Poetry by Krizza Jan D. Ceniza | March 18, 2018
Tangled bodies and bed sheets
sweaty from the sweltering heat
limbs refuse to move an inch
waiting for the slightest wind
finding comfort in discomfort
for what it’s worth
then the body clock says get up
and limbs untangle
and she becomes a she
and he becomes a he
and the sheets are now just sheets
drying up
growing cold
from the absence.
—
Krizza Jan D. Ceniza is an AB Mass Communication student from the Ateneo de Davao University.
Nonfiction by Dennis John Sumaylo | March 11, 2018
For someone who was born outside, I defined Davao City as our destination for buying school supplies and watching movies. There were no decent cinemas where I came from. When I officially moved to Davao to pursue my university degree, way back in 2000, I found myself re-defining the city in a different way.
In 2012, I decided to document the city’s center, San Pedro Street. This project was inspired by academic papers by UP Mindanao professors: one on architectural landmarks by Architect Rowena Delgado, and another on the aspect of urban decay by Roberto Alabado III. Both were published in Banwa, the Multidisciplinary Journal of UP Mindanao. Their point was that since development was sprawling outside the city, the city’s center, where most architectural landmarks were located, was in danger of becoming overlooked and at worst forgotten.
Poetry by Genevieve Mae Aquino | March 4, 2018
–after Mother Teresa of Kolkata
Kindness is a kinase
that can turn the world
around with one cascade.
A humble catalyst of change,
you never reap what you sow.
Give more than what you receive.
It’s nothing, you say.
Your random acts are small
un-flaunted miracles. Tiny candles
in a dark room are welcome. Come and
try it, you say. Strike one match
and watch this world becoming
brighter for everyone.
Kindness is a kinase.
A signal. A spark.
Interview by Dominique Gerald Cimafranca | February 25, 2018
This year, we are embarking on a small project to interview some standout contributors to Dagmay and young Mindanao writers of note. These conversations are meant to be informal, not critical, so we can get to know the writers behind the works and about their writing process. We are kicking off this series with an interview with Genevieve Mae Aquino, who has charmed us with her ekphrastic, cerebral, and exuberant poetry. (Read Genevieve’s past works on Dagmay.)
D: Thanks for agreeing to this interview. We’d like to start off with your very unique bio. At Dagmay, we have contributors from different professions far afield from literature, but yours certainly stands out because of you work in molecular biology. Can you tell us how you came into your specialization, where you studied, and what degrees you earned?
GM: Science was something that interested me as a child. When I got a scholarship to attend the Philippine Science High School campus in Davao (PSHS-SMC), my career path was pretty much set. I got my BSc in Molecular Biology and Biotechnology from UP Diliman. My MSc in the same major field (with Genetics as minor) is from UP Los Baños. I also have a postgraduate diploma in Quantitative Genetics and Genome Analysis from the University of Edinburgh.
I currently work in UPLB as one of the core staff of the Philippine Genome Center – Program for Agriculture, Livestock, Fisheries, and Forestry. My field of specialization is bioinformatics, which is basically the use of computers to store, analyze, and visualize genetic information. (Editor’s note, March 2, 2018: after this interview was submitted for publication but before it went to press, Genevieve took on a new position with UPLB. She is now with the Office of the Vice Chancellor for Research and Extension.)
Nonfiction by Maya Flaminda J. Vandenbroeck | February 18, 2018
Photos by Louise Far
Saguiaran, Lanao del Sur.
Today is the third and last day of playing with children in this covered-court-turned-evacuation-center. Did the healing movement activities help the children? How?
Nonfiction by Maya Flaminda J. Vandenbroeck | February 11, 2018
Saguiaran, Lanao del Sur.
Dance music blasts from a loudspeaker in the evacuation center at the edge of Marawi City. Children between five and fifteen years old sing and move along to the beat. Nobody among them smiles; they look like robots with blank faces and stiff movements. On stage, a woman speaks into a microphone. Based on her Meranao intonation, she sounds like she is asking the dancing children some questions. The sound of her voice in the microphone is grating to the ears. She follows up with more questions while the children continue to dance, perhaps thinking they would get some candies from her for their “performance.” There was none. Instead, three mascots appear on stage — a water droplet, a bar of soap, and a faucet. That’s when I learn it is International Hand Washing Day.
Fiction by Jeanne Lim | February 4, 2018
Speedy and Jet won 3rd Place Palanca Award for Short Story for
Children in English in 1997.
Once upon a time, in a distant valley, there was a small vineyard tended by a farmer.
Early each spring, the farmer made sure that the grapevines grew solidly from the arbor down to the roots. He knew that when the vines slowly crawled and reached the top of the arbor, they would spread out and start to bear fruits.
In the late summer or early fall, bunches and bunches of large plump grapes could be seen hanging from the arbor. The farmer allowed the fruits to grow into their ripe color.
One day, all the grapes had turned into a purple color.
“It is time to harvest the grapes,” said the farmer.
Nonfiction by Den Ramonal | January 14, 2018
The Math teacher roughly grabbed Tommy by the sleeve.
“Who taught you this word?” she demanded.
“She did!” pointing at a playmate. “Dili gani ako!” the playmate countered and adamantly pointed her finger at another playmate. The other playmate quickly said no and pointed his finger at another. The finger pointing went on and on until it erupted into a quarrel amongst them. He did, she did, you did accusations were flying around for they forgot who started the game in the first place. It was the makings of politics. Cage rattler, players, finger pointing, displaced accountability, feigned ignorance, pointless hullabaloo, and lastly corrupted silence.
Selena was silent but she did not forget. She remembered it was Diana who started it but she bit her tongue to protect her friend. She shoved me down her own throat and kept mum while the interrogation was happening. That was the last time I heard her use the word that year. That was the end of ‘devirginized’ for the time being. After a few years, this sordid word will be revived which explained why the feeling of betrayal never went away. At that moment though, I still felt reduced into a thing in the past. A memory, relevant only when there is a need to dig up history and rummage through forgotten boxes. Finished. I have never felt so downgraded in my entire existence as a letter. So, I rebelled many times. Failed. Rebelled again. Failed some more. Rebelled even more. Wars were always waged because she mastered this foreign language.
She mastered it because she was repeatedly told that it was the gateway to success. It was supposedly her key to a lucrative life in the land where the pastures were believed to be greener.