: Ang Pagbalik sa Panahon | A COLLECTION OF PERSONAL ESSAYS | PICTOR ‘18

Ang Pagbalik sa Panahon

PICTOR
‘18

MSU-ILIGAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY A COLLECTION OF PERSONAL ESSAYS

INTEGRATED DEVELOPMENTAL SCHOOL
HUMANITIES AND SOCIAL SCIENCES (PICTOR ‘18)
GRADE 12-PICTOR
S.Y. 2017-2018
 Ang Pagbalik sa Panahon

A COLLECTION OF PERSONAL ESSAYS

PICTOR
‘18

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
All essays that were written in this collection are original and are based on
respective personal accounts.
In respect to Intellectual Property, the Layout Committee of this collection
gives credit to the following images that were used.
Cover Background Image:
Retrieved from https://pixabay.com/en/bokeh-lights-blurry-blur-effect-336478/
Table of Contents Background Image:
Retrieved from https://wallpaper-house.com/wallpaper-id-202221.php
Season 1 Background Image
Retrieved from https://wallpaper-house.com/data/out/7/wallpaper2you_202154.jpg
Season 2 Background Image:
Retrieved from https://wallpaper-house.com/data/out/7/wallpaper2you_202154.jpg
Season 3 Background Image:
Retrieved from https://wallpaper-house.com/data/out/7/wallpaper2you_202150.jpg
Season 4 Background Image:
Retrieved from https://wallpaper-house.com/data/out/7/wallpaper2you_202176.jpg
FOREWORD
In their last semester as high school students, the two sections
under the Humanities and Social Sciences strand took up Creative Non-
Fiction; these students have also been with me in their Contemporary
Arts class the previous semester. In this formative and liminal period of
their lives, I have had the privilege of witnessing their growth into be-
coming the articulate, empowered, and critical-thinking individuals they
are meant to be.
It was a real challenge at first to make these students believe in
their capacity to tell their own stories. How can a teacher destroy a
deeply rooted mindset that prevents these kids from overcoming their
hesitations? “Sir, I am not a writer.” How do I convince these kids that, in
writing, correctness of grammar is only secondary to the truth embed-
ded within their words?
This collection of personal essays is a product of numerous revi-
sions, peer-reviews, and introspections. This collection, I hope, shall serve
as a reminder to its authors of their journey: from the very first draft
they’ve made, to what it has become now. A reminder that nothing
beautiful is made overnight. A reminder that there is always room for
improvement. A reminder that the only way to learn how to write (and
to write better) is by writing, by constantly writing and rewriting.
More than just being a reminder, may this collection also serve
as a metaphor for the process that the authors have been through.
What stories do we tell ourselves about ourselves? In life, how do we see
ourselves as the characters of a story? Of our own story? There is no one
universal template that works for every story. Sometimes you will have to
create such template for yourself.
I will always have a wonderful story to remember with the Grade
12 class of Pictor; not just the stories that they have put together in this
collection, but stories we’ve made together—stories of growth, of
friendship, and of love.
 See Latest Update—
The Unexpected Notification |59
A Flower that Ached for Spring |63
No More Than a Second Choice |66
1|That One Monday Afternoon Seeing Him Through My Eyes |68
5|Bringing Back the Smile Acquainted Stranger |71
8|The Feeling of Friendship One and Only |76
12 |Mr. Holier-than-thou
16 |Game Teaches Life
18 |Cutting Crowns On the Conundrum of
22 |Sheet of Ice STEM Supremacy in the Philippines |81
Killing the Flames:
Thinking Inside the Box |85
Someday, I'll Know Why |88
Confession of a Cynophobic |90
27 | Taking the Wheels Hundred-Eighty Degrees I Wish I had the Chance |94
31 | The Difference Between Ban and Ton Man in the Middle |97
33 | I Am Lucky To Live With Women Losing Myself |99
36 | Personal Account on Maratabat Untold Feelings |102
39 | Being a Brokenhearted Man Kabit Ka Lang |105
43 | Everyday at 4:45 A.M. Blizzard |109
45 | Loving My Body Escapade |114
48 | The Water Bottle Passenger |117
50 | Inside the Box Broken |120
54 | Life Goes On Changes |123
That One Monday Afternoon
Bringing Back the Smile
The Feeling of Friendship
Mr. Holier-than-thou
Game Teaches Life
Cutting Crowns
Sheet of Ice
That One Monday Afternoon
W
hen I arrived at the Multi-Purpose Hall (MPH) one Monday afternoon, another class was
also there. Some of them were already drenched in sweat but doesn’t look unhappy at
all. Some had bright smiles on their faces, others were laughing, and some were looking at our
class wondered if our teacher will let us play too. It would be fun to be all sweaty and messy if it
means we were playing. I was very prepared to play and have fun. And I was already wearing my
PE uniform so I felt like running. But the thing is, the weather was so warm that afternoon that I
had to remove my ID lace. The cloth of my uniform also didn’t fit the humid atmosphere. I was
already sweating the moment I arrived at the MPH. Although it was not a closed space and the
wind can easily play around the MPH, it was still humid because a lot of people were there. Also,
seeing the other class play around drenched in sweat makes me feel tired and hot too. I should be
thankful though that we weren’t in an open space direct from the heat of the sun. But nature
found its way. The heat of the sun has found a way to warm us up.
That day, everybody was busy with their own stuff. A particular teacher was busy watch-
ing and grading, while some students were busy building up a tent, some were playing cards using
IDs, some were sitting down with their phones, another class was playing, other students were
passing by, and a class having their class. We were having our practicum in which two pairs of
students should set up a tent and fix it within two minutes and thirty seconds. My four friends
and I sat down together in a circle at the MPH ground as we waited for our turns. Our classmates
who were already done and others who were waiting for their turn formed their own circles too.
That day, I haven’t thought of anything else but to play. Not on my phone, not on my laptop, but to
play with just my body together with my friends. It was just like the old times except that I’ve
grown taller, weighted heavier, and played with new friends.
While sitting down, we were thinking of what game we should play. I suggested a game
which the four of us were familiar with. We played that game when we were hanging out at the
gazebo one day. One of my friends wasn’t familiar of it so we taught and demonstrated it to her.
1 2
That time, I recalled my childhood life. My friends will teach me a game and I’ll play with them
after listening. I remember my elementary school—how spacious it was and how other students
play different games around the area. I remember running around the campus after eating my
lunch, hair tied up in a ponytail, and the heat of the sun touching my skin and calling out my
sweat. It was messy and tiring during those times, but it was fun. It was fun to play. I remember
playing until I lost my sanity. But now, I feel like playing to keep me sane.
We were having fun sitting down while playing the game I suggested. We played another
one, and another one, then another one. My mouth felt tired, like I used my muscles too much. My
legs felt like it will stretch itself if I am not going to stand up and do some warm ups myself. My
friends must have felt the same way too that’s why they suggested to play another game in which
we have to move our legs and run.
First, we played space jump, using our hands to attack. I had trouble determining as to
whom the opponent was winking at, so it was hard for me to determine the next “it“ and how
should I protect myself. At first, I was scared to laugh out loud because the teacher might scold us
since our classmates were still having their practicum, but I can’t help it. I was so happy and ener-
gized. It was fun making weird poses and slapping hands. Not that kind of slapping in “teleseryes”
though.
Then, we decided to play another game, “Good Morning Mickey Mouse.” And when the
“Mickey Mouse” said the correct answer, we started to run. And, oh, how I missed running, be-
cause all the running I did for the past few years were running away from my problems. It wasn’t
fun and it didn’t made me feel energize. It was tiring and energy-sucking. I missed the kind of
running away from Mickey Mouse. That’s what I felt that day. My Mickey Mouse right now made
me stressed. It is not friendly at all. It didn’t make me laugh and happy.
We also played “Doctor WakWak.” Oh, how fun it was. I remember playing it during
elementary, thinking I was a gymnast. I wonder if my Doctor Wakwak will help me this time
though. Doctor Wakwak, help me, please!
 After playing several games, I got thirsty and drank water. I badly needed water. I almost
emptied my bottle which I just recently refilled. Then, I went back to playing. I did not notice the
warm weather then. My attention was in the game—not caring how my PE shirt made me sweat.
Thankfully, the wind was nice and my face towel too. The other class was still playing and they
looked like they were having fun too. We didn’t just play. We had fun.
The next morning when I woke up, my body mildly ached, but it felt nice—given the fact
that I really don’t move around that much. I recalled the last time my body ached like this from
playing. Well, my back does hurt when I use my phone and laptop too much but it wasn’t worth it.
When I woke up that morning, I thought of our camping activity. I really wanted to play something
like that again. Playing did not cover up my pains, it helped mend those pains—emotionally.
Seeing my friends having fun and smiling made me happy too. I know that deep behind those
smiles are cries and sorrows. By playing, we shared smiles and memories, which, I hope, will mend
their pains too.
Before, I can only play at school, because my parents won’t allow me to play outside when
the sun is out. And when the sun starts to go down, I can’t go out and play as well because they
told me not to play at night. That’s why I liked going to school during my elementary days for I can
play and run around the campus.
Playing some of the games in my childhood memories made me think that I shouldn’t
have grown up. It was fun before and I did not appreciate how fun it was that time. But that
doesn’t mean that I can’t play and do the things which I’ve done before.
Back when I was younger, I restricted myself from playing too much because I might get
scars and bruises. The moment I get those, I would cry and watch it bleed. I still look at the scars I
have before because of those moments. I was afraid of being hurt physically. I thought hurting
myself physically might hurt me emotionally too. But then, I have learned that people who are emo-
tionally hurt sometimes result to hurting themselves physically too. People play because they want
to be happy and they want to forget. Yes, playing might give you pain, on headaches from your
3 4
mother’s nag, but those don’t bring any harm. Playing gives you pain, but never harm.
The days before my PE schedule were a bit hard and emotional. Like having a problem of
what I’ll do in college and where I’ll be in that time. That’s why, on that day, I thought being
thirsty will make me sick; I thought that the warmth of the heat from the sun will make me irritat-
ed; I thought that the wind would mess my hair up but it did not. Instead, being thirsty made me
appreciate water; the heat from the sun made me perspire, taking away the bad vibes inside of me,
and the wind made my hair fly like how I always wanted it to be. I wasn’t just playing, I was having
fun. I had realizations that made me wonder and think.
Life always gives us pain and sorrows that is why sometimes we need to play. Let pain
come to me, but let fun come with it too. Let living be happy amidst the dark times. Let yourself
have your own game and play with it, but make sure it seeks no harm to you or anybody. Play until
you become insane—insanely happy, insanely angry, insanely sad, insanely tired—until you find
your sanity. Making yourself believe that life is always rainbows but unicorns doesn’t help. Mak-
ing yourself believe that hope will never come and will never be a vision to be attained. In playing,
you don’t always win, but at least you played. One is never too young or too old to play in the game
called “life.” If I were given a chance to give some advice to my past self, I will tell her, as the future
me, to “play while you still can,” because the moment you stop, you will no longer know hurt, sad-
ness, nor loss, therefore, you can no longer appreciate happiness, contentment and fun. I have
come to convince myself now to keep on playing because of that one Monday afternoon.
- Xukun
Bringing Back the Smile
I ’ve always wondered how it feels like to be a dentist. You just hold mouth mirrors and dental
probes (which looks more like a pirate’s hook), let the patient open his or her mouth, check
their teeth by patting it using the mirror, and when the patient reacts or sounds like they’re hurt,
you’ll just decide and advise them that their tooth is rotten and it must be removed.
When I was a kid, I freaking hate dentists. Whenever my mom plans our checkup, I
would really look for even the slightest reason just to escape from it. I grew up hating toothbrush
and the taste of toothpaste. (So, my mom isn’t really the one to be blamed for my dirty rotten yel-
low teeth, before.) I remember one time when my mom scolded me a lot that she said she wouldn’t
let me sleep beside her if I don’t brush my teeth. So, what I did was I snuck out into our little sari-
sari store and got a candy for my breath to smell fresh. During those days, I’ve always thought of it
as a normal thing for a kid, but it’s not. Then, I just got my karma.
During high school, it came up to a point, when I could barely talk. I became conscious of
myself because of my teeth. It felt like someone may collapse when he or she smells my breath. It
was even hard to smile and laugh because I felt that everyone’s eyes were on my teeth. I’ve never
realized the value of my teeth, not until my friends asked me why I don’t smile with my teeth being
shown.
I started my journey towards change. I faced my fears and entered the dental clinic. It
hurts to think that if I cared enough for my teeth when I was a kid, I wouldn’t have suffered this
way. I didn’t know it was harder than I’ve imagined. It’s a common line from dentists every anes-
thesia time, “Hey this isn’t painful, it’s only like a bite of an ant.” But the moment I felt the needle
being pressed towards my gums, I wished I had the guts to punch my dentist.
Later on, I felt the numbness of my mouth. I thought that I already wouldn’t feel any-
thing, but it didn’t end there. My dentist had forceps (which actually looked like pliers) on her
hand, then started grabbing my tooth. Imagine the horror of how my dentist put on her full
strength—and me, fighting against the pressure—as she turned the forceps that held my tooth. I
5 6
wanted to scream and punch her and let it stop but well, I still have three more teeth left to be
removed. It didn’t take just a day to finish everything. After a week, I still had to go back to the
clinic for the other two. After everything, I got four teeth removed. I am so proud of myself that I
was able to tolerate the pain of getting my teeth removed. It may have left a space in between my
gums, it will always be the thing that makes me remember that I’ve been strong enough to let it go.
Seeing dentists with their clean white lab gowns, gloves, masks, and their tools, made me
want to unsee them. Another reason why I hated dentists was that they are liars. They’ll make you
believe that it doesn’t hurt but it does. I thought everything would end by the extraction of my
teeth.
Not until my dentist advised me to have a root canal treatment (RCT). She said it would
hurt, but it’s bearable. So, I gave my go signal to let her do it. RCT is done in order to save the
rotten teeth. Instead of removing it, its cells (or something- it’s a different scientific term that is
found in our teeth or gums) will be killed and the tooth will be preserved. She said it’s bearable,
but undergoing that procedure was harder than what I’ve expected. Undergoing the RCT was also
the bravest thing I ever did. I’ve given my all to bear every torture of my tooth’s pulp. But I can
proudly say that I overcame it—with tears and nervous sweat.
The rest of my teeth were advised to undergo dental filling. It involves shaping my tooth,
so I have no choice but to tolerate, again, the pain it brings.
I’ve always been afraid of dentists. But despite of every painful experience I had, I would-
n’t be able to smile like this if it wasn’t because of them. I realized that the lies they are telling
aren’t really lies at all. Those were the truths which, in the end, we only regret the things that we’ve
taken for granted.
The good thing about life is that it always teaches people that it’s not yet too late to
change. It requires a lot of effort, pain, suffering, and money (eventually) to achieve our desired
change. But I guess everything would surely turn out to be perfectly-worth it.
It was then that I discovered that sitting on the dental chair was the most fulfilling feel-
ing I’ve ever felt. It changed, not only my teeth but my life. It inspired me to have a clearer purpose
The Feeling of Friendship
why I live.
I want to know what it feels like to be a dentist—what it feels like to make your patients
believe that it doesn’t hurt; what it feels like to deal with smelly mouth and extract a rotten tooth;
F or four years, I liked someone who didn’t exactly liked me the way I liked him. I met Dave
back when we were in Junior High. At first, I didn’t exactly know him since I barely saw him
from freshmen but later on, we developed this kind of bond or connection.
what it feels like to save a patient; and what it feels like to bring back a smile. It was the start of another school year and I was very anxious to get to class on the first
day. There was a shuffling of sections, so basically, I wasn’t going to meet my old classmates from

- Valeriefaybb
my old section but another set of classmates coming from different sections. I wasn’t exactly a fan
of that reshuffling program because there were some people I didn’t like to be my classmate but
still, I tried to get along with them. It was a bit awkward during the first few weeks but later on, we
managed to get to know each other more.
It was Tuesday when we got to our Chemistry class. Our teacher, Ma’am Serate asked us
to pick a seat not beside someone we already know. I went up to the front row and chose a seat
near the edge. Now this is where Dave comes in. He and his friend were the last ones to come inside
the room so the only seats left were the ones beside me and one in the center at the second row.
Dave went to the second row but our teacher called him and told him to seat beside me due to his
towering height. If he was going to be seated at the center, other people at his back wouldn’t see
the board. When he sat beside me, we didn’t talk or greeted each other since we still weren’t
friends at that time. So the class started and our teacher told us we were going to have an activity.
We’re going to describe our seatmates. I was to describe Dave and he was to describe me. It was my
turn to describe him and I described him as someone who is tall. I didn’t exactly know what other
description to say since I didn’t know him before. It was his turn to describe me and he described
me as a short girl. We all laughed but our teacher told him he should choose another description. I
wasn’t looking at him when it was his turn but when he grew silent, I looked up to him and caught
him staring at me. I didn’t know what happened but when our eyes locked, he then said, “she is
beautiful.” Cliché as it may sound, that is where it all started. From that short yet simple message, I
knew from his voice that he was sincere and that enough made it clear that I was going to like him.

7 8
 Liking him wasn’t easy especially for a Muslim girl like me. I knew nothing of him. That
is why I always looked forward to our Chemistry class because that was the only time I could con-
verse with him. From there, we started building our friendship. Our classmates noticed that we
were getting closer and closer so they started teasing us. We both have the same playful personality
so we played along with our classmates. We would act and joke about how we liked each other and
why we can’t be together, but deep inside me, I was dying—dying of so much happiness.
Being that close with someone you like is such a bliss. We started hanging out togeth-
er—sitting beside each other in different classes, nonsense online conversations that would last
until dawn with different more serious and deeper talks. Our bond grew stronger. I was practically
his girl best friend while he was my boy best friend. Our friendship grew deeper when I talked to
him about my family and my secrets. He also talked to me about his life, secrets and his crushes. I
listened to him talk about how he liked a girl, how they went home together, and how he met his
crush’s mother. From four different girls, I was there for him. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t com-
plain because seeing him happy, knowing that he’s happy is more than enough for me. I didn’t say
anything about my feelings for him. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want to lose the great friend-
ship we’ve built.
People were always saying how cute we look together, how good we looked together. Peo-
ple noticed our connection and that it was making them jealous. I was so happy liking him more
than a friend without him knowing. I always feel happy when I talk to him or when we’re together.
You know that feeling whenever your heart aches from so much joy? That was what I felt. I would-
n’t do anything to jeopardize our friendship, even if it meant hiding my feelings from him.
One day, he shared me something. Something that I wasn’t unfamiliar with. He told me
how there was this one girl that always made him happy. There was this one girl that he liked from
the beginning. A part of me wished he would say that he liked me but unfortunately, that wasn’t
the case. I didn’t know what happened back then. All I knew was that it was the first time I saw
him gush over a girl that much, so I helped him. I helped him get the girl he liked for so long.
9 10
After a few months, he was with the girl he liked. We would still hang out—but less. We
still talked but it wasn’t how it was before. I felt distant from him and that’s where things changed.
We don’t hang out anymore, our chat box was becoming dusty, and whenever we pass by each
other in the hallways we would just look at each other; no more hi’s and hello’s, no more good
mornings and good nights. From a friendship that other people got jealous because our bond were
like siblings, we became strangers to each other.
Our junior high graduation came and still, we haven’t talked with each other. Pride was
over me so I didn’t try to communicate with him. For the first weeks of summer, I completely forgot
about it. But then, I realized how I did nothing except supporting him and being there for him, yet
there I was having no clue as to what happened to our friendship so I contacted him again. At first,
it was just some ‘how are you’ messages and I couldn’t wait anymore so I asked him. I asked him
what happened. I asked why we grew apart. I asked if I did anything wrong. I can still remember
his reply clearly. He said, “People began asking me questions. What our real relationship status
was. People were saying it wasn’t normal for a girl and a boy to be that close.” So I asked him why
mere rumors or questions made him decide to leave me completely unaware. He should’ve told me
so that at least, I could’ve tried not be too close to him but I couldn’t get angry with him. I still liked
him. And that was the worst.
Our friendship grew back and senior high came. We were still each other’s best friend
but we lessened our closeness so that other people won’t misinterpret. I still liked him after 3 years.
Nothing has changed between us except for the lessened public closeness. I didn’t know how to
stop my feelings for him. Not until I heard the line, “May babaeng ginigirlfriend, may babaeng
binibestfriend. Alin ka dun?” From that line, I realized everything I did. I was so happy just by
seeing him happy. I was proud of his achievements, I was there with him during his ups and
downs and still, he never looked at me more than a friend. Maybe that line was right. Maybe I am
just and forever will be his girl best friend. It doesn’t mean that if you do not become his girlfriend
or her boyfriend you’ll then become strangers. Sometimes, settling with just the label of being

friends is enough. You might think that the person you thought is the one for you will be the one
you’ll end up with but no, it doesn’t always work like that. But despite that, I realized that would be
so much better than losing him because there are people that will come into your life and make you
realize that maybe it’s not the time and maybe this isn’t for you. Those people will come into your
life, shake things up a bit inside you, stay and not feel the same way you feel but those people will
be keepers. Those people will be worth keeping because they will help you a lot. They will help you
become bigger and better. They will enhance your decision making skills. They will break you and
mend you.
-JP
11
Mr. Holier-Than-Thou
T
he greatest concern of our parents is the effectiveness of the discipline they imply to their
children and for them to know which is right and wrong to become law-abiding citizens of
this society which values morals and respect. As a child, I’ve already experienced punishments
such as the use of the belt and slapping/hitting my thighs with it that I can feel the numbness
sometimes or even verbal attacks like threats of not being able to get outside again because I diso-
beyed my parents or retaliated against them. The rebellious stage of a sprouting greenie. But those
became the personal foundation for me to aim and become a citizen who reveres his leaders, re-
spects the laws of the society and resolves on bringing honor to the country.
I grew up moulding my morality and spirituality because of the religious and faithful
family I belong to. A Born-again Christian environment. Whenever I get to have the chance to
interact with people or meet new faces, the very first impression that I will get is that I’m nice. I
wouldn’t mind that since it was the first meeting, but the impression they gave to me didn’t
change until another year or school year reaches its expiration.
While on my side of the story, I think it’s normal to be a good citizen and I thought that
the impression they gave me was only an exaggeration, a flattery so that they can have the excuse
to say or write something for me whenever we’ve had self-assessment tests or they’ll randomly meet
me somewhere. It irritates me sometimes because if only I can spare myself the time to conduct a
self-check, I know that I was not faking it or even pretend that I was the guy they thought I was in
the first place. It is kind of irritating because they are close to treating me like a saint who must not
be defiled or touched by sinners.
In our current status quo, people praise those who perform good acts/deeds and revere
them as “saints”, “angels in Earth”, or even sometimes, “a good boy”. That they must not be taught
of the bad things in this world and they must not be touched because of their holiness. More of a
Pinocchio dream-come-true than a real life story, right? Nope, instead, I want people to see my
other sides and know me better.
12
 Just the treatment and thought of being a normal human being who is currently study-
ing in senior high school and possesses the average hobbies is enough for me. I’m no saint. I just
wanted to be treated like a brother to them who also enjoys games and nerdy stuff or any other
person that seems like the average type.
“What comes around, goes around.” Truly, I don’t like mistreating or hurting people. Call
me self-righteous, but this is the problem in which everybody is currently facing. That’s why I’m
always trying my best to help them however I can. I don’t want to become an addition to the bur-
den of the society that’s why I am doing my best to show them kindness and prove to them that
there is still a shred of hope left for humanity. That they can still do better.
There are things I’d like to further discuss which affects my “sainthood” and some other
perspectives which explains as to why I am described as a “saint” and a “good boy” and why I think
that it is normal to be one: Firstly, I’d like to start in a bigger picture like how other people see me
in a point in which I call “the exaggeration of these people” whom I considered strangers. Secondly,
in the environment that I roam around with some of the people which has social relations with me
called “the expectations of my family and fellow colleagues” affecting my intrapersonal being. Last-
ly, it is a point which discusses my part of the story, the subjectivity and my own version of ‘truth’,
which is simplified as “the relevance of self-interests and response to the current status quo” is
going to be presented on the later part.
Let’s first start with the part of the exaggeration of these people, which gives me all the
credit of being the “saint” and all the “he’s too pure to be defiled” statements which makes me feel
less of a human and more of a perfect being. This is how it works, one, put on a very bright smile at
the same time try to make it authentic enough. Two, dress appropriately according to the occasion
to make first impressions even better. Three, greet people with warmth on your tone make them
feel special. Lastly, let them compliment you with all the sugar-coated words they can ever think of.
Enough for me to get the diabetes though (and srsly, you’ll only get sick of getting the compliments
and their assurances that it is true in their own perspective).
13
But the point is, people just look at the outer core of the apple without even taking a bite
from it. It is like one of those people who visited the museum and gives compliments of how beauti-
ful a painting was made without analysing the process and hidden stories behind that master
piece. As tragic as it is, they will miss some of the good parts and even the bad ones.
Since my parents taught me to recognize what is good from bad, they expect me to be the
“good boy” which gives me the pressure sometimes and also my friends continue to tease me some-
times because I always had this good boy reputation in our school. Let’s proceed with the second
point which is the expectations of my family and fellow colleagues. It is true that there’s nothing
wrong with complimenting me but the pressure of expectation from them binds and restricts me
from showing the other qualities that I also possess. Can I please and at least get compliments like
Dwight the Studious, Mr. Manly-man, The Silent One, The Keeper of Secrets or even, The Awe-
someness? Come on, I don’t think “good boy” and “super kind” are the only words that they can
write in a self-assessment. Did you know that after some of those activities, people tend to believe
or carry the burden after witnessing the result and have to live up to the expectations of the people
who look up to them. And sometimes, whenever you commit a single mistake, people will then
look at you as if they are disappointed because you failed to meet their expectations. Then, you’ll
just have to be mature enough to accept the harsh reality. That’s how I felt at the least.
As dramatic as this goes, I’ll just have to lighten up the mood a bit because I don’t entire-
ly support my mom’s soap operas. Drum roll please because we are going for the final point of this
essay which is the relevance of my self-interests and response to the current status quo. I don’t usu-
ally share my self-interests but just for this topic, I’d like to give some because I don’t get people to
listen to my selfishness sometimes. On how I respond to the current status quo, I’ve been trying my
best to be truest of the true by letting some parts of myself to be discovered by those people with
assumptions and I want them to realize that besides of being a “good boy”-- that I also have a
background in drawing. I love to learn more about animals and the human psychology. I love to
read books but I’m a little choosy when it comes to genres. I love sports and recreational activities.
14

I’m passionate when it comes to creating new “hacks” for convenience and discovering new uses for
recyclable things.
I don’t think I have lapses of expressing myself, even my family and friends, to the things
that they can use as a reference to describe me. That I’m not merely a “saint” and a “good boy”.
The reason why I’m saying these things is because there also some people who are described people
as they are based on their initial actions/impressions without knowing the why they are acting that
way or what are the things that they like and they don’t. Or even as time goes by, those critiques
failed to see the changes that the person has obtained.
It isn’t easy being a good boy because there are a lot of factors to be met. You have to
work harder so that people can distinguish your likes and dislikes and that’s the thing you must
repeatedly do to make it clear for them that you are also not the typical person they usually see.
That you are also someone else living in the same body. These pressures that were applied like the
expectations and flatteries are the wild things, things that we need to learn to tame. These will also
let us learn new things. Being a “saint” and a “good boy” is never easy, but expressing the other
sides of you is will add new adjectives to describe who you really are.
- Saint
15
Game Teaches Life
A
game can be metaphorical in life: there is a beginning and an end, but between these two
is the essence of the game. To address the people around the world who have already ce-
mented their negative ideals on video games, there is always an essence of life, not just in video
games but also in everything which you have always thought were nonsense. Also, the lessons
about life are not always in the textbook. Sometimes, you can see it from your hobby.
Ever since I was a kid, I spend a lot of time playing video games, since I have neither toys
nor friends to play with in an isolated home with no neighbor who has a kid the same age as mine.
For other people who are already influenced by those reports and researches on the news and arti-
cles about the negative effects, such as video games can influence children for violence, they think
that it is an unhealthy habit of mine when I spend a lot of time playing these. But for me, I would-
n’t mind as long as I am away from my sufferings in real life, because in the virtual world, they
wouldn’t bother me anymore. It is because back then, video games were my teddy bears or toys
which were something that I can lean on when I’m alone.
As the time passed by, I grew up hearing repetitive words such as: “education is the top-
most priority for your future”; and “stop wasting your time on playing video games for it has noth-
ing to deal within the real life.” These words made me wonder why video games are treated as a
huge threat for the future of a teenager like me. Aren’t they the same as movies and novels?
Video games, just like the movies and novels, are also narratives. There’s always a begin-
ning and an ending. There is a plot and it is very structural. However, one thing that is different
from all types of narratives is the connection between the readers or the audience and the medium.
As a player, you have to immerse yourself and experience the game in order to understand the
narratives by playing it and making progress over time. Out of all these forms of media, why are
video games perceived as a huge threat for the future? As a kid who grew up loving video games,
the effects are not different from those who grew up loving novels and movies. Although, these are
only for entertainment, but for us, they teach us how to live.
16

As a lone kid back then, there were a lot of things which video game taught me. It taught
me the essence of progression during playing, as you will get the feeling of failure and success and
it makes you realize your mistakes to help you keep moving forward, because in video games, there
is always a restart button to redo the things that should have been done in the previous attempts. It
taught me how to smile, as I enjoy playing the game with no regrets no matter what I have gotten in
the end of the game—just like in reality, you should be dedicated on the things you love and never
expect something in return. It also taught me the patience success. I learned that there is no
shortcut on achieving something, because nothing is interesting if there is a shortcut. It taught me
how to build connections to someone through common interest. It taught me how to make little
things bigger by appreciating and paying attention to the things that surrounds you. It is because
in life, the most enjoyable moment is not after achieving your goals, rather it is in the process on
achieving your goals. The reason why other people didn’t have much fun on their lives is that they
always seek for their own future and were unable to see what they already have in the present. It’s a
shame for others that they tend to make their world smaller and shorter just to achieve their own
goals in their life.
Video games made me realize that everything is like a betting game—when there is
something that made you feel uncertain, it is all about your intuition guided by your logic—you
just have to believe the probability of life. And don’t just seek too much on what’s ahead. Seek
something that is closer to you. With that, you can clearly see what lies ahead.
- Bestie
17
Cutting Crowns
L
ong, blonde hair, cascades down her shoulders like curtains of a waterfall that shimmers at
the gentle touch of the rays of the sun. Its length reflected the regal glow of yellow as it
snaked against her legs and finally reached the floor where it created a pool of gold. She brushed
her hair from the tips and slowly worked her way up to its roots (she heard it’s more effective that
way) and as the comb glides through the thin strands, they appeared to be glowing. One might
think her name was Rapunzel, but she wasn’t; although she certainly felt like her and that’s all
that mattered.
The movies have always had a way of framing women and their faces with ridiculously
unrealistic luscious hair that seems to bounce off effortlessly around her—the kind of hair a man
gets lost into when they dive into the neck of the woman whose locks of chocolate brown, smelled
of strawberry and earth. Sometimes it comes with a spectrum of colors that are both flashy and
beautiful. There’s no wonder why the hair is called the crowning glory for its ability to lure others
into their swathes. And these were the kinds of movies that railed the road for my train of thought
to arrive to the destination of myths. I, for one, was a believer of the myth of long haired women.
Growing up, I was determined to let my jet-black hair grow long and didn’t want my
parents to have it cut. And just like any other kid, I chew gums daily. One day, I was lying down
while chewing a bubble gum. I’ve become preoccupied with chewing my gum that I had let it stay
inside my mouth even after it has already gone bitter and stale. And like most gums, the experi-
ence I had was sweet and delightful for a moment and just as quickly, it left a bitter taste that last-
ed a lot longer. I tried the trick of blowing a bubble out of my gum when suddenly it took off my
lips like a rocket and just as suddenly crash-landed into the mush of great unknown so dark it was
devoid of light; my unfortunate hair. I could only taste bitterness in my mouth and it slowly made
its way to my mind when I’d learned I had to cut my hair. It seemed to me then that it was the only
way I could get rid of the sticky problem. Gone are the frivolous sensation gums have given me
when the same incident happened two more times, each time I promised never to commit the same
18
mistake again. Gums never tasted the same ever again.
Since then, my hair has never gotten longer past my shoulder blades. Not until I graduat-
ed sixth grade when I had it curled for the ceremony. Then the stretch of my high school years has
become a catalog for the wide variety of my haircuts. It was during this period when freedom tast-
ed sweeter than any strawberry-flavored gum I could ever chew. I could explore and sport different
kinds of hairstyles on the account of no one else but myself. I’ve also had my fair share of bangs
and fringes. Some I horribly regret and swore against, some I loved and promised to have again. If
anything went wrong, I knew I could always grow them out given more time.
It was the beginning of my fourth year in high school when I had my hair the longest
than it has ever been. Its ends reached until the last pair of my ribs. And every time I walked past
mirrors, I never missed the chance to part my hair in the middle and bring each section in front
me. I imagined what it was like to be a little mermaid who sometimes uses her long shiny red hair
to cover her chest. One less thing off my checklist. One step closer to luring men into the sea.
One Sunday afternoon, my mom and I went to our usual hair parlor. Jun is a Seventh-
Day Adventist, so he only opens his shop on Sundays during the weekend. My mom was getting a
haircut. It was a long wait I hardly sat still. And when she got up, an idea came to me like a Eureka
moment no one has ever expected and is ever ready for. I had decided I wanted to cut my hair
short, too, even shorter than I usually get when I go for a trim. This time the length I wanted was
above my shoulders. I sat on the chair and for once didn't feel anxious about how it would turn
out. I wasn’t worried about what I would look like or how it would feel to have a fair amount of
mass cut off from me. If anything, I was excited. For a second, it took me back to the time I had to
cut my hair because of just one gum; only that this time it was different. I was completely in control
of the situation. No gums. No second thoughts. Not even anyone’s approval. I felt like I was meant
to be there, sitting at that very chair at that exact moment. The decision felt so right just like a hot
cup of tea you put aside on your table while you sit back and read a book for a while and when you
come back and reach for the cup you feel that exact warmth you know is just right.
19
I watched my reflection on the mirror in front of me and I felt the cold water being
sprayed on my scalp wetting my roots. Then I heard the familiar snip of the pair of scissors, Jun
was carefully holding with one hand while the other with the black rattail comb. I could feel Jun
cut sections of my hair until he reached the level of my shoulder blades. I could only imagine how
the strands of my hair fell slowly like slashed kites onto the tiled floor barely making a sound.
Somehow, I saw some strands of my hair fall on the pink cloth that covered me. They slid off the
way rocks slide down the Alpines and just stops at some ledges. I couldn't resist the urge to raise
the cloth higher sending the clumps of hair spiraling down the cold floor.
Thinking back, I realized some questions. “Why would Jun or every hairdresser had to
cut hair that way?”, “Why start at the bottom when he could've started snipping away just below
my shoulders and then carefully fashion it from there?”, “Was there any ritual that way that he
didn't cut to the chase and make the process a whole lot faster?”. He could’ve saved himself the
effort it takes to sweep the floor with all the hair scattered around. Then again, I wouldn't know. I
was just a regular customer who patiently waited for the result. I wasn’t accustomed to question
how and why things were the way they were. I was fed with preconceived notions of everything
around me. How wrong I was to think that beauty was defined only within the four corners of the
rectangular television screen; that the length of everything, may it be your hair, your skirt or your
patience could define the entire you.
The clink the pair of scissors made against the glass table in front of me marked the
nearing end. The whirr of the hair dryer sent my back to arch as the feeling of discomfort ran
down the spine which made my back tingle. I removed the cloth and got the brush which I used to
whisk away the bits of hair from my neck. The bristles of the brush can now easily tickle my nape
as there was no more hair to conceal that part of my neck. And just like that, it was over.
I stood up and glanced down at the wonderful mess. My hair has finally reached the
floor, although it was not the way I originally had in mind. A pool of years’ worth of jet-black locks
have materialized by my feet. They didn’t appear to be golden for along with my clumps of hair
20

were the beliefs and myths I’ve chewed for years that just have gone stale the instant I saw my short
hair in the mirror in front of me. I felt lighter, not only in the head, but also on the thought that I
was able to leave behind the myth I had created for myself. And in that moment, I swear I could
sense something around me was glowing. And I thought maybe Snow White truly was the fairest of
them all.
- Theysii
21
Sheet of Ice
A
distant sound of laughter from the outside is clearly audible from the “sala,” where the
image of children playing on the lawn covered with dirt and mud, but with smiles plas-
tered on their faces is being reflected on the glass surfaces of the house. In a white pair of shorts,
and a pink tank top was a girl who was crying after tripping from a stone. Her playmates and the
adults gathered to tend her wound.
The family was gathered together for an occasion at the beach where the children played
with the waves, confronting it with great joy and anticipation. The crowd cheered when a blue car
arrived. A girl jumped out of the vehicle and ran off to her aunts and uncles, receiving their seem-
ingly unending kisses. The child then ran off to her cousins, taking her clothes off except for a
swimsuit that hid underneath, ready to play on the shore.
A yell was heard from the shore except for, calling the children to eat and come back
with the rented floaters. Upon reaching the shore, the girl got hit by molded sand, irked the girl,
sparking a sand-throwing clash between the children. When one was hit near the eye and started
crying, there, they decided to eat and ran off upon hearing their playmate's sobs. The seawater felt
extra cold in her hands, maybe because of the weather.
The faucet was running with a lineup of large basins underneath which carried one child
per basin, waiting for their little pool to be filled up and play with a charade of neighboring pools.
The girl grabbed the hose from the garden and splashed water on the faces of her playmates,
which resulted to a wrestling match with the prize of hose ownership and revenge. The hose was
snitched by the oldest child and the children started running around the garden to dodge the
water, laughing. Then, the nanny discovered her nursed children playing with water and was
ready to spank them when the kids started running rounding her with laughter and taunting. But
the girl felt unusually cold from the hose she was holding.
The girl was doing her assignments with her cousins when she decided to get them
drinks and goes to the kitchen to prepare something. Opening the refrigerator, the girl discovered
22
a sheet of ice covering the walls of the freezer section of the refrigerator and rolls it up with her
hand slightly amazed. Her cousins was looking at her with her hands behind her slightly dazed
with the girl's hideous smile when the girl surprisingly threw ice balls to her cousins which caused
them running around the house when they discovered it was from the refrigerator and had imag-
ined snow ball fight in a tropical country. The fight was then halted when their grandmother came,
scolding them playing with the electricity with frequent opening of the refrigerator but the chil-
dren were still laughing and drops of water where within their seats, listening to their grandma's
rants while the ice balls dissolved from their hands. The tingling sensation of the ice from her
hands brought coldness not just from her hands but up to her spine.
Drops of water were continuously dropping to the floor when I was tapped at the shoul-
ders by my sister cautiously seeing me facing the opened refrigerator blankly. I was smiling when I
tive praises from the people you want to hear it from, misconceptions and prejudices upon com-
munity and an unknown self. There are many ways or processes of adulting, some may experience
it a bit rough and some may excel at it simultaneously. In some experiences we feel that life pushes
us to our edges, there are many ways to fight back your shitty life. Try to talk more to yourself,
inner communication, know what are the things that make you happy and things that are conven-
ient in your situations. If you feel like you will explode with the challenges your shitty life gives you,
always take a reroute—engage yourself with the things that make you happy. Adulting may be
difficult in this stage of our lives, but one note that I will give you in this journey of shitty adulating
is, don’t lose yourselves.
I am now keeping my track.

- ZBalt
closed the door of the refrigerator, I was baffled why I suddenly felt to open the refrigerator earlier
and play with the surrounding ice of the refrigerator when I remembered some of my good old
days. I was tending to get a cold water to drink when my body just unconsciously reached the
freezer section door and grabbed some ice which was very childish of me.
I came from school tired, listening the whole day to series of presentations of my class-
mates’ defense proposals and sitting at the audience whole day which exhausted my energy even
though I was just sitting at the back. I was trying to relax my mind to prepare for some bloody
school works, then I remembered the incident earlier—how the dissolving ice felt and how it shov-
els some happy moments from my childhood was a happy anchorage of my soul. How the coldness
of the ice felt when my fingertips reached the walls. It voyaged my mind to the days when I haven’t
bothered to problematize things around me and was very happy with the small things that I re-
ceive from life. I was kindly overwhelmed by how it is so easy to be happy with nothing in those
moments, but reality really sucks with growing up.
As you took those bumpy roads to take that altered, these superficial ideas of happiness
and returning to face the realities dawned on you—ton of unending school works, less apprecia-

23 24
Taking the Wheels Hundred-Eighty Degrees
The Difference Between Ban and Ton
I Am Lucky To Live With Women
Personal Account on Maratabat
Being a Brokenhearted Man
Everyday at 4:45 A.M.
Loving My Body
The Water Bottle
Inside the Box
Life Goes On
Taking the Wheels Hundred-Eighty Degrees
W
indows closed, doors opened, a family of four got out of the car, sun striking vigorously
as she and her family waited outside the clinic, waiting for her name to be called, wish-
ing that a space could be made inside the clinic and hoping that the cool air conditioning will dry
their sweaty skin. As soon as one patient got out, her named was called as if winning the grand
prize of a lottery. Together with her family, she excitedly roamed her eyes around the room as if on
a window-shopping. She saw different diagrams, charts, and drawings on the colorful images of
hearts and a fancy bed on the right. But her shopping stopped when she saw a medium-sized table
and met the chink-like eyes of a woman in her late 40s sitting just right. She was shocked, as if she
found a lovely garment but couldn’t believe the price tag to be too grand. The woman was the doc-
tor, a doctor for children’s hearts.
As she sat on the chair across the table, the doctor began to scan her chest with a stetho-
scope. The eyes of the cardiologist seized to meet with those of her parents. After a few checks –
mouth, ears, eyes—the doctor asked her to wait for her parents outside. Obedient yet bewildered,
she followed the doctor’s order. She went out saying hello to the striking heat again and thought
that maybe the prize she imagined was not as grand as she thought it was. It wasn’t indeed. The
twinkle in her parents’ eyes was gone but as soon as they saw her, they tried to replace the gloomi-
ness with vibrance as they tell her a story about her diagnosis of a rheumatic heart disease. Like
any other bedtime stories, she listened. However, this story did not put her to sleep. Instead, she
began to feel chill, fearfully thinking if she’s still going to breathe the next second, play with the
wind, hear the honking of the cars, and eat the food she could possibly eat. Yes, she made it day by
day, but the chilling continued and she began to hate breathing. She disliked the wind—for her
the wind is full of disgust. The honking of the cars wasn’t a melody anymore but rather just an
awful noise disturbing the sleep of a baby, and the food were contained in bars. Tired of adjust-
ments and the restrictions, she got to a point where she disliked living.
One afternoon she went for a drive, to her elementary school. She missed her friends,
27
classmates and teachers. It has been almost two months since she stopped due to the doctor’s or-
der for consecutive bed rest. She entered the premises with glorious expectations; you could see her
body leap as she began to greet the people she missed. Her smile was much wider than the four-
lane roads but as she continued, the smile became narrow, then narrower. You could see her tear-
ing up, watching excitement make its exit. She didn’t like hearing people’s questions: “The gradua-
tion is near, why did you stop?”, “How do you feel?”. She felt like the people treated her differently.
She saw sympathy as an insult. She left without any feeling of being welcomed. She felt as if she
was a stray dog—pitied by many, ignored by some.
Change was all that can be seen. Everything, to her, drastically changed. It was seeing
roads crash, two-lanes becoming one and the smoke signifying sorrow; it was a change towards
becoming indifferent to herself and the people she loved and maybe loved her back. She stepped
on the clutch, shifting the gear to 4, not minding what lies ahead whether it’s a construction or
whatnot; she didn’t care. Suicidal. “Is this all that life can offer?” she asked me. Let me rephrase
that, I asked the question to my very self.
I was used to driving on an asphalt road where pain and sorrow weren’t visible. It was
out of my sight that the roads in life aren’t always of the same kind. Some paths towards success
changed, the people living in that place perhaps vacated that I too needed to halt and ask for di-
rections along the way. I haven’t apprehended that beyond the asphalt road, there are still many
and many roads that are yet to become such. I was a passive-impulsive driver. Passive in a way that
I was only mindful of what’s in front. I didn’t even bother to open up the window, to wave a hand
to a passerby or even let my hair dance with the wind. Impulsive such that that my reaction was
flowing without thinking deeply what could’ve been a better way of accepting and understanding
things. I’ve thought of the reasons why I felt indifferent towards other people and even myself. It
was because I’ve seen myself as the odd-one-out. I couldn’t do all the things that everyone is doing,
not even playing dakpanay. I was like a Racal in a road full of Montero. I was scared that I couldn’t
fit in alone and different. I was scared that society in general would find someone like me outra-
28
geous, for it has seen a fragile individual—a burden who deserves to be left out. With this the trunk. I opened the ceiling of my car embracing the intensity of the wind, swaying with the
thought, I became more ill. The pity I’ve received from people were dust frolicking on my wind- trees and embracing the sun striking vigorously.
shield.

- Littleqscnt
As I step on the brakes to make a halt, I look back on the things that were worth appreci-
ating. I was only after the thought of fitting in. I wasn’t mindful of the thought that I could be one
of the Monteros by being just myself. I have an ability too—an ability to wipe off those dust and
continue to drive clearly. The way on how I perceive things—I can see downfall as resurgence,
drawn on my hands! I wasn’t a stray dog after all! I was the one who made myself astray by being
indifferent, distant. I looked too much on what almost everybody is having. I failed to see the other
side which could’ve been more beneficial on my part; to see the rainbow even if it’s raining. I was
only mindful of what my eyes could see in front. I didn’t even bother to open up the window for
myself to say hello to the sun, to wave a hand to a passerby. I have understood the signage the oth-
er way around. I focused only on the thought of the roads that’ll give me luxury, forgetting how
lovely the scenery is on my left and right, like that of the trees that I passed by alongside of the
road. I forgot to thank even the smallest of things that I have received; maybe I wouldn’t be breath-
ing as of this moment if my diagnosis was found in its critical stage, maybe I would’ve hated life to
the fullest if I continued to see sympathy as something that’s lame and burdensome.
Indeed in life you need to take a break from time to time, to not just see what’s straight
ahead but rather, turn to some degrees, right to left, and think of what has become and what will
become. There’s also a need to turn the wheels a hundred-eighty degrees to pass through things
that tastes bitter as well as those that are sweet. Everyone has their own way and capability of per-
ceiving and accepting enigmas. And in making a halt, you are reminded to grow and realize that
things, no matter how small, can help you become an effective and rational driver, ready to accept
diversions.
I hear the honking of a car, maybe it took me a long time for a stop (laughs)! I step on the
clutch, put the gear to 1, enthusiastic and ready to begin a new road trip with life lessons loaded in

29 30
The Difference Between Ban and Ton the box. Thinking like there is no box at all, without the box wall that is a hindrance to some as-

I am nothing but an observer of the two: Ban and Ton. Both grew up together in the same
environment. They were nurtured by their parents properly, and even have the same experi-
ences. But in some way, I find them different from each other.
Ban is conservative, honest, responsible, headstrong, optimistic, confident, open-minded,
and selfless. While Ton is a liberated bisexual, dishonest, runs from responsibilities, empty, pessi-
mistic, less confident, close-minded, and selfish. Ton drinks alcoholic beverages while Ban doesn’t.
pect, makes it difficult to see both the inside and the outside. Make those box walls disappear.
Sometimes, we need a wall to separate things to see their difference. In binarism, you
have to see the difference between two things properly—to sort things properly without a wall
that separates them—which is why we should not choose between Ban and Ton. We should accept
the difference between Ban and Ton.

- Dropdeadgorgeous
Ton almost tried to puff a cigarette while Ban knows it’s bad for health. Ton skips classes while Ban
knows how to value education. Ban is obedient while Ton is a rebel. Ban hates Ton, and Ton feels
the same way for Ban. Both exist to contradict each other.
Actually, Ban and Ton were just character names derived from mine. Ban, because at
home, they call me “B-ann”, simply my nickname without a dash. Ton came from “Antonette”. I am
Ban within the boundaries of my household. I am Ton outside the boundaries—afraid to be
judged by my loved ones. Ton is me who drinks alcoholic beverages, and Ban is still me who tries to
minimize it. Ton is the curious me about cigarettes and Ban is still me, thinking not to give in to
that curiosity because it is bad for my health. Ton is me skipping classes to relieve stress, and Ban
is also me who values education, so I still try my best at school. Ton is me who knows who to follow,
and Ban is still me trying to consider things.
As you can see, I accept the parts of myself who is Ban and Ton. Everyone has his or her
own Ban and Ton, too, yet most of us rejects, hides, and even forgets either one them—only ac-
cepting who most people prefer or choose. I accept the binarism of myself.
Have you ever wondered about the binarism of oneself? Some people think it is being
naïve when you can’t choose between two choices. But no, binarism is far more different from being
naïve. The binarism of oneself is when the words “choosing in between” never cross your mind. It is
never a dilemma in which you have to choose, because they are not considered as choices in the
first place. Some people think outside the box but try to think like there is no inside and outside

31 32
I Am Lucky To Live With Women
I nside our hotel room, my girl best friend, all wet and fresh from the bath, started to take off
her towel in front of me. I turned to the other direction, as she instructed. But she eventually
decided to not give a damn if I saw her in panties, and told me that she no longer minds if I catch a
glimpse of her bareness. In her defense, she told me that she trusts me well enough and knows that
I am not that kind of guy. After all, we were busy preparing for what was ahead of us that day,
especially the entrance examination we were about to take.
That genuine trust she had in me led me to see a problem with the status quo. Apparent-
ly, not all men remember the premium trust given to them by women. There are men who still
resort to the male lustful gaze over the beauty of the female body, reducing the temple of every
woman to a mere spectacle. There are some who ridicule their wives’ bodies forgetting that appear-
ances are a topic that must be dealt with sensitivity, despite having promised to love and respect
their wives under the law of men and law of god. There are some who have female best friends with
whom they spend drink-out sessions with, but end up destroying the precious trust given to them
after being intoxicated with alcohol, forgetting the very fact that these women trusted them with
their lives.
In that close and intimate setting, I was reminded how every woman deserves someone
who will go through all her frustrations, her blood-stained mattresses, the hell of dysmenorrhea,
the burden of wearing bras every day, pierced ears, body standards, fulfilling the socially-
constructed ideals, among many others. Women don’t need our catcalling. They loathe compli-
ments that are secretly rooted from the unpleasant wonderland in a man’s brain. Instead, they
need a foundation of trust, love, and the right people who can empathize with their daily struggles.
Had it not been because of my rich background with women since childhood, I would
never have been able to appreciate and understand the burden and beauty of what it is like to be a
‘she.’ Living in a household together with women is a privilege I am lucky to have.
I spent most of my childhood in my grandmother’s house which we considered the fami-
33
ly’s ancestral home. My first playmate was my sister and we always had tons of fun together. When
she was not available, I would play with my girl cousins, who at that time lived together with us. By
the time our gang was complete, we had endless fun. We made a horror house out of a small room,
and a successful bank along the staircase of our grandmother’s house. It was a time of good mem-
ories, youthful spirit, and a subject to be reflected upon. I am most comfortable whenever I am with
my female cousins because more than the idea of having fun as a kid, the bond that we’ve shared
together gives me the assurance of belongingness.
Belongingness is a gear that is important in order to mobilize trust among people. As
children with little rationality about the world, it is essential to establish ourselves in the reality we
live in, even in the smallest of ways. In order to do so, comfort must come first within peers because
they are the same people affect our lives enormously. If we belong, we connect socially, spiritually,
emotionally, and mentally. In my case, my childhood experience in my grandmother’s home pre-
pared me to be engaged with the lives of the opposite sex.
However, deciding to side with women indeed comes with a trade-off – in a world where
patriarchy dominates even in the smallest corner, the probability of being ridiculed only gets big-
ger. I have repeatedly been bullied and called ‘bayot,’ which is a derogatory term used against men.
My lady-like features such as my voice and interests were often misunderstood. For instance, I get
laughed at whenever i use a girl character in a video game because as a “gamer guy”, it is expected
of me to pick a male character.
It is alarming to see how many people have developed this way of thinking, probably due
to the strong influence of the Spanish machismo and other ideologies that try to box the male
identity. The imposition of double standards is exactly the reason why I empathize more with
women, because just like them, I have to fight these socially-constructed ideas that put us in a de-
fault pedestal.
Even if I was harassed for being effeminate, I love how my I have been exposed to a varie-
ty of females in my childhood, each packed with a narrative that I can still recall. together with a
34

mother that works hard in order to provide for us, a sister who was my first companion in almost
everything in my younger years, my girl cousins who had been my first playmates, a female helper
who has taught me to live simply and eat inun-unan na isda, my classmates who have allowed me
to be part of their little games, and a grandmother whose primary concern is our wellness.
The risk of fighting with and in behalf of women is a trade-off I am willing to take. In-
stead of adding to their burden, I have decided to support women in breaking down the social
barriers they are faced with every day, and there is nothing more beautiful than humans helping
one another.
- Alec
35
Personal Account on Maratabat
M
aratabat in itself is broad, vast and ambiguous. It is one of the untranslatable words
of the Maranao language. Perhaps, it is not a word but rather, a value. Many linguists
have tried to translate it but have ended up with nothing, as its peculiarity and its nuances
emerge. Some have roughly translated it as Pride, Honor, Sense of Responsibility, one’s intrinsic
reflex when in a humiliating situation and an act of retaliation, but all of these only reveal a part of
the general truth about Maratabat and it is something that I’m familiar with.
I was brought up in an environment that places a high regard to one’s honor and social
standing. We were made to believe that it is better to die than to be humiliated for it would cause
the loss of face for the family. Maratabat in this context then, means Honor. As a Maranao, I’ve
seen firsthand what it is like when one’s Maratabat is desecrated. It was 2016 when my cousin was
beaten up by her admirer as a result of his obsession over her. Our family, upon hearing this scan-
dal, was indeed infuriated by the sudden and shocking news that came upon us. Who could’ve
believed that a man would do such an outrageous act towards a woman, knowing that women in
the Maranao culture are held with esteem and respect? And yes, the man who did the crime was
also a Maranao.
Our family, perturbed and mad by the blitzkrieg of events that have just happened,
quickly convened a family meeting to discuss the options that we are going to resort to, and as a
result, we came up with only two yet fatal options. It’s either the man will pay a heavy price as com-
pensation for our family’s damaged honor, or death that will then throw our family into a series of
murder, ambush and bloody feud. Because of these, two options were presented to us; we were
made to decide. However, it wasn’t what most of us expected. We were unexpectedly divided! Some
opted for the option of making the perpetrator pay a huge amount of compensation while some
have opted to throw the balance by plunging our family into the perpetual cycle of death just to
avenge our debased honor. Brave it may sound but despite their decision of war, they had their
reservations. We were made to understand that if we will choose war over the compensation, our
36
lives would be ruined because we have to hide and live in incognito so as to avoid perilous possibili- to our belief, is something that must not be compromised because otherwise, our Maratabat in the
ties such as untimely death. In the end, after convincing the rest of the family members, they chose context of social standing would be degraded.
to make the criminal pay a hefty price. By doing so, we are also agreeing to the term that we will

- Stalingrad
not do any acts of revenge as we’ve chosen the former than the latter. In other words, the case will
close totally if we will choose the first option. Left with no other choice, we chose the said option not
because we’re cowards but because we’ve deeply thought about and considered the effects that it
would cause us all if we opted the latter option. This all boils down to the desecration of our Marat-
abat and how essential it is in our lives.
The Maratabat as a social standing on the other hand, explores the complexities of the
traditional Maranao social hierarchy that still exists today. In connection with the idea of Marata-
bat as Honor, Maratabat as a social standing reflects how honorable a person is. It’s just like saying
that the loftier a Maranao’s stratum is in the hierarchy, the more honored he or she is. This, there-
fore, means that one’s honor has something to do with one’s social standing thus, directly propor-
tional. I’m very well-reminded by my grandmothers that I’m not just an ordinary person as I’ve
descended from long line of kings and sovereigns. This was something that I did not believe at first,
to be honest. How come I’m a royalty if I’m living in a democratic society? However, I was made to
understand that long before the arrival of the colonizers, the Maranaos had their own political
system called the Sultanate system. My grandmothers said that it is unlike the monarchies of the
west, for those of the west were just symbolic in nature. Whereas, the Maranaos have developed a
system that is hereditary and that everything is justifiable by the virtue of one’s birth. Upon hear-
ing their justification, I was awe-struck and amazed as I myself, thinking before that I was just an
ordinary person, was actually of royal ilk.
Furthermore, my grandmothers added that, alongside with our ascribed lofty status, we
have to guard our honor as it is what distinguishes “Us” from “Them”. Upon contemplating about
what they’ve said, I realized that my grandmothers’ mentality was exclusivist, snobbish and elitist
in nature. However, despite the negative connotation that it may imply, honor above all, according

37 38
Being a Brokenhearted Man
I was three when I found out that my heart was broken. I barely even knew yet what love real-
ly is. I was diagnosed with an abnormality in the heart known as Tetralogy of Fallot, which
features a hole in the heart. It was observed that my pace was slow. I could not catch my breath. My
lips and nails were as dark as a gloomy night and every activity that I undertook seemed to be wea-
rying. Due to my unfortunate condition, I had to undergo a surgery to be able to live. The surgery
came and left a scar in my chest, drawing a straight line in the surface of my skin and removing
seemed impossible. As I grew older, it appears that I have forgotten the detail of what had hap-
pened. I could not recall the name of my doctor, the ward where I was in and the smell of the heart
center. It is not because the doctors used anesthetics so that I could not feel any pain but because I
began to live my life. No more medicines, no more check-ups and no more cardiologists.
But one January night in my 17th year, everything changed. It was 12 a.m. The night was
calm, but I was not. Sitting at the top of my wooden bed, I was squirming, hearing a crackle as I
move. I was experiencing insomnia. I could not sleep. I felt the breathing in my nose – the air as it
passes in and out of my nostrils. I was gasping for oxygen. I was uncertain whether it had some-
thing to do with my heart. My life began to flash inside my head, recalling the pieces of advice and
warnings the family and the doctors had given to me. I recalled the one that struck me most, when
my uncle told me that my heart condition may reoccur if I am not taking care of my body well. For
a moment, I look back on all the things that I have done to my body and felt regretful. Back then, I
was the only one who was awake in our pad because my older brother, who I lived with, was sleep-
ing soundly. I did not bother to wake him up because I am sure it will be gone when I am asleep.
And so I forced my eyelids to close and got groggy. Quietly sleeping, I enter the trance.
Morning came, but the pain never left. I feel uneasy. When I opened the screen door of
our room to look at the meadow in an empty lot next to us, I saw a grey car, stopping over near the
perimeter of our pad. I looked at it closely and saw my mother and my little brother emerging out
from the car. Judging by the plate number and the model, I remembered it was my uncle’s. They
39
called yesterday, telling us that they will pay us a visit and will be riding in our uncle’s car because
he will be returning to his home in the neighboring city. I rush quickly into the gate to open it for
them. As I twist the lock, my mother began a conversation. Hearing her, I felt the warmness of her
voice. Reminiscing the days when we were still living in our house, the days when fast foods, take-
outs and ready-to-eat food were not the norm, and not to mention, the pranks I played on her that
made us laugh. When she arrived at the pad, she humorously pestered us about our chaotic life-
style, telling us to throw this, keep this and clean this. It did not last quite longer than I expected
because we were going out to eat.
My uncle was still waiting in his car, knowing that he is going to treat us for breakfast as
told by my mother. We then wore our clothes for the day and hopped in for the nearby fast-food
chain. As we moved through the concrete road block by block, I reminisce the feeling of the air
passing through the pores of my skin when I was just walking along the sidewalks, being an ob-
server to the movements of the cars. And I felt the air was different inside a car. My uncle ought to
find a parking space first before we settle in but could not find any in front of the fast-food estab-
lishment, so we looked at the rear part. There were arrows pointing to a particular direction that
appears to be a parking space. It was funny because the path was actually leading to a drive-thru.
We cursed the signage of the establishment for misleading us. There we waited in a line for a cou-
ple of minutes, conforming to the movements of the customers. After the delay that we had en-
countered, we went to the neighboring fast-food chain where parking space was abundant. We
ordered the same old food but there was something new. Not because it was an expense-free
breakfast but because I was able to break the chain of dining alone. For a moment, I forgot the
discomfort that persists in my chest because I was with them and not to mention I have a cough.
Sipping on a hot chocolate drink, my tongue got burned. After an hour of eating and talking, my
uncle bid his farewell and my older brother went to his morning class. I was left with my mother
and my younger brother. And they ought to venture in the newly opened mall and so I was with
them to be the guide because I had nothing to do.
40
 Riding on a public utility jeep, they were able to have a glance of the city. The smell of
ocean from the fresh fishes of the market invites them to dive. The smoke from the car and the heat
of the sun embraced them. And their eyes were fed with structures of different sizes. My mother
was praising it, showing her enthusiasm. When we arrived at the mall, her eyes were scanning
every detail of it and got stuck on discounted shoes. She asked us of what we wanted. My younger
brother responded, who is unable to talk due to hearing impairment, pointing out the superhero
merchandises. Meanwhile, I was not displaying any eagerness towards buying an item because the
uneasiness I felt never left. When my mother asked me if I was okay, I was fooling around telling
her that I am about to die. She never took me seriously and went on her shopping spree. My broth-
er and I sat on a bench feeling uneasy, waiting for her to end her indulgence. After going in and
out to numerous stores, we decided that we should leave for another mall because she ought to buy
me a cheap foam for my bed to make myself comfortable in my pad. We went for another ride but
the matter was not available in the mall and so we went to what we thought a nearby furniture
house. Actually, it felt far because the sun was harsh during that morning. It was the first furniture
store that I visited. Nonetheless, we were able to find a cheap foam, perfect for the measurement of
my bed. We then bought a take-out from a Chinese restaurant while walking. It was already after-
noon when we arrived at the pad.
I remembered that my friends and I ought to go to this newly opened gym by 2:30 p.m.
But the uneasiness I was feeling persisted, and so my mother confronted me to what I really felt.
She took me now seriously and we went to the nearby hospital for a check-up, leaving my younger
brother behind to stay in the pad. The outpatient department was our destination and it was also
the emergency area. I was told that they ought to check my vitals first particularly the blood pres-
sure and oxygen level in my body before proceeding with the consultation. As the nurse was pre-
examining me, a high-speed vehicle approached us, carrying a fainted man in it. The nurse quickly
went out and got a bed for him and they went to the emergency room. I felt a chill in my spine not
because of the cold afternoon drizzle, but because it was unusual for me to have that kind of feel-
41
ing. As I turn to my mother, I saw her closing her eyes because she did not like to look at this kind
of stuff. So she interviewed the people who were carrying the man regarding what had happened.
They said he was repairing an electric line and suddenly had a heart attack. Moments later, the
doctor declared the patient dead on arrival. I saw the wife crying over the man. I was deeply sad-
dened by it. I felt a cringe in my heart and somehow also felt a little of the man’s pain remember-
ing that I was once in a hospital because of a heart condition. It was my first time to witness a life-
less man with a heart devoid of beating. The doctor continued with her job by proceeding to my
consultation. The doctor said that my vitals were okay, as a matter of fact my oxygen level was a
perfect 100. The doctor, together with my mother, said it may be just in my mind, something that
is psychological. But based on the doctor’s diagnosis it may be the cough that I have, blocking the
airway in my body. And so she gave me a prescription to expel the phlegm.
As we went home with the tears of the sky around us, I realized that our heart is fragile
and important. It is responsible for keeping us alive and capable of breaking apart without us even
knowing it. I wonder, how many times can my heart beat before it stops? Will it stop abruptly? Or
will it wait until I settled in? Our heart is full of uncertainties; listen to it and you will hear more,
ignore it and you will regret it. The day ended with me feeling the warmth of my younger brother’s
embrace, making sure that my heart still beats the same way.
- Ion
42
Everyday at 4:45 A.M.
W
e live in Linamon while my younger brother and I study in Iligan. So my mother wakes
up at 3:30 AM, takes a bath, and wakes me and my brother for school at 4:45 AM. How-
ever, every time she does, I always struggle between immediately taking a bath or sleeping a bit
more. It’s like my bed pulls me while my pillow whispers “sleep a bit more” with my pink blanket
hugging me, giving me the familiar warmth and comfort that makes me refuse leaving bed in a
cold, air-conditioned room. I want to get up and waste no time to avoid being late but my tired
mind and body, especially my eyes, ask for more.
I know very well that I should hurry since school and home feels like they’re at both ends
of the world, not to mention the seemingly endless traffic that always leave us stuck between impa-
tient drivers aggressively honking their cars and restless pedestrians racing over jeepneys or walk-
ing in the sidewalk and crossing the busy street. But despite knowing all that and wanting to rush,
I just can’t help but want to sleep more. So I always end up asking for five more minutes, which
ends up being ten, and then fifteen. Then my Mother would wake me up again because well, I’m in
a sound sleep, again. And by that moment, I would get back to my senses, get up, and take a bath.
Nah I’m just kidding, not completely back to my senses because the moment I enter the bathroom,
I always grab this small, round, purple chair on which I always sit on and then stare at the water,
contemplating about anything that comes to mind or whatever is planned to do on that day.
I always think like “no, this day would be different. I’ll change. But instead of rushing, I
just end up falling asleep again, hands on my knees and face on the back of my hands. Then my
Mother, knowing I fell asleep again, knocks on the door calling my name, telling me to hurry up.
Then I realize I’ve been asleep for about ten minutes and sometimes, even more. By that time, I
would then immediately brush my teeth and wash my face like I’m being chased by a wild boar. I
even lightly slap my face to get back to my senses and to make sure that I won’t fall asleep again.
Then I would take a bath as fast as I can to avoid getting scolded again. But well, it’s too late. We’re
already late for school and it’s my fault.
43
This happens every day, well excluding the weekends of course, unless I have to go to
school on a Saturday or Sunday. It became so normal to me that sometimes, I feel like weekday
mornings would always be like that and I can’t do anything to change it and to be honest, that
worries me. Maybe because I know that it shouldn’t be that way and that I should be considerate of
my brother and mother, especially my mother who wakes up really early so that we won’t be late
for school. Yet I still end up sleeping more, selfishly giving in to the temptation of a few more
minutes of sleep. This thought is something I even contemplated about while I was sitting in the
bathroom, which is quite ironic to be honest. My conscience bothers me. I say and think that I try,
but I feel like I’m still not trying hard enough to change. I feel like I’m being a burden to my family,
especially to my mother, and that bothers me a lot. Then reading Joan Didion’s essay, “On Self-
Respect” caused my conscience to bother me more, and in more ways. I realized that it’s not just
my mother and brother whom I disrespect every time this happens, but myself as well. I’ve been
trying to validate my mistakes by trying to argue that I really need that sleep, without realizing
that I’ve been kind of running away from the consequences of my actions. And then this somehow
gave me the thought that I might be denying who I am by denying my mistake. This shows that I
have lack of self-respect for myself. To be honest, I don’t think I ever had the thought that I was
disrespecting myself with my habit, which bothered me even more.
I believe I’m not the only one who experiences this dilemma, choosing between sleeping
more or rushing to finish things fast. I believe I’m not the only one who has struggles with what we
see as little things but are actually more than that. Mistakes, wrongdoings, bad habits, and/or
unhealthy routines are sometimes inevitable, for humans as we are, we cannot do everything per-
fectly. However, it is upon ourselves and how we value respect including ourselves, that we can
change and correct our mistakes. If not to correct them, then to at least face the consequences of
our actions with dignity and the will to not commit the same mistake again.
- Nazmah M.
44
Loving My Body
B eing fat all your life is never easy. One reason is whenever people make fun of you, you have
to endure the pain, humiliation and insults, so that you won’t embarrass yourself more if
ever you’ll break down. And, surely, there will come a time when you see other people who are
physically fit, or even just a person who has a normal body figure or weight. This certain question
will definitely pop out of your mind, “how or what does it feel like to have that body?” And if you’ll
ask me why I’m so certain about this, well, it’s because I am one, I’m one of those people who’s hav-
ing a hard time figuring out how to squeeze this two to three layers of bountiful potbelly in an all-
size-fit pants, just to blend in and look good but still fail and end up looking like a person who has
accidentally ingested a basketball. Mind you, I have been like this for almost 14 years now.
Before, I remember being a five-year-old kid who has constantly been called as the cute
chubby baby of our family, in church and even in our school, but even so it never really bothered
me at all. I was okay being the fat little kid, because I was happy being one. I appreciated myself for
what I am and how I look like, but I think it’s solely because I was still a kid who doesn’t care about
my surroundings and just loves snatching food from my classmates’ lunch boxes back then, which
became a factor why I gained a lot of weight growing up. Every year, my weight has continuously
gotten heavier, but then again, I wasn’t concerned by it. Besides, I constantly hanged out with a lot
of kids in our school without getting bullied about my weight anyway.
As soon as I started elementary school, that's when I became conscious of my own body. I
became aware of how fat I was, and how awfully disgusting I look like. And that’s because I was
always ridiculed by my classmates. They started calling me names which suits the shape of my
body, and it’s a body figure of a pig. I just never knew what or how to respond to it, because I
couldn’t blame them about my body for I clearly know that it was my own doing, why I look like
one. But I don’t want them to see that I was offended by it, since it only means that they have won
in making fun of me, which hurts my pride more. Hence, I was just there, sitting composedly and
even joined them in laughing at myself.
45
When you are fat, you feel less about yourself―like you’re unwanted and worthless
because of how people see your body. When you’re fat, you need to double your confidence and
stabilize your emotions when you want to make friends or socialize with other people, so that you
can always be prepared with their condemning eyes. When you’re fat, riding on any kind of trans-
portation is a great battle of conscience, since you’d feel sorry for taking up too much space in the
seats, and, trying not to cry from complaints you’d get from other passengers at the same time.
When you’re fat, shopping for your own clothes is like treasure hunting. You need to have great
patience and endurance in order to find the treasure which you are looking for. And when you are
alone, you get confused whether you’d be grateful that you’re alone, meaning, no one will judge
you, or you’ll feel miserable because no one is there for you.
It has always been like that―even when I was in my high school, especially when I began
to realize that in our culture, fat is a failure and that this kind of figure is not part of what we call
as the “standard beauty”. That’s why I have done all that I could just to lose a single pound, just so
I could fit to what’s normal in this society. I’ve been through numerous diet programs, plans, and
even went to the gym. But it just seems like no matter what I do, it has always been never enough. I
end up getting back on my track…eating unhealthy foods and all. And it has been really frustrat-
ing on my side. I felt insecure and I always pitied myself. It led me to the point of not knowing
what to do with myself anymore. I was exhausted, shattered and disappointed. So, I stopped mind-
ing what other people say about me. I continued doing things on my own. Basically, I lost hope.
Well, in the first place, I’m only doing it to please them to stop bullying. But I’m done with it. If I’m
fat, then, so be it.
Conversely, my parents were very worried about my health, because I haven’t got my
period for almost a year now. They bought me a bunch of exercising equipment and are very will-
ing to join me in my work out, despite the fact that they are really busy. And when I saw my moth-
er cry in front of me, begging to change my lifestyle, that’s where it hit me. That’s when I realized
all the things that I have done to myself, of how unhealthy I have become. I thought that maybe the
46
reason why I am so affected about everything they have said about me is because I, myself, am hav-
ing a hard time accepting what and who I truly am. Maybe I was also influenced of what society
dictates that it made me hate myself for not being one. So, I decided to reset: to change the way I
think and value myself more, not for the sake of pleasing other people but for me and my family.
We know that we are horizontally blessed. You don’t need to slap it on our face if you
have nothing good to say, because you don’t know what struggles we have been through just to lose
weight. It’s just so hard to change what’s normal for us. It’s hard depriving ourselves to conform
what you think is normal and ideal. So, before you bully someone because of how they look like,
think of how they would feel about it first.
You don’t need to shout it out or boast to everyone about us being fat, for we know, and
we are trying hard, to love and accept ourselves for who and what we are. And right now, I have
started to make changes in myself, because I want to live longer and be an inspiration. I want to be
as confident as I can be with my own body. I know that losing weight is not easy and it is not an
instantaneous process that just within one snap, everything will change.
Losing weight takes time. It needs great patience, energy, willingness and perseverance.
But I am willing to give it all with ease and happiness in my heart, because I learned to love, appre-
ciate, and treasure my body. And right now, I am still on my journey of being contented and to
enjoy living the life that I have rejected before.
I have come to realize that you can never truly love or be happy about your own body
when you base it on what the society sees as the ideal one. You will always feel insecure and less
about yourself, thinking that you will never be one. It is because each one of us is exceptional and is
beautiful in our own figure. Every flaw that you can think of―shapes, and even skin―are the
things that make you distinct from others. So, why follow the things that you are not?
- Nine
47
The Water Bottle
I remember the day when my mom bought a very fancy water bottle from her friend. It
was made of transparent glass, with an orange colored supporting rubber which holds
the bottle, with a design of little stars drawn on the cover of the water bottle. I heard it was ex-
pensive since it was labeled as “branded”. She said that even though it cost a lot, she still bought
it because it was her gift for me ― since I will be entering a new journey in my life, and that’s
senior high school. I felt so loved at that time. Similarly, I felt scared to bring that tumbler be-
cause I might lose it and my mom will definitely be mad at me.
And yes, I was right, months after the time she bought it, I noticed that I couldn’t find
my water bottle. I felt so nervous, so I flipped my bag inside out and took out all the things from
the inside, but I still couldn’t find my water bottle. What I did was that I did not tell my mom that I
lost the water bottle. Unfortunately, she noticed at the sink that there was no water bottle beside
my lunchbox, so she called my attention and calmly asked me about my water bottle. I nervously
replied that I lost it and I forgot where I placed it. She started to scold me; she started to mumble
about my water bottle; she labeled me as stupid and irresponsible for not keeping things properly;
and other than that, she spilled hurtful words towards me. I got mad at her too because she overre-
acted over that simple water bottle and that she got mad at me for a week. Why does she always
complicate things? What was inside my mind at that time was that she loved that water bottle
more than she loved me. I know it sounds funny, but at the time, she made me feel me that way.
But recently, I realized that the water bottle symbolized the love my mother has for me.
I remember back then, that every time we have a PE class, and I start to feel thirsty and
drink water from my water bottle, I could feel her care that she wants me to be hydrated all the
time and she always made sure that my water bottle is full of water inside of it. When I ate lunch
with my friends, they complimented me for having a very beautiful water bottle. I realized that my
mom wanted me to become the center of attraction. I realized that she wanted me to always be
complimented by the people around me, so that I can leave a good impression to them. Every time
48

my friends ran out of water, they immediately buy water from the canteen. Unfortunately some-
times, they can’t have it because they don’t have extra money to buy one. But in my case, I only
fetch water from the free refilling station near the guidance office. In that day, I realized that my
mother wanted to provide everything for me, even if I’m not around her. I also remember when we
visited my grandma’s grave, and I started to feel the thirst, we went to the nearest store and
bought a soft drink. We planned to take it out and she said “Ayaw lang isulod sa plastic cello-
phane ang soft drink dai aron dili ta makadugang ug sagbot sa palibot .” (Please don’t put the soft
drink inside the plastic cellophane so we won’t add more waste in our environment). She got my
water bottle and gave it to the storekeeper. I was so amazed because she’s not only concerned for
her family but also for the environment.
The moment I remembered the time when I still had my water bottle, I realized how those
little things can mean so much in the bigger picture. I finally understood why she was so angry at
me when I lost it. And after all the realizations, I always take good care of the things that she has
given to me. On the other hand, that incident made me realize so much of how a mother’s love can
help one in order to improve their self. Because of that, she was able to teach me how to value
things. The point is that, when she overreacted on the things that I lost shows how she values
things. If she can value it too much, how much more for me, her daughter. Then, I should also val-
ue the things that I have the way I value my mom in my life.
- Indaibadidai
49
Inside the Box
T
here’s always a time when we wish we can just lay down information about ourselves and let
every person in our life read it. However, we are always afraid of the consequences that are
entailed when letting them know us deeper. Most of the time, I wish I can stand up in the corner of
the room and shout all my worries in life, but it makes me think that I might not be the only one
who wishes to let out all their concerns inside the room. So instead of telling people my sentiments,
I resorted into keeping things under my bed.
I started putting things since the year 2014, when we first moved into our new home and
now, four years later, I still have those things kept inside a box. There would be car toys and dolls
that I used to collect back from my childhood days, clothes that I have either outgrown or I do not
want to wear anymore, broken phones, overly-used shoes and pile of novels I used to love.
I have lots of dolls back from my childhood. Before, I have an addiction of collecting dolls
even though they are the creepiest things on earth and as my Mom says, “girls should play dolls
because they are girls,” so when someone from my distant relatives bought me a car toy, the num-
ber of dolls at home doubled. My parents were a bit off, knowing that I started to play toy cars
because we come from a very conservative and religious family – my Uncle being a Pastor is a tes-
tament to it. Unfortunately, much to my parents’ dismay, I, their oldest daughter did not grow up
as the lady they hoped me to be. My addiction on cars and dolls did fade but failed to be their
ideal girl, so when I first came out to them, they were the first to disagree.
I guess the struggle of coming out is facing the wrath of our culture. We were expected to
do the same thing like everybody. I was aware of the consequences of my coming out, but despite it
all, I decided to come out to be myself and to show them what they have missed in my life.
My clothes were not the reason I decided to be who I am but some of my relatives even
blame the way I dress into what I have become. I was even told to change the way I dress and start
wearing dresses that would make me more feminine but I was very much comfortable wearing
loose shirt, loose pants, hipster, jagger, and old school style dresses.
50
 In the Philippines, a girl wearing unfeminine clothes will be called “Tomboy” or “boyish”
the idea that girls should wear more feminine is still lingering in the culture.
I would always emphasize to them that I am not fond of that way of dressing but I was
always teased for being a 90’s soul. I don’t have any problems with them mocking my style but the
pressure is when they started blaming the way I dress to the forming of my identity. Some even
said that I was confused and that I have to change the way I dress and my attitude to achieve being
the perfect lady. If addressed by my relatives, my sister and I would be described as the “feminine
and boyish,” It’s not an insult to be called boyish unless it was meant to be an insult by your rela-
tives. It was uncomfortable with me to be with them. Even the companions I have before know me
as always the old fashion and untrendy. I don’t want to be called a “tomboy” because I dress that
way and I’m not in to trendy fashion too but I made a drastic change on what I wear, to prove to
them that clothes were not to blame of my identity but a reflection on what I prefer is comfortable.
The judgment on my sexual preference and my clothes brought a great impact into my
life. I wanted to tell them that not all tomboys dress to become a man; they are just comfortable
wearing a man’s shirt because they can’t see themselves wearing feminine dresses. There’s a big
difference of trying to be something and being comfortable on something. It was my decision also
to change and prove them that I am me even when I change my closet.
Before the issue on my clothes and before I came out, I have this pile of novels at home
that I think were essential on helping me realize something about myself. I am very fond of reading
books and collecting lots of it. My first novels were inside the box, they were not even homosexual
novels but heterosexual. However they played a big part in my life too. The idea of being Cinderella
saved by a prince was not foreign to me. Back when I was a child, I always dreamt of being saved by
a knight and brought into a palace where there is a handsome prince and lavish lifestyle. But a
friend of mine asked me “how about when the prince turns out to be a princess?” The first time I
heard that, I told my friend that it was like waiting for a damsel to save a damsel. Back then, it was
hilarious for me to think that one is waiting to be saved by someone who’s waiting to be saved so I
51
just disregarded the idea of it…
But karma wasn’t so friendly. It tested my commitment into words. I met someone who I
never thought I would have any special feelings for. We were so fond of each other and we started
as friends but I never thought I would feel something more. That’s when I started liking girls. I was
not born to love girls, I was born to have a female body but I decided I like girls. Then I started
reading lesbian novels out of curiosity. At first I was unsure about it, unsure of reading novels and
online stories that have lesbian characters. For me it seems immoral and contradicts the religion I
grew up. But when I woke up feeling different, I decided I would never ignore the urge. I happened
to understand myself through novels, happened to connect with my co-readers and ask how and
what would they do if given the same situation in the story.
I wasn’t ready to have a knight in the same gender, but what’s sure is that no one knows
what will happen. That’s the biggest plot twist for me.
After exploring myself through novels I then joined a “LGBTQ Social” group in Facebook.
I found it comfortable talking to people I share the same sentiment with. My phone was the only
way for me to be myself. To express the real me that some people I am associated with can’t accept.
With my phone and the use of internet, I feel connected and there is the feeling of belongingness.
Even though it is a virtual world, it was more comfortable for me. They often post confessions and
videos of their coming out, being part of the LGBTQ stories, sentiments and many others. Just by
connecting through the internet I got a glimpse of the life and experience of others. We also en-
courage each other virtually. So, every time I broke a phone it will always be hard for me to adjust.
I am always afraid to come out but repressing me to be true is like falling into an unend-
ing abyss of agony. However, I can’t say that coming out is all about freedom and goodness. I was
not expecting for peoples’ acceptance, yet I am hoping that they will understand. The box where I
have keep all those things is a metaphor for keeping the real me. It seems like I was always afraid
to come out that I put all those things in there to keep myself from making another mistake. Those
things are what I have used and the after of what I have become.
52
 When I started liking girls I told myself that I would explore it. I always have this second
thought of telling people, specially my parents about my identity. I don’t even want to be with them
when all I am feeling is the pressure of hiding myself. Now I am living the moment of my life. Now,
I can finally breathe. And if given the chance, I wish to tell every person who experiences the same
thing that you’ll never know the importance of rewards unless you pass the obstacles along the
way.
The box will remain with me and I will continue putting things in there. It’s my history. I
am not what I am now without those things and I won’t be me in the future without the box as a
reflection.
- Nikki Shin
53
Life Goes On
I ’m living my life for almost 18 years here on Earth. And out from the 18 years of my exist-
ence, I’ve encountered many challenges, like it seems like my life is a roller coaster ride.
Sometimes you’re at the top but there will always be a time that you will fall. But the best thing to
do, is to arrive at the finish line fearlessly. Knowing within myself that I did it!, I’m ready for more.
Since I passed the admission exam for Senior High school here in IDS, which means a lot
to me, I considered it as one of my greatest achievement so far. It’s really not easy to enter IDS be-
cause once you can enter here, many people will think and say that IDS students are smarter and
they have a lot of potential than students from other schools. For me, when I entered IDS, that is
not the mindset that I always thought and said to myself. I believe that everything happens for a
reason. I am here in IDS because God has a plan for me. Out of the hundred students like me, who
aims to enter this school, I am lucky and blessed enough to be qualified. And just like everybody
else, I also experienced obstacles that I think was my biggest downfall ever since.
Since I passed in IDS, I was really excited, but mostly feeling nervous. I was afraid be-
cause I am not really good in numbers and I really hate math. Since I was a little kid, if I choose
between solving a math problem and memorizing the country in the world with their capital city, I
will choose the second one. I don’t know why I really don’t like math. And thank God that I was in
the Humanities and Social Sciences (HUMSS) Strand. Where there are less math subjects com-
pared to the strands Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics (STEM) and Accountan-
cy, Business and Management (ABM) of the Academic Track.
Every time our math teacher enters our classroom, my heart won’t stop pounding and I
feel like in a few minutes, I’m going to die. I am nervous and afraid that I might not understand or
cannot answer the problems that will be given. I took notes of the solution but later on I realized
taking down notes in math is no use for me because I really cannot understand what I have
written!! Every time we take a quiz, I belong to the students with low scores. So fast forward, it’s
time to release the grades. All of my grades were high and I was so happy because all of my sleep-
54
less nights and efforts were worth it in the end. Then here comes my grade in General Math. Some journey. There are many things I still need to learn and experience as I continue living my life. Life
of my classmates had huge smiles of accomplishment in their faces the moment they knew what goes on.
their grade was and that makes me more nervous thinking that what “if I am the only one who has

- Lordee
a very low grade” or maybe I really failed.
Then my teacher called me and there I saw a red colored number located beside my
name. I knew it! I knew it that I failed. So, I just smiled with fakery and told my friends that every-
thing is okay. During that time I feel like I’m the dumbest person ever. It’s really my first time to
get a grade of 74 ever since. So I cannot hide my disappointment and fear within myself that I
thought that I might get kicked out from IDS because I had a failing grade. So I cried. I literally
cried. After that, I knew I’m not the only one but we were many. And because of that the burden
within myself was slightly removed. And I said to myself that, “Babawi ako. Pagsulay raning tanan.
Abi palang quitter”. That line is the line that I’ve always said to myself every time I fail or I encoun-
ter challenges in life that I thought I cannot overcome.
This experience is the worst downfall but as well as the most significant moment of my
life. Because for me, we have to accept challenges and failures and learn lessons from it, it is the
most important thing to do. Because “every failure, is not just a failure, it is a sign and serves as a
motivation to move out from our comfort zones and do something that we, ourselves, cannot imag-
ine that we can do it, but we will ”.
We really are not living a life where we cannot face challenges and make mistakes and
failures. Decisions result to action, but certain decisions sometimes result to failure. We cannot
appreciate success if we have not experience failure and downfall, accept and learn from it. So in-
stead, of taking it as a failure, why not make myself optimistic for I believe that “failure is not the
opposite of success but it is a part of success”.
So in response to this experience, I need to be optimistic and try my very best not to fail
again because failure will never over take me if my determination to accomplish is strong enough.
Success and failures is always a part of my daily life, although I still haven’t come half way in my

55 56
See Latest Update - The Unexpected Notification
A Flower that Ached for Spring
No More Than a Second Choice
Seeing Him Through My Eyes
Acquainted Stranger
One and Only
See Latest Updates - The Unexpected Notification
I was really having fun watching many Messenger stories, when my eyes caught a thread of
photos in a certain account. A bit of jealousy and sadness made a shot in my eyes; a friend of
mine found herself a comfort zone without me in it.
I am just like a normal kid who gets excited when the month of June arrives. It’s the season
when the birds with the same feather flock together after the two-month vacation. I just wore my
brand-new and newly-polished shoes and my well-ironed uniform, with the old Guess bag that my
mother’s friend gave me. I trailed my way to the room of grade-nine’s first section, where I will be
staying for another year. As expected, I heard chit-chats about their vacation and I am supposedly
planning to share my 60-day vacation in an artistic level for them not to be bored in the middle of
my storytelling.
When I went to my happy place, my eyes caught a girl in a gray shirt. I automatically knew
that she was a stranger in this noisy world with four corners. It's normal for someone to first ob-
serve the new environment which she will be in for the entire year. I saw her twisting the blue
Douya click pen around her fingers, and suddenly, it fell. Her stares are actually very creepy, but
her nose bridge is very perfect. But because I don't want people to be left behind, I immediately
talked to her. I cracked a joke and she laughed at it. And that was the start of our journey. We
became "beastfriends".
I guess we’re from parallel worlds and we met in a perpendicular dimension. I'm an outgoing
person, while she, likes to stay in her shell but our differences didn’t hinder us to understand each
other. We called each other "beastfriends" because we're best friends and beasts in a good way.
Singing is our best common ground where we can spend time together. We even had productions
during our school events, and even though I'm not good as her, she never made me feel that way. I
made her as my benchmark in singing. Yeah, she's the source of my insecurities and my motiva-
tion but for me, she also inspired me to think that I can go beyond my capabilities―that I can not
only be a good singer, but I can also be a better singer.
59
In times of need, she is my superhero, while I, on the other hand, am the helpless victim
whom she saves in a worst scenario. There is this one time when I needed a bucket of money to
spend for the ingredients I needed for my cooking class. I cried to her and to our close friend, but I
didn't seek for help because I decided to tell my Mother about it. I planned to negotiate with my
Mother about it in exchange for the JS Promenade contribution. I was torn between my needs and
my wants but I remembered that I promised her that we will attend the prom together. I was about
to break her heart but she found a way to escape that pain by helping me in my expenses. And we
together danced in our JS Prom like there's no tomorrow.
All I can say is that we were solid at its finest. Friendship is real if the two of you becomes the
support system of each other through thick and thin. We possess the friendship that we should be
proud of. This is how we define friendship. That's what I believed in.
We were so happy that I forgot we were making a story. We were filled with so much joy that
I forgot that this is just the start of everything about us. I know that our story is a victim of plot
twist when we thought that everything was linear. But I guess, it's not because this is our real story.
We reached our rising action when their family decided to transfer to Pasig because her Father
was ill, so she had to help him. I understand that she left me because I want what’s the best for her.
She needed to venture to find a greener pasture. I told her that it's also an opportunity to reach her
dreams and ambition to become a professional singer in an international theatre. I have no reason
to hold her back, that's why I didn't bother to drop even a single tear when her flight schedule was
arriving.
Our story continued when we both planned to defy the reality that we were not included in
the statistics of the broken friendships due to long distances.
Messenger became our medium of friendship. We set our nicknames to " Beastfried kong
Maganda" and "Beastfriend kong Dyosa", and we really loved to see our chat box having seen nas-
ty labels. She tags me on very funny memes and shows our friendship through posts which I am
doing to her too. We even share information about our crushes and we also motivate each other to
60
join different orgs without each other physically. But this is not enough to hold our friendship
together.
Like special relationships, friendship gaps can't be filled through phones and chats. It's
very different when you get used to people who were by your side before, but their absence also tells
us that they can also go away. Words were not enough to make her feel that I supported her when
she hesitated to audition in a singing TV show. Words can't express how I squealed with her that
her crush saved her from the ball that almost hit her head. Words can't make her join the Photo-
journalism contest that she liked to join before. And I understood that there will be someone who
will be able to fill my lapses as her best friend.
We've been busy because of our priorities. We even forgot to chat with each other for
successive months.
Time came when I turned on my data and suddenly, a notification popped up on my
It's not important how long you will hold someone because the more you tightly grip on
them, the more they are eager to escape from that hold. Our bond before was, maybe, once a para-
dise, but it became a cold cell after everything. What is more important is you’ve shared beautiful
memories with them, because, maybe, if you'll see each other again, there might be a wall between
the both of you but will end up smiling to each other and reminisce those moments that remain.
All I have to do is to support her. I know that I have always done that to her even though
it really pounds my heart. Maybe, this is the least that I can do for her. That “My Day” of her is the
evidence that she is happy right now. I don’t want to add more blues in my heart. If she has Krissy,
then I have also Kerria and Astria. I am worried about what my reaction will be if we meet again
someday. But I know that we are happy before we got into this situation. I’ll still smile even though
“beastfriend” is already cleared for us.

- Salome
screen. It came from my Messenger and it was her saying: "Agatha cleared her nickname". I froze a
little bit and suddenly, water thawed my iced mind, saying: " Agatha cleared your nickname". It
happened real quickly and it slapped me. Things changed and nothing stayed the same.
I understood the act even without explanations because the notifications says every-
thing―someone alone is capable to end the story the two of you have started. I didn't bother to
ask her questions at all because it's enough for me that the denouement of our story ended just by
clearing our labels in Messenger. We have no conflicts or arguments why our friendship ended,
but the simple act served as a closure for me. I was left brokenhearted when I lost her, my
"beastfriend".
If someone stays in our lives, they are worth treasuring. I realized that the certain gap
measures the solidarity of our friendship, and we are too weak to defeat it. If the gap destroys us as
best friends, maybe we're both not the right person for each other to be called as such. Opponent
wins―this is the reality which I have accepted a very long time ago. But it always haunts me when
I get almost attached to anyone.

61 62
A Flower That Ached For Spring
N ature presents to us a great variety and manifests her beauty in a thousand shapes. How
delightful it is to observe the flowers; the rose, the lily, the daisy, the narcissus, the hyacinth
and the marigold. The varied pageant of their colors, their three-fold appeal to the senses of sight,
smell, and touch transports us with pleasure. Dewdrops on the green grass look like pearls.
The daffodils tossing their heads in sprightly dance, the sun pouring its gold on the snow
-clad peaks of mountains, stars shining like a swarm of golden bees, gentle winds blowing, and the
sweet songs of birds— these are some of the beautiful pictures of the Spring season.
But before all these, leaves of other trees will turn red, yellow, gold, orange and brown
then they fall off. One day trees are all bare; leaves have fallen everywhere. There is an icy chill in
the air and very soon winter will be here. And the surroundings will be filled with snow and ice,
with coldness and frost- and on one corner lies a flower…
As a child, dwindling friendships were a natural thing for me—I befriended almost
anyone who wanted to play tag with me at recess. As I grew older though, the friendships I made
became more and more meaningful, and I found myself beginning to invest emotionally. It is with
these friendships that my story begins.
When I first met Gladz back in 2012, she was this shy girl seated always at the back of the
class. She’s a transferee and barely knew anyone. It was my first day of seventh grade and she was
the first new friend I made. Gladz is a thin girl, has jet-black hair, tanned skin and angelic face.
Above her dark brown eyes lies a perfect set of full eyebrows. Her rounded face sits atop her shoul-
ders with a brilliant smile. Her perfect little nose accents her face nicely. But when she speaks, one
is always surprised by her deep, throaty words. She had eyes that penetrated the world. When she
looked at you, you feel certain that she could see right through all your corners.
From that day forward, we became the best of friends. Often times, I’d go to her house for
a sleepover and we’d end up talking about random things. We belong to the same circle but
among them, she was my favorite friend to hang out with. She has great humor and we never ran
63
out of things to talk about. Gladz can make me smile simply by being herself. She loves to listen to
my problems and interjects pieces of advice that could help me through my struggles. Many times
I am mystified by her ability to just sit and listen to a poor soul like me pour out my mind, but she
sees it as an opportunity to let someone "unload." She became my greatest confidante. We have
had each other’s back since then.
That went on until our final year in junior high school. But within that span of time, we
have had a couple of petty arguments but we still ended up okay. Until one morning, I stepped
inside the room with papers all over the floor, my classmates busy with their own stuff, and by
then you’d know it is finals week. I went in and sat beside Gladz who’s busy finishing her Math
requirement. “Yang, congrats! You passed the exam!” I heard someone say. And at that point, I
saw disappointment in her eyes. We’ve been talking about graduating high school together, but we
didn’t pass that exam—together. And starting from that day, she distanced herself from me.
Every time our gazes met, she’d look the opposite direction. Every time we happen to pass by each
other at the corridor, she acted like I wasn’t there. And I spent the last two weeks at school acting
like a total stranger to the one I once considered my best friend.
She was very open of her not wanting me to transfer and that I was not true to my words.
Well, at least that’s what I’ve deciphered based from her actions and the last text she sent me.
I needed support, not judgment from my friends—especially from her. The last time we talked in
person was when she congratulated me on our Moving up Ceremony, but it felt as if it was another
person saying those words to me, and I haven’t talked to her since.
It ruined me at some point. I kept asking myself what I could’ve done differently. We
were the perfect puzzle. Onlookers envied what we had. We had so many beautiful memories that
they're impossible to forget. That part of my life was the life I loved. Then, I lost her somewhere.
Piece by piece, it fell apart. And the next thing I knew, it disappeared. I've tried to get it back but
the pieces of the puzzle just don't fit together anymore. And what saddens me more is that I found
her pieces reconnecting with new ones. Like I didn’t matter, or happened, or maybe, I was the one
64
at fault all along.
I wonder, why do other’s best friends remain their very best friends? Is it just fortuitous
that they didn’t drift as they grew and changed? Or did they really just knock it out of the park?
Or is it because of an added effort they put in? Or is it fate? Or is it a combination of all of the
above? “If only I confronted her, if only I didn’t let a week pass that we’re not okay, if only I haven’t
passed,” thoughts like these keep bugging my mind. I often think about what I lost. Sometimes, I
wonder whether the ending of friendships is simply a part of life. Is it just something I need to be
okay with? Do I just need to understand that people change? That they drift? That at some point,
they can stop bringing joy to each other’s lives?
It does not make it any easier to watch someone I was once so close with suddenly gone
from my life. The text messages and phone calls have stopped, the inside jokes have withered with
the friendship, and the memories that remain only cause a painful reminder of what I no longer
have. Sometimes broken friends will find their way back to each other, and sometimes they will
never cross paths again. In our case, maybe that was the end of it. Maybe what we had was just
temporary. Nevertheless, whichever the circumstance, one thing’s for sure: I learned something new
about myself and I came out of it better and stronger—than I ever was within it; and that I know
now that friendships are a two-way street. You both need to put in time, love, and effort in order to
blossom and grow as close companions and take the initiative to repair what needs mending.
Throughout our journey in life, we will, at some point, experience being warm and happy like sum-
mer; withered and dry like fall; cold and indifferent like winter. But despite these, there will be a
season where we will rise, and bloom, and heal from grief, and begin anew, and eventually have
ourselves back-- just like in spring. Just like the flower. Just like me.
- RL Abella
65
No More than a Second Choice
I had a girl best friend when I was in fifth grade. I don’t know what made us close, but all I
can remember is that she made my elementary life way easier by helping me with my clear-
ance and small homework. I was a year younger than her so we parted ways when she graduated.
Then, it so happened that when I was in seventh grade, she also went to IDS (Integrated
Developmental School), the same school I went to study. So, we happen to meet again. We talked
and had lunch together while reminiscing memories of the past when we were still in SMC (St.
Michael’s College). But for some reason, I didn’t notice that I already liked her—a crush or some-
thing, may be. Then, at some point, I told her I liked her. She said that she needed some time to
think about it and that she was not ready at that time to give an answer. I waited. Little did I know,
she was already seeing another guy, while she left me hanging... waiting for her answer. I didn’t
know how to react. I was so dumbfounded and confused. She left me hanging. And the worst part
was she told me this: “I’ll be yours if we break up.”
That time, I didn’t know what I felt. I was left in utter awe, wherein all the things that I
least expected to be done to me by a close friend was committed by the one closest to me before.
She made me feel dubious, because she was a close friend of mine. She left me speechless on what
to prioritize. Breach our friendship no matter what, and be happy that I still have a chance to be
with her if they happen to break up? Or should I resent her and forget everything about her be-
cause she treated me as no more than a backup plan and just an option because of our friendship?
The experience I had highlighted one of the key principles that I have just understood in
our Philosophy class which is “Justice”. Justice as fairness is the priority of liberty principle. My
experience gave emphasis that no person can be sacrificed for the sake of another good, nor can a
person be used as means to further another end. My experience depicted a good example that
violated the concept of liberty—where my freedom from restrictions were nullified, and where I
was used for the advantage of the other.
I learned from that experience that it would never be justifiable to use any other human
66
being for one’s own reasoning and betterment. My experience made me realize that I am free from
any kinds of restrictions, and I am granted the right to do things just like other people equally, so
long as I don’t trample on others’ liberty or use it to for my own selfish reasons. I realized that
when my best friend met another person she was interested with, making me wait for them to
break up was so wrong in a lot of ways. It made me look as shitty and dumb as anyone could ever
be. I should’ve just left and did things without being bounded by the condition she gave me. I
shouldn’t have settled to become her second option, because, in the end, it would just be her that
would benefit from it. I should be more aware if the love I am seeking is really justifiable. It made
me realize that justice is served when we treat people as equals.
I now tend to be more conscious of my actions, whether it is towards another person or
towards myself. Before committing any action, I will now assess first what consequences towards
myself and the other people that would be involved or affected by it. Given that, I will now be aware
if I violated someone’s liberty in pursuance of my ambitions and dreams.
- Blitz
67
Seeing Him Through My Eyes
H ave you ever had a crush on someone? Have you ever waited or even hoped he’ll notice you
one day? He may have noticed you but things aren't as you expected. Did the person
whom you adored from afar turned out to be someone else? Maybe, close friends?
His eyes were the type of brown that was like sweet chocolate—when I looked at them, I
melt and I lose myself. He has short, dark hair that played the messy look very well. The first thing
that caught my attention was his smile and the way he talks in class. When he talks, I always think
that I’m listening to a TED talk: his voice was like music to my ears. In addition, he would laugh at
some of my jokes even though it was corny. He has acne but he still looks good for me. Another eye
-catching attraction was his body; which is one of the reasons why I was inspired to be fit and study
hard. His shoulders were broad and firm, like a soldier's shoulders standing upright. His abs was
well built, just as well as the rest of his body. His height is somewhat 5’10” and he has the ideal
height for me. Having everything that make a girl's head turn was one of his physical characteris-
tics. The problem was that he doesn’t have enough self-esteem to believe that he was blessed with
good looks and could make any girl fall in love with him.
We first met when we were still in eleventh grade. We were both outsiders and came
from different schools. When I first encountered him, I thought he was the most evil and prideful
person in our class. My first impression of him was very negative. I hated him before because he
keeps on telling silly jokes about religion and the church. Like duh? How rude of him to tell jokes
like that. But hey, that soon changed when we became friends. I was shocked when we had our first
recitation in class; he was the only person who caught my attention when he started answering to
the question asked by our teacher.
When he first approached me I was intimidated, but that soon changed when we became
friends. We became friends when our adviser changed our seating arrangement and I was placed
near him. We talk during our free time—oh, good Lord, he doesn’t even know what I feel every
time he’s near me. My heart is beating too fast, skipping a beat, even fluttering, and I can feel the
68
butterflies in my stomach, phew! What I felt was unexplainable. Moreover, he also talks to me on
Messenger almost every evening to give me some information of what he learned from the articles
he had read. We sometimes talk about random stuff but mostly educational. He is a kind of guy
who is sweet like candy, and witty like the comedians.
The school year was passing by really fast and it was almost the end of the school year,
and I still had no idea what I felt for him. So, I started to think to myself, “do I really like him or am
I just attached to him?” Since I was really confused and bitter that time, I didn't know about all
also consider him as a family. Things are great when you have no intention of having a relation-
ship with the person you like. You can stand by him when he needs you for support as he’ll do for
you in return. This is the type of unwavering love a relationship needs in order to thrive in the long
term as well. Laying the bricks of friendship as a foundation is a great way to ensure that this per-
son will be there for you when the waters get rough. You can have a friendship without a relation-
ship, but you can’t have a relationship without friendship.

- Bncmkla
those signs that tells me if you're into someone. I was afraid to admit that I actually had feelings for
him. The atmosphere was starting to get awkward every time we see or even talk with each other.
I tried confessing but it was a disaster. Instead of telling him good things, acted quite
mean and malevolent. I know it was unnecessary and horrible of me to do such, but the irritating
feeling he makes me feel made me a bit afraid to confront my own feelings. After that incident, I
didn’t want to show him my face because I was shy and embarrassed of what I’ve done, but to my
surprise he still acted as if nothing happened. I said very mean things to him that I knew would
hurt anyone’s pride, but he still treated me the same. He treated me the same, but I wouldn’t even
look him in the eye or even glance his way. Every time he says “Hi” or “Hello”, I would pretend that
I heard nothing and it’s kind of sad. I want us to remain the same, but I slipped and made a mis-
take. I’m glad that he pretended like nothing happened because somehow it comforted me that he
may have just dismissed what I said. I really do like him, but I don’t want us to be lovers or any-
thing like that. I’m contented with our relationship and I’m okay being his one call away friend. I
know it must have been just a silly crush, or maybe I was just infatuated by him. We may be al-
right, since we’ve been talking to each other like nothing happened, but the memory, the happen-
ing, the feeling is still there, fresh in my mind. It was something that moved me so deep, and made
me happy but crushed me at the same time. It was a bittersweet feeling, a thing I can’t expound or
explain, but I knew one thing for sure: we are, and will be, just FRIENDS.
When you are friends with someone you like, you are not only friends with him but you

69 70
Acquainted Stranger
I t was very stupid to have feelings for someone you only saw once and had not even got the
chance to talk to personally. It’s like having a thing for a dress online and you immediately
buy it without even checking its fabric or if it fits and suits you. What’s more stupid was having the
feelings for three freaking years, like waiting for that dress for 3 years and still be having a thing
for it despite all the years that passed, even if your style of clothing has already changed and de-
spite the fact that it might never arrive. Well, I am very stupid.
Unfortunately, I have met someone who just made me experience a whirlpool. I felt
mixed emotions of good and bad, happy and sad. He made me feel that I am trustworthy. He made
me do things I never planned on doing. He made me feel the romance I’ve been longing since the
last time I felt it. He came into my life and made me break the rules I’ve set for myself. He made me
weak. He made me stupid.
It was the month of August 2015 when my school entered a research competition that was
held in the event center of Limketkai mall in CDO. I never really wanted to enter the competition
because our study was a complete flop—grammatical errors here and there, plagiarism every-
where, but my teammate insisted on entering the competition. I was a bit excited though, being
away from home excites me a lot.
Our studies were displayed on the venue. Each of the studies had their own booths. It
looked so cool and I felt like I was a real genius for entering that competition. I stayed and watched
our booth while my teammates roamed around the mall. I checked out the other competitors all
around me and then my eyes laid unto this guy wearing a white polo. He was about 5’11” or some-
thing. He looked mature, like a college guy. At first sight, he did not really give a lot of impact to
me. I thought of him as just some guy that I could probably “date” because of his height, specifical-
ly. Few minutes have passed, I noticed myself always staring and watching his moves. There was
something in him that made him look more attractive. I just couldn’t figure out what that is. I no-
ticed him always looking at me, too. His booth was with the other booths from Bukidnon, just two
71
tables away in front of ours so it was not difficult to notice that he was also “checking me out” or
maybe I was just giving meaning to what seems normal.
The night of the second day of the exhibit, my friends and I grabbed dinner at Centrio
mall and roamed around afterwards. I was talking to my friends while looking at my bag as I was
zipping it close. My bag seemed to be secured already so I fixed my gaze back up to where we were
walking. The first thing I saw when I looked back up was the guy I was checking out the previous
day. I, stopped walking in the middle of the aisle beside the Missy Bon Bon kiosk with mouth wide
open and just stared at him. When he met my gaze, my heart just fell to the ground that made me
wake up from that awkward moment. I realized what just happened. I completely forgot what I
was saying to my friends and that made me stutter while talking back again to them.
I couldn’t go to sleep that night thinking about him. I knew and accepted it wholeheart-
edly that the feelings that I had towards that stranger would be left behind in time. I knew that
that stranger would only remain as a stranger. I knew that he would only be one of my collections
of my stranger crushes that I eventually will forget.
I was back home. It was three days after the event and I was still thinking about him.
Usually, I instantly forget my stranger crushes after not seeing them again for a day. I was scroll-
ing through my Facebook feed when a page was suggested to be liked. It was the page of Bukidnon
National High School. The only information I got about him was that he was from Bukidnon. I was
assuming that he studied in Bukidnon National high school so I clicked the page. I was hoping to
find his name and his Facebook account.
One liker seemed familiar to me. She was also a contestant whose booth was just in front
of us. I clicked on her profile, hoping to finally find my stranger crush this time. I checked out the
likers of her profile pictures. I could still vividly remember his face so it would not be difficult for
me to identify whether it was him on the picture or not. And at last! I successfully made it. I found
his Facebook! I could not believe myself that I have just done that. I did not know I had great stalk-
ing skills. It seemed like I was very desperate to know him, which was very unusual of me. I never
72
got desperate for a guy. My actions were against my principles but I did not seem to be bothered by
it.
Back in the days, I had this guy friend whom I tell everything to. He was like a big broth-
er to me. He even knew my Facebook password back then. That’s how close we were. I ended up
telling him about this stranger crush that I have and how I knew his name and found his Facebook
account.
A day after telling my guy friend about my stranger crush, my friends and I were just
chilling in my house with my Facebook account open. I was, again, scrolling through Facebook on
my laptop when a message suddenly popped up. It was my stranger crush! My soul just escaped
from my body because of the mixed feelings I felt. I felt excited and nervous on what to reply and I
felt kilig because he replied to my chat. Then I realized I never chatted him in the first place. I was
so confused why our chat box showed that I have chatted him something first. I knew for myself
that I never chat a guy first. Then I figured out who did it. It was my guy friend who chatted him
first using my account! My instincts told me I had to apologize for chatting him, so I did. I ex-
plained that it was not me who chatted him first and that it was my guy friend. He understood it
and excused himself. I did not expect for him to chat again and from that moment, I knew our
“relationship” would be just that. All over. Cut. Done. I was wrong. 30 minutes later, he messaged
again. I was taken aback. This was really unexpected. I never really thought that he would take
interest in talking to me at all. And that is how our “relationship” began.
Days have passed and our conversations went deeper. I really thought that we already
created a bond that was strong enough. Then suddenly, our communication just vanished like a
bubble that was popped. It was so sudden that I had to message him first because I was getting
used to talking to him every day and then one day, he didn’t talk to me anymore. Little by little, our
bond became thinner. I was now the one who always messaged him first. It was a really big punch
to my pride when I did it. I always tell myself not to chase on guys but I felt as if I was doing the
exact opposite to what I always tell myself. I could not blame myself; I was already attached. I was
73
already assuming that things were mutual between us. It was really stupid of me to think like that.
And he was an a**hole for making me think of that.
Yeah sure, we’re still friends on Facebook, we still follow each other on Twitter up until
today. We are still updated about each other’s social lives. I knew he is now studying in Xavier
University and he knew I now study in MSU-IIT, but there was nothing more than that. And every
time I get a chance to talk to him again, he always has an excuse to end the talk. It’s like he’s al-
ways trying to cut me off and every time he does it, he always succeeds. It felt unfair for me to still
be wanting to see him after all those years.
I’m stupid, stupid for letting this feeling live for several years. More stupid to be having
this kind of feeling for someone I did not talk to personally. What’s even more stupid is getting
hurt when in the first place, we were never really a thing. I just don’t really know why this feeling is
still living. He had been killing my vibe even from before but he somehow did not manage to kill
this feeling. It is really frustrating. I have a few crushes aside from him who are much closer to me
but he still would be the greatest. He is not my crush anymore. He is greater. Love? I don’t think so.
Love is a very strong word to ascribe it to him. Like? Maybe. Maybe this was only infatuation.
He brought me to his perfect world, made me believe in everything that was happening
and I was too weak to go back to reality. He played and controlled over my emotions and I was too
weak to end the game. I was loving it. I knew everything was unreal but I was too carried away
from the satisfying feeling that I wanted more and more. He was a problem to me. A bittersweet
problem that I want to have over and over again. But was he really the problem? Or was I?
Maybe I really was the problem. I created and assumed things that I wanted to believe
without even hearing his side. Now, I have accepted everything. It was all just me. It was all just my
imaginations and my assumptions and he has nothing to do with it. He did not hurt me, I did. I
did this to myself. He wasn’t the problem. I was. And it was really stupid of me to blame all of these
to this acquainted stranger.
Even if I have accepted that everything was just my assumption, I am still waiting. Three
74
years. Three f*cking years but here I am, still waiting to see him again. But I know that I want to see
One and Only

P
him not because I still have feelings, but because I, somehow, made a friend with him. After all, I Is being an ‘only child’ fun?
have shared part of my life with him. And the reason for this waiting will only stay as it is. eople hastily judge us as spoiled brats. The thought of us being alone made people think
that we are raised lavishly. Some people tend to think that we are hardly happy. While it is

- Ericka Marie
true that there are downsides to being an only child, but I believe they’re not all there is to being
one.
Growing up as an only child has afforded me many advantages, one of which is being
fortunate enough to be provided with things I need and want. When I was still 12 years old, I used
to buy dollhouses, dolls, and other girly toys everyday. I just bought whatever I wanted even
though they did not have huge significant for me. At that time, I never thought that spending
money for the things I do not need came from my parents. I just thought that “I’m an only child so
my parents should buy me this, buy me that and since they only have one child, all their income
must be spent on me.” But as I was grew up, I realized that not all you want is what you need. I
learned that buying a pair of shoes I use everyday would be better than buying an equally-
expensive dollhouse for my temporary satisfaction and happiness. My parents noticed the changes
in my attitude brought about by this realization. Now that I’m already at the legal age, my parents
trust me enough to spend money wisely for the things I need. Being an only child is being able to
have self-reflection without the direct aid of other people.
Being an only child is having absolute freedom in our house. Every appliance and furni-
ture in the house is mine. I possess absolute freedom over my actions especially when I’m home
alone. I turn the music on to the maximum volume, play whatever instruments at home, cook
whatever I want, eat whatever food found inside the refrigerator, sing until I run out of breath,
dance until I drop, and lastly, I’m free to dress and look whatever I want.
Another side of being free and enjoyable that only some of us enjoy, is hanging out with
friends anywhere and whenever we want. Some parents are strict when it comes to hanging out
with friends to different places but fortunately my parents let me go out and mingle with other

75 76
people in order for me to know how to deal, manage and explore different places with other people.
However, I believe that having absolute freedom and enjoyment does not only stop with mingling
with other people but also being alone and enjoying my free time thinking and reflecting about my
life as a whole.
For those who have siblings, I noticed that most of them spend their childhood playing
with their siblings and childhood friends. But I, as an only child, enjoyed my childhood in a differ-
ent way. When I was still young, my parents used to drop me off to my grandmother’s house when-
ever they go to work. There’s also a time when my parents enrolled me to different summer classes
since I was five years old just for me to have something to do while they are busy. They enrolled me
to singing, dancing, swimming, and piano lessons. They also exposed me to girl scouting where I
developed my sense of responsibility, leadership and independence in a way that I could survive
even if I’m away from them. Sounds fun right? But growing up, I realized that my parents sup-
ported me to expose myself and learn how to be socially active so that as I grow up, I become adept
in socializing.
But that alone isn’t all that there is. There was this one time in which I had to request my
Mother to get a project I left behind as I was going to school. Her words trumpeted from ear to ear
that day. That was the time when I realized that I need to be responsible for my own things and not
depend too much on my parents. I must be responsible because no one will do such things for me. I
grew up alone therefore I should also learn to survive alone because at the end of the day, all I have
is myself and no one will save me when life gets tough.
Despite being trained to become socially active and independent, I also faced difficulties
with myself. Since I grew up alone, I wasn’t used to sharing the things I own with other people. I
ended up being selfish and self-centered which brought negative outcomes when it comes to build-
ing relationships with other people. Elders tell us that people are selfish by nature but in my case,
being an only child means being extra selfish and more on ‘self-self-self’ attitude.
I sincerely admit that as I am growing up, I’m also becoming aware of me being demand-
77
ing, tactless, and envious when it comes to other people’s attention. I have also observed that I easi-
ly get attached with other people. I immediately get used to people being around with me even for
a short period of time. For instance, a stranger made my day happy or maybe he/she was beside
me whole day and helped me get through the day. Things like that. I easily get attached since I am
used to being given attention by my parents so I also expect attention from other people.
Another difficulty is finding the answer to a question that I used to ask other people,
“how does it feel to have a brother or a sister?”. I do not know how it feels like to have a sibling. I
have no one to laugh with, no one to make my childhood a lot more memorable, no one to teach
me homeworks, no one who will try to understand what I’m going through, no sibling fights, no
one to tell secrets with and share stories about my day and of course, no one to protect me like a
brother or a sister. I spent my childhood waiting for the kids in our neighborhood to wake up and
ask their parents if they could go out and play with me. I spent my childhood playing with my
dolls and disturbing my grandmother when she’s sleeping. I spent my childhood waving goodbye
to my parents early in the morning and waiting for them to come home after sunset. On my teen-
age years, I spent all my time writing journals and diaries to ease the emotions inside me but until
now in my eighteen years of wondering, I still think of what my life would be if I had a sibling who
could fill that barren emptiness. But at the end of the day, being an only child is not a burden for
me. I might have experienced loneliness at times but still it is a unique reality that not all people
would understand but might appreciate.
Who says “only” children are boring and lonely when in fact we know how to make our-
selves happy without depending on other people for happiness and for other big things? Even
though being an only child has its own downsides, I learned how to manage and deal with it as I
get more mature. I gained knowledge and wisdom over these experiences and use it to improve
myself for the better.
Some people may not see my life to be as blissful or to be as sad as others have claimed,
but I believe that the lessons I’ve learned are what it truly makes it great to be an only one.
78 - Stranger
On the Conundrum of STEM Supremacy in the Philippines
Killing the Flames: Thinking Inside the Box
Someday, I'll Know Why
Confession of a Cynophobic
I Wish I had the Chance
Man in the Middle
Losing Myself
Untold Feelings
Kabit Ka Lang
Blizzard
Escapade
Passenger
Broken
Changes
On the Conundrum of STEM Supremacy in the Philippines
I ’ve had the utmost displeasure of meeting people in the past who have, as I’d like to call it,
the ‘STEM supremacy mentality.’ For starters, people whom I have diagnosed to possess this
think that the natural sciences are harder, and are consequently, better than other disciplines like
the humanities and the social sciences – of course I mean not only the strand for the senior high
school, but the humanities and the social sciences in their general sense. This a very dangerous
mentality that is eating at our society in bites that are so small, many do not notice how this is a
humongous problem.
This happened not much long ago, when I was in Infinitea with a friend and we hap-
pened to sit near two students, their thick books sitting on the table and their white uniforms
screaming their owners’ identity as medical students. My friend, being a doctor-wannabe who just
had the odds against her favor as she was placed in the HUMSS strand, couldn’t help but ask the
said students where their books were bought from. They had a light chat which I wasn’t interested
in, so I just listened. The real highlight that really drew my attention though, was when they heard
that we were from the HUMSS, and one of them insensitively asked – more like stated – “But the
hard-core courses in college are for the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics)
[students]?”
I usually am an impulsive, easily-triggered and impatient human, and so I would have
lashed out at her dim-witted comment, but I just smiled, keeping every teenage angst I had at that
moment, within my reins. Whether I liked it or not, the Philippine system is putting more im-
portance to the STEM. For instance, a huge indicator of this is that you hear about the Department
of Science and Technology (DOST) planning and/or launching a new program or project so often,
but you hear little to no news of a department, program or Government initiative to empower other
disciplines. I first saw this problem during junior high where there were four curriculums in our
school – the science curriculum supported by the DOST, the Basic Education Curriculum (BEC),
the Special Program in Arts (SPA), and the Special Program in Sports (SPS).
81
There was an unspoken high respect towards the students from the sciences. One may
not be able to directly see the problem with this, but when you analyze it from the retrospect, this is
where the core of the STEM supremacy predicament has started – from the explicit and even the
implicit accolades given to science students that are rarely granted to the students from the other
curriculums. I had been one of the science students and I have spoken to many students from the
other curriculums regarding this matter. ‘What’s so great about us [science students]?’ And their
answers, although not exactly similar, had one same thought – ‘because you’ve got the brains.’
The problem is that many people consciously or subconsciously think that the people
from the sciences are the ‘erudites’ in this society. Those who think this tend to limit their own
intellectual capacities, thereby pulling down the greater populace. They are deep into the stratifica-
tion that society itself has constructed, and are consequently putting themselves in a box, disabling
them from maximizing the use of their GOD-given potentials, which is what we supposedly need
to improve the state of our country.
When we look at the status quo with senior high in the Philippines, many students from
other strands originally aimed to be in the STEM, especially in schools like the Integrated Develop-
mental School - the one I am currently in – where freedom to choose their own strand is granted
only to those with good to exceptional scores. The scores on the entrance exam determined where
to place the student among the four strands. This, of course, may have had to be done because
STEM would have been overcrowded, leaving less students to enroll in the other curriculums. Pre-
sumably, the different subjects in the entrance exam each represented a particular strand. If so, an
applicant who wanted to be in the STEM that did not get a good score in the science and mathe-
matics area but had a good score in the language area, would probably be put in the HUMSS
strand. Following this line of reasoning, the problem with this system would then lie with the am-
biguity of the qualifications because for example, the language areas would not suffice to represent
the entirety of the HUMSS. Nevertheless, the standards for the stratification of students to the
various strands has never been clarified to the incoming senior high students, and this itself is
82
another predicament yet to be addressed.
A system which claims to choose what’s the best for the students yet only does so through
purely quantitative data from an entrance exam is not enough to achieve its vision. Moreover, while
there are those that will learn to love their own strand and bloom gracefully in it, there are some
who will grow to appreciate the strand but will still run for a course not in-line with their strand –
thereby making their two years that were intended to prepare them for what they will pursue in
college, a waste – and there are others that will victimize themselves into thinking that perhaps,
they aren’t smart enough, and this places us into the conundrum we are currently in.
No one is not ‘smart enough’ just because they couldn’t be in the natural sciences, or in
the STEM for the case of the senior high. The STEM isn’t the standard for intelligence. In fact, there
is no single standard for this. You can always become even smarter than what you initially wanted
to be, but in the curriculum or practice that is rightfully for you. Students must learn to accept and
be advocates for the empowerment of their own curriculums, because we all matter and our curric-
ulums matter. The lessons we learn today will eventually lead us to become efficient members that
HUMSS will help make sense of humans – our inter and intra-relationships – as well as the sys-
tems that govern us, thereby strengthening the foundation by which we try to build and rebuild
systems in the pursuit of improvement in our societies. The ABM (Accountacy and Business Man-
agement) will contribute greatly to the economic growth of our nation and eventually, in building
and strengthening alliances with other countries. The TVL (Technical and Vocational Livelihood)
will produce the Philippines’ ‘Fix-It Felixes’ – our highly-skilled workers in the aspects of agricul-
ture, electronics and trade. The students of the Arts track will become the future international
pride of our country in terms of visual and performing arts. And the students of the Sports track
will become our future globally-competitive athletes and coaches.
Each and every strand contributes to the society in their own spectrum of fortes. Thus,
each senior high student is as relevant as the other. Let us stop putting the STEM in an ivory tower,
and instead, start seeing the value in every curriculum. Only then can our country truly progress
as a nation – every person, hand-in-hand.

- Alpha Female
will contribute greatly to the progress of our community.
As someone who once was from the curriculum of the natural sciences, I can attest that it
was indeed difficult. Calculus, Physics and Chemistry are not easy as pie, and as a HUMSS student
at present, I cannot say that it has been easy, too. I could tell you dead in the eye that studying the
first 13 Articles of the Philippine Constitution pushed me to my wits end, but I could never com-
pare the difficulty between them. I don’t think they should be compared, to begin with. Both are
relevant to the society. They should not be placed in a hierarchy, along with the other curriculums
such as the arts, the sports, the technical-vocational livelihood, and the accountancy and business
management. Just like humans, these varying practices must coexist and must therefore be appre-
ciated for what they are and what they can contribute to keep the entire human race going.
The STEM, no doubt, will help improve our quality of living by extracting the logic be-
hind the universe and its elements and creating novel technologies that help simplify work. The

83 84
Killing the Flames: Thinking Inside the Box
T
ick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Scrolling on my newsfeed never felt much more boring than before. Arti-
cles from so-called news pages flashed one after another. Clips of satirical visions played with
the volume on full blast. Photos of countless sexes flew onscreen. But a single image wedged my
league. An image of a simple box filled with boxes and clouds frizzed my mind.
The animated cartoon showed two adults, with each of their backs facing each other,
each carrying a toddler of different colors doing the iconic E.T. stance. It garnered thousands of
likes and various reactions from the netizens ― one from me.
It was just a simple cellular screen-sized photo. It was an artless, dull piece of digital
craft. It needs no imagination to drive the cells to their workstations. But it sent me thinking about
my life down memory lane. It was not made out of whimsical reveries; it was made out of truth. It
was the reality of every child.
Right then, I thought that when I was still a fresh-faced drifter, I was taught about the
difference between black and white, ebony and ivory, silver and gold. I was taught about the duali-
ty of all things, both major and minor things. I was taught that black is for the impure as white is
for the pure; ebony is for the lowly as ivory is for the wealthy, and; silver is for the second as gold is
for the first. There was never a place for grays and medians. Nothing moves along the edge of a
coin.
As we label certainties between two themes, the imagination of the child restructures. The
seams of distant dreams and unwanted facades fade into my present view, therefore, making the
child in me wonder no more.
When I was a teenager, I was taught about what, when, and where I should feel about
things. Like, happiness should only be felt in happy places with happy people at happy times; and
sadness should only be felt in sad places with sad faces at bad times. I was never taught about how
I would know that what I am feeling is happiness. I was never taught about why sadness should
even be felt when bad times happen.
85
As a child, I wish I was taught more than just the duality life can offer. I wish I was
taught of what I should do to be happy and why I should do it because happiness is much more
than just rainbows and unicorns. I wish I was taught more of why sadness is a greatly inevitable
thing and that we have to think of it on our own because it is more than just a transient feel-
ing―it is more than just a phase. But I was not. And that is the saddest part of it all.
With the high level of respect and trust that I have toward my elder folks, the low level of
my amor propio retires. Dependence on other people’s judgment for my short-lived and life-long
choices gains me nothing but zero self-worth. I was never taught to think on my own. There was
always someone who leads the game for me. Although in reality, I was always alone―lying in my
cage with a static mind.
Accepting the idea that children tend to keep what they were taught about for a long
period of time takes more than just changing the way people should think as notions will be, more
or less, misunderstood by the many. Take the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his
wife for instance.
When my old folks teach me about things, I do not always get the chance for confuta-
tions, which is why I misunderstand most of the things in life. Just like how I sometimes misunder-
stand the meaning of colors even in broad daylight ― like how I brand yellow and black as inferi-
or to the white ones before.
Children are blank slates. Whatever words they are fed will be the guide on whatever
they will be. Whatever actions they have seen will serve as a manual on whatever they will be doing
in the future. Nature-nurture, as they say. But judging by the society’s words and actions, the chil-
dren’s mindset seems to be presumed, predetermined, and prearranged. As most of them were not
taught to think outside the box, new concepts of ideas often seem to be alienated. The flames of the
youth are predominantly killed. And although the arsonist dreams to see whatever is at the top of
the tower, all the inferior floors destroy the reveries out cold.
86
 Someday I’ll Know Why
W
Like a tabula rasa, whose bones are soulless and bare, fresh notions apply little to no
hope of me going out of the box. With the screen on my hand, my mind turned frizzy once more. e have our own reasons in living. We have different struggles to surpass, memories to
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Was this the narrative of my own satirical life? treasure, and experiences to forget, because we are not grateful of experiencing it. When
we’re about to give up, we need to think of our reasons to live. Sometimes, we don’t even know the

- Alastrine
reasons, and we are here to find out.
When I was younger, I’d sleep with my parents arguing. It was my lullaby before I’d sleep
and would serve as my alarm clock the next morning. I’d wake up seeing their mad faces, hearing
their screams, cusses and broken glasses. I was defenseless. I felt worthless. All I can do is cry. I
have always wanted to cry my heart out. It felt like I was chained in hell. I wanted to escape. I need-
ed to escape.
I had the chance to escape the hell I was in. The place where, supposedly, I could seek
refuge. I left the place they called “home”. Four years have passed. The escape was over and I need-
ed to go back even though I never wanted to. I thought they’ve changed at least for us. I really did
hope they have, but they didn’t. I could still remember that it was on the third day of November,
just last year, where I reached the point and told them to separate, ways. I really meant it. There’s
no chance that they’ll change for us. I think they’re really not for each other. Everything failed.
When I’m out with my friends, it feels heaven to be with them. I can forget my problems
temporarily. That made me love school. I loved school. School felt like my only escape. It was as if I
was playing with my playmates on the playground. Happiness cannot be contained. It is hard to
define. School, with my friends, felt perfect, not until I realized that I no longer belong to the group
of friends I am in. They excel—they’re very creative and are good writers. They are all at their best
and I am left out. I’m the odd one out. I’m good at nothing. I’m a castaway. I failed in school, in
almost everything I do. I’m a failure. I want to die, literally.
I’ve decided to just kill myself. I cut myself with a blade and yeah, it hurts. I thought of
another way to die. I could just hang myself, but if I’d fail, it would just make me mentally ill. I
could just let myself get hit by a ten wheeler truck, or take a large amount of different pills. I came

87 88
to an idea that I could just jump-off the COET rooftop. But then, I realized, it would just break my
bones and my body into pieces. I don’t want to look like that in a coffin.
Everything frustrates me, both school and home. It feels heavy as if something’s pulling
me down into the deep waters. In silence, I could hear my own heart pounding. I don’t know if I’m
living to survive or surviving to live. All I know is I’m breathing polluted air. But something made
me ponder. Some people living their lives worse than mine were able to live. I haven’t heard neither
of a beggar attempted suicide nor a crazy old man living in the streets at a suicidal stage. Maybe,
they just don’t have the time to think about ending their lives. They are so busy and all the time
they have is spent finding ways to survive, ways to live.
Until now, at this moment, I still don’t know why I’m here on this shoe. I don’t know if
I’m the sole person having a life like this. There’s no meaning in living, no worth in living. But I
hope, someday, I’ll find answers to these questions, and I’ll find out why.
- Sha
89
Confession of a Cynophobic
I find it scary every time someone says that dogs can smell your fear so you have to pretend to
be unafraid and conceal your fear. As if dogs have this special instinct to know whether
someone likes them or fears them. They have this talent of reciprocity; if you like them, they’d like
you too, if you hate them, they’d hate you even more. I’m afraid of dogs, but that doesn’t mean I
hate them. I actually want to befriend them, but I can’t even go near them because I’m too afraid.
That is why I’m jealous of those people who are close to dogs without even giving out too much
effort.
I admit, I act bravely in front of others because I don’t want to be ridicule. I badly want to
end this fear. To be honest, I’m ashamed to have this kind of fear. I feel like having fear of dogs is
unreasonable and unbelievable for other people.
This case refers to my parents. They think that I’m just exaggerating and that I think too
much with just small things. They concluded that with me being so “fearful” not just with dogs but
also on other small and petty things, I cannot live independently. With just this fear? With me
being so afraid to confront my fear as they always forced me to do. They see me as someone who
fears almost everything, they didn’t see me struggling. They didn’t see how much I’m trying to
confront everything I fear.
My fear of dogs led me to unfortunate events such as not being able to go to certain occa-
sions just because I’m afraid to go inside one’s house who has a dog, being left out while others
mingled and played with the dogs. Being paranoid and anxious enough whenever I’m walking on
the streets, I was not able to do the things I ought to do outside, and important things such as not
able to venture out and go far away because of this. Sadly, I grew up to this day haunted by this
fear. Sometimes I blame myself for not being so brave, for being so weak and I feel sorry for myself
for being like this.
This actually started way back when I was seven years old, I just woke up from my siesta
and found the house empty so I decided to go out to look for my auntie. I saw my aunt chitchatting
90
with our neighbor while there were some kids playing in the streets. At that time, I thought to my-
self with a big smile showing my crooked teeth, “this is my kind of waking up in the afternoon!” I
was so excited and was pretty giddy. I don’t know why but I like waking up in my afternoon siesta
with the sound of laughter and squeals from kids playing outside, the sound of the “walis tingting”
as it sweeps the dry leaves, and the smell of smoke from our neighbor’s burning of leaves (“ daob”).
This was my type of afternoon. I opened our gate and stepped out of our house. I excitedly ran
towards them, not knowing that our neighbor’s gate was not properly closed. Their dog went out
barking and came running towards me. I ran as fast as I could to get away from the dog and was
really scared that I could feel the adrenaline gushing through my body. My body was slowly being
swallowed by the coldness of my sweat. I looked back to see where the dog was, I screamed and was
shocked when the dog suddenly jumped on me. It was as if my soul left my body. I painfully cried
as the dog bit me in my butt. I could clearly remember the feeling and the pang of pain I felt that
time. I could still imagine the teeth of the dog as it bit my flesh, ripping my skin off. That was a very
dreadful day for me – the day I started to fear dogs.
Up to this day, every time I go home, anxiety creeps up on me. Thoughts race in my
mind, “What if there’s a dog outside our house?,” “What if a dog from our neighborhood is out of
its leash again?,” “How can I arrive home avoiding those dogs?” These questions keep bugging my
mind. Whenever I go to someone’s house, before I’d go in, I always ask my friend or the owner of
the house if they own any dogs and if they do, are they on leash or is it caged? If so, then I’d com-
fortably go inside their house, but if not, I’d rather not go inside. Then, they’ll tell me “they don’t
bite”, “they’re friendly”, “they’ll just sniff you”, “naa ba diay iro manumbag?” (Have you seen a dog
who punches people?) , “kagamay ana nila, mas dako paka ana nila” (You’re even bigger than
them), “don’t worry they don’t have rabies.” But these statements only made me more afraid of
dogs. How could these owner be very comfortable letting other people into their house when in fact
they know their dogs bite? With just a mere growl and bark of the dog, it’s enough for me to back
away and avoid confronting those dogs.
91
It’s not easy to have this kind of fear. Many people would find it cute, annoying, amus-
ing, weak, and at the same time funny, but they don’t know how serious this case is for me. I’m not
acting it up, nor pleading for attention. I had been chased by dogs for countless of times already. I
was chased when I was just passing-by, I was chased even when I was just merely looking at the
dog, and I was also chased by the mockery of people saying, “Dako na kayong tawo, talawan japun
kaayog iro”. (You’re not a child anymore, yet you’re still afraid of dogs.) Good for you and others,
they didn’t have this “silly” kind of fear. But let me ask you a question, do “fear” need to be so
deadly and dangerous for one to consider and respect it as a “fear”?
This fear affected most aspects of my life. I don’t really know but somehow this fear
awaken all the other fears in me. That feeling that you became so afraid of being afraid. There were
too much fears, anxiety, and frustration to the point that my life became constantly stagnant; no
progress, always in the safe zone. I don’t want to feel having too much fear of something to the
point where I could no longer do what I want. This fear is slowly consuming me, evolving into
different forms. I’m too embarrassed of this and I badly want to end it.
But one Monday morning came, I was rushing to go to school because we’ll be having a
quiz in the first period. When I walked out from the house, there were two dogs roaming around
the street. I immediately backed out and return home to ask for help, but everyone’s busy and no
one’s hearing me out. I wanted to cry out of frustration, but the thought of the quiz and school
kept bugging my mind. That was the time I told myself, “di ni mag silbi”. That made me realized
that no one’s gonna end this for me, it is only I who has the power to fight it back. Although, I’m
still kind of nervous going out of the house, but I forced myself and settle my mind that I can do
this and everything will be fine. I clenched my hands into fists and went out. I walked into the
streets held high without looking at the dogs; as if not minding them. I successfully passed by
them and I was so proud at myself for conquering my greatest fear! It was not easy and I was in
the verge of backing out; my knees were shaking and I was clenching my fist too tight. But, I did it;
I was able to surpass it.
92
 With this, I’ve come to realize that in life it’s normal to have fears but there will come a
time when you’ll need to confront them no matter what, where, when, and how prepared you are.
You cannot just hide and avoid it forever. All you gotta do is to pick yourself up, stand tall, face
upfront, and believe that you are more than your fears. As hard as it seem, one day I’m going to
conquer this fear; not today, but someday. In the end, I’ve come to realize that the least one can do
is to be sensitive enough to others, for we never know what struggles and fear they are trying to
conquer each day.
- Lowsearrows
93
I Wish I Had the Chance
H ave you ever felt that feeling wherein you wanted to be kidnapped, raped then killed, and
murdered by a hit and run? A feeling that, when you cross the street you’re not even look-
ing, caring or thinking about the vehicles passing by? By any chance, a feeling wherein you wanted
to be lost and become a missing person? Have you had that feeling wherein you wanted to die by
taking in numerous medicines that can kill you? These thoughts come to my mind, making me
want to disappear in this world but I only think of those things every time I experience a particular
situation and I’ll tell you what it is.
I am my daddy’s only princess but truly, I’m a mama’s girl. My Father didn’t have the
chance to be close to me since he spends most of his time for work. However, it’s not his fault. It
was never his fault. But, I regret that I did not make an effort to be closer to him.
I am proud that my father is working hard to sustain the family’s needs. I mean we
should all be proud of our fathers but I am more proud to have a father like him, who would do
anything to fulfil our needs. He buys me dolls, playhouse, cute dresses, and he makes me feel like
I’m a damn princess every time I celebrate my birthday but stopped when I grew up. He would
bring my favourite pastel buns every time he comes home from work. I always get excited whenever
I hear my Mama say that my Father will be coming home from a long week of work. I remember
those precious moments with him, wherein he would wake me up early in the morning to accom-
pany him jogging. I never felt tired, because I’m happy whenever we spend time together since he’s
always busy from work.
My Father never had the chance to go to our school recognitions or even to my elemen-
tary graduation. But there was only this one time, ONE time when he went to my recognition in
second grade; I will never ever forget that day. It was the very first time he went to my school.
He’s a strong person and he shows to other people that he can protect his family. But I
never thought my Father would be so strong that he would actually beat my Mama. Loud and
scary voice, big fists and an angry red face. That’s what I remember when he thumped my Mama
94
with his hands. My Mama has a slim figure, she was kinda weak because of her body and my Fa-
ther is big. Me and my little brother on the other side were crying out loud, not knowing what to
do. I was seven years old back then. I couldn’t do anything since I was very scared, It was the first
time I saw violence in our own house.
My Father is scary whenever he’s angry. He is scary most of the time since he easily gets
angry. He would continuously do physical harm to us with his big body. There was one night when
he was drunk and angry and got into a heated argument with my Mama. He got his gun and
pointed it at my Mama’s head. I cannot move, I want to scream and shout. My Uncle stopped him
and my Mama found a way to escape the house. That was the most horrible night of my life. Things
would go back to normal after many days. I cannot count the days wherein I saw my Mama got
beaten by my Father, and I cannot count the days wherein I myself, experienced such thing too.
I never thought my Father would actually beat me up, punch my head until It hurts so
bad, kick me as strong as he can that I flew from one place to another, strangle my hair, hit me
with the broom stick until my bruises become violet... and until I can’t move my body. It happened
to me a lot and thank God I experienced my last great torture last year (2017) in the month of July.
Whenever he’s home from work, I become the most innocent person in the house. I am so
tired of being beaten by my Father. I’m tired watching him do these things just because he can’t
control himself. I do not want my Father to become a monster. I do not want to curse him to die
already as the pain I experienced whenever he beats me made me say the things I do not want to
happen, like to kill him, to kill myself, to leave our home, and to report him to everyone what he did
to me. I was once happy because thank God my Mama did not experience those things anymore. It
hurts a lot more deep in my heart seeing my Mama getting beaten by my Father.
I knew what he was doing was making us (me and my brother) disciplined. But I don’t
understand why he has to beat us to the extent that I feel like I’m in a hazing? I hate him but I love
him. He was just thinking what’s good for us but I cannot understand his ways of disciplining us.
But as I grew up, I learned that I slowly understand him in any perspective that I can
95
think of. I regret that I was too shy to be close to my Father at my early age, because maybe, just
maybe, he got sad as we (me and my sibling) grew up being so close to our Mama, and he didn’t
actually felt the love that we have for him. Maybe if he felt that love, he would hardly do those
things to us (beat us or showing violence to us). I’ve learned accepting him even if he broke my
heart so many times, even accepting that he had a child from another woman and another child
from another woman.
I love him and I am hoping that one day he would actually say sorry for all the things he
did to me because he never said that to me, not even once. But even if he will not say that word to
me, it’s okay as long as he will change, that he will not hurt me, my siblings, and my Mama physi-
cally and emotionally anymore. I wish I had the chance to be close to him when I was young be-
cause trying to be close to him right now is hard as I remember the things that he did. But I am
trying.
But hey, I think I am strong. I've experienced it a lot of times but I did not end my life
and still continue living it. I don’t care about it anymore, I have become numb to the physical pain.
But every time I remember it, it's more painful than I thought it would be and it brings out anger
towards my father. I’ve learned and discovered a lot of things especially about myself. I am actually
able to cope up with those problems. I am not easily carried away by my emotions. I’ve learned that
maybe understanding is just within us; it is inside us as well as forgiveness. It all depends on our-
selves on how we are going to deal with things and I choose to be a fighter of my own; I choose to
face and let time heal the wounds of my heart. And I think it is important in growing as a person,
to never escape from our reality.
- Beth Davis
96
Man in the Middle
I don’t know much about myself but I like being just between something or a situation and
act neutral and wonder what is happening. Not like acting on being numb of the situation
but I kind of feel like I am in a good spot rather than getting in to the worst like what just hap-
pened to me back in my primary school days. I tried to settle a fight between two of my
classmates yet ended up being punched right in the face. Yeah, funny story on trying to be a
good guy! But now that I am in high school, it gets more interesting being in an environment with
more mature beings and still having a neutral mindset just like the old days.
Being neutral for me is like seeing everybody from a bird’s eye view and you feel like
you’re in a spot that makes you feel that you can understand what everybody was doing. It is
really a fun thing to do but most of the time, you feel disappointed on seeing behaviors that makes
you feel uncomfortable. For me, acting smart in school is just making it worse and playing dumb
feels like you’re nothing in a certain place. Being neutral on school all the time makes me see
greedy students hungry for good grades, and after that, acting like nothing just happened and
after offering a smile, it feels like seeing a crocodile wearing a bunny hat. I know that I am over
reacting about this thing but still, it feels so uncomfortable for me. I am so dramatic about this
kind of reality but it feels normal when I do not get into it seriously, so I think it’s, all right.
That being said, in order to avoid the feeling of discomfort, I decided to be a “middle
man” or be neutral, and here are my personal reasons on why I chose to be in the middle in any
situations. One, to be in control of any situations, two, to avoid being in the worst situation, three,
to spot flaws, and fourth, to strengthen one’s relationship. Knowing both sides of every argument
makes you decide on what other people are fighting for or trying to say and understanding opin-
ions of both sides enables you to know what is right or wrong, being rational rather than emotion-
al.
The other person whom I know for being neutral is our teachers. Teachers can see from
above and can generate solutions or support whatever is good for their students. Teachers also
97
showed me one thing about the world, that the world can be seen as black and white. I nearly
forgot how to be neutral when one of our teachers conducted a debate inside our classroom,
and I can tell you directly that I am not good at it. I’m not good at defending sides but I am still
trying my best to learn.
For now, I’m still learning on things like that and I don’t want to pressure myself on
rush and end up crashing. Being gray between black and white feels all right for me, but I can tell
you one more thing: it’s so quiet and lonely here in the middle. Am I being salty? No, I’m
pretty sure that I am just being realistic. The only way that makes you think more that I am telling
the truth is by simply not ignoring the flaws that is currently happening in your surroundings.
What I mean is not like you need to be paranoid, but to be more cautious on choosing what
problems you need to prioritize first to deal with. I’ve said earlier that it is so lonely being in the
middle, now let me clarify a few things in order for you to understand my point. First, there is no
such equal things in this world, poor people exist because rich people dominate, rich people
exist because poor people are still finding their way to be successful in life. But I’m not saying
that being poor doesn’t let them achieve their own happiness in their own way. For the rich
person—well they can always buy such happiness every time, whenever they want. We all have
choices, choices of life to live with and choices that leads our will to want more or to be satisfied
on what we already have. Now, for myself, I’m kind of lost on what side I am on, but I promised
myself not to be a slave to our society’s system. Others have already chosen their sides and
they are somewhat happy about it, but for me, I still choose to be in the middle.
- HapBist_Joker
98
Losing Myself
I never thought I’ll lose someone so dear to me. I was the kind of girl who is really cheerful
and happy. I tirelessly and excitedly do well with my academics and extracurricular activities
in school. I even managed to gather a lot of friends, like, really a lot. But now, everything fell in its
exact opposite. I don’t know how and when it started, but the next thing I knew was that I felt like I
have stopped living life. Like, I’m literally just trying to get to the next day, just living in the
thought of tomorrow. Or maybe, just maybe, I am not living, I’m waiting. The trouble is I don’t
know what exactly I am waiting for. And honestly, I’m kind of scared for what it might be.
Sometimes, I think about dying, but I don’t want to die. Not even close. In fact, my prob-
lem is the complete opposite. I want to live. I want to escape, but I feel trapped and bored and
claustrophobic. There’s so much to see and so much to do, but somehow, I still find myself doing
nothing at all. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence, and I can’t quite figure out
what the hell I’m doing or how to get out of it. And the thing that makes it more exhausting is
having a mental illness and pretending like you don’t. I keep so much pain inside myself that it
made me grasp my anger and loneliness and hold on to it. It changed me into something I never
meant to be. It transformed me into a person I don’t recognize.
Having anxiety and depression is like being scared and tired at the same time. It’s the
fear of failure but no urge to be productive. It’s wanting friends but hating socializing. It’s wanting
to be alone but not wanting to be lonely. It’s feeling everything at once then feeling astoundingly
numb. The boundary I’m trying to create between the two is that: anxiety is when you care too
much for everything; and depression is when you really don’t care about anything. And having
both is just like hell. Sometimes, I worry that they will keep me from becoming the person I
dreamed of, and that they are silent.
You wouldn’t even notice a change on the outside. I’m honestly so stressed that I can’t
even manage to do simple tasks. People call me lazy when in reality I’m just overwhelmed. People
think it is just sadness. Just crying…just dressing in black. But they are wrong. It is the constant
99
feeling of being numb―being numb to emotions, and being numb to life. You wake up in the
morning just to go to bed again. Sleep isn’t just sleep anymore, it’s an escape. It doesn’t control
your thoughts; it’s the thoughts that control you. What makes this alarming is that it is not just
happening to me. It is happening to many people. And it is not easily recognizable. People are
great actors, great pretenders. You won’t know what their next move might be when they’re fed up.
They’re unpredictable.
As you can see, my mind is being controlled by my emotions. I am aware of my thoughts,
and that it is driven by my emotions. I also know that having these thoughts doesn’t excuse me
from thinking about suicide. What I’m trying to say is that just because I feel this way, I have
enough reason to end my life, which I get to conclude that I am worthless. I view this, consciously
peaking, as the struggle between my mind and body. I get to say this because my mind thinks this
way, that I am conscious of these thoughts. My body, on the other hand, is trying to be the medium
to my mind that says, since I am doing nothing, therefore, I am worthless. To back this up, my
body acts as an intermediary between myself and the world. I experience the world as separate
from me.
I cannot detach my body from myself because I’d be dead by then. Since I am conscious
about the emotions that my mind interprets from my body, I am where I am right now. I am not
dead. There is an intimate relation of myself with my body, thus, I can say that I am my body. Yet,
on the other hand, I also know that I cannot reduce my humanity to my body. Being human is a
given but keeping my humanity is a choice. I give importance to life because I believe, as my mind
believes, it is a one-time offer.
I may feel like I’ve got this thing down, and that I’ll be back on my track, but then, maybe
the next day, my emotions may feel like a total war zone and I’ll be back to square one. But I know
that that’s not how the recovery works. Recovery is lined with both setbacks and victories but over-
all, progress. One step at a time. One realization at a time. One session at a time. One prayer at a
time. One break-down and bounce-back at a time. I’ll just have to keep going and remember each
100

day that I can start over. I can get a new shot every morning and try again with new persistence.
Also, I always keep in mind that when I’m down again, all I have to do is to nurse myself
and be extra gentle with myself. Just like how an athlete breaks an ankle, they do not force them-
selves to run that ankle, instead they rest as it heals. I do not think that I am a failed athlete, in-
stead, I think, right now, that something isn’t working so I’ll just have to take care of myself until it
does. Just like a broken bone, my illness can change the way my daily life plays and push myself too
hard just to get frustrated when I don’t feel better.
- Thedreamidealist
101
Untold Feelings
T
hey say love starts when you begin to care when you miss someone for no permanent reason.
That love gives life satisfaction and personal delight. But what's most seen in love is you risk
yourself to be fooled and get hurt just to feel a simple completeness. Is it really love? In my case, I
think it’s different based on my own personal experience of what love is. Love is to fly towards a
secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment, to let go of life and to take a step without
feet.
As I wake up one morning, I could feel the warmest embrace of the sun’s ray touching
my skin, the smell of a fresh morning breeze that makes my body move on its own accord. I
dressed up, ate my breakfast and went to school. In a distance, I could see my friends already gath-
ering ahead of the time schedule. I approached them, greeted them with the sweetest smile a little
boy could give. Everyone greeted me back, and then they continue talking to this girl. A girl so
sweet and charming. As I came nearer to them, the world began to move very slowly. As she no-
ticed me around the circle, she gave me a sweet awkward smile. That was the moment: I’ve turned
into stone, I couldn’t move a single centimeter of my body.
That was February; when I first met her. As she walked passed by me, the notes began to
play. It sounds so deep, so unhurried, like a whisper, like a show of affection, so gentle. She became
the object of my admiration. Every time I saw her, I see notes as colorful as a 24-color palette, the
sky hums along, time itself is singing, the winds whisper a melody and the melody began to dance.
How could I find a way to talk to her? What should I say as my first words? Maybe I’ll go
to her classroom everyday pretending to visit my friends? But in the end, all I could do was watch
her. There was no space for me to slip into. I want to convey all these feelings I had for her - hoping
I can be with her. Those hands of hers are what I wish to hold most. The second her form is reflect-
ed in my eyes, just like the speed at which a cherry blossoms fall, I’ve fallen for her more than five
centimeters a day yet I can’t get close to that last ten centimeters.
But what can I do to reach her? After all, all I wanted was her radiant smile and have her
102
beauty color my world in pastel; bursting with a mournful color. This isn’t just a pesante (heavy
and ponderous). Reminiscing memories that welled up inside me, I let out my feelings, hoping
they’ll reach out to her far away. Hoping that one day—just one day, she will be the one proving
that we are each other’s replacement for someone else. And in that very day, she’ll make me doubt
my belief that unrequited love is the only love that persists for a long time. I guess it’s only natural
and normal for the girl I’ve been crushing to be in-love with someone else. Since I’m in-love with
her, she sparkles in my eyes, that’s why I fall so irrationally in-love. I want to be by her side, not just
any other person; she is irreplaceable in my heart yet she is still not here by my side and I’m well
aware of that. Still, I have to go back to that moment once more, thinking that she called out to me.
The flowers at the arch makes me feel like we’ve been together in the past, that we could return to
I love her because I love her, doesn’t matter whether this love will be reciprocated or not. The fact
that I can’t kiss my own elbow is already enough to make me realize that some things seem too
close, yet they are bound to be beyond my reach. Because of love I’ve experienced many things in
life. It made me weak. It made me strong. I learned to wait, to give way, to accept. I’ve been hurt so
many times. It made me move on and motivated me to let go. But one thing’s for sure, even if I’ve
experience pain, I believe that I will love again—but never in this way, again.
I remembered my dad once said to me that “Kuya, love isn't always hugs and kisses.
Always remember that you can never find a perfect partner to love you the way you wanted. Only a
person who's willing to love you more than what you are, someone who'll accept you for what you
can and can't be. Enjoy the similarities, respect the differences, and that's even better than perfect.”

- Ntntnr (Iambs)
past, even though they’re now tinted in orange. Maybe there’s a very dark road up ahead, but I still
have to believe and keep going. I’ll have to believe that the stars will light my path, even if it’s just a
little bit.
I remember chit-chatting with my friends near her one morning, suddenly my friend
calls her. The moment I heard her, her voice resonates undulatingly throughout me once more. I’d
made my day. Whenever I’m feeling down, I’d smile once I realized love is an unconditional com-
mitment to an imperfect person seeking the highest good, which often involves sacrifice. The winds
whisper a sweet melody to my ears that if we were to be together, our world would come to life once
again. The rhythm of our footsteps, as we walk our separate way back home, and the scent of an
occasional breeze brings after a rainy day. The times I’ve wanted that we’re together, and all the
miracles we have created—are all irreplaceable already in my heart. No matter how far she flies,
she’ll remain the most treasured person on the world to me.
I wish I have the guts to tell her this, denying is not the best way to escape cause the more
I hide it, the more it kills me inside. I wish I’m not a scaredy-cat. I wish that before my life of being
a highschool kid goes by, she could not only see my gaze but she will be the one holding this huge
hand of mine that perfectly fits that tiny hands of her. I love her without knowing the reasons why.

103 104
Kabit Ka Lang
Y
ou see concrete roads, highways, sidewalks, intersections, street lights, traffic lights, other
cars, and other jeepneys, then you see yourself, with a blank face staring at other strangers
with blank faces. Jeepneys are the most popular means of transportation with a small price of a few
peso coins in the morning, preferably or Manong Driver will not like you at all. Jeepneys are
known for their crowded seating, intricate designs and colourful patterns and some are just paint-
ings of Superheroes, celebrities and other characters having weird looks on their faces, I guess
someone painted that the wrong way.
When wanting to go somewhere in the city, the most reliable means of getting there is by
riding a jeepney. So, we go to the highway, wait for a little along the sidewalk, then when you see a
jeepney, don’t hastily “para” it but read carefully its route. You don’t want to pick the wrong
jeepneys, or there will be regrets.
But wait, what do I mean by jeepneys? Are those only the big jeep-looking vehicles that
could hold almost thirty people? No, of course not, we will not limit it to those legendary jeeps. The
“Undisputed King of the Road” is almost extinct, but the good thing is that, what we call jeepneys
today are the PUJs, Public Utility Jeepneys. Today there are many vehicle models of the Jeepneys,
they are not limited to those vehicles that look like long jeeps.
Riding on a jeepney is a wonderful experience. Personally, I ride a jeep, with an average of
one and a half hours a day. That long period of time would make you think deeply about our prac-
tice as Filipino people, when it comes to transportation. That period of time gives you the oppor-
tunity to meet the nicest of people and will make you regret meeting the most unethical people.
If you think riding a jeepney is as easy as sitting down on a chair, you are wrong. You
don’t sit on one place at the same time, this is part of the price you have to pay. We Filipinos are
well aware of “Bawal Maarte Dito”. When you ride a jeepney, your personal space is nonexistent.
You have to sit side by side with mostly strangers and you have to act normal, preferably.
Meanwhile, at the dark reality of being in a jeepney, you can meet people who can’t be-
105
have at all. Where there is light, there will always be shadow. No matter how many good people you
meet, you will always remember the dark side. There are those people who decline to pass the
money towards the driver. There are people who ignore others when asking a simple question.
There are people who ride the jeepney, extremely drunk and those that never shut up and yell at
their phones when talking through it. I’ve met these kinds of people and it’s just terrible to think
that people can misbehave in such a way.
There is one time that I regret riding a jeepney, remembering the horrid past, I have one
jeepney ride that I could never forget. I was waiting for a ride home, and when I saw one, finally, I
was “lucky enough” to ride on the front seats. It was kind of pleasant not sitting on the back seats,
but one moment, the moment I started breathing through my nostrils, I smelled something. It was
not fun at all, I was sitting beside this, high school girl, and she smelled bad. I don’t know what she
did on that day but this teaches us not to over react and be sensitive at times. In a jeep of ill-
mannered people, be the guy who stands out. I never said anything to her, about how she smelled
or even acted like I was about to puke.
There are prices you have to pay, but never forget we also get rewards, which we receive
rarely, but it happens. You can meet your old friends and classmates while riding in a jeepney.
Sometimes, you can even have a chance of being in the same jeepney where your crush is. What a
concept. This happened to me, and it was like winning the lottery. I was sitting on the right side of
the jeepney and she happened to be sitting in front of me. That jeepney ride was a five-leaf clover,
so I took my opportunity and stared at her for a long time and tried my best not to get caught
doing it.
Moving on, I will tell you more about my relationship with jeepneys. I am student and I
can say that riding a jeepney is a big part of my life. I live 10 kilometers away from school. This
means that not only do I have the pleasure of riding the jeepney that long but I also have one of the
heaviest punishments of finding one at all. Our Barangay is vast and heavily-populated, this
means that you have a lot of competition in finding any jeepney you can ride back home. I believe
106
there are not enough jeepneys that have its route to our barangay and this should be addressed,
hopefully.
On December, when I was on my way home, I found a jeepney and it only had two seats
left. Luckily, I was able to sit comfortably. Several minutes later, the jeepney suddenly stopped. I
was so confused for there were no seats left and this driver decides to pick up one more passenger.
I’d expected it to be a young man who is willing to hold onto the back of the jeepney with his feet
have behaved in such a manner that I have not disturbed someone and also if someone is misbe-
having, I do not talk ill of them, instead I try my best to be sensitive and understand them. As a
behaved person, I perceive myself as a person with the mental capacity to understand a human
being misbehaving inside a jeepney. In a world full of jeepneys, make sure that everyone inside is
respected and never make them think that, “Kabit lang sila”.

- Boi Kabit
resting on the bumper, which we Iliganons refer to as “kabit”. Surprisingly, it was an old lady. The
driver decided that this old lady could fit in this small gap between two random women. I was so
upset. I hate drivers that do this, I mean, I get it that you want to earn more but you also have to
understand your limits. Meanwhile, this old lady insisted that she would stand inside the jeepney,
just so she could ride. That is extremely problematic, and I did not let that happen. So, what I did
was, I offered my seat to this old lady.
I noticed something after that experience; the old lady didn’t even thank me. I never
wanted to be praised after I offered my seat, but I wanted her to at least be thankful. This experi-
ence made me realize, that we Filipinos sometimes think that we are entitled to some things that
were merely offered to us, that we forget to be thankful. That simple action of kindness by me,
made me “kabit” for almost half an hour, it was tiring but at least I know I’ve helped someone.
Riding a jeepney is indeed a beautiful experience but also can be problematic. How can
such a ride be problematic, you say? Well, one’s experience may vary on what we actually experi-
ence on a jeepney. What a person can see as merely nothing may be a huge deal for someone else.
This is where it is problematic, our distinct perspective. We must learn to draw two thick lines and
determine different factors of our own jeepney ride experience and distinguish their position in
relation to those lines. Then, prepare yourself, and always aim to be as close to the center, to have a
neutral standing of what may be a positive or a negative jeepney experience for you and others.
These experiences taught me to become a better person because what you learn and how
you behave in a jeepney, will not only stay in the jeepney, but will be carried on wherever you go. I

107 108
Blizzard
“You’re a blizzard. You make people feel unwanted.”
O nce, a classmate of mine inquired: “How does it feel to hold your boyfriend’s hand?” I im-
mediately knew the answer. Although I have never had a boyfriend, I knew the feeling of
being with, and holding the hands of, the person I used to love the most. ‘Used’, because she is only
a little more than an acquaintance to me now.
When I was introduced to her by a friend, who was also a friend of hers, I got this sense of
connection within me. It was like being introduced to someone whom I have known for a long time,
someone who shares a part of me. Without even posing any questions to her, I immediately knew
the things we both share mutual interest in. I immediately knew, by sheer instinct alone, that our
personalities harmonize together. I got very close to her even though I’ve only known her for a
week. And when ninth grade started, I started holding her hand when walking with her—with no
shame or doubt in my mind—regardless of the place.
Holding her hand was instinctive, and it felt normal. There are no so-called “sparks”,
since it was just like grabbing a long-time friend, although I’ve known her for just a small period of
time. Hanging out with her was like hanging out with a sibling, and the only thing I knew was that
I felt the most refreshed and alive when I was with her, holding her hand. I could feel my heart
beating steadily. Holding her hand was like extending a part of me, a part of my soul, to her. That’s
how it felt to hold the hands of your beloved. Now that I think about it, I realize that I have found
my soulmate then. I was happy, and I loved her, although I have not realized then that it was love
that I felt for her.
I believe that the kind of love I felt for her was the purest form of love that one can ever
have. I used to have dirty and kinky jokes with her, but never once did felt lust for her. I wanted her
to be safe. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to laugh and play with me. I wanted to continue
braiding her hair every time we finish a short quiz in our Algebra class. I wanted to continue shar-
ing with her the theories of anime and manga that we have read. And I wanted to be by her side
109
and hold her hand whenever I can. But I was too blind of my actions.
In an attempt to make sure she stays by my side, I had become selfish and had hampered
her own freedom. I became jealous whenever she made new friends. I got angry when she hung out
with other people, and not with me. I became demanding―I kept telling her to do things I could
have done myself. Looking at the messages we exchanged, I knew that my temper and jealousy
made me become a cruel person towards her. It got worse when I experienced depression during
the four months of vacation when I was incoming tenth grade. I lost the huge smile and loud laugh
people used to criticize about me before. I became cold and apathetic towards other people, and to
almost everything else around me. And, probably, the worst thing that happened that year was
that my best friend and I were not going to be classmates on the upcoming school year.
It was the onset of the first year of Senior High School, in which I promised myself to stop
self-harming for good. It was a favorable season, since my best friend and I were back to being
classmates and I have a new resolve towards my studies then. But what happened was the oppo-
site. She started forming new friendships―to the point where it seemed to me that she has for-
gotten my presence. She started hanging out with them, without even asking me if I could tag
along. There was this pervasive feeling of being stabbed in the chest, and I felt lonely, even though
we were just sitting next to each other. Once again, I felt jealous and angry. I knew then that our
friendship was becoming blurry; it was being severed just like how my heart was being ripped
apart. But I let it be, thinking that she might have sensed the negative change between us and tried
to do something about it. But days, weeks, and months have passed, and even as the Christmas
party ended, nothing positive happened.
On 31st December, 2016, I decided to confront her by sending a long message, confessing
to her my inner rage. I told her how I had slit the deepest cuts on my wrist because I was trying to
suppress another emotional breakdown in school, which was triggered when I saw her with her
newfound friends, and she did not seem to even look for me. I told her how I was jealous and angry
for countless of times, those times when we were still in ninth grade and until the present time. I
110
told her how much I questioned myself what was wrong with me; what was lacking in me; why she
would not choose me over the others; and why it seemed like she has cheated on me, although we
were never in a romantic relationship. She gave me a reply, saying that just as how I was jealous of
her making friends with other people, she was also jealous of my closeness with the other friend I
had. She said that she was jealous of my characteristics, but she never mentioned anything about
being angry at me. No, I didn’t think she was ever angry at me. Maybe she was mad, or she felt
hurt, but I’ve never seen her being angry at me, unlike how I would push her hard whenever she
did not do one thing I asked her to.
But since there was the “I was jealous of you” phrase in her reply, I immediately thought
that she has betrayed me completely. That was the first time I met New Year’s Eve crying hard in
my dark room. Why would she be envious of my very own characteristics? She has a very good
singing voice, she draws well; she’s talented in the field of arts. And me—nothing! I got nothing
special so, why would she be envious?! She shouldn’t be. I could see no legitimate reason for her to
be envious of me. Her statement was senseless and insulting, I thought.
I started hating her, feeling that my hatred was justified by her statement. I made her my
“punching bag” to achieve my academic goals. I made sure that my scores and grades would be
above hers, and that she’d be humiliated how low her rank was. I also made new “friends” within
the class, trying to prove that I am better than she is. I pushed hard, with a mindset that I am
rightfully punishing her with such actions. And I believed that she deserved it. She deserved to be
in pain because she has hurt me―because she betrayed me.
But hatred and anger are toxic to a person, and I found myself yearning to be with her
once more. During the vacation last 2017, I made myself fully aware to realize my grave mistake. It
was my fault that our friendship has come to this. It was my fault that I allowed myself to be hurt.
If I had done something when I noticed that something was amiss in our relationship, I could have
done something to fix it. I could have communicated with her, because she is an open-minded
person and she could only get confused at me, never angry. She was too good for me. I did not de-
111
serve her in the first place. I should not have been selfish with her. I should have understood her
situation. I should not have been condescending and demanding to her. Countless of times had I
hurt her in painful ways that a real friend should not have and will never do. I had hurt her when
we see each other. I had hurt her whenever I message her. With the coldness in my voice and my
eyes whenever I speak, the bluntness of my words, I know that I had hurt her in any communica-
tive way. And I should stop. She does not deserve such cruelty. She does not deserve to have me, a
cruel and selfish person, to be her friend. No one does. I should stay away from her and anyone
else.
When the semester for twelfth grade began, I let go of everything else. What I am, is
something that stemmed up from how I was raised and how I observed and thought of the world.
This is my personality, and this is my own culture. I cannot change this so easily. I am bound to
hurt more people as I go on with my life. And it is something that I do involuntarily. Maybe, yes, I
really like and enjoy hurting other people, and at the same time, I do not. The best that I should do
then is to stay away from making the same connection I had with my best friend. I should learn
how to function all by myself. I should learn how to control and murder my own emotions, so I
won’t get attached to something too easily or preferably, not at all, because everything and every-
one is bound to leave me.
I could not help but become as cold as a blizzard towards everyone else. It’s exhaust-
ing―loving is exhausting. I have no more room in my heart to love anymore. I have no more room
and energy to give the same love I once gave to my best friend.
It was a lesson taught with a grip on my throat and a stab on my chest: to do something
as soon as one sensed that something was not right, or at least, was not feeling well in my heart.
Having done something, no matter how futile it may be, is a thousand times better than having
done nothing. You’d see the holes and mistakes of your actions. You’d wish you could have done
better to resolve the problem. Your regretful times will live as days looking back on the actions
you’ve taken, not on the chances you’ve seen but never grasped. And maybe, if you were in my
112
situation, you’d be able to retain the friendship and love that existed within you and with your best
Escapade
friend. Maybe, you wouldn’t have become as apathetic and cold as blizzard, like me.
If only I had done something. If only...
I ’ve always wanted to be free, ever since I was a child. Who on Earth doesn’t want freedom
right? I’ve always thought and felt that I never had freedom all my life, that I am always
restricted to do anything that I want. Everything needs the decision and approval of my parents,

- Astria Shuu
and sometimes even my brother.
It felt suffocating and tiring. My actions were dictated and should follow a certain man-
ner. From the way of dressing up, to the way of standing up, sitting down, eating, acting in public
during special occasions, family gatherings, even the way of laughing. Everything has a rule, a
limit, a minimum. I was always the prim and proper kind of girl. Not that I didn’t want it that
much, for as a child, I would just follow whatever my parents tell me to do, and wherever school
they would want to send me. All of these kinds of experiences were just nothing to me before, I just
felt normal, all I was thinking was that it was for my own good.
Not until I reached high school, junior high/years to be exact. The influence of friends
would always be there, and the topics about life, childhood and parents would always be tackled
once in a while. And so I learned that they didn’t have the same kind of childhood, it wasn’t the
way they grew up. They had a very fun childhood, they had freedom, they could go anywhere they
want as long as it is within their neighborhood, they could play all of those “dirty games” as what
my mother would always tell my brother and me. They could even play all day long in their
schools, and not study at all so if their childhood could be described in one word, it would be fun.
Whereas mine was full of restrictions and rules and schedules and long periods of study sessions
to prepare for competitions inside our school, and that my mother was very fond of encouraging
me to join.
Again , as a kid, I once thought that I am always left with no choice at all, and that I have
no freedom. I was raised in this system wherein I am confined to the rules of my mother, of my
family. I have to do this and that, according to their wishes. I have to dress up the way my mother
wants me to. I have to study the way my father wants me to. I have to be an achiever just as how

113 114
they expect me to be. And when other people know about this, my friends for instance would al-
ways ask me “Why? Then Why would you do such things just because they want you to?” Here
comes the easiest answer which turns out not to be so easy; “because I have no other choice”. This
statement “I have no other choice” has always been there since time, until now. Before, that state-
ment used to be a reason, a reason for everything that I do, not according to my will. But today that
seems to be an excuse already. My excuse to almost everything that I do and that I know brings
great responsibility. I once thought that I have no choice all the time, that I have no freedom in my
life. And freedom is that one thing I ever longed for, I thought that I could only achieve freedom by
the time I graduate, finish my studies, have my own job, and live independently.
This story is the kind that is buried deep within me. I have always hated the thought of
digging this up once in a while, maybe because it is a part of me that I have never wanted to
acknowledge, maybe because it brought so much impact to my life today. It made me the person
that I am at this very moment, the way I think, the way I act, the who I am.
instead we show it in our actions.
With all that being said, I can say that I always have a choice! It is just that with such
choice comes great responsibility, and I alone am the only one to be blamed. I always ask myself
“Why am I still doing all of these if it is exhausting every little piece of my being already?” and end
up answering myself before “because you don’t have a choice than to do that!”. Today, I can an-
swer myself in a more logical way, “You always have a choice, but you chose this decision for you
know that it could have a great impact on your future.”
Not only with Power that comes with great responsibility, Freedom as well comes with great
responsibility. The choices I make, could bring achievement or consequences and failure to my
whole being. Every little choice that is available to me is not that little anymore, because every
choice is important, it brings good or bad results. All of these comes with freedom, in my everyday
life that has been with me, since time. The freedom from free will.

- Le Strange
I used to rebel against them and their wishes, but not in the bad way, but through my
studies. And I realized that those kind of acts were useless and stupid not just for them but to my-
self also. I could have always had the freedom. The freedom not to abide by their rules and regula-
tions like I am some sort of a daughter of a lawyer, or not to follow their program as if I am some
kind of a robot they have control of. I could have always chosen to do the other way around, that I
have and had the freedom not to dress up, and act the way my mother wants me to, and not to
study and be the achiever my father aspires me to be. But what did I do? I chose to follow them
every single step of the way, because even though my mind is telling me that I am tired already,
and I just want to give up at times, I still know, and I could still feel it in my heart that everything
they’ve always done, was for my own good. Even though sometimes I could see it as an I-it relation-
ship, and that they are investing in who I am becoming, I still try to understand them. And I chose
to understand them in this, for I know that my parents, my family, are not that good, and we are
not that fond of the sweet and cheesy lines of telling each other, “I love you” or “I care for you”, but

115 116
Passenger
A s a child, I’ve always been fond of buses. The idea of hopping inside a gigantic vehicle run-
ning over the black tarmac so fast that the passing greenery becomes a hazy blur and trav-
elling to neighboring cities in a period of time was so intriguing for me. Although I never thought
that I’d realize something empowering for women like me; sitting on a distressed, dull-red, leather
chair inside the old, huge vehicle as it trundles from the depot.
One o’clock in the afternoon, everyone was wide awake and so was the sun—though it
reminded me back when I was in pre-school, when my Mama would tap my back to make me fall
asleep. I sat on a two-seater side of the bus next to a close girlfriend whom I’ve always thought of
someone who is braver than me. We were on our way to the beach to meet our other friends, and I
was wearing my favorite Jack & Kong long sleeve, button-up mint shirt with halter top under, and
of course, my “American” faded high-waist shorts, because it’s the kind of short that one sees on
Tumblr worn by those hot ladies, and I love it. The heat of the sun caused the insides of the non-
aircon bus—the bus we’re in, to be as hot as the beach itself, only without the water and cool
ocean breeze. The muggy heat pressed against us, and sweating was no good. Sweat trickled down
our necks and backs like warm soup. Nothing and no-one moved in this penetrating heat unless
they were desperate.
As I was sitting at my chair, slouching, I noticed a man whom I presumed to be in his
“good” mood, talking to strangers in the bus, even smiling at them – he seemed friendly. I guess
he’s in his 30’s, a tall man who perhaps works out a lot or has a job that includes extreme physical
activities and maybe he’s on his way home to meet his family or his friends and get laid. But this is
where it gets weird. I had a hard time tracking where his eyes were really looking at because of his
sunglasses – and yes, I have issues.
I started being suspicious when I was a kid. I remember the time when I was six, I always
get this uncomfortable feeling every time I go out from our house and see that there’s someone
looking at my every move just a block across my house who always winked at me. This happened
117
for a few years; being stalked and courted by a much older man (like he was in his 20s) who goes
topless that I can obviously see his ribs out and who happens to be my neighbor, being teased by
my own friends about being in love with him because he always instructed my friend to give me
bougainvillea flowers and being stripped naked as a child when he trapped me near a wooden
store while I was buying some candies. But unfortunately, the owner of the store was not there yet.
All of these, I experienced at a young age. The worst part is, I was not yet aware of what was hap-
pening. I never told my parents nor my big brothers about it.
I was ignorant then, but now, I felt sure and in control.
We were about two or three towns away from the resort that we were planning to stay in.
From what I have been doing, figuring where the man’s eyes were really looking, I could feel this
tension inside of me, breathing rapid and shallow. I can feel my pulse pounding—a desperate
feeling to uncover a stranger’s sunglasses for the purpose of knowing the truth. After a few
minutes my curiosity peaked. No one can be that still, not even me... Alas, my suspicions were
gone, the moment the man decided it was a good idea to put out his phone in full view to the pub-
lic, and secretly pointed the camera on a lower angle of me and my friend’s exposed legs. I was not
disappointed though. I had the truth coming and it made me feel that I was on top of the situa-
tion. The man was secretly sexualizing us, looking at the screen of his old Samsung phone. At that
moment, I was not thinking of my past but I was driven by it. Unlike before, when something like
this happened to me, I’ have no idea about it or even if I did, I refused to believe it—but this time,
I felt courageous knowing that my friend was sitting beside me. So I confidently told my friend
about it and to my disappointment, she told me to let him be.
I was shocked and discouraged. All the hype inside of me werecompletely gone. I thought
to myself, if my friend couldn’t stand up for the both of us then I would be no different from her. I
was reminded of all my ignorance, fears and incapability of fighting back—may it be cat-called by
people I don’t know just passing down the streets by those malicious men in their huge trucks or
just by those guys who you thought were once decent, exploited by a stranger, secretly wanting to
118

touch a bit of me in a jeepney even if it’s six o’clock in the evening and I was wearing my corporate
attire; booty-slapped in broad daylight by a random guy who I thought was decent because of his
Rolex watch and dri-fit shirt, and I was busy minding my own business of managing my breath
pace because I’m on my eleventh round and was desperate to lose weight; being given the unwant-
ed attention from a security guard in a fast-food chain as I was on the stage of mental explosion
because of all the numbers and signs and rules in our math lesson that my brain cannot fathom
anymore; sexually harassed by my own uncle while I was half-asleep on my mom’s lap on a cold
night, travelling on our way to a resort away from my hometown; or even something more danger-
ous as being a victim of a frustrated rape near my home on a warm evening. And yes, my family
still has no clue about mostly of the incidents.
I have always done what I have done best and worst, nothing.
Even when I physically left that bus for quite some time now, I never really did symboli-
cally. This realization has led me to think that I’m still travelling, not towards the beach but to-
wards the liberation from my weakness of passiveness towards sexual harassments, constantly
hopping off from one bus to the other, sometimes joined by my friends and always by strangers.
Sooner or later, I will be disturbed again by strangers with malicious intents, sometimes metaphor-
ically hidden by sunglasses. Most of the time, these people will not be ashamed of their actions and
some of them are going to be obvious to spot me and the people around me.
All this time, being trapped in this sexually toxic bus has made me come to a conclusion;
that I must not rely solely on my friends or essentially the people around me for safe passage
through my travel. I must speak for myself against disturbances, specifically predators who have
infected their minds with ruthless and malicious motives to harm blameless human being, to be
heard by the bus driver that I have reached my destination and it is time for me to hop off and
overcome my passiveness towards sexual oppression.
- Kaiiy
119
Broken
T
he reason why every one of us is unique is because of what has made us; we are made of mil-
lions of millions of broken parts. Each piece of us is different, that’s why we are sometimes
similar with others and sometimes the opposite. The reason why we are curious of each other is
because we simply want to know the pieces which we ourselves do not know. Even now, each of us
are still broken, paving our way in finding the pieces that we need and polishing our own little
jewel. The dream that we are chasing could make us attain our potential, and our journey to the
unknown could sometimes break us. So no matter what happens, don’t let anyone break your little
core, the foundation that you have built and the pieces that you have kept. So let me ask you a
question: “What are your broken pieces?”
Let me tell you a little bit of my story. My parents are the one who made me, but my
grandparents are the one who raised me up to who I am today. Ever since I was young, I always
longed for something that I can’t explain, and it always feels like there is something missing inside
of me; it’s like there’s a gap swelling inside of me. I think and think and think, and then I finally
realized that what I longed for is the love and attention coming from my parents. But what I
longed for was not given to me, but to my younger brother. At first, I only thought that it was nat-
ural since I learned from school that younger siblings tend to be spoiled by the parents. So what I
did was to follow the instructions of my parents, to study hard, and so I did study and also aimed
to be the top.
Soon my hard work paid off; I racked up medals and I became the valedictorian when I
was in grade school. But what broke me was that my parents did not appreciate the things that I
have done and only favored my younger brother. An example is that there were things that I want-
ed them to buy for me, but they only ignored my requests. But when my younger brother asks
them to buy something, they always buy it right away. They decided that I should live with them
and spend my junior high school near the neighborhood; I had no other choice but to accept.
I have thought that things might change since I was in a new environment, but the treat-
120
ment I received was still the same, and it’s getting worse by the day. Nevertheless I just kept my parts that are put together.
emotions to myself and kept on hiding them, because at that time I believed that it’s better to keep

- Wew-Lol
things to myself, since bringing it out might cause much trouble, and the treatment might go for
the worst and I was afraid for that to happen.
Then the sudden news of my grandmother being diagnosed of stage four brain cancer
came. I was very shocked since my grandmother was an energetic person. During weekends I al-
ways visit my grandmother and spend the night at the hospital. It really hurts to see that the one
who took care of you before, is now lying on a bed, suffering right in front of your eyes; and what
hurts more is that you are unable to do anything to relieve the pain that she is enduring. After a
week I decided to go and see her again. During the time I was riding a bus I suddenly felt an unex-
plainable chill right throughout my body. The time then exactly struck at six o’clock in the evening.
It was six-thirteen in the evening when I arrived in the hospital room, and it was when I
received the news that my grandmother had passed away. It was at that moment when everything
inside me broke; all my emotions burst up and all I could do was wail with all I’ve got. It felt like my
whole world has been broken apart. I even considered committing suicide, but every time I tried, I’d
always remember the last few words my grandmother had said to me, “Take care of yourself” and
“To live a life with no regrets.” Those words made me unable to commit something that would ruin
myself. It was at that time when I realized that your true friends would stay by your side in times of
need, and to accept that realities of this world will always hit you hard.
The things that I had experienced might be the same or different with your experiences
and the things that might happen in the future, but you should remember that everything that
you have read here is only a lens of a broken part of me. A broken part, which has a unique little
jewel and a stable foundation that no matter how many times you try to break the layers, the foun-
dation still stands headstrong, surviving any kinds of adversity. Now I am paving through the
lands that is still unknown equipped of broken parts, steadily and slowly collecting broken parts,
still longing and searching for something to fill the void and gaps that are made by the broken

121 122
Changes
S
ometimes, I wanna hide in a cave to shut myself completely from the world. Or hide in a
corner and face that way forever, or I just go up into the mountains and try to hear my
inner voice. Not knowing is better, right? It's better when you don't care about the world and when
you don't want to get involve in its mortal problems. I am not an introvert, trust me, but maybe I
am now?
When I was a kid, I like hanging out with everyone a lot, in fact they always tell me that I
am the friendliest person they've ever met. I am friends with almost everyone in the room, except
for those reserved people at the front. I never miss an invitation though, wherever the fun is you
can see me there and they sometimes go to me whenever they need someone to talk to; I’m that
kind of person. Maybe because, everyone around me are the people I've known ever since second
grade and that I've become comfortable hanging out with them.
Moreover, in our house, I spend most of my time playing outside or just chatting with my
but that's life, right? And in this life, we are given freedom, but freedom comes with great respon-
sibility so, only I can decide for myself.
Now, I overthink; I am very restless and anxious sometimes. Whenever shown with affec-
tion it always felt like my world is shaking, I don’t know what to do. I have trust issues, I chose
people who I hang out with and I became that reserved person at the front. I still get along with
everyone just fine but things changed. I still hang out with everyone, I always go to their invitation
but I am very careful now and I refer them as acquaintances, it's easier that way. In return, I some-
how, don't like it when people put their whole trust on me and share everything to me. I don't like
to take responsibility of their endeavors. I'm saving myself.
Looking back, I am now more mature, and everything is making sense. I guess everything
that had happened was just preparing me for something greater. One thing that I had realized
was that Life always gives us setbacks and it's up to you on how you'll manage to get stand up.
Even though I'd like to be my old self again, I kind of like myself now.

- Xiaoxie
friends. I usually go home late at night, probably about 9pm. It became my routine during elemen-
tary, but it all changed when I’ve reached high school.
High school is a major setback for me. I am not the kid whom everyone thinks anymore. I
was doing just fine during seventh grade, I was still hanging out with people. I was still the same.
Eight grade turn the tables. I spent most of my time indoors now, I still have friends but they are
not that frequent anymore. My classmates every year always change and it's not helping. I get sad
whenever I see my friends becoming friends with others. I became selfish. Was that jealousy I felt? I
know everyone does go on, meet new people and have other acquaintances. But I thought to myself,
this is not the kind of environment that I am used to. I've been pondering about a lot of things
lately, and it's not like the world will adjust for me, right? I tried to be better. I also met new friends
and it became a blessing in disguise, but the thought still clings to my head every day; it never went
away. "What if they are just gonna leave like everyone else?" Honestly, I hate getting attached now.
It's just sad that people come and go and you have to act like you're just completely fine about it,

123 124
Ang Pagbalik sa Panahon