So Real

Fiction by | February 6, 2011

As the song goes, “If I can make it there. I’ll make it anywhere. New York! New York!” 

But Tricia was barely making it.

Carrying what seemed like ten watermelons inside her belly, she willed her brain to suck all the tears back in.  She knew that even a sigh would place her in danger of losing her very fragile control.  It was a good thing her neighbors, John and Mayen, offered to drive.  If it weren’t for the waves of alternating intense fire and knives that radiated from her abdomen, she would have felt deep humiliation.

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Our Love Story

Nonfiction by | January 30, 2011

If you really wanted to hear about it, you will probably want to know where I was born, what the entirety of my not-so-lousy childhood was, and all that crap. But you do not, and that’s good. Besides, I am not going to write my autobiography or whatever, like I am going to die soon. Duh. I am going to tell you about the whole madman process of how I learned English. And hey, looking back, it seems you can compare English to a guy, or heck, maybe a boyfriend. The kind you want to hug and choke at the same time.

Where I want to start telling you all this stuff is when we first met. I was still very young (I was in preschool that time). At that time, it really did not matter to me who he was or what he was; I did not need to know him yet, at least at that point. So, for all intents and purposes at that time, we were just acquaintances. Our teachers wanted me to get to know English better, and use it more often, but it wasn’t a requirement just yet.

And if it is not a requirement, would any kid do it if she did not like it anyway?

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We Might Soon Be Extinct (or Not)

Nonfiction by | January 30, 2011

Why do I write? I have asked myself this question often and most of the time I get a low humming sound from the back of my brain. How lovely.

I write maybe because I want to or maybe because I need to? I write because I have something that I believe in? I write for the people who cannot read and who cannot write, for the people who can’t speak and understand Bisaya, for the people who can’t even spell their names, for the people who go to sleep hungry, for the babies who are not even born yet? I torment my mind with questions that even I cannot answer clearly regarding my being a writer.

Residing in Davao City gives me a lot of things to write about, from the usually uneventful jeepney rides from Boulevard to Mintal to the (maybe) interesting lives of the people that I see with their palms open burning under the heat of the sun, begging on the streets, or the people who frequent the malls some of them indifferent to the problems that plague our society and some of them wanting to forget their own problems even just for a short while, or the people who are living under Bolton bridge. It seems to me that they have a lot of stories to tell under their ordinary, unassuming guises. They only need someone who would listen to their unspoken chronicles and tell it for them. I don’t know if I would be that person, but I want to be that person someday, somehow. I want their stories to be told and not lost in the fleeting current that is life.

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Gising at Mulat

Poetry by | January 30, 2011

Ako’y nabuhay ng gising
Gising sa bawa’t kataga
Gising sa bawa’t salita
Gising saking bawa’t gawa.
Ako’y nabuhay ng mulat
Mulat aking mga mata
Mulat itong kaluluwa
Sa tinatahak ng paa.

Kitang kita ko ang tinta,
Ang bawa’t guhit at pinta
Ang bawa’t hugis at hubog
Ang bawa’t ilaw at linya.
Natatanaw ko ang daang,
Patungo sa katapusan
Patungo sa kabayaran
Nitong aking bawa’t hakbang.

Ako’y nabuhay ng gising,
Mulat sa bawa’t alamat
Alam ko’ng ang bawa’t sulat
Ay may sukli na katapat.
Ngunit bakit ba ganito?
Alam ko na mali ito,
Kasalanan itong sakdal
Kumakawag pa rin ako

Bakit di ko malabanan,
Bakit di ko mapataob
Halimaw na nilalamo’t
Nagpapahina ng loob?
Hindi na nga yata sapat,
Malaman tama sa mali
Dapat matutong magbuhat
Ng maleta’t magmadali.

Dahil baka mapag-iwanan,
Ka na nga ng panahon.
Mga prinsipyo mo noon
Baka di na angkop ngayon.
Hindi na nga yata sapat,
Maging gising maging mulat.
Dapat malaman mo kung paano
Ihahagis ang lambat.

Jhunorjim Caumbo Zandueta is a Computer Engineering student from ADDU.

Ka (Adlaw) on

Poetry by | January 24, 2011

Ngit-ngit pah ug tugnaw gihapun,
Ang mga dahon nakayuko, mga bulak nakapilo.
Kahilum nigakos sa palibot, ni hunghong wala,
Mga mananap tulog pah, mga bampira ug wakwak pauli nah.

Ang yuta basa sa ni-agi na ulan gabii,
Gilkaligu-an ang dugay nang uga na yuta.
Sa pag gakos sa katugnaw sa mga dahon,
Nakahilak sila, ang luha na anaa sa tumoy,
Mihulat sa una na pag-agi sa bugnaw na hangin,
Muuyog, mupukaw sa tulog na kalag.
Ang luha mutulo, mutabo sa buhi nga yuta.

Pila pa ka oras ang milabay,
Ang kamatuoran sa tanan misidlak nah.
Ang kahayag na mikalat, mikatag, mipukaw sa tanan.
Nitugsok, nidunggab sa mga dahon.
Dili para mupatay kun dili para mubuhi.
Tanan maagi-an, mimata, nabati ang pagpukaw sa kinaiyahan
Na dala puros gugma — ngadto sa tanan,
Wala nag nilaog.

Ug ang mga dahon nituskig, magsugod sa bag.o nga adlaw.
Ang mga bulak mibukad, hatagan ang kalibutan sa  bag.o nga paglaum.
Mga mananap, magamay-madaku, nilihok, nilakaw, nigawas —
Para ipadayun ang kinabuhi.

Kini ang kamatuoran na kulang ang pagsabot para mahibaw-an.
Kinahanglan bati-on, buhi-on.
Ug dili puede na dili, ang tao apil niini.
Sa kadlawon ang paghulat sa paglaum na hayahay.
Dili gabii ni buntag.
Sinugdanan ug Katapusan.
Sa kadlawon, gibuhat ang tanan.

Tyron Keith Sabal is finishing his undergrad studies in philosophy at Xavier University, Ateneo de Cagayan.

Taboan International Writers Festival in Davao

Editor's Note | January 20, 2011

Dear Friends,

From February 10 to 12, we will hold the Taboan Writers Festival at the Royal Mandaya Hotel. The festival will bring in writers from all over the Philippines. This is your chance to meet those whose work you have read and to discuss with them their craft.

The main component of the festival will be conference sessions. Throughout the three days, we will talk about our roots in culture and the directions that young writers are taking Philippine literature. Supporting this activity are book launchings, book fairs, outreach visits to schools in Davao, cultural performances, and awards for esteemed writers in Mindanao.

Taboan is free and open to the public (though if you wish to have lunch at the hotel for the three days of the conference, you have the option to pay the P1,500 deluxe guest fee.)

Please visit the Taboan web site for details of the conference. We would appreciate if you could take the time to register if you are attending. And please forward this invitation to your friends.

Thank you. Hope to see you at Taboan!

Who you are

Poetry by | January 17, 2011

you trace my life with your finger tips
you slice through my defense with your words
you guide me with your eyes into the deep
so i would drown and taste death on the tip of my tongue
while you argue with yourself if i’m worth reviving
you are the wonderful poison running
zooming through my veins at the moment
the sweetest pain of a passing day
a destructive force that keeps me intact
and straddling between reality and fantasy
a chorus that bends my bones with every note
an infinity that could end in a few more blinks
uncertainty and a promise
you are everything and nothing specific
a pool of limitations and possibilities
with sprinkles and spiders on top

Krizia Banosan Garcia is a regular contributor to this page.

Sometimes She Forgets

Fiction by | January 17, 2011

Demi felt quite lucky with her job at the gym. It was relatively easy although there were, of course, the occasional problems with the members (a missing baggage, a terrible schedule). It was sort of boring too as one had nothing to do but sit down behind the counter and watch the same types of people go by. The beefed-up, the obese, the bony, and the curvy. Nevertheless, it still turned out beautiful. A pretty job where pay, privileges, and chances of meeting cute guys were all high. What else could top that?

She deserved this, she had always thought. And she worked hard to maintain all of it.

Everyday, she would come to the workplace with a frappe in one hand and, on the other, a fresh bouquet that she had bought from Agdao. She would then boot up the computer, check each itinerary—the services that had been bought, the fees of the members, the other important schedules—and rechecked them again. She had to make sure that throughout the course of the day she accomplishes her schedule so that she wouldn’t have to postpone anything.

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