Please Don't Leave Me

Fiction by | March 2, 2014

It was a nice place to rest. The walls were painted pink. The window was covered with pink curtains. The books were arranged neatly on the pink bookshelf. The bed on the opposite side was neatly overlaid with a pink blanket, a pink pillow by the head. The pink lampshade on the pink table by the bedside illuminated the whole room.

Yes, it was a nice place to rest. It was a place to stay in and relax. It was a place that radiated positivity. It was supposed to be.

But Lois, in her oversized plain white shirt and black skinny jeans, only stared into space. Her eyes were unblinking. Her lips were pursed together, not daring to move a word.

Continue reading Please Don't Leave Me

Claveria

Poetry by | March 2, 2014

It is not fun, you know,
standing here in Claveria
with the jeepney barkers
mocking my uncertainty —
shouting names of places
where to go.

Where should I go?

It is funny, you know,
when vendors offer sympathy
besides sliced fruits or fried skins
and you nod, force a smile because
you don’t eat street food.
But then you go look around
the streets of Bolton, San Pedro,
even Torres to satisfy a craving
for crabs and eat-all-you-cans.

Perhaps, perhaps.

But them barkers’ voices ring loud:
Sasa! Panacan! SM Lanang! Toril!

Then, red light.
You cross the street,
walk aimlessly.
Hands in pocket,
jacket zipped up,
your steps doubtful.
Then you feel:
it’s time to go.

But where?!

—
Rory is a Physics teacher eating, praying and loving in Indonesia.

I declare a poem

Poetry by | March 2, 2014

Like naming a newborn
I declare a poem has been made
Like growing a tree
I declare a poem has been made
Like losing virginity
I declare a poem has been made
Like wedding a couple
I declare a poem has been made
Like losing religion
I declare a poem has been made
Like taking up arms
I declare a poem has been made
Like closing a casket
I declare a poem
has been made.

—
Angely Chi works as a freelance writer and researcher.

Of Nightmares and Daydreams

Fiction by | February 23, 2014

I am staring out the window as our driver is taking us to the regional courthouse. My dad sits in the passenger seat and my mom is next to me.

“How are you feeling?”

I look at my mom and her warm expression. My dad steals a look at me from the rearview mirror.

“I just want to get this over with.” I mutter, looking down. My mom reaches out to pat my knee then sits back.

Three years ago, one innocent night in July, I went to the movies with my best friend. I was twelve then, completely unaware of the girl code that dictated we should never go anywhere without each other. The theater was completely full; it was the weekend of Kris Aquino’s second horror movie, after “Feng Shui.” Although it was rated PG-13, Jen and I were able to get in easily. For a thirteen-year-old, my best friend looked way older, and we used this to our advantage all the time.

“Let’s meet at the CR after, okay?” she whispered as she watched me take a seat near the left set of stairs, next to a man in a plain white T-shirt and jeans.

“I’ll text you,” I whispered back absentmindedly, my eyes already on the screen before me.

Before long, with everyone around me screaming because of ghosts, I realized in that dim theatre that it really was the living that we should be afraid of. The man next to me was now standing in front of me, pants down.

Continue reading Of Nightmares and Daydreams

Hyphenated

Poetry by | February 23, 2014

This little line

is as thrilling
as the feel of your hand

holding mine.

A sign of my changing
civil state,

this bridge connects

us across the invisible
chasm between your family

name and mine.

It proclaims
with wedding

bells ringing:

I am not alone
in this life.

We have each other

like the matched pair
of salt and pepper

shakers for the dining table

where your face
has replaced the view

from an open window.

This punctuation
is our union

on paper:

two hands welded
into a single segment

for all the world to see.

—
Genevieve Mae Aquino was born in Manila but calls Davao her home. She has a clutch of diplomas in molecular biology and genetics. She was fellow for Poetry in English at the INWW, ANWW, and IYAS Creative Writing Workshops.

Things to Do

Poetry by | February 23, 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 Moldez has been a fellow to various writers workshop and has won several awards for his fiction and poetry. He writes from Cagayan de Oro.

Family Picture

Fiction by | February 16, 2014

The floor needs sweeping. That was the first thing I thought when I opened my eyes and saw the floor, its cold hardness slowly waking me from sleep. I continued to stare at the dust that accumulated under our bed, forcing my brain to work and commanding my body not to move. The tambis tree outside our window already cast shadows on the walls. It must have been five-thirty in the afternoon. I could already hear the sizzling of Aling Elsa’s pans and the grating sound her spatula made as it caught its bottom. Berto had turned on the garden hose and started with the watering. Children’s laughter and chatter filled the street as they made their way towards our house that our neighbors envied. Somewhere down the same street, my children were making their way home to me. My angels, my two beautiful boys, my world. Nothing in this world would keep me from giving them the best. They deserved nothing less but the best home, the best food, the best clothes, and the best memories. These things could only be given to them by the best family. Nothing would keep me from giving them these things I never had. Not even the pain that prevented me from standing.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed at the corner, on the couch where we had made quick love a few times.

Continue reading Family Picture

Kape Mula sa Hapag

Poetry by | February 16, 2014

Mas mahimbing tulog ko sa sala
Sa sahig, upuan o sofa
Ikaw may babangungunit
Ikaw ri’y magigising

Pinipilit binubuka
Ang matatamlay na mata
Pilit ginigising ang isipan
Upang magsaing ng tubig sa umaga

Mga bitwin sa gabi naninigas pa
Mga mansta sa bangin ng bunganga
Mga asin sa labi tuyong –toyo na
Ayaw ong magsalita nangngamoy ang bunganga

Nakatayong tasa
Palubog na kape
Daloy ng tubig
Natutunaw’ng asukal

Dahan-dahang sinasagi
Ang manit na kape sa labi
Dahan-dahang sinasagi
Mainit na kutsara sa labi

Sumasayaw ang usok sa ere
Palaroy-laroy ang kaluluwa ng kape
Nanainaginip ng wala
Nag-iisiip subalit nakatung-nga

naghihintay ng wala
nakatingin sa bawat isa
Walang imik, walang salita
Babangilan ang gutom sa sikmura

May tinapay
wala namang palaman
hindi mapalagay
Ilu-lob- lob nalang ang pan

Sumasayaw ang usok sa ere
Palaroy-laroy ang kaluluwa ng kape
Nanainaginip ng wala
Nag-iisiip subalit nakatung-nga

—
Sunod-sunod ang timpla ng kape ni Noy Narciso sa Catalunan Grande.