Like I Did, Part 2

Fiction by | December 28, 2014

Continued from part 1

“Hello?”

“David! I’m giving you a client for work,” it was James, my childhood best friend. He was successful, all right, unlike me. He owns the shop where I work as a lay-out artist.

But I don’t understand why he’s calling me now and entrust me with a client. He called me off of work for leaving clients in the middle of progress that he had to pay them back their money. I remember him reminding me what a donkey I am, and how it brought me to where I am now.

Of course it was all true that it hit me right through my every bone. But I don’t have plans letting myself be dipped down by people, even by my own best friend. So I, with my forehead up high, thanked him and told him I’m never coming back.

Continue reading Like I Did, Part 2

Moving Away

Poetry by | December 28, 2014

I am moving away from home.
Away from clanging pots and pans
of morning rush, from all the sizzles of
preserves deep fried in ancient cooking oil. From
the sudden clings and clangs of plates being
washed nearby to the ticks and tacks of
the old-fashion clock in our living room.
Away from the meaningless yapping of my
mother and how she babbles about my soiled
clothes scattered on the floor that she ends
up washing, the long winding hours of looking
after the store and even away from the morning
routine of my grandmother waking
me up for school or from a bad dream.
Away from the smell of sinigang cooked
for dinner, the sour smell of boiled sampalok
and singkamas and from the familiar
face waiting patiently behind the battered green
door every night.
I am moving away from home and into
the strangeness of age. With no sinigang to
eat for dinner. With no one to
wake me up from a bad dream.
I am moving.
Away.
Hoping to find a familiar face waiting
behind the polished wooden door when
I get home late.

—
Sums is a graduating English major by day and a majestic, black unicorn by night.

Why I Never Sit At The Back Of The Jeepney Anymore

Poetry by | December 28, 2014

Whenever I ride the jeepney these days,
I always sit in the front.
It pisses me off when I get to sit with the other passengers
Where I get to forward the fare and the change back.
Once, you handed me your fare.
That was when I met you.
I hate sitting at the back
where I can’t help but hear the same, tired talks.
The same stories we shared whenever we’re in the same jeep heading home.
Except that you told them so well and repeated them as if they were new
And we could ride through kilometers in seconds
only to end them with “Here is my stop. See you.”
I hate sitting at the back of the jeep
when it is bent on breezing to the ends of the fast lane,
While I sit next to the lady with the long damp hair whipping my face.
If it was your hair, I would let it whip my face
until the scent of your shampoo sticks on my collar
so I would wear it like cologne.
I wished to see you not only in the jeep.
I wished we could have sat somewhere more comfortable.
on the grass perhaps, with your friends perhaps
So we could burn through a thousand topics.
So we could tease, laugh, and touch. And maybe,
while we head home, we could let our emotions take a different route.
I settled instead with sitting at the back of the jeep
Waiting for something to happen.
The second-to-the last time we rode together, We ran out of stories.
And the last time that we did, we no longer knew each other.
That is the thing about riding jeepneys. Nothing really happens
Except for waiting until you reach your stop. Or miss it.
Whenever I ride jeepney these days,
I always sit in the front, safe and comfortable.
Not because I do not want to remember you
but to reject the possibility of sitting next
to someone who looks like you or
of touching another’s fingers when she hands me her fare
and forgetting what yours felt like.

—
Fred Layno is a graduate of Creative Writing from UP Mindanao and an emotional commuter.

Things to Do

Poetry by | December 21, 2014

treadmill for thirty minutes
after a five-round brisk
walking at the plaza
prune the duranta
its leaves cover
the window’s horizon
do the laundry
whites first,
coloreds next
pay the electric bill
arrears only
to avoid disconnection
cut cauliflower, broccoli,
carrots and cabbage
for four seasons
iron uniforms
take a rest
dream a dream
these tasks
will disappear
tomorrow

Raul as been a fellow to various writers workshop and won several awards for his fiction and poetry. Writes from Cagayan de Oro.

Proben

Poetry by | December 21, 2014

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Gilabnot ako ug ang uban pa,
gikan sa kinasudlan sa manok,
tapad sa batikulon,
gi-abrihan, gisusi, gikuot, ug giwaswasan,
giharinahan, giprito, ug gituhog,
tag-lima sa usa ka bikog.
Sa wala pa gilunsad,
sa bulaw nga mayor,
ang pagpahapsay sa dalan,
makita mi nimong nakalaray,
nag-atang sa mga busawang,
sama nimong,
gamulo na ang tiyan,
sa pagpangaslum sa kagutom.
Kabalo ko unsa imong gusto:
init, bus-ok, ug barato.
Ayaw og kaulaw.
Ayaw og panghugas.
Kinawboy ni nga stayl.
Wala lay utangay.
Hulbot lang og maskin singko,
daw itunol sa tindero.
Ituslob ko sa sawsawan.
Daghan kang mapilian niini:
halang, tam-is, aslum.
Andama ang palad,
sa pagsalo,
sa mutulo nga sarsa.
Kab-uta ang puso.
Lami na ipares nako.
Walay platuhay.
Dinamak ni nga stayl.
Pangitaa lang mi sa suok.
Naa ra mi sa Pabayo gatapok.

Mai is a founding member of NAGMAC (Nagkahiusang mga Mambabalak sa CDO), a community of local poets that mounts CDO Poetry Night. She is also a fellow to the recently concluded Davao Writers Workshop 2014. In her spare time, she hangs around milk tea shops and eavesdrops on people, hoping to write a play about strangers.

Like I Did, Part 1

Fiction by | December 21, 2014

It’s all I know.

“So… This is goodbye?”

No, this isn’t. No, this’ll never be. My mind started to encode the words, waiting to be spoken. But instead I moved my head to gesture a no.

I love Jasmine. I really do. She was smart and beautiful inside-out. Her eyes told me the existence of something real. Her smile promised rainbows after heavy rains. Her laughter sang melodies in the midst of my noisy life. Her touch never lets me feel alone in this lonely world. That she was there. She’d be just there.

Of all people, she understands me the most. She’s patient and uncomplaining. I receive no pressure from her. She doesn’t nag, or pester, or irk with issues big or small. But I can hear her cry in my mind, because she never cried and probably will never cry with me around.

And above all, she loves me more than any girl has made me feel, and probably no girl will ever do.

Continue reading Like I Did, Part 1

Padugo

Fiction by | December 7, 2014

Padugo“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.

Continue reading Padugo

Tutoy Totoy

Poetry by | December 7, 2014

Nihilak ka ug mitalidhay.
Gitukaw mo ang mga tulog
nga pasahero kay gusto ka musupsup.

Wa paka natagbaw, gikumot-
kumot mo, misinggit, miumpak
sa kahinam sa mituyhakaw nya’ng dughan.

Mihunat siya.
Milingilingi kay nagpunay ka’g siyagit.
Mikuot siya.
Nagkagidlay sa sali nimu ug hil-os.
Mihungit siya.
Namingaw ang jeep kay ikaw nahiluna.
Naulaw siya.
Gikurambos mo ang sumpuk niya’ng dughan.
Mitan-aw siya.
Mingisi ug mihunghung… “Sige totoy pa.”

Jet is a teacher at Kong Hua School, Cagayan de Oro City.