Ang Tigulang Nga Tigbaligya og Ice Drop

Poetry by | October 26, 2014

Nagsangkiig
nga nagsambilay sa kabug-at
sa baligyang ice drop
samtang gabagting
iyang nangurog nga kamot.
Mipalit ko,
ug sa kadyot nakapahulay
Ang iyang huyang nga abaga.
Gitutokan nako
iyang bukugon ug nangunot
nga kamot
samtang nagkuha siya
sa akong gipalit.
Mitunol ko sa bayad
nga nagsubay sa gisugid
Sa piyahok niyang aping,
sa kunot niyang dagway
sa luoy niyang mga mata
nga wa nagpakaluoy
“Salamat,” miingon ko
adisir siya milakaw. Wala niya
madunggi akong pasalamat
Bugti sa akong talagsaon
nga pagsaksi sa kalig-on.

—
Gratian Paul R. Tidor is a young poet and visual artist from Dipolog City. He is a fellow of the 17th
Iligan National Writing Workshop. His poems are included in the book anthology entitled
Tinaginting sa Hangin.

Kagabhion

Poetry by | October 26, 2014

Giukoy sa kagabhion ang takna.
Ug hinay-hinayg hikyad ang dagtom
nga panganod sa kawanangan.
Pagdaklap sa kabog, milanog
ang tuktoga-ok sa sunoy.
Taud-taod, mikuyanap ang gabon
samtang si lolo way timik nga nagtikungkong,
gabad-ay sa sukaranan
sa iyang hirig nga payag
tupad ang sugong pinangko
nianang ba-ong gabii.

—
Hermi M. Dico is former Integrated Performing Arts Guild (IPAG) artist of MSU_IIT, Iligan City. He is a fellow of the 30th Cornelio Faigao Writers Workshop.

How to Climb Mount Apo

Nonfiction by | October 19, 2014

Climb when you are fifteen or so. Harbor an affinity for heights: at eleven you must have already seen the whole of Bangkok from the 88th floor of Baiyoke Sky Hotel, as well as gone parasailing at Subic, noting how the sea looks like a massive blue tarpaulin from a height of 800 feet.

Know the basics of mountain trekking: never step on slippery ground, always watch your step; on the way down, lean back and allow your feet to fall on stones as surely as a bird lands on its own shadow. But know also what it is to fear heights. Call to mind the day you first climbed Mount Agad-Agad (your hometown’s tallest mountain), aged nine, when, going up the mountain, the sheer effort wrung your lungs empty and your vision swam in a haze of blue afterimages. On the descent you could only cling to earth and crawl down gingerly. Bear these in mind always, for they will arm you for the great climb. Never forget that what you will be dealing with is the highest mountain in the Philippines (think 9,692 feet above sea level).

Continue reading How to Climb Mount Apo

Papa's Ride 

Poetry by | October 19, 2014

Papa surrounds
his arms around me
securing, supporting
and never letting go.
While his big hands
that smelt of earth
and roughed with calloused
are cautiously holding
our weight
as he placed them
on the handles of his bike.

I sit on a metal rod
having the same view
of the narrow road
slowly easing
between the scenes
of flowers
of rainbows
of trees
But Papa traded
his two wheels to have four
saying that having more
would take us to places.

Now, I sit beside him
on a cushioned seat
with a belt
replacing the safety
of his arms
His hands pale and perfumed
steering blindly
between streaks of scenes
only seeing half
of the view
of the road.

Joissen Marie Bacharpa is an AB English student of AdDU.

The Bus Ride

Poetry by | October 19, 2014

The bus pulls away
from the terminal; my sister
softly sinks into the splitting silence
of metal lullabies.
The vastness of the vehicle
narrows in my restlessness,
my slippers tap, tap, tap on the floor
as, lurching, we embrace
the journey to Medina.
How do we measure distance?
When it rains in Cagayan
but my fingers feel dry
in Balingoan, that is how
I feel your absence
and the roads stretching into dust
and memories
of afternoons that listen
to the tap, tap, tap of rain
on your Toyota
and taste the grayness
of lips crying for closure.
But this bus
it drives past canopies
of leafy arms reaching toward
a blank canvas of skin,
past silent bungalows
painted in the colors
of your tasteful laugh.
I hear Medina from a distance,
The gentle waves brushing
against the shore, and I,
tempestuous being,
hear your absence resonate
across the sands:
The bus ride carries me away
but where you are, I stay.

Karlene is an AB Sociology student from Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan. She is a fellow in the 21st Iligan National Writers Workshop. On Sundays, her column appears on Sun Star CDO.

Dear John, Part 2

Fiction by | October 12, 2014

continued from part 1

I love my mother very much. She is the only person who accept me as a gay. My brothers especially Ricky is shy to other people that I am a gay. My sisters and father is not angry to me but they do not care me. They do not make me part of their life. When my father is still living he do not talk to me. When only him and me is in one place, for example in the sala, he go to the kitchen or to outside the house to his fighting cocks. Only my mother kiss me and embrace me when she is still not a stroke victim. But sometimes I hate her, I blame her. This is her mistake. I become a gay because she dress me like a girl when I was small. She give birth to two girls and three boys straight before she give birth to me. When I go out, my two sisters are already big and my mother miss playing to a little baby girl so she always dress me with skirt and then she sing to me and said to me to do fashion show in our sala. So I want to be Miss Universe when I grow up.

Continue reading Dear John, Part 2

The Invitation in my Garden 

Poetry by | October 12, 2014

In my garden
you can wander freely
pick any fruit
you crave and envy
be not afraid of being
bare and naked
thoughts and body.

Orlando Sayman is an A.B. Literature graduate from AdDu. He is one of the new Milas at F. Bangoy National High School. He misses looking at fireflies.

Coffee Break

Poetry by | October 12, 2014

Cut all the ties with the world —
For all its sound and fury.

Sit and find the moment’s balance
Amid lifeless things in motion.

Let your soul glow from the depth
Of your weariness and anxiety.

Keep that newly purchased novel
Or put off those earphones, dear child.

There is no need of escape all the time.
Be still and free your vision to the distance.

Wander above the chaotic and banal.
Let the sound between your gentle lips

And the brim of that paper cup rule over —
To resonate joy and tranquility to the mind.

A little bitter, a little sweet, and utterly warm —
Sip, and sip over, the absurdities of life.

Adonis Enricuso is a university instructor from Duminag, Zamboanga del Sur. He was a fellow of the 29th Cornelio Faigao Workshop. If not taking part in the drama of life, he dreams night and day.