Ang Susunod na Katawan

Poetry by | May 31, 2021

Isa kang potograpo sa harap nitong bangkay
na nakahimlay sa eskinita. Paanong tumitimo

ang igkas ng bala sa iyong kalamnan
gayong di iyo ang katawan?

Sapong-sapo ng apertura ng iyong kamera
ang dilat na mga mata. Alam mong alam niyang

wala mang magtangkang tumingin,
may gimbal sa mga matang hindi naisasara.

Buong-buo mo itong kukunan,
masisipat maging ang hindi mo nais makuhaan.

Sisilip sa lente ang kanyang huling anino.
Magtatagpo kayo nang mata sa mata.

Lalagos ang kanyang titig
hanggang sa iyong buong kaluluwa

at wala ka nang maipagkakait pa.
Taliwas sa iyong pinaniniwalaan,

may sariling katawan ang anino
na walang lalim at babaw. Isang silid

ang kanyang balat—patutuluyin ka niya
at bibigyan ng listahan.

May naghihingalong pangalan sa kung saan.
Ipakikiusap niya:

Kunan mo silang lahat ng larawan.
Unahin mo ang kanilang mga mata.

Leo Cosmiano Baltar studies BA Journalism at the University of the Philippines in Diliman. Their articles can be found in Tinig ng Plaridel, while their poems have appeared in The New Verse News, Hong Kong Protesting, Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine, and elsewhere. They hail from Sultan Kudarat, Mindanao.

Kamatayon

Poetry by | May 31, 2021

alang kang K.J.T

ang gimapa sa mga bun-og nga nadawat
sa usa ka sipi sa saging nga nagpungko
ibabaw sa taya-ong kaldero.

kini ang gitutokan sa nikaging nga butiki
gikan naipit sa pultahan o di ba kaha
ang mga listong naghikog sa halayan.

apan, kini sab baya ang kandilang natunaw
diha sa sam-ang sa imong dughan; ang luhang
hangod karun, namintana gihapon

dinhi sa akong mga mata.


Ivan lives in Davao City

 

 

Ako

Nonfiction by | May 31, 2021

báyot n. 1 sissy¹. 2 male homosexual².

source: A Dictionary of Cebuano Visayan, by John U. Wolff


¹ Gisumbag ko ni Papa kay hinhin daw ko molihok. Ana siya di daw kini angayan para nako nga iyang bugtong anak nga lalaki. Unsa na lang daw ingnon sa iyang mga kompare (nga mga palahubog ug bahog ilok)? Maayo na lang dawat ko ni Mama. Unsaon ba uroy pagpagahi og nilihokan oy? Wala man nako na tuyo-a kon ganahan ko molakaw pina-Pia Alonzo Wurztbach ba. Ay, Catriona Gray diay.

Idol jod nako na sila ay. Kabalo ko sa akong kaugalingon, nga pareho nila, aduna koy kapadulngan sa akong kinabuhi. Silver lining ba, matod pang Catriona. Nga dili lang matanggong akong kinabuhi isip mamaligya-ay og bulad sa Cogon. Not that I’m complaining, apan naa pay mas dakong mahitabo angay para nako. I could feel it! Nga akong pangandoy nga mahimong English teacher mas mohatag og kahulogan sa akong kinabuhi. Dili lang para nako, para pod sa akong matudloan puhon. Pak! “Beauty with a purpose” ba! Ganern!

Apan si Papa mga boxing man nuon ang ipatan-aw nako oy. Dapat daw pareho kong Manny Pacquaio kagahi. Para niya, kini daw ang sukdanan sa usa ka lalaki. Frustrated boxer daw jod si Papa ingon pang Mama. Iya daw jod ning pangandoy atung bata-bata pa siya kay kini daw ang moluwas kaniya sa kapobrehon, apan wa madayon katong nag-ila silang Mama. Mao nang makahunahuna pod ko kon mao ba ni ang rason ngano masumbagan niya si Mama inig mahubog siya. Magawas kaha niya sa pagsumbag ang kalagot sa mga wa madayon nga mga pangandoy? Pamaagi kaha niya kini aron mas mahilwas niya ang kapait sa kinabuhi pamaagi sa mga bugno sa bukton ug paa ni Mama?

That’s why, I never glorify the violence in boxing. Yesss! Kasugakod akong English noh? Of course, I’m both beauty and brains! Charot! Bitaw, mao nga naningkamot jod kong makahuman sa kursong AB English para mapadayon nako akong pangandoy. Reading Roland Barthes by day, selling bulad by night ang drama, sizt! Kon kinahanglan nako antoson ang baho sa bulad nga mopilit sa akong uniform kada magbantay ko sa among pwesto samtang gabasa kog libro, antoson nako, apan dili nako maantos ang pagpasakit ni Papa kang Mama.

Niabot ra jod ang panahon nga ang pagbinat nako sa respeto para kang Papa, sama sa usa ka lastiko, naputol na. Ug kabalo ang kinsa may nakasinati sa pagbugto sa lastiko nga aduna kini pataban nga kasakit.

“Mga yawa! Wala na sa’y kwarta?” ingon ni Papa nga nanimahong RH (Red Horse). Wala mitingog si Mama. Nagpadayon si Mama og hugas sa kusina.

“Amang man diay ning akong mga kauban aning panimalaya! Animal!” miduol siyang Mama ug mi-aksiyong birahon iyang buhok.

“Tistingi!” misyagit si Mama ug gitutok niya ang kutsilyo kang Papa.

Sa unang higayon nako nakita ang kakurat ug kahadlok sa mga mata ni Papa nga wala mamilok. Mora siyag nakakita’g aswang. Katong higayona ra pod nako nakita ang mga ugat sa kamot ni Mama nga milatay morag halas padulong sa kutsilyo nga gikaptan niya og pag-ayo. Gapangurog iyang kamot apan dili sa kahadlok, kon dili sa kasuko—kasuko nga dugay na niyang gitanom sa iyang dughan sa mga tuig nga minglabay. Iyang mga mata napuno sa pagmahay ug pagdumot nga mingdagayday pinaagi sa iyang mga luha.

Sa unang higayon pod nako nakita mihilak si Mama. Morag gikumot akong dughan. Wala ko kabantay nangurog na diay akong kinumo. Ug dadto nako nailhan ang akong inner Darna. I knew I was more than just that stunning beki selling bulad in the market.
Mipaspas ang pagpitik sa akong dughan nga mora bag mobuto ko. Ingon ani pod seguro si Narda inig mo-transform siya og Darna noh? Midagan ko paingon kang Papa ug gisumbag iyang namulang aping tungod sa kahubog. Nahapla siya sa salog. Dili lang ko segurado kon sa kakusog kaha to sa akong sumbag o sa iyang kahubog, apan katong gabhiona segurado ko nakita na niya ang gipangitang kagahi nako.

² Bayot ko apan dili ko talawan.


Gilford was a student of the BA English (Creative Writing) of UP Mindanao, and now he is currently taking up his graduate studies in history at UP Diliman.

 

Dua (Part 1)

Fiction by | May 17, 2021

The crescent moon appeared that night just as predicted. Before the sky turned completely dark, Norissa’s family already bathed, getting ready for the start of Ramadan.

Her husband was the one who took charge of bathing the family. He bathed himself first. Then, he bathed the kids — all eight of them – before he proceeded with his three wives.

Omar was an Imam so he had to move fast after bathing Norissa and his two other wives since he still had to preside the dusk prayer or Maghrib. When Omar left to prepare for his Azan, Norissa took charge of everyone, telling the wives to dress their kids up and to proceed to the Masjeed.

This had been their routine every Ramadan. Omar didn’t need to tell Norissa to take charge anymore since she already knew her duty: serving her husband. Every special religious event, Omar led his family of 12 to prayer and to other activities.

He had a total of five sons—two from Norissa, one from Salima, the second wife, and two from Zaara, the third wife. He taught his five sons about Islam, the male Muslim, and their responsibilities in leading the family, and how to read the Qur’an. Norissa was left to educate the other two wives and the three daughters. They learned about the importance of wearing their hijab, their service to their husband and to their kids, and their Sunnah’s.

The Masjeed was just within the compound of the Jama’a. Some of the community just prayed inside their houses, especially women. The males usually dominated the place of prayer. Norissa and other female family members usually prayed inside the house, but since it was the start of Ramadan, they had to show their support and pray inside the Masjeed. Inside the Masjeed, the males and females were separated, yet both genders could still hear the Imam.

The wives and daughters laid their sajjadas or prayer rugs, performed two sujoods, and waited for the Maghrib to start while listening to Omar’s sermon. Norissa glanced at her right and saw Zaara and Salima with their daughters. Silently, she wished she had a daughter. Would she ever have a daughter if Omar only had her and Salima as his wives? Or if she were the only wife?

Aliyah, Zaara’s daughter, sat between her and her mother. She met Norissa’s eyes and smiled. She caressed her head and whispered, “You should start looking for and taking care of your family no matter how young you are.”

Aliyah was puzzled to what Norissa told her. But instead of asking what she meant, she hugged Norissa and replied, “But Babo takes care of me and everyone.”

After Maghrib, Norissa had to go home immediately to prepare food for everyone. Salima and Zaara always helped her in the kitchen, so the task was divided. Omar and his sons stayed behind the Masjeed and discussed the Ramadan activities, the new Masjeed in the next barangay sponsored by some politician, and other personal issues backed up with the teachings of Qur’an.

“Kuya,” Atif, the youngest, said to Nashreen while holding his hand, “I wanna go home. When are we going home? I’m getting hungry.”

“I’ll tell Ama,” Nashreen smiled, stroking Atif’s hair.

Nashreen waited until Omar finished talking before interrupting. He wouldn’t dare talk while Ama talked because he knew he would be beaten if it happened. Once, he did that while Zaara and Ama were in their own house. He saw through the window Zaara sitting on Omar’s lap while Ama was blowing through her ears and brushing her hair. He decided to call Ama because his Ina had a high fever and he didn’t know what to do. Omar dragged Nashreen home. Ama struck him repeatedly with a long, thin stick when they got to Norissa’s house. He could not walk for three days after that beating.

“Ama,” Nashreen whispered. “Can we go ahead? We’ll help Ina in preparing our meals.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay until the discussion is over?” Omar replied while still engaging a bit in the other conversation.

“But Atif wanted to poo. At his age, he could not help it.”

Omar glanced to his youngest son who was already smiling. He smiled in return and turned to Nashreen.

“Make sure the food is cooked once I get home,” he said. “I still need to lead the Taraweeh.”

Nashreen held his younger brothers’ hands and they walked home.

“Do you think Ama will take long, Kuya?” Fahad asked. “Ina doesn’t like it when Ama comes home late for supper.”

“Not sure, Fahad,” Nashreen answered. “What I’m sure of is this: our food is delicious back home so we have to hurry!”

“Is it bistek?” Noman asked.

“I think it’s chopsuey!” Abdul exclaimed.

“Chimken! I smell chimken!” Atif clapped his hands with glee.

“I just hope it’s not fish,” Saleem said.

The boys laughed on their way home. When they arrived, they saw their Inas at the kitchen. The girls were at the other room, playing dolls.

Atif ran and hugged Zaara. “Ina! I missed you,” he shouted.

“I missed you too, baby!” Zaara hugged her baby tightly.

“Ina, what’s for supper?”

“What do you think?”

“Chimken!”

“Correct! Adobong manok!”

“I knew it! Right, Kuya Nash? Kuya Fahad? I said chimken!”

Everyone laughed at how excited Atif was over the food.

“If it isn’t for your son, Zaara,” Salima said, “this house would not be this joyful!”

“I wish he would not grow up so fast,” Salima said.

“I am always your baby, Inah,” Atif said, hugging her mother.

Norissa was smiling while silently looking at the scene. She remembered when it was only she who was preparing the meals. Nashreen would be preparing the table while Abdul would be sweeping the floor. Then both sons would wait at the door for Ama’s arrival.

“I think the adobo is ready,” Norissa stood up and got her ladle. Smoke got out of frying pan as she opened the lid. Everyone could smell the savory aroma of the adobo — its sourness from the vinegar, saltiness from the soy sauce, sweetness from the sugar, and the spiciness from the bay leaves and pepper corns. She got the frying pan out from the heat and told Nashreen to set up the table for everyone.

The table was set. The food was warm. Everyone was inside Norissa’s house except for Omar. And it was an unwritten rule for the family that nobody ate unless Omar arrived.

“Ina, I’m hungry,” Aliyah said, holding her tummy. “I bet Babo Norissa’s adobo tastes good.”

“But Ama is not home yet, Aliyah,” Zaara said. “A little while, okay?”

Norissa heard this so she decided to tell a story to put the children at ease.

“Who wants to hear a story?” she asked.

“Babo,” Atif said, “it’s too early for bedtime story.”

“I wanna hear it, Ina,” Nashreen said. He knew this was what his Ina did to make the kids forget that they were hungry while waiting for their ama. He sat in front of Norissa and winked at her mother.

“Am I only going to share this story with Nashreen?” Norissa asked.

All the girls and boys, including Zaara, sat together with Nashreen.

 


Khamille hails in Mati City, Davao Oriental, Philippines. She has been teaching for 4 years now. When inspiration hits her, she expresses it through writing. She has been through various writers workshops, locally and nationally. Last 2019, her novel, entitled Budi, won as the Best Young Adult Novel for the Lagaslas Writers Workshop and is set to be published soon. She usually writes about the practices of Islam in her community, especially of how a Muslim woman is treated in a family.

Tumoy Sa Sinugdanan

Poetry by | May 10, 2021

-Alang sa Delta Batch, kanunayng ginmahal nako

We have climbed through this dreadful,
and long trail
At times, crawling our way,
Scraping our knees,
towards reaching the summit,
We had doubts, and fears
that almost left us crippled,
Shaken. All of which
made even breathing difficult
Might be the different altitude of
Pain, and hiding.
By all means, be afraid,
and wallow
In uncertainty
Never is really sure in this forest,
Even the sliver of light
we long for is, at times,
Lost in the thunder of our
own longings
In this fleeting trail
Yet
We are here
We stand before everything else
Beyond the fear,
beyond the moments
Of losing the sense
of moving forward,
more than the dark thoughts
That clouded us;
We are finally here
Looking onwards
Our hands clasped together
Gaze, hopeful.
Despite the many shortcomings,
The many bruises,
And cuts from loose branches,
Unsteady pathways,
The many questions that made
Even breathing difficult,
Finally,
we have reached
The summit of our journey
This is where
I let you go.

Sums Paguia is an English teacher at Xavier Ateneo – Senior High School.

 

Kauban pa, lola

Poetry by | May 10, 2021

Matag hapon sa bukton mo
ako gapauraray, makatog uban
sa imong taghoy, pikpik, ug mga awit.
Sa puting sandong gatuyok
nga nahimong pamaypay
ako kaamgog pagpahulay,
wa mo damha ang binhud sa braso
ug budlay sa patabyog, basta imong palanggang apo
motubong sakto, himsog, ug puno sa kalipay.

Sa paspas nga dagan sa panahon,
sa mga katuigang milabay,
ni-a na ang bugnawng hangin sa aircon
ug mga nga sonata sa youtube ug spotify.
Apan ang simpleng pagkatog
lisud na kab-uton, ang kahimsog
mahal, ug ang kalipay angay pang pangitaon.
Dili sama kaniadto
nga sa imo lamang lig-ong mga bukton
sa imong mga alawiton, ako
luwas, malipayon, ug busog
sa pagpangga.

Kaniadto nga ikaw
ania pa, kauban pa,
Lola.

 

 

Si Reymond Pepito usa ka manunulat nga pinangga sa iyang Lola Mina. Gikan sa Lungsod sa Tagum.

Walking

Poetry by | May 10, 2021

for Sofya

What does it mean for me to stand, feet slightly sloped,
on these rolling hills outside Tashkent? I come
out here, day after day, to count horses. Sometimes, there were
two, and most days when mist blinds the April sun, not
even one shows up. Regardless, they outnumber
trees in the picture. All year long, no trees for creatures
like me to hide, to make home the patches of shadows they
create for me to live, to live with. There are no horses
today, and yet I hear them gallop the un-watered grasslands
from a distance. This life of sun and land is empty.
The un-pictured barn is empty too. The small unhidden
house I refuse to see in the back has never been
this empty. Somewhere inside, the stretch of space of a tin can
I used to catch the sound of the lone wind is empty
as well. All the while, I slip to sleep standing mid-day
and never feel my skin burn, my wool sweater a bit damp
from the cold. I am just here, without an eye for
fullness, without any memory of what wants to be missed.


Ian writes from Cateel, Davao Oriental. He has an MA in Political Science from Central European University in Vienna and Budapest. Some of his works appeared in Dagmay, New Contrast and Voice & Verse.

 

The Bone Collector (part 2)

Nonfiction by | May 3, 2021

Mr. Blatchley visited us often. During his visits, I learned that he devoted himself to collecting debris of animals found in coastal areas or in jungles of places I had never heard of. He told us about his adventures, his finger trailing around his palm as he spoke. He looked like he was locating new bones to find on the map of his palm.

On some days, he would bring a couple of bread for us, tearing and spreading the paper bag on our table so that all of us could have a share. Bottles of fermented fish and a plate of burned rice didn’t disturb him as he sat with circles of light spat by the holes of our roof. I wished I had the courage that time to ask more about the complications he had survived before reaching this city. But I was more eager to know how he knew where we lived. Was our house a random spot in his never-ending map of discovery for bones?

 

Even before the bone collector heard about my Lola’s small business, we had already nailed a recatangular signage at our fence facing the road: For Sale: Frog Skeleton, Frog Alive. It was inscribed with a fancy depiction of stick drawings on both sides of the signage.  It was something I was never ashamed of. Lola had been doing this business before my siblings and I were born, with a help of a man suffering from a polio, who taught her how to debone. She had taught this skill to Mr. Blatchley who eventually became dear to us even if he never asked for our names.

He also became a friend of my half-brother, who sooner worked with him. They visited places and seas where whales and other trapped animals were found dead. A few years later Mr. Blatchley built his own museum at Bucana. It was named D’Bone Collector Musem with over 700 specimen. It instantly became a tourist spot here in Davao City.

 

One afternoon, during the celebration of my newphew’s christening, in a resort, I surprised to see the bone collector, bringing his family with him. It was the last time I saw him. My half-brother had stopped working in the museum, when he caught by the forbidden madness of this city.

I didn’t want to look for him. Maybe Lola would think that I miss the things that he had given me or the money he had offered her. So I kept my thoughts to myself and stared at our signage as often as I could, as if it was the landmark that the bone collector used to find us, and maybe, he could find us again.

What the signage kept reminding me was its message that our very own survival was rooted into something private. We have been surviving on our own with this peculiar business even before Mr. Blatchley came and gave us a taste of what could be a better life with higher business income. Or a better life with a father-figure.

 

I was often told by Lola and my half-brother to visit the museum, to look at how each animal, once lost in the entanglement of time and place, had been gathered for humanity to witness that life matters.

The bone collector had discovered a place where children wanted to escape from the misfortunes created by their fathers, the way I and my half siblings suffered. I had wondered what it felt like to be complete as a child, but it cannot be, even how many times I imagined it to happen. Some pieces of myself fell before I was aware of it.

Has something in me died? Did I need to be saved to tell people how dangerous or sad my younger years were? The only thing I am sure of is this: I am a person lost in the wildlife of my foolishness and happiness because some parts of me are still missing. My wholeness is yet to be found.

 

***

Neil Teves is a young writer from Davao. His two previous works of nonfiction appeared here Dagmay. He essay “Paghanaw sa Iyang Anino” will appear in the second volume of Libulan Queer Anthology of the South. He is involve in poverty alleviation charity.