Tablea Tales, Part 1

Nonfiction by | September 4, 2016

Tablea Tales, Part 2

Chocolates. I love how the mouth moves with the expression of the word. I love how the mouth pouts in the first syllable, how it opens and makes the cracking k sound, how the tip of the tongue touches the palate, creating the l sound and slowly creating a smile showing the teeth, as the tongue rests in the middle of the mouth. It’s funny how the whole mouth – the teeth, the lips, the tongue, everything – when combined together, could create such a beautiful word. Chocolates, I know, creates much pleasure as much as the ears take pleasure in listening to it when uttered.

I couldn’t remember a time when Krishelle, a childhood friend, ever missed a piece of Wiggles after lunch. Every after lunch, she would have me go with her outside the school for her daily dessert. Wiggles is a twisted colorful marshmallow coated in rich chocolate. It was nothing special, really, but I had seen how this small piece of sweets capped her lunchtime. She looked satisfied with it. Happy, even, that she always looked forward to its taste to cap her lunch for the day.

I was a witness of how this small twist of chocolate made her so happy and excited. She always offered me some and I just couldn’t refuse. I also wanted to feel the same delight she felt every single time she ate Wiggles. It was sweet like any other chocolates and there was actually nothing about it that was special at all. There was nothing extraordinary with the way the marshmallow complemented with the chocolate coating. I have tasted better marshmallows in chocolates before. And yet, she was happy. For us kids, that was all that mattered, then.

Continue reading Tablea Tales, Part 1

Of Corals and the Memories of Pablo

Nonfiction by , , , | August 28, 2016

Pablo Picture 2

It was a cold December 5 morning, with the waves rushing to the shore, when the municipality of Lingig faced a new day from Typhoon Pablo’s harsh winds. Lingig is the last municipality of Surigao del Sur. It is also the last town of Surigao del Sur before the next town of Boston, Davao Oriental. Somewhere far from shattered homes, fallen lines, and broken trees left by Pablo, the fishing community of Lingig discovered at mid-sea something that looks like a section of a deserted island. In fact, from where the people stood at Purok 3B, Cab-ilan Poblacion, the floating stretch of land looked more like a ghost ship.

It took an old fishing boat and a large dose of courage for two fishermen to discover what the strange, new island really was.

Susihon da lang nato daw unan ngidto kay para masayudan (Let’s go check whatever that is.),” said the younger of the fishermen, pulling the boat with him, his paddle on his side.

Amu agaw total guba dasa yang kanato mga bay (Let’s! After all, our homes have already been broken by the typhoon. What is there to lose now?),” replied the much older of the duo.

As the pair rowed across the calm seas, the rest of the community who gathered by the shore could not help but argue among themselves.

Guba ngiyan na barko (It is an abandoned ship.),” said one to his mates.

Basin haw isla ngiyan (Maybe it’s an island.),”said another.

O basin haw barko gikan sa lain na lugar tapos yada ngani kanato tungod ng dagko na bawod (Or it’s a ship from nearby place carried out by the big waves),” replied the other.

Their arguments took awhile until the fishermen who ventured to the sea returned.

Isla ngidto na yapuno ng korals (It’s an island made of corals!),” Ondo, the younger of the two, exclaimed with disbelief. “Kadto kamu para makakita kamu (Go there so that you’ll see it.),” he urged everyone to also go see what they have seen.

The news of the emergence of the mystical island spread throughout Lingig and the neighboring municipalities. While national television networks and the delivery of relief goods focused much on the devastated parts of Boston, Cateel, and Baganga, the people of Lingig had to fend themselves from people who were more interested with the new tourist sight. Tourists were intent on bringing back with them sacks of corals from the island.

It was only after several sacks of corals have been quarried from the mystical island that the attention was shifted in Lingig. More tourists came just to step on, and examine the island, or to swim on its surrounding cold seas. They have made light of the effects of Pablo, and have instead taken pleasure from the coral island that Pablo brought with it.

The mini island was named after the super typhoon, so it was called Pablo Island. Lingiganons do not want to call it Bopha since Bopha was a foreign name. As if to give tribute to the damages brought by the typhoon, naming the Pablo is a way for the people to reclaim what was left of their lives after the calamity. And to remember a time of their lives when losing everything is really to gain back one’s self.

Then again, Pablo Island has made some of the residents of Lingig fight with each other because they think they can willfully claim the ownership of the island.

Ako yang tag iya ng Pablo kay ako yaka una pag tagduk ng flag ngadto (I’m the owner of the island because I’m the first one to put a flag there),” said a fisherman who is known in the community to unlawfully claim things he fancies.

But the will of the majority is to leave Pablo unclaimed by anyone. Not even the man who has his flag firmly placed on the island. Any of the residents, though, could build his payag. But again, their payag is only made to be rented out to those who wish to visit the island.

The popularity of Pablo brings with it different stories and interpretations for its emergence. Some people believe it was an island of the mermaids because the shapes of the corrals which fill the whole island take various forms and sizes. In fact, most of those who quarried the corrals commented on their decorative qualities. Another story which tries to explain Pablo is the belief that it was the dwelling place of a mystical creature which is a half human and half snake.

For most of the Lingiganons, these stories are simply figments of man’s imagination. Accounts vary from creativity to outrageousness to bald-faced lies. For them, Pablo is the result of the large waves which to have carried these tons of corals and formed a new island. Even as one digs deep into the surface, only more corals can be seen on the island.

Three years has passed since Pablo, and today, it still remains among the Lingiganons. The island is still in existence, but it is more noticeable during low tide. This island speaks true to what a Lingiganon is: someone who has hurdled through the storm and the big waves which had washed down almost the entire community.

And the flag? The flag on Pablo will be a constant reminder that any Lingiganon will rise up to any challenge, be it storm or wave, and still reclaim their life from devastation.


Maria Diane D. Consuegra, Saimonah Judy Mae P. Acosta, Cheemnnee Lou A. Adaptar and Marra R. Martizano are Teacher Education students of Saint Vincent De Paul Diocesan College, Mangagoy, Bislig City.

Cafe

Poetry by | August 28, 2016

Alas-tres ng hapon.
Makulimlim ang langit.
Nagsilbing musika ang
Bawat ihip ng hangin
Sa mga nagsasayawang
Dahon at alikabok
Sa entabladong kalsada.
Unti-unti silang
Pinapalakpakan
Ng mga patak ng ulan,
Sabay yakap sa mga
Nanlalamig na semento.
Earphones.
Bumubulong ang lamig ng aircon
Habang sumisigaw ang init ng kape.
Ang naninilim na dingding
Ay nginingitian
Ng kislap ng ilaw sa kisame
At dumudungaw ng halik sa
Mga bakanteng
Mesa at upuan.
Humuhuni ang mahinang tugtog
Na pumupuno sa bawat espasyo
At sinasabayan ang
Patay kong titig.
Unti-unting lumalakas ang stereo.
Nagsilabasan ang nagtatagong
Koro ng mananayaw –
Sanga, papel, mga sasakyan,
At mga puno.
Binubuo ang isang produksyon
Na wari’y nakikipag-kompetensiya
Sa nagdudumugang butil ng ulan
At namuo ng agos
Sa paanan ng mga
Nagsisitakbuhang nababasa at
Naghahanap ng masisilungan.
Paisa-isa ay nagpapa-pansin ang mga artista.
Dinadaanan at binubuhay
Ang pagkakatingala ng aking mga mata.
Nakabukas ang kanilang palad
At nag-iimbita na
Salihan ang magulong takilya.
Nagpaligsahan ang puso’t isipan.
Isa-isang naglaro ang tabing ng alaala
At nakikikanta sa tunog ang madla –
Tawanan, iyakan
Mga gabi na nagtatamisan,
At ang pait ng pagpapaalam.
Nagsabayan ang malakas na iyak ng kalangitan
At pagbuhos ng maraming larawan
Nang nagdidilubyo kong kalooban.
Ginusto kong paunlakan
Ang kanilang pagtatanghal
Pero mas pinili ng katawan kong
Lasapin sa kamay ng inumin
Ang nakahubad na katahimikan.
Mas malamig na ang kape.


Bonn Kleiford D. Seranilla is a Certified Industrial Engineer and an Associate ASEAN Engineer. He is currently a Fulltime Faculty Member of the College of Engineering, Xavier University, Cagayan de Oro City.

Road Trip

Poetry by | August 20, 2016

We are on a road trip
riding a two-wheeler vehicle
for this way it’s cheaper
both labor and fuel
relying on concentration and skill
we hide in our helmets
-speeding.

We are on a road trip
dealing with all types of road
from flat to steep, rough to smooth
adjusting speed to its surface
relying on strength
we stop for breaks
-resting.

We are on a road trip
breathing dust, smoke and uncertainty
taking caution over blind curves
careful over overspeeding
estimating when to overtake
we’re close to death
-living.

We are on a road trip
we don’t know if we’re halfway there
or where we really are heading
we just hope we’ll find a shed
where we can rest our vehicle
rest our hearts
and abandon our helmets.


Abi Andoy graduated from the Ateneo de Davao University last March 2015. She is currently on a road trip called the adult life. She’s a proud Surigaonon.

Binibining Buntis Looks Out for Rain

Nonfiction by | August 20, 2016

For almost three months since my return in this barrio life, summer has never failed to remind me that it has not really left for the rainy season. In fact, even in the middle of July, and now the beginning of August, it still feels like the warm, sultry month of April when the peak of power outages in Davao city had been the rage.

It is warmer for a pregnant woman like me. Like rosary beads, I am counting the days looking out for the rain to come.

Heading for my sixth-month mark, I constantly find myself panting for breath. I pant when I change my clothes after a cold morning bath. I pant during the bumpy ride on the old-rusty tricycle on my way to the local college where I am currently teaching. I pant as I walk toward the wooden, rustic office to prepare for the day’s classes. I pant when I wave my hands in the air as I discuss grammar, communication, research, and all the other things which animate my hands to do their own bidding. As I catch for more air to fill my lungs, I could feel beads of sweat running down my nape toward the bottom of my spine. Little strings of salty liquid also line up the wide expanse of my forehead, not to mention the dewy accent on my cheeks. I tried not to laugh when a co-teacher commented how I got cute, chubby cheeks which seem to invite people to take a pinch on them. The warm weather is not making things easy as I carry my baby around the summer’s day in the middle of July.

Returning in Bislig City since I learned of my pregnancy has been a decisive moment for me. Or so I thought. I have known that in Bislig the second semester of every year always draws in the rain and cold season. So, I readily packed my books, clothes, and all to return back home excitedly imagining for the fresh cold morning to rush me into eagerness for my pregnancy to come to its full term.

Rain seems like the next best thing that could happen to me as my baby grows bigger and my waist expands more to accommodate him inside me. To say that being pregnant brings the temperature twice the normal degrees is an understatement. From the time of my arrival last May until now, I have never prayed for the rain to come as intently as I have been doing. It seems as if I am trying to bargain with God and all His Supremacy to bring in the rain. In one of those reveries, I have asked to whoever wants to listen to take me where the rain hides. Beating my arms for the cardboard fan to summon even a gust of wind, I said a silent prayer for the rain goddess to check on me. I could bear the panting that comes along with my every movement, but the dampness at the neckband of my blouse, my arm pits, the back of my knees, and even that region that joins my thighs and the nether world seems to be inundated with sea salt. The clammy feeling of my skin seems too oppressive to bear—imagine extending this sensation for a whole week or month with only a cardboard material to take on every class period.

At home, the rusty electric stand fan is whirring endlessly in my room. It only takes rest when I leave for school. Hence, at times when I am just lounging at home, the fan has to be in its steady operation at tab number 1. Oh yes, I do not really go that far as reaching tab number 3; the large bedroom I have shared with all of my siblings and even my nieces and nephews who have come and gone from the family residence is cooled with just the fan. An air conditioning unit would have been the quickest way to lower down the sweltering heat, but acquiring it would be another story.

On a typical weekend, I find myself staying under the shade of a neighbor’s yard just across our house. I would be looking for clouds—the fluffy cirrus clouds which are indications of a possible shower to come later in the day—forming in the blue and white canvas of the sky. The distant chirping of the birds would have made the afternoon a perfect vignette for memories to build on my pregnancy. Yet, my arms have been exerting effort to make my cardboard fan produce the gust of wind it could summon while beads of sweat begin to form on the bridge of my now expanding nose.

However, there were really times when the rain would come visit, albeit scantily. One July morning, a quick morning shower had sprinkled down a drizzle on the gray concrete; then at night, when the weather has been really warm like today, a steady pouring of rainwater can be heard drumming down the iron roofs outside our house. In fact, I could even imagine hearing the pellets of rain calmly beating those of my neighbors’ roofs. On July 19, a really cool morning greeted me and extended throughout the day when the local holiday (for the Mangagoy Fiesta celebration) also brought in the rain enough for the canal water to stream down the river and wash off almost a month-long dry season.

But the next day, the July summer sun warmed up everything.

August has just started, and tonight, it rained. It has been raining since eight in the evening. I could just wish that the cold season would finally start here in Bislig. I have been on the lookout for the rain to come, and this second day of August is a welcome treat. An afternoon sun is alright, but it would be better if more of this cool, rainy weather will fill the day and bring us to a more rested night.

With the Yuletide season drawing near, my baby is also coming to its term. What an exciting way to celebrate these life events but with nature beating its tunes with health and strength in the rain.

I feel my baby moving as I relish on the thought of cooler days and nights to come.


Teresa May A. Mundiz is in Bislig City to prepare for her pregnancy. She teaches English subjects in Saint Vincent de Paul Diocesan College. She counts the days when the rain will come to her hometown.

Take Me

Poetry by | August 14, 2016

Take me to a place where birds are not caged
Chirping softly as they hover from bough to bough
As soon as a sheet of darkness roll up
Let there be a place to dwell in
Take me to a place where fishes are not doomed
Metamorphosing baits into treats
Swaying from reef to reef
Amid the greed of humanity
Take me to a place where the ocean meets the sky
The breeze and the shade it shares
Emboldens the wandering souls
In quest to fill the dearth
Take me to a place where solitude upholds peace
As the pebbles gets drenched by distress
Pull them back to the sands of hope
Take me to the place I can call my own.


Jeane Lucitte C. Marcera is a psychology major at Mindanao State University. She is from Pala-o, Iligan City.

Call for Manuscripts: 2016 CDO Writing Clinic

Events | August 14, 2016

The Nagkahiusang Magsusulat sa Cagayan de Oro (NAGMAC), in partnership with the Xavier Center for Culture and the Arts (XCCA), is now accepting applications for fellowship to the 2016 CDO Writing Clinic to be held at the XCCA Conference Room, 3/F Museo de Oro, Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan.

The CDO Writing Clinic is an annual literary fellowship for 24 up-and-coming poets, fictionists, essayists, and playwrights born and/or based in Northern Mindanao. The writing clinic is subdivided into four literary genres — Poetry Clinic (18 September), Fiction Clinic (16 October), Literary Essay Clinic (20 November), and Drama Clinic (11 December).

Six fellowships are available per genre. Applicants may apply for more than one genre.

Manuscripts may be in Binisaya, Tagalog, and/or English. Entries should contain 4 poems, 2 short stories, 2 literary essays, or 1 one-act play. The entries should be the applicants’ original and unpublished works. The applicant’s name should not appear on the manuscript.

Applicants should not have been fellows to the CDO Writers Workshops, or any regional and national writers workshops.

Accepted fellows will be provided with a certificate, lunch, and snacks, but will have to shoulder their own transportation. There is no registration fee.

Electronic copies (preferably in .docx/.doc format, Garamond font 12) of the manuscript may be emailed to nagmac.submissions@gmail.com with the subject “<Genre>_CDO Writing Clinic”. On the email’s body, include your full name, address, institutional affiliation, mobile number, and a short bio note.

Deadlines for submissions are 31 August for poetry and fiction, and 30 September for literary essay and drama.

You may direct your inquiries to NAGMAC’s official Facebook page.

Pangandungan: Young Pens of GenSan

Editor's Note by | August 7, 2016

Some young writers in General Santos City have recently formed a group to help enrich the literary heritage of the SOCCSKSARGEN Region. Named Pangandungan, after the largest gong of the kulintang, the group is composed of young professionals and students in tertiary and graduate school. The initial members are Saquina Karla C. Guiam, Kloyde Caday, Jade Mark Capiñanes, Adonis Hornoz, Ronnie Barrientos, Norman Ralph Isla, David Jayson Oquendo, Katrina Buhian, Ken Rix Baldoza, Adnan Razul, and Paul Bastareche. Pioneering writers Gilbert Tan and Noel Pingoy act as advisers. Membership will be opened soon to other literary enthusiasts. As its first activity, Pangandungan held a poetry reading on July 29, 2016, in General Santos City. Dubbed #Hugot Gensan, the event also featured spoken word performances. The group can be contacted on its Facebook page (Pangandungan) or on Twitter (@pangandungan).