Zeta's Quest

Fiction by | March 14, 2010

Because she was the last girl on earth, Zeta’s only friends were Sally the Seabird and Terry the Turtle.

Every day, the friends would meet on the island where Zeta lived. Terry and Zeta would swim in the water. Sally would swoop from the sky to catch fish they could eat.

One morning, while at play, Sally dove in for a catch. However, unlike before, she did not emerge from the water. “Something is wrong,” said Zeta.

“I see something,” said Terry. He swam out to sea. When he returned, he bore Sally on his back. Her neck and wings were trapped in a yellow thing.

Continue reading Zeta's Quest

Walking the Night

Poetry by | March 7, 2010

(for Dorothy)

A wounded soul in a black dress
walks the night alone.
The smell of vodka and nicotine in her mouth
and her face a picture of a broken heart.
The city is like a portrait of her
and her past love – a broken promise
hanging on the wall of her memory,
a treasure she guards with tears.

Continue reading Walking the Night

Probabilities

Fiction by | March 7, 2010

Assuming that Rudolf is in front, there are 40,320 ways to arrange the other eight reindeer, he boasted as he came up to me with a new book about probabilities. Peter stood about 5’6” but he looked shorter than he actually was because he was duck-footed and because he always wore oversized shirts. He sat beside me, brushed his nose and gave me that kind of ‘you-don’t-know-this-dummy’ look, and I wanted to break his nose for it. Except for the fact that I couldn’t, of course.

Continue reading Probabilities

Ang Kakaibang Pangako

Fiction by | February 28, 2010

Nangyari ang lahat sa loob lamang ng sampung buwan at isang linggo. Ngunit para kay Nico, ang maikling panahon na iyon ang maituturing niyang pinakamahalagang panahon sa buhay niya. Pagkat sa panahong iyon lang siya nagbuhos ng maraming luha, nagmahal ng todo at nawalan bigla. Batid niya pa rin sa kanyang puso’t isipan ang lahat-lahat ng nangyari sa maikling panahon na iyon.

Ang simula’y malabo pa. Pasukan noon at nasa ika-apat na taon na ng kolehiyo si Nico. Isa siya sa Top Three ng buong paaralan nila. Mahilig siyang kumanta at tumugtog. Sa katunayan, siya ang pinakamagaling tumugtog ng gitara sa buong kampus nila. Siya rin ang may pinakamagandang boses sa mga lalaki. Ngunit pagdating sa pag-ibig ay mahina si Nico.

Continue reading Ang Kakaibang Pangako

Saranggi Port

Poetry by | February 21, 2010

Minsan noong pababa tayo
sa padyak galing eskuwelahan
dito sa lumang daungan
na dati’y ginamit ng Espanya
sa pagkalakal ng alak,
sinabi mo ang pinaghalong
halimuyak ng ilang-ilang
sa gitna ng liwasan at
simoy ng dagat ay walang
katulad.

Habang kumukuha tayo
ng litrato ng mga mangingisdang
nasa balsa sumasagwan,
namimingwit, naglalambat,
nag-uunahan sa kuha,
hindi ko alintana
ang oras kahit
dapithapon na.

Continue reading Saranggi Port

In Due Time

Nonfiction by | February 21, 2010

In finding a job in the Philippines, many feel that the palaksan system always prevails: it’s not what you know, but whom you know. But I have come to learn that sometimes, things can come in their own time. As Kuya Kim on TV says: “Ang buhay ay weather-weather lang.”

In the summer of 1997, I applied for a job at the Department of Education in Agusan del Norte. After the competitive exam, the interviews, and the teaching demonstration, I emerged sixth among the more than two hundred applicants from the entire province.

Three months later, I still didn’t get a position while those who ranked lower than me had already been assigned as substitutes in our own town, Nasipit. My co-applicant, a neighbor of mine, said knowingly: “Bisan unsa pa ka kataas sa ranking ba ug wala’y lakas, ‘la man jud.” No matter how high you rank in the exam, if you don’t know anyone, it will all come to naught.

Continue reading In Due Time

A Lump of Clay

Poetry by | February 14, 2010

The dirt under his nails—gray
mud scraped to shape
my body. My body
is a lump of clay
on the potter’s wheel,
slick palms tracing the curves,
dripping clay
covers the potter’s hand going down
inside the jar. What smooth rings
his fingers create, moans
of solemn earth, shaped
to become my body. My body
enters the kiln, gasps from the heat
of the fire within, burning
the skin of his fingers off my body
until I’m done—
a hollow
vessel
of burnt clay.

—-
Maureen Ronquillo is a senior creative writing student at UP Mindanao.