Color Game

Fiction by | November 17, 2019

Nangiyugpos si Lisa samtang nagtan-aw sa bola nga bag-o lang gibuhian ni Jude. Iya gyod kining gihatod sa iyang panan-aw sa matag kanto nga ligiran niini samtang gapugong sa iyang gininhawa. Ang kakulba nga dugay niyang gipahiluna sa iyang kaugalingon mora na pod og bomba nga mipaulbo sa kapuwa sa iyang dagway ilabi na sa higayon nga mohinay na ang pagligid sa bola ug mosimhot sa numero nga iyang gipustahan.

“Onse lang!” siyagit ni Lisa samtang nagkumo sa duha niya ka kamot.

“Baynte singko!” matod pa sa bolador nga midali-dalig hakop sa mga pusta nga nangapilde.

“Peste baya aning yawaa, uy! Mipusta ko ganiha sa baynte singko, ang migawas onse. Karon nga mipusta ko sa onse, mibalik na pod ang baynte singko. Animal baya ani, uy!” yawyaw ni Lisa nga nagpangawot sa iyang ulo human mapilde ang iyang baynte pesos nga sugal.

Taudtaod, miabot si Lloyd. “Ayay! Daogan na ka diha, Sang? Daghan na man lagi kag gikumo,” bugalbugal niini dalang kusog nga agik-ik. “Manglibre na man sad kaha ni ron, ha-ha!”

Naa na sad ning sige og paghingi, ay. Nagdala lang nis malas ang buang, bawong pildero ta, ni Lisa sa kaugalingon samtang mihatag og taphaw nga katawa kang Lloyd.

“Unsay sige og gawas, Sang?”

“Bisan unsa man lang. Pusta na diha, kaganiha ra baya na sige gawas imong numero.”

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Beside them, the body

Fiction by | November 10, 2019

Is all that matters, is the most precious thing in the basement of Memorial Medical Center. Outside the mortuary, by the landing of the stairs, a laboratory technician taps her foot against the white tiles, lays a hand on her cheek. She thinks this gesture implies innocence or ignorance. This will improve her image for the officers in uniform trying to reach the body. But they are not looking at her, because for them, the body is all that matters.

The body is the person stripped of subjectivity. It is futile to describe the body to evoke the reader’s horror at the mangled state it’s in. It is enough to say that, in addition to subjectivity, the body is stripped of many things. The transition from person to body has been violent. As a person, she was Justine Fuego, 19, a chemistry student from the state university. During the Diliman Commune, she helped her fellow batchmates make Molotov cocktails to throw at military helicopters hovering overhead that attempted to disperse their collective. That was six months ago. Five months ago, she joined Kabataang Makabayan. Four months ago, she lived with farmers in Davao del Norte. Two months ago, she was organizing workers in Tondo. Now, she is the body in the mortuary.

There is a group of students and a teacher keeping watch over the body. The teacher is a math instructor at Justine’s university. She teaches Introduction to Calculus. She was supposed to introduce derivatives to her class earlier that morning. But after finishing breakfast, she received a call that Justine’s remains had been found, prompting her to meet up with some other Kabataang Makabayan members to retrieve the body. When they reached it, the operation turned from retrieval to protection as the officers in uniform arrived.

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Lila

Fiction by | October 20, 2019

BAI LOOKED AT me again and again. Maybe it was because my eyes were so puffy from barely having any sleep, but that was no excuse to keep glancing at me in class. I gave her a look.

“Did she talk to you again?” Bai whispered.

I turned towards the blackboard and nodded.

“Do you want to share baon today?” she asked. I told her yes.

After class, we waited until everyone else went to the canteen. Bai swiveled in her chair to face me and crossed her arms.

“Inah says we should choose our own friends. She’s right, you know.”

“Did she make you tuna sandwich?” I asked. “You can’t eat mine, it’s eggs and pork.”

“That’s three days now. Mrs. Corazon probably knows we’re sharing.”

“You can have my juice.”

Bai spent the rest of recess trying to help me understand the math lesson ahead. She explained things simpler than the teacher. As always, I understood better with her.

By the time the bell rang, I was feeling proud of myself. Bai pinched both of my cheeks.

“You did it!” she said. “You should smile more, Lila. You look like a teddy bear.”

“Teddy bear?” I asked. I thought of a huge, brown thing, the one people won at carnivals for hitting the bull’s eye. “That big?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, Lila!”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Mama says I should start exercising, anyway.”

“What did she say this time?” asked Bai.

“The same,” I said in a tiny voice. “She said I’m not supposed to be friends with you anymore.” I pursed my lips and busied myself with putting away my lunch box. When she was sad, Bai pouted and widened her eyes like a puppy. She only did that when she felt really bad for me, which was becoming more and more often.

Bai adjusted the veil covering her hair. It was pink today. She held my arm and said, “Let’s go buy some stuff at the mall after class, okay? I’ll tutor you on the way.”

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Pamalugu (In Limbo)

Film Script (Excerpt) by | October 13, 2019

In this short film, three characters, a transgendered woman, a poet, and an artist meet in limbo. This excerpt features Scenes 3-6. The film is one of the shorts featured in the 2019 Ngilngig Asian Fantastic Film Festival to be held in Davao on October 25-29, 2019.

3. Ext. Forest. Noon.

The three characters emerge from the trees. The trees tower covering the sky. The noon light peaks through the leaves. A gentle breeze whispers through the branches. The woman leads the little parade. They’re inspecting their surroundings. The woman turns to the activist. The parade pauses.

Woman:
Unsa diay nahitabo nimo?

(The activist looks at her straight in the eyes. His gaze is sharp.)

Activist:
Redtagged.

Woman:
Ha, unsa man diay imong gibuhat?

Activist:
Nangandoy kog libre nga edukasyon para sa tanan. Apan dili sakto ang mag martsa ra sa karsada unya mobatbat sa megaphone. Nag volunteer ko isip magtutudlo sa bukid, sa eskwelahan sa mga Lumad.

Woman:
O, unsa may daotan ana?

Activist:
Wala, pero ingon nila gina-radicalize daw namo ang mga Lumad. Gina-brainwash aron mahimong mga rebelde. Ang amo lang makat-on sila mobasa ug mo-ihap aron dili sila daling mailad, dili sila madaog-daog.

Woman:
Unsa ba gyoy daotan ana? Ako sure gayod ko nga deserve nako diri. Nag-prostitute ko maskin nakahuman kog skwela, professional. Lisod man gyod mangitag trabaho ang mga pareho nako. Nang-apply ko pagka elementary school teacher, wala man lang gyod ko nila gipa-demo. Giingnan ko nila, balik pag lalaki na ka.

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Fellows to the 2019 Davao Writers Workshop Announced

Editor's Note | October 7, 2019

The Davao Writers Guild is pleased to announce that fifteen (15) writers from various parts of Mindanao are this year’s fellows to the 2019 Davao Writers Workshop, to be held this October 31, 2019 to November 4, 2019, at Casa Leticia Boutique Hotel, J. Camus St., Davao City.

Workshop Director Jeffrey Javier and Deputy Director Gracielle Tubera released the official announcement on the acceptance of the following:

For Fiction

Liane Carlo R. Suelan (Davao City)
Jasmin C. Arcega (Davao City)
Marylie E. Noran (Digos City)
David F. Madriaga (Isulan, Sultan Kudarat)
Raphael Luis J. Salise (Davao City)

For Poetry

Sunshine C. Angcos (Davao City)
Mary Divine C. Escleto (General Santos City)
Chris John Reeve A. Dela Torre (Dapa, Surigao del Norte)
Renner A. Sasil (Iligan City)
Tara Yakob O. Montiflor (Davao City)
Marielle Angela C. Pagoto (Tagum City)

For Creative Nonfiction
Khamille Ann A. Linsag (Mati City)
Samaira T. Guro (Davao City)
Hannah Joy T. Luyao (Cagayan de Oro City)

For Drama
Sean Jhon C. Anecio (Dapitan City)

This year’s panelists are Macario D. Tiu, John Bengan, Errol Merquita, Lualhati Abreu, Jay Jomar Quintos, Lakan Umali, Michael Aaron Gomez, Ria Valdez, Nathan Go, and Farrah Virador. Cagayan de Oro writer Lina Sagaral-Reyes is returning as this year’s guest panelist and keynote speaker for the workshop’s opening program on October 31, 2019, 9:00 AM.

The workshop is open to those who are interested to listen to the discussions and learn from the panelists’ craft lectures.

The 2019 Davao Writers Workshop is organized in cooperation with the University of the Philippines Mindanao.

Gunting

Fiction by | October 7, 2019

Pinagmamalaki ko ang itay ko! Bakit? Kasi marami siyang kwentong barbero. Malamang, barbero siya e. Sa dinami-rami pa naman ng kanyang ginugupitan araw-araw, marami na siyang istoryang nakalap. Bawat kostumer, may tsismis. Ngunit ang nakapagpapasaya na usap-usapan sa kanya nang lubusan? Ang tungkol sa kanyang galing sa paggupit.

Nakakahamangha si itay sa bawat seryosong tingin niya sa tamang anggulo ng gupit ng kanyang ginugupitan. Nakakaaliw tingnan ang kanyang malilikot na kamay at daliri sa kakagupit at kakasuklay ng mga hibla ng buhok. Nakakatuwa ang bawat ngiti niya kapag nakukuha niya nang sakto ang gusto niyang kahihinatnan sa kanyang obra. Oo, ito ay kanyang obra. Obrang gawa sa kamay. Obrang gawa sa pawis. Obrang gawa sa bahing. Obrang gawa sa kati. Obrang gawa ni itay.

Subalit iyon lahat ay naging isang kwentong barbero na lamang.

Hindi na marunong gumupit si itay. Dalawampu’t-limang taon na ako ngayon. Sampung taon na rin nung huli ko siyang nakitang humawak ng gunting na panggupit. Ang kanyang mga gamit pambarbero ay nakatago na lahat sa kanyang silid. Hindi na siya nagtatrabaho… ngayon. Hindi na siya barbero… ngayon. Nawala na ang kanyang angking galing sa paggugupit. Nakalimutan na niya lahat.

Nakalimutan na niya.

Araw ng Linggo, wala akong trabaho sa ospital. Kaya sinama ko si itay mamasyal. Pumunta kami sa isang peryahan. Doon ay nagliwaliw kami nang sobra. Sinakyan namin halos lahat ng rides doon nang magkasabay. Naglaro pa si itay ng baril-barilan kung saan kung may matamaan kang target ay iyon ang iyong premyo. Napatawa pa nga ako dahil ang natamaan niya ay isang wig. Magkasabay din kaming kumain ng hapunan doon pa rin sa peryahan. Maraming natutuwa sa amin kasi magkamukha kami ni itay, siguro ay dahil sa parehas kami ng damit, nga lang may suot akong bonnet. Lapitin din kami ng mga babae nang mga panahon na iyon. Napapatawa nalang kami ni itay.

Kalat na ang dilim nang pagpasyahan naming umuwi na, pero umangal ako. May pupuntahan pa kami. Saan? Sa barber shop ni itay.

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In the Open Water

Poetry by | October 6, 2019

I’ve paddled for too long, have
gotten sucked in whirlpools of grief,
maelstroms that are not mine.
The boat has capsized and my lungs are
life jackets, my tongue, an oar,
my body a raft and an anchor.
There is no telling in the water
where I’m about to go, only,
that I am always going, until moored.

(I was holding the moon inside me
when the ocean had invited me over.
Now I don’t remember why I stay
And yet, like the waves that go back and forth
I do, I do, I do, I do, I do,…)

David Jayson Oquendo is an Electrical Engineer based in Davao City, Philippines.

Alopecia

Nonfiction by | September 22, 2019

I have always been blessed with good hair – thick, straight, silky. I’ve never dyed it my whole life for I love its natural color – like pitch-black night, like charcoal.

“Ipa-opaw nimo ini lang? Nanga baya? Kinahanglan gayud? Ay ay kasayang isab,” Kuya Rho asked, quite distressed when I told him to have it skinhead.

 

“It’s okay Kuya, just like last time- it’s alopecia or hair loss. I am undergoing chemotherapy again. It’s really necessary to shave it all off as it is getting messy – my hair falling out everywhere – in my bed, pillow, t-shirt,” I replied.

Kuya Rho seemed to forget that this is the second time he shaved my head off. The first time was nine months ago, during my initial diagnosis of Hodgkin’s lymphoma – a common cancer in my age bracket starting in infection fighting cells called lymphocytes that grew out of control. Alopecia is no longer a stranger to me for I have witnessed it happen to my aunt who succumbed to breast cancer about seven months ago. She was 66 years old. The day she shaved her head off, her hair was still intact, alopecia has not started yet. The doctor advised her to shave it as early as possible so she will get used to not seeing it for a while. Before we went to the salon, she combed her hair while looking at herself in the mirror and said in a small voice, “I guess I will stop using you for a while”, referring to her comb. I pretended I didn’t hear her but hearing what she said broke my heart.

Cancer as portrayed mostly in television and movies show someone lying in a hospital bed, tubes in hands, legs or nose, bald, skinny and with a pale complexion and dark circles under the eyes. My Aunt Nelda’s battle against cancer is almost like that taking away tubes in the picture. Her body deteriorated each day. Her muscles shrunk, lumps were found all over, her bones became weak and the length of her left leg is longer than her right leg. Worst of all, her eyesight weakened to the point that the only thing she can see is a speck of light. She could no longer recognize anyone’s face and in order to know who she is talking to, she would need to listen carefully to the sound of the person’s voice and when she fails to recognize it, she would ask the name. When in deep pain, my Aunt Nelda prayed even more.

Cancer indeed is vicious but through the scientific advancements that are enjoyed today, treatments are available and the earlier the diagnosis, the higher the chances for it to be treated. Unfortunately for my aunt, she underwent chemotherapy already at stage IV. She completed the first line treatment but needed further chemotherapy after her cancer didn’t go away completely. When I was put into a similar situation, after finishing the first line chemotherapy for six months and three months after, my symptoms came back- my temperature went up to 39 degrees Celsius every day, I have night sweats and my hemoglobin dropped that I needed to have Epoietin injection once a week, I almost gave up but it was the memory of my aunt’s faith and courage that helped me continue. That is why when my doctor told me that I needed further chemotherapy; I took a deep breath and welcome alopecia again.

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