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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Two Pesos

Fiction by | January 2, 2011

The rain starts to pour as daylight chases the fleeting light of dawn. The idea of having to leave my work now that I am hearing rumors of promotion in the advertising company puts me in a hysterical state. But mother insisted that I must return so I could see the house.

It has been six years since I left the country. I worked as an advertising agent and a private tutor and at the same time finished my MBA. It felt like I was strangled with a barbed wire. For all that hard work, I was able to build my mother a house which had been completed five months ago. But she would never have a house blessing in my absence. She would never understand that one week of my work is more important than rituals. I’m sure the priest’s incantations and throwing of coins will ward off evil spirits even without me. And the holy water will do all the tricks.

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Message Sent

Nonfiction by | December 19, 2010

I opened my inbox and read his message, “How was your class this morning?” I checked the name again and read the message twice. Beside the open envelope was his registered name in my phone: Papa. I stared at the screen as I was thinking of what to reply. But I couldn’t think of any. And I really didn’t know how to reply to a question like that from a person like him. I put my cell phone on the bed and went to the bathroom, thinking that maybe I could come up with a reply after a bath.

It was a strange message from a person so strange to me. My father’s message was like an admiration of a tough professor for his student’s work. For the student, her professor’s words were more than that. It was a bizarre treasure that would be kept in her mind and heart for at least, forever. I could ignore that message and a hundred more sweet messages from someone like my boyfriend, but not a message from my father. He was a man of few words so it was not like him to ask questions like that. Seemingly out of nowhere, a father’s message was saved in my inbox.

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Lagalag

Poetry by | December 19, 2010

Hampas ng hangin ay lubhang malakas
Buhos ng ulan ay sobrang bigat
Subalit walang madamang lamig
Walang patak na bumabagsak.

Dahon ng anahaw ay humahampas
Katawan ng kawaya’y pilit umiiwas
Ngunit walang marinig na lagaslas
Kawayang payat langitngit ay ingat na ingat.

Ganyan ka sa iyong pag-iisa
Manhid at walang madama
Pinagmulan ay pilit mong kinalimutan
Kinabukasan ay pilit mong tinatakasan.

Namnamin mo sakit ng iyong kamanhiran
Tiisin mo sugat ng iyong nakaraan
At sa sulok ng iyong kaibuturan
Matutuklasan mayroon kang masasandigan.

Hindi ka nag-iisa kaibigan
Sa kamay Niya’y ‘di ka pababayaan
Minsan pa’t muli mong balikan
Buhay mong sa Kanya dapat laan.

—-
Si Ruel Soriano ay nagtuturo sa Ateneo de Davao University.

What Eddie Boy Really Wants for Christmas

Fiction by | December 12, 2010

Eddie Boy is turning five years old. He does not like his birthday — December 22! As far as he can remember, everybody is always busy celebrating some other Baby’s birthday!

Eddie Boy’s parents, Maria and Karlo, work in a small bakery. The owner provides them a small room where they stay. Business is not doing well, so the owner has had to let the young helper, Tonio, go.

Even worse, the owner tells Karlo that if saled do not pick up, he might even have to close down the bakery! Both Karlo and Maria are worried about what is going to happen. They are planning to send Eddie Boy to school next year, but the money they have saved is not enough.

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The Most Beautiful Princess That Ever Lived

Fiction by | December 5, 2010

Behind the Chinese warehouse, Carla and Agnes gathered metal scraps and any trash worth selling.

“Look!” Agnes pointed at the mountain of rusty tin cans and containers. “We hit the jackpot.”

Their eyes sparkled, overjoyed at the trove. As they carefully loaded their valuable items in their cart, they discovered a big backpack lying underneath.

“Who do you think the owner might be?” Carla asked. She never had a bag before, and she longed to have it.

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