Unraveling the Roads that Shape my Future

Nonfiction by | August 3, 2014

In the past four months, I have been around Southeast Asia in line with my GIST (Guided Independent Study Travel) sojourn to visit the bamboo schools and green schools in the region and learn their best practices and challenges.

It has been an amazing and enriching journey. I thank the East West Center and Asia Pacific Leadership Program for giving me the opportunity to explore cultures, while I continue to unravel the roads that will shape my future and my community. My deepest mahalo! Continue reading Unraveling the Roads that Shape my Future

Vulture

Poetry by | August 3, 2014

Sadness.
It comes.
It swoops down.
Its beady eyes focus,
Seeing a prey, it lunges.

Vulnerable.
Poor soul.
Battered by life
And its unrelenting blows.
It falls to the earth.

Inevitable.
Sadness comes.
Piece by piece
From my very bones
It tears the happiness completely.

Pain.
Excruciating torture.
A gaping hole
Where my heart lies.
Torn apart by its claws.

Flight.
Sadness left,
Never looked back.
I am all alone.
Weeping, I am dying inside.

—
Ms. Olojan is a literature senior at the University of Southeastern Philippines.

Ode to Amparo

Poetry by | August 3, 2014

Yes, I vividly recall
the nights
And days we seem
to get along:
Was it just a year
or eonspast?
But it feels like a lifetime;
Or, another life;
yes, another time !

Honestly,howregretful
are the ways
Those nights progress, fade :
When shackled games
are played and replayed;
When spirits and egos
are bloated, sullied!
And then, there
you are , Amparo —
Coming like a fresh whiff
of air most serene
Sobering the drunkenness
ofsouls disappeared,
Massaging the numbness
of aruined, snuffed heart.

But, why, I asked,
O’ happiness dear,
As the laughterfills,
nay, overflows my glass,
arranging, uttering,
singing affectionate songs,
As the letters flow, rage down
my pen’svein,
rummaging , dredging
o’er buried pasts;
You remove
thewinged shield
thatfreely nurtures,
thatnaturally fortifies;
I am, ruined now,
buried.
By the hills
defenseless.
Broken,
alone.
Again.

—
Mr. Zarate is Bayan Muna representative at the 16th Congress.

Kunin Mo Na

Poetry by | August 3, 2014

I
Ano pa ba ang saysay ng
buhay ko
Kung di ko marinig, iyong
munting tinig
Paano pa ba ako muling
babangon sa mundo
Lulubog sa lupa ang lahat

Ref
Di magagawang ika’y hilain
pababa
Di magagawang kaladkarin ka
rin
Di ko aakuin ang sa’yo
Basta’t iyong iyo na ang sa akin

Koro
Kunin mo na
At ito’y ibulsa
Lahat ay inaalay ko sa’yo
Puso’t isipan
Lahat ng kailangan
Pangarap at musika

II
Paano ko ba sasabihin sa iyo
Ang araw at gabi ay kukulangin
Di sapat ang ‘sang
tanangbuhay
Para ‘yong mawari na
minamahal kita

Ref2
Sisikapin kong mapadama
sa’yo
Pagibig na wagas at di
magbabago
Papaligayahin lang kita
hanggat humihinga ako
Ang buhay ko ay sa iyo

Koro
Kunin mo na
At ito’y ibulsa
Lahat ay inaalay ko sa’yo
Puso’t isipan
Lahat ng kailangan
Pangarap at musika

—
Mr. Gomez works at the Campus Ministry and Service Office at Xavier School in San Juan, Metro Manila. He’s also a self-taught choral conductor on the side.

Sardine in Cosmos

Poetry by | July 27, 2014

Think of this, poet,
when you write down your little truth:

We pry our heads open with a knife
and spill out the brain on a tin plate,

and pass it on to four or five people
squatting on the bamboo floor.

We sprinkle salt
onto the red nebula,

Have to offer them vinegar
with kisses of a million chili peppers, too.

What we’ve given out may not do much
than to fill their mouths

and trim their bodies
into thin bamboo sticks,

but one thing’s for sure:
We offer something new

in this universe of plates,
appeal to those wide-eyed

who rarely have such a feast.
They all sure take our red cosmos in,

and think of black heaven
in a country of lost fish heads.

Think of this, poet,
when you write down your truth.

—
Erika Navaja works in a call center and is in love.

Windowsill

Nonfiction by | July 27, 2014

I stood outside our house, waiting for my best friend. I was holding a Tupperware of spaghetti and salad, which Nanay prepared last night for Noche Buena, and a white Coca-cola shirt from Ate. I guess the weather was moody on Christmas. It was a bit indecisive. It rained at dawn and became gloomy in the morning. Then it was sunny and rainy at the same time in the afternoon. I could almost inhale the mixture of dust and rain. It irritated my nose. If I was still a kid, for sure one of the elders would shout at me from the window to get inside for I might get a fever. The raindrops were getting bigger. I decided to go inside the house and get an umbrella. The umbrellas were neatly placed behind the house’s front door. I chose the white one with a blue floral design. I went back outside. Raymond finally arrived three minutes later. He was my best friend for eight long years and one of the reasons why I did not hurry in getting myself into a relationship. He brought me to movie houses at least once in three months. He bought me mefenamic acid whenever I had my period. He would come to my place on weekends and ask permission from my Tatay and Nanay if we could stroll around the neighborhood for the night. He was tall, skinny, and beautiful. He was the most beautiful gay guy in the world.

Continue reading Windowsill

Dagayday

Poetry by | July 27, 2014

Pilua
ang habol
niadtong milabay
nga gabhiona.
Haw-ana
ang tapis
ug lilia
ang silahis
sa sanga-sanga,
motungha
sa imong bintana
Hinay-hinaya,
kutaw-kutawa,
lisu-lisua ang kutsarita.
salura ang gaasong
timbaya ning
kabuntaga.
Tunob,
ayaw kahadlok
sa paghaguros
ning adlawa.
Wala sa mugna
nga numero
sa Bandera
o sa badlis
anang kamota
ang agian
mong
bahada
ug subida.
Tiwasa
Hantod sa pagbagting
sa saktong taknaa.
Kon
Hagbong karon
Antoson.
Ugma puhon
Padayon

—
Born in Davao City and raised in General Santos City, Mark Arlo Segundo is third year Medical Laboratory Science student of the University of the Immaculate Conception.

Bright Yellow Ginkgo Leaf and Dark Green Mimosa

Nonfiction by | July 20, 2014

I always looked up my hometown in Google Maps, counting the days till I went back.

In my hometown, Ok-Gwa, a small river flowed south and to the nearby mountain ranges; behind it loomed a hill. In spring, fragrant of wild chrysanthemums and dandelions, my friends and I would go to the nearby hill to harvest mugwort, shepherd’s purse, and other natural herbs that could be used for stew or mixed in a salad; by drying and brewing them, they served as alternative medicine. The entire day we spent harvesting these herbs, the birds and mountain rabbits seemed to hide, scared off by our loud laughter. We endlessly exchanged stories about our family, friends, the townspeople, and even celebrities. For the summer break, my cousins from the city would visit us and we packed watermelons and some refreshments and went to the river for a swim and to fish. In fall, we picked the prettiest leaves out of all the yellow and orange leaves that littered the streets and made bookmarks out of them. And in winter, when our nose and hands turned pink in freezing cold, my friends and I would go up the mountains to ski and sleigh until we got frostbites.

Continue reading Bright Yellow Ginkgo Leaf and Dark Green Mimosa