Poetry by Paul Randy Gumanao | January 24, 2010
As long as they have names
they are not small
I could easily point to Kitty
among the group of cats
or turn to Mr. Paw among the dogs
and stroke its furry back
I know of a lion named Torr
whose only pride is its misfortune
of having a coarse, roaring voice
and a terrifying looks
enough to startle the herons at poise
Editor's Note by Ricardo de Ungria | January 17, 2010
In the June 28, 2009 issue, a short story titled “Jonathan” by Jeff Javier was published in DAGMAY by editor Vanessa Doctor. Then on Dec. 13, 2009, I also published a slightly different version of “Jonathan” but credited to Laverne de la Cruz. I asked the two authors for clarification but only Mr. Javier replied.
It is now clear to me that
(1) the story “Jonathan” is authored by Mr. Javier;
(2) the June 9 version is the second version while the Dec. 13 version was the first draft, as explained by Mr. Javier;
(3) the story is a “spinoff” from “Christine” by Lilledeshan Bose (which begins, “Everybody has a girlfriend named Christine. Kris, Christy, Tin-Tin/ Ina Christina, Tina, Kat, Trina.”) which is the second part of her “Break-Up Stories”;
(4) Mr. Javier had sent me almost a year ago the first version together with a poem written “after Laverne de la Cruz”; and
(5) somehow in my previous shuffling of pieces while doing editorial work for DAGMAY, the byline of Ms. de la Cruz got appended to that “Jonathan” version in my file that I inadvertently published in December last year as a work by Laverne de la Cruz.
No wonder she has not replied to my email—there was no need to reply. The error was wholly mine and it was unintended and not meant to malign the reputations of Mr. Javier and Ms. de la Cruz. My apologies therefore to Jeff and Laverne for the mistake. Ricardo de Ungria
Nonfiction by Aldory Gevero | January 17, 2010
As I reflect on my life, I have come to appreciate how paper has shaped my personal life. My parents were bound by a legal paper called a marriage certificate. This marked the start of my life in this world. My birth certificate strengthened the legitimacy of my citizenship after my birth. We know how important this paper is. We need it in all our legal transactions.
When I was still young, I remember how my mother would drive away my sadness by making origami birds. She would give me paper birds of different designs and colors. And how I enjoyed playing with paper planes! Another source of my pleasure was expressing my feelings through drawings on my notebooks. I drew anime and cartoon characters. My self-esteem would increase when my classmates expressed their appreciation of my drawings. I also felt delight in looking at different pictures in books, magazines, and comics even without understanding the written texts. Later, I started to find joy in reading beautiful stories and informational selections from any reference papers. Then, I found recreation in writing my own papers that serve as my ultimate self-expression.
Poetry by Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon | January 17, 2010
So one day you stop worrying about
whether your thighs look like two separate entities
under a short skirt,
you decide to bite the damned day to a drunken end
and drive off to where everybody else is-some gala or opening
or show, whatever, of things
you cannot take anymore of. You swing into the place,
like a broken gate banging against a wall,
scan the crowd, cluck a tongue against your cheek ‘cause
everyone’s sitting in even numbers or standing around
talking about
that thing you all talked about just last night.
You find yourself in a unisex room
where you fluff out your hair around bare shoulders ‘cause
you forgot to pretend to care about
the growth under your arms. You put on an eyebrow as you listen in
to cubicle doors slamming shut, and the water running-
to drown the secret sounds of ladies rooms.
Outside, your friends sip on free colored drinks and you are tired
just looking at them, and you sit with a stranger, look at a point
on the wall behind his head,
and ask for a cigarette right before
you forget to ask his name.
—-
Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon is a poet and visual artist based in Cagayan de Oro.
Poetry by Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon | January 17, 2010
You stand on the edge of a cliff
and wail a storm about
a lover, imagining those muscles-
they seem to ripple all over that body.
He rode a horse into the evening light
and you follow suit, clutching an insignificant hem,
leaving that sleeve over one heaving breast.
Play by Henrietta Diana de Guzman | January 10, 2010
MGA TAUHAN:
Maggie Dela Victoria: Labing-siyam na taong gulang na student Nurse. Maganda. Makapal kung mag make-up.
C.I. Leon De Lima: Clinical Instructor nila Maggie at Rhea. Boyfriend ni Liza. Naka-eyeglasses.
Liza Mandacawan: Girlfriend ni Leon. Pasyente sa bed A.
Nurse Tan: Ang NOD (Nurse On Duty sa eleven to seven shift) sa Delivery room
Dr. Ruiz: Ang magpapaanak sa mga pasyente.
Rhea Valera: Matalino, ngunit pangit na classmate ni Maggie.
Patient 2: Pasyente sa bed B
Patient 3: Pasyente sa bed C
Lunan at oras ng dula: Gabi. Makalat ang tatlong hospital beds sa Delivery room ng Davao Medical Center. Lahat ay busy sa pag-aasikaso ng kani-kanilang endorsement call. Si Doktor Ruiz, Nurse Tan, at C.I Leon lang ang on duty. Pupunta ang studyanteng si Rhea sa bed B at uumpisahan ang pag-assess sa kanyang pasyente. Si Leon naman ay uupo sa Nurse station table at uumpisahang i- checheck ang Student Nurse Records. Biglang bubukas ang pintuan. Mahingal-hingal na dadating si Maggie.
Poetry by Hannah Louise Enanoria | January 10, 2010
May tao akong nakilala
Sa kanto dose nakatira
Ang pangalan niya’y Pasito
Trabaho niya’y pagtataho.
Umupo ako sa kanyang silong
Pansin ko’y suot niya’y ‘sang dumihin
At putikang kamiseta
Nabahiran na ng grasa
Ng kapanayamin ko siya
Halatang si Pasito’y nangangayat
Epekto raw iyon ng karukhaan
Ng gobyernong ‘di makandungan
“Noong unang panahon”
Dagdag niya, “Ako’y may nagawa.
Naging bahagi ako ng kudeta
At gobyerno aking inasinta”
“Nang mahuli ako ng mga opisyal
Dinala ako sa isang nanlilimahid na lugar.
At doon ako’y kinawawa
‘Di nila alintana ang aming paghihirap
Sa gilid ng bulubundukin
Pinarusahan, iniwang duguan
Sa buhos ng malakas na ulan
Naging lugmok aking katauhan
“Katarungan nami’y hinarangan
Kalayaan, aming inaasam-asam.”
Sa sobrang ipit ‘di ko napansin
Nawala na si Pasito sa aking paningin
Naalala ko huling hirit nya
Habang binulay-bulay mga alaala
“Pag-atake sa mga tiwali
Sadya nga bang mali?”
—-
Hannah Louise Enanoria is a 3rd year AB Sociology student of ADDU.
Fiction by Coleen Estoque, Katrina Dospueblos, Melissa Doctor | January 3, 2010
“One order of Adobo,” uttered Mario while drawing a 20 peso bill out of his battered wallet.
Maja stood up from her wooden stool and took a glance at the bulky man at the counter. Probably at his mid-forties, he had a white towel hung on his left shoulder and wore a simple white shirt and faded jeans. Behind him was a shabby karinderia with just four tables and a few plastic chairs. Fortunately, it was break time. The usual people: the jeepney driver, their 12-year-old neighbor, the college student and the street vendor were there. Her father, Felipe, was not — as usual. Where was he? She couldn’t tell.