Louis Vuitton

Fiction by | May 24, 2015

My mother’s boss, Louie Vergara, called home looking for my mother. It was nine in the evening and my younger sister had just fallen asleep. My father who works night shift in one of the posh hotels in our city had left earlier in the evening.

So it was only me and Mother who were still up and awake in the house. I was zipping the back of her gown when the phone rang. Father usually calls home to check on us. But it would be much later.

Lately, Mother has been attending business meetings with her boss, she told me one time when I was putting away her make up kit, that I would often think she must be a very good employee.

Mother shooed me to pick up the phone.

Continue reading Louis Vuitton

Mermaid Dreams

Poetry by | May 24, 2015

Old golden days of a little mermaid
With a bright red tail and pale skin
Swimming the shallow waters of blue
And endless building of gray sand castles

Quite a distance from the shore
Guards the red-tailed mermaid
Is a tranquil man in his sixties
Clothed in his faded orange shirt

Finally the sun tired of shining
Kisses goodbye the vast turquoise sea
The little mermaid leaves her tail
And seeks solace in the senescent eyes

Now where the little mermaid swam
Are fish cages floating side by side
And where the aged man stood guard
Is an empty longing space

—
Loraine Jo is a Secondary Education student from Balingasag, Misamis Oriental.

tunggahilan

Poetry by | May 24, 2015

ang

    imong
 
      o
 
     tin
 
     sama
 
    sa imong
 
     mga saad
 
      mga pulong
 
       baruganan
 
       prinsipyo
 
       pagkadiyosnon
 
       pagkarelihiyoso
 
      pagkamatarong
 
     pagkatawo
 
    sama ning
 
    balak
 
    hiwi

—
Joyce Duhaylungsod nakahuman sa korsong Edukasyon ug us aka magtutudlo sa usa ka unibersidad sa Dabaw.

I Live to Die

Nonfiction by | May 24, 2015

I can still remember the laughter and smiles we shared together, the happy Christmas songs we sang, the fun games we enjoyed, the delicious food we ate and the wacky poses we did in front of the camera. Who cares if the wind is already tormenting the leaves of the trees outside? Who cares if the light keeps on turning on and off? And who cares if PAGASA raised the storm signal to number two? It is our Christmas party, for God’s sake! It is the last time we will meet each other for the year; we should be enjoying and celebrating the birth of the Lord. Who cares? We never had an idea that that was really the last Christmas party of our friend nor did we know that indeed that was the last time we will see her, ever.

She went home earlier than any of us. Before she left she said “thank you”, in a happy tone. We never knew that those were the last words we would hear from her. We tried to stop her but she explained that her parents already want her home since it’s already passed ten o’clock in the evening. Even when she left we continued the party. Who cares? We never knew what would happen three hours later.

Continue reading I Live to Die

Chicken Tinola

Nonfiction by | May 17, 2015

We have more than twenty chickens in our backyard. Our compound is huge and we allot almost a third of it for the chickens. We have a net fence tied from our east side of the compound to the west, and the covered part was where all the chickens are left to roam, lay eggs, and eat. My father is never into cockfights and the chickens are actually there for the family’s entertainment—or something else to keep us busy.

The hens do not lay eggs regularly, and sometimes they get rotten before they even hatch because the hens are too lazy to even sit on them every day. We cannot sell their eggs, even the good ones, because they are never good enough as the eggs sold in the market place. The eggs are either allowed to hatch to new chicks or, sometimes when we forget to include eggs on the grocery list, our chickens’ eggs end up in the frying pan or in the refrigerator egg compartment.

We never have income generated from having these chickens around but when I notice that my parents goes to the chicken house first thing in the morning to feed them, I feel the importance of having the chickens with us. They are sort of chores my parents look forward to. And even if they do not smile or dance while they feed the chickens, I know it makes them happy to do it twice or thrice a day.

Continue reading Chicken Tinola

Smoking in the Attic

Poetry by | May 17, 2015

Sneak away from the daily buzz
Lighter in hand and light footsteps, too
Treading up the staircase
To where I feel desolate
Cigarette now lit; inhale
The smoke coaxing, to surface
Lost to the air, and with it
Forgotten yearnings of past
Only the filter remains
Baggage I should dispose of
To avoid outing myself
My needy nature; to be loved
Washing off the nicotine
Masked with soap suds and toothpaste
Rid my teeth of plaque from smoke
Ready to flash my dummy smile
When I break off, thinking I’m safe
I prop a stick in my mouth
Waiting, for someone to light the spark
Or a mouth to keep my own shut
Until then, it’s the attic for me
My own penthouse of solace

—
Gari Jamero is a BS Biology Student from Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan and a member of The Xavier Film Society.

Talagsaun

Poetry by | May 17, 2015

Nipatigbabaw ang imong nawung sa akong huna-huna samtang gatan-aw sa wisik sa abohon nga balod. Gadala og kabalaka nga malumos sa imong handuraw kining pagbati kong talagsaun.

Apan ang panganud gitiklop ang gabii sa akong daan nga kahadlok ug nisidlak ang kamaayo sa init sa akong nawung. Gihiwa sa bidlisiw ang ngitngit nga balod, aron mahimong sama sa langit nga bulawanun.

Ninggitiw na sab ang imung pagtambong sa akong kiliran, dungan sa paggakos sa bugnaw nga tayhop sa hangin. Gapamati ko sa tapyok sa balud ug sa akong kasing-kasing, samtang galaum nga dili mo tuya-tuyaan ang talagsaun kong pagbati.

—
Cyrell is a psychosocial worker in a local NGO that helps young adolescent children in vulnerable situations. She is a graduate student of Masters in Applied Social Research in Ateneo de Davao University. Aside from writing fiction and poetry, she paints and sketches.

Pinikas, Ikaduhang Bahin

Fiction by | May 10, 2015

Usa ka hapon, pag-agi nako didtos tindahan ni Ante Nita, maoy tapik sa mga istambay ang umaabot nga piniliay.

“Unsaon na lang kaha ning atong eleksiyon, Pre, no? Morag haskang gubota.”

“Gubot pas imong bungot, Pre.”

“Ayawg tripingi nang akong bigote, Pre. Assit biya na. Haha!”

“Tuod, Pre, tiamona? Apil si Kulas modagan pagka kagawad? Pastilan! Puyde diay na?”

“Aw, apil man gani si Nong Karyo nga gabadhay-badhay nas katiguwang, modagan! Haha! Kon modaog siya, syur gyod ko nga dili niya mahuman iyang termino. Ma-terminit na siyag sayo!” dalag aksiyon og putol sa iyang liog.

“Haha! Ug, in pernis, Pre, si Minda nga mamingkahay, modagan pod kuno!”

“Lagi. Mao poy akong nadunggan.”

“Taymsa, si Botyok man diay ni.”

Continue reading Pinikas, Ikaduhang Bahin