Your Name

Fiction by | June 6, 2010

“Eleonora Amador?” the receptionist asks as she looks at around. Could she have been expecting the old woman to stand as the name was called? When you stand, she looks at you from head to foot then smiles wryly.

You are confident that you look your best today. You wear a ruffled blouse paired with skin-tight black leggings. You look even younger than your past twenty last November. You nod your curl-crowned head thinking of how many times people have wondered about that name of yours and how many times you have had to claim it as yours.

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Salamat, Kuya

Poetry by | May 30, 2010

Nangandoy ko nga motubo og paspas aron maapsan tika.
Napul-an na ko sa pagsul-ob sa imong tinuboang sapatos
nga baho og mga langyawng pangandoy.

Ang mga tinuboan mong sinina guot na kaayo
sa akong dughan. Kanunay ko nga gahilak kon masimhotan
ang nahibiling tinagoan sa imong ilok.

Unsaon, kay lagi, matod ni tatay ‘pobre ra ta’.
Sigon ni nanay, ‘mapuslan pa man na.’
Unya karon, ang imo na pung brip?

Kon may kamot lang ning akong kinatawo,
manampong gyud ni.
Pero sige na lang. Katapusan na ni.

Kay sukad karon, matod mo,
ang imong sul-obon kay panty.
Hay, salamat, kuya.

—-
Paul Randy P. Gumanao is BS Chem Student at AdDU who loves to write poems

Venerations

Poetry by | May 30, 2010

I hold them in open palms
Clipped with my thumb
I cradle them, as one cradles something sacred
I watch as they burn a fire short-lived
I watch them
Glow, ghostly in this heavy darkness
Bringing silence to those who gaze
They leave white smoke trails
Trailing off to unknown planes
Carrying with them prayers I have not uttered
As they strip their way down
They leave ashes in their wake
Filling the air with sweet pungent fragrance
Enough to wake the dead

—-
Fritz Gerald M. Melodi finished BA Psychology from Ateneo de Davao University.

Me, Through You

Poetry by | May 30, 2010

for Bryan Carlo Manos

Each time your hand
touches mine
or some other part of my body,

I shiver until I have goose bumps.

Each time your hand
travels on my hair, my skin, or the sole of my left foot,
the world lights up until
I see nothing but a big, bright ball of light.

Each time your hand
maps me
and some other parts of my body,

I feel
my
self.

—-
Hiyasmin Espejo is a writing major at UP Mindanao and was a fellow in this year’s DWG Writers Workshop.

New Year's Eve

Fiction by | May 30, 2010

You have been very busy preparing for tonight. It is the last day of the year, and you have been on a holiday rush, along with others, who are milling about in the mall, jostling one another in the supermarket. You decide to tag me along so that you can have someone to carry the bags of groceries, which are enough to last for a week. I suspect that all of them are for tonight; you’re the type who welcomes the New Year lavishly. Have you checked our purchases? Have you noticed the seemingly countless round fruits in Styrofoam and All-wrap bearing their weight in my hand? As we ford through the crowd, I try to keep close to you, lest I get lost and won’t be able to make it home with you tonight. (Walking the distance between the mall and our house is out of the question; it would be too far. And I can’t call you up on a cellphone—you simply refuse to give me one although I have always said that I’m old enough to have one.) I can already imagine myself—while we hurry through the throng of the holiday-fevered shoppers—being alone in the huge mall, crying, like how a child would, looking for you, running through the maze of people, beset with fear that will last until the stroke of midnight. I don’t want to spend the rest of my year wailing. It’s one of the countless things you have taught me—to welcome the New Year with happiness.

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The Davao Writer's Workshop: Funnest Summer Ever

Nonfiction by | May 23, 2010

I decided to stop writing almost a year ago for certain personal reasons. But becoming a part of the workshop made me reevaluate things. The moment I stumbled on the announcement of DAGMAY (online page of the Davao Writers Guild) calling out for aspiring writers to submit pieces for the Davao Writer’s Workshop 2010, I got a jolt I couldn’t ignore. I felt I should give it a shot. What the hell, if they ignore me then it’s not for me; but if I get accepted—well, I’ll have to see where it goes.

Continue reading The Davao Writer's Workshop: Funnest Summer Ever

Balota

Poetry by | May 16, 2010

dati-rati’y manu-mano
at taimtim kong isinusulat sa balota
ang mga pangalan ng aking kandidato
habang umuusal ng dalangin
na sana ang bayan ko ay makaahon
sa kumunoy ng karukhaan.

maraming beses na akong umasa
na sagrado ang aking boto,
na santo ang napiling kandidato.

maraming beses na akong tumaya
sa mga pulitiko, antigo at bagito,
nadaya o nandaya.

ngayon ay mas mahaba na ang balota,
napakaraming pagpipilian, may party list pa.
isusubo ko ang balota sa makina
(hindi na sa ballot box)
dahil ang eleksyon ay automated na.

sana ako ay  tumabla na
kahit minsan lang
sa muli kong pagsusugal.

—-
Vangie Dimla-Algabre teaches high school students.

The Sound of Death

Poetry by | May 16, 2010

What is the sound of death for you? Silence?
No hymns and screams and cries? Just pain inside?
You don’t feel hate, anger, or malevolence—
Just solitude. Everything else you hide.
For me death sounds like distant screams at dawn,
Screaming and crying infants left alone,
Running footsteps on stone pavements and lawn,
And the high pitched ring of the telephone.
The constant counting of one, two, and three
and the fading wail of an ambulance.
Quiet street and rustling leaves of a tree.
Seeing the tree’s shadow reflect a dance.
Electric fan on, myself praying
To God that dad will come back home breathing.

—-
Ella Jade Ismael, a writing major in UP Mindanao, was a fellow at the recent DWG Writers Workshop.