What I Sent You at 12 a.m. on Father’s Day

Poetry | July 15, 2024

For Rowena

Perhaps, it doesn’t matter, you will think
Of him, this man, so often, that when
You were a child you would do
The obvious thing: Don’t leave me.
You didn’t understand then
But the woman you are now would say,
It embarrassed you to think of this man
To long for him, love him in his absence
It would shame you that you misunderstood
What you understand well now: Don’t.
Leave me is your way to remember
You are not that child anymore
Leave me is your way to say: I love you
To honor this man, your father
And acknowledge that: Weak men
Can be fathers too.


Sunshine C. Angcos owns PrintWaves Davao Book Publishing, a small printing and publishing business which caters for self-published writers.

Sa Akong Pagpamasol

Poetry by | July 15, 2024

Ang mga lagiti sa kawayan
Maoy nahimong musika
Sa kalanggaman nga mibatog
Sa punuan sa bayabas
Ibabaw ni anang lim-aw nga tubig.
Diin mikisaw ang tilapayang
Midagit ning akong taga.

Kining mga wati nga nanghiwid
Ning akong bagol maoy akong
Gikalingawag tadtad.
Wa usab ko masayod nga niwang
Diay ning akong napilian
Gikan sa ilawom sa banggerahan.

Gitahi ko ang ulod
Gamit ning maong taga
Aron mukapyot ning akong pasol.
Dangog apan humok
Ra siyang mipa-uraray
Human giitsa sa lim-aw
Kauban sa akong taga ug naylon.

Gikubit ang akong paon.
Mitingsi ang akong dagway
Sa kalipay nga dunay
Nailad ning maong ulod.
Mikisaw ang tubig,
Gibira ang naylon,
Nainat,
Nabugto.

Milutaw ang maong hikot.
Wa nay taga ug paon.
Mikisaw ang tubig
Ug misuksok sa layang palwa
Ilawon sa lim-aw
Ang ikaduhang tilapyang
Nagdagit sa iyang
Kalami ug kasakit.


Si Shaira S. Camsa usa ka inahan ug magtutudlo nga gikan sa Davao Oriental State University-San Isidro Campus. Nahimo siyang fellow sa balak sa Ateneo de Davao University Summer Writers Workshop 2024.

Kadtong Nag-uwan og Bayot

Poetry by | July 8, 2024

Kadtong nag-uwan og bayot
wala namatay ang Ginoo. Wala
sila migimaw gikan sa gusok
sa mapangahason, ni sa bangaw. Apan
nahimugso human midagayday ang luha
sa kinaiyahan. Niadtong maong unos
gilukop sa lunop
ang matag suok sa kalibutan,
ug gibunyagan og bag-ong ngalan
ang lapok nga gialimungawan
ilawm sa tunggo, sa karaang atabay
sa mga libaong, sa datag. Ang huyohoy
sa pamayhon mikulit. Ug
sa maong banagbanag
midagsang sa matag wait
ang way kinutobang buhakhak.
Ug sa maong panahon,
natukod ang bag-ong doktrina, bag-ong kapilya,
bag-ong skwelahan, bag-ong kusina, bag-ong plaza,
bag-ong police station, bag-ong republika, bag-ong rasa.
Puros na bayot.
Wa nay luha.


Mark Kenly Oray is a Bol-anon writer and educator. He was a fellow to the 3rd Sunday Club National Writing Workshop and the 21st Ateneo de Davao University Summer Writers Workshop. He was born in Bukidnon.

Absent, Ma’am

Fiction by | July 1, 2024

Kining maong sugilanon mananaog sa Ikaduhang Ganti sa 2007 Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature—Cebuano Short Story


DIHANG nasayod kong panawgon na ni Ma’am Fuentes ang mosunod nga mga ngalan, ako na lang giatubang ang akong dagway sa wala pa mahuman nga bungbong sa among classroom.

“Buhay, Daisy…?”

“Absent, Ma’am.”

“Buhay, Rose…?”

“Absent, Ma’am.”

Niining bahina, milapos na gyod ang akong panan-aw sa wala pa mabungbongi nga bahin sa classroom. Ang pagpangataktak ra sa bukbok sa kawayang bahin sa bungbong ang mopahinumdom nakong di gyod ko kalikay sa mosunod nga pangutana.

“Again, it has been two days. Do you know where they are?”

“Sick, Ma’am.” Sus, ako ra gyoy makalitok niining tubaga. Naanad na intawon kog balik-balik niini, sama sab sa pagsulat og “I’m sorry for being absent today because I am sick.” Bitaw, akoy tigtabang nilang Rose nga mosulat sa ilang excuse letters, apan wala na mi kasulat alang sa uban pa nilang mga pag-absent kay nahutdan na mig mga katarongan. Matingala na hinuon si Ma’m nganong sigeg “because I am sick” silang Rose.

Apan mao lagi, “Sick, Ma’am” ra gyod ang akong matubag aron makalikay sab ko nga mag-iningles! Puyde man pod gyod nakong matubag si Ma’m sa tinuod nga hinungdan sa pag-absent nilang Rose apan “speak English” man pod lagi. Mouk-ok gyod ang akong dila niining pinulongana, panington kog bugnaw nga mora bag usa ka dakong mata ang kalibotan nga nagtan-aw nako kon mag-iningles ko.

“Sick again? Rose has already had seven absences and Daisy, six. And the reason is always sick. Lani, aren’t they your neighbors? What’s happening to them?”

Pastilan! Ambot nganong “speak English” man gyod ni si Ma’m nga Math teacher man unta!

“Ma’am, they buys… bought (past tense man diay ni), buys (ay, singular man diay ni), buy shoes today in the town.” Hayyy, Ma’am, stop asking na, uy.

Mayna lang kay wala na mangutana pag-usab si Ma’m. Kasabot gyod nganong absent silang Rose kay wala ra ba niya pasudla sa klase si Rose kay nagtsinelas ra. School policy daw. Ambot ba ning eskuylahana, public man unta, naa pa gyod dinhi sa kabukiran, apan nganong estrikto man gyod sa mga yuniporm, ID, sapatos, ug uban pa. Nagpuli-puli na man gani silang Rose ug Daisy sa sapatos sa ulahi pero puli-puli pod lagi og absent.

Sa pagkatinuod lang, miabsent baya ko kas-a kay gipahulam nako si Rose og sapatos, total, wala pa man koy absent-absent. Amiga gyod nako si Rose kay kaedad-edad ra nako, kinse anyos. Katarongan nako, unsa pa diay, “for being sick today”. Gipal-otan intawon si Rose kay medyo gamay ang akong sapatos alang sa lapad niyang mga tiil, aw, unsa pa man diay ang dahomon sa tiil namong mga mag-uuma!

“Lani, I would like to talk to you after the class.”

Talk, estorya, makig-estorya si Ma’m? Ginoo ko, Iningles na sab ni! Apan human man kaha sa klase, di na ni mag-iningles no! Nindot ra ba maminaw kang Ma’m kon magbinisaya siya kay mogawas ang tono sa iyang pagka Bol-anon.

Tuod man, nakig-estorya siya nako human sa klase. Gihangyo ko niya nga among adtoon ang balay nilang Rose inigpaniudto.

Medyo layo sa amoa, singko pesos ang plete sa habalhabal matag tawo. Apan ginalakaw ra ni namo padulong sa eskuylahan sa kapin o kulang traynta minutos kay wala man intawon miy ikaplete. Mao nga magabalon na lang mig paniudto. Ang dili makabalon (kay unsaon man, kulang pa ang kasagarang pamahaw nga bulad), mouli gyod sa ilang lagyong mga balay ug lagmit dili na kabalik sa hapon labi na kon mobundak ang kusog nga ulan kay mobaha ang sapa nga labangonon padulong sa eskuylahan.

Pag-abot sa dalan, baryo lagi, basketball court ra nga donated by sa mayor ang sementado. Puwerte gyod nakong kapyot kang Ma’m. Apan si Ma’m, morag wala lang, anad na man god sa sakay-sakay. Apan malingaw ko niya kon mountol ang habalhabal kay maka-“ay, kabadyo!” siya.

Tungod kay sudlonon pa ang amoa, dili na makalahos ang habalhabal ug kinahanglang molakaw pa mi. Naagian namong naniudto ang mga nanghurnal sa pagtanom og kamatis sa usa ka luna. Giagda mi nilag paniudto. Kini si Ma’m, suod ni sa mga tawo mao nga nakigpaniudto na sab ug amo na lang gipagawas ang among mga balon nga adto man unta namo kaonon sa ilang Rose. Bulad ug sardinas amoa, piniritong isda kang Ma’m, apan nag-isig dalitay gyod matag usa.

Nagsugod nag estorya samtang nagkaon. Sus, kini si Ma’m, modalikyat gyog hapit sa mga tapok-tapok sa tindahan inig human sa klase. Usahay, hunahuna nako, mora pog nakaeskuyla ang mga mulupyo kay maghisgot sila og bayanihan ug mga kasulbaran sa mga suliran sa mga mag-uuma. Pananglit, makig-atubang daw sila sa mga tag-iya sa dagkong yuta bahin sa pagpataas sa suhol sa paghurnal. Motabang daw si Ma’m sa pagkuwenta sa angayang madawat nga suhol.

Gipalingkod mi ni Noy Junior sa bag-o niyang gipanday nga lingkoranan nga kawayan. Pagkabut-an gyod niya, uy. Tiaw mo, dili na daw siya maminyo kay siyay nagbuhi sa unom pa ka manghod. Baynte tres pa man unta pero morag trayntahon na ang dagway. Naa pay nagsunod niya nga duha ka manghod nga babaye ayha silang Rose ug Daisy apan nanimpalad sa lungsod isip mga katabang. Ang kamanghoran siyete anyos ug wala nay namat-an nga inahan kay nagtalinugo sa pagpanganak ug wala na kaabot sa ospital kay puwerteng layoa. Mga silingan ug paryente na lang ang napuli-pulig atiman sa bata.

Ang ilang papa namatay sab usa ka tuig human mipanaw ang ilang mama. Gipatay, maoy saktong pulong. Gabii kadto dihang dunay miabot nga duha ka tawo nga nagbonete. Gigaid si Noy Junior sa punoan sa ilang nag-inusarang duryan samtang pugos nga gikuha ug gipasakay sa motor ang ilang amahan. Nadunggan gyod nako ang mga siyagit nilang Rose ug ang pagtiyabaw sa ilang kamanghoran nga giduyogan sab sa pagpaghot sa ilang iro.

Daw naamang ang mga silingan niadtong tungora; mga iro ray nagkinambiyohay og paghot nga puwerte nang alingugngoga. Apan taudtaod, nag-isigtagboay na ang mga siga sa mga plaslayt sa balay nilang Rose, ang mga tambag sa mga silingan morag nagpakalma sa nagkalawom ug daw ginahuyop sa tugnaw nga hangin sa kagabhion. Naglisod kog katulog niadtong tungora, daw makabungog ang mipuling kahilom nga matugaw lang sa mga nanaglumbaay nga huni sa mga mananap.

Nakit-an na lang sunod adlaw ang patayng lawas sa ilang papa daplin sa national higway padulong sa lungsod. Dako ang pagduda sa mga molupyo nga gisalbeyds kini tungod kay nabantog nga lider sa mga mag-uuma nga nagpetisyon batok sa pagsulod sa dakong kompaniya sa logging sa ilang lugar kay makahatag daw og dakong kadaot sa kinaiyahan ug mga umahan. Napugngan ang maong kompaniya apan dunay hungihong nga duna na poy laing kompaniya sa saging nga nagplanong mosulod.

“Ma’m, sus, nangabsent ra ba gyod silang Rose kay namalit og sapatos,” sulting Noy Junior bisan wala pa kapangutana si Ma’m nganong wala nay sulod-sulod sa klase ang iyang mga igsoon.

“Sus, morag ako man tingali ang angayng basolon kay wala nako sila pasudla,” pahayag ni Ma’m.

“Makasabot man mi sa kahimtang ninyong mga titser, Ma’m. Napugos ra man pod mog patuman sa balaod.”

“Sus, mao nga duol gyod ang akong kasingkasing ninyo, uy, kay taas mog salabotan.”

“Kon makaeskuyla ra unta ang tanang kabos, Ma’m, daghang makaonor!” pasiaw ni Noy Junior.

“Ug daghan mig palitong mga medal!” pasiaw sab ni Ma’m.

Giagda mig paniudto ni Noy Junior apan sayod mi nga nahutdan na silag pagkaon.

“Giandam na diay namo ang mga kahoy alang sa pagrepir sa eskuylahan, Ma’m,” pahibalo niya.

“Sus, kinsa may di maulaw ninyo, uy, nga kamo na man gyod ang nagtukod sa eskuylahan,” sulting Ma’m.

“Kita gyoy mopanday sa atong kaugmaon, Ma’m.”

Taudtaod, nanamilit na mis Ma’m. Gipadad-an siyag mga dahon sa gabon ni Noy Junior alang kuno sa iyang UTI. Granyulon untang Noy Junior apan wala pa kuno siya kapalit og asukal. Si Ma’m na lang kuno ang mobuhat.

Naagian gihapon namo ang mga manghurnalay nga nagpadayon na sa pagpananom.

“Lakaw na mo, Ma’m?!” siyagit sa usa.

“O, lakaw na mi!” siyagit sab ni Ma’m.

Tinahod gyod ni si Ma’m sa katawhan, uy. Pinangga gyod kay tiaw nimo, gitukoran siya sa mga mulupyo og gamayng balay. Taga lungsod ni siya ug mouli-uli ra kada Sabado.

Samtang naghulat mig masakyan, taudtaod naay miabot, si Uncle Yoyong. Uncle ang tahod namo niya bisan dili namo paryente kay inila nga tig-atiman sa mga problema sa mga mag-uuma.

“Maayong hapon, Ma’m. Nakabalita na ba ka?” pangutana niya.

“Maayong hapon sab. Unsa man diay ang balita?”

Gitan-aw ko ni Uncle Yoyong. Buot pasabot, dili ko niya padunggon sa ilang panag-estoryahan. Nagpalayo sila si Ma’m.

Gipauna na lang ko ni Ma’m sa eskuylahan kay mobalik daw sila ilang Noy Junior. Gikulbaan ko, morag dunay kabalaka sa tingog ni Ma’m.

Sa mga estorya-estorya sa mga mulupyo nga akong naagian, nasayran nako ang tanan. Wala na ko molahos sa eskuylahan. Mora kog naglutaw pabalik sa amoa. Sama sa among naandan kon lapokon ang dalan, gibitbit nako ang akong sapatos.

Daw gigukod ko sa akong nadunggan ug gusto nakong biyaan kini sa akong pagdagan. Halos magkadagma-dagma na ko hinungdan nga nahulog sa tunaan sa kabaw ang paresan sa akong sapatos. Sus, mitulo na gyod sa tunaan ang nagsagol nakong singot ug luha!

Gihugasan nako sa sapa ang akong sapatos ug didto ra nako masayri nga hapit na kini magnga-nga. Nakahinumdom hinuon ko sa pagpaanod-anod ni Rose sa iyang nagnga-nga sab nga sapatos niining sapaa nga mora na dawg halwan nga katukbonon sa paon. Na, unsa bang hitaboa, naanod hinuon kay nabuhian man niya! Among gigukod pero wala na namo maapsi tungod sa kapaspas sa pagkaanod niini. “Da, uy, pulihan na lang natog bag-o,” ang walay bisan unsa mang pagmahay nga sulting Daisy dihang nahibaloan kini. Kon nasayod lang si Rose, gigakos gyog maayo sa iyang Ate ang maong sapatos sa paglabang sa maong sapa dihang siya ang migamit niini.

Wala na nako maagii ang mga manghurnalay apan duna pay mga semilya sa kamatis nga wala pa matanom ug daw nagdanguyngoy na kay nabiyaang nainitan sa Adlaw. Tua diay sila ilang Noy Junior, kuyog silang Ma’m ug Uncle Yoyong. Naabtan nakong naglingkod si Noy Junior sa yuta atubangan sa ilang gamayng luna nga bag-o pa niyang gilimpisahan, nagsigeg sikma, hilak, ug bira sa iyang buhok samtang gihapuhap ni Uncle Yoyong ang iyang abaga. Sige sab siyag kuniskunis sa iyang mga kalunggo sa palad nga halos magdugo na.

Mas natataw ang awaaw niadtong hapona sa himalatyong pagtingog sa radyo nilang Noy Junior. “Kini Ang Akong Suliran” na diay. Ambot ba nga bisan naminaw sa paborito nilang programa ang mga manghurnalay apan makita man sa ilang panagway nga naghunahuna gyod sila, labi na silang Uncle Yoyong ug Ma’m nga nagsigeg masahe sa iyang ulo, kon unsaon pagtabang kang Noy Junior.

Taudtaod, nanamilit na ang mga manghurnalay kay ipadayon pa daw nila ang pagtanom samtang nagpabilin pa silang Uncle Yoyong ug Ma’m.

Mitindog si Noy Junior, daw gilatas-latasan sa iyang panan-aw ang halapad nga mga umahang gitamnan og mga mais, radis, kentaki, kamatis, mais, atsal, ug pipila ka rambutan, ug misangko ngadto sa bukirong dapit. Gimingaw hinuon ko sa akong ate, da. Lagmit tua siya sa maong bukid, anaa sa giingong “mga sundalo sa katawhan”.

Ako ra ba tong sigeg pangutana niya nganong mopabukid siya nga makatabang-tabang man unta siya sa among panginabuhian (pero sa pagkatinuod lang, sa akong hunahuna kaniadto, para matabangan kog eskuyla). Tungod sa kapit-os, tungod sa kawalay yuta, tungod sa pagpahimulos— mao kini ang akong mahinumdomang pagpasabot niya. Bata pa kuno ko, maamgohan ra kuno nako diha sa kasinatian ang iyang baroganan.

Pero bisan sa akong mga sulat niya, ako gyong gibalik-balik nga gusto ko katiwas og high school, ug gipaibog pa gyod nakong mo-second year na ko. Na, gibalosan hinuon ko nga bisan elementarya ra siya, mitaas man sab ang iyang kahimatngon. Hinaot kuno nga magamit nako ang akong grado sa pagserbisyo sa mga kabos.

Pila ka adlaw ang milabay…

“Buhay, Daisy…?”

“Present, Ma’am.”

“Bu…”

Kadiyot nga kahilom. Mipatigbabaw hinuon ang akong ubo nga resulta tingali sa pila ka adlaw na nakong pagpulaw.

Ah, unsa pa may Rose Buhay nga tawgon ni Ma’m? Gihatod na sa iyang lubnganan ang patayng lawas sa akong pinanggang amiga. Nabanggaan kini sa usa ka trak sa kompaniya sa logging dihang nalisang kini human sa gipusil-patay sa gibantog nga mga vigilantes ang usa ka gisuspetsahang drug user nga batan-ong lalaki. Namili daw silang Daisy og ukay-ukay nga sapatos niadtong tungora ug midagan kini sa pagkadungog sa mga buto. Nahimuot pa daw gani siyag maayo sa boots nga made in Korea ug unsa kaha daw kon mao na lang ang iyang paliton kay puyde pa pangdaro. “Morag mas taas pa man ang kinabuhi niini kontra nako,” dugang komedya pa daw niya.

“Ayaw gyod mog absent bisan wala moy sapatos, Class, ha?” sulting Ma’m nga midagayday ang luha samtang nagpadayon sa pagtawag sa uban pa nakong mga klasmeyt.

Hala, nakabinisaya si Ma’m. Sa pagkatinuod lang, sa haya ni Rose, nagsige gyod siyag pangayog pasaylo ilang Noy Junior. Puwerte na gyong hubaga sa iyang mga mata sa paghilak. Ang mga gakos ra sa mga mulupyo ang nakapakalma niya. Ikahimuot na lang gyod ni Noy Junior ang iyang balik-balik nga sulting way sala si Ma’m.

Nagduko nga naghilak sab si Daisy samtang nagsikad-sikad sa iyang mga suot nga tsinelas. Sa hayang Rose baya, namatikdan nakong naglikay siya kang Ma’m. Wala hinuon ko niya estoryahi nga gibasol niya si Ma’m pero akong mabati ang iyang pagmahay. Moduko na lang si Ma’m kon agi-agian ra siya ni Daisy. Ug kon mag-uban silag hikay sa mga buluhaton sa haya, walay tingogay ang duha.

Pagkahuman sa klase, wala damha nga giduol niya si Ma’m ug gitunol ang ID ni Rose. “Handomanan nimo, Ma’m,” sulti niyang dunay pahiyom. Gigakos gyod siyag hugot ni Ma’m ug gihalok-halokan ang iyang mga aping. “Makasapatos ra mo, makasapatos ra mo,” sulting Ma’m.

Sa among pag-uli, naagian namong dagko na ang mga semilya sa kamatis nga gitanom sa mga manghurnalay. Sa dihang nakita namo nga dunay nakabuhing baboy nga nagsigeg ungad sa yuta, giabog namo kini ug gigukod-gukod nga nagtiniil ra. Nagpatay mig kinatawa samtang gibalikan namo ang mga tanom nga natumban sa baboy aron ibalik kinig pabarog.

Naabtan namong nagpayl si Noy Junior og mga kahoy sa ilang balay. Nangandam na daw ang mga mulupyo sa pagrepir sa eskuylahan. Mobalik daw siyas bukid pagkaugma aron manguhag dugang itampong mga kahoy kay nagamit ang uban sa lungon ni Rose. Lagmit magkita daw sila sa akong ate ug basin duna daw koy ipadalang mga panginahanglan niya. Gisulatan na lang nako si Ate, nangomosta niya, gisaysay ang nahitabo kang Rose, nga hinaot magkita mi kadugayan. Ug nag-P.S pa gyod ko: Kasabot-sabot na baya ko ron, Te.

Sa misunod nga mga adlaw, absent na pod ming Daisy. Wala intawon mi maghimog excuse letter. Kay ngano pa nga absent man pod si Ma’m. Kuyog mi sa lungsod, miduyog sa lihok-protesta batok sa pagkuyanap sa mga plantasyon sa saging nga moabot daw sa among kabanikanhan ug alang sa pagpangayo na sab og hustisya sa kamatayon ni Rose nga wala lang tagda sa kompaniya sa logging. Ug, uy, nagtsinelas ra si Ma’m! Pero sagdi lang, sulti niya, makasapatos ra ming mga mag-uumang kabos kadugayan ug walay lain kondili kami ang mopasapatos sa among mga kaugalingon.

USA ka tingklase, mibundak ang kusog nga ulan ug puwerteng haguros sa hangin samtang nag-roll call si Ma’m. Pero wala na mi matugaw pa, di sama kaniadtong mangabasa mi sa salibo kay wala pa mahuman ang bungbong ug gibukbok pa gyod ang kawayang bahin niini. Aron madunggan ang among mga tingog taliwala sa tagaktak sa ulan sa sin nga atop, nagpakusganay mig tubag og “Present, Ma’am!”. Puwerte gyod namong kinataw-anay ug nahimuot nga gikusgan na lang pod ni Ma’m ang pagtawag sa among ngalan.


Ferdinand Balino, a development worker, researcher, and former teacher, has won Palanca Awards for Literature four times in two language categories, Cebuano and Hiligaynon. Recently, he also won at the Gawad Bienvenido Lumbera National Literary Contest in 2023. He also writes ad speaks Ilokano since he is a son of migrants from Pangasinan and Zambales.

Hawking Radiation

Poetry by | June 24, 2024

i.

There is a black hole
within you, at the event horizon
of which is where your mind

resides, as a death’s-head
hawk-moth to
a colossal fire whirl.


Devoured tablets, as well as
offered kind words
and acts, light the surface.

Stale eyes wrench away
from licking infinite distances.
Ears gulp sounds.

Stapled lips split
into a grin. The thought
of ashes ceases.


The space-time at the event
horizon curves into
itself, and all forms of light

that are sponged up
in this black hole’s vicinity
orbits the curvature.


The gravity is so strong
that the resurrected
crust’s brevity becomes quicker

than a sneeze. How can
I escape this dark prison?
you might ask.

 

ii.

In 1974, Hawking
discovered that black holes
slowly emit radiation.


The tail can be untangled
from the snake’s mouth.
The black hole’s

gravitational pull
is inversely contingent
to its mass.


Michael John Otanes is a writer based in General Santos City. His works have appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Rappler, Philippines Graphic, and Santelmo 3, among many others. He was also a fellow of the 2018 Davao Writers Workshop, the 61st Silliman University National Writers Workshop, and the 30th Iligan National Writers Workshop.

Love in Little Forms

Poetry by | June 10, 2024

Love in the Air

An aroma seeps in
through the door gap
with a kick to senses and she
roused to vague consciousness
where soft whirls of flavor conquers
her four corners, her room,
and the door opens
with a greeting, a burst of smells
an amalgam of—
spice, fried garlic, and onion,
then a beckon, “Let’s eat.”
Smiles form on both faces and she
slowly ebbs into a replay of,
imagined sizzling, popping of rice
bathed in soy sauce and sesame oil,
added with minced meat and chopped leeks,
and these—
all known, tasted, and a favorite,
prepared all for her to savor,
to start the day
with a full stomach,
and a full heart.

Bandage

Frozen still I stand
and with a tone so cold and stern,
she said, “You never learn”
and along her sigh, the wind
breathes and flows
through the windows
sunlight leaks, revealing
steady eyes and brows narrowing in,
as a swab and dab of cotton on skin,
so supple and smooth,
a sharp and musty scent produced.
Her rough hands, they hold gently
moving ever lightly and slowly,
a contrast from the angry flow of reds
plop plop plop, on the bed.
Frozen still I stand,
her grip still on my hand
and the wind blows a little stronger
and the curtains, like waves of the sea
allow shadow and light playfully be,
as they cast their shades
on her face, I glance once more,
her eyes different from before,
a hint of anger, no—worry, I see
as white strips of cloth, wrapped around,
she said, “Go and take a rest”
with a tone so cold and stern,
but the bandage, securely placed
feels so warm.


Andrey Jane P. Caridad is a graduate of Bachelor of Arts in English (Major in Creative Writing) from the University of the Philippines Mindanao in the year 2018 with a latin honor of cum laude. She currently resides in the Minahasa Utara region of North Sulawesi, Indonesia. She teaches English to first and second grades in the elementary section of Manado Independent School.

Sea Glass

Poetry by | June 3, 2024

We are shards washed onto the shore.
Where do we come from?
Nobody knows exactly. Maybe
from a drinking glass slipped
out of a child’s little grip,
or from a smashed bottle of red
after a broken off engagement,
or from an honest reflection shattered
by the clenched fist of body dysmorphia.

Brokenness reduced us
enough to be discarded to the sea.
And so, we cut the water’s rough skin.
The undertow cradled us downward
and into violent ocean currents,
rolling and tumbling in the churning waves.
The odyssey rounded off our sharp edges
so that we never cut a loving hand.
Broken by man, but we were refined by nature
until the upwelling lifted us up to the shore.
There, we fit like perfect puzzle pieces,
drank the light of countless suns and seven moons
then shone it back to the world until
the hands of the riptide claimed us back.

And we will ride another current again
that leads to new shores
where we will meet new weathered pieces.
Maybe we will meet again. Maybe not anymore.
But just in case nevermore, remember
that we shared the same sun
and we shared the same storm
because we once shared the same shore.


Christian C. Castronuevo is a Sagittarius and a Turbulent Mediator (INFP-T), currently in Davao City, a creep in Ecoland mouse-eating at 7-Eleven, no permanent address, pays rent, and earns money for the next flight.

Escapes

Fiction by | June 3, 2024

Exactly seven in the morning at the Bankerohan-MacArthur-Magallanes intersection, I found myself wearing a mask of a prominent revolutionary. I stood there, but I wasn’t screaming like the other protesters. Despite the shouting, I could still hear commuters and pedestrians complain. I heard not the loudest cries of the protesters but the woes of the morning commuters.

“Quit that, you are just causing traffic,” one driver shouted.

“What are you doing, ‘day?” an old woman asked.

I looked at her, but I couldn’t speak. How could I explain that I was there because I was fighting for something? Because I was fighting for a cause. When I woke up that morning, I reminded myself to wear the mask hoping it would shield me from their cold reactions. The others were just quiet. Some were too preoccupied with their own concerns. Others just didn’t care.

At exactly 7:30, someone blew a whistle louder than I expected. If it was from one of us or from a policeman, I did not really know. We were told before the rally that if we heard a whistle, it was time for us to leave. It was a signal for all of us to drop everything—the banners, the placards, the masks. We threw them all away in every corner that we turned into. I started to walk fast then I remembered my friend telling me to throw my mask. I threw my mask under the footbridge that smelled like piss. I hurriedly took off my red shirt under a cart full of cabbage. I ran towards the alley that led me to the terminal where we rode the boat to cross the river. While waiting for the boat to fill, I stripped off my black shirt and put it inside my bag. When I looked up, the woman sitting next to me was staring. I was now wearing my course shirt, a reminder that I had a class to catch. I tossed my next shirt into a bin full of carrot peelings, leaving me in the shirt I had worn eight hours before the protest when we were still planning our propaganda stunts and escape routes.

When I arrived at the terminal in SIR, I walked toward the church where we had met for the protest. I knocked on one of the doors as if nothing happened. Nobody answered. Good, I said with a sigh of relief. At least I didn’t have to explain myself to anyone, not until I got my cup of coffee. I stayed there for about fifteen minutes waiting for some of my friends to arrive. But when it seemed as if  no one was coming, I decided to leave the church and take the first jeep to Mintal. It was almost 8:30 and I was late for my MST class.

I was about to cross the street to where the L300 van usually stops when suddenly somebody held my arm. When I turned to check who it was, I saw a man wearing a yellow polo shirt with a logo CTTMO. Before I could say a word, he said “asa ka ‘day?” I wanted to say I was trying to wait for an L300 van to Mintal but no words came out of my mouth. I simply said “Dira lang kuya. Ngano diay?”

“Ayaw’g tabok dira. Jaywalking na.”

Without saying a word, I walked away as fast as I could. Finally, I hailed a van and was on my way to school. I had never felt like this before. I didn’t know if it was fear or passion. Maybe it was just an adrenaline rush. It was my first time to join a rally, but it was the first time that I felt so scared. I didn’t know what could have happened if the police had caught me. I knew the rally was for a cause but I was also aware of the risks it came with. I was just glad that it was all over.

From that day on, I decided to not go to street mobilizations anymore.


But Charlie was different. We were together in several street mobilizations and not once did she wear a mask. Not even a handkerchief to cover her nose. Charlie was the person I have always wanted to be but feared to become. And what I am today, I think, was because of her.

A month ago, our organization went to the community school where Charlie was a senior high scholar. We visited to conduct a writing workshop for the Lumad students. I wanted to get away from the noise of the Kadayawan Festival in the city and I was hoping I could talk to Charlie about my thesis project. Her face lit up when she saw me walking towards her. She was standing by the door of the school clinic. I reached out my arms and gave her a tight hug. My schoolmates and her friends sat on her turf, the clinic, where she served as the most competent health officer in their community school.

“Now that I think about it, I was jealous of you when we were kids,” I confessed to her.

“What?” she asked in disbelief.

“I heard you tell your mom that you wanted to be a journalist so I pushed myself to join campus publications,” I said. She stared at me. And before she could let out a word, I said. “I started reading books because I saw you and aunt Magda looked fascinated with reading. And now I am taking up creative writing because of that.”


Charlie and her Nanay Magda would always go to bookstores.

When my Tatay was not around, Tita would go to Book Sale and buy books for cheap bargains. If I got lucky, my Tita would let me join her and Charlie at the National Book Store where stacks and shelves of books await them. Unlike Charlie, I was not a big fan of reading books. I came for the food that followed their hours of reading.

“Charl, aren’t we going to eat a foot-long burger yet?” Charlie would just continue reading synopses and skim through books as if she did not hear me.

Today, I can say that books were their escapes. Books made them temporarily forget about reality—that Charlie’s father was in prison, that Nanay Magda could not visit him in the City Jail, and that life will never be normal because of Uncle Tommy’s absence.


I had been with my father driving Nanay Magda to UCCP Haran before. It was always for a meeting but I never really paid attention. It was long before UCCP became a home for Lumad evacuees from different parts of Mindanao. Before, I did not understand why my Nanay Magda would come often to a church facility for meetings. I wondered if she was a church volunteer.

When I was about eight, I remember Tatay brought us over to a private resort in Samal. Nanay Magda and Tatay would let Charlie and me spend the day swimming and the night time catching fireflies. Nanay Magda, Tatay, and the rest of their friends would spend the whole day in a cottage by the breakwater.

One time, I asked Lola Mami what they were talking about. Lola Mami was our 56 year-old-grandmother. Tatay assigned her to look after us for the meantime. Lola Mami said “I don’t know, just continue playing.”

That night, Charlie and I peeked at the window of the cottage. We saw Manila papers and a chalkboard full of scribbles. I was about to read what was written on one of the chalkboards when I heard a familiar voice. “Nagunsa man mo dinha?” my Tatay asked. I don’t recall what I answered him, but I do remember struggling to catch my breath. We never talked about what happened. Tatay never asked me again about it, but I never dared to go near the cottage where they met. I was just too scared.

When I turned twelve, I started seeing Nanay Magda work in the same office my Nanay was working in. Nanay worked in the dental department, while Nanay Magda had one of the tables in the admin and finance office. Whenever I came with my mom at work, I would often see Nanay Magda sit at the edge of the table in the conference room. I wondered what they talked about. I asked Nanay about it several times, but she didn’t answer. It was as if she didn’t hear anything.

Once, I heard Nanay tell Tatay that Nanay Magda was trying to convince her to open a bank account. She said they plan to put twenty five million pesos worth of operational funds. The money was for UIHSFI, NLDF, Gabriela Party list, ALAMAPA, and MISFI that was then called MIPC.

I remember seeing Nanay Magda holding different sizes of letter envelopes except they came in browns and not the usual white. I only knew they were envelopes for money when I saw Tatay hand in those kinds of envelopes to Charlie last month. Charlie told me during one of our interviews that it was because of her mother that they gained favor of being enrolled in Daniel R. Aguinaldo National High school. She said that her mother had connections.

As our conversation continued, she told me about her experience sleeping in different hotels in Davao. And then, she told me about the car chase his mother was involved in together with different colleagues who are now working in the government as Makabayan bloc representatives.

Because of Nanay Magda’s active participation in mobilizing urban people in fighting for an egalitarian society, she could not afford being seen by policemen.

I often wondered how Charlie dealt with the fact that Uncle Tommy was in prison. In one of the conversations, I asked her “So okay lang sayo?”

Then Charlie answered, “Constant man among communication. It was like my father was never away.” That day she told me about how they were able to bring in a cellphone in jail. Nanay Magda’s jail guard friend kept it a secret.

For five years, Charlie went in and out of the prison to visit her Tatay. And this meant going naked before the jail guards for security purposes every time.

“How was it for you?” I asked Charlie during an interview on a Monday morning.

“It was alright, I’ve always been open and confident about my body,” she explained.

I couldn’t imagine myself going through it. Maybe Charlie was able to adjust. After all, she visited her dad at least twice a week. But it must have been awkward at the beginning.

For the last three and a half years of Uncle Tommy’s imprisonment, he was transferred to the provincial jail in Santo Tomas, Davao Del Norte. Their security was much looser and so we were able to bring in a cell phone, DVDs, and a packet of cigarettes. The environment was much better too. The space is way larger than what most prisoners needed for livelihood programs like carving wood and Sprite bottles and making Papier Mache to sell later.

When we visited, the prison air smelled like feces or some kind of putrid food, I remembered.  Charlie and I covered our mouths with our hands despite Lola Mami’s command to be civilized and mature.

Uncle Tommy managed to laugh and explain. “We’ll make glue paste out of those overripe bananas.”


“’Nya Kamusta naman mo sa imong boyfriend?” I asked Charlie.

“Lahi napud.”

“What?” I asked in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“It’s not as if you know everything about me. Daw be, kanus-a man ko first dinatnan?” she said, sounding irritated.

I kept silent. I was surprised by how she asserted herself, reminding me of how Nanay Magda used to speak to their colleagues at work. It was as if she was always in an argument with someone.

Charlie broke the silence by changing the topic. When I didn’t respond to what she said, she blurted, “Do you really have to know everything about me?”

We used to share a lot of things together. We practically grew up together. I couldn’t remember when we stopped. It was only then that I realized that Charlie and I were not like before. Things were different. We grew apart.

“We used to visit Tatay in DAPECOL when we were twelve,” Charlie said. “Nanay asked us to bring over her special adobo, which my father liked. Days like that always ended with Lola Mami, Ate Beth, and me eating lunch together. When we got home that day, Nanay told me it was time that I learned to wash my own clothes. She showed me the stain on the pants I was wearing yesterday. I tried to recall where I sat, but I was sure I was careful,” Charlie continued.

I remember the day I got my period too. It was like Charlie and I lived the same lives. That day started and ended with a conversation with my Nanay.

“Sorry ‘nay. But I honestly don’t remember where I got the stain. I will wash it off myself ma.” I said, almost crying.

“It’s okay, ‘nak.”

Surprised at how tenderly my mom called me anak, I asked, “Ma, how do I wash the stain off my shorts?”

My mom gave a small laugh and said, “This is not just any stain anak. Dalaga ka na.”

To me, it was always my mom who knew everything about the world. She taught me everything from the ABCs to Mindanao being the place where the most successful of uprisings will take place. She is my first teacher.

“If ever the revolution starts, the Philippines won’t be ready for it. But Mindanao— it can surely stand on its own,” she told me once with confidence in her voice.

I didn’t understand her then. I felt the same way the day I got my period. When she told me that I just had my menstruation and that meant I was already “dalaga,” I didn’t understand what she was trying to say. But I had a strange feeling it would bring about changes that I might not be prepared for. I just wished then I could be as confident as my mom whenever she spoke of human rights and fight for what is right.

I apologized to Charlie for sounding too demanding. I didn’t want to push her to tell me everything but I quietly hoped that she would.  I remembered one summer day we spent in Lola’s ancestral house. I could never forget how Lola Mami laughed too hard when I asked her whose family was richer—mine or Charlie’s.

“Both Charlie’s family and your family are poor, honey,” she said.

I wondered if she was serious about it. Growing up, I always thought my family was financially more stable than that of Charlie’s. Our house was at the center of the city. They ate more vegetables than we did. Nanay would always tell me that we should finish pork or beef dishes served at the dining table, because meat was too expensive and not everyone could afford it. We had a nanny too. The helper in the house took care of almost all the household chores that I grew up knowing little about sweeping the floor.

I would often hear Charlie complain about how Nanay Magda would often ask her to sweep the floor, wash the dishes, and sometimes even take care of the small laundry. I never got the answer that I wanted. It’s only now that I understand that it was the answer that I needed.

Our families were both poor not just because Charlie’s mother and my father earned a little but because we never kept the money for ourselves. It was impossible for us to get rich. My father and mother earned more than we needed, but they would always give more than they could to help others.


Charlie’s Nanay Magda and my Tatay Romy are brothers and sisters, and the two had the same job. They both worked in a humanitarian organization that aims to resolve political and social conflicts, at least that was what I thought back then. But now, I am finally sure it was more than that. My father did not talk much about it. All he says is that they have served society much more than we had to.

When I told my Tatay I planned to join the movement to call for social equality, he asked me if I really had to. It was as if he was trying to talk me out of it. It was as if he was telling me that I didn’t have to do it, because he believed that what he and Nanay had done was more than enough.

That night, my father surprised me. He asked me to stop going to UCCP Haran where hundreds of Lumad evacuees were currently staying. He told me he didn’t like that I was very active in the movement. When I asked him why, he simply shrugged and said, “Just do as I say. Don’t get yourself into the Lumad issues.”

I told Charlie about what Tatay told me. She said she was not surprised at what Tatay wanted me to do. But she also told me that Nanay Magda told her differently.


Charlie and I had a similar childhood. We went to resorts, hotels, and rest houses and waited for our parents to finish their meetings and discussions. For Charlie and me, they were all fun and games. For our parents, they were risks that they had to take. Bringing us over was the only way they could work and still be with us at the same time.

Beth, Charlie’s older sister, used to go with us out of town. She is four years older than us, so by the time that our parents became busy with their meetings, she was already in high school. She was no longer interested in collecting shells or catching hermit crabs. She was more concerned with other things she considered more important. Once, Ate Beth told us, “It’s okay. Soon, you will grow up and understand what we are fighting for.” It left us wondering. Who was the enemy to begin with?

Charlie and I liked the attention of our parents’ co-workers. We are both extroverts. Nanay Magda was more involved in the organization and held a higher position than Tatay. Charlie was “much popular,” my young insecure self would definitely say. Our parents’ coworkers would call Charlie “Magda’s little guard” until today that Charlie is all grown up and her mother is no longer here with us.

Nanay Magda died on the 12th of June in 2012. It was Philippine Independence Day yet we were grieving. Charlie’s father had just been released from jail for a month when she passed away.

Charlie said that a few weeks before Nanay Magda’s death, it was Uncle Tommy who started coughing small lumps of blood and was already suffering from appendicitis. This was why Nanay Magda accompanied him to the hospital for a check-up. Charlie and Beth did not find the need to come with them for the check-up. A few days later, it was their Nanay Magda who needed to be hospitalized. I could not imagine my cousins’ clueless and stunned faces.

The doctors initially said she only had dengue. My family wanted to come by the time she received the diagnosis, but my Tatay said it was no longer necessary since Nanay Magda was about to be discharged in the next few days. “We assumed everything was alright because Nanay was already making vacation plans with me that time,” Charlie revealed during our interview.

“Let’s go to Manila, Charl. Just the two of us,” her Nanay said.

“What would we do there? We were just there two years ago,” Charlie wondered.

“Let us watch Phantom of the Opera. The show would surely be good,” Nanay Magda assured.

It was from Nanay Magda that Charlie inherited her love for literature. Almost every month, she would bring Charlie with her to bookshops, cinemas, and shows. She did not ask Charlie to read. It was Charlie who started picking up books, browsing, and saving money to buy them. It was Charlie who asked for every Percy Jackson book for her four consecutive birthdays.

The day before Nanay Magda was about to be released from the hospital, everyone was shaken up. The doctor’s findings for her death were not just believable. “Lupus with the signs of malaria and dengue,” Charlie heard from the doctor.

The whole clan was both grieving and apprehensive about her death.

Nights before her death, a couple of suspicious men lingered outside Nanay Magda’s hospital room. Tatay and the rest of the family just ignored this, because Nanay Magda was sharing the hospital room with two other patients.

Everyone strongly suspected foul play, but the clan still decided not to have her body autopsied. It was a unanimous decision and so her funeral followed shortly after.

“It was easier to accept that Nanay died because of natural causes,” Charlie told me one Sunday she went to our home to get her monthly allowance my father asked from the organization.

For two nights, the funeral was held in a funeral home an hour away from the city. By the third and last night, the family decided to transfer the casket to a semi-private church the movement owns in the city for more privacy, accessibility, and safety.

I was there by the third night. The church premises are huge. Aside from the main church building, there was a five-floor dorm and a function building. To my surprise, the hugeness of the premises was not even enough to hold about four to six hundred people who wanted to pay their respects to the dead. (I am not even exaggerating.)

Jeepney and trucks brought strangers from far-away places. They kept on coming to the point that the visitors had to stand by the highway since the whole church premises were already full of people. Most of them were not our relatives. They were supporters of “the far left.” I saw a number of different organization flags everywhere. But what I liked most was the flower arrangement on top of her casket. Bloody red roses dominate it, but it did not overpower the yellow dandelions forming a scythe and sickle.

On that same night, Charlie’s classmates paid a visit. About ten in the evening, Charlie decided to send her friends off by the church premise’s entrance. While waiting for a jeepney with her classmates, she noticed a short man with dark complexion across the highway. Charlie and her classmates needed to talk so much to keep up with each other that she did not have much time to be suspicious. A few moments later, Nanay Magda’s workmates were already chasing after that man.

“That was an ‘intel’, Charlie,” they said half an hour later when the man they chased had already gone. Uncaught. “We noticed him observing you from afar.”

A month and a week after Nanay Magda’s death, Lola Mami also died in her sleep.

It sucked out all the vigor and will in Charlie. Charlie started losing her interest in her studies. She was supposed to finish high school in a public school in Davao and was about to take the entrance exam for UP by 2012, but she started having boyfriends and relational problems with her classmates.  And her family’s financial and emotional instability just made it harder for her to continue. The monthly financial allowances given by the organizations were just not enough.

Beth had to stop her studies and work in a call center. Charlie, her sister and her father— they all were struggling to adjust. Every feeling seemed alien to them. The absence of their Nanay and the presence of their father in the house made the situation much odder.

During the last month of Nanay Magda’s life, everything was fine. In fact, their house finally felt like home. Nanay Magda cooked the recipes she learned from her mother like rellenong bangus, turon, and Christmas ham. She and Uncle Tommy sat on the sofa and watched TV until they fell asleep in their eight-by-eight-feet living room.

After that one perfect month, Nanay Magda’s absence left the largest void. It was a black hole that sucked everything from their family.

Charlie ended up not going to school for three years and I did not blame her for that. Now, I can say that she needed those years to grieve, reconstruct her memories of her mother, and help herself go back on track.


The K-12 program was institutionalized by 2016. So when Charlie decided to go back to school, she had to undergo the extra two years of senior high program.

In May 2016, our clan had a summer reunion in a private resort. We were called to form a circle and have a meeting. All of my cousins were there because Charlie, Malaya, and Mario’s education were the main agenda. All three of them decided to enroll in the community school where one of my cousins, Jay, taught.

I, my mother, Charlie, Mario, and Malaya rode our Toyota Innova to Compostela Valley by 5 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

Charlie expected the school to be on top of the mountains, so she brought all the sweaters that she owned. To her dismay, the school was in between valleys where the air circulation was not that good. But Charlie sure was an optimist. The school campus was better than expected, she said to me. She expected the rooms to be made of amakan, but they were made of concrete cement. The only issue we observed was the uncleanliness of the dormitory comfort rooms. They were not comforting at all. I waited for Charlie to express her dismay, but she did not.

I stayed with her for a few days. We hoped that she would then continue staying there. The following Wednesday morning, I went back to the community school to volunteer and check how she was. By the time I arrived, she, too, had just returned from Davao.

“We should have gone together!” I said.

“Yes, you could have helped me with this baggage.” She pointed to the rectangular plastic sack that contained her new clothes, a month-long supply of snacks, and a few handfuls of classic books she wanted to read for the whole semester.

I knew Charlie was determined to continue and thrive. Today, she is already in her last year in senior high school.


I wanted to come back to Com Val to talk to her again. There was no point in texting her because she did not have a phone, and their school lacked cellular signals. I planned to go without telling her. As I logged into my Facebook account, it beeped and notified me that she liked my latest post.

“Hey, where are you now? I was planning to go to Com Val tomorrow,” I immediately messaged her.

“LOL, I am in Davao now.”

Good thing she was online. I could have traveled miles and still not see her at their community school. I got to talk to her and ask if it had ever crossed her mind to leave the school.

“Yes, but just for a few days to cool down and then return again. In fact, the school is not doing well right now. Teachers were also in protest for their cash advance,” she said.

As we talked about her continuing her studies in that community school, she said “It was my way of finding myself again and reaching out to those who knew Nanay. Ate B and Kuya A visited the school for an event and they knew Nanay so well. They recognized me too!”

Seeing her excitement as she saw the people she and her mother were with made me happy and comforted too. I knew that Charlie was back on track. She did not die along with her Nanay.

She said she went to school to find herself again. As we spoke, I felt that she already had. Now, it seems like she is starting to shape another version of herself. She already knows who she is and what she wants to be. She recognizes whom to serve and whose interests she’s prepared to fight for.

While I am afraid of the rush, she welcomes it so well. “It is fun when you are with your friends, much more when you know what you are fighting for,” she said to me.

Afraid to say how hard it was for me to return to the streets, I diverted my attention by offering her a banana cue to eat before she leaves for Com Val again.


Rizia Jahziel V. Perez is a graduate of BA English (Creative Writing) from the University of the Philippines Mindanao. She has a five-year experience in public service and is currently a sophomore at Rizal Memorial College of Law.