The Old Lady at the Bus Terminal

Fiction by | February 5, 2012

The last trip was at 10 pm and I was already having a problem with my stomach. It was aching. Must have been from the water I drank earlier. I asked for it at a carenderia near the terminal. I had never drunk tap water before. But the long wait at the terminal made me thirsty and clammy, and I only had enough money for the bus ticket and a few coins to pay for my jeepney ride once I arrived in Davao.

It was always like this at terminals in provinces. The benches were made of varnished lumber, and only two fluorescent would be lit. The sidewalk vendors had all gone home, and the stores nearby started closing. I sat uneasily on the bench, flipped my long hair from side to side, and fanned my neck with my hand.

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Pagtatapat

Poetry by | January 29, 2012

Sandali lang lumangoy 
ang mga alitaptap
Sa aking mga luha
Nang sabihin niyang
Hindi sapat ang liwanag ko
Nung gabing yun sa Kidapawan…

Ah! Hindi ko rin 
mapagmamantsa
Ang kahel nitong Claveria
Sa puti mong panyo!

—
Born in Kidapawan, Karlo Antonio G. David was a fellow at the 2011 Iyas Creative Writing Workshop in Bacolod. He is a regular contributor in Dagmay.

Pagdalaw sa Houston

Poetry by | January 29, 2012

(kina Archie at Joey)

Walang makasaysayang edipisyo ng syudad
ang nag-iwan ng matingkad na palatandaan
sa lupalop ng aking gunita.
Kundi tanging mabibilog na mukha
ng matalik kong mga kaibigang
may ilang taon na ring di ko nayakap
ng mahigpit sa kanilang mga kaarawan.
O di kaya’y naiabot man lamang ang kamay
sa mga sandaling diwa’y nag-aapuhap
ng katiyakan sa pangingibang-bayan.
Kaya nitong muling pagtatagpo
lubos kong kinagiliwan ang gabi-gabi
naming paglatag ng mga nakasalansang
karanasan sa lihim na kilusan at tanghalan.
Minsa’y napabuntong-hininga kami
sa mga kakilala’t kasamang pinaslang.
Minsan nama’y biglang napahagikhik
sa mga pag-ibig na di naipahiwatig
sa mga kapwa mandudula sa teatro.
Binagtas na ng aming mga talampakan
ang liku-liko’t mabatong disyerto.
Ngunit bumabalik at bumabalik kaming tatlo
sa pagtunton sa mga kalyehon ng nakaraang
kaytitingkad ng mga palatandaang iminuhon
ng aming mga di malimot-limot na kahapon.

—
Edgar Bacong studied AB Sociology at the Ateneo de Davao University, and now lives in Zurich, Switzerland.

Medusa's Garden

Poetry by | January 29, 2012

In solitude, she picks the pebbles one by one, big and small, round and edged, and stacks them in the middle of her garden. Not to build a tower and climb its circular stair; to raise a fountain into the sky is not to defy the gods but to honor them with air and water spiking and sprouting from the land. The stones swell up and the mound takes the shape of the layering years when the mosses have not yet reached the necks of her sculptures. She looks at them now and then squinting from the sun’s glare wondering how long it will take the merchants to be lost on her side of the island once more.

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Purple Coffee

Fiction by | January 22, 2012

The alarm clock rings at 5 o’clock in the morning. Jasmine lazily stretches her arms out to the side table, and turn off the alarm. Once again, she hugs her pillow and folds her legs. She’s still sleepy from last night’s dinner date with her friends. She doesn’t want to get up but she has to. She has made herself a promise. She slowly forces herself to move; she gets up, washes her face and brushes her teeth. Then, she pulls her running clothes from the closet. She combs her hair and pulls it up, and wears her socks and slips her feet into her running shoes. It’s the first day of September and this day will be different for Jasmine. Today, she will not be reporting to the architectural firm which has stressed her out for almost 5 years; she won’t be seeing Paul, and she will be living her life in such a way that she has never lived before. She closes their front door and looks at the purple hue of the peaceful sky. A mild breeze plays with her ponytail. It’s still quite dark and she’s a little scared because she has never done this alone before. Nevertheless, she takes the last step on the porch, gets into her car and leaves.

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Lamat

Poetry by | January 22, 2012

Akong gibaktas ang mangingilad nga kalasangan
aron ako makaabot sa among tugkaran,
apan sa kalit akong nabantayan
ako diay wala na sa kalasangan.

Palasyong marmol kalit nga nakita
hubo nga babae sa ulan nagsayaw pa,
itoy nga nagtuwad pula ang mga mata
Diyos ko! Asa nakong dapita!

Apan akong gibati ang lami nga pagbati
nga nialibyo sa kahadlok kong gihikbi,
kwarta, bulawan ug pagkaon sa ako gidalit
apan ako sa ila kinahanglan magpabilin.

Sa dili layo akong nadunggan
pagtawag kanako sa akong hingtungdan,
ug karon ako nang nakat-onan
nga ako sa kalasangan pila ka adlaw nang nawala.

—
Born in Bislig City, Surigao del Sur, Michael is a 3rd year student of AB Literature at USeP.

Ang Pluma Ko’y Balisong

Poetry by | January 22, 2012

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Ng isang mandirigmang makata,
Hinulma ng nagbabagang puso
At nag-aalab na mithi;
Pilit mang sakluban 
Ay ‘di mapupurol.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Na tutusok sa bawat manhid na dibdib,
Nang ang sakit ay madiin
At nang matutong masaktan at lumaban.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Na hihiwa sa mahigpit nilang pagkakahawak,
Puputol sa kamay ng mga nagmamani-obra
At lalagot sa ideolohiyang sila ang bubuhay sa atin.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Na palaging nakasikbit sa gilid,
Ipapares laban sa kanilang mga baril
Ngunit magtatagumpay kahit pa sa kamatayan.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Isang malakas na boses at ‘di mapapaos,
Ang talim nito’y sing-talas ng mga matang dilat–
Patuloy na naghuhukay sa loob ng bawat isa
Nang masilayan ang mga bayaning nakahimlay.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Na patuloy na magtatalop sa makapal na balat
ng nakaraang pagpapakasasa,
Huhugis ng mga tulos upang gawing marka sa sukat
ng kalayaang ‘di matatansya.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong 
Isang tansong pamana mula sa rebulosyunaryong mga ninuno,
Isang tunay na hudyat ng kalayaan at ‘di isang huwad na panulat.

Ang pluma ko’y balisong
Maparam man ang aking panandaliang buhay,
Ang mapula nitong kaluluwa ay walang humpay na magpapasalin-salin
hanggang sa diwa at puso ng mga makatang isisilang pa. 

Ang likido nitong pula ay patuloy na dadanak sa papel ng ating
kasaysayan.

—
Anneliese O. Lomboy studied AB in English at the University of Southeastern University.

Epiphanies

Nonfiction by | January 15, 2012

Back in the time when I still traveled, I found myself in a business meeting in a small town outside of Nice in the South of France. The meeting lasted a few days, over which time I met colleagues from other parts of the world. That being my first (and so far, only) time in Europe, I decided to extend my stay for just one more day to see the sights that I could take in.

What can you do with just one extra day? If you’re along the main train lines in Europe, plenty. I headed down to the station, took a look at the map, readied my coins, and journeyed as far as I could to both ends of the line. On one terminal point was Cannes, the same city famed for its movie festival; on the other end was the small Italian city of Ventimiglia. In between was the city of Nice and…wait for it…the principality of Monaco.

With not much time to plan, I just went wherever the train and my feet took me. In that one day, I covered ampitheaters, plazas, roadside cafes, restaurants, museums, and churches.

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