Hyposmia

Poetry by | September 19, 2010

Maybe it was not the sea-breeze
you smelled but your tears
after your long try to understand
fragrance.
I tell you, a bouquet of roses
is not enough for you to smell
love.

My comrade loves you. Ask him
to crush the fallen petals
of lilies and orchids in the wild.
Let him perspire.
The scent of sweat is sweet
when offered for love.
Then forget about the flowers.

Go with him in the jungles.
He will tell you which river
is safer to cross.
Rivers, unlike seas, keep
more danger. He knows it.
Because of the water’s smell?
Perhaps. With the enemies
around, a river stinks.
You may not be able to smell
the danger of that river.
But his breaths and whispers
will tell you the fragrance
of the word trust.
You are not alone, with him
and with the masses.

No cure for your hyposmia?
Ah, I regret, my friend.
Your crush’s cologne may smell good.
But did he know you cared?
Smell is not a feeling.
What feels better is to have
someone with you who would savor
the sweetness of a mango.
Or maybe someone who would leave
another set of footprints
beside yours, along the shore.

—-
Paul Randy Gumanao is a BS Chem Student at AdDU who recently attended the IYAS Creative Writing Workshop 2010.

Summer's Tears

Poetry by | September 19, 2010

limitless, yet limited.
i’m back to my one-two beat.
lips sweetly bruised,
i’m at the best location
at the almost perfect hour
the moments of which
i don’t really remember.

your heat
and the firsts of many things
and nothing new
are what make this summer sizzle

and what put summer’s tears
to utter shame.

—-
Krizia Banosan Garcia makes the most of life being a tambay.

Kei by the Stream

Fiction by | September 12, 2010

I discovered that stream while wandering through the woods of Singao, just beyond our house, the last house of Apo Sandawa Phase 2. As a little girl, the forest was my playground.

It was a small stream in a shady clearing, barely larger than my arms outstretched, just a few inches above my ankle. In and along it were stones of different sizes. I would go there before going to school in the morning and after coming home. I kept it clean by picking up and burying the dried leaves and rearranging the stones that seem out of place.

No one else knew about it, and it became the secret center of my love for the forest. If I wasn’t in school or at home doing chores, I was by its banks, where I read or just listened to the sound of the gushing water.

I was in early sixth grade, just twelve years old, when I first met him.

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This Stolen Moment

Poetry by | September 12, 2010

It feels right to lie
down on these sheets
damped with our own sweat.
It must be like falling
in love with them,
as I for you,
where we hide
ourselves, naked
like truth, secured enough
to let go of our fears
tonight that I’m the one
whom you fix your eyes on.
Not him. Not even
his eyes, dazzling of love-
promises, like the diamond
you let him wear
‘round your finger.
Like the pearls
he surprised you
after your first, I wish
your last, anniversary kiss.
Unlike our love alone
that can’t afford
to objectify itself
through those shiny stones.
Tonight I can care
less. Or not at all. Since there’s
no absence of heat
when it comes to your touch
like you do to me
on these sheets we have
rented for a short time.
Like each chance
your lips warm the chill-
worn cracks of mine
that makes me realize
how cold the night
like the accusation
of the world outside
that says we’re wrong.

—-
Gino studies at Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan, Cagayan de Oro City.

Remembering Fr. Rudy

Nonfiction by | September 5, 2010

In 1948, the Ateneo de Davao University was founded by three Jesuit Fathers — Fr. Theodore Daigler, Fr. Alfredo Paguia, Fr. Grant Quinn — and two Jesuit scholastics — James Donelan and Rudolfo Malasmas. Among these five pioneers, Fr. Rudolfo “Rudy” A. Malasmas, SJ was the last one to pass away. He was the only one among the five pioneers to expire and be laid to rest here in Davao City. Following an episode of cardiac failure, Fr. Rudy peacefully returned to his Creator last July 11 at 6:36 in the evening at Davao Doctors Hospital. He died on a Sunday. When Fr. Rudy’s heart stopped beating, he was surrounded by his Jesuit family, his nieces, a nephew, a grandniece, and some close friends — people he sincerely cared for, and people who sincerely cared for him.

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Covered

Poetry by | September 5, 2010

wings of a butterfly
covered my eyes
So gentle, so sweet
so smooth like a dye.

Reasons are not here
to answer me why;
why those gentle wings
made me smile,
made me cry.

—-
Reymond Pepito is a Mass Comm student from Ateneo de Davao University.

Ga-i Ko'g Itik, Parts

Poetry by | September 5, 2010

Parts, daghan man daw itik sa inyong tugkaran?
Naa kay mahatag nako?
Kanang nindot ug lawas, ha?
Kanang maayo mokimbot
Sa iyahang sampot.

Ayaw nang sobra katambok
Basin dali ra kayo hangoson.
Ug usa pa, di ko ana,
Kusog man gud na mokaon.

Ayaw pud nang niwang
Basin dali ra kaayo kapoyon.
Ug usa pa, di ko ana,
Wa may lami kaonon ang bukogon.

Kanang sakto lang og lawas
Para maigo sa akong kalha,
Kung asa siya akong lutoon
Aron sa kalipay ako iyang busogon.

—-
Si Jayson Parba usa ka magtotodlo sa Capitol University, Cagayan de Oro City.

The Curse of Fanfic

Nonfiction by | August 29, 2010

In what must have been a first for any writers workshop in the country, last summer’s Ateneo de Davao Writers Workshop featured stories from the genre of fanfic.  As the screener for the applications, I take responsibility for the ensuing misadventures; but I confess I also found much amusement in the resulting collision of cultures between the panel and the fellows.

Fanfic, if you’re not aware of the term, is short for fan fiction. Its writers take characters from juvenile books, TV series, video games, and anime, and cobble together new stories around them. Because of this lack of originality, the genre doesn’t get much respect. But because of the popularity of the source material, many young people gravitate to the genre, either as readers or writers.

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