I am the Universe

Fiction by | February 15, 2015

The sun peeked through the grayness of the clouds, filling the room with enough light for us to see each other. I stare at the sky, dark and gloomy, and then back at her. She was a little sun herself, even if everyone expected her to be a cloud.

“Mama?” she says. I realized she was awake.

“Yes baby?” I said, leaning in closer to her bed. My arms met the metal rod kept up to avoid her from falling and immediately I wince from the cold.

“Haha. You’re scared of the cold?” she said, giggling. I just smiled. I wasn’t scared of the cold but I was scared of the idea of her being cold, lifeless body. I rubbed her hand with my thumb, just above the plaster over the needle.

“How are you feeling today?” I asked her. I really did not want to know. I figured that the hurt she was experiencing was unimaginable. I realized this too late, but I guess it was necessary to start a conversation.

“I’m okay.” She said as she smiled. Her smile was very genuine that I feel myself start to cry, but I force the water back up. I cannot cry in front of my daughter.

Continue reading I am the Universe

On a Sailboat

Poetry by | February 15, 2015

Everything seems smaller from a distance.
Samal island is shrouded in silence.
The calm sea is like her smile at night—
I really miss her warmth in my bed.
But now I am drifting, alone,
in the stillness of these waters.
And the stars above give no comfort.

—
Simon’s poetry has been published in Philippines Free Press, Philippines Graphic magazine, Red River review, Easlit, and Kabisdak online.

Marathon

Poetry by | February 15, 2015

Runners in the morning
a Diaspora of hopefuls in pink
coming from nowhere
defying traffic and weather
to wherever ten kilometers may take them.
Their message and memories
are fastened to the numbered bibs
that they hang close to their chests,
careful not to lose it
to the slippery road.
What started out as a cause
to raise awareness for breast cancer
had become an uncertain run for their own lives,
as they keep their lungs from failing,
and their legs from falling.
Runners in the dawn
wet of sweat, mud, and dew
had only pride to eat and rivals for company.
And the gray sky and passing cars
are their only spectators.
The random hundreds brave
against time, like salmon in heat
fighting the currents
of the river, to warmer waters
they may never reach.
Like the herald Pheidippides
running from Marathon to Athens,
they hold on to the hopes that once
they finish the race,
they will have spread a message,
proclaiming victory
Over Persia, over cancer
Over the currents of the waterfalls
Over the slippery stretch of the ten-kilometer road.
See how they run, the runners of daybreak
noble and foolish they may be
as they surrender everything they have left on the race line
so they may finally reach the end
recover from the dark
renew their youth
and touch the Sun.

—
Fred graduated from the Creative Writing program at the University of the Philippines Mindanao. He likes to keep himself fit.

Kama: For Sale

Poetry by | February 15, 2015

Sa pipila ka adlaw, ako na lay gahigda
ning atong kama
luag na kini, hapsay sa paminaw
nga ako makaligidligid, makapanikad,
solo ang unlan, ug way singot
nga mudagayday sa kalawasan.
Apan ining akong pag-inusara,
gibati ko pa ang imong presensya.
Akong nakita ang nangaputol nga hilo
sa shorts nga bulak-bulak nga atong pinalit
didto sa usa ka convenience store sa may Roxas,
dala niini ang naputol ko nga pangandoy
sa paghuman sa dream catcher
nga akong giingong ihatag sa imuha
samtang nangaon ta sa Keep Sakes.
Akong gitanggal ang unlan sa akong ulo,
ug gitapad kanako—
ang imong baho;
ang buhok nga ginaliguan
og pink nga Head and Shoulders
ningpilit pa sa punda.
imong Baby Johnsons nga sabon nagpabilin
sa habol ug hapin nga kapila na nakong gibubua’g Downy.
Akong mata, halang. Mura’g gisawsawa’g alcohol.
Di ko mapugngan ang pagdalin-as sa akong kamot,
gakapa sa unlang imong gibilin.
Ginabaghid nako akong tiil,
sa hawan nga bahin ning higdaanan,
gahandom nga imong bagtak,
nga naay nanubong buhok,
akong masinati pa’g usab.
Nipiyong ko ug nitago sa habol,
apan sa pag-abri pa’g usab ning akong mga mata,
hayag sa adlaw akong nakita. Asa ka?
Usahay ako mutuo nga imong kalag,
Gabisita kanako. Nga siya
nakabati sa akong kamingaw.
nga kining higdaanan, mas humok,
Mas dako, ug mas malipayon kung naa ka.
Usahay nagadamgo ko nga ikaw nitapad,
Ug hinay-hinay nga nigakos sa’kong kaluya.
Sa paggawas ning luha,
natilawan nako ang
kaparat sa dagat atong mga panahong
kita nipalayo ug niangkon sa Samal,
Akong kaugalingon, usa ra sa imuha.
Apan kinsa ako para pugngan ka,
Ug magpabilin niining atong kama.
Ang imong kaugalingon
Nibuhi sa gisugdang kalibutan
nga di ko angay’ng hiktan.
Ang dalan para kanato taas pa,
Pero ikaw nibiya na.
Ug kining higdaanan,
magpabiling atong handumanan.
Wala ka man sa akong taparan,
di ko man makab-ot ang imong giadtuan,
Naghinaot ko nga sa imong ginatulgan
Makahinanok ka’g taman-taman.

—
Denise Alexi is a BA English (Creative Writing) student of the University of the Philippines Mindanao.

Hinanap Kita

Poetry by | February 15, 2015

Kinapa ko ikaw sa dilim
Sinalat ang bawat korte
ang bawat linya ng iyong
katawan
Hinanap ko ikaw mula ibaba
paitaas, hanggang mangalay na ang
mga braso’t kamay sa kakakapa
at mapaluha na lamang sa sakit
pinili pa rin ang kapa-in
at hanapin ka
kahit di sigurado kung na andiyan
pa
ngunit
kahit na anong pagsalat
at paghanap
sa korte ng iyong mukha
tangos ng iyong ilong
lambot ng iyong mga labi
at tikas ng iyong katawan
hindi pa rin kita mahanap
Nararamdaman mo ba ako?
Hinahanap mo rin ba ako sa dilim
gaya ng paghanap at pagkapa
ko sa’yo?
O di kaya’y umiiwas ka lang?
na sa tuwing mararamdaman mong
maabot ko na, mahahawakan ko na
ikaw
ay agad-agad kang iiwas
at lalayo ulit?
magtatago?
at mawawala?

—
Sums is an English major at Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan. She writes every time Life slaps her in the face. A normal student by day, and a majestic unicorn by night.

Why the corns can't make it to harvest

Poetry by | February 15, 2015

Sorry, son
the corns can’t make it to harvest
they have rolled on the field
as you would on the playground
flattening everything out
the bullets pierced the leaves
human blood flooded the soil
causing the roots to rot
but don’t worry
there’ll be another season
they’ll give us seeds
we’ll make them grow
like government’s promises
we’ll have another harvest
once this anxiety is ripened.

—
Orlando is a teacher at Francisco Bangoy National High School.

The Teacher

Nonfiction by | February 8, 2015

When he entered the room with his ironed uniform and his usual aura, everybody stared. When he put his things on the table with a thud, everybody behaved. And when he finally faced the class, everybody fell silent. How amusing! To see how that four-eyed man can control the class without having to say a single word. To see how his silent laughter played around his lips when he knew he’s won. I witnessed those things amidst the sea of little black dots in front me. When I saw him, everything around me turned to a blur.

And right at that moment, I fell in love.

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Scrabble

Fiction by | February 8, 2015

“Playing Scrabble is really fun when I have a tough opponent like you.”

“It’s a pleasure to play with you, too.”

“I didn’t expect you were saving letters for ‘melancholy’!”

“My favorite word, actually.”

“The word sounds sad, don’t you think?”

“The word is poetic, I think. It resounds and feels like being alone, without umbrella or any shade whatsoever, under a heavy rain; feeling the rain—crawling upon and into your skin, reaching your very soul, drenching it with gray clouds, thunder, lightning, and raindrops—as if you were naked; wondering where the raindrops come from, what they are made of, but having knowledge about the water cycle still fails you; and asking, ‘Will this rain ever end?’”

“Wow. So, it is not just sad. It is beautifully sad.”

“Well, you can say that.”

Continue reading Scrabble