like Aisha.
I am so bery hurting when my boss Ahmad say to me inside da SUV about his wedding to Aisha.
He don’t know we are bery sweet boyfriend and girlfriend to each oder when we are still young kids.
I am so bery bery hurt dat time. I am angry. So bery angry dat I think something bad.
I think to drayb porward and hit da SUV of boss Ahmad straight to da Davao Light post in da highways.
Or if not, I think dat time to resign as driver, and end da six years of service to my boss Ahmad.
But I think agen. If I do dat all, what it will happen? I think maybe I jas hab to be happy to dem.
Yesterday, I see her. She say to me salaam, and I say salaam to her too and we smile in each oder.
You know Germany car, I think I’m an understanding man. Ebrything’s jas okey to me.
I so rily lab my boss Ahmad, because he is so bery good to his many families.
Although he hab many labidabs, he hab a sweet heart to me and others, dats why I like him.
If I will be rich someday, if da God is bery bery kind to me, I want to be like my boss Ahmad.
Not jas because he hab many wives, but because I want to help other people.

—
Nassefh is a Bangsamoro Kaagan native from Panabo City. He is a Creative Writing student in UP Mindanao. He is yet to consider having four wives in the future.

This noon while the sun blows its hotness

Poetry by | January 11, 2015

This noon while the sun blows its hotness
A soft cool wind comes to me
And invited me to fly to you.
My friend, it’s been a while since the fields were left barren:
Where sunrise used to kiss the flowers of rice
Where sunset didn’t say goodbye
Rather, it welcomes the night to enter into a world where two souls was- as if- one.
These were nights that we seized- so that we did not fail to sigh and saw the light.

My Friend, today I remember you.
Perhaps there is a space in the universe where we can store our memories.
And it is, as this time, that instead of flying to you,
I found myself, alone, solemn in the midst of this space.

It seems, as I lived in this space before, awakening and wanting,
that I could live in this space for more.
But will there be beautiful memories that will be added to the existing ones?
Will there be laughter and soft smile?
The glances, without words and from a distance,
yet the meaning was ever true in our hearts.
Will there be more of these glances?
Will there be added moments of dances?
Again, wordless, but the movements: the waving and swaying-
speak soundless words that is native to only the two of us.
As if we had our own norm and we follow our own culture:
We had a world of our own inside a bigger world.
I am in that world right now.
I’m surprised, contrary to what I expected,
That this world remains. Perhaps this will not vanish from this space.
But a space without anything that provides meaning is emptiness.
In this space, Lebanon, the bonsai, did not die.
Ramadhan, also a bonsai, is flourishing.
Rupeke, the bamboo chime, is singing the melody of “I could have said”.
And it is to this space, that today, at this time, I will add this letter.
It is my prayer, that someday, sometime, we visit this space together.

02 oct. 2014

Sunsets

Poetry by | January 11, 2015

Come now, sit beside me
bowing like the awkward sun
I want you to know
that what you are capable of bringing
signals the arrival of darkness.

But even if beauty can be found
in connected stars and shy moon
in silent, clear proofs
I still wish you close to me
enough to see a wilting rose
even if it means feeling familiar wounds
and dancing with scars barefoot
with the hopes of you remembering
the little bright things above us
the wind not swaying this old bench
our own favorite spot in Rizal Boulevard
Because I know better now.

—
Andrea Lim was born in Pasig City, spent childhood years in Marikina and Bulacan, and studied Grade Four to Fourth year high school in General Santos City. She is now taking Bachelor of Mass Communication at Silliman University, Dumaguete City. She is also the present associate editor of the Weekly Sillimanian.

Dust Bunny

Poetry by | January 11, 2015

When you opened the door
And asked if you could stay inside,
I was happy.
Because you see, long before you decided
To twist the doorknob and fumble
For the light switch on the wall,
The idea
Of you staying with me
Had already planted itself deep into my chest and mind,
Nurtured by the sunlight I let in
Whenever I gazed at you through the windows
Wondering when you’d come.

“I can stay on the couch, I won’t be here too long anyway.” you said.
I didn’t even ask why.

I nodded silently.
If you only knew how much I wanted you to stay
In my room, where everything I am
Hung in walls and perched on desks and dusty windowsills
And hid in every crease of the sheets;
Things I wanted you to see.
My room where
Every whisper the world has ever heard
From me
Echoed back into screams extending
Every bit of my soul;
Sounds I wanted you to hear.

I let you stay on the couch anyway.
You even called it “home” once.

When was it that you decided to leave?
Was it when you peeked through the
Cracks of my bedroom door
And saw only soot and dust? You never told me.
And I guess I’ll never know.

It’s been years,
But it’s still the same way after you left.
Only now, cobwebs and dust are starting to claim the space
That you once claimed yours.
It makes me cough every now and then, of blood and dry earth,
But I can manage—I think I can—
To wait a little longer.
Don’t worry, I’ll leave the door open.

—
Ivan is a student of BS Architecture in UP Mindanao with an alarming addiction to milk bars.

Paper Airplane

Fiction by | January 4, 2015

The first crash was accidental.

A boy sitting atop a tree, hidden in a tangled mess of browns and greens.

A girl lounging in the enormous roots of a tree that has been there since forever.

Bored out of his wits, he folded that awful piece of paper marked F-, and thus a paper airplane.

‘Blow, Blow, swish…’

“Fly away you blasted piece of paper and don’t come back until you give me an A+!”

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